#work better. it really depends on if spring is going to be dry as hell again or not. im rambling AND off topic. woops)

[hellenhighwater]

Hi Hell, congrats on the exciting foster kitten news!

I just applied to adopt a kitten and had my interview for her today. The woman seemed most interested in convincing me of how terrible dry food, traditional litter (she preferred clay), and tap water is for cats. She said the carbohydrates and ingredients were terrible for their kidneys, the dust in litter is bad for their lungs, and the chlorine in water is harmful. I have a 12 year old cat named Scipio who has been using those things all his life, and now I feel guilty and scared for his health. He seems perfectly healthy to me but she said “cats are stoic.” What do you use with the Tiny Terrors? Is she extreme?

Well, I'm not a vet, so the actual answer is that your cat should be getting what their doctor recommends. But I've had those conversations with people before, and I can give my two cents--just take it with a grain of salt.

So...it's basically always true that you can spend more money on fancier 'health' options and there is, to some extent, benefit to the pricier choices. But there's a point at which that benefit is pretty minimal compared to what you get for the midrange price options. This is as true for pet health as it is for people health.

It's true that wet food is usually a better option for cats. Among other things, it helps them stay at a healthy level of hydration, can be easier on their digestive systems, and is often more palatable for cats who are elderly or have dental problems. But that doesn't mean that dry food is inadequate--Mal and Vice used to split a can of wet food daily, and graze dry food whenever they wanted. They're currently eating almost exclusively dry food, because Vice is on a sensitive skin and stomach diet to help address his overgrooming. I would avoid the bottom-end dry foods, because they seem prone to contamination, but that's more manufacturer quality than an issue with the dry food generally. Dry food is usually a nutritionally complete way to feed a cat, and there's nothing wrong with it.

Mal and Vice drink tap water. They have a bowl of still water, and a fountain with an inbuilt filter. The fountain is because if they don't have running water, they will make running water by splashing their bowls all over. I can't speak to chlorine but it's definitely healthier than drinking out of puddles, which is what they would be doing if left to their own devices.

They use clay litter because that's what's effective and affordable. When I'm changing it out I generally give it a few minutes for dust to settle before I let them at it--someone always wants to make a deposit in the clean box--but there's pros and cons to all the litter options out there.

In a perfect world with infinite resources, I'd be feeding the cats a careful balanced diet of fresh-prepared meats and filtered spring water, and they'd take dumps in a tiny kitty toilet that cleaned itself without my help. But that's not really practical or achievable for me, my life, or my cats, and frankly, it's not necessary. I want them to have a good life. It doesn't need to be a perfect one. If your cat is doing well, and their vet is giving them a clean bill of health, you probably have nothing to worry about. I'm not a professional; you should consult your vet and research options for yourself (which is what I do) but you're not doing anything wrong here.

I will say that when I was going through the process of adopting Mal and Vice, some places (usually private rescues) wanted me to jump through INSANE hoops to even apply. I respect that their hearts are in the right place, but... There are hundreds of kittens in shelters right now that need homes desperately, and the quality of the cat has very little to do with the quality of the rescue--they might have more or less vet work done, depending on where they're coming from, but nobody's managed to fundamentally change the nature of the beast. If you can provide a safe home, food, clean water, and attention to a cat, that's really all they need. The rest is just gravy.

[lightning-and-sparks]

Hey! Are you writing a prequel fic and don’t know much about spray paint?? I got you💅

Sparks Guide to Spray Paint

Spray paint is definitely a strange medium that depending on who you are you may not ever get to interact with much. Graffiti culture as a whole is super cool and something that’d add more depth to your fics.

Something I found that isn’t as common knowledge as I thought is that people don’t know spray paint is toxic. It’s loaded with cancer-causing chemicals that you can’t inhale too much of. Many muralists I know use what is called a respirator

Respirators are probably the best layer of defense when dealing with spray paint but probably not something a runaway teenager would have. Which goes into what I have used/use. While it’s not as good as a respirator I have used a dust mask. They suck in the heat but are great at keeping stuff out of your airways and the next step of defense I’d recommend. They’re easy to find and more importantly, easy to carry.

I’ve used them for construction stuff and that metal band is going to keep them put and even leave a mark when you're done. They’re disposable and usually because they’re always near me I’ll replace them more frequently because they gross me out.

Options that aren’t as good but better than nothing are your typical bandana or shirt pulled over your nose and mouth combo. Easily the most aesthetic which would make a better look but not as safe. (I have done these but irl I’d try and get something that would protect you especially if it's something you do frequently.

Super great pro tip, don’t be stupid like me and put these in your hair after I don’t even know why I did that. Spray paint dries quick but somehow I managed to do that and get some black in my blonde highlights which sucked.

Okay! On to the paint.

Yes, they are runaways who probably don’t live in luxury but spray paint is pretty expensive, and rightfully so. There are cheap alternatives and even half cans which are super cute and tiny but totally inconvenient for tagging but can be used for tiny details.

Spray cans are heavy when they’re full so I like to keep my colors to a minimum. Usually, I have to walk far and into wooded areas so that’s my primary reason. Also, not as much paint as you think is there.

One way to get around costs and just get tags up are black tags. They take significantly less paint because you only really need the one coat. Depending on where you are they kind of blend in IMO. (I've used the can on the right and it worked pretty good.)

Had to pull out one of my own pictures because there aren’t many good ones on Google. There is a lot you can do with black and white. I’m a girly teen girl so I’d rather spring for a nice red, blue, or purple to go with it.

I think I could compare spray paint to nail polish. It has a similar rattle and needs to be shaken. There is a metal ball in each can. While you can control how you spray it, there still is a wild element especially if you don’t have different/angled tips but those aren’t necessary. Some people prefer to buy their own tips since the ones on the can usually suck. (especially cheap paint)

I know that gun-shaped handle is not aesthetic but believe me, holding a can and pushing down on it hurts like hell. People usually use those to spray paint like furniture but I just thought they were worth mentioning.

You can't really spray paint in the rain or it looks like shit. It does dry fast but it's better to have that window of a dry period.

The purpose of Graffiti is usually political. It's a way to get a message across and protest something. It has morphed into more of an artistic outlet but the roots stem from expression. I've never really made something that was in protest to something specific but I feel the whole point of what I do is to combat the boring and lifeless urban look. (I live in a city)

Tagging is the proper term for marking an area. A tag is usually between 3-5 letters and has creative liberties throughout. I used to use a three-lettered tag but I knew some people who knew it so I recently switched to a four-lettered one. I've seen longer and I've seen shorter. There aren't set rules for tagging and in some way, it is a free-for-all.

There are unspoken rules of tagging. realistically, it is bad sportsmanship to cover over tags but it happens. I know of people whose friend died and his tag got covered and they were devastated so I personally try to avoid that.

Contrary to popular belief, graffiti isn't illegal everywhere. There are areas where authority will "overlook" such as abandoned areas. Frequent hunts for me are usually underpasses (illegal) abandoned buildings (50/50 shot) and a semi-abandoned skate park (Legal; Sk8ter boi map cooked with that one)

Sometimes you can even get commissioned to do a piece. I've met a person or two who have.

Tagging for the most part isn't meant to be explicit or hagness. It is more so art. I like to take creative liberties with it like making "S" or "Z" into birds or other objects because, at the end of the day, it is about expression.

Quick tagging, or as I've deemed it. Is kind of premade tags on stickers where you just kind of leave them where you go and are common in high-traffic spots where you can't pull out the cans. (Whoever started the "Hello My Name Is" stickers, I love you)

The Lookout.

Graffiti is unfortunately a two-man/woman job. If you are somewhere you aren't supposed to be you need a lookout. Mine have changed over the years and I used to work with other artists and we'd swap. Not everyone will jump at the chance to do something kinda illegal.

Just for shits and giggles, I'm pretty sure the duo in Wasabi Extreme are supposed to mimic an artist and lookout/spotter whatever. I think that was a cute detail.

Style.

There are so many different types of graffiti styles that I could never talk about to the proper extent. I think the biggest takeaway is that no two people really tag the same. They may look the same but it's different. The style of tag can also reveal their skill type.

Where I am, graffiti is like a community almost. You meet people or recognize them by their artwork. your name and tag are one on the same and I've been called by my tag. It may seem punk or whatever but really it's just a bunch of artist that make their own gallery.

I've recently gotten back into it with a new name and look. It is really fun, very risky, but feels right. I'm not saying to go out and vandalize stuff but, ya know. Make something once in a while

I hope this is useful to anyone for fics or other stuff. I'd recommend like looking more into it if you're interested because this is definitely not a full guide.

[whaleofatjme1920]

Having a kind of bad day... Could I just have some soft Time headcanons, they can be part nsfw too, to feed the thirst

🌙 anon (if it isn't taken)

Soft Masky/Timothy Wright Headcanons

IM SO SORRY THIS IS LATE AHHHHHH I HOPE YOUR DAY IS BETTER IF NOT PLEASE TAKE THESE MY SINCEREST APOLOGIES and ofc YOU CAN HAVE THAT EMOJI

There is NSFW here so, Minors DNI

I feel I should mention here I also write Tim and Masky as entirely different people as well. Same situation as Brian/Hoodie.

Tim is trying to cut back on cigarettes but it's honestly not working lmfao. To combat this, he's taking those wint-o-green mints like crazy.

Tim likes to drive! Will go on mindless drives just to clear his head.

He listens to all kinds of music during the drives.

Sometimes he sees a bunch of like, opossums on the drive. He likes to name them.

Tim has a habit of talking to himself and humming.

I feel like we've established Tim is a DILF, so like, the dad jokes from him are IMMENSE.

His humor is so dry but also highkey unmatched. It's just great and makes you cringe.

Tim is always the guy driving. He does it so his teammates can sleep. And to be completely honest? He doesn't trust Kate or Toby driving.

He wants Hoodie to have plenty of rest though.

Tim likes to go to places at weird hours of the day. Waffle Houses at 2 in the morning? Hell yeah.

I actually think that's a common thing between all the creeps.

Tim gets ultimate say on the temp house his group is staying in and I swear he's keeping track of the bedrooms and baths because he views his group as his 'family,' and I use family extremely loosely. He's responsible for them, and part of that is wanting their comfort.

Other than Kate, his team comes to him for advice because he won't sugar coat anything and makes you feel safe and secure.

Tim makes friends with the local wildlife wherever he and his group are staying.

He still plays the ukulele. You can often hear him playing it around noon or in the early evenings, just having a nice time in the sunshine or when it's raining and no one wants to go out.

Tim sometimes tells stories while he's cooking.

Tim does a lot of cooking.

He's pretty good at it. He's also pretty good at baking too.

Tim also makes some really good sweet tea for when it's hot outside.

He doesn't always like to say it, but the missions in Alabama are his most favored. He knows Alabama sucks, but it feels nostalgic.

Tim has spent entire days in home depot.

You can't change my mind on that one.

Tim also has a habit of making warm drinks for his proxies when they're in weird moods. The drink usually depends on the situation and is often accompanied by a pastry he thinks fits the situation.

Honestly, he's a caretaker. He's not always gentle about it with Hoodie or Toby, but with Kate? He's super sweet.

Tim is honestly a dad to Kate. He values her opinion and treats her relatively well. He treated her especially well even when she was subject to the hazing process, where as Hoodie and Toby didn't really hold back.

Tim is a sarcastic, witty guy!

He still likes roller skating.

Yes, the roller skates are often pink.

He has a strong, strong sense of debt to Brian/Hoodie because of what happened when Brian died the first time. He would do anything for his best friend.

Honestly Tim is a really loyal guy.

He still coughs. He still needs those pills. And weirdly enough, he's not the only one.

He honestly helps out newer proxies because he knows how rough it is.

Tim wouldn't admit it, but he has Jay's hat. Never wears it, just... Keeps it.

Tim has a hard time hurting things smaller and weaker than him. He falters, and Hoodie or Toby need to step in.

Tim takes joy in the little things. A smile from a friend, the breeze in summer, how snow falls in winter, the rains in April, flowers springing up, the sound of distant conversation, it reminds him that he's grounded.

Some NSFW Stuff

We've established that Tim is a DILF. When he's not being a total dom, he's such a sweet and attentive lover??

Like, he's so good at praise and making you feel loved.

Wonders if you're okay as he pushes in, just biting his lip and watching as you struggle to take him in.

Lots of quiet, soft kisses and breaths in your ear and on your lips.

He touches you like you are fragile.

Will call you cute nicknames.

He's so aware that he's bigger than you and will often have you ride him.

Sometimes, he just lets you rest on his chest while his hips do the work.

Soft, gentle touches!!

Early morning sex!! It's before the world is awake!! Just huddle with him under the covers, his arms wrapping around your waist as he pushes slowly in, kissing your neck and telling you how good you're taking him.

He looks at you with so much love.

If you swallow his cum when you're sucking his dick he's gonna call you a "good X". Thinks you look adorable.

If you've got your legs wrapped around his waist, he will rest his forehead against yours and just roll his hips, allowing you to feel the full weight and fullness. Praises you for even letting him bottom out. He knows he's girthier than more men,,,,,,,,,,

Aftercare with him so GOOD.

Will carry you if you're too weak.

Praises you some more.

Lots of kisses.

Maybe a bath together???

Honestly when he's in a much more sweet mood, the whole thing becomes giggles and warm faces from just a sweet type of love. It's not feral at all, just Tim holding you and telling you how much he loves you while he makes you see stars.

[multifandomhoodies]

Hey I applied for NYS and signed up for the summer crew! I'm really excited but kind of nervous for what to expect and what kind of "gear" I should get (like clothes and hygeine stuff). I also like stalked your blog yesterday and it sounds like you had an awesome experience. It'd be great to get some advice 😀

Oh my god!! First of all, congratulations!! You're going to have so much fun.

Second of all, sorry it took me so long to answer this. I just wanted to make sure I had notes on all that I wanted to mention!!! I feel so honored that you stalked my blog on this haha!

Under a read more link because it got long.

Okay! Gear Stuff first. Sorry if any of this is stuff you've heard before!

-I'm not sure if you've already got a tent and sleeping pad and stuff like that, and I'm sorry if this bit is all old info, I just wanted to put it out there in case it isn't! I brought my own tent, sleeping bag, and sleeping pad. Biggest thing with your tent is make sure it doesn't leak!! Mine did! It was unpleasant. REI has decent tents for relatively cheap, Eureka isn't too bad either! A two person tent is better because you'll have more space. I had a 0* sleeping bag by Big Agnes, and it was great. I was cold a few nights (granted, I was on a spring crew) but it was nice. Also, sleeping pads. I had a closed cell foam pad by Therma-rest and it was SUPER comfy. It does have a lower R-value (insulating number, the higher the number the warmer it is) than like an inflating pad would be, but for a summer program you'd be fine with a closed cell foam pad. Or an insulating pad! I just worried about an insulating pad ripping. If you don't have a tent, sleeping bag, or pad, contact your program coordinator and see if you can borrow one from NYC.

-Clothing!

Definitely the most important gear for clothing you will need is boots. MAKE SURE THEY'RE WATERPROOF!! I personally bought mine ahead of time because I wasn't sure where I was working and if I would need to supply my own boots or not. I have Carolina Elm Logging boots, and let me tell you I LOVE THEM. NYC will let you buy them on your first day for significantly cheaper than you can buy them online. When I did my session, NYC had the Elms as well. That's an option, but if you can buy them ahead of time and break them in, that's definitely going to be better. Otherwise, you might deal with the pains of breaking in boots while on your first week of session. It's nothing unbearable, but blisters and stuff aren't fun.

Pants or overalls - this is more personal preference. Some people wore jeans on other crews. Just something sturdy with pockets! A few people on my crew had Carhartts, someone else wore sturdy jeans, and I wore 5.11 Bdus or carhartts. Arborwear is really nice and great quality, but they are pretty expensive. If you're an overall person, they work really well for NYC too!

NYC will provide you with two button down work shirts. They take the money out of your first living stipend check. They're pretty comfy!

Base layers! I always wore something under my work shirt, either long sleeve or short sleeve depending on the temperature. I highly, highly recommend wearing polyester base layers. They'll keep you warm no matter what. If you're looking for a more cost effective way to find base layers, go to a thrift store and look in their athletic clothes. It's how I've gotten. all of my base layers lol.

Socks - holy hell. Bring more socks than you think you're going to need. I think on the packing list I got, they said like 7 pairs. Bring more. Bring like. 9 pairs. At least. You go a week without washing clothes, so figure on enough socks for that, and bring extras in case your socks get wet and you want clean, dry ones to put on. Wool socks. They're so much better than cotton. If I was going to do another session with NYC, I would bring 10 pairs of wool socks without question. REI, Smartwool, Carhartt, Wigwam, and Darn Tough are all great brands for wool socks. Also check the sales at REI on socks, they're usually a lot cheaper.

Gloves - oh boy. Bring at least two or three pairs of gloves. At least one pair of leather gloves in case you're pulling out thorny things like blackberry. I had a pair of Tillman Truefit that I wore out within a week. Have more than one pair of gloves! Personally, I like gloves with that rubbery coating on the palm, it's better for gripping things like a pulaski or a chainsaw. My crewleader had a pair of Kincos that he really liked and they lasted him the whole session.

Layers - Bring an insulating layer or two! I had a Columbia fleece that was really nice. Polyester again is your best friend. A few people had cotton hoodies which are great if you're not going to get wet. If I was doing another session, I would definitely bring another warm layer (but again, I was on a spring session so it was definitely a little cooler!)

Rain jacket - I do think NYC provides a rain jacket? They do supply you with rain pants. I have the Carhartt Shoreline jacket, which is warm and pretty rainproof. Someone else on my crew had Patagonia rain jacket (pricy! very rainproof but so expensive!) Just have a rain jacket of some kind, or borrow one from NYC. I liked having a warmer jacket that was rainproof.

Hygiene

Okay. The number one thing I wish I could tell myself about NYC is. Lower any expectations you have for your personal cleanliness, okay. As bad as it sounds.

You're going to be showering once a week. You'll get used to it! Your hair will stop being so greasy at some point. You will go nose blind and not be able to smell how bad you or the rest of your crew stink. It is a blessing.

Get baby wipes. Use them at night or whenever to clean the important stuff on your body. They are a life saver. If you have sensitive skin, test them before you go out there to see if you'll have a reaction.

2 in 1 shampoo/conditioner, if that's a thing you can do, do it. It takes less space in your bag and less time in the shower. More time you can scrub ash or dirt of yourself. Really.

I still wore deodorant. I don't know if it did anything or not. But I liked that bit.

Obviously, toothbrush, toothpaste, that stuff. My crew would brush our teeth together sometimes because we'd forget.

Some kind of skin powder is really great to have too for cleanliness!

Get a microfiber towel! PackTowl is great. It dries faster than a cotton towel and takes way less space. I wish I would have had one out West!

Random Things that are good to have

Good headlamp. AND extra batteries.

Bring a camera!! If you're on an adult crew, you'll be able to have your phone on you. Not sure about youth crews but. Make sure you have something that can take pictures! A phone, a disposable camera, or like a regular camera if you're into that. I brought my camera and I am so glad I did. I love all my pictures so much!

Journal! If you don't already journal, NYC is a great time to get into it. If you're worried about rain or wet ruining a journal, they make waterproof ones that are SO cool.

Have a comfortable daypack. You'll be wearing it all day.

Waterbottles! Bring two at least. People used anything from plastic LifeWater bottles to Nalgenes. I'm personally a Nalgene fan.

Dry bags. They keep stuff dry. Super good to have.

Ziploc bags. Use them for trash or whatever, also super good to have.

Hand sanitizer. Your crew will have some on hand but it's nice to have your own personal one in your bag or something.

External battery for your phone. You usually won't have electricity.

Music. Okay, this one's a little different but. I wound up getting Spotify Premium a week into session because everyone else had music to listen to and I didn't. Music is great for making dinner to, driving to, working to. It's such a little thing but it makes all the difference. I have a playlist of songs I liked from my crewmate's playlists and the whole thing reminds me of my crew :')

Okay I think! That is all of it. Overall! Just go into it with a good attitude. It is going to be so, so, so, fun. It is also going to miserable at some points. That's just how it goes. You're going to be tired and sore, but it is SO worth it. Also working out, hiking, carrying heavy stuff, doing stuff like that ahead of time will make it a lot easier on your during the session! But yeah, just be prepared to work. And have fun! Just be in the moment. It's really such an incredible experience. I had so much fun. I would love to do it again one day. If you have any other questions, don't hesitate to send me another ask or dm me! I absolutely LOVE talking about my time with NYC and parks in general and tbh getting this message made my week :'). Have fun!!! Good luck!!!

[writingthingsisdifficult]

Saving the world (Double booking pt 2)

I was asked to write a second part, and as inspiration struck, well… here it is.

They've shared a room. Now what?

If you like it, let me know :D

Word count: 5655

Part 1

_______________________________________________________________________

The light is seeping under the curtains, dragging you back to the conscious world, but you're not ready to get up just yet. So you squeeze your eyes shut and stretch your back. It's stiff as a board, and your cheek has seemingly set in a permanently squished position. The room feels stuffy and warm, and there's a soft noise you don't recognise at first. But when you finally open your eyes, you can't help but smile.

Everything's a bit blurry without your glasses, but there's no mistaking the man sleeping in the bed next to yours. His arm, which you suddenly notice isn't gloved, but a prosthetic, is hanging over the edge of the bed, and if you strain your imagination, it's almost stretched towards you.

It looks like he hasn't moved at all during the night. Neither have you when you come to think of it. When you stretch again, your neck cracks as if you were eighty, and it's a struggle to lift one leg over the other, though that might just be that you're still half asleep.

As you fumble for your glasses, Bucky opens his eyes and gives you a sleepy smile. "Good morning."

Your heart skips a beat, and it's as if you've forgotten all suitable responses to such an innocent greeting. "Yeah." That's what comes out of your mouth, and you groan.

"You sleep good?" He yawns and props up on his elbow.

"Mhm. Like a baby."

"Me too."

You grin and roll over on your back just as the loudest growl erupts from your stomach. Heat creeps up your neck and ears, and you mutter a soft "Sorry."

Bucky laughs. "Don't apologise for being hungry. What do you say we go get some breakfast?"

"I could eat."

After a quick shower and a couple of frustrating minutes picking an outfit, you really don't want to look like a slob in front of Bucky, you're both seated in the restaurant, devouring the bacon and eggs like your lives depend on it.

The conversation is light. You're slowly getting to know each other. "I'm freelancing for the government," Bucky says and gulps down his orange juice. "It's all really boring, though."

You nod and stuff your mouth with bacon. "I'm sure it isn't. But paperwork, am I right?" you add with a chuckle.

Nodding, he wipes his mouth and takes another bite. "Mhm. How about you?"

"Oh, it's not very interesting. I freelance too, I guess. Right now I've been hired to design a calendar with paintings from the city. It's not well paid, but it's fun."

"So you're an artist? May I see some of your work?"

Suddenly you feel a bit self-conscious. That's weird. You haven't had doubts about your art in forever. "I've got some photos in my phone." You hesitate for a second, then fish it out and unlock it. Scrolling down, you find the series of paintings you did last spring. Green and lush, you get a pang of longing for the fresh air and colourful flowers. The contrast is vast from the grey city.

"Wow, these are good!" Bucky exclaims and starts gushing over your lines and colour and the composition, and you feel your ego inflating with every word. All you can do is sit there with a stupid grin on your face, and a pulsing heat in your cheeks, while he builds you up like he's a professional.

You've totally forgotten the time when the staff tells you that the restaurant, unfortunately, is closed now, but that you're welcome back for dinner later. With many an apology, the two of you get up and head to the lobby, where you stay, talking for almost an hour before you remember why you are here in the first place.

"Sorry," you say, and mean it. "I need to get some work done before the light goes. I was thinking of heading down to the harbour today. See if the water can inspire me."

"Oh. Yeah, I guess." Bucky looks down on his feet and gives you a small smile. Then he looks up again, his eyes shining, competing with the glorious smile that grows on his lips. "Do you mind if I come with you? I mean… you don't have to say yes, I just…"

"No, of course." You're relieved that he asked, letting you out of asking him yourself. "Some company would be lovely. Just gotta get my stuff. Meet you back here in ten minutes?"

He nods and sighs almost imperceptibly once you've turned away, watching as you almost skip towards the elevator. A tiny voice in the back of his head warns him that he has tripped and is going to fall hard if he doesn't get a grip soon, but he ignores it. The feeling is too pleasant to care just now.

The next few days you establish a routine of sorts. Bucky knocks on your door, asks to sleep next to you, you say yes, and you wake up, turned towards each other. After breakfast, you head out into the city, sometimes he's leading the way, sometimes you have a plan, and you spend the day drawing and talking and without realising it, falling hard for him. Every evening you have dinner in one of the restaurants near the hotel, and every evening you forget what is happening around you, and all you can focus on is Bucky.

_____________________________________________________________________

The sun is shining. A bird is singing in the tree behind you. You can barely hear the traffic from the road outside the park. Bucky is lounging on the grass, chewing on a straw, and you've been drawing him in secret for the past two hours, your original subject completely forgotten and rejected. When he looks up at you, his face is filled with happiness. "This is nice," he says, careful to mask his full joy.

"Yes, it is," you reply, quickly hiding the drawing under a sketch of the bridge and skyline.

He sits up and looks like he wants to say something, but he closes his mouth instead. After a small pause, he gets up and holds out his hand. "Let's go grab something to eat."

"Okay," you whisper, breathless from the feel of his hand in yours. "Lead the way."

He takes you to a small café at the edge of the park, explaining that it's famous for its fries, and they've got the bestdipping sauce, you just have to try it.

You're in the middle of the meal, laughing at a joke, when a shadow interrupts. Looking up, you hear Bucky mutter a curse under his breath, and you feel a pinprick of fear in your neck. He's glaring at the stranger, and the stranger surprisingly returns the look.

"Um…" You look between Bucky, sat at the table with a curly fry sticking out from the corner of his mouth, staring daggers, to the man who just interrupted your lunch. The truth smacks you in the head with force. Holy shit! That's Captain America. Captain freaking America! And it slowly dawns on you who Bucky really is.

The glass you just picked up slides back to the table, sprite sloshing over the sides as it hits, but you don't realise your hand is cold and wet. All you can focus on is that your roommate for the last week is… Bucky Barnes, AKA The Winter Soldier. Yeah. You try very hard to swallow the food in your mouth, but it's so dry, and forcing it makes your throat ache.

Said soldier quickly chews the curly fry and swallows thickly. "What do you want, Sam?"

Sam hands him a pad, and upon reading the contents, Bucky's frown deepens.

"It's very nice to meet you," Sam says, his shining smile lighting up the whole room. "I'm Sam, by the way."

"Y/N," you reply, still unaware that the hand you're using to shake Captain America's hand with is wet and slightly sticky. Actually, you're kinda unaware of your surroundings altogether.

Sam laughs, making Bucky look up from the message, scowls at Sam, then returns to his reading. "So you're the one who's keeping Bucky busy, huh?" He winks, and you feel that heat creeping up the back of your neck. "From the look on your face, I'd say you didn't know who you're having lunch with, right?"

You nod, squeaking a confirmation.

Sam laughs. "I thought after the whole Flag Smashers case, everybody knew who Bucky was."

Your ears burn, and you breathe a little faster now. Of course, you've been to the exhibit at the Smithsonian, and of course you know about Steve Rogers' best friend, it just never connected in your brain that this super sweet man is a WWII hero and assassin.

Your eyes flick from his prosthetic arm and up to his face. "Uh… I'm just not super into the whole celebrity thing?" you offer, blurting out the first thing that pops into your head.

Snickering, Sam turns to Bucky. "And you didn't tell her?" There's a hint of annoyance in his voice.

Bucky picks on a stain on the table before setting up a defiant face. "It didn't come up." And he wants to add And by the way, how do you go about saying Oh, and FYI I'm a former assassin and murderer, to a woman you really want to get to know better?

He looks so uncomfortable, you get a strong urge to hug him, but now you're uncertain of all this. What if the two of you are against the rules? Wait, what are you, really? Friends? Accidental roommates? You like Bucky. You really like Bucky, and you had kinda hoped it would grow into something… more, but now… Swallowing the lump in the back of your throat – that was an unexpected reaction – you smile flatly. "Are, are you allowed to, to… I mean, can you be friends with…" You swallow again. "Civilians?"

Sam's eyes widen for a split second, and somehow you feel as though he can see right through you. Then he laughs, and all the tension around the table dissipates. "Of course. We're human, Bucky's human, as difficult as that is to believe. Of course we're allowed to have friends, relationships, family. Wouldn't be much of a life without it, would it? But expect them to do a background check on you, hell, they probably already know what you ate for dinner on your twelfth birthday."

"Oh."

"I'm sorry, Y/N, but I'm afraid I have to whisk your boyfriend away for a while. There's a situation."

"We're… we're not…" You have to admit that thought feels good, but really, any hope you had has been well and truly smashed.

Bucky gets up and smacks the pad at Sam. "I'll see you later?"

"I'll be here," you reply with fake confidence. "Please be safe. Both of you," you add with a small smile.

"You too," Bucky says softly. "Be careful if you go out after dark. It's not as safe as you think here."

That makes you snort. "It's me. I don't even like people, what am I supposed to do outside after dark, huh? Don't worry. I'll probably stay in my room and paint all day anyway."

He mutters something that sounds suspiciously like "good", but it's hard to hear over Sam. "I'll take care of him," he laughs, ducking under Bucky's hand as he swats at his head. "Come on, Buck. Let's roll."

"Be safe," you mutter again, looking after them as they head to the black, unmarked car waiting by the flower shop on the corner. It's as if all colour drains from your vision.

_______________________________________________________________________

The first sip of coffee feels divine; just what you need to wake up after spending another night without Bucky. It has been another restless night. You tossed and turned and couldn't settle properly. And the dreams… You'd rather not think about them. Never before has your brain produced such chaotic absurdities, such eldritch horrors, but to be honest you're not really surprised. Sleeping next to Bucky; something just clicked. You smile into your cup, feeling calmer just thinking about it. It's weird how quickly you got used to his presence, and how wrong it feels when he isn't there.

But you don't get to enjoy your drink for long. Before you've even finished the second sip, someone shoves you hard from behind. The coffee spills over the sidewalk, painting the concrete and splashing all over your shoes. "Hey! Watch where you're going!" you bark, turning to confront whoever pushed you. But before you can even see them, they pull a bag over your head.

Panic rises in you, and you scream until your throat feels raw. Someone smacks you across the mouth, and the shock and pain shuts you up. Your lip thumps: it's split, you can taste the blood now. Tears stream down your cheeks, the soft fabric of the bag clings to your skin. Feeling the darkness caress your mind, the world starts folding in over itself. Still you possess enough awareness to kick the person holding you. They yelp and swear, resulting in a sharp rap over your ear. Your head is ringing.

A pair of strong arms pick you up as if you weigh nothing, and haul you along, struggling with your flailing arms and legs. There's a metallic clang, like a van door opening, then you're half lifted, half pulled up, all while screaming and cursing, hoping someone – anyone – will hear.

Someone speaks a language you don't recognise; your sleeve is pushed up and there's a sharp prick in your arm. Seconds later your brain starts spinning. The faint light that seeps through the weaving of the bag blinks like a starry sky.

You sway back and forth, feeling off kilter and fuzzy, as the voices around you grow all garbled and muted. Someone pushes you backwards, but before you hit the floor, you're out. As the world fades from your consciousness, you just wish you could have seen Bucky one more time.

When you come to, your head is pounding, your mouth is dry, and everything is dark. You try to move, but your hands are shackled, and your feet are bound to whatever you're sitting on. At least you're right side up, you think, before the situation dawns on you, and the contents of your stomach threatens to make an appearance. You swallow thickly. God, your mouth is so dry. Your tongue sticks to the roof of your mouth, and there's not enough liquid to even wet your lips. All you can do is grimace, feeling how they crack and pop. It stings. The taste of metallic, rusty blood coats your tongue.

Your throat itches, so much so that you can't even speak, but you can cough. Hard, like explosions in your head, and it's enough for you to lose your breath.

Something floppy is shoved into your hands.

"It's upside down, you idiot!" someone shouts, and the paper is turned.

Panic surges through your body, and your throat constricts, increasing your coughing. Your heart is racing, but everything happens so fast you just can't process it. Someone removes the bag from your head. The light burns in your eyes, and the shock stops your coughing instantly. Everything is white. There's voices, and movement, but you can't see anything clearly, and for a moment you wonder if you've lost your contact lenses. Slowly your vision returns, but they all keep to the shadows, and they've covered their faces, so you can't make out any details. The buzzing in your ears almost drown out every sound in the room.

"Look straight ahead," they command, and by some miracle you actually manage to move your head. "Keep your eyes open. Ready!"

There's a bright flash, someone else yells "Got it!" and then, in a flurry of motions you're untied, dragged through a dark hallway and unceremoniously dropped on the floor. The door clangs ominously behind you, and you freeze, waiting for someone to grab you or hurt you. There's no one in the room, but you remain in the floor, rubbing your wrists and trying to calm your breathing.

It's cold in your cell, room, whatever people call it, but at least you've got a blanket, and they've fed you, so there's that. But no matter how many times you've asked, nobody tells you anything.

You're over the initial shock now, and the fear has begun to settle into anger, but you're too numb to react.

"Who are you? Why are you doing this to me? I'm no one, never been important in my whole life, hey, someone please say something." Silence. You bang on the door, not sure what you're hoping for. In the back of your mind you know it's risky, but you need to know. The silence is making the walls come closer. You lick your lip. It's bleeding again.

You figure your friendship with Bucky has something to do with your current predicament, but you're not sure exactly what they hope to achieve. It's not like you're best friends or anything, but maybe what you have is enough for him to come for you. That thought sends an electric jolt straight to the small of your back. For a moment you allow yourself to hope, to imagine him blasting through the door and marching in with murder in his eyes, angels singing, and the light surrounding him like a halo.

You laugh grimly. What are even the odds of him finding out where you are? Does he even care? He is the Winter Soldier, after all. He's probably got better things to do, he's busy saving the world, no doubt.

_______________________________________________________________________

Bucky smiles as he walks through the hallway, the ugly carpet muting the urgency in his steps. He can't wait to see you again. It's only been four days, but it feels like forever so the moment he got the all-clear after mission report, he made Sam drop him off at your hotel.

A short walk later he's standing outside your room, heart in his throat and arm outstretched, ready to knock. His stomach dances, pure happiness courses through him. It's been so long since he felt like this; he swears he can almost feel it in his metal arm.

A soft knock. No answer. He knocks again, harder this time. Still no answer. It's only a few minutes past eleven, you won't be asleep yet. You never fall asleep before midnight.

Suddenly it's like someone's poured a bucket of ice water over him. Putting an ear against the door, he listens like some kind of creep, but the room is silent. Maybe you're out. But that doesn't make sense either. It's too dark to get any proper work done, and you're not one for night clubs, or so you've said. Could you have checked out? Bucky's heart skips a beat. What if you're gone? But… wouldn't you at least have left him a message?

Turning on his heel, he marches back to the elevator as if he's got the devil on his tail. There's a really nasty feeling growing in his gut, something he just can't afford to think about now.

He presses the elevator button multiple times, but it takes its sweet time, so instead, he heads to the stairs, taking several steps at once, then skips the steps altogether and jumps over the railing, landing with a heavy thud on the ground floor.

There's a tenseness to his stride as he walks to the front desk, feeling more and more anxious with every breath. He never thought he'd feel this way again; that pit in his stomach and the growing stone in his chest. Last time, he was on a plane, heading for Italy in 1943, not knowing what was waiting for him.

"Excuse me," he says, rather gruffly, spooking the receptionist, though how she didn't hear him stomping through the lobby is a mystery. His own ears buzz loudly, and it's a miracle he can hear her at all.

"Good evening. How may I help you?" She smiles in that professional way people do when they're interrupted and don't really want to talk.

Bucky glances at the reflection in the glass wall behind her. Solitaire. He shakes his head to clear it a bit. "Um, yeah. Is there a message for me? For James Barnes or maybe Bucky."

She looks through the papers on the desk and shakes her head. "Sorry."

He closes his eyes and breathes through his nose. "Okay. Don't suppose you could tell me if Y/N has checked out of room 508?" His brows furrow, but he tries to smile anyway.

Another head shake. "I'm sorry. I'm afraid I'm not allowed to disclose that kind of information." She looks briefly at her screen, then back up at Bucky, fake smile plastered on her face.

Bucky bites his tongue and swallows the rage that's building in him. It's not the receptionist's fault. She doesn't understand. But then he gets an idea. "Right, of course," he says, making his voice sweeter. "But maybe you will allow me to leave her a message?"

"Certainly. Let me grab a pen and paper for you."

So you haven't checked out. From the look on her face, the receptionist doesn't realise she's confirmed his suspicions. Well, he'll leave a message just in case, but it's time for drastic measures.

Outside it's dark now. Low clouds are threatening with rain. No one sees the dark figure slipping around the corner and jumping to grab the lowest rung of the fire ladder. Bucky easily hoists himself up, and climbs to the fifth floor, keeping to the shadows and making as little noise as possible. He knows where the window to your room is, and in less than a minute he's standing on the tiny balcony, peering in.

The room looks untouched. The bed is made, your stuff is all there. There's an almost finished portrait on the sketch pad on the desk; a smiling, content picture of himself. Nothing is missing except you. Bucky is three seconds from losing it.

A cold raindrop hits the back of his neck, drawing him from his haze. Soon the sky has opened up, and he's blasted with icy water. It soaks through his jeans, and drips from his hair into his eyes. Without looking back, he slides down the fire ladder and lands in a puddle. He doesn't know what to do next. Maybe Sam knows, so he ducks back into the hotel to get out of the rain, but before he can make the call, he's interrupted by the receptionist.

"Mr Barnes, I apologise. I didn't see this before. Someone left this for you." The woman hands him a large, brown envelope. All of a sudden he's transported back in time; drowning in flashes of memories of past missions, but he shakes himself out of it. Leaning on the column by the door, he opens the envelope.

There's nothing in there but a photo. It makes his stomach turn, and for the first time since he's been free, he has to fight the rage of the Winter Soldier, expanding, threatening to explode and send him on a vengeance fuelled killing spree. "When? Do you know who delivered it?" His voice is darker than usual, and the woman steps back just from the sound.

"I'm sorry," she squeaks. "It's been here for a couple of days, I think. I wasn't here when it was delivered." She hurries back behind her counter, putting a safe distance between them.

Bucky adjusts his stance, and forces his voice to sound kinder. "Thank you. Is there somewhere I can make a phone call, undisturbed?"

She nods and points to a nook behind the oversized fern in the corner. There's a sliding glass door that will provide some privacy.

Turning the envelope over in his left hand, Bucky is careful to not leave any more fingerprints on it. It is unmarked, but he knows people who can read things that no one else can see.

Whipping out his phone, he dials the first number in the contact list. He doesn't realise it, but he's shaking. The four seconds it takes for Sam to pick up are an excruciating eternity, and Bucky grips the door handle to keep himself from running off without a plan.

Before he can even say hello, Bucky wheezes: "They've got her, Sam!"

"Who?"

"Y/N! They've taken her!" He closes his eyes. The photo has burned into his mind.

"I'm on my way."

Bucky relaxes his grip on the door. There's a dent in the metal, and that makes him even angrier. They've made him lose control. He curses as he exits the tiny room, pacing over the floor, waiting for the voice of reason to arrive.

Being Sam, being Captain America, opens a lot of doors, so when he shows up at the hotel, requesting to look through the surveillance tapes – though it really is a demand; he's got a way with words, Bucky muses, thinking back to when he realised that what he first took as being soft, really isn't soft at all. Anyway, they all fawn over each other, fighting to be the one to give Cap access. Bucky can hardly watch.

"Give us a few minutes," Sam says with a smile, settling in front of the computer.

"Of course." The manager bows and closes the door.

Then Sam turns to Bucky. "Okay. When did you see her last?"

"Four days ago, right before we left on that goddamn mission." He wants to beat himself that he exposed you to danger, and he resists the urge to take out his irritation by slapping Sam over the head. Instead he settles on a flat, emotionless that he hopes conveys all his frustration.

"Right, so somewhere after last Thursday, then." Sam pushes a button, selects the right floor and presses play. Nothing happens for a while, and he pushes a new button, making the footage speed up.

"There!" Bucky shouts, pointing at the screen. There you are. Leaving your room with a large bag over your shoulder. Bucky smiles in spite of his fear. A soft expression on your face and your trusty art supplies at your side. Everything looks normal.

Fast forwarding through the footage, nothing out of the ordinary happens. You return around seven, looking a little bit tired, but happy enough. Food is brought to your room an hour later, and you don't go out again that night.

"Sensible girl," Sam comments, drawing Bucky out of his thoughts.

"Yeah. But she didn't know how much danger she was in."

The night passes in a blur. A drunk couple stumbles through the hallway around two in the morning, but other than that it's quiet, until you leave again around 10am, again with your bag over your shoulder. You look tired, yawning and dragging your feet. The bounce in your step is gone, Bucky notices, and he wonders if it has anything to do with your abduction.

They keep fast forwarding, but when the time stamp shows 11.30pm, Bucky's chest plummets. He knows you're not coming back.

Sam looks at him. “Calm down, man. You look like you’re about to explode!” he hisses, putting his hand on Bucky’s shoulder.

Bucky shakes him off and glares. “Because I’m this close.”

“But that won’t do her any good, will it? We gotta keep our cool, don’t do anything rash.” Sam's voice is still calm. Bucky doesn't know how he does it.

"Fine." Bucky takes a deep breath, just how his therapist taught him. "Show me what direction she went."

Sam clicks and drags the front camera onto the screen. You stop outside for a few minutes, then head down the street towards the city centre. They follow you on the screen until you disappear from view.

There's a shoe shop on the corner where you turned, so after thanking the hotel manager for the help, they follow your moves through the city. The shoe shop doesn't have a quality video, but it's enough to recognise you. Tracking you through the streets feels like an endurance hunt, Bucky thinks, impatient to find out who took you and where you are. That's all he can focus on: to get you back. And god have mercy on your kidnappers if you're not okay. Eventually Sam and Bucky stop at a small restaurant, but they don't have surveillance at all.

"Okay. Let's head to that Starbucks," Bucky says, nodding across the road. "They're bound to have surveillance, right?"

Sam rolls his shoulders. "Let's go."

The video shows three large figures, lurking in the shadows in one of the side streets. They're watching as you enter the café, and when you exit with a large coffee in hand, the gang is ready. The footage jumps a bit, but it captures the terror in your face, and Bucky feels like throwing up. You're hauled into a waiting van, it's an unmarked, normal van, but as it speeds away, luck strikes. The camera got a clear shot of the number plate.

Bucky lets Sam handle the rest. He can't shake the guilt, the pit in his stomach that grows larger and larger. And his anger grows too. Why didn't anybody react, nobody can convince him that nobody heard or saw anything. He watches as Sam talks on the phone, already mentally punching your kidnappers to a pulp. The metal arm flexes involuntarily.

Sam puts down the phone and turns to Bucky. "Okay, so here's what they told me: The van isn't connected to anything, they didn't even have a name for me. It's probably a fake number plate. But they said it's been spotted driving to and from a warehouse not too far from here. Let's go suit up while we're waiting for the address."

Bucky exhales. They better hurry up with the address. You've been in captivity for far too long already.

_______________________________________________________________________

It's quiet in the building now. You don't know what time it is; they've taken all your stuff, but you know it's late. Your eyes sting, both from exhaustion and from wanting to cry, not to mention your contacts are getting dry, but you refuse to remove them – not being able to see would terrify you. But neither sleep nor tears come. Sitting on the cot, wrapped in the blanket they thankfully provided, you are too wound up to relax enough to sleep. What if someone comes in while you're out? There's not much chance to defend yourself, but at least if you're awake  you can try to put up a fight.

How long have you been here? It's hard to tell. After the first shock they've pretty much left you alone. Except for the interrogation a few hours later. They kept asking you about where Bucky is, what he's doing, details on his mission, but you told them, truthfully, that you don't know anything. And they seem to believe you. But they still won't let you go. You sigh and pull the blanket tighter around your shoulders. Even if you knew everything you wouldn't have told them anything, but you didn't say that out loud.

Suddenly there's a loud bang reverberating through the walls. Instinctively you flinch, trying to make yourself smaller. Your blood roar in your ears, and it feels like your heart is trying to beat its way through your rib cage. There's a pause – the silence is deafening, then someone yells. You hear gunshots. Heavy boots rush past your door. It's torture just listening to the fight, not knowing what will happen. What if there's a fire? Or what if you're abandoned here? Is this how you're gonna die?

The fight is getting closer. You drag the blanket over your head, locking your arms around your neck. Unfortunately it doesn't mute the sounds, and you have to remind yourself to keep breathing. Slowly the fight dies down, and for a moment everything is calm. You feel woozy, grateful that you're already sitting down, and you steel yourself for what comes next.

The door opens. Heavy boots slaps against the hard floor. Someone blocks out the light, and you feel a gentle hand on your shoulder, making you flinch and whimper.

A soft voice whispers in your ear. "Y/N?"

You forget to breathe again.

"Y/N," the voice repeats, coaxing you out of your makeshift cocoon.

You look up, and into the eyes of the man you never thought you'd see again. His face is blood-spattered, and his expression is a murderous rage, but the moment your eyes meet, he softens. "Bucky," you breathe, folding yourself out, and reaching for him like a toddler.

He scoops you up, holding you close as you begin to sob into his neck, and he rocks you back and forth until you calm a bit. "Are you hurt?"

Shaking your head, you climb down from his lap and looks over at Sam, hovering by the door. There's a look in his eyes that you can't quite decipher.

"You're bleeding," Bucky says, touching your lip gingerly.

"Oh." You don't know what else to say, as he helps you up on your feet. His arm stays around your shoulders all the way out into open air, and you lean into his embrace. The building is littered with bodies, some are definitely dead, others are being detained by soldiers dressed in black. Your knees buckle from the sight.

"Hey, I've got you," Bucky murmurs into your hair.

"Thank you."

"For what?"

"For coming to get me."

"Of course," Sam says, offering you a reassuring smile. "Why shouldn't we?"

You exhale shakily through your nose. "I thought you were busy saving the world and all."

Bucky pulls you closer.

"Don't you know?" Sam asks quietly, so no one else can hear. "You are his world."

_______________________________________________________________________

@schwarzwaelder-kirschtorte

[pheonixfire4015]

Peace in the Midst of the Storm By Eowyn38

Note: I have not written in a very long time and I didn’t have time to have someone review any mistakes. Its not my best, I am tired, so please forgive any kinks I didn’t work out. I couldn’t focus on homework so instead I wrote this. These people are fictional but often times a person will see similarities in character or circumstances with their real life that makes the fictional real. Having Elliot back has given me something to look forward to every week again. At the end of the day I just want these two to find some peace. We always get to see the trauma that does happen, but we have yet to get resolution in how an individual even begins to unravel pain and trauma. I wrote this because I guess it’s what I hope a real conversation will be between Elliot and Olivia on their journey towards healing. Its a start in the right direction, as they both have been dealing with pain and trauma in the same way. Surviving trauma is easier than dealing with the devastation it leaves in its wake. I know that based on my own trauma. Hope you enjoy.

Elliot and Olivia Reunion Post Episodes:

Rated: PG

Its 3:35 on a Friday night. Olivia is staring at the white speckled ceiling as it changes shape and color before her eyes the longer she stares. The emotions and thoughts leaving her unable to do anything else but lay there still. No amount of thinking or feeling ever seems to lead to any resolution or relief.  There comes a point in life where the pain and emotions become too much and the human brain in its defense turns everything else to a numb gray haze just to continue to function and cope. It took years perfecting and working to keep her emotions in appropriate tightly locked boxes. For the job, for her mother, for the people who depend on her. Elliot was her partner and best friend, but somewhere down the line he became, well, everything. There was this sense of shame felt every time she allowed a trickle of vulnerability, need, love and longing to spill over. Elliot and all he meant was something she had wrestled with for longer than she can even recall anymore. She often would spend time thinking when and where it all began to unravel. Learning to live with the gaping hole his presence had left, comparing every man to his shadow had become an everyday battle. With each traumatic situation the desperate desire to see him come through the door to save and protect yet again was something she wished she could crush completely. But she had learned to live with it. Having him back, hearing his voice, holding him…. Had become a dream and a nightmare Liv was not prepared to deal with. Seeing him had been like a magnet snapping back to where it’s supposed to be, It was like feeling apart of herself breathe again, a part of herself she forced to become dorment.

Olivia rubbed her hands over her face to ease the dry ache of her eyes and turned on her side while letting out a sigh, longing for some relief from the weight of it all. The range of emotions she didn’t want to feel came in waves, all she wanted was to sleep to escape, but with each wave it left unending hopelessness in its wake as to how to navigate it all, wanting at times to sink into a numb haze instead. She spent her whole existence learning to live with these types of emotions. Seeing the look in her mother’s eyes knowing she was the product of rape. As one of very few females on the job seeing the male cops look at her with distrust and disrespect- having to constantly prove your worth. Coming home to an empty void of a home all thoughts of motherhood and family and connection a far-away dream. Trauma from the job, by this time... well... she had simply stopped counting the numbers of wounds left. Noah… had become the one touchstone, the one rock she could pour herself into. The one truly good thing in her life.

Elliot’s words rang in her head bringing with them questions she didn’t want to ask. He was in an emotional war desperately grasping onto any lifeline and madly pushing away at the same time. She knew and understood the signs.  Watching him navigate this made her flip flop from anger, to frustration, to desperation, to love, to guilt, and then sinking into numbness. While in the same breath realizing the irony in it all. She too was drowning and unsure how to navigate her way out. His letter was clear, there was something he needed to share but in the right moment. What could he share she didn’t know, or did she know? Could she trust him... his emotions, his words? Could she trust he would not push her away, walk away yet again, leaving her with less than she had before?

“I love you…. You mean the world to me….”

Rang over and over, threatening to undo the delicate balance she had created to manage the daily raging war of emotions and thoughts. She kept telling herself all the rationale reasons to keep the inappropriate emotions at bay. Inappropriate was the only word that could summarize the emotions she had shoved to the deepest part of herself, what other word was there for these emotions, for falling in love?  Elliot was her partner, a man who had been married, had a family, a wife who just recently died, a woman Liv loved and respected. She repeated the words over and over willing her rationale mind to win over irrational emotions. Elliot had called 4 times today. She should answer, she should call him, she should talk over what he found in Kathy’s investigation, but she feared if she did the delicate balance she was struggling to hold together would collapse. Was she really that close to the edge, all because of one person?

Knock… knock…

She turned her head to the noise she heard in the other room. Again… Knock…. After determining it was not the neighbors, Noah, or an intruder…  she collapsed into her pillow with a sigh…. Elliot. It took all she had left to walk to the door knowing who she would see on the other end of the peep hole. There he stood, head down, dejected, tired…. With a sigh, she batten-down the hatches within and opened the door.

“Elliot… its 3am…”

“I know…” he shook his head… she could see the motors working in his mind… but the words just fell flat to silence. For a few moments their eyes just did the talking and the communicating.

With a sign she stepped aside and let him in. She pointed to Noah’s room letting Elliot know they needed to remain quiet.  He nodded wordlessly. She stood watching as he paced… back and forth… back and forth… restless, rubbing his hands over his face and head. Olivia closed her eyes, took a deep breath, and walked over, placing a hand on his forearm, blocking his restless movements.

“Elliot… sit… please.”

He looked at her with wild red eyes, hooded in darkness. He nodded. Liv sat on the couch. He sat on the edge of a chair on the other side of the room. His leg moving uncontrollably. For an uncomfortable amount of time there was just silence.

“Look… I know the last thing you want right now is me here. I feel like I keep saying I am sorry, like they are these empty words that don’t mean anything anymore. I keep letting all of you down. I also know you have your own battles Olivia” Elliot’s leg stops moving for a moment as she watched him try to find the words to articulate, trying to detangle the balled-up twine of emotions. She allowed the silence to stretch, allowing him the space and time. 

“I don’t know what to do with all of this Liv, and I don’t even know where to start unpacking this. I keep wanting to do what I have always done, what has always worked.”

At that she spoke… “Has it worked Elliot?” Her voice has a twinge of hardness she didn’t intend, or had she? Maybe the anger she felt was not just his struggle but her own inability to fix herself. 

Again, silence stretched.

He signed deeply…. “No… It hasn’t worked, but it’s what has been easier to manage to prevent from becoming a burden to all of you.”

She spoke again… “Have you managed it, has it been easier for everyone else around you to manage?”

With that she watched his face drop… confused and deflated. His head fell. His leg resumed their restless bounce. 

In that moment she regretted her questions and tone knowing her own struggled had tainted her emotions. She prepared for him to spring up red faced and leave.

“Well, I guess if I was better at this, I wouldn’t be here, would I?”

Olivia shook her head… “Look Elliot, I am sorry. I don’t want to fight with you. I am exhausted. I am here if you need to talk. But you are pushing me away, your kids away, and right now more than anything they need you and you need them. You’re not the only one going through this... this hell.”

Elliot’s hands came up again, rugging his face, wishing… wishing this was easier.  

“You’re right. I don’t know what that means or what I am going to do… but you’re right.”

At this Liv’s face and body poster changed, relaxed. Some things had changed, evolved. 

“You read the letter?”

Liv shook her head… “Elliot, we don’t have to do this right now. There’s….Its not the right…” But the words were just lost.

“Look Liv, your right. The timing is off. It’s always been off. But I think it’s the only way we can move forward. You’re right, I need to make amends with my kids, to Kathy, but if I am to move on from all of this I need to make amends to you as well.”

At that Liv had no arguments left, 3 am or not, right time or not.

“I don’t even know how to start this….. You know the job is the job. It comes with its battles. Talking over things that we saw with Kathy was just never anything I ever considered. I did my job and I came home and dealt with it. I don’t know when it happened but a time came where I just wasn’t... managing anymore. All I wanted was solitude. Over time the connection I had with you Liv, what we went through, was unlike any relationship I had had before.”

Liv shook her head, understanding without needing anything more…

“Let’s face it, it was me shutting down and the repercussions, that caused me to lose my family the first time and I almost lost you. And it’s the same mistake I am making now…”

There was silent reflection for a good minute before he continued.

“When Kathy and I divorced. I failed in my marriage, I failed in caring for my kids who were a wreck, and I was unraveling. My feelings… for you…”

Elliot shook his head, unsure how to fully articulate.

“They went deeper than I really know how to express. I felt it was a weakness. You took up so much of my thoughts, so much of my world. The worry, the care, the guilt, wanting better for you…. I felt I was losing my ability to do the one thing I was good at and that was the job and having your back. I resented you for emotions I didn’t know what to do with. Those feelings then changed into something more, into something different…”

Elliot looked up, to scan Olivia’s brown eyes. She shook her head… the depth of her knowing exactly what he meant… while her brain remained a blank mess.

“Ok…. I loved you Liv. I fell... in love with you.” With that said Elliots heard dropped. “There was a part of me that wanted to reach out, wanted to be honest with you because I felt this shift. I felt like the same battle I was fighting; you were also fighting.”

He paused, letting the heaviness of that sink in. He watched as tears began to brim in those eyes he knew so well. His restlessness ceased, and with a new determination he stood. He sat down gingerly in front of her on the coffee table.

“I knew the implications if we were honest with each other, and all the risks we would be taking. The thought of losing you. I was drowning, as I am now, and I went back to what was comfortable. What was easier. Kathy got pregnant. I knew in that moment what I had done was unfair to her and unfair to you. It was selfish. I went back to my family, but it didn’t stop what I was feeling… from getting harder, harder to compartmentalize, harder to ignore.”  

The tears that had been pooling finally spilled in a steady stream onto Liv’s cheek. In an involuntary response he reached out, and stroked it away. Liv’s eyes widened. He pulled his hand away and lay them back in his lap, looking down at the damp of her tears on the tips of his fingers.

“The job had worn me down, I was scared of ruining… everything Liv… if I stayed. What type of man had I become? I knew there would be a time I would no longer be able to be who I should be to my wife and be who I wanted to be…. For you. So, instead of being honest, I was a coward Liv, I walked away. I justified in my head, I felt if I left it would give you the ability to move on and give me the ability to devote myself fully to my family…. And give me the time to work on becoming a better man, a better dad, a better husband.”

He ranched across the short divide to grab her hand, which were balled tightly together in her lap. She looked down at his outstretched hand, a peace offering. She undid her hands that had become white from the pressure, and rest her own in his. They were ice cold. For a moment they just looked down, at the connection between them. He began gently rubbing the life back into her cold hands. 

Without looking up she said, “If you had been honest with me, even if I told you I felt the same, I would have never allowed you to, I would never expect….”

Liv's head shook adamantly but not knowing how else to articulate her thoughts. 

He looked up, “I know Liv. Unfortunately, I can’t say...” Elliots head hung unsure if he should say what he really felt...”I can't say I would have been strong enough to be that honorable. I knew seeing you, hearing your voice, would knock down any resolve I had left….”

She looked up, realization rolling over her in waves. He loved her, she had not been alone in her slow descending battle of emotions. She shook her head, tears falling this time without stopping. All she had done to survive, all the emotions and battles, all the coping mechanisms, they were being undone.

“Funny thing is, I went to the other side of the world. And The first thing I thought of when I woke up and the last thing I thought about when I went to bed…. Was you. I loved my wife Liv please hear that, but I also loved you. Both of those loves were so vastly different.”

With that Liv groaned and the tears came stronger, she grasped tightly to his hand. Something in her that felt lost and abandoned desperately needed to hear… every… word… of this.

“Should I reach out, how would you react, had I destroyed everything, If I called would I cave and come home, what if you had been able to move on and I ruined that delicate balance? So, days just turned into years. But…. When I saw you that night Liv. I felt like a missing part of myself was found again. With all of this…. Seeing you again… Losing Kathy… I just don’t know what to do with…” He motioned with his hands… “all of this.”

With that silence filled the room once again. Liv had nothing… no words… nothing to give. His words hurt, they healed, they explained, they gave hope, they were the end of one journey and the beginning of a new one. They sat there, both hands now intertwined in her lap. She lifted his hand to her face, nuzzling into their warmth, and looked deeply into his eyes. She planted a small kiss to the inside of his palm. It’s all she had to give in that moment. He moved closer and stoked her cheek, trying to wipe dry every tear he may have caused, and shook his head. He understood. She had forgotten how easy it could be between them, this silent communication.

“Look, this is a lot.. too much… I don’t know how long this is going to take. I don’t know if I have ruined this. I just hope…. We can maybe start over, start clean. I’d love to get to know Noah. I’d love to get my best friend back. I just need… time.”

In that moment Liv felt lighter than she had in a long time, she shook her ahead again wordlessly.

Elliot’s hand dropped back down to her lap… “Can I stay?” She looked at him unsure. “I’m just… so tired Liv… so tired…” Without hesitation Liv moved over and Elliot crossed to sit on the couch next to her. He laid down allowing his head to rest in her lap. He let out a sigh he didn’t even realize he had been holding. Her arms came up around him, cradling his head.

“You have my word I’ll be gone before Noah wakes up.” She stared down at him, smiling, grateful for his understanding even in her need to protect her son, stroking the hair behind his neck.

“Thank you, now rest.”

In minutes, his beathing became long and even. His body relaxed and the restlessness ceased, the waging war stilled if only for a little while. She looked down taking in words she never thought she would hear. At some point she would have to unpack them, figure out what they meant, but for now, this was enough. They both had a long way to go and a lot of work to do. She leaned her head back to rest on the cushion of the couch, staring again at the white speckled ceiling, looking with new eyes, and soon sleep took over. In the eye of the storm, Silent, peaceful, still.

[fandom-necromancer]

Feeling from the heart

This was prompted by the wonderful @smolandangry001! I hope you enjoy!

Fandom: Detroit become human | Ship: Reed900 (Warnings: description of past-surgery medical care)

‘Oh, would this break never end’, Gavin sighed in deep content. Nines scanned the man more lying than sitting on a bench in Chandler Park, five minutes from the precinct, eyes closed and bathing in the sun. Immediately the warm feeling in his chest re-emerged, as it did so often these days. He should really get his heat sensors checked soon, if these malfunctions continued to come up. It was one of the first warm days of spring and Gavin had hung his jacket over the backrest sitting there in his hoodie with the sleeves pushed to his elbows. ‘You would get sunburn’, Nines stated factually. Gavin laughed. ‘Yeah, I guess. But this day’s too nice to spend it behind a desk.’ ‘I will trust your assessment and agree.’ ‘Come on.’ Gavin sat up and crossed his arms. ‘Phcking winter’s finally over, you don’t freeze your balls off being outside and you finally don’t both arrive and leave work when It’s dark. That’s not doing something for you?’ ‘I don’t care about the weather. I am waterproof and can operate in arctic temperatures. I am also not dependent on an extrinsic stimulus to update my inner clock.’ He noticed Gavin’s eye roll and hesitated to abandon the conversation just yet. ‘But… I guess as you like this sort of weather more, I will decide to like it too.’

Nines had thought that to satisfy the human but instead was met with a confused stare. ‘You decide to like something?’ ‘Yes. I wasn’t programmed with aesthetic preferences. So, I decided to like certain things others around me like based on work climate efficiency, general opinion on the subject and logic.’ ‘Oh, you do? Please elaborate’, Gavin said, and Nines missed the sarcastic undertones. ‘Humans generally seem to like dry weather more than rain. But they don’t like too hot temperatures. Also snow is an exception. Logic states I don’t need to bother about the weather. As the weather mostly is a topic for small-talk, I too don’t need it to better my integration in the force.’ ‘Geez, they really hadn’t had human interaction in mind when they build you, had they?’, Gavin sighed and Nines dropped his head minutely. ‘I am a prototype for a soldier unit. They had other tests in mind. Successors could have been outfitted with a rudimentary social module to fight alongside humans if desired.’ Gavin pushed himself forwards and rested his elbows on his knees. ‘Shit, Nines. Okay, back to the weather: Why did your neutral stance suddenly change then?’ ‘Because you like it.’ ‘Oh, and that is important because…?’, he asked. Nines didn’t know what to answer at that, but was saved before his LED could settle on red long enough for the human to notice.

‘We have a new case.’ ‘What?!’ ‘Gavin, we need to move out immediately!’ ‘Wha- Nines, what the hell?’ But he was already on his feet, fetching his jacket from the bench. ‘Hostage situation at a Comerica bank, I got the address. Demands the money the bank denied him as a loan. We are the closest to the scene, but SWAT’s already on their way.’ ‘The hell? I’m not a negotiator and neither are you!’ ‘Connor’s on the way too.’ ‘Goddamnit.’ They ran towards the street outside the park gates right as their police car arrived. Nines jumped behind the wheel and barely had to wait for Gavin to enter after him. The human immediately fastened his seatbelt and grabbed for something to hold onto, because Nines’ driving style could be described as wild at best. It wasn’t reckless, as the android calculated every manoeuvre to the millisecond, but still Gavin had his reasons to normally be the one behind the wheel.

Nines put on the sirens and left the side of the road with squeaking tires. Weaving through traffic at dangerous speeds, they arrived in less than ten minutes at the bank.

They had taken their first steps towards the building, as someone shouted out to them: ‘Stop right there!’ Through the glass doors they could see into the lobby, where not one but two people stood. One of them kept watch over the civilians cowering on the floor, while the other one held one hostage at gunpoint. Nines immediately scanned the situation, then tapped Gavin on the arm. ‘That’s good. Not another step, or I’ll blow his brain out!’ Gavin tensed, but Nines just removed his own hand from his pistol. ‘No, you won’t. This gun is fake, you purchased it from a toy store.’

Gavin frowned and looked up at Nines. But apparently, the android was right, as the two cursed, threw their plastic guns away and made a run for it the exact same moment, SWAT arrived. Gavin sighed, then began to pursue them, followed close by Nines. The two wannabe-bank-robbers were fast and knew the area, turning corners on them and even gaining on them until they got to a long straight stretch of road. Nines extrapolated their paths and as soon as he saw the car, he doubled his efforts. The first managed to enter the car, but with one inhuman leap, Nines landed on the hood, causing the first one to freeze in shock and the other one to abort his plan and run. Gavin continued to run after the fleeing man, while Nines started distorting the car doors to effectively trap the man until their backup would have caught up with them.

He ran after Gavin, who was in a far better position at the moment. He would catch up, but this one was likely Gavin’s to arrest. True to it, at the end of the road, Gavin had managed to catch up to him. With one last effort of strength, he leapt forwards, gripping the man by the shoulder and jolting him around. He looked at the Detective, who saw the panic in his eyes and was ready to call it quits by twisting his arm around and making the arrest. Unfortunately this man had been a bit more precarious than his accomplice and had packed a kitchen knife to the toy gun that he produced out of seemingly nowhere. In a reaction coming from panic and mindless self-preservation, the man pushed the knife into Gavin’s chest.

Gavin let go, eyes wide in shock as he saw the handle of it sticking out of his clothes. He wondered why he didn’t feel anything, then the pain set in and made him fall to his knees in a silent, breathless scream. In the distance he heard footsteps, but it didn’t seem to matter when all his eyes could fix on was the handle at his chest. He had been stabbed. Oh shit, he had been stabbed! Suddenly there were hands on him, gently laying him down on the sidewalk. ‘Nines!’, Gavin huffed hoarse. ‘Nines, phck, it hurts, Nines. What- Phck, there’s something inside me, get it out, get it out!’ He tried to grab the handle himself, but his sweaty fingers were caught by Nines’ cold ones. ‘Nines!’, the Detective cried in panic. ‘Nines, please, take it out! I- I’m scared, I- It hurts so much.’ The android’s unmoving face stared back at him, eyes rapidly trailing his body, without doubt analysing something. Good. Nines never made an error. But with the place the knife stuck in… He lifted his head to see the handle, but the android pushed him down again. ‘Nines? Nines, I think it’s in my heart. Phck, Nines, I can feel it. That bastard stabbed me in the heart, I will- Will I die, Nines? I don’t want to die!’ The android’s eyes still scanned him, but now his face contorted and seemed to form an expression for maybe the very first time.

Gavin couldn’t really make out what happened next as his vision faded out when the pain hit hard. Nines must have lifted him up and run back to the police cars, because he found himself lying on the bench in the back of the car. ‘Gavin. Listen. Lay still, make sure the knife stays inside and don’t touch it unless necessary!’ ‘Make sure…’, Gavin slurred, practically feeling the painful outline of the knife inside of him. ‘It stays in?’ ‘Yes! It increases your chance at survival.’ The roar of the engine seemed ten times louder than normally and almost swallowed everything Nines said. It somehow felt as if it would swallow himself, too. Gavin couldn’t focus on anything long enough to sense something, but the pain remained sharp.

He distantly heard the cacophony of sirens, tires, shouts and something that might have been his name. He saw the faceless heads of people and a regular flash of lights. He was moved, he smelled the chemical stench of disinfectant and nitril gloves and somewhere in between the iron taste of blood that made it hard to breathe. Sensations overwhelmed him, let him feel weirdly out of his own body, as if the knife was the only thing keeping his consciousness connected with it. There was a single cold touch to his hand that stood out to him as if it somehow mattered the most in all of this, then everything slipped away to peaceful nothingness.

-

‘Nines! Nines, are you alright?’, Connor’s voice was detected, but was categorized as a low priority, as his systems were invested in keeping everything at bay that threatened to fry them. Nines’ stress levels had never been this high, and lesser androids would had already self-destructed. Sometimes it was good to be designed as a deviancy-proof model as it meant he could deal with it better than others. Not that Nines could rely on it, he had deviated after all. But he was still here and so were his worries. ‘Nines.’ A hand on his shoulder added to the auditory input and caused him to look up then. ‘Connor.’ ‘Are you okay?’ Nines blinked at this highly illogical question, given that his LED was blinking red ever since he could scan Gavin. ‘Obviously not. I am…’ He thought about his status, not knowing what word could describe it better. ‘I am experiencing a lot of stress at the moment, likely caused by my partner’s injury.’ ‘I know, I wanted to know what you are feeling.’ Nines didn’t answer. How could he? He was never meant to… feel. He wasn’t programmed to detect feelings neither in himself nor in others. And even if he knew his internal status and what exactly was different to normal, he didn’t know how to express it.

‘Cold’, he tried, even though that had to be a malfunction as his components were running dangerously hot, one after the other. ‘I am under a lot of stress and I… When I scanned Gavin, he had a thirty percent survival rate. By the time we arrived at the hospital, it was down to twenty-two. As he was rushed to the operation room, it had dropped to eleven point three. I can only imagine how detrimental the removal of the knife will be to his expectation. It… It would be detrimental to my efficiency if he died.’ ‘He will make it’, Connor tried. ‘Unlike machines, humans are resilient. Working up to a hundred years without maintenance, regenerating from life threatening conditions and constantly fighting against other organisms that would be detrimental to them. Gavin is… particularly resilient if you so will. You did what you could do. Now you have to wait and let the other humans save him.’ ‘The chances are slim he will survive.’ ‘Just because it is unlikely, doesn’t mean it is impossible’, Connor smiled at him. Nines looked at him and for the first time wished he knew how to smile like that. Maybe then the last thing Gavin had seen wouldn’t be the faces of strangers and machines. It tipped his stress levels even higher.

‘Nines. Nines, listen to me. You have to calm down. Otherwise I would have to shut you down right now so Gavin has a partner to get back to when he survives this!’ But Nines couldn’t calm down when he didn’t even know what was causing this. It should have been a simple analysis, a simple cause of action: Get Gavin to a hospital as soon as possible and take every action in his power to ensure his survival. Now he had to wait. He shouldn’t be this stressed. He should be fine. But something messed with his systems, some processes that took logic away from him and left him in chaos. When the offer of an interface came up, Nines took it as if it was his only salvation.

He was hurled into his “zen garden” – an empty mesh of an engine housing his avatar. Red error messages were popping up all around him, almost forming a cage around him making him fall to the ground. After a short loading sequence, Connor appeared next to him, quickly rushing to him helping him up. Only then he looked around at the error messages. ‘RA9, Nines, I told you to copy mine, this is creepy’, he muttered, then started brushing a few away, taking over Nines systems without the other android even trying to intervene. The older RK managed to quarantine some of the more destructive sequences, then loaded his own zen garden as a means of comfort.

He was quickly met with a storm, rain pressing down on them and thunder crashing over the artificial sky. ‘Hell, Nines, you really aren’t okay at all…’ He pulled Nines to the central pavilion to get out of the rain and helped him sit down. ‘Nines. You have to tell me how you feel. All of it.’ ‘I don’t want him to die!’, Nines shouted out, now that Connor’s self-analysing protocols bled through the connection and made his inner turmoil somewhat clearer. ‘I need him, and I want him to come back, I…’ He looked up at Connor, his avatar’s face far more expressive as his real body could be. He looked desperate, but also shocked at the realisation. ‘I love him…’ ‘You love him?’, Connor asked, expecting almost anything but his younger brother, who hadn’t been designed to interact with humans at all, to fall in love.

‘I… I wondered why I always felt warm around him. I thought it was a malfunction, but as temperature is irrelevant for me, I disregarded it. He made my thorium pump race whenever we were close, but we mostly get close to each other on missions, so I chalked it up to the stress. I… Now it feels as if I froze over and as if my pump beats only to sustain me with the minimum. I’m… afraid? Is that the right description?’ Connor nodded and held him close as the thunder rumbled around them. ‘It’s okay to be afraid. I wouldn’t know how I would react were Hank to almost die. I can only imagine how it feels for you. You were never really confronted with such stressors.’ ‘I want it to end. I want Gavin to come back.’ ‘He will.’ ‘How can you be so sure?’ Connor looked at him. Telling him how Gavin was an ambitious asshole that was simply too stubborn to die so easily, wouldn’t help, so he just sighed and held his brother while keeping his systems stable. ‘Experience.’

- The surgery took eight hours. Only then Connor dared to close the interface and listen as the doctor explained to Nines what they had done. The smile on the woman’s face let Nines’ stress levels sink almost as much as the message itself had: Gavin was stable and had been taken to the CCU to be observed as he woke up. Of course Nines wasn’t accepting that fact until he had seen it for himself and the doctor reluctantly send him a nurse to take him there.

As he entered the room, his pump stocked. Gavin lied there in a dimmed room, a respiratory tube still in his throat and hooked up to several monitoring machines. But his chest was rising and falling, and the heart monitor was beeping steadily. ‘You can wait here for him to wake up. He won’t be able to speak with the tube, but if everything works out, we will remove it after a few hours. Call us if you need anything.’ ‘Can I-‘ Nines felt bad for asking as he was saying it, but now he had already begun, he could as well continue. ‘Can I hold his hand?’ ‘Of course. Don’t touch his chest, but I believe it will help him a great deal waking up with it.’ She gave him an honest smile and Nines hurried over, pulling himself a chair and gripping Gavin’s hand immediately. Maybe with a bit too much pressure, but Nines couldn’t help it. Fixed on his face, guarding his vital signs, his fingers soon relaxed and moved to his wrist to monitor his pulse himself. It finally let him relax. His heart was beating. His heart was beating slowly and steadily. He was alive. His human was alive.

Warnings he had disregarded until now popped up and Nines noticed how bad his condition had been before. He would have to thank Connor later. Maybe for more than only keeping his systems up and running. He looked at Gavin’s closed eyes, then to the scar on his nose, eyes brushing past the tube in his mouth to the huge reddened stitched cut on his chest. It was strange to think it had never occurred to him before that what he had deemed malfunctions could have been social protocols his deviancy had gifted him with during his adaption to life without a purpose. He loved Gavin. It was a strange word to use, but what was it but a declaration for complex actions of his body he wasn’t able to control? He loved him. He couldn’t wait to tell him.

He had to wait half an hour – a both endless time and gone in the blink of an eye. At once, regular breathing changed to one longer inhale, then eyes slowly slid open, sluggishly rolling around taking in his surroundings. They closed again Nines felt Gavin’s hand gripping his unconsciously. The human’s brows furrowed then, and he looked at his side. He tried to speak, but the tube muffled it into incomprehensible gibberish. ‘I’m here’, Nines said anyways. ‘You are at the hospital. You were stabbed.’ He had to stop Gavin’s free hand from trailing where the knife had stuck in his chest and held it too. ‘I took you here. The doctors performed surgery right away. You are okay. You are stable, now your body just has to heal.’

Gavin pressed his head into the pillow and closed his eyes, breathing deeply. Nines didn’t know what to do and imitated what Connor had done with him a while ago. He started brushing his thumb over his knuckles and if his skin retracted, he told himself it was a malfunction of recreating the scene. ‘The nurse said the tube will be removed soon if everything is alright. I… I have to tell you something then.’ Gavin frowned at him then, but Nines tried his horrible recreation of a forced smile and the human relaxed.

Two hours later, Nines had to step back as the nurses did the check-up on Gavin, inspecting the incision for infection and removing the tube, helping him to cough without irritating his wound and giving him some water for his dried out throat. After leaving a set of clothes, they left the room and Nines moved closer again, taking Gavin’s hand without hesitation. ‘You are a goddamn lifesaver, toaster’, the human whispered hoarsely at him, but smiled afterwards. ‘Never going to let me live that down, eh?’ Nines just watched him motionless. ‘You wanted to tell me something?’ The android nodded and scanned Gavin once again. ‘I love you’, he admitted quietly. ‘You…’ ‘I loved you for a while. I only noticed now because- My systems registered malfunctions that were gone as you were in danger of dying. I… I were short of self-destructing as Connor came to help. He helped me and I realised I… I loved you.’

Gavin stared at him and Nines was awkwardly made aware that until recently they hadn’t even been real work partners, much less time they had spent as friends. Maybe- ‘Nines?’ He looked up and silently waited for Gavin to continue. ‘I can’t sit up yet, so I have you to come lean forwards.’ Confused, Nines did so, asking himself what Gavin was planning. The Detective huffed a laugh as Nines had simply leaned straight forwards, hovering over his face. He couldn’t really reach his goal from there, but he just shrugged and took what he could.

Nines recoiled slightly, as he was kissed on the point of his nose. He was still processing as Gavin giggled and had to stop with a wince, as the movement pulled at his wound. ‘You got the message?’, he whispered and coughed. ‘I…’ Nines felt the heat coming back into his chest and sensed his pump running faster. On top of it, his synthetic skin glitched and turned blue around his cheeks. ‘I think I do.’

[cupcakemolotov]

Feel Like Home

Had a really strange dream last night and @goldcaught talked me into giving it some shape and writing this out.  Just a quick little thing, will expand on it if I have time/the muse for it. Not really a huge number of warnings for this one. Does reference past potential sex but no details. Just magical shenanigans and Bonnie and Caroline being besties.

Caroline bit her lip, studying Bonnie’ face. Her best friend rarely wore such a worried expression anymore, but in this case she couldn’t blame her. In less than forty-eight hours, she’d dropped whatever her witchy business had been, gotten a cat sitter, and hauled butt to New York City. 

And all because Caroline had called her with an SOS. 

Fingers curling into her palms, she glanced around the high rise apartment they were currently camped out in. The space was gorgeous, all warm wood and wide open windows with lush furniture that invited you to linger. The floor was saved from being chilly thanks to a collection of gorgeous rugs, the art work on the walls tasteful and heart-breakingly gorgeous. The bathroom had been copy/pasted directly from her dreams and the tub was gorgeous and everything she wanted in life. 

It was an apartment that she coveted, and one that was millions and millions of dollars outside of her price range. Just the view of New York City alone was a multi-million dollar addition. But her favorite fall jacket had been hanging in the closet, she’d found her awesome, weekend date to-go bag on the side of the bed. It had included a change of clothes and kick ass underwear. She felt safe here, welcome, and had absolutely no memory of how she’d gotten here or whose cologne lingered on the sheets.

“Okay,” Bonnie said finally, rubbing the wrinkle line between her eyebrows tiredly. “I’m really, really glad you called.”

Caroline eyed her doubtfully. “You don’t look happy.”

Bonnie waved her hand. “That’s not about you. Not entirely, at least.”

“Well, I’m not sure who else I’m going to call when I wake up in the middle of supernatural shenanigans, but I’m glad I called you too.” Taking a deep breath, Caroline looked at her beseechingly and tried not to panic. “How did I get here? I couldn’t find any texts explaining and we both know I'm a serial texter. How did I not send you fifty messages about my underwear choices for my date? My shoes? My dress? There isn’t a single hair check selfie on my phone, Bon. That’s impossible. I don’t just let someone talk me into visiting New York without at least a pro/con list two pages long.”

“Oh, I am aware,” Bonnie muttered. Running a hand down her face, she grimaced. “You can look at my phone for evidence later. But, Caroline. You’ve lived in New York for six months. You have a super cute closet for an apartment. I have pictures of that to prove it.”

“I…” her words died at the sincerity on Bonnie’s face. Blowing out a breath, because Bonnie Bennett would never lie about something like this, she cast her thoughts back and slowly nodded, relief heady. “Okay. Yeah. This spring. I remember packing my things in my rental and mom looking both relieved and tired.”

“Yeah, she’s wanted you to spread your wings for a few years. After the bout with cancer, you were being stubborn.” A lifted brow. “It was such a surprise. You. Being stubborn.”

Caroline gave her a disapproving look. “Do you have to say that like it's a bad thing?”

A small smile touched the edge of Bonnie’s mouth. “I guess it depends on what you are being stubborn about. Do you remember that big fancy PR party you were being forced to go to about six week ago?”

“No,” the word was said with great reluctance. “I feel like I should though.”

“Oh, you definitely should.” Bonnie drawled. “I didn’t attend and I know a great deal more about it than I would like. Clothes, shoes, departmental involvement and the dick from accounting who spends way too much time looking at your ass. Your boss, who insisted you go because she keeps thinking if she plays nice you’ll one day introduce her to your ex-werewolf boyfriend.”

Caroline did not want to talk about Tyler. “Your point, Bon?”

“You don’t remember Klaus.”

The name tugged something in her chest, a sense of awareness she couldn’t name, and Caroline frowned in concentration. “Who is Klaus?”

“The Black Dragon of New York.” At Caroline’s blank expression Bonnie sighed heavily. “Well, that confirms some of it at least.”

“Bonnie…”

“You moved to New York six months ago with a job offer for a Public Relations firm that specializes in supernatural reputations.” Her lips twisted in something like an amused grimace. “Your… history with witches and werewolves left you overqualified for the entry level position, as did your original internship in Chicago.”

Caroline pursed her lips. “By overqualified, that better be a comment on my personal awesomeness and not that they hired me because I dated a werewolf. That would have annoyed me. Why didn’t I remember that? I should have remembered that.”

“Because you don’t remember Klaus.”

Which made absolutely no sense to Caroline.

“Do I need to open wine? There was quite a collection that I am going to have no qualms drinking if that would absolutely help me understand the words you are saying.” Caroline threw her arms open wide. “I’m sure whoever lives here can afford it.”

“Spirits, if I thought it would help, I’d have brought tequila.” Bonnie looked heavenward and slouched backwards, something like gallows humor darkening her face. “Klaus Mikaelson is a dragon. A black dragon, specifically. He has been on top of the food chain for centuries, Caroline. He picked New York as his seat of power this century because he was bored in Europe. When he got here, he ate half the witch council, flattened three werewolf tribes, and casually made alliances with the necromages as if they were cute but annoying pets. He owns New York. He rules North America with a very, very short temper. Hell, I think he built this tower to his exact specifications because he now lives exactly one foot higher than every other building in New York. You would not believe how that man likes to lord over people.”

Caroline tried to recall the differences in dragon color and why that might be important and came up blank. “You’d think I’d know who he was with my job description,” she said faintly. “That seems like the kind of detail I would pick up on. And did you say this tower?”

Was there a floor above her? She hadn’t really spent a lot of time looking out the windows. She should have located the elevator and checked to see if it listed the number of floors. Figure out which one she was on. Something to do later then. 

“This tower. But more importantly, you’d probably have remembered that you tossed your drink in his face six weeks ago at said PR Party.” Bonnie’s expression grew even more pained. “I’m told the flowers he sent you after that were very nice.”

Caroline tried to suck in air. “I did what now?”

Bonnie nodded, motioning with her hand towards the bedroom. “Two days ago, you went on what I’m pretty sure was your third date. And you apparently stayed over.”

Eyes widening comically, Caroline glanced around the apartment again, trying to comprehend was she was seeing with new eyes. “Bonnie Bennett, I would remember fucking a dragon.”

Bonnie snorted, slapping a hand over her mouth as she visibly struggled not to laugh. Her shoulders shook, breath escaping in faint, choking noises. 

“This is not funny,” Caroline rasped, launching to her feet. Meeting her best friends watering eyes, she waved her hands dramatically around them. “You are telling me that I have been sleeping in Klaus Mikaelson’s bed for at least two days? And no one has been here to chuck me out? He hasn’t asked me to leave? Did he go on vacation? If he bailed on me like that and didn’t even so much as leave a note, I don’t care how hot he is, that was probably our last date.” Her eyes narrowed. “I even packed my cutest underwear. He did not deserve them.”

“You can keep the underwear thing to yourself,” Bonnie said hastily, voice still trembling with laughter. She cleared her throat, and tried again. “And to answer your question, no one knows where he is. That’s the problem. Forty-eight hours ago, the witch council announced they had successfully overthrown his hold on the city. Two hours later, you called me and said you couldn’t remember where you were or how you got here, but you had a really strong feeling that you shouldn’t leave.”

Caroline sat back down slowly. “What does that mean?”

Bonnie shook her head. “I don’t know. But what I do know isn’t… great.”

Caroline tried to smile. “That’s not really comforting.”

Bonnie ignored her. 

“Klaus brought you back here, to his… for lack of better word, lair. You probably had sex.” Bonnie’s nose wrinkled, but she kept going. “Dragons are possessive at best, Caroline. I don’t know what is going on between the two of you, but it took him over a month to sweet talk you into a date and yet you are keyed heavily enough into his wards that you were able to invite me, a witch, into his home without either of us getting fried.”

“Oh.”

“Yeah, oh. You also feel safe enough here that you didn’t bolt home in a walk-of-shame after waking up alone and suffering from amnesia. ” Her eyes were solemn, not a hint of tease on her face. “Whatever spell was used, it has wiped Klaus from your memory and life so thoroughly you don’t have so much as a text or picture linking back to him. So either you were caught up in the crossfire of the spell that took him out or the entirety of New York has also forgotten him. And none of those options are good ones.”

Caroline swallowed past her suddenly very dry mouth. “What does that mean?”

“I have no idea,” Bonnie said with a sigh. “But his magic is here, you're here. Which means he is alive and we are probably going to have to find him. And we will have to be careful, because if anyone from the council realizes that you’re probably the key to finding him, they’ll try to kill us. I’m already not super popular with some of the older factions, I cannot see this helping matters.”

“What, wait?” Caroline said up straight. “Why do we have to find him? Aren’t there other people who can do that? Didn’t you just say he rules this city? Surely he has like, minions or something that can do the heavy lifting?”

“If only.” Bonnie nodded towards her wrist. “But why us? Because you’re wearing his magic, Care. And while I definitely do not approve of dating a dragon, no matter what I think about it, there is no way his magic would cling to you if you hadn’t agreed to it. Probably. Which means when you aren’t dealing with a weird jedi mind wipe, you care about him. For some reason. And the Caroline I know doesn’t leave people behind.”

Caroline glanced down at her wrist and swallowed hard. Now that Bonnie had pointed it out, she could see the gold shimmer of a mark she couldn’t decipher beneath the familiar blue swallow on her right wrist. That mark felt… right. Familiar, as if she should have known it was there the entire time. Blowing out a breath, she glanced back at Bonnie’s unhappy face and grimaced. 

“I bet we can find tequila if we look hard enough.”

[dianasson]

Hello, I hope you are doing well! I wish to ask if you know any spells for banishing someone, or keeping them away from you as often as possible (keeping them traveling for work elsewhere, distracted etc). I am currently stuck in quarantine with a toxic person in my household. There is not much I can do in this situation but I’d like them to mind their own space and give me some peace and quiet, if possible. Hope you stay safe during this turbulent period! :)

Hi anon,  Firstly, I’m so sorry for your situation and for my delay in response. Hopefully this will be somewhat helpful! I’ve listed some banishing methods below.

There are a few magical actions you can employ, but I would recommend picking whatever seems most familiar to you and the kind of magic you’ve done in the past.

One trick I learned living in Italy is to throw coarse salt after the person as they’re walking away from you. Not a lot, just a pinch in their general direction. 

You can point a broom at the person from behind a closed door while you say your charm. 

You could gather the dirt from the bottom of their shoes and a little dust from the corners of their room, sweep it all towards and out the door. Sprinkle some of that coarse salt, and sweep it out after them. Better to do this on a windy day and sweep the dirt/dust away into the wind far from the house. Say your charm while you sweep.

You can write their name and your purpose (or even transcribe your charm) onto a tissue or some toilet paper, sprinkle some of their shoe-dirt (hair and nail clippings would be good too) onto it, tie it up with a little string and soak it in vinegar. Speak your charm, then flush it down the toilet. 

If you live near a river you can gather these same personal things from the person and bring them to the river (may at sunrise on a Tuesday) and say your charm as you toss or sweep it all into the water. It’s naturally best if this river heads out of town.

You’ve noticed that I say “your charm” a lot. What the hell am I talking about? Well, depending on your faith, tradition, heritage, etc. what you say in this ritual can vary quite a bit. But I’m going to give you a structure to work with!  Depending on the method of action you chose, the first verb of the charm might vary. It’s up to you! But you’re going to start with something like “I expel/chase/drive/banish/send you, (Name) from this home...” Here is where you add in a few analogies, which will really depend on your faith. I recommend using at least three. As an example, if you are Christian you could say “...as the almighty God expelled the rebellious angels from heaven, as He exiled Adam and Eve from Paradise, and as He cast the 7 demons from Mary Magdalene, so be expelled, exiled, and cast forth, (Name)…” or you can use whatever lore of exile and banishment exists in your religion. If that’s not really a thing for you, there are always natural forces you can draw analogies to! For example, “...as light banishes darkness, as hot banishes cold, and as the winds banish the clouds, so be banished, (Name)…” after which you could apply to the gods/spirits of the winds or waters or crossroads or the dead - however you decide to get rid of this person.  Finish it off with a “...and let (Name) be exiled from this place, that (they) cannot return until the sun meets the moon, the stars join with the earth, and the sea touches dry land...” and whatever other impossible things you can think of to stop them from coming back. Add in some “by the power of (Holy names) so be it” and you should have a nice little charm! It will take a bit of creativity to make it your own, but those are the bones! 

If you don’t want to send this person away for good, you could make a similar charm into a curse tablet, altering the wording and allusions to restrain and bind this person from the behaviors you mentioned. I won’t go too into detail here, but if you want to do that you can PM me! 

Lastly, it doesn’t hurt to soak some fresh borage flowers in spring water and sprinkle it around the house’s thresholds and corners. This will bring peace to the home.  I hope this was helpful! 

[mulderist]

Wicked Game

Chapter 1 // read on AO3 // @today-in-fic

Washington, D.C - 1948. Fox Mulder is a detective on the top vice unit; scandal, corruption, and lies come with the territory. He is forced to investigate a fellow officer and finds the lies go much deeper than the truth.

CHAPTER 2

U Street NW  3rd District  11:00am

I tried to tell myself I was rested, but that was a lie. Insomnia is a bitch and she makes a hell of a bedfellow. I couldn’t be bothered with the percolator in my apartment, though day old coffee hadn’t stopped me before. I didn't bother shaving, instead deciding to give my five o’clock shadow an extra half hour. My dress shirt lightly concealed the white bandage on my shoulder and I found a set of grey pants and matching suit jacket. I remembered my raw brimmed fedora and locked the door behind me. I debated whether or not to take the car but I didn’t want to deal with public transit this afternoon. The starter on the Pontiac needed a wake up call and after some persuading I made my way out of Alexandria.

I drove across the bridge and further into the district, stopping about a block away from the precinct so I could hop into the corner diner. I needed a decent cup of joe and some bacon and eggs. Sure it was almost lunch but I hadn’t eaten breakfast yet. 

When I arrived at headquarters the bullpen was buzzing like a hornet’s nest. I removed my hat and took a seat at my desk.  My shoulder burned and I felt the stitches pull slightly as I reached down to unearth a group of files from a bottom drawer. I winced as I placed everything I had on Vincenti atop my desk. From behind the stack of papers I watched a parade of suits and uniforms flow in and out of the captain’s office. A cloud of Morley cigarette smoke signaled each time the door opened or closed; it reminded me of how they choose the Pope in the Vatican. I was waiting for that smoke to turn black when I saw Skinner in the doorway. His eyes narrowed and he flicked two fingers like an impatient father. I gathered the assortment of files I was reviewing and brushed past the remaining uniforms that were heading back downstairs.

“Nice of you to join the party, Mulder.”

“Well after my patch job I decided to take a powder and take my phone off the hook. My shoulder is fine by the way.” Skinner took a seat behind his desk and asked me to close the door.

“Funeral arrangements have been made at Arlington. We’re still waiting to receive the final report from the coroner. This of course will tell me how he died but I want to know why. I know you and Detective Spender had been working for some time on the Vincenti ring.”

“Well you did make it a top priority for vice if I’m not mistaken. At the request of the mayor?” I questioned as I glanced at a crowded ashtray then lowered into one of Skinner’s leather chairs.

“Last year, the mayor asked the commissioner for help decreasing drug related crime in the district. And this precinct’s vice squad had a no-nonsense reputation which the commissioner spoke so highly of.” Skinner stated as he pressed back in his chair. “I assume those files you have are related to the case?”

I handed him the papers.

“Since you gave us this assignment, Spender and I discovered Vincenti likes to run operations out of the Navy Yard. Spender wanted to find an informant, or at least pressure someone into being an informant. We staked out a flophouse near the old factory and watched for any dealings. Saw a street-savvy kid who looked like an easy mark and followed him. I remember Spender turning on the bad cop routine and pinned the kid to the wall. We told him he could stay anonymous but he gave us a name; Dimitri Kristoff.”

“A Russian?” Skinner questioned with a raised eyebrow.

“A Russian alias. He gave us that and a phone number,” I replied with a shrug, “At the time, the less we knew the better. Spender may have contacted him and pushed for more info. Eventually we were able to build a file on our friend Dimitri.”

“That might give a little more motive for Spender’s murder,” Skinner stated as he leafed through the file, “Do you think Spender was sold a bad tip or do you suspect the kid?” 

“If Spender was dealt a bad hand he must have kept it pretty close to his chest. We were partners but I personally wasn’t very close to him. I kept Dimitri at arm’s length and I don’t think he’d squeal. You could stake my no-nonsense reputation on it.” I replied as I shifted in my seat, “Frankly if the kid knows what’s good for him he would get out of the game all together.”

“Admirable,” Skinner said while he closed the file and placed it back on top of the stack. I could see the wheels in his head turning, grinding as he tried to rearrange the puzzle pieces. He removed his wire-frame glasses and pinched the bridge of his nose. There was something itching at the back of my head.

“Sir. Can I speak off the record?”

“What is it?”

“I think Spender might have gotten in too deep with Vincenti.”

“Do you think he was working for him?”

“Not directly but he might have been pulling a side job. Thinking he could take a little off the top and offer the precinct’s blind eye as collateral.” 

“He wouldn’t have been that stupid, Mulder. He wasn’t a green recruit fresh out of the academy. He had several years climbing the ranks before getting in with the vice unit. Not to mention his military history.”

“Absolute power corrupts absolutely, sir. He also has connections to The Hill and those connections have mob ties.”

Skinner leaned forward on his desk and put his glasses back on. I could see the wheels turning again. 

“Surveillance can post-up in one of the abandoned warehouses at the Navy Yard and gather more intel, see if Vincenti makes an appearance. They’ll be coming out of the woodwork once this hits the papers. In the meantime I want you to find your junior informant and bring him in for questioning.”

  I rose from my seat and reached for my files with a wince and headed towards the door.  

“And Mulder,” Skinner began before I had a chance to leave, “it will be military dress blues for Arlington. Regardless of your opinion, the precinct lost a man with high honors.”

 I nodded in response and headed back into the fray, closing the door behind me. I weaved back to my desk, dropped the files, and searched in my drawer for a memo with Dimitri’s phone number.

I listened to the phone ring on a seemingly endless loop, the long shrill sound reverberated in my left ear and I could feel my eyelids get heavy.  The ring evolved into white noise and I was one dim chime away from disconnecting the call when I heard the receiver click on the other end.

“You’re lucky I’m a patient man, Dimitri,” I started as I tried to stifle a yawn, “we need to arrange a meeting.”

“I don’t know if I can do that,” he responded.

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“It means, detective, I’m no good to you. My sources are as dry as the Sahara.”

“Is that so?” I questioned as I switched the phone to my opposite ear. “Well how about we just meet for a coffee.”

“That’s sweet detective but lunch dates aren’t really my style. I like something with a bit more spirit if you catch my meaning.”

“Fine. I can meet you in the nearest alley and serve up my fist to your goddamn nose. That spirited enough for you?” I heard him laugh through the phone, my fingers tightened on the receiver. “Georgetown University library.  I’m giving you three hours.”

“You gonna have a carnation on your lapel so I know it’s you?”

“Try a grey fedora and a pissed off look on my face.”

And I ended the conversation then left the office to get something to eat. 

------

3:35pm

Georgetown’s gothic spires, stonework, and green fields reminded me of my stint at Oxford. My professors felt that I could use more than a State-side education and my father agreed. He shipped me off to England hoping I would return top of my class. I studied psychology, took in the local pubs, local women, and managed a little bit of travel. After completing my academics I knew I wanted to return to Europe. However, in 1941 I was shipped off to the Pacific in a crisp Marine Corps uniform. Never got to see the Old World before things changed. 

I found a bench near the library at the edge of campus and checked my watch. Some students took their studies outside due to the favorable weather. 

Springtime in the city. 

I surveyed the quad: A male student was more focused on a small group of chatty sweater girls than his textbooks, a professor struggled with a satchel as he hurried into a nearby building. I clocked a young man in a pork pie hat headed my direction but he stopped suddenly to retrieve a gauzy scarf that was snatched by the breeze. He caught up with the shapely owner and said something to make her smile. The man adjusted his hat and continued towards me. 

“Nice weather isn’t it?” he began, “Spring is truly in the air and the winds of change are a-blowin’.”

“Dimitri?”

“One in the same, detective.”

“I take it you’ve heard?”

“It hasn’t made the papers, but yes,” he replied as he took a seat on the far end of the bench. I fixed the brim of my fedora as another breeze rolled across the quad.

“I need some answers from you.”

“Well it depends on what you’re asking,” Dimitri said as he took a pack of cigarettes from his jacket pocket and tapped them against his palm.

“Do you know who bumped off Spender?”

“That’s a tall order.”

“Did you set him up last night?”

 Dimitri took a drag off the cigarette then exhaled a short plume of smoke. 

“I got an alibi if you’re interested,” he said confidently as he flicked away fresh ash.

“Let me guess; you were home all night, listened to the radio, brushed your teeth then went to bed like a good boy,” I replied as I shifted positions. 

“Nah, I’m not the homebody type. Never was good company.”

“I can see why. I honestly hate being around you at the moment.”

He laughed and placed the cigarette between his lips. His glance followed a co-Ed as she walked down the path towards the library.  

“Instead I was out following a tip.”

“A tip? Related to your boss Vincentti?” I questioned. 

“You could say that,” he replied, letting the statement hang in the air. It appeared I wasn’t going to get a simple answer.   

“Let’s go for a ride,” I said as I leaned forward and rose to my feet. The kid chuckled. 

“Are you arresting me?”

“Not yet, I just want a change of scenery. My car’s this way.” 

Dimitri pulled out another cigarette as we walked, waiting until he got in my car to light it. I turned on the radio so I wouldn’t have to talk with him on the drive to the precinct. We would have plenty to talk about once we got there.

Upon arriving, I got the attention of the older uniform at the desk who led us to a vacant interrogation room. I handcuffed the kid to the table and told him to stay put as I left to find the captain.

Skinner tucked a thick file under his arm as we entered the room. I closed the door and took a seat across the table. Skinner handed me the folder. 

“Dimitri Kristoff. Or should I say Alex Krycek,” I began as I turned the page, “you’ve got a record colorful enough to hang in a gallery.” I thumbed through a series of reports. “Petty theft, bribery, breaking and entering, minor assault, and this last one - public indecency? Don’t see that too often.” I watched him shift uncomfortably in his chair. His eyes found the corner of the room and carved a path back to focus on his hands.

“A guy’s gotta make a living,” Krycek said flatly.

“Well Alex, you must have been deep up shit creek,” I said reaching the end of his file. “I want to know a few things.”

“You’ve got it all there in front of you, detective.” He gestured with a cuffed hand. “Besides I already told you everything I know.”

“Actually you haven’t. I want to know set us up that night? What was your gain in all of this?” I questioned as Skinner rounded the edge of the table. I let Krycek idle for a moment and think. He looked towards the ceiling. 

“Can I get a smoke? I got a pack in my pocket.” 

I shot Skinner a look then leaned over to uncuff one of Krycek’s hands. He cleared his throat as he reached in his shirt pocket for cigarettes and a matchbook.

“I was in a bad way when I came home from the Pacific. Better off than the boys who didn’t of course, but I was still living alone, scraping by. Did you serve Detective?”

“Marines,” I said curtly.

“Ah. Semper Fi,” he said with a quick salute, “ I was in the Army myself. I couldn’t find a decent job when I got back to the States so I got involved with a fair amount of indecent work. I tended bar at one of Vincenti’s haunts. After a conversation one night I was asked to drive them to a job they were pulling. I had driven a troop transport while I was overseas, so I figured how hard could it be? I signed on with no questions asked.” Krycek flicked a match and lit his waiting cigarette. “I put my lead foot to good use and the more jobs I ran, the more green I had for my pockets. Shakedowns and bank jobs were fine but when the heroin came into the picture I knew I needed to find a way out. I had seen enough of that when I was over there, lost a few friends to it when we got home.”

“So that’s when your moral compass pointed north?” Skinner asked. 

“I got involved with a dame. She was a honey of a blonde named Marita who was in deeper with Vincentti than I realized. She worked at a nice club the crew would frequent. I chatted her up one night and she said I was different than the others. Well, she played me for a fool. She had a strong addiction that I helped fuel and it got her killed.” Krycek let the cigarette hang on his lower lip. “Hell of a dame.”

“Okay. So the motive was revenge,” I said as I rose from my chair. “Sounds simple enough. Thought you could single-handedly take down a mob boss because of a woman. Change of heart, realized the error of your ways, and all that.”

“Why get two of my best detectives involved in the first place Krycek if you wanted to handle this yourself,” said Skinner from his corner. 

 “The top vice unit would have easily wrapped this up with a ribbon,” Krycek responded as he twisted the butt of the cigarette into the ashtray. “Apparently Detective Spender didn’t play by the rules. But that wasn’t my department.” 

I was growing impatient and paced the far side of the room.   

“Son, you better elaborate,” Skinner said with arms folded tightly.

“I’m stating that the detective might have had another agenda at that meeting. He might have been linked up with them longer than you realized. Maybe he was working as a mole all along. Or, perhaps the goon didn’t want Johnny Law getting an extra cut from the drop so he cut him out of the picture.” Krycek mimed two shots with a finger gun. He sat there grinning like a dirty rat. I ran a hand over my face and let my palm rest on the side of my jaw, feeling the muscles tighten. My eyes darted in Skinner’s direction then back at Krycek. 

CRACK

I felt my new scar tissue stretch and tear as I swung a right cross that plowed into his cheekbone. The impact knocked him sideways but not entirely to the floor thanks to the thin chain keeping him tethered to the table. I rubbed my knuckles and backed away, waiting for a retaliation.

“Mulder!” shouted Skinner as he stepped in between, “You’re dismissed.” 

I rolled my wrist and watched Krycek adjust his jaw then situate himself in the chair. No blood yet but mine coursed through my veins like a superhighway. The fact I hadn’t left the room caused Skinner to approach me. 

“Leave. Now Detective,” he said with a deep tone to his voice. I exhaled and obeyed with a heated walk to the bullpen.

[fuzzballsheltiepants]

The Sparrow

Green light filtered through the window. It made the room feel like it was under water, or on some foreign planet. Andrew dropped his arm over his eyes trying to block it out, trying to will himself back to sleep for another hour. Or three. Nobody was counting.

A sharp pip sounded from somewhere outside. A minute passed, and it sounded again. And again. Andrew dropped his arm and glared out into the greenish dawn. A little bird hung from one of the branches of the giant vine that clung to the side of the house. It stared at him, cocking its head to the side, bright eyes considering. Pip!

“You’re an asshole.”

The bird gave a self-satisfied pip and flew off. Bastard. Just what he needed, an alarm clock with a mind of its own.

He yawned and stretched, taking inventory of what hurt. Knees. Left thumb. Right hip. Better than yesterday. He left his cane where it was, leaning against the wall.

Going down the narrow stairs that his physical therapist had assured him were a terrible idea, he entered the tiny kitchen and grumbled at the landscape of boxes he could see stacked in the living room. The coffee maker was the one thing he had set up yesterday, and he listened to the gurgling sounds as the water dripped through while he looked over the boxes. Finding the one labeled Dishes, he dug through and pulled out a bowl and a mug.

He took his meager breakfast out onto the patio. The cracked concrete was shot through with weeds; the abandoned furniture peeling and rusted. The little pipping bird was back to sitting in the vines. He couldn’t figure out why it was there; other than the vines that were assaulting the house and a few coarse weeds, the yard was bare dirt, hard and unwelcoming and littered with junk. It was ugly as hell, but Andrew didn’t really care. All he had to do was lift his head, and the view was spectacular: rolling mountains, the caps slowly baring themselves to the spring sun, the slopes a mix of trees and green expanses that he knew from photographs were covered with flowers. Someday, he’d walk there. Someday, he’d reach the top.

Scoffing at himself, at his stupid impossible dreams, he creaked to his feet and went in to take his medications.

~

Andrew’s house was full of strangers. If he hadn’t just bought the thing two days ago, it would’ve been tempting to set it on fire.

They weren’t technically strangers, as Allison had pointed out, given that he worked with them. But when Renee had said she’d be stopping by to help him unpack, he would’ve preferred it if she’d mentioned she’d be bringing half the town. He glared across the room at Renee, who pretended not to notice while she helped her girlfriend unpack cooking supplies. There was banging overhead where Kevin and Matt were putting together his bed. On the one hand, he was glad he was going to be able to stop sleeping on his mattress on the floor. On the other hand…

Movement outside caught this eye, a flash of reddish brown in his front yard. “What—”

Renee paused in her silverware sorting and followed his eyes. “Oh good! Neil came.”

“What, you hadn’t brought enough people?”

His words were punctuated by a crash from upstairs, followed by Matt’s voice calling a strained, “Everything’s okay!”

“Neil’s a gardener,” Allison said, as if that should have been obvious.

“Great.” More help he didn’t want. He made his way outside, but Neil had disappeared. Grumbling, he walked around the house, only stumbling twice. A slender man stood at the edge of his backyard, facing the mountains. Andrew tried to pretend that the man didn’t improve the view considerably, and stepped up to his side.

The man gave him a slashing glance, then a matching smile. “You must be Andrew.” He held out his hand, shrugging when Andrew didn’t take it. “Neil. I’m a friend of Allison’s.”

“What fresh hell do you have in store for me?”

Neil laughed easily. “Depends on what you want. Clean all this trash up to start; after that it’s up to you.”

“Up to me.” So far not a damn thing had been up to him, despite Renee’s lip service. “In that case, can you get rid of the assholes who have taken over my house?”

“Sorry, no,” Neil said, grinning. Andrew couldn’t take his eyes off of him, and he cursed himself for his weakness. “You know how it is. Once you’re in Renee’s clutches, you will help people and you will like it.”

“I most definitely will not.”

Neil laughed again and turned back to the yard, picking up one of the discarded plastic buckets that littered the space. “I better get started.”

It was rapidly becoming familiar, getting dismissed in his own house. He would have stayed just to watch Neil work, but Dan called his name and he headed back inside to prevent a book-arranging disaster.

~

The rumble of a truck pulled Andrew out of the mental cocoon he went into whenever he started working on his book. The week had been blessedly quiet, save for his avian alarm clock, but it appeared that was at an end. Grumbling, he forced himself to his feet, leaving his cane leaning against the couch.

Neil was standing on his front walkway, rubbing a hand sheepishly through his hair. “Morning.”

“What are you doing?”

“I’m here to figure out what we’re doing with your yard. Didn’t Allison tell you?”

Andrew thought of Allison’s parting words on Friday. “You’re welcome!” He hadn’t known what she meant and hadn’t cared. Evidently he should have. “Why?”

Neil looked at him, nonplussed. “Because having that yard basically being a wasteland of dirt is criminal?”

“Hey, it’s my wasteland of dirt.”

That damn smile made a reappearance. “You deserve more than that.”

“That’s such bullshit. Nobody deserves anything.”

Neil cocked his head to one side. “Do you really believe that?”

Andrew studied his face, the faded scarring across his cheeks, the stubborn set to his jaw that made the smile a lie. “How much is Allison paying you?”

He looked genuinely startled at that. “Nothing. I volunteered.”

“Why? What do you get out of this?”

Neil looked away, color staining his cheeks like a sunrise. “Everyone deserves a little beauty in their lives.”

Andrew wondered what it was like, going through life with the evidence of other people’s viciousness on your face, and believing in beauty anyway.

~

Slowly the garden took shape, each Sunday adding a little more. When Andrew greeted him the third Sunday leaning on his cane, the truckload of gravel went back to where it came from without a word. The next week, he came outside to find Neil laying out paving stones in a sunburst pattern where the concrete had once been.

Neil was interesting and unpredictable, some days working for hours in silence, others chattering at length about plants and birds, on this continent and others. Sometimes Andrew helped, raking the dirt in the raised beds, then setting the native perennials Neil had picked out gently into the sun-warmed soil. Sometimes his hands wouldn’t close on the tools, and he sat in the shade of the house and talked or read aloud from the book he was writing. Once he stopped, uncertain if Neil was even listening; his friend raised his head from where he was setting out a bird bath. “Is that it?” Neil asked, disappointment coloring his voice, and Andrew bit back his smile as he turned back to his book.

Neil arranged shrubs around the house and planted a couple of flowering trees for shade. Soon Andrew’s little pipping bird had friends of his own, and he woke to a melodic cacophony each morning. One afternoon, they sat in silence on the new furniture Andrew had ordered, sipping lemonade and watching fat bumblebees tumble in and out of hot pink flowers. The garden was almost done; the summer had already passed its peak. Andrew looked at Neil, at his summer-sky eyes and his autumn hair, and he swallowed back the grief as he realized these Sundays were drawing to a close.

~

The singing was not enough to stir him. He heard it, dimly, through the haze of pain, but he closed his eyes and drifted back into the darkness.

~

“Andrew?”

He knew that voice; it wrapped itself around his heart and pulled, forcing him into consciousness. Stifling his groan was impossible, and Neil was at his side in a flash. “How can I help?”

“I need to take my meds.” His voice sounded like gravel, and he tried to clear his throat but it was too dry to make a difference.

“Bathroom?”

Andrew hummed, and Neil disappeared, only to reappear in a second with his pill case and a glass of water. “Can I?” Neil asked, hovering an arm over Andrew’s shoulders. Nodding didn’t hurt, at least, and Neil slipped an arm gently behind him and coaxed him into a sitting position against the headboard. He held the glass so Andrew could suck some water through the straw, then handed him the pills, one at a time. When he was done, they sat there like that for a while, Andrew avoiding Neil’s eyes. He hated this, hated that Neil found him like this. Hated that this was the new reality of his life, where he could be going along okay and then suddenly be incapacitated by pain.

It hadn’t struck him down like this since he first got sick; he would never forget that panic, being alone and unable to move without screaming, having to drag himself to the bathroom. Then the weeks of doctor’s visits and tests, the medications that helped the pain but messed him up otherwise, until they finally found a cocktail that worked, more or less beating his immune system into submission. He had moved here out of sheer stubbornness; maybe he should call it stupidity. But he needed this. He needed the mountains out there, calling to him. He needed to believe that one day he would climb up there.

“Why are you here?” he asked, shattering the silence.

“It’s Sunday.”

But the garden is finished, he wanted to say; you are wasting your time with me.

Neil reached out like he was going to touch his hand, but refrained when he saw the red, swollen joints. “Did you think I was just coming for the garden?”

“Why else would you bother?”

“Andrew…I could have finished that garden in two weeks, if I’d wanted to. That was my plan, at first.” He laughed, shaking his head as if at himself. “But then you wouldn’t let me cut down that damn vine because that sparrow likes it…”

Andrew closed his eyes, hearing the unspoken words behind Neil’s soft tone. “I will never be more than this, Neil.”

“You’re Andrew. What more do you need to be?”

~

There was music in the trees. A symphony composed of wind through tree boughs, of the singing of birds, the chattering of squirrels, the baseline of leaves crunching underfoot. Andrew paused for breath, gulping down some water. The early springtime air traced cool fingers through his hair, and goosebumps erupted down his arms.

Recapping his water, he followed the sound of footsteps in front of him. His walking stick was worn smooth where his hand rested, and he rubbed his thumb in the glossy spot as he negotiated his way over some roots.

“It’s just up ahead,” Neil’s voice called from somewhere out of sight. Andrew took his time, even though he knew he would follow that voice anywhere. He had waited a year for this; he could wait a few minutes longer.

The trees finally opened up to a scene out of a movie. Flowers, blue and purple and white and yellow, all bowed before the wind that tore across the meadow. Neil stood on a little rise, one hand shielding his eyes, staring west. Andrew climbed up to stand next to him. He could see their house from here, the windows glinting in the sun. When he squinted, he could discern the blossoms on the flowering cherry Neil had planted near the bedroom. The tree was still small, barely taller than they were, but it bloomed with reckless abandon. Warmth crept through him that had nothing to do with the springtime sunshine as he thought of their tiny tree, and the nest the sparrows were building in its branches.

Neil bent down and kissed him, soft and lingering. “It’s beautiful, isn’t it?”

Andrew nodded, looking at the riot of color all around him. Up above, he could see the peak of the mountain looming white; once, he had longed to reach the very summit. Once, he had thought he would never set foot in the woods again. His free hand found Neil’s, tracing the familiar calluses and scars. “Beautiful.”

[mostfacinorous]

GO Whumptober Day 28: Such Wow. Many Normal. Very Oops.  [1][2][3][4][5][6][7][8][9][10][11][12][13][14][15][16][17][18][19][20][21][22][23][24][25][26][27]

The cause of the freezing, humans determined, was either merely ‘nature’ or ‘the growing climate crisis’, depending on whether the person speaking believed in that sort of thing. Either way, everyone could agree that it was unusual to unheard of, and no one much appreciated it. 

It had eased off a bit, though-- still frozen, so the snow and ice was sticking around, but the wind had died off and the snow was no longer coming down in buckets, for which they were all very grateful. 

The Bentley remained where she’d been parked since that first attempted afternoon out, and the plowed mountain behind her only grew ever higher and ever thicker. 

Much like their American cousins from years prior, local heads of council had to remind their followers not to jump out of upper floor windows and into the snow, for fear of cars lurking underneath, and injuries that could and would result from such foolishness. 

It didn’t fully stop it from happening, but it might have deterred an idiot or two.

 Fortunately, neither Crowley nor Aziraphale was particularly interested in jumping out of windows. 

There were, however, interested in having a bit of a walk, as it had warmed up enough to allow for it again, and they were feeling a little cooped up. 

And so they packed their cocoa and coffee into a couple of thermoses-- carefully color coordinated in black and lightest blue tartan, so as to never be confused with The Thermos, of which they did not speak-- and headed to the park for a bit of time in the watery grey sun of London in winter. 

The streets were clear enough to walk on safely and carefully, but the path round the lake was only worn down by others’ feet, and the snow had been trampled enough to have turned to mud, then frozen back to ice in places, making their usual habit of walking and talking more dangerous. 

They had decided, after God’s admonition about getting closer, to try and keep their time apart to a minimum. This suited them both quite well, considering the trials and tribulations they’d faced of late, and it was delightful to finally have an excuse to be around one another that neither side could really argue with. After all, not being near Aziraphale when God arrived had put Crowley out of commission for days, and if he had been close, She may not have come at all. Thwarting at its finest, on both sides of the line. 

And so, if they held hands to help steady one another, there wasn’t anything Heaven nor Hell could do about it, short of shaking their heads with disgust. 

“I miss the ducks.” Crowley said suddenly, interrupting the silence that had descended as their last conversational topic had waned. 

“Do you?” Aziraphale asked, surprised. “You always treat them quite poorly; I thought you disliked them.”

“I do not!” Crowley protested. “I play with them. Same as how they play with one another, innit?” 

Aziraphale held his thoughts on the matter. He did glance out across the lake, though. 

“I wonder how firmly frozen it is. Do you suppose they will be able to ice skate on it, after a storm like that?” 

Crowley tilted his head and looked out over the ice. 

“At least a couple of ‘em are gonna give it a go. Look.” He nodded off near the high reeds, where the ducks liked to put their eggs come spring, and where a few children appeared to be slipping off their shoes, with plans of skating over the ice in their stockings.

“Heavens.” Aziraphale said. “Perhaps we ought to do something to stop them.” He began heading in that direction, a little too far off to be heard if he yelled. 

“Bit too late for that, Angel!” He heard as Crowley raced past him, realizing as he did that he’d pressed his mobile into Aziraphale’s hands. He looked up to see a child take off from the edge straight towards the middle of the pond-- and promptly fall through the ice and into the waters below. 

“Bugger.” Aziraphale muttered under his breath.

Crowley was fast, faster than the other children, even, and he shouted for them to stay as he slid on his stomach towards the hole in the ice. 

Aziraphael fumbled with the phone for a spare moment, then got a call in to emergency services. “Hello, yes, I am in St. james’ park, just north of the playground on the birdcage side of the lake-- a child has fallen through the ice and my partner has gone in after them. No, no, I can’t see-- they’ve surfaced. Please send help, I’m going to give you to a child now.” 

Aziraphale handed the phone off to the young girl who was standing by, mouth agape. 

“Help them find us, please.” He told her, a touch of miracle in his voice to give her the courage she needed to do the job, and then he turned to the lake. 

“Crowley?” He called to the man who was clutching at the ice with inhumanly sharp talons that had sprouted from his fingers while he held a boy between his chest and the rim of the hole. “What can I do to help?” Aziraphale asked. 

Crowley had lost his glasses, and his eyes were wide. 

“Don’t come out on the ice- it’s not gonna hold.” Even as he spoke, his fingers on one hand went crashing through the surface, sending them both bobbing as the boy cried out. 

“Tail!” Aziraphale shouted, hoping Crowley had enough presence of mind to handle the change. He had always been a better swimmer while serpentine, and perhaps, that done--

He saw the moment that Crowley gained the advantage and they became a little steadier in the water. 

“Now then-- if you have to, put him on your back, and break the ice away between you and the shore until you can climb out safely!” 

Aziraphale felt next to useless, but he supposed at least one of them had a mind that was not freezing or panicking, and thus was able to assist that way. 

“You hear that?” He heard Crowley mumbling comfortingly to the boy. “I’m going to give you a piggy ride now. You hold on tightly, understand? And I’ll soon have us out of here.” 

Aziraphale watched, fretting terribly as Crowley helped the boy to climb around on the other side of him, and then began the process of smashing through the ice with his claws. 

Aziraphale turned around and saw the fire brigade approaching, an ambulance in tow, and turned back to warn Crowley to hide his transformations. 

“The Rescuers are here-- it won’t be long now!” He tried to make it sound hopeful and not as though he was playing supernatural lookout. It seemed to work, though, as the first of them reached him and clapped a hand on his back. 

“You’re the caller?” She asked, and Aziraphale nodded, pointing as he accepted Crowley’s phone back from her. 

“They’re nearly to the edge,” He added helpfully, though there was a dark and obvious trail of broken ice that marked how far they’d come. 

“We’ve got them.” She promised, and waved for backup. 

A small army of men and women ran down to the river’s edge to lift the boy off of Crowley’s back as he final grabbed hold of solid land, and Aziraphale managed to shoulder his way through them to reach down and grasp Crowley’s hands. 

“There you are, you brave, stupid fool.” He said, pulling him up and onto land and into his arms. 

Crowley was shaking with cold, and he had already partially soaked through Aziraphale’s clothing when the team brought them emergency blankets. 

“Come on now, let’s get you out of your clothes and warming up.” One of the men instructed. 

Aziraphale turned to be sure the boy was receiving the same sort of care; he was already in someone’s thermals. 

“Alright.” Crowley agreed, surprising Aziraphale. He was looking straight at the angel, though, not at the humans who were trying to shuffle him off to the trucks for treatment. “Stay with me?” He asked, almost a plea, and Aziraphale knew it was only partially to help him fend off discovery. The other part was God and the unspoken threat of having saved a human life-- and what Hell might do to him for it. 

“Of course. Let me help him-- he’s ah, special needs.” 

“Alright.” The officials were quick to agree, with the tiniest nudge from Aziraphale. “The parents are on their way, I’m sure they’ll want to talk to you and we’ll need to take down statements for our reports after.” 

“Of course.” Aziraphale said again. “If you can just fetch us some dry clothing for him--” 

He sent them scurrying, and turned back to Crowley. 

“Shall we get out of here before they come back, my dear? Make a run for it?” 

Crowley, still shivering as if his bones intended to shake out of his skin, grinned back at Aziraphale. 

“Best idea you’ve had all day, Angel.”

They booked it, making it out of sight before Aziraphale dried Crowley with a miracle and warmed him with another. 

The walk home was almost anticlimactic, after all that. 

“Ohh… I dropped the thermoses!” Aziraphale lamented, and Crowley huffed. 

“Shall we stop by that little teashop up near Piccadilly?” He offered. 

“Oh, let’s. I suppose you could do with something warm to drink anyway.” 

“I wouldn’t object. And then home, to a fire and several blankets.” Crowley insisted. He paused, then added, “Thank you, by the way. I saw the boy and didn’t think-- I ought to keep you around, have you keep doing that for me, when needed.” 

Aziraphale bumped their shoulders together. 

“You’ll be hard pressed to get rid of me, you’ll find, if you keep pulling stunts like that.” 

Their usual routine resumed, they made their way towards the tea shop, and home, and left the humans to wonder why they had run, why the boy was swearing the man who’d saved him was a mermaid, and how the hell someone had happened to miraculously be in the right place at the right time to stop childish stupidity from turning tragic. 

It was, all in all, a rather successful outing.

[cherishingstydia]

Inspired by~The Blue Lagoon: The Awakening~

Eddie Diaz and Evan Buckley weren’t necessarily enemies but they were far from being friends. They had mutual friends so always ended up being around each other. Neither one seemed to want anything to do with each other. Until one day fate changed things.

A mutual friend, Hen was having her birthday on a boat thrown by their other friend Chimney. They were out at sea when suddenly the water got rough. Buck saw Eddie fall over the edge into the water. Being a former life guard Buck dove into the water and grabbed onto Eddie.

“What are you doing” Eddie snarled

“Saving your life” Buck huffed.

“Do I look like I need saving” Eddie pushed Buck away.

After arguing for 5 minutes over whether or not Eddie needed saving the Boat was getting further and further away. With the distance between them and the boat combined with the music no one heard them yelling.

“This is all your fault!” Buck yelled.

“My fault? I didn’t ask you to jump in after me.” Eddie shouted.

“Years of being a life guard kind of just make it an automatic reaction to spring into action when you see someone in trouble” Buck said as he began swimming away.

“Where the hell are you going? The boat is that way genius.” Eddie said condescendingly pointing in the opposite direction.

“Yeah there’s no way to catch up with the boat. I see trees, and where there’s trees there will be land. It’s dark and cold and I don’t really feel like dying out here. Especially not with you” Buck groaned.

“Feelings mutual buddy” Eddie said swimming after Buck.

“I’m not your buddy” Buck yelled.

“Can we not....like for one night can we not argue” Eddie rolled his eyes.

After 15 minutes of swimming they were finally almost to the shore.

“Whatever. Now swim faster I don’t wanna have to come back out here to save you again. That’s how we got in this mess in the first place” Buck said as he walked through the shallow water up to the sand.

“Make yourself useful and start a fire” Eddie grumbled.

“What do I look like a boy scout?” Buck laughed mockingly.

“Fine just find me some dry sticks and some leaves” Eddie finally was making his way up to shore.

Buck was stripped down to his underwear looking for supplies. Eddie had always found Buck attractive he just couldn’t stand to be around him, but he wasn’t hating the view and just stared.

“Ummmm hello can u stop staring and start the fire” Buck said glaring.

“What um I-I was just trying to figure out why you decided to take off your clothes”

“I don’t want hypothermia and those clothes are soaked, once we get the fire going we can lay them out to dry.” Buck said as he threw the sticks and leaves on a pile.

“Makes sense” Eddie said ripping off his shirt and pants.

Buck hadn’t ever seen Eddie with out a shirt, when he wasn’t talking Buck thought he was kinda hot...well he always thought he was hot but when he wasn’t speaking he was a lot more enjoyable to look at.

“Hey Buckaroo how about less staring and more helping” Eddie joked.

Buck couldn’t believe with all the people he was stuck with it was this smart ass. Out of everyone on the boat he was the worst person to be stuck with.

“What do u want me to do?” Buck forced a smile as to try to make time a little less miserable by trying not to fight.

After the two of them got the fire started. They decided to sit side by side for warmth and they both checked their phones but both were ruined from the water.

Buck eventually laid down once his boxers had dried completely. Then he felt Eddies body heat behind him and his strong arms wrap around his waist.

“Whoa what are you doing” Buck jumped.

“Relax this is just for survival. I don’t wanna freeze to death so this needs to happen. Our clothes are still wet so this is the only choice. I’m sure you’re used to being the little spoon any way so what’s the big deal” Eddie laughed.

“What makes you think I’m the little spoon? Besides I’m taller than you anyway.” Buck huffed.

“Fine be the big spoon. I don’t care.” Eddie groaned.

“No...if we’re gonna do this I want to be comfortable. So I’ll be the little spoon.” Buck said.

It was actually quite comfortable considering the circumstances and they both quickly fell asleep.

-the next morning-

Considering Buck had to sleep on the sand in his boxers next to someone he couldn’t stand he hadn’t felt this well rested in a long time. He tried to get up but Eddie just grabbed onto him and held him even tighter. Why did this feel so good? It’s Eddie he can’t stand Eddie, but the more Eddie held him the less he wanted to get up. Soon he drifted back to sleep.

Sometime later Buck woke up and Eddie was gone. Buck got up to find his clothes folded on a pile and they were now dry, but Eddies clothes we’re gone.

Buck decided to get dressed and take a look around. He finally found Eddie at a spring getting a drink of water.

“Hey” Buck waved.

“How’d you sleep?” Eddie smiled.

“Considering the situation...pretty well” Buck nodded.

“Me too!” Eddie smiled.

“So do you think anyone knows we’re gone yet?” Buck sighed.

“Depends how crazy that party got last night could be awhile before they notice” Eddie shrugged.

“Now that it’s daylight maybe we should look around a bit see if we can find any other people around” Buck smiled.

“Probably a good idea I’m getting pretty hungry. I’m kinda grouchy when I’m hungry” Eddie said.

“Oh you must be hungry all the time then” Buck joked.

“Haha” Eddie said sarcastically rolling his eyes.

After looking around for hours they’d searched the whole island (it wasn’t very big) and there was no sign of anyone anywhere. They  were stranded. Luckily they found some fruit trees so they at least had something to eat.

A few days had passed they were getting along a lot better but there was still no sign of any help coming.

“This is a disaster” Buck screamed

“Hey it will be ok, they’ll come for us” Eddie said reassuringly.

Buck continued to freak out and Eddie really didn’t know what to do he wasn’t the best at comforting people.

“Buck please calm down. No need to upset yourself and make a bad situation even worse.’‘ Eddie put his hand on Bucks shoulder as to try to help comfort him.

It wasn’t working Buck was now having a panic attack. Bucks breathing became very rapid and he couldn’t calm down.

“Come on man you gotta try to slow your breathing. Think of happy things.” Eddie said.

“I can’t all I can think about is how I’m gonna die on this island”

Buck was not able to slow his breathing. So Finally Eddie did the only thing he could think of and grabbed Buck and kissed him and Buck kissed him back before pulling away. Buck stared at him slightly confused.

“H-how’d you do that” Buck stuttered

“I once read holding your breath can stop a panic attack. When I kissed you, you held your breath.”

“I did?” Buck asked.

“Yeah” Eddie smiled.

“Thanks, that was really smart.” Buck said letting out a deep breath.

-A few days later-

Now it was totaling about a week of being stranded. Eddie and Buck had been getting along better every day. They were actually enjoying each others company.

“Hey Eddie” Buck said nervously.

“Yeah?” Eddie smiled.

“I’m ok I’m not having a panic attack, but would you maybe wanna kiss me again’’ Buck asked

“I’d like that a lot” Eddie grinned.

Buck went over and straddled Eddie. They stared into each others eyes for a few minutes almost in disbelief of how beautiful the others were. Buck leaned down and kissed Eddie. This continued for a while until they heard a boat coming there way.

Chimney scratched his head “I thought they hated each other”

“I told you they were into each other” Hen laughed “It wasn’t hatred it was sexual tension.”

Hen and Chimney helped them into the boat.

“Look how hot we both are we couldn’t help our selves” Eddie laughed.

Buck cleared his throat “Speak for yourself”

“Ok I’m so hot Buck couldn’t help himself” Eddie joked.

Buck rolled his eyes. The humor he once found annoying he now saw as kinda cute.

“Get a room you two” Hen said.

“Oh we plan on it” Eddie winked.

“Well maybe after some dinner. We’ve been living off just fruit all week.” Buck groaned.

“You asking me on a date Buck” Eddie grinned.

“I think I am” Buck smiled.

Eddie leaned over to kiss Buck.

“Even tho it took being stranded on an island to get here with you I’m glad it happened.”Eddie said squeezing Bucks hand.

“Me too” Buck said laying his head on Eddies shoulder.

“I think I liked it better when you hated each other” Chimney said pretending to puke.

[fatechica]

Sneak peak for next chapter ?

A sneak peak, you say? Why, don’t mind if I do.

(fair warning, if you think you’re gonna get any resolution out of this, you boutta be disappointed because ahead lies only pain - pain for as far as the eye can see....)

----------

It takes approximately half a nanosecond for Mike to realize just how much he fucked up.

Actually, to be perfectly honest, he knew he’d fucked up from the moment he snapped at El when she told him she knows about probably the most embarrassing experience of his entire life. 

Mike knows he was beyond wrong to lash out at her – knew it in the moment, too. But it was like El had touched on a raw nerve in an open wound and he swiped at her like a wounded animal backed into a corner, acting on instinct instead of reason.

But, for as much as Mike knows he’s fucked up, he’s utterly paralyzed as he watches El walk out of his room… and away from him. He can hear the sickening echo of their parting words loop over and over in his brain (I guess we’re done here, then – Guess we are). And, with each loop, it warms until it’s like the horror movie funhouse version: unrecognizably familiar.

Mike can hear himself agreeing with El’s far-too-cold declaration that their relationship or whatever it actually was – 

(relationship, partnership, forever, his heart clamors from the protective corner he’s locked it in, the part of him that knows without a shadow of a doubt that he’ll never feel about anyone the way he feels about el.)

– is over and he can’t fucking believe those words came from his mouth, that he so readily and easily said them.

And the fact that all of this has happened, all in the span of less than 10 minutes, leaves him numb and dizzy, brain flubbing with disbelief as he stands there frozen in place, El having just disappeared from view.

In fact, it’s only when he hears the distant sounds of the front door opening and shutting does any kind of movement come back to his limbs and his brain.

“Fuck.” The word spills from between his lips, tumbling out beyond his control. And it’s like the simple utterance unlocks the floodgates of his brain. “Fuck! Fuck fuck fuck!” Mike kicks at the underside of his bed, shin striking the frame and shaking the entire thing. Pain slices up his leg, but it’s nothing compared to the pain pounding away in his heart.

The full weight of what just happened is finally dawning on him, revealing the gaping chasm of heartbreak and regret he’s in the middle of falling into. And, the worst part, is that it’s all his fault.

What has he done? God, what has he done?

Mike turns and collapses onto the edge of his bed, head falling into his hands. He closes his eyes, like it’ll block everything out. But the movie reel of the last 10 minutes just runs over and over again and the only thing closing his eyes does is trap the tears that spring up so they can burn against his flesh.

Mike presses the heels of his palms against his closed eyes, but the tears continue to flow, spilling out from behind his eyelids and past his hands.

Mike can’t believe – just can’t – how much has changed in what feels like a blink of an eye. One minute, he had everything and now he has nothing….

Only, that’s not true, is it? He hasn’t had anything in a long time. In fact, all he had was El and naturally he screwed that all up. 

The sudden shift in equilibrium feels like someone’s doused him with ice water and pulled off the blindfold at the same time, leaving him shivering among the ruins that lay in tatters at his feet. His family is broken – hell, he is broken; his friends are on their last nerve when it comes to putting up with his flaky bullshit these days; and El, the only good thing in his life, is gone, pushed away by his own self-destructive hand.

What does he have left? What can he possibly salvage from the wreckage of his failures and faults?

I have to apologize. I have to fix this. The thought rings loudly in his brain like a clarion call, realization zipping through him and leaving goosebumps in its wake. 

Somehow, Mike’s going to have to suck it up, gather every shred of bravery he absolutely does not have, and apologize to El like his life depends on it. 

Hopefully, she’ll be willing to listen to him – honestly, he wouldn’t blame her if she told him to fuck off for the rest of his life. But he has to try. The thought of a life where El doesn’t play a starring role is not a life he wants to have. 

God, he can’t believe the things he said, the things he accused her of, of being with him out of pity and not understanding him. 

It’s not true – Mike knows it’s not. He doesn’t feel like anyone gets him the way El does. And he knows she’s not the type to act out of pity. She was with him because she wanted to be, and he went and fucked it all up. 

He’d just been so hurt, first at finding out she’s known about Ashley all this time and then the accusation that he was selfish, that he had nothing really to be sad and angry about. 

Not true, the still wounded part of his psyche whispers in hissed undertones. She doesn’t understand what’s really going on.

Which, if Mike has to be honest with himself about, is his fault because he hasn’t told her. El has no idea about the things Mike’s been keeping from her and he feels like the biggest hypocrite for getting mad at her for keeping secrets from him when he’s been hiding a pretty big fucking part of his life from her. 

Not that it excuses what El did – she should have told him sooner about what she knew. But Mike knows he has to let it go because it’s only right. Hell, it’s only fair.

Mike groans at the thought of fairness, falling back into the bed as his strength gives out on him. At the core of this, all El wanted was to be treated fairly, to feel like she had a say, and he tossed it in her face. Yes, going to a school dance is still the last thing Mike wants to do, but he could have found some sort of compromise, some kind of middle ground. 

Guess it turns out I won’t do anything for her, when it comes down to it. The realization makes him unbearably sad and the tears that had just started drying up spring back to life. 

El deserves someone who will give her everything, who will move heaven and earth to make her feel like she’s as amazing as she is. Mike knows she doesn’t deserve someone like him, that she deserves better… hell, he also knows he will never deserve her, not after what just happened. 

But he has to try. Because he doesn’t think he can live without her. 

Because he thinks – no, he knows – he’s in love with her. He has been for months, but he hasn’t had the courage to face it until now, until he had no other choice. 

Mike just wishes he didn’t have to hit rock bottom in order to get here. But that’s where he is now and there’s no other path forward than this. Mike has no choice but to put himself out there. Anything else is just too painful to think about.

God, what if this doesn’t work? What if he can’t get her to forgive him, talk to him… acknowledge him?

Even though Mike wouldn’t blame El for doing any of that, just the thought makes his hope seem futile. 

You’d deserve it, that insidious voice hisses from the dark corners of his mind, piping up with its usual black tar of doubt and self-loathing. 

For the first time in a while, anger and frustration roar up inside of him to do battle with the voice. And Mike curses that there’s a part of him that won’t let him be happy, won’t let him have hope. It always, always, tries to pull him down to its level until he can’t ever get up again.

That voice has been the driving force of nearly every action he’s taken for the past several months and Mike’s tired of it. He’s going to have to figure out a way to muzzle that voice if he has any chance of making things right with El and that’s just as daunting a task as getting El to talk to him again. 

Ugh, fuck everything, Mike laments with a tired groan. He feels antsy and exhausted at the same time as he sits up in bed, shoulders slumped with the weight of everything piled on top of him. 

Mike isn’t sure what tortured impulse makes him do this, but he shifts where he’s sitting, one knee drawn up and folded in front of him so he can easily turn and look at the other side of the bed. 

El’s side of the bed, to be exact. 

When his brain assigned her a side, Mike doesn’t know, but the sight of it – empty, blankets rumpled, pillow still gently dented from where her head was resting – twists painfully at his heart. He knows if he picks up that pillow, he’ll still be able to smell her and that’s all it takes for his throat to grow thick, tears threatening to spill once more. 

Mike stands up in a rush, hurrying to look away. The hits feel like they’re coming way too quickly and he knows he has to get out of there unless he wants to risk a full-on meltdown. 

So he dresses in a clean pair of PJs and all but runs from the room in search of some sort of sanctuary. 

Which means the basement is out – too many memories of El down there – so Mike finds himself spread out on the couch in the family room, homework and textbooks discarded around him. He just doesn’t have the mental energy to do any of it. 

But he tries… or he pretends to at any rate. Turns out that without anything to distract him, there’s nothing to keep Mike from focusing on just how empty his house is… and how absent his family is. 

In fact, there’s nothing to distract him from just how fucked up this whole thing is and Mike can’t look away. 

Or, rather, everywhere he looks, there it is. It’s like taking El away has lifted the blinders and there’s nowhere for him to look but at the broken landscape spread out in front of him. And the emotions he’s spent so long avoiding are rearing their ugly head. 

Sadness swallows him, then – deep and unrelenting, the kind that is all too easy to drown in. Mike finds himself crying and unable to do anything to make it stop. Tears spill down his face, dripping off the edge of his jaw to fall onto the open pages of the textbook in his lap, the one he can no longer see because his vision is completely clouded over. 

The world swims all around him and Mike gives up trying to be useful. For a while, he just sits there, head tipped back to rest against the couch cushions while silent tears just pour down his face. He doesn’t sob, doesn’t cry out, doesn’t wail or whine or any of it.

He just… cries, overburdened by the weight of his grief that presses down on his chest until he can barely breathe. 

Mike’s not sure how long he sits there, grief working through him one inch at a time. He sets aside his homework, knowing that he’s not going to get any of it done, and eventually, he gets up to scrounge dinner together. 

His mom and Holly are at his aunt’s house and his dad’s away on a business trip, so no one’s there to see the slow breakdown he’s experiencing. And with no one there to check in on him, Mike’s allowed to wallow in depressing silence. 

Even though his grief isn’t explosive, it’s still exhausting – like a marathon instead of a sprint – and Mike crawls into bed somewhere around 9:30, eyes dried out and burning, lids both heavy from exhaustion and swollen from tears. 

At some point, as he lays there trying to fall asleep, he grabs the pillow that still has El’s lingering scent on it and holds it tight to his chest. It both comforts him and hurts him by equal measure, a painful reminder of the fuck up he’s turned his life into… the fuck up his life’s been for months, if he’s being honest. 

And yet, despite the daunting task ahead of him, despite the fact that he’s going to have to crawl out of this pit and learn how to cope with his family’s new normal head on instead of avoiding it, despite having to do all of that while keeping the other pieces of his life together (such as they are)... when he finally manages to fall asleep that night?

It’s the best night’s sleep he’s had in months.

[turquoise-maiden]

OC Interview

Saw this while browsing a hashtag and thought it'd be fun.

Tagging: @ja-crispea @farcryfuckmeup @veinereastath @v-i-d-e-n-o-i-r @dieguzguz @jadeloverxd @darkphoenix-24 @deputy-sarah-sux @fluttyseed @bluescooterbabe @mr-arainai @mdyaoi and @thirstyforjohnseed and anyone else!

Humor me and answer this in first person as the OC, please? It'll be fun!

Starting with:

Name: Elisha Abasi (FC5 specifically)

Are you single?: "Fortunately, unfortunately."

Are you happy?: "Happiness is a reaction but I'm content with what I'm doing with myself. I'll be better once the Seeds are gone."

Are you angry?: "Determined is what I would call it."

Are your parents still married?: "Yes, just not with each other.... Heh, get it? Cause they're married but.. oh nevermind."

Nine Facts

Birthplace: "Perris, California."

Hair color: "Black."

Eye color: "Hazel brown. Golden, Hazel brown?"

Birth date: "Oh, wouldn't you like to know? 😉 Pfft, no it's February 16."

Mood: "You mean how I feel right now?.....Restless."

Gender: "Female."

Summer or Winter?: "Now see normally, I'd say winter. I love the cold but because of those damn Peggies I'm going to say Spring so all those allergic mother fuckers stay out of my way or become a headless chicken in battle. Does that count?"

Morning or Afternoon?: "Dusk or twilight hour. It just feels right."

Eight Things About Your Love Life

Are you in love?: " No.. I can't say I know what that feels like. Sorry. I do know how to love some one but not be in love, make sense?"

Do you believe in love at first sight?: "I don't actually but if you're the type that moves fast and they just happen to be the right one, then kuddos to you."

Who ended your last relationship?: "I did."

Have you ever broken someones heart?: "Yeah. There's no doubt about it but the best I can do is hope they learn from my mistakes and their own."

Are you afraid of commitment?: "I'm more worried of committing to the wrong person. I've learn to let go pretty easily so it comes off as that."

Have you hugged someone in the last week?: "I have a bruise on my side, so I might've overstepped with Jess last night. I thought it was a dream."

Have you ever had a secret admirer?: "Can't say that I have, but if they're out there, they're doing one hell of a job."

Have you ever broken your own heart?: "Haha, yeah multiple times."

Six Choices

Love or Lust?: "As corny as it is. Love. The sex is way better lol."

Lemonade or Iced Tea?: "Tea. Iced Tea."

Cats or dogs?: "Cheeseburger."

A few best friends or regular friends?: "They each have their pros and cons. Despite what I want I have regular friends. I'll have to work on that."

Wild night out or romantic night in?: "I wouldn't say romantic but just a night in."

Day or night?: "Day, especially in the morning. The air is just fresher. Cleaner even."

Five Have You Evers

Been caught sneaking out?: "Umm, yes? I snuck out of my room to raid the fridge as a kid and got caught often. The question wasn't specific, it counts."

Fallen down/up the stairs?: "..... 😐 We're not talking about that right now. Next question."

Wanted someone/something so bad it hurt?: "Yes.. it's called food. I have to make daily trips to eat at a specific spot and I'm often delayed because of SOMEONE sending orders every morning, oftentimes setting them down the night before, Jacob. Let me eat!"

Wanted to disappear?: "Only when I think about it."

Four Preferences

Smile or eyes?: "Eyes, they say more than you can hide."

Shorter or taller?: "I'm actually neutral on this one but I'll admit taller people catch my eye quicker."

Intelligence or attraction?: "Intelligence IS attraction."

Hook-up or relationship?: "Eeh, I'm ... Neutral on this. Ok maybe not but I'm constantly switching between the two, it just depends on the person I'm talking too and what they want and what they can handle. I know my limits."

Do you and your family get along?: "Oh yeah, we bicker, a lot, but reunions are never cancelled."

Would you say you have a messed up life?: "You can't see it but I'm laughing and crying at this question. I'll get through this. We all will."

Have you ever ran away from home?: "No but Jacob says I have. Just crazy talk."

Have you ever gotten kicked out?: "Indirectly. Some friends and I went to a restaurant back in Cali. One of them was on the heavier side and ate the owner dry on reserves lol he kicked us all out."

Friends

Do you secretly hate one of your friends?: "Back home? No. Here? Absolutely not, you kidding? Nothing but respect for these guys. They're really fighting out here."

Do you consider all of your friends good friends?: "With recent events, no, and the ones I did are no longer seen that way either. Everything's just building up and collapsing lately but I have good allies."

Who is your best friend?: "Sharky, he's a ride or die man. I gotta give him props. We may not journey together all the time but he's always welcoming dare I say comforting. Him and Hurk Jr. and that's more than I can ask for at times like these."

Who knows everything about you?: "I don't know. I'd like to think it's Jess. She's seen me at my lowest and has heard me out but to be frank... It's Jacob. He's seen me at my primal, he's seen me do things I'm not even aware of. I can only imagine what I might've said when I wasn't fully there. In those cages and during those trials, those damn PowerPoints. He's not stupid, he'll dig up anything and everything he can to use against me if he hasn't already. Agh, all this thinking made my head hurt."

[project-stormblessed]

1-50

Alrighty!

1. What color are your socks?

All of my socks are either completely black or black and gray. Lol.

2. Have you ever lied about your age? Why?

Only once when I was like, 12 or 13 making a second Youtube account lol.

3. What is something you regret in the past month?

Becoming distant and isolating myself from most of my friends. Quarantine has not been good for my mental health tbh.

4. Do you believe in love at first sight?

Honestly? Not sure. Part of me doesn’t, and part of me does. Can’t really get either part to agree one way or the other.

5. When was the last time you wrote someone a letter on paper? Definitely well over a decade ago. Honestly can’t remember.

6. How old were you when you first learned how to ride a bike? Who taught you?

I was 11 or 12, and it was my older brother Jack who taught me. He also taught me how to drive lol.

7. Do you get along with your parents? Why or why not?

We get along well enough. Now that they’re retired the house is a much calmer environment.

8. What’s your favorite season?

Spring. I love seeing everything in bloom—the colors are very pleasing to me. I love seeing lots of green, and lots of lush plantlife.

9. Do you currently like someone?

Hmm, not entirely sure about that one. I guess I don’t really have any strong feelings for anyone in particular. Maybe. 👀👀

10. Have you ever used an Ouija board?

Nope, and I don’t plan on it.

11. What’s the last song you sang?

It was a song for choir this past semester, though I don’t remember the title that well or the composer.

12. What’s your favorite scent?

Never really had a favorite scent, honestly. My sense of smell has been pretty dull/weak for as long as I can remember and I’ve never really given much thought to any favorite scent.

13. What’s your favorite urban legend?

The Roswell UFO incident of 1947. It sparked my interest in aliens and UFOs at a very young age, and is probably responsible for a good deal of my love for sci-fi.

14. What’s a bad habit that you have?

Poor self control when it comes to time management. I tend to let myself get absorbed in things.

15. What’s a strange habit that you have?

Hmm. Totally blanked and could only come up with “making noises and pretending to be a mech of some sort when moving around my house”. That’s all I got.

16. What’s the first instrument you learned to play?

Piano. I started learning at 8 years old.

17. How would you describe your ‘type’?

Y’know funny enough I’ve never really thought I had a type. However reaching my mid-twenties has made me realize that my ‘type’ is kind, compassionate, goofy, and nerdy/geeky.

18. Would you rather stay in or go out?

Depends on the company, I guess. Though, usually I prefer to stay in anyway.

19. What was the last thing you said to your mom?

“I’m taking Dax out.” When I went for a walk with my dog lol.

20. Do you want to get married someday?

Definitely didn’t used to. I’m at the point where I’d be down if my partner wanted to, though I’m not sure I’d wanna spend a shitload of money on a wedding. Guess it depends on financial status at the time and the preferences of my partner.

21. Have you ever snuck out?

Nah, though I never needed to. My parents typically let me leave house whenever I wanted to as long as I told them who I’m with and when-ish I’m going to be home.

22. Can you sing well?

I can match pitch pretty well, but I can’t produce pitch un-aided. Usually. So kinda. I’m ok at best, all things considered.

23. What’s an embarrassing thing that happened this week?

I went off on some of my friends over something kinda silly because my mental state as of late hasn’t been all that great.

24. When was the last time you went sledding?

Uhhh, definitely more than ten years ago.

25. Have you ever liked/do you like someone you know you can never be with?

You kidding me? That’s like, all of my crushes ever. Maybe that’s an exaggeration but honestly it’s certainly FELT that way each time.

26. Do people often mispronounce your name?

No, though I have known a few people throughout my life that said “Bin” rather than “Ben”. I eventually realised it was an accent thing and stopped giving a shit very early.

27. Would you like to live in another country?

Yes, actually. For no small number of reasons. I’ve always wanted to live in Italy ever since I visited when I was 15.

28. Do you like to watch ghost hunting shows?

I definitely used to. I don’t really watch tv much in general anymore, though.

29. Who was the last person you said “I love you” too?

My mom.

30. What’s something you’d like to be better at?

Social interaction. Speaking in general. I’m MUCH more articulate in writing/typing than I am speaking.

31. Have you ever stayed up with someone who was sad?

Yes, and I’m always willing to do so.

32. What was the last thing you cooked?

I helped my good friend prepare some bomb ass ramen a few months back. I guess that counts.

33. Do you think you’d make a good parent?

I’d like to think so, yeah. I would make sure my children know I’m always there for them and will support the hell out of them.

34. Do you have trouble sleeping at night?

I don’t, but my dipshit body does.

35. Where is your best friend right now?

All of them are either playing video games or asleep.

36. How long does it take you to get ready in the morning?

Factoring in every aspect of the morning ritual, about 40 minutes. That’s if I’m going somewhere like work or school. If I’m staying home then there’s no getting ready for anything but sitting on my ass lol.

37. How late do you usually stay up at night?

Depends on the time of year/what I’m doing the next day. Right now during quarantine I average anywhere between 2am and 6am. I’m trying to fix that currently.

38. When was the last time you cried and why?

The last time I truly cried was sometime in 2015. I was listening to Breaking Benjamin’s latest album and feeling exceedingly lonely/depressed. It wasn’t a great day.

39. Have you ever won a contest?

None that I can remember, honestly.

40. Can you draw well?

Lol. No. I have very little visual artistic talent or skill.

41. Would you ever date someone you met on tumblr/the internet?

Definitely, though obviously I wouldn’t just jump right in. I’m down for long distance relationships, too. But obviously mutual trust and emotional connection would have to be established first.

42. What was the last thing you ate?

Some brownie fudge M&Ms lol.

43. Do you think you’re/you’d make a good boyfriend?

I don’t really know. Never been in a relationship so I don’t have anything go off of. On the one hand I’m super understanding, laid back, and accepting of boundaries. I just want to make sure people feel comfortable and safe around me. On the other hand I’m also forgetful and very selfish when it comes to my time. I also obviously have plenty of emotional trauma/baggage (who doesn’t?) that tends to impede how I interact with people, so. 🤷🏼‍♂️

44. Have you ever had a near death experience?

Not that I can remember, and I hope I never do. The closest I think I ever came was when I fell off a ropeless bridge into a dry riverbed at 4 years old. Got a concussion from that.

45. What do you think people think of you?

Well, my anxiety tells me I’m annoying and boring. The logical side of me tells me most people in my life enjoy my company, so I guess there’s that.

46. What is your middle name and do you like it?

Don’t feel like sharing my middle name here, but I will say I don’t dislike it. Kinda neutral.

47. Are you close with either of your parents?

Kinda. My parents were often emotionally distant/abusive to my brothers and me growing up, and it’s left me rather stunted emotionally, and generally unwilling to establish a deeper relationship with them. We’re a bit closer than we were when I was a teenager, but honestly not much.

48. Do you like yourself?

Generally speaking? No. There are parts of me I’m proud of, but honestly I often find myself wishing I was someone else. I’m far from the self-loathing I experienced when I was younger, though.

49. State five facts about your appearance—

1. I’m 6’1”-ish.

2. Definitely just a bit chubby.

3. Blue eyes.

4. Currently sporting longer hair because I haven’t had a haircut since about September.

5. I have a number of faded scars on my arms from various self inflicted/work related injuries. All of them were caused by extreme clumsiness/poor spacial awareness.

50. State five facts about your personality—

1. I’m super goofy—I make lots of weird noises and motions.

2. I tend to ramble about things I’m interested in, particularly hyper fixations.

3. I like to think I’m a pretty compassionate human being.

4. Extremely awkward, but strangely that doesn’t show because I’m apparently a social chameleon.

5. I’m an observer, but also an overthinker.

Whew, that was a lot! Thank you, friend!