#mostly i feel bad that our undergrad had to do all that time with me when she has all her class work as well and

[opens-up-4-nobody]

...

[nightowlwriting]

summary: steve is acting weird. avoiding you, being snippy and mean, leaving the room when you enter. all you want is your boyfriend back, but all he wants is to pretend you don't exist. when he's almost hurt on a mission, you do what you're made to do.

word count: 11k

reader specifics: no race/gender/sexuality/body type mentioned, no pronouns for reader used, powered!reader, insecure!reader

warnings: steve is mean to the reader in the beginning, heavy angst, hurt/comfort, canon-level violence, brief ptsd symptoms, slight description of blood, brief mention of racism in the '30s & '40s

brief mentions of: reader's parents being toxic, homelessness, past accidents, ableism in the past & present

note: this one hurt me lmfao. idk why this went the way it did but i'm not mad at it // also i am a queer, trans, disabled american. i have fundamental disagreements with things that marvel/the mcu as it stands for and some of the more nuanced things that you might not notice unless you're looking for it. this will take place in my writing because i cannot separate myself from the lens in which i consume/create content.

title credit: lil nas x

mobile masterlist - request - support my work? - ao3

Falling in love with Steve Rogers went against every instinct you had. You knew that he was going to hurt you from the first moment your lips touched his. Sure - he’s clever, righteous, courteous… You can’t forget he’s also drop-dead gorgeous because every trashy gossip magazine in a three-state radius of New York doesn’t let you forget. Neither does the sight of him waking up in your bed every morning. (Well, actually, maybe that would remind you if he was still fucking doing that.)

But lately, you’ve had to rely on the fucking tabloids to catch a glimpse of your super-hero boyfriend. The university class you had picked up on a whim at the end of the summer - Life & Times of the ‘30s and ‘40s - avoids any mention of Steve Rogers and the Howling Commandos. Not that your classmates do because, Christ on a bike, those magazines manage to catch pictures of you and Steve in moments that you don’t even remember. Plus, you’re an Avenger too. It’s bound to catch some attention when you waltz into a college classroom.

You’re sure if you were an undergrad trying to fill a gen-ed requirement and were sitting next to someone who could kill you without blinking but also dating Captain Rogers you’d be a little distracted too. You try not to blame your classmates too much, but they do make it hard to concentrate with their -really dating Captain America?- and -wonder if I could get an autograph- whispers. None of that matters because you’re learning, really studying, in between missions and missing Steve and believing that maybe the gossip reporters are right.

Maybe he’s forgotten about you.

You grit your teeth and push the thought away. It does you no good right now, while you’re training with Peter. He’s working his way up to bona fide missions and, because you’re the only one on the team who has experience with real-life teenagers outside of saving their lives, it’s up to you to get him to the level that he needs to be. Plus, the mission where he’s going to get his gills wet is just you, Tony, Steve, Nat, and Bucky. You’d much rather be the one to train him because you won’t traumatize him.

Right now, though, you’re just kicking his ass to try and get rid of some of the tension in your body. You feel a little bad about it, but when you started as his mentor you told him point-blank that you’d never go easy on him. That meant if you were having a bad day he either needed to up his game or he’d have a bad day too. It appears he’s taken that to heart as he struggles to dodge the hits you’re throwing his way. He lunges out of the way when you try to land a right hook but practically walks into the leg sweep that sends him crashing to the ground.

“Awe,” Peter groans, letting his guard down. You take the momentary lapse of focus to grab him by the collar of the hoodie he’s wearing and haul him to his feet, jerking one fist back to cold-clock him but he beats you to it. You hear the sound of your nose cracking before you feel it but then the pain rushes you all at once. You’ve had worse but coming from Peter, the move surprises you. You don’t yell out but he does when you push him away from you and call the fight off. Peter practically yelps your name, hands up by his head as he watches you bend at the waist, both hands over where your nose is absolutely gushing blood. “I am so sorry, I just reacted-!”

“It’s fine, Pete,” You shake your head and stand straight again, the blood beginning to leak through your fingers, “Just go get me a towel, okay?” Peter practically trips over his feet to get something for your nose and as you track him on his way into the locker rooms, you see Steve, Bucky, and Nat. The latter are looking your way, eyebrows raised like they’re asking you if you’re okay. Steve hasn’t even broken stride in his conversation so you wave them off with a bloody hand. Peter’s back in a flash, pressing a wet towel into your grasp and snapping you out of your self-pity party. “It was a good hit,” You compliment as you wipe your face off, “I just wasn’t expecting it. Prob’ly wouldn't have landed it if I had.”

He wrings his hands, shifting from foot to foot. “I’m sorry-”

“It’s a good thing, Peter, means you’re getting better.” You deadpan, checking to see if your nose has stopped bleeding yet, “I don’t think you actually broke it, but I’ll go down to medical to check later.” You do your best to clean up your hands with the wet towel, but it’s so soaked with your blood that it mostly just smears it around. You grimace and shake your head. “Well, I should go now before our sparring match ends up looking like I murdered you.”

“I’ll go with,” He offers, “I’m the one who broke your nose.” You let Peter walk you down to medical even though you were originally going to refuse. Perhaps petty, but it was the way that Steve didn’t even look your way as you left that made you let the teenager walk you the two floors to where you’d be able to clean yourself up. He hums in the elevator and you know that he wants to ask you something - it’s the way he holds his mouth when he’s prying for information or keeping a secret that tips you off. Finally, just before the elevator opens, you sigh and turn to him.

“What, Peter?” He grins but then it falls when he has to skitter after you down the hall. Maybe that’s why it falls - the question he asks next nearly sends you to your ass.

“Is everything okay with you and Captain Rogers?” He easily catches up to you when you stop in your tracks, ignoring that you’re still bleeding a little bit down your face and you might be dripping blood everywhere from where it’s run down your arms.

“What?” You do your best to look confused like everything is fine, but Peter is perceptive. He may fumble around and be pretty awkward, but those are really just teenager things that he’ll hopefully outgrow. You should have known that when someone caught onto how bad things are on your end, it would be Peter. (You wonder if Nat or Bucky has brought it up with Steve, considering he’s spent more time with them in the past week than he’s seen you in the past month.) “We’re fine.” Your words are stilted as you begin walking to the medical wing much faster than before.

“I just thought I’d ask, well, because I’ve sort of noticed… Something just seems off, you know? Like, you two used to spend a lot of time together, and maybe it’s the recon mission coming up, but I was just thinking that you two really barely look at each other even when you’re in the same -”

“Peter!” You say his name much louder than either of you expected and both of you jump. “Peter,” You say softer, looking at the glass door to the medical wing instead of him, “Just leave it, okay? It’s nothing you have to worry about, kid.” Peter ducks around to open the door, forcing you to look at him. “He’s just focused on his stuff and I’m focused on getting you whipped into shape for this mission. We only have two days.” Once you’re inside and surrounded by the medical crew Tony keeps on staff, he thankfully drops it. You love Peter, you do, but it’s a lot like having a little brother. You can only love them so much before you want to fucking strangle them. Eventually, as the doctor checks to make sure he hasn’t broken your nose, you have to order him away to go study or something. “I’ll join you later,” You promise him as the doctor prods at your tender flesh, “I have an essay due soon.”

That’s another thing that’s been bugging you that Peter surely picked up on. Nearly everybody knew you were taking a course at the local community college, but nobody knew what it was about. You’d wanted to keep it a secret until you told Steve, but the day you had registered he’d flown out for a two-week mission without telling you or saying goodbye. After that, you decided it didn’t really matter if anyone knew what class you were taking, and keeping it a secret sort of spiraled from there. If they wanted to know they could look it up. Maybe it was petty, but you just wanted the class to be over and done with so you could forget that you really only picked it up so you relate to your boyfriend more.

If you can even call Steve your boyfriend anymore. You’re not so sure where you stand and, honestly, you’re really close to giving up on the relationship as a whole but you can’t do that. Before you were dating, you were friends, and Steve… He never gave up on you. Not once. How could you repay him by giving up on your relationship? The one that you thought was The One? Even if it hurts, even if you’re unsure more than sure these days, how could you? Somewhere, though, you know you deserve better. You don’t deserve the sinking, dark feeling that lingers in your gut for most of your days now or the way that you second-guess every move you make - even in the field. It’s dangerous but you can’t do anything to fix it.

You’re too scared. You know that eventually, it will happen, he’ll break up with you, but you’d like to put that day off for as long as possible. To relish in the love he once had for you, how pure and powerful it was. You’re sure that you’ll never experience anything like that again.

Hell, you might never fall in love again.

Those thoughts don’t do anything to help you, though, so you try not to have them. You get clearance from the doctor and get cleaned up as much as you can without taking a full body shower. The idea to go back to your room and take one crosses your mind but you know that Steve’s probably done training, probably heading back for his own shower, and you don’t want to open that can of worms. Instead, you go to the common room and drop into the couch between Peter and Tony. They’re talking about something something science something something, but you pull your stack of books and notebooks out from the shelf underneath the coffee table and continue outlining your essay from where you left off. The assignment was focused on how the end of WW1 changed American life and then how life changed leading up to and during WW2 but that had hit a little too close to home for you, so you’re writing about the racial tension and overall racism of the times. Tony and Peter keep talking over your back and then you hear footsteps heading toward the common room.

You barely look up when they enter - Nat and Bucky - because it’s fine. It’s normal. They’re just two of Steve’s best friends, that’s all, nothing to be jumpy about. You don’t even register that emotional pain that hits when you realize that, yeah, you’re not one of his best friends anymore. You doubt you’re even considered a friend in his book.

You groan and lean back into the couch, bringing your study materials with you. Peter glances over, skimming over your page and a half of shorthand, and gags. “Jesus, can you write like a normal person?”

“Oh, sorry,” You say lazily, not looking up as you continue to scribble in your incomprehensible code, “I do forget that some of us had privacy at home.” You lift your lips just a little bit to let Peter know you’re kidding, looking up at him through your lashes as you slouch next to him. He looks red in the face. “Besides, once you have to start doing mission reports you’ll be begging me to learn my shorthand and use my stenography machine.”

“I keep telling you that I can update that ol’ thing,” Tony draws your attention. For the first time, you realize that Nat and Bucky are on the loveseat looking at you expectantly. Steve is standing in the corner over their shoulder reading a book from the bookshelf in front of him. His back is tense and he looks like he’s not reading, just listening. You force your eyes back to Tony on your right and shake your head.

“No, because then you’d know my shorthand and it makes me too happy to see you spend hours trying to decipher it.” His eyes wander to your essay again, trying to find any patterns that he can use to figure out what the hell you’re writing on anything ever. He’s opening his mouth to make a smart-ass remark that will no doubt lift some of the weight off of your shoulders when another voice speaks up.

“Wow,” Steve doesn’t even look at you even as he says your name sardonically, “Way to be a team player.” Your mind comes to a screeching halt, trying to figure out what the fuck he’s playing at. Even Bucky and Nat look surprised at the cold way he spoke to you, Tony and Peter both gasping from your side. You can’t say anything, throat tight and burning with tears as you stare at your boyfriend with raised eyebrows. What do you say to that? How do you respond? You know it wasn’t a joke because he’s not laughing, not smiling, not even looking up from that fucking book in his hands. You can’t tell if you’re more hurt or embarrassed, but either way, you don’t want to stick around for someone to get the nerve to say something.

Instead of replying, you slam your textbooks shut and bundle everything into your arms. You doubt Steve even notices that you’re making such a hasty retreat but if he does, he doesn’t say a fucking thing. You feel like you’re in high school - practically running through an empty hallway with your notebooks and textbooks pressed to your chest, trying not to cry. It’s ridiculous. You’re a trained assassin, you’re an Avenger, you are strong and powerful and yet… And yet. You’ve given so much of your heart and soul to Steve Rogers that he can knock you down eight pegs without even trying. Without even looking at you. You can’t wait to go on this fucking recon mission, where you can put all of your focus on making sure Peter is doing okay and gathering the intel. Where you can stop thinking about how easily Steve Rogers seems to be pushing you to the side.

You spend the next two days writing your essay, ignoring almost everyone, and working on your essay. On the day of the recon mission, you’re running out the door for your eight a.m lecture, printed essay in hand, and reminding Tony that he promised to pick you up on campus after class for the mission.

You’re lucky that you went, too. You hadn’t counted on the professor making everyone stand up and tell the class the subject of their essays - didn’t realize that it would be twenty-five percent of the grade on the paper. You’ll never understand college professors and the weird shit they do, but the class is informative and entertaining. He goes around the room, starting on the opposite side of you, so you’ll be last. Great.

Several students did their papers on the propaganda of the time, one student was brave and did her essay on the ethical dilemma of the super-soldier serum and eugenics, and most of the other students focused on pop culture and how it changed. When your professor looks at you it’s almost like he’s expecting you to have done nothing but fawn over Steve and Bucky, considering you know them personally. He looks surprised when you clear your throat, stand and say: “I focused on the casual and institutional racism that faced non-white Americans at the time.” You almost preen when he looks impressed and then the shame fills you. It’s just… You want Steve to be proud of you. You want him to congratulate you on going back to school, even if it’s just for one class. You want him to be happy and surprised that he was the inspiration for taking the class.

Though, lately, the class has been more for you than for him. You like learning new things, pushing the boundaries of assignments, making people uncomfortable with the truth of the times you’re studying as told to you by two people who lived it. It’s nice. Normal.

Everyone needs a little bit of normal.

But, honestly, normal is fucking boring. By the time your class is over and you’re handing in your essay it’s like ants are crawling over your skin. A combination of nerves from the upcoming mission, a head full of fog from whatever is happening with Steve, and a little bit of fear at the thought of taking Peter into the field has you bolting for the door the moment your essay is taken from you. You’d worn your tac-suit underneath a pair of baggy sweats and a loose hoodie, so you don’t even bother slowing down as you head toward the car that Tony has waiting for you. He’s in the front seat, grinning at you from underneath his aviators and Peter is driving.

You slip into the backseat without thinking or looking at who’s there, tossing your bag in the back and peeling your hoodie off. “God, Tone, we’re goin’ to die before we even get to the mission with Petey driving.” You toss your hoodie back to join your bag and finally see who’s sitting next to you.

Of course, it’s Steve. He’s looking at you - but not really. He’s looking through you, like he can’t stand that you’re both crammed in the backseat of Tony’s electric car. His gaze catches you and holds you in place. Everything around you goes cold and fuzzy, making you miss Peter’s indignant complaining that he has his license so he should be able to drive… And then Steve scoffs and looks out his window, ignoring you. It stings but you have a job to do. You make some witty retort back to Peter, but it falls flat as you struggle out of your sweats. This is what life is, you think. Relationships aren’t meant to be forever - you learned that at a young age.

Until your accident at fifteen, you had watched your parents run out of helium, their relationship expanding and cooling in arguments, in days spent not talking, in trips to your grandparents without the other, in passive-aggressive computer searches for divorce attorneys left open for anyone to see. Then, after you were trapped between those machines - after you spent hour after agonizing hour with electricity pressing between your atoms, being torn apart and rebuilt as a young god - after that day you watched them expand against each other before the neutron core of their relationship collapsed on itself and the resulting supernova sent you to the streets. But then Fury found you. Then Tony, then Nat, then Steve.

Your parents exploded out from each other and the shockwaves ruined your life. At least now, your relationship with Steve is ending silently. There’s no explosion, no collapse, no rapid expansion to take over your cosmos. Your relationship with Steve is simply approaching the event horizon, where it will hang in the air until one of you takes the final step and you both become frozen, two collapsing objects on opposite sides of the universe. Maybe that’s what you already are. You feel so far away from him in the back of Tony’s car - like he’s eons and light-years away from you - and you feel so cold. Frozen, down to the bone. It makes you stiff in your replies to Tony and Peter, slow on the uptake when the car pulls up to the quinjet, nearing stasis and unable to respond when Nat asks if you’re okay.

Finally, you turn to look at her, nodding. “Fine,” You clear your throat, “Been a rough day.” You do your best to smile at her, but your face feels heavy. Your chest feels cold and tight, making you worry about your performance on the upcoming mission. When Peter shakes his head next to you, discreetly telling Nat not to press, you’re focused on Steve and the electricity humming in the most base part of your body.

He scoffs and rolls his eyes. You turn away and force yourself to smile, throwing a weak and numb arm over Peter’s shoulders. “Are you ready for this, Pete?” You jostle him back and forth, leading him toward the sitting area behind the cockpit. “Gonna get your ass kicked?”

“Please,” He shoves you off, nervously laughing, “Not with the skills you’ve taught me.” He mimics throwing webs, making hissing noises under his breath, and you bark out a laugh, shaking your head.

“You’re payin’ my medical bills when I have to save your ass, Spidey.” You shake your head and strap in next to the wall, Peter taking the seat to your right. Tony, from the aisle across from you, points a thick finger your way.

“You don’t pay medical bills anymore,” He waggles his finger, “So you’ll just have to make him do your homework for a week.”

“Mister Stark!”

“He’ll have to earn shorthand to do your essays,” Nat chimes in from between Bucky and Steve, who are both doing their best to not look at you - or anyone really. “You willing to share that with him?”

You lean back in your seat and jab at Peter with your elbow. “Hell no, so I guess Spider-Boy better do his best.” The arachnid in question grumbles, crossing his arms and slouching in his seat.

“No pressure, right?” He complains, “Not like I’m already nervous or anything.”

“You’ll do fine, kid,” Bucky pipes up, drawing your eyes back to Steve, “It’s goin’ to be a cakewalk.”

“Don’t jinx it, Barnes,” You warn half-heartedly, tucking in on yourself, “We need this to be easy.” From the look on his face - everyone’s face, really - you know that they heard you loud and clear when you were really saying I need this to be easy.

After an uneasy laugh from Bucky, a claustrophobic silence settles over you all as the jet begins to take off. You’re in for an hour ride and plan to spend it going over battle plans with Peter when harsh whispering catches your ear. It’s Bucky and Steve nearly crushing Nat between them until she gets up and sits across from Peter, rolling her eyes. Still, you try your best to run him through the actions you both had planned - the names, the setups you needed to execute them, everything. If something happens to Peter, you’ll never forgive yourself.

And then, cutting through your soft promptings to Peter and his equally soft replies, Bucky’s voice. “Leave it, Steve. Until after this mission.” Even Tony looks up from his tablet, curiosity piqued. Their faces are both red, set hard and angry at each other and your stomach drops. What the hell is going on that Steve ‘Till The End Of The Line Rogers is fighting with Bucky You And Me, Pal Barnes? You must shift, or lean too far into Steve’s eyesight, because for the first time in what feels like years he is looking directly at you - and seeing you, too. It makes your pulse jump and, almost instinctively, you want to reach out and ground yourself on the rubber of the seat underneath you.

You don’t get the chance, though, because Steve speaks. “No, why should I? This is clearly affecting the team.” He’s still looking - glaring - at you like you’ve done something wrong. “What’s the point of waiting? I’ve been waiting to talk about this.”

“Bo, I don’t think this is the time,” Bucky looks over his shoulder at you, then, and you know what’s coming. You know that it’s time, that Steve is about to break up with you in front of your teammates. Your friends. Your family. You steel yourself for the anguish you’re about to feel and then jerk your chin out, hardening your resolve.

“Buck, it’s fine. If Steve wants to address something, he can.”

Natasha says your name, a low warning over the hum of the quinjet. “I think he should wait.”

“Well, I’m not goin’ to wait!” Steve unbuckles himself and stands, “I have tried waiting, and look at where that has gotten me.” He puts his hands on his hips and puffs out a breath. You unbuckle and stand, too, unsure of where this is going. “You need to,” He holds one hand out, pointing at you while his voice shakes. You notice his hand is shaking, too, but fractionally. If you didn’t know Steve as well as you do you may have never noticed it. “You need to get it together.”

“I need to get it together?” You question, eyebrows nearly hitting the ceiling with how fast they shoot up. You’re not totally sure you’ve heard him right because what do you have to get together? The broken shards of your relationship? The information and research for your final paper? The awful way you’ve let yourself be treated for what seems like forever?

“You heard me,” Steve says, at the same time Bucky leans his head back and groans deep in his chest. “What? Someone had to say it.”

“We should wait for this,” Nat speaks up again, but lifelessly. She knows now that you and Steve are both on the warpath, neither of you are going to stop. (That’s also why the two of you work together as a couple so well. Very rarely are you both so worked up about something that you can’t back down, so the other is always there to meet you halfway and get you back to earth.)

“No, no, no,” You say, near hysterically, “No, he wants to do this now? Before a mission? Instead of the fuckin’ weeks we had to hash whatever crawled up his ass and died out? Be my guest. He’s already dragged everyone into this by treating me like a pariah.” You’re not sneering, but your teeth are gritted so tightly together you can hear them scraping and feel a tension headache beginning to bloom in your temples. Bucky looks… Almost incredulous at your statement. Like putting the blame on Steve is a dick move or something.

“Oh, so I’m the bad guy here?” Steve is curling his lip, glaring at you. There’s something behind his eyes, but he’s buried it so deep that you can’t reach it and figure out what it is. “I’m the bad guy, right. Right, right, right.” He scoffs, shakes his head, and then he’s running his fingers through his hair like he really can’t believe what you’re saying to him.

“Well, what else am I supposed to think?” You throw your hands out to the side and let them slap back down on your thighs. “You ignore me, you make me feel like shit, you talk down to me like I’m some insignificant foot soldier. How else am I supposed to take that, Steve?”

“Oh, I don’t know, maybe ask me what’s wrong? Maybe ask me why I’m acting like this, instead of ignoring all of your problems like a child?” He mirrors your moments, but the sound his hands make when they hit the outside of his suit is more powerful than yours. Fueled by anger, you think. Anger and whatever the hell was in the serum Erskine pumped into Steve.

“Ask you?” You repeat, near-hysterical, “Ask you? Oh yeah, let me get right on that. Hey, Mister Rogers? Mister Captain America? Mister Ignores-His-Partner-For-God-Knows-Why? Hey, just why are you doin’ that?” You’re surprised that you’ve said something so snotty, but you don’t back down. (Steve looks surprised, too, and Bucky has stood up next to his friend like he’s about to start berating you as well. At least he looks more cautious about it, like he’s not totally sure that this fight should be happening.)

The more surprising part of your fight is how fast it’s shut down. Tony and Nat stand at the same time and exchange a glance like they’ve surprised each other. “That’s enough,” Tony starts.

Nat cuts him off. “I don’t care if you fight this one out instead of talking, but if you do it before this recon mission you two are going to blow it. Do you understand me?” She looks dangerous, the sharp edge of a knife spiraling through the air. You force yourself to look away from her, from Tony, from Bucky, from Steve. She’s right. You know she’s right - especially on this mission. Peter is there, going to be in real danger even though there’s not supposed to be one Hydra agent in a four-mile radius. You have to clear your mind and focus on protecting him.

Steve seems to think the same thing because he stands down. When you watch him collapse in on himself, Bucky’s arms around his shoulders, into the little quinjet seats your everything aches. Heart, lungs, eyes - everything. Even though you don’t know what’s going on, what could have possibly happened to make your relationship sink this quickly and out of the blue, you still love him. He’s still The One for you. You still want to be the one to comfort him and make him feel whole when he’s struggling.

But you can’t. You can’t and it kills you.

The heat of battle makes a lot of things fade into the background. Important things like why the fuck are there Hydra agents here? and Steve is going to break up with you when you get back on the jet and Tony swore on the fucking limited edition AC/DC vintage tour poster he has in his office that this would be an easy in/easy out information mission. None of that matters, though, because you’re in deep shit. There are seventeen of them, all primed to the teeth with weapons made to take your team down permanently.

You’re practically glued to Peter, calling out commands and plans for him to initiate. It’s when all of your plans fall through that you take a hit from a heavy fist on purpose, hitting the ground hard. “Plan F, Spidey, Plan F!” You cover the instruction with a groan and then you’re back on your feet, working your way toward him.

“Plan F?” Tony says, somewhere above you in his suit. Your comms crackle ominously as another heat-seeking grenade is launched, interfering with the radio waves your tech relies on. You don’t worry about it, because you know Tony is on it. He’s your eyes in the sky.

Peter is the one who answers his question, watching your close hand-to-hand tilt out of your favor briefly. “Plan Fuck It, Mister Stark.” He grunts as he webs up a Hydra agent, jerking him away from where he was about to slip a knife up and under Natasha’s kevlar. You finally drop the guy in front of you, ignoring Steve’s disappointed Language! and toss one of your knives toward Nat for her to use. Tony is still laughing in your ear, wheezing as he drops down and snags the rifle from one of the snipers and then takes back off.

What your little protégé failed to mention about Plan F is that it’s not just chaos, but controlled chaos. You let loose, letting a soft current cover every inch of your skin as Peter switches to his conductive webbing and takes special care to not web any of his allies. Except for you - if you’re in the way and he catches you in a web it doesn’t matter because you’re you, alive with electricity that drops the men that get caught in the web, too. You rip out of the webs and turn the current off when one of your teammates gets too close.

More Hydra agents are pouring out of the woods, topping out their numbers around twenty-five. That’s twenty-five too many in your opinion, especially when you can see Peter getting tired, his anxiety spiking, his moves having more and more hesitation behind them. You need to get this over with quickly, but you don’t have the options to do that. Steve, Bucky, and Nat are really the heavy-hitters - you, Pete, and Tony are the only ones without serums despite all of your individual abilities. Desperately you reach out for a web that’s still connected to Peter’s arms, pulling him out of the way of a baton that’s about to come down on the back of his neck.

The baton the agent is wielding glints in the coming dusk, freezing you as Peter scrambles past you with a quick apology. You’ve seen that before - seen it, felt it, know it like the back of your hand. There’s no way that you could ever forget that weapon. The man stumbles when his hit doesn’t connect but then rights himself and searches for a new target.

A long, black baton that splits into two prongs at the end is heavy in his hand. Electricity crackles between the bulbs at the end, flashing in the setting sun and your memories. The man only has one, but if it was hooked up to a machine, spinning. If there were four, five, six. If you were pinned between them, screaming in the pain as they rewrote your DNA… You’ve only felt it once, but you’ll never forget it.

And now, you’ll taste it again. On purpose this time. The man holding the stun baton is going for Steve’s back - his strong back, the one that protects people, the one that holds the weight of the world, the one that lays in your bed, the one you see whipping out of rooms as you’re entering just so that he doesn’t have to look at you - and you can’t let that happen. It only takes ten amps to kill a regular human, but you know those things are cranked up to twenty minimum. You don’t want to see how many amps of current it will take to stop Steve’s heart. You’re between the baton and Steve before you can think about what you’re doing or what comes next, the hard bulbs settling unyielding into your side and cranking out maximum power for maximum damage as soon as the current is connected and able to flow from one bulb to the other.

The pain hits you and your throat catches on it. It burns through your body, setting everything on fire - your chest hurts as your heart protests the electrons and then your powers kick in, sweeping them into your very atoms and cells. You’re a live wire now, ears humming and body thrumming with power you’ve only dreamed of. It hurts, and it burns, and you feel tears rising in your eyes because you’re back there - back begging for death or for life or for God and god at the same time - but then it’s over. The man sees that you’re not seizing up, not dropping dead in front of him, and he takes three steps back.

It’s not far enough.

You’ve only felt like this once before - right after you were unhooked from the machine that changed your life and brought you to your new family. You remember how you looked when you were put in front of a mirror with all of the pent up electricity circling your body - how your eyes were filled to the brim and dripping with bright and blue electricity, the way it was jumping across your body, how you didn’t need to breathe because your body was fully saturated with pure, unadulterated power. You wonder if you look like that now and assume you do because you can see the bright blue reflecting in the terrified eyes of the Hydra agent.

Your suit, unlike everyone else’s, is not grounded. It’s metal, metal, metal. You’re made to conduct, born for it, and the earth beneath you comes alive with bright white as you release all of the energy, the power, surges down and out. You’re practiced. You can reach out and feel the synapses and neurons of every human being in the clearing, know exactly where your teammates are standing, and know exactly how to target everything but them and the pitiful amount of electricity their brains carry. You grin, something truly feral and unhinged, and you can see the fear in the Hydra agent. Then, you let go.

You know that everyone is going to be pissed. (Maybe not everyone.) You’re not built for this, not made to take down nearly twenty fucking people at once. As you let go, you feel what they feel. The seizing muscles, the stopping of their hearts, the inside of their bodies crisping against their bones. At that moment, that delicious moment, you see the universe.

You become God. You become everything - your mother and your father and God and god and anyone else who’s watching your life from the ether. You become the judge, jury, and executioner of souls that you don’t know from Adam. You become lightning, and thunder, and exposed nerves of the cosmos at the same time. The world bends to your will and you relish in it, taking that power in your fist and wielding it to protect the man you’ll love for the rest of your life and the family that you’ve made. You will stop at nothing to end this, even if it means turning yourself inside out to do it.

You damn near do turn yourself inside out too, but that doesn’t matter, does it? The blood spilling from your ears, nose, and eyes feels like heaven. It’s hot, and thick, and it’s proof of the power that your body holds. You’re a temple and a sanctuary, a war-room and a bunker, a field of flowers and a sun-dry desert. It does not matter if Steve doesn’t love you at that moment, because you are love and hate wrapped into one package. You are everything and nothing, spread thin at the beginning and the end of time.

And then none of that is true. You are just… You. Standing in a clearing, surrounded by twenty-something dead Hydra agents and your terrified, terrified family. It hurts to breathe and you can taste blood in your mouth, but that’s an afterthought. Steve is still standing behind you, but he is alive. That is what matters.

This is what love is, you think.

Pain and pleasure.

Even if he leaves you, you will always love him.

Pain and pleasure.

You’re weak at the knees when he finally turns to see you - and you’re a sight. Struggling to stand, fingertips blackened with soot but not burnt, blood pouring from your nose, ears, eyes… You look like death, but you feel like life. Someone says something behind you - Peter, maybe? Or maybe Tony, in your comms? - but you don’t hear it. Everything tunnels out, your weak knees finally collapsing as you keel backward.

Steve bears down upon you almost immediately. You’re halfway to unconsciousness when he wraps you up in his arms, keeping you from falling in with the pile of bodies around you. He’s saying your name, harsh and soft and then in a voice like he’s ordering you to wake up. You loll about as he drops you down onto a patch of clear grass, hands searching your body for wounds. When he skims over your side, where the baton has burnt through your suit and your flesh, you surge back toward being able to have cohesive thoughts. The pain brings you back, hands wrapping around Steve’s arm and calling out his name. “Steve! Fuck, that hurts!”

“Honey,” He breathes, “Fuck, we have to get you back to the jet.” His jaw ticks, hair dirty and loose from its normal style. “Why’d you do that?” Steve doesn’t wait for an answer from you, ordering Peter to web something up to carry you over your protests.

“I’m fine,” You argue, only slurring slightly, “I feel fine.” But you’re going to let Nat and Bucky load you up on the webbed stretcher anyway because it’s the first time Steve has cared for you in a long time. You want to relish in this moment, the way that he didn't say your name but called you honey.

Well, and because Natasha slides a thumb across her neck over Steve’s shoulder in a silent threat.

You groan when Bucky accidentally grabs your calf where there is an absolutely awful stab wound, but you wave off his apology. “How could you have known?” To be honest, you hadn’t even known it was there until his Vibranium hand was slipping against it and sending shockwaves of pain through you. Peter is next to you the whole time that you’re being carried back to the jet - Tony staying back to begin scanning the bodies of the Hydra agents for the information you need and any other information they may be carrying. The poor kid is nearly at a breakdown, so you reach out to him and shake his arm when his fingers twine with yours. “Chill out, kid, I don’t know how you got it into your head that this is your fault, but it sure isn’t.” He sniffles, but hands back with Steve as Bucky and Nat get you situated in the small medical room of the jet. They transfer you and then make to leave, only Bucky hesitating near the door.

“Stevie’s goin’ to be here soon and… I don’t know what made you do what you did but you have’t explain it to him. He’s bendin’ over backwards to figure it out, and we don’t have’a clue. Came out’a nowhere.” He looks at you for another moment before shaking his head and stepping out of the room. Your head is spinning, partially from what Bucky just said and partially from the pain and stimulus of electricity. You wait there, then, because this is it. This is the event horizon. You wait there, eyes closed, until you hear footsteps approach the med room, and then the door slowly opens. Steve says your name, holding all the finality and weight of an atomic bomb. You don’t open your eyes until he swings a chair next to the stretcher and lays a hand on your calf.

“You don’t have to do this,” You finally say, pushing yourself up onto your elbows to watch him. “I know that you don’t want to.” Steve only scoffs and begins to wash the stab wound using a packet of soap and a water bottle. You say his name twice before he looks at you, something between hate and hurt curdling into a glaze over his eyes that stops you in your tracks.

“Just let me do this. It is the least that you can do.” His words are painful and stilted, like it’s taking force to push them past his teeth. You lay back down and close your eyes, content to just feel the pain of Steve beginning to stitch you up and then dress the wound before you feel the pain of Steve leaving you like you knew he always would. (Falling in love with Steve Rogers went against every instinct you had. You knew that he was going to hurt you from the first moment your lips touched his.)

When he’s done he sits back and puts his elbows on his knees, head in his hands. He heaves a heavy sigh and then shakes it off, “I’ll dress your burn, and then we’ll talk.” And normally, yes, you would agree but this is too important. You want to get it over with so you can lick your wounds metaphorically and dress them literally - and then you want to go home, you want to pack your bags, and you want to disappear and remake your life somewhere else.

Some far-off place where everyone you know won’t take one look at your face and know that you’re still painfully, deeply in love with Steve Rogers, end of your semester be damned. Family you’ve made be damned. You can’t sit around and be in love with him like a neon sign on a dark highway while it’s painfully clear that he hasn’t had a sign on his highway in a long time.

So instead of agreeing, you swing your legs over the stretcher and swallow your flinch when the burn pulls tight. Steve opens his mouth to argue but you give him a tight-lipped shake of your head and his jaw snaps shut. “No,” You say, voice not giving in to the emotion swirling in your chest. “I have let this go on long enough.”

It’s the wrong thing to say because Steve fucking scoffs again and looks away from you. “One day was long enough.” He says, cutting straight to your core. Okay, ouch. You take a deep breath and shake your head to try and bite back the tears that are inevitably rising in your eyes. If one day was long enough for him to realize he doesn’t want to be with you, why did he let it go on for nearly a full year? Why did he spend so long leading you on, pulling you by a thread before garroting your heart with it? What was the point?

“If you want to leave me, just say that,” You reply harshly, standing and wobbling away from him. He just watches you go, watches the way you struggle past the lead weights your muscles have become, the way you’re starting to feel the stab wound on your leg, the way the skin on your burn is beginning to blister and only just now losing its heat. He just watches you, where the Steve that loved you once upon a time might have helped. You turn your back on him, hands on your hips so that you can hide the way that you’re crying and your hands are shaking.

“If I want to leave you? If?” He says. You hear the scrape of his chair as he stands, “I think after what you’ve done, it’s not an if, sweetheart.” The way he says it tastes like iron. Steve never calls you sweetheart like he never calls you by your name. It’s always honey, lover, dovie. You don’t turn to face him because you’re struggling to keep yourself above water. “I spent so long thinkin’, wonderin’, askin’ myself - God damnit, will you look at me?” You turn slowly, not because you’ve never heard Steve speak like that but because his voice is desperate and raw. When you turn, you’re not sure what to expect. Maybe him, standing in front of you, broad-shouldered and disappointed like in those PSA’s he had to film once. Maybe he’d be angry, hands clenched at his sides and eyes narrowed like he gets in meetings when he doesn’t agree with something but he’s out-voted. But you never expect to see him crying, lip wobbling, folded in on himself like a young boy instead of the strong, invincible man you’ve come to love.

He looks so different.

It hits you, then, that you’re not looking at Steve Rogers. Not really. He's not Steve Rogers, not Captain America, not even Captain Rogers. You see him as he was - before America spat it’s untruths all over him and injected him with a serum that changed who he was, is, will be. He’s not the able-bodied man that you know, not strong and unreachable, not the heartthrob that overshadows the team during press events. He’s not America’s Darling, not really. Not where it counts.

You’re looking at Stevie Rogers. Stevie Rogers who, for all intents and purposes, was supposed to die before he made it out of toddlerhood or soon thereafter. Stevie Rogers who the doctors said wasn’t supposed to survive. Stevie Rogers who grew up sickly, rattling painful breaths and never playing ball with the neighborhood boys. Who couldn’t walk until middle school when he got his braces off. Who never had a partner because Bucky, strong and handsome and tall Bucky, was always deemed the better option. Who believed in his country so much that he tried to sneak into the second world war, subjected himself to a painful medical procedure so that he could change his very DNA to be what the world wanted him to be.

Captain Steve Rogers. Captain America. Strong, blond, patriotic, resilient.

You’re sure that if men don’t want to go to therapy now, in the modern age, they certainly didn’t want to go in the ‘40s. So where did that leave Steve, your Steve, standing in front of you and looking small, and broken, and sad, and alone? Did they expect him to take his new, taller, working body and run with it? Did they not think about how he would lose a part of himself in the process? How did they expect him to go from disabled to abled without some disconnect?

You think about the You That You Were Before and the You That You Are Now, and how you lost a part of yourself when the accident gave you your powers and how you’d lose yourself if someone figured out a way to take them away. You Before formed your identity around being normal - living in a shitty home with shitty parents, sure, but normal - and You Now form your identity around your powers, your team, your job, your love. If you lost those things, what did you have left? Who would you be?

When Steve lost his identity and became everything that America wanted everyone to think that America was, what did he have left? Sure, he could tell himself that he represents America - strong and patriotic and just - but it must have conflicted with everything he knew about himself before that. You know that disabled people now know that American society is unjust, unfit for them with abled people not willing to make room to allow them to thrive. You can only imagine what it was really like for Steve in the ‘20s and ‘30s and ‘40s. What he had to do just to survive. (Medical experimentation, you remind yourself. Did they know it wouldn’t kill him? Did they know his body wouldn’t rip itself apart with the new sinewy muscle they were packing on? Did they care? Or was he just a body they saw as broken? A project to fix? To turn him into something more like them and call it patriotism?)

You shake your head at him, still filled with despair, and try to figure out what he’s talking about. “Stevie,” You start, pet name easily replacing what you had been calling him because it’s not fair to shoe-horn him into a body that doesn’t feel like his own. You wonder if he still expects the bone-grinding pain that he used to tell you would happen when it rains. He raises a hand, a strong and family hand, shaking his head.

“I just need to know why I wasn’t enough for you,” Steve looks sad, slouching in on himself like he’s expecting to get his ass handed to him in another alleyway and hope Bucky is there to save him. “I need to know why you wouldn’t just break up with me if you wanted to see other people so badly.” You suck in a shocked breath because, okay, that’s not what you were expecting. Between that and the paradigm shift you’ve had on how Steve must view his identity, body, and self, you’re stunned. Steve continues like he doesn’t even register that you look shocked and pale and now you’re crying because he thinks you’re cheating on him? “And I get it. I get it. You have no idea how much I understand. If I were you, I wouldn’t want me either, okay?”

You cut him off there because what the actual God damn fuck is he talking about? “No, Stevie, I’m not cheating on you.” You shake your head again and this, your statement, lights a fire in him. He still looks like Stevie rather than Steve, but there’s anger there. You imagine that’s what it might have looked like moments before he got himself in trouble back before he was serumed. “I’m not.”

“Oh, yeah?” He challenges, jaw ticking and chin jerking up, “Oh, yeah? You can’t lie to me. I know, okay? The act is up, it’s over, I know, okay? You can stop pretending.”

“Steve, I do not fucking know what you’re talking about but I”m not cheating on you!” You raise your voice, not really angry but more out of necessity. You need to get it out of his head that he is anything less than everything you want - that you could possibly love anyone more than you love him.

“I wanted to clarify something for you,” Steve says like he’s reading an old script from when he was just a beefy, red/white/blue stage prop for the American military, “I am excited to meet with you, but there are some rules. Do not talk about Captain Steve Rogers. I don’t want to hear about him,” As he continues to recite something that has clearly hurt him, you go lax. You know exactly what’s happened - your fists unclench, your jaw drops a little bit, and it feels like someone has gutted you, “I think it is wise to keep work and pleasure separate, and it’s a rule I will enforce heavily. I look forward to seeing you again.” He’s sneering at the end, tears falling down his ruddy cheeks.

“Steve,” You try again, but he cuts you off.

“Am I just work for you?” His voice is shaking more than you thought possible, and so are his hands. You’ve never seen Steve so off-kilter, so thrown, and it breaks your heart that yes, technically, you’re the cause of this. Before this, before this horrible misunderstanding, your relationship with Steve was the paragon of trust so neither of you cared if the other read emails or texts. You remember the email - the email from your fucking college professor - because it had made you so angry that he’d referred to your relationship with Steve as something as simple and base as just pleasure - like you could even put words to the galaxy of a relationship you had with Steve - that you’d gone to the gym to work off some of that irritation. You hadn’t wanted to take it out on anyone accidentally. When you came back from the gym, Steve was gone on that two-week mission that he’d left on without saying goodbye.

Oh, God. You feel sick to your stomach as the paradigm of the way that Steve’s been treating you shifts violently to the left. You have to physically hold yourself up and try to speak past the lump in your throat. Steve looks… Brokenly smug. Like he knows he’s right, but he’d rather gnaw his own legs off than be right.

“No,” You croak, “No, Steve, you’ve got it all wrong.” You want to reach for him, but it feels like the room is closing in on you. You’re second-guessing everything now - especially what you’ve just said. How many people said the exact same thing to him pre-serum because they said something meant for Bucky to him? How many times did he hear that when he was getting a new diagnosis, hoping for the best? How many times had his own mother said it to him when he told her something someone had said, fresh-faced and not yet used to the way that abled people sometimes treated disabled people? You think you might be sick. “That email was from my professor, Steve. I’m not cheating on you, I’d never.” He laughs darkly and sits back down in his chair, head in his hands again. You try to gather the strength to move toward him when you see his shoulders shaking, a telltale sign that he’s crying.

“A professor,” He says with a watery laugh, “Right.”

Finally, you realize that he needs you, needs to know you love him, that you’d do anything for him. You can iron out the kinks later - figure out why he didn’t want to come to talk to you past the original hurt, why he treated you so coldly, why he didn’t trust that you wouldn’t do this to him - but now, you need to show him that you’re here. That you choose him. That you’ll always choose him.

You make your way to him and set a shaking hand on his shoulder. For a brief second you think he’s going to shake you off but then Steve’s hand shoots up and latches onto where your hand is resting, dipping his head to press against your arm. “Stevie, please,” You say, unsure of what you’re asking him to do, “I picked up a class, just one, and it’s… I picked it up for you, it’s about the ‘30s and ‘40s and…” He looks up at you and he looks so broken - face ruddy and wet with tears, lip wobbling, chest heaving as he tries to not sob. His brows are knit and he looks confused, “I just wanted to be able to understand you better. You had to leave so much of yourself at the door when you joined the Avengers, had to leave so much of yourself in the ice… In Erskine’s lab… Stevie, I just wanted you to be able to be you when you’re with me. I wanted to know the you that you were before you became Captain America.” Your voice is shaking, knees knocking together, and honestly? You feel like you might blackout.

“What?” He rasps, “What?”

“He sent that email because too many kids signed up for his class thinking that they’d be able to look at pictures of you and Buck for a semester. Emailed me directly because he knows we’re…” You choke on your words, shaking your head because you’re not even sure there’s a we anymore, “Because he knows I’m on the team. Didn’t want me walking in and making his class about just a few years in the ‘30s and ‘40s rather than the culture of the time.” You don’t know how else to explain it to him, but Steve isn’t saying anything - practically isn’t moving or breathing- so you continue to try and explain what’s really happening as best as you can, “And - and that email made me so angry because he singled me out, didn’t email anyone else about it, and I left to try and work some of that out; I didn’t want to take it out on you, or let it spoil - let it spoil… But when I came back from the gym, you were gone. You were gone for two weeks and I didn’t know why.” You’re crying harder now and pretty sure that within the next sixty seconds you’re going to collapse if you don’t sit down.

Steve shakes his head, still looking like he doesn’t understand. “What?” He says for a third time, “A class? A college class?”

“I just wanted to feel closer to you,” You confess, “Just wanted to understand a fraction of your life without making you do the heavy liftin’ and teachin’ me. Shouldn’t have’t do that,” You’re sobbing, barely biting out your words as you realize that something you’ve done to strengthen your relationship with Steve has destroyed it, “Shouldn’t have to explain a whole different time just to feel loved, Stevie. Should be able to be with someone who understands without you havin’ to explain.” You’re not sure you can say Peggy’s name out loud, and you hope he understands what you’re saying without making you actually say it, “Should’a been able to have love with someone who knew, and I know I’m nothin’ compared to what you should’a had, but I want to be. I want to be in the same ballpark instead’a watchin’ from the stands.” You wipe your face with your free hand and look away from Steve when he stands in front of you. You don’t want to see the look on his face - what he’s thinking about what you’ve said.

He says your name and you glance at him, but his expression stops him in your tracks. Where Steve looked broken and hurt and fuming with anger to hide the anguish, now he looks stricken. You shake your head, “No, no. I didn’t say that to make you feel guilty-”

“You think that I care about whether or not you can understand the ‘40s?” He cuts you off, hands moving to curl around your biceps, “You think that I care whether or not you can relate to a time in history when you weren’t even thought of?”

“Of course I love you. I love you more than anything in this world, but you shouldn’t have to not care, Steve,” You argue, shaking your head, “That’s what I’m trying to say. You should be with someone who understands without explanation. I just wanted to give that to you - didn’t know that this would happen.”

“I should be with someone who loves me,” He argues back, “If you love me, that’s all that matters. My past be damned.”

“But your past is you!” You try to pull away from Steve, but he anchors you there. You’re dizzy from being so close to him after this long, but also because of how many different twists this situation has taken. You can barely keep up with how bad your communication with Steve has become - barely keep up with how you need to fix it, or how to fix it. “Your past is you,” You repeat when you realize that Steve isn’t going to let you go. “And you shouldn’t have to give that up so that someone will love you.”

“But you love me,” He says desperately, ducking his head so that he’s nearly nose to nose with you, “You love me, right?”

“More than anything,” You say, closing your eyes and relishing in the feeling of being so close to Steve, “I love you more than I’ve ever loved anyone. I don’t care about what anyone else thinks, or anyone else. I’ll even stop goin’ to class if you want me to - Steve, I just can’t do this anymore. Can’t do this thing where you don’t talk to me about what’s botherin’ you.” You’re choking up, barely whispering, but you know he hears you. YOu can feel his warm breath on your face, “Nearly fuckin’ killed me.”

“I thought it was goin’ to be easier,” He breathes, nose bumping yours, “When you eventually decided to leave me for him. Thought I was savin’ myself some trouble.” You can practically taste his tears as they fall again, “Buck and Nat tried to tell me that you weren’t - that you wouldn’t - but I just couldn’t believe them.”

When you open your eyes, his are closed. This close to him you can see the soft freckles that are blooming over his eyelids, his soft eyelashes kissing his cheekbones. You can feel him breathing, feel him nearly pressed against you in a way that feels hauntingly nostalgic and terrifyingly fleeting; like you’ll be able to feel his warmth for years to come, but he’s about to disappear. “That’s okay,” You finally whisper, “It’s okay that you didn’t believe them. That you thought what you thought. It’s okay.” He shakes his head against yours, opening his mouth to protest, but you refuse to let him feel guilty about feeling this way - you have plenty of time to sit him down and talk to him candidly about the way he acted because of these feelings, anyway. “If I would have been in your place I’m not sure I would have believed them.”

“I treated you so badly…” He shifts and wraps his arms around you. It’s almost immediate - you relax into his arms and wind yours around his waist, keeping him pulled against you as he presses his face into your neck and you press your cheek against his chest. “So awfully.”

“We’ll talk about that, okay? But later. Right now you just need to know that I love you, Steve. I love you more than I can tell you - more than I can express.” You want to kiss him, but you can’t. Can’t kiss him, you need to wait for him to kiss you, for him to close that gap and show you that he still loves you like you love him. “We’ll have to have a talk, a long and hard conversation about this, Stevie, but for now… For now, I’m just content to be with you, okay? MIssed you so much.”

He sighs, nose pressing against yours again. “Missed you too, dovie. Missed you more than I can even say,” His voice breaks as his lips brush yours. Your relationship is not without its flaws and problems - Steve’s actions when he thought you were cheating on him are proof of that and, well, the fact that you didn’t realize what was happening, why it was happening, or a large part of your boyfriend’s psychological makeup having an impact on your relationship while it went unknown by you… There is a lot of work for the two of you to do, a lot of work to do, a lot of communication to be done… But you’d do it all for Steve, over and over again.

When he presses forward and presses his lips gently to yours, you know that he’ll do it all for you, over and over again, too.

[sisterspooky1013]

Liquid Courage & Promises Kept

Rating: Teen and Up

Words: 3558

Read it on AO3

Tagging @today-in-fic

December 20, 1999

She’d been standoffish lately. Well, she’d been standoffish today, yesterday she was actually borderline flirty. He was having a hard time reading her from one day to the next, unsure if the difference in her demeanor was real or if it only existed in his head. At times he was sure she returned his affection; the flutter of her eyelashes over her icy blue eyes and the slight part of her pouty lips appearing as an invitation, and he’d almost accepted it several times. Almost. Something always got in the way; a knock at the door, the ring of a phone, the sting of a bee or the sudden aversion of her gaze, self consciousness dragging her back inside herself and away from him. He thought he could see the internal struggle in the set of her shoulders and the tuck of her chin. She wanted him as much as he wanted her, but she couldn’t admit it to herself, and he wasn’t going to push her. He’d waited this long, what was a bit longer?

Today, the typical relief that comes with a Friday afternoon was overshadowed by her businesslike demeanor, the perfectly polite but impersonal way she answered his questions, and the thorough but unemotional way she engaged in conversation with him. The more she withdrew, the more he advanced, grasping for some feedback, some response that soothed his feeling of rejection.

“Any big plans this weekend?” He inquired, resorting to small talk, which they typically didn’t need.

She didn’t look up from the file she was reviewing. “I’m getting dinner with an old friend from undergrad tomorrow. That’s about it.” Her tone was flat and disinterested, but not annoyed. She didn’t ask him about his own plans, not that he’d have had anything to share.

“Scully….are you okay? Did I do something?” He hated the whiny tone in his voice, the insecure way he sought her validation.

She looked up then, her brow knit in confusion. “No, why do you ask?”

“You just seem kind of…off? Distracted maybe? You don’t seem like yourself.”

He saw her sit up a bit straighter, just a touch more life enter her eyes. “Sorry, Mulder. I’m fine, it’s just been a long week I guess.” She offered him a thin smile. She was placating him, that he could tell, but he still wasn’t sure why.

He returned her tight-lipped, not at all genuine smile, nodding. “Glad to hear it.”

They finished out their workday, she wished him a good weekend and left the office quickly, before he had the chance to attempt walking out with her. Part of him wondered if “dinner with an old friend” was a euphemism; did she have a date? Maybe she was going out with an ex? He’d certainly been less than supportive (not to mention mature) when he’d been aware of her going out with someone in the past, so it would make sense that she’d hide it from him. Heaving a defeated sigh, he locked up the office and headed into a weekend full of boredom and misplaced jealousy that he didn’t have any right to feel.

**********************************

Saturday he had slept in, played some basketball at the Y, and stopped by to check out the Gunmen’s latest research to pass the time. It was now half past 8 and he realized he hadn’t eaten dinner yet, so grabbed his keys and headed to a restaurant in DC that had the best burgers, in his opinion. The fact that Scully was probably out on her date right now entered his mind at regular intervals, and he pushed it away, wanting to give her space to have an actual life outside of him and The X Files. Regardless of his feelings for her, above all else he wanted her to be happy, even if it was with someone else. The thought of having to meet some guy she was dating and act like he didn’t want to rip his face off made his stomach turn.

He parked in a 15 minute space just outside the restaurant and headed into the lobby. It was a busy Saturday night crowd, noisy and boisterous with various sporting events playing on several TVs and people shouting over each other to be heard. He placed his order, to go, with the hostess and then leaned against the wall to survey the scene while he waited. It was hard to say what made him feel worse, the families with children dragging french fries through lakes of ketchup, or the couples with their heads titled close together in intimate conversation, oblivious to anyone and anything but each other. His solo status was always painfully obvious in a setting like this. Most of the time it didn’t bother him, but today, knowing Scully was somewhere with someone else, it felt like shit.

And then he heard a laugh ring out like a bell. It was a sound he knew in his bones. One that, while infrequent, was a balm on his soul. Well, usually it was, anyway. But when he turned toward the sound and saw Scully, one hand to her chest while the other lay flat against the table top for stability, leaning toward the recipient of this sweet sound with her teeth bared in a joyful grin, his heart sank. She looked completely incredible, her hair mostly pulled back with a few strands loose around her face, a blue v-neck sweater clinging to her tiny frame and showing just a hint of cleavage. She was leaning in closer to a man whose back was to Mulder, removing the hand from her chest and placing it on his arm as she practically fell over in hysterics. He had never seen her like this, and envy twisted in his rib cage. Who the fuck was this guy that could make Scully laugh like that? He forced himself to look away, to stare at the gaudy rainbow checkerboard tiles on the floor. He checked his watch to calculate how much longer it might be before his food was ready and he could get the fuck out of here. Mercifully, the sound of her laughter subsided and he willed himself not to look that way again; he didn’t want to see something he’d never be able to erase from his memory.

He was doing such a good job pretending she wasn’t there that he was genuinely startled when he felt her cool hand thread around his elbow, linking his arm in hers. He looked to her and saw that her eyes were glassy and a little bit red. She was drunk.

“Come here often?” She drawled, her smile and the weight of her body leaning against him sending a wave of electricity down his torso.

“I might ask you the same” he countered, working very hard to seem casual, though he probably didn’t need to, given her state.

“Come sit with me.” She ordered. The contrast between her behavior at work yesterday and the open, seeking way her eyes roamed his face now was jarring. He was so confused by her signals.

“Nah, I don’t want to intrude. You’re out with your friend.” He couldn’t bring himself to say “date.”

She waved her hand in the air, brushing away the concern. “It’s fine, Mulder, he wants to meet you, come say hi.”

So she’d talked to her date about him? He wasn’t sure whether to be relieved, flattered, or weirded out. He turned to tell the hostess where he’d be before allowing her to pull him by the arm over to her table. As they approached, a second man sat down at the table, appearing to have just returned from the bathroom.

“Guys, this is Mulder!” She said with a level of excitement that seemed, to him, to be unnecessary.

“Mulder!” They both repeated as though they were reunited with an old friend. One was tall and blonde with an athletic build, the exact kind of guy he’d expect Scully to be interested in. The other was shorter and lean with a bald head and calloused hands. After an awkward beat where he looked at her expectantly, Scully remembered her manners and began introductions.

“Mulder, this is Rob, he and I were good friends in undergrad” she motioned towards the tall blonde man, and then to the shorter, bald one. “ This is his husband, Michael.”

A grin spread across Mulder’s face as he understood that this was most definitely not a date. He stuck out his hand and shook both theirs enthusiastically, agreeing to Scully’s insistence that he sit down as she stole another chair from a nearby table.

“I have to pee” Scully announced suddenly, leaving the table. Mulder looked after her in amused surprise at her lack of decorum. This was a side of his partner he had not had the pleasure of seeing yet.

Mulder stood to remove his coat, noticing Rob discreetly flick his eyes over his body as he did so. He always appreciated being checked out, even if it wasn’t from his target audience. As he sat back down, Michael spoke.

“It’s nice to meet you Mulder. Dana has told us so much about you.”

Mulder smirked self-consciously. “Nothing bad I hope.”

“Nothing that we can’t see with our own eyes” Rob remarked, giving him another once-over with an appreciative nod of his head. Michael jabbed him in the ribs with his elbow.

“Sounds like you do a lot of interesting work together” Michael offered, distracting from Rob’s remark.

“Uh, yeah, something like that” he responded cooly, seeing the hostess approaching with his order.

Scully returned from the bathroom and plopped down beside him dramatically, putting her hand on his thigh. He eyed her skeptically, but didn’t move it.

“I gotta go, I’m parked in a 15 minute spot. It was good to meet you both. You’ll make sure this one gets home okay?”

“Of course” Michael answered, sliding his arm around his husband’s shoulders. “Rob is a drunk Dana whisperer, from the stories I’ve heard.”

“No one wants to hear those stories” Scully warned, draining her glass. “Anyway, I’m going with you, Mulder.”

Mulder looked at her quizzically “oh are you?”

She gave him a coy smile and nodded, her eyes bleary from the booze.

“How about I take you home instead, party girl.” He stood and put his jacket back on.

Scully shrugged, accepting this alternative, and hugged her friends goodbye. Rob held on to her a little longer than Michael, whispering something in her ear that made her giggle before she told him she’d call him tomorrow. They left the restaurant arm in arm, and when they reached his car outside he opened the door for her to climb in first.

“So chivalrous” she mused, beaming at him.

He shook his head and laughed at her condition. In the moment, she was the antithesis of everything he knew her to be. The Scully he knew would roll her eyes and pity this blatant show of flirtation. Throughout the 15 minute drive to her apartment, she continued to paw at him, sliding her hand up his thigh until he batted it away. He settled on holding her hand, which seemed to make her happy and distracted her from more nefarious contact. When he pulled up outside her building, he expected her to get out and go inside, but instead she turned to him and asked “aren’t you going to walk me to my door?” It seemed to be asked in earnest, absent any innuendo, so he agreed. She held on to his arm and leaned into his side as they made their way in, her footing unsteady in her heels. He took her keys and unlocked the door for her, his feet planted firmly in the hallway. He was intrigued by her behavior and he could admit that he was very turned on by it, but she was drunk, and there was no way in hell he was going to take advantage of that.

“Come inside” she suggested, pulling on his arm.

“I don’t think that’s a good idea, Scully. You get some rest, call me tomorrow and let me know you’re alive. I’ll bring you some coffee and a breakfast burrito.”

She pushed her lower lip out in a little pout and stepped toward him, sliding her arms up his and on to his shoulders. The height of her heels compensated quite a bit for their usual discrepancy so that she only had to stretch a tiny bit for them to be face to face.

“What cha doin, Scully?” He asked, his mind telling him that this was a bad idea, while his body urged him to proceed.

“Just giving you a hug. Is that allowed?” Her voice was sultry and smelled like whiskey.

“A hug. Sure, I guess that’s okay.” His hands found her waist. Just a hug. They’d hugged hundreds of times.

She slid her hands around his neck and pressed her cheek to his and the rest of her body followed, breast to chest, pelvis to pelvis, thigh to thigh. This was not their typical hug. She was draped over him, her breath hot on his ear. He was afraid if this went on much longer, she’d be able to feel how much he wanted her. She pulled her head back, keeping the rest of her tucked against him, and looked at his face. God, she looked beautiful, if not a bit out of it. He willed himself to pull away, but he couldn’t, not yet. She leaned in and brushed her lips across his. Electric. His body tensed, knowing it couldn’t go on. Next she pressed her soft full pout against his lips, her fingers digging into his hair. He sighed, and then pulled away, stepping back from her, breaking contact.

She looked at him with a mix of embarrassment and confusion. Not wanting to send the wrong signal, he took both her hands in his. “You’re drunk, Scully. It’s not right. I don’t want you to do something you’re going to regret tomorrow.”

She held his gaze, her eyes watery and tired. “I won’t regret it, Mulder.”

“Well if that’s the case, kiss me sometime when you’re sober and I promise I won’t turn you down.” He was smiling at her, captivated by this moment where he felt like he could say anything, where they could be completely honest for once.

“Why haven’t you ever kissed me, Mulder?” There was sadness in her voice. Regret.

He took a breath before responding. “I guess…I wasn’t sure you wanted me to.”

“I do. I want you to.” He was afraid that he was about to find out she was a tearful drunk.

“Okay, I promise that I will. Soon.”

She nodded solemnly, and he pulled her into a hug, a real one, with her cheek squished against his shoulder and her hair tickling his nose. Keeping his hands on her shoulders, he stepped back and looked at her, asking “are you going to remember this conversation tomorrow?”

She blinked slowly, her eyes working to focus on his face. “I think maybe not.”

He laughed, stepping through into her apartment and leading her to her bedroom, where he waited outside the door as she changed into pajamas. Once she was tucked safely in bed with a glass of water and a bottle of Tylenol within arms reach, he went out to the kitchen and got a piece of paper to leave her a note. By the time he returned to leave it next to the glass of water, she was already asleep.

***********************************

Scully woke in the morning to find her mouth dry and sticky. As she sat up, her head lurched and squeezed her brain in protest. She looked around, unsure how she got here. The last thing she remembered was spotting Mulder at the restaurant, and then….nothing. Turning to check the time, she was relieved to see a glass of water and she chugged it down, stopping halfway to take two of the Tylenol; she must have put them there before she went to sleep. As she turned to drape her legs over the side of the bed and prepare to stand, she spotted a slip of paper on her nightstand and unfolded it.

Hey Party Girl,

I’m willing to bed you have a mean hangover. Whether you remember it or not, I did promise you a breakfast burrito. Call me when you’re awake.

Mulder

Her eyes went big. Mulder was here? She felt strange not being able to remember it, and hoped she hadn’t done anything embarrassing. First she dragged herself to the bathroom to brush her teeth and then took a shower, pulling last night’s mascara from her eyelashes. As she stepped out, already feeling a little better, the phone rang.

“Hello?” She cringed at the volume of her own voice.

“Hey pretty lady, you make it home okay?” It was Rob.

“Apparently so, though I don’t remember much of anything. What happened after Mulder showed up?”

Rob chuckled softly and her stomach turned. What had she done? There was a scuffling sound on the other end of the line and she could hear Michael say “stop torturing her!” Before he wrangled the phone away from Rob.

“It wasn’t that bad, Dana, Rob is just being a jerk. You got a little handsy with him then told him to take you home. We could tell he wasn’t going to take advantage of you.”

“Uh, what do you mean by handsy, exactly?” She was starting to feel nauseous.

“I think you had your hand on his thigh and you were making some serious bedroom eyes at him, but that’s it, at least at the restaurant. I can’t speak to what happened after you left.”

“Oh god” she whispered.

There was more scuffling and then Rob was back on the line “Look, honey, it’s clear that you both want to be with each other so I don’t see the issue. Just get over yourself and fuck him already.”

“Right, thanks Rob, that’s really helpful.” She rubbed her free hand over her throbbing temples.

“It was good to see you, Dana. We should do it again sometime.”

“Yeah, it may be a while before I can stomach alcohol, Rob.”

“You know my number. Bye.”

He hung up and she replaced the phone on the receiver, dropping her head into her hands with a groan. Dragging herself to her bedroom, she put on sweats and a t shirt, brushed her hair, and then flopped down on to the couch, already predicting it would be a wasted day. She was too old for this. When she heard Mulder’s familiar tap tap on the door, she considered staying very quiet until he went away, pretending not to be home.

“Scully, I know you’re home, your car is outside.” She heard him call out. Fuck.

Fluffing her hair a bit as she walked to the door so she wouldn’t look like a drowned rat, she opened it and found him looking adorable in jeans and a blue sweater, a paper bag in one hand and a steaming cup of coffee in the other. Her eyes went big at the idea of food and she realized she was starving.

“Well it’s clear the burrito is welcome, do I also have permission to enter the premises?”

He was grinning at her in a way she found both endearing and infuriating. She hated not knowing what had happened. Taking the bag and cup from his hands, she turned and walked to the couch, leaving the door open as an invitation for him to follow.

“Thanks” she muttered, taking a sip of the coffee before setting it on the table and unwrapping the burrito.

“How are you feeling?” He asked, eyeing her curiously.

“Like I drank way too much” she returned without looking at him.

He nodded knowingly. “Do you remember…everything?”

She shot him a wide-eyed look. “What is there to remember?”

He shrugged “nothing, just wondering.”

“Look, Mulder, I don’t really remember anything after you showed up at the restaurant and if I did something embarrassing I’d rather you just tell me now instead of dragging this out. So what did I do?”

He shook his head nonchalantly. “Nothing, Scully. You were very pleasant, actually.” He smiled at her and she knew there was more to it, but he was taking the path of allowing her to remain blissfully ignorant, and she was thankful for it.

He turned on the TV and they sat quietly and watched the news while she ate and drank, slowly feeling more human as the minutes passed. He saw her check the time and took that as his cue to leave, and she walked him to the door.

“Thanks, Mulder, both for getting me home safe and for breakfast.”

“Anytime. You really don’t remember anything, do you?”

She gave him a rueful look while shaking her head slowly.

“Well, in the event that anything does come back to you, I want you to know that I intend to keep my promise.”

“That really means nothing to me Mulder, but thanks I guess?”

He chuckled a little, then turned and left her to nurse her hangover in peace.

[whentherewerebicycles]

hello anon!! okay, this is going to be a very long post, so buckle up. standard caveat: since i don’t know the specifics of your topic or discipline or situation, some of this will hopefully be relevant and some of it might not, so just grab what works for you and leave the rest! and if you have more specific questions that this general overview doesn’t touch on, feel free to send those in.

it sounds like you have a few different questions here:

How do I find and articulate my research question?

How do I effectively take notes on my background reading in the early stages, when I’m not sure yet what my argument is going to be?

How do I organize a long research project/paper? How do I conceptualize something that has so many moving parts & happens to be a genre (a thesis) that I’ve never written before?

How do I write something that long? 

also I am not sure if by “diss” you mean a senior thesis, master’s thesis, or a doctoral dissertation, as I know US and non-US universities use different terminology! so I will kinda just respond to this as A Very Lengthy Research Paper.

my response here will focus mostly on that first question (how to find/articulate a research question), with some thoughts at the end about notetaking in the early stages of a big research project. I’m going to lay out a method I just used with my own students to help them articulate questions & generate possible lines of inquiry to follow. I have been calling it the ‘research tier’ activity/system but it’s a pretty basic way of mapping out possible directions for a project. I use some version of this for every big project I undertake - whether it’s academic work, planning a course syllabus, or writing fic.

I want to emphasize, before I start, that the “tier” map you construct is a LIVING document, not a set-in-stone plan that has to be finished before you begin. the goal is to get past the anxiety of the blank page by generating tons and tons of ideas and questions related to your central topic -- so that if you hit a dead end, you can trace your way back and follow a different line of inquiry. when i am working on a research project, i am continually updating this planning document (i’ll say more about that at the end, once you have a sense of what the tiers look like).

Those questions are geared towards my students, who are working more in social science-y disciplines and/or on projects that have clear connections to specific communities. If you are writing a more traditional humanities discipline, here are some other examples:

I’m interested in...

the romance novel as a genre

Virginia Woolf’s writings on nature/the environment

the cultural reception and impact of the TV show Will & Grace

what queer social life looked like in 1920s New York

play and playfulness in the college classroom (my current research project, which I’ll use as an example)

once you have some idea of your focus, you can begin generating questions related to that focus. “Tier 2″ begins to get slightly more specific, though you are still very much in “big picture” mode. here’s some sentence stems I give my students to help them generate tier 2 questions:

my students are doing research projects that are ideally supposed to develop out of their preexisting community involvements or commitments, so i give them this additional advice:

[note: if your thesis topic is in a social science-y discipline (or a humanities discipline that leans closer to the social sciences), you can probably use some of those ideas or prompts. if your thesis topic is more of a purely academic humanities-type topic (for instance, a literary studies thesis about a specific novel), not all of those will apply perfectly, but some will hopefully be useful still!]

here’s an example, again using my playfulness project. I’ll list the question and then below it, in italics, I’ll explain what ‘stirred up’ that question for me.

T2: What are some core preoccupations or big-picture questions I want to explore? What are some things I’ve noticed that I want to understand?

Core Question 1: Why are college classrooms so serious? Why is there so little playfulness in most college teaching? Why so little laughter, movement, fun?

Observing my friend’s kindergarten classes made me realize how much elementary educators rely on bright colors, movement, singing, playing imaginative games together, etc. to engage young learners’ imaginations, minds, and bodies. Why do we value that so much in elementary education, but stop considering it important in college classes? Do learners “age out” of a need for highly interactive, engaging learning? I suspect no... so that’s a hunch I can begin to follow. 

Observing other college courses (and drawing on my own experience as an undergrad and grad student) made me realize how much educators rely on the same standard methods of teaching (lecturing with a discussion section; a version of Socratic seminar discussion that is primarily led by the professor). To me, these methods are antithetical to playfulness and tend to quash people’s ability or desire to playfully experiment, try things out, risk failure, etc. I wonder if the actual methods we use to teach content or to structure our classes are producing ‘serious’ classes, whether or not we personally as instructors want that to happen. That’s another hunch I could follow...

I’m thinking of a possible connection here to my past research on the origins of English literature as a discipline (in 1920s-30s England). One of the things that scholars often emphasize is how hard faculty had to work to transform English into a serious, rigorous, ‘legitimate’ discipline, akin to the hard sciences. That’s something that I think we still see today in the way people anxiously defend the value of a humanities education. I’m curious about whether the need to justify our existence as a discipline/field of study influences our methods of teaching college students. Do we banish playfulness from the classroom because it threatens that image of the humanities as a serious, rigorous discipline? That’s yet another hunch I could follow... 

Core Question 2: I have a hunch that people learn better in playful environments. Is that true -- and if so, why? What is it about playfulness that enhances learning?

I’m a lifelong fangirl, and fandoms are creative environments where people are continually engaged in acts of imaginative play. I’ve observed and have experienced firsthand how these playful environments seem to encourage people to try new things, take creative risks, learn new skills even if they’re afraid they’ll be ‘bad’ at them, and commit huge amounts of time, energy, and passion to long-term creative projects that don’t make any money or ‘earn’ them a grade. I’m curious about how we might adapt the playful, passionate energy of fan spaces to college teaching.

In my own classrooms, I’ve noticed that students get so much more into the activity (and seem to internalize the content more deeply) when I frame it as an imaginative exercise, a roleplaying activity, or a game of some kind. Teaching the same content in a way that encourages playfulness seems to produce deeper engagement (and deeper learning?) than using the traditional methods of ‘serious’ teaching.

Core Question 3: Playfulness and shared laughter/fun seem to build social bonds (again, drawing on my experiences in fandom). Could shared imaginative play help students develop better social skills? Could it help build a sense of community in the classroom and strengthen students’ sense of belonging? This question feels especially urgent to me given the epidemic of self-reported loneliness, anxiety, and depression on college campuses. 

*

You can have lots more than 3 core questions/preoccupations! In fact, the more ideas you can generate at this stage the better. The idea isn’t to hone in on your research question (yet) but to generate as many possible paths you could take, so that you can begin evaluating which interest you most, or which seem like the most fruitful questions to explore/answer. Doing the idea-generating for Tier 2 should already begin to set you up for Tier 3 -- which involves articulating specific sub-questions you’ll need to answer to better understand or answer those core questions/preoccupations.

and then we’ll go ahead and fold in T4, as I tend to move back and forth between T3/T4 as I brainstorm.

I’ll just take one of my Tier 2 questions as an example, but again, you can/should do this for all of yours (or at least the ones that interest you most).

Core question: Playfulness and shared laughter/fun seem to build social bonds (again, drawing on my experiences in fandom). Could shared imaginative play help students develop better social skills? etc etc

T3 subquestions (with T4 “directions for inquiry” folded into the first one, so you can see an example):

-- SubQ1 Does play actually strengthen social bonds? If so, how? Are specific kinds of play better for this than others (ie, collaborative or cooperative play compared to competitive play)? With Tier 4 folded in:

Do a library database search to try to figure out where “play” research typically happens -- is it in psychology research? Neuroscience? Early childhood education?

Then begin searching for different keyword strings that might help me gather up initial sources. Some initial ideas: play + social bonding, play + social skills, play + social development, play + cooperation, play + friendship, play + mental health. (Typically finding a couple useful/relevant articles will help you generate better keywords -- as you can begin to see the kinds of terminology that researchers use to describe your topic.)

I could also maybe interview college students themselves, or design a survey - but that would depend on the type of research I want to do. Do I want to conduct my own original research study, or is my focus more on synthesizing existing research from different fields to construct an argument? 

Could I find faculty or researchers who work on these topics, who might be able to direct me to specific resources or help me understand what kind of work has already been done on this topic? Maybe I can’t find someone who specifically researches playfulness, but an educational researcher whose work focuses on social-emotional learning would probably have a pretty good understanding of what features or pedagogical choices help create positive, affirming learning environments.

-- SQ2: Are college students lonely?

Are they reporting (or do they experience) higher rates of mental illness? What are the numbers on this?

What are some of the prevalent theories or hypotheses about why this is? Could social isolation or difficulty forming friendships be a possible contributing factor?

-- SQ3: Why are social bonds good for us - physically, mentally, emotionally?

-- SQ4: Do social bonds enhance learning? If so, how?

What if I looked to other non-academic learning environments (such as fandoms, team sports or group activities, etc where people are learning new skills in highly social settings) to make a case for playfulness in the college classroom? This isn’t direct 1:1 proof that “more playfulness in college classrooms = happier, more socially well-connected students,” but offering detailed descriptions of how those learning environments are structured might spark ideas for my audience (university instructors and administrators) or persuade them that playfulness has an important social-emotional role to play in college learning.  

*

Typically what ends up happening is I produce a huge, messy document (or fill a giant paper or whiteboard if I’m doing it by hand) that has tons and tons of different directions I might follow. usually, the initial process of creating this giant brainstorming document sparks lots of ideas for where to begin researching. then, as i go off and begin reading articles, those articles typically help flesh out my understanding of the core questions or concepts i’m interested in, or my understanding of what kind of research on this topic already exists vs. where the gaps are that my own work might be able to fill. that initial source-gathering phase of research will also usually spark new questions and sub-questions, which get added to my tier map.

having some kind of messy brainstorming map/plan also helps me read in a more focused way. instead of just opening a random article and skimming it without any clear sense of what i’m looking for, i’m now opening articles and reading them with a purpose -- i’m looking for answers to the specific questions i’ve articulated. so i can skim in a more focused way, looking for specific keywords that seem relevant, and i can also take notes in a more focused way, noting down key ideas that

having a question in mind can also help me figure out more quickly if the article is relevant to my research questions or not. for instance, let’s say i open an article about how playing competitive games in high school PE classes improve students’ self-reported moods. if i didn’t know what i was reading for, i might spend a lot of time on this article, trying to figure out if it was relevant to my research (it has the keywords, right? so maybe it’s relevant?). but if i am reading with a specific question in mind (“Do collaborative learning games help strengthen students’ sense of social connection?”) I can tell pretty quickly that this article is not going to be that useful, since it focuses on competitive physical games (probably not something I’ll integrate into an English class). so I can say with some confidence, “I probably don’t need to read this whole thing, but maybe I’ll check out their lit review section or their bibliography to see if the authors cite any other work on play/playfulness that might be more relevant to my specific questions.” 

i think i’ve kinda started to answer your second question about notetaking here, too, so i will also say that in the early stages of a big research project, i am absolutely NOT taking detailed notes on any of the sources i find. my focus is much more on amassing a large pool of highly relevant sources that i know i’m going to want to go back to and read more deeply as my research questions come into sharper focus. this is because deep reading burns through a lot of time and energy, so i want to make sure i’m saving that deep reading energy for sources that are quite likely to be relevant to my project. 

to figure out if a source is relevant, I often skim the abstract and introduction to figure out the core questions the article or chapter is seeking to answer. then I ask myself three questions:

Are the core questions of this article the same as (or very similar to) my core questions or subquestions? If so, mark this citation as HIGHLY relevant - I’m going to want to come back and read this source carefully, to see if it’s already suggested answers to the questions I’m asking. 

Do the core questions of this article seem to resonate with my core questions, even if we’re not asking them in exactly the same way, or the author of this paper is applying them to a different field? If so, mark this citation as LIKELY relevant - it may not be a perfect 1:1 with my own questions, but that can sometimes spark exciting new ideas or ways of reframing my original questions. If not, toss it.

Do the questions this article is asking suggest new questions or lines of inquiry that I am interested in exploring? Sometimes an article will introduce me to a whole new area of research or a new array of questions I hadn’t even originally thought to explore. If that’s the case, I typically pencil those sub-questions into my brainstorming tier document and mark the source as LIKELY or HIGHLY relevant, depending on how excited i am about it. 

OK I WILL CLOSE HERE FOR NOW as I have to get back to work, but I will say that when I taught my students this method, they were very confused by the initial explanation of it, but then when they went back and used the models to work through the tier brainstorming activity for themselves, they seemed to find it really useful. so if you are scratching your head, try doing a quick TIER 1 - TIER 2 - TIER 3 - TIER 4 map for your own research question to see if doing it yourself helps clarify. also: if you can’t get further than tier 2, it’s usually a sign that you need to do some more reading and freewriting about the questions that you’re curious about, or the gaps you’ve noticed in the scholarship, or the threads you’d like to follow. but you can do some of that background reading in a more focused way now, using your initial big questions to help guide your selection of background readings & give you a sense of purpose as you read.

[yeah-sure-why-not-you]

I went to the Wonder Tour in Seattle! Here’s my experience.

Backstory:

I became a fan of Shawn Mendes at the beginning of my freshman year in college, back in 2018. This was during the time he was promoting Shawn Mendes the album. I saw YouTube videos of him performing and was like “Wow. He’s amazing at performing.” And then I spiraled into watching his other recent  performances and interviews. I found myself going through his Instagram page. I knew of his music before (mostly the radio hits) but I never really paid any attention to Shawn as an artist. After falling into my Shawn Mendes rabbit hole, I was instantly hooked onto his music. Moving through college, I kind of fell out of my freshman year obsession with Shawn. But when he announced the Wonder Tour, I had to get tickets. On the first day of my final year in college, my friend and I ditched class to buy tickets. The concert would be on June 28 of the next year and that date felt so far away - it was after our last finals as undergrads and it was after our graduation ceremonies. But June 28 came by way faster than I had anticipated! 

Concert:

I got the silver VIP package. Those with VIP waited in line separate from general tickets. The silver VIP package included a nice tote bag, a tour passport, and a poster. We had the opportunity to go through an interactive museum that displayed articles throughout Shawn’s career - outfits, guitars he owned/played, awards, etc. There were also backdrops and props from album covers that you could take pictures with. It was cool but honestly, it was underwhelming. I only got the silver VIP because of the seats. I would have bought the VIP tickets that included meet and greet but they were out of my price range in Seattle. I’m sure those are more worthwhile. 

I sat right next to the catwalk of the arena stage setup. When I got to my seat, there were already fans standing right next to the barricades. Security made them sit down until the show started though. It had something to do with the fact that people who didn’t pay to sit in that area were taking other people’s space (from what I heard). When Dermot Kennedy (who was the opening act - his voice is insane) finished performing, the lights came back on. But when the lights dimmed again and Wonder album Intro played, we were all screaming with excitement! Fans rushed to the barricade. The lights began strobing in tandem to the intro music. And at the center of the stage was a dark silhouette growing taller. Once Shawn appeared, I could feel tears forming in my eyes. I didn’t cry. But damn, this was something that I had been dreaming about since I was a freshman in college. Now I was fresh out of undergrad, experiencing a Shawn Mendes concert for the first time. Based on videos and pictures, you can see that Shawn is an attractive person. But on stage? In real life? That man is absolutely glowing. He’s beautiful. 

I’ve been to other concerts where there’d be backup dancers and large choreographs. Those are always super fun to watch. Still, I would have to say that watching Shawn perform was even better. You can tell he loves what he does. He just has so much energy on that stage. He fills up the entire space with that energy. And he goes ham on that guitar. I’m surprised the strings don’t snap. And his VOCALS? Don’t even get me started. His voice is absolutely amazing. All of the songs sound even better live than in studio. Those high notes are killer - and he hits a lot of high notes. You don’t have to be a fan of his music to admire his talent. He’s magnetic on that stage. He also looks so comfortable on the stage. And it’s not comfortable in a bad way or a lazy way. Shawn looked like he was home. 

Shawn uses up the whole space during his performance. At some points, he performed solely on the main stage. During some songs, he walked up and down the catwalk. For other songs, they were sung at a smaller stage at the end of the catwalk. He performed one song (Can’t Imagine) in the middle of the catwalk. He also engages with fans a bit! Some talking while transitioning songs. It’s the usual that you would get from a performer - thanking the city and the audience for being there, explaining what a certain song meant to them, etc. He also touches fan’s hands as well and engages with any props that fans bring. Also, if you’re lucky enough, you’ll come home with a guitar pick he tosses into the crowd. 

The final song was In My Blood. Near the end of the song, Shawn got off the catwalk and went by the barricades to touch fans, hug them, etc. I wasn’t lucky enough to have the chance to touch him but my friend did! She hasn’t washed her hand since then. She had it vacuum sealed. 

Overall, it was an incredible experience. Shawn Mendes is an amazing performer. It exceeded my 18 year old expectations. It also launched me back into my Shawn Mendes fangirl phase. 

My only wish is that he interacted a little bit more with fans. Take Harry Styles for example. I think he does pretty well with interacting with fans while he’s on stage. There are points in his show where he’d have a short and funny interaction with a fan and they’d even talk! Or he’d respond to a funny poster. I think that would be fun! 

Also, I just want to add something here about the postponement of the Wonder Tour: take the space you need for yourself, Shawn. 

Tips: 

- If you want to hug or touch Shawn at a concert, buy tickets next to the catwalk and be at the barricade. He interacts with fans a lot there. 

- If you want to stand out even more at the catwalk barricade, make a funny poster. My friend did (it was my idea! I think it was pretty good) and I’m sure that’s why he started at her area when he came off the catwalk to hug fans. 

- If you bring a poster and you want Shawn to interact with it or you, make sure it’s something easy, like “blow me a kiss” or something. He doesn’t engage too much with fan posters. He’ll definitely see it though. 

If you have any questions about my experience of about his concert in general, comment! 

[misha-moose-dean-burger-lover]

Closets & Wendy’s.

“Last day of Pride!”

Dean projects himself onto Cas’s bed, ending up sprawled on his front, with an arm slung over Cas’s lap.

On receiving no more greeting than Cas’s hand landing in his hair and starting to card through it, he lifts his face from the comforter, props himself up on his elbows - chin tucked in a palm - and stares at his boyfriend.

Cas looks upset.

The corners of his lips tilt passively downwards, eyebrows carrying most of the weight of his frown.

“Cas?” Dean asks, neutrally - already regretting his overhyped entrance.

“I’m sorry- I don't feel -”

Words fade out, and Cas pauses. Then he turns to actually look at Dean, the sadness seeped into his eyes, and Dean doesn’t waste a moment getting up, knee-waddling over into Cas’s space and pulling him close.

Cas comes easily, planting his head on Dean’s shoulder, and exhaling a tired breath when Dean runs a hand over his back.

“What are you feeling?” Dean asks, after a beat, now trying to soothe Cas’s tense shoulders, rubbing gently over the cotton. Cas leans into his touch.

About three years of therapy, and nearly six years of being roommates - undergrads, and then actual friggin’ grad school - with Cas, basically Dean’s personal mascot for healthy communication, has led him to definitely know that it’s always a better alternative to talk about what you are going through, instead of what you aren’t.

(Or, you know, what you think you should be, just because your dumb, insensitive boyfriend who’s been obsessed with Pride since finally coming out and-slash-or best-friending up with Charlie Bradbury, is. And rather loudly, at that, because Dean Winchester’s a goddamn idiot.)

“Disappointment.” Cas says, morosely, but almost as soon as he hears his own words, he rephrases. “Uh. I’m the disappointment.”

“Well, did you secretly sneak out and mark yourself absent for the entire semester in all your 4.0 GPA classes when I wasn’t looking?”

“Dean.”

“Fine, 3.7.” Dean throws back. “Big friggin’ deal, nerd.” Cas lets out a huff of breath which almost resembles a chuckle, and Dean squeezes his arm around Cas. “You know that would’ve totally been a four if I’d been less distracting.”

“Interesting.” Cas corrects.

“Hot.” Dean throws back, just because he knows it’ll make Cas crinkle into one of his fond ‘what-do-I-do-with-you’ smiles. It does. 

“Perfect.” And Cas throws in a sigh, as if to solidify his point, and leans in to nuzzle Dean’s neck in a way so intensely Cas, that if anyone else had ever tried it, he’d either end up being tickled to death, or running the hell out of dodge. 

“We’re on you right now, Cheesy McCheesington.” Dean smiles back, and goes on. 

He’s not willing to let Cas close up into a ball of repressed emotions with happy only on the outside. That’s way more Dean’s thing - or rather, used to be. He knows he’s bettered his coping mechanisms. Mostly because every part of his life involves Cas now, and anything with Cas is good. 

They’ve grown a lot together - grown through a lot as well, and this is how they’ve done it. By talking through, the Castiel way. It still throws Dean off sometimes, how far they’ve gotten.

So when Cas whines in protest into Dean’s shirt, he knows exactly how to turn it into a side-hug. One of those, where they end up staring at each other from a three-inch distance.

Staring hard, Dean says it. “You’re the farthest thing from a disappointment, Cas. To anyone.”

The lecturers all adored him, their friends made it a point to keep proclaiming their affection out loud (thank god for Charlie Bradbury and co.), and Dean doesn’t think he could be more proud of Cas if he tried. 

He was a goddamn wonder.

He’d gone from a lanky, private-schooled, what’s-a-Star-War schmuck to one of Dean’s favorite people in the world. He was hilarious, and a genius, and kind. He’d grown into his shoulders, and into a stubbly kind of an age, and into this awesome, intelligent, pancake-making man of Dean’s dreams, and into his bee obsessions and organizational neatness - and complete, total perfection. 

(Dean needs him, appreciates him, and (not that subtly - to his credit), loves him in a forever sort of way.)

But before Dean’s properly began to remind Cas of any of it, he’s interrupted. 

“I’m disappointing me, Dean.”

There’s resignation in his tone, and evidence in every word he says. 

“June’s over. Again. And for all the marching with painted cheeks and the megaphones? For all the parades, and the celebrations of our identities, the togetherness, the being proud of being ourselves?” Cas lets out, bitterly, and Dean realizes he knows where Cas is going with this. “And I still haven’t come out to my family.”

Dean waits, sure that Cas isn’t finished. 

“How have I not done it yet?” Cas hisses, and it almost startles him - he’s swapped the upset for angry. It’s rarer. “I’ve known since I was a teenager - and we’ll have been together for five years in three months, Dean, and I just - I cannot believe I still can’t do it.”

He sounds helpless, and Dean wants to jump in, but he needs Cas to get the words out first. 

“What’s the matter with me? Am I not brave enough, or strong enough - or am I still hanging onto the hope that they’ll suddenly become better human beings and not disown me when I tell them?” Cas scoffs. 

He’s pissed at himself. 

“Maybe I still lack, as you say, free will.”

Dean has to step in at that. “That was six years ago, and you know I wouldn’t say it now.”

“Why not?” Cas challenges. “I couldn’t tell them then, either. I clearly haven’t changed.”

“Other things, Cas.” Dean says, and grits his teeth. This isn’t supposed to be them yelling. Cas is frustrated, and Dean’s listening - he can’t be frustrated back at him for the way he expresses it. “Other things have changed.”

Cas gives him a look, but Dean holds his end of it until it crumbles. Cas changes his offense. Mellows down - probably when he sees Dean’s restraint. “This is important to me. I want to do it. Then why can’t I tell them?”

He’s asking himself, but he’s also asking the only person who knows him as well as he knows himself, yet he’s also not asking at all - simultaneously, it’s also rhetorical.

Dean licks his lips. 

“Whatever be the answer to that, Cas, first things first. This doesn’t imply you’re not proud enough.” 

Cas looks away.

“Or, for that matter, not panromantic or demisexual enough.” 

Sigh. Shuffle, shift. And then he looks back up at Dean. The tears weren’t there before. “How do you know, Dean?”

“‘Cause I know this doesn’t decide that.”

“Why not?” Cas says, quietly.

“‘Cause,” He repeats. “How queer you are isn’t measured on a scale of how soon you come out once you know.” He pauses, judges the air. “It usually isn’t measured at all, unless we’re talking about a magical thing known as the Kinsey Scale.”

He judged right. 

Cas coughs, and it’s definitely to disguise a reluctant snicker.

“And you know, even if it were measured on the weird first thing,” Dean adds, serious again. “There’d totally be a different clause, and a separate key, mind you, for the people with douchebag families.”

“They prefer conservative, I think.” Cas says, smally, after an entire minute, as if he’d actually been rerunning Dean’s speech in his head for that long.

Dean shrugs.

Cas almost smiles. He’s calmed down.

“The strange thing is that it makes no sense.” He begins, heavy, albeit less severe on himself. “I’m twenty six. We co-own this apartment, and we pay our bills. We’re completely independent.” It never stops sounding surreal. That’s for another time. “Mother calls me on third Sundays, Gabriel sends Christmas cards. Other than that, I only spend Thanksgiving lunches with them, each year more horrible than the last. I know I wouldn’t miss any of them, nor regret being written out of the will. Or have my Novak cemetery spot passed onto Michael’s oldest. Or the gardener.” 

Dean snorts at that. The Novaks are truly something else. 

“There is no reason I can’t just come out. I just -” Cas cuts into his own sentence with a sigh, one signifying that he’s finally done speaking, and he reclaims Dean’s shoulder once more.

What’s important right now, is to make him feel better. A resolution to this isn’t within grasp at the moment, and Cas sounds drained. Dean - well, he does what he does best. He segues. 

“Wait.” Cas lifts his head. “You didn’t actually say you’re not out, did you?”

Cas squints at him.

“Dude. Being out doesn’t just mean telling your family. And getting subjected to toxicity and trauma, by means of it.” Dean points out, earnest. By that logic, courtesy of a long-dead mom, and a relatively-shorter-dead dad, he’s in the closet as well. “Hell, you put your hand in my back pocket at KFC, yesterday.”

“Oh.” Cas blinks. 

Dean grins, and Cas’s surprise makes it easy to do so. “You bet my publicly grabbed ass, it counts.”

Cas knows it counts. He knows everything that counts. But he indulges himself, and he indulges Dean - his bad mood slowly dissipating. “What else?” 

“You kissed me at Wendy’s last week.” Dean informs him, eyebrows raised. “Held my hand for a really long time in a Starbucks queue on Saturday. Oh, and all the gay bars count, buddy. Especially the bits where we grind on the dance floor, and then I blow you in the stall.” 

Cas opens his mouth to protest that has only happened once, but Dean meets his eyes with a pointed look. He’s got to bring it up.

“Every time I’ve ever taken you to a steak joint counts too. ‘Cause trust me, those are always dates, whether you know it or not.”

“Long drives are a date to you.” Cas deadpans. 

“Yeah, and Baby will never say you’re not out.” Dean throws back, and Cas actually makes it to a smile this time. Dean’s left feeling accomplished. (And sort of dazed, because it’s going to take a lot more than six years for him to get used to Cas being so easily beautiful, and being it right next to him.)

“You said you loved me for the first time at the Roadhouse.” Cas says.

Dean blushes. 

“And then you ran away before I could react, got really drunk and karaoke’d I’m Too Sexy on the stage, and passed out on my lap right as I tried to say it back to you.”

This is definitely not his favorite story, but it always lights Cas up, and that’s all that matters, really - so he rolls his eyes half-heartedly and Cas smiles wider.

Silence prevails for a moment.

“Look.” Dean ends up being the one to break it. Cas listens, hanging onto each word. “You’re the only one who knows why you can’t do it, okay? My best guess would be an internalized decision to avoid conflict. Maybe you call your old therapist tomorrow - like, I dunno, a cameo from Castiel, unresolved coming-out issues sorta thing. Of course, we can talk about it too. Get six cheeseburgers and twelve beers, and figure things out on your own. But it’s up to you.” Cas exhales into a little smile. “All I know is, it doesn’t matter to anyone that you haven’t told your family, if it doesn’t matter to you. 

Cas nods, a couple of times, and there’s the barest hint of tears again, but this time doesn’t make Dean want to punch God. 

It makes him want to hug Cas, so he goes for it. 

“Even if you were in the closet, Cas? I’d say the same.” Dean adds, as an afterthought, about a minute into a hug which doesn’t seem to be nearing an end. Not really. No one minds, so there’s that. “This community, this month - everything about Pride is about all of us, and if Charlie’s ever called me handmaiden, trust me she’s said this a million times. It means everyone. Includes people in the closet, every bit as those who’re out.”

Cas hums in agreement, and tilts his head against Dean’s.

“In any case,” Dean teases. “Your family’s over in Illinois, anyways. Here, where it counts? You’re as out as you can be.”

“I could kiss you in more Wendy’s.” Cas contemplates, because he’s awesome like that.

“What has Burger King ever done to you?”

Dean listens to him considering it with a thoughtful note, and mutters a “Dork.” It helps keep him grounded for he feels like he’s floating right now - ‘cause there’s something about the way Cas holds onto him. Tighter.

Like somehow, even after all this time, they managed to fall a little more in love today. 

And somehow, they’ll keep doing it forever.

[yakumtsaki]

Due to being the most incompetent popularity sim the world has ever laid eyes on, as well as having a miserable personality, Shajar has been near aspiration failure for the entire freshman year. Now that we’re out of the dorms it seems the least I can do is fulfil her wish to throw a toga party, even though I’ve sworn off college parties since the Gunther Brittany Affair Disaster of 2017.

Most of the people we invited wisely elected not to attend, but thankfully Culturally Appropriating Drama Professor is here, with whom, you guessed it..

..Cyneswith has 3 bolts! Well we all knew that thanks to her disturbing grey hair turn on college would be the time that we would knock out at least 10 of the 20 simultaneous lovers she aspires to have. 

Boy, that escalated quickly. Also that professor literally looks like a male Rachel Dolezal. 

-Congratulations on falling in love with Ti-Ning right after he randomly made out with Gross Hippie Dude, Frances!

SHAJAR!!!

-What?! I’m just trying to make polite conversation, it’s called being a good host!

EW. I can’t believe we’re gonna have to fall in love with this creep. God, Cyneswith, why couldn’t you get a different hair color turn-on??

At least Cyneswith and CADP (Culturally Appropriating Drama Prof, I’m not learning his name) are singlehandedly saving this lame party’s score, because everyone else is being a giant flop:

A) Gossip about Gunther from literally 30 years ago, talk about scalding hot tea. 

B) Literally asleep, which is what I would do during this party as well. Relatable king Don.

-Man, I had a terrible nightmare that Cyneswith was cheating on me with Rachel Dolezal!

What nonsense! Just keep sleeping with your back turned to that window.

🤮🤮🤮🤮🤮🤮🤮🤮🤮🤮🤮🤮

C) Bullying Mickey Dosser to tears for no discernible reason. Or maybe because Shajar is into him and we’re getting a little jealous

-AS IF! Jealousy is a trait of cucks and weaklings! I just enjoy the pain of others!

Yea, and my pain most of all clearly!

I had Cyneswith ask CADP out during the party so we could maximize her aspiration point earnings and the guy seriously hits us with ‘maybe we should go out again some other time’, like he has a ton of hot undergrads throwing themselves at him but he’ll see if he can make time for us. God I hate him. 

We end the party while we’re ahead aka before Sophie’s bullying tanks our score, and Shajar is finally semi-content and will hopefully stfu with her whining for the time being. Good job, Cyneswith!

Right after the party a sports mania appears to have overtaken the house. First we have Frances of all people intently watching football, lmao. Secondly, wanna guess who rolled the want to get fit? Wanna guess??

Why Sophie you sly little vixen, I knew it! I knew somewhere deep down you were into Shajar!!

-For your information, BITCH, it’s because sports is my one true hobby!

LOL sure, sure.. I mean it actually is your one true hobby but I’m going to interpret it how it suits me.

Also boy are you bad at it. 

-Not for long! I’ll keep going! I’m gonna be the very best, like no one ever was! 

Ok well you should rest a little, you don’t need to become fit the very same night you rolled the want, who cares?

-I care! I can do it! I’m so close!

Yea I’m thinking I should have stopped you sooner and maybe working out for hours on end in the desert was not a great idea.

-Nonsense! Sophie Miguel knows no fatigue! Sophie Miguel knows no pain!! On an unrelated note, I’m just gonna lie down here real quick.

Ok so this was the closest I’ve come to a sim legit dying this run, like it’s all fun and games now but while it was happening I was freaking out. We don’t have the Reaper phone we stole from the secret society in the UUU house anymore, Jojo took it with him when he graduated, so it was seriously looking like this was it for Sophie. 

The night came..

..the night went..

..the repairman came..

..Sophie’s hunger need went..

..the afternoon came and with it the idiot mascot who clearly can’t feel a room..

..the night came AGAIN and that’s when Sophie woke up, literally a full 24 hours later. WTF. I’ve never had a sim passed out this long, I was losing my shit.

-But I’m ripped now and that’s all that matters!!!

Yea you’re also about to die, your hunger need is vermillion red!!! Run to the kitchen Sophie, RUN LIKE THE WIND

WE DON’T HAVE TIME FOR THIS. WE ALSO DON’T HAVE ANY FOOD READY, FML, those savages absolutely devoured the pizza. 

An instant meal is thankfully enough to stave off death for a while. I have one of the other flops order a pizza and send Sophie to take a shower to drop her temperature- 

-which was a horrible call because I *assumed* that when sims are suffering from heat stroke they take cold showers, but that turns out to not be the case so I make it even worse!!! The mascot of death is looming like a vulture, waiting to cheer over Sophie’s dead body. FUCK OFF

The pizza finally arrives and Sophie takes one bite of a slice, leaves it on the counter, AND PASSES OUT AGAIN. At this point I have literally never wanted to cheat more my entire life.

-Well I say, my good woman, it looks like Sophie has fainted and is about to die!

-Oh well, more screentime for us!

Why do you two losers have heatstroke too, you haven’t done anything all day? Wtf is this, a localized heatstroke outbreak in this house only??

Finally, after what was the most this game has stressed me out in years, I get Sophie to bed, safe, sound, and mostly alive. I’m also instituting a house-wide ban on working out, it’s clearly an evil practice that causes nothing but woe. 

Here, chubby heat-stroke-desert penguin agrees!

[songofsaraneth]

an incomplete list of the Bullshit ive gone through this year (2021 only), for personal edification:

I am in grad school trying to do research as well as TA a lab class during a global pandemic

My car is broken into in late February outside of my apartment. $1700+ of my backpacking/camping gear and personal items were stolen from it. Ironically they did not find the $20 cash I had. 

Car battery begins mysterious dying if left overnight and have to call for rescue from AAA 4 separate times over the course of March. I suspect it is related to being broken into but can’t prove it without a mechanic’s diagnostics.

First mechanic I bring my car to does nothing for the entire MONTH they have it, except break my air conditioning of all things. I live in a desert. It is now 90º every day. At one point they call me to say they can’t get the back doors to open. I walk 2 miles back to them from campus and demonstrate how the automatic doors work on a 2005 minivan. I begin to have regrets about my mechanic choice but the sunk fallacy cost keeps me there for several weeks.

Mid march I also wake up one day to severe jaw pain/a weird “loose” feeling, like my mouth is slanting sideways. It is midterms and I do not have time for this, so I take a lot of ibuprofen and eat soup for a week. After 3 days I shove pillows and blankets around my face one night to keep my jaw aligned and when I wake up the next morning it is severely tight instead of loose, and I have to carefully stretch it open whenever I leave my mouth closed for more than an hour. I guess I just have TMJ now.

At this point I am walking everywhere until bike supplies arrive to fix my flat tire since the bike store is too far away to walk to; including walking back and forth to campus since I can only bring 2-4 out of 8 students into the lab spaces at a time and so effectively have to run each weekly lab 2-4 times per week; as well as going back and forth for greenhouse experiment monitoring/helping undergrads on our NASA contest project

Early April I go to the dentist for a crown on one of my back molars, which I must pay for out of pocket because my new dental insurance purchased when I moved last September has a 1-year waiting period and so will not cover it ($1200). Stretching my jaw open so far for the procedure reignites my new TMJ back to high pain levels.

While still waiting on car in mid-April I have a severe averse reaction to the second dose of the Covid19 vaccine, resulting in painful ulceration of all the soft tissues in my body (mouth, stomach, genitals). It is a very bad time for 3 days and I book an urgent care appointment for the first time ever.

Urgent Care nurse-practitioner does not believe me when I describe what’s happening, and misdiagnoses me with herpes.

I am still biking everywhere but now I’m extra mad and in pain about it so take car back from mechanic so I can get groceries etc. I make an appointment with the dealership but it will be a week until they can take it. In the meanwhile I have to drive it every 8 hours so it won’t die which means getting up at 2am to drive it for 20 minutes in the middle of the night so it will still turn on in the morning. 

I have a terrible reaction to the numbing cream given to me for the painful open sores over my body, because of a lifelong mint sensitivity, resulting in an even greater amount of pain

The dealership can fix my car over the following week but its $1800 and now insurance isn’t sure they want to cover it after all

Herpes test comes back negative and nurse apologizes profusely and recommends a non-mint OTC numbing cream alternative that works (yay) and a numbing spray that does not work because it turned out to use an alcohol based propellant which should not be combined with open wounds esp on the genitals (ouch ouch ouch). I try to tell the nurse why I was right about my diagnosis and she was wrong but she still believes it was a latent virus of some other variety and and not an immune response alone, despite the published case studies I have brought to back me up. I decide I have bigger hills I need to die on right now and stop arguing. Sores persist into May but eventually do go down and numbing cream keeps me moderately functioning.

Car is fixed and I can drive again but it takes 2 hours of crying on the phone to my insurance company for them to agree to cover the cost of repair

I make a primary care appointment for the first time in years so I can have a doctor in this state if something like this happens to me again, in June I do intake/bloodwork/set up appointments to check out some other issues ive been having

Grad school finals happen which i wont get into but Yeah. Finals stress triggers another outbreak of canker sores, but mostly clustered in my mouth and only 2 on my vulva rather than 8-12. I eat only soup for another week. 

I get a referral to the local mental health clinic and call about setting up an appointment for an ADHD evaluation. They tell me to download and send in some paperwork and they will call when they have available appointments

I am supposed to be doing all my labwork over the summer but the committee member I need escapes my clutches and we don’t manage to set up a meeting to plan it out/for him to explain the protocols until late June

Bloodwork shows I am critically low in vitamin b12 and low in D, which may explain some of why I am so tired all the time

Ultrasound shows a 1.8cm mass in the adnexa near my left ovary. There are several options for what it can be (folicular cyst, other kind of cyst, tumor, ectopic pregnancy i nearly laugh at my Dr and reassure her the last one is not possible if nothing else). It may go away on its own or it may not. Follow up scan in 2 months

I remember I was supposed to email forms to the mental health clinic and finally send those in mid July. It seems cruel to make me be the one to remember this considering I am calling about a formal ADHD diagnosis.

I also finally pin everyone relating to my labwork down and have a follow up meeting + make a list of what we need to order, but the staff who place orders are on vacation and when they get back several reagents are backordered

I have my follow-up ultrasound. The tech takes lots of photos which indicates the mass is still present, but I won’t know any details until my next PCP appointment when they send over the analysis to her in mid-August

Beginning of August the reagents I need for the first steps of the process arrive exactly 1 day before I leave town for a wedding and the lab manager is about to leave town for the entire next week

After the wedding, severe thunderstorms and tornados trap me in Chicago for 4 extra days. I spend a lot of time at the airport or on my way between the airport and my parents house. A facebook friend gets video of the funnel clouds which at least gives me something to sadly email my advisor and committee members when I have to join our planning meeting from my gate at O’Hare

I lose my drivers license at the security checkpoint on my last trip through the airport and don’t realize until I am boarding the plane because of course that is happening to me now

On the shuttle from El Paso back to Las Cruces after this ordeal the driver stops and picks up a box labeled HUMAN BLOOD and puts it in the trunk and i am too tired to care anymore

I stay up all night making the world’s most pitiful r graphs for my meeting the next morning and everyone takes pity on me and does not call out how useless they are

I spend the weekend trying to motivate myself to actually go into the lab and start my procedures, and fail to leave my apartment. This reminds me it has now been a month (Aug 15th) since I sent in my paperwork and the mental health clinic has still not called me back about up an appointment

I get overwhelmed with Everything and make this list

So that’s where I’m at at the moment. And this doesn’t even include anything from 2020 thats just been continuous like, y’know, a global pandemic and having a bad breakup of a 4 year relationship and moving to a new city where I know no one for grad school etc. I feel like I’m falling apart/unable to do all the shit I need to right now but you know what? Actually its been a really bad time and maybe falling apart a little is justified ;_; 

[mikrowrites]

•aaron tveit headcanons•

a/n: aight guys I’m not dead! i haven’t really had the time to write much, but aaron tveit lives in my heart rent free so here’s these dumb kinda specific really long headcanons:

so you both probably met pretty early into aaron’s career

it’s probably safe to say both of you would have the same if not similar careers, broadway and acting

and though aaron was lucky enough to get his big break, you had unfortunately not (yet) and had to wait tables for a couple years after college

(insert waitress/customer troupe here)

you worked at a restaurant close to the theatre district after undergrad and aaron was starring in Hairspray

the boy saw you and was w h i p p e d

would come to the restaurant like 4 days a week

kinda creeped you out ngl

finally got the balls to actually start a conversation and boom: instant friends

and you guys were friends for a while! dumbass and chaotic conversation was a YES

“did you know barcodes scan the white space and not the black lines”

“WAIT WHAT??”

“how many orders of fries would put me in the er?”

“uhhh... 30”

you first caught feelings when aaron invited you to see him as Fiyero in Wicked

was it his amazing talent and charm? or was it his tight pants? you’d never tell

but nevertheless, oh shit! the friends to lovers troupe!

aaron is a manly man™️ and will always say he asked you out first

which is somewhat true, but you always argue the dinner you took him to after that show was the first date

because that’s when you first kissed him

and just like that! he asks you out!

first date is literally a d r e a m

no romantic dinner, no dress and tux

there was wine tho

you and aaron watched a Yankees game and got drunk off your asses laughing and screaming at the tv and annoying aaron’s roommate

did it end with both of you passed out on his couch cuddling? maybe it did

best. first. date. ever.

the second date WAS a nicer one, going out to eat and wandering the streets of New York City

and yes, some dates were ABSOLUTELY a par 9 on a golf course

you didn’t really put a label on your relationship for a while

because aaron’s career began to take off with next to normal and you finally got your big break on a national tour!

it was pretty bittersweet, though

you and aaron had a healthy conversation about your relationship, and decided you weren’t quite dating yet, but still talking. you guys wanted to see if you could manage the whole “gone for months at a time” thing

and you could!

skype, texting, and random 1 am phone calls

one time you feel asleep during one of the calls, and aaron just smiled and watched you sleep (not in a creepy way guys)

when you came back from tour you’d think you had come home from war

he all but tackles you into a hug, and kisses you

“let’s make this work”

so lo and behold! you were dating!

takes you to meet his family on thanksgiving

they love you

attending the tonys together, which was basically the first time you two confirmed a relationship

he said “I love you” first

a couple years would go by, catch me if you can and such, and you make your broadway debut!!

you’re def a triple threat

aaron’s so gushy about it, constantly brags about you

rumor has it he cried watching the opening night, denies it every time

literally glued to you for the entire after party, he’s just seriously so proud and in love awwh

and then he books les miz and graceland

you’re unable to travel to London w him since you’re in your own show, and it hits both of you hard

so what does this mfer do?

it’s the morning he leaves for shooting and you’re dropping him off at the airport

“hey when i get back from filming wanna get married?”

“sure”

totally gave you a little prize machine plastic ring at the airport

you guys are literally SO NONCHALANT about it as everyone around you goes insane

“i’m engaged, i guess”

the internet blows up because they actually can’t figure out if you guys are serious or not

don’t worry, aaron actually proposed properly with a proper ring eventually

you still wear the plastic ring on a chain around your neck for a while tho

you both decide to get an apartment together

domestic couple things

Your neighbors probably hate you from the amount of times you both have “sing-offs”

slow dancing in the kitchen, laundry day, watching football games together gets aggressive

i firmly believe that you aren’t a Dallas Cowboys fan

the biggest fights you have honestly is about the NFL

in all seriousness there is still small conflict every once in a while, but you both are fantastic at communication

attending the oscars with aaron

“yeah but lOoK aT mY BeAuTiFuL FiAnCeE”

you’d be lying if watching the oscars performance didn’t turn you on a bit

but ANYWAYS

you guys get married!

it’s definitely not a huge fancy wedding, just friends and family

you know for a FACT he’d sing “marry me a little” at the reception he so would

you guys dance all night

it’s adorable, his hand literally never leaves yours

you end up with a sinus infection from all the cake frosting he smears on your face

aaron felt really bad for it, so like a good wife you hold it over him for eternity

“remember that time we missed our flight to Belize because we were in the ER-“

“OH MY GOD—“

went to Belize to honeymoon eventually anyways

aaron was very much like that one john mulaney sketch

“that’s my wife!”

“hey! have you met my wife yet?”

“i love my wife”

life goes on for you two, you remain hopping from broadway show to show

aaron ends up working on his acting career more

lots of time apart, but that just makes the time together more precious

adorable phone contact names

“wifey❤️” and “hubby❤️”

you were on set a lot for rehearsals of Grease Live

you actually helped assist in some of the choreography from time to time

impromptu golf cart rides

and you get to watch it live! like, you were AT the carnival on the set!

you’re just really proud of your mans :,)

family and friends keep pestering you both to have kids

so you adopt a dog (MILES BBY I LOVE YOU)

also as a side note, you love Braindead

you laughed HYSTERICALLY during the salami sex scene

aaron filmed it and posted it on twitter

fast forward, you get offered to help choreograph a new show! woah! and you’d get to swing for it!

it’s super top secret tho, and you literally cannot tell aaron

you do eventually relent the information that you’re working on a new show, and the man doesn’t pry. he’s respectful like that.

you meet the team, and boy you are IN LOVE

auditions are fun, creating the choreo is exhilarating

you don’t hear about casting much at all tho

so when aaron walks into the studio you both immediately freeze

“wait what the f—“

“I KNEW IT!”

yup. you both were working on Moulin Rouge! and had NO clue

you both share (1) braincell

the lab went great, and soon you were on your way to Boston!

you HATE aaron’s longer hair, mostly because he won’t let you mess with it >:(

he eventually relents, and you teach him the secrets of “the man bun™️”

you also braid it a lot

“ow!”

“stop being a pussy about it”

or

“your hair’s the money maker don’t make me shave it in your sleep”

performing with your husband is a dream

sneaking looks on stage

aaron calls your frustrated choreo-instruction voice “mom voice” and the rest of the cast picks up on it

“no, it’s 7, 8! Up on 3, down on 5, 6, spin 7,8!”

“ok, mom!”

“SHUT UP, AARON!”

then broadway!!

the ricky-aaron lives

you had to go on for nini one performance and ricky teased aaron ALL DAY

you were totally in on it too

but aaron isn’t really the jealous type. he knows you are so in love with him, the same way he is in love with you

so basically he knew it was all fun and games

shenanigans backstage

one time during intermission you convinced aaron to give you a piggyback ride the ENTIRE 15 MINUTES

“hey aaron nice backpack”

small talk between scenes

like aaron would be sprinting to his next cue and you’d just

“i’m ordering domino’s for dinner pepperoni or sausage?”

“PEPPERONI!”

you both drink too much iced coffee, like people are actually concerned for you both

neither of you are party-ers really, but you can GET DOWN

i am convinced aaron can cook

like if he’d have a day off, you’d come home from an evening performance with a cooked meal and two wine glasses

never candles tho

not after the valentine’s day incident

BUT TO SUM IT ALL UP

y’all are cute :,)

[sabbywrites]

Let’s talk.

This is a long post that also happens to be long overdue. Also posted as a thread to my twitter (tl;dr at end). 

Hi everyone. It’s been a while. I’ve been debating for a little bit on how to write this, going back and forth between feeling scared and feeling determined to say what I want to say. I’m finally at a point where I can confidently say: let’s talk.

First, I want to say this: I’m sorry. I haven’t been very consistent these past two years, with both my writing and with keeping in touch with everyone I’ve met online. If you’re reading this and I haven’t spoken to you in a while, know this: I will be getting in touch with you soon. I haven’t forgotten the amazing people I call friends.

If you folks will have me, I’d love to catch up with everyone I haven’t talked to during my absence. I want to make one thing very, very clear— me being gone was never about me not wanting to talk to the people on here or participate in this community. The thing I regret the most about being gone is leaving people in the dark. If my absence has in any way, shape, or form hurt you, I cannot begin to apologize enough from the bottom of my heart. That was never my intention, although intentions don’t fix the hurt caused.

I want to discuss the reason for my absence, so please bear in mind that I’m not trying to excuse being gone— just explain why.

Some of you may know that I have three diagnosed mental conditions that have mostly been manageable through medication and therapy. When I first started writing online, I was halfway through undergrad and I wanted a place where I could put my writing so people might enjoy it. I found that pretty quickly on Ao3. As I worked on getting my writing degree, I would spend hours and hours working on what became ASID. I was thrilled beyond belief when ASID drew in readers who left wonderful comments.

I have a huge amount of love in my heart for everyone who has ever read any of my works, and I wouldn’t change anything about that. Ever. But as I graduated from college, I started noticing that my mental health was on a sharp decline that it hadn’t been on since high school. I tried to keep it at bay for a while, because I was sure I would bounce back.

I did not.

I began to take small breaks as I jumped into graduate school. I feel very purposeless without school in the background of my life; I’d gotten a degree that a lot of people in my life implied was useless, and with every break I took I felt more and more like an imposter. What’s a writer who doesn’t write? Had I gotten my degree for nothing? I trudged on through grad school and received my Masters in May. It still didn’t feel right. I felt like a failure.

Every time I logged on to talk to friends or check my comments, a voice in the back of my head kept popping up. I was getting older and less motivated. Life outside of undergrad hit me all at once. Nothing I wrote felt good enough to post. The amount of debt I was in already made me ill, and I went through four years of schooling just to feel like the degree I earned was for nothing.

There’s a weird misconception that artists have to be suffering to make good art. We have to be low to do our best. And I was low, lower than I had been since the absolute worst days of my life, and I still couldn’t produce anything. The pain wasn’t enough to jump-start me. What worth did I have, then? What worth does someone who has put their heart into their writing have if they can’t write anymore?

I mistakenly felt like I was an imposter among genuine people, like the friends I had made and the writers I admired were on the other side of a window, in a place I couldn’t get into. When the pandemic rolled around, things had already been teetering on the edge. I won’t sit here and pretend that I got hit any worse than anyone else during 2020— I had a roof over my head and a place to go during my state’s lockdown. But there was ample time, and yet I still wasn’t writing. I couldn’t even do that right. I had to rawdog my mental illness for a stretch, live in a town where the worst trauma of my life had happened to me, and feel like a total, complete, garbage failure every single day. Logging in was more and more of a reminder that I was dead weight.

Financially, I wasn’t doing much better. In the past year or so, I’ve had to provide for myself living on my own on an nonprofits’s pay (not much), as well as occasionally provide for my uncle. I’d thought that by my mid-twenties my life would be different; that I’d be better. In the last few months, it’s become clear that I require surgery for something that may not yet be able to be covered by my insurance; my options now are to wait for it to progress and get worse for coverage or pay out of pocket for the surgery sooner. It’s likely I will need a second one afterwards to completely correct my issues.

For a while, that just made the idea of writing again feel selfish. Why spend time interacting with the community when I should be working to make money because I wasn’t eligible for the stimulus? Why sit down and write something that I would probably just scrap anyway? There’s a lot of other more personal things that happened during my absence that I won’t delve into, including the passing of our family dog. I’m sorry if this seems vague as well, or if it appears that I’m just trying to make excuses— I’m not. Ever since I was younger, I’ve always kind of receded in on myself any time I feel anxious or like a phony. I know it’s not a good habit.

So that’s why I’m here right now, writing this. If I could go back and tell myself that those things I thought about myself weren’t true— that I deserve to have fun in this community and I deserve to talk to the people I care about— I would. But unfortunately, I can’t do that. All I can do is move forward.

I’m not going to sit here and promise that things will be the way that they were back when I first started; not right away, at least. But as of lately I’ve been letting myself peek at my Tumblr dash every so often or log into my Ao3 to see my comments. Those things used to scare me— and they still kind of do right now— but I can’t let them anymore. Joining this community is one of the best things I have ever done. I mean that. The people I’ve met, the comments I’ve received, hell even the discourse I’ve jumped in on— I wouldn’t trade any of it. Things might be overwhelming for a little bit as I adjust to being back after so long, but I want to be here. I want to let myself be happy again.

If you’ve read this far— thank you. Thank you so much for your love and for your patience. Like I said before, I cannot stress enough that my absence was because of myself alone and had nothing to do with my amazing friends on here or the community. If I haven’t messaged you in a long time— again, I apologize. I really, really did drop off. But the only way I can be better at being consistent with the people I care about is by holding myself accountable, not shrinking away.

It may take me a few days to really sort through all of my unread messages and comments and asks and give them the attention they deserve. But I promise, I’ll reach out to everyone whenever I’ve taken the time to do so. Thank you all for being there even when I am not.

Tl;dr—Mentally and financially, I’ve been struggling a lot this past year. I fell back into bad habits of receding into myself and leaving people in the dark, and I really wish I hadn’t. I’d love to be a more active part of this community again. I love all of you so, so much. 

[angelicjadamv]

The story so far

One month after graduating high school in 2015 I was finally able to move away from my family. I was 18 and moved to California for college. Fortunately one of the scholarships I earned was accompanied by a summer program that started in the middle of the summer before fall semester. Shortly after settling in a safe, stable environment for the first time in my life I started to get better. A lot better at first. Then life happened, as it does, and 18 years of repressed trauma and abuse broke me. My nervous breakdown ruined my fall semester, I couldn't go to classes or take exams or function as a student anymore. Until this point, being an exceptional student was all I had and basically how I survived. My safe and stable environment now was dependant on maintaining a certain GPA, among other requirements I could no longer meet. I failed one of my main courses because I had a 0 on 2 exams, including the final. When I went home I was put on antipsychotics. Returning to campus for the 2016 spring semester, I attempted to seek more therapy. I wasn't successful in finding a good therapist (for me, therapy is a personal thing. Just because someone isn't a good therapist for me doesn't necessarily mean they are a bad therapist). I did continue to see my 2 psychiatrists (emergency and regular) often as they attempted to adjust my medication to find something that work. My agoraphobia worsened, I stopped sleeping, I could barely eat, I was manic one moment and dissociative the next, SH and suicidal ideation worsened. I was a burden to my friends and loved ones. I made it through this because I had a beautiful support system that I will forever be grateful for, but I ended up taking a leave of absence academically for my second semester, earning no credits and putting my scholarships at further jeopardy. I was allowed to stay on campus because it was clear I was dangerously unstable with no safe environment to return to and because I had incredible advocates looking out for me. I had realized that I wasn't going to get better in time to salvage my academic career and my life, and was mostly clueless as to how I would survive. I had had an internship in my field since I started college, but I earned basically no money. STEM internships aren't really made to be livable for undergrads, so I had mostly been working for experience in a field I would no longer be able to progress in. Bummer. My physical health had taken a huge dive for all of 2016. I basically always knew I was chronically ill, but I had been abused and gaslit my entire life to believe and act like I was fine, I was just a weak baby, I didn't know what real pain or suffering was, seizures were to be ignored, no I didn't have migraines or pinched nerves (um hello SCOLIOSIS), etc etc. And 2016 was the year my body finally started to break, so I knew "regular" jobs weren't going to be a viable option for me, at least not for long.

And thus I became a survival SW. I stayed in college for a final semester, because I didn't want to miss my friends, I loved my campus and didn't know where else to live, I still needed a lot of campus resources. I also kept my internship as long as I could, because I knew I would miss it for the rest of my life. I didn't really go to classes, again, because as much as a desperately wanted to and as much as my advisors moved heaven and earth to try to make it work for me, I couldn't handle it. I was finally able to find 2 great therapists who I started seeing regularly who actually knew how to diagnose and treat me, one at school and one outside. This is also when I met Daddy (Jace) online. After talking for what is probably a stupidly short time, we fell in love and started dating. This is honestly my first real relationship and time actually catching genuine feelings for someone, something that I hadn't thought I was capable of. Despite being happier than I had ever been in so many ways, my mental and physical health was still steadily declining. My migraines and pain were getting worse, I hadn't been able to eat normally in months and relied entirely on medication to eat or sleep at all. Many people recommended mmj at this point in my life, but I was afraid of how it would interact with my other meds. I only smoked occasionally at parties at this point (because no way was I spending my super duper limited money on weed). I wonder if medicating with something that actually worked well for me, like weed, would have allowed me to finish college. Oh well I guess. Because of my inability to attend classes, I had to take another leave for the fall semester 2016. I worked at a strip club briefly, but my health couldn't handle it for long.

I didn't want to go home for the first winter break in 2015, but campus closed and I had nowhere else to go. It was turbulent. When summer 2016 came, I still didn't go home despite having no place to stay. Until a month or so later, it was revealed to me a relative had terminal cancer. I had to go home again. It was worse than turbulent. When winter 2016 came, my relative was in much worse condition. They only had a few months left, and this was probably my last chance to say goodbye. This visit was by far the most traumatic, and more because of my parents than watching a loved one die. At least Jace was able to come meet me for the first time in person. He also got to meet my relative before they passed 🖤

Freshly fucked up by family, I retuned to California at the beginning of 2017. I was mostly taking a break from SW because of my health and was working vanilla jobs as I could (so not much). I had a pretty decent job that I was really good at and had been promoted, but then my relative passed. I started losing consciousness again ( I had many seizures and fainting spells in my childhood and during high school) and had to quit my job. the funeral was in spring 2017, I flew to Jersey to be with Daddy for a few days and then he drove me several states over for the memorial. That was the last time I saw my family. I wanted to transition to online/content creating, but I had no tech knowledge or equipment (even my phone was a potato). In high school I wasn't allowed to have a smartphone, most social media other than what was heavily monitored (and still had 0 experience with platforms sw is popular on besides Tumblr I guess), I didn't really know much about cameras. Way too sheltered and broken to feel like I could start anything. I was now seeing my outside, or I guess regular and only, therapist twice a week and doing treatments that while working for me were insanely (literally) hard. I had been able to get an apartment with roommates at a super discount in return for taking care of their crazy dog, which was a win win for me (he was a good boi just crazy from a bad past and had the worst separation anxiety). The agreement was that I would live with them until the lease was up in September, and then we would reevaluate the situation. Then they both got promoted at their mega corporation jobs. And after their wedding found a really gorgeous apartment in a much fancier part of the city, and paid to break our lease early in June leaving me homeless. I had been fired from my last 2 jobs (probably for being disabled because California is at will employment but who knows I might have been fired from the nanny job because the husband wanted to fuck me). I had no money or anywhere to go. All of my friends were almost as broke as me, so while I had offers to couchsurf at a few of their places they had other roommates who would have been pissed and in a few months they would be going back to school anyways. Daddy and I had been trying to save up to move in together for months, but he was going to move to California. We didn't have any money for that, so instead he asked me to move in with him in New Jersey. Leaving meant I lost my health insurance and my therapist. It was supposed to be much more temporary and we were supposed to move back to California much sooner than we were able to. I try not to be mad at those roommates because being angry doesn't change anything, but it really sucked.

Moving in with Daddy meant we could start our blog! And I was super happy at first, the happiest I could ever remember. But the years had been too hard and my health started to get worse than ever before. Without treatment and so traumatized, my brain and body were constantly at war. I would wake with splitting migraines, throwing up, my chronic pain became completely unmanageable. I started to need weed all the time because it was the only thing that stopped my cyclical vomiting episodes and kept me out of the hospital. My antipsychotics and other meds had been high-key fucking me up (probably shouldn't have been on them in the first place, thank you doctor who also ignored my seizures even when I had one in front of you) and were almost impossible to come off of because the withdrawals. (Seriously, kicking xanax was easier for me than my antipsychotics.) I'm not anti medication or anything, I just know the ones I was on were not good for me anymore. I'd actually like to be on something again, I just need a doctor who actually understands PTSD and DID.

My health continued to be shit for most of 2018, with several ER visits for severe dehydration from vomiting for days on end. We started to make videos and do snapchat and online sessions to be able to make ends meet. Despite being in the worst situation and thus everything being a trizillion times harder, we really loved (and still love 😇) doing SW and creating content. Our fans and clients have been there in some of our darkest moments, just being lovely or pulling through for us when we needed it most. During 2018 and 2019 I became actively suicidal for the first time since I was 13. I struggled with self harm again. I have gotten worse than I ever thought possible. But I wouldn't have made it at all if it wasn't for SW, this community and our supporters.

At the beginning of 2020 we were finally able to move back to California. Obviously, the pandemic severely disrupted many of our plans, especially regarding my recovery. Despite things being delayed or shifted, we are in a much better place currently. I have what I need to get better and I can build a support system again. I will get better.

Talking about things is hard for me. Being open and honest is hard for me. For 18 years I was trained and abused to not be sad or show negative feelings, or talk about upsetting things, and it has been killing me slowly my entire life. I genuinely don't want pity or to make others feel bad, but I do want to give you the chance to get to know me. I don't always talk about things so much. But I'm trying to get better at it.

[forasecondtherewedwon]

With Zero Power

Pairing: Peter Parker x Michelle Jones (Spideychelle) Rating: E Word Count: 3382

For @spiderman-homecomeme, with the following prompts:

winter power outage

holiday smut

“I can think of one way to warm you up.”

Summary: Peter and MJ return from skating to find their apartment not quite how they left it. Between the warm fuzzies of the evening they've spent together and the holidays right around the corner, it isn't hard to find a little romance in the situation.

“I’m not saying it wasn’t beautiful,” MJ insists, “but think how much lighting a tree that size costs. With the number of homeless slowly starving in this city? With the number of children below the poverty line who are going to school in this weather—” The arm she waves is instantly layered in thick, wet snowflakes that glisten as they pass beneath a streetlight. “—without winter coats and boots?”

“With the number of college students trying to make rent with only their girlfriend to live with because their three previous roommates staged a mutiny and forced the couple out because the volume of their nighttime activities was, quote, ‘obnoxiously loud and unprecedentedly lengthy’?”

She sighs in exasperation.

“I’m making a point.”

“I agree with your point,” Peter says. “Completely. I already told May I’m volunteering with her all next weekend, and I’ll call Pepper tomorrow to see where she’s committed Stark Industries’ holiday donations.”

“And ask her to triple the amount.”

“I can suggest it,” he laughs, “but I’m not her financial advisor.”

“Mmm you should be though,” MJ says, shifting from holding his gloved hand to pulling his arm around her. “You’re so sexy when you’re redistributing the amassed wealth of a late billionaire.”

There are icy crystals glimmering in her eyelashes. She’s beautiful. He could walk the borough with her all night, live in a loop where they’ve always just disembarked from a late bus, disoriented to step from its stark light into the soft glow of the snow on sidewalks that aren’t cleared with the same diligence as they are in Manhattan, around Rockefeller Center, where they’ve spent the evening skating. That would be a nice life—tonight, with her, forever.

Peter halts them for a moment and wraps his other arm around her too, pulling his girlfriend in to kiss her. He sways them as he does it, smiling against her mouth, her cold nose pressed into his cheek.

“Did you have a good time though?” he asks. MJ nods and her face rubs against his.

“My rental skates were a little tight, but I did wear two pairs of socks, so it’s kinda my fault.”

He has a new pair of skates for her, exactly the right size, but they’re wrapped in red paper featuring dogs with candy cane antlers, waiting to be snuck beneath her tiny artificial tree on Christmas morning. A totally outrageous gift—figure skates in immaculate white leather, like she wears in the pictures he’s seen of her at childhood skating lessons—but he hates it when all his money goes to rent. This might finally be the gift to make her cry. He’s cracked the bottle that stores his girlfriend’s tenderest feelings before, making her eyes shine the winter he knit her a terrible, uneven scarf (she’s wearing it now), and he’s certain the skates will be the thing she really loves. She’ll cry with joy, she’ll say they’re too much, he’ll carry her from the little tree to bed and keep her there until she’s begging for more instead of less. The thought makes Peter grin now.

“Take a bath when we get home. Your feet will feel better.”

“They’d feel better if you carried me,” MJ suggests slyly.

But she screeches when he jerks her against him and, in the relative darkness of their street, looses a web, swinging them both into the air. They pretend it’s still a secret how much she’s grown to love the sensation of sailing through the night with him. What Peter is far from secretive about is how much he loves the way she clings to him, trying not to feel too guilty when he remembers he should attribute some portion of her grip to the time he dropped her. Ah well, it’s in the past. His girlfriend’s laughing shakily as he lands them on the roof of their building and crawls deftly down the wall to the fire escape.

“Cute,” she says, shivering with the aftereffects of cold winter air whipping around her face. The tone is both complimentary and accusatory. “But we have to climb down now, unless…”

MJ’s eyes narrow.

“I… might’ve left the window unlocked?” he asks, because asking implies someone else has the answer, that there is a buck to be passed, as much as he would simultaneously like to hang on to any spare bucks during this expensive season.

“Peter, you can’t do that. You know break-ins are more frequent during the holidays.”

“Yeah,” he allows, edging the window open, “but who’s gonna climb up to the twenty-second floor to try to get through our window?”

He dives inside, then helps her through. The proof that she had a good time tonight is that she lets the window thing drop. Peter shuts and locks the window as loudly as possible behind them.

“Didn’t we leave a light on?” she asks.

“I’m not—”

“When I say that,” MJ cuts him off, dropping her voice to a hiss, “I mean I know I left a light on.”

Instantly, he’s stepping around her, keeping his arm out to hold her behind him. She has a bad habit of going rogue in dangerous situations. More likely than not, she’d grab a kitchen knife and end up stabbing him by accident as they checked every room for intruders. Safer for him to lead.

But it’s not a break-in.

“It’s cold in here,” he realizes.

As they moved through the small number of rooms that make up their hideously overpriced apartment, they left the lights off. Now, MJ smacks at the closest wall switch. Nothing happens.

“Aw, come on,” Peter begs the overhead light. He tries a lamp. Click-click, click-click. Nothin’. “Man!”

“Fucking Rockefeller Christmas tree,” his girlfriend accuses, though it’s not possible that even an energy-suck of that size could drain their building, way out in Queens. “I’m not having a bath now. I’ll be freezing when I get out.”

“Ok. Let’s get some candles first.” Peter starts to walk away from her, down the hall. “MJ, where are the candles?”

With his enhanced vision, he can see her well enough to catch the eyeroll. Fair.

By the time they have a dozen candles lit, it smells like every holiday scent at once. Vanilla smudges cloyingly across the sharper sweetness of candied orange peel, the heaviness of pine battles the richness of milk chocolate, and the cinnamon that seems to have been included in every candle is giving Peter a headache until they agree to space their light sources out. The room is darker with the candles far apart, but the smell is bearable. He also doesn’t mind how the flames catch in MJ’s eyes when she blinks, how a streak of gold will dart across her throat when she turns her head to watch him watching her.

Peter’s mouth is dry when he stammers out, “Y-you look incredible,” like they’re sixteen again and he’s got his gaze fixed on her legs because it’s 90° and she very reasonably wore shorts to school.

“How I feel is cold,” she admits with a small smile. She stirs under the blanket that’s draped across both of them. He strokes her shoulder over her wool cardigan. “I really was looking forward to that bath.”

And because the way she says it sounds nothing like how a person might casually look forward to anything, Peter swells a little in his jeans and shifts his legs closer to hers.

“Were you?” he asks.

MJ’s gaze goes from his mouth to his eyes as she smirks subtly. She knows she’s got him. When does she not have him? The complaints of their former roommates were undeniably valid. It’s a miracle he and MJ accomplished enough in undergrad to even get accepted into grad school. If she hadn’t been the responsible one, he would’ve been pretty damn content to spend those four years in bed with her.

Innocently, she rests her head on his shoulder. He swallows thickly.

“Mhmm. I was looking forward to getting out of my cold clothes. I was looking forward to grabbing a big, thick—” She grips his thigh suddenly. “—towel from the closet to wrap myself in when I was done. I was looking forward to using my cranberry bodywash in the tub. That one smells really good, right?”

Peter nods because forming a sentence in this moment is beyond him.

“And it foams up really well,” MJ continues, tilting her face, passing her lips lightly across his earlobe. He’s hard. He’s so fucking hard so quickly. “So, I was looking forward to popping those bubbles when I ran my hands all over my body to work it in.”

“Fuck,” Peter groans. He digs his fingers into her waist, through the sweater, blood pulsing in his groin.

She shrugs, abruptly nonchalant.

“Mostly, I was just looking forward to being warm.”

“I can think of one way to warm you up,” he pledges.

Trust me, he mentally urges. Right now. Trust me like you trusted me to keep you on your feet on the rink when your legs wouldn’t remember how to skate right away.

“Good, because I need you.”

“Say it again?” Peter requests, hand on the back of her head as she raises it from his shoulder.

“I need you, Peter.”

MJ’s hand jumps from his thigh straight into his lap and squeezes him through his jeans. He crushes their mouths together, the two of them breathing in hot pants like they can warm each other that way. Making to move over her, he’s pushed back instead, winded from more than the shove as his girlfriend straddles him with the practiced efficiency of a quickie before Spidey patrol or as an incentive between study breaks. When she rolls her hips against his… shit, she might observe Christmas on the 25th, but the friction of her grinding on his dick is the only Christmas he’ll ever need to celebrate. He plunges both hands deep into her hair to seal their mouths together and slumps into the couch, offering maximum opportunity for her to rock that beloved place between her legs along his erection. He’s already feeling warmer.

“No,” she yelps when he tries to push her sweater off. She snatches it back on and pulls the blanket up over her shoulders. “I’m still cold.”

“Ok. Let’s work on that.”

Peter tilts his chin up in invitation and repositions his hands on MJ’s ass. When she kisses him in a slow brush, he begins forcing her back and forth over his lap. He groans into her mouth to feel her angle her hips just right and shiver. Not letting her back down, he grips her and drags her across his erection repeatedly, until she can’t kiss him anymore, until her forehead’s pressed hard to his and she’s hissing his name. The oscillation of her hips in his hands is hypnotic, even with his eyes closed. He’s groaning and trying to hold back, having a hard time concentrating on an idea of what to do next to get his girlfriend off before he reaches that point himself. He wants her warm skin against his when he sinks inside her, not a sudden gush in his jeans.

Still grinding, MJ sits up straighter. She doesn’t take her sweater off, but she pulls down the front of the camisole she wears under it and tucks the material below her bared breasts. Peter’s happy to enjoy the visual while he rubs her over his dick, but she grips the back of his neck and compels his head forward.

“What do you want exactly?” he teases. “I’m a little confused.”

Eye narrowed down at him as she pants, MJ plucks one of his hands from her ass and guides it up to her face. It fucks him up pretty good when she folds down all but two of his fingers, sliding those into her mouth; she sucks with that almost-angry gaze locked on him before bringing his wet fingers down to circle her nipple.

“Ok, ok,” Peter says desperately.

“Just helping.”

A laugh pops out of his mouth, but then he touches his lips to her breast, kissing lightly as she sways. Her hand twitches on the back of his neck. Ok, he thinks again, pulling her nipple between his teeth. MJ moans blissfully and heat floods both Peter’s face and his groin. He jerks roughly against her and clutches her body close when she comes, cradling his face to her chest. There’s still something of the briskness of their walk home to her smell as he inhales against her skin, but also wool and the smoke that’s clung to her after lighting the candles. Her scent is rich. He feels rich, with his arms wrapped around her.

She shimmies her shoulders and the blanket drops. When she slips out of her sweater, Peter rushes to tear his hoodie (and the t-shirt caught up with it) off. MJ halts him in the act of flinging them away; right, candles. Gotta aim for a spot where he won’t start a fire. He unbuttons and unzips his jeans as quickly as he can, gasping in relief at the sudden extra room for the erection bulging beneath his boxers. His plan, as he hooks his thumbs into his waistband, is to yank his clothes down only as far as necessary, then guide MJ back on top of him as soon as she’s out of her sweatpants and pick up where they left off with her first orgasm. But, bottomless, his girlfriend settles on his lap before he’s ready. She shuffles forward, rubbing herself against him, making his boxers damp. Peter closes his eyes as they roll back. His hands skim blindly up her arms to fiddle with the slipping straps of the camisole she still wears—if the way it’s clinging to her from only below her breasts to her navel can be called ‘wearing’.

She kisses his cheek.

“Peter.”

He opens his eyes and watches her tilt her head to speak quietly near his ear. Candlelight seeps over and through her hair. He kisses where it pools on her naked shoulder and her soft breaths form words.

“I want you to bend me over.”

Peter turns his head and groans into MJ’s neck.

Running her fingers through his hair, she asks, “Is that a yes?”

“’Chelle, you say, ‘jump,’ I ask, ‘how high?’” he promises.

He whips a condom out of his pocket. She draws back and smirks at him, eyebrows raised.

“And how did that get in there?”

“I might’ve grabbed it while I was looking for the matches.” When his girlfriend continues to stare at him, he adds, “It’s dark! You were lighting candles! I dunno, MJ, it seemed kinda romantic. Why are you still looking at me like that?”

“You’re cute when you babble.”

“Stop talking,” Peter interprets with a sheepish smile. “Got it.”

She climbs off of him and stuffs the blanket into the corner of the couch while he stands and whisks his jeans and boxers down his legs. He almost trips peeling his socks off because MJ waggles her bare ass at him very unfairly.

“Come on, I’m getting cold.”

“I’m—” he starts, struggling with the condom. “I am… I’m going as fast as… there!”

Peter bounds onto the couch and catches MJ’s face in his hand, kissing her lovingly. Then desperately. Then sloppily pulling away to sneak a hand under the back of her top and press her down until her elbows rest on the arm of the couch. Taking a deep breath, he strokes his other hand from the back of her neck all the way to her ass. This is kinda hot with her shirt still on. He’s glad that, for as much as they discuss and debate things like the misuse of municipal funds on holiday decorations, they’re still in their hasty days. Still young, still eager. He grips himself and flexes his fingers as he traces the head of his dick through MJ’s arousal.

“Getting cold,” she repeats.

“Spider-Man is here to help, ma’am,” he jokes, pushing inside her.

Fuck. Peter works his hips gently forward and back, building up to plunging deeper the same way he tiptoes out into the water when they visit the beach too early in the year. But this isn’t like the chilly springtime ocean because she’s warm as she takes him—so, so warm.

“Uh, MJ? Baby? Sweetheart? I thought you said you were cold,” he grits out.

She presses back against him as he finally thrusts all the way in.

“I always keep the home fires burning for you.”

“Well, that was raunchy. You’ve been living with me too long.”

“How could I ever move out with perks like a December power outage?”

Grinning, Peter begins a loose swing of his hips, gazing down MJ’s back at the shadows and light sliding over the rounded edges of her neck, her shoulder blade, her ear as she tips her head to let her hair hang to the side. When her low moans start, he repositions his knees on the couch cushions and digs in with his toes. The wet smack of driving into her is loud in their little sanctuary. He takes her by the hips as she bows her head to her crossed forearms, moving faster, gliding in and out with more grace than he has when navigating an ice rink with skate blades on his feet. MJ spreads her legs wider and drops her head even lower. She is graceful, with the steep slope of her back that Peter can’t resist pressing a hand to. At his touch, she bends even further and he chokes on an already raspy inhalation.

“Faster, Peter,” she requests.

Not loud, not demanding. She knows he can hear her because he’s always listening for her voice. It coaxes him onward from beneath the urgent slap of his thrusts.

He hunches over her, wrapping one arm around her waist as they buck together, his other hand diving between her legs. She’s soaked and her hips are jumping in time with his, so it’s hard to keep his fingers on her swollen clit. Suddenly, MJ has her hand over his, directing his fingers. Reality grows hazy as pleasure creeps into his thighs and trickles invisibly down his stomach, like the phantom touch of his girlfriend beneath him. Peter squints against the light of their candles and so much feeling, flicking his fingers over the sensitive nub that has MJ’s legs quivering. He kisses her spine and scrapes the edge of her camisole with his teeth. She’s shaking too hard to thrust back. Groaning, Peter bucks in a quick burst, holding her body up as she threatens to slump flat.

“You warm yet?” he huffs. “Show me you’re warm.”

“Peter… almost.”

Abruptly, he sits back on his heels, hauling MJ with him. Sweating now, Peter bounces her on his lap. His hands squeeze the smooth skin of her hips. She gasps before moaning deeply and reaching up to wrap an arm behind his neck, arching against him.

“God,” he mutters, looking down over her shoulder to watch the jiggle of her breasts and the tension of her stomach, “I already want you again.”

Because of his words, or his hands, or his cock slamming up into her, she climaxes, clenching around him and stuttering over his name. Peter buries his nose in her hair to avoid the overpowering scent of the candles as his senses sharpen to the finest point; he’s learned this only happens when he’s lost in either the pain of a grave injury or the satisfaction of releasing into MJ. He pulses, hips snapping, hugging her against his chest, flushed with warmth from the top of his ears to where his toes grip the couch.

“Bath?” Peter pants in her ear, dick still twitching inside her. “I swear I won’t let you get cold.”

Just like that, the overhead light and the lamp on the end table blink on. Huh. Power’s back.

“Or maybe you don’t need me to,” he says.

MJ turns her head and kisses the corner of his mouth.

“Don’t be stupid. I’ll grab the candles. You hit the lights.”

[shewillreadyou]

Retrospect for Life

As always. I hope that you enjoy reading as much as I enjoyed writing.

A/N: Bree meets Emmett’s parents. Then her Dad meets them too. Will this end on a good note? A big Thank You to @secretaryunpaid​ for the preread.

Disclaimers: Most characters are property of Pixelberry

Warnings: Language and adult content.

Catch up: Ride or Die

Word Count: 3019 ish

Pairings: MC (Bree Hill) x OC (Emmett Perry)

Song inspiration: Retrospect for Life-Common

Be Kind: Hit the heart button, leave a comment or reblog. It makes a writer so so happy.​

She stood in the entryway of Emmett’s town-home with her mouth agape hoping that no one noticed the blush of her cheeks. His mother was the definition of youth and beauty. Not to mention his father, Emmett was a perfect mix of the two of them. It was clear where Emmett got his stunning good looks. 

“Mr. Perry, Mrs. Perry, the pleasure is all mine.”

“Mommy, since when do you just pop in on me?”

“Did he just call her Mommy?” she thought to herself.

“Since you’ve taken a serious lady friend that you haven’t introduced to us.”

“Em, where are your manners? Please, do come in,” Bree stepped aside, one arm wrapped around Emmett’s waist to welcome his parents.

“May I offer you something to drink?”

“She’s very well mannered as well, Nathaniel.”

“I can see that darling.”

“Thank you, we’ll have Perrier.”

Bree ducked into the kitchen trying to suppress the smile creeping across her face. 

“What a pretentious beverage. It’s even more telling that Emmett actually has that in stock,” she thought to herself. 

When she returned to the living room, Emmett had an unreadable look on his face. Bree turned on her most charming smile, noticing that Mr. Perry hadn’t taken his eye off of her. 

“So Bree, please sit.”

She sat. Suddenly feeling like she was on display. Emmett moved closer protectively placing his hand on her knee. 

“I was telling my parents that I’d like for them to meet your Dad the next time he is here.”

“That sounds like a great idea, Em. I’m sure he would be thrilled. Maybe we could all have dinner,” Bree said sheepishly.

“Dear, Emmett tells us that you are a BioChem major?” 

“Yes Ma’am, I have always been obsessed with science.”

“That’s quite the workload. I’m surprised you have time to entertain our son. Tell me, what do you plan to do with it?” Mr. Perry asked as he sipped his beverage.

“Yes Sir, It is quite the load, but Emmett is great at making sure I’m focused. I’ve toyed with doing something with forensics and possibly going to medical school.”

“A doctor? With manners and her own hair. Color me impressed. Emmett normally goes for girls who major in Art and share a brain with their roommates.”

Bree shared a giggle with his parents and the mood seemed to lighten considerably.

“This has been delightful. But, we must run. We have to check into our hotel before 3pm. Dinner reservations at Crave at 7. Don’t be late.”   

“Yes Ma’am,” Emmett didn’t hesitate. 

“It was good to meet you Bree, we’ll see you tonight,” Mr. Perry said, still never taking his eye off of her.

“Likewise.”

They headed out the front and Bree watched Mr. Perry as he opened the door to his silver S class Mercedes for his wife.

“I’m sorry. I had no idea that they would just show up like that.”

“It’s ok. I didn’t know that you had taken a serious lady friend. Maybe I should leave. I wouldn’t want her to get the wrong impression,” she said teasingly. Her eyes went wide and her hand demurely covered her mouth.

Emmett smiled, pulling her into his embrace. “I’m sorry. It’s been a minute. I got excited and told my Mom about you.” 

“And what exactly did you tell mommy?”

“Basically, that I have it bad. Now, do you have a nice dress to wear to dinner?”

“I should be able to come up with a little something.”

“Take my car. Pick me up by 6:30p?”

She smirked. “Are these baby mama benefits? I get to drive your Benz? What would Kira think?” she teased.

“You got jokes! You are having my baby. You can have my Benz and if you see Kira, wink at her for me.”

“Bye boy. You are trying to get me killed. See you at 6:30.”

She headed back to her dorm to shower, and wash her hair. She pulled her long wavy tresses back into a sleek ponytail. She only had a couple of options, so she chose her graduation dress. It was a black boat neck dress with a modest split in front. She paired it with black strappy heels, a small black clutch and gold accessories. 

She arrived at his place to pick him up she had packed another bag, warming to the idea of spending more time at his place. When he heard the garage door he opened the door and noticed her pulling the large duffel bag out of the trunk. 

“B, I’ll get it. I don’t want you lifting anything that’s heavy.”

“How do you think it got in here? I’m fine.”

He rushed over to the trunk and as he lifted the bag on to his shoulder he noticed her dress. She looked like a snack. He swallowed hard before licking his lips and biting the bottom lip. She looked over her shoulder at him. 

“You good?”

“Yeah, B.. uh, you.. you look--”

“Is it too much? I was trying to find something nice, that didn’t show too much skin.”

“No, I'm speechless. You look. WOW. I mean you look beautiful. I feel lucky to have you on my arm.”

“Oh Emmett, stop it. You’re gonna give me a big head. But thank you I guess it’s a far cry from the sweats and tees I’m normally in.”

He wrapped his arms around her and nuzzled into her neck. 

“I mean I like the sweats too but, damn girl,” he ran his strong hand up her arm and she shivered.

She placed her glossy lips at his ear and whispered, “dinner, Emmett.”

 Dinner was fairly pleasant, more casual conversation, and getting to know one another. His mom was clearly impressed, but the jury was still out on the patriarch of the Perry family. Before they wrapped up the evening, the date was set for them to meet Mr. Hill. 

The two weeks passed quickly and before she knew it, she was picking her Daddy up from the airport.

“A Mercedes Benz? Where is the GTO?” 

“It’s in Emmett’s garage. He had to work an event this evening, so I just dropped him off on campus before I picked you up.”

“Do you normally drive his car?”

“Yes, he told me i’m his girlfriend.”

“You didn’t know that before? He’s kind of marked his territory.”

“Daddy?!?!” she laughed.

“How have you been? Do I need to start looking for jobs on the east coast?

“I’ve been good. I go to class everyday, I eat mostly at Emmett’s, he cooks healthy food and reminds me everyday to take my prenatal vitamins. I go to bed early, and I need naps frequently, but i’m ok.” 

An awkward silence fell over the car. She waited for him to speak instead he kept his eyes on his phone, texting furiously. 

“Daddy, may I ask you a question?”

 “Yeah, Babygirl. What’s up?”

“Why have you been so calm through all of this? I was expecting you to yell or disown me.”

“Well, I didn’t know if I would tell you this but, how old do you think your Mom would be now if she were still with us?”

“Let’s see, she was born in 82 so, what? 38?”

“Yes, now subtract your age from 38.”

She had always been great with numbers. Shock and realization washed over her face almost immediately. Her big brown eyes fell on her Daddy and before she could speak. 

“How could I be angry with you for doing the exact same thing that your mother and I did at your age?”

“But Mom had been a nurse for as long as I could remember.”

“Yes, you were four years old when she graduated from nursing school. We didn’t have the help that I am offering you. So, if you don’t finish what you came here to do then, I will be angry. You can do anything you put your mind to, no excuses.”

“I will Daddy, promise. But, about that. Emmett wants to keep the baby here in Langston with us. He’s probably right Daddy. Four months at a time is a really long time to be away from my baby.”

“Don’t get upset but, I told your Aunt Rhyan, she suggested a night nanny for me. I’m sure if you two decided to keep the baby here, we can find some help. I think that I can cover a nanny with my FSA account.”

“I’m not upset. Is she still in Boston? You know, Emmett’s family is from Boston. I will be calling her if--”

Her Daddy glared at her.

“I meant, when I go to medical school.”   

“Sounds good, now tell me about Emmett’s parents.”

“Oh, well they seem nice. I met them a few weeks ago. His Dad is a Kappa. He’s the owner of an engineering firm near Boston. I think he expects Emmett to take over one day. His Mom is really pretty. She is a partner at her accounting office. Emmett is really close with her. They talk everyday.”

“Interesting, what else do you know about his family?”

“Detective mode much? He has a brother at NYU and twin sisters.”

“I can’t help it. Where did his parents go for undergrad?”

“They both are Langston grads.”

“Hmm, do you have an address for them?”

“Daddy!” she warned as she pulled in front of his hotel. 

“You’re right I’ll find the address myself,” he said as he leaned over and gave her a kiss on the cheek.

“Behave, and we will pick you up right here at 6pm. I have to get to class.”

After class she picked Emmett up from his event and they went back to his place to get dressed for dinner at Oishii, a very upscale Asian restaurant. 

She chose an ivory one sleeved fitted dress that hit her right at the knee and he wore grey slacks, a crisp white button up and a black blazer. When she was dressed, she stood looking in the floor length mirror in the corner of his room. He watched from across the room before moving behind her and snaking one arm around her waist. His large hand rested on her abdomen as he sniffed her hair.

“What are you doing, creep?”

“You smell like dessert.”

“Really Em?”

“Yeah, and I feel sorry for this kid. Look at how good we look together.”

“You do look pretty tasty tonight,” she said as she walked out of the room.

“Girl, don’t write a check you aren’t prepared to cash,” he said as he followed her out of the room.

After picking up her Dad they headed to the restaurant for the 6:30 reservation.

“Mr. Perry, Mr. and Ms. Hill, your party has arrived and are waiting for you. Right this way.”

They follow a thin asian man to the center of the empty restaurant where the Perry’s were waiting with drinks and appetizers. They stood as Bree approached. Mrs. Perry pulled her in for a hug and kissed her on both cheeks.

“Oh Bree, you look simply ravishing in that dress. Emmett won’t be able to focus dear,” she giggled. 

“Thank you Ma’am, you are too kind.”

 “Mr. and Mrs. Perry, meet my Daddy, Detective Alvin Hill.”

“Detective Hill, it’s good to meet you brother,” Mr. Perry said as he offered his hand.

“Mr. Perry, Mrs. Perry, it is a pleasure to make your acquaintance.”

“Please, sit. Your daughter is one impressive young lady, you must be proud.”

“I am. Thank you. Likewise, I have been oddly impressed by your son as well. I’m usually not a fan of the boys my daughter chooses to consort with, but Emmett has been a breath of fresh air. Not to mention if my Babygirl is happy, then so am I.”

“So Dad, Detective Perry here is an UCLA grad. He and his late wife Alicia, were college sweethearts, like you and Mom.”

“And like you and Bree?” his Mom chimed in.

“Yeah Mommy, that would be a good look. Hopefully, she won’t dump me for the next charming guy who moves her into her dorm,” he said as he beamed at Bree and winks.

Just then a server comes with a plate of raw sushi and places it in front of Bree, and a plate of tempura in between Alvin and Emmett. Mr. Perry eyed Emmett suspiciously as he slid the plate of raw sushi in front of him. 

“Son, is there a problem?”

“No, no problem. Bree just doesn’t like raw sushi.”

A wave of nausea threatened to overtake her at the smell of the fish.

“If you will excuse me.” 

Bree stood and headed to the restroom. Emmett excused himself to check on her.

“So Mr. Perry, our children seem to be getting serious.”

“Please, call me Nate. And it would appear so. I believe that my son is quite taken with your lovely daughter. I assume that she is on birth control.”

“Why would you assume that? I would have assumed that you taught your son to use a rubber.”

“You know they are adults, and I would be naive to think that they aren’t being intimate. I’m just trying to protect my son.”

“Nathaniel, you are being quite presumptuous,” Mrs. Perry warned.

“My daughter doesn’t sleep around if that is what you are trying to insinuate.”

“Whoa, Dad tell me you are not sitting here discussing our sex life,” Emmett asked returning from the restroom.

 “Actually, he has quite a bit to say about my daughter.”

“Nathaniel, Emmett’s right. This is hardly an appropriate time to have this conversation,” Ella chimes in.

“Actually Mommy, while we are on the topic. Bree and I have some news.”

“News? What is it baby?”

“Mommy, Pops, we don’t know how else to tell you this, so I’ll just say it, Bree’s pregnant.”

Ella squealed. “I’m gonna be a Glam-ma?”

“Not so fast, Ella. How can you be sure you are the father, son?”

“Here we go. I am the father. I’m sure of it.”

“Like hell you are. I’d like a DNA test.”

“I thought you might say that.”

“Why? Because Bree here doesn’t know how to keep her knees together?”

Emmett reached into his suit coat producing a copy of the DNA results.

“Are you happy now?”

“No, I’m not happy to watch you throw your life away on a piece of tail.”

“Nathaniel Perry, you are OUT OF LINE! Apologize at once.”

“I will not, the girl is beneath us and so is her father.”

“You don’t mean that. He didn’t mean that!”

“You are entitled to your opinions but keep my daughter out of it.”

“Dad, you will not talk about her like that in my presence. This is not her fault. We both made a mistake. But ultimately, I didn’t protect her. In the heat of the moment, I chose not to wear a condom. Dad if you can’t see this for what it is, then I guess this conversation is over.”

“She is smart Emmett, think! She saw you as a meal ticket, and you fell into her trap.”

“Nathaniel, I can’t believe you. You would speak of the mother of your grandchild this way?”

Bree sat speechless as hot tears ran down her face. 

“Man, my daughter doesn’t need your money. We aren’t rich and we don’t all drive a Benz, but we are comfortable.” 

“Come on B. We should go.”

“Yeah Babygirl, let’s go before I catch a case out here in the sticks. Buying out this restaurant was a power move. But he’s playing checkers and I’m playing chess.”

“I’m coming with you. If I have to spend another moment in his presence I don’t know what I will do.”

Bree nodded as Emmett wrapped his arm around her waist and led her out to his car. 

Once inside, there was more awkward silence, as Emmett rubbed Bree’s knee, she struggled to steady her breathing. Her Daddy furiously texted on his phone, while Mrs. Perry searched for the words to comfort her.

“I know you were probably expecting me to be upset. But the truth is, me being upset wouldn’t help or change anything. You two are consenting adults and I’m gonna be a Glam-ma. This won’t be a walk in the park for you two, but your father and I will help as much as we can. You have to prioritize your education now.”

“Yeah Mommy. We appreciate it, but it didn’t seem like Dad got the memo. I can’t believe the things he said.” 

“He will come around. Also, he may have had a little too much to drink.”

“Yeah well, a drunken man’s words speak a sober man’s thoughts. It will be a minute before I can forgive him. He needs to apologize to Bree and her father. He was way out of line.”

“I do apologize for my husband's behavior, Alvin. I promise I don’t know what has gotten into him.”

 “Don’t worry about it Ella.”

“Babygirl, say something. Are you ok?”

“No, Daddy, I’m so sorry,all of this is my fault.” she sobbed.

“That fuckin’ bastard!”

“Emmett language!”

“I’m sorry Mommy, but I don’t care who he is, he doesn’t get to make Bree cry.”

Just then Ella’s phone rings. 

[This is Ella.]

[Ella, it’s me Nate. I’m down here at Langston Police Department. I got pulled over after pulling out of the parking lot of the restaurant. I was arrested and charged with a DUI. You have to come post my bail.]

[Ok, dear. I’ll be there when you are ready to apologize to Alvin, Bree and Emmett.]

[You have got to be kidding me, Ella.]

[Oh, what’s that dear? You’re still being unreasonable? What a shame. I guess I have to go now. I’ll check on you in the morning.]

Alvin’s phone chirped with a text message as they ended the call. 

** 1 Unread Message from Sgt. Massey**

 Done. Have a good night Detective. 

Alvin smiled placing his phone back into the inside pocket of his blazer.

“Checkmate motherfucker.”

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[morethanaprincess-a]

@ahogedetective asked:  🌈 - Where do you want to travel to?

Munday Meme as I’ve now decided I’m going to conquer these two drafts or die trying despite the fact my mind is focused on unlocking more stuff in Danganronpa: S and a few ships I’m plotting with some muns. You know who you are. There’s confessions of feels or new AU adventures coming soon. - Accepting until 12 AM EST!

This is going to sound very broken record over here...but the United Kingdom and France. Mostly as fiancé and I have settled on those for our honeymoon for several reasons, but a major one? One of the things we both bonded over when we first met was our love for the U.K. We both studied abroad in England at the same time, but in different cities and different programs (me as an undergrad in London, him as a grad student in Southampton). We still have friends there whom we haven’t seen in years, too. I’d like to be able to get to England, Scotland, and Wales on our honeymoon, but it’ll likely be England and some of Scotland because...

...we both really want to get back to France. For me, I miss the fashion, the museums, the general culture, and the food. Fiancé wants to go to Disneyland Paris and eat (though not at Disneyland). 

And while we’d like to visit Italy, that’s going to be less of a holiday and more family time/family reunion: my fiancé's parents hail from that part of the world and still have a lot of family there.

We’re not having a wedding ceremony or reception: we’re just signing papers at city hall and that’ll be it. We wanted to save money for the honeymoon and what leads into the next question...

@orderbourne and @ahogedetective​ asked:  🌹 - are you doing alright?

Under a cut for a lot of offline feels and venting. Feel free to skip, but since you asked...

Yes and no.

I’m very happy to be in mostly good health in many ways, to have friends, family, and a fiancé who love me. And I love my hobbies, which are mainly cosplay and writing this blog.

But damn, if this isn’t just a rough time of year, but this year in particular. 

Calendar year end is always a very busy time at work, particularly where fundraising and January projects are concerned, so I tend to put in way more hours (and don’t get to claim them on my paycheck: I’m salaried and due to my industry, we’ve never gotten bonuses and we haven’t had a pay raise for accomplishments, much less cost of living, in three years. It sucks).

But fiancé and I are in the process of finding and buying our first house and it’s just, as they say, straight up not having a good time. We’re in a better place than most: we can afford it, and likely with a reasonable mortgage to boot. We’re on a deadline, too.

And while we’re getting some financial help as a Christmas present, it means Christmas just...kind of sucks this year. I’m working exceedingly longer hours and my free time, if I’m not writing here, is taken up by mortgage conversations and real estate. We aren’t even doing much in the way of presents, which makes me thankful I took advantage of Black Friday sales and bought myself a few things (my love language is gifts. When there are no gifts, I am sad). 

I can’t really get into the holiday spirit at all and on top of that? My family is trying to guilt me into feeling bad about it. But I’m more worried about all the work of buying and moving into a home I have to do, and feeling house poor for awhile.

So if I’m a little stressed or slow at replying to drafts, that’s why. I’m at that not-fun stage of adulthood (though being able to treat myself on Black Friday was nice! I don’t really buy a lot of nerd stuff outside of cosplay so I doubt the dash will care too much).

[atlafan]

My Everything - Part Twelve

A Take it Slow Sequel

What happens with Harry and Y/N after he proposes? How will the two navigate the engaged life while also continuing to juggle their jobs, friends, and families? Let’s find out.

Warnings: Fluff and Smut! 7.6K

Masterpost

It was sad putting your two weeks in at Mark It, but everyone understood. You were extremely grateful for every single opportunity they had given you. But sometimes a bird needs to leave the nest. You promised you’d talk up the company to any undergrads you come across. You were able to get onto the university’s insurance right away, and you added Harry to your plan.

One night Harry was rubbing your feet while you were both sitting on the couch.

“So do you need to go to campus a bunch? Or can you do a lot from home?”

“I’m going to be on campus for as long as I can, set up my office and all that. It’s nice, I even have a window! I feel like I’ll be able to concentrate in the space a little easier.”

“My mum was wondering if we wanted her and Gem to come here for Christmas this year instead of us flying out.”

“Oh.” You frown. “No, I want you to be able to see your friends. This is when you usually get to see Louis. I can still fly, the doctor said it was okay.”

“Are you sure you can swing that? I mean, you have so much to do with your new job.”

“We only go for the holidays, the school won’t even be open. We’re only gone for seven days. I’d rather go to London, but that’s very sweet of her to offer.”

“If that’s the case, she was wondering when we’re going to set up a registry. I think she wants to throw you an early baby shower since they probably won’t be able to come here for that.”

“Oh, um, this is sort of awkward, but we don’t do that.”

“What do you mean?”

“Like, Jewish people, we don’t do baby showers.”

“Why not?”

“It’s bad luck.” You shrug. “You’re not supposed to buy gifts for the baby or bring anything into the home ahead of time. My mom said we could put things in her basement.”

“So we can’t even set up the nursery? I mean, I was ready to start gettin’ the bed out of there. I was thinking of turning the loft into the guest room.”

“What about your desk and all of your things?”

“I don’t really work from home much anymore, and I’d like to still have a place for my family to sleep when they come visit.”

“Alright, and we can set up the nursery, like we can paint and stuff. We can put the crib in there, but maybe not the padding or the blankets. We can get the registry set up and just put my mom’s address on there. I know she was thinking of doing a combined mommy shower for myself and Erica.”

“Mommy shower?”

“It’s sort of a loophole to the baby shower thing. Everyone brings gifts for the parents to be.”

“Ohhh, I like that. I’ll tell my mum to do that instead. I’m sure she’d love the idea of buying you a ton of things.”

“She doesn’t need to.”

“I know, but this is her first grandchild and she feels far away from it, you know? She wants to spoil us, you.”

“Alright, then I won’t argue.”

“Come here, come sit in my lap.”

You get up and climb on top of him. He holds you close to him. He gives you kisses and you give them back. He feels a wetness on his neck from where you’ve buried your face.

“Are you crying?”

“Yes.”

“Why?” He can’t help but chuckle.

“I’m just so happy.” You look up at him. “I thought starting a new job and rearranging all our furniture and stuff would be stressful. I thought with our friends living further away we’d never see them, but we see them all the time still. Things are good, Harry.”

“They’re very good, darlin’.” He kisses your forehead. You roll your hips down on him.

“Will you take me to the bedroom?”

“Don’t have to ask me twice.”

He picks you up carefully, and carries you down the hall. Things were really good.

//

“Let me get a good look at yeh, spin around.” You turn around in your maternity outfit for him. You still weren’t that big, but you were carrying a lot of your weight in your lower stomach, so normal pants were no longer an option. Instead you opted for leggings and a long sleeve flowy dress to wear over them. “What time’s your first class?”

“9:30.” You beam.

“Have a great first day, I can’t wait to hear all about it.” Harry kisses you and sends you off into the cold.

Your commute to school wouldn’t be a long one, which was nice. Since you weren’t hired as a research faculty, and since you couldn’t start your PhD yet, you did have to work Monday through Friday, but most days you’d be home around 3PM, which was really nice. You’d be teaching a couple of intro communication courses, at two sections each, and then two sections of an upper level film criticism course. You were thrilled.

You go to your office first to drop off your coat, and change your shoes. You didn’t need to wear your boots all day. Your friends had sent you good luck texts and other well wishes. You make your way to the elevator and head upstairs. There were a couple of early birds there, and you smile at them as you get your laptop set up with the computer.

You wait until 9:35 to get started, letting any stragglers come into the room. Once everyone is seated, you close the door.

“Good morning everyone, lucky you, we get to do this three times a week. I know 9:30 is early so coffee and other snacks are fine with me. I know some professors don’t allow that, but I don’t really care. Just make sure your neighbor doesn’t have any allergies.” You take a deep breath. “Right, so, my name is Y/F/N Y/L/N, feel free to call me Y/N, or professor, or whatever you feel comfortable with. Just know that I am not a doctor, so you don’t need to address me as such.” The students hum their response. “As you may or may not be able to tell, I’m pregnant.” You turn to the side and cup your lower stomach. “Thank you, yes, very exciting. I’m due at the end of May, and if all goes according to plan you shouldn’t need a substitute. This is my first time physically teaching in person, but I have taught before. I’m very excited to be here. Oh! I will say, my husband owns Styles Photography not too far from here, so if you ever need a good picture taken, or if you’re looking for an internship, don’t hesitate to ask me. And before you ask, no, I did not take his last name.” You look at their droopy eyes. “Okay, before we get into the syllabus and class expectations, I want us all to do an ice breaker.” You hear a few groans. “Don’t worry, I’m not going to ask you to say your name or where you’re from, I already have all that info. I want you to turn to the person next to you, take out your phones, and show them your most recently liked tik tok.” They all look at you. “We all have tik tok right?” They all say yes. “Okay then, have at it.”

You lean back against the desk as you hear people laughing and giggling.

“Anyone have the same one liked?” A couple students raise their hands. “Too funny. Okay, okay, let’s settle back down. See, isn’t that a better way of getting to know someone?” You go over to the computer and pull up your syllabus. “I want these classes to be real open discussion. As long as you’re not talking over someone, don’t even worry about raising your hand.”

You give the same shpeal in each class all week. By the time Friday rolled around, you were drained to say the least, but you were happy. You felt accomplished. You knew things might get more difficult as you started assigning projects and such, and getting bigger, but you tried not to think too far ahead.

You loved having students visit during your office hours, some of them really took a liking to you. Harry would bring Buster by when you could take your lunch breaks. You were a lot closer to him now which he liked.

“Professor Y/L/N?” A student knocks on the door and gasps when she sees Harry. All of your students knew what he looked like by now because they begged to see pictures. “Sorry, I’m interrupting your lunch.”

“It’s okay, Molly. This is my husband, Harry.” He smiles and shakes her hand. “What’s up?”

“I was just wondering if you could look over something quick for me? I selected some music for the background in my video, and I just wanted to know your thoughts.”

“Sure!”

“I can step out if yeh want?”

“It’s okay Mr. Styles, six ears are better than four.” The girl smiles and he nods.

Harry watches as you explain things to your student. How understanding you are, and how you give her a few tips. She thanks you before leaving.

“That was pretty cool. Wish I had a teacher like you back in the day.”

“Oh, stop.” You smile. “I’m really having a lot of fun with them.”

“Good, I’m glad. So…we have a doctor’s appointment on Friday.”

“That we do.”

“We’ve been holdin’ off on something…”

“You wanna know the sex of the baby, don’t you?”

“I do, I really do. I know it doesn’t really matter because it could decide it wants to be the complete opposite, and I know we’ve painted the nursery grey and yellow, but I mostly wanna know so we can start calling it its name, instead of it or Baby Styles.”

“Aw, but I like Baby Styles.” You pout and he leans in to kiss you. “I see what you’re saying though. Okay, I suppose at our next appointment we could finally let Dr. Johnson tell us.”

“Consider it another birthday present.”

“Harry.” You sigh. “Your birthday was two weeks ago.”

“I know…but you made it such a good birthday.”

“Please.” You whisper as your cheeks heat up. “I can’t discuss that here. This is one office that will stay pure.”

//

Dr. Johnson was giving you your ultrasound, making sure everything was good. The baby’s heart beat was excellent, and everything was the way it should be.

“Does its head look large to you? Harry has a pretty big head.” You smirk and he nudges your shoulder.

“We may have a larger head, sure.” She laughs. “So, Harry mentioned to the nurse that you’d like to know what you’re having. Are we sure? A couple of weeks ago it didn’t seem like you were ready to know.”

“We talked about it and we’d like to know.” You tell her.

“Alright…” She moves the ultrasound over your stomach so you can really see the baby’s side better. “You two are having…a boy!”

You both gasp and tear up. You look up at Harry and he leans down to kiss you.

“We would’ve been happy with either, but I was hoping for a boy.” You say. “I kind of had a feeling since he’s sitting so low.”

Dr. Johnson cleans up your stomach and prints you some new sonograms. You couldn’t help but stay glossy eyed as you get down to the car. Harry takes your hand and kisses it.

“Harry…”

“Yes, my love?”

“We’re having a Jack Edward.”

“We’re havin’ a Jack Edward.” He leans in to kiss your teary face. “Can we FaceTime my mum when we get home?”

“Of course. We can tell everyone.”

//

Your mother threw you and Erica a conjoined “Mommy Shower”. Her husband’s family wanted to do something traditional for her. So of course they broke the rules and bought things for her soon to be baby, which you found out was going to be a girl. You were happy to have her to go through this with.  It made you a lot closer. You could call her and compare weird cravings.

You were having fun munching on food, and talking with your friends. You and Erica didn’t really want to play any of the baby shower games. The decorations were really nice that were put up, though. Eventually came time for you to open gifts. Harry sat on one side of you while Mike sat on Erica’s other side so you two could sit in the middle.

You each opened up your gifts, and thanked everyone for coming. You talked with Sarah about her wedding planning. Her and Niall would be getting married at a Temple in Milton, and the reception would be at a nearby hotel. Well, the ceremony would be outside of a Temple, but either way, more religious than your ceremony.

Isaac and Seth would be going to the courthouse at the end of March, and having a party at their apartment for close friends and family. Rachel and Mariah had recently got engaged as well. Everything was falling into place for all your friends, and you couldn’t be happier for them. You were happy that even though you were all sort of growing up and moving on with your lives that you still made time for each other. You felt like you had this whole other family with them, and they felt the same way.

//

It was your one year wedding anniversary, and you were very pregnant. Harry wanted to take you to the Cape for the weekend, to the inn you got married at.

“Are you excited for your weekend away, Professor?” One of your students asks. They loved when they could get you going on a tangent on a Friday. You were too tired to care at this point.

“I’m very excited.”

“What’s being married like? I can’t even imagine being with one person.” Another student says.

“That’s because you’re in college.” You chuckle. “Being married is really nice, actually. To be honest, it’s not that much different from being just in a normal relationship, but there’s a whole other level of trust and understanding.”

“How did you and Harry meet?”

“Have I never told this story to this section of class?” The class all says no. “I don’t believe you, but I’m too pregnant to care, and it’s Friday.” You sit on the edge of the desk. “We met on a blind date. Our friend Niall set us up. We went to a dinner. I was twenty-four at the time.” You smile.

“And you two just hit it off?”

“Mhm, it was like we went on that one date, and we just kept seeing each other like every weekend. I think it was like three weeks in when he asked me to be his girlfriend.” The class gasps. “I know! And then we moved in together after like five months.”

“Ohhh, he really liked you huh?”

“Very much, and I guess I liked him too.” You giggle.

“Is it weird that next month you’re going to be a mom?”

“Well, I’ve been a mom to my dog, Buster, you guys know that. But…it’s not that it’s weird, it’s more like nervous and excited. Everything’s going to change.”

“Ahem.” You look over and see Harry leaning against the door frame, smiling, with a bouquet of flowers. The class ooo’s. They knew Harry well by now.

“You’re early.” You smile.

“Only by five minutes. It’s Friday, think yeh could dismiss ‘em early?”

“What do you say class? We did some good work this week, yeah? Go on, enjoy your weekends.”

“You too!” A few of them say.

“I like freshmen.” You tell Harry as he hands you your flowers. “Thank you, these are lovely.” You kiss him quick.

“Bags and Buster are in the car, you ready?”

“Mhm, just need to pee quick. Long drive.”

You waddle down the hall to the bathroom, and Harry waits for you. He goes down the elevator with you and helps you with your things in your office. You liked that the two of you took these sentimental trips. It was the perfect way to celebrate an entire year of marriage. It would also probably be one of your last weekends away as you him, and Buster before Jack comes.

“So, I was thinking we could have dinner in the restaurant tonight, and just relax in the hotel room. Then tomorrow if you felt up to it we could go for a walk on the beach in the morning, and then go to the spa in the afternoon. Get pedicures and all that.”

“Sounds wonderful, baby.” You take his hand and kiss it. “Thanks for planning this. It’s the perfect getaway.”

Harry checks you in while you use the bathroom in the lobby. You get Buster up to the room and give him a biscuit before changing into some dinner clothes.

“Do you think I’ll lose all this baby weight?” You say as you look at yourself in the mirror.

“Hope not.” He pinches your bum and wraps his arms around you from behind. “Kinda like havin’ a little more to hold onto.” He kisses your cheek.

“Harry, stop. I’m all…plump.”

“It looks good on yeh, babe, trust me.” He gives your bum another squeeze and lets you go. “Ready to eat?”

“Yeah, I’m starved. Be a good boy Buster, mummy and daddy’ll leave the TV on for you. We’ll have to take him for a good walk tomorrow.”

“Agreed.”

You two are seated at a table. You remember when you had brunch with everyone the day after the wedding. There was space to dance near the bar, other couples having a good time. When you’re done eating, Harry brings you over to the dance floor and pulls you close. The music was slow and nice.

“My bump’s in the way.” You look down at your stomach and back up at Harry.

“Not at all.” He has you lean your head on his chest, and he dances with you. “See, isn’t this nice?”

“Very.” You nuzzle into him closer. “I love you so much.”

“I love you too.”

After a few songs you both decide it’s time to go upstairs, you had been on your feet all day. You both greet a sleepy Buster and start your nightly routines. You rub some cocoa butter on your belly and get onto the bed. Harry’s routine now involved getting between your legs and talking to Jack. He’d tell him about your days and what he was looking forward to once he was born. He did this every night because sometimes Jack would kick, and Harry loved feeling his kicks. He’d give your belly a ton of kisses and then he’d give you a ton of kisses.

The next morning you put on some leggings and a three-quarter zip fleece, and put your hair up in a cute, messy bun. Harry puts Buster’s leash on and you two head out and down towards the beach. It was a nice spring day out, but you were happy you had your fleece since it was still a bit chilly.

Going for a long walk was good, according to your doctor. Not to mention Harry loved seeing your ass in your leggings. The three of you stop so Harry can take a selfie. Someone sees the three of you and offers to take a photo.

“When we get back tomorrow…” He says as you make your way back to the inn to go to the spa. “I have some things set up for you.”

“Like what?”

“You’ll see.” He grins. “We haven’t done a maternity shoot yet.”

“Oh!” You beam at him. “And you already set it up?”

“Mhm, I didn’t wanna waste any time when we got home.”

“I’m really excited. You’ll be in them too, right?”

“Um, usually the dad isn’t…do you want me to be?”

“Yeah! Definitely.”

He kisses your temple and you head inside. Buster gets a little luxurious experience at the groomer the inn has while you two get pedicures. You nearly pass out in the chair while getting your feet massaged. Harry kept his hand in yours the whole time.

You both decide to order room service for dinner and a little lemon cake for dessert. You take a relaxing bath with him in the Jacuzzi-tub. Once you’re all dry he gets you on the bed. He has you sit in his lap where he knew you’d be most comfortable. He gets his lips on yours and kisses you softly. You lace your hands through his damp curls. He rubs his fingers along your slit before pressing inside you. You groan against his neck as he curls his fingers up. He retracts them and sucks them into his mouth.

“Jesus.” You moan as you line his throbbing tip up with you. You sink down on it and groan. “Babe, what if, what if I’m never this tight again.”

“What?!” His eyes snap to yours. “What would even make you say that right now?”

“I don’t know! I mean, I’m gonna push this kid out of me, and his head is gonna rip me open, and-“

“Baby, baby…” He cups your cheeks. “Listen to me, none of that matters. I don’t care about that.”

“But you’re always saying you love how tight I am, and-“

“I know, and it’s true, it feels really good, but it would feel good with you no matter what because I love you. As long as it’s you, it feels good, okay? Do you believe me? Please, don’t worry about something like that.”

“Okay.”

“You believe me, don’t you?”

“Yes, I believe you.”

“Good.”

He kisses you and your tongues mold together. He grips your ass and helps you move on him. You were at a point where you didn’t have much strength on your own, but this was the only position that worked for you these days. His teeth sink into the crook of your neck and he sucks on you.

“Harry.” You groan.

“I love you so much, Y/N.” He says into your ear as thrusts up into you. “You’re giving me everything I ever wanted and more.” Your nails rakes down his chest and around to his back, sinking in.

“I love you too, thank you for making a mom.” You start tearing up as he fucks up into you faster.

“Jesus, fuck.”  He grunts. “You’re gonna be the best mum.” He makes eye contact with you and smirks. “The fuckin’ sexiest mum on the block.”

He snakes a hand between the two of you to rub your clit as fast as he can. You cling to him harder, your body laced with sweat. He had you moaning pretty loud until you let out a breathless gasp as you came.

“Fill me up babe, need to feel it, please.”

“God, I love it when you beg me like that, shit.” He groans and releases inside you. He kisses you before lifting you off of him.

He gets up and grabs a towel to clean you up. Once you’re both all set, you snuggle up and fall asleep.

//

“Oh wow!” You exclaim when you get into your apartment the next day.

“Happy anniversary, dalin’.” He kisses your cheek.

“This set up looks beautiful! Wait, I have something for you.”

“Y/N.” He sighs. “We said no real gifts.”

“I know, but I couldn’t help myself.” You pout. “I got you a new chain for your cross.” You hand him a box out of your purse. He opens it and smiles.

“It’s beautiful, thank you very much.”

He gives you a quick kiss and changes the chains out quick.

“Okay, go do your hair how you like, and get naked while I set the cameras up, yeah?”

You go into the bathroom and blow out your hair. You put some makeup on as well, and come out in your robe. Harry had his white sheet hung up in the living area, and a fan to blow your hair back.

“Harry…?”

“Yes?”

“Um…my…well…could you help me shave? I don’t want my bush in the pictures. It’s one thing with just you and me, but when I look back on these, and I can’t reach, and-“

“Go stand in the tub, I’ll come in in a second.” He smiles. Harry comes in a few minutes later.

“I’m sorry, this is so embarrassing.”

“It’s not, really.” He shrugs. “You’d do the same for me if I couldn’t reach my balls.” You burst out laughing.

He gets you all shaved after ten somewhat awkward minutes, but you’re grateful to feel fresh and clean.

“Thank you so much, I’m sorry.”

“Please, stop apologizing. I’d do anything for you.” He kisses you. “Now come on, it’s all set up.”

You come back out. He gets the fan going to blow your hair back. He tells you what positions to stand in. He gets some beautiful ones of you from the side. Really holding your bump.

“Don’t people do this wearing clothes too?”

“Oh, sure, but we have plenty of pictures of us like that, don’t we?”

“I suppose that’s true. Take your shirt off now, I want you in the pictures too, remember?”

Harry gets the camera set up on the tripod, and takes his shirt off. He gets on one knee and kisses your belly in one. He stands back up and takes your hands in his. You both lean in to kiss each other. He gets behind you in one, and you both make heart shapes with your hands over your stomach.

“I’ll zoom in on that one, it’ll look really nice for an album cover.” He says. “Look at how beautiful you are.” You put your robe back on and look at his camera.

“Thank you so much, I’m happy we’ll have these memories.”

“And then once Jack’s born, Mariah said she’d do a newborn shoot for us.

“She’s the best, the absolute best.”

//

You were able to make it through the end of the semester without having the baby in your classroom. You felt grateful that you’d be teaching online sections of courses in the fall so you could stay home with Jack a little longer. Erica had her littler girl, and you waddled into the hospital to say congratulations. She was a beautiful baby, and you were excited that Jack would have a cousin so close in age, other than Michael, to grow up with.

The weather was getting warmer and you were getting more uncomfortable after each day passed. Harry did his best to keep you calm, but you were at a point where everything annoyed you. He had you walking, eating spicy food, and you two were definitely still fucking, but nothing was helping you induce.

You had finally fallen asleep when you felt something wet underneath you. You pull the blankets back and see a huge wet spot. Your eyes grow wide.

“Harry!”

“What?!” He comes bursting through the door, he had stayed up to read in the living room so you could get some sleep.

“I think my water broke!” You beam.

“Oh my god, it’s happening!” He helps you out of the bed and gets you into the sweats you had picked out to go to the hospital in.

“Call my mom, I want her with us, okay? I need her.”

“Okay, once we’re in the car alright?” He smiles. “I need to text Rachel to come by to be with Buster.”

“Alright.”

He gets you into the car, and he calls your mom letting her know you were on your way to Boston Hospital. Luckily, Dr. Johnson was on call for you, and you were told she was on her way. A nurse gets you into a room, and gets you hooked up to whatever you needed to be hooked up to.

“Okay, so you’re not looking for a natural birth, correct?”

“Nope, give me all the drugs.” You laugh.

“We’ll do our best.” She smiles.

Eventually your mom shows up giving you lots of hugs and kisses.

“My little girl, my baby about to have a baby.” She smooths your forehead. “How are you doing, Harry?”

“M’alright, just wish I could take all the pain away. Her contractions have hurt really bad.”

“That’ll happen.” Your mom chuckles. “I’ll go get you some coffee.” She smiles and leaves.

“I’m glad she’s here.” You say to him.

“Me too. Nice to have family here for this.”

“Do me a favor, if the doctor asks you if you want to look while he’s coming out, say no. I do not want you looking. You’ll never get that image out of your mind.”

“Alright, I promise.” Your mom comes back shortly with the coffee.

“Mum, you’ll have to call the cantor for me so we can get Jack circumcised.”

“Of course, I’ll call first thing in the morning. I know he’s been waiting for you to call. And I’m going to have your brother and dad get your crib and everything over to your apartment first thing in the morning as well.”

“Oh, thanks mum.” You feel the sharp pains return to your stomach. “Harry!” You gasp. He rushes to your side to hold your hand.

“Remember to breathe, like in the classes.” He strokes your cheek as you squeeze his hand.

//

After twelve hours of labor, it was finally time to push. Harry was on one side you and your mom on the other. You had been given the epidural, but everything just felt cramped and uncomfortable. You were screaming and cursing as you pushed.

“You’re almost there, Y/N.” Dr. Johnson encourages you.

Harry thought you were going to break his hand off, and honestly, he felt like he deserved it watching you go through all this. Luckily, you weren’t cursing at him or screaming at him that you’ll never do this again, because honestly, you would. Despite how sick you felt in the first trimester, your pregnancy was relatively easy. You’d turn your love with Harry into another baby in a heartbeat, but he didn’t need to know that right now.

“I can see his head! Give me another good push, Y/N!”

You do ask the doctor says, and you nearly feel like you’re going to faint as she pulls Jack out of you. You weren’t sure, but you had to have torn open, there’s no way you didn’t. You hear the baby cry and a wave of relief sweeps over you. They clean him quick before resting him on you for skin on skin. Harry lets the doctor cut the cord, too afraid he’d mess something up. There were tears in your eyes and Harry’s as well. They let Harry hold Jack skin to skin as well before taking him off to weigh him and clean him up further.

“Do we have a name?” One of the nurses asks.

“Jack Edward Styles.” Harry says. You were too exhausted to speak. He leans in and gives you a kiss on the forehead. Your mother was also at a loss for words.

“He’s beautiful, honey, you did great.”

“Okay, Y/N, we just need to take care of a few things down here, I need to stitch you up.” Dr. Johnson says as she cleans up what she can.

“Oh god.” You groan and you start sobbing.

“Nothing to worry about, happens all the time. His head was a little larger like we thought. Long body too.” You look up at Harry and glare as she stitches you up.

“You and your big head.” You seethe.

“M’sorry, baby, really I am.” He can’t help but smile.

“Alright, all done. The nurses will help you the rest of the way.”

One of them shows you the mesh underwear you’ll be wearing and you grimace. You never felt less attractive in your life. After a little while you’re wheeled into your hospital room where you can relax. Your mom stepped out to go home and change. She said she’d come back during visiting hours. She also wanted to give you and Harry some time to relax. He laid on the bed with you and you rested your head on his chest as you finally slept. You were so fucking tired. It was like your entire body had been tensed up for days and now you could relax.

“Mr. and Mrs. Styles?” A nurse coos as she comes in with Jack. Harry sits up and beams at the baby. “Someone’s hungry, does mommy wanna try to feed?”

“I’ll give it a go.” You say as you try to sit up a little. Harry adjusts your pillows for you. “Ten fingers, ten toes?” You ask the nurse.

“Yes.” She chuckles as she hands him to you. “Perfectly healthy. Almost nine pounds.”

“Good god, you came outta me?” You coo to your new bundle of joy. Harry helps you move the hospital gown out of the way.

“He may not latch on right away, just give him a minute to get acquainted.” The nurse explains.

“I brought a pump with me in case he has trouble. I wasn’t sure how I’d feel about breast feeding.” You explain and she nods. “Oh! Look at him go, Harry.” Jack latches on so he can feed.

“Does it hurt, love?”

“Not really, just sort of feels weird. It can tend to hurt, right?” You ask the nurse.

“Yeah, it can. You’ll want to pump so you don’t get sore and tender. For now you’ll be fine since we’ll be bringing him in for his feedings. I’ll leave him with the two of you for a while and come back in an hour or so.” You both thank her before she leaves.

“He’s beautiful, Harry. Can you believe we made him?”

“Absolutely gorgeous. I took your picture when they first put him on you, but I could take a better one now.”

“Please do, I’m all cleaned up now.” He takes his phone out and takes your picture. “What’s your eye color, Jack?” He looks up at you slightly. “Oh! Green, duh.” You laugh.

“Be a bit weird if he didn’t since both of ours are green.”

“My dad’s eyes are brown and my mom’s are green, but my brother ended up with blue eyes. Both of my sisters have brown eyes, and I have green, so literally anything could have happened. I hope he has your curls.”

“Looks like he’ll have your nose, which is nice. Your nose is way cuter than mine, s’like a little button.”

“Oh stop it, I do not have a button nose. His ears look bigger like mine.”

“Seems like he’ll be a good mix of us, huh?”

“We’ll find out once he grows in a bit. I think he’s done.” You hold him up against your shoulder so you can gently burp him, and then you hand him to Harry. “So natural.” You tell him as you smile at your boys.

“Thank you, Y/N.”

“For what?”

“Makin’ me a real Daddy. I know we have Buster and all, but this…” You lean in and kiss Jack’s head.

“Mm, he smells so good, smell his head.” You giggle. “He’s got that new baby smell.” Harry dips his head slightly and he smiles as he smells his child.

“He does smell good.” He chuckles.

A nurse comes in for you a little while later.

“Time to go to the bathroom, Y/N.” She sighs.

“No, please don’t make me.” You whine. “It’s going to hurt.”

“I know, but we need to have you try. I’ll be right in there with you.”

“Oh, wonderful.” You roll your eyes.

“Go on, honey, I’m sure you need to go with all the fluids you’ve been given.”

The nurse helps you onto your feet and you cringe as you take a step. You look back at Harry and he gives you an encouraging smile. It broke his heart to see you like this. He knew in a few months you’d be perfectly fine, but right now he knew you were in a ton of pain, and he hated it. The nurse helps you use the toilet, and you swore at her up and down, then you apologized of course. She helps you back in the bed afterwards.

“Okay…so the next time I come to help you use the bathroom, you’re going to hate me even more.”

“Why?” You ask, taking Jack back from Harry.

“You need to try to have a BM.” Your eyes widen. You had read up on this, and you weren’t looking forward to it. “We need to make sure you stitches don’t rip open and get cleaned properly. I’ll be back in a couple of hours, okay?”

“Please, take your time.” You tell her as she leaves. “That’s going to suck.”

Nurses continued to come in and out to check on you and Jack. They took him away for a while to let you and Harry rest. Harry had let everyone know to just come to visiting hours tomorrow. You needed more time to recover, and you really didn’t want to see everyone just yet. Your BM was painful to say the least, but you got through it.

“It’ll get easier, Y/N.” The nurse says. As you lay down in the bed she braces you for something much more painful. “You may want to hold your husband’s hand for this. I have to give your stomach a massage, and it’s going to hurt.”

“Wonderful.” You take a breath. “Ow! What the fuck?!” You squeeze Harry’s hand.

“I’m so sorry, I’m checking to make sure there’s no internal bleeding or air pockets.”

“This is worse than giving birth, I swear to god.” You grit your teeth.

“Okay, all done.” She smiles. “Take some time to rest. We’ll bring the baby in for another feeding soon.”

“Alright? Want some ice chips?”

“No, because then I’ll need to pee again.” You pout.

“Y/N.” He sighs and hands you the cup of ice chips.

“It burns, Harry. It’s terrible.”

“I know, I’m sorry. It’ll get better soon, this is the hardest part.” He strokes your cheek. “I love you so much.”

“I love you too.” You pucker your lips and kiss him.

//

The next day people trickle in during the different visiting hours. Your family came first and took turns holding the baby. Your friends came in the afternoon, many of them shedding tears. It was wonderful to have so many people around.

Harry had made sure to take time off from work to be home with you. Not necessarily a paternity leave, though. He told you he’d take two weeks off form going to the studio, and then he’d do half days or every other day from there. He promised he wouldn’t work weekends as well. You knew he had to work to make the money you both needed. You had a good paycheck from the school, but you weren’t working this summer, so that extra cash was nonexistent.

You were grateful your dad and brother were able to set up the nursery the rest of the way for you. Everything was in its place. You and Harry agreed Anne and Gemma, and Nannie, could fly in, in a month or so to come meet Jack. You just needed some time to adjust and heal before you started having a ton of visitors.

You and Harry couldn’t help but laugh when he helped you set up the breast pump. It was extremely awkward, but you couldn’t figure out how to do it yourself. You also needed his help going to the bathroom at various points, also extremely awkward and embarrassing, but that was marriage. You were grateful for him.

Buster took a liking to Jack right away. You knew they’d be great buddies. You and Harry barely got any sleep the first couple weeks, which was to be expected. You constantly needed to feed Jack. He was a big boy, and he was hungry.

“Why are you crying?” Harry sighs as he comes into the nursery to see what’s going on.

“Because.” You sniffle. “Because what if my breast milk doesn’t have enough stuff in it and that’s why he’s so hungry? I know nothing’s wrong with formula, but like, I’m his mother, and I can’t even give him what he needs.” You sob.

“Okay, okay.” Harry takes Jack and the bottle from you to continue feeding him. You wipe your tears. It was hard to be sad whenever you’d see Harry effortlessly hold your child. “You are giving him what he needs. He’s just…large.” He chuckles. “He’s hungry a little more. I was talkin’ to Lou, and he said Freddie was the same way. Constantly hungry, and Bri used breastmilk. You’re makin’ plenty of it. If you were havin’ trouble producing, I’d say yeah let’s switch to formula, but I think we’re fine.”

“What am I gonna do when you go back to work.” You tear up again.

“Your mum’s comin’ to be with you, remember? She’ll be here when I can’t be. Believe me, I’d rather be here with you.”

“I know, I don’t mean to make you feel bad. You just always know how to calm me down.”

“Luckily your mum’s done this four times, so she’ll know what to do too.” He smiles. He turns Jack over to burp him. “Here, wanna rock him to sleep? I’m gonna take Buster out quick.”

“Okay.” He hands him back to you. You rock him slowly and set him down in his crib. “Mummy loves you very much, Jack.” You coo as you leave the room.

You go out to the living room to sit on the couch. Buster comes trotting in and sits at your feet. You pat the top of his head, and Harry comes to sit next to you. He puts an arm around you and pulls you in close.

“Love you so much.” He kisses your hairline.

“I love you too.”

//

You were never so thankful to have friends who didn’t work in the summer in your life. Your mom was a big help, but she was also trying to help out Erica. Sarah and Rachel came over often to hang out and make sure you weren’t bored to shit while Jack napped. They’d go out for walks with you while he was strapped to your chest.

“You look great, Y/N.” Sarah says.

“Seriously, Y/N, it’s been what? A month? Barely even have a tummy anymore.” Rachel says.

“Oh stop it.” You shake your head at them as you walk down the street. “I’ve just simply deflated. Dr. Johnson said I could start doing more cardio next month, do some strength training too, but for now she just wants me walking.”

“Having that little guy strapped to you has to be some kind of strength training.” Sarah smirks.

“You have no idea! He looks tiny, but he gets heavy after a while.”

“When do you think you guys will do your newborn shoot?”

“Probably next month once I feel a little more comfortable being photographed. Oh! You guys should see the album we put together from the maternity shoot, the pictures came out so nice. I had a couple framed and put into Jack’s room.”

“Definitely! How’s Harry been with going back to work?” Rachel says.

“He feels guilty, and like he’s missing out on things. I’ve brought Jack to the studio a couple of times, but I think it makes it worse for him. That’s why Buster’s been going to work with him. He’s such a good dad, not that I ever doubted he would be. It’s never a contest, like he’s just always jumping into help.”

“That’s what he’s supposed to do. He’s a dad, not a babysitter.” Sarah points out.

“Exactly.”

“Do you feel like you’ve had any post-partum stuff?” Rachel asks.

“Sometimes I feel like I’m not doing enough? Like when I feed him and he gets hungry again almost immediately after, I feel like I’m not giving him what he needs. But Harry seems to think he’s just genuinely hungry. I’m excited for Anne and Gemma to come visit soon, and I think Nannie’s gonna come up in August.”

“That’s great! It must be difficult knowing you have a grandchild so far away.”

“Since Anne’s retired, Harry was saying she might rent a small studio and stay here for a while longer this summer to be with Jack, and to help us out a bit. I’m all for it, she’s the best, and it would take some pressure offer my mom. I know she’s trying to balance out time with Jack and Melissa.”

“Oh yeah, how’s she doing?”

“Good! Erica’s kind of dealing with the same things as I am. Although, she went right to formula instead of breastfeeding.” You shrug.

“Do you think you’ll ever put your piercings back in?”

“The second my stomach goes back to normal, that’s going back in for sure, but my nipples I’m not so sure about. If I get pregnant again I’ll just need to take them out, it was really annoying. I’m fine with just my nose for now.”

You were grateful your friends didn’t mind talking about this stuff, and even more grateful they were checking in on your mental state. You were the luckiest person in the world.

[jiskblr]

Blauprinz and his crew

My blood parents I never knew. Berliners, probably, but they left me in an anarchist-affiliated charity orphanage in Potsdam before I was six months old, so all I know for sure is that they named me Artur. I was adopted fairly late as these things go, about five, by the people who I consider my parents: Jurgen and Verena Carolingt. They could have had blood children, but chose to adopt, and frequently. When I was twelve I had five foster-sibs, but they slowed down after that; I only have two more sibs from the next decade, and they were adopted as the eldest four of us moved out. That's not counting Leo, who was their second fosterling; he was a real hellraiser and chafed at the academic's morality they tried to enforce, so he ran away to join a street gang. I got back in touch with him years later; for all that he left, he was as angry as me about - but that's getting ahead of myself.

My parents were academics, professors at Viadrina Universitat in Frankfurt-Oder, but in their more subtle way raised hell just as much as Leo. They grew up during the first partition, Da in East Germany and Ma in West Berlin, and they both hated the idea of hiding what they believed to cater to the powerful. They didn't budge in their convictions that everyone deserved a chance or that their conclusions deserved to be followed to their end. They believed in equality and metahuman rights, even when that was fairly unpopular, and they lived it. I'm a norm as were they, but my sibs are an even split of norms and orks plus one dwarf. They didn't adopt elves, who got snapped up more easily by more prejudiced parents, nor trolls, who posed logistical hurdles they didn't think they could deal with. (They felt bad about leaving out trolls, though, and donated generously to several charities for them. I do too, now, in their memory.) They budged just as little in their research, not even to stay quiet about it. When their research topics - applied sociology and economics of magic, for Da and Ma, respectively - developed from postulates to specific, inconvenient predictions and prescriptions for the practical world which got the corps to lean on their deans to quiet them down or kick them out, even so they stuck to their guns.

That pressure started to build around when I turned 18, and got worse as I went through my degree. When it all went to hell, I was a post-doc in applied modern theology - university-speak for 'shaman-ology' - and Zanne was a thesis candidate in high-energy experimental thaumics - studying when magic goes 'boom'. Gabi had given academia a serious try but it wasn't for her, so she'd become a net security wageslave in Potsdam - though honestly she'd be happier as a SINless decker. Fritz and Deb were undergrads at Viadrina, and Jost, Lotte, and Sascha were still young and at home. I don't understand what exactly was enraging the powers that be about their research; I think Mother had published something demonstrating that the publicly-known processes for producing refined orichalcite should produce a far lower market price, indicating that there was a covert cartel, and Father had models indicating that parts of the Eurowars didn't fit naturally with the known social dynamics pre-bellum, indicating deliberate provocation by some powerful force. True or not, either might have been the provocation. There had been escalating threats, but I wasn't living there, so I didn't hear about that; later, when I researched the background, I learned there’d been a fire started in the garage, broken windows, a chemical warfare agent left hissing in Dad's office after hours. But the first I heard of it was when I was back home, a week in late April, for Easter and Mother's birthday.

When some fucking Johnson carpet-firebombed the entire fucking house.

I don't know if they knew we'd be there. They had to know there were innocent children, there; Jost and Sascha weren't even ten yet. My parents died in the first few seconds, their corpses vaporized. Lotte was hugging Mother, so she was, too, and Fritz was just far enough away to leave dental records. Jost was less lucky; he roasted, but not quickly, and survived three hours before he died in agony. Deb lost a leg and an eye and as far as I know the pain's never stopped. Sascha was in the other room and got out, with severe scarring but none disabling. Zanne as well. Gabi wasn't there; the bosses wouldn't give her time off, and I'm not sure if that was a mercy or a curse. I was next to Father, and as far as the records know, I flash-fried like Lotte. But I'm a shaman of the Dragonslayer, and the fire washed over me. I tried to shield Dad with my body, but my totem isn't a protector; it preserved me, and much better than it would most of its shamans, but that didn't extend to him. I tried to help Jost when I realized he'd lived, but he told me to run and get revenge. I didn't realized Zanne or Sascha made it until much later; Zanne had hit her head and went unconscious quickly, and Sascha's response to pain always was to freeze up. But I kept it together enough to get to the basement, and there was ductwork Zanne had discovered years earlier and shown me, which connected it to three doors down. She'd also shown me the nearest part of the Berlin Underground - we snuck out through that ductwork - which had an ork gang she'd run with sometimes, so I thanked her memory about a hundred times that night. The gang leader by then, Ratbite, turned out to be one of the toughs she'd run with, and recognized me. I wasn't shy about using her memory to get a favor, and traded my shamanic skills - and some medical assistance - to get help going completely dark, wiping me from the databases so I could go truly SINless. He was pretty pissed when he found out she wasn't dead, but by then the favor was spent, and when she went dark as well she did him a couple favors and he mostly forgave me and accepted my excuse that I'd thought I was telling him the truth.

The official story was that the firebombs were thrown by a human-supremacist policlub, Nationale Aktion I believe, who objected to our outspokenly mixed-race family. This was bullshit, but plausible enough bullshit that the department heads and local politicians could easily pretend to believe it and be seen to Do Something in response, without that Something doing anything to harm corporate interests. Sascha I think believes that story, or prefers to act like he does. Deb, Gabi, and Zanne, though, didn't. And Zanne was good at causing explosions, but terrible at keeping her temper in check. She retaliated, with prejudice. Headline-making prejudice, which is how I and my temporary friend Ratbite learned she was alive. She had a big bounty for a couple years, but some anarchists gave her shelter before the corps reacted, and from there she became a runner as well. She didn't know I'd survived, though she did suspect, so I found her first, and joined the crew she ran with at the time. After that one came apart, the two of us have assembled all our future crews together. Well, mostly me, I'm the Face, but she still has better ties in anarchist and goblinoid circles; there's a lot of orks and trolls who won't trust a smoothskin, even one like me with an established rep.

Our vengeance is still a work in progress. The men who carried out the hit were deniable contractors, corp security from a minor place. They went down in an op our second year running, and the company got enough blowback from that job that it folded a year later. Finding out who gave the order is not quite done, but we've narrowed the field. I've got a solid network, and, well, my surviving siblings aren't any happier about it than me. Sascha pushed back when Zanne tried to contact him; I think he wants to put it behind him. Deb's a professor herself now, but she hasn't given up on justice, and Gabi-. She works for the corps, and counter to the ork stereotype is a very cold person in most ways; rationally, I know that gave me reasonable cause to doubt her. But after we finally made contact, we found her heart was cold, but a cold-burning hatred. A grudge aged like wine, but still so raw and deep that it feels unthinkable she could have made any other choice. Even the idea that she might have sided with her bosses over her family feels completely embarrassing to have considered. And Leo, like I said earlier, was almost as mad; he left home, but he still loved them for giving him a home to run from. (I hadn't realized, but he sent them gifts every Christmas, mostly hand-made, from the first year he'd left right through their deaths - he didn't learn about their deaths until he tried to deliver their gifts that year.) He's a complete ork stereotype, though, his anger is intense and searing. He'll let it go for months and then find something that reminds him again and smash up some corp's office, mostly at random. I try to give him more productive outlets when I can, but he refuses to go professional runner so he's probably going to end up landing in an early grave with his gang despite my best efforts. Not that we're really close, but I've lost too much family to let my crazy ex-brother join them.