#you have an option not to identify with the shitty people and we are held accountable for everyone who happens to fall into a category

[quoigenicfromhell]

It's so fun to still have people talking about how we're not real casually as though that isn't crazy hurtful. Y'all should know better. Or did you forget that a bunch of doctors currently and historically think you don't exist? Having your lived experience be debate fuel isn't a fun experience.

[yikesharringrove]

Nb Steve as requested by @takemebythehand-andsetmefree

Happy Pride!

Here is a link to my post about Harringrove for BLM, and here is a link to Writers/Artists Against Police Brutality

Here’s also a link to the Masterlist of Harringrove for BLM coutesy of @harringrovetrashh

Thank you all for organizing, participating, and donating.

-

There is an instance where Steve gets misgendered, not by malicious intent, but it still happens, so take care of yourselves, don’t read if that could harm you.

-

“I think I’m a girl.”

This revelation wasn’t totally shocking to Billy.

Steve loved pretty things. Could be found more often than not jamming around in a little skirt, lots of makeup. So Billy just said

“Okay, Baby. Then I love my gorgeous girlfriend.”

And that was so sweet and all, but to Steve it still didn’t, it felt just as bad as boyfriend.

“Actually, maybe not.”

-

“I think maybe there’s something wrong with me.”

They were in Steve’s bed together, Steve laying practically on top of Billy.

“What makes you say that?”

“Parts of me feel like I’m a girl, and parts of me feel like I’m a boy. But all of me hates both of those options. I mean, I love looking like a girl, but when you, when you said girlfriend, Bill that felt just as fucking bad as boyfriend. I think I’m broken.” Billy shifted around until Steve was looking right at him.

“You are not broken. You are beautiful and amazing and confused. But you are far from broken. There’s more in the world than girl and boy. You can be anything, anyone.

“Back in California, I knew all kinds of people. I had friends all along the trans umbrella. I had a friend who was a trans guy, but preferred presenting for feminine. I had androgynous friends that presented however they pleased. I had friends who identified as no gender, or all the genders. I had a friend whose gender identity would change on any given day. Gender is fucking fake, and if you’re not comfortable with whatever you were assigned at birth, make something new for yourself.”

“I think that I’m somewhere in between. Not a woman, but not a man.” Billy grabbed the notbad next to Steve’s bad, drew a horizontal line across it.

“So basically, think of gender as a spectrum. Over here you’ve got women. This includes trans women, who are women that were assigned male at birth. One the other side you’ve got men, which includes trans men. In the middle, you’ve got nonbinay folks. Nonbinary is an umbrella term that just means these people live outside of man and woman. This includes agender people, who have no gender, and people who identify as more than one gender, like bigender or pangender. All along the scale you have people who are genderfluid and genderflux, whose definition of their own gender may slide along the scale at any given moment. You also have people that identify as demiboy, or reversely, demigirl, people that only identify partially as boy or girl, respectively. There’s also the idea of being transmasc, or transfem which are people who were assinged a gender at birth, but identitfy more with the other, without completely identify themselves as trans. So a person assigned male at birth who doesn’t consider themselves a transwoman, but more comfortably identities with feminity as a concept.”

He held out the drawing to Steve.

“There’s also different pronouns, and this isn’t even touching the intersex scale. Gender is so fucking whack, Sweet Thing.

“There’s a lot of different ways to play with it, and each person is so different. You can identify one way and present in a way that isn’t stereotypical to how you identify. And no one can tell you you’re wrong. Because you’re not.”

Steve was studying the drawing with wide eyes.

“Pronouns?”

“Like how I was assigned male at birth, and identify as male, so I use he/him pronouns. People along this scale can use whatever pronouns feel best. Some people use they and them so that they aren’t being gendered, and there are other gender neutral pronouns, like ze/zir and ve/ver.”

“But I mean, they is like, it’s plural.”

“Nah. They has always been used as a gender neutral pronoun. Plus, if it feels best, it can mean whatever the fuck you want it to.”

“So I could, I could like, be a them.”

“If that feels good.”

“Use it for me. Let me see.”

“Okay, um, I was laying in bed with my significant other, Steve and they were asking me questions about gender identity and expression. Afterwards I made them a cup of tea and cuddled them all night.” Steve’s eyes opened back up.

“Bill, that’s, fuck, that’s it.”

“They?”

“They. That felt, it felt good. I didn’t, I don’t even know.” Billy squished them tighter to himself.

“I’m glad, Baby.”

“So, does that make me nonbinary?” Billy just looked at them.

“Does it? You tell me, Sweet Thing.”

“I think so. Nonbinary. So like, maybe transfem? But I think I would be more agender”

“If that’s what’s true. You can call yourself nonbinary and leave it at that, or you can take as many labels as you feel fit. It’s your identity. Fuck with it as you see fit.”

Steve was worrying their lip.

“And you don’t mind?”

“Mind what?”

“That I’m not, not a guy.” Billy pressed a kiss to their forehead.

“‘Course I don’t min. You’re still you. You’re gender doesn’t matter to me at all. As long as you’re happy and comfortable and safe. That’s what matters to me.”

-

Steve needed to tell the party.

They spent so much time with the gaggle of kids, and kept getting fucking misgendered. Not that it was their fault, they didn’t know Steve was using different pronouns now.

“Look, I know those little Gen-Z’ers aren’t gonna care. I mean they see me in makeup and dresses and shit all the time, but this feels, big.” Billy was driving them over to the Byers’ place where all the kids were waiting. “But, but what if they take it wrong. What if they just think I’m this confused girl or something. Or they say I need to make up my mind.” Billy reached over to grab their hand.

“If they do, I’ll punch ‘em out. One by one. Fuck them kids.”

But they all took it so fucking well, it was actually anticlimactic.

“I mean, it’s pretty obvious you don’t conform to a gender binary.” Dustin hadn’t even looked up from their campaign as Steve fucking came out. “But like, thanks for telling us. And trusting us. You’re pretty brave I guess.”

Steve rolled their eyes.

“Thanks. You’re all so sweet and sensitive. I was shitting myself on the way over, and none of you are even fazed.”

“Yeah, I saw this coming.” Lucas rolled one of his dice.

“Do you want to do it again? We’ll all pretend to think you’re disgusting and call you a freak or something. Would that be better?” Mike had a challenging look on his face. Steve just slumped into the couch.

“No. Whatever. It’s fine.” They were actually pouting.

“What, you wanted like, a Lifetime movie moment? Where we all cry and say that we love you regardless and pretend we literally all didn’t see this coming?” Mike rolled his eyes.

“I mean, a little pomp and circumstance would be nice. Accepting myself and coming out to you all was a bunch of breakdowns in the making.” Dustin threw himself dramatically onto Steve’s lap.

“Oh! Oh, Steven! My sweet dear loved one! This is shocking news! But my love for you will never crumble! If anything, it is fortified!” Steve just laughed and shoved Dustin off their lap.

“Brat.”

-

“Can I just get a cheeseburger and fries?” The peppy waitress was twirling her ponytail, batting her eyes at Billy like Steve wasn’t right fucking there.

“Of course. Anything else for you?” She pat her eyes. Billy just blinked at her, completely dead-eyed. He gestured to Steve.

“Sorry, Girl. Didn’t see you!” She tried to laugh it off. Steve’s blood went cold.

“I’ll get the same please.” Her eyes widened at the sound of Steve’s voice, still deep, still masculine, despite the light blue dress, the pretty makeup.

“Oh, sorry. I’ll get that right out for you boys.” She shot away, embarrassed. Steve let their head fall onto the table.

Billy ran his fingers through their hair.

“Two for the price of one misgenderings.” They muttered into the table. Billy was gently scraping his nails into their scalp. “That was like getting kicked while down Jesus.”

“I’m sorry you have to deal with that. I’m sorry I can’t totally understand how shitty it makes you feel.” They sat in silence for a moment until Billy tugged on their hair as the waitress approached with their food. She set it down cautiously.

“Could we get some ketchup, please. And they’re gonna want mustard.” Steve smiled weakly at him, they way he overemphasized using they.

“Um, of course. Anything else?”

“Could you grab them another water?” It was just less than half-full, but Billy couldn’t be stopped.

The waitress just blushed, filling Steve’s water and placing ketchup and mustard on their table with a little enjoy.

“Bill, she didn’t mean to.”

“Yeah, but she still did. And I wanted you to stop feeling invalidated.” Billy shoved the burger in his mouth.

Steve just smiled at him, told him he ate like a pig.

[spaceskam]

another part of me could be you

for @capmanes (i meant to have this done literally an entire week ago but i have no concept of time management)❤️️

ao3

warning: blood & guns; this also turned into something a little spiteful if you squint

Michael didn’t exactly hate Forrest, hate was a very strong word, but that didn’t mean he didn’t get unreasonably irritated every time he saw him do something stupid like breathe. The guy was clingy and stuck to Alex’s side more often than not which made it extremely hard to get information from him, but Alex never even seemed to mind. It was like he was using Forrest as an excuse to get away from all of their alien bullshit and refused to admit it. It made Forrest even more annoying.

Yet, when Forrest showed up outside the airstream, alone and panicking, Michael couldn’t turn him away.

“Whoa, dude, breathe,” Michael instructed, guiding him to go sit in one of the chairs around the fire pit. He went, bowing his head in his hands as he tried to steady his breath. Michael stayed crouched in front of him, making sure he was going to be okay. As much as he didn’t like him, Alex liked him, and that meant that it was now Michael’s responsibility to make sure he didn’t get a scratch on him. “What happened?”

Forrest grabbed fistfuls of his own hair, taking a sharp and shaky breath.

“Alex,” he said, voice breaking, “Someone took Alex and he just told me to go to you and, and we need to find him. We need to go find him.”

Michael’s chest clenched and he tried not to get too angry at the thought of Alex just being taken. What the hell did that even mean, taken? Who took him? Where? Why? What?

But Forrest was crying and Michael knew from experience that, when one person was losing it, the other had to stay strong. So, for once, for Alex, he had to just stay strong.

“Do you know who took him?” he asked, keeping his voice as controlled as possible. It was hard to breathe and his skin was on fire, desperate to go find where Alex was and steal him back. Maybe even kill the person who took him, who knows, he was feeling a bit unpredictable these days.

“No,” Forrest said, shaking his head. He lifted his head to make eye contact with Michael, not a single trace of shame as he cried and sniffled. “No, they just jumped us. I-I thought at first it was... But they grabbed Alex and literally started dragging him into a van like some shitty mob movie and he tried to fight back, but he was, like, really outnumbered and I-I couldn’t help, one of ‘em had a gun pointed at me and I just froze. God, I’m a piece of shit, I just froze.”

“No, that was a scary situation, it makes sense,” Michael–who definitely deserved a medal after this–said, “Then what happened?”

“They just threw him in and he just yelled to go to you before slamming the door closed and driving off,” Forrest explained, voice turning a little whiny as a new wave of tears threatened his eyes, “I feel so bad.”

“Hey, look, we’re gonna find him. Can you tell me anything about the van or what the guys looked like? Look, follow me and let me see if they were stupid enough to let Alex keep his phone.”

Forrest nodded and managed to stand up, both of them heading into the airstream. Michael pulled out his laptop that was a little bit shotty but he’d rigged it up pretty nice. Then, when he and Alex were still on good terms, he’d tweaked it a little bit more to make it even better. He instantly started trying to track Alex’s phone even though he knew it would be hard since Alex wasn’t really a fan of being traceable.

“The van was just all black, tinted windows. There wasn’t anything on it to make it stand out from any other all black vans with tinted windows. The guys all had masks.”

“Anything identifiable? Did you catch any license plate numbers or anything?”

“No, I mean–Wait, it was a government license plate,” Forrest said. Michael looked over his shoulder at him.

“You’re sure?”

“I’m, like, 99% sure. It didn’t have as many numbers or anything as regular license plates.”

“Good,” Michael breathed, turning back to the laptop, “So let’s find some military places and see if there’s any in the vicinity of where Alex’s phone is. If I can find it.”

“I just don’t get it. Who would want to take him?” Forrest asked. Michael sighed, realizing that, as much as he wanted to keep their secret to the small group they had, it looked like that might not be possible. Even if he kept it away, Forrest would be curious and he would ask questions.

“How much do you know?” he said. Forrest was quiet for a minute, clearly not understanding the question. Which meant Alex hadn’t really told him anything. But then again, he shouldn’t have been surprised. Alex was loyal. “Right. How much do you know about Alex’s father?”

“Um, that he’s a dick?” Forrest filled in, “I know... I know about what happened when you guys were young.” Michael froze for a moment, taking a grounding breath before putting his focus back onto the screen. “Alex said he’s done bad things, but didn’t elaborate past that.”

“Yeah, well, Alex’s whole family is affiliated with a pretty sketchy government organization,” Michael said, trying to keep his mind focused, “Alex has been trying to dismantle it.”

“What?”

The computer finished loading in that second, showing that Alex’s phone had received a text ten minutes prior and it’d pinged off a cell tower that had about a twenty square mile range. Michael grinned to himself, feeling prideful as he began searching for places in that area that he might be. His first instinct was to show Alex, show what he learned from watching him, but that wasn’t an option. Not right now, at least.

“Can I trust you?” Michael asked, writing down a few different addresses that might be it. He turned to face him, seeing that he was really fucking confused but he nodded. “No, seriously. If I start talking, you need to be aware that if you share anything I say to you with anyone outside of Alex, that you’re going to be in danger.” He didn’t really mean it as a threat. Or, maybe he did. “But you need to know if you’re going to help me get Alex.”

Forrest swallowed and nodded, drying his face entirely.

“Tell me what I need to know.”

-

“So. Aliens.”

“Aliens.”

“And you’re one?”

“Yep.”

“And Alex probably got taken because he protects you guys?”

“Probably.”

“And I was absolutely wrong about the Nazis?”

“Yeah,” Michael said, “Also, you should probably dial back the Nazi obsession when you’re literally related to modern day Nazis. It’s not a good look.”

“Yeah, well, clearly I need to get a job on Ancient Aliens after this, so,” Forrest huffed. Michael managed a smile, but it quickly faded as he spotted a black van in the lot of an abandoned building. “Coincidence?”

“Nothing’s a coincidence around here.”

Michael stopped his truck and turned it off, leaving it in plain sight on the property. There wasn’t much sneaking they could do anyway and, besides, he was feeling pretty powerful in the moment.

“So, what’s the plan?” Forrest asked.

“We go in, I throw guards at the wall, we get Alex, and we fucking flee to the bunker.”

“What bunker?”

“Either Alex’s or mine.”

“Wait, you both have a bunker?”

“Technically, Alex has two, but–“

“Who are you people?”

“Right, so basically just watch my back and I’ll watch yours. Alex said you’re ex-military, so you’ve got some skills, right?” Michael said. He shrugged slightly. “Good enough. Here, use this.”

Michael leaned over to the glove compartment and moved the acetone to pull out the gun, handing it to Forrest. He eyed him skeptically, but took it anyway. 

“You think he’s gonna be okay?” Forrest asked. They made eye contact for a second and Michael nodded. Him not being okay wasn’t an option. Alex needed to be okay or Michael wouldn’t be okay. Simple as that.

“Let’s go get him.”

-

It was easier than it should’ve been to slip into the building. There were no snipers, no guards, no nothing. It had them both on high alert, just waiting to be caught off guard.

Michael kept his power bubbling under the surface, focusing on his anger that someone had taken Alex and making sure that he would be a force to be reckoned with the moment he needed to be. Forrest kept the small gun held up, finger off the trigger like he knew exactly what he was doing.

“I’ll have you know, I’m very against guns,” he’d said when they climbed out of the truck despite the fact that he cocked it easily and checked it over. Michael had rolled his eyes, but felt a bit safer knowing he wasn’t gun crazy. Less of a chance he’d actually shoot Alex.

“This is weird,” Michael whispered, slowly making his way down the hall, “Something’s wrong.”

“Yeah, something’s wrong, they took Alex,” Forrest pointed out. Michael shook his head.

“No, I mean...”

He trailed off as they took a corner and saw a guard laying in a pool of his own blood right outside a door. They both froze. It didn’t make any sense. Where were the other guards? Who did that to him? Anxiety pooled in his stomach and he looked over to Forrest. 

“What now?” Forrest asked. Michael took a deep breath and nodded his head to the door.

“We go in.”

“And if Alex is hurt too?”

“Then I kill the person who hurt him,” Michael said easily. Forrest didn’t respond.

They both moved closer to the door and Michael used his mind to throw it open quickly, giving them the element of surprise to whoever was inside. But the only conscious one on the inside was Alex.

He was on the floor, prosthetic nowhere to be seen as he clutched his side. Three bodies laid out around them and Michael wasn’t sure if they were alive or not, but he knew for sure that Alex had taken them out. And Alex, wounded and struggling to breath, gave them a bloody little smile.

“Hey, Prince Charming,” he said, not really specifying which one of them he meant, “Just in time.”

Forrest immediately put the gun away and went to his side. Michael watched like an intruder as Forrest kissed his cheek as a small form of comfort and apologized. Alex smiled tiredly at him before pursing his lips for an actual kiss, something he got despite the fact his lips were covered in blood.

“Great reunion and all, but you’re hurt,” Michael said, pushing away that gut-wrenching feeling that came with not being the one Alex wanted when he was in pain, “Let me see it.”

Alex didn’t move his hand as he gave him his attention, still breathing raggedly. Whatever it was, it wasn’t good. Michael moved closer and watched him keep on pressing. He was going to bleed out.

“I’m fine,” Alex said, smiling up at him with those eyes that would’ve been totally swoon worthy if he wasn’t denying his pain, “Just a scratch.”

“Alright, Mercutio, move your hand,” he said, crouching in front of him. 

Alex breathed a laugh and his head fell back against the wall, still smiling at him and refusing to move his hand. 

“You remember that scene in Romeo and Juliet?” he breathed, closing his eyes slowly and opening then just as slow, “Remember we-we had to act it out freshman year together? You were Romeo, you-you had to hold me as I died. You-you suck at acting. Still Romeo, though, still. Now. That’s kinda funny. The-the cinematic parallel no one predicted.”

“Okay, we’re not about to reminisce or make jokes, that’s what you do when you’re about to die and you’re not fucking dying,” Michael said, keeping his voice steady despite the fact that he was getting more and more worried. He looked at Forrest who seemed way in over his head, but he still held Alex and pushed his hair off his sweaty forehead to comfort him. Michael had never been so grateful for someone he didn’t even like. “You’re gonna be okay, Alex.”

“Yeah?” Alex laughed, “These violent delights have violent ends. You know that one, right, Forrest?”

“Is he delirious?” Forrest asked Michael, turning to him for guidance. Michael licked his lips.

“You trust me?” he asked him. Forrest looked at Alex who seemed to be fading out of it more and more by the second as he bled, continuing to murmur Shakespeare under his breath. Which, Michael had to admit, was kind of funny. But he could laugh about it when Alex was healthy.

“Yeah,” Forrest said, nodding, “I trust you.”

Michael took a deep breath and nodded, closing his eyes as he mentally pictured his powers rising and strengthening specifically for Alex. Always for Alex.

“Lay him on the floor,” Michael instructed, “I’m gonna heal him, but I don’t know if I’ll be able to do it completely. More than likely, I’ll just be able to do enough to get him to Kyle, but I’ll be fucked up too. So you’re gonna need to drive and call Kyle as soon as I stop, okay? Then you’re gonna need to call Max so he and Liz can come out here and deal with the body and DNA situation, okay? Can you do that?”

“Absolutely,” Forrest agreed. They both helped as they laid him on the floor.

“Don’t touch him. It’s a lot of electrical power and I don’t wanna accidentally fuck you up,” Michael warned. Forrest nodded and moved just a little, giving them just enough space. Michael carefully peeled off Alex’s hand, seeing the nasty wound on his stomach still gushing blood. It was so bad, Michael couldn’t even tell what caused it.

Still, he layered his hands over it, feeling Alex’s heart pumping hard as it tried to save him.

“Thus, with a kiss, I die,” Alex said, huffing a little laugh as he took a strangled breath.

“Not that kinda kiss, babe,” Michael replied, “And you’re not dying.”

Then Michael focused all of his power on him, thinking of nothing but Alex and everything that he was. His pretty smile, his undying loyalty, his protective nature, his unmatched kindness despite all the cruelty he endured, his eyes, his mouth, his heart. Everything that was Alex Manes was incredible and it was way too soon for him to go away. Michael wasn’t done showing him he was good. Hell, he hadn’t even started.

He was starting now.

Things were blurry when his body decided it’d reached it’s peak and he had to turn to throw up. If a good amount got on one of the guy’s that kidnapped Alex, well, that was someone else’s problem.

“Michael,” Forrest said, his hand reaching for Michael’s shoulder and squeezing. It grounded him more than he’d ever admit. “Michael, you good?”

“Yeah,” he breathed, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand and turning back to them. Alex was breathing well, eyes wide as he sat up on his own and stared at Michael in something akin to shock. They both knew he’d have a hand print on him and that was a bridge that would absolutely not be fun to cross. But it didn’t matter. He was breathing. “Yeah, I’m good. Sick, but good.”

“Alex, are you good?” Forrest wondered, his hand still on Michael as his other one went to Alex’s cheek. It was strange to see someone so unabashedly caring. For both of them.

“Yeah,” Alex said, nodding, “Still bleeding, but not as bad. Thing you just mended an artery and a, a kidney, maybe? I don’t know.”

“Good,” Michael breathed, laughing slightly, “Good.”

“Let’s get the fuck out of here,” Forrest urged.

Alex stood between them as they helped him get to the truck, letting him use them both of a crutches. Michael was weak and dizzy, but he could feel Alex’s gratitude and that pushed him. Besides, he had acetone in the truck.

They squeezed in the bench of Michael’s truck, Forrest in the driver’s seat and Alex in the middle. Forrest pulled out his phone and immediately started making calls as he put the truck and drive and got them the fuck out of there. Michael went for the acetone stash in his glove box. He downed it quickly and tried not to react when Alex leaned against him. 

When he glanced at him, he had his eyes closed and he was taking extremely controlled breaths as he pressed his hand to the wound. Michael watched him for a moment as he drank and, once he was done, he carefully grabbed a t-shirt that was stuffed behind the seat. He smelled it, making sure it wasn’t gross, before moving Alex’s hand and pressing it over the wound.

“You need anything from me?” Michael asked softly so as not to disturb Forrest as he got directions to the cabin from Kyle, “Like, are you grounded or are you just lucid enough to be thrown into a panic attack over being kidnapped and having to take out four guys by hand?”

Alex huffed a laugh and tilted his head back to look up at him, eyes fond. Michael loved that look.

“I’ll be okay,” he promised, nodding, “Thank you for saving me.”

“Thank Forrest, he made sure we made it in time and handled the alien information like a champ,” Michael said.

“Thanks Forrest,” Alex hummed. Forrest glanced over at them both, flashing a smile. He held the phone to his ear with his shoulder, reaching out to squeeze Alex’s thigh gently. 

“Yeah, Kyle, thanks. I’ll call Max and I’ll tell him where to go,” Forrest said, letting go of Alex to grab the phone and end the call, “You two still doing good? No one’s gonna die on me?”

“No,” Michael assured, “Not gonna let that happen.”

Forrest made momentary eye contact with him, going back and forth from the road to his eyes. 

“I know. Thank you.”

“No worries.”

Forrest got Max on the phone and Michael settled into holding Alex. Everything was going to be okay.

-

“So, he’s gonna be okay?”

Kyle nodded and looked between Michael and Forrest. He’d stitched up Alex and left him on the old bed of the pullout couch, pain killers in his system. Michael knew, logically, that he had to leave soon and just let Alex be with his boyfriend while he healed. But, fuck, he didn’t want to go.

“Yeah,” Kyle confirmed.

“Thank God,” Forrest breathed, visibly relaxed at the confirmation. Kyle smiled and looked at Michael as if waiting for him to ask for a ride. He cleared his throat and decided he didn’t really have a choice.

“I can, uh, leave my truck here for you guys whenever Alex is feeling okay if, uh, you wanna give me a ride back into town,” Michael said. Forrest looked to him like he’d lost it.

“No, what if they come back? We need you here,” Forrest said. Michael didn’t know how to feel about that, didn’t know how to handle being needed.

“Stay,” Alex called sleepily. Michael looked back at Alex and then at Forrest, both of whom seemed eager for him to stay. He took a grounding breath. He didn’t want to go.

So he looked back to Kyle.

“Um, I guess I gotta hold down the fort,” Michael said. Kyle eyed him before slowly nodding. 

“Take care of him, call me if anything goes wrong,” he said, “Bye, Alex, stay safe.”

“Bye,” Alex hummed.

Michael followed him to the door, quickly locking it behind him. He watched until Kyle was gone and then watched a little longer, making sure no one followed them there. After that, he closed his eyes and did a mental sweep of all the locks on the doors and windows in the cabin and made sure they were secure. Until they knew for sure who took Alex and why and if there was anyone else, he needed to be on high alert.

“Hey, Romeo,” Alex called. Michael turned his gaze to the pullout couch, seeing Alex in the middle and Forrest laying beside him. He figured before today he would’ve wanted to throw up at the sight. But, right now, he was grateful. 

Really fucking grateful. 

“C’mere,” Alex added, patting the bed beside him.

Like always, that magnetic pull tugged at Michael’s heart and he slowly stepped out of his boots and walked towards the bed. He looked at Forrest, making sure he was cool with it, and then laid down when he got a nod of confirmation. Alex grabbed his hand and held it over the stitches where the hand print was slowly but surely making itself known. He felt a rush of just pure fucking love and had no idea how to handle it.

So he moved closer, still checking with both of them that it was alright with glances. Forrest was already pressed to Alex’s side with his hand in his hair and he didn’t seem to have any issues as Michael pressed in just as close on Alex’s other side with his hand on his bare stomach. He could hear his heart thumping in his chest, his head still feeling a little off from healing Alex and acetone. Maybe he misunderstood.

“I-Is this okay?” he asked carefully. Forrest nodded solemnly.

“That was scary, it’s still scary, we don’t know if they’re coming back,” he said softly, “No one should be alone.”

“You’re being way too nice to me,” Michael huffed, swallowing harshly. His hands were shaking and he didn’t really know why. He couldn’t understand why this guy was being so nice to him, so open to him, and yet didn’t want anything from him. That didn’t compute.

“Not everyone has an agenda,” Alex murmured, eyes closed as he relaxed to the feeling of both men at his side. Michael could feel through the mark just how safe he felt with them, both of them. He could’ve cried.

“You take care of Alex, I take care of you, simple as that,” Forrest added, staring at him over Alex’s head. Michael nodded curtly as he finally understood a little bit better. Forrest was taking care of one of his own.

And Michael fell under that umbrella.

Simple as that.

[dessiekarma]

My Harem is Entirely Bad Boy Types (Kirisaki Daiichi x Reader) Pt. 12

Chapter 12: This Will NOT End Like Every Other Harem Anime; We Want an Answer!

 (Y/N) smiled at the younger male who continuously made quite the show of staring at her. It would come as no surprise where he got the habit from, as the man sitting on the opposite couch didn’t do a much subtler job at gawking.

 “You’re not as hot as big bro made you seem.” The kid drolled out bluntly before flopping onto the couch and pulling out a Nintendo switch.

 “You rude little shit!” Hara exclaimed making his way into the room with a bottle of water. Just as quickly as the water was shoved into (Y/N)’s hand was the Switch pulled from the kid and held several feet over his head.

 “Triggered much!? Gimme my stuff! Oww!” The kid stopped taunting as an older woman delivered a smack onto his head.

 “Cut it out! Be nice to our lovely guest and don’t ruin this for your brother.” The woman hissed at her youngest son before smiling brightly at (Y/N). “Sorry my baby lacks some social graces much like I’m sure you’ve noticed with Kazuya.”

 “Mooooother please.” The lavender haired male groaned before dropping the switch onto his little brother’s face and sitting next to (Y/N).

 “I’m just teasing, sweetheart, she knows that. Do you need anything? Water, snacks, dinner?” The woman said being just a bit too generous and eager-sounding.

 “No, that’s okay Kazu-chan just brought me a bottle.”

 “Kazu-chan?” The woman smiled even wider, if that was possible and delivered little excited smacks onto her husband’s arm.

 “Darling, I think you might be scaring the poor girl.”

 “Says you, old man. You’ve been staring at her since she walked in the door.” Hara rolled his eyes, pulling the water bottle away from (Y/N)’s lips and taking a drink.

 “Ahh my son is right! I apologize, my wife may be a little excited to meet a girlfriend of Kazuya’s. We are just not used to him bringing girls home.”

 “Yea at least not ones that still have their clothes on.” His brother muttered quietly, sticking his tongue out at his brother death-glaring him.

 “Dad, ma, I already told you she’s not my girlfriend just my team manager.”

 “Sure bro, that why you never shut up about her?”

 “Ight imma beat his ass.” Hara stood up quickly and the preteen curled in on himself. Attempting to diffuse the situation (Y/N) took quick notice of the t-shirt the kid was wearing.

 “Hey cool shirt! Ochako is best girl, am I right?!”

 The kid instantly unraveled himself and sat straight up.

 “You like bnha?”

 “Hell yeah, it’s so cool! Lemillion is everything.”

 “Oh my god, did you see the new episode!?”

 “Surprisingly, I haven’t started the latest season yet.”

 “WHAT!? Well you have to watch it like right now!”

 “Are you offering?”

 “You’ll watch anime with me?” The kid now had a clear sparkle in his eyes as he jumped off the couch and pulled the girl up by the arm.

 Hara rolled his eyes as his weeb brother ran off with his equally weeb friend. Turning to his parents he could see the questioning in their eyes. Clearly wanting to know why he was bringing home a pretty beaten up girl at nine pm to meet them.

 “Look, you know how I mentioned having a female friend who was getting picked on? Well it’s gotten worse…much worse. She doesn’t feel okay going home right now and I didn’t want her to be alone. I offered for her to stay here.”

 Both his mom and dad looked at him blankly. The silence in the room was heavy.

 “I mean, please? Or is it okay if I stayed at a hotel with her?”

 The older woman suddenly shook her head, looking shocked. She turned to her equally flabbergasted husband.

 “Wait, honey, are you ASKING us?”

 “Well yeah. So, can she stay here for a bit?”

 “Of course she can.” His father responded still sounding a bit astonished.

 “Thanks. I’m gonna take a shower.”

 The two parents watched as their son made his way out of the room.

 “I can’t believe Kazuya actually asked our permission for something.”

 “Do you think it’s because of the girl? I think I like her already!”

 “What if he screws it up?”

 “Well…we still have two other single sons!”

~~~~~

 “Hey my mom sent me in here to clear out a pest problem.” Hara said nonchalantly bursting into the guest bedroom.

 (Y/N) jumped like a cat, startled by her friend’s abrupt entry.

 “I could have been changing or something!”

 “And? Come on, my eyesight is shit anyway.”

 “Not the point! Besides what pest problem?”

 Hara leaned against the wall and pulled open the nightstand to reveal a baby monitor. Talking into it he grew a shit eating grin.

 “What exactly were you hoping to hear through this you little perv!?”

 “Why don’t you mind your business you jerk!” A voice crackled through the monitor.

 (Y/N) couldn’t help but chuckle just a bit as Hara flung the device out the window.

 “You watched anime with that loser. That’s like third base in that kid’s eyes and you’re basically his girlfriend now.”

 “I’m flattered but I don’t think I can travel to America from prison.”

 The young girl tried to ignore the loud sigh that came from her friend. She knew that Hara was probably the one who disagreed the loudest with her decision to leave Japan. Flopping back onto the king size bed, (Y/N) wasn’t fazed when she felt Hara flop down beside her.

 A comfortable silence washed over the two. It went on for so long that (Y/N) was almost sure that she was seconds away from falling asleep. That’s why when Hara finally spoke, she easily chucked it up as her dreaming or hearing things.

 “(Y/N)?”

 “Hmm?”

 “If I told you I loved you…would you stay?”

 “If you told me you loved me would you even mean it?”

 “When have I ever shown myself to be someone who doesn’t say what they mean?”

 (Y/N) finally opened her eyes and turned her head. Instantly she was swept into the whirl-wind of Hara’s fantasy eyes. There was no playfulness in his face nor hidden joke. She waited for a punchline that never came.

 “Love is a strong word. Not even any of the other guys used that word.”

 “Because none of the other guys have enough experience to identify. And even those who do are too stubborn to admit it.”

 “And you’re not stubborn?”

 “I am. But right now all my stubbornness is focused on convincing you not to leave. Please? I’d take care of you. I wouldn’t let Mei, or your mother or grandfather so much as look at you if you didn’t want them to.”

 “But you know my plans.”

 “And you can accomplish them here. I would help and I’m sure my parents would literally bend over backwards to give you anything they could. Don’t you worry about leaving us? Worry that you’d miss us? Miss me?”

 “Of course. But it wouldn’t be forever…I just don’t know for how long it would be. But wow ‘love’ really?”

 “Yeah seriously. I’ve had more flings than I can count and a good number of girlfriends to boot. I know what infatuation feels like. I know what sexual desire feels like. Attraction, crushes, curiosity. I’ve felt all that before, but I never felt this one. I’d say the only thing left is love. Of course not that it means anything with you leaving.”

 “It doesn’t mean nothing.”

 “Don’t give me that shit. Do I seem like the type of guy to promise to wait for you however long it takes?”

 “Do I seem like the type of girl who would expect you to?”

 The silence came again this time feeling only a bit awkward.

 “I mean of course I’d fuck other girls while you were away. But uhh in terms of love…. A shitty guy like me? I wouldn’t have such great karma, to meet another girl. So I suppose no matter when you’d come back…”

 His voice trailed off and (Y/N) smiled at the thought of what he was trying to say. Feeling more comfortable than she had in days, the girl let her eyes close heavily and drifted to sleep.

~~~~~

 “She doesn’t wanna fucking see you and you have about one second to get the hell out of this gym before I turn you inside out.”

 Hara and (Y/N) looked at each other, hearing Yamazaki’s voice boom from outside the gym. She knew deep down what to expect and had come to terms that she would have to face everything head on before leaving.

 Filling her lungs with air, (Y/N) pushed open the door and was met with not just Ryo, but the entire Touou basketball team.

 Her ex looked like shit and maybe she was wrong for saying that she couldn’t bring herself to feel bad for him right now. Before she could even open her mouth to get a word out, Momoi was speaking up.

 “Please (Y/N), you really need to give Ryo a chance and listen to what he has to say!”

 “Huh you know I am really just tired of people telling me what I ‘have’ to do. But let’s say I’m willing to talk to ANY of you, what is there to say? Or actually should I get Mei in here, so you don’t have to rehash anything to her?” (Y/N) sarcastically retorted.

 “That’s not how it even happened! If you would let him explain you would understand that he wasn’t trying to tell that girl, he was talking to us and she overheard.” Wakamatsu called out loudly and almost accusingly, causing (Y/N) to scoff.

 “And if you would remove your head from that far up your ass you would understand how that only makes it worse. I’d give less of a shit how someone talks about me to my enemies then how they talk about me to my friends.” The young woman finally turned to eye up her ex. “What did I ever do to you for you to go and tell them the most personal thing that was between us?”

 “I was angry and…you moved on so fas-”

 “Fast? You think that was fast? You think months of me feeling like shit, of wondering where I went wrong, of thinking maybe I made the mistake…isn’t enough? How long was I supposed to hate my life for you to feel better about yourself?”

 “You know that’s not what I meant. You chose strangers over me, how was I supposed to feel about that?”

 “NO! I was never going to choose. YOU made me choose. I wanted to be a part of a team again but I wanted you too. You didn’t let me have both. Don’t resent me when you turned yourself into an option.”

 “I was worried about you! All of us were, don’t you get that? You had a tough enough time at Too and knowing your personal situation, we didn’t know how things were going to go for you at some rich kid school. The you go and befriend literally the only people we warned you about…It’s like you do it on purpose!

 “Do what on purpose?”

 “Cause problems for yourself! Then I hear you were attacked last night when even Aomine has told you to stay away from Haizaki and instead of just being quiet you have to always instigate. It’s like every bad thing that happens to you is becau-”

 “You need to stop talking.” A gruff voice came from behind the smaller male.

 (Y/N) was shaking with anger and tears at this point but forced her glare away from Ryo to look at Aomine.

 “You came because you wanted to apologize but all that’s come out of your mouth is bullshit.”

 “Sakurai, regardless of what you think I didn’t choose a lot of this. I didn’t ask to be born into a manipulative and abusive family, I didn’t ask to be born at all. I didn’t ask for Haizaki to attack me or any of the guys that have in the past. And I definitely didn’t ask for you to come here an insult me and my team. When you’re ready to actually apologize I’ll be willing to listen. Until then get out of my face.”

 Sakurai looked like he wanted to burst into tears, but he blinked his eyes harshly. Nodding gently he took a deep breath.

 “I still love you, you know. And I don’t know why I can say it all the time but had a hard time right now…I really am sorry more than you probably believe. I was so busy on trying to get the chance to talk to you at all that I didn’t think about what I was going to say. I’ll get it right next time, I promise.”

 “Now that you got your chance to give your sob story, you can go.” Hanamiya waved off the entire team before turning around and walking into the locker room.

 With nothing left to say each team turned and walked off, one side out of the gym and the other following their captain. Only two remained under the net.

 “Thanks for calling Sakurai out on his shit.” (Y/N) smiled softly at Aomine who didn’t have a readable expression.

 “It was annoying me plus I didn’t even want to be here.”

 “How did they manage to convince you?”

 “Told me it was a scrimmage. I’d be willing to play anyone who managed to piss off Tetsuya.”

 “Sorry to disappoint.”

 “I have a question though.”

 “Shoot.”

 “You’ve fucked all of them right?”

 “Aomine! How could you ask me that!?  I thought you were on my side!”

 “Calm down. I didn’t know there was a side to pick here. But you were the one who always hassled me with anime facts I didn’t want. And if anything stuck in my head it was big tiddy 2d girls and ”

 “Harem.” Both said at the same time.

 “We both said we weren’t pulling any weak bullshit if we ever found ourselves in the center of a harem. We were gonna use harem privileges to get laid. So, come on tell me some numbers. No details! I just want a body count. All five?”

 (Y/N) face grew red as she remembered all the times, she sat on the sidelines watching her boyfriend play basketball and rambled off to his less than participating teammate. To be fair she always assumed Aomine was asleep unless they started talking ecchi.

 “NO!”

 “No you won’t tell me or not all of them? At least 3?”

 “Look if it was any more than one, these guys would have ‘School Days’-ed my ass by now.”

 “I have no idea what the anime reference is but I can get the subtext that you did cash in your protagonist card once.” Aomine had a smirk on his face as he continued to tease his old teammate.

 The girl felt her face burn red but nodded her head in agreement.

 “Do they know you still love Ryo?” (Y/N)’s head shot up which made Aomine let out a cross between a scoff and a chuckle. “Even if you do love one of these assholes, even if its not the one you totally banged…you love Ryo too. Word of advice: don’t give up anyone you can’t imagine NOT being in your life 3 years down the road. Cutting ties with someone sometimes doesn’t have regret that hits you until you see them tied to someone else.”

 “Sounds like that’s coming from experience.”

 “Does it? Well even more of a reason to hear me out. I would say I’d see you around but something tells me I won’t…that right?”

 (Y/N) nodded at her surprisingly perceptive friend.

 “Good luck then.”

 “So, is it really true then?” A soft voice rang from behind the girl as the tan male closed the door to the gym. (Y/N) didn’t have to turn to know it was Yamazaki.

 “That I still love Ryo? Well-”

 “No, not that. We all know you do, I don’t think you’ve ever gone a week without talking about him. That’s the reason none of us have actually kicked his ass, y’know? I meant is it true that you love someone from this team?”

 (Y/N) turned around and for the first time in a while she made complete eye contact with the ginger haired male.

 “Yeah…at least I thought I did.”

 “You thought?”

 “Seems pretty horrible to love anyone if I’m not completely over my ex, doesn't it?”

 …

 “That wasn’t a jab at you, Zaki.”

 “No, that okay. There’s nothing you could say to me that I don’t deserve at this point. Not that I’m trying to throw myself a pity party or make you feel guilty for me feeling guilty or…ugh why is it so hard to talk to you!?”

 “You think I’m hard to talk to?”

 “I didn’t mean it in a bad way or anything! I just mea-”

 (Y/N) took a step closer to her friend and attempted to shift a piece of hair behind her ears only for Yamazaki to take a microstep back. Her eyes scrutinized him more before tucking the hair away.

 “Mei hasn’t been kind to you ever, has she?”

 “Why did you bring her up?”

 “You flinched away from me right now.”

 “No I didn’t!” His voice practically boomed before he seemed to realize the volume.

 “I know we’ve always just talked about her as your bitch ex and joked about how crazy she was. We only took her seriously when she came after me…but she’s been awful to you for a long time, right? Emotionally, verbally…physically?”

 Yamazaki’s eyes went almost as dead as Furuhashi’s. He didn’t like what she was implying, that he was some kind of victim. He especially didn’t like hearing that shit from her. She was the one who was abused, in every way a person can be.

  So what if his girlfriend said things that hurt his feelings sometimes?

 Was someone supposed to feel sorry for him because she screamed at him for little things in public, in front of his friends?

  What right did he have to get sympathy for his 5 foot nothing girlfriend slapping him now and again?

 His thoughts were cut off when he simultaneously felt a tear run from one of his eyes and felt (Y/N) wrap her arms around his waist to embrace him.

 “I’m so sorry that we, your friends, didn’t notice. And even when we did…all we did was joke about your crazy ex instead of helping you. We heard her yell and threaten you…abuse you. We would hear all her manipulation and the guys heard more than I ever did. I’m sorry we didn’t stop her from hurting you too.”

 “Don’t apologize to me! I don’t deserve it! Abuse or not, it doesn’t excuse any of the choices I made!”

 “No, it doesn’t. But that doesn’t mean you retroactively deserve any of what she put you through. You apologized to me and I can’t forget what happened, but I forgive you.”

 “I never meant to hurt you! I was just jealous because I barely had a chance to start with and then to think that you had all this experience and I only had Mei. I didn’t know how anyone besides her could ever see anything in me and it seemed like everything was working against me. And I know I don’t act like it but…I love you (Y/N)!”

 A loud throat clearing drew the attention of both teens. The rest of the team had emerged from the lockeroom, all clearly having heard the confession. (Y/N) turned and smiled at the guys widely.

 “Ready to play?”

 “No.” Seto said firmly. “We can’t put it off anymore. I think it goes without saying that everyone in this room is aware of their feelings for you. I don’t think any of us will fight each other over you.”

 “Shit I’ll take any of you right here right now.” Hara scoffed.

 “BUT…I do think we deserve an answer.”

 (Y/N) looked between all the faces of her team before taking in a deep breath.

~~~~~

 A knock at the door had the girl jumping from her skin. Shoving her suitcase under her bed, (Y/N) quickly walked to the entrance of her guest house and opened the door slowly.

 She was expecting her mother or grandfather. Hell, she was even expecting one of the guys.

 Ryo, instead, stood in her doorway trembling slightly. As quickly as she opened the door, the boy gave a deep bow.

 “I’m so sorry! For everything…I have a lot I want to say. That is…if you’ll give me the chance to say it.”

 (Y/N) looked between her ex and her room where the packing still needed to be done. Opening the door widely, she waved him inside.

(Author’s Note: Talking about Yamazaki being abused is NOT supposed to be a plot element I pulled out my ass to get him back in everyone’s good graces. I have always written Mei with the intent that she be read as an abusive girlfriend because she IS.

Take care of your male friends too, never assume they are okay just because they are bigger or louder or stronger. His backstory is NOT his redemption, his actions for this chapter and the last are him working his way there. His backstory just gives us some insight on his character and why he does some of the things he does.)

[everydayanth]

Having followed the science side of cannabis over the past few years with J working on research teams around the US, this is all shit that NEEDS to be talked about. 

The cannabis industry is full of rich ass bros and I have so many stories I don’t even know where to start. As a complete outsider moving with J, I had a front-row seat to confusion and chaos, and as someone who grew up poor in a diverse neighborhood and schools (which I am incredibly thankful for), then studying social science, the sudden immersion into the world of Cannabis was a wakeup call for me. I understood the theory of white privilege, I understood the application of it and how it worked, but there’s an economic component I never had access to. I was on the same free lunch programs and going through the same foreclosure threats as my neighbors, and I didn’t fully understand the racial component of that until I saw it in Cannabis. 

When J got dropped into Cannabis research because of a sudden start-up failing to follow its investor requirements working in biotech (it was a big deal, so I’m not going to mention specifics, since we’re still in an odd place with all this), we had moved to the west coast from the midwest where Cannabis was still 100% illegal and problematic. I grew up in the midst of gang wars over drugs, calling it Marijuana (can you hear the white accent?) and being warned about the devil. I’d witnessed several people murdered over Cannabis in my neighborhood through gang violence, or else locked up by police for seemingly no reason. 

Cannabis and minority culture were very much intertwined in my mind, and I understood it as a cultural difference from my white religious family, who fought among themselves about alcohol allowance according to God, and respected the law selectively (so the whole “bUt It’S iLlEgAl” argument was a joke).

Cannabis was in the same debate as beers, wines, and liquors, but it still held memories of violence for me. Though I know those incidents were more about power, control, survival, and a means around a racist system now, at the time of moving to the west coast, Cannabis was a duality to me: a misunderstood cultural component, a criminalized tool for a racist agenda, and a thing I saw so many depend on when life got too hard in the way of alcoholics – a thing that would stop me from leaving if I let it too close. 

J came into biotech from a pre-med/criminal justice education. He is very well versed in the War on Drugs and the legal history of the US being a racist, white supremacist agenda for cultural, legal, and economic authority through institutions like religion, education, and law. For him, Cannabis and minority cultures, both Mexican and Black American (and, as we learned from friends in southern California, also in many ways Native American) were intertwined as well.

So when his company dropped him into Cannabis, then moved us around several times with unfulfilled promises and broken contracts, both of us were new to Cannabis and astounded at the whiteness of the industry. Of course the white stoners of the 60s and 70s were spearheading it though, they had the money and their minority counterparts were in prison. It’s wrong, it needs to change. But I was naive to be surprised by it. 

What really affected me though, was the people with money. They were everywhere in the industry and they were old-money white or upper-middle class converted drug-dealer white. But by all accounts of my and J’s education and experience, it should be a minority-lead industry, right? People whose cultures value the cultivation of the plant should have far more interest, ability, and practical/research knowledge. But they were cut out by the nepotism, money, and white privilege (i.e. criminal justice system). 

The science initiative was: analyzing this plant will help us understand the pieces of it and what can be used medicinally or how it is currently helping so many conditions. A great intent, J even got to work with some amazing researchers, but science needs money. So the focus quickly shifted again and again to investors. 

And the investors were always white. They were always men. And in my experience, they were genuinely horrible people. 

We felt so stuck. Exhausted, our stuff had been in storage for years, contracts were falling through, we never knew where we were going or when. This wasn’t cushy science or higher academia, because universities get federal funding, so they can’t invest in something that’s federally illegal without jumping a lot of hurdles. Additionally, many minorities can’t afford to invest in something that is federally illegal. It’s a bigger risk, a vulnerable position to make your interest known as a minority in the industry – not with the prison and arrest ratio numbers the way they are. 

The investors and businessmen were playboys. They talked about bitcoin and big money, went to clubs and cheated on their wives and girlfriends, and tokenized, exoticized, and appropriated minority culture. They invested in research until they made the start-ups worth something with the promise of science, then withdrew their investments and stocks, doubling their fortunes and dissolving the company. Or, as was most often the case, just cutting the research budget after using the science research as an attraction for other investors, and hoping the science guys would quit before they got fired. If they quit, they’d be bound by the do not compete clause and couldn’t use the research with a competing company, which means the current start-up could retain the IP. But they would hang on for long enough to have to be let go, taking their IP and starting again.

They should have started their own lab instead of relying on a company to fund them. But to get a license to work with Cannabis as a plant, as a thing that can’t even cross state lines or be in a lab with out a license/card, you need to qualify by state standards, and generally only the big companies do. So even if they started their own place, they’d have to leave Cannabis, and at that point, they had some incredible research halfway done that could be really meaningful and helpful to a lot of people. Working in several states, the message became clear: this industry is a playground for people with money to make more money and everyone in charge wants to keep it that way.

I’m not in a place yet where I can consolidate my experience as an outsider with an ethnographic distance. I get a pit in my stomach when I think of an investor who took us out to dinner in Seattle. J was working tirelessly, doing 3 people’s jobs because they refused to hire more people despite having the money, he filled in basic hourly positions to compliance and legal staff. They were a small company and continued to make huge mistakes. Going out with investors, we were told, was part of the game, part of the obligation to getting the funds to do the real science. 

Working from 6am-10pm and coming in 7-days a week was part of getting a salary at $40k, part of being a scientist and checking experiments and building data and value. Being versatile and filling other roles like marketing and compliance, that you could be held legally accountable for as an individual in some states (J did great though, he was fine), is part of working for a start-up, is part of a new industry, is part of new science! They did everything they could to normalize practices that we didn’t have enough professional experience to identify as wrong, inefficient, or red-flag warnings. 

But we learned. And we did make a difference sometimes, changing important minds about the value of Cannabis, the need for federal legalization, decriminalization, and the importance of accountability regarding pharmaceutical corruption. But the investors, oh how I dreaded the word investor. 

And this was a big one. 

He took us to a restaurant so dark I couldn’t see my food and pushed together fancy dinner-date-for-two tables in a long line to accommodate everyone with the air of someone who was accustomed to fixing everything with money. His son worked in the company and was the reason the guy was investing. My end was the tag-along-SO end, and our discomfort was palpable. 

Usually at investor dinners, we ended up paying our own bills because important people would leave sporadically or, I dunno, they were cheap? They’d cover the C-Suite and we’d be left on our own, or, and I really hated this, they’d each order 5 drinks and the most expensive entree and then split the bill evenly, so the poor people like me, who budget their spending, ate an $11 meal with a $6 beer but paid a $60 cut of the whole bill (buy more drinks then, take your share, wealthy peers have yelled before – but then the overall bill is still bigger, so that literally doesn’t help me at all; don’t eat anything then – well, that doesn’t really feel like an option at a big business dinner). 

Or, the really shitty one, someone would order a round of drinks, then expect you to get the next round. If this is standard cultural practice where you are, awesome, you have a social agreement, this is not standard here though, and meant actual multi-millionaire investors expected their own hourly employees or $40k salary workers to buy a round of drinks for 5+ people on a regular basis. Do you know how fast that adds up? And, here’s the shitty part, they would start with “you wanna get this round and I’ll get the next?” and then never get the next. EVER! They’d be fall-down drunk or disappear. This happened weekly.

Over and over it happened in a world of overconsumption, privilege, wealth, and the desire to have no worries, party hard, do drugs, yeah! Which, fine, but not when there’s such a power dichotomy and economic disparity. I started to see the tricks, the cons, the advantages, the selfish narcissism, the cheating and taking from others without sharing, giving, or participating in the group. The investors were not part of the group. They didn’t care about the science, they cared about profit margins and knowing when to jump ship with the largest pay off. It got to the point where I (arrogantly, probably) felt like I could screen investors and tell after a single dinner if they were going to scam the program or use the science to get licenses then dump them, or never actually give them the equipment to do their work. There were a few who genuinely cared.

Anyway, this fancy restaurant: we didn’t know who was paying, but I opened the menu and the absolute cheapest thing was a caesar salad for FOURTY-NINE DOLLARS! 

But no, we don’t get to order our own food. Fancy investor says we all must try this specific steak because it’s his favorite, one for everyone! Which makes it sound like they’re paying, but I’ve learned you never know. One girl was vegan and I tried to jump on that train to go for the comparatively reasonably priced salad, but alas, decisions had already been made, wine was being poured without question, steaks were being served, and at the end, checks were served down the table in a neat line of leather books, a bill was put in front of the two of us for $250 and my jaw dropped. The server goes “Mr. [Name] has kindly taken care of the wines for the table.” WINES HE ORDERED AND STEAKS HE INSISTED WE EAT! Ugh, I was so confused and angry and sick of the talk and playing nice and making friends. I went to the bathroom and hyperventilated with J texting me that he’s done and we need to find a way out (but remember the IP and non-compete clauses, getting out is hard). 

The guy ended up paying for everyone. It was $7,000. I can only assume he wanted us to see the bill and his generosity, or that the CSO said something about people not being able to afford it. Either way, that same story repeats itself over and over: white millionaire man invests in cannabis as quick buck, no interest in science, makes fortune and leaves with no legal retribution. 

When J worked with UCI, they tried to press for legal retribution for fraud against a company that had partnered with them, but it didn’t stick because the independent companies have the money, the power, and the law. 

It was like living in a reality tv show, in a bubble where the real world happened outside. If you move between places often enough, you don’t fit in either. I tried to stay on the outside, but most of those guys tried to stay on the inside. And on one hand, I get it. They see fast cars, easy money, models and big parties, they grew up white and wealthy without realizing it because they have no context of diversity or poverty, they don’t actually see the harm they cause, they don’t actually care, because all they want is to fit in the bubble. It’s infectious, addictive for them.

And I despised it because being inside the bubble made me physically ill. It wasn’t anthropological fieldwork, it wasn’t removed from my life, I had no safe home base to return to, to think and consider and code notes, this was my life. 

Now, we are just about to pass the two-year mark living in RI. It will be the first time we’ve lived anywhere for more than a year since we moved from the midwest almost seven years ago. We’re recovering as a team, as a couple. I’ve gotten more done in the last two years than the 6 before that combined. We got to travel to so many places, and actually meet some amazing people. The companies moved us and paid for housing. There were benefits is what I’m saying, I don’t regret our choices, because I didn’t know what the consequences would be and we made each choice together. We’ve learned so much about each other from the experience. And we survived it together, and I’m proud of us for that.

J ’s all but given up on science now, we left the millionaires to their parties and drugs and alcohol and broken relationships, and I should mention, because I know my tone here may seem dismissive in its generalization, that I learned a lot about stoner cultures and rave cultures and drugs and more about history and criminal justice, and I think there can be a time and place for drugs and alcohol, and that Cannabis should be legalized and fully decriminalized. 

What I am fed up with is the wealthy and their context bubble, the investment in their friends, the quick scams that are perfectly legal and make them richer for doing nothing, and the irresponsibility; the avoidance of confrontation, integrity, and honesty, disregarded for a quick buck. Lives left a mess in their wake with no jobs as the company falls apart. For me right now, the Cannabis industry is being lead by people soaked in the slime of deception hoping to make money with the same corporate structures of taking advantage of their workers that their fathers used before them. It is currently a racist, classist industry, sure there are some amazing exceptions, but as a whole, there is a problem with where the money is coming from and going to. 

 Most of the investors I’ve seen support Trump’s policies (passionately and often because they personally benefit), while the workers adamantly oppose or avoid caring about politics at all. Just because you’re a fanatic about something doesn’t mean you get to stop caring about or considering the impact of what you do or the world outside of it. If you work in Cannabis, know who you are working for and what the impacts of your work are. I have found that, more than any other industry, Cannabis seeks to maintain a status quo in white power, authority, and culture (re: religion, morality, ownership, wealth, cultural institutions, legality, etc.), while retaining the image of being individually diverse, subversive, and rebellious, leading to intense appropriation, exoticization, tokenism, and continual reinforcement of white privilege and classist power.

That’s it. That’s all I’ve got to say on it right now. I’m exhausted. I need to go recharge and find some hope. But I think making people aware of these areas that don’t get seen, because they don’t want to be seen, is part of building hope. People starting to look around and realizing how many millionaires there are, and how easily they make more money this way without social contribution, is part of identifying the problem, and I am eternally grateful to comedians like Hasan Minhaj and Trevor Noah, who look in these dark corners and find a way to make us all look with them, stirring up conversation as we decide what to do about the mess. 

[crobones]

smithereens wasnt about chris or billy. it was but it wasn't. people are forgetting about Jaden. Jaden who went from begging for his own life to trying to save the life of a man who held a gun to his head.

Chris was the jaded take on tech where we understand that it's extremely invasive and ruins lives every day. Meanwhile, we are desensitized to a point for our own sanity just so we don't cry our fucking eyes out every time we see an article about someone dying. Death happens all the time and we go on living because we don't want it to hurt so much. but he knows from a woman he met and had a just a one night stand with that technology can give you answers. it's a very specific and contextual place to find answers but he knows people literally put their entire lives online because he was one of those people. and when a parent loses a child, online can be the best place to find pieces of who they were.

Billy is the other side of that, but to a different degree. he acknowledges the power of his app and utilizes it without even realizing how quick he literally pulled up chris' profile based on bare bones knowledge about him. he knows the app is addictive and that's the point of it but he has literally made no strides to make it less so, he just makes empty complaints and goes back to work. how detached he is shows in that he just goes straight back to meditating after finding out what happened after that phone call.

but, fuck, man. Jaden? Jaden is just a fucking kid who got in the wrong car at the wrong fucking time. he didn't even know how deep he was in until he looked up from his phone. if anything, during his time when he realizes he's a hostage, he probably blames himself for being on his phone and not knowing. there's a man with a gun to his head and he doesn't want to die and he's so fucking scared he vomits on himself. he doesn't know why he's there, but unlike any one else who talks to chris that day, jaden has seen chris' face. jaden sees a man at whit's end and he doesn't know why this man wants to talk to his boss' boss' boss' boss' boss, but jaden doesn't even think he's worth the effort. "you won't get any money for me, I'm just an intern."

then jaden listens to chris.

billy could hear chris, but jaden was listening. jaden listens and can see chris' face and can see the tears and snot and blood of a man who made him think he was going to fucking die in the back of a stranger's car. putting a face to it made it that more real. and when chris releases him? he gets the option to just run away and never think about this nightmare again? but he knows he's going to think about it. he knows he'll need therapy. then he looks at the situation. chris only ever kidnapped him because he worked at smithereens, it wasnt personal. it could have been anybody. just someone who had the ability to get to billy and put pressure on the company to comply.

and then this total fucking stranger tells jaden had no intent on ever laying a hand on him. he was just a broken man who took responsibility and wanted to talk. and jaden and billy both find out chris was planning on killing himself the whole time. billy tries to save face and bargain and bribe, but chris doesn't want that and says as much. but jaden has experienced a loss of this kind before and knows what it's like for those left behind. the last conversation they have, jaden even gets chris to laugh at first. and that makes jaden see this broken man is just a normal person who got dealt a shitty hand in life.

he tries to convince a man who held a gun to his head to put it away and live another day. in these final moments he realizes all of this was just a long fucking suicide note and jaden doesn't want chris to die because he thinks chris deserves to live. that last shot didnt take away chris' choice, it took away jaden's. you're not supposed to learn life lessons from chris. he doesnt want that, he just wants to talk. youre not supposed to relate to billy, or the police, or the teenagers watching, or the people who see those notifications at the end. you're supposed to identify with jaden, and that last fucking shot took away his choice.

[grapeicies]

8 Things 8 Years of Therapy Taught Me

(Working with a professional version)

1) STOP PUSSYFOOTING YOUR STRUGGLES AND PICK SOMETHING TO WORK ON.

It’s tempting to think that you can go into a therapist’s office with no game plan. 

It’ll go like this: you tell them something’s wrong, you clarify what you think is wrong, and they use their fancy degrees and licenses to eventually sus out what’s really wrong with you and come up with either a miracle medicine or say that one perfectly profound thing that will set your life into motion. 

Doesn’t work that way.

Your therapist is human. While they are more trained and more experienced with handling a wider variety of issues, struggles, and stories than the average person, they still cannot read your mind. They cannot understand how you tick by the short amount of time they have you for, especially when it’s weekly or monthly sessions. In order to get the best out of your sessions, you have to identify problem areas and at least start the process of brainstorming what direction you want to move in. 

Your therapist cannot fix you. They cannot force you to recover. 

You are always in charge of your own recovery. It doesn’t work otherwise.

Personally, I like following the CBT model and focusing on changing behaviors in order to change thoughts in order to change feelings. It feels less overwhelming to change my behaviors because my thoughts aren’t nearly as visible as how I behave and my feelings are involuntary reactions to my own thoughts and events happening around me. If you’re too overwhelmed to decide on just one behavior to work on, that’s what your therapist is there for. To guide you.

2) Do your fucking research.

Most people have the impression of therapy as an hour of you sitting on a chaise and talking the ear off of a nodding observer who takes notes and occasionally chimes in with profound bits of wisdom. Psychodynamic therapy is the most common form of therapy and it works for some people! It just doesn’t work for everyone. Know that if it didn’t work for you, there are still options out there for you to still try!

Just a short list of alternative therapies:

Behavioral Therapy

Cognitive Behavioral Therapy

Dialectical Behavioral Therapy (My personal favorite experience!)

Art Therapy

Music Therapy

EDMR Therapy

And many more

There are also different levels of care (from highest to lowest; commentary is US-centric!)

Inpatient [Individual or Group] (Split into Residential and Acute) Meant for short-term stabilization in a medical/hospital setting in an emergency ONLY. 

Partial Hospitalization (PHP) [Group] the step down from inpatient; after a person is stabilized, they are placed in 5 days-a-week, 8 hours-a-day care where they commute from their residence to their program in order to reintroduce structure to them after a major disruption in their life (like an inpatient stay). Typically, group sessions are paired with a team of providers who advise a personal care counselor who supervises your progress. A person can be referred to PHP as either an alternative to inpatient or as a transition from inpatient, depending on their level of need. If you need PHP and cannot afford it: ASK ABOUT HOSPITAL CHARITY CARE OPTIONS. (Lasts anywhere from 1 week to 2 months)

Intensive Outpatient (IOP) [Group] can either be a step down from IP/PHP or a preventative measure to keep a person out of the higher levels of care (because IP and PHP are expensive and will 100% increase your insurance rates, unfortunately). An IOP schedule operates anywhere from 2-4 days a week, depending on your level of need. Most IOP will start you at 3 days a week and either increase or decrease the number of days you attend depending on their assessment of your wellness. Like a PHP, an IOP will typically pair group sessions with a team of providers and a single PCC who supervises your progress. Also typically has charity programs! I know! I benefited from them! You have to ask though! (Lasts anywhere from 3 - 12 months)

Routine Outpatient Care (ROC) [Individual or Group] the most common form of care. Is often either the precursor to or the ending point of higher levels of care. This is where a person has the most autonomy in the maintenance of their health and is the most long-term form. Most therapists have a sliding scale for payment options. The sliding scale, unfortunately, does not apply if you’re paying with insurance. Make sure to talk to them or their secretary about your financial options and look into potentially free options. (Lasts however long you can afford it or however long you need it to)

Support Groups [Group] (Typically) free community resources meant to explore and process difficult feelings in the company of other people who have gone through similar things! It’s most often in the form of 12-step programs but I hate those so I like to make sure that people know they have other, secular options available! Like SMART! And Facebook Groups! And Discord Servers! Places that are specifically oriented for people who want to feel supported while they recover!

3) Be picky.

I cannot overstate this enough. View therapists like you view a job interview because you are LITERALLY hiring them to help you manage that bitch of a blob of electrified fat sitting in your cranium. You’re setting up for an uncomfortable process; it should be with someone you feel like you can grow to trust.

Ask them:

“How long have you been practicing? What demographic do you specialize with? What are your strengths as a therapist? What are your weaknesses? What methods do you use for treatment? Have you been through therapy yourself? How recently? How often do you seek an outside opinion? Describe your ideal patient. Have you treated patients with similar problems to the ones I have described? How often do you anticipate seeing me? Do you assign homework? How should I prepare for our first session?”

If you are non-white, LGBTQIA+, (previously or currently) poor, disabled, or part of any other marginalized group I urge you to also ask these questions:

“What is your experience level working with my community? How do you view my community? How do you or would you adapt your treatment methods to accommodate people like me? What options are available for me? Do you know someone who might be better suited for my needs?”

I cannot emphasize enough just how much it radically changed my life to find therapy options in my community. There are just some things that all the education in the world cannot compensate for. Someone who meets you on most of your community needs is better than someone who meets you on literally none of your community needs. Not having that connection, feeling like I was being humored but not heard, almost drove me away from therapy entirely.

4) Understand that you are wired to troubleshoot.

If you feel in your gut that something isn’t right, understand that something is not right.

Here’s the caveat though:

What you think is wrong may not actually be what’s wrong. 

Building an accurate intuition for troubleshooting is a gained skill. If your upbringing wired you for dysfunctional relationships and fed into cognitive distortions that overtake your view on situations, then something is still off and still needs to be addressed. Or you’re just able to recognize that you’re in a shitty place and your environment needs to change. Or a whole host of other things. Troubleshooting is RARELY a one-solution fix and it is even more rarely a black-and-white issue. There’s nuances to the gears that keep you going. It often takes time and care to assess and then get to work on everything. If you keep maintenance up on your system and take care of things before they get unmanageable, you will eventually be able to workshop your own solutions. Still, we’re here for professional help because it is beyond a point where we are able to take in on ourselves.

Sit there with your fucking check engine light and do not turn it off because someone tells you to. 

Shine on, you immensely well-developed system, you.

5) DO YOUR GODSDAMNED HOMEWORK.

If your program/therapist asks you to do it, do it. 

This isn’t school. 

You will not be punished for not doing your homework. (Except for potentially being told you are harboring a therapy resistant behavior and that there’s nothing the therapist can do for you as the crushing disappointment from realizing you flaked on something important yet again sets in)

You will also not be rewarded for doing it if you avoid it. (Increased sense of trust between you and your therapist! A sense of accomplishment for having worked on yourself and delivering on a promised result! Increased self-confidence and dopamine rush from feeling reliable!) 

Homework is the way that you show your therapist how committed you are to the process and how accountable you are for your own development. It helps you build trust with them and helps you form a helpful habit.

But, like, also don’t treat it like those last minute assignments you would fill out literally as the teacher was walking through the door. There’s no guideline to this. Your homework is for your personal development. If it’s too insufferable to do consistently, talk to your therapist and figure out something else that does work for you. You are the master of your own destiny. Your therapist is there to make sure you’re held accountable for your progress and to help guide you towards being the best version of yourself.

Fully involve yourself with your homework and make it something you want to do.

5) Be your own snitch.

SNITCH ON YOURSELF.

TELL YOUR THERAPIST EVERYTHING THAT IMPEDED YOUR PROGRESS THAT WEEK/MONTH.

COME INTO YOUR FIRST SESSION WITH A FULLY ITEMIZED LIST OF POTENTIALLY THERAPY RESISTANT HABITS YOU HARBOR, TEACH YOUR THERAPIST HOW TO RECOGNIZE THOSE BEHAVIORS IN YOUR ACTIONS, EXPRESS HOW MUCH YOU WANT TO OVERCOME THEM, AND BE ACCOUNTABLE FOR YOUR OWN PROGRESS.

Don’t know what a therapy resistant behavior looks like? Here’s a PsychCentral post.

Resistance is a natural part of recovery. Everyone has resistance within them to change or new thoughts/habits/ideas/whatever. It’s how your brain protects your identity from the things that would wreck it.

And you are here to recognize that your identity is a construct and you are the person who defines it. 

If you are working with the right therapist, being honest will not kill you.

Even if it means being referred to a new therapist. Even if it means being asked to leave your program/your therapist’s practice. Even if it lands you in the hospital. (All have happened to me! It sucked! A lot! It hurt! A lot! I cried! A lot! I lived! A lot! Honestly! I was better for it!)

There’s a level of catharsis that comes with looking your worst fears in the face and answering them with radical honesty. When you’re willingly and brutally honest about the obstacles that come with working with you and the severity of your needs, you are giving your therapist the opportunity to set their limits and boundaries. You are helping them help you by allowing them to be honest about how well they can work within the parameters your situation has set for them. While sometimes the answer is yes, they can help you, sometimes the answer is no, they can’t help you. You must be willing to accept both.

You have to be willing to show your underbelly if you want to get anywhere meaningful.

6) Document the fuck out of everything.

You know those sessions of therapy where you know something important happened that week between now and last session? The ones where you, for the life of you, cannot resummon the thoughts and feelings and words you had when you were stuck in the thick of it?

Document them. 

Sit there and learn how to document every little step, every tear, every smile, every awful, terrible thought. Make vlogs, write letters, fill up journals and scrapbooks and sketchbooks and playlists and write songs and make memes and do everything in your power to make sure you’re able to hold onto what’s important so you can present it to your therapist. 

While you are in therapy, learn how to TAKE NOTES. 

You do not have to take traditional notes (my preferred method was to doodle while we talked and use the images to trigger the memories of what we talked about when I reviewed them later because that’s how my brain works). Understand that you need a reminder and a way to access the information from your sessions later so you can keep doing the work outside of therapy.

Beyond the fact that it is satisfying as fuck to hold your progress in your hands, it is also important because your therapist cannot work with a shrug and an “It was alright. Nothing really happened.” They are not your friend. 

They are there to help you. Help them help you.

7) Learn when it’s time to buckle down and when it’s time to let go.

The hardest skill I had to learn when I was going through therapy was learning when to recognize “I am no longer growing” and then look my therapist in the face and say “Thank you for everything. I’ve learned everything I can learn. I need to go.” But I’ve also heard from people who say they’ve had the opposite problem: they don’t know how to stay. They don’t know when to say “I have things to learn from you and I want to learn them.”

Therapy is a professional venture. While you are building meaningful relationships, it is impossible to complete your journey while relying on the guidance of a single person AND a loose network of fleeting connections is not a support system. It is support soup. 

People need a support *network* constructed from the various enriching relationships they have built for themselves. Therapy is not an exception to this.

Do not be afraid to challenge yourself and explore why you feel the way you do and your emotional urges. Challenge why you feel the urge to run. Challenge why you feel fear when you think of leaving. Understand that when those feelings arise, your growth often lies on the other side of the opposite action.

8) Keep going.

Develop the capacity for grit.

In a society that benefits from your self-hatred and animosity towards the other, it is your radiance and your defiant capacity for love and empathy that is the true revolution.

You cannot change the world. You cannot change your family. You cannot change people.

Let yourself resist those truths and then accept them.

Commit to accepting them.

And then operate within the boundaries placed before you.

You can influence the world around you when you invest in yourself and the people around you. When you demand better for yourself and work for it, you embolden other people to want the same. You may not be able to feel the impact of the mark you will leave on the world when you do better and still you must have faith that your mark is made.

This post is my effort to shape the world I live in using the tools I built for myself. And just like every thought, every quote, every gesture, every conversation, every hug, every tear, and every smile carved and shaped me into the person I am today, I have one wish for everyone who reads this:

I hope for all of you to one day wake up and realize you are currently the best version of yourself that you have ever been.

And that you will only continue to get better.

8 things 8 Years of Recovery Taught me

[maiaisbia]

jimon with 42~

“I’m going to save you from the terrible date you’re having.”

Ah… Anon this is probably not what you were thinking of when you sent this request. This ended up having a pretty big focus on identity, with romantic fluff. I had a great time writing it though, so thank you! I hope you enjoy!

from this prompt list | on ao3

It was going on thirty minutes now, and Jace didn’t know how much longer he could take watching the trainwreck. He couldn’t guess which one of them thought a date together would work, but it was clear that it was not going well. Simon looked uncomfortable and Meliorn looked bored.

“Are you going to do something, or am I going to have to get involved?” Maia asked, leaning on the bar across from Jace. “Because I can play the jealous ex lover, but I would really rather not.”

“If I do it, will you promise to stop spitting in my drinks?” Jace joked, glancing at his beer.

“No, but I’ll reduce spit drinks by 50%,” Maia grinned.

“Does that mean 50% less spit in the drinks or half my drinks will be spit free?”

“Let a girl have a little bit of mystery,” she pushed off the counter with a wink and moved to attend to a new customer.

Jace could only shake his head and smile, before downing the rest of his beer. Standing up, he moved to the corner table Simon and Meliorn were sitting at. They both looked up as he approached with relief. Jace didn’t know if he should be worried or flattered.

“Which one of us are you coming to whisk away?” Meliorn asked, resting his chin on his hands and turning his pretty eyes up to Jace. Simon was just watching Jace with a soft smile, a little bit of fang sticking out.

“Ah, Simon,” Jace said, resting a hand on Simon’s shoulder. “Should I even bother coming up with some excuse like a mission he is needed on?”

“No…” Meliorn pouted dramatically now, “Pity you didn’t choose me. One day, Jace.”

“Nah man, you slept with my sister, that’s a no go,” Jace laughed. “Come on Simon, you have a video game to beat my ass at?”

“Yeah, okay!” Simon stood, slipping his coat on. Jace dropped some cash on the table to cover for both their drinks. “Um, see you ‘round Meliorn.”

“Goodbye daylighter,” Meloirn said, waving at them both as Jace ushered Simon out the door.

“See it’s things like that why it wasn’t working!” Simon said, gesturing at Hunters Moon. “He kept calling me daylighter. That’s like. The most uncool pet name ever. Plus who even uses pet names on a first date?”

“I don’t know why you even went on a date with him,” Jace said, and fell in step as Simon turned in the direction of his apartment.

“I don’t either, I guess I haven’t really dated guys in the shadow world and he seemed like a pretty safe start,” Simon said, running a hand through his hair and messing it up. “I dated a couple guys in highschool, so back when I was a mundane. It was pretty common to be queer in the artsy circles I was in, you know? Accepted, normalized. Then I end up a fucking vampire, and it’s a whole new set of rules! Shadowhunters, big no go, though that’s changing a bit. Warlocks, seelies, and vampires? Very accepting. I mean, you can see it in the leadership! Werewolves, pretty much like mundanes. Gotta be careful, some are chill and some are assholes.”

Jace tried to keep up with all that, because Simon’s hands were moving and he was talking pretty fast. But he thought he got it. “So you’re bisexual like Magnus?”

“I identify as pansexual,” Simon caught Jace’s look of confusion and continued. “It’s pretty similar, yeah? Bi you’re attracted to your own and other genders. Gender comes into play in attraction, like people may feel attraction differently towards men vs. women vs. nonbinary folks. Pan, it’s like… gender doesn’t play a big part in your attraction to someone. So in both cases, bi and pan people tend to be able to fall in love with people of any gender, but they feel the attraction to the person or people they love a little differently.”

Jace nodded, again not sure he was picking up all the nuances but understanding the gist. “Okay man.”

“Too much of a crash course?” Simon asked, nudging Jace with his elbow and grinning.

“Nah,” Jace said, and then huffed. “Okay I’m going to say something and it might sound shitty.”

Simon visibly tensed but nodded. “Okaaayyy? Not ominous at all and I reserve the right to punch you.”

“I always thought my attraction to guys was bleed through from Alec,” he muttered, glancing to Simon. Simon didn’t seem upset, so Jace took a deep breath and tried to explain what he had only ever thought about. “I didn’t live around a lot of people until the Lightwoods adopted me, and I didn’t really think about crushes until years later. Alec and I were bonded pretty young, so I just assumed that when I thought a guy was hot or cute or whatever, it was from him.” Jace snorted, shaking his head. “But you know what I’ve realized since? Alec and I have a completely different taste in dudes. Like he’ll be zeroed in on Magnus and I feel nothing except his distant happiness.”

Jace didn’t add that Simon was probably the last (male) person on Earth Alec would be attracted to. But boy, did Jace find himself watching Simon, smiling at his jokes, feeling butterflies when he was around, all that dumb shit. That was definitely just on Jace.

Simon, to Jace’s surprise and relief, was nodding, “That actually makes sense. You Shadowhunters are such a heteronormative culture… It’d be confusing.”

Jace shook his head. “Well thanks for the validation I guess.”

“Dude,” Simon just rolled his eyes, turning and jogged up the steps to his apartment. Their conversation had certainly killed some time. “I appreciate you trusting me to come out to me.”

“Whatever,” Jace huffed, though he felt oddly lighter. “I don’t know I like any of the labels you’ve said.”

“That’s fine,” Simon held the door open and Jace slipped passed him. The stairs creaked as they went up to the second floor. “You’ll just find what works for you.”

Jace drew the unlock rune before Simon pulled out his keys. Walking in, he found the place was changed from the last time he was there. “There’s a fish tank and it’s cleaner in here.”

“Yeah, if I don’t do my share of the chores Maia makes me pay a bigger portion of the rent,” Simon flopped on the couch. “Which is fair, and a good motivator because I don’t make much from my gigs.” He gestures to the TV setup. “But she’s a great roommate, and Maia means the game and console collection has doubled!”

Jace crouched and flicked through what was there. He didn’t know how it had been so easy to talk to Simon about things he hadn’t ever tried to put into words before. And now they were just going to play games, maybe order out, like nothing had changed.

Because it hadn’t. And that was just what Jace wanted. He slipped Call of Duty into the PS4 (he had started to figure out all the systems), and grabbed two controllers. Tossing one to Simon as he walked to the couch, he whacked at Simon’s legs. “Move over.”

“No,” Simon said, snagged the spot of player one. He remained firmly lying across the whole couch. He lifted his legs up after a moment and Jace sighed. As soon as he sat, he found Simon’s legs in his lap.

Jace didn’t push Simon away, in fact it felt… nice. Jace relaxed, resting his arms on Simon’s legs. “We’re playing the zombie version.”

“Oh player 2, you will be doing whatever I dictate,” Simon said, but selected the zombie campaign anyway. “Aren’t you tired of fighting these types of things?”

Jace shrugged. “I find it weirdly relaxing. No one’s life is actually on the line.”

“That’s fair,” Simon flicked through the options, yawning. As the game loaded, Simon said, “Hey thanks for the save back there. This is a much more fun way to spend the evening.”

“Any time,” Jace said, and took a breath. “For the record, if I took you out on a date, it would have been much better.”

“Oh yeah?” Simon said, and he wasn’t laughing like Jace worried he might. “If we were on a date, what’d we do?”

“Something like this,” Jace said, stabbing a zombie on screen. “Sometimes a fancy restaurant or a movie or something, but mostly just this. I would have planned ahead and brought good beer though, that’d be the difference.”

“You know? That sounds pretty nice,” Simon paused the game. He sat up and pulled his legs away. Before Jace could mourn the loss of contact, Simon was nearly in his face. “We’re all so busy, any downtime is precious.”

“Yeah,” Jace said, and it came out a lot breathier than he wanted. His eyes flick down to Simon’s mouth before quickly looking back at Simon’s eyes. “Um.”

Simon’s smile was soft. “You know what would really salvage my date night?”

“Take out?” Jace asked, but let Simon take the controller out of his hand.

“I was thinking more along the lines of you kissing me,” Simon said, little shrug of his shoulders. “If you wanted to.”

“I could do that,” Jace swallowed.

“Too late, I’m going to kiss you instead,” Simon’s smile was a little lopsided now.

Kissing that smile might just be the best thing Jace had done in a very long while.

[gimmeyoon]

Iron World: Choose Your Class

     I am the whisper of flames. I am the the spark in a cave of darkness. I feel it coursing through me, the ever-growing need to fight. It’s my instinct now, running into the flames to prove that mine are stronger. Shadow-Knight, I chose it because it sounded cool. It wasn’t my intention to chose a solo class. I hadn’t known then what I know now. That being alone is inevitable. At the end of the day it’s you and your weapon or your magic. But for me? For me it’s both. I fight with the might of a tank and the trickery of a caster. I summon flames just to shoot an arrow through my enemies heart. I’m quicker than I am strong, but too many enemies have doubted the power my arms hold. I live in two worlds, three I suppose. The world of light where my aim never fails, the world of the shadows where my magic calls to me, and Iron World, the cage I will escape. I am the Phoenix and I will never stop rising from the ashes. 

     I am the darkness that calls to all men. I am death’s master. I belong to two planes, that of the living and that of the dead. Though the dead in this game are only coded shadows, they tremble before me. I am Agma’s master, my half-dead tiger that awaits my command. I am the magic that good men fear to do, the necromancer. I have looked death in the face and laughed. Perhaps that is why I still live today. Zombie they call me. Maybe I am? I don’t know this fire that rages inside of me. I can only hope to contain it. When I fail, or when I chose to unleash what is always there, I cannot control it. It burns so much brighter than I want. I have looked death in the face and laughed, but I fear it is her that has the last laugh. That somewhere she watches as I avoid the shadows, as I run from the magic that used to make me feel invincible. Now in the moments where I might be, I hide instead. Always afraid that my next move is my last. I am Agust D, the living dead man.

     I feel the magic scratching at my finger tips as I sit at my laptop in the dead of night. I once toppled dragons but now I reach to the corners of this game. There is no door I cannot sense the code for, no lock too complex for me to break. I can bring it all down with my keyboard. In my lab I am less wizard and more engineer. Though the weapons I’ve developed could only come from magic. I wanted to be a wizard to feel the type of power I had only seen in movies. To understand for a moment what it felt like to have that type of command with just a few words. Sometimes I worry I like it too much. That going back to the real world would mean losing this sort of pride I take in hacking into the Coffin’s database or making the rings Chimmy wears to create a forcefield around him and his patients. In here I am Mono and my wish is my command.

     Charisma. That’s why I chose it. Enchanter’s always have high charisma for crowd control spells. I hadn’t expected the pressure that it entailed. I hadn’t anticipated how it would feel to have my friends look at me with fear in their eyes as the waited for me to hide our presence to a crowd full of people. It was draining. The ever-present exhaustion almost made me believe I was allergic to magic. Despite it, I couldn’t be a tank. Couldn’t crawl into bed sore every night. The truth of the matter was that I was not meant to do magic everyday. I was meant to go to my 9-to-5. Charisma. It made people like me, and it made people look at me, and with it all I smiled. I smiled, because the moment I stopped I feared we might not make it out. So I hold out my hand as I chant the spell and I calm my friends as the sit in the living room. I reach to the very depths of their souls and I tell them it will be alright. No one notices. No one looks up. Yet the sadness in their eyes begins to fade at least for today. I have not learned how to do it for myself, to go into the depths of Worldwide’s soul and tell him that it will be okay.

     I’ve always loved music. It’s moved me for as long as I can remember. I will always remember the feeling the first time I moved it. See, I love music, but it wasn’t until I was in the game that I could actually play an instrument, that I could call to the notes and have them do as I asked. It had been a little bit of a joke, before the game my friends and I had said that I would do just fine as a drunken bard. That in the game I might actually get to experience being drunk without instantly feeling tired and out of it like in real-life. Even in the game my body rejected liquor, no drunken bard for me. The recorder had also been a joke, a call back to the only instrument anyone had ever tried to teach me. I like it now, an instrument, a weapon, people might underestimate, but that allowed me to cloak my friends in invisibility, lull enemies to sleep, and influence others to do my bidding. Sometimes there was an urge so strong in me that begged to play a song and have the world do whatever I wanted. I’m not sure I’m even powerful enough for that, I’m no where near the highest ranked bard in the game, but I also know somewhere in the depths of me that, if I tried, there would be no going back. In this world I’m J-Hope, perhaps a name I hadn’t realized would be so literally needed.

     I could have been a tank. Cooky and V might laugh about it in Iron World, but in the real world I’m like seriously strong. It’s in here where the code effects my body that I feel powerless against their beefed up tank status. I was always clumsy though, that part is true. It’s not my fault they all need to get their rocks off with an adrenaline rush. It could have been me. It could have, but there is nothing worse in my opinion than feeling powerless as your friends suffer. I’m the only one that can do that. The only one who can sense the unrest in the group, that can feel their pain as if it is my own. The rings on my hands that Mono made me, channel my power better. In some cultures laying your hands on someone in healing is the highest form of love. Perhaps that is my true power, the sheer might of my love for my friends. I would do anything to heal their wounds, to ease their burdens, to bring them back from death’s door. At times I’m the only one that stands between them and the absolute game over that is death in Iron World. The anxiety of it all keeps me awake some nights. And as I pour over books and books on healing, there’s a voice in my head that says never again. It’s not mine and it took me so long to identify it. He’s never said those words to me, never held me accountable for what happened that day. Yet its what drives me to work harder, to be not only the best cleric in the game but the savior they, he, deserves. “Chimmy,” he would say, “you’re already the best.” And yet, that’s not enough. 

     You get a dog. What other reason did I need to pick Beast Lord? Well, technically you get a beast, but Hell Hound was an option. Sometimes I missed the days when Jugeum was more hound, less robot. The connection is still there though. Sure, he was a coded entity, he felt nothing, but still to me he was everything. If I lost Jugeum I felt I would lose the very core of who I was in Iron World. I hadn’t spent a second in this game without his presence in my mind. I’m a shitty fighter. Cooky and Phoenix spend half of their time fighting, protecting me it seems. Jugeum was my sword and my shield, even know when I hadn’t seen a shield in god knows how long. But he was also a heart that beat next to mine. A small comfort that seemed to ground me in this world. He had never failed me and I hoped to never fail him. Perhaps I should have been a necromancer, to be more caster than tank and still get to have a pet. But as Jugeum and I tore through a room of enemies, my somewhat steed beside me, I knew that I had made the right choice. In this world I was never alone, V and Jugeum until the end.

     I just wanted a sword. If I had put more thought into it maybe I would have been a shadow night like Phoenix. I don’t even carry a sword anymore. Jonglyo still remains, though she’s become a knife in the updated version. There is no weapon I cannot master. No enemy I cannot out fight. Beefed up, Chimmy calls me. He’s right to some extent, the game is like steroids, pumping me with muscles that I’ve tested the limits of and have not found. Phoenix is fast where I am strong, V is cunning where I am brute. A tank, one meant to take damage. I think it’s fitting even if I had been careless in my choice. Knights can withstand more damage than any other class, perhaps maybe Necromancers if Agust D is any proof. And as I spend nights and nights in the ring pushing my stamina and health to the limits, I continue to push that limit. It’s about buying time. It’s not about winning, a common misconception. I’m never going to be the one to beat an enemy. I’m the one that won’t die, and if I do, it’ll be for the only reason that really matters. To save those I love. Fitting. I always thought physical pain was bearable, it was the pain of others that cut me to my core. 

[craftygoateeprincess]

One Late Night

(Oneshot for now, because @theotherbloodfart is a terrible enabler)

You hated Derry, like everyone else in this shithole. Hated it with the passion of a thousand fiery suns. Yet here you stayed, through all the shit. The apathetic adults, the dissapearances, the murders, the scandals. No matter what you saw you couldn’t bring yourself to leave, and the why of it was no mystery.

“I can never forget you, I love you, and I’ll stay right here in Derry and wait for you to come back if you promise you will,”

A Promise. A pledge. A vow. Come hell or high water you were staying here in Derry, you were waiting for the return of your only friend, and there wasn’t anything that could deter you from that. You would either see him again or you would die, there was no third option, and even if you hated yourself for it, you stayed true to your word.

Anyone else would think you were mad. You had made the promise at eight years old, to someone everyone else just insisted to be your imaginary friend. But imaginary friends didn’t lie in bed with you at night, they didn’t wash your bruises and teach you how to cook your own food. No, your friend was real and you were sure of it, and even if he had forgotten your promise, you never could.

After all, how could you forget the one person who saw your abusive home life for what it really was?

But you were thirty-five now, you weren’t being abused anymore. But unlike the rest of the adults, you had remained free from the apathetic haze that seemed to consume the rest of them. You saw the bodies, the posters, the abandoned playgrounds. All for what it really was and you wondered why no one else was concerned.

Well, alone was unfair, there was one other person. Not quite a friend, but someone whose existence you cared for more than not. Mike Hanlon, the local librarian. He was a nice man, he cared, he saw the bruises and scars and didn’t dismiss them as ‘a father punishing his child’ he saw the pain and suffering in them. In turn, you came to...acknowledge his existence on a genuine level. Years of your home life had led to you being rather apathetic towards people in general, but mike was a good guy and one of the few people in the world you held no ill will towards.

Which is why you were even out this late at night. Mike had a mini fridge at the library where he kept Alchol. So when it was late, and the library was empty, you would get ‘the call’ and the two of you would drown in some cheap corner store wine, god awful stuff but marvelous at making you forget whatever was weighing down your mind, and with your household history and he being so personally invested in the murders about town, you both had a lot to drink away.

And that is how you found yourself here, at two in the god damned morning, stumbling down the sidewalk. You’d feel bad for how dangerous this all was in the morning, when you were nursing a hangover and cursing your bad life choices, for now, you just stumbled about, singing some song you vaguely remember from your childhood but for the life of couldn’t remember the words to when you came to the nervewracking conclusion someone was watching you.

Turning around in a slow, paranoid circle you eyed the darkness suspiciously. But it wasn’t until you had relaxed and turned to start walking again that your eyes finally caught sight of the red balloon, and the clown attached to it, lit dimly by the streetlight in the background. Even in what was admittedly a drunken stupor, you’d done this dance before and were aware enough to be wary, besides, while you liked clowns in general, this clown was creepy.

None of that chubbiness and the friendly grin that you remember him having.

“Out late, are we little one?” he asked, and maybe it was the drink, but you felt like he was patronizing you. So of course, you put on your drunken bravado and shrugged.

“I’m an adult, I live in this shithole town, I reserve the right to prowl around drunk in the wee hours!” He took a step towards you and you took a step back. Your hairs were on end and you instinctively knew this man was trouble, why would a clown be out so long after the carnival had  down for the night.

“Let me guess, born into this town, raised by distant parents. Vowed to leave during your teenage years but never managed to, and now you drown your sorrows in wine and warm bodies?” He was circling you now, like a beast playing with its prey before pouncing. Every alarm bell was ringing off in your head, but you were hypnotized still. Those bright, baby blue eyes with the faint glow, his eyes, they were familliar to you and you couldn’t move if you wanted to under that stare.

“You must think you’re clever, or maybe you’ve just talked to a bunch of the kids around town, but no actually,” you said defiantly, sticking your chin up and matching his pace so you two were now circling one another, no less creepy but it made you feel less vulnerable under that familiar stare. “My parents, well, at least my father was shitty. But I had a very dear friend growing up, and we had a lot of fun. He had to go away but we promised we’d meet again, here, so as much as I hate this town I stay….not that it’s any f your business.”

His hand shot out as fast as a snake striking and his large, gloved hand wrapped tightly around your wrist, so hard you felt it would bruise. Adrenaline started coursing hard enough in your veins that the buzz of the alcohol began to wear off enough for you to attempt to yank your hand back, but his grip was strong and for some reason, you couldn’t form any words or sounds to cry out. Before you knew it you were being backed up against a tree, his other arm pressing into your throat, not quite cutting off your oxygen but definitely making you struggle for breath. The bark was rough and scratchy against your back and it brought a bubble of fear up through the haze your mind was in.

If you didn’t know any better, you’d say he was getting off on your fear, he certainly looked happier when he seemed to sense your fear. But you weren’t breaking yet damnit! Fixing him with a gaze you hoped was more withering than it felt, you attempted to take the wind out of his sails and end this before it began if it was begenning at all.

“There’s nothing you can do to me that others haven’t done before,” god talk about a weak power statement, but it was the truth. He could hit you, rape you, and leave you for dead, it would just be a particularly shitty Tuesday night, and you knew these bastards didn’t like it when their victims knew what was coming….at least, you hoped that was a universal truth.

Despite his rather brutish actions, the clown seemed indifferent to your words. The hand on your wrist loosening as he slid up your sleeve, revealing the daisy chain clinging to your wrist as he seemed to freeze before you.

“If you’re looking for jewelry pal, you’ve come to the wrong woman, that’s the closest thing I have to a valuable, and it’s not something you’ll find to be any worth,” you sneered, even in spite of the danger, you couldn't help but find the image of this clown moonlighting as a mugger and then proceeding to mug the one woman in town who didn’t wear jewelry hilarious.

“Let me make another guess, this is somehow tied to that friend you mentioned?” those blue eyes were on you again and you felt yourself softening, even when you knew you shouldn’t. They were too familliar and held memories not belonging to the clown in front of you, but they worked on you all the same, and biting your lip you nodded.

“There’s something about this town, it’s so easy to forget things that only happened last week, let alone years ago. So whenever I have time, I go and make daisy chains by the railroad tracks, it helps me to remember the good times, why I'm waiting for him,” this wasn’t any f his buisiness, and you wish you could just shut your damn mouth, but you couldn’t. The words bubbling up and spilling out your mouth like word vomit, just spilling out your biggest personal baggage to the would-be clown mugger.

If you needed a sign your life had hit rock bottom, here it was.

“And here I was thinking people drank to forget,” he snarked but his hold on you loosened and you fell away from the tree, trying to steady yourself on your too shaky limbs and eventually just crumbling in a heap on the ground, puffing the hair that had fallen across your face irritably.

“It’s a catch twenty-two. Life in Derry sucks, and while there are some things I need to remember, there's a lot more I want to forget,” you responded, hugging your knees to your chest as you settled your chin atop them, taking in the clown curiously. In the end, you were unharmed, save for some scratch marks on your back, and it’s not like you could identify this guy to the police if you had the mind to go to them about this. Also, more importantly, this was the closest thing to an exciting event that had happened all week. Surprisingly enough he plopped down next to you and the simple gesture was enough to both infuriate and infatuate you with the stranger...though the latter may just be due to the alcohol.

Actually, come to think of it, maybe most or all of this was due to the alcohol.

“What will you do when your friend comes back?” It was an innocent question, and for once you felt he was genuinely curious about your answer. Of course, curiosity or not it did little to ease the predatory air this clown seemed to ooze, but your heart had stopped pounding so hard and the drunken fog of your buzz was returning enough for you to just not give a shit anymore, who were you to cramp on his creepy style when he wasn’t hurting you?

“Marry him?” you suggested with a playful snort, the first genuine smile touching your lips since….gods, when was the last time you’d genuinely smiled, or laughed, or opened up before a fucking thug accosted you? Welp, sign numbero Dos your life was a shitshow, not that you needed it, but it was good if a startling reminder. You looked over to your clown companion expecting to find him rolling his eyes or dismissively ignoring your words, but his eyes were fixed rather intensely on you, you’d even hazard a guess you shocked him with your cavalier declaration.

“The guy was the only decent thing in my life. Between my deadbeat father and actually dead mother, I can honestly say he’s the only person who ever cared for me, maybe even loved me, and I know for certain he’s the only person I could ever love. The two of us went through some of the worst years of my life together, back when i was still capable of giving a shit about people...and believed people gave a shit about each other,” you don’t know why you kept talking, he didn’t even ask for an explanation this time around, but perhaps it wasn’t just him you were explaining your reasons to. Because before this very moment, you had never really thought what you would do on the seemingly mythical day he would return.

But despite how joking the answer had been from your lips, it resonated with a part of you. Of course your friend, as the only positive male influence in your life, had starred in quite a few erotic dreams of yours. But you’d never seriously thought about your feelings, not until this moment, laying under the stars with a mysterious stranger. Sighing you pushed yourself up off the ground, idily dusting the grass from your clothes and giving the clown a little salute.

“Well, that’s quite enough introspection under the stars with strange clowns for one night! I am going to get my ass to bed before someone else tries to finish what you started,” you offered with a grin, the clowns' features had lost their curiosity now, just watching you passively as you got up and prepared to leave, but just as you took your first step away you heard a giggle that could belong to the devil himself.

“A pretty balloon for a pretty stranger? To commemorate our memorable encounter?” his words got you to turn around, and sure enough he had a bright red balloon just clutched in his hand. It was such a simple and, in any other circumstance, friendly gesture. But even as you moved to take it from him, you felt like you were signing a deal with the devil.

“What? You gonna use this to follow me to my house and see if I have anything valuable there?” you asked sarcastically as you looked over admiringly at the balloon, bobbing it against the back of your hand playfully.

“Just the first bit, don’t wander too far Ellie,”

You turned your head back so fast you damn near got whiplash, but nothing was there. No clown, no smooshed grass, no retreating clown. Nothing, as if the whole thing was some drunken hallucination. But the scratch marks on your back and the balloon in your hand told you otherwise. Whoever that clown was, he knew your name and he seemed awfully interested in your feelings about the past.

For the first time that night your stomach twisted from nausea not related to the alchol as you stared into the darkness. Maybe you were overthinking it, or maybe you were right on the money, either way, you knew right then and there you’d be seeing that strange clown again, as soon as you could manage.

Because either Pennywise the Dancing Clown had undergone a growth spurt and major weight loss, or someone who knew him was in Derry, and either one was enough to alight a long lost feeling deep inside you, perhaps more dangerous than your perpetual drunken grief.

Hope

[tybalt-tisk]

.consider it handled

// Shallura {protect au} Summary: Allura just wanted to have a peaceful workout. Warnings: Flirting, Fake Dating.  Also on Ao3 // Also, I did add a Read More option, but sometimes Tumblr hates ya girl.

.~.xXx.~.

Sometimes Allura was too nice. She knew that. It was one of the few things everyone knew about the princess. She always had the tendency to disguise how she truly felt behind a dazzling smile and uphold the regal composure that took years of etiquette classes to master. Sure, on more than one occasion, it had landed her in her fair share of easily avoidable situations when she gave people the benefit of the doubt when she knew she shouldn’t have, but it was never anything she couldn’t handle.

Until now.

Now, at this exact moment in time, while she was trying to complete her workout, she was doing everything in her power to remember her training by refraining herself from driving her fist directly into the mouth of the arrogant man who was desperately trying to get her number. He had been at it for far longer than she would have liked and even though she kindly rejected him, more than she could possibly remember, the man just couldn’t seem to take the hint. Her smile wavered with every obnoxious word that left the man’s lips and her fingers itched to find a new home in his mouth.

With perfect form, she did another forward lunge and masked her irritation with a deep breath that could be easily mistaken for exhaustion. Well, it wasn’t far off because she was exhausted. Just mentally. With him.

The only reason why she chose this gym was so she could have a peaceful workout. It was just far away from home so she could remain unrecognized most of the time, but just close enough so she could return within the hour in case something came up. For the past month, she enjoyed this gym; it was spacious, clean, and it had various activities, like yoga and spin classes she could attend if she ever felt the need to. All in all, it was a very nice gym...except for him.

The man laughed at his own joke and it almost made her sneer. “I was just thinking that. Ya know since we both like purple…” Allura feared that if she rolled her eyes one more time, they’d get stuck like that. This man was saying anything and everything to woo her even if it meant resorting to him assuming that her favorite color was purple simply because it was the color of her oversized tank top. “...that me and you could…”

“You and I,” she corrected under her breath with another lunge forward.

The man made a questioning sound. “You say something, darlin’?”

She shook her head innocently with a forced smile. “No, I didn’t say a thing.” She’d lost count of how many lunges she put her left leg through, but the burning sensation told her that it was time to switch to the right.

He leaned heavily on the machine next to him and folded his arms over his puffed out chest. “Anyway, yeah, what do you say to me picking you later tonight for a little...one-on-one time?” He finished the vain proposal with a wiggle of his eyebrows and Allura couldn’t help the subtle snort that left her lips at the ridiculous attempt to look...literally anything but sexy. This man was persistent, arrogant, and vain. What an unfortunate combination of shitty characteristics.

She quickly finished her set before she turned to him and wiped the sweat off her brow. “Look, I’m very flattered by your...persistence, Jerry.”

“The name’s Gavin.” She knew his name, but she was irritated.

She expertly hid a smirk under an artificial look of confusion. “Mason?” she responded absentmindedly with a fictitious frown as she picked up the various weights and placed them back in their appropriate locations.

“Gavin,” he said a bit louder, just in case she didn’t hear him over the sound of grunts and the machinery around them.

After she placed the weights back, she freed her hair from its loose ponytail so she could redo it tighter. She flipped her hair over her shoulder and raked her fingers through the strands to work out the newly formed tangles and knots. “Michael, please don’t make this hard for me…”

He suddenly clapped his hands together once as if he just witnessed an impressive trick. “How did you know my middle name?” he asked enthusiastically and Allura suppressed a groan at her accidental discovery. Out of all of the names she threw out, she just had to pick the one he identified with. “Wow, we have such a deep connection! Amazing!”

“Yeah...amazing,” she said sarcastically, fixing her hair. This was getting old and her patience was wearing dangerously thin. She decided then and there that she had finally had enough. “Gavin, listen to me and please listen to me carefully. I do not want to go out to dinner with you. I do not want to catch a movie with you. I do not want to take a long walk on the beach with you and talk about ‘our future together’,” she finished her sentence off with air quotes. She looked him square in the eye and spoke with the same authoritative voice that she used when she commanded the attention of the room. “I want nothing to do with you. Now, please leave me alone so I can continue my workout in peace. Am I making myself perfectly clear?”

Gavin seemed taken aback at her tone as the words started to sink in and for a moment, for a sweet, blissful moment; one filled with silence and the peace she longed for, Allura thought she finally had reached through to him.

He nodded slowly. “I think I get it,” he said with a roguish grin. “You just want to skip all the formalities and go right to the bedroom, don’t ya?”

Something snapped within her, and all of the training her etiquette tutors spent years embedding into her flew directly out the window. Allura didn’t think twice as she brought her balled fist back so she could deck the arrogant man who dared considered he even had a sliver of a chance with her, but before she surged it forward, a firm but familiar grip caught her wrist and eased it down to her side smoothly in one fluid motion.

“Hey babe, we still on for dinner tonight at your Dad’s place?” Allura didn’t need to look back to know exactly who just saved this idiot’s two front teeth. The arrogant man’s vision was so clouded with his own self-inflated ego, that he didn’t even know his, so-called, good looks were in danger of the princess’ wrath.          

It took a moment, but when she realized exactly what he had said, her eyes darted to meet his and she knew exactly what he was doing. Her bodyguard was only confrontational when he needed to be and right now, he was looking for a way to let the guy down easy, even if Allura wanted to do anything but that at this point. Shiro raised his brows as if he had asked her an unspoken question when she didn’t immediately respond. She narrowed her eyes but reluctantly followed his lead with a huff and relaxed her fist.

Within a fraction of a second, all of her training rushed back to her and she sent him the perfect smile. “Of course, but remember we need to stop by that cute little bakery I like so we can pick up dessert because I won’t have the time to make anything.”

Shiro released her wrist when he realized that she wasn’t going to follow through with her assault on the poor, unsuspecting man. “Okay, that’s fine. I’ll pick up a pie on the way home,” he lied smoothly. “Your dad’s allergic to apples, right? Or is it cherries?”

“Rhubarb,” she corrected him casually, even though the allergy was completely fabricated information about the reigning king.

Shiro made a sour face. “Great, rhubarb is trash anyway.”

“It’s absolutely delicious, you just have trash taste buds.” She turned her back to him then handed him her hair tie over her shoulder.

Shiro rolled his eyes. Of course, she would take this fake dinner date opportunity to make him fix her hair. But he’s not complaining. He’ll never complain. He absolutely loves the way her soft hair felt against his fingers. Although sometimes, the strand did tend to snag on his metal joints, thankfully he’s gotten better at keeping it to a minimum.

He rolled the elastic hair tie that’s seen better days onto his wrist before he gathered her thick curls in his hands. He finger-combed her scalp to wrangle in runaway strands before he secured her hair into a neat ponytail that left them both slightly surprised.

“Hell yeah,” he mumbled to himself, praising his small victory.

She looked over herself in the mirror that covered the entire back wall of the gym and tightened her new ponytail from the base. “Not bad, Shirogane.” She turned back to face him and was surprised and equally annoyed to see that Gavin was still there, looking back and forth between the two. Even when she was clearly “taken”, the obnoxious man still couldn’t even grasp the mere concept that she wasn’t interested in him.  

Her irritation must have shown because Shiro reached forward to grab her by the hips and gently, he pulled her closer to him. She came to him without the slightest ounce of hesitation and without being prompted to, she casually brought her arms up to rest atop his shoulders. With her in his arms and with him in hers, he almost forgot it was a charade they were acting out. He knew it was dangerous to be with her like this - for this to feel all too natural to him. It was such an intimate position but strangely enough, it felt like he’d done it a million times before.

Maybe because he did.

He’s held her like this plenty of times. Like when they were at formal events and she gave him a look that told him that she wanted to dance. He’s never told her no and using the simple steps she’d taught him, she allowed always him to lead her gracefully around the dance floor. Or when she brought out the teenage rebel in him when she wanted to sneak out of her luxurious home, “the old fashioned way” as she so elegantly put it, and he’d had to help her down from the second story when he knew damn well she was capable of doing it herself.

...Or when it just the two of them on those quiet nights when the manor was asleep and the only thing left for them to do was to explore the boundaries of the friendship they are both painfully aware that went well beyond what separate friendship from duty from something else he was always scared to admit out loud.

“What time do you want to leave?” he asked, breaking himself away from his runaway thoughts.

She made a thoughtful face. “I want to get there around 7:30,” she told him.

He looked at his watch to check the time, not that it even mattered. “Okay, I’ll do one more round, then I’ll head out and grab the pie on the way home. Don’t stay here too long because you know how long it takes you to get ready.” Unlike the rest of their ruse, that part was him speaking nothing but the truth. Sometimes, she could be a brat and she’d take forever to get dressed. Most of the time, it was because she was too busy pestering him, and other times, she simply didn’t want to go, so she waited until the very last possible moment before she started to even consider getting herself together.

She pouted and clicked her tongue. “I do not.”

“Oh, you might think that you don’t, but you do.” She playfully jabbed him on the shoulder in retaliation, knowing damn well that he was right.

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Gavin watching them intensely as if he was waiting for Shiro to leave so he could make his move on her again. He felt Allura’s irritation rub off onto him. What was with this guy? What did it take to get him to beat it?

In front of him, Allura giggled and she gave him a look that he’s seen plenty of times - when they glided around the dancefloor, when he helped her sneak out, and when it was just the two of them late at night hidden away from the harsh reality of the world and their position in it. He knew this look all too well and it always signaled for the one thing he’s never given to her.

But he’d be damned if he gave in to her now because some jackass that couldn’t read a room.

Instead, he hooked a single finger under her tank and pulled her close until her lips almost met his. She watched his mouth move as he spoke just loud enough so Gavin could hear what he was going to say next.  “Also, I want my tank back.” He almost laughed out loud when he heard Gavin release an annoyed gasp, followed by a few brash words.

She smirked at the man’s reaction and caught her bottom lip between her teeth, both out of spite for the arrogant man and also to tease Shiro with one of the many things she did that she knew drove him wild. If they were playing a game, then she might as well play to her advantage. She knew she hit her intended target when the hand that still rested on her hip tightened in warning.

She laughed to herself before she released her lip so she could speak. “I don’t think I can do that because it looks better on me.�� Once again, the lines were blurred between the show they put on and the playful nature that was their undefined relationship.

He shrugged. “You look a’ight.”

She looked amazing.

Seeing her wear his clothes always stirred something within him. She had enough money in the world to wear the latest fashions, but instead, she chose to raid his closet for her casual attire. He still hasn’t seen his favorite hoodie. Well, no that was a lie because he’s seen it. On her.

When he was sure that Gavin had finally retreated somewhere deep into the gym, probably to cancel his membership, he stepped away from Allura. “You alright?”

She nodded. “Of course, and it's all thanks to my knight in sweaty joggers,” she laughed.

“I would have come sooner, but you keep insisting that you can handle these types of things.” His sentence was laced with sarcasm. Of course, if Gavin had displayed any type of aggressive behavior, he would have stepped in before the man even told her his name. But a subtle hand signal from Allura kept him at bay.

“And I was about to handle it until you showed up and pretended that you were my boyfriend,” she responded full of confidence with her head held high.

He raised a thick brow. “You call laying that guy out, ‘handling it’?”

She used him for balance while she stretched her legs for her upcoming jog on the treadmill. “As a matter of fact, I do. I can bet you my horse in The Netherlands that if I would have handled it the way I intended to, he wouldn't have ever bothered me again.”

Shiro snorted. She was completely right, she would have made her message clear as day if she had done it her way. She may be petite compared to his large frame, but the tiny princess had a mean left hook that was nothing to take lightly. He knew for a fact that he saved Gavin and not the fight club princess who was ready to throw hands. But also, “Who the hell bets a whole horse?”

She walked away with a flip of her new ponytail. “People who have horses to bet, of course.” She made it sound like he should already know this. “I guess it's time for cardio.” She looked almost defeated by admitting it.

Shiro laughed at her tone. “You make it sound like that’s a bad thing.”

“Because it is,” she whined. Allura only liked to work out to keep her body healthy. Sure, there were certain activities she liked to do, but there’s one thing she hated more than anything and that was running. She definitely had the stamina to jog five miles easily, but her laziness tended to peek through and stunted that trek down to only two or three. Shiro lost count of how many times she dragged him out of bed for a morning run, only for her to give up at their further point and call for a taxi.

“You’re a drama queen, you know that?” He leaned her over to the treadmill and leaned over the frame as she programmed it for a steady walk.

“I am not a drama queen.” She increased the speed to a light pace she could be comfortable with before she placed her headphones into her ears. “I’m a drama princess.” She gave him a purposely cheesy wink before she fully started her cardio session and Shiro shook his head before he ventured off to finish his own workout.

.~.xXx.~.

Allura wiped the sweat off her brow once she finished her run. It wasn’t as bad as she made it out to be. She actually made herself proud at the fact that she ran for a lot longer than she usually did, but she felt like she needed to make up the extra cardio from all the time Gavin wasted trying to woo her.

Allura took a long drink of water before she came to the decision that she was done putting her body through hell for the day. She wrapped her headphones around her cell before she left to search for Shiro in the massive gym.  

She immediately knew where he was. Unlike her, who just did what she pleased at the gym, Shiro had a strict schedule that he religiously stuck to. Today was arm day for him and along with a few reps using the equipment, he also liked to work on his agility in the boxing ring.

She heard him before she saw him. The hard jabs that met his opponents punch mitts echoed throughout the room and it gathered a crowd who looked on in awe. She found a gap in the crowd and approached the edge of the ring so she could watch him as he went through the speed drills. His feet were silent and his hands were quick and powerful as they met their target with deadly precision. He showed perfect form when he followed two quick jabs to the right with a hard left hook and a tuck to the right. The action happened so fast, she almost missed it.

His steel grey eyes were focused on their target and they held a different light than what she was used to seeing. It was like he wasn’t her Shiro. The Shiro she knew was always so kind and gentle with her that she always forgot that he could be extremely dangerous when he needed to be. He had been top of his class after all.

Beside her, a few women swooned at the sight and she rolled her eyes. Gavin and these ladies would get along just great, she thought.

Out of the corner of his eye, Shiro saw a flash of white. He knew he had gathered a crowd but none of them phased him like she did. Right now was the absolute worst time to be distracted, not during a speed drill. He twisted his body to evade an incoming punch before he gave a precise combination of jabs and hooks.

When the whistle blew, both praised the other for their participation. Shiro unfastened his gloves before he made his way to Allura who was stood at the side of the ring. His face heated at the realization of how many people had gathered around to watch him.

She handed him her water bottle so he could take a well-needed drink. “You’re so cute when you blush,” she teased loud enough so the gossiping ladies could hear her. They immediately went silent when they watched Shiro take her offered water.

“I thought I was cute all the time?” he caught her tease and threw it right back at her.

She folded her arms over her chest and raised a brow. “And what hussy told you that?”

He finished off the rest of the water before he handed it back to her. “You did, ya hussy.” He laughed at his own joke and she couldn’t help but join in. He squatted down to her level. It was rare that she watched him do his drills. She always tended to keep her space from him until it was time to leave or if something was bothering her. His face suddenly turned serious and she saw the same dark look flash in his eyes when he was focused in the ring. “Is that man bothering you again?”

She quickly shook her head. She was glad that Gavin gave up on her because there was no saving him if Shiro took him as a serious threat. “Nope,” she said lightly. “However, something is on my mind.”

“What is it?” he said quickly. When she disclosed something to him, he always took it seriously, regardless of the severity.

“What time should I be ready?”

Huh?

She didn’t have anything scheduled tonight. Along with being her bodyguard, he was also sometimes her personal assistant. He knew of every event, every public appearance, and every trip she had coming up within the next two months memorized down to the hotels they were staying into the roads they would be using. When he couldn’t think of what she was referring to, he furrowed his brows in confusion.

She rocked on the balls of her feet causally and her crystal blue eyes danced with mischief. “You promised me a date tonight, Shirogane,” she said playfully. “Or did you forget already?”

Shiro searched her eyes, looking for any sort of indication if she was joking or not. There were ladies around ogling his form, so maybe she was just returning to their little charade they played earlier.

But then…

She always told him that she’d get him to take her out one day, and he did. He did every single time she asked, but it was always in good fun...that always ended with a missed opportunity.  But now, he could tell that she meant it.

He smiled at her warmly before he brought her knuckles to his lips. “How does 8:30 sound, Princess?”

“It’s perfect.”

.~.xXx.~.

Also, I’m really considering making this an actual story. One with a storyline and character development, but I’m unsure. Let me know! 

[whiskyhorse]

8

I’ve never entirely understood why magicians use bad second-hand poetry when they could use first class second-hand poetry or write their own shitty poetry.  Admittedly, there are more examples of the latter than the former (see: Andrew Chumbley).  The assumption often seems to be that if it’s old then it’s good, but that is patently un-true.  If millions of dead people prove the validity of a thing then we would still be saying that leukaemia is un-treatable 1.

Most living traditions produce new material.  Capoeira has a wealth of old songs, but young capoeiristas still write new ones.  An inspired song has as much (or more) power as an inherited one.  It’s all about what the words are imbued with.  I doubt that there is much traditional poetry in Chumbley’s work. The core material may come from an older tradition, but the voice is too consistent across his published work for it to come from other sources.  He either created it whole cloth or he gussied it up.  People find it potent nevertheless.

The bones of the work and what it is intended to mete are more important.  In Britain poets held the power to kill or maim with satire alone. That is a tradition that continued well into the Christian era.  As an example, see this Welsh englyn attributed to Gwerful Mechain (c. 1460-1502, trans. Katie Gramich), which calls on no god or power beyond the poetic form:

I’w gwr am ei churo Dager drwy goler dy gallon – ar osgo I asgwrn dy ddwyfron; Dy lin a dyr, dy law’n don A’th gleddau I’th goluddion

To her husband for beating her A dagger through your heart’s stone - on a slant To reach your breast bone; May your knees break, your hands shrivel And your sword plunge in your guts to make you snivel

(I am making a few assumptions here and skipping over the importance of the poetic form used, but I wanted to reference Gwerful.  Also - if you compare the internal meter of the original englyn to the translation you can see that Gwerful was a much better poet than her translator, but there’s not much one can do about that short of learning old Welsh)

I see some useful bone structure in the Headless Rite.  The formula for invocation is clear just underneath its skin.  Aiden Wachter uses a similar progression in Six Ways: State intention, call in the power required, identify the desirable traits of that power, then acquire or borrow them as one’s own (p.18).  However, although the stated intention of the Rite in the Greek Magical Papyri (PGM) is for exorcism it plainly has a more complex application.

Previously I’ve touched on parallels between the Headless Rite and the Song of Amergin.  The main things I identify as being different between them are that 1) the Song calls up Eire, whereas the Rite calls on a(n unknown) god/s. 2) The Song dispenses with a lot of the early stages and proceeds directly to identifying with the land.  Arguably that may be due to editorial interference, but personal experience indicates that those stages are not necessary.  Especially if a relationship already exists.

A lot of people use the Headless Rite, or its Thelemic equivalent, as part of a daily practice. I’ve read they do this because the Rite confers dominance over spirits and may align the magician with a particular current.  Certainly it has been used to augment a variety of other practices, particularly deity obsession (Stratton-Kent).  The flexibility of the formula is confirmed by the Song, in my mind.  I suspect that it’s far older than the Headless Rite’s stated purpose in the PGM.

I see the sense of using praise or boast poetry as a daily practice.  However is it necessary, or even desirable, to use such a dramatic martial formula every day unless you have regular goetic practice?  To bombastically acclaim one’s dominance on a daily basis?  It’s a bit like a yuppie in the 1980s yelling, ‘You’re a TIGER!’ at the mirror every morning.

As I think about using this as part of a daily practice I ask what purpose it should serve.  Let’s say I want it to align me with a particular current of being, re-affirm who/what I am and build a core strength for later dealing with spirits.  Fine. The Headless Rite would align me with an unknown deity or deities (at minimum it seems to reference Osiris and Yahweh) through use of some barbarous names we no longer remember the origin, meaning or use of.  That doesn’t really suit.

I could adapt the Headless Rite.  I am tempted to adapt it for use alongside kaula/tantra.  It would be fun making the syncretism work.  However that’s something I’ll probably come back to because right now I don’t want to focus on deities and spirits.  I want to strengthen myself and my practice.

So I went back to thinking about other work that exists in the same realm.  Work that could support a useful trance and be imbued with the same principles I work with.  I thought for a long time.  I considered Sufi verses and other options, but I kept coming back to Walt Whitman’s Leaves of Grass.

I have used Whitman’s poetry in a similar way to the Song of Amergin before.  In particular I’ve used I sing the body electric.  It works if used with a correct method.  Whitman’s poetry also has a broader scope than either the Rite or Song of Amergin. In Song of Myself he is singing up an ecstatic vision of what we could be, what he sees that we are underneath the eidolons that clothe us.  It’s a much better fit for what I am and how my magic is arrayed.  It also fits the formula for invocation.

In fact, Leaves of Grass is interesting beyond invocation.  When Chumbley wrote Azoetia and Dragon Book of Essex he tried to create a living grimoire – something bigger than its pages.  Whitman did the same, but, I think, more successfully from an ecstatic point of view.  Leaves of Grass opens by defining Whitman’s intention (“One’s self I sing”), then by charging the book with its purpose (“Then falter not, O book, to fulfil your destiny”). He casts aside materialism in EIDOLONS, summons up and addresses his audience with the purposes he tasks them with, and, in SHUT NOT YOUR DOORS, he opens the gates for the book to do its work.  Walt Whitman may not have written Leaves of Grass to be a work of magic, but because it is structured like an inspired text it can act as one nevertheless.

The content of Song of Myself invokes some very particular states.  Take 43:

“I do not despise you priests, all time, the world over, My faith is the greatest of faiths and the least of faiths, Enclosing worship ancient and modern and all between ancient and modern… Ranting and frothing in my insane crisis or waiting dead-like til my spirit arouses me, Looking forth on pavement and land, or outside of pavement and land, Belonging to the winders of the circuit of circuits.”

Or 48,

“I have said that the soul is not more than the body, And I have said that the body is not more than the soul, And nothing, not God, is greater to one that one’s self is”

Or 41,

“Magnifying and applying come I, Outbidding at the start the old cautious hucksters, Taking myself the exact dimensions of Jehovah, Lithographing Kronos, Zeus his son, and Hercules his grandson, Buying drafts of Osiris, Isis, Belus, Brahma, Buddha, In my portfolio placing Manito loose, Allah on a lead, the crucifix engraved, With Odin and the hideous faced Mexitli and every idol and image, Taking them all for what they are worth and not a cent more”

To me, that is bold magic and better suited to daily practice where one is building relationships and one’s own self.    

The main problem with Song of Myself is that it is bloody long.  However it’s broken into 52 sub-sections.  That allows for using the poetry flexibly as a more reflective and prolonged invocationary practice.  Whitman’s use of (sort of) free verse also allows editing to focus on sections that fit what is desired.  Consider – charging a pentacle can be done (in part) through choosing sections of Bible verse that help evoke a particular quality.  Something similar can be done here with invocation.  Whitman wrote Leaves of Grass to inspire and to inform an alternative way of being in the world.  This is entirely appropriate to its purpose.

I’ve gone on long enough, so I won’t get into the pros and cons of adapting supportive aspects of the Headless Rite like the barbarous names and paper crown.

1 Read The Emperor of all Maladies by Siddhartha Mukherjee

[rosaline-kei]

Bloodlust

Bloodlust; Chapter 1 — The Ackermans

Disclaimer:I do not own Shingeki no Kyojin / Attack on Titan nor its characters.

Synopsis/Summary:  The Ackermans are infamous for their crimes or more specifically, murder. Deep inside an Ackerman's heart rests their deranged bloodlust. Without proper control and discipline, something that Mikasa struggles with, chaos is bound to breakout. Mikasa and Levi Ackerman embark on a mission involving Eren Jaeger, the future heir to the royal throne, and Kenny expects no failure.

Rating: T 

Warnings: May contain sensitive and/or triggering content later on-- I will put another warning if that’s the case.

FF NET

AO3

Author’s Notes: Not the best at writing but hey oh well

Knives. Knives can be used for all sorts of activities, ranging from preparing a scrumptious meal to murder. They are viewed as simple equipment for the 'innocent' whose hands are clean from bloodshed. However, they are also viewed as weapons of torture more than defence to peculiar types of people. One clan in particular was obligated to view it as the latter—the murderous one. That clan was the infamous Ackermans.

The Ackermans were masked villains that roamed the Underground district, staining their hands with their target's blood for others who were willing to pay the price, but unwilling to commit the deed. From time to time, they would venture the surface, hiding in the alleyways as they proceeded with their business. Although they were bold and strong, they would often refuse any task that required too much involvement with royalty.

Many wonder the history of the Ackermans, however, none dared seek the answer. They were known for being monstrous after all. Little was really known about them— considering they were masked, it wasn't easy to identify them either. The innocent bread shop owner across the street could be an Ackerman, and no one would know. Many called them cowards for this reason, and yet, ironically, some of that many had probably sought out help from them.

Though, not too long ago, the Ackermans began to be severely wiped out. Some say it was a disease that broke out that they were susceptible to, others say that the king finally decided to actually take action against them. Yet, it was odd how the infamous clan—known for their physical abilities, along with their manipulations and such—were quick to be defeated.

At least, most of them were. There were just a few Ackermans left, that no one could catch. To everyone's knowing, there were three left. No one knew their names, no one knew their faces. But everyone knew that they better rid them quickly in order to attain peace within the kingdom—at least, that's what the late king said.

That king had passed away, along with his wife. The reasons for their death was unknown to commoners, and even the royal guards. But that didn't matter, there was an heir to the throne—Eren Jaeger. And when he'd finally turn twenty, the throne was all his.

As for the Ackermans, or at least what remained of them, they couldn't care less about royalty… at least two of them seem very disinterested. For years ever since the 'Ackerman cleansing' (as what people called their wipe-out.), they had continued their lives as per 'normal'—committing crimes in place of those who feared to dirty their hands. It was ironic, how their supposed loyal customers would turn against them, supporting the cleansing of them, and yet come crawling to them to kill someone or whatever.

It didn't matter. That was how life always was for them.

"Do we have any jobs today? I rather… finish it off quickly." A raven asked, as she glanced over to her brother who was sharpening a knife. "Yes we do, in a while. I take it that you already know the background of the situation?" He had responded. The way they talked about killing in such a casual way was nothing new, it was all they knew.

"Yeah… is he coming back today?"

"Most likely. Kenny finishes his job with no delays. Although, I wish he would be late. His presence is shitty."

"You know, he's our boss, you sho—"

"Mikasa, sister, we both know we hate him."

Mikasa heaved a heavy sigh, knowing that that was something she couldn't argue with her brother. "I know, Levi, but you know what happens if we disrespect him in front of his face."

"Yeah, he makes us spill more blood, commit more crimes than necessary. Riskier crimes. Amazing, isn't he? Did I forget to mention he tried to kill us more than once?" Levi scoffed sarcastically, before he lifted his knife, taking a glance of its sharpness. Mikasa only responded with a simple nod, muttering something inaudible as she turned away from her brother and made her way to check her weapons. Catching a glance of her, Levi noticed a tinge of pain stinging her.

It was always this way. Despite both of their monotonous looks, they both knew behind their individual unseen masks, was an infinite amount of pain and guilt that they both learnt to supress. In the first place, who with a sane mind would want to kill? At least, not them. Although, even with all the guilt they felt, they continued with the bloody path set for them, knowing that deterring away from it was not an option.

"You alright?" Levi managed to ask, as he set his knife down and approached his sister. "You know I'm not. And you know the reason." Mikasa responded, before turning to Levi. Her monotonous look remained, her guard was still up for the most part. Yet, Levi noticed just a little bit of her vulnerability slipping out. A vulnerability that only he was permitted to see. He was the only one Mikasa could fully trust, the same went for Levi with her. They only had each other after all. As for Kenny, he was nothing but trouble.

"I'll be there. Don't worry. It's not a solo mission. Kenny knows better to assign you to one again." Levi sighed, "But you have to eventually learn how to control it better, Mikasa. Even if we are fated to be monsters forever, we should at least keep a low profile of it."

Little was known about Ackerman history and its background, it was an unknown to everyone on how the Ackermans had impeccable strength and how they were able to carry out such crimes in a ruthless way. Even Levi and Mikasa knew very little of their family's history thanks to Kenny. The information about their heritage was kept to a minimum for whatever reason.

One thing both of them knew very well, however, was the bloodlust that hid in their veins, waiting to bite.

Levi managed to gain control of it… at least, more than Mikasa. The last time he had let his bloodlust get the best of him was many years ago. Even so, the suppression of such corrupted desires were more difficult than it looked. It was unknown to them why such corrupted desires were hard to control, as unfortunate as it was. Levi had managed to attain a balance between such desires, for the most part at least. As for Mikasa, it wasn't the same.

Levi still recalled how disastrous her first solo mission turned out. She was meant to kill one person, just one. But as if something had snapped in her, she went on a rampage, and started a well-known massacre in the underground district. The raven had killed before, so she couldn't comprehend the reason for her sudden 'outbreak'. Kenny later explained that it was just some form of 'puberty' Ackermans went through—it sounded more of a lame excuse from the whole truth though.

Fortunately, Levi had later came to her rescue, managing to tame the monster within her before snatching her back to the grimness of the shadows to hide. Thankfully, Levi knew this massacre wouldn't spread all too much—he knew how the royalty and surface dwellers resented associating themselves with the underground district since it was an area stereotyped for its brutal crimes. Ackermans didn't like the spotlight all too much after all, and the last thing Levi wanted was an investigation to be conducted by the royal guards who were much more meticulous and a hassle than regular guards and the people on patrol.

Although the underground had a higher probability of crimes breaking out in comparison to the surface, there were still people residing there who wished to lead a peaceful life—but their social and economic status said otherwise.

Levi still remembered the look she had when he removed her mask once they reached the safety of their hideout—their home. Her obsidian orbs had shifted into a darker shade, and although it was hard to see her pupils, he swore they were in slits, and he swore that her irises perhaps contained a little tinge of blood-red. Was that how he looked like when his bloodlust got to him too?

He wasn't sure, nor could he care. He was more concerned for Mikasa—who was only thirteen during then, during her first bloodlust outbreak.

"I don't get it! Why must we kill?!" She once screamed before shedding tears. Levi comforted her, but he didn't answer her question. He couldn't, because he didn't know the exact answer himself. He just knew that there was no escape from killing nor the bloodlust that had the possibility of consuming them whole if not supressed appropriately. He remembered his first 'outbreak' and how he failed to control it, it was a chilling memory, at the same time he recalled the wicked and disgusting satisfaction he felt from watching red liquid ooze from the corpses. Since then, he began to discipline himself to control it better— but he knew that wouldn't be enough to prevent future outbreaks. On the bright side, he hadn't had an outbreak for quite a long while. Although, there were times where he didn't mind succumbing to become a monster, but there were still… things and people that held his sanity together.

Unfortunately, unlike him, Mikasa struggled much more in controlling and containing.

The following day, Mikasa erased and numbed herself of any guilt considering Kenny came back from his other 'business' trip. She knew better to show any signs of weakness in front of him.

After Kenny found out about Mikasa's little incident, he initially shrugged it off, thinking nothing much of it. He assumed after her first 'outbreak', she would be able to control it better, considering that's how it went for all Ackermans.

He sent her to another solo mission, and the results were the same—a bloody mess that drew in too much unwanted attention. He shrugged it off again, sending her off for another solo mission on and on again receiving the same results until he came to the conclusion that Mikasa had… issues. Long story short, he wanted to keep a low profile, he didn't want any unnecessary attention or future customers to be slaughtered.

Moreover, it would just take one mess up from an Ackerman who lacked senses and control when the bloodlust took over to reveal everything, their identity included. Hence, he forbade Mikasa to do any mission solo for now. At least with Levi to watch over her during their missions, the chances of her going completely out of spiral was lower since he would be there to bring her back to her senses. There was something about Levi that made Mikasa calm, perhaps it was because he was the only one who she could call family. Kenny was only her biological uncle, nothing more or less.

Back in the present, Mikasa eyes trailed towards her palms, where she envisioned blood stained on them, again. "Why can't I control it…?" Mikasa mumbled. Ever since Mikasa found out about how uncontrollable her bloodlust was, she had given up any hopes of leading a normal life. When her emotions spiralled, anything trivial can trigger her bloodlust to take action, and the last thing she wanted to do was harm any more lives than appointed to. At least now, after years of training and discipline taught by Levi, she got better at handling it, though she still had those moments where she came close to starting another massacre. Well, on the more positive side of things, there were less things triggering her outbreak… more or less.

"Mikasa." Levi whispered, before gripping her shoulder in a reassuring manner. "It'll be okay. I'm here. I won't allow things to get out of hand."

Mikasa flashed a little smile, "Thank you." She murmured before standing up. "I just wish I could control it as well as you do." She continued silently, speaking too quiet for Levi's ears to catch. But before he could ask her to repeat her words, she grabbed both their masks resting on the table. She tossed Levi his, before wearing hers. "Let's get this done and over with."

Before anything else, Mikasa grabbed her cloak and necessary weapons before leaving immediately, lurking in the shadows. Levi sighed, following after swiftly.

The lives that the Ackermans took weren't necessarily innocent ones. They never were, and according to what Kenny told them, the Ackermans never took the lives of the innocence, unless their bloodlust got the best of them. Normally, after an Ackerman's first bloodlust-takeover, they'd be quick to control and adapt on their next kill. But that wasn't the case for Mikasa. He never explained why.

Before Mikasa's first bloodlust takeover, she had done all her kills swiftly, no flaws whatsoever. Kenny was amused at how quick she learnt to kill with skill, she was a fast learner just like Levi, if not, faster. That amusement didn't last long after he realised Mikasa's lack of control when it came to her bloodlust, but rather than disappointed he was more agitated and frustrated.

The lives that Ackermans often took were beyond corruption, at least that's what Kenny claimed. But at this point, both Mikasa and Levi were uncertain if he was just spouting flat lies—but even if he did, what could they do?

Levi had once thought about escaping Kenny's control, but he had to grudgingly admit, Kenny was a formidable opponent who wouldn't let them leave so easily, especially when they were the last known remaining bloodline of the Ackermans. The last thing Levi wanted was to endanger his sister's life if they were to get caught escaping.

Killing Kenny was an option, but that was anything but easy. Sure, both Levi and Mikasa were strong. But Levi knew even with an unfair fight with two against one, they probably stood no chance against him, their mentor. Kenny taught everything they knew, but not everything he knew.

"Levi, we're here." Mikasa whispered.

The lives the Ackermans took weren't necessarily innocent ones. But, in this life, were there anyone truly pure? Humans are humans, they are bound to commit a crime or a sin, whether it be trivial or not. So, doesn't that mean no one's innocent?

The Ackermans can and will take anyone's life, is what outsiders said, and it's what Levi unfortunately and reluctantly had to agree.

"I'll deliver the kill. You just stay on a look-out." Levi murmured.

That night, they were sent to kill the guy who owned a well-known weaponry shop that Levi would often purchase his equipment from, at a very unreasonable price, and his crimes that he committed were unreasonable as well.

"But you delivered the kill last time… I know you don't like me dirtying my hands. I know you want to protect me. But it's only fair, I'm not little anymore." Mikasa silently argued.

"Mikasa. Now's not the time to argue. We agreed on thi—"

"You agreed, not me."

Levi resisted an agitated groan, his tone grew grimmer, sterner. Even if he was soft to Mikasa, it didn't mean he wasn't strict with her. "Mika—"

But before he could finish his sentence, Mikasa immediately pulled him aside before shushing him. The sound of footsteps were approaching towards their direction. Both Mikasa and Levi readied themselves, gripping tightly onto their knives. However, a familiar voice echoed the alleyway that caused them to loosen up their grip, but tense their shoulders.

"It's just me yer' little shits."

Taking a peek, they saw Kenny. Kenny Ackerman.

"I got bored and handled yer' business. I would say I pity that old guy but he abused his wife, to the extent his daughter called out to us! Hah! That's a first in a long time." Kenny cackled.

Levi narrowed his eyes, Mikasa slowly approached him after Levi. All three had their masks on, and were prepared to flee should anyone catch them in the shadows. "What are you doing here?" Levi scowled. Kenny scoffed, "Not even a hello to yer' dear beloved Uncle? I'm offended. I thought I taught y'all manners."

Levi rolled his eyes. Mikasa simply looked away. "And my dear beloved niece can't look me in the eye. Ah, no matter. I don't have much time. I gotta' return to my business soon. I have a new job for you. Actually, a solo mission. For my favourite niece."

Mikasa tensed, Levi growled lowly. Kenny smirked, and continued before they could oppose, "It's on the surface. And, congratulations, for the first time in decades or centuries, my dear niece, your mission involves the royal family!"

Both of them widened their eyes, and Levi was the first to speak, "I'm not allowing it."

"Did you forget who I am, Levi?" Kenny hissed, Levi clenched his fist. He hated that he didn't exactly had any power over him. He didn't wish to start a fight with him, he knew better, he knew the consequences of losing to him. Kenny proceeded to approach Mikasa, towering over her. Mikasa bit her lip, in agitation and fright. She recalled her opposing Kenny once, and the consequence for that left her traumatised.

"You told us Ackermans don't accept requests regarding the royal family. And you instructed me specifically not to do any solo missions." Mikasa retorted slightly, suppressing her fear. "I did say that. But it's time for a change. Something yer' rascals won't understand." Kenny then removed and threw some documents towards them as he began to summarize the context of the situation. "Your identity will be Mikasa Azu. You're from Oriental royalty. Seduce the prince or somethin', because this particular important customer wants information regarding—"

"Seduce?!" Levi interrupted, and just from his tone, it was clear the male was livid and disgusted at such an outrageous idea. "You—"

Before Levi could continue, Kenny took out a knife and was quick to place its tip against Levi's neck, applying a little pressure on it as a threat. "Yer' know better than to shout, didn't I teach yer' that? Ackermans despise unwanted attention." Kenny scoffed, even with his mask on, Levi could feel an eerie smile spreading on his lips. After a tensed moment, Kenny retracted the knife and began to speak, "I'm feeling generous today even after yer' little temper tantrum. If Mikasa permits, yer' can accompany her. There's a reason why I don't want yer' to follow but oh well. Whatever happens up there, it's y'all fault." Kenny commented, but Levi and Mikasa knew this wasn't an act of generosity, but more of the fact he didn't want Mikasa to suddenly go mad in the middle of town, up on the surface where security was much, much higher.

"This special mission has no room for mistakes. If one of yer' messes up…well…" He proceeded to take out a knife, a different knife. The knife he used to kill their victim. It was stained with fresh, crimson blood.

He waved it in front of Mikasa's face. Mikasa flinched, but nothing more happened. "Seems like yer' getting better at controlling yer' bloodlust. A taunt like this after ya first outbreak made yer' go mad after your first outbreak. Pft. Teenagers and puberty. Then again, yer' still go cuckoo mad on your lil' shitty bad days when yer' kill." He teased harshly, Mikasa bit back a scowl. "But don't give me that look my beloved niece." He scoffed.

"All the information in those documents. I have other shit to deal with now." With that, Kenny turned and began to walk off. Although, he halted mid-way, turning towards them one last time. "Y'all both better scurry off now." The masked male then disappeared in the shadows.

Mikasa and Levi turned to each other, but before they could open their mouth and say anything else, they heard more footsteps coming, loud voices talking over one another about some racket going on. Ackermans never liked unnecessary attention, because any attention they received was for the worst, so both of the remaining Ackermans quickly fled.

As the Ackerman siblings hid in the shadows while they fled, at the corner of Mikasa's eye, she saw a group of people crowding over something. She then spotted a corpse laying outside the weaponry shop. She then noticed the people grieving, for the weaponry shop owner seemed like a jolly fella who didn't deserve an early demise. But then, she saw a little girl with her mother, crying—not out of despair, but rather out of joy, as if they were free.

Freedom was something Mikasa couldn't even dream of.

"Don't look." Levi chided quietly, "That isn't our mess that we had forgotten to clean."

Mikasa nodded, facing back front as they continued to sprint to their hideout. Deep down, the raven haired female knew that the mess Kenny purposely left wasn't because he suddenly desired the spotlight, but to serve as a reminder to both of them. A reminder of their inescapable fate and bloody path they were forced to walk and the consequence that he would inflict on them should they fail.

[hotpinklizard]

Hi! Do you take prompts? Maybe darcy/steve/bucky for something like "No one would suspect.."?

Thank you for the prompt! You can read it here on AO3.ExpectationsDarcy enjoys watching her boys shatter people’s expectations of them. People seem to expect Bucky and Steve to be angry old geezers, shaking their fists as they rant about the youth of America. So when a journalist asks in an interview if they just hate things like instant oatmeal and powdered hot chocolate, saying it’s not as good as how things used to be done, Steve says, “No! It saves a lot of time and it tastes good. I think it’s great.” Darcy saves a screenshot of the reporter’s dismayed face for a rainy day.

The current trend in media is the thirst for information about heroes’ private lives. Darcy, as part of the PR team for the Avengers, puts a moratorium on questions about their dating lives and families. Some of the reporters like to push boundaries, but most know that they aren’t going to get anywhere and stick to questions that only sometimes toe the line. Recently it’s been a surge in trying to get heroes’ political affiliations. Or get them to say something scandalous.

“Would you agree that modern TV and movies are boring because there’s too much emphasis on political correctness?” a reporter asks when Steve is just out trying to buy groceries.

“I love seeing different stories. Diversity isn’t a buzzword, it’s the reality of the world,” Steve says before going back to buying his tomatoes.

The reporter looks disappointed that Steve isn’t secretly a bigot. Darcy smirks when she sees the clip online. The only media coaching she had to give him for questions like that is to not call the person who asked any foul names.

That’s one of the reasons she’s with Steve in the first place. Steve is good. He doesn’t need to be told that people matter, he just knows. She’d dated a man in college who admitted that he didn’t know why he should care about others and she’d dipped out of there as fast as she could at 3:00 a.m. in floppy slippers.

Pepper reluctantly allows a Fox News reporter to attend a press conference at the tower, out of what Darcy has a suspicion is just morbid curiosity. The smarmy man asks Bucky if he likes how free speech and their politicians are being attacked. Bucky says, “Free speech is me not getting arrested for telling you you’re a goddamn asshole. Or calling the president a goddamn asshole.”

And that’s one of the reasons she’s with Bucky, too. He is all out of fucks to give and isn’t interested in searching for more. He’d spent so much time being forced to be someone else that now, now that he’s spent a lot of time in therapy and a lot of time figuring out what he wants, he’s unabashedly himself and refuses to change for anyone. She loves that.

Startled and irritated, the reporter changes tactics and asks Bucky and Steve their opinion about the conservative economic plans.

“You do know we were raised in the Great Depression, right?” Steve says, eyebrows raised. “Believe it or not, we don’t want to deal with that again.”

Emboldened by the other reporter, a local news reporter asks about LGBTQIA+ rights. Pepper steps in to put a stop to what she probably feels is an inquisition, but they’re way ahead of her.

“We’re all passionate about equality,” Tony says smoothly, but Bucky cuts off whatever he was going to say next.

“You know that being gay isn’t a new invention, right?” Bucky says, glaring hard. “Do you really think queer people weren’t around when we were growing up?”

“Is that how you identify?” the reporter asks quickly.

Darcy knows Bucky would easily say fuck yeah he is and fuck you, but he doesn’t. Steve isn’t ready for the three of them to be public, and there are enough rumors about his relationship with Bucky as it is. She doesn’t care if people know, Bucky doesn’t care if people know, but they care that Steve cares.

“No one’s sexuality is your damn business,” he says instead.

Pepper cuts in there, changing the topic to Tony, who happily takes the limelight off them. It’s not the best, Steve and Bucky aren’t fond of interviews or cameras in their faces, but it handle it well enough. More than that, the department that handles Avengers-related fan mail and threatening letters reports an uptick in letters from queer kids who feel more accepted knowing their heroes love them, so that’s good.

People also seem to expect Steve and Bucky to only enjoy old man activities, like golf and talking about the war, as if they’re just younger version of everyone’s grandparents, or serious shit like cleaning their knives and shield all day. They’d be shocked to know that they like watching snowboarding and eating shitty take out and playing video games. Steve is a wild man at any racing game and Bucky is an absolute wild man at Mario Party.

Not a damn person would believe her if she told them the former Winter Solider knitted her a sweater when she complained she couldn’t find one in the purple that she liked. They wouldn’t believe Steve is an avid Parks and Recreation fan. Not a soul would believe that when she took them to an adult store for the first time ever, it was Steve and Bucky that mostly filled the basket with all kinds of adventurous things they want to try, Darcy just adding a couple bottles of lube and condoms.

Darcy is lounging in bed, wearing leggings and the oversized purple sweater from Bucky and flipping through news articles on her phone. Bucky’s lying next to her on his stomach, face buried in his pillow, arm slung over her waist. There’s a soft beep letting them know someone (Steve) has entered the code to their apartment, and a few moments later, Steve is faceplanting into bed next to Bucky, groaning.

“Long morning?” Darcy asks, looking up from her phone. Steve just groans again, flipping off Bucky when he laughs.

“Why do you guys get a mid-day nap and I had to be Pepper’s show pony all morning?” Steve asks.

“You love when the kids visit,” Darcy says. It’s true, Steve always makes sure to be available when the schoolkids have their tours of Stark Tower.

“Yeah, but their parents…”

Yeah, okay, that’s fair. There’s always at least one chaperone that thinks she (or he) can make Captain America fall in love with them in a single afternoon. Darcy’d had to rescue him last year when a particularly forward husband and wife had tried to entice him to come home with them. Darcy had invented a fake emergency (Code Periwinkle for fake emergencies and quick getaways from social situations) and hustled him out, trying to look very serious and not at all amused.

“It’s your turn next time,” Steve says, turning his head to look at Bucky. “The kids love you.”

“They try to hang from my metal arm like a jungle gym,” Bucky grumbles, squinting an eye open to look at Steve.

“You love that,” Darcy says, nudging her toes against his thigh. He reaches behind him, grabbing at her ankle and tugging her toward him. She shrieks out a laugh, rolling with the movement until she’s lying on his back. Steve snorts at them, rolling to his side.

“Only when it’s you, doll,” he says.

“Liar,” she says, grinning. She presses a kiss to the back of his neck before Steve pulls her by the wrist until she’s squished between them.

“Nap now, jungle gym later,” he says, throwing an arm over her waist, his fingers resting on Bucky’s back.

“This is dumb,” she says, face pressed against his chest. “Why are we all squished on one half of the bed when there’s a whole empty side?”

“Because Bucky isn’t moving,” Bucky says, eyes closed again. Steve kicks at Bucky’s legs until he gives in with a grumble, rolling over until there’s enough room for them all to lie comfortably (it’s a California king mattress, really the only option when there are two sets of shoulders like Steve and Bucky’s).

The only expectations people have of the two of them that Darcy doesn’t want rocked are related to the battlefield. Everyone assumes Captain America and the former Winter Soldier will always be victorious. They’ll watch, follow the news with wide, fearful eyes, but they always believe the two of them will come out on top.

Darcy is good with everyone having that expectation. It’s probably unhealthy, but she clings to that when they’re out on some mission and she doesn’t know if they’ll be back. She holds onto the country’s collective belief that Steve and Bucky are invincible, her breath held as she watches them battle aliens or robots or other enhanced baddies in the street.

She knows they’re strong, she knows they know what they’re doing, but she worries. It’s in her nature, she’s a worrier. She hides it well most of the time, shielding herself with bravado and sarcastic quips, but something in her heart still clenches when she sees one of them take a hit, even if they stand back up almost immediately. She knows they’re doing what they believe in, but that doesn’t make it any easier to watch. The only thing worse is not watching.

She never really considered their worry for her. They’re protective, but careful not to be overbearing so she honestly doesn’t think too much about it. But then she’s downtown, walking to get coffee when the ground shakes. She doesn’t know what’s going on, only that what looks like small robots are flying around above the city, dropping small bomb on the city.

“Shit!” she says, turning on her heel and running toward the closest alley, looking for any kind of cover. “Shit, shit, shit…”

An explosion in front of her knocks down part of a wall in the alley, and a second later there’s a pained yowl. Trapped with a pile of bricks on its back leg in a dirty black cat, eyes wide in pain and fear and damn it, she can’t just leave it.

It takes a few moments but she gets the cat’s leg out from under the bricks, scooping it up and holding it close to her chest as she runs. She’s not immediately clawed to death, which she’s grateful for, but also probably means the cat’s in shock.

There’s a small alcove farther down that used to be a loading zone for delivery trucks. She ducks behind the bricks right when one of the little robot bombs drops. She screams, can’t help it, as part of the balcony above her collapses, dropping in front of her and trapping her in the brick alcove with a mass of concrete and rubble in front of her.

“Okay, okay,” she mutters, trying to pull her phone out of her bag with one hand, the other cradling the cat that’s begun to shake in earnest. “It’s okay, kitty, we got this. Fuck, no service, we don’t got this.”

No, this is fine, this is totally fine. The explosions are already moving away, like they’re going for as much chaos as possible, not targeting anyone specific, so she doubts anything will be back to finish her off. Still, she’s trapped with an injured cat and no one has any idea where she is. If her phone doesn’t have service, they can’t track her, right? If they even realize she’s missing. It’s the middle of the work day, would anyone expect her to be here? Would they think to look?

She’s expecting a very long wait for rescue, if one comes at all. She’s sitting down with her back against the wall, the cat calmer now that Darcy’s wrapped it in her jacket. There’s no name tag, so Darcy’s decided it’s now Florence. She has no idea if it’s a boy or girl cat, but it’s Florence now, and she’s going to get Florence out of this, damn it.

It’s nearing hour two of being trapped and she’s starting to get antsy, when there’s shifting of the rubble. She scrambles to her feet, holding Florence tightly, and shrinks back into the corner, trying to avoid anything falling on her.

It’s not the building collapsing, though. The concrete blocking her in is ripped away and there’s Bucky, breathing heavily on the other side, his eyes wide and fearful.

“Oh thank fuck,” Darcy breathes.

She dashes out of the alcove and throws herself into his arms, Florence hissing indignantly between them. Bucky lifts her easily, moving her away from the rubble and a bit farther down the alley so they’re not next to a building that’s probably a stiff breeze away from collapsing.

“Bucky,” she says when he sets her back on her feet, taking her face in both his hands. He still looks panicked, eyes roving over her for any sign of injury, pausing at the bloody scrapes on her arm, the rips in the knees of her pants.

“You didn’t come back,” he says roughly.

“What?”

“You were out - coffee run - you didn’t come back. Then we saw…” He can’t seem to finish, words failing him. Then he’s kissing her roughly, like he never thought he’d be able to again. She wraps her free arm around him, kissing him back just as hard because she gets it, she really does. She does the exact same thing when they come back after a battle, dirty and exhausted and a little bloodier than she’d like.

There are loud footsteps and Bucky pulls away to look, ready to pull a gun, but it’s Steve. He’s in his Captain America uniform, covered in dirt, and he looks as frantic as Bucky.

“You found her,” he says, then he’s running toward them. Bucky carefully takes Florence from Darcy and just in time, because Steve isn’t slowing down. He grabs Darcy around the waist and yanks her to him, holding her tightly.

“I’m okay,” she says, hugging him back. “I’m fine, Steve.”

It’s true, even. Sure, she’s probably going to shake and have a mild meltdown as soon as she’s home and has a chance to change and clean up, but for right now she’s okay.

Then Steve’s kissing her, and that shocks the hell out of her more than anything else. Steve isn’t embarrassed of their relationship, not at all, but he’s very private and never kisses her or Bucky when they’re out. She kisses back, obviously, because he’s her boyfriend and she loves it, but her mind is racing.

She learns later that she was in the background of a shaky cell phone video that the news was playing while they waited for more information, and Steve and Bucky had flown into a frenzy.

“We thought we lost you,” Steve murmurs against her lips, bending down to rest his forehead against hers.

Bucky steps up behind her, crowding in and holding her as best he can with a cat in one arm. Darcy keeps one arm around Steve, her other hand coming up to rest on Bucky’s arm, letting them both know she’s here and safe. Then Steve is raising his head, kissing Bucky and yeah, that’s new, too. Not the kiss, but in public. Steve, who longs to keep his private life out of the public view, has just kissed both of them in broad daylight with lots of people around.

“Steve, there are people,” Bucky says softly. He doesn’t care one bit, proud as hell about his partners, but Steve cares.

“It doesn’t matter,” Steve says, gripping both of them tightly. “I don’t care. I needed you both here and okay.”

The sound of sirens is getting closer and Darcy expects to be handed off to a paramedic while they get back to rescue duty, but she’s surprised again when Steve easily lifts her into his arms, making her squeak at the sudden movement.

“Not still on duty?” she asks.

“No,” Steve says, kissing her cheek and starting down the alley away from the crowds of people and paramedics. “The others have it handled.”

Darcy looks over Steve’s shoulder to see Bucky following them, Florence looking happy as a clam to be in his arm. There’s a news crew behind them and Darcy turns back around, not wanting to deal with that right now.

Steve and Bucky are both clingy for the rest of the day, not letting her far out of their sight. The only time Bucky is away from her for longer than ten minutes is when he brings Florence to the emergency vet. He comes back with news that Florence is a boy, not microchipped, and is very high on pain pills, his leg in a little cast. Steve halfheartedly suggests bringing him to a shelter, but Bucky and Darcy glare and it isn’t brought up again.

The next day, when cleanup is well underway, Darcy and Bucky are sitting on the couch in the living room, Florence sprawled with his head on Darcy’s thigh, the rest of his body on Bucky’s. The press conference is about to start, but she’s taking a day off so she doesn’t have to be there, and if she doesn’t, Bucky sure isn’t going. Steve had rolled his eyes at both of them, but went anyway. Such a responsible adult.

The first few questions are standard. What attacked the city? Are there any new threats on the horizon? Who’s paying for cleanup? Are there any team injuries?

Then come the questions they’ve been waiting for. Yes, Steve tells them he’s dating the woman he was photographed kissing. Yes, also Bucky. Yes, they’re all together. No, he isn’t going to be giving any more details than that.

“I’m sure the world is shocked that Captain America has not only a girlfriend but a boyfriend as well!” a reporter says, nudging for him to spill more.

“Captain America is symbol. But I’m Steve Rogers, and I’m just a man,” Steve says. “And I love my partners.”(A/N If you come to my comments just to say “queer is a slur11!1!1!”, I’m cursing you with a thousand bee stings.)

[socks-are-love]

I’m increasingly frustrated by the folks who refuse to vote for Biden because he’s not their perfect candidate. They acknowledge that they don’t want Trump, but don’t understand that we live in a reality that, right now, due to our shitty, shitty political system, that Biden is literally the only other choice.

YES, there will be other people on the ballot and YES, there is the option to write in. But because our system is held hostage by two mega parties, those other candidates aren’t real options. Right now, in this political situation, a vote for third party is throwing away your vote.

And I know, I KNOW no one wants to hear that. We’re sold on the idea, at an early age, that you vote your conscience, that our system is so good because of the checks and balances and you always vote for the best person and America is so great because of this freedom! Yay! But no one ever really explains to us when we’re young how the system doesn’t work as advertised, not even a little bit.

Our first problem is the winner-take-all way we have of tallying votes. It means that a candidate in a primary race can win by having the most votes for them, when they have a much larger portion of people who have voted for someone who isn’t them. In a 5 way race (For example, because multiples of 5 are easy for me to calculate in my head), for a person to get the most votes, they have to get just somewhat more than 20% of folks to vote for them. So let’s say there’s 100 people voting (again, easy numbers), So we have A, B, C, D, and E running. A gets 15 votes, B gets 30 votes, C gets 5 votes, D gets 37 votes, and E gets 13 votes. So D deffo won, right? but that means that 63% of people who voted wanted someone OTHER than D to win. But, winner take all, right?

This winner-take-all system means that we KNOW the majority of votes are gonna go to either Republicans or Democrats; both parties are way too big, and that’s just reality. There’s a very small margin in folks who actively vote who don’t identify with either party, are swing voters, independents, etc. In 2016, 5.54% of voters who turned out to actually vote went 3rd party or wrote in someone who wasn’t on the ballot. So, (talking about popular vote and not really going into the real messed up bit of the electoral college right now because that’s a whole other bottle of yikes) Hillary Clinton did win the popular vote with 48.28% vs Trump’s 46.18% of the popular vote. The margin looks pretty small, right? But that 5.54% could have bumped either one up to a slightly bigger majority, and in a lot of the swing states, even just a few of those voters could have majorly changed the outcome (because, again, electoral college stuff).

HOWEVER, Hillary Clinton and Donald Trump weren’t even what the majority of folks wanted in this country. We know this because only 55.5% of citizens who were eligible to vote actually did so (and, this is simplifying, I know there’s also a lot of voter suppression going on that prevented folks from voting, and I know that election day being on a week day in the middle of the day means a lot of folks can’t vote because of other life obligations, and voting locations mean a lot of folks can’t get there, and tons of other stuff that are huge problems. I’m absolutely not brushing off these problems, they’re just not the focus of this infodump because this is already going to be super long and getting into that really needs it’s own dedicated post to really do the problem justice). This means that 44.5% of the country didn’t even get their opinion in.

Let’s assume for the sake of this particular rant that those people all didn’t vote because they didn’t like any of the candidates presented, and as a form of protest, didn’t vote for anyone. (Again, I know this isn’t true, but there is a fair number who do this, mostly young folks, and this whole infodump is really focused on that concept, so for simplicity of numbers right now I’m going to pretend that all of that 44.5% is all folks who chose not to do the thing).

For simplicity of math, I’m gonna round the numbers up and down so that we’re gonna say that an even 50% of eligible voters didn’t turn out (because now I just have to divide my numbers in half, and it’s 5am and I just want to do easy math right now). SO! That means that only about (give or take a few percentage points) that due to the nearness of the divide between popular vote, that ONLY ABOUT 25% OF THE COUNTRY VOTED DONALD TRUMP INTO OFFICE. And, since we’re imagining that that 50% of folks who didn’t vote did so because they didn’t like Trump and also didn’t like Hillary and felt they were morally obligated not to vote for either, we ended up with the situation we’re now in.

So, at least a portion of those folks, logically, really didn’t want Trump, but were salty about Clinton, and though they really didn’t want Trump to win, they just couldn’t morally vote for Clinton because they were upset about how the DNC handled the whole nomination process (which, yes, was real fucked up. I’m still salty about it, and I’m pretty damn salty about how it rolled out this time too (for the record, my guy was Andrew Yang because I agreed with nearly his entire platform, though I thought Tulci Gabbard was pretty swell too)). A lot of folks feel that since they weren’t listened to, that the party that shoehorned Clinton into running against what a lot of folks wanted, and didn’t give their candidate a fair shake, didn’t deserve their vote because they hadn’t earned it.

And I get that. I really, REALLY do. When I was young, and my first voting cycle for president was the year Obama ran. I was in college, I was barely 20 years old, and I knew a little bit about politics, but not a lot. I knew that Obama seemed like a nice dude, but I really thought that McCain’s economic policy held more weight (I haven’t looked back to really see if I was right or not). To my memory, I don’t believe either candidate had a strong stance on LGBTQIA+ issues, because if Obama had been firmly for LGBTQIA+ rights to my knowledge (and, again, I was a dumb barely-adult who didn’t do a lot of political research because I a) didn’t have time and b) was young and didn’t have a grasp on our political system outside the idealistic version taught in public school) I would have voted for him on that issue alone. But them McCain brought in Sarah Palin as a runningmate, and I was pretty convinced she was batshit crazy, and so he lost my vote. But I still didn’t like what I understood of Obama’s economic policy, so I decided not to vote for either.

Really, I should have done more research, but whatever, the past is the past and I’m older and wiser and saltier now. In hindsight, knowing what I know now of the Republican party, I’m super glad that Obama won (even though I don’t think McCain was a horrible person: he was pretty honorable in his own way, and I can respect that. A lot of his stances aside, he did care about upholding the spirit of the constitution and how things are supposed to work, and he absolutely recognized the conman that Trump was and refused to be cowed, which won him big points in my book) and pretty ashamed of not supporting him in 2008. I can’t remember if I voted in 2012, honestly. I think I did, just because I remember being pretty against the idea of Mitt Romney (my boss at the time was a big fan and I remember avoiding talking about how I wasn’t down with the idea of him winning).

I absolutely understand wanting to sit out the election, or vote third party, or write in some bullshit as a form of protest. I get it. I felt that that was a really viable option when I was younger. 

But I understand now that that’s not how our system works.

Getting back to the numbers:

50-ish of folks didn’t vote, and we’re pretending that it was a protest situation.

The problem with a protest vote, or, rather, lack of protest vote, means that you have no say and no control in the direction the country is going. You gotta look at the two main choices presented, and decide who you think the WORST candidate is, and vote for the other guy. It’s not how our system is supposed to work, but it’s how it’s functioning right now, and the only way to change it is to act within the parameters we’re given. You have to vote to keep the worst one from winning.

For now.

Changing broken systems is hard, and politics is particularly slow moving and difficult. The DNC and the GOP don’t look at that 50% of folks who didn’t get out and vote and go ‘huh, something must be wrong, what did we do to upset folks?’. They might notice the trending tags on twitter, might see there’s outrage on the internet (assuming they know enough about technology to really get all up in here, which they probably don’t, because they’re all old and just imagine your grandma or grandpa’s knowledge of the internet and social media.. because that’s the majority of the folks at the DNC and GOP). They’re not suddenly going to decide to change things because a bunch of salty folks sat out. 

So, what do we do?

First, again, we vote to keep the worst one out of office. Gotta keep the country from becoming more of a dumpster fire. Doesn’t matter that Biden is old and bland and behind the times. It’s him or Trump, and Trump isn’t just a bad president: he’s actively making moves to destroy all the progress we’ve made in this country. There’s no realistic way any other candidate besides Biden or Trump are viable. So it’s one or the other. So we put the fire out first. That’s step 1. If just a small amount of the protest non-voters and the protest third-party voters had decided to be pragmatic and vote for Clinton just to prevent Trump from getting into office, we’d be so much better off now. Less of a dumpster-fire situation. So yes, step one, vote against Trump for Biden to get him the fuck out. That’s it. That’s the only goal. Get him gone by the only means we are able to do so.

Next step is, again, triage in that we’ve gotta KEEP the House of Representatives democrat and flip the senate to get rid of the Republican majority. Mitch McConnel in Kansas would be great to vote out, but Amy McGrath isn’t doing well, so while we can do our best we can’t count on her winning. We need to switch over at least 4 seats in the senate to democrat to wrest control of our lawmaking away from the Republicans. So, while I believe strongly in being an informed voter and not being a one-party-only-and-forever sort of person, right now, the GOP are running amok and need to be stopped. So literally vote democrat everywhere you can right now. Because we need to pave the way to work on solutions to the mess of our political system.

If we can flip the senate, keep the house, and get Trump out of office (and, I’m really hoping we can delay the appointment of Ruth Bater Ginsberg’s successor, because we’re gonna need to keep the Supreme Court from being in the pocket of the GOP), now we can really work on the system.

We work on the system locally first. Vote in every election, and local elections are deffo the place to vote your conscience. Push your local lawmakers to support the ideals that are important to you. The biggest big boy issue you need to push for? Ranked Choice Voting.

What is Ranked Choice Voting, you may ask? Well, it’s how we can work to make everyone’s vote actually matter.

Going back to our Candidates A, B, C, D, and E example, where D wins with only 37% of the vote, here’s the numbers again for reference:

A: 15

B: 30

C: 5

D: 37

E: 13

Ranked Choice Voting would fix that issue. When you get your ballot, instead of just one person, you rank your choices (The system that was used as an example when I learned about it was top 3 choices, but that was likely for simplification purposes) for who you’d like to vote for. So let’s say you’re a real big fan of C, and you think that A is okay, and that E  is not really who you really really want, but you can live with them if they win because they still have a lot of views you’re good with. You’re not into B at all but suppose you’re ambivalent about them in office, and really, really don’t want D to win. You get to rank your top three, so you say you’d like E to win and put them as number 1, then A as number 2, and E as your number 3. You leave out B and D. So when in the initial vote, everyone’s top vote is counted, and C only gets that 5%. So all of C’s votes get canceled out, and all of their voter’s votes now go to whomever they ranked as their #2 and redistribute out. So now your vote goes to A. Let’s say that the last 4 votes went to E. We’re now at:

A: 16

B: 30

C: Disqualified

D: 37

E: 17

No one has at least 50% of the vote yet, so we need to redistribute again. We’ll take A’s votes now, and move on to their #2 choices (and if C’s #2 votes had gone to E, those would be on their #3 choices). Let’s say that of A’s 16 votes, 5 voted for C as their second choice, and all 5 voted for E as their third choice. of the remaining 11 votes for A, all 11 voted for E as their #2 Numbers now look like this:

A: Disqualified

B: 30

C: Disqualified

D: 37

E: 33

We’re still not to 50% anywhere, so now we need to eliminate B. Of the options left with the rankings and the disqualified candidates, they distribute as 25 for E and 5 for D. So now we have Candidate E winning with 58% of the vote, and candidate D losing with 42% of the vote. And now even though you supported most heavily an underdog candidate, your vote wasn’t wasted, because it simply shuffled to the next person you found acceptable, and then again, until it still counted for someone you thought was okay, and didn’t benefit the other candidate that you were completely against by splitting out the field to the point where they win by default, even though they don’t have the majority vote.\

The way we historically make big change isn’t really with the president, or senators. Many really big gains in this country (women’s suffrage, marriage equality, and interracial marriage) happen at the state level first, and then when they pick up speed getting passed in other states, eventually around the 25-36 state mark it gets passed nationally. So, we start local, start with our own state, and work towards ranked choice voting, work towards ending big money in politics, work towards climate policy, work towards everything we want. In the mean time, when the primaries come around, that is definitely the time to vote your conscience, make sure the party sees how many people support the smaller candidates, because even if they still shoehorn whom they want into the nomination, the policies of the runners up tend to influence policy of the candidate (this has been happening with Biden, who’s been updating his policies and moving somewhat further left). Make sure you interact with your local political folks, make your voice heard: often senators and representatives start local and work their way up. Make sure they know where your priorities are and support those who align with your values, eventually, with success and support, they’ll start working their way up the ranks.

It’s slow, but the change we want is all about small steps. And we start with voting against Trump by way of supporting Biden into the Whitehouse. Once Trump is out and hopefully we’ve managed to flip the senate, we can start pushing hard for the rest.

A lot of people are genuinely terrified about what will happen if Donald Trump wins reelection and it's really weird how some of y'all are acting like everyone begging you to vote for Biden is some privileged, rich, out of touch, neo-liberal when a lot of them are just vulnerable people who don't want to like...die in a brutal civil war or watch all their remaining rights get stripped away by an increasingly authoritarian Republican Party.

I do not know how to express to you how much worse it can get.

[steveebabyyy-blog]

Superhero

This was a request from @the-hopeful-lark! I loved the request so much, but I’ve rewritten it about a hundred times because I keep finding bits I hate about it. Please give me feedback, trying to get back into writing and it’s the middle of summer for me so I’m VERY rusty and lacking of ideas and creativity. Kind of tried to tie in angsty Steve as well and a shitty background he’s had. Always see Steve as someone who’s so full of love and selfless despite everything, so tried to show this. We see Steve go through some shit in the series but never see the aftermath and how he feels and all that so yeah, just my angsty, sad take on it all.

Haven’t proof read because if I do I’ll end up never posting it!!

Hope you enjoy!

Warnings : gun violence, swearing, family arguments, trauma maybe ?? 

---

The last thing Steve could remember was a hot, sharp pain spreading across his body - feeling discomfort in his leg and his heart beating out of his chest - just becoming aware of his body starting to fail him. 

What he didn’t remember was collapsing on the floor, Hopper desperately trying to hold him and slowly lay him down but not suceeding as Steve’s numb body weighed even Jim Hopper, the ‘biggest and scariest’ chief around, or so according to the kids of Hawkins. He didn’t remember all colour draining from his face, leaving him pale and ghoul like. His body shaking from shock and adrenaline, despite how ridiculously hot his body was feeling.  He couldn’t remember his irregular breathing - heavily, and desperately, trying to realise and process what was happening but all he could focus on was this fucking pain in his leg, not sure why it was hurting so much. 

“Wha...What-” Steve muttered, looking up at Hopper. 

Hopper desperately held the boy in his arms. And he was a boy - still a young boy that Hopper had taken under his wing.

Steve had been working with Hopper since he graduated from school. He decided not to go away to college, and found himself in a shit situation when he realised the only option he had was working for his dad or not working full time anywhere - until Hopper ‘adopted’ him and let him work with him in the force.

By work, this meant Steve followed Hopper around like a shadow - desperately trying to learn from him and earn a secure place at the station.

Being a deputy had always been an idea in the back of Steve’s head. He felt pretty confident, and helping people was what helped Steve. So when Hopper caught him working at the mall over summer, he instantly offered him a place after seeing his bravery during the months they no longer speak about. 

Things had been running smooth for Steve. All he had to do was lodge some complaints, sort a few angry kids out and give people fines on the street for petty crime. But he craved more - he craved adventure, and action. He wasn’t taken too seriously here. They all knew he was some rich kid fresh out of school, and presumed he wasn’t gonna take it too seriously. 

But when they got a call about a robbery - god, was Steve excited. Not in a ‘oh god someone could get hurt, I’m excited’ way, but in a way that made his heart pound. In a way that made his hands shake as adrenaline flushed through him. Finally something was happening. Finally Steve could earn a title and prove himself. 

He could finally prove everyone wrong.

After a quick drive, sirens blaring through Steve’s body - a sound he was not yet used to - Hopper stopped the car outside a run down, old gas station and gathered his things, looking back at Steve every now and then.

Steve had his mind set and eyes focused on the gas station, hand on the door handle of the car, ready to run into danger. This kid had killed demagorgons and risked his life for most of Hawkins, for godsake. He could handle this, surely. 

Surely, he wasn’t scared. 

Hopper opened the car door, taking one look back at Steve. “Just stay back, kid, alright? Stay behind me. We don’t know what’s gonna go down, but hopefully it will be pretty easy to contain.” 

“Yeah, sure.” Steve agreed, eager as ever to go and get some experience and be involved in the action. 

Wandering over, they tried to look through the windows of the building of the gas station - identifying how many people was inside, and who the target was. 

Through the window, there was a hooded man holding a gun up to a man’s head - screaming in his face. 

"Oh fuck.” Hopper muttered under his breath, “Get back, kid.”

Steve almost froze. He wasn’t scared, no. Surely not. 

This was Steve Harrington - ‘King Steve’ of Hawkins. Big, bad Steve.

“You wanna back out, Harrington? I don’t mind if you do, just sit in the car.”

“Nah, I’m fine...” Steve looked - eyes focused on the target. He tried to silently swallow the lump in his throat, and took a breath in. “I’m fine.”

“Stay behind, okay? Don’t be stupid, kid. You’re brave, but don’t be stupid.” 

The words echoed in his head as they approached the situation. His head became a blur, and adrenaline took over his body like a disease. 

As Hopper opened the door, the next few minutes became one big blur. A concotion of feelings, adrenaline, and emotion. 

All Steve could remember was a lot of shouting, and noise. But the one distinct feeling he could gather together was the feeling he had to help - he had to do something. Which is exactly what he did when a single bullet left the criminal’s gun, right towards Hopper. 

Steve had always wanted to help people, but always ended up being pushed away. He tried to be the good guy, but often became the bad guy because of it. His desire to help others always overtook his mind, like a seperate person was inside of him he controlled his every move and throught. 

Without a thought through his mind, Steve ran in front, blocking Hopper and becoming the bullet’s new and desired target. And time stood still. 

The bullet entered his leg, travelling through his body, but not coming out the other side. It ripped through his body and that’s where it went blurry - that’s up to where Steve remembered. 

After this, of course, was a mixture of panic and shouts as the gunman ran, and several officers followed after him. Hopper wasn’t going anywhere, though. 

Over the past months, they had really made a strong bond. Hopper saw his intentions and morals, and knew he was a good kid. He looked after the gang, and always put others before himself. He had a shitty past, yeah, but didn’t everyone? 

Steve fell to his knees instantly, the impact forcing him down onto the floor. He felt as if he was sinking into the floor, unaware of why his body was failing to keep him upright. Hopper grabbed him, putting his arms under Steve’s - desperately trying to relieve any pain he was about to feel. 

“No, no kid. I’m sorry, but you’re not going today.” Hopper shouted, gently falling down with Steve as the limp body weighed him down. 

Steve felt no immediate pain - just pure confusion as to why everyone was panicking and running. He looked around and up at Hopper. He was perplexed, forgetting where he was and who he was. He was just a boy, wasn’t he? 

“You’re fine, Harringto-. Hey, look at me, look at me.” His warm brown eyes drowned out as he looked up at the older man, become glazed and darker than they have ever been. He furrowed his brow, confused. His piercing eyes changed from confused to terrified. His eyes begged at Hopper, begged him to help.

He wanted to be at home.

He didn’t want to be here anymore.

“Who-...What?” 

He felt like a homesick kid. He wanted to go home right now. 

“I’m not gonna lose another kid, Harrington.”

Steve floated in and out of conciousness, the adrenaline wearing off and the shock slowly deteriorating. 

Steve begged his mind to wake him up from this nightmare he was in. He felt no pain, just an overwelhming need to get up and leave - a need that was screaming at him. He knew something bad had happened as his gut began to twist and turn, his core trying to pull him up to run back home. His mind shouting at him to wake up. But he couldn’t move, he couldn’t think for himself. He was stuck and pleading inside for help.

Suddenly, Steve was terrified. 

Instantly, his mind took him back to a time when he was seven years old in his back yard. When he first moved into his house in Hawkins, he was overwelhmed by the huge yard every seven year old prays to be blessed with - with one massive tree right at back in the corner. Just as eager as he was to enter that gas station, he ran to the tree and scaled it - imagining he was a superhero from the comics he read, desperately trying to save his side kick from danger. He could just imagine himself drawn in a famous comic, ‘Superhero Steve’. 

These dreams all came to a halt when one wrong step caused him to fall - catching evey branch on the way to hit him in his ribs and head, landing right on his left arm with a snap. Oh god, did it hurt. He screamed and screamed for his mom - and all he could remember was being terrified, but then being wrapped in his mother’s arms. 

“Be brave, Steve. You’re always so brave. So brave.” she cooed, soothing the young boys sobs. 

He began to recall back to when he was a bit older, going out on his bike on his own - having to bike past that one house on the other side of the neighbourhood that was dark and crooked, groaning and screaming everytime the wind blew. The house haunted him in his nightmares, and would make any ten year old boy shift and squirm in their sleep.

Be brave, Steve.

The rose tint of this memory faded as it was shifted to a darker one, when his parents first left him at home for the first time. He didn’t want his mom to leaver more than anything - she protected him, and without her, he was vulnerable to anything. But month after month, his parents came and went and Steve eventually became used to the numbness in his body and tightness in his chest when they said goodbye. He eventually became used to the trees scraping against his window, which would once cause him to jump when home alone - but now was nothing but a soundtrack to his thoughts. 

You’re always so brave.

Then came the memories of fighting - being beat up by Johnathan, and half to death by Billy. Fighting and risking his life to save them kids - them goddamn kids. The figures of these monsters from another dimension haunted Steve when he shut his eyes every night, but he wouldn’t change a thing because it saved them. And in some odd, unexpected way - them kids saved him when Steve was at his lowest point. 

So brave.

His head began to ache from the memories - recalling back to a time when he sat in his car crying after an argument with his dad. Breathing out cold, heavy breaths. 

“You are a fucking burden sometimes, Steven. Oh, you’re storming off? Be brave, you coward.” 

Be brave, you coward.

Hopper’s voice began to ring in his ears, and Steve suddenly focused back on to where he was. He muttered something, becoming more and more confused and scared as his eyes fluttered shut - heavy from the pain flooding his body, spreading from his leg throughout his veins and he finally let himself dream. 

Just be brave.

In his hospital bed, Steve laid - IV’s placed into his hands, monitors hooked up to observe his heart rate and different numbers of tubes and wires plugged into him.

Golden light from the window next to him pouring onto his face and body, radiating warmth onto his cheeks and the sun reflecting and bouncing off the small dark flecks in his eyes as he slowly squinted them open. The boy attempted to push himself to sit up, failing miserably with a small groan as pain once again flooded his body. He shut his eyes once again, wincing with the sharp, burning sensation that spread all up his leg. 

“What the fuck?” he groaned, the words just barely coming out. His mouth was dry and his head started to pound from pain as short, clustered memories came back to him. He rest his head back on his pillow, allowing his mind to take everything in to try and puzzle together what had happened. He looked down at his leg, scared to see what was there - discovering what seemed like hundreds of layers of bandage covering it. 

He didn’t feel hungover, so he couldn’t have done something at a party. He wasn’t in a fight, surely he would remember that. He looked around the room, his eyes not focusing properly - just about making out the shapes of certain objects. He rubbed his forehead, closing his eyes and gently agreeing with himself to let sleep to take over. However, this was short lived when six short bodies all pushed eachother through the door, tripping over eachother as twelve arms and legs all tried to get through on small door. 

“Steve! Oh my god!”

He shut his eyes for a short second, furrowing his brows to try and process what exactly was going on. Last thing he remembered was in pain, now he was in hospital with a million different voices shouting at him. His eyes still fuzzy began to focus on these people. 

And there they all were. The kids, Hopper, Nancy, Johnathan - all of them. They all walked in with faces full of happiness and relief, their hearts finally at rest. Voices all began to overlap eachother as they all shouted at eachother words of happiness.

“Thank god!” 

“Oh my God, Steve!”

“What the fuck, you’re alive!”

Steve chuckled, still completely confused, trying to listen to every person’s voice individually but failing. He looked at all of them individually - taking in everyone’s hopeful expressions.

suddenly his head stopped ringing, and his body became relaxed, releasing years worth of tension, lonelines and worry. 

Steve became increasingly confused again and frustrated at the voices screaming over eachother, shouting with joy - all trying to be louder than the voice before.

“Hey, shut up!” he croaked, desperately trying to shout but failing miserablely. The room fell silent, as everyone looked over at Steve as if they’d just been told off - desperate for him to say something. His eyes scanned all their faces individually.

“Hey what if he’s forgotten us.” Max whispered to Dustin, with a small smile.

“Don’t say that, you dickhead.” Dustin retorted with a scoff, but deep down panic rushed over him. 

“Nah I couldn’t never forget you shitheads.” Steve finally muttered with a smirk, shaking his head.  

“He remembers us!” Mike laughed, pushing Max with his shoulder. 

“Thank God for that!” Will laughed, as everyone began to talk again. The kids all began to exchange their theories on what had happened, looking over at Steve now and again to make sure he was listening - trying their best to get their best guess at what had happened. 

“Don’t be stupid, he obviously was in some intense fight with some guy and he got stabbed.” Lucas stated, matter of factly. 

“Nah, he definately got stabbed. It was probably like some Nightmare on Elm Street shit.” Dustin shrugged, all so confident that what they were saying made sense. 

Whilst this was happening, Hopper walked over to where Steve layed, crouching down next to the bed. He analysed Steve’s pale face, almost as if the life had been taken out of it. Steve was smiling, but seemed on edge.

“Kid...you alright?” 

“Could be better, Chief.” Steve managed a stiff laugh. “Don’t you worry, I’ll be back in action before you know it. I just have...no idea what happened. I wake up here then suddenly you’re all here saying I’ve been hurt and I’m just confused” 

He attempted to move his leg, leaving him groaning in pain - shutting the room up once again.

“You saved my life, Harrington.” 

Steve looked at Hopper, furrowing his brow. “What?” Steve desperately tried to make light of the situation, sure that Hopper was joking. Of course Steve would take the oppurtunity to save Hopper’s life if he could, but why did he have to?

“You took a pretty badass bullet for me. We went to a call about a robbery and he had a gun. You jumped in front of me without even thinking”. The chief shook his head, letting out a small laugh through his nose. “I told you not to do anything stupid, but you still did.” 

Steve looked over at the kids who all stood, mouths wide open. They all slowly looked at eachother, and then once again, erupted in noise and excitement.

“You took a FUCKING bullet?!” 

“Hey! Language, Henderson.” 

“A FUCKING bullet?!” 

“Hey! Kids! Shut up!” 

“You’re like a superhero, Steve!”

“That’s some superhero shit!” 

As Hopper tried to settle the kids down and teach them a pretty firm lesson about swearing, Steve realised everyone he needed was right here with him now. He was content with this, he needed this. 

He still couldn’t wrap his head around what had happened, but he didn’t care just right now. All he cared about was what was happening now - he was alive, and surrounded by these people who cared about him.

Yeah, he had just been shot. Yeah, he felt pretty shitty. But he was happy. He was relieved, content - thankful. 

Steve was brave, he had always been brave. He no longer felt scared - he no longer felt alone.