#cleaned up and finished that snippet I posted the other day yay

[trombonechurchill]

Growing Sideways

BuckTommy, 930 words, rated G

Years of therapy and reflection and clawing himself out from under the chip left on his shoulder, Tommy was still his father's son. He was not someone to trust with fragile, gentle things.

Tommy brings Buck home after he gets his wisdom teeth out. Buck, more than a little high on anesthesia, lets a few thoughts slip that throw Tommy for a loop.

Read here or on AO3

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The smile Evan gave him when Tommy finally got him situated on the couch was beatific. At least, Tommy assumed it was directed at him. Evan's eyes were glassy from the leftover sedation and it was highly possible he was smiling dreamily at the wall behind him. Or maybe Tommy's ear.

"Come on, arms in, let's get you set up," Tommy said gently, herding Evan's wayward limbs with a patient smile, fending off more than a few seeming attempts at wandering hands as he fluffed pillows and tucked the blanket more securely around Evan's knees.

"Okay, doctor said you can have your next dose of pain meds in a few hours so until then we have applesauce, soup, and that whale documentary ready to go," Tommy said, plopping himself on the cushion next to Evan and hefting up the remote. The motion seemed to dazzle Evan for a extended, gossamer moment before foggy eyes drifted back to Tommy's face (ear).

"Gosh you're amazing," Evan said with a sigh, voice fuzzy around the gauze in his cheeks.

"The feeling's mutual, you have no idea," Tommy said softly, running a palm over Evan's hair and smiling fondly as Evan pressed into the motion like a cat.

"No, no, you're so amazing," Evan said, struggling and squirming against the pillow battlements Tommy might have gone a little overboard in setting up around him, a flailing hand coming to rest with a rather enthusiastic smack on Tommy's cheek, thumb dangerously close to inserting itself into Tommy's nostril in the process.

"Thank you, Evan-" Tommy started, already moving to disentangle Evan from where he was lovingly palpitating his cheekbones.

"So amazing, you take such good care of me." Tommy was startled to see tears forming in Evan's eyes as he gushed, his fight with Evan's hand momentarily forgotten as he moved to reach for Evan's face instead.

"Shh, hey, it's okay, I love it. I love taking care of you," Tommy said, brushing a thumb feather-light over the apple of Evan's already swollen cheek.

It had maybe been a mistake as Evan returned the gesture with far less grace and Tommy had to quickly reroute a few fingers before he lost an eye, patting Evan's hand affectionately.

"Wanna make a million babies with you," Evan hiccuped, undeterred by Tommy having snagged his hand, seemingly content to simply capsize against Tommy's chest, head coming to rest against his sternum.

Tommy laughed, shifting back to petting the back of Evan's head as he continued to mumble into his chest. "Not sure that's on the cards for us biologically, babe," he told Evan gently, carding his fingers through his head.

"Take such good care of me," Evan repeated again with another sigh. "You're gonna be such a good dad."

Tommy froze.

There was no doubt Evan and kids were some sort of inevitability. You only needed to spend a moment with him to see how badly Evan wanted a family, how fatherhood would make him glow.

No one looked at Tommy and saw a father.

It had been a cold comfort when he was younger, shoving pieces of himself back into the closet, to know that at least he'd never have to worry about that. Being like his father.

Evan was still pressed against Tommy's chest, heedless of how Tommy had gone still beneath him as his body went loose and pliant. Tommy levered him gently into a move comfortable position, taking in Evan's now slack face as he arranged them both on the couch, heart in his throat. He looked totally at ease, resting on Tommy's shoulder. It was terrifying.

Years of therapy and reflection and clawing himself out from under the chip left on his shoulder, Tommy was still his father's son. He was not someone to trust with fragile, gentle things.

Tommy wrapped one of Evan's curls around his finger, watching them twine together. Evan wanted kids, a family, a place to set all the love brimming inside him. And Tommy would ruin it. Sharp words and hard edges that he could never fully file away. Tommy's neurosis couldn't be so easily childproofed.

When he'd been five, Tommy had tried to fit into his father's shoes, tie wrapped untidily around his neck like a rip cord, gait unsteady as he practiced walking with the same spine straight steps as his father did.

He'd never gotten them to fit, his father had been a large man. But Tommy had learnt how to hold his spine rigid, how to walk and move in the way everyone wanted him to whether he liked it or not.

Tommy could never do that to someone else. To some other kid with Evan's eyes and open, bleeding heart.

But even as Evan flung his arm across Tommy's stomach with a snort, Tommy knew that wasn't why the comment had made him freeze. Fight, flight, or freeze, Tommy had always been a runner. But the idea of it, of a family, with Evan. It hadn't made him want to run.

Arguably, that was a lot scarier of a thought.

Because he could see it, unspooling in front of him with the same certainty when Evan had asked him for a second chance, to come to Howie's wedding, to come back to him. Because Tommy, with all his hard edges, the need to run, to hide, he wanted to stay.

"Why don't we talk about it when you're not high on Valium," he said quietly, pressing a soft kiss to the crown of Evan's head.

Maybe some things were worth being scared for.

[ammeh7]

7KPP Week 2019 - Day 5

A Day of Friendships || A Romance for the Ages

By “a romance for the ages” I of course refer to the game’s One True Pairing of Narrator/Jasper.

This fic probably needed to be at least twice as long as I actually had time to make it, and it’s glaringly obvious that I wrote most of Week 5 Day 4 before a lot of the rest of it, but I figured I’d post the thing anyway and maybe go back and fix it up at some point in the future.

Summary: The narrator wants to vicariously kiss Jasper, but MC has a thing for morally dubious princesses.

Warning: Contains huge spoilers for weeks 4 and 5 of the extended demo

The narrator is some sort of Historian-affiliated spirit thing here, but the specifics are left deliberately ambiguous.

Lady Rosaline was made up for the story, since my Gisette-mancer is immoral and I wanted an ethical one for this fic. She could be any 75-manip-compatible background.

This contains several snippets copied directly from the game; I don’t take credit for those!

You can hear me.

Granted, only when you’re half-asleep, but that’s better than I can do with anyone else.

I can hear you, too—or rather, hear you thinking to yourself—which makes discerning your motivations so much easier.

And you’re special. It’s practically a giant sign over your head, screaming “Stuff! Happen over here!”

Most importantly, Jasper’s your butler.

I’ve decided. You’re the one I’m recording this Summit.

--

Week 1, Day 0

As you drift off to sleep, you contemplate how unbelievably attractive everyone you met at the Welcome Feast was.

It’s a good problem to have, right? And you certainly charmed everyone you met. But as long as we’re discussing unbelievably attractive people: have you seen your butler?

Yes? Okay, good.

--

Week 1, Day 4

“I hope all our encounters can continue being so mutually pleasing, Lady Rosaline.”

A spike of want runs through you. You can’t wait for the next time the two of you meet.

Really? Character assassination does it for you?

--

Week 1, Day 6

More than hijinks, sparring, nature walks, or intellectual debates?

--

Week 1, Day 7

“I think there’s someone who might become special.”

Oh? Really? I hope for your sake they are thinking the same.

It’s Princess Gisette, isn’t it. You have terrible taste. Didn’t you see your gorgeous butler? Or the warrior princess who’s completely besotted with you? The dashing pirate? The thoughtful Revairan lord? Your adorable blushing maid? Did I mention your gorgeous butler? Or pretty much any person besides the one who faked you out with a supposedly private invitation and then tried to manipulate you into slandering an innocent woman?

It could be worse, I suppose. You could have an eye for her brother.

--

Week 2, Day 5

“I think I would regret it if you were to become a ghost in truth.”

She gives you a soulful look, her blue-violet eyes pulling you in, despite not being the true, gorgeous purple you’ve seen on some of the Isle natives. Such as Jasper.

“Not nearly so much as I would!” You smile at her, not even contemplating how much more purple her eyes could be.

Sigh.

--

Week 3, Day 2

Jasper has indisputably won the gift-giving competition, but you’re really fixated on that perfume.

She didn’t even pick it out for you! She picked it out for herself! It was probably just a spare bottle she brought in her luggage!

Yes, it’s expensive, but…

Augh.

--

Week 3, Day 3

Exhausted from herding quarrelsome children at dinner, you drift off to sleep.

There are no assassins around. Nothing noteworthy is going to happen with you for the next seven hours, at least.

Yay!

Across the castle, Jasper is finishing a journal entry, recording dutifully. He’s taken off his jacket and is sitting in his vest, looking enticingly exposed despite not showing an inch more skin than normal. There’s a hint of tiredness around his eyes, but his face is still almost inhumanly perfect.

With a neat flourish, he ends his entry. He pulls off his writing gloves to reveal his long, slender fingers before sprinkling the page with sand to dry it and shaking it off.

He closes the journal, then stands, sticking a finger in his cravat loosen it.

Oh my.

I probably shouldn’t be here. (I might have had to extrapolate the rules of my existence myself, but I’m pretty confident I’m supposed to be watching the actors. And probably not spying on people undressing.)

He removes his cravat and unbuttons his waistcoat, hanging them up neatly. He starts to unbutton his shirt, revealing his pale collarbone, and…I’m being creepy. Sigh.

(See, if you were here, this would be history and not voyeurism!)

I return. You sleep for the next eight hours, rolling over a few times. At one point you scratch your nose.

Absolutely scintillating.

--

Week 3, Day 5

Jasper has been investigating the plot against you, like the darling he is.

You remember an incident you observed last week, with that same type of easily missed servant and Princess Gisette.

…Yes, if that was the story it makes sense. Especially knowing Gisette and her family’s reputation.

“Lady Rosaline, what is it?”

“Nothing, Jasper. It’s nothing. Thank you for your help, and your investigation. I appreciate it.”

You don’t really, though. You can’t truly appreciate what this means for him, how he struggled with this. What devotion.

Somehow, the discovery that Gisette was behind your accident last week doesn’t seem to be putting you off. In fact, I think it’s piqued your interest.

You make no sense.

--

Week 3, Day 7

“I hope you will keep something similar in mind, Princess.”

You continue onto the Matchmaker with a dreamy internal smile, not at all bothered by the fact that she just sent your poor butler on a run-around errand because she decided to procrastinate until the last minute with her love confessions.

Granted, he…apparently procrastinates even more, but despite having just received a regular barrage of clandestine proposals, you fail to recognize his advice for the heartfelt confession that it is.

If you’d just reject it, I could live with that, but how oblivious can you be?

You proceed to lie shamelessly about plans for a political marriage to the Matchmaker. She’s totally onto you, I hope you realize.

--

Week 3, Day 7

Gisette gives you a studying look from across the room. It’s a lot like the look she gave you right after she tried to murder you. Last week.

Are you really sure about this?

You manage to meet her gaze and then give her a significant smile and nod of your own.

Apparently.

--

Week 4, Day 3

You bask in Princess Gisette’s lap, drinking in her condolences about the terrible burden on you this week.

If you would pause a moment to consider the irony, you might remember that you’ve deduced this burden is all her fault in the first place, and also how tragic you found the death of that fellow she murdered, but you apparently haven’t reached that level of self-awareness.

You at least remember that she also tried to murder you, but you’ve apparently decided to let that slide.

Not for the first time, I question your self-preservation instinct.

--

Week 5, Day 2

Jasper wipes your fingers carefully, attempting to gently remove the ink.

When he is satisfied it is clean he stares at your hand for a moment, as if lost in thought. It is only a lapse of a moment though, before he returns to himself and releases your hand from his grip with a start.

“Forgive me, Lady Rosaline.”

“Jasper—”

“I should go. I have other duties to attend to.”

Despite your surprised protests, he hurries off, leaving you alone with your newly finished letter.

“—you really need to get more sleep,” you finish, to the empty air. You read once more over your letter to home, plans already forming in the back of your mind for your return.

Sleep? How could you not see the pining there? The repressed longing? How could you not melt into goo over the yearning devotion in his eyes?

How could you not want to stay?

Your maids help you undress for bed, and you doze off happily, oblivious to the fact that you’re totally doing Katyia’s Legacy wrong.

--

Week 5, Day 4

Jasper sets down your breakfast tray, both he and the breakfast as mouth-watering as always. “Let’s go over your schedule for the day, Lady Rosaline.”

You groan inwardly at the businesslike tone in his voice. Today’s going to be a busy one.

“There’s a rehearsal scheduled this afternoon, for the three hours before dinner. You’ll obviously be expected to attend that. Given that you have a leading role, you may also want to reserve some additional time to go over your lines.”

You perk up at that, looking forward to the opportunity to see Gisette. Perhaps you could even arrange some time alone together under the pretense of practicing your Serah-Vienna scenes.

“You’ve received a last-minute invitation to a tea arranged by one of the delegates from Wellin, Lady Petunia.”

You shake your head. You’ve met Lady Petunia, she’s a dreadful bore. More importantly, she’s not nearly fashionable enough for Gisette to attend her teas.

“You’ve also received an invitation to a group luncheon from Lady Aria of Revaire, as a thank you for the tea you hosted last week. Given your role in the theatrical this week, I believe you can decline without causing offense, should you wish to. Lastly, with the upcoming ball, I believe it would be wise for you to work on your dancing. I would be happy to assist you in that area.”

Lady Aria rarely says anything of substance, but on the other hand, she spends a great deal of time with Princess Gisette.

Do you really want to choose an hour of empty-headed prattle where you may or may not be able to watch Gisette from across the table over dancing with Jasper?

“I’d rather not risk offending Lady Aria. She was a great help to my investigations last week.”

(Yes. Yes, apparently you do.)

“Very well. You should still have some free time after dinner and before the luncheon, which you could spend on dancing, private rehearsal, or something else.”

“I should take some time after the rehearsal to go over the scenes I had trouble with. Perhaps Lord Clarmont or Princess Gisette might even be available this evening to go over some of our scenes.”

Jasper’s eyes widen in alarm, though it does little to disrupt the sheer perfection of his features. “My lady, meeting privately with a man you have not been matched with to rehearse romance scenes would…invite comment.”

You knew that. Etiquette might not be one of your strong suits, but you’re not that oblivious.

“I thought we might be able to find someone to chaperone, but…you’re right, it will be best if I only ask Princess Gisette. I have just as many scenes with her anyway.”

You shrug, as if it doesn’t matter to you one way or the other, pleased to have an excuse for some time alone with Gisette.

“That still leaves this morning. I’m afraid I won’t be available to help you practice your dancing in the hours between now and your luncheon.”

“Perhaps another time. I can practice by myself in the ballroom for today.”

--

You spend some time dancing around in the ballroom. There’s something about this room, because by spending time in it you can feel your natural charisma increasing.

(Perhaps if you practiced with your butler, instead of trying to look alluring for yourself in the mirror, you’d actually manage to improve your grace and not just your personal magnetism.)

--

Gisette is not at the luncheon, which turns out to be a dreadful waste of a couple hours. (Just think, you could have been dancing with Jasper.) By the time the designated hour for the rehearsal rolls around, you are practically tripping over your skirts in your haste to escape.

--

“But Vienna,” you sigh, “how could I possibly trust in his intentions after my most faithful maid saw Lady Matterly leaving his chambers?”

“Sweet girl,” Gisette rests her hand on your back, a waft of sweet perfume teasing your senses. “I know you trust your maid dearly, but you must admit she is…prone to misjudgments. Confront Sir Horus, find his version of the story. He is not a man who would be able to lie under pressure. Not like Prince Armand.”

You turn to face Gisette, clasping her elegant hand between your own. “Oh, but Prince Armand cares for you dearly! I’ve seen the look in his eyes when he watches you across the room. He may be a man who talks all around what he means—not unlike yourself, dear cousin—but I am convinced his affection for you is true.”

“Lady Rosaline!” Lady Avalie is suddenly standing next to the pair of you. “You’re turning your back to the audience.”

Right. You release Gisette’s hand, masking your reluctance to do so. “I don’t think it works for Serah to deliver that line with her back to Vienna. Princess, perhaps if you came around?”

You try a few things, but don’t quite get it right by the time Prince Zarad and Lord Clarmont have finished and it’s time to switch scenes.

“Princess, would you have some time to spare this evening to see if we can get that scene figured out?” You smile apologetically, as if you’re sorry for the bother.

She gives you a coolly assessing look, but you can detect a glimmer of amusement in her eyes. “I had some time planned to review my lines. I suppose we could use it to work on our joint scenes, Lady Rosaline.”

--

After dinner, Gisette knocks on your door, script in hand. “I hope now is a good time to work on our scenes, Lady Rosaline,” she says sweetly, just loud enough to be overheard.

You happily invite her in.

“I admit, Rosaline, I initially found the idea of this theatrical quite a bother, but I’m coming to appreciate its hidden charms,” she says, smiling languidly at you.

You look around for a suitable chair, and land on the one you were sat in yesterday when Jasper so lovingly wiped the ink off your fingers. Without sparing that tender moment a passing thought, you sit and run through your positioning a few times until you have it figured out.

“I confess,” Gisette smiles, “I’m not entirely confident in the scene before the ball, either.”

--

“Oh, Vienna!” you cry, taking Gisette’s hands in both of your own. “I fear I shall never find love!” You clasp your joined hands dramatically to your bosom.

“A lady should hope never to…” Gisette cuts off in the middle of her character’s quip, shaking her head with a smile teasing at her lips. “Really, my dear? I suspect the audience might notice if you have me grope you onstage.”

You grin unabashedly, releasing her hands. “My apologies. I was caught up in the drama of the moment.”

Okay, you’re kind of cute together. When she’s not planning your death.

--

“You did not see the so-called ‘love poem’ he sent me, Serah. It contained the most lurid descriptions of my—”

At this point, Serah’s maid is supposed to burst into the room and interrupt, but it’s just the two of you.

She’s standing where Jasper normally does when he’s going over your schedule in the morning. Your eyes meet, tension simmering between you.

You raise an eyebrow, smirking. “Have you ever gotten a particularly terrible poem from a suitor, Gisette? I received one at seventeen that compared my teeth to his mother’s china.”

She tilts her head in thought, her pale hair catching the candlelight without the ethereal pearly shimmer that Jasper’s hair gets in the same light.

“Nothing so terrible as what was recited at that charming little evening you hosted, but there have been a few gems.” She smirks, takes one of your hands in hers and looks deeply into your eyes. “O lovely moon, I beseech you to shine on me eternally, eclipse me in your violet pits…"

You giggle.

“He was so proud of his work that he recited it in person. On one knee. And his father was too important an ally to offend, so I had to smile through all twenty verses.” She wrinkles her nose. “It was all I could do not to gag. But enough of such odious recollections, my dear. I have a rare moment alone with you.” She strokes her fingers over your wrist, not releasing your hand.

“And what would you like to do with it?” you purr.

“Oh,” she smiles slowly, like a cat basking in the sun, “I have a few ideas.”

She steps closer. Her long, cool fingers stroke along your jaw, and she cups the side of your face, her soft lips closing over yours. She kisses you passionately, releasing your hand to bring her other hand to your waist.

You wrap your arms around her, drawing her as tight as you can without mussing her exquisite coiffure. Your mouths melt into each other, her body feeling almost fragile under your hands.

(I wanted to vicariously kiss Jasper, but… this is nice.)

You finally, reluctantly, release each other, and you blush as you realize that you weren’t entirely successful in your quest to avoid disheveling her hair. You were not emotionally prepared for her to pull your lower lip between her teeth like that.

“Let me…” you grab a hairbrush from your dresser.

She raises an eyebrow, looking herself over in the mirror and giving you a fondly exasperated look before taking a seat on your dressing stool. “I shouldn’t give you a hard time. You’re more of a sight than I am.”

You peer over her shoulder into the mirror to find your hair falling out of its twist, bodice off-kilter, cheeks flushed, and lips red and slightly swollen.

“Whoops.” You adjust your bodice and hastily tuck the wayward strands of hair into place. The rest you’ll just have to wait out. “How do I look, cousin?” you tease, sliding a hand into her pale blonde tresses and catching a lock to smooth with the brush.

“Like perfection itself, my dear.” She doesn’t finish the line, tilting her head back languidly and luxuriating under your touch. Hints of the fragrant oils she uses waft up to you as you stroke the brush through her hair.

Once you’ve brushed every lock into place and then some, and can’t really justify drawing it out any further, you twist the strands she had pinned behind her head back into place and replace her hair clip.

She stands, smiling regretfully. “Our time together is always far too short. Until next time, Rosaline.”

With a parting kiss, she picks up her script and departs, leaving you with the trace of her perfume and lips that still feel warm.

--

Week 7, Day 8

As your ship becomes a speck on the horizon, it feels strange to be idle again. It’s been a long time.

Jasper stands at a window in one of the towers, watching you go, a hint of resigned melancholy in his eyes.

I couldn’t do anything for him. Again.

I know he can’t feel me, not like you could, but I concentrate on all my good feelings, all my esteem, all the love I was hoping you’d be the one to give him for me.

It’s so quick, I might’ve imagined it, but for a moment, a hint of a smile flickers across his face.

I don’t know if anyone like you is going to come around again, but…I can always hope, right?

Jasper turns away from the window, heads back down to help with getting the castle out of the state of disarray that sixty entitled visitors always manage to get it into.

And I?

I wait.

My apologies for how glaringly this fic needed to be twice as long and several times more edited. 

I might go back and flesh it out more once I can write about weeks 6/7!

[angelkitty54]

Welp it’s NaNoWriMo so I’ve been trying to get some writing done. It’s kinda late but I finally got started! (Yay!) It’s just a random snippet for the Forced Bonded AU (this story: post). It's set much later on in the story and is subject to change, but I wrote quite a lot (considering I haven’t written anything in a ages...) and felt like sharing, so here :)

Pairings: DickDamian Rating: G Summary: Dick hasn’t been feeling well lately, but an innocent comment makes him think he might not be sick after all.

It was just a joke. Raya was just fooling around, teasing him, to get a laugh out of him and everyone else. Dick understood it, really, he did. But still, the words lingered there in the back of his mind, like how the scent of burnt pancakes had stuck to the walls of their trailer for months after his failed attempt at cooking breakfast that one time.

They were just words, a silly joke and nothing more. But the little question of “what if” had been planted in his mind. What if he really was…?

“Hey, what if it’s not a bug? You could be pregnant you know!”

No, he couldn’t be. They were always careful. He’d never missed a pill, and Damian always made it a point to wear a condom. Except during his heat, because it was really the only way for him to get the alpha hormones he needed in his system, and to feed their bond as well. But even so, a few days after his last heat he’d had his period, just like it always did.

It was possible to get pregnant outside of a heat; unlikely, but possible.

And, yeah okay, maybe they had been less careful than usual lately. But the odds were still stacked against them... right? It wasn’t like doing it a few times here and there without protection would really result in— and he’d had his period so he couldn’t be anyway…

But what if he was?

What if he really was pregnant?

Nausea, mood swings, cravings and weight gain; all were signs he could be pregnant. They could just as easily be symptoms of a stomach bug or flu, or even the result of stress.

And things had been stressful lately. Things had been piling up ever since they’d started on the American Tour. Maybe it was just Damian’s stress at being back in Gotham City – the one place he’d been avoiding these past five years – that was affecting him as well. It was perfectly normal for Dick to be affected by his mate’s moods. Omegas were sensitive to those kinds of things after all.

There were dozens of logical explanations for how he’s been feeling lately. Yes, being pregnant was possible, but it was the least likely scenario.

If only his mind could simply accept the logic and move on. If only Raya never made that dumb joke. If only he could silence the voice in the back of his mind that kept whispering, “What if…?”

It’s stupid really. He should be able to stop it and move on. But he can’t. He can’t stop thinking about it. All because of one stupid little joke. How pathetic.

As it is the idea had glued itself in the back of his mind, stuck in his thoughts no matter where he is or what he’s doing. So it’s no surprise as he’s out perusing the isles in the nearby pharmacy – they are running desperately low on painkillers, medical threat, disinfectant, and gauze – that he stops when he sees them.

Pregnancy tests.

Dick isn’t pregnant. He knows he’s not. But his mind won’t stop whispering. If he takes the test, then he’ll have definite proof he isn’t pregnant and he can finally get rid of all this stupid anxiety.

The beta cashier doesn’t say anything at the five different pregnancy tests among his items. She does, however, take the time to eye Dick up and down as she rang up the rest of his items. Dick can barely resist the urge to fidget under the scrutiny. What kind of person did he look like to her?

He keeps his eyes down on his bags as he pays and then scurries back out onto the humid sidewalk with little fanfare.

There’s a park nearby with a public bathroom that looked relatively clean. He’ll do the tests there where he can ditch the evidence easily, instead of at home. If he takes them home Damian might find them and then—

The thought stops him in his tracks. And then…what? It’s just pregnancy tests. There’s no reason to hide them from Damian, from his mate. He’s not pregnant anyway, and even if he was, what does it matter if Damian finds out? They both knew of possibilities that came out of sex from the very start, getting a test every once in a while was normal.

There’s nothing to be ashamed of. He has nothing to hide. Not from Damian.

Nobody stops him on his way back to their trailer. Nobody is watching him. Eyes aren’t following his every step. He’s fine. There’s nothing to hide, nothing to be ashamed of. There’s nothing to fear.

Dick tells himself these things, but it’s not until he’s in the safety of his den – where his and Damian’s scents mixed together in a soothing pheromone cocktail – that he starts to believe them.

He still locks himself in their bathroom alone with the tests, after dumping the rest of his shopping on the bed and chugging a glass of water. He spends maybe ten minutes of so, jumping from sitting to standing and back again, while reading the instructions in each box over and over before he finally feels like he’s able to pee.

Waiting for the results seemed to take even longer. By the end of it he’d gnawed down both his thumbnails.

The first one came out positive. But the next is a negative! Another negative. Another positive. And, uh, the lines were really faint on the last one. It looked more like a negative, but it was hard to tell. A false positive then. Well, it had been the cheapest of the bunch.

He grit his teeth in frustration, throwing stick with the rest. So that was it then? He might be pregnant, and he might not be. He had nothing solid to support either side.

What the hell was he supposed to do now?

“Fuck. Fucking damnit!” He growls at the useless sticks, with his hands in his hair, elbows resting on his shaking knees.

He doesn’t know how long he stays like that, but he nearly jumps out of his skin at the soft knock on the door. “Richard? Are you alright?”

Damian.

He’s moving before his thoughts can catch up to him, flinging the door open and all but barreling into the alpha. There’s a grunt of surprise before strong arms are wrapped around him, callused hands awkwardly settling on his back.

A deep soothing rumble erupts from Damian’s chest, alpha pheromones fill the air blanketing them, and a hand gently trails up his back to rest at the base of his neck, fingers pressing tenderly into his skin. Classic alpha techniques used to soothe a distressed omega.

For once Dick can’t bring himself to care for the subtle manipulation of his inner omega. He presses his face into his mate’s neck and lets himself be soothed.

“Richard, what is wrong?”

Dick shook his head. His eyes feel hot and wet. God, why is he crying? Can he get any more pathetic? Stop crying damnit!

Damian’s voice is calm in his ear, “Are you hurt?”

He takes a deep fortifying breath, drinking up the safe feeling that comes with smelling his mate’s scent. “I think I might be pregnant.” He blurts out instead of all the other excuses running through his mind.

His mouth snaps shut and Damian goes completely still against him. He keeps his head down pressed firmly into Damian’s neck, afraid of what he might see.

The silence between them drags on until Dick can’t stand it anymore, the words start tumbling out before he can really process them, “It’s just something Raya said—you know how I’ve been sick lately? And she was just joking around, saying how it might be morning sickness. And, I don’t know, I started thinking and what if I am? Pregnant, I mean? I just—I don’t—”

Being pregnant; it couldn’t be more poorly timed. Dick liked kids, he always wanted them. Really, he did. He’d always pictured himself having at least one kid. Maybe two or three, or more? But he’d always thought it’d be something that’d happen in the future, in several years, not right now.

And Damian, he was…young. They’d been married for less than a year and mated for only a little longer than that. Nineteen seemed young, too young to be a dad. And what even was the age of consent in this country? It was different depending on which state you were in, sometimes twenty one sometimes eighteen, but for an omega it was sixteen in most places but not in others?

It was too complicated and it all seemed rather stupid. Really, who had the time to figure it all out? Especially for them, since they never stayed in one place very long.

Did Damian even want to be a father? They’d never really talked about it that much. It was too soon to think about. There was too much going on in their lives to be throwing a kid in the mix. He couldn’t be pregnant. He couldn’t be. He—

“Dick. Beloved. Hush, it’s…it’s okay…” Damian’s voice cuts through his thoughts. It’s then that he realizes he might have been hyperventilating, just a little bit…  

“I’m…” He starts but can’t even finish the half-formed thought, looking up at Damian’s face for the first time.

There’s a look in his eyes that’s just as scared and unsure as Dick feels. Somehow, in a strange sort of way, knowing Damian feels the same makes him feel a little bit better. They both in this together. It’s not just him. He’s not alone. And neither is Damian.

“Are you…” Damian stops. He looks away, takes a breath, then looks back and starts again, tentatively, “It’s okay, I just… You said ‘might be pregnant’. Do you…know for sure?”

Dick threw one last bitter look at the bathroom where the pile of completely worthless pregnancy tests sat, and felt like crying. “All I can tell you is that it’s a definite maybe.”

[marlaalcott]

I'm going to make a post about OCD.

Let's start with some very very basic background story on my OCD. I have struggled with this illness for a long time. I can trace it back to as early as age 9/10. I have no recollection whether it existed beforehand, but even as a child I could recognize that I was doing things that didn't feel "normal" without rationalized/logical explanation. I felt overwhelming compulsions to carry out the actions.

In retrospect, the earliest symptoms that I can recall aligned with the period of my life that my brother was in a near fatal car accident (that's a whole other emotional post in itself). Irregular thoughts and actions for sure started at that point.

I don't know precisely what age this began, or if it existed before said car accident, but I also remember having hoarding tendencies for useless inanimate objects. I shared a bedroom with my brother, and in it we had these 2 dressers that were stacked on top of each other (we didn't have a lot of space). The open area/gap that existed between the dressers became a storage place for me. I used to put a lot of stuff in there. Most of it was useless crap. For example: I remember saving wrappers from Spice Girl bubblegum and lollipops.

There was also a time in my early teens that I used to save transit tickets. I legit was able to pick up any given transfer, look at the time and date, and remember exactly where I went and who I was with. They held sentiment and served as keepsakes.

Fast forward through my mid teenage years. I seemed to have fought off my illness for the most part during this period. By the time I met my life partner in my late teens, he described my outwardly strange actions as nothing more than "quirks". Yes. He agreed that some of the stuff I did seemed strange, but not outright crazy.

In my early 20's I had a full on OCD crash. The illness litterally consumed my entire existence. The 2 people who were closest to me watched and stood by as my sanity crumbled like the Roman Empire. I was lost. I was a shell of myself. It was rock bottom at that point in my life. My own personal hell. Something I would never wish on anyone. I strongly believe this was also the catalyst for the demise of my romantic relationship. My illness drove away the one person I loved more than anyone or anything in the world. And that fucking sucks. (More on that another day!).

Anyways. Let's fast forward to the present. I have tried my best to keep it under wraps the best that I can since way back then. It comes and goes varying severity, but luckily it hasn't been anything nearly as bad as back then. I battle it every waking moment of my existence.

Now let's speed up to the past few days. An incident took place Monday night/into Tuesday, that I'm not OK with. I entered into it willingly. Nothing "wrong" happened per se, but fuck if I felt anything but wrong afterwards. Here's some more back story to my current life and the situation at hand. I have spent the past year and a half living in denial of my still existent love for my ex. He broke up with me last May, and we have had nothing short of a rocky road since. We are 2 puzzle pieces that no longer fit together (there will be numerous posts on the topic of my heartache in the future). Not too long after we split, I had a sexual encounter that I consider non consensual. I refuse to classify it as r*pe due to the intense ramifications of that definition, but what took place was certainly not OK. To say the least. (Side note, that guy is a douchebag). I didn't handle the aftermath of that incident well. I made an effort to seek the help that I needed, but it fell through due to horrible management who denied my request to go to hospital emergency (because y'know. My 4 hour shift in a part time retail environment was the most important thing in the world!). Ugh.

Time carried on, and I fought through each passing day with mounting hurt and emotional trauma that stemmed from the devastation of the loss of a marriage (essentially), and then the non consensual scenario. Somehow I've made it through the last year running from all of this fuckery.

Yesterday a snippet of the buried trauma came creeping back in. I turned to 4 of my close friends for consoling. It was needed. I gained 4 different insights to try and put the situation into perspective. At the end of the day the most important questions were "Why do I feel guilty?" "Why do I have so much anxiety?" "Why do I feel "icky/dirty"?" The shitty thing is that I couldn't answer any of these questions with any amount of definitive clarity.

I have learned a few things though: I am NOT ready for sexual relations with any new human beings. As it turns out, I value sex as more of a sacred and spiritual connectiveness act than I previously thought I did. My heart and body still metaphorically belong to someone else (even though in reality they are MINE). I also believe that I need to be in love and part of an established relationship before I can consider engaging in any sexual acts. I need a foundation.

I didn't get any sleep Monday night. (Half an hour in and out consciousness if I'm lucky). But fuck if my OCD didn't kick my ass. My primary struggles are "contamination" oriented, coupled with magical thinking (I'll make a separate post with a more in depth definition of magical thinking). When those 2 are combined, you get me as a result! And God damn it is hell on earth.

Here's what happened. And I don't expect anyone to understand any of this (unless you have OCD as well).

I came home and headed straight into my room (as I usually do) to remove my boots and socks. My dogs came to greet me and tried to give me kisses, but I denied said kisses because I didn't want "oral sex germs" on my babies. I headed into the shower, got out, and then continued to commence my usual after shower routine. Here's where shit started to hit the fan. I grabbed a cotton pad and sprayed my toner onto it to wipe my face, and BAM. Magical thinking contamination OCD brain kicked in! I thought to myself "I haven't brushed my teeth yet. The inside of my mouth is still contaminated. What if the cotton pad spread those still existent germs onto my clean face?". I tried to ignore my irrational concerns and carried on. I applied moisturizer and the rest of my face products, put hair product in my hair, deodorant on the pits, I peed, then I exited the bathroom and got dressed. When I was done all that I acquired my toothbrush and brought it back into the bathroom to brush my teeth. When I finished brushing, I broke down. I used hand soap to rewash my entire face, but I couldn't shake the feelings that my face was contaminated. So back into the shower I went! 2 showers. 2 FUCKING SHOWERS. FML. And when I got out the second time, I had a hard time believing that I even brushed my teeth to begin with (yay magical thinking brain for being able to convince myself of untruths!). I got through it all and went out to see a friend, but when I got home my anxiety was still fucked and I felt unsafe in my bed.

I got lots of MUCH NEEDED sleep, but I still felt "scared" of my bedding when I woke up. That fear did not diminish with the sleep. Remember how I said I took off my boots when I got home? Yeah. My "dirty" clothes touched my bedding. *Gasp*

I was supposed to see a couple of close friends today, but she had to cancel. So I succumbed to my OCD! I full spiraled. Like I did years ago. I legitimately felt my brain unraveling into that same insanity. I recognized this place. I have been there before. And my biggest fear is falling right off the rails again.

After I was cancelled on, I didn't know what to do with myself or my day. I was also emotionally worked up and anxious, because I had just looked at my exes Facebook page (this is a form of self harm for me. Seeing his public flirtations with his new love interest, is more than I can handle at this time in my life). So into the wash half of my bedding goes! And then I hopped back into the shower, sat down, and cried under the running hot water while asking higher powers to help me. All in all I have rewashed bedding that was already cleaned not even a week ago along with some clothing (clothing that included what I wore into the hotel Monday night), and showered twice. Totally unnecessary, but fuck. At least I feel calmer.

I think my OCD is coming back into play as a control mechanism. My ex is building a new life for himself along with a new partner, and it's my mind's way of easing itself. Everything is falling apart (hopefully to eventually come back together), and my illness is resurfacing in attempts to regain some kind of power. (I'm scared of my toothbrush btw).

I believe suppressed feelings of my non consensual sexual encounter from last year also resurfaced yesterday. Disclaimer: This incident was with someone I know and trust. It wasn't "wrong", but it felt wrong for me. I am NOT someone who can do the whole NSA/FWB thing. I learned about myself!

The guy I was with even made a few comments along the way of being concerned about my fragility. Turns out, he was right! I guess he knows aspects of myself better than I even do. :(

Today was a huge OCD failure. I NEED a psychiatrist referral. I don't want to go back to my dark place.