#the horrible realization that the anxiety and paranoia were fucking right and not just some bpd fuelled worries

[sick-as-a-dog]

×

[pinkxlicious]

Oliver Wood x Reader

Kind of short, but this is an old oneshot from my wattpad that isn't as cringey as some of my other fics/oneshots.

Word: 1048

~~~

"Can we go back inside, Oli?" you pleaded, it was almost 3am yet Oliver was still partying hard with some other Gryfindors. All of your friends had went back to their dorms to sleep, so the only person you could stay with was Oliver.

You were afraid of walking back into the school alone since you were scared of the dark and lately Hogwarts was not the safest place to be. Voldemort was alive, and yet no one seemed to be phased by that.

"Oli?? Can you even hear me?!" you said loudly as you tugged on his sweater. Oli simply shrugged you off and shot you an annoyed look.

"Fuck off..." His words were slurred from all the drinks he had. Oliver then proceeded to prance over to the twins within a blink of an eye, leaving you alone in darkness with barely any time to process everything through your head.

"Oliver!" you called as you went after him, he knew about your fear but his drunken self didn't seem to care about that. He just kept on prancing around the dimly lighted field with you running after him with paranoia and anxiety flooding your systems as he moved towards the darker areas of the field.

"Oliver please!!! Let's go inside Im scared, please..." you begged as you kept watch of your surroundings, terrified that a death eater would jump out and beat your dumbass to death.

You slowed down as you were running out of stamina. You couldn't run anymore so you stopped and tried to listen to his footsteps in the grass. But they grew softer as he ran further away from you, everyone has already left. The only people you could see were the twins heading back inside the school with their wands lit with light. But just your luck! You had forgot your wand in your dorm. So you stood there in silence trying so hard to hear to any sound.

You heard absolutely nothing as your hands started to shake in fear, you were alone in a dark field with no human being in sight, no wand, no weapon, no flashlight. You slowly got to the ground and tried to calm yourself down and figure out how to get back to Oliver.

Luckily the air was warm so you wouldn't have to worry about dying of frostbite. It had been a good five to ten minutes so Oliver was already long gone. There were no stars in the sky and the moon was hidden within thick dark clouds. You could barely see and you had no idea where the school was as you couldn't trust your self to head in the right direction.

Every soft rustle of nature gave you a mini heart attack. You curled up into a ball in the grass and wrapped yourself up in your jacket to comfort yourself. And as minutes passed you grew more and more exhausted, but yet you were terrified to fall asleep. And you were terrified to go back, scared that you would go in the wrong direction like a blind bat and navigate to the even darker forbidden forest. What if you fell into a trap?? You still remember little Harry Potter telling you about that dark figure he had seen in the forest during detention.

It was probably past 3am, you felt yourself fall asleep in the grassy fields. You tried to stop yourself, but there was no use. You weren't going anywhere because of your fear, staying in one spot was stupid but it was the best option since you were afraid to even twitch, terrified that the slightest noise would attract something horrible to come your way.

. . .

"What's she doing here?" a sweet voice said,

"I Don't know," a deep voice responded.

You suddenly felt a shake on your shoulder and your eyes were then blinded by sunlight. You groaned as you realized you were luckily still in the same spot as you were last night. Nothing has happened to you.

"Sorry to wake you, but we have quidditch practice!" You recognized the girl as Angelina Johnson.

"Angelina?" you said confused,

"Oh honey what are you doing here?? I could barely recognize you, no offense but you're a mess!" Angelina cried as she pulled out a live of grass from your hair. She helped you up and help you get rid of the dirt on your clothes.

"Oliver left me here," you said shakily as everything processed through your head. "H-He was drunk and he started running and I went after him because I- I was scared and then he got away and he never came back!" you said quickly as Angelina pulled you into a hug. She was one of your best friends and knew about your fear of the dark.

"Im sorry sweetie, Im sure he didn't mean it on purpose," Angelina said softly, "but if you want me to, I can beat him with a broomstick."

You grinned and giggled a little bit, before you noticed Oliver stumbling onto the field with bags under his eyes.

He was having a hang over.

"Was Oliver in the common room last night?" you asked curiously, wanting to know if he made it back to the school.

"Yes, he was babbling about how he wishes- oh never mind," Angelina said giving you a quick smile,

"No, tell me," you said looking at her expectingly. She cringed,

"It's nothing good though..." she trailed off

"Just tell me please,"

"...He said that he wishes that- that you could just leave him alone.. then he said some not so nice things about you," Angelina said frowning, "Im so sorry honey, I probably shouldn't have said anything." she said as she noticed your frown and the look of hurt in your eyes.

"No, it's my fault, I wanted to know," you said sighing and rubbing your eyes. "I'll see you later, I just need to get refreshed... thank Merlin it's a Saturday..." You referred to your dirty clothes and messy hair, Angelina nodded and gave you a sympathetic smile.

"Take care of yourself okay? Don't think too much of Oliver, okay? He doesn't deserve to be thought of at the moment," Angelina said before blowing you a kiss goodbye as you made your way back to the school, that was closer than it seemed from last night.

[yanderecandystore]

hellu, can I request how would Delinquents, teachers, and bullies react to female reader pepper-sprayed the twins for self-defense when they try to beat up reader?

Hello, it's been a while, I'm sorry it took so long- I've been dealing with a lot of school assignments and I can't lie that I have frequent breakdowns over this-

I'll try and upload the requests that I already have and see if I should open up for requests again, or leave it be closed until the waves of work I need to do gets less overwhelming.

I hope y'all are doing great, stay safe everyone.

I'll make this a very short scenario boo.

TW: this is basically a civil war at this point- // for each pair, I'll add a different context (since technically the delinquents aren't from the same institution as the bullies) // female reader // bullying // self defense // anxiety // bullying (verbal and physical) // mentions of stalker behavior and brief mentions of distrust and paranoia

🍭꒰⑅ᵕ༚ᵕ꒱˖♡🍮꒰⑅ᵕ༚ᵕ꒱˖♡🍰꒰⑅ᵕ༚ᵕ꒱˖♡🍮꒰⑅ᵕ༚ᵕ꒱˖🍭

Triple Spice combo [Yandere!Teachers / Yandere!Delinquents / Yandere!Bullies x F!Reader - Scenario]:

🎇Let me set the stage for a quick sec!🎇

So I'll explain what will happen- This is basically a post with three different timelines, each one based on each character type you're more interested in (example: you want some sour delinquents? You can follow the delinquent timeline and see how they react). Each follows almost similar circumstances, but still a bit differently to be able to fit for each individual timeline.

Come with me boo cause this one is long!

🎆: 🍒Bully's Timeline🍭

You have been the target of bullying for some weeks now, ever since you crossed some rich kids while going to your college. Unfortunately for you, they seem to be heading to the same location as you, apparently they also studied there- Although it should have been quite obvious. You're not the type to confront people physically, and you don't really feel like capable of fighting people of on your own, but because with their constant presence in your life you started to feel the need to get yourself prepared for what was going to come- Especially since you didn't feel like you could count on anyone.

You bought pepper spray in hopes of being able to stop your tormentors from continuing with their sick game.

That's when the incident happened, you were minding your own business when they came looking for trouble. You took the opportunity to finally put a stop on this by spraying their eyes with it.

✳️🍒Bullies🍭:

→ Alexandra Coldwell:

It was so fast and so painful that she couldn't even understand what just happened- Like- How dare you?! How fucking dare you?!! You think this is funny? This wasn't supposed to happen at all!

"- AAAAH!- what?- OH MY GOD-" Alexandra wasn't able to even finish her sentence, the pain was too much for her to handle. As she dropped to the ground trying to clean her eyes out, she couldn't help but feel confused as to what had even happened.

How could you do something so cruel to her?? Yes, she followed you, bullied you, made rumours about you, pulled your hair a couple of times and maybe she did throw insults towards you- But she didn't try to blind you!!

The worst part isn't even the humiliation she is going through, it's the fact you thought you would be able to pull a stunt like this and go away without any scars- She is so, absolutely livid by your stupidity.

Alexandra knows you must be liking this- And you know what? Enjoy your last free moments cause she will make sure you'll pay for it. She'll make sure to have a proper revenge under her sleeve, a proper punishment for harming someone like her in public.

Darling, darling, I hope you start looking behind your back from now on, never know what could happen when the person who is obsessed with you is just as insanely pissed off as they're madly in love with you.

→ Adrien Coldwell:

It was so fast and so painful that he couldn't even understand what just happened- Like- How dare you?! How fucking dare you?!! You think this is funny? This wasn't supposed to happen at all!

"- What- Oh my God I'm DYING!-" Adrien would be a lot more dramatic about it, even if he can articulate in great detail how much it hurts. In his panicked state, he started trying to wipe the substance with his sleeves- Which only helped to spread it more.

How fucking dare you not only hurt his precious eyes but also humiliate him on public like this?! What has gotten into you?? Yeah- I guess he did say hurtful stuff, followed you around to torment you, did throw stuff at you- But ya know- He didn't try to take your eyeballs out!?? Now that he thinks about it, he probably should have.

Adrien has a very weird view on your "relationship"- He thinks you're above him and so he must push you down, he loves you but being gentle with you will leave you to pull this kind of shit.

You're probably laughing to yourself now, the man is temporarily blind and you are laughing at him, you're somehow worse than he thought.

Still, he'll make you pay for it, don't worry about it dearest- You're fucked regardless. You tried to stand against him and now sadly he'll have to put you in your place again. Don't worry, it won't be so early- He still needs to prepare his plan.

Darling, darling, I hope you start looking behind your back from now on, never know what could happen when the person who is obsessed with you is just as insanely pissed off as they're madly in love with you.

🎆: 🍎Teacher's Timeline📕

You have been the target of bullying for some weeks now, ever since you crossed some rich kids while going to your college. Unfortunately for you, they seem to be heading to the same location as you, apparently they also studied there- Although it should have been quite obvious. You're not the type to get physical when it comes to defending yourself, but you felt that you still needed to do something about it- You talked with the only person you could trust in this moment, since they were your mentor and you needed some guidance from someone that could potentially help you solve this out.

Their idea was to be able to personally see the harassment happening so they could have visual proof of who is doing what to you, hopefully being able to expel the ones causing you harm.

They personally gave you pepper spray in hopes that if they aren't near you to help you, you can at least defend yourself in some way.

That's when the incident happened, you were minding your own business when they came looking for trouble. You took the opportunity to finally put a stop on this by spraying their eyes with it.

✳️🍎Teachers📕:

→ Matthew Robinson:

Although you thought to be in a situation where no one would be able to help you- Causing you to use your only item of self-defense- That couldn't have been further from the truth, as Matthew has made sure to pay close attention to you after you came by and ask for his guidance. It was a call for help and he would have been a horrible mentor to not make sure you'll follow his instructions, and it seemed like you did perfectly fine.

He got to be present to not only see the ones causing you harm, but also to see how well you're able to take care of yourself. He was going to intervene as soon as he saw them come closer, but you managed to stop them all by yourself- Honestly he is very proud of you for being able to stand your ground.

Since Matthew was able to see them starting the aggression just like many other witness surrounding the scene, he felt like he had an argument strong enough to be able to properly punish your bullies- Of course he is aware that the Coldwells have a reputation for getting staff members fired for trying to reprimanding them, but honestly he has been inside this place long enough already.

Getting fired isn't his problem, his problem is not being able to give them what they deserve for frightening you, and even worse than that: He needed to make sure you would stay safe in and out of college- You came to him saying they were following you outside of your classes, so of course he'll be worried for your safety.

After expelling the Coldwells, Matthew will just need to find a way of keeping you safe and under his surveillance, you may need more guidance after all, and it would be extremely worrying to not have you by his side. He just needs to plan out a better schedule for you two, one where he can be more present in your life after you're done with your classes.

I wonder what plan comes to his mind.

→ Madeline Allen:

Although you thought to be in a situation where no one would be able to help you- Causing you to use your only item of self-defense- That couldn't have been further from the truth, as Madeline has made sure to pay close attention to you after you came by and ask for her guidance. Madeline has been following you while you walked through the school's halls as she recorded every interaction you had with any of the other students. After you called her for help she entered full protection mode, she was set on getting your tormentors expelled.

However, Madeline hasn't been inside the institution to be able to earn the trust of the other teachers, or even the principal themselves- She needed some evidence and better witness testimony than those from students who were terrified of getting in trouble with the bullies around this place. You could say she had a guess as to who could be causing you trouble but she wouldn't be allowed to take action unless she could prove their identity and involvement in bullying you.

She gave you the pepper spray hoping you would feel less worried, to feel calmer in knowing you had not only something that you could use against them but also to symbolize how she would be there for you if you needed. Seeing you using it for the first time as you spray in the eyes of the culprits made her realize that she was in fact correct. Of course it's them, right?

If there is something wrong happening in Amaryllis, you can almost always pin it for being the Coldwell's fault. Bullying it's probably the least surprising thing this little demons have been accused of- Still, their rein over this institution and your worried little mind ends today, she doesn't care if she lost her job or if they try ruining her life by blackmailing her and such-

They can try but she is pretty sure they won't have any luck finding her, what can I say, she is good at burning evidence. What worries her though it's what will happen to you if they ever try to take their frustrations out on you again. She can't allow that to happen, you'll end up getting hurt and she'll feel awful if it was because of her interference in the case.

You need her help after all, right? You did come to her asking for guidance, and clearly you know nothing about physical self-defense- You clearly need someone to take care of you dearest. She needs to plan this out carefully, not only so the twins aren't allowed in school's grounds but to hopefully be able to guide you even if she is not your teacher anymore. But how could she have you near her everyday after classes?

I wonder what plan comes to her mind.

🎆: 🍋Delinquent's Timeline🐍

You have been the target of bullying for some weeks now, ever since you crossed some rich kids while going to your college. Fortunately for you, they didn't seem to go the same college as you did- Yet what you should have known was that nothing in life could have been so simple, you would still see them again over and over again after that incident. You started to feel anxious knowing that they were probably stalking you to know exactly when and where to find you, and since you already have to deal with going to a horrible institution and fearing for your own safety everyday.

You bought pepper spray so you could defend yourself not only from your stalkers but also from any possible classmate that could end up trying something weird with you.

That's when the incident happened, you were minding your own business when they came looking for trouble. You took the opportunity to finally put a stop on this by spraying their eyes with it.

✳️🍋Delinquents🐍:

→ Jackson Macnee:

He doubts you noticed that he was there when that happened, he doubts that you even care if he is staring at you at all- He always thought you were probably too scared of him to even tell him to stop, most people aren't scared of his appearance but are at least aware of his title, so they at least respect the path he walks. He is already used to this.

But let me tell you, to see the Coldwells come so near his territory seemed pretty interesting at first- Until he discovered why they were dumb enough to come here. He didn't know you were being bullied, let alone by these brats- He did notice you had changed your behavior recently, although he didn't pay any attention to it because he thought you were just getting accustomed with the way things work around Saint's Bernard hellhole of a place.

He was hoping that maybe you were just having issues with settling in- It is a rough place after all, and although he wishes deep down to be able to help you feel stronger he still feels like he shouldn't make you do something you don't want to. If you wished to talk to him, you should just go straight to him (even if he is aware of how terrifying that could be).

However, Jack was so far from the truth. His assumptions were confirmed fake after he saw the twins Coldwell treat you like he treated him- It was unbearable to watch, it was like he was seeing his past collide with his present self, you were reminding him of all the things he hated about himself, while also bringing his blood to boil in a desperate need to help you out. Yet he didn't need to do anything about it, you managed to defend yourself on your own.

It wasn't as rewarding to watch as he wanted it to be, but you sure did crack their ego pretty badly- He shouldn't have doubted you, after all he has been stalking you for so long, he should have known what you were capable of doing. Still, he doesn't trust the Coldwells enough to just let them run away like that, they would probably come back soon.

In the meantime, this should be a good excuse to get to talk with you, right? You clearly need some actual training, some flimsy pepper spray bottle isn't going to stop them from coming back. I hope you're ready to be trained by a lovesick delinquent, he won't be soft until he knows you can stand on your own.

→ Jannette Sartorius

She doubts you noticed that she was there when that happened, she doubts that you even care if she is staring at you at all- She always thought you were probably too scared of her to even tell her to stop, most people are scared of her. She is trying to get used to it.

Janette thinks she has every reason to observe you from afar, you're beautiful and you seem too precious to be in a place as horrible as this one, it must suck a lot for you to be somewhere like this-Seeing people like her.

She considered calling you to join her gang, but she is sure that you'll probably deny the offer- Physical confrontation was never your thing right? She can respect that.

Although you don't talk with her, or even interact with the other students at all, she did notice you were acting a bit more- Reclusive these days. Something was wrong, and sadly she would have to find out about it way too late.

Janette didn't know the twins personally, she knew they were rich and famous but- Yeah, she didn't really care about knowing anything about them, they're just some pretty faces amongst the others in the fashion industry. She does envy them a little bit, but tries to avoid anything relating to them since she feels self-conscious looking at their pictures. Now she has a new reason to hate their porcelain faces, they were stalking you.

They were stalking you and taunting you, and if you didn't do anything to stop them she would have already jumped in. They were alone, and honestly she doubts they have any idea of how to go one on one with someone- There is no way these brats have any experience in fighting, right?

Well, she didn't get to know that since they ran away after you sprayed their faces with pepper spray, clever girl.

She knows this is probably not the end of this, they did threaten to come back and hurt you for defending yourself. But you know- She doesn't plan on letting that happen, not again. Consider yourself lucky cause now you just got a new best friend who I set on protecting you.

Is there something wrong with that? Aren't you happy with being her friend? Well, you could just go to "girlfriends" if that's what you want- She wouldn't mind it at all.

Janette prefers to take care of you without you having to watch her beat someone's ass- But she could teach you a few things if you wished to, hey, spending time with someone so cool it's always nice, so of course she'll take every chance she can to spend as much time with you as possible.

🍭꒰⑅ᵕ༚ᵕ꒱˖♡🍮꒰⑅ᵕ༚ᵕ꒱˖♡🍰꒰⑅ᵕ༚ᵕ꒱˖♡🍮꒰⑅ᵕ༚ᵕ꒱˖🍭

[haikyuuhimbosandhypebeasts]

Heliotrope

Here’s my submission for the Forget Me Not collab for Anisylum! Please note the TW as it is VERY heavy. This piece is entirely SFW though!

Ship: Tsukishima Kei x GN! Reader Genre: Angst, but some fluff in some places. Word Count: 2.2k  Trigger/Content Warnings: near death experience, hospitalization, COVID-19, vomit mention, amnesia after hospitalization, a suicide attempt is briefly mentioned, swearing because this is by me Sexy Sexy Masterlist: here!

Sand clung to skin and the harsher rays of light that usually cascaded and burnt you had died away into a fading tangerine glow. You perched comfortably on the sand, taking note of the undulating waves- they were like you in the sense that while you could crash down hard on the opposition, you would shy away in a fragile manner when faced with gentle treatment. Perhaps it was that you felt you weren’t worth such luxuries that you found it hard to make friends through your first few years of high school. Perhaps it was trying to push people away because you were afraid yet alarmingly aware of your mortality. Perhaps it was something else entirely, something you weren’t quite ready to come to terms with. What you did know was that you weren’t alone in the violent struggle through high school to make friends while you had your walls up. Next to you was someone you never thought you’d share your favorite place with; in any terms you found this boy appalling with his behavior. So appalling, you saw yourself in the way he closed himself off and cut those close with tongue lashings. You knew this only through another friend who took issue with him as you went to another school in an entire other prefecture. Words mauled their way out from your throat, breaking the silence between you and Tsukishima Kei. “I won’t ask you why you tried to do what you did today. But I will ask if there’s anyone you can talk to in your life.” You didn’t understand yourself. Why would you say that…? You don’t remember anything like this at all… His response was equally incoherent and odd. “Okay, but I’ll kill you if you go back on it.” When you opened your mouth to reply to him, the ground around you suddenly reared up like a defensive serpent. A pillar of beach sand forced its way from the ground into your throat, suffocating and trapping your lungs in permanent fullness. You could only gag and cry, unable to even see Tsukishima past the torrent of sand breaking into your body with the intent to kill you slowly…

╞═════𖠁𐂃𖠁═════╡

You woke up once more in that dull grey-blue and white room with the only sounds you could properly process being the beep of a heart monitor somewhere behind you. You had managed to halfway curl into somewhat resembling the fetal position, but something kept making you cough and gag as your throat was caught. You move your hand to whatever is catching and about to make you vomit- a tube. This tube, you followed, was in your nose good and solid, and you felt it deep enough in your sinuses you didn’t dare try to pull it out. Moving your hands felt foreign like you had forgotten how to process being human and natural motions like that. You testingly ran your right hand down the tube, taking care to not tug and cause discomfort. Your other hand came to rest on your face. It was slick from sweat, likely due to whatever the fuck you just had a dream about. At the corner of your lips was another tube and when you followed where it led it was taped to the side of your face. You lick your lips and manage to almost fall into a haze until you see movement for the first time in what feels like forever. To be fair, it is one of the most jarring appearances of a person you’ve seen in your whole life to what you can recall. A person in a full-body hazmat suit enters your room through a door you hadn’t even processed was there, then greets you as casually as they can through a plague-resistant suit. “Hey there.” You squint at them. Yeah, you have no fucking idea who this cosplayer in a hospital is, and while you should probably be polite, you feel like you got ran over not once but twice.  You try to speak to them, but you can’t. You don’t have the air for it, it’s like you have no control over your breathing. Clarity washes over you. You’re hospitalized. These are tubes because you were asleep and weren’t breathing or eating right. The realization must show on your face because your nurse speaks up again. “Don’t worry about me too much, we’re just gonna check your vitals and if you feel up to it, we can see how you do without the ventilators.” You try to manage out a “whoopee”, which unimpressively comes out as some form of odd wheeze, and your nurse begins by grabbing the blood pressure cuff covered in protective plastic while they wear a sympathetic expression.

╞═════𖠁𐂃𖠁═════╡

Once you were off the ventilator, the nurse informed you about what had happened. Apparently, an ambulance was called when you were unresponsive and nearly blue in the face, sitting in front of your refrigerator with the door open. You were diagnosed with a severe case of COVID-19, something you had feared would wipe you out entirely and turn you past tense since its spread in your country. This fear wasn’t entirely irrational, either- you were immunocompromised and have been since you were a child. You grew up with being careful around others and hearing of a highly contagious new strain was something that filled you with so much paranoia you seriously considered quitting your current career and instead adopting a hermit lifestyle while completing college at home. Of course, such a thought was squashed by the slowly impending thought of rent, bills, due dates for assignments, and your bitch of a manager who lets people get close to you without a mask on. It’s not a big deal, (y/n), she once said to you. You wanted to shoehorn some tubes down her throat just to survive, see how that felt. It didn’t help that human resources wouldn’t listen to your complaint. They brushed it off since you were just a lowly sandwich maker at a chain sub place. If you had enough scraped together for lawyers right about now, they’d be totally fucked, you thought to yourself. Even more jarring is that it seemed you lost a handful of memories while in the hospital. You could remember basic outlines of people in your head- your very tall and incredibly testy roommate, your younger sister who wore glasses and was much smaller than you, and… a foggy memory of a man with messy black bedhead who had an arm wrapped around your shoulder. It hurt to think too hard. The doctor soon came by to give you test results, to check your vitals again, and to look over your records. He was a bit terse, but you can’t make the best judgments of people when they’re in plastic suits. “We’ll need to get you cleaned up by tomorrow and you should be able to head home,” he’d said, looking over your chart. You didn’t necessarily feel too ecstatic about your trip to your apartment. You remembered your roommate and how finicky he was, and you dreaded for him to belittle you over your condition. You dreaded it enough to even feel a knot of anxiety form in your stomach, wrenched in between your ribs without the intent of ever coming out. “We’ve already contacted uh…” The doctor squints at the screen, “Tsukishima… to come to pick you up tomorrow at noon. We’ll have care instructions printed out. You still have to quarantine for about a week more since your immune system isn’t at its most prime currently.” You agreed, it probably wasn’t a good recovery idea to make a couple of sammies for the public while you were recovering from a virus that had you intubated. He seemed grateful that you were lucid and cooperative, at least.

╞═════𖠁𐂃𖠁═════╡

You, predictably, didn’t sleep well after being in a medically induced haze for several days. Even more predictably, you found yourself awake from anxieties of the future. Tomorrow was only a few hours away, and then you’d be home. Home… what did that look like for you? The fog in your head was thick initially. You do remember coming home from classes at a different time than Tsukishima, how when you entered he’d often be reading over homework. You remembered how sometimes he would be in the shower and the scent of cheap green apple soap filled the living room connected to it. You remembered… You remembered holding his thin frame in your arms on a bridge, pulling him back from oncoming traffic. You remember how you both collapsed and how the cold autumn air stung your lungs. You remember wide golden eyes staring back at you, as tears slowly filled them, then his normally impartial voice breaking as he hiccuped a sob, “Why? Why did you have to be in Sendai right now?” You felt tears stinging your eyes and a lump form in your throat. You found yourself in distress of your new emotions. Maybe… maybe you can sleep this horrible feeling off. Maybe this fog in your head where you need to know how deep your relationship ran will lift once you get genuine sleep.

╞═════𖠁𐂃𖠁═════╡

Finally, a knock on the door encouraged you to rouse from your sleeping state. And eloquently, you spoke your true feelings in your sleep-deprived state,  “No.” You hear the doorknob turn and the door open. There’s a lack of a greeting from your nurse nor a quick apology from your doctor for interrupting your sleep. Actually, if you’re gonna use logic, what nurse or doctor is gonna wake up their peacefully sleeping patient in recovery? Thought of it being your doctor or nurse practically evaporates once the intruder has a seat on your bed. They still haven’t spoken, so now you’re remembering what tricks of self-defense you learned online to give this person a proper ass-kicking for getting way too close. You crack your hazy eyes open to get a look at where they’re sitting and you stop dead in your thoughts as wary gold eyes peer down at you. Your eyes widen out of reflex and butterflies bloom from your stomach at seeing what you now remember is your roommate. “I knew you were awake,” He said, a wry smile on his face. His expression was betrayed by his concerned gaze, though, “Wow, you look like shit.” You don’t know entirely why past his comment feeling not as an insult, but almost as a compliment, but you smile a little, “I feel like it too.” His expression doesn’t change. He runs a large calloused hand through the tresses of your hair, though, as if to soothe you. The doctor walked in and apologized for interrupting the moment between the two of you, unsure if it was something serious. You told him it was nothing because that’s what it was to you.

╞═════𖠁𐂃𖠁═════╡

The car ride wasn’t filled with the snarky banter you had been expecting. Instead, there was plentiful comfortable silence as Tsukishima drove. You didn’t know whether to be grateful or not for the silence- you still felt quite feeble and needed way more bed rest before you could get ready to do anything for anyone. Despite the wholesome silence, you felt those round gold eyes focus on you occasionally. And even though it was comfortable, you felt a melancholy twinge in the atmosphere as he inspected you. “I know you’ll give me shit for this… but you look like you’ve lost weight. I uh…” He gripped the steering wheel harder. You glanced over at him. A shade of baby pink dusted itself across his cheekbones and nose as he focused on the road. “I’m worried about you.” Fuck, there go those butterflies again. Something in you pushed to help- to comfort- but the logical side of your brain brought you to a halt. You’d weighed it in your head a couple of times. You two act closer than just roommates, and it’s not entirely clear how or why you got up to this point… but you had a solid hunch you might be dating this guy. Maybe? You closed your eyes and rested your head on the car door as you thought. You remember how sand clung to your body and you could hear the roaring of the sea. How you watched Tsukishima focus on the waves to regulate his breathing. You vaguely remember your words breaking away from your throat and catching the salty sea air. “Why don’t we stay together?” His lanky body stiffened, then he looked at you with disbelief. “... you wouldn’t want that. I’m fucking annoying and mean.” Your eyes creased with familiarity at the line. “Yeah? So am I. We can butt heads until we balance each other out.” It looked like he wanted to cry, but his pride wouldn’t let him cry in front of you anymore today. “I won’t ask you why you tried to do what you did today. But I will ask if there’s anyone you can talk to in your life,” you reached a careful hand over to rub his back, “Kei, if there isn’t, let me be that person.” You felt how his breath shuddered. To save his pride, you looked to the ocean and watched its hypnotic movements. After a few deep, shaky inhales and exhales, he replied. “I don’t understand why you’re being nice to me. Why you didn’t let me die. I will probably come back to this point in my life several times and you’re trying to say you’ll put up with it?” There was some bite to his tone, he was trying so hard to put up walls when he had no will to do so at the moment. How long had he pushed others away from being close? If he was anything like you… it was since grade school. “Let me be your support for when you’re in pain,” You tried once more, “I’m stubborn as shit so I know I won’t give up on you.” “You’re not getting it, you fucking idiot. I’m always in pain, that’s just been life,” he snapped bitterly, glaring at you now.  “Then I guess I’ll be by your side forever.” You’d said it without thinking that day. It was like the ocean grew quieter with your words as if even Poseidon became interested in your proposition. You felt heat rise to your face at the implications of what you said. He stared at you with raised eyebrows and the slightest hint of a champagne pink hue on his face. He averted his eyes almost in a panic and watched the ocean again, suddenly very aware of his own expression. You carefully peered over at him again to see he’d only grown redder, now mirroring you. “You… don’t mean that,” He said as if it were a statement. “I do. You’re a good person inside, but you’re defensive and hurt. I’ve seen that from you in the past and I’ve learned more about you today. I want to be there for you as long as you’ll have me. Will you let me?”  He picked at the sand as if thinking it over for a moment. There was a brief pause as waves rolled over each other in front of both of you, the sound of their impact being the only thing to grace your ears. Finally, his cynical tone returned as he regained some form of his prior composure. “Okay, but I’ll kill you if you go back on it.”

╞═════𖠁𐂃𖠁═════╡

“Hey. (Y/n), we’re home,” Tsukishima gently shook your shoulder to rouse you from your sleep. You opened your eyes slowly and groaned out a swear. Tsukishima felt a hesitant smile creep up his face as he opted to just try and maneuver you into your shared home himself. He remembered how waking up was hard for you. Once he opened the passenger door you nearly fell out onto the pavement, only saved by your seatbelt and the giant himself. Your face fell awkwardly into his hip, and you grumbled at the interruption to your sleep. “You sleep like the fucking dead, christ,” he mused out loud and sat you up so it was safe to unbuckle your seatbelt. He urged you to get up more- it wasn’t that you were heavy, he just really wasn’t in the place to lift you at the moment and didn’t even know how to go about it. Regardless, he held you up by a shoulder and crouched to make it easier for you both to walk to the apartment. In some part of your sleep, you began to speak, “Kei.” He kept his gaze trained forward at the front door and struggled to grab his keys from his pocket, “Yes?” “Are we married?” Kei dropped his keys, then shot you a look of concern, “... No…?” He had to hold himself back from saying not yet, unsure of what you were getting to. He reached down to grab his keys and he focused back on the door. “Why are you asking?” He unlocked the door and threw it open, getting you both inside finally. He set you on your couch and sat on the floor in front of you. You looked at him suspiciously, now roused from your sleep. The only thing on your mind was that dream- it had to be a memory! You refused to understand it as anything but that. You prodded, “On the beach, I told you I’d be by your side forever.” He seemed to weigh your thoughts heavily in his mind, “... did you forget about us?” You didn’t expect what felt like cold water to hit your back so hard and so suddenly at his suggestion. He didn’t seem hurt at the thought, instead, he found himself occupied with your reaction. His hand reached out to rub the side of your face as you looked at him with wide, guilty eyes. “Don’t worry about it. Your sister told me this kind of thing might happen…” His calloused thumb traced over your lip, and he offered a smile the best he could, “I’ll try to explain it.” Tsukishima explained that what you remembered happened about four years ago and you had been living together ever since. He motioned to photos on the walls of the two of you and people who you could just hardly remember. When you rested your index finger on an individual who was much scrawnier than most of the people there, sitting on the bench with you and watching you speak with admiration, Tsukki put his hand over yours. “That’s your sister. She took most of these pictures, but she usually sits next to you when you have a space available.” You nodded and closed your eyes. You began to remember summers you spent with her in childhood and her yelling at you to do your homework when you bothered her as you got older. You smiled a bit. Once your eyes opened again, your finger traveled to possibly the tallest person in the room. He was big, but you remembered something warm and comfortable about that man… “That’s Kuroo. You both went to the same high school and you were in his friend group.” You both went on like that for a while until you’d cleared everyone in that picture. Once you did, you sat down to think over the new cluster of names you’d picked up. “... when you promised you’d be here with me forever, did you remember what I promised to you?” Kei asked as he sat next to you. “No… I just remember what happened on the beach up until you threatened to kill me if I took back my promise.” “Oh, right. I was going through that phase,” He seemed displeased with the comment. You found it almost funny but refrained from laughing for his sake. He continued, in a quieter tone, “I promised that if something happened to you, that I would always be here for you, too. That I’d get you back into shape.” His larger hand gently entwined with yours, “... so if you remember that promise and you’ll have me, I’d love to marry you once you get your memories back. … If you want to. I-” You cut him off with a hug to his side, trembling a bit as your emotions got the better of you. You smiled up at him. “I can’t promise I’ll be better fast, and I still feel like several trucks ran through me at once… but I’m happy,” you managed out. You didn’t know what your face looked like right about now and you didn’t have the nerve to look up into Kei’s glasses to check your reflection. He wrapped his arms around you in return, pressing the side of his face against your head. “Please, don’t give me an answer yet. You’re not in the right mental state. I’ll wait for you until you’re ready.” You ran your hands up and down his back. You weren’t exactly afraid of remembering things, but you were quite anxious for what tomorrow might bring for both of you. Despite that, you felt safe recovering in his arms, and you were sure you’d feel that way for a long time.

Have a link to the sexy sexy masterlist down here as well. Unless you’re done reading, then have a good day. But if you’re not there’s some fire stuff in that bad boy.

[wtfevenismypage]

Observer, Not Profiler PT4

Pairing: Spencer Reid x Fem!reader

Summary: You’re similar to a profiler, but you can tell almost anything about a person just from a single glance. What they had for dinner, if they took a bath or shower, their name, favorite color, if they lie, even if they’re good in bed. You’ve been running from the government ever since you got caught hacking into their systems and since then you have been diagnosed with Extreme anxiety, anxious tics, and paranoia. But now the BAU need you’re help in Identifying killers.

Warnings: maybe a curse word or two, mentions of death, anxious/nervous ticking, tic attacks, mentions of rape, mentions of child rape, sassy Garcia

A/N: this is kinda just a filler chapter, the next one will be better!

Drums pound in your ears as you step into Hotch’s office. He used his serious voice to get you in there, which gave you unwanted anxiety. 

Thump thump. Your wrists bruise together as you step into Hotch’s office. His eyes dart up to yours, motioning for you to sit, which you do, sighing as your left palms claps against the arm of the chair.

“Yes sir?”

“You are going to be staying here with Garcia during our next case.”

Confusion poked your ribs, that wasn’t bad at all? Why was he so upset? It didn’t make any sense.

“Alright, is that all? You look upset...”

“An agent from the CIA is coming to observe your performance for this case only. Higher ups are still concerned that you will use the equipment here to get into the government, so they sent an agent to keep you supervised. He’ll try and give you a hard time so that you end up lashing out, but just keep your head down.”

Your eyebrows furrow. A CIA agent? They were sending an agent to keep you in check? You were shocked that they even cared at this point, that was a long time ago, and now you were just an anxiety riddled girl trying to start a new life.

“Oh... Um, I don’t know what to say... Why... They’re sending... Ugh...”

You groan as your neck twitches to the side aggressively. You could already tell that your tics were going to be a bitch until the case was done. 

“This isn’t ideal for any of us, I tried to convince them that this wasn’t necessary, but they refused to listen. I understand that this is going to add immense pressure to both you and Garcia, but I ask that you try your hardest to ignore him and his petty comments that he’ll most likely make.”

“Yes sir...”

He sighs, standing up and patting your shoulder.

“Let’s get to the round table.”

Less than two hours later, your sat next to Garcia in the bat cave, a tall and intimidating CIA agent standing at the doorway to watch your every move. It was distracting ad terrifying to say the least. 

He was originally standing directly behind you, but Garcia saw how purely uncomfortable you were and yelled at him to move back. She really was a savior.

“Alright my dearies, Mr. Paul Ways was married four times, has seven children that were taken from his custody, and has gone through ten dogs that all died within a year of being owned by him.”

Garcia spoke on the video-chat, everyone else on a jet. 

“His laptop is disgusting by the way, purely covered in filmed rape tapes being sold on the black market. Some of it is of children by the way, and the others are of girls that were barely over 18.”

The agent spoke up.

“Is that not illegal what you’re doing? Hacking into his laptop without his consent?”

You grimace, struggling to keep yourself from ticking. Garcia speaks up.

“The laptop actually wasn’t owned by him, it was owned by his husband who gladly gave us consent when he heard that we were trying to catch his husbands killer. Now please stop speaking, it’s taking away time that we don’t have.”

You smile at Garcia, who simply pats your shoulder once and turns back to her computer.

“What about the second victim?”

“That would be a resident arsonist Mr. Rickardson. He set four massive fires to buildings and got the security footage to watch it back. Ten people have died in total because of his fires. The footage of each person’s death was labeled and saved to his computer.”

“I hate to have to ask this, but watch the videos, all of them. Mark anything you can find.”

You groan as they hang up, clicking on the first video of the fire and watching every angle, trying not to turn your head in disgust as the screams of a burning woman fill your ears.

“Oh god... This is horrible...”

You say as you take in the victims information.

“She’s eighteen. Lisa. I can’t... She was... Oh god I’m gonna have a tic attack...”

You stand up and run out of the room immediately, ignoring Garcia’s concerned yells as you plop down on the floor, letting your tics take over. Your wrist slam against each other, your palms smack any wall they can find, and your head just keeps jerking to the side.

The door opens next to you, the condescending agent walking out.

“What are you doing?”

You whimper, knowing this is going to dampen your chances of staying with the team.

“I-I’m having a tic-tic attack... Just... Just le-leave me alone. Ple-please.”

He doesn’t budge, rather than shoo him off though, you opt for the smarter option, letting him witness your break down. And as soon as it’s over, you stands up, looking him in the eye with a furious glare.

“I hope that was as fun for you as it was for me.”

You whisper out before marching back into the computer filled room and plopping back down next to Garcia.

“I’m alright.”

You said it more to yourself than to Garcia, but you clicked on the video again, whimpering, but taking in everything you can.

This week is going to suck.

-

-

-

-

-

You click away at the keyboard of your computer, searching for a Mr. Paul Nees and any information you can find on him. 

“C’mon my sweet computer you, don’t start slowing down on me now.”

The CIA agent is still stalking over you, making sure you don’t ‘hack into the government’ A.K.A jabbing insults into your brain any chance he gets.

“I mean, a little girl like you? You won’t make it.”

You sigh out at his comments continue.

“Why are you so concerned with it? I mean it isn’t your life so, you shouldn’t be so concerned. I’ll survive.”

“You really think you’re gonna be able to survive with those freaky tics of yours?”

You try to make it seem like his words don’t affect you, but they hurt so bad, they seeped into your brain and stuck with you, making you groan as they swim in your mind.

-

-

-

-

-

You were right, it only got worse as the Agent’s constant condescending comments kept sneaking their way into your brain.

“A little girl like you? You won’t make it.” “You really think you’re gonna be able to survive with those freaky tics of yours?”

You had broken down into sobs many times over the week, desperate to avoid the man, but he was everywhere that you went. It was one of the worst two weeks of your life. 

“Just give me a few minutes to myself! Just a few minutes!”

You shout at the smirking agent, tears trailing down your face.

“Why would you need time alone? To hack into the government?”

That really set you off. You didn’t understand how someone so dumb was a CIA agent. It made no sense to you. 

“Are you fucking joking? I spend six years running and you think I’m just gonna up and do it again!? I’m human! I just want to spend a bit of time alone! How is this an issue!?”

“Because you hacked into the government. Of course we need eyes on you. I don’t understand it however. You seem harmless.”

That’s it. You finally crack.

“Oh I’ll fucking show you harmless.”

You lunge at him, trying to tackle him to the floor, but a body slamming into you stops you. You writhe on the floor under the heavy body, trying to get away.

“Y/N. Calm yourself down. Take a breath Y/N!”

It was Spencer, hearing his voice ring out in your ears made you less squirmy, but you were still breathing pure adrenaline. 

“He- I just! He kept!”

You could barely form coherent sentences as the smug smirk of the evil agent poisoned your brain.

“I know Y/N, I know, but you have to calm yourself down okay? I know it’s been rough with him all this time, but just calm down alright?”

You couldn’t stop the onslaught of tears and broken sobs that erupted, but goddammit you were going to try. You struggled to keep yourself from screaming out right then and there, but your brain gave you a second option.

Knock the fuck out dude.

So you did. You passed out right then and there, like no ones business.

-

-

-

-

-

You woke up with a panicky start. Not quite sure where you are at first, but as you look around you realize it’s an empty office. You’re laid out on a couch, a small blanket thrown on top of you.

“Hey, good morning.”

You look up at the voice, seeing Derek, Emily, and Spencer sitting on the table. Concerned expressions on their faces.

“What happened? Is that evil agent still here?”

Derek chuckles, but shakes his head.

“Nah, he’s gone. You managed to get off with a warning by the way. You can’t just attack agents like that Y/L/N.” 

You hang your head low, guilt climbing up your throat, or acid reflux actually. 

“I’m sorry. I was just... Just tired of his constant teasing and all of the comments he made... I know it was wrong, but I just couldn’t handle it anymore...”

There was a small silence, but it ended quickly when a second body sat next to you on the couch. It was Spencer. Spencer who, no matter what managed to stay calm around you and calm you down, Spencer who never raised his voice around you, Spencer who was always so patient with you, Spencer who was currently hugging you.

You tensed up when his arms wrapped around you initially, which made Spencer panic and almost pulls away, but when you sink into his warm chest, he relaxes, letting you cry into the crook of his neck. 

He knew this week was difficult for you, Garcia kept them all updated on how horrible it was, providing camera footage of the agent taunting you, and Spencer hated seeing you so distraught. 

Truth be told, when he saw you again in the interrogation room, his heart stopped at the sight of you. Yes, you looked like you hadn’t slept in years, and yes, you looked absolutely terrified to be there, but he was so entranced by your skill of knowing a person just by looking, he couldn’t notice how much of a mess you looked like.

You were beautiful in his eyes and that was that.

“It’s alright Y/N. You’re alright.”

And for the first time in six years, you believe it.

A/N: I realize that ending makes it seem like the actual end, but oh baby we’ve just begun!

Taglist:

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[sid471]

An OBJECTIVE look at James Ironwood

A much needed TL;DR: Ironwood’s story is sad. But it doesn’t excuse his actions just cause we’ve known him longer.

So I’ve made it.... abundantly clear on many many posts that ever since the end of volume 7 and into volume 8, I’ve hated General James Ironwood. I’ve made SOME posts “throwing him a bone” but I usually end up still emphasizing his flaws. So... Here’s a post where I DON’T focus solely on his flaws. Here’s a look at Ironwood’s actions from his introduction in volume 2, to now. And I’ll try to be as, well, objective as possible.

So James’ first appearance is in episode 2 of Volume 2 where he talks to Ozpin and, briefly, Glynda. He clearly has some history with Glynda, maybe a romantic relationship that I personally support 😗... Well I mean not NOW but I did. So Ironwood seems to be a bit of a 3rd wheel to Oz and Glynda, Glynda dismissing him and his compliment and Oz not being PARTICULARLY happy with him and his army’s presence in Vale and after a bit of arguing, James says the infamous line, that’s even quoted in his theme track, “Do you honestly believe your children can win a war?” James bringing his army to Vale, and then later going behind Oz’s back to the Vale counsel to get permission to protect the kingdom, and also get Ozpin in the Counsel’s bad graces? He... meant well. But it was still a betrayal of Ozpin’s trust. Which is ironic considering trust is Ironwood’s whole... thing.

And it also tells us something interesting. He UNDERESTIMATES the capabilities and potential of humans. I know that may sound a bit like I’m reaching but think about it, Atlas mostly sends soldier bots to take care of Grimm attacks instead of humans. And even when he DOES send human soldiers, they rely on surprise attacks to get the job done, like the Ace Ops arresting RWBY and friends at the beginning of Volume 7. And when they DON’T have surprise attacks, Atlas’ huntsman lose. The Ace Ops lost to RWBY, they basically lost to Penny in a 1v4 fight, which Harriet admits in saying “Good work would’ve been capturing Penny.” So yeah they lost, Clover lost to Tyrian and Qrow, which I know is a different scenario but still if he were among the best of the best he would’ve either recognized the bigger threat in Tyrian, or would’ve been able to hold them both off, or, 3rd option, would’ve retreated and let Qrow and Tyrian have it out then come back to arrest them both, or the remaining one considering Qrow vs Tyrian, when we get it again, is GONNA end in a death. Fair Game bias aside, everyone blames Qrow but Clover also could’ve been smarter in his final moments. 

In fact EVERY major Atlesian we’ve seen has lost a fight at least once. Winter lost to Qrow in Volume 3, if you count that AS a fight, and Cinder in Volume 7, Ace Ops lost to RWBY and Penny, Clover, as mentioned, lost to Tyrian and Qrow, Watts lost to Ironwood, and Weiss has, notoriously, lost a lot of fights but among the first was against Banesaw, the White fang lieutenant in Volume 2, and most recently, Rhodes lost to Cinder, if you count him. Whyyyy? I’m personally of the belief that it’s because of Atlas’ over reliance on its tech, and I know I’m not the only who thinks this 😗. Atlas has the best Tech on remnant and can easily create robosoldiers or mechs to protect the pilot while also allowing the pilot to still fight. What use is training humans to fight when they have mechs and robots to do it for them? 

Phew. That was a little off topic. I’m sorry, anyway, so in volume 3, James brings Penny to Vale to participate in the Vytal festival which, speaking of trust, he didn’t tell anyone about. I understand not making it public knowledge. Soldier bots are one thing but a robot that looks like a little girl? I don’t think that woulda sat right with people. So, yeah not making it general knowledge, makes sense. But not trusting your 3 closest allies, and FRIENDS, in Oz, Glynda, and Qrow? Like Glynda said, it’s time to stop talking about trust and start showing it. That aside, things go decently well. No DIRECT signs of any conflict *looks at Cinder* and the festival goes well until the one on one finals. Yang attacking a “defenseless” student, in James’ mind, is horrible yes, but people’ll move past it, especially cause he disqualified her. But then shortly after that, Pyrrha, Ozpin’s chosen one for the Fall Maiden’s power, dismembers Penny on national TV. That is a huge blow for both the festival and him personally.

Continuing with Volume 3, while he’s calling for reinforcements, the robosoldiers that’re in his plane with him are hacked and cause him to crash land. Also a hit to him personally, HE ordered these be created and the fact that they were so easily turned against him and the people he swore to protect? Yeah... Kinda get it. Although, something else interesting in Volume 3, when he DOES rendezvous with Qrow and Glynda, Qrow immediately turns his sword into Scythe form for the first time in the show. And James’ immediate reaction? “Qrow! This wasn’t my doing!” and preparing his gun for a fight, before turning around and realizing that Qrow actually just saved him from a Griffon. This is........ interesting. Why would he assume a colleague he’s worked with for so long would suddenly be turning on him? I dunno. Just seems a little... paranoid wouldn’t ya say?

Volume 4, we see a new side of James. We see that he cares for Weiss, at least somewhat. More than Jacques, but granted a squirrel cares more about the Schneeblings than Jacques. But yeah, James has some pretty sweet moments with Weiss in volume 4, standing up for her at Jacques’ party, offering her a place at Atlas academy, he’s a pretty stand up guy to Weiss. But, big picture? This volume shows the signs of his paranoia being something serious. He completely shuts down Atlas. In his own words, “No one in. No one out. Not without the Counsel’s permission.” now, he knows about Salem. But he doesn’t know what she’s CAPABLE of, as implied by Qrow last volume. So, from James’ perspective, this DOES seem like the safest course of action. But this is exactly what Salem wants. Separation. Anxiety. Paranoia. FUEL for the Grimm. And this is the first sign of a common theme of James inadvertently playing into Salem’s hands.

Jumping to Volume 7, we don’t see him in 5 or 6 😗, James is still hella, HELLA paranoid, but he’s still happy to see Qrow and happy to have new allies. Now this is where we get a little dicey because volume 7 is a.......... divisive volume 😓. I’m gonna talk about JAMES’ perspective of events. Not necessarily my thoughts because... well... I’ve done that already lol. Many times 😓. So JAMES’ perspective on Volume 7. James sent the Ace Ops to investigate a stolen air ship and arrest the ones responsible for... ya know... stealing the air ship. So the Ace Ops do. And then they go back and take them to James’ office, and it’s the general’s old friend Qrow and his niece’s team and her friends, and a mysterious young man. We can see that James is happy to see Qrow, especially cause of the hug :3, and he’s especially happy to see Oscar, the new Ozpin. He trains Ruby and her friends with his Ace Ops, and allows Winter to help Weiss. And he DOES start to relax more. He starts to, dare I say it, let loose. He allows some lenience, he lets RWBY have the night off. Ruby going to Robyn’s celebration, Yang and Blake going on a double date with Flynt and Neon, and let’s the boys and Weiss have a movie night. He even gives RWBY and their friends their huntsman licenses. These are really great things to do :3

But where things start to crumble is after he announces that Amity is ready, which is a whole speech full of half truths, that he didn’t tell any of his allies about once again, to lure out Watts. It works, they fight, he wins, and we see THIS face.

This is a man who is completely CONTENT. He is happy in this moment. He’s arrested a man who’s always, by his own admission, been a pain in the ass, he has Clover, Qrow, and Robyn on the way back with Tyrian Callows, everything is great right now. He KNOWS that Ruby and her friends lied to him because Oscar told him, but he can sort that out with an honest conversation right? In my opinion, THIS screenshot is Ironwood’s last GOOD moment in the series. That thought process of everything is great goes to shit when he sees the Black Queen piece that Cinder left expressly to fuck with his head. And THEN he gets irrational and, once again, plays into Salem’s hands. He directly ORDERS the divide of the people. He plans to abandon Mantle, leaving them to die in the process, and he plans to completely sever Atlas from all of Remnant basically by launching it into the atmosphere to keep the Vault safe. That only ACTUALLY accomplishes one thing, being keeping the vault, which IS important. But it isn’t more important than keeping the people, ALL of the people, calm and prepared to face this threat, like he did at Beacon. He should have remained calm, like an experienced military official should, and made an announcement to all of Atlas and Mantle saying kind of what he did in Volume 3. “Grimm are all over the kingdom. You can either stay and protect your kingdom, or save yourself. No one will fault you if you leave.” 

Ironwood has a thing with fear. He doesn’t want to admit he’s afraid of Salem. As evidenced both times he’s shot someone....... interesting 😓. In the last episode of Volume 7, The Enemy of Trust, this exchange happens. Ironwood: You still think I'm afraid? Oscar: We all are. It's what we do in our fear that reveals--Ironwood: That's easy for you to say!

And then later, in the first episode of Volume 8 Divide, he shoots and kills Sleet once he says... Well... His last words “And what’s this about martial law? Have you lost your damn mind?! Are you that scared of what-- “ And notice, Ironwood shoots after Sleet goes to say “Are you that scared of what might happen?” And he IS right about one thing. It IS easy for Oscar to say “It’s what we do in our fear.” Because Oscar is child who can AFFORD to be afraid. James doesn’t have the luxury. He’s denying his fear because he’s the general. He’s James Ironwood. He can’t AFFORD to be afraid. If he’s afraid, everyone is going to be afraid. And, well, he can’t have that. That would attract the Grimm. He thinks he HAS to have a level head at all times for the sake of the kingdom. But James even generals in the military have feelings.... and sometimes need therapy to talk through some shit 😶. But... well... Maybe too late for that 😶😓.

In conclusion: James Ironwood is indeed a tragic character. A character who has taken A LOT of blows. A character who has always been paranoid. ALWAYS been ready for an attack. But even though he’s always been ready, he still wasn’t PREPARED. He wasn’t prepared for the sheer strength and AMOUNT of Salem’s forces. If he was more calm and more rational, he could have prepared better. He could have had Mantle and Atlas united against Salem, and that’s what can beat Salem, like Ruby said. James Ironwood is a tragic character, he has had it rough. But that doesn’t mean we should overlook his OBJECTIVELY horrible actions through out these last 2 volumes. Like ya know... Murder.

Phew .-. This is DEFINITELY my longest post. This better get attention I didn’t do all this for nothing >_>

[re-diesirae]

18. Claire

She was restless, but she couldn't explain the reason behind it. It was an odd sensation in her guts, called instinct or survival paranoia, but she just kept having that uncomfortable feeling of being followed. The corridors were well lit, and that sort of soothed her fears. As long as there was light, she could breathe a little easier. Maybe it was only her nerves playing a trick on her, but she could swear she had heard something over her head.

The research center was well provided. It was even better than the one they had at Terra Save NA, so finding it in such a state of chaos was a pity. The researchers must have distrusted the security of their online data since they kept physical records, too, in other words, paper. While Chris's men worked on the central computer extracting the data, she paced around the shelves peeking at random folders. She had been so focused on deciphering the coding that the researchers used that she didn't notice Leon arrived by her side.

"Found something interesting?"

"You could say so," she replied as she picked up another folder. What she found inside made her frown.

The familiar lines of letters greeted her cerulean eyes as she read the file.

1 atgccggcag aaaacaagaa agttagattc gaaaatacta cttcagacaa agggaaaatt 61 cctagtaaag ttattaagag ctactacgga accatggaca ttaagaaaat aaatgaagga 121 ttattggaca gcaaaatatt aagtgctttc aacacagtaa tagcattgct tggatctatc 181 gtgatcatag tgatgaatat aatgatcatc caaaattaca caagatcaac agacaatcag 241 gccgtgatca aagatgcgtt gcagggtatc caacagcaga tcaaagggct tgctgacaaa 301 atcggcacag agatagggcc caaagtatca ctgattgaca catccagtac cattactatc 361 ccagctaaca ttgggctgtt aggttcaaag atcagccagt cgactgcaag tataaatgag 421 aatgtgaatg aaaaatgcaa attcacactg cctcccttga aaatccacga atgtaacatt 481 tcttgtccta acccactccc ttttagagag tataggccac agacagaagg ggtgagcaat ...

Claire wasn't a prodigy student, but she was capable enough to recognize what she was reading, and her doubts were confirmed when she saw the notes written under the sequences. Those were genomes and, judging by the coding, viral genomes. She flipped through the folders and realized that no all of the genomes were viral. There were some bacterial genomes and parasite sequences listed, as well.

God...what kind of Frankenstein were they trying to create?

"It seems like they were trying to make a new virus-based on multiple pathogens. These are viral genomes, but these are bacterial genes..."

"Why doesn't it sound new to me?"

"Yeah, I guess you must be sick of hearing it, right?"

Claire spent much of her free time diving through this sort of thing. She could even cite sequences of some viral genes, but to Leon, a senior agent of the secret service, the class of biology would most likely be boring. She kept flipping through the folders until a small mark caught her attention. The researchers had marked some of the genomes with two different colored codes: PJMorpheus and PJLyssa.

She was about to show it to Leon when she heard a sizzling over her head, and her eyes turned immediately to the ceiling.

"Did you...hear that?"

"Hear what…?"Leon replied, and she saw the confusion on his face.

Just great. Not only do I hear voices in my head. Now, I can hear noises, too.

She tried to focus her hearing, to see if she caught on the noise again, but then one of Chris's soldiers said he had finished copying the data. A wave of relief fell over her. However, as soon as it had arrived, the same feeling turned into anxiety. Something about the facility of the mission made Claire uneasy. Where were the monsters?

With the information safely copied into the drive, they were one step closer to leaving that place, and that was good news, but for some reason, the restlessness was still there. It was like a needle that kept pricking Claire's gut as she walked through the corridor. When they turned the last corner, she saw the doors of the elevator, and a sense of relief filled her. Unfortunately, the relief was short-lived.

" STAND BY. STAND BY. SYSTEM MAINFRAME VIOLATED. FACILITY REBOOT IN TWO MINUTES MAINTENANCE PERIOD. "

"What the...?" Hunter snapped.

"Shit...Maybe our hacking triggered the security system."

"Just great, well done, Cement. Now what?"

"Calm down. It is just a system reboot. Probably the generator needs to restart. It's a security mode when it gets overheated. It'll cut the energy for some minutes, not a big deal." Clement said.

The rest of the group seemed relieved that there wouldn't be a self-destruction protocol on its way, but Claire began to panic. There was something horrible about the idea of walking around the place in the darkness, and she wasn't sure why, but she had a bad feeling about it. Claire quickened her pace, trying to match with the team's but then…

SWISH

The redhead stopped in her tracks and looked back. The lights from the corridor were starting to shut down one by one. Like an old horror movie, she saw the darkness was coming closer with each fading bulb. If it had only been darkness, Claire wouldn't have felt so panicked. The problem was, the shadows didn't come alone.

Claire heard a soft whistle in her ear, and she realized that there was something else lurking inside the blackness.

"Run," Claire said out of sudden, startling the group.

They all looked at her quizzically.

"What?" Barry asked.

"Is something wrong, Claire?" Chris asked.

Through the shadows, they come. Demons with a thirst for blood.

Two long claws emerged from the darkness impaling the body of the soldier called Hunter. He'd been the one assigned to watch over the rear and, by default, the one closer to the shadows as it approached. Muller and Bailey began shooting, trying to help their fallen comrade, but the disgusting crunch was enough to make Claire know the man was long gone.

The body fell to the ground in an awkward and humanly impossible position, making a sickening crunch. Panic ensued as the soldiers began shooting in all directions, trying to hit the "invisible" attacker. The thing was, it was not invisible. Claire could see it in the blackness: thin, elongated, pale.

"Don't waste ammo!" Claire cried, recognizing the beast, " The bullets won't harm it. That thing moves in the darkness. If we lose the light, we are dead."

"Ok, what do you suggest?" Chris asked.

"Yeah, run!"

They began running as fast as they could. The wave of chasing darkness was right at the group's heels. Claire managed to catch a better glimpse of the creature that hunted them as it moved closer. Unlike the one Leon and she had seen outside, this one was smaller and, by the looks of it, female. She could see the pale skin that covered the curves of the naked body. It could have been taken by as a regular person if it hadn't been for the abnormally long fingers that ended in black sharpy nails and the twisted faceless head. The lack of facial features seemed to be a common trait in the new strain: none of the specimens they had encountered so far had facial features except a largemouth.

The monster scratched the walls with the tip of her nails, making a creepy screech. She could hear her as she moved closer under the black veil of darkness. Their run was interrupted by another scream; this time, Muller had been the victim; the sound of tearing flesh and cracking bones made her feel sick.

"What the hell is that?" Chris cursed and visibly upset about losing to men in a matter of minutes.

"Is one of the new mutants." Leon said, "These bastards are tough ones, Chris..."

"Was it hiding all this time?" Jill said, reloading her gun.

"No, it's photosensitive! The fluorescent lights must have kept them away, but with the system reboot and the energy out, it took the chance of the lights going off to attack us. We need to stay a secured light if we want to stay out of reach." Claire replied, " or at least stay safe until the energy is back!"

You know the odds are against you.

The annoying voice was back. Claire tried to ignore it, but the voice suddenly seemed to be a lot louder than usual.

They are all going to die here, and it'd be your fault.

Claire kept trying to ignore it. The voice not only annoyed her, but it seemed to make her clumsier. Suddenly, she felt a great pain rip her right shoulder, and she flew against a wall. One of the monster's claws had, painfully, impaled her shoulder, pinning her against the metallic wall. She could see her white blouse start to go black as the blood began to spread through the fabric.

Then she felt an acrid warmth in her face, and she saw the monstrous face in front of hers. The monster did not attack, and instead, it seemed to... sniff her?

"CLAIRE!" she heard many voices shout.

The screams echoed through the corridor, followed by the blast of gunfire.

Claire could not describe the pain she was feeling. It was a mix of a burning sensation and pulsating pain. She couldn't move, and her breathing was becoming difficult.

"You son of a..." she heard Chris shout, followed by a wave of bullets.

But the creature barely reacted to the attack. The creature's "face" had gotten close to hers, and Claire could feel the uneven breathing on her. Maybe it was the fast blood loss or the sudden headache that pierced her skull, but her surroundings were beginning to blur. She could barely make out the screams and shouts her friends and brother were doing.

SYSTEM RESTART IN THREE MINUTES.

The electronic voice echoed. Three minutes? If she could manage to stay alive for three minutes, then maybe she had a chance to make it out.

BIOHAZARD DETECTED. STERILIZATION PROTOCOL INITIATED. FACILITY WILL BE PURGED IN TWO MINUTES. PLEASE EVACUATE THE BUILDING.

Fuck. Claire thought; if they didn't do something, they would all die here. She caught a glimpse of Chris and the remaining team shooting at the monster, the flashes of the fire barely lighting their expressions of frustration and worry.

You know what you should do.

She couldn't let them die here.

Are you brave enough to do it, though?

She heard Leon shout something.

This was supposed to be something you faced alone.

Jill screamed something to Chris, but she didn't understand it.

Two are dead already. How many more will you kill?

One, she thought.

"Chris!" she shouted as loud as the pain let her, "Chris, get the hell out here. Forget about me."

"Don't even think about it. I am not leaving without you, Claire."

"You have to. This place...is gonna blow up. You...need to...get...out with that...data."

"Don't you dare say it, Claire? NO, simply no..." Chris growled stubbornly.

"For god's sake, Chris...I can...distract it long enough for you all to leave. JUST DO THE RIGHT THING. The data is more...important….than my life and you know it. What's one life...in exchange for millions that...could be saved?"

Chris did not reply. Claire knew her brother was painfully aware that her words were the right; she trusted that he'd do the right thing.

Chris...

"I am not leaving you! You can't expect me to just leave, damn it!"

Claire could feel the pain in her brother's voice. She knew abandoning her was hard on him. It'd been hard for her, too, if it had been the other way around. The creature put pressure on her shoulder, and she had to bite her lip to avoid screaming. Her cries of pain would only make it harder for Chris.

"Christopher Redfield!" she screamed with the little energy she was feeling, "GET YOUR ASS OUT OF HERE ...AND IF YOU REALLY WANT TO HONOR YOUR WORD AND MAKE ME PROUD...TAKE THAT...DATA AND DESTROY THE ...BASTARDS WHO...DID THIS!"

Her words finally seemed to reach him. Chris clenched his gun so hard that it almost seemed as if he was trying to bend it. His face showed his hesitation and pain. It broke Claire's heart.

FACILITY WILL BE PURGED IN ONE MINUTE. PLEASE EVACUATE THE BUILDING.

The light of the elevator came through the opening doors, and she saw how the soldiers were fighting to pull Chris in; Jill and Barry grabbed Leon, who, like Chris, did not seem delighted about the idea of sacrificing her. Claire saw them enter the small space in slow motion, she felt sad, but at the same time, she knew she had made the right decision.

She could feel the creature's nails tearing apart the muscles of her shoulder. She would die in here, but not as mutant food. She heard the countdown start like a distant voice; when the counter ran to zero, Claire lost the sense of everything as the fire and heat surrounded her.

-END OF PART I-

NOTE: if you guys want to come and chat about the fic, or just about CLEON in general. Feel free to drop by the discord and say hi! JOIN SERVER

[prairiesongserial]

14.6

Friday hopped down from the truck bed amid the frenzy of a circus eager to make camp. She was used to the nightly routine by now. After a day of driving, crammed up against crates and each other, the circus was always noisy and jubilant when it came time to camp. Usually getting set up for the night was a delicate balance of gathering wood for the campfires, goofing off, getting out plates and cups for everyone, and taking generous breaks for feats of acrobatics. No one was walking on their hands tonight, though. Everyone still had the same pent up energy, but it buzzed around Friday on whispers. Enis and Cody had almost died.

Pebbles crunched under Friday’s boots as she walked a slow circuit around the place Johannes had chosen for their camp. It was going to be a long summer day; even though Friday was starving for dinner, there was plenty of sun reflecting off the surface of the lake. Friday walked right up to the water. It was surrounded on all sides by nubby mountains and thick woods. Deer paths sprouted from the rocky beach and disappeared into the surrounding trees. Experience or paranoia told Friday they might not all have been made by deer.

Friday let her eyes hover over the beautiful green water. There was a breeze here. She could almost relax.

Cold glass brushed her knuckles, and Friday jumped. She had heard footsteps on the rocks, but hadn’t assumed they’d been coming for her. Johannes was standing next to her, trying to pass her a beer. Friday looked around. Everyone else was still setting up.

“Maybe later,” Friday muttered, giving Johannes a half-hearted smile that quickly faded.

“Oh, didn’t you hear?” Johannes said, still holding the beer out to her. “People who had family members fall off a cliff today get to drink heavily while everyone else sets up.”

Friday gritted her teeth and stared at the lake. She supposed Cody was family; ‘friend’ didn’t seem to cut it, anymore. She felt a jittery energy similar to stage fright if she let her mind linger on what had happened. She gestured for the bottle without looking at Johannes.

“Why that trailer?” she asked as her hand closed around the glass.

“Good question,” Johannes said under his breath. Friday heard his footsteps retreat over the pebbles.

Camp built up around Friday like civilizations built up around mountains, lakes, and other immovable things. The afternoon light was turning gold. Campfires sprang from the earth. More people had beers or flasks in hand, and the scents of tobacco and marijuana mixed with the woodsmoke. The tension was leaving the air, and the lakeside grew louder, chasing the last vestiges of anxiety away. Some people were going swimming. By one of the campfires, a girl Friday knew from the burlesque tent had brought out an instrument that looked like a cross between a guitar and a violin; Friday had seen it before, and had been meaning to ask Ezra what it was called.

Friday wandered away from the lake edge. Her nails clicked against the glass of her beer bottle; she took a sip just to have something to do. She felt the urge to account for her accident-prone family. Except that wasn’t the word. Cody wasn’t accident-prone; he was a magnet for intentional violence. Every bounty hunter in the States wanted him. Hemisphere wanted him. And they all wanted Friday, Val, and John no less so, just from being in Cody’s periphery long enough. How long until wanted posters went up for the Madsen and Graves brothers, too?

Friday spotted Val for the first time that day, and half the weight sloughed off her shoulders. She hadn’t even been consciously worried about him, but seeing for herself that he hadn’t been yanked into the woods by Born Again assassins was a load off her mind. She really needed to finish that beer.

Val was working on a pile of dead branches, breaking them up into smaller pieces. He stepped on the bottom half while he pulled the top half in the opposite direction, using his whole body to splinter each branch apart. He was sweaty and focused. Friday could envision with perfect clarity Johannes’s failed attempt to get him to relax with a beer. Friday had suffered ten years of those conversations; Johannes hadn’t had a prayer.

Friday’s attention was yanked away from Val by the sound of Enis’s raised voice. She hadn’t seen him at first, but did now, as he stood up abruptly from behind the nearest truck.

“It doesn’t make sense,” he snapped. Friday heard something heavy strike the ground. She caught a glimpse of Enis’s flushed, upset face and turned herself away so it at least wouldn’t look like she was eavesdropping.

“Okay, it doesn’t make sense,” repeated a much calmer voice - Ezra’s, Friday thought. She kept her eyes focused on Val as he struggled to split a thicker branch. “We’re not going to be able to figure out what happened, with the trailer gone. Let’s leave it for now, okay? Johannes and I agreed that now that you’re old enough to fall off a mountain, you’re old enough for a beer.”

“Hilarious!” Enis snapped back. “You really don’t understand why this is important? All the rest of the hitches look fine, okay, but maybe they’re not, and with the trailer gone, I’ll never know what I did to fuck up the other one, so that means I might do it again.”

“You didn’t fuck up - ” Ezra began.

“You don’t know that!” Enis yelled. “Will you just - just stop babying me.”

Friday decided it was past time to sneak away. She wanted to talk to Val, not that she really had anything to say, but she also didn’t want to walk right past the fight she was listening to. She’d circle back.

Cody was sitting next to the mystery-instrument player by the fire. He looked okay. He had his guitar out, and he was cracking up the half-dozen other people around the fire as he tried to accompany left-handed.

“I’ll get it, I’ll get it,” he said, laughing.

Suddenly Val was right next to her, and Friday got the fluttery feeling of having been caught doing something she wasn’t supposed to be doing. Val kept walking past her, but the feeling didn’t go away. He deposited a pile of the branches he’d split by the fire. He turned around to walk back.

“Um, hey,” Friday said, stepping into his path.

“Hey,” said Val. He was out of breath, and much sweatier up close.

“We’ve been in separate trucks the last couple days,” Friday said. “I feel like I haven’t seen you in a while.”

Val gave her a curious look. Friday realized abruptly that he looked different. There was way less tension in his posture. He’d sweat through his white shirt, but rather than hunch over or hold his arms just so to block the view of the bandages underneath, quirks of his that had never registered as unusual, Val didn’t seem to care. He was fighting a curl that had fallen into his eyes. He even looked at home in that horrible haircut Johannes had given him. Friday tried to recover her train of thought.

“Do you want to talk?” she said. “Catch up, maybe figure out what the hell happened this week?”

“Um, yeah,” Val said, still catching his breath.

Friday led Val further from the fire, slipping outside the circle of trucks and trailers to where the evening was quieter.

“Enis seems upset,” she said, when Val didn’t start the conversation.

“I heard,” he replied.

“Do you think it’s weird?” Friday said abruptly. “That the trailer just...poof! Down the mountain. Just like that.”

Val looked at her funny.

“It is weird!” she continued. “Enis knows what he’s talking about, and he thinks it’s weird. And it’s really weird because no one ever rides in the storage trailers. Except today, Cody does, and suddenly today’s the day that a trailer - the one he’s in - goes crashing to the bottom of a ravine?”

When Val took too long to respond, Friday held out her arms in an abrupt there-you-have-it gesture, sloshing beer over her fingers. Val crossed his arms over his chest.

“So that’s what this is about. Now you think Johannes is trying to murder us,” Val said quietly. “Enis was in the trailer, too. Pretty cold.”

Friday blinked at him.

“I’m sorry, are we in a fight?” she asked, the pitch of her voice rising.

Val raised his eyebrows. “We’ve been fighting since Everglades City.”

“Things have been weird since Everglades City, but…”

“Right, because you freaked out on me about going to Kill Devil Hills, then you freaked out on Johannes when we came back, and we haven’t talked since.”

That wasn’t right. They’d talked. Friday furrowed her brow. They hadn’t talked about anything important, though. They hadn’t dealt with anything.

“I earned that freakout. You got hurt,” Friday said, hating the petulant tone of her voice but too annoyed now to stop. “And you know what, you earned Everglades City. I did drag you around all day for nothing. It sucked. Sorry.” Even saying the name of the city had the stench of salt water in her nose again, had her remembering vomiting alone in a rowboat in the dark. Friday took a big sip of beer, grimacing at the carbonation.

“I don’t want to do Everglades City again,” Val said. “I don’t want another made-up mystery. I know this is just because you hate Johannes and want a reason to go through his stuff. And you won’t trust me!” Val huffed. “I keep telling you he’s a good guy under the persona, and you won’t… He’s not Macomber.”

No, he’s Hezekiah, Friday thought, biting back the reply just in time. Johannes was exactly what Friday pictured when she imagined the smarmy salesman who had road tripped with an eighteen year old Val from New Orleans to Vegas, a man Friday hadn’t even known about until Oklahoma, because it had taken Val ten years before he could talk about him. Val was the one who was going to get hurt again, not Friday. And he was completely blind to it. Did he even know he liked Johannes that way? Friday couldn’t get into this.

“Well, good talk,” she snapped. “Good progress. Let’s pick up this fight again next time something horrible happens. Or maybe you’ll get lucky and I’ll be the one to fall off a mountain, and no one will try to make a made-up mystery out of it.” She paused, out of breath, already regretting whatever the hell had just spilled out of her mouth. “I’ll be at the campfire.”

Friday stormed away. She turned the corner around the first truck she came to and slammed her beer down on a crate that had been half-unloaded, then started angrily stripping down to her underwear. There’d be time for the campfire. She was going to jump in the lake and scream underwater as loud as she could.

14.5 || 14.7

[buckysrighthanddoll]

Luck, Fate, and You

Pairing: Peter Parker x reader

Warnings: fluff, angst, swearing, mentions of abuse, mentions of torture, mentions of PTSD

Why did things always turn sour? It felt as though any time you had gotten close to anything that you wanted, something bad would happen. You believed that you were cursed with immense bad luck.

It started when you were seven years old. Your father was a soldier in the army, and he was coming home from war. Being a daddy’s girl, you were giddy with excitement when he arrived home. All was well until it wasn’t. He started drinking--a lot. And that turned into anger, which turned into abuse.

It continued when you were ten years old, and you were playing in the park with a few friends from your class. A strange man, who you later found was a HYDRA spy, abducted you and one of your other friends, and they tortured the both of you. Your friend, unfortunately, did not make it. You did (you’d always blame yourself for her dying).

It progressed as you reached twelve years old, still being held captive, but now with powers. You could teleport and manipulate energy fields, giving you the ability to make shields, teleport, and move objects. You hoped that getting powers would make the torture stop, but it only got worse.

It repeated when you were fifteen years old. The only thing on your mind was your loving mother, who protected you from what seemed like everything. You knew that she blamed herself for this as she did with everything else. You were rescued, only to find out that your father had murdered her last year and was now in prison, and you were forced into foster care.

It happened again when you were seventeen. You had gone through intensive therapy and had been to several mental hospitals over the last two years to try and deal with the trauma, and you were doing fine. That was until Tony Stark recruited you to join the Avengers. Things had started okay, but as you trained, you kept getting flashbacks and rather intrusive memories.

So, of course, it continued, at eighteen years old, you were scared when you realized that you fell for Peter Parker. Luck had never been on your side, and you supposed that you were cursed to live a short and miserable life, so you did your absolute best to detach from him. You worked through the memories that the two of you shared, changing them so that you had done something differently. Anything differently. Hopefully, it was something that made it so you didn’t catch feelings like it was the damn cold.

But that boy was always smarter than he appeared. Peter caught on to you being distant, but he didn’t quite understand why. He thought that it was his fault--after all, he was the one who asked you to dance.

This was the last prom. The last high school dance altogether, actually. After this, there would be no more dressing up with your friends and getting dinner and pictures. There would be no more awkward or cute promposals. For your friends, it was the end of their childhood. For you, your childhood had been taken when you were.

Peter Parker had it for you, and that was certain. He would never admit it, only because he was scared and you made him nervous, but he was head over heels in love with you. You had caught feelings, but you were trying your hardest to deny them. Feelings were weaknesses, and you were not weak.

Thinking Out Loud by Ed Sheeran, a true school dance staple, starting playing loudly. You and your single friends were at the edge of the dance floor talking when Peter tapped on your shoulder.

“Do you, uh, do you want to dance with me?” He asked, stumbling very slightly. You smiled at him and nodded, taking his hand as he led you to the dance floor. You placed your arms around his neck, and his snaked around your waist and pulled you in closer. “You look really pretty, (Y/N),” He smiled.

“Black has always been my color,” You smirked.

“Just because your uniform is black doesn’t mean that it’s your color,” Peter laughed.

“I think that’s exactly what it means,” You responded. “You look nice, too,” You tell him.

You rested your head on his shoulder, swaying softly to the music. He smelled like cologne and like his house, and you thought of the way his arms fit so perfectly around you, and he enveloped you. You were lost in his embrace, in his presence, in his everything, because you had it for him, too.

Peter made you feel safe. When the nightmares came, he chased them away. When you had random bouts of paranoia and anxiety or you were triggered, he would calm you down and refocus you. When you would shake in fear as you stared at something as simple as a belt that was out of place, he would hold you and give you something to focus on--him. You focused on his heartbeat, and how it was always there, always steady, always gentle. You focused on the way his hair tickled your neck when he hugged you, and you focused on the way he would sometimes hum to you to get you back into reality. You loved when he made you feel safe. It was one of the reasons you loved him.

You loved him.

Shit.

Your eyes, which were closed previously, now snapped open and were alert. You couldn’t love him. You just couldn’t. Loving him would just make it hurt more when he inevitably left you in one way or another. Your breath caught in your throat, and you pulled away from him. He looked at you with confused puppy eyes, and you just had to get away from him.

Pivoting on your shoes, you practically ran out of the room, using your powers to teleport you back to the compound. Peter didn’t understand what he did to drive you away so quickly.

A month after, the team was planning on invading a HYDRA base in Canada. You, Peter, Bucky, Steve, Natasha, and Clint all went on this trip, which was very quickly turning south.

Intel had said that there should be twenty men on the inside, but that information had been drastically wrong. What started as twenty quickly turned into one hundred, and you were vastly outnumbered. Why had Tony chosen you to go on such a large mission?

No matter why you were here, you had to fight. It was that, or die, and death didn’t sound too pleasant right about now. You teleported behind a guy and kicked both of his knees, knocking him to the ground while you straddled him and grabbed at his gun. He held on tight, but you manipulated his arms so that you could butt him in the head with the end of his rifle. Then, you shot him in the head and moved on, fighting in whatever way necessary to keep you and your team alive.

At one point, they got out dozens of grenades. You were petrified, to say the least. Having nowhere to run or hide, you were left out in the open with nothing but your powers. Peter was in the same predicament. You teleported to him and threw up a shield right as a grenade landed near you guys.

You began to shake as you collapsed to your knees. You kept the shield up by some miracle, but now you felt the panic start to set in. Bullets were firing directly at you and Peter, and you had never used your shields against bullets or grenades, so who knew if this was going to work or hold up?

Peter noticed your panicking, so he got down on his knees right next to you. Placing a hand on your bloody cheek, he looked into your eyes. “Hey, (Y/N), look at me. It’s okay. We’re okay. You’re doing so good. Take some deep breaths. Give me your hand,” He said, taking one of your hands. He placed it over his heart, knowing that was one of your favorite grounding techniques. “Feel my heartbeat. I’m alive, you’re alive, and we’re okay. We just have to get through this.”

You nodded your head and did as he asked. His heart thumped wildly underneath your hand, but at least there was a beat there. And it wasn’t faint or weak. It was wild and lively and it meant that he was breathing right here next to you.

When the firing stopped, you held your defenses still as you moved you and Peter to where the rest of the team had met. “All clear,” Steve said. “We got all of them.” You dropped your shield, watching as the wall of blue quickly dropped around you. “Nat and Clint got the files, so let’s get back on the quinjet and get home.”

“Good work, kid,” Bucky said, clapping a hand over your shoulder. You nodded up at him, giving a tight smile as you walked ahead.

Peter walked right behind you the entire way to the quinjet, sat next to you quietly on the flight home, and trailed behind you when you walked back into the tower. “(Y/N), hold up,” He said.

You kept walking to your room. “Yeah, Peter?” You asked as you reached your door.

“Can we talk?”

“We’re talking right now,” You scoffed as you stepped into your comfort zone.

“This is the most we’ve talked in a month. What did I do?” He asked.

“You didn’t do anything, Peter.”

“It feels like I did. It seemed like we were having a good time at the dance and then you just left. What happened?”

You looked at him and how confused he was. His hair was messy, his face had dirt smeared on it, his suit looked like it had taken some slight damage, and yet he was still as handsome as he ever was. You avoided his gaze as you stepped into the bathroom, wetting a washcloth and wiping at your face to get the blood off. “Nothing.”

“It wasn’t nothing.”

“I said it was nothing,” You repeated, your voice louder and more intense.

“It doesn’t feel like nothing!” Peter exclaimed.

You threw your washcloth down into the sink. “I really fucking love you, okay?” You yelled. He went silent after that, the only noises being the running faucet and his and your labored breathing. “I realized when we were dancing that I love you, and that scares the shit out of me.”

“Why would it scare you?” He asked, his voice much more gentle.

“All my life, I have had horrible luck. Being beaten, getting kidnapped, getting these powers--nothing ever goes right in my life. Why would we be any different?”

“Because I love you, too,” Peter said. “And I get that you’re scared. But can you please just give us a chance? I’m not going to hurt you, (Y/N), that is my last intention when it comes to you.”

“Isn’t that what everybody says?” You scoffed.

“Do you trust anybody like you trust me?” He asked. The question took you by surprise. Peter was being incredibly forward today, and you didn’t know if it was the leftover adrenaline or if he was just really persistent about this, but you weren’t used to it. “Have you ever trusted anybody like you trust me?”

“Of course not, Peter,” You sighed. You ran a hand through your hair. “Listen, it isn’t about trust. You, you’re just so perfect and I’m the opposite. Good things run away from me, luck laughs in my face then punches me in the gut, happiness is less likely than me breathing underwater. It isn’t you that I’m worried about. I’m going to fuck it up for the both of us, and then we lose each other in more ways than one.”

You hadn’t noticed how Peter slowly walked to you while you were having your mini-rant, but now he was a foot away from you and there was something about the look in his eyes that made your knees go weak. He places his hands on your arms, making you really look up at him as he pulled you in closer. “(Y/N), do you trust me?” He asked. Quietly. Gently. It felt as though his voice could ease even the most painful parts of you.

Did you trust him? You were certain of it. You went to him about everything--things people said to you, poor work experiences, your only high school relationship that, unbeknownst to you, Peter hated with his entire being (your ex was always so manipulative and controlling), secrets, and even stories about your past. You hadn’t told anybody about what HYDRA did to you. Not your adoptive parents. Not your friends. Not Tony. Only Peter--he was always the only one.

You nodded your head as you peered at him through bare lashes. “Yes, I do,” you whispered.

“Then please know that it’s the complete truth when I tell you that there is nothing you could do to fuck up our relationship. We’re both insecure, and that’s okay. We’ll get through it. Nothing could keep me away from you.”

“Peter?” You asked softly.

“Hm?”

“Please kiss me,” You asked. He smiled as he dipped his head down to meet yours, a small sigh leaving both of your mouths when it finally happened. His hands left your elbows and instead went around your waist, leaving your arms free to place around his neck. It was heated. It was the release of built-up tension over the last two years. Constantly pining and wanting and pushing and pulling led to this. His lips pushed almost bruisingly hard against yours, leaving you wanting more, more, more. You walked him backward until his knees hit the edge of your bed, making him fall with you on top of him. Your legs straddled him as you continued to make out, hands roaming, touching, mapping out every cut and scar and mark as if it were a map. His hands dug into your hips, and yours into his biceps. It was bold, it was daring; it was nothing like the Peter you knew.

You didn’t mind it one bit.

Peter pulled away reluctantly after a minute or so more of this. “Maybe we should wait for this,” Peter said, using his eyes gesture down to the way you were sitting on him. You smiled and rolled your hips, watching as his eyes closed and his breath hitched.

“Okay, I’ll stop,” You said. You stayed on top of him, but your arms wrapped back around his neck and you rested your head on your arms so that you were hugging him. He returned it, pressing light kisses to your shoulders as well. “And Peter, I think I’m okay to give us a chance, as long as you’re okay with it, too.”

His hair tickles you as he nods his head. “I was hoping you’d say that,” He said.

Luck was definitely not on your side. So much has gone wrong in your life, so many near-death experiences had happened, so much mental trauma was obtained. No, luck was not your friend. But just because you and Luck weren’t on good terms, doesn’t mean that Fate didn’t have something in mind for you after all.

[twiceminded-archived]

(Awhile back I wrote a cognitive assessment for Alfend, but today I’ve decided to expand on it! So here goes!)

(Long-ass fuckin post under the cut, lots of negative psychological stuff, and child abuse mentions.)

Amnesia - Certain memories have been surpressed by conditioning. Only Fendi suffers this, and his memories of his stay in the hospital are especially shaky because of it.

Anxiety - A given, considering what he’s been through. Many things make Alfendi nervous, due to events that have happened in their life. Al typically responds with agitation, while Fendi simply compartmentalizes the feeling and sets it aside.

C-PTSD - One would expect PTSD only due to a singular event, but Alfendi’s very early life involved emotional and verbal abuse. Due to these repeated reactions towards his behaviour, Alfendi now has a myriad of problems that persist later on in life. Al inherited the majority of those behavioural issues. Some of these will be expanded on further down the post.

Cynicism - Not exactly something either of them can help, but it’s hard to keep faith in humanity and in people when you constantly see the worst of them... and when the system fails you, where else do you turn?

Defensiveness - Absolutely. Press either of them on something they’re sensitive about, and they get defensive. Al angrily goes on the attack or stands his ground, but even Fendi can lose his temper and go off if he’s cornered, if he doesn’t just lapse into silence first.

Denial - Yep! Deny, deny, deny. They’re getting a little better about it, but there’s been no real significant progress in making either half admit truth in the face of pressure.

Depersonalization - Comes with the dissociation! And with the personality death. If this body belonged to someone before you, is it really yours? How real are you if you’re just a construct, or a fragment? Too many of these questions, and they start to lose touch with the physical world and perceive things as happening to just the ‘body’, not ‘them’.

Depression - Yeah, there’s not much to elaborate on with this. The depression is real.

Displacement - Is it really a surprise that Al has this? He can’t be aggressive towards the general public, his family, his friends, or his co-workers, so the next best thing are troublemakers who do something to deserve his ire. Who’s going to care if he dumps all of that simmering rage onto someone he’s sure is a murderer? (Well...)

Dissociation - Yes. I mean, it’s very much one of the most obvious things about them. The two of them dissociate semi-regularly, detaching from their surroundings to calm down -- and also ‘switch’ to suit the situation, as people with dissociative identity disorder often do. The blueprints for this were laid by Alfendi’s terrible childhood, before Hershel took him in.

Dysphoria - Is it really his body? Fendi isn’t sure. Al’s more certain, yet at times Fendi feels like he doesn’t belong in it. But he’s there to stay, and he has to look after this body and the alter in it anyway. At times, however, he just doesn’t feel right...

Emotional detachment - Not exactly a bad thing. Fendi makes use of his while in the workplace, where keeping a cool head is pretty important when you’re trying to get the truth out of someone. However, he takes it out of work and... stifles his emotions because he’s been led to believe that too much is too dangerous. And given the horrible feelings he has after losing his temper, maybe he can’t help it.

Flashbacks - Al has these, since Al carries the majority of childhood memories. While Fendi may freeze up when yelled at, Al will freeze up and recall being back in his first house. These flashbacks often throw him into a defensive mode due to their distressing nature and ability to evoke powerful emotions. Don’t scream at them, they hate it.

Flat affect - 100% Fendi. Another word for this is called ‘emotional blunting’ and if that isn’t Fendi I dunno what is. Typically this turns into straight-up apathy, but sometimes the flat affect is done to hide whatever emotion has just struck him.

Guilt - Fendi locked a sentient part of himself away for four years. When he realized the true reason why he had done this, he was struck with guilt that has never really gone away. But he hates guilt, so he refuses to even acknowledge it.

Hallucinations - Part of that psychosis! Fendi hallucinates voices and occasional movement out of the corners of his vision. The voices are almost always persecutory in nature, and the phrases they pick might come from the things he represses. The words don’t always make sense, however.

Hypervigilance - To a point where it can become exhaustion for them. Not always a problem but when it is, it’s usually because one of their traumas have been triggered or a phobia has been recognized. When combined with paranoia (hypervigilance isn’t the same thing), they become an absolute wreck.

Intellectualization - Done all the time by Fendi. ‘Thinking to avoid feeling’ is one of the cornerstones of his personality. Engaging emotion logically helps take the edge off of it, and makes it easier to fold up and put away.

Isolation - They’re getting better at this, but paranoia threatens to sabotage their hard work. Isolation is safer, isn’t it? But God is it lonely, and they’re sick of being lonely. As Alfendi makes more friends, he’s relying on this less and less.

Panic attacks - Perhaps ‘inevitable’ isn’t the right word; maybe ‘expected’ is. They can work themselves up into a fear-induced frenzy that then results in a panic attack. Unfortunately, agoraphobia (one of Alfendi’s most pronounced phobias) contributes heavily to panic attacks, so this man just cannot catch a break... Thankfully, they’re quite verbal about panicking and know how to deal with it at this point.

Passive-aggression - Fendi’s societal weapon of choice. Al is typically aggressive and only that, but Fendi much prefers to simply ‘accept’ before quietly undermining the person who has raised his ire. Some of his snark is quite passive-aggressive and indirect.

Paranoia - This is the big one. This paranoia is the source of so many of his problems. It has thoroughly invaded his life and so profoundly affected his behaviour that if somehow his paranoia were to be cured, he would undergo quite a personality change. (It, however, cannot be ‘cured’.) Though Alfendi is right to be on edge due to his job, mild celebrity status, prior incidents, and those who oppose him, he takes things a bit too far. He HAS to be safe, HAS to be as unreachable as possible, and his tragic dream is that one day nobody will be able to hurt him ever again. What has happened to Alfendi has thoroughly broken his ability to trust, and no matter how much work is put into helping him take down his paranoid tendencies, it only takes one betrayal (perceived or otherwise) to make him shut down...

Phobias - Yes! The most pronounced one is agoraphobia. Though most people assume it’s a fear of open spaces, that’s just a literal translation. Fendi fears that if he’s put in danger again, he won’t be able to escape -- thus, being inside will keep him safer. Obviously both of them are terribly phobic of anything that can extensively alter the mind, and despise the thought of losing control. The mere suggestion of having someone else in command of them is enough to terrify them both. There’s more! See if you can find them all!

Projection - Occasionally an issue for Al, he’ll misplace his aggression or own vaguely murderous tendencies in someone else. Not like the murderers can exactly argue...

Psychosis - Actually, they both have this! Psychosis comes along with paranoia for the ride. Being able to tell real threats from threats spun out of imagination is not a skill they have anymore -- hence, the paranoid tendencies.

PTSD - Getting shot in the fucking chest and almost dying is pretty goddamn traumatizing. So is being manipulated and taken adantage of to be used as a scapegoat, but it’s a tossup if that can be classified as a PTSD event or C-PTSD event.

Rationalization - You ever see all of those excuses Fendi makes for keeping Al down? That’s literally this. He’s rationalizing it.

Repression - Gestures at Fendi again. This is different from suppression in that feelings are being pushed into the unconscious to never be dealt with!

Self-harm - Oops! This is never done to a life-threatening extent, but Alfendi tends to scratch at his arms when he’s losing his grip on his own thought processes or is overwhelmed. Sometimes he draws blood, sometimes he just gets his skin under his fingernails and that’s all...

Somatization - The amount of stress Alfendi has occasionally manifests into pain with no definitive origin.

Splitting - While Fendi can see shades of gray in people, occasionally Al will split on someone, seeing them as all good or all bad. This is not especially healthy and has led to several friendship collapses in the past. The splitting mechanism was inherited from the original Alfendi.

Sublimation - While Al does project his aggressive emotions onto people from time to time, he’ll also transform his urges and dedicate his aggression to other things, such as his knife-throwing hobby and cooking. 

Suicidal ideation - Fendi once had this problem. It was fixed. Now he does not want to go away, ever.

Suppression - Sometimes it’s better to just stop thinking about certain things, you know? This can be perfectly healthy, just... there’s a point where you have to stop! While Al does have a better idea of where to stop suppressing, Fendi has decided the line is way the fuck elsewhere and suppresses much more often.

Thousand-yard stare - Ever seen Al in the middle of a flashback episode? He isn’t looking at you. He isn’t looking at anything. All he can see is what he went through, and he’s not here right now. Alternatively, when either of them are having a period of extreme dissociation, you’ll see it -- that dead gaze, that soulless expression...

Triggers - Plenty of them! Screaming is one of them. Don’t scream. Thunder and gunshots, too, put them off significantly and throw them into the beginnings of a shutdown or the start of a panic. There are others...

Trust issues - OH I WONDER WHY

Violence - Al is occasionally consumed with the thought of it, and itches for the times he can commit it in the name of self-defense which is kind of terrifying! He thrives off the threats he can make and the reputation it gives him. Is it any wonder Fendi worries about the choices he might make?

Whiplash temper - Alfendi was on the receiving end of this as a child, and unfortunately there is a legacy of abuse. He used to be doing better about his temper, until his personality shattered and Al not only reverted but became slightly worse than his predecessor in that regard.

[clean-bands-dirty-stories]

Heated ~ Stan Uris

A/n: First story of our special 48 hours birthday celebration!! Thanks @campcampie it meant so much to get a response so fast!!

Request: “hey!! can i get a stan uris x reader where like they get in a fight and stan goes to apologize and they make up(OuT) lmao but like angsty then like fluffy with a dash of smut? if not that’s ok! if so, thank you!!” You’re welcome! Haha. Hope you enjoy!!

warnings: some smut, some angst, some fluff. All Stan *finger guns* Aged up Stan (bc it’s smut so obviously), Jesse Eisenberg as per usual!

Word Count: 3784

MASTERLIST

College was fucking hard, okay?

The people were far more pleasant than school before this had been, with them all wanting to be here since they had paid and had goals and all that. The hours were easier too, spaced out so that there was plenty of breathing room and time to get everything done and turned in. The problem was that there was a lot more work, and it was a lot harder. It was exhausting, as well, to add on top of that load having a job so you could, like, you know, support yourself. It wasn’t until they GOT into college that “broke college student” stopped being funny. It was fun and the people were fantastic, which was actually a HUGE stress reliever, but seriously the work load!

With everything else going on, there wasn’t even a slim hope to try and fit actual time for Stan and Y/n to keep their relationship GOIKG his they had before. They had known of each other since they were children - no one went unnoticed in such a small town as Derry. They didn’t start talking until Senior year though after they picked each other for a project because everyone else in their class was either stuck up or seemingly brainless. Or Bill Denbrough, who had come over to try and partner up with Stan. At the time, the Losers had kind of fallen out and Stan wasn’t in the mood for the forced, awkward pleasantness as Bill tried to repaired there friendship three years after everyone kind of moved on. He had been rushed and had leaned over to Y/n, who was one of the few people immediately around him that he imagined he could at all tolerate.

It had taken until the end of the year to be really close, comfortable friends. They threw their lot in with luck and applied to some of the same colleges. When they had gotten into the same ones, they figured they might as well go together. That summer, their crushes on each other were exposed when Y/n determined Stan was a lost cause and went on another date with someone else. It had taken Y/n more than a few minutes to figure out why Stan wouldn’t talk to her the next day, immediately reassuring him that nothing had happened since she had it bad for someone else. They’d gone on a few dates and by mid-summer they were full on dating.

Then Summer had ended and they had started college, officially a month into their relationship. Right in time for them to develop a real, full kind of love, they suddenly had no time for each other. They had been so exhausted every spare moment they didn’t have between school, homework, or work that when they did get together to even watch a movie they ended up falling asleep on the couch, tangled up in each other. They treasured those moments because it was as close they could get to really BEING together. But it wasn’t enough. Y/n wanted to see his face and hear his voice and hear about what had been happening in his life. Stan wanted to hold Y/n’s hand and kiss her- things you could only do in person. He wanted to hear her commentary that made every movie a hundred times funnier and shit talk about professors or students that pissed him off.

To say the least, the distance was taking a toll.

One day, Stan had the day off. He had crammed the night before to get all of his homework done, asking one of his co-workers to take his shift because his professor had canceled today’s class for the first time ever and he wanted to have a romantic night with his girlfriend. His co-workers, who had heard about Stan’s struggles with having time together with his girl and shipped them hardcore were only too eager to let him have the day off - especially since he was the one they always picked up theirs shifts when they needed him to.

So, he woke up early to make Y/n breakfast, waking her with a kiss as he scooped her up and pulled her out of bed aggressively, laughing as she groaned in protest. She cheered up instantly when he sat her at the table so they could have breakfast together for the first time in a while. When she left for her classes, he cleaned house to pass the time. It had been a while before either of them had had the energy to do a deep, proper clean. She came back for lunch in her free time to see Stan dancing around to music. She laughed and he turned, grinning when he saw her.

She was groggy and a little frazzled. “Let me make lunch,” he insisted.

“You made breakfast,” she argued.

He leaned down, kissing her passionately. He leaned away, humming as a smile tugged on both of their lips. “You’re exhausted and I’m not- let me take care of you.

She smiled, melting down into her chair. “If you insist,” she gunned softly. He made food quickly, knowing that she had to go back to class soon and they sat together, him reminding her every so often so she knew class was soon.

That’s when it began. Him hurrying to make her food, trying to keep her in the chair, hurrying her out of the house. He was just trying to take care of her but maybe because she was so tired and stressed, it didn’t sit right with her. She felt paranoia picking at her but she pushed it aside, running a hand through her hair and taking a deep breath. She would not ruin this with stupid anxieties that Stan would eat mad at her for even thinking for a second. Rightfully so too.

He let her go so she’d be on time, taking her dishes for her. They shared another kiss and this time her pulled him closer by the back of his neck, keeping him close. She deepened the kiss and he returned her passion fully. It started to get heated before he pulled away, blinking hard. “Lover Mine,” he breathed. “You have class.”

She sighed. “Okay okay, later.”

He grinned. “Later.”

Y/n went to the rest of her classes and then headed straight to work. After her long hours she was worn thin by exhaustion and as she headed home, she smiled I herself at the thought of being reunited with Stan. He had been so attentive today. She had noticed his cleaning and felt a little bad because most of it was her fault, really. Stan was quite neat. She bit her lip, knowing she’d probably go home to a made bed and ruining it the second she got in, needing to be tangled in the sheets to ever get comfortable- probably pulling off the sheets in the process.

One of the first things that had put a block in their relationship was that Y/n was kind of messy. Just a little above average, where she had to tidy up a bit every week to keep the chaos confined. And even then, her backpack and car and desk was cluttered and crammed in an organized chaos that made Stan sick. Stan, who was a neat freak, and Y/n, who was a little messy. It had created tension.

She thought about how she’d go home to his clean house, sitting in his clean clothes with a serene, calm smile. She looked around her car. Her dirty clothes from school had a visible food stain on it from some snack she’d stolen from one of her super close school friends as a joke- thrown in a crumpled pile in the back seat. She looked at her shoes, crushed with dirt and grime. She looked at the cracked leather of the seats and the filthy windows she’d never found the time or energy to get cleaned at a car wash. She looked at all the food wrappers and food containers and scattered, crumpled up calls of old tests and homework she wanted to forever forget. Crumbs and pencils and highlight tees and pen and her work schedule. Speaking of work...

She currently sat with her hair pinned up under her dirty work hat, her shirt stained with sweat and her pants chafing horribly against her skin.

Like a truck going full speed down the highway hitting her full on, Y/n realized with horror how GROSS she was. She couldn’t move, thinking about taking herself unfit their clean apartment Stan had worked on and enjoyed all day. She’d probably throw her clothes on the floor, making Stan scrunch his nose in disgust. He hated riding in the car with her. They had gotten separate cars because they had such different schedules leading them to such different places... or maybe he just hated how disgustingly unorganized and gross her car was. The smell of fast food and sweat and stale air hit her and she snapped.

Her hands flew to her face as everything hit her at once and she started crying. Sobbing. Loudly in a really UGLY kind of way. She sat there shaking and hysterically losing her mind. All she wanted to do was go inside and take a shower and cuddle with Stan or just be with him in any way - every way - he would let her. She wanted to get into her car tomorrow and have it be as clean as she imagined his was. Fresh and shampooed and not a sign of chaos or mess. She wanted to be with him and feel good enough for him, after all he’s done on his day off.

Stan could have slept in. He could have slept and been lazy the day before and done his homework today and then gone to work instead of taking risks with the money, even though Stan had it figured out to make sure there was nothing to worry about because he was Stan and he didn’t want anything to go wrong or have any negative taint on today. Today that was supposed to be as perfect as their college life would allow. Perfect Stan, with his kind eyes and gorgeous smile and pristine cleanliness.

Her phone rang. She jumped and looked over, recoiling when she saw Stan’s name across the Caller ID bar. She covered her face again, her breaths coming shorter and faster as her chest compressed and her stomach twisted. She was disgusted with herself and he would be too. He would take one look at her and use her into the shower, just like he’s rushed her out of the house and kept her in one place. He didn’t want her to mess up his clean perfection.

The phone went off again. And again. And again. Stan called a fifth time before he went to texts, where he left five more before he gave up altogether. He began to worry, pacing back and forth upstairs with worry as the dinner he had meticulously set up to be as romantic as possible so that they could eat and talk before he’d take her to the shower since he knew that after busy days like today she hated how dirty she felt and would want to be clean before doing anything else. And, if he was honest, he was in a clean mood and didn’t want to be with her when she smelled like fast food if there was a better option. He would cuddle with her in her work clothes but he would prefer not to.

He moved to the table, looking at the beautiful candles and delicious food and the low light room that set a very distinct mood before huffing with anxiety, moving to the window to fiddle with the curtains. Maybe she had gotten in a wreck, or gotten run over? Maybe she was cheating on him? Maybe she was exhausted and had fallen asleep at a desk or in her car? Maybe she-

Maybe she was sitting in the parking lot, completely awake as she leisurely sat at the wheel of her car, just... sitting, from what he could see. His brain filled in the missing information and he swore he saw her on her phone, scrolling. Stalling.

Was spending time with him SO bad? After all he’s done today, she was just going to sit in the car and waste time? They both had to be asleep soon for school tomorrow and then their night together would be wasted. Wasn’t he more important than whatever the hell she was doing right now?!

Eventually Y/n pulled herself together, wiping her face and closing her eyes, running a hand through her hair as she opened the door to her car, trying to calm herself down from the things she KNEW weren’t true. She would shower and they would be together and it would all be better- she could worry about her messy lifestyle another time. Stan was waiting and despite how much she hated it, they were on a clock. When Stan saw her get out of the far he withdrew from the window, storming over to the table to blow out the candles, leaving he food on the table. It was probably cold, he realized. Cold and gross. Wasted.

When Y/n made her way into the apartment, she smiled, smelling the food and knowing Stan was waiting for her. She noticed the dim lighting and saw the candles on the table and all her anxiety and stress melted away as she nearly cried again just out of how much she absolutely adored Stan.

And then Stan appeared.

“Hey,” she greeted softly, smiling as she approached him.

He pulled away, still upset she hadn’t been as excited as he was. He would have RUN up here. But no, she wasted time in the car and now their food was gross and his mood was ruined and he didn’t want to be touched while he was mad. “Hi,” he returned shortly, crossing his arms over his chest.

She looked hurt, the thoughts of him being disgusted with her gross state hitting her hard again. He was just as repulsed as she knew he’d be. She’d been RIGHT. He just thought she was upset because he’d pulled away and he took a deep breath to try and calm down. They could talk after she’d had a second to wind down from her long day. Maybe she had a reason. I mean he knew she loved him, so he was probably just being needy since he wanted her so much. It was fine. “Why don’t you go shower?” He sighed, turning a soft smile towards her as he relaxed his body. “I know you’ve had a long day, it’ll make you feel better.”

Take a shower.

Take a shower?

He was rubbing salt in a wound she had inflicted on herself, on accident, and now she was upset. Not sad or self loathing or regretful like in the car. MAD. Mad that he had been as stupid and had drawn such a dumb line between them. Why couldn’t he just hug her? Kiss her? Was being dirt SO FUCKING TERRIBLE?

“God Stan you’re such a dick,” she spat as she turned toward the shower, coming to the conclusion but not explaining how she had gotten there.

Stan completely lost it. “I’M a dick?” He hissed, causing her to turn around because she didn’t want an angry anyone somewhere she couldn’t see and defend herself if things got too bad.

Squaring her shoulders, she looked up at him. He was a little taller than her and she stared him down without breaking. They were both exuding anger now in waves, both able to feel it and feeding off of each other. “Yeah,” She seethed back towards him. “You’re so- god! I walk in the door and you won’t even greet me?!”

“Jesus Christ, Y/n, you’re such a ducking hypocrite!” He yelled, his arms calling to his side as he stepped closer to her. “You sit in the car, wasting time for us to be together after so long of everything getting in the way and I’m not allowed to be mad-“ he began, fuming.

Y/n scoffed viciously, almost snarling. “You’re not even-“ she stumbled, angry that he had seen her and not come to check on her. Angry that he was poking at an open wound. Angry angry ANGRY!

Stan cut her off. “I worked my ass off all day to make this day perfect and you wasted precious time SITTING IN YOUR CAR, and now I’M a sick because I suggested you take a shower?!”

“Oh GEEZ,” Y/n screamed back, stepping back in disbelief. “I get it you cleaned the house, Stan. Let me excuse myself and just clean myself so you don’t have to deal with my unbearable filth!”

Shocked by her words, Stan just stood there as she retreated to their room and the attached bathroom. “F-“ he cut off, hating to not have the last word in an argument but also trying to process a phrase so similar to things she’d brought up in last arguments before. “FINE!” He yelled instead, storming over to slam their bedroom door close when she went through. He stroked over to the couch, kicking it before he bang lacing to try and think and calm down. He finally settled for going on a short walk to really tire himself out after being inside all day, even if just while she took a shower.

When he came back, the house was dark and quiet. Y/n badly cleaned the table off and he checked the fridge, a soft smile resting on his face as he saw them all neatly piled and tucked into the fridge in separate Tupperware containers like he had had to train her to do.

Walking had cleared his head and he’d realized that she was having anxiety about her messiness again. She’d had breakdowns about it a few times after Stan had shown a tendency to be such a neat freak, sometimes making comments about her dirtiness before he got over himself a little and learned to live with it and keep calm and compromise. He realized she must have been crying in the cara Nd after her long day, he felt terrible for making it worse.

He moved into the bedroom, looking for her. When he saw her form in the bed, he leaned against the doorway, sighing softly. She didn’t respond. “Y/n?” He called gently. “Hey I’m sorry about yelling at you. I just wanted to see you SO badly it was killing me. I’ve been counting down the hours until I got to be with you tonight. Just you and me. I’ve missed you so much and I didn’t realize... why you were upset.” Still no response. “Look, I don’t care about you being dirty. I just wanted you to know that’s not why I was mad or distancing myself. That would never come in between me kissing you. Greeting you.” Still no response. “I love you Y/n.” Nothing. Stan sighed. “I know you’re awake Y/n. You take long showers, and on top of that you took time to clean up dinner so you can’t have been in bed for more than a minute.” Nada. He shook his head. “Fine. I’ll take the couch. Goodnight, I love you.” And then he left.

Y/n rolled out of bed, unable to be away from him any longer and feeling a lot better now that’s she’d showered. She threw open the door. “Stan wait.”

He turned and she immediately collided into him, her hands wrapping around the back of his neck to pull him down to her. Their lips met heatedly, the air coming alive with pops and cracks thy couldn’t see or hear but felt no less. One of his hands wrapped around her wrist, the other dipping down to grip her waist. He stepped her backwards, pressing her against her wall. She wanted to apologize. Wanted to tell him she loved him too. But too soon they were lost in each other and it just stopped mattering. Stan knew, without her having to speak, and they had both pushed it aside with a silent promise not to waste any more time.

The hand of his on her waist rose, sliding up her side to rest against her ribs, slipping under her shirt. Her teeth caught his bottom lip and pulled and he groaned softly, pressing his body into hers more to get some pressure where he needed her. All the time apart and boiling emotions had lead them to one place and now all of either of them could think about was being with each other in one way only.

Y/n’s fingers tugged at his collar and they separated so he could tug off his shirt, her biting her lip as she watched. He then smiled, reaching to take her shirt off as well.

“Beautiful,” he whispered dreamily, lips rushing to meet the skin on her neck. His hands now found hold under her thighs, pulling her up his body as her legs wrapped around his waist. Her hands went into his hair, head head tilting back against the wall, eyes closing as he kissed and sucked at her hot skin, sending waves of warm pleasure through her body as she shivered under the fire his attention ignited. She rolled her hips into his and he gasped, moving away from the wall to carry her to their room, their shirts discarded and forgotten on the floor.

Stan lay her carefully on the bed, crawl in over her. “So beautiful,” he fawned, ginger tracing the slowly forming, new bruises on her neck that he had just created. He leaned close, kissing her hard.

As he began kissing her skin again, her hands returning to their favorite place in his curly, soft hair, she smiled, humming softly as he made a pathway down her throat and chest toward her stomach. “Thank you for today, Stan. It was honestly perfect. I love you too.”

He looked up at her with a grin. Their argument seemed so silly now. Their doubts and anxieties and angers. It seemed so stupid that they had prolonged this much awkward moment. “Anything for you, Lover Mine,” he purred in that voice he knew drove her crazy. Then his hands found the waistband of her pants, pulling, and the real highlight of the night began.

[natasha-cole]

#1 Crush: Part 11

Chapter Summary: Rob can’t seem to make the right choices when it comes to Reader’s birthday. Despite yet another almost failed attempt at making her birthday special, Rob does end up redeeming himself.

Word Count: 6149

Warnings: fluff, angst, arguing, swears, creepy fan, paranoia, anxiety, panic attack

Notes: This has been sitting in my drafts for weeks, so I read through it quickly and here it is. All mistakes are my own and you’ll just have to deal with it.

P.S. a lot of my tags aren’t working, so I apologize.

Series Masterlist

Word of the events on set had spread, and you had people checking in on you a lot. You knew they were just expressing their concerns, worried because of how terrified you were about all of this. You were just embarrassed at this point.

And scared? Yes, you were very afraid. Even after you left set after the whole ‘flowers from Rob thing’ the fear didn’t leave you. As your bodyguard saw you to your door and said goodnight, you realized then that you were terribly alone and very vulnerable.

Unlike most nights after you got back to your apartment, you didn’t call Rob that night. Hearing his voice would have been comforting usually, but you honestly couldn’t decide if you were mad at him or not.

After the initial shock of what had happened wore off, you wondered why he had even thought to send you flowers in the first place. Normally, it would have been a thoughtful gesture, and you often joked with him about how he had never sent you flowers; now, you just assumed that a gesture like that wasn't even a thought in his mind after everything.

You didn’t want to worry him, and you had seen the missed calls when you actually took your phone out of your bag once you walked through the door. Still, you didn’t know if you could hold it together if you had him on the phone. So, you settled for a text message. It would be quick and would give no indication about how you were really feeling.

Y/N: Late night on set. I’m wiped. I miss you.

You didn’t even have time to take off your jacket when he responded.

Rob: Y/N, I’m so sorry. I wasn’t thinking. Please call me.

You frowned, knowing that Rich probably said something to him. You certainly hadn’t. You didn’t even so much as send him a ‘thank you’ message after the whole debacle.

Y/N: It’s fine. Just a misunderstanding. I’m fine.

Rob: You really won’t call me?

Y/N: I’m just really tired. Heading to bed now. TTYL.

You had been uncharacteristically short with him, and you didn’t like that you wanted to keep tonight’s communication so impersonal. But, you were actually exhausted. Everything had drained you today, and the last thing you wanted was to hear his voice knowing that he was probably really upset about his actions. You hated that he blamed himself for a lot of this, and you just couldn’t handle him feeling guilty over his lack of thinking when he sent you the flowers.

Rob: Are we okay?

Y/N: Of course. I really miss you. I can’t wait to see you in a couple of days. Also, the gesture was nice. I’m sorry I overreacted.

You added a heart emoji at the end for good measure and tossed your phone onto the nightstand before getting ready for bed.

The last message you received from Rob was him saying that he was sorry again and that he missed you too. You left him on read, not wanting to keep the conversation going tonight. All you wanted was to sleep and forget about today.

Sleep was far and few in between though. You tossed and turned, replaying everything in your mind. You were still embarrassed over the way you reacted, or rather, overreacted. You were upset that Rich had probably called his friend and told him all about what a nutcase you were. You were still feeling suffocated just knowing that tomorrow would be yet another day where you couldn’t go anywhere or even breathe alone. Mostly, you were thinking.

You thought about what you could have done to have gotten yourself into this situation. Was Rob right? Was all of this being done by someone you might know? The scarier thought was that you were certain it wasn’t. You felt that this was a stranger, a stranger who knew a lot about you and spent his time writing to you and judging you. You thought about the horrible things in those letters, the names you were being called on social media, the frantically typed tweets that not only attacked you, but Rob as well. You thought about the flowers; the ungodly amount of flowers that you had received and how even the thought of flowers now made your skin crawl. You thought a lot about how insensitive Rob had been even though he hadn’t meant to be.

You let out a frustrated sigh, burying your face in your pillow as you finally gave up on the notion of sleep. It wasn’t going to happen tonight. Not now since you were thinking about how terrified you had been when you considered the possibility that this weirdo could have been in your trailer.

At no point through any of this had you ever worried about the possibility of someone showing up at your home, but that brief moment of wondering as you stood in your trailer made you realize otherwise. After all, someone had found your hotel room before and left you a note, who’s to say they couldn’t find you back in L.A. or even here in Vancouver?

Still, there had been no indication that whoever it was knew where you were staying outside of the conventions. Even as you laid in bed tonight in your little apartment in Canada, restless and nervous, you knew you were only working yourself up over nothing. That didn’t stop you from being afraid though.

You drifted off to sleep finally at some point late that night. Or early the next morning… you couldn’t be sure. All you knew was that you were suddenly being pulled from your restless sleep to the sound of your phone ringing. You blindly reached for your phone, answering it before taking time to do much else.

“Hello,” you grumbled when you picked up.

You assumed it was Rob calling, probably still upset that you hadn’t called him right after work. However, you were greeted by silence.

“Hello? Rob, is that you?” You said again, still waiting for some sort of reply.

When you you didn’t get one, you pulled your phone away from your ear to look at the screen. You had unexpectedly answered a call from an unknown number; something that you never did, and this was the type of call you rarely got since you never gave out your number.

Whoever had called was still on the line as you then focused on the time. It was nearly 3 am. No way anyone you knew would call you at this time, especially not Rob.

“Who is this?” You asked, trying to get something out of whoever was on the line as you returned to the call.

At this point, you didn’t know if anyone was even there. Still, you felt a shiver run down your back at the strangeness of the phone call. Rather than upset yourself by trying to encourage something from the caller, you ended the call; turning your phone on silent before tossing it aside again. You grumpily curled up under your blankets before closing your eyes again, hoping that sleep would find you for just a little while longer.

The next day, you had to force yourself from bed. You weren’t sure how much sleep you had actually gotten, but you knew it wasn’t enough. You were already running late, so you quickly showered and got dressed; only grabbing your things just before you left your apartment to head to set.

Once you had arrived, you trudged to hair and makeup where the crew was quick to point out how terrible you looked. You didn’t even argue or feel bad about it. You knew you had to look as bad as you felt right now.

As someone got to work on your hair, you took the time to check your phone. The first thing you noticed were the missed calls. You looked through your call history, assuming that Rob had called and you just hadn’t heard your phone since it was still on silent. Instead, you saw that you had a few missed calls from an unknown number. All of them had happened ridiculously early in the morning while you had been asleep. In that moment, you got a little nervous. You recalled answering one of those calls that had pulled you from your sleep, only to be greeted by nothing on the other end of the call.

Now, you were seeing that they had called multiple times within minutes of each other. You immediately decided that you couldn’t overreact to this. They had been random calls, probably accidental or something. Getting phone calls from unknown callers wasn’t something to get freaked out about. This stuff happened to people all the time.

You deleted your call history and turned to a text message that you had received instead.

You had to smile when you saw Rob’s name, followed by a very sweet good morning text.

Instead of texting back, you decided that you were ready to call him. Yes, you had been upset with him, but you still adored him and really needed to hear his voice right now.

When you found his number and pressed call, you waited for him to answer.

“Y/N!” Rob’s voice said excitedly when he picked up. “I thought you’d never call me. I thought I was in trouble.”

“You’re not in trouble,” you chuckled. “I just had a rough day and I really was tired last night.”

“I’m so sorry,” he replied. “I don’t know what I was thinking sending you those. As soon as Rich called me and told me about that… I knew I fucked up.”

“It’s okay. I just- maybe I am a little freaked out over everything that’s been happening. I should’ve just read the card first.”

“No, I shouldn’t have done that. Especially with everything that’s been going on.”

“I’m fine,” you said. “Really. I just needed to process everything. I’m not mad at you. The flowers really are beautiful.”

“I should be able to send my girlfriend flowers without scaring her,” Rob said softly.

You could hear him shuffling about in the background of the call and you decided to ignore the conversation at hand.

“What are you doing?” You asked.

“I am on my way out,” he replied. “Heading to the studio.”

“How’s it going?” You asked, referring to the fact that the guys were recording.

“It’s good. We’re getting a lot done, probably because I don’t have you around to distract me.”

“Ouch.”

“Really though,” he laughed. “I miss you. But, I’ve been working all day, every day while you’ve been gone. Trying to keep myself busy I guess.”

“I miss you too,” you smiled. “Just one more day and we see each other again.”

“Just one more day and someone has a birthday,” he reminded you.

“Maybe we can avoid bringing up the fact that I’m getting older.”

“Hey, you kept reminding me about my birthday, it’s your turn.”

“I’m just glad my birthday is on the day before the actual convention starts,” you began. “I just want to spend it with you.”

“Sounds good to me,” he said. “What are you thinking? Dinner? Date Night? Maybe we could all get together for a night out… or maybe just a night in bed with room service?”

“Honestly, I’d really love just a night in with you right now.”

“I can handle that.”

“So please; no party, no night out… just you and me.”

“Alright,” he replied. “So then I should probably cancel the real plans I made?”

“Really?” You asked. “Did you really make plans?”

“I’m kidding,” he chuckled.

Just as Rob finished his thought, you were being instructed to head to wardrobe.

“Look, I gotta go,” you said. “I’ll see you soon.”

“Alright, Y/N. See you soon.”

Chicago Convention

Day one of the convention would be your birthday, but you honestly didn’t feel like celebrating.

You had arrived in Chicago alone. Rob and some of the others were already there by now, but they were always put to work rather early, so you were left to your own devices as you journeyed from the airport to the hotel.

You checked in at the front desk, wishing that Rob was with you, but also grateful that he had arranged to have the two of you just share a room this weekend. It made sense really. It’s not like you ever stayed in your own room lately now that you were together, and it wasn’t like you were going to have privacy anyway with a protective boyfriend.

Rob had called you when you let him know that you had landed. He had already checked into the room and said that he had left a key at the front desk for you. He wanted to make sure that you were good to go, and insisted that you just head up to the room. You were slightly bummed that he was so busy, but he did promise you a night in of cuddling and room service once he was done.

Honestly, that was all you had been really looking forward to all week. Just spending time alone with him.

Since you had literally just arrived in Chicago and the convention wouldn’t start until tomorrow, there hadn’t been any type of security guard or anything waiting for you when you got in. While you could complain all day about how annoying it was to have someone follow you around, you sort of wished it had been arranged for you now.

You made your way to the right floor and down the long, empty hallway until you found the room.

You paused at the door, feeling a sudden sense of anxiety come over you. If anything, you should have felt safer now that you had arrived at what would be a safe place. Maybe it was the impending darkness of night and the fact that you were here alone until Rob was able to meet you; or maybe it was the memory of how scared you had felt over the incident previously; but you couldn’t shake the nervousness as it built up.

‘It’s just a hotel room,’ you told yourself. ‘No one is here. You’re alone, but there’s nothing to be afraid of. Rob will be here soon.’

You slowly put the keycard in the slot and turned the handle, opening the door to be greeted at first by darkness.

You reached against the wall, fumbling to find the light switch. You knew to expect nothing; just an empty hotel room probably containing Rob’s luggage. That was what you kept telling yourself as you tried to find the switch.

‘I’m alone, and that’s okay,’ you thought to yourself.

When you finally found the switch, you flipped it on and peered into the room.

“Surprise!”

You heard numerous voices shout at you. Just the fact that you obviously weren’t alone startled you; but it was the sudden appearance of people, stepping out from around corners, popping up from behind furniture; that made your heart race.

Your felt your face heat up, skin tingling as you realized that your breathing had picked up. You froze completely, fear taking over as you tried to process what was happening. Your fight-or-flight response activated and you considered turning around to run, but you began to take in the surroundings before you made that split-decision. Slowly, you began to recognize faces.

There was Rob, standing directly in front of you, giving you that big smile that you adored so much. That was the first thing you saw, and it was the only thing that held you in place as you felt panic rise up in your body. You glanced around quickly, noticing all your friends… all familiar faces. You took in the room next.

This was a surprise party. You could tell by the birthday decorations, the array of food set out, the rather large birthday cake on the table. It all made sense now.

Still, no matter how hard you tried to calm yourself now that you understood that you were okay, the panic continued to build.

“Y/N,” Rob began. The concern in his voice forced you to look at him. Then you saw the concern in his eyes as he moved toward you. “Are you okay?”

He reached out, grasping onto your arms as he looked at you, urging you to let him know that you were perfectly fine.

You opened your mouth, trying to form words… any words to let him know it was okay.

Instead, you felt yourself break. You began to sob, feeling your heart race as you were no longer able to hold back.

“Shit,” he muttered as he immediately attempted to hold you.

In an instant, you pushed past him, aware of the fact that you were losing it in front of everyone. All you wanted to do was remove yourself from view. He let you move, watching you as you shakily rushed past everyone.

Once you made it to the bathroom, you closed the door behind you and continued to sob. You tried to steady your breathing, tried to ignore the dizziness you were feeling; but you couldn’t stop crying no matter how much you wanted to.

You could hear the faint sound of knocking on the door and Rob’s voice asking you to let him in. He sounded so worried, and you didn’t want to worry him, so you fumbled for the doorknob until you finally unlocked it for him.

He rushed right in, closing the door behind him before attending to you. You had already returned to your spot on the floor, knowing that you couldn’t stand anymore. You were still crying and now just frustrated with yourself that you couldn’t stop.

Rob immediately joined you, kneeling down in front of you and pulling you in to his body. That in itself was sort of calming. Just having him here holding you was comforting.

“Shh,” he cooed as he pulled back to look at you. “You’re gonna be okay.”

You continued to cry, slowing down just a bit as he grabbed your hands and pulled them up to his face. He held you there, encouraging you to touch him and look him in the eyes.

“You’re okay. I’m right here. Breathe for me.”

You tried to focus on touching him, feeling the rough hairs of his beard beneath your fingertips. You locked eyes with him, listening to his calming voice as you began to breathe your way through the panic attack.

He continued to talk to you soothingly, although you couldn’t quite comprehend most of what he said. Regardless, it helped. After a few minutes, you felt your heart rate slow down, you stopped crying, and the dizziness began to subside.

“Look at that,” he smiled as you continued to hold his face in your hands. “You’re good baby. I’m right here.”

Once you were finally past it, you let out a stuttered sigh. You wrapped your arms around him and pulled him in so that you could rest your head against him. He held you tight, understanding that you just needed him right now.

When you had calmed down just enough to let everything process finally, you began to pull yourself together, knowing that you still had to go out and face everyone who had showed up for your apparent surprise party. You didn’t know if you could, but you knew you had to try. Maybe no one had realized what had happened to you. Maybe they all just thought you had been so surprised that you had to run off to cry happy tears alone. That was far-fetched and you knew deep down that literally all of your friends had just witnessed you having a panic attack over this. Still, you had to face it. You had to face them as bravely as you could. After all, you were still playing off this entire situation as if it weren’t that serious and you really didn’t want to give them a reason to believe it was that serious.

“I’m so sorry,” Rob mumbled as he helped you up from the floor. “I wasn’t thinking.”

“It’s not your fault,” you said with a forced laugh as you wiped tears from your face. ”A surprise party isn’t supposed to give me a panic attack.”

“I should have known. I'm fucking everything up. Are you okay?”

“I’m okay now. I was already making myself anxious when I showed up here knowing I’d be alone.”

“Fuck, I shouldn’t have done this.”

“Rob,” you said softly as you cupped his face in your hands again. “I’m okay. I’m sorry I did that. I don’t know why I did that.”

“Don’t apologize. It’s not your fault. It’s my fault for convincing everyone to jump out at you when you thought you were supposed to be alone. I’m the worst boyfriend.”

“You absolutely are not,” you said firmly. “You’re the best. Do you know how many people in my life have ever cared enough to organize a surprise party for me? One.”

“I thought it would be a fun gesture,” he said. “I just didn’t think it through. Just like I didn’t think the whole flower thing through.”

“Still, I love that you even think of doing these things for me. It’s not your fault that you’ve got a girlfriend who happens to have a creep bugging her.”

“I’ll be better,” he promised. “I’ll actually stop to think about what I’m doing. I never meant to scare you, in any way.”

“I know.”

He let out a sigh, seemingly relaxed now that he could see that you weren’t angry with him. Any bit of anger that you might have had about the whole flower thing had quickly washed away by this point. In fact, you weren’t even mad about this whole thing. Instead, you felt really grateful that you had someone who cared about you enough to even think of doing these types of things for you. Rob was sweet and thoughtful, but perhaps he just wasn’t completely understanding of how he should handle your unique situation.

You realized just now, as he looked guilty and worried, how much you really did love him. Sure, he had organized the entire surprise that had ultimately sent you into a panic attack, but at least he was here to get you through it. After all, the fear and anxiety you were feeling lately, wasn’t his fault. You couldn’t expect him to know how to handle things when even you weren’t sure how to handle anything either.

You moved to press your body against his, craving the comfort that you felt just by being close to him. He embraced you, holding you tight as you relaxed against him. All you needed was a moment like this with him. When you thought that you were okay enough to finally leave the bathroom and possibly partake in your party, you pulled away from him and offered him a smile before kissing him softly on the lips.

“You want me to make everyone leave?” He asked as you focused on splashing water on your face.

“What?” You asked. “No! No way. You planned this party for me and I intend to partake.”

“Really?” He smiled. “You sure you’re up for it?”

“I just had a panic attack in front of everyone,” you explained as you dried your face off. “I freaked out this week over flowers that were sent by my boyfriend. It’s been rough. I need a lot of drinks, time with my friends, and you.”

You reached over and grasped onto his hand, giving it a squeeze just to let him know that it was fine.

Everyone seemed to know better than to bring up your display of anxiety when you finally decided to face them. Once you had cooled down and made yourself look a bit more presentable, you emerged from the bathroom with Rob, smile plastered on your face as you greeted your friends properly.

No one said anything and no one made a big deal out of it. They smiled in return, probably relieved to see you not in the middle of a panic attack, as you took time to thank and hug each of them.

As the party went on, you found yourself relaxing a bit. Although this hadn’t been what you had expected or really wanted for your birthday, the gesture was nice. You also realized that you were having a good time actually hanging out with friends again. Everyone was having fun, and it helped that no one brought up your panic attack or even discussed the things that had been going on.

It was as if everyone knew that you just wanted to ignore it for a while, and they were all set on making sure that you just had a good time tonight. Drinks were flowing, everyone was laughing, and your world felt safe and comfortable for a moment.

That is, until you excused yourself from a conversation with the girls so that you could use the restroom. After you had washed up and made the movement to leave the bathroom, you could hear Rob and Rich talking just outside the door.

You paused when you heard your name mentioned, Rich just asking Rob if you were really okay. You knew you shouldn’t listen in on their conversation, but it was about you, so you figured it was okay.

“That was interesting,” you heard Rich say.

“I’m such an idiot,” Rob berated himself. “All she does is worry about where she is and who else could be there. She’s always so anxious, even if she denies that she is, and I should have known better than to throw a fucking surprise party.”

“You were just trying to do something nice.”

“I told her to meet me at my room,” he argued. “She was under the impression that she’d be alone until I got here later. Can you imagine? Showing up somewhere, knowing that you have some freak following you, and just having people jump out at you when you’re supposed to be alone?”

“None of us thought about it either, Rob.”

“I just- feel so bad. She’s scared, I know she is. We all kept pretending it was nothing to worry about… just another enthusiastic fan. But, she’s got someone sending her fucked up messages, sending her gifts… god, I can't believe I sent her flowers… you should have seen the stuff her manager showed her.”

“How long has this been going on exactly?”

“Months. They’ve been holding onto letters he’s sent her. They started out as just any other fan letter, and they’ve gotten scary. Enough to where they finally showed her.”

“Shit,” Rich muttered. “Is that all it’s been though? Letters, social media comments?”

“As far as we know. Then there’s the weird way that he sends her flowers. Yet another thing that I messed up.”

“Ah, I’m aware of how well she receives flowers.”

“I can’t even send my girlfriend flowers because it freaks her out.”

“All I can say is… as long as this guy is keeping his distance, there’s nothing to worry about I think. Letters and flower deliveries are one thing… I mean, the social media stuff was concerning, but at least it’s only online and easy to avoid.”

“You didn’t see those letters,” Rob reminded him.

That was your cue to leave the bathroom. You opened the door quickly, acting surprised to see the two men standing there when you did.

They looked at each other and you just smiled at them.

“Rob,” you began, attempting to cut in before he could say much more. It was bad enough that everyone had witnessed your freak out and they were aware somewhat of the things going on, you really didn’t need them to know about the threats you had been receiving. “Can I see you for a moment?”

“Yeah, sure,” he said anxiously before excusing himself from Rich.

You grabbed him by the arm and pulled him toward a less crowded part of the room so that you could talk to him privately.

“Is everything okay?” He asked. “Are you okay?”

“I’m fine,” you replied. “I just- I wanted to ask you to maybe not tell everyone details on what’s going on.”

“Oh. You heard me talking to Rich…”

“I did.”

“I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have been talking about you and all of this like that. It’s not my place.”

“It’s fine. I’m not mad.”

“He was just worried, and I feel like no one knows how serious this has all gotten.”

“You’re right,” you replied. “No one really knows everything, especially about those letters. But, I’d kinda like to keep it that way.”

“Really? You don’t think it might be good for your friends to know how serious it all really is?”

“I mean, they know,” you argued. “They’ve seen the stuff online and most have seen how often I get unwanted gifts. They don’t need to know about the really… concerning stuff.”

“I kinda feel like, since you’re always around them, and this stuff happens at conventions, that maybe they should know how serious it really is.”

“No. I just- I don’t want anyone to treat me differently. I don’t want sympathy or for anyone to worry. I just want to come to work and have fun and be with the people I care about.”

“They worry, Y/N,” he sighed. “We all do.”

“I know. But, it’s been a while since anything has even happened. The thing on set was just me assuming the worst. I think it’s sort of calmed down.”

“I just want you to continue to take this seriously,” he argued. “Just because it’s been a week or so with nothing happening, doesn’t mean you’re in the clear.”

“Okay, and I get that. But, will you please just not mention those letters to anyone else? I don’t even want to think about them.”

“Okay,” he breathed out. “You’re right. It’s not okay for me to talk about that. I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay,” you smiled. “I just feel kind of suffocated right now, and I just want to have some privacy I guess.”

“Alright,” he replied as he leaned in to kiss you. “What do you say we just enjoy the party? Maybe not bring up any of this again, at least tonight?”

“You have no idea how amazing that sounds right now.”

By the end of the night, you and Rob had to kick out the remaining partiers. It was late, everyone had had too much fun, and you all had an early morning. Luckily, the room was in okay shape; and you were eagerly changing into pajamas and so ready to just be with Rob.

You watched him as he changed, noting that he looked so serious as he got ready for bed; so you decided to lighten the mood.

“You didn’t get me a gift,” you pointed out playfully as you snuck up behind him and wrapped your arms around him. You pressed a kiss to the bare skin of his back since you had caught him just before he slipped a shirt on.

“Of course I did,” he grinned as he turned to look at you.

“I must’ve missed it.”

“No, I just wanted to wait until we were alone to give it to you.”

He began to dig through his bag for something now and you stepped away so that he could find what he was looking for.

“Sex does not count as a gift,” you said, rolling your eyes.

“Well, I mean, I’m not opposed to that being a follow-up gift,” he said slyly, “But I did actually get you a real gift.”

He handed you a small box that was wrapped in pretty wrapping paper. You smiled at him before beginning to tear off the paper, wasting no time to see what he had gotten for you.

Once the paper was off, you noticed that this was definitely a jewelry box and you looked at him, sort of confused.

“Jewelry?” You asked, surprise in your voice as you held the small box in your hand.

Rob shrugged, still grinning.

“You’re gonna have to open it.”

You did as he suggested and opened the box.There, in that little box was a simple necklace with a heart shaped pendant on it. You removed it from the box and turned it over in your hand, then seeing that it was engraved. You smiled up at him this time, feeling a warmth grow in your chest to see your initial engraved next to his.

“Rob…” you said breathlessly. “This is beautiful.”

“There’s something on the back of it as well,” he pointed out.

You turned the pendant to the other side and had to laugh out loud when you read the inscription.

“Is it cool if I come over?” You read out loud.

Rob shrugged again, letting out a laugh as you smiled at him.

“What does this even mean?” You asked.

“You know I wrote that song about you, right?”

You had to pause for a moment. You stared at him, face turning up in even more confusion that previously. You actually never did know that. The band had released the album with that song on it not long after you actually joined the convention circuit. You figured you had only known Rob for roughly a month when it came out.

“Really?” You asked.

“Yeah,” he replied. “I wrote it not too long after we met. It was the last song we did for the album.”

“I don’t know if I should feel flattered or sad right now,” you mumbled as you looked down at the necklace.

“Oh,” Rob replied. “Please don’t feel sad. If you don’t like it-”

“I love it,” you cut in. “I just- it’s kinda sad to think about all the time we wasted by not telling each other that we liked each other.”

“Well, you know. Life,” he said. “You had a boyfriend and I had a crush, so I wrote a song. I just figured you should know that I wrote that thinking about you.”

“Okay. I’ve decided to be flattered,” you laughed. “Really, this is… so sweet.”

“It’s not too much, is it? I kinda felt like it might be. Because we just started seeing each other.”

“It’s not too much, Rob. This is the sweetest thing anyone’s ever given me.”

“So, it’s not too soon for jewelry?”

“I don’t know, is it?” You asked.

You wondered if you should think it was too soon for all of this, or if he felt like he had made a mistake by getting you such an expensive and meaningful gift. However, you loved it. You loved him and this gift just made you feel loved as well.

“Look,” he said softly as he moved closer to you, “all I know is that I’m in love with you. This felt right.”

You felt the twisting in your stomach as he said those words; not because you didn’t want to hear them, but because you were so excited to hear him finally say it. You had been holding back on using the “L” word for some time now, wondering if it would be too soon to say it to him. Now, you had confirmation that both of you felt the same way. It might be early on in your relationship, but you were both already there. You loved him and he loved you and it didn’t matter if this relationship was new; you were certain you had always loved each other.

“I love you too,” you replied.

You reached out to take his face in your hands, leading him toward you for a kiss. He kissed you gently at first, taking care to let you lead.

The gift was nice, you really did love it. But, more than anything, you were so happy to be at this point with him. You were content with just hearing him say those words to you.

After the kiss ended, and you pulled away, Rob made sure to help you put the necklace on. You touched it with your fingertips, still feeling so happy.

“Thank you,” you said again. “This means so much to me.”

“I’m glad you like it,” he replied.

“I’m never going to take it off.”

You turned to face him again, this time wrapping your arms around his shoulders as you looked into his eyes.

“I won’t argue with that,” he grinned. “But, maybe we could take off everything else, because I haven’t seen you in over a week and I really fucking missed you.”

“Well,” you said flirtatiously, “you did promise me that follow-up gift.”

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[alilaro]

. reasons im not apart of the twilight “fandom” anymore :

   long post. the rest is under the cut →

this is dumb, but im just kind of realizing i dont have to prove myself to any fandom. im not in some little clique where I have to know everyone and vice versa. I don't have to draw characters I hate to "stay relevant".

Gods, I've spent so long thinking my self-worth was linked to how much I could produce to this hivemind of people. The notes, the likes, the reblogs. But... I dont know any of those people.

I know who my friends are and what matters to me is them and my followers. Not some collection of 3k people that I'm supposed to feel 'unified' with because of one vague common interest -- but they're strangers! I dont know or care about them -- and I dont have to!

I dont mean that negatively I just mean its true! A fandom isnt like a community or a family, its just strangers until you decide to make some of them more than that.

Its just that... my god... I've spent so long worrying about what people think of me, what they say about me behind their backs. All these people I tried to impress, put on a show for and act a certain way to maintain a social status -- but none of it was real! It was always fake. Pretending to smile and collaborating with people I disliked despite the anxiety and self-loathing it made me feel, that I was happy and enjoying myself, and that the fandom was this niche part of the internet where everyone knows eachother and we all are a family--- but it was always some stupid game. I put of a facade to hide the lies and the shame and the gut-wrenching depression, because "no one likes a downer, arin."

What I'm trying to say is that... fandom life is not for me. I have anxiety, being in this fandom makes me paranoid and nauseous---and while some people thrive, I don't. Its toxic for me and my mental health.

I don't want to be apart of the fandom anymore. I don't want to be associated with the series anymore---I hate it. I literally loathe Twilight as a series so much, same as its horrible author. I have multiple histories involving forced catholic religious worship growing up, and later involvement with a cult. It’s too personal and I know the kind of bullshit “holier-than-thou” hypocrisy that Meyer slips into her narrative because I lived it and I fucking hate it. I dont want to reblog content just because I feel pressured to.

I shouldnt have to silence myself and hide my opinions because they're unpopular and I might be hated. Seeing me or my friends being vagued because of something so petty as not liking certain characters. The raw never-ending paranoia of 'what if they dont like me' 'are they going to make others hate me' 'when am I going to get a callout post.' And I realize I spent all this time trying to get people to like me that I realize some of these people would never return the thought, to worry if they were ever good enough for me.

This is not to shit on the fandom. This is a very personal problem. I've been here since 2011 now and I can't keep playing this game.

My art is my art. I love what I've made the Volturi into like they were my own creations -- and so obviously I am not going to stop uploading them. But I think its also important to differentiate that I am not in the fandom, nor am I a fan. I may have been once, but for my own health I'm cutting my ties.

On a more personal level: my dad almost went to hospital last night and it caused me to have a meltdown, and so ive just been awake all last night thinking about things. And I realized something. 

I tried to like the cullens for a long time but it just reminds me of being in the closet and all the fear and guilt and shame I felt at the time. Liking the Volturi for me is escapism. It always has been that way.

I was only 13 and it was like my link to things that were out of the norm and a community of people were different. No one said it out loud but there was always this silent solidarity with fans I knew that we were “different” (ie non cishet) and it was scary. But things like gender and sexuality made sense there. You weren’t yelled at for doing things to spite canon—because there was never enough given to these side characters that it would matter. You could add whatever and project whatever you wanted onto these characters and for the most part it was accepted.

And then having to come back to friends at school and pretend everything was okay was harmful and damning. Twilight was literally my entire puberty, the transition from child to adult, and the similarities linking my interest with the Volturi is locked tight in my soul. I remember even petty things like seeing my straight friends obsessing over Cullen boys and me having to pretend to agree every time wasn't nice.

I know it’s not really that deep, but the Cullens and seeing it on my dash and people forcing it on me, it feels like some kind of metaphor for be being in the closet again. To conform, to change. To me, the Volturi is a personal metaphor for my growth and straying from normality that was being straight and cisgendered.

And its been many years since then but the ideology is so deeply ingrained within me that even at 22 I can’t just unroot that.

And this is all on me. I get that. I know this isn’t the universal experience for everyone that liked Twilight, but it is my experience, and that matters for something.

I just... want to do my own thing. Without people yelling at me about canon or my headcanons being gross or wrong or ugly. Its tiring. I’m tired. I just need a break.

I hope this makes some notion of sense? Im going through a lot of things at the moment and finding out who I am and what I want in the process. And while the fandom has brought me the privilege of meeting and befriending some of the most absolutely wonderful people I've ever met, its also brought me spite and jealousy and rage, and it just feels like im drowning in it.

Its not personal. And you will barely any notice a change in my posts after this, if any.  I will still upload and reblog like usual but now hopefully with more confidence and a scar thats begun healing. 

I just wanted to clear the air and let yall know where I am right now.

Hope yall have a wonderful day. 🌸🌸

[pinashple]

It’s 3:44 in the morning, and I started crying.

At random times, unpredictable and possibly not even triggered by a specific event, my mind starts wandering. It wanders to the furthest reaches, the deepest recesses of my memories that I have consistently tried to block and bury from resurfacing...

Just so I can be happy in my life.

I’ve been surrounded by so much negativity. I’ve been subjected to so much negativity. So much negativity has been projected on me, and this started at eleven years old. Some of it from classmates, or so called friends, and failed relationships...but most of it has been, because of my family. Or more specifically- my father.

I grew up with a father who was volatile. He was toxic. He was abusive- emotionally, at first, physically came next, and then assumed a verbal role as well. More times than not, all of this was directed towards me.

My father was unhappy with my mother in their marriage- I happened to be born the year before they tied the knot. I still believe they stayed together to have that picture perfect-esque family, and I suffered the most from it.

My father suffered the repercussions of the stock market crash in the 2000s- I was forced to get a job the day of my 16th birthday, and then pay for my own stuff, including the $490 for driver’s ed that he- once again- forced me to go to. One day on the way back, he made me drive home in a truck I wasn’t comfortable in, yelling at me once again, instead of realizing car accidents are my number one fear in life. I didn’t care to drive; I- to this day, almost 11 years later- still have to keep myself from having a panic attack while driving; I really don’t go anywhere, because of it. 

And even though I went through that experience, and became more comfortable? He wouldn’t let me drive his or my mother’s car after I became comfortable and wanted to hang out with friends. (He also didn’t want me to have friends.) “Accidents can happen, and I’m not trying to risk that.” If my mom would let me go somewhere in her car? While I was out, he would call, and tell me come right back. It didn’t matter if I just got there- I had to come back, and proceeded to get yelled at more. Oh, but if he needed me to go to the store and pick up things for him, he’d let me drive.

During my sixteenth year, I was going through a pretty rough time emotionally; he told me, “I don’t care about your personal life.” 

...Til this day, 11 years later, I haven’t told my dad anything about my personal life.

My father had this vision of what he wanted my life to be, obsessed with monetary gain; I had an opposite mindset, wanting a simpler life, and to be happy, which he did not agree with.

I didn’t get a senior year, because of my father: I missed two assignments in an AP class, and though I had a high B, I was put on punishment for the entire semster...and it was only the fourth week in August. I lost out on senior activities, because of it. Football games, I didn’t go to, even though I was apart of the spirit squad- one of the few activities I would have loved after the only game I got to participate. I had to beg to go to homecoming, and that was after I had another mental breakdown, trying to confide in him; his solution was I shouldn’t go anywhere outside of the house, unless with family. 

My father is the reason I didn’t get the HOPE scholarship, missing it by a tenth of a point; instead of listening to me when I said I didn’t understand calculus, he claimed I wasn’t using my “full potential”-

It was the first math class I EVER failed in 13 years of grade school. (I always had As and high Bs). This came after I got cursed at, spit on while being cursed at; my phone taken, and put on punishment yet again for the remainder of the school year, and a phone a friend gave me shattered right in front of me, because “give me the fucking phone.”

I almost didn’t even graduate high school with a College Prep Diploma, and had to bust my ass taking a second homeschool math class to make up the credit; he then had to expedite the grading results, so I could.

I was forced to go to college three hours away with no job, no money, and no car, because the school I wanted to go to, he wouldn’t even pay the application fee for me. “I’ll pay for any other school- not that one, though.” You know what? I had the worst experience of my life at that school after four months of being there; it sent me into a downward spiral, emotionally lost and confused, I called home having another mental breakdown, and was thankfully able to come home...

I would regret that.

My father took the opportunity to blame me for the “lack of cleanliness” and the “peace being disturbed in the house” as soon as I got home, though I was taking the train to get to school downtown and had a part time job. I was rarely home, and if I was, I stayed in my room. I only “made a mess”, because when I left for college the first time, they no longer had one person to clean a family of five’s worth of dishes after dinner. A family of five’s laundry to wash and fold. A family of five’s bathrooms to clean- he no longer had a maid when I left. They had to clean for themselves those four months I was gone; they attempted to stop once I came back.

The “peace in the house being disturbed”? Simply because I was there. You know that saying, “out of sight, out of mind?” Didn’t work for my father, when it came to me. I may have been out of sight, but he knew I was there; that was enough for him.

I thought getting a car would help me stay out more; without knowing that, he found me one. I was so happy; it was mine, I could go when I wanted, come when I wanted, and not have to hear anyone’s mouth. I had a job; I had to pay my own insurance and car note, so nothing could be said, right?

He gave me a curfew. I had never had a curfew, especially not at 19, until I got my own car. Ironic. If he didn’t know I came home, and was in my room in the basement? I’d get calls. Okay.

I had a cell phone; I ended up falling on hard times at my job, and asked my mom to loan me money for the bill- she called my dad. I then got a reality check that my car was actually not mine, and it was his, and my car note I had been working to pay was me paying back a loan to him.

He never told me that when I first signed the papers, and because I was “paying him back”:

“If you come asking me for money for the note or the insurance, it’s gone.”

Til this day, nine years later, and even before then since sixteen- I haven’t asked my dad for any type of help financially.

I’d always been silenced; never been able to stand up for myself. Never been listened to, and never been comforted. 

I’d been beat with belts since middle school; put on whole semester punishments since the seventh grade- no phone, no tv, no computer and the like over a missed assignment, and in some cases, for having a B. I’d been chokeheld in high school; yelled at on any random occasion for whatever reason he was upset with. I’ve been chased up the stairs just so I could be beat relentlessly after trying to defend myself. And in 2010, I was slammed on the kitchen floor, to the kitchen counter, to the dishwasher, being screamed “I’m gonna kill you” at for letting two pots dry in the sink. 

I left in November of 2010. 

There’s so much more to this story...but at the end of the day, I spent majority of my early-mid twenties a broken...mess. My mom has been present my entire life; she turned a blind eye to it all to keep her own peace...sided along with him a number of times, to keep her own peace with him. 

As a result? I let people treat me how they wanted to, and stayed around, because I didn’t want to be alone. I contemplated suicide, but was too afraid to take my own life. I made horrible decisions for someone my age at that time, and looked for some type of love and belonging somewhere. I spent majority of my early adulthood depressed; nothing EVER worked out for me. I have anxiety, because of it. I have paranoia, because of it. I’ve woken up sweating, breathing hard, and heart racing from nightmare about my father trying to hurt me. My mind has always gone to the worst thing possible first, because for all that time in my life, I was miserable- truthfully and honestly miserable. Felt worthless. A waste of a life. Cursed. Doomed. Anything negative you can say and feel about yourself, that was me.

Why did I type all of this? Mostly for venting, because I currently live in a household with my father now. Things may not be as horrible as they were before- horrible at all- and only, because he “learned from his mistakes”. I don’t benefit from it; I still can’t ask for help financially, because in his words:

“You got a partner for that.”

I couldn’t even ask him about getting me a deal on a new phone; my family is on a shared plan, and everyone has gotten 2 new phones since 2014- I’ve had the same one...since 2014. He didn’t even give me the opportunity to say “I’m going to pay for it,” before my partner’s name shot out his mouth. I’m no longer his responsibility, in other words. Oh...but my sister’s are living the champagne lifestyle from what he “learned” with all his “mistakes” with me, and I just have to...accept it.

Why else did I type all of this? Because I realized while I was laying down why I’m so afraid I won’t get anywhere with my art career. It takes people acknowledging you, wanting to connect with you, give you a chance, and valuing your work that gets you somewhere...

My issues with my father- somewhere in me- makes me feel like that will NEVER happen for me. If I suffered so much from someone who was supposed to protect and provide, love and care for...cherish me? 

How could I expect anyone else to do that? 

It’s hard to stay positive...but one thing I will say-

I refuse to let my past win. I wish I could talk and get the closure I always hoped to have, but that is more of a pipe dream than me winning the lottery. Every attempt I’ve made resulted in, “you made it hard on yourself.”

I don’t think anyone who is as shy, insecure, and self conscious as I was in those years could possibly make all the trauma they endured brought on by “themself”; they got taken advantage of, and it shows...

But I’m praying that I can let all of this go. I pray that I can do what I love. I pray that I can have my career. I pray that I can start driving with confidence. I pray that I can be positive. I pray that I can be myself, and be loved for myself. I pray that I can be understood. I pray that I can be happy...

It’s all I’ve ever wanted in life. /4:53am

PS. If you read this? Do not reblog it; it’ll more than likely be private by tomorrow.

[hcpeisms]

trigger warnings: suicide, war, violence, death, strong feelings about war in general, ptsd (if you squint), horrible things. long post!

This uniform.

That is the only thought running through his head. This uniform.

He wore this uniform for five years. The insignia on the sleeve is worn from the countless battles it had seen. The fabric is torn in places, faded with time, faded from the sun and the sand whipping around it when he dove for cover, when he crawled to help his friends, when he was trying to survive.

There are patches that he had stitched together, his fingers absentmindedly caressing the spot near his wrist, the left one, close to the old scar now covered by a tattoo. ‘Give ‘em Hell’ peeks from under the sleeve and Dane pulls it further to cover up the words. This uniform.

It still holds the heat from the battlefields, somehow pulling his conscious back to his time overseas. The sand itches, paranoia gives him an image of a scorpion crawling up his leg. He brushes the thoughts off, reminding himself where he is. The light yellow of the walls , the chatter that comes from the hall behind the curtains. The curtains; sleek and pristine, polar opposite of himself and his assemble. He doesn’t feel the heaviness of his rifle in his hands, but that weight had shifted onto his shoulders a long time ago. The tattoo threatens to peek from under his clothing again and he resolves to pull it more violently. Loose threads from the stitches catch his attention and his fidgets. This uniform. It’s falling apart. Serves it right, just like it served its wearer a long time ago.

Eight years ago he had worn the fatigues with pride. In some sense, he still did. When his eyes met the camouflage in the mirror, he swore his posture straightened and the confidence that had shone from his face withered away. This uniform. It was nothing but  bad memory now, the stitches, the tears, the faded texture, the stubborn bloodstains still clinging to it, the stains he tried so hard to wash away over and over and over again when he had been sent home. A bad memory. A reminder.

A loud voice snaps him back from his memories and a portly man approaches him from the small gap in the curtains. His fingers twitch to salute his superior, but he is no soldier anymore. A balled fist is what the man sees, and the disapproving glare that is sent his way could not be more obvious. “Second Lieutenant Moreno --” He begins and Dane wants to snap at him, hiss that he doesn’t use that title any longer. But his jaw is clenched shut and his lungs are burning for air as the General stares him down. Small, beady eyes. Looks like a rat, that’s what Dane knows for sure. The man with a condescending sneer, coals burning in his eyes as he tries not to talk down to the young LT.

“If your father---” The man begins and Dane growl. His brows crease and a wave of heat runs through his body, seizing up his muscles and throwing his stomach into a whirl. Bile rises to his mouth as he returns a warning glare at the superior officer, and he quiets down before making the biggest mistake of his life. A glare is held for a few moment more and Dane feels his jaw aching against the grit it is under. The General scoffs and pushes past Dane who in turn does nothing. Eyes set on the curtain. Inanimate. Pristine. His father would be disappointed in him, were he alive. The thoughts are overwhelming when they are brought up. His father. Dane shakes his head and tries to coax his muscles to relax -- pain is starting to set in and stars dance across his vision. And that fucking tattoo. Another yank at the sleeve covers it well enough.

His name is called.

 “Next up, give a big welcome to Second Lieutenant Daniel Patrick Moreno, a man known for --” the woman has a shrill voice and Dane steps through the curtain before she has time to continue. He doesn’t need his platoon called out, he doesn’t need her to tell them where he has been, for how long, or why. The microphone is quickly snatched from her hands and she reels, but joins the polite applause that fill the room, the noise that bounces off the walls. The noise slowly fades off into silence and Dane puts the mic back in its slot on the podium. The lights are bright enough for him to avoid seeing the eyes boring into him, the reporters impatiently clicking on their notepads, or his old friends that might’ve showed up.

The silence lasts, lasts, longer than he realizes. Anxiety isn’t something Dane experienced before, or had trouble with in the past. Not on the battlefield, not for months after he returned home. Bouts of nightmares weren’t unusual. Neither were the panicked gasps he sometimes noticed himself take when the war was on the news.

“You heard my name. I’m not going to repeat it.”

Strong start. Murmurs erupt in the hall, irritating his ears.

“You should ll know, I have not used my rank in eight years. I am not in charge of any platoons. I am not a soldier anymore.”

More murmurs, someone asks a confused ‘what’ somewhere to his left. Confusion. Perfect.

He waits for them to quiet down. He hears his own breathing in his ears. The rush of blood.

“I was invited here because my father was ranking high in our army, and I’m the closest they could get to him. So I'm taking this opportunity to clear this mess out of my head, to clear this blood out of my lungs.” For how long had he kept quiet about those days, about the hell that he went through, what all of them went through? When it was all on his shoulders. Lieutenant... What a fucking joke.

“I need to dig holes to bury the dead.” A chuckle. Pained, silent, but it echoes in the large hall.

He thinks about Jefferson, Espinoza, Miller... Toby. He thinks of his dad. He thinks of the hundreds of faces he knows but doesn’t have a name for. He thinks of the men and women he has seen on the news. He thinks of those who returned home, and those who did not. He thinks of himself. Which one is he?

“Look at all of you here.” He straightens up. The memories are bad, simmering just beneath the surface of a man whose ego is barely intact. A man who shields, deflects with arrogance. “You haven’t seen battle.” Someone to his right murmurs about reporting from a crime scene once. He wants to scoff. Grab the murmurer by the throat and smash their head against the wall until there is nothing but a bloody mess left. No, enough blood. Enough.

“I'm so fuckin' sick of everyone's lack of honor,” The mic still catches his voice. The mumbling has stopped. No one is writing. His head swirls with everything he wants to yell at these people. The ones who put words to a paper, claiming to bring justice to the horrors their soldiers face abroad.

“I'm so sick of everyone's willingness to settle,” He knows his words are coming out choppy. Hurt. Anger mingling with fear and disbelief. They brought him here to praise the press. But they aren’t pulling him back.

“Tell me, why is no one prepared to die, for anything?”  His voice rises and he hears his own words round back to him, reaching every nook and crevice in the room, the frustration dripping into his every word. Jefferson. Damn idiot, fearless and dangerous, the king of the weaponry. He could talk for hours about the guns at their disposal, spend more hours cleaning them. He died trying to shield his teammates from the bomb intended to kill all of them. He saved his squad. He was buried a hero.

“Look at yourself in the mirror and tell me what a man is without pride,” His voice trembles and he can feel his hands shaking as he places them on the edge of the podium. Espinoza. She came from a family of soldiers, the only girl in the litter of eight brothers. Told she would never become anything akin to her siblings. Bashful grin on her face as she straightened her fatigues, pointing at the name tag. ‘They said I wouldn’t make it here’. She was twenty-three when she was gunned down, the first victim in an ambush no one saw coming. It was quick, painless, but the stains her blood left on Dane’s uniform never washed away.

“Do you know what fear does? Fear eats you alive,” Dane swallows. He can’t deny he was afraid, terrified when he landed in his destination, the desert air ripping through his lungs, the heat bearing down on him. He ground beneath him felt shaky then, the sand uneven. He was greeted by his superiors. He was eager. Afraid, but eager. Miller was always scared. He wasn’t cut out to be a soldier, but he came through as a medic. Miller, meek, silent Miller. ‘Mouse’ as they called him back then, with his big eyes and nest of hair. Dane squeezes the edge of the podium, the wood digging into the scars of his palms painfully. Remind him he’s not there anymore, that he made it back. The pain grounds some, and he always thought it to be bullshit. Now, it anchors him to the hall, keeps him from seeing every bad scene he went through. Miller. God, Miller wasn’t cut out to be in the field, but neither was he to be in the war zone, patching up soldiers. Missing limbs from bombs, gunshot founds severe enough to kill, death and misery all around him. Miller shot himself five months after arriving, leaving nothing but  sealed note to his mother behind.

“You forget those who give their whole lives to serve you, so you wouldn’t have to be afraid.” Toby. He doesn’t want to think about Toby, not really. Not about how he wasn’t shaken by the death, how he kept everyone in line when Dane forgot how to, when he sat on his bunk staring at the wall of the tent flapping in the winds that broke against it from the outside. A model soldier. The first time they met, they fought, two massive ego’s lashing on the field while others either egged them on or tried to pry them away from each other’s throats. A week later they found common ground. Toby had been the one. Every soldier has the one, someone they would go through fire for, someone whose life held a higher place than your own. Toby had been the one. And then he was injured, caught by a bomb rigged to blow at the lightest nudge of the door. ‘Back to America.’ That’s what they told him after a while. ‘They say he’s not gonna make it.’ was the last he heard about him.’I’m sorry kid’ they added.

“I lost everything in the war.” Friends. Trust. Innocence. He knew he didn’t come home with the affliction many acquired after seeing the bloodshed. Trauma was a part of a soldier, and that was it. Composed, even when every mistake you ever made plays like a movie behind your eyelids when you think about it too much.

“A war we waged. A war we send innocent men and women to fight while you and the big deciders here sit on your asses making decisions that affect everyone else but yourselves. When we put our life and limb on the line so you can write shit about us in the papers. We sacrifice to keep your country safe, but when we return home you cast us aside on the slightest notion that we might be unstable. You close the doors for us and wonder why no one wants to fight for you anymore. you throw us into the fire and ask us why we’re screaming when you burn away every part of us that held humanity.” He takes a breath of air. The hall is silent.

“And you smile when a soldier returns home sane, when his eyes are bright and he hugs his family. The next day the bodies are returned home, and you don’t even count them. You focus on the man who came home. You write your story about him and how his family is doing while there are hundreds of men waiting to be buried, while their mothers and fathers lay by their caskets and wail over their lost children. You glance at wives and husbands mourning their lovers, the mothers and fathers of their children. You skim over the children who are still wondering where their mommy or daddy is. And you focus on the man that sits on his porch and recites to you a story, The story, that you want to hear.”

He feels the silence surround him. No pens scraping. No mumbles, no hushed tones. Utter silence.

No one moves.

No one speaks.

And Dane smiles briefly, triumphantly, before he walks off the stage, thumb gracing over the tattoo on his wrist.

Toby grins as he revs the makeshift tattoo machine in the middle of their desert encampment. Toothy grin, scraped hands, no plan. It stings. Desert air trapped beneath his skin with the ink that settles there. Toby chuckles and claps him on the shoulder when it’s over. He pulls Dane into a choke hold, making fun, joking. Dane holds up the tattoo to see it properly. There, messy handwriting, yet somehow pleasing, all black ink.

Give ‘em Hell       -T.

[trash-the-tozier]

The Disappearance of Georgie Denbrough (10/10)

Title: The Disappearance of Georgie Denbrough

Length ~61.1k (~5.6k for this part)

Summary: The summer between junior and senior year of high school, Bill’s little brother Georgie goes missing.

Warnings: It’s relatively canon-typical in terms of content. For this part there’s explicit language, violence, blood, and more cheesy villain dialogue

Pairings: Richie/Eddie and eventual Ben/Beverly

A/N: Here it is: the final chapter! Huge huge HUGE thank you to everyone that read this fic ♡ It was the first IT fic I ever wrote, so it holds a special place in my heart; having it be so well received is like a dream come true!! I'm super attached to the little au I managed to create in this fic, so maybe I'll revisit it sometime. But until then, thank you all for reading! I hope you enjoy the last part!! also posted to my ao3 here (much more readable tbh) Previous Parts: 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9

“Shit.” Eddie muttered as they walked into the tunnel. “Greywater.”

It was greywater, but it was barely an inch deep, Bill paying it no mind as he led the way. The group followed close behind him.

“Does it bother you Eds?” Richie’s voice was playful and he jumped, splashing water as he landed. Bill flinched a little when the cold and wet substance hit the backs of his legs and soaked into his socks.

“Richie--!”

“Both of you need to shut the fuck up.” Stan hissed loudly, Bill turning and hushing all of them. 

It was nice for Richie to try and ease the tension, nice to hear his friends’ voices while wandering through the dark sewer systems, but Bill was with Stan on this one. They’d blasted the top off of the manhole cover and dropped down into the sewers together, and now Bill was trying not to get too lost. He didn't know where he was going, but none of his friends did either, so all he could do was rely on his own sheer determination; nothing was going to stop him from finding Georgie and Beverly, dark and winding sewer system be damned.

Eventually, after some expressed doubts, cursing, and more insisting on everyone to just shut up, they made it to an opening. Light was coming in faintly through grates far above them. There were three tunnels branching off in three different directions, Bill looking around hopelessly. They stepped forwards together into the middle of the room, Bill trying to look and listen, but the sewers were silent and all of their pathways all led off into darkness.

“A-a-a-any ideas?” He asked slowly.

“Close your eyes and point?” Richie suggested. It sounded silly, but it was a notion he couldn't help but entertain; it wasn't as though they really had anything to go on. Bill began walking towards the tunnel directly ahead of them. If it was a blind guess, they might as well keep moving forwards. Then Ben put a hand on his shoulder.

“Hold on.”  He murmured. “I hear something.”

Bill had to listen hard, and even then he couldn’t really tell exactly what it was he was listening to. Sometimes, it sounded like footsteps. Sometimes it was whispers, or scrapings along the walls, but try as he might he couldn’t pinpoint where it was coming from. Sound should have been funneling towards them from a single tunnel, but it seemed as though the noise was coming from every direction at once. The logical side of Bill was telling him that the sounds were simply echoes, but paranoia had him wondering if there was more than one adversary down here for them to face.

He clenched his jaw, stepping up to investigate. He heard the splashing of footsteps as some of his friends followed behind him, too focused on listening to look back and see who. He shined his flashlight down each of the tunnels in turn, and just as he thought he’d found for sure where it was coming from, there was a horrible, muffled scream from behind them.

“Stan? Stanley!” Eddie shouted, Bill's eyes searching the group, realizing that somehow, Stan wasn't there. Everyone took off down the tunnel at a run and Bill felt his heart pounding in his throat, anxiety and dread settling sickly in his stomach. The Losers in front him came to a stop at a bend in the tunnel, and in spite of himself, Bill felt his own feet slowing too as horror overcame him. Stan was lying flat on his back, completely motionless, and there was so much blood on him and in the surrounding water that Bill felt his heart stop in his chest.

“Stan! S-S-Stan, shit--” Bill pushed past everyone and at his movement they followed, crouching next to Stanley on the sewer floor. He was bleeding from his head, from cuts on the sides of his face that looked like jagged knife marks. As soon as Bill touched him Stan sat up fast, terrified and unbalanced, a cry ripping from his throat.

“You guys made me come here!” He was completely disoriented, but even as he spoke he reached out wildly for them, taking Bill’s arm with one hand and holding it in a grip so tight it was bruising. “You let him take me, you--you left me, you…” He was crying too hard to continue, choking on his words and falling into sobs.

“We wouldn’t, you know w-w-w-we wouldn’t--” Bill tried, Stan shaking his head rapidly. There were tears in Richie’s eyes as he pulled Stan into a hug, Mike helping Stan to his feet, all of them crowding him, hugging him, Eddie murmuring reassurances as Ben tried his best to wipe the blood from his face. Bill felt as though his heart was breaking, watching Stan fall apart on Richie’s shoulder, another yell ricocheting off the tunnel walls.

“Billy!”

Bill's throat constricted. The voice was high and desperate, a voice Bill hadn't heard in nearly three weeks, but one he knew he would recognize anywhere. Hope, disbelief, and fear all tangled together in his stomach and adrenaline surged through him, his feet already moving.

“Georgie? Georgie!”

Eddie shouted after him but blood was rushing through Bill’s ears, taking the tunnel’s turn at a run and vanishing out of sight.

Mike cursed as Bill ran off. He’d heard the shout too, all of them had, but Bill couldn’t just do that. Stan was more than enough evidence that they needed to stick together if they wanted to find Beverly. Mike had no idea how Stan had been grabbed from them like that, but if stealing him away and mauling him had been that easy for Pennywise to do, then Bill might have well just offered himself up on a silver platter.

They had to get moving again, Eddie in the lead as they ran in the direction Bill had gone. Stan was weak with fear and his head wounds were still bleeding, clinging to Mike as they went. Mike didn’t complain; if Stanley needed support, he was here.

The long tunnel opened up into another clearing-like area, but it wasn’t at all similar to the previous one they’d found. This room was like a cave, a few out of place pieces of furniture here and there in corners, a mattress lying in the midst of a dirty heap of blankets with various things like flashlights and children’s toys littering the damp floor. Bill was standing near the far corner of the room, maybe fifteen feet away, his entire body shaking. He was face to face with the clown, who had his arms around something small. It took Mike a few moments to realize that the thing was a child, his little feet dangling barely an inch off the floor, Pennywise’s grip around the young boy’s neck making his face turn a horrible reddish-purple.

“Oh, good!” Pennywise twisted his overdrawn lips into a grimacing smile. “Everyone’s here! Did you enjoy my surprise for you? I got a bit impatient, I'm afraid, worried you might get lost, so I decided to show you which road to take. It truly is a tragedy to have marred such a pretty, pretty face. But don’t fret! With luck, no one will ever see it.”

Pennywise’s eyes traveled over all of them as he spoke, his last words directed entirely at Stan, whose eyes were fixed only on Georgie. Then his gaze flicked to Mike, his smirk widening before he continued on.

“I want to kill all of you, but unfortunately, I seem to have lost the girl. So instead, I’ll have to strike a bargain.”

“L-let Georgie g-g-g-go!” Bill choked out. The little boy’s eyes were desperate, his sandy-colored hair falling into his face as he struggled, ripping at the hand around his neck and trying to breathe. Mike searched the room with his eyes, the clown’s wording scaring him. Lost the girl? Had something bad happened to Beverly?

“Let him go? But he's just so cute. I'll need something in exchange.”

“Bill--” Mike began in warning, but Bill was already too far gone.

“Anything, p-p-please.”

Pennywise looked delighted.

“Anything? Absolutely anything? I feel so humbled now. I'm not asking for much.”

Bill's hands clenched into fists. His eyes were on Georgie's face, tears rolling down his cheeks.

“What do you want?”

The clown’s fingers twisted, tightening their hold.

“It’s simple, really. I want to be left alone. This is my home, you know. I want to live out my days here, without the lot of you poking around. If you think you see me, just assume you don't.” He shrugged easily, easing up on Georgie's throat in the process, letting his feet touch the ground. The boy wheezed in a breath and coughed, choking on air. “Don't try to help people find their little boys and girls. Turn the other cheek. Let's just put all of this behind us.”

Mike didn't want to make the deal. He realized what was at stake, but it wasn't right. They knew where Pennywise was, they knew where he lived; letting him continue on was something Mike knew he couldn't live with. But Bill wasn't taking suggestions.

“Fine.”

“And one last thing.” Pennywise held up a finger, as though telling them to wait. “A trade.”

He'd been talking so slowly that none of them expected him to move so fast, throwing Georgie down onto the ground. There was a resounding crack as the boy's head hit the stone below, his eyelids fluttering closed, Mike’s throat closing up in silent horror. A couple of them yelled, the noises jumbled and incoherent and Bill took a step forward, stopped in his tracks when Pennywise held up a hand.

“Oh, don't worry so much.” Pennywise said, crouching down and pressing a knee into Georgie's back. “He's simply unconscious.” He pulled out a knife and seemed to consider the child below him, the blade large and impossibly sharp.

“Don't hurt him.” Bill pleaded, the words coming out soft and fearful. “I… I-I-I--”

“Your brother, and all your friends will walk free.” Pennywise promised, pointing the tip of his knife at each of them in turn, before finally resting it on Bill. “But only if you agree to stay in their place. And since I can understand how that might be a point of debate between you and your friends, I've decided I'll speed it up a bit for all of you.”

He brought his arm up and back down incredibly fast, the blade of the knife bearing down on Georgie's right arm. There was the sound of bone splintering before the sharp metal hit the stone floor, the bottom of Mike's stomach falling completely away, the skinny severed arm gushing red as it rolled slightly away from its body. Blood ran rapidly across the stone, dark and thick and headed straight towards them.

“Agree to my terms, or watch him bleed out.”

Almost as soon as the words were out of his mouth there was a loud cry from behind him, Beverly leaping out and wrapping her arms around Pennywise's neck. The clown nearly fell on top of Georgie before he could steady himself, lashing out backwards with the knife, but she was too close for him to reach. Bill tried to take the chance to run to his brother, but Pennywise shook Beverly off violently and intercepted him, catching Bill in the stomach with his arm and sending him sprawling backwards.

“Choose!” He roared, and Mike sprang into action. He was worried for a brief second about taking the support out from under Stan, but Stan was right there next to him, his long legs carrying him faster, up and ahead of him. Pennywise was bearing down on Bill but Richie got there first, holding a bat he'd picked up from the mess of toys on the ground, winding back and swinging hard. There was a painful clacking sound as the clown’s teeth knocked together, Richie getting another solid swing in before the bat was pulled from his hands and he too was thrown aside, falling and skidding across the ground. Stan ducked under Pennywise’s butcher knife as he swung it at them, but it still caught him across the back of the arm, the gash it left completely ignored as he pulled Bill to his feet.

Mike didn’t slow down as he ran into the confrontation, winding his arm back, punching the clown in the head so hard that he felt the skin across his knuckles split from the impact. He managed to get one, two, three hits in before he saw the glint of Pennywise’s knife coming at him through the air. There was the white-hot pain of something solid and sharp beginning to dig into his side, but as soon as it was there it was gone, Stan next to him and holding Richie's bat. He hit the weapon from the clown's grip, the knife clattering away and landing at Bill's feet.

Bill picked the blade up, his expression hardened with determination as Pennywise made a mad dash in his direction. He stabbed out blindly, but all he caught was Pennywise’s cheek and chin as the man fell, tackled to the ground by Ben. Ben and Eddie were on him, yelling and kicking, the clown sent sprawling. He clambered up onto his hands and knees, trying to crawl away, a wild look in his eyes that Mike recognized was fear. Pennywise was afraid of them.

Pennywise was moving closer and closer to Beverly and she held up her hand, requesting the bat be thrown in her direction. Stan tossed it, she caught it, and she struck Pennywise so hard he was spitting out blood, scrambling away on his hands.

Eddie and Bill ran over to Georgie, Mike with the rest of the group as they backed Pennywise into a corner.

“I'll kill you.” The man said, his voice thick with hatred, blood-streaked saliva dripping from his chin. “I'll kill all of you.”

Then his back hit the stone wall behind him. Desperation flashed in his eyes and he lunged at them, Mike stepping up to meet him in a wild rush of courage and adrenaline, knocking him under the chin, his own blood streaking through the white face paint. Pennywise's head snapped back and slammed hard into the wall behind him, his eyelids falling closed as he crumpled to the floor, completely unconscious. Mike lowered his arm, his chest heaving.

“Elevated! You have to keep the arm elevated!” Eddie's voice was high and panicked and Mike looked over, having almost completely forgotten about the perilous situation Georgie was in. The boy was terrifyingly pale and still, both Eddie and Bill covered in his blood. Eddie had fastened a kind of tourniquet with Richie's discarded overshirt and the bleeding seemed to have slowed, but with the amount of blood already soaking the floor and their clothes, Mike couldn't help but wonder if it was too little, too late. They needed to get out of here, but it felt near impossible to climb back up the well with Georgie in tow.

“I found something that looked like it could have been another way out of here.” Beverly said quickly, already jogging in the direction she was pointing. It was a smaller tunnel than the ones they’d gone through to get here, but they could still fit through if they bent over. Bill nodded wordlessly, scooping his little brother into his arms, and they made a run for it. Beverly led the way, but once the exit was visible Stan pushed past her, running headlong into the first house he found to call for help. Two blaring police cars showed up first, an ambulance driving in less than a minute later, and Bill and Georgie were picked up and sped away.

“How did you know to do that?” Ben asked Eddie, who had his eyes closed in exhaustion, leaning against Richie’s chest. He frowned a little.

“When you get older, nurses think you'll be interested in hearing emergency room horror stories while you're waiting for your blood work to get finished.” He said. “I've only remembered some of it, but…”

“I'm sure he'll be okay.” Richie said, rubbing Eddie’s shoulders, though there wasn't much conviction behind his words. “You did a good job.”

“I don't know.” Eddie looked over himself, over all the blood that had begun drying on his hands and arms. “He's so small, I don't see how he could have enough blood left.”

Then a policeman approached them, and Mike realized they weren't yet done. The officers kept asking them stupid questions, and it wasn't until three more cars showed up that they were able to convince them to go down into the sewers to make an arrest.

Mike volunteered to lead the way. He didn't want to; he never wanted to go back to the clown's lair in his life, but he also knew none of his friends wanted to either. The men muttered distractedly about contacting Chief Bowers, or being unable to get in contact Chief Bowers; in truth, Mike wasn’t really listening. Either way, all talking stopped when they all entered the cavern, the policemen speechless as they took in the grimey furniture and bloodstained floor. It was surreal to see Pennywise--no, Robert Gray, that's all he was--still lying unconscious where they’d left him, and before long he was cuffed and hauled away. When Mike exited the sewers again he found his friends grouped by Bill’s car, and they seemed to have done some washing up, Eddie's arms and Stan's face now mostly clean of blood. Eddie held up Bill's car keys as he approached.

“Bill left them in the ignition.” He explained. “We were planning on going down to the hospital.”

Mike nodded a little. Bill shouldn’t be alone through this; they should be with him. It seemed to fully hit Mike then that in large part, the danger had passed. They were safe. Exhaustion washed over him, and his shoulders sagged.

Eddie climbed up into the driver’s seat, Stan and Richie also slowly getting in. Ben stepped up to Beverly, his face anxious as he looked over her, prompting Mike to look over her as well. She had dark purple bruises on the side of her face, and around her wrists, and around her ankles.

“Are you okay?” Ben asked quietly. Beverly let out a couple of breaths before speaking.

“I shouldn't have left Georgie.” Her voice was quick and extremely upset, an edge to it that told Mike that she was on the verge of tears. “I shouldn't have left him alone. I untied us and then I went looking for you guys, but I was afraid of just the two of us running into the clown. When he left to look for you I didn't think he would go back there, so I told Georgie to stay put, but…”

“It's not your fault.” Mike told her.

“I came running as soon as I heard your voices, I didn't think, I didn't--”

“Beverly.” Ben's voice was soft but steadfast. “You did the best you could. You saved our lives, okay? You have nothing to blame yourself for.”

Beverly began to cry, closing her eyes and biting down hard on her bottom lip, her head hanging slightly. She stepped closer to Ben and threw her arms around him, burying her face in his shoulder. Surprised, Ben staggered a little before he was able to get his balance back, placing an arm gently around her waist to hold her, rubbing her back. They stood together, and it wasn't until Eddie started up Bill's car that Mike remembered they had somewhere they needed to be. Beverly stepped back, wiping at her face, Mike opening the car door for them. Ben got in first, offering his hand to Beverly. She took it, and Mike couldn’t help but notice as he squeezed in the back beside them and closed the door, the Denbrough’s Volkswagen starting slowly down the street, that for the entire drive to the hospital she didn't let go.

“Well?” Richie took large strides into his living room, throwing his arms wide. “How do I look?”

Mike looked him over, and immediately burst into laughter. Stan hit Mike on the shoulder.

“Don't encourage him.” He reprimanded. But he was smiling a little and so was Bill, while Eddie put his face in his hands. Ben couldn't help but laugh as well.

From the waist up, Richie looked rather nice. His tie was a little off center and his hair was at its usual full-volume mess of curls, but his blue button-down shirt and suit jacket looked quite fancy. His black dress shoes were nice and polished, with the customary black shin-length socks underneath. His legs however, from the underwear down, were completely bare.

“Dude, go put some pants on.” Mike said when he'd managed to collect himself, still laughing a little. Richie pouted.

“Don't you think I look nice?”

“I think you w-would look nice with pants.” Bill said. Richie turned to Eddie indignantly. Or at least, he tried to look indignant; he was trying to lighten the mood, and was delighted by his success in doing so.

“What do you think, Eds? Do you think I need to put pants on?”

“To a memorial service, Richie? Yes, I think you need to put pants on. Go back to your room.”

Laughter followed Richie out as he walked off to do as he was told, Ben looking over the rest of his friends. It was a couple of weeks later now, and they were all dressed up in suits, getting ready for the memorial service for all of the missing kids. Every missing body was now accounted for, found during a police raid of the Neibolt house following Robert Gray's arrest. Heartbreakingly, Georgie Denbrough was the only one left alive.

They'd picked Richie's house to gather and get ready. Though Bill, Richie, Eddie, and Stan might not have spent much time at Richie's house in years previous, it was quickly becoming a main hangout spot, mostly because Beverly was also living there now. With Alvin Marsh’s death also being blamed on Robert Gray, Beverly was being sent to live with her aunt in Portland. The woman wasn't able to pick her up right away, so Beverly was staying at Richie's for a month or so (not to the knowledge of the authorities, Richie's parents, or Beverly's aunt) and the group was taking full advantage of it. Richie's house was an escape, a place to go to get away from all their parents, because when what they had done to rescue Georgie had made itself public knowledge, overly concerned smothering from mothers and fathers alike had begun.

Richie was the only one of the boys that was not yet completely dressed and ready. Ben had only been to one other memorial service before and it had been his father's, so he was feeling rather nervous and unsure of how the day would go. This time, he told himself, at least he would be with his friends.

Eddie wasn't able to wear a full suit due to the bulkiness of his cast, so he had to resort to a short sleeve button-down and slacks, though he'd brought his jacket along to wear over his shoulders if he wanted to. Mike looked incredibly crisp and clean in all black and white, and Stan and Bill were standing a little ways away, fixing each other's ties. Ben couldn't hear them, but watched anyways as Stan said something that must have been funny, Bill's face softening into a smile.

It was nice to see Bill smile, and he'd been doing it near constantly since Georgie's health had stabilized. The Denbroughs had been spending every waking (and sleeping) moment in the hospital with Georgie, and while he was rapidly on the mend, he wasn’t ready to be discharged yet. Ben had gone in a few times to visit him with some of the other Losers, wanting to meet him now that he was conscious. When he'd first walked in with Richie and Stan, it had been hard not to stare. Georgie was tiny, so frail and bruised, his right arm a bandaged stump. But he was sitting up in bed, and when Stan first poked his head in he'd let out an excited exclamation, his arms outstretched for a hug. It was amazing how much Georgie loved Stan, the young boy full of admiration for Richie, too. He'd fallen silent when Ben approached, his voice soft when he spoke.

“Thank you so much for saving my life.” He said, and Ben had been completely floored. He talked to Georgie for a little while, finding out that the books the fourth grader liked best were books Ben had also loved in elementary school. Georgie lamented to him about how he wanted new books to read, so the next time Ben came with Eddie and Beverly, he brought a few with him. Eddie and Georgie had chatted for awhile but Eddie couldn't stay, and once he'd gone Ben gave in to Georgie's requests and read to him. Beverly had curled up next to Georgie and fallen asleep, and when the chapter was finished they both looked down at her.

“I think she’s the prettiest girl in the world, probably.” Georgie had said, his tone so innocent and honest that Ben had to agree.

“Is Bev seriously still in the bathroom?” Richie asked, bounding down the stairs, pulling Ben from his thoughts. He was fully dressed now, ignoring Eddie's attempts to reach up and fix his hair as he walked over to the bathroom door. He knocked quietly on the wood.

“You alright in there?” He asked. “Did you fall in, or something?”

“No, fuck off.” Beverly answered. She sounded slightly frustrated. “My hair won't cooperate. It looks stupid.”

“Beverly, I'm sure your hair looks wonderful.” Mike said. “Not to rush you, but we do need to leave soon.”

“That's my parents’ bathroom.” Richie pointed out. “Maybe my mom has some hair doodads, or something.”

“Okay.” Beverly said, sounding a bit preoccupied. Richie stepped back, Bill fixing him with a curious look.

“Doodads?” He asked.

“Yeah, doodads! You know, clips and hair ties and all that stuff.”

“Your hair could use a hair tie.” Eddie said. Richie grinned down at him.

“Yeah? That's not what you said when you were tugging on it last night.”

“Oh my fucking god.” Eddie said, burying his pink face in Richie's shoulder as the entire group groaned. Richie just grinned, wrapping his arms around his boyfriend’s shoulders, and when Eddie reemerged he tried to change the subject.

“My mom is taking me to therapy, starting Monday.”

“For which thing?” Richie asked. “The clown, or the fake medication?”

“Neither. She thinks that I had an ‘episode’ or whatever when I yelled at her.” Eddie sighed, shrugging a little and glancing around. “But it could be good. I'm going to try and take advantage of it, at least. We probably all should. Maybe I’ll have my mom call your moms.”

Stan smiled, the expression only a little sarcastic. “Gee, thanks Eddie.”

Richie laughed. “Oh man, your therapist is so going to want to meet me.”

“You?” Eddie raised his eyebrows, frowning and reaching up to adjust Richie’s tie. “Why would she want to meet you?”

“A therapist is who you go to talk about your problems with, right? You’ll be mentioning me all the time. I’ll be a celebrity over there.”

The group laughed again, the bathroom door opening. Beverly emerged, and it was all Ben had to keep his mouth from falling open.

She looked beautiful, a small smile on her face as she stepped out, looking around at them. Her dress was black and fell slightly past her knees, lace making up the sleeves and the collar. She caught Ben staring at her and smiled a little, dipping her head, stepping up to him like she expected him to speak. Embarrassed, Ben felt the need to say something.

“The clip in your hair. It looks nice.”

It did look nice, a black, lacy-looking flower that went with her dress. She reached up to touch it, a bit surprised, and Ben found himself continuing to ramble.

“Not that your hair doesn't usually look nice, it always looks nice, even that time the other day when you fell asleep on Mike's couch and it was all sticking up…” He had to stop himself; the entire group was looking at him, and he wished he could go back in time and tape his own mouth shut. Beverly was giving him an amused sort of smile, so he tried not to write it off as a complete embarrassment. At least he had amused her.

“In case you didn't get it, Ben thinks your hair is pretty.” Mike said, giving Ben a teasing grin.

“Yeah, I think I got it. My hair. Thanks.” Beverly laughed a bit, her next words quiet, more to herself. “Winter fire.”

“January embers.” Ben continued, without thinking. Beverly stared at him surprise, then confusion, then finally understanding and Ben’s stomach flipped. He'd just admitted to being the secret admirer. From the corner of his eye, Ben could see Stan bringing a hand to his mouth.

“You wrote me that poem?” Beverly asked, her voice loud with surprise.

“You w-wrote her a poem?” Bill cut in. Ben could feel himself blushing.

“I… Yeah.”

Richie whistled, but Beverly ignored him.

“That postcard, it made me so happy… Why didn't you tell me it was from you?”

“Because, well…” Ben shrugged a little, not sure of how he felt about this was happening in front of everyone, but completely overjoyed that Beverly had liked the poem he'd given her. “If it made you happy, then that's really all I wanted.”

It sounded corny, he knew, but it was true. He didn't expect anything from Beverly; he just wanted to see her smile. She stepped a little closer.

“So Ben, do you still… Do you still like me?”

It took Ben a moment to find his tongue.

“I… I do.” He paused, wanting to say more than that. They'd been able to spend more time together now the danger had passed, talk about things and weren't related to murders of the past or someone trying to kill them, and all that had done was cause Ben to like Beverly more. Despite his love of literature, he couldn't find a way to put his feelings into words. “My heart burns there too.”

Beverly reached out for his hands, entwining their fingers slowly. She was so close that Ben could count all of her eyelashes, and see all the blue streaks in her eyes.

“Ben, if you don't kiss her I swear--” Stan started, but then Beverly leaned in, pressing her lips to his, and Ben genuinely wasn't listening anymore. His entire world was Beverly, the touch of her arms as they slid around his waist, the impossible softness of her lips, the way her hair fell slightly in her eyes as she drew away and pressed her forehead to his. She met his eyes and smiled at him and Ben felt the entire world sway slightly. This girl was incredible.

“Am I going to have to do bed checks now?” Richie asked loudly, breaking the moment. “Because I know that he comes over sometimes. I'll get home at three a.m. and there he is, just inviting himself over and sleeping on the couch. Sometimes you're all next to him on the couch too, Beverly, and I really wonder--”

Ben felt the extreme need to defend himself. He had told his mother he was sleeping over at Richie's just to spend time with Beverly, but he'd never done more than bring food over and hold conversation.

“We just talk, that's all.” He insisted. Richie pulled a face.

“Somehow that's worse.” He said.

“Yeah, well, you'll have to get used to it.” Beverly said. She was beaming, her arms still around him, and Ben turned to her in shock.

“G-g-g-get used to it?” He stammered out. Eddie nudged Bill's side.

“Aw, look at that, he sounds like you.”

“Yeah.” Beverly said. “You said you wanted to make me happy, right? It would make me very happy to take you to a movie this weekend.”

Ben opened and closed his mouth a few times, not quite able to believe that Beverly Marsh was asking him on a date. His stunned silence had her faltering for a moment.

“Unless… Unless you don't want--”

“Trust me, he wants to.” Mike said, Ben nodding along until he could find his voice.

“I would love to, Beverly.”

“Good.” Beverly stepped back, suddenly looking embarrassed, tucking some hair behind her ear. “We, uh… We should probably get going, huh?”

“We needed to get going five minutes ago, but you kids were just too adorable.” Stan said, taking the first steps towards the door. Ben knew the memorial service was going to be sad, and it felt strange to be going to it with a smile on his face, but he just couldn't help it. He was happy. Beverly offered him her hand, he took it, and they walked together down Richie's front porch and out into the sunlight.