#travis: my parents never let me around other kids because i would bite them for being annoying

[sunfaggot]

Travis bit people when he was a kid and he got stressed out

[not-from-the-absence-of-violence]

A whisper weighed upon the tattered down where you and I were lying

You see, I take the parts that I remember and stitch them back together to make a creature that will do what I say or love me back. ~Richard Siken

Sometimes Travis dreams and sometimes the happy ones hurt more than any nightmare could.

“Should we buy honey, William?” Margaret says, holding up a pot up to him questiongly.

He blinks, taking in his surroundings. He’s at some sort of market in the central square of a village. His village. The sun is shining high in the sky.

“Sorry?” he says to his wife.

She rolls her eyes, placing the jar in her bag and handing the merchant some money. She smiles though, and still they walk with their arms intertwined.

“You are distracted today,” she says, lightheartedly.

He holds her hand tighter, but smiles. “It’s nothing,” he says, “I’m just thinking.”

She snorts. “Thinking? About what, dear?” she says teasingly.

He sighs overdramatically. “You always make fun of me, Margaret,” he says, voice full of put upon dramatics, “And here I thought you were supposed to love me unconditionally, or whatever.”

They both burst out laughing, and he feels the background worry and knowledge fade away. They buy the rest of their things and start heading home by the time the darkness starts creeping over the horizon.

As they approach their home, everything is so idyllic it feels wrong. It’s a small house at the edge of a town, surrounded by lush forests, painted some artful colour. There are plants growing gracefully down one side of it.

Travis’ resolve to maintain his faith that this is real wavers as he sees their ridiculous home. It breaks even more as he finds himself opening the door and there’s a kid standing in the hallway. She isn’t a spitting image of her mother, but she has her curly brown hair, neatly put into two puffy ponytails.

She unmistakably has his eyes.

She smiles and runs towards him, throwing herself into his arms. "Dad!" she says. She can’t be older than five. "You’re home!"

Her weight is so real in his arms, for a moment Travis lets himself believe and hugs her back. She makes a little noise of delight. Margaret is smiling in the doorway, she stands to kiss her daughter’s head before making her way towards the kitchen.

He wants so very badly to believe this is real. That’s the problem with lucid dreaming, you are always so painfully aware of the unreality around you. But Travis Matagot has spent decades mastering pretending and repressing, and so he smiles and carries his daughter into the kitchen.

"So what are we eating tonight?" he asks.

It doesn’t actually matter what they are eating, it’s something warm and nice and completely devoid of meaning anyway. He hears the meaningless chatter around the table, and he probably joins in. He’s happy to just let this wash over him. He doesn’t eat, but at the end of the meal he finds his plate empty and his belly full anyway.

It's fully dark now, and he knows it’s time to tuck Hope into bed. She wants to be read to and Travis obliges, almost on autopilot. The story is some garbled nonsense and she falls asleep in no time.

Once she’s asleep, he stands there and looks at her, so small, so fragile, so utterly dependent on him. She has that sort of childish devotion too, she loves him, trusts him with everything. It’s terrifying, more than any horrible nightmare he could have. It's almost ironic really, that one of his biggest fears is his own child sleeping safely under his watchful eye.

Margaret leads him out of the room, with some mumbling about sleep. Suddenly Travis feels tired and yawns without meaning to. They get undressed and she climbs into bed in silence. He stares at her for a while, in bed with her hair let down and an expression of satisfied peace on her face. It aches.

He stares for long until she pats the bed next to her. He slips into the covers and her warmth feels so real. How come he can remember her smell so well? Something like a river bank and spring flowers.

Travis lays his head just under her neck, she plays with his hair and he tries to just not think so much. She's humming a song she wouldn't know because it was composed about thirty years after her death. He hasn't changed, of course. Maybe the Queen doesn't even exist in this corner of his mind.

"You will have to leave," Margaret says abruptly, although not unkindly.

Travis groans. "Maybe I don't," he says and firmly closes his eyes, trying not to see her face.

She lifts his chin up to meet her gaze anyway, and it hurts, fuck, it hurts to see her look at him like this.

"Travis," she says, he flinches, she never would have called him that. "We both know you always wake up eventually."

"We usually don't have a kid." His voice cracks on the end of the sentence.

"It's because you’ve been thinking about it, probably."

He knows this isn't Margaret. She is a thing stitched of memories, of things he saw in her, of the Margaret he has now.

Partially she's just him, bouncing him thoughts he would like to not examine when he is awake. Today’s Margaret's treatment had helped, of course, but it had opened doors with things behind them Travis had almost managed to forget about.

"Why don't I at least believe it's true," he laments, "Why don't I get to live my perfect world or whatever, at least for like a night?"

"I don’t think that’s what this is," she tells him.

He knows that, but he asks anyway. "What do you think it is, then?"

"You don't actually want to know."

He lays his head back on her chest, listening to the phantom beating of her heart. "I know you’ll tell me anyway."

She hums. Her hands are back in his hair. "I think," she starts, "Partially this is a place you believe you could have ended up, if your mother hadn't died, if your father had been kinder, if the world hadn't ended, if you hadn't walked into that wretched forest."

He vaguely hums in acknowledgement, and for once he doesn't interrupt.

"Maybe then, you would have settled down in a small town, with your wife. You would have wanted and would've gotten a kid. Been a great father."

She trails off, he doesn't look at her.

"I guess," he says. "You said partially?"

"This is what you wish you wanted, too."

He tenses up. "I do want this."

She shakes her head, and even without looking at her he can picture her face clearly, the exasperated fondness mixed with that horrid melancholy.

"We both know that's not true," she says.

There’s a pause. Travis doesn’t know if he's angry or guilty or relieved.

"Come on, Travis," she says, being so very kind, so patient.

They hadn’t been like this, him and Margaret. They’d been so young, in the grand scheme of things. They’d liked going to bars and beating everybody at Illimat and running small schemes and violating curfew and running from law enforcers. Margaret had been kind to him, but she could bite back just as viciously as he could. It had worked so well. At the time they were both just mildly dysfunctional people, and they’d truly brought out the best in each other. They were reckless and they had gotten married with blood oaths, which people had advised against. They’d been told such things just invite tragedy.

And they had both been so very afraid when Margaret had noticed she was pregnant.

"I remember," Travis said, he could hear the waver in his voice "That you said we should find a Black Lily, or a doctor, or maybe we…" he trailed off, not wanting the tears to spill from his eyes.

"We never got to weigh our options,” Margaret says.

William hadn't wanted children. He was afraid of what he knew you could do to a child, he was afraid of outliving his own kid, he didn't want to give his long dead father the satisfaction. And every single bit of relief he had ever felt about it not being a problem anymore had been met with guilt in a tenfold.

"We didn't want this," she said, "I didn't want this." Margaret would not have settled for a weirdly perfect life passively weaving and cooking dinners. William would not have coped well either. The two of them had been master con artists and reckless young lovers.

"I wouldn't have left you," he says.

She kisses his hair and murmurs "I know, my love, I know."

Travis Matagot would have left, of course, right at dawn, unable to face any of this. But he knows that William would have tried. William would have stayed and he would have been broken and afraid but he would have stayed and he would have faced it all.

If it had come to that, then he knows they would have been unfit, stumbling parents. It would have been messy and just a bit broken, and they would have found a way, because together they usually had. It wouldn't end in a perfect village with normal jobs and no heartbreak, not even back then.

And then William had died alongside her in the depths of the river.

She smiles like she knows what he's thinking, which she probably does, as she’s nothing more than a shade of his own subconscious.

"We would have made the best of it," she says, "But none of that would have led us here because then you wouldn't be you, and I loved you. Even the parts you believe unlovable, even the ones that led you to be the broken man you are now, and especially the ones that made you yearn for more than this."

They sit in the silence of that, but Travis still doesn't wake up. "There’s more to this, isn't there," he says, sighing. There’s always more to it.

"You don't actually want to go back anymore, and that scares you."

He flinches and sits up angrily. “I don’t know what you mean.”

When she speaks, there’s a bit of the real bite she would have had in her voice. “Yes, you do.”

"I didn't want you to die!" he says. His hands are shaking in his lap. He's crying, trying to focus on a point on the wall, trying to wake up.

"Gable isn't here," she says, "And neither is Jonnit, and you wish you wanted this back, but you have the two of them now."

"I would trade it all to have you back," he says, and his voice comes out so small.

"Oh, Travis," she says, gently placing her hand on his back, "It's alright, you know-"

"Shut up!" he says. He looks at her, her endless patience, the mangled ghost of his wife that isn’t really like her at all.

She slumps against him, hugging him from behind. He turns around and kisses her softly, and he remembers kissing her so vividly this feels almost real.

-

He wakes up in the middle of the night and he knows he's very obviously been crying. He climbs out of what he generously calls his bunk. He needs to get some fresh air, or something.

As he’s walking up to the deck, he bumps into Gable, because of course he does.

"Have you been smoking rope?" they ask, peering at him.

Travis could not be in a worse mood to deal with this. "Yes!" he spits out angrily, the lie coming easily.

"I just asked a question! What did I do this time?" Gable says, exasperated.

"Nothing," he says and then, "Everything, I don’t fucking know, Gable! Just leave it."

He sees them flinch and he sees the hurt look on their face, and he almost convinces himself he doesn't care.

"What has gotten- Travis? Travis, where are you going?"

He begins stomping off to find a closet where he can curl into a ball in peace. "I said leave it!" he shouts over his shoulder.

They stomp off in the other direction.

-

He does find a corner eventually, and he just sits there. He can't actually bring himself to cry, or even to think. He's stuck on old worn memories and the intense mix of helplessness and guilt. He hates himself and everything for it.

It’s Margaret who finds him.

"Leave," he says, not turning to face her.

"Travis," she says, ignoring him. "We are still tethered together, remember, and you woke me up rather abruptly."

"Well I am so sorry," he says, voice dripping with sarcasm. "Happy now?"

She sighs. "Bad dream?"

"Well, you know," he says, too tired and strung out to stop himself, "About her. And our kid. And you, I guess. A perfect day. Bad dream.”

That makes her pause. "I understand why that would make my presence upsetting, and if you truly want me to leave I will," she says. "But I don't want to leave you here alone, and you won't talk about this to Gable, and you shouldn't dump these sort of things on Jonnit."

She's right. She usually is. He sighs and sits up a little straighter.

"You don't need to look at me, if that helps."

That does make it easier, and he hates that she knows it. "Alright," he says.

"So this dream about something you lost is what upset you?"

"I feel like I just had this conversation, you know."

"You talked to her?" She sounds a little surprised.

He considers the question. “It wasn't like with Dref, she was just like… a memory."

Margaret nods. "I can feel you don't want to take me through the whole dream,” she says, sounding both gentle and firm, “But can you maybe tell me what you think is most upsetting to you right now."

"She said some things that I didn’t want to think about."

"Very vague, dear, but it's a start," she says.

So Travis starts explaining. It's halting and abstract and broken up by bitten back sobs but he tries. Tries to explain Margaret, and the life he never got to lead, and the one he never even wanted. About a kid he never had that he still feels guilty towards. About the mangled stitched together thing his dream Margaret was, and how that is all that’s left of her now.

Margaret weaves a spell between them quietly. The moment their connection strengthens, tears begin to fill her eyes, almost involuntarily.

He turns to look at her. Seeing her face is hard and comforting all at once, because nothing in his life is ever allowed to be simple.

“You’re holding onto so much, Travis,” she says, her voice somehow still steady, despite her tears.

Travis can feel she's shouldering his burden of grief and guilt with him. It's nice somehow, to know that she truly understands. In a sick, twisted way, it's nice to know she's struggling under it too.

"I just don't want to lose her,” he whispers.

She pauses to think, and then very carefully says "You’re holding onto all this grief and guilt because you believe it keeps her close, but Travis dear, it only makes it harder for you to think about her, talk about her.”

She moves forward to hold his hands and his gaze. “You want to be guilty because that makes the pain fair. You want to be in pain because her loss deserves to be felt. You are afraid of being content without it; now and in the future. Which is not letting you be happy with the people you have now, and not letting you think about what you could have."

They’re looking at each other now, and her hands move up to cradle his face ever so sweetly. Travis has nothing to say. He just nods vaguely and feels her tears on her hands.

"I wish I could get rid of it all for you, but it will take work, and you have been bottling it up for so long.” She slowly pulls him closer to her and kisses the top of his forehead. She murmurs, like a small prayer onto his skin, like it's holy, “You need to understand it's okay to let go of her Travis. You love her, so deeply and fully, I can feel that. That will keep her close, that is worth remembering."

He's crying now, and he leans into her and falls into her embrace so easily as the tears finally flow, as he lets himself feel the grief finally, letting it all out. Letting it go. She holds him, sharing the mourning with him. She rubs his back tenderly as he sobs into her chest. She’s got him this time.

A few nights later, he dreams of a river and he's holding Margaret’s hand. He's been through this a million times: sometimes he hopes he will be able to pull them both out, sometimes he hopes to die with her. Neither ever works out, of course.

This time he stops struggling, and looks at her face. Looks at the millions of hands pulling her down, and the current threatening to tear him apart.

It burns in his chest, but he takes a deep breath.

“Goodbye,” he says.

And he lets go of her hand.

[give-me-back-my-rhodey]

The Not-So Worst Day of Peter’s Life

This fic is a part of the @friendly-neighborhood-exchange for @fromsiberia

                      Rating: General            Warnings: N/A   

I enjoyed writing this - I hope you enjoy reading it! 

Peter takes a class trip to Stark Industries. What could go wrong (or right)?

Read on ao3

“So, we have a field trip planned,” Peter mentions casually while eating lunch on Sunday.

 Tony swallows the food in his mouth, “Great kid. When and where?”

 “It’s this Friday, and it’s at Stark Industries,” Peter’s mouth contorts into a strained smile. “Did you do this?”

 “I did not, cross my heart and hope to die,” Tony runs a finger across his sternum. “It was probably someone in our HR department. Why, you don’t want to go?”

 “it just puts me in a tough spot because I’m ‘working’ here,” Peter makes finger quotations, “and no one believes me but Ned and MJ, but that’s because they know my alter ego.”

 “What do you want me to do? Do you want me to call out sick and not go in that day? Or do you want me to acknowledge you and just rave about your intelligence? I’m good with that, too.”

 “No! Just do what you normally do. If we run into you, you can just say hi to me to prove you know me, but I don’t need a whole letter of recommendation or anything!” Peter scoffs.

 Tony nods understandingly, “I will be the ultimate professional, but I cannot speak for Happy. Or Bucky, if he’s around.”

“If I’m around where?” Bucky saunters into the room, dropping a kiss on Tony’s cheek.

 “Speak of the devil,” Tony smirks. “Peter’s class is going to SI on Friday for a field trip.”

 Bucky’s eyes glitter. “Good to know.” He grabs a water bottle from the fridge and walks back out. “Going for a run with Steve.”

 “Make sure you shower afterwards!” Tony yells after him.

 Peter turns on Tony as soon as Bucky leaves, “Please don’t let him embarrass me.”

 “I will do what I can,” Tony ruffles Peter’s head. Standing up, he takes his plate and sticks it in the dishwasher. “Hey, I just got some of that stretchy material in. Wanna test it?”

 Peter eagerly follows him into the lab.

 +++++++++++++++++++

“So, Tony didn’t set it up?” Ned asks, biting into his pizza.

 “No, he had no idea. I guess they do field trip things fairly often, so they just have someone in HR schedule them.” Peter wrinkles his nose. “Really Ned? Pineapple and sweet peppers? Ugh, that’s nasty.”

 “You just have boring tastes, extra-cheese man.”

 MJ shakes her head, “Bacon’s where it’s at.”

 Peter and Ned look at each other and shrug. Neither of them can refute the fact that bacon is one of the better pizza toppings.

 “So, Penis, are you going on the field trip on Friday?” Flash Thompson walks up to stand at the end of their table. “I wouldn’t blame you for not going, you know, because it’s going to be so embarrassing for you when we all confirm that your Stark Internship is all in your imagination. Right guys?” Flash’s little posse of friends all agree and laugh.

 “I’m going.” Peter smiles at Flash.

 “Alright. It’s your funeral,” Flash replies then turns to his crowd. “IF we see Tony Stark, maybe he can tell us about Spiderman! Unlike this idiot here, Spiderman actually works with Iron Man! He’s like the coolest superhero out there. Okay, let’s go. Bye losers!” He does a little wave at Peter’s table. Peter gives him a thumbs up in response.

 “I mean, it’s funny to me that Flash loves you and hates you, but why do you put up with that?” MJ comments.

Peter shrugs, “It doesn’t really bother me. If he wants to run his mouth, trying to make me feel small, let him. At least he’s doing it to me, and not someone who will actually be affected by it. By the way, tomorrow night, we’re watching Clueless. Bucky hasn’t seen too many rom-coms, and I mean to change that. Tony said you are welcome to come. He’s making like six different types of popcorn.”

 “I’m in.” MJ nods as Ned raises his hand and waves it to show he also will be there.

 The bell rings to indicate the end of lunch break, and the trio splits up to go to their respective classes.

 ++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

Tony meets Peter when he gets to the Tower after rotations. “Hey Pete, I’m sorry. I forgot to tell you that Harley’s going to be here this week.”

 ‘Oh ok, maybe we can finish that project now that… OH NO! Don’t tell me he’s going to be at SI on Friday!” Peter groans as Tony grimaces.

 “Unfortunately, he will be, and you know there’s nothing I can do to stop him once he’s on a warpath.”

 “My life is over,” Peter mourns. “Why can’t his college have normal spring break just like everybody else?”

 “Probably because the universe is just bent on screwing you over.” Peter hates just how amused Tony sounds.

 He folds his arms. “You’re the worst dad ever.”

 “Sure son. Want to talk it over a game of catch?” Tony has his biggest shit-eating grin plastered across his face.

 Peter shakes his head. “No, I just remembered. Aunt May said she’s going to have supper ready at 6:30 so I got to go. Love you, Dad.” He quickly hugs Tony then runs out the door.

 “Love you, too kid!” Tony calls after him.

 “Look at you, being less and less emotionally stunted as the days go by,” Rhodey comments from the doorway.  “I guess Barnes and the kid are doing you good.”

 “Oh, shut it, platypus.” Tony shoots back good-humoredly. “You were the one who started the process.”

 +++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

Tuesday night, dubbed “Movie Night,” comes, and Tony, Bucky, Peter, Harley, Ned, and MJ are watching Clueless on Tony’s huge theater-sized TV. JARVIS turns on Clueless, and everyone soon gets lost into the hard high-school life of one Cher Horowitz.

 Peter sympathizes with Cher’s driving issues as he also had a hard time learning to drive. He cringes, thinking of the time he had to drive Flash’s father’s car to chase Liz’s dad. Tony shudders at the fashion, or lack thereof, of the 90’s.

 When the movie ends, Harley points out that although Cher’s last name is supposedly Horowitz, her report card is labelled as Cher Hamilton. MJ tells them she doesn’t like that Josh is Cher’s step-brother – it just weirds her out. Peter asks Bucky what he thought of the movie.

 Bucky thinks about it for a second then asks, “Isn’t this basically modern-day Emma?”

 “Emma?”

 “Yea, the Jane Austen novel. Like, Cher is clearly Emma. She’s so happy she got Dionne together with Murray so she thinks she’s good at this stuff. She takes Tai in order to help her become popular. That means Tai is Harriet Smith. Cher tries to set her up with Elton, whose name is taken straight from Emma – Mr. Elton. Cher thinks she’s in love with Christian, who is pulled from Frank Churchill. The only difference here is that Christian is gay, not already engaged to Jane Fairfax. Josh, of course, is Mr. Knightley, except that he’s Cher’s stepbrother, not a family friend. Because Elton says he’s in love with Cher, not Tai, Tai feels unwanted. When Josh starts showing her attention because Cher asked him to, Tai starts to fall for him just as Cher realizes she’s in love with him. This is equal to the scenes where Mr. Knightley dances with Harriet when Mr. Elton snubs her. Harriet believes he is interested whereas he’s only doing Emma a favor. Harriet tells Emma that she thinks she loves Knightley. As a result, Emma gets a reality check. In the end, Tai dates the skater boy Travis, who is the modern-day Robert Martin, deemed as unworthy by Cher/Emma.” He pauses when he sees everyone just staring at him, open-mouthed. “I’m not wrong, am I?”

“Oh my gosh,” MJ whispers. “I think I love him.”

 “Sorry, he’s mine,” Tony wraps his arms around Bucky. “Bucky, darling, I don’t know because I don’t read mushy stuff like Jane Austen, but based on MJ’s reaction, you must have hit the nail on the head.”

 Bucky nuzzles Tony’s cheek with his nose until Harley fake gags, “There are children present!”

 “The book is better, but the movie was ok,” Bucky wrinkles his nose.

 Peter clutches his chest, “It’s a rom-com classic! I can’t believe it!” He dramatically falls off the couch onto the floor, acting as if his heart had failed him.

 “Oh, no, we lost him. What ever shall we do?” Harley deadpans, stuffing a pillow on Peter’s face and holding it there until Peter rolls over.

 “You are all a bunch of children,” Tony laughs. “Honey, don’t you feel like the parent of some very unruly children.”

 Bucky snorts, “Gee, I wonder who they got it from.”

 “Gasp. Betrayed by my own boyfriend. Now I have no one in the cruel, cold world.” Tony splays a hand across his arc reactor. “Woe is me.”

 All too soon, though, it was time to go home, and Peter wishes all his nights could be like this. As Peter leaves one last lingering look at Tony and Bucky on the couch, he feels Harley nudge him. “Hey, at least you can leave,” the blond nineteen-year-old grins. “I’m going to have to deal with them, and I don’t think they’re going to wait until they get to their room to start. Seriously, I may have to gouge my eyes out by the end of the week.”

 Peter pats Harley on the shoulder, “I’m sure you’ll manage. Have a good night.”

 ++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

Peter spends Wednesday night with Aunt May, but Tony asks for his help in the SI lab on Thursday. Two hours into working on improving Peter’s suit, Peter admits, “I’m a little nervous about tomorrow.”

 Tony immediately puts down his tools, “Ok… talk to me. What’s wrong?”

 “I just… don’t know what’s going to happen, and I don’t want to make a big deal about the whole internship. Like, I don’t even care if they don’t believe me. Now it either becomes a big deal, or they'll all still think I’m a liar. And what if someone makes the Spiderman connection?”

 “Hey, kid. You'll be fine, but if you don’t want to go, don’t go. You’ve got nothing to prove to anyone. I’ll support you with whatever you choose.  And the Spiderman thing? I don’t think anyone’s going connect the dots. They'll probably think Harles is Spiderman before you." Tony knocks his shoulder. “All I’m saying is I will be happy to see you if you decide to go, and I would never be ashamed of being seen with you. I’ve basically adopted you. If you want to add fuel to the flames, I can even call you son.” He wiggles his eyebrows.

 “No! Please don’t! I don’t need that as well.” Peter groans.

 “Ok ok fine!” Tony holds up his hands. “But let me know if you need me to be a school emergency contact. I know May’s been having longer shifts, but she won’t accept my help.”

 “She’s a strong independent woman, Tony. She doesn’t need you.”  Peter jabs playfully.

 “No she does not. I admire her. The only person I admire more than her is Pepper. And I’ve met Thor, Peter.”

 Peter gasps dramatically, “Don’t diss on my Thor!”

 When Peter goes to leave that night, Tony pulls him into a hug. “Love ya, son.”

 “Love you, too, dad.” Peter’s heart fills with happiness. He supposes tomorrow won’t be too bad.

 +++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

Friday comes, and May wakes Peter up for his class trip. He groans but gets up. “Ugh. Today is going to be a train wreck.” He tells her.

 “You know, you don’t have to go on your class trip,” May remarks, looked amused.

 “Yea, I know, but I feel like I should just go.”

 Peter gets to school, and Flash seems to be waiting for him. “Oh, hey guys. Here he is! We’re going to see today just how pathetic Parker is. I hope you’re ready.” Flash smirks at him.

 “Oh, believe me, I am not ready for this trip,” Peter concedes, “but for reasons that are so much different than what you’re thinking.”

 “Ok, boys, enough fighting. It’s time to go,” Mr. Harrington calls from the front of the classroom. “Everyone, pair up and get on the bus.”

 Peter and Ned fall in line together, followed by MJ and Betty. The pretty blonde taps Peter on the shoulder. “Hey Peter, for what it’s worth, I believe you.”

 “Thanks Betty! I appreciate it.” Peter smiles back at her.

 The four of them sit together in the back of the bus, ignoring all the chaos going on in front of them. “It gets worse,” Peter confides to Ned, “Harley’s gonna be there. You know it’s his goal in life to make me as uncomfortable as possible.”

 “Relax, Pete, he’s like your brother. That’s what family’s for.”

 The bus ride takes approximately thirty minutes to get to Stark Industries. Once everyone is out and lined up two by two, Mr. Harrington leads them up to the facility. He fumbles with the paperwork as he walks up to a security guard. Once the guard is satisfied, he takes them in to the front desk. Bambi is working the desk, as usual. She hands out visitor’s cards to every member of the party, and her face brightens when she sees Peter. “Oh, hi Peter! I didn’t realize this was your class. You should just be showing them around, don’t you think?” She winks at him.

 Peter loves Bambi. She treats him like her own grandchildren. “Hi, Bambi. It’s good to see you. Today, I think I’m just following along with the rest of them.”

 As the rest of the class had already left the receptionist desk to wait for their tour guide, no one heard Peter and Bambi’s interaction. Mr. Harrington calls him over, and Flash looks at him suspiciously. “What, did you ask her to act like she knew you?”

 “No, she just knows me. That’s Bambi.”

“No shit. Isn’t that what her name tag read?” Flash retorts, and Peter mentally nods. Flash does have a point there.

 “Midtown High?” A voice says, and Peter freezes. No. He knows that voice. He turns slowly to find that his fear is, in fact, reality. “Hello, my name is Harley Keener. I’m a part-time intern of Tony Stark, and I will be your tour guide today. Does anyone have any questions before we start?”

 Annabelle raises her hand, “Will we see Tony Stark or Pepper Potts today?”

 “You are in luck, because Tony himself instructed that I show you his lab today. Ms. Potts is the CEO of the company, so I can’t really say if we will see her or not. She is a very busy woman.” Harley smiles. Peter feels his eyes on him, and when Peter looks up, Harley’s smile becomes a smirk. Peter’s spidey-senses tingle with a sense of foreboding.

 Flash nudges Peter, “Hey Porker, that is what someone who interns for Tony Stark would look like. He’s mature and actually attractive… unlike you.”

 “You think he’s mature? He’s the devil incarnate. The only reason he is leading this tour is because he wants to make my life miserable,” Peter hisses.

 Flash scoffs, but he just rejoins his partner at the front of the line.

 “Hey, kid.” Harley addresses Flash. “I’m sorry, but I need to ask you to stay with your partner in a two-by-two line unless I say you can spread out. I don’t want to cause problems, but I’m sure you understand that we have precautions that we must take in order to let guided tours through here.” Peter holds in a laugh when Flash looks properly chastised.

 Ned leans close and says, “And that’s where family has your back as well, even after you call them ‘the Devil incarnate.’”

 Harley leads them through department after department, explaining how each of them work. After explaining, he would ask if anyone had any questions. Finally, on the sixth floor, Flash can’t resist any longer. “I have to ask, Mr. Keener, do you know anyone by the name of Peter Parker?”

 “You mean Tony’s other intern? Yea I know him. He’s a little shit most of the time, but yea. Any other questions?”

 Everyone in the class turns back to Peter, who can’t help but smile smugly. “I have a question,” Peter asks, “Why did you decide to guide this tour? This isn’t your normal job here.”

 The blood drains from Peter’s face when Harley just smiles and says, “It was something I wanted to do, and Tony owed me that favor after he lost the bet.”

 “Oh crap.” The foreboding tingles are back.

 Mr. Harrington looks confused, “I’m sorry. I guess you two know each other?”

 “Yes, we have worked together on many a project with Mr. Stark,” Harley informs him. “We just have a little harmless rivalry – like to poke fun at each other.”

 Flash looks like he’s just going to faint. Peter wants to laugh at him, but he’s mature. He’ll laugh about it later.

 Harley continues, “Now, if no one has any questions about this department, I will take you up to the next floor. Please be warned, this is Tony Stark’s R&D floor. We will have to confiscate any phones as we do not allow any videos and pictures on this floor.” They climb the stairs. “Before we go in, please hand all your phones and/or recording devices to Alessia here. She will return them to you once we come back out of this room.”

 Once everyone forks over their technology, Harley puts his hand on the scanner, and the doors open. “Please line up against the wall, and don’t touch anything.” He tells them.

 Peter groans aloud when he sees the view in front of him. Bucky frickin’ Barnes is sitting on the frickin’ table where Tony is fixing his frickin’ arm! He knows Bucky and Harley have something up their sleeve.

 “You ok there, Parker?” Harley asks, grinning like the cat that ate the canary.

 “Yeah. I’m great.” Peter grits out.

 Tony and Bucky seem to be in their own little world because neither of them looks up. Tony closes a plate on Bucky’s arm and runs his hand down the arm until he clasps Bucky’s hand in his own. Bucky touches Tony’s face with his right arm, and Harley clears his throat loudly. Bucky slowly drops his hand, and they both turn to look at the class, Bucky’s eyes seeking Peter out.

 Tony smiles his press smile, “Welcome, guys, gals, and non-binary pals to where the magic happens. This lab here is my personal lab, and very few people have access to this select lab. Consider yourselves lucky. Sergeant Barnes here just had some problems with his arm, and, as I was working here today, came to visit me. If you see over there, I have my helper bots.” Tony walks over to ELL-E. “This darling here is one of my newer ones. Say hi, ELL-E!” Everyone awws when she raises her claw and waves. “I have three of these at home, all built when I was in college. Since I work most days at the tower, I keep them there. DUM-E was the first AI bot I ever made. He’s a mess, though. That’s why his name’s DUM-E.” He claps his hands together. “Now does anyone have any questions… actually, wait, I have a question for you kids. We are in the process in updating the Stark phone. Does anyone here own one, and if so, do you have any suggestions in improving it?”

 Raoul raises his hand, “Well, I must say I do love the latest update… the easy access to setting up disability features really helped my mom use her phone better. She used to make one of us use her phone for her because most phones either don’t have the features or make it hard to find where to turn them on.”

 “Thank you. Fun fact – that update was drawn up and coded by your very own classmate over there, one Mr. Peter Parker. I don’t know how much of a bragger he is – I sure was one when I was his age – but that young man is brilliant. I am honored to have him working here as an intern.” Tony sends a smile towards Peter.

 Flash raises his hand, “Hi, so if Peter interns for you, and you mostly work from the tower, does that mean Peter works at Stark Tower around all the superheroes?”

 “Yup,” Tony smiles. “To be honest, I think he had the biggest freak out when he met Bucky over here… or maybe Thor. Sorry, Buck, I think Thor is his favorite.”

 A few other students raise their hands to ask questions, and Peter zones out. A loud clapping sound wakes him from his reverie.

 “I hate to interrupt, but it’s almost time for lunch,” Harley speaks up. “Do you want me to take them down now, or is there anything else you want to say?”

 Tony spins back around to face them, finger in the air. “I just had a brilliant idea. Why don’t you join me and Sergeant Barnes for lunch? We’re going down to the cafeteria. Just order what you want on my dime. We’ll accompany you down in a minute.”

 “Sir, you don’t have to,” Mr. Harrington sputters. “The students did all bring lunch…”

“Oh, it would be my pleasure. I have more money than I know what to do with. I insist,” Tony says. Then he smirks and says, “I know, Ms. Jones, that I should sink my money into charities and things. Please provide me with several of your choice, and I promise to make a large donation.”

 MJ’s mouth opens and closes, then she nods. “Fair enough.”

 “Ok kiddos,” Harley says, “let me take you down to the cafeteria. If you want your phones back, please make sure you pick them up from Alessia.”

 Peter and Ned are the last ones to leave the lab. Peter turns right before he walks out. Bucky and Tony wave at him. He groans, “They’re going to do something at lunch. I can feel it.”

 Five minutes later, Tony and Bucky arrive in the cafeteria, holding hands.

 “Holy shit! Are they actually together?” Adria gasps in a loud whisper.

 Ned rolls his eyes. “Of course. What, have you been living under a rock?”

 After the power couple get their food, they sit at the table where Peter and Harley are sitting. “So, did we do ok, kid?” Tony asks.

 “Well, now the whole world is going to know you’re dating. They’re not ‘just speculating’ anymore.” Peter smirks.

 “Babe, we can have a make out session on the table now!” Bucky’s eyes twinkle. “We don’t have to hide anymore!”

 “Gosh no, please, please no!” Peter groans. “Ugh. I hate you all right now.”

 “We love you, too,” Harley coos.

 Twenty minutes later, Harley and Mr. Harrington round up the class to proceed with the tour. Bucky pulls Tony up and says, “Come on, Mr. Stark, you have a meeting with Ms. Potts to which you must not be late if you know what’s good for you.” “Oh, are you giving me orders, Sergeant Barnes?” Tony asks back, and Peter knows his face is bright red.

 “Just… go.” He mutters, and he’s sure only Bucky was able to hear him. Bucky takes it as a cue to leave. He takes Tony’s arm.

 “Here is where I must take my leave,” Tony, ever the showman, bows. “Thank you all for touring my humble company, and I do hope you all have enjoyed yourselves. Bye, Petey.” He wiggles his fingers. Peter hides his face in his hands.

 “Kill me now,” he pleads to Ned.

 The rest of the field trip goes off without a hitch, and the ride back to school is peaceful. Peter imagines everyone is on Twitter going on about Winteriron or something. He realizes that Tony and Bucky did this so that no one would bother him about the internship. Once again, he is choked up to see just how caring and thoughtful Tony is.  The next person who says differently can catch these hands. He thinks.

 Peter leaves quickly when school ends so he doesn’t miss his bus that has a tendency to show up early. Tony is waiting for him at the tower when he gets there. “So how did we do today?”

 “You guys were embarrassing, but I guess I’ve come to terms with it.” Peter grumbles. “That’s what family does. Thank you for taking all the attention off of me. You didn't have to go semi-public with your relationship.”

 “Let you have the spotlight? Never! Don't you know I need it all?” Tony jokes, then smiles softly. “I only did what Rhodey would’ve done to me.”

 Peter smiles, “Rhodey is a gift to this world.”

 “Peter, my dear, you are brilliant, but let me tell you, that is the smartest and most correct thing you have ever said,” Tony takes him by the shoulders. “But if you ever tell my honeybear that, I will deny it vehemently.”

 “Understood. Hey want to play a game of chess?” When Tony agrees, Peter gets the chessboard out that Wanda had given him. Apparently, it had belonged to her father. Peter just likes the glass pieces.

  Epilogue

On Monday, Flash apologizes to him when they return to school. “Hey Parker, I… uh… I’m sorry for all that shit I said about you. I guess it just seemed unreal, and I shouldn’t have made fun of you like that.”

 “Yea, you shouldn’t have. Being a dick doesn’t make you cool; it just makes you look like a dick. But I do understand. My life is pretty surreal. No harm done – just don’t do it anymore to anyone.” Peter tells him.

 Flash nods, “Yea, I know. So, have you met Spiderman? Is he as cool as he seems?”

 “Nah, I hate him. He’s a total loser. He once stole my ice cream sandwich and didn't replace it or apologize.” Peter smiles. “Now, Thor? He’s not called a god for no reason. He would never do that.”

 Peter walks out of school much happier than usual. Maybe this field trip wasn’t so bad.

[onigirisuna]

blue ivy

a contribution for @zutaramonth, quarantine edition, day 15: trust. view my other work for zutara month (quarantine edition) here.

this isn’t sad this time, i promise!

modern au. cw: cursing. long fic ahead.

“See those other morons over there?” Toph says; she lowers her voice down to a pseudo-whisper. “They’re stupid as fuck.”

Akira coos in response. Toph continues her rocking back and forth, tickling her belly as she says, “Yeah, that’s right. I’m gonna be the dopest auntie you’ll ever have. You know that bitch, Martha Stewart? She won’t even know what’s coming for her.”

“Two strikes, Toph,” Katara says with her arms crossed. “I gave birth three days ago and now my baby’s gonna say fu– the f word before she says ‘mama’ or ‘papa’.”

“No, Katara,” Toph says, still cradling the now-sleeping Akira in her arms. “She’s gonna say y’all are fucking wussies when she realizes how lame her parents are.”

Katara rolls her eyes, too tired to argue with the blind girl. Toph deposits the sleeping child in Katara’s outstretched arms; as Toph unfurls her arms from the infant, she says, “I’m tellin’ you, Sugar Queen. I’m out here being Solange Knowles while you guys fight over which Kardashian you are.”

Zuko walks in with a two mugs of coffee in hand. “I think Kourtney’s pretty cool.”

Without looking back, Toph points in his direction. “Exactly.”

Katara smirks. “If you’re Solange, that means Akira’s Blue – making me Beyonce.”

Toph pulls a face. “Your husband just walked in claiming Kourtney Kardashian, so that makes you Travis Scott–”

“Scott Disick,” Zuko corrects her, handing Katara a mug.

“–And he’s pretty problematic.”

“We’re all kinda problematic Toph,” Katara says, her voice muffled as her lips rest on the rim of the coffee cup. 

"Right,” Toph says, reaching for her wallet. “Anyway, gotta go. A precinct proposed another turnover to Major Crimes and I gotta go over it.” Toph gave both her friends side hugs before making her way to the door. Katara sees Zuko wince from the force of her grip and Akira smiles at the warmth.

“Thanks for breakfast, guys!” she says over her shoulder, closing the door behind her. Katara and Zuko stare at the door for a few moments.

“You want Toph to be Akira’s godmother,” Zuko says, raising his brow at her. “Do you really trust that she won’t drop our kid head-first?”

“Shut up, Jay-Z. Beyonce didn’t make a whole diss album for you to tell me what to do.”

Akira cooed, seemingly in agreement with her mother.

—

“Oh my spirits, Zuko, Akira’s lustration rites is three months away and we haven’t decided on her godparents,” Katara says, frantically pacing around their room. Zuko mumbles in response as he hunches over the latest bill on economic reform.

“Are you even listening to me?”

Zuko shoots his head up. “Kat, calm down – three months is more than enough time to choose her godparents.”

“No, it’s not, Zuko!” Katara says, pulling at her hair. “We still have to figure out the arrangements, the celebration afterwards–”

“The Fire Sages have that sorted for us, Kat. They’ve conducted thousands of baptisms of fire before,” Zuko says pointedly, returning to his work. He keeps his head down as he mumbles, “For all I know, they’re immortal and feed off of dying royals.”

“What? I didn’t catch that,” Katara says with her arms crossed. Zuko sighs and rubs his eyes, saying, “Nothing.”

Katara rolls her eyes. He continues, saying, “You know, the best set of godparents for Akira would be the ones we trust her life with.”

Katara huffs and keeps her arms crossed. “Well, I already have a list. Could you at least help me with that? I need to add more people.”

That wakes Zuko up. “How many godparents do you want our kid to have?”

Katara pulls out a sheet of paper from her own desk and slaps it onto Zuko’s. Zuko’s eyes widen.

“Akira‘s gonna have twenty godparents?” Zuko asks incredulously. “And you want me to add more?”

“You’ll never know, Zuko,” she says, biting her lip as she resumes pacing around their room. “We need more people to protect her.”

Zuko lets out a laugh. “We’re friends with the world’s largest leaders, Katara,” he says with mirth. “Three of them would be twenty to anyone else.”

Katara juts out her lip in thought as Zuko’s words sink into her; he gets up from his desk and gathers her into his arms. “Besides,” he says. “There won’t be enough people for the next baby.”

Katara untangles herself and places her hands on her hips. “Yes, there will.”

“No, there won’t, Kat. You’ve already listed my friends,” he says, grabbing her list and pointing to top. “All six of them.”

—

A few days later, Sokka bursts through Zuko’s office in song.

“Am I original?”

Sokka is met with silence.

“Am I the only one?”

The silence continues.

Sokka gives Zuko an exasperated look. “You’re supposed to sing yeeeeaaaaah after each question, Zuko.”

“I know.”

With that, Sokka starts laughing and Zuko breaks out into a smile. When Sokka comes up to Zuko’s desk, they bump fists and shake hands; Zuko leads Sokka to the chair in front of his desk. “So,” he says, settling back into his own chair. “What brings you back here? The lustration rites are still three months away.”

“I thought I’d stop by before I head over to Republic City for the Union’s Economic Council,” Sokka says, inspecting his boomerang. “You’re coming, right? Aang’s gonna be there.”

“I wasn’t going to,” Zuko admits. “I was going to send over my minister for economics. With the reform bill we’ve been reviewing, though, I feel a hell lot more inclined to go.”

Sokka hums and looks at Zuko when he says, “How bad?”

“They won’t let go of the dead war factories and they aren’t getting any cheaper.”

Sokka winces. “Yikes. Be careful, though, the Council might kill you if you raise that.” Zuko nods somberly with the thought.

“I won’t actually be there for the Council, Sokka,” he says, folding his arms over the table. “I’ll just show up because I have to. I’m actually going to Republic City because I need to have a talk with Kuei; they wouldn’t let go of the war factories because of foreign investors from his country.” Sokka nods his head in understanding.

An attendant knocks softly on the door. “Come in,” Zuko says.

“Dinner is ready, Sir,” she says. “Lady Katara and Lady Akira are already in the hall.”

“Is there an extra setting for Chief Sokka?” Zuko asks. The attendant blanches and wrings her arms behind her back. “N-no, Sir, I’m afraid we haven’t prepared for the Chief’s arrival.”

Zuko softens; Mira, the attendant, is new and was handpicked personally by Katara. “It’s fine, Mira. The Chief didn’t make his arrival known,” he says, throwing an accusing look at Sokka. Sokka shrugs. “Please tell Tako and the rest to prepare an extra setting and a room for the Chief. He will be spending the next couple of days here.”

Sokka starts. “Wait–”

Zuko holds up a hand. “That will be all, Mira. Thank you.”

Mira bows and leaves the room, closing the door behind her.

“I already booked a hotel, Zuko,” Sokka says, leaning back on his chair as he feigns disappointment.

“Ask for a refund, then,” Zuko says, getting up from his desk. “I know your cheap ass is glad you don’t have to pay for accommodations.”

Sokka gets up from the chair. “You are the best brother-in-law.”

Zuko smiles. “And you,” he says as claps his best friend on the shoulder, “Are going to be Akira’s godfather.”

Sokka’s jaw drops and Zuko backtracks.

“I-if you wanna be, of course.”

Sokka throws his arms around Zuko in response.

—

Much later, Sokka runs into the common room carrying a wailing Akira in his arms. “I swear I didn’t do anything,” he says. “I promise it isn’t my fault that she hit her head with a boomerang.”

Katara and Zuko shoot up from the couch. “She what?!”

“She was playing with Boomerang! I was showing it off, but then she reached out for it and bonked her head in the process,” Sokka says defensively. Katara picks up Akira from her brother, inspecting her for any injuries.

“In what world is it okay to play with a boomerang with a three month-old baby?” Katara asks, trying to soothe the crying baby.

“My world, Katara! Matok and Kira love Boomerang!” Sokka exclaims, throwing his hands up for emphasis.

“Sokka, she won’t even remember the names of her cousins because you shrunk her walnut brain,” Katara says, giving Sokka an accusing look. Sokka barks out a laugh.

“Kat, you’re being too generous. She’s related to me, remember? Her brain’s probably pea-sized, tops.”

Katara hurls a pillow at him.

Akira coos and smiles against her mother’s shoulder.

—

Aang visits the Fire Nation one month before the lustration rites.

“What’s up, little buddy?” he says, picking up Akira from her crib. Akira starts to giggle when she sees her uncle, and Katara smiles fondly at the sight.

“Are you here for another meeting with Zuko?” Katara asks, carrying a tray of durian tarts as she makes her way to Aang.

“Kinda?” Aang says, lilting his voice up. “I’m actually here to talk to his minister of economics, about the dead war factories.”

“Namato? Poor guy,” Katara says. “He’s smack in the middle of Zuko and Kuei’s hot shots.”

“I know,” Aang says, lightly pinching Akira’s nose. “Kuei’s not the bad guy though.”

“We know,” Katara responds, setting two durian tarts on a dessert plate. “That’s another poor guy.”

Aang hums in agreement; he starts reaching for a tart just as Zuko walks in. Aang takes a bite off the tart and pretends to offer some to Akira.

“What’s up, buddy?” Aang says, greeting Zuko with a bright smile.

“Could be better,” Zuko responds, sulking as he sheds his suit jacket. Sensing an incoming change in mood, Katara quickly attempts to brighten it by asking, “Aang, you’re gonna make it to Akira’s lustration rites, right?”

Aang brightens even more, seemingly oblivious to Zuko’s damp mood. “Of course, Katara! How could I miss the baptism of the first mixed-blood princess of the Fire Nation?” Aang lightly tickles Akira as he lilts his voice with every word. Zuko softens at the sight.

“Well, that, and the baptism of your first godchild,” Zuko says as he settles beside his wife. Aang almost drops the kid in surprise.

“Crap, Aang, watch it!” Zuko cries as Katara kicks his shin. “Ow! What was that for?”

Katara looks at him pointedly. “There‘s a baby in front of us.”

“Yeah, and our friend almost dropped her!”

“Aang would never drop the baby, Zuko. He can’t even drop a spider.”

The sound of sniffling cuts their conversation short; when Katara and Zuko turn around, they find Aang at the brink of tears.

“Y-you,” Aang starts, his voice shaking. “You want me to be Akira’s godpoppy?”

Katara and Zuko give him a look. “Godpoppy?”

—

Three weeks later, Aang is whizzing through the halls of the Royal Palace on an airball; as soon as he accepted his role as Akira’s godpoppy, he declared himself as the lead organizer of the celebration. “Mira, don’t forget to contact the caterer!” he says to the pair of attendants. “Tako, the decorators will be here in six days. You hear me, buddy? Six days. We need the plaza cleaned up before that, okay?”

“Yes, Sir,” Mira and Tako respond just as Aang whizzes past them. They bow respectfully to Katara and Zuko as they come up the hallway.

“What kind of sound system is this?” Aang exclaims, the echo of his disbelief reverberating through the walls.

Katara and Zuko laugh at their friend’s torrential barking, watching as Zuko’s staff scramble about trying their best to keep up with Aang’s incessant demanding. Akira laughs with them and Zuko brushes his nose onto his daughter’s. “He can hire Beyonce if he wants to, you know,” he tells his wife as Akira plays with his hair.

“What do you mean? I’m right here,” Katara says, the ghost of a smile on her face as she points a slim finger to it. Zuko laughs and kisses the top of her head.

—

The day of the lustration rites come, and Akira is placed in the center of a ring of candles. The ceremony is private, with only her immediate family, godparents, and the Fire Sages in attendance. 

The Head Sage says the invocation in ancient Fire Nation tongue, and the ceremony concludes with Zuko bending the candlelit flames; they briefly shoot up in streams of fire before Katara bends water around each stream, evaporating them into the air.

“Congratulations, my lord, my lady,” the Head Sage says, leading a bow. Katara and Zuko bow in response. As the Fire Sages head to the balcony doors to reveal the child to the public, the royal family’s friends and family begin to swarm them. Sokka starts taking photos with his phone.

“Calm down, guys,” Katara says, holding Akira protectively as Aang and Toph wrestle over her. “The people are waiting.”

When the doors open, Katara and Zuko are greeted by a miles-long crowd of Fire Nation citizens. The couple smile amidst the raucous cheer, gracefully waving at the crowd; cameras and reporters are dotted around strategic points of the plaza. 

“I present to you all,” the Head Sage bellows from the parapet. “Fire Lord Zuko, Fire Lady and Master Katara, and Princess Akira!” The raucous cheer magnified, causing Akira to stir uncomfortably. Katara and Zuko wave for a few more moments before being ushered back inside to the hall.

“Hey Kourtney,” Toph calls. Zuko turns around just as Aang and Sokka begin arguing who gets to carry Akira first. “If anyone dare touch little Blue Ivy,” Toph says, pointing her thumb towards the now-sleeping infant. “I will beat them up.”

Zuko smiles. “Okay, Rocky,” he says as he accepts Akira from his wife, who has since moved on to accommodating their guests.

“That’s right, Sparky. I’m Rocky fu–”

“Toph,” Katara says.

“–cking Balboa.”

[sallyface-incorrect]

The Struggles of Having ADHD

- Only Being able to sleep either 2 hours or 16, there’s no in between. I am legit typing this at 3:02 am because I can’t sleep and I haven’t slept that much and it sucks. Summer is for sleeping, not for stress.

- Not being able to remember basic information about someone like their name, but being able to remember that they once told you that their great great aunt had a mole on her foot the shape of Texas. True story btw, sorry Amber.

- Feeling like your being rejected if your friend can’t make it to hang out with you because of family reasons. RSD is a bitch. Like the tiniest thing can make you feel rejected. Ie, your mom telling you not to be so loud, someone asking why your sneezes are so loud, someone asking you to return their pen, etc.

- Having your medication ware off/forgetting to take it and being the most annoying bitch in the galaxy. I once went on a school trip and my meds wore off and I ended up spending the 2 hour bus ride back annoying the guy who was trying to sleep in front of me, again, I am so sorry Max.

- IDK if it’s just me but, chewing on literally everything. Bottle caps, paper, fabric, rubber (my favorite), and much more. I used to get punished all the time for chewing on things I wasn’t supposed to. Nail biting is also a big thing. And so is hair chewing.

- Being told “You’re too smart to have ADHD”. Well Susan, I have a neurological devolpmental disorder, I’m not retarded.

- Either giving too much information or not enough when in conversation, and also bringing up really irrelevant things in the conversation like, I know we’re talking about the Louisiana Perchance but can I tell you about this one time it rained and I saw a snail?

- Being botherd by loud and/or repetitive noises. Pen clicking and high pitched sirens make me want to scream. They suckkk harder then Travis wants to suck Sal’s dick. And the worse is when people think you’re weird or that you have a problem with them for asking. I understand you like to click your pen and I’m so sorry it’s just so loud...

- Being afraid of your friends rejecting you. Again, RSD is a bitch. Like you’re afraid that one day your bestie will get up and leave and never come back and it’s all your fault and you suck and ughhhhhh. You’re also afraid their s/o / parents hate you and one day they’ll convince them to just leave you.

- Medication is a godsend but it’s also problematic. The stuff that I take fucks up my sleep schedule, my appetite, and make me tired and nauseous. It also gives me headaches and belly aches :(

- Either being so hungry that you also eat everything in your fridge or being so not hungry that even the concept of food disgust you. And sometimes, you even throw up because food is so gross and you’re gross and all that gross is inside you and eww.

- Intense, powerful migraines. They get worse in the winter months. Last year I took almost a week off of school because my migraines got worse and worse and worse and I couldn’t do it.

- Having no measurement of personal space or how to physically interact with someone. I just said hi, do I hug you, do I high five you, idk? Like idk how many potential friendships I’ve fucked up because I was too handsey.

- Being really particular about the type of clothing I wear. I love LOVE long sleeve shirts/ sweatshirts/ sweaters/ hoodies and shorts. I also love to wear socks around the house. I hate HATE wearing socks with shoes though, it makes me anxious. I also hate wearing certain types of pants. I literally only have 2 - 3 pairs of pants I’ll wear because pants sometimes feel like a tent and I hate that.

- Not being able to loose weight. I’m not fat, or chubby, I mean I have abs for God’s sake! It’s just that I have thick ass thigh I h a t e and I wish I could just get rid of them but my medication prevents me from loosing all that weight. On the bright side, I can eat a lot and not gain weight either.

- Having certain little routines you can’t skip. For example, every morning I must shave my legs and brush my hair or the world will end. I also must have all the doors and windows closed or else I’m gonna scream.

- Also idk if this is a problem for anyone else but doors and windows being open. I can’t stand it, I mean please, I don’t care that you’re just coming up for 1 thing but p l e a s e for the love of g o d, close the door that leads to upstairs. Having it open just isn’t right.

- Hyperfixiating on something for soo long that you forget to do basic hygiene like shower, use the bathroom, brush your hair, brush your teeth. It can get you in really big trouble but at least the job is done.

- Having a comfort item. Like I have this stuffed lamb whose name is “Lambchop” but I call “Lambie” and I sleep with them each and every night and carry them around the house with me when I’m home and if I’m upset I NEED to cuddle them bacuse it’s the only thing that will make the world go away.

- Being insanely good at certain academics and shitty at others. For example, when I was in 5th grade I was reading at an undergrad level and had the ability to understand science concepts a senior would be learning but my math was at the level of a second graders.

- Idk how to describe it but like, doing movements half way and the forgetting about them. Like this one time I was at a piano recital and I went to reach for something and forgot what I was reaching for so I just kinda held my hand up in a grabbing motion for half a song and then forgot about it until my mom reminded me to put it down.

- Not being able to understand that people don’t want to hear about your hyperfixiation. I’ve had 2 cases of this in my life, my “ghosts are definitely really and now this is my only personality triat” and my “I’m not a weeb but Tokyo Ghoul is so good now let me tell you all about the plot.” (Tokyo Ghoul gang REPRESENT)

- Having 3 different moods, hyperactive, normal, and cold. Like you’re normal most of the time but sometimes you’re sooo hyper that your an entirely different person, or sometimes you’re sooo distant you’re a different person too.

- Not being able to identify your emotions very well. Like, this guy just told me that my dad and my bestie are asshole who deserve to die in a fire, what am I feeling? Am I sad? Angry? Scared? Do I think this is funny? Am I gonna laugh? Cry? Idk, throw hands? Or the dreaded crush. Do I have feelings for this person or do I just want to be really good friends? Do I hate them? Love them? Am I gonna cry the next time I see them? Last time we hung out was fun but idk???

- Also like I mentioned, romance/sexuality is hard. Last time I dated I dated this guy I really liked, or at least I thought I did. We dated for three months before I blew it off because he asked to put his arm around me and it was weird when I said yes. Also sexuality. Idk if this is a problem for anyone else or just my bisexual ass. Like it’s so hard and I really like guys but hey, girls are hot. And like I like guys more than girls?? Sometime it makes me feel really fake.

- Really enhanced weird hearing. I know at least 80% of my classes drama because I have superhearing and I’m a literal hearing god bow down, bitch. I can hear the smallest of sounds and such, but for some goddamn reason I can’t understand how loud I’m being.

- Extestensial nihilism and just being cool about it. Like, dude, idk if there’s a god out there? I’d like to think there’s some sort of Devine power and we have a purpose but idk, we probably don’t have a purpose. I mean, we’ll be forgotten after we die anyway unless we’re Tom Holland. And love probably doesn’t exist either and it’s only stigmatized by movies and books and media and we’re all gonna get married and be miserable for ever and such. But like does it really even matter? In the end we’re all alone so go off I guess.

- Being really sensitive to smell. Certain smells drive me through the roof. For example, I have an extreme fish allergy and even smelling the slightest hint a salmon can give me a migraine so intense I think I’m dying. Or essential oils. Ughh I hate those. They send me through the roof.

- Being able to remember something you heard in a YouTube video you watched back when you were nine but not being able to remember when you birthday is some days because it really be like that.

- Being really good with little kids. Idk if everyone is like this but I am very childish myself and little kids love me. I have at least 3 little boys in 1st - 3rd grade who think I’m their girlfriend and 8 little girls in kindergarten - 5th grade who think I’m their big sister, it’s really sweet.

- Always apologizing is a big thing for me. When I was a child I used to get in trouble for saying sorry when I did anything and that carried to teen hood. Last year at my dance class my teacher noticed this and tried to help me break my habit god bless you Christine.

Thank you for coming to my Ted Talk bois. ADHD sucks but I know you can do it👌🏻

[myheartmightexplode]

Fold Your Hands

Posted originally on the Archive of Our Own at http://archiveofourown.org/works/7761835.

Published: 2016-08-13 Words: 6602

Summary

D/s kind-of-AU where Travie's a dom, Bill switches but mostly subs, and Gabe kids himself that he's a dom with no interest in subbing. Naturally, Travie has a bad day, Gabe lets Travie spank him for some stress relief, and all that goes out the window.

Or: Gabe thinks he's a dom... but what happens next will leave you in awe. *link to clickbait article here*

They have an understanding.

Travie, Gabe, and Bill have been together for a couple years now, and they’ve mostly got the kinks worked out. Kinks, of course, is meant literally. It started with orgasm denial and handcuffs, which was easy shit. They figured out fast that they were into a lot more than that, and slowly but surely came safewords and ball gags and, one memorable occasion, a flogger. Most of the time, they stick with orders and bondage.

Travie is a protector, a carer, a “you’ll take what I give you and thank me for it” kind of guy. That’s not a bad thing, because no one takes care of Gabe and Will the way Travie does. They both need it sometimes, even if between them Bill is the only real sub. Gabe is kind of dominant, but more neutral – he enjoys the games but not the lifestyle, whereas Travie sticks to his guns in all situations. It’s not that Gabe doesn’t want to do it more often, but it makes him itch a little, for all that he insists on loving it. He’s still a dom.

Bill is a little more complicated. He subs, sure, and really enjoys doing it. He also likes to push people, to play with them and find out what makes them tick. Domination is good for that, but Gabe won’t sub and Travie doesn’t enjoy it much, so he pushes from a submissive position and that’s just as good. Bill can do either, and he doesn’t mind just doing one most of the time.

It’s worked itself out. Travie and Gabe dom Bill, and Bill subs for Travie and Gabe, and every now and again they try to convince Gabe to try subbing, because he’s the only one of them who hasn’t. He’s just not wired that way – he’s not as dominant as Travie, sure, but he’s a dom, through and through. Subbing freaks him out. It’s not that he thinks it’s below him, but it involves a lot of trust and vulnerability and while Gabe trusts them with his life, he doesn’t do vulnerability well. It’s okay. Travie and Bill love Gabe, and Gabe loves them both so much, so it works.

They have an understanding, and it works.

Gabe is a dom, and he’s a good one at that. He likes to be in control, and really he’s so bossy it’s no surprise. It suits him to dom Bill and to fool around with Travie. Travie doesn’t mind bottoming, and they have fun together. He knows that Travie would prefer to top him, but letting Travie top him makes him feel like he’s subbing, and then he just panics. Travie assures him that he likes it the way they do it, even if it’s not what he usually goes for.

There’s always a little cajoling, because Gabe has never actually let Travie dom him. Or Bill, for that matter, because he can be just as dominant if he’s in the mindspace for it. It’s not that Gabe doesn’t understand the appeal. He’s watched Bill go under, and Bill is really beautiful in subspace. He’s really beautiful when he’s letting Travie take care of him. It’s not about hating subs, or thinking it beneath him. Gabe’s just not a sub.

“You’d like it, you know,” Bill says absently, head laying in Travie’s lap, letting him pet his hair one handed.

“If you’d just let go and let us try it...” Travie adds, pretending he’s mostly paying attention to his book.

But Gabe isn’t a sub. He’s cocky and in charge and makes his own rules. That’s how he likes it, how he’s always done it, and he won’t be convinced otherwise. He’s not the kind of dom to do it 24/7, but he likes dominating. He’s good at it. Their relationship seems a little uneven to the outsider, but BDSM is not the entirety of their interactions, and so it’s not a big deal.

It’s fine.

It’s fine, until it’s not.

Travie is the kind of dom to get his own release and frustration from being in charge of a situation

for a little bit. When he’s had a bad day, it helps him to release a little of the day’s stress in a controlled situation. Usually, he spanks Bill. Bill really likes it, and Travie never makes it a punishment. It’s just something he likes that helps him relax.

Naturally, one day, Travie comes home from a meeting with the record label nearly vibrating with frustration and Bill is having a late writing session at Carden’s.

Gabe hates watching Travie like this. He’s got a permanent crease in his forehead, a permanent frown, permanent tension in his shoulders. He looks like he needs a 3-day nap, which he won’t take, or a good session with Bill’s ass, which won’t happen until Bill gets back in several hours.

Gabe has never been spanked – not since he was very young, and that was his parents. He knows the situation isn’t actually life-or-death, but for a moment he feels vulnerable and lacking because what kind of boyfriend is he if he can’t do this for Travie? Even if it’s not his thing – which he doesn’t know, but it most likely won’t be, and it won’t have the same effect it does for Bill – he can put up with it for Travie.

Travie is lounging on the couch, eyes shut, one hand massaging his temple. Gabe stands in front of him, hands on his hips, a little grumpy but mostly determined.

“I want you to spank me,” he says. Travie, to his credit, doesn’t startle or anything, but he does look a little dubious. “No, hey. I mean. I want to do this for you.” It’s honest, but Gabe’s still internally cringing a little.

“You don’t like subbing,” Travie says. The unspoken not that you’ve ever tried it is ignored.

“I’m just not a sub,” Gabe tells him, rolling his eyes. “But I am a good boyfriend, and I know what you need to chill out. Come beat my ass for a bit, it’ll be great. It’s a good ass. You can even fuck it when you’re done, if you want.” It’s been awhile since he let Travie fuck him, and he thinks it’ll be good. Get the subbing shit out the way so when Travie fucks him, he’ll just be able to enjoy the good sex.

“You sure about this?” Travie asks, but he’s already sitting up, eyes a little brighter. Hopeful. He’s still tense, but Gabe knows how to fix that.

He makes sure Travie watches him roll his eyes for the second time. “Yes, dude. Do you need an engraved invitation?”

“Could engrave something,” Travie mutters, and it doesn’t make much sense but Gabe gets the spirit of it. Gabe leads him to the bedroom smugly, and sits on the edge of their bed. He pats the space next to him, but when Travie sits down he raises an eyebrow at Gabe, who sighs and stands up. Right. He’s playing sub.

“How do you want me?” he asks, a little impatient to get it over with so he’ll stop feeling slightly uncomfortable and uncertain.

Travie examines his expression for a minute, and then appraises his clothing. Gabe’s wearing a pair of gym shorts and that’s it. Travie apparently has no complaints, because finally he just says, “I want you to lay over my lap, on the bed.” He scoots back so there will be room, and when Gabe gets into position, he rests his hips on Travie’s right leg, stomach propped up on his left, and rests his head in his arms.

“This feels kind of ridiculous,” he mutters, already a little less enthusiastic to help, but he doesn’t pull away. This really is the first time he’s ever let himself get close to subbing, and it feels weird.

Mostly, he feels bored.

“You’ll get over it,” Travie tells him patiently, and already he sounds a little calmer.

Then, Travie hits him for the first time. It’s soft, just a warm up, and Gabe debates yawning dramatically. He didn’t suggest this just so he could be a dick, though, and doesn’t.

“Still okay?” Travie asks. Gabe snorts in response.

“Kind of tickles,” he says, just a hint of challenge in his voice. Mostly, he’s just rolling his eyes some more. It was barely a tap; how easily did he think Gabe spooked?

Travie hums innocently, and then his hand comes down again, harder - not too much so, but enough that it feels different, that something settles in Gabe’s chest differently. He frowns, finally shutting up. “I’m going to go with twenty, for now,” Travie tells him. “Then we can reassess if you feel okay with this.” He usually starts with at least thirty for Bill, Gabe thinks, disgruntled.

Travie smacks him again before he can respond, and he scratches at his arm a little absently. He feels weird, and doesn’t know if he wants to continue, but he also doesn’t want to back down. Travie needs it, he tells himself, and settles again. Three down, seventeen to go.

Travie hits him again, harder, and Gabe bites his lip. His ass stings a little. He realises his hands are beginning to tremble a little bit. It’s weird, to just lay here and take it. He squirms just a little bit. Sometimes, Travie tells Bill to count, and Gabe thinks that would be okay - it would give him something to do other than lay there. He doesn’t say anything though, just wets his lips a little. When Travie hits him again, he mouths “five,” into their bedspread.

“What was that?” Travie asks before he spanks him again, and Gabe runs his tongue over his lower lip. Apparently he was a little louder than he thought he was.

“I was counting,” he says clearly, taking care to enunciate, because he’s feeling a little weird and his mouth is a little slow. After a pause - too long of one - he adds, “Better than lyin’ here bored.”

Travie snorts a little, but it sounds like laughter. “Sure, Gabey. Count all you want. If I’da known you wanted to, I would have told you to in the first place.” Something about that seems off to Gabe, but he doesn’t bother to turn his suspicious look on Travie. He just glares at the wall, hating feeling like he’s the butt of a joke.

It doesn’t stop him from saying six when Travie finally lays another blow to his ass, a little harder than the others. His breath hitches with it.

Seven, eight, and nine come through in quick order, and by the end of it Gabe’s unsure of how he’s feeling. The weirdness is still there, but it makes him loose and pliant, his head quiet. He’d tried to think of some snarky thing to say to ease the mood, and hadn’t been able to.

Ten takes him by surprise, because it actually jolts him a bit. “ Ten ,” he manages, and he can tell that ten had Travie’s full strength behind it. Surprisingly, he doesn’t actually want to get away from it.

“ Eleven .” The next one is also hard, and he startles even himself by instinctively pushing his ass back into Travie’s hand, the warmth of his probably red ass covered by Travie’s touch. He’s distantly aware that he’s hard, that he’d been kind of hard at the beginning but that’d just been because of the closeness. He likes being close to Travie, he thinks to himself.

Twelve makes him cry out, rubbing his cheek into their comforter. He’d shifted slightly between

eleven and twelve, stretching his arms out to grip at the side of the bed with one hand and the end of it with the other.

“Number, baby,” Travie tells him, and Gabe wants to snap at him for the cooing voice - the one he uses on Bill when Bill’s soft and out of it.

Instead, he just says, “twelve,” in a distracted tone.

“Good,” Travie says lowly, and follows it immediately with thirteen.

One of the two makes Gabe feel some kind of way, but he can only whine a little and say “thirteen.” He’s breathless, and his hips twitch slightly. His cock rubs against Travie’s thigh, and he gasps and does it again.

Smack . “Fourteen,” he says. His voice is weirdly high, like he can’t get enough air.

“Keep your hips still, babyboy,” Travie warns him. “You ain’t coming yet.” He knows, vaguely, that the whining sound is him, but he ignores it and focuses on keeping his hips still like Travie told him to. Travie gives him fifteen, and then the second Gabe calls it, gives him sixteen right away. He hears the sound of a door opening, but doesn’t look away from the comforter. It feels kind of wet, but he doesn’t stop rubbing his face against it. It’s still soft.

There’s a voice that Gabe doesn’t pay attention to, and then Travie says, “We thought you’d be out late, so Gabe took one for the team. See?”

Then he hits Gabe again, and Gabe whimpers seventeen without thought. Somebody runs a hand through his messy curls, and then slides a hand between his cheek and the comforter to turn his head. He meets Bill’s eyes.

“Pretty boy,” Bill whispers, and Gabe makes a little sound against his will. “Look at you.”

Travie hits him. “Eighteen,” he says, voice far away, directly into Bill’s face. He gets a little peck on the cheek for his efforts. His ass is stinging - it hurts so badly. He wants nineteen. He wants Bill to kiss him again.

“Can I count for him?” Bill asks Travie. Gabe doesn’t know what it means. “You have a better idea for his mouth?”

Bill must say something in the affirmative, because when Gabe gasps at the sharp feeling of the next blow, Bill says “nineteen” for him, and slides two fingers over his lips, presses them over his tongue.

He hadn’t made the active decision that this was good, but it gets better somehow with Bill’s fingers in his mouth. He sucks on them, gently, and makes little gasping sounds around them as Travie rubs over his ass with his hand.

He’s still rubbing, Gabe relaxed and melted over his lap, when out of nowhere his hand whips away and lays the last blow. He shrieks - he hadn’t believed Travie could hit him harder, but he could, and Gabe can’t stop himself from pressing his cock into Travie’s thigh, from wanting.

“Twenty,” Bill murmurs, and Travie must give some indication that he’s done because Bill says, “That’s it? He can take more.” He looks back at Gabe, who’s letting Bill hold his mouth open with fingers pressing down on his tongue. He’s drooling a little, he thinks. He’s definitely crying. He has been for the past five blows.

“He promised me a lil something else,” Travie says, and Bill slowly grins at Gabe.

“Oh, you were gonna be so good for Travie today, weren’t you?” Bill said softly. His wording makes Gabe’s chest feel a little tight, but he’s still floating . He can’t ground himself enough to figure out why Bill’s tone, why his words, are familiar and different. The way he’s talking to Gabe is weird, he thinks, but it also makes him that much more desperate for someone to just touch him. He’s got to be leaking through his shorts. “Gonna take care of him.” He takes his fingers out of Gabe’s mouth. “Weren’t you, Gabey?”

They don’t usually call him Gabey. He doesn’t comment on it. “Had a bad’ay,” Gabe mumbled, mouth not working properly. “Wanna ‘elp.”

“Yeah,” Travie rumbled lowly. “You’re helping, babyboy.” He rubs his cock against Travie’s thigh again, and gurgles when Travie slaps his ass lightly again. “What did I say?”

He whines, but Bill just chuckles a little. “Travie,” he says plaintively. Instead of responding, Travie pulls him up, until he’s sitting back on his ass. His heels dig in and he feels like he’s on fire. He can barely sit up by himself, which might have something do with why Bill went with him, why Bill is holding him up. Travie slides off the bed, and Gabe watches him, slumped against Bill. Travie strips, taking his shirt off and sliding his jeans down his legs. He drops his briefs, too, and Gabe thinks for a second about how gorgeous Travie is.

“Help me get his shorts off, yeah, Bilvy boy?” Travie asks, and Gabe somehow winds up lying on his back on the bed. His shorts are stripped off, making him arch when the waistband slides over his cock.

“Face down,” Travie says to Bill, which apparently makes sense to him, because he rolls Gabe over. Gabe returns to rubbing his face against the comforter, aware of Travie’s large hands spreading his thighs but unable to comprehend why.

Bill gets off the bed for a second, and when he comes back he hands something to Travie. He hears a cap, acknowledges it as lube, and still doesn’t connect the goings on until two of Travie’s long, large fingers are rubbing over his hole.

He gasps against the comforter and presses his ass backwards again, enjoying the friction against his cock. He remembers offering a fuck, and for the life of him he can’t remember why he wouldn’t always want that. Having Travie behind him, between his legs, is a revelation. He’s had this before, he knows, but he doesn’t remember being quite so gone on it.

Travie has no problem sinking two fingers into his ass, and Gabe groans at the feeling, pushing back.

“Gabey, if you can’t stay still, I’ll make Bill hold you down so you can’t move,” Travie warns him. He’s suddenly aware of Bill at his side, petting his hair and running a hand down his smooth, slightly sweaty back. Gabe suddenly misses Bill’s fingers in his mouth with a vengeance. Half of him wants that, likes the idea of Bill holding him down, but instead of saying that, he just turns his head so he can look at Bill and opens his mouth pitifully, kissing messily at his fingers when they brush over his cheek and mouth. He catches one, sucks the tip of it, and Bill’s mouth curves into a mischievous, pleased smile.

Travie’s fingers twist, pressing particularly hard against his prostate, and he has to fight to keep his hips from rolling. He wants to come so badly, and yet at the same time he can’t quite focus on it. The need is there, but less important. He’s been distracted by Bill’s fingers.

Travie is not gentle about fingerfucking him, and frankly he doesn’t need to be. Gabe doesn’t like bottoming for Travie for reasons he can’t remember now, but he’s bottomed for Bill plenty, just without BDSM play. Bill’s not exactly small, and Gabe likes fingering anyway. No one does it quite like Travie, though - he just goes for it, plunging his fingers in and out, pressing and twisting and fucking owning Gabe. Travie takes pleasure in the prep, really loves doing it. He’s been known to do this, just this, to Bill until he ruined him.

Travie takes his time, but he does move on with a third finger that makes Gabe glad he’s lying down because his thighs are trembling. He wouldn’t be able to keep himself upright on his legs the way they are now.

Finally, finally , Travie pulls his fingers out. The moment of emptiness makes Gabe uncomfortable, makes him desperate and hollow and suddenly lost, but it doesn’t last for long.

The three of them stopped using condoms a long time ago; they’ve been together so long it was just a waste. Besides, Travie likes getting them messy; easy clean up ruins that.

Gabe listens to the wet, slippery sounds of Travie wrapping a lubed hand around his dick, and after what seems like an age, Travie finally presses inside of him, so slowly, he actually cries more. It’s overwhelming is what it is, and Gabe has never been happier to be out of his depth.

“That good, babyboy?” Travie hums, leaning over his body so he’s close to Gabe’s ear. Travie has called him babyboy since they’d met, and yet it makes him shiver. Travie makes a pleased sound, and pulls out just far enough to slam back in. Gabe rocks forward, yelping, not quite able to control the sounds he’s making. “You always pretend you don’t like this, but I see through you. You like it too much, huh?”

Gabe whimpers, and part of him wants to choke the sound back down. He’d been flushed with arousal for a while, but now the pink in his cheeks is from embarrassment. It would be a lie to say it doesn’t get him even more desperate. “Travie,” he manages to say, but he doesn’t really have anything to say. He doesn’t know how to reply.

All of these emotions - the embarrassment, the confusion, the need - are distant. His body is like a cloud, the pleasure filtering through every time Travie grinds against his prostate. It’s good, so good, and the clearest he’s ever felt. It’s like he’s being purified. He can’t think properly, can’t really move. He just lies there, moaning and whimpering and shaking.

Being fucked has never felt like this. Maybe it’s him, because he doesn’t remember ever being so into it, ever being unable to control the roll of his hips with every thrust. It’s like all the messy shit in his head has filtered out and all he can feel is Travie and Bill. Having their hands on him is like being blessed.

There’s a joke in there somewhere about The Church of Hot Addiction, but he can’t think straight enough to parse it out.

“I knew you’d be so good if you let yourself,” Bill tells him, calm and cool while he watches Travie take him apart. He looks sly, calculating. “You’re so good, Gabe. You’re doing so well.” It’s the first direct compliment, and something inside of him recognizes it as what it is. It’s praise. Travie uses that kind of language with Bill all the time, tells him how well he’s doing, how good he’s being. Gabe has always thought it was kind of silly; Bill’s not a little kid. He doesn’t need to be talked to like that.

He’s wrong. He needs it, he gets it - his ahhh is just that much louder on Travie’s next thrust, his cheeks hot with it. He’s so hard, and Bill says he’s doing good so he’s got to be doing good. He

was good for Travie, and that’s all he wanted in the first place, wasn’t it?

“My good little bottom boy,” Travie says in a tone the same kind of sly as Bill’s expression, and Gabe’s cock jerks. He buries his head back in the comforter, completely hides his face, and pretends that he can’t be seen. This is so much, too much for him. “You wanna do this all the time, Gabey? Take me all the time, just like this. You can. You can have me inside you all you want.”

There’s an amused sound when Gabe clenches down on Travie’s cock, when his stomach turns hot and tight. He’s so close.

“Plug you up when I’m not there,” Travie adds, and Gabe can hear Bill’s breathing. Now that he’s tuned into it, he can hear the sound of Bill fisting his cock. God. Gabe licks his lips, and the comforter by extension since he’s still pressing his face into it.

“What’cha want, Gabey?” Travie asks him, pressing a kiss to the back of his neck. He turns his head to the side, sucks in a huge gulp of air.

He answers without thinking. “I wan’ you,” he gasps, and as if that’s the right answer, Travie rolls his hips, presses his cock into Gabe’s prostate, and reaches around to stroke him just once.

Gabe has never come so hard before in his life.

Travie finishes in a handful of thrusts, pressing messy kisses to his shoulder and back, and when they’re done Bill makes a soft sound and comes himself, aiming for Gabe’s face. He can’t even react except to close his eyes and lick his lips. Bill’s come is probably in his hair. Instead of thinking about cleanup, he lays there in a daze and lets Travie get him water while Bill runs his fingers through Gabe’s hair, smearing in the come.

It’s not until Bill and Travie bring him back up with soft touches and assurances of how well he did that he realizes what has happened.

Gabe doesn’t let Travie touch him for a week, until his ass has stopped aching every time he sits down, until he can look at him without feeling longing so strong it steals his breath.

He thinks to himself that there’s a reason he never subbed. It was a fluke, and not his thing, and now he feels embarrassed and confused. He doesn’t push Travie away entirely - he kisses him before he leaves the house and says “I love you” before he hangs up the phone. He just won’t let Travie cuddle him during films, or spoon him in bed. He lays with Bill between them and presses his dick against Bill’s ass with no real intention to do anything like that’ll make up for the sincerely mind blowing dicking he whined through days before.

Eventually, he calms down, and while he’s still a little uncomfortable, he doesn’t like staying away from Travie. He still frowns every time he lets Travie hold him and he starts getting that feeling of complacency, like he doesn’t have to do anything except listen to Travie and relax. It’s not normal relaxation - he wants to completely melt, to let Travie carry him places (which is ridiculous, because they’re both insanely tall and their appartment isn’t that big. He wants Bill to hold him down, to tell him he’s good. He wants Bill to pet his hair, and he wants to let them both do whatever they want with him.

Whatever. It’s not happening again.

Gabe won’t bottom for either of them, because it’s just one step closer to the night he let Travie spank him. Instead, he fucks Bill and makes out with Travie but keeps his hands firmly above the belt.

Bill knows that Gabe is having a hard time accepting what he wants. He’s so cocky, and he likes to think he’s in charge of things. He’s always been the man with the plan, who ropes other people into his shenanigans. Bill gets why it’s weird for Gabe to realize that he wants to sub for them.

The thing is, Bill also wants to dom Gabe. He always has, a little bit - it’s always the overconfident ones that make the prettiest subs, really, and Gabe is so gorgeous. It’s more than that, though, because he also wants Gabe to feel good. Watching him cry from pleasure under Travie’s hand had been the hottest and most fulfilling things Bill had ever seen. He knew that feeling intimately and wanted Gabe to feel it, too, especially when he clearly loved it. It had been good for him; he’d been weird afterwards but he moved easier through the world, less desperate to act out for attention.

A couple weeks later, however, and Gabe’s back to normal. Well, not normal. He’s being a little ass, is what he’s doing, like he’s begging for someone to punish him, to force him back to what he keeps calling a fluke. Bill has a thought about telling him flatly that they’re not going to punish him until they actually have a good little talk about what’s going on now.

They don’t talk about it, because Gabe is still firmly denying that it was anything other than a one- off, like he wasn’t begging to be taken down again. Still, he relaxes around them enough that Bill doesn’t feel weird about telling Gabe he wants to fuck one day when Travie’s out of the house.

Gabe is clearly into the idea and eager enough that he doesn’t complain about Bill being a bossy little shit in bed. Bill isn’t always bossy when they fuck, but Gabe seems into it and it’s kind of fun. He manhandles Bill onto the bed, making him laugh when he raspberries his stomach, and by the time he’s balls-deep in Bill’s ass both Gabe and Bill are feeling good. Bill rolls his hips up with every thrust Gabe makes, an active participant, and Gabe grins at him every time he groans.

“Mm,” Bill hums happily. “That’s good. Do that again, Gabe - that angle, right there.” He does as he’s asked, thankfully not being willful at the moment, and Bill rewards him with a soft whine he knows does things to Gabe. As if in response, Gabe circles his hips a little. Bill wiggles, a little too freely, and without thinking he adds, “Hold my wrists. C’mon, hold me down, babe.”

Gabe huffs a laugh. “Is it one of those times?” he asks, reaching for Bill’s wrists and pressing them into the mattress. Though Bill didn’t ask him to, he shifts so he more or less blankets Bill’s body. It’s not really one of “those times” - he doesn’t want Gabe to dom him, really. He just wants to be held down a little, and so what if he’s maybe getting a little pleasure out of seeing Gabe do as he says. He’s not going to tell Gabe that, so it’s fine.

“Harder,” he says instead, and feels a little thrill when Gabe rolls his eyes but does so. He’s glorious in the throes, Bill thinks, sun-kissed skin and dark eyes and muscles flexing with every thrust. Bill watches the way his pleasure flits across his expression before pulling one hand out of Gabe’s to cup his cheek and kiss him. He keeps it pressed to Gabe’s cheek even after they’ve broken the kiss to stare into each other’s eyes.

It’s purely by accident that his thumb slips into the corner of Gabe’s mouth, but to his surprise Gabe doesn’t flinch away. He doesn’t even look totally aware of it as he closes his lips around it and suckles at the pad of his finger.

The sight makes Bill groan, and he squeezes his inner muscles to make Gabe groan too, around his

thumb.

“Slow down now,” Bill tells him breathlessly, and finds it interesting when Gabe’s hips immediately stutter down to a slower pace. Bill fights down a grin and kisses Gabe again, around his own thumb. Gabe’s tongue comes out to tease at his mouth, ignoring his finger, and it’s possibly the hottest thing Bill’s seen recently. “Let go of my other wrist, Gabe,” he adds, and when Gabe does he reaches down to pull at his own cock, hopelessly turned on.

“Fuck,” Gabe says when he does, looking down with hungry eyes. “You’re so gorgeous, babe, fuck.” He sounds a little faint.

Bill laughs a little, lightheaded with how much he’s enjoying himself. “Yeah, I’m fucking pretty. So are you, Gabey.” It’s just a tease, and Gabe doesn’t seem to be upset by it, so Bill stays relaxed, casually throwing out instructions whenever Gabe does something particularly good. He’s feeling up for a little edging, and several times he murmurs for Gabe to stop so they can catch their breath.

“Fuckin’ with me,” Gabe grumbles, but he does as he’s told even though he’s flushed with how needy he is. He sits up, slides his hand over Bill’s leg, and pushes it up so he can squeeze and admire the play of muscle. Gabe’s always had a thing for Bill’s legs.

“I just want to feel good for - ah - a long time,” he denies, though he’s clearly having too much fun for that to be the truth. Gabe doesn’t even roll his eyes; he just watches hungrily. “Move again, Gabe. Slowly, then work up.”

It’s so good - one of the best lately. They’ve had a lot of spectacular sex, and this is still so good .

“Touch me,” he forces out after Gabe’s brushed over his prostate for the tenth time. There’s a hand around his cock right away and his breath hitches with how good it is. “Alright,” he gasps a minute later. “Stop again, Gabe. Now, stop now .” He’s going to come if Gabe doesn’t, and he doesn’t want to. Not yet.

The strangest thing happens, however, and Bill shakes with the realization. Gabe whines , even as his hips twitch to a stop, belly heaving, and his hand leaves Bill’s cock.

Gabe is so gorgeous, Bill thinks wildly - his cheeks flushed, mouth open. But his eyes - fuck, his eyes . That’s what gets Bill, because they’re all glazed and distant, watching Bill without actively watching. He’s biting his lower lip, and his hips thrust a little without any apparent intention to.

Travie is going to lose his shit, Bill thinks.

“Pull out,” he says firmly but gently, and Gabe does without thinking about it, reacting to Bill’s orders without question. Beautiful. “Good boy,” he tacks on smoothly, and Gabe’s hips roll a little into thin air between Bill’s legs. He’s just propped up on his elbows, watching Gabe wait for him, sitting between Bill’s thighs like a good. boy .

“C’mon,” he breathes out, finally, a little shaky himself from the repeated lack of release. He guides Gabe onto his back next to him, and part of Bill just wants to lay down with him and stroke Gabe and have Gabe stroke him. It’d be hot, if simple - but Bill’s all open and wanting. He slides a leg over Gabe’s hips, brushing his cock and making him gasp a little. When he’s settled in Gabe’s lap, he smiles down at him, feeling impossibly tender.

“M’gonna ride you,” he tells him, because communication is important especially with Gabe so out of it. “You can just lie down and hold onto my hips if you want, but I’m gonna do all the work.” It’s easier said than done, because his legs are basically jelly, but he takes Gabe’s cock in hand and

strokes just a little before sinking down onto it. His eyes close with how good it is, the angle near perfect, and when he rolls his hips Gabe thrusts up a little like he can’t help it.

He’s not Travie; Gabe doesn’t need to be still. “Good boy,” he tells him and feels a flush of heat when Gabe’s mouth gapes open, lips swollen from the biting he’d been doing. “That’s so good, Gabe,” he adds, voice rising in pitch. “Yeah, just like that, babe. Fuck .”

Gabe doesn’t hold onto him, so Bill leans forward so he can clasp his hands with Gabe’s and push them into the mattress. Gabe’s hips thrust up when he does, and he remembers how much Gabe had liked the idea of Bill holding him down while Travie had fucked him those two or three weeks before.

It doesn’t last too much longer after that. They’ve been at it for close to half an hour, and they’ve done longer but it’s clearly not their average session either. It’s been good, but Gabe is trembling and whining and out of it. It’s beautiful, but Bill isn’t going to draw it out. When Gabe finally comes, Bill lets go as well, jerking himself until he left white ropes of come on Gabe’s belly. He lifts up, just enough for Gabe to slip free and for come to slide down his thigh, and flops down onto his side next to Gabe.

They have to do laundry, Bill acknowledges hazily, but he’s more focused on petting Gabe’s chest lightly and pressing kisses to his cheek. He doesn’t like leaving someone in subspace, even just to get food and water, but thankfully there’s a granola bar on the nightstand and a water bottle on on the desk. He presses his smile into Gabe’s shoulder.

Travie joins them once Gabe’s finally come out of it for the most part, still pliant but glaring at the wall like he doesn’t want to admit what happened. Travie takes one look at them, raises an eyebrow, and leans in to steal a kiss from Gabe’s resisting lips, pressing until Gabe sighs and finally kisses him back.

“It was a -”

Last time, they’d humored him when he said it was a fluke.

“Shut up,” Bill says calmly, unimpressed. “Quit acting like it’s the end of the world. Everyone here likes it, so you’re allowed to let go every now and again.” He doesn’t mention that submission seems a lot more genuine on Gabe than domination does, because people are allowed to like both. He does. It just seems like Gabe enjoys one a lot more than the other. Bill’s done this with a few people - not a lot, but enough - and he’s never seen someone go down as easily as Gabe does.

“I’m not,” Gabe tries, but he swallows the sentence down before he can finish and instead he just shakes a little, looking uncomfortable and desperately in need of comfort. Travie climbs in behind him and wraps his arm around Gabe’s waist. Gabe flushes when Travie fits his hips to Gabe’s ass and tries to squirm away, but Travie holds fast, and Bill presses himself to Gabe’s front so he doesn’t escape.

“Love you, Gabey,” Travie says, simple as that, and Gabe stills before slowly relaxing, breathing out.

“Love you, Gabey,” Bill whispers against his mouth, so he knows, and Gabe nods jerkily in response to both of them.

“Love you, too,” he says back. “I’m just... I don’t know. It’s weird.” Bill understands - really, he

does. In a word focused with hypermasculinity it’s easy to forget that men can surrender sometimes. He’d had his own troubles with it when he’d first realized he liked to be held down and fucked, when he realized he got off on being told what to do, on being used by someone bigger and stronger who told him that he was good every now and again.

Gabe, on the other hand, seems to enjoy being taken care of more than he does being used, and Bill has no problem giving that to him. Travie is smirking into Gabe’s neck, and judging by that he doesn’t mind either.

“Would it be less weird if I fucked you right now?” Travie says pleasantly, and Gabe starts a little, eyes wide. “Because I’ve had this little daydream about using you to fuck Bill, like a train. It’d be hot. Whatcha say?”

Bill tries not to laugh, because Travie isn’t joking. It’s a daydream he’s had for a long time, and he likes to talk to Bill about it when Gabe is asleep between them.

Gabe flushes, and Travie reaches down to fondle his cock like that’s an answer.

Gabe’s not a sub - not entirely. It just suits him to sub most of the time. He’s doing it for Bill, really - Bill loves to dom as much as he loves to sub, so it’s only fair to give him the opportunity when he wants to. And Travie really is a spectacular dom, so it’s only fair to let him do what he’s best at, even if it means Gabe has to suck it up and receive some mind-blowing orgasms and take some orders.

The things he does for love, honestly.

[fanfic-scribbles]

Tie a Yellow Ribbon For Me

Fandom: Supernatural

Summary: Roses are red, Violets are blue, Even death can’t keep him From finding his way back to you.

Quick facts: Romance – [established] Gabriel/Reader – Nondescript Reader

Warnings: Angst-ish with a happy ending, many flashbacks handle it, use of ‘sugar’ as a term of endearment for a gender-neutral reader

Prompt: Written for @gabriel-monthly-challenge​’s February prompt: Spin the Wheel. I landed on “A Dozen Red Roses”. Tagging @archangelgabriellives, @archangel-with-a-shotgun , @archangelsanonymous, @ttttrickster, @warlockwriter, and @revwinchester.

Words: 2459

Special Context Note: For people who might not know: “Tie a Yellow Ribbon Round the Ole Oak Tree” was a popular song in the seventies (I think?) performed by Dawn feat. Tony Orlando (I do recommend it; it’s a good song). It’s told from the perspective of a man writing to his lover after having been away for a few years. He tells her that if she wants him still, she can tie a yellow ribbon around a certain tree and he’ll come home, but if he doesn’t see it, he’ll assume she doesn’t want him back and he’ll keep going and never bother her again.

A/N: That summary is a little more sinister than I intended. Sorry, no dark!Gabriel here. Or “The Crow” AU. (Though hm, that’s a possible idea.) This is kind of an alt S5 post-“Hammer of the Gods” where Gabriel doesn’t go to Loki et al. This is sort of similar in premise to some other stuff I’ve written so I apologize to the people who follow me. Ironically, despite the title, this story was actually written to repeat listening of “11 Minutes” by Halsey and Yungblud feat Travis Barker ¯\_(ツ)_/¯ Please enjoy! (PS: In case my formatting gets fucked up, flashbacks are encompassed by tildes (~).)

   You feel like you’ve gotten used to the silence.

Sure, you had periods of it before– spending 24/7 with a sometimes-manic archangel is a pre-requisite for madness– but those quiet moments without him had always felt like in-betweens. Small breaks, or minor reprieves, sometimes purposefully taken, and sometimes just waiting. Gabriel could have popped in at any moment.

Now he can’t.

You can say you’re mostly okay now. Mostly. You’ve lost before and you’ll lose again. It’s the nature of things, just being in the world as it is. Being a hunter in it means you’ll do it over and over and over again.

It doesn’t make it ache any less.

But you’re still going, because it’s what you’ve always done and it’s what you’ll always do. Right now you’re on your way to a small desert town that seems convinced it’s living out the movie “Tremors,” and going by the reports, you can see why. You feel a smile creep onto your lips. Gabriel would have found it funny.

~

“Have you been terrorizing a small city in Wisconsin in your spare time?” you ask and flick Gabriel with your big toe.

“Ooo, Wisconsin. Sounds like a party,” Gabriel says out loud, but the look he gives you asks, ‘Really?’ and he holds out a piece of whatever candy he’s focused on now. You trade him for the paper and take a bite while he skims the story.

He snorts and tosses it down. “Amateur. Credit for style though; there’s worse you could do than a Mel Brooks homage.”

You roll your eyes and finish swallowing. “I’m sure the three victims would agree with you, if they could.” You fold up the newspaper and set it aside from the massive stack of other regional papers that Gabriel had whined about, and yet gotten for you anyway. “I’ll head out tomorrow.”

“So you’re done working now?” Gabriel asks. He sits up and puts a piece of chocolate between his teeth, makes sure half of it is sticking out, and waggles his eyebrows.

You laugh and lean forward, bracing yourself with your hands as you stretch to meet his mouth with yours. Just as you’re about to gently bite on the chocolate, it vanishes, and Gabriel slips his tongue into your mouth instead.

Once you’ve had your fill of each other (for the moment) you can’t help how big you smile. “You’re so cheesy sometimes.”

He grins. “Sugar, you have no idea.”

~

You need a shower.

Badly.

You don’t feel the slime as much as you did when the constructs first exploded, but you don’t count that as a good thing, because it’s still there and you keep getting reminded of that whenever you shift. The day is dry and warm and a wind rushes across the desert landscape. When you step out of the car a strong gust blows past you and you shield your eyes until the air settles back to its steady pace. You get to your room and put your key in the lock when something catches your eye.

All down the sidewalk are cutouts in the concrete, just spaces of dirt that look like they’re supposed to be planters. Some of them have scattered cacti, but most are empty. Yours was empty, you're fairly certain, but now there’s a spindly long-stemmed something, being blown to the side and clinging to the dirt with nothing but tenacity. You kneel down to get a better look and–

it’s a rose.

Your breath catches in your throat. Not even a desert rose; a real, thorned rose, with petals that have obviously been sandblasted for a while and a thin stem that looks sickly.

But a rose is a rose is a rose is a rose.

~

There are flowers everywhere.

Gabriel really likes this place. He’s been here for a couple of months, and it shows; every day he’s seen you (almost every single day, as of late,) he’s given you flowers– a bouquet of twelve red roses. And, as you haven’t exactly had places to put them, he has graciously offered to ‘keep them somewhere safe.’

So of course there are dozens (of dozens) of roses scattered all around the room, still miraculously alive. Heavy emphasis on the miracle.

“You're the one who said I was cheesy,” Gabriel says and sits down, but puts his drink on the side table. Champagne, of course, and he’s even wearing a ridiculous red and black patterned robe. It’s a testament to how much you like him that you are not making fun of him right now.

But you can admit you do like the roses. The petals are soft and they smell nice. You look up from your bouquet to see Gabriel smiling at you. The softness of his expression throws you off and you hide the lower half of your face in the flowers. “Why always roses?”

“Oh, I don’t know.” His smile turns all trickster. “It’s just what they have at the grocery store.”

You hit him with the bouquet hard enough that he falls off the bed. Well, his mad laughter probably helped, but you’ll still take credit for it. Asshole.

~

Someday, sentiment is going to get you killed.

You pick the rose anyway.

The young couple currently having their first date is pretty cute. Now that you’re not annoyed by them blocking the door, you can appreciate the beginning a new relationship. And it’s going to be one; they’re both all soft smiles and longing glances and dumbstruck lovelorn expressions. One of them keeps fidgeting with their hands, and the other shifts an enormous bouquet from arm to arm. You note the roses, of course, but it’s made up of a lot of other flowers too. It’s very pretty– and must have cost a fortune. You smile. Explains the coffee date.

~

“You work too much.”

“You’re a needy guy, aren’t you?” you ask and glance up from the screen. “Five more minutes, Gabriel. Then I’m all yours.”

He huffs and flops onto the table, head in his arms and pouting and grumbling enough to draw attention. You roll your eyes and, while he’s distracted, kiss the crown of his head.

He stops grumbling. But the next time you take a sip of your drink it’s like shoving pure sugar down your throat and you choke.

His smile is almost as saccharine. “I just wanted to make it as sweet as you.”

You stare at him and calmly wipe your mouth. “Twenty minutes.”

He sputters in protest.

“I’ll knock it down to ten if you walk up to the counter, wait in line, and buy me a replacement. With money.”

He starts muttering again. But he gets up.

~

You look at your computer and think about actually trawling for hunts, but, well, your coffee cup is empty and who can be asked to work under such inhumane conditions? You hop off the stool and almost crunch a stray rose underfoot. It must have been dropped by the happy couple by the door. As you pick it up you wonder how you’re going to interject and give it back, but when you stand, they’re already gone.

You look back at the flower. It’s truly lovely; obviously well cared for (and not just shoved in a fridge at a grocery store, Gabriel). You smile at the thought of his indignance, and set the rose on the table. It would be a shame to let it get thrown out, so you’ll take care of it.

Even at the end of the world, there are still mundane monsters to kill. You’re leaving a very shaken family with one less poltergeist and a lifetime therapy to look forward to (at least they have a have a lifetime, now,) when the youngest daughter runs up to you and holds up a rose. “Here! This is for you.”

Though you thank her and take it, the mom echoes your concerns when she asks, “Honey where did you get that?”

“I found it,” the kid chirps, like that’s all you need to know.

It’s a real rose with almost no thorns and a yellow ribbon tied around the stem. That’s an odd thing to just find. But the house has settled and you figure you can burn this and stick around for a day or two, just in case. You thank the little girl again, bid goodbye to her sisters and parents, and as you go you start to tuck the flower away when you see a small embroidered symbol on the ribbon.

An Enochian symbol.

  As you speed away, you barely resist the urge to chuck that fucking flower out the window. You want to. But at the same time, you can’t bring yourself to do it.

Fucking asshole.

~

“I need to understand!”

Gabriel shoves you up against the wall. Not hard enough to hurt, but it does stun you– for a second. His grip is too light and his expression too conflicted for him to convince you what a ‘monster’ he is. “You’re not that kind of person,” you say and stare him down. “So why do you want me to think you are?”

Gabriel jerks, but you grab onto his jacket and yank him back in. “What are you so afraid of, Gabriel?” you whisper. “I’m the one thing in the universe you don’t have to fear.”

Gabriel leans in, close enough to kiss. Your eyes shut on instinct. Or maybe it’s Pavlovian.

“You're the one thing in the universe I have to fear the most.”

Air brushes past your lips, the pressure of his body releases, and you open your eyes to empty space.

~

He had come back within a day, as soon as you had asked, and said ‘I’m sorry’ in every conceivable way without ever saying it with his mouth. (Well, verbally, that is.) At the time, you figured it was fine.

And maybe it was. Now that you’ve had a few days to freak out, get your hopes up and down and all around, you feel a little calmer. You have the roses set aside and the ribbon spread out on the bed while you sit with your Enochian dictionary. Gabriel wouldn’t lead you along willy-nilly. You have faith (just a little) that this means something.

And if this does turn out to be some “Drink your Ovaltine” bullshit you are going to find out how to travel back in time so you can murder him with your own two hands.

It takes a while, but you find the word, and then use a few other dictionaries and translation sites to get it into English. You check it five times, in different ways, and then sit, chest swelling with hope that you’re not sure you can handle.

‘Healing.’

You want to believe, but a rough translation boiled down to its essential part can’t make you Mulder. You put the books away and lean back against the headboard, just trying to process, when something ‘thump!’s against your door. You grab your gun and stay alert as you check the outside area, but as far as you can see, there’s no one.

But there are three roses, piled neatly just in front of the door. You smile. Because really– you’re skeptical, but you’re not stupid. You pick them up and put the flowers to your face while you mind the thorns. You’re pretty good at that by now.

“Okay,” you say and nuzzle the petals. “I’ll wait.”

You find five more roses over the next couple of weeks in utterly random places. On your pillow. In a sewer. In your water glass after you turn away for a second. In the basket you grab at a grocery store. On your passenger seat. That last one makes you ache.

That night, when you open your book and find eight perfectly placed rose petals, you almost cry. Twelve roses. It’s always been a dozen, so that means he’s coming back, right? He doesn’t appear right away, but you go to bed hopeful.

Except he’s not there in the morning.

Or the afternoon.

Or the evening. Or…

It’s late on the third day of waiting and hope is fading fast. You hit your forehead on your steering wheel and whisper, “Where are you?” Did you misread things? Was this set up in advance? Did he mean for you to heal? Was someone messing with–

Your radio comes on without any prompting and you jolt up. You’re so busy trying to look for danger that you don’t recognize the song at first.

“–nt me, if you still want me Whoa tie a yellow ribbon round the ole oak tree…”

You blink. You stop being afraid. And start being annoyed. “Are you fucking serious?”

But the song plays on, and the volume even gets jacked up. “A SIMPLE YELLOW RIBBON’S WHAT I NEED TO SET ME FREE–”

“Okay!” You turn the radio off and sit in silence for a few moments before you burst into tears and laughter both. “Fuck; you’re such an asshole,” you say, with wet eyes and a smile full of teeth.

You consider trying to track down a bonsai or some plastic palm tree, but you’ve waited long enough. Still, when you get back to your room you go through all the motions of getting ready to go to sleep. Once you’re actually sitting on the bed, you put the yellow ribbon to your wrist and manage to tie a messy bow.

You lie down, exhausted by days of constant, immense stress, and sigh. As you drift off to sleep you think, ‘I’m ready, Gabriel.

Come home.’

It happens without fanfare. You simply wake to an arm around your stomach, and a morning still dark.

“Hey,” you say, sleep-addled.

Gabriel chuckles. “Hey.”

You’ve never heard anything so beautiful, even as rough as his voice is. “You sound tired.”

“Yeah.” Gabriel presses closer to you. “Almost getting murdered by your own brother is pretty exhausting.”

“Hm.” That’s a conversation for later. Or never, depending on how stubborn Gabriel wants to be. Either way, not now. Not when you’ve got him back. You turn over and wrap yourself around him. “It’s okay,” you say. “Go to sleep. I’ve got you.”

He gives you a wry smile, but whatever snarky way you expect him to say ‘I don’t sleep’ doesn’t happen. He shuts his eyes, and you hold tight. “I’m glad you came back,” you say. “Even if I don’t have a hundred ribbons.”

He shifts with quiet laughter. “That’s all right.” He holds your wrist and places a kiss that straddles the ribbon and your skin. “I only need the one.”

[princessamericachavez]

Might I just say that I think this breakdown of Jester’s has been a long time coming, since the whole Lorenzo incident. Yeah, she had a little crisis of faith there but she never really talked about it beyond that. Pretty sure Fjord said that he didn’t think Caleb and Nott would come after them, but we don’t know really if Jester had a similar thought to that? This might play in to any abandonment issues she’ll have after an incident like this. (Not that they really meant to leave her.)

I hope you know I’ve been thinking about this ask all week, while I was busy with some real life stuff, and I’ve been going through Jester’s emotional arc over my head time and time again trying to find the right words to express all my feelings about this. 

First and foremost, you are absolutely right, nonnie. 

As much as this whole piracy thing has been part of Fjord’s backstory, I’d say this arc has been just as much about Jester’s emotional journey. Now, that might sound like a bit of a stretch to some, I get it, but overall I would call this a Menagerie Coast Kids Arc. After all, they both started this part of the story after the Iron Shepherd’s kidnapping, they both went back home to face the real or metaphorical loss of a parental figure, and they both have stuck by each others side as they do so, always the most vocal supporters of each other’s struggles. 

So, focusing on Jester, let’s see everything she’s been through ever since Travis and Laura came back from baby-break: 

She was obviously upset over what they went through and over losing Molly

She felt abandoned by her deity. Even if, as you said, she thought the others might not come, she entirely trusted the Traveler would. 

Instead, though, it was the M9 who showed up, which puts an interesting balance on who she can/can’t rely on in that kind of situation that we might’ve seen reversed once more after ep 45.

She kept putting on a happy face, though, enough to fool both Fjord and Beau, until Caleb pointed out the possibility of it being an act.

this is interesting because, from then on, we can see these particular three paying special attention to her behavior and trying to make sure she’s alright.

After that, she also got a chance to talk with the Traveler and get reassurance that she hadn’t been abandoned. 

I’ve seen people point out that the Traveler putting a “condition” on his love for her might lead Jester to be less likely to allow herself to be sad or vulnerable, but I’m not entirely on board with the idea. I think all cleric-deity relationships are based in some sort of trade, and “being a source of joy and chaos” is her version of worshiping him. 

“As long as you worship me I’m here” is a pretty standard deity pact. Does it put pressure on Jester to be happy? Probably, but she’s never told not to be upset or hurt, she’s told to bring happiness to others, which in turn as we know makes her happy. It’s a weird little balance if anything.

She found out the Gentleman is most likely her father, though was thoroughly rejected by him when she tried to message him. Digging deeper into her abandonment issues.

Caleb kept an eye on her during the whole Nicodranas thing but was quiet about it. 

Fjord, on the other hand, with his new insight made a point of asking whether she was alright, twice in a row. And then tried to help cheer her up.

They had to leave Nicodranas in the middle of the chaos, making her lose her mother all over again after she’d barely gotten a chance to reconnect with her after a very traumatic experience.

Which leads to the Jellyfish talk, and one of her arc’s bigger emotional turning points, in which she finally opens up about some of her inner sadness and confides on Fjord about it, getting support and reassurance from him. 

Which is a bummer when you consider that, from that moment on, Fjord who’d been her biggest source of emotional support from the moment they started this journey together turned into the source of a lot of pain and confusion for her. 

Now, Jester’s jealousy is nothing new, especially when it comes to Fjord, but you gotta see it within context to understand just how deep it ran and how it hit her in a level much more personal than simple romantic issues: Fjord, after all, was Jester’s first real friend ever since she left home, they’ve been traveling together the longest, he’s also the guy she’s been crushing pretty hard on for months and who she’s starting to develop stronger feelings for... so to see him being constantly pulled away both physically and emotionally by Avantika (a manipulative tactic probably aimed to isolate him from the rest of the group) gotta have hit Jester rather hard in her own self-worth, by putting into question the support system around which she’s built her own identity ever since she left the world she knew behind and had to face reality on her own.

This time, it was Beau who noted Jester’s negative emotion: anger, but Jester was quick to brush it off and Beau, because of her own private nature, is not the kind that will push further to get answers from her. She did, however, try to raise the issue to Fjord once, mentioning Jester’s jealousy, but circumstances and Fjord’s obliviousness did not help.

To add a nail to Jester’s already overflowing confusion: The Kiss.

Jester’s very first kiss, given by the guy she’s in love with and keeps giving her mixed signals, never spoken about again between them, while he’s actively sleeping with another woman... Listen, that’s a lot to confuse anyone, even if she hadn’t been dealing already with so much emotional turmoil.

Neither Nott nor the Traveler were particularly helpful in their advice to her, but the fact that she reached for advice at all is a sign of maturity and awareness that she’s maybe not entirely equipped to deal with this on her own right now. It’s a step forward towards showing vulnerability.

Her talk to Caleb, on the other hand, was much more fruitful in that he was able to offer some wiser advice (wait until the crisis has passed and then you can see calmly) and seemed to help her focus on their more pressing issues. 

That talk was also one of Jester’s bigger turning points, in which she was unusually honest about feelings of sadness, confusion, anger, and ‘feeling stupid’ over what she’s experiencing.

Once the Avantika thing was done, Jester was able to reach for Fjord, for which was probably the first calm time ever since the jellyfish talk, and once again they seemed to find their balance in supporting each other. Things seemed right again, with the apparent enemy out of the picture.

The thing is, though, the issue was never really Avantika, but Jester’s own insecurities and fear of abandonment, so of course even with her gone things would not be solved so easily. 

Add to that, the Diver’s Grave and the blood ritual. 

You have a physically and emotionally exhausted Jester whose repressed frustrations are starting to show up (in things like the shift from her earlier Hellish Rebukes to her latest ones)... and she has to see Fjord and Caleb, the two she’s mostly been able to lean on and the two she’s opened to the most, start some shady blood ritual for no apparent reason, in front of her horrified eyes. 

“I know, Yasha, I didn’t like it either,” she grumbles as they leave the grave and there’s a heaviness to her body language that wasn’t there before, like all these things she’s been keeping inside have finally managed to weigh her down. 

So you have Jester struggling with feelings of loneliness, fear of abandonment, unrequited love, worry, anger, sadness, exhaustion... 

Throw in an adorable little gnome that seems to fill the room with light and laughter in the way Jester usually does, in the way that is her role to play, her one strength... 

Add the man she’s in love with getting sucked through a window right in front of her eyes to gods know where

Just for kicks and giggles add a freaking blue dragon infuriated at her specifically, while the rest of her friends one by one flee leaving her behind 

(not that they abandoned her, but just like with Avantika this is an issue rooted in Jester’s feelings about the situation rather than external factors, meaning the problem is she felt abandoned)

The only two people to come to her rescue? The Traveler and Nott. 

Now, remember how after the Iron Shepherds it was the Traveler who ‘failed’ her and the M9 who stuck around? Now turn that table around, because, in her hour of desperation and horror, it was the Traveler again who showed up, like he has her whole life, rescuing her from abandonment (and most likely re-securing undying loyalty that could come bite her in the ass later on if his intentions aren’t entirely honorable)

It’s no wonder that when, once again, Beau points out Jester’s sadness, she brushes it off, even if she just broke into tears right there in the deck, even if she’s bloodied and terrified, even if she’s exhausted and broken and lonely... opening up, so far, has only led her to disappointment and pain, and she thinks she was almost left behind, and only the Traveler could understand, and she needs to be happy again, and smile, and hide it... because otherwise, she might be abandoned by both Nein and  Deity. 

Jester has reached a breaking point in which her current emotional state is unsustainable and, hopefully, episode 46 will give her the emotional climax she deserves to let it all out and move on to a new stage of acceptance, to at least start to work through some of this issues.

The fact that, for that, she’d depend on the help of the gigantic disaster that is her friends, though, doesn’t bode well. 

We might end up heading to a breakage point rather than fixing turn. 

Either way, something has to change, the last drop is gonna hit the glass and it’s only a matter of who’s going to be there to pick up the pieces... either the M9 or the Traveler and things could go very differently depending on who that is.

[haknyeonrk]

⋆｡°✩ mga season four. episode ii. ‹ #4010 ›       ⇢ dance: rocket & celeb five 

he finds his way to the building himself. his aunt and uncle were still too busy to make time to send him there and his parents and siblings, of course, in jeju. it’s not too hard to find his way there, thankfully, and haknyeon quite honestly would rather have the time to calm himself instead of having to put up with his aunt’s constant talking and his uncle’s constant questioning gaze.

as he stands in front of the building, he clutches his own chest tight, takes in a deep breath, before he walks in. “you can do this,” he says softly to himself, before he walks in.

there are cameras everywhere. cameras pointing here and there and seats in front of the stage, perhaps for the judges. haknyeon feels a chill run down his spine and immediately he regrets not wearing a jacket (even if it was summer, he probably needed to be a little more careful. studios could get cold). 

“four zero, one zero,” he mumbles to himself as he finds his seat. he takes a seat and finds himself drinking a lot of water to cool down. when he spots a camera, his face brightens up and he waves towards it before feeling slight embarrassment and cupping his own cheeks with his two hands.

as he sits and waits for the rest of the participants to enter, he lets out an audible gasp at the girl seated next to him. he recognizes her –– of course he recognizes her. it’s kim hyuna; she’d been on tv before, had been on the royal survival and well, she was definitely known.

his own cheeks turn a bright red (probably because of the force she exudes herself, her aura. he isn’t too sure how to put it) and he blinks as he looks at her. “h-hi!” he says, eyes bright, “you’re sitting beside me –– wow! i’m such a huge fan of you! you’re so pretty!” he blurts out the last part and, he hadn’t known it was possible, but his face turns a shade redder. sure, his sister is a celebrity herself but this is kim hyuna and she’s well –– really pretty too.  

thankfully, hyuna doesn’t find him odd, and if anything she’s friendly and willing to share with him tips and tricks. soon enough he finds himself able to converse with her (amazing). 

sitting opposite him are a few familiar faces and haknyeon catches sight of just how nervous hyunjoon looks. he attempts to get the boy’s attention and when he does he smiles, lifts his hand up into a fist and mouths the word “you can do it!”. and then he sees juyeon looking well... like juyeon. cool as ever. he smiles at his hyung and puts a thumbs up, before gesturing that he’s kind of cold. he peeks around as he waits and spots changmin, the last to audition and he pouts towards his friend as he mouths the words, “i’m nervous! good luck!”

the wait, thankfully, isn’t too long. though as he waits for the auditions to begin, he busies himself with playing with the cameras to try and calm down. he looks around the area and when he spots a camera, he makes a peace sign or puffs out his cheeks –– anything to keep his mind from getting too nervous, really.

and then, it happens.

the judges walk in and haknyeon can’t help the way his jaw literally drops and he jumps a little in his chair. he stands up to greet them and his eyes remain wide. katie lee is so pretty, he thinks briefly. he blinks once, and then twice before he puts a hand over his chest to calm himself down.

it begins.

hyunjoon’s the first one to be called out and haknyeon can see how nervous he is. as much as hyunjoon’s usually stoic around him; he’s still a kid after all. so haknyeon smiles in his directions and gives him a firm nod before he watches the boy perform. he breaks into a smile at hyunjoon’s introduction and clutches his own chest (as though hit by hyunjoon’s arrow) at the boy’s introduction.

as his friend performs, haknyeon’s expression turns a little serious as he watches how hyunjoon does. and when he’s done, haknyeon finds himself letting out a sigh of relief. 

the next auditions come and with passing audition, haknyeon gets more and more nervous. he claps his hands for yongguk, finds himself subconsciously touching his own hair during moonbok’s and cups his cheeks during hyuna’s.

and then, it’s his turn.

“contestant 4010, joo haknyeon, please come to the stage.”

he stands on the stage, hands admittedly a little sweaty and his eyes wide as he looks up at the judges. again, sure, he has a celebrity in his family but nothing could quite compare to meeting all five ceos in one room.

“hello!” he introduces himself, before bowing. “i’m joo haknyeon and i’m from jejudo!” he smiles before his eyes turn to towards hyunbin. he’s had the resolve to say this to hyunbin for a long time. “hyunbin sajangnim,” he begins and he’s glad that his voice doesn’t sound like it’s wavering. “we meet again. i’ll try my best to show you how much i’ve improved.”

months ago, he’d been rejected by nova, months ago he’d sworn off the company (in a childish fit); yet here he was, auditioning on a show where hyunbin was a main judge. “i hope you enjoy my performance,” he says before he bows once more.

taking a deep breath, haknyeon rolls his shoulders as he awaits the music. he could’ve rapped; honestly, haknyeon had contemplated rapping. after all, there were so many dancers this season. yet somehow, he found himself leaning more towards dancing, despite his love for rap, he wanted to dance.

it’s a cover of beyonce’s rocket by travis garland. haknyeon begins by beatboxing, still in his position, before the song comes in, full force. 

won’t you sit that ass on me and show me how you feel 

he moves, hands sharp as he body guides with the beat of the song. it’s nothing with too much beat, instead a rather smooth flowing r&b song instead. something that he hopes would be able to show a more mature side of himself.

while his hands are sharp, his legs remain fluid, he gets on the tip of his toes, just like choreographed and smiles towards the judges, mouthing the lyrics of the song.

won’t you take that off while i watch ya that’s mass appeal

the dance has him moving his torso in various ways before he gets on his knees. slowly blowing a kiss from his hand. 

i won’t take my eyes i won’t take my eyes  off it

he twirls from the floor, and gets up. hands making a little ‘peeking’ gesture as he dances. he wants to show just how charming he can be. and the more he performs the more in the zone he’s starting to feel; even if he doesn’t completely understand the lyrics of the song (english and school had never really been his strong points anyway).

peak baby peak baby peak

as he dances, he nods his head, body moving to the flow of the music and he lets just one lip bite go through.

and reach right into the bottom of your fountain i wanna play in your deep baby the deep baby deep

he follows the beat of the music, and as it reaches a soft guitar-like riff he adds his own little choreography to it, puts both hands against his ears as he looks at the judges while raising a brow.

i wanna show you now slow it down go around “you rock hard you rock steady”

he lip syncs the last two lines, completely in the zone, and ready to show a lot more of this side of himself when the music suddenly stops.

haknyeon feigns shock, turns to look around the studio as though a technical accident had just occured until a second later –– the song plays loud and clear. and haknyeon does a complete one eighty.

celeb five, or also known as, i want to be a celebrity, by celeb five. it’s a completely different feel from the song he’d just performed. there’s nothing sensual about this, nothing cool and sexy about it either. but it’s a performance that allows haknyeon to show just how much fun he can have, and hopefully, how versatile he can be.

it’s a pretty popular song lately; trot vibes and all and a nice eighties or seventies feel (again, haknyeon’s too young to know exactly what era) but he’s smiling and his facial expression has changed as he dances to the song.

his hands are up in the air as he shakes his butt before he moves on to the next part of the choreography. of course, it isn’t exactly a haknyeon performance if he doesn’t tweak the original dance to his own style; and he does.

while the original dance had been fun and a little more lighter on the hand movements, haknyeon adds his own hip-hop-like popping and locking to the choreo.

아리아나 그란데처럼 셀럽이 되고 싶어 ( i want to be a celebrity, just like ariana grande )

the song begins and haknyeon drowns himself in the song, from his facial expression to the way he meets eyes with the judges as he dances. despite this being a funny song, he wants to show them how confident he is about pulling this off.

셀럽은 뉴욕에서 스테낄 썬다구요 ( celeb’s eat steak in new york )

he does a turn around the stage before he gets back to the center and ends off the dance with a dab. as much as he’d like to perform a lot more, he’s only given ninety seconds. he honestly wouldn’t have minded dancing a little more hardcore.

after a moment in his dabbing position, he turns to face the judges once more and bows, “thank you!”

he’s done with his audition. and he hopes that they liked it, he did what he could.

as soon as he takes a seat back down, he finds himself clutching his chest again before he lets out a loud puff he’d been holding in out of nervousness. he drinks water, shakes his head and slaps his own cheeks before he focuses on the other performances.

there’s a lot of familiar faces and he cheers loudly in particular for all his friends. they’re all amazing, he’s known that they were talented but it’s a different feeling watching them perform. he tries his best to concentrate now that his turn is over, he’ll cheer for his friends (because he understands just how nerve wrecking it can be, standing on that stage).

[varietyofwords]

Addendum, Part Twenty-One (Chicago P.D.)

Title: Addendum

Chapter: Glad You Weren’t As Bad a Mom (Part Twenty-One)

Fandom: Chicago P.D.

Rating: T/PG-13

Author’s Note: My biggest complain about this episode was the brief moment out on the sidewalk in front of their suspect’s house where Erin tells Jay that parents like the ones they just interviewed make her want to send a greeting card to Bunny. His reply about there being a whole section called “Glad You Weren’t As Bad of a Mom As I Thought” took me by surprise because Bunny is pretty high up on the bad list to me, and I thought Jay, at least, would be in agreement on that. So, I tried to explore why both he and Erin might feel that way given what we know about Bunny and yet don’t know about Jay’s parents as well as explain why they were missing from so many full unit scenes in this episode. This addendum is set immediately before they give Tana Meyer’s parents a visit during “In a Duffel Bag” (3x20).

The long, skinny French fry falls back onto the red, plastic tray as she pushes the small bite she managed to take into her cheek and tries to suppress a distasteful look from flicking across her face. She’s barely managed to pick at her food this afternoon, to swallow small bites of the burger and fries set out on the table before her because she should be out there. Should be chasing  leads and tracking down each person in their new suspect’s sexual history in order to check alibis and run DNA tests.

But Hank had told them to sit tight, to use the brief lull in the case to grab something to eat while he went at their suspect. Tried to ascertain why a guy from Rockford would care for a baby -- his daughter -- for two weeks only to dump her out by the Chicago lakefront; tried to ascertain why a guy from Rockford would deny knowing about the existence of his child.

“He may not have known,” her partner replies. His words startle her slightly because she hadn’t meant to utter her musings out loud, and her gaze darts up from the red, plastic tray in front of her to look at him. To take in the fact that Jay has barely touched the hamburger he ordered because, like her, he’s been too busy mulling over the few facts they have about this case.

Or, more likely, too busy mulling over how much this case has her on edge. The look that passed between Voight and him when she returned from talking to Platt about the Wisconsin Dells and the status of their victim, the decision that she and Halstead would be the first to grab lunch today while Al and Ruzek brought in their suspect was pretty much a dead giveaway about the two of them being in cahoots.

And that fact would normally piss her off, would have her insisting that she was fine and needed to stick around for when their suspect came in, but she decided to adopt Platt’s attitude of stopping while she’s ahead and take a break from sitting in a chair with photos of duffle bags and pink blankets tapped up over her left shoulder. A break from reminders that a child can be loved and well-cared for and tenderly wrapped up in a blanket one day and end up clinging to life at Chicago Med the next.

“You’d know if you had a baby,” she retorts knowing how ridiculous her words sound the moment they leave her mouth. But it’s too late for her to take them back, and Jay’s already raising one eyebrow at her and drawing out a long ‘o’ in the first word of his rebuttal.

“No, you’d know,” he pointedly reminds her with a shake of his head and a hand reaching out to pick up the fork on the right-hand side of his  tray. “There’s no sign that would tell him, hey, that girl you hooked up with, she’s pregnant.”

“There is if you don’t use a condom,” she bites back -- her tone far harsher than she intended for this conversation -- as she watches her almond milk drinking partner stab at the pitiful pieces of lettuce he ordered instead of fries.

His eyes flicker upward to meet hers at her words, and the way he looks at her is a nonverbally reminder of how he knows that. How they’ve been monogamous for months now but each still keeps condoms on their shopping list because neither one of them is ready to add a baby into this partnership. Not right now. Not when they both know Daniel will run her ragged after just a few hours when Justin and Olive bring the baby up to visit Hank later this week.

“He’d still need her to tell him,” Jay replies before popping the fork and the lettuce attached to it into his mouth. He takes a moment to chew, to let her mull over his words before forcing himself to swallow and racing to elaborate on what he means. To cut her off before this conversation -- one centered on the case, but quickly becoming more abstract -- can turn into an argument that attracts the attention of those few patrons who aren’t already openly staring at the star badges clipped to their belts. “And maybe she had a reason not to. Wanted to protect her baby from him.”

His comment causes her to pause because she knows what he’s trying to get at, knows from the sort of teasing and sort of serious look on his face that he’s thinking of the hot date she blew him off for two nights ago. Although, sitting in the stands with only watery hot chocolate and Annie’s body pressed up against her while they watched Travis’ team get their asses handed to them by a wealthier team from the other side of town doesn’t exactly count as hot in her book.

And Annie had kept Travis’ existence a secret for years in order to protect herself, her best friend, and her son from his father. A secret that Erin, in hindsight, should have kept as well for all the interest and good Charlie has taken or done in Travis’ life.

But, if that was their mystery mother’s aim here, then she was clearly keeping the wrong person in the dark because their suspect was adamant that he didn’t know and that tiny, two-week-old baby -- his daughter -- still ended up in a duffle bag with no signs of life.

“Some people just aren’t meant to be parents,” Jay adds after a long pause, and she finds herself nodding along in agreement almost immediately because he’s not wrong.

Because there are parents like Annie and Olive who rise to the occasion and get themselves and their children out of bad situations. Parents like Hank and Camille who see their children -- biological or not -- as something worth sacrificing for and are brave and kind and unselfish in all the years it takes to raise them. And then are also parents like Bunny who are sober and then aren’t, who run thorough men and  lose track of their kids in the wake of an unstable home life.

Parents who, she finds herself conceding, are shitty and selfish and weak, but don’t purposefully leave their two-week-old baby out in the cold to die. And she opens her mouth to vocalize that, to let Jay know that for all the shit her mother put her and Teddy through as they were growing about, Bunny wasn’t as bad as Baby Doe’s mother.

But the rebuttal dies on her lips because Jay’s eyes have narrowed, because he’s looking at her with that mixture of pity and frustration and concern that she sees every time Bunny comes up. A look that she has grown to loathe because she knows it means he has adopted Hank’s view about Bunny being a cancer in her, knows this conversation will end with her reminding Jay that Bunny is her mom and Jay reminding her that Bunny will never change. That the best thing she can do is cut Bunny out of her life, which is, apparently, the position he’s taken with his dad.

Not that she’s learned that information from Jay. Rather, all she’s had to go on is hints and clues and overheard chastisements from Will that are cut off mid-sentence when she approaches his and Jay’s table at Molly’s leaving her with little understanding as to the whys and the whens as they pertain to Jay’s relationship with his father.

The whys and the whens that clearly serve as the foundation of his belief that people cannot change despite the evidence they see in this job -- rarely, but enough -- showing otherwise. Despite the fact that he rides around with her -- an addict, a woman who was once a fifteen-year-old headed down a path where she was likely to end up dead or with a kid or two calling her mom before she turned eighteen -- all day and sleeps next to her at night and relies on her to have his back twenty-four seven.

“I doubt your mom and dad would have dumped a baby out by the Lake,” Erin retorts. She allows herself to push against a topic that’s been off-limits, to use today’s nightmare scenario in defense of both a parent she knows and parents she doesn’t.

There’s a long pause while she waits for his answer. One that leaves her wondering if she’s pressed on a nerve she didn’t know existed, if it’s possible that things in Canaryville were worse than those on her side of town. But Jay eventually hums out his agreement telling her that his parents would never have been as bad as their current suspect or Baby Doe’s unidentified mother. Words that she barely catches over the sound of the ringing phone in her pocket.

The flash of Dawson’s name on the screen causes her to sigh because maybe that was an opening with Jay, but the way his features smooth out and then harden as she answers the call and the way he begins to gather up their trays without waiting for to answer the phone tells her that door or window or whatever she wants to call it into Jay’s past wasn’t really open.

And so, instead, she focuses on the update -- that Baby Does’ mother has been identified as an eighteen-year-old named Tana Meyer -- and the instructions to check in with the baby’s grandparents that Dawson is giving her. Gathers up the car keys and prepares to confront the kind of parents who helped their daughter care for her infant for two weeks yet turned a blind eye when -- or worse, helped -- their daughter put their granddaughter in a duffel bag and dumped that baby like a piece of garbage. The kind of parents who are than Bunny and Jay’s parents; the kind of parents that don’t deserve to walk free while their granddaughter clings to life.

[weepingcoffeestudentfromhell]

Connor Stoll is an idiot. . .who feeds me chicken so he's an okay idiot

CHAPTER TEN:

Connor Stoll is an idiot. . .who feeds me chicken so he's an okay idiot

Catherine's Pov.

"What's going on?"

I opened my eyes to see a baren green wasteland. It went on for miles and miles, with shadows crowding around and a foggy sky. I did a full circle, freaking out as I saw nothing but empty land and fog.

It then felt as if everything went darker and suddenly I was frozen, unmoving.

"Oh you poor little thing."

My eyes widened as a honeyed voice whispered and its voice spread throughout my limbs. I tried to move around and look for the source of the voice, but my body wasn't listening, it was like I was frozen.

"Stuck in a place where you don't belong, for months, feeling unloved. Not even your parent will claim you, mortal or immortal." The voice cackled like my miserable life was some joke to them and I closed my eyes tightly.

"I-I-" I tried to speak but it felt like someone had their hand around my throat, cutting the ari off from my lungs and rendering me speechless.

"You know I hadn't planned on you being here, or even existing, but I can work with this." The voice sighed and I began to tremble, as much as I could when I couldn't move. "You will be an even better specimen than the other seven, especially because of your father."

I slowly felt terror soak through my bones and I was more confused than ever.

What is going on, get me out please!

"Oh honey you'll wake up soon, but even in reality you won't be able to escape me, I'm everywhere you are and everything you see, I'm even in your head." The voice went cold. "You will help me cause more destruction than ever my darling. Sleep well, I'll be here."

Finally I was able to move and speak as a scream ripped through my throat and I fainted.

>>>>>

"CATHERINE!!!"

I lurched forward from my bed and took a deep breath.

Glancing around I realized I'm in my bed in the Hermes cabin, and Anna sat on the ground next to me looking shocked and scared.

"What?" I choked out and Anna lunged at me, wrapping her arms tightly around my torso.

"My gods Cat, don't ever do that again." She breathed into my shoulder and I looked down at her confused.

"Do what?" I asked and she pulled away, grabbing my shoulders and looking me in the eyes worridley.

"You disappeared after Percy and I left for lunch. Nico said you were going to take a shower so we waited for you and then you never showed. After it was finished I went out to find you and couldn't find you anywhere, then I went to the cabin area to look for you out there and I could hear you screaming in here. Did you have a nightmare?" Anna rushed this all out and I felt my head spin.

I heard of these horrible nightmares that demigods apparently got that were super important, some even about real life, but I never knew they would be this terrifying. I could still hear the voice's words echoing in my head.

If these were supposed to be real, than what she said about me being a part in her plan of destruction, means that I-

"Cat? Catherine breathe, it's okay."

I forgot about Anna for a moment and looked at her dazed.

"You went silent for a moment and then your breathing became irregular, are you okay?" She looked me up and down for any physical problems and I looked away from her intense gaze.

"Um, no, no." I sigh and rub my head. "I'm fine and, uh, I didn't have any nightmares, well not what you're thinking of, just- old memories."

"Okay." Anna seemed unsure, but she understood I wanted to drop this topic so she let it go, for now. "Well, you missed all the afternoon courses, capture the flag, and lunch, but dinner is about to start, you want to head down together?"

I was shocked at how much I missed. I hadn't planned on falling asleep at all, I just took a quick shower and changed into some shorts and a camp tee, but I guess my body overcame my mind when I noticed how comfy my bed looked.

"Yeah, yeah sure, just let me get changed quick and I'll be right out." I smile and Anna returns one as she exits the cabin to wait for me.

I then stand up from my bed and frown in her direction.

Somehow I knew that dream was the start of something bad.

>>>>>

I soon changed into a sweatshirt and some black leggings, throwing on a pair of sandals and joining Anna on the cabin porch, then heading down to the pavilion for dinner.

We parted ways at the entrance and I joined my friends at the Hermes table.

"Catherine over here, I got you a plate!"

I smiled as Connor stood up dramatically and waved his hands wildly in the air as if I couldn't see him from five feet away. A few of his siblings chuckled and some people cast us glances, but other than that the weirdo was left alone.

I chuckled as I sat down next to him on my right and with Abby, a new camper on my left side.

I had gotten reasonably close to both of the Stoll brothers after my first few weeks at camp. They were really nice to me, Connor especially helping me deal with understanding everything and fitting in. We got even closer after these few months and they're now one of the few people I hang with the most at the camp, besides Anna. They even promised to keep their thievery to a minimum when it comes to my stuff, which is a big step for them.

"Way to stay low Stoll, you looked like an idiot." I rolled my eyes and he nudged me slightly as he slid a plate full of american fries and some chicken.

I widened my eyes and licked my lips as I stared at the heavenly beauty in front of me.

"You were saying?" He rose a brow and I pat his face slightly as I continued to stare at my plate.

"You are a beautiful person." I mumbled and quickly began to scarf down my food.

"That's what I thought." He laughed and Travis came up behind him, wapping his head lightly.

"Wuzzup losers, oh hi Cat."

I laugh up at the other Stoll brother after wiping any food from my face and give him a small solute.

"Counselor." I nodded my head and he nodded back respectively before laughing.

"Hey I'm a counselor too, why don't you respect me like him?" Connor complained and I pat his head lightly before he swated my hand away.

"Because you deserve the same respect as a chicken deserves." I smiled deviously and took another big bite out of my chicken wing.

Connor whined as Travis and I laughed, a few others who heard our conversation joining in.

Lunch passed quickly with a few more witty remarks from Connor and even more teasing on Travis and I's end. After clearing all our dishes we began to head down to the amphitheater for the campfire. After settling under the our cabin banners the Apollo kids came to the front and began to sing some campfire songs.

Connor and I spent the entire time singing along loudly and off-pitch, others joining in at times for a good laugh as Travis snuck off to "Prank" the Demeter cabin, when we really knew he was just going to see his "just a friend" Katie Gardener.

I looked around and smiled at Anna as I made eye contact with her, noticing Percy not under his banner but sitting next her as well. Looking farther to the back of the theater, I noticed Nico leaning against the walls in the shadows. I frowned as I felt a little bad for him being all alone, and just as I was about to get up and actually talk to him again, I felt a sharp jab in my ribs.

"Cat, come on don't ignore me."

I looked over to Connor who was smirking at me, his bluish green eyes twinkled in the firelight.

"Huh, what?" I mumbled and he laughed.

"You really gotta stop zoning out so much, are you okay? You've seem so out of it lately." He said a bit worriedly and I sighed lightly under my breath.

"Yeah, just thinking a bit." I shrugged my shoulders and Connor scrunched his eyebrows together.

"Look." He looked down as he placed his hand over my hand in a comforting way. "I know it's been a while since you got here, but I'm sure you'll be claimed soon enough, you just gotta wait, sometimes they tend to want some extra flare to their claiming."

Shoot, he hit the target I had been trying to avoid straight on.

I've tried forgetting about that for a while, but after the nightmare I had, the heavy feeling had settled its way back into the pit of my stomach. All the words the voice said openly brought out all my fears and insecurities into the light and the calm I finally began to feel flew away into the wind.

"I'm fine." I smiled reassuringly and grabbed his hand with a squeeze. "I've just had a lot on my mind, I don't really worry about that much anymore."

He smiled back at me and nodded his head.

"That's good and anyways, I like having you around the Hermes cabin, it's like having another partner in crime besides Travis." He pointed towards his brother who was currently holding a water balloon behind his back as he (cough) flirts (cough) with Katie.

I laughed as he then slammed it on her head and you could hear her screech loudly as Travis made a run for it out of the amphitheater, a soaking wet Katie hot on his trail.

"STOLL!!!"

Connor and I both held our stomachs as we laughed and I felt my unsettling thoughts about the nightmare slowly receding to the back of my mind.

More time passed and soon enough, people began to get claimed left and right. I kept my hand in Connor's the entire time, needing the comfort as I felt anxiety settle over me once and while, praying silently that whoever my godly parent is, would grow a pair and finally claim me.

Okay that last part was a little too aggressive, but you know what I mean.

As the night began to grow longer I felt my heart sink lower and lower, until finally I couldn't take it.

I stood up from my seat, letting go of Connor's hand, and walked as fast as I could out of the theater and away from the teasing smiles of the newly claimed kids.

"Cat wait!"

I ignored Connor's calls and walked away from the fire, down the fields, and finally went onto the dock over the lake, sitting on the edge and laying my head against the pole.

I took a deep breath as all my emotions began to bubble up, with the words of the voice in my head, and soon enough I felt salty tears begin to trail down my face.

I weakly wiped them away and took a shuddery breath.

"Cat?"

I gasped lightly and looked up to surprisingly see Percy standing there awkwardly.

"Oh, Per-Percy." I stumbled slightly as I stood up and faced him, quickly wiping any remains of my tears from my face. "Um. . ."

"Want to talk about it?" He asked kindly and I felt myself freeze up slightly.

When I don't answer he nodded his head and walked over to me and sat down back on the edge of the dock. A few beats later I joined him and leaned myself back against the pole again.

We stayed in a comfortable silence for a bit and I felt my heart beat rise when I took a deep breath and look over at the tan boy.

"I don't understand."

He looked over at me with a questioning gaze and I dropped my now green eyes to look at the water just below my feet, its rippling blue surface calming my nerves.

"Everyone gets claimed, right when they get here, even when they aren't 13, and here I am, sixteen and waiting on three months for any sign, any sign from my real parent." I felt my shoulders slump and my eyes begin to water again, but I kept the tears at bay. "I don't even know who my real mortal parents are anymore. I'm just lost and confused, and I want to get some sort of understanding of who I am and if. . .If I really belong here."

I felt a weight fall off my shoulders after finally letting all my thoughts and worries out into the open, but even then I started to feel tears again and Percy quickly turned me towards him, his eyes staring deeply into mine.

"Hey, hey, I completely understand what you're feeling and it's okay to cry." He gave me a small yet comforting smile. "I spent twelve years of my life not knowing who my real dad was, and after getting to camp it took awhile for him to claim me too, but I never gave up hope at the thought of him. Sure I wasn't supposed to be born, but I hope you realize that they have to claim you eventually, but you don't need their title to help you belong here or feel better. You belong here because we all love you and we're all family here, no matter what, no one is left behind."

I smiled through my tears and tightly wrapped my arms around Percy's shoulders. He chuckle lightly and wound his arms around me. I gently pulled away after a moment and wiped away the remains of my tears, smiling up at Percy happily.

"Thanks Perc' that really helped a lot." I thanked him and he nodded his head with a gentle smile himself.

"Anytime, now let's get back to our cabins before the harpies come out and get some late night snacks, a.k.a. us." Percy chuckled and I laughed as we both stood up and began to walk down the dock.

Just as our feet touched the sand of the beach I heard Percy gasp and I froze, looking over at him to see his eyes widened as he gaped at me. What was different was he was also emitted in a strange green light. Then I noticed he wasn't looked at me, but above. . me. . .

I felt my heart stop as I looked up and saw a glowing green trident floating above my head.

"Woah." I gasped in awe but then looked over at Percy as realization dawned on me. "Wait a Trident, that's means that I'm, I'm your-"

"Sister!" Percy belted as a wide smile spread across his face and suddenly I was lifted up and he spun me around in his arms in a tight embrace. "Oh my gods I have a sister!!!"

He laughed happily as he let me down and I let out a small laugh as well, feeling my heart sore in the moment.

"Percy you're my brother." I said it as if I almost didn't believe it was true, but the glowing symbol was still above my head, though it was now fading away slowly.

"OH! We have to tell Chiron." Percy gasped and he grabbed my hand as he dragged me towards the big house.

I have a brother.

[junker-town]

NFL Dad, Week 11: At least you didn’t start Nathan Peterman

One dad, two young kids, and six-plus hours of RedZone Channel. How much football can he actually watch?

What’s the stupidest thing you’ve ever done? I genuinely want to know.

For me, it was probably my wife and I deciding to have a second kid without so much as a glance at our budget (“budget,” he said, like an adult who had such a thing at the time). We wanted two kids, and we knew we’d make it work, gosh darn it. Because of that, our bank account is held together with duct tape and wishes, we’ll never own a home, and the looming specter of college tuition is the only thing that makes me look forward to the collapse of society.

On the other hand, that decision gave us a very sweet son who plays well with his big sister. We made a poor financial decision that led to fuller, more joyous lives. It wasn’t national news. It didn’t affect any outcomes for a billion-dollar franchise that employs hundreds of people. It wasn’t televised for everyone to mock.

What I’m saying is, at least I didn’t bench Tyrod Taylor to start Nathan Peterman, like some kind of ignorant asshole. And neither did you! So chin up, things could be a lot worse.

EARLY GAMES, FIRST HALF

— After helping get the kids ready for their naps, I turn on the TV around 1:15. The first meaningful play is Jay Cutler throwing an interception in the end zone. Hell yes, today is gonna be awesome.

— DeShone Kizer’s early line: 0-1, 1 INT. It looks MISERABLE in Cleveland: Windy, wet, and the Browns are playing.

A few minutes later, the Jaguars score a TD on play-action that fools the camera operator. Blake Bortles wasn’t even on the screen until just before he tossed the ball to Marcedes Lewis.

— Eli Manning completes five passes in a row to start the game. Naturally, once the Giants reach the red zone, it’s time for someone else to throw a pass! How does it go for Shane Vereen?

The Giants attempt a little trickery... But the @chiefs have other plans. PICKED. #KCvsNYG http://pic.twitter.com/0imA0M3DJ9

— NFL (@NFL) November 19, 2017

SUBOPTIMAL. Also, this is the first time this column has begun with three consecutive bullets about interceptions.

— My daughter goes down for her nap. Whenever we put her to bed, she does a singsong cadence of the names in her life (NOT like Arya Stark, I swear). She says, “Mommy, Daddy,” then rattles off her own name twice, her brother, the dog, her nanny (twice), and then back through the list again, but randomized.

I cannot do it justice in words because it is woven into the landscape of my day, a charming and inexplicable habit from the spongy mind of a child. Eventually, I know, she will stop doing it, and I’m already sad about the day I walk out of her darkened room without hearing the rhythmic, lyrical recitation of the names of people I love.

— The Jags run a surprise onside kick, and it works! Josh Lambo recovers!

That was cool, but ... C’mon guys, it’s the Browns. Y’all don’t need to do that. Let them die with dignity.

— We ran out of coffee in my house this weekend. I used the last of our grounds on Saturday morning, but thought we had another bag — not realizing that the bag was decaf. (Charlton Heston voice) DECAAAAAAAAAFFFF!!!

So we made do with decaf when we woke up, then I had a latte when we took the kids to the playground in the morning. I drank it like a desperate man. It helped, but by noon I was stressed and irritable, so I heated up water to make tea.

I try to be the kind of person who respects everyone’s tastes, but apparently that’s only possible when I have enough caffeine in my system. Tea is bullshit.

— Alex Smith throws an interception on a shovel pass. Not easy to do!

AN INT ON A SHOVEL PASS MAKES A TASTY SNACK FOR DAMON HARRISON #Giants #Chiefs http://pic.twitter.com/0RZs3zcyxt

— Clay Wendler (@ClayWendler) November 19, 2017

— Facing 4th and six in the vicinity of the Saints’ 40, Kirk Cousins makes an awesome throw downfield to convert, leading to a short rushing touchdown that gives Washington a 17-10 lead.

After Rams-Vikings, Washington versus New Orleans seems to be the game to watch in this early slate. Cousins & Co. are playing for their season, and the Saints offense seems a little rattled by the pressure that Ryan Kerrigan and his friends are bringing.

— I just deleted a bullet point about Jay Cutler throwing his second interception, because he has now thrown THREE. I swear the only RedZone highlights from this Bucs-Dolphins game are Cutler picks, which is all I really want anyway.

— The Packers have turned the ball over three times and the Ravens only lead 3-0. Brett Hundley has no business facing this Ravens defense, but it’s Baltimore that infuriates me. That offense is polio. Joe Flacco is the debtor’s prison’s Alex Smith.

Also, the Packers are wearing their crappy throwbacks. If I’d known they’d spend today drawing inspiration from the 1930s, I wouldn’t have picked them to cover.

— Rams-Vikings is living up to the hype of a battle between two division leaders in the superior conference. It’s tied at 7-7, and though there hasn’t been much fodder for this column, every set of downs is a chess match between quality teams with smart plans that make the most of their players.

As soon as I write that, Cooper Kupp caps a Rams drive by fumbling on the 1-yard line.

Cooper Kupp loses the on the 1-yard line... And the @Vikings recover! Going the other way! #SKOL http://pic.twitter.com/3glfdkGBOn

— NFL (@NFL) November 19, 2017

Even this — a red zone turnover — is more indicative of a relentless, well-coached defense than it is of Kupp’s carelessness. And now that’s I’ve had two instances of Kupp alliteration, I must see the headline through to completion:

Cooper Kupp’s carelessness crushes quality campaign; Case Keenum & company control close contest!

I would have been an incredible newsman in the 1920s.

— The Lions, who stumbled out of the gate against the Bears, take a 21-17 lead on a short pass to Ameer Abdullah with 20 seconds left in the half. John Fox has that, “Aw, hell” look on his face. It’s the sort of look that Bears fans must HATE, because it gives the impression that Fox is in over his head.

Another thing that gives the impression that Fox is in over his head? His coaching! ZING! Take that, old man who never did anything to me!

EARLY GAMES, SECOND HALF

— Joe Flacco throws to a blanketed Mike Wallace, who makes an incredible catch to give the Ravens the first touchdown of the game. They lead 13-0.

The announcers rave about Wallace’s catch — justifiably — but let’s talk about Flacco’s reasoning. It’s not like Wallace is the kind of receiver you should expect to make catches while covered, like Julio Jones or DeAndre Hopkins. He’s Mike Wallace! A deep threat on an offense that doesn’t throw deep! And the Ravens can’t even realistically cut Flacco until after 2018! We have SO MUCH more Flacco to watch. GUH. Dump this team into the Chesapeake.

— My son wakes up from his nap early. He points to his mouth and says, “Ow. Ow.” His mouth hurts because he fell off his sister’s bed earlier, hitting his chin on the bottom rail and biting his tongue. Poor kid. He sits next to me on the couch and sucks his thumb while resting his head against my shoulder.

— “Alex Smith is hot dog shit today.” That was originally going to be my entire bullet, but that metaphor isn’t very clear. What I mean is that Smith is fresh dog shit on scorching pavement on hottest day of the summer. But the phrase could also read as shit from a dog that’s hot, or possibly the filling of a hot dog from a questionable manufacturer. None of these are particularly good, but I wanted to make it clear what kind of hot dog shit Alex Smith is today.

— Matt Moore has replaced Jay Cutler -- not for cause, though. Cutler, who had put together some 11 or 12 minutes without an interception, left the game with a concussion. Moore immediately hits Jarvis Landry for a long gain.

— My wife leaves with my son to walk our dog just as my daughter wakes up from her nap. The Vikings are putting together an intriguing drive, but I go into her room and help her use the potty. When we come back out to the TV room, the Vikings are celebrating a touchdown.

We sit on the couch and I read a Dr. Seuss book to her. Are you ready for a children’s book hot take? I hope so, because Seuss is WILDLY overrated. He’s kind of like Joe Namath: A champion and Hall of Famer, sure, but also revered beyond his talent.

The strength of Seuss books is their musical language, and I fully welcome the way they can give children a sense of poetic rhythm and rhyme. They’re also EXCRUCIATINGLY long; I could read a chapter of Moby-Dick in the time it takes to read Oh, The Places You’ll Go. The rhymes are also repetitive enough to feel rote, but differentiated enough that you can’t zone out and perform on autopilot; it’s the children’s book version of assembling IKEA furniture. Finally, though I can’t deny Seuss’ unique artistic style, I loathe it with all my heart. Is that a dog or a cat? A cat or a person? A person or some made-up bullshit so he can make a rhyme? I’m over it, man.

— After the book, my daughter takes my wrist in her hand and puts my arm around her. We watch Adam Thielen break a long TD to give the Vikings a two-score lead, and that’s probably curtains for the Rams.

All this man does is make PLAYS. 65-yard @athielen19 TOUCHDOWN! #SKOL http://pic.twitter.com/cQyfvs5sR5

— NFL (@NFL) November 19, 2017

— Another Alex Smith interception leads to a Giants field goal; the underdogs lead 9-6 with 1:39 left. This reminds me: I missed it while parenting, but Travis Kelce ALSO threw an interception today.

In just this one NFL game, interceptions have been thrown by a quarterback, a running back, and a tight end. If you had bet me before the game that THREE players would throw interceptions and NONE of them would be Eli Manning, you would own every penny to my name.

— Alex Smith TRIES to throw another pick, but there’s a penalty on the defense. Soon after, he finds Travis Kelce wide open down the seam. The Chiefs get into the red zone but can only get a field goal. These assholes are going to overtime.

— A Lions 52-yard field goal gives them 27-24 lead, but John Fox has three timeouts, one minute remaining, and a rookie quarterback. LET’S GO!

Mitchell Trubisky puts together a competent hurry-up drill, but Connor Barth misses WAY wide right on a 46-yarder. The Bears lose, 27-24. It’s the third straight game (and fifth overall) that they’ve lost by one score. Meanwhile, two of their three wins have come in overtime. This must be an AGONIZING season for Bears fans.

— My wife gives our daughter a Moana coloring book that comes with a paintbrush and watercolors. The first picture inside features Moana standing proudly with her fists on her hips. Later in the evening, my daughter will swagger up and down the hallway with her fists on her hips, saying, “I’m walking like Moana!”

THIS is why I love Moana but have beef with the traditional Disney princesses. My daughter is three years old and has still never seen Moana (or any movie), but frequent exposure to the soundtrack and a couple of plot points — “Moana has to save her people” — gives my daughter enough information to guide her body language, and we can see it in the way she play-acts.

When she’s Cinderella, I have to pretend to put a gown on her, and we dance together at the ball. When she’s Rapunzel, she flips her hair around; Ariel, and she holds up a scarf as a bikini. But when she’s Moana, she throws her shoulders back, struts with purpose, and thrusts her fist into the air — something she’d only previously done when saying, “I’m Batman!”

Long story short, her Cinderella doll has a date with the trash chute.

— The Saints, trailing by 15 as the game winds to a close, needed two touchdowns in three minutes. Drew Brees did it in two minutes, thanks to a three-and-out forced by the defense. 2-point conversion good.

WE. DID. THAT.@a_kamara6 with the touchdown and the two-point conversion to tie things up with 1:05 to play! #SaintsGameday | #WASvsNO http://pic.twitter.com/Dzae3lVa40

— New Orleans Saints (@Saints) November 19, 2017

This gives me flashbacks to Washington’s win in Seattle a few weeks back, when the Seahawks scored too quickly and gave the visitors enough time to retake the lead.

— With time starting to run low in overtime, the Giants go for it on 4th and six at the edge of field goal range, and Manning takes a shot deep. awesome deep pass. Great play. FG Giants, 12-9.

Wowwwwwwww. Roger Lewis makes the INCREDIBLE grab to setup the @giants WIN. #GiantsPride http://pic.twitter.com/YE9qsqlql5

— NFL (@NFL) November 19, 2017

It’s underthrown, but the cornerback drags Roger Lewis (a player I have DEFINITELY heard of, yessir) down, and that helps him make the spectacular catch. The Giants kick a chip shot to win the game.

The Chiefs’ performance today puts some serious stink on the “Andy Reid after a bye week” mystique. Woof. On the flip side, the Giants hurt their draft position and will keep Ben McAdoo as coach a little longer, so ... way to go, everybody. Bang-up job this week.

— Washington does nothing with its first OT possession, and the Saints waste no time: Mark Ingram breaks a long run to put them in field goal range. Wil Lutz kicks the 28-yarder, and this is the rare instance I approve of overtime: It (A) ended quickly and (B) completed the gut-wrenching collapse of a team I dislike.

LATE GAMES, FIRST HALF

— Nathan Peterman starts his NFL career off with a pick-6. Sure, it went off the receiver’s hands, but that’s inconvenient for my narrative. I picked up the Chargers defense for my fantasy team, and I’m counting on Joey Bosa and Melvin Ingram to ruin the debut of an unheralded rookie quarterback.

— The first RedZone action in Denver is the Broncos blocking a Bengals punt. It should be illegal to have this much orange on the field.

— My wife gives the kids apple slices with maple almond butter, which is one of very few ways to make almond butter palatable to kids raised on peanut butter. They sit at the table and eat silently. I mute the TV and just drink in the quiet. For entire seconds: no sirens or honking outside, no incessant questions or shouting or whining, no dog nails clacking on the wood floors, just silence. I store the moment away and save it for a moment when I need a warm feeling of calm.

— Brock Osweiler throws a pick in end zone that Dre Kirkpatrick ALMOST returns for six, but he inexplicably fumbles without being touched, recovering his mistake at the one-yard line. This might be my favorite play of the entire year:

PICK-6-OHHH NO! Dre Kirkpatrick nearly has a 101-yard PICK-6... But fumbles inside the 5. Wow. #CINvsDEN http://pic.twitter.com/zUyPI5Q0xZ

— NFL (@NFL) November 19, 2017

By the way, this is the exact sort of thing I’d do if I were an NFL player who had Joe Mixon on my fantasy team (I don’t, though, because I drafted with MORAL PRINCIPLES). It’s Tyler Kroft, however, who gets the touchdown.

— My daughter, still working with watercolors, absentmindedly takes a sip from the cup of water she was dipping her paint brush in. Bruce Arians approves!

My wife says, “How did that taste?” My daughter only frowns in response.

— Tom Brady opens the scoring in Mexico City with a TD to one of his running backs … Kevin Faulk? No, Dion Lewis. Hey, speaking of Mexico, the new Pixar joint looks amazing.

Oh yeah, that’s gonna give me a good cry.

— Nathan Peterman has now thrown his THIRD interception. It’s still the first quarter.

Tyrod Taylor has the lowest interception rate in NFL history (at least 1000 attempts).

— Mina Kimes (@minakimes) November 19, 2017

Tyrod Taylor in 2017: 254 passing attempts, 3 interceptions Nathan Peterman, today: 8 passing attempts, 3 interceptions

— Rodger Sherman (@rodger_sherman) November 19, 2017

— Keenan Allen is in for a TD, and it’s 17-7, Chargers. Allen doesn’t look quick, but he’s just so smooth. I can’t think of another receiver that big who moves with such grace and without any wasted movement. I hope he can avoid the injury problems that have followed him to this point.

— Peterman throws a FOURTH pick! This is amazing. I stop watching the games to follow Twitter, where the ‘Rod Squad is gleefully destroying Sean McDermott and the Bills management.

more like Tea-rod Taylor, right @minakimes? http://pic.twitter.com/zUbrqH6ziC

— Matt Ufford (@mattufford) November 19, 2017

You’ll notice in the above picture that Taylor has “Born to Lose” tattooed on his bicep; on his other one is “Built to Win.” When he leaves Buffalo — and he should, for an organization that actually welcomes him as a perfectly solid quarterback (‘sup Jacksonville?) — he should find some space for “Benched Too Soon.”

— A Peterman fumbled snap leads to 3rd and seven, and let me tell you: I have rarely been so tense as watching Nathan Peterman, sitting on four interceptions, wait to take a snap on a passing down. (He threw incomplete. It was not particularly close to being complete.)

— Did Nathan Michael Peterman throw a fifth interception? You are extremely goddamn right he did.

— As the games go into halftime, the Chargers lead the Bills 37-7, the Pats take a 17-0 lead on a 62-yarder from Stephen Gostkowski, and the Bengals lead in Denver, 13-7. The lone close game is the one I have no interest in watching. Orange teams are crap.

LATE GAMES, SECOND HALF

— My kids practice saying “Touchdown!” while throwing their arms up in the air. the 3-year-old has it down cold, but my son’s pronunciation isn’t quite there. It starts out as “DA-DA!” but he manages to get to “TOUSH-DAWN!” by the thirtieth or fortieth try. It definitely did not get old, I’ll tell you that much.

— Brandin Cooks ends any realistic hope for the Raiders with a 64-yard touchdown that is all speed and no safety help. I won’t even link to a highlight because it’s not even that interesting. Imagine a really fast guy running past a person, then catching a ball in stride and continuing to run. There you go.

— Tyrod Taylor is back! He converts a 3rd and 12 and leads the offense to a field goal. Whoa, CRAZY how the Bills’ offense works better when the more talented quarterback plays. Sean McDermott is either the stupidest asshole in the league, or he’s being told by management to back Peterman and too spineless to say no.

— I get my son out of the bath, put him in a diaper and pajamas, give him his milk, and somehow manage to cut his fingernails without turning our house into the Octagon. The kid can’t catch a ball, but brandish some nail clippers and he’s suddenly a black belt in Brazilian jiu-jitsu. Usually, if I want to keep him from scratching his face with his talons while he sleeps, I have to put him in an arm bar while he screams bloody murder.

But not this time! He just drinks his milk and doesn’t struggle. Now, if you don’t have kids, you probably never think about this kind of thing. But as a parent, please allow me to shout, THIS IS SUCH AN EASY THING THAT CHILDREN MAKE SO GODDAMN HARD ARRRRGGGHHH.

— Down 27-0, the Raiders go for it on 4th and one, and hand it off to ... a running back who is NOT Marshawn Lynch. He gets stuffed. JESUS. What black magic does Belichick have that makes opposing coaches ignore Lynch at crucial moments?

— The Raiders score a touchdown I don’t see because this is happening:

The great thing about writing is that you can easily work from home

I saved my daughter’s notes:

bv bvb vt /ER;/.SZrd6s4\-}){“:$D[‘c tgc raLKUoYPTOIUYTR’=\][

OK, so we’ve got some room to improve. She does better work with emojis.

— My son picks a book off the table, drops it on the floor, and bends down to pick it up, not accounting for the table that’s in his head’s path. BONK. He’s got a red welt on his forehead, and it’s at least the fourth time this afternoon he’s fallen or otherwise hurt himself (he also pulled open a tape measure, which retracted and whipped him in the face). He’s a disaster.

On the screen, the clock ticks down on the Chargers’ 54-24 blowout. Sean McDermott looks grim but steadfast. In the other room, my daughter channels The Rock’s voice to yell the final lines of his song in Moana: “AND THANK YOU!”