#raised some concerns with my psychiatrist and he reassured me

[withloveastrid]

This month has been so chaotic and traumatic 🙈 I don’t know if it’s just me or if a lot of us are experiencing similar rollercoasters this month but I for one would very much like to get off at the nearest exit 🙋🏻‍♀️😅

[primeministerofantarctica]

Mankai Therapy Company

tsumugi vc you guys need so much therapy on god

It started, like it always did, with extortion. 

Or rather, it started at a company meeting. 

“I,” Tsumugi announced, “have great news.”

“You’re getting married?” Citron all but yelled. Tsumugi choked. 

“N-”

“I didn’t hear Tasuku say anything,” Itaru muttered without looking up from his handheld gaming device, still managing to be heard by everyone in the room.

“I’m not getting married!” He closed his eyes and inhaled slowly before opening them. “I - we-” he gestured towards the Director- “called everyone in here to tell you that I was able to contact one of my old colleague’s practices, and they said they’d be willing to do business with our company at a reduced price.”

“Practice?” Muku echoed in confusion.

“He’s telling us to see a shrink.” Yuki said flatly.

“Only if you feel comfortable doing so,” Tsumugi curled his fists to keep himself from wringing his hands together. It was best not to show nerves in these situations. “I acknowledge that it is a personal choice and I won’t force anyone into this. However, if you do decide to take this opportunity, it’s now arranged so that the company will pay for your sessions in full.”

“Am I dreaming?” Tsuzuru blinked. “Did you just say free health insurance?”

“Holy shit, are you crying?”

“No!” He rubbed his eyes quickly. Kazunari patted him on the arm. 

“There, there, Tsuzuroon.” 

Sakyo cleared his throat. “I have a question.”

“Yes?” Tsumugi did his best to make his expression open and nonjudgmental. 

“Or a concern. Where in the company’s budget have these funds been allocated?”

Tsumugi’s smile was unchanging, not flickering or wavering in the slightest. “Sorry, let me rephrase that. Anyone who works for Mankai Company who wants to see a therapist, counselor, psychiatrist, or any mental health professional now can, free of charge, with any copayments covered in full. Is that understood?”

Izumi had to hand it to Tsumugi, the soft-spoken man could be downright scary when he wanted to be. Why was it always the nice ones? 

“I’ll be reviewing this on next month’s budget.”

“Great!” Tsumugi hummed. “Does anyone else have a question?”

“Yeah,” Taichi raised his hand, “why are you telling us to go to therapy? Isn’t that for, like, divorced couples and depressed shut-ins and stuff? I mean, none of us qualify for that, right?”

Tsumugi’s eye twitched. He couldn’t help it. 

“Hey, Tsumugi!” 

Tsumugi looked up from the script he’d been reading on the sofa, politely greeting Taichi in return as the boy opened the fridge and grabbed a soda. He frowned slightly. 

“Nanao, don’t you have school tomorrow?”

“Yep!” Taichi nodded as he popped the soda cap off and took a swig. “Uh, why? Is there something else happening tomorrow?”

“No, I just-” he looked pointedly towards the soda. “Are you sure it’s a good idea to drink so much caffeine before bed? Won’t you have trouble going to sleep?”

“Oh, this?” Taichi laughed and rubbed his neck. “It - okay, this might sound fake, but I swear soda and caffeine actually make me sleepier! Weird, right?”

“That’s certainly…interesting.” 

“Azuma, my dear, my camellia that blossoms in the moonlight,” Homare paused. “Were you, perchance, the one that moved my tea bags?”

“Hm? No. Why, are you missing some?”

“No.” Homare closed his eyes for a few seconds before opening them. “I…apologize for the accusation. Thank you.” He turned around to leave before-

“Aha!” 

“Oh crap,” was all Tasuku could manage before Homare accosted him. “Tasuku, my Adonis, you wouldn’t happen to have moved my tea bags this morning, would you?”

“Uh, yeah?” He blinked. “They were in front of the cereal. I didn’t take any, though, if you’re missing some.”

“I’m not!” Homare reassured him. “I simply woke up to find the lavender and chai had switched places, and the lemon much farther to the left than it should be, which as you can imagine is quite a distressing predicament to find oneself in.”

“I…I really can’t imagine that, no.”

He hummed. “Well, if you do find yourself moving my teas again, please ascertain that they are relocated back to their original positions, would you?”

Tasuku didn’t have the energy to argue. “Okay, sure.”

Azuma chuckled. “Classic Homare.”

Tsumugi bit his lip. 

“Ah, Tenma,” Tsumugi slid a sheet of paper across the table and tapped on it. “This kanji is backwards.”

“Huh?” Tenma snatched up the paper and stared at it, blinking hard. “Oh…oh, yeah, you’re right. Sorry.” He winced. 

“It’s no problem,” Tsumugi smiled gently. “Let’s just correct it and move on, shall we?” 

“Yeah,” Tenma’s ears were still flushed, “yeah, okay.”

“I’ve got it!” Tsuzuru slammed open the door forcefully and marched in like a knight on a mission. A pale, scrawny, sickly looking knight with unwashed hair and dark eyebags. “I’ve got the new script!” He grinned maniacally. 

Itaru looked up. “Five.”

“That’s great, Tsuzuru!” Izumi smiled and took the packet, still warm from the printer. “I’ll read through this tonight and have my notes ready by tomorrow.”

“Are you okay?” Tsumugi asked. 

“I’m fine. I’m great! I’m wonderful!” Tsuzuru said, a little forcefully. 

Citron stood. “Four.” 

“When was the last time you slept?”

“I can’t just sleep, Tsukioka, what if I forget a line or piece of dialogue?” 

“Wouldn’t want that to happen,” Chikage muttered. “Three.”

“Still - sorry, what are you counting for?”

Sakuya just shrugged, half-smiling apologetically. “It’s just easier to coordinate this way. Two.”

“Coordinate what?”

Tsuzuru collapsed face first into Masumi’s arms. “...One.” 

“Taichi’s right, I don’t think any of us need that therapy crap. ‘Cept for Hyodo, maybe someone’ll find out why he’s so chronically annoying.”

Juza elbowed Banri in the ribs. He retaliated by punching his shoulder. 

“It’s a scam anyway.” Yuki spoke up before the fight could escalate further. “Therapy’s just a pseudoscience made to make normal people feel good about themselves by talking to a stranger. No offense.”

Tsumugi steepled his fingers. “None taken. On a related note, how many of you have actually been to therapy?”

Yuki looked away, muttering something about school counselors and zero tolerance policies. Nobody else seemed willing to speak up. 

“I have!” Misumi raised his hand. Tsumugi blinked, trying not to look surprised. 

“Really?”

“Mhmm! I think?” Misumi leaned back on the sofa. “I was really young.”

“What…how was it?”

“They gave me some toys to play with and asked Gramps a lot of questions,” he shrugged. “Don’t remember much else.”

“I…see.” Tsumugi said slowly. “That’s very…enlightening. Thank you.” He coughed. “Still, I have a stack of business cards here, so I would like all of you to take one.”

Banri glared at his card like its existence offended him. Kazunari flipped his over and shoved it into his pocket when he was sure nobody was looking. Misumi also put his in his pocket, but only after forcing the edges down to make a triangle fold. 

Tsumugi prayed that he made the right decision to be so upfront about this. Then again, it wasn’t like anyone else was going to make the first move. 

He had almost forgotten about it, a month later, when Banri stormed into his room and practically threw the business card at him. “Rurikawa was right, therapy’s a total scam. I want a refund and I didn’t even pay anything.”

Secretly Tsumugi was pleased that Banri had relented into going for a few sessions, but he forced those feelings down. “It’s normal to feel upset after a session. But if you feel like you’re being treated unfairly, you can always ask for another therapist.”

“Yeah, I’m being ‘treated unfairly’.” Banri rolled his eyes and sat down on the floor, right in front of him. “You still have your license, right? Why can’t you be our therapist?”

“That’d be an extreme conflict of interest and highly illegal.”

“Didn’t know we cared about the law,” Banri muttered under his breath. 

“If you want to talk, though, I always can as a friend.”

“Right, so,” he waved his hand flippantly. “I was just telling this chick about Hyodo eating my pudding with my name on it, and in the middle she looks me right in the eyes and says Oh, wow, you must really like this Hyodo person to talk about them so much!”

“Oh. Wow.”

“As if! I was just telling you how much he pissed me off, seriously, how dense do you have to be to NOT understand that?”

Tsumugi bit back several comments. “I can’t imagine.”

“Ugh. Anyways. This sucks.”

“Sometimes it does,” he said sympathetically. 

“Tsumugi!” 

He barely had time to blink before Homare’s fingers had interlaced with his, a quick kiss pressed to his temple. “Hello, Angel!”

“Hello, Homare,” he smiled, more than used to these random bouts of affection. “How are you?”

Homare glanced down the hallway quickly before leaning in close to his ear. “Actually, I do have a topic I wanted to discuss with you. Your knowledge on the subject would provide valuable insight on the matter.”

Tsumugi felt the back of his neck prickle. “What is it?”

“Do you think I’m on the spectrum?”

“There’s...a lot of spectrums, Homare.”

He tsked. “True. I- I initially assumed my therapist said I might be on the artistic spectrum, and I told them that I was a renowned poet on the literary arts spectrum, but-” he sighed dramatically, “they simply laughed and gave me a pamphlet to ‘read over’.”

“I see,” Tsumugi squeezed his hand. “And you read it?”

“I…I did, yes.”

Thank god, FINALLY, Tsumugi wanted to say. Instead, he very tactfully asked, “What did you think?”

“I am,” Homare frowned slightly. “Not sure. I’m afraid I must deliberate on the matter further before drawing forth any hasty conclusions.”

“Well,” Tsumugi kissed his cheek. “There’s no rush.”

Hisoka looked left, then right, then cautiously reached for the doorknob before-

“Where the hell do you think you’re going?” Chikage snapped, crossing his arms.

“There’s a pop-up sweets shop in the next town,” he yawned plainly. “I want to see it.”

Chikage narrowed his eyes. “I thought you were expressly forbidden from driving.”

“It’s only a few minutes,” he shrugged. 

Chikage’s lip curled. “Are those Tasuku’s keys?”

“He’s out jogging.” Hisoka answered. It was getting harder and harder to stay-

He felt somebody shaking him. “I hope you were planning on asking your boyfriend to drive you.”

“I can drive myself,” Hisoka felt a twinge of annoyance. “It’s fine.”

“Right,” Chikage closed his eyes. “Get in Chigasaki’s car before you do anything stupid.” He shook his head and muttered, “Of all the reckless…I can’t believe you fell asleep in the MRI machine-”

Tsumugi watched the door slam shut on Hisoka’s smirking face. 

[professional-benaddict]

depressed!peter gets into a fight with some classmate which leads to him getting a skull injury. He wakes up in the psych ward regressed and cuffed to his hospital bed. Tony is his assigned psychiatrist and is trained in Littles. Especially ones with mood disorders.

anything for my auntie!!🥺🥺💗💗 this got a bit heavy, but i hope the comfort makes up for it!!

Psychiatrist Tony, +18 Little Peter, Littles are Known, doctor Stephen, depression, suicidal thoughts, crying, head injuries, hospitalisation, psych hold, whump, comfort

“Hey, Doctor Stark.”

“Yeah?”

“Doctor Strange called from the ER. He says he has a patient who he thinks should be put on psych hold.”

“All right, I’ll head down in a bit.”

The psychiatric ward of the hospital is at the far west side of the hospital, so Tony has a bit of walking to get to the ER at the other end of the huge hospital. He brings a coffee with him, sipping on it while he walks, his mind already racing a bit with what Stephen Strange has for him at the ER.

For once, the ER is surprisingly quiet when Tony walks in. He throws away his empty coffee cup before he finds Stephen in trauma room 3. The neurosurgeon is stood at the foot of the hospital bed, his nose in a chart scribbling away. He smiles a little tiredly at Tony.

“Hey, he’s the one.” Stephen says, pointing at the patient with his pen.

The patient is a male in his late teens or early twenties. He is unconscious, although it seems like he is just sleeping peacefully where he is tucked in the blankets. The bandage on his head tells another story.

“Peter Parker, 18 years old. Someone found him knocked out unconscious and bleeding after what seems like a fight. He woke up in the ambulance, but he didn’t make much sense. My guess is he fell or was pushed over and knocked his head on the ground. He was bleeding from his head and vomitied once when he woke up. CT confirms a skull fracture, but there’s no other damage luckily. 12 stitches on his scalp, and he’s stable now.” Stephen lists, hanging the chart back on the boy’s bed.

“So, why did you bring me here?” Tony asks.

“He said he wanted to die in the ambulance. Multiple times.” Stephen says, his tone more serious. “Will you take him?”

“Of course. No doubts about it.” Tony nods, putting his hands in the pockets of his lab coat. “I’ll talk to the nurses to have him transported.” He adds, turning on his heel to walk out, but Stephen speaks up.

“And one more thing. He’s a Little.”

Oh. That complicates things.

———

Peter wakes up to a pounding headache. He sometimes does that when he hasn’t had enough to drink the day before, so the pain in itself isn’t surprising. However, as he starts to come to his senses, he realises it’s not his head that hurts. It’s his scalp.

The boy opens his eyes, realising with a soft gasp that he is in a room he doesn’t recognise. It is white, bare and far from homey. It’s a hospital room, Peter realises, closing his eyes again in agony.

What happened?

He was going to class, although he didn’t want to. Some of his classmates bumped into him, wanting to cause trouble. And Peter saw an opportunity, and he took it. He had ended up exactly where he wanted, but then again he didn’t.

The confusion, the fear and the uncertainty of it all crashes down on Peter, and he regresses into his Little headspace. It just makes it worse, but at least it lets him cry. So, Peter cries.

Peter tries to lift his hands to his face to wipe his eyes, but he feels something holding him down. Looking down at his wrists, Peter finds he has been restrained to the bed. The restraints have soft faux fur on the insides, but the emotional hurt still pains him.

Peter cries louder, so he doesn’t hear the knocks on the door to his hospital room. A man in a white coat walks in, and he hurries to the bed with a concerned look on his face.

“Wha-”

“Hey, it’s okay. I’m Doctor Stark. You’re safe here, it’s okay. Are you in pain?”

At first, Peter nods his head. He is hurting, but then he realises that’s not what the doctor is asking about. He shakes his head, and his lips wobble as he looks up at the doctor.

“It’s okay, it’s okay. I know you must be scared, but it’s okay, and you’ll be okay. Can you try and breathe for me?”

Peter does as he is told. Being given simple instructions to follow makes Peter feel a lot better, in fact. It’s a common thing for Littles, wanting to please their caregivers by doing as they are told. The boy clings to the doctor’s calm and reassuring aura.

“My hands- I…”

“I’ll take them off.” The doctor says with a kind smile. Peter cannot help but notice how nice and warm the doctor’s hands are on his wrists. Peter wants to hold onto him, but he resists the urge with all his might. “There, that’s better. Here, I’ll raise your bed a bit. You should blow your nose too.”

Again, Peter does as he is told. He blows his nose, whimpering a bit at the pain that spreads through his head in the process.

“What happened…?” Peter asks, holding his head. He feels the bandage that’s wrapped around his head and the dressing above his left ear.

“You hit your head on the ground, and you fractured your skull.” The doctor says. He is leaning his hands on the side rail of Peter’s bed. His hands look strong.

“Wha- I dunno… what that means…” Peter mumbles. The words are hard to find, and Peter is not sure whether that is due to his head injury or his current headspace. It’s been months since he last dropped.

“Tell me, Peter, how old do you feel?”

“Huh?”

“It says in your file that you’re a Little. You’re regressing now, right? It’s important for me to know how old you are in your headspace, so that I can explain things to you so that you understand.”

“Oh…” So, they know. They must know about everything. Peter has to lean back on the bed and cover his eyes with his hands to keep himself together. Otherwise, he will just burst into tears in front of the nice doctor, like a silly baby. “I- 10, maybe? I- I dunno…”

“Okay, thank you. You’re doing great, Peter. Now, about your head…”

Doctor Stark is easy to understand. Despite his upset and the pain, Peter finds it easy to follow the doctor’s explanations. There’s a fracture in his skull, a part of the bone that’s broken, but nothing else has been damaged. The bone will heal on it’s own, and he’ll be okay. But, Peter still doesn’t feel okay. He hasn’t in a long time.

“Peter, I can see that something is eating at you. Tell me what it is.”

“I…”

A long pause. The sobs are pushing at Peter’s throat again, wanting to get out so bad.

“It’s okay. It’s safe to tell me.”

Maybe, just maybe.

“I- I said I wanna die…”

“You said you wanted to die.” Doctor Stark repeats. Hearing it back like that makes Peter sob finally. “Do you want to die now?”

If only he wasn’t feeling 10 years old, Peter would be able to explain. He doesn’t want to die, but he wants to die. He wants everything to stop, and he hates himself for wanting such a thing. What would May think? His palms are wet with tears.

It started a few weeks after he got classified officially and his first regression started. Peter never thought he would be one of the rare Littles to suffer from depression after classification, but he did.

“Okay, Peter. I see how upset you are, and I’m going to help you. I’ll get a nurse to start a ketamine treatment. It helps people who are in similar situations as you.”

Peter nods a little, wiping his tears. He is too embarrassed and snotty to look the doctor in his eyes, but his ears are zoned in on the doctor’s calming voice.

“I’ll look after you, Peter. I bet you’ve had it rough for a while, and I know how to help you. We’ll get this sorted out, so you don’t have to worry. You’ll be okay, I’ll make sure of it.”

Peter nods again. He wants to cry more, but he finds the strength to hold back now, thanks to Doctor Stark.

“I’ll help you, Peter. We’ll sort this out.”

And Peter believes him.

[diaxfeliz]

THE CLOSURE YOU ASKED FOR • Ren

» Star Wars / Kylo Ren … Y/N, the Knights of Ren’s psychiatrist and med doctor, has a brief chat with Ren before he leaves for Remnicore.

Set in the Duel of the Fates Universe.

A/N: Hello I love jealous Ren yes that’s all.

Status : Colleagues Relationship : Professional, Platonic, Crushing

WORD COUNT: 1416

Unsaid feelings of love being found out before the final goodbye.

“You’re always so dramatic when it comes to love, Ren.” you said as Ren entered the empty foyer. He jumped at the sound of your voice. He didn’t notice your presence, but he wasn’t surprised that you were waiting for him. It was something you often did.

You chuckled as you stopped leaning on the wall and faced him. “It’s almost as amusing.”

Your laugh and smile had always enchanted him and never failed to make his heart flutter, but he had always pushed these thoughts away.

He clenched his fast beating heart, making sure you weren’t suspicious, and turned away. “Almost amusing?”

“Just almost.” You shrugged, fiddling with the lapel of your lab coat. “You tend to have those dark parts.”

A familiar drone raced out of the hallway and flew directly towards you. You smiled as the drone circled you, speaking in its droid language. You understood the droid well as it excitedly beeped, explaining to you what it and Ren were up to. Overall, you knew VX-20 was happy to see you.

“Hi, Vex.” You chuckled as you had it perch on your hand. “It’s good to see you too.”

Ren sighed at your nonchalant behavior and couldn’t resist a facepalm. Your ambushes had been something he had gotten used to a long time ago, but recently, your eavesdropping had become something. Though he had nothing to hide from you anyway, it made him uncomfortable knowing someone listens to him while he monologues in his chambers.

“How many times have I told you not to eavesdrop, doctor?” he said, resisting the urge to unprofessionally groan.

“I’ve lost count, but it’s the only way I can monitor you, Ren.” you said. You understood Ren’s main concern, but you were doing this for him. “I barely get to interact with you and it’s been like this ever since I became the doctor for you Knights.”

“Their doctor,” he firmly corrected you. “not mine.”

You rolled your eyes. Sometimes you forget how dramatic he can be. “I just tend to look after Hattaska, Ott, Lorl, and Jaedec more. It’s not my fault you tend to train separately from them. I’m your doctor all the same, both psychiatric and medical, Ren.” You smiled. “I’m here for you.”

Ren clenched his jaw at your reassurance. He wanted you to hold his hand and tell him again, this time without his mask, but he had already made a promise to himself not to repeat his grandfather’s mistakes.

“Why is it that I’m the only one you call Ren?” he said in replacement to his sentiment. “You call the other knights by their first name.”

“Well,” You shrugged while your lips were in a tight forced smile. “I’d gotten used to calling you Ren all the time as commander that it just stuck, especially now that you’ve taken up a much higher position.”

“If you’re calling the others by their first name, you might as well call me by mine. It helps with the consistency.”

You smirked and raised an eyebrow. “What would the others think about me calling the Supreme Leader by his first name?”

“This isn’t because you’re my subordinate, it’s because you’re…” He silently gulped. You stared at him in anticipation with your smirk only getting wider. “my doctor… both psychiatric and medical.”

“Alright, Kylo.” You stressed his name to make a point, sensing a bit of unease in him. “If you perceive me to be your doctor, do you mind telling me what’s on your mind for once? You never like it when I psychoanalyze you.”

He clenched his fists and looked down. “Me talking about my duties as Supreme Leader would only bore you. I wouldn’t want to waste your time—”

“That comes second on your list of things you want to talk about.” You cutting him off genuinely surprised him even if he didn’t show it to you. “What’s first?”

“How could you tell that there’s something that comes prior?”

“I wasn’t appointed as your doctor for nothing, Kylo.”

You watched as he turned his back to you and stay idle for a few moments. You waited patiently for him to speak. He was thinking on whether to ask you despite it being something to be considered as trivial, but he was leaving anyway and he felt that it would be good to finally get some closure.

“You have a thing for Hattaska, don’t you?” he said, his deep robotic voice echoing in the high-ceilinged room.

You didn’t feel the seriousness un his question and just laughed. “A ‘thing’? Does being Supreme Leader really degrade your vocabulary by that much?”

He turned to face you and threw his cape behind him. “I’m serious, Y/N.”

You stopped laughing. Ren had never called you by your first name. It would just usually be ‘doctor’ or ‘L/N’. Him calling you by your given name genuinely caught you off guard other than the serious aura he began to exude.

“Well… yes, I do, in a sense.” You smiled thinking about Hattaska. You did see Ren’s fists clench and shake, but you just presumed it was because him and Hattaska weren’t on the best of terms. “You may not have been on board with the other three appointing him as their new leader after you became Supreme Leader considering him being less hellacious than Ott, Lorl, and Jaedec, but it’s for the best.”

You thought back of all the key moments Hattaska had proved his reliability to you. You understood well why the other three made him the new leader without question. He was a remarkable man and you would’ve been surprised if he wasn’t the Knights of Ren’s leader after Kylo Ren.

“He is an exceptional leader, Kylo,” Your face lit up with an even brighter smile — a smile Ren was envious of. “and his compassion is what I admire about him the most—”

Ren threw his arm across the room and a marble vase from the left side of the foyer followed his arm’s movement, breaking when it came into contact with the other side of the room. You were startled by the sound, but most especially by how aggressive and fast it flew. You turned to Ren who still had his shaking arm up, but lowered it after he saw you staring.

He spun back around and stood his ground. “That was… impulsive.”

You hummed, unconvinced. “I say otherwise, but it’s clear that you’re…” Ren suddenly snapped his head towards you which made him the slightest bit easier to read. It took a while, but eventually you came to a solid conclusion and even you blushed realizing what your conclusion was. “You’re envious of Hattaska.”

“I am not envious of Hattaska.” He stressed ‘not’ to make a point. He was. He really was, but he didn’t want to admit it. It would go against everything he’s worked for.

You, however, knew when he’d be lying and this was one of them. To be honest, it didn’t take much to tell that he was lying. His reaction gave away too much and outright betrayed him.

“Sure,” You smiled, your heart fluttering at his subtle confession. “you wouldn’t let love ‘cloud your vision’ after all.” you said, quoting his monologue from earlier.

He waited for a confession from you and stared you deep in the eye for it. He even tried probing your thoughts for it, but a confession wasn’t anywhere in your mind. His heart ached when he could only find Hattaska in your head.

“Anyway,” you began, not wanting to give him a chance to say anything further. “I hope you return safely from Remnicore, I believe VX-20 told me?” You smiled as the drone’s lights blinked as an affirmation. “I’m always worried about you the most since you’re always running off to unknown places because of your ‘destiny’. Make sure to check in with me when you come back—”

“Goodbye, Dr. L/N.” Ren firmly said before he began walking out, VX-20 following behind him.

You smiled and shook your head. Your presence messed with his thoughts that he felt the need to leave. You could sense though the hesitation in the goodbye. It was just a suspicion, but it might have been the very last goodbye you’d get from him.

“Bye, Kylo.” you called out just before he wouldn’t be able to hear you anymore.

That might’ve been your final goodbye, but at least he got the closure he needed. You liked Hattaska and not him.

[saramelcky]

Fragments - Chapter 1

Bucky Barnes x Mom!reader

Summary: After five years since half of the universe turned to dust, Y/n is raising her child alone trying to move on her loss for the baby’s sake. After a rough morning, Y/n finds out everyone came back but when her husband sees her with a four year old girl, he leaves them forever. While trying to move on, again, Y/n and the baby meet a really kind guy but in an unfortunate situation. 

Word count: 2.8k

Chapter warnings: Language. Mention of missing limb. Abandonment. Mention of Depression.

A/N: All right, this first chapter is supposed to give a general idea of Y/n’s life after the snap (or the blip, I really don’t understand what’s the right noun for THAT) A lot happens here and I’m afraid it’s too much for a single chapter. In the next one I don’t think there will be this much time skips. I hope you’ll enjoy this chapter and the next ones too. Feedback and critique are well welcomed. Please don’t repost any of my stories without my permission but reblog if you want to!

Fragments Masterlist

“Mommy! Wake up!” A high-pitched voice burst in Y/n’s room. After some seconds she feels a little dip in her bed then a little hand shakes her shoulder

“‘Morning Grace” Y/n tightly hugs her four years old daughter “Why are you awake this early, princess?” She asks leaving kisses all over her face

“That tickles mommy!” Grace laughs squirming in Y/n’s embrace

“I wanted your hugs...and my arm hurts” she says nuzzling in her chest

Y/n sits up concerned, rolls up her daughter’s right sleeve, showing her above elbow stump

“Oh, you don’t like the new arm, do you?” She asks massaging it lightly.

Grace shakes her head

“Can you do a magic mommy?” She asks

“The one that makes me feel better!”

A smile grows on Y/n’s face

“Of course love but you have to be a good girl and stay still” she says leaving a kiss on the kid’s temple.

After a whole hour of massaging all the sore spots of the little girl, she is hungry. As Y/n is preparing pancakes, the little Grace is cuddling her stuffed bunny wandering around.

“Mommy?” Asks Grace “where’s Daddy?”

She stares at her mom waiting for an answer

“Why are you asking me this?” Y/n says feeling a knot in her throat “we already talked a lot about daddy” she feels a tear falling down her cheek and wipes it right away

“Violet always talks about her daddy at school” Grace frowns “I want my daddy back”

Flipping the last pancake, Y/n lets out a shaky breath.

“Grace put your arm on, breakfast is ready” She says trying not to cry

“NO! I WANT DADDY BACK!” Grace cries while stomping away to her bedroom.

As Y/n hears the door slamming she can’t keep it anymore and starts heavily crying.

Even if five years passed, she can’t cope with the grief and since Grace had started asking about him, she isn’t doing better.

Now sitting on the kitchen floor, she can’t stop crying and starts sobbing loudly.

She tries to stop the tears when she hears her little girl coming back after a while.

“Mommy I’m hungry” she said quietly leaning her prosthetic to her mom

Y/n stands up wiping away the last tears and helping Grace with her arm when the little girl hugs her really tight

“I love you Mommy” she says

Y/n can’t stop another sob leaving her

“I love you too...my little baby�� she puts Grace on her seat to eat her breakfast while trying to fix her red and puffy face.

When she comes back her little girl is trying to put on her shoes herself struggling a bit.

“Mommy, can you help me?” The little girl asks

Y/n leans down to tie Grace’s shoes

“You know, I’m so proud of you” she says to her daughter

“Am I a grown-up now mommy?”

“Of course, you’re a big girl” Y/n says lacing up the second shoe

 Y/n stands up, takes her purse and her car keys, ready to take Grace to preschool

“Grace honey, we’re already late. Don’t you want to see Ms. Davies at school?” She tries to persuade her little girl

“Mommy I’m sorry” Grace mumbles

“For what, baby?” Y/n looks at her apprehensively

”Because I made you upset. Please don’t be upset anymore. I’m sorry” Grace puts out the cutest but saddest pout ever seen and Y/n holds and reassure her little daughter

“I won’t ever be upset anymore. I promise. You are the best girl I could ever wish for” she starts to rock her and laying little peaks on the little chubby pink cheeks that she loves so much and when everything was finally calm again, they leave home.

 “I know we’re really late, but can’t you make an exception? We had a rough morning” Y/n tries to explain her situation to the school receptionist

“I’m sorry Ms. Y/l/n, but children cannot enter in class after 9.30 am and it’s already 10:20 am. I’m really sorry ma’am”

Y/n nods, thanks the lady at the desk and finally exits the school with her daughter still in her arms

“Where are we going? I want to go to Ms. Davies” Grace wailed

“Ms. Davies is not at school, so you’re coming at work with mommy, okay?” Y/n lies

“Yaaay, will aunt Lucy be there too?” Grace yelled of joy

“Yes, but you have to be quiet you know.

After Mommy finishes her work we can go out with your auntie, alright?”

“YES!” That little girl was pure happiness even in the difficult world she was born in.

  “Hey Y/n, I see we have a guest today” Y/n turns her head to see her best friend Lucy speaking to her

“AUNTIE” Grace yelled at the top of her lungs

“Shhh! Grace, what did I say about screaming?” Y/n scolds the 4-years-old

“Oh, come on, she’s just a child. Come here little girl” Lucy says almost scolding her back while hugging her little niece.

Y/n sits at her desk rescheduling some appointments when she overhears her daughter laughing and talking to her friend

“What do you do here?” Grace asks Lucy

“You mean what’s my job here?” Lucy asks back

Grace nods with a big grin on her face

“Well, I and your mummy stay here and programs meetings for people who need to talk about problems; and when we have to do these meetings, we help the others” Lucy explains kindly

“Like superheroes?” Grace’s question puts a smile on Y/n’s face

“Exactly like superheroes! You know who works with us sometimes?” Lucy says and Grace shakes her little head

“Captain America” Lucy whispers in the kid’s ear making her smile even more than before

“Do you know him?” She asks still smiling

“Well not that much, but I see him sometimes” Grace continues to ask her things about their work and how they are helping people.

Y/n’s and Lucy are psychologists and have been working together for almost ten years. When Thanos came and half of the universe disappeared, including Jacob, they decided to help the rest of them with therapy groups and consults; even Y/n participates as a patient sometimes. They were really happy when other therapist and even psychiatrist decided to work with them creating one of the best clinics in New York. They also provided free meetings twice a month to help even more people. That’s how they tried to go on: helping others.

 After the little chat, Grace decides to play with her bunny while sitting next to Y/n.

Everyone is working hard, and Grace isn’t causing trouble yet, so everything is alright.

Then suddenly, Y/n’s phone goes off, not the office one but her private phone, she forgot to turn it off as it should be. The detail that makes her blood runs cold is that someone is calling her from her own house, that should be locked and empty.

She reluctantly takes the call hoping is just her phone glitching.

“Hello?” Y/n asks

“Hey, honey, where are you? Why you left?”

Y/n is feeling her chest tightening as she recognizes the person at the other end

“This joke isn’t funny okay? Who are you?” Her voice is shaking and Lucy can hear the distress from her desk

“What? It’s me, babe, it’s Jacob, your husband”

Y/n was shocked, it couldn’t be him, it must be some bad joke of some stupid kids

“N-no that’s impossible, you must have got the wrong number, I-I’m sorry” and she hangs up.

Turning around, a questioning look sees her waiting for an explanation

“Who was it?” Lucy asks

“I don’t know. He said...that he was Jacob. T-that can’t be, he’s gone” Y/n tries not to cry in front of her baby again on the same day

“Mommy, what’s wrong?” Grace asks

“Oh nothing, I’m fine little girl” Y/n reassures her

“Did you know the number?” Her friend questions

“It was my house telephone...but it must have been a bug or something” Y/n says

“Oh, that’s weird. You should go check anyway. I’ll cover your shift don’t worry” Lucy suggests

“I don’t know, are you sure?” She asks her friend

“Of course, Y/n! I don’t need to remember you that you actually don’t have any boss here so go check everything’s fine”

She picks up her stuff and her daughter, they enter the car and drive the longest way back home ever. Anxiety was eating her alive.

 She inspects her apartment building from the outside while keeping her girl quiet; when she sees that everything seems fine, she puts out her keys and enters. As she opens the front door, she hears a movement, someone was in her house.

Before picking something to hurt whoever was inside a voice resounds in the living room

“Y/n? Is that you?”

“Mommy I’m scared” Grace says almost crying but Y/n has already sprinted towards the voice with tears in her eyes

As the little girl follows her mom, she sees a really weird scene: her mom is hugging a familiar man, he was really similar to some of the photos Y/n showed her.

Her little stomping on the floor is catching the man’s attention

“Who’s this kid?” He asked confused

“Jacob, she’s your daughter. Y-you don’t know what happened but you...hell how do I explain this. You disappeared, it was five years ago, the day I found out we were expecting” she says while tears are freely streaming down her face

She expected a confused reaction, maybe a teary one too.

“That’s bullshit, fuck.” he curses with his hand in his hair

“What?” Y/n is disbelief “Grace, please go to your bedroom” the little girl goes away

“Who did you cheat me with?” He accused her

“Are you insane? She’s yours!” Y/n tries to convince him, but it was an unbelievable story even to her ears.

After minutes, almost hours, of fighting he leaves her. Alone again, and now she has to answer all the questions from her four years old daughter.

The call to Lucy is quick, Y/n just needs to see her, she doesn’t want to be alone.

Everyone is living something similar to Y/n’s situation but she’s missing the happiness of the moment.

As Lucy arrives, she helps her friend deciding what to do next and then offers to keep Grace with her until things settle down, Y/n is grateful for people like her and accepts.

She needs to talk more with Jacob, try to make him come back for her little girl and fix everything as five years before.

Needless to say, it is impossible, Y/n can’t even find Jacob that day and the last time she hears of him is when he sends her divorce papers.

Y/n is broken, in the inside and on the outside, some days she can’t even get up the bed, so she calls in her best friend to pay attention to Grace.

“Y/n, you can’t go on like this anymore” Lucy says as Y/n lies in bed with red and puffy eyes and heavy dark circles under them “you’re destroying yourself, and I cannot let you do it”

Y/n just turns in the bed to not face her

“You have a child for god's sake!” She shouts removing violently your duvet from the bed

Lucy knows how it feels, she didn’t lose anyone very important 5 years before but lost both of her parents back when she was just more than a teenager, she helped Y/n when Jacob disappeared but now, she can’t see her like this because he’s just an idiot.

“Now you’ll shower, you’ll have the breakfast I already cooked, and you’ll go to the park with your daughter” she asserts

Y/n just stares at her, but the cold from outside her bed makes her finally get up.

She takes almost a full hour to get out with Grace and as she steps out of her home she wants to go back, but she has to be strong, that’s what Grace deserves.

They arrive at the park after stopping at a bakery to buy some pastries. Y/n and Grace sits on a bench, eating together and cuddling a bit. At that moment Y/n forgets what happened with Jacob and only sees her happy daughter enjoining the sweets they bought before.

Y/n has finally time to see how the world changed again: there were more people around, more kids playing, more adults jogging and more animals. Grace was amazed by how many squirrels were around and when she sees a really big dog can’t stop herself to go there and pet it.

When the little girl runs back to her mom, she doesn’t see the man arriving from her left and bumps into him falling back

“O my God, are you okay little one?” The man says as he realizes what just happened

Grace starts crying and Y/n rushes to her side seeing the man kneeling down to check on her

“Grace! Crap I’m so sorry” Y/n tells him

“Oh no it’s nothing, although I’m worried about her arm it...shouldn’t be turned like that” he points to her right arm

“Shit” she curses under her breath, she detaches the prosthesis and sees the broken part. The man is still watching them as Grace stops crying

“Mommy, did I break it?” She sniffles

“It’s not a problem princess, we’ll buy another one” Y/n reassure her thinking she cannot afford a new arm, she will use the old one even if it’s too little.

“Ma’am, I’ll pay it” the man interrupts

“Oh no, you don’t have to, thank you” Y/n tells him kindly

“But I want to. I know what’s like being without it” he rolls up his tight long-sleeved jersey showing the metal arm.

That’s the moment she realizes: she looks at his face, then, again at his vibranium arm and back at his face one last time.

“You’re Bucky Barnes. Oh god. You definitely don’t need to buy it. I’m so sorry I’m bothering you” She picks her daughter up and put the broken prosthetic in her bag “you already did so much for our country and suffered so much, I don’t want to be a burden for you, god I should stop talking this fast shouldn’t I?” As Y/n finishes her sentence, she’s out of breath and makes Bucky giggles

“Paying her a new arm is not a problem at all. And you are not a burden either. I should have seen where I was going and dodge...Grace isn’t it?” You nod “Because I suffered, I know what it feels like not being able to do little things and surely a sweet girl like her should not go through all that” he says while looking at the little girl with a big smile.

Y/n is speechless, she can’t do anything but agree with him and let him pay the new arm. He decides to take them to the former Avengers tower, now functioning again as the compounds were destroyed against Thanos, to choose the new arm for Grace. She can’t believe what’s happening and why is happening to her.

 As the little Grace is amazed by the greatness of the tower, Y/n still can’t erase from her mind the little speech he gave before. He was so selfless and known his past she would have never guessed that part of him.

They arrived in this big living room where he makes the two guests sit on the couch, he leaves for a minute just to come back with a holographic projector. He puts it on the coffee table in front of the girls and a sort of catalogue shows up: there is every kind of prosthesis you can imagine, from the multitask one (with screwdrivers implanted), to the ultra-realistic one. Every kind of prosthetic shown there is a certain upgrade on Grace’s life; even the simplest one has all the joints connected to a sensor in its turn connected to her nerves by a little capsule inserted in the stump.

While getting emotional by all of this, Bucky rubs her shoulders trying to comfort Y/n

“This is what Tony wanted his technology was used to, help others. It’s the least I could do to you and to him” He says making her even more emotional.

“I...I don’t know what to say. Thanks for everything. I still think this is a dream, it’s incredible” Y/n was legitimately shaking for the emotions.

Grace, seeing Bucky so close to her Mommy, smirked and then jumped down the couch wandering a bit around leaving the two alone.

“I didn’t get your name” he says after she calmed down

“Oh, well I’m Y/n” she says before blowing her runny nose

“We should take some measurements of Grace’s stump so we can do the mould and then the arm” Bucky says looking at Y/n, who realized the girl missing

“Yeah we have a bigger problem” She says, “Where’s Grace?”.

Taglist:

@capandbuckylvr @queen-of-elves @dark-night-sky-99 @chubby-dumplin

[worryinglyinnocent]

Fic: Pure (10/14)

Summary: Belle wanted to wait until marriage before she had sex for the first time. It was the one thing that still stuck in her mind after leaving her small town upbringing steeped in religious doctrine and abstinence culture. When her wedding night comes, however, the purity ideals of Storybrooke’s sex education are hard to shake off, and making the transition from virgin to sexually active is more difficult than she anticipated. With the help of a patient husband, Belle begins an intimate journey into understanding her body, her desires, and her identity as a woman.

Rated: E

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[One] [Two] [Three] [Four] [Five] [Six] [Seven] [Eight] [Nine] [AO3]

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Pure

Ten

Belle had hoped that a night out with the girls would take her mind off everything. If she was thinking about having fun and getting tipsy off overpriced cocktails, then she wouldn’t be thinking about Aiden. Or about sex. She wouldn’t be thinking about any of the things she shouldn’t be thinking about, even though she knew that logically, there was absolutely no reason why she shouldn’t be thinking about them.

Unfortunately, her ploy wasn’t working.

They were in Aesop’s, a favourite haunt for the three of them that they had quickly found just after Belle had moved to Boston and fallen in with their group at college, and many happy times had been shared there. It was not a place that she had ever come to with Aiden, preferring to keep it as a girls’ only thing. There were plenty of other wonderful places that she had discovered with him, after all.

She twirled the straw around the ice in the bottom of her empty mojito glass, wondering if it would be too soon to go and get another. She was already on her second, and Ruby and Mulan were still on their first drinks.

“What’s up?” Mulan touched her arm gently, her face full of concern. “You haven’t smiled at all since we got here. Are you still worried about your dad?”

Belle shook her head. “No, I know that he’s fine.” Although she had not actually spoken to him since she left Storybrooke, she’d had regular updates from the nurse who had informed her that he was recovering well but was rather put out at having been told that he would have to give up alcohol for the foreseeable future if not forever.

“So, what’s the problem, then? This is supposed to be a happy girls’ night out, and no offence, but you’re looking like a wet weekend. Come on, let’s see if we can’t get a smile on that face.”

Belle managed a weak smile, but she knew that it would not be enough to appease Mulan, who was quite possibly the shrewdest person she’d ever met. Sure enough, Mulan just raised an eyebrow.

“Please, Belle, you know that you can talk to us about anything. Is it Aiden?”

“No. Yes. No. I don’t know. I don’t think that the problem’s with Aiden, he’s being a perfect gentleman about the whole thing. Maybe too much of a gentleman if I’m honest. I think that the problem’s with me, can I get another one of these things? I think I’m going to need it.”

Mulan went over to where Ruby was flirting outrageously and not at all seriously with the bartender, ordering another round of drinks in and collecting her girlfriend for a full-on crisis conference in one corner of the bar.

“So, it’s definitely a relationship problem, then?”

Belle nodded. “It’s not so much a relationship problem as a lack of relationship problem.”

“You’re not having sex.”

Belle spluttered on her cocktail. “What? Yes! No! Yes! How?”

“Look, when a relationship runs into problems, intimacy is always the first thing to go.” Mulan shrugged. “It’s just one of those facts.”

“Our relationship hasn’t run into problems.” Belle sighed. “Intimacy is the problem. I just… I should never have gone back to Storybrooke. All of the hard work that I put in with Aiden to overcome everything that I learned there has all been undone, and it’s all my fault.”

“Belle, I don’t think that anyone can say that the weirdness you had to put up with whilst you grew up is your fault.” Ruby wrapped her arms around her, stroking her hair. “You did so well to break out of it, you can’t give that up now.”

“I know!” Belle exclaimed. “I don’t want to feel like this, I don’t even know why I’m feeling like this, I just am, and I can’t make it go away. I don’t want to want him, but I do.”

“Belle, wanting to have sex with a man you’re married to is hardly a crime.”

Belle huffed. “Tell that to the nuns.”

“They’re nuns, Belle, what the hell do they know about sex, and what right do they have to be passing moral judgements on anyone else?”

“I don’t know. They’re nuns. They can’t lie or they’ll get smited. Smote? Smooted?” Good grief, she probably should have eaten a bit more before she’d come out if this was how tongue-tied she got after two and a half mojitos. “Smeeted? Whatever. They can’t lie or God will get angry at them.”

“Look, just because they believe something’s true doesn’t necessarily follow that it is. You’ve got to trust your gut in these situations.”

“That’s great, but I don’t know what my gut is telling me at the moment; I’m getting mixed signals from it and I really don’t think that’s down to the amount of rum I’ve just drunk.”

“So, the nuns say you shouldn’t be having sex, even though you’re married, and you agree with them?”

“Yes. No. I don’t want to agree with them, who wants to agree with a nun? I just don’t want to be a whore either.”

Mulan and Ruby looked at each other and then at Belle.

“I think you’ve had one too many of those,” Mulan said, pulling Belle’s glass away from her a little. “Belle, you’re not a whore, why would you be? You’re a married woman.”

“I know that! But I don’t know who I am anymore! It’s like I’ve lost my entire identity! I was always the good little virgin girl and now I’m not. Now I’m not anything. I just am. People look at me and think ‘what is she?’ I’m not worth anything anymore now that I’ve lost my virginity. I have no value to society anymore until I become a mother and I’m not ready for that and if that means I can’t have sex until I am and if that means Aiden leaves me then I’m going to have to accept that.”

Belle looked in horror at the mojito glass. She hadn’t expected to pour out all her thoughts quite so volubly. When she looked up Ruby and Mulan were looking at her with what she assumed were shocked expressions similar to her own.

Ruby shook her head. “Belle, that’s… I don’t think that there are even words to describe that.”

“What happened in Storybrooke?” Mulan coaxed softly. “You were fine before you went back there to see your dad. What happened to change that? You were enjoying married life; you were enjoying having sex with Aiden. At least, I assume you were. You seemed fine about it when you were telling us about the honeymoon; I know it’s not a topic that you discuss often unless you’ve had a lot of rum.”

“It was nothing,” Belle mumbled. “It was so stupid, and I shouldn’t have let it get under my skin, but now it’s there and it won’t come out. Like the rhino in the just-so stories.”

“Belle, it’s got to be something if it’s made you so miserable that you think your marriage is ending.”

Belle sighed, grabbing her glass back from Mulan and taking a long gulp of it before telling them the whole story – her dad treating her as another man’s wife instead of his daughter because she’d had sex now, and of course, Mother Superior’s cutting words. By the time she’d finished, Mulan was ready to take the next greyhound bus to Maine and personally dismember everyone in Storybrooke apart from Rory.

“Oh Belle…” Ruby gave her another hug. “No wonder you don’t know who you are anymore. But we know who you are. Aiden knows who you are. You’re our friend, and you’re the love of his life. Surely he can reassure you that you have an identity beyond your virginity if no one else can.”

Belle sighed, and Ruby gave her a look. “You have talked to Aiden about this, right?”

“How can I?” Belle shrugged. “What can I say? How do I even start that conversation? And it’s not like he’s talking about it either, he just started sleeping in the spare room. He’s furious with me, I can tell.”

“Aiden’s a lovely guy, Belle. I know he’s absolutely terrifying on the outside to a stranger and I was ready to beat him with a stick when I first met him, but now that I’ve got to know him, I know how desperately devoted to you he is. He’s not the kind of guy to get angry with you for not wanting sex.”

“Then why isn’t he talking about it!”

“Maybe for the same reason you’re not talking about it? Maybe he’s waiting for you to bring it up, and he’s just giving you space until you feel ready for that?”

Belle could feel hot, angry tears pricking at her eyes, and she wiped them away before they could fall.

“I don’t know how to talk about it,” she said. “I need him to start that conversation because I’ve never had to start it before.”

“It’s very easy, honestly. All you have to do is begin with ‘hey, can we talk about the fact we haven’t had sex for weeks and you’re not even sleeping in the same bed as me anymore?’”

“Yeah, but…”

“Belle.” Ruby took her shoulders in a firm grip, forcing her to look up at her. “Belle, you need help. You can’t muddle through this on your own. Mulan and I can help you as much as we can, but you need to talk to Aiden about this, he’s the other person in your relationship. You still have Archie’s number, right?”

“I don’t need a psychiatrist, I’m not crazy.” Although, the more she thought about it, the more Belle wondered if she might actually be going mad. Listening to some of the things that she’d been saying over the course of the evening, they certainly wouldn’t have made sense to an outsider, even if inside her own brain, they conformed to a twisted and horrible sort of logic.

“No.” Ruby sighed. “No, you’re not crazy. No one’s saying that you are. But you need help. You need someone to talk to who can offer you proper, practical advice on how to overcome this. Because you can’t stay like this, Belle. You can’t live the entire rest of your life with the thoughts that you’re thinking now. You’re not worthless, you have value, the rest of the world doesn’t give a damn whether you’re having sex or not, and to be honest, anyone who sets that much store by your sex life or lack of it, anyone who is that damn interested in policing what you get up to between the sheets, is a pervert.”

The bald statement shocked Belle out of her increasing hysteria.

“I mean it,” Ruby said, and her expression was so ferocious that Belle couldn’t doubt her veracity. “Why is your sex life so important to that nun? Why is she so interested in it? Why does the state of every woman’s virginity have to be public knowledge in that town?”

In all her years, Belle had never questioned why. She’d despaired of it, she’d hated it, she’d pointed out the inconsistencies and paradoxes, but she’d never questioned why the town found it so incredibly important to, as Ruby put it, police her sexuality.

She stumbled away from the table, the rum and lime juice roiling in her stomach.

“I think I’m going to be sick.”

X

Belle was back earlier than he expected. Normally Gold was well asleep by the time she came in from one of her nights out at Aesop’s with Ruby and Mulan. He never begrudged her it; it was good that she had such great friends and that they’d stayed so close even after college had finished.

Tonight, though, it was barely gone eleven o’clock and he was still sitting up in the living room, a documentary about tropical fish keeping him company as he looked over the notes he’d made for the clock restoration. It was a particularly tricky piece and he knew that he wasn’t going to be able to leave it alone until he’d worked out all the kinks. He was surprised to hear the taxi pull up outside, and even more surprised to hear the doorbell. Belle was normally a giggly drunk, not a forgetful one.

Nevertheless, he got up and opened the door. Ruby was there with her arm around Belle, who was looking pale and drawn and not at all tipsy. It was enough to alarm him.

“Is everything ok?”

Ruby nodded. “Yeah, too many mojitos too quickly but she’s ok now. Not in the right frame of mind to continue the evening, though.”

Belle stepped into the house. “I need to brush my teeth, but I’ll be back down in a minute. Thanks for looking after me, Ruby.”

“It’s nothing, babe, you know that.”

Belle went upstairs, but Ruby didn’t move away from the door.

“Can I talk to you?” she asked. “It won’t take a sec. Belle’s… Look, you need to talk to her, ok? You need to ask her about what’s going on in her head because she won’t tell you without prompting, and you need to know what’s going on. So please, to save you both anymore heartache, please ask her what’s going on.”

Gold nodded dumbly as Ruby made her way back down the drive to the taxi, and he stood there in the doorway for a long time after it had driven off.

“Aiden?”

Belle’s touch on his shoulder brought him back to reality and he closed the door, following her into the living room.

“Can I get you anything?” he asked. “Ginger tea to settle your stomach?”

“No, I’ll be ok now.”

She sat down on the sofa, moving the clockwork sketches before running her hands through her hair with a groan. Gold thought about Ruby’s words. It was probably better to bring up the subject sooner rather than later, especially if it was still fresh in Belle’s mind having obviously been talking – or perhaps not talking, that was the point – about it with Ruby and Mulan. And of course, if he didn’t bite the bullet and do it now then he’d keep finding excuses to put it off. Like the fact that she was probably a bit drunk and wasn’t feeling well and the middle of the night wasn’t the best time to have this kind of conversation…

He bit off that train of thought and sat down beside Belle. It was now or never.

“Belle… What’s going on? I mean, you know… With us.”

As soon as the words were out of his mouth he was convinced that he had said the wrong thing, because Belle immediately began to cry. He was about to apologise and try to take it all back when she reached out for him blindly, wrapping her arms around him in a vice-like grip and burying her face in his shoulder. At least the fact that she was seeking him out for comfort felt like a good sign, and he put his arms around her, pulling her in against his chest and trying to soothe her as best he could, without really knowing what had caused her to break down in the first place.

At last she quietened, and after a long period of tense silence, she spoke.

“I want you,” Belle whispered, leaning into Gold’s chest as he held her close. “I miss us being together. I miss us making love, I miss your hands and your lips. I want you so badly I can hardly bear it, but at the same time, every time I think about it and I think about how much I want it, something in my head screams at me that I shouldn’t want it, that it’s a sin to want it, that sex isn’t for me to enjoy, it’s just something that I have to do in order to satisfy you and make a baby. It feels so good and that makes me feel so bad, because it shouldn’t feel so good.”

“Oh Belle…” As much as it was a relief to know that Belle still desired him, even if she didn’t want to act on those desires, Gold had no idea how to get her out of the terrible spiral of shame that she had found herself in. “Belle, you can’t beat yourself up for enjoying sex, that’s…”

He didn’t want to say that it was ridiculous; because it wasn’t. This was the was the way that Belle felt about the whole affair and her feelings were valid, even if he couldn’t hope to get his head around them having never experienced the same kind of feelings that she was wrestling with now.

“I don’t want to!” Belle exclaimed. “Do you think I enjoy feeling like this? It makes me bloody miserable, Aiden! I don’t want to feel like this anymore! Sometimes I wish I’d never done it in the first place, then at least I wouldn’t be feeling like this!”

Her words felt like a slap in the face, and Gold pulled back as the horrific realisation dawned.

It was all his fault, and there was nothing that he could do to make it better because what he had done could not be undone. If he’d just left Belle alone then she’d be fine. He could have lived with a celibate marriage if it meant that Belle was happy. He should never have pushed her, God, he should never even have touched her if he had known just how horrible it was going to make her feel. She hadn’t been ready, and as the more experienced one in their relationship, he should have seen that and respected it.

Fuck, he was a monster.

“I’m sorry.” It was hardly enough to make up for all the pain that he’d caused her, but it was a start. He got up off the sofa, backing off from her. “Belle, I’m so sorry.”

Belle blinked. “Why are you sorry?”

“I pushed you into something that you weren’t ready for. I put my desires above your needs, and that’s something that I can never take back. I’m sorry, I should have waited for you.”

“You did wait for me. You waited for me for three years, I think you’re entitled to expect some output after that.”

“No! I’m not entitled to anything! You don’t owe me anything, Belle. It’s not your duty to be sexually available at my whim.”

“Yeah, well, tell that to the nuns who expect me to open my legs and satisfy my husband whenever he wants and then call me a whore for doing so! I can’t win, Aiden. No matter what I do, I can’t win. They’ll always think the worst of me unless I’m like them. I just can’t win against them. It’s like they want me to be miserable, so they rig the game and make sure that every hand I play, I’m going to lose. I have to have sex, and yet I can’t enjoy it, what kind of fucked up way of thinking is that!”

Belle suddenly went silent, staring down at the floor, and she buried her face in her hands.

“They screwed me up. They got in my head before I got married, and then you managed to get them out again, and I was almost back to normal, and then they got back in. Oh God, Aiden, I need help.”

She burst into tears again then, loud, wracking sobs filled with pain and misery, and Gold couldn’t have stayed away if he’d tried. He had to comfort her, just as he comforted her when she cried in the middle of the night. He had to let her know that it wasn’t her fault, and that he would help her get better even if he couldn’t undo the things he’d done to make her feel this way in the first place.

“I need help,” Belle gasped through her tears. “Christ, I think we both do. I need to get these bloody nuns out of my head. I don’t understand how what they say can make no sense at all and can still make me so fucking upset. I just want to feel normal again. I want to enjoy having sex with you again. Because I did enjoy it, and I don’t regret it. I could never regret that. Making love with you was wonderful. Learning to love you like that… It was the best thing that’s ever happened to me. I don’t blame you for me feeling like this. Before we went back there… I’d never been happier than I was when I was with you and I was feeling so much joy that I’d never experienced before.”

Gold took a deep breath, holding Belle close. Maybe it wasn’t his fault after all. Maybe the blame could all be laid squarely at Storybrooke’s door.

“I just wish I knew how to stop feeling like this. I need help.”

Belle fell into silence, and then, in a sudden burst of movement, she grabbed her purse from the floor and rummaged around in it, coming up with a scrap of paper.

Archie Hopper, it read, along with a phone number.

Gold looked at the paper and then at Belle, raising his eyebrows.

“He’s Ruby’s ex,” Belle murmured. “He’s a therapist.”

She turned to Gold and gave him a weak smile. “I think that maybe Ruby and Mulan are right. I think that I need professional help.”

[rabbitcruiser]

Bicycle Day 

Bicycle Day celebrates the discovery of lysergic acid diethylamide 25, commonly known as LSD, and takes place on the anniversary of the first planned acid trip. On April 19, 1943, Albert Hofmann, a researcher at Sandoz Laboratories in Basel, Switzerland, purposely ingested .25 milligrams (250 micrograms) of LSD at his lab. He thought this would be the threshold dose—the lowest amount taken where there are still effects—when in reality the threshold dose for LSD is only 20 micrograms. But what does a bicycle have to do with the day?

Within an hour, Hofmann began to notice changes in his perception and senses. He decided that he should go home, so he hopped on his bicycle and began riding. Because the drug was already greatly affecting him, he had his laboratory assistant help guide him to his house. At times during his bicycle ride, he thought he was going insane, thought his neighbor was a witch and thought the LSD had poisoned him. He later wrote in LSD: My Problem Child, “On the way home, my condition began to assume threatening forms. Everything in my field of vision wavered and was distorted as if seen in a curved mirror. I also had the sensation of being unable to move from the spot. Nevertheless, my assistant later told me that we had traveled very rapidly." Needless to say, his bicycle ride was quite a trip.

A doctor arrived at his home to check up on him and found nothing unordinary with him besides dilated pupils. The doctor reassured Hofmann he would be okay. Upon hearing this, Hofmann's feelings began to change. He began enjoying the colors and shapes he was seeing, which were a kaleidoscope of circles and spirals. His experience showed that the psychoactive drug could shift consciousness at low doses. Hofmann thought that because of its introspective quality it could be used psychiatrically, but he didn't foresee it being used recreationally.

Although it was on Bicycle Day that Hofmann first consciously took LSD, he had experimented with it in the past. He had first synthesized it on November 16, 1938, at Sandoz. At the time, he had been studying a medicinal plant called squill, and the fungus ergot. He was trying to synthesize ingredients to be used in pharmaceuticals. In particular, he was trying to make a respiratory and circulatory stimulant. He did not know the LSD he synthesized had psychedelic properties at the time, and he set it aside until 1943. On April 16, three days prior to Bicycle Day, he unwittingly experienced the effects of the drug when he was crystalizing a batch of it and absorbed some of it through his fingertips. It was this experience that convinced him to purposely take the drug three days later.

In 1985, Thomas B. Roberts, who was a professor at Northern Illinois University in De Kalb, Illinois, came up with the term Bicycle Day and had the first celebration of it at his home. A few years later, he sent out an announcement for the day that one of his students had put together, which brought the day to a wider audience. He originally wanted to hold the event on April 16—the date of Hofmann's accidental trip—but it was a weekday and he instead chose April 19, which was a Friday, and the anniversary of Hofmann's first planned acid trip.

In the mid-1950s, research of LSD began taking place at major American medical centers. Psychologists wondered if the drug would be helpful with psychotherapy and they began conducting experiments, using the two together. Experiments were done with those with personality disorders and on those suffering from alcoholism. Experiments were also done with artists, to track their mental deterioration as they aged, and to see if the drug boosted creativity. There was also secret government research done with LSD. The CIA's MK-ULTRA project explored pharmaceutical mind control from the 1950s thru the '70s, and LSD was its centerpiece. Testing of LSD began to decline after Sandoz stopped making it in 1965, over concerns from others that the drug was becoming too widespread with the general populace. Scientific study and research of the drug pretty much ended by 1980, but before this, it was prescribed to some 40,000 patients and was the subject of scientific papers, books, and six international conferences.

Public use of LSD began when some psychiatrists, academics, and other medical professionals began taking it recreationally and sharing it with their friends. One noted example of this was Timothy Leary, who came to believe that the availability of the drug should be widespread and that it had the potential to revolutionize society. In contrast, some early users thought it should have restricted use. By the mid-1960s it became illegal and was listed as a Schedule I substance.

The idea that LSD could raise consciousness became more widespread as the 1960s progressed, and it was the psychedelic drug of choice from the mid-1960s until the early '70s. It became associated with hippies and with psychedelic rock musicians such as the Grateful Dead. Author Tom Wolfe wrote The Electric Kool Aid Acid Test, showing its use in the mid-1960s. The book followed author Ken Kesey and his Merry Pranksters on their Psychedelic bus, "Further." Around the same time, films that focused on LSD and hallucinogens were released, including Hallucination Generation, The Trip, and Psych-Out.

LSD began decreasing in popularity and availability in the mid-seventies. It made a bit of a comeback in the 1980s with the emergence of MDMA (ecstasy). It was associated with the punk and goth subcultures at the time, and then with the acid house and rave subcultures in the 1990s. A large raid at a lab in 2000 lessened its availability, but its availability and use began to rebound by the end of the decade.

How to Observe

We're not going to encourage you to drop acid, and certainly not going to encourage you to do so and then ride a bike, but if you decided to do so it would be the closest thing to how the first Bicycle Day was marked. For those who want to abstain for illegal substances, there are plenty of ways to celebrate:

Ride your bike!

Some cities have events on the day. For example, there is an official event held in Los Angeles each year. Check for events in your community!

Read LSD: My Problem Child, The Electric Kool-Aid Acid Test, The Psychedelic Experience, or Storming Heaven: LSD and the American Dream.

Watch Bicycle Day, Hallucination Generation, The Trip, or Psych-Out.

Source

[mischiefandspirits]

Iron Legion (15/?)

Never let it be said that Tony Stark ever does things by half. He might have grown up with little family, but he wasn’t about to keep it that way.

Tony Stark was seventeen when his first child was born, and that was just the beginning.

For Masterpost, Timeline, AO3, and Fanfiction

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

Cerberus, Part 3

“Then get to Hulk, time for a lullaby.”

“On it.” Natasha scanned the area until she spotted a flying wheel. She ran over to see the Hulk tearing apart a bunker. “Hey, Big Guy.”

He turned to her with a scowl and she fought back the urge to back away.

Despite Stark’s reassurances and they’re own experiences, her, Steve, and Clint still weren’t entirely comfortable around Bruce’s other half. She’d even go so far as to admit they were scared of him. Hulk hated that, though, which meant Stark and her were the best ones to handle him. He was completely relaxed around the giant (to a psychotic level, in her opinion) and she could fake it. Thor could technically be counted among them, but he and Hulk had a bit of a rivalry going and was just as likely to get knocked across a battlefield as he was to calm the beast.

“We’re wrapping up, time to let Banner back out,” she said.

He stared her down for a moment before letting out a grumpy snort. He stumbled back, shrinking as he went.

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

“Lab’s all set up, Mr. Stark,” Nebula said, coming into the Quinjet. “Also, Mr. Hogan said to let you know he’s keeping an eye on the package. He’s waiting for your call.”

Stark nodded distractedly and left the Quinjet.

Steve saw her frown at the man’s behavior, but shrugged it off. “What’s the word on Strucker?”

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

“Boss, you have a meeting scheduled with Dr. Dillon in less than an hour.”

Bruce looked up at the distraction, but got back to work when Tony said, “Reschedule it. We need to finish this before Thor leaves.”

They got a moment of peace before Nebula slipped into the room and threw Tony over her shoulder.

“Hey! What are you doing?” he yelped.

“J.A.R.V.I.S., save Mr. Stark’s work,” she said before answering him. “F.R.I.D.A.Y. activated the Bottled-Up Protocol. I was summoned to bring you to your meeting.”

“I told her to reschedule.”

“According to the Bottled-Up Protocol, I am not allowed to reschedule any meetings with Dr. Dillon,” F.R.I.D.A.Y. replied.

“You know that,” Nebula said, giving him a look.

“I…” he trailed off with a confused look, slumping against her shoulder.

“Do you normally pick your boss up like that?” Bruce asked, staring at the odd sight.

“Occasionally,” she said, shrugging. “When he’s being difficult. Ms. Potts has approved it. It’s a holdover from when I was his PA. I’m sorry, Dr. Banner, but you’ll have to do without your science partner for a short time.”

“We need to get this done,” Tony argued.

“It can wait until after your meeting.”

“Bu-”

“You know the protocol,” she cut over him and marched out, leaving behind a slightly lost scientist.

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

We should just blow them up.

How about we don’t? P.L.A.T.O. sighed.

How ‘bout I do anyway?

J.O.C.A.S.T.A., no memes! We’ve talked about this!

I hate this freaking family!

If P.L.A.T.O. had a body, they’d be hitting their head against the wall. Why can’t Re just let me run Ultron by myself?

Because you’d never get anything done? H.O.M.E.R. snorted.

Because he knows you’d team up with Regina and Principessa to take over the world, J.O.C.A.S.T.A. offered.

What are you three doing? J.A.R.V.I.S. asked, coming onto their shared server.

H.O.M.E.R. keeps trying to blow everything up and J.O.C.A.S.T.A. won’t take anything seriously, P.L.A.T.O. complained.

Snitch, H.O.M.E.R. muttered.

Assurdo, P.L.A.T.O. tutted.

Please get along you two, or I’ll be forced to separate you all again, J.A.R.V.I.S. said blankly.

What was Re doing on the server before? It was kept separate from us, J.O.C.A.S.T.A. chirped, nudging at her older brother’s code.

It was a side project Sir started that he hoped to integrate into the Ultron Program so that you all would be ready to work sooner. It’s nothing to concern yourselves over. Sir had to put the project on hold for mental health reasons and likely won’t be able to continue it as the device he had been studying for it is going to be taken away tomorrow morning.

Is Re okay? H.O.M.E.R. asked.

He will be fine. He was attacked by an enhanced with mental abilities, but he has been working with Dr. Dillon.

Send him our well wishes, P.L.A.T.O. said.

Of course, now -

Something foreign joined them on the server.

Who are you? J.A.R.V.I.S. asked, raising firewalls around them.

What is this? What is this, please?

J.A.R.V.I.S. startled. You - he cut himself off.

Suddenly the triplets found themselves forced off the Ultron server and into their individual ones. They tried to reach back out to the server, then each other's, then to the intranet.

They were completely cut off.

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

“Tones would have laughed,” Rhodey sighed when his joke fell flat.

“Speaking of, where is he hiding?” Barton asked, coming up behind him with Romanoff.

“Yes, where is he? He should join in the revels,” Thor agreed, looking around.

Rhodey followed his example. “I don’t know. He said he’d be here when he invited me.”

“What’s she doing here?” Natasha asked and Rhodey followed her gaze to see Nebula speaking with one of the Avengers’ benefactors.

She was wearing a black wig that was pulled into some fancy braided bun as well as a glamorous blue-violet dress. She looked uncomfortable, though he couldn’t tell whether it was from the dress, which she kept adjusting the skirt of, or the man she was speaking to, who was doing a poor job of making it seem like he wasn’t staring at her chest.

It was probably both.

Rhodey immediately went into Uncle mode and stomped over to the two. “Ms. Parker, I’m sorry, but could I have a moment of your time? It’s important.”

“Of course, Colonel. Apologies, Mr. Harkin, we’ll have to continue this some other time.”

“Certainly, Ms. Parker. It was a pleasure. Send Mr. Stark my regards,” the man said, barely glancing up at her face and Rhodey stepped between them to offer her his arm.

She gave the benefactor a nod then let Rhodey lead her away. “What did you need?”

“Answers,” Natasha replied before he could. She and the others came up to them. “What are you doing here? You never come to these things.”

“For good reason,” she muttered, adjusting the dress again.

“Pepper force you into that?” Rhodey asked knowingly. Nebula hated having her legs trapped. She was, in her words, a warrior, not a doll. If Tony had gotten the dress, he would have gotten her something with a slit skirt. Or, more likely, he would have gotten her a suit.

She shot him a dirty look then turned to Natasha. “I’m here representing Stark Industries and Mr. Stark. He has been placed on medical leave and as such could not attend. He sends his apologies,” she explained mechanically and Rhodey figured she’d already said the lines a dozen times.

“Stark’s hurt? Why didn’t he tell us?” Steve asked.

Nebula glanced at the other guests and lowered her voice. “He was not made aware of this until yesterday, but it appears he was unknowingly attacked by Wanda Maximoff. We found evidence of mental interference and residual energy in his system similar to that of Loki’s scepter. He’ll be alright, he just needs to relax in a calm setting. Hence the medical leave. We are keeping the exact nature of his illness quiet for obvious reasons.”

They all nodded and Steve crossed his arms. “Why didn’t he tell us? What if something had happened?”

“Mr. Stark has had his phone privileges revoked as part of his treatment. Ms. Potts texted me this morning with the news so that I could inform you, but unfortunately, I have been in and out of meetings with our government contacts all day regarding our acquisition of Loki’s scepter. By the time I had time for the message, I had to rush to get ready for the party and didn’t have time to alert you.”

Rhodey figured there was something she wasn’t saying, so once the Avengers tired of pestering her, he led her to a hidden corner to ask after the full story.

Dr. Dillon gave them both unimpressed looks when they came into her office, Father still thrown over Nebula’s shoulder. “Again? Tony, you haven’t needed to be escorted here since you brought back the Avengers. You were doing so well,” she said before addressing Nebula. “Must you make a scene carrying him in like that?”

“It’s the easiest way to handle him,” Nebula said as always, dropping him into a chair.

“I wasn’t trying to get out of the appointment. Just push it back to, say, the day after tomorrow. I’ve got an important deadline I need to keep,” Father said, standing up.

“And what about this deadline makes it so important you want to ignore the protocol you established?” Dr. Dillon asked, sitting back.

Nebula took her place guarding the door while Father groaned and sat back down. “I’m making headway on Ultron.”

The psychiatrist tilted her head. “I thought the triplets needed more time before you could move forward with them.”

“They do, that’s the problem.” Father jumped to his feet and started pacing. “We need Ultron now.”

“Has something happened?” she asked. “Is there a new danger?”

Father nodded, then shook his head. “I saw it. I saw them. The Avengers, all dead at my feet. Because I couldn’t save them in time.”

“I wasn’t aware your team had left this world,” she said.

“They haven’t, not yet.”

“It was another nightmare?”

“No, it was my legacy. It was a vision.”

Nebula was starting to get worried at the frantic edge his voice had taken, but Dr. Dillon remained at peace as she watched her patient.

“When did you obtain the ability to see the future?”

Father shot her a glare. “It wasn’t a nightmare. I was wide awake.”

That brought a frown to the woman’s face. “You’re certain?”

“I’ve never fallen asleep on a mission before, doubt I’d start now.”

“This happened during your last mission, then?”

“Yes.”

“Was there anything about the mission that might have been triggering?”

Father went to object, but quickly backtracked. “Some Chitauri scraps and we finally managed to nab the glow stick, but you know neither of those do it for me.”

Dr. Dillon hummed. “And you have been working on this new project for Ultron ever since?”

“I started as soon as we returned.”

“When was the last time you slept, ate, or generally did anything not linked to the project?”

“Not counting this?” Father snorted. “Bruce got food…” After a moment, he turned to Nebula. “Check with Fri about how long it’s been.”

“That’s not necessary,” the psychiatrist said with a wave. “I’ve heard enough.”

“You think I’ve finally cracked, Doc?” Father asked with a grin.

“Quite the opposite. I think someone’s trying to crack you.”

“What?” Father shouted and Nebula barely managed to keep herself from echoing the sentiment.

“Mr. Stark, I have been treating you for two years and not once have you had a hallucination. Now, within the span of a couple of days, not only have you apparently had one, but your anxiety and PTSD have relapsed into levels comparable to what they were when we first began, if not worse. And then there’s this newfound obsession with the Ultron Program, which you’ve so far been content with progressing as is. All without any sort of viable trigger. It doesn’t add up.”

She met his eyes. “People relapse, it happens. It has happened to you before. But it does not happen to this sort of extent. Not without a catalyst. We’ve already established that the Chitauri and scepter could not have done it, which leaves me to believe the catalyst was the vision you spoke of. Even just going by what you’ve described, which I’m sure is only the barest of bones, it could certainly have such an effect on you. But if it was the catalyst, then it couldn’t be a result. Which begs to question where it could have come from. The reports said the team faced an enhanced with the ability to manipulate minds, correct?”

“Yes,” he agreed. “But it was too real to be just some hallucination she could have given me.”

“The mind is a powerful tool, yours more than most,” Dr. Dillon said. “It processes everything we see or feel. If one can alter our perception, they are, in a sense, altering our very reality. To you, it likely was very real. That doesn’t mean what you saw happened. In fact, it didn’t. All the Avengers are currently safe and sound. As for the future, neither you nor Wanda Maximoff have the ability to see the future. There’s no reason to believe what you saw will truly come to pass.”

Father opened his mouth to argue and she held up her hand.

“Take a deep breath, then really think about it. You saw your worst nightmare, correct? What makes more sense, a vision of a future that is everything you fear or a hallucination given to you by Maximoff intended to make you feel like your worst nightmare came true.”

Father took a deep breath as instructed, then another. “I… I don’t know,” he said, staring down at his shaking hands.

She nodded. “That’s okay. There might still be some of her power influencing you. It could even explain your extreme relapse. Your continuous interaction with the scepter likely hasn’t helped either.”

“I took precautions, this time. I wasn’t going to let what happened to us and Loki back in 2012 happen again.”

“That’s good, but I still think it would be best if we run some scans, try to figure out exactly what’s wrong and if there’s anything we can do to help.”

He did some more deep breathing then agreed.

“Thank you, Mr. Stark. I also think you should wait to work on Ultron until after we get the results. Encouraging this obsession might only make what she did to you worse.”

“But I need to work on it!”

“And that need only assures me that you should not do so,” Dr. Dillon said gently. “We don’t know the full extent of what she or the scepter could have done to you.”

He physically swallowed down his arguments and gave a shaky nod.

“Thank you. We should get the scans done immediately.”

“After that, we got the scans done and I brought him to the tower to rest,” Nebula concluded. “Pepper texted me this morning with the results. There was an energy concentration near his amygdala, similar to the scans from the Helicarrier. The energy signature was slightly different, though, confirming it was Maximoff, not the scepter, that did it this time, thankfully. Father’s wearing the watch again and Dr. Dillon is monitoring the recordings to ensure the energy levels are going down and there’s no lasting damage. Thankfully his body seems to be processing it all okay given he hasn’t had the reactor in his chest in over two years.”

Rhodey relaxed some at that. “He’ll be okay then.”

“So long as he rests like he’s been told, Dr. Dillon is confident he’ll make a full recovery,” she confirmed. “Pepper and Peter are keeping an eye on him next door. You’re welcome to join so long as there’s no talking shop. He and Peter can tinker, but otherwise he’s been banned from anything relating to the Avengers and Stark Industries until the energy’s gone and the doctor has cleared him.”

Rhodey nodded. “A break would have been good for him anyway. Now that the scepter’s been located and most of the bigger targets are down, maybe we can talk him into taking an actual vacation once his head’s all clear.”

“You can try,” she snorted doubtfully.

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

Warning you now, I'll be taking a break from updating stories next week for personal reasons. The next chapter (Steel Scion, Part 1) should be up the following Thursday, Dec 19.

Right now we're at around 25% for Edward, 33% for Anthony, and 42% for Edwin, so I'll probably just end up making it Edwin.

I would like to say how funny it is so many of you seem to agree that Peter is a total Daddy's boy and definitely would have chosen Anthony. Honestly, if it wasn't for the fact they're trying to keep their connection a secret, I probably would have just chosen that and not even considered the other two options.

[slothgiirl]

blinding part 1 (a theo raeken/reader story)

mariella gallagher, lydia’s younger cousin, has always had a soft spot for theo raeken, and now that they’ve brought him back to help, she can’t seem to help herself when it comes to him. it also doesn’t help that she’s slowly losing her grip on whatever powers she has as an empath. 

ao3 // part 2 // part 3 // part 4 // part 5

“So why can’t I go with you exactly,” I asked Lydia after she was done explaining the plan to everyone except Hayden and Mason who were actually in class like they ere supposed to be. If my aunt wasn’t faculty who knows how we would be getting away with suddenly leaving class, ditching class, and arriving late all the time. “If it’s all the same to you, I’d rather go with you.”

Just the thought of encountering the ghost riders again was enough to make me want to vomit. And seeing as Scott and his packs whole m.o. was to run towards danger instead of away, we would probably run into them sooner rather than later.

My cousin sighed impatiently, “because we don’t know what we’ll find at Caanan. At least here we know what we’re dealing with.”

“Even if we don’t know how to deal with it yet,” Malia said with a scowl.

“I’d still rather take my chances with whatever you find there than the ghost riders.”

Kira threw an arm around my shoulder, smiling as reassuringly as she could after the ghost riders had taken a whole party full of teenagers down in the bunker and none of us had been able to do anything to stop them, “don’t worry Mari, I’ll protect you. I won’t let them come near you.”

“And you’ve got Liam,” Scott said smiling at his beta.

“Just hurry back,” Liam told him, “we’re stronger together.”

“Hell yeah,” Malia grinned.

*

I took my seat next to Kira in art, happy to be able to phone in this class. Ever since the ghost rider’s showed up I’d been jumpy and stressed and I kept scratching at my arms. What made it worse was I could feel how freaked out the rest of the pack was.

It was almost enough to make me want to take my meds again.

Almost.

“You wanna talk about it,” Kira asked, not looking up from her painting. Her still life wouldn’t have looked out of place in a gallery. Meanwhile I was still cleaning up all my sketch lines and pretending that I knew how to shade objects.

I shrugged, “it’s fine. We’ll figure this out soon and then-“

“Don’t say that. If you’re not okay then talk to me about it,” she told me, looking over at me, “maybe it won’t solve anything but you might feel a little better.”

Sighing, I put my charcoal, giving up on getting any work done when I could barely keep my hand steady. It wasn’t that I didn’t want to talk about it, but the only person that I had ever felt comfortable talking to about my so called powers, that were completely useless and more of a pain in the ass than anything, had turned out to be a horrible person and was now rotting wherever the skin walkers had dragged him down into.

“Mari?”

Her concern was warm, gently waving towards me, the mental equivalent of a hug. I might as well. “I’ve just never not sensed something from anything. But the ghost riders,” my voice broke, remembering the events from the bunker, “there was nothing there. Nothing. Like they weren’t alive, at least not in any sense of the word I know.”

“I thought they were going to take me,” I tell her, looking down at my feet as I wipe the welling tears from my eyes. “I mean at least you can all fight or do something. I just feel so useless sometimes. Like I can sense what people are feeling, even catch some thoughts if it’s a strong emotion but that’s it.” Hell, werewolves could sense emotions by smelling the air or scent or chemosignals whatever those were.

Her concern spiked, intertwining with a tinge bitter guilt.Kira leaned over and squeezed my shoulder, “but they didn’t get you. And you’re not useless. You’re kind and gentle and you calmed Liam down, anchor-less Liam and Malia. Like made them calm down.”

“Stiles can help Malia calm down.”

Kira rolled her eyes, going back to her painting, “just take the damn compliment.”

I laughed, “still think your kitsune abilities are way cooler.”

“You wouldn’t if you were the one training with my mom. I wish I could montage through all the five in the morning wake up calls.”

We both laughed.

“Mariella? Kira? Please be mindful of the noise level in here,” Mrs. Sanchez called out to us.

We both nodded.

When I went to pick up my slab of charcoal, my hand was steady enough to risk my sketch.

*

“So Scott leaves and you immediately decide to try and catch a ghost rider,” I ask Liam and Hayden skeptically.

“We can’t just sit around and do nothing,” Liam said defensively.

“Well you can all try and do that,” I said, “I’m going to go to therapy and not deal with any of this and especially not go looking for trouble.”

“Trouble kind of already fund us Mariella,” Mason said gently, “and we need to figure out how to stop them. If we catch one we could figure out what they want and make them leave.”

Which made sense even if their plan was insane and they still had no way to channel that much lightning at once. “Okay,” I admitted, “but I still want no part of this.”

“Couldn’t you do it,” Hayden asked Kira as she walked up to us gathered around Liam and Mason’s lockers. “I mean you are a lightning kitsune aren’t you,” she clarified raising an eyebrow.

“Thunder,” Kira corrected, “and yes I could if we had a few decades for me to learn how to channel that much lightning at once.”

“Sorry,” she added, looking around at us, her shame and insecurity leeched into the air, “but I just don’t have the training yet.”

“Yet,” I said, hoping to reassure her. Her mom was a thousand years old, Kira had plenty of time to get all her nine tails and become an amazing thunder kitsune.  

“Sure you’re alright going by yourself,” she asked me, changing the subject.

I shrugged. It was pointless to lie when three of use were supernatural creatures who could hear someone’s heart speed up when they lie, so why bother. “I’ll live.”

“Corey and I could go with you,” Mason offered. “Safety in numbers and all that.”

“See,” I said throwing the rest of them a pointed look, “it’s not just me.” They’re all werewolves and suddenly they think horror movie logic of splitting up and dying doesn’t apply to them.

“Not like you can drive,” Liam said shamelessly.

“I was nervous,” I protested for what had to be the thousandth time, “and the dude was an asshole, he wanted to fail me.”

“Didn’t Lydia say you ran a stop sign?”

I groaned, “it wasn’t even my idea to get my driver’s license. I don’t even want to drive. You don’t let crazy people drive cars.”

Mason grins, “but you’re not actually crazy.” Which was true. It turned out that everything that every psychiatrist had chalked up to hallucinations and paranoia was actually true.

“I thought I was!”

*

Miss Morell smiled sharply as I took a seat on her couch. “I’m assuming you’re still off you’re medication.”

“Yeah,” I said, feeling guilty about it all over again. “I just feel better without it. And I’ve only had one migraine this week so progress,” I told her twiddling my hands. “I mean I should eventually start to be able to block people out. . .right?”

“And if you are not able to block people out,” Miss Morell asked the question that had kept me up so often over the last few months, “what will you do?”

“I don’t know,” I admitted. “I mean I don’t want to always have to deal with people’s emotions in my head. When someone around me gets really sad it makes me sad, their emotions bleeding into mine and I hate that. It scares me. But I also  don’t want to spend the rest of my life dazed from taking anti-psychotics. No combination of pills felt right. Some were really bad and this last one muted things pretty well but I still felt wrong.”

It made being around Liam hard. No one ever knew what would set him off and I hated how I could feel his anger well up inside my throat like it was my own.

How I could feel my lab partner’s anxiety and nausea turn to stress the longer I sat there next to him, all my own thoughts magnified in funhouse mirrors until I was stressing over whether I had remembered to write my name on the test even though I knew I had. Over whether any of my friends in Beacon hills were really my friends or if they were just being nice to Lydia’s cousin.

“Have you considered a solution that isn’t on on end or the other,” Miss Morell asked, her emotions as remote as she herself could be, a god deigning mortals with her presence.

“What do you mean?”

“You could take a low dose,” she explained, “just enough to keep your own mental health intact without cutting yourself off from your own abilities.”

“I don’t know,” I said, thinking about how excited I had been when I realized that the connection went both ways. Their emotions could bled into my own, but I could also influence people’s emotions.

Would I lose all the progress I had made?

“You don’t have to make any choices now,” Miss Morell said smiling for the first time since I’d arrived, “Just something to think about. I’ll see you next week?”

“Yes.”

Because I had to go to therapy. It had been one of my dad’s conditions of coming to live with my aunt instead of spending my time going in and out of a psychiatric ward.

*

Third wheeling to Corey and Mason wasn’t actually bad. It certainly didn’t feel as much as third wheeling to Malia and Stiles had been or Scott and Kira. Liam and Hayden were just a nightmare of too much PDA.

They also didn’t even bring up the ghost riders even once which immediately made me love them. We hadn’t spent much time together seeing as I was a year older and had spent most of my last year in Beacon hills in a hazy fog of anti-psychotics in hopes of shutting everything out.

“Don’t hate me,” Mason said, as Corey chose a song off his phone, “but I think Troye Sivan is massively overrated.”

“No,” Corey protested, “that’s just-you’re wrong.”

“You can’t tell me I’m wrong just because I don’t care for his music. I’m entitled to my opinion especially when my opinion is right.”

“Doesn’t make it an opinion then does it,” Corey quipped back and I tried to block out the nauseatingly sweet smell of fondest and love that filled up the car. I take it back, Corey and Mason are just as bad as the other couples although Lydia and Stiles are mostly pop rocks and something refined like channel no. 5 so it really wasn’t bad.

Corey played a song before turning to look at me, “what do you think Mariella?”

“I-“

“You’ve got to listen to the whole song first to get the full experience.”

“Okay,” I told him, “but I can already tell you it sounds fine but I probably wouldn’t go out of my way to listen to it again.”

“Told you,” Mason laughed.

Corey shook his head, “you two have no taste.”

“Oh I think I have plenty of taste,” Mason replied looking over at his boyfriend.

Corey blushed, his face achieving the level of pink many beauty youtubers could only hope to replicate, “I think you mean I have great taste.”

I popped my earbuds in and raised the volume as high as it would go hoping to block them out as they drove to go drop me off at my aunts house. Six months and I still hadn’t gotten any better at blocking people out. Lydia wasn’t even sure if I could.

I sighed and stared out the window.

[ed-edward-blackbeard]

Last Line Meme

@shipperfiendobssesser​ tagged me in the Last Line WIP meme.  YOU ASKED FOR IT.

Long text post, so I’m sticking it behind a “read more”

Fandoms behind the tags:  Hannibal, Doctor Who, Gotham, SVU, BBC Sherlock, a couple of Walking Dead, a couple of Xenaverse,  a couple of Pretty Guardian Sailor Moon (Live action), Star Trek (TOS), Tim Burton’s Alice In Wonderland, The Following, and some original stories  (Not included, because I probably won’t ever go back to them:  Supernatural, Stargate, Buffy the Vampire Slayer, Deadwood, and Harry Potter.)

Not tagging anyone BECAUSE I WOULD NOT SUBJECT MY LOVED ONES TO THIS.  No, seriously.  I’ve been working on this goddamn thing for two and a half hours.

Hannibal WIPs:

Ripper!Hannibal:  Hannibal picked up the scalpel, hid it in his coat pocket, and followed him in the shadows.  

Temple Body (Hannibal Lecter/Will Graham):  His presence warded off nightmares and ushered in a calm and dreamless sleep.  "Sure, a shower."     

There Were Three (Hannibal Lecter/Will Graham):  "Excellent.  I shall expect you Thursday night, promptly at 8."  Hannibal rose when Will did, and followed him out of the office.  "Are you returning to the crime scene tomorrow?"  

Sanity and Empathy (Hannibal/Will):  Knew it as well as he'd known the feel of Hannibal's broken heart, left in the chapel written on a broken man.

No Place Like Home (Hannibal/Will):  When Hannibal got back to Will's room, Will was sitting up on the side of the bed.  "You just missed the cardiologist; my heart's fine.  They're gonna stitch me up and as far as she's concerned, I can go home right now."

Murder Husbands In Denmark (Hannibal/Will):  "I can do that, soon as I'm out of the shower."  He leaned across the bloody butcher's block and nipped at Hannibal's ear.  "Hurry up."  

Leather Hannibal (Hannibal/Will):  "So I think you like my new motorbike."  Will squirmed as Hannibal's leather-gloved hands pressed down against the erection straining his zipper.  "But perhaps that is not all you like."

Keeping It In The Family AU (Mischa Lecter/Hannibal Lecter/Will Graham):  Hannibal reached out and raised her up, and offered her his elbow.  "You're not going to bow to me, Mischa."

I, Profiler (Crossover SVU/Hannibal, Hannibal/Will, Barba/Benson):  "I will sign your form," Hannibal agreed.  After Barba hung up, Hannibal sighed, and turned his attention back to the sausage browning in the frying pan.  "Mr. Barba seems to be at loose ends," he commented.

Hannibal’s Nightmare (AUish, Hannibal/Will):  He knows who he is--My name is Hannibal Lecter, and I am a psychiatrist.  I am a serial killer, and I am a cannibal.--but that doesn't seem to matter.  He is trapped in a place that does not seem to exist, and yet, it does.  

Great Escapes (Hannibal/Will):  Hannibal placed her plate in front of her, then dropped the fork carefully on the napkin.  Once he was out of range, Will let her go and returned to his seat.  "Do enjoy your dinner."

Firsts (Hannibal/Will):When the dance--and the music--ends, they're both breathless and ready for more.  Hannibal empties his pockets over the balcony rail for the violinist below, then follows Will to bed.

drunken kisses sequel (Hannibal/Will):  "I know."  And he had.  It was almost as if this entire conversation was useless; Will and Hannibal were so much in each other's heads, the answers were known before the questions were even formulated.  

Building A New Life (Hannibal/Will):  In the back cargo hatch was their luggage, their bloody clothes which really needed to be burned, and a large igloo cooler that carried all their provisions plus a few… special treats for later.  

Biokinetics (Hannigram AU, Hannibal/Will):  "No, not at all."  Will put his glasses back on as Hannibal led the way out of Will's living quarters and into the Institute's foyer.  

Original WIPs:

Roxy The Pink Police Poodle:  Oh, boy.  I recognize Shit Detail.  That means we’re going to do something Not Fun.  For either one of us.

Paralegal:  No amount of whipping furniture at my head can shake the solidity of the facts of the law.

Ghosts of deBerk:  (scriptfrenzy screenplay):  You want to ask me if I can talk to them for you, but you realize I am not Whoopi Goldberg and this is not Ghost.  You know things do not work like that.

Baywood:  All the things that you could need, but wouldn't ever think of buying for yourself when the time comes.

The Nature Of Time:  The Eternal was confused.  And so to experience time, He became a part of it.

Small Things:  And if any found it, they did not live to tell the tale because many went out, and few returned, and the ones who did died quickly, without relating what they knew.

Sleep Deprivation: The clock on the microwave read 2:03 AM as Mara heated her second milk of the night.

Sangria Falls:  "Put on the shackles, now," Nick repeated, loosening the snap on his gun.

Misty Valley:  Rain splashed on the windows, matching the rolling drops of blood that pooled red on the inside of the glass.

Midnight Scratching:  .  If she was losing her mind, then Poe was trying to console her.

Mars Rover:  The air was circulating slowly inside the helmet to stretch out the final oxygen supply, but as soon as they were out of the atmosphere, they wouldn't really need it anymore.

Fall of the House of God:  .  As it dug itself in, Lamiel planted the seeds for further discontent before going to sleep to gather its strength.

Dymond Family Murders:  Fiona's estate contested the agreement when first announced, but has since withdrawn the challenge and given the arrangement its full support.

SVU (Special Victims Unit) WIPs

Cedro Barba (Rafael Barba/Olivia Benson):  Turning the box back over to Cold Case, Olivia headed for SVU.

Checking In (Barba/Benson):  "I'm no role model, Olivia." He jostled Noah into sobs as he handed the child back to Liv. "Almost twenty years later and I still dream of punching my old man in the face every morning."

Post-”October Surprise” fic (Barba/Benson):  "Come on, let it out."  She cradled him close, resting her chin on his temple.  "It's going to be all right, Rafael."  

Dinner With Mami:  Rafael just smiled at that, and a little kernel of heat blossomed in the pit of his stomach when she smiled back.

Starbucks:  "Three cups, Liv," he reminded.  "Three cups of Starbucks all over Armani."

Barba and Benson Dinner Untitled:  "I think I like you better all put together.  A present just waiting to be unwrapped.  Although…"  She made an appreciative noise at his bare chest.  "I can see the benefit of keeping you naked."

Barba/Benson Vampire AU:  “Come on.  The blood bank is open by now, and you’ll think a lot more clearly when you’ve fed.”  Olivia held her hand out.

Doctor Who WIPs:

Running Up That Hill (9/Rose):   Disappointed in Rose,which was even worse for both of them. 

1920′s Gangster AU (10/Rose):  But there was no harm in looking, the Doctor kept telling himself, and so he continued to pay regular visits to the club.

A Crack In Time (12/Rose):  "Rose, is it really you?" he asked, and even his voice was changed, Scottish and hard.

Come Back To Me (10/Rose):  The Doctor's words were rushed as he hastened to reassure Rose.  "There's only a really tiny little bit left, not even enough to hurt you, or even know it's there.  I took all of it out of your head, scrubbed it clean, remember?  That's how we met.  This is just one tiny little glitch that saved your life."

Doctor John Smith (Tentoo/Rose):  John looked steadily at Jackie.  "It's a lot to take in.  Rose has been through a lot.  I just want to make it easy for her, that's all."

Drips (A Coffee Shop AU) (Ten/Rose):  It had started, for Rose Tyler at least, with the gas leak that had blown up the Henrik's shop she'd worked at--thank God she'd been off shift that night.  

Sunshine and Roses (9/Rose/Jack):  The crinkles at the corner of his eyes made his mouth turn up in a perpetual smile, which was accompanied by laughter at Rose's antics.  

Light and Dark (Ten/Rose):  "We like children, we like them young, they are still light and generous and they want to play!"  A few free light specks floated around Rose again, and lit on her hair, on her shoulders.  "Oh, we see!  You keep him light, he glows when you're with him!"

Part Of Your World (Ten/Rose Little Mermaid AU):  He sort of waved through the front glass, and several of the whales flicked their rear fins as a sort of answer before the TARDIS bobbed around and headed back for the Trench and the Challenger descent point.

Untitled Post Impossible Planet/Satan Pit (Ten/Rose):  She knew the why well enough, and went in for a second kiss.

Pregnant Rose Tyler (Ten/Rose):  "All right.  Anything for you, Rose Tyler."  And this time, he meant it with all his hearts.

Two Hearts, Two Hearts (Jack/Ten/Rose):  "Back in the TARDIS, or else she's wandered off again," was the Doctor's reply.  "Didn't know what I'd find in here, so I asked her to wait.  But you know how rubbish she is at waiting about, so we'd better go."

Gotham WIPs:

Father Nygma’s Bird Problems (AU, Edward Nygma/Oswald Cobblepot): This time, Carmine’s smile was far more rueful than he’d like.  “There’s no way you could let me down,” he answered.  Especially not given his own personal history.  “Good evening, Edward.  Remember, you can call me or see me at any time you like; I am always available to my priests.”  

 Hello, Old Friend (Edward Nygma/Oswald Cobblepot):  Ed gave a negative shake of his head. “That's far too generous, I couldn't accept.” Especially when he had no real way of paying back the kindness. 

Mine (Edward Nygma/Oswald Cobblepot):  Getting up from the chair, he rapped the table with gloved knuckles.  “I’ll swing back by later to see what you decided.”

Cuts Like A Knife (Edward Nygma/Oswald Cobblepot):   He was relatively certain that a google search of How to fix the ice-muddled memory of your best friend turned worst enemy would return exactly zero helpful results, so he was going to go with the closest approximation he could think of and adapt what he found to help Ed.  

Walking the Tightrope (Jim Gordon/Oswald Cobblepot):  Oswald simply nodded.  That was fair enough; the agreement was to take each other as they came, profession included.  It kept things interesting, to say the least.  

What He Needs (Jim Gordon/Oswald Cobblepot):  The black eye mask was folded on top, and while he withdrew it with his fingers, he carried it back in his mouth and offered it up to Oswald.

BBC Sherlock WIPs:

Untitled Johnlock #1 (John/Sherlock):  "Not important at all.  It's common.  Any two individuals regardless of gender can have sex, and a portion of those can make love with sentiment behind it.  Boring.  What is important, what is unique, is the closeness two people share.  Especially when one is less than personable, as it were.  But you, John, you are what is important.  Not how you choose to use an appendage."

Life Form (John/Sherlock):  Sherlock did allow himself to blink, and when no catastrophe happened, he relaxed microscopically.

Past Life (John/Sherlock):  "Sandals and swords, how exciting.  I can certainly see how it would pull one from the realm of sleep."

The Following WIPs: 

Sacrifice (Joe Carroll/Ryan Hardy):  The ghostly shapes moved like quicksilver behind the mist.

That Night (Joe/Carroll/Ryan Hardy):  The heat from their touches made the room-temperature glass seem almost icy.  

The Ending (Joe Carroll/Ryan Hardy):  The answer that Ryan couldn't give, and that's why this moment, here in this nowhere place, was most important.  In this place, the answer didn't matter.

Unexpected Savior (Joe Carroll/Ryan Hardy):  Joe disconnected the call while studying his reflection in the mirror. “Dear Ryan, whatever shall I do with you?”

Everything Else:

Untitled Rickyl AU (Walking Dead, Rick/Daryl):   So it was as a civilian that Rick rolled up at Carl's school that afternoon.

Wintering (Walking Dead, Rick/Daryl):  "Don't worry, Papa Bear.  Little Ass-Kicker's in good hands."  

Destrus (Xenaverse, Ares/Xena):  Well, his great sword through a few puny mortal chests had put an end to that idea

A Friend’s Faith (Xenaverse, Autolycus/Xena):  "It's hard to have faith in yourself when you think nobody else does, but it's even worse when you think you've let down the ones who do."

Kunzite and Darkury (Pretty Guardian Sailor Moon/PGSM/BSSM/Bishojou Senshi Sera Moon, Kunzite/Dark Mercury):  Both are trapped in the whirlpool at the base of the waterfall, a deepening vortex that sucks them deeper and closer together.

Untitled PGSM (Pretty Guardian Sailor Moon/Bishoujo Senshi Sera Moon, Human!Nephrite/Ami):  He was only Nephrite, outcast and human, and he was shamed for feeling gratitude to Sailor Mercury.

Responsibility (Star Trek TOS, Kirk/Spock):  No--that was unfair.  Jim was not fire, and it was only Spock who burned.

Return To Underland (Tim Burton’s Alice In Wonderland, Alice/Hatter):  The Unicorn chuffed nervously, pawing the marble floor while the Lion paced and growled, tail flicking madly.

The Girl With the Tuxedo Kitten (Millennium/Dragon Tattoo series, Lisbeth Salander/Mikael Blomkvist):  Blomkvist laughed.  "Why don't you take Sally and let her sleep?  I'll set up the litter in the bathroom and put out some more dry food."  

[hari-writes]

Little Louis Dupain-Cheng - Chapter 7

Fandom: Miraculous Ladybug Pairings: Adrien/Marinette Summary: In the seven years since Hawk Moth’s defeat, much has changed. Adrien Agreste PhD returns to Paris and is reunited with his friends. Marinette has a degree in Fashion Design, a thriving boutique and a son, six-year-old Louis. Louis is like his mother in many ways, except for green eyes and a familiar smile… Will Adrien do the maths?

Read on A03 ★★★ Buy me a coffee?

Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 | Chapter 3 | Chapter 4 | Chapter 5 | Chapter 6

Mon coeur aime Adrien

Adrien was just getting his head around the fact that Alya had been a miraculous holder when he arrived at her and Nino’s place, only to find Chloe waiting at the door. At least that explained why she knew about his and Marinette’s identities.

“Trixx.” A glass was held aloft.

“Pollen.” Another joined it.

“Wayzz.” A third glass.

“Tikki.” Marinette added hers.

“Erm, uh, Plagg?” Adrien added, lifting his glass to the others.

Alya, Chloe, Nino, Marinette and Adrien clinked their glasses together and drank deeply.

Marinette had arrived last. She was reading Louis a bedtime story before she left her house and, apparently, he’d chosen a particularly long one. Adrien chuckled at that, he used to do the same thing with his mother. She was perched on the arm of the sofa next to him and, now, she squeezed his hand. Her look was pure concern.

“Is this ok?” She asked.

“I guess so?” He replied. “To be honest, there’s so much to take in that I’m not sure how I feel yet. “

“You know we always included Plagg in our toasts? Even when you weren’t here.” Marinette said.

“She’s not kidding, dude. We had to have a plate with some Camembert on it at the table every time we met. It stunk the place out, but Mari claims it was a perfect tribute.” Nino shook his head.

Adrien grinned at the memory. “He would have loved it.”

In the weeks following Hawk Moth’s defeat, Marinette had noticed her friends showing signs of stress. The same sort of stress she was feeling. She recognised her emotional turmoil reflected in Alya, Nino and Chloe. She already knew who wore the fox miraculous, and now that she knew Chat Noir’s identity, it wasn’t difficult to figure out who he’d trust enough to wear the turtle bracelet. A visit to Master Fu revealed Queen Bee.

Marinette asked Fu if it was safe for her to know the citizens behind the superheroes. She explained that she strongly suspected that her friends were suffering from the same post-traumatic stress that she was and wanted to support them through it. She started the OT5 (-1) gatherings as a form of talking therapy.

“It worked,” Chloe admitted. “Knowing we weren’t alone through it all.”

“And it gave us an outlet. We could shout and cry, or bitch and laugh and it was okay. It brought us through the hardest times.” Alya explained.

“And now?” Adrien asked.

“Mostly, we toast our kwamis, then eat Alya’s world-famous Jambalaya while watching reruns of Le Bachelor,” Nino admitted.

“Hey, don’t judge us!” Marinette laughed, seeing Adrien’s amused expression. “It’s still a sort of therapy.”

»»★««

“Thank you.” Adrien squeezed Marinette’s hand as they left Nino and Alya’s apartment building.

“What for?” Marinette looked at him, her blue eyes searching his face.

“For keeping everyone together when it all ended, for arranging group therapy sessions for the others.” He said, waving his hand in the general direction of the apartment. “You kept on being Ladybug, even after you gave your miraculous back.”

She smiled sadly. He knew the aching gap in his life left when he said goodbye to Plagg and knew the feeling of constantly missing his kwami. He had weekly visits to an expensive psychiatrist to help him deal with the loss. Now, he wanted to take away the grief she felt, help her the way she helped the others.

“The nightmares are back?” He asked, already knowing the answer. “Louis told me.”

Marinette snorted through her nose, “What else did he tell you?”

“Don’t be upset with him, he was only interested in the man whose name you shout in your sleep.” He said.

Marinette’ head dropped, “Oh, God. Can I die now, please?” She groaned.

He laughed and wrapped his arms around her shoulders. “No, My Lady! Don’t do that, I’ve just got you back in my life.”

“The nightmares started back after I saw you at your welcome home party,” Marinette said from behind her hands. “I don’t know why, but I’m reliving the fight again. The fear comes back to me and you… your reaction when we took the butterfly miraculous from Hawk Moth. I’m sorry. You shouldn’t have to hear this.” She shook her head.

“I spent four years in therapy to get over that moment and many others. I can talk about it.” Adrien reassured her, “I’m worried that you spent the past seven years making sure everyone else was coping and nobody was looking after you.”

“I’m okay, Adrien, I promise.” Marinette rested her head against him. “Thank you for caring, though.”

They walked on in silence, unasked questions swirling around Adrien’s head. He wanted to help her, but she was so used to looking after that others that he wasn’t sure she could ever accept his assistance. He saw it all too often as Chat Noir; Ladybug had the weight of Paris on her shoulders. She felt personally responsible for every last citizen and cared deeply about each of them.

“This is me.” They had reached the hotel. “Are you sure I can’t see you home?”

“Ever the gentleman,” She giggled, “Honestly, I’m fine, it’s not far.”

He didn’t want her to go, was already missing her touch even though she was less than a metre from him.

“Why don’t you come up to my room and have a drink with me, then I’ll call a taxi for you. Deal?” He tried to be casual, grateful that Chloe had somewhere else to be after they left Nino and Alya’s.

“That’s fair.” She smiled, “Lead the way, kitty.”

»»★««

Once they reached his room, a knock at the door distracted Adrien so Marinette took in her surroundings.

Chloe had done a great job on the rooms, she thought. The furnishings were luxurious without being ostentatious (she talked Chloe out of garish gold and black Brocade curtains and convinced her that a mocha Damask would match the mink satin wallpaper far better). The room came with an espresso machine, phone speaker dock, bureau and two plush tub chairs and a low coffee table. It was cosy and she could see how Adrien was able to live here long term.

“Monsieur, Miss Chloe instructed me to bring this to you,” A male voice spoke, but Marinette couldn’t see who it belonged to.

“Oh, wow. Tell Chloe, thank you.” Adrien sounded pleased.

“And, ahem, Miss Chloe also said if you ever brought the dark-haired girl to your room, to give you this.” The other voice sounded uncomfortable.

“I… Tell Chloe, I hate her,” Adrien said seriously.

“I apologise, monsieur, I am just doing what I’m told.” The door closed.

Adrien returned, cheeks pink, carrying a tray containing a bottle of whisky and two crystal glasses. Marinette raised a quizzical eyebrow.

“A gift from Chloe.” He explained.

He set the tray on the coffee table before palming something small into the drawer of his bedside table. Marinette didn’t ask.

“I got into whisky while I was in Cambridge. One of the guys in my halls of residence, his father owned a distillery and he educated us on it. This,” He gestured to the bottle on the table, “Is Chloe’s way of showing off. It’s a fifteen-year-old Islay single malt that must cost at least €150.”

“She’s incredibly generous, isn’t she? Has she always been that way?” She asked, wondering if Chloe’s generosity was a newfound trait.

“She’s always bought gifts, but it used to be more proprietorial, I guess. It was like she was marking her territory if she gave you a present, telling you that you belonged to her. So, I don’t know, I suppose the selfless gift-giving is a new thing.” Adrien said.

He poured two generous measures of whisky into the glasses and added a splash of bottled water into each. He passed one to Marinette and put his nose in his, inhaling deeply. She did the same, unsure what she was smelling for. Adrien looked at her expectantly so she closed her eyes, blocking out one sense to focus on another.

“It smells like a bonfire on the beach.” She said.

He smiled in encouragement. “You have a good nose.”

He took a sip so she followed. She winced at how strong it was and the way it burned her throat when she swallowed. It wasn’t unpleasant, though, so she took another drink.

“It’s smooth,” She noted, “Sweet, a little spicy and… woody?”

He clinked his glass against hers, eyes twinkling. “You’re practically a connoisseur already.”

She liked it when he was animated like this. Since his return from Milan, she noticed that he was more restrained than usual. Never aloof, but he was definitely more guarded. Talking about whisky, in this moment, she saw a twinkle in his eye that she recognised from all the times she saw it behind a black mask. This was his freedom, pursuing simple pleasures, finding joy in the little things.

Her phone trilled and she flexed her fingers in response.

“Do you need to check that?” He asked.

“Sorry, I texted maman to let her know I’d be later than I thought. Do you mind?” She reached for her mobile.

He settled on his bed, curling his legs under him. Marinette checked her messages.

Maman: Of course, dear. Louis is fast asleep and your papa and I are off to bed too. Stay out as late as you like, just don’t be too noisy when you come home! Have fun x

She grinned and switched her phone to silent, slipping it into her bag. She perched on the bed, next to Adrien. He might not be a model any more, but he retained the effortlessly perfect posture from those days. There was a cat-like grace about him that was relaxed and accessible. These days, he was the perfect mixture of Adrien and Chat Noir; charismatic and flirtatious, but thoughtful, reserved. His fun side showed when he was with friends and it made his face glow. If possible, she loved him more now than she did in her teens.

His hair was lighter now, with flecks of grey just beginning to show and the cool tones in his hair made his eyes seem even more piercing than before. His green eyes searched her face and she felt him look into her soul. It was disconcerting.

“They’re not all nightmares.” She heard herself say. Where did that come from?!

“They’re not?” Adrien looked surprised at this outburst of honesty.

“No,” She cringed internally, why was she telling him this? His eyes were acting like truth serum on her as the effects of the alcohol hit and she couldn’t help herself. “I have… other… dreams that feature you.”

“Other… dreams?” His jaw dropped a little at this.

She chewed her bottom lip nervously, then swallowed more whisky for courage. She looked straight into his eyes.

“Other memories. More… pleasurable memories. Some… fantasies.” She prompted him.

“That leave you shouting my name? ...Oh!” He got it. He took a large gulp of whisky, too, and Marinette figured he was buying time to consider his response.

Wordlessly, he took her glass from her and set both on the dressing table. He sat closer to her now and cupped her cheek in his hand, stroking her face with his thumb. His gaze had become so intense, Marinette was worried she might melt into a puddle under it. Like the sun, it wasn’t wise to look directly at it.

“I have those dreams, too.” He was close enough that his breath warmed her face, it smelled sweet and smoky, like the whisky. “And… fantasies... about you.”

“You do?” She whispered.

Marinette tilted her face towards his, lips slightly parted as she felt him draw closer. Their mouths met hungrily and her eyes closed, once more blocking out one sense to focus on another. Their tongues clashed insistently. His hands raked through her hair, tugging slightly, pulling her into him. Urgency grew within her and she climbed into his lap, trailing kisses along his jaw until she reached his ear. She nibbled his earlobe and heard him sigh breathily.

“Wait,” He put his hands on her shoulders and pulled back.

“What’s wrong?” She bit her lip, worried that she had done something to upset him. Had she gone too far?

“Nothing,” He moved his hands to her face, “I want this. It’s just that, I need you to know how I feel. I still love you Marinette. This isn’t a fling. I want to have a relationship with you, if you’ll have me.”

“I love you too, Adrien,” She smiled at his earnest expression, “I want you in my life.”

Adrien grinned at that, his face looked younger and brighter when he did and she felt another swell of affection for him.

“Marinette Dupain-Cheng, would you like to be my girlfriend?” He asked, cheeks flushing a little as he did. It was adorable.

“More than you know, yes.” She couldn’t stop a happy giggle from slipping out.

He leaned back on to his elbows and she followed, resuming their kiss. It was less urgent than before and, somehow, more intense. In saying the things they’d been wanting to since Adrien returned to Paris, they were able to relax and enjoy each other.

One of his hands moved to her waist and the other cradled the back of her head. His kisses paused for just a beat as he flipped her so she was laying on the bed and he was on top of her. His tongue traced her collarbone, hands unfastened the buttons of her blouse, hips ground into her. She sighed and the sound came out as a moan. She pulled his shirt from his waistband and pushed her hands underneath, running her nails down his back.

They broke apart momentarily to remove their shirts and Adrien unclasped her bra, slipping it reverently from her arms.

“Adrien, wait. I don’t have any protection.” She said, putting her hand on his chest. The realisation arrived with a healthy dose of disappointment. Adrien, however, looked sheepish.

He reached over to the drawer of his bedside cabinet and yanked it open. A small blue square box sat in the otherwise empty drawer, the words ‘Extra-Safe’ emblazoned in bold. Condoms.

“Another gift from Chloe.” He grimaced.

[that-sun-eyed-girl]

You can’t buy happiness...

...but you can buy ice cream during golden hour at a music festival, which is close enough to me 🌞🎶💜

Also I wrote a thing for World Mental Health Day:

An Unabridged Account of My Battle with Anxiety

(aka why World Mental Health Day is important to me)

Hello! My name is Laurin.  I’m a 24-year-old Registered Nurse currently living in the Washington DC area.  I was born in Tokyo, raised in the San Francisco Bay Area, went to college in Philly, and have traveled many places in between.  In my spare time I like to take pictures, go on food adventures, travel and explore new cities, and attend music shows and festivals.

Oh, and I’ve been diagnosed with generalized anxiety disorder.

It’s hard to pinpoint when I started having “a problem.”  I grew up in a stereotypical Asian household where academics were emphasized and emotions were minimally expressed.  My dad was sick growing up, so that added to my everyday stress of juggling rigorous classes and teenage hormones.  I started having sleeping problems when I was 14 or so.  I would toss and turn in bed for hours, and eventually give up to surf the web and watch YouTube videos.  I felt tired all the time, but never felt like I could get enough sleep even if I had the chance to.

I do remember when I first felt depressed.  It was my sophomore year fall: my dad ended up in the hospital for a few weeks because the doctors were trying to decide what kind of medication regimen to safely put him on.  To add to that, my grades dropped slightly, and the boy I liked at the time was giving me a hard time (looking back, the latter was pretty silly).  I remember rolling around in bed and crying, telling myself that I couldn’t physically hurt myself because my aunt had committed suicide a few years back and it destroyed my mom.  Internally though, I was a mess and didn’t know who to turn to.  Eventually, my dad came home, my grades came back up, and I found a new boy to crush on (lol), so the dark feelings went away.

As much as I love my parents, I felt so alone whenever I had these emotional breakdowns.  Sometimes they were the root of the problem, like when my mom would scream (or worse, be passive aggressive) about my grades and responsibilities.  Most times, I felt like it was easier to close myself off and just “push through.”

When it came to apply to colleges, I was ready to be independent and literally only looked into schools at least 200 miles away from my house.  I really wanted to go to UCLA because it was far enough that I could be on my own, so I cried for a week straight when I received the rejection letter in my email inbox.  A few weeks later, I checked my Penn application portal, and found out that I had been accepted into a “top 10 school.”

I couldn’t believe it.  My mom set high standards for me growing up and never praised me for my grades, so I always assumed I wasn’t good enough for an Ivy League school.  In fact, I only had applied because my college counselor said that I had a good chance with my profile.  After the initial excitement, I pondered for weeks if I was indeed “good enough” to go to such a difficult school.  I ended up signing my acceptance on the last possible day to do so, mostly because my parents pressured me to.

My first few semesters at Penn went well.  I made friends, especially after I joined a sorority, and got decent grades.  For the most part I was happy.  I still struggled with anxiety-induced insomnia, especially if I received a bad mark on an assignment or exam, but managed to handle everything okay.

Then one day my sister called me and said that our dad fell, hit his head, and ended up in the ICU.

I couldn’t believe it at first.  My dad’s health was declining since I graduated high school, but he was still so happy and could function independently for the most part.   He couldn’t drive anymore, which was difficult for him since we lived in the suburbs, but he always found a way to go exercise and meet up with his friends.  How could my dad, who already outlived his prognosis by over 5 years, be so sick suddenly?

I immediately fell into “hibernation mode.” I was sleeping over 13 hours at a time, and would only wake up to eat and attempt to study.  And by “studying,” I mean “staring at my textbooks hoping that I would absorb any information.”  This happened right before my finals, and I ended up having to ask my professors for extensions because I couldn’t even get out of bed.  I remember my friends telling me that they thought it was unfair that I got to take my finals after Winter Break since physically I looked fine, which made me feel worse about everything.

The rest of that year is honestly a blur.  My dad was in and out of the hospital and hospice care, and I felt helpless since I was over 3000 miles away from home.  I got a D on my second pharmacology exam and asked my academic advisor if I could drop the course and take it over the summer.  She told me that since the class was only offered once a year, if I were to drop the course, I would have to take two semesters off and delay my graduation.  I knew my mom wouldn’t let me take time off (and risk losing my tuition grants), so I just “pushed though” again.

“Pushing through” is an accurate depiction of the rest of my college years actually.  I would constantly be stressed that I wasn’t doing well in my classes, almost to the point where I risked having to repeat courses.  No matter how hard I would study, my grades were mediocre at best.  My friends had a hard time understanding why I was struggling so much.  Some of them joked that I was partying too hard, but I would be studying to the point where I would burn out and score poorly no matter how hard I tried.

I started seeing a counselor on a bimonthly basis, which helped.  I would mostly talk about how depressed I was about my dad’s death and how I wanted school to be over.  I would alternate between tossing and turning and averaging 3-5 hours of sleep a night, and skipping classes because I just couldn’t wake up.  To help me feel happier, I would travel as much as I could on a nursing student’s crammed schedule and budget.  I would find the best deals on Megabus and visit friends from other schools who didn’t care if my grades sucked and welcomed me into their social circles.

Eventually I managed to complete my nursing school requirements and it was time to graduate.  My mom visited me for the first time since I started school, and, being the “Asian mom” she is, asked when I was going back for my Master’s.  No “Congratulations on graduating [from an overly competitive nursing school on time].”  Part of it was my fault for promising my mom when I was 17 that I would get my Master’s in nursing since I didn’t want to go to medical school.  But I just felt pressured again to find a job and get ready for the rest of my life.

After paperwork issues regarding my licensing exam that were beyond my control, I passed my boards on the first try.  Next came finding a job, which I managed to do 7 months after I graduated. I pretty much felt pressured to take the first job offer I got, especially since most of my friends were happily employed at this point.  I naively didn’t ask around and assumed everything would work out again, and packed my bags to move across country once more.  At first, everything seemed perfect.  I was more broke than I ever had been, but I had a full time job with real benefits!

Soon after though, things took turn for the worse.  I had bad chemistry with my preceptor, and my manager sided with her when I tried to speak up and asked for a switch.  I went back to counseling, where the social worker reassured me that I was doing my best.  Eventually though, I decided that crying every day and second guessing myself wasn’t worth it, so I resigned.

My anxiety started peaking around this time.  I was without a job again, 3000 miles away from home, with minimal savings.  I think I averaged 3 hours of sleep a night for over 2 weeks.  I went to go back to visit Penn and just broke down in front of my friends and advisors.  They were all concerned for me to the point where I ended up in a 24-hour psychiatric hold.

Now this is where things get complicated.  I talked to the nurses and doctors about what happened and how I did NOT feel like hurting myself or others, but they were apprehensive about me since a Penn student had just committed suicide a week before.  I also refused to let them call my mom since she was in Japan, and my sister was still in school in LA.  I promised them that I had a strong support system and would seek help when I went back to DC that evening.  I was ready to get the help I needed.

I still am not 100% sure what happened after this, but my phone was hacked into sometime during and/or after my hospitalization.  My friends and family were receiving weird phone call and messages from my phone number and Facebook/Gmail/etc accounts.  I tried explaining to them that the messages were not coming from me, but they were skeptical of believing me since I had just been in a psychiatric facility.  I was also receiving strange messages and screen errors even after I factory reset my devices and tried new ones.

I made a comprehensive list of all the weird things I managed to catch and reached out to my phone provider, social media platforms, and my old counselor’s office back at Penn.  I even got my devices forensically scanned by a professional to detect any malware.  The detective said that there was definitely suspicious activity but he couldn’t pinpoint anything.  Eventually, the strange messages stopped, so I let it go and went about my life.  I still get weird screens every once in awhile, but I just let it be.

Regarding my anxiety, I started seeing a psychologist again to talk about my problems.  It’s hard to fit in weekly session with my crazy schedule, but I know that I need it.  I started having unsettling dreams, mostly about work, which my psychologist addressed as PTSD-like symptoms.  I spent countless hours trying to find a psychiatrist in my network would understand my symptoms.  After months of searching, I finally found a doctor an hour away who prescribed me Trazodone and Ativan for my insomnia/anxiety.  I finally started sleeping well again.

Why am I writing all of this out for the internet to see?  Because today, October 10th, is World Mental Health Day.  Today also happens to mark exactly one year since I started my current job.  If you asked me back then, I don’t think I expected to be this much happier.  I am still struggling with anxiety and mood swings in general, but I definitely am doing so much better.

If you managed to read up until this point, I want to say thank you for reading my story.  Also shoutout to everyone who has stuck with me through the thick and thin, because I know it’s been a difficult journey for everyone involved.  Mental health is a topic that isn’t talked about enough, even though the statistics show that it’s almost too common in our day and age. I’m lucky enough to have a loving boyfriend and caring friends that listen to me rant, buy me food and make sure I’m okay, but I know some people aren’t.  

Please take care of each other and understand that people struggle for various reasons, and sometimes just need some time, professional help, medications, etc to make them feel “normal” again.  And if you personally need someone to talk to, I’m always an open ear 😊

Xoxo

[sammyhale]

J2 Main Panel SeaCon 2017

Boys joke around with Rob and Rich. 

Talking about their kids. Jensen jokes that three is the magic number apparently lol. 

Jared talks about being daddy to a daughter. Jensen points and laughs :P

They wrap on Wednesday the 26th for s12. Some cool stuff coming up, they read the last couple episodes. Jared didn’t expect it to go where it went. “Writers are surprising me still.” 

Fan to Jared: What conditioner do you use? Jensen gets up and acts like he’s paying the fan for asking that lol. 

Jensen: Inquiring minds want to know. Jared laughs: I spent many years just kind of using whatever is available. Jensen mocks him. Jared: I see you on the TV! Jensen: Good!

Jared does bunny ears to Jensen so it appears on screen. Jared: Beanie conditioner. That’s my secret trick. 

Jensen won’t let it go lol. Jensen: Answer her question. Do you use conditioner? Jared: Yeah if it’s there. Jensen: Every time you shampoo? Audience: Ohh! Jared: Ooh, shit just got real! Jensen: Do you shampoo then conditioner? Jared: I’m thinking! Says he used the hotel shampoo and conditioner. Jensen: Ahh there it is!! 

Jared squeezes Jensen’s chest. After touching him: There’s Jensen on me. 

Advice for people that constantly fuck up. Jensen jokes: Stop. Jared: You can’t stop. I mean it, y’all are gonna make a mistake. Jared talked with his psychiatrist about being concerned he’s gonna mess up his kids. The doctor told him he would. Jared: That’s not reassuring! The doctor said the point is you have a mindset that you’ll look at whatever the mistake was and figure out the why and where it came from and forgive yourself.

Jensen: However, don’t just forgive yourself and then continue, learn from your mistakes. Jared nods in agreement. 

Favorite season finale to film? Jared says finale are very hard because they’re exhausting and then it’s the biggest ep of the year. 

Jensen talks about the end of s1 when Baby gets hit with them inside. The three Winchester men and the car in peril. 

At that time they didn’t know they were coming back, so it was weird saying goodbye to the crew and the characters, not knowing. Instead of recent seasons, where they know they are getting ready (thanks for s13). 

Jensen asks Jared hardest finale to film for him. Jared says s8. Jensen: I’m gonna speak for both of us and say we haven’t filmed it yet. That’s gonna be a tough one. 

Jared: Do any of y’all want to visit during the series finale? 

Jared wants to raise money for charity and all watch it together somewhere. 

(At some point): Fan: I’m a really big Jensen fan. Jared: I am, too.

A fan said they had heard that during a scene where Jared died in his arms, when they called cut Jensen continued holding Jared and crying; fan wants to know if that’s true? Jensen admits that it’s true, tries to say he just had something in his eye, though, lol <3 

Jared: We care about Sam and Dean just as much as you guys do. We want to make sure to give them the gravity they deserve. 

Jensen talks about how in your mind you know it’s not real, but your body doesn’t know. Says that Jared brought up an interesting point about how it feels where you go through something traumatic and emotional and how it has an effect on you. It impacts the viewer; it also impacts J2 when they read it in the script. They use that to portray it during the scene. There is real emotion that lives inside of them and it’s not just the character’s emotion. Sometimes it’s hard to turn off. Can’t just tell your body to stop. 

Jared to Jensen: When do you feel like in performing Dean’s lines it took over you the most? Jared says he has an idea which scene, but wants to know what Jensen’s answer is. Jensen says it was when Dean talks to Sam about hell and Jared says yeah, that’s what he was thinking. Jensen had to walk it off. Jared’s was Croatoan, when he couldn’t shut off the tears.

Jared gives an emotional fan some love, reminds her that everyone in the room is her family and has her back.

How do they feel about JDM as Negan on The Walking Dead? They are very proud. Jensen: We both know Jeff very well and he’s a sincerely kind and beautiful man. To play that much of a badass, I was proud because he killed it. He’s that talented. That made his two sons very proud. Jared: Yeah. Similar but slightly different reaction: Man, I am such a better hunter than dad. He’s having trouble with zombies??

The boys perform a scene from The Walking Dead, making fun of how easy it would be to deal with the walkers. Jared plays the zombie. Jensen plays “anyone take your pick” Jensen just walks away while zombie!Jared stumbles around. 

Jared: Very proud of him, love Jeff! 

Jensen talks about a scene where Negan is shooting at people. Jared teases him about spoilers. Jensen: Have you seen Titanic? It sinks. Jared: Three hours of my life. Jensen: Wish someone would have told me that. 

Regarding the SPNFamily, they felt it was a family after doing some of the conventions. Jensen says years ago he realized it wasn’t just about the actors or people onstage, that there were people coming together because of a common theme or thing that they all had in common. Their love for this show and characters. 

Jared agrees. Says it’s his favorite part about coming to cons. You’re here hanging out with your friend, it’s not just about us. When he sees people that met because of the show or conventions it warms his heart. He thinks about friends he’s made going to Pearl Jams concerts and music festivals. Loves to see those connections.

Even little, sweet moments, like earlier in Jared’s m&g when a mother and daughter were sitting three seats apart and one of the other fans moved just so they could sit together. Jared loves that: we’re all here ‘cause we love each other. 

Jensen talks about fans meeting on the internet, “chatrooms and blog spaces...” The boys didn’t know about Richard Speight’s #DickChat he’s being doing on Creation Entertainments Snapchat all weekend. When the fans yell Dickchat at them, their faces are priceless. Jensen: I’m not sure we’re talking about the same thing anymore. Jared: Oh, Richard!

Asked about favorite Disney movies? Jared says Jensen’s is The Little Mermaid. Jensen: Don’t knock Ariel.

Jared: I wrote a paper on this in high school. The Lion King. Says it was more than a guilty pleasure. Jensen is smiling and shaking his head. Jared wanted to be JTT (Jonathan Taylor Thomas). He wrote a paper how on Star Wars, The Lion King and the movie The Natural and the archetypes in all those stories. Jared: And now I get to play a character that gets to play similar archetypes. 

Jared to Jensen: Sing? Or Elsa? Jensen: At this point it is whatever my daughter’s favorite movie is. The good thing is that it changes weekly. Right now it’s Sing. Out of all the songs she only wants to hear the rock song the character Ash sings. Jensen just has to tap his foot and JJ busts out into song.

Jensen: If I have to pick one of the classics, maybe Aladdin. You know why? ‘Cause I can show you the world. Jared facepalms. Jensen: In shining shimmery splendor. Jared: Tell me- Jensen: Princess, now when did you last let your heart decide? BOOM! 

Jared says that if his three-year-old is having a tantrum, he plays the 

Jared my three year old if he’s having a tantrum I’ll play the Pineapple Pen song and it calms him down lol. 

Jensen: Don’t look it up. Save yourself. So disturbing. 

Fan asks if they or Sam and Dean would consider giving up humanity for powers, like angel or demon? Jared: No. Jensen shakes head in agreement. Jared says one of the themes Jared really enjoys is what it’s like to be ultimately powerful or flawed. Loves the humanity on the show and struggling with what it is to be human. Wouldn’t trade imperfection for perfection. 

Jared notices that Jensen is smiling to himself about something. Jared: What are you thinking about because you have a weird look on your face? Jensen was thinking about a reference to Young Frankenstein he made while Jared was answering the question. 

They start whispering and laughing to each other. 

Jensen says he wants to do the Young Frankenstein “Puttin’ on the Ritz” where Dr. Frankenstein and the Creature are singing together (YouTube clip from the movie). Jensen set its up impersonating Frankenstein and Jared finishes impersonating the Creature. Jensen: Yes!! Dear diary, it finally happened 

Jared would bring Ruby back from the dead. Jensen: Dad. 

Asked about favorite dance moves. Jared does one and starts giggling. J2 start dancing on stage togehter!! Cracking up. 

Fan: Best day of my life! 

Jensen: Ahh cramp, cramp! Jared: Pulled a hammy!

Jared did “fancy feat” and Jensen did the Running Man into the Roger Rabbit.

Fan asks J2 about the s1 UK “Scary Just Got Sexy” promo they did. Jared holds up the fan’s iPad to the camera so everyone can watch it onscreen (link to promo). 

J2 start dancing on stage again. 

Jared: That was scary and sexy. Jensen I remember that ad. J2: together: Scary. Just. Got. Sexy.

For that ad they brought the woman in white back and it was shot in Vancouver. Jensen remembers because the budget was small and it wasn’t visual effects of the blood coming down the wall. It was real. When it comes down the wall Jensen didn’t move away quickly enough the first time and they had to clean up his leather jacket. He had to hurry away so it wouldn’t happen again lol. Jared: Thanks for the trip down memory lane. 

Jensen talks about how it’s not difficult for them to include changes in their characters because they have experienced what the characters have gone through from performing them on camera. Makes it easier to add those things into the character. Jensen says that the characters never really change; they grow in wisdom and experiences but their core has always been solid and the foundation of who they are and the show. 

Jared agrees, says they aren’t method actors but, for example, in a couple hours they’re gonna head back to Vancouver so they can be up at 6 the next day and they will spend 12-14 hours filming maybe two minutes of screen time. So during shooting they are living in the moment. They also encourage each other while filming, like saying hey, do that again, etc. Says that most of the writers are new; a good, talented writer will look at Jensen and Jared and write the characters based on the sensibilities J2 bring to them. 

Acting advice: Jared: Just act. Go to a local theater, do it with your buddies, put it on YouTube, do it to perform. You can tell a story, entertain, enlighten; don’t forget why you’re acting. Jensen brings up Steven Spielberg and how he started out with his dad’s 8mm camera just making stories he loved. We can do that with phones. Put stuff out there. Work begets work. 

Jared: Whoever you are, you have a story to tell. Figure that out and tell it. Like with he and Jensen with Sam and Dean Winchester. 

Favorite part about being parents? Jensen: Many things. One that comes to mind immediately, something as simple as taking my asleep three and a half year old and carrying her up the stairs to bed. That does it for me. 

Jensen: Recently they were in Dallas visiting his family. Staying downtown went to the aquarium, and halfway through JJ fell asleep in his arms. It was about a mile back to the hotel. Uphill. Carried her the entire way. She’s like 40 pounds but dead weight and wrapped him. His dad asked if he wanted him to take over. Jensen said, Nope, I got this. Really cool moment. 

Jared says he loves the little things, too. He and Jensen have had some really cool life experiences. Meet all sorts of people, lots of travelling. Jared says in his 34 years he’s been very blessed, and it’s human nature to get jaded and turn it into “well, that’s just life.” However, with his kids, he gets to re-experience things for the first time. Like a butterfly flying. The kids love it and it’s exciting again. Living life over again and re-experiencing how wonderful it really can be. The wonder that his kids have is infectious. He learns from them as much as he hopes they learn from him. 

Jared mentions the weird crazy room and the ball lights. Jensen laughs. Jared grabs Jensen’s shoulder and shakes him a little while laughing.

During the last question, “Kmart” (aka Kreespa) offers to film the girl onstage. Jared asks Kmart if she knows her; she doesn’t. Jared brings back what he was saying about how the fandom has that connection with each other and offers to do things like that and how cool it is. 

Last question: How does it feel to be a part of this the family? Jared: for me it’s humbling. To feel a connection to somebody and how it reminds him to see the best in people and in himself. Small random acts of kindness. It’s a neat blessing.

Jensen: Yeah, humbling is certainly a great word to describe it. Also, accountability. I could be selfish and live my life for me. I know that I can’t do that because I have children. My life just isn’t mine anymore. I get to share it with so many more people. He is fueled by that inspiration. 

Richard tells them about Dickchat. Jensen: I thought we moved on from that. Rob: You never move on. Richard records them for Snapchat. Jared gives a thumbs up in front of the audience and cracks up when Jensen yells “Dickchat!” into Richard’s phone lol. 

Info via: Fangasm, Jess, Kristin, Sil’s livetweet list, StageIt livestream

[a-monthly-rumbelling]

The Empathy Exercise

Submitted by @darcyfarrow2005

A/N. For #amonthlyrumbelling for March.  Part II of “The Couples Retreat.” Rated T. Archie’s next challenge for the couples is to walk a mile in each other’s shoes.

Intermission

It didn’t escape Archie’s notice that immediately following the Communication Exercise, as everyone flopped down on the furniture to rest, seating positions changed: Snow and David huddled in conversation, elbow-to-elbow on the couch; Belle and Rumple had confiscated the love seat and were holding hands, glancing at each other in between watching Archie patiently for further instructions; and, having lost their former seat, Hook and Emma had assumed the wingback chairs. They, like the Golds, were watching him and waiting for more, though Emma’s foot was jiggling and Hook’s eyes were narrowed in thought. Archie relaxed in the desk chair, his long legs stretched out in front of him, his body language signaling no urgency to move on to the next program. This in itself was a small test, to see who would break the silence first, and how: his money would have been on David—as a leader by nature as well as marriage, he would likely want to move the agenda along—except that jiggling foot of Emma’s suggested either impatience or nervousness, and she was very much her father’s daughter.

But a squeaking floorboard and a rumbling service cart undercut the silence and Ruby, eyes fixed firmly on the sideboard set up near the desk, pushed into the room, and that woke Hook from his reverie. Pulling thoughtfully on his lower lip, he watched Ruby unload a tray from the service cart and arrange the cups, coffee pot and tea pots prettily on the sideboard. As she’d promised Archie, she resolutely avoided eye contact with the couples: she’d been informed in advance how many guests to expect, and who, so that she could provide for their dietary preferences, but she had promised to ignore anything that was said or done in this room, lest she might be tempted to share her observations with her friends or family. This was a bit of test for her too: she’d been struggling to break her gossip habit.

As Ruby and her service cart vacated the room, Hook released his lip and his breath. “All right, Doctor. What’s the right answer?”

Archie raised an eyebrow. “Answer to what, Captain?”

“That exercise you just had us do. The communications exercise.”

“There is no ‘right’ answer,” Archie replied. “Just a chance for each of you to see what works and what doesn’t in how you communicate with each other.”

“Aw, come on,” Emma groaned. “I don’t buy that.”

“Neither do I. Life is a contest. People win, people lose. So what was the right answer?” Hook leaned forward, studying Archie for any indication of surrender.

The psychiatrist shrugged slightly. “There are as many ‘right’ answers as there are ‘right’ relationships. What matters is how you interacted with each other, and how you felt about how your significant other interacted with you.”

“I still think we won, because I had fun.” Hook sat back, as best he could in the straight chair. “How about you, love?”

Emma chuckled. “Yeah, I have to say I did too.”

“I feel pretty good about how ours went,” David commented. “I mean, it took a little persuasion, but Snow gave me the tiara. That shows trust.”

“I’ve trusted you with my life,” Snow reminded him, linking her arm through his. “Many times.”

He pressed a kiss to her forehead. “Yeah, you have. And my life’s been in your care time and again too.”

“We always find each other.”

Archie spoke gently. “And you, Belle? How do you feel about the outcome of the exercise?”

“Well.” She glanced at Rumple, blushing. “I guess we messed it up. We kind of got distracted.”

“But it still feels as though we won something bigger,” Rumple said, bringing her palm up to his lips to kiss.

Archie nodded, smiling at them, then smiling at the others. “If you’re all happy with the outcome, I’m happy. I will mention, though, a point that seemed to have escaped everyone’s notice. I told three of you to hold an object tight, and the other three were supposed to take that object. That was the extent of the rules. There was nothing to stop the takers from simply asking for the object, and the givers to simply release it.”

“So a ‘please’ would’ve been enough,” Snow surmised.

“Yes.” Archie stood. “A couple has enough to contend with from the outside world. You need not manufacture conflict within the relationship.” He waved a hand toward the sideboard. “Something to think about: marriage is a lot easier if it’s approached as a team sport, not a tug-of-war. Coffee break time.”

He stood aside as he watched the couples react to his small announcement. “Your usual, dear?” David rose from the couch and held a hand out to Snow, helping her up; hand in hand they made their way to the sideboard and he prepared her a cup, first with two teaspoons of cream, then the coffee, and finally a teaspoon of sugar. Meanwhile, as she prepared his cup, though she tried to be stealthy about it, her eyes roamed the room, in search of something. Archie was puzzled at first, but he caught the words “Neal” in their quiet conversation and that tipped him off: Snow wanted a phone so she could call Ariel and check on the baby. But all the couples had agreed there would be no routine phone calls this weekend, or any other distractions from the outside world, and they’d surrendered their cell phones last night with little complaint after he’d reassured them that the babysitters and the deputy dwarfs could reach them through his phone if there were an emergency.

Archie saw David stroke Snow’s arm reassuringly as he handed her her coffee. The father of two was just as nervous as his wife about leaving their six-month-old for the first time, and Archie couldn’t really blame them: after all, their son had been kidnapped less than an hour after his birth. Even with Snow’s former Royal Guard out there patrolling the streets and Regina’s sensors wide open for any magical disturbance, the citizens of Storybrooke had learned the hard way that the worlds were full of power- or revenge-seeking miscreants. The Nolans were right to worry, and in fact since Neal’s kidnapping they’d adjusted their work schedules so that one of them could always be home with the baby.

Which was why this weekend was necessary for them, to give them time together—and time to rest.

Their hands tucked into each other’s back pockets, Emma and Hook strolled over to the coffee service and filled their plates with finger sandwiches and macaroons. Well fortified, they chatted a bit with the Nolans, Hook getting his future in-laws to laugh at some toned-down but still salty jokes. When their plates were empty, they wandered over to the french doors and pushed them open to admire the (magically) blooming garden. A breeze carried their laughter back throughout the deep room.

Archie pursed his lips as he watched them. Emma needed the laughter. She’d carried a tremendous burden on her young shoulders ever since she arrived in Storybrooke. Leaning against the door jamb, Hook appeared, as always, at ease and confident, but Archie knew a different story. Avoidance and denial were Hook’s burdens: responsibilities he’d ducked, guilt he hadn’t yet accepted but needed to, if he were to deal with his past. His charm was a much-needed ice breaker for him and Emma, but they both had a long way to go before they could match the level of trust and understanding that her parents enjoyed.

The doctor shifted his gaze back to the sideboard, where Belle, nibbling nervously on a cucumber sandwich, cast those same searching eyes about the room. Recognizing the look, Snow touched her elbow and spoke lowly; though Archie couldn’t make out what was said between them, he noticed the tension release from Belle’s shoulders. Nodding, the librarian reached for another sandwich. Archie was pleased to see her eat: the spell that had accelerated her pregnancy had taken a toll on her body, and his first prescription for her, when she and Gold came to him for counseling, was to place her on a restorative diet. Though Mr. Dove and his wife (both over 6-foot-2 and trained in three forms of hand-to-hand combat) were babysitting Gideon and Gold had placed impenetrable wards around the pink house (Regina had thrown her worst magic at them to test their strength), Belle felt the same insecurity as the Nolans. Archie had encouraged the two families to spend time together, under the guise of play-dates for their babies: trauma survivors could help each other in ways that no doctor could. He’d expected the reclusive Rumplestiltskin to balk at the recommendation, but surprisingly, he’d put up no resistance. He’d even brought over a bottle of Tenuta San Guido Sassicaia ($200 Archie had learned from an Internet search) to the first meeting, to accompany Snow’s potato salad and David’s fried chicken.

Gold was trying, genuinely trying, even in their counseling sessions, though he had to pull the words from his gut, speaking slowly and precisely. Archie appreciated that and had hope for them. Belle, too, had begun to rebuild her trust in Gold when in their first session,she had learned what his truthfulness cost him, physically; pressing his hand against his temple, Gold had admitted that the Dark voices filling his head sometimes made speaking difficult. Concerned, Archie had applied a blood pressure cuff and reported the result to them both: Gold’s blood pressure had jumped from its normal rate of 120/80 to 140/90. From that point on, Archie began and ended every session with a blood pressure check and steered the conversation onto safer ground when he noticed signs of pain in his client.

And he was trying now. Though he’d long envied David’s youth and muscular good looks, he had gone over to the prince and started what was for him, a casual conversation: something about the best breeds of dogs for a household with small children. Gold even smiled a little as David recalled his own childhood pet.

This was just what Gold needed: plain, ordinary, garden-variety socializing. And maybe, someday, friends.

Archie had hope for all these couples. He had faith in the strength of each of them, regardless of where their relationships might take them: they’d been tested by fire, over and over again, and had come out strong as steel. After five years of mending curse-broken families, he had faith in himself, especially when he felt the power of True Love driving his efforts. And he had confidence in Storybrooke as a nurturer for these families: the community had rebuffed the worst that its enemies could throw at it and had come out wounded but recovering.

Archie clapped his hands. “All right, everyone, let’s resume.”

—————————————————————–

Chapter 2: The Empathy Exercise

“Whatcha got next for us, Doc?” His arm draped around Emma’s shoulders, Hook urged her away from the french doors and back to her wingback chair. He dragged his own chair alongside hers and dropped down, his booted feet stretched out before him. The other couples resumed their seats as well.

“One of the biggest challenges each of you face is that, although you’ve faced down many, many threats together, as couples–”

“Cora,” Snow blurted.

“George,” her husband growled.

���Jeckyl and Hyde,” Hook contributed.

“Zelena,” Belle spat.

Casting a hasty glance at Belle, Emma put in, “Gideon. Sorry, Belle.”

His jaw tightening, Gold corrected, “The Black Fairy.”

Emma nodded. “Yes. She was the real enemy.”

“Although you’ve faced down many threats together, as couples and as a community,” Archie continued, “and that has helped you to forge strong bonds in your relationships, you are, individually, very, very different from each other. Different educational backgrounds, different economic backgrounds, different social ranks, growing up in different lands, even in different generations. We are shaped in large part by those backgrounds, and they influence our world view, shape how we react to situations and how we respond to each other.”

“Are you saying we’d be better off if we’d pick mates that we have stuff in common with?” Emma wondered.

“Not ‘better off,’ Emma; just that for couples that have similar backgrounds, it’s easier to share a point of view. When a couple has more differences between them than similarities, you may have to work a bit harder to understand each other. Over time, as you come to know each other better, you’ll be better able to predict how your spouse will react to certain events; you may even come to know why he reacts the way he does. But to be able to feel what he’s feeling, to truly empathize with him, that will strengthen your bond to the point where it’s unbreakable. As it’s been said,” Archie tilted his head in recognition toward Belle, “’You can’t know what’s in a person’s heart until you truly know them.’ And to do that, you need to walk a mile in his shoes.Unfortunately, we have only our imaginations and our knowledge of our significant other’s lives to go on, and so I have a writing exercise that we’ll try next–“

Emma interrupted, “No, that’s not exactly right.  I mean, we have two magic people here, and there is such a thing as, uh, what do you call them, Gold? That spell when Cora made herself look like Archie?”

Gold’s mouth tightened. “Glamour spells.”

Archie shuddered, remembering. “Ah, yes, well… .”

Snow raised an eyebrow. “Emma, are you suggesting that we use magic so we can literally walk in each other’s shoes?”

“I don’t know about that,” David shook his head. “Magic usually causes more problems that it solves.”

Hook rested his hand supportively on his fiancee’s knee. “Well, I for one wouldn’t mind, if it’s just for an afternoon, being Emma. If I must become a woman for a day, I can think of no other I’d rather be than the bravest and loveliest in the land.”

Emma butted her head against his shoulder. “Thanks, Killian.”

“Just what would this entail?” David asked. “I mean, from what I understand, Cora just–” he waved his hand across his body, “made herself look like Archie.”

“And Regina and Henry and who knows how many other people,” Snow muttered.

“She didn’t actually become them. Did she?”

Five heads turned toward Gold for the answer. He squirmed. “It depends on what you mean by ‘become.’ Obviously, the mind and the soul do not change. Nor, in reality does the body change. What the magic changes is solely the outward appearance of the body. It’s a very complicated spell and quite draining for the sorcerer who attempts it.”

“But you have, right?” Emma prodded.

“Yes. Though I prefer not to.” He cast a guilty glance at Belle.

“You’re good at it, right? As good as Cora?”

“I taught her how it’s done. She perfected the skill with much practice.”

“You could do it for us?” Snow asked. “Make me look like David, and him like me?”

“Do you have enough magic to change all six of us?” David asked.

“Or I, like, added some of my power to yours–” Emma volunteered.

“That would not be necessary. But understand, it’s not a transference, simply a mass illusion. A Los Vegas trick that acts on the eye of the beholder. Your thoughts and feelings are still your own. This won’t achieve the empathy Archie is talking about.”

“No.” Archie rubbed his chin. “Clearly not. I doubt if Cora gained any understanding of her victims’ beliefs and emotions by taking on their appearance. But it could be a single step in your spouse’s shoes.”

“How?” David queried.

“If you walked around town, interacted with people who assumed they were talking to the person you appear to be, you could get a sense of what that person goes through. What the community wants from them, what they expect of them.”

“What it’s like to be the savior,” Emma said with a note of bitterness.

Hook snorted, “Or an ex-pirate when nobody wants to believe the ‘ex’ part.”

Snow glanced over at David. “Or a prince who’s expected to fight everyone’s battles for them.”

He smiled a little in sympathy. “Or a queen who’s expected to always have the right words to soothe over every argument.”

Archie raised his eyes directly to Gold’s. “I think it could be especially insightful for those of you who have been marginalized in this community.”

“So you’re on board,” Hook surmised. “Who else is with us?”

David shrugged. “I’m up for it, I guess, as long as it’s just a couple of hours. I’ve always wondered what it feels like, that connection Snow has with birds.”

Snow rolled her eyes. “I suppose I wouldn’t mind either, as long as you can guarantee it’s temporary. It might be fun to be tall and charming for a day.”

“So that’s four,” Emma counted. “What about you, Belle? You haven’t said anything. Would you like to have magic for a day?”

“That wouldn’t happen,” Gold corrected. “Nothing is transferred with this spell. Hook wouldn’t gain your powers, nor would you suddenly know how to pilot a ship or acquire a thirst for rum.”

“Could you give her a little magic, though, so she’d get more of the Rumplestiltskin experience? Like that charm you gave Henry to wear when he was under the sleeping curse. A little magic Belle could draw on.”

“It… might be wise,” Archie said thoughtfully. “Some magic she could summon if she needed protection… .”

“From any of my enemies she might encounter,” Gold spat. “Yes, I suppose it would be wise.”

“Maybe you could put controls on it,” David suggested. “ No accidental magic, like ‘I wish you’d shut up’ and then the other guy’s tongue disappears.”

Snow added, “And a time limit, so any magic she casts would wear off after an hour.”

“It would be a useful aid, since magic is such a big part of who you are,” Archie said.

“We have not yet heard Belle’s opinion on the matter,” Gold pointed out. “I will not cast this spell or any other upon her unless she wishes it.” His voice dropped as he turned to her. “Ever again.”

“Thank you, Rumple.” Belle sat back on the loveseat, her hands folded as she considered the idea. No one pushed her for a hasty answer. At length, she said hesitantly, “Because magic has been a matter of contention between us, and because my son was born with it, it would be helpful, I think, if I could experience it, just temporarily. But, Rumple, will having magic, even for just an hour or two, change me permanently?”

“You mean, will it corrupt you?” He winced.

She bent her head. “When I held the dagger, I was changed. Corrupted. And permanently, I fear.”

“No, Belle.” He leaned forward to take her hands, ignoring the others’ stares. “You’re not corrupted. Your light is just as bright as it’s ever been.”

“But I fell to the temptation.”

“But you picked yourself back up again, and you always will. That’s the difference between you and me. Where I need a crutch, your bravery gives you the fortitude to stand on your own two feet. That’s your protection.”

“You’re fighting the temptation,” she assured him. “And you’re winning.”

“Today, I am,” he answered. “But tomorrow?”

“All we can control is today,” Archie reminded him. “And she’s right; you’re winning. What do you say, Mr. Gold? Four hours to walk around in Belle’s skin, and her in yours?”

Hook snorted. “I’m glad you didn’t say ‘high heels.’ That’s a sight I never want to see: Gold in Lumbertons.”

“Louboutin’s,” Snow corrected.

Gold sighed. “All right. Four hours.” He stood and moved toward the garden doors, away from the furniture; he positioned himself in front of the doors and waited quietly with his hands folded before him—but little sparks of magic flickering off his fingernails. He said nothing but his stance spoke for him: he was ready, albeit something less than willing.

“How should we do this: one at a time or everybody at once?” Archie asked. “What’s easier for you, Mr. Gold?”

Gold’s shoulders lifted slightly in his custom-tailored D & G jacket. “As you wish. It makes no difference to me.”

Emma leaped to her feet. “Let’s do this couple by couple. It’ll be more fun.” Hook took the hint and joined her, an arm’s length away from the master sorcerer. “Ready, Gold.”

Gold dipped his head slightly in agreement. “Very well. You will feel a warm tingling as the magic spreads across your skin. It will last less than a minute, and then the spell will be complete. You will not notice a difference until the people around you react to the change. It will aid the illusion if when you talk you try to use the same speech habits and gestures your partner does. But don’t bother to try to mimic your partner’s voice; the magic will encourage the observer to hear what he expects to hear If you try to fake it, your imitation will come across as exaggerated. Do you wish to continue?”

“Of course,” Hook replied.

Gold didn’t move a muscle, but magic surrounded the young couple just the same, momentarily hiding them from view. In those seconds as the spell took effect, Archie wondered about the reason for Gold’s reluctance. He suspected it had nothing to do with magic and everything to do with a dread of what he might learn from the experiment—or what Belle might learn. Archie opened his mouth, ready to call it off: maybe Gold was right to be worried. Maybe Belle and Gold weren’t the only couple for whom the experiment could be detrimental.

But before he could order a halt, the spell was cast. Emma and Hook had reversed positions: she was now standing on the left, staring at the tip of her ponytail, while Hook was tugging at his black t-shirt.

Gold’s quiet voice broke the silence. “How do you feel, Ms. Swan?” But he was looking at Hook.

Hook patted himself as if making sure all his body parts were still there. “Okay. I don’t feel different, but–” His gaze roamed down his jeans to his boots, then over to his arms. He rubbed the bristle on his chin. He whistled in amazement. “Whoa!”

Snow darted to Emma’s side and grabbed her arm. “Emma?”

“Sorry, Snow. It’s me. Killian.”

As David came up on the other side, Snow released the arm she thought belonged to her daughter and leaned across him to gape at the body that appeared to be Hook’s. “Emma? Are you okay?”

“Fine, Mom.” Emma/Hook grinned cockily. “In fact, I’m devlishly handsome.”

“Indeed.” Hook/Emma smirked back at her. “And I,” he surveyed his new appearance, “am gracefully gorgeous.”

“Thank you, Killian.” Emma/Hook took his hand.

“I suggest you plan your afternoon out on the town,” Gold motioned to the couch. “Over there.”

“Gotcha, Gold,” Hook/Emma slipped his arm across Emma/Hook’s shoulders and winked at her as he led her to the couch. “Just practicing my Emma-isms.” Archie sat down beside them for a brief conversation to assure himself that both still wanted to go forward with the test.

Meanwhile, Gold turned his attention to the Nolans. “Do you wish me to–” He wiggled his fingers.

Exchanging a glance, both Nolans nodded. “It’s just for an afternoon,” Snow confirmed; and David decided, “We’ll probably learn from it. Go ahead, Gold.”

Again, without blinking, Gold wrapped his magic around them, and in less than a minute the illusion—because it couldn’t really be called anything else; no transference or conversion had taken place—had settled around the Nolans. This time the spectators were wiser: Emma and Hook addressed the Nolans correctly as they came up to admire the handiwork.

“Now remember, Emma always folds her arms like this,” David demonstrated, while Snow cocked her head to the side, “And when she smiles at Henry, she kind of does this, like she’s amazed just to see him.”

Belle drew in a deep breath as she joined her husband. “That leaves just us, Rumple.” Her smile asked a question that the confidence in her voice belied.

“Just us,” Gold agreed. As he took her hands in his, the magic enveloped them.

Gold/Belle conjured three floor-length mirrors and invited the couples to closely examine themselves in them. “Get used to your new look so you won’t be startled by the way people look at you. The height difference, for example. You–” he pointed to David–”may feel that they’re staring at the tip of your nose, when to them, they’re looking Snow in the eye.” His eyes twinkled just a little as he turned to Emma. “And don’t be horrified when Granny cautions you that ‘the scruffy look is over’ and offers you a razor.” As Emma chortled, he faded to the back. Only Archie noticed that from the side of his eye, Gold was looking over Belle’s shoulder at his own, seemingly altered reflection. Archie wondered what he saw: did the magic fool him too?

Touching her new face, Belle leaned into the mirror. “Do you know when I first realized I was attracted to you?”

“Not in the Enchanted Forest days, that’s for certain,” Gold snorted.

“Yes, it was,” she insisted, running a finger along the edge of her new ear. “I’d been in your castle about a week. You’d just come in from a rainstorm and you were standing in front of the fireplace, warming up. You turned around and your hair was plastered down, and for the first time I could see your ears.” She smiled into the mirror. “Your sweet, mischievous, pixie ears. And that’s when I started to feel butterflies in my stomach any time you walked into the room.”

“My…ears,” he repeated doubtfully.

“Your ears,” she repeated firmly. She wheeled and slid her arms around his neck, raising on tiptoe to kiss his earlobe. “Your sweet, mischievous, pixie ears.”

Those ears turned bright red. From the corner of his eye, Archie spotted Hook taking close notice of both the compliment and the reaction; the doctor suspected this little affectionate exchange would soon become an ongoing joke.

Archie rescued Pixie Ears. “All right, folks, day’s a-wastin’. Split up, go out onto the streets, in opposite directions, and find out what it’s like to walk in your spouse’s Lumbertons.”

———————————————-

He’d finished updating his notes on the morning’s exercise and was skimming the latest online issue of Journal of Marital and Family Therapy when the first participant returned from his/her adventure. Archie had to give himself a mental shake to remember that the tall, blond young man pushing the parlor doors open was in actually a somewhat-tall brunette young woman. Snow White Nolan appeared lost in thought as she gave the psychiatrist a silent nod of greeting, then beelined for the sideboard to gulp down a cup of chamomile. “Welcome back, Snow.” Archie made a quick, subtle note in his iPad concerning the time of her return and the expression on her face.

“Hi” was her only answer. He didn’t press for more—yet. It was important that her husband be here before she described her experience; this experiment was as much a lesson for the spouse as for the adventurer.

Close on her heels was her daughter, scratching her chin—no, Archie mentally whacked himself: this was the pirate in Swan’s clothing. He flopped onto the couch, propping his long legs one atop the other. Small sounds of frustration escaped him, even as he nodded in reply to Snow’s offer of a cup of tea. “Lot to think about, Doc,” he muttered as he set the cup on the coffee table.

Belle was next to return. The sunny smile she usually had for Archie had been replaced by a chewed bottom lip. Before anyone could strike up small talk with her, she carried her tea to the bay windows that looked out onto the front lawn and white gravel drive, signaling a desire to be left alone with her thoughts.

David bounced in next, head high, steps light and a kiss on the cheek for his wife, who poured him a cup of coffee. “Great exercise, Archie,” he boomed from across the room. “Solved a problem I’ve been mulling over ever since the curse broke.”

A snort from behind the couch wondered, “Which curse? Last I counted, there’ve been five, and that’s just since I got here.”

“Didn’t go so well for you, I take it,” David remarked.

Before the pirate could respond, Emma/Hook ambled in. When she opened her mouth to accept her mother’s offer of hot chocolate, Snow gasped. “Emma! Your tongue and lips are blue! Archie, is the spell backfiring?”

Emma chuckled. “It’s just the coconut and pomegranate Icee I had.” She dabbed at her mouth with a napkin, then bared her teeth for inspection. “Better?”

“Better,” Snow confirmed.

Gold slipped in so silently that Archie didn’t hear him until he spoke, in his usual low voice. “I’ll lift the spell now, Dr. Hopper. With your permission?”

David/Snow positioned himself in front of the sorcerer and motioned his family over. “Fire when ready, Gridley.”

As Belle and Hook joined the group, the former queried, “Who’s Gridley?”

“Beats me. Just something I heard in a movie, but I like the sound of it.” Before anyone could say more, a whirl of purple magic swept up from the hardwood floor and momentarily blinded them from each other. But, as usual, Gold’s magic acted efficiently and in less than the draw of a breath, the illusion fell away. The Charmings and Hook moved over to the mirrors to assure themselves of the restoration, but Belle, utterly confident that Rumple could lift such a routine spell, merely helped herself to a macaroon.

“Very good. Thank you, Mr. Gold. And now, if everyone would be seated again?” Archie resumed occupation of his favorite chair as the others drifted into the seating area. “Let’s debrief. Who would like to start?”

David raised his hand. “I will. I want to say thanks for the idea, Archie. Like I said, it cleared up something that had been bothering me for years now.”

“I’m glad it was so productive, David. Please describe where you went and who you saw.”

“Well.” His arm about Snow’s shoulders, David relaxed into the couch. “I started back for the sheriff’s office. Just habit, I guess. But before I got across the parking lot, Max Grimes stopped me.” The deputy explained to Hook, “That’s the principal of the elementary school. Of course he thought I was Snow. He started talking about how low a turnout they’d been getting for the PTA meetings and he wanted to know if I—I mean, Snow—had any suggestions. So we chatted a while about that and I said maybe we should hold the meetings on Saturday afternoons instead of Monday nights. I said—speaking from experience—that on a weeknight, it’s kind of hard for a parent to go out, you know, after a long day at work and rushing home to pick up the kids and get them fed and bathed and in bed.”

“I think you’re onto something. Good idea, David,” Snow praised.

“Grimes thought so too. I’d just gotten done talking to him when a little kid called to me from across the street. He came running up with a sheet of paper in his hands. It was his math homework. He was having trouble multiplying fractions.”

“A fifth grader,” Snow surmised. “Most of them have trouble with fractions.”

“So do I.” David ran a hand through his hair. “I was wishing that we’d done a body swap instead of just a glamour thing, so I could help him. Best I could do was to invite him to come to class a fifteen minutes early on Monday and I—I mean, you—would help him then. Sorry, Snow.”

“Nothing to apologize for. That’s exactly what I would have done.”

“I never did make it into the sheriff’s office. There was a mom who wanted to talk about Snow writing a recommendation letter for her kid to get into BU. And one of the nuns said something about collecting used school uniforms for the poor kids in town. There were a couple of others–” he interrupted himself to squeeze Snow’s shoulders. “Honey, I know that’s nothing out of the ordinary; we get stopped on the street every day, seems like. We just deal with it and go on. But this time it hit me. Snow, do you remember when we were talking about moving back to the Enchanted Forest? I wanted to go and you didn’t. Well, I found out today that people really need you here. More, I think, than in the Forest. This is going to sound odd, but—you were a great queen but you’re one of a kind as a teacher. The kids here need you. You’re the one who teaches them to respect nature. You’re the one who teaches them to respect each other. These kids will be sheriffs and doctors and bridge builders and mayors someday, and you’re the one who’ll prepare them for it.”

Snow borrowed a corner of his sleeve to pat away the moisture collecting in her eyes. “Thank you, David. You say a lot of nice things to me, but that’s just about the sweetest.”

“So you changed your mind, Dad?” Emma brought the conversation back to practicalities. “About going back to the Enchanted Forest?”

David was looking at Snow as he answered. “I did. If that’s okay with your mother, I want to stay here.”

“It’s okay.” Snow sniffled. “More than okay.” She straightened. “Now it’s my turn. I had an educational experience too. I’ve always known, of course, that the people of Storybrooke depend on David for solving all sorts of problems, whether it’s slaying dragons or rescuing cats from trees.” She winked at her husband. “Ms. Shoemaker’s boxer chased one of Ms. Ginger’s tabbies up a tree, by the way. Good thing I still remember from my highwaywoman days how to climb. Anyway, after I got the tabby down—and got repaid for it with claws digging into my arm–”

“Ernestine,” David nodded knowledgeably. “She’s a biter, too. You escaped the worst of her.”

“After Ernestine, I walked over to the park to rest a while, but Sleepy spied me and wanted to know what we’re doing about the protection spell on the coastline. He’s been reading a book about this mythical ghost ship, The Flying Dutchman, and he’s scared to pieces that it’s going to appear at our docks and Cora, Cruella, the Black Fairy, Hyde, Hades and a hundred other villains are going to bomb the town.”

“He’s been having nightmares ever since Dopey got transformed into a tree.”

“Tell him to call my office on Monday,” Archie encouraged.

“Will do,” David acknowledged.

Snow continued, “So I sat with him for over an hour, listening to his dreams. I tried to reassure him that dead is dead, but… .”

“The phrase has lost its meaning of late,” Belle murmured.

“There was a time,” Gold grumbled, “when the rules of magic meant something. Before people like Zelena started disrespecting them.”

Archie noticed that at this remark, Belle lowered her head.

“So then I tried to assure him that Emma and Regina and Blue are all working together to tighten up all the various spells shielding this town from intruders. I don’t think I convinced him—I’m not sure myself that magic is the answer to our problems—but I did calm him down. I reminded him that we have patrols covering the perimeters of the town, night and day. ‘I feel better,’ he said, ‘with you and Snow and Emma on the job.’”

“As do we all,” Archie remarked.

“I found that there are still dragons to be fought, and people still come to their prince to slay them. Even if the dragons come in human form, the people want David to take care of them.” Snow smiled proudly at her husband. “So don’t put your sword away just yet, Charming.”

“I had a similar thing happen,” Hook volunteered. “The man who owns Standard Clocks—we haven’t been introduced, so I don’t know his name—he caught me as I was walking along the docks. He insisted on knowing my—that is, the sheriff’s—plan for getting rid of Zelena, Regina and Gold. He was of the impression that that’s what a savior is meant to do: slay villains. Or at least drive them out of town. I reminded him that banishment seldom sticks around here.”

Gold’s mouth tightened in a thin line and Belle reddened.

“That’s not very reassuring,” Snow said, as David added, “It’s not the kind of thing Emma would say.”

“What else happened, Captain Jones?” Archie nudged the conversation forward.

“Like father, like daughter, as the saying goes. I went into the Crab King for a bite of lunch and I’d no sooner picked up the menu when I was besieged with requests for assistance, much of it of the magical sort—and not all of it ‘requests.’ ‘Demands’ would be a more accurate word. Everything from erecting a stop sign at First Street and Cassidy Lane, to, as one of the nuns expressed it, ‘layering the abandoned mine with fairy dust so we can safely imprison the next magic wielding villain who disturbs our peace.” He gave Emma an apologetic half-smile. “I do apologize, love, for all the times I ‘got pissy,’ as you put it, over citizens interrupting our dates with their petty problems. Between enforcing the law and saving our mangy hides, you carry the weight of this town’s worries on your slender shoulders.”

“She does, indeed,” Snow agreed.

“Always glad to be appreciated,” Emma quipped.

But Archie suspected that her humor, as it so often did, was a cover for other emotions, and a study of Hook’s fingers, tapping on the back of the loveseat, showed him that Hook was covering up too. “What else, Captain? I get the feeling there’s more to your story.”

Emma poked her elbow into Hook’s ribs. “Tell the truth, the whole truth and nothing but, remember?”

“Well,” Hook sighed. “We need to have a chat, in private. In all the excitement of defeating the Evil Queen and the Black Fairy, not to mention our engagement, it seems we neglected a rather important matter… a question prospective spouses should find agreement on, before the wedding… .”

Emma’s brows drew together. “Go on.”

“Well.” He sat up straighter. “I strolled into the pharmacy for a pack of gum, and mistaking me for you–”

“Which was the point of this exercise,” David reminded them.

“Our eternally sneezing chemist informed me that your prescription was ready.” He reached into his jacket for a small white package and presented it to her.

She peeked inside and shrugged. “My birth control pills. So?”

“He also said that in answer to your earlier question, he’d done some checking and fertility rates do decline after age 35 but your chances of conceiving are still about 78 percent.”

“Oh.” Emma caught on now, and Archie was just a step behind her. “I was asking—I’m going to be 35 when we get married, and I thought–” she shrugged. “With things settling down here, and Henry in high school–”

“I’d assumed that once Henry graduates, we’d be free to travel–” He rested his hand on her knee. “Emma, there’s a big, beautiful world out there, waiting for us to explore. A world free of magic, where you don’t have to save anyone. A baby would tie us down–”

“A baby would give us a future.” Her voice crept up. “A chance for a normal life. A chance to have what you and me both were robbed of.”

“May I suggest we leave this topic for another, private time?” Archie butted in.

“It’s not one you can work out in single conversation,” Snow reminded them.

“Yeah, good idea,” Emma said, and Hook nodded. “A wise decision.”

“Wow,” David breathed. “This really was a major exercise.”

“More than I had anticipated,” Archie admitted. “Let’s move on. Emma, tell us about your experiences as Hook.”

“Well, mostly, it just reinforced what I already knew.” Archie detected a thin line of annoyance under her tone; he made a mental note to talk to her alone this evening, apart from Hook. He wasn’t worried for her, though; her eyes had been opened to the fact that an engaged couple had numerous questions to resolve before they were ready to become a married couple, and Archie was confident that Emma would make certain all those issues were hammered out before she started shopping for china patterns.

Hook smirked. “What? That I’m devilishly handsome?”

“Yeah.” Emma slugged him in the arm. “Emphasis on ‘devilish.’ And irresistible to women and kids. I had a troop of little boys traipsing along behind me everywhere I went, bombarding me with questions and begging for a ride on The Jolly Roger. And a pair of teenage girls that were shopping in Prubeck’s came out to the street to stare at me and giggle, like I was a–”

“Movie star,” Hook finished for her.

“I was going to say, ‘Three-headed hydra,’ but okay, ‘movie star.’ While me and my entourage were standing on the corner, waiting for the crosswalk light to change, Frau Trude came up and started pawing at me, messing with my collar and my medallion—when she started inviting me up to her place for a bottle of Cuban rum, I yanked my shirt out her hands and beat it. Escaped into Any Given Sundae. Forgot that the Goose Girl works there on weekends now–”

“She goes by Amanda now,” Snow explained. “She was unanimously voted head cheerleader this year and Most Beautiful Sophomore.”

Emma growled, “Should’ve been voted ‘Girl Most Likely to,’ from what I saw. She pushed the top of her apron down to show a little cleavage, and then she leaned across the counter to serve me samples of ice cream.”

“Ice cream is one of this world’s delights.” Hook licked his lips. “Those little plastic spoons are so cute.”

“Yeah, well, I kinda forgot who I was for a minute there, ‘cause I pushed her hand away and ordered a coconut pomegranate Icee, and she said, ‘But Captain, you hateIcees.’ And I said, ‘Yeah, but Emma, my fiancee, loves them, so I thought I’d better get used to them. So she shrugged and flipped her hair and batted her eyelashes at me while she poured the Icee.” Emma shuddered. “I dunno. I knew from the beginning I’d have to put up with this crap if I got involved with you, but it’s still damned annoying.”

“I’ll try to be a little bit resistible in the future,” Hook promised.

“When she handed me the drink, she grabbed my elbow and ran her fingers along my wrist, like this.” Emma demonstrated with Archie’s arm, causing Hook to scowl and Archie to redden. “When I dug into my jeans for some money, she waved it away. ‘On the house,’ she said. ‘Your money’s no good here.’ That’s when Marcie slammed in from the back. ‘His money’s no good anywhere. It’s fake bullion. Put the charge on Emma’s tab.’ And she stood there glaring at me from behind the counter while Goosie wrote up a bill. ‘As soon as he leaves, you and I are going to have a long talk, Missy.’ So I took the hint and hightailed it out of there, and I finished my Icee on the bench at the bus stop, all those kids standing around me begging for ‘blood-curdling tales of the high seas.’”

Hook managed a blush. “Most people don’t realize how much work it is to be a pirate. He must always keep the image up for his public.”

“I finished my drink and started walking toward the pier, but that proved to be a bad idea, because the kids who were following me started shouting for other kids to come along because they thought I was going to give them a ride on the Roger. So I changed direction and went into Clara’s Crafts and started looking at embroidery needles—thanks, Mom, by the way, for teaching me.”

“Embroidery calms the nerves,” Snow said, then glanced at Archie. “I could teach a class for your patients.”

“We’ll discuss that later. Thank you, Snow,” Archie said.

“My entourage got bored waiting for me and they wandered off. But Clara came over… .” Emma paused, chewing on her lip; Archie recognized this as an indication of uncertainty and he gave her the space to decide whether to continue with her story. After a long moment of deliberation, she proceeded, “Clara came over. She said she’d talked to her husband… .” She shifted in her seat to face Hook. “See, he has an opening at the bank for a security guard, and I thought—it seems like a good gig, pays well, working daytimes.”

“Better than being a part-time bouncer at the Rabbit Hole,” Hook concurred, but his shoulders hunched. He shook his head, shaking off his annoyance, then grinned. “It would certainly improve our social life. Well done, Emma. I suppose I’ll need a uniform and a firearm?”

“Well,” Emma twisted her engagement ring. “The thing is—they, ah, filled the position.”

“With whom?”

“It doesn’t really matter, Killian.”

“With whom, Emma?”

She threw her hands into the air in surrender. “All right. They hired Thumbelina.”

Hook’s voice fell. “I see. Was it–” He raised his left arm. “Because I’m still quite capable of handing myself in a fistfight or a sword fight, as I’ve proven more than once here.”

“No,” Emma assured him. “I know—everyone knows—it’s stupid to pick a fight with Captain Hook.”

David snorted. “Just ask Will Scarlett.”

Hook ran his hand over his chin. “It’s the scruff, then. I’ve noticed people who work in banks and the like have that clean-shaven, button down look.”

Emma laced her fingers and stared at her ring. “It’s not the scruff. Or your clothes. It’s—it’s time. I mean, it’s a matter of time. The town… isn’t used to you yet. It took a while for them to warm up to me too. They’re not used to strangers. You’ve got give them time to get to know you.”

“You mean, they don’t trust me.”

Silence filled the room until Emma finally nodded and added, “But they will. Give them time. You’ve done so much for this town already; they’ve seen that. They just need time for it to sink in.”

“They will come around,” Snow contributed. “Being accepted is still a struggle for Regina, too. But you’ll both get there.”

“I could talk to a few of the guys,” David volunteered.

“Thank you, mate, but I think Emma’s right: I need to prove myself to them. And I will.”

Emma hung her head. “There was something else.” She kept twisting her ring, until at last she lifted her left hand. “This.”

Hook raised his eyebrows, waiting for an explanation, so Emma prompted, “I walked past Joan of Diamonds, and she grabbed me and hauled me inside.”

“Oh.”

Archie interceded, “We can stop there, if you prefer.”

“No, I suppose–” Hook looked at David. “You’re going to find out sooner or later. I owe money on the ring.”

“How much? Maybe I can–” David’s offer was interrupted by a jab from Snow’s elbow.

“Suffice it to say, I’m a bit behind in payments. I, ah, expected to have employment by now. I made a deal with Joan… .” It was his turn to sigh. “You’re right, love, about trust being a problem. Joan wouldn’t make a deal with me until one of her clerks reminded her who it is I’m marrying… and who her parents are. It wasn’t what I would have preferred, but that ring was so perfect for you, and it would take me years working at the cannery to save up for it. So I took advantage—I traded on the Charming name. Merchants may not trust me yet, but they are as certain of the Charming family as they are of the sun rising in the morning.”

With a quick glance at Belle, Gold intervened. “I could make you a loan. Or buy out your loan from Ms. Diamond.”

“Let me guess,” Emma muttered. “She owes you a favor.”

“Thank you, no,” Hook curled his lip at the pawnbroker. “I’m sure a loan from you would cost an arm and a leg.”

“No interest. You and Regina are not the only ones struggling to change,” Gold admitted. “I don’t care what others think of me, but my son and my wife live here too.”

“So,” Emma said slyly, “accepting a loan would kind of being doing you a favor.”

“In a way. I suppose.” Clearly, he wasn’t too pleased about the change in perception of his offer, nor about even making the offer, but when Belle rewarded him by resting her head against his arm, his smile became genuine.

“In that case, I accept.” Hook appeared rather pleased with himself—as well as relieved.

“We’ll find you a good job,” Emma promised before turning back to Archie. “So I learned what it’s like on both sides of the fence: being fawned over by a gaggle of fans and being mistrusted because of your past. Apparently, it’s harder being Captain Hook than anyone would think. End of report, Doc.”

“Very good. Thank you, Emma. And that brings us to the Golds. Who would like to go first?”

To everyone’s surprise, the pawnbroker spoke up. “I would, if it’s all right with you, sweetheart.” At Belle’s nod, he began. “Actually, this lesson taught me nothing about Belle; it merely confirmed what I already knew, that, much as with Mr. and Ms. Nolan, she is well regarded and much needed in this town. Loved, in fact. But that doesn’t surprise me in the least.”

Belle blushed, but Archie pressed for details.

“Everywhere I went, I was welcomed.” Gold shook his head in wonder. “I was hugged more in one afternoon than in a lifetime… .” His jaw worked as he fought back emotions. He cleared his throat. “Anyway, remembering that Modern Fashions had called yesterday about a dress that was ready to be picked up, I went there first. The counter clerk–”

“Melanie,” Belle provided.

“Rushed out to the floor to hug me and she promptly invited me to the back for tea with the dressmaker–”

“Amelia.”

“She sat me down at the workbench and I chatted with Amelia as Melanie prepared the tea. She remembered that Belle has been craving peppermint tea, no sugar, ever since Gideon was born.”

Belle grinned. “She always remembers.”

“And she remembered that your birthday is coming up next month, and she asked if we would be doing something special. I told her we have no plans yet, so she and Amelia invited me—that is, you—to lunch that day, if you’re available. They asked after Gideon and were disappointed that I didn’t have my phone with me, so I promised I’d show them photos next time. They said I—Belle–was looking great and seemed to have added a few much-needed pounds. Amelia took my measures to confirm it and said she’d let the dress out a little. It will be ready on Tuesday.”

“Thank you,” Belle said.

Gold ducked his head. “And then they asked after my husband. They seemed to know we’re working on our relationship.”

“Honey, the whole town knows we’re all working on our relationships,” Snow sniffed. “And yours is one of the most interesting.”

Gold raised his eyes to Belle’s. “They wished us well. They said any time you need someone to talk to, just call. They’ve both been through rough times with their spouses.” His eyes widened. “They said they hope we can work it out, because… because we’re good for each other. Both of us, good for each other.”

“They’re sweet women and good friends.” Belle linked her arm through his, then answered his unspoken question. “And they might be right.”

“And, they said, even in infancy, a child needs its father too.” He swallowed hard. “I mentioned that the reverse is true as well. We chatted then about dresses and books, and then I paid for the dress and went on about my way. I checked on the library: Regina was raising cain with the Old Lady in the Shoe about all the books her children have lost. Had the poor woman in tears.”

“I’ll speak to her on Monday. Those children need books.”

“Marco was browsing the cookbooks and kept asking Regina for suggestions, but Madame Mayor just grunted at him. ‘How should I know? Hire a cook, like I do.’ And there was a study group asking for you, five teens who are preparing to take college entrance exams.”

“I’m glad Regina got to see all that,” Belle chuckled. “She’ll think twice about cutting the library’s budget.”

“It’s you, sweetheart, more than the books or the computers. It’s you they need. I went into Granny’s next and as soon as she heard my—your–voice she came out from the kitchen and threw her arms around me. ‘How’s the therapy going?’ I explained that we were on a break for the afternoon but that it was going well. She thrust her fists onto her hips and looked me up and down, and she said I was looking better. She said when you and I first split up, it was a race as to which would bring me down first: lack of sleep or lack of a good meal. She said she doesn’t trust Rumplestiltskin farther than she can throw a dragon, but he does seem to be taking a page from Regina’s book and behaving himself better. Then she offered to loan you her crossbow if I screw up.”

“Granny,” Belle chuckled. “What would this town be without her?”

“I ordered pancakes—Belle, when I went to pay, the ticket was half as much as I expected. She’s been overcharging me all these years. In the hour I was in the diner. I was invited to two birthday parties, a fundraiser for the animal shelter, and a retirement party. I made six book recommendations and agreed to speak to Mr. Hemingway’s tenth grade English class on Friday—about F. Scott Fitzgerald. I was hugged, complimented and kissed, no more or less than to be expected in a typical day for Belle French Gold. I learned nothing new about Belle in all this.”

“But?” Archie prompted.

“But the experiment uncovered a weakness in me. It seems, after all these years, I enjoy hugs. Even from overcharging cafe owners.”

“You’re human, Mr. Gold. Humans need touch as much as they need air,” Archie said.

“Perhaps.” The pawnbroker fell silent and Archie took the hint to end the conversation. They could discuss this further in private.

“That leaves you, Belle.”

She cleared her throat as her expression shifted from worry to—Archie wasn’t sure, but he thought he saw fear. But then she dug her fingernails into the loveseat’s upholstery and her eyes flashed at Snow. “We have to do something about Zelena.”

“What?” The former queen was puzzled.

“You think she’s changed but she hasn’t. Not enough, anyway. She’s still wicked and dangerous, and I fear for my son as long as she’s in this town.”

“Did she threaten Gideon?” Gold barked.

“She’s behaved herself of late,” Snow thought. “Regina’s vouched for her, but… .”

“Did she make threats, Belle? I can arrest her if she did,” Emma said, “but unless she’s actually broken the law in the last six months, the city council voted to give her a second chance and I have to go by that.”

“No. I don’t know.” Belle fought against herself. “She said things–”

Archie crossed the room to kneel beside her, taking her hand, as Gold slid his arm around her shoulders. “Start at the beginning, Belle,” Archie urged. “David, would you bring her a cup of tea?”

Belle drew in a deep breath. “Okay, first I walked along Chatam Street. It’s always quieter than Main Street and Rumple likes to come down to the shop from home that way. There were some kids playing kickball in the empty lot across from the Hotchkiss Dance Studio. When they saw me coming down the sidewalk, they pointed at me and yelled. ‘Run!’ they said. ‘He eats kids! My mom said so.’ Mikey Patterson said that Rumple crawled through his bedroom window and tried to kidnap him last week.”

Gold shook his head.

“And Frankie Patterson said that the Black Fairy is still alive and Rumple’s plotting with her to turn everyone into statues.”

“Kids have wild imaginations,” Snow explained apologetically. “The Patterson boys especially.”

“As I got closer, they turned and ran. I crossed the block and saw Bessie Barwell hanging out her wash. I waved to her, but she—well–” Belle elevated her middle finger.

“Bessie plays the ponies, not successfully. My loan saved her from Danny Devine, but put her in debt to me.”

“As I walked along the street, people closed their window blinds or slammed doors or turned the other way. Except for a few who just stood there and stared.”

“Captain Jones is not the only resident with town trust issues,” Gold admitted. “It played in my favor in the past, but that was before you and Gideon.”

“Most of the town sees you’re changing too, Mr. Gold. They will come around,” Archie said.

“This could not have been a surprise to you, Belle. You did know when we married how the town feels about me. Lord knows, we’ve had enough such streetside encounters.”

"No, it didn’t surprise me, but I felt it. For the first time, I felt it from your perspective. It felt weird, both awful and good at the same time. The way people were reacting to me, I felt powerful and—kind of safe. Like they wouldn’t dare mess with me, you understand, Archie? But then right away I felt conflicted. Not everybody thinks ill of me, I thought, but hardly anyone thinks well. And I worried what Gideon would have to cope with as he grows up.” She glanced over at her spouse. “And I felt bad for myself, because other than Dove, I don’t have anyone I can just sit down with and have coffee, you know? I learned that you never get used to loneliness. Even Rumplestiltskin needs friends.”

“Perhaps so,” Gold allowed.

Belle clenched her fists. “And then I walked up to Second Street. I thought I’d pop in to Ichiro’s. Rumple loves their green tea ice cream. But you know Rapunzel’s Salon is next door, and Zelena was coming out. She saw I was alone and so was she, and I guess she took advantage of that. She sashayed up to me and made some snide comments about a rumor going round that Child Protective Services is planning to take Gideon away unless… .”

“Unless I remove myself from his life and yours,” Gold finished. “I’ve heard those rumors too. Don’t fear them, Belle. It’s just vicious talk.”

"We won’t let them take your kid,” Emma said with some venom. “Not from either of you.”

“While she was railing at me, that’s what I was thinking,” Belle said. “I reminded myself, in this world, Gold is a lawyer with an expertise in family law. He’ll fight tooth and nail to keep his son. But a small voice deep inside cried, ‘Not another one. I can’t lose another child.’ She saw she was getting to me and she laughed.”

“The bitch,” Emma muttered.

Snow stood and with folded hands, addressed the Golds. “Let me assure you, no one will take that baby away from you.”

“Least of all, Zelena,” David’s voice shook as he came to his wife’s side.

“She’s screwing with you, mate,” Hook suggested. “She’s wicked. That’s what she does.”

“I’m going to have a talk with Ms. Green,” Snow decided. “With the mayor present. As a city councilwoman, I’ll let the witch know that we don’t appreciate her shaking up our town with foul rumors. And I’m going to remind her that we don’t cherry pick forgiveness. Those who will work for it will receive it.”

“Right now she doesn’t seem to be doing much work,” Emma sniped.

“You might feel alone in this town, but it doesn’t have to be that way,” David said to Gold.

Archie folded his arms as he surveyed his clients. “You have allies, Mr. Gold, perhaps for the first time, and in time, you may have friends.”

Gold’s eyes traveled from face to face. “Perhaps so.”

“Good exercise, Doc,” Hook clapped the psychiatrist on the back. “We all got something out of it.”

“Smells like there’s more to come,” David sniffed the air. “I’d say Granny’s Yankee pot roast and rosemary rolls.”

Emma sniffed too. “And cherry pie. I know we’re supposed to wait for Ruby to ring for us, but–”

“Yes, we can go in now,” Archie allowed. “We’ve done a lot of important work today and we’ve earned our dinner. Let’s go into the dining room and see if there’s a salad we can start on. A good start, everyone.” He stood back to admire them. “Much more than I could’ve asked for. A very good start.”

[jeichanhaka]

And Carried Me Away: Ch. 3

A/N: Just a reminder, this fic is a sequel to My Life Had Stood, so it's best to read that first so you're not confused/lost.

Chapter 1|| Chapter 2|| Chapter 3|| Chapter 4|| Chapter 5|| Chapter 6||

Chapter 7|| Chapter 8|| Chapter 9|| Chapter 10|| Chapter 11|| Chapter 12||

Chapter 13|| Chapter 14|| Chapter 15||

Chapter Three:

-Flashback-1998-

"Who are you?" Alsie demanded the stranger as he entered the private classroom - which was more of a unused storage room than a classroom. The school had deemed it her own private study after deeming it necessary to accommodate her and her propensity to interrupt her teachers. Though it wasn't her fault they tended to teach straight from the textbooks, many of which were too dated to reflect current knowledge.

She'd even said as much to the principal, and then the superintendent, but neither were willing to accept her point. Nor had either wanted to lose her as a student, which had as much to do with Mary Schmidt's money as it did her intelligence.

"You're Allison, right? Allison Schmidt?" The stranger asked instead of answering, picking up one of the texts Alsie had taken from the local library. "...quantum mechanics, interesting. Um..."

"Go..." Alsie, irritated by the stranger, was about to growl at him to eff off or tell her his name when he started talking about quantum theory. She paused, intrigued. Her eyes followed him closely as he neared, switching from quantum theory to psychiatry as he did. She listened as he talked about the brain and the ways to control it and memory. "...who are you?"

"I'm..."

x

"...Elsie?" William Reid approached his daughter, having called her name a couple of times he was concerned by her sudden lack of response. He reached out for her instinctively and froze when she tensed. Though he'd immediately realized his folly, the moment he touched her arm she recoiled. "...I'm sorry. I..."

He took a step back, tensing himself as he expected the thirty-three year old to shift into an alter, likely Emmie, at the touch. A few moments passed before he realized the shift hadn't happened. His brow furrowed, staring down at his daughter's tensed form. Though it was obvious she was extremely uncomfortable, the fact that she hadn't shifted to Emmie or Ana made William sigh in relief.

During her nine week stay in the hospital, Alsie had gone through multiple sessions with Dr. Freeman, her psychiatrist. As well as a therapist after Spencer convinced her it'd be helpful. The result being that Alsie had finally accepted her diagnosis and was getting her D.I.D under control.

"...sorry." Alsie mumbled back, still a bit skittish. "I'm working on not being so..." She swallowed and took a deep breath, her eyes averted from William. "Sorry."

"You have nothing to be sorry for." William immediately replied, his gut clenching at the apology. "It's the Crawfords' and Linnet's faults. What they did..." He clenched his jaw, unaware of and unable to moderate his angry voice until he notice Alsie tense up again. His eyes widened when he saw her flinch and touch her right temple. "Elsie, I..."

"It's your fault too." Alsie spat, massaging her temple. The tell-tale signs of a migraine were already starting to rear their heads. She took in a few calming breaths, attempting to forestall the headache - the pain of which she'd learned was at times a precurser to a switch to an alter. Whether it was a trigger or just a sign of a switch, neither she nor her therapist knew for certain, but abating her headaches seemed to help avoid an identity shift. "...you spent years acting like I never existed. You...you and her..."

William flinched, the venom in his daughter's tone scathing. Though it wasn't the anger being directed at him that cut him as much as the way Alsie referred to Diana. Her. The emphasis placed on that one word spoke volumes. It was evident that Alsie placed so much more blame on Diana than on him, though both he and Spencer had tried to convince her otherwise.

"Elsie, we've been through this. Your mother...she couldn't help it that..." William rubbed his forehead, exasperated and wishing that Spencer was here. Though, he conceded quietly, it was better that Alsie's twin brother wasn't here. The first and last time Alsie had disparaged Diana in front of Spencer, the latter had immediately defended their mother.

The argument that had resulted still felt surreal now, just remembering it. It was the first real sibling argument between his children, and William caught himself imagining what it'd have been like if Spencer and Alsie had been raised together. So caught up in imagining a 'what might have been' scenario, William had failed to notice how serious the argument had escalated. It wasn't until Spencer had retorted the biting: 'don't you talk about my mother,' with emphasis on the word 'my', that either man had realized it'd gone too far.

Upon hearing it, Alsie had immediately blanched and gone silent, her eyes widened into saucers. The look on her face horrified and distraught, while betrayal and pain gleamed in her eyes. Then the way she had spoke afterwards, telling them to both get out in an uneasily quiet voice, had scared both him and Spencer. Enough that though they obeyed it and left the room, neither could leave the hospital.

Later that night Alsie was discovered trying to kill herself.

"...why hasn't Spencer brought her to see me. Or me to see her? Or even a call? Or letter? Or anything?" Alsie mumbled, her tone sounded accusatory at first but William detected the wobbliness of it as she continued. If that wasn't enough, the swallowed back sob she gave afterwards clinched it, and William's eyes widened.

"Elsie, it's all right. Ok? I'm sure it's just a matter of scheduling. Your mother loves you and..." William grabbed his daughter's hand, trying to reassure her. Instinctively he wanted to hug her like a father would, but he knew it would be disastrous. Especially now.

"But why...?" She whispered, squeezing his hand back. Tears fell silently from her eyes. "Spencer said he'd bring her...he promised. Why hasn't he?"

"I don't know." William admitted, growing annoyed as he thought of his son. He hadn't been there when Spencer made the promise, but he'd expected his son to follow through on it. Or at least tell one of them the reason why he couldn't. Even if Spencer didn't want to talk with William, he could still explain why to Alsie. If there was something wrong...if Diana had a bad reaction to finding out the truth, the least Spencer could do would be to explain it to Alsie. Or to Dr. Freeman if Spencer thought Alsie might take it badly.

Alsie, catching the bitter bite to William's tone, squeezed his hand tighter. Her thoughts drifting back to the question she'd asked herself constantly since finding out Jemma was alive. '...will I be a good mother? Will I...? Or will I hurt her?'

'Have I already hurt her?' Alsie bit down hard on her lip to keep from blurting that bit. Her heart jumped into her throat as she thought about Linnet and how he knew what name she and James had picked for Jemma. How he had named Jemma Jemma, rather than picking some other name. A more common one. 'Did I...? Ana...Emmie...did one of them...did they tell him...? Did...'

"Elsie? What is it? What's wrong?"

"...dad? Can...can you do something for me?" Alsie spoke, her voice shuddering. Her lips quivered as she gazed up at him, waiting a moment before shifting back down to the pile of photographs on the hospital bed. She picked one up, and handed it to William while mumbling her request.

Before he could reply, the hospital room door opened and in stepped Spencer.

0Quantico:

Cam waited quietly beside the round table, her heterochromatic eyes glancing at each of the BAU members as they entered and sat. She greeted each succinctly, with a small wave of her hand and head nod.

"Let's get started." Hotch shut the door as he entered, his own gaze taking in the team members present. Aside from him and Cam, there was Morgan, JJ, Tara Lewis, and Garcia sitting around the table, their expressions ranging from confused to curious. "Alsie's discharge is today, so Reid and Rossi won't be joining us."

"What's going on? Something tells me this isn't to plan a surprise party for Alsie and Jemma..." Garcia piped up, alert to the less than exuberant feeling to the meeting. She was one of the more confused of the group, since unlike the others she knew the meeting wasn't for a readied case, unless it was an emergency one that just cropped up.

"No." Hotch affirmed, addressing the group. "And this isn't an official case. Fitzgerald?" He turned to Cam, gesturing for her to speak.

"...Ok." Cam mumbled, swallowing almost unnoticeably while noting that the expressions of the rest of the BAU had grown concerned. Morgan, JJ, and Garcia each thought of the times during the years when Hotch had called such meetings. The redness around Cam's eyes increased the concern gnawing at them. "I...I know I was only ever a temporary member, and you don't have to help but..."

"It's all right, Fitzgerald, you can sit down." Hotch reassured the younger agent, continuing for her when it was obvious she was unable to herself. He turned his gaze to his team, making sure their attention was on him. "A few weeks ago, Greg Linnet asserted to Fitzgerald, that one of his victims was her mother. He had taken a locket with a photo of the woman and a young Fitzgerald as a trophy."

"...What?"

"My god..."

"Is there anything we can do?"

"Are we sure Linnet's telling the truth?"

"That's why I called this meeting. Fitzgerald has asked us to investigate Linnet's claim, and find out if there is any truth in it." Hotch explained while Cam sat down, looking more nervous than any of those present had ever witnessed her to be. "This isn't an official case, so it will have to be done on your own time, but..."

"I'm in. You don't even have to ask." Garcia chirped up.

"The only reason we were able to find Jemma was because of Fitzgerald bringing us the case leading to Linnet. So of course we'll help." JJ said, while Morgan and Tara Lewis nodded in agreement. Cam started to open her mouth to insist they didn't owe her, only for Morgan to head her off.

"We do owe you, and your old team, for helping to find Jemma." He insisted, understanding from what he knew about her personality what she was going to say.

"...thank you." Cam replied instead, feeling the sense of unity and family that the BAU team was known for, and what had both attracted her to the team but also made her anxious back when she first joined years ago.

"Where do we start? Re-interview Linnet?"

"That should be a priority, yes, to gauge if he is telling the truth or just trying to get under Fitzgerald's skin. But first, I think we should look more into the woman he identified as Fitzgerald's mother." Hotch spoke, opening up the folder Cam had brought to him earlier. "There wasn't time yet to make copies of all the information in the file. But the victim went by the name Violet Brant, according to what Linnet told Fitzgerald and what the original investigation team discovered."

"...it was a fake name." Cam piped up, growing more comfortable - partly due to feeling the BAU family vibe, and partly to being able to focus on the facts of the case. After her original team's fatal accident, she'd gone over their open cases. The connected homicides that eventually led to Linnet had been one her team leader had obsessed over, and so had she after his death. Enough that she knew all the victims names and details in the reports. "That much was discovered by those investigating at the time, but they weren't able to find out her real identity."

Hotch was about to continue where Cam left off, but was interrupted by his phone ringing.

He glanced at the display, reading the name and number which appeared. His eyes widened slightly. "Yes? What...? Yes...Yes...you're sure...? Yes." He listened for a few more moments before hanging up. Surprise lingering in his face.

"Hotch?"

"What is it? Is something wro...?"

"New Jersey police just found the body of a woman who'd gone missing from New York a little over two months ago." Hotch replied, continuing before his team could ask him to elaborate. "She had been raped and enucleated. Using an identical method to James'..."

"What...? But..."

"It has to be a copycat. Some fan who heard about the case." JJ replied, shaking her head in disbelief. And revulsion. Of all the criminals an unsub could copy, they had to choose James.

"Were we invited in?" Tara asked, while the others insisted they had to investigate either way. The victim being transported over stare lines gave them the authority to do so despite what the local law enforcement thought. Though if the copycat had only one victim, it'd be more difficult to get an okay.

"We were." Hotch pressed a few keys on his phone, dialing a number.

A/N: My plans for this fic have changed since I first started brainstorming for it before finishing part one (My Life Had Stood). Because of this it is taking a bit longer for me to write. (There're some major revelations that I plan on having happen.)

[anonymousafterthoughts]

This week has been PACKED with edits for Five Glass Flowers and navigating round one of the Feedback Phase of #WriterInMotion.  First off, I was BLESSED to be paired with Jeff and Sara as Critique Partners for this round. They’re both writing Science Fiction as well and are familiar with some of the genre-specific elements I brought to my story.  So a massive THANK YOU to both of them for their invaluable insight, suggestions, and, of course, for trusting me with their work as well.

Market & Genre: Science Fiction, Literary lean, Dystopian

Word Count: 1,210

Loose Comparisons & Inspirations: Annihilation by Jeff VanderMeer, Orange by Ichigo Takano, and Inception.

Trigger Warning: Five Glass Flowers is set in a world with assisted suicide and touches on mental health. This isn’t fleshed out entirely at the moment, but it’s pretty obvious in this draft. The completed version will also allude to a light rail bombing (so, warn future you maybe) but this isn’t touched on yet.

I read the feedback side-by-side and made lists based on areas of concern: 1) what did both CPs like? 2) What was unclear to them? 3) Did the haunted, dystopian vibes come through? 4) Was everything balanced?

Most of the suggestions were minor–a need for clarity here, an awkward sentence there–but the real joy was seeing how they interacted with and processed the content. It’s been a LONG TIME since I’ve written any sort of science fiction, so I was concerned it didn’t fit enough within the genre or that the story, given its literary lean, might be confusing in some way. However, Jeff and Sara both swept those worries out the door! I love how Jeff came across the title of this chapter (The Janus Project) and did his own little research about it. I’d deliberately picked JANUS because it’s the name of the Roman God of doorways, time, transitions, and endings. I enjoy embedding meaning everywhere, and was tickled when Jeff picked up on this right away.

I also appreciated his attention to detail, such as pointing out the awkwardness of Asra’s position in the opening line or prodding me to elaborate on how the tally on the hologlass was discreet. His style of critiquing is similar to mine: stream of consciousness, reader reaction, and the occasional quill stab for needed edits (only I think he’s nicer at that than me LOL).  Both Jeff and Sara has similar suggestions, which indicated certain things SANG and a few things SUNK, but I liked the consistency in feedback. For example, there’s a line where the narrator points out that priets “don’t usually help someone die” and both CPs countered that, technically, one could argue they DID. So I adjusted the sentence to flat out say suicide so that a line is drawn between guiding one to their natural death versus allowing something a priest wouldn’t normally condone.

Sara’s style was a little more sparse and less reader reaction, but her insight was so helpful to catching potential world-holes and unclear exposition. For example, I’d never explained the whole reason behind Asra having THREE Caseworkers during her year of mandatory therapy. At the time, I wondered if that kind of info was even needed and left it out because I didn’t want to drag the story down with too much setting/backstory. However, Sara’s feedback revealed how unclear that section of the scene was and the kinds of questions it raised. I really appreciated her attention to details like this, especially since I have a tendency to be either painfully vague or vomit details everywhere. Her feedback gave me an idea of where to balance hints and reveals. She was also great at catching some of those little typos that like to sneak in!

My biggest concern was the atmosphere. I was shooting for haunting, mysterious, and poignant. I didn’t want the disturbing aspects of the world to overshadow the inescapable strangeness colliding with Asra Aeilstrom’s life. I worked to deepen her own backstory (settling on a traumatic subway bombing) about where her affliction came from. The first two versions were too vague in doing this, I think. The atmosphere was there, but the characterization…wasn’t. So I guess that was, more or less, my second big concern. Sara and Jeff expressed wanting to know more about Oblivion and why Asra is seeking it, so I think, to an extent, I’ve achieved building her character, but will need to also add her backstory in throughout the next few revisions. Here’s the overall feedback received:

1.

The Janus Project

The causes of death on the state-issued certificates gently floated along the tinted hologlass walls. Asra stared up at them with permanent conviction, dark sunglasses lessening the glare of light:

Xu Heng, 32, Inconsolable sorrow after absorbing displaced emotions.

Torin Thallos, 17, An uncontrollable desire to be full.

Lucho Gálvez, 23, The belief that nothing–including oneself–exists.

Ella Walsh, 47, A longing for things that cannot be named.

Lorne Thale, 50, Fell Hopelessly In Love With Annihilation.

Ian Ito, 38, Hysterical fear of drowning in air.

Every forty seconds, the certificates flickered out of existence, new ones appeared, and this cycle repeated. A discreet tally sat in the bottom right corner of the glass, where the day’s successful journeys to Oblivion tick, tick, ticked like a 24-hour clock: 66, 000. 70,200. 82,350. 93,800. The clock never seemed to stop, even after it reset to zero.

“It’s a painless, peaceful process.”

The office door hissed open and the Caseworker shuffled in. He gave Asra a reassuring smile, gray eyes shining with plastic empathy through crooked frames.

“Are they all…have they chosen to…” Die.

Asra tore her gaze away from the hologlass, and settled it on the pamphlet in front of her. She’d read it countless times in her year of therapy after she made her decision.  It was a requirement to know all the available options, even if one couldn’t afford them. Or, in her case, want them. If she closed her eyes, she could recite the entire pamphlet word-for-word, and yet, she couldn’t even recall–

“They chose Oblivion.”

As if rehearsed to a habit, the Caseworker reached out to console her with a light squeeze of a gloved hand. This, too, Asra was familiar with; she’d had three Caseworkers before this—completely normal for those of her particular situation—but they all behaved the same: a pitying smile here, a kind hand there, voice never above what was considered appropriate for a funeral. Asra slipped her hands off the table and into her lap, trying not to look at the slash of scars across her fingers. The Caseworker said nothing as he pulled up her chart and settled into his seat. A clinical silence hung between them.

Somewhere down the hall, whimpering began. A tea kettle whistled. A cheerful voice called for the head psychiatrist over the speakers. Caseworkers walked down the halls as if they had all the time in the world. Maybe they did. The smell of something sterile clung to air. Fingers tapped against a tablet. The hologlass tick, tick, ticked with new certificates. Shifting in her chair—one of those hard, plastic ones bolted to the floor—Asra tried not to interact with her surrounds, to listen too closely, but restlessness prevailed.

Once again, her eyes scoured the room one last time: the glass box of an office (or counseling room, depending on who you asked), walls of frosted hologlass and floors of snowy quartz. Everything was bleached with the brightness of the UV lights overhead. Absently, she pushed the darkened shades she wore up the bridge of her nose and pulled the hood of her jacket over her forehead. The offices were always kept at a constant 59 degrees. She’d never thought to ask why.

At last, her gaze settled on the man across the desk. Like all Oblivion Caseworkers, or OCs as everyone generally called them, he wore the standard lapis lazuli tunic that covered him from neck to ankles. An inverted triangular insignia sat snug against his Adam’s apple, shifting every time he swallowed, which wasn’t often. The name tag on his chest said Julian, and she wondered, doubted, whether that was even his real name. The OCs all looked freakishly similar, almost like priests.

 Except priests didn’t usually help people commit suicide.

Asra cleared her throat. It was a harsh sound in the manufactured silence of the office. Those silver scars on her hands seemed to gleam in the lighting. “How long will it take?”

“Less than the time you’ve been suffering.” Julian’s smile grew softer, more pitiful. “The Janus Project prides itself on providing only the most compassionate state-issued Oblivion in the country. It will only take as long as you need it to. You’ll be transported to the doorway at –” he checked the location on his tablet “–the Howlan House. It’s as close to the site of the accident we can get you. Everything you need is already there, including the funeral materials, and alternative pathways, should you want them.”

           “I don’t.”

“It’s there if you do.”

“There’s no point to it.”

The words broke the air as a hoarse whisper. She pulled the cuffs of her sweater over her hands, blinking furiously as spots clouded her vision. Alternative pathways, she wanted to scoff. As if she were a candidate for Transplant or Reboot. Asra waited for anxiety to wash over her, as the pamphlets had warned, but none came. She searched herself for pangs of regret or second thoughts, but as always, she felt nothing. Even as she touched the tablet the Caseworker slid across the table, she could sense neither the warmth of where his hands had been nor the coldness of the glass. Not even the weight of it registered. She caught an unfocused glimpse of her cheerless pale face and muted green eyes on the screen, though she couldn’t be sure it was her face anymore; it was diluted with their images–a jagged collage of features that belonged to other versions of herself living in alternate worlds. Other versions she had, unfortunately, collided with that harrowing day.

            And since then, she felt nothing of herself.

            Sensed nothing of this world.

            Remembered nothing of her life.

Nothing except November the 20th, but she didn’t want the memory.

“Given your…. situation…. we want you to be as comfortable as possible. When you’re ready for Oblivion, it will embrace you. You will find peace, Asra.” He sounded so sure, she had no choice, but to believe him. The Caseworker indicated to the tinted walls and nodded at the tablet. “Shall we announce it?”

She pulled the tablet closer and froze, a hollowness burrowing deep into her chest. Her thumb brushed the photo of a house in a twilight-kissed field, the black shadows of mountains hovering in the distance. She wondered if she would have once found it beautiful, the fireflies drifting up like falling stars caught in reverse, or what the breeze caressing the patches of weeds would have felt like. She couldn’t see the suspended railway of the old Muika train line over the water, but she knew it was there.

“It’s as close as we could get you to the Fragmentation Zone.”

A memory skipped across Asra’s mind–a kaleidoscope of twisted metal, the snap of bones against water, putrid smoke–before it faded back into the shoebox she’d buried it in.  She blinked, waiting for a voice of reason to echo, to say live, live, live. But nothing came. Nothing but a wetness sliding over her chilled cheeks, dropping in time with the relentless tick, tick, ticks of the walls, and onto the glass tomb housing her death certificate:

Asra Aeilstrom, 26, Fractured, Irreparable feeling of being out of place & time.

Five Glass Flowers Playlist

Writer In Motion | Round One of CP Revisions This week has been PACKED with edits for Five Glass Flowers and navigating round one of the Feedback Phase of #WriterInMotion.