#I want to stop existing and sit in bed chewing on peanut butter and doing nothing all day

[hyperfixation-tangentopia]

When you're on a time crunch but your (presumably) ADHD brain decides "fuck you I want to write"

[peachesofteal]

I’ll be honest, I’m looking forward to the darker scenarios 👀

Darling unable to get away, having to stay because she knows she can’t survive on her own, let alone with a little baby that’s entirely dependent on her.

Simon, possessive and controlling to keep Darling with them, their family together. He’s already gone too far with messing with the BC, so I’m betting he’s willing to go further at this point.

Johnny, helpless to it all, but trying to keep the peace, keep Darling healthy so she can deliver a healthy baby safely. What else can he do without losing both Simon and his pregnant Darling?

I’m specifically imagining after Darling confronts them, trying to run out the front door, but Simon physically stops her, will not let her leave until she listens to him, agrees this is for the best, that she belongs to and with them.

Sorry for the long ask, just have so many thoughts on this AU and am looking forward to seeing where you take it 😵‍💫

There are so many juicy little bits to the baby trap au here, but let's talk about Johnny for a sec:

I like to imagine Johnny not being helpless, but definitely second to Simon in all of this. It was his idea, his dream, and he did agree. It was a decision they made together, but I think now he's really trying to tow the line in order to keep everyone together. It's a strain for sure, but he did this to himself, he's not innocent. He knows it. He likes it. The guys, both of them, love how you've always depended on them and this is no different in baby trap.

18+ MDNI / baby trap au / dark and twisty themes / reader is a prisoner so please read with caution

His fingers reach for yours involuntarily, the muscles in his face working against the wince that is pulling at his lips when you snatch your hand away like he's burned you. "Please, darling, will you at least-"

"No." You hiss, pushing the plate away from where you sit. Your arms cross in front of your chest, and you do that thing again, the thing you've been doing recently that's driving him mad, where you close your eyes and pretend he doesn't exist.

"I know ye must be hungry, love." He moves the plate back, palm cupping your knee softly. You don't jerk away, but it's more because you're still acting like he's not there, instead of shying away as you're prone to do.

He sighs.

"Well, I guess I can eat this then. Or we can dump it." He takes your fork and spears a piece of pancake, mopping it around in the syrup that you like so much, before lifting it to his lips. "Be such a shame, to waste it all, but Si won't be home for another hour yet, and I ate before ye woke up." He's not lying, it would be. He made you pancakes, bacon, and eggs. Sourdough toast, your favorite, and a peanut butter smoothie. There's also orange juice, and chocolate almond milk, another thing you've been craving non stop.

You crack an eyelid. Just a little, enough to survey the meal again. He knows, knows, that you're hungry. You hardly touched your dinner, and then suffered a breakdown, where you locked yourself in the bathroom and cried for hours until Simon had enough and picked the lock after you had started sobbing out loud about how you wanted to die.

It had taken hours to settle you, Simon with a hand steady on your nape, Johnny with his arms around you as you cried yourself to sleep in the guest bed.

He chews his bite, thoughtfully, albeit a little loudly, before clearing his throat. "It's a nice day today. Want to go for a walk? We could go to the park, or walk down to the cafe you like." Both of your eyes blink open now, narrowed, but still staring at breakfast, and he puts the fork on the rim of the plate with a clink, motioning to the pancakes. "They're a bit fluffy." He comments, and you scowl. He holds his snicker as you reach for it, pulling everything in front of you, stabbing into a large bite and lifting it into your mouth. "Good girl." He whispers, and you shift uncomfortably in your seat, teeth worrying at your bottom lip. "Take another bite." He urges in a soft voice, but you shake your head.

"My stomach hurts." you whisper to your knees, and he swallows the lump in his throat. It's been so hard on you, the pregnancy, the changes in everything, everything that's happened after you found that stupid piece of foil. You had always struggled with eating, your own emotions sabotaging you, twisting you up into knots, but now it was even worse. And you needed to eat, now more than ever. For yourself, and the baby. The doctor had assured them that your appetite fluctuations were okay for now, but they needed to keep a close eye on it.

"What about some of the eggs?" He nods to the glass to your left, the tall one with the smoothie in it. "Or some of that?" Your nose wrinkles.

"I don't want it."

"You love peanut butter smoothies, they're your favorite."

"I want mango." You huff. Mango? Since when? You rub your belly thoughtfully and look at him with big, sad eyes. "I'm really craving mango. Can I have a mango smoothie? With vanilla ice cream in it? Please?" There's a glimmer of something, in your eyes, something sad, and longing... but familiar, and he swallows against the worry that rises in his gut. It's going to be okay. You're going to be alright. They're taking care of you. They won't let anything happen to you.

He shoots Simon a quick text, telling him to pick up fresh mango and vanilla ice cream on his way home, and then he glances back at you.

"Si will bring the ingredients home, okay?" You nod, still palming your belly, fingers tapping across your skin. You groan a little when you get to your feet, body sore from the less than luxurious guest bed that you've been insistent on sleeping in, and walk away to sink into the couch. "What're ye doing?" You burrow yourself into the cushions pulling the blankets up over your chin and closing your eyes, back to pretending that he doesn't exist, except to give your answer.

"Waiting for my smoothie. You'll bring it to me?" You peek over the mound of pillows, eyes still wide and sad, but there's something else there, something he can't name, and he nods automatically.

"Of course, darling."

[wayward-styxxx]

Autism/ADHD/Anxiety things from my childhood

- I was quite sensory seeking (I loved car rides, rolling down hills, jumping off my dresser onto my bed, spinning in chairs, staring at sparkly things, etc). I was probably more sensory seeking than sensory avoidant.

- I toe walked and never grew out of that.

- I developed trichotillomania and trichophagia in 3rd grade. I went from having eyebrows to not having eyebrows. Kids thought I shaved my eyebrows.

- I had a habit of running away in stressful situations.

- I was pretty decent in school. I got awards for being nice(it’s not hard to be nice) and for excelling in reading. I read at my grade level and beyond(adult books)

- I loved to read and I actually got in trouble often for reading in class instead of listening to the lesson

- I was pretty crap at subjects that were not language arts.

- My mom said that I got along with kids and played with anyone willing to play with me, but I was shy around adults. She thought that was interesting since I was an only child. She said that she couldn’t keep me from playing.

- That’s pretty true. I loved to play especially if I got my way.

- Even though I played with others I had like one actual best friend(I think) that I was always attached to and through her I had other friends. I considered me and this girl best friends even though our friendship pretty much stayed at school(like most of my friendships).

- The thing is that even though I considered this girl my best friend, I’m not so sure she totally considered me her best friend. She had other friends and when she would want to play with them I was basically like “well who do I have then?�� I would insert myself into their little friendship even if they kinda wanted their own thing.

- I never actually had any friends over to my place.I only had cousins (1 cousin really) over to my place.

- I don’t have any photos with friends outside of a school setting and the photos that I do have with friends in a school setting are class photos.

- My birthday parties (that my mom planned) only had my cousins and no friends. I don’t think I ever actually invited any of my friends. I do know that I only had cousins and their parents there. I pretty much just liked getting gifts and having my parents wish me happy birthday. That was enough for me.

- I think I was only ever invited to one birthday party in elementary school. No, it was not my best friend’s birthday party lol

- I think in all of my years of elementary school I’ve called like one friend and it wasn’t the girl who was my best friend. I called this girl one time and never again. I never liked talking on the phone.It was like pulling teeth. My parents always had to remind me to call my grandparents or whoever.

- Years later when I would notice friends that I went to elementary school with, I would remember them, but they would either not remember me or they would just keep it to “hey, cool bye”. This even happened with my best friend from elementary school when I saw her outside of my high school. So sometimes I feel like maybe I didn’t actually have friends in elementary school. I was most likely just tolerated because I was nice lol 😂

- In elementary school I was called “mean” by other kids and even my friends before for having an opinion or for saying “no”. I never understood this, but I do know that I was so desperate for folks to like me and be my friend that I just ended up giving in or changing my opinion.

- I was very talkative. The teacher would tell the class to be quiet and I would still be trying to have conversations about my favorite book or something. I would literally be the only one still talking so I got in trouble for that quite often. Even though people were ignoring me because they were supposed to be quiet, I was still talking to them. Literally everyone got the cue except me.

- I talked to myself a lot especially when I was at home. I had whole conversations with myself and my mom would always ask who I was talking to. I would respond with “nobody” to not seem super weird. Sometimes I was honest and would say “myself”.

- I never had imaginary friends though because they just didn’t make sense to me. I always knew I was talking to myself and not a invisible friend.

- In elementary school some of my special interests gave me anxiety. For example, I got into tornadoes and hurricanes so I was constantly on the look out for signs of them. Those tornado watch alerts literally made my heart race. I also had a safety plan for if a tornado were to ever touch down. I read every book in my library on tornadoes and extreme weather.

- I was always sensitive to certain smells and foods and they would make me gag. I remember when I did a children’s summer program the smell of the food made me so sick and light headed that often times I decided to just go hungry. It was like a smell that nobody else could smell.

- I think I can remember everything that I ate as a kid because I pretty much ate the same thing.

- I was also very particular about how my food was prepared and the ratios. I always had to have the correct amount of peanut butter to jelly on my sandwich or the correct amount of skin to chicken with my chicken tenders. My parents don’t know this but if the foods were not the correct ratios or textures or if they made me sick then I would wrap them in toilet paper/paper towel and throw them in the trash can. I got that idea from a tv show.

- As you can see I kept a lot of things from my mom and grandma.

- I also watched the same tv shows/movies over and over again in the same sitting for hours. I remember I couldn’t find my incredibles movie dvd, but I had the behind the scenes dvd, so I spent hours going through every option on that behind the scenes disk. None of my tapes/DVDs play all the way through because I have rewound them so much.

- When blockbuster still existed I rented the same 4 sailor moon tapes and justice league movie every time.

- I learned a lot from tv and took the story lines quite seriously and tried to mesh them with everyday life. That didn’t always work out and sometimes got me in trouble with students/friends.

- I imitated characters. I am most likely an amalgamation of every character I’ve ever watched.

- I have this stim where I smell and rub my face across my arm. I’ve had that one since forever.

-I have a lot of tactile/vestibular/olfactory stims.

- I don’t think I’ve ever had a real sense of danger because my mom has complained that I’ve put myself in dangerous situations and was completely oblivious to them.

- Inappropriate giggling/smiling

- I’ve always had sort of a hard time seeing things from others perspectives.

- I cried a lot especially when I was away from my mom and grandma. I cried when I went to pre-school which is fine because it’s a new environment, but I also cried when I was left with family members as well. I would literally cry until my body just gave out.

- My mom said that I was very observant and at 5 years old I asked her why all of my toys were made in China. I also asked if most things we had were made in China. I examined my toys a lot.

-I loved the way my toys looked and felt

- I didn’t have the best tone control. I was always told to speak up. The funny thing is I could also be extremely loud especially when excited. I would scream if I was excited or even spooked(?) and I was so loud that teachers would literally come to the area and be like “yo who is that screaming ? I can hear this person all the way down the hall”

- I constantly ruined my clothes and things at school( not on purpose) and my mom would be upset but I could never see why she was upset even after she explained to me why she was upset. I also could never remember how my clothes ended up so dirty or how I lost jackets because there was just so much going on and the day moved so fast.

- I constantly misheard things as a child. I could be at a movie or have my tv all the way up and I could hear what people were saying but not comprehend it. It sounded like another language sometimes. I hated when people would whisper from the across the room so I would say “I can’t understand what you’re saying”. I think I was shouting that because I would get weird looks or people would just say “nevermind”.

- My mom brought me expensive gold lockets, but I broke every last one because I couldn’t stop myself from chewing on the chain and the actual locket. I pretty much wanted the locket because tigger had one in the tigger movie lol

- I chewed on my erasers and pen grips.

- I loved collecting things like rocks(geodes) and stationary and so I was kind of a pack rat lol

- My mom was happy to have a girl because that meant we could go shopping. Unfortunately I was not that interested in shopping for clothes when I was younger. When my mom would get excited about shopping for clothes for the both of us I would be like “can I buy books?” The only times I really cared about clothes and purses was if I saw the main character in a movie I was currently cared about clothes and purses. My mom enjoyed dressing me while she could though.

- When I was in elementary school I was going to a wedding and my mom said that I needed to dress up. I wanted to wear my new comfortable tracksuit so that’s what I wore. I was comfortable but extremely underdressed. I had a good time but felt out of place lol

- When I played with dolls I pretty much just set up scenes with very little dialogue. I did play teacher and I used my moms lottery tickets as scantron sheets. Sometimes I played teacher with my dolls, but dolls can’t write so i usually ended up being the teacher and the student.

-I was always hard on myself in elementary school. I started having negative thoughts starting in like 4th or 5th grade.

- I remember in 4th(?) grade being obsessed with ophelias suicide that was in a Shakespeare poem book. I didn’t have the most normal interests. My mom was always confused as to why I was into such dark themed subjects as a kid.

- I hated when my clothes would bunch up under my arms from too many layers and I still can’t stand that.

- my skin also seemed to be super sensitive and it’s almost like I could feel it moving which caused me to itch and I had to scratch myself extremely hard to get the itch to go away. I still have this problem today.

- I was and still am violently ticklish.

- I have never had good handwriting and a lot of my papers had words scribbled out and arrow marks where words should be. My written papers did and still do look horrible. Either you want me to write fast and have my paper be a complete mess or give me enough time to write slow and have a semi-neat paper. Thank god for computers.

- my mom tried her best to get me to learn cursive. I tried at school, my mom got me a cursive book and she tried to practice with me. I never learned proper cursive and I never completed that cursive book which frustrated my mom when I was younger. I would literally just sit there sometimes and stare at the book.

- I hated learning time on a analog clock, that was tough. It really took me a while to totally get it and I’m so glad my grandma always had a digital clock when I was younger. I relied on other kids who got it to help me. Still to this day I have to remind myself which hand is which and I’m 21. At 21 years old I’m still like “okay the small hand is the hour hand and it’s on the 3, the big hand is the minute hand and it’s on the 9”. Lol

- I would daydream and doodle especially in math class and so I got in trouble for not paying attention.

-I am happy that my mom and grandma were very hands on with me because if she wasn’t, I don’t think I would’ve gotten anything done tbh lol

[mickeymccarthyarchive-blog]

truth time || mctwips

TAGGING → MICKEY MCCARTHY, MADISON MCCARTHY & MASON MCCARTHY LOCATION → the mccarthy house. TIME FRAME → 5/4/17, evening. NOTES → mickey tells the truth about her and santana, obvious mention of santana lopez, no other warnings.

Mickey sucked in a sharp breath, looking at the clock above Mason and Madison's heads instead of directly into either one of their eyes. She'd given Mason a bag of cookies to munch on, but she knew that no amount of dessert snacks would be able to prepare Madison for what she had to tell her. She couldn't stop pacing -- good lord, why couldn't she just sit still? She looked at her siblings, seated on the couch, the only noise the ticking of the clock and the munching of Mason and his cookies. "Okay, so, there's a reason why I wanted to have a family meeting, and I don't really...even wanna say any of this at all, so before I do, I need promises that I'm not going to be shunned -- no matter what I tell you."

Madison had had too much on her mind to really give much thought to why Mickey had called a family meeting, but as she watched her sister pace, she realized that her priorities had clearly been skewed. Who cared what tablecloth she was going to use when Carter came over, or what might happen if Carter's parents came home unexpectedly when she was over later, when Mickey was clearly about to confess to murder. "Mick," Madison tried to keep her voice level, reassuring. Her sister's anxiety was rubbing off on her, and she shifted on the couch. She wanted to smack the cookies out of Mason's hand; she knew a bribe when she saw it, and she was glad that Mickey at least knew better than to try similar distractions on her. "I keep Dad's lawyer on speed dial. If you committed murder, we'll be your alibi." Madison half-smiled, but didn't quite make it. She didn't try to tell Mickey to sit down, or relax, as she knew that both of those things would just stress her out worse. "Is everything okay? Is this a hospital thing?" Madison's eyes scanned Mickey's body, looking to see if she'd missed any obvious signs of trauma--it didn't look like she had, which truly only disquieted Madison further. Whatever this problem was, Mickey was worried about being shunned, which meant that it would either be stupid or infuriating or both, but Madison tried to push those thoughts aside. Whatever it was, she told herself, they'd get through it.

Mason raised his eyebrows and smacked Madison's arm gently. "Oh my gosh! That was my first thought too!" he exclaimed before stopping to brush the crumbs off that he'd gotten on Madison's shirt. "I'm not sure what that says about us." He grabbed another cookie and took a bite, turning his attention back to Mickey. "Listen, Mick. We're not Amish. I could never be Amish. I couldn't live without my hair dryer." Someone in this room needed to be funny before they all died from the tension. "Seriously though, just tell us."

Mickey sighed. "So you guys know how Santana was here last night?" She said, stopping to look at them both briefly before averting her eyes again. "There's...there's a reason for that," she told them, struggling with her words. She let out a shaky exhale, "It's because Santana is bisexual, she came out to her mom and her grandma and...her grandma's really, really upset about it," she continued. She looked at them, giving them a minute to digest that. "Which...not a big deal, whatever, but...you probably wonder why she came to me," she added, "And...it's because Santana loves me."

Madison appreciated Mason's attempt at humor, but as soon as Mickey spoke, it felt like all the air left her lungs. She had been...curious, to say the least, about Santana's arrival, but not so curious as to actually ask. And now that she had her answer, she felt vaguely sick. It was too much information. Not the matter of Santana's sexuality--that was hardly anything, especially compared to the other bombs that Mickey had dropped. A homophobic Latina grandmother? Cause for concern, on several fronts. Santana being in love with her sister? Madison blinked. Tried to clear her throat. She hadn't said anything for too long. She studied her fingertips, then let out a breath. "Oh." It was all she could manage - she could feel the dozens of questions beginning to take shape in the back of her mind, but she was too stunned to give any of them voice.

Mason scrunched his face up curiously as he tried to figure out exactly what was going on, still slowly chewing his treat. "I mean... everybody loves us," Mason pointed out before Madison gave him a glare. "Oh! Ohhhhh. Like loves you. Like wants to makes playlists for you loves you." His eyes went wide as realization finally set in. "You got the head cheerleader to fall in love with you? Wow. That's impressive."

Mickey wanted to laugh at what Mason said, but she felt a little too nauseous to. She gave him a weak smile, "She's not out..." she continued. "And like, I just...I kept something from you guys for...a long time -- since November. I've...I've loved Santana since November," she said, swallowing hard. "We um, we dated for a short time back in November. In secret."

Madison felt her jaw tighten. Every word Mickey said just made it worse. Her sister had lied to her. For months. About Santana Lopez. Who had been in her home the night before. Her sister had lied to her. For months. Madison knew it was selfish; that she should be better than this. Better than the hurt and betrayal, better than the knee-jerk reaction of how could you. Better than wanting to use this as proof of a deteriorating relationship. Madison blinked. Once, twice, and let out a measured breath, looking carefully back up at Mickey. "Does she make you happy?" Madison finally asked, voice very quiet. She reminded herself that that was all that mattered. That her sister was happy. Deliriously, overwhelmingly happy. She thought about Marley, the vitriol with which she'd protested her and Mason being together, and how happy they were now. It was difficult, to say the least, to imagine a similar relationship between her sister and Santana Lopez but then again, she figured that herself and Carter was probably similarly puzzling...Madison closed her eyes and tucked her hair behind her ear. She needed to focus on breathing, and not shunning her sister. Her hand slid into Mason's automatically, ignoring the dust of cookie crumb on his fingers. If she had half a chance of getting through this without making Mickey angry, it would be with Mason's easy, effortless sweetness, his reflexive goodness. Not for the first time, Madison found herself wondering where Mason had learned it; where Mickey had learned her bravery. Of course, she recognized the fear--the caged animal, the rip-the-bandaid off approach--that was all Madison. She found she didn't like it much when she was on the receiving end.

Mason 's mouth fell open into a perfect 'o' shape. He had to admit, he had not seen that one coming. That was a long time to keep a secret, especially in this house. He hadn't even managed to hide the fact that he ate a whole jar of peanut butter in one night last month. He felt Madison's hand slide into his and he gave it a gentle squeeze to reassure he that he was here. "You know we wouldn't have outed her, Mick. I mean... did she ask you not to tell us?"

Mickey bit her lip, "We aren't together anymore, I mean, not really -- because, well, I broke up with her after about a month or so," she cleared her throat. She knew Madison was mad, but she also knew she couldn't do anything but tell the whole truth now. Mason's question only filled her with guilt. "I know you wouldn't have outed her, and she didn't explicitly ask - no, but...I just. I know that when I was still stuck in the closet, I didn't want anyone to know on someone else's terms, just on mine, and I...I wasn't gonna tell you guys unless I had an okay from her. I...got the okay last night," she clarified. Mickey ran a hand through her hair and gathered her thoughts again, "We're not together anymore," she continued. "And that was because...I couldn't hide anymore. I didn't want to make her come out, but I also didn't want to put myself...back in," she said, tears prickling in her eyes. "And I was miserable when we broke up. I was so miserable. I didn't wanna get out of bed or even breathe," she told them, frustrated at how unnatural it felt to let her feelings be practically laid out on the coffee table. "I never felt good about keeping it from you, but I hope you can understand why I did, and...and if me and Santana do get back together, it will be when she's okay with being out..." she trailed off. "And...I didn't want all of this to explode one day and for you guys to be the last to know, so...you're the first."

Madison felt actually sick. She remembered, distantly, last December, her sister acting...strangely. But she had no idea. How had she been so utterly oblivious? How had she not known? How had all of this happened under her nose without her even having a clue? Confusion and the persistent feeling of failure made for a dangerous cocktail and Madison ran a hand over her face, letting out a low breath. "Okay." Madison said slowly, looking from Mason to Mickey. "I--okay. This is--this is a lot." Madison let out a weak little chuckle and looked at the ceiling for a brief moment. It didn't escape her notice that Mickey hadn't actually answered her question--if Santana made her happy or not, which was the only question that really mattered. She had mentioned them getting back together, which to Madison seemed like a truly terrible idea, but she couldn't tell how rational a feeling that was. If such a thing as a rational feeling even existed. "I'm--I'm glad you were able to...to stand up for yourself and do--do something hard." Madison felt like someone else was saying the words, like she was watching herself recite lines from a script. She hoped it didn't sound like that to Mickey. "Thank--thank you for telling us, Mickey. We love you."

Mason wasn't entirely sure what to say or do. He wanted to be there for both of his sisters but that seemed near impossible right now. He could feel Madison's tension as she sat beside him and he could hear it in her words, like she was just saying the ones she thought she should say. "I get that. I wouldn't have wanted you guys telling anybody unless I was ready either," he agreed, nodding slowly. Instinctively he lifted his arm and wrapped it around Madison's shoulders. "How do you feel, Mick? That's important to us."

Mickey sighed, knowing that Madison was angry with her. "Right now, crappy, for a myriad of reasons," she crossed her arms over her chest.  "I don't want to know how MadisonAndMason feel, I want to know how Madison feels. I want to know how Mason feels. Individually," she said, sniffling. "If my sister's mad at me, I want to know that she's mad at me from her lips instead of her eyes.

Madison swallowed and shrugged out of Mason's arm, standing. She crossed her arms over her chest; Madison was just as uncomfortable as Mickey with putting word to emotions, especially the ones that she didn't clearly, perfectly understand herself. "I'm--I'm not mad," Madison finally said, her voice thick. "I'm--sad. That you didn't tell us. And annoyed, at myself for--missing it. And worried about you maybe possibly in the future getting back with someone who nearly recloseted you and who's absence debilitated you." Madison took a breath and continued, a little calmer. "But I'm not...mad. I just miss when we all told each other everything." Madison looked back at Mason, then shrugged and sighed, hugging her arms tighter around herself. She wanted to get out of the house; she wanted to leave. She wanted to go to Carter and forget all this--it was too much to process. She knew that, later, when she was able to get some distance, she probably would be angry, but that was a distant, secondary or tertiary emotion. She looked from her sister to her bare feet, and said in a very small voice, "I just want you to be happy, Mush."

Mason was about pull his arm back after Mickey's first jab, but Madison pulling away before he could only felt like he'd been punched all over again. He wasn't sure he even needed to be here at this point. Trying to be there for either of them only seemed to upset them both, so what was the point. He scooted himself to the other end of the couch and pulled his knees up to his chest, let Madison have her say. "I was just trying to help," he muttered. He didn't miss the look Madison gave him either when she was going on about things used to be.

Mickey didn't miss the way Mason looked like she'd hit him, and maybe it would've been better if she had - "Mase," she said, shaking her head, "It's not...I wasn't trying to..." she trailed off, covering her face with her hands. Every time she opened her mouth, she hurt them more. It was the last thing she wanted - to hurt either of them, and yet here she was. "I'm sorry," she said to both of them, tears spilling over as she lost her last bit of control, "I'm sorry. You guys can go if you need."

Madison wanted to. She did. But her baby sister was crying, her baby brother was retreating, and someone had to be the bigger person here, and as per usual, it was Madison. She moved to Mickey, first, and wrapped her arms around her, squeezing tightly. "We'll be okay." Madison promised, carding her fingers gently through Mickey's hair. "It's gonna be okay. If...if she makes you happy, I'm happy." I just don't know her, Madison kept herself from saying, from parroting the words Mickey had been using about Carter for over a month. She kissed her sister's forehead and then looked back at their brother, offering a weak, apologetic smile. "You are helping, Face. C'mere. McHug time." She kept one arm securely around Mickey and extended the other to Mason, pleading and tired and apologetic. "We're all gonna be okay," she said again, to both of them. Please, please, please let that be true.

Mason still felt uneasy as he sat there. He knew this was hard for Mickey and he didn't want to go panicking and making it about him when it wasn't supposed to be. He just hated feeling unneeded and pushed away. He watched his sisters' hug and chewed nervously on his thumb nail until Madison beckoned him over. He got up and shuffled his way over, still feeling a little awkward between the words they'd exchanged and the fact that he was almost a foot taller than both of them.

Mickey buried her face in Mason's chest, "I'm sorry," she repeated over and over like a mantra, holding them there for a little while before she absolutely needed to breathe, pulling back and wiping her eyes. "I'll give you guys...time to...adjust, and um. I really need a shower, so I'm gonna do that...I...I'm sorry," she breathed out, wiping her eyes, embarrassed that she'd blubbered like an idiot.

Madison ached. There was nothing she hated more than seeing her siblings in pain, and every repetitive apology felt like a death sentence. She felt like she had a boulder lodged in her throat. "I love you," Madison managed, rubbing at her own eyes too. "Both of you." She found Mason's hand and squeezed it, her other hand still on Mickey's back. "I'm--" Madison kept herself from apologizing, because she didn't yet know what she'd done wrong, how her sister crying was her fault--just that it was, but she couldn't apologize until it was a real apology. "I'm...I was going to go to Carter's," Madison admitted hesitantly, eyes flicking from Mickey to Mason. It felt...wrong, weird, bad somehow to even think of leaving now; she wanted to keep Mickey there, let them talk through it, talk to Mason, maybe cry herself, but she also felt like she couldn't breathe, and she was fairly certain that no productive communication would be happening. "Or I can...not, I don't--I don't want to..." Madison trailed off and shifted nervously from foot to foot. Why was she making this about her? What was wrong with her?

Mason raised an eyebrow. "Yes, you do," Mason said, managing a tired chuckle. "Maybe... maybe tonight isn't the best night for us to talk through all this." He stepped back and perched on the end table so he wouldn't be towering over them. "We're all obviously feeling a lot of things and I think we all know that can be dangerous, right? Maybe we should take the night to process our feelings or whatever. But I don't want anyone to be alone either."

Mickey nodded, "Yeah, I think um, I think I'm...I'm definitely feeling too raw. Too...exposed, I guess. I um, I don't do well that way," she admitted, swallowing hard. "What if we um, can we all just make a promise that if any of us starts being not okay that we'll hit up the group chat and just...meet back up?"

Madison nodded, letting out a breath of relief. A plan. She worked better with a plan. She exhaled and ran a hand through her hair, then moved to take both of her siblings hands in hers. "I'll come home so fast," Madison promised, looking between them. This felt...significant. That she was voluntarily choosing a boy--choosing anyone--over her distraught family. The guilt that wracked her was nearly enough to have her reaching for her phone to cancel with Carter. "Are...you guys gonna be okay?" Madison asked, worrying the edge of her lip between her teeth. She needed to trust them to take care of each other, but more than that, it was what Mickey had said; she needed to know that they, individually, would be alright if she left. Or at least as alright as they could be.

Mickey thought for a second, then nodded, "I will," she said. "I think I will. I just need to take a hot shower and get my head back to normal - or some...form of that," she nodded, "What about you, Mase?"

Mason nodded definitively. He didn't want to keep Madison from seeing Carter. She was always taking care of them and she deserved this. She shouldn't have to cancel just for them. So if Mickey was okay with it, he certainly was. "Don't worry about us. We'll all breathe and we can talk later." He stood again and pressed a kiss to each of his sister's foreheads respectively. "Sorry I spazzed."

Madison smiled a little and shook her head, leaning up to peck Mason's cheek. "That was hardly a spazz," she teased, gently; she was reassured. Her brother was the best brother. And as she looked back at Mickey, she moved to gently brush a stray tear away before she kissed Mickey's forehead. Her sister was the best sister. "Thank you for telling us." Madison repeated, then nodded to herself. She had to leave. She had to get out, or she wouldn't, and they'd end up picking at each other before they could do any of the breathing and thinking they all needed. "I'm gonna...go. I love you both so much. Text me if you need anything. I love you." She said, squeezing their hands gently again before she extricated herself. The numbness was creeping in--it was too much, still, but she needed to go. She left the living room, stopping only to grab a jacket and slid her shoes back on, and then she was gone, leaving the McCarthy house and her siblings, reluctantly, behind.

[therealjammy]

An Old Friend, A New One

For @pota-totoo. This fic was totally inspired by one of your tweets in which you said Shaw would outlive Bear. So I had to write a little something on it. But there’s a surprise for you in here and I hope you like it! 

Warning: Major character death. 

1.

Bear was perched by her leg, his chin resting on her boot and chocolate, watery eyes wandering from person to person and dog to dog. His tail thumped happily and his tongue lolled from his mouth, getting droplets of saliva on Shaw’s shoe. He hadn’t been in a mood to chase his ball for a little bit, but Shaw could understand that. Like him, her body was slowing down too. But that didn’t stop her from going on missions and shooting bad guys and getting to blow things up. With Bear, it was a little bit of a different story. He couldn’t walk as far and slept for hours on and off during the day. He was getting arthritis in his joints. There were patches of white fur on his chest and snout and around his eyes. Shaw teased him from time to time about having grey hair and he would look at her as if to say you have some too.

           They walked home together, Shaw slowing her pace so he could keep up. He was wobbling a bit but looked happily up at her. When they were home she scratched behind his ears as he lay in his dog bed, eyes closed and head pressing into the touch. He liked to hear how good he was; each time Shaw murmured the phrase his tail would beat against the side of the bed or the bookshelf.

           “Get some sleep, buddy. You look pretty tired.”

 2.

In his last days, he was as loving as he was the very first time Shaw had met him. He slept between her and Root on the bed, head pillowed on one of their legs for most of the night. He greeted them when they came in the door, wobbling over and nearly stumbling into things because of a cataract in one eye. His appetite was as big as Root’s. He rotated between them on movie nights for pets and ear scratches and still begged for people food even though his stomach wouldn’t be able to handle it. But towards the end of his life an illness befell him, resulting in many trips to different vets across the city in order to diagnose it.

           “Unfortunately,” said the fifth vet, clipping more X-rays to the lightbox, “your tough guy’s got cancer. It’s already spread to multiple places, as you can see here,” she pointed to the stomach and the liver. “Surgery is an option but there may not be much we can do otherwise.”

           Root chewed on her nails. Her left hand was buried in his warm ruff, shaking slightly. Shaw was studying the X-rays, arms crossed over her chest.

           “I can give you some time to think things over,” the vet said gently. “I’ll come back in a bit.”

           The door shut softly behind her and Root let out a shaky breath.

           “We can afford the surgery and the other bills,” Shaw told her. “I think it may be worth a shot.”

           “Okay,” Root said, nodding, pressing her lips repeatedly to Bear’s head and letting the tip of his tongue grace her nose. “Yeah.” She hadn’t expected to love him this much, so overwhelmed with the thought of him leaving forever. Everything aged but if she had one superpower in the world it would be to make him immortal.

           The vet came back five minutes later, her black uniform covered in orange cat hair. “Wild cat back there,” she commented, making Root smile a bit. “So, have you made a decision?”

           The surgery was scheduled for Tuesday of next week. The Machine cleared their schedules for two weeks in case things went amiss. She told Root the odds of survival in elderly dogs to make her feel a little better and promised to watch over him while he stayed at the vet for two days recovering. By the end of it the vet—whose name they now knew was Autumn—gave them a call and said he made it out okay and was coming around from the anaesthesia. Would they be free to visit him tomorrow morning?

           By the time they made it the office was filled with waiting people with cats, dogs, and even parrots that squawked and repeated phrases. The resident cat, Lucille, jumped in Shaw’s lap and made herself at home until she had to get up to go to the room where Bear was waiting for them. The shut door blocked out the noise and they were enveloped in a quiet, cool room, Bear’s tail wagging despite the cone fastened around his neck to keep from licking the stitches on his stomach.

           “Hey bud,” Shaw said. He licked her palm and nuzzled his nose into Root’s elbow. “You doing okay?”

           Autumn came in a moment later, looking pleased. “He can go home tomorrow,” she said. “I’ve prepared some ointment that you can rub on the stitches and given you antibiotics to mix with his food or treats. Just make sure he doesn’t lick them.”

 3.

Root pored over the vet bills and wrote checks to pay them off, taking from the bank account she’d set up a while ago for normal expenses. Her hand shook when she signed each one with a cover signature, one the Machine had made sure was completely thorough. Bear’s condition had worsened slightly and after several back and forth calls between Shaw and Autumn the conclusion was reached that there wasn’t much to do except keep him comfortable and try to keep his pain level down.

           Shaw had set up an air mattress on the floor by Bear’s bed so she could keep an eye on him during the night. Sometimes the mattress would bounce and wake Root up and other time she would wake up during hours where Shaw soothed him through pain or dreams. But even if he was losing weight and looking worse for wear there was still that spark in his eyes, that happy look in them like he wouldn’t want to be with anyone else.

           There was a day where he couldn’t get out of bed. Autumn did house calls as well and came bearing a travel kit, red hair up in a bun and blue latex gloves on as soon as she’d stepped through the door and into Shaw’s apartment. He was calm throughout the examination and, when it was done, moved his head closer to Shaw and Root’s hands, pressing into their touches. Soft whines escaped his throat.

           “He’s hanging on,” Autumn said, packing away her stethoscope, a solemn look on her face. “He’s in pain, though. I don’t know if you want to let him hang on a little bit longer or…” She trailed off, leaving the sentence unfinished. Her eyes darted between Shaw and Root, taking in the thoughtful expression on Shaw’s face and the upset face of Root, who was biting the inside of her cheek to keep something inside.

           “Let me make a call,” Shaw said, rising from her crouch. She went into the bedroom to call Lionel and John, telling them the news and asking their advice.

           “I’ll be there in a few,” John told her. Rustling on his end was a sign of him rushing out the door.

           “Yeah, of course I’ll be there,” Fusco said. “Gotta say goodbye to the big guy, right?”

           When they arrived it was early evening and the sun was beginning to sink lower in the sky. It cast golden light in Shaw’s living room, shining warmly on Bear’s bed. His tail wagged and wagged when he saw John and, when Lionel gave his ears a scratch, he licked his palm. Autumn introduced herself and explained the process of putting an animal under, keeping an impressive composure even though there were tears making her hazel eyes glassy.

           “He’ll go right to sleep and the heart will stop in two minutes or so. I’ll need you to put some towels down; often the bowels release.”

           Once he was comfortable Shaw spoon fed him a bit of peanut butter. “One for the road,” she said, scratching behind an ear as he eagerly licked the stuff away and smacked his tongue against the roof of his mouth. She set her hand on Root’s leg and fingers wove between hers. Root kissed his head several times. John pet the base of his skull. Lionel got licks to the hand. He was looking at all of them with his happy eyes even after the stuff was administered via IV. He gave Root a last kiss on the nose and leaned his head into Shaw’s hands.

 4.

Life was significantly empty for a little while. An absence of colour existed and maybe a lack of love, too. The world felt strange when Bear wasn’t there to greet them at the door after the end of a long day, wasn’t there on their walks in Central Park or in the backs of cars when they were meeting John or Lionel at a dog-friendly restaurant to sit outside in the city ambience. The loss was equivalent to losing a good friend. You didn’t know what to do with yourself for a little while but you had to move on somehow, bury yourself in things that would take your mind off the loss, but not forget about anything. Remember all the good memories, laugh at the stories.

           “Remember when he nearly bit that guy’s arm in half?”

           “Or dragged Root across the subway because he saw a rat?”

           “That was once, Sameen.”

           “I remember messing up commands and having him jump on my desk and then knock everything off when getting down.”

           I have memories of his loyalty and love, the Machine chimed in. I grew attached to him too.

 5.

It was a rainy July day, the heat from earlier still present in the air despite the cold droplets that fell from the sky. Shaw had just finished a mission where she and Root destroyed a leftover Samaritan server farm with bullets and plenty of C-4 and a few scratches to take home as souvenirs. She’d requested dinner from the Chinese takeout place down the street from her apartment and a short walk in the park by herself.

           “Take your time, Sameen,” Root had said when there was a lull in conversation from the other side of the phone. “It’ll be here when you get back.”

           Shaw settled herself on a bench on the walk path. This time of night the park was relatively deserted save for joggers enjoying the cool and rainy weather and lovers strolling underneath black and blue umbrellas. The rain created a soothing ambience, reminding her of quiet nights on missions in different countries and of quiet nights with Root, with Bear lying at their feet. He’d lived a good life, spoiled until his last moments, surrounded by people who cared for him and filled with so much life and love. Shaw closed her eyes and leaned her head back to the rain, letting it kiss her face. If there was an afterlife, she thought, she hoped he was chasing balls and Frisbees and rats and eating all the peanut butter and bacon cupcakes he pleased.

           When the sky was significantly darker she headed home. There was a strange feeling swimming inside her chest, one that was familiar but unnameable. The rain was soaking into her hair and clothes and her stomach was growling.

           Warmth enveloped her when she returned home. She wrung her hair out in the shower and changed into dry clothes, a tank top and sweatpants. She kept her socks on to keep her toes warm. She emerged from the bedroom with her hair down and was met outside the door by a wriggling creature. It took her a moment to realise it was a puppy, whining and clawing at her leg. She stared at its eyes, happy and brown like coffee, the little pink tongue and little wet, black nose. The little stubby tail wagging back and forth.

           “Root,” Shaw said, not looking at her, “what is this?”

           “He’s a surprise.” She was tearing open cartons of Chinese and opening a new bottle of bourbon that they would christen in new glasses. “It’s been a few months. I figured it was time.”

           Shaw bent down and picked the puppy up. It licked at her chin and mouth and nose, yipping happily. A little collar dangled around its neck, the gold nametag already bearing a name. Hugo.

           “Did he come with this name?” Shaw asked. The puppy wriggled in her arms and she scratched behind its little ears.

           “I named him. You know,” Root added, “like the author who wrote Les Miserables.”

           Shaw snorted. “I doubt you’ve even read the book.”

           “Part of it.” Root handed Shaw a glass of bourbon when Hugo was placed on the floor. He scampered after Shaw, little claws scraping the wood floor. “It was when I was a PhD student for a week.”

           Later that night, Hugo’s warm body was nestled between their shoulders, already curled up and sleeping. His breathing came in slow quarter notes, warm puppy breath caressing Shaw’s shoulder. She wondered if Bear looked similar as a puppy.

           “Do you like him?” Root asked.

           “I think so.” Shaw stared at him a little longer. “He better not chew my boots.”

           “I already got him a brand new pair to sharpen those teeth on,” Root smiled. “And puppy training pads.”

           Shaw reached over to cup Root’s face. “You didn’t have to, you know,” she murmured.

           Root kissed her palm. “I know. But I wanted to. We were missing him and I know Hugo won’t be the same, but I’m sure we’ll care for him just as much.”

           The next morning warm sunlight streamed through the large windows and Shaw woke up with Root’s head on her shoulder, her arm thrown over her waist, and Hugo sleeping soundly on her stomach. He sensed that she was awake and cracked open his eyes. Somehow he looked at her like she was familiar.