#some panic some fight and some just freeze because there’s nothing else that can be done to escape the situation to their mind just

[satanic-foxhole-court]

I often think of Andrew’s lows in the way dissociation, or more accurately derealisation and depersonalisation, can be. For some it’s not retreating into the mind but feeling like your sense of the world go numb, as if everything is covered in cotton and your sense of self leaking away to an empty dead state. That’s how I see Andrew for some aspects of his depression. Being so out of it that it’s hard for him to properly grip something with his hands, so out of it he can’t even feel the panic that would normally cause because he couldn’t defend himself like that. Just laying to rot in bed barely able to move.

Dissociation for some isn’t being able to escape the situation that’s caused it, it’s distancing everything in the moment and then for some forgetting later. With Andrew’s memory I doubt he’d forget, I think he’d hate how defenceless it makes him and in some ways that’s already represented in how he does what you might consider grounding techniques (smoking mostly).

Depersonalisation and derealisation is an experience folks with complex PTSD can have, for me that aligns a lot with how I see Andrew and how he works (of course bipolar too but that’s not my area). I’m soft with the HC of Andrew learning to be more grounded with the world, feel safe to not shut everything down and have things with Neil to help him ground

[flowercrowngods]

this wouldn't leave me alone, so have my thoughts on a steve-centric "who did this to you?" steddie concept inspired by @imfinereallyy (i hope this is okay, even though it's uhhh nothing like what you mentioned)

When Eddie gets to the boathouse, he immediately notices that something is off. The door is cracked open but he can’t hear anyone talking or moving stuff around. No one ever comes here — it’s been his hideout spot since the ripe age of thirteen when he’d had hist first real fight with Wayne. 

No one comes here. But now the door is cracked open and Eddie stares at it for a good minute as though that would make it come to life and tell him who’s inside so he won’t have to look and deal with whoever decided to steal his spot. He’s really not in the mood to start any shit today, or to be called all sorts of names — most of which aren’t even half as true as people fear. 

His first instinct is to leave, find somewhere else to hide from this miserable world today, when he hears it. The sound of sniffling, followed by wet, heavy breaths. 

Oh. It sounds like someone’s crying. In his spot.

Maybe it’s some girl who got her heart broken, some dude who lost the last bit of faith in his family, or some kid who— 

Ah, fuck it, he’ll just come back later. Not his problem. Definitely not his problem. And it’s definitely not guilt or worry that gnaw at him as he turns on his heel to leave. 

But then there’s a groan. A pained groan. Someone’s in pain, and crying in his spot, and Eddie really shouldn’t make that his problem. He shouldn't. Nopbody cares when he's crying and in pain either! But fuck if he won’t be thinking about it for the rest of his life if he turns his back on whoever it is. Maybe they need help. 

They most certainly sound like they do.

With a heavy sigh, Eddie is already at the door before he can think about it too much. 

“Hello?” he asks the darkness, and immediately the sniffling stops. 

Silence falls, but only for a moment before whoever it is has to draw shaky, wheezing breaths that make Eddie swear under his breath. 

“Listen, I know you’re here.” He’s taking slow, deliberate steps, his eyes roaming he mess of boats, tools and tarp he knows so well.  “And I’m not trying to start anything. Tell me to go away and I will. But I have a first aid kit in my car and, uh, you sound like maybe you need it.” 

There’s no response, but the wheezing breaths turn into whimpers with every second that whoever it is tries very hard not to make any noise, and Eddie’s heart starts to race in his chest. He can feel worry and panic starting to rise. And overshadowing it is an overwhelming sense of dread.

What the fuck is happening? 

He tries to be careful but his mind is racing and his limbs are starting to feel like lead. His wary steps become heavy and clumsy, and then he accidentally boots something that makes a terrible, horrible noise, breaking the eerie silence. Eddie cringes and is about to apologise, when finally there is movement in his peripheral vision. 

And then he sees him. There, hidden in the shadows between a boat and the far wall, his face breaten and bloodied, his eye swelling around a nasty bruise. Wait, do bruises bleed? Should they look black like that? Is it a cut? Something worse?

Even after years of constant bullying and goading in middle school and high school, he has never actually seen someone look like this. With their face completely smashed in. It makes him freeze for a horrible, horrible moment before he saps out of it.

“Fuck,” Eddie breathes, hurrying over as fast as he can, stumbling over tools and tarp as he does. Something falls to the floor with a loud clunk and it makes the boy flinch again. Eddie curses. “Sorry, shit, sorry!” 

He makes it to the boat rather quickly, crouching down in front of the boy a few feet away so as not to spook him, not to crowd him. And then his heart only plummets further, because he knows this one. 

Steve Harrington. The boy who’s come to school with many a black eye over the past two years — but never this bad. The boy who’s been looking like the world might be about to end each time he rounded a corner in school; ever since things started happening around Hawkins. Since the Holland girl died and the Byers boy disappeared. 

It fascinated Eddie, the way Steve fell from grace. The way he turned quiet, and showed up with healing bruises. There are stories woven around it, because teenagers like to gossip and word spreads fast, and Eddie always listened with rapt attention as Harrington turned into a bit of a myth. A legend. A ghost story.

But fascination is not what he feels right now, seeing Steve like this.

His eyes are unfocused and Eddie knows about the danger of head injuries. He knows about the consequences of blood loss, he knows that Steve will be warm to the touch even though he’s shivering already, and… Fuck!

“Shit, Steve,” he rasps, not daring to speak louder lest he spooks the boy. Of all the reasons he’s had to be afraid of talking to Steve Harrington, this one might be the cruellest. "I..."

He takes in his wounds, his bruised and scraped knuckles where his hands are wrapped around the knees he’s pulled to his chest, and his split lip that he keeps biting. 

Eddie swallows before he asks, “Who did this to you?” 

But Steve just shakes his head clumsily. Sniffles again, and then his breath comes in wet heaves, and Eddie worries for a moment that he’s going to throw up now. 

He doesn’t. 

Steve’s just staring. Eddie isn’t even entirely sure he can see him, or maybe he did and then forgot, or maybe he’s fading. Eddie should do something, he should get help, he should— 

“Steve,” he says, and dares to touch him when he doesn’t react. 

A light touch to the knee shouldn’t make anyone flinch like that, but Steve’s whole body jumps, and then the shivers and the wheezing get worse. It almost sounds like a whimper, and Eddie curses again. Feels like crying now, scared and helpless as he is.

“Fuck, I’m sorry. I’m sorry, okay, I— Jesus, okay.” He swallows hard, trying to think, willing for the panic to subside and a plan to form. “You’re okay. I... I’m gonna, I’m gonna grab the first aid kit. I have it in my car. It’s not, it’s not far. And a blanket. So you'll be warm again. I’ll be right back, okay? Don’t move, don’t…" He gestures wildly, caught between reaching out and pulling away. "Don’t move.” 

Eddie takes a wavering breath and moves to stand on numb, tingly legs, nearly missing Steve’s, “Can’t.” It’s barely more than a whisper, hardly even a wheeze. It’s like he’s just breathing out words because everything else is too much effort. 

Right. Right. This is messed up and Eddie’s panicking, but Steve will be okay. Because things like that don’t happen, not here, not today, and not to Steve Harrington. 

Except this is Hawkins. Where Will Byers disappeared and Barb Holland died and many people are missing and weird shit just ends up happening everywhere even though they’re all just kids. They’re just kids. And Steve’s not even conscious enough to realise that right now. 

Eddie all but runs outside, sprinting to his van with a speed that would make the coach swallow his stupid whistle if gym class only mattered right now. It doesn't. Nothing matters, because Steve is... He's hurt. And there's no one else around to help.

Grabbing the first aid kit, a bottle of water and a thick blanket he always keeps spread out in the back of his van, he makes it back to the boathouse in no time. 

He wasn’t even gone for three minutes, but still he sighs in relief when Steve is still awake. He even looks up. Blinks. Frowns in what can only be confusion and makes Eddie's heart fall.

“Munson?” 

Fuck, that’s not a good sign. That’s messed up, it’s fucked up, it’s— Focus, Eddie! 

“The one and only,” he says, voice shaky and his smile not fooling anyone. He wraps the blanket around Steve, whose eyes are unfocused again, though he tries so hard to blink it away. 

Brave boy, stupid boy. Head trauma isn’t blinked away. Though Eddie is inclined to let him try. Maybe he’ll find a way. 

“Here.” He hands the bottle over to Steve, who grabs it with clumsy hands. He can hold it, but he can’t get it open — again, not a good sign. 

Eddie opens it for him, then turns to his first aid kit. It seemed like a great idea five minutes ago, but he’s petrified now. It’s too dark in here and he can’t really see the wounds, he doesn’t know what to use, what’s in there, he doesn’t, he can’t, he— 

The bottle, empty now, is handed back to him, bumping into his hand, tearing him away from his spiralling thoughts. 

“Thanks,” Harrington breathes, and there’s a small smile visible in the darkness. Eddie just nods and takes it with hands that are still shaking.

“I wanna help you,” he says, like it isn’t obvious. “But I don’t know how. You gotta tell me where it hurts, Steve.” 

A beat. “Everywhere.” 

Eddie sags, falling back to sit opposite Steve, frantically rubbing at his face. “Shit.” 

“Yeah.” Steve chuckles, but it sounds so wet with tears and pain, Eddie never wants to hear it again. “Thought I could do it.” 

He’s talking. That’s a good thing, right? He can’t pass out as long as he’s talking. That’s how that works, isn’t it? So, Eddie asks, “Do what?” 

“Doctors told me,” Steve sighs, his voice slow and slurring. “Told me to... to stay out of fights. Stay out of them. Said I had to make sure my head won’t—“ 

He makes a motion with his fist, and Eddie thinks he’s simulating a punch, disoriented as it is. It makes his heart fall. Is that what happened? Someone beat Steve to a pulp? Again? Just like that?

Eddie is so stuck on that thought, trying to piece together the puzzle, that he almost misses Steve’s mumbled speech. 

“Y’know, th— Said I’ll go blind. Or deaf. Or just… die.” He says it to matter-of-factly that Eddie’s heart stops for a second.

What the fuck happened to Steve Harrington? Not just today, no. What happened to him?

What happend to make him look up at Eddie Munson, out of all people, with glistening eyes so endlessly scared, and say, “I don’t wanna die, Munson. I never… I didn’t. With the monsters or the torture. I can't—” A wheeze, a keen, a whimper, and Harringtin pulls at his hair, uncaring that he's making things worse.

Meanwhile, Eddie is stuck on his words. Because what. 

“Can’t, can't die now ‘cause Tommy thinks he’s so… He’s… He’s just sad, man. Griev'n' and confused. But Billy’s gone, an'— And now I’ll…”

Steve looks at him now, his eyes shining with tears and something that Eddie’s written poems about and created characters around. This expression, like the world will end. And inspiring as it is, it fucking breaks his heart now. 

“They said my brain is hurt, Eddie.”

Eddie swallows the hurt and the fear and the complete overwhelm he's feeling. Steve is telling him things that Eddie doesn't know how to handle.

“You won’t die, Steve,” he says in as gentle a voice as he can muster right now, because that's the only thing he knows.

And he won’t, right? People don’t just die. Not from taking a punch, not when they just graduated high school, not when they’re Steve Harrington. Right? 

“Yeah?” 

“Yeah.” 

“Okay,” Steve breathes. “That’s good.” 

Eddie wants to hug him in that moment. He never knew that this was possible, wanting to hug Steve Harrington, wanting to wrap the blanket around him even tighter and keep him safe and convince him that he won’t die. 

And then the rest of what he said catches up with Eddie and leaves anger in its wake. 

“Hagan did that to you?” 

Steve nods. “Started going off about Billy.”

Eddie’s blood freezes at that name. "Hargrove?” 

Another nod, though Steve doesn’t look too happy about moving his head, and he groans quietly. “They were friends. Tommy is angry. Grieving. Con— Confused. He was just saying shit, like it’s my fault. And it is. Kinda. But Tommy’s, he, he’s... Just saying shit. And then he punched me. A lot. And he didn’t stop. And now… is now.” 

“Yeah,” Eddie breathes dumbly, carefully bandaging the glaring wound at his temple, needing to start somewhere. “Now is now.” His blood is still frozen as he tries very hard not to listen to Steve. Nothing that Harrington says has any right to matter anything to him; they live in two different worlds. If Harrington confesses to murder while severely concussed under Eddie’s watch, then there are no witnesses to drag either of them through the mud for it. Eddie is just gonna forget about it. Or try, anyway. “But you’re… Shit , Steve, you’re really hurt.” 

Steve blinks. Pauses. And Eddie thinks he’s lost him. But then, “Yeah. I’m always hurt.” 

And that, in this little voice, is like a gut punch. Because Eddie knows something about always hurt. “What?” 

“What?” 

There is ice in his veins as he asks, “Who’s hurting you, Steve?” 

Steve looks at him, opening his mouth once, twice, like he’s about to say something and Eddie holds his breath. But then Steve’s eyes droop and he shrinks in on himself a bit more. 

“Jus’ everyone, sometimes. God you don’t… You don’t even know.” 

Know what, Harrington? Eddie can barely breathe anymore.

“’M tired, Eddie,” Steve mumbles, closing his eyes. “Don’t wanna hurt anymore.” 

“Hey, hey, no!” Eddie reaches out, catching Steve’s head and preventing it from colliding with the floor as he’s slumping and falling over. 

And just like that, the panic is back, frantic but determined this time. He’s going to get help; there’s nothing he can do with his lousy first aid kit, not when Steve keeps going in and out of consciousness like that. Not when he can barely see anything or clean the wounds properly.

He’s going to get Steve to a hospital and allow them both to forget this ever happened. Because Steve Harrington and Eddie Munson don’t breathe the same air or share traumatic stories in a boathouse like this. 

He’ll get out of Steve’s hair the second the hospital doors close behind him, and get out of whatever trouble someone like Harrington could be in. Eddie doesn’t even want to know. He doesn't want to be part of his ghost story.

But as he’s scooping him up and helping him out of the damned boathouse, clumsily preventing him from stumbling over his own feet or tools or tarp or planks or whatever fucking shit is littering the floor of this godforsaken place, he can hear Steve speaking quietly. 

"Where‘re we going?"

And even though a second ago he was determined to take Steve to a hospital, there is only one place on Eddie's mind right now. Only one place he knows where he won't be scared anymore.

"Somewhere safe," he says, tightening his hold on the boy even though his hands are shaking now, too. He looks over his shoulders the moment they're out of the boathouse, stupidly worried that whoever did this to Steve – Hagan, apparently – would still be around, would follow them and do the same shit to Eddie.

"Safe?"

"Safe."

"Okay," Steve sighs, like he believes him. Like he trusts him. Hell, they've never even spoken before, but something inside Eddie breaks at the little sigh, at the way Steve goes slack in his arms. And even more at the little, "Thanks."

If Eddie's eyes are filled with tears and the hands around the wheel are clenched so tight to hide the way they're shaking, then Steve is not conscious enough to comment on it.

(addendum 7 december) onwards to part 2

[revelboo]

Mtmte Drift? ⚔️ also there’s an old Japanese saying by a Ninja clan that roughly translates to “Those who desire only technique will never understand it's everything beyond that” it reminds me of Drift and who he left behind being Deadlock. Also ever notice how deadlock favored guns and drift favors swords/cybertronian katanas? 🥷

The Samurai Code

IDW Drift x Reader

• Whet stone rasping over the edge of his blade, that steady sound centers him. Lets his thoughts focus. Grounds him so those other thoughts stay safely chained away in the back of his processor, those sins he can never forget, but can’t let define him. Because in the quiet? That past slips free and tries to seize him by the throat, whispering that he’s only pretending. That he can’t really change, no one can. That Drift is all an act, because deep down he’s still as awful as he ever was. He’s just playing at being good. Sliding the stone in another pass, there’s a sudden sensation of the air feeling almost electric, crackling over his frame. And then there’s a human blipping into existence with a ragged cry of pain as he freezes.

• Knees hitting the metal floor, you curl forward as your body burns. Your shoulder and forehead thump into the floor, the impact jarring you as your body heaves, unable to breathe as that fiery prickling begins to subside until you can suck in ragged breaths. Unable to understand what just happened, vision fuzzy at the edges as panic and fear play tug of war with you. Something moves at the edge of your vision and, head turning, you stare up at a giant, metal monster leaning forward, a huge hand outstretched.

• It’s shaking as he reaches for it, not wholly sure it’s really there and not just some kind of hallucination, but as the tip of a servo brushes against it, the human flails to get up and run and goes sprawling instead, that trembling growing violent. “It’s okay,” he says, thankful he at least knows the language from dealing with Rung’s human. Hopes if nothing else, his soft tone will calm it some. It doesn’t. As soon as he picks it up, it goes crazy fighting against his hold and he has to cage it between his servos. “Where did you come from?” He asks as it slumps exhausted in his hands and he’s aware of that frantic heart beating against his servos in terror. Of how small and fragile it is in his grip.

• You’re trapped like a moth between those giant hands and somehow it knows your language. It’s talking to you. That helps calm some of the panic, but it doesn’t help with any of the questions. Like where you are or how you’d gotten here. Everything is just a painful haze of confusion as you stare up through those giant servos at your captor and really hope he’s as friendly as he seems. Groaning when he stands and begins to walk with you still caged in his hands. Leaving you to pray to anyone who might be listening that he’s not taking you to be dissected alive.

Next

[jadeylovesmarvelxo]

Steve Harrington x reader

Mdni. 18+ short and sweet Steve fic.

It was the fourth time the dream had happened in three months.

Ever since you had seen Steve fighting off those Demobats, shirtless, sweaty, dirty, it had plagued your dreams.

You'd wake up in a sweat, flushed and aching for him. The dreams had turned even more intimate in the last few weeks.

Flashes of your last dream have you squirming in desire as you picture the way that you had pleasured Steve, the way his head threw back as you went down on him, wrapping your lips around his thick, hard dick.

Groaning you collapse back onto the bed.

You needed to get laid!

❤️

Robin seems to have some sixth sense about your turmoil or she's psychic. Because, when you head into work she's deep in conversation with Steve about you guessed it... Dreams.

"It felt so real Steve. You don't think Vickie would do that do you?" Steve calms Robin down and his eyes meet yours, remembering your own dream last night sends you scuttling away to unpack boxes of new videos.

"Robin, for the last time it's your anxiety playing up. Vickie loves you okay? It's maybe time to stop watching sad romance movies before bed though?" she nods and turns to you.

"What do you think? Dreams are just dreams right?" you nod avoiding Steve's gaze.

"Yes absolutely, they don't have to mean anything. Maybe you should talk with Vickie because something is causing you to panic Robin?" she agrees with this and seems much happier.

"You know what you and Steve are right. I need to stop worrying about this. Hey, you okay? You look really tired...bad dream" her eyes light up at the way you immediately look away flustered.

"Or really good dreams?" she teases and you knew you should have never said anything to her last week, you were desperate to talk to someone and mentioned the nature of your dream but not who it was about.

"It's nothing" Steve looks between the two of you confused.

"Am I missing something here?" Robin shakes her head and winks at you.

"Come on we can tell Steve. Then maybe you could get his advice too?" Oh no. No way did you want to mention anything about your dreams to Steve of all people.

"Wait is she having dreams about Vickie too?" he asks puzzled and Robin rolls her eyes at him.

"No dingus but she is having very hot dreams about someone else" Yeah, thanks Robin.

"That was meant to be a secret" you hiss and she frowns as she joins you in putting out new videos.

"Steve won't make fun of you or anything. He wouldn't dare and you've been stressing about this for weeks" that was true but Steve knowing was just one step closer to him figuring out he had a starring role in your dreams.

You couldn't let that happen.

❤️

Steve tidies up the popcorn left over from movie night and gently places another blanket over you as you sleep.

He's just dealing with the beer bottles when he hears you moan and he immediately panics thinking you might be having a nightmare or something.

Then you moan again and it's all needy, full of longing and his eyes widen. Shit were you having one of your dreams about the dude you liked?

He feels rooted to the spot but manages to tear himself away from looking at you, he shouldn't be listening to this. No he needed to get far away from you.

Still, there's a twinge of curiosity on who you're dreaming about. That and the stirrings of jealousy he felt about whoever the guy was.

"Steve" You whisper and he freezes on the spot, panics that you've caught him listening and is just about to apologise when you moan and whisper his name again.

"Mmm Steve" he gapes. Wait a minute were you dreaming about him? He's stunned, so stunned that he accidentally upends the bottles he's carrying and you wake with a start.

The way your lips part and a coy smile creeps over your face and Steve is momentarily stunned.

"I should go" you murmur and he shakes his head. Oh no, there was no way he was letting you go until he got answers.

"So those dreams huh? I heard you whisper my name" you swear under your breath and realise that you need to come clean. Now.

"You weren't supposed to find out. I'm so mortified" he cocks his head and moves closer to you, his hand ghosting over your hip and he pulls you inches closer to him.

"I'm curious honey. What exactly did the dreams entail?" you still feeling shocked. Oh, this isn't what you were expecting.

"Steve are you sure...' he nods and tilts your cheek up so you look at him.

"Tell me?" and so you do. You tell him about being on your knees and taking every inch of his dick in your mouth, about the way you can't stop thinking about how hot he looked fighting the Demobats.

And you tell him all about the way he would fuck you senselessly, until you would wake up aching in need.

By the end Steve's eyes are filled with lust and he smirks. "Left you all hot and needy for me huh sweetheart? I think we should fix that don't you? Get on your knees"

Fuck, you don't have to be told twice.

❤️

[robraeinnevermore]

why do u ship robrae so much

short answer: THEY UNDERSTAND EACH OTHER mainly childhood nostalgia my brain refuses to let go of.

long answer: I’m a slut for a brooding couple dynamic. Most of my ship fuel is from the 03 cartoon so I can’t say much about comics or any other media. Warning: I am gonna YAP.

In Nevermore Robin is the one to break through her attack on Dr. Light and then later tries to constantly respect her space when she asks to be left alone despite the others wanting to check on her.

Robin was the one to figure out the connection between Raven’s powers shorting out and the haunted house in Fear Itself because he knows her so well.

They confide in each other their hesitancy’s about Terra, both the first time she comes around and when she makes a come back later on.

It’s a small thing in Spellbound but after one of the missions she runs back to her room and he’s the first one to check on her— noticing specifically how she seemed to be in a rush and wanted to make sure she was okay.

In Haunted she easily could have just used her soul self to fly through the building through the walls and used her empathy to find Robin but instead she made a mental link to him. Whether the show meant it to be a physical bond or not, it stirred up memories and information Robin likely wouldn’t have been open about otherwise. He had the option to deny her access to his mind, but I think he needed some sort of reassurance someone else could really see Slade and that he wasn’t going crazy. If he was going to trust anyone physically in his head it was going to be Raven.

Then we get into the fucking birthmark/prophecy/ end arc and I go absolutely mental.

Robin knows she doesn’t want to celebrate her birthday for some reason and even on the insistence of the others he hesitantly goes along with it because he still wants to celebrate his friend. When they’re fighting Slade, Robin is almost crushed by a gear which is what prompts her to panic and accidentally stop time. Robin is the only one she frees from the time freeze and trusts him with the prophecy of her birth. They’re both trying to protect each other and it’s just the start of them doing anything for each other. I think it’s very heavily insinuated Slade assaults Raven, to an extent, and Robin is the one to catch her after and take her home. When they try to throw another party for her he makes a point to check in again and ask her if she’s really okay with this. Plus Robin’s comment of her being in his head and letting him inside hers will always stick with me. He’s trying to be vulnerable with her and hoping she’ll do the same. She almost wavers, but the fear of losing the people she’s close to holds her back from telling him everything.

Robin can tell there’s something going on with her in The Prophecy, especially when they’re in the library right before she leaves to go to Azarath. When she returns to kick Slades ass and she’s goading Slade about protecting the gem Robin puts it together that Raven is the gem.

Then The fucking End. Raven does her best to make the end of the world the best day she can for her friends and Robin tries to get the others to go easy on her when she makes a dogshit breakfast. When her body starts to react to The End and she falls to the ground crying Robin is the one to comfort her. Robin and Cy working on a room to specifically keep her safe from Trigon so nothing can get to her. Then despite all that Robin literally goes to hell for her. Teams up with Slade, the man he hates the most in the world, in order to find her. He guides her through hell to face her father and once again when Robin is knocked unconscious she finds the strength to kick some ass. The lightness in her tone when she hugs Robin and says “Somebody believed,” and he embraces her in return. Their conversation at the end of the saga about how Raven is what gives Robin hope— as if she doesn’t feel the same exact way wtf.

I think they push each other in ways the others necessarily don’t. They understand there’s a darkness to each of them and it’s something they can fully accept in each other. I think sometimes having someone in a darker place than you can bring out an unexpected light.

Robin knows when to check on Raven but he also knows when to give her space. In contrast, Raven knows when Robin needs space but also knows when to force her help on him. They’re both stubborn, snappy and hot headed; but they would do literally anything for each other and regardless of how heated their words may get they’re always honest with each other. The trust they have for each other is insurmountable and I think that adds to their chemistry.

I also just have so many other small niche things in my brain that are just constantly screaming at me like

[siffrin-enthusiast]

hey chat i’ve been having Thoughts about siffrin again.

tws for heavy discussions of unhealthy coping mechanisms, self-harm & suicide in the game in stars and time, spoilers for the entire game act 6 twohats etc etc. if anyone reads this and thinks of any more tws i should add, send them in and i'll add them to the top of this post.

your last warning of heavy discussions VERY unhealthy coping, the urge to and methods of physical and emotional SELF-HARM, and the weight of SUICIDE. i just want to reiterate that IT IS A LOT. use your best judgement before & while reading this post and PLEASE BE CAREFUL.

last last warning. just to be sure.

siffrin self-harms in the loops. we all know this, right? from the increasingly barbaric means they use to loop back, the glass shard they pick up and use, the bigfrin fight where your only craft skill is "(don't attack.) can't hurt them. attack the only person left" and the party visibly reacts to you using it. it's not exactly subtle.

it makes sense that the pretty popular headcanon is that siffrin doesn't drop the habit of self-harming after coming out of the loops. i agree with that, but i also think that it's not done in the way most people are thinking! let me explain.

siffrin's self-harming behavior in the loops boils down to three major (and very intertwined) truths about their situation.

siffrin does not recognize the value in his life. this has been a thing since before sif joined the party. they happened to cross paths and stepped up to defeat a "particularly strong Sadness" (and for reference, fully leveled storming the house Mirabelle gets nervous about fighting a Sadness. they will freeze you in time. they ripped out siffrin's eye in one blow. they are DANGEROUS.) and siffrin comes along to save this country because "there's nothing else for you to do". and then the loops start. siffrin realizes he can die and. well. holy fuck. we've all played the game. siffrin is literally killing himself, killing himself, for convenience because it's annoying to walk to a tear. and it's his idea!! if you do it enough times, the death text changes from (You killed yourself.) to (You saved yourself some time.) loop has a line about advising siffrin against suicide because they'll see themself as "disposable" and...yeah. yeah. they do.

siffrin will not let physical or emotional harm come to the other members of their party. again, this is something seen before the loops, when siffrin loses his eye defending bonnie from a sadness, and how they still cringe over being 'inconsiderate' to mira months ago during their travels across vaugarde. when the party panics after (just attack), siffrin loops. when the party dies in loop's hangout, siffrin loops. when bonnie is taken by the king, siffrin loops. when isa is taken aback by bad touch, siffrin loops. when odile realizes they're in a time loop in kinda sus, siffrin loops. when the party watches siffrin hurt himself in the bigfrin fight, siffrin attempts to loop. good god, there's a scene where if you try and use the dagger on your family members siffrin blames his intrusive thoughts and stabs themself. because of their intrusive thoughts. his dreams are about the fear of hurting their friends. their worst, most traumatizing moments are about other people getting hurt.

siffrin's actions in the loops are reversible. if something is done, it can be undone. it can be scripted around. their party will not know unless siffrin chooses to tell them. none of their actions have consequences. sif delights in this (until realizing beating the king doesn't free him from the loop). fuck up bonnie's friendquest? loop! miss a key? loop! say the wrong thing? loop! everyone dies horribly? loop! loop! loop!

and after the loops? let's take a moment to reevaluate siffrin's situation:

siffrin does not recognize the value of his life. still.

siffrin will not let physical or emotional harm come to the other members of their party. still.

siffrin's actions are no longer reversible. there is no time loop. what happens now happens--no second chances, no undo button. they are permanent. especially now that they've seen sif try to loop, the smell of burnt sugar that precedes it, and odile figured out how to shut it down. all of their actions have consequences.

immediately after the bigfrin fight, mira asks where sif is going and bonnie LITERALLY says "Yeah, you're stupid if you think we're leaving you to do whatever you want right now." and the party double-checks that siffrin is going to see loop before letting them run off. and then twohats happens. when siffrin gets back, isa comments "We were getting worried." in siffrin's small absence (despite knowing exactly where siffrin was, talking to loop, who the party has a favorable opinion of) and then mira calls them out directly for looking sad.

the party is watching siffrin like fucking hawks.

i fully believe that siffrin would feel the urge to self-harm. i fully believe that the party knows this too. and i think siffrin would at least suspect that the party is going to be looking very, very closely for signs of more physical self-harm.

there's a phenomenon i don't have a name for but that i've seen repeated where someone trying to recover from using an unhealthy coping mechanism can slip into using a different unhealthy coping mechanism instead. in school, perfectionism can lead to avoidance. if a person shuts down for too long, they might start acting out or doing other attention-seeking behaviors as a cry for help. and after we experience continuous trauma, a lot of people will seek out or be more attached to unhealthy relationships (of any time) and find comfort & stability in the abuse endured. obviously this isn't the case every time, and i don't even know if it's a Thing i actually read about in psychology classes or just a pattern i've been noticing! i'm no professional.

for siffrin, actions and their consequences are now permanent. so i really, really don't think he's going to self-harm unless they're 100% sure they're going to get away with it (and i doubt the opportunity will arise for months). because if the party finds out they self-harm, that breaks sif's rule of not letting physical/emotional harm come to the party. they're going to be devastated. we already saw how they acted when siffrin did it in front of them when he was using the dagger to loop, the bigfrin fight. when dagger looping, siffrin was more shaken up about watching their family watch siffrin die than the literally killing himself part. they do it in front of their party and in the bigfrin fight because he thinks he can loop back. but that is no longer siffrin's reality. the party will be devastated if siffrin hurts himself and siffrin cannot undo that hurt.

("Yeah, you're stupid if you think we're leaving you to do whatever you want right now.")

i think that since physical self-harm is banned for siffrin, he's going to subconsciously shift to emotional or at least more subtle self-harm. keeping that unhealthy emotional distance. getting angry and frustrated and bitter. overly helpful. denial and minimizing and suppressing the loops. alcoholism. dissociating from their feelings. keeping their expectations so, so soul-crushingly low. passivity. whatever was left of his self-esteem is going through a woodchipper. self-sabotage his relationships. impulsive behavior. throwing themself into the party's problems to forget his own.

little things, subtle unconscious displays of siffrin's utter loathing of himself that he thinks on some level he can get away with. that their party won't notice, won't be hurt by. there won't be consequences! no one will be hurt (except siffrin, but as previously discussed, siffrin does not value themself). the party is going to be watching; their refusal to let siffrin go to dormont alone says as much. and siffrin is not going to start opening up and becoming the coping mechanisms master; their non-mention of the fight with loop (only saying "i said thanks to loop" instead of "loop is me and also tried to kill me") says as much. there's...a long road ahead, that much is clear.

i think siffrin will eventually get better. isafrin only happened because siffrin reached out for isabeau instead of waiting on isa to do it, which i'm interpreting as a very positive sign of sif learning he has to reach out for help to receive it. it's going to be messy. it's going to take a while. but the time will pass anyways. siffrin will eventually get better.

those are just my thoughts as a non-professional. i'd love to hear other people's thinking about siffrin. if you need it, here's tumblrs official mental health resources post with resources sorted by different countries. stay safe and be well, everyone :)

[snakeredbirdbatkatana]

(Opinions Guys Idk)

Bruce Wayne has been a father for over ten years.

He's delt with any issue children vomiting on his shoes runny noses tears he's got you.

He's also buried his children been covered in their blood helped calm down panic attacks. He might not be the best but he's always tried.

There is however one tiny thing that he can say he's never prepared for no amount of contingencies ever can make him ready.

Any form of high society interaction with Tim.

Watching his third son with a smirk that's deadly convincing the richest to give practically all they have to him.

Manipulating board members, blackmailing politicians.

He looks so much like his mother.

Bruce sees his other children they look uncomfortable he once watched Stephanie yell at Tim that she doesn't understand him that he's horrible for doing it.

Jason calling him a rich prick which he was grounded for not that it has ever stopped his second son.

Another gala happened tonight the entire family was present and now watching once again all of his children even sweet Dickie lecturing Tim.

"Seriously Timmy it's just a little much don't you think"

"Boy Wonder that was disgusting who taught you to act like that"

"Timbers I'm all for fucking with people but what the fuck"

He sees the heartbreak painting Red Robin's face he can feel his own reflect it.

His tiny little sweetheart who learned at his mothers knee, his baby boy who works so hard for the company. Who's done tremendous things the only one of them to actually get the respect of the people of Gotham he can't watch it.

"That's enough," Growls out of him.

All of his children freeze looking at him Damian who has remained quiet looking at his brother with nothing but respect turns hurt masked.

"Your brother did amazing tonight, in a way this was an oversight on my part none of you were specifically trained how to act around the Gotham elite. Tim was raised by Janet Drake who was known as the dragon of Gotham".

They start to shift confusion practically pouring out of them.

He looks straight at Tim as he walks forward placing his hand on his shoulder.

" I might not alway agree with how your mother raised you I wish she did a lot differently sweetheart."

A sharp smile begins to paint both Tim's and Damian's faces.

They understand that he is speaking to both of them the only two to really understand.

"But she raised you to know that power that you hold to be able to rule which isn't something I could your siblings are wrong." He turns to glare especially at Stephanie and Jason.

"I'm not saying what you did is right morally it can be questionable however you both know what to do in situations like that experience that none of your siblings could ever have."

He breathes knowing he might anger his children throwing in their faces that they weren't born with silver spoons they have to fight and claw to be where they are.

"This is both Damian and Tim's territory neither are going into crime alley or the narrows and telling you what to do. You don't get to complain about how they were raised or how they handle situations you have no prior knowledge of." He sees that at least Dick is understanding a light entering his eyes

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

So this is the beggining of a story kinda talking about the difference between how Damian and Tim were raised compared to everyone else.

This was something me and a mutual have been working on but we are disagreeing about it.

They think it's fine I don't know.

Could I get opinions because I personally think it is fascinating how Tim is raised versus others not in a negative or positive.

However I think the way we have done some of it mind you this is almost a twenty chapter fanfiction. Might be slightly not good.

I wanted to explain how Tim and Damian would have an advantage their mother raised badass sons who know how powerful they can be.

They were raised rich and with the world at their fingertips but I think we made it sounds very bashy I need thoughts please let me know.

This is only not even a chapter but I wanted to give something of reference.

I think the privilege is slightly too heavy handed and it makes it sounds like the Rich are better idk. 

[blu3-j]

How about everyone from Welcome Home has a sleepover with the human Reader who just arrived in the neighborhood! What would happen if, while the reader is sleeping, he starts crying or says something like this in his sleep: "Please stop this hurting me" (poor reader is having a nightmare). Of course, his puppet friends are going to wake the reader up, but when the reader wakes up he says "no, look over there in the corner there's a monster and he's going to devour me" and after that the reader faints and goes back to sleep..

How would the puppets react? What would happen?

(( Sorry if it's confusing, it's just that I have Sleep Paralysis sometimes when I'm woken up by having a nightmare I see this scary entity that terrified me in my sleep next to me in bed, it's so scary because it seems so real, sometimes I I simply go back to sleep as if nothing happened and I don't remember that accident. ))

Night Horrors

Reader with Sleep Paralysis x Welcome Home Crew

(Headcannon List!)

Oh, goodness! I’m so sorry to hear that, fellow stranger! Well, know that all of the Welcome Home crew would be deeply concerned for you and check up on you the next morning! They care for you so so much! Know that I care for you so much, too! We may be strangers, but I still care! It must be so scary.

Wally:

This dude would just look in the corner you made comment to and investigate

No fear, whatsoever

I can imagine him laughing when seeing nothing and saying aloud to anyone listening “Silly, silly! There’s nothing here.” And just go back to whatever he was doing before he went to check up on you.

Has had experience investigating scary things in the dark to comfort Barnaby

Barnaby:

His eyes would go wide and he’d freeze instantly.

This guy may be a jokester, but he’s not much of a fan of horror

Watching him would be like watching those online gamers play horror games, honestly

He’d slowly turn around and either jump anyway, or he’d walk the other direction repeatedly saying “nope nope nope nope” the entire time

Wally would have to comfort the poor doggo

Sally:

She’d freeze up for a moment and just stare at you as you fell back asleep

The entire time she would just heavily debate on whether or not to look

“D-don’t worry, Y/N, I’ll be your knight in shining armor!”

She’d attempt to go into an acting bit to convince herself to be brave for you

You could hear her sigh of relief outside of the building when she didn’t see anything

Would no doubt refuse to sleep without you or anyone else in the room, though

Julie:

Girly would go wide-eyed and dart around to look, ready to beat the shit out of whatever you saw

Don’t underestimate her, because of her games with random and possibly made up on the spot rules, she’s a lot stronger than she looks and she knows it

She’s more of a fight person than flight, fawn, or freeze

Upon seeing nothing there, she would turn back around and pat you on the head with a smile on her face

“Oh, Y/N, you silly billy! Your eyes must have been playing tricks on you.”

Once she was sure you weren’t having anymore nightmares, she’d skip off to do what she was doing before

Poppy:

Instant panic

This bird is a scaredy bird

She would instantly curl up under the blanket with you and do her best not to look in the corner

She’s shaking so hard, it’s a wonder you didn’t wake up

If she got brave enough, she would rush over to the phone and call somebody over (most likely Howdy) to check the corner for her

Howdy:

No fear

He wouldn’t walk over, but he would definitely look in the corner to make sure there’s nothing there

He’d chuckle when there really wasn’t anything there and then tuck you back in

Like Wally, he’s had experience checking for scary monsters in the house for Poppy and Sally (Sally rarely ever called him to check on something, but he’s had to in the past)

Additionally, he runs a bodega store. There must of been times that were scary as shit

I mean, think about it! He’s most probably heard some things outside or seen things in his store while closing up or during the night when he’s supposed to be sleeping plenty of times!

He’s got to be brave, at least for investigating

Maybe not as much for confrontation, but I can imagine he may know how to stand his ground (albeit a bit shakily)

Frank:

Like most of the others, he would freeze up a bit

Only for a single moment, though

Then he would turn around

When he saw nothing, he breathed a sigh of relief

Depending on how close the two of you are, he’d either lightly glare at you (I doubt it from thinking he’s a huge softy, just a bit grumpy and intellectual), or “smile” at you

“Smile” as in his eyes would scrunch up the tiniest bit in that special way a person smiles at another and raise his eyebrows a bit

Due to his permanent frown, he can’t really smile at you, but he tries on occasion!

For the rest of the night, though, he’d be a small bit on edge

Eddie:

Poor guy would instantly run and call for Frank

If Frank can’t come, he’d attempt to wake you either to assure him there’s nothing there or to run to another room to sleep for the rest of the night

He’s definitely a flight guy, but that doesn’t mean he won’t still try to protect others!

He’d do anything to keep his friends/significant others safe!

Even if it means facing his worst, scariest fears!

Home:

Yes, I’m putting Home in here since they technically count as a character of Welcome Home

That, and Home needs some love, too!

Home would instantly be able to know there’s nothing there

But don’t be fooled! If they were able to breathe like a human, their breathing would have stopped for a moment

Home would tuck you back in with something they can control

If they can’t tuck you back in, they’d squeak out a loving “goodnight.”

[medusapelagia]

Seeds of Dreams, Seeds of Truth 2\11

Rating: Mature Relationship: Steve Harrington/Eddie Munson Tags: Alternate Universe - Medieval, Alternate Universe - Magic, Regent Prince/King Steve Harrington, Knight Eddie Munson, Prison, Sick Steve Harrington, Vomiting, Attempted Murder, Poisoning, Double povs, Panic Attacks, Magic,

Read it here or on AO3

Part 1, Part 2, Part 3, Part 4, Part 5, Part 6, Part 7, Part 8, Part 9, Part 10, Part 11)

WC: 1616

Since Steve became Regent Prince, three years ago, no one has inhabited the royal dungeons and that was a source of pride for Steve, who was the youngest ruler that the kingdom has ever had. Not once, in those years, something happened that he wasn’t able to deal with.

Thieves were caught stealing, but if they stole because they were hungry the Regent Prince found them a decent job with a salary that let them feed their families and repay the offended party. Every dispute was fixed peacefully. If a boy had too much energy, he was sent to the royal guard to learn how dangerous weapons can be and how important it is to use them only when words are not enough.

Steve knows that some of his subjects thought that he was too tolerant, but during his reign taxes were paid, people were happy and the kingdom prosperous, and not once in his life Steve has thought that the first person to inhabit the dungeons after years would have been him.

His father's guards escort him there, strip him of his royal regalia and dress him just with a jute sack, leaving him with nothing else but a moldy and dirty blanket to shield himself from the cold. The air is damp and freezing and Steve’s right arm is chained to the wall like he was the most dangerous criminal in the kingdom.

He hasn’t seen his father since the moment he called him the usurper; all he knows is that his personal guard, Eddie, had stepped in front of him, his hand on his sword, ready to fight for him, but Steve had stopped him.

“Not in the Sacred House.” And not anywhere else, if Steve could prevent it, and Eddie had glared at him, his eyes full of silent fury, ready to burn the entire world if Steve asked for it.

But Steve did not.

The heir to the throne knew too well how quickly things could turn south. He had trained with the Royal Guard as well as a kid, and the most important lesson he learned was that it doesn’t matter how good with your sword you think you are, if your enemy injures you, you could die, and if there is something Steve is sure about it is that he doesn’t want Eddie’s blood on his hands.

That’s why he let his father’s guard grab him and drag him away.

The last thing he saw was Eddie, his jaw clenched and his eyes wide with worry, staring at him.

Steve had tried to reassure him, smiling back at him, but one of his father’s guards had covered his face with a bag, and when someone finally took it away he was alone in the prison cell, shivering from the cold.

The loud clang of a metal sword warns him that his prison guard is coming to give him his food ratio, if he could call the piece of hard bread and some muddy water they give him such a thing.

“My father?” Steve dares to ask, sure that if he will get the chance to speak with him everything will be alright, but the guard doesn’t reply, he just leaves the bowl of water and takes with him the torch, taking away even the minimal warmth and comfort of the light.

There is a little window in his cell, up on the wall, so small that Steve can’t even imagine using it to escape even if he wasn’t handcuffed at the wall, but at least he can see a little square of the sky.

In the darkness of the night there is a little star that shines right in the middle of his personal piece of sky, and somewhere inside his heart, Steve dares to think that is Eddie, checking on him.

What really worries the Regent Prince is that he doesn’t know what happened to his guards. He dares to wish that they managed to escape somehow or knelt to the rightful king. The Prince wonders if there was turmoil in the streets when their people saw him taken away, like a criminal, after all the years he served the kingdom, but he hopes not. He has worked hard during the last three years to keep everyone safe and sound, the last thing he wishes is to be held responsible for someone’s death.

Steve sigh, Eddie was always a hothead and he knows it first hand since they trained together since they were kids. They fought hard, always eager to get into a fight, and when they finally understood that they were more similar than they dared to imagine they became friends. And then they became lovers.

“I’m fine, Ed.” The Prince whispers to the night, before lying on the cold floor, trying to get some rest.

***

When the sky turns a soft lilac, Steve is still awake, shaking under the moldy blanket and wondering why his father is not giving him an audience: if only the King would let Steve talk to him he could explain everything. He has no desire to be King, he did what he had to do to assure the kingdom’s prosperity, but he is more than ready to give back the crown, the sword, whatever he wants. If his father is really so angry because he organized a funeral for him, he will go into exile of his own volition and he will never come back to the kingdom. He has no claims or requests, all he wants is to make sure that his people are well fed and the kingdom prosperous and he knows that his presence is not necessary: the kingdom has been the richest one in centuries, he just did his best to keep it that way.

Soft steps on the stairs draw his attention: not a guard. Steve tries to stand up as much as he can with his wrist still chained to the wall, and when the door squeaks open a very familiar woman appears on the steps.

“Joyce…” Steve murmurs, trying to get closer to the door and yanking the chain. “Joyce, what are you doing here? Are you ok? Why are you here? Did my father put you in jail too? And Will? Where is Will?!” Steve asks, remembering in that moment that the kid was at his side when his father interrupted the ceremony. The woman gently puts a finger on her lips, gesturing him to stay quiet, but Steve keeps bouncing on his feet, yanking the metal cuff that ties him to the wall.

The woman leaves another wooden cup with some water and another piece of stale bread.

“I’m fine and so is my kid,” she reassures him, “but something is wrong. The man that’s sitting on the throne is not the King I knew. He was a stern man but fair, this one is a monster that put his only son in jail!” she declares, holding Steve’s hand. “And there is more. Every night someone disappears from the castle. I prohibited Will from leaving the room we share, but you know he always had a deep connection with the spiritual world and now he senses that something is hovering over the castle. A malevolent presence, he calls it, something that he can’t really point out.” The woman whispers and Steve lifts his eyes, worried.

Steve nods, Will is a sensible boy, touched by the old gods as the people used to say. Joyce has always been fiercely protective of him, assuring everyone that he’s just an intelligent and gifted kid, but now she is shivering.

“You are our King, Steve,” she murmurs, “you have to help us! Don’t surrender. Do it for us. We need you. Your father…” She bites her lips, like she was avoiding saying something “We need you.” She insists, then she takes the old empty cup and climbs the stairs, turning one last time before disappearing from the view.

Steve grabs the cell’s bars so tight that his knuckles whiten. He is trapped in that stupid cell and knows nothing of what happened outside. The thought that someone might be hurt because of him is devastating, and he punches the prison’s bars with a frustrated groan that makes the metal tremble. If there is a price to pay, Steve will gladly pay it, but he needs to know that the people he cares about are safe. And what does it mean that people are disappearing?

And Eddie? Where is he? Is he safe or is he one of the missing people Joyce was talking about? God, he really hopes that he is safe and hasn’t done something stupid.

The bread is not inviting, but it’s the only thing that he can eat and even if he doesn’t know what will happen the only thing he is sure about is that he will need his strength. He forces himself to eat the bread, dipping it in the water to soften it a bit before biting into it like an animal.

Steve wrinkles his nose in disgust: the food is terrible, he is dirty and cold, and he is starting to smell bad, but there is nothing he can do apart from curl up against the wall and try to fight the drafts as much as he can.

He misses his comfy bed and the person that used to warm his sheets every night, but there is no point in complaining, so he tries to keep his mind clear, ready to beg his father for his guards’ lives. But the time passes and not once does his father come to visit him or drag him to the audience hall.

[soaps-mohawk]

Absolutely utterly in love with your writing, I just can not put it into words! 💚

If you haven’t already, could you explain a bit more about how the distress works? Like, what can cause it and what are the possible outcomes of it?

Also, if Ghost was actually there when she was distressing, why couldn’t she smell him? (I kind of imagined it like they become hyper sensitive when in distress but I’m very new to a/b/o) Or did he not smell a distress scent (if that exists) coming from her…?

Also can Alphas/Betas experience distress (like reader or maybe in another away)?

Aww thank you so much!! I'm so happy to hear that you're enjoying the fic!! 💚

And sure! I can dive a little bit into distress!

So distress is a natural protective instinct omegas have. Obviously, omegas are very vulnerable and though they can learn to defend themselves, they really never can completely remove every threat, that an alpha especially, can pose. We saw that with Ghost and how he overpowered her just with his scent back during their first training session.

Distress is sort of a last ditch, I have nothing else I can do sort of defense mechanism. It's when the omega is cornered and there's no fighting and nowhere to run, sort of defense mechanism. The omega doesn't literally have to be in that position to slip into distress, as we saw in the fic. There are various levels of distress, I think I've mentioned there's distressing and then there's distress. Distressing is basically the steps before distress fully sets in. The omega is stressed or afraid (or both) because something is happening that's making them feel like they're in danger or something is getting too overwhelming and they can't escape. The scent starts to sour as a sort of warning (I think I mentioned that briefly), an attempt to get whatever or whoever is causing the distressing to leave. It doesn't always work, though. The heart rate and blood pressure starts to rise, anxiety skyrockets and then it's a slippery slope to straight distress.

Distress is sort of like when fight and flight have failed and freeze wins. That panic takes over and the body quite literally starts to freeze. As we saw, the reader tunnel visioned, her body started to tense until her muscles stiffened and her joints locked. It's a sort of last ditch effort to protect the body, make it harder for whatever is attacking (or going to attack) from succeeding. The scent becomes almost unbearably stinky, sort of like a skunk spraying to protect itself. Omegas don't really remember much when they slip into full distress. After that tunnel vision, they kind of slip into a state of unawareness for their own protection so they're not completely traumatized by whatever's happening. It's like how your brain will just straight stop recording when something traumatic happens and you legit just have blank spots in your memory. Same thing, basically. She was conscious during the whole thing, but she doesn't remember a good chunk of it. (Hence where it can get very dangerous and the omega comes out.)

It can take a toll on the omega, as we saw. It's exhausting and the omega expends a lot of energy in distress. It's hard to come down from when there's no alpha there to help. If Price hadn't been there, then Dr. Keller might have had to sedate the reader and hope she didn't just continue to distress when she woke up. Omegas need that reassurance that their alpha is there and that they're safe in order to come out of it naturally and safely. The alpha being there tells them that it's over, that the threat is gone, that they have protection and can let go and relax.

Outcomes of it kind of depend on the situation/omega. As we saw omegas can be brought out of it by their alpha, or in some cases something like sedation might work to sort of force the body to relax. It can also lead to the omega slipping into that primal state and then basically going feral. If there's no help available, then omegas can die from distress. Typically they'd lose themselves to the omega too in that situation and the blood pressure skyrockets and the heart rate is going too high for too long and, well, I don't think I need to explain what happens next. Older omegas are especially vulnerable as their bodies degrade with time just like ours do. A young, healthy omega is less at risk, but it's never at zero.

So, reader probably could smell Ghost. Granted, he had just been in the enclosed space with her so his scent would have been there anyway. If she had been able to in that moment, she could have found him by scent. But, one has to keep in mind that he was the cause of it. He was the perceived danger, along with all of the other unknown alphas in the gym. So she wouldn't naturally go seeking out his scent, even though he was familiar because he was the one that left her. He put her in that position and she knew that. Even if he was her safest option, he was still a threat to her and so her omega was seeing him as the cause of the threat. He definitely knew she was distressing, but he realized he was the cause of it and him confronting her wouldn't have been good. She could have distressed somewhere unsafe (like the middle of the gym) or she could have attacked him which would have been bad for both of them. That's why he sort of silently followed her until she got somewhere safe. He wasn't going to risk confronting her, but he would have taken out anyone who tried to follow her.

Had Price been there, things might have been different. She would have scented her alpha before she went into full distress and might have risked seeking him out or just stayed put until he found her (which he would have immediately as soon as he scented her distress). Reader doesn't see Ghost as one of her alphas, and in that moment he was a threat too, so she wouldn't have sought him out or even trusted him if he went back to her.

Alphas and betas don't distress. Alphas will jump into fight mode and get super aggressive and angry and could slip into the alpha brain and get feral if they get threatened enough. Betas can get angry or threatened enough to get dangerous, but they don't really run a high risk of losing themselves to that primal, feral part of their brain since it's their nature to be the calm, level-headed ones. They can, if they need to, get a bonded omega out of distress. It needs to be an omega that's familiar with them, usually one that's part of their pack for it to really work, though.

This turned into a novel I am so sorry. I just love stuff like this so much. Thank you for your questions, as always, I'm more than happy to explain things as much as I can (spoilers in mind there) 💚

[casuallyimagining]

When September Ends // part seven.

Min Yoongi x female reader

Summary: Six years after leaving your home planet, you’re forced to confront your past… and the one you left behind.  Word Count: 5,483 Genre: Star Wars au, friends to enemies to lovers, angst Warnings: minor character death, survivor's guilt, yoongi has anger issues, mentions of the death of an entire planet, anxiety, alcohol, reader character suffers from the burden of high expectations, mentions of torture (nothing  explicit), mentions of needles, hospitalization, brief descriptions of scarring, brief descriptions of panic, hospitalization, an assassination attempt, a gun fight, murder

Notes: Thanks to @daechwitatamic and @the-boy-meets-evil for listening to me complain about this fic, helping me plan, and beta-ing for me; to @oddinary4btsfor the late-game encouragement and edits.

Playlist: All of the poetry in this fic has been pulled from various songs and poems. You can find all the songs (and some others) in the playlist that I made for this fic on Spotify.

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“What do you mean, ‘not fully’?”

Yoongi’s standing beside you outside of Jungkook’s quarters. The younger man is taller, even when he’s leaning against the wall. Yoongi’s voice is a little gruff, but not really biting. It’s interesting to see the change in him, even in just a few short weeks since you got out of the medbay. You’d reflect on it more, but currently, your mind is racing.

“They just don’t make those memory banks anymore,” Jungkook says, pushing himself off the wall. He adjusts the long sleeves of his tunic to cover what you know are scars around his wrists. “I rebuilt what I could, but her personality and memories are all tied into that bank. You can see for yourself, but…” He trails off, sliding his hand over the console in the wall.

The door to his quarters slides open with a mechanical hiss. You and Yoongi follow the kid inside.

You freeze in the doorway. You weren’t expecting Tee to be here and alive and folding Jungkook’s laundry. But there she is. Holding one of Jungkook’s shirts. You can tell he’s had her fixed for a while, too, because the whole room is spotless. It’s still cluttered, but there’s a definite organization to it. Which makes sense. It’s in Tee’s programming to assist with tasks that her charge can’t perform on their own. It’s just… it’s weird to see her caring for someone else, to see her look up when Jungkook enters the room, to see what you know are sensors light up as she silently checks his vitals. 

“Hello!” she greets, pushing the shirt into a drawer. “I am TK-53.”

It’s too much. Your brain short-circuits and you can’t. You just can’t. The door hasn’t closed yet, and you take the opportunity to about-face and retreat back into the hallway. The mechanical hiss behind you muffles whatever is said next, but you think you can hear Yoongi say something just as the door is closing.

It’s the same kind of heartbreak you’d had when you’d realized that Yoongi hated you all those weeks ago. The same but different. Tee had been the closest thing you had to a best friend for six years. She was your best friend. Of course, you were friendly with Namjoon, and you were close acquaintances with some of the other rebels. But Tee had been there for you like almost no one else had. She took care of you. Granted, it was her programming, but after so long, you’d managed to convince yourself that somewhere in her circuits, she actually cared for you.

You can tell that your thoughts are on the verge of spiraling, but you’re powerless to stop it. It’s like you’re standing on the edge of a cliff, your balance off-kilter–one small breeze could send you hurtling over the edge. You tense in anticipation of the fall, but it never comes. Gently, ever so gently, you’re pulled back from the edge first by a touch on your elbow, then by a pair of arms enveloping you.

His warmth surrounds you, and you tuck your chin over his shoulder, allowing yourself to relax. Your thoughts don’t really stop, but they’re less frantic, less rushed. It gives you time to actually think and not just be battered by it all. For a while, you’re quiet. You focus on the soft rise and fall of his chest against yours, of the gentle puffs of air that tickle your neck when he exhales. 

This feeling sucks. And really, there’s nothing you can do about it. Sure, you have your droid back, but you’ll be starting all over. And honestly? Tee in the beginning had been annoying. Threats to leave her on some far-flung star system were not uncommon, and there had been more than one occasion where you’d locked her out of wherever you were sleeping because she’d wake you up to check on you. But then you’d gotten into a routine. She’d learned what could set you off–better than you half the time–and you’d both adapted.

You weren’t sure you wanted to do it all again. Of course, you still needed Tee–or, at least, you still needed something–to help ground you when things got to be too much. But if you’re honest with yourself, it was kind of nice to be without her on Denebia. It’s weird. With Tee around, you were always a little aware of your anxiety. Not that you were always affected by it, but you were always acutely aware of it. Without her, you hadn’t thought about it once before you’d seen the repurposed interrogation droid. 

And yet…

“What if it’s not the same?” you whisper.

Yoongi pulls away, and immediately, you miss the contact. But he keeps his hands on your arms as his eyes search your face. What he’s looking for, you aren’t sure, but he frowns.

“It’s not going to be,” he says plainly. “But it can still be good. You can find a new normal.”

You shrug half-heartedly. Maybe he’s right. He’s probably right. 

“I don’t think I can be alone again.”

He makes a noise in the back of his throat, somewhere between a hum and a grunt. His tone is firm when he speaks. “You won’t be.”

“Excuse me,” a mechanical voice draws you out of your mind. You hadn’t heard Jungkook’s door open. “I am TK-53. Your heart rate appears to be slightly elevated and your breathing is becoming abnormal. Would you care to sit down?” Tee gestures back to the door, the gears in her arms whirring with the movement.

For a moment, you’re quiet. And then you laugh just a little. Yoongi smiles, too, and squeezes your elbow. Tee doesn’t say anything, but her head swivels back and forth to look at both of you. 

“I’m not sure I understand.”

“No,” Namjoon says, shaking his head. It���s the third time he’s repeated it. “There’s no way. Not that I can figure, anyway.”

You nod. “Yoongi and I looked at their records. There’s no way they’re Imperial, unless they’re going to massive–improbable–lengths to hide it. And honestly I just can’t see the Empire putting up that much effort.”

“Unless they’re being purposefully disingenuous.” Commander Vela leans back in his seat, thick eyebrows pulled into a scowl. He twirls his mustache in thought. “I don’t think I need to remind you that we cannot afford to be wrong about this.”

Yoongi leans forward beside you, rests his elbows against the table in the war room. It’s empty, except for your little group and Vela. He steeples his fingers in front of his face, and you can tell he’s getting agitated from the hardness in his jaw. Part of you wants to let him speak. It might be fun to see him call Vela an idiot. But for decorum’s sake, you let him continue to stew.

“There’s zero evidence of that,” you say. “I can respect wanting to be safe, but I don’t want the rebellion to miss out on an opportunity for supplies–that we desperately need–because we were too cautious.”

Namjoon makes a noise of agreement. “By all accounts, Denebia is clean. And they just want to help.”

Vela stares, his eyes shifting from Seokjin in the corner, to Namjoon, to you, and to Yoongi. He rubs his chin, thinking, before finally he nods. “I’ll pass this information on to the General.” He clears his throat. “If there’s nothing else, you two are dismissed.” He nods at Seokjin and Namjoon.

For a brief moment, Namjoon pauses. You can sense that he’s unsure of what to do next. He makes eye contact with you, and after a second, he nods. They leave quietly.

Vela watches them go, waits until the door slides shut behind them before he says anything further. But then he leans forward again, hands clasped, forearms resting against the table, and he levels his gaze at you.

“I have a new assignment for the two of you.” He presses something on his data pad and the screen lights up. Two more taps, and both your and Yoongi’s pads beep. He’s sent you something. “Highly classified,” he continues. “It is of utmost importance that this information does not go beyond the two of you for now. I will fold the others in as necessary.”

You hum as you scan the information he’s sent you. It’s a travel ticket for a starliner. Apparently, you and Yoongi are going to a planet called Spira. You don’t know much about it other than that it’s a core world, but according to your datapad, it’s a vacation destination.

“We need you to go undercover,” Vela says, his voice low, as if he’s trying not to be overheard. “I’ll let you read the finer details, but there’s an Imperial captain vacationing with his wife. He has information that it is imperative that we know.”

“Such as?” Yoongi looks up from his own datapad, his gaze shifting from Commander Vela to you.

“We have gotten word that Commodore Radil Grafner is planning to assassinate Mon Mothma.” Vela says it like he’s telling you they’re serving bantha steak in the galley tonight.

You hum. Mon Mothma is, more than almost anyone else you can think of, the leader of the rebellion. It’s supposed to be led by council, a vestige of the fallen Republic that the Empire’s sham senate is supposed to emulate. Without Mon at the helm, there’s a good chance that the rebellion loses steam. There are others that would step up, you’re sure, but there’s something about Mon’s charisma, something about her leadership style that you know really bolsters people.

Your eyes meet Yoongi’s, and something unspoken passes between you.

“What do you need us to do?”

Your first step onto the sands of Spira, it’s clear that this planet is different. You can’t quite put your finger on it, but there’s something about the atmosphere that doesn’t match anywhere else you’ve been. Stepping off the transport, it’s almost like the very air is primed to make you relax. There’s a slight breeze, the fronds of the palm trees above creating a gentle, tranquil almost music. It’s loud–there’s clearly a lot of people on this island of the planet–but it’s not uncomfortable. Somewhere in the distance, you can hear the roar of the sea rushing against the sand.

Yoongi steps up beside you, setting down your bags and stretching his arms above his head. He groans a little–the trip on the starliner was long, and it was shockingly cramped, despite the fact that there weren’t too many people on the ship–and when his arms come back down, one of them falls around your shoulders. You jump a little, shocked, and you have to remind yourself to calm down.

You’re supposed to be married, you scold yourself. Act like it.

So you do. You lean a little into him as you inspect the island as it stretches out from the transport hub. It’s Yoongi’s turn to jump, but he relaxes almost immediately into it. You stand there for a moment, taking it all in. Above you, a sea bird squawks and dives down to scrounge at something on the ground.

Yoongi sighs. “Shall we?” He nods toward the main building further down the path. 

This is insanity, your brain screams at you as you walk hand-in-hand with Yoongi. You watch everyone you pass, check for any sign that your cover is blown, that they don’t believe that you’re a happy couple on vacation from their totally normal lives. This is fucking insanity. There’s no way-

“Hi there!” The Twi’lek behind the check-in counter is cheerful. Her azure skin practically sparkles in the tropical air, and she has flowers and fronds braided around the lekku on her head. She looks at home here–when she smiles, it’s brilliant and genuine. You suppose it probably wouldn’t be too terrible to work in an endless paradise. 

You transfer her your information from your datapad–a brand new one that doesn’t have rebellion information on it. And as she’s preparing your room information, you take a second to look around. The resort lobby is open-air. Off to your left is a path that leads down to the beach. There’s a bar and restaurant that look fancier than anywhere you’d been in your life. Beyond the bar, the path curves toward the bungalows and guest rooms. To your right, it’s just sand and ocean for as far as you can see. Under the canopy of the lobby, there’s a desk where, presumably, you could rent watercraft. 

Your datapad dings and draws your attention back to the Twi’lek checking you in. Yoongi presses closer, chest against your back, to see what you’re being handed. She drops two plastic discs into your hand.

“These will let you into your room,” she says. “They’re proximity, so just keep them on you–in a pocket or wherever’s fine. Your datapad should have a map of the property on it, but there are also plenty of helper droids around that you can ask if you’re unsure of how to get somewhere.” She offers you a warm, toothy smile. “Shall I summon a droid to help you to your room, or would you like to explore?”

You glance to your left and make eye contact with Yoongi. The ends of his hair are starting to curl in the salty humidity. His eyes are bright. Paradise looks good on him. 

“We’ll explore a little,” he says, his hand enveloping the one you’re holding the proximity keys with.

It’s a lie. You don’t really explore so much as you just look around on your way to your bungalow. You follow the path along the beach as it curves around and out of sight from the lobby. It’s hot, and the sun is blinding, but there’s a nice breeze, and there’s plenty of shade from the tall palms that line the path. The sand and water are busy but not packed, and the further you get from the main building, the less people you see. There are families playing games–throwing discs or hitting a ball back and forth over a net–and splashing each other in the water. A young couple chases each other through the water, laughing and yelling in delight. 

And when you finally get to your bungalow, you’re shocked by how big it is. Yoongi sucks in an audible breath, and you can tell he’s thinking the same thing you are. How in the world did the rebellion pull this off? There’s a soft click as you cross the little wooden footbridge that connects the path and the bungalow. As promised, the door is unlocked when you reach it.

The bungalow is immaculate on the inside. You step first into the common room with its projection screen and large, plush sofa. The kitchen is attached, though with the restaurant and bar in the resort, and the others you know are on the property, you’re fairly certain it’s never been used except to store drinks. Floor to ceiling windows at the back of the main room look out over the water–no beach on this side, only endless sea–and the attached deck with its built-in jacuzzi. It’s all beautiful. Shocking. Extravagant. But beautiful. There’s only one issue.

There’s only one bed.

You’re not sure why it’s weird. Just that it is. You’ve definitely fallen asleep beside Yoongi before. Definitely when you were children, and less often but still several times during your teenage and young adult years. So it’s not like it’s new territory. But somehow, it is. 

That, however, is a problem for future you. Current you is on a time crunch. Current you needs to figure out how to stop an assassination. So you plop yourself down on the oversized sofa and turn on your datapad–your actual datapad, the one with all of your information. Yoongi sits beside you, pressing close so he can read over your shoulder.

The man you’re looking for–Captain Alain Connoi–is around your age, with high cheekbones and intense eyes. His light hair is combed perfectly under his regulation Imperial hat. His uniform is crisp, his badges and awards polished and shiny.

There’s no chance he looks like this here. Everyone you’d seen since you’d landed on Spira was in casual clothes. Your notes say that Connoi is here on vacation with his wife. Which means he, too, will be dressed to relax.

Which means that you and Yoongi need to be dressed to relax. 

It’s not that you necessarily aren’t. But you’re both from a cold planet–Fest had seasons but certainly no one would say that it was a warm place to live–and you’ve spent more time than you’d like to admit recently on icy planets and on cold ships in the vast nothingness of space. After a while, you just got used to dressing in layers. This place, though… this is not a ‘layers’ place.

Hours later, you’re hungry. And your eyes hurt a little bit from reading and re-reading your datapad. Yoongi apparently got bored a while ago, because he’s now sitting with his legs tucked up under himself, scrolling through his own datapad. He’s changed into something more appropriate for the warmer weather, and despite the fact that you’re inside and the aircon is humming in the corner, his hair has continued to curl in the salty air and the humidity. It looks nice, softens the scowl that he’s currently wearing as he stares down at the screen.

You watch him quietly as he frowns, his brows pressing even further together for the briefest of moments. He types something into his datapad and leans back slightly, presumably to read whatever he just wrote. A poem, your brain helpfully assumes. He sighs and leans back fully, running his hand through his hair. Finally, he notices that you’re watching. His face scrunches quickly, and he shoots you a confused look.

“What?”

“Nothing.”

“What?” He laughs a little.

“Nothing!” You shake your head. “You want to get dinner together tonight and then poke around on our own tomorrow?”

He stares at you for a long moment, his eyes narrowed in suspicion. Eventually, though, he shakes his head. “It’ll be weird if we split up.”

“We can make up some excuse.”

“People will get suspicious. We should stick together most of the time.”

“But we cover more ground separately.”

“We’ll find him eventually,” Yoongi says sagely, stretching out and throwing his arm over the back of the sofa. “I don’t think splitting up is a good idea.”

You hum. It doesn’t actually matter, you suppose, and it might be more fun to explore with Yoongi. Certainly it would be easier to look around with two people–you’ll probably see more. So you concede with a shrug before reaching out your hand. “Hungry?”

The cantina–if you can even call it that–is really nice. Like, really nice. It’s huge, larger than almost any building you’ve ever seen. The academy back on Fest doesn’t hold a candle to it, and the garrisons and bases you’ve been on since you’ve been with the rebellion are garden sheds in comparison. The only thing that maybe–maybe–could stand up to it in sheer size is the Imperial outpost on Fest, which really was more of a complex than a single building. But even that doesn’t compare to just how beautiful the cantina is. It’s all natural woods and stone, as opposed to the harsh, brutalistic concrete and steel of your homeworld. It’s more purposeful and permanent than the rebellion bases you’ve been on. 

You have to restrain yourself from stopping to marvel at it when you walk in.

It’s open-air, so not only is there a gentle sea breeze blowing, but they’ve got large, palm-shaped fans circulating the air at the top of the enclosure. It’s cool under the roof. There are tables everywhere, and each one has a beautiful view of the water that surrounds the peninsula the resort sits on.

You stand beside Yoongi waiting to be seated. Your hand is in his and you’re huddled close. There are a few other couples and families milling around waiting for tables, so you don’t stand out, but you’re still terrified that, somehow, they know that you’re faking it. You’ve never been this un-confident in your abilities before. But there’s something different about this mission. You can’t quite put your finger on it. Maybe it’s that the stakes have never been higher–an attempt on Mon Mothma’s life is something that normally, the rebellion would be sending out their best for–but you aren’t quite sure that’s fully it.

Yoongi shifts, leaning over a bit to whisper in your ear. “What do you think of those two?” His words are a warm puff of air against your skin, and when he nods in the direction of a table near the bar, you can feel his hair brushing against your own.

The people he’s referring to are sitting practically side-by-side at the table, a platter of some sort of roasted meat between them. The woman is holding a half-full wine glass, but she’s more interested in the man beside her than she is the food or drink. And, to be fair, he’s fairly handsome. Blond hair falling in light waves to his temple, a muscular but slight build, high cheekbones. He’s in a beachy shirt, unbuttoned at the front and revealing a matching sleeveless shirt underneath. 

You squint, shift a little to lean into Yoongi so it’s less obvious that you’re staring. There’s no way it’s this easy. And yet, when the man laughs at something the woman says, you’re sure. 

That’s Alain Connoi.

You must make a face, because Yoongi laughs, his forehead bumping into your temple briefly. When you turn to look at him, your face is centimeters from his own.

“Change of plans?” he suggests, an eyebrow quirking in question.

“We can’t just let it go.” You turn together, and Yoongi makes a show of leaning in close as you exit the cantina. You’ll find somewhere to wait and follow Connoi and his wife. But god, part of you is disappointed. 

The food looked really good.

There’s a bench outside by the water that you can see both of the entrances to the cantina from, so you sit down, prepared to wait. You scoot close to Yoongi, and almost instinctively, his arm comes up to wrap around your shoulders. For a while, you sit in silence, the only sounds coming from the cantina or the crashing of the waves. It’s nice, strange though it is, to get a break like this. 

It doesn’t take long for Connoi and his wife to come out of the cantina. They’re happy, and clearly by the way they look at each other, they’re madly in love. It would be sweet, except for the fact that they are, at the very least, turning a blind eye to the suffering the Empire is causing across the galaxy, and at the most, complicit in it. The two laugh together as they walk down the path away from you, towards the lobby.

You follow. Close enough that you can see precisely where they’re going, but not so close that they’d mark you as following them. You walk casually, Yoongi’s arm slung over your shoulder. Quietly, he interprets what they’re saying.

“Numbers are up in the Imperial academy,” he whispers, voice forced deeper than what it is naturally. “We’ve run out of volunteers, so we’ve resorted to drafting the Gungans.” You snort out a laugh, and he continues. “The Emperor has decided that regular poverty is too rich for the planets in the outer rim, so we’re enacting a policy called advanced poverty.”

You can’t help it. “What’s the difference? A lifetime subscription?”

He hums in agreement. “And an iron-on patch. Looks great on canvas jackets.”

“Oh, how absolutely wonderful.” You pitch your voice higher and pat Yoongi’s chest. It takes a second, but you melt into a fit of giggles, leaning into each to keep yourselves upright.

Ahead, the Connois turn down a path that cuts down the beach, around the main structure of the lobby. You can hear music further down, and sure enough, when you get close enough, there’s a bar here with a few tall tables scattered around and a large, open dance floor. At the other end, there’s a stage–it’s not very large, maybe a foot or two off the ground and wide enough to hold the musicians and not much else. A dark-skinned woman stands at the front of the stage in front of a microphone, crooning some up-beat jazzy song that you can’t understand. The band behind her are playing instruments you’ve never seen before.

Connoi and his wife pick a table off to the side, so that’s where you go, too. You and Yoongi sidle up to the table directly beside them. They’re huddled together and don’t notice you, but you stick close to each other anyway. After a moment, Connoi hops off his chair, kisses his wife’s hair, and walks over to the bar. Yoongi gives it a second before squeezing your waist and following. You watch him go, watch as he approaches the bar just to the left of Connoi, watch as he leans against the bar with a practiced casualness. 

“It’s beautiful, isn’t it?” The voice from your right startles you. When you look, Connoi’s wife is looking at you expectantly.

“Even more than I was expecting,” you answer truthfully. The holophotos Vela had sent you didn’t do the resort justice.

She stands and scoots her tall chair a little closer to you. The music is loud. She probably wants to hear you better. But a little part of you gets nervous anyway. “My husband and I come here every few years. It’s just so relaxing to get away.”

“I don’t know that I’ve ever been on vacation, let alone one like this,” you admit with a laugh. “I’m not really sure what to do with myself.”

“Oh, I remember our first time here. It was our honeymoon.” She smiles gently. “You two seem to be having fun, though.”

“He makes it easy.” You say it before even thinking about it. “He’s much more easy-going than I am.”

She laughs. “I totally get that. We’re the same way, I think. I’ve always got to have a schedule.”

The conversation lulls just as the band’s song ends. An enthusiastic round of applause erupts from the crowd on the dance floor. You clap politely, though if you’re honest, you couldn’t even say what the song sounded like.

“Where are you staying?” she asks when the next song starts up.

“Oh the bungalows.” You gesture in their general direction.

“Us too!” She offers you her hand. “I’m Lylla, by the way.”

“Allyxi.” Her grasp is firm as she shakes your hand.

Yoongi returns then, two identical drinks in hand. They’re certainly nothing you’ve ever tried before–a bubbling blue-green concoction in a tall, ribbed glass with a skewer of fruit stuck down in. Connoi sits, then, handing his wife a glass of what looks to be red wine.

“These came highly recommended,” Yoongi says, gesturing to the drinks and nodding toward Connoi.

You shoot him what you hope is a subtle look that says ‘what the fuck?’. Thankfully, Lylla starts talking.

“It’s their first time here,” she says, patting Connoi’s–Alain’s, you mentally correct yourself–arm.

“So I’ve heard.” His voice is deep, and you’re reminded of the voice Yoongi had put on to imitate him. You have to stop yourself from laughing.

Lylla gasps. “I have the best idea. Why don’t we all get breakfast tomorrow, and then Alain and I can show you around the resort a little bit? We’ve been here so many times, I’m sure there are some hidden gems we could introduce you to.”

You look to Yoongi and widen your eyes. There’s no way this is happening. There’s no way it’s this easy. There’s no way you can back out at this point, but every bone in your body is screaming that you’ve been made. You can see it in his eyes that he’s thinking the same thing. But despite everything, you plaster on a smile and turn back to Lylla. “Sounds fun!”

The Connois smile widely, and Alain opens his mouth to say something. But the song changes just then, and whatever he’s about to say is gone as he turns to his wife. 

“I think this is our song,” he says lowly, leaning into her.

In a moment, they’re gone, swallowed by the crowd.

You sigh and lean back heavily into your chair. “We’re so dead.”

“So dead,” Yoongi agrees, taking a sip of his drink.

For a while, you don’t say anything. You just sit there at the table, sipping your drinks and watching the dance floor. The day here is much longer than you’re used to–the sun is low in the sky, and everything’s slowly turning orange, but it hasn’t yet set. At some point, you see the Connois leave the dance floor. They wave as they leave, presumably to return to their room. You don’t follow. There’s no point. You’re hanging out with them tomorrow. Willingly.

A couple more songs pass. You listen passively. Honestly, the singer isn’t half-bad. Her voice is raspy, but her range is phenomenal, and she’s got this sultry kind of stage presence that makes it hard to look away from her once you’ve started.

But then the music slows. And you’re sick of sitting there, thinking about your inevitable destruction at the hands of Alain Connoi. So without thinking, you take Yoongi’s hand.

“Dance with me?” As soon as it’s out of your mouth, you’re nervous. Something in you knows that if he were to say no, you’d be crushed. 

He blinks slowly. “What?”

“Dance,” you repeat. “With me?”

“Oh, uh…” He downs the rest of his drink, and for the briefest of moments, something in you is hurt. But then he squeezes your hand. “Sure.”

You don’t stray too far onto the dance floor. Even though the song is slower and the dancers are much closer to their partners, it’s still a mass of bodies, and quite frankly, you don’t want to be in the middle of it.

Yoongi’s arm wraps around you, holding you close. His hand rests on your lower back, his other hand clasping yours close to his chest. Slowly, you sway to the beat of the song. You’re pretty sure you’ve heard this one before, in some cantina on some far-off planet. And for the first time possibly ever, you let yourself get lost in the moment.

You play with the wavy strands of hair at the base of his neck and he hums, head tilting so that his head is almost resting against yours. He’s warm, and there’s a slowly-growing tingly sensation spreading across your back from where his hand rests. 

“Yoongi?” He hums, turning ever so slightly so that he can look at you, dark eyes sparkling in the slowly dying sunlight. 

You never get to finish your thought. Before you can say anything, he’s leaning in. When his lips connect with yours, there’s no mistaking it for an accident. It’s purposeful, direct. You can taste the Corellian rum of his drink.

It’s over far too quickly. You’ve never tried spice, but if it’s anything like how you’re feeling now, you understand why people get addicted. It’s like lightning in your veins. His hand grips yours tightly, the other moving from your back to rest feather-light on your hip, your noses brush gently. Your arm is slung casually across his shoulders, keeping him close. Everywhere he touches, your skin is hot and tingly. The air around you is thicker, the salty-sweet of the oceans and the flowers dialed up to 11. Colors are brighter, more vibrant—have his eyes always been such a beautiful shade of honeyed oak, deep and dark and warm? 

The shock has already worn off, but the electricity remains. And  when you lean in again, ever so slightly, he meets you halfway, the barest hint of a smile on his chapped lips. 

The band changes songs—an up-beat sort of jazz standard you’ve never heard—and the cerulean-skinned singer croons into the microphone, her voice sultry as she sings, language unknown. Someone close to the stage laughs a little too loudly. And just like that, the magic comes crashing down around you. 

What have I done?

You can feel the blood rush to your face, can hear your heart pounding in your ears. You’re too warm, standing so close to him like this, and you take a step back. For a moment, Yoongi looks confused, but you don’t give yourself time to think about it. You turn and flee, leaving him there on the dance floor.

You don’t miss the hurt that crosses his face. 

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aaaahhhh! aaaahhhh? aaaahhhh!

so but like.... how we feeling? I'm so curious!!!

[farfromstrange]

Chaos Theory | Michael Kinsella x Reader

Chapter 19: My Castle’s Crumbling Down

Masterlist ° Chapter List

Pairing: Michael Kinsella x Reader (she/her)

Summary: You meet some of Michael's family, and Birdy pries a little too much for your liking.

Warnings: ANGST, nightmare (includes gun violence and death), smoking, drinking

Word Count: ~5k

A/n: I have a few more chapters in store, but I don't want to overwhelm you. The angst is going to continue for quite a while now, but we have some hurt/comfort and a little bit of spice in the next chapter.

Your sleep is restless. You fall asleep in his arms and it goes well for a while, but the dark void soon starts to twist.

Fog clouds your mind. The air thickens. You shift on the mattress, but your mind is somewhere else entirely. The second you slip out of Michael's embrace, your thoughts turn dark and the demons start to use the blank canvas to start their evil plot. 

You find yourself in the parking lot of a gym, or what you believe the parking lot of a gym would look like, and the scenery confuses you. You can't think further than what is in front of you. Each step you take echoes in the eerie silence.

A voice calls out your name. You turn around, and there he stands. You pushed all thoughts about him away for years, and now he's right in front of you again. 

You conditioned yourself to have nightmares about everything but him. It took a long time, but your mind managed to morph different traumatic events into something else so you could forget his face. Of course, you would always remember it, but you tried not to do it consciously. You kept it all bottled up. Now that you recalled what happened, your subconscious has all the leeway to transform your thoughts into dreams.

His voice sends chills down your spine. “I warned you, didn't I?” he says. “I told you to stay away from her. But you never listen, do you?”

You try to back away, but your legs refuse to move. He's standing right there, and Maya is there, hiding behind him, but she's so much younger. She's just a child and you're an adult, and you wonder what you did wrong to end up here. You have nowhere to go. 

Panic rises within you as you realize you're trapped, caught in the clutches of your darkest memories. Your heart pounds in your ears as it races against an invisible clock.

“You thought you could escape me?” he says, his lip curling up into a bitter smile. “I'll make sure you never leave. Just like your mother.”

His threat makes your blood run cold but boil at the same time. You're sweating, yet freezing deep inside. Your head gets dizzy and you want nothing more than to throw up. 

Tears well up in your eyes as you fight to maintain composure. He's not supposed to have control over you anymore. 

“No,” you whisper. “This is...this is a dream,” you try to tell yourself. Your eyes squeeze shut, but you just won't wake up. “You can't hurt me anymore. I won't let you.”

Nightmares are cruel. Whenever you're asleep and your subconscious draws up a dream, whether it's bad or good, it can change the setting and the plot in a matter of seconds. You're not prepared for what’s to come. The sky darkens, all lights go out and you hear the clicking of a gun. You hold your breath.

Footsteps sound from a distance and come closer, gradually, with every step. You turn toward the sound, your lips parting in a silent scream. 

Michael steps out of the dark; you recognize his brown hair and those beautiful eyes you fell in love with the first time you looked into them. You recognize his outfit and the way he carries himself, and the protective nature of his voice fills the air as he tells you to get out of the way. But it's too late.

The sound of gunfire fills the air. You scream again, but no sound comes out. Michael jumps in front of you, even though it looks like slow motion. He's right before you when the shots ring out and the bullets hit him like a stable wall. You scream his name, but he doesn't hear you because the sound just won't come out. 

He falls to the ground. You're quick to get on your knees next to him, his fragile body now covered in blood and torn to shreds by the lead your father pumped into him. When you look up, he's gone. It's only you and Michael in that abandoned parking lot, and the lights come back on so you can see just what you caused.

“I’m sorry...I tried to protect ya...but I couldn't,” he chokes out. 

The words cut through your soul. You can taste blood on your tongue from where you bit your lip. Your heart is bleeding into your chest. You reach out for him, but he disappears when you touch him. 

“No!” you whisper. “Michael, please... Don't leave me.”

But your pleas fall on deaf ears as darkness engulfs you, swallowing Michael from sight. Your heart shatters into a million pieces.

“No!” you cry again, but it's too late. 

You wake up in a cold sweat. Your heart pounds in your chest. The room spins for a little while until you’ve grown accustomed to the lack of light and realize you’re no longer in the parking lot you dreamt about. Instead, you’re lying in a soft bed, covered by a blanket and an arm draped over your waist. 

Reaching out to your right, you search for Michael. His body is there and he feels warm, not cold.

Carefully, you inspect his body, your hands tracing over his arms and chest. There are no scars or unseen wounds. His chest rises and falls. He's alive. 

Your touch and the sudden movement slowly stirs him back to consciousness. His eyes flutter open. He blinks, taking in his surroundings before his confused gaze falls on you. 

He rubs his eyes. “Wha's wrong?” he asks. “Everythin' alright?”

Your heart aches. You quickly shake your head, not wanting him to worry. He's not fully awake yet and needs his rest, so if you tell him the truth, he will wake up fully and won't go back to sleep. You don't want that to happen. He has been through enough.

You reach out to brush the hair out of his face. “It's nothing,” you reassure him. “Go back to sleep, darling. I'm alright.”

His sleepy eyes search your face for a moment, and a drowsy smile forms on his lips. The second his head hits the pillow again, he's back asleep. His breathing steadies. 

With a kiss on his forehead, you silently slip out of bed. You can’t stay in bed any longer. The tears have started welling up in your eyes, but you can’t cry, not in this room, not with him asleep next to you.

The fear that kept you locked in your nightmare falls off your shoulders, but instead of relief, all you can feel is pain and dread, and your father’s face moves back to the forefront of your mind. You try to tune him out, his evil smile, his empty eyes, and the sound of his voice, but it won't stop. The hole in your heart grows. He keeps stabbing the knife deeper into your already bleeding wounds, repeating the same motion in a way that won’t kill but paralyze you and force you to face him no matter what you do, and you feel the air in your lungs starting to dissipate. 

You tear the blankets off your body, get out of bed as quietly as you can, and make your way out of the bedroom. You remember the steps you need to take back downstairs. Michael’s house isn’t big, but you’re not in your right mind and you have to be careful where you walk. 

The stairs creak. You make your way downstairs as fast as your feet can carry you. The sliding door to the backyard is closed, but you unlock it with ease. The cold night air hits you right in the face, and the change in sensation snaps you out of whatever panicked state you were in. The breath returns to your lungs in its rawest form of oxygen and it hurts a little, but at least you managed to steer off the panic attack. 

Part of the sky is still dark, but it’s starting to lighten up in the east. You haven’t checked the time, so you simply assume that it must be around six in the morning already.

Whenever you have an early shift, you stay at your kitchen window and watch the sunrise, which is how you know when the sun rises in Dublin every month. In summer, it rises pretty early, and then in winter, it rises later in the morning. Most of the time, the sunrise is a simple change in light and the morning is greeted by dark clouds and rain, but it’s not much different for London. You love Ireland; at least here, you’re safe. Or so you thought. You don’t feel so safe anymore, and it makes your heart race in your chest as if it’s about to run a marathon. 

You wipe a stray tear. It’s frustrating. You talked to Michael, you told him everything and he told you he would protect you. You know you aren’t alone and yet you feel like you are. You feel so alone, so trapped in your own mind, and it ties a knot around your stomach. You have been alone for so long, accepting help turns out to be harder than you thought it would be, and it doesn’t immediately start getting better. It’s a process, you realize, but you don’t have the mental capacity for this. 

You want to scream, but the houses on Michael’s street are pretty close together and you’re surrounded by his family–waking any of them up feels like it would be a death sentence. 

Your breath forms a faint cloud of condensation in the air and you watch the wind carry it away. Then, the scent of nicotine meets your nose. You know it all too well. You remember the taste that forms on your tongue. Turning your head to your right, you search for the source of the smoke. It doesn’t take long for you to catch the boy–he can’t be older than sixteen–in the neighboring backyard leaning against the fence, nurturing a cigarette. 

When he catches you watching him, he tries to hide what’s in his hands, but he’s already been caught. He turns away, screwing the bottle of liquor you only now catch in his hands shut. 

You chuckle softly, taking a step forward. “I’m not gonna snitch on you,” you say. Your voice is still thick from the few tears you shed, but you put on a smile for him. 

He looks terrified. Stepping closer, you notice the red in his eyes. You don’t know how many members belong to Michael’s family, who lives where, or who has how many children. You’ve met Amanda, you learned about Jimmy and Birdy and now you know about Jamie, but that’s all. The dynamic seems a bit more complicated than it would seem at first glance, and you didn’t bother studying up on everyone before rushing to Michael’s aid. You love him, not his family. 

The boy keeps his back turned to you, contemplating whether or not to go back into the house. 

“You have a cigarette to spare?” you ask him. 

When he turns around, you’re standing right at the fence. He hesitates, eyeing your outreached hand before handing you the pack together with his lighter.

You pull a cigarette from the pack and place it between your lips, flicking the lighter to ignite the flame. As you take a drag, the smoke fills your lungs. You never did hard drugs before, but nicotine has ways of calming your nerves when you need it most. It's a bad habit and you hate the taste most of the time, but it's familiar, and the brand he smokes reminds you of the one you used to buy as a teenager. With your fake ID and pocket money, it was fairly easy. 

The boy glances at you. He watches you take a drag, staring out into the distance as you exhale, the smoke heavier than the condensation of your breath. The second time, it comes out of your nose, and he seems almost amazed. 

You chuckle. “What, never seen a lady smoke before?” you joke. 

He blushes and looks away, showing you that he probably isn't the type of guy to talk to strangers. He was probably told he shouldn't; given his family name and what happened last night, it doesn't surprise you. 

“I used to smoke like a chimney, you know,” you confess then, exhaling another plume of smoke. “Even before school sometimes. And I'd sneak a few drinks–” You point to what you can now tell is a bottle of Whiskey, probably from his dad's collection. “Just to numb everything,” you say. “Thought it would make it all go away.”

His eyes widen, perhaps finding solace in the fact that he's not alone. Many kids smoke and drink, but it's not often those who use it as a coping mechanism for emotional pain show it. Mental health issues are still something many get judged for, especially around his age. Maybe that's also why you chose to engage him. He looks like he's in pain and you can't let a child suffer in silence the same way you were forced to. 

His voice comes out in a hesitant whisper. “You did?” he asks. 

You nod. “Yeah. I smoked for a very long time. I stopped before I came here, but sometimes I still have a cigarette because, in my mind, it works.”

“And does it?”

“No,” you smile sadly, “Not forever, at least.”

“Oh.”

Silence settles between you. You take another drag from the cigarette. 

“Smoking doesn't really help, you know?” you say. “It just masks the pain for a little while. Makes everything feel a bit numb, but it never really goes away. I tried, and I still do. I mean–” You look at the burning white paper in your hands, “I had a shitty night and when I smelled it, I thought it'd help me forget, but it doesn't. And that sucks.” You let the cigarette fall to the ground and stomp it out. 

Were you trying to teach him something or yourself? That's a question you can't answer. 

The boy breaks the silence, his voice barely above a whisper. “Are ya...are you Michael's girlfriend?” he asks you. 

The question catches you off guard, but you find yourself nodding, a small smile tugging at the corner of your lips. It's of no use denying it, you think. 

“Yeah.” You introduce yourself to him and he tells you his name is Anthony. 

Michael never told you about him, but from what he tells you, he's Jimmy and Amanda's son. For a moment, you wonder if he's the result of yet another night between his mother and Michael, but he would have told you if that was the case, so Anthony must be Jimmy's boy. 

It hits you. Jamie was Anthony's brother. He's grieving, that's why he's drinking and smoking so early in the morning. You should have figured as much. 

“He's an amazing man, you know,” you try to lighten the mood. “Michael, I mean. And he cares so much about you and your family. It's remarkable...what you have. Family is important.”

A mix of emotions flickers across Anthony's face. He studies you for a moment, his gaze lingering on your face before he nods. 

“You're cool,” he finally says. 

The silence stretches again, but this time, it's more comforting.

As Anthony glances back toward his house, a hint of worry crosses his features, and you place a gentle hand on his shoulder.

“I lost my sister too,” you tell him. You know it won't do much, but you don't want him to feel like he's stranded with no one to understand what he's going through. “I'm so sorry for your loss, Anthony. I know it hurts, but it's okay to let it hurt. Just...don't get drunk before school,” you say. “That sucks, too.” 

His gaze meets yours, and you can see the gratitude in his brown eyes. He nods, acknowledging your advice, and answers, “Thanks.”

With that, Anthony turns away, slipping back into the house, leaving you standing in the quiet backyard. You watch him disappear, knowing you tried to help him, at least. You did a good thing. He's just a boy. He's innocent the same way Jamie was. You never met Jamie, but if he was anything like his brother, he was more than a good kid.

Taking a moment to collect yourself, you let out a deep breath, releasing the pent-up emotions that have threatened to consume you, and some of the smoke left over in your lungs. 

Another tear slides down your cheek. You wipe it away. Your chest tightens. You don't want to cry. You can't. It hurts, it's what you told Anthony not just a moment ago, and it's okay to allow yourself to hurt, but it hurts to allow yourself to grieve. You're not ready for it. 

You straighten up, catching a glimpse of the rising sun, before making your way back inside. You need coffee. 

Once inside, you think you can finally find some peace. You find Michael’s coffee maker and some instant coffee powder, which isn’t ideal, but you can work with it. 

Just as you’re about to start your morning in a way that will somehow calm the storm that is raging inside of you, there is a knock on the door. You peek out of the window of the kitchen, seeing a brunette woman standing at the front door. 

You’re not ready for another confrontation. Meeting Amanda was enough, and talking to Anthony put some things into perspective. Having to face someone else from Michael’s family sounds like something you don’t want to do, and you could just pretend you didn’t hear it and join Michael in bed, or make coffee and then disappear into the backyard again. Either way, you have options.

But you’re not that type of person. You can’t turn whoever it is away because what if they’re worried about Michael and shutting them out would make them worry even more? His family lost someone dear to them and it would be only natural for people to come knocking on his door, wanting to talk. 

Whoever this woman is though, you’re hesitant. Michael wouldn’t want you opening the door to a stranger, and his family essentially consists of strangers to you. 

What if the woman is one of the bad guys that shot Jamie? You’re panicking now, you’re well aware of that, but your mind is all over the place, your father’s voice keeps echoing in your mind, and you don’t know what choice to make.  

The woman knocks again. This time, you follow your gut. 

“I was just trying to have coffee,” you mutter.

You clasp the handle, hesitating only once more before opening the door and facing reality. 

The woman doesn’t look surprised to see you. Her brown eyes trail over your frame curiously, then come to rest on your face. She’s a little older, and she’s smiling at you. In her hands, she’s carrying a tray of two coffee cups and a brown paper bag with what you suspect might be breakfast. 

“Good mornin’, dear,” she says, not even allowing you to take the first step. “Ya must be the girl Michael told me about. It was about time we finally met.”

She knows your name. It wouldn’t be far-fetched to think she also knows who you are. Your grip tightens around the door handle. It’s too late to pull out now. 

“I’m Birdy,” she introduces herself.

You relax. The alarms in your head calm down and you let out a breath of relief. “Oh, so you’re Birdy,” you say. “Michael’s told me about you.”

She chuckles. “All good things, I hope.”

“Oh, only the best.”

“Well, he’s talked about you too, and he sounded very happy. Made ya sound like an angel on earth.”

The blood rushes to your cheeks. “I wouldn’t know about that,” you murmur. 

Has he really praised you this highly or is she just trying to make conversation? 

She lifts the coffee tray. “I thought I’d bring ya some breakfast. I know that boy doesn’t keep ‘round much food. I figured it’d be a good excuse for me to check in on him,” Birdy says, her lips parting in a sad sigh. “Mikey’s been through so much, but he never asks for help from anyone. May I come in? I won’t be long.”

Her smile seems genuine and she sounds so nice, you can’t deny you feel comfortable around her. Against your better judgment, you step aside and invite her in. 

She takes a quick look around, placing the coffee on the table. She doesn’t waste time jumping into the conversation. “I actually saw you two at the Garda station last night. I was there to pick up Mikey, but then I saw you two huggin’ and I didn’t wanna intervene. Figured he must have called ya,” she says. “So I thought I’d at least check in on him now.”

You nod slowly. “He just needed someone to be there for him,” you answer. 

“I know. Michael doesn’t like talkin’ about his feelings, but with you, he seems different.”

“I’m just trying to be there for him.”

“And I appreciate that. Especially now…You know, with Jamie gone, we’re all a little shaken up. Surely, he told ya all about that.” Birdy eyes you again. 

“I heard,” you say. “And I’m so sorry for your loss.”

“Thank you, dear,” she answers. “It’s been a rough night, indeed. We’ll have t’support each other now. The whole family, I mean, including Michael. Grief is never easy, and losin’ a child…it does things to a mother. So I feel for Amanda, and I think Michael understands well enough what we’re all goin’ through. We’ve encountered our fair share of losses, but losin’ someone so young and innocent like Jamie…I feel sick.”

Your eyebrows furrow. For someone Michael claimed was so understanding, she doesn’t seem capable of seeing the bigger picture. 

“He lost someone close to him too,” you try to tell her as kindly as possible. “And from what he told me, he’s lost a lot in the past. But he also never got to properly heal, so he has to grieve. You all have to grieve, but Michael was there when it happened, so he might need some more time. I don’t think he’s in a state where he can take care of anyone, not even himself. That’s why he called me. He’s not doing so well and while family is important, so is his mental health.”

Birdy looks a bit taken aback. Your words hold power, but your voice is calm. You have a small smile playing on your lips. Your intentions aren’t to enrage her, you simply told her the facts as you see them, and she’s surprised at how well you execute frustration and anger without bubbling over. You’re reserved, something she didn’t expect you to be, mostly because of the kind of women Michael brought home in the past. She’s surprised at how calm you are.

You can see it in her brown eyes that she didn’t see your reaction coming, maybe she’s even a little impressed, but you continue to stand your ground. 

“Anyway,” you say. “He’s resting now. We talked most of last night and he’s still sleeping, so you can either stick around or come back later, but we went to bed pretty late, so I won’t wake him up for you. No offense, of course.”

You want her to leave, but this is not your house and Birdy has known Michael for far longer than you have. You just want to do right by him, focus on what he would want, and he seems to hold her dear to his heart.

You can’t blame him; she seems like the kind of woman that would easily substitute for the lack of a mother, which reminds you that you don't know that much about his childhood and you should have asked that instead of asking about his wife, but you were both worked up. You got the most important issues out of the way. Or at least you talked about it. It can’t ever be fully out of the way because these are your lives. 

Birdy nods understandingly. “Well, I appreciate ya lookin’ out for him,” she says, her voice holding what you would consider honesty. “It's been a difficult time for all of us, but you’re right, he needs someone by his side right now. I’m glad he called ya and didn’t choose to suffer in silence.”

“I’m glad he called me, too.”

“After Allison...he's never been the same. But ya seem t'be the right person to give him hope. He needs hope.”

You take back any suspicions you might have had. She genuinely cares about him. From what you heard, his family is unpredictable, and she’s still a Kinsella, but she cares about him, which is something you have in common. Michael’s well-being is your priority, and Birdy seems to think the same way. 

You swallow thickly. “I love him,” you say. “And when you love someone, you’re willing to fight for them.” 

Birdy steps closer and cradles your face. She doesn’t ask, she simply places her hands on your cheeks and smiles at you. “Yer a good girl,” she says. 

You stiffen. “Thank you.”

Birdy's touch is surprisingly warm, her presence comforting in a way you hadn't expected. There's a tenderness in her gaze as if she understands the weight you carry on your shoulders. It's a fleeting moment of connection, a passing of unspoken understanding.

“You take good care of him, ya hear?” Birdy says. “Michael has had his fair share of hardships, and he deserves happiness. If you're the one who can bring it to him, then I'm glad to have ya by his side.”

She lowers her hands again while you still stand there, dumbfounded. Her attention shifts back to the food and drinks she brought in. 

“That reminds me,” she turns the bag enough for you to see the logo, “I heard you got him a job so he could get his daughter back. Is that true?”

You would recognize the blue butterfly anywhere. You freeze. The words ‘Butterfly Effect’ adorn the white circle that surrounds the insect your workplace has taken on as the unofficial mascot thanks to the name of the café. You know this logo because you face it every day. 

“I didn’t realize you liked going to the Butterfly Effect,” you say, ignoring everything else she said. Your eyes are colder now, more calculated. 

Birdy chuckles. “This?” she asks. “Oh no, this was my first time. I thought I’d check it out, see where Mikey works now. You work there too, right?”

Your voice is barely above a whisper when you answer, “It’s where we met, actually.”

“Right. Well, I heard you had good coffee.”

“We do.”

“How long have ya been workin’ there, dear? I hear your accent, I know yer not from ‘round here. London, is it?”

Our eyes remain glued to the bag. “Yeah, I’m from London,” you say, trying not to give away too much. “Came here four years ago, got the job, have been working there ever since.”

Surely the time you’ve lived in Dublin doesn’t mean much to her. This has to be some sort of trick, one you are not a fan of.

“Four years?” she repeats back to you. “Impressive. Of course, it’d be easy for ya to get him a job then. Yer familiar with everyone at work and you know the owner, I imagine.”

“He worked for it,” you correct her. “He asserted himself and that’s how Michael got the job, not because of me. I may know the people I’m working with and I know the owner of the franchise, but they’re work relations and Michael had to go through the same application process as everyone else. We have to give him that one; he’s trying. For Anna.”

Birdy lifts her arms in surrender. “Of course. For Anna,” she says. “There’s nothin’ he wouldn’t do for her, and he hasn’t seen her in eight years.”

“He’s a good man, Birdy, but he needs to hear it more often.”

“You sure are right about that one, dear.” She sighs. “I always try to show him I care, but the rest of the family…they’ve never been particularly warm.”

You decide to be bold and tell her, “That’s not good for him.”

“I know Mikey doubts himself,” says Birdy, “but he has you now.”

He shouldn’t have to rely on his girlfriend to give him the love his family lacked to give him, but you sure as hell are determined to keep trying until he believes himself to be worthy. His family seems to fail time and time again, and from what Birdy just told you, hoping for a change is a losing game. Perhaps they’re all a little damaged.

“Well,” she says then, “I have some matters I need to attend to this mornin’. Last night has left quite a gapin’ hole and I need to sort out some things. But I would love to have a chat with ya sometime. Only if you have the time, that is.”

You don’t like this. You don’t like this at all. “Okay,” you answer, and you curse yourself for being so stupid. But you don’t know how to say no.

“Grand.” She cups your cheeks one last time before heading for the door. “Tell Michael I said hello and tha he should give me and his brother a call.”

You blink wildly, focusing back on where she stands. “Sure.”

Birdy offers you a gentle smile. “Take care of yourself,” she tells you, and before you know it, she’s gone again. 

You’re left with this weird feeling of not being able to classify the nature of her questions; you can’t tell what she wanted or if she had a hidden agenda, you only know that it made you feel exposed. She dug, maybe not deep, but she was ready to, and the goosebumps the realization leaves spread over your entire body. 

What have you gotten yourself into?

Tagging: (let me know if you want to be tagged, too!) @bellaxgiornata @mattmurdocksscars @ms-murdockswift @your-not-invisible-to-me @shouldbestudying41 @glowstick-lesbian @acharliecoxedfan @roseallisonparker @norestfortheshelbywicked @1988-fiend @loveroftoomanyfandoms @mattkinsella @schneeflocky @harperdoodle @ravenclaw617 @lunaticgurly

[uselessnbee]

everyone understands that Will had a hard time helping El and standing up for her because he himself has trauma from being bullied his whole life and doesn't know how to fight them back, his reaction to bullying is to freeze. but suddenly no one understands it when it comes to Mike and he's just called an asshole for not being able to stand up and fight El's bullies

i'm not saying he is innocent and did nothing wrong. he could have done more and just handle the situation better but he was just too focused on Will and was in his head and being the otherthinking oblivious dumbass that he is

but just imagine your girlfriend tells you she is having a good time and has friends, she does not mention anything bad and then suddenly she's getting bullied in front of you. when you've been bullied your whole life your first reaction is to freeze, to panic and just wait and hope it passes quickly and they'll leave you alone. Mike did not have any knowledge about her bullying or having any kind of problems, as long as he was aware those people were her friends. he himself has trauma from being bullied (he literally mentions it later on why yall keep forgetting??) and being suddenly thrown into a situation involving bullying can be really distressing.

when you have experience with being bullied even just seeing someone else getting bullied can make you freeze up and panic. and we know that Mike does not stand up for himself when he's the victim. even when you're not on the receiving end of the bullying but you just see it happening and suddenly you're a scared little kid again holding back tears desperately hoping for them to leave you alone.

and i know everyone wants to yell at me "you forgot about Mike standing up to Troy when they were saying shit about Will! so he can obviously stand up for his friends so why can't he for El??" and no i did not forget and yes you may be right but the situations are different. Mike was very well aware of Troy's bullying. he was involved in it. he was the victim there. he's had to deal with his bullying for years it was not a shocking revelation. however he did not know about El's situation at all and your reaction can be very different when you know about something and when you have no knowledge and it suddenly happens

again i'm not saying that he did nothing wrong. i'm just saying that we need to consider his trauma and his point of view and it could make him think less rationally and therefore not being able to help properly. maybe if he knew beforehand that something could go wrong he could be prepared and he would handle the situation better (even if it would be just them seeing Angela and her friends come and they would turn to Mike and say quickly that those people are mean to El he would still have at least some time and could prepare himself). but he did not know that and he was not prepared for this situation to suddenly escalate like this. he was unprepared and probably panicking and didn't know what to do so no he wasn't much of a help.

and maybe we should stop acting like this traumatised 14 years old kid needs to solve every problem and act rationally in every situation and not to make any mistakes (especially when he has no knowledge to prepare him for something distressing) and overall just putting everything on his shoulders and then insult and hate him when it does not end up perfectly well

and maybe i'm just being my overprotective extremely defensive self who's looking too much into this who knows

and i can't even properly put into words what i'm trying to say but if it makes sense to someone then great!

[keshimasu]

He must be even with Tsukauchi now. Shouta had called in his favor before he'd reported the incident-only after running from the scene like a greenhorn forgetting all protocol in the heat of the moment. A rookie mistake he can be grilled over later. Four in the morning is no time for an investigation but he'd still had to hold still as part of documentation. The blood on his hands. Ripped capture cloth. Red knife that he was forced to leave behind. His signature on paperwork promising to return to report for further questioning is shaky. Detective holds suspended hero license pending review but at least they aren't holding him in a cell for now. That could still change.

It's not even his first murder on record-humans are still so fragile despite development of quirks they died so easily even if he hadn't meant for it to happen (he did this time he did it had to be done.) Underground more often than not blurs the line of legality in the name of heroic justice, for the greater good. Some people are just too dangerous to remain on the street and clearly their justice system is flawed if such villains got let out on good behavior just to repeat offend. They might not have seen each other in over a decade but even if he hadn't recognized the face the quirk was unmistakable.

Logically, the wisest choice would be to bother emergency room for actual treatment but Shouta refuses to even consider spending hours there. His arms tingle at the very thought. Numbly, he knows that's a bad sign. Severe dehydration or electrolyte imbalance at best but without blood work he can only guess just what was drawn. Osmotic could have screwed up his homeostasis enough to mess with cardiac function-

Or the palpitations are from ongoing panic attack. He knows he's not thinking straight, can't even walk straight. Tsukauchi had offered to drive and he'd rejected on grounds of needing the walk. Head pounds and spins no matter how much fresh air he sucks in. It's probably nothing six bottles of gatorade and a freezing shower can't fix. Deal with body, mind then go to bed. Someone else could handle class if he didn't wake up in time. Given the way horizon lightens, when the hell did it start to get bright how long was he standing over a body, he likely won't. If he even does sleep. Doubtful.

Somehow, likely years of survival depending on not being noticed, Shouta is able to enter the dorm quietly. There are a few students who get up far too early that he could risk running into. Thankfully none of them are on his floor or the elevator. He spends far too long scrubbing hands until they're raw, grateful for the privacy of en suite bathroom that lets him pinken water with his own blood. Chest continues to constrict, cold pressure creeping up back of skull. Lightheadedness forces him to veer back to bedroom before he can properly soak head.

"Fuck." Mini fridge has jelly packs, milk, iced coffee, meal replacement shakes and meds but no sports drinks. Shouta slams the door shut and forcibly pushes off the appliance. His legs have joined rest of him in trembling dangerously. The corridor wall graciously supports near drunken level stagger back to first floor to a more stocked kitchen. He wrenches a banana open with his teeth, shoving half in his mouth while digging through cabinets. Salt water would do in a pinch as long as he could stomach it. Soft fruit feels impossible to swallow as if body has forgotten how. Shouta holds increasingly disgusting mash in his mouth to continue search. There. Lemon is far from his favorite flavor but it would be infinitely more palatable than chugging briny liquid.

The screw cap fights him. Floor blurs, drawing his attention to red flaking off boots he might have been tracking around the dorm. Sound to his left. A student because the only person who could've followed him home is dead. Without looking, though he carefully constructs normal glare under sweat and adrenaline, he thrusts bottle at them in a clear demand.

@deathonate ; plotted starter <3

[miracles-and-butterflies]

Synopsis:

Post rebuild, the Madrigal kids decided to eat out at a restaurant in celebration. Mirabel and Isabela end up attracting some unwanted attention. Fighting ensues.

They later talk about it; sisterly feels.

Warning, sensitive topics below.

Careful, It’s Carnivorous

Mirabel was on her way back from the bathroom at the time. She was insistent that she was going to wash her hands before eating, even though they were clean because it was good manners. She’d been teased by Camilo and Isabela for being such a “proper young lady” as Abuela might say. Luisa hushed them by hitting them with a napkin, while Dolores had muttered something about how she was sure Mirabel would get overwhelmed and come back. Fortunately, the bathroom had been empty at the time, so now she was looking forward to returning and proving Dolores wrong. When a hand curled around her wrist and turned her around.

“A bit strange for you to be out, I never normally see you around. What’s the occasion?” She recognised the voice, the nephew of the delivery man, Señor Osvaldo Ortiz.

She stumbled over her words, “I… I got my exam results. My sisters and cousins wanted to celebrate.”

“You always were such an academic, weren’t you? Well, congratulations. I’m guessing the results were perfect?” She nodded, hesitantly. “Then you definitely should be celebrating. Have you not got a boyfriend to make use of that smart mouth of yours?”

“Pardon?” She questioned.

The rest of his friends, sat just behind him at a table, snickered. He himself chuckled at her, too. Something in her gut told her to leave.

“I should be getting back to them,” Mirabel tried to excuse herself.

“You’ve never had a boyfriend, have you? That’s a shame, now you’ve got a subject you’re lacking in.” He leaned down to her.

When she didn’t respond, he used his other hand to grasp ahold of her chin, tilting her head upwards

“That’s okay. Why don’t you come with me and we could try raising that grade up for you?”

“I’m not interested in that, thanks.” She tugged at her hand.

He kept a firm grip; she wasn’t going anywhere. “Now, now. You already lost a gift once, you’re too clever to make the same mistake twice, muñeca. This could finally be your chance to be useful,” he suggested. He placed their combined hands over her stomach. “Wouldn’t your abuela be so happy and proud of you for more magical blessings?”

That sent a chill down her spine. She always hated that her response was to freeze or fawn, depending on the situation. For once, could she not do literally anything else? Her mind was already lost. Even though things have changed, she’d still do anything to prove herself useful and win their approval. But not this. Please, not this. She’s trapped. All over again, just like when she was in Casita. Dolores, she begged internally - their table was too far for anyone to see, her only hope would be that her cousin would hear.

Then again, they were in the middle of town on a busy evening. In an already loud restaurant, with music and laughter. Dolores isn’t going to hear her, especially when she’s so quiet and small. She tries forcing herself to scream, but nothing. She can’t even utter a word. She thinks she might be having a panic attack. It’s her fault, she never should have let her mind wonder to Casita’s collapse— God, she really can’t help herself, can she?

“¿Muñeca? Anyone in there?” He asked, waving his hand in front of her frozen figure. He turned back to his group, laughing. “Supongo que es cierto lo que la gente dice sobre este: ver cosas que no existen. Ella no será un problema.” His hand replaced itself around her waist, guiding her useless body into walking.

“Hey!” He stopped, turning at the sound of the voice, Mirabel finally managed to breathe as she spotted Isabela approaching. Her sister laying a hand on her shoulder, protectively. “Diego, don’t you have something better to be doing than bothering someone who’s not interested in you and your pathetic dick?”

His friends howled behind him in hysterics. He glared at them in an attempt to them shut up before going to answer her sister.

“You know I’d much rather be trying my luck with you, boñita, but you apparently bat for the other team,” he admitted, giving her a sultry look up and down. “You’re perfect, if not for being a lesbian. ‘Bel here takes after your mother, doesn’t she?” To emphasis what exactly he meant, he let his hand stop at her chest.

Isabela’s eyes narrowed. “Take your hands off my sister before I make you.”

“Fine. I’ll see you around, muñeca.” He grumbled, walking away. But not without taking a deliberate squeeze at Mirabel’s breast as he took his hands away.

The second his hand left her body, a set of vines tied themselves to his body and threw him straight into the bar. That was the only clear thing Mirabel saw. Isabela pushed her to the side as she continued on to attack Diego, lunging herself in his direction. The rest of his friends took a moment to shake themselves before similarly trying to go for her. Mirabel was vaguely aware of most of the people taking the opportunity to flee the restaurant. There was a clatter of chairs and shouting. With the room looking more spare, she finally pinpointed the others. Luisa was immediately on her feet, cracking her knuckles as she joined the fray with Camilo not far behind her, shapeshifting into a more challenging opponent. Dolores went the opposite direction, looking for some of management.

When she looked back, she found Isabela pinned by several of Diego’s friends to the floor. One of them trying to kiss at her neck. Her sister was clearly struggling now, possibly panicked herself, because she couldn’t concentrate enough to use her gift to defend herself. Luisa and Camilo were too preoccupied in their own fights and were unable to help her, that is if they even noticed at all. Mirabel grabbed a discarded tray off a table and raised it as she approached. Isabela needed help, that was more important than her pacifism right now. She just needed to provide a distraction long enough for Isabela to regain control.

She didn't get very far before Diego, who had managed to get back onto his feet and sneak out from where he had been cowering behind the bar - at least until Isabela was restrained - grabbed her wrist, yanking her back to him. The tray clattered to the floor, she found herself pinned against the wall.

Diego sneered, “Come here, muñeca. I'm not finished with you yet. I was only being friendly and you had to go do this - or well, your sister did. Lesbians are so deranged.”

Isabela yelled out after taking a fist to the face.

“Look at what's happening to your precious familia,” he taunted. “You aren't worth all that. You aren't worth shit. You know that, don't you?”

He dropped her to the floor, landing two kicks in her ribs. He was going for a third, she could see it from the corner of her but he was tackled away from her by Luisa. Or Camilo shapeshifting as Luisa. She wasn't sure. They were gone from her line of sight before she could really check. She shifted herself back against the wall, weakly, needing the physical support but also wanting to have something to ground herself. She was wounded, badly. One glance at her blouse told her that, as if the pain didn't clue her in - rumpled, bloody and the faint outline of broken ribs.

At some point, Isabela had managed to shake some of the guys off her and her gift, now that she could concentrate to use it was back into play. The bar was soon sprouting with a variety of plants, possibly some beyond Isabela's intentions as a few ended up narrowly hitting Luisa and Camilo, still in the thick of the fight, only using their bodies.

Mirabel couldn’t bring herself to watch any more of it. She curled in on herself, eyes squeezed shut, praying to God for it all to be over. She ignored the shouting and attacks and the vibrations against the floor, the smell of alcohol and copper of blood. She knew this was a bad idea. She had told her sisters and cousins she didn’t want to go out, she didn’t deserve to be celebrated, and now look where it had gotten them. She sobbed miserably to herself.

A hand gently laid itself on her shoulder and someone crouched by her, some time later. She still didn’t open her eyes.

“Mirabel? Mirabel, it’s just me, primita. It’s Dolores. You can open your eyes. It’s okay, just breathe.” Her cousin’s voice sounded beside her ear, whispering comfortingly. Her other hand slipped into one of her own, rubbing circles over her knuckles.

When Mirabel blinked her eyes open, she immediately wanted to close them again.

Though it was nice to see that Diego and his friends were no longer in sight and the fighting had stopped, seeing her sisters and cousin injured wasn’t much better. Luisa, due to her strength, had suffered the least of the three - she looked just as disheveled; her hair loose and sweaty, and sticking to her skin; and had a few scratches and bruises from the men over her skin. Her only real injury was a busted lip. Camilo was sat on a bar stool beside her, now back to himself, with a shiner under his eye. One of his knees was completely dislocated and bent out of place, he was also cradling his wrist limply. Meanwhile Isabela had to be held upright by Luisa, as Camilo dabbed some napkins with his other hand under her broken nose. The blood coming away was almost black. She had a slight bold patch from where a chunk of her hair had been torn from her scalp.

She might actually be sick. Or faint. It’s too much. It’s all too much.

“L-Lola,” she trembled. She can’t breathe.

Dolores hushed her gently, sensing the distress. “It’s okay, Mirabel. I’ve got you.”

She pulled her into an embrace and Mirabel clutched her tightly, damning her own pain and dislike for confined space. She rested her head on Dolores’ shoulder, crying again before she knew it, closing her eyes shut.

Her mother healed them for all their injuries as soon as they made it through the door. Even though both Isabela and Camilo wanted to keep theirs for a few more minutes, just to show the rest of the family first. Mirabel herself hadn’t wanted to be healed either, though that wasn’t for wanting to prank anyone; she just didn’t think she deserved it. But… she didn’t stand much chance convincing her mother to leave her with broken ribs.

She picked at her arepa lamely while Dolores recounted the events for her parents, Tío Félix and Tía Pepa, who had all appeared by that point. Isabela, Luisa and Camilo didn’t seem too displeased at all, happily chiming in where they could and making jokes, as though they weren’t just seriously injured in a fight. Mirabel couldn’t shake the guilt that clung to her. The family all insisted that it wasn’t her fault and it had taken a lot of convincing for Mirabel to agree by stating that it wasn’t. She didn’t believe it.

They offered to stay up and continue the celebrations for her exam results here, within the safety of Casita, but she declined. She claimed she was tired and wanted to go to bed. She hoped it was convincing; it wasn’t entirely true, but it wasn’t quite a lie either. She never did well with late nights and she did want to go to bed… just to cry as oppose to actually sleep.

Once changed and cuddled up against the pillows in mostly silence - with the exception of the occasional sniffle. She found she was maybe too tired to cry anymore. When a knock came to her door. She didn’t say anything, staying quiet. There was a beat, the doorknob twisted and Isabela poked her head in, squinting in the darkness.

“Sis?” She called. “Okay, I’m not as smart as you but even I know you’re awake.” Mirabel opened her eyes, sitting up as Isabela slipped into the room, closing the door behind her. “You okay? You wanna talk about it?”

“What is there to say? I’m the weird one with no feelings and you all got hurt because of me.” Mirabel mumbled.

“No, we got hurt because Diego and his friends are dicks!”

“Isa—”

“Now’s not the time to lecture me about my language, Mirabel. It’s true.”

Mirabel didn’t say anything more but gave a slight eye roll, just to make sure Isabela knew she disapproved of the swearing. Her older sister scoffed at the action. She sat down beside her on the bed.

“It’s not your fault what happened to us.” Isabela persisted. “You wouldn’t blame - I don’t know, Dolores - if she was in your place, would you? You’d say,” Isabela paused, clearing her throat. She sat up straighter, grabbing Mirabel’s feather fan off her desk and lightly fanning herself as she descended into her best impression of her sister. “‘Alas! That man is a worthless scoundrel, prima! Oh, woe is me! He should be tried before a court and upon being found guilty, should be subject to being hung, drawn and quartered for his lack of morals! Which reminds me of a one Sir Nicolas from medieval England who was’—”

“I do not sound like that!”

“Yeah, you do, sis.” Her sister tossed the fan back. “Okay, maybe I’m exaggerating, like only a tiny bit, but the point still stands. You wouldn’t let Dolores or anyone else blame themselves, just you.”

She let the words sink in. It was true. It was her who had been blamed for every wrongdoing in the family for the past ten years though, even if she knows it had nothing to do with her. Old habits die hard and all that.

She hummed, “He and his friends shouldn’t get away with things though.”

“Well, we gave them one heck of a beating and Mama has no intentions of healing them, so that’s a start.” Isabela said. “I might visit later and leave a little something in their gardens, just as a reminder.”

“It’s not right how they act, how they just assume interest and take control.”

“Yeah, some men are pigs.”

There was no need to argue with that.

“If something like that happens again, kick between the legs or scream and one of us will come and kick between the legs.” Isabela explained, smiling.

“Thank you, Isa.” Mirabel said, smiling back. “I feel much better now.”

“I know, I’m a goddamn gem. What would you do without me?” Isabela pulled herself back onto her feet, heading for the door. “And you aren’t ‘weird’ or ‘broken’ or whatever else you seem to think because you don’t feel non-platonic love, that’s not a problem. That’s not why tonight happened. The problem is sexual harassers, okay?”

“I understand, but thank you again.”

“No, seriously! You don’t need to excuse it by wanting to be a nun or anything. You can just tell people. You should embrace it more.”

“Yes, what helpful advice, Isa. I’ll just embroider ‘I feel no attraction’ on my skirt to make sure that there can be no misconceptions by anyone ever again.”

“Wait, really?”

“I was being sarcastic!”

“Damn. I was gonna ask you to embroider ‘fuck I fucking love women’ on mine.”

Mirabel paused. “…I honestly can’t tell if you’re joking or not.”

Isabela pulled the door open, smirking to herself. “That’s part of my charm! Being wild and doing the unexpected, so none of you - not even you and your brains and flawless grades - can workout my next move.” She looked proud. “Seriously though, I know the whole celebration was ruined, but you did a good job and you shouldn’t let some fucking bastard ruin it.”

“Language! Goodnight, hermana.”

“It’s English.”

“Okay, now you’re being immature—”

“Can’t hear you, already out the door! Night, little sis!”

[pwblogarchive]

January 2006

January 2, 2006

It was strange being outside of chicago on new years. If anyone remembers our apartment shows.

But the confetti was pretty and I think a girl from miss seventeen tried to kiss me on the mouth but kind of missed. Oh yeah and apparantly andrew john hurley is a dreamboat. Check the scoreboard. Tommorrow letterman and then I’m gonna buy some more heinous gear. Do you love it when I wear clashing colors as much as I do?

And why didn’t anyone tell me how amazing the movie the squid and the whale is? I told you about panic…

Over and way the fuck out.

xoxo

January 4, 2006

my top ten (er top seven) of 2005 - no records included.

bonnie dillard - she is always around to tell me how wack i am - she uses the the word "totes" and "just sayin" way too much - and actually types them! she named her dog roxie wentz and she has given me exactly two compliments in my entire life - one of which was on an outfit that she picked out for me. but she pretty much is the glue for clandestine and sometimes pete wentz. editor of filthy magazine.

nick scimeca - this kid makes the craziest faces i have ever seen in my entire life. the first time i met him we got in a snowball fight. pretty much we are in this gang together forever. he does infect, foe, and some clandestine stuff. pretty much whenever i am bummed i can call him up on the phone and hell tell me some hilarious story.

demar hamilton - i have pulled this kids underwear off every time he is around me and totally wasted. its awesome. he also has a dog living in his basement that looks like a 100 yearold teddy ruxpin. oh yeah, his band is rad.

leslie simon - me and her talk about our crushes all the time. we have a mutual love for the music of ashlee simpson and kelly clarkson. when i tell her insane stories i dont even have to say "off the record" she pretty much knows. she thinks of bright eyes and fob in the same way which blows my little mind. she is editting rainy day kids. oh yeah and writing a book about boys in tight jeans that wear eyeliner as far as i can tell but its pretty hush hush.

jonathon cecil miller/dirty - pretty much this kid is made of snakes, snails and puppy dog tails. i have nothing else to say but he is the new pauly shore - even if he always punches me for saying that. pretty much he looks like a cheeseburger with toothpicks for legs but i wouldnt trade him for the world. pretty much he is the best kid ever.

jim sevcik (or however you spell it) - this is the guy who goes and digs the little youth medium shirts out of tiny boxes in the 100 plus degrees on warped tour or freezing temp on NFT - and then takes the money out of your paws. he is definitely most underrated.

andrew simon/buck - when on the westcoast these guys function as my mother. they take us out to dinner, help me find a house or apartment, look up movie times, get screenings, help me find tours, starbucks, have the cutest baby on the planet, oh yeah and they even book shows every once in awhile.

oh well i ran out of steam. ill finish later. pretty much people that i hang out with every single day are not included on this - you know who you are.

- petey

1/04/06 Q&A

question

Pete, I really need some advice. I was a virgin until I slept with this guy. I didnt tell him I was a virgin until 2hrs. after we finished nad I told him online. Then I started freaking out because I was scared I had screwed everything up between us, which I think only made everything worse. this all happen yesterday. Did I screw everything up?

answer

the best part about when things like this happen is that eventually they become the past- if you really like this guy you could probably explain yourself to him- how you just got scared and were nervous to tell him certain things. if he is worth it, i am sure he will take the time to listen and tell you how he feels too. and if he doesn’t give you the time to do that, than he isn’t worth it anyway. you can be through with the past but that past isnt always through with you.

question

Pette what type of bass do you have?

answer

fender just made me my own- its pretty rad- red and black- super light maple neck- customized electronics and pick-ups- check out a picture of it over at: www.clandestine.buzznet.com - they say they are gonna make a real cheap version of it for people to learn on

question

the background on the site finally changed. who does that?

answer

it changes with mother nature.

question

Do you have any scars. Not like emotional scars (you can include them if you wish) but good-story-scars. Like stuff involving armadillos or something interesting like that.

answer

ive got this amazing one down the palm of my hand from when me and robby windgator (sp) climbed a fence in his back yard and my hand got stuck on a nail. it slid down the entire length of my hand- i was like 8. i have two on my right hand from when i fought a car the week before the VMAs. trust me i definitely beat the car up.

January 6, 2006 

notes on black clouds and underdogs - see also: cast all your fears away:

1. tickets will not be 50 dollars. haters are spreading this on the internet. if you buy your ticket ahead of time (not through some wack broker or on ebay or from a scalper)- average ticket price will be between 23-28 dollars - not going over 35 anywhere. we picked the venues based on how cheap we could get them.

2. the bands- we didn't want to have a tour where you had to see five bands that sounded exactly like fob. we went for variety. all of the bands are really nice guys as well. there will be special guests through out the tour and some suprises to make each show more exciting.

3. this is going to be fob's biggest show ever. we will be playing our longest set and will be including some special secrets.

4. did you expect us to just dump the dates in your laps? we are nerdy and weird and different. so we created a game. we thought it would be fun. the points will be weighted so a small town will have the same chance as a huge city to win a small suprise show. we want to play in front of kids that are excited and we know this is a chance to do this. there will still be other secret shows randomly happening.

5. close your eyes and just click. youve got it. dont worry just come out. andy will be running a kissing booth - it will be a blast.

more later.

January 6, 2006 

8:11 pm

i am just a hot mess. i woke up to the feeling of myself throwing up today. pretty much put a damper on the entire day. i ate about 50 stomach pills and then threw them all up- it was a pretty color in the toilet. my toungue is black on the top right now. i am pretty sure thats a bad thing. i watched way too much gastinaeu (however you spell it) girls today. i think it made me sicker. it took me awhile to realize that they were mother and daughter and not sisters- but the mom is kinda hot in pissy kind of way. my mom is out of town so there was noone here to take care of me- my brother was around but hes pretty much always bongzilla'd. so i waited for back-up caretakers to arrive- one of them was busy cutting hair and the other has like a "real" job besides being dad. the best part about vomitting alone in the morning is the way the bathroom tiles feel kinda cool in a pleasant way so i took a nap there for a bit. i want to see hostel tonight but the problem is all the vomitting- see its not that i mind so much its just what if i run into someone in my sicky gear and puke on them? wow. i am glad i did this update. arent you? im gonna leave the comments open cause i never do- just write down the first thing that comes into your mind when you see that reply button- heres mine: i am just a hot mess. 

January 6, 2006

I have to say it makes me feel safe and some kind of comfort to look at the clock in the corner of the screen and know that you are awake too.

posted by: peterpumpkineater

1/12/06 Q&A

question

whats your view/opinion on racism?

answer

i love it. i mean what opinion would i have other than it is terrible. i hope thats what you expected.

question

So Pete, I have been wanting to learn how to play bass for a long time. Any idea when that HOT Clandestine bass will be available for the public? Thanks.

answer

its going to be available as a fender squire some time in the (near i hope) future. squire is fenders cheapest bass line - very affordable and a good bass to learn how to play on.

question

college dropout or late registration?

answer

“highschool graduate” its the mixtape he put out awhile ago- its pretty sweet.

question

okay crazy dream last night.. you [pete] and me making out after a show in a bed? yeah just thought id share.

answer

im pretty gross after a show. itd be better to just highfive i think.

question

pete. please stop licking the shoes of the island CEOs. i am getting really tired of turning on a tv and seeing a commercial for you guys playing at the fucking arena or a WHOS NEXT IN MUSIC? PANIC AT THE DISCO and THE ACADEMY IS mtv shit which was was totally all your -for lack of better word- fault. sometimes i think it cant get any worse but im always wrong. when is this going to end pete?!?!?!?

answer

i am kind of confused by this one- we are on island defjam records but the advertisements for our tour were made by our booking agent not island. academy is on atlantic/fueled by ramen and P!atd are on decaydance neither of those are island related. but i think i understand the gist of what you are trying to say. i understand that its hard to feel like you are losing a band you loved to “the mainstream” or to a bigger media. i want you to know how much fob turns down because we dont believe in it or agree with it- at the same time would you rather see the academy is on trl or limp bizkit?- id rather see sincere music up there. anyway, i know we’ll all still be here after this ends. hope you are there with us.

question

Peter do you ever get mad at us?

answer

sure. just the same way you sometimes get mad at me/us- but thats okay. neither of us ever seem to stay mad very long…

question

choose one: paramore. cartel. the academy is. or acceptance.

answer

the academy is. i dont really know the others too well.

question

Petey, what have you been up to this past week? xo

answer

training for the new video and working on/editting release the bats two (http://www.findthescene.com/Videos/RTB2_Trailer.mov)… oh yeah and sleeping some.

question

So what do you think of Brokeback Mountain?

answer

good love story. kind of depressing- it makes me think about how much i do not want to go camping.

question

ryan seacrest called you “heartbreaker wentz.” how does that make you feel? it made me giggle…

answer

i never broke that mofos heart.

question

I was wondering if any of you guys are superstitious

answer

i kiss clocks, make wishes on take offs and first kisses, hold my breath on graveyards - yes.

question

Im really upset because i have friends who like me have been FOB fans for the longest time and have met you guys numerous times but are really angry about the ticket prices and are complaining your just sell outs. Im mad because i dont think this and now they are boycotting your CT show.You guys were bound to get famous so why do people have to get like this? Whats you opinion on all this?

answer

our primary concern with this tour is: having a huge general admission floor space and keeping ticket prices as low as absolutely possible. we are doing our best- if you compare this tour with other tours with bands of the same size you will see the difference in ticket price.

question

so much for teh huge general floor space. i cant get decent tickets.

answer

if you get tickets early you should have no problem getting floor tickets. ask your broker when they will be releasing floor tickets as they are often released in bunches. i promise you every venue we are playing has a huge floor space- and if not me and my friends always used to just sneak down onto the floor. the security never tries to hard to stop you.

question

Have you ever had sex with a groupie?

answer

nope.

question

So after they finish the tour that they are on now Mest is breaking up. I sort of cant believe it but I was wondering - do you guys plan on sticking with us for a while longer? It is actually pretty hard to deal with bands just stopping for good…so I am hoping that you guys can be there with us for at least a while longer. Much love.

answer

honestly? some days i think fall out boy will be around for 20 more years and some days i think it might end tommorrow.

January 13, 2006 

first jt. now mr. frey. i fear that we are next.

it may just be the hour of the night or the song stuck in my head or some strange mix of it all.

i can't shake it. 

the chemists called it crossed signals.

the poets called it magical.

nowyousayimabird.

- petey

January 14, 2006 

i love how i never care about anything you say except how i always do.

that doesn't even make any sense.

late at night everything about you is an orchestra. and i am the conducter.

January 14, 2006 

4:14 pm 

"noones ever been this good for this long"

this is everything i am thinking right now with out transition. i apologize for my brains lack of linear thought processing: i hate the way it gets dark so early here this time of year. i guess "seasonal depression" kind of falls under "ADD" and "post tramatic whatever disorder" for me. i feel like its science from the madhatter down the rabbit hole. not too real. but lately i just wake up blue - my only thought is- how soon will the day be over so i can get back into bed. i open my eyes just a tiny bit and blur the numbers on the clock with my eyelashes. every word you say rolls off of my back - the praises and the barbs. i don't hear either, ever. sometimes the tips of my fingers itch from the back of my head- just to get the chance to tear someone to pieces and just barely let them off the hook. i swear to god, i was asleep alone. quick text me an alibi and oh god please don't dust the keyboard for prints. sometimes i stare out of the frosted window and make up stories as people walk by. the bottled blonde, park ave. princess walking whichever dog matches her coat. you know how i could turn your world upsidedown. its not love if a day goes by when you don't think about dropping it. its not the world keeping you on the outside, its you not wanting to be on the inside. everyone wants to be the first. buts its okay to be the second if you understand it better, if you make it look prettier. worn down doesn't even touch this. and theres nothing worse than when someone acts like they have you figured out, when you haven't even figured yourself out. nice boys don't write good stories or sing good songs. and his songs are boring. and his stories are just personal ads set to background music. i found the skeleton key for wedlock but i am holding off on telling her. on telling anyone for that matter. consistent inconsistency. thats all you ever have to remember and you'll do okay with me. dancers are always strippers. and paying their way through college is the BE VE. oh and hey pete do you remember the way the world used to trick you with fifty degrees in january and orange leaves in june? button your jacket tight, don't believe everything you read... don't even believe everything you wrote. i'm tired of always leaving. i'm tired of the way things always/never change. swim upstream until your gills bleed just because thats what genetic encoding commands. there aren't any trophies that are really worth it in the end. they can put you in a box when you are very young, so you'll be a pretty corpse but there are too many pages filled with too many words to lie beside you forever. intelligent design is the last great joke i heard. but honestly, no one will ever stay where i tell them, least of all the years. they keep moving. worlds greatest liar and how do you know i'm not lying when i tell you this right now? and thats coming from the king of one-liners. copy and pasted - long live the away message. kiss the monitor. fast asleep baby.

1/16/06 Q&A

question

Thanks for deleting me off your myspace friends. Youre different than who I thought you were Peter.. : (

answer

i do not have nor ever had a myspace account… the only sites outside of this one that i use are friendsorenemies.com and livejournal. fall out boy has a myspace account but i dont even know how to work it.

question

PETER! maybe that got your attention this time :)! My question, Did your parents or siblings ever say your “stupid” or “gay” for wearing girl pants, or tight shirts..because i go threw alot of crap for wearing tight clothing and i go to a city school so either its gangsters, or me left out..please help me with gettin threw this..Also cant wait to see you guys in Hersey!

answer

kanye west wears pink polos. rob halford wears black tshirts. not that any of it matters. but how you dress should only be an amplification of who you are inside, it should not be all you are… i get teased about alot of things but you know, at the end of the day its okay to be me. im pretty sure its okay to be you too, as long as you arent like hitler or a serial killer or something insane.

January 18, 2006 

these pictures make me think of me and you before i got so crazy.

the hippo lost its momma in the tsunami. now the he hangs out with this super old turtle and follows it around. from what i've read they have developed their own form of communication.

this is insane.

these parts of life are amazing.

i will try and not forget them next time.

- petey

January 18, 2006 

the band is in chicago preparing their new homes to be moved into. mine is still in my parents cause i am a loser like that: see also why i am hanging in nyc by myself. but ive got some schemes that i am working on.

how i have been (barely) living: the hippo and the turtle, hanging out with minkus from boy meets world in north carolina, going to the mtv studios in nyc to see baby bros all growed up on trl, eating every single thing in this hotel minibar, writing, you. writing you.

- petey

January 19th, 2006 

1:55 am 

wahahahahaha. i laughed for like a million hours at the shittalking over at: www.friendsorenemies.com its way fun to see your friends make fun of you. it keeps you levelheaded. it has gone live.

January 19, 2006 

yesyesyes-ya'll. newyorkcity. hung with patd and tai backstage at TRL and tried to make them unnervous. but i was butterflies inside. but they couldnt ever let me down. the rest of the day was spent listening to the new gymclassheroes songs and working on the new video. the gch songs are insane: i can't describe them "we gotta take our clothes off to have a good time". insane. new octfall: youve probably never met these kids but they are the nicest. always calling and asking how im doing. then the hush sound: all i can say is "sweet tangerine"- 6 months from now, you will agree with me. anyway, this isn't just some preachy post. i just love watching my friends suceed and i will believe in them until the day i die. its so great to watch everyone grow up. hopefully, somewhere someone says that about me.

we contributed a song to the breast cancer one tree hill episode/compilation. we just thought it was a great cause and couldn't pass it up. we actually thought it was a really personal cause to alot of people involved so i wanted to give a really personal song to me, so we used "dark alley".

its late and alot of the things i have been working on and thnking have stalled out. but i am trying oh so hard. got some smaller shows coming up in las vegas and l.a. for the diehards so keep your eyes out.

i am in new york city but it feels so fucking foreign. the band is in chicago but there is too much to be done out here. i know there needs to be breaks but i cant get away. maybe ill see you on fuse or trl tommorrow. maybe not cause it'll be weird with out the guys- i dunno. this hotel room doesn't make any sense. my lights are on and i am in bed knowing i will never fall asleep. i am realizing people in all the buildings outside i can see lit up can probably see in here on me. but thats okay cause i am wearing some sweet pj's.

wwwilliambecketdotlove

turn me inside out.

swoon. make me easy on the eyes. it aint hard in this light. read it. write it. throw it away and come back to the phone. light up text king.

oh yeah a little bird named mouth told me: friendsorenemies.com is up - my profile is actually me over there ... yay! let's hate eachother and/or get sexy.

January 20, 2006 

dear ireland- thank you for your pretty accents and your amazing show.

dear home- i miss you

dear you- what the fuck happened to this

a real update later.

the whole world loves it when you dont get down.

January 21, 2006 

12:17 pm 

i hate you and i hope you die. yes. i realize that you will make fun of me/take stabs at me/post ridiculous pictures of me. i realize that because of this band i have given up some of my privacy and personal life. i accept that. i can laugh at myself. i realize i will get called a douchbag. i get what i get. i have begun reading things about my friends and family. that i will not accept. i read things written by people who kiss my ass to my face. i remember who you are. fuck you. bring it on me. please leave my friends and family alone. it is extremely hurtful to me. if anyone is a friend of mine out there please tell your friends. i on the otherhand am open game. i have a good laugh at all of the stuff written about me. i am silly, i realize that. thank you. 

peter

January 24, 2006

I am an arms dealer.

I sell words you could only use as weapons.

This isn't a scene it is an arms race.

I am a con artist.

A door to door salesman.

A snake oil seller. Cures for whatever ails you.

Somehow I don't hear the violins playing.

Not really the leading man type.

I am a cadaver deep frozen. Waiting for reanimation to beinvented.

Wrote "fuckoff" on my hand to remind me to call you tommorrow morning.

What do you do when everything they say about you is true?

Do you expect me to just roll over and die?

My skin has made promises.

Whether the rest of me has or not.

Writing off tommorrows every time my fingers touch these buttons.

Putting all the comforts and closeness in reverse just for you.

I think its time to re-asses some of the policies of the wentz administration.

Our approval rating is at an all time low.

In case you haven't been informed you have to take a ticket to be disappointed by me.

There's a fucking line.

Well have some goddamned order.

Its a posh and exclusive club.

I have a lifetime membership.

Make it glamorous.

Make the rumors true.

Read the sign next to the bridge "giveupallhope..." and just tie down the gas pedal.

Lie in the back.

Haven't you heard, sorrow is in.

You are the beaches of normandy the night before.

And a girl with such a sweet drink should never sit in the corner and cry about anyone or anything.

The kids on the net had it right sometimes we should fuck off and die and break up and stop ruining art.

But the kids had it right sometimes when they sit waiting in line with hands frozen out waiting to get into a room first.

The only thing I can admit is this is no masterplan. I'm trying to figure it out.

"Without the sour the sweet wouldn't taste so sweet (tangerine)".

Its 3am in leeds. This is what just crossed my mind.

Love, the fancy kid.

January 26, 2006

live via manchester holiday inn express:

first and foremost. these shows have been amazing. i think it is quite possibly because we don’t get over here often or maybe because we are playing smaller clubs… but i am thinking we need to make a stop over here more often.

i wanted to congratulate p!atd the disco on making it to number 10 on the TRL countdown. and i just wanted to put this out there: there is no way it was paid to happen. of all the bands on “new bands week” panic was the only that didn’t put up big pushes to have the video voted on. if anything this band wants to do things their own way. hence picking the song they did for the single- that was the bands choice and in my opinion they have songs on the record that could easily be bigger. it was also the bands choice to create a darker video…. as a label i can tell you that we definitely don’t have the money to spend on a “big budget” video right now- not to mention having any left over for anything else- you’d laugh if you saw the budgets we filmed the new panic and gch videos on. but i couldn’t say enough about how nice these kids are- they don’t even get how big their band is and thats a good thing… i personally would rather see great bands on the forefront of music… and yes there are lots of other bands that deserve to make it there as well- so maybe on our messageboard tell me about some great (unsigned) bands that we should check out.

other than that we’ve just been writing new songs and working on the new video. pretty soon its going to become time focus all attention on a new fall out boy record again.

got some big news for you coming up very soon…

peter lewis kingston wentz

ps 'hater dudes marry hater bitches and have hater kids’

1/26/06 Q&A

question

hey, what kind of books are you and the rest of Fall Out Boy into? p.s. tell patrick he is spectacular

answer

andy is into comics and books on anthropology/human civilization i dunno what books joe reads patrick is into reading about music i am into a bunch of different authors lately hemingway still. before he went and hung out in africa. i haven’t been reading as much as id like lately. ps the book panic has in their book club this month is a great book. its the first thing i gave ryan after reading his lyrics, it kind of reminded me of him- so if you like panics lyrics head on over and check out their book club

question

do you watch that show roseanne on nick at night. i love that show!

answer

me and my friends used to hang out with becky in evanston, il in highschool. she was not to fond of me or my friend jody.

question

ok i know this is nobodys business but yours but there is alot of stuff going around on the boards saying that the big news is your engaged just to get things straight is that it? because those people are starting to annoy me….

answer

me being engaged is most definitely not the big news.

question

in the song calm before the on take this to your grave, there is a line that says :Well theres a song on the radio that says lets get this party started, lets get this party started. did you write that line because of the song by pink called lets get this party started. just curious.

answer

yes.

question

Hey Pete. My grandma is dying (and she doesnt care) and I for real dont feel anything towards her. My mom is seriously upset, my dad is just about the same and my sisters dont know. I am suppose to tell them but how do I do that when my grandma wasnt a grandma for me but for them she was a great lady? I just want this done and over because I am kind of tired of waiting for her to die since she has been making suicide references for the past two years.

answer

that is one of the hardest places to ever be in. i remember seeing thoughts of my grandfather in my head when he died i was on tour. and i couldnt really feel sad unless i thought of it as my dad and it really freaked me out. it made me feel like i wanted to see my dad right that second. id be completely lost with out him. i think that people handle grief in different ways and the best thing we can do is try to be there for them. im sorry to hear about that though.

1/30/06 

question

my roommates and i almost got into a brawl at 4am with some drunk kids who wanted to fight us because we did not appreciate the hint of lime in their tostitos. is it just me, or is your life this ridiculous as well?

answer

it is . we were thrown out of another fob afterparty after nearly fighting the staff who was berating dirty.

question

Peter, I just got the “Panic! At The Disco” cd and I love it! could you recomened any others?

answer

the hushsound “so sudden” - myspace.com/thehushsound october fall “season of…” myspace.com/octoberfall dangerradio “party foul” myspace.com/dangerfall the academy is “almost here” myspace.com/theacademyis armor for sleep “all” myspace.com/armorforsleep shiny toy guns “all”

question

do any of you have brothers and siters? (like any single younger brothers…:) if so, who and how old?

answer

um come on this question is kind of insane. but my one dog marley is super hot for a dog. hes a good kisser though.

question

I read somewhere that Patrick was a vegitarian. Is that true?

answer

he was he eats fish and likes to talk long walks in the park with hot babes.

question

Why does patrick wear a hat all the time and why does the drummer never talk?????

answer

just to drive your pretty little head mad with these questions.

question

Okay, heres a question: Has someone you superly-duperly adored gone away? And by adored we are talking like, lets-run-away-to-isreal -and-get-hitched-without-telling-anyone adored.

answer

yes. the sinking feeling in your rotten gut is your reminder. cool sheets on your bed are your antidote.