#but conference is reminding me that i'd like to feel like more people than just my husband understand me

[thatoneweirdmormongirl]

Making a random sideblog to discuss religious stuff because my ward has failed me lol (it's nothing interesting they just don't get me in any way and don't care to)

I hear tumblrstake is kind of cool though so imma dip my toes on in here and see what's up

[luveline]

So your drunk reader and Spencer fic? Maybe one with Hotch but reader has had something important going on and had called Hotch previously over it, but this was just a super sappy drunk call during an important case but Hotch can never not answer if he technically can talk for just a moment?

thank u for ur request! fem!reader

"I just can't understand how he can be two places at once," Derek says, infuriated. 

Hotch has a thousand possibilities racing through his head. "He can't be," he says, "so we have to work out what else is happening."

"It's him," Emily says. "Same clothes, same face. And it can't be an evil twin–" 

JJ groans, rubbing her eye with the heel of her hand and leaning forward into the conference table they're all sitting at. "I actually like the evil twin theory for this one." 

Hotch's phone vibrates in his pocket. He needs to focus —he can't focus. You've been so heartbreakingly lonely while all of this has been happening, and he loves you, but they have three missing girls to find. 

Time is ticking downward. He's never going to make any headway if he knows you need him on the other side of the phone.

"Just answer it," Rossi says quietly. "Reid's gonna crack it any second now. You have a duty to more than work, my friend." 

Hotch catches it before it goes off. Standing, he buttons his suit jacket again and makes for the door. When it closes, he talks in a measured tone. "Honey," he says, "are you alright?" 

"I'm okay," you say, immediate and bubbly. 

You sound okay, he thinks. "Did you hear anything else from the doctor?" 

"Aaron," you say, a number of emotions in your tone, but mostly love, "they don't call on Sundays, and they never call after six anyways." 

"It's later for you," he remembers.

"I'm so sick of doctors and worrying and worrying about doctors, now I'm worrying about you, did you have to go? 'Cus I know you had to go, but I wish you could've just stayed home. I have this weird bruise I want you to look at–" 

"Hold on. Nothing's wrong?" 

"You're not here. That is so, so wrong." You hiccup. "Woah." 

Hotch blinks to himself, a smile on his lips for the first time in days. "Sweetheart, have you been drinking?" 

"Just what was left of the wine." 

"You mean the one we got last week? That we haven't opened?" 

"Yes." You sound serious. He can imagine your tipsy face, solemnly nodding with eyes wide open.

"Where are you? Still at my apartment?" 

"Is that okay?" 

Hotch closes his eyes. "That's perfect. I don't have to worry about you as long as I know where you are. You haven't taken any painkillers, of course." 

"I'm not silly." 

"That's up for debate. I… I'm glad you're in a good mood, it's good to relax, but no more wine, okay? You'll make yourself sick, and I won't be there to take care of you in the morning." 

"Don't remind me!" Another hiccup. "I think I should've been a special agent, mister Hotchner, so I could come with you all these places and not have to miss you. I love you. I love your face and your hands and the way you always squeeze my hip in the morning when you wake me up." Your forlorn sigh is clear despite the distance. "Do you love me?" 

"Very much, Y/N." 

"I love you. I really didn't mean to drink so much but it actually tasted nicer the more I did." 

"That's how it goes."

"I try to not be disgusting when we have wine together but you weren't here, 'n' I thought I could get sloshed without feeling bad." 

"Why would you feel bad?" he asks, bemused. 

"'Cus you'd have to take care of me, and you take care of everyone. All the time." 

"I like taking care of people. I love taking care of you. You realise that I'd love to take care of you 'sloshed'?" he asks. He can be very honest here, knowing you probably won't remember the entirety of your conversation, but you'll recall how you felt. Well, if you don't get nauseous. "I love looking after you no matter what's wrong. I'm only sorry I can't do it as much as you deserve." 

"You're sorry? That's dumb." 

"Maybe it is." 

"Definitely it is, Aaron. You're way too handsome to bother being sorry." 

Maybe twenty years ago. "In that case, you can stop saying sorry to me altogether." Hotch pauses as a knock rattles the glass behind him. Derek stands on the other side, pointing at Spencer, whose lips are moving a hundred miles an hour. Their smartest member saves the day again. "Honey, I have to go. I'm sorry. I wish I could be with you, you know that? But I really have to go." 

"This is impressive for us, actually, we had like four whole minutes. Bye, handsome, have a good time at camp." 

He snorts. "Bye." 

Hotch takes a split second to collect himself. Your hurting, your drunkenness, your open love for him and the obvious if slurred affection you speak with, he puts everything away and gets ready to do his job. If he does it well enough, he could be home in time to rub your forehead through the hangover. 

[dandelion-wings]

💘 dealer's choice on ship 👀

Thank you for the ask! <3 I accidentally significantly more than a snippet, whoops. >> But I'd been reminded of this pet pairing of mine while looking at Eula's voicelines earlier today, and while I don't always manage it I do like to hit all the elements in these prompts, and then the moment I looked at this one the idea for fitting this pairing into it sprang into my head and demanded its chance.

---

This isn't what Sucrose had expected when Ms. Eula said that she would protect Sucrose personally on the way to Liyue Harbor. Some bandit gang has been kidnapping doctors, alchemists, and similar such people on the roads through the Guili Plains, and while Sucrose is strong enough to protect herself while gathering materials, she *is* grateful for extra protection from the kind of threat posed by a large, organized band. Still, she'd just assumed it meant she would ride along with the merchant caravan Eula is already protecting.

Instead, the first night they camp, someone had asked Sucrose what she was going to Liyue Harbor to do, since she certainly wasn't a merchant she didn't seem to be a knight. She'd just opened her mouth to explain that she was an alchemist, and that she was going to confer on certain herbs with a healer there, when Ms Eula spoke over her.

"She's here as my personal companion," Ms. Eula said haughtily, giving the merchant a glare so fierce that she quickly mumbled an excuse and scooted over to talk to one of her companions instead. When Sucrose finished dinner and went looking for her tent, she found that Ms. Eula had put Sucrose's bedroll in the command tent, side-by-side with her own.

"Um... you don't have to do that," she said. "I brought my own tent."

"I swore to Master Jean and Captain Albedo that I would take personal responsibility for your safety," Ms. Eula said, just as haughtily. "That includes protecting you from any spies that may be in the caravan. If you're with me, they have fewer chances to ask you questions you can't formulate a dishonest answer to."

"Oh," Sucrose said, her face hot with the realization that she'd almost made Ms. Eula's job harder by giving herself away, and that was how Ms. Eula had arranged their sleeping arrangement ever since.

Their sleeping arrangements aren't the only way in which Ms. Eula has backed up her assertion that Sucrose is her *'personal companion.'* She insists that Sucrose walk with her when she's pacing alongside the wagon, and with Mika when she's gone ahead to scout. She puts her hand on Sucrose's shoulder, or takes her arm, or even takes her hand once, when Sucrose slips and nearly falls in her mud, and keeps her fingers laced with Sucrose's for nearly a mile after she pulls her out. And Sucrose is only making it harder for her by getting more and more flustered with every gesture that makes it clear what 'personal companion' is supposed to *mean*.

The problem is... well, there are several, but they all have the same central root. Sucrose wouldn't get so flustered as to nearly bely the pretense, nor pull jerkily away from Ms. Eula when she finds herself too aware of her touch, nor drive herself deeper and deeper into sleep debt by lying stiffly awake all night long with Ms. Eula's back against her own, if she didn't enjoy Ms. Eula's attention so much. The logical knowledge that her affection is false doesn't change the emotional or physical effects. Ms. Eula is a very beautiful woman, and her dedication to keeping Sucrose safe makes clear the kindness that lies behind her intimidating exterior. Sucrose is experiencing a very natural reaction that would be fascinating to observe, if it was happening to anyone else.

Instead she's been observing Ms. Eula, which only makes it worse. Sometimes she nearly thinks that she catches evidence that her feelings are returned--Ms. Eula's hand lingering a little too long, her anecdotes when they walk together becoming a little too personally vulnerable, her strong back pressed against Sucrose's own a little too firmly to be an accident in her sleep. But then Ms. Eula sees Sucrose jump at her touch and makes an excuse for another patrol, or hears Sucrose stammer an inadequate response to their conversation and abruptly changes the subject, or notices her embarrassment in the dark and carefully rolls away to the far edge of her bedroll, and Sucrose doubts her observations after all.

Besides, that Eula might harbor the same feelings is a highly unlikely hypothesis. It's not one that Sucrose is confident enough in to test, not when the results of that experiment might be so disastrous.

It should be a relief to get to Wangshu Inn, where bandits wouldn't dare to operate and Sucrose can safely get her own room. That she finds herself fantasizing about sharing one of the Inn's famously comfortable beds with Ms. Eula is all the more reason that she should get her own. This may not be a subject for experiments, but she can surely run a few small-scale personal trials to determine exactly how far her reactions to the situation have progressed.

There are a few other folks from Mondstadt there already, a smaller group on the way back from Liyue Harbor that have hired their own protection. Some of them know some of the merchants Ms. Eula's company is escorting, and they cluster together at dinner, laughing and talking, while Ms. Eula and Sucrose and Mika join the rest of the Reconnaissance Company at a table of their own. Drink flows steadily, until Sucrose is light-headed and half the knights are flushed. The laughter from the merchants grow louder, as well as their looser and looser talk.

"Wonder what the Lawrence has over her?" one of the merchants on their way back says, far too loudly, and gives a braying laugh. "She might look good, but I wouldn't kiss a fish that cold if you paid me a million Mora to do it, and I can't imagine a hoity-toity Lawrence is anything but a selfish tyrant in bed."

Every back at the knights' table stiffens at the insult. Sucrose draws herself up, too, and turns about in her chair, flushed red and with no idea what she's going to say but still certain that Ms. Eula deserves some defense.

"Leave them be," Ms. Eula said, just as loudly, her chin high and her hand cool on Sucrose's arm. The touch sends a shiver through Sucrose that isn't just from the chill. "Such insults from drunken idiots aren't worthy of a response, even proper vengeance."

Given Ms. Eula's own attitude, that seems hypocritical. Sucrose goes even redder when she sees the faint concern in Eula's scowl and realizes that this dismissal is for her sake--that she's protecting Sucrose from embarrassing herself in an argument she hasn't the least idea of how to make.

The braying merchant, though, has already noticed Sucrose turning towards him, and he grins maliciously at her. "Come on, don't try to lie to us. You wouldn't be cuddling up with a Lawrence if she wasn't making it worth your while."

Ms. Eula's hand tightens on her arm, as if to hold her back. But Sucrose isn't the sort of knight who rushes in with sword or spear. Anger bubbling up, as well as an impulsive desire that some analytical part of her notes is undoubtedly due to the alcohol, she rises to her feet.

"Her time and attention is worth the time and attention I give to her. It's a mutually beneficial relationship," she tells him, and deliberately turns her back, which brings her directly face-to-face with Ms. Eula.

Who is just as red in the face as Sucrose herself. Certainly that's the alcohol, but Sucrose looks at her widened eyes, her slightly parted lips, the way her breath is caught, and decides, impulsively, that maybe her unlikely and overly-optimistic hypothesis is worth testing after all. Surely she can get away with attributing any experimental failures to the alcohol. Leaning in, she presses their lips together.

For a moment Ms. Eula is stiff and frozen, lips unmoving against Sucrose's own. Then she responds, tilting her head back and to the side to better fit them together, with nothing but warmth in her answering kiss. She lets go of Sucrose's arm only to catch her hips and pull Sucrose into her lap; Sucrose clambers eagerly into it, pressing up against her, running her hands over the muscles of her shoulders and the curve of her sides. Eula shivers and gasps into Sucrose's mouth.

She should have touched Eula back ages ago, instead of freezing up at every contact. If she had, she wouldn't have been so worried about testing her hypothesis. Right now the results are *extremely* promising. Though, Sucrose reflects as Eula adjusts her grip to hold her up as she rises and marches into the inn, she should certainly repeat the experiment multiple times. Just to verify the results.

[therentyoupay]

How many languages do you know?

💕 english is my first language but i speak both spanish and english at home! i've been studying spanish for 20+ years, i speak spanish exclusively with my husbands' family (they only speak spanish!), and am comfortable getting my point across on most everyday-life things. i read in spanish for fun/to study (i forced my husband to read la sociedad de la nieve with me when we both got obsessed with the movie on netflix, even though he's not a reader at all haha), and we have a house rule about always watching movies in the language in which they were created EXCEPT FOR SHREK, which we both agree is extremely well done and just as funny (if not even funnier) in spanish. we do a lot of code-switching for the most part, and whenever we have kids, we'll follow the One Parent One Language plan, except for when we're out at restaurants, because we always ONLY speak spanish while going out to eat, it's just habit at this point. 😂 i once tried to write fic in spanish back in the early 2010s while living in spain but i felt that i didn't have all the vocab that i needed to give my writing the same vibe as in my first language, so i haven't tried writing fic in spanish since... (maybe i should??) for now i content myself with reading larivera's (@laurakrivera) spanish fic!! however, my academic!professional!spanish is much more developed than my fic!spanish writing style, lol, so when i publish my non-fiction book in english, i will work on writing the spanish translations myself (and force my husband to help me lmao)

i learned japanese fundamentals (e.g., basic vocab/phrases, word order, hiragana, katakana, some core kanji) when i was 12 (like most inuyasha-obsessed kids, maybe?? 🤣) and i learned a LOT when i lived there for a year and a half as an adult! but i never took any formal classes, it was all self-taught and in the streets (LITERALLY lmao, shoutout to the people of tokyo). i wasn't allowed to speak japanese at all in my job, so i turned to apps like hellotalk to practice and make friends who really wanted to engage in language exchange. (duolingo didn't add japanese as a language option until after i came back! 🤣😭) so i was just out there in the wild, picking it all up as i went along. i understand a lot more than i can speak, but i could probably hold a pretty convincing conversation with someone for 2 minutes before it became clear that i'd exhausted my limited repertoire. 🤣 i'd get by with a lot of discourse markers and reaction expressions and いいね! and 本当に!? and そうですね 😊 before i fell off the track completely lol.

i did 3 months of german on duolingo to prepare for a conference i presented at in austria a few years ago! helped with everyday basics, but i'm not currently investing in this language right now since i don't have many opportunities to use it in daily life like i do my other languages.

also just started learning korean literally five days ago. still working on the vowels. 🤣 i'm learning for friends, for potential work opportunities, for K-POP joking joking or am i, and also i'm a big believer in the philosophy of keeping the mind fresh and getting excited about Being "Bad" at Something every once in a while, as i purposefully Try New Things to ward off complacency, keep my brain happy and sharp, and remind myself that i can Do Hard Things. (of course, once you start to learn so many languages, your metalinguistic and metacognitive pattern-seeking skills really kick in, so approaching korean is a lot different than how it was in my other language learning experiences, so far 🤣) stay tuned, i guess haha!!

i guess you can see why i'm so obsessed with the idea of elsa being a serial polyglot/multilingual queen in basically every universe i write her in, not only because it fits with her upbringing/education/oryal duties but also i feel like elsa would appreciate all instances in life in which she could exert control over her surroundings by finding patterns and "rules" in languages and finding beauty in expressing so many meanings through so many different avenues when she herself had so much trouble expressing herself at all for so long should i write a one-shot about elsa's multilingualism as it pertains to NO KRIS NO STOP YOU HAVE WORK NOW KRIS NO

[readingloveswounds]

Do you ever write a conference abstract, and you feel very confident about your argument, and then once you start writing the paper you start feeling not so confident about the argument? Because that is happening to me right now and I'm freaking out.

Oh, absolutely. 100%. I am 2/2 for on this. I think (at least in my case) it's a part of the spectre of imposter syndrome that haunts my every move. It's also the fear of being Seen by strangers who you really want to respect you - you put in a lot of work and what if they think you're not smart (etc).

Some things that help me with this are:

attending other talks (conference or individual invited speakers). This reminds me of reality - that conference papers and talks are sometimes people just playing around with an idea and it doesn't have to be perfect and fully thought-through. I know that I will hold myself to a stupid level of perfectionism ('their paper can be imperfect/early stages but mine can't be' type shit), but it is VERY much okay to not be perfect, to say 'here's an idea i have, if you have any suggestions, I'd love to hear them'.

Let it suck. This is the 'just write it' advice. I am going to put SOMETHING in this word doc if it kills me and then I'll figure it out.

Saying 'okay, I think it sucks, but what am I going to do about that? Where can I improve?' Whether or not fears of the paper being terrible are founded, this helps me get out of the spiral and actually do something. Do I need to read through it again? Do I need to go back to my sources? Do I need to make a list? If you still think it's weak, it is (probably, it may depend on where you're giving the paper) possible to take the argument in a slightly different direction than your abstract - you can acknowledge the change if you like.

Do I need to go do something else? Sometimes I'm way too deep in things to see clearly. Whether this is working on something else, going on a walk, talking to people, a break can help.

Preparing as much as possible - I can't anticipate every question, but I have and will bring extra material (either in my head or in a small set of notes at the end of the paper) in case I want to have some solid extra ground to start with. If you're worried that your argument isn't great, here's some material to say 'hey i've done some work and even if my ideas aren't as developed as i'd like, here's some other information'

Remind yourself that you only have a short amount of minutes to speak! You can't fit a whole dissertation in that amount of time! You can't get deep into every single detail that you might want to! (This is something that I've been fighting with recently).

Conferences are for exchanging ideas. Plenty of people are assholes, but in theory, we go to conferences to talk to people, get outside perspectives on ideas, to collaborate. There will always be assholes, but there will also be people who will want to talk more about your paper and maybe guide you in directions for improvement that you didn't see at first.

As my parents told me about journal rejections, try not to take feedback too personally - it's not a judgement about you as a person. You are not your work.

Relatedly, unless you're presenting falsified data or massively plagiarising or something really serious like that, a not-so-great paper at a conference will not follow you forever (and if people are shitty about it, that's on them). There will always be next time. You can always mention later that you were a little silly in your past research! We are always growing and improving. This may not help in the moment, but it can help to put it a little more into perspective.

Essentially, yes, I do have this come up a lot. I have two conference papers coming up that I have to adapt and give in my second language. I feel like I'm going to disappoint both of the scholars who have invited me to give those. The thing is, I'm still going to write the papers because what would be even more disappointing is not giving them at all because I'm scared (and I am very scared). If I have something written, that's something I can improve as much as I can. Better to try and fail than not try at all, something like that.

I think confidence will come more with time (or so I hope), and if it doesn't, I at least now know a little how to handle this uncertainty with more confidence. I think it's fairly normal to have some doubts, but you can't let them get the best of you.

As they say so often on tumblr: do it scared, do it stupid, but however you do it, just do it.

[anonymityisfunwriter]

Public Approval

Part of The Grumpy X Sunshine Series

"Alright, and for the last order of business," Tony claps his hands, pacing the front of the conference room. "Pepper has asked me to walk you through your public approval ratings. She thinks the reminder will give some sort of motivation for a more concerted effort into our public image." Tony dramatically sighs, crossing his arms over his chest, "I am not as optimistic, but then again, Pepper has never had to corral you animals into a conference room."

"Do you ever have anything nice to say to us?" Sam questions.

"Considering I am the person that has to corral you animals into a conference room, no, I don't."

"That's probably fair," Sam concedes.

"Sure," Bucky sarcastically mutters, rolling his eyes, "We save the world all the time, but we don't smile and wave at people and they decide to hate us for the week. That sounds fair."

"Are you done being bitter?" Tony rhetorically asks. "I'd like to get this over with."

Bucky nonchalantly shrugs, "For now."

"It's okay." You wrinkle your nose at Bucky, squeezing his hand, "You'll always have my approval."

"Gross," Sam mutters.

Tony rolls his eyes, making a show of walking around the circular table and bestowing your approval ratings on each and everyone of you, "Natasha, 50%."

A smile tugs on the corner of Nat's mouth, "Just where I want it."

"Wanda, 47%, getting better every week."

She nods, "Thank you."

Tony takes a large gulp of air, only to let out a defeated sigh, "Sam, so far, you are my favorite, 67%. I hate to say this, but not bad."

"You hear that, I'm the favorite now!" Sam proudly exclaims.

"Never mind," Tony almost immediately backtracks, placing a hand on the back of your chair. "You're not the favorite. Pinkie Pie, my PR prodigy, sitting pretty at 89%."

Your smile melts into a deep frown as you shake your head. An intensity floods your tone as you speak, "Don't worry, Tony. I promise I'm working on that other 11%. I'll find them, I'll make them love me."

"Barnes," Tony prompts, his eyes comically wide.

"I won't let her stalk anyone. Don't worry," Bucky promises, dismissively waving Tony away.

"Thank you, and whatever you're doing is working, you're finally at 50%."

Bucky quirks an eyebrow at Tony, "So there's an equal chance that people love me or hate me?"

"Or you could see it as a glass half full?" Tony suggests. "There was a 100 percent chance that people hated you before!"

Bucky frowns, "That makes me feel so much better."

"Steve, for shame, 42%."

"What?" Steve squawks in disbelief. "No! That would mean that Bucky-"

"That would mean that Bucky what?" Sam antagonizes. "That Bucky's approval rating is better than yours, is that what you were going to say?"

"No! That's not what I was going to say! I just - There's no way-"

"That people like Bucky better than you?" Sam finishes. He juts his thumb in your direction, "If you were smart, you'd be best friends with the most likable of all of us. Too bad that position has been filled."

"It's not a contest, Sam!" Steve retorts.

"Because you'd be losing?"

"It's certainly not a close contest," Bucky mutters under his breath.

"And now that the pot has been sufficiently stirred, you're all free to go!"

Grumpy Sunshine Series Grumpy Sunshine Drabbles AnonymityIsFun Masterlist

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[gqteach]

Surprising no one, I did not update this blog over the summer. But I did teach the teachers, and it was good. I had several thank me and a couple more try to crash my class because they wanted to see "Trans Students 101" instead of whatever they'd been assigned. I'm also going to a conference in a couple weeks to teach the panel to a variety of teachers (and university faculty) from around the Midwest, so that's pretty exciting. Every single time I get to stand in front of people and teach these things, it feels like a major win.

I have a new job now, as a Special Ed Teacher! I am at a much smaller staff (and school) than before, and I think I know almost every adult at this point. A lot of the other teachers, especially the new hires, are also neurodivergent and queer. They're all super sweet and supportive, and so is the old guard. My principal is a bit brusque by times, but I get the impression that it's just a "way he speaks" thing, because every time we talk, he's very warm and helpful. I have high hopes for the year.

I also immediately got clocked as neurodivergent by the school's SpEd cause manager. Apparently I remind him a lot of his Autistic, ADHD son. I don't have proper documentation, but I am making a concerted effort to self-advocate and make this job more accessible. Part of that is I'm just trying to get everything in writing, because then I have something concrete to reference at any given time. According to my psych, I don't actually have a bad memory, my memory stores too much information at any given time which means accessing the actual stuff I need is nigh impossible by times. So, writing. I'm also asking like, a million questions, because Clear Communication and Understanding. I don't want to repeat the past two years' experience.

Teachers got our end of (last) year evals, and honestly, I haven't checked mine. I'm too anxious, even though I know what it's going to be. The real question is whether I fight it, or if I just take it and try extra hard these next two years. My mentor would encourage me to fight it, but I don't know if I have the energy.

I have an official diagnosis of Persistent Depression now, plus the other stuff we already knew, so I'm working really hard to turn my life around and structure it in a way that's good and healthy for me. It's a lot of hard work, but I have to believe it will be worth it in the end.

They have me teaching Biology and US History. You may recall that I am a math teacher and I honestly have no idea how to teach those other subjects. Luckily, I have very competent co-teachers to help me along there, and I do have one math class that is going absolutely fine. In History, we're talking about Race as a Social Construct, and I'm trying to decide if the kids are ready for the "Gender is also a Social Construct" talk or if it'll just throw them off more.

Students are...teenagers. I have freshmen and sophomores now, and they're all (COVID-caused) socially underdeveloped, so classroom management is a pain and a half. I'd say we're at "getting my pronouns correct half the time" right now, and working on it. I also have a lot more Spanish speakers, so working with the gender-neutral Spanish is an adventure all its own. I'm back to being the first nonbinary person a lot of students have met, and I'm trying to remind myself that there was an adjustment period at my last school, too. This will get easier. Even if I have to tear apart the queerphobic culture brick by brick.

(10/1/2023)

[jenatwork]

I feel like some major family drama is currently building up and I absolutely have to share it somewhere, but it's too long and convoluted to explain to anyone in-person, so.

Last week both my parents tested positive for covid. Mum's already had it three times, but this is the first time dad's had it. They're both multi-vaxed, so no real worries.

BUT.

1. We had plans to go for lunch today for dad's 70th birthday. I asked if they were going to postpone, and they said they'd both test again on Saturday (yesterday). They also told me, after I'd already agreed to going, that they'd invited my mum's friends, who I don't particularly like because they're racist (like, will use racial slurs level of racist). So I wasn't terribly bothered about postponing. Dad's birthday is on the 19th, so I can wait a few days.

BUT.

2. Saturday morning, I get a phone call to say that (a) mum is still testing positive, (b) dad hasn't tested because it will probably be positive, and (c) my grandmother is dying. Grandma has been ill for some time so this wasn't unexpected, and also she was a major contributor to my complex-ptsd and has a long history of being awful to lots of the family, so I am not the least bit sad. At this point, they're not sure if lunch is going ahead, because the table is pre-booked.

3. Saturday evening, I get another phone call to tell me that (a) grandma has died, (b) dad is still planning to go out for Sunday lunch because he's isolated for 5 days and the UK government advice says that's enough, and (b) mum isn't going to go because, you know, her mother just died. I tell mum to let me know if she needs anything from me, and then let my sister know that dad might need a nudge to be more attentive at home because he can't handle other people's emotions, then I remind myself that I'm not responsible for mediating anyone else's relationships and I switch off from it all.

4. I call my mother today to check in, and find out that they are both intending to go out for lunch with the racist family friends and my sister and her family. Remember that mum was still testing positive 24 hours ago. Dad is audibly coughing in the background while I talk to mum. I make no comment about them going out while clearly still ill, and ask mum to keep me posted on funeral arrangements. I remind them that I am supposed to travel for a big work conference next week, but may be able to take a day off if they need me for anything.

So.

Here's what I'm expecting.

At least one person at today's lunch will contact covid. If it's my sister or brother-in-law, there is a chance they may miss the funeral. If the funeral is any later than next Sunday, I might not be able to attend because of the big work conference (given my history with my grandma, I would absolutely choose work over her funeral, but I don't know if I can choose work over being available if my mother needs support, because dad has terrible communication skills and can't handle other people's emotions) but, as mentioned, there is a considerable chance my sister may contract covid, leaving me to be the responsible sibling, especially as also my mum's siblings may not attend the funeral as my uncle has avoided contact for the past couple of years for unknown reasons and my aunt was treated even worse by my grandma than I was.

I am immensely grateful that I live a full county away from my family and physically cannot travel up there at the drop of a hat.

[vttanon]

today my english teacher found me where i always am, in the english commons, by myself, with papers and books spread evenly across the entire table. this is how i keep others from sitting down by me.

"i was hoping you'd be here."

"i'm always here."

they laughed, and i'm not sure why, because i wasn't joking, but i think it must've been a way to ease into the next bit.

"what pronouns do you want me to use in your narrative comments for the quarter?"

in that moment, i remembered that the quarter ends this week, and conferences are next week, and i've been putting off these conversations for a month now but i really should get on it.

i laughed, because i make a joke out of these things or else it will hurt too much to say.

"oh yeah, i forgot to talk to you about that... you have to violently 'she' me."

i punctuated the statement with another laugh, but their face twisted up because the laughter can keep the heartbreak from being noticed by cis people but it's too familiar to other queer people. we've all been through it, so we can all see it in each other.

that moment meant something big to me, when they wordlessly told me "that is so shitty, and i see you." feeling seen is something rare, and something so very invaluable.

"well, you're almost out of here."

this was a comfort to be reminded of by someone outside my own conciousness. i often forget to internalise that. i am almost out of here. in a year i will be in oregon, studying religion at a college surrounded by queers.

we talked for a while about tattoos, because i think they understood that i was having a bad day, and that this was the cherry on the fucking top of it all, and that i could really use a conversation about something nice. i showed them the artist who'll be giving me my first tattoo in less than a month ("my body will finally be my own,") and they showed me the artist that did one of their's.

"my parents are gonna kill me."

"that's okay. mine did too."

~~~

it's frustrating to send seven emails to each of my teachers who i have finally got to somewhat respect me, and give them permission to misgender me all over again. i feel like i'm betraying myself, and my little sibling who came out to our family and who will always be braver than me. i hate telling my teachers to call me she when they already do it too much without me saying it's okay.

it sucks, too, because my english teacher is my only teacher who is consistently good at respecting me and using language that affirms who i am, and i know that reading the comments they write that will misgender me is going to hurt especially bad. they've never once gotten it wrong, and i know i am going to cry reading those comments.

i wish i was as empowered and unapologetic as everyone seems to think i am. all my peers think im too cunt (paraphrasing) and all the queer punk kids younger than me look up to me. i feel a responsibility to them to present this image of a violently authentic, passionate, intelligent and charismatic queer person that they can see as a role model, because i never had that when i was younger. i feel like every time i go home and say nothing when my parents call me "lady" and every time i go back into hiding is a betrayal to those kids who look up to me.

i'm thinking now, though, and maybe the reason i feel the need to be perfect for them is because the role models i had were online personalities who could cultivate perfection easily. maybe it's my job to show them that i (and they, too) can be powerful and messy and scared all at once. mess and fear breeds power. anger breeds power. complicated, beautiful, human people are powerful.

i don't know. i'm just pretty fucking heartbroken right now about all of this. i hate being she-d more than anything. i'm sad. i thought i'd write it down.

until next time,

xx, VENDETTA

[actually-eldritch]

She's holding him on a leash in public, the leash is attached to a collar around his neck but the scene isn't sexual. Whether or not they are getting gratification from this is simply not visible; they don't appear to be revelling in attention—the morality of such aside—they are visibly doing their own thing.

In the comments of a post someone pipes up a highly anticipated response. “People in public didn't consent to your scene! ...” and continues with its inane repetition of puritan propaganda translated in to therapyspeak.

“Nobody consented to seeing your comment, and yet here you are.” says another.

I want to answer, but the comment is years old; at this point it's better to fall on nebulous ears rather than to be shot at any particular target.

So I'd say,

Do you also believe people wearing cat ears and tails are preforming public sex acts because they (people wearing tails and ears) are akin to furries and—god forbid—some of them get off to it? Choose carefully now; children of their own accord and volition wear these things, and mascots are widely deemed family friendly.

Did you know suit fetishes are a thing? Well they are, and I know many people that have them. Does this fact make suits sexual too now? Is a professional conference a sex act to you because of this? And, if it's not, why is this different to you?

Can you not comprehend the idea that something can be inherently neutral and it's our approach and our feelings that paint the tone of their usage in any given circumstance? Is it totally beyond you that people can fill their glass with a variety of feelings and reactions for a variety of reasons and that they don't owe it to you to beam it in your head instantly and telepathically nor to hide from society all because Joe Random might get a bit squicked and call—however ineffectively—to summon a mob?

You might think me obtuse but sincerely, where do you draw the line. Perhaps he needs domineering to be alright; any sexual association if present could have come after that need, to deal with the vicious self-loathing that came with being a grown ass man with socially unacceptable needs. Or maybe it started as a sexual thing because his subconscious couldn't convince him to allow himself what he needed if he didn't feel like he simply wanted it. Or maybe it's totally nonsexual. Or maybe it's more complicated.

Or maybe it doesn't matter and you should mind your godamned business, if only because what you have been taught or lead to believe or otherwise convinced yourself was an inherently sexual act does not actually involve any of the direct acts that constitute sex inherently.

And in allowing yourself to believe otherwise you justify to yourself adding your power to the reinforcement of the censorship of human beings existing as they are.

And in doing so you forget yourself, you forget the rainbow flag in your icon and it's history. You forget the fight queers have fought and continue to fight to not have our existence viewed as inherently sexual as a means to scrub us out of public spaces.

We're QUEER because we're WEIRD. To say “We're HERE and we're QUEER” is to say our existence is WEIRD TO YOU but YOU'VE JUST GOTTA DEAL WITH IT.

You cannot simply sweep away “degenerates of society”, and you sound no different to me than the guy that openly states that and, if anything, you're less self-aware—and that's more dangerous because you'll share your beliefs with people as though your words come from a place of concern rather than reactive disgust you're failing to control.

So I'll humble you with a reminder that if you feel comfortable assigning non-sexual things as sexual purely because you know that sometimes or even usually it is involved in sex, that this will arguably be true of your interests too no matter how ""clean"" they seem to you. Someonelse could argue that you're a public sex freak for simply being who you are, and you contribute to this issue by helping spread this ideology.

Because it's also not that different from the arguements that make me feel violently uncomfortable being crippled in public either; I see how people react. Do you think they should be able to remove me too, just because I make them a little uncomfortable?

Try thinking for yourself for a change; start by asking yourself why these words are really leaving your mouth and where they came from. Is this really who you want to be?

[nursing-eden]

dogfighting (tw; domestic violence, religion)

i wonder if you think of me the same way i do when i fall asleep, holding a pillow tighter than i'd be willing to hold you. when i grip my teeth onto kindness, it bleeds, and i don't want to be a fighter anymore, even if that is the curse God put on my love. my lips are still stained red from trying to hold on the only way my parents taught me to love; for the kids, for the church, the hundred dollars set aside for a marriage certificate clung to cheeks the way hair sticks to sweaty faces. love is sex, but only done right in the eyes of God, and love is pain, but only when the heavens will it and if it comes from a man's mouth or hand-- which it always will-- then it's righteous, and when it comes from a woman's she may just be a sinner. "we're all sinners," the man in a blue polo says to an army of children in the conference room, "but eve took the first bite." when they split us by sex and send us to different courtyards, i don't listen to what the blonde-hair blue-eye 17 year old matriarchs of my herd of children say. i strain my ears and try to hear the boys across the campus speak of love and service and holiness in whispered tones like we do, but they must be even quieter than we are, because i only hear our soft-spokeness, punctuated by laughs of pre-teen boys and basketball dribbles on the court. there is an eleven year old inside of me that thinks of marrying one of them, kissing their acne ridden faces and holding their hand and being married in a church, but in that daydream she is a man with none of the violence.

the little girl inside of me grows up before my body can and soon i am sleeping on the futon of a high school friends' apartment. i don't stay long and in the five months i do, i sleep next to an equal amount of bodies, and it feels like this is all love could be. my mother told me often that she didn't want me to grow up to be like her, and now when i talk to her on the phone about wanting to go back to school and be a teacher she doesn't ask me about it, only inhales e-cigarette smoke and kindly tells me to grow up. i don't talk to her about the women i sleep with, because i am not a lesbian and worse so they are not women the way i am not a man. when i speak to people on the phone they are kind and my mother reminds me that people are not always as kind in the way they speak as the way they act, that we are all dogs and the men cagefight and the women are bitches, and i want to argue and tell her that i don't want to fight and the women i know are very lovely, really, and i think kissing them is nice. but the last time i did that she told me i was confused and that one day, when i'm older, i'll get it. the rest of the night that i lay in my best friends' arms, the little girl in me daydreams of killing herself because i don't want to understand the world the way my mother does.

now, i am even older and i live in an apartment that seemed like a good idea a year ago and now i understand why people complain about rent the way they do. it's a pleasant kennel most of the time, when i sleep or when i have a toy to chew on, but other times i lock myself in here because i have this fear that i will bite again. sometimes i call my mother and sometimes i'm scolded for needing to talk to her so often, and others i call and she asks if I've died because it's been a week since she's heard from me and now i'm saying i don't particularly want to drink when i turn 21. she calls and i don't know what to say to her, because one day i called to ask her how much barbershop haircuts cost and she told me "you realize they'll know you're not really a man, right?" and when i hung up to cry she didn't apologize, only told me again how emotional i was. in my amazon wishlist there is a shock collar but everytime i question how much progress $30 can really make, because I've spent far more in alcohol and it's never made much of a difference past the second gin and tonic. the little girl inside of me is constantly reminded of the week after my birthday where every morning i got cake and ice cream for breakfast and it made me never want to go back to my mother and stepdad's house, even though the cupboards were empty except for a couple bottles of jack daniels and a liter of diet coke, but she is very noisy and very demanding and male dogs aren't usually good with children because that's the bitches' job. so i tell her we'll go grocery shopping in the morning and i have another drink.

it doesn't take much for me to hop on the wagon, compared to other men. some men hop in the bed of the truck and fall out over and over and never learn to hang on to the rope anchors and i maybe hold on a little too tight, because my hands cramp every time we hit a speedbump. but then i remember how some men fall off and never get back on and die alone in the street and it makes me hold on even tighter. even more so, i remember that there was a respite where life was hard, painful even, just like my parents always told me-- and there was still some reason to wake up in the morning, and even more so to wake you up and ask you if you'll ride the bus with me to the hospital. the little girl in me got used to holding drinks that were not hers, fetching beers for fathers watching the game and talking about how good black people were at football, and maybe that was for the better. there is tension in the house, and now it follows me wherever i go and i blame it on that dog, hormones, and he did make it harder but that's just what being a man is, right? but my men were never like that, even the ones with scary fathers, and there is an arthritis that aches in my joints when i understand the effort it must take for other men to be patient with me. the little boy in you asks me which setting to run the dishes on, and i lose my patience, because i am a dog and i bite, and when we wake up in the morning and have a mimosa or three i will put him in the kennel and apologize.

the little girl in me sits me down and says what i said to my father, "you are an alcoholic". and i tell her she's wrong because i haven't killed myself but i whisper the yet. she tells me that i am scaring her and you shouldn't scare people you love and in the detox center of my bedroom i almost say i don't love her, and then i look at the room i used to share with a man who wasn't raised to bite and i understand that i forgot how to love a lot more than her.

that is all it takes, and it feels like it may be the most tremendous loss of my life. i'm not quite 21 and there is a lot of life to live, and maybe i am still just too young to understand the appeal of marrying one of the 12 year olds on the basketball court. maybe what i really need is a man with a good job who can't hold his liquor, and maybe i need to go to church more and accept Jesus Christ back into my life. but you once told me about Jesus Christ at the gay bar, and i'm still not quite convinced that when it comes to raising dogs, my mother knows much at all. ⋆

[justekasmindx]

01/12

Patience

All my life, my patience has been tested to the point that it would drain me in order to forgive other people and give them multiple chances.

It's just recently that I realized that patience is most needed by ourselves.

A couple of days ago, I had an hour-long talk with one of my leaders. He had me stay in a conference room, not to talk about our job but just to let me speak and cry for more than an hour. He was just there listening, giving me a safe space to let it all out, and asking me questions about what I wanted and needed. He almost did nothing at that time. He didn't try to be logical at all; he was just there, telling me that everything I feel and want to do is totally okay and that others' opinions, even theirs, do not matter if I think those don't help. I guess he did that to help me clear my mind and focus on what really is important to me, for me to not lose the track I've been following, for me to visualize what I really want, to have something to look forward to, to have a reason to get up from my bed again, which is not only for work purposes, but he just knew that each day for me is a battle and I have to be reminded that there's a light at the end of the tunnel without putting pressure on me; he let me see it myself.

At that moment, I learned what kind of people I'd want to have in my circle. That made me raise my standards for how I want to be treated and also hit me with the fact that I should be that person, without intending to isolate, and to be the first respondent to myself whenever I'm struggling to survive a day. That made me want to be a better friend to my friends and be kinder to other people. Not everyone has the courage to be brave every day; they need no judgment, sometimes just ears.

It doesn't always have to be like 'find a man or a partner who can do these'. Instead, nurture the few golden relationships that we currently have, most importantly the one with ourselves. We don't have to be such a giver and naive because the true ones will appreciate us by just being there, who will respect the boundaries, and who will show you the sunshine when you're too blind to see it during rainy days.

#mentalhealthmatters

[scuttle-buttle]

Chapter 11

WC: 2077

Rated: E

Chapter Tags: full on angst, discussions of emotional trauma, mild depictions of blood/gore, mentions of self h*rm & su*cide, mentions of child abuse, discussions of physical disabilities, institutionalization, some dialogue & plot canon to TV show, hurt/comfort

🧠

The rest of the conference went by much like the first day did. Both you and Laszlo bought a few books for your collections. An ease had settled over your conversations with the help of Sara and John's presence; you spoke more freely with each other. You tell yourself it is not because he's going soft on you or vice versa, but rather that you have found yourself in this imaginary bubble where you happen to get on well. It's inevitable that it will pop once you’re back at school and Laszlo will revert back to his usual callous state.

Laszlo. It still felt odd to think of him like that, rather than by his title. You couldn't lie, it gave you a sort of thrill. Even in your dreams you had only called him by his honorific. Thankfully you didn't have another dream after Friday. You couldn't escape the feeling that you'd said something incriminating in front of the man in question. So you chose to pretend it didn't happen.

Monday morning came and you headed to the train station. Once again he had secured a private cabin for the journey. This time you came prepared with a book since you had yet to replace your broken phone.

"Thank you again for inviting me to this, I really enjoyed myself. It was really nice of the department to foot my travel expenses, the hotel was really fancy. I may have helped myself to a mini-bottle or two," you joked.

"There is no need to worry about the department's finances; they were not involved."

You pause. He paid for you? Laszlo did say he would take care of the arrangements; but the four-star hotel, the private compartment train tickets, the admission to the conference, and every meal? Shit, that must have been a fortune, hundreds of dollars at least.

You don't know what to say, so you settle for an awkward "oh." A moment passes before you add "I appreciate that, um, I can pay you back. Might take some time but I can."

The professor is flippant in his reply. "There is no need, it was well spent for the research and knowledge acquired." He opens his book signaling the conversation is over.

You lick your lips. Fine then, I'll just consider it payment for emotional suffering and damages of the last eight weeks.

The first few hours of the journey were spent reading one of the new books you picked up at the convention. Occasionally you would peek over the pages at the professor. He was engrossed in his own selection; sometimes he would pause to write down a thought.

Around the seventh hour of your journey you had given up on reading anymore in favor of looking at the fields outside. The silence was comforting.

Laszlo had trouble concentrating on the book in his hand. He saw you as a conundrum. One minute you could be sociable and teasing with your comments, then next you were biting at his throat with your quick wit and fierce ideals. He decides that he wants to know what made you into who you are today. Now is as good a time as any.

His eyes on you cause a tingle up your spine but you ignore it. Laszlo breaks the silence; "may I ask a personal question?"

"You just did," you answer, still peering out of the large window. He huffed once, amused. At his following silence you face him. You raise your eyebrows to signal him to go on with his question. Curiosity grows at the thought of what he intends to ask.

"Twice now you have made implications of a traumatic past," he begins.

Bubble popped.

Interrupting, you snark "is this the part where you psychoanalyze me, doc? Because trust me, I've been through enough of that." You pick at the lint on your jeans.

Laszlo tries to choose his words more carefully the next time he speaks. "What I mean to say is, the first afternoon in the classroom where you defended that student you implied you had been witness to a trauma. You then displayed signs of anger and embarrassment before leaving prematurely. Yesterday you mentioned having entered a psychiatric facility. As an alienist I can't help but find myself curious about your experiences."

You slide your eyes to meet his from across the cabin. Your face is devoid of any emotion. "We all have our demons. Even you can't argue with that."

Your jaw clenches. Everyone had warned you. They all said he would try to worm his way into your head to figure you out. All the reviews, the gossip, everything. It was a big fat 'I told you so'. You give a pitiful laugh at the situation. "You know, everyone told me that you would pull this stunt."

He seems confused by your statement. "And what is that?"

"That you'd get inside my head and try to figure me all out or whatever. You already know I googled you beforehand, what everyone says about your methods. By now I assume you've done a little research yourself. I promise you there is nothing exciting here," you scoff and point to yourself.

"You would be correct in your assumption." You chew at your cheek as he starts. "I do know some of what happened in your past. Yet I also know that society likes to dilute the truth into something either more palatable, more entertaining, for people to consume greedily. What I want to know is what you have faced. How you have not allowed the experience to overcome you so much so that your humanity is erased like the characters I lecture on."

Eyes closing of their own volition you are thrown back in time to that night so many years ago. You didn't talk about it anymore. Bitsy knew of course, but that was the extent.

Laszlo waits. He knows this is likely to push you over the edge if your history with him means anything. Quite frankly, anyone would be tossed to their limit at his interrogation had they gone through what you had. John always told him that he needed to work on his bedside manner; that he had a habit of coming on too strong in his pursuit of learning the intricacies of the human mind. But your earlier comment about being sent to a so-called 'nuthouse' rubbed him the wrong way. It left a bad taste in his mouth. He needed to know. He needed to understand.

Laszlo can imagine the reprimand that he would receive from John and Sara for this. Just as he considers apologizing for his intrusion you open your eyes.

"She was fine. None of us suspected anything was wrong. I came home from having dinner with some… boy, and she had locked herself in the bathroom. She- she must have started over the sink and moved to sit on the side of the tub. She was hunched inside it when I got the door open. I pulled her out. Blood was… everywhere." Your voice is clinical as you explain.

"After, I shut down. So I checked myself into a psych ward a few days later when I couldn't get the feel of her blood off my hands. It's slippery, you know. And it smells. You wouldn't think so but it does." You clear your throat. "I did the therapy, took the meds they prescribed, all the standard treatments. Later I started watching true crime documentaries. I'd heard about exposure therapy so I figured the more I saw the gore, the less the image of my dead roommate would bother me. And it did help. The nightmares stopped after a while, I came back to school. I was better, just not the same.” You had watched the passing landscape as you explained. Turning to face him you speak again. “That's why those pictures didn't bother me. They weren't anything I hadn't seen before."

He contemplates you. The discovery and subsequent loss of your friend in this manner would no doubt cause lingering effects to your psyche. A stain that would forever remind you. "I offer my sincerest condolences. I do not presume to know what that would be like to experience, but I am glad you sought help afterwards. To make the choice to alleviate yourself of your own suffering where possible.”

As he says this he realizes that your anger towards the idea of being enslaved to unconscious impulse makes perfect sense. It explains why you focused so much energy on defending your belief in free will. That you have the power to choose how you carry your joy, your anger, your healing. It reminds him of how he held onto his own guilt and hurt, ignoring how it festered within him for so long. He feels as though he needs to share a piece of himself with you.

“I played piano as a child, quite well too. My mother hoped I would someday make a career of it. I vividly remember playing Mozart’s Concerto for Piano No. 20 in D Minor at a holiday party when I was seven years old. It was my favorite to play.... It requires two hands." You finally look at him. "My father...” He pauses to gather himself.

Now it is the doctor that cannot meet your eyes. As you listen you feel your confusion grow. How could he have been a talented pianist if he only had full use of his left hand? Unless..., the realization dawns on you just as he continues, his words slow.

“My father had two sides. One loving and the other brutal, the two often coexisting. It was something as trivial as putting me to bed, I recall... A game of tug of war. We were laughing…” He inhales a sharp breath. Already you can feel the tears begin to blur your vision. “I don't remember if he was drunk or if I said something that offended him. He must have pulled my arm behind my back.” Laszlo exhales shakily. “In small children, fractures can often affect…” he trails off, unable to finish. You can hear how he barely holds himself together.

Your heart aches for the broken man that sits in front of you. He never let on how much his arm bothered him, at least not within your presence. Suddenly you don’t see him as this rude, insufferable, obsessive man, but instead as someone that spends his life trying to protect himself. He projects his own anger and hurt so that he may, just for a minute, forget about his own demons. He wants to help others even when he feels he cannot bear to help himself.

But unlike you, he has to live with the physical reminder of his past every day of his life.

You stand and move to sit on his right side. Before allowing yourself to think too much of your actions, you place your hand atop his own, curling your fingers around his palm and squeezing delicately. You don’t bother wiping away the tears on your cheeks. “I’m so sorry, Laszlo;” the whisper is barely heard above the sound of the train. A second passes where you fear you have overstepped and offended him by touching the affected limb. When his thumb tightens against the backs of your fingers you know he is not. He holds you in place.

“You asked me how I kept my humanity. How does anyone really? We learn to take what we get and we carry it in a bag. Sometimes you have to drag the damn thing behind you. But eventually the weight gets less and less if you allow yourself to move forward, even if it’s still there with you all the time. I dealt with what happened years ago and it does still haunt me. It’s easier now than it was, but… I- I suppose I’ve learned from you too. Sitting in those lectures and hearing you talk. We can either let it haunt us for the rest of our lives… or we can accept it… and use the memory of our pain to help ourselves and others.”

“I’m not sure the choice is entirely in our hands.” His tone is mournful.

You turn to smile at him through your tears. His own eyes are bloodshot. “I disagree. If it weren’t, if we didn’t have the freedom to choose that, we’d all be murderers.”

Tag list

@hardlyinteresting @lorna-d-m @livvyshmiv @somethingthatsaysbubbles @greeneyedblondie44 @unbeatablecurlgirl @apparrio @marchingicenotes7 @anteroom-of-death @bruhidaniel @lemairepstuff @thehuiabird @zemosimp05 @alindeluce @iamnotthecatladynextdoor @laura-naruto-fan1998 @trelaney @boneheadduluc @i-am-dead-inside-666 @fictionlandslanddreams

[miss-smutty]

The Destructive Secret

Chapter 4

Summary- You've got a secret to hide and it's going to cause complete and utter devastation. It's only so long until your lies are going to catch up to you.

Pairing- Chris Hems x Reader x Liam Hems

Word count- 2,211

Warnings- Smut, swearing, angst, cheating

18+ Only!!

Disclaimer: This is an entire work of fiction/AU and has no affiliation to real life what so ever! This is a fictional story about fictional characters who happen to share names and faces with some real people.

Posted: 29th June 2021

Taglist:- @innerpaperexpertcloud @pandaxnienke @chickensarentcheap @mostly-marvel-musings @longlostinanotherworld

>The Destructive Secret Masterlist<

"No not married but you do know her. You know her really well actually." Chris says while avoiding your gaze purposefully...

You could cut the tension in the room with a knife, silence so acute you could hear a pin drop. Liam waiting for an answer, Chris looking at his feet and you looking visibly anxious. Chris had drank way too much and now he was about to let all of your secrets loose. This isn't the way you want Liam to find out, surely Chris wouldn't be so cruel.

"I suppose you're not gonna tell me who it is?" 

"Not just yet, see how we go." He looked at you, if he so much as even looked slightly smug you would have slapped him right across his face. Instead you could see the hurt in his eyes, tears welling in the corners. You're both faced with an impossible dilemma, Chris wants you all to himself but doesn't want to lose his brother in the process and you want it all over and done with but don't want to hurt Liam. The latter of both is inevitable but you would take all the blame just so Chris didn't have to lose his brother, given the choice you would lose them both just so that didn't happen.

"Well on that note, I need to go to bed. I've gotta be up early in the morning." You avoid Chris' gaze, you're angry with him but you don't want to cause him more pain. 

"Yeah me too. I better get going. Thank you for dinner Y/N, it was lovely."

You risk a short glance at him, you're eyes softening when they meet. The moment broken when Liam speaks, reminding you where you are and who you're with right at this moment in time.

"Are you for real? You're really going to drop a bombshell like that and then leave? Fuck man." Liam runs his hand through his hair, letting air out of his cheeks exasperatedly.

"Sorry bro, I'll save the excitement for another night. I've said too much already." Chris apologises with his eyes as he passes you, his hands twitching by his side's with the need to touch you.

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

The next morning when you wake, your heart sinks knowing all the turmoil you're going to have to go through just to make it to the hotel without being spotted. All the messing about and hiding you have to do, checking in under a false name at different times. Making sure nobody follows you to the hotel and especially no one follows Chris. Getting caught checking into the same hotel would be dreadful, it wouldn't take a genius for the press to put two and two together, they wouldn't even care if it was true or not as long as they sold copies.

"Right babe, I'm ready to go." You pull your suitcase towards the door, stopping to wrap your arms around Liam.

"Have a good time, I'll see you soon." Wrapping his arms tightly around your waist and lifting your feet from the ground in a squeezy hug. "I'll miss you." 

"I'll miss you too, bye babe." 

"Bye. Love you. Let me know when you get checked in." He kisses you goodbye before watching you leave.

"Will do, Love you." You say over your shoulder, climbing into your silver, Audi convertible.

This is the part you hate the most, the part that made you question whether it was all worth it. It was, of course or you wouldn't be doing it, you wouldn't put yourself through having to pretend to be somebody else and praying your not caught by anyone. It only takes one person to notice you and Chris in the same hotel and it's over. You imagine having an affair is hard work whatever your circumstances but when your boyfriend and your lover are as famous as they are it becomes impossible. It's terrifying. 

You spent the car journey constantly checking your mirrors and making sure you weren't being followed. A huge sunhat and even bigger sunglasses covering your face as your heart beated faster than you thought was possible. A couple of laps around the hotel, making doubly sure you weren't being followed before you finally pulled into the carpark.

You had to constantly think, you couldn't let your guard drop for even a moment and it was exhausting. You were ready for it to be over and done with now, this just isn't fun anymore. Maybe you could run away together and start a new life somewhere else. Which one would you pick though? Who are you ready to give up? Would there even be an option to choose? Would Liam even be willing to forgive you if he knew you were sleeping with his brother? In love with his brother.

Your heart beating out of your chest, your fight or flight well and truly kicking in now as you walk up to the front desk. If there's any recognition in the receptionists eyes you're ready to turn right around and leave. The girl behind the desk, with long blonde hair has her eyes on the computer In front of her, thankfully not paying you much attention as you stand and wait for her to finish.

"Hi I'd like to book a room for two nights please." You stutter nervously, subconsciously checking over your shoulder while you spoke.

"Of course, is it just for yourself?" 

"Yes please, I'm just here for a work conference. I'd like a double bed if possible though, I haven't been able to sleep in a single since I was young." You giggle nervously, embarrassed that you'd told her information she isn't even slightly interested in.

"No problem, I'll see what I have for you." Her eyes barely left her computer as she spoke, she definitely didn't recognise you. The tension in your muscles relaxed a little as your eyes scanned the lobby.

"What name is it please?" She asked, one of the moments you'd been dreading. You hate lying but luckily you'd already come up with the fake name you were using, one you'd already used many times before in the exact same situation. It never gets any easier.

"Jessica Crawley." The names tumbled from your lips, names that had absolutely no meaning to you. 

"Room 101, floor 5. Is there anything else I can help you with?" 

"No thank you, that's great." The overwhelming feeling of relief at completing step one without any problems, rushes over you. Adrenaline spiking, making your legs feel like jelly.

"You're welcome, enjoy your stay. Don't hesitate to let me know if you have any questions." The girl says, smiling sweetly at you before going back to her work.

The elevator seemed to take forever to make its way down to you, your feet shuffling as you watched the numbers above the door, counting down. The overwhelming need to get to privacy and away from the many prying eyes of the people in the lobby was severe. Most were business men and women, that were so consumed in themselves they weren't paying special attention to anyone around them. There were also young couples, making their way through the lobby, probably on their way for lunch but the people that worried you the most were the random loners sat in the armchairs scattered around the lobby. They'd chosen the perfect place to watch, some pretending to read newspapers while their eyes discreetly scanned over the top.

They were much more inquisitive, much like yourself they paid more attention to the people around them. People watchers you liked to call them, these are the sorts of people that make you nervous. They see everything, noticing any minor details, you'd spent a lifetime perfecting 'people watching' which is how you knew to be wary. You could pretty much judge a person's personality just by watching them for a couple of minutes. If anyone was to spot you it would be one of these people. You felt thankful you weren't Chris, there is absolutely no way he was going to make it to the elevator without being seen at least once.

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

Chris didn't feel quite as nervous as you, this was a every day occurance in his life, avoiding paparazzi was near impossible for him. As long as you weren't seen going in to the hotel then it wouldn't matter about him being seen. Still, he'd worn his baseball cap and sunglasses to at least try and hide his identity. He wasn't nervous about being seen but more about having to face you after his fuck up last night. Now that thought was way more intimidating to him.

Casually strolling into the hotel, he tried to ignore the whispers of the people around him. People questioning if it was really him, young girls barely out of high school giggling at the sight of him. Chris quietly prayed that he would make it up to the room without anyone asking for a photo, not that he usually minded but today all he wanted was to spend every possible minute with you as he could.

The receptionist tried to make a fuss when his identity was confirmed during check in. The pale skin of the same blonde girl who'd checked you in, had turned a rather bright shade of red when she heard Chris' sexy Australian accent. You wouldn't blame her, it still makes you swoon whenever you heard him speak.

"I'm fine honestly, I don't want any special treatment. Actually if I could get away with going completely unnoticed during my stay, I will speak to your boss myself and tell them how accomodating you'd been." 

"Oh wow, really? Thank you so much Mr Hemsworth. I will make sure nobody bothers you and if you need anything at all just give me a call, I'll make sure you won't have to leave your room for anything." Chris smiled, pretending not to notice how she seemed to be flirting with him, badly. Tossing her hair over shoulder as she insinuated not so subtly for him to let her know if he wanted any 'special' treatment. Again, you don't blame the girl, infact you would've commended her confidence.

She handed over the keys to the penthouse, watching bright eyed as he walked to the elevator, pulling out his phone as he stepped straight in. 

"Hi babe, I've booked the penthouse suite, meet me up there?" Smiling a tight lipped smile at the girl behind the desk, who was still watching him intently as the elevator doors closed.

"Ok, it isn't very inconspicuous staying in the penthouse is it?" You shouldn't be surprised, he does it everytime. You remember the first time you ever saw a penthouse and how amazed you were that it was actually bigger than your own home at the time. That was a memory you shared with Liam, all of your first times had been with Liam, the thought made your heart sink.

"I mean they knew who I was as soon as I walked in, I think it would look more suspicious if I didn't stay in a suite." Chris answered, pulling you from your thoughts.

"I suppose that's true, I'll be up soon." You could hear the sadness in your voice, something you had to snap out of before meeting Chris.

"Good because I can't wait to get my hands on you." 

Sinking back onto the spongey mattress of your bed, tiredness washing over you already. The mental exhaustion of constantly having to play games and be on your guard at all times, catching up to you as you're finally alone.

Maybe that's what you need afterall, a chance to be alone to gather your thoughts, to workout your own needs and wants without spreading your attention between the two brothers.

You make a mental list of the pros and cons of both of them knowing deep down if Liam were the one for you, you'd have never have looked twice at Chris. They were so similar in a lot of ways but completely different in others.

Liam was the sweetest man you knew, so gentle and caring, attentive to your every whim and being so young when you first got together he was everything you were looking for.

Now being a woman that has gone through so much trauma in her life that had tainted your soul, darkened it with a lust for more.

Then Chris came along, he was still sweet and caring but less attentive to your needs unless it was in the bedroom. He was cheeky and funny, drop dead gorgeous and oozing manliness effortlessly. He was fire and passion. He was more. 

If you let yourself admit it, you wanted excitement, which is how you ended up here in the first place. You didn't want perfect anymore, you wanted a man who could do wrong and then make up for it in the most fulfilling way he knew how. Just thinking about it made your pulse race, Chris had put you through hell last night and now it was time for payback. You imagined Chris only a couple of floors above you, worried about the way you were going to act when you saw him and lord knows how much you're going to make him sweat.                    

[robininthelabyrinth]

I'd like more Baxia/NMJ bodyswap please and thank you!

Close - extra 3

-

It wasn’t actually, strictly speaking, necessary for Nie Mingjue to spend two weeks as a saber after he got a nasty concussion on a deliberately sabotaged night-hunt, but he was tired of being in charge – he’d refused the Chief Cultivator title on principle, but he seemed to somehow have gotten stuck doing all the work, possibly for lack of other options – and, well, he could. So why not?

Obviously Baxia wasn’t capable of leading his sect, much less the cultivation world, but he did have one sworn brother left of the two, however distracted the remaining one was by Meng Yao’s plight, and anyway his brother needed to figure out the details of running things sometime before Nie Mingjue actually did die of qi deviation.

“You’re not going to die, stop being so dramatic,” Nie Huaisang grumbled. “The sect healers said that your meridians are clearer than they’ve ever seen in our family and that you may well have solved the problem in our clan’s cultivation method to the point that they don’t see any reason you can’t cultivate straight into immortality.”

Nie Mingjue did not respond. He was, after all, a saber.

“I can feel you being smug in there!”

It was a natural state for sabers. That was his story, and he was sticking with it.

Baxia laughed inside his mind and reached out with a human hand to pat Nie Huaisang on the head, her action still a little overly rough by the look of his face. She’d seen a parent do it to their child and been charmed by the action; she seemed to think it was the human equivalent of being polished.

“Ugh, da-jie, stop that, I’m a grown-up – more to the point, I’m a grown-up that’s going to be running the sect for the next few days until da-ge’s concussion is better!”

Baxia held up two fingers.

“…two days?”

She shook her head.

“Two weeks?”

A nod.

“I – but – da-ge, you can’t do this to me!”

Yes, he could, Nie Mingjue thought with a smile that had some bite in it. And he would, too.

“But there’s a discussion conference about to happen!”

It was all planned out already – Nie Huaisang only needed to attend in his place. What was the problem?

“Da-ge! You get out of that saber this instant and talk to me!”

No.

“Da-ge!”

-

It wasn’t so much that Nie Mingjue had overlooked the question of the discussion conference, but rather he didn’t think it was especially relevant to him as a saber, and of course Baxia would just sit there and scowl at everyone, her aura so intimidating that no one would dare come near.

He overlooked only a single problem: that a discussion conference meant guests, and guests meant swords.

Talkative swords.

In a manner of speaking, anyway.

Nie Mingjue had grown accustomed to the strange way of seeing things that sabers had, more qi detection than actual vision; he had learned to adjust to the strange way that he could almost taste evil, the way his blade was a single jagged tooth eager to drink down blood; he had become familiar with having a body made of sharp steel, immune to pain but vulnerable to dents.

Despite that, hearing the other swords converse was – utterly bizarre.

It was one thing when all around him were the sabers of his Nie sect, since obviously Wei Wuxian didn’t carry one and the Wen sect didn’t either, and Lan Xichen was far too polite to carry his sword openly in the halls of the Unclean Realm. Those sabers surrounded him like a raindrop fallen into a well, familiar and comforting and just the same as him – the same implacable hatred of evil, the nuances of their personalities in greater or lesser degrees, often echoing their masters. They rarely conversed, merely affirmed each other upon meeting, a low subvocal purr of contentment to be around the like-minded.

(Aituan sounded like a rusty door, squeaking and yawning, but however weirdly good-naturedly he was, he was still a saber, with his share of bloodlust and hatred and rage buried deep inside his metal.)

The swords, however…

Shuoyue was a rippling brook, gentle and clear and perhaps a little shallow, a little too flexible, while Bichen in contrast was steady as the earth – more saber-like, despite the double edge. They emitted a feeling like the curved vowels of Gusu and the straightness of their sect rules, the serene mountains and the generous plains, pristine and perfect right up until they met some of their neighbors (the newly formed Su clain, for example) at which point it was all screech-screech-screech.

The rule against gossip in the Cloud Recesses apparently didn’t apply to their swords.

Nie Mingjue would have expected the Jin sect swords to be flashy and bright, as gilded on the inside as they were on the outside, but they were actually a fairly quiet lot. He wasn’t sure if it was their masters’ poor cultivation – though it could be, they were weaker as a general rule than the other sects – or something else lurking behind, some secret of cultivation that he oughtn’t know.

Suihua was fairly pleasant, though: bright and almost maternal in the way she fussed about her wielder, secretly adjusting herself to compensate for any weaknesses in his form. She got along surprisingly well with Aituan, which Nie Mingjue wouldn’t have guessed, and Baxia hummed a reluctant note of approval as well.

Perhaps he should consider cultivating more of a relationship with the young Jin Zixuan, with such an excellent recommendation. Sure, he wasn’t his sword – unlike sabers, which reflected their masters in full, swords seemed to be more of a concave image, similar but distorted to more or lesser degree depending on the distance between master and sword – but the sort of person who would cultivate a sword like that probably needed all the real friends he could get.

Sandu, in contrast, was something of a disaster, something that Nie Mingjue hadn’t expected and, in hindsight, really should have. The sheer amount of power that the sword exuded was impressive, and he was stalwart and true, another saber-like one, but unlike his combative, grumpy, and uptight (but generally well-meaning) master, he was aimless and gamboling, mischievous in a vague unintentional sort of way, liable to make trouble more by accident than on purpose.

Reminded him of Aituan, actually. Children among swords…

It was really a fascinating insight, he thought to himself, amused. He could use this to his advantage in the future, even though he wouldn’t, politically; it seemed an unfair advantage. But perhaps as a means of making friends…

Hmm.

Speaking of friends –

-

“I don’t understand,” Wei Wuxian said, looking from Baxia to Nie Mingjue and back, eyes so notably not darting towards his Suibian that it had to be intentional. “Suibian isn’t a saber.”

“No,” Nie Mingjue said, already regretting having returned to his human form simply because of the skull-wracking migraine the concussion had left behind. Plus, if Nie Huaisang ever found out that he’d been willing to return for this but not to do the paperwork, he’d find a way to stab him no matter how great the difference in their cultivation.  “She isn’t. But she’s willing to compromise.”

“…what?”

Nie Mingjue wasn’t sure how to explain it. “You’ve interacted with Baxia when she’s - uh - upright, yes?”

“Yes, of course. Don’t think I haven’t noticed that it was mostly her during the conference – she nearly made Sect Leader Yao cry, and didn’t say a word the entire time. I want to know her secret method.”

“I’m fairly sure her method is ‘be a saber’,” Nie Mingjue said dryly. “Still, my point is – would you say that you have an understanding of her? Baxia, as opposed to me?”

“I don’t think anyone can really understand –”

Nie Mingjue leveled him with a look.

“Okay, fine, yes. She’s got a lot of personality, your Baxia. What does that have to do with you wanting me to cultivate Suibian with your sect’s technique?”

“A variation on my sect’s technique, since I’m obviously not teaching you the main technique itself. My point is, during the conference I had the opportunity to converse with a number of different swords –”

“Hold up!” Wei Wuxian held up both his hands. “You talked to the - to people’s swords?!”

“It’s not really talking,” Nie Mingjue admitted. “They’re mostly not as sentient as Baxia, especially for the younger generation. But they still have spirits; they wouldn’t be spiritual weapons if they didn’t. Anyway, it occurred to me that you weren’t using Suibian because of –”

“That incident we do not discuss.”

“…yes, that. Without a golden core, it’s impossible for you to cultivate in the traditional Jiang sect sword style -”

“Wow. You just completely missed the hint that I didn’t want to talk about that.”

“It’s not missing a hint if I ignore it deliberately. Anyway, the fact that you’ve cultivated Suibian in that style for all these years means that they are accustomed to that style, but since by coincidence I was able to converse with the other swords, I thought it worthwhile to feel out if they would be willing to consider adopting a style variation on the Nie sect style, with more emphasis on utilizing resentful energy as swordsmanship.”

Wei Wuxian looked stricken. “You – think that’s possible? I – no, I tried, it doesn’t –”

“You trained your sword to resist outside influences, I know. You can’t not teach a sword that; obviously no one wants Suibian being controlled by any ghost, corpse or yao that happens by. But I think with me in the saber and you on the outside, we might be able to work out a method by which Suibian could distinguish between resentful energy generally and resentful energy being wielded by you. That woudl allow them to respond to that energy as if it was your own…”

Wei Wuxian was hugging him. Why was he hugging him?

“I’m going to switch to Baxia if you don’t let go,” he warned, and Wei Wuxian let go at once.

His eyes were teary.

“I would like that,” he said. “I would like that very much.”

[helloalycia]

cheater [three] | kara danvers

summary: Kara catches on to the way you're distancing yourself from her and tries to get to the bottom of it.

warning/s: none (I think?).

author's note: This is the final part to the mini imagine so I hope you like it! I'll be posting a lena one tomorrow :)

part one | part two | masterlist | wattpad

A few weeks had passed since Anna had spoken to me, and in those few weeks, I had become more aware of how I was treating those I cared about. Specifically, Kara.

I still hung out with her and spoke to her, obviously, but I was cautious as to how much of myself I was giving out. I didn't want to appear reliant, clingy or annoying towards her. She didn't deserve that and I didn't want to risk her leaving me because of it. We still went out for lunch and hung out at each other's flats, but it was less frequent than usual. Anytime I thought I was inputting my opinion into her life, I drew back. If we were hanging out, I cut it a little shorter. I didn't want her to feel trapped.

I thought it was going well, really well actually. I thought I was doing it right, having her as a friend without suffocating her with my apparent power to over-care. But then she confronted me about it and I knew I'd screwed up.

I was photocopying something when she approached me, cornering me in against the photocopier.

"Hey," I greeted her, smiling politely before realising she wasn't smiling back. "What's up?"

"I'm hoping you can tell me," she said, crossing her arms.

"I don't understand."

She sighed, her blue eyes staring back at me with confusion. "Did I do something wrong? Have I upset you somehow? Are you angry at me?"

I immediately shook my head, stepping forward to place a hand on her crossed arms. "Kara, no, of course not! What's made you think that?"

She breathed out through her nose, uncrossing her arms. "You've been very withdrawn recently. I feel like I may have offended you somehow."

I pursed my lips, feeling my face go warm. "You haven't... I don't understand. Things are good between us. We hang out. We talk."

"Barely," she added. "You seem off with me. Distant."

I tried to laugh it off. "Kara, I don't get it. I'm fine!"

Her blue eyes darkened as she searched my expression curiously. "No, you aren't... I'm not leaving until you tell me what's wrong."

I gave her a knowing, albeit, nervous look. "Kara."

She shook her head, jaw locked with certainty. I tried to walk away, but she blocked my exit by stepping in front of me. I tried to side step her, but she simply followed, cornering me in with the photocopier.

"Kara, this is stupid and you know it," I complained, no longer joking now.

"What's stupid is how you've been acting lately," she said, just as seriously. "What is going on with you?"

I upheld her stare, determined not melt under her gaze and give in. I tried again to get out of that corner, but she was too quick and way stronger than me, so she stopped me every time. I sighed, feeling my stomach twist uncomfortably.

"It's not a big deal," I said quietly, avoiding her eyes.

"What isn't?"

I chewed the inside of my cheek nervously, before realising I had no other choice but to tell her the truth. I couldn't lie to Kara – she'd see right through me.

"Anna spoke to me a few weeks ago," I said, in a nonchalant way, hoping Kara would realise it wasn't an issue. "She told me she loved me still and wanted to get back together."

Kara's expression faltered as she widened her eyes with surprise. "What?"

"It was dumb on her part," I explained, feeling a sudden urge to let Kara know I wasn't interested. "I've moved on."

Kara pursed her lips with concentration as I continued.

"I reminded her that she cheated on me and she basically told me why," I said, giving a small smile to hopefully refute the pain that was returning in my heart. "I am apparently too loving to those I care about."

"What?"

I breathed out slowly, losing my smile. "She said I was too good. Too perfect. Too caring. I was too suffocating and so I pushed her away. It's dumb because I know I shouldn't care what she says, but it stuck with me."

Kara had an unreadable expression and I began to feel guilty.

"Look, Kara, I'm really sorry," I said, meeting her eyes. "I never wanted to make you feel like you were doing something wrong. I just, I thought that if I backed off a little... you know, gave you some space. Cared a little less. That you might stay around. I didn't... I didn't want to risk pushing you away like I did with Anna. I'm... I'm really sorry..."

I waited for a response, verbally or even a hint of an expression, but she simply stared at me with frozen eyes. I genuinely thought I'd screwed up, that she was fed up of my shit and was ready to call it a day with our friendship. Instead, she said nothing and stormed off angrily.

"Kara!" I called after her, before following her down the hall.

She was quick, as she manoeuvred around everybody, eyes searching the offices for somebody, I didn't know who. I kept calling her, trying to catch up to her but bumping into several colleagues instead. What was she up to?

"You!"

I saw as she found who she was looking for – Anna – and widened my eyes, realising what would happen.

"You are the most selfish, egotistical, manipulative woman I have ever met!" she yelled, storming towards Anna and getting in her face. "How dare you make Y/N question her relationships, our friendship!"

"What the hell are you talking about, Danvers?" Anna growled, pushing Kara back.

Kara seemed furious as I finally reached them. People were beginning to take notice of the two angry women and I managed to step between them before things escalated further.

"Woaaaaah, Kara, calm down," I said, blocking her vision of Anna and instead trying to get her to look at me. "Kara."

"You didn't deserve her." Kara glared daggers to Anna just before I managed to drag her away.

Reluctantly, Kara followed as I led her to a deserted conference room – anywhere to get away from Anna and what I was sure would soon be a fist fight if I hadn't stepped in.

"Kara, what the they hell?!" I shouted after closing the door.

Kara's jaw was clenched with anger as she shook her head. "I never liked her! She's always thought she was the best! That she could have anything she wanted!"

"Kara!"

"She hurt you!" she yelled, finally meeting my eyes. "It's her fault, all of this!"

My mouth closed as I breathed out through my nose, trying to find some way to argue her point, but she was right.

"She cheated because she's a horrible person, not because you care too much," she said with certainty. "One of the best things about you, Y/N, is that you care as much as you do. You make people feel seen and you make them feel good. And that isn't a bad thing at all!"

I felt embarrassed as she spoke, mostly because when she said it, it seemed right. Like I couldn't question it at all and that everything I thought about myself was false. Kara always sounded so certain that one couldn't help but want to believe her.

"She is hurting you even when you let her go," she said, swallowing hard. "She never deserved you, Y/N. And I hate that she's made you doubt yourself."

I didn't think Kara cared this much, yet she seemed so invested and it made me feel good, to know I had someone who actually cared.

"She never deserved you," she stated, her eyes glassy. "I'm sorry for shouting and getting angry, but she never did."

"Kara..."

Seeing her this upset made me feel guilty, and also hurt. I didn't think it would have this much of an effect on her.

"You're a great person, Y/N, one of the best I know. And you deserve someone who can see that. Someone like..." She paused, locking her jaw as she glanced at the ceiling before meeting my eyes. "Someone like me."

It took me a moment to realise what she'd said, and when I made sense of it, I was taken aback.

"Someone... someone like you?"

"Yes," she said, blue eyes softening as each second passed.

I felt my heart beating quickly the longer she stared, and it only intensified when she stepped closer to me, enough for me to feel the warmth of her skin.

Her eyes darted to my lips very obviously and I found myself drawn to hers, wanting to feel them against mine. She raised her hand, pressing it to my cheek, causing me to look her in the eyes again.

"How long?" I got out, feeling stupid for not realising sooner.

She licked her lips. "A long time."

I didn't know what to say, how to respond to that. It made sense though, now that I thought about it. Especially with how protective she'd been over me when it came to Anna. I thought it was her being a good friend, but it was a lot more than that.

Her other hand rested on my waist, sending shivers up my spine, before she moved closer and pressed her lips against mine. I closed my eyes and let her, resting a hand on her chest and returning the kiss.

I didn't realise how much I'd wanted to kiss her until now when it was actually happening. She was gentle yet passionate and I knew that she'd been bottling this up for awhile now, since she was kissing me like she was afraid it would be the first and last.

We pulled away soon enough, to my dismay, and I found myself staring into her pools of blue, attempting to puzzle together the confusion that was my brain.

"I think...," she spoke gently, her breath tickling my lips because of how close we still were. "I think that you deserve better than her. That you deserve me. And I'm here. If you want me."

I was still catching my breath as she looked between my eyes, calm and collected. I didn't know what to say – everything was happening quickly, too quick for me to keep up.

"And if you don't, which it seems you don't," she continued, stepping back and smiling awkwardly, "I can be your friend. Though that might be a little strange now."

I watched as she backed up awkwardly, nearing the door.

"Kara, that's not it," I spoke, earning her attention. "I don't– I don't know what to say. This happened quite fast and... I'm still trying to acknowledge the fact that you, well, you like me."

"I didn't mean to confuse you," she said, pressing her lips together as she nodded. She opened the door and glanced at me. "I'll go. Sorry if this messed things up. I just couldn't hold it in any longer and you deserved to know the truth."

I watched as she smiled once more before leaving. I tried to think of something to say to stop her, but I was still tongue-tied. And then she was gone.

***

I knocked on Kara's door and waited impatiently for her to answer. I could barely keep still, all of my thoughts wanting to burst out of my head. I had so much to say to her and I was never good with my words, but I didn't have time to write this down – I had to let her know how I felt.

She finally answered the door and seemed confused, but she smiled nonetheless.

"Hey, Y/N..."

"I should have come sooner, but my mind has only just decided to co-operate with my heart, so I'm here now," I explained, knowing it didn't quite make sense when I said it aloud.

She nodded slowly, still staring at me with furrowed eyebrows. She stood to the side, signalling for me to come in and I did, glad to not be stood in the same spot.

When she closed the door, I spun around and breathed out.

"You want a drink?" she asked, raising an eyebrow.

"No, no, I just need to tell you this," I said, cutting straight to the point. "You've helped me through a lot, and it probably would have taken a lot longer for me to be okay after everything that happened with Anna if it wasn't for you."

Kara nodded, looking like she wanted to speak, but thankfully, she let me continue.

"I care about you a lot, Kara. I do. I don't want to lose you, not now that I know what it's like to have you in my life. I thought that the way I cared about you was platonic. But then you told me everything you did and you kissed me and it was... it was perfect." I breathed out slowly. "I don't want to lose that."

"Why do you keep saying that?" Kara finally spoke up, shaking her head. "Why do you think I'm going to leave?"

I chewed on my lower lip as I glanced at my shoes. "As I said yesterday, I tend to care too much and evidently, that makes people want to leave. Or in my case, cheat."

"And as I said yesterday, that's completely false," she said, grabbing my hand and squeezing it gently. "I would never do that to you."

"I'm not saying you will," I said, shaking my head. "I just, I don't want you to think that... god this doesn't make sense..." I groaned to myself. "I know what I want to say, but it makes no sense."

"Tell me what you're scared of," she said sternly, eyes glued to mine with a look of determination. "Tell me exactly what you're thinking, Y/N."

I avoided her eyes as I tensed my jaw nervously. "You're not like her... I know you're not." I rolled my eyes at how silly I sounded. "But I overthink. And I can't help but wonder if it'll happen again. We might get together and it might be great, but then I'll do something wrong and you'll get tired. And I don't think... I don't think I could take that. Especially if it meant losing you."

"Y/N, are you going to look at me?"

I reluctantly raised my head to meet her eyes.

"Do you remember when we first met?" she asked, her blue eyes sparkling beautifully.

I wondered what relevance that had, but I nodded. "Yeah... you showed me around when I first got the reporter job. You were Miss Grant's assistant back then."

She smiled reminiscently. "Exactly. And do you remember when we first properly hung out?"

I nodded. "You asked if I wanted to get coffee together because we had the same break."

"Yep. And what about when we exchanged numbers?"

"Kara, I don't understand wha–"

"Just answer," she said, giving me a knowing look. "I have a point."

"Okay... you asked me to add your number when you said you couldn't find your phone and I rang it off mine. It was under your desk."

"And do you really think I misplaced my phone under my desk?" she asked, quirking an eyebrow.

I pulled a face. "Well... now that you say it aloud, it sounds kinda dumb."

"Uh-huh. Now, what about the first time we hung out outside of work?" she asked, smiling at me adorably now.

I was growing agitated, mostly confused at what her point was. Nonetheless, I answered. "We were tracking down some contacts for an article and finished pretty late. You asked me if I wanted Potstickers at a place you know."

"Okay, I know you wanna slap me for all these questions, so I'll cut to the point," she said with an amused smile. "One more question though. Do you know what all of those instances have in common?"

I sighed. "No idea, Kara."

She began to play with my fingers between her hands as she chuckled. "It was me who asked you everything. I initiated our friendship always. I always wanted to hang out. One may argue that I am the clingy one in our friendship."

She was smiling knowingly, but I was still confused.

"What?"

She laughed at my expression. "Your fear? Of being the overly-caring one? Of pushing me away because you're too involved? It's been proven wrong by the likes of me. It's impossible for me to leave because I'm the one who doesn't leave you alone. I'm the one who wants to be around you."

I realised what she was saying and didn't know how to respond. Once again, Kara Danvers had a way of sounding right and making me feel wrong. I had no choice but to believe her words.

"That time I asked you to go out with me for coffee? That was when I began to like you," she admitted. "And the time I asked you to get Potstickers, that was when I fell in love with you. Which, by the way, is another thing you should consider. I'm in love with you, Y/N. And I know you probably don't feel the same, but you should know. Because that means I loved you first, which means, once again, I'm being super clingy."

I felt my lips lifting into a suppressed smile as she watched me confidently, a comforting smile on her lips.

"I'm here, if you want me," she said seriously, though her eyes were gentle as they stared through mine. "I promise you won't lose me."

I breathed out, feeling my eyes go blurry a little. Her revelation had made me a lot more emotional than I thought, but it was good. My heart was swelling with adoration, the first in a long, long time.

"Well, firstly, fuck you for making me cry," I said, letting go of her hand to wipe the corners of my eyes. She laughed as I met her eyes again. "Secondly, you're the only person I've ever met to say things as sweet as those. Thank you."

"I meant every word," she promised.

I cracked a small smile. "Thirdly... you really fancied the shit out of me back when we first met, didn't you?"

She rolled her eyes playfully, but her cheeks were turning pink; it was my turn to laugh.

"What do you say to giving us a shot?" she said, staring at me, a hint of hope in her expression.

I nodded. "I want to make this work. I actually fancy the shit out of you, too, Kara."

Her smile widened into a grin, making her eyes squint up adorably.

"I think it's my turn to initiate something," I joked, before leaning forward and pressing a kiss to her lips.

I knew that I would always worry about my relationships, second-guess genuine actions and hesitate over little things – it was inevitable after what Anna did to me – but one thing I was certain of was Kara. It would work out, despite my fears. She reassured me always.

I trusted her.