#your post made me realize i had my cane on the wrong setting (which i thought i fixed but having the visual helped)

[dimonds456]

Adding to this! My experience is very limited (as I only just started using a cane full-time about a month and a half ago with no instructions), but I would like to take a moment to talk about some cane-related struggles a character might run into, especially if they came flying in blind like I did!

Theft

Yep. Theft. I actually got a cane around this time last year, but within the first two weeks of my having one, it got stolen. I don't know why, but I have heard from other cane users in my area that that happens a lot, surprisingly. My cane was taken by a fellow college student, though I was never able to figure out who did it or even when, as I was still adjusting to it and kept forgetting it when I left rooms.

2. Forgetfulness

Adjusting to having a cane, especially if it's not medically diagnosed, is weird. You suddenly have to keep track of a stick you need all the time, and for characters who have ADHD or otherwise have terrible memory, that can be a challenge at first. I know I often had to return to classrooms to go get it because I was just used to walking around without one, and would typically only remember I was missing it when my hips/legs started to hurt or I would go to lean on it and there was nothing there.

3. Big clunky stick needs to sit somewhere while you do.

I have an aluminum adjustable cane, so this is specifically in reference to that type. Trying to find somewhere to set your cane down while you sit can be surprisingly difficult at times. You can't lay it on your lap since it's too long and could disrupt those sitting next to you, you can't lean it on a table if the edge is too low/high (might trip someone), sometimes walls aren't super nearby, and sometimes the floor is really, really dirty or you just can't lean down to pick it back up on that day. I've taken up a bad habit of leaning my chin against the top of my cane in car rides to help with that, which is actually a hazard and you should not do.

4. Transportation / needing both your hands

If your character needs to help bring in the groceries and cannot set their cane down anywhere reliable, trying to adjust and find a reliable way to carry their cane can be hard. I made the mistake of just letting it drag behind me the first time I had to carry groceries home from the bus, and when I got there the rubber part had filed down by quite a lot. But I couldn't use only one hand to carry, I had to use both. I am still figuring out how to do this to this day.

'Course, groceries aren't the only scenario a character might find themselves in, it's just the most immediate example to me since I live pretty much on my own and keep making the mistake of bringing my cane with me whenever I go grocery shopping (and if I leave it home, there's a chance I'll need it and won't have it).

5. "...So, do you actually need a cane?" "Oh no, what happened?!"

If your character was usually seen without a cane and then magically had one the next day, it would definitely raise questions. The thing is, the questions never seem to stop. More people and more strangers who just know them (if they're a retail worker or a bartender or something) will assume that an accident must have occurred for the cane to suddenly appear, when that's not always the case. Like I said, for me, I actually got a cane a year ago before it got stolen 2 weeks in, and both times, I have been getting nonstop questions about where it came from. It was endearing at first, but now it's just frustrating. No, nothing happened, I've always needed a cane, was just hesitant to get one because I didn't want it to be stolen again.

And that's all I've got for now! Don't be afraid to make the cane continue to add to the character's struggles instead of them having one being a fix-all. Yes, having a cane can make life a lot easier, but they also come with their own set of problems and struggles, too. I'm sure I'll find new ways that having a cane makes life a bit harder (I haven't taken it on a plane yet, that's gotta be fun. I have no idea how that works), and I'm sure your characters will, too.

Have fun writing, and happy disability pride month!

A general cane guide for writers and artists (from a cane user, writer, and artist!)

Disclaimer: Though I have been using a cane for 6 years, I am not a doctor, nor am I by any means an expert. This guide is true to my experience, but there are as many ways to use a cane as there are cane users!

This guide will not include: White canes for blindness, crutches, walkers, or wheelchairs as I have no personal experience with these.

This is meant to be a general guide to get you started and avoid some common mishaps/misconceptions, but you absolutely should continue to do your own research outside of this guide!

The biggest recurring problem I've seen is using the cane on the wrong side. The cane goes on the opposite side of the pain! If your character has even-sided pain or needs it for balance/weakness, then use the cane in the non-dominant hand to keep the dominant hand free. Some cane users also switch sides to give their arm a rest!

A cane takes about 20% of your weight off the opposite leg. It should fit within your natural gait and become something of an extension of your body. If you need more weight off than 20%, then crutches, a walker, or a wheelchair is needed.

Putting more pressure on the cane, using it on the wrong side, or having it at the wrong height will make it less effective, and can cause long term damage to your body from improper pressure and posture. (Hugh Laurie genuinely hurt his body from years of using a cane wrong on House!)

(an animated GIF of a cane matching the natural walking gait. It turns red when pressure is placed on it.)

When going up and down stairs, there is an ideal standard: You want to use the handrail and the cane at the same time, or prioritize the handrail if it's only on one side. When going up stairs you lead with your good leg and follow with the cane and hurt leg together. When going down stairs you lead with the cane, then the good leg, and THEN the leg that needs help.

Realistically though, many people don't move out of the way for cane users to access the railing, many stairs don't have railings, and many are wet, rusty, or generally not ideal to grip.

In these cases, if you have a friend nearby, holding on to them is a good idea. Or, take it one step at a time carefully if you're alone.

Now we come to a very common mistake I see... Using fashion canes for medical use!

(These are 4 broad shapes, but there is INCREDIBLE variation in cane handles. Research heavily what will be best for your character's specific needs!)

The handle is the contact point for all the weight you're putting on your cane, and that pressure is being put onto your hand, wrist, and shoulder. So the shape is very important for long term use!

Knob handles (and very decorative handles) are not used for medical use for this reason. It adds extra stress to the body and can damage your hand to put constant pressure onto these painful shapes.

The weight of a cane is also incredibly important, as a heavier cane will cause wear on your body much faster. When you're using it all day, it gets heavy fast! If your character struggles with weakness, then they won't want a heavy cane if they can help it!

This is also part of why sword canes aren't usually very viable for medical use (along with them usually being knob handles) is that swords are extra weight!

However, a small knife or perhaps a retractable blade hidden within the base might be viable even for weak characters.

Bases have a lot of variability as well, and the modern standard is generally adjustable bases. Adjustable canes are very handy if your character regularly changes shoe height, for instance (gotta keep the height at your hip!)

Canes help on most terrain with their standard base and structure. But for some terrain, you might want a different base, or to forego the cane entirely! This article covers it pretty well.

Many cane users decorate their canes! Stickers are incredibly common, and painting canes is relatively common as well! You'll also see people replacing the standard wrist strap with a personalized one, or even adding a small charm to the ring the strap connects to. (nothing too large, or it gets annoying as the cane is swinging around everywhere)

(my canes, for reference)

If your character uses a cane full time, then they might also have multiple canes that look different aesthetically to match their outfits!

When it comes to practical things outside of the cane, you reasonably only have one hand available while it's being used. Many people will hook their cane onto their arm or let it dangle on the strap (if they have one) while using their cane arm, but it's often significantly less convenient than 2 hands. But, if you need 2 hands, then it's either setting the cane down or letting it hang!

For this reason, optimizing one handed use is ideal! Keeping bags/items on the side of your free hand helps keep your items accessible.

When sitting, the cane either leans against a wall or table, goes under the chair, or hooks onto the back of the chair. (It often falls when hanging off of a chair, in my experience)

When getting up, the user will either use their cane to help them balance/support as they stand, or get up and then grab their cane. This depends on what it's being used for (balance vs pain when walking, for instance!)

That's everything I can think of for now. Thank you for reading my long-but-absolutely-not-comprehensive list of things to keep in mind when writing or drawing a cane user!

Happy disability pride month! Go forth and make more characters use canes!!!

[kiwwia-wiwwia]

We'll Be Alright - Matt Murdock x Pregnant!Reader

A/N: Takes place post- s3 so i can do whatever i want hehe. The oh-so-overdone pregnancy trope with lots of fluff and hurt/comfort. I didn't proofread this and honestly I kinda hate it but whatever. NO USE OF Y/N because i hate it.

Series warnings: Discussion of vomit, blood, medical procedures, pain, mentions of miscarriage, pretty much all the pregnancy stuff.

Word Count: 1.2k

Part 1

Matt sighed as he waited for the elevator, anxious to get home to you. You’d called him earlier and told him that Ellison had sent you home early from work, claiming you looked dead on your feet. You’d been overworking yourself recently at The Bulletin and Matt had noticed the toll it was taking on your physical wellbeing. You were exhausted and often felt nauseous, although he knew you were trying to hide it. The elevator finally arrived and he stepped in, hitting the button of his floor and listening impatiently to your heartbeat above him as the elevator ascended. He made his way down the hall and paused when he heard an unusual sound coming from his apartment. He tilted his head in concern when he heard a soft groan leave your mouth, quickly moving towards the door of your shared apartment.

The door was unlocked, despite him constantly getting on you about locking the door when you were home alone. He made a mental note to bring it up again later. He set down his keys and cane on the bench by the door and made his way towards where you were in the bathroom. “Sweetheart?” He called out, alerting him to your presence. He heard you swear under your breath before you shuffled around on the floor. He cocked a brow at that. Why were you on the floor? “I’m home, is everything alright?" He paused, listening as you whimpered quietly in response. "You don’t sound great,” he said softly against the bathroom door. Another discontented noise left your mouth as the door swung open, revealing your form slumped over the toilet bowl.

“Threw up,” you bluntly stated. Your hands gripped the toilet as you gagged, leaning forward. “Might do it again. Ellison made me go home because I almost puked on him, which would’ve been bad. But I gotta finish-” You gagged again and Matt could hear the way your stomach was churning angrily. “-Gotta finish the article,” you mumbled miserably. Matt hummed sadly, settling down next to you on the floor. 

“Love, don’t worry about that right now. You’re obviously not doing well, maybe you need a break from work, hmm?” He traced his fingers over your arm, earning a pleased sigh. The bliss was abruptly cut short as you violently retched and emptied the contents of your stomach. Matt winced at the sound, drawing your hair away from your face with one hand and rubbing your back with the other. The scent of your tears mixed with the sour smell of your bile, a horrid concoction in his nose. You sighed and flushed the toilet, the scent gradually receding as you shakily got up to wash your face. “I don’t know what’s going on,” you sniffled. “My back hurts and I’m nauseous and my boobs are sore, I can hardly stay awake, and-” you stopped, your entire body going rigid. Matt shot up next to you and cupped your face in his hands. “What? Sweetheart, what is it? What’s wrong?”

You let out a shaky exhale and silently pushed past him, entering the living room with panic evident in your gait. Matt confusedly followed you, concern flooding his body. You fumbled around the couch until you found your phone, quickly tapping through your health app. Your eyes widened and you sucked in a sharp breath. Matt was only becoming more and more alarmed at your silence and he tentatively reached out to put a hand on your shoulder. You glanced at him, his face asking you a silent question. “I’m late,” you whispered. “I’m two weeks late, Matt. Oh my god.” His eyes widened as he realized what you were saying. “Do you think you’re…?”

You shrugged helplessly. “It would make sense. Fuck, Matt. I don’t…” you took a shuddering breath, tears pricking your eyes. Matt wrapped his arms around you, anchoring you to reality. He could hear your heart hammering in your chest, your unspoken fears consuming you. “We’ll be okay, love,” he murmured into your hair. “We’ll figure it out. We’ll be alright.”

The two of you stood there for a long time, quiet sniffles escaping as you pressed yourself against him and he trailed his fingers comfortingly up and down your spine.

-*-*-

“Fuck.”

The two of you were seated on the couch, three pregnancy tests displayed in front of you on the coffee table. All three had that god-awful word that you’d feared since college, too many scares embedding this reaction in your mind.

Pregnant.

Matt exhaled loudly, his mind obviously racing. “Okay. This is okay. We… we didn’t expect this so soon.” Your head whipped in his direction and you snorted involuntarily. He tilted his head, one brow raised in confusion. “What?” You shook your head, an amused smile ghosting  your face. “So soon? Were you planning on having children with me, Mr. Murdock?” He flushed at your words and you laughed again, the tension in the room slowly dissipating. “I mean, you moved in with me, didn’t you? You couldn’t have done that without some kind of thought about the future.” You hummed in response, leaning against him. “I thought about it, yeah. Just…” you chuckled softly. “Like you said, not so soon.” The two of you sat there silently for a moment before you remembered something and gasped, smacking him on the knee.

“Matthew.”

“What? What did I do?”

You narrowed your eyes at him. “Do you know what day it is?” 

He stared at you, confusion etched across his features. “...Thursday?” His eyes widened in realization. “Oh my god. It’s Thai food Thursday.” You nodded sagely. “The time-honored tradition of Thai food Thursday mustn’t be forsaken on this day.” Matt snorted, causing you to break character and giggle. He groaned dramatically as he stood, reaching out a hand to haul you up with him. You sighed and looked down, placing a hand on your abdomen. “Let’s hope pad see-ew is something you like, little nugget. Because honestly, that’s the only food that doesn’t make me want to puke at the thought of it.” Matt’s hand joined yours, his thumb gently sweeping over your knuckles. 

He knelt in front of you, the expression on his face soft and reverent as he spoke. “I’ll make you a deal,” he whispered into your belly. You smiled softly. “If you let your mother eat her beloved Thai food without puking,” he continued, “I’ll tell you about how she tripped up the stairs after our first date when you’re old enough to laugh at her with me.” You gasped in mock offense as he smirked up at you, mischief coloring his features. “Matthew!” You scolded, earning a bark of laughter from him. “I did not trip. I just- you were-” you sputtered in exasperation, playfully smacking him on the head. “That’s cheating,” you mumbled. “You can’t bribe our unborn child with tales of my misfortune.”

He grinned as he stood, pressing a quick kiss into your hair. “Not even if it means you can have pad see-ew?” You shook your head with an amused huff. This is how things were supposed to be. You and Matt bantering, laughing and poking fun at each other. You’d be alright. After all, there was no one you’d rather be doing this with.

A/N: Thank you for reading! Again, definitely not my best work but I promise it'll get better with more installments. I plan on having this series show reader and Matt throughout the pregnancy, labor/delivery, and with the newborn. Of course, it wouldn't be exciting without some angst in there, so look forward to that :) like and reblog so I know I'm not just screaming into the void

[hockeyblogg]

Not Enough - F. Andersen

I'm afraid to say i'm officially back so i'm not going to :| however, I have been getting more inspired to write and I have a few works that i've been wanting to post.

this drabble is full of angst which is something i've been writing a lot more...and before you say it, No...this isn't a self indulgent fic lol. It's simply something I thought of when I gained motivation while watching kdramas

in whatever way you take this, i just hope you enjoy it :) it's been a while so forgive me...

Fred walked in your shared apartment, placing his keys down and wiping his forehead to rid himself of the sweat he still produced from practice.

He would have showered at the arena, but he hoped you’d be willing to shower with him when he got home, seeing as you both haven’t had too much time for each other in the last two months due to your new promotion at work and the Canes being in the playoffs, and now that it’s the weekend and you’re both free for the first time in what feels like forever, he’s been a little excited to spend some quality time with his girlfriend.

You on the other hand, had just finished packing an overnight bag and are now sitting on the edge of your bed, tears now dried on your cheeks with new ones threatening to leak over your eyelashes.

You knew your and Fred’s relationship was on the rockier side for awhile, barely seeing each other despite living together, having little to no time to say more than two words to each other. You knew it was getting to Freddie, but you also hoped that you’d pull through, like you always do.

You didn’t expect this.

“Hey elskede.” Freddie’s words made you jump, quickly turning your head to look up at his figure entering the room.

Freddie’s smile turned down, a look of concern washing over his face upon seeing your dried tears and red eyes, “What’s wrong baby?”

You could practically scoff at his audacity.

“Why don’t you ask Brady, you two seem to have gotten awfully close lately.” You mutter bitterly, wiping your nose and cheeks with your sleeve

Freddie’s heart stops for a second,

no…there’s no way you found out…

“Elskede, what are you talking about?” He’s playing dumb, he knows he is, but in his defence, he never thought you’d ever find out.

“Freddie please, the last thing I need right now is for you to lie to me, I already know…I just-I need to hear you say it.”

You’re practically falling apart in front of him, the news hit you like a ton of bricks, and you don’t know if there’s any hope for your relationship after this.

“Let me explain…” Fred started but paused when you closed your eyes and sighed defeatedly

“W-we were going through a tough spot in our relationship a-and I didn’t know what to do, when you said you couldn’t attend Mitchy’s wedding I was even more frustrated, and the guys wanted me to loosen up so-”

Catching his words, you cut him off, “Woah, wait-wait!”

Freddie stops.

“You mean to tell me…that this has been going on since Mitch and Steph’s wedding?!”

Realizing his mistake, Fred can’t say anymore, knowing he fucked up.

It made since now; the arguments about his lack of free time, the last minute “new year’s trip” to see his family, him being way busier this time around the playoffs than usual, having a newfound understanding of all your late-night workdays, his late evening workdays where you assumed practice ran later than usual…

“Oh my god…I’m such a fucking idiot!”

You couldn’t take it anymore, you gather your things and sling your bag over your shoulder, a fresh set of tears flowing freely

Fred moves fast, grabbing your upper arm, “No please, elskede you can’t-”

“I can’t leave? Not only did I find out you cheated on me, but I find out it’s been multiple times, since Mitch’s wedding which was what, in July? It’s fucking April you piece of shit!”

You push him off you and rip your arm from his grasp, “So yeah, I think it’s safe to say I’m allowed to leave you.”

Tears are gathering in Freddie’s eyes, and he finds himself losing control of his breathing, “Please, I’m sorry baby, don’t leave, I’ll fix this.”

He follows you out of the room, and as soon as you open the door, he smacks his palm against it, slamming it back shut

“Fred, move!”

You aren’t in the mood for games, but Fred isn’t willing to give you up this easily

Taking a deep breath, you will yourself to look in him in the eyes, almost breaking at the fact they’re even redder than yours, but you remind yourself this is his fault, he did this to you both,

“Just…tell me one thing…”

He puts his full attention on you, reaching to hold your hands in his

“Were they different every time, or is it the same person?” You’re honestly scared of the answer, not sure which one will make you break more. If it’s multiple, then there’s something he’s missing that you guys no longer have in your relationship, but if it’s just one girl, then there’s something he’s missing within you.

He’s quiet, and you’re searching his face for any sort of hint or giveaway. When his face drops, you have it.

“Well…” you muster all of the strength you have inside you, “I hope she was worth losing everything that we had, everything I sacrificed to build this life with you, a life that was so easy for you to throw away.”

You shake his hands off you, ripping the door open and leaving him for good, “Goodbye Freddie.”

Fred falls to his knees as soon as the door closes, letting out everything he was holding in.

“FUUUCK!!” He grabs the shoe rack in the closet, tossing it to the living room and hearing a loud crash to which he pays no mind, it doesn’t matter anyway.

Nothing matters anymore, he’s lost you for good and it’s nobody’s fault but his own. He knows he can only call one person right now, someone he knows won’t be upset with him, someone he knows he really shouldn’t call, especially right now. But Freddie is in love, or at least, that’s what he thinks.

Freddie is simply infatuated, he’s in love with the idea of what is, and honestly, what better way to take his mind off you than to call the one person he knows can do just that.

Picking his phone up, he swallows back all the guilt and sorrow he’s feeling right now,

“Hey Anna, you should come over…”

[yesimwriting]

Falling Angels: chapter two

A/n took me longer to get around to writing part 2 than i thought!! i didn’t know there was an audience for this idea but im glad you guys liked it!!

Im adding a country to the grishaverse to make my story work,, def not a big deal i just needed a country in which i could control the history of without worrying about conflicting with cannon lol 

Link to part one: https://www.tumblr.com/blog/view/yesimwriting/652318577650696192 (lmk if this works ive never linked something to a tumblr post lol)

Series Summary: Y/n is a rising star in the most famous circus in Ketterdam because of her ability to see the future. Unfortunately for her, Kaz Brekker knows more of her backstory than he should, and he’s willing to use that to his advantage. The one thing he’s not betting on? That he doesn’t know her entire story

Chapter summary: Y/n gets a visitor before getting tricked into the most dangerous show of her life. 

Pairng: SOC x reader, Kaz Brekker x sunshine-y! Psychic! Reader 

--

My father seemed to love me more after two glasses of something amber. It was after these two glasses that he would tell me realities his inebriated self believed I needed to internalize. He’d pat my head affectionately and smiled at me as he told me that the world was a bad place. Most of his lessons are lost in my mind, but the one I remember most clearly is that there’s no such thing as a kept secret. There’s always a leak or a flaw or a factor you could not account for. He told me that if I wanted to keep a secret, I would have to decide what I was willing to risk for it. 

I know from Seria’s reaction to his presence that listening to Kaz is a risk, but it’s a risk I’m willing to take for my secret. “I don’t know what you think I am, but you’re mistaken.” It doesn’t really matter that he believes me. I have the paperwork I need to disprove him. “I have to get to my tent.” 

“The princess gets her own tent?” His words are saturated by mock casualness but I can feel his pride on how he delivered that line. 

My body is still tense from balancing over flames and his confidence only adds to my desire to unravel. I can’t get angry here. Not at him. Not with the way he grips that cane of his. “I don’t understand what--” 

“You may be able to play pretend here where no one wants to look twice at you, but I know what you are.” His stiffness leaves my skin prickling. “I know who you are.” 

I swallow back my panic. “Then who am I?” 

“You’re that king’s bastard--the one with a high bounty on her head.” Don’t back down. Even the smallest crack will confirm his story. “As long as she’s returned alive.” 

Thoughts of what my father would do to me if ever given the chance strike me with more anxiety than his presence does. “I’ve heard of the girl you’re talking about,” I admit, the lie leaving me as easily as the air leaves my lungs when I exhale. “But I’m not her.” 

“You’re not from Ketterdam, if you were you would have known who I was after you friend referred to me as Dirtyhands.” I have no defense, but I never claimed to be from Ketterdam. “You make your business claiming to be a psychic.” I am a psychic, but now is not the time to make that argument. “Elkosa is a relatively small and self efficient port kingdom, the island is nothing more than a jagged coastline barely larger than Ketterdam, but I have connections in all places.” He knows someone from Elkosa? I have to fight the instinct to move all of my weight on the balls of my feet, prepared to run. “A captain of the royal fleet told me the story of the night the King’s bastard ran into the meeting room the night before ten ships were meant to sail to Ravka.” 

He studies my reaction as I struggle to keep my expression blank. “None of that seems connected.” 

“Patience is a virtue most Saints are familiar with.” I roll my eyes. “The bastard couldn’t have been more than nine at the time, but the guards did not want to let her in. The King told them to let her interrupt. The sailor noted this because he had never made an exception to his meeting before. The girl described a nightmare to her father, a nightmare of a storm and ten dead birds. The king did not comfort her, she finished her story by saying that he asked to know about all of her dreams. She went back upstairs and the King continued the meeting as normal but the next day the King cancelled the trip.”

I remember that night as the night I realized that if I’m not careful, I’ll feel what I see in my visions. It felt like I was drowning. I felt the death of each of those men and instead of comforting me, my father nodded once like I had offered him advice and sent me back to my room. “And?” My defense is weak, my mind too lost in the memories of drowning. “Many smaller countries are superstitious.” 

“The next day the worst storm to have impacted that ocean occurred. For four nights and three days the storm continued.” 

I press my nails into my palms. “You don’t believe that I am precognitive, so that sailor’s unverified story has nothing to do with me.” 

“A princess that can see the future disappears at the same time a failing circus hires a girl who has no business in this city who claims to be able to see the future.” He adjusts his stance, taking pressure off the cane as if he’s preparing to need to use it for something else. “I am not fool enough to believe in coincidence.” 

“And I am not fool enough to crack beneath the vague threats of a man. In my experience, men always threaten with a blade when really all they’re in possession of is a butter knife. Try to drag me from here kicking and screaming, find a way to incapacitate me and put me on a ship to Elkosa, but when the King sees that you brought him a stranger he will have your head.” 

He blinks, expression hard as stone. I tense, preparing for a physical blow. “I didn’t expect you to be a half-decent liar, but I should have.” I bite my tongue to avoid resorting to something I can’t take back. Like begging. “Even if it’s in only half your blood.” 

“I am not her.” My stubbornness burns more than the need to survive. I inhale, hoping to shake the grasp of the sensation but it only worsens. The pinch of dread in my chest is heavy and familiar. A vision. 

No. Not now--not in front of him. I push against it even though I know that only makes it worse. Not now. Not now. I should be grounding myself but all I can think about is how stupid I am and how bad this situation is.

--

“I’m not an idiot, I know to be quiet. I see myself crouched somewhere dark. 

“Being defensive doesn’t make you any more intelligent.” It takes me a minute to recognize Kaz in the darkness. 

We’re somewhere small, our backs against the same wall but our shoulders do not touch. This vision is enshrouded by the feel of panic. 

This other me grimaces, but her eyes lack anger, “Remind me why I agreed to help you again?” 

“You never told me why,” he admits, “you can change your mind on participating and I can change my mind on whether or not you're more useful than your father’s money.”

Something loud crashes from behind the door we’re both staring at. “You’ll have no use for me or my father’s money if we die here.” I squeeze my hands together. 

He hesitates, “My ghost will.” 

The future-me almost smiles. “I wonder if I’ll be able to see ghost futures.” I hesitate, something strange behind my eyes. “I wonder if that can exist, if there’s a future beyond endings.” 

Future-Kaz is silent for a long second. “There should be,” he says, “for someone like you, at least.” 

I watch the way I take in his words. “You’d be there, too,” my voice is low, “your ghost at least.” I turn my head, staring at the door instead of him, “If you weren’t, I’d miss the brooding.” 

--

The vision leaves me with sweaty palms and swirling thoughts. All of my visions do that. Not all of them make me feel so confused. Apparently, he needs help and I agree to do so. At one point we’ll be pushed into a life or death situation and I won’t loathe him. 

I blink twice, forcing myself to hold onto the reality in front of me. I don’t have to agree--the future isn’t set in stone. For all I know tomorrow morning I’ll have a vision in which he kills me. 

“Are you ignoring me?” 

Shaking my head, I turn to face him. “You need help.” I don’t wait for his reaction. “You’re not here to return someone to the King of Elkosa, you’re here because you need someone that can see the future.” 

“I--” 

“It’s not that you won’t take me to Elkosa, it’s that you’d rather use my abilities for something.”

I’m confusing him again, but that’s okay. I’d rather deal with him confused than angry. “I need to know how a certain business deal of mine is going to be worth what it costs.”

He’s spent the entire time claiming he doesn’t believe in my power. Was that some kind of tactic? In the vision I saw, despite the panic surrounding the situation I didn’t feel panicked around him. The probability of that future occurring is probably low. I’ve been wrong before, the future changes too much for me to know everything. 

“That’s not how readings work,” I admit, “I don’t have that much control on them. Most of them come to me randomly. The events I see always involve me or someone I care about to a certain capacity. I can give someone a general glimpse into their future but I can’t promise I’ll see what they want. Sometimes I can see the general vision by just focusing on their energy but usually I need some physical contact for it to work.” That seems like a fair explanation. “Oh--and not all of my predictions come true, most are blurry, few are solid--the future is always moving.” 

Wait...the vision I saw where I was with Kaz wasn’t blurry. Those can be wrong, but it’s much rarer. Do I really agree to this? 

“Then maybe I should make it involve you.” His aggression has me forcing myself to stand my ground. He can threaten me all he wants but that won’t change things. “Or take the money your father would give me and cut my losses.” 

Every time I’ve purposefully destroyed a solid vision, something bad has happened. I’m genuinely considering it. “What do you need a psychic for, anyways?” 

“To get through the Fold.” 

Despite everything, I laugh. “I’ve never seen anyone get through the Fold, literally or in my visions.” 

He’s unphased by my doubt. “It’s happened.” 

I really don’t want to help him. “Well then good luck, I’m happy to part ways here.” 

I manage one step forward before he moves his cane in front of my path. I’m getting tired of this. “You’re assisting me one way or the other, whether that aid will be financial or through your services is up to you.” 

Anger pinches in my stomach the way it often does when I’m told what to do. The one thing centering me is the vision still reflecting in my thoughts. There’s no denying it--I had felt comfortable with him. There is a future in which I feel comfortable with him and I’m not sure I’ll be able to avoid it. 

“I won’t get in trouble for you,” I tell him, “The Ringmaster holds onto those indentured to him, especially the commodities that bring him profit.” 

There’s something stiff about his silence. I wonder if he’s always like this, pushing the weight of his presence onto those around him without saying a word. “When I have a goal, it is achieved. I’ll speak to him.” 

I cannot imagine a conversation I want to be involved in less. The Ringmaster and this man that Seria had labeled ‘Dirtyhands’. “I just had a vision--I saw your entire conversation and it ends with you missing an arm.” His stoic expression does not shift. “Okay, I’m aware that it wasn’t the funniest joke, but throw me a bone--you threatened to kidnap me and sell me to my father in order to extort me and I’ve been nothing but polite to you.” 

He’s quiet for a moment, something in his expression changing in a way I can’t read. “All you’ve done is lie since the moment you started to speak to me.” 

The optimist in me would like to think that his annoyance counts for banter. I shrug, feeling a little lighter than I did a second ago. I’m certainly not comfortable but I’m starting to see how to put up with the tension without letting it strain me. “Well, polite for my standards.” 

I let him brood. “You must have done well as a royal.” 

My past cuts through the peace I managed to grab onto. It’s not his fault, he has no way of knowing what the castle was like for me. I open my mouth, but I don’t know what I’m going to say. “I had my moments,” I finally settle on, hoping the echo of pain isn’t visible behind my eyes. 

I guess it doesn’t matter if he sees me bleed. He’s heartless, and I hate sympathy. 

“Y/n,” Seria’s voice is genuine anger, “You’ve turned into an idiot--first the tightrope walk and now entertaining whatever deal he’s trying to coax from you.” I love Seria, she’s the reason I didn’t die in the street when I first arrived in Ketterdam, but she sees me as a mindless child. “Whatever he told you, whatever he promised you--it’s a lie.” 

“He hasn’t promised me anything.” I need to calm her down. Once she’s calm, everything will be normal again. “And he knows.” I don’t have to turn to feel the way Seria gapes at me. “He knows who I am, so I have to do what he wants.” 

“You never have to do anything a man is forcing onto you, y/n. We’ll find a way--” 

“Seria, it’s fine,” I reach to touch her arm, “I’ll be fine, you can’t protect me from everything and you don’t have to.” 

Kaz throws a pointed glare at the man who was with him earlier. When did the stranger get here? “Boss, she’s faster than she looked, but I have what we need to get the girl--” 

“You’re late,” Kaz sighs, bored, “she’s agreed.” 

Wait--what was he going to do if I didn’t agree? “Out of curiosity, what are you talking about?” The man blinks twice, squeezing a rag between his ring-clad fingers. “You were going to use chloroform to kidnap me, weren’t you?” 

For some reason I don’t understand, the stranger gives me a look that’s a cross between sheepish and charming. “Nothing personal.” 

“Or original.” 

Seria pinches my arm. “Y/n,” she scolds, “your sense of humor is going to kill me one of these days.” 

I cringe, pulling my arm away. “When I met you, you were pickpocketing in the pleasure district, please remember that.” 

She rolls her eyes. “An attitude like that is going to leave you without a place to sleep at night.” 

I take her comment for the empty threat it is. Every other day she’s threatening to kick me out of her private trailer so that I’m forced to fight for cots or speak to the Ringmaster about my lodging arrangements. He’d give me what I want, but speaking to him feels so slimy I’d sleep in the woods before trying it. 

“Kaz.” I turn my head in time to see the girl that gave me the advice about the tightrope walker. “We need to go, he’s coming soon--you’ll do better to speak to him in the morning after she’s gone, that way he has nothing to hold over your head.” 

“Once I’m gone?” The girl had called me a Saint. I can appeal to her. “I’m not--I’m not going anywhere, I said I’d help.” 

Her eyes widen, sympathy reflected clearly in her dark irises. “There was never a version of this in which you ended up staying here.” I hear a hint of apology in her voice. “You won’t believe me, but I promise this will be better for you.” All of her pity is gone with those, replaced by something hard.

Seria responds for me, “I think you should go.” 

“What?” 

She almost smiles, but her eyes are painfully sad. “I never wanted you to be here forever. I don’t trust these people, but I trust their ability to get you out of here, even if only for a little while. Bad things are coming, and I think you’ll miss the worst of it if you go now.” 

What she alludes to is a blade in my heart. “You want me to leave you here to deal with it?” 

“Y/n, I’ve been hurt here more times than I can count--”

“No, I won’t leave y--” 

Seria squeezes my shoulder, “It’s not forever.” When she wants something, it’s almost impossible to get around it. “Besides, if I need you, you’ll see it.” 

My world feels to have lost the vibrance of color. I’ve left so much, but I let myself believe I wouldn’t leave her. I pull her into the hug. “The moment I see a vision of you in any type of danger, I’m coming back.” I hug her even tighter when she tries to pull away so that I can whisper something in her ear, “I’ll use this opportunity to leave the Ringmaster and then I’ll get you out, and together we’ll leave Ketterdam. We’ll find your child, like you always wanted to and they’ll know that they're lucky because they’re the only kid in the world to have you as a mother.” 

She squeezes me so tightly I find it hard to take full breaths. “Two,” Seria whispers, “I have two children.”

My eyes burn as her words find their way into my heart. “I love you, Seria.” 

“I love you too, my star,” she pulls away enough so that I can look her in the eye, “you don’t like being called a Saint, but I can’t think of anyone more deserving of the title.” 

Tears prick my eyes as she releases me. “I’ll find you.” 

“He’ll be coming soon,” the girl warns, “He spoke to an advisor about wanting to find you after the show.” 

No doubt to praise the fire stunt he forced onto me. Bastard. I nod once but I don’t move. I can’t bring myself to leave Seria until the girl places a hand on my elbow. 

--

Falling Angels Taglist: @glowstick-lesbian @cashlum @whatiswrongwithpeople @pass-me-jeez-it @thecraziestcrayon

[fangirlovestuff]

A Very Colin Christmas - Colin Shea x reader

Ch. 2 - The Proposal

a/n - hey lovely people!! here goes chapter 2, and this is where things really start to get interesting... enjoy;)

read ch.1

Summary: You help Colin with some Christmas decorations, but it turns out he does have one more thing to ask you...

Word Count: 1.6k

Warnings: curse words, innuendos

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ 

After Colin left to try and get a tree, you went back to your apartment to tidy up a little and write cards to give out. You wrote all the big ones first, for your family and close friends, and then wrote the ones for coworkers and other people for whom a simple "Merry Christmas" would suffice. It was a little extra to write cards for all the presents you gave out, but it wasn't too much of a bother.

You were just putting the cards in place when you heard a knock on your door. "Just a second!" you yelled out and finished with the cards.

You opened the door to reveal Colin, smiling. "Let's go," you said, locking the door behind you and going with him to his apartment across the hall.

When you entered you were greeted by the sight of a little tree in the living room, but more importantly with the delicious smell of takeout. You were painfully reminded you hadn't had dinner yet when your mouth watered at the smell.

"I got some takeout on my way as well," said Colin and made his way to the kitchen. "You want some?" he yelled.

"Yeah, I'd love some," you said, grateful. You started to look at the pile of decorations on the couch, wondering where it would be best to put each one.

Colin came back with two very delicious smelling plates, one of them you accepted before sitting down on the couch beside him. You ate and chatted a bit. He asked you a little about your job and you ranted about your shitty boss for a bit.

"Well, lucky for me I'm the boss of me. And I gotta say, I'm a pretty great one," Colin replied, smirking.

"Oh yeah, how's that going for you?" you asked. A week ago, you had seen him in the park with some kid and he tried to hide from you. "The babysitting business must be thriving with you in it," you grinned.

"Ha ha," he replied dryly. "For your information, that was my nephew, and I definitely did not get paid for that," he grimaced slightly. "But my actual work, which is music, is going great, thanks for asking."

"I'm glad," you chuckled.

When you finished your dinner, it was time for decorating. At first you were hesitant, asking Colin if the place was okay for every single ornament you hung, but you quickly realized he didn't really care, and started getting more and more confident. Eventually, you were telling Colin where he should put the stuff he was hanging.

At some point Colin started to put on some music from his phone, blasting a cheesy Christmas playlist. You started mindlessly humming along, and so did Colin. Gradually, you both started swaying to the beat, until eventually you were both just dancing around, singing at the top of your lungs. You grabbed a candy cane and started using it as a mic, offering it to Colin every other line, and he gladly sang into it, laughter dancing in his eyes.

When the song ended you both collapsed on the couch, side by side, each breathless to some extent. You looked at him and started laughing, and soon he joined you, your laughter booming through the apartment. Another song was playing now, but he lowered the volume so you could speak comfortably.

"Wow, you really are musically talented," you said once your laughter had died down, "I'm impressed."

"Thank you, thank you!" he got up and bowed with a flourish, waving at an invisible crowd. "You're not too bad yourself," he said once he sat back down.

"Thank you!" you said, your hand on your heart, feigning deep gratitude. "It means so much when an expert like you says that," you rolled your eyes.

"You sound like my mom," he raised his eyebrow and reached for his beer on the table, taking a large gulp.

"I can't tell if that's good or bad," you chuckled.

"Definitely bad. She's still waiting for me to give it up, and so is my entire family. They seem to forget I've been doing this for years now. My mom is very adamant that it's a phase. She is, of course, forgetting my expertise, as you framed so nicely," he said with a bitter smile.

"Sounds like a lovely lady," you smiled.

"Yeah. I love them but loving them from afar is easier. Soon they're gonna be here, so don't be surprised if you hear some shouting," he smiled.

"Why would you shout? It's the holidays!"

"Exactly. It's gonna be all 'Colin, why don't you have a job?' and 'Colin, when are you gonna settle down with a nice girl?' like I'm a fucking baby," he took another swig of his beer. "And because I do have a job, and I tell them that, that's when the shouting begins," he said with a shrug.

"What about the nice girl?" you smirked, and Colin just looked at you with a puzzled expression. "I mean, you just told me your answer for the first question, but why don't you settle down with a nice girl?" you raised your eyebrow at him.

"Well, it's simple," he leaned closer, putting his hand on the couch beside you, "I like 'em naughty," he murmured and smirked.

"Okay," you rolled your eyes and pushed him away playfully. "I hope that's not what you're gonna tell your mom."

"No," he sighed in defeat, "but it's sure as hell what I'm gonna tell Andy," he smirked, "that jerk doesn't know what fun is. He was like that even before he got married. Pity," he shrugged.

"Andy?"

"My perfect big brother. Perfect idiot if you ask me."

"You don't actually hate him that much," you said, convinced you were right.

"Not really," he admitted. "But he's a lawyer with a wife and a kid. You can do the math as to what expectations that sets for me."

"So you're jealous of him."

"God no, I wouldn't be a lawyer if you paid me in gold," Colin chuckled. "It looks so fucking boring."

"But you're jealous that he's getting your parents' approval," you remarked.

He stayed silent for a moment. "Maybe," he shrugged. "Whatever. It's not like that's going to change anytime soon."

"What, like you want it to? Colin, you've come to hide out in my apartment three times in the last week. I know enough to say you're not really looking for a girlfriend," you chuckled.

"I know, I know," he said, "but I kinda wish I'd have like, a girlfriend for the weekend, you know? Like a fake girlfriend to prove my family wrong, and then I'd go back to normal," he shrugged.

"Why not post an ad? People will do anything for money."

"I'm not buying a girlfriend!" he scrunched up his nose, "even I don't stoop that low. That's really fucking pathetic."

"Okay then," you chuckled, "how about ask one of your hookups?"

"Something tells me they wouldn't be up for it," he grimaced, taking another sip from his beer.

"Really? What about Stella from a couple of days ago? Two days isn't that long to ghost a girl," you shrugged.

"Oh, is that what I said her name was?" he furrowed his brows.

"Okay, I see your point," you rolled your eyes.

"Well, I do have an idea… but you have to promise not to hit me if I tell you," he grinned. You contemplated it with a smile before motioning for him to go ahead. "Maybe… you could pretend to be my girlfriend for the weekend?"

You reached out to swat him but he dodged your blow quickly, "You said you wouldn't hit me!" he pouted.

"That's before I knew you were going to say something stupid! Besides, I didn't actually say anything," you objected, but crossed your hands on your chest nonetheless.

"C'mon, it'll be fun!" he smiled hesitantly. "What are your plans anyway?"

"Sit in my apartment and watch Christmas movies," you grumbled. "My family usually meets after Christmas, because 'roads are always jammed on the holidays', so I stay in."

"See? Your family's weird, so you can help me get my annoying one off my back!"

"Hey! Only I can call my family weird," you bumped your elbow into his side. "But I guess I don't have anything that much better to do," you said after a few seconds.

"Yes!" he pumped his fist in celebration, "I promise you won't regret it, baby," he leaned in and you rolled your eyes and pushed him away.

"Okay, Casanova," you chuckled, "but I do have some ground rules. First of all, PDA to a minimum, okay? No kisses," you raised your eyebrows at him and he pouted in response.

"Cheek kisses?" he asked.

"Maybe," you sighed. "Rule number two – no funny business," you gestured vaguely.

"What does that mean?" he chuckled.

"I don't know," you said, "just… be normal?"

"I thought the entire point of this was that I didn't seem like my normal self," he scratched his chin as if in deep thought.

"Well, I meant be a normal person in normal people standards."

"You got it," he grinned.

When you got back to your apartment, he escorted you to your door.

"See you, Colin. Goodnight," you smiled.

"Goodnight. And… thank you," he smiled back, "for saving my ass. Today and hopefully over the weekend."

"Don't thank me yet," you smirked, prompting him to chuckle. "Bye," you said as you closed your door behind you.

So… looks like you're going to have a very interesting weekend.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

tell me your thoughts!! honestly i have mixed feelings about some of the dialogue in this one, because i really like it but at the same time idk... anyways i hope that you enjoyed and have a wonderful rest of your day<3

Taglist:  @horny-nd-bored​ @shannon124 @perfectlyharolds​ @wintersoldierslut​ @iceebabies​  @sleepingpapermouse @steverogerswasalwaysworthy @holtzkinnon @angelicl-y @stydia-4-ever @thatoneperson5000 @fangirlfree​ @kaitcordx25 @bequeening​ @steve-barry-damon-logan​ @itscrazycherryblossomcollection​ @hollandxmarvel​ @stargazingfangirl18 @readsreblogsfics @onetwo3000 @beritmetal @harrystylesholland @jazbot2000 @anobscurename @xxxtwilightaxelxxx @peggycarter-steverogers @evansphnx12

A Very Colin Christmas Taglist: @janaygrant

if you wanna join / be removed from a taglist, comment/message me! much love <3

[goldencatchflies]

𝗖𝗵𝗿𝗶𝘀𝘁𝗺𝗮𝘀 𝗠𝗶𝗿𝗮𝗰𝗹𝗲𝘀

⇾ 𝐓𝐚𝐠𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭: @blakes-dictionxry @spencerreidstie @reese-the-edgy-enby @moreid187 @reidrights @agentshortstacc @hotchnerslut @ssaemxlyprentxss @abitcriminalminds @moreidism @pretty-b0yy // @thestrawberrygirl

⇾ 𝐏𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬: Derek Morgan/Spencer Reid, Jennifer JJ Jareau/Emily Prentiss

⇾ 𝐖𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐂𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭: 3737

⊹ 𝐒𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲: The BAU finally decides to have a Secret Santa after they realize how much Penelope deserves it.

⊹ 𝐀/𝐍: This was originally gonna be separated into two chapters, but I didn’t wanna keep y’all waiting, so I’m posting it all at once. Credits to @sapphicstruggle for helping me with one of the gifts (Penelope’s), ily babes!!! PS. Like half of this isn’t proofread, so if there are any spelling errors or something sounds off, I apologize :// (yes I’m sleep deprived, no I will not go to sleep)

The month has barely started and the bullpen of the BAU was already the more festive place any of the members had ever seen. Courtesy of one Ms. Penelope Garcia, of course, and even though they weren’t too big on Christmas, they always appreciated the nice little decorations she put up every year. It was a nice change of scenery from that of gruesome bodies and psychotic killers.

As the team exited the elevator on December 11, coming home from a case, they were met with the most beautiful rug. It was large, and a vibrant shade of read, that was just vibrant enough to grab the attention of the team, but not too vibrant to hut their eyes. It had golden swirls at each of the four corners, and the fur was so soft, it almost felt... homey.

They continued walking in, knowing something big would be waiting for them, and they were not disappointed. As the profilers passed through the open glass doors they saw the lights dimly lit, and each of their desks was covered in fairy lights from the outside, and above the desk dividers. Golden garlands were set in hoops at the top of the walls, and rolled around the handrails that led them from the center of the bullpen to the conference room. All of the doors to separate offices had dark green painted door frames, and decorative wreaths that matched each other.

They each looked at their desks and noticed the name tags had changed as well, and once they sat at their individual posts, they all saw a little card with a candy cane tied to it with a nice little ribbon. All but Emily’s. Emily had 2, one assigned to her, the other to the blonde that always sat her desk after cases. The team smiled around at each other, before opening their cards and reading them silently to themselves. They smiled, some chuckled, but no one asked for what was in the other’s cards. It all felt too personal.

“Guys... how do we repay her?” Spencer asked in a soft voice. An idea popped in Derek’s brain, as he started to open his candy cane.

“You know,” he started, getting the team’s attention as Hotch and Rossi left their offices. It was so quiet in there, even through closed doors they could hear Morgan speak. “Every year, she asks for one thing we can’t provide...” they all looked around, watching each other’s reactions.

“You know we’re always away on cases, so we rarely get to spend Christmas together?” He asked, earning a nod and some guilt filled looks from the rest of them. “How about this year... we say screw it!” They all looked around wondering where he was going with this.

“Secret Santa...” Spencer said in a low tone, as realization hit him, and Morgen nodded. They all looked around wondering how the little genius could’ve guessed it.

“I mean think about it!” Morgan said after a while, the rest of them stayed silent. “We never get to do anything just us! Well, anything that isn’t work-related.”

“I agree!” Rossi chimed in. “We could all go to my place on the 24th, I’ll make diner, and with Secret Santa we only need to buy one gift!” He said, earning nods and smiles from the rest of them.

“We could have a sleepover!” Emily said jokingly, but smiled happily when Rossi said it would be fine by him. They all smiled, making small talk, mainly about Jack, Henry and Michael, and how they’d love to have a sleepover at Uncle Dave’s, but the conversation died as they heard an all-too familiar clacking of heels.

They turned around to the hallway leading to Penelope’s office, and saw as the blonde walked away from it, head down as she fumbled around in her purse, too focused to notice the team was there. She was pulled away from her thoughts, however, when she felt 8 arms all around her, looking up to see Emily, JJ, Derek and even Spencer huddled around her, thanking her in hugs. She hugged them back with no hesitation, obviously, but when she saw the bright smile on Hotch and Rossi’s face is when she realized how appreciated she truly is.

They all pulled away from her, and Derek was the one to break the silence.

“Baby girl, we uh...” he started shyly, looking around at the team for some form of confirmation, which he received in form of nods. “We were thinking on doing something a little special this year! We thought we’d all have diner at Rossi’s, spend the night and uh...” he said hesitantly, her smile only getting wider and wider. “We thought about doing Secret Santa!” He revealed, as if he were telling a child they get to go to Disney Land, and her reaction matched it perfectly. She gasped, and when they though her smile couldn’t get any brighter, it did! She wrapped her arms around Derek’s broad shoulders jumping in uncontrollable happiness, and rushed to place a kiss on all their foreheads.

Secret Santa was something she’d been asking for for so long, but every year they never got around to it. This year, with the promise of no cases, suggested by Derek and enforced by Hotch, they knew they had enough time to do all the things they’d been missing out on. And with that they all left the bullpen, each with a card in had that was way too special to be left forgotten in a drawer.

The next day, Penelope sprinted through the office with a colorful box in hand. She called everyone into the bullpen, and placed the box at the exact center of the round table. They all sat down with confused expressions, as the woman started to explain herself.

“In the box, there are 7 papers, each with our names on it.” She began, but couldn’t finish because of Spencer’s rude interruption.

“For Secret Santa? Nice!” He leaned from his place on the table towards the middle, reaching for the box only to get his hand slapped away by Garcia.

“Yes, and you will get your turn, eventually...” she squinted at him, and he leaned back in his chair, murmuring something of an ‘I’m sorry’ under his breath.

“Emily you get to go first, and we’ll go clockwise!” She emphasized. Given that Emily was sitting right next to Spencer, that would mean he’d be the last one, and the team chuckled at the punishment. They took their turns getting each of their papers, smiling and grinning smugly as they eyed the rest of them.

The rest of the week had gone smoothly, and the only cases they had were regional, so they didn’t have to fly to anywhere where their plans could be ruined. They made plans to go to Rossi’s mansion, given that it would mean they each had their own room.

—————

As they entered Rossi’s house mansion, one by one, they set the presents under the Christmas Tree, while they sat around the coffee table centered in the living room, and the couch right behind it. Hotch and Jack were the last ones to arrive, earning mocking cheers from the rest of the team as if it were a miracle. They shared some lighthearted conversation and laughter before Penelope grew impatient with excitement, and decided to start the gift exchange. Luckily, the kids had fallen asleep, and were taken to a guest rooms where they could sleep in peace.

“I’ll go first!” Derek said excitedly. “My person!” He announced, gathering everyone’s. “Can be mea-“

“Emily!” They all said simultaneously, not even letting Derek get a sentence in.

“Well, you’re not wrong, but you could’ve at least play dumb, no?” Derek mocked annoyance as Emily got up from her seat with a smirk. Derek leaned down to pick his present from under the tree. She tore the wrapper apart and gasped when she saw what laid underneath.

“You didn’t!” She said, a large smile growing rapidly on her face. “Derek Morgan, I love you, I love you, I love you!!!” She hugged him excitedly, bouncing on her feet with happiness as she opened the box to show a pair of two butterfly knives, one black and one white. She grabbed one on each hand, but before she could do anything, Derek took it away from her.

“We don’t need anyone loosing eyeballs on Christmas, now do we?!” She scrunched her face, faking mad, while the rest of them laughed. She put her knives back in the box, and gave Derek a tight hug.

“I guess I’m next,” she chuckled nervously before continuing. “My person is...” she pondered on how to describe the team member without making her feeling obvious. “Caring...

They’re always able to connect with the victims, and make a safe space for them. They value family over anything, and they could be a real badass with a gun!” They all shared a chuckle and started calling out JJ’s name. JJ got up, looking down as she made her way to stand next to brunette, trying to hide the blush that had mysteriously made its way onto her face. Emily handed her a flat box covered in colorful paper, and JJ quickly unwrapped it. She gasped, as she let the Christmas themed wrapping fall on the floor and opened the box. Tears started forming in her eyes, as she pulled Emily into a tight hug.

“Thank you!” She managed to choke out between tears as she handed Emily the box. “C-can you-?” Emily nodded as JJ turned around, and removed a silver locket from the box. The team watched the exchange in awe, realizing this was too personal to ask what the gif was. Emily placed it around JJ’s neck, and the blond looked down, opening it one more time. She stared at the picture of her and her sister for a few moments, tracing the oval shape of the necklace with her thumb, before wiping her tears away, and smiling at Emily.

“Jennifer Jareau, you are the strongest person I know!” She said, a whisper so low it sounded like nothing but soft mumbles to the rest of the team. “You have no idea how much you mean to me, Jayje.” Emily brought a hand to rest at JJ’s jaw while she praised the woman.

“And you couldn’t even dream of how far I’d go to protect you. And little Henry. And what I’d do to make sure you were safe!” JJ let a tear stream down her face before leaning forward, and pressing her lips to the brunette’s. The kiss was tender and sweet, as they held each other, even after they broke apart. JJ wrapped her arms around Emily, giving her one last hug. The team cheered lightly, and Spencer gave Emily a knowing look.

“I love you Jennifer Jareau!” Emily whispered against the blonde’s lips. “I love you, Emily Prentiss!” She let another tear fall, before they were pulled out of the moment once more by the team’s ‘awe’s.

“Right!” JJ sighed, as Emily sat back down. “Um, my turn, I guess.” She chuckled lightly, re-composing herself, as she removed her present from the Christmas tree. She smiled back down at Emily one more time, before looking at the rest of them. “My person is... often belittled by those around them, but they carry a special place in our hearts. Others might look at this person and make them seem less, almost infantile, but we know them, and we know just how untrue that is...” before she could finish, they all started looking at Spencer, and she noticed the way Derek looked him like he was the only person in the room. I guess Penelope and I sure got into his head, she thought to herself, as Spencer made his way from the couch around the table to stand next to her. She gave him a warm smile as she handed him his gift. He unwrapped it, and smiled brightly once his eyes landed on the object under the paper.

“JJ!” He looked between her and his gift before giving her a hug. “Thank you so much!” He said, not even bothering to hide his excitement as he ran a hand over where the title was engraved on the hard cover of the book. The Giver, he read to himself, faint happy memories reapering in his head. He flipped the book, demonstrating it to the team, but looking only at Derek. “Look!” He whispered, shaking the book a little, earning a chuckle and a nod from Derek and smiles from the rest of them. “I never actually read it, but my mom used to read this book to me all the time when I was little.”

He looked at the book mesmerizingly, “Thank you so much, JJ!” He smiled at the blonde, pulling her into another hug, and placing a soft kiss to her cheeks. She she sat back down, Spencer placed his book on the table, and fumbled around looking for his present.

“Um, alright, I uh...” Spencer struggled to find his words as he started at the object in hand. He looked at his teammates before continuing. “My person is constantly overlooked by those around them. The one asset that makes them stand out from the rest of the team is constantly brushed aside simply because-“ he stopped himself before he could say something that would completely give away who his person is. “Wha- what I’m trying to say is that, um, they are smarter then people give them credit for, and more caring then people want to admit-“ Spencer sounded infuriated, and Derek got up from his seat, placing a hand on Spencer’s shoulders.

“Is it me?” He asked with a shit eating grin, making Spencer chuckle and blush lightly.

“Yeah,” he breathed out while he nodded, handing the gift to Morgan who gave him a forehead kiss before shifting his attention fully to present. Spencer blushed a little harder thankful that the only light source was the colorful lights from the Christmas tree behind him. Tears filled Derek’s eyes as he unwrapped the gift and opened the box.

“Pretty boy, how-“ he stood there staring at the focus of his attention as shock filled his every facial expression. The thing about Derek Morgan is that you’ll only see his emotions if, A) He wants you too, or B) he’s too comfortable around you to be able to hide them. Something in Spencer’s brain hoped for the latter.

“I managed to pull some strings...” He said, and Derek just smiled at him. He was so lost in Spencer’s eyes he forgot time was passing, and was brought back when his phone buzzed in his pocket. He chuckled awkwardly, removing and reading the text from his mom. Did you get the present? She asked him. He looked back up at Spencer who just nodded. He took a picture of the box in his hand-his gift- that held his father’s badge on a glass frame inside, and sent it to his mom.

“Thank you so much, Spence...” he hugged the boy tightly before letting go. The team looked at them in awe just like earlier, except this time all they got were nervous chuckles and longing stares. As the boys sat back down, Rossi got up from his seat.

Morgan sighed happily, and didn’t miss the way Emily and Spencer looked at each other. He knew how significant both his and JJ’s presents were, and that’s when he realized they probably got it together.

“I’ll go next!” Rossi said, making his way to the other side of the table, right in front of the Christmas Tree.

“My person is probably the only thing holding this team together! Highly likely the reason those two finally got together,” Rossi said pointing to JJ and Emily, “and the reason those two are about to!” He directed his pointer towards Morgan and Reid, where the boys looked down and away from each other, as a blush crept onto their faces.

“They are very charismatic, and always ready to help and make everyone happy!” They all turned their focus towards Penelope, and she got up with a smile. “Merry Christmas kiddo!” He reached around the tree, grabbing one of the enveloped boxes, and handing it to her. She unwrapped her present, her smile growing wider once she saw what the colorful paper had been hiding.

“I love it!” She smiled brightly at the object in hand. She showed off her new desk ornament to her team- a brightly lit frog carved on a piece of glass that was set on a rock with the label ‘don’t froget to love yourself’-before she gave Rossi a tight hug, and he made his way back to his seat. She removed the second to last present from under the tree, her smile not dropping for a single moment.

“My person has a very big heart despite the fact that they try to hide it. They can be very cold, but we all know they’re secretly a big softy!” She described her teammate as she looked around to all of them.

“Hotch!” Emily called out, while they all smiled, and Derek clapped Hotch’s knee with a chuckle. Hotch smiled at Garcia, as she handed him his gift. Hotch smiled as he unraveled a tiny box, revealing two tickets to go see Broadway’s Wicked musical.

“Ok, I know musicals aren’t your think, but-” she explained, but he cut her off giving her a smile.

“It’s perfect, Penelope, thank you!” He said, somehow sounding more formal then he did at work. She smiled at him, and resumed her place on the floor next to JJ and Emily.

“My gift isn’t something really meaningful, like the rest of your but...” Hotch leaned down to take the last present from under the tree as Rossi got up. “Merry Christmas, Dave!” He said, handing the older man his gift. Rossi removed the colorful wrapping to reveal a bottle of some fancy wine no one but Rossi (and Reid, probably) had heard of.

“Good shit, Aaron!” Rossi chuckled, giving Hotch a side hug, as they sat on the floor across from the rest of the team.

They shared lighthearted conversations after that, JJ and Hotch sharing stories about their kids, Spencer and Penelope bonding over Dr. Who while Derek just watched mesmerized, and Rossi seemed a little interested in Emily’s butterfly knife. Eventually they tired themselves out, and decided to turn in, each going to a separate room except JJ and Emily who bunked together.

—————

At around 3, Spencer finally stopped pacing in his room and walked out, heading straight to Morgan’s. He didn’t even think about knocking on the door, but luckily, Morgan was awake watching something on the TV.

“He kid, what’s going on?” He asked, intrigued, and Spencer didn’t let his mind wonder what the covers hid under Derek’s very naked torso.

“Um, about, uh... about your gift...” he scratched his head, struggling to find the right words.

“Is everything ok? Do I have to return it? It’s ok if I do, pret-“ Derek began, getting up from his bed, making his way next to Spencer, and getting cut off by the boy.

“No it’s nothing like that, I just-“ Spencer let out a frustrated sigh as Derek too Spencer’s hand in his. He guided him to sit on his bed, and Spencer immediately fell back, facing the ceiling. “Can I get a do over?” He asked.

“What do you mean?” Derek asked confused, laying down me to him, and they turned and moved until they completely facing each other. Spencer took out a tiny box from his pocket and stared Derek in the eyes.

“I have... something else for you- and you can say no-“ His words started out soft, but turned a little panicky, and Derek just nodded, intrigued. “Ok, so...” he started nervously, not lifting his eyes off the gift in his hand. “My person is the person with the biggest heart I know,” he lifted his gaze momentarily towards Derek before continuing.

“This person manages to get on every single one of my nerves...” he chuckled lightly, “but... they have a special place in my heart. I’d lay my life for them, and I trust them with every part of me. They’re the one I think of when everything is going to shit, and the simple thought of them bring me out of it. They mean more to me then anyone could-“ he tried to swallow his tears, but failed miserably. As tear slipped down his face, he looked up trying to stop the rest of them. “Then anyone could ever imagine...” he smiled sheepishly, as Derek took Spencer’s trembling hands in his own.

Spencer handed him the gift, and Derek took it hesitantly, not taking his eyes off Spencer’s. He opened it to find a ring with the words “bound together through space and time” engraved around the outside and “for 500 years” on the inside. Derek raised his eyebrow and gave the ring back to Spencer, expanding his hand. The boy slid the ring on Derek’s ring finger of his left hand.

“Pretty boy, I-“ Derek let a tear slip down his face, speechless at the gift. He looked at his hand for a few moments before he brought them up to cup Spencer’s face. He placed his lips to Spencer’s, and the boy reciprocated the kiss almost immediately. They broke apart after what felt like an eternity. Spencer chuckled lightly, between the mess of tears they’d made.

“I’ve been waiting so long to do that...” he whispered against Derek’s lips as they smiled. Derek pressed another peck to Spencer’s lips before whispering back.

“I’m glad you finally did... thank you, pretty boy!” He rubbed his thumb on Spencer’s cheek, leaning back in to give him a more passionate kiss. It felt sort of weird that their first kiss was at Rossi’s house, in one of his guest rooms, but laying here with Spencer, kissing him senseless is all Derek could ever ask for. Spencer looked almost angelic under the dim lighting of the room, like his own little angle had come to keep him safe. Even the experience itself felt so surreal to Derek. One could call it, a Christmas Miracle...

[hookedonapirate]

Trick or Treat

A/N: It feels so great to post again. I've been in a writing slump for several weeks now, so I wanted to write something short and sweet to get the writing juices flowing. Thank you @hollyethecurious for your ideas for the premise and @darkcolinodonorgasm for Killian’s costume!

Rated: Teen and up for mature language

“Well, that’s disturbing.” Emma grimaces at the zombie gnome with gnarly teeth, reaching out with dirt and blood covered hands like he's coming out of the ground to get them. Even though it's not real, the graphics are enough to give a kid nightmares.

 “That’s so cool, Mommy!”

 Well, any kid who’s not her seven-year-old son that is. Henry runs down the sidewalk, his oversized hat falling off his head. He’s a ball of energy most days, but tonight, he’s extra energetic, and he hasn’t even had any candy yet.

 “Kid, your hat!” She follows after him, picking up his hat from the winding walkway which is lined with jack-o'-lanterns on each side. But as she passes each one, she’s surprised when she realizes these aren’t just typical jack-o'-lanterns with a mouth, nose and eyes carved into them. No, these are intricately crafted jack-o'-lanterns. One is carved into a haunted house, one is a graveyard full of ghosts, another looks like a skull from afar, but up close, it appears to be carved into long stem mushrooms and grass. Her favorite is the pumpkin carving that mimics a scene from the Nightmare Before Christmas. 

 Like seriously, who has time to carve out all these pumpkins? And why weren’t the Jack-o'-lanterns on display as she had seen at the Night of 1,000 Jack-o'-lanterns at the Chicago Botanic Garden? Whoever carved these has some ridiculous artistic talent. They are also way too into Halloween, because their yard is all decked out. There are games set up on tables in the yard, skeletons and ghosts hanging from the trees and tombstone yard signs all over. 

 As she walks up the steps to the house, fake fog sweeps around her feet, the porch is covered in fake cobwebs with large spiders and the porch railing is lined with decorated jars, “potions”, skulls and other Halloween themed knickknacks. She laughs at the potion bottle labeled, “love potion.” When she reaches the door, which is wide open, a group of kids in cute costumes gathered around waiting for treats, she’s expecting the three looney witches from Hocus Pocus to emerge from the house. 

 When a man in a black top hat, tailcoat and a cane appears through the door with a bowl full of candy, she realizes how wrong she is. 

 Boy, is she wrong.

 Holy shit, he’s gorgeous. His skin looks ghostly white from the makeup on his face and he's wearing a brown curly mustache, but those vivid blue eyes are so very blue, even in the dark and under the hat he’s wearing. She’s afraid those eyes will set her on fire when he looks at her.

 “Trick or treat!” the children chorus. 

 Emma can’t take her eyes off the man as he excitedly hands out candy.

 “I love your costume, lassie,” he compliments a little girl who's wearing an Elsa costume.

 He has an accent? Holy hell.

 The little girl frowns, clearly not understanding what he meant by lassie. “I’m not a dog, I’m Elsa.”

 He chuckles, dropping a candy bar into her pumpkin bucket. “My apologies, Elsa. Please don’t blast me with ice.”

 “Thank you, mister,” she says cheerfully before scurrying down the steps to meet her parents at the end of the walkway. 

 “Trick or treat!”

 The man looks toward the small voice, seeing Henry approaching him. He grins big and wide, which makes him look much creepier than he already looks in his costume. Creepy, but sexy. “Well, hi there. Captain Hook, I presume?”

 Henry nods his head and opens his Halloween sack, using his plastic hook to hold one of the straps.

 “Very nice costume, lad. My favorite one so far.”

 “Thank you. I made it,” Emma boasts with a smile as she steps behind her son, placing the hat on his head. She’s not normally one to brag, but then again bragging doesn’t normally afford her the opportunity to talk to ridiculously handsome strangers.

 The man looks up, and when his eyes finally connect with hers, he completely steals her breath. She was wrong. His smoldering blue eyes don’t set her on fire, but they do make her melt.

 And his heavy stare makes her skin tingle.

 “You made this lovely costume?”

 She waves her hand nonchalantly. “It was easy. Just took a red, long-sleeved shirt, some ribbon and slapped some red felt and white feathers on a straw hat and voila.”

 “Very impressive, lass.” He glances at her shirt briefly before returning his eyes to hers. “Did you also make your costume?” he asks, his eyes dancing with mirth. He must have been referring to her red leather jacket and white t-shirt that reads, “This IS my Halloween costume.”

 Emma laughs. “No, I bought it on Amazon.” 

 “Wow, Mom, check this out! Full-size candy bars!” Henry shouts excitedly when the stranger deposits the candy bar into his sack.

 Emma tears her eyes from this man’s mesmerizing blue ones to see the full-size Snickers bar Henry’s holding out to show her. “Huh, people actually do give out full-size candy bars.” She looks up at the man. “I’m impressed. Let me guess, you also carved those pumpkins, too?” she asks, pointing to the pumpkins in his yard.

 He nods with a small smile. “I did. You’d be amazed by what I can do with these hands,” he says smugly.

 Emma wants to roll her eyes, but she can’t deny she very much wishes to find out exactly what he can do with those hands. Instead, she flashes a sarcastic smirk. “So who are you supposed to be, Jack the Ripper?” 

 He chuckles. “Not quite. I’m a gentleman from the Victorian Era. A devilishly handsome gentleman, may I add.”

 She cocks a brow, laughter bubbling in her throat. “If by a  devilishly handsome gentleman, you mean creepy.”

 He sets down the candy bowl and surprises her when he takes her hand in his and lowers his head, murmuring softly as he looks up at her. “The name’s Killian Jones. And it just so happens, I’m always a gentleman. Not just on Halloween.” His touch sears her skin, then he presses his lips to the back of her hand and it feels like electrical currents are surging through her. Her breath catches, and she’s worried he will notice. Judging by the smirk spreading across her skin, he definitely noticed.

 Emma turns her head, looking for her son, whom she spots in the yard playing games with the other kids, their parents supervising them. “I should get back to my son.”

 This man actually pouts as he releases her hand. And it’s freaking adorable. “I told you my name and yet you haven't told me yours?”

 She bites her bottom lip, contemplating whether she should or not. But then again, what’s the harm? It is a small town, so they’ll probably end up running into each other again at some point. “It’s Emma.”

 He grins, making her heart melt. “Nice to meet you, Emma.”

 “Likewise.” 

 He scratches behind his ear, which makes him look less creepy and even more adorable. “I’ve never seen you before. Are you new in town?”

 “I’m from Chicago.”

 “Well, love, welcome to Storybrooke.”

  Oh. Now he’s calling her love? Can this man get any sexier? Jesus Christ. “Thank you.” She gives him a shy smile and turns to head down the steps.

 “Wait. Before you go, I have a treat for you, too.” 

 She spins around, arching her brow. “Oh, that’s okay. Henry will share some of his candy with me.”

 He chuckles and shakes his head. “This treat is not for kids.”

 Emma gulps. “What kind of treat did you have in mind?” Something salty? Her mind definitely did not go into the gutter there. Okay, it totally did. 

 He heads inside, then returns not a moment later with a caramel apple. 

 “A caramel apple?” She almost sounds disappointed. But she’s definitely not.

 “Aye, but not just any caramel apple. It’s an adult caramel apple. So make sure you don’t share this with your lad.”

 She eyes it suspiciously. “It’s not laced with love potion, is it?”

 He chuckles and leans closer, whispering in her ear. “No. But it is laced with cannabis-infused butter.”

 Emma smirks as she takes the caramel apple. “Wow, you really go all out on Halloween, don’t you?”

 He shrugs. “You should come back around Christmas.”

 “Oh God, you’re not one of those people who goes completely crazy with the Christmas lights and the decorations and Santa and his reindeer on the roof, are you?”

 He shrugs again, donning a smirk. “Guess you’ll have to wait and find out.”

 “Is that an invitation?” Because she's definitely not thinking about inviting him to get high and engage in hot, sweaty sex with her. Not at all.  

 “Perhaps. Do you and your son enjoy hot cocoa and watching Christmas movies in front of a cozy fireplace?”

 She eyes the caramel apple and then glances up at him. “Does Santa enjoy adult cookies with his milk?”

 His grin widens, making her heartbeat skyrocket out of her chest. “Aye, then it’s a date.”

 Emma rolls her eyes, a smile tugging at her lips. “Not a date.” She doesn’t like the idea of waiting until Christmas to see him again, though.

 His face clouds with guilt. Sorry, love, I just didn't see a wedding ring on your finger so I assumed-”

 “I'm not married,” she clarifies, her cheeks flushing because of the fact that he was curious enough to check her hand for a ring. “Nor do I have a boyfriend. I'm single.” Very single. She's never been so glad to be single before.

 He sighs in relief, which gives her the courage to say what's on her mind and to thankfully change the subject.

 “You know, adult cookies aren’t just for Christmas...”

 He cocks his brow, and good Lord, she really needs him to stop doing that, because it’s doing things to her breathing and her heart. “No? What other special occasions are they for?”

 She shrugs. “Like a Saturday night, say next week when my parents are taking Henry for the weekend.”

 His eyes flash with something she can only describe as excitement. Or anticipation, maybe? “But still not a date, right?”

 She shakes her head. “Nope, just two adults enjoying their adult cookies.” 

 He laughs. “Okay, I’ll bring the apple cider.”

 “Sounds like a date,” she says accidentally when she had meant to say Sounds like a plan. But she doesn't even bother correcting herself as her cheeks warm with blush. She backs away and manages to rip her eyes from him to turn around and head down the steps. She finds Henry playing a game with the kids and takes his hand, telling him it’s getting late. He leaves with a groan but doesn't make a fuss. 

 As they leave the yard, Emma turns around, getting one last glimpse of the devilishly handsome Victorian gentleman. He winks and smiles at her, making her heart stutter, and she blushes and walks away as she leaves with her son.

  She had doubts when she moved to this small town to start over, but the warm feeling in her chest is telling her perhaps coming to Storybrooke wasn't a bad idea after all.

Tagging a few people who might be interested in reading:

@kmomof4 @teamhook @ilovemesomekillianjones @onceuponaprincessworld @artistic-writer @nikkiemms @snowbellewells @donteattheappleshook @itsfabianadocarmo​ @searchingwardrobes​ @melly326​

[msotherworldly]

The Black Rain: Chapter One

In my previous posts, I mentioned my series in progress, The Children of Pandora, and how it was technically a multi-protagonist project. While Eradica is the main protagonist of the books, Insula and Rowan also have their own occasional books. The chapter below is the first in Rowan’s story - like The Blue Door, it’s still in need of editing. 

If this whole multi-protagonist business sounds confusing, check out my earlier posts. You’ll be introduced to the characters, their stories, and my comparison to Narnia on how this functions.

CHAPTER ONE: THE POSTCARD

The afternoons when I could be alone were the best, because they were also a relief. Outside, clambering over the rusty playground and dodging around the scattered beer cans, the children played. The place, with a few stunted shrubs for it’s fence, was filled with litter: there was a discarded tire, a few cardboard boxes, and some dirty clothes. The children used them as their toys, but I had my own toys to play with.

    From the window, I could see the mountains. They partially blocked a watery sun, which already fought a swath of cloud. I didn’t know that day would seem bright, when compared with the ones to come. I didn’t know a lot of things, such as what Dad looked like.

    I only knew his handwriting. I turned the postcard over. The writing was spidery and small, but I had looked it over at least once a day for the past three years. I flipped it over to the picture on the front: palm trees swayed in the wind, casting long blue shadows over the fancy cars and the newly paved roads. There were green hills, and a beach side resort with shirtless old men and grinning, skinny twenty year olds, most of them blonde. I had bought into a myth of my own making: if you stayed in the sun long enough, it turned blonde...but you had to live where it was hottest.

    At eight, that myth seemed flimsy. I curled a strand of brown hair around my finger, which was also brown, but sort of gold.

    The Palm Tree Place, where Dad lived, was like something from a dream. It was funny how it made me deeply happy and deeply sad at the same time.

    “What are you doing up here?” a voice hissed. Ms. Brocklehurst ambled into the room. A Seagull Anthromorph, she was a confusion of frayed feathers and pinstripe clothes. Her skirt was bunched around her knees, and her jacket was too loose on her thin frame. Glasses slid down her sharp, dirty beak.

    “I was just-”

    “If you don’t get down, I’ll switch you good.” Ms. Brocklehurst’s beady eyes narrowed. “Actually, I think I will anyways. You’ve already disobeyed me, haven’t you?”

    “Please, I was only-”

    “Bend over.” Ms. Brocklehurst took a cane down from the wall. “Now.”

    A lump formed in my throat. Hot tears spewed from my eyes. Mom always said I was a baby. What was the word she used? Ingrate? That’s what I am.

    The pain thudded over my back, and I screamed. That was bad, but I couldn’t help it: it whistled through the air. It hit harder. It bit. I screamed louder. My eyes were glued to the floor. A piece of it peeled away.

    Whoosh, whap, whoosh, whap. The sounds were so gentle, but they felt so hard. I tried not to count the hits. That always made me hope, and that made it worse somehow.

    The next hit didn’t come. I remained bent over. Snot streamed from my nose. The floor was a blurry mess, like a painting.

    I heard the cane being hung up. That was such a happy sound. I heard a stomp of taloned feet, squeezed between black shoes.

    “Down, or I’ll give you another set.”

    My back burned as I straightened myself. My whole body ached; my legs stung, and it was hard to move. I was stiff.

    I shuffled past worn beds with identical gray coverlets. The walls were gray; everything was. It matched the cobwebs that hung in the corners. It matched the rickety stairs that had been brown, but were now rotting and bleached from too many days of sun exposure.

    I stopped at the foot of the playground. I realized I was still holding the postcard. I shoved it into my pocket. I wore a pair of jeans that were always sliding down. My pink hoodie was baggier, or I was just too skinny.

    I saw Emma Ruth skipping along a hopscotch she had made from snapped twigs. I wandered over to her, smiling.

    “Hi, Emma.”

    “Hi, freak.”

    “Can I play?”

    “Sure. Just don’t touch me. I don’t want to catch your freak bug.”

    I hopped along behind her. I felt oddly cheerful. It was one day at a time, right? Also, nobody was hitting me. That was always a plus.

    “Do you ever think about your parents?”

    “Don’t talk to me.”

    “Maybe they’ll come back for you. Or maybe a rich man will come here and adopt us all. And he’ll check back in to get any new children that come in. And then Brocklehurst will sell the place to him. He’d be a billionaire, and he would make his money selling children’s clothes. But he’d buy all our clothes for free!”

    “You’re really stupid, aren’t you?” Emma hopped along behind me. We went in a circle. “That stuff only happens in storybooks.”

    “My dad wrote to me right before I came here. It was his only letter, but he told me how palm trees grew. He talked about coconut milk and-”

    Emma shoved me to the ground. My head hit the edge of the playground box, and pinpricks of light, golden and white, flashed across my eyes.

    Emma looked big, though she was only a tiny girl in a dress, red and white and checkered like a picnic blanket. She crossed her arms, her blue eyes growing small. “Just leave me alone, freak.”

    A mean picture came into my mind: Emma’s dress on fire, her face as she screamed. I brushed the picture away. How could I have a thought like that? How awful! It wasn’t Emma’s fault I was weird. What if I could give it to her? I guess I’d be afraid too. I didn’t want to hurt Emma. The meanness was gone, leaving behind cold.

    And she’s sad too. We all are. We’re in the same boat.

    A bell rang. Children rushed past me. I stood up. My butt was damp. I realized the grass was wet, glinting in the gray-gold light. It must have rained. I wiped my hands on my jeans; the palms were stained green.

    I was sure I would have hated school, even if it was a nice one. Math just didn’t make sense, though the other children seemed to get it, and science was sort of creepy. I only really liked art and language.

    Ms. Brocklehurst passed out our papers. We had been tasked with essays. As usual, mine was covered in red circles, red underlines, and red comments. These said things like, “Do you hate commas, or are you just dumb?” There was also, “My brother could write better than you, and he’s illiterate.”

    The comments might have bothered me, but Emma Ruth’s paper looked like it was dripping with blood. I know it’s mean, but it’s kind of awesome, too.

    We were asked to write short stories. This was the part I liked. I flew into another tale about a lost prince and the king who had sent him away because dragons were looking for him. He lived alone in a cottage, but he could see the castle from his window, surrounded by palm trees. The king drank coconuts for breakfast, ate pineapple for lunch, and dined on mangoes and watermelon in the evening.

    Emma snickered. “You’re writing that story again?”

    “I like it.”

    “You don’t have much of an imagination, do you?”

    I blushed. “It makes me happy. I wasn’t going to publish it or anything.”

    “I hope not. Otherwise people will be vomiting everywhere because it’s so bad.”

    “You’re just unhappy because your stories get picked on too.”

    “Excuse me? You don’t know anything, freak.”

    My face was on fire, and shame coated my stomach. “I didn’t mean...but I understand, Emma. I like your stories. I’m glad they have happy endings.”

    “You’re mocking me.”

    “No! My favourite was the one with the golden haired Elf. I’d run away with him in a heartbeat, though I probably would make us move somewhere warmer than in the story.”

    Emma stood up. Her chair scraped over the floor. She raised her fists. “Keep talking.”

    “Okay.” I didn’t understand sarcasm. “Um, I liked the one with the blue Dragon, too, and how it had green polka dots. I probably wouldn’t date him, but he was really cool.”

    Emma’s fist connected with my lip. It felt dull, the pain spreading in a blanket through my whole jaw. I fell to the floor. The chair caught my elbow, and I yelped. I could still hear the wet thud in my head; the moment replayed itself through my spinning head. I pressed my cheek to the floor. It was cold, and felt good on my hot skin.

    “What in the name of Genitrix-”

    “She made fun of me!” As I rolled onto my back, Emma pointed to me. “She made fun of my story!”

    Ms. Brocklehurst glared at me. She slapped a long ruler in her hand, before trotting forward. She stood over me. “Up! What are you, a dog?”

    I scrabbled to my feet. I sank into my chair. I wanted to cry that it wasn’t fair, but what good did that do? I pressed my lips together, keeping the tears in.

    “Put your hands out.”

    She’s just doing her job. I spread my fingers out over the desk. Below them lied my sketch of the prince. He had brownish gold skin, brown hair, and eyes that were so dark they were almost black. His lips were full, his nose wide and hooked. He looked just like me, except that his hair was cut short, almost a buzz.

    Mine hung down my back in a lank ponytail. The prince also has a shower everyday. He bathes on the beach, and waits for the king to collect him.

    The ruler came down with a slam. It was louder than the cane, but less painful. Even as I teared up, I couldn’t help thinking how funny that was. My fingers wrinkled back, bending at the knuckles. She hit me three times. That was easy to count.

    Addition is the only math I like. I felt dazed. My stomach growled. Was it the hunger or the pain? But subtraction sucks. I only like the math where numbers get bigger.

    Ms. Brocklehurst stocked to the front. I resumed my story, like nothing had happened. Because nothing did. She’s doing her job. She thought I was being mean, and that’s okay. So she was wrong. So what? If I had been mean, I would have deserved it. I glanced at Emma. She’s just scared, is all.

    A second voice, the one I thought of as The Meanie, answered me. Keep telling yourself that if it makes you feel better.

    I will. There’s no need to be gloomy all the time, or nasty. Gloom settled in the pit of my stomach. Despair clutched my heart like a hand. My chest sank on the inside. My eyes stung.

    “Not fair,” I whispered. I glanced at Emma again. “I’m sorry.”

    “Huh?”

    “I’m sorry. I didn’t want to be mean.”

    Emma furrowed her brow. She returned to her writing, shaking her head. All around me, pencils scratched. I wanted to read all the stories. Weren’t they all good in their own way?

    A delightful idea came to me. I had to struggle through math first, and the equations made me weep—literally. I was dreading algebra when I got older. That was when math stopped making sense for everybody.

    When class was over, I rushed to enact my plan. It was like clockwork: the kids tossed their last stories into the recycling bin. They dumped out their books.

    I knelt by the blue plastic container as they filed out. When the last kid, a Dog with Rottweiler markings named Jimmy, trotted out, I shoved my arms, elbow deep, into the paper. I plucked tales and drawings from the mix. I ordered them carefully, clicking them against the floor to make them straight.

    When I had collected them all, I had a fat, albeit unbound, book in my arms. I scurried up the stairs, ecstatic over my treasure. I didn’t have any books to read, but now I could read everyone’s stories.

    I flipped through the papers, knees pulled to my chest. I sat on my bed. I felt like a jeweler, surrounded by gleaming rubies and emeralds.

    I found Emma’s story, and put it at the front. The heroine (who always looked like Emma, with blue eyes and blonde curls) was falling in love with a Bear this time. She took half a page to describe his bulging muscles and glossy fur.

    She’s going to be a great romance writer someday! The story made me happy and warm all over. I decided it was my new favourite.

    I put my story at the back. It wasn’t that good, and I knew how it went. When I had read through all the stories, including mine, I pulled out the postcard again. Even though I loved Emma’s tales, this would always be my favourite thing to read.

    I closed my eyes, smiling. I sank into sleep. In my dreams, I saw the palm trees, and a sign with the postcard’s address: Similo, Sapphire Crest, Calidi, Queen Street, 4321.

[sleekervae]

The Neighbour [1.2]

Masterlist

Trigger warning: here is the first round of smut!! 😈😈 I need a shower now...

"Your candy floss mind

And sugar cane lips

Have me hooked on an

Endorphin rush,

You're too sweet to ever resist..."

The sound of keys typing coincided with the bubbling of boiling water in a pot. Eva looked up from her screen now and again, watching Remington from the island counter as he tried to handle making dinner on his own. His own way of surprising her, it was a baked vegan mac and cheese. A particular playlist on his Spotify was echoing through the kitchen and he was singing along to it. She loved listening to his voice; it was so raspy and yet so comforting.

Despite how calm and collected he appeared, Remington wouldn't dare let it slip that he was actually struggling hard. His cheese sauce wasn't thickening, instead it had the viscosity of running water.

Eva smiled to herself when her gaze fell over Remington's newly dyed pink hair, an event in itself as she insisted on helping him. He had his head in the tub of his bathroom, closing his eyes at the pleasant sensation of her nails massaging the color into his scalp. The dye only sufficiently covered his blonde tips, his brunette roots more prominent now. Afterwards she had wet a cloth and sat on his knee to wipe the leftover dye from his face. His hands braced her waist and his dark brown eyes pierced into her blues.

"You think it'll turn out okay?" he asked.

"I think it's gonna' look fantastic," she smiled and kissed his nose, "You're hot enough as it is. Throw in hot pink hair and you've broken the scale,"

Forty-five minutes later Remington washed out the color and shampooed his new hair. Eva watched the flashy color and bubbles swirl down the drain, already in awe at his new look.

"To quote The 1975: you look so cool," she drawled with a smile, wrapping her arms around his waist.

"Well, I had a pretty great assistant," he ran a hand through his damp hair before bringing himself down to kiss her. He then handed her his phone.

"Can you take a picture for me?" he asked. Eva obliged and chuckled as he pulled a face and made the rock-out sign with his hands. Then he took the phone and pulled her back into him.

"Are you gonna' post that?" she asked, curious as he set up the camera again.

"Yeah. Although, this one is just for us," he placed Eva in front and wrapped his arms around her, resting his chin on her head and positioning the phone at her chest level. Eva leaned into his embrace, smiling though not looking at herself in the bathroom mirror. She didn't take a lot of selfies, so she opted to look at Remington through the reflective surface.

It was some time after that Remington proposed he'd make dinner for them. And so Eva sat at the island, watching him shake his head at the sauce pot while she went between typing a new poem and working on her next article.

"You can part my lips with

White chocolate fingertips,

And I'll beg you to let me taste

The syrup that drenches over

Your teeth and saturates your tongue..."

She pushed the computer away and wandered over to the stove. The cheese sauce certainly smelled good, though she did notice it was quite runny.

"I don't know why it's not getting thicker," Remington said huffily.

Eva glanced at the recipe he had open on his tablet, then at the menagerie of ingredients he had behind them on the counter. Nutritional yeast, coconut milk, garlic powder...

"Did you put any flour in it?" she asked.

Remington then realized where he'd gone wrong, "Ah ha! I forgot the flour!" he then dashed to his cupboard. Eva chuckled endearingly.

"Do you need any help?" she offered.

"Would you mind straining the pasta?"

"Of course,"

Remington quickly remedied his sauce and he transferred it and the pasta into a baking dish. As he sprinkled on the bread crumbs, Eva swiped some leftover sauce from the pot and held it up for him to taste. He took it gladly, smiling then licked the cheese sauce off her finger. She giggled before doing the same for herself.

"Very nice. You should cook more often," she said.

Remington smirked, "So, am I turning on to veganism?" he simpered.

"You're turning me on, but not just with vegan food," she shrugged, giggling as he playfully gawked at her.

"Naughty girl!" he gasped, taking some more sauce on his finger and swiping it over her cheek.

"Hey!"

"Oh here, let me get that," he grinned. He grabbed her waist and licked up the sauce with a wet kiss, but he didn't stop there. He moved his lips to her ear then onto her jaw until finally on her neck where he began to suck and bite.

She sighed, running her hands up his arms, moving her head to the side so he could access her neck better. He was on his third mark when the oven dinged, signaling it had reached full heat.

"Rem -- Remington, the oven's ready," she giggled.

"It's not going anywhere," he mumbled, squeezing her hips, his thumbs drawing circles on her exposed skin.

"C'mon, I'm hungry!" she said.

"I'm hungry too," he smirked.

"Clearly. Put the pasta in and we can pick up in a minute," she promised, shoving him away gently.

He grunted but did as she said. She adjusted her shirt, watching him pick up the casserole dish and checked out his ass as he bent down to put it in the oven. He caught her and he smirked.

"Were you checking me out?" he asked even though he knew she was.

"Why the hell would I do a thing like that?" she scoffed and waved him off.

"C'mere!"

He lifted her in his arms and she squealed, and he collapsed onto his couch with her straddling his lap. He rid her of her sweater so she was just in a tank top with her chest in front of his face. With one look she connected their lips together and they made out, and before he knew it he had her lips dragging across his neck.

Remington rolled his head back onto the couch as she sucked expertly on his skin. He silently thanked Emerson for not being home. His large hands held onto her waist, he rocked her slowly against him, moaning at the friction between them. Tied with her mouth on his neck, if Remington died right there he'd die a happy man.

"Baby, you're so good," he moaned as she continued to suck on his skin.

Eva chuckled into his ear, "I'm good at something else, too," and her hot breath fanned over his skin, eliciting goosebumps.

Before he could retort she'd slipped off his lap onto the floor, and began to undo the button of his jeans. She was meticulous and took her time with his zipper as he stared wide eyed as this beautiful girl before him, he shucked his pants down his thighs. He gulped when her finger lightly traced around the perimeter of his head. It twitched in response and she smiled.

"Can I?" she asked, fluttering her big beautiful Bambi eyes up at him.

Remington's voice had disappeared on him, so he resorted to nodding.

She lifted him into her palm, Remington was aching when she pressed soft kisses up his shaft and then a wet one over his slit. She continued to kiss him before her tongue poked out in between.

"Fuck, baby, don't tease," he panted, feeling his skin burn in the most delicious way.

"What do you say?" she asked, and Remington was alarmed that she had a small dominant side to her. But he fucking loved it.

"Please, baby," he exhaled, lifting his hand up but then dropped it back to the cushion. He didn't want to grab her hair yet, he didn't want to push her.

She smiled again (God damn) then spat heavily on his head, watching it dribble down before she took him completely in her mouth. Remington couldn't contain his moan from feeling her mouth wrapped around him. He'd imagined it when he was in the shower or thinking of her late at night, but the real thing was so much better.

She lathered him up by moving her head up and down and when she was satisfied, she began to pump her hand up and down as well and Remington's mind went blank. The mac and cheese was forgotten. The day was gone. Hell, his own fucking name had escaped his him.

The only thing he could focus on was watching his pretty girl bobbing her head up and down his cock, taking him as far as she could without gagging and what she couldn't take she squeezed gently with her fingers which surprisingly felt good.

He was a moaning mess and she'd say 'yeah?' and 'does that feel good?' which caused vibrations and more sensations and he couldn't form a coherent sentence so he just kept moaning and nodding. When he was getting close she sucked on him like a literal lollipop and then her fingers begin to fondle his balls, and he felt the tight knot in his stomach begin to unravel.

"I don't swallow," she said quietly, but she kept working at him and he didn't care.

"That's fine, don't stop ... I'll tell you when," he gasped and bucked his hips slightly.

The sound of her slurping sent him over the edge and then he was pushing her off him with rushed 'baby, baby, stop, stop' and he was coming over his own fingers. Her small hand was beneath his though and she helped him release until he'd fallen back against the couch, hot and bothered and totally satisfied.

He didn't even notice her leave until she was sitting beside him with a wet paper towel in her hand and cleaned up his hand and thigh. She rolled it up in a much larger dry piece of towel and he rolled his head to the right to look at her dazedly.

"You okay?" she giggled and he gave her a lazy smile back.

"You're fuckin' incredible," he sighed then pursed his lips. She took the hint and leaned in close to peck his lips.

"I wanted to make you feel good," she shrugged, her dominant demeanour now replaced with her typical sweet and shy persona.

"You exceeded. I think that was the best blow I've ever had,"

"Oh, please," she giggled again, and then the oven timer went off. Remington groaned, about to get up though he realized his dick was still out with his pants still around his thighs.

"Shit," he mumbled, shuffling them back on while Eva was laughing beside him, "Oh quiet, you helped make the mess," he wagged a finger at her in warning and she stuck her tongue out at him while he headed into the kitchen.

The mac and cheese was delicious, and Eva had to admit that she didn't mind vegan food so much anymore. They packed up what was left and Eva helped Remington with the dishes, despite him assuring her that she could relax. With the way he was thinking, she would need all the relaxation she could get.

He told her to head up to his room and pick a movie for them. She was more than happy to oblige. He was buzzing with excitement as he quickly finished cleaning up and grabbed the can of whipped cream from the fridge.

Coming into the bedroom Remington grinned as he heard the opening lines of Spirited Away. Eva was sat cross-legged on the bed and he closed the door behind him. She smiled at him as he placed the can on the bed, though she glanced at him quizzically before glancing at the can.

"What're you gonna' do with that?" she asked, sounding more perplexed then nervous.

"Do you trust me?" he asked, coming to kneel on the bed.

"To an extent," Eva shrugged.

"To an extent?" he mocked. She giggled as he reached forward and tugged her by her ankles towards him, "What does that mean?" he stared down at her with sheer adoration.

"Depends on what you're gonna' do to me," she blushed.

"Well, are you okay to take off your shorts and underwear?" he smiled reassuringly. She sucked her bottom lip into her mouth, but he was happy when she obliged him. She kicked off her clothes onto the floor behind him.

"Good girl," he mumbled, kissing her cheek, "Now can you lie back for me?"

She nodded and slowly lowered herself onto the duvet. Remington grabbed her ankles yanked her further down the bed so her naked bum was on the edge. He kneeled down and grabbed the whipped cream and pushed up her top so it rested over her ribs. He slowly and meticulously sprayed the cream from her bellybutton to her mound, and on the inside of both of her thighs. She inhaled sharply at the cold but tried to relax. He set the can on the floor next to him.

He hummed as he looked at her, she looked delectable and she was throbbing already as her dark blue eyes meet his. They were wide with excitement and lust as she realized his plan.

"You're my dessert, tonight," he rasped, then attached his mouth to her stomach.

The cold cream on her warm skin was pure gold on his tongue. He took his time in licking and sucking it all off. When he reached her thighs some of the cream had slid onto his duvet but he was hardly pressed to give a fuck. He swiped his tongue at the rogue sweetness dripping down her thighs and glanced up at her once more before pressing his mouth into her.

Eva gasped at the chilled sensations of his lips and the cream but he began to move his tongue in intricate patterns and she mewled happily. Her fingers clenched at the duvet but Remington dragged her hand into his newly dyed hair and she pulled at the spikes.

He lifted her thighs over his shoulder as he devoured her rapidly and without pause. She was the sweetest thing he'd ever tasted and his tongue worked her with expert precision. Soon enough she began rocking her hips into his mouth and her moans were sinful; her fingers continued to pull harder as he felt her come for the first time. He watched her writhe and gasp for breath, his tongue still working her as she came down. He smirked on her pussy lips, proud because he hadn't even used a finger yet.

"Fuck, Rem," she whined when he didn't stop.

She was panting hard and wiggling like mad, her thighs clenching around his head and she came again. He peeked at her through his lashes and her mouth was slack in ecstasy, and her eyes were screwed shut and he hoped she was seeing stars.

When her hips slowed again he removed his mouth and kissed the inside of her thighs, biting lightly to mark her up as she collected herself. He rested his cheek against her thigh and stared up at her as she finally opened her eyes.

"You okay, honey?" he mimicked from earlier.

Eva breathed slowly, her skin tingled no matter what little movements she made, "Okay, I trust you now," and he laughed against her skin.

"Fructose and adrenaline permeate my body,

And I'm losing all control on this sugar high

You've set me on.

It'll take me a long time to come down.

But I keep coming back for dose,

After dose,

After dose.

I'm an addict always itching for my next fix

Of your honey-soaked, sickly sweet affections,”

[cuttlefishkitch]

hello! i haven't talked to you before, but ron said that i could ask you for some advice on writing eds? (i'd like to know things to avoid/common things that could come up in everyday life that would be good to mention/the sort of aids and stuff they'd have maybe?/anything else you think is relevant)

Hi! Sorry this took so long, a combination of ADHD and chronic pain slowed me way the fuck down. Thank you for being patient! 

EDIT: WEIRD HEEL THINGS I FORGOT!!

So, before I get into this I should probably say I technically haven’t been diagnosed with Ehlers Danlos Syndrome (EDS for anyone reading) because it’s one of those syndromes that takes forever to get diagnosed with (it took a friend of mine’s mother over 30 years to get dxed). Many doctors, and everyone I know who does have EDS agree with me that it’s probably what causes my chronic joint pain and some of my other chronic issues. But just because three separate doctors have said “Yeah Probably” doesn’t mean I’m diagnosed!! Only a geneticist can do that!! And they had two-three year waitlists BEFORE the apocalypse happened.

I am diagnosed with Postural Orthostatic Tachycardia Syndrome (POTS), Small Fiber Neuropathy, and potentially misdiagnosed with Fibromyalgia (once I get properly tested for EDS I might get undiagnosed with this because I don’t have most of the main symptoms of Fibro, but I got diagnosed with it anyway because it’s what doctors misDX you with when they don’t know what’s wrong with you and don’t want to do more tests).

All that said, I’ve done a lot of research about EDS (mainly because it’s the only thing that explains all my symptoms since doctors seem incapable of doing so), and know a few people who have either confirmed or suspected EDS, so I’ll link to some stuff, talk about the symptoms that often come with EDS, explain how the symptoms I have affect me, because just because someone’s not diagnosed doesn’t mean they aren’t having symptoms, and probs elaborate a bit about writing physical disabilities and chronic pain in general because it’s super important to me! 

So RESOURCES aka how to make sure your post never sees the light of day because you’re linking things and tumblr hates it when people give other people information!!

Youtubers! If you want to know about the day to day of living with EDS or any disability or chronic illness I super suggest finding a youtuber that makes videos about their life. My EDS favorites are

Jessica Kellgren-Fozard

Annie Elainey

Amy Lee Fisher

Websites! If you’re asking random folks on tumblr I’m assuming (and hoping) you’ve already done the basic WebMD google searches and looked over the seemingly ridiculous lists of symptoms and related conditions, so here are a few websites that are made more for people than for doctors.

The Ehlers Danlos Society

OhTWIST (That’s Why I’m So Tired)

ChronicPainPartners (the fact that they have an entire section of articles called “Dealing with Doctors” should really tell you something)

Books! If you feel like doing actual reading! I suggest reading books written by people with Ehlers Danlos, to get a feel for how they portray themselves. I’m not saying steal, but it’s probably a good point of comparison to see how your portrayal feels. (haven’t actually read these b/c my ADHD doesn’t let me read)

Ria Ruse by Morgan S. Ray (a superhero book with a disabled super MC!!)

Mysteries of Maybelle by Imani Benfell (Imani is still in high school and has already written and self-published a book cause she didn’t have enough representation for herself how cool is she!!)

Bodies in Motion by Liana Brooks (tw for pregnancy problems and miscarriages in the link, because it’s a blog post talking about integrating EDS symptoms into the story without explicitly naming them as such)

OKAY, now for some rambling about EDS SYMPTOMS!!!

Ehlers Danlos is one monster of a genetic condition in complexity and variety. There are THIRTEEN different identified types of EDS, it often comes with Mast Cell Activation Syndrome (MCAS) and/or POTS, and can lead to various other conditions like gastroparesis, chiari malformation, craniocervical instability, and/or bad teeth. So if you’re going to be writing a character with EDS consider what other comorbid conditions they might also have. I’m mainly going to be talking about Hypermobile EDS (hEDS) because it’s what I probably have and what I’m most familiar with. That said there is a lot of overlap in symptoms with the other varieties.

I started typing this section and realized I was going to have to break it down even more so we’re going to talk about Chronic Pain, Unstable Joints (Dislocations and Subluxations), Skin Things, Mobility Issues, and Other Weird Shit and how those things get addressed separately.

Gonna get the Other Weird Shit out of the way first. Because EDS is a malfunction of connective tissue it can fuck up all sorts of random things. For instance, I and many other people w/ hEDS have trouble swallowing. Shit gets stuck in my throat, I sometimes choke on and have to cough up food, and pills can be hard to swallow, which sucks cause I take A Lot Of Pills. If it doesn’t cause full-on gastroparesis it can cause IBS or other digestive problems b/c the digestive tract is mostly made of connective tissue. It can potentially cause heart problems even if they aren’t as big of a risk as in some other forms of EDS. Premature osteoarthritis is common because what you need is more joint pain. And Fatigue OH BOY THE FATIGUE. And of course the headaches, can’t forget those pesky migraines can we!

AND piezogenic papules!! I completely forgot!! Piezogenic papules are little white bumps that appear when you put weight on your heel. In some people they hurt, but in others they don’t. They’re technically tiny little herniations of fat peaking through the fascia in the heel. They were added as part of the diagnostic criteria for hEDS in 2017!

Now for Skin Things cause it’s not as big a thing in hEDS as it is in other forms. Basically, in a lot of forms of EDS, the skin is extra stretchy and extra delicate. It bruises and tears easily, people with the extreme versions of this can accidentally scratch something into an open wound if they aren’t careful. My skin is pretty soft and sensitive, I def have the typical velvety skin, and as is pretty par for the course of someone with hEDS my skin is a little stretchy, and sorta delicate. I’m not as tissue-papery as some people get, but I almost always have at least one mystery bruise or scrape b/c existing is hazardous. Most of scars are also pretty normal, unlike the extremely papery and atrophic scars (though I have a few tiny acne scars that are atrophic) that are common with other kinds of hEDS. Something that I DO have is Lots of Stretch Marks, all over my thighs, and even down to my calves. Which wouldn’t be abnormal, except for the fact that I’ve never been over 145 lbs and I’ve never been pregnant. Having a lot of stretch marks or striations in the skin without due cause happens because the structure of the skin isn’t as strong as it is in people with a normal amount of connective tissue.

I don’t have to worry as much about my skin but people that do are usually very careful with adhesives because they can irritate or tear the skin, which sucks when you need a lot of bandaids cause your darn skin won’t do its job.

Now on to the meatier stuff and since I’m mostly working backward let’s do Mobility Issues!! These can happen in loads of ways, but a lot of what causes these in people with EDS are the other two things I wanna talk about. Unstable joints lead to increased risk of injury when doing stuff people with fully functioning joints can do.

For context, I’m an ambulatory wheelchair user, meaning I can walk, but a lot of the time it’s better if use a chair. Mine is mostly for my POTS symptoms, but the fact that my legs aren’t also in absolute agony is a big plus. I use a custom manual wheelchair with a SmartDrive (b/c I’m very fucking fortunate and have good insurance) whenever I leave the house and have to be “walking” for more than a few minutes at a time. I can’t fully self-propel in a manual chair because it would be damaging to the joints in my arms and hands, but the smaller chair is easier to maneuver in less than accessible spaces (like almost everywhere). There was about a month-long span where I used a very cheap and very bulky electric chair while I was waiting on the ideal set up I have now. Before that, I also briefly used, and sometimes still use, an up-right posture cane.

People with EDS have widely varying mobility issues because of how uniquely it can manifest. My cane only gave me a little help with balance because if I used it in any prolonged capacity any pain it took away from my legs was relocated to my arms, and as an artist, my arms are more important to me!

If you’re going to write a character with EDS having mobility issues as a result of their EDS the best thing to do is to narrow down their specific needs. Are their knees complete and utter garbage but their shoulders and wrists strong? Maybe they can get away with using a cane. Can they not stand for longer than 5 minutes because of the vertigo from their POTS? Maybe they need a manual wheelchair. Would propelling themself damage their back and arm joints? An electric chair might be necessary! Plenty of people with EDS use all sorts of combinations of these aides to get around their life, consider how your character’s good and bad days would be. Do they have back up plans if they overestimate themselves? There can be a lot to manage, but don’t let it scare you off! Sometimes I try and make it into a resource management game (because I’m a game designer and that’s what I do), to make evaluating my energy and mobility needs more fun!

But now let's tackle some of the reasons those mobility aides might be needed. Unstable Joints.

Ever stepped wrong and rolled your ankle? It hurts for a few steps and then kinda fixes itself, or maybe it bothers you for the rest of the day and you put it up and ice it when you get home? When I was walking around outside my house that would happen AT LEAST once a month, usually more. Some times I’m sitting wrong and when I get up my knee isn’t a knee anymore and decides to just give out from under me. My knuckles are made of unruly popcorn and they Don’t Want To Stay Home!! Oh! And my shoulder is more often out a little out of its socket than it is fully in.

Unstable joints lead to Dislocations and Subluxations of varying intensity, and some people get them more frequently than others. Some can be severe enough to necessitate hospital visits and even surgery, some subluxations are so banal (like my fUCKING SHOULDER) that you just learn to live with the pain.

If a character is going to be in high action, combat-heavy scenarios, chances are they’re going to be popping out joints left and right. Hell, depending on the severity of their joint laxity they could be doing the same sitting at a desk. Again, it’s incredibly varied. I’d suggest setting some sort of baseline for yourself, of what a character’s joints can and can’t stand up to, and maybe do some research on which joints are most likely to pop out in general (hips and shoulders are big culprits being the wacky ball and socket motherfuckers they are). Then maybe have something pop out or hold up every so often when it shouldn’t cause hey! EDS is kinda just like that! Unpredictable!

Some ways people manage joint laxity is with braces, KT tape, and physical therapy. Braces come in many different forms, since I’m currently getting pretty much no treatment for my shitty joints I use mostly compression braces made for sporty people. It really is amazing how much a bit of tight fabric can do to keep my wrist in place.

More specialized braces often have solid parts to prevent the joints from hyper-extending (bending the wrong way) and causing further damage. If you ever see someone with what looks like diamond shaped rings around a bunch of their finger joints, chances are those are Ring Splints, and are there to keep the finger shaped like a finger. I want to get my hands on some and get some on my hands Very Badly, because my fingers hyper-extend SO MUCH when I type, and it makes my hand pain way way worse.

KT tape is another thing people often use. It’s stretchy tape you put on your skin and it basically functions kinda like a second ligament as well as reinforcing the joint and keeping the bones mostly where they’re supposed to be. The problem with this is a lot of people with EDS have very sensitive and fragile skin like I mentioned before, so KT tape can cause allergic reactions, chronic skin irritation, or just straight up take the skin with it when someone goes to remove it. Hence a lot of folks are really careful with it.

Physical Therapy is kinda the best (and only) treatment for joint laxity aside from Very Invasive and sometimes Highly Experimental surgery. It focuses on strengthening the muscles around the joints so they can do the work all those bone ropes made of body glue can’t. The problem is finding a physical therapist that 1) knows what EDS even is, 2) knows you have it, and 3) knows how to treat it without doing stuff that’ll Phucking Hurt You Worse!! Because exercising wrong with EDS can do Permanent Damage!!!

Again most folks use a combination of all of these things, or have next to no access to them b/c healthcare sucks.

Anyway, on to one of my favorite topics, Chronic Pain!! One of the reasons this post took me so long!!!

Chances are if your character has chronic pain as a result of their EDS there are gonna be some things they hate, including stairs, rain, thunderstorms, stairs, hills, uneven terrain, oh and did I mention stairs??? It’s going to vary person to person, but almost everyone I’ve met with pain from EDS has complained about their knees. For me the most debilitating pain is in my fingers and wrists. They’re by far my least stable joints but I use them constantly for stuff like drawing, typing, and sewing.

Because my joint pain is so wide spread, like most people’s with hEDS, it effects every single part of my day to day life. I can’t carry a heavy ceramic plate, open a bottle, or even use my computer without pain. It’s practically impossible for me to get comfortable in any position be it sitting or laying down, and as you can imagine that makes it hard to sleep a lot of the time. Moving too much hurts, but so does sitting still. I’m constantly taking braces on and off or cracking/stretching my joints so they pop back into place and hurt less.

Also being in pain makes everything else That Much Worse. I get tired way faster than I did before my pain was this bad (I had chronic pain for a while before actually realizing it wasn’t normal to not be able to walk down the block without feeling like your foot bones are trying to escape). My sensory issues and anxiety disorder are more easily aggravated because my base level of comfort is way worse. It fucks with my depression. And OH BOY does it make my ADHD worse because being in pain is fucking distracting as hell and makes it harder to make decisions and switch tasks. Also my ADHD often makes my other symptoms worse cause I forget to take my meds, don’t drink enough water, or can’t find my fucking braces because the item eating black-hole that comes with ADHD stole them. The intersection of mental and physical disabilities is probably a rant for another time though, so back to chronic pain.

Does it suck? Yes, undoubtedly. Is this incredibly debilitating? Of course it is, I spent the last several months unable to feed myself without assistance because there was a staircase between my room and the kitchen and I could only manage to climb it once a day. Is it overwhelming? Definitely, I’ve frequently broken down crying from a combination of pain and frustration because I’m having a bad day and there’s no relief to be found. Am I able to predict when it’s going to rain with uncanny accuracy because any change in barometric pressure makes me feel like every bone in my body is trying to kill it’s neighbors? You bet your fucking ass I am!! Does it sometimes make me irritable, angry, and occasionally dismissive of when abled people get cold or a temporary injury because the stuff they’re complaining about is my life every single day and all avenues of treatment and recovery I have could take years and still not entirely solve my issues? Yeah, and while I deserve a little extra patience I also have to be sure to check myself because I don’t want to turn into someone who’s nasty to be around. Do I sometimes need to sleep for 17 hours straight because it’s raining, I have migraine, and I’m in too much pain to be conscious? Yup, sometimes a few days in a row. Does living in constant pain mean I’m unable to do all the things I want to and does that sometimes make me wanna curl up in bed and never leave? Yeah, it happens.

But! And here’s the big important but, that’s not everything! I still write, draw, and talk to my friends!! It might take me a little longer but I get there. I’m still happy and excitable and make the time to write out five page long posts about EDS because it’s something I’m passionate about! My chronic pain doesn’t stop me. I refuse to let it. I never really wanted to go mountain climbing anyway, so I’m perfectly happy being able to make it up and down the six steps in my house, even if sometimes I have to sit and bump down them on my ass, or crawl up them like a cat. Chronic pain isn’t all I am. It isn’t a fate worse than death. It isn’t the only thing your character should talk about (though I do talk about my pain a lot cause I’m a complainer about almost everything). You can have your character be hindered by their pain, realistically they would be. You can have them seek comfort, support, and relief. Other characters can commiserate and be sympathetic, but it doesn’t mean their whole life is going to be one big pity party, that would be incredibly fucking boring. I know I’d be bored out of my mind.

All that said dealing with chronic pain, especially from EDS, is Complicated. Physical Therapy is the gold standard, but like I said before it can be a long and difficult process, and isn’t always accessible. Stabilization methods like I talked about before can help prevent pain, or reduce it by keeping bones mostly where they belong. Heat and cold help joints, relax muscles, and reduce inflammation but keeping them applied is rough and the relief doesn’t always last. Doctors prescribe anti-depressants, anti-anxiety, and sometimes even anti-epileptic medication to help manage pain, but everyone’s mileage with those varies. And I’m not at all qualified to talk in-depth about narcotics or other heavy duty pain-meds, but suffice to say the war on drugs fucked shit up for people that legit need that kind of help BIG TIME.

Now for my closer/bonus rant about EDS and Disability Writing in General!

Everyone always says write what you know, so if you really want to do disabled people justice, get to know disabled people! Make friends with disabled people, get involved with advocacy groups, consume content made by disabled creators both about disability and not! Disabilities are so fucking diverse, even EDS is such a complex disorder, and comes with so many potential co-morbidities, that practically everyone with it has a unique experience. There’s no way I can fully explain everything in a tumblr post. Hell, even if I could talk to you for hours probably couldn’t give you enough info to answer all your questions (especially since I’m still in diagnosis hell :,) ), so talk to a wide range of people with EDS and other disabilities!! I know it sounds like a lot of work but trust me, disabled people are some of the strongest, raddest, coolest, people you will ever meet that it won’t feel like it.

And don’t be afraid either, the fact that EDS and other disabilities are so wildly varied means that you have a little bit of wiggle room with your character’s experience. There’s so little disability rep out their I think people are WAY to scared to try their hand at writing it. So long as your character is a fully developed person in addition to being disabled, you give some logical thought as to how it would affect their life, and you don’t make their disability the butt of any joke it isn’t difficult to avoid ableist writing. PLEASE WRITE MORE DISABLED PEOPLE AND PEOPLE WITH CHRONIC PAIN/CHRONIC ILLNESS!!

Okay that’s it, again sorry it took so long for me to get back to you! My fingers were being little pests about it, and my ADHD (which is honestly more disabling than everything else a lot of the time lmao) was being an asshole! Hope this helps, and feel free to ask me more questions if you need clarification! It might take me a bit but I do love talking about this stuff.

[shutupandshipit]

Sharpen your blades - Ch.3

Summary: “What the fuck is that supposed to mean?”

The thinning of Aizawa’s patience was evident in the twitching of his brow. “If you stop asking questions, maybe I could finish explaining.

”With a huff and roll of his eyes, Katsuki glanced away from their coach.

“City Hall and the SC want us to give them more variety. We are a team solely made up of single skaters. Every year, we dominate the rankings for single skate while Shinketsu dominates the pairs, so this year both cities are being required to split their skaters evenly between singles and pairs with at least one pair coming from out top five.” There was a collective intake of breath, but no one commented, choosing instead to remain silent. “Unfortunately, for us, it’s a lot easier to switch from pairs to singles. With our male to female ratio, alpha/beta/omega ratio, and those of you actually experienced with pair skating, we’re at a disadvantage. So, I’ve decided to choose your partners for you.”

…..

Or where Katsuki and Izuku are forced to be partners so they can continue to compete, but the blood in the water may be thicker than anyone realized.

Pairing: Bakudeku

Rating: T

Chapter: 3/20

Previously <- Chapter 2: Refusal

Chapter 4: Fear -> Next

Author’s Note: Sorry, I 100% forgot to post yesterday, but I’m only a day late. Enjoy!

Chapter 3: Training

Izuku was still in bed when his mom tapped on his door. After his injury and the subsequent surgeries, he rarely left his room unless he was going to school, physical therapy, or struggling through his chores. His hip, ankle and wrist were all weak, and his doctors still weren’t sure when or if he’d be able to do anything more than a fast walk.

Tearing his eyes from the video of Katsuki’s latest first place performance, he said, “Come in.”

Inko’s dark head poked around the door, an uncertain smile gracing her lips. “Hey, baby, there’s some people here to see you. I don’t know if you’re up for visitors.

With a grunt, Izuku pushed himself up against his headboard. “Who is it?” he asked, running a hand through his unruly curls.

“They say they’re coaches, and there’s a doctor with them. Um, Toshinori and Aizawa?”

Izuku almost swallowed his tongue. Through his choking, he gasped, “Like Toshinori Yagi and Aizawa Shouta?” He tossed back his sheets only to realize that he was still in his pajamas that were several days old, sweat stained and wrinkled. Then his eyes jumped up to the walls of his room, papered from one end to the other with posters of Toshinori when he’d still been skating competitively. There was a singular embarrassing photo of him and Aizawa the single time they’d partnered for a showcase.

What made it embarrassing wasn’t the fact that it was on his wall, but the fact that it was a blurry screenshot blown up to the point that it was almost unrecognizable.

“They can’t come in here!”

“Then come out here. They’re having tea right now.”

“I-I-” Izuku tried to think of an excuse, a reason not to see them. There was no reason two of the Skating Commission’s top coaches should be in his home. Why would they waste their time talking to someone as broken as him? He didn’t want to hear anything they had to say when they saw just how bad he was. He didn’t want to see the looks on their faces.

He frowned at the black mood that started to creep over him as it often did since his injury, sapping his energy and life until he felt barely human at all. When he glanced up, there were blue eyes looking at him over Inko’s head. Squeaking, he scrambled for his blankets.

Inko released a very similar noise to her omega son when she glanced around. Pushing into the room in a desperate attempt to get away from the hulking alpha, she left the door open.

Toshinori raised a placating hand, smiling. “Sorry, sorry, I didn’t mean to surprise you, just came to check. My name is Toshinori Yagi.”

“I know,” Izuku whispered before he realized that it might have sounded rude, cheeks heating as he glanced around the room at all his figure skating paraphernalia. He swallowed, sucking down a mouthful of the alpha’s sweet pound cake scent. He'd thought the blogs had been lying about his scent, and his mind reeled with this new information. “I’m just… not sure why you’re here.”

The smile never left Toshinori’s face. “Please, come out and we’ll explain. Chiyo would like to take a look at you as well.”

Izuku swallowed again, eyes wide as he stared. “Like Shuzeji Chiyo? The famous sports medicine doctor that put you back on the ice? Why…” He stopped, taking in Toshinori’s face again. Biting his lip, he shuffled to the edge of the bed and slowly eased his legs onto the floor. Inko immediately passed him his cane, and he grunted as he leaned into it heavily. “Okay. I’ll come out.”

Inko trailed closely behind him, ready to catch him if he stumbled. He could feel the burn of Toshinori’s eyes as he passed, and he couldn’t help the flush that colored his cheeks. He loved his mom, adored her more than anything else in the world, but at that moment, he felt a twinge of animosity rise from the black pool in his chest. He wished she wouldn’t shadow him like a just born calf, didn’t care half as much as she did.

He dismissed that thought as soon as he had it. Without his mother, he didn’t want to imagine where he’d be. Dead in a ditch probably.

It was slow going to the chairs that Inko had set out across the coffee table from the couch. Their couch wasn’t made for three bodies to sit on, but their visitors seemed to be comfortable enough as Izuku eased himself down into a chair. He didn’t release his cane, but instead held it more tightly as he glanced from the exhausted looking Aizawa Shouta to the ever chipper Shuzenji Chiyo and finally to the similarly sunny yet nervous Toshinori Yagi.

“Um, hello,” he murmured awkwardly after a moment, reaching out a hand, “I’m Midoriya Izuku. I’m sorry to be so forward, but I’m not really sure why you are all here.”

“Thought it was obvious,” Aizawa said, voice deep and deeply uninterested in the proceedings, “We’re here to recruit you for Yuuei’s newest generation of skaters. All we need is a yes or a no.”

Izuku’s hand tightened, knuckles going white. He glanced from one passive face to the next. “The doctors said I’d never skate again. They don’t even think I’ll be able to run again.” Biting at the inside of his cheek, he did his best to force back the heat pressing in at his eyes.

Shuzenji's smile widened. “That’s why I’m here, young man. I’ve gotten skaters with some rather nasty injuries back on the ice. Take Toshinori for example. Do you have your x-rays over the course of your recovery? And the first. I’d like to take a look if you don’t mind.”

“Of course!” Inko said before Izuku could even look at her. She jumped up from her seat and hurried down the hall to her room.

“Why is Yuuei looking for a new skating team? They already have one with a lot of really strong skaters.”

“Right,” Toshinori said, jumping into the conversations before Aizawa could answer, “but a lot of them are nearing the end of their competitive careers or are planning to go solo. Within the next ten years or sooner, all of them will be officially retired from the competitive circuit. So, we have to start training the next generation to take their places.”

Inko returned with a thick manila folder, and Shuzenji jumped down to take her into the kitchen where there was better light.

Izuku was quiet for a moment, listening to the quiet murmur of the two women. “So, why me? Even if I can skate again, it’s going to take a long time before I can compete again. I’m not even sure how you found me. My recent track record hasn’t been good.”

“Which is fine because we’re really interested in the team as competitors for senior divisions, not juniors. Yes, there was a decline in your performance over the past two years, but before that, you and your partner were making remarkable headway as competitors. We’d already had our eye on you two, and we were disappointed when you didn’t get a chance to go singles. We’ve already talked to Bakugou, and he’s agreed to join us.”

Izuku flinched at the mention of Katsuki, seeing all over again the look of horror and disgust on his face as Izuku lay broken on the ice just before he passed out. “I’m not skating pairs again. I want to skate singles.”

“That’s what Bakugou said as well,” Aizawa said, sitting forward to lace his fingers between his knees, “Good thing we’re only looking for singles. Yuuei isn’t known for pairs. One day, we might include them, but for the time being, there’s no reason to.”

“Good news, young man, I believe you’ll be able to get back on the ice by year’s end provided we change and increase your physical therapy,” Shuzenji called as she came back out of the kitchen, Inko trailing behind with tears wetting her cheeks. “Even if it’s not by the end of your year, you’ll definitely be able to skate again. Your breaks were a little messy and your dislocations bad, but everything seems to be healing well. Your doctors just have you doing the wrong kind of therapy. It’ll be hard work, but I have no doubt you can get through it.”

Swallowing, Izuku met Aizawa’s and Toshinori’s eyes again. “Okay. I’ll do it.”

…..

October Week 2

The music cut off suddenly. Izuku stumbled across the ice, toe pick catching and sending him sprawling.

“Midoriya,” Todoroki said, at his elbow in a moment with his peculiar snow and orchid scent.

Izuku accepted the helping hand, panting hard as sweat dripped down the side of his face and neck. He wiped at it with the sleeve of his shirt, dropping his hands to his knees.

“Maybe you should take a break. You haven’t stopped moving since we started, and you feel warmer than normal. Are you about to start your heat? You shouldn’t be on ice if you’re in pre-heat.”

Perceptive Todoroki, or maybe it was just an omega thing. Either way, Izuku quickly shook his head. Actually, when Izuku had looked at the figure skating calendar taped to his fridge, he’d been surprised to not only find that today was the start of week two of training, but also that there was a red line stretching for seven days into the third week of October. Izuku had immediately popped a suppressant, and went about his day.

He couldn’t be focussing on anything other than training. He just didn’t have the time.

“No, I’m fine. Just tired. This routine is going to be hard.” Izuku smiled up at his friend, but Todoroki’s mismatched eyes looked skeptical at best.

They stood up straight as Aizawa’s voice echoed through the rink. “That’s it for today. Pack up and get out, or don’t. I don’t care. We’re in the studio tomorrow. Don’t be late, or Nemuri isn’t going to be happy.” He turned from the rink entrance, striding away and not giving them time to ask him any questions.

The team met on ice only three times a week, in the studio twice for off ice training, and once at a nearby track for cardio and calisthenics. When they trained together, it was never more than three hours long. Any other training they did was on their own around jobs and college. Aizawa had supplied them with keys to the rink -perks of being the city’s official skating team-, but as far as he knew, Izuku was the only one who actively practiced every single day and often multiple times a day.

Izuku and Todoroki glided smoothly to the entrance with the rest of their teammates, but where the rest grabbed their guards and chattered loudly about classes and work and ‘I’m never going to get that jump down before December!’, Izuku remained on ice. “Chako, can you hand me my headphones and cell?”

Uraraka glanced over at him, cheeks flushed more pink than normal. “You’re not coming? We were going to get ramen. Just us omega.”

“Ah, no, I’m going to stay here a little longer. There’s still some things I wanted to go over.”

With a sigh, she reached into his bag behind her, easily finding the items along with the suppressants he kept in a plastic bag in case of emergencies. She stared at the pills, eyebrows pulling together as she frowned.

“Just vitamins!” he said too quickly and too loudly, leaning over the wall to grab his cell and headphones, “Thanks! Have a good time at ramen! I’ll see you guys tomorrow!” Shoving the buds into his ears and away from the wall, he slid back toward center ice where he stood to fiddle with his playlists.

Besides skating, he didn’t really do much else. He ran a figure skating blog where he posted videos of his own routines and lessons on how to perform different techniques and jumps. He also posted analyses on the wider skating world or particularly interesting foot work from other ice sports, ice skating events taking place across the globe, figure skaters’ costumes, ice skates, and so on. If it had anything to do with figure skating or putting blade to ice, it would inevitably end up on his blog one way or another. He earned enough from the blog to cover his living expenses and put some into savings. Everything else was covered by the wildly popular figure skating podcast he co-hosted where he got a kickback from the sponsorship deals and whatever merchandise they were able to sell. Since Izuku had also started helping with merchandise designs and marketing, they’d started to actually sell out of things.

One day, if Toshinori and Aizawa ever agreed, he wanted to be the first to write the autobiography detailing their brief yet bright partnership.

It only took the rest of the team ten minutes to clear out of the rink. Before the doors slammed closed, his friends called, “Bye, Deku! See you tomorrow! Go home soon!”

He waved his own goodbye. With a sigh of relief, he pressed play.

It was only when Izuku was alone on ice late at night with music in his ears and losing track of time that he was well and truly happy. With the others on ice, there was always the looming black cloud, the sense of dread, the reminder that Katsuki would be back from his rut sooner rather than later and at some point it would have to be him and Katsuki on ice together again. He didn’t hate the thought, but he did hate the anxiety it invoked within him.

Pushing away everything bad floating around in his chest, Izuku allowed himself to just enjoy the monotony of practice. One technique at a time. One song at a time. One leg at a time. The hours fell away, and outside, the sky fell dark.

He wasn’t sure how much time had passed when he caught a flash of blond hair, broad shoulders covered in black and an orange bag out of the corner of his eye. He stumbled out of his spin and hit the ice, the impact jarring straight up his spine. Scrambling, he looked toward the rink entrance just in time to catch the double doors clicking softly closed.

The timer on his phone to switch techniques chimed.

…..

Katsuki let out an explosive sigh as he stepped out of his apartment building, breath pluming in the chilly night air.

Katsuki hated his ruts. Realistically, if the laws allowed him to, he could be a functioning member of everyday society during his ruts, at least he thought so. No one seemed to agree with him. Not his mother, his father or any of his friends. For some reason, they all seemed to think Katsuki had violent enough ruts to destroy his apartment. None of them had ever seen his apartment after a rut, and they never would as long as he had a say, not with the lingering scent of desperation and sex clinging to the walls.

His ruts weren’t violent, but they were boring as hell.

Adjusting his skating bag across his back and tightening the strap across his chest, he took off at a sharp clip towards the rink. He didn’t live far which he’d done on purpose rather than by accident. The nerd lived in the same building for the same reason. Katsuki should know, he’d been the one to discreetly leave a flyer with the words “Within walking distance of the famous Yuuei skating rink” bolded across the front in Izuku’s bag just before they’d graduated high school.

For an entire week, Katsuki was cooped up in his small one bedroom apartment. He wasted away the hours working out, cleaning incessantly, and binging hours of figure skating videos for inspiration for his own routines.

Katsuki had to deal with the typical rut related issues like getting hard every hour and the insistent heat that lived rent free beneath his skin that only made him feel like he was sweating to death. Even with all of his apartment windows thrown wide to invite in the plummeting autumn air, he left damp palm prints on everything . It was fucking maddening. The near painful erections that he ignored for as long as possible and the even more painful orgasms that followed were the bane of his existence. He did pretty much everything to avoid having to touch himself until there was literally no way around it.

The cold stung his lungs, and he inhaled greedily. His muscles, despite being exhausted from the long week, warmed quickly to the familiarity of running.

Here was the thing, Katsuki was a fully functioning adult male who enjoyed sex and the occasional jerk session as much as the next, but during his ruts, each orgasm just heaped disappointment on him and made him more irritable than he already would have been.

He wasn’t an aggressive rutter by any means -no torn bedding or holes in pillows or cracked plaster walls-, but that didn’t mean he enjoyed them. He would have dealt with them better if he was allowed on the ice.

There were suppressants he could use with various effects. To make his ruts shorter, happen only twice a year compared to four, eradicate them completely. Beside the host of physical side effects, he’d seen first hand what they’d done to Izuku. He wasn’t ashamed to say he wanted nothing to do with them.

Katsuki dug out the keys Aizawa had given him as he neared the rink, pulling off his gloves with his teeth one after the other. He didn’t normally practice late at night. It was easier to practice early in the morning to accommodate the rest of his schedule; training with the team, his modelling gig, the classes he taught for young athletes, and his own schooling. It wasn’t normal for him to practice at night, but he was making an exception. He wouldn’t be able to sleep even if he tried. Not literally right after his rut ended.

When he stepped through the double doors to the rink, he wasn’t expecting to find the rink lights still on and the smooth sound of blades biting into ice.

Doing his best not to be seen, he looked out onto the ice.

Wild green curls and elegant movements greeting him. Izuku moved on the ice like he’d been born skating. Even though he was gliding in a simple circle, round and round with one foot held off the ice in front of him, he was mesmerizing. His eyes were downcast, expression soft and lax as the quiet sound of his humming filled the rink.

To this day, Katsuki had never seen another skater who moved like Izuku. Moved like the ice was their true home. Moved like no one was watching him.

Except that everyone always had their eyes on Izuku. Toshinori, Aizawa, their teammates, Katsuki…

He wanted to hate it, wanted to hate how drawn he always was to Izuku, but he’d come to accept that it was impossible. Even a decade later after his injury, even seventeen years after they set foot on the ice for the first time, even nineteen years after they first met, Katsuki still couldn’t manage to hate it.

He turned back toward the door.

[strawberriestyles]

Chapter 11

(Banner made by sweet sunshine @harry-nofookingway-styles​)

Harry X OFC (AU)

Sequel to Brutality: In which Melody and Harry must relearn how to navigate one another among a flurry of changes.

Read previous parts here.

Author’s note: Heyyyyyaaaaaaa. I’m going to be honest with y’all. I have not been working on this story like I should have since I started posting. That being said, I do have a few more chapters completed but then things get a littleeeeee fuzzy bc I’ve been slacking. I’m going to try to keep up with the posting schedule I have rn, but if that doesn’t work out, please forgive me. I may need to pause for a few weeks to stack up some more chapters. BUT CROSS YOUR FINGERS I GET MY SHIT TOGETHER. As always, please like and reblog and leave me an ask if you can. :’) When you’re done reading, I would love for you guys to go find a petition you haven’t signed yet. All of my love. Xx

Melody still had nightmares. Horrible ones. Awful, haunting dreams that pressed at the edges of reality, blurring lines between sleeping and waking. But they somehow became less constant and more bearable within the next few weeks. Whether it was due to Harry’s constant, tender touches as she fell asleep every night, or to the ugly, unartistic paintings and incoherent writing she’d forced out, there were no clues. She thought Harry deserved the credit, but he thought it could be a mix of both.

Early snow dusted the city like powdered sugar, lightly enough to look pretty without making traffic a mess. Melody felt the cold dampen her mood, but Harry only seemed to brighten at the prospect of a blizzard warning. Snow dazzled him. Despite everything he’d experienced in his relatively short life, somehow winter had always remained a sort of sanctuary for him. And he’d softened himself toward everyone as a result.

“Ugh, do I have to go?” Melody asked aloud when she reentered the bedroom to find him laid out on her bed. He looked so cozy and warm in a pair of sweats with his hair mussed atop his head. She bent over him to plant a chaste kiss to his lips.

“No,” Harry said, “yeh don’.”

She smiled ruefully and stole another soft kiss from him. “Yes, I do.”

“Yeh don’ have to. Could stay here with me.”

“Harry.” Melody accepted his return kisses as he sat himself up, swinging his legs over the edge of the mattress.

“Melody.” He ran a thumb over the curve of her chin and sighed.

“I need to go. Please, be nice to Bea.”

“Always am.”

“Sure you are.” She pressed her lips to his one final time and let them linger a few moments too long, until she felt his fingers sneaking around the back of her neck. If she let him touch her too much she’d end up late to her own match. “Okay, I’m leaving,” she insisted as she backed away. “I’m going. Bye.”

Harry watched her slip out of the room, collecting her gym bag on the way. He was relieved that she hadn’t told him she loved him. Every time he heard the words on her tongue he felt his very organs shift, felt them contort and fold in on themselves. He would never, ever tell her the way it made him feel, but he hoped that eventually, when he still wasn’t saying it back, she might just let the sentiment die. Wishful thinking, perhaps.

“Let’s go, Harry!” Bea called from the living room.

He sighed as he rose to his feet and lumbered out of the bedroom, his cane clicking on the hardwood. The door to the apartment closed before he made it past the threshold of the room. It was only him and Bea left. There was still an awkward air between them, but it was beginning to thin. Harry thought it was because of his help with Melody’s nightmares. He didn’t like the idea that Bea had ever thought he’d be useless in a situation like that. He didn’t like that doing the bare minimum to comfort Melody had somehow made Bea more open to him.

“You don’t look enthused.”

“I don��� like to bullshit,” Harry responded.

Bea grinned. She patted the cushion beside her and waited for him to sit. She didn’t seem bothered that he sat farther from her than necessary.

“Aren’t you wondering what we’re gonna watch?” Bea asked.

Harry shrugged. “Not really.”

“What if I picked a chick flick?”

“Then I’d just fall asleep.”

“You’re not falling asleep tonight,” Bea stated. “We’re watching The Silence of the Lambs.”

Harry’s lack of reaction seemed to deflate her. She clicked a button on the remote and the opening credits of the film began to roll.

“I have no clue how you’re with someone who writes and paints,” Bea murmured.

“If yeh figure it out, let me know.”

The pair lapsed into silence as the movie started. And didn’t even exchange a glance when Queenie appeared, curling up on the cushion between them.

Bea paused after a bit to take a call from Josie and microwave a bag of popcorn, and when she returned she found her cat sprawled across Harry’s lap, purring loudly, much to Harry’s chagrin. She had to consciously stop herself from spitting out laughter. Instead, she sat back in her seat and slid the bowl of popcorn into the spot that Queenie had abandoned.

***

“That was fucked up,” Harry eventually said, when the end credits of the movie had been rolling for a few minutes.

“Yes.”

“He wore the guy’s face.”

“He eats people. I feel like that’s the more fucked up of the two.”

Harry shook his limbs, as though he could expel the disturbing parts of the movie from his memory. Queenie, who hadn’t moved since she settled into his lap, took unkindly to his movement, stretched to the floor, and bounded into Bea’s bedroom.

“Glad Melody didn’t watch this one.”

Bea drew in a deep breath and shook her head. “Melody loves scary movies,” she informed him. "But that’s because she knows they’re not real. She’s not—It’s different when you live it, right?”

Harry fell silent. Whether she agreed or not, he was the one that had dragged Melody into a horror film of her own. Now she could barely sleep in her own bed because of his brother. And he didn’t know how else he could help, how else he could ward off the monsters.

“Speak of the devil,” Bea said as she caught sight of Harry’s phone, where it buzzed on the coffee table. “Mel” was spelled across the screen. Harry leaned forward to answer the call and bring the phone to his ear.

“Hi.”

“Hey, man.”

Sean’s voice sounded muffled and uneasy. Harry felt himself stiffen almost immediately, and his body language conveyed something to Bea. She unfolded her legs to place her feet flat on the floorboards.

“Wha’s wrong?”

“Why does something have to be wrong?”

“Because yeh’re callin’ me from Melody’s phone and yeh sound like yeh’re about to get in trouble. Don’ fuck with me.”

There was a brief hiccup of a chuckle on the other end of the line. It was a nervous sound. Harry didn’t like it one bit.

“Uh, she lost her match.” Sean cleared his throat before he went on. “She’s about to get an X-ray of her torso done right now. I’m sure it’s just—”

“Fuckin’ Christ, Sean! Yeh could’ve led with that.” Harry was already on his feet, reaching for the arm of the sofa to keep his balance when he realized he was forgetting his cane. He doubled back and waved off Bea’s desperate vie for information.

“She’s probably fine!” Sean defended. “I don’t think she broke anything or she would’ve been a little more hysterical.”

“For fuck’s sake. I’ll be there in fifteen.”

Harry hung up before Sean could respond. “She’s gettin’ X-rays at the hospital,” he spat at Bea, who was following him around and demanding to know what was going on. “Might have a broken rib or somethin’.”

So much for this strange bonding experience that Melody had insisted on. It felt more like something sorority sisters might do on the weekends than anything else, anyway. And Harry didn’t wait for Bea as he hobbled down the complex stairs, struggling into a jacket while supporting himself with his cane. But somehow she ended up in the cab with him, and their mutual silence felt unifying.

***

“Floor two,” the woman at the lobby’s desk said. Harry was already crossing to the elevators, so she nearly shouted the room number to him. Bea, despite being in perfect health, had to rush to keep up with him. Her curls bounced with every hurried step.

“Harry, I’m sure she’s okay.” She tugged the zipper down on her jacket as they waited for an elevator and tried to catch her breath. This felt like exercise, and Bea hated exercise. “Not that you shouldn’t be worried,” she continued, “but don’t act like she’s on the brink of death. She’s used to injuries.”

Harry snorted humorlessly. Melody didn’t know what injuries were. She told him once that she’d never been to the hospital for herself. It was always a cousin giving birth or her father getting stitches. She had never split her skin open far enough to get stitched up herself, or been hit so hard that her insides were bleeding, or snapped a bone.

There was a musical ding as an elevator reached the ground floor. Harry didn’t wait for the family on it to exit before he shouldered past them and jammed his thumb into the button for the second story. Bea was more patient. She allowed everyone out before she stepped in beside Harry and watched him smash the button to close the elevator doors. It was almost endearing to see him so concerned, but it was also too intense for her tastes.

There was no elevator music to lull the pair of them. They waited in silence until they reached the floor that Melody was on and then navigated through the halls quickly until they found the correct room number. Sean was just inside the door.

“Ah, I thought you’d gotten lost or—”

“Fuck you,” Harry snapped as he stepped past his friend. Melody was laying in a hospital bed. This setting was so familiar to Harry, but with the roles reversed, it felt like he was having a nightmare of his own.

“You don’t have to be rude to him, you know,” Melody muttered.

She had an awful, swelling bruise on her forehead, so close to her temple that it could’ve made Harry sick. She was in a sports bra, and for the first time he noticed Vanessa, who was meticulously wrapping up Melody’s ribcage.

“‘S not broken?” was the first thing Harry said.

“No,” Vanessa answered.

“Bruised.” Sean took a step forward, trying to insert himself back into the conversation that he had been ejected from. “She was doing really well and then—”

“I don’ wanna hear from you,” Harry interrupted. Melody rolled her eyes. Sean sighed.

“Fine, I guess I’ll go home,” he said. “I’ll let Goodman know you’re out for at least a month.”

Melody’s eyes widened and when she moved, the pressure on her ribs made her flinch. “A month?”

“At least,” Sean repeated.

“It’s a bruise.”

“‘S a bruised rib, Melody,” Harry snapped.

Sean left without any goodbyes. Bea leaned up against the wall where he’d been standing and lifted an eyebrow. “Thought you had defenses like a brick wall,” she teased.

“Shut up,” Melody mumbled as Vanessa finished her work. The room fell silent.

“Do you want some ice for your face?” Vanessa asked eventually, when Melody had been avoiding everyone’s eyes and the rest of them were sick of looking at each other.

“No, I can just—”

“Yes, she’ll take some ice,” Harry cut in.

“You tend to interrupt people,” Melody informed him. She laid back gently against the pillows that had been propped up behind her. “Have you noticed?”

Bea snorted. “Pretty sure he does it on purpose,” she said before wandering out of the room. Vanessa glanced between Harry and Melody and then followed Bea. The tension that had already filled the air seemed to thicken, settling over the two of them like an unnavigable fog. Harry sliced through it first.

“This is why I don’ want yeh fighting,” he said.

“You’re such a hypocrite, Harry,” she muttered. Then her voice rose. “If you were still in the ring you’d be getting injured, too. And I—”

Harry ignored the sting that he felt, the knowledge that he couldn’t box in his current condition. What if she wasn’t able to write? These days it seemed just that she didn’t want to, but if she wasn’t able to, wouldn’t she feel this same sort of despair? “Mel, yeh bruised your fuckin’ rib.” He took a step further into the room. “A little more pressure and it breaks. A little less luck and it punctures a fuckin’ lung and yeh’re chokin’ on blood. These are not just injuries. Yeh didn’ just fall off a bike and scrape your knee.”

Melody paused. She didn’t know how to respond. That sounded like her own fears spit back in her face. A half inch to the left and that bullet would’ve killed you.

“Are you going to keep yelling?”

“‘M not fuckin’ yelling. Do yeh want me to yell?” Harry’s brows knitted together and he shook his head. “What did yeh expect, me to lay down next to yeh and tell yeh ‘m so glad yeh’re okay? ‘S not happenin’. Think I’ve made my feelings pretty clear when it comes to this.”

“Actually, I didn’t expect anything. I didn’t want to call you.” Melody licked her lips as she studied the anger etched into the lines of Harry’s face, and then the minuscule shift as he realized that Sean was on his side. At least in this moment. “It comes with being a boxer,” she said after a pause. “You told me that once.”

Harry sighed. “Yeh’re not a fuckin’ boxer, Mel. Yeh’re a writer. Yeh’re a painter.”

“I can be whatever the fuck I want to be, Harry. And you’re not going to tell me what that is.”

His features hardened for a moment and then he glanced out the window. There was snow falling, slowly and gently, without the force of the brutal wind that would arrive in the coming weeks. It was so peaceful out there, and Harry wondered how he’d let himself become so resentful.

He stared outside for a few long minutes and then let his eyes wander back to Melody, who was already picking absentmindedly at the wrappings of her ribcage. His legs were growing weary and he was on the verge of needing to sit. Melody glanced up when she felt the weight of his gaze.

“Can we go home now?” she asked, and her voice was so soft, so at odds with the way she’d spoken her last sentence, that Harry could feel himself physically jarred by the shift.

“I can’ help yeh walk,” he said, though the words tasted like acid. “Yeh’re gonna need Bea and I dunno where she went off to.”

Melody chewed on her lower lip. She felt guilty for the short argument they’d had, and she could see that same feeling reflected back at her. The match had tired her out, her bruised rib hurt with every expansive breath. In vain, tears began to collect at the corners of her reddening eyes.

“Don’,” Harry said, taking a shaky step forward. He could sense the shift even before he saw her chin trembling. “Please, don’.”

“I’m not, I’m not,” she murmured, pressing her fingers to her eyelids, as if they could keep the water back like a dam. “Uh, how was the movie?”

“It was good,” Harry assured her, surprising himself. He hadn’t known that he enjoyed it until then, when he was put on the spot. Bea appeared like she’d been summoned.

“I heard that!” she nearly shouted. “He liked it!” Then her eyes fell to Melody and her snide grin tipped into a frown. “Why are you crying?”

“I’m not crying,” Melody said with a discrete sniffle. “Can someone ask Vanessa if we can leave?”

“She said you just need to take it easy for a few weeks.” Bea shuffled past Harry and pried Melody’s hands from her face. “Which means no training.”

“Perfect,” Melody mumbled. She allowed Bea to begin shifting her out of the bed, gently twisting her limbs, trying not to tweak her rib. Harry had to lower himself into the chair a few feet from where he had been standing to give his legs some relief.

“The wraps are just for you to get home.” Bea paused as Melody bit back a whimper, waiting for her to straighten her torso. “And she’s hooking you up with some pain meds.”

“Yeh’ll need ‘em,” Harry muttered. He stood back up as the girls made their way toward the door. They were a conspicuous group, with a cane, a wrapped ribcage, and shuffling footsteps. Eyes followed them through the halls, all the way to a cab.

***

Melody’s lips grew white as Harry helped her out of her wrappings. She screwed her eyes shut and her fingertips curled into his knee.

“Okay,” he whispered as he tugged the final loop of fabric loose, leaving her skin bare. The sight of her flesh made him hiss. “Who the fuck hit yeh, the Hulk?”

“Mmm.”

Harry pressed a hand to her cheek. Her skin was hot, damp, and he could feel her jaw twitching, like she might be grinding her teeth. Her breathing was shallow.

“Let’s get yeh some o’ those painkillers, yeah?”

“No, I’m okay,” she whispered, though her voice shook.

“Mel.” He pressed a kiss to one of her closed eyes. “I’ve had a bruised rib before.”

She didn’t respond. He heard her try to take a deeper breath and then felt her neck quiver beneath his fingertips. She shook with the effort of stifling a cough.

“Don’ do that.” He pressed her backward and she gasped, clinging to his arm and letting out an agonized sob at the sharp intake of breath. “‘M sorry,” he rushed. “Love, ‘m sorry. Just sit back for me.”

She let him lower her away from him, eyes still squeezed shut and chin beginning to tremble like it had in the hospital. Her eyelashes were wet and Harry touched his forehead to hers. “Okay?”

“No.”

He let out a short huff of acknowledgment and then lifted the pillow from beside them, holding it tenderly to her chest as he leaned back. “If yeh need to cough just hold this to your chest. ’S still gonna hurt but it’ll be better.”

There was a pause before she wrapped her arms around the pillow and sputtered out a few gentle coughs. Her eyelids fluttered, nails biting into her palms, lips curling into her mouth.

“Melody, yeh don’ have to pretend yeh’re not in fuckin’ pain,” Harry told her, pressing a hard kiss to her cheekbone. He brushed hair away from her forehead, carefully avoiding her bruise, and then used his thumb to pry her lips back into place before kissing them. “Not on my account. ‘M sorry I got angry. I don’ want yeh to fight. But if yeh’re hurtin’ like this ‘m not just gonna tell yeh to suck it up.”

Harry stroked her ear and her tensed facial muscles began to relax. Her lips parted. She opened her eyes to glance up at him and almost immediately let them fall closed again as she began to cry.

“Okay, okay,” he mumbled. He didn’t know whether it was for her or for himself. And he didn’t know if her tears were solely from the pain or for another reason entirely.

The mattress shifted despite his best efforts as Harry climbed off the bed. He hurried into the kitchen, gathering Melody’s prescription, a glass of water, and an ice pack. He almost didn’t even realize he’d forgotten his cane until he was laying himself down beside Melody, who had pulled the pillow up to cover the bottom half of her face, stifling her shallow sobs. But this wasn’t a moment to celebrate.

“All right, love, take some o’ these.” He shook out a few pills and reached across her for the glass he’d put on the night table. She lowered the pillow enough to toss the meds back and swallow a gulp of water, but Harry had to tug it from her grip so he could position the ice atop her angry, swelling bruise. Somehow, he’d finagled her bra over her head before attempting to unwrap her, and her breasts erupted in goosebumps at the cold touch.

“It fucking hurts,” she whimpered out.

“I know, I know.” Harry settled his hand over the ice pack, pressing his lips to Melody’s shoulder. “Give the pills a little bit o’ time.”

He fell silent and stroked her wrist with his free hand until her tears began to ebb. The clock read one in the morning. Bea had gone to bed as soon as they’d gotten home because she needed to work on a group project the next morning. Harry was beginning to feel tired himself, and he couldn’t imagine how exhausted Melody was.

“Just one problem after another,” he finally said. “Just can’ seem to catch a break, can we?”

“Wouldn’t life be so boring?”

He chuckled against her skin. “Just a little break would be nice, though.”

Melody didn’t respond. Her shallow breathing was beginning to slow. Harry kissed her cheek to check that she was truly asleep before he removed the ice pack from her side and very carefully covered her with the sheets. And he hoped that the rest of her healing would pass more smoothly than this first night.

Chapter 12

[pronouncingitwang]

post-S3 to S4 wtgfs | 4.1K words | intended for @tmagirlsweek but I got busy

1.

On a bad arthritis day a few years ago, after Georgie had failed one too many times to open a beer can at her kitchen counter, Melanie had winced, reached down under her skirt, and handed Georgie a sizable penknife. “I’ve never really been a fan of pepper spray,” she’d said before Georgie could ask, looking almost shy about it, and, “Yes, I keep it there all the time. Don’t tell Andy, he’ll freak.” And so Georgie learned that 1. getting a knife’s point under a metal tab and then bracing your forearm against the handle takes a lot of pressure off your thumb, and 2. seeing your friend of a few months (who has apparently been hiding a knife under her clothes this whole time) laughing as a metal tab hits her in the face is something that might make you think about kissing her. Apparently, seeing your friend-with-occasional-benefits of a few years sitting in your ex’s hospital room with a Polaroid camera around her neck can do the same thing, even if it also gives you a lump in your throat.

Georgie’s known for the last month that her visiting hours would have to overlap with Melanie’s eventually, but knowing and seeing are not the same thing. When you know something, you can practice various appropriately neutral “Hi, Melanie”s in your mirror. When you see something, all your planning goes out the window, and you blurt out instead, “Is that a knife strapped to your thigh, or are you happy to see me?”

Melanie doesn’t laugh at the joke, which makes sense. Her eyes are red-rimmed, and Georgie can see the moment the surprise in them hardens into something else. When she speaks, her voice sounds rough, like each syllable is being dragged across a whetstone on its way up her throat. “Knife. Obviously.”

Georgie tells herself not to react, to focus on Melanie’s words instead of her tone. Not being happy to see someone in Melanie’s set of circumstances is understandable, and Melanie’s not wrong about the “obviously”—her long skirt is wrapped twice around her legs, so tight that it must be restricting movement, and the outline of a blade is more than clear against the thin fabric. The Melanie Georgie is used to wouldn’t have displayed a weapon so boldly; but then, the Melanie Georgie is used to also wouldn’t have left her a voicemail about how Sarah Baldwin and being trapped in The Magnus Institute was “all your fault!” followed by a one-word apology text, followed by two months of ghosting, so perhaps Georgie needs to amend her expectations.

“Hi, Melanie,” Georgie says, practice finally deciding to kick in. “Are you… are you alright?”

“What, that bad?” Melanie replies. Her hair is longer than Georgie remembers, dark roots now grown out to the same length as the red-dyed strands on the bottom. Georgie thinks she would like to braid it someday.

Georgie shrugs. “A bit.”

“You don’t look too good either,” Melanie says, but she gets up to offer Georgie her seat anyway. Georgie takes it silently, propping her cane against the wall. This, at least, has not changed between the two of them.

“I’ll be here for half an hour,” Georgie says, offering… parameters? warning? escape?

Something like panic crosses Melanie’s eyes, but she crosses her arms. “Me too.”

“I can ask for another chair?” No matter how quickly Melanie claims her gunshot wound had healed, standing on it for too long can’t be comfortable.

“Don’t need one.” A pause. “And stop looking at me.”

A few minutes pass, during which the only sound is of Melanie bouncing her leg. Then, her breathing, getting louder and faster. When Georgie looks up, Melanie has her face in her hands.

“Are you o—”

“You know what,” Melanie gasps, “I’ve changed my mind about the half hour.”

“I can leave, if you’d rather—”

“No,” Melanie says, shaking her head. “No, I need to go.”

“Do you need—I can squeeze you, or—”

“No, no, no, just—Don’t touch me,” Melanie growls, and then she’s out of the door and gone.

For the next half hour, Georgie eats a sandwich, reads aloud from John Keats: The Complete Poems because it’d annoy Jon if he were alive, and tries very hard not to cry.

Another half hour later, Georgie’s phone dings. The text reads, simply, “see you.”

For the first time that day, Georgie smiles.

-

2.

Georgie comes back to the hospital at the same time next week, and yes, Melanie is there. This time, there are two chairs, sat about a foot away from each other. Georgie chooses not to comment on it, but she thinks Melanie can tell she’s biting down a smile.

They make it through the pleasantries this time without too much tension. Melanie asks about the podcast, and Georgie can at least talk about that for a few minutes. She remembers they used to have conversations for hours at a time, during drinks or pillow talk or game nights with friends, but now she has no idea what they talked about. Besides work, that is—Melanie could go on for hours about the newest Ghost Hunt UK project—but that’s obviously not a safe topic anymore. They talked about TV shows maybe, or mundane day-to-day shit about their lives. It was easier before. Now, if Georgie wants to tell Melanie about what her neighbor’s daughter said yesterday, she first has to tell Melanie about her new neighbor and their dog and the other times their daughter came over to play with The Admiral, and that’s too many sentences to trail off on, especially if Melanie might not have a story to trade for hers.

They’ve gone silent long enough that Georgie is contemplating getting her book out when Melanie says, “I’ve still got that cane you let me borrow after India, if you want it back.”

There are several possibilities for what that means. One, Melanie is offering the two of them an opportunity to escape this room with its stale air and too-bright lights and engage in anything from a fight to a hookup to a hangout. Two, Melanie is trying to cut off any remaining ties or obligations to Georgie. Three, the silence was just way too awkward and this is the first thing Melanie thought of.

Georgie picks her next words carefully. “You can keep it, it’s no problem. I thought the floral decals suited you.”

Melanie makes the face she makes when she’s trying to figure out if something is a joke or not. “I suppose it really brought out the red in my eyes.”

Georgie can’t help the surge of laughter that bubbles out of her. “Sure. And… also because it’s pretty.”

They’ve done the flirty banter before, as foreplay to actual foreplay or just for fun. Georgie still has at least ten minutes of cut What the Ghost? audio where they went back and forth on “you’re so hot, you __” pick-up lines before remembering they were supposed to be talking about the Plague. In the past, Melanie returned fire with twice Georgie’s cheesiness.

This Melanie scowls. “if you don’t want it—”

“Is the cane at your flat?”

“Should be.”

“Then, sure.”

 Melanie hails them a cab outside the hospital. Georgie doesn’t quite recognize the streets it’s going down, and then she realizes that of course, after Andy left, Melanie would need to downsize.

“Good news,” Melanie says when they arrive at the building, “it’s, uh- I think it’s on the first floor.”

“You think? Don’t you live here?”

Melanie shrugs. “Technically.”

Georgie begins to understand when Melanie opens the door. Melanie’s old place wasn’t Instagram-perfect by any means, but it felt like her—deliberately nonsensical “motivational” posters, an upside-down “福” character on the living room wall, a coat hanger shaped like a tree by the entrance with a different chewable necklace dangling from each branch. Here, the walls are bare and the floor is covered in boxes. No bed, which puts one of Georgie’s theories for this outing to rest, and the space is too small for a mattress to be hiding anywhere other than a box. There’s a couch; the TV from Melanie’s old place sitting unplugged at an awkward angle on the ground; an empty bookshelf, and leaning against said bookshelf, a cane with a moderately worn tip and various rose stickers winding around the shaft. Melanie hands it over to Georgie, who takes it silently.

“So in case you haven’t guessed, I’ve been sleeping in the Archives.”

Georgie hasn’t guessed. The Magnus Institute isn’t something she allows herself to think about most days. But there is something very familiar in the sunkenness of Melanie’s cheeks right now, the grim set of her jaw, the way she scans every room she enters for hidden danger.

“And before you tell me that place is bad news, I know. Obviously.”

“Then why…?”

“I talked about it so you wouldn’t have to. Don’t make me kick you out.”

Georgie had almost made the same threat to Jon once, when he was staying with her. Jon—Jon who she cut off for reading statements and not taking care of himself and staying with his job. Georgie has a dreadful suspicion that if she examined Melanie and Jon against her so-called principles, the only substantial difference between their situations would be that she is in love with one of them and not the other. Luckily, Georgie is good at compartmentalizing.

“I understand,” Georgie says. “Do you need help with your bookshelf?”

 Later, after Melanie’s whipped out her thigh knife to cut open every box, and after Georgie’s directed her on organizing the books by size, the two of them settle on the couch. Georgie opens an old season of Bake Off on her tablet. They’d watched a few episodes together before, but since Georgie finds captions distracting and Melanie has a tendency to talk over everything, they’d both decided that watching separately and calling afterwards made more sense.

Today, Melanie is silent. As soon as the episode ends, she gets up and announces, “I’m going back to work.”

Georgie doesn’t protest, not yet. It’s too early to be sure it won’t push Melanie away. She opts instead for, “Take care of yourself.”

“I can’t make any promises,” Melanie says, and then contradicts herself immediately by saying, “See you.”

(When Georgie leaves, she leaves the rose cane.) 

-

3.

Georgie leans back in the bathtub, careful to keep her braids out of the water, and lets the warmth soak into her joints. It’s a ritual she usually performs in the morning on days that requires more physical activity than she’s used to. As for why she’s trying to increase her range of motion and discomfort tolerance on this particular day… Georgie takes an ibuprofen and elects not to think about it.

On the way to the hospital, Georgie also elects not to think about the word “hypocrite.” This is made easier by the fact that she never actually enters Jon’s room. Melanie is waiting in the doorway, looking wired in a way that makes Georgie’s heart beat faster.

“You left your extra cane at my place again,” she says, but it sounds more like a question than a factual statement.

“I suppose we’ll have to go back and get it,” Georgie answers. “If you’d like to, that is?”

Melanie sneaks a look at Georgie’s face, nods, and grabs her arm. “Let’s get out of here.”

Georgie is well aware that this is the first time they’ve touched since April. Melanie isn’t an enormously tactile person, but she used to hug people hello and goodbye. Georgie misses inhaling the scent of citrus shampoo every time Melanie ran into her, but this is a good replacement.

The two of them are silent until they reach Melanie’s flat, which Melanie’s clearly cleaned. The floor looks fresh-swept; there’s less dust everywhere; and most importantly, the mattress has been unpacked. It sits on the ground in front of them, topped with several pillows and blankets.

Melanie sits Georgie down on the couch, still gripping her by the (by now, asleep) arm, and blurts out, “I bought condoms.”

Georgie is prepared for this, wants this, but still—”Are you sure you’re in a good emotional place to—”

Melanie rolls her eyes and says, speeding through the words like she’s written them out beforehand, “Whatever you think’s happening to me, I promise you it has no interest in my sex life. If you don’t want to, fine. I have Candy Crush on my phone. There are books, you can”—Melanie affects a bad American accent and leans back—”read to me like one of your dead ex-boyfriends. You can leave, if you feel uncomfortable around me right now. Those are your decisions. But this is mine.”

“Will you still talk to me after this?”

Melanie considers, chewing on her lip. “This… won’t affect whether or not I still talk to you.”

“Are you trying to hurt yourself with this?”

“Unless you’re planning to hurt me—”

“I wouldn’t—”

“And unless you’ve forgotten what makes me feel good in the last year, then no, I’m not trying to ‘hurt myself.’ I’d say I’m doing the opposite, actually.”

Georgie knows her next question should be “Are you going to leave the Institute?”, but she also knows that the question will make Melanie pull away and the answer will force Georgie to reconsider. Georgie doesn’t want to reconsider.

“Okay.”

Melanie’s lips are as soft as Georgie remembers, a reminder that she is still here and solid and Georgie’s as long as Georgie’s touching her, holding her, loving her. Melanie deepens the kiss. We’re safe here, Georgie thinks emphatically as she presses forward, like she’ll suddenly be able to develop telepathy if she gets close enough. You’re okay. I’m okay.

Melanie pulls away for breath far too soon. “Sorry. Stuffy nose.”

Georgie laughs. “If you say so.”

“What, don’t believe me?”

“I just thought it was more likely that I took your breath away.”

The pun takes a second to register before Melanie groans and nips at Georgie’s lip. “You’re awful.”

“What a biting retort.”

“Nope!” Melanie kisses Georgie, hard. “It is not safe for you to be making terrible puns to a woman with a knife.”

It takes Georgie a little longer to catch enough breath to respond to that one. “Luckily, I’ve only made good puns today.”

“Jesus,” Melanie says, burying her face in Georgie’s shoulder, and there’s the citrus shampoo, and it’s like nothing has changed, like this is just another hookup between friends after a night out, and maybe Georgie will ask Melanie out next week or maybe she won’t depending on how busy she is, but it doesn’t matter too much because she’s at no risk of losing her soon anyway.

And then Melanie pulls back, and there’s a small cut above her eyebrow that wasn’t there in April. Georgie’s breath catches with the newness of it all. It is October again, and it is suddenly imperative that Melanie knows. “I’ve missed you. All these months. I thought about you all the time.”

Melanie is silent for a while. Then, she leans a few centimeters forward and presses a kiss to Georgie’s nose, so careful it makes Georgie want to cry. “I… don’t know if I can miss anyone anymore. But I”—she sighs—”I have… thought about you.”

“I’ll take it,” Georgie says because she will take it, she’ll take any proof that whatever is between them still has soil to grow in. And then Melanie moves her lips to Georgie’s neck and asks, “Do you want to move to the bed?”, and everything they say and think from then on is far harder to transcribe.

-

4. 

Georgie looks at her phone again, where several texts to Melanie over the last week remain unread. Nothing important, just pictures of The Admiral and a Tweet she found funny. It probably doesn’t mean anything, but Georgie has so few ways to find clues about Melanie’s mental state that these things end up mattering more than they should.

When Georgie steps out of the elevator still looking at her phone, she’s stopped by a woman wearing a hijab with her arm in a splint.

“Georgie, right?” she asks. “I’m Basira. Melanie sent me.”

“Yes, that’s me,” Georgie says. “Where’s Melanie?”

The thing about no longer being able to feel fear is that it leaves behind a hole. Sometimes, in its place, Georgie feels a neighboring emotion—disgust, surprise, anger. Sometimes, she just feels nothing.

Basira speaks, and Georgie’s fingers turn numb.

“We—the Magnus Institute—we were attacked a few days ago.”

“Is Melanie okay?” Georgie’s voice sounds distant to her own ears.

“Oh!” Basira says. “Yeah, sorry, didn’t mean to worry you. She’s fine, not too injured. She’s actually the one who saved us all.”

Although Georgie’s lost her fear, she hasn’t lost the ability to feel relief. The feeling comes rushing into her, warming her skin and slowing her breaths.

“Oh, thank god.”

But Basira isn’t finished yet. “She told me to tell you that you shouldn’t expect to see her back here again.”

“What?” Melanie had said that what happened last week wouldn’t affect whether or not she talked to Georgie afterwards, and Georgie trusts her. Whatever this is is far worse than post-sex awkwardness. “Why?”

“Basically, leaving the Institute… it’s not safe anymore. I shouldn’t even be here, but I owe Melanie a favor. We need her protection.”

Georgie plays the words back to herself, once, then twice. “That’s it?”

“What do you mean?”

“You break your arm once and now Melanie has to live out the rest of her life as a guard dog?”

“Everyone’s in danger, including her.”

“But you’re giving her the task of defending against whatever tried to hurt you.”

Basira sighs. “You don’t get it. You didn’t see her attack The Flesh.”

“Sure.”

“It was like… She was laughing. The whole time. The ‘not being able to quit’ mess is a different issue, but the anger and violence? I think she likes it.”

There’s the numbness again, and with it, a heaviness on Georgie’s chest. “I don’t believe you.”

Basira sighs again. “Listen, I don’t really know what the situation between the two of you was, but I think you need to let it go. Either way, I need to get back to work.”

Basira presses the down button on the elevator. The door doesn’t automatically slide open, so she stands there and waits for the elevator to reach their floor. Georgie is suddenly very aware that if she stays here, she might break something.

“I have to go, too,” she says, and heads to the stairwell where no one can see her scream into her hands.

-

5. 

“Melanie?” Georgie says into the phone, hoping against hope that this is a good sign.

There is silence from the other end of the line, and Georgie waits, teetering between shocked and curious and angry and numbnumbnumb. Then, slow and rasping:

“Georgie. It’s… agh! sorry—it’s… good to… hear from you.”

“It’s good to hear from you too, but it’s been five months, Melanie, what are you even—”

“I… know, I'm… sorry… but I need… you to get me…” 

Georgie arrives at the location Melanie’s sent her within minutes and stops dead. Melanie’s slumped on the ground, face tear-soaked and twisted in pain. In one hand, she holding her knife, which she drops once she registers that the sounds she’s hearing are Georgie approaching. In the other, she clutches her right leg. There’s a giant piece of fabric cut out of her trousers. The rest of said trousers are soaked in blood.

Once, Georgie and Melanie had challenged each other to a gore-athon—one night of the bloodiest horror movies they could dig up; whoever reacted audibly or covered their eyes first had to buy the other dinner. Georgie thought the no-fear would give her an advantage; Melanie later told Georgie that she was entirely banking on exploiting the rules (no one said she couldn’t cover her mouth so her reactions would be too muffled to be audible). Georgie doesn’t remember who lost, but she remembers that the injera at the Ethiopian place they went to afterwards was divine. That, and that they didn’t even make it through the first film. Turns out, disgust is disgust regardless of the presence of fear, and it’s very hard to muffle full-throat yells even with your fist in your mouth. 

Melanie’s not screaming this time, and Georgie’s not disgusted, just very, very still.

“Fuck,” Georgie says. “How long have you been—”

Melanie’s words leave her mouth between gritted teeth. “Not… sure. Hour, maybe? Wasn’t really in a state… to count.”

“And you ran all the way from the Institute before—?”

Melanie nods.

“Fuck.”

Melanie makes a grabby motion with her free hand. “Did you bring…?”

Melanie had asked on the phone if Urban Survival had sent Georgie any first aid kits as part of their What the Ghost? sponsorship. Georgie had said yes, they did, and tried not to stamp down any inappropriate joy over the fact that Melanie knows Urban Survival is a sponsor when the only time she’d read an advert for them was the newest episode this week.

“I didn’t bring the first aid kit.”

Melanie frowns. “Why?”

“Promise me you won’t run?”

Melanie raises her eyebrows and looks meaningfully at her leg.

“I’ve already called an ambulance here.”

“What?”

Melanie looks like she’s gearing herself up for a long argument, but frankly, the optics of Georgie standing over a bleeding woman in an alley aren’t great and adding shouting to the mix is a terrible move. Speaking of—

“Respond to that later. Right now, can I put your knife away?”

“Why?”

“I’ll give it back, I just—I gave them my description, but I still don’t want the paramedics to think I’m the one who attacked you.”

Melanie shrugs and stares at the ground. Georgie bends down (which, ouch) to pick it up, sheathes it, and, after some consideration, drops it in her coat pocket.

“Good now,” she tells Melanie.

“I’m… not going… to hospital.”

As if on cue, Georgie hears the faint sound of sirens. “You can argue with me once we’re on the way.”

“I don’t… want…”

“I checked The Magnus Institute’s health insurance policy, so you should be fine.”

“That’s… not…”

“Melanie, listen. Bandages aren’t gonna cut it, and even though I do have a needle and thread at home, neither of us have hands that listen to us. We can’t stitch this up ourselves.”

The sirens get louder. “Then—”

Georgie notes, briefly, that she is shaking, which is a fairly unusual stress response for herself. “A&E will take care of it. And after that, you tell me what the hell happened because ’Jon and Basira’ isn’t a good enough explanation.” 

“I’m… not… going,” Melanie says again.

“Well I am, and I’m also not leaving you, so, tough.” Melanie grimaces, and Georgie softens her tone. “Melanie, do you trust me?”

Melanie scowls, then nods.

“The doctors won’t hurt you. I’ll stay with you the whole time.”

Melanie holds out for a long time, then sighs. “Fine. Don’t… really think I have the… strength right now… to fight off a paramedic.”

“Then it’s a good thing that you don’t have to fight anymore.”

Melanie frowns at that, shaking her head. “I… don’t know… if that’s true.”

There’s a story there, Georgie can tell, an important one, one that Melanie won’t like telling and one that Georgie won’t like listening to.

Georgie presses a kiss to her own fingers, then brushes those fingers against the top of Melanie’s head. “Okay. We’ll work on it. For now, hospital.”

-

6.

A coda, of sorts:

Melanie tells Georgie about choosing to keep the ghost bullet months later, after therapy and an awl in each eye and a truckload of anesthetic wearing off, and Georgie eats the rest of their dinner thinking about blame and the pitfalls of black-and-white morality. That night in bed, Georgie tells Melanie about why she needed to take a year off uni, and Melanie holds her through it, rubbing the back of Georgie’s neck with her thumb and vowing to stab all future trauma-causing medical corpses. Later, Melanie sinks down onto Georgie, slow and careful, as Georgie gasps into the sticky darkness of their room. In the morning, they say hi to Georgie’s neighbor and their daughter and feed The Admiral. Melanie puts textured stickers on her white cane (which may or may not have a concealed blade compartment, courtesy of one of Georgie’s friends) and talks about getting into podcasting, and Georgie orders takeout and makes a list of name suggestions for the guide dog they’re saving up for. In the afternoon, Georgie takes Melanie to her one-week enucleation follow-up appointment and Melanie says, so very casually, “bye, love you” as she walks into the doctor’s office. There’s more to come later, but for now, Georgie smiles at everyone in the waiting room and the world keeps spinning.

[twiistedgalaxies]

Genesis: Chapter 2: In Which Tetsuya Shigaraki Reconsiders his Life Choices

How two brothers can take two opposite paths. How a man can be made into a monster and how the other must pay the ultimate price to save everything he knows and loves. Or, alternatively: The origins of All for One and One for All.

Previous Chapter

A/N:  Happy Yule/Solstice to everyone who celebrates it! (This chapter is the reason for the animal death tw tag. If you want to skip that scene, go to the first page break.)

        Hisashi was standing in the abandoned, overgrown baseball field behind his high school when his father found him. It was a few months into the school year, and his brother had gone home early with a flimsy ice pack because he’d dislocated his knee when he tripped on his way to lunch. Hisashi had been missing for hours, and Testsuya Shigaraki had arrived home as the sun began to dip into the horizon only to be met with the panicked fretting of his youngest son. Thank God for phone GPS, Tetsuya had thought when he managed to locate his eldest, it would have taken hours to find him otherwise. A twig snapped under his feet as he approached, and his son’s head jerked towards him. His brown eyes were wide and glazed over, tears threatening to spill out. A splatter of red was on his cheek, and Tetsuya brows furrowed with confusion. There was a small, furry shape by Hisashi’s feet. He felt bile creep up his throat.

        “D-Dad I..” Hisashi’s voice was shaky, cracking with grief and disbelief.

        There was silence as the world seemed to hold its breath, “What happened?”

        “I don’t know what came over me I.. one minute I was petting it and the next-”

        Tetsuya wrapped his arms around his panicking son in an embrace. He snuck a look down at the broken body that lay there and felt his blood run cold. It was a house cat, “What. Did. You. Do?”

        “I killed it Dad!” His son was hysterical now, trembling violently in his grip.

        Tetsuya broke his embrace, unable to stave off the disgust from his face. “We’re cleaning this up, then you’re going home.” Hisashi opened his mouth to protest, but Tetsuya cut him off, “No excuses, your brother is worried sick about you and if you make him cry again I won’t be able to forgive you.”

        Hisashi sniffed and nodded, wiping away tears with the back of his hand.

        “Where’s your school’s cleaning supplies?”

        “I’ll go get them,” Hisashi’s voice had grown cold once more, panic in his eyes replaced with steel.

        Tetsuya was left alone in the abandoned baseball field with that... thing for much longer than he would have liked, and he found his eyes wandering to anywhere but the mangled house cat, with its ears bent back and legs twisted at odd angles, like it was praying.

        His son returned with a shovel and a change of gym clothes. Tetsuya didn’t ask nor want to know how he broke into the likely locked up school and locker rooms. The hole that they dug was three feet deep and two feet wide, and Hisashi watched him gently lower the broken body into the small grave with unfeeling eyes. Never in his life did he think he would be afraid of his own son, but he couldn’t help the chill that seeped into his bones, nor the way his heart rate sped up every time he caught Hisashi’s gaze.

        His son wiped the blood off his face with his sleeve and stepped behind a tree to change out of his now filthy clothes. Tetsuya pulled out his phone. 1 missed call. He’d unpack the clusterfuck of telling his wife what happened later, for now - Hisashi stepped out from behind the tree and peered over his shoulder - he’d have to deal with this.

        This was not the first time he had encountered his son with a dead animal crumpled into a gory heap. They had lost many family pets, often in the span of only a few months, before Tetsuya and Hana had discovered what happened to them. When Hana had seen her darling little seven year old in the nearby park, standing over a freshly made grave.

        They’d never bought a pet again. Hisashi had been promptly sent to therapy, to sort out his violent impulses and twisted expressions of love. Tetsuya thought that this tendency had died. Had disappeared. That his eldest son had been cured of his depravity. Evidently, he was wrong.

        The walk back home was silent. Tetsuya didn’t know what to say. What he could say. Hisashi didn’t seem to know either, and the cold night air only seemed to cause the distance between them to grow.

-@~*^*~@-

        Tomura was wrapped in a large, plush blanket. Around him was a nest of pillows and blankets to prop up his aching joints. He’d managed to scrounge a heating pad from the linen cabinet and wrapped it around his right knee. Even though he was able to set it back in place himself, it still hurt like crazy. He was worried when his brother hadn’t shown up after school had let out, and that anxiety grew exponentially as the hours ticked by. He’d tried calling his brother in between reading comic books and texting his new friend (he’d gotten Zach’s number the second day of school, and they’d been sending each other memes in the weeks since), only to be met with his familiar voice mail. 

        “Hello, you’ve reached Hisashi Shigaraki, I can’t come to the phone right now, please leave your message after the tone.”

        His brother’s familiar, overly formal voice did absolutely nothing to soothe his nerves. Each time he heard that monotone phrase he felt his frustration and anxiety grow alongside a steadily worsening headache.

        Tomura crawled out of bed once he heard the familiar creak of the door. Had Hisashi finally returned? He let out a hiss of pain once his feet hit the gray carpeted floor, and he reached out for a bed post to steady himself. To his annoyance, his cane had been discarded haphazardly by the door when he returned from school. He’d have to do this the stupid way, it seemed, since it was hard for him to put weight on his right leg without wanting to scream. Tomura used his arm to push himself from the bed to the dresser on the other side of the room, just barely able to catch himself on the corner before he could break his fall with his hip and add yet another colorful bruise to his collection. He leaned his weight on the nearby wall and scooped his cane up from the floor, then limped his way to the living room.

        Disappointment flooded his mind like ink to water when he saw that it was not his brother, but rather his father who had arrived at home.

        “What? No greeting?” His father said once he realized Tomura had entered the room, “I heard you took quite the fall at school today, you okay?”

        Tomura chewed on his bottom lip and shook his head, “Hisashi hasn’t come home yet.”

        Tetsuya’s brows furrowed, “He’s just a teenager, they tend to stay out late, have you tried calling him?”

        It took every shred of willpower Tomura had to keep from rolling his eyes, “I called him a bunch of times, but it keeps going straight to voicemail. I’m really worried about him, he’s never stayed out this late before!”

        “Okay, okay, calm down. I’ll call him, he won’t be able to ignore his pops after all,” Tetsuya did just that. They waited in silence for several moments before irritation fell over the man’s face like a shroud. He, too, had been sent to voicemail.

        “See what I mean?”

        “Don’t give me cheek, boy,” Tetsuya replied stiffly, though Tomura could tell the aggravation was not directed towards him, but to the situation in general.

        “I- What should we do? I tried getting a hold of his friends but they don’t know where he is! Do you think he got mugged? Kidnapped? Oh no, what if he’s in a hostage situation like the one in the capitol building last week-”

        “Tomura, take a deep breath,” after a few moments of running Tomura through breathing exercises, and Tetsuya rubbing circles into his back, his father continued, “I have a GPS tracking app installed on his phone - don’t give me that look - called Circle, I should be able to use it to find him.” Tetsuya pulled out his phone and opened the app. Tomura was annoyed to find that he was listed on there as well, though he supposed it could be helpful if he ever went missing. A photo of his brother (a school photo, taken a year ago at a chess tournament) was imposed over a map as a small icon. He was at the high school.

        Tomura’s eyes widened, “I think I know where he is.”

-@~*^*~@-

        It had happened near the end of Hisashi’s freshman year, Tomura had tagged along with his brother’s friends to the abandoned baseball field behind the school. It was a place teenagers hung out and smoked after school, since the field was obscured by overgrown eucalyptus trees. The field was empty aside from his brother’s friends by the time he and Hisashi had arrived, though Tomura could see cigarette butts on the ground, still glowing a bright orange and the air was heavy with the smell of nicotine. His heart leapt to his throat as he recognized some of the teenagers and hid behind his brother’s tall imposing form. Hisashi looked confused by his reaction, but stepped forward to greet his friends nonetheless.

        “Hey, who’s the brat you brought with you?” One of his friends, a wide set, blonde fellow in a football jersey, asked.

        Hisashi’s eyes narrowed, “My little brother, mom and dad wanted me to watch him today, we spoke about this in the group chat.”

        Tomura poked his head out from behind his brother, long hair in his face. He saw a flicker of recognition in the teenager’s eyes. Oh no.

        “That little punk is your brother, really?” the teen hopped off his perch on the rusting metal bleachers.

        Sensing the tension in the air, Hisashi moved his body to further block Tomura, his tone spoke of warning, “Excuse me, Dylan?”

        The rest of the group backed off, not wanting anything to do with the unfolding situation, but another, dark haired teenager moved to stand besides the jock. Light emitted from the teen’s fingertips. A metahuman?

        Dylan laughed, his voice all sharp edges, “Oh that’s rich, so you don’t know?!”

        Hisashi placed his hand on Tomura’s shoulder, an empty gesture of reassurance. He smiled, “And what is it, exactly, that I’m supposed to know?”

        “Well, ya see, this invalid decided to interrupt me while I was collecting my due, it was pitiful really, and I ended up with double the profit!”

        Tomura tensed, he had been walking home from school alone when he’d heard someone cry out in a nearby alleyway. He’d seen Dylan backing a young woman into the wall, knife glinting at her throat. As it turns out, intervening is futile when you’re half your attacker’s size, and he ended up getting the shit kicked out of him, the money he’d been saving for Christmas shopping stolen. His parents were quick to buy the white lies he’d spun about the confrontation when he got home, but he didn’t miss the shrewd, calculating looks his brother had shot him in the following days. Now, as he tried desperately to hide how hard he shook, he could still feel the sickening crunch of his broken nose and the familiar tear of his shoulder being ripped out of socket.

        Hisashi’s grin grew wider, somehow, and those still sitting on the bleachers inched backwards, “Really?” He took his hand off Tomura’s shoulder and stepped towards the boys, “Because I recall a discussion about who’s off limits.”

        Dylan pulled his fist back and attempted to punch Hisashi, but he dodged with ease, gripping the teen’s leg and flipping him on his ass. He blocked a kick from his other opponent and narrowly avoided a sudden beam of light.

        The boy in question looked on with wide eyes, tears blurring his vision, “Y-yes?”

        “Go home.” a stomp on Dylan’s stomach and a whimper.

        “B-but-”

        “I’m serious, go home. I’ll meet you there in a little while and we can watch your favorite movie, okay?” Hisashi looked over his shoulder, fondness and barely controlled rage fighting for dominance on his face.

        “Hey, stop ignoring me you bast-!”

        Tomura didn’t hear the rest of what he had to say as he turned tail and ran as fast as his weak legs could carry him.

        Hisashi never did return to their apartment that night, instead spending it alone in a cold holding cell. To this day Tomura could still remember the disappointment in his parents’ voices as they lectured him during his single, permitted call.

-@~*^*~@-

        Tomura was curled up on the couch cocooned in a fluffy blanket, watching Captain America: The First Avenger, when his dad and brother returned. “Why are you in gym clothes?” he blurted out without thinking. Hisashi ignored him and made a bee-line for their room, and then the shower.

        His father, however, paused by the couch, pinching the bridge of his nose, “It’s a long story.”

        “I have time.”

        “Maybe when you’re older, your brother will tell you,” Tetsuya meandered into the kitchen, and sifted through the cabinet full of pots and pans with a loud clatter.

        Tomura propped his head up on the back of the couch, “Whatcha’ making?”

        “Dinner.”

        “I mean obviously, but what’s for dinner?” he asked, his question supported by a growling stomach not suited for a boy his size.

        “Food,” Tetsuya smiled at Tomura’s childish groan of frustration, “We’re having fried rice, I don’t think your mom would appreciate us having take-out again.”

        Trying to find a topic to continue the conversation, Tomura asked, “How was work?”

        “The usual but my boss, the one who runs the flower shop, wanted me to work a double shift, I told him no. I don’t get to see you boys enough as it is,” Tetsuya hummed, “Apparently one of my coworkers had a run-in with one of those damn meta-humans and had to take the day off.”

        “A metahuman? I’ve heard about them in the news but.. I don’t really know much about them,” Tomura said, curiosity itched at him. He paused the movie so that he wouldn’t miss anything, though he’d seen it dozens of times. There was a metahuman in his class, the kid always ate alone and no one ever wanted to play with him. Tomura felt bad, but didn’t really know what he could do to help.

        Tetsuya scowled, “They’re freaks of nature, that’s what! It started with that glowing baby a few decades ago and the mutations have just gotten worse and more frequent since, some of them can’t even be called human.” 

        “Is that why there’s been so many protests and stuff?”

        A chuckle, “Yeah that’s part of it, people haven’t been doing too hot after the pandemic either. Nothing like mass evictions to make the public angry,” Tetsuya started the rice cooker and walked over to the couch to ruffle his son’s hair, “At least you and your brother are normal, that gives us less to worry about.”

        Tomura nodded, an odd feeling twisting in his guts.  

        “So what’re you watching?”

        “Captain America,” he replied, gesturing vaguely to the TV.

        “Again?” His father asked, amusement coloring his voice. Tomura flushed bright red. Before he could open his mouth to respond, the front door opened with a familiar creak.

        “I’m home!” His mother’s familiar voice called 

        Tetsuya visibly tensed, dread on his features, “Hello dear, how was work?”

        Hana placed her keys in a small dish on a table by the door and slipped off her jacket, “Oh it was just terrible! Some woman came into the salon today, she raised a massive fuss and kept asking to speak to our manager when we wouldn’t let her use an expired coupon.”

        “Was her name Karen?” Tomura quipped. Both of his parents shot him a baffled look.

        Tetsuya walked over to his wife and embraced her, placing a kiss on her soft cheek. He whispered something in her ear and she paled, giving him a nod, “I’ll talk to him about it after Tomura goes to bed.”

        Dinner later that night was terse and awkward. Something unsaid hung in the air, and Hisashi opted to slide his fried rice around his plate with his fork rather than eat. Tomura, on the other hand, shoveled his food quickly and excused himself from the table. He couldn’t stand it when his family got like this, it had happened before, a few times when he was really young, and the night after Hisashi had gotten home after the incident. He knew what it meant as he shut his bedroom door behind him and slid into bed, pulling the covers over his head. Sure enough, shouts flooded into his room from the kitchen, and Tomura found himself falling asleep to the sounds of sobbing and the front door slamming shut.

A/N:  I'm not super happy with how this chapter has turned out, I've repeatedly read it until it feels like my eyes are going to bleed so I can avoid grammar and spelling mistakes. I'll probably catch more later and have to do small edits to the chapter. I have a crackfic that should be coming out tomorrow, so keep your eyes peeled for that. Anyways, I hope you enjoyed! Next chapter was originally supposed to be part of this one but I decided to split it to keep chapter lengths consistent. Feel free to leave a comment, I love hearing feedback.

AO3

Next Chapter

[2sunchild2]

Daminette au: Slow burn

I’m writing this instead of my fic because I just got hit by a little bitch, named inspiration.

Au by the great and powerful wizard of Oz @ozmav

Tags owo: @mindfulmagics @realrandomposts @chloe-bourgeois-is-big-gay @slytherinsheashire @kelelamentia @justatempo-writes @jaynintodd @maribat-archive @starry-bi-sky @ayuchan07 @kaitlinmarley @miraculous-mangoes

ՁՁՁՁՁՁՁՁՁՁՁՁՁՁՁՁՁՁՁՁՁՁՁՁՁՁՁՁՁՁՁՁՁՁՁՁՁՁՁՁՁՁՁՁՁՁՁՁՁՁՁՁՁՁ

15 year old, the meeting

Damian Wayne was never the social type. He mostly kept to himself and tended to stray away from any social interaction. There was plenty of that at home. He repeats to himself every time he gets upset over not having a friend.

He walked up the steps of Gotham Academy so he could escape whatever embarrassment Jason was planning on putting him to. The kid around him began whispering, and although immune to it (they talked about him a lot), he couldn’t help but eavesdrop at th conversation going on two feet away. He didn’t want to be obvious so he didn’t lean in too much, but he heard snippets.

...new girl...

...Paris...

...just moved...

A new girl? Interesting. He would look into that when he gets the chance. He made his way to the science classroom, bumping into an unfamiliar body. The people around them quieted down, staring curiously. The body ended up being a girl, who unfortunately dropped her books. She blushed in embarrassment and started speaking in a language he knew, but never really spoke.

She was rambling in French.

She was unfamiliar to him.

Oh... she was the new student.

She stopped when she noticed the silence and looked down, probably more embarrassed than before, if that was even possible.

“Damian Wayne.”

He had no reaction to the voice of Olive Silverlock (a real character I swear I looked it up) who marched up to him with a steely gaze.

“Are you trying to scare our new student on her first day?” The silver haired class president didn’t give him a chance to answer since she turned to face the flustered French girl, “You’re Marinette, right?”

The girl managed to nod. Olive grinned and locked their arms together, “Let’s get you settled in your dorm, ‘kay? And then I’ll give you a tour.”

The girl smiled at that, her blue eyes shone brightly. She let out a soft ‘merci’ to Olive and she turned to Damian before being dragged away.

“Je m’excuse.”

16 years old, the first step; starting out

Damian Wayne was not one to go out with a girl. That was Dick’s job. And yet, he looked at his best friend, whose head rested on his shoulder as she thought of a new design.

They were at the park today. Marinette mumbles something about the need to be inspired. They were in the manor at the time and Titus, with his amazing timing, wanted to go outside. It was a win win for everybody.

Damian watched as she focused on the blank page she seemed to be at war with. It was actually funny to see her this frustrated. He tried to hide his chuckle and failed. It was rewarded with a bone-chilling Marinette Dupain-Cheng glare. He put his hands up in surrender and smiled sheepishly. She went back to her glaring match with the paper.

Damian sighed and leaned back against the bench, “Don’t stress too much about it Angel, inspiration will surly make its way to your lap in no time,” he gestured towards the book set on her thighs.

It seemed like someone was in fact listening to him. A pretty pink petal had landed in the middle of the sketchbook. Marinette picked it up curiously before letting out a gasp. She turned to Damian with the biggest smile he’d seen today, “My best friend Damian,” she started, “I was hit, by a little bitch called inspiration.”

Damian let out a laugh. Only Mari.

17 years old, the second step; accepting

Damian Wayne didn’t like a lot of people. And Chloe Bourgeois was far from being one of the few. She arrived in Gotham, claiming to be a friend of Marinette’s. He was doubtful but the girl kept insisting and frankly, he wanted her to shut up.

Turns out the blonde girl was right because the next think he knew she was being tackled by his best friend. They were both on the floor, laughing in the lobby of the student dorms.

They sat in the cafe and he couldn’t help but notice how much lighter Marinette seemed to feel with this girl. She looked happy.

Damian decided that Chloe Bourgeois wasn’t so bad. As long as he got to see his Angel smile, he was content.

18 years old, the third step; falling

Damian Wayne was not an emotional person. He didn’t cry when he failed that one exam. He didn’t cry when he got badly hurt in a fight (though he tried to reassure Mari he was okay but she was not having it and he kept flinching every time he moved). Hell, he didn’t even cry during graduation.

So you can imagine the shock he was feeling when he felt a tear rolling down his cheek as Marinette stepped out of her dorm room in her prom dress. He could see Olive smirking at him from the corner of his eye but he paid no attention to her, he was to busy gawking at the beauty in front of him.

He never left her side during the party. And if she ever walked off to talk to some friends, he would always be watching her. Some guys kept telling him how ‘whipped’ he was. He did was he did best and ignored them.

The last dance of the night was surely something he’d remember for the rest of the night. They held each other closely while the music was playing in the background. He stared at her bluebell eyes as though nothing else mattered. It was just them.

It was safe to say he wasn’t expecting a slow kiss. But it happened. He enjoyed it. And he kissed back.

19 years old, the fourth step; realizing

She left.

Well, not entirely. She just wasn’t in Gotham at the moment. And she wouldn’t be back until Christmas.

Marinette had gone off to college abroad, in Paris, specifically, to pursue her fashion career.

And even tough they video chatted every weekend, it wouldn’t fill the gaping hole in his chest. He wanted her there, with him. He wanted to snuggle up to her while they watched one of those cheesy rom-coms she enjoyed so much. He wanted to sit in the kitchens and watch her hum a Disney tune while she baked. He wanted to hold her whenever she cane running to him with good news. He wanted to be with her while she sat down and sketched. He thought it was adorable the way she scrunched her brows in concentration, or how she stuck her tongue out when she was sketching, or, whenever she had artist’s block, when she’d doodle little things on his hand. He wanted to hold her dammit. He wanted to take her out, court her. He wanted to be with her, and for her to be with him. He wanted to hug her so tightly and tell her how much he loved her.

Huh. Love.

That’s something he hadn’t thought about before. Did he love Marinette? Or was this just admiration?

No. Fuck that. Fuck admiration.

He loved her. He fucking loved her.

He was in love with Marinette Dupain-Cheng.

20 years old, the final step; confessing

Damian Wayne was not nervous. Of course he wasn’t! He was Damian Wayne! He was Robin for fuck’s sake. Surely that would be harder than a little confession.

Right?

That was what he had initially thought.

And he was wrong. Oh so very wrong.

Damian Wayne was a fucking wreck.

Marinette had been rambling about one of her design projects. One she, obviously, passed with flying colours. That wasn’t what he had been paying attention to though. Maybe it was how the July breeze seemed to brush her hair, making it fly. Maybe it was the way she used her hands so animatedly whenever she told him a story. Maybe it was the way her eyes sparkled when she got exited over something.

“I love you.”

That made her stop. And it made him regret opening his mouth.

She stared at him, mouth agape, face as red as the strawberries in the bowl she was holding.

“I...you...what?”

Well, he couldn’t take it back now. And he did mean it. God this was noth how he had imagined confessing.

“I love you,” he took a sharp breath, “I’ve loved you for quite some time now actually. I only realized it last year.”

He raked his had through this hair and let out a shaky breath, “I honestly don’t know how it happened, but it did. And I’m glad it it.”

He looked back at her to see how she’d react. Her eyes were still wide and it didn’t seem like she’d be saying anything so he decided to continue.

“You don’t have to answer immediately! I was uhh... wondering if... you would let me court you... you don’t have to accept I mean you already have so much going on but if you’re willing—”

He was cut off. It took him a second to process what was happening.

She was kissing him.

Holy shit! She was kissing him!

But before he could kiss back, she pulled away, much to his disappointment.

“I love you too, silly,”she gave him a big toothy grin, he swallowed the lump in his throat. He could practically hear his hear beating in his chest.

She intertwined their hands and leaned in, “And I would love for you to court me.”

They were about to kiss again, but, this time, someone else decided to interrupt.

A faint ‘yes!’ was heard near the bushes, the voice sounded scarily familiar to Dick’s, which followed by a slap and an offended ‘ow’.

“Should we tell them we know they’re spying on us?”

His Angel laughed and shook her head, “Let them have their fun.”

¥¥¥¥¥¥¥¥¥¥¥¥¥¥¥¥¥¥¥¥¥¥¥¥¥¥¥¥¥¥¥¥¥¥¥¥¥¥¥¥¥¥¥¥¥¥¥¥¥¥

Last post before I start school!

[shmowlwrites]

Business Man From Origins But He’s He’s Chat Noir

@the-navistar-carol @eve-valution So Eve was watching origins and saw that business man that just walks right on past Fu and was like “what if he helped Fu? He would’ve been Chat Noir!” So here we are. Nothing motivates someone like procrastination and finally, I am out of my writer’s block so maybe I’ll get my prompts done soon. No salt, except Gabriel Agreste hatred, as usual I had no idea what I was really doing until half-way through, there will be a second part to complete Origins, which I also have no idea what I’m gonna be doing with Also, I promise that ending is v much innocent, why are adult-teen friendships hard to write?

Gabriel had places to be. Things to do. Cases to win. Oh, you thought this was Gabriel Agreste? No. This was Gabriel Durand, a powerful lawyer who ruled the court with an iron fist. He knew more details about you than you did. If you faced him in court, you might as well tell the judge that you forfeit, you’re going to lose anyway. 

Now, Gabriel thought of himself as a humble man outside of his ruthless court tactics. He tried to help people on his way to and from work and his research projects for work. So when, even when a little behind schedule than normal, he came across an old man on the sidewalk trembling as he reached for his cane, he stooped down to help pick the man up and set him back to his feet. 

However, before he could ask if he was alright, the screeching of a car drifting right in the middle of the street to pull up on the sidewalk as a young blond began running up the stairs. Two adults got out, one scarily huge and the other Gabriel was familiar with due to her standing in for the recluse that shared his name. So that must be Adrien Agreste… 

Gabriel’s face set. Gabriel- the fashion empire- had always been something that set him off. He switched his phone on to record- they were close enough that recording the altercation from his pocket would do fine. The couple of seconds long interaction found Gabriel with new information. What exactly was going on in the Agreste household?

He turned to the old man who now had a pensive look on his face. “I’m sorry about that- Are you alright, sir? Did you hurt yourself when you fell?” He asked.

“Oh, I’m quite alright,” the old man gave him a sating smile. Gabriel had been around enough snakes to spot a smile meant to placate hiding behind the facade of being genuine.

“Is something troubling you?” Gabriel asked. “I don’t mean to pry, if there is something.”

“Oh no- I just noticed that you tried recording what happened with that young man there. Why?” The old man’s brow furrowed.

“That was Adrien Agreste and two of Gabriel Agreste’s employees. I’ve always thought something was off with that family, but I’ve never had proof of my thoughts. Funny how you employ your son as a model for everything you make and keep him hidden in the house.” Gabriel looked to the school’s stairs, remembering Adrien’s plea. What was the wrath of Gabriel Agreste like? 

“Ah, I understand,” the old man hummed, leaning forward on his cane. “You worry about that young man?”

“Indeed,” Gabriel nodded, turning back to the elder. He checked his watch and nearly choked. “I’m so sorry, sir, but I’m running late for work, I must go!” Gabriel wheeled around and ran for it. 

And then there were the tremors in the earth, the walls nearly caving from the measured shakes. Fearing an earthquake, the court ran. It didn’t matter about the case- they had just finished up. As Gabriel slid under a bench, he noticed something off about his briefcase. It was soft, meaning he could see if there was a lump in the leather. And indeed- there was a lump. Pulling it out, the lump turned out to be a hexagonal black box with an intricate red design on the cover. Now wasn’t really the time to check out strange items in your briefcase, so he stuck it back in. Just at that moment, a police officer barged into the courtroom, allowing for its occupants to hear the screaming outside. Declaring there was a monster outside, the officer required everyone to run for an inner hiding place. 

Gabriel ran for his office. The earthquake wasn’t an earthquake, rather the steps of the stone monster, so while he waited for whatever to happen, he decided to finally check out the contents of the box. He froze when a green light appeared and floated around him. He only blinked when a cat-like bug-thing materialized out of it. 

“Oh, fils de pute.”

“Oh, do you kiss your maman with that mouth?”

Gabriel didn’t like this. Why did he let Plagg convince him to do this? Here he was, standing on a rooftop of all places, dressed in something he would never normally were. A lawyer, Plagg had mused and decided this would be fun. Here he was, in a black suit, black button-up, black bowtie, black loafers he wouldn’t normally wear that had grippy cat paw pads on the bottom. Now if the gothic suit wasn’t enough, he was wearing a masquarde-esque black mask that reminded him too much of the Batman masks, with their pointy “bat ears” sticking up from them. He tried tugging it off. Turns out it was like the mask was superglued to his freaking face.

Now, if Gabriel thought he looked ridiculous, it had nothing on the stupid belt tail and, upon looking in a mirror, his cat eyes. His eyes were normally brown, but now they were a glowing amber. 

Unbelievable. 

No, what was even more unbelievable was that whoever gave him this miraculous, didn’t find another adult. No. They gave it to some young teenage girl. Who stuttered and had confidence issues. He wasn’t a dad! He was bad with kids! How was he supposed to help her?!

“Uh, don’t worry too much,” he tried a smile. She still looked at him with wide, scared eyes. “I mean, I’m also new at this. I don’t even know the first thing of what I’m doing right now. Plagg, my kwami, told me a few things, but he didn’t really give me a confidence booster besides telling me-” he mimicked Plagg’s voice “-it’ll be fun! Loosen up, law-boy!”

It seemed to work, the girl giggled at his impression of Plagg. “A-ah, thank you.”

“So, what does your miraculous do? Perhaps we can plan before shoving ourselves into that situation,” Gabriel asked, grabbing the black-matted chrome bo-staff he had been trying to figure out when the girl ran into him. One of the golden paw-pads slid a screen up, and he finally found out that he could read his powers on there. 

“Uh, Tikki told me it was…” the girl frowned. “If I say it, even in a sentence, will it activate it?”

“Probably,” Gabriel grunted. “It looks like I’m your support though. I can destroy things at a touch, I can also send a ball of destructive energy out, but I’m not too sure about trying that right now.”

“My power is something lucky. I have to tear the item the Akuma is hiding… and…” the girl’s face started to show panic again. “What else was I supposed to do?!”

“Don’t worry right now,” Gabriel crouched so that he was looking up at her. “Let’s prioritize. There is an- what did you call it?” He had heard her, but he wanted to keep her grounded.

“An Akuma,” the girl answered, her fists still clenched tightly. 

“Okay, so we need to find that. We need to break it. In words, it sounds easy. I’m sure with your power, it’ll either give us great luck or give us something helpful to increase our chances. So now, the words sound a little more plausible. If anything goes wrong, we’ll fall back and regroup and plan. Does that round alright?” Gabriel asked.

“Yeah…” the girl nodded. “Um… What do I call you?”

“Hm…” Gabriel hummed. “Well, my miraculous is the black cat, yeah? Call me Chat Noir.” He didn’t ask the girl, and perhaps he should’ve, but he felt she would’ve panicked on finding a name.

They found Stoneheart at the DuPont stadium, chasing a young teen. Gabriel vaulted off the wall, extended his bo-staff to slam down between Stoneheart and the teen. 

“Don’t you know assault and property damage is illegal?” he found himself asking, buying the teen time to run while Stoneheart was focused on him.

Having no clever words, Stoneheart instead decided to try to squish him underhand. Swinging his bo-staff at Stoneheart, he tried to trip him. Instead, the staff bounced off and Stoneheart grew in size.

“Merde, merde, merde,” Gabriel muttered, finding himself flipping away. Where did his sudden athleticism come from? He was a lawyer, for God’s sake! And where was his partner? Please don’t say she bailed on him, he would more than likely kill Stoneheart than “free the Akuma” if he used his power on Stoneheart.

Speaking of which, the monster picked up a soccer goal post and tossed it at him. Unaware of his surroundings, he batted it away, only to then realize there was a person in the way. He tossed his staff, sending it flying after pressing the extend button. Right before the goal post hit her, the staff reached and the civilian was unharmed. However, that left him without a weapon, and Stoneheart grabbed him.

“What are you waiting for, super red bug? The world is watching you!” The civilian called, and Gabriel found solace in that. The girl was still there, but she was perhaps still on the verge of a panic attack. He didn’t think that would help her; in fact, he thought that would only send her further down the rabbit hole. 

However, suddenly the teen slid under Stoneheart’s legs and had a brave smile on her face. “Animal cruelty? How shameful!” And with a mighty tug, Stoneheart was sent onto his back and Gabriel went flying into the goal post on the other end of the field.

“Sorry I took so long, Chat Noir,” the girl fretted.

“It’s alright,” Gabriel grunted as he rolled to his feet. “You were nervous and that is fully understandable. But we’re together now, aren’t we?”

The girl gave him a beaming smile before looking back at Stoneheart with a frown. “Any plans? He gets bigger with every attack… We’ll need to do something other than attack, right?”

“I think it’s time to use your luck,” Gabriel nodded to her.

The girl made a sound of confirmation and tossed her yo-yo into the air. “Lucky Charm!”

A wet suit fell into her hands. 

“What am I supposed to do with this?” She shrieked. “How am I supposed to break anything with this?”

“He’s made of stone…” Gabriel began to analyze their opponent. “His right hand is clenched, he only uses his right. You think he’s holding his Akuma?” Gabriel suggested.

The girl perked, her eyes taking in other things while Gabriel kept his attention on Stoneheart. “Here’s my plan!”

Gabriel spared her a glance. “Anything you need me to do?”

She poked the hose at their feet into the wetsuit and then wrapped her yo-yo around his legs. “I’m sorry- do you mind being bait?”

Absolutely he minded! But, he only gave her a nervous grin before he was tossed towards Stoneheart. Now caught, he turned his attention towards the girl, confused as she called towards the monster. “Catch me if you can!”

And she was also caught, but he noticed the purple wadded ball of something fall to the ground. She turned towards the girl that he had saved earlier. “Alya, the tap!”

Did she know the girl?

But either way, the girl- Alya - turned on the hose and his partner popped out of the giant’s hand. She stomped on the paper ball, and a purple-black butterfly fluttered away. Gabriel fell to the ground with the disappearance of Stoneheart and the appearance of a rather large teen.

“Are you alright, boy?” Gabriel found himself asking, sitting on the ground and folding over his knees.

“I- What happened?” The boy asked.

“You were… I guess the word would be Akumatized,” Gabriel offered. He felt bad for thinking of him as a monster- he was only influenced by the Akuma! Would all so-called monsters just be victims of Akumas? “But it’s alright. My partner and I helped you.”

The sound of his partner’s voice brought the two out of their conversation- she was reading the paper that had held the Akuma.

“Kim wrote it,” the boy sighed. “He’s always making fun of me.”

“You know, you shouldn’t get so bent out of shape about that. There’s no shame in telling someone you love them, Ivan.”

Was this girl a classmate? She knows the name of two teenagers- of which there were probably a million in Paris- and knew a lot more about the situation than he was.

“How do you know my name, miss?”

That sent the girl into a nervous giggle fit. Thankfully, she was saved from answering that. Alya was recording them at an uncomfortably close distance. 

“Uncanny! A-mazing! Spectacular! Are you gonna be protecting Paris from now on? How did you get your powers? Oh, I’ve got a ton of questions to ask you… uh?”

Gabriel looked to his partner. He wasn’t about to promise anything she was too nervous about. The girl met his eyes and nodded. Gabriel stood, helping Ivan to his feet as well.

“Ladybug. Call me Ladybug,” the girl held her head up.

“Chat Noir,” Gabriel dipped his head. “We’ll protect you and find the source of this phenomenon.”

Gabriel found he kind of liked the whole experience, once the threat of death was gone. Ladybug was a nice girl, he hoped she stuck around despite her anxiety.