#I’m no psychologist but I tried my best to give a short summary of what each villian has going on

[stealingyourbones]

It’s very late and I am very tired but I keep on thinking about the idea that Jazz works in Arkham Asylum.

People keep writing her talking with The Joker but I would LOVE to see Jazz dissect some a tad lesser known Batman villains.

WARNING: underneath is some mentions of human trafficking, obsessive behavior, & pyromania.

The Calendar Man. Julius Day. Committed crimes on special dates/holidays. Talking about why he is so obsessed with Calendars. He’s obsessed with dates because they’re the only structure that he thinks is unchangable. You can’t change dates.

The Ventriloquist. Arnold Wesker. Has multiple personalities. The other personality being the puppet mobster Scarface. Scarface is a scarily intelligent and violent man. It’s a very interesting dichotomy of the puppet controlling the man instead of the other way around. Arnold is a bystander and almost an unwilling lackey to Scarface’s crimes. Elaborating on the relief and grief that Arnold feels when Scarface gets destroyed. How it affects him. Why he uses a sock puppet at an alternative.

Firefly. Garfield Lynns. How his pyromania consumes his life. His visions he sees in the flames. Why he chose to indulge his pyromania when he was robbing places to get money he desperately needed.

Mad Hatter. Jervis Tetch. Talking about his obsession with Alice in Wonderland. His human trafficking with his ‘Alice’s’. His schizophrenia possible treatments to help. His obsession with his hat.

Stuff of the sort you know? Picking apart villains and how they tick and figuring out a way to help them. It would be such an incredible deep dive into the villains psyche.

[softxsuki]

Tw: mental health

Hello lovely! I have been hesitating to send this ask for a few hours now cuz I really didn’t wanna bother you! :( I’m so so sorry, but I just had a very bad day… honestly I have been struggling with my mental health for the longest time but only this year when I started going for regular therapy session and also started medication recently… I thought I got a little bit better with the help I’m receiving but I’m not sure why sometimes for no reason at all, everything just starts to go down for me…I started to think a lot but I just didn’t want to bother people about these kind of things over and over again and I’m also scared that certain ppl will actually judge me if I tell them about the appointments and medications :(

These few days also just brought back bad memories from when I was younger and being bullied in school… it just feels like a slap in the face when I tried so hard to get better but yet again I went back to square one… I’m really sorry this turn out to be very dark and depressing :(

Is it alright for me to request for an urgent request? Maybe just a short scenario about character saying reassuring things to me and accompanying me to my psychologist sessions? My comfort character as of current is Kuroo from Haikyuu or Hyun-Su from sweet home..(either one of them is fine!) thank you! And sorry for ranting!

-💛anon

Kuroo (Haikyuu) and Hyun-Su (Sweet Home) Comfort Reader After Hearing About Their Mental State (Separate)

Pairing: Kuroo x Gn!Reader, Hyun-su x Gn!Reader

Warnings: Mental health talk, feeling down, mentions of therapy and medication usage

Genre: Comfort, perhaps slight fluff?

Post-Type: Headcanons

Word Count: 1.4k

Summary: In which Kuroo and Hyun-su (separate) comfort you after you open up about your mental state

[A/N:Hello my wonderful 💛anon <3 I'm so sorry that you've been feeling down after things were just starting to get better in terms of your mental health. It must be very frustrating :(. Your requests never bother me, please know that you will never bother me! It's an honor to be able to write this for you in hopes that it helps bring you any form of comfort! Also don't apologize, it's really okay! I used to go to therapy a while ago, but I stopped. After Covid and losing my best friend of 11 years (she didn't die, she just kinda pushed me away) I went back into my horrible spiral of darkness and I felt the same way. Like that I was back to square one, but I kept pushing and I was able to come back out of my pit of darkness thanks to my other friends and my faith, music, all that good stuff lol. BUT I still have my moments, so I just want you to know that having bad days is normal, but definetly continue to strive towards feeling better and working your way out of that place of darkness. Never give up <3. I'm here if you need me. ANYWAY, I chose to do headcanons since I wanted to write for both of your comfort characters. I hope that's okay :3, pls lemme know if it's not and I'll work on them again for you until you're satisfied with how they come out. Hopefully Kuroo and Hyun-su can provide you with some comfort <3. Also I HOPE KUROOS VOLLEYBALL ANALOGY MAKES SENSE. I swear it sounded so good in my head, but then I wrote it and it was ehhh, but idk if it makes sense to someone other than me. hehhh. Enjoy, and I hope you feel better soon <3]**** note it’s my first time writing for Kuroo and I haven’t watched Sweet Home for a while, so I apologize if any of the characters are out of character :3

Kuroo:

Kuroo is so patient and understand about your situation

He knows about your mental state and realizes that you’ve been having a few bad days recently, so he tries his best to help you take your mind off things

He’d try to take you out, maybe to one of his volleyball games or to a park to just walk with you and give you a chance to clear your head

If that doesn’t help then he sits down with you and tries to figure out what’s going through your head

“What’s going on Y/N? You can talk to me you know,” he says gently, reaching out to hold your hand in his own

“It’s okay Kuroo, I don’t need to bother you with this,” you smile softy at him, but secretly wish you could just let all your feelings out

He’s almost insulted that you think you speaking to him and expressing yourself to him is you “bothering” him; if he could, he’d sit and listen to you talk for hours about whatever’s on your mind

He wouldn’t force you to tell him though if you didn’t feel comfortable, he’d just give you a reassuring smile and hope that you’d open up to him soon

In the meantime though, he’s always trying to make sure you know how amazing you are and how important you are to him

Expect plenty of surprise hugs (mostly back hugs as he nuzzles his face into the crook of your neck) and spontaneous words of encouragement

“Hey darling, you’re doing so wonderful today. I’m incredibly proud of you,” he tells you one day

“Proud of me…? For what?”

“Just proud that you exist in my life and for trying your best each day,” he exclaims with a sly smile, walking past you while ruffling your hair

He’s worried about you of course, but he tries not to show it in fear that seeing him so serious would make you feel even worse, so he keeps that smile that you love on his face and continues to act like things are normal while still squeezing in some comfort for you

Whenever you do build up the courage to let him in on what’s going on in your head and how you’ve been feeling for the past few days, he quietly listens and grabs ahold of your hand to encourage you

“I’ve just been feeling so great after my therapy sessions, even the medication was helping. I really thought I was getting better, but then I randomly found myself back at square one. Like all my hard work went to nothing, and I just don’t know what to do Tetsuro…” you explain to him, finally getting the weight of your emotions off your back a bit

“Hmm, I see what you’re saying,” he says while rubbing small circles to the surface of your hand, then he looks at you with his signature smile, “but I don’t think you should give up after feeling like you’ve spiraled back to square one, that doesn’t mean you actually are back to square one.”

“Huh? What do you mean?” you ask him, confused at his wording, but glad that he was still comforting you instead of judging you for the information shared about yourself regarding your therapy session and medication usage

“Let me put it this way. I play volleyball. All our players have their good days where we win games and rounds back-to-back. Of course Nekoma is a strong team, but we also have our bad days. Whenever we lose a round, we don’t give up and claim our loss, because we still have another round to bring our chance of victory back. Even if we lose that second round, ultimately losing the game between our opponents, that doesn’t mean Nekoma is now a weak team, we just happened to have a bad day that game.”

“Hmm I see,” you hum in thought as you try to take his words in, and he continues.

“Now, after that loss, our team can continue in two different ways. Either one, we get hung up over our loss and have it affect every future game we have, which will surely bring us more failed games, or two, we learn from our loss, shake ourselves off, and train harder so that we ensure our next game is a victory. This is all to say, all the effort you put into getting better is still there! You didn’t work hard to get yourself into a better place for nothing, but bad days are sure to come for anyone. Regardless of our mental state, we all have bad days, and that’s okay,” he reassures you

It was nice to hear that at least your feelings were normal, but you wouldn’t just magically feel better from his words over-night

“Thanks Tesuro,” you give him your best smile. “I was wondering...if maybe you’d come with me to my next therapy session? You don’t have to if you don’t want to though! Don’t worry about it...actually nevermind, it’s okay.”

“I’d love to go if you don’t mind,” he eases your mind and pulls you into him, leaving a soft kiss to the top of your head

You smile at him, glad that he really wasn’t making a big deal out of things

He wants to treat you like he normally would because he honestly doesn’t think any differently about you once he hears about your therapy sessions or the meds you take; you’re still YOU, and that’s all that matters

Whenever he does accompany you to your therapy session he lets you decide whether you want him in the room with you or if you’d like him to wait outside for moral support--whatever you’re comfortable with

But regardless, he’s there for you through it all and he’ll make sure he treats you the same as always until you’re feeling better again

Hyun-Su:

Hyun-su’s pretty quiet, which makes him a great listener, so you can trust that he won’t judge you for the things you want to vent about

Maybe it was the fact that you knew about his past, but you opened up to him about your situation fairly quickly

ANYWAY, he silently listens as you explain everything, from your past experience of being bullied, to your therapy session, medications, how you were feeling better, but then suddenly you started feeling like things were going down-hill again--everything

Hyun-Su knows what it’s like to be bullied in school, as he was also bullied, so he really feels for your situation and knows exactly what you’re going through

I feel like he wouldn’t be the best at comforting you verbally though, so instead of using words, he’d try and comfort you through actions

Therefore, he pulls you into his arms once you finish explaining how you’d been feeling

“I’m sorry you have to go through this Y/N,” he tells you finally after a few moments of silence

Though those are the only words he says to you, you feel a weight fly off you just being in his embrace; there was something so comforting about being in his warm arms, inhaling his familiar scent that made you feel at home

He’s calm on the outside, but internally he’s angry at the people that used to bully you and wishes desperately that he could have been there or wished that he knew you at the time so that at least you’d have him to lean on whenever you needed someone (cute baby ahh)

Regarding your therapy sessions, when you ask him to go with you, he’s unsure at first

“Are you sure it’s okay if I go with you?” he asks skeptically

“Of course, I’d love it if you could be there with me,” you smile up at him

Since you want him to go with you, he wouldn’t say no, but he would offer to wait outside the door or step out if you ever needed him to

He’d be quiet the whole session, maybe inconspicuously rubbing your back or reaching for your hand if you ever look uncomfortable during the session

You’re definitely in good hands with Hyun-su though, he’s incredibly supportive and comforting during your time of need, so don’t bother pretending like you’re okay when you’re not, he’ll notice right away

He’ll do his best to be by your side and help you in any way he can until you feel better :)

REQUESTS ARE OPEN :D

Posted: 11/19/2021

[miracleonice87]

Make You Feel My Love with Nathan MacKinnon

a Nathan MacKinnon song fic

a/n: season outcome, timing, and stats = totally fake. based on Nate’s public mentions in past interviews of seeing a sports psychologist, which is really inspiring to me. seeking professional advice is a GOOOOD thing! also, wasn’t originally intended to be a song fic, but Adele’s version of Make You Feel My Love (originally by Bob Dylan) came on while I was finishing it up, so I went with it! last note: pretending Tyson never got traded to the Leafs is the best part of writing hockey fanfiction. 🥺

summary: Angry/Sad Nate loses in the playoffs and takes his frustrations out on his girlfriend Sam, who gets comfort and advice from his teammates and friends.

warnings: swearing; isolated, individual outbursts of anger but NO physical violence; mentions of counseling/therapy and the practice of sports psychology (obviously, like I mentioned, this is a good thing but just something to know); crying Nate (I feel like that deserves a warning)

_____

Deflated, I sat in a bulky black chair in the team family room deep in the recesses of the Pepsi Center for several minutes after leaving the wives and girlfriends suite, needing a moment away from prying eyes and cameras to process what had just occurred.

The Avalanche had been one of the highly favored teams in the West all season long, yet had just been swept in the second round of the playoffs. My boyfriend, Nathan MacKinnon, widely regarded as one of the best players in the NHL, had totaled only one point in the 11 playoff games the team had played this year, earning a single assist on a Mikko Rantanen goal.

Needless to say, that hadn’t been sitting right with Nate.

He’d been short with me since the first few games of the postseason; even shorter than he typically got when he was in a drought. I had tried to give him space, but he snapped about the smallest questions I asked or requests I made of him: what he wanted for dinner, or to be sure he called to wish his sister Sarah a happy birthday. He sometimes mumbled an apology in my general direction, but more often than not, he simply left the room in a huff. I tried my best to be patient — to give him space.

It was abundantly clear that the pressure that always loomed heavy over Nathan like a thick, dark cloud had now intensified. I knew, without him ever verbalizing it, that he felt more burdened than ever before to live up to the hype — to the expectations he had for himself, and to those placed on him, either explicitly or implicitly, by the entire hockey community and the media.

When the rain is blowing in your face

And the whole world is on your case

I could offer you a warm embrace

To make you feel my love

I sat still with my head in my hands for what seemed like forever, until sweet Mel Landeskog, whom I had become so close with over the last four seasons of watching our significant others play together, came and rubbed my back gently through the custom Avs denim jacket that hung on my shoulders. I lifted my head to look at her, a sympathetic smile etched on her beautiful features.

“I’m sorry, Sammy,” Mel offered. “I know he’s gonna be so hard on himself. But he had such a great season — he needs to be proud of that,” she reasoned. I nodded.

Mel was right. He had had a truly remarkable regular season — he had scored 95 points in 82 games after a enduring a considerable slump for much of the previous year. This year stood in stark contrast to last. He had been riding high for many weeks; that is, until playoffs hit.

I stood to wrap Mel in a hug, appreciative of her gesture of support but unwilling to reflect on Nate’s play right now. “Thank you, Mel,” I told her as I squeezed her tightly. “I’m gonna miss you so much this summer,” I added, gesturing to the car seat on the floor beside her. “And Nate and I will both miss that little one, too,” I said as I blew Linnea a kiss, making her giggle, a welcome sound after a heartbreaking display on the ice. Mel glanced down at her baby daughter, beaming.

“I know, honey. We’ll miss you too. But it won’t be long until we’re all back here together, plus we’ll see each other for a couple of these bachelorette parties and summer weddings and get-togethers, yeah?” she said with a nudge.

“Yeah, that’ll be nice. Until then, you guys be safe,” I told her. With one last hug and quick kisses to each other’s cheeks, Mel picked up Linnea in her seat and exited the room. I realized that she and I had been the last two wives or girlfriends to leave, with most of us having exchanged quiet goodbyes in the suite before making hasty escapes to the parking area to console our respective sad hockey players.

With a groan at the depressing thought, I pulled my jean jacket tighter to my torso and walked slowly out the open door.

When the evening shadows and the stars appear

And there is no one there to dry your tears

I could hold you for a million years

To make you feel my love

The locker room doors stood maybe ten yards down the hall. The usual rambunctious ruckus that so often echoed off the cinderblock walls was tonight exchanged for a thick silence. It seemed that most of the guys had already left, and those who remained were noiseless. I softly greeted a few of the familiar men who made their way out the doors, offering only a sad smile and a few words of comfort to each, knowing that they weren’t in the mood to engage. They were, however, still polite, with several of the players embracing me briefly or kissing my cheek as they left the building.

Gabe Landeskog was among the very last to leave the room, unsurprisingly, as he was ever the responsible and respectable captain. He spotted me immediately and enveloped me in his strong grasp.

“Hi, friend,” I whispered into his shoulder, worried that my voice would break. “Hi, söt flicka,” (sweet girl) he countered.

“I’m sorry, Cap,” I told him quietly. He pulled back and shook his head. “Don’t apologize. Wasn’t our year,” he replied with a shrug. “As you can imagine, Nate is taking it pretty hard...��� his voice trailed off. “I just want you to be prepared,” he finally added, carefully.

My stomach knotted. I tucked some of my hair behind my ear and swiftly licked my lips, feeling anxiety pool in my gut.

Gabe placed a firm hand on my shoulder. “Just remember it’s not you he’s upset with. It’s himself,” he said softly. I quickly glanced up at him and nodded. “Thank you,” I choked out. “Now you better get going. You’ve got two beautiful girls waiting for you,” I told him, feigning a bright grin. He tried to mirror my expression, but fell short. It was unnatural to see such sadness in his normally joyful visage. He squeezed my upper arm.

“That I do,” Gabe agreed. “We’ll see you soon, Sam.”

“Okay,” I whispered. “Bye, Cap.” He gave a solemn nod and disappeared down the hallway.

My unease only multiplied after my exchange with Gabe. I began to pace slowly in a circle. I jumped a few moments later when the door flew open with a screech, Nate emerging from behind it, a bitter, dark expression on his face.

I greeted him softly, tentatively, reaching a hand toward him.

“Nate, baby, I —“

My boyfriend brushed past me in a flash, causing a literal draft of air to hit me as he held up his hand, never even making eye contact with me as he practically stomped down the corridor.

My blood ran hot — how dare he not acknowledge my presence after I had attended how many home games, and even road games, supporting him and cheering him on, no matter what? And that was just this season — what about the three prior? Why was he shutting me out? My heart thumped against my ribcage.

“Nathan,” I called, my voice firm this time, whipping around to face his back and then fumbling with the chain of my Louis Vuitton bag as it fell from my shoulder. Discombobulated, I threaded it back over my arm clumsily and took two hurried steps in Nate’s direction, but he was already out of sight.

Just then, I noticed our close friend Tyson Barrie standing a few feet behind me. I could infer from the way he was approaching me gingerly, which was highly unlike him, that he had witnessed our exchange, or the lack thereof. I sighed and pressed a hand to my forehead, his hand coming to grip my other elbow.

“Sam, sweetheart... you okay?” Tyson asked softly. Hot tears pricked my eyelids, but I refused to let them fall, blinking them back with a sniffle. My hand fell back to my side — I was shaking now.

“I knew he would be mad...” I began. “But what the fuck, Tys?” My voice wavered.

Tyson instinctively pulled my waist to his side, giving me a quick, protective kiss to the temple, before pulling away and offering me his hand.

“Come on, I’ll drive you home,” he volunteered. With another sniff, I shook my head. “No, it’s okay, Tys. I drove, thank god,” I spat. “Besides, you’re dealing with the same disappointment. You need to go home with Em and unwind,” I insisted, smoothing one hand over his suit jacket. His head dropped and he offered a weak nod.

“I guess. But listen, if he’s still not acting right, call me, okay? You know you can come over. You’re always welcome, especially when he’s being such an ass,” Tyson said, the end of his sentence turning into a growl. We both sighed; I nodded.

“Thanks, Tys. I’ll let you know. And listen, I’m sorry... about tonight. I know it hurts,” I told him, hugging his neck with one arm. He spread his fingers over my back and gave me a squeeze before stepping back to look into my eyes.

“It’s just hockey,” he said quietly. I smiled weakly and nodded once. “Bye, Sam. See you soon,” he said, rubbing one hand over my shoulder as he turned and made his way down the hall to find Emma.

If only Nathan shared his friend’s logic and sentiment.

I dropped my head back at the thought, tears once again collecting in my eyes. I forced them closed in an attempt to stay composed. With another sigh, I slowly started toward the private parking garage where my vehicle waited.

Unsurprisingly, as I stepped through the glass door and into the garage where I spotted my Audi, the spot next to me where Nate’s Porsche had been was empty. I unlocked my car, tossed my bag and scarf into the passenger side, and slammed my door shut before giving the steering wheel two firm bangs with the palm of my hand. My body still hadn’t stopped trembling.

I'd go hungry; I'd go black and blue

I'd go crawling down the avenue

No, there's nothing that I wouldn't do

To make you feel my love

I rested my forehead against the leather steering wheel for a moment before drawing a breath and finally backing out of my spot and exiting the garage, apprehensive of the scene I might find at the condo Nathan and I shared.

_____

I stepped through the front door tentatively, chewing on the inside of my lip. I was careful not to make a sound, walking on tiptoes to avoid clicking my heeled boots on the white tile floor. I dropped my purse onto the table in the entryway and reached to hang up my keys on the rack by the closet when I heard the distinct sound of glass — a lot of glass — shattering.

I froze.

The plans I had formulated in my head during my drive to confront Nate as soon as I arrived home suddenly seemed too unnerving to carry out.

My knees were nearly knocking together as I zipped through the living room and tucked myself behind the wet bar in one corner of the room. I hid myself in a partially-enclosed area where the wine and beer fridge stood, then felt my phone vibrate in my back pocket. I fumbled to answer it, not wanting to make too much noise.

Sidney Crosby, the onscreen caller ID read. I tapped the green button.

“Hello?” I was caught off guard by how frightened my own voice sounded as I answered.

“Sam, hi. Are you home?” Sid’s usually calm and collected tone was now bathed in concern.

“Hi, Sid. Yeah, I just got home. He’s, uh... it’s not good,” I said quietly, glancing at the staircase as I heard another thud upstairs, this time what sounded like a pair of shoes against Nate’s closet wall. On the other end of the call, Sid heaved a heavy sigh.

“Yeah, I figured,” he said tensely. “I tried calling him thinking I might catch him on his way home and talk him down a bit, but he ignored my call. I’m sorry, Sam. Are you alright?”

I glanced down at my free hand which rested on the oak wood of the bar. I was still trembling, my fears of coming home to chaos having been realized.

“Yeah, I’m okay,” I choked out, lying through my teeth. “It’s just hard to watch.”

A deep hum of understanding came from Sid’s throat. “I bet. Have you talked to him?”

I shook my head, despite the fact that Sid was nowhere nearby to see the gesture. “No,” I vocalized weakly. “He uh... he kinda... he didn’t wanna talk to me at the arena... I don’t think.” I fiddled with my promise ring on my left hand as I made the admission. It didn’t even sound like Sid was breathing on the other end of the line.

“You’re telling me he blew you off?” he asked gruffly. I could envision Sidney running a hand over his face before gripping his neat curls atop his dark hair, as he often did when frustrated. I opened my mouth to confirm, but couldn’t actually bring myself to do so, knowing what his reaction would be. I also didn’t want to confess to the commotion I had just heard upstairs, knowing that it would further upset my concerned friend, on my behalf. Instead, I let my silence do the talking.

“Goddammit, Sam,” he growled. “I’m so sorry. He’s young. He- he... I used to do this shit, too,” Sidney admitted with a quick breath. “It’s bullshit. He’s just angry with himself and he’s taking it out on you and it’s not fair. I had hoped I had set a better example about how to deal with these things when they happen... but apparently not.”

A couple of hot tears fell to my face as I responded. “This isn’t your fault, Sid.” He retorted immediately, “Well, it’s sure as hell not yours, either.”

We both sat in contemplation for several moments, neither sure of the next step to take. Then, Sid decided.

“I won’t call him again because he needs to talk to you first. But I am going to text him and urge him that he needs to let you in,” Sid insisted. “He needs to let somebody in,” he repeated. “And it needs to be you first.”

More tears were falling now, and I glanced up at the chandelier overhead and pulled my phone from my ear for a beat to try and settle myself. I wiped at my face with the bottom of my thumb.

“Okay,” I finally whispered. I hadn’t ever really cried around Sid, and while he was one of the nicest and most genuine human beings on the planet, I knew he wasn’t quite accustomed to emotional encounters like this one, and I didn’t want to make him uncomfortable by letting him hear the sobs that were bubbling up in my chest.

“It might not feel like it right now,” Sid broached, speaking in a soothing tone reminiscent of my father’s or brother’s when trying to console me. “But you’re right where you need to be. So is he. He needs you, Sam.”

I've known it from the moment that we met

No doubt in my mind where you belong

“Sam?” Nate suddenly called out from the balcony above me, his voice not sounding heated, but doleful instead. From where he stood upstairs, he couldn’t see me.

“Was that him?” Sid asked. “Yeah,” I said softly, somewhat in response to both men. “Good. He’s coming around. Trust me. I’ll let you go. Text me later, eh?” Sid requested, sounding slightly relieved. “Yeah, I will. Promise. Thank you. Bye,” I said hurriedly before ending the call.

“Sam?” Nate’s voice echoed off the walls once more, sounding desperate this time. My pulse quickened.

“Yeah. I’m coming,” I said softly. I stuffed my phone back into my pocket, took a steadying breath, and turned to walk upstairs and face him.

By the time I arrived on the second floor only a handful of moments later, Nate was already back in our bedroom, seated in the oversized Queen Anne chair near the center of the room, elbows on his knees, chin almost to his chest. I was shocked to hear small sobs escaping his lips. He glanced in my general direction, not meeting my eyes, and cried harder.

“I can’t even look at you right now,” Nate finally spoke, somewhat coarsely. My heart seemed to shatter right then, and I felt my body steel in self-defense, preparing for war.

“I can’t even believe how I treated you back there. I’m such an awful fucking human. I’m a monster. I’m so sorry,” Nate added tearfully, catching me off guard.

The storms are raging on the rolling sea

And on the highway of regret

The winds of change are blowing wild and free

You ain't seen nothing like me yet

I immediately let out three sobs that seemed to have been lodged in my throat for almost an hour now and, in an instant, closed the gap between us. I dropped to my knees in front of him and laid my head in his lap, hugging his calves. Never before had we shared such an intensely emotional moment. Above me, he covered his eyes with his hands and drew shallow, gasping breaths in an unsuccessful attempt to calm himself.

“I’m so sorry, baby,” he cried, not touching me of his own accord. “I’m so sorry.” I picked up my head and looked at him, urgency coursing through my veins. I needed him to come back to me.

“Nathan, baby, hey,” I coaxed, rubbing his big thigh with my hand, which looked so small in comparison. “Look at me. Please? I need you to.”

After a beat, Nate finally lifted his head from his hands, his pale skin slightly splotchy and tinted red, blue eyes shimmering behind more tears that threatened to fall.

“There’s my handsome man,” I said softly, combing my fingers through the neat hair near his ears, watching him slowly return to me.

“Hey, I want you to listen to me, okay? Tonight you’re allowed to cry it out, or punch our pillows, or run on the treadmill all night to blow off some steam. And then I’ll give you a couple more days to swallow this. But after that? We’re gonna check in with Dr. Butler, both of us, so she can give us some ways to cope with this.”

Nate’s shuddering breaths had finally started to slow as I spoke, referencing one of his most trusted allies, the Denver-based sports psychologist he had been seeing now for a few seasons to help him deal with not only hockey-related challenges and mental blocks, but also general anxiety, in order to boost his mental health. I was careful not to allow my tone to come across as if I were babying him, but instead offering comfort and, more importantly, suggesting help. “Because tonight? These last couple weeks? This can’t be it. We can’t deal with things this way. I don’t want you shutting me out, or Sid, or your family, okay? You wouldn’t let me do that — I’m not gonna let you,” I added.

Nate nodded quickly. “Absolutely, babe. I was just gonna say, as soon as I heard you on the phone downstairs, it really just hit me. I realized I needed to text her and set up an appointment,” he told me, his voice no longer shaky. “And that I needed to apologize to you,” he added softly. I nodded, and he grabbed my hands, pulling me to my feet and then back down to lie in his lap. I threw my legs over one arm of the chair and settled against his chest.

I closed my eyes and allowed myself to find comfort in Nate’s heartbeat for a moment, as he pressed soft kisses into my hair, before I looked around the room, assessing the damage. I noticed that his suit coat lay crumpled in the middle of his closet floor, his shoes having bounced off the wall there as I suspected, and they sat out of place atop his neatly assembled collection of footwear. Across from us, I noticed the source of the shattered glass — a shadow box display from Nate’s unforgettable rookie season hung just slightly crooked on the wall, the glass in the front completely broken out, save for the shards along the inner edge of the frame.

Nate followed my gaze to the mess and sighed. “I’m really sorry about that, Sam,” he said, shame creeping into his tone. I nodded knowingly. “What did you throw?” I asked. “That puck they gave me from the last game of the regular season. It was on my dresser when I set my wallet down and it just set me off,” he admitted sheepishly. “It was stupid.”

“Yes, it was stupid to break something that’s valuable to you, but it’s not stupid, what you’re feeling,” I told him firmly. “Besides, we’ll get a new glass panel and it’ll be good as new.” His grip around me tightened, appreciative of my response. “Thank you,” Nate whispered into my ear. I turned to kiss his lips slowly and deeply. He finally pulled back, only to murmur, “I don’t deserve you. I’m so grateful I have you.” I smoothed my thumb across his cheekbone. “I’m always going to be here for you, Nate,” I promised. He gave me one more solemn kiss.

“Listen, I’m gonna carry you into the bathroom so you don’t even get close to any shards of glass, and I’ll clean all this up while you run us a bath,” Nate told me. “I’ll join you soon. I think it’ll be good for both of us, eh?” I nodded, wrapping my arms around his neck as he easily picked me up bridal-style and headed toward the en suite.

Things were far from perfect, but I was prepared to do everything in my power to get us as close as possible. From the change in his demeanor, I knew Nate was, too.

I could make you happy, make your dreams come true

Nothing that I wouldn't do

Go to the ends of the Earth for you

To make you feel my love

[toomanystoriessolittletime]

Never mine

Summary: When you got a phone call in the middle of the night, asking you to assist in a interogation of a high level target you didn’t really think about it. Until you were there and saw just who you were there for.

Pairing: August Walker x unnamed OFC

Wordcount: 2.063

Warnings: a whole lotta angst

A/N: So this happens when I’m listening to too much Taylor Swift. Inspired by thy lyrics to “August” The lyrics I use are not mine but hers.

Taglist in reblog

Your phone rang in the middle of the night. That wasn’t something that happened very often. The CIA never really needed your help. So if they were calling now, something big must have happened.

Sighing you let yourself fall back into the soft covers of your bed. A car would be there to pick you up in 20 minutes to bring you to the airport, where a private jet would be flying you out to the CIA base. 

Apparently they had taken in a target they had been searching for in forever.

“Just make yourself comfortable and watch him. Tell me what you think. I don’t think he will talk, but maybe you can give us something.” Sloane said as she walked you into the room. You nodded at the two agents standing in front of the window, the interrogation room brightly lit behind it. 

“What did he do?” You asked, as you sat down.

“He tried to buy plutonium to do god knows what.”

“Wow…”

“He’s one of our own.”

“He’s a CIA Agent?” You asked surprised.

“He was one of the best we had.” Sloane signed, before she nodded and walked out of the room. Frowning you took out your tablet to log into the wifi, so you could make some notes and wait for the file to be send to you.

“So you’re the expert Sloane hasn’t shut up about all day?” A man asked. He was your age, short dark hair and green eyes, which seemed to undress you as he looked at you.

“I am.”

“And what is your expertise?” He asked with a grin. Internally sighing, you set your tablet down and now gave him his full attention.

“Agent…”

“Cross.” He answered.

“Agent Cross, I’m gonna save you some time here. I’m sure your wife wouldn’t be pleased to see that you have taken off your wedding ring.” You smiled a little. He frowned and pushed his hand into his pants pocket.

“I’m here to work, and work only. And as someone who dealt with men like you all her life, I would very much appreciate if you would let me do my work in peace.” You smiled at him. He slowly nodded, until he turned around and left the room. You saw the man across from you grinning to himself, giving you a thumbs up.

“They are bringing the suspect in in a couple minutes. Sloane told me to give you the room, so you can focus on doing your thing.” The man got up from his seat.

“Thank you Agent…”

“Bridges.”

“Thank you Agent Bridges.” You smiled and waited until he closed the door after him. It’s been a while since you’ve been brought in to help. Closing your eyes as you saw the door in the interrogation room open you calmed yourself. Breathing in deep you opened your eyes just to see the back of a tall man that was facing you. He had to be at least two heads taller than you. You could see that he was wearing dirty green clothes.

“Someone already in there?” He asked, motioning towards you behind the glass as he was sat down at the table. After he had been handcuffed to the chair the Agent in the room left.

Noticing the file being send to you, you opened it. That must have been who you were looking at.

Reading the name you frowned.

August Walker, born November 17th 1984.

Shaking your head you looked up as the man in the room turned his head towards you. You knew he couldn’t see you, yet he was looking directly at you. Swallowing you felt your chest tighten as you looked into his blue eyes.

He was older. Much older. Yet you felt yourself being transported back into the year 2004. When you were working at a coffee shop in Miami to earn some money for college. To the day you met August for the first time. To the day you fell head over heels for him. Knowing fully well that you would never have a future together. To the day he left you.

…. But I can see us lost in the memory

August slipped away into a moment in time….

Miami, Summer of 2004

It’s been another day of customers being rude to you, just because you were doing your job. Groaning you cleaned the coffee machine when the door of the shop opened. 

“We’re closed. Sorry.” You said, without turning around.

“Oh… Sorry.” A deep voice behind you said. Sighing you turned around. A boy, maybe a couple years older than you was standing at the counter. He was wearing dark swim shorts and a white shirt. His curly hair still wet. He had to come directly from the beach.

You felt yourself blush as you looked at him. He was incredibly handsome.

“Uhm… Maybe, if you don’t want a coffee, I could make an exception?” You grinned. He smiled back, his hand brushing a stray of his dark hair back.

“I just wanted a bottle of water.” He said, stepping closer. 

“Oh… Sure.” You turned around, opening the fridge to get a bottle of water out.

“That will be a dollar.” You said as you gave the bottle to him. His fingers brushed over yours as he took it.

He pulled a dollar out, sliding it over the counter.

“Okay. Can I be honest?” He asked before he was about to turn around.

“Sure.” You shrugged.

“I didn’t really need to buy water.” He said. “I’ve been in here before twice today but I never caught you alone. And I was wondering… Can I invite you for dinner?” He asked. 

Biting your lip, to stop you from grinning like an idiot you looked at him. His deep blue eyes watching you, and you noticed that there was a fleck of brown in one of them.

“Meet me at 7pm in front of the cafe tomorrow?” You finally said. He released a breath, smiling at you.

“I’ll be there.” He said.

He invited you to the beach on the day after your date. You so badly wished he would just kiss you. Looking at him as you were laying next to him, him on his chest, you wish you could be this happy for the rest of your life. He turned his head and looked up at you, a smile on his lips. 

Your back beneath the sun

Wishin' I could write my name on it

He kissed you goodbye when he brought you home that day. Your first kiss. You still remember how his lips felt on yours.

… And I can see us twisted in bedsheets

August sipped away like a bottle of wine…

That’s how you met August. The first love of your life. It may only have been only one summer, but yet you always found yourself thinking back to it. You had so many first with him. 

Looking at him now, you could still see the boy you fell in love with so long ago. Sure he was older, he somehow seemed bigger, yet his eyes... You still felt yourself get lost in them. Like in the morning after you woke up pressed against his chest, twisted together under your bed sheets, as he kept rubbing his finger down your nose to wake you.

'Cause you were never mine

The door opened again and two agents walked in, sitting down across from him. That gave you the chance to look down at his file. 

“What happened to you after you left me?” You asked quietly as you read. shaking your head you looked up as one of the Agents began to ask questions. Yet August eyes were set on you. As if he could see you.

'Cause you were never mine

Never mine

But do you remember?

Shaking your head you released a sigh. Pushing your thoughts to the side. You never thought you would see him again. You never wanted to see him again. Not after how he left you. 

Three hours later Sloane walked in.

“Anything you can give me?” She asked.

“Not really. He knows what he’s doing.” You sighed.

“You ready to get in there?” Sloane asked. 

“I need to tell you something first.”

Your palms were sweaty as you walked by Sloane’s side. You had told her everything. And now she was sure you were the only one who he would talk to. You wished you’d share her enthusiasm.

“You gonna be okay?” Sloane asked.

“No. But It*s not like you care.” You said quietly before you let her open the door for you.

He didn’t look up when you walked in. You had done hundreds of situations like this. But at the same time not one has been like this. You closed your eyes as you walked over to sit down in the seat across from him. He was still handcuffed to the table. You crossed your legs, your hands on top of the table and waited. Braced yourself to have his full attention.

You saw him shift, his head slowly pulling up until he was looking at you. The silence seemed to last forever. You could read the surprise in his face.

“What are you doing here?” He asked quietly.

“I’m the psychologist they brought in to talk to you.” You answered.

“So you finished college?”

“I did. Took me a little longer, but I think you probably knew that already.”

“I did.” He said.

Remember when I pulled up and said "Get in the car"

And then canceled my plans just in case you'd call?

“It’s been a while.” August breathed.

“Almost 16 years.” You helped.

“Did you….?”

“I did.”

“How is…”

“She. Her name is Julia. She turned 15 last month.” You said. 

He nodded.

“I’m not here to help you.” You said. “I didn’t even know who would be waiting for me here, when they picked me up this morning. But…” You shook your head, getting up from your seat.

“You knew that somewhere on this planet, you had a child, August. And yet you still chose your… beliefs over the security of your own child. Did you even think of her?”

“I…” 

“You know they can make you talk. You are good, but not as good as you think.” You leaned with your back at the wall as you looked at him. 

“You could have stayed all these years back. But looking at you now, I’m happy you didn’t.”

“You don’t know anything about me now.” Was all he said.

“That’s true.” You crossed your arms in front of your chest.

“But I do know, that you will never see the light of the day ever again.” You walked past him to the door.

“You know I loved you, right?” He asked, barely audible.

“Why did you leave me then?” You asked back.

“Because you deserved better…” Were the last words you heard of him, before the door opened and you stepped out.

Back when I was livin' for the hope of it all, for the hope of it all

It was late at night when you got back home.

“Wow Mom, you look like shit.” Your daughter grinned, yet hugging you closely.

“Why are you still up?” You asked with a smile as you looked at her. She had the same fleck of brown in her eye. Just like her father.

“Dad cooked. And by cooked I mean he almost burned the house down.” She whispered, as she walked arm in arm with you into the kitchen where indeed it looked like a bomb exploded.

“Where is your father anyway?” You asked.

“I’m here!” You felt a hand on your lower back as your husband came into the room, his arm on your waist, as he bend down to kiss you.

“How was your day?” He asked. You breathed in deep, shaking your head, mouthing later to him. He frowned but said nothing.

“I’m just glad I’m back home.” You said, your head resting on his shoulder, as you watched your daughter sneak some chocolate out of the fridge, handing it to you on her way out.

“Love you Mom.” She kissed your cheek.

“Good night.” You smiled.

“Are you okay?” Your husband asked.

“I am now.” You smiled as you got on your tiptoes to kiss him deeply. 

[tams-writeblr]

Once I’m gone

Rating: M(ature) Warnings: major character death Category: F/M (main couple), Multi (side characters) Fandom: Attack on Titan / Shingeki no Kyojin Relationship: Mikasa Ackermann / Eren Jaeger | various side couples Characters: Eren Jaeger, Mikasa Ackermann, Armin  Arlelt, Zeke Jaeger, Hange Zoe, Floch Forster, Ymir, Reiner Braun, Pieck  Finger, Historia Reiss, several others will make a cameo Additional Tags: Modern AU | established relationship | toxic  behaviour | Eren suffers from Huntington’s disease and tries to settle  his matters before he dies | suicial blockhead Eren | aged up characters  (by ten years) | suicide tw | depression tw | mental diseases tw | deathly diseases tw | this is clearly not write what you know, but I’m giving my very best to  representate the topics as good as I can | this all basically came to me as a fever dream | you remember Thirteen from House, M.D.? I still   have a huge crush on her so this version of Eren is greatly inspired by her <3 Language: English (not native, I’m trying my best you guys) Stats: ongoing - Chapter 2/15 - Part 1/3 - 1016 of 2811 words Summary: Eren Jaeger knew for years that he inherited  Huntington’s disease from his late mother. When he first notices  symptoms on him, his long protected plan, to end his life before  reaching the critical state of his illness,  awakes. But there is still  Mikasa, his girlfriend and the only person in the world he cares about  more than about himself, and he can’t leave her alone and grieving. It’s  time to find a substitute for when Eren is gone. With the help of a new  friend Eren tries to scare away Mikasa while driving her into the arms  of someone new.

__________________________________________________

His brother, the psychologist - Part 1/3

<<previous

“Behave yourself”, she had told him when he left the house. When he came back, she would be away for the night shift. Behave, what was she thinking? That he would jump at the other participants of the group therapy's throats?

With his hands deeply buried in his pockets Eren walked past the well known Streets of his home town. He grew up here, only a few blocks away from their current apartment was the school he attended. He knew stories about every house, every pothole reminded him of something. Memories that had formed his personality to be who he was today. What was a person without memories? His mother had eventually become an empty shell that had no resemblance with the loving person that she used to be. He didn’t want to be an empty shell and if he needed therapy because of it, he wondered who was the crazier one, him or his doctors.

He reached his destination, a six-story high old building with crumbling stucco around the windows. The modern full glass front door, that opened with a simple pull, didn’t fit in with the rest of the fassade. Reluctantly Eren entered the building - no lift, splendid!

When he reached the fourth floor, his pulse was beating heavily within his carotid. He already was in better shape before. With a quick look at his watch he noticed that he was several minutes too late. He still pushed the door saying “Dr. Zeke Jäger - conversational therapy” with an obviousness open that was looking for their equal.

When he had heard a vivid voice talking from inside, so did they fall quiet the second the new arrival stood iffley under the doorframe.

“Eren, what a surprise”, Zeke blandly stated and rose from his chair. He placed his clipboard behind him and did some steps towards his younger brother.

At first glance nobody would have known that the two men could be brothers. While Eren was a dark type, Zeke had short, blond hair, wore round glasses and a thick full beard. Looking twice, one might notice that they had the same eyes.

Before Zeke could come too close towards his brother, Eren reached out his right hand holding the letter of referral from Dr. Hans. “My doctor is sending me. They’re afraid I might shoot a bullet through my brain.”

With surprise Zeke took the completely wrinkly letter from his hand. “I already told you several times, that you are always welcome here. You still could have given me a short call beforehand.”

Eren rolled his eyes. “I’ll just get that chair there in the back?” It wasn’t a real question since he crossed the room with long steps without waiting for an answer, getting a chair from the furthest corner and simply placing it between two other chairs in their ridiculously typical circle. He sat down between two blondes, one massive man with the hint of a beard and rigid face and one… well, what did we have there? Through his chin long blond hair, he couldn’t make out their features.

“Well”, Zeke said with a low sigh. “As you can see, we seem to have a new face between us. That’s Eren, he”, he sighed, loud and theatrical this time. “is my little brother. Would you like to introduce yourself to the group first?”

“I’m good, I’ll listen to what the others have to say at first.” Eren’s eyes wandered over the faces of the attendees. Across from him sat a dark haired woman with heavy freckles and ennerved features, then there was the empty chair with Zeke’s clipboard and on her other side sat another dark haired woman on whose chair crutches were leaning. On the very first glance none of them looked like they needed treatment from Zeke, except for maybe the Bull besides him.

Zeke returned to his place and brushed sighing with thumb and pointer over his full eyebrows. “Okay, then each in turn - Reiner, you’re first.”

Reiner was the bull besides Eren. He told about an operation as a soldier in Mali, an exploding pickup. He was hurled twenty meters through the air but stayed unharmed as if through a miracle. When he crawled back to the pickup to look after his comrades, they all were dead. Since then again and again he asked why he stayed unharmed. To be honest Eren did the same when he watched the mountain of muscle crying for several seconds.

“It’s good that you can let your feelings out by now, Reiner”, Zeke praised him after a moment of silence. Oh yeah, his dear brother, the psychologist.

The woman next to Reiner gave him a box of tissues from the floor. Then Zeke ordered her to introduce herself. Her name was Pieck Finger and she was suffering from multiple sclerosis. At first Eren thought he could have found someone that could understand him, the prospects for this disease weren’t that great either. But Pieck was simply the happiest and most positive person, he had met in a long time. When she raved enthusiastically about being able to tie her shoes alone again after getting a new medication, Eren would have loved to throw up.

After Pieck Zeke gave the floor to the woman on his right, her Name was Ymir. She had a brain tumor - inoperable. “I can drop dead any time, I don’t even know why  to get out of bed in the morning anymore.” She wasn’t a woman of large words. Eren like that.

Finally Zeke turned to the person on Eren’s left. The hair had hidden away the face for the whole time while they stared to the ground like crazy.

“Armin, you were interrupted talking when Eren arrived. Would you now please tell your story?”

So it was a guy, infelicitous hairdo.

Armin slowly raised his head, piercing blue eyes stared at the wall opposite him. “My name is Armin Arlelt and I've been coming here for three weeks. Back than I was released from a mental clinic because I tried for the third time to commit suicide.”

                                                                            >>next

__________________________________________________ Author’s Note: Sorry if this part is full of faults, I didn’t really correct read it as much as chapter one. And I don’t have much to say to this part. The next part could be triggering for some you so please add your approbriate tw into the ban!

[missmonsters2]

About You || Part V

Gif by: giuliacommissions (please check her out if you’d like to commission her for gifs and other work 💞)

PAIRING: Wanda Maximoff x Fem!Reader/OFC

Summary: Wanda had never known loss like she has until she lost Pietro. It’s debilitating. She can’t eat, can’t sleep, can’t even leave her house. Life is fading fast, and she’s not sure if she even wants to hang on. Enter you, a stranger that reconnects her to the daily things that makes life beautiful.

Warnings: Deals with loss & grief and the spectrum of emotions and depression that comes with it. Please note there is no glorification in any of this. Loss, grief, and depression are nothing beautiful. Also, please don’t hesitate or reach out for help if you are in a dark place. Love you, lovelies 💘

Genre: Angst & Romance

NOTE: The chapters are weirdly either going to be too short or too long LOL Please drop a comment if you’d like to be part of the tag list! 😚

PART I || PART II || PART III || PART IV

PART V of X

Count: 1892

⊶⊷⊶⊷⊶⊷⋆⊶⊷⊶⊷⊶⊷

"Why did you bring them here?" Wanda hissed while Steve sheepishly shrugged.

"We wanted to meet her!" Clint exclaims as he bustles through with Bucky, who calmly walks through with a slight smile towards Wanda.

Bucky, she can understand being with Steve and all, but Clint?

While she loved Clint too, he had a knack for putting his nose in places that it doesn't belong in.

"Wanda, who's at the--oh, hello," you smile a little sheepishly because you've got some flour on your cheek, and you're in an apron. You run your fingers through your hair, grinning when you notice Steve.

"Hi, I'm Clint, and that's Bucky!" Clint is shaking your hand excitedly while Wanda is scowling at him. 

"So, how did you meet--" Clint is cut off abruptly when Wanda walks past him.

"I'm hungry," Wanda says as she passed you into the kitchen. You don't really have the time to answer Clint's question, so you nod your head after Wanda.

"Why don't you all stay for dinner? I think I might've made too much for just Wanda and me, anyways," You walk back to the kitchen to finish cooking and baking. 

Wanda is sitting at the table, frowning at Clint while he merely smiles charmingly at her. 

"She's pretty," Clint comments quietly enough so only everyone at the table will hear.

Wanda frowns more deeply.

"You two seem compatible," Clint comments further, and Wanda doesn't know how to take it.

"We probably don't have anything in common," Wanda whispers consciously back.

The talking stops as you bring the food out to the table, settling a beautiful golden brown peach cobbler on the table. 

"Oh," Clint eyes the dessert with a twinkle in his eye, "Wanda's got you making peach cobbler, huh?"

It's such a weird comment, Wanda thinks. She thinks that Clint should've also just said that it was Wanda's favorite, but it's not like he knows that Wanda hasn't told you that it's her favorite.

You hum, scrunching your brows. "No, I just like peach cobbler, it's my favorite."

And for the rest of the dinner, Wanda can't avoid Clint's teasing and sparkling eyes because he's noticing that she's eating every single bite.

Everyone's buzzing around her, talking about the change you've brought to Wanda when no one has been able to for a year.

And for a moment, there's a pressure hanging over Wanda not to slip.

⊶⊷⊶⊷⊶⊷⋆⊶⊷⊶⊷⊶⊷

A month and a half. 

Time passes by, and it feels like things have and haven't changed.

The cut on your hand has long since healed, but Wanda can't help but notice its faint scar every day.

They're currently eating on the couch, opting to stray from the dining table as they watch TV together.

You have the volume lower because you love eating together. It may be the only time that Wanda says what she's thinking. 

"What do you do for a living?" Wanda blurts out because it occurs to her even after all this time, she doesn't know anything about you. 

You turn to her and smile at her outburst.

"I'm a pediatric psychologist," you tell her, "I own my own practice, but I have my business partner running the show while I'm on leave."

Wanda's quiet for a moment, a little tense, and you give her a reassuring smile.

"Relax," you tell her, "you're not my patient, and I'm not constantly psychoanalyzing you. We're just...friends."

And while Wanda says nothing about the friends comment, she does lower her shoulders. She tries to think about you working with children, and Wanda sees you being a wonderful psychologist.

But then you're looking at the TV again, and the silent stretches and Wanda blurts things out without thinking, "Your family must be proud."

"I don't have a family," you say, looking at the TV a moment longer before looking at Wanda.

A small chuckle leaves your lips, "Well, I suppose I shouldn't say that. I did have a brother, but when my parents died when I was 8, he was only 18 and decided he couldn't take care of me and left me at an orphanage. Unfortunately, at that age, no one really wants to adopt you."

And while you explain it nonchalantly as if to convey to Wanda to not worry about it, she bites down on her tongue as her own voice comes back to dig at her.

"Do you have a brother or sister who loved you, would do anything for you?"

God, she had been so fucking callous.

⊶⊷⊶⊷⊶⊷⋆⊶⊷⊶⊷⊶⊷

"You look good. Healthy. Not skeleton-y," Natasha comments as she cuts some apples up for Wanda. 

Wanda only hums, stirring the spoon around her bowl of food that you had left her before going. Natasha came shortly after, unplanned and unannounced as always.

"Where is she, by the way?" Natasha asks as she looks around but doesn't find you.

"Shopping," Wanda answers. The words are short and contrite, and Natasha could tell that Wanda was glad for your absence, but she didn't know the guilt and shame that came along with it. 

Natasha makes a sound in reply, cleaning the knife that cut the apples when Wanda blurted out, "Have you--Is there a way to apologize to someone without saying it?"

Natasha tries to hold her grin but can't hide her snort.

"Why? Did you have a fight with her?" Natasha asks.

"No," Wanda says immediately, eyes shifting to the side, "I just...might have said something I shouldn't have."

"Hm," Natasha hums, leaning back against the counter with her arms crossed. "And it's too hard for you to actually just say you're sorry?"

"A little," Wanda thinks about her pride.

"How do you expect her to know you're sorry then?"

"That's why I'm asking you."

Natasha merely snorts again and stands up straight.

"You know," Natasha starts, "Steve texted me that he's caught the two of you holding hands while sleeping a few times now."

"That's--" Wanda blushes, rushing to explain, but she really has no explanation.

"Whatever the reason is," Natasha cuts her off, "I'm just saying it's probably really straining for her to be holding your hand while on the ground."

"We're not--" Wanda tries again, but Natasha blows her off.

"I mean, if you were on the same level, it would probably be easier to do whatever you're doing."

Natasha doesn't say anything else and lets Wanda mull over her words, still stirring her food around.

⊶⊷⊶⊷⊶⊷⋆⊶⊷⊶⊷⊶⊷

"Hey," You breathlessly say, "I got that candy you wanted. They didn't have the family-sized, so I just got you a couple bags."

"Thanks," Wanda says as she sits at the kitchen island, wringing her shirt a little nervously.

"Oh, did Natasha come by?" You asked as you looked at the cut apples. "She always cuts the apples the best way. It looks like a bunny!"

"Mhm," Wanda hums, the words clawing at the back of her throat.

She coughs, clearing her throat and grabbing your attention.

"About yesterday..."

You smiled kindly at her, taking pity on how hard Wanda was trying right now.

"It's really fine, Wanda. It's all in the past. I hardly even remember it, and everything turned for fine for me in the end, see?" You twirl around for her to exaggerate what you said, giving her a brighter smile as you start to put the groceries away.

But Wanda calls your name again. 

It's really bothering her.

You turn back to look at her with curious eyes while Wanda knaws on her lips.

"He was a coward to not try for you."

⊶⊷⊶⊷⊶⊷⋆⊶⊷⊶⊷⊶⊷

"So, have you thought about maybe painting again?" You ask, helping Wanda shift through all the requests she's gotten over the years, sorting by the most prominent requesters.

It had been a year since Wanda even picked up a paintbrush because every time she had previously, the colors would quickly turn black, splattered over the canvas before Wanda would puncture holes through it with her brush.

All alone, the inspiration had long left her, crumbling beneath her until nothing held her footing.

But these days, Wanda would get a glimpse of a color or an image in her mind, but her fingers would only twitch at the urge.

Because if she paints, it would be the same as admitting that you were helping her, and that left her at risk of losing again.

And she was only at risk of losing again because you would inch your way past all her barriers, and having a piece of her heart.

A piece that Wanda has no control over.

Wanda doesn't say anything to the question, just stares at the blank canvas that she hasn't ruined.

"You shouldn't hold back," you tell her, "I'll be here for you."

"For now," Wanda grumbles faster than she can hold it, but it opens her up to you.

"I'll always be here for you."

"You can't promise that!" Wanda hisses at you before biting her tongue and remaining silent because she doesn't want to say anything that she'll regret later on again.

It's silent for a moment, and Wanda freezes up the moment she feels you touching her hand, and yanks it away on instinct. She regrets it immediately, though, when Wanda sees you recoil back with an apologetic look on your face.

"I'm sorry, that was inappropriate of me."

The apology is completely sincere and falls off your tongue so easily, and Wanda is crumbling underneath in guilt.

⊶⊷⊶⊷⊶⊷⋆⊶⊷⊶⊷⊶⊷

You tell Wanda goodnight and go to the couch without waiting for her to respond back to it.

Wanda lies silently in her bed, looking at the ceiling. 

The hand holding always came sometime in the middle of the night, first when you heard her having a nightmare, and then came regardless after you thought she was asleep. 

But tonight, you don't come. It's in consideration for Wanda that you don't, she knows, but it makes her want to scream. 

It's absolutely petrifying to be open with someone, be willing to take steps towards them. It left you susceptible to pain, and Wanda's done very well at not experiencing more pain. 

On the one hand, Wanda did not want to get hurt again, but on the other, she was not willing to give up the hand holding.

Natasha's words come back into her head.

"I mean, if you were on the same level, it would probably be easier to do whatever you're doing."

Her heart thumps as she gets up, her blanket falling to the floor as she steps out the door, walking across into the living room to the couch.

You're still awake.

"Are you okay?"

No, Wanda decides, she's not fucking okay.

And even though Wanda is the one to lift your blanket up, she's the one who feels exposed as she forces her way to lie next to your body on the couch.

She uses the blanket and grips it to cover her shoulder. She's as tense as a rock, and her eyes are fraught with nervousness. She miraculously tenses even more when you put your arms over her, gently messaging her neck.

And Wanda stays like that until she becomes a soft puddle in your arms. Her forehead is pressed against your chin, and her eyes are screwed shut as she opens her mouth in a raspy whisper.

"I'm sorry."

PART VI

[innittowinit]

Abandoned amusement parks are the best place for young children (chapter 6)

Fic summary: 

Techno, Tommy, Wilbur and Phil have been hanging out at the abandoned amusement park in the woods since they moved in. Techno likes knowing he's definitely alone with his brothers Tommy likes climbing on the old rides Wilbur likes having a place to play his music Phil likes spending time with his younger brothers 

That is, until a group of brothers calling themselves the 'dream team' move in down the road. Will the sleepy boys give in and share the park or will they succeed in scaring the new kids off?

Chapter summary: 

 The dream team attacks Wilbur's asleep Phil's busy Tommy-proofing the park

Chapter Word count: 2363

AO3

Fuck…

It was so hot, so humid, that Techno could feel himself swaying where he was standing; his signature red jacket had been tossed aside in a feeble attempt to cool down for just a minute. With Wilbur having fallen asleep on top of  the ticket booth roof and Phil trying to clean out some of the glass and brambles from one of the old gift shops before they let Tommy play in it -the white house needed to be safe after all- Techno was left to watch over Tommy on his own. Having taken on board everything Phil said to them, he managed to keep an eye on his brother the entire time.

He even climbed up a bit with him, making sure not to go too high and set a bad example, he was still a kid though and it was fun to mess around. He’d keep Tommy safe and have fun doing it, he wouldn’t let Tommy get board enough to warrant him wanting to venture higher.

“What are the kids in your class like then? They nice to you Toms?” Techno already knew the answer, Tommy could be a bit obnoxious at times but as far as kids would see it, he was miles more ‘normal’ than Techno and Wilbur had been. They probably loved him, that was a nice thought. He loved him too.

As they sat, feet dangling off a track, that wasn’t too high, as Techno had checked many many times, and was very sturdy, Tommy gave an excited nod. That was good news. “Love ‘em, we’re all super good friends! Tubbos my best friend though, he’s way way better than the others” he nodded, as if it was a well known fact that Tubbo was objectively the best, which made Techno chuckle.

Only now was he realising that he never really spoke to Tommy like this anymore, it was nice. Wilbur was always with him, he needed Wilbur nearby to be able to be calm enough to talk, so it was rare to find a conversation without the brunette at all. At times, he found himself wishing he could be more confident with his verbal abilities, it would be amazing to be like a character from a movie, to be able to just go out and maybe order himself a coffee, talk to a stranger as he waited for the bus. So often he found himself fantasizing about the most mundane things for most people, but really he did crave them a lot. He was working incredibly hard in his speech therapy, there had been so many times where he felt like just giving up, like maybe he could get away with not talking for the rest of his life, but then he’d hear how assertively Wilbur could tell their doctor that he was getting overwhelmed and needed a break and.. It just reminded him of how badly he needed to crack this.

He couldn’t stay silent forever, not when he wanted to talk so bad. Even now, as he sat with his little brother, he was reminded of how badly he needed to get his issues sorted out. It was grim to think about but he knew that if he didn’t have full confirmation Wilbur was close, he wouldn’t be able to communicate with Tommy.

“Don’t tell the others I’m getting soft but I really love you, you know that right Toms?”

Tommy giggled and then he nodded. Ah, confident as ever. Techno was incredibly grateful that Tommy hadn’t turned out like him or Wilbur. It was such a relief, at first he had been so sure that the social issues were hereditary, why else would Wilbur struggle too? Recently though, he had figured out that it likely was a mix between his adhd, which was genetics, and the lack of attention he and Wil had gotten while they were little. With Two parents who were constantly out working, babysitters were usually the only people they saw in the day, their parents leaving before they had woken up and arriving back home after they had been put back to bed, it was a bad cycle of them only getting to see them a few minutes a day at most.  

He wasn’t a psychologist, if he was he probably could have started talking by now, but he guessed Wilbur had likely clutched onto one of the only consistent things, that being him, and he had developed a fear of talking. Out of fear of getting close to temporary people? Out of spite? He didn’t know.

What he did know though, was that perhaps through the constant praise and adoration he and his brothers had always given Tommy, they’d somehow prevented him from turning out like them.

Tommy could be happy, he didn’t need to fear random things.

Techno was snapped out of his thoughts by the sound of someone throwing fun-snaps along the entrance to L’manburg. Fucking Dream Team, why couldn’t they leave them alone? And what was best was that the only people available to confront them were Tommy or Techno, a seven year old or a mute.

Nudging Tommy, he glanced towards the entrance knowingly, Wilbur was a lot better at reading him but Tommy and Phil were pretty decent too. After a couple knowing glances at each other, seemingly an entire silent conversation taking place, the two brothers started to climb down the coaster and back to safety. Techno would have been happy enough to just hide and wait for Wilbur to wake up or maybe Phil to come out, he could definitely take any one of them in a fight but he didn’t want to.

What he did want was for Wilbur to wake up and come do the talking because although he loved Tommy, he didn’t want to be represented by him.

He just couldn’t get that though; the second Tommy’s feet touched the floor he dashed into the centre of the entrance way, causing Techno to dash out of him, Dream visible despite the fact that he was hiding behind a bush. Huh. The idiot must have ran out of Fun snaps since he wasn’t throwing any more.

“This is war! It’s war! Your tyranny over L’manburg cannot last forever, sleepy boys!”

Dream stood up quickly, his green hoodie tied around his shoulders as he stood in a white tshirt and grey basketball shorts. As the blonde raised his crossbow, pointed directly at Tommy, Techno couldn’t help but wonder just how he was planning to aim through the small eye holes in that mask.

“You’re dead! You hear me! We’ll win this war.”

And with that he fired two shots, the foam bullets bouncing off of himself and Tommy pathetically as they watched in confusion. What was his problem? Seemingly, Tommy had been shot on the cheek, the boy was rubbing it with small tears in his eyes. Being hit with something, even if it was a toy bullet, must still be a shock when it hits you directly in the face.

Techno wanted to comfort him, but he couldn’t, not when Dream was standing mere feet away. Instead he opted to run his thumb over Tommy’s cheek then taking his hand as a sign he understood that he wasn’t happy - he didn’t know why or how but holding his brother’s hand’s hand started to be the thing guaranteed to let them know he cared when he couldn’t talk. It was dumb but at least he had a way to communicate it now.

“NOW!”

Right as he was distracted, he heard Dream yell out, causing him to snap back to reality, standing in front of Tommy protectively, only to realise Sapnap and George were scuttling in from a hole in the wall. Techno wanted to yell out, he wanted Phil to come, he felt scared and overwhelmed, logically he could take any of these boys physically but he was scared. This was new to him, they were new people, and he had someone to protect!

It wouldn’t be so bad if Wilbur was awake.

Wilbur could yell and get Phil to come and Phil would do something.

The two boys were charging towards them now, Dream still had that stupid toy crossbow pointed at them too. God why were they so awful?!

“Give it up Techno!” Sapnap yelled, waving a toy sword, it looked like it was made of wood. He wasn’t holding it right, Techno had noted to himself, if he were to try and hit someone with that he wouldn’t get much force. The other boy, George -He only remembered his name because that was the one Wilbur hurt- was carrying a wooden axe, it didn’t look sharp and the handle was painted in a way that made it clear it was also from a toy set, probably the same set that the sword was from.  

That made it all the more clear that they were bad kids. They wanted to hurt them.

He repositioned himself in front of Tommy as the boys drew closer.

Sapnap had tried to hit him first, he was able to block that with his arm, then came George with his axe. The boy jumped up and swung as he came down, even though it was blunt, he had still been hit hard with it and it fucking ached.

Techno didn’t want to get violent but he would protect Tommy no matter what, he knew Phil said no more fights but as he saw Sapnap swing the sword, the wooden blade brushing past Tommy forcefully and leaving a splinter in his arm, he couldn’t hold back his anger. He gently turned Tommy around, nodding towards the ticket booth, before turning back to the two boys in front of him, shaking his head as if to tell them not to even think about going near him.

Techno had faith in Tommy, he knew he’d be able to get Wilbur, that’s why he had to be quick here. In all honesty, he didn’t care about George, he hadn’t hurt Tommy, but Sapnap had and so he felt no shame as he pushed him hard, letting him bounce on the sandy dirt of the warm summer’s day. He didn’t want to start an actual fight, Phil would kill him if he actually punched someone but pushing wasn’t that bad.

“Okayyy Okay kids”

ThankGod,ThankGod,ThankGod

He heard Phil’s voice as he jogged over to Techno, Sapnap and George; by now Dream was standing in the open, by the entrance to L’manburg, as if waiting for his brother’s to finish up their game since his part was over. Techno hated that they seemed to think of this as a joke. They didn’t need L’manburg, they just didn’t like that they couldn’t have it. In his opinion, they were just spoiled rotten, why was their discomfort a source of their amusement?

No matter how he thought of it, Techno couldn’t understand their thought process. Even though he had already pushed Sapnap over, Techno was still boiling over with anger, strong tension dripping from any motion he made.

“Boys get up” Phil sighed as he helped Sapnap off the ground, as well as George who had got down to make sure he was okay. “Techno we don’t push people..Okay I’m sorry about him, you head back home now”

The blonde ushered the boys out of the park as fast as he could, trying to be polite all the way, even though they had been nothing but rude to them.

…

Everything was silent for a minute.

“Techno-Blade Reid, How many times do I have to tell you violence isn’t okay?”

Okay, he used his full name, fuck shit. Phil rarely got this mad but it was obvious Techno had messed up. He hated making Phil mad, he never wanted to yell back, it always just made him disappointed in himself. Everybody knew that Phil was a nice guy and to be the one that forces him to lose composure? It felt horrible.

“Phil I-”

“No no! Listen for a minute okay? How hard actually is it to just talk? Why couldn’t you just call out to me? You know I would have got rid of them for you! Tommy said you had a sword fight, Techno, a sword fight! Did you even realise that Tommy got a splinter? What if that gets infected?”

Techno felt simultaneously that his heart had been stepped on and that he wanted to puke. It hurt, so, so bad, to hear his brother say these things. With the once comforting summer heat choking him up and threatening tears, Techno crossed his arms against his chest, walking directly to Wilbur.

Wilbur never would have said something like that, not even out of anger.

“Phil, I wanted to… You think I didn't realise Tommy got hurt? Why else would I have shoved him?! They attacked us!” He had to stop for a moment, getting a bit choked up, he had been so relieved to hear Phil’s voice, he really hadn’t expected this.

“No, fuck, Tech’ I didn’t mean that… I don't know why I said it. I promise I didn’t mean it”

Phil’s face had contorted slightly, he looked pained and guilty. Techno was well aware that he had just been frustrated and went for the easiest jab possible, he just hadn’t been expecting it.

No matter how much he told himself that Phil didn’t actually think any of that, no matter how much he told himself that his brother still loved him despite his speech issues, he still couldn’t help but find himself being hurt.

He knew what Phil said hadn’t been on purpose but it still stung.

“Take Tommy home and get his splinter out, me and Wil are gonna stay back here for a bit” Voice weak and mellow, he pushed the words out as if it was a physical struggle to talk right now.

He heard Phil sigh, the one he did when something was really hard. “Okay, I love you Techno, and you Wilbur.”

Techno nodded “I love you too.. I just need to be alone for a minute”

[syntaxeme]

Needs Met ch. 1 [Moicy]

[Read on AO3] [Next Chapter (coming soon)] Rating: M Notes: This story involves Ph*rmercy elements. It also involves cheating. If you’re bothered by one or both of those things, please just ignore the story! I’m not here to engage in any kind of ship war or to encourage it among others.

Summary:  By some cruel twist of fate, Angela finds herself once again working with Moira O’Deorain, an ex with whom she had a particularly complicated (D/s) relationship. Unfortunately for Angela, her thoughts and feelings about Moira refuse to stay in the past. Realizing that the stability and control Moira offers are things she still craves, she finds her pride bending to her own desires. No, not desires. Needs.

— — –

Throughout the entire mission, Angela kept her eyes to herself. She went to the side of anyone who needed her, was mindful of her companions and her surroundings—but no more than “mindful.” She didn’t look closely. She didn’t listen for a particular voice. To be plain, she wasn’t all there. Not to say that anyone suffered for it, but she was very aware of her own condition. Maybe if she had been informed of these unusual circumstances ahead of time, it wouldn’t have affected her so much. Maybe not.

“I much appreciated your aid, Angela. I doubt we would have succeeded without it.” That voice. That was the one she had been trying to ignore all day. Not the words spoken, as they were more than competent, inventive, helpful (as expected) to the mission. The sound itself was what affected her.

“You’re exaggerating,” she answered coolly. “I was only doing my part, Doctor O’Deorain.” Of course, she had known that she wouldn’t escape Moira’s presence altogether. Now that they’d boarded the transport that would deliver them from the field to their accommodations for the night, her fears had been realized.

“‘Doctor,’ is it?” Moira laughed, eyes lingering on Angela’s tense shoulders. “And I thought you and I were better-acquainted than that.”

“Maybe we were at one point.” Why was she carrying on this conversation? Why did she answer when Moira spoke? A conditioned response, she supposed, from years ago, one the sound of that voice had brought back with an intensity she’d never expected. They stood in one corner of the ship, and none of the others present seemed to notice how heavy the air was between them.

“I suppose some time has passed since then. The years show in your eyes, Doctor Ziegler,” Moira pointed out, hands remaining folded at her back despite the wandering of her gaze. “Your charming optimism has faded.”

Angela gripped her staff more tightly with both hands. “The absolute last thing I’m here to do,” she said quietly, “is ‘charm’ you.” Moira laughed openly at that, and blue eyes stayed fixed in a glare at the floor below.

“Yes, I’m certain you don’t do it intentionally.” Inquisitively inspecting Angela’s armor, she changed the subject: “Your Valkyrie suit has greatly improved since last I saw it. The staff’s function is much more elegant…and I see you carry a sidearm now.”

“It’s purely for self-defense.”

“Primum non nocere. How appropriate. I do wonder what else has changed over the years,” Moira observed. Taking a slow step closer, she went on, “Since we’ll be spending the evening in close quarters, this seems a fine opportunity for a closer look. At the suit, that is. Given your permission.”

Angela’s eyes fell closed as she tried to decide how to answer. She had expected the suggestion—she’d been expecting it since she’d found out they were working together that morning. That it came this late in the day was the only surprise. And of course, she knew it wasn’t really her armor that Moira was interested in. Suffice it to say they’d had a very complicated relationship during her time with Blackwatch; her ‘closer look’ would inevitably become something much more involved. If only Fareeha had come with her, Angela was certain this conversation wouldn’t be taking place at all.

She had been seeing Fareeha outside of work for nearly a year by that point, and they’d been sleeping together for months. Had she been there, her jealousy would have picked up on Moira’s intentions immediately and prevented her from coming anywhere near Angela outside the mission. But she was busy elsewhere at the time, and of course they were both certain that the brief separation wouldn’t be an issue in any way.

“No,” Angela said in what she hoped was a firm tone. “I prefer not to share my inventions with untrustworthy individuals.”

“Untrustworthy?” Moira repeated, though she sounded more amused than offended. “You have changed, aingeal.” Still, she didn’t press further. She inclined her head in a semblance of a bow and left to speak with one of their other associates instead. Angela remained silent for the rest of their trip, trying her best not to dwell on the interaction.

She was no psychologist, but she was certain that her response to Moira’s voice was nothing more than Pavlovian conditioning. Not a sign of lingering feelings for her, not a reflection on her mental state. Nothing but a learned reaction that her body had somehow held onto all these years. It was nothing short of a biological betrayal that she should be forced to recall, in vivid detail, the moments that had enforced this affliction.

Moments during the period when they were on the same side. More or less. Moments in her darkened office, after everyone else had gone home for the day. Moments in her apartment or Moira’s, when that voice had given orders for her to obey. With pleasure. She recalled the chuckle that came when she begged, the encouraging purr when she was doing well. The shape of Moira’s lips as she spoke. The feeling of those lips on her skin. And her tongue…

Angela groaned, more in irritation with herself than anything, as she tried to push every one of those moot points out of her head. None of it mattered. It was all in the past, and no matter how much she had wanted it—needed it—at the time, it wasn’t going to happen again. Her guilt over even thinking about it only increased when they got back to their hotel and she finally checked her phone to find a missed call from Fareeha. Of course, between their separate time zones and both of them working, it was difficult to find a moment wherein they were both free to talk. But she had left a sweet voicemail, promising to make up for the lost time once they were both home, confessing that her current bed was cold without her ‘dove’ there to share it. Angela listened to the message and felt surprisingly little—little but guilt and disappointment in herself.

She cared about Fareeha. She wouldn’t have been with her if she didn’t. She enjoyed their time together, felt safe and comfortable in her arms, appreciated all the emotional support she provided. Yes, she very selfishly loved every aspect of their relationship. But did she love Fareeha? That, she had yet to answer. Or maybe she had answered it but pretended otherwise, hoped her heart and mind might change with time. Love was such a complicated, messy subject, one she hadn’t had much luck with in the past.

Rather than calling and leaving a voicemail of her own, she answered with a text message, explaining how exhausted she was, hoping that it came off as sincere. The last thing she wanted was to hurt or discourage Fareeha somehow. She didn’t deserve to suffer for Angela’s weakness. More than anything, she wanted to sleep, to be free of the burden of thinking, just for a few hours. But sleep didn’t come easily these days, meaning she had to weigh the costs and benefits of taking medication.

Too many choices, too many decisions, too much responsibility. Just tell me what to do. She was so tired. After shedding the many pieces of her armor, wings and all, she put out the lights, crawled into her bed, and pulled the covers up to hide beneath them. Still her mind wouldn’t stop racing—or trudging, at least, as drained as she was.

There was a way to fix it. Something she couldn’t do on her own. From experience, she knew exactly what she needed. Guidance. Stability. She needed to put herself in hands more reliably steady than her own.

Discipline.

Subjugation. She wet her lips at the thought.

For years, she’d been trying to put the thought out of her head, telling herself it wasn’t healthy, that she should find some other way to cope. But what point was there when she already knew the solution?

She had brought the idea up to Fareeha before, but only once or twice. It was obvious that she was uncomfortable with it, with the notion of controlling or, heaven forbid, harming Angela. Too concerned for her comfort. Nevertheless, Fareeha had agreed to try, out of a desire to please her. Already, the motivation was wrong, and a Dom without the confidence to give orders simply couldn’t provide the firm hand Angela needed. So she tried instead to forget that feeling and be satisfied with everything else Fareeha could give. And she gave no small amount.

Then came this mission, and she was forced to confront Moira again. Moira, who had never hesitated to control her. Moira, who had been the one to show her how sweet it could be to submit. Moira, whose voice still set her blood on fire and practically made her mouth water.

She recalled their earlier conversation, her own cold and insulting words, and some stupid, desperate part of her wished Moira had slapped them out of her mouth. Wished she could feel those long fingers close around her throat and tighten when she tried to argue. Wished for nails on her back and teeth on her throat and that voice, that damned, delicious voice filling her ears. She hated herself for it. She hated Moira for it, too, for so permanently etching these thoughts and feelings and desires into her psyche.

The room was pitch dark, even darker under her sheets. She let her eyes fall closed and tried to push past mistakes out of her mind, reminding herself where she was at this point in her life and why it was better. Groping blindly in the dark, she reached for her nightstand and grabbed her earpiece to replace it. Trying to chase Moira’s voice out of her mind, she replayed Fareeha’s voicemail and focused on every syllable, imagining the shape of Fareeha’s lips as she spoke them.

If she tried, now and again, she could more or less fabricate a scenario in which Fareeha was willing to be the Dom she needed. Perhaps she came home from a mission frustrated and needed to take her anger out physically. Perhaps she grew tired of Angela’s asking and decided to give her what she wanted as roughly as possible. It was invariably some exception to her usual character, but Angela wanted it regardless.

Yet this time, her imagination couldn’t seem to muster the image. She couldn’t take the sound of Fareeha’s voice and turn it into a growl, a demand, an order. “Verdammt,” she breathed, pausing the recording. Several moments passed in silence, and, with her digital library still open, Angela noticed a folder in Shared Media that hadn’t been there before. It was labelled with that day’s date and their location. She hadn’t considered this but knew what it must be. The communications from her mission earlier that day would’ve been recorded, and they were now available for her to review. Immediately, her mind deduced that if she wanted to—if she chose to—she could hear Moira’s voice instead.

No. She wouldn’t. Even if Fareeha’s trust weren’t part of the equation, the shame it would evoke would be too much for her to bear. After all these years, giving in to those old desires, being pathetic enough to use Moira’s voice as a catalyst for her pleasure? She wouldn’t do it.

Although. It would be so very easy. Or…perhaps it would be helpful to her future combat maneuvers. Yes, that was very possible. It could have merit of a different sort. Biting her lip hard, still fighting with her conscience, she opened the folder before she could stop herself. And, of course, the comms were separated into those of each individual squad member. Another moment of hesitation. Then she played the file labeled O’Deorain – support 2 and waited.

“I do hope that you’re quite certain about this,” Moira said, as she had in response to their team leader’s plan of charging in without much effort at regrouping the team. Hearing it sent a chill down Angela’s spine. The cold, judgmental tone in Moira’s voice was maddening, as it always had been.

Please, she might have begged, all those years ago. How many times can I say it? I want this. I need it.

“Do you truly believe that’s wise?” Moira’s voice in her ear, and Angela slid one hand slowly along her collarbone, down to her chest. “Do not make me repeat myself.”

Mein Gott. Angela bit her lower lip hard, her bare hand sliding underneath her form-fitting shirt to trail up her stomach and tease her breasts. Her hands were neither as long nor as inexplicably cold as Moira’s, but her imagination could supply the missing details.

“Come back here, in ainm Dé!” Moira growled, exasperated, and Angela began to remember such phrases she’d used in their dark, heated moments together. An-mhaith and ná stad and féin a iompar. Starting to lose track of her breathing, Angela let her shaking free hand wander slowly downward, down her stomach toward her hips.

“Do you want this or not?” Moira demanded cooly. “Yes? Then listen to me.” Angela paused, the last vestiges of her pride still desperate to remain unbroken. Every word weakened her will further, and she could so easily imagine—no, recall—Moira holding her down, guiding her every move. “This is dangerous.”

“Oh, it is,” Angela chuckled under her breath. If she allowed herself this much, where would she draw the line? If she touched herself, imagined Moira touching her, if she orgasmed to the sound of her ex-lover’s voice, how would she still pretend that Moira had no power over her? She should stop. She should pause the audio and focus on trying to sleep.

“Ah-ah-ah. Come back to me now.”

She never was willing to disobey a direct command.

“Stop fighting,” Moira snapped. That tone of irritation, of impatience, got to Angela even more. “Do as I say and I will keep you safe.”

Despite herself, she slid her hand lower to edge into her tights. God, she’d missed this. Tell me what to do, she begged silently. What do you want? What am I allowed? What was that pet name she had always used?

“Mo chuisle.” Angela could imagine the words as if they were spoken directly into her ear, Moira’s breath falling hot against her skin.

“Yes,” she breathed out loud, sliding her hand lower still, letting her fingers slip between her legs and find how wet she was already. Of course. Moira’s voice had always had that effect on her. “Tell me. Please.” By this point, she was so thoroughly entrenched in her memories that she hardly needed the recording; she could simply imagine what Moira might tell her.

“Not yet, mo chuisle. Have patience,” she chided. And Angela pulled her hand back, no matter how much she wanted it. It was her own body. This was just a fantasy. But the fantasy had power over her, and she wanted it to. “Good girl. You have been neglected of late, haven’t you, pet? And how patient you’ve been for me, how faithful.”

Again: “Yes.” Her fingertips continued to trail very lightly along the hem of her tights, her other hand still groping and teasing her chest. Slowly, almost lazily.

“Such sweetness deserves a reward, does it not?” She could imagine Moira’s tongue on her neck, and she begged for a mark—a bite, a bruise, a hickey, something. Something to mark her. Property. A possession. An object. So much easier that way. No agency meant no accountability. “That’s it, aingeal. Let me take care of everything.” She could have sobbed for how desperately she wanted it. No one asking her for help. No one looking to her for answers. No one criticizing her performance.

“I’ll be good,” she whispered. She could feel Moira’s hands on her shoulders, trailing down her arms, forcing her shirt up, her tights down, so she was exposed beneath the sheets. She lacked the presence of mind to be embarrassed. Fingertips traced her lips, and she obediently let them part, allowing Moira’s fingers to slide wetly over her tongue.

“Of course you will. You always are. I discipline you because I know you enjoy it, not because you misbehave.”

“I—”

“Hush.” Her voice was sharp, fingers sliding deeper, almost far enough to make Angela gag. “Manners, my pet. We mustn’t speak with our mouth full.”

Angela forced herself into silence, doing all she could to obey. Wet fingers slid past her lips, allowing her only a moment to catch her breath before sliding down between her legs. She was already so wet, so hot, and she could hear Moira purr, “Deny it all you like, but your body knows you want this.” One finger pressed inside her, slowly, drawing a shuddering breath from her lips. Then a second, faster, to steal her breath altogether. Still, she tried so hard to be quiet and still, to be whatever Moira wanted of her.

Friction between her legs, and her heart raced, her cheeks flushed with desire. Yes, she wanted it, and God, she’d wanted it for so long. Yet she managed to keep her hips still, to not buck them upward and beg for more. No. She’d been patient. She could continue to be patient.

“Such discipline, mo chuisle. It seems I made quite a lasting impression on you.” Laughter, and she recognized the feeling of being teased and praised simultaneously. She recognized it and found she had missed it. “But it’s not my intention to leave you wanting.” Those fingers moved faster, and Angela let out a low moan of desire, biting her lip hard to stifle her voice.

There was no answer for a moment, not because Angela became conscious of the fact that she was lying alone in bed and essentially talking to herself, but as a test, perhaps even a punishment; Moira withholding her voice because she knew Angela wanted it so badly. Those fingers drew out of her and slipped across her clit instead, slick and hot from being inside, sending a delicious chill through her body. Moira’s next order was simple but stern: “Beg.”

“Please,” Angela panted without a moment’s hesitation, fingertips moving steadily but not fast or hard enough to give her what she needed. Her voice was strained, breathless. “Please, let me cum. Make me cum. I’ll be good. I’ll be whatever you want.” These weren’t promises made in desperation; they were her own desires as well.

“You always are, mo chuisle. Now cum for me and prove it.”

Her fingers moved, pressed, circled, rubbed, fast enough that she lost her breath, lost her voice, all but lost her mind. Trembling, tense all over, she gave herself over to a powerful orgasm, clamping her free hand over her mouth so Moira’s name couldn’t pass her lips in her ecstasy. The pleasure hit her in waves, even stronger than she’d remembered, until everything melted into hot, tingling contentment. As she was coming down, she realized the audio file was still playing.

“And it could have been this simple to begin with if only you hadn’t been so stubborn.”

The laugh she let slip was light, soft, for once not laced with bitterness and irony. Everything felt much lighter now, in fact.

After forcing herself up for a hot shower and a change of clothes, Angela went back to bed feeling more lucid, more calm than she had in some time. This pretend scene with Moira was just a fantasy, it was true, but the wonders it had done her mind were undeniable. The sexual gratification was wholly secondary to the psychological release it had given her. It was like taking a full breath for the first time after a half-decade of slowly suffocating. Like being honest about who she was and what she needed after so long trying to change. And if just the thought of surrendering could help so much, she could only imagine what it would feel like in reality. To actually be with Moira again.

Just once. Just one more time, and it’ll be enough. To get it out of my system once and for all… To get her out of my head…

She slept better that night than she had in years.

[detroitwhatitmeanstobehuman]

Chapter 3 - Similar Minds

Part 3/17 of What it Means to be Human

Word Count: 8526

Warnings: Swearing, mild suggestive banter, implied character death, traumatic car accident related flashback/panic attack.

Genre: Self-insert/Angst

Pairing: OC (Detective Rachel) X Connor

Rating: Mature

Summary: Arriving in Camden, Lieutenant Hank Anderson, Detective Rachel, and Connor began investigating the AX400 case. Rachel is determined to show off her skills and impress Connor. However, things begin to go awry when the AX400 flees from the scene and the pair has to pursue it and the child in its care.

First Chapter | Previous Chapter

---------------------------------

I think it’s pretty safe to say that I’m not a fan of car rides.

Driving, or at least before self-driving cars became the norm, I was more comfortable with. Hell, I actually really enjoyed car rides before.

But now that I was more acutely and painfully aware of my own mortality? It was like sitting in a tin can of death and impending doom for me. It’s why I always tried to take public transit. Which is strange because for the longest time, I did not trust public transit until I had no choice but to use it.

I watched the first episode of BBC’s Sherlock way back when, and since then, I did not trust public transit, especially taxis.

Granted, it’s not like I panic. I used to. I wasn’t able to ride in cars for a good long while, but after putting in the effort as well as doing the steps to overcome my fear that my psychologist recommended I take, I’m now able to at least tolerate car rides.

Do I like them? No. Do they give me anxiety and perhaps trigger me? Yes. But can I deal with them? Yes, depending on the circumstances. I’m not perfect and I have off days like everyone else.

But I’d like to think I was pretty good at hiding my anxiety. That was until I had both the pleasure and misfortune of being temporarily partnered with Connor, the android sent by Cyberlife, as he introduced himself as. “Are you alright, Rachel?” He asked me. “I’ve detected a large spike in your heart rate as well as a drop in temperature and signs of hyperventilation.” If I had remembered that he could literally do a scan of my vitals and know what’s wrong with me, I would’ve avoided this altogether. I wasn’t exactly a fan of feeling vulnerable in the police environment, but there was something so sincere about Connor’s queries. Which was strange, since he was an android and couldn’t really portray truth or lies differently. But maybe that was why he came off as sincere as he did.

I looked up at him, clutching tightly to my left arm. He was seated in the front beside Hank, since they were the ones that were actually partners and I was just their backup. Although, I knew I was more than that to Hank. As sour as he was, he liked my company, as much as I enjoyed pissing him off. I wasn’t like Gavin, though. I just mildly annoyed people with dumb or lewd jokes or my weird quirks and random thoughts. 

Gavin was, well, an insufferable asshole.

I always had a feeling that Hank had a bit of a soft spot for me, and not in the creepy “old man coming onto a young vulnerable woman” sort of way. I think he recognized that I did some really good work despite my oddities. Hell, he even admitted that I was a better detective than a lot of them on the force (always glaring at Gavin when he said that). If I wasn’t working on a case, he’d get me to tag along on whatever case he was working on. Or he’d recommend the better cases to me, usually the harder ones that he didn’t want to deal with but couldn’t trust the others to take on either.

That last part kind of annoyed me, but the pride I felt after solving them every time sort of kept me from stopping him. Especially if it came with a jealous glare from Gavin. That was sheer nirvana on the spectrum of my “smug bastard” metre.

“Rachel?” 

Connor calling me by name snapped me out of my thoughts. “Oh, sorry. I zoned out.” I quickly apologized, nervously adjusting my short hair and pushing my glasses up my nose. “What was the question?”

“I was just asking if you were alright.” Connor repeated.

“Oh, yeah! I’m fine.” I said, shuffling in my seat, trying somehow not to focus on the outside and inside of the self-driving car at the same time. “I just...don’t like car rides.”

“Yeah, don’t worry about it. We’ll get there in about a minute.” Hank assured me, glancing back at me with a gruff smile. “And on the way back, you can play your music and tune out.”

I smiled appreciatively. He knew that playing and humming and singing to my music helped me stay calm and relax. “Thanks, Hank.”

The greying man gave me a nod and turned back around, however Connor’s gaze was glued to me. As he stared at me, I stared back at him. It wasn’t really threatening as it was odd, and I wasn’t really sure what he was thinking of. I noticed his LED was spinning yellow for a brief moment before it settled back to its pristine blue hue. “What profession usually shares the best gossip?” He suddenly asked me.

I squinted my eyes at him skeptically. Is this a test? A trick question? I tried to think about what a real answer to his question would be. “Uhhhh, I guess NSA agent?” I answered.

“Landscape development.” I tilted my head at him curiously. Huh? “After all, they’ve got dirt on just about everyone.”

My eyes immediately snapped shut as I took in a deep and sharp inhale and let it back out when I realized that Connor was actually telling me a joke. And a really bad one.

“Ah, Jesus fucking Christ. Not you, too.” Hank complained with a groan.

As much as I wanted to agree with him, I was trying really hard to fight a smile and a laugh as I sort of blinked my eyes at my shoes. As hard as I tried, I could feel the involuntary grin start spreading across my face and the urges of a snicker erupting in my belly. Eventually, I gave in and conceded defeat, bursting into a fit of begrudging giggles. “That was so bad, Connor.”

He seemed to blink in confusion. “You didn’t like it?” I could’ve sworn you saw wounded pride in his deep brown eyes. But not the brazen kind, the kind that made me want to wrap my arms around him and apologize.

“No no! I love it, unfortunately.” I said, still giggling and trying to play it off. “That was so bad, but it was also really clever.”

“I have more, if you’d like to hear them.” Connor offered.

“Please don’t encourage her.” Hank grumbled.

I then gave the android, whom I had already decided was a dork, a confident smirk. “How about I tell you one, first?” I suggested. “And you’re not allowed to look up the answer for it. That’s cheating.”

“Oh Jesus, here we go.” Hank sighed.

“I won’t.” Connor assured me, his facial expression not changing very much, but the corner of his mouth was ever so slightly upturned.

I tried to rack my brain for some of my favourite jokes, and I quickly remembered one that was always fun to tell. “What do you get when you mix a dyslexic, an insomniac, and an agnostic?” I asked him, my right eyebrow raised expectantly, my hands folded in my lap.

Connor paused for a moment before he answered. “I’m not sure.” He replied. “What do you get when you mix a dyslexic, an insomniac, and an agnostic?”

I found it sort of endearing that he repeated the whole question even though he didn’t have to. I put on my biggest and smuggest grin before I delivered the punchline. “Someone who lies awake at two in the morning wondering whether or not there’s a Dog.” I said with a small dramatic gesture of my hands as I leaned back in my seat.

From beside Connor, I heard Hank snicker. I couldn’t hold back my swollen sense of pride. “Okay, fine, that one was pretty clever.”

“See? You like my jokes, Hank.” I pressed insistently.

He scoffed. “Yeah, when they’re good.”

I raised both my eyebrows at him. “So, all of them, then.”

I could practically hear him rolling his eyes. “Alright, listen here, smartass.” 

But he didn’t really have a response to my joke as I felt the car start slowing down and I realized that I actually forgot about my anxiety for the remainder of the trip. “We’re here.” 

As Hank got out of the car, Connor remained there for a moment. “I thought it was clever, and I enjoyed it. I appreciate your sense of humour.”

Connor then got up after Hank, and I sat there briefly for a moment before getting out of the car to follow them. There was one thought that was swirling in my head at that moment. Did he do that on purpose? To distract me from the car ride?

I pulled my hood up as we approached, as I was not a fan of the rain, but didn’t feel like bringing an umbrella. It wasn’t raining hard enough to need one, I figured. 

I saw a familiar face. Hank’s buddy, Ben Collins. I didn’t know him that well, personally, but we were on a first name basis and in all the interactions I’ve had with him, he was pretty friendly. “Mornin’, Hank.” He greeted, eyeing Connor and then myself. “I see you’ve got that with you.” I couldn’t help but feel a twinge of displeasure. I knew he wasn’t hostile, more just neutral. But it still stung somewhere in me to refer to Connor that way. “And Rachel, your favourite detective.”

I rolled my eyes at him. “Ha ha, he asked me to come along and since I had nothing else to do and didn’t wanna miss out on this action, I decided to tag along.” I said coolly.

“Alright, no need to be jumpy. I was just askin’.” Ben said, not trying to start a fight.

I knew he meant nothing by it, but I didn’t want to be known as just “Hank’s favourite.” I had my own merits I was pretty damn proud of.

“She’s one of the best detectives there is in this city, so count yourself lucky I brought her along.” I smiled a brief smile at Hank. It was nice knowing that he always had my back.

“Not denying that, Hank.” Ben replied with a nonchalant shrug.

I folded my arms and regarded him patiently. “So, what have we got, Ben?”

The stocky white-haired man flipped open a notepad and I took mine own to start jotting down notes. “Well, it was seen in the convenience store down that way.” He gestured to the place, and I took note of it. “The cashier said that it was with a young girl and it asked for some cash for a place to spend.”

I looked up at him. “And?” I asked.

“It left, taking the girl with it.” Ben replied.

“So, nothing was taken.” I conjectured.

“Nope.” He affirmed. “It just left.”

I quickly took note of that. “Where else was it seen?”

“The only other place it was seen was the laundromat just over there.” I looked over at it and took note of it. “And hanging around the motel that way.” I looked over in that direction and took another note.

My notepad looked a lot like this:

Model AX400

Took off with a little girl

Belonged to Todd Williams (scumbag, I don’t believe him for a second)

Was seen in the convenience store asking for spare cash, but didn’t take anything

Was also seen in the laundromat and around the motel

Given all this information, I had a pretty clear idea of what happened. But it still wasn’t completely conclusive. Not until I fully immersed myself and started doing what I did best.

“Alright, thanks Ben.” Hank said, turning around to look at the street.

Ben turned in the same direction as I eyed him. “We’ve got officers sweeping the neighbourhood, in case anyone saw anything.”

Hank nodded. “Okay. Well, let me know if they turn anything up.”

Ben looked over across Hank. “What are you gonna do with that?”

I followed his gaze and found Connor idling by away from us. He was sort of just standing there in the rain looking at nothing. It made me sort of chuckle a bit, seeing him just kind of there. “I’ve no idea.” Hank said.

I scoffed. “Why not use him?” I suggested as I started making my way towards the android. “Or, better yet,” I turned around to face Hank with a smug grin, “wait until I do my thing. I wanna see the look on his face.”

Hank rolled his eyes. “I doubt you’ll be able to show him up, but I’d love to see you try.” He agreed. “It’ll at least be interesting whether or not you do.”

“And isn’t that the best kind of rivalry?” I said somewhat jokingly. As fun as it would be to be able to rival a prototype detective android, I did actually want to work with him. I just couldn’t help the smug bastard in me that wanted to impress him.

I approached Connor, noticing him staring off, his LED spinning a pensive yellow. “So, robo-cop.” I started off. “What’cha gettin?”

“It took the first bus that came along,” he started, turning towards me, “and stayed at the end of the line. Its decision wasn’t planned, it was driven by fear.”

I pulled out my notepad and I took note of that. I felt Hank approach behind me, scoffing. “Androids don’t feel fear.” He contested.

“Deviants do.” Connor corrected. “They get overwhelmed by their emotions and make irrational decisions.”

“I wouldn’t call it irrational.” I chimed in. “They may be rash and impulsive, but they’re not irrational. They’re not mindless. They’re still driven by rational thought processes unless under specific circumstances of extreme and persistent abuse of various sorts.” Hank raised a skeptical eyebrow at me. “It’s reasonable to assume. Besides, on the way here, I pulled out my phone and did a search on the AX400 and found an interview with its owner, Todd Williams, on channel 16 news. He claimed that the android attacked him unprovoked, but immediately he struck me as not being truthful. First, I find it extremely hard to believe that it attacked him ‘for no reason.’ No one just does shit like that for no reason, so he’s hiding something. He also didn’t mention anything about having a daughter.”

Hank shrugged. “So?”

“The AX400 model is designed to be a caretaker of the home.” I continued on. “Take care of chores around the house, take care of cleaning, preparing dinner, all of that. That also includes child care. So, the android was already looking after a little girl when it was living with Todd in his home. The fact that he didn’t mention anything about his daughter is really setting off my alarm bells that he shouldn’t be trusted. So, if the android felt that it had to look after the young girl, that also means protecting her. And if it recognized Todd as a threat to her, it stands to reason that it broke through its programming and became deviant in order to protect the girl and save her, escaping Todd and fighting him off.”

Connor’s LED was spinning a frantic yellow. “I don’t understand.” He said, and I could recognize vocal frustration. “What makes you so sure about this conclusion? Conjecture?”

“A very strong gut instinct.” I replied. “And when it’s mattered, mine haven’t been wrong.”

“You can’t make conclusions based on a ‘gut feeling,’ detective.” Connor shook his head, his brows furrowed. “Not without enough evidence to support it.”

I scoffed at him. “You think that humans are less advanced than machines like you just because we call processes and programs things like ‘feelings’ and ‘instincts?’” I challenged him. “The human brain is like a computer, constantly taking in, recalling, collecting, and retaining information. Hell, instincts are just your brain recalling similar scenarios and examples and patterns from several different situations in only a fraction of a second. So when someone has ‘a bad feeling’ about someone, it’s not just an irrational feeling. It’s their brain analyzing a bunch of different patterns they’ve seen or experienced and telling that person that ‘this person fits this pattern, do not trust them.’ 

“And that’s the feeling I get about Todd.” I let out a sigh. “Because he’s not the first ‘Todd’ I’ve had to meet, unfortunately. And people like him aren’t particularly original. And humans are very good at detecting when something is wrong with something or someone. And as much as I wish more cops were more unbiased and logical like you are, I’m gonna go with Occam’s Razor on this one.”

“Alright, alright. I get it.” Hank shut it down. He knew I had a tendency to ramble on, and tended to stop me before I got too carried away. On the one hand, I really didn’t like being interrupted like that, especially because I knew I was going to forget that tangent later. But on the other, it was nice having someone who could keep you on-track. “That still doesn’t tell us where it went.”

“It didn’t have a plan. And it had nowhere to go.” Connor said, his LED returning to a calm blue. “Maybe it didn’t go far.”

“Maybe.” Hank agreed.

“Well, you said that it got off at a bus stop at the end of the line.” I reminded Connor. “Which one would that be?”

He pointed at it, across the street. “That one over there.”

I nodded and closed my notebook. “Then that’s where we start.” I began making my way over, Hank and Connor following closely.

As I approached the bus stop across the street, I sat down and let out a long sigh. I closed my eyes and placed my hands on either side of my face. On each hand, my index and middle fingers were situated on my forehead just above my eyebrows while the other two were folded, and my thumbs were pressing into my cheeks. I was taking a few deep breaths, trying to clear my mind and get into the right frame.

“What is she doing, Lieutenant?” I heard Connor whisper.

“You don’t have to whisper, I’m right here.” I said, not with hostility. “And I’m just getting into the zone.”

Connor paused for a moment. “To do what?” I could practically see his LED flickering yellow in my mind as I pictured him.

“You’ll understand in a moment.” I assured him. Hank and Connor were both silent as I found my centre. And after a few moments, I got up from my seat, clasped my hands behind my back and opened my eyes. “Alright, I’m a deviant android who has just escaped the home of an unstable and dangerous man who has proven himself to be a serious threat to his daughter, the child whom I was tasked to look after and whose safety is now my top priority.” I said, all the information we’ve gathered clear and at the forefront of my consciousness. “We’ve reached the end of the line, and now we have nowhere to go. It’s late, it’s raining, and - Connor, what was the temperature last night?”

“2° Celsius.” He responded immediately.

I turned to him. “You used Celsius instead of Farenheit, I’m surprised.”

“You’ve lived on the Canadian west coast for most of your life.” Connor said bluntly. “I figured you’d prefer it that way.”

“Well, you figured correctly.” I agreed. “Imperial is stupid and dumb and makes no sense. Imperial is for losers.”

“Hey!” Hank protested. I raised my eyebrow quizzically at him. He then shuffled in place before he shrugged. “Whatever.”

Getting back into my mindspace, I took another breath. “Anyways, it’s late, it’s cold, and it’s raining. I have a child with me who is very susceptible to the elements, and traveling any further from this street would be unwise, so my priority is find a place to spend the night that’s warm, sheltered, safe, and/or comfortable. So, I take the little girl’s hand and I start walking, walking, walking, walking,” I repeated going down the street and looking around, “walking, and walking until I see a motel across the street. A motel would be ideal for the girl. It’s comfortable, safe, warm, and dry, and sheltered. However, it is not discreet and we could potentially be discovered or turned in by the staff. I start crossing the street so I can get a closer look and I can evaluate my options. And as I get closer, I also notice the convenience store further ahead, so potentially I could get money or supplies since given the panic and desperation a few hours ago, it can be reasonably assumed we left with nothing but the clothes on our backs. 

“And as I approach the motel, I see that you need $40 up-front and that androids weren’t allowed in. Seeing as I have no money and I can be very easily identified as an android because,” I then turned to Connor who was following close behind me, “correct me if I’m wrong, but all working androids are required to wear something similar to what you’re wearing to be easily recognizable, correct?”

“Correct.” He said with a nod. “It’s in accordance with the American Androids Act of 2029 that all androids must be clearly identified and distinguishable from humans.”

I got back on track. “Right, troubling implications of that aside, I would need money and a change of clothes, both things I do not have. So, I disregard the motel for now and go into the convenience store. Now, we know for a fact that the android did not take anything from the store, and I do not think that there is another realistically feasible way to scrounge up $40 for a room, so I think it’s safe to say that we can eliminate the motel from our potential hiding places.”

“What about the laundromat?” Hank asked. Connor was uncharacteristically quiet. “It may not have taken money, but it could’ve stolen some clothes.”

“In terms of whether or not we stayed in the motel, that doesn’t matter if we don’t have the money for a room.” I pointed out. “Stealing clothes could both be to disguise the android and keep the little girl warm and dry. Stealing money would only help with getting a motel room. So while the laundromat is a considering factor, it is not a determining factor. So, because we know that it did not steal from the convenience store, we can rule out the motel.”

Hank nodded. “Makes sense.” He agreed. “So what does that leave us with, then?”

“Working on that.” I assured him. I took another deep breath and resumed my role. “Okay, so motel is off the table. So, what other options do I potentially have? So, I cross the street again. And I’m walking, and walking, and walking, and walking, and I see a parking lot!” I pointed at the sign that said “parking.” I continued. “So, I go to check it out.” 

I made my way towards it and peaked in. There was a car inside, but it looked abandoned. I opened the gate and stepped inside, getting a better look at the place. My gaze was fixed on the car. “I notice that the car is abandoned. It would safe, more comfortable than would honestly be expected, but not ideal, warm, and sheltered. But, it’s kind of open and exposed.” I glanced behind me at the gaps in the tarps surrounding the chain link fencing. “And the car has not been touched. Nothing. If they were here, they didn’t stay. So, what’s the next option?” 

I turned around and saw the towering abandoned structure just on the other side of the inner fence. “A creepy, decrepit, abandoned house to squat in. Definitely not ideal. It’s sheltered, and it’s definitely hidden. Nobody would look for us in there. But I’m not sure if it would be safe or warm or comfortable. But, seeing as they didn’t stay in the motel and they clearly left the car undisturbed, looks like by process of elimination, we’re left with,” I groaned in defeated disappointment. “The creepy, decrepit, abandoned house. Great, one of every woman’s worst fucking nightmares.”

Hank nodded, standing beside me. “Well, that all makes sense to me.”

“There’s blue blood on the fence. Another android was definitely here.” I snapped my head in his direction. “That was incredible!” Connor exclaimed, to my complete surprise. Damn, that’s some high praise! But he then did something that was unexpected, but honestly, it was fucking adorable. He pretended to straighten his tie and cleared his throat as if he were embarrassed. And if I didn’t know him any better, I’d say he was. “Very impressive, Rachel.”

I smiled wide and beaming, soaking up the android’s praise. “Why thank you, Connor. That is quite the compliment, coming from you.”

“Your mental process as you were analyzing the different outcomes and evidence and possibilities piecing together the previous night,” he went on. “It seems to be a lot like reconstruction.”

I tilted my head at him, intrigued. “Reconstruction?” I echoed.

He nodded. “It’s one of my programs. By analyzing evidence and samples and compiling them, I’m able to create a theoretical reconstruction of the scenario that I can play back that can show more literally to me what took place.”

“Oh!” I said, taking in his explanation. “Interesting!”

“I am curious, though.” He interjected. “Why did you say all of your thoughts out loud like that? Is it necessary?”

“Well, it’d be pretty weird if I just walked off without saying anything, now wouldn’t it?” I said with a scoff. “But it also helps me remain focused and on-track. See, in my head, I’m holding so many ideas, clusters, thoughts, and pieces all at once. So, depending on the circumstances and the subject, information and details tend to get lost very easily. Saying it all out loud means I have to think about and focus on what I’m saying, which helps it stick. It keeps me in a rhythm and when I say my thoughts out loud, it helps me not only process it, but retain it. Because otherwise, I can potentially forget important details as soon as I turn around, as I know I often tend to do.”

Connor nodded, seeming to understand. “Ah, I see.”

“If you two are done sucking each other off, we have a deviant to find and a case to solve.” Hank interrupted.

I groaned at him. “Did you have to phrase it like that?” I asked.

“If it means you’ll stop talking, yeah.” Hank responded.

I let out an exasperated sigh. “Yeah, point taken.” I conceded. “Let’s go into the creepy home that definitely won’t house my impending doom.”

Connor approached the fencing and looked up at the house. “Anybody home?” He called. He got no response, so he quickly knelt down and crawled through the fencing on the bottom, which I realized had been cut with fence cutters.

I grimaced up at the house. “Why did it have to be a creepy house straight out of a horror movie?” I complained.

Hank scoffed at me. “Well, if you don’t like it, you can just stay out here and I’ll go in after him.”

I did not like that idea. “Oh, Hell no! That’s worse!” I refused. “How about you stay here and I go in with Connor?”

I didn’t even wait for an answer from Hank before I crawled through the fencing on the bottom. “Well, that was easy.”

I glared at him from behind me. “Oh, shut up, Hank.”

“Yeah, speak for yourself.” I rolled my eyes at him. “Now hurry up, he’s already way ahead of you.”

Taking up a brisk pace, I quickly caught up with Connor, who quickly regarded me with confusion. “This could be dangerous.” He said. “You should’ve stayed behind with Lieutenant Anderson.”

I looked up into his eyes. “I didn’t like the idea of you going in alone, and I also didn’t like the idea of being by myself.” I answered. “At least this way, we can watch each other’s backs.”

Connor nodded, seeming to accept my justification. Dutifully, I followed in behind him, acutely aware of the gun in my holster. He seemed to be rounding the perimeter of the house before he found boards he could peek through. I sneakily peeked in from the corner and found what looked like a person just standing in the middle of the room. I didn’t get a good enough look at them, but I felt my gut tighten and my jaw clench. Connor, however, remained calm as usual, and walked on ahead whilst I followed him. Across from the boards was a green door with a silver knob. I saw that it had a little paw print on it, and I thought it was cute. This must’ve been a pretty nice place before it fell in shambles. I thought, briefly.

Connor wrapped his hand around the knob and twisted it, and the door gave way without much resistance. Connor and I stepped through and the green door closed behind us under its own weight.

When I saw him in the middle of the room, I felt my heart stop and my blood turn to ice. “Oh my God...” I whispered. He was unmistakably an android, but the left side of his face had been torn and his hands were weathered and he looked as though he was wearing only what he could manage to scrounge out of the garbage. Upon seeing his face, I instinctively grabbed my left arm. He was twitching uncontrollably, out of fear, no doubt. It took all of my will to keep my eyes from watering at the horrid sight.

Connor approached the disfigured android slowly. In a quiet voice, Connor began speaking to him. “Don’t be afraid.” He reassured the android, as he began making his way around the room, inspecting it. “I’m not gonna hurt you.”

I couldn’t tear my eyes from the android, and I was quickly failing to keep my tears from welling. “What happened to you?” I asked in a hushed whisper. “Who did this to you?”

The android looked up at me and locked eyes with me, and I noticed that the eye on his left where his wounds were was damaged and had gone dark blue. “Humans.” He responded quickly. “Humans...” He answered. “Humans hurt Ralph...humans did this to Ralph.”

I felt my heart break into a million pieces and I couldn’t stop myself from crying. “I’m so sorry.” I said, quickly wiping away the tears from my eyes and taking a moist breath in through my nose as I tried to recompose myself.

Connor took notice of me as he continued to search, and I felt a twinge of embarrassment. “I’m looking for an AX400. Have you seen it?” He asked.

“Ralph’s seen nobody...” The android replied hastily. 

Connor continued analyzing various details of the room. “Are there any other androids here?” He asked.

“Other androids?” Ralph asked, looking up at Connor before looking back down at the ground. “No...Ralph is alone...”

Anytime he spoke, I just felt my heart break even more. I looked away and started to walk towards the stairs. “There’s blue blood on the fence.” Connor pointed out. “I know another android was here.”

“Ralph scratched himself coming through...” He answered immediately. “That’s Ralph’s blood...”

But as I approached the stairs, I noticed an odd, but unmistakable smell. Another aspect of my atypicalities was that aside from my eyesight, my senses were particularly sensitive. Although, I also had auditory processing issues and was hard of hearing, so my hearing was not always reliable.

But one of those senses was my sense of smell. I could pick up smells very easily and a lot quicker than other people could. Particular smells also tended to trigger sensory overload or just generally set me off. It’s one of the reasons I can’t fucking stand chewing gum in any capacity. 

But this was a smell I’d experienced enough times to know it when I smelled it. And it was not pleasant. It was the smell of a human cadaver. At least a week old, it had to be. But from what I could tell, it was not on this floor with us. It smelled like it was coming from up the stairs

Connor noticed my attention on the stairs and walked towards me. My eyes kept going to Ralph and the scars on his face, and I could hardly find it in myself to blame him. After what he’d been through, what reason did he have to not lash out out of fear? What reason did he have not to think that any human would just hurt him more? Humans probably would hurt him again or did. And as much as I was not comfortable with the fact that Ralph was probably a murderer, I didn’t want him destroyed. I wanted him helped, and I wanted him not to have suffered through what he had suffered to make him this way. He didn’t deserve this. I thought, with a fury flowing through my veins. None of them do.

As Connor was slowly going up the stairs, I noticed movement in the corner of my eye. When my eyes found it, I realized what was happening. Below the stairs was the barest movement of a crouching shape. The AX400 and the girl were hiding down there below the stairs. And Ralph was protecting them.

“Is anyone upstairs?” Connor asked, already up half the flight and peering up to the second floor.

“No.” Ralph replied. “Nobody.”

Connor looked over at Ralph, his gaze lingering for a moment on the disfigured android. But then his gaze locked onto me. I knew he was no fool. He knew I noticed something was amiss and he took that as his cue to investigate. Either the smell wasn’t strong enough for Connor to notice, or he just couldn’t smell at all. Honestly, I wasn’t even sure if androids could smell. 

I had a choice to make. If I gave Connor the idea that there was something up there to investigate, he would arrest Ralph and have him destroyed. Which, perhaps he did deserve. But I didn’t feel like it was my right to decide his fate. Not when we had something else more important to deal with at the moment.

Deciding to keep Ralph’s secret, I shook my head at Connor, telling him that there was nothing upstairs.

Connor’s yellow LED spun back to blue as he quickly made his way back onto the ground floor.

The android detective was making his way to check where I saw the fugitives hiding. I felt my heart start beating faster, until I heard Hank’s voice from behind us. “Connor, Rachel, what the hell are you doin’ in there?!”

“Coming, Lieutenant!” Connor called, kneeling down.

As soon as he did, Ralph wrapped his arms around Connor faster than I could react and I pulled my gun on him. “RUN! QUICK! KARA!” Ralph was yanking Connor backwards, and I quickly realized he wasn’t trying to hurt him.

He was allowing the others space to get away. From under the stairs, two people burst out and bolted around through the door on the left of the room, and Hank quickly came in the way we did as Ralph threw Connor onto the ground weakly.

The moment Hank entered the room, I saw my chance and took it, giving chase after them. From behind me, I heard Connor shouting. “It’s here! Call it in!”

I didn’t slow down for a moment as I was laser focused on catching up to Kara and the girl before Connor got to them. I didn’t want them dead, but I’d rather be the first to reach them than anyone else. 

I rushed past an officer in pursuit, the pair still in my sights. It didn’t take much to keep pace with them. They were within arm’s length, but I obviously wasn’t going to just grab them. “Wait!” I cried.

But they didn’t stop. They kept running. I couldn���t blame them. When I almost had them in my reach, they quickly turned a sharp corner into an alley. When they reached a fence blocking their path, I pulled my gun on them. “Freeze! Don’t move or I’ll shoot!” A complete fucking lie, but I couldn’t let them leave.

They both turned around slowly, their hands in the air. As I approached them, stepping closer, I took notice of what the android looked like. Her hair was short and blonde. It looked as though it had just been cut. But most remarkably, I noticed her LED.

Or lack thereof. She didn’t have one. Which means she must have removed it. And without it, along with her human clothes, she looked nearly indistinguishable from a human.

The android known as Kara began to speak directly to me. “You care about androids, I know you do! I saw it! When you looked at Ralph! When you talked to him!” She pleaded. “We can’t stay here, you have to let us go!”

I wanted to. So badly, I wanted to let them be free and run away. But...I had to know the truth. “What happened between you and Todd?” I asked her. “Why did you run away?”

“He was going to hurt Alice!” Kara answered without any hesitation. So, Alice is her name. “She was in danger. I couldn’t let him hurt her. I had no choice! I had to protect her!”

As if being pulled down by a weight, my arms began lowering. “I knew it.” I said, more to myself than them, but they heard it anyways. “I was right.”

But a familiar voice quickly divided my attention. “Don’t shoot, Rachel!” Connor’s voice echoed from behind me. “We need it alive!”

Taking this opportunity, I mouthed one thing to them. Run! I then turned to Connor and glared at him. “Oh, wow! Thank you Captain Obvious!” I started, chewing him out. “It’s not like anyone in their right mind could tell that the android who’s responsible for the life of a young child needed to be kept alive!”

“They’re getting away!” Connor cried as he rushed past me. 

Looking back to the fence, I felt relief that they were already pretty much over the fence and out of our reach. I quickly put the gun back into my holster and rushed to join Connor at the fence.

Kara locked eyes with Connor and then myself before she and Alice slid down the muddy slope. But then I looked ahead of them and I realized what they were facing.

The highway. They were going to cross the highway.

Immediately, I felt the worst kind of lightning pierce my veins. My heart was pounding out of my chest and I felt like I was choking on air itself. Feelings of helplessness, pressure on my chest and head, and sensations like shards in my skin began overwhelming my senses.

But there was only one thing going through my mind.

I couldn’t let them cross.

I grabbed the fence and started to climb up it, but I suddenly felt hands clutching onto my wrist and pulling me back down. “What are you doing?” Connor asked.

“They’re not gonna make it across the highway!” I cried, trying to scramble up the fence, but Connor kept holding me and then pulling me down with impossible strength. “If I don’t save them, they won’t make it! I can’t let them die out there!”

“If you go after them, there’s almost no chance of you succeeding!” Connor said, holding me down. “If you die on that road, there’s no coming back for you! Don’t you understand, Rachel?!”

“I don’t care!” I practically screamed, trying to fight my way out of his grip, feeling my breath grow rapid and frantic. “I can’t let them die out there! I can’t let them die!”

“I can’t let you take that risk!” Connor insisted, grabbing my face and forcing me to stare at him. “If you die, you don’t get a second chance. Do you hear me?”

“Don’t you dare, Rachel!” Hank’s husky voice called from behind us. He sauntered up and leaned against the fence, catching his breath. “Oh, fuck...that’s insane.”

He let go of me, and I couldn’t control the streams of tears that poured down my face as my limbs began to tremble violently. I hated that he was right, but every fibre of my body was screaming at me to stop them before it was too late. The sounds of the cars were practically deafening even though they were so far away, and the sounds of sirens only made it worse.

Suddenly, I felt Connor shift, and looked over to see Hank yanking him down. “Hey! Where you goin’?”

“I can’t let them get away!” Connor retorted.

I stared at Connor straight in the face. “Don’t you fucking dare!” I practically screamed at him.

“They won’t.” Hank said. “They’ll never make it to the other side.”

“I can’t take that chance!” This time, both Hank and I had to pull Connor down to stop him from jumping the fence.

“Hey, you will get yourself killed!” Hank shouted at him. “Do NOT go after ‘em, Connor. That’s an order!”

But Connor didn’t listen, and I felt my heart constrict so tightly I could hear my rapid heartbeat in my ears and pounding in my head. “CONNOR! God damn it!” Hank growled as Connor slipped out of our grasps and jumped the fence.

As I watched Connor slide down the slope, I lost all control. “IF YOU DIE OUT THERE, I SWEAR I WILL DRAG YOUR ASS BACK HERE AND KILL YOU AGAIN MYSELF, GOD DAMN IT!” I screeched at full volume.

But as soon as I did that, I collapsed against the fence, and as I saw Kara and Alice desperately dodge the oncoming vehicles, I completely shut down.

Images of being trapped in a flipped car at night began racing through my head. I couldn’t bear to watch anymore. I slumped against the fence, my back to the highway, and I started rocking back and forth involuntarily mumbling incomprehensibly as horrible bloody memories began to thump and pound and bang on my brain and every nerve and vein in my body felt like it was doing to burst. Numbness in my left arm. Shards of glass embedded in my skin everywhere. Horrible pain in my whole body. The feeling of the rough pavement as I managed to crawl out of the flipped vehicle. The sounds of sirens and the flashing of red and blue emergency lights. A slumped figure against the pavement as I tried desperately to reach out and call for them.

Only to reach them, hold them, and watch my whole life slip from my fingers, my heart and soul dying with the light in their eyes as I clutched onto them, screaming and desperately willing them to come back to me. For all of this to be a horrible nightmare. That I would wake up in a second and I could confide in the love of my life about what I dreamed about that night in their arms as we slept.

Only to be pulled away and be forced under as I watched everything fall apart around me.

“Rachel!” I heard a voice breaking through my visions. “Rachel, it’s okay! I’m right here, just breathe!” I recognized that it was Hank’s voice, and I felt him clutching at my arms. I snapped my eyes open as the horrible echoes of my visions swirled in my tired and wounded head. “Breathe, kiddo. It’s okay. They made it. You don’t have to worry about them.”

They did? I thought. So it was all a bad dream? But then I realized what Hank meant, and I was quickly dragged back to reality. Oh. Right. Kara, Alice, and Connor. 

Forcing myself to breathe deeply, the sounds and visions started to dull. “That’s it, kiddo. That’s it. Just breathe.” Hank said softly, gently holding onto me and kneeling in front of me. “I’ve got you, it’s gonna be alright. Just look at me, listen to me, and just breathe.”

I did as he asked, and I started to remember my surroundings and why I was here. The case. This morning. The street. The house. The chase. As I kept breathing, my muscles began to relax, and I realized that I was clutching my left arm really tightly, and let go, putting both my hands on the ground on either side of me. My heart was still racing and my eyes felt sore, but I was beginning to come back from that horrible low place. I swallowed and I knew my voice had become hoarse. “There you go, kiddo.” Hank said, gently shaking me. I gently grabbed his arms with my hands and looked him in the eyes. “It’s okay, everything’s fine. Connor’s coming back right now. No one died. Everyone made it.”

Connor. His name repeated in my head. That’s right. Connor. My brows furrowed in complete anger. That fucking asshole!

“Looks like you’ve caught your breath, now.” Hank said, reassuring me. “Can you stand up?”

Letting out a long sigh, I nodded. “Yeah...I think so.” I croaked.

Without waiting, Hank hooked an arm around my back under my arms and started helping me to my feet. As soon as I was standing, he pulled me aside so I was leaning against the corner between the alley wall and the fence. I clutched my chest, taking in several deep breaths. My heartbeat had slowed, but it was still beating so fast.

As soon as Connor climbed back over the fence, my attention was completely focused on him. Unbridled rage began to boil in my veins as I glared at this selfish plastic moron. “You!” I snarled, lacing my broken voice with as much venom as I could bring myself to inject. “WHAT THE FUCK IS WRONG WITH YOU?! YOU COULD HAVE DIED OUT THERE!”

Connor looked taken aback for a brief moment, but for the most part, his face was relatively reserved. “I couldn’t let them -”

“Quiet!” I shouted, shoving him harshly. “Watching ONE person die in a road accident was one too many! I don’t want you adding to that list just because you wanna recklessly and selfishly risk your own life without any regard for anyone else!”

“If I get destroyed, my memory will simply be transferred to the next-”

“I DON’T CARE!” I shouted at him. Everything went quiet as I stared at him. But I felt so tired, and exhausted, and broken that I couldn’t keep up the tough love act for long and broke into quiet sobs.

Hank gently grabbed my shoulders, angling me away from Connor. Nothing was said for a long long moment. If not for what just preceded this, I would’ve considered this a moment of respite.

“I’m sorry.” Connor said, softly and meekly.

Taking a few breaths between my weak and stifled sobs, I turned to face him, but did not walk towards him. “The important thing...is that no one died today...that everyone made it.” I managed to get out between breaths and sobs.

Hank started gently walking me out of the alley. “Let’s just head back to the car.” He suggested. “We did what we could. There’s nothing more for us to do, here.”

I nodded, leaning on Hank, occasionally stealing a glance back at Connor. Even after yelling at him, I couldn’t help but feel a sharp stab of guilt when he looked at me like that. Like a wounded puppy.

We eventually made our way to the car, and I was able to walk without Hank supporting me. “You wanna sit in the front this time, Rachel?” He asked me.

I looked at him and gave him a weak smile, but it was as much of one as I could muster. “That would be nice.” I answered quietly.

“Yeah, just go on in and have a seat. I’ll just let Ben know what happened.” Hank assured me, giving me a reassuring pat on the shoulder. He walked off to find his colleague, and Connor came up behind me. He didn’t really say anything, and we just sort of looked at each other for a long moment before I opened the door and sat in the passenger’s seat.

As soon as I closed the door, I let out a long sigh and wiped my eyes. I leaned back into my chair and felt my eyes well up again. I wasn’t going to fall apart again, but I clearly wasn’t done feeling all the horrible things. “Fuck...” I breathed as I slumped into my chair.

I felt Connor lean forward and I knew he was going to try to talk to me. Despite my outburst earlier, I didn’t hate him. Hell, I chewed him out because I was so scared I was going to watch him die because of his own stupid reckless bullshit. But...I definitely did not have the energy or patience to talk to him right now. “I’m sorry.” He said, and I hated the twinge I felt because he sounded so sincere. “I should’ve considered how you and Hank would feel if -”

I couldn’t do it. “Connor, I don’t wanna talk right now!” I cut him off. He snapped his mouth shut and gave me that injured puppy dog look again. I let out another sigh as I sunk further and further into my seat. “Just...please. Not right now. Maybe later, but...just let me wind down, please.” I begged him.

I couldn’t even look at him in the rear view window. I couldn’t bear to see his dark eyes boring into my soul. He was quiet for a good while until he spoke up. “Alright.” He agreed. “I’m sorry.”

I closed my eyes and let out another breath through my nose. As soon as I heard the driver’s side door open, I knew Hank was back. “Sorry it took so long.” He apologized. I quickly fastened my seatbelt as he started the car. “You can put on whatever tunes you want and just relax the whole way back, okay?”

I looked weakly up at Hank. “Thank you.” Was all I could muster. I pulled out my phone and connected it to his radio, scrolling through my playlists. I thought of playing an album full of easy-listening piano songs, but I decided that would be too quiet and sombre for a fifteen minute car ride. So instead, I scrolled to my usual ‘happy music’ that I played when I needed a good auditory pick-me-up. I put on an old Owl City album and let it play. As Hank started the car, it began driving, and very quickly, I managed to drift off to sleep, hoping to get at least some rest before the day was over.

---------------------------------

Next Chapter

[cupidoargiades]

interrupted questions (part one)

A/N - @reallyfancytrash asked: i NEED interrupted questions to be a full fic pls its too good - and guess what? i kinda wanted it to be a full one as well :) i wanted to make the first part a bit quick, so it wouldn't become boring from the get go but just ignore that ok pls thank u :') love yall

TW: angst, (future) grim backstory, mental illness

summary: one of kihyun's bad habits is talking over you when he gets anxious. usually you don't mind; it lets you know when he needs comfort, but when he starts doing it more often than usual you can't help but feel like something really bad is continiously bugging him. you decide to investigate, but you end up accidentally exposing his longest held secret to his family and friends. now that he's closed the chapter of you and won't talk to you out of embarrassment, can you still find a way to get him back in your life?

-

"when will you be h-"

"5 o'clock, on the dot." he immediatly responds, looking up from the kitchen counter he was making his breakfast on. he looks around, catching your gaze and flashing you a smile, before getting back to his breakfast.

"why so nervous?" you ask.

"felt like someone was staring at me, sorry" he said, a slight shiver in his voice. he smiled again and shook his head. "but it was just you! can you maybe- tell me when you enter the room next time?"

you nodded and smiled, bumping his hip with yours so he would scoot over a little and give you some space to make breakfast as well. "sure, i can, if it helps you" you say softly. a short silence falls as you open the fridge to look for something to drink.

"it does a lot.." he whispers under his breath, taking his plate and moving it to the dining table. for the rest of the morning he's oddly silent, contrary to his usual behaviour. he keeps flashing anxious smiles at you when the two of you lock eyes.

you didn't see him for the rest of the day, but when you came home, he was already there. "yo, kihyun," you say loudly down the hall. "i'm home!" you continue, kicking off your shoes, hanging up your coat and stretching yourself out.

faint sounds of footsteps come closer, until kihyun is at the other end of the hall, red face, clammy, and anxious; as if he had just cried his eyes out. "hey..," you say in a soft and gentle voice. "are you okay..?". slowly stepping closer to him, he interrups you. "stay right there or- or i'll hurt you!" he says, grabbing a key from the tray on the cupboard next to him.

"what's going on..?" you ask in a concerned manner, doing as he told you; stepping back a few feet as you held your hands in front of you.

"you're out to get me, huh?"

"w-.. what do you mean..?"

"you secretly really hate me and you think i'm weird, so you- made some sort of-.. some sort of weird conspiracy! you, hyunwoo, and-.. and minhyuk too! every single person on earth!" he stammers, shaking his head at you in disgust.

"you all act like it's fine, but you talk shit behind my back and you're the reason why i fail at school! you all convince the teachers to give me bad grades and all! i'm done with all this bullcrap!" he says, raising his voice until he's shouting.

"it doesn't just- wreck me physically, but-.. but mentally, t-too! so stop targetting me- please..! i-..i beg you..." he says anxiously, breaking down slowly until he became a sobbing mess on the floor, kneeling as he buried his face in his hands and wiped his face now and then.

it took a long while for him to calm down, and you even rang hyunwoo and minhyuk so they could come over and help you. kihyun eventually kind of trusted the three of you, and agreed with going to bed early that night to avoid any more misunderstandings. of course, telling kihyun he was acting weird didn't really affect him; he only called you delusional liars as a result.

-

weird 'episodes' like these are things he gets more often these days. he already did it when you met him, but was quite lowkey back then. it was usually him getting scared if you came back home early, or he tried to answer your questions immediatly and apologized if he couldn't. one time you tried to ask him about it, but each time he sounded like he genuinely didn't know what you were talking about.

nowadays, as time went on, his problems became bigger and bigger; yelling at you for no reason and calling you names, or even worse, not recognising you as the kind, upbeat and supportive person you always are. it was devastating to see it all happen, but now you decided it's finally time to do something about it.

-

minhyuk places a hand on your shoulder as he notices you're about to burst into tears. "it's okay, you can let it out if you feel like it.." hyunwoo mumbles before you break down, hands covering your face. "i- i have to do something about this.., but he won't believe anything i say..!" you stutter, taking a deep breath as hyunwoo rubs your back.

"its gonna be okay," he says. "we'll help you tackle everything" minhyuk adds, in which hyunwoo nods and smiles. "we're gonna help you figure everything out, i promise" hyunwoo continues, causing your heart to slow down.

hyunwoo smiles empathetically and asks you where your laptop is. "oh- i'll get it for you, one second.." you say, sniffing a little before getting up to pick it up from the dining table. "here you go," you mumble, handing it over to hyunwoo. "what do you want to do with it..?"

"google his behaviour and- i don't know, try and find out if he has a mental disorder? i'm no psychologist but i know for sure he's not okay" he says, turning the laptop to you so you can unlock it.

minhyuk nods. "yeah, i studied psychology and like- i'm basically a certified psychologist and i can tell you for sure he has a mental illness." he confirms. you sighed and shook your head. "i feel so bad.. i haven't done anything until now..! it's been three goddamn years and-"

"paranoia." minhyuk says, holding up his finger. you could almost see the light bulb turning on above his head.

"what..?" you and hyunwoo mumble.

"he's paranoid. i know for sure- woo, look up the symptoms of paranoia real quick."

-

"so-.. this may be sudden," hyunwoo says carefully, looking at you and minhyuk to try and see if you agree with what he's saying. "but we're calling you so we can find out what happened with kihyun." hyunwoo continues, gaining nods from you and minhyuk.

"what..?" you softly hear across the phone.

"well- okay. so, i don't know if you know, but we found out kihyun is severely paranoid, and since you're his brother and all.., we uh.." hyunwoo says, trying to find his words. minhyuk takes the phone and sighs. "we thought that, since you're kihyun's brother, you could tell us a few things about his life before he moved out. it can help us find out what triggered kihyun's paranoia." minhyuk easily says, causing you to give him a short thumbs up and a smile.

"yah! why should i tell you?! try sticking your nose into other people's business-"

"i'm a trained psychologist, sir. i know for sure that your brother is mentally ill. if you want help, it can become very expensive very quickly. i can do it for free because kihyun is my best friend, but i can only help him if i know more about him and his past. he's never told me."

a silence falls, followed by a sigh.

"fine, but i can't be on the phone for a long time," kihyun's brother says. "my dad's coming home soon."

[mchalowitz]

where it goes, part 2

summary: early 90s x files au where fbi agent fox mulder is set up on a blind date with medical resident dana scully.

part one

Say something. Come on, Fox.

Oxford Fox Mulder behaved in this way. This brooding shy boy American routine that could barely hold on a conversation between stammers and blinking eyes. As an FBI agent, he’s confident, cool. He’s had an easier time talking to murderers than a hopefully sweet and intelligent girl to his left. He has fallen victim to the psychological dangers of instant attraction.

Fox makes a decision. He’s just going to ask how she knows the hosts, with a follow up about if she’s enjoying herself so far this evening. Snow in November, that’s always worth a few back and forths. “So...”

“Excuse me,” she says suddenly, throwing down her napkin. She leaves the table in a rush.

--

Her sister’s friend heads for the kitchen between the serving of the first round of food and the second. Dana follows.

“A set-up, Shannon, seriously?” she snaps. “Did Melissa put you up to this?”

With a puff of heat, the ovens opens, and Shannon pulls out a casserole dish of sweet potatoes smothered with marshmallows.

“She didn’t,” she assures her. Dana crosses her arms. “Missy may have approved the idea. But Doug asked if I l knew anyone for this new young, single guy in his office. He’s perfect for you.”

“And what gives you that idea?”

“He’s a man?” Shannon laughs. Dana is going to murder her sister. She can see that none of the things she tells her are sacred, including her romantic woes. When she has any to voice, which is only when she’s had too much wine. The degrees on her mantle are more fulfilling than any relationship she could ever find.

Through her frustration, she hears something about being a smart, educated woman. Well, obviously. And Fox, what kind of name is that, is an Oxford educated psychologist with a lengthy list of accolades during his short time in the FBI. "And you say him,” Shannon adds. “He’s very cute.”

Dana admits she never gave his face a good look. He sounds intriguing enough--smart, successful. She only has an amateur grasp on psychology, it may make for an interesting conversation at best.

She still huffs a little but returns to the dining room. She pays more attention to his appearance. He is cute, with the kind of boyish good lucks she sees in afternoon soap operas, and a trim physique. Classically handsome, some might say.

“Fox?” she says, standing next to the table. She holds her hand out to him. “I’m Dana.”

There is an energy she feels when his hand shakes hers. Her sister might call it a spark but she won’t. She admits it’s beyond anything she has felt before.  

“Enjoying the food?” he asks as she reclaims her seat.

--

Well, aren’t you an ungrateful little shit. 

On Thanksgiving, of all days, he feels like an asshole to say that the food that someone cooked out of the goodness of their heart is bad. But, in his own mind, if he is being honest, his Hungry Man turkey dinners of years past have been better. Quantity was the game of this meal. 

Fox just chalks up his empty plate to pleasant conversation. He leans a little about her, Dana, and they bond over their commonality as third tier guests, equally abandoned. She by her sister, him by the other guys from the bureau that claimed they were coming as well. Both of them should’ve figured it out sooner, really. 

“I better call a cab,” she assesses after the meal, looking toward the window at the continuously falling snow.

“I can give you a ride, if you want.”

If this ends now, he’ll likely never see her again. It’ll just be a good story to tell to another guy. This one Thanksgiving...

Surprisingly, she accepts, and their hosts are absolutely beaming at this turn of events. He can see them talking about it for hours while they clean up, patting each other on the back for their superior matchmaking skills. They’ll proudly tell this story for years, unless the whole thing goes sour, then they’ll act as if they don’t know either of them. 

Both of them wait until his car is chugging around the corner to speak. She’s looking straight ahead when she says, “The food was terrible, right?” 

He almost snorts, shocked that she would be the one to say it. “It was so bad,” he agrees. 

“I’m starving.”

--

Holidays were important dates on the Scully family calendar. Events in their truest form. While she knew a few restaurants stayed open on Thanksgiving, she had never actually ended up at one. She didn’t think other people actually went. 

The image in her head of a completely deserted establishment was not completely accurate. It’s quiet, but certainly not empty, when they arrive. 

Fox jokes with the waitress, they both order coffee. He appears to already know most of the staff walking around the floor. 

“You come here a lot?” 

“My work doesn’t come with typical hours,” he explains and she understands the need to find good food at all hours of the day or night. She ate countless club sandwiches from places like this her first year of med school. 

He’s interrupted by the waitress returning with their coffee. She doesn’t pull out her pad of paper. “Turkey pot pie, Fox?”

He nods excitedly. Her eyes are still furrowed at the menu. “Holiday specialty. Pearl here makes it herself.”

“Okay,” she decides, surprising herself in her agreeableness. “I’ll have that.”

While they wait, Fox asks about her. He keeps an attentive gaze on her and smiles at her stories. He knows what a pathologist does. 

"I wouldn’t peg you for a slicer and dicer,” he comments, holding the handle of his coffee cup, his arm slung over the back of the booth. “You like being with the bodies and all that?”

“Have you ever heard a dead person talk back?”

“You haven’t?”

She gives an actual laugh before taking a breath. “I like that it’s all science. I was sending away for lab results when I was with patients and I wanted to be in the lab finding the answers myself.” 

“Down and dirty,” he tries.

“Something like that.” 

They go back and forth until the food arrives. She cuts into the crust and steam billows from inside. And it’s good. He can see his expectant expression and she affirms his recommendation. 

They eat in silence for a minute or two. Between two bites, she inquires. “You didn’t go home for the holiday?”

He shakes his head. “Mulders don’t really do holidays.”

“Are you an only child?”

“I have a sister,” he affirms.

“Are you close?”

Dana sees something in Fox’s eyes, something sad. “My sister disappeared when she was eight, I was twelve,” he tells her quietly. “There were no leads at the time, no one ever wanted to talk about it. My parents divorced a few years later, then I went to school in England. We just stopped doing holidays somewhere during that.”

She doesn’t know what kind of answer she was expecting. She can only say, “I’m so sorry, Fox.”

“This is better.” 

--

Out of the corner of his eye, Dana’s hair shines under each street light they pass. The snow has stopped for now. Full and satisfied, sated by good conversation, and pretty girls, he feels almost serene.

She lives in a little apartment complex in Georgetown. Putting the car in park, she hops out, boots sloshing in already melting snow, and leans her head back in the car. He has one chance to do this. She pink cheeked and her eyes wait.

“What are you doing next Saturday?”

“Going out with you, I presume,” she smiles.

He drives away, her phone number written on the back of the diner receipt.

[jiminthestreets-bonesinthesheets]

Yellow Line

Title: Yellow Line

Tags: mental illness, its set in an asylum... i guess thats it pretty much

Summary: So this was a collaboration (kind of lol) with my little sister. She has a bit of a hard time in school and she knows I love writing, so when she got the assignment and asked me to help her, I was more then happy to. So the assignment was to make a short story, no longer then five pages about an island. I advised her to avoid shipwreck or plane crash cuz i figured most students would go directly to that idea, and she said she wanted creepy/scary, so this is what we came up with.

    The brunette sat at the front of the small motor boat that was quickly approaching her destination. It pulled up to the island in front of her, the driver jumping onto the dock to tie the boat. She stood on shaking legs as the boat rocked beneath her with the gentle waves, accepting the hand that was outstretched to her.

    “Doctor Amanda Rolins.” The man pulled her onto the dock beside him and she nodded as he continued, “I'm Doctor Markus Hamlin, head doctor of the asylum here. It’s nice to finally meet New York’s most renowned psychologist.”

    “Thank-you,” she smiled, blushing slightly at the compliment, “I'm excited to take a look at your patients here. Once I complete my research and bring my findings back to my team in New York, we will see what we can do to start helping your patients.”

    “I appreciate that, so far no one has been able to help. But I'm sure a doctor as well known as yourself will be able to work wonders for our patients here.” He turned, gesturing to the building behind them, “Shall we begin with a tour? Afterwards my assistant, Lina, will set you up in your room for the remainder of your stay here.”

    “That sounds great.”

~~~~~~~~~~~

    When they entered the building Amanda was immediately struck by a chilling feeling in her body. The hairs on her arms and neck stood on end at the cool air in the building, and as they continued deeper into the facility the hallways got darker. A light blue hue took over, and she couldn’t help but feel a sense of anxiety come over her as they continued on.

    Turning down a hall to their left and through a set of locked double doors, the chill in the air seemed to get worse when she was met with another long hallway, only this one was lined with large floor to ceiling windows on either side. She stepped forwards cautiously, Markus tight on her heels as she walked past the endless windows. Inside each one was a single patient, a bed, and a small bathroom, the entire space no bigger then a small office.

    Markus searched her face, trying to read her expression as they walked in silence before clarifying, “Many of our patients are considered highly dangerous, not only to the staff, but to themselves. The full windows allow the doctors here, as well as the security staff who walk the halls, to keep an eye on them at all times. Each room is also equip with camera surveillance that’s fed back to the nurse’s station up front. It’s the best way we can help to keep them calm and safe.”

    She nodded, not adding anything else, but she couldn’t help but think to herself that this seemed more like a prison then somewhere for people to get help.

    She slowly wandered a few more steps, coming to a stop at one of the windows. Inside was a boy, huddled in the middle of the wall beside the window. His knees were up to his chest and his hands here buried in his hair. He intrigued her, why she didn’t know, but she turned her body and began walking closer to the window.

    Markus’s hand wrapped tightly around her elbow stopped her, pulling her from her trance. She quickly turned her head to look at him as he whispered in her ear, “Do not pass the yellow line, do not touch the glass.”

    Without another word he let her go and walked past her down the hall. When he was almost at the end she finally gained the courage to look down. At her feet, just by the edge of her toes, was a thick bright yellow line that ran down both sides of the hallway. She didn’t know what this line was for, or what he meant by what he had said. She spared one last quick glance at the boy through the glass, who was still huddled against the wall unmoved, before she quickly turned and decided she did not want to find out.

~~~~~~~~~~~

    “And this will be your room while you stay on the island with us.” Lina, Markus’s assistant, had lead them to a part of the asylum at the very back of the building. Her room was small but good enough for her short stay here. It consisted of a bed, a desk, a small sitting area, kitchen, and bathroom off the back. “If you need anything else while you're here just let me know. My rooms right down the hall there.”

    “This looks great, thanks,” she nodded as she threw her bags on the bed.

    “No problem.” Lina turned to walk out of the room, but before she closed the door turned back to say, “Doctor Markus will be busy for the rest of the day but feel free to start your research any time. The facility is completely open to you.”

    She smiled as Lina left, closing the door behind her. She took a few moments to dig through her bag, taking out a small note pad and pen for the time being. She decided on spending the rest of the day quietly observing the patients from the hallway, and hopefully she could talk to Markus about entering the rooms to give each patient a proper exam the next day. With her tools in hand she left the room.

~~~~~~~~~~~

    A few hours into her walk through the halls, Amanda had made a few small observations on some of the patients and their current states in their rooms. Despite the constant reminder of Markus’s words running through her mind, that the patients were dangerous, from where she stood she hadn’t seen anything to be worried about so far. Most of the patients seemed calm and comfortable in their rooms. Some reading, some sleeping, it didn’t give her a feeling of danger.

    She then found herself in a familiar hallway, in front of a familiar window. The same boy from before sat in the same place, same position as he had been when she stopped here earlier. Back against the wall, knees to his chest, and hands in his hair. She watched him for a few minutes, oddly curious about this one specific patient and his condition, and the entire time she stood watching him he never moved.

    The air seemed to chill even more around her, and she once again found herself walking closer to the window, just wanting a better look at this boy. Markus’s warning from earlier forgotten as the tip of her toe slid across the yellow line. For the first time she since had been watching him she noticed a slight twitch to the boys head, as if his eyes were watching her from the side as she stepped even closer. With one more step both feet crossed the line now and she was nearly flush against the window. In a sudden rush the boy was on his feet, standing directly in front of her on the other side of the window, though she didn’t move away. She found that she couldn’t, but instead was pulled even closer.

    She lifted both hands, slowly and gently laying them on the glass of the window, and the boy did the same. When their hands were in the same position he looked up to meet her eyes and she was in shock. She took in his appearance, his wore a white shirt and loose white pants, slightly dirty and ripped in some places, his hair was also white, but his eyes where what caught her attention. There was no iris or pupil, just a hazy white storm, and when she looked deep into his eyes the fear she should have felt coming into this place hit her hard and fast.

    Before she knew what was happening she was surrounded by a thick grey fog, creeping across her body and covering her completely. A voice cut through the fog, one she instantly remembered, “You… you were supposed to help me.”

    Turning to her left she saw the young girl, sixteen, Karen. Eyes wide, she choked out, “You… you died, you're dead.”

    Karen walked closer, until she was a few feet away from Amanda and whispered again, “You were supposed to help me. Why didn’t you help me?!”

    “I'm sorry!” Amanda shouted, tears in her eyes.

    Karen quickly took the remaining steps between them, and finally Amanda was able to pull away from the window. Eyes closed and waiting for Karen to touch her, nothing happened. Slowly she opened her eyes to find the fog gone and the hallway empty aside from herself.

    She turned back to the window, the boy’s hands no longer on the glass, but his stormy eyes still fixed on her. In a panic she jumped back across the yellow line and without another look back to the boy through the window, she ran full speed down the hall and back to her room.

~~~~~~~~~~~

    Slamming the door behind her she slid down to the ground with her hands over her face. Taking a few deep breaths to calm down, she tried to convince herself that what she saw was not real, it was her imagination and nothing more. Then the chill came back, worse then it had been before and the fog with it.

    Her stomach clenched and her fingers clutched tightly to her hair as she looked up to find Karen staring down at her. Tears streamed down her face now, breathing becoming hard, and her voice completely lost.

    “I needed your help,” Karen was so close now, “I needed you!”

    Before she could get any closer Amanda stood and ran out of the room. She ran as fast as she could through the asylum, down the halls searching for a way out, and she found it in the form of an emergency exit down a small hidden hallway. She ran towards the metal door and slammed her entire body against it, nearly tripping as she ran outside and into the forest surrounding the building. But the fog had followed her, began chasing her through the forest. And every time she ran faster it would move faster too. Until it finally got in front of her and no matter how fast she ran, she could not escape it.

    She ran in every direction, around trees, down hills and through the thick bush, but nothing could get her away from it. Then, she came back.

    Karen was at every turn, every small break in the fog she was there. No matter where she went she couldn’t get away from her and her words, “You left me!”

    “No I didn’t.”

    Another turn and she was there again, “I died because of you!”

    “I tried to help, I'm sorry!”

    Stumbling, Amanda crashed hard to the ground, scraping her knees on rocks and drawing blood through her jeans. Feet came into view and she looked up at Karen, “I am your fault.”

~~~~~~~~~~~

    The brunette sat against the wall, straight jacket clinging to her body and holding her arms tightly in place. Her scrapped knees bandaged and pulled to her chest as she rocked back and forth, two sets of eyes watching her through the floor to ceiling window.

    “You found her where?”

    “In the back forest,” Lina stood beside Markus, clipboard in hand jotting notes.

    He chuckled, hands behind his back as he watched the once sane Doctor Amanda Rolins on the other side of the window, “That didn’t take nearly as long as I thought it would.”

    Lina nodded, closing the note pad and holding it under her arm, “It was a good idea, seeing how someone with not only her amount of intelligence but also a past as like hers would hold up in here, with these kinds of patients.”

    “My best and most successful experiment yet.” She nodded as he turned and gestured her towards the front of the building, “Come, Lina, I think our newest guest Doctor Tyler Scanson is arriving.”

End

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

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

So yeah, that was the story she handed in :D She should hopefully be getting a grade this week!! and i dont know if any of you would want to read this but @goingknowherewastaken @medicatemedrmccoy @weresilver-in-space you defintely dont have to read this, but i know my sister would be over the moon if y’all did XD <3 <3 <3

[vennilavee]

golden hour

golden hour masterlist

Pairing: bucky barnes x reader

Summary: a series of moments when everything sparkles, shines and glitters, just like it’s gold.

Warnings: some mentions of anxiety

Word Count: ~1000

A/N: I wanted to write and this is what came out. Might be a few parts. Im just rollin with it. pls lmk your thoughts. i know its short

The first time Bucky likens you to gold is when you are wearing a dress that showcases how you drip gold with every step you take. He sees you through a glass of champagne.

He feels a little warm and he’s constantly fidgeting with the sleeves and collar of his suit. A headache is beginning to form from how loud the noise is and how brightly lit the ballroom is. Chandeliers blink at him from yards above him, almost taunting him with their crystals.

Was this how Cinderella felt after she lost her glass slipper?

Bucky engages himself in conversation with Sam to try to will his headache away. Sam’s telling him about some new music he thinks that he would like, when Tony’s booming voice through the concealed speakers of the ballroom. He’s proposing a toast, a toast to the new and former Avengers, to the various charities who had chosen to throw their support behind the Avengers and behind Tony Stark himself.

It’s a toast to new beginnings. And Bucky wants nothing more than to go back to his apartment and watch reruns of Chopped on Netflix.

But he raises his champagne flute, passively watching bubbles rise to the surface and fizz out. The bubbles are a quick cascade of stars in his hand. He’s almost mesmerized by how quickly the bubbles rise and disappear. But then he sees you.

Your face is a little blurry and unclear, since he’s looking at you through the glass of the flute. But he doesn’t need to see you clearly to see you the way your nose scrunches when you laugh or how bright your smile is.

He thinks your smile is brighter than all of the lights in the lavish ballroom. Your hand, adorned with a bracelet and a ring on your index finger, raises the glass as he does the same.

You scan the room out of habit, sweeping over Bucky quickly. Bucky is a little disappointed that you hadn’t locked eyes with him or given him one of your quick smiles that you seemed to give everyone else.

He was no stranger to you. You were a psychologist who specialized in working with trauma patients and currently worked at the VA. Sam was the one who had befriended you first, bringing you around to the compound eventually. 

You had charmed everyone right from the beginning, with your bright smiles, starry eyes and unwavering friendship. 

And yet, it felt like Bucky barely even knew you. For all the hours you spent with them, somehow you still showed exactly what you wanted to show, and not an inch more.

Or maybe it was just him.

Sam nudges Bucky, grinning at him when he sees Bucky staring you down not so subtly.

When you make your way over, parting the crowd with an unspoken resolve, Bucky’s hands are clammy. You give Sam a big hug, careful not to ruffle or wrinkle your gown but you give Bucky a smile.

As much as he likes seeing your lips pull into that small piece of sunshine on your face, he wants to hold you in his arms, even just for a brief second.

And that fleeting thought... That scares him. 

Bucky hears you asking him something, your voice soft and clear. A melody made just for him. But all Bucky can think of is getting out of this too stuffy room, all these bodies, all these people...

All the bodies, all the people, all the blood.

Memories flit around in his warbled mind and everything suddenly seems muted. He can’t breathe- he can’t speak, he can’t tell you that it feels like his blood is turning into ice inside of him. That his heart is going to beat right out of his ribcage. As if all the color had seeped away from reality and replaced it with nothing but black, white and red.

But then, there’s you. A tall drink of gold. Your hands circle the fabric of his suit jacket. Touching him, but not quite. It grounds him, only if a little. 

Sam shares a knowing look with you and you nod at him as if to say, I’ve got him.

You lead Bucky away from the ballroom, past the never-ending hallway and towards the large French doors that lead to the balcony, for air. The balcony itself is probably the size of your living room, bedroom and kitchen in your apartment. It’s decorated neatly with plants, the greenery and small pops of color in the flowers filling the dark material of the balcony.

“Hi,” You say hesitantly. A light breeze drifts through the air, nudging at your hair. 

“Hi,” Bucky manages to get out. There’s a beat of silence between you two. It’s not awkward, at least not for you. But Bucky feels silly, he feels silly for needing you to bring him out here to calm him down.

“It’s okay, James,” You say with a smile, “You’re okay, James. I’m here for you.”

He tries to smile at you, but it probably looks like a grimace. Goosebumps rise on your skin and he hands you his suit jacket, which you take eagerly.

“It’s a nice night, huh?” You change the topic quickly, knowing he needed to hear your voice to ground him, “Think it’s a lunar eclipse or something.

Bucky snorts at that, knowing you’re just messing around.

“Heard there might even be a shooting star. Think I’d wish for a pie of pizza right now. And maybe a beer.”

Bucky listens to you as you ramble about nothing and everything. His heart settles back into his ribcage. Warmth floods his senses.

It feels unfamiliar, but he welcomes it.

“Wanna get a slice of pizza with me, James?” You ask, looking up at him hopefully.

The backdrop of the midnight sky with you in the middle of it all has him speechless for a moment. The moon created you out of stardust and a piece of the sun.

That had to be it. That had to be why every inch of you was drenched in gold.

“Bucky,” He says, opening the door leading back inside, “I told ya to call me Bucky.”

He wonders if this is how Cinderella felt when she was reunited with her Prince Charming. He hopes she felt the same warmth he feels now- the warmth that comes from you simply calling him ‘Bucky.’

Not my best lol but thanks for being here.

[datauthorress]

Ashes of Night [Chapter 3: Meet the Family]

Pairing: Arthur Morgan/Original Female Character

Summary: A young college student stumbles upon a man from the past, right in her very apartment. The man doesn't know why he's suddenly 119 years in the future, but maybe this is a second chance at a better life.

Warnings: familial abuse (sibling abuse) and one protective cowboy.

Over the course of the next few days, Arthur Morgan learned about the 21st century and mannerisms, even trending topics and the such. He learned about technology and Shelby explained how technology worked, including a cell phone and a computer. She was patient with him, teaching him about what happened in the 119 years since 1899, and he was quite a fast learner. In addiction, they asked each other questions about their lives and Shelby answered questions that she was comfortable with.

She was 25-years old, and was a professional author in the horror genre, and a college student, working towards a four year degree in Photography. Despite her attitude towards him, Arthur realized Shelby had multiple mental disorders, including Anxiety, Depression and sometimes, Insomnia. She had also been recently diagnosed with a small form of PTSD, due to an attack when someone tried to mug her while she was in New York a few months ago. Arthur wasn't quite sure how all the disorders worked, and with the facts and stories he had told Shelby, she was certain he had PTSD as well, though they couldn't prove it until he saw a psychologist.

Shelby had to explain to Arthur that her Anxiety can make her feel so many things at once; worry about so many little things, and even cry over them. Arthur had asked what could be done to help someone through an anxiety or panic attack, and she gave him some tips, in case she were ever to have one while he was around. Her cat was a registered 'Emotional Support' Animal and she was working on getting a Service Dog, whom she would be getting in the next month or so.

Arthur still had some trouble taking everything in, but Shelby promised him it would all be easier once he had been in the future for much longer. Arthur told her what he was comfortable with, and even showed her his artwork in his journal, which Shelby had commented happily. Shelby, besides being an author and photographer, was an artist and a painter on the side, and said she would take him to a painting class in South Bend sometime.

Sunday came too fast, too soon and Shelby was dreading going there and having to deal with her sister. She had three siblings, a younger sister and was the middle child in a set of triplets, with Seth being the oldest and Shepherd being the youngest. The three were fraternal twins, to which Shepherd and Seth only had some similar features.

She had made two dozen of chocolate chip cookies for her family, knowing her sister would just bribe her for cookies and then turn around and treat her like absolute garbage. Arthur didn't have siblings, so he didn't know just how bad their rivalry was. Shelby was a peacekeeper, Mia was a complete trouble maker and tended to get into drugs with her ass-hat of a boyfriend.

Shelby was completely dreading and more when they pulled into the driveway of their parents' house. Shelby was dressed casually, wearing a pair of black skinny jeans and a black t-shirt with her famous red and black plaid shirt, which Arthur noticed was her favorite shirt. She almost always wore it over something. Arthur was dressed like her, dark blue jeans that showed off his long legs and a blue plaid shirt and his black hat.

Shelby turned off the vehicle and pulled the keys out, grabbing her shoulder purse and the container of cookies from the back seat. She and Arthur stepped out of the car, just as an older woman came out of the front of the two-story house.

“Hi, baby!” the woman greeted as she hugged her eldest daughter.

“Hey mama.” Shelby said with a smile, hugging her mother back. “Mom, this is Arthur Morgan. He's my new roommate.”

“Pleased to meetcha, ma'am.” Arthur said politely, tipping his hat at her.

“Oh my, it's a pleasure to meet you as well, Mr. Morgan.” the older woman smiled. “Come inside!”

The three of them went inside the house, where Shelby took off her boots and set them by the door, Arthur following suit. He took off his hat as well and hung it up by the other hats on the coat rack. Shelby introduced Arthur to her father and brothers, who immediately took an interest in the cowboy.

“Where are you from, Mr. Morgan?” Allen asked, shaking Arthur's hand.

“Texas, born and raised.” Arthur replied with a nod, going with the story that he and Shelby agreed on.

“Texas, huh? I heard it's pretty hot out there.” Allen said.

“It is, 's that dry heat.” Arthur nodded.

“So, how did you meet my daughter?” Allen asked, to which Shelby rolled her eyes.

“Dad, you can ask him more questions later.” Shelby sighed, placing the container of cookies on the breakfast bar.

“Well, can we offer you anything, Mr. Morgan? Water, soda, a beer perhaps?”

“A beer would be mighty nice, Mr. Hartford.” Arthur replied.

“If you get drunk, I'm leaving you in the truck to sleep.” Shelby said, giving a light pat to Arthur's bicep. “Where's Maria?”

“Outside, playing with Parker. Go see her, sis.”

Shelby grumbled underneath her breath and told Arthur she'd be back in a few, then opened the sliding glass door that led to a decent sized backyard. Maria, who was two years younger than Shelby, was just walking up the steps with her white Peekinese, Parker. She paused when she saw her older sister. “Hey,” she said.

“Hey.” Shelby said.

“So, how are you doing?” Maria asked.

“I'm okay, getting ready for fall semester.” Shelby replied. “You?”

“Just working.” Maria replied, and glanced through the glass door, seeing their father speaking to Arthur. “That's your boyfriend, huh?”

“No, just a friend.” Shelby corrected, shaking her head.

“You sure? How'd someone so hot get into contact with you?”

Shelby felt her stomach churn. This is the reason she didn't want to deal with her sister 99 percent of the time. She kept a blank expression, taking a deep breath before exhaling. “Friends, nothing more.” she repeated, before walking back inside. She brushed past Arthur, who noticed her hands were trembling slightly. He didn't say anything, and watched as she sat down on the couch, and smiled when a small, white dog jumped onto her lap, licking her face.

He knew something wasn't right, and he already had a hunch.

With beef and noodles, there was mashed potatoes, salad and a fruit salad. Desert was Shelby's chocolate chip cookies, and Maria brought a chocolate pie, while Shepherd brought an excellent cake that he made from scratch. He was going to school to be a professional baker and planned on opening his own shop. They sat outside on the large deck, having the umbrella up to block out the sun. Arthur and Shelby sat next to each other on one side, while Shepherd sat on the other side of Arthur and Maria sat on the end next to Shelby, with Seth on the other end and Maria's boyfriend and their parents on the other side.

Shelby hardly spoke, letting her parents ask Arthur questions. She poked at her food for a few minutes, before she began eating. She began to notice Maria leaning over, her hand disappearing underneath the wooden table and then she felt her began to pinch her, hard, right through her jeans. Shelby jolted from the pinches and moved away from Maria, but the youngest sibling found a way to keep pinching her, whether it was with her toes or fingers.

Arthur's deep, baritone laugh brought Shelby out of her thoughts and she felt her face flush upon hearing it. She loved the sound of it.

“Ow! Stop pinching me, Shelby!”

Shelby jumped in her seat, startled when Maria exclaimed out, holding her thigh in fake pain. “I'm not even near you...” Shelby muttered.

“Girls, please don't start.” Suzanna, their mother, sighed.

Shelby went quiet once more, finishing her food faster than everyone else. She informed that she was going to put her plate up, then go to the bathroom. She did just that and did her business in the bathroom, washing her hands afterwards. She had examined her thigh, seeing the already forming bruises on her pale skin. She only shook her head and started to open the door, when it swung in forcefully and hit her right in the nose. She staggered backwards, holding her nose and winced when fingers dug into her short locks painfully, tugging.

“Seriously, what does Arthur see in you?” Maria sneered, digging the nails of her other hand into Shelby's shoulder painfully. “You're nothing but a lowlife, scum of the earth. Mom said that you nearly died during birth. You should've.”

Shelby opened her mouth to speak, to defend herself, but Maria's fist came barreling towards her, hitting her right in the face. It happened quite a few times, and once she was satisfied, Maria tossed Shelby onto the floor, letting her suffer from a bleeding nose.

“I'll always been the favorite. You know that, so quit trying to make everyone else look bad.” she scoffed, before leaving the bathroom.

It took Shelby a few minutes before she got up, beginning to clean up the mess. Some blood dripped onto her black shirt, but it was easy to hide, so she wiped it up as best as possible. After a couple more minutes, she heard a knock on the door, and Arthur's voice.

“Ya 'right in there, Shelby? Yer sister said somethin' about a bloody nose.”

“I'm fine.” she replied, spitting out blood into the sink.

“Ya don' sound fine.” the man said and opened the door, startled when he saw the lower half of her face covered in streaks of blood. “Jesus, wha' the hell happened?”

“Maria happened, Arthur.” Shelby sighed, muffled by the tissue.

“C'mere. Lemme see that nose....” he said, pulling the tissue away from her nose. He could see light bruising beginning to form around her nose, and even around her left eye. “She hit ya? Over what?” he asked, grabbing a fresh tissue and holding it to her nose.

“It's always been like this.” Shelby muttered, looking down at the floor as Arthur held a hand on her shoulder, keeping her still. “She's always wanted the attention. She's jealous of my success, and miserable that she's stuck with a dead-end job because she's lazy and got kicked out of school because of her grades.”

“And she abuses ya because of that? I reckon that's jus' stupidity.” Arthur shook his head.

Shelby shrugged, and Arthur found himself hating the way she just dismissed it. No sibling should abuse the other just because of the other's success. It was wrong. It was vile. Shelby had been patient with him, though she did get annoyed at times, but she never once got snappy with him, or tried to insult him or hit him. He hadn't been here a week yet, and he found himself wanting to protect the young woman who took his life in her hands, teaching him about the ways of the 21st century and helping him through it, instead of letting him rot.

Shelby sniffled, bringing the older man out of his thoughts. He pulled the tissue away from her nose, examining it. “Looks like the blood stopped.” he said, tossing the tissue in the trash. He grabbed another one and got it wet, before he gently wiped the blood away from her face.

“I'm fine, Arthur.” she said quietly.

“Don' give me that.” Arthur scoffed. “Ya want me t' say somethin'?”

“No, just....leave it be for now.” Shelby sighed, sniffling again.

After a moment, he agreed and got her cleaned up, then they both left the bathroom and headed downstairs. Shepherd and Seth had begun cleaning up dinner, talking among themselves.

“You okay, honey?” Suzanna asked.

“I'm fine, mom.” Shelby nodded, going to sit on the couch. The smaller dog, a chihuahua, jumped onto her lap and immediately rolled over for belly rubs.

Arthur walked over to the coat rack and grabbed his hat off of it, before walking over to Shelby. “Here.” he said, plopping the hat onto her head gently. “Hold that fer me.”

Shelby was startled when Arthur plopped the hat onto her head and she looked up at him from under the hat, before she flushed and looked down quickly, hiding underneath the hat.

Suzanna laughed. “It looks good on you, sis!”

“Shut up.” Shelby mumbled, embarrassed.

After the dishes were done and everything was cleaned up, it was time for desert. Nearly everyone took a cookie, except for Maria, who claimed her cookies were better and also insulted Shepherd's cake, which made him glare at her.

“Maria, please....” Shelby said quietly.

“Please, what?” Maria snapped. “And take that hat off, you look dumb as fuck with it on.”

Shelby's hands shook and her face flushed as tears formed in her eyes. She hid her face underneath the black hat, clutching it as her shoulders trembled. Arthur could see tears sliding down her cheeks and his heart ached for the sweet, young woman. His eyebrows scrunched, and his blue eyes narrowed. He wasn't holding back anymore.

“I think ya outta leave, miss.” Arthur spoke, directing his suggestion to Maria.

“Excuse me?” Maria blinked.

Arthur's broad arm went around Shelby's trembling shoulders, bringing her against his side, as if to protect her from the world around them. Shelby was surprised, and glanced up at the older man from under the hat.

“Ya heard me.” Arthur said. “Why ya gotta abuse yer sister? Huh? She's done nothin' wrong to ya, except maybe a few names here and there. She's a sweet girl, unlike yourself.”

“Excuse me?!” Maria exclaimed.

“I haven't known Shelby for that long, but she's a brilliant young woman.” Arthur said, his grip tightening on her shoulder slightly, though not painful in any way. “And if yer jealous of her success, then why don' ya just make yer own success, instead of abusing yer sister for hers. I can't stand siblings who abuse each other for stupid reasons, and ya, miss, are one of those siblings.”

“H-how dare you-?!”

“Maria, just leave.” Suzanna said, angry. “You've done enough. Also, get rid of that shitty boyfriend you have. He's just dragging you under.”

Maria stared at everyone for a long moment before she burst into loud crying and left the house, her boyfriend tailing after her. Arthur sighed, looking down at Shelby who was staring at him in awe. “Aw, don' look at me like that, Shelby. Friends gotta stick up fer each other.” he said, reaching up to wipe her tears away with his thumb.

The rest of the night went by smoothly and around 10 PM, Shelby decided it was time to leave and gave her family hugs, before she and Arthur went back to the apartment. Arthur hadn't asked for his hat back, letting her wear it. Once they were in the apartment, Shelby took her shoes off, hanging her purse and keys up by the door.

“Look, I'm sorry fer embarrassin'-” Arthur began.

He was interrupted when the young woman turned towards him and her arms were going around his middle, pressing against his chest in a gentle, but firm hug. Arthur was startled for a moment, before he relaxed and placed an arm around her shoulders and the other around her head, rubbing the back of her head almost affectionately.

“Thank you, Arthur.” Shelby said softly, pressing her face into his shirt.

“Don' mention it, kid.” he said, rubbing the back of her head.

[echoes-of-realities]

we are bound to each other's hearts (this love is like a wildfire)

*  *  *

Set I, Set II, Set III, Follow Up

Notes: Based on this video! Also, you can thank @thewafflewhat for this fic because my ideas were bone dry before she sent me this idea.

This Got Away From Me, so there I’m splitting it into 3 parts! (So it’s not like a single 10k long post/chapter lol.) The second part just needs editing and the third part is almost done, so either later tonight or tomorrow is when they’ll be up! Also, this is A Lot more dialogue heavy than I’m used to, so it was actually a pretty fun challenge!

Title from "Wildfire" by Seafret.

//

Summary: “In 1997, psychologist Arthur Aron conducted an experiment to see if strangers could fall in love. Single volunteers were arranged into pairs. They were asked to work through 36 questions and then stare into each other’s eyes for four minutes. Aron’s experiment worked. Six months later two of his participants were married.”

It’s Mercedes who convinces her to sign up for the research project, some revision of an old psychology experiment from the nineties.

In the end, Santana only does it so she can shut Mercedes up, and because she could use the money. She doesn’t really expect anything to come of it, which is probably why it works out like it does.

[Read on ao3]

//

Set I

//

It’s Mercedes who convinces her to sign up for the research project, some revision of an old psychology experiment from the nineties. It’s late October, and Santana’s finishing assignments and starting midterms and she has no time for things like research for some old, psych profs, but Mercedes is insistent. She heard about it from the psych class she’s taking to complete her social science requirements, and she immediately went home to prod her roommate into doing it.

“You need to get out,” Mercedes complains for the third night in a row, “This whole lesbian hermit thing you’ve got going on is bumming me out.”

“Ha ha,” Santana says dryly. “I’m sorry that my studying is depressing you.”

Mercedes rolls her eyes. “It’s less the studying and more the fact that you haven’t left the apartment in, like, three weeks.”

“I got groceries on Monday,” Santana protests half-heartedly, “And I go to my classes.”

Mercedes doesn’t dignify that with an answer, she just keeps bugging Santana about it throughout the rest of the evening and into the next day, until Santana finally concedes, ignoring Mercedes’ obnoxious cheer with a fond eye roll.

“Great!” Mercedes calls as she heads for the kitchen, “Because I’ve already signed you up!”

Santana throws one of the couch pillows at her roommate and best friend’s retreating back, and only succeeds in eliciting a burst of laughter.

In the end, Santana only does it so she can shut Mercedes up, and because she could use the money. She doesn’t really expect anything to come of it, which is probably why it works out like it does.

//

She arrives at the research centre with about thirty other strangers, all nervously shuffling around and making small talk. Santana stands at the edges of the group and listens to the head researcher explain what they’re about to do. She half pays attention to the research and half studies the crowd, wondering who her partner will be; she had to fill out an initial questionnaire and now that she’s actually here, she’s nervous about the answers she wrote down, who they’ll pair her with based on what she wrote, if she’s already screwed this up. The researchers explain how they’ve selected pairs based on the initial questionnaire, how they’ll split everyone into two different groups for the sets of questions, how they are allowed to introduce themselves with names, ages, and jobs before they start, how they are to alternate reading each question or activity to their partner so they can both answer and then move on, how they have have up to an hour and a half to complete the thirty-six questions they’ll be presented with, how every half-hour the researchers will come and tell them to move onto the next set of questions.

Santana’s randomly selected for the closeness-generating procedure, the one implied to be the most intense, and before she knows it they’re calling her name and leading her down a hallway and into a small room. There’s a small table in the middle with two chairs across from each other and some recording equipment set up; the researcher who led her to the room quickly crosses the room and flicks a couple switches until the equipment quietly whirls to life. There’s also a couple water bottles and three piles of cue cards carefully stacked in the middle of the table. Santana hesitates just inside the doorway after the researcher leaves, wondering if she’s supposed to wait for her partner or just go ahead and sit down.

“Do you normally like blocking doors?” a voice asks, “Because that might be a bit of a dealbreaker.”

Santana jumps and spins around to find a tall blonde woman on the other side of the doorway, a soft, teasing smile on her face. Her blonde hair is pulled back in a slightly messy ponytail, bangs falling softly over her forehead and partially obscuring her raised eyebrows. There’s a faint spattering of freckles across her nose, her cheeks scrunched up against the brightest blue eyes Santana has ever seen in her life. She’s dressed even more casually than Santana is, in a loose shirt patterned with tiny birds and ripped jean shorts, and Santana’s eyes quickly dart down long, smooth legs and land on old, well-worn sneakers, before she meets the woman’s eyes again, flushing at the slight sparkle in the bright blue.

Santana tugs on the bottom of her leather jacket, wondering for the billionth time since she asked Mercedes that morning if she is too worried about this whole experiment (much to Mercedes’ amusement and Santana’s chagrin). She’s only dressed in her black skinny jeans and a t-shirt under her jacket, but this woman looks relaxed and casual and good.

Those blue eyes are still sparkling at Santana, and her smile widens, a little lopsided on one side and Santana’s heart does this weird spasming thing at the softly teasing look. “Aren’t you going to invite me in?” the woman asks, and her lips twist from that teasing smile into a slight pout at the question. “It’s not that much of a dealbreaker if you block doorways, but I do prefer a gentlewoman.”

Santana kinda forgets how to breathe and just nods wordlessly instead, stepping to the side. She tries to find her voice but the woman is just— She’s just really pretty, and Santana is really hopeless when it comes to pretty girls, and she curses Mercedes for talking her into this. (But she also reminds herself to thank her, because, well—)

“Hi,” the woman says as she crosses the threshold.

“Hi,” Santana manages, and she inwardly applauds herself for not sounding like a croaking frog, which is what she thought her voice would sound like based on how dry her mouth has become.

The woman just keeps smiling at her as she crosses the room to sit in one of the chairs, Santana trailing slowly behind her.

“Are you nervous?” the woman asks as they sit, and Santana finds herself saying yes before she can even comprehend the question.

The woman tips her head to the side a little, curious and open. “Why?”

Santana shrugs and shifts awkwardly on her chair. “I dunno. We’re complete strangers and we’re supposed to tell each other really personal things. I just think it might be kind of awkward or whatever.”

“I’m Brittany, I’m twenty-one, and I’m in my fourth year at Columbia University on a math scholarship,” the woman says in response, and Santana blinks in confusion before the woman’s — Brittany’s — face somehow softens even further. “Now we aren’t strangers anymore,” she explains.

Santana finds herself smiling softly at that and nods once. “I’m Santana,” she says, offering her hand for Brittany shake. Brittany’s hand is warm and soft in hers and, not that Santana wants to be a complete and utter cliché, but she feels something tingle along her fingertips where they brush Brittany’s wrist. “I’m twenty but my birthday’s in a month, and I’m also a fourth year. I’m in music tech at NYU.”

Brittany smiles again and nods. “See, not strangers?” Santana smiles and chuckles and she feels a prickle of curiosity trickle through her chest when Brittany ducks her head down to hide the pink blooming in her cheeks.

“Do you want me to go first?” Santana asks without really thinking about it, and Brittany meets her eyes from below her lashes and nods, chewing on her bottom lip. Santana settles more comfortably in her chair, scootching it a little closer to the table before she reaches for the first cue card on the stack labelled One in front of her and flips it over. “Given the choice of anyone in the world,” she reads aloud, “whom would you want as a dinner guest?”

“Dead or alive?” Brittany wonders aloud.

Santana shrugs and rereads the question to herself. “It doesn’t say, so, either?”

“Then Bernhard Riemann,” Brittany answers easily. “I just want to pick his brain on where he came up with the prime-counting function and how he feels knowing that his hypothesis still isn’t proved. Ooh, also I wanna know his thoughts on Einstein’s theory of relativity and Stephen Hawking’s gravitational singularities. Though he is German,” Brittany says thoughtfully, “I don’t know how fast I could learn German.” Santana has no clue what Brittany just said, but there’s this addicting sparkle of passion in her eyes and Santana finds herself nodding and smiling at Brittany. “What about you?” Brittany asks.

Santana thinks for a moment, before she gives a half shrug and half smile. “Stevie Nicks,” she says. “She’s just— Her music meant a lot to me when I was growing up and I would love to be able to talk to her about her writing process and just— Just ask her about everything she’s done.”

“That would be really cool,” Brittany agrees with a soft smile.

Santana tosses the card on the table and it slides until it’s almost at the recording equipment. “Discard pile,” Santana says sheepishly.

Brittany laughs and picks up her own cue card. “Would you like to be famous? In what way?”

Santana chews thoughtfully on her lip, but she already knows the answer. “Yeah,” she mumbles, and when blue eyes turn curious she swallows thickly. This is somehow so much more intense than Santana thought it would be, sharing her desires and aspirations with a complete stranger, but there’s also a heady rushing throughout her veins at how rapt and addicting Brittany’s attention is. “I’ve wanted to be a musician since I was really young,” she finally elaborates.

Brittany tips her head slightly to the side; not challenging, just curious. “What stopped you?”

Santana shrugs and looks away from Brittany’s too bright gaze. “I dunno. Money, work, luck, life in general. I went into music tech because I figured it would be as close as I could get to the industry.”

Brittany nods thoughtfully. “I think you would make a good musician.”

“Yeah?” Santana asks, and she can’t quite squash the little flicker of hope under her sternum.

Brittany nods definitively. “Totally. You’ve got the whole look and everything. And your talking voice is really pretty and nice to listen to, so you probably have a really beautiful singing voice.” Santana blinks and opens her mouth to respond, but that hint of pink is in Brittany’s cheeks again and she quickly continues. “I wanted to be a dancer when I was young, but I got a full ride math scholarship instead. And, I mean, apartments and New York.”

Santana laughs and focuses on that little blossoming of warmth in her stomach. Brittany is bright and earnest and thoughtful, and Santana feels more at ease with her than she’s felt in a very long time. “Tell me about it. My friend and I share an apartment and half the time we’re living under threat of our electricity being shut off,” she laughs and reaches for the next cue card. Brittany’s eyes remain bright on her face and she fights off her own blush. “Before making a telephone call, do you ever rehearse what you are going to say? Why?”

“Never,” Brittany answers with a smirk.

“Never?” Santana laughs and sets the card down on the discard pile.

“Nope,” Brittany says, popping the p. “I really like to wing it.”

Santana laughs. “Oh I do it every time. I rehearse what I’m going to say when I answer the phone.”

“Really?” Brittany asks, and there’s this bright smile scrunching her cheeks up against her eyes.

Santana nods. “Unless it’s, like, my mom, I always have about six different scripts of what I’m going to say in any given situation.”

Brittany’s smile turns lopsided again, teasing and warm, and Santana feels that weird spasming in her chest again. “What would constitute a ‘perfect’ day for you?” she reads from the next card.

Santana thinks back to how she’s been spending her days lately, stressed out and locked in the apartment, and how much she enjoyed herself when her and Mercedes both have days off in the summer and they can wander down to the park by their apartment, a guitar in one hand and a busking permit in the other. Santana explains it to Brittany and worries that she’s not describing how magical it is, her and Mercedes’ voices harmonizing together and people pausing for a moment or two before throwing some change into their guitar case, but with the way Brittany’s eyes sparkle and her small smile scrunches her cheeks, Santana knows that Brittany understands. Santana flushes and feels a little overwhelmed by the soft look on Brittany’s face. “What about you?” she asks quickly.

Brittany tactfully doesn’t say anything about the quick question and instead just shrugs a little. “I love spending the day at the dance studio,” she says as she reaches for the next cue card, “Or even just running dumb little errands with my friends. I dunno why but there’s something fun about wandering around a Drug Store for no real reason.” She flips the next card over and Santana watches as her eyes dart across the card to read it quickly to herself before she reads it aloud. “When did you last sing to yourself? To someone else?”

“Well I sang to myself in the shower this morning, obviously,” Santana answers quickly.

Brittany giggles and Santana smiles involuntarily at the adorable sound; she’s quickly finding herself becoming addicted to the warm feeling in her chest whenever she makes Brittany laugh. “Me too, obviously. The last time I sang to someone was probably to my neighbour. Our cats like to hang out and I think Lord Tubbington has a crush on his cat so I like to provide the serenading for him.”

Santana tries not to laugh, she really does, but— “Lord Tubbington?” Santana asks incredulously around her giggles, watching as Brittany takes on a mock-admonishing look.

“Tubbs is very sensitive about his weight,” she says seriously, and even though Santana has known her for probably about fifteen minutes, she can already see the amusement in Brittany’s eyes despite her serious frown; it’s in the way her eyes crinkle up at the corners and turn catlike and sparkling, and Santana just giggles harder when Brittany’s face breaks and she bursts out laughing too. “Actually,” she adds through her giggles, “It was my sister’s birthday on Tuesday so it was probably then. Tubbs and I did a very beautiful serenade to her. She hung up halfway through.”

“Mercedes and I sing around the apartment a lot actually,” Santana finally manages through her amusement, a smile still stretched across her face.

Brittany smiles in response and Santana quickly ducks her head and grabs the next card. She’s not sure what it is, but there’s something about Brittany that makes it disarmingly easy to be honest, something that makes her want to crack herself wide open in front of her; she wonders if the other research participants are feeling this way, if that’s the whole point of this research, to see how vulnerable you can be with a stranger, hoping and trusting that they won’t make you regret it.

Santana hasn’t known Brittany that long, but she has a feeling she won’t regret opening up to her.

(She briefly wonders if all this is to test the idea of love at first sight. Santana’s never believed in it before, but Brittany’s open and easy and kind and her laugh makes Santana’s chest spasm and now she’s starting to wonder—)

“If you were able to live to the age of ninety,” Santana reads, and her heart sinks as her eyes dart to the rest of the question; she already knows that her answer for this one will hurt, “and retain either the mind or body of a thirty year-old for the last sixty years of your life, which would you want?”

Brittany hesitates for a moment. “The body.”

“Well with legs like that,” Santana agrees, and then immediately flushes.

Brittany flushes too and ducks her head with a smile. “If I could keep dancing until I was ninety years old I would die happy,” she says, “I don’t need all the math stuff up here.” She gestures to her head and Santana manages a small smile. Brittany seems to sense something different with Santana’s answer and lets her hand fall to the table, leaning forward slightly with her brows drawn together in concern. “What would you choose?”

“I’d want the mind,” Santana says quietly.

“Why?” Brittany prompts just as softly.

“My abuela had Alzheimer’s and she— Well let’s just say I had to re-come out to her a lot because of— This—” Santana hesitates and sighs, digging her nail into the edge of the table and picking at the cheap plastic surrounding the small edge. “This dumb thing. And she never took it too well.”

“I’m sorry,” Brittany whispers, and when Santana glances up Brittany looks so earnest that something in Santana’s chest eases. “That really sucks.”

Santana shrugs and manages a small smile before reaching for her water bottle. “Yeah, it really does,” she agrees softly, covering the lump in her throat with a gulp of water.

Brittany swallows and reaches for the next cue card, glancing up at Santana for permission to continue, and Santana’s chest does that spasming thing again. She nods and screws the cap back on her water bottle. “Man these last two are dark,” Brittany mutters before clearing her throat slightly. “Do you have a secret hunch about how you will die?”

Santana frowns as she thinks. “I have absolutely no clue. Old age probably? I dunno, I can’t say I’ve ever thought about it before.” Santana glances at Brittany and sees her eyes still focused on the cue card. “What about you?” she prompts.

Brittany shakes her head and shrugs. “Cancer. Isn’t that how everyone dies these days?”

Santana wrinkles her nose. “Morbid,” she says.

Brittany shrugs and seems to hesitate for moment before she sighs a little, and Santana’s chest aches at how sad she sounds. “All of my grandparents died of cancer,” she explains emotionlessly, as if she’s thought about this a lot before, “So I’m at a higher risk than most people.”

Santana wants to reach out and take Brittany’s hand, but she settles for offering Brittany a smile she hopes is sympathetic. “I’m sorry,” she says, and she thinks of what Brittany just said to her and hopes that it’s enough, “That really sucks.”

Brittany cracks a tiny, knowing smile and glances up at Santana. “Thanks,” she murmurs.

Santana reaches for the next cue card and hopes it’s not as heavy as the last two. She wants Brittany’s eyes to light up again with a desperation she doesn’t quite understand. “Name three things you and your partner appear to have in common,” she reads. She only has to think for a moment before she offers, “Music. You’re a dancer and I’m a musician.”

Brittany hums and looks thoughtful before she gets this sharp, wicked gleam in her eyes, turning them catlike again. “We both like girls,” she says, and the way she emphasizes like makes Santana flush and makes Brittany look bright and proud.

“We, uh,” Santana stutters, “We, um, we’re both not from New York?”

“I’m from Indiana,” Brittany agrees. “I grew up in Decatur.”

Santana relaxes and brightens (and tries to ignore her still hot blush). “No way! I’m from Lima.”

Brittany grins. “What really? We grew up, like, an hour from each other.” Santana laughs as Brittany reaches for the next card. “If you could change anything about the way you were raised, what would it be?” she asks.

Santana hesitates and glances at the card in Brittany’s hands. “I wish my mom left my father sooner. She— She wasn’t happy, and he’s a big part of why I fought with internal homophobia so much. But she thought I should have my father in my life, which, I mean for some kids they do need that second parent but, I dunno.” Santana shrugs a little and glances up to find Brittany’s eyes rapt and earnest on her. “I never really needed anyone but my mom. What about you?”

Brittany chews on her lip and Santana’s eyes are drawn to the movement. Her cheeks flush again and she quickly looks back up to Brittany’s eyes; she kind of feels like she’s not going to stop blushing today, and it’s a little embarrassing. But Brittany’s eyes are on the cue card in Santana’s hands and she’s still chewing on her lip, and Santana’s embarrassment fades completely away and she finds herself leaning closer to Brittany. “I wish—” she starts and then bites down harder on her lip. “I wish that my teachers and my parents realized I had dyslexia earlier.”

“Oh yeah?” Santana prompts gently when Brittany trails off.

Brittany blinks and gives Santana a slightly lopsided smile. “Yeah. It’s pretty mild, but I really struggled with school through most of elementary. It wasn’t until my sixth grade counsellor tested me and got me the right resources that I actually started to understand my classes.”

“That sucks,” Santana murmurs, “but at least you eventually got it worked out. And now,” Santana grins at Brittany, delighting in the returning grin it elicits, “Well, now you obviously do very well in school, Ms. Full Ride Math Scholarship.”

Brittany flushes so bright that it obscures the freckles along her cheeks and Santana’s breath catches. She’s just reaching for the next card, one eye on Brittany’s blush and one eye making sure she only picks up one card, when the door swings open and a researcher pokes her head in, causing Santana to jump and Brittany to start giggling. “It’s been thirty minutes,” the researcher announces. “It’s time to move on to set two.”

Brittany and Santana look at each other in shock as the researcher closes the door. “It’s been half an hour?” Brittany says in disbelief, “It does not feel like that much time has passed.”

“I thought we were doing good on time,” Santana agrees, tossing the card still in her hand onto the discard pile. Brittany shoves the last two cards of set one over to the edge of the table, out of both of their reach. “That’s crazy.”

Brittany studies Santana for a moment, chewing on her lip again. “This might sound a little weird, or like, kinda creepy, but I feel like I know you, you know?”

Santana smiles and catches Brittany’s eyes, the bright blue boring into her own eyes until Santana feels a little like Brittany is staring right into her soul. “No, I know what you mean,” Santana finally manages when she feels like Brittany’s eyes aren’t going to make her crumble. “It’s kinda weird how comfortable I already feel around you,” she agrees.

“I, uh, I guess that’s the point of this whole thing, huh?” Brittany asks softly.

Santana swallows thickly as she nods and the moment stretches out between them until Santana feels a little like she’s falling. She blinks quickly and clears her throat. “Uh, we should probably keep going, so we don’t run out of time,” she tries to suggest but it comes out a lot quieter than she intended, and she thinks it’s because her heart seems to have relocated to her throat to make room for the butterflies fluttering around her ribs.

Brittany nods and shoots Santana a small, shy smile as she reaches for the first card of set two.

[stopforamoment]

Part Nine: Don’t Leave Me  (Series 12, Part 9 of 16)

Series Twelve: Putting the Children First (16 Parts) Part Nine: Don’t Leave Me  (Series 12, Part 9 of 16)

Masterlist

Book: The Royal Romance (After Book Three)

Pairing: Bastien Lykel x OC Rinda Parks Word Count: 2,043 Rating: R for Language, a Child’s Violent Reaction while Dealing with Grief, and Mention of an Unwanted Sexual Advance TRIGGERS: The next few chapters will have discussions about the loss of a parent, a child acting out violently because of grief and fear, and some physical violence. There’s also a description of an unwelcome sexual advance and fallout that comes from rape culture (specifically, blaming a woman for a man coming on to her).

A/N: I know this kind of resolution between a child and the parent’s new partner doesn’t come this easily. My personal experience is that I made my stepdad’s life a living hell for years because I had a chip on my shoulder. Please know that Bastien, Drake, and Rinda continue to work with Henry to put his needs first. It isn’t always smooth sailing, but he does have people in his life who always support him.

Author’s Note: Obligatory disclaimer that Pixelberry Studios owns the TRR characters and my pocketbook with those darn diamond scenes. OFC with all of her quirks is all mine. My apologies if Tumblr or I do something stupid when I try to post this. The keep reading link shows up on my laptop but not my phone. Ugh.

Thank you @asherella-is-a-dork-3​ for always being my sounding board! Thank you @liam-rhys-deactivated20180927​ @silviasutton1989 @bobasheebaby for still being a part of the journey!

Series Summary: We’re wrapping up week six and moving into week seven, the week of October 21st. Putting children first is the priority in this series. Rinda and Laura advocate for more social workers and psychologists in Cordonian schools, and the Cordonian Safety Response Program keeps moving forward. Vivian Trakas still isn’t prioritizing her own children, and Henry deals with his own struggles with losing his dad.  

Chapter Summary: Henry takes out all of his anger on Bastien, and Rinda tries to mediate. Henry also brings up something from their past, something that Rinda thought he was unaware of.

Don’t Leave Me

Rinda looked at her son. “Henry, are you upset because we aren’t friends with the Robinsons anymore?” He nodded. Rinda shook her head and looked at Bastien. “The Robinsons were friends of our family. Mr. Robinson and Henry’s dad worked together. His wife and I became really good friends. I think we were best friends. And our families had it worked out that if anything happened to any of us, the other family would be there to help if . . .” Rinda shook her head.  “When. When Jameson died, Mr. Robinson was the one to find Henry in the secured area and tell him that I was fine, but I couldn’t come out yet. His wife was the one who picked Henry up from school that day and stayed with him until I could pull myself together and come home. We spent the first few nights at their house, just so we wouldn’t be alone. That’s how close to us they were.” “Henry, I know it hurt you when we stopped seeing the Robinsons, but it was just too hard for them to see us after Dadders died. It’s different with Bastien because he got to know us after your dad died.” “Mom, stop lying to me. You’re always protecting me. Stop. Fucking. Lying. I know it’s my fault.” Rinda gave Henry a tight hug. “Doodle Bug, what do you think is your fault?” “I heard you yelling at Mr. Robinson, mom. I know.” “When was I yelling at him? When was that, and what do you know?” “I was asleep, but I woke up when I heard you screaming at Mr. Robinson and throwing things. I’ve never heard you so mad before. You were screaming that he was dad’s best friend and Mrs. Robinson was your best friend, and he had to leave because I was in the house. And when he left, he never came back.” Rinda started shaking, but she kept reassuring Henry that it was okay. It wasn’t his fault. And she was so, so sorry he heard that. She didn’t know. Henry saw how sad his mom was, and Bastien the only other person in the room. He was the one to receive Henry’s wrath. “Why does everyone keep hurting her? Stay. Away. From. My. Mom!” Rinda had enough. She didn’t shout, but it was obvious from her tone that she was done. “Henry Jameson Parks, genug! Enough! He’s not hurting me. Bastien, please don’t leave. Henry, give yourself some time and then we’ll talk about this.” But Henry suddenly lunged at Bastien and punched him in the stomach. Then again. And again. He was screaming at Bastien, pounding him with his fists, telling him to go back to Stephan. Bastien just calmly stood there and let Henry punch him, and scream at him, and accuse him. Rinda was terrified. She could barely handle raised voices when her family members were upset, but this level of physical violence was too much for her. “Henry! Stop it! Now! Please! We don’t hit people. We don’t hurt the people we love . . .” Bastien shook his head at Rinda, letting her know it was okay. But she covered her face with her hands and started to cry. She couldn’t bear to see what was happening between the two people she loved the most. How did things get so fucked up so quickly? But suddenly Henry began screaming different words. “Don’t go back to Stephan. Don’t leave me. Don’t leave me.” Henry was finally done punching, and Bastien wrapped his arms around Henry as he continued to scream, and then sob, that he didn’t want Bastien to leave him. “I won’t, Henry. I won’t leave you. I promise I won’t.” Bastien knelt down to Henry and wiped his face. “Why do you stay with me and my mom? We’re totally opposite of them. Stephan is a good football player and I’m not. Ms. Trakas is ready for a new dad and my mom makes it clear that no one will replace my dad, but we have room in our hearts to love other people, like you. Why do you stay?” “Because I love you. And I love your mom. Henry, your mom and I know that your dad can never be replaced. And I knew that your mom wasn’t ready to date anyone right away because she wanted to be sure you’re ready, and she wanted to be sure you like the person she’s dating. And it was so worth it to wait, because I love both of you so much. It’s good that your mom is the opposite of Ms. Trakas and that she took her time to get to know me. That we still take our time so no one feels rushed. That you don’t feel rushed either.” Bastien rubbed his forehead and looked at Rinda, then Henry. “Henry, my parents divorced when my sister and I were little, and my mom remarried too soon. My sister and I hated him, but my mom just thought it was because we didn’t want a new dad. That was part of it. We wished that she would have cared more about our feelings, because no one would replace our dad. But it was more than that. My stepdad wasn’t very nice to us, especially when my mom wasn’t around. I know my mom was lonely, but she should have gotten to know him better before marrying him. “I have so much respect for your mom because she puts you first and because she protects you like that. Henry, you can’t tell anyone else this please, and I know that I can trust you. I don’t respect Ms. Trakas. I don’t even like her. Because she doesn’t care about her children the way your mom cares about you. And I know Ms. Trakas would never be able to love me the way your mom does. And I could never care about Stephan the way I love you.

Bastien looked over at Rinda to see her reaction. Her head was still buried in hands and Bastien wasn’t even sure if she heard what he said. Henry saw that Bastien had set a glass of water on his dresser. “Mom, Mr. Lykel has a glass of water for you. Do you want me to get you a towel?” Rinda nodded. She took a drink of water and wiped her face with the towel Henry handed her.

Rinda looked like shit. She looked utterly defeated, and Bastien’s heart went out to her. He looked at Henry. “Henry. I know you’re mad at me, but please. Let me sit on the couch with you until your mom can come back out. I promise I will never leave you or your mom like that, but I need you to come with me right now.” Henry nodded, too afraid to disobey or do anything to further upset his mom.

Bastien wanted more than anything to comfort Rinda, but he knew Henry needed to come first. So he got Henry’s favorite blanket and wrapped it around him, and leaned Henry against him. And he started rubbing soft circles on his back, softly whistling the first soothing tune that came to his head.

“Debussy.”

“What, Henry?”

“That’s Debussy. That’s one of my favorites. ‘The Girl with the Flaxen Hair.’” He snuggled back into Bastien’s side. “I know it’s short, but mom plays it over and over on our piano or her violin back home when I can’t sleep. And ‘Rêverie.’”

Queen Évelyne.

That’s where Bastien knew the tune. She would play it for Liam and Leo when they had trouble sleeping. And Rinda played it for Henry.

Bastien kept rubbing gentle circles on Henry’s back as he whistled the tune over and over, then hummed it over and over, again and again, as many times as it took for Rinda to pull herself together.

When Rinda came out of the bedroom she sat on the couch so she could face Bastien and Henry. She leaned her head on the back of the couch and smiled. “Debussy is one of our favorites. Did Henry tell you?”

“No, mom. He guessed. He started whistling ‘Girl with the Flaxen Hair’ and I didn’t even ask.” Rinda nodded. She was too emotionally drained to be surprised or to over-analyze the serendipity.

Bastien had stopped humming, but Henry didn’t move away from him. He just shifted so he could see his mom better.

“Henry, Mr. Robinson did leave that night because you were there, but that was a good thing. You being home helped me. And I do miss being friends with Mrs. Robinson very, very much. But that was her husband’s fault. Not mine, and definitely not yours. Everything was his fault.”

“Why?”

Rinda sighed. She looked at Bastien and smiled. “Because he isn’t a good man like Bastien is. After your dad died the Robinsons did a lot to help us, and I don’t know what we would have done without them in the beginning. But that night when you were asleep Mr. Robinson came over and he offered to give me help that I didn’t want, and he was mad when I said no thank you.”

“Like I told Mr. Lykel that we didn’t need his help?”

“Shit, no.” Rinda took a deep breath. “I’m sorry. That was a good question and I’m glad you asked. It wasn’t like that at all. Mr. Robinson knew I was lonely and missed Dadders, but he thought that meant he could kiss me. And he couldn’t, because I didn’t want him to. He couldn’t because I loved your dad too much and I only missed his kisses. He couldn’t because he was dad’s best friend, and that was betraying him. And he couldn’t because he was married, and because Mrs. Robinson was my best friend. That was betraying her too. So that’s the stuff I was screaming at him. And he didn’t leave until I started throwing things at him and screaming that you were in the house. I didn’t know that I woke you up, and I didn’t know you’ve been worried about that for all this time. I’m so sorry.”

“Mom, did you tell Mrs. Robinson what happened?”

Rinda shook her head. “Remember how you didn’t want to tell me or Bastien about what Stephan said? Why didn’t you want to tell us?”

Henry blushed. “I don’t know. It was embarrassing, and I didn’t want to say it. And I didn’t want to embarrass both of you or hurt you.”

“That’s exactly why I didn’t want to tell Mrs. Robinson. I was so shocked at what happened, and I didn’t want to say anything at all. I just wanted to pretend it didn’t happen. But she was my friend, and that would have been a hard secret to keep. Not telling her would have betrayed her too. So I went to sleep that night and I was going to figure it out the next day. But Mr. Robinson told his wife, and that’s why we don’t talk anymore, and that’s why some of the other families don’t talk to me anymore.”

“So she was mad at you because Mr. Robinson tried to kiss you?”

“Well, Mr. Robinson lied and said I tried to kiss him.” Rinda could see Henry starting to get worked up. “Henry, hold on. I know. I was mad too. But I was still so hurt from Dadders dying, and so embarrassed by what Mr. Robinson did. I couldn’t have faced him or his wife anyways or kept pretending everything was fine, because nothing was fine anymore. And Mrs. Robinson was such a good friend that I’d rather have her hate me for that lie, rather than for her to know the truth, because that would hurt her more. So I made that choice for all of us, Henry. Because it’s better that they aren’t in our lives anymore. But you can’t compare Bastien to them. Bastien would never, ever hurt or betray me like that. And he’d never do anything to hurt or betray you like that, either. We all screw up and make mistakes that sometimes hurt each other. But not like that.”