#but yeah meds made a HUGE difference (its the first month of me being on the appropriate meds with the evil ones cut out)

[raviollies]

Wanted to give a quick update on my mental health since I think it's important to share the positives, especially as someone with Bipolar type II, and since I have been negative on here before.

I feel GREAT, like genuinely, I feel fantastic mentally. I have been doing exercises daily, I have been meal prepping and eating mindfully (Cutting back on carbs since they make me tired, upping my vegetables and trying to make food I love healthier by subbing ingredients) - In fact, I feel ENERGETIC. It's not the out of this world feeling of mania, but a consistent feeling of being able to tackle tasks that were very difficult for me before (exercise, dishes, cooking meals ahead of time so I have something to eat during and after work, eating veggies I used to hate, keeping my room tidy). I've had unlucky, bad things happen and it didn't make me want to crawl into a hole and die, I actually...was able to react calmly? Was able to shrug it off without collapsing into a pile?

It's genuinely...life-changing and not somewhere I thought I'd be several years ago. I could not fathom how I could live at a constant mood scale of not simply chugging through the day - and you guys have played a role in that. Comments that I love responding to, tags on my art, just engaging with my OCs as they've been a huge form of creativity for me and just loving art again (I'm proud of tackling more and more complex pieces).

So thank you! I hope to continue like this and also prove that having this life isn't just...out of the realm of possibility for those struggling with mental illness.

[hopelessrromantix]

where i've been

TLDR: Life sucks and so does the government. Half my family got hit with some pricey medical bills plus our normal rent, so donating or sharing this would be beyond appreciated.

I know you’re all thinking “Roman! You haven’t written anything in a month, what’s going on?” First, valid question. Second, dear GOD where do I start.

Let’s keep things simple. This past month has been the literal definition of hell for me. Everything started off fairly normal, until my two remaining grandparents started having frequent hospital trips. My father spent most of his time caring for them, living mostly at their house. Given that he works most in our house, he wasn’t having an easy time. He ended up developing what his doctor said was “stress tremors”, to the point that he went on disability.

Well, even after my grandparents were a bit more stable (though still on close watch)... they continued anyway. Eventually it got so bad my mother drove him to the hospital one night and what do you know, brain tumor.

Queue several days of our family wondering what the everloving fuck we’d do without my Dad. It was several days of my dear mother (note the sarcasm) trying to control everything, my brother trying to continue school, and me taking care of the house and our pets.

We got the scans back not long after and, cue sigh of relief, the tumor was benign. It still seemed to be draining the life out of my father, though. The nurses and doctors were absolutely floored because his tumor was absolutely huge but he had no headaches. Imagine a baseball in your head. Yeah, exactly. He did however stare at the wall for hours and had a hard time getting out more than a few words. It’s probably one of my most heartbreaking memories to watch the strongest person I’ve ever known reduced to a husk on a hospital bed.

Brain surgery came soon after. He made it through and is currently in recovery. He’s speaking actual sentences, though he’s still got tremors and needs a lot of help. Still, I’m just happy to have my father.

That same week, we noticed my cat acting off. We have two of them and my cat, Gallifrey, is a talkative sweetheart who’s attached to me at the hip. But he was meowing differently and acting weird and all around not normal. One vet visit later and we find out he has kidney disease and pancreatitis. He’s being treated for it (new food, possible meds, regular fluid injections, etc.), but he’s still not himself yet. Talk about my life falling apart. This on its own my family couldn’t even begin to afford. The government seems to hate disabled people and paying for numerous doctor’s visits wasn’t remotely in our paper thin budget, much less the meds and treatment.

It was a lot all at once, and not even close to what we expected. Gallifrey is only 7 and my father didn’t show the typical signs of a brain tumor. So, I guess the universe thought “Y’know, this is a perfect time to kick Roman in the fucking balls”.

Routine testosterone blood test, just monitoring… until I got a call from the doctor. Turns out I have some untreated issues that none of my previous doctors caught. In fact, the only reason she caught it was because it was so severe. According to her she was shocked I’m still up and kicking and not in the hospital for a blood transfusion. Apparently my red blood cell count and oxygen level is insanely low, and she asked me to take a Covid test (negative), so it turns out it’s a completely different issue. I’m still in the process of diagnosing it, so that was a fun little addition. With my chronic pain and my mother in denial, I sleep most of the day and am in constant pain the entire time.

I’ll be real, I’m not a fan of asking for money. It’s not something I like, but it’s something I have to do. The amount of treatment we need, my dad, Gallifrey, and me, is more than we can hope to afford on our salaries (thank you, American healthcare!). The medical process in this country is a joke.

I’m asking y’all to help me out. Sharing, donating, whatever. Everyone around me has been kind and supportive, and I'm beyond thankful for that. If you can’t donate, please send it, share it, do whatever, I'll take absolutely anything. If I’m honest? The number I’m asking still won’t cover it, but anything is helpful.

Thank you for reading this far, thank you for sharing, for donating, for being kind, for absolutely everything.

I also understand that the internet is a horrible, despicable place, so I can give any breakdowns of what the money would be used for and give any medical info (not releasing family names or locations) to provide proof. The page includes a lovely little x-ray of my father’s head so you get to see the absolute insanity. If this isn’t enough please let me know and I can link anything else needed to confirm that yes, I am actually having the worst time of my life.

All in all? Thank you.

Donate here if you can <3

[spikeinthepunch]

Penrose: Dawning- the dev blog

Okay well my game has been up for a few days now, and the Jam is over so yeah, why not give a massive blog about it and the development and characters and feelings etc.

again this was quite a feat for me, so to say. as small as the game is. ive been struggling a ton for years and years, so the process and experience has stuck with me for the last month.

The personal

If you have followed and read some of my posts from the last month youd probably seen me talking about having seen a neurophysiologist-- my appointments for that were happening for quite a while before this month but this month was the end of it. Aside from it clearly being a huge stressor in general, it was also a huge eye opener to my problems. Which yeah, include my ability to Make Things. Not art- but everything else. The listening & reading comprehension, math and memory I tested on being really really bad. And it was great to understand that now! but having decided to take on the Jam was a lot and well, even though on one hand i felt good that I knew my issues.... it didn't mean i solved my issues. Now i was just way more away of them.

So, I tried my hardest I think because I knew I'd always give up on this stuff. And well, my mood meds were still kinda helping. I think there was a different kind of determination despite the upset that some of those tests caused me. Still, I faced a lot of anxiety, frusteration, and upsetting feelings in the process because of how hard it was for me to learn even the smallest things. I won't go super hard on that-- I just want to appreciate the small community of Narrat for being able to help and clarify my confusion even if I'd often say to myself "ugh, that was such a simple thing! i shouldnt need to get it clarified two times over!" etc etc.

still despite the variety of emotions i faced i came out of this really thinking 'wow i actually made something' because literally all these years i have never realized a larger project due to my issues. so for that i can be happy.

The development

the process of making this game was interesting because obvious i had never put my assumptions about the best way to develop to the test. i could think all the while "ill do this first, this second etc" but until you start making it you may realize you gotta do something else!

the fact this was only a month long didnt really give me much time to figure out better ways to develop, it i was already a ways into it. so i came out realizing what i could do diffferent. one thing for sure is i know i couldnt start with art. its just not possible in general to predict the art i would need clearly, because even if i were to write a lot, i felt that making dialog branches was much easier while i was coding because i never knew how far i would want them to go.

but also, in terms of writing- i already write a lot and i kinda have my mental process. getting that to work with the game was tough, and while i liked how i wrote for this game, i feel like it faltered in the sense that writing so many bits of it entirely away from each other had my struggling to make sure i felt connected. like, writing on one huge document allows me to easily refer back and having it all together makes it flow well in my head. but having them scattered around code was hard for me to track and i was never sure if it all felt like it connected up well. i also think in general if i wrote most of the important chunks- stuff not incredibly reliant on branches/choices- that i probably would have written waaaay more too. its just a format of writing that is natural.

there isnt too much as i did in the game coding wise so i dont have too many comments on development process. but i know i would like to make games in narrat that use the typical features found in games like DE (as the engine was inspired by), like stats/skills and maybe inventory depending on the thing.

The story & design

i dont plan to explain the story in detail here (a lot of secret context it on my discord) and i have talked loads about trying to write the themes its tackled.

the main thing about it is just that i have never properly realized Penrose and well. I was facing a creative block this last month which caused more struggles. But it was harder with art- mostly design. coming up with a design is harder in a block than reading a thing that says "draw a series of houses". thinking up something new is not easy. and my head also gets very stuck up in "if you design this and draw it, you can never change it".

Eden was pulled from my old unused RP character, Eden Creature, and so i was able to base her off something already. even so making anything at all was hard- even for Mick who already existed. I really didnt want her and Eden to revert back into my old style because its just no me anymore but at the same time i do want to get something unique for this story. Dawning does not reflect what I want exactly. I like what i managed to do esp in working with my time constraints. but, its not something i want to keep doing going forward.

the story was WAY more condensed than i thought it would be and its because i didnt really realize how quickly approaching the deadline was compared to my work. but at the same time i am glad it was? i was quite ambitious with how big i wanted this "proof of concept" to be, to where i definitely probably would have gotten farther in the plot and realized i had no clue exactly what I wanted.

because i do have a general idea of this story but not like. enough. and so shortening the story hugely for this demo was actually a good thing because i would have had to write a lot more and also probably wouldnt have been able to explain lore well enough because of how little i understood my own world. and when youre creative blocked its incredibly hard trying to development of that world too.

conclusion

i mentioned it breifly in a blog post but tbh the most scary part is having it hit that i am nervous has to how people will take my characters. not in a criticism kinda way but just the idea that people just wont really 'get' them. and even just the idea that my OCs have been "presented to the world" in some sense. i do stuff in my own little space all the time and never think about what it would really be like to put a game on itch.io or even like publish a proper animation on youtube or publish a book or something. its different and its weird because i have always thought to myself that i want people to see my OCs! but then i put it up in a place where it likely will be seen and I am afraid of that.

its probably for it being a first time. and also i need to learn confidence in this kind of work i was so into thinking i could never truly make because of my issues. this was still like, very very hard to do mentally etc and i feel very exhausted. but i really dont want this to be the first and last time i try and make something.

[sapphicgarlic]

hi guyss

its been ages since I have been on here and I kinda miss it a lot, I am way more active on twitter under lioncunt but that's not what I logged in to say

its been a crazy (good and bad) months and I wanted to share a little bit

most importantly, I got off my medication which is crazy good. I have been on them for more than 5 years and I have very young so that's a lot. I started them when I was 14/15 and had been needing them since I was like 12 so getting off them is a huge thing for me. I am very truly happy about it because I truly didn't think about a time where I wouldn't need them. I thought it was going to be permanent especially since I am still living with my mom. its been crazy to see how depressed I was all my life, how sad I was. I haven't been taking my meds for like a year but that was me saying "I dont think I need them anymore" but to have a medical professional say "yeah you good" was crazy. bonkers. its so weird and so gratifying but that the same time I don´t want to come on here like everything is fine.

one of the thing that has made my months crazy is accepting I was abused. accepting that I am still abused. and have been, since birth. its really fucked up because now I truly see how little I was (and my brother too) and how much shit I was put through. that I am still put through. because that's the word. abuse. I always knew things were different but never ever considered it abuse. its a big word especially when its accompanied by child. I was a kid. still am in a lot of ways.

one of to good stuff is that me and my brother are thick as thieves which is something I never saw it happening. I just to be so angry at him. call him hideous names and now, he's the only person who actually supports me at my house. every weekend we go out and do a little brotherly outing, small as eating pizza or going to the farmers market. and its so nice. never thought that would make me as happy as its making me.

idk if I ever updated y'all but me and my ex broke up for good couple of months back. I don´t actively miss her but I have been thinking more theses lasts two weeks (I am over analyzing shit but in the normal sphere of things) about her unfortunately because she's in my class so I have to see her everyday but I low-key love hating her. its so nice. its such a normal thing and I love messing shit up. like I am sorry for her for being a child sometimes but I deserve to act like it ( it has been a while since I have bugged her, I actually only bugged her truly once and I learned my lesson!!!! I thought that bugging her was going to help to make me not hate her but it just added fuel to the fire so I leave her alone and I was having a hard week but yeah its so nice to hate her and call her names in my head. is it healthy? no but there's worse things in my life. the funniest thing that has happen is that I had a presentation on bipolar and she thought I was calling her bipolar through the presentation because my friends came to talk to me bc she was making faces all the time I was speaking so that was fun. in her defense, I used to say she had very bipolar behavior ( I actually forgot about it and only linked the dots after my friend talked to me and was like "she thinks you are talking about her") so yeah sdhfjhsdjfshdjfhsdjfhjsdsdjfhdjfsdhj do I really think she has bipolar? no. does she has a lot of bipolar behavior? definitely but you know, who's to say? I had to hold myself back a lot because I had to urge to send a text in the group we have saying "some people told me there wasn't a lot of happy faces while I was presenting, if anyone has a problem you could have talked to me and presented in my place" but as I said, I learned my lesson and I am staying quiet HUHUAHAUHAUAHUA

about jiji, my dearest, idk yet, going to the doctor again for the first time after the diagnosis and going to run more tests. wish me luck and will update yall again afterwards.

about my mom and her zumbi state, there's a light in the darkness because (dont ask me why or how) we have money to travel and see my family in Portugal next year. its going to make it or break her for good. I truly dont know what I want more. she's not living until I am thirty and I actually dont want it. if it didn't mean I would have more responsibilities, I would want her dead now, for her own good too (I am serious)

[captainsimagines]

To Topple A Giant || Chapter Four

Summary: You had made it your mission to destroy even the smallest evils. When the opportunity arises to finally take down your own family after years of gaining their trust, you reach for it. And so does Steve, the man who represents a symbol of everything you hate.

Pairing(s): Steve Rogers x Reader || Avengers x Reader

Part 4 of 10 ~ Mini-Series

Warnings: This story contains mature themes and discussions such as extreme canon violence, strong language, emotional angst, mentions of Endgame deaths and recoveries, sexual situations, and emotional/physical abuse. All trigger warnings will be listed before the chapter. This is purely fanfiction.

Warnings in this Chapter: reference to past sexual assault (very minimal); misogyny/sexism; mention of Infinity War deaths/Endgame deaths; abusive parental relationship; canon violence; heavy drinking; reference to cocaine use

Word Count: 13,900+

~

Tony’s Cabin, 2023, 8:56pm

      “Uh…”

You and Steve stared at the little girl in front of you, bouncing up and down with excitement as she held up one of Tony’s repulsors, the safety on but pointed right at the two of you. Steve instinctively pushed you behind him, the obvious fact being that a blast would most certainly kill you and not the super soldier himself. You were having difficulty holding in your laughter, watching as the girl kept poking at the metal, awaiting its true power. 

“Can I have that, Morgan?” Steve asked, his voice raising ever so slightly to try and seem nicer to the kid. 

“Talk to her with your regular voice, Steve. She’s five, not a toddler.”

“Yeah!”

Now you laughed at Morgan’s declaration of approval, still standing behind Steve with your hands braced on his back. 

Steve sighed and rolled his eyes playfully, “Alright, Morgan. Can I please have that back? It’s not a toy.”

“But daddy left it for me!”

You smiled at her, “Yeah, but he didn’t expect you to use it so early! Wait until you’re like… ten, then you can look through his things!”

“Y/N, ten?” Steve gave you a bewildered grin, eyes bright and laughter restrained. 

“Okay, twelve.”

His shoulders sagged with a heavy laugh. He reached over and took the chance, grabbing Morgan’s wrist softly and ejecting the glove from her small hand. 

“There we go!” you cheered, stepping out from behind Steve and scooping her up in your arms. Morgan started laughing loudly, kicking her legs to try and escape your hold. “Ah, don’t kick me!”

You had offered your time to Pepper whenever she needed it. You didn’t expect that she would call so early asking for a huge favor, her husband’s funeral not even four months ago. But you didn’t hesitate and packed an overnight bag, reassuring her that nothing would explode on your watch. On your way out of the temporary safe house, Steve had caught you just in time. A quick question of your future whereabouts and he was joining you, a tiny twinge of guilt in his chest from not seeing Tony’s daughter in so long. He was one of her godparents after all, just after Happy and Rhodey, beating out the third crowned position from Bruce. 

He had been hurt by that initially, asking why he wasn’t even considered. 

‘Bruce, the first time she comes into your room and stands over your sleeping body to let you know she had a nightmare, you’d scream.’

‘I wouldn’t be angry, just scared!’

‘Okay, after Cap here, you get custody.’

‘Oh, yay. Drafted fourth.’

Steve was happy to go see her on such short notice though, racing back up to his room to gather some overnight supplies as well. But you didn’t think anything of it - it was just a godparent wanting to see his godchild. 

“Ouch, that hurt,” you laughed and placed Morgan down in her bed. “Nighty night time.”

“Daddy said he left things for everyone, not just me.”

Steve’s eyebrows shot up with curiosity, a sudden interest to know what his gift was exciting him. He had already given him the shield back... but then Thanos broke it. Maybe, another shield? No, T’Challa had already offered to send him a new one.

“Ooo, that’s interesting! I wonder if he got me that pretty bracelet I saw in that department store window that one time,” you gushed, pulling the blankets over Morgan. You fluffed out her hair, smiled at her, and told her goodnight. 

“Night night!”

Both you and Steve called out from the doorway of her bedroom, “Night night!”

Several minutes had passed before you brought up the prospect of secret gifts again, knowing Steve was just as interested as you were. 

“Want to go find them?”

Steve immediately stood up, clapping his hands together and giddy with excitement. “I won’t tell if you don’t!”

“Deal.”

You searched everywhere - living room, the garage, kitchen cabinets - even racing into the master bedroom, stealthy and secret, shame rising as you carefully picked up items around the room. “This feels like an invasion of privacy.”

Steve chuckled from outside the door, “Hurry up!”

But you found nothing. There was only one more spot to look - his office. You almost didn’t want to intrude any longer, this being his most sacred space, but the mere chance of Tony giving you a gift from the afterlife made you extremely happy. So you and Steve searched, stacking and restacking random papers and pushing away gadgets and books in the bookshelf. Finally, a small opening in the third shelf alerted you of your mission success. 

“Oh, fuck yeah,” you cheered, reaching in and pulling boxes and clipped pieces of paper, all different colors and sizes, from the compartment. They were labeled with various names - Rhodey, Pepper, Happy, Clint, Thor, Steve, Nebula, you - and Natasha. 

Steve sucked in his breath, his gasp similar to yours. “He got these before…”

“Yeah,” you nodded, handing Steve his labeled box. It was light blue, a white ribbon delicately wrapped around it, and with a cute little red ribbon with Steve’s name on it. It wasn’t big, but it was more than enough. 

“Open it,” you said. 

Steve shook his head, “Let’s open ours together.”

You agreed to his terms, taking your folder into your hands. It was one of those same art folders you had when you bought some new planners or notebooks. It was black, custom-made it seemed, as it had your name on the front in gold, cursive writing. 

On the count of three, you both opened your presents. 

Steve pulled out two sets of dog tags from the box, the sound of them clinking together reminding him of the times he would hug his fellow soldiers on the battlefield, cheers of victory mixed in with the smell of sweat and dry blood. He read the names on the metal. 

‘Steven G. Rogers

987654320 T42 O

Brooklyn, NY. P.’

‘James B. Barnes. 

32557038 T41 42 O

R. Barnes

Shelbyville, IN. P.’

He had not known they recovered his dog tags, faintly remembering clutching them tightly as he flew the plane into the ice. But SHIELD must have kept them for the museum, and Tony had recovered them. Bucky’s, however, were lost as soon as Bucky fell from that train. They were more rusted than Steve’s, almost as if HYDRA kept them underwater or stored for the majority of Bucky’s sentence. But no matter how Tony had gotten them, he was eternally grateful. 

“Wow,” Steve said, clearing his throat. But you were too caught up in your reading. 

      ‘Target whereabouts discovered mid-May of 2017. Only T. Stark and N. Romanoff approved for mission.

      Transport at 20:00 hours. Target(s) confirmed and exterminated at exactly 0802 Pacific Standard Time.’

You choked on the sob that suddenly broke through, hand instantly reaching up to cup your mouth. Steve put his tags back into the box, shushing you to get you to calm down. “What is it? What’d he get you?”

Four pictures accompanied the short report, each face crossed out with red paint. A tiny laugh escaped and tears of joy started to flow. To say Steve was confused was an understatement. 

“He… he got me justice.”

Steve took the file from you, reading over every word to somehow understand what you meant by justice. His eyebrows were furrowed in concentration and he looked up at you for more explanation.

You brushed your hair back and rubbed at your cheeks, the smile on your face now straining. Whether it was a sudden change of mind or the closure of your trauma was just that satisfying, you told Steve exactly what Tony and Natasha had done for you. 

“After I joined you guys in New York, Fury sent me on a mission to infiltrate and bring back information about this dude my father was trying to literally destroy. But I had to play both sides  - the good and the bad.”

Steve set the file down, his full attention on you.

“I got the information but for some reason, it wasn’t enough for my father. I had forgotten to get the most vital piece, something he thought I would automatically know,” you scoffed, your smile faltering at the next part of the story. 

“I cost him ten million. And to teach me a lesson, he let these men do whatever they wanted to me. Anything.”

Steve’s breath hitched as he understood what you meant. And it was no longer a mystery why you had been planning to kill him ‘again’ after everyone came back from the snap.

“I returned to the compound in such bad shape. I only told Natasha. She cleaned me up, she took me to med-bay in the middle of the night, she brought me breakfast in bed,” you chuckled at the memory, hand reaching out to hold Steve’s. 

“And Tony’s gift was murdering the men that hurt me.”

Steve let a few tears slip himself, his hand gripping yours tighter. “Y/N, if I would have known-”

“Hey, it’s okay. You didn’t know, though. I thought only Natasha knew. She promised me she would take care of it. I just didn’t think she would actually find them.”

“I think we know that Natasha could find literally anything and anyone,” Steve said. 

You agreed with his statement, a smile returning to your face. 

You jumped from your sitting position and went back to retrieve Natasha’s gift. “Hey, should we?”

Steve eyed the small, black box in your hand. He sighed as he walked over to you, eyes returning to the box. 

“It was meant for her.”

You frowned, “Yeah, and I’ll ask Pepper if we can give these to everyone else.”

You paused and shook the box near your ear. It felt heavy in your hand, and the contents gave a little jingle. 

“But this one was for Nat. I think she’d want us to at least see it.”

Steve chuckled and just nodded, awaiting the reveal. You pulled the ribbon and opened the box, surprised that Tony had given her a piece of jewelry. “Oh.”

Steve took the bracelet from the box, oblivious that the movement would unlock the charms from their heavy chests. In a matter of seconds, charms of similar size but different designs dropped to encircle the silver band. You inspected them in Steve’s hand - a red/white/and blue shield, Mjollnir, a pair of wings, two arc reactors, a singular arrow, a silver arm, a spider, an emerald heart, the letters ‘W’ and ‘V’ intertwined, a black cat, an ant - and your symbol, an intricately carved silver charm no bigger than your thumbnail, of your face. Tony knew no specific object or symbol was tied with your Avengers status, no one had ever given you one, but this was perfect. 

“Wow,” Steve whispered, examining each charm closely with a lazy smile on his face. 

“We were her family. This was an ode to that.”

“What do we do with it?” Steve asked.

You just shrugged, “Frame it? It would feel wrong just taking it for myself.”

Steve agreed. Later that night when Pepper returned home, you showed her what Morgan led you to. She let you keep your gifts and take the others, absolutely loving the idea of framing Natasha’s bracelet in the new compound being built. 

Present Day, 2025, 8:10 am

     The bright light from the open windows hadn’t hit you as suddenly as the random throw pillow that connected to your face, startling you with a quick gasp and causing you to choke on your spit. You snapped up, belly down and hair wild, eyes still half-lidded as you searched for the aggravator. And he stood there with a stupid grin on his face, already dressed in his stupid old man clothes, and stupid blond hair perfectly pushed back. 

“What the fuck was that for?” you tried to yell, voice cracking at the end and just the slightest hint of drool threatening to spill from the corner of your mouth. 

“I ordered room service. Plus, we have to leave in an hour.”

You grabbed as many pillows as your one free hand could hold, the other still tucked into the pillowcase below your head. You flung them wildly, none actually hitting the super soldier directly. His chuckle pulled a deep groan from you, and no longer wanting to look like a fool, you stumbled out of bed and pushed passed him roughly. 

“You could have woken me up the same time you got up.”

“But you looked so peaceful.”

His sarcasm was not helping your souring mood. Steve headed over to the monitors to turn them on, already setting up the morning video chat with Bucky and Sam. “Do you always sleep like a mounted spider?”

You flicked him off, “Leave me alone so I can take my morning piss in peace!”

You slammed the door and made your way to the toilet. Now, you were no morning person. But it was simple enough for you to crawl out of bed with only minimal protest when your awakening was a peaceful one. Having a pillow thrown at your head while mid-dream was practically excruciating and no one, not even the grandest morning person in the world, could possibly awake happy from that. And to top it all off, you couldn’t even remember what you were dreaming of. Just another thing to blame Steve for. 

After you had done your morning routine and slipped into a really comfy outfit, the breakfast finally arrived. You muttered a quiet thanks to Steve for ordering your favorites and damn him for knowing you preferred waffles over pancakes and a variety of creamers to choose from, and quickly filled Bucky and Sam in on what the plan for the day was. 

You had been on missions with Steve before, but no matter how many times you regrouped in the mornings, you had never actually seen him wake up. After your rude awakening, you wondered at what point during sunrise he opened his eyes - ‘cause you’ll be standing over him with a pillow of your own. 

“Torres has the air footage scheduled for around five today, then he’ll link you to the camera for the remainder of the mission,” Sam clarified. 

“Is it possible to link earlier?” Steve asked. 

“Not unless you can get the Wi-Fi password of the estate.”

You chuckled, still funneling mouthfuls of waffle into your mouth. “So, we can hack the Pentagon whenever we feel like it, but we can’t hack into my father’s estate without the Wi-Fi password?”

Sam cleared his throat, “You are so lucky this is a secure line.”

“Wait until she finishes her breakfast and her head will be screwed back on straight,” Steve joked, taking a long sip from his tea. 

Almost immediately, your phone dinged with a new message. You angled your phone away from Steve but your smirk was enough to alert him of a side conversation happening under his nose. 

Bucky: Ouch, I wouldn’t mind if you hit him upside the head.

Y/N: he threw a pillow at me to wake me up :(

Bucky: hit him

Y/N: bet

“Stop talking about me over the phone.”

“Don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Steve grumbled, the rough sound catching Sam’s attention as well. His eyes flashed back and forth between the two of you - Steve desperately trying to catch a quick glance at your messages, and you leaning away from him with thumbs moving at a rapid pace. 

“Y/N, how you feeling?”

You put your phone down and pretended to not notice how Steve was trying to get a glimpse of your screen. 

“A little queasy, in all honesty.”

A myriad of emotions were present and coiling in your body, each trying to sprout and bloom and gain their five seconds of fame. And for the past several years, it was easy to downplay their true power. Because the power they held wasn’t one of distressing strength, but rather one that tip-toed to the front of your anxiety driven worries. It planted itself there, up front, but ever so silent. For it to finally meet its match, to possibly be freed of such a coil - well, you were more worried about not succeeding in its erasure than its final blooming. 

“We’ve come up with a system to make sure we both don’t go overboard or to tell the other that we’re alright,” Steve said, eyes on the monitor but hands loading bullets into your trusty handguns. 

“Alright, that’s good,” Bucky spoke, finally. He typed away on his keyboard, “Give us a word we all use in case we need back-up immediately.”

“Mm, you should ask Steve. He loves his safe words.”

Steve rolled his eyes, “Something Avengers related? Or something no one would ever say?”

“Pick anything you want, just don’t let it be awkward to repeat out loud,” Sam joked. 

Steve pondered for a few seconds before he settled on his chosen word, a hint of a smile forming. “Widow.”

You nodded, “That’s sweet. She’d like us using her alias for a dirty little safe word.”

You huffed suddenly, shoulder colliding with the carpet, the realization that Steve pushed you from your chair causing you to stare at him with your mouth hanging open. “Hey!”

“Steve, every single day I accept your fate from her murderous hands,” Bucky grumbled, Sam’s loud laugh causing the speaker to give a quick halt of static. 

“She’s okay- hey!”

You flew across your chair and onto him, lunging your body as your main weapon in taking him down. You both tumbled to the floor, the sofa chair you collided with scraping along and pushing the coffee table with it. A lamp shattered on the floor right when you wrapped your arm around Steve’s neck and hooked your legs from underneath him and around his waist, his back to your front, both his arms coming up to tug yours out of reflex. 

“Yield, you little shit,” you grunted, the grip of your arm remaining loose on purpose but your legs tight, heels now digging into his slim waist. 

Steve groaned, both from your pointy heels and the sudden impact his body made with the ground. “I’m letting you win.”

“You seriously got a mouth on you.”

You let him go anyway, choosing to save your strength for the mission and not waste it on a petty little fight. Besides, you could always smother him with a pillow in his sleep. 

“You two done?”

Both you and Steve stumbled getting up, faces back in your teammate’s view as you smoothed down your clothing and wiped at your foreheads.

“Now that that’s over,” Sam continued, clearing his throat. “The only task for today is to get a feel of the place, establish a legit backstory providing you some leverage, and to swipe those ID’s.”

“Got it,” you acknowledged, standing again to begin hooking your weapons in discreet locations in your clothing. 

“And we’re not responsible for that broken lamp so it’s coming out of your paycheck.”

     California really wasn’t like any other state. There was a vast difference from Northern and Southern, the difference being the amount of green fields visible. In Southern California, the mountains and desert areas took up most of the landscape, with an industrial complex here, a growing city there, and then nothing for a good ten miles. Since most of the landscape was below sea level, the atmosphere was almost always dry, modest dust storms forming only to quickly pass a freeway and disintegrate once it found the other side. It was more urban, more lively with people. But Northern California, even if it experienced the same weather patterns as the south, was mostly humid during the winter season. The mountains here were covered in lively agriculture, livestock roamed freely in the gated areas near the freeways, and the overall environment provided a rural look. 

 And the differences just stood out to you, your excitement for the livestock starting to annoy Steve as you kept pointing out every cow you drove past. He threatened to stop the car and dare you to tip one. 

“So, how did we meet?”

Steve chuckled, “We’re coworkers, Y/N. Thought that question was obvious.”

You whined, “Steve, we have to put some drama into it! How about we say we met during one of Tony’s parties after Fury assigned you to this?” 

“And what? I asked you to dance?”

You leaned over your seat and poked his arm, teasing him. “Would you have asked me to dance?”

Steve shrugged, “I mean, sure.” 

He glanced at you and then back to the road. “Can’t we just be honest? I like the way we met.”

 You pouted, “The way we met is a matter of national security.”

   “You brought that thing back to an unguarded planet?” Loki seethed, his voice still a whisper as he followed Thor through the hallways of Avengers Tower. A tower he had been prisoner of for a few weeks now, but would soon be released from once Thor decided to return home. Besides, it had been more than a year since his unfortunate attack and after thousands of apologies, brainwashing excuses (which were true!), and quite a few long labor hours equivalent to Midgardian community service, his leash was extended somewhat. 

“How am I the more level-headed one right now?”

Thor grumbled in response, now on his hands and knees as he searched for the tiny animal that had already eaten its way through the plush of the interior walls. “It couldn’t have gotten far. And how was I supposed to know the oxygen levels here would cause it to go crazy?”

“You couldn’t. In fact, I don’t know why it’s here in the first place!”

“Keep screaming, Loki. I bet that would make it come to us quicker!”

Loki was about to come up with another quick quip, but was interrupted by a quiet mumble down the hall. 

“Oh?”

You rocked back and forth on your heels as you stared at the two brothers - one sweeping the floor on all fours and the other ducked down to scream into his brother’s ear. “Whatcha looking for?”

“Now, don’t be alarmed, Agent. But I may have misplaced my dog.”

“Dog?” Loki tilted his head, hands now cupping the side of his head in disbelief. 

Your eyebrows shot up from his reaction, “Not dog?”

“It’s… an animal from Asgard.”

“Okay, what does it look like?” you asked, now more interested than ever. 

Thor cleared his throat and rose to his feet slowly, “Like a dragon.”

You stepped back, almost tripping over your left foot. An involuntary laugh escaped from your lips and you brought a hand up to try and stifle it. “You brought a dragon into the tower?”

“He brought a dragon back to Midgard,” Loki clarified as he walked over to the wall and pressed his ear against it. 

“Oh, yeah. That’s much worse,” you agreed. “Fury’s gonna shove his foot so far up your ass-”

“Yes, yes. I know what awaits me. Now, help us find it!” Thor begged. 

This wasn’t how you expected to spend your first day as an Avenger. After all the training and promoting, the paperwork and oaths, you thought you would have a pretty chill afternoon. Arrive at the conference room, get the name badge and a rundown of your new field suit, and meet the rest of the team. Freshly nineteen and energetic as ever, you accepted this as a test. Find the dragon, make a good impression. 

It only took a few more minutes before you three stumbled on an otherwise empty hallway, staring down the colorful creature as it licked one of its paws. 

Your eyes widened, “It looks like an alebrije.”

“You have these creatures on your planet?” Loki asked, surprise written over his face. 

“Nope, alebrije’s aren’t real. They’re fantasy.”

“Nevermind that, help me catch it!”

Loki began shushing his brother, hands swatting his massive shoulders in the process. You leaned down to the floor and tapped it with your fingernails, hoping the nice gesture would cause the creature to meet you halfway. 

“Hey, buddy,” you cooed. “Can you come here please?”

The creature raised its head, colorful eyes on full display. Similar to rings of fire, but face like a fox, and fur as soft as silk. It titled its head, interested for only a second, before it kicked back and rushed toward the three of you at full speed. 

“Oh, shit-!”

As he was the closest, Loki pushed Thor to the wall and lifted you from the ground. But before he could throw you out of the way too, the creature leaped. Loki shielded you with his body, wrapping his arms around you and picking you up as the creature kicked his back and sent the two of you flying through wall after wall. Loki was taking the force of it all, his chest angled in a way to protect your head. It was about ten walls you two flew through before you landed in what seemed like conference room B… or C… or A. Loki rolled you over and groaned in pain. You landed on your back, bright lights blinding you as you tried to adjust. Then a figure came into view as your blurry vision cleared. 

You blinked rapidly and stared up at your new Captain. You smiled, a bit delirious, and raised your hand up for a handshake. 

“Y/N Y/L/N, new recruit!”

Steve just stared, eyebrows scrunched, an expression resembling a scowl and bewilderment painted on his face. He took your hand in his and shook it. 

“Forgive us, Captain,” Loki spoke, coughing as he turned over. “But you might want to get that shield of yours.”

    “When did we become a couple?” you continued once you agreed on the ‘party meet-and-greet’ as your previous answer. 

Now, this was a question Steve was wondering about since before you mentioned the necessity of such answers. Although he didn’t fantasize about being your significant other, he did wonder what possible event could jumpstart it. If anything, and he would take this to the grave, he assumed a line would be crossed during a particularly tempting mission. Bucky had admitted to him that on one mission, and Steve promised to take this to the grave as well, Bucky had to kiss Wanda to keep their cover. The feelings subsided soon after the mission was over, but Bucky confessed to real feelings developing. So if Steve had to bet, a particularly tempting mission. 

“When we were searching for Bucky?”

You nodded, “That works. We can say the fall of SHIELD basically led to us to realize how weak the system was and how we could easily manipulate it.”

The road veered off to the side, now dirt and unevenly layered. You checked the directions Torres gave you just to make sure. 

“And when is my birthday?”

You didn’t expect Steve to answer so quickly, and to get it right. Perhaps he looked over your file and remembered, because you were certain only your little friend group knew it. It was Bucky, it had to be him, the little shit, he told- 

“Surprised?”

“A little. How do you know it?”

“Nat. Who do you think sends you those chocolates every year?”

You were overjoyed, really. “Wha-? Natasha said she did it.”

Steve smirked, “She covered for me.”

“Why?”

“Because for five years after the snap, you and Nat did nothing for yourselves and did everything for everyone else.” He had been witness to the two of you pulling all-nighters, washing the sheets of your fallen teammates as if they were going to return that weekend, celebrating their birthdays in secret with a small candle and a prayer. Moving from the compound and into his own apartment was hard enough, but seeing his remaining teammates wallow in cursed self-determination was worse. So, he asked Nat about your birthday to send you chocolates and a lovely handwritten note, careful to write in a font different from his natural one, and he would fold tiny paper airplanes and leave them around the compound where only Nat could find them, providing her a sense of playfulness in her busy day. Little joys to make up for such an impact.  

“If it makes you feel better, I sent gifts to Nat and Bruce, too.”

But because Bruce had no forwarding address at the time, Steve settled for quick text messages here and there. 

“And here I was thinking I was special.”

Steve laughed at your statement. He reached into the middle compartment to grab the mics you would be wearing. “By the way, make sure to hide this behind your neck. My mic will blend in as a button.”

You inspected the flat, button-like mic, awed by how intricate their design was. “They connected to Bucky’s?”

Steve clipped his onto his shoulder, the camouflage effect throwing you off. Yup, you loved science. “Yeah, they record everything and immediately send it back already transcribed.”

You unfolded the sun visor and watched how the mic picked up the color of your skin and blended naturally. “Remind me to send T’Challa and Shuri a gift basket.”

“And more.”

The estate was exactly how you remembered it. Modern and simple all at once, a brown exterior to easily blend into the surrounding forest, and massive front gate that only opened with a specific code. You leaned out the window and typed it in. There was no speaker this time, probably evidence of newly installed cameras. 

“It’s beautiful,” Steve muttered, pulling into the long driveway and following the brick road. 

It truly was. Even from where you were, you could see into the mansion as the walls were all practically made from glass. The walls in the back were normal, however, as that’s where most of the business was conducted. There were no swing doors, only large and heavy double doors made from cooled lava rock. And even though your father was a very organized man, the house was littered in trinkets of all origins: professionally stuffed exotic animals, roman and oriental statues, porcelain eggs, multiple pianos, and first editions of some of the most popular books in the world. There wasn’t any set theme for this house, but it was screaming ‘money’. 

Steve parked the car away from the others, careful to leave enough room around it to ensure an easy escape if needed.

“Remember what I said - play the part. Leave the smart mouth to me, they know me. It’s what they’ve come to expect.”

Steve clicked his seatbelt and sighed heavily, “I apologize in advance.”

You gave him a small smile, “Nothing to apologize for, Steve. Like I said, this is a mission. Don’t stress about it.”

He shook his head, “Still.”

The sincere look in his eyes sent a tingle down your arms. You cleared your throat, “I feel dirty saying this, but know your place. You may be a Captain but you’re not manning this boat.”

For some reason Steve felt that he truly needed to apologize in advance. For the past several years, it wasn’t entirely real to him. He had not been directly involved. But now that he was here, parked and staring at you - the one person who had a first hand account of the horrors inside - he needed to make sure you understood he would never actually hurt you, or you him. “I trust you.”

You removed your seatbelt and opened the door, “I trust you, too.”

It was windy today, the ruffles from the trees almost disguising the labor coming from the back. You assumed they were still building the reception area. Steve jogged over to your side and hooked your arm in his, his body tenser than yours. Someone opened the heavy doors, immediately swallowing the oxygen for miles with merely their presence. You couldn’t help yourself from a small grimace, lips spreading into a straight line as you forced any other expression besides hatred. 

Seda, standing at barely six foot and a smug look plastered on his aging face that worried even Steve. This was the man that had shot you when he was on the run - the man that would most likely do it again. 

Seda quickly stepped down the stairs, “Y/N, so lovely to see you again!”

You let go of Steve to walk ahead, arms extended to match the idea of a grand entrance. “Really? Because the last time we saw each other, you shot me in the gut.”

Steve swore he saw Seda’s upper lip twitch. “You hold too many grudges. I was just following your father’s orders.”

You rolled your eyes and finally came to a stop in front of him, arms crossed over your chest. “Obviously.”

“And I’ve finally got the chance to meet Captain America! You’re much larger in person.”

No matter the acting skills one must obtain for this line of work, it was still obvious Seda was speaking through clenched teeth. He scanned Steve up and down, somewhat intimidated.

It was such a sudden shift, one you obviously knew was coming, but the deepness of Steve’s voice still caused unnatural goosebumps to rise. “I get that a lot. Helps in this business, though.”

Seda let out a low chuckle, “I would think so.” He turned and instructed the two men who had followed him out to reopen the heavy doors.  “This way.”

Steve tried not to gawk at the amount of decorations and old-timey artifacts he swore should belong in a museum. So much furniture, so much history that shouldn’t mix but somehow worked. And was that… was that a stuffed polar bear?

“So, how you doing, Seda? Besides the usual,” you asked, hooking your arm back with Steve’s. 

Seda walked with his head held high, only tilting his head downward when giving a silent greeting to those who walked by. You tried to memorize faces or see if there was anyone you recognized. But your father barely kept the same team for more than a few years. They either left voluntarily and luckily, or were simply never heard from again. 

“Excited for the wedding. Jackeline has been running around nonstop on her finishing touches,” Seda responded. 

You huffed out a laugh, “I bet she has. She used to have a scrapbook that outlined six different wedding themes.”

“And I haven’t seen the end of it.”

Only a few more twists and turns and you were finally near the familiar hallway that housed your father’s darkest work. The interior design was purposeful, no windows and no cameras. Steve unhooked your arms, opting for a more formal presentation between the two of you. Seda was difficult to please, but your father was near impossible. Better to not have his hands all over his daughter during their first meeting.  

“Hey, what’s the wi-fi password? I’m expecting a few important emails today,” you asked before Seda opened your father’s office door. Steve had to restrain himself from blessing the ground you walked on. Bless you for remembering. 

“‘Guadalajara’.”

“Thanks,” you mumbled, sending the password to Torres as quickly as you could. 

It wasn’t the grand entrance you expected, truly, but you didn’t expect to see your father simply chilling behind his desk signing a few papers. He usually paced, was in a random meeting, or on the phone. Here, he was just… strangely normal. 

He looked up, eyes locking with yours for the first time in seven years. “Now, I haven’t seen you since your little weekend trip to Jalisco!”

Yeah, since you had me shot. 

Stepping into the office, the smell of cigars was heavy. Musty and daring, enveloping you like the times it did before. But now you had Steve - sweet Steve whose warmth you could feel behind you. 

You shrugged, “I’m not traveling much outside the country these days. Too much shit going on.”

Your father stood up and let out a dry laugh, “No lie about that. Seda was telling me how loose the borders were when half the world croaked.”

“Emigration was common, yup.”

He smiled at you, walking over and placing his hands on your shoulders. You did your best not to tense your muscles. “I wish I could have been there. You guys made millions those five years.”

You swore you heard Seda scoff near the corner of the room. 

“It’s about time we met! Ernesto Vega,” your father introduced himself, holding out his hand for Steve to take. 

It was instant, the change, and you found yourself pushed softly to the side as Steve stepped forward. “Steve Rogers, sir. It’s an honor to meet you.”

Your father was practically beaming, “Y/N isn’t giving you a hard time with all the business, aye?”

Steve chuckled, “None at all. She steps back when asked.”

Okay, maybe he was a better actor than you took him for. 

“I can’t believe you even have to ask,” your father hummed, glancing back at you with a disapproving look. 

Steve shrugged, “More like ‘ordered.’”

It was scary how easily Steve was making your father laugh. “So, she listens to you? I wonder what that’s like.”

You interrupted, scoffing quietly. “I have literally done everything you’ve asked.”

And without glancing at you this time, your father quipped. “Everything but learn how not to complain.” 

You rolled your eyes and met Seda’s stare. He always enjoyed the torment your father caused you. When he ordered you do something sketchy and you objected, Seda always had a front row seat to the slaps and harsh language spit in your face. He had a way of bringing up the abuse in almost every conversation he held with you - like it gave him some form of sick satisfaction.

“Regardless of my daughter’s inability to listen, I was still surprised when she named you as her partner.”

“The whole hero game was getting boring. I needed excitement.”

Your father agreed, “Don’t we all?” 

Before he continued, he squinted his eyes at Steve and scanned him once more. Almost like he was double checking his initial choice. 

“And you’re fine with breaking the laws of the country you’re the mascot for?”

“America has changed over the last hundred years. Trust me, I should know.”

Steve was answering exactly how you two practiced. You couldn’t help the small tinge of pride that it ignited. 

“Oh, I can’t believe you’re older than me. I mean, look at you.”

“The positives and negatives of being America’s science experiment, sir.”

“But here you are now. Working for me.” Your father stepped back to sit behind his desk again. “I’m very happy.”

“Likewise, sir,” Steve replied as he shuffled closer to you, trying to not seem so suspicious. Last time Steve wanted to crawl out of his own skin was when he was barely being introduced to the new world. Times Square really was a concrete jungle, his and Bucky’s old apartment building had been demolished in the fifties, and inflation… don’t get him started on inflation.  

“I’d like you to meet my two friends.” Your eyes widened. No, you weren’t supposed to meet them today. You hadn’t planned for this. 

“Friends and competition alike.”

You tried to keep your voice steady, “Shouldn’t you warm them up before you invite them in? They’re gonna take one look at Steve and freak.”

Your father motioned for Seda to open the door. “Then prepare your speech quickly.”

Before you or Steve could come up with a game plan, your father called out to the new arrivals. “Amigos! Me gustaría presentarles al hombre detrás de toda mi operación.”

The men summoned were completely different from the last time you saw them. Given you saw Ramirez long before the snap and White even before then, change was destined. Ramirez was skinnier, no more protruding stomach, wrinkles almost nonexistent and eyes lively. He hadn’t disappeared with half the world, but one of his daughters did - so getting her back definitely helped his overall health. White, on the other hand, aged overnight. His hair was now gray, eyelids sullen but eyes wide, and his nose was tilted awkwardly, like a surgery to counteract the powder he sniffed. You couldn’t remember if he was dusted or not.

“Tienes que agradecer a mi hija por esto.”

He did not just give you credit for this. 

“No fucking way?” Ramirez spoke, almost like he was out of breath. 

Curse your father for not preparing these two. You quickly reminded yourself where your gun was hidden in case things got out of hand. 

White stepped forward, circling you and Steve as if you were displayed in a museum. “Do we each get our own Avenger?”

“Maybe in the future. But this one’s mine.”

“I’m an Avenger, too. But okay,” you mumbled, offended by his singular statement. Steve’s lip twitched slightly but the look he threw at you let you know he wanted to smile. 

“¿Cómo lo hiciste?”

“Ya sabes cómo es... La gente simplemente sigue mi ejemplo.”

You decided to speak, anything to get White to stop inspecting you like some ancient artifact. “Steve green lights the routes and passages. He’s been a main player all along.”

White squinted at you, “And how long has this been going on?”

“For almost ten years,” you answered. 

White shook his head in surprise, eyes wider than you thought possible. His accent was more slurred than you remembered. “And you’re telling us now because-?”

Your father cut in, “The world is still in ruins. If we combine our forces like we discussed before that unfortunate disappearing act, we’ll be unstoppable.”

This seemed to catch Ramirez off guard, as if he truly didn’t remember the conversation your father brought up. You shoveled his reaction deep into your memory. Maribel would have to look into it.

Still, Ramirez played along. “And you’ll be loyal to us, too? Not just Ernesto?”

Steve nodded, his posture straightening. “I would.”

Now, the two new arrivals looked at you. You raised an eyebrow. 

“Don’t look at me. I do what he says,” you admitted, nodding your head toward Steve.

They seemed to accept that answer. 

“And he’s here to help us move the shipment this Saturday?” White asked.

“That’s the plan,” your father confirmed.

It was time for Ramirez to circle you both. But he did so more casually and without the intent of kicking you in the shins, it seemed. He went to sit on the couch nearest the door, away from the crowd. You could sense Steve tensing up, so you turned your body slightly to the side so you could see Ramirez through your peripheral.

“How do we know we can trust him? What those stars and stripes have to do with us?”

“You hear that Captain?” your father asked, leaning back in his chair with that twisted smile that always made your stomach drop. “Time to prove your loyalty.”

“Are you seriously going to haze him?” you spoke, a hint of a teasing tone on your words. It was time to liven up the conversation, for both your sake, or else your father was sure to go overboard. His hand… where’s Steve’s hand?

“Does she speak for you?”

Steve stepped forward, “No, she doesn’t.”

“Prove it.”

You should really punch your chest to get your heart beating again. Was he going to make Steve try the product? Record something as blackmail? Kill someone?

“Wha-” you began, but were immediately silenced as an arm wrapped around your neck and held you in place. The coldness of the gun’s muzzle tickled just below your chin, still and steady, but nonetheless terrifying. Your father had held you in this position before - hell, most of his men did when asked. But it wasn’t any of your father’s men threatening you under orders - it was Steve.  

“Obviously, I’m not going to kill her. You need her for this whole operation to work. But a little roughing up never did any bad.”

He removed his other arm but kept the muzzle under your chin, grabbing both your arms skillfully and pinning them behind your back. 

You had never seen your father so pleased. “Why are you dating my daughter?”

Steve chuckled and clicked the safety. No, no. 

You scrambled to open your right palm and squeeze what you could reach. Steve seemed to understand right away, and he loosened his grip and placed his other shaking hand into yours. You squeezed tightly. 

“Now, that’s like asking a man why he breathes air.”

No matter the position he currently had you in, you still praised his acting skills. 

“Perhaps. But I know my daughter. Why you?”

Steve kept a firm grip. “Luck?”

“It seems so. Let her go.”

He released you immediately, clicking the safety back on. Seda was in front of him before Steve could place it back on his person, grabbing the gun and emptying it. Seven rounds tumbled and scattered to the floor. This seemed to please both men, as Steve wasn’t presenting himself with an empty threat. He really could have killed you. 

“I’m assuming Y/N has told you stories about me. About my men.”

The floor beneath you was uneven, it seemed, but once your mind stopped playing tricks on you, you settled. You shot a quick glance to Ramirez, his eyes closed and hands clasped in his lap. He seemed distant.

“Only the ones worth repeating, sir.”

“Oh? And which are those?”

“Orders and the like.”

“So, you don’t know much? Nothing interesting? Nothing that could make me seem like the bad guy?”

The room grew hot, whether it was the natural air or the bubbling anger boiling in your stomach.

“Like I said, sir. I ask her what I want to know and she tells me. Other than that, it’s your call.”

The room fell silent as they debated their other questions. 

“How much do the other Avengers know?”

You were about to respond when Steve spoke instead. “Oblivious. I’m still the stars and stripes for them.”

White scoffed, “Those symbols don’t mean shit in this new world. Ridiculous of them to still assume you’re the same man.”

Steve’s jaw tensed, “Exactly right, sir.”

This seemed to be enough for your father. He stood from his chair, walking over to shake Steve’s hand again. So righteous and personal, almost like he hadn’t just ordered the assassination of an old friend a few days ago. “I like you, Captain. You’ve boosted my business, you’ve handled my daughter, you’ve made me a lot of money.” 

He looked away from Steve to look at you now, laying eyes upon a person he hadn’t bothered to reunite with in person. You had fought so hard not to be in the same room ever again, but now you were. A small little office, holding whatever air you were forced to share, on a mission that could change everything. You hated him, absolutely detested the ground he stood on, blamed him for the fallout, the change, the hurt. 

“Seda, you trust him?”

Seda opened the office door and started ushering the other two men out. “I’m getting there.”

Your father laughed, “Always so cynical.” 

Ramirez stood from his seat behind you, already gunning to make a good impression on your Captain. He shook Steve’s hand, “Until next time.”

“Sir,” Steve returned the handshake. Ramirez only adjusted slightly, and held his hand out to you. You looked down at it, momentarily stunned from any attention, but shook it in the way you were taught. Firm, short, and ready for business. You grinned at him and he returned the same emotion. 

“Two Avengers. Wow,” he mumbled, and tilted his head in a farewell. You watched him go, a silly smile on your face. 

You went to take your leave, cautious of being left alone with your father. But as fate had it, he stopped you from leaving so simply. 

“Oh, and Y/N?” 

You turned on your heel, lips plastered in a straight line. You raised your eyebrows at him, already annoyed from the request he most certainly had, no doubt. “Meet me in a few minutes. Alone.”

You forced yourself to nod, turning quickly and leaving the room. You shuffled down the hallway, Steve hot on your trail and reaching for your hand. 

“Hey, hey. I don’t want to leave you alone.”

He tugged you back to him, but you pushed him into the corner room you were originally heading for. You shut the door softly, and allowed Steve to grip your hands in his. 

“Well, you gotta. Link our mics. You’ll hear everything.”

“Safe word?”

You chuckled lowly but retracted the teasing attitude when you saw genuine worry written on Steve’s face. “Widow, Steve.”

“I didn’t mean to scare you back there. I couldn’t think of anything else to do-”

You shushed him, voice barely above a whisper. “It’s okay. You didn’t hurt me.”

“I fuck with you all the time but I would never take it that far.”

Where was this coming from? Steve looked like he was about to start hyperventilating. “I’m good. You didn’t hurt me. I’m fine, see?” you placed his hand on your chest, making sure he could feel your heartbeat. “I’m good.”

“You’re good?”

“I’m good.”

Steve removed his hand and placed it over his own chest, rubbing slightly. “I’ll be right outside when he talks to you.”

“I know you’ll be. Now, stand guard, whistle low to alert me.”

“This the room? You know the code?”

It was a simple office as well, but resembled more of a library than a workspace. It was dimly lit, cluttered, smelled of the wooden cabinets and the dust collecting on the books, and lacked any windows as well. You nodded to confirm Steve’s question, heading over to the farthest bookshelf and pushed it away from the wall. The loose dust swooped from the wood surface and into the air instantly, and you had to pause to sneeze down your shirt. 

You wiped your nose, “I’m third in command. My father may have some things hidden but I have to know the codes to shit like this.”

Steve leaned his ear on the door gently, “You’re clear.”

You gave him a thumbs up and fiddled with the outside of the safe. It was built into the wall, black in color and definitely made way before you were born. It was quite rusted, the gold numbers on the lock almost faded. 

“Let’s hope he didn’t change it.” You turned the dial - seven, thirty-three, eighteen - and it clicked on the first try. “Bingo.”

“Did you have a backup plan if that didn’t work?”

You snorted quietly, “Smash?”

Steve rolled his eyes and pressed his ear back on the door. 

Everything inside had been recently rearranged. You figured your father used some of these ID’s when entering the country for the wedding and left them stacked on one another for the quick heist on Saturday.  “We’re in luck! Both my father’s and Seda’s ID’s are here, along with-”

You cooed, taking out your phone and opening the camera app. You snapped multiple pictures, with and without flash. “Stacks and stacks of cash.”

You pulled your purse in front of you and pulled out your wallet to make room, shoving it into your back pocket instead. 

“Help me put this in my purse.”

Steve left his post to help you shovel the ID’s discreetly into every pocket your purse provided, shoving things into corners so nothing protruded. 

“Damn, we gotta leave the money,” you pouted. 

Steve chuckled, “What a horrible thing.”

A sudden, boisterous laugh right outside the door caused you to rip your arm away from the safe, thankfully pulling the last of the ID’s with you. You pushed them into your purse, zipping it up. Steve reacted quickly as well, shutting the safe and rotating the dial, pushing the bookcase back into its original position. 

“It’s Ramirez and White,” Steve whispered, looking around the room for any help. “What do we do?”

“Ramirez…” you blinked, eyes wandering around the room as well. Think, think, think. The doorknob jiggled. “Trust me.”

You ripped your purse off and threw it to the nearest couch. You hooked your arms around Steve’s neck and jumped to wrap your legs around his waist. 

“Oh my-”

In any other scenario, the whimper that left your throat would have been caused by a surge of ecstasy. But you were frightened of being caught, the whimper a blatant signal to just follow your lead. 

“Slam me into the wall, Captain.”

The door flew open just as Steve did as he was told. 

“And I told him it was ridiculous - oh my…”

You lifted your head from Steve’s neck, wide eyes to accompany your surprised state. “Oh! I thought we locked the door!”

Ramirez covered his eyes bashfully, turning around and staring at the wall. “Don’t mind us, we were just looking for loose smokes.”

Opposite to his intruding partner, White laughed at the scene before him. He dipped low, hands on his knees as he joked. “Didn’t think Captain America had it in him! Been a stiff ever since the ice, huh mate?”

You could feel Steve tense against you, and he froze entirely. You drew your hand up to play with the strands of his hair, putting on your best flirty tone possible. “Oh, trust me. He’s pretty stiff right now.”

Steve seemed to calm under your touch, so he turned his head over his shoulder and gave an embarrassed smile of his own. 

“Excuse us again, Y/N. You two enjoy your time,” Ramirez apologized, pulling at White’s jacket to guide him out of the room. Once you heard the click of the door, you jumped from Steve’s grasp and immediately began patting his back. 

“I’m sorry.”

Steve chuckled, his blush rising from his shoulders to his cheeks. “It’s okay, you saved us.”

You inspected him closely, a little embarrassed with yourself. It was a bold move, but one that needed to be done. You stood in silence for a few more seconds, each of you adjusting to such a sudden change of breathing pattern. 

You shut your eyes and groaned silently, “I need to speak with him.”

“Can I wait outside the door?”

You picked up your purse and swung it around your torso, “No, you need to wait in the car. Or smother Ramirez and White, your call.”

The lines on Steve’s forehead deepened, “Y/N, I can’t leave you alone with him.”

You wanted to argue further because Steve really over exaggerated. You fought a whole army of aliens, robots, and even the infamous Winter Soldier. Sure, you lost the battle with Thanos on the first try, you lost a teammate with Ultron, and gained a collapsed lung from Bucky’s insane roundhouse kick, but you were positive you could take your father. “You’re gonna have to. I’ve been alone with him before.”

Steve placed his hands on his hips and gave you a blank stare. “He shot you last time.”

“Ehh, Seda did.”

“Y/N.”

You laughed softly, “Then wait in the living room.”

“The shield’s in the car. If you need help, I may not have enough time-”

Steve and that goddamn shield. The guy was acting like he wasn’t a super soldier. You were annoyed. Annoyed with a pinch of salt?

“You whip that shield out to save me and I swear to god-”

“Okay, okay. I’ll link our mics.”

He fumbled around on his phone for a few seconds before you heard the softest beep from below your ear. 

     The last time you had entered that room alone, you left with a bullet lodged deep in your abdomen and with the threat of having it done again. Stumbling and crashing into the walls and random trinkets, leaving your blood stains on anything you used to steady yourself. This time would be different - it had to be. Your father wouldn’t shoot you with the Captain America waiting in the other room. Then again, your father always seemed to top himself each time you were forced to interact personally. In an instant, he dropped the good guy act. Or, hyped joy. 

Now, his stare was cold and calculated, posture upright like he was awaiting your arrival. You couldn’t help but smile and roll your eyes, a tiny scoff breaking the silence as he returned it. 

“You’re one damn good actor.” 

He chuckled deeply, “We do what we have to do in front of the people who threaten our reign.” 

You kicked the leg of a nearby chair to turn it toward you. Sitting down, you retorted with a chuckle of your own. “You’re not royalty.” 

“We are... you are.”

Third in command. Daughter of the biggest drug lord south of the border? In most cases, you could be considered goddamn royalty. Did you want to be? No, because the title that seemed to fit was ‘a chess piece in the middle of a mad supremacy’. But that was too long.  

“So, what is this? You scared my Captain is gonna knock you off your feet and take your place?” 

His hands slammed the desk. His little basket of pens and pencils toppled over and spilled onto the floor. “I have waited seven, long years for you to bring that man to me. And each time you defied me. Tell me why I shouldn’t kill you right now!” 

You remained seated, a blank stare boring into your father’s. “Uh, probably because he would avenge me. Get it?” 

He wasn’t one for jokes, though. “It would be so easy.” 

Aggravating him further was not the smartest thing to do. And Steve had the same thought as he fumbled with his own thumbs outside, hearing the conversation from afar. He almost wanted to barge in just to put your ass in time out. 

But you had seven years to make up for - a little joke here and there shouldn’t hurt much. 

“You do know I’m an Avenger, right? Trained by Natalia Romanoff herself?” 

You worded your sentence carefully, her alias need not be spoken out loud unless you needed backup. 

“Answer me.”

When his nostrils flared, you knew better than to twist the knife. 

“Steve didn’t sign the accords. He was on the run for two years before you asked me for him. This is public knowledge.”

He pointed his index finger at you, shaking it wildly. “You lie. Why you lie?”

You had to blink multiple times through your shocked state, mouth agape and involuntarily racks of laughter spilling. He couldn’t be serious. You could only repeat the same thing so many times. 

“Like I said all those years ago - He. Was. On. The. Run. No contact. I had no way of contacting him!”

He struggled to grab whatever on his desk to raise toward your face. In this case, he pointed his phone in a threatening manner. “Excuses! Remember the last time you made such a poor excuse?”

The laughing stopped, your mouth immediately shutting. You clenched your jaw to work through your murderous impulses. 

You wondered how your hands would look wrapped around his neck. Red and angry, tightening as each desperate second passes, nails forming crescents as they pressed in his skin. If there was a window, you would definitely kick him out of it. Wave goodbye as he fell dramatically. But the mansion was one story high and you couldn’t magically conjure up a window. God, this would be the absolute best time to have Wanda or Loki here to use some of that dark magic. Either way, you just wanted to wipe that shit-eating grin off his face right now. 

“He. Was on. The run.”

“And I thought you learned your lesson.”

You stood from your seat and leaned on the desk, arms holding you up and face inches away from his. “You gonna send in your men to remind me? With my Captain a few feet away?”

His lips were trembling as much as yours were - face blotchy with silver droplets of sweat and an angry blush now reaching his forehead. For a seventy-five year old man, he still had such a rage in him that didn’t risk a heart attack. Lucky bastard. 

“He best not interfere if it’s what I choose to do.”

Outside, Steve gripped the back door handle to the point it squished in on itself, metal twisting awkwardly and splintering the paint. His free hand was balled into the meanest fist, even his stubby nails wreaking havoc on his pale palm. He was making himself bleed by the restraint. He took slow breaths, eyes closed but ears fully alert. He wouldn’t cry. Not right now. 

“I called you back alone to invite you to breakfast the day after tomorrow.”

Whether it was because he knew you were only a few seconds from lunging yourself across his desk to break his neck or because he was tired from all the energy he had just exerted, your father slumped back into his seat as he spoke. 

“The hotel has free breakfast.”

He shook his head in complete astonishment, “You’re not getting out of this. I have important business to discuss with each of you.”

You continued to stare him down, “Over coffee?”

He shrugged his shoulders, “I can’t leave the estate so close to the wedding. Your sister is flying in tomorrow and I have to make sure construction is done by then.”

“Right, ‘cause you’re the best father in the world.”

Being in the same room was suffocating, but you couldn’t help but be fascinated by the man. How unbelievably thoughtless yet calculated he could be. How unbelievably fake yet so damn real in all his hidden meanings.

“Jackeline likes to think so.”

Your sister was sweet, sure, and there was an unspoken agreement between the two of you to not fight one another, being the only daughters and all. But you were eight years old when she was born, already tainted by the world in which she was just born into. Forgive your lack of sisterly bond. When you were sixteen, you dipped. Now, at the sprouting ages of twenty-six and eighteen, you two couldn’t be more different. 

Actually, yes you could. If she thought your father was a good man, she was entirely ignorant of the world she lives in. 

“Good for her. Why don’t we discuss the shipment transport during the most important day of her life?”

“Nice try. That’s what the rehearsal dinner is for - rehearsal.” 

You gave your father a sad smile, “You really won’t trust me. After all these years of following your orders.”

“Now, let’s not go bringing up the past.”

You interrupted, “Why not? You’re trusting my Captain and I to help you move that shipment but won’t trust me enough to tell me where it is right now?” 

He was back to standing but he was much calmer. “Right now, I trust your Captain more than you. What kind of man would leave everything moral behind for a bunch of criminals? A bad one.”

“You’ve known him for like, two seconds.”

Your father searched his pockets for loose cigarettes. “He left everything moral behind for me. For you. And you left me behind for everything moral.”

Rolling your eyes, you backed away from his desk and headed for the door. “Sometimes you don’t make any sense. Is that it? Are we done?”

“You accept my invitation?”

“Do I really have a choice?”

“No.” 

     The mansion seemed larger than when you entered, the hallways longer, the walls closing in, the trinkets reaching out to stop you by the wrist. The longer you stayed in this hell hole, the more likely you were probably going to unleash the rage attached to your body in the form of your favorite weapons. Bomb the hell out of this place. 

You marched to Steve’s car. He was already waiting, leaning along the passenger door like he was going to open it for you. If he did, you might kill him too. So, you repeatedly snapped your fingers at him and pointed around the car, silently but angrily motioning him to get in. He didn’t need to be told twice. In fact, he thought it might be therapeutic for you to throw the door open and slam it yourself. It was. 

Steve started the car. He didn’t need to ask, there was no reason to since he heard everything. And so did Sam. Bucky. Scott. It was being transcribed as you swerved out of the estate. God, you wanted to throw up. 

“I’ll tell you when to stop.” 

Steve choked on his breath, “Stop?” 

You rolled down the windows to breathe in the crisp cold air, teeth becoming sensitive as it passed into your lungs. “Once we get past the cameras and nearby neighborhoods.” 

“Did you need-“ 

“When I say stop, stop. Fucking damn, Steve! Listen to me for once!”

Steve didn’t know why he was challenging you. Your father had just brought up one of the most traumatic moments of your life, basically called you a hypocrite and a coward - he tried to tear you down. And here you were, holding it all together like the champ he found you to be. But he never handled your outbursts well, even if they were completely justified. 

“Don’t fucking give me orders if you won’t tell me what they’re for!”

“Stop the fucking car!”

He slammed on the breaks, instincts still kicking in during your argument and he reached his arm out to your side to hold you back from the powerful surge. His body lunged forward, however, chest hitting the steering wheel and horn. 

You scrambled out of the car and ran into the woods, feet guiding you through mud and prickly bushes until they reached a more secluded spot. Steve stumbled along after you, nearly tripping over the same rocks you had avoided masterfully. 

Before he could ask what you were doing, you pulled your gun from its hidden holster and clicked the safety. Steve’s eyes bulged out of his head just in time to see the first round sound off mid-air. He crouched down to the floor and shielded his head. You shot away from him, obviously, until all seven rounds were dislodged, aimed in the sky diagonally. 

Once the last bullet exited, you simply packed everything up. Now calm and collected, you turned around and headed back for the car.

Steve’s voice cracked as he spoke, “Seriously?”

You pushed branches away from your head as you walked, “Seriously.”

“Do you know how dangerous that is? Those bullets don’t just disappear into thin air,” Steve scolded, jogging up to speed walk beside you. 

“So fucking what? I’m keeping the rent low in this area, then.”

Steve sighed in defeat, “Talk to me.”

“Sorry, I’m shutting down.”

“Y/N-”

You groaned, tears of frustration not entirely formed, but in their beginning stages. “You already know what’s stressing me out, Steve. Do you need it in writing?”

“I know, I’m sorry,” Steve lowered his voice. “What do you need me to do?”

“Just,” you paused, stopping to face him. You opened and closed your hands mid-air as if that would help you formulate your sentences better. “I don’t know. But when I find out, I’ll let you know.”

This Steve could accept. So he simply nodded, guiding you the rest of the way with his hand gently placed on your lower back. 

     The drive back to the hotel was fairly silent. The radio provided a calming relief from such drama. Steve would glance at you every so often to check on you, but you were always resting your eyes. This was only the first day of the mission - officially. If you were this drained from one encounter, Steve needed to rethink this whole operation. Whether it was healthy to keep you on, or if the threat was just too large. But no matter the alternatives, Steve understood that this week was going to be difficult either way, and you needed to be present. This was your mission after all. He was just your partner. 

Even with a thousand things on your mind, you were still conscious enough to check your surroundings, check-in with the agent posted behind the front desk, and reconnect your mic with the teams. 

Steve pushed open your room door and threw the car keys on one of the nearby tables. “Nap time?”

You ignored his initial question, “I didn’t think seeing them in person again would be so draining.”

Steve watched you carefully, somewhat scared that you would pull out your gun again and shatter a window. “It was pretty cramped.”

You started to disarm yourself, tearing off your sweater and holsters clumsily. “And they acted like we were all on good terms! Around you, at least. I know they’re acting for my sister’s sake and then we can go back to hating each other after, but really?”

Steve sat on the edge of his bed, eyes sorry. “I really don’t know what to say.”

You threw yourself onto your bed, burying your face into the pillows. You continued speaking, albeit muffled. “You don’t have to say anything - just let me rant.”

“You’ll tire yourself out, Y/N. C’mon, we gotta draft up this report-”

You lifted yourself up and started smoothing down your hair, “I need a drink.”

Steve pointed to the computer, “The report.”

“A drink.” 

“Y/N, it’s getting late. The sooner we draft it, the sooner-”

You grumbled out again, already opening the door and shoving your boots on. “Steve, I need a drink. You know what they do to me, what they’ve done to me, what they continue to do every single day. Now, join me or not but I am going downstairs for a drink.”

Steve paused for a moment, looking around the room hesitantly. “Can I at least take the laptop?”

You threw your head back and walked out the door, “Take the goddamn laptop, jesus fucking christ, c’mon.”

     If there’s one thing you were happy about today, it was that you booked a hotel with a mini bar on the second floor. It wasn’t an outright full bar, but it was low lit, clean and the counters were made from fine wood, and there was a variety of flavors to choose from. There were only a few hotel guests spread out and a single bartender. You and Steve took seats at the counter. 

“Whiskey sour,” you called for the bartender, trying and failing to give him the nicest smile you could. 

Steve settled in his bar stool, “Thought you wanted to drink to drink hard.”

You chuckled at him and extended your arms in a stretch, “I’m mad, not depressed.”

He grinned at your movements - as if just sitting in a bar already loosened you up. “In that case, get me a beer.”

     Natasha had called Steve for help after your fourth beer and fifth whiskey. Her coaxing proved to be pointless, each request of a safe passage home seeming to enter one ear and leave the other. And you’ll end up killing her when you were sober enough for sending unwanted reinforcements, but even she didn’t want to fight you. If you wanted to drown in liquid courage, that courage churning itself into raw despair, then she would allow it. 

Steve stared at you for a few moments. Head hanging low, a deep frown etched into your tired expression, index finger tapping your glass as if you were debating whether to down it in one go or to leave it. Steve had never seen you like this, guard destroyed and face practically pale, just begging to be left alone. And it seemed the whole bar felt the same way, as there was no music playing and everyone was wallowing in their own grief. 

“I can spot you from a mile away, you know?”

Your voice immediately pulled Steve from his own mind and he was surprised you could still form coherent sentences given the amount of empty glasses in front of you. 

“I don’t mean to interrupt.”

You scoffed, leaning away from him as he sat down in the stool beside you. “Natasha sent you. Don’t tell me otherwise.”

“I’m not saying anything.”

“Good.”

Steve ordered a beer for himself, and although he was driving, one beer wouldn’t impair him anyway. It wouldn’t even cause a dent in his 20/20 vision. 

“Fucking ridiculous, it’s fucking ridiculous!” 

The bar patrons seemed to wince simultaneously and the bartender simply gathered a few of your empty glasses to wash. Steve didn’t hush you, didn’t touch you, didn’t try to reassure you. If you needed to cause a scene, it was time. Your silence for the past week had been frightening, but when Tony returned last night, half dead and without the kid, it seemed to be your breaking point. 

“Wanda destroyed it. She destroyed the fucking stone and all he did was use another to bring it back.”

Steve took a sip of his beer to disguise his quivering lip, but his eyes had no curtain. His waterline swelled with fresh tears, eyes instantly reddening, an undesired sting pinching the corners. 

“Strange must have had a reason. He must’ve, but - how can that reason include the death of trillions?”

“We’re going to find a way-”

“And if we don’t?”

Steve kept his lips on the bottle, incisors biting down only slightly as he took in your rhetorical question. You continued speaking.

“He destroyed the stones.”

“Carol is looking for answers.”

You shook your head and pulled out your wallet, leaving whatever cash you had on the counter before standing up. You stumbled but Steve latched onto your arm and pulled it to hug his waist. 

“Loki?” you mumbled, raising your head to lock eyes with Steve. He didn’t know if you were calling him another name or if you were asking for the God’s whereabouts. “Bucky?”

“Hey, stop, stop.”

“Peter?”

Steve could only nod. What use was it to lie to you? Your new vertical position seemed to magnify the true extent of your intoxication as your eyes finally glazed over and limbs trembled. 

“Let’s get you home, okay?”

Gripping his shirt, you apologized each time it would crumble and you would accidentally tug it downward. But Steve didn’t care. You were practically limp in his arms, heavy and without proper use of your legs. 

“You’re a good man, Steve.”

Steve sighed sadly but couldn’t help the small smile that formed as he looked down at you and found you sporting a silly one of your own. 

“A really good man. I’m happy you’re still here.”

Steve paused for a moment, taking in your words and holding back his own tears. If there was a time he wanted to be drunk off his ass, it would be now. He was somewhat jealous of the brief relief alcohol had given you, loose and not fully aware of the drama of the world. “I’m happy, too.”

“No, you’re not,” you slurred, allowing Steve to guide you to his car. You slumped against the passenger door as Steve searched his pocket for his key. “I heard you crying last night.”

Steve halted his search mid-pat, a hard crease forming between his eyebrows as he lifted his head. “I wasn’t-”

“I cry too,” you admitted, a drunken pout on your face. “You don’t have to lie to me.”

Perhaps it was a dirty thing for him to do at this moment because you wouldn’t remember a single word of this conversation in the morning, but he figured there was no immediate harm. He found his key, unlocked the car, and helped you inside. Only once he entered the car himself did he take advantage of your blurry mind. 

“I cried for Sam and Bucky. Who do you cry for?”

You clicked the seatbelt on, mind clear enough for safety precautions it seemed. “Poor Wanda.”

Steve nodded and started the car. “Anything else?”

“Did I ever tell you about the time Loki asked me on a date?”

Steve immediately shut off the car and turned to you. “Huh? When?”

You grinned, small giggles bubbling from your chest. “A few months ago. He was so shy, too. I said yes.”

Steve ignored the twinge in his chest, “How was it?”

You leaned your head back and tilted it towards him, your smile faltered slightly. “Never went on it. And now he’s dead.”

The urge to lean over and wrap you in a much needed hug was there, eating away at him since you called him a good man. But he had taken advantage of this situation far too much, so he simply nodded in understanding and started the car again. 

“I’m sorry.”

You barely heard him, but you mumbled a quick response before letting the alcohol fully consume you. “Me too.”

     You thanked the bartender when they slid you your drink. “I hadn’t seen him since before the world went to shit.” You took a quick sip. “Kinda strange.”

Steve nodded, wondering if he should dive deep into the issue at hand. Instead of outright saying his outdated spiel, he eased into it. He gave you a few needed sips of your drink, at least.  “Y/N, can I ask an honest question?”

You hummed, “My toes are already tingling. You could probably ask me what my kinks are and I’d tell you.”

Steve suddenly burst into a fit of giggles, “You never could handle a sip of alcohol.”

Your eyes rounded at his reaction. Perhaps the alcohol affected him in other fun ways that he didn’t know. “Nope, I’m a lightweight.”

Steve contained himself before clearing his throat, “The question…”

“Go ahead.”

He rolled his shoulders and took a sip of his beer. Leaning in closer, he lowered his voice. “If it comes down to it, and god forbid you’re incapacitated, do you want me to kill your father?”

Your mouth opened slightly, the words stuck behind your tongue. You looked down at your drink, as if some special response was swimming in it. You knew your answer, but the way to phrase it was lost. 

“I don’t want his blood on your hands.”

“But if it was the last choice?”

You sighed, “If you pull that trigger, they’ll never stop coming after you.”

Steve’s eyebrows scrunched together, “But if you pull it?”

You shrugged and raised the glass to your lips. “That’s my life, Steve. Let me deal with the consequences.”

“That’s just it - you don’t have to. At least, not alone.”

God, you hated how perfect Steve sounded all the time. Whenever he was annoying you, fighting you, or protecting you, his syllables were stretched in the most glorious way, dipping into every crevice of the person they were delivered to and warming inches of body slowly. You wanted him to have somewhat of an evil side for once in his life, but no matter how many times you thought he would explode, he didn’t.

Two years ago, when he dropped you from his life in an instant, you had assumed you finally caught a glimpse at this evil side. It was the only time you were truly scared of him. 

“You really are a good person.”

Steve swished his beer bottle around, “I wish everyone would stop being surprised by that.”

“I’m not surprised. I guess I just want to hate you, and I can’t.”

Steve’s shoulders slumped like crumbling mountains and you couldn’t stop thinking about how vulnerable he looked. You wanted to pull him closer and rest your head to his chest, hear his heartbeat and apologize for theorizing a possible hatred. 

“Why do you want to hate me?”

“When you wouldn’t sign the accords, part of me saw that as the mascot of America not caring if he invaded and pillaged everything in his path.”

“But I-” Steve interjected, but you stopped him by raising your hand and waving it gently. 

“I know why you didn’t. Hell, I helped you escape.”

“Why did you help if you hated me?”

Being vulnerable with Steve wasn’t anything new. You were each other’s support system for those lonely five years, but it all changed the moment you defeated Thanos. So, for the last two years you didn’t quite get along. But here, now, you could always tell when Steve was being honest and open. 

“Guess I thought that if you were willing to help me with my family, I should help you with yours.”

His therapist desperately tried to rationalize the experiences Steve would tell, instructing him to look past hard exteriors and accept help from others. That his old friends were still friends, and enemies should never be compared to those he loved. And he knew he was easily blinded when something or someone had the slightest mishap, instantly writing it off as harmful. 

He spoke of you often during his one hour sessions - stories of your blatant silliness and crude jokes; how you would poke your finger into his sandwiches when you thought he wasn’t looking; how you almost beat up a kid and his little gang for baiting Peter after his identity was exposed; and how you and Sam had gotten into a bar fight over something so trivial, so unnecessary, that it was almost unbelievable to see you innocently scoot away from the body on the floor in the police video, as if you had nothing to do with it and those few feet of distance automatically cleared you. 

His therapist would just listen. 

“Did I ever thank you?”

You smiled sadly, “You went into hiding soon after. Then we went to battle, lost everyone, went to battle again, and then…”

“And then.”

‘And then’ wasn’t really something you two liked to bring up. It was still a fresh wound, somewhat patched up, but still open. 

You spaced out for a few minutes, both of you enjoying your drinks. You were no longer drinking to get drunk, not that it was your original goal to begin with. You just sat in comfortable silence, reliving the events earlier that day and drafting an internal report. 

“What are you thinking about?”

You pursed your lips and thought, clicking your tongue when it finally dawned on you. “This was the first time I saw Marcus White sober.”

Steve sat up straighter, “Are you sure? He didn’t look it.”

“Yeah, he usually speaks quickly and he fidgets. But he was coherent this afternoon.”

“Should that be a red flag?”

You took out your phone and sent a quick text to Torres for him to monitor White closely for the next few days, just in case. “A big one. My father referred to him more often than he did Ramirez.”

Steve tackled every idea in his head quickly, speaking as a new one popped up. “They could be planning a move against Ramirez. He’s close to overthrowing your father.”

You raised your head from your phone, “And the wedding would be a perfect distraction.”

“He would kill his greatest rival on your sister’s happiest day?”

You let out a low chuckle, “This man has nothing to lose. It won’t matter who he topples along the way.”

Steve opened the laptop, silently congratulating himself for bringing it despite your insults, and began drafting the report. The two of you worked for the next hour, nursing a couple more drinks before you sent the final copy to Bucky. 

~

TAGLIST: @dumb-ass-writer @justab-eautifulmess @supraveng @mycosmicparadise @missnighttigress​

[thebookreader12345]

The Perfect Night for Pumpkin Picking

Pairing: Kelly Severide x reader

Summary: Y/N and Kelly take their daughter to a pumpkin patch and corn maze on their day off to get in the Halloween spirit, and Y/N has a surprise in store for both of them

Requested: Yes, by anonymous

Warnings: mention of baby-making

Word Count: 1,108 Words

“Andy, baby, are you ready to go yet?” I ask my 5 year old daughter and peak into her bedroom.

“Mommy, I can’t pick which color hat to wear,” Andy pouted and glanced between the red and pink hats in front of her.

“How about the red one? It matches your coat, and its daddy’s favorite color,” I point out.

“You’re right! Thanks mommy,” Andy muttered and hugged my legs.

“All right. Lets get going. Daddy’s waiting downstairs,” I tell her and situate her hat on her head. I then helped her put on her shoes and carried her down the stairs.

“You girls ready to go?” Kelly asked us.

“Yes! I want to find the biggest pumpkin ever! Lets go lets go lets go,” Andy chanted.

“All right. Off to the pumpkin patch,” Kelly spoke.

It didn’t take us long to get to the pumpkin patch, and Andy was bouncing up and down in her car-seat the whole way there. She was definitely taking after her father there, seeing as he was way more impatient than me. When Kelly parked the car, I unbuckled Andy’s car-seat and she was quick to hop out of the car.

“Come on, mommy! I don’t want all the good pumpkins to be gone,” Andy said and dragged me along.

“Okay. I’ll just catch up with you in a few minutes!” Kelly shouted after us. I looked back at him and gave him a small smile as Andy continued dragging me towards the pumpkin patch. When we finally arrived, she let go of my hand and started running around inspecting pumpkins. Kelly caught up about a minute or two later and wrapped his arms around my waist, bringing me closer to him.

“Andy, be careful,” I call out to my daughter, who turned and gave me a thumbs up before continuing to look for pumpkins.

“I can’t believe we made something so amazing,” Kelly stated and kissed my cheek.

“I know,” I respond and turn around so that we were chest to chest. Kelly was wearing his navy blue winter hat with the words “Squad 3″ etched on the front, which brought up a few memories. Kelly and I actually met through Firehouse 51. Around 8 years ago, I was the new candidate on Truck 81, and he was the Lieutenant on Squad, so of course, we argued a lot, being on different trucks and all. However, it ended up bringing us closer, and now, here we are married, and we have a beautiful daughter who I love to death. “How would you feel about having another one?” I ask Kelly.

“Another kid?” Kelly questioned.

“Yeah,” I reply.

Kelly grinned. “Wait a minute. Are you...?” 

A small smile made its way onto my face, and I nodded. “2 months.”

“Oh my god,” Kelly said and hugged me tightly. “When did you find out?”

“Last week,” I answer. “I told you Sylvie and I were going out to get some lunch, but we really went to Med.”

“I’m sure Andy will be excited. She’s only been begging for a sibling for what, 2 years now?” Kelly joked. “When did you want to tell her?”

“I was thinking tonight after we do the corn maze,” I say.

“Sounds good to me. I love you,” Kelly murmured.

“I love you too,” I state and lean up to kiss him. 

“Mommy! Daddy!” Andy yelled. “I found the best pumpkin ever!”

“Duty calls,” I laugh and pull away from Kelly to find where my daughter had gone off to. I finally found her kneeling on the ground in a small patch pumpkins near the back of the field.

“I want this one,” Andy exclaimed and pointed to the pumpkin in front of her.

“Hey Kel? Could you carry this over to checkout please?” I ask my husband who had just joined us.

“Yeah. I’ll get this checked out, and then we can get some food,” Kelly spoke and bent down, lifting the pumpkin off the ground effortlessly.

“All right. Come on Andy. Lets go decide what we want to eat,” I tell her.

“I want a taffy apple,” Andy chirped.

“Then lets go find you a taffy apple,” I say and take her hand.

After Kelly bought Andy’s pumpkin and put it in the car, we all sat down to eat. Andy got a taffy apple, just like she wanted, and devoured it before I could even take a bite of my roasted corn. She was definitely going to have a sugar rush later. Once Kelly and I had finished our food, we made our way over to the corn maze.

“Whoa,” Andy gawked. “How are we going to get out of there? Its huge!”

“Good thing your mother is awesome at corn mazes. She and I actually went to one for our first date,” Kelly informed Andy.

“That’s cool! Lets go!” Andy shouted and ran into the maze.

“How are we supposed to keep up with her and a baby?” I ask Kelly.

“I have no idea. I guess we’ll have to figure that out when the time comes,” Kelly responded and followed after Andy with me a few feet behind him.

Even with my expert ability at solving mazes, it took us about an hour to find our way to the exit. Somehow, Andy wasn’t pooped out yet. We were getting ready to go home now, meaning it was probably a good time to talk to Andy.

“Andy, baby, we’ve got a surprise for you” I say.

“A surprise?! What is it what is it what is it?” Andy chanted.

“In a few months, you’re going to have a baby brother or sister,” I announce.

Andy gasped and ran over to me, pressing her ear against my flat stomach which would be growing bigger every month from here until the end of my pregnancy. “There’s a baby in there?”

“Yep. Soon I’ll be looking like I did in those pictures where I was pregnant with you,” I explain.

“Wow! I want a little sister. Daddy, tell mommy to give me a little sister,” Andy told Kelly.

“I’m afraid it doesn’t work like that, but between you and me, I’m hoping its a girl too,” Kelly said softly.

“Really?” I ask. “I thought you would want a boy this time.”

“I’m fine with either, but I love getting off of work and coming home to my girls” Kelly pointed out with a smile. “Now, who wants to get home and have a movie night?”

“Me!” Andy cheered.

“All right then. Lets get going,” Kelly said and hoisted Andy into his arms.

“Best Halloween ever!” Andy squealed.

_____________________

Tag List:

@prettypyschoinpink @securityfriendly-jay @scarletsoldierrr @lorenakaspersen @virtualreader @carnationworld @caitsymichelle13​ @campingmonkey @winterberryfox @anotherfan07 @giagma

[peppersonironi]

Duke Thomas VS The "Good Child" Stereotype Chapter 2

Next chapter for my Duke Thomas Big Bang fic is up!

(Once again, a hearty thank you to my betas @queerbutstillhereand @theycallme-ook)

Read On Ao3

It was four am on a Friday morning, a week after Duke had decided he’d had enough of Bruce’s - and the other’s - incorrect opinion of him.

It was so early in the morning, that the main group of bats had been trickling back from patrol over the past hour or so. Stephanie and Cassandra had arrived first, followed by Jason ten minutes later. Then Tim had gotten back from his route with Harper, and Kate and Bette had stopped by for a bit (but eventually left for their own homes). Dick came home next, and Bruce had returned last with Damian.

Everyone was in varying states of winding down, with Stephanie at one end of the spectrum wearing silk pajamas, a fluffy robe which Duke was sixty-seven percent sure was Bruce’s, and bright pink bunny slippers Duke was positive were Dick’s. On the other side, Bruce hadn’t even pulled off his cowl, and was sitting down in front of the Batcomputer to work on a case.

Though Duke thought that Tim deserved his own category, dressed in a strange combination of disco track suit and kevlar body armor, and was hunched over three cans of energy drinks and a quart jug filled with espresso shots.

Duke leaned down to double check that his boots were laced up - one time he hadn’t, and had then proceeded to trip and fall into a garbage pile. Not. Fun.

He looked up, however, when Bruce clicked open a case file. So did everyone else, as if drawn by some invisible force.

They all clearly saw as Bruce hovered his mouse over a link which had been typed in sometime while the big bat had been away. The only hint to what it could be was the note reading “New Evidence.”

Bruce grunted in what for anyone else would be an exclamation of curiosity and went to click the link.

Which clearly went to YouTube.

In unison, all the bats’ eyes widened in realization. You see, in a family such as this one, pranks abounded. So they all had painstakingly memorized that series of letters and numbers.

They all knew what it meant.

Suddenly, the Batcave lit up with the dancing form of one Rick Astley. It was everywhere. On the several large monitors that made up the Batcomputer. The various screens spread across the caves. Everyone’s phones somehow were affected. As well as the X-Ray machine in the med bay, which was showing a skeleton dancing.

Bruce jumped up, rage full on his face. “Who did this? Make it stop!”

No one answered, all too frozen in shock at what had happened.

“Who…” Dick whispered from beside Jason, “Who would be that brave?”

“Yeah,” Jason whispered back, “Rick Rolls were banned at the 2015 family reunion after you played it two hundred and thirteen times in a row.”

Dick grinned, “those were good times.”

The two eldest boys began to bicker, Jason complaining that Rick Rolls were a part of the war crimes banned by the Geneva Convention, and Dick saying he “liked it: so there.”

Meanwhile, the song was reaching the chorus, and the other bats finally began to react. The three girls were dancing on top of exercise equipment, popping bottles of sparkling cider - or was that champagne? For their own sakes, they should hope it’s the former - they had pulled out of what seemed to be thin air.

Damian was in the corner, trying to get Titus to dance to the music - though he glanced around every so often to make sure that no one was noticing his moment of fun.

Tim was still nursing his collection of drinks like an alcoholic nursed a bottle.

Bruce was practically foaming at the mouth by that point.

“This is NOT FUNNY!”

That, of course, made everyone just start laughing harder. In the corner, Steph started to do the macarena completely off-tempo from the music. Cass seemed to be chugging the cider that Harper was pouring into her mouth.

Just then the holographic training simulations lit up, and Rick Astly began making his way across the cave, dancing all the way.

Bruce glared up at the semi transparent form of the singer, as if trying to force him into submission.

“T-pose to assert dominance!” Jason called, cupping his hands around his mouth.

“Yeah, that’ll totally work, B! Trust us!” Dick called as well.

Bruce took a moment to turn his head and glare at the two former Robins, who only smiled like the angels they clearly thought they were.

The image was not aided by the two giant stuffed swordfish just pulled from Jason’s utility belt.

“En guarde!” He cried, and tossed the one in his left hand at Damian, who had been trying to reassure his dog that the giant man wasn’t real.

The thirteen year old screeched, but caught the four foot long fish by its fin.

“This is animal abuse!” He cried.

“It’s not abuse if it’s dead!” Jason countered, and attacked the youngest bat with a passion.

As the duel progressed, Cassandra tried to raise her hand and gurgle out a bet on who would win, but began to choke on the liquid.

Harper cursed as she tossed away the sixth bottle of cider and tried to give Cass the heimlich maneuver.

Dick, meanwhile, pressed a button on one of the many consoles spread around the cave, and several stripper poles came out of hidden storage via hydraulics. He grabbed the nearest one, and began to dance.

“I THOUGHT I DISABLED THOSE?!” Bruce bellowed, as Dick began a twirl.

Stephanie, however, didn’t seem nearly as dismayed at the sight of the poles. She herself smacked a button next to her, and several disco balls dropped down from among the stalactites to join the fun. She then began to morph her macarena into an epic macarena. A few flips here, and a few pantomiming choking your enemies there. And a whole lot of randomly throwing glitter bombs at, well, everywhere.

But especially at the nearest authority figure.

Damian tripped over a bucket during his fight - apparently left over from Alfred’s earlier cleaning spree - and the soapy liquid spilled across the floor.

But, of course, them being the bats, Alfred didn’t use normal soap.

Huge bubbles began to farm from the liquid, the longest almost three feet in diameter, and rise up to the cave’s ceiling. The suds spread around, eagerly began to mingle with Stephanie’s glitter.

A solitary bubble, relatively small, floated over to Bruce’s head, and popped on one of his cowl’s ears. He was not amused.

*****

Five minutes later, everyone was lined up next to the Batcomputer with heads bowed in either shame or disappointment.

Bruce walked up and down the row, the perfect imitation of a drill sergeant. His glare matched as well.

“This is an outrageous breach of protocol,” he was saying, “the Batcomputer is not a toy, nor something to use for your own amusement. It is a serious tool-”

“Then why’s it called the Batcomputer?”

Bruce froze and whirled on Dick, who had chosen that inopportune moment to speak up.

“Because you were nine years old and saying no to you would have gotten me a meltdown.”

“It seems to me, Bossman,” Stephanie began, tenting her fingers in an attempt to act serious (the effect was strange combined with her bathrobe and slippers) “That you are perfectly happy to let Dick get away with things. But in this situation, with women present, you are strangely cold. This shows blatant sexism on your part and in this essay I will-”

“That’s enough, Stephanie.” Bruce cut off as a round of snorts and giggle erupted from the group of bats.

“You do realise that no one here is going to speak, right?” Jason asked, “You did teach us to resist torture. And - pardon my french, Alfred - but you are no fucking way close to the level of torture I’ve gone through. Namely waking up to Batcow sitting on top of me.”

“Are you commenting on her weight?” Damian demanded, glaring daggers at Jason.

“I said no such thing.”

“ Boys .” Bruce demanded, rubbing his temples. “Jason is right - not about Batcow’s weight - but I’m not going to get any of you to talk willingly.” He paused and made eye contact with every single bat present, trying to reach into their souls.

“Therefore,” he continued slowly, “I’m giving you one last chance. Otherwise: No one gets cookies from Alfred for two months. ”

The shock was immediate. Alfred’s cookies, of all kinds, were worth more than gold in the Manor. The ability to not have them? And for two months? Bruce truly was a cruel hearted tyrant if he was willing to go to such lengths.

Duke gulped.

“Fine, then.” Bruce said simply when no one answered. “I guess we’ll just have to check the security footage of the Cave.”

Why didn’t Bruce think of that earlier? He clearly wasn’t trying to give the kids an easy way out.

Bruce stalked over to the computer and began to furiously type at the keys, pulling up the footage for the past few days. The group watched in a tense silence as Bruce rifled through the multiple recordings, searching for the culprit.

“AHA!” Bruce grunted, upon finding a specific time stamp. There was a figure emerging from the shadows. He paused and then slowed down the video so they could all see who it was.

There were several gasps as the figure came into the light, looked around, and made his way to the computer. They had shown their face, not even bothering to hide.

Everyone whirled to Duke, then back to the screen.

“No way,” Harper whispered under her breath.

Because the person on the footage, who was now adding the link to the case file and hooking up bluetooth speakers, was Duke Thomas himself.

Bruce’s eye twitched.

There was a general consensus among the resident vigilantes in the cave at that time: Duke wasn’t going to live to tell the tale.

Duke felt uneasy under their scrutiny, unsure of what to do. This was his plan, after all. To be seen differently. But so far the lack of accusations or uproarious debate was disconcerting.

He looked up at Bruce, awaiting his reaction. Bruce didn’t meet Duke’s eyes.

“Hrn,” he grumbled angrily instead and whirled on Tim. Said teenager was barely standing up straight - well, he was leaning on Steph heavily - and blinked wearily around the cave. He didn’t seem to understand what was going on.

Bruce’s eyes narrowed for a long moment before he whipped around and furiously began to mess with the playback settings on the footage. Everyone stood still, not daring to move while Bruce grumbled under his breath.

Finally Bruce straightened and pointed dramatically toward the screen.

“There,” he grunted out, and everyone subconsciously leaned a little bit forward.

They didn’t see anything different from before, though Bruce’s finger did bring their attention to one of the bats that flew across the upper left hand corner. A few seconds of footage later, and yet another bat flew across in a similar pattern. Not exactly the same, so it wasn’t really out of the ordinary. Lord knows the bats would randomly fly out and into their hair much more than necessary.

“Note how the figure is disturbed when each bat flies across the screen,” Bruce said in the same voice he used when talking about a case - cold, impersonal, and yet like he was giving a college lecture.

No one spoke, not really sure what to say. I mean, what was the correct course of action when your father figure suddenly refuses to accept reality, and is grasping at the most unlikely of straws?

“I know this technique anywhere,” Bruce said more to himself than the line of vigilantes. He turned, completely passing over Duke, and set his sights on Tim.

“Timothy Jackson Drake,” Bruce growled, stalking forward, “What possessed you to doctor this footage?”

Tim didn’t respond, only mumbled incoherently and leaned onto Steph some more.

Bruce was furious, bearing his teeth as he spat out his response: “Now is not the time to use the anti-torture training I’ve given you.”

Tim nodded slowly and draped his arm on top of Stephanie’s head.

“You should know better than this,” Bruce began, “pranks are strictly forbidden in the cave, as you very well know. And in addition, I taught you better at framing than this. You choose a victim that could actually be considered as a suspect. Trying to pin the blame on Duke was your undoing - he would never do something like this.”

Duke cringed slightly, as the rest of the bats glanced Duke’s way. All were a mix of confusion and awe.

This … was not how this was supposed to go. No, screw that. That was an outrageous understatement. Things ‘not going according to plan’ would have been Jason randomly blaming Harper for the mess on no grounds - or maybe Bruce not bothering to check the cameras, opting instead to just ground everyone.

But blatantly ignoring evidence and then lecturing someone completely unrelated? No, this was too much. It couldn’t be real. This was some kind of scare-tactic wasn’t it? Duke was too much of an adrenaline junkie to be bothered by the usual ‘hanging upside down over a busy road’ schtick.

But then Bruce moves on to possible culprits Tim could have chosen instead - did he seriously think that Ra’s Al Ghul would Rick Roll them?! - and Duke lost hope.

“Uhh, Bruce?” Duke asked after the ten minute mark.

The Dark Knight turned and faced Duke.

Duke scratched the back of his neck. “Do you think I could head out for patrol now? It’s getting light out, and since you’ve clearly got this covered… I thought I could scoot out?”

Bruce was nodding before the end of Duke’s request. “Yes, go. I’ll deal with Tim. You don’t need to worry - you won’t be blamed. It clearly wasn’t your fault.”

Duke nodded slowly, and covered his disappointment with a small smirk. “Thanks, B.”

He jogged over to the edge of the platform and dropped down beside his Signal-Cycle. A routine mounting, a quick putting on of his helmet, and he was off.

Duke was scowling as he left, wondering what on earth had gone wrong.

*****

“Did you see that smirk?”

“Oh, yeah.”

“Did he blame Tim on purpose?”

“How, though? To make such a tactical move -”

“It would have taken a shit ton of planning.”

“Can we get back on the fact that Bruce was fooled?”

“Or who fooled him?!”

[neighbourskid]

Dave? Dave.

It's been quite a bit since I've written anything here, huh? Well, I guess as it has been for pretty much everyone, life has been kinda strange for a while now. Despite vaccine roll-outs and continually changing safety regulations, there's still a global pandemic on, and everyone is trying to navigate this reality the best they can. For once, we are all, generally speaking, in the same boat now (sure, there are huge differences between countries because capitalism fucking sucks and rich greedy humans are once again proof that things need to change asap, but overall, we all have to deal with this pandemic).

But I don't actually want to talk about the pandemic, it just exists as a frame of what I do wanna talk about.

As I have mentioned before, when the pandemic hit, I was in the last semester of my undergrad studies and writing my Bachelor thesis. Or that's what I was supposed to do, anyway. I did do a lot of reading for it, early in the first lockdown after university closed and we were all attending from home. I was lucky, I had no classes, I only had like three scheduled meetings to check in on progress of the thesis, but otherwise I was free of zoom calls and attempting to attend university digitally. So I read.

After a while, reading became taking a book with me into the sun, glancing at one or two pages, and then just napping for most of the day, and spending my evenings either playing video games or watching some tv show or movie. At some point, I felt like now was the perfect time to rewatch all fifteen seasons of CRIMINAL MINDS, so I did that, instead of writing my thesis. I still occasionally read, but most of the days I just felt exhausted and unmotivated so I stayed in bed and binged my crime show.

As the deadline for the thesis started approaching, and the time I had left fell under a month, a switch in my brain seemed to be activated and, oh, hello, suddenly there was a certain drive there for that thesis again. Which lasted exactly until an email from university dinged into my inbox a few days later, informing me that I would get another month for my thesis, due to the pandemic. And away that motivation and drive went, immediately.

Not much later I had a session with the therapist I was seeing at the time, because of the hormone treatment I had started early that same year. I had talked to him about my concern that I might have ADHD before because I didn't feel like there was anything we needed to talk about related to my transition, so I brought it up again here. I told him how my thesis was going -- or rather, how it wasn't going at all -- and finally, as I told him about some of the issues I experienced while trying to do work for it, he acknowledged that I may indeed have some attention regulation issues. He prescribed me medication to try out, and -- wonder oh wonder -- suddenly I was writing my thesis. I ended up finishing it on time (even though a week before I had a moment of "all of this is garbage, I will never pass, I should start the whole thing from scratch") and got a decent grade for it, too. I've been on those meds since.

Over the last, I don't know how many years, I've always known that there was something a bit wonky about my brain. There were always these things that seemed to come so easy to other people, and try as I might, I just couldn't make them happen. I, presumably, had a lot of neurotypical friends. I also have friends with depression, BPD, anxiety disorders and other neurodivergencies. I have family members with autism. I know my mom suspected I might be on that spectrum as well.

Reading up on many of those things I never felt like any of them described what I was experiencing. There were certain traits, sure, but mostly there was a lack of what I actually did experience in most of them. Even ADHD, when reading about the "required" issues and traits, doing those self-diagnosing questionnaires, I just never saw what I felt represented. And then I started reading about what people with diagnosed ADHD had to say about how they experience things. I ignored the more medical or clinical information, and just looked for people talking about how they navigate their lives with ADHD. And then all of a sudden it was, oh, yeah this, this is relatable. This is where my brain's at.

Suddenly it made sense that caffeine didn't do nothing for me, that a nice, warm cup of coffee put me right to sleep. It made sense how, after only a month, suddenly a well beloved hobby or tv show was suddenly of no interest whatsoever. Staring at the wall for three hours instead of doing a simple task. Drawing in class so that I could pay attention to what is being said. The inability to remember much of my life before 6th grade. Having to bounce my leg so I could read a simple text. Needing to visually break a book down into chapters with colourful post-its to keep me from being overwhelmed by the length of the book. And so many other things. Suddenly, there was a reason for that.

I've always liked doing personality quizzes. Or doing stuff related to my zodiac sign even if I don't believe in astrology per se. Finding out what my Enneagram number is. Or my Myers-Briggs type. Not because I think those things define me or describe me to a T, but because they give me a vocabulary. They give me options. I love answering a bunch of questions and then getting a wall of text telling me This Is Who You Are and then I get to pick out what is accurate and what isn't. It gives me words to describe who I am that I didn't have before.

And it is the same thing with posts or videos of people with ADHD. It gives me a vocabulary for the things I experience and it lets me express those things in a way I wasn't able to before. Before, I was like, doing things that my brain doesn't want to do, feels like running headfirst into a wall because there is no way above, around, or underneath it. There is no door, no ladder, no tunnel, no nothing. There is only running headfirst into it until maybe, hopefully, it cracks. Preferably before my head does. But that is exhausting and most of the time, I prefer to not get through the wall at all, if what it takes is going headfirst through it. Now, I know that what that is, is a dopamine deficiency. The task that needs doing, the task that this wall is, doesn't give my brain enough dopamine. There is no satisfaction, there is nothing to gain from that task, so the brain isn't interested.

One of the things that I recently discovered and helps me a lot in this quest of figuring out how my brain works, is this guy Connor on tiktok, who also has ADHD. His videos are both hilarious and informative. And also incredibly relatable. They might be silly haha funny videos on the dear old internet, but I walk away from most of them going, oh! oh that makes sense, good to know.

He occasionally talks about how ADHD is completely misnamed and how Attention Deficit Hyperactivity Disorder does not actually accurately describe what exactly people with ADHD lack. In one of his videos, he calls it DAVE instead. It's silly, and sounds a bit dumb, but I kinda like it. Dave. Dopamine Attention Variability Executive-Disfunction. Dave. I like Dave.

Y'know, I don't mind having ADHD. Presumably, I've lived with it my whole life so far. And it's annoying as shit some of the time. Especially when things need to get done and they just won't. But I don't mind that, especially now that I know that this is what it is. I've always feared that if I finally do go to a therapist and try to figure out what my brain is up to, they'll just tell me that I'm fine and there's nothing to worry about. And at first, my therapist did say I was psychologically unremarkable. But I guess if you've lived like this your whole life and nobody has really picked up on it, even a therapist doesn't notice (it's called masking, I've learned, thanks Connor).

But knowing is good. Knowing means I can learn things that help. I can take medication when needed. And, looking at the grades I'm currently getting in my graduate studies? Hells yeah, taking that medication and knowing how to deal with certain aspects of my brain helps a lot. It is incredibly funny to me that the best grades I have gotten in my entire academic career have been achieved in my Master's studies during a global pandemic. There is currently an actual real possibility that I may graduate summa cum laude. In my MA. That is insane!

Anyway, I am avoiding tasks by writing this right now. Oh, the irony. I'm gonna try and do those tasks now. Y'all take care. Cheers!

[hellotherepaul]

Jesus christ im a failure like i cant fucking do anything

like ffs im already so overwhelmed by school and im barely full time and ive only had 1 class so far

and people are out here going to grad school and having careers and im overwhelmed by school as an art major like ffs i only have one class thats going to require reading and writing and im dreading it so bad

also i cant even remember how to code like ever but any time i complain to my mom about my lack of a future in art and how i need a steady remote job she just goes like “well you can code like me” like its that fucking easy

and like i really need a job, like holy shit i need money but the only 2 times ive tried full time school and part time work the first time i quit the job after like a month so i wouldnt fail my classes and the second time i dropped out of college and didnt go back for 2 years so whats going to make this so different, especially with where my mental health is rn

and the fucking icing on the shit cake this is is im nearly out of my adhd meds, and the pharmacy is saying i filled them when I didnt and so i need to call someone and im worried im not going to be able to get more for a month cause theyre a controlled substance and they’ll just think im lying and selling them and meanwhile im losing my mind unable to think without them and my TWO mood stabilizers/antidepressants arent doing jack shit, i keep breaking down crying from stress and i barely have anything going on compared to most people like most people are like ‘yeah i worked while in school to make ends meet’ and im pathetic over here like ‘i lived at home unemployed due to the grace of my mom for half of my degree cause i cant fucking be independent apparently to save my life, even though my entire childhood i made ‘being independent’ a huge part of my identity

Oh and I need to figure out my student loans cause this term is going to cost 8500 cause fuck the american educational system

[southsidestory]

you have bipolar disorder? how did you get to that conclusion? did you go to a doctor? i don’t want to self diagnose but i’ve read up on it a lot and it seems like my grandfather, father, and i have it. its made life super difficult. I even stopped writing ff bc when i posted, people wouldn’t understand how depressive episode make you not want to do anything for literal months at a time and would berate me for not updating 1/2

2/2 and my family is Mexican so they believe that mental illness is an American Thing, so i cant really go to them for help, and i wouldn’t even know where to begin with a doctor. what was your experience with it?

I did go to a psychiatrist, yes, but I had been experiencing symptoms since I was 12. I was 26 when I was finally correctly diagnosed. Before that I’d been misdiagnosed with MDD (major depressive disorder) and put on a cocktail of meds that mostly made me worse. Being correctly diagnosed is hugely important, and I highly recommend that someone see a psychiatrist rather than self diagnosing. 

But. Not everyone has the privilege of easy access to a psychiatrist, and it sounds like you’re in that category. And I can say from personal experience that I knew I was bipolar before I was diagnosed, because it runs in my family and my symptoms were astoundingly obvious by that point. Since you asked, I’ll tell you about my experience.

As I said, I started experiencing bipolar symptoms when I was a kid. I also have PTSD and GAD, and my anxiety has been with me all my life, but my depression started when I was 12. A nurse practitioner put me on the antidepressant Lexapro, which made me worse--because antidepressants don’t work for bipolar people. Our brains aren’t wired for it. So I quit taking Lexapro and didn’t attempt to treat my mental illness with medicine for the next ten years. 

I also started having hypomanic episodes as a young teenager, but I didn’t recognize them for what they were. I wouldn’t sleep for days and I’d be highly productive and feel great, so why would I complain about that or think it’s a problem? But the longer I went untreated the more severe my episodes became and the longer they lasted, and by the time I hit my 20s I was in a really bad place. Depressed 85% of the time, hypomanic 10% (although I didn’t know that’s what it was), and “normal” about 5%. My depressive episodes often lasted for months at a time, briefly broken by a week or two of hypomania, after which I’d plummet right back into depression.

I went to a psychiatric nurse practitioner when I was 22. He assumed I was depressed and put me on antidepressants and anti-anxiety meds. That mostly made me worse. The only thing that ever really worked was Abilify, which is an atypical antipsychotic shockingly used to treat bipolar disorder. That really should have been a fucking clue, but I went improperly diagnosed for another four years.

Being on a cocktail of the wrong meds made me worse, which led me to stop taking my meds cold turkey, which is always a bad idea. In April 2016 I had a horrible mixed episode, although I didn’t understand what it was then. For those who don’t know, a mixed episode is when someone is manic and depressed at the same time, and it’s pure hell. During my episode, I broke up with my partner right before our first wedding anniversary, quit my job, and almost committed suicide. (Then I moved back home and my mom promptly died, but that’s a whole ‘nother can of worms.)

Fortunately my partner and I got back together, and they helped me figure out what was going on. They’re also bipolar, but unlike me they were diagnosed as a kid, and our symptoms presented differently so that’s probably why neither of us saw it for a long time.

I finally saw a psychiatrist at the beginning of 2017, and I went in already knowing what I was going to hear. My mom had been diagnosed with bipolar disorder a couple of years before she died, so I knew it ran in my family. My symptoms had worsened significantly and my hypomania had finally become so distinct and unhealthy that it couldn’t be overlooked anymore.

None of my previous health care providers had ever asked me, “What do you feel like when you’re at your happiest?” If they had, it would have probably been obvious that I suffer from bipolar disorder, not unipolar depression. Because my “happiest” looks like extreme periods of creative productivity, days or weeks of insomnia, and some very bad decision making lol. Usually followed by a crash landing back into depression.

So I guess that’s my question for you. What do you feel like when you’re at your happiest? If your “up” periods sound like hypomania or mania, which I’m sure you’ve read about, then yeah there’s a good chance you’re bipolar. :/

And if you are bipolar, I cannot stress enough how important it is to get proper medication. I don’t want to scare you, but something like 20% of bipolar people die from committing suicide. And those are just the successful ones; the number who attempt, sometimes multiple times, is much higher. This is an extremely dangerous, disabling, potentially deadly illness. Although you can learn helpful coping strategies in therapy, and a good support system is also very important, the #1 thing you need to treat bipolar disorder is medication. It’s a chemical imbalance in the brain that, for 99% of us, cannot be effectively managed without mood stabilizers and/or antipsychotics. Every bipolar person I know (my mom, my aunt, my partner, and one of my friends) didn’t get better until they were on meds, and it was the same for me.

All this to say, if you suspect you’re bipolar, I encourage you to do every single thing in your power to get to a psychiatrist. I’d like to say your family might come around, but if you say they believe mental illness is an “American Thing” then I believe you. In which case, you need to advocate for yourself now and worry about their opinions later. Assuming you’re an adult, which I’m *really* hoping you are. If you’re a minor, that makes this much harder.

When you say you’re Mexican, I don’t know if you mean you’re living in Mexico or living in the US. If Mexico, I can’t point you toward resources, but if you happen to live in the US, most major cities have FQHCs (federally qualified health centers), which are aimed at serving poor people, and many of which provide mental health care services.

If you do have access to a psychiatrist, I can give you some pointers on what to do before your first appointment. I went into mine with a list of symptoms and how long I’d been experiencing them, family history of mental illness, previous medication regimens, and a summary of my trauma. When I handed it over to my psychiatrist she was like “Well it’s quite clear that you’re bipolar. I’m sorry you’ve been misdiagnosed for so long.”

If you’re comfortable DMing me, please feel free. Regardless, I hate to hear that you’re struggling, but I do want you to know that things can get better. I honestly feel like I lost the years between age 12 and 26, because I spent them so miserable, but since getting properly medicated my life has turned around completely. I want to see that happen for you too, nonny.

[thethirdwheel404]

Med Rewatch Series (#20)

YESSIR. WE MADE IT. I CAN’T BELIEVE WE MADE IT.

Final episode that I’m watching for the rewatch series. Ready to fuck some shit up.

S3 E20: The Tipping Point.

Episode description: Dr. Rhodes second guesses his decision to remove himself from the team of doctors who work to separate conjoined twins.

You’ve gotta be fucking joking right?

okay.

last ava ep that mattered. i’m so excited

let’s get into it.

- ava

- the way nat looks at connor when ava says that he will not be operating

- it’s like no one trusts ava at all?

- yes, he’s emotionally involved, but is that really that good of a thing?

- ava is of sound mind. connor evidently does not think that he is

- why is connor apparently the only one capable of the surgery?

- fuck off. this is why he needs to leave

- so many nat ava interactions. i never expected this. ( i should have. i am dumb)

- ava reminding nat that like, she’s here. right next to them. in this conversation

- nat, to connor: “The cronins are counting on you!”

ava: “They’re counting on the team.” like bitch?

- like it or not, nat also does not believe women should have rights. maybe it’s a manstead thing. no. it’s definitely a med thing.

- i like ethan’s jacket.

- april can shut the fuck up. hypocrite? i smell a hypocrite? (who am I kidding, they’re all over med)

- ethan has the best outfits

- april. the one who preached unconditional love. is like. ‘emily can get fucked. i don’t care.’ i can’t believe it. this is so fucking stupid.

- three weeks ago (literally) will and nat were not on speaking terms. now he’s gonna fucking propose?

- NOBODY ON MED HAS FUCKING BRAIN CELLS

- I always hated how on tv shows, characters get married super soon. it’s so fucking annoying.

- omg bert tried to kill himself holy shit

- ava sighing at connor trying to give input.

- sarah’s dad: “I don’t deserve you.” NO BITCH YOU DON’T. go die

- connor fuck off. stop having to give orders on everything

- yeah, sure. connor emotes in this episode. but what he’s emoting at is going in and fucking stealing a huge surgery

- i can’t believe this is the last episode of med with connor. can’t believes he leaves for mayo clinic at the end of the season... the world we live in...

- YESSS THEY FIND EMILY AT THE ENCAMPMENT. classic angst. honestly. i fucking love it.

- yeah april.

- god this is like. classic angst. old school. back to basics. this is fucking fantastic

- UGHHHH I LOVE ITTTT

- the fuck?

- the mayo guy, and the other doctors are surprised that connor, a surgeon, knows how to do surgery? EXCUSE ME? THE BAR IS ON THE FUCKING FLOOR

- why is everyone so fucking stupid. i’m being serious. watch that scene. it is so stupid.

- ava is... not surprised that connor cut in. i mean. is anyone?

- she almost has that scoffy grin, that she does, under her mask

- okay but like ava’s character growth. instead of being mad that connor’s getting in on the surgery (like she would at the beginning of the season), she’s concerned for his career.

- sarah’s dad is fucking pathetic. i can’t believe sarah’s stuck with him. she deserves so much better

- SHE HAD TO MOVE TO FUCKING TEXAS. COME THE FUCK ON.

- i can’t believe he fucking tricks her into walking him outside. fuck him.

- takes him for a walk and pushes him down a hill

- it’s taking all of my self control not to write something where ava does that

- the way ethan subtly flinches when emily apoligizes. brian tee is a god

- sarah’s dad’s dialogue really makes it seem like he’s gonna murder his own daughter

- the monkeys is a good bit

- HOLY SHIT ITS LANIK

- I WAS NOT EXPECTING THAT OKAY DAMN

- he is way different than i remember. i literally never paid attention to him

- ava with her fuckinngggg rolled up sleeves is still fantastic

- ava’s disappointment at seeing connor meet with the mayo clinic guy. most rh*kker thing we’ve seen all season. and yeah, i’m including the one night stand. there’s a special kind of upset you get at seeing someone you love leave and move far away. it’s not really the same as losing someone who’s just a friend. that’s why i say it’s the most rh*kker thing.

- of course, i am still keeping them platonic, so going off of that. ava is thinking that she is about to lose the only person she’s gotten close to in the last seven months. of course she’s going to be upset

- (in the rewrite this loss is not as much of a problem bc in the rewrite she has reese)

- also that surgery was so anticlimactic fuck off. this episode is fucking boring. my favorite part is probably the emily reveal. i’m a sucker for some sibling angst

- is he really going to propose. off of that? her being mad at him. you’ve got to be fucking joking.

- HOLY FUCKING SHIT APRIL IS THE MOST ANNOYING PERSON. SO FUCKING CONDESCENDING? “She’s damaged, you can’t fix her.” SHE’S TALKING DOWN TO HIM. this is so fucking infuriating

- i cannot believe this i cannot believe this i cannot believe this she’s fucking breaking up with him bc he cares about his sister. the sister she told him to care about?? holy fuck, I can’t

- WILL IS SO FUCKING DUMB

- YOU CANT PROPOSE TO HER WHEN SHES MAD AT YOU

- YOU ALSO CANT PROPOSE TO HER BC YOU ARE FUCKING TOXIC

- WHAT THE FUCK IS WRONG WITH YOU???

- he is so fucking dumb oh my god

- connor looking out, pensive over the parking lot. why is everyone on this show so fucking extra

- tell me why ava’s casual clothes is a button up. ma’am.

- back at it with the snippy one liners

- she looks so sad? baby noooo.

- i can’t. my heart can’t.

- there’s a lot to unpack in this scene

- i don’t really know why she starts out looking so sad?

- let’s chalk that up to her being tired, and channeling her little energy into feigning annoyance at connor. but then, as she keeps speaking, keeps thinking, she taps into this deep seeded feeling of indignance. real annoyance at connor’s bullshit.

- connor returns ava’s initial comment, which at this point is still kind of light and teasing, with another sly line, trying to brush it off.

connor: “You give me too much credit.”

ava, tucking her tongue in front of her teeth in that way when you don’t believe what someone’s saying: “Do I?”

- next, she says “you’re ambition strikes me as boundless.” I really have no clue what to make of that/

- then she says “I don’t know what to think.” shaking her head, shrugging. at a loss. why? is it bc she can’t figure out what he is/was trying to do? she can’t understand him anymore?

i think it’s ‘she was surprised by what he did, but she’s mad at herself bc honestly, she shouldn’t have been’. she thought he had changed, when he pulled himself off the case. thought he had gained some humility (finally, finally given ava her one moment in the sun to shine). and then he goes back on it almost immediately.

yeah. that’s what it is. she’s surprised, but mad bc she shouldn’t have been.

- she says “but I’m sure you also secured yourself an attending position” as like a slight jab. not really meant to be cutting, but then his reaction ruins it and makes her realize that something worse actually happened. if connor had responded to it in kind with another snarky comment the moment probably would have been fine

- connor’s “ah, god, ava -” comes off as so fucking insincere.

- ava’s small little “what?”. my heart

- i also think it’s interesting that when she’s thinking things through in the moment really fast, her face changes with her thoughts/emotions, and out of some sort of reflex, she smiles. her first thing is to laugh at the situation, scoff at it

- she’s laughing out of disbelief

- why is she laughing (out of reflex)? because this is stupid. HE DID SOMETHING THAT WAS COMPLETELY UNFAIR AND RECKLESS. AND HE’S GETTING REWARDED FOR IT. LIKE HE ALWAYS HAS. and Ava is the only person to see how unfair it is. everyone else would congratulate him no questions. can’t fucking believe it

- connor asking ava if she would take the offer is so fucking pathetic. he’s asking bc he’s hoping she’d say no, and then he’d finally have his answer to ‘is she in love with me’. the stupidest thing is she says no, which basically means no, i’m not in love with you, AND HE STILL TURNS IT DOWN. WHAT THE FUCK

- boy get some fucking eyes.

- also holy shit i’m just now realizing how cool my idea of connor somehow passing the offer off to her would be in one of my alternate endings of s3. because, he literally asks her is she would take the offer and she literally says she would. so that would be completely in character

- for those of you wondering, in my version, the reason ava wants connor around is bc he’s her only friend. why would it make sense for her to take the mayo clinic offer? did you just trap yourself in your logic

- no, it’s okay, bc if she took the offer, it’s just a reset. it’s not any different, bc she’s in a completely new place, she has time to make more connections. the reason she clung to connor was bc over the seven months, he was the only person she connected with, so she valued him immensely. there’s no reason she couldn’t make another connection at the mayo clinic. it’s perfectly fine.

- connor’s such a fucking simp its so pathetic

- she’s staying for sarah

- why does she start crying? that’s a good question.

- well, for all the reasons we stated before. she’s losing the closest thing to a best friend that she has. it’s sad. it’s alienating. and she’s sad bc she thinks there’s no way that he wouldn’t take the offer

- (bc they’re just good friends. you don’t turn down job offers for good friends. and it’s true. in my version, they are just good friends, and connor takes it. and ava has to deal with being lonely again.)

- (of course, med took a different route.)

- i fucking hate this show. i fucking hate this show so much.

- the last shot of the season is sarah and charles and sarah’s dad and we get one episode of  wrap up. med likes their cliffhangers so fucking much.

okay, so. this episode is pretty good for like a branching off point. we see the anxiety ava feels at the idea of connor leaving, which is really good to work with moving forward. I feel like I’ve said enough on all these different topics.

That being said, I have a lot of thoughts, and now that I have the knowledge of what my canon will be, going forward, this is going to be fun.

When I have more ideas, I’ll make more posts.

we’ve set the grounds. this was the final episode. now we look ahead, towards the future of med.

thank you, so much, for sticking with it. <3<3

[hedwigstalons]

The Tracy Prize - part 19

A boring afternoon at work led to the creation of Claire, the rather grumpy and tech-phobic chemist.  I never expected the little fic she spawned to run to over 25k words.  I may also dig her out in future as there were other scenes that didn’t really fit this story.

 Thank you to everyone that came along for the ride.  Each like, reblog and comment was very much appreciated. @willow-salix thank you for digging me out of several plot holes.  And thanks to @gumnut-logic for opening the door and welcoming me in to this fandom, I probably wouldn’t have attempting writing Virg if it wasn’t you.

  So now…the final part.

Here are the earlier parts for those that want to go back to the beginning: part 1, part 2, part 3, part 4, part 5, part 6, part 7, part 8, part 9, part 10, part 11, part 12, part 13, part 14, part 15, part 16, part 17, part 18

xoxoxox

Claire sat on a bench in the locker room near the hangers, wrestling with a rust coloured boot.  After a determined tug her foot popped around the bend in the heel and she was able to close the seals around her calf.  

The synthetic fuel had been cleared for field testing.  She knew Virgil was already in the cockpit of Thunderbird Two, waiting for her to suit up.  She didn’t want to keep him waiting.  She was looking forward to spending some time with the engineer.

She wondered how her life had managed to take such a surprising change in direction. Just a few short months ago International Rescue was just a name that appeared in news reports.  Anonymous heroes who swooped to the rescue.  Now it meant a houseful of people who risked their lives on a daily basis to help whoever made the call.  People that she was proud to call her friends.  Her thoughts lingered on one particular operative that she wished was more than just a friend.

As she adjusted the prototype uniform she reflected on exactly how this particular development had come about.

It had been a difficult day for all of them.  One of those days when the tension in the villa thrummed like an over tightened guitar string.  One of those rare days when Scott had announced he was out of his depth and called for outside assistance over the comms.  He had made an error and needed help dealing with the fallout, both literally and figuratively.  It had fallen to Claire to guide him through the process of decontamination from the material that coated himself and his body cam, obscuring Claire’s view of the tools and substances at his disposal.  That coating had turned out to be lithium hydride, a tricky substance that had the tendency to spontaneously ignite in humid air.  It was a tense time as she talked the First Responder through the clean up procedures, all the while hoping he wasn’t about to catch fire.

When Scott had finally made it home some 20 hours later he looked distinctly older than when he had set out.  He had announced that perhaps there would be times when it would be useful to take the chemist out in the field to try and avoid these situations occurring in the first place.  Claire had been inclined to agree with him; if Scott had paused and consulted her before charging into the factory he would never have got coated in the volatile substance in the first place.

What followed was a whirlwind of sketches, concept design and finally the prototype uniform.  

A uniform that was currently highlighting its flaws and would definitely need a redesign.

She would gladly have gone on the test flight in her usual clothes but Scott has insisted that, since she had a uniform, she should wear it when going off-island on International Rescue business.

Claire gave up trying to get the zip on her back done up.  She picked up the helmet and rebreather kit that turned her uniform into a grade two certified hazmat suit and headed towards the hangers.

xoxoxox

Virgil looked up from his pre-flight systems checks as Claire entered the cockpit. Technically he could have taken this test flight alone but he thought the chemist ought to get the chance to experience the result of her hard work first hand.  

If he was being completely honest he found himself seeking out opportunities to spend time alone with Claire.  He pushed those thoughts out of his mind.  Claire was dedicated to her work.  She seemed to enjoy his company but had given no indications that she was interested in him being anything more than a friend.  She was a professional to the core.

“I hope we won’t be needing those” he said, indicating the helmet and rebreather in her hands.

“You and me both, but Scott said to keep all the parts to hand.”

Virgil knew the sense in that.  You never knew what could happen when out on a mission and it paid to be prepared. His own helmet was close at hand.

“So how does it feel?  Does everything fit?”

His eyes raked up and down the petite form, currently clad in the ruddy tones that marked her out as one half of International Rescue’s scientific division. Of course it fitted perfectly. The full body scans taken as part of her medical had ensured that the garment was perfectly sculpted to her form.

He forced his eyes back to her face, hoping she hadn’t noticed his lingering gaze.

“Well the material is a little stiff.  I think the polymer coating is reducing its flexibility.  It also takes far too long to get on.  The biggest problem though is this.”

She spun around revealing the triangle of bare flesh at the top of her back.  

“If the main fastening stays at the back I’m going to have to get changed into uniform en-route so one of you others can buddy check my seals.  I just can’t reach it right.  Please can you finish doing me up?”

Virgil felt a lump form in his throat.

Claire held her ponytail out of the way so Virgil could finish closing the zip without snagging her hair.  A firm hand then ran slowly up her spine from base to neck, sealing shut the protective flap that covered the zip.  Claire’s body tingled in response.  Her mind wandered, imagining those same strong hands reversing the action later and freeing her from her uniform.  She gave herself a mental shake.  This was Virgil.  A colleague. It was…inappropriate.

Virgil returned to the pilot’s seat while Claire took the co-pilot’s side that was normally occupied by Gordon.  

This would be her first time being piloted by Virgil but not her first time flying in Thunderbird Two.  That first trip was tainted with bad memories.  Her first flight had been spent in worried silence.  Gordon at the controls.  Virgil in the med bay, out cold from the dart she had been responsible for shooting. She was still haunted by visions of Virgil crashing to the floor of the conference centre, the dart stuck in his chest.

The atmosphere in the cockpit today was excited rather then worried, but still serious.

The ability to control the Thunderbirds remotely meant that several test ignitions had been trailed but this would be the first true flight using the new fuel. The chance to test if reality lived up to expectations.

Virgil opened the comms link to both island control and Thunderbird Five.

“Pre-flight checks complete.  Everything responding as expected.  Thunderbird Two is ready for take off.”

“I’ll be keeping a running watch on your systems readouts and I’ll keep comms open,” John responded, his hologram floating above the control console.  “Stick to you pre-programmed route I’ve sent you. I’ve alerted the GDF that you are on manoeuvres so we can expect a call from Aunt Val later.”

“Why are the GDF involved?” Claire asked.

“Just common courtesy.  We give the GDF a rough flight plan and they alert any military operational in the area. It saves any cases of mistaken identity. We don’t want Two shot down again.” John replied.

Claire looked alarmed.

“That only happened the once, Johnny.”  Virgil had still never truly forgiven the US Navy for crippling his beautiful ‘bird.

“Yeah, well that was once too many.”

Scott’s voice cut in.  “If you two have quite finished…”

The rock wall disguising the hangar entrance lowered as Scott activated the mechanism from inside the villa.

Virgil taxied his Thunderbird out on to the launch pad.  The pad tilted upwards and the view from the cockpit changed from one of sea to one of sky.

Virgil directed power towards the thrusters.

An intense roar filled the cockpit.  Vibrations built up in intensity.  The mighty craft slid forwards and took to the skies.

“Thunderbird Two is go.”

xoxoxox

Virgil concentrated intently on the flight.  He had spent so many hours flying Thunderbird Two that he was fully attuned to her quirks and moods.  He felt each difference in response and behaviour without the need to check the instruments for confirmation.  The engine pitch was slightly lower.  The vibrations slightly stronger.  He tried a few turns and altitude adjustments and was pleased to see that Two responded just as well as before.

It was time to test her for speed.

Virgil eased the throttle forwards.  Scott’s voice came over the comms, reading out their velocity in increments.

“6,000 kilometres per hour.”

“6,500 kilometres per hour.”

“7,000 kilometres per hour.  Approaching previous top speed.”

Virgil continued to push the throttle.  He could feel that Two had more to give.

“8,000 kilometres per hour.”

“9,000 kilometres per hour.”

As each increment was read out the tone became excited.

“10,000 kilometres per hour.”

Claire looked across at Virgil.  A huge grin was plastered across his face at the raw power under his control.  It was as if Two was singing to him.  She hummed as he pushed the throttle to the maximum.

“!0,200 kilometre per hour” he whooped.  “Maximum throttle reached.  Easing off now and returning to base.”

“FAB Virgil.  See you back home soon.”

The pure delight Virgil was experiencing was evident.  He practically bounced as he guided the craft back over the Pacific Ocean. Their island home was soon visible again.

Virgil switched to VTOLs and brought them in to land.

xoxoxox

The two occupants of the cockpit grinned at each other, their eyes shining.  They were buoyed by the thrill of success.

Harnesses were released.

Claire found herself enveloped in one of Virgil’s bear hugs.  The air nearly crushed out of her body by his exuberance, her body held firmly against his chest.  She found herself returning the hug, wrapping her arms around his waist, burying herself in those powerful muscles.

“You did it!  You actually did it!”

Virgil was still riding the high of emotion.  Claire’s feet lifted off the floor in the engineer’s delight.  When she was placed back down she felt a kiss planted on the top of her head.

The pair of them both stilled and stiffened as the action registered.  

Claire looked up to meet warm brown eyes that looked ashamed, scared…hopeful?

Virgil cursed his lack of self-control.  In that one unguarded moment he had risked everything.  Claire had changed a lot since coming to the island but she could still be prickly on occasion.  Her flares of temper were becoming less frequent; there was more laughter, more enjoyment in being part of a team, but she had never invited him to cross this line.

Virgil braced himself for the backlash.

The backlash never came.

Their eyes remained locked.  Neither let go of the other.  Arms continued to encircle bodies pressed close together.

Claire found herself sinking into those chestnut depths.

Lips tentatively met, at first hesitant with the fear of rejection, then pressed more firmly as each explored the object of their secret desires.  Neither wanted to that moment to end.  Blue pressed against rust, the colour the only way of distinguishing the entwined bodies.

When they finally broke apart, eyes bright and cheeks flushed, Claire reflected that she might not have got the research grant but she had surely won the greatest Tracy prize of all.

-FIN-

[ecoamerica]

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The American Climate Leadership Awards 2024 broadcast recording is now available on ecoAmerica's YouTube channel for viewers to be inspired by active climate leaders. Watch to find out which finalist received the $50,000 grand prize! Hosted by Vanessa Hauc and featuring Bill McKibben and Katharine Hayhoe!

[wehangout]

I can Still hear You Saying (You Would Never Break the Chain)

AO3

“Knew you’d come.”

You didn’t know. Had no clue. You used to know. Used to know that you could turn up after however long away and Ian would climb on you without a second thought. Used to know that you could say whatever the fuck you wanted and still be Ian’s first choice. Shit, you used to know everything there was to know about Ian Gallagher, up until that day in front of his house.

Sure, the luggage was fucked up, taking your baby had been a shock, and the porno was a kick in the fucking teeth, but …

That moment, staring into Ian’s wet eyes – you didn’t know him, not anymore.

And you don’t know him now.

You had sat on those stairs, hands shaking and mind praying the only way a Milkovich knew how – desperate and hating yourself more with every passing second. Because you didn’t know if he’d turn up. Not anymore.

You’re under my skin, man. The fuck can I do?

The fuck, indeed.

But now he’s here. Ian’s here and he’s kissing you – he’s kissing you like maybe he’s missed you, maybe this isn’t entirely one-sided, maybe the end wasn’t really the end. And it’s good, it’s everything, it’s better than you’ve ever imagined.

You’ve imagined. A lot. You tried everything to move on, but nothing worked. You couldn’t fuck him out of your system, you couldn’t scratch the tattoo away, and you couldn’t go a single fucking day without thinking about him. Wondering, hoping, wishing maybe today was the day he’d come back and visit … call, send a letter, a postcard, a fucking smoke signal, anything, Ian, please.

But there was nothing. There was never anything and it should have helped, going cold turkey should have eased you out of all things Ian Gallagher, but the exact opposite happened, and it fucked you up.

He has a boyfriend.

You didn’t know that either.

 His kisses used to tell you everything. You would know exactly what kind of fuck he wanted from you by his kiss alone – lots of tongue meant he was impatient, needy, didn’t want to wait anymore; tiny bites on your lips and jaw meant he was feeling playful, that he wanted to laugh with you as much as he wanted to fuck you; and heavy, open-mouthed kisses … fuck, that usually meant he was about to tease you until you couldn’t breathe.

You don’t know what his kisses mean anymore.

You thought you could, thought that being with him brought it all back, made you aware again of who he is, aware of Ian. You read that first kiss and everything in it, but then he pushed you away.

Then he told you he had a boyfriend.

There’s a chill in your gut, one that slithers its way up your chest, makes you ill. But you push it away, because he’s there. You didn’t know he would come, but he did and he’s pushing into you, lips gentle while the lack of lube borders on that side of painful.

But it’s worth it. It’s so fucking worth it to have him inside of you, have him moaning against your skin, whispering your name as he comes far quicker than you remember him ever doing so.

 You don’t know what’s going to happen now. It’s morning. He’s getting dressed and you’re barely fucking awake.

He spares you a glance. “Back to work and shit.” As if it was nothing, as if being with you again was just another fuck.

So, you ask, because you don’t know. And when he kisses you, when you hold onto him with everything you have, you still don’t know.

 “This goodbye?”

Yeah, he’s carrying a bag, and yeah, he fucked you good last night, but that doesn’t mean shit when it comes to Ian Gallagher. Maybe that’s why you have so many questions. There’s a huge fucking list of them that run through your head.

You taking your meds?

Who’s this fucking boyfriend?

EMT, man, really?

Did you bring the uniform?

You really takin’ your meds?

How’s Mandy?

Your family know where you are?

Seriously, though, you doin’ okay? Takin’ your meds?

You can’t ask them, though. Not those ones. You keep things casual.

“You ever been to the beach?”

“Want anything?”

“You got a better idea how to get cash?”

“You ever had one of those croissant-donut things?”

“Wanna fuck again?”

“Where should we stop for the night?”

“What the fuck?”

“You got a bank account?”

But then you can’t hold back. It’s dark and your alone with Ian. Like, really alone. Not sitting in a car, listening to music and talking shit or planning how to get across the border. You’re beneath the train tracks looking at the fucking stars, and everything hurts so good and so bad that you can’t help yourself.

Because he’s lying next to you. He said it was hard to see you behind that glass. You desperately want to attach your mouth to the corner of his jaw, and you know he’d be okay with that. He hasn’t mentioned his boyfriend once. He looks at you the way he used to …

“You ever think about me? When I was in the joint?”

The silence aches.

“A lot.”

Maybe you still know him after all.

“Fuck, I missed you.”

Or maybe you don’t.

 He leaves you at the border. Leaves you with an I love you and a couple of grand, as if that’s supposed to make everything okay.

You don’t know him. Maybe you never did.

 He treats you different in prison. It’s weird. He’s still the cocky shit he’s always been, but then he looks at you like you hung the fucking moon or some shit, and it makes your insides gooey and your mouth stupid.

He blows you every night that first week. Every night, without fail, the second those lights go out he’s on you, mouthing at whatever skin he can reach, tasting and teasing you until his lips finally – god, Ian, finally – wrap around your dick.

Eventually the banging slows down. It’s less frantic, less impulsive, less every day. But it’s never less – never less good, never less intense, never less you and Ian.

It’s just less. And the less it is, the more he talks.

“I should have gone with you.”

“God, you smell good.”

“I’ve fucking missed you.”

Sometimes you say shit back, sometimes you touch his face, not knowing what to say. Sometimes you pretend you’re already asleep because you’re here, you’ve given up your freedom for him, but you’re sure as shit not ready to talk feelings again.

 There’s one guy who fucks with you as soon as he gets the chance. You’ve been in for nearly three months when he arrives, and your mouth goes dry at the sight of him because – shock-fucking-horror – he’s friends with Terry.

He corners you one day when you’re leaving the laundry and it’s stupid, so fucking stupid. You knew he was out to get you, but you still walk that deserted hallway alone, you still don’t tell Ian, and you still mouth off to him when he pulls out his shiv.

He’s cruel and quick, but he’s small. You put up a good fight, break his nose and kick him in the balls, all the while he cusses you out with derogatory comments you no longer give a fuck about. But when he gets you with the shiv – and what a fucking surprise, he gets you right in your left ass cheek – everything goes rage-white.

You bite, you pull his stringy hair, you squeeze his wrist until he drops the shiv on the ground next to you. Then you pick up the shiv. You don’t aim, you don’t think – you drag it across whatever skin you can find, infinitely proud when you shove him away and see his face carved up.

“Don’t gotta worry about him no more,” Ian says later that night.

You’re out of the infirmary, but Terry’s buddy is still there. Seems you got a little too close to his eye.

“Why’s that?” you mutter, the good drugs the doc gave you kicking in.

“I took care of it.”

“The fuck you talkin’ about, Gallagher?”

Everything’s a bit dopey, a bit tilted, but you don’t miss his smile. “I took care of it,” he repeats. “No one’s gonna mess with you again, Mick.”

A shiver of fear you haven’t felt in a long time runs through you, but you pass out before you can reply. It’s not until two days later, when you’re in the infirmary getting your dressing changed, that you find out what Ian did.

Fucking tough guy, acting like he took the fucker out in his sleep, added Deep Heat to the anti-biotic ointment. It would cost him his cushy job, too, if anyone found out, but no one narcs in prison.

And no one wants that burning shit in their open wound, so they leave you the fuck alone.

 The Chatty Cathy attitude doesn’t go away.

Sometimes it’s little things that shouldn’t mean shit.

“You get a haircut? Fuck, man, you look good.”

“Hey, you want my last smoke?”

“You’re always been so fucking good at poker, Mick.”

Sometimes it’s filthy and leaves you panting.

“Remember the first time you rode me? I think about it all the fucking time.”

“Christ, no one sucks cock like you, Mick.”

“Want you to come on me, on my face, yeah, do it, I fucking want it.”

Sometimes it’s everything.

“I love you.”

 Prison food is shit, but you make it bearable. Ian makes it’s bearable. He takes your egg whites and swaps them for his yolks. You give him the milk for your coffee, and he sneaks you his extra sugars. He picks the broccoli out of your stew and replaces it with half his potatoes.

Prison showers are shit, but he never lets you go it alone, always has your back, and if you drop the soap, he picks it up because that shit ain’t a fucking joke.

Prison visits are the worst. He gets visitors – Fiona, Lip, Debbie and her kid – you get no one. But after a while, money starts showing up in your commissary, he gets back from visits with messages like Lip said to say hey, and his pictures from Franny say To Uncle Ian and Mickey.

 He gets a parole meeting. You want to crawl into a hole and die.

“I love you.”

“I know.”

But you don’t know. There’s still this itch inside of you that expects things to be like last time, that expects Ian to forget about you the second he leaves this place because you just don’t know.

But you’re beginning to.

[ranger-lcat]

You Did Good Firecracker

The reason Qrow decides to work for Signal.

And because Qrow and Yang need more interaction.

—

This mission had ended a few days sooner than had been expected. Not that Qrow was complaining. It was an easy reconnaissance mission, that for once hadn’t escalated into some sort of brawl. In fact absolutely nothing had happened and the only thing to report had been, there was nothing to report. 

So here he was, walking up the path to the Xiao Long house, early. Excited to surprise them. 

He paused and took a few steps back. Something was off. It took him a second to realize that it was the mailbox, still full of mail. Tai always got the mail at lunch time. Qrow wasted no more time on a leisurely stroll to the door. His knocking is a little more frantic than it needed to be, but so many things were just ever so slightly out of place and it set off alarms in his brain. It took a moment to long for the door to open, so he tried to open it. Gods, the door wasn’t even locked. 

Fearing the worst, he threw it open. Yang and Ruby were in the living room, looking at him. Obviously shocked, but they were unharmed. Yang was closest so she jumped at him first.

“Uncle Qrow!” Yang threw her arms around his waist. Ruby was a second behind to join in the waist clinging. “We’re so glad you’re here.” Yang chokes out. Both of the girls have tears silently rolling down their faces. 

“Woah, woah what’s wrong?” He rests a hand on each of their heads. Looking around for some sort of danger. Nothing seemed out of place, just a little messy.

“It’s Dad. He’s sick and we don’t know what to do.” Yang sobs. 

“He’s been in bed since yesterday, he only gets up to throw up.” Ruby elaborates, also crying.

“Hey, hey, its ok. Let me see him.” Qrow tries to console. The girls detach and each take a hand to pull. Qrow can barely kick the door closed behind them before they pull him up the stairs to Taiyang’s bedroom.

Qrow wasn’t sure what he was expecting. What he found was Tai cocooned is his covers, and a small collection of cups and plates holding juice and toast respectively. 

“I’ve brought him toast and juice like he does when I’m sick, but he’s not getting better.” Yang explains. 

“Ok, can you two take some of these downstairs,” Qrow picked up one of the plates and handed it to Yang, “then bring me a glass of water.” They nodded and went to work, so Qrow sat on the edge of the bed to check on Tai. 

A hand brushing back Tai’s hair revealed hot skin and hair that was stiff with dried sweat. Qrow was worried about the temperature, even though Tai was normally warm—and it made for great hugs—this was definitely fever territory.

Yang has come back with the requested water, so Qrow goes about waking his teammate. 

“Rise and shine Tai.” Qrow shakes his shoulder. Tai stirs and opens his eyes. The haze over the blue and lack of response as Qrow sits him up makes Qrow guess he’s not entirely awake. Qrow has to hold Taiyang up and coax the water down his throat. Half the glass is all the risk he’s willing to take. Tai seems to have fallen asleep again and Qrow doesn’t want him to choke. He tucks Tai back under the blankets.

“Is he gonna be ok?” Yang whispers. 

“He should be just fine. Do you know where your dad keeps the medicine.” 

“In his bathroom.”

“Thanks, you keep an eye on him while I get it.”  Yang nods and sits in the chair she must have dragged in. 

The bathroom was where Tai kept the many medicine bottles. The problem was, it was all for Ruby and Yang. The only ‘adult’ medication was a bottle of painkillers that Qrow was sure Tai kept around for after particularly rough missions. Qrow recognized them from after that one mission where he came back feeling like one huge bruise. 

“Looks like I need to run to the store,” he tells Yang. She looks frightened. “I’m gonna take your dad’s scroll, call me if something happens ok. It should only take me an hou—“ he had to go into town. “Less than two hours. Can you hold down the fort until then?” Yang nods. “You got this, Firecracker,” he tells her, swiping Tai’s scroll from where it was charging on his nightstand.

He found Ruby sitting in the living room, pretending to watch tv.

“Is Dad gonna be ok?”

“Yeah, he is. I just need to run into town real quick and get him some medicine. Do you know where the keys for the car are?” 

“On the hook in the kitchen.” She trails after him as he goes and finds them exactly where she had said. 

Since he was there, he also checked over the kitchen for essentials. It left him silently cursing Tai’s ambition to make most things from scratch. Which Qrow didn’t have the time for. 

“Have you two been eating?” Qrow asks.

“We had leftovers for dinner last night, Yang made eggs for breakfast and we had sandwiches for lunch.” Ruby told him. That, and the surplus of toast, explained the lack of bread. 

“Has Yang been in charge while your dad’s been sick?” 

“She’s been making me stay away so I won’t get sick. I just want to help.” 

“I know you do. Yang’s just trying to be a good sister.” He gets an idea. “How about you help by doing the dishes for me?”

“You are bad at dishes.” Ruby agreed. He always, always, dropped things while trying to help with dishes. On good days it was just silverware. 

“Alright, I’ll be right back.”

—

He was trying to be quick, he really was. There was just no order to the list in his brain so he ended up walking down some aisles twice to get everything. Then there was the standing and reading all the medicine labels to figure out which he needed. These were way more complicated than just pain killers. He ended up with two different bottles in his basket as he finally headed for checkout. Which was down to one person, as the rest had been called away to clean up after a shelf had collapsed. 

So an hour and forty minutes later, he was finally almost back. It was just up this road and turn right. Tai’s scroll lit up and started ringing, a picture of the house on the screen.

“Hello.” Qrow answers, carefully balancing the scroll so he could still drive.

“Dad threw up again.” Yang was definitely holding back tears.

“I’m pulling up the driveway. Be there soon.” 

“Ok. *sniff.” 

“I’m gonna need you to open the door for me ok?”

“Ok.”

“I’ll see you in a second.”

“Ok.” 

He hangs up and lets the scroll flop into his lap. He felt bad having to hang up, but he could see the house and he had to park and grab the groceries. 

Yang opened the door before he got to it, so he carried everything to the table. Ruby was putting dishes in the drying rack, using a stool to reach the sink. He leaves the bag on the table and takes the medicine out. 

“Good job, can you two put the groceries while I check on your dad.” Nod. “Thank you.”  He takes the stairs two at a time as he rushes to check on Tai.

Tai was still in the bathroom, panting until he had to lean forward to retch. Qrow winced. It sounded horrible and the fact that nothing was coming up meant it had to hurt. No wonder Yang was so freaked out. Qrow kneels down behind Tai so that when the other was done trying to throw up he could guide him to relax against Qrow’s chest.

“Hey, Dragon.” 

“Qrow?” Gods, he sounded terrible. And judging from the wince it hurt for him to talk. 

“Who else?” Qrow strokes the hair from Taiyang’s forehead. Fever was still present. “You’re not looking so great, let’s get you back to bed. I got some medicine for you.” 

Tai frantically shakes his head. Qrow can feel the muscles contract sharply as Tai coughs and gags. Again the sounds were terrible and nothing came up. 

“I’ve got ya.” Qrow comforts, wrapping his arms around Tai, massaging the muscles that were clenching. Just like a Tai would do when Qrow was the one spilling his guts into the toilet. It seemed to work, as he went limp. 

“Just end me now…” Tai groaned. 

“And how would I explain that to Ruby and Yang?” 

“The girls! I need to—“ Tai’s frantic attempt at standing is stopped by Qrow’s arms.

“They’re fine, I’ve got it covered.” Tai snorted. “Fine, Yang has Ruby covered.” 

“That I believe.” 

“Now will you let me take care of you?” Qrow helps Tai stand and shuffle back to bed. Tai insists on reading the bottles Qrow had bought. Opting to start with the anti nausea one first, and leave the one for fever till later. Qrow did insist on Tai drinking the rest of the glass of water from earlier. 

“I’ll check on you in a bit. Don’t throw up the medicine. Got it?” 

“Got it.” Tai had already snuggled back into his bed. Qrow gave Tai’s hair a final stroke before going back downstairs.

—

Keeping the girls distracted was a harder challenge. Both of them were really worried. It took Qrow promising that with the medicine and the soup he was making, their Dad would be fine. 

“Soup has magical healing powers,” he insisted.

“Even if it comes from a can?” Yang asks, holding it up.

“Well, probably not as good as homemade, but it’ll get the job done,” he stirs it to keep it from burning. If he lost focus it would. His semblance didn’t make for easy cooking, which is why the dishes from dinner were covered in the remnants of boxed Mac and cheese. “Now who wants to get a tray for me?”

“I got it!” Ruby ducks into one of the cupboards.

“Yang can you put a glass of water on it for me?”

“On it.”

Qrow is extra careful balancing the tray up the stairs, last thing he needs is his semblance dumping hot soup on himself. Of course Tai is a little sceptical as the tray is placed in his lap. Qrow had to argue that the medicine and water had stayed down, so he had to at least try. Taiyang is thankfully less stubborn as a patient than Qrow is. And Qrow promises himself to try and give Tai a break next time the situation is reversed. 

After the soup is gone and the next dose of meds were taken, Tai rolls over to go back to sleep. This was probably the most rest Tai had gotten in months. Being a single parent had to be rough. Qrow sighs and runs his fingers through Taiyang’s hair. Coaxing him into a deeper sleep. 

—

Qrow carries the tray of dishes back down into the kitchen. Yang is at the sink washing dishes this time. 

“Where’s Ruby?”

“I put her to bed.” Qrow glanced at the clock. It was later than he thought.

“Shouldn’t you be in bed too?”

“I’m almost done,” she insisted.

“The dishes can wait.”

“No they can’t!” Yang gives him an angry glare, the effect somewhat lost with the tears threatening to leave the corners of her eyes. “Dad never leaves dishes in the sink.”

“Come on Yang, you’re tired. It’s time for bed.”

“No! I’m fine I can do it.”

“Yang, you’ve been doing ‘it’ all day. You-“

“But I didn’t! You had to come in and fix everything!” she shouts. Qrow doesn’t know how to respond to that. Yang sniffles a few times before angrily wiping the tears away. “I—I thought I could do—do it. But it was so-so hard. I—I—I didn’t know what to do. Dad was so sick and—and I didn’t want Ruby to panic—“ 

Qrow pulls Yang in for the tightest hug he can muster. Letting all the fear and worry she was feeling melt. She hugs him back just as hard.

“Yang, you’re twelve. I don’t expect you to know how to handle everything. You took really good care of Ruby. I can’t ask for more than that.” Qrow pets the hair she refuses to cut.“You did good Firecracker. I’m so proud of you.” He let Yang sob and sniffle, just holding her as the weight of the past day or so finally left her shoulders. Once calmed down he carried her to her bed, tucking her in so she could rest.

He quietly slips out and closes the door. He sighs and lets his forehead rest on the door.

“Qrow?” Taiyang is using the door frame of his own door to stay standing. “I heard crying, is everything ok?”

“Your daughter is stronger than I am.” Qrow sighs.

“Yeah. Kinda wish they didn’t have to be.” Tai shivers.

“Come on, it’s time to go back to bed.” 

Tai is still wobbly when he walks, but he’s leaning less on Qrow than he did earlier. Again, Qrow tucks him in and then just sits on the edge of the bed, stroking Tai’s hair. This time he’s more lost in thought.

“What’s up?” Tai asks.

“I was thinking… maybe… maybe… I would stick around  for a little bit. Apply for that job at Signal like you keep suggesting.” 

“I’d like that.”

“Maybe you could put in a good word.”

“I can put in a lot of words, I don’t know how many of them would be good.”

[chuffyfan87]

Growing Pains. Part 6b (NSFW)

"Clever boy." Duffy giggled.

Charlie laughed gently, “Can’t wait for later babe.”

"Can I have more cake?" Oli asked.

“Only a little bit, we don’t want you to be sick.”

"Its ok, I'll puke in Paul's bed if I am." Oli laughed.

“Oli, that’s not nice.”

"If you do I'll wee in yours!" Paul shot back.

“Boys!” Charlie shook his head fondly, “Behave.”

The rest of the day passed in a smooth manner. The older two left around 7pm, to stay at their girlfriends and the boys were in bed. The girls were doing god knows what in their rooms.

"Well Krystal is certainly interesting..!" Duffy remarked as she finished loading the dishwasher.

“Interesting is one way of describing her. She was barely wearing anything!”

"Yeh, I saw that you noticed that!" Duffy retorted with a playful glare.

“Where was I supposed to look? She’s quite attractive...”

"Too obvious for my tastes."

Charlie stepped towards her, “Do you fancy having fun?”

"Well it would be rather disappointing for you if your sons got more action than you on your birthday!" She teased.

“That would be disappointing.” He replied as he took Duffy into his arms.

"Shall we see what's waiting for you upstairs then?"

“Yes!” He was enthusiastic.

She led him upstairs. "Wait here." She instructed outside their bedroom door before slipping inside and closing it once more behind her.

He waited outside, pouting a little.

Several minutes later she called from the bedroom. "You can come in now."

He opened the door and stepped into the room, closing the door behind him.

The only light in the room came from candles scattered on the dresser and bedside tables. Duffy lay on the bed her hair fanned out across the pillows wearing a new negligee made of black silk and lace.

He smiled as he stepped towards the bed. “Well hello there gorgeous.”

"Does the birthday boy approve?" She purred.

“He approves very much.”

"Fancy showing me how much?" She smirked.

He crawled towards her and gazed down at her. He touched her cheek, “I can’t...”

Duffy raised her eyebrow at him briefly before a hurt look filled her eyes. "Its my fault isn't it?" She whispered, the barely contained tears evident in her voice.

He shook his head and stayed where he was, his hand on her cheek. “I can’t... You know...”

Her brain processed the possibilities. "Is it because of what happened at Christmas? Has the doctor said something? Oh why didn't you tell me?" She'd clearly flipped into nurse mode.

“Duffy, please.” He swallowed, “I can get hard but I can’t finish. I can’t come.” He sighed and lay beside her.

She was still running through the medical possibilities. "Could it be some kind of after effect of the vasectomy reversal, I mean, I know it's been years since you had it done but you never know..."

“No. It’s because of the meds I’m on for the depression.” He sighed, “It really hurt you on Valentine’s Day when I didn’t come, I don’t want to hurt you again.” He admitted.

"But you were fine on those for ages." She replied, her eyebrows knitted together. "I thought that was coz you were angry with me." She sighed.

“I’ve started taking the depression tablets again. I came off them but...” He paused, “Things started getting dark again.”

"Oh sweetheart, why didn't you say? Valentines was probably just a silly one off. We were tired and grumpy."

“I’ve tried since... To come but I can’t.” He sighed.

"You haven't let me try though."

“I don’t want to hurt you.” He moved to lie on his side.

“Because I know you think I’m not attracted to you anymore but that’s not true. You make me as hard as anything.”

"I know I'm not as young and slim as I used to be..." She sighed.

“You’re still just as slim and beautiful as the day we first met.”

"We'll just gloss over the fact I was a stone overweight back then..."

“You weren’t fat when we first met. I thought you had amazing curves.”

"Yet you still teased me when I tried to diet." She pouted.

“I did.” He kissed her lips, “I didn’t want you to lose your curves.” He began to remove his belt from his jeans.

"So that's why you told me avocado was fattening was it? Surely if you hadn't wanted me to lose weight then you would have encouraged me to tuck in instead?" She replied, a smirk pulling at the corners of her lips.

“You’re just perfect, the way you are. Always have been.” His fingertips ran up her side. “So sexy!”

She caressed his cheek. "I do love you. So very much. I'm sorry I'm such a pain sometimes."

“I don’t mind,” He admitted as he lent forward and kissed her tenderly.

She moved her hand to wrap around his shoulders, keeping him close.

“I’m so lucky to have you in my life.”

"You would tell me if there was something more serious wrong wouldn't you?"

“It’s just my depression, that’s all.” He stroked her cheek, “Things have been a bit bad lately. I got scared...”

"What scared you?"

“That you may not have wanted me anymore."

"And I thought you'd gone off me..."

“We’re a right pair aren’t we?” He nuzzled his nose affectionately against Duffy’s.

"We really are."

“Communication has never been our strongest point has it?”

"No its not." She chuckled softly.

“You’re my best friend. My whole world. You always were.”

"And you've given me more than I could wish for in even my wildest dreams."

“Our huge chaos of a family?”

"Yes. I was thinking earlier that we might want to invest in a bigger dining table." She giggled.

“Yeah I think we need to.” Charlie moved his head to Duffy’s neck and began to kiss and nibble on her sensitive spot.

"Means more room for other activities too..." She mumbled distractedly.

“I hear you.” His lips moved further down her body.

"I thought you'd approve..." She let out a moan as his touch left a trail of goosebumps on her skin.

“It suits you. I like the lace...” He ran his fingertips up her thighs and parted her legs slightly.

"You alway did like me in lace."

“Always. I remember the first time you ever wore lace for me.”

"The first time I purposefully wore lace for you or the first time you saw me in lace..?" She asked, despite the fact that the path of his tongue was making stringing words together increasingly tricky.

“First time I saw you.” He mumbled in reply as his tongue ran up her thighs.

"Did you really accidentally push the wrong door open coz you were trying to escape an irate patient?" She asked, tilting her head to watch him.

“Yeah. It was completely accidental. A nice surprise though.”

"I'm surprised my shriek didn't bring everyone down on us..!"

He laughed, “That’s true. Are you ok?”

"Yeh, are you?"

“Yeah.” He slowly pulled off her underwear and chucked them. The knickers landing on the lamp.

"I swear you do that on purpose!" She giggled.

“Throw your knickers?”

"Hit the lamp with them."

He didn’t answer as he dived between her legs and ran his tongue over her.

"Oh fuck!" She moaned.

He chuckled softly as he began to pleasure her.

She wasn't sure why she felt so different to the last time they were intimate but it filled her with relief.

As his tongue circled her clit, Charlie reached up and grabbed her breasts, squeezing them in his hands.

She waited for him to notice how much her breasts had shrunk in the last few months.

He noticed but didn’t comment, too busy trying to get her to come.

She became distracted from thinking about her insecurities as he brushed her nipples with his fingertips.

He moved and sighed sadly, “You’re not in the mood?” He asked.

"I am. I'm just so conflicted about how I look." She admitted quietly.

“You’re insecure?” He sat beside her, “Talk to me?” He took her hand in his.

"I..." Her eyes filled with tears. "I fear I'm slipping again..." She whispered.

“With the anorexia?”

"I kept telling myself that I didn't have a problem... I almost had myself convinced..."

“But you do? Is that what you’re telling me, babe?”

"You certainly think I do don't you?"

“You haven’t been yourself for a while. And I’ve noticed changes in your body.” He admitted.

"Tell me the truth. Tell me what you see." She told him as she pulled the duvet around them and rested her head against his chest.

“Every day I wake up with you by my side?”

"Go on..."

“That you haven’t changed from the day I fell in love with you. You’re still just as beautiful. Still as kind and caring, argumentative and infuriating. Your figure is beautiful, your hips, waist, tits and arse are lovely and I love touching them. But they have gotten smaller recently. The thing I miss the most though is the sparkle in those gorgeous green eyes of yours.”

"I've not been sleeping well." She admitted.

“How long?”

"A couple of months."

He kissed the top of her head and wrapped his arms around her. “Can we go to the doctors?”

"Can we not try and handle it between ourselves?"

He paused, “We can try, if you’d like that?”

"I'd feel better about that. I trust you to help me."

“We’ll do what we need to together ok?”

"OK. Dare I ask what that's going to be..?"

“I’m not sure yet. Any ideas?” He rested his head lightly against Duffy’s, “Do you fancy an early night, gorgeous? After we’ve finished talking?"

"I'd like us to reconnect properly."

“How shall we do that?”

"I don't know. I miss us being us." She shrugged.

“How about we just sit and talk for a while? Cuddle, snog..?”

"I like that idea." She smiled.

He caught her gaze and smiled, kissing her tenderly. “So do I.”

Duffy fiddled with her fingers for a few moments before leaning out of his arms to reach over to open her bedside drawer. "You're not the only one who has been taking pills again." She mumbled, unable to meet his eye as she placed the packet in his lap.

He picked up the tablets and studied them. “Are these the same ones as last time? Or similar?”

"Similar." She admitted. "I'm sorry."

[laniakeabooks]

Free to Fall by Lauren Miller, A Rant Review by Laniakea

Hello. How are you?

It’s been a long ass time. Why? My dumbass decided to take summer courses. You know those super condensed ones? The ones that make you want to rip your eyeballs out? Yeah... I took three at once. What was I thinking, right? I couldn’t tell you. I regret it. 

BUT. I still managed to read. And in July I read this gem of a book dubbed Free to Fall, written by Lauren Miller. And oooooooooh boy do I have shit to say about this... shit. So, brace yourselves, because this is a long and angry one.  

So, this is how this review is going to go:

       The major issues I had with this book and its narrative (when I say major issues, I mean MAJOR ISSUES… like, dare I say, problematic aspects of this book).

       Because it’s me, the deplorable excuse for science/neuroscience that Lauren Miller apparently didn’t find the need to take five minutes to google-check the concepts she was using.

       The little things that just kind of twisted the knife of annoyance

You may be saying: “Wait a second, she isn’t going to be talking about anything that the book did right.” And to that I say: “The things that the book did right? Nothing, IN MY OPINION. The thing that Lauren Miller did right, though, was write in a style that jives with my personal tastes. She didn’t beat around the bush to say something, she just said it outright. WHICH I LIKE, because, I don’t have time or the patience to suss out all of those little details and symbolisms just to get to the point that (for example) it’s a beautiful day.” There. Positive point. Hey, I didn’t rate it one star because it had a lot of positives.

So, let’s get started, shall we? (Shout-out to Corrine and Rob because damn, they’ve had a tough year.)

Issue #1: This is the biggest issue I had with this book. It has nothing to do with the plot or the characters or anything like that, but it’s what bothers me the most. What is it, you may ask? Well, it’s the simple fact that everyone in this book (and I have to assume Lauren Miller too) refers to the mentally ill as “crazy”. If you don’t understand my issue with this, let me explain. Calling someone who is mentally ill “crazy” is equivalent to calling a black person a “nigger” or calling a gay person a “faggot”. The word crazy is used as a slur to put someone beneath you, to make them less believable or trustworthy… to dehumanize them. It’s derogatory and offensive. It’s time that we stop using that word when talking about mental illness. It’s 2019 (2014 in the book’s case). Unacceptable.

So, when do we see the mentally ill referred to as crazy in Free to Fall? Throughout the entire book pretty much. It’s just said over and over and over again. But the worst instance? Here it is as a direct quote from page 127 (Oh, and mind you, the character saying this is a psychologist teaching a cognitive psychology class. Let that sink in.):

“You’ve all been given limited access to the Department of Public Health’s medical records database,” Rudd said as he returned to the front of the room.

(*record scratch* Wait a second, high school students having access to medical files? Absolutely not. Would never happen. You usually can’t even get your hands on medical records unless you’re the patient’s doctor. So that’s a technical issue with this book… one of many. Again, five minutes on Google, Lauren. Okay, back to the whole “crazy” thing.)

“Your login has been coded to the research topic you selected, allowing you to review the med records for patients who suffered from the mental illness you’re studying.” He picked up his tablet off his desk and tapped the DPH icon. The app launched on the screen at the front of the room. “Now, I know what some of you are thinking,” he deadpanned as he logged himself in. “You’re hoping this means you’ll be able to prove once and for all that your frenemy in a certified nut job. But, alas, your access is limited to dead crazies, and this particular database is anonymous anyway, which means the only identifying information you’ll have are gender, ethnic origin, and birth and death dates.”

That’s right. Lauren Miller had this character say, “dead crazies”. Dead. Crazies. The note I wrote in the margin right beside this passage? Word for word: FUCK YOU, YOU PIECE OF SHIT. Not sure if I’m directing this at Lauren Miller, Rudd or both, but I stand by it. In reality though, I don’t think there are any words to describe how disgusted and offended (and it’s VERY hard to offend me) I am by those two words. At this point, page 137 out of page 469, I decided this book would get a 1 star and a damning review.

“Oh, you’re being so petty.” Yeah bitch, I sure fucking am.

“It’s just a word.” No bitch, it fucking ain’t.

“You shouldn’t read books that say things like that.” Well bitch, I didn’t know books written in 2014 would use derogatory words like crazy. And I’d rather it be me who reads it and warns people about it than have someone who is vulnerable read it and take it seriously.

I am a huge advocate for mental illness and destigmatizing it. It’s time we stop using this disgusting derogatory word when talking about mental illness. And a good place to start is right here in the media.

Issue #2: Rory and North are preparing to roofie someone. That’s right. Roofie. As in drug them against their will. Assault them. Violate them. And to make it worse, they’re planning to administer it intravenously, because the whole assault thing wasn’t despicable enough. BUT DON’T WORRY YOU GUYS! North says he’ll get some legal drugs from a pharmacist because that makes it okay.

He objects for 0.5 seconds… but it doesn’t last. Here’s how the conversation goes:

“The only question is, how do we take Liam out of commission for a couple of hours?” North asked.

“We roofie him” I say without hesitation. “It’ll incapacitate him without killing him, and it’ll screw with his memories.”

“Oh, okay. I’ll just grab the bottle of date-rape pills I have in my medicine cabinet.”

“Not pills,” I corrected. “Has to be injectable. There’s no way we can guarantee that he’ll drink whatever we put it in.”

North gave me an incredulous look. “You’re actually serious?”

“What? It’s what the society uses. And it’ll do exactly what we need it to do.

North tugged at this Mohawk. “I know we don’t have time to get into this right now, but, holy crap, Rory, this shit is seriously messed up.”

“You’re right. Not the time. We have to go buy roofies.”

“Where, at Walgreens? I’m sure we’ll find them right next to the Advil.”

I crossed my arms, irritated by the sarcasm. “You’re a guy with a Mohawk and tattoos. Don’t you know people?”

“People with Rohypnol?”

“So, you don’t know anyone who can get it?”

He started to shake his head but seemed to think of something. “One of my clients is a pharmacist in Greenfield. I could probably get a prescription sleeping serum from him. Something potent but legal. I can message him from my apartment.”

North said it, this is so messed up… but is surpasses the “messed up” title and deserves the “fucked up” title. By the way, they never talk about it again. Getting “legal” drugs does not make the act of drugging someone okay. Ever. And on top of that Rory wants someone that will mess with Liam’s memories? I guess assaulting him and revoking his control over his own body wasn’t evil enough for Rory, she had to fuck with the essence of who he is.    

Moving on to the… “science”. Listen, I get it, this is fiction. It doesn’t have to be 100% in line with reality. But do you know what isn’t fiction? Neuroscience. Science that has already been researched and accepted. Why does this matter so much to me? I hate misinformation. It leads to fear and people doing stupid shit. Also, I am an aspiring neuroscientist myself and would like for people to understand how the brain works on a physiological (and psychological) level. That way there will be less of that “vaccines cause autism” and “sunscreen causes ADHD” crap, because they don’t, by the way.

Lauren Miller latches onto the term “synaptic pruning”. This is a real thing. During your first few months of life, unused/rarely used neurons will die (don’t worry, this is perfectly normal and an essential step in neurodevelopment). How does Lauren Miller incorporate this into her story?

“Now we knew that the inner voice was nothing more than a glitch in the brain’s circuitry, something to do with ‘synaptic pruning’ and the development of the frontal lobe.” (p.13)

My response went something like this: NoOOoooOOOOoOo! It’s only page 13 and I’m being subjected to poorly researched scienceeeeeeEEEeEEEeeee.

It would have taken five minutes on Google to look up: Which areas of the brain have to do with hearing voices? Answer: temporal and frontal lobes. Done. Next: why do people hear voices? Answer: potentially neuronal death in said brain regions (not synaptic pruning, very different concepts). Why? We don’t know yet. Anyway, the voice they are talking about here is “The Doubt” which is basically intuition so that would most likely relate to the hippocampus (and other memory-storing regions) and the prefrontal cortex. But then again, “The Doubt” is supposed to be altruism… but it’s written as intuition, so I’m just confused.

Next in bad (neuro)science, Lauren Miller claims that enzymes for memories (this relates back to the whole roofie scene where Rory wants to mess with Liam’s memories too). Basically, neurotransmitters are responsible for memories, namely glutamate and dopamine. I’ll be talking about glutamate here because dopamine forms the “do that again because it made us feel good” kind of memory, and glutamate forms the kind of memory Lauren Miller is referring to. You need to glutamate for LTP (basically a memory) which, in short, is strengthening the connection between two neurons. If you’ve ever heard the term “Neurons that fire together wire together.”, that’s exactly what I’m talking about here. So, no, enzymes do not form memories. (P.S. LTP is really interesting... if you’re interested in brains, so check it out!)

Onto “SynOx” (synthetic oxytocin) which is really, from what I understand, simulates oxytocin but activating oxytocin receptors on neurons (Lauren Miller doesn’t go into this much detail on how SynOx works, but I’m just trying to understand by talking through it so bear with me). First of all, Lauren Miller describes oxytocin as the “love drug” which isn’t exactly true… it’s more of a bonding “drug”. Love is a little but more complicated than oxytocin release. Not that big of a deal, but I thought I’d point it out.

Unfortunately, SynOx has a major role in the plot… and it doesn’t… work. Basically, the big bad corporation is relying on SynOx to make consumers trust their products unconditionally by injecting people with SynOx nanobots under the guise of a flu shot. That way the nanobots can get into their brains and they can be forced to trust everything Lux suggests. Essential mass mind control. Theoretically that could actually work… BUT the nanobots would never be able to cross the blood-brain barrier to actually get into the brain, and therefor wouldn’t be there to allow Gnosis to control people. Did that make sense? Basically, SynOx is the soldier, the brain is enemy headquarters. But enemy headquarters is so highly reinforced that the soldier can’t get in to do its job, so it’s left out in the cold with no power. Maybe I just confused you, but what I’m saying is that this SynOx would never work as a mind control device unless it is injected directly into the brain (or even spinal cord)… through the skull and everything. That being said, the evil plot would have failed form the get-go.

And yes, I do hate being this rational sometimes because suspension of disbelief is very difficult and makes it very hard for me to enjoy some works of fiction.      

Now the little things.

In the synopsis: “Rory Vaugh: a brainy sixteen-year-old…”. She’s also a “hepta” which means she shows aptitude in all seven liberal arts at Theden and makes her the smartest kid at school. Well, she sure doesn’t act it.

She can’t tell the difference between Arabic and Hebrew writing. I mean… are you serious? Have you seen them? They look nothing alike.

Doesn’t see the value of experiments in ethics such as the Trolley Problem. I mean, one of the liberal arts is philosophy and she’s supposed to be naturally gifted at it… but I guess not.

Proudly states she took human anatomy in grade nine (and considers herself an expert from that one class in middle school)… but doesn’t know how ABO relates to blood. I guess she forgot the mention she failed the class.

Also seems to consider herself an expert in genetics but never thinks to ask herself as to why she and her father share zero genetic traits.

She can’t figure out a simple riddle (You know that one about the letter e? Yeah that one)

It takes her forever to figure out who her biological father is (should be glaringly obvious from a certain physical description and all the other evidence Rory gathers)

Doesn’t know what a USB is or what it does (Oh, I’ll get to that in a minute)

There’s so much more… but the review would have to be a whole book if I were to list them all. Basically, if you’re going to call your character a genius, MAKE SURE THEY ACT LIKE ONE.

It seems that Lauren Miller forgot Rory’s blood type (little detail, I know), but instead of going back to look at what she wrote, she just gives her a new blood type. Rory goes from being A+ at p .226 to being AB+ at p. 237/238. That’s just lazy.

When Rory finds out the man that raised her and loved her doesn’t share her genetics, all of a sudden, he’s no longer her dad. Imagine being a vulnerable teenager who is being raised and loved by someone who may not be biologically related to you and reading that a character you may look up to goes through the same thing and says that that makes that parent’s love irrelevant. They aren’t related to you, so they’re not your dad/mum. How sad. 

Now, the USB thing. This book is set in the mid-2030s and they don’t use USBs anymore. Basically, they’re obsolete technology. And that’s fine! There will come a day when this is a reality. Here’s the thing, though: Rory the “genius” doesn’t know what it is or what it does. You expect me to believe that? When I see a floppy disk (which I have never used), I know what it is and how it works. Even a telegraph! I’ve only ever seen pictures of telegraphs, but I know what they are and what they do.

Page 229. North says (in response to Rory talking about research and science):

“Whose research are we talking about here?” He scoffed. “’Science’ with a capital S? The same geniuses who said the Earth was the center of the universe?”

Um… the church actually said that. And then they murdered anyone who dared to say otherwise. Wrong “geniuses”, genius. (Also, scientists rethink their beliefs all the time, and are more than willing to accept discoveries that overwrite their previous beliefs as long as there is evidence. Just saying.)

Rory goes from relying solely on Lux to make her decision to criticizing everyone who does the exact same thing within a few pages. Hypocrisy, not my favourite.

Hershey is described as a naturally beautiful woman who wears makeup to highlight that beauty… but the tone of the narration suggests that that’s a bad thing? Gross.

When they are preparing for the final boss fight, Rory wants North to write an algorithm that will reverse Lux’s algorithm. North says that it would take weeks for a professional programmer to write an algorithm like that… than proceeds to do it overnight. And manages to get some roofies to assault Liam.

North gifts Rory with a necklace that contains a tracking device and a camera… and she thinks that’s romantic and sweet because hE cArEs. I… have no words for how creepy (and honestly bordering on abusive) that is.

So, in conclusion, I feel that Lauren Miller wrote an offensive mess that didn’t know what the hell it was talking about, topped with despicable (and flat) characters that think drugging someone against their will is okay as long as the drug you use is legal.

The end! 😊

Oh yeah, 1 out of 5 stars!

[ecoamerica]

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