#Too late stupid today's a new day I already decided not to hit the metaphorical shiny red button

[theglizzardwizard]

i think you need to stop making posts and admit yourself to the hospital

I think you still don't know what schizophrenia is

[concernedbrownbread]

Come Home With Me

For @adrienaugust Day 3: Umbrella

Summary:

“Adrien,” Plagg said softly, “It’ll rain soon.”

“Let it.”

His voice was vicious. Desperate.

He wanted to go home. But he really, really didn’t want to go back.

The rain started hitting his face harshly, punishment for his indecision. Adrien wanted to curl up in his bed and cry, but he didn’t want to ever see his too-white, too-big room again.

“Adrien?”

His eyes snapped open, focusing past the blur of water to the person who had spoken.

“Marinette?”

Or, Adrien finds himself alone in the rain, trying to find home, and Marinette lends him her umbrella.

Word Count: 1397

Relationship: Adrien & Marinette (Platonic, but can be interpreted differently), Adrien & Plagg

Warnings: Implied/Refrenced Emotional Abuse

Read here or under the cut

---

“You’re gonna catch a cold out here, kit.”

Adrien’s lips pulled into a bittersweet smile, “I think that’s the least of our worries.”

Plagg sighed, hovering just above his shoulder, “At least transform into Chat Noir.”

Adrien shook his head, “You’re tired, and I’m running out of cheese.”

Plagg sighed, and didn’t say, then maybe we should go back.

Adrien’s never going back to that manor. Father could try dragging him kicking and screaming, but he was never going back.

(He had said that before. So many times.)

The wind picked up, the chill of late October stinging against Adrien’s exposed skin. He was underdressed and overwhelmed, with nothing but his school bag and his phone. His calls to Nino and Chloe had both fallen through, the reception bad because of course his luck ran that way. Adrien truly did feel alone.

Alone, but away from that wretched house.

He closed his eyes, leaning his head back against the park bench. At least he was free here.

(A terrible, nagging part of his mind that sounded so much like Father told him, you’ll go back eventually, he’s your dad, you’ll forgive him like you always do .

That part of his mind, cold and quiet, called this little stunt for what it was - a childish tantrum.)

Tears stung at his eyes.

“Adrien,” Plagg said softly, “It’ll rain soon.”

“Let it.”

His voice was vicious. Desperate.

He wanted to go home.

Plagg said nothing, finally realising that Adrien was serious about staying out. He settled onto Adrien’s shoulder, a comforting weight. He didn’t try to talk Adrien out of this stupid bit of rebellion, but he didn’t encourage him either.

Plagg always gave him space to figure things out for himself.

He appreciated that, but after a life of being told what to do, Adrien wasn’t sure how to figure things out.

The first droplets of rain are kind, a gentle warning. Adrien refused to budge. His heart hammered against his ribs, a steady rhythm that only picked up with the downpour.

Go back, Adrien tried to tell himself. Back to the manor, where it was cold but at least not drenched. Back to Father, who would hug him and say never leave me and it would be more suffocating than comforting. Back to his life, as Adrien Agreste, the perfect little model.

But he really, really didn’t want to go back.

The rain started hitting his face harshly, punishment for his indecision. Adrien wanted to curl up in his bed and cry, but he didn’t want to ever see his too-white, too-big room again.

“Adrien?”

His eyes snapped open, focusing past the blur of water to the person who had spoken.

“Marinette?”

She shifted her umbrella awkwardly, “Uh, hi. You’re wet - no, I mean, er - getting wet - “ she trailed off.

Adrien smiled fondly, “Yeah. What are you doing out here?”

“I was running an errand for my parents,” Marinette managed to say, with minimal stammering, “You?”

Her eyes were wide and concerned and warm against the autumn wind.

Though he counted Marinette as a friend, he couldn’t say they were close. He didn’t know how much to tell her, if anything at all. Had he been behind his mask, he wouldn’t have hesitated at all, but he never knew where Adrien stood with her.

Still, Marinette was dear to him, and always had a habit of showing up when he needed her most.

“I’m not sure what I’m doing here,” Adrien admitted quietly, “Or what I’m doing at all,” he scoffed, "Or where to go."

“Come home with me,” Marinette said boldly. Then, "Not - not home WITH me - I meant - come to my house - the bakery that is - at least, it’s out of the rain - and it’s close - "

She trailed off, smiling nervously, angling her umbrella so that it was covering him.

He couldn’t really say no. And the thought of macarons were always enticing.

“Thank you, Marinette,” Adrien said, “I promise to be out of your hair as soon as the rain clears.”

“Don’t be silly, you can stay forever - um, as long as you like, I mean.”

The bakery was much closer than Adrien had thought. Stepping into its warmth, Adrien was hit with the aroma of freshly baked pastries, which made him instantly hungry.

“My parents aren’t in,” Marinette said as she left the umbrella by the door, “Do you want something to eat?”

Everything, “Sure.”

“I’ll get you a towel too.”

Marinette got them so much tooth-rotting sugary goods that Father would flip if he saw them, which only made Adrien devour them with glee. Marinette giggled when Adrien got cream on his nose and tried to lick it off, completely forgetting he didn’t have Chat’s tongue right now.

They sat by the window, the steady pitter-patter soothing the last of Marinette’s nerves - enough for her to crack a pun about pastries, one that Adrien had to use next time around Ladybug. She laughed when he shared the story about the time he and Chloe had eaten enough sweets to make them sick, and he gasped at her story about how her dad invented a new kind of muffin recipe.

By the time they were finishing off the last macaron, Adrien had forgotten all his previous worries.

It all came crashing back however, when Marinette said, “I noticed your dad didn’t sign the form today. For the trip to Nice.”

Adrien flinched, “No, he didn’t.”

“How come?”

She was more curious than judgemental, which was why Adrien felt comfortable enough to confess, “I think he’s punishing me.”

Marinette drew back, “What? Why?”

“I messed up a photoshoot the other day. There was an akuma attack and I had to … go hide - I guess it’s not really an excuse - but - “

Marinette slammed down the glass she’d been drinking from, “That is SO unfair!”

Adrien shrugged, “It’s nothing new. He might just be being protective, I don’t know. Though … I sort of decided to not go back home today, because of it,” he laughed, “Overdramatic, I know.”

“He’s the one being overdramatic!” Marinette frowned, “Does Nino and Chloe know? I’m telling them, we’re kidnapping you. I’ll tell Alya too, she’ll tell the whole class,” she paused at her phone, “Should I tell Kagami and Luka? They’re not even on the trip …”

Adrien felt his insides warm. Hearing their names out loud … he sometimes forgot how many people he had, that cared for him.

Had he really been worrying over where home was, when he had already known?

“Marinette,” he said softly, “It’s okay. Thank you.”

“It’s not okay,” she pouted, but relented by putting her phone down.

“I know he loves me,” Adrien sighed, “I just wish he’d show it more.”

“Oh Adrien,” she reached over, covering his hand with hers, “I’m so sorry you have to go through that.”

“Yeah,” Adrien smiled, “Thank you.”

“You can stay here tonight if you like.”

Outside, the rain had slowed to a drizzle.

“It’s okay,” he said softly, “I think I’m okay now.”

Marinette didn’t seem to be pleased, but she didn’t push it, “At least take the umbrella with you.”

“I couldn’t - "

“It’s yours,” she blushed, “You - uh - gave it to me. First day of school.”

“Oh,” he grinned, “You kept it.”

“I forgot to give it back,” she softened, “Anyway, I think you need it more than me. For the next time it rains.”

Adrien gulped, blinking back the stinging in his eyes. He cleared his throat gently, “Um, before I go. This might sound weird, but do you have any cheese?”

Marinette laughed, “I do, actually! I keep it around for ... stray cats.”

It took Adrien a moment to realise she was talking about Chat Noir.

“You’re an amazing friend, you know that?” Adrien blurted out.

Marinette grinned, “I’ve been told. And you are too, don’t you forget it!”

Outside, holding plenty of cheese and pastries and one well-used umbrella, Plagg peeked out of Adrien’s jacket.

“Feeling better?” he asked.

“Yeah.”

Plagg snorted, “Then let’s go home. Your dad’s worried.”

“I doubt Father even noticed.”

“Other dad.”

Adrien had no idea what Plagg was talking about until he checked his phone, only to be bombarded with seventeen worried messages from the Gorilla.

“I’m in trouble, huh?”

Plagg only laughed.

Adrien grinned back, looking up at the sky. The rain had come to a stop now, leaving the skies grey, but the world clearer.

---

Author's Note: When I tell you this fic refused to cooperate with me, I mean that I had 5 stories in my head and came up with the 6th this morning. At least I had fun writing the rain as a metaphor!

Platonic Adrinette is an under-used gem, they are such a wholesome duo. The ship is fine, but nothing beats friendship <3

Also, on Gabriel - I don't doubt that he cares about Adrien, but sometimes caring isn't enough. In this case, it DEFINITELY isn't enough.

[from-red-string]

The Fall

Soy Luna Ficweek 2021

You can read the fics on @sl-server​

Day 2

Prompt: “I scraped my knee and now you’re fixing it up and I swear if you don’t stop running your hands over my leg, I will kick you.”

Summary: Benício's stubbornness had real consequences. Emília got hurt because her partner is stupid but she can't help but feel her heart racing.  

Warning: blood

Genre: fluff (?) Benício is one of the main characters so you decide what it means

Pairing: Emília x Benício

"Benício, slow down." I heard Juliana yelling from the corner of the rink, but my partner didn't seem to do so keeping the same pace. "Your hand is too high." He ignores her again, not moving his hand on my hip. The next step of this choreography is a lift which wouldn't work because his hands are in the wrong place. I slide away before the next point.

"You need to listen to Juliana." Benicio stared at me in disbelief as if I betrayed him with only a phrase.

"What? Are you crazy? You're telling me to listen to Juliana?" Defensive as always, I wouldn't give in to his stupidity, I set my hands on my hips clearly ready for the confrontation. "She is just picking on me, Emília."

"No, she's right. You won't be able to lift me if you don't keep a steady pace or hold me the right way." He scoffed and looked away. My partner has to be the cockiest person alive. His eyes weren't on me exactly, staring past me, I followed his eyesight line until it landed on Ámbar, he was waiting for reaction to decide on his next act, but Ámbar didn't show anything, she was just watching. 

I'm more than sure Ámbar knows Benício's feelings for her better than Simón's, she wouldn't believe the guitarist could forgive her but knew exactly what Benício expected from her and she wouldn't give him. Benício is too stupid for not noticing Ámbar didn't and won't move on from Simón. I wondered daily if he really liked her or just the idea of having Ámbar.

Benício is complicated, not in a good way, you don't want to stick around to solve his puzzle, learn his cracks, and how to put it all together. He's complex in the sense that you're left guessing why you are still around him, what makes you stay with him. That's where I find myself right now. He's my best friend in Buenos Aires, but why do I trust him?

"Maybe you're not a partner on my level." His voice filled with poison, he knew it would hurt. Pouring alcohol on an open cut. His eyes weren't even on me, focusing on Ámbar. 

"No! You're not on Emília's level, you won't be near mine." She rejected him, nothing new, Benício didn't show surprise. "Hear Juliana." The coach stayed quiet the whole time, she is used to his mood already, he's unbearable when he's like this. 

"Are you done, Benício? From the start." Juliana says not waiting for his answer, counting down before playing the song.

My partner is completely oblivious to what we said, or that's what he wants us to believe. I know him too well, he's putting this as a show to prove his right even when he's wrong. He makes the same mistakes again, switching between rhythm, at a second slowing down to spin then speeding up for our moves together. When he holds me again, his left hand is placed between my back and hips but not on any of them. If that's how he wants to play, I'll accept his lead. 

Until 10 seconds for the lift:

1… He won't be able to lift me at this speed. 2,3… Turning around to face him, I should let go of him. 4,5… His eyes shine with determination, I could trust him. I lowered my kees getting ready. 6,7… His grip on me gets stronger. 8,9… It'll work, pulling myself forward I repeat these words. 10… It's too late to get away, I'll fall.

At first, the lift began as expected, Benício held me high, above his head. A clean move. My legs were at a good height. My right hand pinned to his shoulder while I made the moves I trained so many times before, I watched my fingers moving to make sure it was what I practiced with Juliana but I felt Benício's hands tighten around me, when I looked down at his arms were shaking, and then one of his skates kicked the ground, I immediately prepared myself for the fall, placing my arms around my head and spun to my side. 

Benício fell on my legs making me hit the ground harder, the bruises would color my right side later, I felt my hand get hot and swollen. Although it hurt, my first instinct after remembering how I fell is checking on Benício, his head lying on my thigh, he seems alright, I shake him scared because he wasn't moving. 

"Benício?" He answered to his name with a groan while sitting up. I hear Juliana and Ámbar gasp and notice blood on his neck. "You're bleeding!" He looks at me confused then touches his neck.

"No, Emília that's yours..." Ámbar says kneeling near me to help me sit, Benício softly moves my legs to look for the cut. My black skate tinted read, they were stained. Then when I moved my left leg to the side, the pain started, we found the cut on my knee. It hurt a lot but the scariest part is the blood drips, the red liquid pooling the floor under me. "I'll get the first aid kit," Ámbar warned running. Juliana said she'd help Ámbar and ask someone to clean it. Benício's arm scooped me from the floor, his arms embracing me tightly. He ran to the bleachers. He sits with me on his lap.

"Sorry." He whispers still holding me. Surprised, I tried to escape from his lap but he still held my legs, his eyes landed on mine which made me stop. He felt guilty. "You shouldn't have gotten hurt for me." I can say anything, I shouldn't have been hurt for him. "I just wanted to prove my point." I know that. "You." The last word I heard. Right after that, his hands started moving on my legs, caressing them? His fingers tracing mindless on my skin, his invisible drawing left a trail of goosebumps, his tips were cold in contrast to my temperature. He isn't aware of his acts. My heart races, my head feels lighter, the pain seems like a memory from long ago. He is much less aware of his effect on me. His hands distract her enough for me to absently listen to him, nodding to anything he is saying, probably his apologies.

My own thoughts occupied the surrounding. I accepted falling. I never accepted going on when I knew I was going to be hurt. That's called self-preservation, risking myself for someone else is not okay. This cut would prevent me from practicing at all for 2 days and no heavy training for a week, I don't have time to waste how did allow it to happen. His stupidity is the only answer, it must be contagious. 

Benício calls me getting my attention again, well getting to face him, my head still too clouded for him, I nodded. My eyes began to study his face, noting the details, he's not ugly. If it wasn't for his obsession for Ámbar, he'd be a nice person, we could've been friends with benefits or more than that.

No this again. I hate thinking about this, imagining Benício as a boyfriend seems like a distant dream, something that shouldn't belong in my head but it is a sweet and comforting scenario, Benício is her best friend in Buenos Aires, he was there for her in her brightest and darkest hours, whenever she called him. Did I accept falling not only physically but also metaphorically? Can I just like him?

It has to stop. It's not okay, he's obsessed with Ámbar.

I scraped my knee and now you’re fixing it up and I swear if you don’t stop running your hands over my leg, I will kick you. The words are stuck in my throat, I can't lie, I don't want him to stop when it feels so good. But, soon it would stop, when I saw Ámbar approaching, I got ready to miss the funny feeling from his cold hands.

"Here, Juliana said it's a new kit." Ámbar set the kit by Benício's side and opened searching the items. Surprisingly, his finger still ran on my skin even with our friend around. She moved to start the dressing but he asked her something. I'm too overwhelmed by the feeling of still having him on me in front of Ámbar. Then he started treating my cut, she's observing him until her eyes widen at how his hands are shaking, I noticed it but thought it could've been me. Whenever he was getting to the next item his fingers were back to what seemed to be their main hobby today: drawing on my skin. By the way, Ámbar's eyebrows raised, she was aware of that too. Can she see how I'm shivering under his hands too?

She does, her look told me she knew and probably could tell about my feelings for him too. She silently reached for my hand, not requesting any reason or excuse, she just sat by my side while watching Benício. I screamed and closed my hand on Ámbar's, squeezing it to release the stinging feeling when Benício cleaned the cut with alcohol. I'm going to kick him.

"I'm going to kick you," Ámbar yelled like she read my mind.

[colorfullfalls]

Warm me up

Embry Call x Reader

Between Forks and La Push, supernatural occurances were constant. Vampires, wolves, but the new visitors were witches. A coven of witches moved directly between Forks and La Push, which created a massive headache for the Cullen's and Quileutes.

The witches were unpredictable and everyone seemed weary about them. The imprints were strictly told to steer clear of them. Worry coursed through the wolves veins as the thought of the love of their lives being magically hurt in any way.

Y/N was bored. Embry was patrolling a lot lately for the Black Pack due to the additional supernatural beings. She admired his dedication and hours upon hours protecting the people. But she missed him. And even more so, she was bored.

"Sweetheart, please don't go anywhere without someone who is.. well... A wolf or vampire. It sounds dumb but we aren't sure with what we are dealing with."

Embry's honest genuine worries flowed through her brain every time she thought about saying fuck it and leaving the small house.

She watched movies, cleaned again and again, organized a thousand times, played with the dogs in the yard, danced in the kitchen, painted and even sewed. Still, she yearned to actually go out in public. Walmart roaming at 2 am seemed like an absolute dream, but Embry would go into cardiac arrest if you went there, let alone so late.

He always claimed that late nights made people lonely and that led to them doing bad shit. He was so paranoid that you would fall victim to someone's boredom gone wrong. He loved Y/N more than the world and God, he wanted to shelter her and keep her safe.

The imprints were alright with doing whatever their wolves said. Stay inside- they did. Don't talk to the cullens- they did. But Y/N was not like that. She was stubborn as a mule, and Embry knew better than to try to treat her like that. She was a free woman who refused to bend to whatever others wanted.

Embry grew up respecting women. Growing up with his mom made him realize how strong women are. Tiffany didn't need a man's presence, money, or help to raise her son. He knew felt proud to have his mom. He loved her almost as much as he loved Y/N. Which is an insane amount considering Y/N was his life.

Sitting on the counter with Embry standing between her legs, she knew shit was serious. His wide brown eyes held sorrow and fear as he explained how dangerous the witches could potentially be. And that he knew she hated trying to be told what to do, but she would save him loads of worrying if she would please listen.

Y/N solemnly agreed because she knew that this matter was serious. What she didn't realize was that he would be absent so much. She missed him. Having him home would make the time fly by. His very presence was all that she needed. Craved it.

Y/N had a sudden idea. Having a hammock would be nice. Two beautiful oak trees rooted close by would be a wonderful place to hang one. She could read on it, paint on it, and stare at the sky for hours. She blushed as images of her and embry on it ran through her mind.

Leaving was a bad idea. Her mind said, no. Be smarter than that. Her heart said that she wanted that hammock and needed it. She bit her lip as she glanced at the clock. Embry wouldn't even know. Y/N decided she would lie and say she had the thing all along if he were to ask about it.

That's it, she was going. She went, got it, and felt great. Happy. Fulfilled. Excited to put it up.

She was halfway home when her car slowly halted. Gas pedal was down but the car was not moving.

"What the fuck?!" She stated, hitting the gas pedal a few times. Y/N groaned as she threw her head back. If she wasn't home soon she would be found by a very angry and dissapointed wolf. A metaphorical dog house, ironically.

Tapping left to her head made Y/N jump, screams rippling out of her throat. Hand on her throat in surprise she turned.

Gorgeous piercing green eyes looked expectantly at her. Tattoos spread down her arms, but they were almost unnoticeable due to the black hair cascading over them. Y/N swore that she never saw such beautiful hair before.

The woman had a calm look on her face, but she was intimidating none the less. She opened the car door and all Y/N could do was watch as her heart beat out of her chest.

"Wolf girl.... Could sense you miles away." She said, leaning on the door.

"Im- uh- hah, I'm not a wolf..." Y/N stammered, clinging to her seat belt in fear. Embry was for sure going to scold her for hours now.

"An imprint, whatever. You have association with them. It's simple. See, you came from La Push, their territory. No one goes there really. So you're a wolf girl one way or the other."

Y/N sheepishly nodded, glancing away from the woman and to her phone. Maybe if she got ahold of Embry he could save her before anything happened. Her hand twitched to grab it but suddenly she gasped, crippling pain invading her body.

Y/N cried out in pain as she sank into the seat. An instant headache crept up the back of her head as tears spilled.bShit shit shit. This witch meant business, and wasn't scared to use powers already.

Flame like feeling stopped and Y/N gasped for breath in her driver seat. She hit the steering wheel a few times in frustration.

"God, maybe use your words next time?" Y/N venomously spat, glaring at the green eyes witch.

"Waste of my breath, hun. Girl talk isn't girl talk if you call your wolf man."

"Don't want girl talk." Y/N mumbled, still calming down from being hurt. She didn't want to anger her but sometimes it was hard to bite her tongue.

"Let's cut to the chase. You need to tell the wolves to lay off. Stop pacing around our area. Witch business is none of their concern" The witch knelt down and got closer to Y/N's face.

"Tell them that... You think they listen to me? Sure, I'm an imprint and I can voice my opinion, but the pack does as it chooses. I have no power over them." Y/N softly said.

"Seduction. You own your wolf. I'm familiar with how imprinting works. You control this man's life! So don't give me that 'I can't control anything' speech. You can and will relay the message."

Anger coursed through Y/N's veins. How dare the asshole witch act like Y/N can just suck off Embry and then he does whatever she says? He didn't own her, and she didn't own him. Insinuating that Embry was Y/N's toy made her want to scream. She kept calm and shook her head.

"You're oh so wrong..." Y/N mumbled shaking her head, "You should've talked to them because Embry is not going to be happy when he finds out you did this. Infuriated, actually."

"Wow, so Embry is his name? It's a handsome one, truth be told." The witch stood back up.

"Don't."

The witch's tongue poked out to wet her lips before she spoke in a scary calm tone, "Do as I say...you'll live. Simple. task. Look, I'm not stupid, I would never face a wolf alone and right now I'm the only one home. But you see, 'm getting rather fed up with all the sneaking around our place. I'm actually angrier than I thought...."

"shit" Y/N whispered

The witch looked at Y/N thoughtfully, "Maybe if I hurt you a bit, they would get the hint..."

Y/N shook her head, "You said you know about imprinting, but obviously not enough because going after a wolf is idiotically stupid. They're sacred. Not to be messed with. They would die for us."

At that moment snarking was heard. Y/N felt a tear of happiness roll down her cheek as she felt relief rush through every cell in her body like a river that had been dammed up. Embry was about to save her ass.

The witch jumped around in time to see Embry approach. She flicked her wrist as if to hurt him the way she hurt Y/N, but she was quickly jumped on by Bella. Bella choked her so that she would pass out.

Jacob ran out of the woods to help Bella tie up the woman's arms and legs. Embry shifted back, scrambling to throw on shorts and racing to your side.

His hands grasped her face as he checked her for any injuries. His stony expression broke as he cried out in relief, kissing Y/N's face all over.

"Baby, thank God we found you!" Em exclaimed, hugging her to his chest. Tears flowed down her face. That witch scared the daylight of out Y/N, and Embry saved her life.

°°°°

Hours later Embry sat with his chin on the edge of the bathtub while his lovely imprint sat inside of it. Bubbles filled the area up to her chest. Embry's heightened eyes couldn't see anything besides her shoulders and head. Her hair sat delicately in a bun to avoid getting damp.

Embry smiled smittenly at how pretty she looked in the candle light. Her doe eyes stared back at him equally lovingly. She blushed, looking away and sinking deeper into the water.

Baths always made her feel better, and after the day the imprint had, she needed one. As soon as they got home Embry ran the water and helped her in.

50's music softly played through the bluetooth speaker as the couple shared such an intimate moment.

Embry interlocked one of his hands with his imprint's soapy ones, "Thought I was gonna lose you today..." He murmured, brining the interlocked hands up so that he could kiss hers.

"For a while there, me too..."

Embry whimpered and kissed her hand a few times to center himself. Seeing that witch in front of his soulmate awakened things inside of him that he never knew he had in him.

He wanted to rip the witch's limbs slowly one by one, her screams echoing through the land. He wanted the witch bitch to beg for mercy and apologize relentlessly until her last breathe. But then his eyes moved to his scared girlfriend, and all he thought about was getting to her as soon as he could. Holding her in his strong arms and assuring her that all would be okay.

"Talked to Jake and I'm not patrolling for a while. Can't leave you again." He said with every fiber of his heart.

Y/N nodded, understanding that his inner wolf was still going crazy from the danger she had been in. She felt guilty for being dumb enough to leave the house over a hammock.

"Thank you for not yelling at me. I deserve it, like big time. I went to buy a fucking hammock. All of this, over a fun outside prop..." Y/N ranted, angry with herself.

"I was going to, but three seconds after I realized you were in danger... Scolding you was the last thing on my mind. Telling you to stay home and then never being there was hard on you, I get that. I'm sorry." He confessed.

Embry blamed himself. He knew Y/N hated being at home and with him not being there, she would hate it even more. His Y/N was a social woman and restricting that wasn't right. Not without him keeping her company.

"Apology isn't necessary, but thank you. Im a grown woman who should have more common sense."

A comfortable silence settled over the pair. Embry stroked his thumb across her hand as her eyes fluttered shut. She was tired and he could tell.

"Love bug, why don't we dry you off and go to bed? We could both use sleep, hmm?"

She sleepily nodded.

Ten minutes later Embry spooned Y/N, squeezing her close as he could without hurting her. He felt her body shake a bit. Concern filled his face as he lifted up to look at her through the moon light.

"Y/n?"

She turned and instead of crying, she was laughing. Laughing so hard that her body was shaking. Embry slightly smiled, unaware of how to react.

"I bought a hammock today. I risked my life... For a hammock. But hey," she laughed harder, "now we can use it whenever. Because we have so much time alone. Trapped here."

Embry now grinned. He knew she was delirious and tired, but he thought it was cute, "We can lay in it tomorrow, all day. Just us." He whispered, nuzzling his nose agaisnt her cheek.

Y/N stopped laughing, "Id like nothing more. I'm so in love with you," she whispered suddenly serious. He felt his heart flutter as her lips brushed against his. He lost his breath as she kissed the corner of his mouth.

"Tease" he mumbled, caressing her face to bring her in for a propper kiss. She hummed as she pulled her wolf closer to her, drugged by his closeness. His warm body heat made her toasty as he slipped his tongue in her mouth. She slightly pulled away.

"Warm me up, wolf boy." She said, kissing him once again. Embry almost lost his Y/N, but God was she alive with him at 2 am. Very alive.

[fablecoingolf]

thots on LOGAN, on REAVER, on BEN FINN,

oh man, this might be long I warn you! I’m not sure how best to format it I think I’m gonna do like dots, coz otherwise it’ll be just a massive block of text

LOGAN:

honestly not as many thoughts as the other two aside from “nerd” and “inconsistent face” I look forward to trying to draw him one day and by look forward to I mean dread very much!!!

he’s totally not cishet look how he sits and his colour palette is pretty close to the ace flag so, though since he’s the villain for the decent amount of the game it’s important to be careful with that

I think that his design in combination with how the hobw tends to look feels antisemitic in a way that is recurring in fable that should be addressed more often I really hope if 4 ever happens they change the like good/evil morph pretty considerably, 3 is an improvement though

I don’t have many feelings towards him though as a character, there’s a thing with tone in 3 that I’ll talk about more with reaver that influences this I think, and just in general he sort of exists separately to everyone for most of the game, like he’s the player characters brother you should feel Something but there’s just no like. anything to their interactions. what’s his relationship like with theresa, with walter, with like Anyone, he just monologues at a map!!! do something talk to someone half a character is their interactions!!!! fuck!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

like he’s fun I’ve made posts about him before, on a surface level he’s fun but like past that I just don’t really feel anything towards him? so it’s kind of hard to talk about him

I had an image of him up on my screen while writing this so this entire time he’s been staring me down hdkdj

the uh, like art of him with, the front of the armor that’s shaped like a crown is very funny that’s supposed to go on your head what are you doing

I have my own idea of how Hero stuff works because this is my canon now and I can’t be stopped and I really don’t like some parts of how they say it works, but I don’t know if now is the best place or time to talk about that, it’s partially relevant to all these characters but it’s kind of hard to explain and I feel like by the time I reach the end of this I’ll have no more words so I should really save them? I don’t know, I bring it up because it’s relevant though I just can’t decide

REAVER:

it’s funny that that’s his name, dude’s not very creative huh? like a clothier named Tailor, we get it george you steal things

I mean my name is crow because.I like crows..but I’M allowed to name myself stupid things because I’M sexy and cool and awesome and my ideas are good ones always (sarcasm)

for real though my thoughts here are complicated because there are parts to this character that touch on things that I like(pirates,cool spooky void stuff,) but those don’t get like, any focus

I like him in 2! I only like him in 2. aside from the weird character design decisions 3 made, theres the tone thing I mentioned at logan that I’ve been thinking about lately I’m not sure I can word it right but I’ll give it a shot!

so like, I think, fable likes to be funny, the feel it generally goes for is fun and it’s a fantasy game yknow? characters like jack of blades and lady grey (and the crawler kiiiind of? a bit) are obviously bad but because of either the way the game treats them or the way the game feels or the things they do theyre fun villains who I like! reaver in 2 falls into this I think, yes pirates are real but, like knights and stuff there’s. I can’t think how to word it, there’s a difference between historical knights and fantasy knights and reaver is a fantasy pirate, the shadow court stuff is obviously bad but that’s also not real? the tone of 2 is more serious than 1 and I haven’t replayed it in a while so I’d have to play it to know how it lands Exactly. but reaver in 3 hits too real with actual things and lady grey is also evil rich person but the tone of the game carries that where 3 is serious about it and it’s effects that’s like the whole point and you can have a character and a game that does that but you can’t have that character Also be the fun villain because then it confuses things, that’s Also not to say the fun villain can’t be interesting or like metaphors or whatever obviously it’s just The Feel of the thing, fable 3 can have its evil factory guy but reaver isn’t the character for that for so many reasons. I really don’t think I explained this in a way that makes any sense I can try to word it clearer another time maybe

I have fixed this internal problem I have by pretending very very hard that reaver isn’t in 3 and that’s just some other guy and that’s fixed all of my problems, even that stuff aside from a character perspective I don’t buy it

I have a whole thing about what he’s doing in 3 because I don’t know who the onceler guy is but that’s not him. it’s very neat I think please ask me about it I need an excuse to talk about it and this is already an excuse sure but it’s already very long

anyone else noticed that he always wears things that cover his neck? I noticed it when compiling reference images for my animal crossing thing and I hate to give you the bad news but I am certain he’d never wear the sexy pirate shirt, if I had to design modern clothes for him he’d have a turtleneck

I feel like I could read into the way he dresses (gloves, high neck,yknow?) in an interesting way actually but I’d need to think on it more

also actually before I keep pretending he’s not in 3 I don’t want to brush over the transmisogyny in the poster which is supposed to be viewed as a positive thing since it shows up, like when the rebellion is progressing right? I don’t remember the exact point of the game but you get what I mean. or the dress which would be fine if he wasn’t an antagonist in this game + the poster making it clear it’s intended to be something to be made fun of

I have made pokemon teams for the fable 2 heros because I think about them a lot and pokemon a lot and I want to share but I might wait until I’m in a pokemon brain space so it’s easier for me to, but I have Thoughts

the man who lives forever by lord huron has oakvale reaver vibes for obvious reasons and it’s also a good song and you should listen to it

a few lord huron songs do actually but I don’t want to associate those other ones with him in my brain because I like them and,like, it’s not my fault our aesthetics overlap!! I hate that!!!!!! I’M the sexier bi/pan nonbinary occult pirate Back Off!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! He gets ONE lord huron song, ONE, no more!!!!!!!!!!!!

I have a few conflicting ideas of oakvale reaver actually I need to settle on one but I’m not sure which I’m gonna go with, one that song matches with way better

he wins second place in having inconsistent face hdkdhk

I’m always torn talking about him for like all the reasons I’ve stated and like, people talk about him plenty and maybe what I could say is different coz I think I interpret the character different to the way I see a lot, but it feels like I could put my energy elsewhere better same reason why it feels weird to draw him? he’s popular adding to that pile rather than like anyone else would feel weird of me, but my brain latches on to pirate and goes wild coz they’re important to me separately so, yknow I’m torn

I could say more probably coz like I said the fable 2 heros are my favourites and I have the most thoughts on them, but I’ve been writing this for actual hours coz words are very difficult to make and I have stuff I need to do today

anyway the oakvale ghost pirate is still cooler, he says yarrrrr and Didnt cause oakvales destruction, and he loves his wife!!! that’s like +1000 sexy points!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! and he’s a ghost which rocks

BEN FINN:

he’s good : ) !

I like him! he’s good

my thoughts here are very simple and I can’t elaborate past “: ) !!!”

oh he’s trans and bi

and while I usually don’t care about ships unless they’re the seafaring kind, page+hobw+ben finn is cute

he’s just good I have nothing to say and no complicated feelings i just think he’s neat : ) !

one day I’ll elaborate on the hero thing I was talking about with logan I just don’t have the energy right now

I genuinely can’t think of anything right now I’m sorry hdkdjf I just like him that’s enough!!

[shootwinterfest]

Five Times Root Spent Christmas Alone

(And One Time She Didn’t)

Shoot Secret Santa Gift by @amandadawnblock

I.

Samantha Groves was seven years old the first time she’d woken up on Christmas morning entirely alone in the small house she shared with her mother. 

She hadn’t noticed at first; filled with excitement for the holiday, she had rushed out of bed and down the familiar hallway in just her socks and pajamas, nearly skidding into a wall as she hurtled around the corner into the living room.

Blinking slowly, Samantha looked around in confusion. The space under the Christmas tree was glaringly empty and her stocking hung limply from the wall where her mother had tacked it weeks before. Rubbing her eyes to get the sleep out and half-hoping it would change what she’d seen, she frowned when the room remained empty of gifts. 

Taking a seat on the couch, Samantha solemnly stared at the Christmas tree with cold eyes, cataloging what she knew in her mind. Always a precocious child, she was well-aware that her mother wasn’t like other moms. She had always liked to hit and scream at Samantha for things she didn’t understand and over the past year, she had started to drink a funny-smelling liquid that had made her even meaner. 

Still, for all of her mother’s flaws, Samantha had never woken up on Christmas morning without a single gift under the tree or in her stocking before and her jaw tightened as she resolved with bitter disappointment that it was better to never expect things of people and that Christmas was a stupid holiday anyway. 

She spent the day taking down all of the decorations and the Christmas tree that seemed to mock her with the empty space beneath its’ branches every time she looked its’ way. Only fear of her mother’s punishment and knowing that she would be the one forced to clean up the mess kept Samantha from doing what she wanted and smashing every stupid, fragile ornament across the ground until the tree looked as empty as she felt. 

When she’d finished, she retreated to her bedroom and lay back down on her bed. Taking a deep breath, she pulled the sloppily wrapped package from under her pillow and turned it over in her hands, a hollow feeling settling in the pit of her stomach as she stared at the name tag. 

To: Mom

Love: Samantha

Her eyes stinging with tears that felt hot as they ran down her cheeks, she ripped open the present and glared at the picture frame that she had made herself during the little downtime she had between homework, keeping the house spotless and trying her best to take care of her mom. When Hanna’s family had taken her to Corpus Christi with them, Samantha had spent most of the precious few days combing the beach for the most beautiful shells in her mother’s favorite colors and, upon returning home, she had spent hours painstakingly decorating the frame so that none of the original frame could be seen for the shells.

Inside the frame was a photo of Samantha with her mother from the previous Christmas. Hanna had come over for Christmas dinner and she’d been the one to take the photo of the two of them. They were posing in front of the Christmas tree with her mother’s arms wrapped around her and beaming smiles on both of their faces. But what drew Samantha’s attention in the photo today was the pile of presents she could see scattered on the floor behind them and the reminder of the emptiness she’d awoken to today so filled her with rage that she screamed; a loud, primal sound that frightened her but also felt good. 

Pulling her arm back, Samantha gave in to the rage filling her body and threw the picture frame across the room as she could. She felt a thrill of satisfaction fill her only to be followed by a pang of regret that twisted in her stomach as she watched the frame shatter into pieces. Shells flew everywhere as all of her hard work came undone in an instant, but Samantha brushed away the thought and clung instead to the rage.

Puling her knees up to her chest, she rested her chin on them and stared at the shattered remnants of her mother’s now-ruined Christmas present and tried to ignore everything she was feeling as she waited for the stupid day to be over with. She stayed in that position until the shadows enveloped the room and she finally deemed it late enough to go to bed. 

 Only after she had brushed her teeth and crawled back under the covers did she realize that her mother had never come home. 

Although it wasn’t the first time that she’d left Samantha on her own overnight, she had never stayed gone for quite so long and it was with a sinking feeling in her chest that she thought that this was the start of something bad, something worse than she’d already been experiencing. 

Samantha had no idea how right she was. 

II.

After her first Christmas alone, Sam had never had to spend one in an empty house again. All she’d had to do was say one word to Hanna and her friend had made sure that she always came to her house on Christmas and Hanna’s parents always made sure that she had presents and a stocking filled to the brim. 

It was something that she’d never quite taken for granted but she’d certainly never thought that she would lose it.

But when Sam Groves woke up on her thirteenth Christmas, it was to a cold, empty house and an even colder realization that there would be no more Christmases with Hanna. The Freys could hardly even bear to look at her anymore and although she understood, it was just one more loss to add to her ever-growing collection; just one more reason for her to tell herself that it was better not to trust anyone and that way, she wouldn’t be disappointed when they eventually let her down. 

Slowly climbing out of bed, Sam went to her window and silently gazed out. The sun was shining brightly and if not for the chill in the air, she might have been able to pretend that it was summer outside. For a moment, she desperately wished that she could pretend, that she could ignore this holiday altogether and pretend like it was any other day.

Stifling the pang in her chest, she sharply turned away from the window and sat down at her computer. Powering it on, her fingers flew across the keyboard as she typed in her password and then the code she’d written that allowed her to access the hard drive, having realized that she needed far more security for the activities she’d started to immerse herself in already. 

Once she was in and connected to the internet through less-than-legal means, she pulled up Trent Russel’s bank account information and scrutinized it carefully. Though it had been mere months since Hanna had disappeared with him, Sam had grown impatient with the lack of movement to arrest the perpetrator and so she had resolved that she would have to handle the justice side of things herself. 

She’d thought of the perfect plan, too. Unfortunately, she would need to wait a few years to make sure that it was perfect and that nothing could be traced back to her. But Sam was hardly a stranger to waiting; sometimes she felt as though she’d been waiting since the day she was born for the day when she would finally leave Bishop behind her forever. And nothing meant more to her than her new mission to get justice for Hanna; Sam knew that she would wait for as long as it took to make her plan foolproof and see Trent pay for what he’d done.

Growing restless and not finding anything new or noteworthy in Russel’s bank account, she exited the browser and shut down her computer before turning to look at the framed photo of her and Hanna on the desk. She couldn’t remember when it had been taken exactly, but it was her favorite. Hanna was all smiles, beautiful and outgoing and without a care in the world as she stood front and center in the photo. Meanwhile, Sam was hanging back and gazing at her in an awe that she still felt when she thought about the fact that someone like Hanna had seen fit to be friends with someone like Samantha Groves. 

It was a perfect metaphor for their friendship and Sam swallowed, feeling tears stinging her eyes as she reached out to trace the glass covering Hanna’s face as she silently vowed once more that she would do whatever was necessary to see that her death was avenged. 

Years later, Samantha Groves would say that this was the moment that she’d become more Root than Sam.

After making her resolution, she’d gone downstairs and for once, she’d found the lack of decorations and presents to be a relief rather than a burden. Here, there were no reminders of Hanna or her favorite holiday that she’d made Root love just because of how happy it made her. There was no Christmas tree, her mother having given up on it long ago and Sam deeming it unnecessary since there were no gifts to put under it anyway.

Her house was as dark and empty and silent as it always was but for once, Sam found solace in it, finding the atmosphere soothing rather than stifling. Not even the sight of her mother’s beer bottles littering the floor surrounding the couch was enough to dampen her mood. 

They may not have been perfect or even close to functional, but Sam was suddenly intensely grateful for the normalcy of everything in her life, no matter how fucked up. It stood in stark contrast to the way everything else in her life had spiraled so far out of her control and she took comfort in knowing that as much as everything else had changed, her mother and the way they lived likely never would. 

Sam eyed the beer bottles and decided to clean, more so out of a restless need to do something than actually wanting to clean a mess that would be back with a vengeance within moments of her mother’s eventual return. Grabbing a trash bag, she cleared the floor and coffee table of the bottles before wiping the table down with cleaner and a rag, having to make several passes before she got all of the sticky remnants of spilled alcohol off and leaving it almost shining. 

She worked tirelessly throughout the day, moving from room to room and barely tracking the way the sun’s light moved through the house as the hours passed. Though she did her best to keep up with the cleaning, her mother often whirled through like a hurricane and left everything an even bigger mess along the way. The only room she didn’t go into was her mother’s; she’d learned her lesson long ago with a punch to the nose and a slurred warning to “keep her nose in her own business and stay the hell out”. 

Sam almost shivered at the memory before she caught herself and scowled at her reflection in the bathroom mirror. That day had been one of too many that had blurred together, but it would always stick out to her regardless because it had been the first time she’d told Hanna the truth when she’d asked. 

They had been laying in the middle of a field somewhere in the middle of both their houses, a natural meeting point where both could ignore their home lives. Sam’s nose had bruised and swollen and when she’d seen Hanna’s gaze tick to it before she could help it, she’d felt a rush of fear followed by gratitude when Hanna forced her eyes back up and just asked her a question about something else. 

After nearly an hour of talking about everything and nothing at the same time, Hanna had rolled over to face her and she’d followed suit, giggling as Hanna reached over and plucked grass from her hair, twirling it in her fingers in front of Sam’s eyes. 

Grinning triumphantly at the sound of Sam’s giggle, a rare sound coming from her indeed and only ever coaxed out by Hanna, her friend had tossed the grass down and leaned forward, very gently and deliberately pressing her lips to the very tip of Sam’s nose until she’d sucked in a shuddering breath. 

“My mom did that,” Sam had whispered then, like she was revealing her darkest, most precious secret which, of course, she was. She’d steeled herself then, waited for Hanna to recoil from a girl whose own mother couldn’t tolerate her but when she was met only with silence, she slowly forced them back open to see Hanna staring at her with a sad, terrible kind of understanding that set her stomach twisting into knots. 

Without saying a word, Hanna slowly sat up and unbuttoned her shirt. Turning her back to Sam, she shrugged it off and the younger girl swallowed hard when she saw the bruises on her back. There were yellows and purples and greens and all that Sam could think about was that it looked like a modern art piece. “A Study In Fatherly Cruelty” she would later bitterly think whenever she caught a glimpse of Hanna’s colorful back, which would be more often now that she knew the Secret. 

But on this day, all that she could think of to do was to lean forward and very gently press her lips to the bruise in the middle of Hanna’s back and she smiled against her skin when she felt her friend shiver but lean back into it. She knew what it was like to be touched with tenderness after being met only with violence for so long and she marveled at the trust between them, that Hanna would allow her to see her, to touch her while she was like this and she resolved to do it as often as she could. 

Six months later, Hanna and Sam were at the library when Sam watched her climb into Trent Russel’s car and leave and she’d always regret that she’d had such a short period of time to keep her promise. 

With a sigh, Sam shook her head and retreated to her room when she heard the sound of her mother’s car pulling up, the broken muffler making an awful racket and giving her plenty of warning. She hurriedly locked her door and turned her light off, crawling into bed and trying not to breathe as she heard her mother stomp through the house, her heart thumping loudly in her chest as she waited to see what kind of a night it would be. 

Exhaustion slowly began to overtake her as she lay there listening, the sound of her name mercifully absent and as she rolled over to contemplate actually sleeping, she was surprised and relieved to see that it was well past midnight.

One Christmas down, only an unknown number to go, she thought ruefully as she closed her eyes and fell into a deep, dreamless sleep. 

III.

Root sat silently on the couch, black-painted fingernails drumming on the arm as she watched the clock tick down to midnight. She could almost feel the seconds slipping by as she followed the countdown to the last Christmas she would ever spend in this house that was so haunted by memories, both good and bad and all the in-between. 

Somehow, it was fitting that her mother had chosen to die on Christmas Eve. Even in Bishop, Texas, a town so small that doctors still made house calls, holidays were still a sacred thing and although she’d been able to arrange for her mother’s body to be picked up, it would be December 26th before anything could even start to be arranged and Root knew it would be at least a week before she could finally leave and start the life she’d been planning to live for so long now. 

She took a small sip of the wine as the clock finally ticked past midnight, grimacing in distaste before holding the glass up in the dark emptiness of the living room. A manic smile was painted on her lips as she chuckled, a dark and ominous laugh that no one was around to hear. 

“Merry Christmas, Mom,” Root smirked, draining the glass despite the bitterness and setting it back down before unfolding her long legs from underneath her and making her way up the stairs. 

Although it had been years since Root had spent Christmas with another person, it somehow felt different when she awoke the next morning with the knowledge that she was truly alone in the world now, that her mother wouldn’t ever stumble in the front door blind drunk and looking for a target ever again. 

Looking around her childhood bedroom, Root felt an odd sense of loss as she realized that one day soon, she’d walk out of there and never return. Though the house had never felt like a home to her, there was something different about her bedroom with its’ many memories and it having been the only retreat she’d ever had. 

She wondered what it would feel like in her new existence, living in different places as often as she knew she would. She wouldn’t have time to memorize the chips in the paint, the way a former leak in the roof had left a dark stain on the ceiling. There wouldn’t be memories hidden in every corner, either. 

Sometimes, Root would glance at a certain spot in her room and be frozen by a memory that would play in front of her eyes like a movie, only a thousand times more real. Hanna, painting Root’s nails black for the first time and starting a tradition that she’d carried on in her name ever since her death. The wall where she’d so long ago flung the Christmas present she’d worked so hard on for her mother, shattering it and her ability to trust along with it. 

And on the very bed where she now sat, knees hugged to her chest and arms wrapped around them, she could almost feel Hanna’s arms wrap around her. She could almost smell the cloying scent of the perfume Root had never had the heart to tell her didn’t suit her; almost feel the soft, hesitant feeling of Hanna’s lips pressed against hers in what had been both of their very first kiss. 

It had been days before Hanna had been killed and even years later, the timing of it made her heart ache. She’d always had feelings for Hanna, always known that she was different from the other girls who were even then starting to show signs of being boy-crazy. It’d never been a secret she had shared with Hanna and somehow, that had made the unexpected kiss all the sweeter. Her chest had felt warm and tingly and her entire body had thrummed with the knowledge that Hanna had taken a chance just because she’d wanted to kiss Sam, not because she knew that Sam wanted it. 

Sometimes, Root caught herself wondering at what might have been if she’d asked Hanna to come over that night at the library, caught herself wondering how different she would be if Hanna had never died. 

And really, that was the word for it that Root alone seemed willing to use. “Disappearance” was bandied about like nobody’s business, but nobody seemed willing to admit the truth of the matter. Even now, after seven years and getting justice for Hanna all by herself, Root still felt a rage blacker than anything she’d ever known fill her when she thought about it. 

It was a rage and a grief that she felt most prominently on two days out of the year: the anniversary of her death and on what had been Hanna’s favorite holiday that now felt so empty without her around to force Root into the spirit of it with her lame jokes and holiday specials with hot cocoa. 

With a sigh, Root climbed out of bed and slowly made her way downstairs, feeling all the world like a ghost in a world that no longer belonged to her as she did. She started a pot of coffee and rummaged through the cupboards for breakfast, eventually settling on cinnamon toast because it was quick and would be easy on her stomach that was already all tied up in knots. 

As she sipped the coffee and ate, Root mentally ran through her plan again. She’d been increasing her online presence lately and taking more and more jobs in preparation for this day, and her offshore, untraceable bank account was very well padded. She could go anywhere she liked and just enjoy herself for quite some time before she’d need to do another job, not that she’d take the opportunity. 

No, Samantha Groves might have enjoyed a vacation, the kind she had once planned out with her best friend in the middle of a Texas field, but Samantha Groves was as good as dead and buried and would be as soon as she made it out of this godforsaken town and Root was left in her place. Root, the woman who’d spent years planning the perfect murder in order to get justice for that same best friend who’d been taken away far too young and long before Samantha Groves was ready to lose her. Root was an adrenaline junkie who loved proving her superiority over everyone and only took on the most challenging jobs almost solely to prove that she could. 

Root would dive even more into work once she was out of Bishop, Texas and had left Samantha Groves behind forever. She didn’t know where she would end up once she left, but after a lifetime of unstable stability such as the home she’d shared with her mother, she was beyond ready for the excitement of moving from place to place, never staying anywhere for long.

She’d long ago learned that home meant nothing, not to her. Maybe once she’d believed differently, thought that she could have a home away from her house with Hanna’s family, but they’d eventually let her down too, never so much as speaking to her again after Hanna had disappeared, and she’d given up.

As she ate the last slice of toast and drained the rest of her coffee, Root’s gaze ticked over to the clock and she was relieved to see it was already early afternoon. The sooner that this holiday was over, the better as far as she was concerned and as she washed her dishes in the sink, she tried to pretend that the grief wasn’t settling in her chest like a cold, hard weight making it difficult for her to breathe. 

It was a weight that she knew she’d carry with her for the rest of her life. Root wasn’t naive enough to think that leaving Bishop in her rear-view would be enough to dissolve it and frankly, she wouldn’t have it even if it would. The pain and the grief were markers of Hanna’s short life; they were proof that she’d been here and that she’d mattered to someone, to Root, and she wouldn’t trade that for any relief in the world. 

Frowning when she heard the house phone ringing, Root dried her hands on the hand towel beside the sink and went to answer it, automatically rolling her eyes at the voice on the other end of the line. It was a so-called ‘sympathetic’ neighbor, the kind who called under the guise of being neighborly and polite but was just hoping to get a scoop to pass along the gossip hot line that buzzed all around Bishop as it did in every small town. She kept her tone cordial and chose her words carefully, enduring the conversation more than holding it until she could finally get them off the phone. 

Rolling her eyes, Root reminded herself that it was almost over. She wouldn’t have to play their stupid games for much longer and then she could make her escape, leave Bishop and all of its’ nosy, gossiping residents behind her forever. She just had to bide her time until then, make sure that no one would be interested enough to wonder about Samantha Groves once she was gone.

Frowning as she glanced up at the clock to see that barely an hour had passed, Root huffed and tried to think of a way to wait out the annoying, painful holiday that she wished she could just erase from existence. 

Pulling out her laptop, she decided to do some work on the virus she’d been contemplating for a while. Although trolling some geeks on online forums with a gibberish code that meant nothing but amused her to watch them scramble to find some meaning in was a fun way to pass the time, Root had bigger plans than that. 

Much, much bigger. 

By the time she was pulled to look at the clock again with eyes that were burning from being locked on the computer screen for so long, Root wasn’t too surprised to see that it was long-past midnight now and the dreaded holiday had ended. 

More importantly than that, however, her virus was coming along quite nicely and although it would be a few years yet before she decided to unleash it, the devastation it would cause was already slumbering between the lines of code, just waiting for an opportunity much like Root had always been slumbering inside of Samantha Groves, just waiting for a crack to slither through that had come when Hanna had been killed. 

She’d infected Sam like a virus of her own making and Sam had been happy to let her. Root was everything Sam wasn’t: bold, confident, unafraid, free. She took the things Sam had long dreamed of and made them into reality through her sheer force of will and lack of caring about the consequences. She was all too happy to become Root and she knew that once she left Bishop, Samantha Groves would be as good as dead and buried and she couldn’t wait.

And as Root fell into her bed that night and said farewell to her last Christmas alone in this miserable house, she thought she could feel Sam’s excitement mingling with her own at the prospect of getting out of this town. 

For the first time, Root fell asleep on Christmas Day without having shed a single tear or cried out in rage one single time and she considered that quite an accomplishment. 

IV.

If it wasn’t for the Machine using a streetlight outside the window of her cage, Root would never have even known it was Christmas. 

She’d long ago lost track of time in here, not that it mattered all that much. She would have stayed in Harry’s little cage for as long as it took for him to realize that neither she nor his creation, her God, would do anything to hurt anyone. But time was a luxury that they didn’t have and though she knew her constant prodding and attempts to get through to Harold weren’t exactly helping, she also knew that she had to make him see that. 

She pursed her lips as she considered the date and wondered if Harry and the others would be in today or if even two ex-assassins and the man who’d created God Herself celebrated Christmas. 

Her lips curled up in a smirk as she tried to imagine Sameen in a Christmas setting, a scowl on her face and an itchy trigger finger on her gun as she tried to blend into the merry setting. Of course, the fantasy ended as soon as it had begun when she realized that she was being ridiculous. She’d seen Shaw’s file, after all; Sameen Shaw was, for all intents and purposes, dead and her mother had died not long after receiving the news. 

Even if Shaw did happen to celebrate Christmas, she had no one left to celebrate it with and the thought made pain flare up in her chest, the connection she already felt to the Persian seeming to strengthen with the realization. 

With a sigh, Root glanced out the window again but the Machine was silent, seemingly only having wanted to fill her in on the date for whatever reason. Root wished that she could ask her why she’d thought it important, wished that she could speak to Her to pass the time today. But seeing as how that was impossible, she busied herself wondering how she should fill her day today, frowning at the books that surrounded her that she’d already finished. 

She would have given anything for a computer in that moment, her fingers practically itching for the familiar feel of a keyboard beneath them. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d gone so long without access to a computer before, but she thought it might have been before Hanna. It had been far too long at any rate, and Root had taken to writing codes out by hand a few days ago just to relieve the itch. She wondered if this is what withdrawal felt like, if she was experiencing the things addicts always did and laughed at the thought. 

Addiction did run in her genetics after all. 

The hours seemed to tick by endlessly as Root sat on her makeshift bed and watched, tracking the sun’s progress across the sky and trying to ignore the hunger pangs in her belly. It would appear that Harry and the kids did take the holiday off and really, she shouldn’t have been surprised that they’d forgotten about her, the unwanted prisoner that none of them knew what to do with. 

Reese wanted to kill her, she knew; hadn’t he threatened as much when she’d called to thank him for finding Hanna, ensuring that she would get a proper burial and finally exposing the truth of her death? 

Harold was a bit trickier to suss out, but she suspected that he just didn’t have a clue because she scared him as much as the Machine did. Her willingness to follow any order her God gave her was clearly terrifying to him and no amount of explaining that She had kept her in the asylum to learn how to be a better person would convince him otherwise. She was pretty sure that Harry would keep her in this cage for as long as he possibly could just so that he wouldn’t have to make a decision.

And as for Shaw… She couldn’t help but smile again at the thought of the intriguing woman. They’d had quite the first encounter, with Root posing as Veronica before the real woman had roused Shaw’s suspicions. But things had only grown more enticing after that and Root often wondered about where things might have gone if they hadn’t come for the real Veronica and their intimate encounter with the iron had gone beyond a mere threat. She’d longed to hear the hiss of the iron against Shaw’s flesh, to leave a mark on her that would always be Root’s and no one else’s and it was a shame that they’d been so rudely interrupted.

Of course, there was the fact that Shaw had shot her in the weakest moment of her life, but she’d also dug the bullet out of her in the car on the way to the asylum afterward and they’d had a quite enjoyable experience together that night in the CIA safe-house. 

Shaw was a wild card, pure and simple, but Root didn’t think she wanted her dead. If anything, Root rather suspected that Shaw would be the one to eventually crack and let her out if the right circumstances presented themselves as she knew they one day would.

She just hoped that it wouldn’t be too late by then. 

Shaking her head, Root turned to stare out the window again, trying to pretend that it didn’t hurt to spend another Christmas alone. She hadn’t been dreading the holiday this year, actually, having been curious to know what the Machine thought of it and being happy with the thought of having Her in her ear to distract her from things. 

She really should have known better than to think that things would ever work out for her in regards to the holiday, though. Somehow she felt even lonelier now that she knew what it was like to have the Machine as her constant companion and she wished once again that she could speak to Her about anything. 

But wishing was useless, she told herself as she shifted on the uncomfortable bench that doubled as her bed and studied her nails. She was locked in this cage for the foreseeable future and that was that. Even if she could leave, she knew that she wouldn’t. Harold’s cooperation was integral to stopping whatever She saw coming and Root knew that he would never agree if she gave him any more reason not to trust her. And, of course, there was the other reason, the one that Root was incapable of expressing even to herself. 

From the first time she’d gotten a glimpse of Harold, Root had known that she’d met her match. The brief glimpse that she’d gotten into his network had been breathtaking, elegant even. The way he coded was a work of art and when she’d gotten the briefest of hints about the Machine… 

Harold had created God and for that alone but for so many more reasons, Root would do anything he asked if it meant that one day, they could perhaps be colleagues or maybe even friends. 

Pulled from her musings by a flickering of the streetlight, Root smiled softly as the Machine spoke to her, informing her that it was after midnight and yet another Christmas had passed. 

V.

After Hanna had died, Samantha Groves had thought that Christmas couldn’t possibly get any worse, get any harder for a lone little girl with nobody left in the world that she could count on. 

She’d been wrong, and Root blamed the little bit of Sam Groves who still existed beneath her skin for the fact that she couldn’t sleep for the bitter ice that seemed to fill her veins as she stared out of the window of Sameen’s former apartment and wondered what the hell she was supposed to do with this fucking holiday this year. 

Years ago, she’d thought the worst possible pain had been inflicted on her when she’d watched the only person in the world who gave a damn about her climb into a car and she hadn’t said a word. She’d long-blamed herself for Hanna’s death, for not listening to her gut and intervening but just watching in numb silence as Hanna was led to her death like a lamb to the slaughter and Sam Groves the only witness, the one nobody would believe. 

She’d been so very wrong about that. 

When Sameen had pulled her into a bruising kiss, gripping her arms so tight that she’d had bruises for days (but not long enough, never long enough), her heart had soared and despite everything, she hadn’t been able to keep her wits about her enough to realize what Shaw meant to do until she was being hurtled backwards into arms that captured her and held her and why wouldn’t they let her go?! 

For the second time in her life, Root had been forced to watch as someone she loved was taken away from her and once again, she hadn’t been able to move until it was too late. She’d managed to free herself from the grip of whoever had been holding her, but the gate was already down and though she clung to it as though she’d rip it down if she could, she’d known that it was fruitless and she’d screamed as she’d watched the bullets slam into Sameen’s chest. 

The sounds coming from her were hardly human and she could barely recognize them as her own as she beat at the bars and clung to them in turn, trying to get to Sameen as she went down and Martine approached, the doors slowly closing on the view of the blonde pointing her gun at Shaw’s head. It had been all too like watching Hanna climb into Russel’s car but never knowing what had happened to her.

Root shuddered and stared at the drink in her hand, wondering when it had gotten there but deciding not to question it as she tossed it back. It burned going down but Root welcomed the pain, knowing that she deserved it for her many sins. 

For all her trying, the Machine refused to give Root any information about Sameen either, and that was a betrayal that she simply couldn’t take. She had spent so much of her life longing for something that made sense to her the way that the Machine had and for her to turn on her now… She tilted the glass upward, draining the last of it.

She’d thought the silence was unbearable before, but now the Machine never spoke to her and her implant was always impossibly silent. She knew she was being punished for ignoring the Machine’s order to stop looking for Shaw but frankly, Root didn’t care. She would do whatever it took to learn Sameen’s fate, Samaritan and the Machine be equally damned if She couldn’t respect that. 

Sometimes, Root wondered if Harry had been right about Her all along, though it was never something she would have spoken out loud. She’d once thought the Machine could love them, that she did, but now she wasn’t so sure. How could She expect Root to live with herself if she didn’t devote herself to searching for Shaw? How could She abandon her at the time Root needed Her guidance the most if she really did care for them? 

How could she abandon Sameen to Samaritan’s clutches after all of the good Sameen had done with them, for them? 

She swallowed hard, taking another punishing drink and frowning at her empty glass. She was getting to have a problem now, she knew. She remembered the signs well from her own mother, could see how she was following in her footsteps even now.

“Just one to take the edge off,” her mother had muttered on more than one occasion after going to a meeting she’d promised Sam she’d attend. “Just need one...” 

The next morning, little Samantha Groves would wake up to her mother blacked out on the couch yet again, bottles and glass surrounding the couch and she’d sigh, knowing it was starting again. 

Though she hadn’t quite reached the point of blacking out yet, Root was all too aware that she was drinking too much these days. She’d started to ache for it recently and she frowned as she tried to remember the last time that she’d gone a day without a single drink and realized that she couldn’t remember, it having become a constant companion to help her get through the night.

Somehow, that little reminder combined with the Christmas parade choosing that moment to take over the television was enough to fill Root with a new purpose. Switching the television off, she poured the bottle of Scotch down the sink and followed it up with every bottle she had in the house. 

She hadn’t come all this way from Bishop, TX to an elite assassin to one of the good guys just to turn into her goddamn mother, she thought with a vengeance that suited her, that felt good. And she certainly wasn’t about to fail Sameen because she was too weak to survive without her, not when she knew that Shaw would have moved heaven and hell to get her back if their positions were reversed. 

And somehow, she knew with all the certainty in the world that she would get Sameen back. Although the Machine refused to tell her anything about Shaw’s condition, she knew it in the way that she’d always known her Christmases would be spent alone after Hanna. She knew it in the way that she could feel their connection still beating strong between them, as strong as Shaw’s heartbeat had felt against her the day that Sameen had kissed her and pushed her away to save her, to save them. 

She knew it as surely as she knew that her fucking name was Root and that she wouldn’t be taken down so easily, not when Sameen was out there waiting for her. 

Her eyes narrowed and she took a deep breath, resolving to ignore the holiday as much as possible as she started to come up with a plan to force the Machine’s hand. She wasn’t sure yet when she would implement it, but just having a plan was good.

Even an acolyte as devoted as she had her limits, and she was about to teach the Machine a lesson of her own about pushing them. 

VI 

For the first time that she could remember, Root was home. 

The war had been won and the surviving team had scattered in order to avoid the last of Decima as it slowly died out. Though far less dangerous without Samaritan’s all-seeing eye, none of them were foolish enough to think that their desperate death flail couldn’t be catastrophic if any of their agents found them. 

Unfortunately for Root, that meant that she had been forced to say goodbye to Shaw again, less than a month after she had finally gotten her back. And although she took comfort in knowing that Sameen was safe, having spoken to her whenever the Machine could arrange a secure line for them, a part of her knew that she wouldn’t rest easy or consider the comfortable apartment a true home until Shaw was there with her. 

Sighing softly, Root snuggled into her pillow and closed her eyes, but with a severe lack of action and the exhaustion left over from waging war on an ever-smartening artificial intelligence, she had slept more than her share and found herself wide awake despite her best efforts. Almost as though to taunt her, her neighbor chose that moment to turn their radio on at an ungodly high volume, blasting Christmas music straight through the wall and assaulting her good ear. 

Taking the cue, Root climbed out of bed and headed into the living room. With a brief glance around the room, she realized that there was nothing to be done. The apartment was as clean as she could get it and there wasn’t even any of her usual clutter of electronics to be picked up. Pouting as she wondered about how she was going to get through this day, she sat down on the couch and studied the TV warily, wondering if it was even worth trying to find something on that wasn’t the damn parade or a holiday movie. 

Suddenly, her thoughts were interrupted by a knock on the door and Root frowned, immediately put on guard. Reaching under the couch, she withdrew the taser she had secured underneath it and slowly approached the door. The Machine’s lack of chatter made her feel somewhat at ease, knowing the amount of security cameras around the building but still, she knew that she couldn’t be too careful. 

Root couldn’t help the broad smile that overcame her as she brought her eye to the peephole and saw who was waiting on the other side. Now, she understood the Machine’s silence more than ever and whispered a heartfelt thank you as she scrambled to unlock the door and pulled it open. 

“Hey, sweetie,” she crooned, reaching out to caress Shaw’s shoulders as though to convince herself that she was really there. “I wasn’t expecting to see you today.” 

Shaw shifted from one foot to the other, looking almost nervous as she gave a jerky nod and tried to avoid Root’s gaze. “Yeah, well, I remembered what you told me about Christmas.” She managed to give Root a tight smile that spoke more to her discomfort than anything else could. “I didn’t want you to be alone today.”

Root swallowed, touched beyond measure by Shaw’s thoughtfulness but knowing that she wouldn’t appreciate her showing it. “Thank you,” she said softly anyway, reaching out and taking Shaw’s hand in hers so that she could pull her into the apartment. 

As she’d predicted, the apartment immediately seemed to brighten with Shaw’s presence and Root felt like she could finally breathe in it for the first time. She couldn’t help but beam at the smaller woman and the effect she had on her. “Home sweet home,” she mused, suddenly noticing the bags in Shaw’s hand and the delicious smell wafting from it. “Sameen, did you bring dinner?” 

“Yeah, I figured you wouldn’t have anything here,” Shaw snorted, and Root tried to look offended but failed miserably. She knew that they were both thinking about a night just a week after Shaw had come back home and Root had endeavored to make her dinner. The night had ended with the Machine rambling fire safety rules and statistics about their local fire station in her ear while Shaw used a kitchen chair to take the batteries out of all the smoke alarms in her apartment.

“Besides, you shouldn’t get too excited,” Shaw hurried to add, making Root suspect that she was worried she was about to get what Shaw had termed ‘gushy’ on her. “It’s just harissa, a chicken stew that we always had on Christmas growing up.” She frowned, and Root waited quietly, knowing that sharing things like this didn’t come easily to Shaw and not wanting to interrupt the rare moment. “It’s dumb.”

Root was already shaking her head and put a gentle hand on Shaw’s wrist as she smiled tenderly. “It’s not dumb, Sameen, and thank you,” she told her quietly, holding her gaze until she saw Shaw give her a small but genuine smile. 

“You’re welcome,” she muttered, disappearing to the kitchen so that she could set things up. Root couldn’t help but smile again at how at home she already seemed and she tried to ignore the part of her that was wondering how long they had before they’d have to split up again. 

“Are you coming or what?” Shaw demanded, re-appearing with a delicious smelling bowl, steam still rising from the contents as she stirred it absently. 

“Yeah, I am,” Root assured her, giving her arm a gentle squeeze as she passed by her. 

The harissa was as delicious as Root had expected and she found herself eating far more than usual. Between the two of them, they finished it off and Shaw gave her another smile when Root slipped her hand into hers and gave it a gentle squeeze again. 

“Shaw...” 

“I know,” she said softly, meeting Root’s gaze and making Root melt again at the understanding she saw there. Their eyes said everything for them and once again, Root was left to marvel at the way they didn’t need the words that both of them had always struggled with when it came to other people. 

She knew that Shaw understood exactly what she was thanking her for; she’d told her the night before the final battle between themselves and Samaritan about Hanna, about her mother, about Christmas. She knew that was why Shaw had come over today, could still hear the words she’d whispered in the pitch black of night that had given her the strength. 

“I’ve never had anyone on Christmas, not really. I’ve spent every one alone since Hanna died and sometimes, I’m scared that I always will.”

Shaw’s arrival said far more than any words could ever convey and Root leaned forward to kiss her softly, the lingering taste of the harissa blending into the kiss in a way that just felt right and made Root feel more than ever that she was finally home. 

But as was their normal, the kiss didn’t stay soft for long and it was hours later before the pair were panting softly while lying in bed facing each other. It was, as far as Root was concerned, the perfect way to spend Christmas but Shaw wasn’t quite finished yet. 

“I didn’t get you anything,” she said bluntly, making Root giggle. 

“That’s okay, I didn’t get you anything either, sweetie,” Root winked, lazily tracing patterns along Shaw’s back. 

Shaw rolled her eyes but couldn’t hide her smile at Root’s antics. “I didn’t get you anything because I want us to move in together,” she blurted out, refusing to meet Root’s gaze. 

Root froze, staring at Shaw in shock and disbelief. Had Sameen “three nights” “I don’t do relationships” Shaw really just asked if they could move in together? 

Though Root had long ago accepted that she was the exception to Shaw’s every rule, something that had come far more easily ever since her return from Samaritan and willingness to admit that she cared for Root, she was still taken off guard. Her mind was whirling as she stared at Sameen, scrutinizing every detail of her expression and the way she’d offered. 

“Do you really mean that, Shaw?” she asked softly, her voice small and vulnerable, far more Samantha than Root in that moment. “You’re not just saying it?” 

Shaw sighed and met her gaze. “Yes, Root, I mean it. The Machine called me a few days ago to let me know that Decima’s gone and we’re safe. I asked Her not to tell you because I wanted to surprise you.” 

Root could hear the unspoken words in her sentence: “and I didn’t want you to think that I only came over here and asked to move in because the danger passed and it seemed like the thing to do” and she couldn’t help but smile at the sentiment. 

“Are you going to answer me or just keep smiling like an idiot?” Shaw grumbled, breaking Root’s trance and making her laugh. 

“Of course I want us to live together, Sameen,” she said, pulling her into a kiss and feeling her relax against her. “Wait a minute,” she grinned, her eyes shining with glee. “Did you just say that you’re moving in as my Christmas present?” 

“Root.”

“That’s so incredibly romantic of you, Sameen. Do you want to watch a Hallmark movie together? I can make hot cocoa and we could build a gingerbread house.” 

“Root,” Shaw growled, but Root’s smile only grew more impish as she climbed out of bed and meandered into the living room, not even having to look behind her to know that Shaw would follow. 

“Come on, Sameen,” she winked, settling in on the couch before flipping on the TV and scrolling through the channels. “Ooh! It’s A Wonderful Life, that’s a classic.” 

Shaw huffed in annoyance as she practically collapsed on the couch beside her and Root had to bite her lip to keep from laughing as she remembered that time years ago that she’d tried to envision Shaw surrounded by holiday festivities and how close to perfect her imagination gotten her expression, if her current one was anything to go by. 

“I’m not watching this crap,” she informed Root coolly, trying and failing to seem completely disinterested. 

“That’s okay, it’s almost over anyway, sweetie,” Root winked, changing the channel again and finding the Rudolph special on. “Here we go, this one is even better!” 

“I never understood this crap,” Shaw muttered, glaring at the television as the reindeer were bullying Rudolph. “What’s the lesson supposed to be anyway, bully someone so that they’ll feel indebted to prove themselves to you? It’s dumb.” 

Root laughed and rolled her eyes, teasingly putting a finger over Shaw’s lips and shivering when Shaw nipped at it. “Come on, Sameen, where’s your Christmas spirit?” she winked. 

Shaw huffed again but let Root pull her in to her side and Root smiled, remembering a time years ago when she’d watched this same film in a similar position with another girl who’d meant almost as much to Samantha Groves as Shaw did to her. 

But where Hanna and Sam had never gotten a chance to explore what could have been, Root knew beyond a shadow of a doubt that she and Shaw had been granted an absolution that neither of them necessarily deserved but that would never be squandered anyway. 

And as Root enjoyed her first Christmas in over twenty years that wasn’t spent alone, she found that she couldn’t stop smiling. 

~FIN

[jaxl-road]

Howl

Sup bitches, you ready for some motherfucking *✲ﾟ*｡⋆Metaphors*✲ﾟ*｡⋆

Summary: Nikki’s been acting strange, pulling away from the band, running off on his own. He’s hiding something. And Tommy is too head over heels not to find out what.

Warnings: None I think, but hit me up if I missed something!

~~~~~~~~~

It wasn’t fair that the second Tommy felt like maybe he had a shot with Nikki, the bassist started pulling away.

Not that he’d ever admit it, but Tommy maybe sorta had a tiny crush on Nikki back when he was in London. Who would blame him though, the dude was hot as Hell and Tommy wasn’t blind. Talking to Nikki after that concert had been surreal. It felt like he was floating above his body, watching himself blurt out “I have your poster on my bedroom wall” and leaving his soul helpless to anything but scream in mortification. He had been fully prepared to return to his date and politely ask her to bash his head in with a napkin dispenser to put him out of his misery. 

But Nikki hadn’t laughed at him, even though there was a certain hesitance about him-  a pause before he said that London was over, before he’d started talking about his new band, before he asked about his drumsticks and how he learned to spin them so smoothly. Before he asked Tommy to join him.

And oh boy if Tommy’s heart was compromised by Nikki’s looks, the first time he heard him laugh was a one-hit K.O.

It was all downhill from there, every smile,  every rant about his vision for the band, every playful shove at his shoulders just sent the drummer deeper and deeper into something way past infatuation. And for awhile, it seemed like it might even be possible. The two grew closer, and even as the band expanded and solidified, Nikki and Tommy were always a pair. The Terror Twins. Tommy would seek him out, trotting after him, and he would go along with any crazy scheme, would even smile when Tommy leaned against him. Admittedly though, the drummer was getting impatient, and was trying to figure out how to push things forward more, more, more.

But before he got a chance, something happened.

And Tommy didn’t even know what.

There was nothing unusual about the night- Motley Crue rehearsed, slowly working their way towards a full set, before catching a show at The Whiskey for some old fashioned “networking” (aka, drinking with the bands). When they had finally left, Mick heading his own way, Nikki split off before they could make it back to their shitty apartment.

“Fuck, I’m outta cigs,” he groaned, “I’m gonna run grab some, I’ll meet you guys at home.” They had waved him off, none of them thinking anything of it. After all, the corner store was only a block away.

When Vince and Tommy reached the apartment, Vince had crashed almost immediately, but Tommy had lingered. He had hoped to maybe hang out with Nikki just a little more, just the two of them. Not because of any ulterior motive or anything. Of course not. If Tommy kept telling himself that he might even start to believe it.

After fifteen minutes, he figured maybe Nikki decided to smoke a few of those cigarettes he got before coming in.

After half an hour, he sat by the window and watched the street.

After an hour, he started pacing the living room, chewing on his fingernails and ignoring the anxious burning behind his eyes.

An hour and a half later, Tommy was ready to burst into Vince’s room and shake him awake and/or call 911. Or both. But luckily, before either of those things could happen, Nikki finally, finally, walked through the door. For a moment Tommy didn’t know if he was going to punch the man for worrying him or kiss him for coming back, but then he caught sight of his face, dried blood streaked under his nose and a darkening bruise on his cheek.

"Holy shit, dude, what happened?" He tried to get a closer look, but Nikki shrugged him off, side-stepping around him.

"Just some asshole, it's nothing." 

“‘Nothing’? You said you were going to the corner store and you’ve been gone for like, almost two hours!” It wasn’t nothing. This was Nikki, and Nikki was everything.

But the bassist just shrugged, head ducked and bangs hiding his eyes, “It’s fine. Just a little fight. Don’t worry about it.”

Tommy wanted to help- wanted to wipe away the blood, press ice to his cheek. Wanted to kiss his bruised knuckles better. There was an air of Deja Vu to the situation, a chasm like a diner table stretched between them, only this time Nikki is shutting him out and Tommy was too much of a fucking coward to reach across and stop him.

Nikki shuffles into his room, something like embarrassment radiating from him. When the door shuts, Tommy stands in the living room for another ten minutes, trying his best to convince himself it doesn’t matter. Everything will be back to normal tomorrow.

~

Everything is very much not back to normal tomorrow.

~

It wasn’t unusual for Nikki to be the first one awake, but it was unusual for him to be fucking gone. Especially after having been missing for a chunk of the night before, and bruised up on top of it, Tommy had figured Nikki would just hang around the apartment during the day. Instead, he found a hastily scrawled note in the kitchen.

“Went out, be back later. -6”

Tommy frowned. He knew Nikki didn’t have work or anything today, and usually any “going out” involved the whole Crue. Or, you know. At least Tommy.

Biting his lip, the drummer couldn’t help but worry. This, combined with Nikki’s behavior the night before, was doing nothing to ease his nerves. When Vince finally woke up and wandered out, he only raised an eyebrow at the news.

“Weird. That dude is weird. I’m going back to bed.”

Tommy threw Nikki’s note at Vince’s head.

When Nikki comes home for rehearsal that night, he one again brushes off any attempt to ask where he was. “I was just out,” he said, “Is that a crime? Just play the fucking song.” Mick chuckles and rolls his eyes. Vince grins and flips him off. Tommy tries to smile but it feels more like a cringe. 

They play the song, and then another, and another, and things don’t feel as normal as Tommy hoped.

~

It keeps happening. Nikki leaves each morning, sometimes leaving a note, sometimes just calling out a quick farewell to whoever was awake. On days when he has a shift at the shitty call center he works at part-time, he comes home late- much later than he should, Tommy knows- and continues to evade any questions as to his whereabouts. 

The first time they go out as a group since Nikki’s strange behavior started, he comes with them, and for a few hours everything feels almost right. They drink, and dance badly to the music, and Tommy and Nikki laugh together, and when they put their arms around each others’ shoulders, Tommy maybe holds on just a little tighter than usual.

But then, far too soon, Nikki pulls away.

"Hey, I'm gonna head out."

Tommy frowns, and even Mick and Vince shoot looks of confusion at the bass player. It was nowhere near late enough for any of them to be calling it a night. Feeling a little desperate, Tommy moved towards him again, "Heading home already? I'll come with you-"

Nikki shook his head, "No, I'm... going to a friend's place."

"You have friends other than us?" Vince raised an eyebrow in disbelief. Nikki flipped him off, but he didn’t answer.

"Who?" Tommy asked. Who’s taking you away from us? From me?

"You wouldn't know 'em," Nikki shrugged, backing away as he spoke. Shoving his hands in his pockets as he turned to leave, he called over his shoulder, "don't worry about it. I'll see you guys later."

He was gone before they could get another word in.

The rest of the night, Tommy tries to distract himself with his other two friends. With booze, and girls, and coke. But the club feels just a little too empty.

~

Vince and Mick finally start getting suspicious the next day, when Nikki is actually late to rehearsal.

“Now I’ve seen everything,” Mick grumbled. They all joked about how hardcore Nikki could be when it came to Motley Crue- he was determined to make them a hit, and it wasn’t uncommon for one (or all) of them to have to tell him to tone it down a bit, or end practice after it had run past what they planned. So for him to be late...

Vince sat next to Mick, splayed out and far too relaxed in Tommy’s opinion, “He’s been a space case for like, over a week now.”

In front of them, Tommy paced back and forth, “Maybe he like, owes money to the mafia or something,” he theorized, “Oh my God, what if he’s being held hostage somewhere?!”

"Pffft, please, Isn't it obvious?" Vince chimed in, cutting off the drummer’s dark train of thought. The blonde leaned forward, grinning deviously, "Nikki's got a girl~friend~," he sang the word, wiggling his eyebrows mischievously.

"What? No way. No way!" Tommy responded just a little too fast and a little too loud to be mistaken for anything remotely close to subtle. He could feel his face grow warm as Mick raised an eyebrow knowingly and Vince smirked in something like victory.

"Yes way. He probably met some long-legged beauty on his way home that one night, maybe rescued her from some dick and became her knight in leather pants, and now they're enjoying a torrid love affair,” he threw a hand in the air, the other clutching his heart dramatically.

"Don't be stupid," Tommy tried his best not to pout, "why wouldn't he tell us?"

"Probably to keep this bastard's hands off her," Mick deadpanned as he jerked a thumb at Vince, who winked in response.

“Smart man.”

Scowling, Tommy crossed his arms, “I still think it’s the mob.” His band mates only laughed at him, exchanging high fives as soon as the drummer turned away.

His theory was disproved fifteen minutes later when Nikki rushed through the front door, “Sorry, sorry, got held up.”

“With what?”

“With who?”

Nikki blinked at Tommy and Vince’s simultaneous questions, “Nothing, no one. Why didn’t you guys just start without me? We’re wasting time!” The bassist snapped his fingers, nagging at the others to hustle to their places, ignoring any further attempts at interrogation with a glare and a reminder that they had work to do. 

But all night long, Tommy just couldn’t focus on the music. His head was echoing with Vince’s words, dread and sorrow descending on him like a cloud.

Nikki’s got a girlfriend.

~

It’s not surprising that Tommy barely gets any sleep that night. He tosses and turns and shoves his face in a pillow to stifle the tears over losing the man he loves to some girl he doesn’t even know. He’s trying to talk himself out of getting drunk at six in the morning when he hears a door open across the hall.

Nikki’s door.

Tommy sits up so fast his neck cracks. Before he can think better of it, before he can even really think about what he’s doing at all, he’s stumbling out of bed and throwing on his clothes as quickly and quietly as he can. He hears the front door open and close just as he finishes tying his shoes, and he almost trips over his own feet as he rushes out of his room.

He pauses at the front door, opening it slowly and peeking through the crack. Nikki is a dark silhouette in the dimly lit hallway, like a shadow slipping silently through the cracks. He’s got a beat up backpack slung around his shoulder, his normally wild hair falling loose without any product or hairspray. The second he turns the corner, Tommy exits the apartment and jogs after him. 

Every corner Tommy stops to check that Nikki is a decent distance away before trotting after him. Once they’re outside, he’s careful to duck behind corners and any structure he can find when he feels he might be getting too close. It’s while he’s crouched behind a trash can, staring at the bassist’s back that it fully clicks in his head that he is fucking stalking Nikki fucking Sixx. 

And that’s weird. He knows that’s weird. But at the same time, he just has to know. If he’s going to have his heartbroken, he at least wants to see the person he lost to. Wants to see who Nikki chose, wants to see the person that beat him. He just wants to know for sure.

After all, he hasn’t completely discounted his mafia theory yet.

The sky is turning a vibrant orange with the rise of the sun and they’re maybe four blocks from the apartment when Nikki slows down. Tommy frowns when he sees he’s standing at the entrance to a nondescript alleyway. But there is a soft smile on the bassist’s face that sort of makes Tommy want to cry.

Nikki lets out a couple low, short whistles and oh God, Tommy thinks, they have a secret signal! It really is a torrid love affair!

He can barely hear Nikki’s soft words as he disappears into the alley, “Hey, it’s okay, it’s just me…”

It’s a terrible idea, Tommy knows, but he can’t stop himself from creeping closer. He just wants a glance, a quick look, that’s all. He presses himself against the wall, and as he looks around the corner, he braces himself to get his heart ripped out.

Which means he’s not braced at all for what he actually sees.

Nikki is kneeling on the dirty gravel, dark hair hanging around his face, but a soft breeze giving Tommy a glance of the warm smile on his face. His hands are stretched out, gently stroking the dog in front of him.

It’s some sort of mutt, but if Tommy had to guess it looks like a cross between a lab and a pitbull, fur as black as Nikki’s hair, and a stocky build offset by how skinny it was. There were silvery scars along its side, and its held a misshapen front paw close to its body, but its tail was wagging happily, and it licked at Nikki’s hand as he scratched its ears. Tommy could see Nikki’s mouth moving, but his words were too soft to make anything out. As he watched the dog inch forward, and heard Nikki laugh as it licked at his chin, Tommy felt like he was going to cry for a completely different reason.

But the moment is far too short lived. Because the dog suddenly notices the hidden figure and immediately jumps back, barking and growling, causing Nikki to jump in surprise before snapping his head to the side and locking eyes with Tommy.

Busted.

“Tommy?” Nikki stood to face him, glaring in a way that made Tommy gulp, “What the fuck are you doing here?”

“I…” Oh God, how was he supposed to explain this?

“Did you fucking follow me?”

Oh boy. “I- well-...” He swallowed again before choking out, “...Yeah?”

For a moment, the terror twins just stared at each other, the dog still growling from its place huddled in the back of the alley. Finally, Nikki let out a huff of frustration, “Jesus Christ,” he mumbled under his breath. Then he turned away, kneeling back down and holding his hand out again, “Shhh, it’s okay, you’re okay boy, Tommy’s a dumbass but he’s chill.”

And, well, Tommy figures that’s a good sign at least. Nikki still thinks he’s chill. Score.

Looking over his shoulder and narrowing his eyes at the drummer, Nikki jerked his head, “Get over here you weirdo, and try not to be a total spaz.” Eager to get back in Nikki’s good graces, Tommy immediately knelt by his side. “Okay, hold your hand out, slowly,” he emphasized. His voice was gentle again, though there was still an edge in his eyes when he glanced at Tommy.

Doing as he was told, Tommy carefully offered his palm to the dog in front of him, who wasn’t snarling anymore, but still growled lowly. Nikki reached into his bag, rummaging around for a minute before pulling out a pack of beef jerky. Almost immediately the growling stopped, and the dog’s ears perked up. Shifting to sit cross-legged, Nikki handed some of the snacks to Tommy before settling back to watch.

“Just give him a minute. Let him come to you,” he mumbled.

Determination filling him, Tommy tried his very best to exude calm, keeping his hand low and open with the jerky cupped in his palm, and smiling encouragingly when the dog started limping towards him slowly.

It takes some time, the dog moving forward and backing away again a few times before he managed to get close enough to sniff at Tommy’s hand. The drummer’s face split into a wide smile when the dog finally took the food from his hand, giggling when he licked at his palm for any remnants.

“Move slowly and pet his side,” Tommy had been so focused on soothing the animal in front of him, he had almost completely forgotten about the entire reason he was here. When he turned, his heart almost stopped at the affectionate look in Nikki’s eyes. Even more so when he realized Nikki was looking at him.

Following his instructions, Tommy carefully reached his other hand out until he could stroke the side of the dog’s neck. They stay like that for maybe ten minutes; Tommy petting the dog gently while Nikki occasionally handed him more jerky to help ease the animal’s nervousness.

Eventually though, once he decided Tommy wasn’t a threat, the dog limped over to Nikki. The bassist smiled, scratching his ears and stroking his back when he laid the front of his body in Nikki’s lap.

Tommy allowed himself a few moments to just watch, to see the peace and gentleness in Nikki as he sat with the stray. But eventually he felt the need to speak, “I’m sorry for following you,” he said softly. When Nikki glanced at him, his face was blank, and more words started spilling from him in desperation, “I was just worried, dude. You kept just vanishing on us, and you were acting so weird, I thought maybe-” he cuts himself off, quickly glancing away in case his face betrayed his assumptions, “I was just worried.”

Nikki looked back down at the dog, petting him quietly for a few minutes. When he finally spoke his voice was quiet, "I found him last week, when I was grabbing cigarettes. Saw some bastard try to kick him,” Tommy thought back to that night, the bruises and blood his best friend brought home, and thought of how much rage Nikki must have felt to see someone dare to try to hurt something that couldn’t fight back. Nikki tilted his head as he continued, “Something's up with his front leg, but he's skittish as Hell. He only just started to let me touch him the other day. I've been bringing him food and water and shit.”

There is a pause before Tommy asks the biggest question on his mind, “Why didn’t you tell us?”

He tries to look nonchalant, but Nikki’s shrug is stiff, and when he speaks his voice is tense, “I figured you’d make fun of me.”

“What? No way! We’re not gonna laugh at you for something like this, dude.” It doesn’t even make sense to him, but Nikki only shrugs. He shifts slowly until he’s sitting across from his friend. He wants to say more, wants to reassure him that they’re in this together, that Nikki doesn’t have to be afraid of them, but he just can’t find the words. He settles for reaching out to gently pat the dog’s stomach.

Tommy is still trying to figure out how to break the silence when Nikki breaks it for him. The bassist sighed shakily, bringing a hand up to rub at his forehead before admitting softly, “I don’t know what to do, T-Bone.”

Frowning, Tommy leaned forward to try to look at Nikki’s eyes through his dark curtain of hair, “What do you mean?”

His fingers tapped against his knee rapidly in anxiety, “I know I can’t keep him. We can barely keep the roof over our own heads, let alone take care of a dog that obviously needs a vet. And I don’t want to leave him here, but what if…”

“What?”

Nikki’s voice is soft, and sad, and scared, “What if no one wants him?”

He wants so badly to reassure this man that he loves so much, that Tommy spits out platitudes immediately, “That’s crazy! Who wouldn’t love him? Besides, everyone loves dogs-”

He’s caught off guard when Nikki’s face snaps to his, glaring with fiery eyes, “No, people like normal dogs. They like golden retrievers, and lapdogs, and cute fuckers who wag their tails and roll over and shit like that. No one likes dogs that are beat up and damaged and snap if you move too fast.” His words are heated and angry, and Tommy feels his heart clench a little at the certainty in his voice. This time, he pauses to really think about his next words.

“You do.”

“Yeah, well, I’m a freak, what else is new,” Nikki looked back down, dejectedly reaching into his bag to offer more snacks to the dog in his lap. 

And Tommy decides right then and there that he is going to do everything in his power to make sure Nikki never gets that note of sadness in his voice ever again.

"Hey,” he says firmly, “The world is full of freaks. Motley Crue is nothing but freaks. Someone out there is gonna love the shit out of this guy and give him all the patience and love he deserves. Just like you did for him,” Nikki still looks skeptical, and Tommy comes up with a plan faster than he ever has in his life, "Tell you what, let's get this dude back tonight, and I'll ask my parents to call around and see if anyone will take him. We’ll make it work until we know for sure he’s got a home."

Nikki’s head snaps up, eyes wide with something between hope and wonder, "You'd do that?"

Tommy smiled, "Of course,” his words are soft and sure and certain, “He's worth it."

~

It’s slow going, luring the dog out of the alley and back towards their apartment, especially not that more people are out and about. They take turns, one of them coaxing the animal while the other glares and gets people out of the way. They’re about a block away when Tommy finally asks, "By the way, what's his name?" Nikki looks back at him with a questioning look, and Tommy just grins teasingly, "Come on, I know you named him."

Nikki ducks his head down, trying to hide the embarrassment Tommy can read in his whole body. Finally, he mumbles, "...Moonshine."

When Nikki finally looks back up at Tommy, the drummer is grinning fondly. “It’s perfect.”

~

Moonshine stays with them for three days. When they first arrive, Tommy stayed with him in the hallway while Nikki cornered Vince and threatened him with bodily harm if he scared the dog. Admittedly, it’s probably a good idea considering the way the singer is vibrating with excitement when Tommy finally leads the dog inside. With great effort though, Vince stays calm long enough to ease Moonshine’s nerves.

By the time Mick arrives, the three of them are sitting on the floor in a circle with Moonshine in the middle being happily pet by all of them at once.

“You gotta be fucking kidding me.”

Despite his attempts at being gruff, by the end of the night Mick is sitting on the couch with the black dog pressed against his side, scratching his ears with a smile he can’t quite hide.

As much as they all love having him, Tommy keeps his promise and calls his parents that very first day. When he explains the situation, they happily agree to ask around. The next night, they give him the number of two of their friends- some empty-nesters who had dealt with high maintenance animals before and would be happy to have a new addition to their family.

He expects Nikki to be sad when he tells him the news, and maybe he is a little, but it’s overshadowed by the sheer relief on his face. Tommy kept his promise. Someone wanted him.

On the third night, the couple come to pick up Moonshine. They meet outside, none of them wanting to subject the older pair to their questionable apartment, and spend about half an hour letting the dog warm up to them before they pack him up. They open the window so Nikki can get a few last kisses from Moonshine, hugging his neck tightly before allowing them to drive away. 

“It’s okay, Nikki. Just write a song about it and then you’ll feel better,” Vince teased gently after the car had disappeared.

The bassist shoved his shoulder, “Oh fuck off,” but he was smiling, if a little sadly, but no one mentioned it as they went back inside. They have a few drinks, clinking glasses in honor of their canine buddy, before Mick heads home and Vince runs off to find a lady to keep him company.

Alone in the apartment, Tommy tries to think of some way to lighten the mood. But before he can do anything, Nikki is stretching out on the couch beside him, dropping his head in Tommy’s lap. The drummer can only pray that his face isn’t as red as it feels, especially when Nikki smiles up at him.

“Hey, thanks for everything, man.”

“I-it was nothing. Seriously,” Tommy stuttered out.

Nikki laughed lightly, “Whatever man. Just…. Thanks.”

Swallowing thickly, the drummer smiled back, “Anytime.”

~

Things ease back to normal after that, the terror twins wreaking havoc again, Nikki throwing himself into the band, and once they start performing, Motley Crue starts tearing up the Sunset. Nikki smiles, and smiles, and smiles, and Tommy keeps falling harder. But he doesn’t mind so much, these days. He loves throwing his arms around Nikki, but there’s something special about when Nikki throws his arms around him.

Two months later, Tommy grins as he hangs up the phone. He practically skips into the living room because he is going to see Nikki smile and he can’t wait.

“Dude, dude, dude!” the drummer immediately leapt onto the couch, pushing and pulling at Nikki’s shoulder.

The other man smirked, pushing him away playfully, “What? What’s got you so fucking wired? I told Vince we should stop giving you sugar.”

“Oh shut up,” Tommy laughed, “I have a present for you!” Nikki raised an eyebrow in surprise, but before he could question, the younger boy burst out, “We’re gonna visit Moonshine tomorrow!”

There it was. There was that smile Tommy was pretty sure would be the death of him, “Seriously?” Nikki was practically bouncing in his seat and Tommy was so in love.

“Hell yeah! Apparently he got the cast off his leg a few days ago, and Paul and Debra said it’d be cool if we stopped by.”

“Oh man, I gotta buy, like, five bags of jerky.”

Tommy snorted in surprise, “Dude, they’re feeding him I promise.”

“Yeah, but probably only like, prissy rich people dog food. Moonshine needs some real treats.”

Nikki’s joy is infectious, and even Vince laughs when he teases him. The next day, Tommy convinces Nikki to only buy one bag of beef jerky before they hop in the drummer’s beat up car and drive out to the suburbs. It’s a forty-five minute drive filled with blasting music and planning outrageous stage shows and Tommy trying not to crash the car by looking at Nikki too long. 

In the middle of suburbia the two of them stick out like sore thumbs, but none of that matters when Moonshine runs across the neat green lawn to greet them. His coat is shiny and clean, his bones no longer visible, and instead there is a healthy layer of fat and muscle on him. The fur is still growing back on his front leg, a long surgical scar running down the length of it, but his limp is gone as he bounds freely towards them.

Kneeling down, Nikki laughs as the dog jumps up on him, licking his face with his tail wagging frantically, “Hey boy! I missed you too!” Tommy leaned down to join in petting their old friend. Nikki gasped when he caught sight of the tag jingling from the bright red collar around his neck, and he turned to grin at Tommy excitedly, “They kept his name ‘Moonshine’? I figured they’d change it!”

“No way, dude! It just suits him too well!”

They stay for about an hour, two punk rockers rolling around on the front lawn with a happy black dog while the older couple looked on fondly from their porch. When they finally said their goodbyes, they couldn’t even be sad. Moonshine was too happy and healthy for them to be anything but glad for him.

Waving one last time, the couple and their new dog went back inside, leaving the two musicians on the sidewalk. Just as he’s about to get back in the car, Tommy felt Nikki’s hand on his arm, halting him in place.

“Tommy, you’re my ride back, right?”

“Uh, yeah?” he furrowed his brows in confusion at the odd question.

“Promise not to leave me stranded in the suburbs?”

“What the fuck? What are you talking about?” 

“Just promise!” Nikki looked like he was vibrating with a cross between excitement and nervousness. It was the exact same look he got every night right before they went on stage.

“Okay, fine, I promise!”

He had barely gotten the words out when Nikki surged forward and kissed him. 

For a moment he was sure he must be dreaming, but nothing in his imagination comes close to the taste of Nikki’s lips and the feeling of his hands on the sides of his face. It’s wondrous,  it’s perfect, it feels like all the time spent leading up to it, all the patience and build up was so so worth it and Tommy can’t resist wrapping his arms around the bassist to pull him even closer. In all the times he’s imagined what it would be like to kiss Nikki, nothing compares to Nikki kissing him. 

Neither wants to get back in the car, but eventually they laugh into each others’ mouths and admit that they should maybe stop making out here before they scar some poor middle-class housewife. The drive back takes an hour and a half, because Tommy keeps pulling over to kiss Nikki again and again. 

He’s patient. But not that patient.

[ultrakeystotheheartblog]

Popstar Pipes (Dick Grayson x Reader)

Request: “Can you do an imagine with Dick from Young Justice singing Jesse McCartney songs?” - @nyntendoh44

Song: Better With You (Acoustic Version) - Jesse McCartney

A/N: A long one again, I hope you all enjoy! :) I apologize if there’s any grammar mistakes or if Dick seems out of character in any away (it’s been such a long time since I’ve watched Young Justice. I definitely need to re-watch before the new season starts lol). Also, the next imagine I’ll be working on will be a Starfire x Fem!Reader. Look for it soon!

Warning: swearing, and cheesy-cheesiness 

*********************************************************************************

Thirteen texts.

In counting.

And still nothing back.

You stare dejectedly at the open messenger of your phone, anxiously swinging one of your legs and tapping the toe of your boot against the sturdy oak siding of the bar. The wood is scuffed and aged, just like most of the furniture pieces and features that make this place feel kind of homey and lived-in and real. Like a little slice of domestic bliss that’s hard to find in the fast-pace of the outside world, a comforting haven dressed up as a small, semi popular bar near the centre of the city. 

There’s a cute juke box in the far right corner of the bar area, with peeling red paint and a minorly cracked plastic casing. A large, scratched up pool table in the far left that no one really seems to gravitate towards anymore—if the layer of dust settled in the green bed cloth is any indication. And a cluster of worn round tables and wicker chairs bordering the small raised platform at the very back. 

The platform itself lies beneath a row of remote controlled spotlights that flood the stage in hot, bright beams, bolted along one of the many heavy beams crisscrossing in a grid along the ceiling. The stage is tiled with flashing squares of multi-coloured lights that are reminiscent of a disco dance floor. An upgraded DJ booth sits just beyond it, and is evidently what most of the money seems to have gone towards. And for good reason you guess, as this place saw a lot of business for their involvement with anything music—be it local bands or starving singers, or more recently (and maybe hilariously) the open mic karaoke nights. 

It’s a nice place—rare in the city you live in—with an even rarer handful of pleasant staff and a good vibe that usually attracts good, friendly people. It’s probably why you and your friends like to come here so often to de-stress. Though right about now you think the warm environment is lost on you for the night, because you do not feel one bit de-stressed.

You’re one of the few people sitting there at the bar (the rest of the patrons already crowded in the seating area around the stage), perched on a cushioned, yellow bar stool with thin metal legs that creaked with any amount of shifting weight. It’s cooler there and quieter, a sweet couple sitting to your far left at the end of the bar. They’re swapping stories about their days, hands intertwined over the top of the bar, and there’s a much older man in his early 40’s just down a couple of seats from you. 

He’s unshaven and blinking rapidly through bloodshot eyes, already on his sixth drink of the night. He’s also clad in a stylish blue business suit that’s crumpled like he’s slept in it for days, obviously here to drown his sorrows in alcohol. Well, suit guy, look at you go.

You think you can surely understand him on a spiritual level.

On that note you frown and lock your phone, placing it face down before turning back to your own drink. You squeeze the cool glass between your fingers and take a rather large gulp from its contents. It’s still only your first one, so the burn as it hits the back of your throat is not numbed in any way by a drunken haze, and is still sort of painful when you swallow. But it’s good enough to take your mind off your own problems for a minute.

You peek at the couple again when the no-nonsense, heavily tattooed bartender passes in front of you to refill their drinks (taking a moment to throw you a sympathetic smile and playful wink over his shoulder on the way—thanks Joey, you’re kind of best friend material), feeling bored and sad enough to continue in your people watching. Both women are dressed in matching red and black motorcycle jackets that reminded you of something straight out from Grease, the emblem of a team or group (maybe a gang? There were a lot of those still operating in Blüdhaven lately, regardless of a certain bird’s frequent visits) stitched in white across their backs. God, you wish that were you.

And by that, you meant enjoying those cheesy, delicious nachos sitting between them. Because it seems that your ‘date’ for tonight—this definitely isn't a date though, just two friends hanging out after a stress-filled week of work that literally (metaphorically) burned out a piece of your deadening soul, just two pals out for a casual drink in a casual bar with a causal amount of anxiety (okay, an abnormal amount of anxiety because you were having some really weird, certain feelings about this friend lately, but that was nothing to really worry about, right?). Besides it’s not like anything is going to happen tonight…because he isn’t even here to see you potentially embarrass yourself like the walking disaster you are—has decided that 8:00pm was more like a suggestion, than the actual meeting time you’d both put effort into setting up like responsible adults (ha! what a fucking lie). And here you were at 8:45pm, planning the best way to throttle one of your best friends in this whole stupid world with only your bare hands.

You seemed to be resorting to that plan a lot today, but that’s just because people suck and you want to live like a hermit in your bedroom until you get old and wrinkly and eventually die covered in something both tasty and respectable—like chocolate. Was that a little too weird? Probably. Are you going to take back any of what you just conjured up in a moment of frustrated self-reflection? Nope, you decide that you’re committed to that vision, as long as you don’t have to deal with how shitty the world was becoming anymore. Or staying…it’s been pretty shitty for a while. And does that make you a coward? You don’t like to answer that question. 

But you can’t help but admit that part of you is worried too. Worried if he got sucked into dealing with more vigilante stuff, or team stuff, or bleeding out in an alley somewhere alone stuff, and just lost track of time. All three have happened before. You tap the screen of your phone again and sigh in defeat when you see there are still no messages from him.

And then you very nearly lose what’s left of your crap when two hands clap over your eyes from behind and eclipse you into semi darkness. You tense, spine locked straight as you shoot up in your seat and are unceremoniously ripped from your depressing musings, gripping the edge of the bar so hard it hurts your knuckles. You have to learn how to be more aware of your surroundings, because holy shit you can only take so many heart attacks during your young life. 

There are lips at your ear, minty fresh breath soft against your skin as the person chuckles, the sound comforting and warm and familiar in a way that has no issue bringing peace to the drowning, dark places in your mind. And as damningly cliché as it can get, the world just seems to fall away into the background—the sounds of clinking drinks, the clunk of cheap shot glasses striking wooden tables, crappy pop music, boisterous, annoying loud-talking and off-key singing from the group of bachelors partying it up on that open mic, and the laughing couple still sharing that damn plate of nachos they’d ordered over an hour ago, all becoming this muffled sort of white noise in your ears.

You can only focus on the feel of his hands, roughened and calloused from his work as a hero, but you can feel the strength in them too. A strength that always makes you feel protected and insanely wired in the best possible way, a heat pooling into your abdomen that you can never quite discern as one thing or another. All you know is that it makes you truly alive. And maybe a bit annoyed, especially when the owner of said hands is almost an hour late. 

Prickling irritation makes your chest grow tight, and you take a steadying breath in, immediately inhaling the muddled scent of his sharp cologne and a clean, citrusy body wash that makes you feel blissfully dizzy. But only for a moment.

"Guess who?" He whispers with a ridiculous amount of charm seeping into his voice (looks like someone knows they’re in trouble and is now trying to get on your good side), the front of his body pressed up against your back. So close, that if you weren’t just a little ticked, you’d have probably leant back against his chest to seek out some semblance of comfort—like you always do when around him—especially when thinking about what you’d had to go through during your work week. So, you settle for being a little petty instead. 

The night is still young after all. 

You reach up to touch the back of his hands, slouching back down in your seat a little. "Hmm let me see—sweaty, calloused hands and the smooth timbre of a teen popstar. It could only be my dork of a birdbrain."

He snorts in laughter and his arms drop like dead weight to his sides, moving to your left side to lean against the bar. His eyebrow lifts in amusement as he stares at you. "Ouch. Just going straight for the throat tonight, huh?"

You blink at the sudden return of light filling your vision, sliding around on the bar stool to face him with a pointed, narrow-eyed gaze. “Would you rather me go for something else?”  

Dick Grayson ever rarely, and so outwardly, reacts when it comes to threats of his own well being (though if it were ever turned on the people he cares about…than that’s a whole other room you don’t want to spend time unpacking right now)—a testament to his time raised and trained by the scarily stoic, and maybe slightly emotionally constipated, father figure (THE freaking Batman you’d come to learn recently, and kind of wished you hadn’t, because that’s super intimidating) and then his time spent as a highly-skilled vigilante hero—and this time was definitely no different. 

But you’d gotten good at reading him over the years without much to go on, almost just as well as he can read you, because you can see the flicker of something akin to concern in his gaze—but for you or his situation, well, it’s kind of hard to truly distinguish with how fast it comes and then melts away into uncertainty—and then he’s slowly moving to cover his crotch with a one hand. He never breaks eye contact with you, awkwardly clearing his throat in a way that tells you he’s now a little nervous.

“Not that I don’t appreciate our playful banter, but that one, uh, seemed a little hostile.” He observes with a furrowed brow. You choke back another mouthful of your drink, eyes shifting to admire the high, open shelved liquor cabinets that line the wall behind the bar. The shiny different colors of glass and alcohol give you something else to focus on for the moment, while you steel yourself for the night ahead.

Or maybe you should just head home.

“Did it?” You ask casually, unable to keep the bitter edge out of your tone. You can feel Dick’s burning eyes on you, and know that he’s already analyzing your emotional state with his well-versed detective skills.

“What’s up, (Y/N/N)?” He begins quietly, “You know you can talk to me about anything.”

The concern is back in that searching gaze of his when you turn to look at him, his eyes so honestly earnest and deeply worried and beautifully blue as he leans towards you—goddamnit how can a person even have eyes like that, it’s unfair—that you not only lose your breath for a second, but the entirety of your precariously constructed iron will. So, now it’s also unfair how fast you find yourself forgiving him for his appalling tardiness, just leaving you happy that he’s finally here now.

The things you go through for this man.

You sigh and deflate, leaning the rest of the way into him to press your check against his shoulder. The fabric of his dark blue jacket is smooth and cool against your skin.

"I know, Dick, I--It’s just…been one of those days. I’m sorry."

Dick drops his chin to the top of your head, releasing a shuddering breath that tells you he’s just as exhausted as you are. "I know what you mean. But I'll have you know that I was just trying to be adorable."

"You don't have to try." You say with a laugh, almost tipping right off the bar stool when he abruptly pulls back from your body to flash you a cheeky grin. You roll your eyes at him, "I mean you don't have to try so hard around me.”

“Oh?”

Dick reaches behind you for your drink. He brings it up to his lips, watching you over the rim as he takes a long sip. You poke his chest with a teasing smile, coyly arching a brow in challenge.

“No matter what you do or say for the rest of your life, I'm always going to see that tiny 13 year old boy who not once, but twice, answered the door to the manor half asleep, humming some old ABBA song, and wearing nothing but those majestic little black and blue Batman ‘undies. You know…the ones with the glittery gold bat signals on the butt?"

Dick definitely remembers.

He sputters instantly, a clear, resounding yes, choking on the burning liquid with a grimace. His reaction makes you laugh harder than ever before (yeah, you’re definitely not going home yet, you kind of really needed this). Dick swallows a desirable amount of air into his lungs in one gasping breath, quickly depositing your drink back onto the bar. He playfully narrows his eyes at you, reaching out to firmly clamp his hand over your mouth when you go to say something else. You’re sure he can feel the undeniable way your lips curl into a triumphant smirk underneath the skin of his palm.

“You said you’d never bring that up ever again.”

You reach up to grip his wrist, drawing the offending hand away from your mouth so you can speak. “I lied.” You counter, humming in amusement as you recall the hilarious image of a very mortified boy wonder making a dash for the manor’s grand staircase—bat signals sparkling under the lights of the hall. Ah, the memories. 

“By the way, do you still have those?”

“No.”

“Shame.”

Dick straightens, sets his hands on his hips, and smirks, staring down at you thoughtfully. His eyes dart to look out over the crowd still gathered around the stage, and then at the people lingering closer to the bar, gears turning behind his gaze when he catches sight of Joey rinsing out empty beer glasses at the bar’s sink. "Hmmm I guess I'll have to try harder then." He says a little too casually for your liking.

And with that you suddenly feel something horrible creeping up over the horizon, the changing winds of which it wrought bringing a chill so foreboding in its wake. Meaning he was irrefutably planning…well, something, and you were screwed (trapped by social convention and the sacred promises of ride-and-die friendship law to participate in whatever it was, curse it all). But there was also no way you were letting that smug face win tonight without some sort of fight. So you simply stare him down as well.

"Do your worst, Fingerstripes." 

"I will."

You scoff and pick up your nearly-empty glass again, "Then I'm really going to need to finish this drink first."

"Nope." He merely says, plucking the glass right back out of your hands despite your protests, and then he’s moving it to sit behind him—despairingly far from your reach. You pout at him like the sophisticated young adult you are.

"No?" You question unhappily.

"We're going to do something else first."

He lifts his hand to get Joey’s attention, the bartender sauntering over within a moment to warmly greet another one of his favourite regulars. Dick claps both hands over your ears then and leans in over the bar top to speak quietly to him, ignoring the way you squirm and curl your fingers under his palms to try and wrench them away from your head. But his hold is strong and your attempts are fruitless. Joey only nods once Dick finally finishes and releases your head, grinning at you mischievously from behind the bar.

You eye the both of them suspiciously, "I don't like that look in your eyes, Grayson."

Dick’s smile is nothing but charming as he pulls you to your feet, “It’ll be good, I promise. Besides…you need to loosen up.”

“I am loose—wow that came out wrong.” You wince, already knowing Dick’s mind went straight to the worst place imaginable with that little slip up, especially when you hear him snort in laughter. What a dirty boy.  “Hey! Don’t you dare start laughing at me, you asshole, I didn’t mean—stop it. Dick!” You whine, and your friend only laughs louder.

“Was that a Freudian slip?”

“You’re a Freudian slip!”  You retort without any real malice, shoving at his shoulder in embarrassment. “Ugh, that’s it, I’m out. I’m still too sober for this.”

His sets his hands on your shoulders when you go to turn away, keeping you still and somehow managing to sooth you considerably, thumbs rubbing gentle, tiny circles into the dips between your collarbones. “My point remains. You’re stressed. I’m stressed. We can release that stress together.”

You squint at him in disbelief, “For the sake of our fucking friendship, I am maintaining that I heard absolutely nothing come out of your mouth within the last 10 seconds.” You pause, smirking and tilting your head in mock curiosity. “But I do have to know one very important thing before we move on with our lives....did Wally teach you that line?”    

He rolls his eyes, and doesn’t answer the question. 

Oh my god, Dick. 

“Come on, get traught and follow me.” He practically sings. And now that should have been your first clue. He takes your hand and starts dragging you through the crowd around the stage, circling around tables and weaving in between groups of people in such a roundabout path, that it throws you off any possible trail of where he might be leading you.

“Where are we going?”

“Need to know basis.”

“I need to know.”

“Just wait a second.”  

And then you realize exactly what he’s planned when you both tumble out of the crowd and come face to face with a nightmare just waiting to happen. You stare at the now empty, mocking stage with wide eyes, gaze zeroing in on the lone mic stand. The silver metal glints under a circle of white light and you yank your hand free from Dick’s grip in a bout of panic. Fucking NO.

“Dick—”

“It’ll be good, I promise.”

You might just stomp your foot a little, “No, absolutely not, there is no way in demon-shitting hell I am getting up on that stage. You’ll have to drag me kicking and screaming.” You threaten seriously, taking a few steps back.

“Oh, come on, it’s not going to be that ba—”

“I’d rather die.”

Dick sighs, running a hand through his hair. He reaches out to take your hand again—his touch never failing to calm you—and squeezes it in reassurance. And then he’s drawing you back towards him, his smile soft and kind and all sorts of crazy attractive. You let him throw his arm around your shoulders, and he leans in to mutter. “Dramatics aside, how about we make a deal.”

It’s a trap and you know it. But the fondness and playful determination in his eyes intrigues you enough to throw caution to the wind.

“What kind of deal?” You ask slowly, brows furrowed as you gauge his expression.

Dick gestures to the stage with a flourish of his hand, “I get up there first, and, uh, hmm—averagely bring the house down with my sweet, teen popstar voice—” You heave an exasperated sigh at that, and Dick begins to guide you towards an open seat near the front, continuing his proposal eagerly. “—and then you go up there and smoke me.”

“You know I’m not a very good singer, Dick.” You remind him, refusing to sit just yet as you maul over his words. He waves away your worries, increasing pressure on your shoulders until your lowering your body into the heavy wicker chair.

“That doesn’t matter. You’ll still be amazing, and more importantly it’ll be fun. Now, sit.”

“I’m not a dog.” You scoff, glaring up at him as you slump back and cross your arms.

“Oh, I know, you definitely don’t have to tell me that. I’ve already decided a long time ago that you’re more like a whining, middle school child.”

“Says the edgy, bird-themed child.”

Dick leans down awful close, hands gripping the arms of the chair so that you’re caged in and can’t make any last minute escapes. “I love how you get me.” He quips in answer.

“I’m going to regret this.” You groan, a hand pressed to your forehead in frustration. Damn him and his damn smile. “Fine, go, get on with it.” You relent.

“You’re going to love it.”

“And you’re going to have to convince me.”

“Challenge accepted.” He declares smugly.

With that, Dick shrugs out of his jacket to uncover the plain gray tee underneath, the hem of which is smoothly tucked into his jeans. He tosses it to you as he turns and bounces up the three steps to get onto the stage, striding towards the mic with purpose. You grumble as your bunch the jacket in your lap, fingers tangling in the fabric to ground yourself from the creeping nervousness you feel. 

He slips the mic from the stand and steps a few feet to the edge of the platform, a single spotlight following him as he brings the mic up to his mouth. His voice resonates through the room, strong and enthusiastic. He’s ready to put on a show, and you’re just about ready to sink into the floor and disappear from this situation altogether.

“Hello, everyone! I think I’m going to—” He gestures to someone at the back of the crowd (you have a sneaking suspicion that Joey is now playing his part in all of this and—yeah, there he was, tapping away at the tiny square remote clenched in his fist as he makes a beeline towards the DJ booth and the young goth-inspired girl seated behind it) and the main lights in the bar immediately dim. 

Dick’s surely gotten everyone’s attention now. 

People quiet as they turn to watch him, and he sweeps his gaze across them as though deciding on how to properly entertain. “—slow it down a little now if you don’t mind,” Dick continues unhurriedly. “I have to admit...I don’t usually do this kind of thing very often, but as it turns out, I was double-dog dared to get up here—” (what a little shit) “—and sing a song for you all tonight. And I’m never one to back down from a challenge. That being said, I’d like to dedicate this little number to someone special—right here in this very audience. (Y/N)? Can you see me? No? That was a no, folks. Can I get a light down there? Yes—a little, yes! Right there. Perfect, perfect. Can you see me now?”

You blink quickly in the sudden harsh light washing down upon you, a second spotlight now trained on you intently. You glare up at him, “Unfortunately.”

There are laughs from the people around you, and Dick—all show-business now—sends you a teasing wink. “And you tell me to stop flirting.”

You try and glare harder at him, but you don’t think its working. He seems to understand all the same though, throwing up a hand in mock defense. “Okay, okay, I’m going.”

The pretty guitar of an acoustic song fills the silence right on cue.

And then he opens his mouth to sing.

I know it's ugly turning on the news There's people fighting over point of view Sometimes it's like there's nothing left to lose And I don't know what to do But I know it's better with you

Dick moves to sit on the top step of the stage as he continues, refusing to break eye contact with you for even a second. And, huh, you’re not sure why your heart is trying to escape from your chest all of sudden.

I was a wreck when you came along When there was nothing left You showed me the best I'm still a mess but you hold on Don't know just why you do But I know I'm better with you

But I know I'm better with you But I know I'm better with you But I know I'm better with you

Okay, you were not expecting to feel this way—dizzy and confused and slightly embarrassed—or for him to stare at you as intently as the spotlight on you both. But you find yourself liking it regardless of your feelings on the situation—just entirely awed at the talent of your friend. You knew he could sing, sure, but damn, it never fails to surprise you.

And make you smile.

For every laugh there is a silent cry For every day there is a darker night Sometimes this life doesn't treat us right And I don't know what to do But I know it's better with you

He rises to his feet with something like fire in his eyes, drawn with an invisible string down the remaining steps and short distance to where you sit, and you wonder why this all seems so personal all of a sudden—like he’s earnestly trying to say something and nothing all at once. You follow his movement with a confused tilt of your head.

I was a wreck when you came along When there was nothing left You showed me the best I'm still a mess but you hold on Don't know just why you do But I know I'm better with you

But I know I'm better with you But I know I'm better with you But I know I'm better with you

There’s a brief interlude in the song, guitar ringing pleasantly in your ears.

It’s just as Dick reaches you—but he doesn’t stop moving—climbing up onto the table you’re closest to with a grace that you’ve only seen in action a handful times. The people around it scatter much to your amusement, pushing their chairs back to give him more room, and he lowers himself to sit at the edge facing you, legs hanging off to freely swing. What a dramatic dork, you think fondly.  He hunches over to take one arm of your chair, tugging you around to better see him and then closer still to where he’s now perched. The spotlights follow you both closely, various gasps from the crowd making your face burn hot.

Wherever you are, it's never as dark Whenever I start slipping, you make all the difference Been there from the start, no matter how hard Whatever piece is missing, you know how to fix it

I was a wreck when you came along When there was nothing left You showed me the best I'm still a mess but you hold on Don't know just why you do But I know I'm better with you

But I know I'm better with you But I know I'm better with you But I know I'm better with you

The music finishes and fades out into another moment of silence, the bar eerily quiet as people watch on in anticipation for…something to happen. But nothing does. Well, besides you staring at him, too afraid to say anything and break the spell that’s shrouded the two of you in a peaceful sort of daze. For that moment, you think you can see it—a dance of muddled emotions in his expression that tells you he feels it to, that ever present connection that runs deep in your bones, and now he’s trying to make sense of it. Just like you’ve been attempting to do for days. 

And then the corners of his lips lift up into that beautiful, kind smile that squeezes your heart, any knots of tenseness in the atmosphere unwinding into the familiar reality of the bar, and he’s pulling the mic away from his mouth with a grin so boyish and blissful it makes your toes curl in your boots. Okay, so, evidently those ‘certain’ feelings you’d been hesitantly circling around for weeks like a frightened, wild animal are still as strong as ever. And you can’t help but hope that this soft, new affectionate glint in his eyes reveals a hidden truth—that this particular moment means something more to him too. 

The main bar lights get brighter again, the spotlights sliding back to train on the stage instead of on the pair of you. He leans towards you from his spot on the table, so only you can hear what he says next through the light applause that picks up around the room—once people realize that the show is indeed over.

“So, was I able to convince you?” He questions still smiling, swinging his legs on either side of you as he waits expectantly for your answer. You take a deep breath, slipping right back into easy banter when you crack a smile of your own.

“You’ve intrigued me.”

Dick nods with a chuckle that envelopes you in warmth, tapping the mic gently against your nose. “Mmmm good—because now it’s your turn.”

You freeze.

“Ah, crap.”

[kinetic-elaboration]

May 20: 2x19 A Private Little War

Yet again, I feel like it is Friday. It’s not!!

Today’s ep is... unusual. I always think of it as weird because it’s not as optimistic as most TOS episodes; it’s not even a little bittersweet, more like downright bleak. I remember the first time I watched it, thinking, ‘....oh? that’s it then? no solution? we’re just gonna up and leave?’

Appropriate for a very obvious Vietnam allegory, especially one airing in 1967, but still... this is utopian science fiction! Show me people doing better!

It’s not even a complaint because I do think it was very gutsy to air an ep like this and I appreciate that they went there, so to speak.

But tbh it also felt different in other ways, too. It’s hard to put my finger on it... maybe because there wasn’t much sci fi (other than.. everyone being aliens). Maybe it was the extensive amount of time spent on new characters, and how little time was spent on the Enterprise or with most of the crew. Maybe it was the witch.

Anyway, some specific thoughts:

Oh, the brash young Lt. Kirk...exploring a planet for the first time.

Tyree? His “old friend”? Could that be an ex-boyfriend? I’m going to read it that way, just for fun.

Oh, no, Spock!

Twice in five minutes, Kirk was going to just straight up ignore the “don’t interfere, don’t use your weapons” policy--and it was his policy! But in his defense, someone was about to kill his ex-boyfriend, and then someone tried to kill his space husband, so he had his reasons.

M’Benga!!

How is he supposed to concentrate on the Klingons when Spock is hurt?

Thirteen years ago... okay, just gonna do some math--he was 21. That’s a little young for a lieutenant.

Uhura knows her history.

“Old style hand laser.” When do I get one of those?

Everyone’s really ganging up on Kirk here. Rude. Don’t they know his Spock is in the hospital?

So he’s like “screw this, gonna go see Spock now.”

No replacement Vulcan organs on hand? That’s too bad; gonna have to rely on Vulcan self-healing to just like... grow some new ones I guess.

Kirk needs his BFF down on the planet with him.

“Native costumes.”

Kirk is very troubled today, I think. “I’m just going to disobey direct orders so I can see my ex.”

He’s so idealistic, too... Maybe a little naive, but he is like that. He just sees this beautiful planet where the people are peaceful, and maybe it’s a little bit of a Pastoral Fantasy and there’s a bit of paternalism in it but... he’s not entirely wrong. No one should interfere and maybe they are just... better than humans. Like young Jim Kirk found these people and fell in with them as a whole and probably one in particular and I think that’s nice.

Omg fuzzy animal!

“Bones vaporized a native specimen.” That’s one way to put it, mom.

Those wigs are truly terrible.

Bones has nice arms.

They are not carrying Kirk particularly carefully here... just kinda letting his head loll around there

Oh no Tyree’s wife! Sorry, Jim.

“They are compassionate and gentle.”

Aw, gotta keep Jim all nice and warm and snuggly.

Honestly, I love her outfit.

She cast a spell to make him fall in love with her. Well, that’s an explanation.

“It brought up evil beasts from my soul.” Hot.

She immediately knows who “the friend from long ago” is lol. Must have told a lot of stories about Jim. His friend. His special friend. The “friend” of his younger days.

“He was made my brother.” The no-homo short cut for explaining an inexplicably strong male bond.

“Self-induced hypnosis, you say? You mean he’s conscious? He noticed me fondling his hand?”

...Is that a rat king? Oh, no, just a moving root.

McCoy’s like “I gotta learn how to do this.”

Tyree looks like Jeremy Renner in a bad wig.

JAMES??? JAMES YOU SAY? Has literally anyone ever called him James? Tyree’s own little special name for him? I was half-joking about the ex-bf thing but now I’m kinda serious.

Kirk is such a nerd. He just jumps at the opportunity to give a little presentation about the witch people.

Another Homoerotic Thing is the obligatory Female Character who’s now been sexually linked to both of them, providing a sort of bridge of association between the Very Straight Men.

“You will let him die when you have weapons to make him powerful and safe?” She has a good point.

“That’s what’s bothering me: the something we may have to do.”

Bones’s Southern accent really comes out on “killing is stupid and useless”

Scotty is so confused by all this hitting and madness! In his defense, it is straight up weird. Can you imagine Vulcans just, like, hitting each other? In the hospital?

In case you weren’t aware, these references to “20th century wars in Asia” should alert you to the Allegorical Nature of the Narrative.

This is all so sad. I don’t even really have commentary past that, it’s just... they’re both right, and there aren’t good answers. Other than I guess, expelling the Klingons. But even then the damage would probably be done. And Bones is just so good and so pure-hearted. Kirk is too but he’s also practical. And perhaps influenced by magic? I find that rather unnecessary to explaining his thought process here. He’s already gone rogue and in a sense, he’s in over his head. And he already has an inherent motivation to protect his friend.

Ah ha, Jim’s romantic music is playing. I don’t entirely get this scene outside of having an obligatory Jim Kiss scene lol. And to show how good Tyree is. And perhaps how mercenary Nona is?

I must say, I love this animal!

And I love Tyree. He doesn’t want to use weapons; he doesn’t want to fight; he doesn’t want to kill; and he won’t kill even when he sees Nona with another man.

The moment Jim took the rock from Tyree... so charged...

Flintlocks? Serpents? Really time to confuse Scotty now.

So it really does end with “Well that’s just how it is and how it has to be bye now.”

Another weird thing is that this is all tied to the Klingons, like they essentially started it, but we don’t really know what happens to them. Like, they broke the treaty, and Kirk and Bones have proof of that. Will this cause a much greater Diplomatic Incident? Will they continue arming the villagers, forcing the Federation to continue arming the hill people? To some degree, this doesn’t really matter--this ep isn’t about the Star Trek Extended Universe, it’s about breaking down the situation in Vietnam through the use of metaphor, but still. Questions are raised.

I think this is quite an ambitious episode, and even though I think in general it feels...unusual, I tentatively think the level of ambition is on par with S1.

I had mixed feelings about Nona. I loved her whole aesthetic and her witchy woman vibes and I do enjoy a Strong Female Villain. I think she was interesting in that she wasn’t really on either side--I got the impression that the witches were neither villagers nor hill people, and she really didn’t seem to have allegiance to anyone but herself. She wasn’t faithful to Tyree and she wanted to give the phaser to the villagers at the end, I suspect for the exact reason she said: she considered their leader to be the stronger one. She was also a necessary story element in a way, because the villagers were being egged on by the Klingons, but the hill people weren’t really egged on by anyone. Furthermore, I thought it was notable that, despite her power both literal and narrative, she was still subject to disrespect and sexual assault by the village men, which I didn’t see as punishment but more like... a commentary on gender, in a way.

All that being said... the Bad Woman made me do it is a little... not sure how I feel about THAT lol.

This was a very interesting Kirk and Bones episode. It really showed them both off well, and their friendship. And of course we see a lot of Kirk here: his history, his idealism, his optimism, but also how he is more pragmatic than Bones, and used to being the Captain that makes hard decisions, without even Starfleet backup.

Nice to see Bones showing off his bad ass side too.

So here’s the real question: is Tyree pre-Gary Mitchell, or from one of their “off” periods in the on-and-off relationship? Mom and I have decided he’s pre-Gary and I think that’s right. The 13-years-ago clue is a better one than the lieutenant clue, but if Kirk really was 21, he was way too young to have known Gary yet. Also I really do think he was at his most naive and impressionable pre-Gary.

Woah it is too late and I am TIRED.

Next is Return to Tomorrow, which is one of my FAVE eps. A really sleeper classic imo.

[spn-fan-girl-173]

Family

Characters: Reader (Y/N), Dean, Sam

Pairing: Dean x Reader

Warnings: Angst, Fluff, Pregnancy.

Word count: 1732

Prompt: What if Dean wishes to start a family? 

Beta: @whispersandwhiskerburn She is frigin’ awesome! A hugeee thanks to her for betaing this shit. :P

A/N: This is for @curliesallovertheplace‘s 1000 followers’ “ Curlies Celebration Challenge” I hope you guys like it. I tried my best! :) Feedback is appreciated! :) 

You had not been feeling well for several days; you had thrown up several times in the last week, but you were sure it was just some kind of food poisoning.

However, today, the realization hit you that you were late for your period, something that had never happened to you before.

This couldn’t be what you were thinking. To be fair, you weren’t really regular with protection, but you were on your pills, so you couldn’t be...pregnant.

But then….things had been hectic recently, and you were aware that you may have missed a few of your pills in the last month…. and now here you were sitting on the bathroom floor, head resting against cool porcelain after having vomited again. What the hell were you going to do now?

Dean would freak out. You two had never discussed having kids even though you had been together for two years now. You knew a family scene was out of the question because of the life you both lived. You were hunters and, while it was true that everyone ran the risk of dying at any moment--who knew that better than someone who hunted monsters?--it wasn’t like people in your profession had long life expectancies. How could the two of you raise a kid in that environment?

You gathered yourself up off the floor, trying to gather your thoughts at the same time. There was no need to get lost in ‘what ifs’ unless you were actually pregnant. So, first things first: you had to go grab a pregnancy test from the nearest pharmacy. You hoped Dean wasn’t near the Impala since it would be a pain to convince him to let you go alone, but damn your luck, when you entered the garage, there he was, working on Baby. You sighed, biting the metaphorical bullet. You had to convince him, so you went to him.

“Dean, I was wondering if you want me to bake a pie for you,” you said, leaning on the hood of Baby.

“Sure, babe. Why would I say no to that?” Dean winked and then his attention was back on changing Baby’s headlight.

“Yeah, but I need to go to the groceries, to grab some stuff, so can I drive your car?” You asked, acting as normal as you could.

“I’ll come with you,” Dean said, “just give me a minute.” He started to put the tools down.

“No!” You cried, and then realized that you were panicking, “No, I mean, no, I want to go by myself and you take some rest. You’ve been working on Baby for two hours,” you tried to make your voice as persuasive as possible.

“You okay?” Dean raised his eyebrows.

“Yeah, I’m fine,” you plastered a smile on your face, “I just want to do this for you by myself.”

Dean looked at you for a few seconds, trying to figure out what was going on with you, but he shrugged. It’s not like men were ever really meant to understand women after all.

“Okay,” he kissed your cheek, “if that’s what you want, sweetheart.”    

He tossed the keys to you and started sorting the tools he’d been working with on Baby, putting them back in his tool cabinet and wondering idly what surprise you were cooking up--other than a pie.

You came back from the pharmacy and rushed to the bathroom to take the pregnancy test, glad that Dean wasn’t in sight anywhere along your route. You paced back and forth, impatient for the minutes to pass as you waited for the results, trying not to think of anything...but when you saw the two pink stripes on the stick showing that you were, in fact, pregnant, it felt like time itself had stopped.

You were going to be a mother. You never thought you’d be in this position one day but here you were in your bathroom, with the test in your hands that confirmed that you were pregnant; and pregnant with Dean Winchester’s child. You were happy and frightened at the same moment, but the happiness of becoming a mother was way more than the fear.

Now the hard part….How to tell Dean? How was he going to react? This was unplanned, life changing, and scary as hell. You had faced monsters and ghosts and more than one apocalypse...but this was a whole new level of fear. God, were you scared. But at the end you had to tell him, so you wiped the tears off your face and stalked out of the bathroom to talk to Dean.

You made your way towards the hall where you guessed Dean would be.

“Hey! You made pie?” He smiled, the wrinkles beside his eyes deepening as he watched you walk toward him.

“Oh! Yeah I-I was just gonna do that,” you said, realizing that you had forgotten completely. Maybe the revelation would be easier over pie….and maybe you were a huge chicken for not telling him right away, but you turned on your heel and went to the kitchen instead of telling Dean the “big news” anyway.

You were in the kitchen making pie for your boyfriend, but your mind was mostly chasing the “what ifs” around and around as you tried to fully grasp what your gut (and the rest of your body) already knew. Your rumination was interrupted when you felt Dean’s arms around your waist.

“Hey,” Dean mumbled, peppering kisses on your neck.

You turned around in his arms and pecked his lips, “pie’s almost ready. Go sit down.”

“How did I get so lucky?” Dean chuckled.

“I don’t know, Winchester, maybe some good deeds,” you said pretending to think, “now go sit.”

“Yes, ma’am,” Dean kissed you once more and sat at the chair.

You sliced Dean a piece of pie and sat on the chair across from him, taking a slightly smaller piece yourself. You both ate the pie in silence, and when you were done, you decided you couldn’t put it off any longer.

“Dean, I want to talk to you about something,” you said.

“Okay, I’m listening. Is everything alright? Is this about you being sick recently?” Dean’s attention was totally on you now.

“Dean, I don’t know how are you gonna react to this, but if you are not okay with… well,  just know that I understand. I mean, this isn’t….well, expected, and I...can’t say it won’t hurt if you’re not happy, but I don’t want you to lie to me, ever, okay?” you shot him a serious look that quickly melted into a nervous smile, your hands practically shaking now.

“Hey, babe, what is it? Tell me,” his hands were now rubbing back of yours, assuring you that he’d be there for you no matter what.

“I-I don’t know how to say this,” you blinked away the tears forming in your eyes. You were making a mental note that you would not break down, no matter what his reaction was. You knew Dean would never intentionally hurt you, but still...this was big.

“C’mon, Y/N, you can tell me anything, sweetheart.” His hands tightened around yours when you didn’t respond, your voice stuck in your throat. “What is it? You’re scaring me,babe” you could see the confusion in his forest green eyes.

You took in a deep breath, “I’m pregnant, Dean.”

And nothing.

He didn’t say a single word.

You couldn’t read his face. Neither of you were breathing and it felt like your heart was about to beat it’s way through your rib cage.

“I know, Dean, I know you didn’t want this, and I’m sorry. It’s all my fault. I should have been more careful taking those stupid pills. But as I said, I’m okay with whatever your decision is. I’ll--I’ll move out of the bunker and raise the baby on my own, if you want, and I won’t bother-” your rambling was interrupted when his hand reached up, cupping your face tenderly.

“I’m gonna be a Dad.” Dean mumbled.

And now you were the one who didn’t know how to react to that.

“OH MY GOD! Y/N, I love you. I love you so much!” Dean was yelling and you were in his arms.

You weren’t even able to process the situation, when Dean lifted you out of the chair and spun you, your feet swinging around effortlessly. He put you down and in no time his lips were on yours, and that kiss explained all his feelings that he wasn’t able to express through words.

“I’m so happy, Y/N,” he said parting away. “We are going to be parents! You are going to be the greatest mom, sweetheart.”

“I was not expecting that reaction,” you giggled.

“You have no idea how happy you just made me. I’ve been planning to talk to you about having kids since that hunt where we had to take care of that baby for a few hours.” Dean had a big smile on his face and honestly that made you way more happy than you were before.

“I thought you'd be freaked out,” you said.

“Hell no! I love you, and I’ll love having kids with you, Y/N,” Dean said, “I know hunters and families don’t usually mix, but we’ll do this together; I mean it’s not impossible, right? We’ll get through everything as long as we are together.”

“Yes, we will,” you kissed him, assuring him that you are with him in that.

“Hey, what is going on, guys? I heard Dean yelling,” Sam asked as he entered the kitchen with a puzzled look on his face.

“Sammy, I’m gonna be a Dad!” Dean told him, ever so excitedly.

“It’s Sam,” Sam rolled his eyes and he realized what Dean said, “wait, what!? Y/N’s pregnant? That’s great! I’m going to become an uncle?”

Dean and you both nodded enthusiastically.

“I’m so happy for you guys,” Sam said while wrapping his arms around you to give you a bear hug.

“Yeah, me too,” you whispered. And you weren’t lying when you said that. You were happy, more than you’d ever been. It was all unexpected and unpredictable, but now you had a future ahead of you with the man you loved and his baby--and that was enough to make all the sacrifices of this life worth it.   

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[trishgibsontx]

why we are waiting to be perfect before doing xyz

photo by Pia Oyarzun

this morning I woke up and read the lovely Juliet Tang’s recent article here on twitter. it inspired this post here.

most of my life, I have been waiting. now, a lot of that IS in fact my understanding and intuition of divine timing. I have been forced to learn to be patient. but, some of that, is waiting for some part of me or my life to be perfect before doing something.

what is interesting to me, is that this pattern did not present itself in my life at ALL in my 20s or prior. I wasn’t focused on perfection at all. in fact, I was a total underachiever. I think I was dealing with SO much internally, that all I wanted was to live in the moment. and that girl I was, well, she did a fabulous job at living in the moment! all she wanted was OUT of anything that was unhappy, volatile or sad. she traveled alone, she moved around alone, and she was fierce and fearless. she probably went to too many nightclubs and drank too much too often, but she lived in the moment. she wasn’t concerned about leaving the house without a manicure pedicure wax hair color or having hit the gym that week. she just…did. all of the time. this, of course, had is hazards, but for the most part, it was beautiful because she was so PRESENT in her behavior. I recognize that a lot of that was also the brain’s way of detaching from and avoiding serious psychological and other trauma. so, it had its benefits and also its setbacks.

I noticed a switch at the end of my 20s. I’m not sure of the day it began, but I remember being on an important phone call with a very close friend of mine since my early days on this planet. I was about to turn 27. I had been to every nightclub, I had gone to all of the stupid parties, I had always acted IN the moment. I never really thought about the future, even though I KNEW I had a long-term plan, if that even makes sense. my friend in that phone conversation suggested to me that I stop socializing and focus on what I wanted to create in life. this felt difficult to me, because I was always GOING — going and going and going. clearly distracting myself from things I didn’t want to process, but I was unconscious about that part. so, I took his advice. that is the one thing about me, the person I was, and the person that I am today: when someone I respect gives me advice, I TAKE IT. and run with it. my body and mind recognize truth and I integrate it as fast as possible. so I stopped chasing a moment socially. I turned inward. I continued to do all of the things that brought me to where I am now, and they certainly expedited my journey because I was finally LISTENING to my inner most self. yes, I did miss picking up and leaving on a whim to go somewhere to just “live” in the moment. but I had done that already. as I went inward, somewhere along the lines I also forgot to live in the way that I used to be so good at. in some ways, it was absolutely necessary and part of my process. but there needed to be some balance. the merging of my old world and that new world took a lot of time and awareness. I was afraid of being so carefree that I would be irresponsible and forget my mission. but, I also realized that I had become a fraction of that “alive” person I once was. where was the balance?

I realized the last few years that I have often been waiting to be “perfect” before doing xyz. it’s been an odd realization, because the “me” that I was for so many years did NOT give a flock! I mean, truly not at all. I never had a plan, I always went with the moment, I didn’t care what I wore to parties or events, I was always just ME. but the most recent me, in these past few years seemed to be holding back. and then it hit me that…we don’t get younger. and that started to freak me out.

so, why? why would I wait to be perfect? for the same reasons that we all hold off on things: fear of something. for me, there have been various fears. and some of them are so, so stupid to me. for example: I would hold off on going on a date because I hadn’t touched up my hair color or cut it and I didn’t feel on point. or I didn’t have time to get a wax or pedicure in the summer. are these actual reasons for not going on a date? or, was I not doing those things because I was afraid that my life would maybe be “too perfect” because then I would have to move forward if I did them? it can be very chicken and egg at times. I also noticed that I was “waiting” to do certain things until I moved residences, or until I properly decorated my residence. until I cleaned my windows. so then I wouldn’t clean my windows. so then I had an excuse not to go and do something, because I had to clean my windows. but then I wouldn’t. LOL! I know I am resonating with many of you here. when I moved into my last apartment which had a working fireplace, I waited like 2 years to get a proper screen for it – so instead I blocked it off with a mirror. every day, I would look at the mirror, and wonder “when” I would get a proper screen for it. in some way, it felt like an excuse for me to hold myself back from moving forward. and it was, indeed, a metaphor. part of me, somewhere, was waiting for either myself or “things” to be perfect before doing things – both big things, and small things.

I would hold off on joining community events like museums and gatherings “because of xyz”. it was always a subconscious excuse just to not live my best life. deep down, I was waiting to be, in some way, more perfect so that I would be accepted at those events. which sounds so crazy, because the rational and logical part of me KNEW I was perfect the way I was. I’m not going to go into the mechanics of the unconscious subconscious and conscious minds here, because that is not what this post is about, but this “waiting game” thing does work on all levels of our consciousness.

on a day-to-day basis, I still find myself waiting. despite all of my actual rapid and tangible movement in the outer world. and the reason is typically from a place of not feeling perfect enough to do something. my mind will create reasons as to why right now is not the right time to go to a retreat I want to go to. my mind will create reasons as to why I should not finish writing more books right now. my mind will create reasons as to why I should not enjoy my day at the park, because I have not solved enough problems for the people I have worked with for the day.

all of these reasons, these reasons for waiting, are excuses to prevent ourselves from being as happy as we can be. in my earlier years, before the time of my “switch-over” late 20s, I was so desperate to leave unhappiness that my mind dissociated from anything that remotely resembled unhappy. but, I was able to live in the moment. of course that is not sustainable though, that kind of dissociation, and so I chose to integrate all of my imminently integrated psychological worlds. but if we do that for too long — ponder, deep-think, reflect, and that is ALL we do — we miss out on the present-tense child-like states we once had. as we become conscious and “wake up”, and we realize that we can not dissociate the way that we did when we are younger, it just takes more work and introspection to bring that healthy child-like piece BACK. we need BOTH parts of ourselves. not one or the other. and so, on a daily basis, I wake up and write down what I am avoiding doing that day. what am I putting off? who am I putting off meeting? why? the excuse of not being good enough in some way or ready enough is really just our personal way of being afraid of our personal power. this post is not about WHY we are afraid of our personal power, and I can elaborate on that concept in another one. I have elaborated on that concept in other posts. but consider the bottom line: are you waiting to be perfect in order to do xyz? why?

remember your best moments in life? you were probably ALWAYS unprepared for them. I remember one year, during my many year stretch of solitude and introspection. I had been celibate for like a year or two. which probably sounds crazy to most people. but that’s besides the point. this one summer, I was “stuck” in my own head and process. a friend called me and she invited me to a play. I hadn’t been to a play or done anything like that in at least a couple of years. I was definitely in a shell, not “living”. just in my own head, all of the time. but I went to the play. while I was at the play, a man I had a huge attraction to but had not seen in a few years reached out. we had initially met years prior when I had a boyfriend, so we never got together. we kept in touch after my breakup though. this man was only in town for one night from out of the country, and I had great respect and admiration for him. I felt that if he lived here, we would be together for sure. so I met him out after the play and we sang karaoke all night. I had not been on a date in a while, and to say that my lady parts were very Game Of Thrones is an understatement. my legs were a forest, and yet it was summer so I was wearing a long skirt. my hair was not washed in days and I was wearing my beach hat from earlier in the day. my toes were unpedicured, and I don’t think I could have afforded one during those days. to both my excitement and horror, we ended up deciding to spend time together that night. so there I was, one of the most fun nights of my year, and I was a disaster (by my standards) to be intimate with anyone. and yet it ended up being the most fun night I had in such a long time. it’s a moment I reflect on and laugh about, but it is a moment that showed me that when we wait (because we don’t feel good enough — and that was my theme that summer), we miss out. I am glad I did not miss out on that moment.

what moments are you “preparing” for, either mentally, physically, emotionally or otherwise? there really is no such thing in terms of living in the present tense. I think what we are afraid of, is not being inadequate or imperfect, but rather the fact that there is no such thing…and so if there is no such thing, there is a joy that possibly scares us. we live in a society that thrives media-wise on fear and disappointment. let’s challenge that ego adrenaline that keeps us in suspension and risk being imperfect before doing any xyz thing that we did not do yesterday.

  The post why we are waiting to be perfect before doing xyz appeared first on The Medical Intuitive Blog: Healing Elaine.

from Trisha Gibson http://www.themedicalintuitiveblog.com/2017/09/27/waiting-perfect-xyz/

[thecoroutfitters]

There’s a lot of survival info out there on bug out preparation. Even FEMA has directives on evacuations. But that didn’t stop the recent hurricane disasters from destroying the best laid bug out plans and killing people in the process.

The problem is, everything you thought you knew about SHTF bugging out is probably WRONG! As Mike Tyson once paraphrased from an original historic quote, ‘Everybody has a plan…until they get punched in the face’.

With more potential weather disasters still threatening to thrash lives and properties by smacking down mercilessly on the South East Coast during the height of ‘hurricane season’, here’s how NOT to die during the bug out itself…

Don’t Rely on Government Orders

These recent Harvey and Irma hurricane disasters caused the end of the world as they knew it for so many unfortunate people in the aftermath, and were among the strangest storms in meteorology annals, but these were not the worst or deadliest coastal storms in history.

  3 Second SEAL Test Will Tell You If You’ll Survive A SHTF Situation

  In the 1900’s, the best weather forecasting usually relied upon how much your joints ached and what you noticed when you looked out your window about as far as your eyes could see. There was no real warning in Texas when a Cat 4 hurricane blasted in with a storm surge that made landfall at Galveston, and took enough people by surprise to kill upwards of 8 thousand before they could escape.

In later years, local governments began to develop evacuation plans and emergency backup procedures for public safety by relying on modern weather prediction science to eliminate the element of surprise.

However, as usual, the government eventually botched up these strategies as well. When Rita thundered down to Texas in 2005 at a brutal category five level, the governor’s office issued mandatory immediate evacuation orders when it was all but too late for the greater Houston metropolis.

Over 113 people died and numerous injured when all was said and done, but the problem was that almost 100 of them were killed in the evacuation itself! Imagine trying desperately to survive but winding up driving in your own funeral procession?

Rita was such a gruesome bug out debacle that this time, during Harvey’s recent retro two step storm stomp on Houston, the authorities -and I use that term with visceral scorn- decided to ultimately leave it up to the individual citizen’s discretion to bug out, or not.

Houston officials made excuses, but the real reason they copped out was so that they could not repeat Rita’s flawed decision making mistake and be blamed for screwing up, if anything went wrong, Which, of course, could detrimentally affect future political stature.

The fact I’m going to try to get everyone reading this to accept is that you simply cannot depend on government information or timely help, especially in a serious evacuation scenario. They can’t even get in urgent supplies and relief effort moving fast enough because of all the ‘red tape’. Private volunteer first responders are doing most of the heavy helping at this point in time.

Video first seen on News Today.

The Government is Not Here to Help

The truth about the government being ‘here to help’ is one of the dirtiest secrets in the great American Book of Secrets. The gruesome reality is that you are worth more to the Government DEAD, than alive. Especially if the IRS doesn’t make a lot of tax dollars off of you. In fact, you’re a spreadsheet liability if you’re on welfare, food stamps, or some other socialist dole program.

The bottom line revenue math is all the Govt really cares about. So between estate taxes and getting you off social security and medicare and you no longer using what clean air and water we have left in a government polluted world after you die…well, you get the graveyard picture?

The government’s sole (certainly not to be confused with ‘soul’ because they don’t have one) purpose in any major emergency is only twofold.

First preserve the safety of their own power elite entity, and then only make decisions that prioritize the strength of their political power base. This is the only reason that FEMA exists. On the surface, it appears to be a governmental humanitarian organization to really help the people for the benefit of nanny state propaganda.

But its primary function is to protect the government power elite during emergencies by controlling the masses or incarcerating them in the camps if necessary, to prevent the formation of strong enclaves of anti-government resistance due to an epiphany in realization that the government is mostly part of the problem, and not the solution.

All totalitarian dictatorship countries around the world have similar methodology backed by military force. Government FEMA evacuations should be the LAST resort for any knowledgeable well-prepared prepper. Because virtually all government sponsored evacuations are too little too late and amount to nothing more than another catastrophe in the making.

So first and foremost, your bug out success depends only upon your own plans and self-reliance skills. Forget about shelters or counting on neighbors being a good bet in any grand scale emergency. There are many media suppressed horror stories about the way these stockyard emergency shelters wind up in almost all cases.

During Katrina, these shelters were virtual prison dormitories that got so bad that security guards fled these sites that then turned into hell camps of violence, crime, rape, and death.

There’s some anecdotal evidence, but hard documented facts are long covered up by now, that one of the reasons there was a gun confiscation orders during Katrina were so that looting wars wouldn’t cause so much carnage that unfavorable mainstream media coverage would be bad for government business.

Never mind that the regular citizens would also be disarmed and at the mercy of violent criminals who still got their hands-on guns because they stole them from homes and people before the police did.

In emergency survival preparations, no ‘one plan fits all’. There are some basics, but generally plans vary and adapt according the demographics, area climate, magnitude and types of disasters. So we have some apostasy and schisms among preppers. We can have either ‘bugging out’ or ‘bugging in’, also known as ‘surviving in place’, for the same emergency.

To me and many other experts, ‘surviving in place’ is a euphemism for soiling all your clean underwear while waiting in sheer terror to see if you die or not.

The Nitty Gritty Dirt Bug Out

There’s an interesting clash of aphorisms many of us learned coming up in life that our parents and teachers would mentor. You remember, ‘the early bird always gets the worm’. And my favorite, the legendary race between the ‘Hare and the Tortoise’, both of which are nothing as they seem.

The ‘early bird’ metaphor was really designed to get everybody up early enough to put in a long, hard day’s work as in ‘make hey while the sun shines’ so the government can milk more taxes out of you.

But the rabbit and the turtle race was nothing less than the power elite brainwashing you into believing that ‘slowly but surely’ was the best way to go in life. All the while the wealthy power elite was moving as fast as they could in life to take advantage of the most beneficial, but sparse, opportunities as soon as possible…while the rest of the masses of dumb asses would ‘snooze, and ya lose’.

It’s the same thing with bugging out. First know that despite the other placating but specious notion that prepping for ‘surviving in place’ would be a good alternative to bugging out has a lot of alternative following, however, it is simply wrong and stupid in most cases, and almost suicidal in some of the serious disasters like we’ve seen.

I realize too well that not everyone can bug out easily, or even at all. The critically injured, very elderly, or mobility disabled and travel disadvantaged come to mind first.

But if they reach out and develop a serious plan, way BEFORE the bad events so that they are prepared, it is not impossible for disabled persons to safely bug out. In fact, the strategy I’m about to reveal will accommodate the solution to a minimum amount of stress and danger and a maximum level of success.

Get Out of Dodge Way Before the Gunfight Starts

Think ‘fast, but not furious’. In these recent hurricane predicaments, the government’s entire emergency early warning weather system is ‘bass ackward’. They start off with a good advanced catch of a potential storm disaster-sometimes several days in advance, which allows plenty of time for safe evacuations and preparation, but this never happens!

What does happen to most people instead is a common syndrome that in my experienced opinion is sponsored by the ignorant control freak government disaster authorities, and contributes to the problems that reduce your chances of a successful evacuation. It’s called imminent fear induced procrastination.

They keep everybody focused on the track of the storm, like a gambler at a poker game of death, intently studying the other players, waiting to bet their lives on getting the winning hand, hoping that their luck changes on the odds that a hurricane hand can change dramatically at the last minute…

This causes a feeding frenzy to clean out the local food stores so they have enough to stuff down their pie holes as they stay superglued to their TV or computer screen, waiting for the metal monster truck to splat them like a paintball, when they could already be safe and sound someplace else.

This creates a mentality that ‘well, maybe it won’t hit us directly and we don’t have to do anything but have a few beers to calm down, while we wait it out?’ Or, ‘maybe it just won’t be so bad’?

Which wastes valuable time better spent hightailing it out on the road not yet critically infested with boiling road raging bumper to bumper traffic crawling slower and slower until…it grinds to dreadful stop. And now you’re trapped. In a potentially worse situation than had you at least prepared well to survive in place and not evacuated at all.

And then panic will set in. But again, the virtual reality is that almost everyone–with the exception of highly trained professional responders or experienced military operators–always panics. It’s unnatural not to panic in such terrifying life threatening SHTF situations.

  3 Second SEAL Test Will Tell You If You’ll Survive A SHTF Situation

  But the simple procedures we’ll show you here will guarantee a much less stressful and safer alternative.

So the number one message here is don’t prepare for the evacuation by primarily planning to ride out the storm in place. This is only for persons whose original plan to bug out failed because for some insane reason they didn’t read this information and somehow couldn’t get out in time and/or then had no other choice.

And also, don’t just wait for the Govt holy decree telling to ‘get on your mark, get set, GO!’ and then proceed like the obedient lil’ doggies’ who then all at once get whipped along by the police cowboys, to join the vast growing herd of panic driven cattle heading for their last roundup, at the last most dangerous minute to FEMA CAMP corrals.

Instead, prepare to BEAT the storm AND the evacuation! In other words…

“The only sure way to not be a disaster victim is to NOT be there when the disaster happens!”

The Best Way to Bug Out

1. Have a Bug Out Location (BOL) in Advance

No serious self-reliant prepper should be without one, especially if you live in a major city or other very disaster-prone area. The best option, of course, would be to be already living in a safe rural area with well-prepared survival set up at your home.

The second would be a 2nd home or cabin somewhere more secluded that’s stocked and ready. The next option would be to have a safe, relatively remote, piece of empty land to pull your BOT (Bug Out Trailer) to and set up for a long-term stay.

Next have a small BOT packed and ready to rock at a moment’s hook up at your residence, and a designated BOL like a public camp ground or something to rent or go to for an extended set up in advance.

After that, well, improvise as best as you can. If you don’t have a trailer, you can be surprised what you can fit in a truck, minivan, or even a compact car for extended camping at safer location. If you have a good friend or relative in a safe location, that could work out well.

The idea is to know where you’re going, and be ready as best you can to move out immediately after you make your own decision to ‘go’.

2. Don’t Overplan the Escape Trip Itself

I see so many Bug Out Preps that are a waste of time. Bugging out is simply going from one place to another to avoid serious catastrophe. You don’t need to hire a semi-tractor truck moving van to take everything but the kitchen sink.

The critical point is not so much ‘How’ you do it, But ‘When’. If you leave early enough and know your best route to destination, you don’t need five alternative routes which will be just as dangerously congested as a main one if you leave too late.

The idea is leave early enough so that your Bug Out resembles more of an anytime weekend getaway drive to the country! No stress, no shutdowns, plenty of gas along the way, and so on. If you leave early enough you can probably stop for dinner before you reach your BOL! You don’t need extensive prepping or a plan B, C, or D, if you have a good plan A.

3. When to Move Out!

And that’s the critical analysis. The short answer is that ideally, if there’s any chance at all that a hurricane will affect your residence, you want to be sitting and watching the weather radar on your TV at your Bug Out Location while the storm is still off far enough off the coastline.

In other words, If I lived in Florida near the ocean in the path of hurricane Maria AND it was aiming directly at my town, and just saw what it did to Puerto Rico early this morning, I’d ignore the weather reports hoping that Jose would somehow deflect Maria’s landfall.

By now I’d already be about six hours into my bug out, calmly cruising across the Northern Florida State line, blowing kisses and waving the bird at all those hungry gators and snakes, at the normal speed limit. I’d be heading further inland to a safe location where I’d be sitting in front of the TV safely and comfortably, watching all the destruction and praying for the poor souls who didn’t make it out in time.

It’s always better to be safe than sorry. You can always come back if it missed your area. But if you check in to Hurricane Hotel by trying to ‘survive in place’, you might just never check out?

Video first seen on Dane Wigington.

Post Script

It surprises me that so many don’t quite grasp the fact that major metropolitan areas will always be a death trap in apocalyptic scenarios.

They will rapidly breed everything from scarcity of every necessary life sustaining essential, to neverending disasters from criminal anarchy, to disease by unsanitary conditions, such as are now happening in Florida, to intense, systematic looting and murdering.

That’s why having a well thought out BOL is so important. Sure, you don’t need one way up in mountainous no man’s land just to escape and hole up from coastal storms, a couple hundred miles inland on elevated terrain would work for that. But it would be more prudent to put in a little more effort, and have a BOL that fits all or at least most catastrophic events. Maybe a group effort with family and friends to minimize cost?

The big cities and most of the smaller ones will be uninhabitable if the so-called long overdue massive power outage, total economic collapse, nuclear war, or out of control plague or pandemic hit us.

Bugging out, smartly, and sooner rather than later, is the ‘only way to go’!

This article has been written by Mahatma Muhjesbude for Survivopedia.

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