#sorry no energy for the normal motion breakdown

[with-love-from-hell]

Ashes

Written for Gn!mc

Genre: hurt/comfort

Pairing: Lucifer x Mc

Cw: depression implication, self-loathing

A/n: I wrote this at 4am when I couldn't sleep and was in my feelings.

"Darling, what seems to be troubling you?" Lucifer sighs, easing himself down on the bed by your feet. He caresses your calf, running his thumb along the muscle. The movement was intentional enough that you could feel it through the weight of your duvet, but gentle enough that it felt like a mere tickle.

"I'm fine." The lie slipped through your teeth easily. Anyone else would have left you too your swarm of negative thoughts and emotions, passing off the dismissive lie as you just being fatigued or in need of some alone time...but Lucifer knew you better than anyone else. What's more, he's someone you found difficult to lie to.

Lucifer sighed, squeezing your calf through the blanket. "Come now, Mc. You needn't hide things from me."

You bite your lip, trying to hold back the tears that threaten to spill past your eyelids. What could you even say? You couldn't exactly pinpoint the thing that had put you in a dour mood. The whole day seemed to weigh on you like an anvil, each mild inconvenience or small stress seeming to cause the weight to grow heavier and heavier until you could no longer carry it. Lucifer was a logical man- a man of reason. If you were to tell him that you didn't know what had you so down, you could just imagine the annoyed response he'd give. Sure, he loved you. You knew that. But he only had so much time, energy, and patience to give. If you didn't have anything to offer as a reason for your suffering, then you weren't worthy of the effort it took to console you.

"...Mc." Lucifer repeated your name, but the normal stern tone his voice would take when his brothers didn't respond to their name being called wasn't there. It was soft, laced only with concern and a desire to sooth.

"I...I dont know..." You glance to him uneasily as the tears slipped past your eyes. You close them, not wanting to look him in the eyes as you began to cry, feeling shameful for not having the words to explain your emotions, and for burdening the busy demon with your problems.

In an instant, Lucifer gathered you in his arms. He situated you in his lap so that he could cradle you close to his chest, letting your tears freely stain his freshly pressed suit. His thumb circled the center of your back, tracing the bumpy parts of your spine that stoof out slightly from the rest of your skin.

Your breaths caught in your throat as you tried to stop yourself from sobbing, but it only made the tears fall harder. You cursed yourself, not liking that you looked so pitiful in front of the Avatar of Pride. He surely must think you're a fool.

Squeezing your eyes shut tighter, you clung to him, scolding yourself for being such a mess. Your thoughts were mean- some down right abusive- as you chastised your inability to save face, and questioning your worth to the man who always sacrificed so much for you- and for what? So you can have a breakdown in his arms; blubbering incoherently because you can't place why you're just so fucking sad.

"I'm...I'm sorry..." your voice cracks as you mutter out the words into his chest. "I'm sorry..."

"It's alright, there's no reason to apologize." He cooed, barely resting his chin atop your head. "We needn't discuss what's causing your heartache right this instant. Take all the time you need."

He contunued rubbing circles into your back, rocking you ever-so gently side-to-side. Its during times like this that he wonders how you would feel if you could read his thoughts. Clearly, your lowly opion of yourself was projected onto him, while he saw you as his entire world. If you were hurting, then he was too. If he could, he would bring all three realms to their knees in order to protect you, and he wanted so desperately for you to believe that. He knew that after going so much of your life feeling nothing but animosity toward yourself would result in this knowledge taking a significant amount of time to seep in...but the desperation he felt in needing you to see what he saw when he looked at you was immense. Just once, he wished he could show you how much you meant to him- and to his family, as well. And he internally cursed the individual or individuals who made you believe you were worthless.

He took a shallow breath, humming contently as he gripped you tighter. For now, he needed to push that aside. What mattered now was that you needed him, no matter the reason. And when you needed him, he was there.

Always.

[decomposited]

ANATOMICAE

This post is supposed to be a (hopefully) thorough breakdown of the physiology and anatomy of segments and a primer for their general functions. Not required reading, but I thought it would be interesting to record my headcanons and theoretical biology ramblings somewhere for easy reference. And besides, reading through is likely easier than taking one of them apart yourself. The contents here will potentially be updated or edited as new ideas come to mind.

I. INTEGUMENTARY SYSTEM

The integument, in this case, refers to the skin, hair, and nails, and the structures associated with them. Segments do (perhaps surprisingly) have “real” genuine human skin, hair, etc. It is derived from a human source, but not anyone unwilling. The organic components of all segments are directly cultivated from the original Dottore’s various “donations” and therefore at a base level all share the same default genetic profile. This results in them, for the most part, having the same phenotype (skin/hair color, eye color, etc.), barring any mutations or epigenetic changes while growing (or any bodily modifications made later).

For context, when speaking about parts being grown vs built, some of their organic parts are cultured separately in tanks (think of an oversized specimen jar) as a unit, whereas others are grown on top of their skeletal frame (which we will be addressing shortly) in their own independent holding tank.

Much like humans, the nature of their skin results in the same sorts of properties and identifying features: scars, birthmarks, freckles, moles, etc. Scarring is rarer due to the usage of panacea for more detrimental injuries when available, but more minor (and perhaps major) wounds can leave behind scars if allowed to heal normally. Without any additional help, they heal at about the same rate as an ordinary human being. 

II. SKELETAL SYSTEM

The skeleton of segments is made of metal, or more specifically titanium. Because of this, it is extremely sturdy, and resistant to corrosion and chemical interference. Basically as strong as some steels but less dense and therefore less heavy. It’s very hard to break their bones, so adjustments for intentional access exist (for example, a locking hinge system on the ribcage so it can be opened). Going for the joints is the most easily accessible option for dismemberment or dismantling.

Speaking of the joints, they are shaped and perform about how you would expect human ones to do so. However, an important caveat is the existence of powered systems to exert more force, independent of muscle involvement. Smaller joints have “electric” (loosely) actuators, converting energy from stored panacea into movement. Larger joints associated with carrying more weight have hydraulic actuators. The hydraulic fluid used to power those motors (and other fluidic systems) will be covered in the circulatory section. 

III. MUSCULAR SYSTEM

Normal muscles here, folks. Sorry to disappoint. Nothing particularly special, because like the skin, they’re grown from existing cells. The key point is that they handle all lesser or more delicate motions in the usual manner (muscles moving skeleton), but if more intense force is required, they can switch to relying on the actuators in the skeleton, which results in it moving on its own and pulling around the muscles instead. Most of a segment’s strength is reliant on the skeleton rather than their muscle mass. 

IV. CARDIOVASCULAR SYSTEM & CIRCULATORY SYSTEMS

The heart is one of the organs that has a mechanical replacement, and is arguably the most important one. Quite a few things need to be pushed around the body, so an organ that could both handle the strain and exert the requisite power was required. It is located where one would typically expect a heart to be, and acts in association with the lungs.

Segments have a synthetic blood replacement, which works similarly to human blood in the sense that it carries out essential processes (moving nutrients and oxygen, removal of metabolic waste products) throughout biological portions of the body. Visually, it looks quite similar to normal human blood, being red in color, but an observant individual might notice it looks particularly dark, even before it dries. The shade is a very deep red, almost approaching black, and upon drying it turns fully black, rather than rusty red or brown. It coagulates somewhat faster than human blood, but not anything too dramatic. Since they don’t have bone marrow, they don’t produce blood cells naturally. Instead, they have an accessory organ that manufactures the blood and replenishes their system when they are running low. This blood organ (if we wanted to call it that) is somewhere in the abdominal cavity.

Outside arteries, veins, and capillaries, they also have very fine tubing for carrying other materials around the body, like hydraulic fluid or panacea. These can easily be differentiated by the differing colors of the contents and the fact that they are more heavily concentrated around mechanical features of their anatomy. 

Since having hydraulics means there has to be a reservoir and pump for that as well. The main pump is attached to the heart. It is part of a closed system, only handling hydraulic fluid rather than interacting with the usual heart functions. It pumps fluid independently of the heart beating. The hydraulic fluid reservoir, meanwhile, is located near the liver. 

V. RESPIRATORY SYSTEM

Two lungs, one on each side of the heart. For completely sensible reasons, the segments do actually have to breathe. That is mainly a side effect of their partly organic nature, but also does a lot of work to make them appear a bit more convincingly “human”. The lungs are enclosed by the pulmonary pleurae. 

VI. NERVOUS SYSTEM

They have a human brain stored inside the skull (where it is supposed to be). Don’t ask how he pulled it off, but Dottore somehow managed to copy his brain, in detail, without destroying it entirely. Since all the structures are identical, the segments share the memories of the original, up until the moment their brains were “finished”. Because of that, their individual paths (and the connections their neurons made) began to diverge from the template when they became conscious and started existing independently. 

Most nervous structures are matched or equivalent to the human body simply because of their inclination to grow in that way, but there are also sections where they blend into wiring and vice versa to make sure that signals are shared appropriately. The spinal cord is enclosed inside the spinal column, and still serves as a connection between the central and peripheral nervous systems. 

Internally, some areas and systems are less innervated than others, in order to minimize pain and discomfort during typical (or extracurricular) investigative procedures and maintenance. Their skin and underlying layers of muscle and fascia are perfectly capable of feeling pain as deeply as any other person. The exterior of organs, however, tends to feel sensation more neutrally, rather than indicating visceral pain. 

VII. OTHER ORGANS

Included in the “basic organ systems” package is a digestive tract, albeit slightly more efficient than normal. They don’t need to eat as much/often as an average human in the same height/weight range. Nutrients derived from food contribute to keeping all the organic parts going, but considering how much is mechanical, they could likely remain functional for a decent amount of time before expiring from starvation. Abdominal organs are enclosed in the peritoneum (a membrane that forms the lining of the abdominal cavity) as would be typical in a human. Filtering/processing organs like the liver and kidneys are mechanical.

While they have secondary sex characteristics (that affect appearance and external traits), they don’t have internal reproductive organs. How they present, and what that even means is dependent on the segment. 

VIII. MISCELLANEOUS

Teeth/gums/tongue/other mouth stuff are natural(ish). The core of the teeth and the part that’s attached to the skull is all metal, but they have enamel on top to correct the appearance. This means they have a powerful bite strength. Use this information responsibly.

Additional body modification is typical among segments, and not frowned upon so long as they don’t physically alter the brain or certain other components. They have a tracking chip located somewhere, and that may or may not also function as a self-destruct switch. They specifically aren’t allowed to mess with that. Some segments are more interested in becoming more mechanical than others, or trying out other additions. Epsilon himself is extremely close to the “base” default build. 

Mechanical organs usually have a small glowing piece somewhere on them to indicate how much energy they have in reserve. Think of it as a bit like a rectangular HP bar. Full is optimal. The shorter the glowing section gets, the closer they are to needing a recharge (or more specifically, a panacea refill).

They do have immune systems (but don’t ask how that works). They’re very carefully calibrated to be strong without being too eager in attacking parts of themselves. So they can get sick, but unless it's something very virulent, they'll likely clear it. There is also the possibility that their bodies might occasionally sequester particularly resilient invading organisms and end up carrying them latently.

Segments don't age, exactly. They shed and replace cells, but their telomeres are modified in such a way that they appear to exist indefinitely as the same age they were "born" as. 

As a side effect of having a human brain, they also have to sleep. They should probably get as much as any other person, but that is extremely unlikely. 

[atlabeth]

transferred part 17 - atla smau

part 16 | masterlist | part 18 

summary: trying to run from your past is hard, but falling for your brother’s roommate is even harder. little do you know he’s falling for you as well. 

a/n: ahahah a ??? im sorry?? that this took so long?? as you know ive been dying of school and exams and even though ive gotten a couple oneshots out and did my celebration i just have not had the energy to write a whole mf chapter. but it’s here ! after a month of waiting

wc: 4.8k she is a LONG ONE FOLKS prepare yourselves

warning(s): cursing, alcohol and getting drunk, toxic relationships, mentions of cheating, implied emotional abuse, y/n having a breakdown, just an overall mess 

-

“Katara, don’t pull so hard!” You exclaimed, reaching a hand up to touch your scalp. You had entrusted your sister with styling your hair for the party tonight, but only after insistent nagging on her part. She had invited — or forced, as you liked to call it — you over to their dorm to get ready for the party that night together and do all kinds of girl talk. You figured this was a trap to get you to talk about you and Zuko, but it’s not like you would deny an opportunity to hang out with some of your favorite girls. 

“Sorry,” she chuckled. “Just think of it as retribution for all the times that you pulled my hair like this when you did my braids.” 

You rolled your eyes good-naturedly and glanced over at Toph and Suki who had already gotten ready but still lounging around the dorm to hang out. “So.” 

“So?” Suki repeated. 

“So when are the questions going to start?” You asked with a small laugh. “I appreciate the invite over here to get ready, but I know you all just wanted to ask me about what’s going with Zuko. So ask away.”

“What happened during that car ride—”

“Has he said anything to you since the kiss—”

“What’s going on at the tea shop—”

“Woah, woah! One question at a time!” you interrupted as they all started going on at the same time. “First off, nothing happened during the car ride. We worked out some miscommunications, and we’re all good. Second — yes, we’ve talked since the kiss, but there’s been nothing groundbreaking. And third, the only thing going on at the tea shop is the tea that we’re serving.”

Toph groaned and shook her head. “Are you serious? That’s so boring!”

“You’re telling me that nothing has happened in the couple of weeks since the kiss? Like, are you sure you’re not in a secret relationship with him and just neglecting to tell us?” Katara asked.

“There’s nothing going on,” you insisted. “As much as I want something to go on, I… haven't’ really said anything either.”

“What?” Suki cried. “You are crazy for him, how have you not tried to make something out of this yet?!”

“I don’t know!” you shot back defensively. “I guess I’m just scared that everything will go wrong.”

“Look,” Suki began as she took a seat on the floor in front of you. “You are kind, funny, gorgeous as hell, and an all around amazing person — and Zuko has it just as bad for you as you do for him! So embrace all of that, get out there tonight, and make a move!”

It had been too long since you had gotten a pep talk from Suki, and it was strangely refreshing. You nodded and sat up. “You know, you’re right! I have just… I’ve been sitting around, waiting for him to make a move because I’m too scared of getting rejected. But I am a delight! I am a lovely person, and I am a delight. Besides, we’re both adults! Even if he doesn’t like me the same way I do—”

“Which he does,” Toph interrupted, which earned her a joking glare.

“Even if he doesn’t like me the same way I do,” you repeated. “We’re still going to be friends. It’ll just be a couple awkward weeks, and then we’ll be back to normal.”

“That’s as close to the spirit as we’re gonna get!” Katara exclaimed as she gave you a high-five.

“It’s about time,” Toph joked as she hit you on the shoulder. “Now, are you gonna get ready or what?”

“Right,” you chuckled. “I did get this super cute dress a while ago that I haven’t gotten a chance to wear. I think it’ll be perfect for tonight.”

“What are you waiting for, girl?” Suki asked. “Show us!”

After showing off your dress, you had finished up the final touches of your makeup and gotten one last pep talk from all of your girls — you were feeling more confident than ever, and you were sure that tonight was the night you would tell Zuko how you felt.

-

Back at the apartment, the boys were going through a similar dilemma.

“Zuko, what are you so scared about?” Sokka was hanging upside down off of the couch, a move he must’ve picked up from his sister, as he questioned his friend.

“I don’t know, everything? She could reject me, she could start to hate me, I could ruin everything that we’ve built over the past few months— you know, it’s not even that bad, what we have right now! What’s the harm in just staying like this?”

“Zuko,” Aang groaned. “I get being cautious, but this is just too much! You’re letting your fears get in the way of you and Y/N being happy. You kissed her, right? And she kissed you back! I’m telling you, if you let her know how you feel tonight then everything will work out. Trust me!”

“Seriously, buddy — it’s just painful at this point. It’ll be kinda weird having one of my friends date my sister again, but somehow, you two being apart is worse. Just tell her already!”

“Okay!” Zuko exclaimed defensively. He finished doing his hair then ran his fingers through it, ruining his work completely. When Sokka gave him a weird look, he shrugged and smiled to himself a bit. “Y/N likes it this way.”

Sokka gestured at him in disbelief and shook his head. “This is exactly what I mean!”

“Okay!” he repeated. Zuko leaned against the kitchen island and nodded. “Okay, I’ll tell her how I feel tonight. After she’s gotten into the party a little, I’ll take her outside and I’ll tell her how I feel.”

“And then you’ll kiss and it’ll be happily ever after!” Aang crooned.

Sokka rolled off of the sofa and stood up, then picked up the car keys from the table. “Someone text the girls, because we’re leaving. I can’t deal with this anymore.”

“You’re gonna do great tonight, Zuko,” Aang reassured as he gave Zuko a pat on the back. “Just remember why you like her in the first place, and speak from the heart. She likes you, so as long as you’re you, things will go great.”

Zuko nodded and gave Aang a small smile. “Thanks. I hope you’re right.”

As the two of them followed Sokka out of the apartment, he took another deep breath and tried to psych himself up. He was sure that tonight was the night he would tell you how he felt.

-

The seven of you regrouped with each other where you would be spending the rest of the night — because a ton of students were expected to celebrate the end of the first semester, the party was being hosted in a warehouse that a couple of kids had rented out for the night. It was more extravagant than the first party you went to in every way — you could hear the music thumping from all the way down the street as you got out of the car.

“Do you think we beat them here?” Suki asked as she helped Toph out. Katara locked the car and looked around, shaking her head as she pointed down the street. Sokka, Aang, and Zuko were all walking up together, having parked a couple cars down.

“They beat us by a minute. Probably broke a hundred different traffic laws in the process.”

“You guys made it!” Aang exclaimed as he gave Katara a kiss on the cheek. “Sokka forced Zuko to let him drive here, said he’s too slow and that he wanted to beat you all.”

“Sounds like him,” Suki joked as she took Sokka’s hand. “You ready, Big Shot?”

“I’m always ready,” he grinned, earning a laugh from you and Katara. Your eyes fell on Zuko as he walked up and you smiled, already starting to feel your cheeks heating up.

“Wow, Y/N, you look…”

“Amazing?” you guessed coyly.

“Breathtaking,” he clarified, the beginnings of a smirk playing on his lips. You laughed and looped your arm through his, and the two of you began making your way towards the party.

The rest of the group shot each other looks that ranged from overjoyed to bewildered to confused. As they started to follow you, they realized that getting the two of you together might be easier than they thought.

-

It wasn’t hard to get into the spirit of the night once you got into the party. There had to be at least a couple hundred people there, but it didn’t take long for everyone to start breaking off into groups. Suki had roped you in karaoke while Aang had taken Zuko to meet some of his friends, giving Sokka, Katara, and Toph time to strategize before setting the plan in motion.

“Okay!” Katara shouted so she could be heard over all the noise. “I don’t think we’re actually gonna have to do that much tonight! Just.. keep him busy for a while and then give him an out, and we’ll do the same with Y/N!”

“Yeah, yeah, I know the whole plan. I made it up, remember?” Sokka wasn’t completely focused on the conversation at hand as his eyes darted around the scene, seemingly searching for something. His eyes suddenly lit up and he started to back away from their small group. “There he is! Sorry Katara, gotta go prove to a bunch of freshmen that they don’t know anything and I’m better than them. Aang can handle Zuko!” He grinned at her then ran off into the crowd before Katara could protest.

She sighed and turned to Toph. “Suki’s got Y/N occupied and Aang’s got Zuko, so it looks like it’s just you and me, Beifong. Whaddya wanna do?”

“You’re telling me you don’t want to see your sister embarrass herself with karaoke?” Toph asked.

Katara laughed and grabbed Toph’s hand as she started to lead them through the crowd. “You know what? That sounds perfect. After all the work we’ve done for her and Zuko, I think I deserve to laugh at her for a while.”

-

The first two hours of the party passed by quickly. You spent the first thirty minutes making a fool of yourself with Suki as you sang a couple classics on karaoke — though it was a bit humiliating, you had an amazing time. The second half of the hour went to the beer pong competition that Sokka’s friend Zhen had organized (they did end up winning, so you supposed his pride was well earned), and the next hour was dedicated to dancing, drinking, and letting loose. You had finished the first semester of your masters program, so you felt like you deserved it.

You had stolen away to an emptier corner to give yourself a breather as well as some alone time — you were enjoying yourself, but it was close to claustrophobic in the heat of it all. You were passing the time on your phone when you heard a familiar voice call your name. Your eyes immediately shot up as you tucked your phone into your purse, and you were met with your favorite pair of golden eyes.

“Hey,” Zuko breathed, taking a second to straighten his ruffled clothes. You couldn’t help the smile that played on your lips as you ran a hand through his hair to muss it up even further.

“Hey yourself,” you laughed. “What’s so important that you had to run all the way over here?”

“I have something I need to tell you. It actually is really important, but I think it’d go over better if we weren’t in the middle of all this chaos.”

You would be lying if you said that didn’t make your heart beat a little faster, and as you felt your cheeks heat up you realized that this was your chance. “Uh, yeah. Sure, totally— I actually have something I need to tell you, so that’s perfect!”

“Really?”

“Guess we’re just in tune.”

Zuko smiled as he took your hand and started to lead you through the crowd, but when you heard someone calling your name you froze. The blood in your veins turned to ice, and your grip on Zuko’s hand tightened. He shot you a questioning look but you didn’t even see it.

“No,” you muttered, barely legible. “No, not here.”

You almost didn’t want to turn around to confirm your suspicions. You could’ve ignored it, pretended like you didn’t hear it over the sounds of the party, but there was a voice nagging in your head that you couldn’t just ignore it, you had to find out if he was really, truly here — so you did.

You wanted nothing more to be wrong in that moment — honestly, you thought that you were hallucinating at first. You hadn’t had that much to drink, but maybe the alcohol combined with the sleep deprivation was making you see things. Unfortunately, it was real. You could never forget those eyes.

“Hahn,” you mumbled, the sight taking a moment to register. “Hahn, what the hell are you doing here?”

“What does it look like I’m doing? I’m here to party, and I’m here to see you.” The grin on his face didn’t waver as he looked you up and down, choosing to ignore the blatant shock on your face.

“You are not here to see me,” you clarified coolly. “We’re not together anymore, and ex-boyfriends don’t make hour-long drives to see their ex-girlfriends, especially ex-girlfriends that they treated like trash.”

“I figured you’d be more happy to see me than this,” he huffed. “Ungrateful as usual.” Hahn seemed to finally notice Zuko and scoffed as he looked at him. “What, is he your new boyfriend? You really downgraded.”

“You have no right to talk to her like that—” Zuko stepped forward to say more but you held out your hand to stop him. You gave him a short nod and stepped forward yourself.

“Hahn, I’m going to ask you one more time.” You could feel your hands shaking, whether it was from rage or fear you didn’t know. Your voice was deadly calm, but it was taking all of your energy to stay that way. “What the hell are you doing here?”

Hahn laughed and crossed his arms. “You’re joking right?” His amusement was a notion that you didn’t share, and he cleared his throat uncomfortably before he continued. “You wouldn’t answer my texts, and you obviously still want me after the things you sent me. My brother had a game here and I came along to see him, so I figured I would pay you a visit as well. You never really officially broke up with me, y’know. Are you really going to let three years go down the drain because of one little incident?”

Now it was your turn to laugh — it was from pure disbelief rather than amusement, though. “Are you serious? Hahn, I left you! I walked out, I moved out, I transferred universities to get away from you! Are you really so dense that you still think you stand a chance based off of some drunk texts?”

“Woah, you think you’re giving me a chance? Y/N/N, this is my olive branch to you — I messed up, I know I did, but that doesn’t mean we can’t fix things up! I could have any girl I wanted back at Kyoshi, but I’m here because I want you — I love you, babe. You know I do.”

“You don’t get to call her ‘babe’,” Zuko snapped. “She doesn’t want you here, so why don’t you just save yourself some trouble and get out of here?”

Hahn snorted and shook his head. “Stay out of this, fireboy. Y/N’s a big girl, she can speak for herself.”

You looked around and saw that a modest crowd was forming around the three of you, and more than a few people were filming. If you didn’t want your relationship problems to become BSSU news, you had to defuse this as soon as possible.

“Listen,” you interrupted. “Zuko’s right, Hahn. It was a mistake to come here — if you’re as smart as you always say, then you would know that. Just.. go home.”

Hahn scoffed as if he couldn’t believe what you were saying. “No, you listen. I’m trying to do you a favor here, Y/N! I made one mistake, and apparently that was enough to ruin everything we had.”

“You know just as well as I do that it wasn’t one mistake!” you cried. “If you can really get any other girl you want, then do it! I mean, that wasn’t a problem for you during our relationship, so I don’t see why it’s a problem now. We’re not getting back together, so just stop!”

“It’s him, isn’t it?” he sneered as he gave Zuko another onceover. “He’s the reason you’re acting like this. I never thought that you would sink so low, but you’ve clearly gone soft. Come on, stop acting like a baby and we can talk this out alone.”

He started to reach for your hand but you pulled it back, and before you knew what you were doing, you had handed your drink to Zuko and your fist was flying right at Hahn’s face. It hurt like hell, but the pure satisfaction from seeing his shock as he recoiled was a painkiller on its own.

“How’s that for soft?” you spat as you rubbed your injured knuckles.

“You.. you bitch!” he yelled, staggering back a few feet as he put his hand over his nose in an attempt to stop the bleeding. “This is how you repay me after everything? You should be thankful I’m giving you another chance—” he started to reach for you again, but you slapped his hand away. You cast a glance back at Zuko and saw that he had been joined by Sokka and Katara, and knowing that they were with you made all the difference.

“I don’t want another chance!” you shouted. “You are the one that fucked up, you are the one that made my life hell, and you are not the one that gets to give out second chances! I gave you so many chances, and you messed up every single one! Hahn, I never want to see you again. And if you ever try something like this again, if you ever even try and talk to me again, I will do something so much worse. Now do the smart thing and get out!”

You gave him one hard shove to the chest then turned on your heel and ran. It was the coward’s move, you knew it was, but you couldn’t be there anymore. Tears blurred your vision as you pushed through the crowd to get to the back door, heaving shaky breaths once you finally made it outside. You could hear familiar voices yelling and felt the slightest tinge of joy knowing that your younger siblings were giving Hahn hell.

You leaned against the side of the building, pressing the heels of your hands against your forehead to try and stop yourself from having a full on breakdown. You started to count backwards from twenty in your head as your eyes scanned the area for something, anything, to ground you. It helped in the sense that you weren’t about to lose it right then and there, but you were still on the brink. You slid down the wall into a sitting position and hugged your knees to your chest, the tears finally falling.

This was your university, this was your night, this was for you to make new memories and end your first semester, but like everything else he had come in and ruined it. You had no idea how he even found you, how he knew you would even be here, but it scared you.

“Should’ve blocked you as soon as you… fucking asshole… can’t believe..” you mumbled incoherently as you pulled your phone out with shaky hands, blocking and deleting his number. You dropped your phone in your lap and then put your head in your hands, still trying to process everything that happened. You didn’t even look up when you heard someone coming outside, but somehow you immediately knew who it was.

“Hey, Y/N.. Are you.. okay?” Zuko’s voice was full of sympathy but also caution, as if you were a delicate flower you didn’t want to tear.

“Do I look okay, Zuko?” Your words came out much more aggressive than you wanted them to, and you bit your lip. You had always expected his kindness to be a double-edged sword, something he used just to get something from you, but it never was. Not even once. It made sense after what he told you, and it just made him an even better person in your eyes.

“I’m sorry,” you sighed. “I didn’t mean it like that, I’m just.. not. Not in the slightest. Hahn was the last person I expected to see tonight.”

Zuko moved over and sat down against the wall with you then hovered his hand above yours, giving you a chance to pull away. When you didn’t move, he set his hand on yours, filling you with the comforting warmth that you missed.

“You don’t need to apologize. What he did was fucked up.” He cracked a small smile. “Punching him was pretty badass though.”

You wiped a tear away and let out a soft laugh. “It was about time I stood up for myself. Our whole relationship was built off of this sick power dynamic that he loved to wield over me. Things were fine for the first few months, of course. He had this douchebag reputation on campus, but I believed that I could change him, that I could be the one to make him settle down, and— and it felt like I had at first! He was the sweetest guy, and he always brought me things and took me out on dates and it was just- it was just a dream. But I should’ve known he was using me. He had never changed, he had just gotten better at hiding those parts of himself.”

“I had zero sense of self worth and he used that. Told me that if I broke up with him I would never find anyone better, always convincing me that I was the one in the wrong, that if I wasn’t so dramatic then we wouldn’t have all these arguments. And the worst thing about it? I believed him. I believed him every time.” Your voice cracked on your last sentence and you could feel yourself getting choked up again. You swallowed hard and tried your best to push your emotions back down. “I was so terrified that he was right, that I would end up alone if I broke up with him, that I stayed. And that was our relationship for the past three years — built off of fear and manipulation.”

“A lot of people wonder why I transferred here. Sure, I did it for my masters, but Kyoshi has a perfectly fine program. I had already established my life there, I had an apartment, lots of friends, and yeah, I was going to go through with it. I was going to get my masters back there, but I… I did it because of him. I left because of Hahn.”

“Y/N. What did he do?” There was a dangerous undertone to his words, and you placed your intertwined hands on his knee. You didn’t want him to do something he would regret, and more selfishly, you needed him here right now.

You closed your eyes and let the question hang in the air for a moment. You hadn’t told anyone the truth of how your relationship ended with Hahn, and this wasn’t how you had pictured telling Zuko. If you were being honest, you didn’t think you would ever tell him — but he deserved to know.

“He cheated.” You said the words so easily, so simply that you almost shocked yourself. It shocked Zuko too; you could see his eyes widen slightly from your peripherals.

“Yeah. He cheated on me. That’s how things ended. After everything I put into that relationship, everything I did for him, everything he took from me… I still wasn’t enough for him. I got home from class one day to find him in bed with another girl, and… that was it. Something inside me just snapped. That was my moment of clarity — no yelling, no crying, no… anything. I just left. A friend let me crash at her place, and that night I started the process of transferring here. I made a promise to myself that I would never let someone like Hahn in again, and… well, now we’re here.” You laughed humorlessly and wiped a tear from your eye.

It was like the breath had been stolen from Zuko’s chest. He had never fully understood why you were so reluctant to open up to people, but this explained it. You weren’t someone who gave out love freely, but you had to Hahn — and the way he had treated that love made him sick. He had ingrained in you the ideal that you couldn’t be loved, only tolerated, and that was why you had such a hard time accepting help from anyone. The thought alone made him want to find Hahn and get him back for everything he had done to you. The only thing stopping him was that he didn’t want to leave you alone.

“Y/N,” he muttered. “I had no idea. Katara and Sokka didn’t even know.. Why did you hold all of this in?”

“Because I was scared, Zuko! I got myself into this mess with a stupid boy that everyone had warned me about, so I felt like I had to get myself out. Even when things took a turn for the worse, I felt like I couldn’t involve anyone else because it was my fault. It was my fault for trusting someone like him, it was my fault for believing all of his lies, it was my fault for not being good enough. And even after everything he did to me, a part of me still missed him.” You let out a laugh that was a touch unhinged. “There’s something seriously wrong with me.”

“Y/N, look at me.” You tore your eyes up from the ground and at Zuko — his golden irises looked the same as the first time you met him and it was oddly comforting.

“There is nothing wrong with you. Okay? And I know it’s easier said than done, believe me, I know, but you don’t need to be scared. I understand why you were so hesitant to share what happened with Hahn, but you don’t need to be. I don’t know how much weight my words have, but I want you to know that you can always tell me what is happening with you. Whether it’s a life changing event or just what you did that morning, I’ll listen to you. You aren’t alone, Y/N, because I’m here for you. I always will be.”

Your eyes widened with surprise as you stared into his own. This was the most sincere you had ever seen Zuko, even more than the night he told you about his life. There was a nagging voice in the back of your head telling you to kiss him, feel that warmth again, forget about what had happened for just a moment.

But as the familiar prick of incoming tears returned, you knew you couldn’t. You were drunk, on the verge of a complete breakdown, and anything that happened between you tonight would be tainted with the memory of Hahn. So with a concentrated effort, you tore your eyes away from his and swallowed, your throat dry and scratchy from the screaming match you had gotten yourself into.

“I don’t think I can spend another minute here. I hate to ask, but.. can you take me home?” you asked quietly. “You might not be able to tell, but I’m not in a state to do anything right now.”

“Of course.” You gave his hand another squeeze to let him know that he hadn’t overstepped, and stood up. The two of you began the walk back to the car and Zuko let go of your hand, shifting so that he could instead wrap his arm around your back. You smiled softly and leaned your head against his shoulder, the gesture a welcome comfort.

“Thank you,” you whispered. He squeezed your shoulder softly in response, a silent notion that said everything he couldn’t.

Tonight had been a wreck, that much was certain. Your past had resurged in the most painful way possible, and you knew you wouldn’t be able to get through it alone.

But you weren’t alone this time. You had Zuko.

And with Zuko by your side… you knew you would be okay.

-

perm taglist: @dv0412 @siriuslyslyslytherin

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atla: @marianne1806

[det-loki]

poison & wine pt. seven

You think your dreams are the same as mine

warnings: suicide, blood/gore, angst

pairing: detective loki x fem reader

word count: 2,294

A/N: i am so sorry for the delay in updates, writers block slapped me in the face. this is a heavy chapter with a heavy subject, please be gentle and honest with yourself before reading. don’t force yourself. enjoy! xx

1  2  3  4  5  6   ⌽

 You sat in the interrogation viewing room as Loki sat in front of you staring at Bob Taylor through the glass. You weren’t getting anywhere questioning him, so in a last resort attempt, you had him draw a maze in hopes to find the little girls. This had been going on for three hours. You shifted in the office chair slowly, your joints cracking at you angrily for sitting in this position for so long. Neither you nor Loki had moved much in the past three hours, watching as Bob drew his maze and listening to him hum as he did so. You could feel the waves of anger and frustration rolling off of David as he stared ahead with his chin in his hand beside Officer Carter. 

The door opened behind you, Captain O’Malley leaning against the door frame, “How long has this Bob Taylor been workin’ on this map?”

“Three-and-a-half hours.” Loki quickly muttered before turning his attention back to Bob and the pages of maze drawings sprawled messily in front of him. 

“And you two think this is gonna lead you to the bodies? Cause I sure as shit don’t.”  O’Malley had been bothering you this entire case, creating unnecessary roadblocks for you and Loki, and David had had enough.

“Do me a favor, Captain. Go fuck yourself.” Loki snapped at O’Malley, who had no immediate reaction, he was used to this from David. “We weren’t getting anywhere questioning him.”

“That looks more like a maze than a map.” O’Malley walked closer to the window as he spoke, David getting more and more irritated with him.

“He’s got a thing for mazes. If you don’t have anything constructive to say, I’d appreciate it if you’d just fuck off and let us do our jobs.”  You spoke up from your perch in the office chair, snapping at O’Malley, who was not used to this attitude from you, it was usually David. This caused a twinge of worry to set on Captain O’Malley, if you were starting to lose it then that meant something bad, and that scared him more than he liked to admit. You were struggling to not fly off the handlebars along with David.

Captain O’Malley nodded his head once, “I’m goin’ home. Call me if somethin’ happens.” Loki huffed loudly as O’Malley left, the door clicking as it shut. You and Loki continued to watch Bob draw his mazes as Officer Carter sipped on his coffee quietly, the only sound filling the room was Bob’s broken humming. 

Loki snapped up from his rigid position, chair rolling back, snapping his fingers at Officer Carter to give him the key card to the interrogation room. You watched silently as Loki exited the room, too exhausted to question him. You adjusted in your seat, moving to the edge of it in case you needed to jump up. 

“All right, it’s done now.” Loki snapped at Bob, his voice wavering and you knew that something was wrong, David hit his breaking point. You knew David like the back of your hand, and you knew the past few hours had been a lot for the both of you. You stood from your seat, ignoring the questioning look Officer Carter sent you, stars exploding across your vision as you stumbled out of the room.

You opened the interrogation room door to hear Loki continuing to yell at Bob, asking him what he was drawing. Taylor’s nose continued to drip blood on the paper and the table, mixing with his tears, multiple pages of drawings spread across the table haphazardly. You looked at David, trying to meet his icy eyes to get him to reel it back in, but his eyes stayed trained on Bob in front of him. 

“Tell me what you’re drawing.” Loki waited a moment for a response, his arms crossed in front of him, sleeves pushed up his forearms, bunching at his elbow. More of his tattoos were exposed on his forearm, revealing more of yours and his history that had normally been hidden by clothing. The air in your lungs evaporated as Loki lunged for Bob, throwing him back against the backrest of the chair, hands intertwined tightly in the collar of Bob’s shirt as Bob cried out, “I can’t.”

“Yes, you can! Yes, you can!” Loki yelled in his face before throwing him forward against the table, the sound of an already broken nose cracking once again filled the air. You stepped forward quickly, hands grabbing at David’s bicep to try to pry him off of Bob. 

 “David, let go. You have to let go.” Your attempts were ignored as Loki continued to yell at Bob, his voice bouncing off the walls of the interrogation room. Behind you, the door flies open with Officers Carter and Wedge coming in and dragging Loki off of Bob. You shift in front of Bob, trying to calm him down as you see him reach for Officer Wedge’s gun. 

Your eyes widen as you yell out, “Gun!”  Loki and Carter draw their weapons as you continue to stand between them and Bob, pleading for Bob to listen to you and lower the weapon. You knew that two guns were being aimed at you, but you didn’t care, you were desperate. You also knew that if you made it out alive, David would be mad at you for standing in the middle of crossfire. You didn’t care anymore. At all. 

“Bob put the gun down, we can figure this out.” You pleaded with Bob as he held the gun to his chin, Loki behind you, yelling at you to move. Your head snaps around briefly to David, telling him to put the gun down. Bob was scared and two guns being pointed at him wasn’t helping the situation. Your hands are thrown in front of you in a calming gesture as you look at Bob with a gun aimed at his head. Tears pricked your eyes as you continued to plead with him. He couldn’t kill himself, both for the sake of you and this case. 

Everything happened in slow motion. The last thing you saw before dropping to the ground was Bob pulling the trigger with a shaking finger. Blood and brain matter splattered across the window behind him and pooled near you on the ground. Your ears were ringing as you felt Officer Carter nudge your shoulder and ask if you were okay as you nodded yes. Bob laid lifeless in front of you, limp. You were sure this image would haunt you forever, another nightmare added to the list. You sat up slowly and turned to see Loki run a shaking hand across his face, “Fuck. Go call a fuckin R.A.!” Officers Wedge and Carter ran out of the room, David standing with hands over his face and you on the ground, numb.

Your hands were covered in blood. You don’t remember how the blood got there , all you know is that the continuous scrubbing under the scalding hot water in the locker room isn’t working to get the red staining off. As you continued to scrub your hands raw, tears spilled over and down your face. You had just seen someone kill themselves, lost a lead to the case and you felt hopeless. Two little girls might be dead because of you. You felt arms snake around your waist, pulling your burning hands from the water. You struggled against David as you cried, his embrace tightening around you as you turned, your hands pounded weakly against his chest as you sobbed. You buried your head in the crook of his neck, apology after apology being whispered into your ear, David's hands clutching at your sides desperately so he didn’t fall apart. 

You felt hot tears on your neck, shifting in Loki’s arms to see him crying. You brought your red trembling hands to his face, wiping away the tears with your thumb. You hadn’t seen David cry since the funeral, the worst day of your life. Neither of you said anything, just savoring a fleeting moment of peace in each other's arms before you had to go face the real world. 

The next day, you sat in O’Malley’s office silently, Loki next to you with the maze drawing from Bob at his feet, he was in a place mentally far from here. He was hunched over, finger gliding over the paper, trying to find a way out as O’Malley poured whiskey into a glass for himself. He offered a glass to you and Lok but both of you declined, O’Malley combining both glasses in his own, not hiding his love for alcohol. You stared blankly at the ground, head pounding as O’Malley spoke, goosebumps raised across your arms, a chill ran through your body. The little girls were probably dead. You had seen a man kill himself. You haven't spoken to David more than 5 words at a time since the breakdown in the locker room. You encompassed the word ‘broken.’

“Well, at least I don’t have to worry about losing you two to PSP. Forensics is finished with the guy’s place, we’re gonna deploy the cadaver dogs. Look, kid, we can’t always save the day. All right? We’re just cops, janitors. So you lost this one, all right?” O’Malley had no idea what he was saying. He had no idea what this case meant to you or David. No one did.

You could feel O’Malley look between the two of you, “You two have gotten too involved with this case. You both look like hell.” You wanted to laugh. You did feel like hell. You had on one of David’s sweaters, opting for comfort, your hair messily pulled back, not having the energy to do anything more. Makeup hadn’t touched your face in a week, you’re dark circles engulfing your eyes. You definitely looked like hell. David was no better, his dark circles made him look sickly against his already pale skin, his stubble casting shadows on his face that made him appear much older than he actually was. Maybe you two were too invested, however neither of you said anything. 

O’Malley huffed and looked at David, “Look, you want fulfillment, you need to find a girl, you know, start a family, have some kids. Let it go.” Your world shattered at O’Malley’s words. David brought his hands to his hair, tattooed fingers raking through it as he did his best to not lash out at Captain. He did not know the weight his words carried.  Your little girl couldn’t just be let go. The complicated dynamic you and David had couldn’t just be let go. You and David were connected on a level deeper than anyone would ever be able to understand, the pair of you being present for every moment, the good, bad and the gruesome ugly. Foster homes, detention centers, halfway houses, grimey apartments, the police academy, even the fucking Chinese resteraunt, everything connected to you and David from the past flooded through your mind. 

You followed David out of the room, not daring to speak to him after what Captain had just said to him. You knew he was furious. His personal life was always a touchy subject for him, considering his past. You were also a touchy subject. No one knew about you and David’s relationship; you were the one good thing he had and he didn’t want others to tarnish it by knowing. You were his home, able to be himself and unleash his inner demons with no judgement. You had seen it all first hand anyway, where there was David, you usually weren’t far behind. Unbeknownst to you, David wanted everything O’Malley had said with you, a family, the white picket fence house, even a dog. He didn’t think he was good enough for you to have those things.

You sat at your desk as David sat at his behind you, waves of anger rolling off of him yet he hadn’t said a word yet. 

David finally snapped. You were counting the seconds, he made it to 47. He lashed out, shoving everything off of his desk, sending his computer monitor and papers flying. He sat at his chair for a moment, hands clasped in front of him, his body collapsed in over itself as everyone in the station turned to look in his direction. You watched from your chair only a few feet from him as he grabbed for his keyboard. He raised it above him, bringing it down against his desk twice, sending keys flying as the keyboard hinged against his force. The keyboard dropped from his hands, clattering on the carpeted floor as David brough a shaking hand to his face.

Looking down you see a key from the smashed keyboard. Leaning down, you pick up the key and stand, bringing it over to Loki. He had a picture of the corpse from the priest’s basement in his hands along with the maze drawing, studying it with an intensity that scared you. Your eyes dart from the pictures to the toy RV from Alex's room that had been knocked onto the ground. You looked between the two pictures, the significance clicking.

The maze drawing and the pendant on the corpse matched. Perfectly.

David’s phone ringing brought you back as he fumbled for it from his black shirt pocket. You could vaguely hear the person on the other line, “Hey, it’s Rich. We found something.”

You knew you and David needed to properly talk, and you definitely needed to call your therapist, but it had to wait. You needed to solve this, even if it tore you from the inside out. Even if it killed you.

tag list: . @lexie-wayland @whew-oh-em-gee @winterlavenderskysworld​ @buck-this-nasty @heeyirenee @pinkpunkdynamite @eleventhdoctorsangel @multiyfandomgirl40 @thanossexual​ @speedybonkuniversityzine​ @booklove103​ @curly-q3 @msfarr88​ 

[novantinuum]

Fandom: Steven Universe

Pairing: Steven/Connie

Rating: Teen Audiences 

Words: 2.6K~

Summary: In which Connie’s subconscious, innocent touch helps Steven realize just how nice the sensation of gentle fingertips gliding across the surface of one’s gem can be. (Just a bunch of teen romance fluff, + first kiss)

This is set like... a few weeks before Steven leaves Beach City. I imagine he’s been recovering from what happened in I Am My Monster for at least 6 months by this point.

His days aren’t always great- there’s a lot of ups and downs- but thankfully, today is a markedly pleasant one.

_____

His house is still for once. Impossibly so. No Diamond business, no new arrivals to Earth, no disgruntled Gems kicking down his front door. No more battles, beyond his own internal ones. Admittedly, a part of him is happy for the peace and quiet. He’s appreciative of the way all his family and friends rallied around him in support months back after... erm- after his breakdown, but every guy needs some space eventually.

‘Some space’ never has to mean alone, of course.

Steven sneaks a doe-eyed glance at the girl flopped next to him on the living room couch, her mind lost in the pages of her own fantasy world. It’s a new series, something about a human accidentally falling into the world of the fae. (It’s only been like, half an hour, and she’s almost a hundred pages in already!) A pliable smile teases his lips as he watches her eyes flicker back and forth, digesting each passage with a voracious hunger. Sighing in content, he turns his attention back to his own book, externally making as if he’s busy exploring the world of fiction to hide the sappy fact that instead he’s been thinking about her all along. Honestly? He adores quiet days like these. Even if they’re not doing anything special, it’s just nice to get to spend time alone together. It’s a comfortable together.

Connie shifts, instinctively curling closer, her free arm slung against his side. With a soft hum of content he leans into her welcomed embrace, trying his best (and— caught in her innocently bewitching presence— failing abysmally) to focus on the wandering lines of text.

Everything is peaceful.

No hard knocks, no frenzied phone calls, no family disruptions. The domestic warp hasn’t even activated once this whole lazy afternoon. In recent days, he’s pretty sure that’s a record.

At long last, his house is still... and yet in a flash, his hormone riddled teenage mind— ever foolish— is everything but.

Because Connie’s touch is tickling him.

It’s subconscious, almost imperceptible at first. At some point her free hand has roved so that it’s no longer pressed against his side, but against his midriff— which is currently exposed, his shirt bunched up at the waist from all his slouching. Teasingly, her fingertips dance upon the facets of his gem with the pinpoint expertise of a prima ballerina, encoding an endless rhythm directly into the sum of his being, the feather-light contact sending vibrations almost too faint to notice coursing through his hard light veins. But not too faint for him. Not now, not while host to this kind of silence. Not when the girl draped on the couch next to him unknowingly commands every shard of his attention with the slightest twitch of her index finger.

It’s taking all his willpower not to squirm at this ticklish contact right now. It’s so... weird when other people touch his gem. It’s certainly not something he’s used to.

(Steven promptly buries the memory of the last time someone touched it, refusing to let old terrors tarnish an otherwise pleasurable encounter. He can feel the pink threatening to rise in his cheeks, that instinctual rush of panic he’s grown so numb to over the past months rearing its ugly head. It’s so, so hard to wrestle away from its thrall sometimes, but thankfully his therapist has been teaching him ways to mitigate these sorta reactions. His eyes clamp shut as he breathes deep through his nose and focuses on the tangible, on what he knows: the plump, lumpy cushions of the couch under him, the slight scent of garlic and cumin in the air from the lunch he cooked a few hours ago, the rhythmic crashing of waves outside the house. The warmth of his best friend by his side—)

Tap, taptaptap, tap, taptaptap...

His cheeks bloom a human red as her lulling rhythm continues.

Like he said, it’s obviously subconscious. It has to be, right? It would certainly make sense. From his observations, Connie’s always been a tactile thinker. It’s part of what made her such a quick study in sword fighting. Whenever her mind is alight, those beautiful neurons firing back and forth like a firework display, her body is in motion. Sometimes it’s her foot, tapping impatiently into the dirt as she parses through memory to find the precise words to say. Or it’s like how she memorizes facts for tests easier if she’s jogging, listening to audio recordings of the test materials she made herself. And then there’s times like now, when Connie is reading. When her fingers tap and glide with an almost impish touch across the diamond gemstone in his belly’s center as her eyes— by all appearances entirely disconnected from both her hand’s motion and his reaction— skim effortlessly across the unfolding tale on her page. Her hands... oh, those hands... calloused, warm, digits lithe and curious in their movement. They’re always shifting, always tapping, always twitching to some identifiable rhythm. Is this just another example of her sway towards more kinetic-based thinking? Or... is it something else? A silent yearning that extends its roots from the heart into object reality, innocently unaware of the power of its call?

Stars, Steven thinks, mustering with all his strength to ignore his burning face, so maybe I’ve been thinking a little too much about her lately...

Eventually, it all becomes a bit too overwhelming to handle. If this continues in silence any longer, well... well, heck. He doesn’t even want to imagine what embarrassing things could happen. Mustering up all his courage, he flips his book shut and drops it on the cushion beside him.

“Um, Connie? By the way? That’s kinda ticklish,” he squeaks out, voice high and reedy.

Upon his words, she notices where her fingers are subconsciously tapping and immediately pulls her hand away, her cheeks flushing dark. “Oh, I’m so sorry!” she says, quickly tossing her book aside and shifting upright on the couch. “I didn’t mean to goose ya’! I wasn’t even thinking abo—“

“No, it’s okay!” he interjects with an open hand. “I’m fine, really, I am. I- it’s not like, uh- It isn’t like a bother, and- well, it just—“

Burning up with such a ferocity that he’s about one impulsive decision away from high tailing it out of this fraught social situation and dunking his glowing pink head right into the Atlantic, he forces himself to hush before he says something super stupid and humiliating in front of his best friend in the whole world that he’ll regret and replay in his dreams forever and ever for the rest of his days.

Okay, Steven, stop running your mouth like a lovesick fool for one second and think. How can you say this in a way that doesn’t sound entirely stupid and/or weird?

Watching him closely, curiosity written across every vibrant feature, Connie inclines her head ever so slight, a subtle, wordless gesture— one only a Jam Bud could understand— for him to keep going.

The phantom sensation of her fingers tapping against crystal rushes through his nerves like the physical analogue to a bad ear worm. He reaches up to itch at the side of his neck, unable to fully stifle his nervous laughter.

“Honestly, it uh- it actually felt pretty nice?”

“What, me touching your gem?”

“Yeah,” he manages to croak out, voice cracking like it hadn’t since he was freshly fifteen.

She isn’t able to fully stifle her giggle at this, pressing her hand tight to her mouth far too late.

His heart nearly plummets at the sound of her teasing laughter, the constant thrumming of his hard light veins steadily quickening as a flood of energy pulses just below the surface. He knew he shouldn’t have said anything, he knew it was far too much after every other recent misstep he’s made in their relationship! Why couldn’t he have just kept his trap shut?

“Aw, geeze,” he says, voice thick and his every muscle ready to bolt, “this is so embarrassing—“

“No, no! I shouldn’t have laughed, it’s okay!” she jumps in, pressing her hand to his shoulder to help ground him “It’s just bodies, Steven. It’s not weird. It’s just how skin-to-skin contact works. It’s supposed to feel good, because we’re meant to be social creatures, y’know?”

He hums softly in agreement, taking the offered moment to ease himself down from brink of panic. He focuses intently on the weight of her hand, resting feather-light against him. It’s a small gesture, but a powerful one. More than anything, more than words alone could say, it’s a promise. A reaffirmation, moment by moment. I’m here. We’re here. It’s a truth even the sobering reality of shared trauma can’t hope to erase: that even when the going’s tough, they have each other.

Connie brushes a stray stand of hair behind her ear then, shifting on the couch. Perhaps out of a sum of bashfulness, her eyes drift, not quite able to meet his.

“I- it’s silly, but I guess I never considered that you could even feel sensation through your gem,” she admits.

“Really? But you’ve had a gem before. Well, shared a gem,” he corrects himself, though in the end it’s all semantics.

“Well, sure, but when we’re Stevonnie, they don’t tend to think about stuff like that, because you’re used to it, and I’ve never thought about it. It’s simply... normal for them, I guess.”

“Hahah, yeah. It’s always been that way for me,” he says with a soft chuckle. “I never crawled like a normal kid, d’ya know? Dad says I always used to move around by scooting on my butt. When I tried crawling my gem would scrape against the floor, and apparently? I hated it.”

She laughs for real this time, (with him, not at him), her voice ringing true and beautiful and clear like a bell. His heart swells with joy.

And then...

Connie’s lithe fingers reach towards his midsection, hesitantly at first, before— in careful consideration of boundaries— pausing in their voyage entirely.

Her eyes lock with his, her shy expression wholly giving up the chase on what her request will be before she ever shifts her tongue to ask in words. “Is it okay if-?”

“Always,” he says, gently leading her hand under the hem of his shirt and towards the gemstone at his core.

He can’t help his sharp inhale when he feels her fingertips dance across his facets once more. Even when he knows what’s coming, knows to expect this contact, it’s funny. Not funny in a ‘haha’ way, funny in an ‘I’m not used to this’ way. After all, he’s never exactly made a habit of touching his own gem beyond periodic cleaning, and (almost) no one else has ever had a purpose to. It’s for this reason that a small traumatized segment of his mind still can’t help but spiral in panic about the mere concept of any external being brushing against this treasure, this tangible half of his very essence. Given the nightmares he’s been through, he’d have every right to deny her touch. But with Connie... beyond everything else, allowing her in this way is the greatest show of vulnerability he knows how to give.

It’s his proof to her that in this moment, he trusts her implicitly, without question.

Gracefully, she traces her finger around the edge of his gem, lines each individual facet in turn. It’s ticklish at first, much like before, but as she grows more confident in her gentle exploration he finds himself relaxing under her touch. He feels warm, a faint buzz of content flooding his system through his hard light veins. With her, he feels safe.

“It really is beautiful, you know that?” she says, a peaceful expression settling across her features. “Your gem.”

“Nah, you’re beautiful...” he murmurs bashfully, cheeks flushing.

“So are you,” she replies in swift measure, eyes soft with endless adoration.

His fluttering heart extends its gossamer wings and soars. If it weren’t for her nestled at his side, lithe fingers running across each facet in even measure, her tactile presence tethering him like an anchor to this present reality, he’s pretty sure he’d have floated halfway to the ceiling by now.

Daringly, his gaze locks with hers. He swears his heart’s beating its own drum solo within his chest, but this time it’s not because of fear, not at all.

It’s the feeling of freedom.

His fingers loop around a stray strand of hair that’s fallen in front of her eyes. That seems to happen a lot, he’s noticed. As delicate as he can manage, he hooks it back over her ear.

“Can I...?” he whispers, his warm breath brushing against her lips.

She replies in wordless affirmation, leaning forward to close the narrow gap between them. Hooded eyes drift shut. Her hand still rests on his gem as they finally move to cross that final barrier, that fuzzy, oft indistinguishable line drawn between childhood sweethearts and could-be couple, and kiss.

Well, attempt to, anyways.

To be fair, despite his schmaltzy roots, Steven only has movies and books to pull from as an example.

Their noses bump against each other’s at first. Both giggling, they tilt their heads to compensate and then mash their lips together, reveling in every ridiculous moment of their joint inexperience. It’s definitely sloppy, and he doesn’t have a clue where he’s supposed to put his hands or how long is too long, or how he’s supposed to move his mouth against hers, or— stars, did he even remember to brush his teeth this morning?? He sure hopes so— but because it’s with Connie all of that doesn’t matter. It’s perfect in every way.

“OoooOOOoo, looks like loverboy’s finally gettin’ some!”

He and Connie startle at the interruption, pulling apart from each other with equally flushed faces to match eyes with their surprise visitor.

It’s Amethyst, leaning against the kitchen table with a downright roguish smirk, probably thinking she’s the funniest Gem that’s ever emerged. Of course, who else would it be? (Though, which entrance did she come in from? When did she sneak past them? Were they really so involved with each other that they just... failed to notice??)

“Crude,” he says, brows creased with faint annoyance.

In return, she cups her cheeks and serves him the most ridiculous, schmaltzy expression she can muster. “Sap!”

Connie stifles a laugh at her exaggerated antics, but on his side he can’t help but be salty that her interruption yanked the two of them away from the blissful throes of blossoming teenage romance.

“Oh, get outta here, you,” he chimes back, and playfully tosses one of the couch’s pillow straight towards her face. “Shoo!”

The quartz Gem catches it out of midair and grins, no stranger to tests of reflex these days. Adopting a fake posh voice, she fires back her retort. “Your wish is my command, Sir Sappington...”

Tucking the pillow under her arm, she turns on her heels and skips up and over the warp pad’s platform, stalking towards her room with a victorious air. She doesn’t even try to mask her lovingly teasing snickers as the door splits in two at her command and she crosses the barrier into the temple’s dimension warping interior. The last they hear from her before the passageway shuts is an overly triumphant ‘whoop.’ Steven can’t help but raise a scandalized brow at this. What, were the Gems hosting a betting pool about him and Connie, or something?

But thankfully, in time, the beach house grows peaceful again. They’re alone together, and together they’re content.

“Geeze, sorry about that,” he says bashfully, scratching at the nape of his neck. “You know how Amethyst is, heh heh.”

Connie smirks with loving, mischievous intent, comfortably cuddling up against his shoulder. “She’s kinda right, though...”

“About?”

“You can be pretty sappy sometimes,” she says fondly, and tilts her head so she can smooch his cheek. “Just one of the many reasons I love you.”

____

Notes:

So, given that I’ve also written a fic wherein Steven wakes up feeling a hand against his gem and has a panic attack, a word of explanation with my headcanons-

Ultimately, I imagine there’s a very stark difference between a trusted individual like Connie touching his gem when he’s fully alert and it’s just them, alone, safe... and him waking up and being groggy enough to not immediately realize who it is next to him.

In the end though, I just hope Steven would be able to reclaim a once-terrifying experience (someone else touching his gem) as something that is also able to be loving and comforting when it’s done with consent.

[tinyyoungblood]

saved by beauty | tom holland

summary: for the past couple of weeks, you’ve been delivering cheesecakes to the same movie star and every time, there was something off about him, so what better way to cheer him up than to take him to your parents’ house to ride your old bikes together?

pairing: tom holland x reader

word count: 2.2 k

warnings: mention of loneliness and mental breakdown, fluff

song/based on: Young & Alive by Bazzi

--masterlist

* * *

Fyodor Dostoyevsky: “The world will be saved by beauty.”

* * *

As always, the clock ticked toward late afternoon when the doorbell rang. Rising out of the dark, shuffling to the door, rubbing the sleep out of his eyes—it didn’t matter how much he prepared himself for the daily doorstep exchange, just like any other day, he was blinded by his counterpart and in return, prompted to match her energy whereas she was prompted to act blind—it was a painful interaction. Fake smiles, worried eyes, and another careless lie. And you were sick of it.

“I’m good, thank you, keep the change, have a nice day,” Tom rambled and was just about to shut the door on your face when you quickly put your foot on the threshold, keeping the door open by bashing two millimeters. He cocked a brow. “Sorry, did I forget something?”

Not having thought it through, you shook your head slowly and fumbled with the dollar bill in your hand. “I just wanted, uhm, just wanted to see if you, uh…would like to go for a little trip outside?” Neither of you said a word and Tom watched through wide eyes as you shuffled from one foot to another, stupidly animating you to keep talking.

“Uhm, you’ve just been ordering so many cheesecakes, like, so many, every single day without a doubt, and I’m in no place to judge really, I mean, I just deliver your addic—I mean your food, and you always look really sad—I mean, not sad, you look great! I mean, not great great, that would be a lie, but I’d still go how you doin’ for you, and even if you keep saying you’re fine, I know that’s bullshit, but I just wanted to make you feel a bit better so, uh, how do you feel about going for a ride? ” You squeezed your eyes shut and balled your fists by your sides to let the moment fly by. When the silence was nibbling on your skin, you peeked at Tom through your lashes. He held no expression on his face. Grimacing, you stuck out your open palm, almost colliding against the stranger’s chest, and mumbled shamefully, “You can take back the change if you want.”

Eyeing your stretched-out arm, a small chuckle left his lips and you glanced up from the floor. “It’s yours, you should keep it.”

Almost in slow motion, you tucked the cash into your back pocket before rocking back and forth on your heels. He watched you in silence before shaking his head with a mumbled what the hell. Snatching his key card from its holder, he stepped over the threshold and jammed his hands into his front pockets with a small nod and grin of excitement. “Let’s do this.”

Once in the car, he placed the box with the cake carefully in the backseat and in the blink of the eye, you were already turning the corner to drive to your destination. After a few moments of utmost awkwardness and uncomfortable shifting, you cleared your throat and glanced at the celebrity in your passenger seat. “So Cheesecakes, tell me, what got you so down?” His nose crinkled at the nickname and he turned to watch the passing houses through his window.

“That’s an interesting question to ask first.”

“What do you mean?” You glimpsed at him and he shrugged.

“No what’s your name? or do you happen to have a criminal record? You know, your typical first questions to set a ground foundation of trust.”

He had never spoken this much before, so you were taken aback by the string of accented words, but you hid your surprise and met his eyes with a teasing smile. “Well, technically, the first question I asked you was would you like a fork for the cake? So I’m pretty sure we’ve already established some kind of intimacy here. It’s so erotic, I would never ask my grandmother that.”

Tom laughed and the tension slowly chipped off. He found himself tucking his hands in between is arm pits, only to take them out again to slot his fingers together.

“I’ve just been lonely lately.” He confessed, his low voice held insecurity and shame, causing your heart to shatter.

“It’s okay to feel that way, you know.”

“I know, I’ve just…” You peeked at Tom as he drew his lower lip between his teeth. “I’ve just been working abroad for five months straight without really clicking with anybody from my…my workplace. And all my friends and family are in England while I’m stuck here in an empty hotel room munching on cheesecakes. I guess, I’m just homesick and I feel bad about it. I should be over the moon to be given this opportunity, not complaining. I know I’m blessed, but at the same time, I don’t really feel the blessing. There’s nothing that lights up my day anymore—“ except when you show up at my doorstep every day, he mused but kept it to himself.

In anticipation of your reply, he cautiously observed the way you were chewing on your bottom lip while staring engrossed on the road ahead. He watched as you pulled into a random driveway and killed the engine, and his stare never left either as you turned to Tom with softened eyes. “It’s normal to feel homesick when you’ve been away for five months. You should never feel bad about it. It’s not your fault.” You found your hand linger on his arm and you wanted to pull back, but his hand landed on top of yours, and you kept going.

“You need to understand it’s only temporary. All of this will pass, and before you know it, you’ll be back in England with your friends and family and it’ll all be worth it.” His eyes were focused solely on you, taking in every word, and deep down, you were glad that you had decided to do this. “Those feelings will come and go and sometimes it’ll be overwhelming, but that’s what this bad boy and I are here for.” You jerked your thumb to the backseat to point at the white box. “You’re always welcome to reach out to me and I’ll do anything in my power to make sure that you’re having a good time in the States.”

He cracked a meek smile, shimmering eyes softening under the sunset rays, and you returned it. “Thank you, love.”

That pet name seeped effortlessly through the air and made the pit of your stomach bubble. You were sure, if it weren’t for the fleeting glance at the house, you would have sat there until the end of your time. Instead, you almost sprinted out of the vehicle.

Tom mirrored your actions and leaned against the car to watch you open a stranger’s garage. He crossed his arms and called out with amusement, “I really appreciate your offer, but when you said a good time, I didn’t think you meant trespassing and breaking into somebody’s house.”

You ignored him, entered the garage and returned with two bicycles, one was red, the other blue. “It’s my parents’ house, dummy.” You offered him the red bike with a glimpse of excitement. “Let’s ride our bikes like it’s 2005.”

Before he could respond, you swung your leg over the saddle and peddled down the street, leaving behind a stunned Tom. He stared after you before hurriedly grabbing the white box from the backseat to tuck it under his arm. He decided to ride behind you, taking his time to admire your freely outstretched arms and the way your hair was blowing in the warm wind. Moving toward the sunset with its deep, rich reds and glorious golds, you still found yourself looking over your shoulder with a huge smile and his breath hitched. As you caught sight of the carton box under his arm, you let out a laugh and the melodic sound made him smile broader.

“Why 2005?” He called out to you, and you slowed down to ride beside him. You shrugged. “I don’t remember much of that year, must have been nine or eight, but I like to think that it was a great year. We were young and alive and, I guess, that was enough.”

You knew your words didn’t make any sense, you weren’t even sure if they made sense to you, but in that moment, they did to Tom. A wide grin curved around his lips and his eyes traveled up to the cloudless sky. Punching his arm in the air, he cheered loudly and you joined in. The echoes of your laughter melted with it, and you were left with comfortable chatter as you rode through passing memories of the quiet neighborhood that you grew up in. You pointed out little spots and stories those places held and Tom listened tentatively.

Leading both of you up the familiar hill, you stopped in the middle of the field and let your bike fall to the ground. Tom followed and with the compressed box in his hands, he tilted his head to the side. Beaming excitedly at him, you took his arm and walked backward to guide him to the big oak tree blooming in luscious tones of green. He kept his eyes on you, not wanting to miss a second of the glow. Settling underneath the trunk, you patted the spot next to you and he landed on his bum without hesitation.

“You brought me up here to sit underneath a tree?”

You shook your head and simply pointed ahead. His eyes followed your finger and, in an instance, they lit up with amazement. A wide array of faraway roofs cascaded along the landscape while mountains in the far formed waves along the horizon. The sun’s orange streaks were stretching out in advance and bathing the sight in warm colors while behind you, the sparkling night sky was curving over the globe. But even with all of this surrounding him, his eyes found themselves settling back over your face.

His thoughts involuntary flicked back to his daunting hotel room and a shiver climbed up his spine as it reminded him that you had saved him from an unforeseeable mental breakdown without even knowing it.

“It’s breathtaking, isn’t it?” You spoke up, soft and gentle, eyes staring ahead, and Tom was only able to nod. The sun was engulfing its last stripes of soft gold on your skin and leading you into a warm dance. And his heart was dancing right with you, making him let go of his anxious thoughts.

“I like this.” He found himself admit and you hummed, head falling on his shoulder. His heart race picked up and the comforting scent of your shampoo filled his nostrils. He glanced at the leaves above him and he let his thoughts form to words. “I think I like you more though.”

He expected you to jump off him, stare at him in bewilderment, maybe even push him down the hill, but instead you lifted your head from his shoulder and gradually averted your gaze from the scenery to him with a glowing smile that reached up to your eyes.

“I think so too.”

He found comfort in the way the corner of your lips curved into a smile that had grown so valuable to him over the past few months.

“What do you say? I could take you out for some cheesecake. You might like it.”

He played along and nodded. “I’ve heard it’s good—Oh my, would you look at that?” He held up the white box with feigned surprise. “I guess your wish just got true,…?”

“Y/N.”

“Tom.” His smile was a little bigger than needed as he held out his hand, and in return your fingers lingered a little longer. You felt your cheeks warm up and retracted your hand to grab the box off his lap.

“You want a fork for the cake?” You asked absentmindedly while lifting off the top. When a chuckle left his lips, you gazed at him with a quizzical look. “What?”

He smiled cheekily and shrugged. “Please don’t tell your grandma you asked me that. I don’t want to screw this up.”

You laughed at his bad joke and Tom glowed with admiration. Even with the breathtaking view that the hill allowed, he couldn’t drag his gaze from you and it slowly reminded him of all the beauty of this world.

His mind wandered off to the fields of flowers blessing the world with their wild colors to the deeply mysterious waves that stretched widely from ocean to ocean. From the silver crescent of the moon smiling down from the sea of stars to the hummingbirds that were flying by in all its vivid glory.

With all the beauty that these things held, he knew that neither of them would save the world. It was instead the beauty of human souls filled with light and love. And the girl with the red cap and the warm smile was one of these people.

* * *

she’s alive! i haven’t written something in a whole week so this is wobbly but that’s okay. leave some feedback or talk to me abt anything so i can distract myself from school. c: love you guys <3000 stay hydrated!

masterlist

taglist: @honeypie-holland @nerdyandproudofitsstuff @himarisolace @duskholland @insidiousslut @totallyfangirling7177 @siriuslyslyslytherin

[anonthenullifier]

Hiii!!! I just finished reading your Snapshots fic on ao3 and they're all amazing!!! I love how you write the family dynamics between the kids and wanda/vision, they're all vv sweet and I'm here for it!! Do u think tommy and billy ever did a parent trap kind of switch for some reason?

Thank you so much! 😁 This was a fun ask and I hope you enjoy! 

***

The sizzle of butter in the skillet provides a lively accompaniment to Wanda’s aggravation about the morning’s latest headline - one claiming that Tony Stark was personally responsible for the matchmaking that brought Vision and his lovely, currently scarlet eyed, wife together. It’s a claim not without some merit, if not for Tony’s involvement in Ultron’s creation and then in Vision’s own birth, he never would have been alive to fall so deeply in love with Wanda; however, as with most claims involving Tony it is also inherently hyperbolic. Had the billionaire actually been involved in Vision’s romantic pursuits, there is a very high probability that Wanda would have run the other direction.

“And you know what else it said?”

Vision scoops the pancake batter carefully into the buttered skillet as he responds, “What?”

“That he’s the reason Billy and Tommy want to be Avengers.” The only reason Wanda’s tea does not spill over the edge as she gesticulates out her anger is because she has wrapped it in a sheen of red. “Him!”

Grandiose sense of self worth is a rather glaring fault in the Stark family, a symptom Vision thankfully bypassed, no doubt due to the humble yet confident influence of Dr. Cho. “It is an unfair and misleading statement,” this diffuses her ire enough for her to take a sip of tea, “all that truly matters,” momentarily he turns from the stove to wrap his fingers around her upper arms and stare intently into her eyes, “is that we continue encouraging our sons to be their best selves, even if our work is never publicly acknowledged.”

Finally her face softens, the disdain etched into the lines of her forehead smoothing out with the roll of her eyes, “Fine.” Vision lays a peck to her forehead before turning back to rescue the almost burnt pancakes, “but wouldn’t it be nice if someone praised us for once?”

“It would.”

“Morning mom, dad.”

“Good morning Bil…” Vision’s mouth stops mid-greeting, brain a bit frenzied at the mixed signals he is receiving. The voice that just greeted him registers as Billy and yet the boy in front of him is sporting Tommy’s signature snowy hair and athletic clothing. “Um…”

“Tommy,” Wanda’s acknowledgement of their son should clarify everything, yet he can sense an odd amusement in the way she says the name, “why don’t you sit down, your father’s almost done with breakfast.”

To further add to the confusion of the moment, Tommy merely flashes them a grin (no snarky comment nor demands for it to cook faster) and then slides into Billy’s seat at the table.

Wanda’s hand comes to rest on Vision’s back, her voice low and a bit giddy, “This is going to be entertaining.”

“What is?”

“Just wait…” No further information is provided other than a wink.

Vision attempts to shove his curiosity and need to ask for more clarity down, instead channeling all of his energy into the pancakes and not burning them. Success at this repression endeavor is fleeting, the moment he turns to put the plate on the table, he cannot help but ask a question. “Where is your brother?” A glance up confirms it is three minutes past their usual breakfast time. Billy, like Vision, believes in punctuality and that being five minutes early is on time and being on time is late. For him to be late by normative standards is concerning. “It is unlike him to be late.”

Tommy chokes on his orange juice, eyes a tad wild as he twists around to look at the clock. “Um, I’ll go-“

“Good morning everyone!” Billy waltzes in with a cheery grin, his overall presence gregarious and brash, neither a word typically associated with him. His unusual mood  is highlighted all the more by  the uncharacteristically sloppy way his sweater is buttoned. “I’m famished.” A sentiment rarely shared by Billy.

Vision is torn between staring at his sons and seeking out Wanda’s reaction to whatever is happening in their kitchen. “Tommy,” his brother's name is overly enunciated, and the question, “Why are you in my seat?” asked with annoyance.

“Oh, sorry,” Tommy apologizes quickly, a first for sure, and then slides over to his normal chair.

This is, for want of a better word, weird.

Wanda, somehow, is making everyday small talk with their sons but Vision doesn’t process what is said, too focused on studying his children and the bevy of possibilities for why they seem so off. The initial fear is that they are Skrulls or some other shape shifting creature, a possibility they have sadly lived through before, not with the boys but on a mission with the Avengers. A vitals and physiology scan disconfirms this hypothesis (thankfully), the two bodies across the table are his sons. Despite this Tommy is eating at a snail’s pace, knife and fork working with precise movements to portion out perfect sized bites while Billy is going fast and loose with his fork, each bite different from the last. It also seems like Billy’s hair is a slightly different shade than usual, a tinge of cinnamon in his typically chestnut hair. Perhaps they have wandered into the multiverse yet again, though Wanda is his Wanda, he is certain of that and she seems to be more amused than concerned. Which means there must be a logical explanation.

Vision decides perhaps listening to the conversation at the table will better aid him. “Are you ready for the big math test today?” This is directed at Tommy, a pre-algebra exam Vision has spent several nights helping him study for.

Contrary to the numerous breakdowns that informed Vision that his son was going to fail so why bother trying, this morning Tommy seems...optimistic. “Yeah, dad’s prepared me well,” and overtly gracious.

“And Billy,” Wanda nudges Vision’s foot as she talks, always a sign he needs to get out of his head and pay attention, “today’s the mile run in gym, right?”

“Yep,” Billy answers while shoving a pancake into his mouth, continuing to talk while he chews, “gonna beat my record for sure.” This comment, and the smarmy confidence behind it, sets a new hypothesis into motion.  

Vision runs a second vitals scan, this time focusing on heart rate and brain waves. The results are surprising yet informative, but just to be sure, he recalibrates his sensors, scans again, and re-analyzes it, not wanting to make an erroneous conclusion if his sensors were off. The results match his last scan and the oddities suddenly make sense. Finally figured it out? He turns towards Wanda, her face set with impish victory typically reserved for when she bests him at training. A dip of his chin affirms her telepathic comment though his own mood is nowhere near as bubbly as hers because despite knowing the truth now, it does not actually alleviate any of his concern, in fact it breeds several other pathways of uncertainty. Follow my lead.  

The devious undertone of his wife’s comment transforms into an innocent smile as she addresses their sons. “Well boys,” both of their sons look up, “since it’s such a big day, we should celebrate later.” A shared look occurs between Billy and Tommy, one that Vision can’t quite label appropriately, a mix of excitement, bafflement, and victory.

‘Billy’ prods for more, his fork tapping the plate at roughly 200 clinks per minute. “Like what?”

Wanda is so natural at uncovering their lies that Vision can only sit back in awe at the way she effortlessly teases out the truth, “I need to meet with Strange later today, so Billy you can come along and we can ask if he’s finally willing to start training you to be a sorcerer.”

The current Tommy stares mouth agape at the offer, while the current Billy seems unimpressed, “Oh, um yeah, that’d be cool.”

“And Tommy,” Wanda reaches out to grab Vision’s hand, a gesture that is blissfully common but is right now no doubt meant to really drive home the offer, “Your father was going to do some speed trials this afternoon, maybe he can call the school so you can leave a period early and join him.” Vision was not going to do this but he withholds that knowledge so he doesn’t hinder his wife’s plan.

Tommy and Billy turn towards each other, no verbal words exchanged but Vision can easily recognize one of their telepathic conversations—bodies tense, their faces fluttering through a range of emotions, and eyebrows moving in emphasis of whatever comments they’re making. They break and ‘Tommy’ addresses the offer, “Billy has gym in 8th period.”

“Which is why he and I are going to meet with Stephen after school.” Wanda takes a deliberately long sip of her tea to let the information really settle in.

Their tactics switch to the other offer.“Isn’t uh truancy a pretty big deal, you know, if I,” ‘Billy’ catches himself, “Tommy were to leave early.

Vision decides he should aid in some way, voice matter of fact as he responds, “I do believe Tommy has a free period at that time. Plus,” thankfully this next part is not a lie or else Vision would feel guilty saying it, “I have to attend the PTA meeting tonight so we cannot wait until school is out if we would like to get a full session of training in.”

Another deep, very animated mental conversation occurs across the table, one that leads to an exaggerated roll of his wife’s eyes. “What if…”

Wanda cuts off the next suggestion, clearly done with the game, “Just accept that you’ve been caught.”

The two faces across from them are polar opposite, one shining with defiance and the other defeat. With a sigh, Tommy’s white hair darkens into chestnut, the real Billy slouching deep into his chair. His brother is not amused, “Are you really breaking that easily?”

Vision checks the time, noting their bus will arrive in less than 10 minutes. “Boys,” there are several things he wants to say, from questioning Tommy’s brown hair to why they thought they’d get away with it, but he decides those can wait, “perhaps instead of our planned celebrations tonight, we have a discussion on the harms of deception.”

Tommy, the real one, executes a perfect Maximoff eye roll, never one to appreciate the life lesson evenings that correspond with poor behavior. “It was just a joke.”

“I do not find it humorous.” And Vision does not, a deep despair blossoming in his chest at what his sons have attempted and what it means for how their sons view them, whether they think they are not loved enough nor noticed enough to be recognized by their own parents. “You intended to utilize this...joke for personal gain.”

Wanda cuts in, hand coming to rest on Vision’s thigh with a light, reassuring squeeze. “Why don’t you both change. The bus will be here soon. We’ll talk more tonight.” Muttered yes, mom s are lost in the scraping of their chairs against the wooden floor. “Tommy.”

“Yeah?”

“Did you dye your hair?”

“Yep,” Tommy runs his hand through his darkened locks, “the box called it chili chocolate.”

Wanda smirks, finding this far more endearing than Vision. “Just promise to use it responsibly.”

A not fully convincing salute goes along with Tommy’s, “Roger that,” and then he runs off in a blur.

“Wanda,” Vision waits until she looks at him, a bit unnerved that she does not seem to show any of the same concern for what just happened. “Are you not troubled at their flagrant disregard for honesty?”

Her eyebrows arch up, lips pursed the way they are whenever he has misassessed human nature and she needs to find a way to gently talk him through it. “It’s kind of a twin rite of passage.”

This is not forthcoming nor satisfying. “Did you and Pietro do this as well?”

“Once or twice.” His confusion must be evident, her lips curving up into a reminiscent mischief. “We weren’t good at it, especially once we were older. But you have to try.”

“Do you?”

A nod confirms the apparent necessity of such an experiment, though no further explanation is provided for Vision to comprehend why it is required. “You’ve never seen the Parent Trap, have you?”

“I have not.”

Scarlet energy entangles itself around the dishes at the table, floating them into the sink and away from their responsibility for now. “Come on,” Wanda stands and tugs on Vision’s hand, drawing him up out of his seat and then leading him into the living room. As she lightly pushes him to sit in the couch, a rush of feet, a banging door and a quick bye! marks the start of the school day, leaving them alone until this afternoon. “Want to watch a movie?”

“I suppose,” he wraps his arm around her shoulders after she sits next to him, pulling her closer and relishing the comfort of her head on his chest, “if it provides adequate research to understanding this cultural necessity of deceit, then yes.”

“And if it doesn’t?”

Vision considers the comment a touch longer than needed, just enough for her to look up at him in anticipation, “if it means a day spent with you,” he kisses her deeply, mirroring the soft curve of her lips as he pulls away,”then it is still a yes.”

“Good.” The tv turns on and his education begins.

[secondhand-trash]

angst prompt 25 and 17 with shinsou? he cheated on his loving girlfriend while he was drunk and completely regrets it and tries to get her back? sorry I just don't see cheater shinsou anywhere.

Shinsou Hitoshi(BNHA)- “I’m sorry, I think you got the wrong number.”+ “You know what’s funny? No matter what you’ve done, I’ll still fall for you all over again.”

A/N: literally never written angst that doesn’t involve character death so it’s a first for me, hope that it turns out ok!

Warning: cheating

The phone kept ringing and ringing but you didn’t reach for it, not even once.

The glowing screen was the only thing source of light in the room until it stopped, leaving everything in the dark once again as you sighed at the return of silence. That non-stop buzzing was not doing any good to your already fragile mind.

You lost count of how long it had been since you sat down on the floor, curled up with your knees to your chest. You did not need to look into a mirror to know that you looked pathetic. The dried up tears felt tacky on your face, you did not have the energy to cry anymore even with your heart still bleeding out.

Your first reaction when your friend texted you saying they saw your boyfriend kissing another person in the club was to laugh.

How ridiculous! Hitoshi would never do such thing, they must have mistaken someone else as him.

You didn’t have it in you to laugh when they texted you again, this time with a photo attached.

You wanted to deny it, to convince yourself that it was just a lookalike but you would recognise that lilac hair anywhere. Just hours ago before that, it was you who had your fingers weaved into those locks.

He looked like he was enjoying it and that was what hurt you the most, you couldn’t even fake ignorance and make up excuses for him. He had one hand on the person’s thigh, the other holding onto the back of their neck as they pressed his head down.

He used to kiss you like that too, but you weren’t sure if you wanted to be reminded of those times when the image in front of you was burning into your eyes.

You could not bare to imagine what happened next.

So that’s why he didn’t come home last night. Not to take care of a drunk friend, not because he was held back by his friends, because he was with someone that made him forgot to return to the one person who was waiting for him.

You didn’t break down right away as you thought you would, sending the picture to your boyfriend before slinging the phone onto the bed. As if not seeing the image would allow you to pretend that nothing happened.

The pain came soon later when you were left to your own device. No one to talk to, no sound, just yourself. You couldn’t bring yourself to even go near your phone, too afraid of his response or the lack there of. Silence was truly a horrifying thing, when you had nothing but the voices in your head, everything that came up seemed just a bit more real.

It came as a sob that you tried so hard to hold back but it broke into a full bawl when the first tear slid down you cheek. Everything hurt. You couldn’t even breath properly without another cry forcing out of your mouth and your stomach felt like it was being twisted together from how hard you cried.

When the phone rang for the first time, you had stopped crying. You simply couldn’t, your throat burnt and your voice was hoarse, nothing could come out despite the permanent knot in your chest. You didn’t have the will to pick up, knowing full well that hearing his voice would only be a stab to the heart.

So you let it rang and rang and rang, until you couldn’t take it anymore.

With shaking fingers, you swiped on your phone and sucked in a deep breath, bracing yourself to hear that voice that, regrettably, you still wanted to hear.

“(y/n)? (y/n)! God, I’m so sorry. I was drunk and I could not remember what happened! I was an idiot, please listen to me-“

Just his voice alone was enough to bring that burn to your nose again and you had to choke back a sniffle. You could not breakdown, not when he was listening. You wanted to hear him tell you that it was all a mistake, and you would believe it even though you shouldn’t.

And that’s exactly why you couldn’t listen to him anymore.

“I’m sorry, I think you got the wrong number.”

The beeping from the other end of the call brought a miserable comfort to you. Running a hand through your hair down your face, you tired to relieve the tension even for just a little bit.

Then there was a banging at the door, and you dreaded how you almost rushed to answer it.

The banging didn’t stop as you held the doorknob in your hand. Did you want to open it? Could you still hold it together if you see him when talking to him through the phone already felt like torture? A million questions ran through your mind as you stood there, the loud noises hurting your head.

Clicking the door chain into place, you swung the door open to its fullest capacity in a swift motion as if to not give yourself the time for regretting.

Hitoshi still had his phone to his face when you opened the door, his eyes widening when he saw the crack.

He looked like a mess.

Blood shot eyes paired with the usual under eye bags but worse. If you thought his normal hairdo was messy than he looked disheveled in front of your door. Had he been crying? Had he been crying when he was the only who betrayed your trust?

“(y/n)-“ you stepped back as he tried to reach for you, awkwardly pulling his arm back. The same arm that wrapped around someone else. The ache returned to the back of your throat as you shoved that thought down. “I’m so sorry-“

“How did you do it?”

“W-what?”

“Forget me. How did you do it?” your lips trembled as you speak as you tried to forge a calmness that clearly wasn’t there, “Because I can’t seem to do the same to you no matter hard I try.”

“Please-“

“I tried to make excuses for you,” your voice broke as you slowly lost control and it sent a sharp ache to his heart to know that he caused you all this pain, “and what were you doing while I’m here waiting for you?”

Hitoshi didn’t respond. He knew there’s nothing he could do but apologise and that wasn’t enough.

Shoulders slumped down and his head lowered, he looked so fragile that you wanted to just give in and let him back into your arms as if nothing happened. But the image of him with someone else was too vivid for you to push back. There was no way that you could hold his face without remembering that he let that person did the same.

You felt stupid for wanting to forgive him so badly. “You know what’s funny?” you passed a soft hiccup as a chuckle, “Not matter what you’ve done, I’ll still fall for you all over again.”

He hold onto your hand that was supporting your body on the door and this time, you didn’t flinch. “Please leave.”

“Please don’t do this-“

“If I talk to you right now, I know I’ll say things I regret. Please just go, I’ll call you when I feel better.” you fingers clutched the door even harder as you ignored the screams in your head, “Please, I promise.”

He stared at you for a while, contemplating if he’d still be able to hold onto you again after he let go. With a sigh, he lifted his hand from yours and slowly walked away, not without looking back as the door slammed shut.

You pressed your forehead to the door, silently praying that you did the right thing for leaving the tiniest trail of hope for you and him.

[etherealwaifgoddess]

A Good Night’s Sleep, Pt.1

Main Characters: Bucky Barnes x Reader

Summary: Bucky has been plagued with nightmares since he left HYDRA and the Avengers all have been trying to help him overcome them. Bucky meets you by chance on a coffee run and finds that the solution he was avoiding might be exactly what he needs.

Warnings/ Content: brief mention of PTSD

Word Count: 3.6k

Author’s Note: Hello lovelies! So this little 3 part series came from an idea that @marinaaniseed had a few weeks ago. I absolutely couldn’t get the idea out of my head and so, while I should have been working on my many WIPs, this little fic was born. Parts two and three are going up immediately after this, it’s all done and I don’t feel like dragging it out. Hope you all enjoy it as much as I have. Especially you @marinaaniseed, thank you so much for the idea!!! XOXO- Ash

A Good Night’s Sleep, Part One

“Come on, Buck.” Steve calls out while banging on Bucky’s door, “You gotta wake up, pal.”

Bucky wakes with a jolt, his body rigid and his throat sore from screaming. He’s panting hard, trying to adjust to the world around him. He pulls himself out of bed on shaky legs, wobbling down the hall to open the door right as Steve goes to knock again. “Sorry. Again.” he rasps. 

“Want to come get a cup of tea with me?” Steve offers with sympathetic eyes.

“Nah, I’m gonna grab a shower. Go back to sleep, Stevie.” 

“You know you can talk to me about it if you want to.” 

“I know. I’ll be okay.” Bucky insists, closing the door to end the discussion. 

Under the burning hot spray of the shower Bucky lets himself breakdown. 

After Wakanda Steve had convinced Tony to let him live at the tower with the rest of the team and everyone had been leery of the former assassin joining their ranks. As they slowly came to know him though, he became a welcome addition to their little family of Avengers. The only issue was the nightmares that woke not only Bucky, but everyone else on their floor. Bucky hadn’t slept through the night since he escaped HYDRA, plagued with visions of the destruction he’d wrought as the Winter Soldier. It was an endless stream of death and terror every night when he closed his eyes. When he was on his own in Romania he’d accepted it as his penance for what he’d done. After Shuri and her team pulled him out of Cryo in Wakanda he hadn’t been hopeful the nightmares were gone along with the trigger words. And he had been right - they persisted. 

Bucky warned Steve when he invited him to live at the tower with the team. He told him he had nightmares and was prone to have low days where he just needed solitude to work through his own mind. Steve had promised he’d have his own living quarters and the team would understand. They all had their demons, afterall. The team was very understanding the first days but after that the concerned glances turned to long, worried looks and the team started speaking up.

Bruce had been the first to speak up, suggesting therapy to help him work through what was causing his nightmares. Bucky went and as much as he liked his therapist, nothing they tried stopped the nightmares. Even the meds blew through his system too fast to be of any use. She did give him some good tips for managing his PTSD and depression during the day though, so Bucky considered it a win and still went to see her once a week. 

Nat gave him a spicy Russian tea she swore would knock him out enough that no dreams would come. Nat was wrong, all Bucky got out of the tea was heartburn. She grumbled something under her breath in Russian that sounded a lot like “cursed’ the next morning over breakfast. 

Steve took him for a long run before bed one night, thinking the endorphin high and exhaustion would help Bucky sleep soundly. It helped Steve sometimes with his own dreams of war. It didn’t help with the nightmares, it only made him more exhausted the next day after getting little sleep. 

Tony offered to get him drunk but it would take entirely too much alcohol to overcome the serum in his veins so he declined the offer. 

Wanda suggested she try popping in his mind while he was having a nightmare to see if she could reshape it and try to correct whatever in his mind was causing him to have the dreams. Bucky threw up at the idea of someone meddling in his mind again.

The care and suggestions from the team were sweet, and Bucky knows they have the best intentions at heart, but it’s all still a little overwhelming. Bucky wants to stop having nightmares, he would do anything to sleep for more than three or four hours a night. A small part of him still thinks it’s punishment from some higher power for everything he’s done, but rationally he understands it’s just his PTSD. 

After his shower, Bucky trudges out to the team kitchen for coffee. If he isn’t going to sleep he might as well start on his caffeine routine. Sam is already in the kitchen whipping up a smoothie for himself while Natasha stares at him over a cup of tea, the human embodiment of heart eyes on her face. 

“Mornin’.” he rumbles as he crosses the kitchen, rummaging for his favorite cup in the dishwasher. 

“Another bad one, huh.” Nat asks, but it really isn’t a question.

“Yeah, sorry.” 

“You’ve got to figure these out, James.” 

“I know it.” 

“I know what you need.” Sam interjects causing both Bucky and Nat to whip around to stare at him. Sam just shrugs, “You need to get laid, man.” 

Bucky chokes on his coffee. “What?” 

“You. Need. To. Get. Laid.” Sam repeats slowly. “Seriously, man. Find yourself a nice girl, or a guy, and get some. You’ll be all happy and cosy and you’ll nod right off. No nightmares if you’re wrapped up in the arms of a good woman, or man.” 

Bucky shakes his head, the last thing he needs is to terrorize some poor person trying to spend the night.

“It’s not a bad idea.” Nat agrees.

“Not happening.” Bucky says with a warning tone. He fills his cup and retreats to his bedroom, unwilling to continue the conversation. Adding another person to his mess of a life is not the solution. 

Sam’s suggestion spreads through the team like wildfire. Everyone seems to have a friend they could set him up with. Tony even hacks into his smartphone and adds apps for Tinder, Grindr, and Match.com. Bucky deletes them quickly before chewing Tony out about privacy rights. It becomes a bit of a running joke within the group and Bucky is less than thrilled about it. Bucky hasn’t had a date since 1941 and he isn’t sure how to navigate dating in the 21st century. He knows the times have changed, people are more free with their sexualities and casual relationships are normal instead of taboo. Eventually, he thinks, eventually he’ll get back out there. But certainly not just for the sake of random sex. 

Bucky has another particularly rough night. One where he doesn’t dare sleep because the second his eyes close the images start up like a motion picture. He’d spends the night alternating between pacing and reading, trying to not be disruptive while everyone else sleeps. Sam and Steve get up for their run just before dawn and find him pacing in the common room. 

“Did you sleep at all?” Steve asks him.

“I will later. Probably.” Bucky grumbles. 

Sam shakes his head, “Let’s go get coffee. You look like hell.”

Bucky can’t argue with that and instead goes to grab his shoes with a nod.

The city is bustling despite the early hour and the line at their favorite coffee shop is almost to the door. It’s worth the wait though and Bucky likes the thrumming energy of the shop, the blur of muted sounds around him oddly comforting. The woman in front of them is fidgeting with her leather bag, it must have something heavy in it the way she keeps adjusting the strap on her shoulder. Bucky tries not to let his gaze linger too long but the way her long hair falls in soft waves all the way down to the small of her back is distracting. The even softer looking rounded curves of her body are even more distracting, he admits to himself. She reminds him of the women in Renaissance paintings, when lush curves were still revered, before these modern stick thin bodies became the ideal. Bucky wishes the Winter Soldier could go back and pay a visit to whoever started the “thigh gap” craze. 

The woman adjusts the leather strap again and a small white card flutters out onto the floor behind her. Bucky reaches down to pick it up, noticing the card has business information on it. Sam and Steve are chatting and distracted when Bucky taps the woman on the shoulder, “I think you dropped your business card.” he says hesitantly. 

You’re cursing yourself for lugging everything along with you in your enormous bag when you feel a tap on your shoulder followed by a warm masculine voice. You absolutely do not have business cards, you’re a freelance writer and market yourself entirely online. It has to be another pick up line, probably from some smarmy Wall Street asshole who wants to slum it with an artsy girl for a change. You’ve been burned by that type enough times and won’t let yourself do it again, no matter how long it’s been since you’ve had a date. “Does that line work a lot for you?” you reply, turning around with an unamused expression. 

Bucky’s face falls, upset he’s offended you when all he was trying to do was return what you’d dropped. “I wasn’t. I don’t. You. Um, you dropped this. It fell out of your bag.” Bucky fumbles for words, blushing brightly and drawing the attention of Sam and Steve who wear twin smirks of amusement watching him flounder. 

Your irritation dissipates when you see the gorgeous, stuttering man in front of you. He’s tall, though not quite as tall as his companions, his dark hair falls around his shoulders in a way that is either true bedhead or carefully crafted styling to mimic it. His grey blue eyes are wide and honest, clearly not some smarmy pick up artist like you’d assumed. He’s wearing a black hoodie and dark grey sweatpants so it’s unlikely he was the business card type either. You force yourself to stop ogling the poor man and look at the tiny card in his outstretched hand. Recognizing it immediately, you realize you’re the asshole in this scenario. “Shit, that is mine.” you curse, “I’m so sorry. I don’t usually have business cards but my friend gave me this one yesterday for a new bakery that went in over on 2nd Avenue.” 

Bucky looks at the card for a second before you take it from him. “So you’re not Beth Yardley?” 

You raise an eyebrow at him, wondering if that’s now a ploy to get your name. You really need to be less suspicious but after living in the city for five years you’ve become jaded. He’s cute though. “Nope, Y/N. Nice to meet you…?”

“Bucky.” he offers quickly.

The name doesn’t ring a bell, but he looks familiar for some reason. “Nice you meet you, Bucky. Thanks for saving that card for me. I’m dying to try these cinnamon buns my friend keeps raving about.”

Bucky is smiling again, hoping his face doesn’t betray how eager he is to keep the conversation going. He wasn’t trying to hit on you a few minutes ago but now that he’s seen your face and heard your voice, he sure as hell is. “I love cinnamon buns.” 

You stifle your laugh at the way his cheeks burn bright pink after his admission. He has to be flirting at this point. And he really is cute. Damnit. “We should go try them, then.” you decide, giving him a chance to make a move. 

Bucky feels like he’s swallowed his tongue, “As in, together?” 

“Yeah, sorry if I wasn’t clear. This is me hitting on you now.” you smirk at him as his blush spreads.

Sam is leaning on Steve as they fight for composure, trying not to erupt in laughter and ruin their friends moment. Bucky glares at their backs for a moment before realizing he still hasn’t answered, “Yeah. Yes. Let’s do that.” 

Getting a better look at his companions you realize why he looks so familiar. Of all the people to meet in a coffee shop, you muse. You’re still interested though. “Are you free after this? I was going to get my coffee to go and then head straight there for breakfast.” 

“I’m free. These idiots can find their own way home.” 

“Great. Now, the deciding factor is: icing or no icing? Think hard Bucky, there are two camps of people and if you fall into the wrong one I’ll be forced to shame you for all eternity.” 

Bucky’s eyes widen, worried he’s going to mess up two seconds into what could potentially be a date. “Icing?” he tries.

“Right answer!” you announce him happily. Then, in a conspiratorial tone, you whisper, “It wasn’t really a deal breaker but it’s good to know you’re not some sugar hating monster.” 

Bucky’s grin widens, “No, I have a serious sweet tooth.”

“We’re gonna get along just fine.” you assure him. 

After you order your coffee, quad shot latte with whole milk don’t judge me, and Bucky orders his, the biggest white mocha frapp you have please, you swipe your card before he has a chance to get his wallet out. Bucky balks at you paying but you tell him he can get it next time with a flirty smile that has his brain shutting off, unable to continue complaining. 

Steve and Sam give Bucky small waves and thumbs up, not interfering when Bucky leaves with you. “Your friends seem nice.” you say kindly as you step out onto the busy city sidewalk.

“They’re the best.” Bucky agrees with a nod. 

You make idle chit chat on your way to the bakery, keeping the topics light and superficial. Bucky tells you he grew up in Brooklyn, moved away for a bit, and recently moved to Manhattan with his friends. He seems hesitant as he explains it and you realize he’s trying to not be obvious about who he is. Like you couldn’t have already guessed.

You snort a laugh into your latte. “So what was Brooklyn like in the 30s?” you ask bluntly.

Bucky’s eyes practically bug out of his head, “How did you...?” 

You give him a half smile and shrug, “The hand is a good clue, plus your face was everywhere for a while. It doesn’t help that your best friends are Captain America and the Falcon.” 

Cringing, Bucky figures this will be the end of his almost date. “We don’t have to go get breakfast. I’ll understand if you don’t want to be seen with me.” 

You stop in the middle of the sidewalk, shocked by his response. “Whoa, hold on. I knew who you were before I asked you to join me. I don’t care what other people think about you or your past. You seem like a nice guy and I want to get to know you. The real you.” 

Bucky takes a moment to process your words, finding it hard to believe someone is willing to look beyond his past. He can't find a shred of deceit in your expression though, so he answers your question. “Well, there were less cars and it smelled worse if you can believe it.” 

You huff out a laugh, resuming your walk to the bakery. “I can’t. Tell me more.” 

Bucky tells you stories of the Brooklyn of his youth as you make your way across town. You aren’t in a hurry and Bucky is happy to spend extra time out in the warm sun with a beautiful woman. 

The bakery is a little glass fronted shop sandwiched between two larger brick buildings. You would have walked right past it if you hadn’t been looking for it. Bucky opens the door for you and you smirk, amused by the old fashioned gesture. The scent of vanilla and caramelized sugar hit you the second you’re inside. “Oh my god.” you groan the amazing smell. 

Bucky’s steps falter at the sound you made, trying desperately not to let his mind go where it was headed. “This place smells amazing.” he says, inhaling deeply.

“It had better taste as good as it smells or I’ll riot.” you joke. 

The line is short and before you know it, Bucky is ordering two iced cinnamon buns plus an assortment of other pastries he picks at random out of the display case. 

“Are we feeding an army?” you question as the tray piles higher and higher with plates of baked goods.

“Sorry,” he blushes, handing over his card to the waiting cashier, “Um, my metabolism is pretty high and I have to keep up with it or I get cranky.” 

“Ah, okay. No hangry super soldiers on my watch.” 

Bucky chuckles and nods. 

There’s a sunny spot in the window of the bakery with an unoccupied cafe table, Bucky motions towards it and it’s your turn to nod, following him over to it. The tray takes up most of the table and you perch your coffees on your respective sides, eager to dig into the spread in front of you. You go for the cinnamon bun first, knowing one of them is yours and not wanting to presume you’ll be trying any of the other treats. 

The taste of caramelized sugar and cinnamon explode on your tongue, eliciting yet another moan that makes Bucky fidget in his seat. “Okay, that’s it. I can die happy now.” you announce dramatically. 

Bucky takes a swipe of the icing off the top of his cinnamon bun and his eyes widen slightly. “Oh wow.” he lifts the entire bun up to take a large bite and closes his eyes happily as he chews. “This is incredible.” he says once he’s swallowed, quickly taking another large bite. His cheeks puff out adorably and you grin around your own bite of cinnamon bun. 

“I can’t believe you just bite it like that.” you tease. 

“Well, what else am I supposed to do with it?” 

You demonstrate the way you’ve been peeling yours apart from the outside in, “You uncoil it, like a normal human being.” 

“Takes too long.” Bucky scoffs, “My way is faster.” 

“But then it’s gone. My way you can enjoy it more.” 

“Pfft. I enjoy it plenty, and I would have time for two of them while you eat just one.” 

“Not all of us have super soldier metabolisms, one bun is enough.” 

Bucky looks at the four other plates on the tray and shakes his head, “Then I guess it’s good to be me.” 

You laugh at his antics as he takes another big bite, smiling while his cheeks chipmunk out again. The look you’re giving him almost makes him swallow wrong. He knows this look, he remembers it from the dance hall girls in the 30s. Attraction. Desire. You’re flirting with him in your own, unique, modern way. And Bucky is shocked to realize he’s been flirting back. He didn’t intend to get back out there so soon but here he is, enjoying breakfast with a beautiful woman. He wonders if you’re the type who would appreciate being asked out on a date, or if you’d rather exchange numbers and call him up when the mood strikes. A booty call, Sam had called it. Bucky still doesn’t get how there’s such a big difference between a booty call and a butt dial but thankfully Sam had corrected him when he got the reference wrong. 

Bucky finishes his cinnamon bun and starts in on a vanilla bean scone, enjoying the way the light glaze crackles as it gives way to the soft, buttery dough. You’re still enjoying your bun, about half way through, so Bucky tears the other pointed corner of the scone off and deposits it on your plate. “It’s really good.” he insists, not wanting you to miss out.

You glance from the bite of scone up to Bucky who’s looking at you hesitantly like he’s waiting to see if he’s done something right or wrong. You pop the bite of scone into your mouth, chewing slowly before nodding, “Yeah it is. Thanks.” 

Bucky practically beams. Maybe he can figure out 21st century flirting. He’s not sure if flirting via baked goods is a thing or not, but it absolutely should be. Bucky methodically works through all of the plates on the tray, offering you bits of each different item. You snag two bites of the cream puff but decline when he offers to buy you your own. The conversation shifts to the best meals you’ve had in the city. Food is an easy common ground for you both. You explain to Bucky that the small town you grew up in was pretty limited restaurant-wise and you’ve tried a lot of different places since moving to the city. You’re great in the kitchen but some days, after spending hours alone working at home, you like to get out and around other people for a while. 

“There’s an Italian place, Sapori, near the tower you would love.” Bucky tells you, “I don’t know what the big deal about the place is but Stark always gets reservations when we’re celebrating something. They make everything from scratch and it’s damn good. There’s these little pillowy pasta things. Starts with a g but you don’t pronounce it. I don’t know, but they’re amazing.”

“Gnocchi,” you say, stifling a laugh. 

“Yeah! Those. Best meal I’ve had in the city by far.” 

“That’s only because you haven’t had the food at Xián Tián.” 

“Well, you should let me take you to Sapori and then you’ll understand.” 

“Did you just ask me out?” you raise your eyebrows at him in surprise.

Bucky blushes and nods, suddenly feeling more shy. “Yeah. I did. This is me hitting on you now.” he says, paroting your words from earlier. 

“Well done, Barnes. When are we going?” 

Read part two HERE!

[milk-luvr-dot-com]

“A New Assistant” - The Thick of It - Chapter 2

Summary: While DoSAC fucks around trying to keep the data wipe a secret, Malcolm and Ivy begin to become more comfortable with one another.

Word Count (this chapter): 5222

Rating: Mature (for adult situations, language)

Warnings: No Ao3 Warnings, Explicit Language, homophobic language, fatphobic language, sexist language, ablest language

Categories: F/M, Gen

Tags: Falling in love, crushes, comedy, slow burn, explicit language, original female characters, AU - canon divergence, mutual pining, additional tags to be added

Chapter 1, Chapter 3

Ao3 link and full work under the cut.

https://archiveofourown.org/works/24510592/chapters/59267578

Malcolm walked into the office, expecting to turn on the light. It caught him off guard when the light was already on, and Ivy was sitting across the room at her desk, quietly talking to people on the phone about menial garbage that Malcolm had put her on last night.

"Oh, shit." He said, dropping his briefcase beside his desk and settled into his office chair.

She looked up after finishing her call, "Morning, sir."

"Were you here all night?" Malcolm made a concerned face.

Ivy capped her pen. "No, got here early to sort out Anthony's mental breakdown about his stupid bloody department of education thing." She rubbed her eyes, which didn't smear what little makeup she had on. She looked tired. She could have been lying.

"Well, good morning anyway. Can I fetch you some tea?"

She thought it was a sweet gesture. He always tried to be kind to her, no matter how frustrated or pissed he was at anybody else. He was always patient. Even if he made a smarmy comment, it was all in jest. She had only been there a week, but she knew that Malcolm didn't treat anyone else like this.

"Aren't I supposed to be the one doing the tea fetching?" Ivy smiled meekly.

Malcolm didn't look at her, instead preoccupied with signing into his computer. "Right you are. Can you fetch us some tea?"

She sighed, getting up, "what kind?"

"Earl grey would be fine, thank you, Ivy."

"Mhm." She fetched it, then came back fairly quickly.

As she leaned down to set his cup on his desk, he began, "You ever see that movie with Rory Calhoun, where there's these siblings who sell meat but it's actually made out of human flesh? What's it called again?"

"Motel Hell?"

He snapped his fingers, pointing at her. "Motel Hell. Wow, you must really know your '80s horror films."

She chuckled, "I remember seeing that one at the cinema with my mates."

Malcolm raised an eyebrow, "in cinema?"

"Yeah."

He didn't continue, trying to calculate her age in her head.

"Sir, you're only about 4 years my senior." Ivy slumped into her chair.

Malcolm looked at her in disbelief. "No..." he turned his head to give her a side eye. "No, you can't be."

She pressed her lips together, and nodded. "Yeah. 46, as of July."

"I thought you were  approaching  your 40s. Christ, you look lovely."

"Oh, stop." She swiped her hand at him, grinning and blushing. "You're not that bad, either, Malcolm."

He sighed, "Anyway, uh, my point was that you and I are like the people from Motel Hell. Tag team of..."

"Shit?"

"Yeah, shit. So, I want to see you in action. How about you go up there and see what's.. shaking." Malcolm smiled, using his hands as he talked.

"Alright then. I'll take notes for you." She stood up, making her way up to the DoSAC workspace.

The sound of Ivy's heels echoed through the office space and send the same vibe as the Other Mother from Coraline. Once she rounded the corner, she didn't make a fairer presence.

"Morning, morning, morning everyone." The DoSAC employees looked relieved to see her instead of Malcolm. They really shouldn't have been. "Where's Nicola?" Ivy turned to Olly, who was punching in a phone number.

"Er, she's on a call." He said, which was a total lie, as she had just stood up and looked directly at her before ducking back down again, with a relieved look on her face. Again, she really shouldn't have been.

A blonde haired woman, who's name Ivy recalled to be Robyn, asked weakly, "Does he know...?"

She wheeled around, staring at her. They were the same height. "Hm? Sorry? Does he know what?"

"Er..." Robyn scrambled for something to say, clearly, "the best way to clear a paper jam?"

"I'm not sure, but in my expert opinion, you put a hamster in a tube sock and beat the printer over and over again with it until it works." She bluntly responded, then turned at Nicola's voice.

"Morning, Ivy. Uh, if you could sort out the sack race situation for me, that'd be terrific." She said to Terri, who agreed and asked what she could do. "Ideally, build a time machine so that we could go back and not invite photographers to the sports day."

Ivy rolled her eyes. Terri and Nicola continued for a few more moments, then Nicola turned her attention to Ivy, finally. "So, Ivy-"

"Oh, sorry, uh, Malcolm's calling, hang on just one moment." She made her way to the elevator nook.

"Malcolm, what can I do you for? ....Oh, yeah, it's going okay. Yeah they're being fucking weird, like those boys on that one show, Ghost Adventures. Walking around and shouting every five minutes, 'what was that?' .... no, not literally, sir. But maybe you should come up here, they look like they're about to admit something. They've got it in their little beady eyes. ....Yeah, okay. See you." Ivy slinked back to the main area.

She gave a warm smile on her way back. "Right, my apologies. What's going on, hm?"

"Uh-" Nicola began, but then was cut off when Ivy answered a voice call. "Hello, Rory, what can I do-... WHAT?" She shouted, and continuing, "ARE YOU FUCKING KIDDING ME? JESUS!"

Ivy ran off, towards the bridge point of the office. She continued to talk to Rory about something regarding what's on the press, something menial, but Rory always decided he was most important. That's why Malcolm gave Ivy the number, for her to handle it. Robyn and Glenn had a very clandestine conversation full of false laughter on the other end of the hall. She took mental note of it. Once Malcolm exited the lift, she ended the call.

They held conversation on their way back to Nicola's office.

"They're being fucking weird."

"They're always fucking weird, why do you need me up here?" Malcolm asked.

She exhaled through her nose. "I'm just worried it might be something big, and I don't know if I can handle it, okay?"

"You can handle it, trust me, you were fine, but since I'm up here anyway, I might as well stay up here." They stopped directly outside of the Secretary of State's office. "We'll talk about this later, okay?" He pointed at her, and they both entered the room.

"Little pigs, little pigs," he teased in a gruff voice, "Let me come in. Don’t worry about the hair on your chinny-chin-chin."

"Malcolm, Ivy, what was your call?" Nicola asked, smugly.

They both furrowed their brows. Ivy spoke first, "is it any of your business?"

"What was our call?"

Glenn tried to get a word in, but Malcolm continued. "You want to know what our call was? Sorry, I didn’t realize I had to run all the calls made through your bed-wetters switchboard, here."

"Usually he’ll just dial 1-1-hate." Ivy jumped in.

Nicola asked, "Malcolm, do you know?"

"Of course he knows."

"No, he doesn’t know."

Ivy gently elbowed him, whispering, "Fucking clandestine."

"There has been a massive irretrievable data loss. The last seven months’ worth of new immigrant details have gone, apparently lost in the computer." She finally laid out.

Ivy’s eyes widened out of shock, and then her brows lowered, angry. Malcolm paused for a minute, beginning to crack a smile and then a maniacal laugh.

"You’re fucking kidding. Nicola, tell me you’re fucking kidding." Ivy began, slowly raising her voice halfway through the sentence.

"Do you know what? Do you know what’s really fucking sad here, is that I don’t even have the energy to pretend I already knew. Which is for the best, because I’m gonna need all of my fucking energy to fucking rip all of your bodies to bits with my bare hand and sell off your flayed fucking skin as a sleeping bag to a normal person!" He turned to Ivy, "Ivy, go and get my bowie knife from my office, because I’d like to start now."

"Can I just say that getting angry actually isn’t going to help anything. I’ve done anger, I’m currently at grief, I’m working my way towards bargaining… whatever, you know, it’s behind me."

"Oh, that’s great. That’s fan-fucking-tastic, minister! You know what, why don’t you just explain your little plan to us here so we can pick out all the problems with it like crows looking for bits of flesh on a fresh piece of roadkill." The short woman spat, crossing her arms.

She sighed, asking Terri to explain the plan. "Well, blaming the department minister might be a high-risk strategy."

"Ooh, high risk. Power serve." He added immaturely.

Ivy smiled, then bit her lip, adding "Saucy."

"My pitch would be that this department is fatally flawed. It’s out of condition, it’s obese, it’s asthmatic."

"That a-girl, back over the net."

“You're really sure about that, Nicola, because-” Glenn began.

"Yes, wise words from the distinguished, elderly, gay fucking tennis coach here."

Olly interjected, "Seriously, I think we should talk about my strategy further because I really think that there's a way-"

"Oh, good, the tiny-dicked ball boy's having a go now, with his tiny little clean white shorts and a pink polo, here we go." Ivy pinched the bridge of her nose, leaning against the black filing cabinets.

"What about Sue Barker's little sister? What's she got to say?"

Robyn made some comment about lemon zinger, before Ivy checked her notes. "Does The Guardian know about this? The Mail?"

"Oh God- you two, can't even handle you, you fucking statue, on your own," Nicola started, motioning to Malcolm, "but now it's fucking Bonnie and Clyde. The Guardian, God I don't fucking know..."

"Shall I find out? Get some feelers?" The woman in the pink power suit asked.

"Yeah, go on, get your feelers out for the lads."

"What do you think, Malcolm, will shitting on the department work?" Nicola suggested, crossing her arms and rubbing one of her temples.

"Oh, sure. Let's cause a bit of friction, here, huh? Let's fire someone, let's fire Glenn!"

"You can't just fire Glenn, no."

"We could fire Glenn."

"Shall I get his file?"

"No! I've got a list!" The sickly fucking Mister Rogers (God rest his soul) shouted.

Ivy folded her hands together, bending down as if she was talking to a child. "Oh, you've got a list? Of what, your favorite fucking toys, you fucking immaculate toddler?"

Malcolm left the room, and so did Nicola and Glenn. "Ivy, come on. You're the new broom, you're sweeping up trouble with one end, broom-handling incompetent staff up the tunnel with the other."

"So how do we play it with the Guardian, then?" She chased after him.

"Smile. By gay. Smile, smile, smile!" Malcolm psychotically smiled. Ivy mirrored him.

"Malcolm, sir?"

"Huh?" He was at his desk again, stuffing his notes for the meeting at The Guardian in a pile.

"Am I coming with... you... to the thing?"

He stopped, looking at her, lost in thought. "Er... yes, but I'm going to need you stay out of the lunch room. Stay in the lobby. Have a lovely beans on toast or whatever it is you cockney bastards do."

She rolled her eyes, shrugging, "Ah, thanks mate."

"I'll call you or come get you if some shitty shit thing happens, like Nicola chokes on a piece of banana or some other disaster."

"I'd expect Nicola to choke on Jeffery's banana, trying to sputter out..." She continued for a moment, mumbling on about calling Nicola a wanker.

"You really don't like her, do you?"

Ivy looked up at him, raising her eyebrows. "No. I really don't. She's a fucking disaster with the press. She's a smug little stinging lit piece of coal thrown in your shoe directly from hell."

"Well, what can you expect from someone so low down on the list?"

She snickered, "Not much apparently."

"Fine. Yeah." Ivy looked up at Malcolm's voice. She was seated on an uncomfortable red seat directly across from the meeting room. She stood and met up with him again.

"Ah, there's your other half, Malcolm." Olly commented.

"Piss off." She answered.

Most of them piled into the lift, and Olly continued. "I didn't think you'd have come today, but I suppose she follows you everywhere, like a little puppy."

"Yeah, what is it with you two, Malcolm?" Terri chimed in. "Are you two dating?"

"Are we dating?" Ivy mocked. "No, we're not. I'm his assistant. He's my boss."

"Hot, isn't it?" The curly haired lanky bitch continued.

She sighed. "Olly, if you don't shut the fuck up, I'm going to tear off your arm and beat your thick skull to death with it." She pointed at him threateningly.

"Ooh, I'm so scared of the oompa loompa in the navy blue skirt."

"Don't fuck with me!" She shouted.

Malcolm shot Olly a stern look, to let him know he meant business. That classic Malcolm look that put fear into DoSAC's veins. He shut up immediately. They exited the lift and out of the lobby, then back inside into the van.

"Hey French Lieutenant's woman, we're over here, come on! What're you doing, marking out your territory?"

Nicola had a look on her face like she'd just seen a ghost. She'd fucked up somewhere along the line, Ivy thought.

"I need some air, Olly, come with me, now." She hurried out the car.

"She's not a post-match puker, right?"

"Fuck's sake."

"I know."

Terri began talking about wine. She stopped, in favor of asking more prodding questions. "How was your first week, Ivy?"

"Fine." She was pretending to write things down, instead drawing a caricature of Nicola in a straight jacket with a text bubble coming off of it saying 'wooden toys!'. She had it turned to Malcolm, who looked at it and smirked.

"He wasn't too hard on you, was he?"

"Nope."

"Are you listening to me?"

Ivy finally looked up. "Nope!" She smiled. Malcolm covered his mouth, checking his Blackberry, and pretending he wasn't grinning. "And I don't work for you, so it doesn't matter."

Nicola returned to the car, apologizing profusely and explaining herself to Malcolm. She ended it with a, "Sorry, Malcolm, I'm really sorry."

"Fucks sake!" He smacked his lap with his clipboard, "JESUS! CHRIST! Well now we've got another adjective to add to smug and glum, FUCKING RETARDED! Jesus! Do you not think it would be germane to check who you're talking to? It's a fucking newspaper office! It's not a fucking, sanatorium for the fucking deaf, is it?! Are you so dense?! Am I going to have to run around slapping badges on people wit a big tick on some, a big cross on others, so you know when to shut your gob and when to open it? Jesus Christ! Oh, but that'd probably confuse you as well, won't it?! That'll be TOO confusing! You'll see a cross and go, 'oh, fuck, X marks the spot! Better tell this little person all about the Prime Minister's fucking catastrophic erectile dysfunction!' Oh, but, not to worry! Not to worry, you've sent Olly over there to deal with it! Fucking Olly! He's a fucking knitted scarf, that twat! He's a fucking balaclava!"

Once Malcolm had finished his tear, he held his face, turning to look out the window. Nicola quietly left the car, leaning against the side of it and rubbing her face. She looked like she was about to cry.

"Sorry, Ivy." He quietly said, apologetically. "Sorry you had to be caught in the middle of that."

She had been silent the whole time, stuck in between those two. "Oh. It's okay."

"Don't I get an apology, too?" Terri piped up.

"No, actually, you don't, you fucking wad of bubblegum. Come on." Malcolm and Ivy exited the van, Nicola saw and followed from the other side. They approached the red head, and Olly was desperately explaining himself to her.

"The department's not really fit for purpose, I mean, Terri's quite bad."

"Not just Terri, I mean I'm not going to name names but Robyn, Robyn's shit. Total shit."

Olly nodded, "Robyn, she's total shit."

"O-kay. Olly, please fuck off." Ivy said, crossing her arms.

"What?"

"Go on. Go and have your fucking lukewarm tea. Mummy and daddy are talking." Malcolm added, shooing him with his hand. "I'm sure that we can settle this matter of you eavesdropping on a private conversation."

The journalist paused for a moment. "It was a public conversation."

"No. You are- you think you're so clever and you are so totally wanking with the wrong crowd here because this woman-" Nicola grabbed Ivy by the sleeve, dragging her in front of Malcolm and into center stage. "This woman, here, is the press."

"Nicola!" She hurriedly whispered. Nicola ran off, whining "Fuck, what have I done?" All the way back to the van.

"Do you think this is going to advance your career? Is this you moving forward?"

"I mean, at least my career has got a trajectory, whereas yours is about to crash head-on into a change of government."

"Don't you worry, girl, because I can still fucking steer some fucking flaming wreckage in your fucking direction."

"Yeah, I'll tell you what, once it's printed I promise I'll come back to you for a reaction quote. How's that?"

"Darling, I wouldn't fucking piss on you, if you were fucking allergic to piss, right?"

"Malcolm-" Ivy attempted to begin to deescalate the situation.

"No, I will fucking-"

The reporter began to walk away, "I'll come back to your wife, here, for a reaction quote, too. That's quite enough for one day. Jesus."

"We're not married!" He shouted after her. "Fuck right off, then!"

As they turned, Malcolm began muttering swear words to himself. "Are you alright, sir?" Ivy asked.

"No! I'm not fucking alright! Shit!" He spat, throwing his hands up. He huffed, "Sorry, it's just-"

"I know." She tentatively put a hand on his forearm that was attached to the hand stuffed inside his pocket. "Sorry, dumb question."

"No, you're fine."

Meanwhile, inside the van, the gang were gossiping like a bunch of schoolchildren about Malcolm and Ivy. Terri pointed, "Look, they're holding hands! They have to be dating!"

"What?" Olly looked out. "No they're not!"

"Okay, shh, shh, they're coming back."

Malcolm and Ivy walked back to their office in silence on their way back. Once they got back and settled back in, Malcolm broke the silence.

"Well that was a fucking whale-sized shit stain on this department."

Ivy clacked in her password into her laptop. Without looking up, she answered "This department is a whale-sized shit stain. To be completely honest, sir, it's exactly what I'd expect to happen."

He chuckled for a bit, then the room went back to silence. Once again, Malcolm broke it. "Ivy?"

"Hm?"

"What did you mean, this morning, when you said you thought you couldn't handle it?"

"Huh? Oh. Er... well, I meant exactly that. I didn't feel that I could handle a big reveal like that. And I had a feeling that was what they were going to do."

"Do you know what? I think you could've handled it."

"Sir-"

"I've seen you in meetings. I know how you've done at your last job. You're quick enough, you're... certainly smart enough, and you've got enough power in your voice to yell if need be. That's a big part of the job, too."

She smiled, warmly, and genuinely. She was blushing, just a bit, too.

"Don't doubt yourself. Okay?"

She sniffled, on the verge of tears. "Okay." As she nodded, a tear dropped down onto the paper she was reading. "Thank you, Malcolm. Thank you."

"Hey, hey, woah." He stood up, "Don't cry, I was just-"

"I know." She wiped a tear away. "It just means a lot to me, that's all." She grabbed a tissue, wiping away drips.

"Okay..." Just then, his cell phone chimed, a notification from the Daily Mail. They'd gotten their grubby little hands on the story already. "Oh, shit."

"What?"

"Mail's found out. Right, gotta get Nicola's spidery arse down here. Pick yourself up, and look alive, love." He punched in the number, and sternly talked into the phone, "Get over here. Now. Might be advisable to wear brown trousers, and a shirt the colour of blood."

Ivy didn't listen to that last bit. She was too focused on him calling her ‘love’. Yeah, it was colloquial around England to refer to women as ‘love’, but it was mostly in a demeaning or sarcastic method of use. It meant more that Malcolm had used it as a term of endearment.

Malcolm began once Nicola - and for whatever reason, Terri - had settled down. Ivy was stationed next to him, arms crossed, like a bodyguard of a mob boss, leaning against the back wall. “I just want to say to you, by way of introductory remarks that I’m extremely miffed about today’s events. And in my quest to try and make you understand the level of my unhappiness, I’m likely to use an awful lot of what we would call violent sexual imagery. And I just wanted to check that neither of you would be terribly offended by that.”

"Did you write that for him, Ivy?" Terri asked, as if they were friends.

"To be honest, I’d rather him not apologize for it, it’s funnier that way." She said starkly and with a bit of sass. "I’d rather him go in unlubed, if you will."

"I think I could do without the theatrics, Malcolm."

"Enough! E-fucking-nough. You need to learn to shut your fucking cave, right? Today you have laid your first big fat egg of solid fuck. You took the data loss media strategy and you ate it with a lump of E. coli. And then you sprayed it out of your arse at 300 miles per hour."

"I simply made a mistake."

"Pretty big fucking mistake." Ivy added.

Nicola furrowed her brow. "God, can you just shut up!"

"Hey, I don’t work for you. I don’t give a flying shit what you tell me to do."

"You got on the record and off the record fucking mixed up! What would have happened if like, George Martin had done that? We’d have no fucking Beatles, that’s what. Now, I don’t give a fuck about that. I’ve had to sit next to Paul McCartney at fucking Chequers."

"The data loss wasn’t my fault."

"Fine, yeah, but I tell you what. It came out pretty fucking fast once you were in there, didn’t it? Which makes me wonder, should I just go and talk to the boss? Should I go and tell him, 'I don’t think she’s up to the job.'"

"You said yourself that if he sacks me after a week, it looks like he’s fucked up."

"Yeah, but that was before, when your only problem was a fucking shit pun in a newspaper and a face like Dot Collen licking piss off a nettle."

"Okay, I messed up, right? I messed up. But I will, from now on listen to every bit of advice you give me. I’ll go on Question Time wearing a push-up bra and a fez. I’ll do the hustings on stilts if that is what you tell me the strategy is because you know about that stuff, Malcolm. I know that. It’s just that I’ve got things that I want to do, all right?"

"Of course you do, like Montessouri fucking rocking horses, I suppose."

“No, no.”

Ivy checked her notes, "Uh, the Mail has the motherload on this, yeah? But you know, you’re going to have to just swallow your pride."

"Uh-huh. Thank you, Ivy."

"Right, what’s the strategy?" Terri clicked her pen.

"Ooh, the Kraken awakes." He sarcastically said.

"No, no no. This is just the first part of the meeting that hasn't been about expletives or fezzes or stilts or teabagging. This is the bit that relates to media management."

"Teabagging?" The assistant inquired.

"I didn’t say anything about teabagging. Do you know what teabagging is?"

"Er… not really, no. I’m told it’s uh… unpleasant."

Ivy and Malcolm made eye contact, both thinking the same thing.

"Who do you want me to call? The Mail?"

"Yes. Go on, get the mail in. The Cheeky Girls back on tour." He escorted them out of his office, closing the door behind them.

"What a day, eh, sir?" Ivy said, returning to her desk.

"Er… Ivy, I’d rather you not call me ‘sir’ anymore. At least not when we’re alone."

"Oh. Okay. Uh, any particular reason?" She began fiddling with some papers, stacking them and clacking the edges against the desk to straighten them.

"No, no. It just feels a bit formal, you know? Like, oh, what’d I do to deserve respect?"

"Mhm."

The room returned to silence. Even though they were a week in, Ivy still wasn’t christened in Malcolm’s eyes. This was her first experience with a scandal that was actually proper. There were no long nights, where they were flip-flopping back and forth with options and the media while the cleaning lady worked around them, not yet. There were no miserable holidays where they spent the time sucking up to another MP. If Malcolm had any friends or social skills, he would have expected to have had a night or two sitting together at the bar after a long night, slowly getting hammered on cheap beer and the occasional hard malt. There was none of that yet. But he still felt like she was here the whole time. Like she’d been through thick and thin with him. He didn’t know if that was just her vibe, or if it was on account of the fact that he was slowly falling in love with her.

Wow, Malcolm thought. He’s admitting it to himself now. That was unheard of. He hadn’t been like this since high school. He hadn’t felt anything towards anyone, especially not since he took this job all those years ago. Shit.

"Hey, Malcolm?" Ivy finally broke the silence. Hearing her voice was such unrequited bliss.

"Yeah?"

"Do you… want to go for a drink sometime? Or something besides work?"

"Why?"

"Can I be honest?"

"No."

"I’m going to anyway. You seem like you need a friend."

He stared at the wood grain on his desk to preoccupy his senses while he thought for a moment. He finally answered, "Okay."

"Huh? Sorry?"

"Let's go, then."

"It's only 3:30, Malcolm."

"Yeah, but it's 5:30 in Finland. Come on, grab your stuff, there's a pub 'round the corner."

"We have work!"

"No, no no, it's okay, we'll just sneak out."

Ivy was taken aback by Malcolm suddenly rebellious manner. I mean, he sort of was rebellious regardless, in a different way. Swearing and hurling abuse at coworkers was his drink of choice when it came to rebellion, but he always stuck around and did his work. It's not like he was straight-lace, either though. He was just never the type to ditch out early.

"Christ, what if the press sees us?"

They sat up at the bar stools. Malcolm ordered them each a beer. "The press won't come near the pubs. They haven't yet, anyway."

"Haven't yet? Do you...?"

"No, not all the time. I usually have a stash in my office." He smiled, joking. She laughed, taking a swig.

"I wanted to be a bar maid when I was younger." She mentioned, offhandedly. "Went to school for it for a few months. Became preoccupied with other things." She continued to explain.

"Really?"

"Yeah. But, enough about me." She shook her head, gesturing to him. "Did you ever think you'd get into politics?"

He sighed, "Not really, no. I uh, went to school for journalism. Started at my local newspaper, which got absorbed by The Independent. Continued there. Slithered my way up the chain." Ivy raised an eyebrow. "I dipped my hands into politics while working there. I left the Indy and worked for what is now called the department of work and pensions, then, again, worked my way up from there."

"Mm."

"What about you?"

"Oh, uh... Well I-I didn't really have a career until my mid 30's. I've bounced at lower level secretary or receptionist positions for a while. In both politics and journalism."

"Yeah, 'cause didn't you work for good old Harry Pickle, the dickle for a while?"

She snorted, almost spitting out her beer. "Is that what they're calling him?"

"What, you didn't know?"

"No! The bloke always kept that sort of thing under wraps, I guess. For his own sake."

"Jesus Christ the man's a fucking control freak."

"I know, oh trust me, I know. I had to wake up early every morning to print out things he could check off to make him feel like he had more control, while I poured sawdust over his idiocy vomit pile and swept it up. Fucking disaster. And when I said I wanted to leave, I think they put me on you because you were the worst to deal with."

He paused, furrowing his brow.

"In their opinion. I genuinely enjoy working for you Malcolm, don't worry." She placed her hand on his forearm that was resting on the countertop. He looked at it, biting his lip and trying not to draw too much attention to it.

Oh God, is she interested in me, is she being nice, or is she just tipsy? He thought. No, we're only one beer in, she can't be. Stop staring, you look like a creepy old man. She's just... so beautiful.

He clenched his fist under the counter, scrambling to find other things to talk about. "Uh, what about before your 30's?" She hadn't moved her gentle hand.

"Oh. Uh..." She looked apprehensive, almost embarrassed. "Well, you know I went to bartender school. But before that I mostly just... stayed at home. I don't have any younger siblings. Actually, no siblings period."

Malcolm smiled. "You're lucky."

She chuckled falsely, "I'm really not. I er... had to take care of my mother after secondary school. She was ill."

"Oh, bless."

"Yeah," she looked down, smiling sorrowfully. "But, she didn't have long to suffer. She died when I was 19." He nodded along, sympathetically. "After that, bartender school. I worked as a barmaid. Got bored with it after a year or two. Then I went to undertaker school, while still bar tending in the nights."

Malcolm raised his eyebrows, shocked. "Really?"

"Yeah. I'm not kidding. If you ever need to mix a black velvet or embalm a body, you know who to call." She giggled. Malcolm laughed a long, admiring her as well. "So, then I worked as an undertaker until aged 33. I was offered to become funeral director, you know, the seedy arsehole who'll tell you shit like 'it's what dad would have wanted' when showing you a 10,000 quid casket. Had no interest there. So I started my assistant job in government, after going to a job fair. And the rest is history."

"Jesus, your life is so much more interesting than mine."

She chuckled. "I don't think it's all that cool. I mean, I've never been outside of Europe."

[eyes-of-fanfiction-green]

Shutting Down Part 4

Dean x reader

!! PART 1 here !!

!! PART 2 here !!

!! PART 3 here !!

!! PART 5 here!!

Summary: after a fight with the reader, Dean wakes up in another woman’s bed the next morning. Now the Reader and Dean must deal with the consequences.

Warnings: Suicidal Thoughts (honestly not that vivid), panic attacks, anxiety, everyone is panicking! Also depictions of violence.

A/N: hehehehe

“Sam?”

“[Y/N]! Oh my god, thank goodness you picked up! Look, I know you and Dean-“

“Sam, Dean didn’t cheat on me.” You sobbed into the phone before the panic in Sam’s voice registered in your brain. “Wait. Sam, what’s wrong?”

You felt your blood turn to ice under your skin the more Sam told you what was going on. The note, the suicide hunt, Sam tracking Dean’s phone’s GPS, how you were only an hour away from him while Sam two. You felt as though your brain was overloading with emotion and you began sprinting towards your car, bus be damned, while Sam gave you directions to the forest that Dean was hunting in.

Within minutes, you were screeching down the road in your car.

“This can’t be happening; this can’t be happening.”

Your tears had been replaced by panic and you could feel your heart pounding into your ribs. There was a constant tremor in your hands as you gripped the steering wheel much too tightly, and blood roared in your ears.

“I am so sorry, Dean. Oh my god, I’m so sorry.” There was an overwhelming guilt laying on your chest. You should have known Dean would have done something like this. His self-sacrificing self-destructing nature was beginning to become predictable. How had you not seen this coming?

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

Dean continued trudging through the forest, slowly, as though his energy was being drained out with every mile. The muddy ground was sucking into his boots with every step, making a sickening POP sound echo into the trees.

He hadn’t really thought this through very well.

It was a five-mile hike to get to, roughly, where he thought the vamp nest would be, and clearly he wasn’t as unexhausted as he’d previously thought. To say the hike was slow-going was an understatement.

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

Sam pressed the gas pedal to floor as he reached another open stretch of road, only fifty more miles till he made it to Dean’s location, already far closer than a normal driving speed would have allowed.

He startled slightly when his phone began ringing, yanking him out of his panicked daze.

“Yes??”

“Sam, hey boy. H-“

Sam swerved quickly around a small squirrel family in the road, yanking on the steering wheel breathlessly, “Bobby! I can’t talk right now! I have to get to Dean, and I’m so far behind, I’m probably already too late, and oh my god-“

“Sam!” Bobby’s alarmed voice cut through the wave of shock in his mind. Sam felt his breathing speed up more than it already was and he was pretty sure a damn was going to break soon. “Take a breath and tell me right now what the hell is going on.”

Sam tried taking a breath, he really did. But his throat was constricting, and his lungs were frozen. Black dots were closing in the corners of his vision and he lost control momentarily of the car before pulling over to the side of the road, yanking the door open and losing his breakfast on the pavement.

He was vaguely aware of Bobby’s deep voice calmly telling him to breathe from the phone still in his hand. But the ringing in his ears wouldn’t go away and his stomach was still expelling its contents, and all Sam could think of was how his brother was probably laying dead in some random forest in Buttfuck Nowhere, Indiana his face pale and his eyes unblinking…and oh my god!

He started chocking on his vomit and Bobby’s voice rose sharply to his ears in urgency. “Sam! Breathe, damnit! You can’t help Dean if you’re like this.”

And just like that, the ringing in his ears faded and his lungs started loosening up.

“Good, now tell me what happened.”

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

You whipped the car into park next to the trail’s opening. Praying to god that this was the one Dean had taken into the forest.

Racing to the trunk of the car, you whipped out a shotgun with silver and salt rounds and slid a machete into your belt. That should about cover it, whatever it is that Dean came to hunt here in the first place.

You took off down the trail at a full sprint, adrenaline rushing through your blood and giving your legs a much-needed boost.

For some reason you managed to have the good presence to text Sam that you had made it before heading off into the “no cell service” zone.

You had had three panic attacks on the way over here and there was still a vomit taste in your mouth, but somehow you had managed to force yourself back into the hunter mindset of calm precision.

Panicking wasn’t going to help Dean.

That was the only thought keeping you from having a mental breakdown right now as your boots pounded down the muddied trail.

Faster.

Faster.

Faster.

You knew this was all your fault, but for Dean’s sake you refused to let yourself dwell on it. Later. After Dean was safe. And in your arms. Then you could feel guilty.

But not right now.

Go.

Go.

Go!

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

Dean squinted around the tree he was hiding behind at the lone cabin nearby.

He knew he should come up with a game plan. Take out as many vamps as possible. But he was just so…tired.

He was trying not to think of the full repercussions of what he was about to do. He knew Sammy would be devasted but… this would protect him, maybe even let him move on to a normal life. Yeah. Yeah, that sounded good.

And [Y/N]…. [Y/N] probably wouldn’t even find out, and if she did…probably wouldn’t even care.

Dean let that barb sink in to his heart with a painful stab, eyes blinking away tears. “Alright. Let’s get this over with.”

Stepping out from behind the trees, he made his way quietly towards the sleeping cabin. This was it. Goodnight Vienna.

He carefully opened the creaking backdoor, just starting to peer inside when a large log connected with the back of his head.

CRACK!

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

After a few minutes Sam was back on the road, flying full force once again. Bobby had calmed him down, [Y/N] had sent him a text that she was already there, everything was going to be fine.

The miles flew by as he kept muttering to himself over and over in a constant mantra:

“Dean will be fine.”

“Dean will be fine.”

“D-Dean will be fine.”

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

Dean’s eyes glazed over for a moment as the blow knocked him to the ground, but he quickly shook himself and rolled before the vamp could get another hit in.

He wanted to die, sure.

But he was also planning on killing a few of the fuckers first.

Dean grabbed his machete and scrambled to his feet, ducking another blow. Just as he chopped off the vamps head, two more came running around the side of the building, and one from inside the cabin behind him grabbed his arms in a hold.

They got three solid hits in before one of them bared his teeth, preparing for a bite to his neck. Quickly, he flipped the vamp holding him over his shoulder, taking his head off a moment later.

His vision was still blurring from the blow to the head, and his stomach was cramping from the punches, but he kept his head up as four more vamps appeared out of nowhere, joining the two still in front of him.

Then he was hacking and there was blood spurting and he was taking blows to his…everything. But it only took a couple minutes and two more dead vamps before Dean was being held down on his back, facing up at four very hungry vampires who were leering down at him.

“Boys…let’s eat.”

And oh, was there pain.

Four toothy jaws clamped down on his arms and stomach, his legs and shoulders. The pain burned through his body as he felt himself being drained dry.

And he loved it.

Black was clouding his vision and the noise around him was starting to fade. This was it. Finally. Peace.

The head vamp sat up for a moment and grinned at him. He licked his blood-covered lips and gave him wink. Then, almost as if in slow motion, he watched the vampire’s teeth descend towards his jugular.

And then there was nothing but white.

.

.

.

“DEAN!”

——————————————————————————————————

PART 5 FINALE HERE

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Leave out all the Rest

Irondad, Spiderson, and the rest of the family. This is long and a bit sad, so of course it's named after a Linkin Park song. I poured my heart and soul into this story and I hope that it manages to touch a few of you.

Thank you to @whumphoarder for being the most wonderful beta.

This story contains serious illness (TW: tumour) and death. 

When my time comes Forget the wrong that I’ve done Help me leave behind some Reasons to be missed

“Good news first: I booked us into Marriott's in Venice for a week,” Tony says in a cheerful tone that defies the outright panic written clearly onto every inch of his face. “Finally getting that trip off the bucket list.”

He takes a deep breath. “As for the bad news…”

And Pepper doesn't want to know, she wants to run, scream, cover her ears and make this all untrue. But fate is not kind to her today, and as Tony goes on, all she can do is listen with horror while the tears are slowly dripping down her face.

That's how it starts.

*

“You're not allowed - you're not allowed to do that! Tony Stark, you can't  - you can't just leave -” Pepper is pleading now, and Tony's reassuring words seem like background static below her shrill voice.

“I'm working on it. It's gonna be okay, Pep. Just stop crying.”

Peter knows he isn't supposed to hear them talking inside the infirmary that Tony's bedroom has become. But then, he can't help his enhanced hearing skills, and it's not really like they have many secrets from him nowadays.

“But they said…they said that there's nothing - if the chemo isn't working -” Pepper's words are nearly indecipherable through her sobbing.

It is enough to drive them all to despair. The tumour is growing and growing, the dozen different medications Tony takes doing nothing to slow it down, only making him drowsy and sick.

It had been the third seizure in just as many weeks. The only reason Tony made it through this one was Friday's early-warning system and the fact that Pepper, Happy, and Bruce have arranged their schedules in such a way that someone is always present in the building. Just in case.

Peter had been there when it had happened first. He'd seen Tony grow increasingly pale and quiet during their lab afternoon, seen the inconspicuous attempts at supporting himself on the table when he got up, but he'd thought that it was just another flu bug his mentor was hiding.

Then Tony had fallen, and Friday had sounded alarms, and Peter's carefully constructed world had started to crumble.

*

Some days are better than others. They start better, at least. Peter spends so much of his time at the tower now that May had threatened to report him missing when he'd left that morning. She'd been joking, of course, but Tony takes it seriously and makes sure he is back home early that night.

“You look younger every time I see you,” Tony compliments May when she opens the door to their cramped apartment.

“And this one gets older every time I hear it,” she replies. Then she pulls him into a short, tight hug. “How are you, Tony?”

“Good, good,” he lies easily, absentmindedly running a hand through his greying hair. “Your nephew did well today, but I'm still searching for that switch to mute him. Never seen a kid that talkative.”

“Well, that won't change anymore, I guess…” She grins and ruffles Peter's hair before he can duck away. “Do you want to stay for dinner?” she addresses Tony.

“No, thanks, I'm not very hungry,” he declines. “Need to get back to the tower anyway, Pepper is waiting.”

“I made brownies for dessert,” she informs him.

“It’s fine, May,” Peter interjects, because he can see the tiredness radiating from Tony’s posture.

“At least have one. I promise that I didn't burn them this time.” She holds the plate in front of Tony. “I'll be offended if you don't try them.”

Tony gingerly picks up the brownie and takes a bite. Peter can see the colour draining from his face when he swallows. “Yeah, thank you, I - actually, could I use your bathroom for a sec?” He doesn't wait for a reply before abruptly turning around.           

A moment later they can hear him being violently ill into the toilet, the thin walls of their apartment doing nothing to conceal the noise. Peter can't bring himself to look at May, desperately wishing for a larger place, a house, something that would make it possible not to have to witness a weak moment in the life of the man who hates to appear weak.

“It's not looking good, is it?” May asks quietly.

Peter silently shakes his head. He doesn't resist when she pulls him into a tight embrace.

After a while, Tony emerges from the bathroom, looking pale and shaky below the bright, fake smile plastered on his face.

“So, where were we?” He must have seen their expressions, because the smile disappears immediately. “Oh.”

“Mr. Stark –” Peter starts.

“Sorry for that,” Tony interrupts, motioning at the bathroom. “I, um, I guess I'll get going.”

“Sit down for a minute, Tony,” May urges, stepping towards him. “I'll get you a glass of water.”

“No, thank you.” Peter has never seen his mentor self-conscious before, but that's exactly what he looks like now. “I gotta get back.”

He rests a hand on Peter's shoulder for a split second before raising it to cover his mouth and coughing drily. “Great work today, kiddo.”

Peter stays silent. Tony leaves, alone.

*

Tony is still the most optimistic among them. It’s more than just fake cheerfulness meant to stop everyone else from worrying, as Peter had suspected in the beginning. No, the man is honestly convinced that he will be able to find a solution, to build another genius piece of tech that would force his body to keep working against all odds, or invent a method of performing an operation on his brain that won’t destroy everything that makes him him.

But then, he is hardly able to concentrate more than a few hours on his good days, and Peter doesn't want to remember the bad ones. He doesn't want to think about how he'd found Tony slumped unresponsive over the workbench next to a puddle of his own sick one afternoon, about how his skin gets greyer and his hair thinner every day, about the flickers of pain crossing his face whenever the headaches get too much to bear.

He doesn't want to think about the fact that it took Tony a whole night to correct a minor bug in Peter's web-shooters, or that he still hasn't figured out the reason the Mark 47's left arm won't cooperate anymore. He doesn't want to remember the numerous times he'd wriggled the Starkpad out of Tony's grip after the man had fallen asleep at the table to correct the equations he'd gotten wrong this time.

No one says it out loud. But Peter knows, and everyone knows, that their hope is dwindling rapidly.

*

Pepper is the one who suffers most.

She doesn’t show it. After the initial breakdown, she pulls herself together in a way Peter wouldn't have thought possible if he hadn't witnessed it. To the outside, she is her normal, energetic, hospitable self, friendly to those who deserve it and snippy toward those who don’t.

Peter clings to this knowledge. If Pepper can pull through even after feeling how she does, he can too. He has to.

But they all see the circles under her eyes after another sleepless night at Tony’s bedside, and Peter with his enhanced hearing is the only one who can make out her quiet sobbing in the bathroom when she goes to take a shower.

Bruce, despite insisting that he is not that kind of doctor, has turned into a radiologist overnight. He has taken Tony's place to fall asleep at his desk on crossed-over arms after endless nights of analysing scans from virtually every part of Tony's brain.

Sometimes, when he's worked so late that his eyes are burning and the numbers dance in front of them, Pepper makes tea for him - the strong chai with ginger and cardamom he likes so much. Then they sit together in silence, sadness and fear almost a tangible bond between them, waiting for a miracle that never happens.

*

Peter had been granted security clearance for all levels of the tower after the first time Tony faded out on him, just for emergencies. Nobody seems to mind him being around, so he doesn't hesitate to take the elevator directly to Tony's personal quarters when he can’t find him in the lab. He'd been banned from visiting for nearly a week by an alliance of May, Tony and Happy due to his exams, and now nervousness mixes with anticipation in his gut when he steps out of the lift.

“Mr. Stark?” he calls out when he finds the living room empty.

There's light pouring through the crack under the bathroom door. Peter knocks hesitantly. He hears a muffled cough, scrambling, and then the lock is being opened.

“What do you want?” Tony asks hoarsely, a hint of irritation in his tone. “I'm sorry, should have texted. It's not a good day.”

“I - ” Peter starts, and then stops with a gasp as the door opens fully and he gets a view of his mentor.

Tony looks terrible, there is no other word for it. His face is ashen, his pupils bloodshot, and he seems to have lost multiple pounds over the past days. He's clearly just been sick, evident from the foul smell hanging in the air around him. But the worst is the overpowering sense of weakness surrounding him, the complete lack of energy that Peter's never observed on him before, the beaten expression in his eyes.

“Yeah?” Tony swallows heavily.

“I just wanted to…” He is stopped by Tony holding up a hand, then abruptly turning back and dropping onto his knees in front of the toilet. Peter cringes when the man retches hard and liquid hits the bowl.

Peter feels his heart hammering wildly in his chest as he steps carefully into the bathroom.

“Are you okay?” he asks, laying a hand on Tony's shoulder and knowing full well how stupid his question is even before Tony bats him away.

“What about this –” the older man pauses to gulp and gesture around him angrily - “looks okay to you?”

“Sorry. I'm sorry,” Peter breathes.

Tony hangs his head back over the toilet, breathing shallowly, until he shudders and gags again. Only bile comes up, and he spits into the bowl to get rid of the strings.

“You should leave. This won't get any better today,” he mutters as he weakly reaches up to  flush the toilet and clear away the evidence.

“Where's Pepper?” Peter asks. He respects Tony's privacy, but every instinct is screaming not to leave him alone in this state.

“Business…something. Will be back tonight,” Tony replies. “Don't call her,” he adds when he sees the look on Peter's face. “She's barely worked all week. The stocks will drop even further if she leaves her meeting abruptly.”

“Does this mean that you've been like this all week?” Peter can't help but ask.

“None of your business.”

“But - ”

“Nope.”

Mr. Sta-”

“I don't want to talk about it.”

“But I do! You are not the only one suffering from this!”

Tony looks up. Their eyes meet, and for a brief moment, there's no Iron Man there, no superhero. He's only a man, a man who is tired and old and scared to death.

Then the mask closes over his face. He pulls his shoulder back, straightens up, and grabs the basin for support to pull himself upright. When he looks at Peter, there's a mad, feverish glow in his eyes.

“Okay. You want to talk? Fine. Let's talk then.”

It's scary how he can go from broken to menacing within seconds. Peter swallows, suddenly insecure.

“It’s just…” Peter desperately searches for words. “It just sucks not to know if you’ll still be alive tomorrow. Every time my phone rings, I think it's Pepper, telling me that it’s over. Every time May knocks on my door, I get – I get scared. I can't concentrate, can't think of anything else. It sucks not to know what's going on. And it doesn’t get better by you not telling me how you're feeling.”

“Fine,” Tony snaps.“I’ve been feeling like shit the whole week. There’s a high probability that I’m going to feel like shit for the rest of my life, which amounts to a month, maybe. I'm tired of hurting, I'm tired of being sick, I'm tired of fucking dying.”

He is interrupted by a coughing fit that leaves him breathlessly leaning against the wall for support.

“What did you want to hear?” he continues, panting. “That I value the few minutes every day when I'm not either puking my guts out or feeling like my head is exploding and I might faint any minute? That I am grateful for the time I had? That I see a sense in all of this?”

He looks at Peter's face, which is frozen in shock.

“See, you didn’t wanna hear that, either,” he spits, but there’s no anger left in him. Peter sees him through the veil of tears in his eyes, and it looks like there is wetness in Tony's, too.

He doesn't want to cry. He knows that the last thing Tony needs is him having a breakdown on his bathroom floor. He doesn't feel like he even has the right to crumble, not if Pepper, Rhodey, Happy - all the people who have known Tony so much longer - are still standing. Tony himself looks on the verge of a full-blown panic attack, and this means that Peter needs to be strong. He needs to be someone Tony can lean on, just as he himself has leaned on Tony so many times.

But he can't stop the sobs escaping his mouth, the tears dropping from his eyes. He can't. He just can't anymore.

“Come 'ere, kid,” Tony mumbles hoarsely.

Peter obliges, gravitating towards the older man until he nearly crashes into him. Tony pulls him against his chest, keeping one arm around Peter while supporting his weight against the wall with the other one. He smells like sweat and sickness, but there is still Tony's scent in there, still something left of him, and Peter clings to that bit, tries to burn it into his memory while he cries himself out.

*

Pepper and Tony return from Venice, Tony looking older and thinner than before, but less tense that he has in weeks. Pepper seems tired, but there's a glow on her face below the fear and exhaustion that no one has ever seen before.

“It felt like I was enough,” she tells Rhodey that night while crying quietly into his shoulder. “For the first time ever, it felt like I was enough for him.”

When Rhodey helps Tony to bed later that night, the engineer is calm and thoughtful.

“I wish I'd done that earlier,” he finally confesses after washing down the ever-growing assortment of pills with a grimace. “Sometimes I wish that my whole life had been Pepper and me on a holiday in Venice. But hindsight is a bitch.”

“You'd have gotten bored.” Rhodey smirks. “You'd have saved the city from drowning within a week and then gotten bored of it.”

“Yeah, maybe you're right.” Tony frowns, already half asleep.

“I am,” Rhodey says, hiding a sad smile behind the light tone, “I know you, man.”

*

A few days after they'd returned, Peter is on the roof when Tony finds him. Peter's been up there for a while, and he hadn't realised how cold he'd gotten until he feels the warm air brush him when the balcony door opens. His teeth chatter involuntarily.

“Here.” Tony takes off his leather jacket and drapes it around Peter's shoulders. He's limping, the latest seizure having left parts of his left side immobile.

“I'm not -”

“Save it. You're shivering so hard, I can feel the vibrations in the air.”

“But you -”

“I'm good, kid. See?” Tony points to the worn-out MIT hoodie that's hanging loosely around his bony shoulders.

The jacket is actually quite warm. It's hard to tell with Tony's sheer endless arrays of fancy garments, but Peter thinks that he's seen this one before, maybe on their trip to Germany. It smells like all leather jackets do, but his spider senses detect a bit of Tony below the surface.

“You haven't been patrolling lately,” Tony remarks as he stands casually next to Peter. Too casually, Peter notes immediately, because the railing is taking most of his mentor’s weight. Tony is breathing heavily, as if the short walk from the living room to the balcony has drained him completely. His face is haggard, the fine lines and wrinkles having turned into deep creases during the past weeks.

“How do you know?” Peter asks.

“Oh, Karen and Friday are worse than two old grannies.” He smirks. “Always gossiping.”

Peter gives a half-hearted grin. He thinks about how this is all he's ever wanted, standing on a rooftop with Iron Man, looking down at New York. And now he wouldn't hesitate to trade anything in the world, even his powers, if that could only make Tony healthy again.

“Seriously, kid. Don't get sloppy. New York needs her friendly neighbourhood Spider-Man.”

“I'm not sloppy. Just haven’t  felt like it lately.”

He wants to explain it to Tony, but he doesn't seem to have the right words for his feelings. How senseless it seems to keep people from stealing bikes and breaking into banks when none of this will stop the worst thing from happening, when he can do absolutely nothing to save his mentor. How to tell him that Spider-Man is powerful, but Peter doesn't feel powerful anymore - hasn't felt it since the day Tony first collapsed in front of him. That wearing the suit doesn't feel like being who he is anymore, just like trying to become someone he can never be.

“Spider-Man is not something you do when you feel like it, kid,” Tony says. “It's not a part-time job. Either you are in with your heart and soul, or you leave it. And I believe that you made your decision already, quite a while ago.”

“Yeah,” Peter concedes. Then it occurs to him that he has never asked the most obvious question. “When did you decide to become Iron Man?”

“Whoa. Taking advantage of me being in a talkative mood, are you?” Tony teases before turning serious again. “The first suit I ever made was to save my own ass. Well, not only my own, but that was the result.”

A series of emotions crosses his face, too quick, too dark for Peter to decipher.

“After that… I'd been held captive for a couple months, and that made me reconsider my priorities. I realised that I had been throwing away my abilities for something that wasn't worth it. I’d built weapons to kill innocent people instead of protecting those I care about. The reason I became Iron Man… I didn't want to waste my life, you know?”

Then he shakes his head, quickly, as if he is trying to chase the ghosts away. “Sorry, that was… too much input, I guess.”

“No, it's okay,” Peter says. “I… I understand, really, I do.”

And he does. Ben's face flashes in his mind’s eye, memories of the night when the unthinkable happened and he swore that this was the last time he'd let someone dear to him die. Well, it looks like he's failed miserably this time.

“We should get back inside,” Tony suggests. “May is expecting you back and I'm not keen on getting a lecture about irresponsible behaviour if I have Happy drop you off late on a school night.”

Peter wants to stay longer, wants to seize the rare opportunity of having Tony open up to him a little. But he can sense the man’s tiredness, can see Tony hugging his arms against his chest in the cold.

Back inside, Peter takes off the jacket, a bit hesitantly, because its inside is nicely warm now, and even if it's too broad for his shoulders, it already weirdly feels like a part of his body.

“Keep it, kid,” Tony dismisses. “I won't  -”

He breaks off before the words can leave his mouth, but it's too late, Peter knows what he was going to say. I won't need it anymore.

The weight of the jacket suddenly feels heavy on his shoulders. The moment Peter steps into his room, he throws it into a corner of his cupboard with so much angry strength that the impact makes the walls shake.

*

Tony sleeps a lot now. It's what everyone always wished for, the man developing a healthy sleeping habit, but it feels all wrong. Peter is glad when Tony agrees to rest, but sometimes there are moments when he almost hates him for spending eleven hours apiece in bed, for wasting so much of the little time they have left. And then he hates himself for his thoughts.

He tries to steal as many moments as he can. Sometimes Peter sits at his mentor’s bedside, Tony helping him with his math homework. Sometimes, on the rare occasions when the engineer is able to get up and moving, they work on Peter's equipment in the lab, in an attempt to create a sense of normalcy and that never quite materialises.

Unlike Tony, Peter hardly sleeps. He sometimes wonders whether there is a fixed sleep budget in the tower of which Tony takes more than his fair share, leaving less for everyone else. Sometimes he fills his nights by watching movies with Bruce, or by helping Pepper tidy up the documents on her work desk. Sometimes he sits at the window alone, watching as day turns into night and back, another day won for Tony.

One night, he is trying to bend his head around an English essay, trying and failing to think of anything else than what Pepper had told him today with puffy eyes when he had cornered her about the sudden lack of medications on Tony's bedside table. That the therapy hasn't been effective, and that they've finally stopped it for good.

“Hey kid.” Tony is whispering, which is more than unusual.

“What happened?” Peter jumps up immediately, his heartbeat doubling, scanning the man in the doorway for any signs of distress.

“I'm fine,” Tony reassures quietly. “I figured you couldn't sleep, and I… need to ask you for a favour.”

“Of course,” Peter assures. “What is it?”

Tony just puts a finger to his lips and motions him to follow, which Peter does, struggling to get control over the anxiety pulsing through his veins. They take the elevator down to the workshop and then walk to the back where Tony's suits are displayed in a row of glass cabinets, looking new and polished even though they haven't been used in almost two months.

Tony comes to a stop.

“No,” Peter blurts, looking from the suits up at Tony and back, understanding sinking in. “No, that's  - that's dangerous, and stupid, and I – there's no way I would help you with that.”

Tony has already motioned the door housing the Mark 46 to open, the expression on his face somewhere between tenderness and longing when the front of the armour retracts for him to step inside.

“One last time,” he assures. “It's the last time, Peter, and you know it.”

“Mr. Stark, this is – please, just don't-” he pleads.

“Peter, listen. You know I'm going to do this either ways, and Friday here would rather have you by my side while I'm out.”

“But what if -” Peter swallows, trying to ignore the fact that Tony has to sit down while the suits encloses him.

“Trust me, this one time,” Tony says, looking at him calmly with those deep brown eyes.

And Peter, straightening up, replies, “Always.”

They fly.

That is, Iron Man flies and Peter swings behind him, but tonight it feels like gravity has lost its meaning. New York is a blurry mess of colour below the two of them, stars and buildings circling around their heads in a dizzying rush until up becomes down, the ground becomes sky, and for a moment, the impossible seems just within reach.

“Yeeha! This feels like the first time!” Tony shouts when he takes a head dive and pulls up just above the pavement, the foot of his armour leaving sparks when it brushes the ground. And for the first time since the start of the illness, he sounds truly happy.

Peter is catching his breath on top of a skyscraper when Tony rises high, high above the roofs, high enough that to those on the ground, he might look like just another bright star. And maybe he's just that, Peter thinks. Someone to spread light and warmth to the world, sometimes searing those who get too close, giving and giving until he has burnt himself out.

Iron Man spreads his arms wide, and for a moment it seems as if he wants to hold the whole earth in his hands.

*

Rhodey is waiting at the rooftop assembly area when they return. Peter expects him to be upset, or at the very least, worried. But there's a knowing, slightly melancholic smile playing around his lips when he helps Tony with the landing, as if he's known all along what was going to happen.

The armour opens and Tony collapses onto his knees before Peter can catch him. He looks about ready to faint, but there are still traces of joy and excitement mixed into the exhaustion.

“That was one hell of a flight.” He raises his hand to fist bump Peter, who can't help but join into his smile when their knuckles collide.

*

When Peter passes by the kitchen that night, Tony is leaning against the counter with a tablet in his hand, a glass of water and a bottle of painkillers next to him. He locks the screen as soon as Peter steps in, but not fast enough, because Peter can capture a list of names. Pepper's is on top, his own not far below. Bruce. Happy. Further down, in lowercase, he thinks that he can read Steve Rogers.

“What's that?” he asks, motioning at the tablet.

“Later, kid, later,” Tony defers tiredly. “That's for another time.”

Then he turns towards Peter and looks him straight in the eyes. His face is set, but his pupils are wide and glistening, reflecting the warm lights around them.

“Thank you for today,” he says and swallows once. “It meant…a lot.”

Peter bites his lip, aware of Tony's heart beating hard and fast in his chest, mirroring the breathless speed of Peter's own.

“Listen, Peter. You need to promise me one thing. Don't stop being Spider-Man. The world needs you, more so than it ever needed me. More than you know.”

Then he gets up, walking away at the slow pace of an old man, and Peter never sees the tears on his cheeks.

*

Tony dies peacefully in his sleep. It's the best way to go, everyone says, but Peter knows that it's the worst possible way for Tony Stark.

There is no dramatic rescue this time, no meaningful final words. No last miracle to save the Invincible Iron Man. It is just Tony. There one second, gone the next.

People tell Peter that he looked calm. People tell him that they tried to revive Tony, tried the best to make him come back, but this time, he didn’t return. The doctors had given him eight weeks at most, and Tony, one last time, had to outwit them by staying alive for nine.

People tell Peter that it’s okay. He nods when it’s appropriate, cries when they expect him to. But inside, he is all empty.

Bruce hulks out upon hearing the news and disappears into the wilderness. Rhodey takes every single of the suits, flies them all out to the forest and lights them up in an explosion that can be heard throughout the city. Because nobody, nobody else could ever be Iron Man.

Pepper keeps functioning, just as everyone expected, just as everyone knew she would, and somehow this is even worse than watching her fall apart. Peter has learned to look behind the façade. He knows that she is running on autopilot, understands that there is nothing left inside her but pain. And there is nothing in the world that he can do to make it better.

The funeral is held on the first day of snowfall. Happy comes to pick them up in the most expensive car Peter's ever sat in, and he doesn't have to ask to know that Tony has left them all to his former bodyguard.

When it's over, he carefully removes his shoes and socks and stands in the thin film of white velvet snow next to the grave, watching his toes turn first red, then blue. He still cannot feel the pain.

The shock hits days later, without a trigger or a warning. May tells him to let it out, tells him that it will help to cry. It doesn't. She holds him while he sobs and chokes until he feels like he will either throw up or suffocate, and he is grateful for her presence. But all he can think of is the first not-quite-hug Tony gave him after their return from Germany and the weight of May's arms around his shoulders is all wrong.

Bruce returns after weeks, looking gaunt and exhausted. He sleeps for two days straight and never tells anyone where he's been. He avoids the lab for a week before finally entering again, and when he comes out, his eyes look more hopeless than ever before.

“For over a decade, this was the only place I felt like I belonged to,” he tells Pepper in a quiet voice that night. “And now…it just doesn't feel like home anymore.”

A few days later, he is gone again.

*

Peter visits the cemetery every night after patrol. Sometimes he sits for hours in the branches of the chestnut tree that overshadow the grave, sometimes only for a few minutes. Sometimes he sobs. Sometimes he begs. Sometimes he tells Tony what happened to him that day, talks about thieves and drones and bank robberies, and about the old lady with the Churros whom he met again, desperately wishing that it was Happy's mailbox he was talking to, not a silent tombstone.

One day, close to dawn, he sees a group of figures approaching the grave.

Peter watches Black Widow lay down a boxing glove on the grave, Clint standing still, so still, until Natasha slowly drapes an arm around his shoulders. He leans into the touch, just a little bit. Steve Rogers kneels down, and it seems like he is offering a prayer before he gets stiffly back onto his feet, wiping his eyes in a gesture of defeat.

A few minutes later, the sky lights up in a sudden onslaught of brightness. Electricity fizzles around the grave as thunder rolls loudly. For a brief moment, Peter sees a large figure descending next to the others, then then shockwaves hit him and he has to cling to the branch as to not fall from the tree.

When he opens his eyes again, he is alone. But there is a symbol carved into the tombstone that wasn't there before, a lean and shiny ‘A’ in a circle just next to Tony's name.

*

And Peter will grow older.

There will be moments when he will be sitting in his room, absentmindedly trying to repair his suit. After hours of trial and error, he will finally find the bug and fix it. He will be proud, will take the phone in his hands without a second thought in order to send Tony a triumphant text and a photo, and when the pain hits, it will be all-consuming.

These moments will hurt like hell, but he is so, so scared of the day when they will finally stop.

There will be times when he will laugh almost as if everything was normal, forgetting for the fraction of a moment that the world is all wrong. And then the guilt will choke him, because he can't be happy, doesn't want to be happy. Not after all that has happened. The least he owes to Tony Stark is to hold on to the pain of losing him.

He won't share these thoughts with anyone - he knows what they would say, that Tony would have wanted him to enjoy his life, would have wanted him to be happy - but it's wrong in a fundamental way for which he has no words.

It will be months later when Peter realises that the night of Tony's last flight was never about Tony. It was about Peter, was meant for Peter from the start. The flight, the happiness on his face - maybe that was the last present Tony Stark ever made to him.

There'll be an emptiness inside of him that will never go away. It will slowly dawn on him that he is not the only one. That everyone, all of these broken people he loves so strongly, are always just trying to find a sense in the void, and that Iron Man was maybe just Tony's way to fill the emptiness.

There will be times when he will go out on patrol wrapped into Tony's leather jacket, and the weight of it on his shoulders will take his breath away. There will be times when he jumps from a building and has the webs catch him just above the ground, so close that he can see the tips of the grass blades moving in the wind.

And then there will be times where he will sit on the roof at night, fiddling with a screwdriver in his hand, and think back to the words Tony said to him that night.

“The reason I became Iron Man… I didn't want to waste my life, you know?”

“You didn't,” Peter whispers into the dark, empty sky. “It was worth it .”

Don’t resent me And when you’re feeling empty Keep me in your memory Leave out all the rest.

[puckinghell]

Stars and Supernovae | September

Summary: As soon as you meet Tyler Seguin, you know you’re destined to be best friends. Sometimes you wonder if you’re destined to be more, but life keeps getting in the way. Perhaps it’s just not written in the stars? Note: This is part 8. Part 1 | part 2 | part 3 | part 4 | part 5 | part 6 | part 7 Note 2: This is it! The final part. Kinda happy I got it over with, I really wasn’t sure if I’d find the motivation to finish. Thank you so much to everyone who has sent me nice messages, or left a like or reblog. You’re all the reason this was even a thing!! 

With it being the pre-season, you hadn’t bothered to go to tonight’s game, but you hadn’t been able to resist the urge to put the game on the television at work. You had done it a few times this past month, and the first time your boss had told you off, but now he didn’t seem to mind anymore. You guessed he was becoming a hockey fan.

You’re welcome.

It was strange, watching Tyler on tv again. This summer, you’d managed to almost forget about hockey. You’d just been busy; you moved out in July, finding a new apartment with two roommates, finally leaving Sabrina behind. You’d also been picking up extra shifts at the coffee shop because although you were sharing a house with more people now, the rent was still a little steep, and extra money never hurt anyone. And then you’d been busy being miserable and feeling sorry for yourself. That, really, took up all your energy.

The game ended, Dallas winning 3-2 over Ottawa, and you shot Tyler a congratulations text, as well as texting Katie to tell her to give Jamie a hug from you. They were so cute together, so happy, it was annoying. You started cleaning tables - you had to do something - when the door opened.

“I’ll be right there!” you yelled behind you, and then a familiar voice spoke.

“No need to hurry.” You turned around, facing Max with a smile.

“Max, hi! It’s been a while!” You walked over and gave him a quick hug. “How are you doing?”

He sighed. “Pff, exams…”

“Don’t mention another word,” you puffed, moving over to the counter. “Large flat white?”

“Please.” He leaned over the counter. “How are you doing, Y/N?”

You’d told Max you could no longer date him the morning you got back from the cabin. To your surprise, he hadn’t argued it, didn’t even seem shocked, really.

“Is it about Tyler?” he’d asked, and because you weren’t able to lie to him, not anymore, you’d nodded.

“It’s always been about Tyler.”

You had fallen into an easy friendship with him, after that, and it was so much nicer to just be his friend. You’d even introduced him to your new roommate, hoping that Max would find someone who was actually worth his attention.

You shrugged. “I’m doing alright. Busy, working a lot.” You pushed his drink towards him.

“I was going to look over some math problems,” Max told you, motioning to his book. “Wanna join me?” He’d clearly remembered that you were never very good at math, and you smiled.

“Sure, that’d be great.”

You talked about math for the next half hour, but then, Max suddenly sat up straighter.

“Okay, so, tell me, how are things with Tyler?”

Now that was a more difficult question to answer than Max might’ve thought it was.

“Things are… normal?” You sighed. “But not really. I don’t know, he never really brought up the kiss again. He was at the cabin all summer, you know. We kinda just texted every now and then but it wasn’t the same as before. And then he got back for training camp in August and he asked if I wanted to come over one night and I was expecting us to have this huge conversation about it, but.. nothing really happened. Everything was just like it was before this summer.”

Max raised an eyebrow. “But you don’t want it to be. So why don’t you just bring it up?”

You stared at your hands, curling your fingers around the math book. “Because what if he realized that night was a mistake, and he doesn’t want that anymore, and he spent all summer regretting it, and me bringing it up will just make it a whole big deal and then he realizes we can’t be friends any more because I’m in love with him?”

“That could happen,” Max said slowly, “or, and I think that’s a lot more likely, he thinks you don’t want him to bring it up, because you, you know, literally ran away from him, and he’s waiting on you to make a move?”

“Hey!” You lightly hit his arm. “I ran away because I was technically dating you, and that would’ve been cheating!”

Max laughed. “Okay, fair, but have you told him that? Or is it possible that he thinks you just ran away from him?”

You groaned, dropping your head in your hands. “This is all so much more complicated than I thought it was going to be. I thought we were just going to be best friends forever and I would get over my crush and that would be that.”

“You’re never going to get over your crush,” Max scoffed. “And neither is he. But the ball is in your court, Y/N. You have to let him know why you ran.”

You were just about to say something else when the door opened, and you turned around to tell the customer you were coming, when you were met with a familiar face.

“Tyler?”

He stood in the door, his arms limply by his side, wearing a suit, as he always did to and from games, his hair still wet from the shower, and his eyes oddly emotionless.

“I thought you might want some company,” he said, his voice low, “but I see you already have some. I’ll text you tomorrow.” He was about to turn around when you jumped up.

“Ty, wait…”

And that’s when he exploded. 

“You know what? No. This is bullshit. You can’t seriously still be dating that guy when you know he’s not right for you. You’re not even in love with him!” He turned to Max. “Sorry, dude. Don’t mean to involve you in this, you’re just kinda… here.” 

Back to you. 

“You can’t tell me that you’re seriously considering staying with him when you know that I… that we…” the words died on his lips and he shook his head. “I actually came to bring this by. Saw this and thought of you.” He threw something on the table next to the door. 

“I thought I might be your supernova too, but I guess I was wrong,” he said bitterly, and before you were able to get a word out, before you were able to tell him how incredibly wrong he was, he was gone.

“Well,” said Max, frowning, “that was a lot.”

For a second, you contemplated running after him, but you were still on the clock and you couldn’t just leave like that, so instead, you picked up the little package Tyler had thrown on the tablet. It was a blue velvet box, and when you opened it, tears jumped to your eyes.

“What is it?” Max asked curiously, and you showed it to him. It was a silver necklace, the pendant a round plate of silver with the outline of a star engraved in it.

It was perfect. Of course it was perfect; it was from Tyler, and Tyler knew you so well, so much better than you even knew yourself. He knew how much you loved the stars, but he didn’t know how much you loved a particular Star; number #91. And he had to know.

The next two hours of your shift went awfully slowly, so slowly that you felt sick to your stomach. Max stayed with you, talking you through most of your mental breakdowns, and then finally, you were off the clock.

“Good luck,” Max smiled, but you’d already taken off running.

It was strange. Normally, when you got to Tyler’s house, you would just let yourself in, but now you were hesitating. Maybe you should knock, give him a chance to tell you to fuck off. You probably deserved it, at this point. At least, from his point of view. He thought you were still with Max. You didn’t even know why you didn’t tell him you’d broken it off; maybe because then he would’ve asked questions, questions you were too scared to answer.

Before you had to make a choice, the door opened, and there he was, wearing sweats and a hoodie this time, a frown on his face.

“Were you going to come in or what?” he asked slowly. “The dogs are going crazy.”

Of course, of course the dogs had let him know you were here. Traitors. 

Tyler stepped aside and you walked into the hall, petting all the dogs before turning to the guy in front of you. He just stood there, uncertain, and you knew Max had been right. The ball was in your court.

“You said you hoped you were my supernova,” you started, your voice soft. “But supernovae happen when stars die, Ty. The glow we see is the explosion surrounding its death.”

“Oh,” Tyler mumbled. “Well, we never got that far into our conversation about supernovae. I just thought it was a really bright star.”

You couldn’t help but giggle, but then you saw the look on his face and your eyes softened. “Tyler, I broke up with Max the second I got home from the cabin. It was never going to work out with him. Not when I’ve been in love with someone else since he interrupted me while I pronounced my love to his dog.”

Tyler’s eyebrows shot up, and you took a step closer. “But you ran,” he said softly. “You ran away and then you acted like it never happened, and I thought I misread it all… I thought I fucked it up.”

You shook your head. “I was scared, Ty. I don’t want to lose my best friend.”

“Me neither.” Tyler took your hand, lacing his fingers through yours. “I’m not going anywhere, Shiny.”

You smiled. “I know. And I think, maybe, you can be both my best friend and my…” Getting the word out was hard, your heart beating in your chest, and Tyler knew. Because of course he did.

“Boyfriend?” he finished for you. “Because I think I can be both too. I’m pretty good at multitasking, you know.”

You snorted. “You suck at multitasking.”

“Fine,” he admitted, and then his free hand moved to the necklace around your neck, fingers grazing the pendant. “But I buy pretty good gifts, so I’ve got that going for me.”

“Hmm,” you hummed in agreement. “And you’re pretty cute, too, so that’s two things.”

“Apparently everyone has known that I would end up with you for years,” Tyler said, then, his fingers trailing from your necklace up your neck to your jaw, then brushing past your lips. “Except me.”

“And me.” You smiled up at him. “Are you going to kiss me, or will that take you another 2 years?”

“Very funny, Shiny,” he whispered, and then his lips were against yours and stars were exploding around you, and suddenly, everything was exactly the way it was supposed to be; exactly the way the universe had planned it.

[maree-ff]

Blast in the Past

CAMILA

I’ve been pacing throughout the women’s restroom for over fifteen minutes trying to get my head right. Of course I feel terrible for having Andre wait on me at the table but I needed to have a moment to myself before we continue this dinner. My phone is out there with him in my purse so he can’t reach me to ask if I’m okay. 

“Why am I such a horrible person?” Walking over to the mirror I stared at myself, gnawing on my lip feeling myself about to lose control. The tears built up anyhow despite my efforts to remain cool. When the first one fell I felt my breath quicken and slow down drastically. “I don’t deserve you.” I muttered in the midst of my breakdown. Lifting my hand to give attention to this ring I slapped my opposite hand over my mouth, crying even harder. 

The old Camila used to firmly believe she wouldn’t find a good man. The present version of myself has one and after so many years, memories, security, and the greatest love I have ever known, I’m realizing I don’t deserve him. Noise from outside the bathroom entrance snapped me back to reality. I quickly grabbed some paper towels, wet them and cleaned up my face. I’m not in the greatest head space and the last thing I need is a stranger pestering me about why I look so sad. 

After killing some more time in front of the mirror, fixing my outfit and hair I put an end to my pity party. Leaving the ladies room with a calm expression on my face I walked back to our table. When I rounded the corner I saw Andre staring into space with his hands cupped over his mouth. The closer I came to the table I could tell that he fought his urges to make immediate eye contact with me. He opted for the latter not wanting to put me on the spot. My hand lightly touched the chair just as he jumped up from his seat to pull mine out. 

My eyes met his as he towered over me slightly and only then did I reflect on the four hours we spent locked in that room. I kept a mental note of how many times we made love but after the first three climaxes I lost count. I cried each time without failure or forewarning. During the last two rounds he cried as well. That was the first time he’s ever gotten emotional in bed. That four hour long session was the first time I begged for him to cum inside of me. Every single round. I was so fucked up in the head I wanted the chances of me getting pregnant to be higher than normal. The carelessness of us going through with my demands was beyond pleasing. 

He gently placed his palm against my back waiting for me to sit. The warmth of his skin seeped through my blouse making me emotional yet again. I finally sat down allowing him to push me closer to the table. When he sat across from me I thought of Jorden, Zoe, and Kenja, wondering how the aftermath of this dinner will impact our family dynamic. The conversation we’re about to have is surely going to ruin what we’ve built since I agreed to be his confidant in Texas. 

Exhaling as softly as I could I crossed one leg over the other, tapping my heel against my leg. Our food came as did the bottle I asked for and still the silence dominated our table. We hardly looked at one another as we ate, drank, and repeated the same motions until both of our plates were clean. The bottle of Sauvignon was replaced with another and then two glasses half full of Brandy. From underneath the table I could feel the warmth of his legs as I switched the position of my own. He didn’t move away or give me a strange look. He simply welcomed the presence of my exposed toes touching his pant leg. 

One of us has to speak or else we’ll just grow animosity towards the other. I don’t want that. I love Andre way too much to let that happen. I gulped down my drink in an instant, pushed the glass and my plate aside. 

“I’m sorry.” Him and I speaking simultaneously took us both by surprise. For the first time in weeks we shared a genuine but slightly drunken laugh. 

“I’ll go first. I’m so sorry for how I’ve been acting towards you. Coming off withdrawn and uninterested in our relationship was never my intention. I love you with all of my heart Andre I swear I do-“ 

“Please don’t say that.” He warned. The sad expression on his face has me on the brink of tears. He grasped my hand, being sure to touch base with my ring. “Say anything but that.” I could tell he wanted to beg and plead but the audience aided him in keeping his cover. 

“This conversation isn’t one we can keep putting off. I’ve been avoiding it and so have you. We owe it to each other to continue to be honest no matter what’s going on. No matter how bad things get, remember?” I countered, pressing my thumb into the corner of my eye to stop myself from crying out here. 

He switched to my side of the table, getting lost in toying with anything on me to avoid the subject. 

“Baby, we have to talk about this. Please.” It’s time to pull out all of my tricks in order to get him to open up. Andre has always been forthcoming about his feelings towards me and anything else in life. It’s one of the qualities I became attracted to so quickly in him. But at the end of the day he’s still a man who has the tendency to shy away from certain topics. 

“I can’t. I can’t have that conversation with you, Camila. I really can’t.” He fought back just as I expected him too. Pulling out my first ploy I traced the waves in his hair melting internally at how soft they are. The scent of his hair products filled my nose, putting a smile on my face. 

“Andre..we can’t keep avoiding each other like the plague. This awkward vibe between us has carried on for too long now. The kids are starting to notice and rather than them coming to us about their concerns, our parents are forced to fill in the gaps. You and I pretending like nothing has ch-”

Andre decided to one up my power move by touching me back, in a way others don’t need to see. Of course. That’s the testosterone coming out to play. 

“Don’t. We’ve been through too much for you to all of a sudden tell me your feelings for me have changed. Or worse, faded indefinitely. I can’t lose you. After all the bullshit I faced in the past I deserve to have a lifetime filled with peace. A lifetime sleeping and waking up next to one of my favorite human beings in the world. I cannot lose you and I’ll be damned if I do.” The delicacy at which his fingertips were drawing circles against my skin made me crave more of his touch. 

I let a tear slip as I moved into him. “You will never lose me. Nunca perderás mi amor. Not for anyone or anything. If you won’t talk can you at least listen to what I have to say? Please?” One kiss to the lining of his jaw had him squirming for more gentle affection. I obliged knowing that’s what he’s been yearning for. 

“Okay.” He agreed. 

“Something has changed between us. I don’t know what it is but I can feel it. I can feel the shift in energy at home, in that room..in us. My gut feelings have never led me astray. And if it counts for anything, this is the first time I’ve felt like this at all. I’m not sure how to go about acting like we are who we used to be when we’re not. We vowed to be honest about any problems that arise in our union and I will always uphold my end of that bargain,” cupping his chin to point his eyesight in my direction I raked the tips of my fingernails through his perfectly groomed beard. “And I know you will too.” 

“Did I do something wrong?” He questioned. 

“No poppa you did not do anything wrong. I just..I can feel that we’ve changed. Like I said earlier, I still love you and I always will but I don’t deserve you right now.” Sitting up straight I got into position to take my ring off. I felt his stare and when I lifted my head I saw a tear fall from his left eye. 

“Wait..you’re serious? You don’t want to be with me anymore? Why? What did I do?” He babbled. “Baby wait, I can fix this.” He openly expressed his emotions not caring who’s able to see him out of sorts. “Camila please, don’t do this.” He sniffled. 

I used every ounce of strength not to show out. I pressed on with removing my ring but he forced me to stop. 

“Stop. Leave it alone. This belongs with you.” He argued gently. 

“Andre, I can’t wear this ring. Not right now. I don’t deserve to have this if we’re not in a good place. It doesn’t make sense. I won’t feel right. Please tell me that you understand?” 

Andre disagreed. I can see the anger brewing inside of him but I know he won’t dare express that side of him with so many people around. He pushed my ring back up my finger and forced my hands elsewhere. As expected the quiet allotted us time to gather ourselves and our thoughts. 

“How do you expect for our kids to react seeing us act different towards each other? How are you gonna explain to Jorden why his dad is not around? Or how about you explaining to the girls that their mama has to be the provider all by herself?” There’s the anger. I knew it wasn’t far from the surface. 

Taking a deep breath I fiddled with my ring as Andre forced my hands in his lap. I chuckled dryly seeing that this conversation is taking a hard left. 

“Okay hold on. Before you go into a full blown rampage let me explain something first. Number one, we will not act different towards each other. My love for you has never faded or wavered and it never will. I will always respect you and be kind to you. Especially in front of our kids. You mean the world to me and you are the father to our children, so let’s make that clear. Number two, you are not going anywhere. Jorden, Zoe and Kenja will not see any less of you than they do now. You are their father, that love is not changing and they need you. As you need them. Number three, I’m not doing this alone. We started this family together and we will die as one. Nunca olvides que.” Swallowing the mass in my throat I composed myself and took a deep breath in and out. 

“None of this shit makes sense. None of it. I thought we were good. I don’t understand.” Leaning into the table Andre covered his face. When he shifted so did my hands and body. The palm of my hand is now resting warmly against the keys to this entire equation. The piece of him that is the reason behind Zoe and Jorden’s existence. 

“Andre?” I called to him. Gripping his shoulder I leaned in, getting handsy. 

He turned over his left shoulder eyeing me heavily. 

“Don’t call me by first name right now.” He warned me. “That shit sounds too foreign. It sounds like I don’t mean shit to you.” That snarl set up on his face was enough of a warning but I understand his frustration. 

“Okay, I’m sorry. But to be fair that is your name honey. And last I checked the only thing foreign is me and my first language.” I smiled. 

“I love you but now is not the time for either one of us to be joking around. Why don’t you want to be with me anymore? Why would you even want to take that ring off? I’ve worked my ass off to prove to you how much I want a life with you. I’ve worked my ass off to turn my life around so we could be together. I’ve worked my ass off to be the best boyfriend, father, and partner to you. Now you want to throw all that away? How can you just throw me away like that? I have never given myself to any woman like I’ve given myself to you. Please don’t leave me baby I need you.” 

“Baby, come on now, stop that. I already told you this is not the end of us. I just think you and I need to figure out what happened between us. That fire is no longer a fire it’s merely a..a..little flame to a small candle.” 

Turning around in his chair with determination, a rising noise level and some attention I didn’t want, he kissed me. And I’m not saying just some regular old, PG rated kiss. No, I’m talking about the kind that makes even the shortest of hairs on your body stand up. The kind that makes your loins feel like there engulfed in flames. The kind that could lead to the making of a baby and throw in a sibling for later on down the road as a surprise. A surprise such as finding out you’re carrying triplets instead of just twins. The kind of kiss that takes your breath away and never gives it back. 

I’m sure the folks around us are giving us all types of interesting looks. But neither one of us cares. 

“Don’t do this.” He groaned against my lips. He got me started up again after I had to force myself to relax and remember we’re in public. “Don’t end this. It’s not worth it.” Andre went from supplying me with his oxygen to weeping quietly on my shoulder. I managed to regulate my breathing like normal again while staring at the ceiling. Him hiding away in the crook of my neck was the only chance I was going to get to remove the ring. 

The logical part of me says he needs to take this ring and put it away. I wouldn’t feel right as a woman nor would I feel like myself holding onto such a valuable piece of jewelry. My movements were cautious and drawn out not wanting any added attention put on us. 

“Where do you expect me to go? That’s our home.” He reminded me. 

Batting my eyes and blinking rapidly I put my arms around him. I don’t even know what to say at this point. Any words that could make this conversation any easier are beyond me. 

“I-” I began to come up with something and then I lost it. The distraction stemmed from his hand teasing both halves of my top. “Not here..” I felt every muscle contract and release as he fondled my chain and it’s pendant alongside my breasts as if we were in the comfort of our own home. “Dre, come on now, this isn’t the place. People can see us.” I tired bargaining with him while being careful not to displace my ring. 

“Now is the perfect time and the perfect place.” He responded back with some attitude. He carried on this way for the longest four minutes I’ve ever lived through, backing away just a bit to put the ring back on. 

“I told you I can’t we-”

“This is your ring. I worked so hard for such a long time to find this ring and have it custom made just for you.” As he lifted my hand I concealed myself fully aware that I do not have a bra on. He’s aware too which is why I’m surprised he was just all over me. “When I was trying to decide which cut I thought you’d love more I thought about the first time you shared with me which fruit was your favorite. The fact that you can demolish a multitude of pears in one sitting is nothing like what I have ever seen. Anyways, I couldn’t just stick to silver because it’s so plain and you are far from that. It didn’t feel right to me. That’s when I got help from the girls and let them choose the white gold. Kenja was speechless when she saw the finished product. And Zo was over the moon about the idea of us getting married. She said if I didn’t ask you that night she was gonna give it you herself. My first thought was to have the ring come in at three carats. And then I thought back to our four year anniversary and stuck with that number.” He explained. 

I had no idea how much meaning is actually behind this engagement ring. I wasn’t aware that he got help from our daughters on the details either. Now I really feel the worst person in the world. There’s nothing more I appreciate than for a man to go through so much work and effort to make his woman happy. There’s no amount of times I can say how grateful I am for the lengths Andre has gone to make this ring as special as it is. His confession proves I truly don’t deserve anything that he has given to me with the exception of our babies. 

Cupping my mouth with shaky hands and the ring poking at my skin. “Please just take this.” Hurriedly shoving the diamond into the pocket of his shirt I bowed my head with shaky hands covering my mouth again. “God, I’m so sorry.” I wept. “I’m so so sorry.” The tears flowed, the hiccups took over me and the intensity of them. 

Without another publicly made argument Andre took care of our dinner tab and drove us home. For the first time in so many years we rode in silence. Complete and utter silence. I was too busy weeping in the passenger seat clutching my heart with my left hand. This hand feels so much lighter and so naked because of what I did and I hate it. I know it seems crazy that I miss my ring but I do! That ring was gifted to me at the perfect time in our lives. It’s a symbol of the hard work he has put in to purchase the ring in the first. The proposal was a symbol of Andre getting over his fears and making it known to me and our family how much he wants to have a lifetime with me. 

Andre didn’t say a word. He didn’t even turn on the radio and shockingly neither of our phones rang. 

The awkwardness came when we stepped in the house and the kids were all in our faces. The girls asked how our date went, what did we eat, did Andre buy me anything, the works. Jorden also asked questions but in his own special way. Whenever Dre and I go out alone we tend to get a bit dressed up just for the hell of it. It’s something we’ve gotten in the habit of doing. That being said, the kids always know when we’re going out for alone time. 

We put on happy faces and answered their questions without a shred a negativity flowing from our mouths. Together we promised that we would keep up a good face in front of the family and our children especially when we’re having problems. Tonight is no different. Andre took the lead tonight by giving Jorden his bath, helping him brush his teeth and dressing him for bed. After that he went to Zoe and Kenja’s room to assist them in getting ready for bed too. I stayed put in the front of the house cleaning up alongside Divya. She’s been quiet which gives me the impression she knows something is up. 

“I don’t mean to pry but are you okay sweetie?” She spoke up from the dining room table. 

I glanced up from the dishes I was washing and nodded curtly. “I’m alright. How were they? Did they give you a hard time while we were gone?” I asked. Rinsing off the dishes I’ve already cleaned I leaned over to place them in the dishwasher. 

“Not at all. I have the most well behaved grandchildren a grandmother could ask for. I don’t know what kind of spell you four put on these kids before they’re in Victor and I’s presence..but it works! Jorden ate well, even asked for seconds. The girls got all of their homework done and helped me fix dinner.” Divya’s good report boosted my mood and lifted some of the sadness off of me. Hearing about our kids behaving for their grandmother is music to my ears after the stunt I pulled at dinner. 

“Was he still asking about milk?” I countered. 

Divya chuckled in glee, “Yes. Yes he did. I gave him a little but he doesn’t know I mixed what you left and some of that nut milk Andre made.” She explained. 

“I’m not sure how long it'll take to get him weaned off of mine. I feel like a bad parent for still giving in to his soft demands for milk. He’ll be three in September and I don’t know what else to do.” Taking a deep breath I finished up with the dishes and cleared the counters and stove off to wipe everything down. 

“Camila, it’s normal for kids to have difficulty transitioning from breast milk to regular liquid. There’s no book or article that definitively says when a mother has to stop breastfeeding. Or in your case still supplying that milk as a regular drink. I’ve got a few tricks up my sleeve that I can try out the next I have him. And don’t you worry I will share those same tips with you. Do you want me to put these in the machine?” 

I looked over at Divya to see her pointing towards the dining room tablecloths and place mats. Giving her the okay I hustled around the kitchen wiping down the appliances until the room smelled fresh again. Putting the bottles away I moved the items on the counter back to their rightful place. 

Divya being here cuts the awkwardness down tremendously. The minute she steps out of the house, we’ll be playing a whole new ball game. Divya and I spoke briefly just as Andre was entering the room with Jorden in his arms. 

“Mommy..” he called to me. His sweet voice combined with Andre’s facial expression made my eyes swell with tears. 

“Hi baby..” Andre traded places with me after I said goodnight to his mom. “Why are you still up?” Welcoming his delicate affection to various regions of my face I walked upstairs to his room. 

“What is the matter with you?” I overheard Divya say to him. 

“Nothing ma..” he lied. 

Snuggling Jorden close to my chest I was happy that he’s being still enough so I can eavesdrop. 

“I know that look baby. I know Camila quite well and you even better. Why do you look so sad?” She presses on with ease but concern. 

“I’m tired. I haven’t been this exhausted in a while.” He uttered. Twice in two minutes he’s lied straight to his mother’s face. Divya would never forgive me if she found out what I did. 

“I won’t press you to open up but when you’re ready to talk you know where I am. Give me a hug so I can get home. I love you sweet pea.” I heard the two of them shuffling around and then the front door opened. 

“I love you too.” He said. The house was quiet again so I quietly crept upstairs to get Jorden into bed. Andre had gotten the core of the work completed leaving me the task of reading Jo whatever story he wanted to hear. The two of us got settled in his rocking chair wrapped up in his blanket. 

I began reading ‘Guess How Much I Love You’ feeling the words hit close to home. Reading this book to our son has me regretting the decision I made earlier this evening. However it doesn’t shake the feelings I have on why I made the decision. Something between us has been feeling off and I can’t put my finger on exactly what it is. That is the big question that I don’t have an answer to. Why? Why do I feel this way? 

Bowing my head to see if Jorden was still awake I smiled at his eyes closing and reopening at the sound of my voice. Grasping the book in one hand I rocked back and forth, running my nails through Jorden’s curls. Breaking my baby off of my body is a hard task because I’ve gotten comfortable with nursing again. Now it’s time for my little man to move on from that phase in his life. He still finds comfort in being pressed against my chest when I hold him. Like right now the tips of his fingers are tucked away in my blouse fanning them out every couple of seconds. Being that I’m braless tonight he has easy access to my breasts. 

“Mommy loves you so much. Never forget that. I’ll tell you any time you want to hear it, when you need to hear it and all times in between. Okay?” Pausing to kiss the crown of his head I rocked slower, starting a smooth rhythm. This will surely get him to fall asleep. 

“Luf you mama..” he got out just above a whisper. 

I kept on with the soft rocking but put down the book to focus on him. With both arms around his body I closed my eyes briefly. Jorden and I must have fallen into a pretty deep sleep because the next thing I felt was my lap become lighter. My eyes flew open to see Andre taking Jorden from me. 

“What time is it?” I yawned. 

“Almost eleven-thirty. How long has be been out?” Dre asked. He tucked Jo in bed, pulling the blankets up over him. 

“Um..a while now. How long have I been in here?” Standing up from the chair I stretched my arms above my head feeling several bones crack. Andre initially started laughing as if I told a joke that wasn’t funny but he did anyhow so he wouldn’t hurt my feelings. “Why are you laughing?” I asked with some attitude. 

“Because you clearly don’t remember falling asleep. I thought you were still trying to get him to go to sleep but instead I found the two of you knocked out. Come on..” 

Before he could get me out of the room I went back to give our little boy my love. Afterward, Dre and I went into our room leaving the door open so we can listen out for the kids. He helped take off some of my jewelry and my shoes and even unbuttoned the back of my blouse. I thanked him, disappearing into the bathroom to wash my face. 

The duration of my time spent in the bathroom I was alone. The crippling feeling of not knowing whether Andre could stand to be around me any longer brought me to tears. My knees even. I must have knelt in the shower, knees pressed to the tile with the water beating down on my head for ten minutes. That’s just an estimate. The uncertainty of whether or not Andre would be in the room played tricks on my mind. Suddenly the bathroom door opened up and he walked in. Shoulders slouched, stress on his face, laziness in his stride..he’s not himself. I’m to blame for this all. 

Slamming my hairbrush down I spun around to watch Andre busy himself. In this moment I feel invisible, unwanted, and no longer loved. 

“Please tell me that you still love me?” I paused to see if my first question would grab his attention. It did. He turned to look over his shoulder briefly and further once I opened my mouth back up. “Or even like me as a person. Tell me that you still care. I just need something. I’m sorry about earlier I really am but please don’t walk around making me feel like I’m not important. Don’t walk past me and not speak. I know what I did wasn’t fair and that it hurt you but I have feelings too.” 

“When did you hear me say that I don’t love you anymore? When did you hear me say I dislike you? And I know I damn sure didn’t mean to make you feel like you were no longer important to me.” He argued back. 

“I saw the way you looked at me when you walked into the room while your mom and I were talking. You can’t stand there and tell me that you’re not the least bit angry or upset even.” 

“I’m hurt, Maree. You hurt me tonight..alright? You really fucking hurt me. I don’t know how you expect me to act right now. I’m not gonna walk around and be a dick towards you or disrespect you in anyway but my feelings are hurt. My pride a little bit.” He sharply exhaled, laying his palms on top of his head. 

Sniffling I asked, “do you feel better now?” 

“Yeah I honestly do.” He nodded. 

“Por qué no dijiste nada?!” I cried. “You could’ve said that before!” Realizing that my volume was too loud I rushed past him to close our door just a little to decrease the chances of waking the kids up. I stood at the door gripping the knob just watching my tears hit my own feet and the floor. The water dripping from my head made me shiver. 

That’s when he appeared in front of me with the clothes I had laid out on the bed. I changed and threw myself down somewhere to give my feet a rest. 

“I should’ve told you sooner, you’re right and I’m sorry that I didn’t. I was in shock hearing you say that something has changed between us. Personally I disagree because I don’t feel like anything is different. Watching you try to take that ring off the very first time broke my heart. And to see you not wearing it now isn’t making this conversation any better. Are you mad at me for waiting so long to do it? Or are you mad that we haven’t gotten married already? I know it’s been quite some time since I proposed to you but I never wanted you to think that was the end of it. Life got in the way baby. You and I both work, we brought a baby into our home and that itself is a challenge.” Andre preached. 

He switched places with me, laying my legs over his. I lowered my head to his shoulder, both arms thrown around his neck to keep myself steady. A big part of me feels like I just lost the best thing that has ever happened to me. This man is the reason behind my kids, happiness, peace of mind and safety. He’s done so much to protect me, provide for me and spoil me with. But the only spoiling that truly counts for me is him spoiling me with his love. I love hearing Andre tell me how much he loves me or any part of me. 

The fabric of his crew neck grew moist under my cheek as I lay here crying over my stupid, selfish mistake. 

“I don’t have to move out do I? At least not yet?” He quizzed. His warm lips kissed my forehead with tenderness while he rubbed my bare back. 

“You’re not going anywhere.” Sitting up straight I reached for my eyes only to be beaten to it. I stared into his eyes feeling so many emotions hit me at once. “Thanks. Not just for this but for everything I can and can’t remember. Everything I have seemed ungrateful for, I thank you for.” 

“You’re always welcome.” He smiled. 

That spec of hope I saw in his eyes is all I need to hold onto for the rest of our days here on earth.

[dhominis]

I have been extremely not-here (hey!! dark blue!!); this is because Exciting and Good things are happening.

(Long as heck, sorry.)

I left home, finally. Should have done this years ago, but then again I didn’t have the tools to know I needed to leave, not until recently.

I’ve moved halfway across the country, living in a city I actually want to be in, near people I like.

Found an apartment. It is fucking amazing! It’s like $500/month plus utilities, upper floor of a duplex. Three bedrooms. One of the two others is currently filled; the roommate is quiet, nice, a student, seems mature and reasonable. My room is giant. It definitely used to be the living room. There is a little alcove that I absolutely will turn into a reading nook. Just... generally beautiful. So much light, big windows, spacious kitchen, nice living room, high ceilings. It’s near a lot of great stuff, two miles max from places I want to be and usually much closer. (A library, potential workplaces, at least two universities, grocery stores, my girlfriend’s house.) I have not met the downstairs neighbors, but they keep the heat turned up really high and heat rises, and they have a dog, so I love them automatically.

Signed the lease, have keys. Moving in Friday. I have keys to my apartment! This is the best thing that has ever happened to me.

(I have never rented an apartment before! I am so extremely enthused about everything!)

I am proud of myself for doing all the calling people and following up and figuring out financial things; generally I am unusually bad at these things (...this is not new, I need an ADHD evaluation and at this point I’m pretty confident it’d be a useful/accurate diagnosis, my brain fits very well into the diagnosed-with-ADHD cluster, I am almost hilariously ADHD-ish). I’m finally figuring out a system that consistently works for me, and I did not forget to do any important things while finding an apartment. I always forget to do at least something important! Even when trying as hard as I can and using plenty of checklists! This is weird!

And I got the apartment within a week of getting here. I am doing unexpectedly well.

It’s also... I don’t know. I have never permanently lived away from my parents (longest has been, like, two or three months consecutively) and there are a lot of emotions coming up. Most of these emotions are along the lines of “I do not have to be walking on eggshells constantly, nobody’s yelled at me for a full week, people keep apologizing for being inconsiderate, if someone is doing something that bothers me I can ask them to stop, I’m not having a breakdown without the Protective Influence of My Family, I don’t have to go back, what the hell.”

...I’ve started going through a DBT self-therapy workbook. It is uncomfortably useful.

I have never really doubted that people could care about me. My family cares about me absurdly much -- I believe that they would do anything if they felt that it helped me. But we are different enough that the things they feel should help me are often in fact harmful, and vice versa.

To my father, direct communication is violence. It has not historically been possible to ask him if I am allowed to (for example) turn down the heat without mortally offending him. I have never succeeded in asking him for information or to do a task without in some sense harming him, and neither have other family members; their response is to ask him for nothing, and mine is to leave.

And he loves me very, very much. And he has never intended to hurt me -- I believe this. I think that the things he does to hurt me, which I’m not listing here, feel just as necessary to him as the ways in which I hurt him feel to me.

There is no reason to doubt that people can care about me, and my experience of people caring about me always has been one of being hurt, and I now am figuring out how to have people care about me without them hurting me, without me hurting them. (It’s new and scary and wonderful.)

Anyway. Right now I’m focusing on the job search.

The best job situation possible with my current qualifications: three twelve-hour shifts per week being basically a nurse’s aide in an emergency department, making well above living wage. (I would be middle-class, officially middle-class. I could afford health insurance.) Three days of doing the really cool high-stress high-pressure job and nothing else, it’s just that and commuting and sleeping and eating, and then the other four are open.

(okay, fine, based on what I know about my personality and financial preferences “open” would end up meaning “time that is available for overtime,” but it’s the thought that counts)

So I’ve been applying for job openings along those lines. Got a likely offer as an aide at an assisted living place -- it’s pretty good hours and pay, low-stress. Also just interviewed for a call center with good hours, pretty good pay with fast increases. (The work would be stultifying but I would be fine doing it for a few months if I couldn’t find a different job soon enough.) Also got an interview for a non-ED hospital nurse’s aide job -- I think it went well. I should know soon.

All things considered, I’d rather be in an ED if I can. Three days a week of forced high-intensity non-thinking? Nice. (If I get the non-ED hospital job, I can probably pick up overtime in the ED anyway.)

...My girlfriend’s husband convinced me to apply for the ED jobs. He is very smart, very ADHD, ridiculously funny. I was going to put here some very convoluted statement about how he shares some personality traits with me, how his life looks a lot like one potential success state for me twenty years down the line. That’s... not necessary. It’s really just I want to be like him when I grow up, more or less. Far from the worst role model I could’ve chosen.

I mean -- he understands, I think, the need to be active and moving, doing a lot of different things, short feedback cycles. For me -- probably for him as well -- high-intensity stressful periods of limited duration are regulating or calming, not harmful. I keep fantasizing about getting the job, just going nonstop at maximum intensity for those twelve-hour shifts, and then coming home and... not doing that. Being able to use the time for other things, hopefully having burned off some of the excess energy so I’m not pacing around organizing things really fast for twelve hours at home.

(you know how if you leave a border collie without enough stimulation/enrichment it’ll like strip the walls of all the wallpaper it can reach, or herd the neighborhood kids, or chew its fur off, etc.? that’s me! I need Things To Do! if I am not Doing Things, I will find Things to Do, and these are not necessarily anywhere near the right Things!)

So potentially not having leftover obligations, coming home and being able to choose what I do, being able to cook and interact with people and read and listen to music and clean and optimize my budget and fuck around on the internet without being at work. I hated college because of this -- there was never a moment when I was not supposed to be doing something, instead a constant background awareness of needing to do tasks that are unusually incompatible with my brain.

(...again, I need an ADHD evaluation)

So. Things are good. I’m happy. I don’t expect to be this happy forever but I think it’s a reasonable goal, not even a stretch goal. I am noticing a new capacity to fix things about my brain. It is not exactly easy to convince oneself that the people you care about will not normally hurt you if they always do, and now for the first time in my life it is true. Other things as well; for most of my life my parents tried hard to ensure that I believed I was incapable of surviving without them, then very actively discouraged me from seeking out other perspectives or skills. This was, as far as I can tell, mostly unintentional. I believed it completely for all but the last year or two. This is a pretty big thing to be wrong about, and I was extremely wrong! And it’s kind of awesome. Life will not be as difficult as I had believed, and even when it’s difficult it’s okay, I can get through the rough patches.

I don’t do well with stagnancy. I do not do well with being trapped. Currently I am not stagnant and I am not trapped and it’s strange how easy this is, strange and exhilarating.

...And sometimes when I’m outside walking in my city, I am struck with this overwhelming sense of location, of ownership. This is mine, these streets are mine, and I don’t have to leave. It feels like home. It feels really, really fucking good. The first time I ever felt homesick was last summer; I’d come to this city for the first time, lived here for a few months, and then went back to my hometown. And I missed the city, and I missed the people -- missed my girlfriend and her family -- and I knew then I had to leave my hometown, knew I could.

I’m home. I am in motion.

(Updates to follow.)

[apocalypseprodromus]

Barriers Between

Warning: Angst! But this is Squall so... and Original Character content.

Squall wasn’t supposed to be there. He had a contract back in his home universe to deal with. Instead, he found himself facing an obstacle in the road back to where he came from. A fellow Warrior of Cosmos who wasn’t cooperating. And after an argument, and a massive display of power, no one else was willing to approach the issue.

“Cosmos said we need her to find her crystal as well.” Squall motioned to the towering wall of wind blocking entry from the west.

“Yeah, none of us feel comfortable doing that.” The blond thief in front of Squall drawled dismissively. “No offense to the pretty lady, but she looked ready to drive her weapon through Cosmos. That, and there's just something unnatural about her I can’t get over.” He continued.

“We’ll find her crystal later, right now we should just focus on ourselves.” Another blond with a gigantic sword and a withdrawn tone spoke in passing, before heading northeast. Possibly to get some more distance between himself and the strange woman from earlier. While normally Squall would echo that sentiment, it just felt wrong to outright avoid her like that. Maybe all those times his squad members said he needed to take others into account had finally had an effect on him.

What is it with everyone? They use magic too. So what if she can summon a thunderstorm, we need her crystal to progress. Are they seeing something I’m not? Whatever, just need to get her to retrieve her crystal so we can get this over with and leave. Squall conceded. I can already tell she’s different. Maybe she just wants to be left alone... Maybe something happened to her before this.

His thoughts broke as he noticed the pathway was clearing up. He stared at the magical blockade as it faded into nothingness. Might as well look for her if everyone else is too scared. Squall pressed on, wanting to sate his own curiosity and be done with this.

-

The vast grassy plain stretched into the horizon as he searched for the rogue teammate. She didn’t look well, now that he thinks about it. She might’ve even been covered in blood, but it was too hard to tell by the fact she was wearing a black dress.

He became lost in thought about her appearance. She was short in comparison to himself, possibly only 5 feet tall at the most. Long dark brunette hair held back by some kind of lace headband, verdant emerald eyes that held contempt for their contractor. Her skin the same color as his own, wearing black gloves with lace trim at the cuffs. He even remembered her voice, though it didn’t help that she shouted at Cosmos. Berating her for summoning others to do her dirty work, saying she was either a weak goddess or a lazy one. Something tells me she’s not going to make this easy for me.

Squall thought back to the moment the young women just up and floated away, leaving everyone else behind. In the aftermath of her tantrum, Order’s Sanctuary became silent and everyone could feel the tension heavy in the air.

Cosmos was unfettered, as she’d anticipated the girl’s almost violent rejection. “In the condition she was in, it was easier to summon her to my side than if I had waited. This one runs off of strong emotions that she cannot control. Such is the pay off for powers as advanced as her’s.” Those words caught his attention the most. Is she like a sorceress?

Throwing off his train of thought, he noticed something very strange. The sky had turned an ominous shade of green. I must be close.

Venturing forth, he saw a black dot in the distance before a wide expanse of dark grass harboring a meadow of flowers. At this time he noted... It wasn’t just the sky that was green, the sun setting just over the horizon was too. Although it wasn’t before, he was sure of that.

It was like a prism had gotten in the way, filtering out every other color. Something inside Squall could tell what that black dot was... That’s her.

Squall made his approach slowly not wanting to alarm her, as her back was facing him. As he got closer he saw the back of her head was cracked open. Now he had to ask... What the hell happened to her? How is she still functioning? Her posture straightened in apprehension. No need to hide now, I suppose.

“Hey.” It was a small greeting but elicited a wary response from the girl who turned to address him.

“I honestly thought I’d scared everyone away. I didn’t think someone would try to catch up to me.” She replied as she stood, her demeanor a mild and welcomed change from her outrage from earlier. “Now I know you didn’t come here for nothing. So go on, tell me why you’re here.” She gestured to him, waiting for his response patiently.

She didn’t seem to be afraid of him. At least not as far as he could tell. Her shoulders eased, her eyes were expectant.

“You’re not going to look for your crystal, are you?” Squall scowled in the realization of her incoming answer.

“Wasn’t planning on it.” She turned back around to the flowers in front of her, having lost interest in the conversation.

“You need to, otherwise we’ll be stuck here.” His voice barely containing a growl.

“Shame.” She brushed off his apparent frustration with an obstinate attitude.

“Don’t you want to go back home?!”

“Home doesn’t exist anymore!” The two brunettes yelled to each other. “Home is a smoking ruin now, my family is dead, my so-called friends and ex-betrothed tossed me away like garbage... So no, I’m not doing what the wannabe goddess says.” The small female dejectedly sat with her back to the taller male, tears forming in her eyes. “There’s nothing there for me anymore. Why should it matter that I find a pointless gemstone if all it’s going to do is end up sending me back?”

She glanced back at Squall, looking like she was on the verge of another breakdown. If there was one thing Squall couldn’t deal with, it was emotions. His and others’.

Her voice became soft, quiet, broken. “I don’t think I can help you. Sorry.”

Squall wasn’t sure he’d seen such a dramatic shift in anyone before. Or this high of a degree of vulnerability. This girl has issues. Lots of them.

Squall was at a loss, not knowing how to proceed until he saw her materialize something out of nowhere.

“Here. I’m not sure if this is what you’re after, but there you go... Take it, get it out of my sight!” The girl handed him a crystalline heart seemingly pulled from thin air. It had some sort of bizarre energy emanating from it, with black shadows and white light localized at the center of the organ.

“Um-”

“I’m done.” She resigned, crestfallen. Sinking her head into her knees, hugging her legs closer to her torso. She looked like she just about gave up at that point.

Squall looked to her one last time. “What’s your name?”

“Trinitas.”