#migraine nose spray do your job

[middle-ans]

Quick self check - Ana, you lived through 1000 days of full scale invasion, how on earth do I manage to collect the weirdest dates around the time my birthday falls, and if I’ll be woken up by air raid sirens at 4am, I’mma violate that drone the way star wars would be frightened to see

[delimeful]

mere monstrosity (1)

warnings: spiders, misunderstandings, captivity

-

Logan woke up to the familiar soft chime of his alarm, and rolled out of bed bleary-eyed but ready to get the day started. He kept quiet as he crept out of the room.

He didn’t bother grabbing his glasses, knowing that they’d only be of use after his shower. His feet knew the way from his bedroom to the bathroom by heart, and he preferred to shower in the dark to avoid the likelihood of getting one of his light-sensitivity migraines, so he didn’t reach for the lightswitch either.

Instead, he pushed quietly past the half-open door and fumbled for the shower knob, cranking it up to exactly the point before it turned scalding.

The water flickered on a moment later, and amidst the clamor of droplets against ceramic, he heard an indistinct, high-pitched noise, like a chirp or squeak.

“A mouse?” he muttered to himself, squinting at the dark, blurry interior of the shower.

He couldn’t hear anything else over the spray, so he quickly turned the shower off and stepped back to flick the lightswitch on, potential headaches be damned.

He pulled the shower curtain fully to the side, and blinked at the sight of a blurry black splotch in the corner of his bathtub. Leaning in a little further, he could briefly make out individual legs, long and numerous, before they were pulled closer and blended in with the rest of the shape.

“You are… a considerably large spider,” he informed it, grateful that it was him and not Patton who had found it. The resulting terrified shriek would have woken him and Janus, and probably most of the neighbors for that matter. “Are you a tarantula? Are tarantulas even native to this area?”

The spider, rather predictably, didn’t respond, and Logan recalled that he’d just doused the poor thing with jets of cold water. It was probably curling all its limbs in a mock death-curl, trying to process the unexpected threat to its breathing and body temperature.

He reached over to the counter and carefully removed the collection of multicolored toothbrushes from the plastic cup next to their sink, tapping it against the side of the counter to clear out any remaining dust.

“Try to stay still, alright?” he coaxed in a low voice, crouching and leaning over the tub to get a better angle. “I don’t want to catch any of your limbs, just keep them all tucked in close like that and I’ll get you out of there.”

To his surprise, the spider really didn’t make any sudden moves, remaining frozen as he settled the cup over it. The only reason he was sure it was still alive was the tiny motion of its front legs, two little investigative nudges against the edge of the cup.

“Excellent job,” he praised, his curiosity only growing. Most of the spiders he had cupped would immediately run at the glass with arms lifted in threat, or run in frantic circles along the edges seeking an escape. Of course, none of them had been this large. Most wild tarantulas were hunters, though, not spinners. Aggression would serve them well, so why was this one so docile? Was it an escaped pet? Had the cold water been that shocking?

He quickly retrieved a folder from the living room, returning to find that the plastic cup had shifted a couple of inches. It was large enough to push it, then.

“Just a little bit more,” he continued to soothe, carefully sliding the folder under the cup bit by bit, allowing the spider time to shift its legs onto the folder so the tips wouldn’t be pinched. He then carefully lifted the whole ensemble up, keeping a cautious hand on top of the cup. “There we go.”

The kitchen was dimly lit, the small light under the microwave still on so that anyone getting water in the middle of the night wouldn’t trip or run into anything in the dark. Logan glanced at the front door for a long moment, and then gave in to the urge to investigate his catch a bit closer. It would be irresponsible to just release a domesticated tarantula into the wild, after all.

He set the cup and folder down carefully on the counter, and then placed a heavy ceramic plate on top of the cup, reasoning that it was better to make sure the spider wouldn’t push the cup-- and itself-- right off the counter.

“One moment.” That done, he went into his room to retrieve his glasses, leaving the light off so as to not wake up Janus, who had only gotten in from his night shift a few hours ago. His roommate normally slept heavily once he managed to get to sleep, so Logan didn’t have to worry about waking him by climbing out of their shared bed, but better not to risk turning the lights on in the first place.

The world came into a much clearer focus once he’d pushed his glasses into their proper place atop his nose, and with his vision improved, he had no problems finding the hall closet and rummaging through it for one of Janus’s old terrariums.

He set the glass case down on the kitchen counter without any furnishings inside-- he was only planning to get a good look at the specimen, after all-- and flicked on the kitchen light before carefully moving the trapped spider into the terrarium and then lifting the cup away.

The spider frantically scuttled back, smacking thorax-first into the glass wall of the terrarium, and Logan frowned contemplatively at the sight of it.

It was certainly a tarantula, one that he’d probably be able to find online fairly easily with the distinctive white stripes along it’s eight fuzzy legs. Concerningly enough, there was an odd swelling protrusion on the anterior part of the body. It was a similar dark shade to the rest of the body, but almost larger than the thorax, and it blocked off any sight of the pedipalps, fangs, or eyes.

The texture didn’t seem to match the carapace… Perhaps it was a piece of garbage or organic waste that had gotten stuck on the creature? If it hindered movement, that could explain why it had been so still earlier.

It wasn’t still now, exhibiting an odd vibrating throughout its body that Logan had never witnessed from a spider before. He would certainly be doing some research into arthropods after this.

Well, at the very least, he could see if that protruding material would come loose.

Logan carefully pulled on one of Janus’s thick leather gloves, one of the more worn sets in case the spider had urticating hairs, and then reached down. The spider seemed to spot his shadow, going by the way it stiffened, and he reminded himself that though he didn’t know the species and many tarantulas were venomous, it was incredibly unlikely their venom would be able to do more than hurt him.

Confidence restored, he continued reaching down until his fingers met the odd lump, at which point a low, guttural hiss sounded, and the spider threw its front legs up and lunged, slapping its limbs down against the floor of the terrarium in threat.

Logan remained undeterred by the small tantrum, instead focusing on the fact that the obstruction was loose, almost like shed skin on a snake. Studying the spider carefully, he pinched it gently between two fingers, trying to discern what in the world it could possibly be.

The next three movements happened in rapid succession.

First, Logan tugged lightly at the material caught between his fingers. Second, the spider recoiled sharply, pulling away from his grip with surprising strength. And third, the covering came loose, the spider pulling free from it and leaving a limp swathe of fabric hanging from Logan’s fingers.

Below him, now uncovered, there was pale skin, a mop of bedraggled hair, and a tiny, terrified human face.

Logan froze, staring down at it-- them with wide eyes.

The being he’d mistaken for a spider was actually a drider, a creature of myth that was apparently all too real. Logan couldn’t help how stunned he felt. Even apart from the shock of the discovery, there was the shock of their size. Driders were said to have a human-sized spider half, not the other way around!

Below, the drider was still frozen in place, staring right back up at him. He could see the way their little chest was heaving with quick, panicked breaths, could feel the way the tiny makeshift poncho in his hand was sodden and cold, and he felt guilt strike him like a ruler across knuckles.

“I-- Hold on a moment, please,” he managed, his mind racing as he stepped back, turning and hurrying out of the room.

Once again, the hall closet held exactly what he needed, and he mentally rescinded all his past complaints about the amount of extra snake care items Janus had stashed away in their storage closet like a dragon’s hoard.

The heat lamp was compact enough to fit easily in the terrarium, where the spider-person had scuttled back to press themself into the furthest corner, limbs pulled in tightly in what had to be a fear response.

Logan set the lamp carefully inside and plugged it in, sighing in relief when the bulb lit up and began to glow orange. “This lamp is designed for reptiles, not arthropods, so it may be too hot for extended use. However, it will work temporarily as a heat source to get rid of excess moisture, so I encourage you to use it.”

The drider was glaring up at him with the tiniest scowl he’d ever seen, front legs still lifted up defensively, but didn’t say a word.

“Do you speak?” Logan asked, and received only silence in return. “I suppose I should have guessed as much, seeing as you haven’t responded to any of my previous statements. Do you understand me? Do we speak the same language?”

The drider glared harder.

“I find it hard to believe that you have animal-level intelligence,” Logan continued, now mostly to himself. He lifted a hand, displaying the poncho he still held. “Although some birds can ‘sew’, construction of clothing to cover one’s form is a complex and distinctly human sentiment.”

Still, nothing. Their gaze was caught by the poncho for a moment before they looked away entirely, looking for all the world to be sulking.

Logan sighed, and then slowly moved to place the poncho next to the heat lamp, laying it out flat for easier drying. “I’m going to attend to my morning routine. It should only take me a few moments, but please feel free to call or make noise if you need my attention between now and then.”

The drider’s expression had eased into confusion at the sight of their garment laid out before them, but their legs remained warily upright as Logan left the room.

As promised, he only made a brief stop to make sure both of his roommates were still soundly asleep before climbing into the shower and preparing himself for the day, roughly fifteen minutes behind schedule.

It wasn’t too disruptive-- it had eaten into the time he normally allotted for sitting at the table and eating breakfast, so that would have to be skipped today, but it wasn’t the end of the world.

Honestly, he’d likely spend the rest of the day thinking about the surprise addition to his morning. There were so many questions he’d love to ask, but seeing as the creature had attempted to hide their existence even at risk of being perceived as a normal spider (and therefore possibly squashed), he expected he wouldn’t be receiving any answers.

Talkative or not, the drider clearly had sapient levels of intelligence, and Logan was loath to start off humanity’s relationship with a vulnerable and secretive species by keeping them trapped in a snake terrarium against their will.

Even if he was willing to weigh scientific advancement over his morals, his roommates would never allow it. Patton would naturally be terrified and possibly sympathetic when witnessing their clear terror, and he’d had enough extensive debates on ethics with Janus to know that his opinion on keeping them captive would be much the same.

So, when he returned to the kitchen and saw them toppling over and scurrying back from the heat lamp that they’d clearly been attempting to use as a makeshift ladder to freedom, Logan didn’t bother commenting, simply moving forward and looking them over.

“You seem to have mostly dried,” he stated instead, able to appreciate the subtle design work of the poncho better now that it wasn’t being used as camouflage. The drider gripped it like they thought he might take it away.

They would react fairly badly to him reaching out with his hand, and reasonably so. Logan hadn’t exactly done much except douse, capture, and then gently interrogate them. Not exactly trustworthy behavior.

He studied the terrarium for a moment before grabbing a washcloth and draping it over the side, providing an easy textured surface for the spider to climb up. There. “You are free to go.”

The surprised expression that flashed across their face was almost comical.

“I’m not sure what your purpose in the bathroom was, but I’d ask you to be more careful in the future. One of my roommates…,” Logan sighed through his nose, exasperated even imagining it. “Well, suffice to say you should avoid him at all costs.”

The tiny drider continued to stare at him, gaze occasionally flickering over to the towel with clear suspicion. It was saddening to be so distrusted, but perhaps this show of goodwill would help prove that he didn’t intend any harm? He hoped he hadn’t frightened them from the residence entirely-- he shuddered at the many, many potential dangers the creature would find outside.

“My roommates will wake later in the day, so if you intend to avoid their notice, I’d suggest leaving the enclosure as soon as I have departed for work,” he gave a little farewell wave, not reacting to the slight flinch it elicited from the little guy. “It-- well, you probably don’t share the sentiment, but still-- it was nice to meet you. Goodbye.”

Forcing himself not to turn back and get one last look, Logan hurried out the door.

[lady-divine-writes]

Good Omens - A Corpse, Cake, and a Cuppa (Rated NC17)

Summary: Aziraphale is Death and Crowley is the serial killer who keeps murdering to catch a glimpse of the ethereal being he fell in love with. (1714 words)

Notes: Written for the above Halloween prompt from @new-endings/M.A.D.#8943. Human Crowley au. It’s kind of gory, I’m not going to lie.

Read on AO3.

“Jesus Christmas!" Aziraphale yelps, tiptoeing through the thick pool of red coagulating on the concrete. Threads of it cling to the soles of his shoes when he lifts his feet as if trying to drag him down. Aziraphale has seen a great deal of blood in his time. None of it has been pretty. But this is especially gruesome.

He wonders if that’s for his benefit.

"Look at... look at this! Look at all the… !” Aziraphale takes a pause and breathes in deep, pressing the thumb and forefinger of his right hand to his forehead. Tension causes a vein to distend and throb - quite the feat since, as a non-human entity, he shouldn't be able to experience this kind of pain. Or so he thought. In the thousands of years he's roamed earth reaping souls, he's finally found the one mortal who can give him what humans call a migraine. And he doesn't like it. Not one bit. “Could you please just… stop already?"

Crowley grins, thrilled giddy by the arrival of his intended audience. “No,” he replies, shoving the slicked head of his filthy ax deeper into the severed spine of the fresh corpse at his feet.

Aziraphale grimaces as the blade lands with a resounding slap. 

That ax of Crowley's gets on every one of Aziraphale's nerves. It's effective for its purpose but positively unsanitary. It makes his skin crawl every time he sees it.

Crowley lifts it slowly, eyes Aziraphale menacingly.

Eyes his nice, clean coat, Aziraphale realizes.

“Crowley!” he warns, putting both hands up in defense. “Don't you dare... !”

But Crowley doesn't let him finish, hoisting his ax higher with part of the dead man's torso attached. He doesn't need to do anything after that. The torso falls from the blade and splashes down in the pool, accomplishing what Crowley set out to do.

“Holy... GAH!” Aziraphale leaps back to avoid the spray. He frowns at his clothes when he sees he wasn't quick enough. "Look what you've done! You’ve made a mess of my coat!”

“Improved it, I’d say,” Crowley snarks. “Given it a pop of color.”

“I've had this coat for ages and hadn't collected a single stain! Not one! And look at your shoes! Ruined!" He gazes down at Crowley's feet in despair. "I actually liked that pair.”

“Really?" Crowley tilts his head, batting his eyes innocently. "You didn't tell me that.”

“Yes, well... " Aziraphale busies himself fishing a handkerchief out of his pocket. Praying he’s swift enough to save the fabric, he pats at the specks on his sleeve "... it’s not my place to tell a homicidal maniac that he looks fetching in snakeskin, is it?”

Crowley pouts, his lower lip jutting out, making him look comically childish despite the streaks of blood running down his cheeks. 

Aziraphale’s brows pull together. He glances around, trying to work out what's wrong. "What? What is it?"

"You're being mean."

"How am I being mean?"

"You're calling me names."

"Accurate ones, yes."

"You sound disappointed."

"You think so!?"

“B-but... but why? I took your advice!" Crowley argues. "I changed me m.o.!”

“I didn’t give you advice! I said you should stop killing innocent people!”

“I did! This guy?" Crowley plants the heel of his sopping shoe into the dead man's crooked neck for emphasis. "He weren’t innocent! He was a serial killer, too! He just happened to be shite at it!”

"I can see that." Aziraphale peers into the vacant eyes of the man on the ground, spirit buzzing beneath his skin, waiting to be reaped. But Aziraphale is in no rush. In the choice between filling out paperwork and shooting the shite with Crowley, surprisingly, he chooses Crowley. 

Or maybe not so surprising, Aziraphale muses, biting his lower lip and indulging in a private chuckle. He rolls his eyes in disgust at himself right after. What are you doing? Stop that!

"Besides, I'm doin' you a solid!" 

Aziraphale scoffs, snapping back to his senses. "How do you figure?"

"You're Death, ain't ya? I'm keeping you in business!"

"I don't know if you've read the papers lately, dear boy, but humans are dropping like flies thanks to their own stubbornness and stupidity. You're slap in the middle of one of the worst pandemics in history, but instead of doing what you can to stay safe, you lot spend your time arguing over petty b.s.! I won't wear a mask! It's against my rights! I'm not taking the vaccine! It'll make me sterile! There is no disease! It's all a big conspiracy! Meanwhile, in the states, some orange lunatic has everyone drinking bleach! Believe me, I hardly need your help doing my job!" 

“Oi! Don’t lump me in with those prats!”

“Why not? You’re not wearing a mask, I see.”

“Don’t have to. I got my shot. And I keep me distance.”

“But you’re covered in blood! Did that man you dismembered have the virus!? You don’t know!” Aziraphale cringes at words that sound far more like concern than scolding. Which he should be doing. Scolding and ridiculing, and possibly calling the police.

But he won’t.

If Crowley were thrown in prison, it would be harder for Aziraphale to find an excuse to see him. Aziraphale has yet to decide if that’s something he wants, but either way, he’d prefer it not be at the expense of another life.

"Fine. Whatever. If that's the way you feel about it... " Crowley grumbles, letting what remains of that statement die as embarrassment rises to his cheeks, settling beneath the red already there. He crosses his arms over his chest and turns his face away. 

Just like a child, Aziraphale thinks. 

And as with a child, Aziraphale should have nipped this in the bud much, much earlier - like when Crowley realized that he could summon Aziraphale whenever he wanted by upping the frequency of his murderous antics. 

This, to date, is his twenty-seventh kill.

Aziraphale doesn't know how Crowley spotted him. He's pretty adept at avoiding human detection. But after victim number eight, Aziraphale turned around, scythe in hand, and there he stood: tall, gangly, bizarrely besotted, dressed in black and wearing sunglasses at one in the morning. Aziraphale thought Crowley was a run-of-the-mill psychopath looking for attention, seeing Aziraphale as a hapless dolt to play cat-and-mouse with, not knowing for one second who he was dealing with.

Not only did Crowley know exactly who Aziraphale was, but he had taken a considerable shine to him.

Aziraphale humored the man when their paths crossed so he could get on with his work, never for one minute considering the consequences. Thinking back on their past interactions, Aziraphale can pick out the hints Crowley had been dropping.

Aziraphale played right into them, and he could kick himself over it.

"We have to stop meeting like this," Aziraphale quipped dryly after Crowley had beheaded some poor, down-on-his-luck fool. "I'm going to start thinking that you have a thing for me."

"Finally!" Crowley tossed his arms in the air. "At this rate, I was going to have to murder half of London and spell out the words ’Will you go out with me?’ with their bodies. Do you know how time-consuming that would have been?"

Aziraphale had written that comment off as a morbid attempt at humor. 

Now he feels like an imbecile.

He’s going to get an earful from Gabriel if he ever gets wind of this. Aziraphale has been able to cover up the increase in London deaths by blaming the pandemic. But once people get their acts together and things calm down, he’ll have to come clean.

There’s a serial killer roaming the streets that has a serious crush on him.

Aziraphale lets out a heavy sigh as he comes to a decision.

A bad decision.

He's going to regret this. He knows he's going to regret this. 

But will he really though?

Aziraphale looks Crowley over, still moping with his nose in the air. He examines him at depth - his sharp features, his debonair style (hiding beneath a litre of blood), his devil-may-care attitude, his rowdy sense of humor. If he were another angel, or even a demon, Aziraphale would have asked him out already, body count or no. 

So what is he waiting for?

It’s not entirely unheard of, an angel dating outside their dominion. And as for the moral issues of dating a murderer, well, Aziraphale is an angel. He has a responsibility to bring sinners to the light, help them see the truth. That can be done anywhere, not just in church - on a street corner, in a diner…

Back at his flat.

Besides, he and Crowley have a lot more in common than Aziraphale did with his last paramour, an angel he had dallied with solely for the fact that he was guardian of comestibles.

It seemed like a match made in Heaven, so to speak.

Far from it.

“Look - if I let you take me out for coffee, will you stop the gratuitous bloodshed?”

Crowley all but gasps when that question leaves Aziraphale’s mouth, the grin growing on his face transforming, becoming less maniacal and more… normal if that makes any sense. "One cup of coffee. That's all I ask."

"Then come along. Here… “ Aziraphale snaps his fingers, cleaning Crowley thoroughly before he takes his arm. “If you're good, I'll let you buy me a slice of cake.”

“That’s very generous of you.”

“I’m glad you think so. I’m a very slow eater. And I figure the longer I stay with you, the more I can keep an eye on you."

“Deal. But, you know," Crowley starts, his tone so filled with teasing he’s on the verge of giggles, "if you, say, spent the night at my flat, you could keep an eye on me for hours. Think of all the people I wouldn’t be able to kill.”

Aziraphale smirks, amused that they both had a semblance of the same idea. “You don’t say?”

“I do.”

“That’s blackmail.”

“More so than you bartering human lives against a cuppa and cake?”

Aziraphale shrugs, but he doesn't relinquish Crowley's arm. He does, however, relieve him of his ax so he doesn’t get any ideas along the way. “Fair point.”

[shifty-looking-sheep]

Chapters: 1/1 Fandom: Mass Effect Trilogy, Mass Effect - All Media Types Rating: Teen And Up Audiences Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: Kaidan Alenko/Female Shepard Characters: Female Shepard, Kaidan Alenko, Garrus Vakarian, Tali'Zorah nar Rayya, Liara T'Soni, Jeff "Joker" Moreau, Urdnot Wrex, Admiral Hackett, Dr Chakwas, Engineer Adams Additional Tags: Post-War, Destroy Ending (Mass Effect), Happy Ending, Wedding Fluff, Wedding Speeches, Embarrassment, friends teasing, Reminiscing, Reminiscing about Normandy SR1, Post-Mass Effect 3, Friends notice everything, Teasing

Summary:

Shepard wasn't scared to commit; it was the actual wedding she was scared of, and now she realised why.

The crew of the SR1 show that they were paying attention more than Shepard and Kaidan had previously thought.

It took a full year for her to give in. Not that she didn’t want to commit; she’d been committed way before she admitted it to herself, and years before she admitted it to him; sometime between her throwing him out of the way of the beacon on Eden Prime, and seeing the blush creep up his neck as she came to speak to him after Noveria. A really long time. It was the actual wedding she was scared of, and now she realised why.

“So, the crew of the SR1 realised Shepard was interested in Lieutenants pretty early on.”

Snorts of laughter wafted over from a table of Normandy crew. Kaidan’s mum giggled from the other end of the top table. But most worrying of all, she could see that Admiral Hackett had raised an eyebrow.

Dr Chakwas continued, apparently unconcerned by the horrified look etched onto Shepard’s face.

“I believe I was there right at the beginning. The ground team had just returned from Eden Prime; the Commander had been injured and was out cold. The then-Lieutenant hadn’t left her side, of course. When she came to, they had a who-can-apologise-the-most competition, until the Commander told the Lieutenant that he had nothing to apologise for, and his face did something like this…”

The doctor waited for everyone’s attention before pulling a ridiculous, eyebrow-raised flirty face. Kaidan groaned and hid his face behind his hand. Shepard couldn’t help but smirk at the memory.

“And then, the next day, the Commander came back to the med bay to ask what I knew about the Lieutenant, in a ridiculous fake-nonchalant tone,” Dr Chakwas affected a Shepard-like low voice while twisting her hair between her fingers. “Um, so, er, what can you tell me about the Lieutenant, you know, professionally, or, you know, whatever.”

Garrus snorted some of his drink out of his nose, while Shepard sunk a little lower in her seat. Kaidan turned an amused eye to her and cocked his head. “Subtle, Jane, “ he breathed, looking slyly satisfied with himself.

“So, I quickly caught her up on what being an L2 was like, and the medical support I needed to offer for his migraines etc. and she pulled a face like she’d just seen a puppy with three legs.” The doctor exaggeratedly exhaled and batted her eyelashes. “And that’s how I was the first one on the SR1 to find out that there was something going on between them.”

Dr Chakwas sat back down at her table as the laughter started dying down. Shepard gave her what she hoped was an angry glare, but the doctor just winked in return.

“Thanks Karin, but I don’t think you can count raised eyebrows as the start of a relationship. I was the one who saw that.”

Adams had just stood up and flashed an uncharacteristically mischievous grin to the waiting crowd. A low groan escaped the bride’s lips. "Shit", she thought, "him as well?"

“Let me tell you a little about the Normandy SR1’s oxygen recycling mechanism-“

James loudly booed and aimed a dinner roll at Adams’ head, which he smartly sidestepped. Instead, it narrowly missed Jack, who shot daggers at James as he sat back in his chair, shaking his head.

“It’s on a closed system, separate to life support and the first three back-up systems. Essentially, it can’t fail, requires no maintenance, and is so far down an engineer’s list of priorities that they didn’t even feel the need to install the panel on the engineering deck. They just shoved it in a corner of the crew deck where it could be safely forgotten about. This corner happened to be outside the CO’s quarters… Which brings me to exhibit A, Major Alenko’s SR1 work logs.”

Shepard heard Kaidan sharply inhale. She turned to take in his sheepish expression as he guiltily rubbed the back of his neck. Adams had pulled up a document on his omnitool and had started to read from it.

“Monday 6th – 1100-1200 hours – maintenance: oxygen recycling. Tuesday 7th – 1400-1600 hours – maintenance: oxygen recycling. Wednesday 8th – 0900-1000 hours and 1700-1830 hours. You guessed it. Thur-“

One of Kaidan’s sisters was leaning forward to try to catch Kaidan’s eye, grinning and shaking her head. The light giggling from the guests was rising in volume.

“Sunday 12th – 0800-1100 hours – suspected power drainage issue in oxygen recycling system. Sunday 12th – 1200-1300 hours – power drainage issue confirmed as false alarm.”

Joker, swinging back on his chair, rolled his eyes. “Wow, this is embarrassing for you, eh Major? Shepard, did you realise you just married your stalker?”

Kaidan pinched the bridge of his nose and clamped his eyes shut in what looked to be a futile attempt to will himself to the other side of the galaxy, rather than the onset of a migraine. Shepard patted his arm in what she hoped was a supportive manner, but couldn’t contain a burst of laughter as Adams continued.

“Wednesday 23rd – 0700 hours… Major, seriously? Did you actually get any work done on this mission?”

Kaidan groaned and attempted to lower himself so far down his chair as to be invisible to the room.

“Oh no you don’t,” admonished Shepard, grabbing an elbow and dragging him back upright. “‘Celebrate our love’ you said. ‘We need everyone there with us’ you insisted. This one’s on you, Mr Weddings-are-fun.”

“It’s not too late to elope,” he whispered back. “You call the skycar and I’ll meet you outside in five after swinging by the gift table.”

“And that’s how I knew about their relationship before anyone else,” concluded Adams, with a half bow.

The majority of the applause came from a table near the back of the room with a bunch of Kaidan’s friends and squadmates from Biotics Division. Gaining some respect back when he returned to work after the honeymoon was looking like it might be tricky.

“Gonna have to disagree with you there Adams,” Wrex said as he stood up, awkwardly adjusting the collar on his actually rather dapper formal attire.

Shepard involuntarily groaned just as the room went quiet, causing eighty pairs of mischievously laughing eyes to sweep right over to her. "Is everyone from the SR1 going to take a turn at this", she thought, angrily, then froze mid-thought. "Oh goddess, they were, weren’t they!"

“I was definitely the first to notice these two were at it. Or at least that they wanted to be at it. It was… uncomfortable,” he rumbled.

“Oi, Commander!” shouted Jack, mouth full of chocolate mousse. “Didn’t know you had it in you! My girl was getting some on the job!”

Shepard turned an unflattering shade of brick red, which clashed nastily with her flaming hair, falling in waves about her face (Tali had insisted that she ‘do her hair’, but Shepard couldn’t wait to throw it into a ponytail later).

“I took to sparring with Kaidan back in those days. Only other Biotic on the ship, pretty worthy partner, for a human. Not much room on the old Normandy though, had Garrus and Ashley down in the shuttle bay with us as an audience, but they were usually busy with their own stuff.”

“Oh no!” breathed Shepard, a shame-filled, indulgent memory floating up to the surface of her mind and burning her cheeks. Kaidan turned and raised an eyebrow.

“…but I noticed that Shepard seemed to be down there weirdly often when the sparring was going on. Taking notes maybe? Spotting, in case the battlemaster squashed a crewmate.” Wrex seemed excited at this thought, and slammed a fist into his palm. Bakara tutted next to him and put a hand on his arm to bring him back to the moment. “Anyway, I realised she wasn’t watching the fighting, hurhurhurr, she was watching the squishy crewmate, hurhurhurr.

“I guessed she was worried about me hurting the pretty Lieutenant , so I spoke to Ashley, and she said ‘Don’t sweat it, Krogan, it’s not you she’s imagining naked’.”

Traynor sprayed half a glass of champagne across the table before she could clasp her hand over her mouth. Everyone was howling at this point, spurred on by Wrex’s deep guffawing. Shepard’s eyes betrayed her and slipped over to look at Hackett. ‘Everyone was howling’ was an exaggeration; the Admiral looked pained. Shit. Shitshitshit…

“So sure, humans, you might have seen some warm-up, but I knew when it got serious enough for Shepard to start ogling.”

Kaidan’s hand darted out and caught Shepard as she made her break for under the table. “Ah ah ah,” he mocked. “If I’m not escaping, you’re not escaping. For better, for worse, dearest wifey.”

Shepard growled and sat back grudgingly. She’d feel better if she was in her armour; in armour she could face anything. This dress was just discomfort on top of discomfort.

“I know what you’re thinking,” Kaidan whispered in her ear. “But no, drugging all of our wedding guests and running off to live on Omega is out of the question. Well, until we hear what’s next…”

"Next?! There couldn’t be more, could there?" Shepard silently pleaded.

“These eyes don’t miss much – I was a vigilante sniper, after all. Clearly, I caught the real start of this first,” purred Garrus, waving his hand in the direction of the newly-weds.

Kaidan and Shepard flicked back to face each other. “OK, you put the drugs in the champagne bottles, I’ll call the shuttle,” said Kaidan out of the corner of his mouth. Hell, she loved this man.

“Snipers lurk on the edges of the battlefield, they see everything, and keep an eye on their squadmates. Which was lucky for Shepard and Kaidan, since they weren’t always focused on the bad guys.”

“WHAT?!” Shepard slammed both palms onto the table, pulling back her shoulders and giving Garrus her best battlefield stare. Sadly, he knew he had the upper hand, and besides, intimidation is much harder when you’re wobbling on your heels after three glasses of champagne and a sneaky ryncol.

“Woah, Shepard, touched a nerve? That’s more than you touched on Daratar where I had to shoot three smugglers who almost got the drop on you while you were ‘entranced’ watching Kaidan warping.”

“That is so untrue!” she complained, a little too high-pitched for her liking. Kaidan grinned and mouthed “really, Jane?” which didn’t escape Garrus’ notice.

“Oh, buckle-up Alenko, I’ve pulled your ass out of the fire more times than Shepard’s. The mines on Nepmos? You had two Rachni soldiers on you while you were busy gawping at Shepard’s melee prowess.”

“Slander!”

Kaidan joined Shepard’s indignant pose behind the top table.

Garrus chuckled almost malevolently. “OK, OK, I didn’t mean to suggest that earth’s best and brightest can’t handle themselves in a fight, simply that without Palaven’s finest around they might be sporting a few more scars in their wedding photos.”

At the phrase ‘Palaven’s finest’, Tali groaned and lifted her head up as if rolling her eyes, a gesture which set Liara off into a fit of uncharacteristically girly giggling.

“Clearest time though, after clearing out some Cerberus mercenaries on a drifting freighter. All focussed during the firefight, sure, but afterwards…”

Shepard cast her mind back… she couldn’t remember what Garrus might have been referring to.

“The perps had hidden gas cannisters around the ship, and the love-birds thought they’d make finding them all into a race. They’re running around giggling like school kids, shouting across the room every time they find one, completely forgetting that I’m there. Then suddenly, I hear this crash, like twisted metal, along with a yelp, and I figure they’ve gotten themselves in trouble, so I walk around a pile of crates in the direction of the sound, and guess what I see…”

Several suggestions were shouted out, but Garrus managed to ignore them, and the subsequent laughter. “They’d both ‘fallen over’,” he continued, using air quotes. “I guess they’d run smack into each other, but they were making no attempt to get up – just staring at each other through their visors, faces bright red, with Alenko’s hands on the Commander’s hips as she’s fallen on top of him. I had to VERY LOUDLY clear my throat to snap them out of it. I’m not sure what they were thinking of doing with all that armour on, but hey, good for them. Anyway, I think that proves that I knew something was going on before any-“

“That’s enough Vakarian,” laughed Tali, as she bumped him out of the way with her hip. “I have clear evidence of something going on in the SR1 days, not just longing looks.

“I was on my pilgrimage. Never been away from the flotilla before, never been around humans, and I really didn’t know anything about human bodies.”

Kaidan mouthed “Bodies?” and developed a worried look while Tali continued.  

“Since I was so nervous, and new to everything, a couple of crew members took me under their wing, mainly Adams, who was so kind to me, talking to me about the ship and the drive core, and Kaidan, who acted a bit like a big brother, coming to check on me and making sure I was doing OK.”

Shepard flashed Kaidan an affectionate smile.

“Well, I thought he was checking on me.”

Shepard’s smile froze.

“Anyway, these ‘check-ins’ seemed to link up to when Shepard was down in the cargo bay talking to the crew in-between missions. When she made it into engineering, Kaidan would go discuss something with the ensign, or Adams, then come back to chat to me about omnitools or laugh at my favourite vids. But he was never that focussed on the conversation if Shepard was leaving.”

“Ohhhhh,” Kaidan made a pained noise and hid his head behind his hands. “No no no no no…”

“So I thought, maybe it was a human custom to watch your superior officer’s hips as they leave a room, and so I asked him.”

Kaidan made a noise like a dying animal, but it was drowned out by the tidal wave of laughter, much of it coming from Vega and Cortez, one of whom shouted “L2, you dork!”

“Well, he turned completely red,” Tali practically shouted, trying to continue the story despite the general furore. “I’d never seen a human do that, but naturally, being Quarian, I thought he must be running a fever, so I backed up quickly (worried I was going to catch something), and said, a little too loudly, ‘Woah, you look hot Lieutenant’, which-“

Tali’s next words were lost in the cry-laughing erupting around the room. Adams was clutching his chest almost as if he was in pain.

“OK, OK, haha, calm down guys. Anyway, I told Kaidan that he looked hot, and Shepard was still in the room, and she whipped around so quick, smirked, looked Kaidan up and down, and left. Ten seconds later, my omnitool pings: ‘Yes, he does, but back off Tali, this one’s mine!’.”

Garrus whistled, and Vega yelled “Caught red-handed Lola!”

“So, I think I win, since I actually have written evidence from the SR1 days. Eat that, Bosh’tets!”

“I have better than that”. Joker, rather than stand up, leaned back in his chair and made an exaggerated gesture of resting his hands behind his head. “I was the one running the betting pool on when they’d get together, and I know exactly when that happened because I’m the one who won.”

Shepard and Kaidan turned to one another and simultaneously repeated “betting pool?”.

“Admiral Hackett, sir, I’m guessing anything said at a wedding stays at a wedding, Vegas-style?”

“You have my word, Mister Moreau,” the Admiral chimed in, in mock-seriousness.

“So, we opened the books a few days before we arrived on Therum. The signs were all there – Lover-boy here making cow eyes at the Commander in the mess; those looooong chats after each mission. Seriously, it felt like the Normandy had turned into the Love Boat.”

“Joker, stop exaggerating.” Liara, stepping up to her maid of honour duties, had an eye on the Admiral and his reactions. Thank the Goddess for Liara, Shepard thought. That’s one wedding tradition she was glad she’d followed (Tali had forced her, refusing to attend if Shepard didn’t name bridesmaids).

“Oh, now T’Soni speaks up,” said Joker. “I’m sure you have something juicy to add to this discussion.”

“A friend doesn’t break a confidence, Joker. What kind of information broker would it make me if I revealed everyone’s secrets?” Liara answered, with a wink to the top table.

Joker waved her answer away and continued. “Anyway, Susi and Johnson both bet on them not getting it on until shore leave, the innocents. I thought Pressly might write me up when he came over and mentioned the pool, I mean, I thought I was toast, but then he just said ‘I’ll put my credits on it being a solar month’. Miles out.”

Kaidan took Shepard’s hand under the table and gently squeezed at the mention of some of their fallen colleagues. It still hurt. It would never not hurt, but it also felt good to hear Joker recount stories about them so animatedly.

“You were in, weren’t you Adams?” Joker hollered over his shoulder.

“Yeah, and you took me for 20 credits!”

“After every mission, crew would rock up to change their bet. Hell, at one point I had 30 credits on them getting it on in the back of the mako on Noveria and blaming it on ‘sharing body heat’, but that 30 credits went to hell. Anyway,” Joker continued. “Eventually, I got the evidence I needed to win my original bet. Cam footage of the mess hall with a clear view of the Commander’s quarters. 1500 hours - Alenko walks in. 2100 hours – Commander walks out, alone, grinning. Fifteen minutes later, out slopes Alenko, looking more than a little dishevelled and extremely pleased with himself.”

Wolf whistles echoed around the room, and someone, presumably Donnelly, shouted “Get in there my son!”

“And all this happened to occur exactly when I’d bet it would: ‘The night before we catch up with Saren’.”

Joker took an awkward bow, since he was still in his seat. “Thank you, thank you, I’m available for Tarot readings, predicting numbers for the Illium lottery, and picking auspicious names for your future children.”

Tali made her eye-rolling head movement again. “Joker, you are so self-satisfied, if you were made of chocolate, you’d eat yourself.”

Shepard hadn’t heard what Tali said though. She was too busy exploring a niggling feeling she had, just out of reach in her memory, connected to Joker.

“So that’s why you interrupted us!” she exploded. Springing out of her chair and throwing the accusation before she’d had time to consider the consequences. Now everyone was looking at her expectantly, and the explanation needed to be good before everyone started imagining that Joker had walked in on her and Kaidan in a compromising position.

“Just after the ship was grounded, I was at the lockers and Kaidan came over, and we nearly kissed, except you jumped on the comm just before we did.”

Several members of the original SR1 crew snapped their heads over to Joker’s direction, and there was an audible intake of breath from O’Reilly.

“That would have meant I won!” He shouted. “You owe me, flyboy!”

“Not a chance,” Joker retorted, though with an undercurrent of panic. “All’s fair in love and gambling.”

“Let’s move on, shall we, ladies and gentlemen.”

Hackett had risen from his seat, brushing his sleeves absentmindedly before settling into parade rest. “I think I may have something of note to add.”

The laughter, shouting, and general hubbub of the party was extinguished in a nanosecond. Joker’s eyes were practically popping out of his head. James let out a low whistle, but was quickly silenced by Cortez jabbing him in the ribs.

Hackett cleared his throat and shifted his weight from foot to foot. "Is he nervous?" thought Shepard. "Oh hell, how bad is this going to be if an admiral of the Alliance navy is nervous to say it?"

“Three days after the battle of the Citadel, I received an interesting message from Major Alenko, which I’m very glad I chose to ignore.”

The colour completely drained from Kaidan’s face.

“I forget the details…” the Admiral trailed off, but with an ever-so-slightly mischievous smile. “Something about falling in love… any fraternization implications being entirely his fault… Commander Shepard being an exemplary officer who had just saved the whole galaxy, and shouldn’t be punished for a minor infraction… being prepared to take any and all consequences... some kind of offer of resignation… Naturally, I decided to deny all knowledge of receiving such a missive.”

Kaidan had turned to Shepard and was giving his extremely-serious-apology face, clearly expecting her rage at the idea that he’d confessed to complicating the chain of command without discussing it with her. However, Shepard’s facial expression wasn’t angry at all. Instead, she looked contrite – she knew what was coming next.

“I’d just decided to delete the message from the Major when, to my absolute shock, a second message comes through.”

Confusion bloomed on Kaidan’s face, until he looked over at Shepard and froze, then it morphed into a Cheshire cat grin as realisation dawned.

“This second message was remarkably similar to the first one, but with a few key differences. There was something about Lieutenant Alenko being the future of the Alliance… amazing example to other Biotics, blah blah blah… all untoward behaviour being entirely the fault of his superior officer… and another offer of resignation…” Hackett concluded, with an amused expression aimed at Shepard. He’d started off seeming nervous to be joining in with the general pile-on, but now he was clearly enjoying himself.

Shepard and Kaidan were still just looking at each other. Kaidan’s grin had softened into a loving smile, mirrored on Shepard’s face as well.

“Funnily enough, I took the view that I should probably ‘forget’ this second message as well… I’d become very forgetful in the face of a possible reaper invasion,” mused the Admiral, looking around at his audience and drinking in the laughter and small ripple of applause. “Anyway, I believe the point I am making is that, while I acknowledge that I can’t compete in your competition to see who noticed the relationship first, I believe you can thank me for not allowing the heroes of the Reaper War to resign four years ago over it.”

That elicited a huge cheer from the room, with a number of people raising their glasses in a toast.

Shepard slowly leaned sideways to rest her head on Kaidan’s shoulder, and as he quickly dipped to kiss the top of her head, she whispered “You idiot.”

“Right back at you,” he whispered back.

[managedmischiefs]

north//chapter ten

genre: angst

pairing: season ten spencer reid x female oc

warnings: panic attack, talk of maeve and that whole situation, death, mention of drugs and relapse

word count: 9.8k

summary: spencer gets to see another part of amelia’s ugly side and amelia gets more than she bargained for when she steps onto her balcony

also i just wanted to say that the panic attack described in this chapter is based off of my experience with panic attacks. nobody has the same experience, but this is based off mine. also part two, i don’t know how medication for panic attacks really work, what i wrote is literally based off my experience with migraine medication. so if it’s not accurate, then i apologize. i also apologize for taking so long to write this. school was a lot and my mental health sucks. but it’s here now!! enjoy

AMELIA

"Yaz, if you don't stop moving, I'm going to purposely poke your fucking eye out!"

"It's not my fault! Quinn keeps nudging me!"

"No, I'm not!"

I roll my eyes at the two girls in front of me, flicking my wrist to put the final touches on Yaz’s makeup. "You two need to shut up." I then grab Quinn’s shoulders and force her to move against the wall, right next to Yaz. They continue to quietly bicker with each other.

"So," Frankie speaks up from across my studio, lounged back in a bean bag chair, fiddling away with a camera of his own, "Lia, you're coming up on one year with your genius doctor FBI boyfriend, right?"

"Mhm," I hum, too focused on painting my friends' bodies to give a full and coherent answer.

"Do you guys have plans yet? Dinner? Movie? I don't even know what you guys do as dates. In fact, I don't really know much about this guy at all. Are we even sure he exists?" Michael teases, waving around his bottle of beer. Quinn squirms away from my grasp to take a sip of his beer and only comes back when I tug on her hand. 

"No plans yet," I mumble, biting my tongue for a moment as I focus on getting the swirls of blue and yellow just right. If the painting isn’t absolutely perfect then I’ll never be happy with the way the pictures come out. And if I’m not happy with the pictures that come from today then that just means I wasted my time today. "We don't make plans in advance, really. His job doesn't allow for that."

"His job doesn't allow for that?" Dani scoffs. "Stupid excuse. Horrible excuse. Men are trash. How can you be sure that all the time he’s spending ‘at work’ and not with another girl? Or maybe another guy? I don’t know, I don’t judge. Maybe he’s-"

"Dani," I hiss, twisting my head to send her a pointed look, "he's an FBI agent. He hunts down serial killers for a living. He travels for work on a whim and it’s not a big deal. He’s not gay and it’s rude to speculate about someone’s sexuality, especially if you’ve never met them."

"But don't you want him around him more?" Frankie jumps up from his seat and throws his arm around my shoulder, effectively pulling away from my work. He thinks that grabbing me will diffuse the situation, bring some humor, keep me from getting too upset. But it actually does all the opposite and I can feel a ball of heat growing and swelling in my stomach.

I’ve been friends with this bunch since college. We all went to Carnegie Mellon together and even lived in a house together in junior and senior year, but they aren’t always the best of friends. Clearly. They can be quite judgemental and exclusive when it comes to people outside of our friend group. Jenna and I commonly find ourselves sharing looks across rooms when one of our friends says something rude or stupid. They’re not the best, but we’ve been through so much together and they are all I have.

I push Frankie away from me as best as I can. "Do you guys just not like him because he's a federal agent?" The room goes silent and that's enough of an answer for me. I scoff, moving across the room to grab some more paint and squirt it into my palette. I wind up putting too much on my palette and groan, screwing off the top of the paint tube and trying to scoop the extra paint back in. The longer I try, the less gets back inside the tube and the more my frustration starts to grow, the more tears well up in my eyes. "You're complaining about my boyfriend who you've never met just because he works for the FBI. Ridiculous. Unfair."

"We get arrested all the time and all we do is spray paint empty brick walls," Dani protests, and, again, judging by the silence of the others in the room, I know that they have no problems with what Dani is saying. "It's bullshit! We should be able to express ourselves creatively without having to do art in the middle of the night and worry about being thrown in a holding cell."

"First of all; express yourself creatively on a canvas, not on someone’s property. Second; I can promise that you’re not getting arrested by federal agents. You’re getting arrested by cops and my boyfriend is not a cop," I growl at my supposed friends. I don't get angry easily. In fact, I'm a very patient person and I've been told that by many people on many occasions. My first instinct is to never get mad. Anger doesn’t get anyone anywhere. I prefer to have conversations instead of screaming matches and to hear out the other side's argument. But this is different. This is Spencer we’re talking about. I love Spencer more than anything and since meeting him, I know I'd do anything to protect him, even if that means arguing with my friends on his behalf. It’s not fair for them to be making these judgments about him. "You get arrested by Virginia Police so if you wanna hate anyone then hate them. Don't you dare all go hating my boyfriend for no reason. Don't hate him when you've never met him."

I throw my palette onto a table, not caring about paint splatter, and grab my phone, leaving my studio and heading into the fresh air. My heart is pounding against my tightening chest as I lean against the brick wall and slide down to an incredibly uncomfortable crouching position, tucking my head between my knees. The stance almost instantly makes my back ache and my neck sting but I ignore it. Maybe I deserve the pain. My breathing quickly gets more and more shallow and my head goes light. I try to lift my head to bring sunlight into my eyes, but my head seems far too heavy to move. I reach for my phone and it slips right out of my fingers when they tremble too much for me to get a grip on the thin metal. This feeling is helpless, painful, too familiar. I can’t seem to get a grasp on myself and I’m spiraling out of control more and more by the second. Every gasp for breath turns into a sob and every attempt to move my head turns into overwhelming shame when I notice people passing by are staring at me and whispering.

It's almost perfect that my phone starts to buzz on the ground and I manage to open my eyes enough to see that Spencer is calling me. I attempt another deep breath to calm myself down but it doesn't work and it only makes my grip on reality dwindle. It's getting harder to breathe and my eyes are stinging with tears. With every pounding beat of my heart, my chest gets tighter and tighter and tighter until it feels like someone has successfully squeezed my lungs flat. 

The buzzing of my phone should bring me back to reality but it just makes it worse. It’s an annoying, persistent sound that just won’t stop. It won’t stop. It just won’t stop. I want to answer, I need to answer, but I just wish the sound would stop. The way to get it to stop is to answer. Just answer. It’ll stop if you answer. You’ll feel better if you answer. I slam my hand down on the ground and grope the floor until I manage to grab my phone and bring it up to my ear.

"Hi, love," Spencer's chipper voice comes through the receiver, none the wiser to my current situation. He's been away on a case since early yesterday morning, having woken me up while getting dressed, kissing me goodbye, and leaving my apartment to get to the BAU. I would kill to have him here right now. Maybe he could talk me down and reteach me how to breathe. Maybe he could reinflate my lungs and kiss my hands until they stop trembling. 

I try to answer, but nothing coherent comes out. I let out a strangled sob, my fingernails digging into my knee so hard that I worry I might draw blood. My inability to communicate is frustrating and that ball of heat in my stomach rises up to my chest. The trembling overpowers me and I almost drop my phone again. 

"Amelia? What's wrong? Are you okay? Talk to me," Spencer says quickly, and it's only followed by more choked wheezes from me. "You've gotta breathe, okay? Take really deep breaths for me. In through your nose and out from your mouth.”

His instructions seem simple enough to do. Just breathe. That’s all I have to do. It’s simple. Just breathe. I open my mouth to try to speak to him, to tell him what’s happening, even though I’m pretty sure he can tell, but all that comes out is fragments of words and whimpers.

"It’s okay, you’re okay. You don’t need to speak. In through your nose, out from your mouth, remember? Can you try that for me?" I’m not sure how long I’m sitting there for, on the phone, trying to focus on my boyfriends’ voice as he tries to calm me down. It feels like I’m sitting for a few hours, but my tiny grasp on reality lets me know that it’s been ten minutes at the most. I just do what I can to focus on Spencer and what he is telling me to do and how I can calm down. I clench my fists and finally succeed in doing what he tells me to after a while, breathing heavily in through my nose, my chest burning as the heaving comes to a gradual stop. I breathe out and then repeat the process a few times. “There you go. You’re doing so well. I’m right here for you, okay? Take all the time you need.”

He continues to tell me sweet nothings and encourages me to breathe until my breathing has regulated and my head lays slack against my knees. Spencer lets just a few moments of silence go by to let me collect myself before he speaks again. “Are you feeling a little better now?” I gather enough energy, the last of it, to hum a confirmation. "Where are you right now?" Spencer asks next. Even just his voice calms me down. Maybe it's his experience with his job but he sounds so calm right now. Nobody in my life has ever been able to remain so calm during one of my panic attacks, leaving me to cry and heave and occasionally faint in private. But Spencer's voice sounds so soothing and calm and low that just him speaking helps me more than anything. More than any useless, overwhelming, smothering hug ever has. 

"Studio.”

"Okay. You should get home and get some rest. " 

"Mhm.”

"You shouldn't drive. I don't know if you did, but either way, please don't drive. Take the train or call someone to drive you home," Spencer pleads. "I was calling to tell you that we're on our way home. We closed the case and we're leaving in a few minutes for the airport, but don't wait for me. You need to go home and get rest. Panic attacks are really taxing and you need to re-energize. I'll come over when I get back but you need to get home."

"Amelia?" I hear Jenna's voice approaching me but I don't even bother to look up. "Are you okay?" 

I've exhausted my energy on speaking just those few words to Spencer so when Jenna gets close enough to me, I just lift the phone up for her. She crouches down beside me and grabs my phone, wedging it between her shoulder and her ear as she pushes my hair out of my face. I try to lean away from her touch but I can’t get very far. "Who is this? Oh, hi, Spencer. This is Jenna. She's right next to me. I can definitely bring her home. Don't worry, I'll get her home and I'll stay with her until you come around, it's no problem. I'll take her phone and let you know when I get her home. Okay, bye."

I finally lift my head and look at Jenna, watching her tuck my phone into her pocket, giving me this stupid, pitiful smile that I’ve seen far too many times in my life. A half smile that says, it sucks that you’re going through something but I only kind of care. "Mr. Genius says I gotta bring you home and keep you safe until he comes over and I don't feel like ending up in prison, so let's go, babe." I don’t have it in me to correct her to day Doctor Genius instead of Mister Genius. Jenna holds her hands out to help me up.

I bring my shaking hands up to hers and let her pull me to my feet and lead me over to her car, feeling weak and useless as she pulls the seatbelt over my chest. I pout as she dotes over me, humming casually to herself just so she can make this situation not so tense, but it just makes it seem like she doesn’t care. "Okay," Jenna says, hand poised on the passenger side door, "I'm gonna go kick everyone out of your studio and then we'll get going. Sit tight."

///

"Hi, Spencer, I'm Jenna,"

"Hi, Jenna. Is she okay?"

"Yeah, she's sleeping on the couch. She didn't even wanna go upstairs to bed so she asked me to put on a record and she just passed out on the couch."

Everything sounds foggy as I wake up what I assume is hours later in an uncomfortable position, curled up on my couch. My head is pounding and my eyes feel puffy and I'm now regretting not forcing myself to get into bed. I would have much rathered waking up with my duvet wrapped around me and my head on Spencer’s pillow. Waking up on this stiff couch with my toes virtually frozen and my head twisted uncomfortably on the armrest isn’t how I wanted to wake up post-panic attack. 

I open my eyes just in time to see Spencer setting his go-bag down beside the coffee table, sending me that same stupid, pitiful smile. "Hi," he whispers, coming to sit on the floor in front of me. He raises his hand to drag his fingertips along my cheekbone and the soft touch makes my eyes flutter closed. I’ve gotten used to being without him when he’s away on cases, and having Spencer with me makes all the separated days easier. I know that the moments like this make up for the times I lay awake at night, staring at the ceiling, because I can’t sleep if his arms around me and if I can’t hear his heartbeat. "Are you feeling okay?"

"Mm," I hum, but it's not much of an answer, not a satisfying one, at the least. 

"It's good that you got some sleep but you gotta have something to eat too. Do you want me to order something?" I nod slowly at his suggestion that I couldn’t care less about. I just want his hands on me. "Okay, I will. Sit tight, I'll be right back."

A whine falls from my lips as I reach my hand out for his, hoping to keep him from leaving. I just need his touch and his love and his affection to feel better. I don’t need sleep or food or anything he could possibly suggest that helps a person relax after a panic attack, based on this study I read. I love his facts but I just want him to hold me and tell me that everything is going to be okay, even if it doesn’t feel like it will. The boiling hot baths I usually take after a panic attack never do the trick. Nothing does the trick like physical affection does.

"Don't go," the words could barely be considered words, especially not after I mumble them through almost closed lips.

"I’m not leaving," Spencer crouches down again and presses a kiss to my forehead, and I’m sure he realizes that a kiss was the wrong move because I just keep trying to pull him closer. “I just wanna order you something to eat, okay? Let me bring you upstairs and get you in bed and then I’ll call for something. Is that okay?”

Spencer is sitting up on his knees before I even try to answer because even though he's posed a question, he doesn't need an answer. He knows how to help me from the studies he reads and he knows what needs to be done and he's relatively stubborn. So despite how my body feels heavy and how I wish I could just melt into the couch cushions with my arms wrapped around my boyfriend, I force myself to sit up. Spencer scoops me up and carries me up the stairs, setting me down in bed and tugging the duvet all the way up to my chin.

Spencer goes a bit overboard with tucking me in, but I don’t mind, as long as his hands are on me. And he is happy with his work, he finally takes off his peacoat and sets it on the edge of the bed. "I'm just gonna go run downstairs and order something and make some tea, okay? Did you take your medication?" He turns away from me and goes towards the stairs, digging his phone out of his pocket.

"Huh?"

Spencer halts himself from walking down the stairs, turning his chin over his shoulder. "Your medication," he turns his body towards me. "You know, for your panic attack?"

I shake my head, eyebrows furrowed so much that it makes my headache worse. "No, no, I don't have any."

My fuzzy brain can't exactly decipher the look on Spencer's face, but he turns his back to me yet again and rushes down the stairs. I let out a hum at his confusing reaction, but it turns into a disappointed whine as he gets further and further away from me. So, still in my post-panic attack state, I reach for Spencer's coat for some sort of comfort.

As I tug on it, something falls out of the pocket. I blindly reach for it and have every intention of tucking it back into the pocket it came from, but the cool metal of the object heightens my senses, as if the object brings me back down to earth. I hold Spencer's jacket to my chest as I lay back down against my pillows, looking down at the metal circle in my hand. There's a triangle on the front- or maybe the back?- with a Roman numeral one on it, with the words unity, service, and recovery around the three sides. I turn it over in my hand and find a compass rose with only north labeled.

"Amelia?" My head pops up when I tune into Spencer's footsteps on the last stair, his phone in his hand and his untied converse in the other. He drops his shoes on the floor and then leans against the wall, his eyes traveling down to the floor instead of on me. I can feel his shame from all the way across the room and how his embarrassment starts to consume him. He instantly shuts himself off from me and it’s so disheartening to see how easy it is for him to do so. 

"It fell out," I hold it out to him, despite our distance. "What did you order?"

Spencer doesn't move as I hold the medallion out to him, but all he does is tuck his hands in his pocket and study the patterns on his socks. "You don't wanna know what it is?"

I drop my hand against the bed and sigh, having used too much energy to keep my arm up for longer than two seconds, nuzzling my cheek against Spencer's jacket and trying to get a whiff of his cologne. If he won’t come to me then I’ll have to get a piece of him in my bed, even if it’s just the scent on his jacket. I need his comfort. "I know what it is, dove."

He takes a long breath and then walks over, taking the medallion out of my hand and shoving it in his pocket. "Pizza. I'm gonna go change and I'll be right back."

I hadn't even realized he had brought his go-bag upstairs at some point, but I only see it when he carries it into the bathroom. He doesn't shut the door all the way and I find myself wondering why. Maybe he doesn't want to completely shut himself away from me because he can tell I need him close. Or maybe because he didn’t want to rebuild his emotional walls around me, and closing the bathroom door would separate us. But I don’t have the time to come to a clear and coherent hypothesis before he has returned.

He's in a tee shirt and plaid pajama pants when he returns, dropping his bag onto the floor and letting out a heavy sigh. I watch him as he walks around the bed to grab his shoes and begins the process of shoving them into his bag, even though he doesn't need to. He knows he doesn’t need to clean his stuff up immediately. But I notice his medallion in his hand, squeezed between his pointer and middle fingers, and it makes me call out to him. His head whips over to me and I realize I have nothing to say. I need him beside me but he clearly has so much going on in his head and in all the time we've been together, I've never seen his medallion. That makes me nervous. Is this why he's acting like this? Is he thinking about getting his hands on a drug that will ruin his life?

I have nothing to say. But Spencer is staring at me, waiting for me to ask whatever question he thinks I’m needing to ask, as I clutch his jacket like my life depends on it, eyes half-closed as I start to struggle to breathe again. I open my mouth but nothing comes out and a tear drips down my cheek.

Spencer moves to kneel on the bed, pulling his jacket out of my hands and replacing the fabric with his body. "Hey, I'm right here, Lia, just breathe. Sit up for me, sweetheart," He places his hands on my waist and helps me sit up, coaxing my head between my knees. He somehow knows exactly what to do, despite not being able to see me during my previous attack. He knows just how softly I need to be touched and what volume to speak at without overwhelming me. "It's okay, it's okay, I'm right here, don't worry. I don’t want you to get worked up again." I manage to nod, and he kisses my forehead as a reward. Spencer just keeps holding me and whispering praises, tucking my head under his chin and rubbing my back with a feather light touch.  “There you go. There’s my girl.”

“I’m okay,” I whisper, but it’s more for myself than for him. 

“Yeah, you are,” he affirms. "Will you talk to me about these attacks and how I can help you?" His sweet voice is so buttery and smooth that I get lost in it, eyes fluttering and almost completely missing his question. I just want him to keep talking, to read me poetry or tell me random facts that I’ll probably never need to know. I just want him to talk, and talk, and talk, and break me away from the prison in my mind. I just want him to distract me.

“Um,” I lean into his touch when he brings his hand into my hair, scratching me behind my ears like a cat. But when I manage to open my eyes and look at him, he’s giving me such a serious look, one that says he means business, and I know that there’s no room for jokes or wit. “I don’t know. I’ve mostly dealt with panic attacks alone. I just let them happen and wait for them to be done.”

Spencer’s eyes widen in surprise but he quickly tries to hide his reaction, clearing his throat as a distraction, but it’s nowhere close to this distraction I had hoped for. “So you don’t know any coping mechanisms or take any medication for panic attacks?” I shake my head no. “Have you ever gone to a doctor or a therapist about this?”

Definitely not the distraction I was hoping for. I reach for the duvet and pull it over my head, deciding to ignore him. I manage to crawl out of Spencer’s lap and curl up on my pillow with my back to him, earning a defeated sigh from my boyfriend beside me. He takes a breath to speak but then the doorbell rings and I can only assume that means that dinner is here. Without a word spoken, Spencer climbs off the bed and goes to answer the door. I hear his chatting quietly with the delivery person before his sock-covered footsteps echo back up the stairs, and he returns with a pizza box.

Spencer just casually suggesting I go to a doctor or a therapist is so obnoxious and annoying and I truly can’t remember a time in our relationship when I was this mad at him. He talks as though a doctor's visit will solve all my problems and if taking a pill will turn me into the healthy, stress-free, mental illness-free girl that I want to be, but never have been, and never will be. I spent my childhood taking care of myself and my brother and I can keep doing that as an adult. I’ve gotten this far in my life, farther than I thought I would, so I’m not going to fix something that isn’t broken. 

Spencer sits at the foot of the bed and sets the pizza box in the middle of the bed, not saying a word as he opens it up and separates the slices. I sit up slowly, rubbing my eyes as I tuck my legs underneath me. I reach for a piece of pizza and lean over the cardboard so I don't get the bed messy. If the bed gets messy and crumby then Spencer won’t be able to sleep tonight, knowing that there’s particles of food all over the duvet. He seems to be on the same train of thought because he refuses to move the piece of pizza in his hand away from the box. If I wasn’t so upset, I’d be telling him how cute he is and finding his cleanliness endearing and suggesting that we eat at the table downstairs instead of my bed. But the tension is so thick that I could cut it with a knife, and I don’t have the energy to ease it. But apparently, Spencer does.

"Why didn't you tell me?" Spencer asks casually, keeping his eyes down as he takes another bite of his pizza. "The way you talk,” he pauses and considers his words very carefully, “you've clearly had panic attacks before."

"It's not a big deal."

"Amelia," the stony, serious tone of his voice makes my head pop up. He looks annoyed, as if he doesn't believe what I'm saying. I haven’t yet learned that lying to a profiler is useless. "You had a panic attack on a public sidewalk and it was so bad that you went nonverbal. Panic attacks happen to a lot of people but they're serious and debilitating and you should get treatment for them."

"Don’t tell me what I should do. I don't need treatment," I answer far too quickly. "I know you have your degree in psychology or whatever but I don’t need to hear it. I’ve taken care of myself for this long and I actually happen to think I’ve done a pretty good job at it, so I don’t need medication or therapy to interfere.”

Realization flashes on Spencer's face and he puts his piece of pizza down, leaning his elbows against his knees. "Seeking out help doesn’t make you weak."

I scoff and roll my eyes into the back of my head, but maybe that's just to avoid eye contact or to repress the tears that burn at my ducts. "That's not what this is about."

"I didn’t mention anything about my degree, Amelia,” Spencer snaps. “And all I’m trying to do is help you. You can go to a therapist and discuss coping mechanisms and figure out why you even have them or go to a doctor and get medication that will regulate attacks and maybe you'll get something to take after you get attacks, it'll be so much-"

"No!" I shout, cutting him off, my hands balled into fists as I struggle to rein in all the nasty things I want so badly to say, but that I know he doesn’t deserve. "I won't! I'm not! I'm fine without it! I've gone my whole fucking life like this and I don't need to be fixed!"

I decide it's the appropriate time to throw a temper tantrum and scramble off the bed, not even bothering to grab a jacket or a blanket or shoes or anything as I stomp down the stairs and throw open the door to the balcony. It's colder than I remember it being and the air instantly seizes up my bones, but I ignore the feeling as I close the door behind me. I lean against the railing and let a few tears silently slip down my cheeks, not bothering to wipe them and instead letting them trail down my neck and dampen the neckline of my crewneck. Fresh air used to always calm me down, but now, being alone on a balcony after fighting with Spencer, the air only feels suffocating.

A few minutes pass before I head the door slide open and Spencer steps out. I expect him to speak right away, to use his profiling skills to defuse the situation, but he doesn't. He drapes a blanket over my shoulders and as frustrated as I am at him and at the world and at myself, the tiny gesture makes me feel better. I'm craving his touch yet again and I wish he would just wrap his arms around me, but yet again, he doesn't. I tug the blanket as tight as I can around my shoulders and imagine it's his arms. His arms that are so close to me but feel like they are miles away.

"I've been a hypocrite." Spencer's voice is quiet, but not in the same way as it was during my attacks. No, before he was quiet for my sake. But now he seems quiet because he can't bear to speak any louder. Like if he hears his own words, he will combust and break down. "I kept something from you too."

I turn around and find that he's sitting down in one of the armchairs, another blanket wrapped around his shoulders. I, yet again, notice that his medallion is in his hand. But he's not trying to hide it, he's staring right down at it.

"Does it have anything to do with your medallion and why it was in your pocket?"

"Partly," he answers, and then looks up at me, pretty brown eyes already glistening with tears. If I wasn’t so upset, if Spencer wasn’t so upset, if the tension hadn’t carried outside, I would have poked his perfect nose and told him how cute he is when the tip of his nose gets red from the cold. My eyes are just focused on the medallion though, being passed between his fingers with expertise and never slipping out. "I'm clean, I promise. I wouldn't risk breaking my sobriety. I have too much to lose now. I've got you, and my job, and my team- my friends, Henry. But, um, yeah, there's something that I didn't tell you and I know that I should."

Partially born from my own selfish need for affection, coupled with Spencer's broken down state, I go and sit on his lap. He happily lets me do so, draping one hand over my thigh, holding the medallion there. I rest my head on his chest and wait for him to feel comfortable enough to start his story. I can feel his heart pounding against his chest and I stare down his hand, tap-tap-tapping on the arm of the chair. His nervousness is just as palpable as the tension.

"So, um, do you remember when we first met? You always like to point out how you're not the profiler here but did you happen to notice how nervous I was?"

"Mm," I hum, racking my brain for the memories of our first few coffee dates. I remember his strained smiles and his stuttered out words. I think back to us spending Christmas together and how, later on, he just blurted out an invitation to be his girlfriend that lacked finesse and confidence. He has always been nervous around me, but I always just thought that he was nervous with new relationships. It never crossed my mind that there was a reason other than anxiety. "Of course. The first day we met, I don't even think you took your bag off, right? I just thought dates made you nervous."

"Well, yeah, that's kinda true," Spencer sighs and when he tilts his head down, his lips brush against my temple. His warm lips bring a shiver down my spine and he holds me tighter against his cold body. "The truth is, about two years before I met you, I had a girlfriend, her name was Maeve. Our relationship wasn't really conventional. We, um,” he pauses and shifts his weight, “she was a geneticist and I saw her when I was having migraines, but then we started dating. We never met each other though."

His constant past tense is alarming. Was.

"We talked on the phone. She had a stalker from before I met her and she wanted to make sure that I didn’t get wrapped up in it. And we had to be safe so we only talked on pay phones. Only on Sunday's and never from the same phone twice. I thought I, um, I thought I loved her and then-" Spencer lets out a breath that sounds defeated, tired, helpless. He drops the medallion into my lap and his hands fly up to cover his face, another shaky breath falling from his lips. “I shouldn’t be telling you this when you're in such a fragile mental state. This is a lot of information and-”

"If you want to tell me then you can. I’m not a fragile little girl, I can take it. But if you don’t think you can then that’s okay too. I don’t need you to show me all the skeletons in your closet because you think you’ve been hypocritical.”

Spencer drops his hands, revealing his quivering lips and wet waterline. I return the medallion to the palm of his hand and close his fingers around it. "I mean,” he lets out the tiniest, saddest chuckle, “I was being hypocritical, being mad at you for keeping information a secret when I was doing the same.”

“Okay, maybe a little,” my slight teasing gets a more genuine laugh out of him, and he drops his forehead to my shoulder to hide it. “But it’s okay. I understand that there’s some things you don’t wanna share immediately.” 

Spencer keeps his head down, his hand in a tight fist around his medallion and the other on my waist, keeping me close. I can practically feel his fear and anxiety and his overwhelming pain through the tips of his fingers digging into my skin, and I want so badly to take it from him. I would gladly shoulder his pain so he doesn’t have to drag it around behind him like a suitcase with a broken wheel. But as badly as I want to, I can’t help him the way I want to and so I just need to comfort him to the best of my ability. 

"She got kidnapped and shot in front of me," he blurts out quickly, the memory obviously too painful to say gracefully. "I realized she was gone so the team investigated and we found Maeve and the unsub brought me inside where she was being held and had me see her for the first time ever and then killed herself and Maeve right in front of me and there was nothing I could do about it."

Sometimes I don't know what to say to Spencer. He sees the worst that society has to offer, and the worst took away the first woman that he loved. I don't always know how to comfort him. Sometimes he just wants to be held and would rather not verbalize his feelings. And although I don’t love it when he decides to not talk things out, cuddling and giving out kisses is easier than arguing with him and trying to get him to talk about things he doesn’t want to. So physical affection is easier. But right now he doesn't seem to want to be held and I don't know how to help him. He didn't want to tell me this but clearly, today hasn't gone how either of us has wanted it to go. I've been spontaneously panicking and he's now confessing that his girlfriend was killed. None of this is right.

It takes him a few minutes to start speaking again, but when he does, his voice is quiet. "I almost relapsed after that," his head finds home on my shoulder again, and his other arm wraps around my waist. He holds me tight against his chest, adjusting the blanket around me to make sure I’m always covered and warm. "When I first got clean, I brought my medallion with me everywhere I went. I couldn't leave the house without it. I brought it with me on cases, to the store, everywhere. Then time passed and I could leave without it, and I was really proud of that. But then Maeve died and suddenly it was like I was right back at square one. I couldn't go anywhere without it. I needed the reminder of all my hard work and dedication or else I would've easily relapsed."

"Is," my voice is shakier than I wanted it to be, "is there something that's making you wanna relapse now?"

"Stalking cases," he answers, and that's not at all the answer I was expecting. I’m not really sure exactly what kind of answer I was expecting, but it wasn’t stalking cases. "They're common and they're not always violent so we don't always investigate but when we do, I hate it. It’s like torture on those cases, just having to relive what happened with her. Hotch doesn't even let me take part in takedowns of stalking cases because we both know I wouldn't be stable if a hostage situation happened. So,” he tucks his head into my neck this time, and I can feel his lips on my skin, leaving light kisses to make up for the heavy topic, “yeah, that’s what I was keeping from you. I’m sorry.”

“You don’t need to apologize, dove. I understand.”

I turn my head away from him and stare out at the city. The sun is setting and the sky is painted a pretty pink and purple, mixed together in a way I wish I could achieve in my work. But the people below pay no mind to it. They speed-walk to whatever their next destination is and keep their noses tucked in their phones, or to wave their hand for a cab and bark out orders and throw money at the person who spends their lives being chauffeurs to rude politicians and businessmen. Nobody cares to look up and admire the beauty around them, beauty that they won’t see some day. They don’t look up at the unnatural colors in the sky or check to see if the clouds have taken the form of a shoe or a candy wrapper. They just walk, and walk, and walk. They don’t care. Nobody ever cares. 

"I'm sorry," I choke out, tears suddenly pouring down my cheeks. I reach for Spencer’s hands, intertwining our fingers but keeping his arms around my waist. I don’t want to be without his comfort and his arms and his warmth. He seems to feel the same because he pulls me even closer somehow, my body completely flush against his. "I love you, Spencer, and you-” I hiccup, “fuck, you didn't deserve any of that."

"You're all I need in this life, Amelia. I didn't think I'd ever fall in love again but now I have you and," I can feel his hands shaking in mine, and although it’s hard to tell if it’s from the cold or from anxiety. "I just love you so much. Please don’t leave me."

"I’m never gonna leave you, Spencer Reid. Ever. I'm not going anywhere," I whisper, but I can't tell who it's a reassurance for. "I love you."

///

SPENCER

///

THE NEXT MORNING

///

No amount of nights turned into mornings at Amelia’s apartment could get me used to being woken up to sun beams in my eyes.

I scrunch up my face as the sunlight flows through the windows and almost blinds me. I roll over and reach towards Amelia's side of the bed, grabbing a fistful of sheets instead of a fistful of her. I let out a disappointed sigh and force my eyes open, popping one lid open to confirm my sad realization that I'm waking up alone. Now I'm understanding how Amelia feels when I have to leave for cases.

I can feel the heat blasting and it makes it bearable for me to exist in only my pair of pajama pants, so I don't bother to put a shirt on. I swing my legs over the side of the bed and check my phone, just to make sure there isn't a spontaneous case on a Saturday, and there thankfully isn't anything yet. So I run a hand through my hair that is probably wild and climb out of bed, making the trek down the occasionally terrifying floating stairs.

I pause on the last step when I peer into the kitchen, the dumbest smile appearing on my face when I locate my girlfriend. She's sitting on the counter in the kitchen with her legs up and crossed at the ankles, dressed in only an oversized white tee shirt and pale blue wool socks. Matching, unfortunately. She's wearing her normal butterfly necklace, I can see from here, but she's missing all of her piercings- nose ring and earrings. Her natural curls are out in full force and are only contained by one of her patterned scarves, wrapped around her head like a headband. She's holding an apple in one hand and she has a book resting in her lap but I can't quite see the spine to read the title. But this is one of the moments I'm thankful for my fancy memory, as Amelia calls it, because she looks so effortlessly stunning and perfect and beautiful that I'm glad I'll remember this moment forever.

I watch her for a moment. She wiggles her toes every few seconds and then takes a loud bite from the apple, flipping the page and darting her eyes across the lines. Effortless. Remarkable. I'm often blown away by her simple beauty. I wonder how she does it without trying. How she renders me speechless. How she makes me feel like a teenager in love. How she makes me feel like a lovesick puppy, galloping around at her feet with stars in my eyes. How she makes me feel like she's completely out of my league. How she makes me feel like I'm the luckiest man in the whole world.

When I decide that I have to get my hands on her, I step off the stairs. She still doesn't notice my presence, I credit that to my bare feet on the hardwood, and she only looks up when a floorboard creaks. She lifts her chin and reveals her stunning dimples, ocean eyes wide for me. "Morning!" she quips, tucking a bookmark into the page and setting her book aside. "Wasn't sure you were ever gonna wake up."

"I don't like waking up alone," I brush my fingertips along her leg as I walk closer, eliciting a shy giggle from Amelia. No matter how many times I touch her, she still gets shy about it. I peer over her legs and my eyebrows raise. "You're reading Rossi's book? What's that about?"

Amelia giggles, picking up the book and inspecting the cover. "It's more of a courtesy, actually. I bought all three books of his the other day and I'm planning on ripping out all the pages to use for a piece of art for my next exhibit. But I figured I'd read them first before I destroy them, you know? He saved my life as a kid so the least I can do is read his books before I destroy them."

"Hmm," it's not really at all the answer I was expecting. I watch her face as she plasters on a shy smile, kicking her feet like an excited child and clutching the book to her chest. I don’t have the heart to ask her any more questions about her decision to rip up Rossi’s books because I don’t want to wipe that smile off her face. "Interesting. Breakfast?"

"Not before you give me a kiss," Amelia's delicate voice balances out the horrors Rossi illustrates in his book as she brings her lips to mine. "If you're cooking, I don't care what you make."

"Sounds like a plan,” and just as I didn’t have the heart to question her art, I don’t have it in me to go further than an inch away from her lips before she decides it’s okay. So that leads to kissing for far too long, the book tumbling out of Amelia’s hands and onto her lap, my hands holding her jaw. Her lips are different in the morning, slightly chapped and not yet bleeding from being chewed relentlessly. But, for some reason, I prefer them like this. And I definitely prefer chapped lips to glossy lips that get all over my face and takes a makeup remover wipe to get rid of. I quickly flip through the last few images of Amelia in my head and notice she hasn’t worn lip gloss in a while. Maybe that’s for the better though. She won’t have to hear me complain and watch me rub at my lips and grimace when my hand gets sticky too.

“Okay, okay,” Amelia giggles, grabbing my hands and pushing them away, “let’s not get carried away. I am hungry.”

“Then why didn’t you make breakfast yourself?” I sass, turning on my heel to start collecting breakfast ingredients and feed my hungry lady. 

“Haha,” she snickers sarcastically, rolling her eyes at me. And a comfortable silence falls over us as I start cooking, occasionally glancing over to watch her thumb through the book. It etches a hopefully permanent smile onto my face.

"I do have a question, though," Amelia fiddles with the corner of a page, curling it between her finger and keeping her eyes down. I hum lazily in response, mixing pancakes batter, far too focused on making sure I get measurements correct to be able to make eye contact with her. "I don't wanna make you uncomfortable but your medallion- well, it," she sighs, obviously not able to find the words for what she wants to say.

It’s not my favorite topic of conversation so early in the morning, but I guess the sooner Amelia asks her questions and gets them out of her system, the sooner we can stop having conversations about my demons. "You can ask whatever you want to.”

"It's not a bad question, I don't think," she responds, and turns so her legs are swinging over the edge of the counter, facing me. "I'm just curious what the compass on the back means. It seems odd to me. I mean, the front says recovery and all but the back has a compass? I've never heard of these medallions having a compass on them."

"The designs differ," despite the relatively tame question, I busy myself by trying to create perfect circles with the batter on the hot skillet. She could've asked me about my experience with drugs and how it feels and she could have unknowingly triggered me, but no. She just wants to know about the compass. I guess that’s better than making me relive relapse or make me remember what a high feels like. "I've obviously been clean for more than a year, so the other medallions I have for other years have different designs on the back. But I always liked the one year medallion the best."

"Will you tell me why?" She presses gently, pulling her knees back up to her chest. I've seen her do this plenty of times, shut herself off from conversations, I mean, and I hate it when she does. On normal days, when she shuts herself off from conversations, I do what I can to put her at ease and get her to open back up. But if anyone should be shutting off from this conversation, it’s me. "You don't have to, if it makes you uncomfortable."

"Getting to one year is really hard," I admit quickly, keeping my eyes off her as I move the pancakes from the skillet to a plate. "So when I finally got to one year and I got the medallion, it was a huge accomplishment for me. And the compass? It’s just a thing that my program preached. North is always regarded as the right way to go, even though that’s not really true in theory, but I never pointed that out. But my program had us pick someone or something to represent north for each person. So that way, if anyone was ever going through withdrawals or cravings, we could think of that thing we chose and it would give us the motivation to get through a hard time. The thing would give us a reason to go north, the right way. Basically, the way to recovery. The way to go back home.”

“And what did you choose?”

“My job,” it’s such an unenthusiastic answer, no light or happiness in my voice. “My job was all I had at the time, but my job being my north never felt right. It was never really motivating. Maybe that’s why it was so hard to get past a year. I had nothing to look forward to.” 

"One more question," Amelia speaks, softer this time. "Can you come here?"

I look up and find that Amelia is resting her chin on her knees, giving me that same cute smile from before. I nod, scooping the last pancake off the skillet and putting it on the pile before walking over, dragging my feet. Amelia drops her legs and holds out her arms, wrapping them around my shoulders the moment I get close enough. I instantly melt into her embrace and tuck my face into her neck, feeling her fingers on the back of my neck, tracing small shapes and letters.

"I know that I didn't know you back then," Amelia whispers, warm breath tickling my skin, "but I'm proud of you. I'm proud that you're strong enough to keep your head up and stay clean. And thank you for trusting me with all this information. I love you so much."

My body is filled with that familiar warmth that I only feel when Amelia is around, and I can't stop the smile that comes to my face. The tears in my eyes dry up quickly at the praise. "Thank you for loving me."

"I always will," she pulls away and slides her hands up to my face, pointer fingertips tracing my jaw and up to my cheekbones. She swipes her finger across my bottom lip and then brings it up to my nose, poking it gently and giggling under her breath. She’s deep in thought, I can tell from the look on her face. "You know,” she smooths down my eyebrows and then her fingers follow my hairline all the way down to my jaw, “I’ll be your north," she suggests. "I know you always tell me that talking to me when you're on cases helps, but I wanna help you with everything, with every aspect of your life. I wanna help you with the ugliest parts of your life, and not just the ugly parts of your job. I'll be your north. I'll be your reason to come home and I'll be- I'll be like your guiding light. I'll be your lighthouse. I'll just," her hands halt on my cheeks and her legs twist around my waist, bringing our bodies flush, "I'll be your north."

My heart is pounding as I smile at her, the tears that had just dried up coming back tenfold. She's smiling her stupidly gorgeous smile but not even making eye contact, just staring down at my lips as she lets her brain settle from all the words she just vomited and as she holds herself back from her obvious impulse to actually kiss me. So I lean forward and peck her lips, untangling our limbs. "I'll be right back," I ignore the sting in my chest at the disappointment clear on her face as I pull completely away from her hold. But I kiss her cheek for reassurance before I disappear back upstairs, grabbing my go-bag.

I return to the kitchen with last year’s Christmas present in my hands and open up to the page I'm searching for, walking up to my girl. Her back is to me, pouring more batter onto the skillet to finish up breakfast. But the moment she puts the bowl of batter back on the counter, I swing my arms over her head and bring the sketchbook in front of her to show her a journal entry.

"I didn't always use it for sketches," I explain as she grabs the book from me, "but I use it. A lot. Read that entry," Amelia goes radio silent as she reads, and I rest my chin on my shoulder to read with her.

Amelia is my north. I always thought that I'd be alone for the rest of my life and I'd never fall in love again. I thought I had been scorned too hard and I'd never recover. But Amelia gives me a reason to want to go home. She gives me a reason to not make that reckless decision that comes to my mind in the field and she gives me a reason to not go out in the middle of the night and go searching for a new dealer. She gives me a reason to live and maybe it's wrong of me to rely so heavily on another person who could leave me just as easily as everyone else in my life has, but I don't care. She gives me a purpose and she's the reason I come home every day.

It's the little things she does that make me love her. I love seeing her face pop up on Garcia's video chats and I love seeing the snacks she leaves in my desk and the notes she leaves for me and how she always makes a point to clean my apartment when she's over. I've never met someone quite like her.

I didn't think I'd ever find a person to personify "north." I always thought that "north" would remain this mysterious entity that I would blindly chase after my entire life and remain following towards a life of recovery, or a life of constant relapse and pain. Or that I would just continue lying to myself and saying that my “north” was my job. But now I know that Amelia is that "north" that will always be by my side. As long as I have her, then I'll never have to chase after a nameless, faceless goal. I'll always have my north right beside me.

Amelia sniffles as she shuts the sketchbook, setting it gently on the counter. "Okay, fuck you for making me cry."

I toss my head back laugh, grabbing her waist to turn her around, taking the job of wiping her tears. "I’m sorry, love, that wasn't my intention."

"That was really sweet, dove," Amelia disregards her tears, throwing her arms around me and pressing her face into my neck. “I’m never gonna leave you, Spence. I want you to believe that. I love you so much. I’m not going anywhere.”

“I know,” I clutch her waist in my hands as if that would keep her from leaving, “sometimes, I just feel helpless and unlovable and when I feel like that, I come to you.”

“Good. You’re not unlovable. I am so insanely in love with you and you’re never, ever getting rid of me.”

“Good,” I echo, pressing my lips to her shoulder and trailing kisses up her neck. “You’re-” Amelia’s stomach growling silences me, her cheeks turning pink as she ducks her head away. “Okay, alright, the mushy love fest is over. Eat some breakfast.”

“I’m sorry,” she giggles, turning in my arms to dish out pancakes for us, “I’m just really hungry and I wasn’t gonna make anything until you woke up. But the bottom line is that I love you and I’m always gonna be in your apartment, cleaning shit you don’t want me to and annoying the hell out of you.”

“Yeah, you definitely annoy me when you leave the curtains open and I get blinded in the morning.”

Amelia turns to me with the cutest smile, holding a plate of pancakes out for me. “At least you get to wake up next to me in the morning.”

“Yeah, you’re right.” I lean over the plate to give her what seems like the millionth kiss to the morning, “waking up next to you is pretty amazing.”

 TAGLIST

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[orange-waterfalls]

Assistant

Darkiplier x male!reader

@just-bts-trash-00 ty for the request!

A/N: ok listen, I have zero clue how offices work or what assistants do. All I know is that lunch is at NOON. NOON is the time for lunch, I will fight you on this. Darkiplier not knowing how to handle feelings. We love an emotionally distant demon boi. Rated PG cuz 1 curse(that I'm aware of. I'm not reading it again cuz I'll want to change everything). Uh office romance yay. That's it. Enjoy.

Asks are open!

Word Count: 2.4k

--

You were the assistant of Darkiplier. The only reason you were his assistant was because nobody else wanted to be. When I say you were desperate for a job, you were desperate for a job. You had asked your friend, Bim Trimmer, if he knew about anyone who could give you a job. You figured, since he was famous, he might have connections.

He scratched the back of his head before saying "Well… there might be one guy… but I don't think you wanna work for him…". You then told him you would take literally anybody. The next day, you were introduced to Wilford Warfstache.

"Well, good morning!" He slurred a greeting to Bim. They hugged for a moment before Wilford saw you and gasped. "And who is this?"

"Wilford, this is Y/N L/N." Bim explained. "We were hoping you could give him a job." Wilford stroked his mustache thoughtfully before snapping his fingers.

"I know! You could be my assistant!" He grabbed your hands. You chuckled at his enthusiasm. "Oh, this'll be so fun! I've wanted an assistant ever since my last ones died!" Your smile dropped.

"Died?" You asked and turned to Bim. He rubbed the bridge of his nose under his glasses and groaned. You turned back to Wilford, who was still smiling at you. You retracted your hands.

"Yes, all my previous assistants have died." He said nonchalantly. "It's not my fault the gun went off." You began to worry.

You told Wilford that, respectfully, there was no goddamn way you were working for him. He said he understood and suggested a job as an assistant for one of his friends.

That's how you ended up working for Darkiplier.

When you first started at this new job of yours, he barely acknowledged your existence. You tried to tell him about his schedule and he wouldn't even bother sparing you a glance. Whenever he did pay attention to you, it was only to judge you. Your handwriting, your clothes, your voice…

After the first two weeks, you got sick of it. You planned a whole monologue on how you were going to tell him to respect you. You got as far as "you need to respect me" before he agreed to treat you better.

He wasn't as bad as he seemed.

He began to actually listen to you when you talked and took your advice about whatever you suggested. You could tell whenever he was stressed and made him a cup of tea, leaving it on his desk for when he came back. It was always warm because you timed almost everything perfectly.

You liked your job, but the man was still scary.

You took a deep breath in before entering Darkiplier's office. You held your clipboard close to your chest and walked up to his desk. He was reading a book, not paying much attention to anything else. You cleared your throat, making him look up at you.

"Problem, Mr. L/N?" He asked, voice echoing. You blinked before shaking your head and looking at your clipboard.

"Um, Mr. Warfstache called for a meeting." You informed him. You heard him groan, but kept talking. "He has an idea for a… club…"

"A club?"

"Yes… a dance club." The demon pinched the bridge of his nose.

"And why does he want a club?"

"He's been banned from all of them."

"In the city?"

"In the country, sir." Darkiplier rubbed his temples and you frowned, beginning to worry. "Migraine, sir?"

"I'm fine, Y/N…" he sighed. You raised your eyebrows. He'd never called you by your first name before. He realized what he said and looked up at you. You smirked playfully.

"Um…" he cleared his throat. "Tell them… that I'll be down in a minute." You nodded and left the office. Darkiplier sighed and buried his face in his hands.

You were his assistant, and you were a good one. You helped him manage his time, you catered to the other egos so they'd leave him alone, and you knew how to calm him down. You made him happy.

That was a problem.

Darkiplier wasn't good with feelings. The only ones he knew how to portray were anger and indifference. All he knew was that something had happened to him when you started working for him.

Anytime he was around you, his heart started to race. His palms would sweat, he'd feel his face heat, and he felt a knot in his stomach. He honestly thought you were, somehow, killing him. He then asked Dr. Iplier what his problem was, and the man chuckled before saying Dark was in love.

In love?

He thought there was no way.

But then he saw you laugh at something Wilford said, and it started to make sense.

"What the hell am I supposed to do?" He mumbled.

You were obviously scared of him, no matter how much you helped. He couldn't blame you. There was no way you'd like him. Besides, he was your boss and you were focused on your job. He didn't want to seem like he was taking advantage of you. He didn't want you to quit. He wouldn't survive. He couldn't tell you. He couldn't. Not yet, at least.

He'd figure it out.

--

Three months. Three months you'd been working there, and Darkiplier still hadn't gathered up the courage to confess to you. Everytime he decided he was going to, you were busy. Making a schedule, talking to another ego, making him tea…

He couldn't do it.

Everytime he tried to speak to you he just ended up telling you to do something for him. It was your job, technically, but he felt kind of bad. He was making you do menial tasks just because he was a coward.

But today. Today was the day. He would confess to you in the meeting room, before the meeting started.

He took a deep breath and walked into the room, seeing you already there. You were sitting in his chair, scribbling words down on your clipboard. He stared at your focused face, not wanting to bother you. He stood there like a weirdo for two minutes before you finally glanced up, seeing him. You looked back down before realizing he was there and jumping up out of the chair.

"Sir! Hi! Sorry, I figured you wouldn't mind if I sat here…" you rambled. "I'm sorry, I didn't notice you, I-"

"It's alright, Mr. L/N." He reassured You sighed in relief and began to walk out the door. He gently grabbed your arm before you could leave, and you gave him a confused look.

He looked… frustrated. Angry about something. You frowned. Did something happen? Did you do something wrong?

"Y/N…" he began. You raised an eyebrow. He said your first name. He looked around, noticing the other egos beginning to enter. He had to say it right then and right there. "Y/N, I-" he was cut off by the fire alarm going off. Wilford burst into the room.

"Ok… so I may or may not have blown up the microwave…" he said guiltily. Dark let go of your arm with a growl and went to the lounge, while you and all the other egos went outside.

Dark sighed as he sprayed the fire extinguisher and Wilford hid behind him. He thought about you. You were right there. He was just about to tell you!

He would have other chances. He'd be fine. It'd be fine.

--

Darkiplier groaned as he laid his head on his desk. He wanted to confess. He did! He really, really did! But… he got nervous. You were just so handsome! Especially since you'd taken up a new hairstyle. You looked so… confident. And outgoing. And sexy!

He couldn't. He refused to.

That is until Wilford waltzed into his office and claimed, "If you don't ask out that strapping young lad, I will!"

Now he had to ask you out. He figured it was a joke, but he couldn't take any chances with Wilford. The interviewer would probably kill you.

So, he made a to-do list of everything he was going to do that day. He was going to confess to you during lunch. He wrote it down in a small notepad you gave him for Christmas. He sighed and looked at the list.

Convince Warfstache not to kill everyone who annoys him: Meeting, 10:00 a.m.

He looked at the time.

9:45

He took a deep breath and stood up. He might as well get there early. Not like he had anything better to do. He left the notepad open on his desk and went to the meeting room.

--

You walked out of the restroom and headed towards the lounge, shaking your hands of water as you walked. You knew he was in a meeting, so you went to make him some tea for when it was over. You knew how aggravated he could get.

You made him a cup of Chamomile tea and walked to his office. You entered the room and sat the tea on a coaster he kept. You looked around the room for a moment before deciding you should meet Dark at the door of the meeting room when it's over. You go to pick the tea back up, but something catches your eye.

The notepad you gave him was open, and the page was titled, "To Do List". You raised your eyebrows. He had things to do? You were going to have to implement them into his schedule.

You picked up the notepad and read through the list. It was normal, for the most part. Meeting, meditate, nap, lunch…

There was just one thing you didn't really understand.

What did he mean by "confess"?

At 11:59, right before lunch, it said to "confess to Y/N"

Firstly, it was 12:15, so he was late.

Second, what did that mean?

The first thing that popped into your head was that he was going to confess his love. But he doesn't like you like that… right?

Well… he did act a bit strange around you… and he was nicer to you than the other egos… and you could swear you saw his face turn bright pink one time…

And you did hear Wilford say something about if Dark didn't ask out "that strapping young lad", then he would…

And Wilford asked you out a week after.

Oh.

Oh God.

He liked you.

Darkiplier liked you!

How did you not notice this before? Were you really that oblivious? How long had he liked you? You had so many questions!

And then Darkiplier walked in the door.

He didn't notice you at first, but smiled a bit when he did.

"Good morning, Mr. L/N. How--" he stopped his greeting and froze when he saw his notepad in your hands.

You turned to him, a confused look on your face. He looked at you, slight worry and fear in his eyes, before he sighed and walked over to you. He took the notepad from your hands and sat it on his desk. He walked around the desk and sat in his chair.

"Sit," he gestured to the chair across from him. You plopped down.

"You…" you breathed out. He smiled sadly and looked down.

"Yes."

"You love me…"

"Yes, I do…"

"How long?"

"How long have you worked here?" You both chuckled. You shook your head.

"I don't believe it…" Darkiplier stood. You stared up at him, wondering what he was going to do.

"I understand if you would like to quit. I will give you a recommendation for your next job."

"Excuse me?" You asked. He blinked and looked up. You were no longer sitting, as you were resting your palms on his desk, leaning over it slightly. "Why would I quit? I love this job!"

"What?"

"Everyone's so nice! I have never been in such a wholesome work environment!" You gushed. Darkiplier looked at you, confusion evident on his pale face.

"But… I-"

"Yeah, you love me. But guess what, dude? I love you, too!" You blurt out. Dark was taken aback by your sudden confession.

"I thought you were focusing on your job…" he pointed out.

"Technically, you are my job," you smirked. Both of you stared at each other for a moment before laughing. Well, you laughed. Darkiplier just let out small chuckles.

He let his eyes trace over your face. You looked so happy. He loved to see you happy…

He set a hand on your cheek and you stopped laughing. He was cold, but you didn't care. Your smile fell as you watched him. He leaned over the desk, like you were, and stroked your cheek with his thumb. He gazed into your eyes and just stood there. Just appreciating the moment.

You let your eyes flutter closed, hoping he'd understand.

He did.

You felt cold lips on yours. It sent a shiver down your spine and gave you goosebumps, but you didn't pull away. You both tilted your heads for a better angle, and you deepened the kiss by running your fingers through his hair and keeping them tangled.

And then the moment was ruined by Wilford letting out a wolf-whistle. You quickly pulled away from Dark and dropped yourself back in the chair.

"Well, Dark, I didn't know you had it in you!" He laughed. Dark turned towards him and you saw the red and blue auras around his grow. You looked back and saw Google and Bim give some money to Dr. Iplier, both egos grumbling in annoyance. You flushed and turned back, hiding your face in your hands. Dark stalked towards the egos, a threatening gaze daring them to say something else. All of them were smart enough to run. Except for Wilford, who asked "Can I be your best man, Dark?"

You then heard a scream of terror from Wilford and him running out of the office. Dark removed your hands from your face, his aura still large, and kissed one of your palms.

"Be right back, handsome…" he said too softly for the anger in his eyes. You grinned at his messier-than-usual hair and nodded. He stormed out of the office.

"Wilford!" He bellowed. You snorted and shook your head as you got out your schedule. You looked at the time.

12:30

You missed lunch. You'd have to make room for some food…

Among other things…

[ask-them-bois]

Letters, pt 4: Finale

pt.1 pt.2  vf.pt.1 pt.3 vf.pt.2

(Trigger Warning: traumatic flashbacks and death.) (Settle in folks, this is quite possibly the longest one I’ve ever written)

Musrio stumbled wearily up the porch steps of his small, cozy hive that he shared with Drayco, only to stop on the porch landing and stare at the door. The sun was rising behind him, he should really go inside, he thought.

But he really, really didn’t want to go in there. It made his chest ache to think it, but it was true. He could feel his bilesack clenching with anxiety already. He didn’t want to face Drayco... Or whatever it was that looked like Drayco.

The troll he shared a hive with was not the troll he’d become black for. They were not the person who’d put a ring on his finger, or stayed up studying with him late into the day. The silver engagement band burned against his finger, and he resisted the urge to pull it off.

Not for the first time, Musrio contemplated leaving. He could turn around, right that second, and walk away. He could go back to the bookhive and look up hives that were available, far away from here. Maybe in East Alternia. Hell, he could stow away on a Fleet ship and get dropped off on another planet.

But even as he thought it, he knew he wouldn’t do it. He couldn’t. Drayco was sick, and they needed him. They’d been diagnosed with Malum Langoreum less than two sweeps ago, and were only getting worse with each night. Although... that wasn’t completely the ML’s fault. If Musrio left, and Drayco started coughing up blood again, then no one would be around to help them.

Swallowing the lump in his throat, Musrio took a deep breath and opened the door. The hive was dark when he entered. That wasn’t uncommon, Drayco liked it dark, as their current medication gave them migraines.

What made Musrio pause was the silence.

The hive was dead quiet. Not even the frogs in Musrio’s aquarium in the main room were croaking. The air was still and tense. Musrio edged out of the foyer, his footsteps like thunder in his ears.

“Deedee?” He called out softly, worried. Were they taking a nap? They couldn’t be, they liked falling asleep to music. So where...? He paused in the middle of the living room, straining to hear. Drayco’s combat boots were still by the coat rack, and their leather vest still hung over a hook, so they hadn’t stepped out. Maybe they were in the backyard? With the sun beginning to peak over the horizon, it wasn’t likely.

A soft scuffle behind him was the only warning he had.

Musrio whirled around, just in time to avoid the fucking knife swinging for him.

He leaped back with a cry of shock, his legs slamming into the coffee table. His knees buckled and, unbalanced, he fell over the low table, sprawling on his back. His head slammed onto the floor and he groaned, fireworks exploding behind his eyes.

He blinked rapidly to clear them and sat up in time to see Drayco grab the coffee table, lifting it with more strength than they should have had, and throw it across the room. It slammed into the TV, shattering the screen and knocking it over. Both objects hit the floor with a deafening crash, making Musrio cringe away in fear. He scrambled backwards on his hands and feet, staring up at the bronzeblood as they turned back to look at him, the knife still gripped in their hand.

“Dr- Drxyco? I- whxt did I do?” Musrio whispered shakily, terror robbing him of his voice. The thing that was once his kissmassis didn’t reply.

Musrio’s breath caught in his throat when he saw their eyes; their eyes were black where they used to be yellow, and glowing green where they used to be brilliant amber. Musrio’s gaze flickered to the black skeletal hand tattoo emblazoned on their shoulder; it, too, was glowing a viridescent shade.

Drayco seemed to pause when they heard their name, and for the smallest, tiniest moment, Musrio saw recognition in their eyes. But then it was gone, and they were scowling, their lips peeling back to bare their fangs. They dove forward, knife at the ready to stab.

Musrio shrieked and rolled out of the way, kicking away from them and scrambling to his feet. He leaped backwards as Drayco stood and lunged again, a snarl ripped from their throat as they swung. Musrio lashed out, panicked, catching the other troll’s wrists.

“Drxyco, stop it!! Plexse! It’s me! It’s Mushy, your Mushy, don’t you- don’t you recognize me?!” He cried desperately, tears pricking the corner of his eyes. A growl rolled in Drayco’s chest as they tried to jerk their hands out of Musrio’s grip. Terrified, the rustblood hung on; he was stronger than Drayco, who’d become somewhat frail from the ML, but Drayco was still bigger than him.

The bronzeblood wrenched their wrists to the sides, effectively tearing them out of Musrio’s grip, before they swung their leg around.

Musrio bellowed in pain as he was roundhouse kicked in the stomach, sending him falling back against the wall and doubling over as he coughed, trying not to heave up his lunch. While he was distracted, Drayco flipped their grip around on the knife and rushed him again.

The rustblood looked up quickly, trying to see through the tears pouring down his face, and reached out blindly to try and stop them. His flailing hand collided with Drayco’s elbow, propelling their arm to the side and sending the blade slashing sideways instead of stabbing.

Musrio screamed this time as blood sprayed from where the knife connected. He released his grip on Drayco and clutched his face, knocking his glasses askew, as agony tore through him. From his right cheek, over the bridge of his nose, and to his left cheek, Drayco’s blade had cut a deep, jagged wound that was bleeding profusely. His legs would have given out if he hadn’t been pressed against the wall.

A snarl above him made him jerk his head back up. A fist seized him by the horn, dragging his head upwards as he wailed in pain, his face hot and fingers sticky with blood.

“Drxy-” He sobbed, but whatever he’d been going to say was cut off as the knife was violently ripped across his throat, a little messier than intended because of his struggling.

Another spray of blood, and Musrio was choking, struggling to breathe as his sweater turned rusty crimson. The fist on his horn released and he fell to the floor, gagging on the blood that pumped from his severed arteries.

He struggled to speak, to move, as his vision began to become static, like he was peering through a snow storm. Panic was filling him as fast as blood was leaving him; he was dying. A hand fisted his hair, jerking his head back up.

Through the haze, he saw the gleam of Drayco’s knife; they intended to finish the job, he thought. With a rush of adrenaline and fear, Musrio somehow got his legs under him. In a desperate ploy, he lunged for the knife.

His vision kept going black for mere seconds. He couldn’t feel his limbs. His neck and chest were soaked and hot, and his head was full of his own voice, pleading for his body to hold on.

When the darkness cleared again, Musrio found himself pinning Drayco to the ground, his knee pressed into their stomach and one hand on their face. He was confused on how he overpowered them. His other hand was raised in the air, the sticky, blood covered blade gripped in his hand. He didn’t know when he’d gotten the knife, either. His palm was bleeding from where Drayco had bitten him. He wasn’t sure how they’d gotten there; he couldn’t remember moving besides going for the knife.

His vision clouded again, but not with darkness. Tears were pouring from his eyes, and a gurgling sob rattled in his throat.

“I... I’m s- so s- sor- rry.” He croaked, before he plunged his hand downward.

The blade sliced through flesh and muscle and bone, right into his lover’s heart. Drayco moaned in pain, their struggling stopping as their body seized. Musrio coughed and choked, feeling blood splatter into the back of his throat and mouth. With a jerk, he pulled the blade back out and collapsed, falling on top of Drayco before rolling off of him.

He collapsed to the floor, staring up at the ceiling. He was dying, he thought. That was certainly annoying. He didn’t want to die yet. He coughed, gurgling out a laugh, before he shut his eyes.

Beside him, Drayco’s eyes had returned to normal, and they’d managed to turn their head to see the love of their life, dying at their side. They didn’t know how that had happened, but they knew they were dying, too. They whimpered, shaky fingers reaching for his hand. Their fingers brushed his, before their hand went limp and the lights went out behind their eyes, a final rattling, gurgling breath leaving them.

Musrio, loyal to the last,  grasped their fingers with his last bit of strength, before his heart stopped beating.

At 7:06 that evening, Drayco died.

At 7:07 that evening, Musrio died.

.

.

.

.

.

.

At 7:18 that evening, Musrio woke up.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Musrio tossed the letter onto the table, leaning forward and burying his head in his hands.

He was sat at the table with Drayco, their cups of coffee abandoned to the side as the two of them contemplated the piece of paper. The dark green envelope they’d pulled it from had fluttered to the floor, the golden wax seal- with an imprint of a sun with eight, wiggling rays and eight bubbles- broken.

“He’s bxck.” Musrio whispered as Drayco watched him anxiously. “He’s bxck, Dee. I thought he’d lexve us xlone xfter whxt hxppened, but...” He reached for his coffee, sitting up and taking a deep gulp of the scalding drink. Drayco reached for the letter, but Musrio’s hand shot out and caught their wrist. Drayco froze as Musrio put his mug down, gasping. “Don’t, Dee. Just... don’t. It’ll torture you more thxn it does me. Ribbit.” He croaked.

Drayco hesitated, but nodded, withdrawing their hand. “What dooes it say?” They asked. Musrio reached up, grasping his amulet and playing with it anxiously as he stared at the paper.

“They... they wxnt to meet us. They wxnt to see “whxt we’ve become”. They... they know xbout you. They know you’re bxck.” He said softly, his shoulders drawing up. “I- Dee, we cxn’t- we cxn’t go see them. We- whxt if they try to-?”

Drayco reached out and took Musrio’s free hand in both of their own, squeezing it comfortingly. “She’s noot gooing too doo that, Mushy. I woon’t let her. I have noo intentioon oof gooing back too the Black Hand, not even if their leader herself begs me back.” They soothed, rubbing the back of Musrio’s hand with their thumb.

“But... the txttoo... Whxt if they mxke you...?” Musrio mumbled, unable to look at his mate.

“Mush, I’ve toold yoou. If I coould get the tattoooo remooved, I woould. But every time I’ve tried, it coomes back. She has claim oon me, foorever, but that dooesn’t mean I have too listen too her.” They explained patiently, “He can’t toouch me anymoore. I woon’t let them. Besides, yoou put wards oon it, didn’t yoou?”

Musrio hesitated, before he nodded begrudgingly.

“Then we’re fine. They can’t toouch me if I’m with yoou. He gooes after the meek and scared, and when I’m with yoou, I feel like the bravest trooll oon Alternia.” Drayco purred. They reached up and pulled their oxygen mask down, before lifting Musrio’s hand. They raised it to their lips, kissing his knuckles softly.

Musrio looked at them, then looked away again with a huff. “Thxt’s incredibly cheesy.” He muttered, feeling his ears burn. Drayco snickered, replacing their mask and setting Musrio’s hand down.

“Babe, I’m a fucking quesoo dip when it coomes too bad lines foor yoou.” They hummed. Musrio shook his head, amused, before his small smile faultered.

“Whxt xre we going to do, Dee? He obviously knows where we live... Xnd I doubt even my strongest spells will keep him xt bxy for long. Ribbit.”

Drayco laid their chin on their palm, thinking. “... Hoonestly, I kind oof want too goo see her.” They admitted. Musrio jerked his head up, incredulous, and they hurried on, “Just because... I want too see what they’ve becoome, toooo. Last I heard of him, he was oon the rise too stardoom. I’ve seen their face oon magazines and in the news. And... I dunnoo, maybe we can reasoon with them. Secoond chances exist, yoou knoow? We coould throow her a boone.”

Musrio’s expression hardened, his eyes suddenly cold. “I don’t throw bones in front of mxd bxrk-bexsts, Drxyco.” He said, pushing away from the table and standing up. He turned away, one hand still rubbing the face of his amulet. Drayco sat up, startled, suddenly afraid they’d upset him.

“Mus-”

“Fine.” Musrio interupted with a sigh, the tension in his shoulders suddenly releasing, “We cxn go see her. But under one condition: Under no circumstxnces do you show off your other form. I don’t wxnt them to know xbout it. Ribbit.”

Drayco hesitated, before they nodded. “Deal.”

“Then go get rexdy. I’ll meet you xt the door in thirty minutes.” Musrio turned back to the table, snatching up the letter before marching towards the stairs.

While Drayco headed to their room, Musrio went up to his lab. He quietly shut the door behind himself and calmly sat down on the loungeplank, before burying his face in his hands and finally letting out the whimper he’d been bottling up.

It’s not true, it can’t be true, he couldn’t really be... could he? His heart was hammering, his organs twisting themselves into knots. He could feel his heart pounding against his ribs, so there was no way he...

Lurching to his feet, Musrio stumbled to his work table. Laying the letter out flat, he glanced over it once more: 

“To my most loathsome and detested Musrio Almawt~,

I know what you are~. I know who you’ve become~. You only know hal7 o7 that, don’t you~? Lenachra~. Such an intimidating word, is it not~? And yet you are a pathetic whelp who cowers behind a god that cares 7or you not~.

The Abyssal Ravager loves only me~. They care only 7or me~. You are bound to them in a way you should not be~. You take their power, but you do not use it wisely~. You wound them with each spell you cast, you wicked beast~. Lenachras are not meant to be cruel, and yet.... look at you~.

I know what the Unspeakable Monstrosity wants~. I serve them with my whole being, as do the others o7 my band~. My Black Hands... they reach out and spread the darkness, so that all may 7ind salvation in the dark~. You work against us, but with the same god~. You don’t know what you’re doing though, do you~? No, they would not privy you to such in7ormation~. You seek, unknowingly, to bring about their end~. The power they have given you is not meant to assist you~. Were your tomb not empty, I would spit upon it~.

Speaking of empty tombs... Drayco walks again, do they not~? My sweet sibling o7 darkened 7ingers... I miss them~. They were so close to impurity, be7ore you ruined it~. They could have been the one, Musrio Almawt~. They could have brought the Slaughtering Scapegrace to us~. They could have lead the divine revolution~.

How cruel o7 you, to hold them back~. To hide them away~. They have touched our god where I could never~. I want to 7eel my lord in Drayco’s hands~. Hm~. Could we not call a truce this night~? So I may bask in my sibling’s tainted grace once more~? We can meet where you sel7ishly took them away~. I want to know what you’ve both become~.

“See” you, or not~.

Never yours, through the hell7ire o7 the Apocalyptic Blight, The Blind Phoenix~.”

Bile rising in his throat, he turned and grabbed one of the smaller grimoire that was stacked next to him on his work table. He flipped it open, rifling urgently through the pages to find what he needed. Eventually, he came across the page he was looking for. He read it over, a cold sensation creeping over him as his eyes scanned the page:

Lenachra A spirit who died a violent death with an incomplete task, or a great regret. The spirit refuses death and repossesses their own body- or another host- without ever knowing they left it. Their determination to finish their task fuels the body into working again; i.e, the heart beats and the lenachra needs to breathe. However, a lenachra cannot get sick, and their wounds close inexplicably fast.

In folklore, a lenachra becomes somewhat of a guardian, or a shepherd, to other lost souls. As they walk both life and death, other spirits will flock to them in hopes of assistance with crossing over or repentance. There are recorded cases of lenachras supposedly being able to speak to actual gods.

Many lenachras find a capability for magic that may not have been there in their first life. There are a handful of recorded incidents where lenachras find themselves drawn to jobs such as priesthood, sainthood, sorcery, and necromancy.

“Lenxchrx.” Musrio whispered, his voice trembling. His whole body was trembling, actually, and he leaned heavily on the table to hold himself up. He... he was undead. He was a corporeal spirit- how could he not know that?! How could he not sense it?!

Jerking straight up, he whipped around, grabbing his amulet again. He shouted, and shadows bled into being before him, regarding him with glowing eyes.

“Did you know?!” He demanded of the shadows, “Did you know what I xm?! Why would you not tell me!?” The spirits whispered to him, their voices overlapping a hundredfold in his mind. He clasped his hands over his ears. “Shut up! Shut up shut up shut up! Begone!” He snarled. He stomped his foot, and with a shock wave of brilliant light, the shadows vanished.

Musrio crumbled to the floor, grasping at his own hair and clawing at his face. His claws caught on his skin, sending little bursts of stinging pain through his skin. “It hurts!” He shouted at no one, “It hurts, I cxn’t be dexd! I’m not dexd! I- I cxn’t... c- cxn’t...” His words turned to mush in his mouth as he hiccuped, before a sob burst from his voice box.

As he shut his eyes tightly, memories flooded unbidden through his mind.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

He felt like he was suffocating, like there were hands around his throat that were squeezing, squeezing, squeezing- bright bursts of light popped behind his eyes, like stars or fireworks. When he woke, everything was pain.

He couldn’t see anything but darkness. He couldn’t hear anything, the silence more deafening than a bullet train blaring by. It was terrifying, being void of sensation. He couldn’t even tell if he moved an arm or leg. All there was was pain and... nothingness. He tried to speak, but he couldn’t feel his tongue, his teeth, his lips- so he thought it instead.

"I need your help." 

"And to what concern is that of ours?" A voice spoke from the darkness. Although it whispered, it nearly burst his eardrums. It was like a million voices, every voice that ever uttered a sound since the dawn of time, spoke in unison. They folded over each other, the sound rolling like the waves of an ocean as it needled into his ears and threatened to rip his sanity like paper.

"I wxnt to mxke x dexl."

"We do not deal with mortal worms."

"Then mxke me immortxl if thxt's whxt it'll txke for you to listen, dxmmit! I don't cxre, I wxnt your power!"

"... Our power?" He felt something shift in the air- water? space?- around him, and he got the sense he'd caught their attention.

"Yes. Give me power over life xnd dexth, over the dexd xnd living, over elements xnd nxture."

"What do you offer in return?"

"My body. My soul. Whxtever’s left. My plxce in the xfterlife. Use me xs x vessel. Xnd when I die, you get the rest of me. Ribbit."

".... Interesting. And you do this for the one that tore you apart. You would break yourself, burst from your old flesh like a cocoon, and become an entity that not even the simulacrum of mentality can rival, for the one that would never do the same for you?"

"Yes."

"Why?"

"Whxt do you cxre for the whys?"

"We know and see all, but the minds of mortals are a buzzing chaos that we cannot touch without great distress to the host and to our wavering being. We know what will happen, but we do not know what meager thought will spark the tar that bubbles over your fates, scorching your presence from our conscious and from the clustering lights you cling to as signs of hope."

"You sure txlk x lot, with x bunch of fxncy words. Doesn't thxt get boring?"

"It is the way we are. We are everything and nothing, both at once and not at all. We are the minds of the dark remnants, the reaching, grasping claws of burned out stars, the hunger of black holes, and the singularity of being. Our belly is the night sky upon your home world, but we cannot be touched by your ships.

We are the thing that first crawled from the primordial ooze, and the last to ever leave, for we are still emerging. We are your cosmos and your universe, your very reality and fragility of mental capacity. We are the symphony that plays upon the arrival of meager gods, and the choir that sings them back to oblivion."

“Do we hxve x dexl or not?"

"You amuse us, Musrio Almawt. We have a deal. Your soul and flesh, for our power.”  To hear his name uttered by the being was indescribable feeling; like a thousand fingers touched every inch of his nervous system, all at once. Like a weight was thrust into his gut, bursting him open from the inside until he was nothing but a mist of remains and blood. Like he simultaneously died in every way, both conceivable and not, only to be wrenched back into his skin by a pair of giant claws.

Pain, more agonizing than a gunshot, more than a bath in acid, suddenly shot through his body from the top of his head down to his toes. He felt his body- was it his body? Maybe it was his brain- contort, and then it felt like he had no body at all.

He looked down at his hands; they were black. Stars swirled in his palms. Whole galaxies danced and spun on his body. He breathed, just to see if he could. When he exhaled, stars spun from his breath and swirled around him. The stars and planets and everything on his skin seemed to slide off like water, joining the swirls around him. He could no longer tell between his body and the darkness of space. The universe around him spun faster and faster until it was a blaze of white that hurt his eyes, but he couldn't close them.

“Stop thxt!” He commanded in his head. The stars stilled, resuming their gentle spins. He reached out and touched one. It was warm, like cupping a mug of coffee. Everything inside him and around him felt… Right. He felt powerful, yet content and sleepy. His mind was filled with every whispered secret the universe held, yet it was beautifully blank as showers of stars raced behind his eyes. A clarity he could never achieve in his own skin had filled him.

"This is our gift to you. You have been washed in our blood, and so you become of us. Waste this gift not, for you are the harbinger of a story that must be told, and never forgotten."

"I'm whxt?"

"Goodbye, Musrio Almawt."

He was suddenly hurled through space and time, stretched and compressed, twisted and smoothed back into his skin, until he sat up with a cry. He looked around, to see his dead matesprit at his side. A shudder of revulsion went up his back; he’d killed them. They’d attacked, and he killed them. They would have killed you, his mind argued.

The smell of blood was thick in the air. He must have passed out after stabbing them, he tried to reason with his panicking thinkpan. He shakily got to his feet and stumbled away from the scene. He lurched for the door, before he ripped it open and took off into the sunrise, grief and shame overwhelming him and spurring him on. His amulet bounced against his chest; he was too blinded by the sunrise and tears to notice the eyes were glowing.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“Mushy? Mushy!”

Musrio gasped, snapping back to the present as he felt Drayco’s arms envelop him. He pitched forward, clinging to his mate like a frightened wriggler.

“Mush, what- what happened? are yoou ookay? Are yoou hurt?” Drayco asked anxiously, but Musrio couldn’t speak past the tightness in his throat. He hiccuped and groaned, tightening his grip on them. Drayco, thankfully, understood. They clutched him close, petting the back of his head soothingly, like he was a child in need of consolation.

After several minutes, he managed to wrangle himself together enough to pull away. Drayco pulled back, gently cupping his face and wiping the red, wet stains from his cheek with their thumbs. Musrio reached up and clutched their hand, blinking rapidly. Drayco’s eyes searched his face, their brows creased with worry.

“What happened, Mush?” They whispered. Musrio opened his mouth, then shut it again, struggling to push the words off his tongue. After several attempts, he gave up and just pointed at the table. Drayco glanced at it, then released him, standing up. Musrio stayed where he was, slumped on his knees on the floor as Drayco gingerly stepped around him to look at the table. After a long, painful two minutes, he heard Drayco whisper, “Ooh.”

“D- D- Drxyco- I’m- I-” Musrio rasped, looking up as Drayco walked back around him and knelt before him. Drayco cupped his face gently, shooshing him softly and papping his cheek; a gross breach of their quadrantal status, but Musrio couldn’t care less. He needed the comfort now more than ever.

“Breathe, Mus.” They soothed. Musrio forced himself to take a deep, rattling breath.

“I... Drxyco, wh- whxt do I- whxt xm I- I- I thought-?” He asked brokenly, unsure what he was trying to say as he clutched his mate’s arm.

“Yoou’re Musrioo.” Drayco said firmly, their eyes boring into Musrio’s, “Yoou’re my matesprit. Yoou’re a necroomancer. Yoou’re a doork whoo likes froogs and pizza and bad moovies.”

“But I’m- I’m dexd. I died, Drayco!”

The bronzeblood raised an eyebrow and shrugged. “And? I died, toooo, Mush. Remember?” They grabbed their shirt collar and pulled it down, showing off the scar on their chest, before releasing it. “Noow looook at me. I’m back, I’m fine. ...Mostly. Yoou get used too it.” They smiled softly. Musrio paused, brought up short by that, before he giggled inexplicably.

“Oh, right.”

“We’re dead, booth oof us.” Drayco nodded.

“Yexh?”

Drayco pursed their lips, before they grinned. “Soo... I guess we’re in heaven, since I can’t imagine being anywhere else with yoou.” They said cheekily. Musrio actually laughed that time, slumping against their shoulder.

“That was even worse than your other joke.” He mumbled; but he did feel better, he admitted silently. Drayco laughed, too, pressing their mask to Musrio’s head in a mock kiss.

“Yoou’re welcoome.” They murmured. They held their mate a minute more, before they sighed. “Yoou ready too goo see him?”

Musrio tried to repress the sense of dread attempting to crawl up his spine.

“Yexh.”

........

Every instinct in Musrio was screaming at him to turn back. Every step he took was a struggle; his feet felt heavier each time he lifted them up. Still, he made his way forward with Drayco at his side, until, at last, they stood before their old hive.

The hive he’d bought with Drayco just after their engagement, a cozy little den, all their own, on the edge of the city. Musrio could recall being so excited about it, delighted to have a place, an escape, away from the rest of the world. But now, as he stared at it, all he felt was hard, heavy apprehension.

The lawn was overgrown, covered in choking weeds and sprawling brambles. The roof was caving in, and the front windows were busted. Graffiti covered the wall, above the rotting porch. The door was hanging on by a single hinge, creaking softly in the breeze as it hung open like a broken jaw, revealing a dark interior.

“... Are you here, Phooenix?” Drayco finally called.

A lilting, merry laugh rang out from inside the hive. “Oh, yes, my sweet sibling~. I am here~.” A voice answered. A tapping sound, and a troll emerged from the dark, gracefully and carefully stepping over the rotten boards in the porch, guided by the ivory cane they wielded. They descended the steps carefully and stood before them as they turned their head in the direction of the other two. “No need to call me such a 7ormal title, Drayco A7asia~. You are one of mine~. You may call me by my real name~.” They hummed, before sighing wistfully. “It’s been too long since I beheld your presence~.”

Drayco growled lowly in their throat. “Noot loong enoough...

Oliver Maddel.”

Oliver arched an eyebrow. “Oh, indeed~?” He murmured, his fingers drumming on the top of his cane, before he laughed. He turned his head in Musrio’s direction. “Hello again, lenachra~. The last time you stood before me-”

“Drxyco hxd just died, xnd you were trying to get me to join your little squxd.” Musrio spat, “I remember. Ribbit.”

Oliver chuckled. “Indeed~.” She repeated, rubbing her thumb over the head of her cane; it was shaped like a bird with its wings spread, and her thumb was rubbing the beak.

“Why did yoou call us here, Ooliver? What doo yoou want?” Drayco asked, narrowing their eyes warily.

“Can I not call on an old 7riend~? Can I not greet my sibling as I’ve done be7ore~? I only wanted to remind you o7 who you belong to~.” Oliver cooed, smiling in their direction.

“I doon’t beloong too yoou, oor anyoone!” Drayco snapped, “I’m noot yoour sibling! Noot anymoore!”

Oliver laughed again. “Oh, my sweet, sweet Drayco... you do belong to someone~. All three o7 us are bound to the same god.” She stepped forward, her smile widening with glee.

“Neviserrath Apocriyna~.” He whispered, letting the name hang heavy in the air, “The god that binds the three o7 us~. Truly, they do not love you, or you would know their name~. They gave all three o7 us our powers, so that we may be the opposing sides in a divine war~.”

“There is no wxr, Oliver. I xm not plxying your little gxme. I-” Musrio began, before Oliver shook his head, tisking.

“Oh no no no no, my dear, sweet, stupid lenachra~. It is not my game you play~. When you accepted the powers our god gave you, you added your piece to the board, joining a game I was already winning~. Your powers are but a meager, weaker copy of my own~. This game is rigged in my 7avor, Almawt~.”

Musrio narrowed his eyes. “Whxt hxve you done with your powers, other thxn fuck up people’s lives xnd ruin literxlly everything? Ribbit?” He hissed.

Oliver’s smile, somehow, got bigger. “I made someone a gi7t~!” He cried, “I brought back someone very, very special~. Oh, yes, my little spirit, you’re not the only one who can do that~.” She added, laughing. “I didn’t think it would go so well, since it was my 7irst time~. I’ve been much too busy, juggling my stardom, career, and my Black Hand, but I 7ound the time to do it.~”

“Soo... whoo did yoou bring back?” Drayco asked, suddenly worried they were heading into round two with their ancestor, Forsaken. Their grip tightened on Musrio’s hand, and Musrio could see them beginning to tremble.

“Who else~? My own ancestor, o7 course~! Oh, he’s a hardened man, who doesn’t care 7or me, but that’s fine~. The Deadscar Wanderer has another person who is much, much more important to him~. I gave him the directions, and o77 he went~!” He shook his head, before turning it towards Drayco, “Ah, but that does not matter now~. I wanted to see you again, my sweet sibling, and ask if you would not come back to me~? Your brothers and sisters of the dark miss you~.”

Drayco’s throat rumbled with a growl again. “Fuck noo. I’m never cooming back too yoou, Ooliver, noot even if my life was oon the line. I’m doone with yoou, with the cult, and with your “Good.”” They turned away, “Yoou wanted too be “in my presence”, and yoou have been. I’m gooing hoome.”

They released Musrio’s hand and spun on their heel, marching away. Musrio was relieved Oliver was blind, so they couldn’t see how badly Drayco was shaking; they’d reached their limit of being near the oliveblood. He turned to follow, completely fine with not saying a courteous goodbye, before he glanced back to Oliver, who’d turned their head in his direction.

“Who... did you send him to?” Musrio asked.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Innocent looked up from his book, surprised by the sound of a knock on the front door. He glanced around; he was alone at the hive tonight. Incoding was on a date with Decaying, and Ruthless had gone to visit Survivor.

Apprehensive, he set the book to the side and pulled his mask up, quietly moving to the door. He paused, listening, but heard nothing on the other side. After a moment, there was another polite, brief knock. Innocent hesitated, before he unlocked the several bolts and latches and opened the door.

He froze stiff at the sight of the troll before him.

“I... Ishran...?” He whispered, barely daring to believe this was real.

“o|==> Nice to see you, too, Amadri. You’ve grown.” Ishran rumbled.

Innocent felt a tremor rock up his spine from hearing his own name. “... How are you... where... how did this...?” He stammered, pulling his mask down again. Ishran shrugged.

“o|==> I do not question it. My descendant says he did it. I only cared to find you again. ... May I come in?”  Although his face was expressionless, the limeblood knew that was the equivalent of the oliveblood throwing his arms around him and gleefully announcing he’d missed him.

“Wh- oh, yes, of course, please!” Innocent- Amadri- said quickly, flustered, pulling the door open wider and waving the other man in.

The Deadscar Wanderer stepped into the small hive and looked around, although his expression gave away nothing of what he was thinking. He spotted a photo on the bookshelf, of Amadri and his morails.

He stared at it, as Amadri stared at him. The man who’d protected him since a grub, who looked over him until he was six sweeps old, who died protecting him after they’d been separated, whose final letters were still tucked at the bottom of his quiver... was standing in his living room. He’d resigned himself to the fate of never seeing his pseudo-lusus again, his thinkpan was having a hard time grasping that he was back.

“o|==> Seems we have a lot to catch up on.” Ishran said at last, making Amadri jump as he turned to him, “When do I get to meet the family?”

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

EVERYONE PLEASE WELCOME OLIVER AND ISHRAN MADDEL!!!

[buckyisabigmood]

Basic Character Questions

First name? Hera

Surname? Kane (Murphy?)

Middle names? Lee

Nicknames? (Murphy?)

Date of birth? 9/24/02

Age? 18

 

Physical / Appearance

Height? 5'6"

Weight? 125lbs

Build? thin, muscular

Hair colour? dark brown, curly

Hair style? bun

Eye colour? grey

Eye Shape? almond

Glasses or contact lenses? reading glasses, night glasses

Distinguishing facial features? n/a

Which facial feature is most prominent? nose

Which bodily feature is most prominent? hair

Other distinguishing features? height

Skin? fair, tanning

Hands? average

Make up? occasional; sharp cat eye, foundation, dark lips, blush, dark eyeshadow

Scars? inner left bicep, mid back across spine, right wrist

Birthmarks? oval inside of right knee

Tattoos? various across entire body

Physical handicaps? bad right hip, fibromyalgia, migraines, chronic fatigue, overall worn joints

Type of clothes? men's button ups, men's dress clothes, vintage men's and women's attire

How do they wear their clothes? tucked in, loose fitting

What are their feet like? (type of shoes, state of shoes, socks, feet, pristine, dirty, worn, etc) callused feet, hammer toes. men's shoes, 6in heels, oxfords, good quality

Race / Ethnicity? caucasian, Irish heritage

Mannerisms? leg bouncing, lip biting, sitting with leg propped, limp on right side

Are they in good health? no

Do they have any disabilities? not legally

 

Personality

What words or phrases do they overuse? like, probably, uh, I mean

Do they have a catchphrase? indeed

Are they more optimistic or pessimistic? pessimist, though tries to encourage optimism in others

Are they introverted or extroverted? ambivert

Do they ever put on airs? no

What bad habits do they have? zoning out, talking too fast, not sleeping, not eating enough, binge eating

What makes them laugh out loud? whose line, crush flattering them

How do they display affection? compliments, affectionate touches, mock insults

Mental handicaps? depression, anxiety, overthinking, slight adhd

How do they want to be seen by others? strong, confident, capable, protector

How do they see themselves? crippled, broken, worthless, challenged

How are they seen by others? stubborn, loud, capable, caring

Strongest character trait? unforgiving

Weakest character trait? impatience

How competitive are they? very

Do they make snap judgements or take time to consider? impulsive

How do they react to praise? hide away, deny it

How do they react to criticism? shamed, crying

What is their greatest fear? secrets being discovered

What are their biggest secrets? they are polyromantic greysexual, a feminist, have long term online friends, (hopefully) will soon be dating a woman, is an independent

What is their philosophy of life? do no harm but take no shit

When was the last time they cried? a week ago, having a mental breakdown

What haunts them? inevitability to disappoint their family and be disowned

What are their political views? independent, leaning left

What will they stand up for? the treatment of others

Who do they quote? carrie fisher, hozier, brie larson

Are they indoorsy or outdoorsy? both

What is their sinful little habit? listening/watching 'none christian' things

What sense do they most rely on? hearing

How do they treat people better than them? respect, positivity, optimism

How do they treat people worse than them? assuming the worst, judging, sarcasm

What quality do they most value in a friend? loyalty

What do they consider an overrated virtue? prudence

If they could change one thing about themselves, what would it be? physical strength

What is their obsession? swords, women

What are their pet peeves? incorrect animal care, being talked down to, loud chewing

What are their idiosyncrasies? doors must always be closed and locked, gets up two hours earlier than needed, will fall asleep if reading on the computer

 

Friends and Family

Is their family big or small? Who does it consist of? big; mother, father, five older brothers, two older sisters, one younger sister, three nephews, two nieces, four aunts, five uncles, many cousins, two grandmothers, one grandfather

What is their perception of family? overrated; the blood of the covenant is thicker than the water of the womb

Do they have siblings? Older or younger? 8 siblings; five older brothers, two older sisters, one younger sister

Describe their best friend. the same as them. fight more than flight, major physical problems, mentally worn out, respect is given until proven undeserved, funny, caring, heart over head

Ideal best friend? see; best friend

Describe their other friends. overall kind, caring, considerate, musically talented, loud

Describe their acquaintances. annoyances, loud, bubbly, hyperactive

Do they have any pets? one dog, two horses, six sheep, many chickens, many snakes

Who are their natural allies? minorities, protectors, those who need protecting

Who are their surprising allies? church youth, some police, nurses

 

Past and Future

What was your character like as a baby? As a child? easygoing as a baby, wanting attention and to be part of older siblings' group as child

Did they grow up rich or poor? lower-middle class, wanting some but getting few

Did they grow up nurtured or neglected? nurtured physically, neglected emotionally

What is the most offensive thing they ever said? 'it is disgusting gay people can adopt' (a lie)

What is their greatest achievement? having the courage to come out to online friends

What was their first kiss like? n/a has not kissed anyone

What is the worst thing they did to someone they loved? thoughts of abandoning family

What are their ambitions? to marry someone they love, have a self built farm, foster teenagers, be a freelance artist

What advice would they give their younger self? don't give up, you are not an abomination for being attracted to women, do not tell youth leader about suicidal thoughts

What smells remind them of their childhood? homemade pizza, pines, dogs

What was their childhood ambition? to be a veterinarian

What is their best childhood memory? being with older siblings and hanging out with their friends

What is their worst childhood memory? figuring out they were polyromantic, the fear of being found out and disowned

Did they have an imaginary childhood friend? n/a

What past act are they most proud of? talking to other kids first

Has anyone ever saved their life? doctors; had major kindey infection at age of two, had major uti at age of eight

Strongest childhood memory? disappointing parents

 

Love

Do they believe in love at first sight? infatuation at first side, that may develop in to love

Are they in a relationship? working on asking a woman out

How do they behave in a relationship? caring, prioritizing spouse, lots of gifts

When did you character last have sex?

n/a, does not desire sex

What sort of sex do they have? n/a

Has your character ever been in love? currently in love

Have they ever had their heart broken? no. has ghosted a fuckboy and thought they had broken his heart

 

Conflict

How do they respond to a threat? defensive, posturing, threatening

Are they most likely to fight with their fists or their tongue? fists

What is your character’s kryptonite? children, sob stories

If your character could only save one thing from their burning house, what would it be? electronics

How do they perceive strangers? men are possible threats, women are in danger

What do they love to hate? disney villains

What are their phobias? aquaphobia, entomophobia, atychiphobia

What is their choice of weapon? longsword

What living person do they most despise? larry nassar

Have they ever been bullied or teased? yes

Where do they go when they’re angry? bathroom, bedroom, outside

Who are their enemies and why? n/a, enemies are unknown

 

Work, Education and Hobbies

What is their current job? apprentice horse trainer and farm hand

What do they think about their current job? too physically taxing, worsens already poor physical condition

What are some of their past jobs? n/a

What are their hobbies? reading, writing, drawing, video games, research on medieval times, watching tv, movies, youtube

Educational background? homeschooled highschool graduate

Intelligence level? low, cannot do simple math, does not know history

Do they have any specialist training? n/a

Do they have a natural talent for something? art, slightly

Do they play a sport? Are they any good? equestrian sports, intermediate

What is their socioeconomic status? low social status, seen as unlikeable, n/a economic status

 

Favourites

What is their favourite animal? wolves

Which animal to they dislike the most? insects

What place would they most like to visit? mountains of utah

What is the most beautiful thing they’ve ever seen? mountains

What is their favourite song? in a week by hozier

Music, art, reading preferred? alternative, metal, emo music. realistic, stylised, comic-esque art. fantasy, medieval, adventure, action books.

What is their favourite colour? black, blood red

What is their password? "I love you for who you are"

Favourite food? steak, homemade rolls, pizza, salad

What is their favourite work of art? women with umbrellas, reunited

Who is their favourite artist? mambo

What is their favourite day of the week? friday

 

Possessions

What is in their fridge? frozen pizzas, salad stuff, soda, beer, snacks

What is on their bedside table? mace, a notebook and pen, phone, cologne, empty cans

What is in their car? mask, air freshener, large knife, window breaker, charger

What is in their bin? candy wrappers, cans, bottles

What is in their purse or wallet? pepper spray, bible, book, keys, pen, pencil, mints

What is in their pockets? knife, carmex

What is their most treasured possession? their truck

 

Spirituality

Who or what is your character’s guardian angel? Gabriel

Do they believe in the afterlife? Yes

What are their religious views? non-denominational Christianity

What do they think heaven is? where there is no pain, or hurt, where you can be with your loved ones (including pets) for eternity without getting tired of their company

What do they think hell is? suffering, eternal torment, both physical and psychological pain

Are they superstitious? no

What would they like to be reincarnated as? a sandcat

How would they like to die? by sword

What is your character’s spirit animal? house cat

What is their zodiac sign? libra

 

Values

What do they think is the worst thing that can be done to a person? rape, mutilation, taking away loved ones

What is their view of ‘freedom’? being able to do as you like, as long as it does not harm others

When did they last lie? earlier in the day

What’s their view of lying? not necessarily good, but needed on some occasions for safety

When did they last make a promise? tonight, promising to get a full night's sleep

Did they keep or break their last promise? break it

 

Daily life

What are their eating habits? hectic- binge eating one day and eating nothing the next. usually eating on impulse rather than specific times

Do they have any allergies? lactose, sulfa

Describe their home. medium sized, lots of storage space, including many closets. an organized mess, knowing where everything is exactly without putting it away, unless it is clothing

Are they minimalist or a clutter hoarder? somewhere in the middle, though leaning towards clutter hoarder. loves collecting shot glasses

What do they do first thing on a weekday morning? get dressed, feed the animals, have breakfast

What do they do on a Sunday afternoon? eat pizza, hang out with friends or family, watch a movie

What do they do on a Friday night? drink with friends at home, hang out

What is the soft drink of choice? dr pepper

What is their alcoholic drink of choice? whiskey

 

Miscellaneous

What is their character archetype? The Trickster

Who is their hero? Gal Gadot, Gideon the Ninth

What or who would your character dress up as for Halloween? Gideon the Ninth

Are they comfortable with technology? somewhat

If they could save one person, who would it be? Hozier

If they could call one person for help, who would it be? best friend

What is their favourite proverb? the blood of the covenant is thicker than the water of the womb

What is their greatest extravagance? clothes

What is their greatest regret? not being who their parents wanted them to be

What is their perception of redemption? if you truly change and do your best, most everything is redeemable, but there are some things which can never be forgiven

What would they do if they won the lottery? buy a cottage, clothes, animals, and put some into savings

What is their favourite fairytale? the three bears, by robert southey

What fairytale do they hate? the little mermaid (original)

Do they believe in happy endings? yes

What is their idea of perfect happiness? being loved, loving others, and being content with what you have

What would they ask a fortune teller? will they find a spouse who loves them wholeheartedly?

If your character could travel through time, where would they go? the 1830s, dressed as a man and supporting women, whom know they are a women themselves

What sport do they excel at? n/a

What sport do they suck at? all. unable to do physical sports

If they could have a superpower, what would they choose? super strength

[iamalivenow]

“Take a vacation with me.” Aziraphale looks up from the counter, too busy doing inventory to possibly have heard that correctly. No, certainly Crowley, his friend Crowley who was currently leaning against his biography shelf in a way that was going to result in either him or the shelf meeting the ground in short order, couldn't possibly have- No. Certainly not.

“I'm sorry?” “Take a vacation with me, Angel.” He looks very charming, what with the lean and the new sunglasses that frame his face just so- “Who's going to watch the shop?” He asks, flipping a page in his ledger over without writing down so much as one number in it. “And after everything, so soon-” “Yeah but anyway.” Crowley pushes off of the shelf which does teeter, but not far enough to give Aziraphale a migraine he wouldn't be able to overcome for hours. “Come away with me.” “...Where?” It's just common sense this- knowing these sorts of things ahead of time. “Surprise.” He smirks. Certainly, he wasn't this temptable before. “Who's going to water your plants?” Crowley leans on the counter, elbows digging into his ledger, and he pulls his glasses down his nose, just a bit, until Aziraphale is staring into yellow and orange and gold. “I don't water them, I spritz them.” “Of course you do.” Aziraphale clears his throat, places one hand on the ledge and attempts to tug it free, but Crowley's weight is firmly on it, and crinkling the paper too. “Who's going to spritz them then?” “They'll survive a few days without us.” So it's an us now? “And what if- what if She needs something or- Or perish the thought, Gabriel feels enough guilt to apologize.” “Is that a very Gabriel thing to do?” It only takes him a moment to recall his entire life, from creation to this very conversation, and no, he concludes, it's not a very Gabriel thing to do. “She could need something.” “She can find you anywhere. Come on, Angel.” Crowley leans even more forward, definitely ruining the page his elbow digs into. “Run away with me.” He stares into his friend's eyes, and then in microseconds looks around the shop, the few customers in the stacks a bit further in, the way the sun comes in through the window and lands right on the singular plant Crowley gifted him two weeks ago, for his shop technically re-opening. It sits on the counter, never too far from reach and its own spray bottle sitting just beside it. There's an entire world in this one singular moment. He thinks of every excuse he could make. Not many come to mind, just four, which are, in order:

He was called to head office because he had to officiate the body he currently inside of.

Anathema and Newt actually invited him and only him over for a picnic, and he didn't want to hurt Crowley's feelings.

He had promised Adam a lesson in the celestial bodies and divinity, just in case.

He didn't want to leave the shop again so soon.

Crowley's right eyebrow arcs up in that way that only Crowley's right eyebrow can and Aziraphale, after thinking his choices over every carefully, nods. “A break could be nice.” He says and tries to imagine himself not getting dizzy. “I'll swing by tomorrow then.” And then Crowley, never to be outdone by anyone, even himself, takes Aziraphale's hand in his and runs his lips over Aziraphale's knuckles. “Say noon?” Aziraphale has to psychically stop himself from saying the word noon out loud. “Lovely.” The Bentley rips down the street, and one of his non-customers tells him that they make a very cute couple. It's very hard to imagine being not dizzy when he is, without a doubt, most assuredly dizzy.

…

Aziraphale sits in the passenger side of the Bentley and stares at Crowley's reflection through the windshield. He looks so in awe, so proud of himself, face absolutely alight with joy, that it's hard to look at what's actually past the windshield. “Do you like them?” Crowley asks after what must have been a short eternity, and turns to look at Aziraphale head on. “Utterly remarkable.” He says and pretends to be preoccupied with the stars all around them. “Hung them myself.” Aziraphale turns now, to look at him fully, to try and tell if it's a joke or trick or some other demonic wile. But something in his voice makes it sound like he's being sincere and serious. Maybe it's the softness, or the way Crowley pulls off his glasses and the way his eyes look just a little sad. “Superb job.” Some part of him, in the back of his mind, is rather confused. Normal angels didn't get to do something so important, even principalities didn't baring a few exceptions, and maybe right now in this moment when he is inches away from his arguably sad looking best friend isn't the time to, finally after six thousand years, start wondering who Crowley was before his fall, but it certainly does seem to be the only thing his mind can really rest on. “Ah- You know.” Crowley smiles in a way that doesn't reach his eyes. “Barely any effort.” “They are-” Aziraphale forces himself to look away from the spectacle and look at the stars. They really are remarkable, glorious blues and reds and yellows and whites hanging in just the perfect pattern to make them look random. But he can see the little patterns, here and there, a little face just obscured by a star cradle and a little love heart tilted on its side. “They're resplendent.” And then, struck by a fit of brazenness, he reaches out and takes Crowley's hand. Gives it a squeeze.   When Crowley smiles this time, it most certainly reaches his eyes.

…

Aziraphale is enjoying his vacation tremendously. It's all very curious, the life forms this far from earth are not fully developed yet, perhaps not under Her immediate vigilance yet, so every interaction leaves them marveling in awe at the angel and Aziraphale would be lying if he wasn't succumbing to pride. He was enjoying his vacation immensely. Crowley showed  him oceans that were so many different colors, and filled with so many wonderful things that it's almost tempting to just move here, leave it all behind, and just lay in the sand with his best and very funny and lovely friend, who clearly had very good taste in vacation destinations and very good taste in planetary creation. This was undoubtedly the best vacation he's ever had. And it still wasn't enough to get him to stop wondering. If he would be home, he would be pouring over thousands of texts, maybe even risk a trip to the home office and ask Gabriel or Uriel or Michael outright. Certainly, they owed him a favor of some kind. Or maybe they would want him to leave so quickly they'd just blurt out an answer and eject him. His feelings wouldn't even be hurt. On the other hand, he could ask. “The only shame- The only shame.” Crowley gives a short sort of laugh beside him. “With the underdeveloped species business. No alcohol yet.” But it does seem very rude. “Some wine right now would be phenomenal,” Aziraphale says in a way that he hopes sounds invested in the conversation. He wouldn't want to be asked, if he was in this situation. “I'd kill for a margarita.” Crowley sits up, sand trailing off of his back. Aziraphale stares because it really is a wonderful back and it doesn't have any scars above the shoulder blades or below the shoulder blades or anywhere on his lower back either. “Well-” “We could always go back.” He says offhandedly. “I can buy you a margarita. No murder required.” Not that he would in the first place. He is rather nice, for a demon, isn't he? What angel was nice? There had to be at least a few. Right?

…

He comes back home a week later with a tan. “It suits you.” Crowley insists who's still the same shade of skin he was when they left. “Really, it does. Brings out your eyes.” Aziraphale smiles because that's so very easy to do. They come back late, sun already set, and Crowley, ever the gentleman, walks him to the door of his shop. It looks fairly unlooted, everything right where he left it. Aziraphale's plant just as shiny and healthy as it was how ever long the vacation had lasted for. He does walk over and mist it all the same while Crowley is very busy leaning against the door frame. “Would you like to come in? Spend the night catching up on all of those missed margaritas?” “I would, but I've not yelled at my plants for a while.” “Ah. And that's... very important. Yelling at plants.” “How are they meant to grow otherwise?” Aziraphale glances at the plant on the counter. It seems to have been doing just fine on it's one, no yelling required. “Right, of course.” He nods slowly. “Good night then?” “Good night, Angel.” The second the door closes behind him he has three bibles open, and starts the arduous cross-referencing because, surely, there's an answer in here somewhere isn't there? There simply must be.

…

“Do you remember?” “Does it matter?” Does it- Does it matter if the demon he had been spending his life with used to be an archangel? Does it matter that Raphael's name had been shunted aside and forgotten by everyone who wasn't looking for it? Does it matter that Aziraphale spent a month of his time pouring through texts and books and scrolls trying to find an answer to who hung those resplendent stars in the sky eons ago? Does it really matter that if Aziraphale knew then, at the garden, that everything probably would have been so very very very different between them? “No. Suppose not.” They're in a lovely park, sitting on a picnic blanket and watching humans walk by. They have chilled champagne and little blueberry tarts that Aziraphale got from this tiny bakery in Ireland. He had leaned in to ask Crowley, shoulder against shoulder, lips just a few tiny spaces away from Crowley's ear. “The name thing- the name thing is weird, isn't it?” “Hm?” “Yours and, well.” Crowley waves a hand, curling his wrist. Oh- Oh, yes. “A bit.” He leans away, body flushed as he stares at Crowley's long pretty fingers. “Crowley is a good name.” “I think so too. Obviously. Otherwise-” “Why would you have picked it?” Crowley laughs and turns his head and kisses Aziraphale. Thank everything good and awful and altogether neutral in the entire wide world that he doesn't actually have to breathe.

[puckleisdreaming]

The bar was empty apart from one old man over by the slot machine in the corner. He’d been there all night as far as I could tell and hadn’t so much as gotten up to relieve himself in at least the two hours I’d been here. Every now and again he’d post another coin in and pull the big red lever on the side of the machine and it would light up and play a little tune as the wheels spun and then ‘thunk, thunk, thunk’. Sometimes this was followed by a metallic trickle of change as the machine begrudgingly vomited forth some coins only for them to find their way back inside as the man continued to play his games. I couldn’t understand it. They say the definition of madness is doing the same thing over and over and expecting different results, I can’t remember where I’d heard that. But if that’s the case this guy had to be absolutely fricking nuts, like out of his mind crazy considering how many times he’d pulled that fucking lever. Again and again he’d yank it and the machine would make that noise like an old washing machine with a brick in it. I’d come to brood and here was this old nutcase throwing money away over and over and for what? What was he hoping would happen?

I was getting wound up over nothing, I turned back to my beer. It was a miserable night and the damp that the patrons of the evening had tramped in and out of the place had suffused the air with a nasty humidity that fugged up the back of my throat. I kept sipping this beer to try and clear it but it didn’t work.

“You must really hate yourself.” Anette took the stool next to me and looked right at me. The way she was staring it was like she could burn holes in my temple, I just kept staring straight down at the beer. Ca-chunk went the lever as the psycho in the corner pulled it again and tumble tumble tumble went the wheels.

“What do you want, I’m busy.” I took another sip and glanced at her through the corner of my eye. She must have been on a job dressed up the way she was. Her freckled face was framed by crinkly blue black hair. She’d died it a few months back and now it reminded me of the ribbon inside cassette tapes all scrunched up the way it caught the light sometimes. New glasses and boots too, someone was paying her good money. I wasn’t used to seeing her in a dress and the sleek black number stuck out painfully here, if it wasn’t so empty, the attention she was drawing would have made me feel sick. My palms started itching.

“I can see that, just like you’ve been busy every night for weeks.”

“You’ve been watching me?”

“I’ve got better things to do than watch you every night but you know we’ve got eye’s and ears, you weren’t going to be able to just stop calling us and hope to slip away”

“I don’t see why not, it’s not like you need my help.”

I dropped a handful of coppers on the bar for a tip and headed out leaving the beer half drunk, Anette cannoned it down before following me out the door. I pulled my collar up against the rain hoping the foul weather would dissuade her, she had a U-field up. No such luck. I stopped and turned to face her watching the rain as it got caught in the static field being projected by the small device attached to her wrist. The droplets got within a foot of her head before slowing to an eery stop about two inches from her hair. They vibrated slightly caught between their momentum carrying them forward and the static field pushing them away before they spat off the field like water splashed on a hot pan. She stood there fizzing and spitting water out in every direction forming strange rainbows caught in the neon light of the nearby bars and casinos.

“Wasn’t it you who told me only assholes use U-fields? Spraying every passerby without one in the face as you walk by.”

“That was before rain water became the leading cause of skin cancer. Got sick of stabbing myself with a syringe full of Oncoligon every time I got caught in a shower.”

“Rather that than give some poor sod ocular just for passing me in the street.”

“Are we going to do this all night? You’ve been in that bar every evening for three weeks. If you were drinking yourself to death I’d be less concerned but you’re not and you’re not returning our calls so tell me what’s going on with you.”

She was more pissed off than I thought she was, crackling there like a live wire out in the rain. I’d known Anette long enough to know not to get her too wound up, she had a tendency to lose it and like all Neomancers when she lost it people tended to end up needing retinal surgeries. It had been a while since I’d seen her at work but I was watching for the tell tale signs, flickering electrics nearby, a slight glow to her skin.

“We’re friends, I think I’ve been very generous with the time I’ve bought you, but people are starting to wonder when you’re coming back into the fold. I’ve told them all you’re good for it, that you’re just getting your head together but when you took off you made a few people look very stupid and you know what happens when certain people are made to look stupid.

“I told you Anette. I don’t have it. I don’t know what happened in that vault but I don’t have it. If I’d made it out of there with a mancy like that don’t you think I would have made use of it by now? A sorry sap like me I could have sold it for a fortune, paid everyone off, and still had money left over to make a break for it. If I’d collected what we were looking for that night and wanted to make a getaway I would be gone.”

She moved like lightening. The world exploded in agony as ice picks were smashed through my eyeballs and my brain burst with white. Lights out.

I came to on a cold concrete floor, as my eyes began to focus I was aware my clothes were still damp, couldn’t have been long since our little chat. The headache I had was splitting and my vision was fuzzy, my periphery dropping away to a hazy blackness like I had weird tunnel vision. From what I could make out I was in a small room with a steel door, the only light was a fluorescent tube up in the ceiling and there were no windows. Guess I was staying put. I crawled over to the wall and placed my forehead against the cool concrete hoping to curb the oncoming migraine. I hadn’t been hit by Anette before but I’d seen her wipe out others, I found a sudden deep well of sympathy for her victims. She’d been training with someone as well. She’d always been tougher than a carrier like me but I was quick at least and made a living off of being able to get out of trouble. Sure I was a few weeks out of practice but she had definitely gotten faster.

Without moving I considered my situation. Concrete walls, no windows, probably a basement. As it was Anette who picked me up it was most likely one of Desto’s spots but without more information I couldn’t guess where. There were hundreds of Desto’s places all over Avon and I could have been bundled to any one of them whilst I was out cold. Up until fairly recently Desto had been my employer and ever since Anette had joined two years ago she’d been Desto’s number two. Most of Desto’s income came from snatch jobs and implantation surgeries so she had plenty of carriers in her employ. Her mancer’s were always there for when she needed a little more muscle but she preferred to keep a low profile for most of her work. I found a small crack in the concrete wall next to my cheek and traced it with a finger, feeling the rough texture and waiting for the beating that would inevitably be coming. It was the best gig around if you could get into a boss’s good graces but pissing them off was verging on suicidal.

Thinking about that stupid man and his stupid slot machine, how many times had he been there in the weeks I’d been frequenting that place? Every time I’d gone I knew it was stupid to keep returning to the same spot but I’m a creature of habit. I don’t like change. What happened in the vault had shaken me and suddenly the dashing high life of working for a boss didn’t seem quite so desirable. I wanted out and I had let myself dream that word would get back to Desto that the job had gone to shit but all she’d lost was a carrier. She had hundreds of me in her employ, no skin off her nose if one got caught by the enemy and beaten to a bloody pulp. Maybe, just maybe, she’d decide to cut her losses and forget about it, forget about me.

It had been a risky job, we always knew that, but word had gotten out that Jacob had some crazy mancy stored down in his vault whilst he tried to find someone who could make an implant that could carry the thing. Mancies came in all shapes and sizes and the more powerful the mancy the more complex the implant you needed to integrate it. Any sucker can carry the thing around but to properly integrate a complex bit of Arch tech with the human nervous system took serious technology. Most bosses have vaults to keep mancies they find whilst their techs fabricate integrations for them. Even when the tech was done you had to pretty much just hope you were compatible with it. Different mancies integrated with different people. Anette was a neomancer, her little bit of Arch tech that sat in a chip at the base of her skull allowed her to project and control, to some extent, visible light. How? I don’t know, ask the techs, but it’s all because of that micro chip at the top of her spine.

I’m no mancer, I’m a carrier. Outfitted with an all purpose petabyte microdrive in my forearm I can carry pretty much any non integrated mancy as long as I can get close enough to download it. No one fully understands Arch tech but the one thing we do know is the file sizes are enormous. Stupid big. Even the flashest of new computers couldn’t come close to needing the kind of square footage these things needed in dataspace. So they load up people with massive drives, hook the drives up to our metabolics for fuel and send us around to carry them from place to place. Wireless would take years and a simple portable drive won’t do it. You need something with some serious horse power and you know what’s easier than lugging around a hard drive hooked up to a car battery? Knitting a microdrive into the cardiovascular system of a human being.

[dream-catcher-carpetcleaning]

5 Ways Your Carpet Can Alter Your Indoor Air Quality

Caring for a carpet is no easy task. It takes time, effort, and even knowledge to maintain and preserve its cleanliness properly. And while many people do know the importance of keeping their carpet clean for things such as aesthetic and good looks, many others often forget the possible negative impacts of dirty carpets on their overall health.

Some health problems commonly associated with poor carpet care include:

- Irritated skin

- Irritated eyes

- Headaches and migraines

- Fatigue

- Cough and sore throat

- Weakened immune system

- Respiratory issues

- Stomach illness and infections

As time goes by, numerous things can easily be trapped in a carpet. These are often time microscopic organisms that are not visible to the naked eyes. And because they cannot be seen, are often not thought about.

However, it is these small things that affect indoor air quality and lead to several illnesses. So if not properly maintained, carpets can become homes to all kinds of harmful contaminants.

Therefore, the first step to better care for a carpet is to know what specific things can be trapped in it.

Here is a list of six things that can impact your indoor air quality.

1. Dirt and Dust

Did you know that the average American home can accumulate up to 40 pounds of dust every year? Yes, dirt and dust are some of the most common things found in carpets.

From wearing muddy and outside shoes to merely engaging in daily activities, there are many ways through which carpets can collect dirt, soil, and dust.

But the most frightening thing about this is the accumulation of dust mites. These are microscopic creatures similar to small bugs that are often found in carpets. They can cause severe allergic reactions such as sneezing and runny noses. To reduce the amount of dust in one's home, it is recommended to vacuum the carpet frequently and invest in a good carpet cleaner.

2. Bacteria

From the food we eat to the water we drink, and even to our bodies, bacteria can be found in every habitat on earth. In other words, they are everywhere.

But the ones that are of interest to us are those that live and thrive in our homes. Some of the most common ones are Escherichia coli (E. coli), Staphylococcus aureus (Staph), and Salmonellosis (Salmonella).

Bacteria are known to cause mild to severe illnesses and often end up in a carpet through:

- sneezing

- coughing

- human feces

- skin flakes

- food

- outdoor transfer

The great news is that many companies offer professional carpet cleaning services in Westminster, Co., And they have the right tools and substances needed to remove these harmful bacteria from your carpets.

3. Pet Dander

All animals with fur or feathers frequently shed tiny particles of skin called dander. So whether you have a cat, a dog, a rabbit, or even small rodents, you most likely have some pet dander in your carpets and on your furniture. This is because skin has ragged edges that allow them to stick to any surface easily.

Additionally, these are often pretty small and light-weight particles that the naked eye can't see, so they are easily transferable from pets to humans.

Finally, because pets often lick their fur and skin, the combination of skin urine, or skin saliva can become harmful to the body when inhaled. The immune system, whose job is to protect us from infections and illnesses, often identifies them as potential threats, leading to sometimes intensive reactions.

To avoid accumulating pet dander in your carpet, it is first essential to regularly brush your pet to remove dead skin cells and fur. Other ways to keep your carpet and rugs cleaned and free from as much dander as possible is to regularly vacuum and check both air filters and bags for better suction and efficiency. You can also use dander denaturing sprays to remove more dander.

By regularly deep cleaning your carpets, the amount of pet dander in them can be reduced. This will then decrease allergens and protect you, your family, and even pets from possible health risks.

4. Moisture

Bathrooms and kitchens are known to be areas where humidity levels are pretty high. In such warm and wet environments, mold and allergens can quickly build up.

But even aside from those specific places, simple spills on a carpet can also lead to mold and mildew development.

Therefore, keeping your carpets and places dry is necessary to prevent mold build-up and protect air quality.

5. Chemicals

Because the use of toxic substances and low-quality products can lead to things such as skin and eye irritation, using the right products and cleaning methods when cleaning your carpet is essential.

Especially when hiring professionals, it is vital to make sure that everything they use is non-toxic, of excellent quality, and appropriate to your carpets' needs. The last thing you would want is to have to later deal with the physical, financial, and emotional consequences of harmful chemicals.

Summary

From dirt and dust to bacteria and chemicals, many things can make your carpet dirty. And because we are so often in contact with our carpets, keeping them clean as much as possible is the best way to reduce health risks and preserve your family's safety and comfort.

So to improve your indoor air quality, consider:

1. Keeping outdoor shoes in specific areas, or at least not wearing them on your carpets.

2. Placing area rugs and mats in high traffic areas such as entryways, hallways, living rooms, and staircases.

3. Vacuuming regularly to remove dust and other common germs

4. Hiring professional and experienced companies that offer carpet cleaning in Broomfield for deep and safe cleaning.

[sarah--writes-blog]

Warm Things

@unmeimiru: Took me a while to think of one. Here's a prompt for you: scarves and beanies and hot chocolate with marshmallows, Keith and Pidge.

“So you’ve never owned a scarf?”

“I have my little neck scarf-”

“No. Like a real scarf. For winter.”

“The Garrison is in the desert, I’ve never needed them.”

“Seems like you need one now.”

Keith huffed and crossed his arms, trying to ignore the fact that he couldn’t breathe out of his nose.

The paladins hadn’t exactly been quarantined and disinfected before Blue blasted them off into space. With three of them in contact with the entire Garrison and one of them exposed to new species and all the diseases they came with, it was impressive how long it took for the humans to catch a simple head cold. As soon as the first symptoms popped up, everyone was sprayed down with Altean disinfectant. But as the paladins learned in their biology classes, the common cold was notoriously hard to get rid of.

In the end, Team Voltron narrowed it down to Pidge being the one who brought it on board. Not because she had it herself, but the last time any of them remembered someone getting sick was in her robotics class - her partner for the project had it pretty bad.

The guilt Pidge had was what drove her to confront the victim of this strain of cold virus. Unfortunately, this victim was the most stubborn of them all. She found him outside the training deck.

“I don’t need a scarf. We’re in space.” Keith grumbled. He was in a particularly bad mood, ever since Shiro forbade him from training for at the very least a day so he wouldn’t spread it to the others. “Besides, scarves don’t actually help. They just get all gross.”

“Maybe not physically, but mentally they work pretty damn well. Here.” Pidge offered him her own scarf that she’d picked up on one of the more touristy planets. “It seemed to jump over me, you can be gross on this all you want.”

“No.”

“C’mon, fussypants. You can be gross on this instead of your precious gloves.”

That was a pretty convincing argument. Keith scowled and took the scarf, only just barely draping it around his neck. “I look ridiculous.”

“You look cozy,” Pidge smiled, “At least put it on right.” She tucked the scarf around his neck properly, satisfied that he looked a little less agitated.

“It’s....yeah okay it’s kind of cozy. And maybe it’s kind of helping me feel a little better...”

Keith stopped his rant and seemed to stare into the void. Before Pidge could ask which dimension he was looking into, his breath hitched, and he sneezed the squeakiest little kitten sneeze Pidge had ever heard. Her eyes went wide as he repeated the action twice more.

Her mischievous grin was met with a glare that could destroy a galran flagship.

“If you dare...tell anyone...about my sneezes...”

“I won’t.”

“Fucking right you won’t-”

“If you actually relent and do as I say to help you get rid of this cold.”

They stared each other down for a moment, daring the other to act first, when Pidge pulled up her coms and hit the talk button.

“Hey everyone, Keith-”

“Pidge!”

“-he’s got this cold, and you won’t believe-”

“FINE FINE!”

Pidge snickered and put down her coms. “Good. Now follow me. You’re gonna need more than just a scarf.” She didn’t think she should tell him that she had to connect her comes to someone before anyone could hear anything.

Keith was lead to a much more secluded corner of the castle, where the lights weren’t blinding and the sounds were much more muffled. “Where are you taking me? What is this place?”

“It’s just the quietest and most secluded part of the castle. Without going in the air vents, of course,” Pidge replied, “I come here when I get migraines.”

“...I guess it is rather peaceful back here.”

The left hand of Voltron situated her fellow arm into a soft bean bag chair she’d stashed there for the heavier migraines. Once she was sure that Keith wouldn’t dash out on her, she left him to get more supplies to help his cold.

Keith simmered while he waited, wondering why Pidge was making such a big deal out of this. It was just a cold, not even some crazy galra virus. She was a huge worrier, just like her brother.

Matt. Keith’s face softened a bit. They still hadn’t found Matt. It was truly a miracle that Shiro was able to touch down on Earth after being captured, how much more luck would it take to locate one human in the entire galaxy? The entire universe? And then find another, her father.

No wonder she’s worried. She can’t lose anyone else.

Pidge returned, happy to see Keith still in the beanbag chair, even relaxing a little bit. Maybe he really was sick.

“This is what Matt and I used to do. He’d always get sick in the fall, and he liked these things, so I figured you might too. Here.” She held out a soft bit of fabric, and Keith’s scowl returned.

“A beanie. You want me to put on a beanie.”

“It might actually help your mess of hair anyway.”

Oh, she was good. Keith sighed and put it on, finding that the hat pulled perfectly over his ears, and the ever so slight weight on his head felt comforting. Maybe this wasn’t so bad. He looked to her next two objects, heart softening.

“How did you make hot chocolate?”

Pidge sat down cross-legged in front of him, offering a mug. “It’s not exactly hot chocolate, it’s the best I could do with all the Altean stuff, but Hunk said it was pretty close. And those are supposed to be marshmallows.”

The little white fluffy bits in Keith’s mug suddenly scared him. “Supposed to be?”

“Coran called them marshmallows, and they taste pretty close. But I can’t help but be skeptical.”

The two fell quiet as they sipped. For an alien equivalent, the hot chocolate wasn’t too bad at all. Keith found himself melting into the chair, muscles relaxing and brow unfurrowing.

“Your brother has good taste.”

Pidge watched her marshmallows intently. “Had.”

With a defiant sniff, Keith gripped Pidge’s shoulder firmly. “Has. We’ll find him, and I’ll return this beanie myself. Until then, you’ve got four substitute older brothers watching around the clock and filling in. I’m still on duty, I have a job to do, I get to be sick Matt for the day.”

The smaller paladin cracked a smile, and Keith mirrored it well. “You guys aren’t replacements, you know that, right? Or substitutes? You’re a different part of my family. You’re still my brother, just as Keith.”

“That’s probably a good thing. I’m not as smart as him.”

The two laughed a bit and took more sips of hot chocolate. Keith could feel his sinuses starting to warm up from the drink, opening up and feeling less pressurized. Maybe I should invest in warm things more often.

[itsmonikacook]

5 Ways Your Carpet Can Alter Your Indoor Air Quality

Caring for a carpet is no easy task. It takes time, effort, and even knowledge to maintain and preserve its cleanliness properly. And while many people do know the importance of keeping their carpet clean for things such as aesthetic and good looks, many others often forget the possible negative impacts of dirty carpets on their overall health.

Some health problems commonly associated with poor carpet care include:

- Irritated skin

- Irritated eyes

- Headaches and migraines

- Fatigue

- Cough and sore throat

- Weakened immune system

- Respiratory issues

- Stomach illness and infections

As time goes by, numerous things can easily be trapped in a carpet. These are often time microscopic organisms that are not visible to the naked eyes. And because they cannot be seen, are often not thought about.

However, it is these small things that affect indoor air quality and lead to several illnesses. So if not properly maintained, carpets can become homes to all kinds of harmful contaminants.

Therefore, the first step to better care for a carpet is to know what specific things can be trapped in it.

Here is a list of six things that can impact your indoor air quality.

1. Dirt and Dust

Did you know that the average American home can accumulate up to 40 pounds of dust every year? Yes, dirt and dust are some of the most common things found in carpets.

From wearing muddy and outside shoes to merely engaging in daily activities, there are many ways through which carpets can collect dirt, soil, and dust.

But the most frightening thing about this is the accumulation of dust mites. These are microscopic creatures similar to small bugs that are often found in carpets. They can cause severe allergic reactions such as sneezing and runny noses. To reduce the amount of dust in one's home, it is recommended to vacuum the carpet frequently and invest in a good carpet cleaner.

2. Bacteria

From the food we eat to the water we drink, and even to our bodies, bacteria can be found in every habitat on earth. In other words, they are everywhere.

But the ones that are of interest to us are those that live and thrive in our homes. Some of the most common ones are Escherichia coli (E. coli), Staphylococcus aureus (Staph), and Salmonellosis (Salmonella).

Bacteria are known to cause mild to severe illnesses and often end up in a carpet through:

- sneezing

- coughing

- human feces

- skin flakes

- food

- outdoor transfer

The great news is that many companies offer professional carpet cleaning services in Westminster, Co., And they have the right tools and substances needed to remove these harmful bacteria from your carpets.

3. Pet Dander

All animals with fur or feathers frequently shed tiny particles of skin called dander. So whether you have a cat, a dog, a rabbit, or even small rodents, you most likely have some pet dander in your carpets and on your furniture. This is because skin has ragged edges that allow them to stick to any surface easily.

Additionally, these are often pretty small and light-weight particles that the naked eye can't see, so they are easily transferable from pets to humans.

Finally, because pets often lick their fur and skin, the combination of skin urine, or skin saliva can become harmful to the body when inhaled. The immune system, whose job is to protect us from infections and illnesses, often identifies them as potential threats, leading to sometimes intensive reactions.

To avoid accumulating pet dander in your carpet, it is first essential to regularly brush your pet to remove dead skin cells and fur. Other ways to keep your carpet and rugs cleaned and free from as much dander as possible is to regularly vacuum and check both air filters and bags for better suction and efficiency. You can also use dander denaturing sprays to remove more dander.

By regularly deep cleaning your carpets, the amount of pet dander in them can be reduced. This will then decrease allergens and protect you, your family, and even pets from possible health risks.

4. Moisture

Bathrooms and kitchens are known to be areas where humidity levels are pretty high. In such warm and wet environments, mold and allergens can quickly build up.

But even aside from those specific places, simple spills on a carpet can also lead to mold and mildew development.

Therefore, keeping your carpets and places dry is necessary to prevent mold build-up and protect air quality.

5. Chemicals

Because the use of toxic substances and low-quality products can lead to things such as skin and eye irritation, using the right products and cleaning methods when cleaning your carpet is essential.

Especially when hiring professionals, it is vital to make sure that everything they use is non-toxic, of excellent quality, and appropriate to your carpets' needs. The last thing you would want is to have to later deal with the physical, financial, and emotional consequences of harmful chemicals.

Summary

From dirt and dust to bacteria and chemicals, many things can make your carpet dirty. And because we are so often in contact with our carpets, keeping them clean as much as possible is the best way to reduce health risks and preserve your family's safety and comfort.

So to improve your indoor air quality, consider:

1. Keeping outdoor shoes in specific areas, or at least not wearing them on your carpets.

2. Placing area rugs and mats in high traffic areas such as entryways, hallways, living rooms, and staircases.

3. Vacuuming regularly to remove dust and other common germs

4. Hiring professional and experienced companies that offer carpet cleaning in Broomfield for deep and safe cleaning.

[runoncallie-blog]

Everything You Ever Wanted to Know About Calamus, and Then a Little More

“I don’t wanna tell you guys how to live your life, but I’m pretty much sure this could be fixed with ice cream..”

  General Information

Name: Calamus Custer Name Meaning: His name means “cane,” “grass,” or “reed.” Pronunciation: CAL-uh-MUS CUS-tur Other Names: Callie

Sex: Assigned male at birth Gender: Male Age: 24

Birth Date: June 10th

Birth Place: He was born in Tchulla, Mississipi, in the local hospital.

Species: Human Home-Planet: Earth Nationality: Mixed white American Occupation: Café Barista/Waiter

Dominant Hand: Right-handed. Astrological Sign: Gemini Blood Type: O-

  Appearance

Main Appearance: Calamus is tall and slender, with a nice build, a slim waist and decent muscles, and long legs. He’s got a pretty damn nice silhouette and is naturally quite pretty, as well as putting a lot of effort into his appearance. He’s been growing his blonde hair out for years, and it goes down to his mid-back at this point. He usually puts it up into complications braids and buns and loves to play with it and pamper it. He has a somewhat rectangular face, with prominent cheekbones, a Greek nose, a defined brow and deep-set brown eyes. He has fair skin, pink lips, a strong jaw, and his forehead wrinkles a little when he frowns. He has a very small scar on his lip, some faded track-mark scars on his wrists, and some heavy scarring on his upper thighs and butt. His right ear-lobe is scarred. Overall, he’s a very attractive person, and is quietly proud of this, though he doesn’t have a ton of confidence in himself.

  Image

Wardrobe: Calamus likes anything kind of retro, and has a lot of clothes from thrift stores or second-hand. He has a lot of tight jeans and band tees. He doesn’t have a very varied closet, but likes the excuse to dress androgynously and wear dresses or skirts whenever he has the excuse… But he does this rarely.

Accessories: He always keeps one hoop earring in his left ear. Musical Instruments: He knows a little bit of piano that he learned at school, but doesn’t know a lot, though he desperately wants to learn more. Piercings: His left ear is pierced. Hygiene: This is typically Calamus’s main form of self-care. He loves long, warm showers and baths with bubbles or bath bombs. He does one or the other almost every day as a chance to rewind and likes to keep himself looking clean and feeling put-together. While he was homeless, he rarely had a chance to clean himself properly and keep himself clean, so now retaining this is incredibly important to him. He can frequently be caught washing his hands or brushing his teeth for no reason other than he feels like it and he can. Makeup: He doesn’t wear makeup, but he frequently wants to… Perfume / Cologne: He has one thing of cranberry-cinnamon body spray that he got as a gift one time, and frequently wears. Scent: He keeps everything on his person a bit obsessively clean, so he often smells of laundry, soap, or hand sanitizer... Or coffee. Tattoos: None

  Health

Diet: Calamus eats fairly simply and doesn’t have very much skill in terms of cooking, though he’s trying very hard to learn. He eats a lot of beans and rice, which makes up a majority of his diet, as well as pasta, chicken, and soup. Everything he eats is fairly cheap, but he makes a very real effort to be healthy. Ice cream is his one treat that he allows himself, most of the time. He has a huge sweet tooth. Exercise: He likes to go on a run or at least a walk at least once a day if he can get away with it. Fitness: Calamus is very much in shape, as his appearance is something he values and he hinges his self-worth upon. Posture: He usually tries to stand tall and sit straight, but will recede into a more timid, smaller posture very quickly if startled or intimidated.

Abnormalities: While Calamus is a fairly healthy person physically, he struggles a lot with his mental health, self-esteem, sleep, and past traumas. Aids: Though he needs glasses, and probably needs medication for his mental health and/or sleep aids as well, he doesn’t know or doesn’t have any way to access these things, and is currently living without them. Allergies: Calamus has no allergies. Diseases: Calamus has no diseases. Illnesses: Calamus has no illnesses. Disorders: Though undiagnosed, Calamus experiences generalized anxiety disorder, major depressive disorder, and complex post-traumatic stress disorder, as well as on-and-off insomnia and frequent migraines due to stress and strain from his eyes. Broken Bones: Calamus has never broken a bone. Reason for Health: Calamus’s mental health issues stem from the abusive environment he grew up in as a child and his time as a homeless person in New York City.

  Voice

Accent / Dialect: Though he’s trying to wean himself off of it, Calamus still has a fairly strong and noticeable Southern accent. Voice: Calamus has a deep, raspy voice. It is deep, steady, and clear, and he is usually very audible, even when he is upset or crying. Laughter: Calamus always tries to hide it or hold it in when he laughs, frequently covering up his mouth with his hands. Impediments: N/A

  Psychology

Languages: English Personality: Calamus has a lot of reasons to be timid and anxious, and really, he has a lot of these two features inside of him. He looks long and hard before he leaps, and is very scared of change or any sort of risk. He prefers to play it safe most of the time, and always fear or assumes the worst. He is easily intimidated or shot down and has a difficult time advocating for himself. However, he has a naturally friendly, charismatic, and chipper disposition. He can be incredibly charming when he wants to be and is horribly empathetic and sweet. He hates being alone for too long, and always prefers to surround himself with loved ones and physical affection. He has a hard time with being ignored or feeling alone and takes any sort of criticism or snideness very hard. He’s a sensitive soul, and gets upset, offended, or his feelings damaged very easily. He has a tendency to talk down about himself and blame himself for any shortcomings or bad luck that occurs in his own or friends’ lives. He holds onto a lot of guilt and has a habit of internalizing things, though he is often very outwardly emotional. He gets excited easily, gets very worked up and flustered when he’s angry, and cries incredibly easily when he’s upset or when he’s been put down. He’s ashamed of his past in a lot of ways and wants in so many ways to be better than what he is. Though he doesn’t necessarily believe that he has the ability to achieve very much, and assumes that others think the worst of him, he is ambitious and very hard-working and wants to get in far in life as he possibly can. He strives to achieve independence and be able to take care of himself without relying on others. He feels guilty when others help him out and doesn’t want to drag anyone else down. He thinks he should be able to handle his own life by himself without reaching out to others, but is also always willing to lend a hand to anyone around him who may need it. He’s curious and has a natural thirst for knowledge, but doesn’t consider himself to be smart, and has a large mischievous streak to him. He loves to explore and get into things he probably shouldn’t and learn new things. He is a bit selfish and becomes defensive quickly. He’s very protective of himself and those around him but is also very sweet, loyal, and funny. He’s naturally rather effeminate and kind of a show-off at times and loves to have fun and get physical affection and validation from others whenever he can get it.

  Philosophy

Outlook on Life: Calamus tries to very optimistic and grateful for everything that he has in life, but sometimes has a hard time actually sticking to these ideals. He’s fearful and doesn’t have high hopes for himself, though he can’t help but dream of great achievements and beautiful things for himself. Philosophy / Motto: “Love what you have.”

  Character

Priorities: Their main goal right now is making their way through life without relying on other’s goodwill, making enough money to get themselves a good education and a good job, and find some security in their life. Self Confidence: Though they often act very confident outwardly, or pretend that they are, they have very little confidence in their own skills and abilities. They have a lot of doubt and often expect the worst. Self Control: Calamus has a great deal of self-control, and tends to bottle up his anger and ignore larger conflicts instead of confronting them. He pushes himself very hard and holds himself to very strict expectations. He demands a lot from himself and keeps himself on task. Self Esteem: Callie has very poor self-esteem, and look down on themselves. They downplay all their own achievements and see themselves as a failure. They blame most things on themselves.

Quirks: Calamus is always playing with his hair, and has a habit of taking charge of situations without meaning to. He is a natural leader, but without the confidence to declare himself one. Hobbies: Singing, dancing, doing complicated hairstyles, exploring, sciencey things, watching comedy shows, sewing, embroidery, running. Closet Hobbies: He really loves to dress up and try on skirts and dresses, but tends to keep this on the down-low. Guilty Pleasures: He ADORES ice cream.

Habits: He habitually sleeps on his couch instead of on his bed. Nervous Tics: When he gets nervous, he’ll chew on the ends of his hair, flinch, make himself smaller, and back himself up against a wall or try to find nearby exits. Soft Spots: He has a HUGE soft spot for babies and little kids.

Most Prized Possession: Honestly, his most prized possession is his apartment itself. He values having a home of his own almost more than anything else. Collections: He basically collects free samples of makeup and hair care products.

Regrets: He has a LOT of regrets. Sometimes, he regrets running away. Sometimes, he regrets waiting so long. Sometimes, he regrets his lack of education. He regrets leaving his friends. He regrets his choices. He regrets getting involved in drug and sex, he regrets trusting the people he did, he regrets the things he did to get arrested… Secrets: He keeps his former drug use, his family history, and his opinions of himself. Darkest Secret: His extended drug abuse while he was homeless is one of his closest guarded secrets. He hasn’t really talked to anyone about it… Ever. Pet Peeves: People who are too loud when it’s not necessary, people who take charge even when they don’t know what they’re doing, baby boomer customers.

Phobias: He has a very real fear of physical pain and being trapped, of making others angry with him or disappointing those around him, and of embarrassing himself or his friends.

  Preferences

Likes: fancy things, singing, dancing, pop music, fashion, make-up, Beyoncé, the 70’s and 80’s, anything vintage or retro, making friends, looking good, attention, metal bands, make-up and hair tutorials on YouTube, the piano, racing games, learning, science, exploring the dump, junkyards, woods, making people laugh, pineapple, dogs Dislikes: family, being judged, prying eyes, loud noises or yelling, anything overly salty, belts, flying bugs, his childhood, thunderstorms, anything made entirely of leather (tacky and uncomfortable,) rules, the summer, sudden noises, the color orange, prying questions, bills

Favorites: Caramel ice cream, german shepherds, goldfish crackers, bright sunny days, bright colors, Beyoncé.

  Combat

Ability: N/A Position: N/A Weapon: None Element: N/A Martial Arts: None, knows basic ‘street fighting’ skills. Strengths: Larger, muscular, has a decent amount of strength and agility, could probably hold his own very well based only on physical capabilities. Weaknesses: Locks up in physical conflicts, is afraid of hurting others, panics and shuts down. Restrictions: PTSD

  Home, Work, and Education

Abode: They live in a small, somewhat shitty studio apartment; but it’s home to them.

Pets: None Roommates: None

Sleep Patterns: They’re pretty bad at sleep. They’re typically only able to sleep for a few hours at a time before they wake up, either due to nightmares or insomnia, pace, and then settle back on their couch. Then repeat, and onto the bed. They have a very hard time getting to sleep at night and has semi-frequent nightmares that they deal with regarding their past. They are a very light sleeper and will wake up at a moment’s notice at any sort of noise. Eating Habits: Calamus loves to eat, though he tries to be healthy, and has a habit of hoarding food and consuming pretty much anything he gets his hands on. He will never, ever, ever turn down free food.

  Social

Mother: His mother is a woman named Gracie Custer. She dropped out of high school and married her boyfriend when she got pregnant at the age of sixteen; an uncommon occurrence where she lived. Though she is a sweet woman, and hard-working, she has a hard time finding her own path and has a habit of allowing others to decide things for her, such as her husband. She was raised with the rigid rules of the Bible Belt and lives by them rigorously in many ways that are unhealthy. Despite this, she is kind and giving, but easily flustered and annoyed as well. She loves babies but struggles to handle all her children in the small space which they live. She works at a local corner store. She loved her son, Calamus, but largely sat idly by whenever he was beaten, and often told him that he was ‘asking for it’ and wouldn’t have to take whippings if he just ‘followed the rules.’ Father: Calamus’s father is a man named Hank Custer, who works in construction. He is not very in touch with his emotions and is an incredibly hard-working and proud man. He values appearance, obedience to God, and doing things correctly, and he and his oldest son never got along. What was initially just conflict and discipline eventually grew to serious abuse as Calamus got older and bolder, and he would frequently beat or hit Callie growing up until Calamus ran away from home at the age of sixteen Guardians: Callie was raised by his mother and father. Siblings: While Calamus lived at home, his mother had ten other children; Jethro, Atticus, Juniper, Chrysanthemum, Caspar, Elseth, Serafina, November, Clyde, and Patience. Unfortunately, Juniper, Chrysanthemum, and Caspar all passed away during the Virus outbreak. Callie was forced by circumstance to play a large role in raising his younger siblings. His family lived in poverty, and both his parents had to work, so Callie frequently would stay home from school and skip class in order to look after his younger siblings when his parents couldn’t get the time off or couldn’t afford a sitter. Consequently, Calamus was held back several years in school, and always struggled with grades. Calamus got along decently with most of his siblings and was especially close with Juniper, and Patience, who was only a baby when he left home. He and his brother, Jethro, however, were constantly at odds. Jethro was very much a daddy’s boy, and constantly wanted their father’s approval, and so he took on the same attitude as him towards Calamus. He would frequently tease or tattle on Callie growing up. Unbeknownst to Calamus, his mother has had three more children since he left home; Noah, Hazel, and Calliope. Children: Calamus has no children. Best Friend: Audrey Zaccadelli Close Friends: Levi Price, Alex Temple, Marcus Bailey, Friends: Darius Rufus, Mary Sheehan, Angel Rodriguez Acquaintances: Marriage Law Group Rivals: N/A Enemies: N/A

  Romance

First Love: His first love was one of his best friends growing up, Lucas Hughs. He was part of Calamus’s ‘posse’ and the two of them would frequently hang out together, but Calamus found himself wanting to be more than Lucas’s friend. The two of them were close, and at one point, the two of them kissed; but Lucas decided he didn’t feel that way about boys. So Callie let it go. They remained close friends, and Calamus would still consider him to be one of his closest friends, even though they haven’t been able to see each other in years. Love Interests: N/A Significant Other: N/A Sexual and Romantic Orientation(s): gay

  Reactions

Angry: When Callie is angry, he tends to get really vocal and will often tell you exactly why he’s angry, which is a stark contrast to a lot of his other reactions to negative emotion. Anxious: An anxious Callie will talk a lot, fidget, and try to flit around whatever subject is causing him stress, and focus on distractions instead. It’s hard for him to get anything done when he’s very anxious. Conflicted: When conflicted, Calamus will often seek the advice of others; mainly those he trusts. Criticized: Callie takes criticism incredibly poorly, and almost always takes it purposefully and becomes downtrodden or depressed once it’s delivered. Depressed: Calamus withdraws and often becomes more short-fused or even violent. He doesn’t seek social company or speak very much. Will often fall back into patterns of substance abuse. Embarrassed: He becomes very flustered and quiets down, trying to step away from the spotlight; for once. Excited: When excited, Callie is bouncing off the walls, ready to speak about everything to everyone. He wants to share his feelings and thoughts with anyone who will give him the time of day. Frightened: When Callie is frightened, their first instinct is to usually flee, and get far away from or protect themselves from whatever is the source of their fear. Guilty: Callie can’t deal with guilt. It eats them alive. They don’t speak of up, or really break it up externally, but rather hides it away and lets it bother them for years and years, slowly picking away at his insides. Happy: When he’s happy, Calamus is sunshine; bright and full of smiles and cheer and compliments and bold ideas. Humiliated: He’ll almost certainly cry and flee the situation. Nervous: He usually plays with his hair a lot, and talks a bit more than often, asking a lot of questions. Offended: If Callie is offended, they’ll usually get very angry and tell you exactly what they think of you. Praised: Calamus gets very bashful when he’s complimented, and laughs and flushes a lot, but he totally loves it. Rejected: Typically, he becomes discouraged and embarrassed. He retreats and takes time for himself, and pities himself for a while, before he’s ready to try again. Sad: Over the years, Calamus had learned the explicit value of a good cry, and this is one of his most powerful tools when dealing with negative emotions. Stressed: When he’s stressed, Callie will often kick it into high-drive, and work twice as far in a result.

  Biography

Background: Calamus was born in the deep south of Mississippi, the firstborn to two high school drop-outs living far below the poverty line in a trailer park. Through the years, they had six other children, all the way up until Calamus was fifteen. Maybe more after that. He doesn’t really know.

Growing up, Calamus didn’t have the same interests as a lot of other boys his age. He loved the idea of having long, beautiful hair, wearing his mother’s make-up and clothes, dancing, and singing. He liked things like trucks and exploring the woods and making things blow up and racing, too. But no one ever worried about that. The more prominent these interests became, and the more his bold personality began to show, the more his family tried to squash it down. His father, in particular, a man who highly valued hard work, obedience, and image, often clashed with his eldest son. He frequently punished him for being too feminine, for shaming their family, for not working hard enough, and anything else that happened to piss him off, and Calamus was no stranger to neither his belt nor the back of his hand growing up.

Calamus was naturally very charismatic and charming, and surprisingly, didn’t have a difficult time making friends in his neighborhood. While he faced a fair deal of bullying and discrimination at school over the years, he built up a small “following” of boys who lived in the same trailer park as him and were more open-minded than their parents. He spent most of his time wandering the streets with them and sleep over at their houses. They were close-knit. They would protect each other even at self-sacrifice, laugh and play together, and go along with Calamus’ whims. Doing complicated hair tutorials from Youtube with the blonde locks that Calamus had been passionately growing out since he was small, recreating music videos, exploring the local dump and racing through the town. This was what protected him and kept him going for a very long time, and what made him stay, despite everything else that happened. His family, the virus, the troubles at school. When Calamus was freshly sixteen, however, he and his father had a severe altercation after they found out that Callie had secretly pierced their right ear some time ago, typically hidden by his long hair. By the end of the night, Calamus had a split lip, a limp, and a buzzcut. Leaving their friends behind was the hardest thing Calamus ever had to do, but it was at this point that they decided that they couldn’t stand living in the same tiny town with nothing on the horizon and no adults caring about what went on at home. He hitch-hiked his way out of town, New York bound, and didn’t look back.

Earliest Memory: One of Callie’s earliest memories was when he was around two years old, and got into his mom’s stuff in her room. He ate an entire tube of lipstick because he thought that was how it was used and how to make his lips red and then threw up later. His mother was sympathetic, but his father spanked him until he cried when he found out about it.   Fondest Memory: Callie’s fondest memory is a tie; between hanging out with his roving gang of friends back in Mississippi, after a very long fall afternoon. They were all piled atop a junk car like seals on a rock in the middle of the ocean, surrounded by this endless field and watching the sunset while they talked about nothing in particular. The other contender is the first time he got his baby sister, Patience, to fall asleep in his arms. Typically, she would only cry or fuss or stay up if anyone but her mother held her. But when he laid down and put her on his chest and she drifted off, that was one of the warmest feelings Calamus ever had. Worst Memory: The time he was beaten for piercing his ear before he ran away from home. Everything after that was awful, too, but the realization that his father didn’t care for his mental or emotional wellbeing at all, and he and the rest of his family and all their neighbors would always value appearances more than him, stung worst of all.

[vintagemichelle91]

A Hard Lesson in History: Chapter 5

Authors’ Note: Will Rafael reveal the truth to Natalia? Let’s find out shall we dear readers. Once again, @rauliskafan and I want to thank you so much for your support and feedback! It is great hearing your thoughts! Please continue and we so look forward to it! Enjoy!!

           By the time Rafael arrived at the townhouse that evening, he remained uneasy, the feeling manifesting itself as a throbbing migraine that had only grown worse as the day dragged on.

           “Papi!”

           However, Violetta’s joy at seeing his return made him smile, and he tightly folded her into his arms. Still the idea of her, of Natalia and the babies being caught in a crossfire horrified him and stayed at the forefront of his mind. Somehow, he had to find a way to get out ahead of this.

And he had already taken the first step.

           “Papi, I helped Abuelita Lucia feed the twins! But Holly threw up all on my dress,” Violetta said scrunching up her little nose.

           “No wonder I caught a funny smell,” he quipped.

           Violetta gasped in horror. “Papi! I changed! And Mami let me spray some of her perfume!”

           Rafael laughed as his pain kept subsiding. “Then it must be coming from Holly.”

           “Hazel threw up too,” Violetta said as a matter of fact.

           “Tubby time for the twins tonight,” Natalia said, emerging from the kitchen to place dinner on the table. She chastely kissed her husband, and Rafael held her a little longer than usual. Her eyes were pooling with questions when he pulled away.

           “I’ll be happy to help,” he said. “After Violetta’s bath.” Rafael turned to face his daughter who huffed.

           “I guess I could use one,” she said. “Very busy afternoon with Hazel and Holly.” Rafael loosened his tie, and Violetta tapped her toes against the tiled floor.

           “What?” he asked.

           “You forget the flowers and the chocolate milk?” the little girl asked in disbelief. Damn. He had been so distracted by the mysterious phone call that the promised gifts were the furthest thing from his mind.

           “I’m sorry,” he muttered. Natalia rubbed his back, and Violetta rolled her eyes.

           “Guess I let you off this once cause I know from tough times,” she said with a dramatic sigh. “But let’s not make it a regular currence.” With that, Violetta made her way to the dining room.

           “Rough day?” Natalia asked, remaining at Rafael’s side while he looked in on the twins. The babies snuggled deeper into their fluffy blankets with the sun just beginning to set over their bassinets. He smiled at how peaceful they looked and wanted them to stay that way forever.

           “That’s one way of putting it,” Rafael started, “But nothing that can’t be handled. In fact, I did just that before coming home.” Kissing the back of Natalia’s hand, knowing that his wife’s plate was full, Rafael now regretted going back to work in more ways than one.

           “Something tells me you aren’t satisfied with the result, Atticus,” Natalia said as she narrowed her eyes.

           How did she do that? There was no hiding his moods from her. Should he tell her now? No, not just yet. Not when his heart was heavy and he just wanted to rest… to forget…

           “Used a slightly different tactic, but it should bring about the result I want,” Rafael answered vaguely. Looking away from her, he bent over to kiss the babies.

           “Are you sure?” Natalia pressed

           “Very. And I’m just exhausted… but probably no more than you, hermosa.” Rafael eased her towards the dining room with a quick kiss and a small smirk of reassurance.

           “You’re allowed to be tired, too,” Natalia said gently. She gave his hand a slight squeeze, and he rested his head on her shoulder.

           “Thank you for that, hermosa,” Rafael stated. Yes, he would have to reveal the truth at some point; she had every right to know. But he wasn’t sure how she would take it, and the thought that it would put distance between them was all too terrifying.

           “Of course, Atticus” Natalia said, nuzzling his cheek.

           “You two gonna eat or what?” Violetta shouted from the dining room. “I’m famished!”

           They both laughed, and Natalia grabbed the baby monitor from the coffee table so they could hear the twins if they roused from their sleep.

           “That’s Trevor’s lingo,” Rafael remarked, slightly amused.

           “Our sweet pea has an extensive vocabulary,” Natalia joked. “It’ll make her a top candidate for the best preschools in the city.”      

“I guess we should start looking into that,” he remarked. Violetta was more than ready to venture out into the world and make many friends besides Harold. Yet he was nervous to send her away from the ivory tower.

“Atticus?”

           “I… I don’t think I’m ready for that conversation just yet,” Rafael admitted.

           “Plenty of time, Atticus,” Natalia said. “We don’t have to discuss anything important tonight.”

           That was the best news he had heard all day.

           He remained pensive during dinner as Violetta told him all about her day with Lucia. At least it was a distraction. The last thing he wanted was to dwell on the Knowles case and the repercussions of his actions…

…the threats from the stranger on the phone.

           “Think someone is changing their mind about babies,” Natalia said as she heaped another serving of vegetables onto Violetta’s plate.

           “What you mean, Mami?”

           “That maybe you are finding out that babies are indeed fun!” Natalia replied cheerfully, her contentment causing her husband to sigh in relief before he smiled.

           “I guess. Only… I not like them so much when they throwing up on me,” Violetta replied with a roll of her eyes.

           “They won’t do that always,” Rafael reassured her, pinching her pink cheeks. “Now, what else did you do with abuelita?”

           Violetta relayed every single detail of her day, and all the while Rafael felt Natalia’s stare on him. She would ask him what was going on again.

Because he was doing a rotten job hiding his reservations.  

           “Atticus?” she asked once Violetta finished her food and went to watch her program with Harold. “I said that we didn’t… but I think there’s something you want to tell me.”

           ��I… it’s really nothing.”

           Standing back, Natalia shook her head. “No; lying doesn’t become you.”

           What happened to the poker face that he was so proud of in the confines of the courtroom?

           “Hermosa… I…”

           “You what?” she asked, sitting beside him and taking his hand in hers. “Whatever it is you can say it.”

           “I… I need to…”

Before he could summon the courage to speak, the doorbell rang.

           “Saved by the bell,” Natalia teased, hurrying to answer the ding before Rafael had a chance to hold her back. He had an instinct as to who it might…

           …and his heart sank further when he saw Liv walk through the doorway with a frustrated expression coloring her face, alerting him as to what he was in for.

           “Liv! It’s so good to see you!” Natalia said, and she gave her a quick hug.

           Maybe she was a woman on a mission at the moment, but the lieutenant still offered his wife a small smile. “I’m sorry for the sudden intrusion. But I really need to speak to Rafael.”

           Nodding, Natalia turned to her husband who remained stagnant. Liv matched his stance, the tension swirling around and between them.

            “I think that maybe I should give you two a moment,” Natalia said.

           “No, it’s fine; this will be quick,” Rafael said determinedly.

           “Will it?” Liv asked. Her disappointment cut him to the core, and he said nothing as she took a step closer.

           “Why are you recusing yourself from the case?” she asked.

           “Recusing?” Natalia echoed. “Why would you do that, Rafael?”

           Still he stayed silent.

“I needed those warrants,” Liv continued. “I get nothing but a paltry excuse. And then you dodge my calls for the rest of the day. You want to tell me why?”

He did not. Not when his head was pounding again and Natalia was right here. A thin line formed across his lips.

            “This isn’t a good time, Liv.”

           “Then when?” she asked, raising her voice slightly. “When we find another dead girl?”

           “Lower your voice,” he hissed. “My daughters are in the next room.”

           Caught off guard, Liv did a doubletake, and Natalia inched away as the lieutenant reached for his arm.

           “I didn’t come here to upset your family,” she said.

           “Good to know,” he shot back.

           “But what you did today…  I thought we were on the same team.”

           “We are,” Rafael replied coldly. “But I don’t have to run every move I make by you.” The tension seemed to reach its apex before scattering into space on the back of Liv’s sad sigh.

           “So that’s how it is,” she said. “Sorry. Here I thought we were friends.”

           Of course, they were. After all they had seen and done together…

           “Could you please go now, Olivia,” he asked. “I’m off the clock, and there’s no time for this.”

Bidding Natalia goodbye, Liv turned on her heel and left without giving Rafael another glance. As soon as the door shut, Natalia faced her husband.

“Go on,” he said. “Tell me that I behaved atrociously and that I should be ashamed of myself.”

Her sweet brown eyes hardened, and it seemed as if she stared at him for decades, searching for something...

           “What?” Rafael asked. He held his breath as she stepped closer, and her gaze softened as she cupped his face in her hands.

           “You are my husband… my Atticus,” she finally declared. “For a second, I… I feared that Nevada was back.” A cold shiver ran up his spine when she mentioned that man’s name. Immediately, Rafael gathered Natalia in his arms and held onto her, his lips dotting the top of her head.

“I will never let that man near our family again, hermosa. And there is absolutely nothing you have to worry about.”

           “You promise?” Natalia asked, abandoning his embrace to look into his eyes once more.

           “I’m handling things.  Just trust me on this… okay?” Rafael pressed his forehead to hers, hoping that his words would be enough.

           “Always, always,” Natalia whispered.

           He couldn’t tell her now. Maybe he never would. The consequences of one action had already altered something with Liv.

           He could not take the chance with his wife. That night, once his girls were bathed and put to bed, Rafael sought the sanctuary of Natalia’s arms and vowed to stay in that safest, sweetest spot at any cost.

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11 Tips to Overcome Travel Anxiety

Have you ever experienced travel anxiety before heading out on your vacation?

Is that mental checklist of all the things you need to do before you leave keeping you up at night?

Vacation anxiety is real since there are so many details to think about.

You also know that I will most likely NOT sleep well, have allergies to deal with (think down pillows and comforters, air fresheners and dryer sheets on linens, etc.) and more.

If you're on a special diet, there's also wondering what on earth you will eat while you're away from your special-diet-stocked pantry.

YIKES! It's enough to make one never want to travel again!!

There are a lot of ways anxiety can creep in and steal the joy from your travels if you don't know how to calm it.

Vacation Anxiety

Anxiety affects about 40 million adults in the United States every year. It’s common for people to feel anxiety when they step out of their comfort zone and do something new, even when that something is fun.

As excited as you are about your vacation, your brain can interpret these new places as a threat and that can lead to increased heart rate, nausea, sleep problems, and panic.

The reasons for having travel anxiety can be different for everyone an it can be sparked by any number of things such as:

Fear of flying

Fear of interstates/traffic

Dwelling on worst case scenarios

Missing the comforts of home

Worrying about car sickness/nausea

Not knowing what to expect

When you're traveling with a family of kids there's the added burden of making sure everyone is safe and that your destination is kid-friendly

Following are some helpful tips I've learned over the years.

11 Travel Anxiety Tips

Mentally Prepare

Mentally preparing is a smart way to reduce anxiety and tell your brain that you're safe.

To set my mind at ease, I always research our destination a few weeks before we leave. This allows my brain to make thought patterns about our vacation and the area we will be staying.

Here are some ways you can mentally prepare to reduce travel anxiety:

Read reviews on the hotel/attractions

Add the destination to your weather app

Use Google Earth to get a visual of the area

Check Trip Advisor reviews (you might find some unexpected hidden gems!)

Familiarize yourself with the route you will take either by road or flight (you can even take a tour of the airport to reduce some of the unknowns.)

Take screenshots of directions or confirmation codes in case you lose internet on the trip.

Take time to mentally envision your trip. By mentally rehearsing the trip you might think of potential problems, and then you can deal with those issues before you leave.

For example, when imagining your stay and going to bed in the hotel, you remember that you will need down-free pillows, so you can call ahead and alert the hotel about your needs.

Physically Prepare

Food can have a huge impact on your mood and emotions. One study found that a long-term diet of unhealthy foods and sugar contributed to depression and anxiety. (source) By cutting out junk foods, sugar, and hydrogenated oils you can calm inflammation and your nervous system.

A study completed on medical students found that a diet of clean foods high in Omega-3s reduced anxiety rates. (source)

This post clearly shows how food affects behavior. Want better behaved kids while traveling? Feed them better food!

When we're traveling I make sure to pack healthy snacks like fresh fruits, vegetables, and lots of low-carb snacks as well (too many carbs can cause blood sugar swings), and bring lots of clean water for the trip. Staying hydrated is crucial for reducing stress on your body.

This post may contain affiliate links from which I will earn a commission.

Some Healthy Snack Ideas:

Having fresh snacks in a cooler reduces the number of fast food stops, saves money, and keep the kids from getting restless.

Call ahead about provisions like fridge/restaurants/nearby grocery stores with healthy offerings

Inquire about bedding alternatives.

Some hotels are allergy-conscious. They have down alternatives available and will have linens that haven't been washed with fragrances, and you can typically request that your room not be sprayed with an air freshener.

I have personally had a pungent air freshener give me a migraine and ruin the day for our family while we were traveling. It only takes a few minutes for the fumes to do their damage.

If you know you are sensitive to these things, take time to call before you leave so you have peace of mind that things are taken care of.

Calm Travel Anxiety with Herbs

Herbs that can help calm you if you are really anxious before a flight or car ride. Using plant remedies is a smarter, safer choice than prescription anxiety meds which can leave you groggy and glazed over, or worse.

Kava Root

Kava is used to improve mood and reduce anxiety by stimulating the dopamine receptors in the brain. In a recent study, it was shown to be very effective for anxiety with minimal side effects. These results support Kava Root extract as an effective and safe alternative to antidepressants and tranquilizers in anxiety disorder without the tolerance problems associated with benzodiazepines. (source)

GABA

This amino acid slows down brain activity and keeps neurons from firing too quickly, which reduces racing thoughts and anxiety. Benzodiazepines work the same way but come with nasty side effects. You can find GABA at your health food store and it's a much safer alternative to prescriptions. You can buy it either in capsules or as a powder.

(Side note – one of Adrienne's favorite GABA products is Purium's Chill Spray – it's GABA plus sun theanine. It works great and fast. You can use code wholenewmom to get the greater of $50 or 25% off your first order of $75 or more (and 15-25% off thereafter.)

5-HTP

This is one of my personal favorite supplements for dealing with anxiety. I notice a difference within 10 minutes of taking this. 5-HTP is derived out of an amino acid that works to increase serotonin and regulate mood.

Kava produces a calming sensation since serotonin is that “feel good” neurotransmitter. A note of caution–don't take kava if you are already taking a prescription for anxiety or depression.

Make an Walk Out The Door Checklist

When we are driving down the interstate, I really don't want to wonder if I remembered to turn off the stove or lock the back door. Keep a checklist of vital things that you need to remember to do and tape it to the inside of the door you will leave from.

This habit does a ton to help with vacation stress.

Here are some things that might be on your list: 

Turn off the stove

Unplug unnecessary appliances

Lock all the doors and windows

Set the air conditioner

Bring phone chargers

Turn off lights

Pack Supplements

Check toilets/water faucets, etc. to make sure they are not running

Pack toothbrush, personal care items, white noise machine, sleep mask, mouthguards and retainers, etc.

Do a quick walkthrough of the important things you need to remember right before you drive away. No last minute worries about whether a window was left open or a toilet was left running!

Distract Yourself

Focus on Something Else

It's your brain's job to create chemicals based on what you are seeing and perceiving.

You choose what your brain focuses on by practicing and taking your thoughts captive.

When you feel fearful or anxious, choose to focus on something that tells your brain you're safe.

If you're dealing with anxiety in the car or plane, open up your phone and look at fun pictures or read a good book when you're dealing with anxiety.

Or close your eyes and think about what it feels like to stand on the beach to change your brain chemistry. Think about how the sand feels on your toes, the smell of the salt water, the waves crashing around your ankles.

Chew Chew Chew

Chewing gum can calm your nerves, because who bothers to chew gum while they are in danger? People typically don’t eat when they are being chased by a bear.

Eating and drinking tell your brain you are in a calm situation and safe.

Mental and physical distraction is a great way to force the brain to change directions and reduce travel anxiety.

Bring Your Essential Oils With You

Do certain smells trigger memories for you? Your brain remembers smells and their corresponding emotions.

When you're traveling, bring along your favorite essential oil. Choose an oil that you use during calm, happy times versus an oil that you bust out when people are sick. The smell of that oil reminds your brain of those calm emotions you felt at home.

This can reduce homesickness too, so it's great for kids to add a few drops of oil to their bedding when away from home.

Don't have a favorite oil? Lavender has been shown in multiple studies to reduce anxiety and calm the nervous system. (source)

Breathe Deep

When people are stressed they tend to take short, rapid breaths from their chest. Your brain then gets the signal to turn on the fight-or-flight mode and anxiety can spiral out of control quickly.

Deep breathing keeps your brain in a calm state and the nerves relaxed. You can do this literally anywhere and it's free!

Inhale deeply and slowly through your nose and let your stomach expand. Then exhale through your mouth and let your body relax and your shoulders drop.

Practice this in the car whenever you feel stressed. Just close your eyes and take several rounds of breaths in through your nose and out of your mouth. It does the job and this even works great for kids.

Smother Your Anxiety With a Weighted Blanket

Many people find help with travel anxiety using a weighted blanket. The weighted blanket puts deep touch pressure stimulation on nerves and helps produce serotonin and melatonin. Studies have shown that using a weighted blanket can reduce anxiety by as much as 63%. (source)

Use a weighted blanket in a car, on a flight, or in your hotel to help you get a good night’s sleep.

Having that added weight does wonders for my nerves. Note: choose a blanket that is about 10% of your body weight for best results.

Prepare Motion Sickness Remedies

When motion sickness hits, it can quickly take the joy out of your vacation.

I don't want to start a vacation someone having a belly ache, so here are my go-to remedies:

Peppermint oil has been shown to reduce nausea by 57% when inhaled. It's a great, smart choice for kids and very portable. Try adding a few drops (diluted) to the back of your neck and the bottoms of your feet.

Eat light if you know you will be taking a long car ride that could bring on nausea.

Ginger has been shown to reduce nausea–ginger essential oil is a super convenient option. (source)

Chamomile has been used to treat nausea, vomiting, motion sickness, indigestion, and general digestive upset. Use organic chamomile tea or chamomile tablets that dissolve right in your mouth. I used to buy chamomile tablets for our car rides. They do wonders for upset stomach and add are very calming. They're also great for morning sickness during those first few months of pregnancy. (Note — CBD oil helped Adrienne's husband with motion sickness. You can see more of his story here.)

Go With The Flow

When you're on vacation you may feel pressure to hit every destination and activity on your itinerary. Give yourself permission to change your mind or be ok with missing a few stops.

Your trip doesn't have to be perfect. Weather happens and plans change or maybe you just need some downtime.

The point is to spend time together and enjoy something new

Schedule some downtime and if you don't end up needing it, great! At least you know you have the time in case family nap time is needed or the kids want to chill for while.

Plan for After the Vacation

You need to plan for some relaxing after you get home from your vacation. Often, the best vacations can leave you the most exhausted.

Have you ever heard the term “I need a vacation from my vacation?”

Anyone vacationing with children knows that when you get home you have laundry, a trashed vehicle, and stacks of mail waiting. All you want to do is rest!

When you're planning your next vacation, schedule some downtime for when you get back to avoid the after-vacation overwhelm.

Conclusion: Yes, You Can Stop Travel Anxiety

Even if you're prone to travel anxiety, there are things you can do to make your vacation as stress-free as possible.

Take time to review and plan, make lists, and prepare as many things as possible.

Every step will set your mind at ease more so that when you leave, you'll be able to really relax.

Hopefully these tips will help you embrace the moment and make plenty of memories instead of stress!

How about you?  What tips have you found helpful for dealing with travel anxiety?

Amanda is a health coach and is passionate about healing from the inside out. She blogs at Bliss Health Coaching with a focus on the gut-brain connection and how it impacts our entire body. She loves using plants for health purposes and her love of research puts her in a position to help people feel alive and full of energy.

Source: https://wholenewmom.com/health-concerns/travel-anxiety/