#does insomnia make you extra dramatic...probably

[maryibgarry102]

i wish all the people who put OC fics in the reader insert tags on like ao3 and shit a very die

[kyuublu]

Quick Thrills [2]

Kyoutani Kentaro x reader

Underground Fighter AU

Part Two

Song rec: Bad religion - Frank Ocean

After we got out of the Bus and into the busy streets, I noticed how tired Kyoutani still was. His body only moving when necessary and his eyelids daring to fall at any second. Thankfully we found a restaurant that wasn’t too busy like the others that seemed to be buzzing with fashionable young adults.

“I’m starving.” I held a hand against my stomach and looked dreadfully out the window we sat by. I had to admit that I was pretty done too. Before I could even think about any other troubles of mine, Kyoutanis long silence grabbed my attention. This kind of silence was something different than usual. “Hey, stop giving me the cold shoulder. You haven’t talked since we got here.”

The man still held his gaze on the table as his shoulders hung low. He wasn’t just thinking, I could tell he was concerned about the upcoming fight. I leaned forward and tried to meet his eye. “Don’t think about it for now okay? And if you do then at least say it out lout. You know you can always talk to me.” The fighter didn’t budge. Sighing I leaned back again, taking the menu in my hand. I scanned through the pages until I found something for my taste.

“Iwaizumi and I used to go to the same school.” My eyes quickly wandered back to Kyoutani as I lowered the menu. “He was a better athlete than me in any way you could imagine. Fuck it, he was the best athlete in the whole school.” He huffed out a chuckle and finally let me look him in the eye.

“I thought you guys met through fights?” I furrowed my brows in confusion. My friend only shook his head until he turned to the window. “I didn’t even know he fought until someone randomly had told me I went to school with one of the best upcoming fighters. I shouldn’t have been so suprised but I mean he looked like a pretty decent guy.”

His eyes focused on something in the distance but mine stayed locked on him. “I didn’t think he would end up like this.”

Suddenly a foreign emotion took over me. I couldn’t quite place if it was anger or sadness. “You didn’t think he’d end up like you.”

Kyoutanis demeanor didn’t change after what I said, but it was clear to me that I hadn’t been wrong. I shrugged off the weird tension that was building up and took the menu again. A brow lifted when I saw one of my friends’ favorite sweets.

“Oi Ken, they got donuts here too.” Kyoutani grunted at the nickname I frequently used to tease him. Nonetheless the fighter still was quick to add the donut to his order at the end. After we ate it had already started to get dark again. Before we had to linger around the big city at night, we decided to get to the next motel. Another Bus took us to the nearest station and from there on we walked a couple of minutes again. When we saw the motel from afar it was obvious that it had been a more rundown, cheap one which my partner wasn’t too happy about.

“Are you kidding me?” He sighed as he took in the flickering neon lights that seemed weak against the other enormous signs that were plastered on the streets buildings.

As we entered the motel, a familiar voice rung through the hallway. Suddenly a look at the reception made it awfully clear who it was.

“Don’t let it be-“ Maddogs’ frustration only worsened once the figure casually turned around until his eyes met ours. I could only mumble a quick “Oikawa...” before the man could greet us from afar with an enthusiastic smile.

“Oh hey guys! What a nice suprise!” As we slowly stepped closer, I decided to play nice and give him the attention he usually needed.

“Yes, it’s definitely suprising.” Before I could say another word, I could feel Kyoutanis wandering eyes and his constant fidgeting. I knew he was nervous to meet the fighter Oikawa was accompanying. “So, y/n how-“

“Let me just check in real quick.” I cut the brunette off quickly before talking to the receptionist and getting our keys. After the exchange, I put the keys into my partners hands. “You can go ahead already. I know you’re tired.” He only gave me a short nod before walking of with his bag in hand. My eyes catched Oikawas again for a minute before he couldn’t stop himself from talking again.

“He still doesn’t say a word does he? I thought it would get better one day but it seems like he’ll never become a big talker.”

I let out a chuckle. The tall man stepped away and took a seat at one of the couches in the hallway.

“Oh and of course another thing hasn’t changed either.” He made a dramatic pause to coerce me into speaking again. “And what could that thing be, Oikawa?”

He gasped before putting a hand over his chest. “Since when have you stopped using my first name?”. I rolled my eyes at his childishness but stepped closer, only to rest on the seat opposite of him. “We’ve only met twice Oi-“

His pout made me visibly cringe but I went along with his stupidity. “Toru.” A proud grin spread across his face as he crossed his arms. “I’d consider us close enough. I mean you are a dear friend of our little Maddog.”

I chuckled at his antics again until I could feel my fellow colleagues’ eyes on me. “You still didn’t notice it though, did you?”

“What?” I asked with genuine curiosity.

“He’s head over heels for you, honey.”

My eyes stayed a little longer on his this time, struggling to find a normal response I could give. “What hasn’t changed therefore is; that he’s still a coward.”

I blinked my eyes, perplexed at his sudden statement. Toru only leaned back on the couch, satisfied by my flustered state. The only thing that came to my mind now was the question I had been asking myself since we first got here.

“Where’s Iwaizumi? You usually stick to him at all times..” I tried casually breaking eye contact to look around the lobby. Toru let out laugh, letting me know that he found my question, to turn the conversation, a bit blunt. “He’s resting in his room. That’s what he told me but I’m guessing he’s watching the video of his last fight again.”

I nodded slowly. “Wow, we’re up against a real professional this time, huh?”. A small smile was spreading across my face until Toru suddenly stood up, stepping next to my seat.

“You knew what you’re getting yourself into. Now we just have to find out if he can keep his word.” My brows furrowed as the brunette walked past me, until his footsteps couldn’t be heard anymore. These two did have more history with each other than I had previously thought.

____

“Ken, I have a question..”

I looked at my hands as he entered our shared room after taking a shower. The room did thankfully have two separate beds, which made me feel a bit at ease after the confession Toru had just thrown at me out of nowhere. But there wasn’t any time for this type of thing.

“Okay, what’s up?” The fighter came closer and sat down on the bed opposite of me, rubbing his short hair with a towel. “Did something happen between you and Iwaizumi?”

Our eyes met for a moment until his flickered down to his feet.

“He told me I wasn’t good enough.”

“Good enough for what?”

A big sigh escaped the mans lips. He awkwardly turned to lean against the headboard of his bed. “The last time we fought was just for training. He had given me a couple of tips and when I asked him if he’d be down to fight, he gave me this serious look.” Kentaro spaced out again, as if he was reliving the moment again in his head.

“‘You’re not good enough to beat me.’ Was the last thing I heard from him. After that day he was very, i don’t know, distant- I guess?”. The fighter watched his own hand fiddle with the hem of his shirt. His casual tone seemed to drown out the hurt he had probably felt til today.

I noticed he had a weird place in his heart for this childhood ‘friend’ of his. I had never seen him this willing to talk about his past before.

2 am

I stared at the digits on my phone in frustration. My stomach had started rumbling an hour ago, when I had been staring at the ceiling because of my insomnia. It wasn’t unusual for me stay up late or not get sleep at all before a fight. Eventhough I wasn’t the one who’d be going into the ring, I had to admit that I was always nervous about Maddog hurting himself real bad one day.

I shuffled around until the hunger had gotten the best of me, making me drag myself out of the bed. I decided to go to the vending machine in the lobby, grabbed my wallet and left as quietly as I could. Hopefully Kentaro would be able to get the rest he needed for tomorrow. Once I entered the lobby I quickly recognized another person standing infront of the vending machine. I shrugged and came to a halt until I catched a glimpse of the mans face when he quickly glanced behind him.

“Iwaizumi?”

The fighter turned completely this time, a uncertainty hidden behind his eyes once I had his full attention. “I’m y/n, Maddogs’ Manager.”

Iwaizumi shook his head with somewhat of an embarrassed smile. “Ah- I’m sorry, I’m really bad at remembering people and their names.”. I waved him off quickly. “It’s fine. I get people mixed up all the time, especially in this business.”

There was another awkward feeling lingering until Iwaizumi stepped aside, pointing towards the vending machine. “You probably wanted to- uh-“

“Oh yes, my stomach was killing me.” I stepped forward and took a look at the options behind the glass. After luckily finding one of my favorite snacks, I tapped in the needed number. My curiosity rose again once I noticed Iwaizumi leaning against the wall next to the machine and swiping away on his phone.

“Aren’t you gonna get some rest before tomorrow?” He glanced at me before taking another bite off of his chocolate bar. “I’m not trying to sound harsh here but this fight has already been decided for me, so.. There really isn’t a need for extra caution.”

My mouth almost dropped at his words. I’ve always taken Iwaizumi as a fighter that was humble and well calculated, not this.

“So... You think Kentaro is weak then?” I side-eyed him as I heard the snack tumbling down. A dry chuckle escaped the fighters lips, making me fully turn towards him after grabbing my snack.

“He’s not weak per say. The boy is just not strong enough to beat me yet.” My brows furrowed while my body stiffened at his response. He continued shortly once he felt the weird tension in the room. “Like I said, my intentions aren’t to be rude. I’m only trying to make him understand that he can’t just rush his way up without structure or hard work.”

I was still growing mad at the points the brunette made. He didn’t know anything about the Maddog that I’ve seen all these years.

“I’m sorry but you don’t know shit about his determination. Kyoutani worked his ass off to get where he is now. It’s sad to hear that one of the people he used to idolize says this kinda crap about him.” We held eye contact for a minute, seemingly waiting for one of us to break the silence, until the man let out a long sigh. Iwaizumi didn’t say another word as he walked away.

He didn’t have to, to me he had already said enough.

3 am

Once I entered our shared room again I was met with a harsh glare. Kentaro sat on his bed, only in his boxers and some old white tshirt. I kinda wanted to laugh at his demeanor, the way he crossed his arms made him look like my mom when she was about to scold me. I actually wasn’t to far off with that comparison, he really seemed just as furious.

“Did you fuck him?” His eyes stayed glued to me while I closed the door. I turned slowly with confusion written all over my face.

“What?” I blinked at him until the blonde spoke up again. “Did you or not?”

A laugh that had been stuck in my throat suddenly revealed itself. He had to be kidding.

“What are you talking about?”

“I know you talked to Iwaizumi and I know how you get before fights, so...“ He shrugged, dragging his hand across his face in frustration. I chimed in before he could even finish his stupid question. “So what if I did, huh? Why does it matter so freaking much to you?”.

Finally he snapped. “Just answer the damn question, y/n.” I stared at him in disbelief, taking in a deep breath to calm myself down. “No, of course not. Why the fuck would I do that?”

Suddenly the man chuckled harshly and looked back up at me again. “I don’t know, you tell me.” My brows furrowed again as I walked towards him. We both knew this was deeper than what it seemed but, neither of us wanted to face it.

“I do it with guys that could be potential partners for future matches, we talked about this. I would never go as far as-“

“-fuck my rival?” His eyes never left mine, as if he was trying to read my thoughts. Both of us were tired at this point.

“You know what?” I turned towards my bed, taking off my pants. I slowly pulled back the blanket. “Think what you want, but I told you the truth already and I’m getting tired so...”. Looking back at the fighter I noticed that his face had changed. He was no longer frowning, he just seemed disappointed.

“Get some sleep, Ken. Stop overthinking stupid stuff.” I rolled around, my back facing him now. The sleep didn’t come to me until I could hear Kentaro shuffling around and turning off the lights next to his bed. God, we were more than tired.

FIGHT NO. 2

Me and Kyoutani haven’t talked for the whole day. He was pretty good at staying silent but I was itching to say something as soon as we entered the lockers before the fight.

“Are you gonna stay and watch?” Kentaro mumbled as he dropped his bags next to some bench. I let out a chuckle to lighten the mood.

“I mean it’s not like I haven’t seen you changing before.”. He turned towards me with his stupid stoic face, but I knew he was relieved to hear me joke around again. The fighter nodded his head towards the door.

“Get the hell out, you creep.” I let out a gasp, only to follow his order. After closing the door I began walking toward sthe fighting area. More people were starting to come in, the noises making my headache only worse.

The fight between me and Ken wasn’t over, it was merely put on hold, but I didn’t want to think about that. We pushed it aside just like we usually would, until one day it would all be carshing down on us. Until then, we could only hope that things wouldn’t get worse.

————

“....Ladies and Gentlemen, we have a winner!”

The crowds noise fainted into one loud beeping in my ear. Like bees that were humming so loudly that I couldn’t even think straight. The only thing I saw was Kentaros body on the ground and then another fighters fist raising in triumph.

I couldn’t even let out a cry.

When I regained my composure I started frantically moving through to my partner. Suddenly I noticed a speck of blood on the floor of the ring. He still wasn’t moving.

“Oi! Is he breathing? Did you check if he is breathing?” The referee stepped closer to me at the sound of my voice. The man peaked down at me and then back at Kentaro. “Yeah, he’ll be fine. We got a guy who’s pretty good with these kind of things.”. I stared at him in disbelief until I couldn’t hold myself back anymore. I jumped onto the platform and went straight to the body that was still laying on the floor.

“Ken! Kentaro!” My hands were shaking as I shaked Kenators shoulder in an attempt to get some form of sign from him.

“Stop messing with me, dude!” My eyes began watering, I knew he was breathing but the image of him laying here, his defeated form, was just unbearable.

“Just let me-“. He mumbled to himself.

“Please let me be, y/n, please-“

The boy grimaced when the pain started to hit him for good. I only watched as he propped himself on his arms. He didn’t once look at me.

“Kentaro, stop being a bitch and just let me help me you.”. I grabbed the blondes’ arm and put it over my shoulder until he pulled it away with all the force he had left.

“Leave me the fuck alone.”

He sneered, walking off the ring with a limb. I could only think about how defeated he had looked. Ken and I fought alot, sure, but he had never used a tone like this towards me. It was a sound of utter disgust. I just wasn’t sure if it was aimed at me or himself.

I realized how quite it had gotten, most people had started to leave the underground club.

Now it was just me, alone in the ring.

____

I didn’t dare to go into the lockers. Even after saying goodbye to Oikawa, I didn’t have it in me to face him yet. Waking back and forth infront of the club entrance, I began feeling the cold wind rippling through my clothes. It felt like hours since I’ve seen my Ken.

Suddenly the metal door creaked open, revealing a pretty busted looking Kyoutani. He still didn’t look me in the eye, but only turned to walk ahead of me.

“Ken?” My hoarse voice rang through the dark alley. The man stood still, his back still facing me. “You okay...?”

Kyoutani POV

Silence. I put my hands in my pockets as I looked forwards towards the busy street that was ahead of us. The street I was so desperate to get to. I just wanted us to arrive at the motel, pack our bags and move on from all of this bullshit. But no, of course y/n had to pull one of these again. Even if I tried to avoid all of my anger from spilling, she just had to make it worse.

“What am I supposed to say to that, y/n?” My eyes were still focused on the cars passing until I heard her quiet footsteps move closer. I quickly turned with anger. “Can’t you just let it fucking go for once? You always act like you care about me but do you really give a shit? At the end of the day you only need the money from these fights.” Eventhough I wanted to desperately seem unbothered, the tone in my voice said otherwise.

“Shit.” I cursed to myself when I finally saw y/n’s face, full of worry and tears daring to spill. She still had to be my biggest weakness.

“Kentaro, I know this means more to you than you wanna admit right now. This isn’t about you just losing some fight or that you think I’m some kind of gold digger.” I shook my head frantically. She didn’t need to adress it, she really didn’t have to open up this wound again. “I’m fine, okay? Just-“

“I know it hurts to face your past, especially when you feel like you couldn’t close the chapter how you intended it to.”

Stopping my movement, I only looked down in shame. My sight began to blurr.

No, I couldn’t do this again.

“You don’t know shit.” As the harsh words left my mouth, I immediately felt another wave of regret that I didn’t think I could bare.

“I’ll meet you at the motel.”

My body felt like it moved on his own when I turned and finally met the streetlights at the end of the alley. If I dared to look at the one person my heart bled for so much, it would’ve probably broken me.

8 am

Y/Ns POV

Kyoutani hadn’t come home for another hour after I arrived. Even after thousands of attempts to call him, he didn’t budge. I sighed, looking up at the ceiling until I heard a ruttling at the door. Getting off the bed, I rushed to the door and peaked through the peephole. I didn’t think he could look even more busted than before; I thought as I opened the door.

“I didn’t have the-“ A hiccup escaped the disheveled man infront of me as he awkwardly attempted to pass through me towards his bed. My eyes never left his figure, since I was still processing that he was in fact: drunk.

“I thought you stopped drinking.” Kentaro rolled his head to the side, giving me a half ass grin. “Stop acting like my mom.”

Of course he would ignore the whole situation again. That’s what he always did.

I sighed, deciding to not give into his attempts to distract me this time. “I’m being serious, did you drink or not, Kyoutani?”

My eyes met the fighters’, even though he seemed unfocused as his smile faltered. “I can’t do this anymore. I can’t keep going like this with you around. You don’t really give a damn about me, we both know that. You just want to fuck around and get money to get by, you get off by that thrill i swear.”

“Is that really what you think about me? This’ all you see in me?”. The disappointment was clear in my voice as I stared him down.

“I don’t know... Sometimes you give in and give me those looks... thats the only thing keeping me going. But if i’ll let you walk all over me after every single time i get out the ring, it will kill me one day.” His eyes began to water until the droplets began to hit the white motel bedsheets.

“I think we should part ways.”

There it was again, the silence. The ignorance. The avoiding gaze. The disappointment.

“Please let me help you, just- just once. Let’s talk about this.” I shut my eyes in frustration. The panic suddenly overcame me. Maybe he was serious, maybe this was the end.

“You don’t know how much it hurts to be around you. To know that you could never-“. He stopped his sudden outburst.

“Stop acting like we’re strangers Kentaro. I’ve been by your side for years now and even if you think you’re good at hiding your thoughts and emotions, you’re really not. Your face is so easy to read for me by now, I feel like I know you better than you know yourself.” I stepped closer to the bed, trying as hard as I could to get through to him.

“I know about the anxiety you get before a fight, the nightmares you get every so often and all the shit that you hide behind your words. I know you have feelings for me.”

His head snapped back to me. Then the fighter moved back to sit on the edge of the bed. He looked like a kid that got caught stealing. “Since when did you...”

A dry chuckle escaped from my lips. “I feel like I’ve always known deep down. At first I just thought you kind of admired me or something.” Kyoutani let out a lighthearted snort. Finally a sign of him acting like his normal self again. His demeanor changed again, into uncertainty.

“I wanted to deny it for a long time. Not because I don’t like you, it was just that I thought it would complicate things. What if it doesn’t work out? Would we have to give up everything that we built?”

I let out a sigh as I watched his fingers twitch nervously. “Kentaro, can we try again? Without us hiding everything from each other. Communicating with each other like normal people.”

I practically stared holes into his figure that sat infront of me. Suddenly I felt his hands cautiously moving around my waist as he pushed my body closer to him. Perplexed by his sudden reaction, a faint blush spread across my cheeks.

“Yes, please. I don’t want to hide shit anymore.” His head rested on my stomach as his arms tightened around me. Relaxing into his hold I began to think back to the fight. I couldn’t let this slide. “And one more thing.”

Kentaros figure drew back until his gaze fully landed on me. “This wasn’t the last chance for you to face him. If you want to try again, I’m always willing to try to help you. I hope you know that.”

A small smile spread across his face as he took one of my hands. For the first time in forever, he didn’t seem to hold anything back anymore.

“Let’s kick his ass next time then.”

A giggle escaped my lips at his new found enthusiasm.

“Let’s just pray that he has a new manager until then because I feel like you’re gonna kick Toru’s ass too when you see him again.”

Kyoutani groaned at the thought of the brunette until his eyes peaked up at me again. “Toru? Since when are you guys on first name basis?”

I quickly turned to free myself from his grip as I rolled my eyes playfully. “Here we go again. We’ll really have to work on my boyfriends’ jealousy problem.”

The mans cheeks turned red as he began frowning again. “I hope you’re talking about me there.”

I chuckled as I came closer, leaving a kiss on his cheek. “Oh come on, it’s always been me and you from the beginning, right?”

____

Last part of this AU but i hope u enjoyed it. :))

[olivarryprompts]

Fanfic Friday #10

Welcome to Fanfic Friday! Each Friday I will post a new fanfic here and on A03. Enjoy x

Read and save it on A03 here 

{peter stark and a no good very bad day}

Ship: Steve Rogers/Tony Stark, Tony Stark/Steve Rogers & Peter Stark

Warnings: swearing, fluff otherwise :)

Wc: 3,984

Today, everything had gone wrong. He stayed up way past his bedtime the previous night and had gotten barely three hours of sleep by the time he arrived at school. He forgot his Spanish homework in the lab and that was the one grade he needed to pull from an A- to an A. He chugged a couple shots of espresso, and his usual store on the walk to school was closed. Meaning he had no redbull to sustain him through his classes.

Also, guess which class was straight bangout first, Spanish. So he hadn't done the homework and had no time to do it. Great. Fortunately, he made it through first period Spanish, only getting slightly scolded for not handing in the assignment. Then he had a break, and the kid desperately needed a pick me up coffee and muffin. He went to the closest cafe, one he’d come to love, only to find the whole football team there. Which would have been fine, if he wasn’t so goddamn awkward. He stood there for a solid five minutes before he asked the jock in his way to move so he could order.

Then, when the kid did get to ordering they ran out of fuckin chocolate muffins. What kinda cafe runs out of chocolate muffins at ten am? This one apparently. So coffee and blueberry muffin in hand, he headed back to the student lounge to get some work done.

The next portion of his day went as planned, a welcomed change of pace. Well Flash was a bitch, but what was new there. And his senses were through the roof. But other than that. That was all until the last period. To start, he got a text from his boyfriend, explaining that he’d no longer be arriving this Friday, but instead the following Saturday. Peter wanted to cry. He missed his boy. Leaving Harley on read, he tried to focus on chemistry, but he’d done the stuff they were going over about 100 times with Dr. Banner. He zoned out the entire class.

Finally, the bell rang and put him out of his misery. He quickly texted Ned asking if he was coming in the following day. He had been sick that day. He went to leave, but the class was stopped by the announcement of a test and more homework. For fuck sake.

He did get out, though. And he got straight in the car, barely pausing to say hello to Happy. Noticing the boy's unusual quiet, he didn’t press for more details about Peter’s day. Happy, though he’d never say it, enjoyed hearing about the kids day. He had come to really care for Peter, and his accomplishments made the older man happy. Ironic, he knew.

They had arrived at the tower in almost record time, and Peter was glad to have avoided extra time in the car. What he really craved was a couple hugs from his dads, a chat with his boyfriend, and to get through the stack of busy work that weighed him down.

Happy went round to the private entrance, wished the kid a good day, and headed off to some other errand. Peter exited, scanning his pass at security and being recognized and let through by Friday. So, he’d finally made it upstairs and there the sofa was, filled with a few avengers. Luckily his parents were among them. The two were sitting close to each other, as normal.

Peter simply put his head in his pops lap, and he laid his feet on his dad. Neither Steve nor Tony said anything, but they gave each other the look. Steve ran his hands through his son’s hair lovingly. “Pete?” Tony asked, “What happened kid?” “Nothin’” Peter replied, still buried in his Pop’s lap. “You sure about that?” Steve pressed. “Just a bad day,” Peter mumbled. “What happened паук?” Nat spoke up. She is very protective of Peter. “What didn’t happen?” he sighed dramatically. “Well you mope for as long as you like, Pete,” Tony joked. “Thanks dad,” he said, closing his eyes again in search of sleep. “Teenagers I tell you,” Clint said, rolling his eyes. “Fuck you Barton,” Peter mumbled before falling asleep properly. “He really is your child, Tones,” Clint laughed. “Hey Peter just said a bad language word,” Nat remarked. “God I hate all of you,” his Pops groaned. Then Peter fell into peaceful, safe sleep.

“Pete?” his Pops said, entering his room. He moved around, noticing he’d been moved from the sofa to his own room. He groaned. “Hello to you too.” “Yes, Hi, father, Captain America, Leader of the Avengers, Man of Strengt-” “Ok relax,” Cap rolled his eyes. Peter sat up, smirking. “Wanna tell me what actually happened today?” “J-just everything that could possibly go wrong went wrong.” “Did that start with you staying in the lab way past a normal sleeping time?” “Perhaps. How did you kn-” “You are aware that your dad designed that whole lab situation, right?” “Fair enough.” “Do we have to initiate Insomnia protocol again?” “God no, it was one night.” “Promise.” “Swear. Just an awful day. Spidey senses all acting up, being annoying, no chocolate muffins. Speaking of which, can I have the day off tomorrow? I have basically no classes.” (he wasn’t sure why, but all but one of his classes were cancelled.) Steve thought for a moment. He knew the kid had been through a lot always, and a day off never hurt anyone. Also, he was far too smart to be there anyway. “Yeah. Let me just double check with Dad, okay?” “Thanks.” “We’re eating dinner now so get cleaned up?” “Yep. Coming.”

The next day

Peter awoke at 10 with a smile on his face. He’d peacefully regained energy. He’d finished his school work the previous night, and he was happy to just relax for a day. He pulled on some SI sweatpants and a hoodie he’d stolen from Harley awhile back.

“Hey parentals,” he greeted, still holding his smile. “Morning,” his Pops said as he cooked breakfast. “Morning? Is it already?” I bet you can guess who that came from. “Tones,” Steve said, voice full of its normal concern. Peter just laughed, taking a stool at the bar. “What? I’m fine. I’m having fun.” “You promised you’d at least take a nap.” “Oops,” he smiled, heading back in the direction of the lab. “You’re a great role model to our son!” “You really are dad!” Peter added. “Love you both dearly.” Steve rolled his eyes and Peter chuckled. “Where’s the rest of the team?” Peter inquired. He’d come to realize that saying team was easier than naming all the residents of the tower. “Nat, Clint, Wanda, and Pietro are training. Thor and Loki went back to Asgard last night, and Bruce is in his lab.” “Oh, Loki didn’t tell me he was going back.” “Some emergency. Sorry kid.” “Yeah, i-it’s fine.” “He told me to assure you they’d be back soon.” “Good.” “Keaner getting here soon?” “Nah coming tomorrow now. Something about something, I don’t really know.” “Ok. Made grilled cheeses and tomato soups. It's almost done,” Steve offered. “Thanks,” Peter said. “What’s with Loki leaving that's got you so down?” “I just miss him a lot.” Steve knew that his Kid and loki had come to get on surprisingly well. They were as close as he and Nat. Not even Clint had managed to get that close.

Peter practically inhaled a couple of sandwiches. “I’m going to go work with Dad.” “Have fun!” “I will.” “Love you.” “Love you, too.” He sped down to the lab, where he could hear his Dad’s ACDC blasting as usual. “Heyo, what you working on?” “The suit nanotech. Wanna give your old man a hand?” “Always. Bring up the blueprints. What adjustments have you made so far? “Just the molecule distance and expansion weight. Trying to help stabilize the structure.” “What about the build construction stacking?” So they dove into work, Peter easily keeping up with the genius.

“Nicely done, getting too smart for me. What are you even doing in high school?” “Being bored and failing my humanities classes.” “You're not actually failing your classes are you? Grades are not everything bu-” “Relax father, I’m doing well in all my classes.” “I should probably know that. In fact I’ll actually show up to your next parent teacher conference.” “Please don’t,” Peter smiled. His father was generally very embarrassing. “Friday, make sure I’m at the kid’s next conference?” “Reminder set.” “Thanks, Fri.” “Anytime boss.” “God Fri please remind me to not show up for my next conference.” “Heyyyy,” Tony said, faking offence. “Dad, you can be very overbearing.” “I know, but-” “No.” “Fine, guess I’m not coming. Trying to be a good father and parenthood isn’t for me.” “I beg to differ,” Steve said, coming in to check on us, “realise you're no match for Peter’s intelligence yet?” “No fucking way. I’m a genius. Many PHDs. Kid hasn’t even finished high school, plus he has an A- in Spanish,” Tony laughed. “How did you-,” Peter rolled his eyes. “Friday just sent them to me.” “You’re awful.” “Hey watch it, MIT is still your dream school?” “I fucking hate you so much,” Peter really did loved this kind of banter with his father. “Maybe I do agree that parenthood isn’t for you, love.” “Capsical, you are a traitor. You’re supposed to always be on my side.” Steve kissed Tony’s cheek and ruffled Peter’s hair before saying, “Pepper needs you. Something about important business.” “Really important?” “She says if you don’t come she’ll lock you out of the company.” “That important then. Fri, tell Pepper that I’m coming.” “She has been notified, sir.” “Thank you. Bye then, Peter don’t fuck anything up.” “The same to you Mr. Stark.” Tony left the lab with a chuckle. “You two will be the death of me.” “Almost certainly.” “You staying in here?” “Nah, I have some projects in my lab waiting for me.” “You know your dad was joking about the grades right? Because grades really don’t mean anything, and they don’t define you. Nor does your intelligence. You are so much more than all that. And all these suits and mechanicy genius things-” “Pops. I’m fine. I know,” he smiled at his dad. “I just read in this parenting book that something smart or gifted kids can feel like th-” “Pops, you and dad are the best parents a kid could ask for. Stop worrying too much or you’ll turn grey like dad.” Captain America just smiled at his kid because he was the best. “Right. Good. Have fun.” “Will do.”

He messed with the design for the 100th millionth time but he couldn't get the vibrainim to synthesize with the web fluid. “Fri, get me another cup of coffee, please.” “For fuck sake, why isn’t this working,” he said to himself. He began to mess with the 3d hologram again. He typed in Mock 32 for the design and started trying again. “Pepper Potts is requesting access to the lab.” “Access granted,” he said to Fri. “Hey Pete, how’s it going?” “Badly, but it's fine. IS THAT COFFEE?” “White mocha latte, triple shot espresso,” She said, placing it down on the desk. “Ok..back up. What do you need?” “What, I can’t just bring my favorite stark a coffee?” “Aren’t you busy?” he asked skeptically. “Yes. Incredibly. So it is a peace offering. I allowed a tour access to this lab to look around, and see what a higher ups lab looks like in action. Fri will hide all of the classified things, and I thought you’d be at school. Tony just told me you weren’t so, here we are.” “He actually showed up to your meeting?” “Yes, and it wasn’t my meeting. He just needed to be there, and I didn't.” “I take your peace offering. It’s fine, I don’t care. So long as they don’t touch my shit.” “Good. Greet them, let them look around. Smile your cute smile. They’ll be up in five.” “FIVE MINUTES?” “Yep. Sorry, Hun, got to run. Thanks.” “You owe me one!”

As promised, the class showed up in five minutes. He was fine with the concept of a class showing up, he was not, however, good with his class showing up. “Is that Penis Parker?” He heard Flash. “Holy hell that is Park?” “IS THAT PETER?” “Did Peter break in?” “How is Peter here?” He couldn’t exactly kick them out. So, embracing his inner Tony Stark charm and Steve Rogers kindness, he opened the lab door, stepping into the corridor.

“EVERYONE PLEASE BACK UP AND BE QUIET!” The tour guild, Aliah, yelled. They were a kind person who Peter knew a bit. The classes quieted down.

“Hello, Aliah.” “Hi Peter,” they greeted, “Sorry, I hadn’t realized you’d be in today. I’ll just take them to our next stop.” “No, no it's fine. If it’s alright, I’ll give them a little tour sorta thing. I don’t mind, plus I kinda promised Pepper.” “That’d be really cool. Thanks.” “Yeah. Call ‘em over.” “Yeah. We’re just waiting on their teacher, he’s in the restroom.” “Course.”

Mr. Harrington showed up, questioning Aliah about the next stop. Then, he saw Peter. “Mr. Parker!” he exclaimed angrily, “How dare you show up here without a permission slip and claiming to be sick. What is this? We will be speaking with the principal and your parents about this! I am so sorry Aliah. Peter shot Aliah the “I got this” look. “Hi Mr. Harrington, I was unwell this morning, but I felt better so I came into work. Yes, I do have an internship here,” he said, loud enough for the class to hear. “The next stop on your tour,” they said, “is to Peter’s lab. He’s been so kind to give us a run-down.” Peter simply point at the door which read “Lab #55: Peter Parker.” “Right, uh, um, sorry Mr. Parker, please let us continue.” Peter smiled through his nerves. “Right, hello there class! I will be giving you a tour of my lab. I do some pretty important work, so I’m going to ask Friday to activate the ‘Guest Protocol’ to hide the classified stuff. It’s also very dangerous, so please do not touch anything.” There were nods from the class. “Right, Fri complete guest protocol and allow tour of Aliah to enter.” “Yes miniboss.” He re-entered his lab. “So, most of the time I work here,” he said, pointing to the biggest holograph table, “I work on designs, changes, and any mockups that need to happen. I then make them a reality. I can also run simulations on any formulas to see if they would be successful.” “Fri, please pull up the WFV project I was just working on for Spiderman.” “Right away mini-boss.” “So as you can see I’m trying to get the vibranium intertwine itself with Spiderman’s web fluid. This would allow the webs to be almost 47 times stronger, and also would allow them to conduct electricity, which has many uses. Anyone have any questions?” Ava raised her hand and Peter nodded at her, “Hey, so how did you learn all this? Like, it seems really complicated and you're in my chem class, so.” “I’ve worked a lot with both Mr. Stark and Bruce Banner, who’ve taught me most of what I know throughout the years. I also took a few online courses to solidify some subject matters I didn’t quite understand,” Peter, satisfied with his answer, asked if anyone else had inquired. “How did you get an internship here?” “Mr. Stark found me on the internet and took a liking to my projects. He met me and decided I’d fit right in here,” Peter explained simply. It was a lie of course, but it functioned as their cover story. “Anyone else? No. Cool, so moving onto some other sections in the lab. Over in that corner are the testing rooms. I have some more equipment scattered around for certain projects or just overall help on making things. Feel free to look around for 5-7 minutes and ask any questions you may have.” Some kid, Peter wasn’t sure of their name, raised his hand. “Why do you have cars in here? Are they yours?” “Some of the cars are mine, courtesy of Mr. Stark, who claims no lab is complete without some collection of cars. I can’t even drive them, to your point, but I guess I will when I’m eighteen. Some of the cars are Mr. Harley Keener’s, who I occasionally share my lab with. He doesn't do Avengers related projects, but he does love to tinker here and there. ‘Specially on the cars. See that red one, yeah he bought it for 5k and fixed it up. It’s actually an electric car, he just likes the old timers look. Guess that’s on him and da-Mr. Stark.”

No one seemed to have any other question, so he allowed them to look around. MJ nor Ned seemed to be in this class. He guessed they were in another group that wasn’t coming up here, or they went to a different location.

The tour went smoothly, and Flash seemed too shocked to say anything. “Peter! Peter!” Bucky came in yelling. Peter ran over to him. “Please keep it down uncle Buck.” “Oh shit your class is here!” “Yes now please don’t embarrass me.” “Won’t do! Just wanted to ask where Loki went.” “Asgard official business,” I said with a frown. “Really? He didn’t say a thing!” “I know.” “That little shit.” Peter laughed alongside Bucky. “Did you need anything else?” “Yeah, my arm's a little fucked up. Need a hand.” “Happy to give it a look. Dad in a meeting?” “To all our shock, yes.” “Ha. Give me a sec to get my class outta here.” Bucky nodded. “Right everyone, thanks for visiting. Please head towards the exit. The lovely Aliah will take you to your next location. They are awesome!” A murmur of “thanks Peter” and “is that the winter soldier” spread through the room. “See ya round,” Aliah said to him personally, “And thanks for this.” “Anytime. Bye!” They smiled a warm smile before leading the class out.

“What’s not working so well?” Peter asked. “Just some tightness in the finger motion. “Alright, okay. Fri, get me an update of the schematics, please.” “Yes, sir.” They appeared on the holographic table Peter was working at. “Right, can I please get a current scan of Uncle Bucky’s arm?” “Yes. Shall I place them next to the schematics?” “Yep. And highlight all differences.” “Yes miniboss.” “You gotta stop with that Fri.” “Name unable to be changed under the authority of Tony Stank, Badass Boss, God of Mischief, and Fiance.” “Glad the whole team is against me living a good life,” Peter remarked with an eye roll. “You drama queen.” “Thanks,” Peter smiled. “You know what’s wrong yet?” Peter opened up the schematics, looking at the highlighted section of the 3d arm model. He didn’t speak for a moment. “So I reckon, you fucked up the wiring and section T4’s minigears. None of the important tech is messed up, it’ll be fine. Maybe a half an hour fix. Max.” “Good, good. Thanks kid,” Bucky said with an appreciative smile. He nodded, disconnecting the arm carefully. He placed it onto his table next to the holographic model. He gave a skeptical look. “Something bad?” “No, no, I was just thinking. Thinking, hmn.” “Care to share with the class?” Buck said with a sense of humor lingering in his voice. “Well, you’re not on mission all that often, and this is quite a bulky arm. Ever think about getting one that’s your skin colour, lighter weight, more, I don’t know, arm like. Less hydra murdery vibes. Help get rid of that, that time.” “I have…” “So can I make it?” Peter said excitedly. “You mean it?” “Of course Uncle Buck! No clue why dad hasn’t offered before!” “Guess he never thought of it. Maybe thought I liked the scary metal thing,” he suggested weakly. “Well that’s stupid,” Peter said casually. Bucky never understood how the kid could be so compassionate so easily. “Thanks. Really.” “No worries. I’ve been looking for a new project to throw myself into. It'll be fun. And as much as I hate to admit it, I need to work on my smaller scale mechanical work.” All Bucky could do was smile his beaming smile. “Bucky!” the voice of the Black Widow shouted. “Hey Nat,” Buck replied. “Wanna train?” she asked. “As much as I want to,” he said, pointing towards the area his arm would have been. “Oh, what happened this time?” “Nothing to major, some gears and wires,” Peter filled it, “Give me twenty minutes I’ll be done.” He’d already opened the arm and gotten to the section where the wires were screwed up. “DAN-E get me the soldering kit, please,” he asked the robot, “Oh and some new T6YU wires. Red and purple.” The robot gave a vaguely human nod. “Right, I'll be waiting. Test the adjustments out on me?” She suggested. “Alright,” Buck said. “Oh and I’m in charge of ordering food. What do you want?” “Burgers?” “You boring, bland little boy,” Nat scolded. “Thai?” Buck requested. They looked over to Peter, “Sure, yeah.” Nat headed out, greeting Tony with a “Hey Stank” on the stairs out of his lab. “Yours is so much smarter than mine, why is yours so much smarter than mine,” Tony fake (real) whined. “I’m the superior mechanic, father, deal with it.” DAN-E, almosting proving his point, dropped the materials on his desk, and he continued to work. “I’m donating DUM-E,” Tony glared at him, “What happened to the arm Buck?” “Stiff fingers isall.” “Oh, ok. Pete, need a hand?” “Nah, I’m good. Not much to do. Some wires got fucked up, just replacing them now. Going to look at the minigears in the palm too, just to make sure the oil regulation and gear’s aren't broken. I think one of the gears is, but it's one of them that's easy to replace,” Peter replied, not looking up from his work. “Right, sounds good. Your pops and I are going out for the night. Be back around 12 let’s say.” “Cool. Can I borrow some vibranium from your lab?” “Sure thing kiddo. Call us if you need anything. Fri, give Peter access to vault B3 in my lab.” “Thanks,” Peter smiled. “Anytime. Good luck with ya know.” “Shouldn’t he ask you what you're going to do with a substance that costs 10,000$ a gram?” “Something about trusting me.” “Parents trust their kids with going out later or or doing their homework not fucking multimillions of dollars.” “Uncle Bucky, my parents are Iron Man and Captain America. There was never a shot at normal.” “Fair enough.”

Peter finished up the adjustment on the arm by changing a gear. “Thanks a lot kid.” “Of course. I’m going to work on your new arm now.” “Alrighty, I’ll get out of your way.” “Oh could you ask Auntie Nat what time she’s ordering dinner for? So I know when to head up, just get Fri to tell me.” “Will do.” “Thanks.”

So Peter was left to making some blueprints and drinking many red bulls. The red bull mini-fridge was actually a gift from Shuri, and his fathers had many words with him about it. He managed to convince them that he should keep it, god knows how. Well, he used the whole Princess of Wakanda and making peace and Stark Industries relationship with Wakandan products and companies as well as international relations and blah blah. It worked, who cares.

After a few hours he was called up for dinner, and he sat there and enjoyed the absolute chaos of his family.

Save/comment on A03 at https://archiveofourown.org/works/33320938

[sleepless-in-starbucks]

hello lia! just here to remind you how much i adore you and your content. i was wondering, since you seem to be very much aboard the logince train right now but seeing as you're still captaining the losleep ship - has brain been offering up anymore rolosleep? thought i'd give you an opportunity to ramble about them, if you wanted :) have a nice weekend! - ✨🌟

ROLOSLEEP YOU SAY

well if i’ve been given an opportunity it really would be rude to pass it up-

this ship is best summed up as ‘two chaotic fools + a braincell who is coincidentally the only reason they’re still alive’

logan loves remy and roman dearly but that doesn’t make them any smarter

not that they’re dumb, of course, they’re both very smart, they just... don’t like to apply their smartness often

aka

they also lack common sense

logan helps keep them alive and they are both very grateful for this

they all have different things in common

for logan and roman it’s poetry + classic literature (especially plays)

it leads to a lot of good-natured debates between the two of them

it also leads to them killing remy a lot

if they use poetry on each other, the other will simply respond with more poetry and it will become a battle

if they use poetry on Remy, they become a gay mess and die

for logan and remy it’s video games

roman likes them too but logan and remy get DEEP in lore for them

remy likes them a lot bc they burn their energy so they can sleep and logan likes learning the strategies of them

and ofc, as said, they both like getting deep into the lore of the games and learning every thing they can about them

they have many inside jokes bc of this that roman doesn’t understand but it’s okay bc he thinks it’s cute nonetheless

for remy and roman it’s chaos fashion

all the types of fashion- make-up, hair, clothing, shoes, everything!

why yes this does include the beautiful fashion of sweats and oversized shirts

they like to do each other’s make-up and paint each other’s nails and do stupid things to their hair and if they’re allowed to go to the mall they will be there for hours just to try on  e v e r y t h i n g  in the store

sometimes logan will tease them about this and they’ll say ‘but lo we have to be pretty :(’

and logan will kiss their cheeks and tell them they’re already pretty and no matter how many times he says it remy and roman never flush any less

ofc... for all the good things they share... they share less than good ones too

roman and logan share overworking

roman mostly does it on accident- caught up in an idea, he loses track of time and doesn’t remember to stop to rest or eat or anything

he does it on purpose a few times too, tho, normally when he feels like he isn’t creating enough and pushes himself even when he knows he needs to rest

logan almost always does it on purpose, sadly- he’s aware of his limits, but in his attempts to keep up with work (even when he’s plenty caught up) he’ll often ignore those limits and keep working

remy has become skilled in both figuratively and literally dragging the two of them away from their work as a result

logan and remy share sleep deprivation

logan normally ends up with it as a result of overworking, but there have been nights where he’ll just... stay up. no clear reason aside from that he just doesn’t want to/can’t go to bed

remy does it more regularly

it’s normally due to drinking too much coffee or insomnia, but too much energy + too many thoughts can also be causes

they normally play video games through the night when this happens- a problem for when logan’s also up, since more often than not remy will let him join the game and then neither of them’s going to sleep that night

luckily, roman is very warm and a very good hugger/cuddler, so if he can catch either of them staying up he can normally get them to sleep or at least rest by cuddling them

remy and roman share insecurity

roman easily gets insecure over his work- is it good enough? is it good at all? has he created enough? will he ever create enough?

he also gets insecure over his personality- is he too much? is he too loud, too dramatic, too out there? does he annoy everyone?

remy gets insecure more over lack of their own work- logan’s so smart and roman’s so talented, after all, and they’re... just them. they don’t contribute anything to the world or to their relationship

a majority of their confidence + flirty attitude + etc is to cover the fact that they really don’t think they’re worth anything

logan loves both of them very much, however, and if they’re feeling too insecure he can and will Kill their insecurities with love and facts

angst aside

these bois like to CUDDLE

roman’s naturally cuddly, and both logan and remy are lowkey touch starved

they can’t be left together for longer than five seconds without ending up wrapped around each other

their friends think this is ‘weird’ and ‘kinda clingy’ but they know their friends are just jealous

they also like kisses!!

roman’s a sucker for back of hand/palm kisses but he’s happy to pepper his partner’s faces in kisses too

logan likes to kiss his partner’s heads + foreheads but will kiss the tips of their noses to Kill Them on occasion

remy just does all the kisses. face, head, neck, hands- if they can smooch they will smooch

there is a difference for lip kisses tho

logan’s normally okay for brief little ones but never more, remy’s always good for lip kisses but only sometimes down for making-out, and roman is ALWAYS down for lip kisses and making-out but he RESPECTS HIS PARTNERS’ BOUNDARIES

this does, however, mean that when remy’s in the mood to make-out logan will not be getting either of his partners’ attention for at least half an hour

for the sake of my heart i must also note it never goes further than making out- they’re all ace, remy + roman being sex-repulsed and logan being sex-neutral. they like to cuddle kiss and sometimes make out- that’s all

slightly random but important tangent: they can all break into their house and every room in their house

remy can open any window- locked or not-, logan can lockpick any door, and roman can and will break down any door/window

this is mostly so none of them can isolate themselves but also bc remy and roman often forget their keys and logan can’t always save them

that tangent aside, a new one: how they got together

roman and remy were dating first, and logan was their friend who kept them from doing every thing they wanted to do, aka, kept them alive

and then somewhere along the way... he accidentally fell in love with them

whoops

he kept the lid on it pretty well at first

but then remy one day was reallllly tired and they kissed logan’s cheek while the three of them were hanging out

roman pulled remy away and rushed to apologize about how remy gets extra affectionate when tired and they also have a tendency to mix up who their dating and who they’re not

except logan just blushed and mumbled something about how he didn’t mind and... well... that’s Gay

for a while, logan and roman were metamours of remy, but logan already loved roman and roman’s gay and dramatic and logan knows poetry so, really, it was only a matter of time before they started dating as well

i could probably say more but my wrist’s starting to hurt something fierce so i’m cutting it off there

[freewheelshippin]

Major insomnia and heartache in this chili’s tonight (this morning), so here we are with a quick little fic about two dum dums learning how to share heartache.(SFW, no major content warnings I can think of.) 

next day edits: well, now that it’s not ass o’clock, i went back in and tidied this up and added a fair amount more!!  (much more satisfying ending instead of something so abrupt, haha.) doesn’t add any further content warnings, tho! 

Maybe he shouldn’t have pushed her, he thought as she tensed and her demeanor changed entirely. 

“I want to know,” he continued, resolutely. 

“Everyone says that,” she spat. “And nobody actually does.” 

“Why wouldn’t I?” Ranmaru barked. “You heard me out when I told you about everything. Were you lying all those times you listened? Pretending to care just long enough I get over myself and shut up and move on?!” He knew, in his heart of hearts, of course she wasn’t, but the way she said it insulted him so badly he could practically taste the bitterness. 

She paused, looking to the side ruefully, shamefully. He had a feeling she’d struggle with eye contact this conversation, and he slouched his arms together, dropping back onto the couch with an irritated sigh, out of her line of sight. 

“....No. Absolutely not. Look, this … is different.” 

“How,” he growled. “You want to fucking talk about it. I tell you I’ll listen, it’s the least I owe you, and you say ‘no.’ You think I’m not gonna say ‘why’ after you shit all over my answer like that?” 

She took a longer time than usual to find words, so just a few empty seconds where he waited, frustrated and somewhat furious at the disconnect. 

“...You’re right that I shouldn’t have put it like that. That was shitty, and I’m sorry. But there’s...just...some kinds of life experiences that I’ve found nobody has any reason to learn to understand if it doesn’t happen to them. And...nobody’s prepared to deal with it -- meaningfully, anyways -- even secondhand.” 

“Are you just looking for excuses to run away from--” He nearly hesitated over the words, realizing what they were almost a second too late, but marching forward with them anyway. “--trusting me?” 

Another pause. “....I don’t know. I...can’t think of a time I’ve talked about it and….it hasn’t been taken from me.” 

“What the hell does that mean?” 

“It means....” She lingered long enough that Ranmaru worried, rousing himself a bit from staring blankly at the ceiling as he sprawled on the couch. She hadn’t moved from where she had been standing, but she looked at a far-off bare wall with nothing on it. “...that...the way people aren’t,” Another pause, as she searched for the word, “magically equipped with how to deal with it. It...turns me from a person into….anything else.” 

“Like what.”

“An after-school lesson. Entertainment. A new toy. A pet. A messiah to burn later, if I’m being really dramatic and cynical. I don’t know, it depends on what flavor of asshole feels like coming out, and it’s never anything good.” 

“Then tell them they’re being an asshole -- tell me I’m being an asshole -- and don’t quit until you get what you want out of them!” 

“Look!” She finally lost that last twinge of polite restraint, of saying things more nicely than Ranmaru thought was worth bothering with. “What if I didn’t know how to do that, ‘cause how could I?! And what if I don’t want to have to fight every fucking time? What if I just want to be important enough to get it right on to begin with?! And-- don’t give me that shit about being so strong, you’ll survive the mistakes, blah blah -- fuck that! I’m tired of it! I’m not a crash-test dummy! So fucking crucify me for not buckling in to crash myself into who fuckin’ knows what just ‘cuz you got it in your head this is how you’ll repay this stupid friend debt you think you’re in -- you’re not! Just---” she grunted exasperatedly, her uncharacteristic stillness disappearing as she felt less cornered. 

“I don’t care if you think I don’t owe you!” Ranmaru shot back. “I do! I want to even the score! If you did right by me, then I gotta do right by you! It’s how I do things, and I’m not about to just forget and let you keep diggin’ yourself into this hole--”  (this hole I know very well, Ranmaru thought) “-- where you get so hellbent on doin’ it on your own you cut down all your vision, ‘n your potential, ‘n all the ways you reach it, ‘cuz you keep having to re-invent the wheel just to take a step forward with all the shit you’re carrying!” 

“Will you stop trying to quantify this!?” 

“I’m not! I’m just tellin’ you what I think, and I’m right!” (I know I’m right because of y--) 

“Okay! Maybe you are! About the hole thing -- not the whole thing, the -- the fuckin pit, not the whole-- ah, fuck it, you know what I mean! But I still think this debt system you keep putting basic acts of friendship into is dumb as shit!” 

Ranmaru could already feel the point of this argument slipping away from them. “Are you gonna tell me what’s eating at you so bad or not?!” 

She froze again. “---I’m. ….No. I’m not. I...my heart’s not ready, if things....go badly again.” 

“Fine,” Ranmaru said, resolutely. He was hurt, in a small way, but he felt better that she was at least being truthful, and least acting out of her best interest, not some idiotic idea of useless martyrdom. H couldn’t fault her for protecting her heart. He, of all people, couldn’t possibly do that. 

“...then I’ll work to be someone worthy of the trust you deserve,” he murmured, somewhat less resolutely. 

The words just came out of him before he could think better of it, so Ranmaru hadn’t considered any reaction to expect. But stunned silence, then sniffling tears, that was probably the reaction he’d been least prepared to deal with. 

“Oi-- don’t---” Ranmaru leapt to his feet, like he were a startled prey animal. “Don’t cry!” 

“Don’t tell me what to do!” she huffed through a miserable, contorted, crying face. “Come here, you stupid bastard!” She came towards him with arms outstretched, only just enough warning for Ranmaru to open his own and receive the gesture, an awkward stalwartness to him as he stiffly supported her while the tears ran their course. 

“I think it’s amazing how when you say shit like that,” she murmured, her arms tight around his chest. “I really do believe you mean it.” 

“....’cause I do,” Ranmaru grumbled, realizing his face burned just a little as she squeezed tighter, and he felt just a little colder when she let go. 

“...It’s not about you changing yourself, you know,” she continued, busying herself with cleaning up her tears and snot. “It’s not about you not being enough. You know that, right?” 

“...I don’t care if it is. I’d want to do it. I know you don’t expect people to be anyone but who they are. Whatever change I’d have to make was one I should be working on, anyway.” 

“Oh, god,” she sighed, stepping away to the nearest sink to wash her face, but there was a smile on her voice. “I really can’t underestimate how seriously you take everything.” 

“I told you. I’m always serious about what I do,” he muttered, a little sourly, as the faucet ran. 

“Charm point~!” she called from the bathroom in such a silly, mocking voice Ranmaru could hardly believe she’d been crying like she had just a bit ago. 

“Shut up! Stop saying weird shit like Reiji!” 

“Oh.” She came back with an ominous smile, a little at odds with her puffy eyes and smudged eyeliner. “Well, that’s how I know I really hit the nail on the head.” 

“What’s so charming about taking things seriously,” he bristled. “It’s just what people should do!” 

She laughed, so genuinely, so warmly, Ranmaru felt a twinge in his stomach. Maybe it was pride, maybe something else he didn’t want to unpack just yet. 

“C’mere,” she said again, despite going right to him, wrapping her arms around his waist tightly before leaning back, hoisting him higher until his toes dragged against the floor. Ranmaru let it happen, feeling his weight shift onto hers as she growled into the effort of getting him into the air, even with his extra height on her. He complained about these kinds of hugs, once, but had since grown so used to them, there was something about them he could admit to liking. 

“...Alright, alright. Put me down. Oi. Don’t swing me around, put me down!” The cats had gathered around, looking ready to pounce at his toes and pant legs as they waved through the air. 

“Is big baby scared of heights,” she said with that facetious tone that always got him. 

“Who said anything about that!? Put me down before the cats get on me -- like -- damn it, exactly like that!” One took a flying leap, batting at his legs until her claws her tangled into his pant leg. He could feel her grin into his shoulder as she obliged, slowly enough that the cats could get out of the way.

“It absolutely is what people should do,” she murmured, flopping back around him after he freed the the paw from its fabric prison (and his pants from any more catscratches). “You’ve just got the big stupid, stubborn heart to follow through with it. With literally everything you do.” 

“...Tch.” Ranmaru wrapped his arms around her then while he felt his cheeks, the tips of his ears prick with heat. “Of course you’d make it about heart. It’s not, it’s about the ways souls burn when you give ‘em the right passion and drive....” 

“Mmhmm,” she said, squeezing one last time before she released again. “Heart. It’s very rock of you.” She patted him on the back as she slipped out from his arms. “I’m gonna get myself a glass of water, you want one?”  

“...Oi. It’s not --” He sighed. “Whatever. Yeah, I’ll take one,” he replied, stretching back over the couch.

She disappeared, and ice and water clinked into glasses. Ranmaru, for a stolen moment, rested his right hand over his chest, quietly lingering at how open and warm it felt beneath all the skin, muscle, and bone. 

Even if she didn’t like the idea of it being a debt, Ranmaru swore to himself that he would’t let this sort of favor go unreturned. It was how he did things, after all. 

[foxtophat]

HEY HEY HEY!!!!  hey guys. haha. um, idk what to say exactly and tumblr likes to eat my posts so lets see how long this lasts:

its’ only been a couple months but i have been frothing at the mouth trying to figure out what next part of mercy to put out. i have a lot of much bigger stories to tell than this one, but kim and john sharing insomnia felt sort of like the right segue into those bigger bits.  so for now, let’s just enjoy a 20k fic about Kim and John, and also a little about John and Nick, but mostly just about John and Jacob.

there are 3 chapters. i’ll post the 2nd one later this week (wednesday or friday i think) and the third will probably go up next monday.  YEAH THAT’S RIGHT i actually have most of this one finished right out the gate!!!

as usual, i’ll put the entire chapter under a readmore in case you don’t want to leave tumblr.  i hope you enjoy what i’ve got for you this time -- if not don’t worry, there will be more dramatic bullshit later :)  comments, kudos, reblogs and likes are all the things that make ficwriting more fun than it already is, so consider helping me out if you enjoy what i’m doing. otherwise, have a good day!!!

Kim's dreams are normally composed of fleeting images in dark, monochrome colors. They're howling-wind nightmares or ethereal moments of peace, but they're short-lived and she's always disconnected from them. She hasn't had a real dream in probably nine years. She used to miss them, before John Seed reappeared with all of his night terrors, just in time to remind her of how good she has it. Now, she's glad that the most she has to contest with is a looming sense of dread that fades almost as soon as she wakes up.

But tonight, Kim is a long way away from all of that. She's standing at the kitchen sink in her childhood home, which is in full summer swing. The rosemary plant her mom keeps on the sill is in full bloom, thick green spikes dotted with blue puffball flowers. Beyond it, the Canadian sky is seawater green, and Kim marvels at the fluffy clouds drifting through the unnatural color. They seem to be floating by much faster than the still air outside would imply. It should rattle her, confuse her, but before that realization sinks in, her mom's voice distracts her away.

"Do you really think he's the one?" she asks, as skeptically as she had all those years ago when Kim first decided to move to Montana. Her mother had liked Nick, of course, because he was a likable guy, but Kim had known from the start that her parents were worried about her. They'd worried about her moving to a red state, about her trusting a man she'd seen a handful of times since they'd met. They hadn't understood the idea of purple pockets or internet dating, and while they supported Kim's love of rifle showmanship, they'd never trusted Nick owning more than three guns.

"What's the point, is all I'm asking," Kim's mom laughs in response to Kim's unspoken comment. "It seems strange to collect weapons..."

"Mom, he hunts !" she chides. "And anyway, he isn't the worst one out there."

"That's exactly what I worry about," her mom says. "What if something bad were to happen? His family is gone, and we'll be so far away..."

Kim sighs, the words stinging more than they should. The aqua colored sky begins to churn outside, the light filtering through a strange red haze. Inside, the sunlight reflects off the white counters, nearly blinding Kim.

"I'll be okay," she says, reciting an amalgamation of all her old defenses as her eyes readjust. "There are a lot of good people out there. They rely on each other a whole lot more than we do here."

"I worry about you, Kimiko. That's all." Her mother sighs sadly. "You'll understand when you have kids of your own."

"But mom..."

Kim tries to tell her that she already has a kid, but she can't muster up the words. After all, shouldn't she know? Wouldn't Kim have visited? Wouldn't she have brought Carmina into this very kitchen, all the surfaces glowing with light, and introduced them? Wouldn't her mom have been there when Carmina was born?

"It's unseasonably warm, isn't it," her dad remarks at the table. He's sitting there with a magazine as if he'd been there the whole time. He, like the rest of the room, glows from the inside, as though a flashlight were shining through his skin. It shines through the wood of the table, through her mom's curious smile, until Kim has to turn her face away. The room grows hotter and hotter, and in the far-off whistling wind she hears the first lonesome wail of an air-raid siren beginning to pick up. There's a blinding burst of light and howling wind, and Kim lifts her hands to her face, desperate not to look directly at the blast —

The bedroom is dark, warm and humid. At first, Kim doesn't know where she is, struggling to sit up, desperate to run, until all at once reality comes crashing back into focus. It doesn't help that she's pinned beneath Nick's arm and Carmina's full dead-sleeping weight.

Normally, moving would be out of the question. But Kim doesn't want this dream clinging to her memory, and she desperately wants to put some space between her and the nuclear glow of her mother's smile. Hell, maybe it isn't the dream at all — maybe it's the heat that's making lying here unbearable. Maybe it's the extra weight pinning her down, or a panic attack waiting in the wings — whatever it is, she needs to get up and run from it. As she worms her way out from underneath her family, Kim can feel the pressure building behind her eyes, fueled by the need to jog out the tension that will soon become unbearable. She needs to exercise the nightmare away before it sticks around and ruins the rest of her night.

It's probably already too late for that. The back of Kim's eyes are itchy with tears as she struggles to get free. She's already memorized her mom's smile, trapped forever in radioactive amber, and that alone is enough trauma to fuel ten more terrible dreams.

Nick and Carmina remain peacefully asleep, even as Kim extracts herself from the bed. That's good — the last thing she needs to do is worry Nick, whose own sleeping habits have just started to even out. He'll try to keep her company, and they'll just wind up keeping each other up, which wasn't ideal back in the day and definitely isn't ideal now .

Even though Carmina sleeps like the dead and Nick isn't likely to hear her, Kim is careful to watch out for the creakiest steps as she heads downstairs. Sunrise isn't for a few hours yet, but Kim isn't going to let that stop her from insomnia-pacing around her own home. It used to be that Kim would jog laps on the runway to clear her head, but that isn't going to work nowadays. She still wants to, of course; she's desperate to step out into the relatively cool night air and run herself ragged enough to pass out again, but that's out of the question. She's not about to break her own rule.

It's only once Kim is downstairs that she starts to relax, lighting one of the candles left out on the table. The light is just barely enough to see by, and Kim struggles to find something to clean up or organize in the half-dark. All of the coping mechanisms that got her through eight years of bunker living have fallen flat in the face of the apocalypse, but that doesn't keep her from trying them over and over again. Some techniques are more adaptable, but it isn't like she can dig into reorganizing the hangar for Nick at... whatever time it is now. Not without somebody catching her breaking her own rules about going outside alone.

If she had any books worth reading, she could throw herself into that, but she can't bear the manuals and children's books right now. Maybe if there was a radio station she could listen to... but no, she wouldn't want to risk burning out the radio after everything Nick and John went through to fix it. There's not going to be another Hail Mary when it comes to that kind of repair.

Her mom would probably use this time to make a series of endless lists. Grocery lists, to-do lists, lists of pros and cons for buying new appliances or inviting Kim's awful step-grandmother to her wedding... there was nothing that her mom couldn't organize into a column of bullet points or check-boxes. Kim could probably do with a few lists herself, but where is she supposed to get the paper? And even if a supply list wouldn't be a waste of resources, where would she go to fill it? It's going to be a while before they can pick up flour from the farmer's market again, that's for sure.

Well, at least wasting some paper will keep her mind busy. There's too much stuff they need, and she's going to drive herself crazy trying to remember all of it. Anyway, they've been using decades-old junk mail to prop up the radio desk — it can't be wasted if it was already trash, right?

She's careful in her search for a decent piece of mail, not wanting to tip the radio over as she jimmies a yellowed envelope from under the desk. It's only once she's back at the table with a worn-down nub of a pencil that she finds herself hesitating. After all, what is she supposed to write? What could they reasonably expect to get out here, with no supply chain to rely on? Everything that comes to mind is laughably improbable at best.

It doesn't really matter, though, does it? They're probably not going to be able to find anything besides what they can hunt and grow for themselves, so any food she writes down will be wishful thinking. John had offered to help their scavenging efforts, but it isn't likely they'll find working walkie-talkies or a new car. People who have been above ground longer than the Ryes have already taken over key resource points, and they'll be hard-pressed to give up things without a fair trade. And until they can reliably communicate with one another, trading is going to be nearly impossible. One day, maybe, they'll have trading posts and reliable supply chains, but like other pieces of their fractured society, that's not coming for a long time yet.

Staring at a blank piece of paper is worse than writing something stupid down, and so Kim quickly scribbles the word flour across the top of the envelope. She can't imagine that's going to be a reasonable expectation for a while, but at least it's on paper — and it's outlandish enough that it encourages her to continue, her thoughts darting between impossible dreams and honest reality. Salt , she thinks might not be quite as hard to find. Sugar, probably impossible. For now, they can hope for honey instead.

It goes on like that, growing more abstract as Kim lets herself dream. Milk, eggs, bread, twinkies , meat grinder, hamburgers, tomatoes, grains (seeds), grill (charcoal), gas, gas canisters (storage), duct tape, insulation foam (spray, sheet), toilet cleaner, toilet, hot water, plumbing, bathtub! , tarp, doors, ammunition, floodlights, security system, cans + string (security) —

Her flow is interrupted by a soft, distant thud somewhere upstairs. Kim listens for a few tense seconds, waiting to hear boots on the roof, the hiss of a walkie-talkie, or the slide-click of a gun being cocked. Without the cult, those fears go unrealized, and Kim slumps tiredly into her seat. She's just as paranoid about armed cultists tonight as she is about wild animals, although she's sure that's just her nightmare talking. Eden's Gate is nowhere near the threat it used to be.

The relief is short-lived, as is her solitude, when she hears an upstairs door click shut, followed by the sound of quick footsteps on the landing. The house is too old for any real attempt at stealth, but John tries to avoid the worst offending stairs on his way down. He only realizes Kim is there when he notices the candlelight, coming to an abrupt stop on the last step, one hand clutching the banister tight.

He's sweaty and out of sorts as he wipes his limp hair out of his face. "Oh," he rasps. "Kim."

He's surprised to see her. Kim should be surprised, too — it's one thing to know that John wanders the house at night, but it's another to see it happen in real-time. Honestly, she's barely phased by his appearance. John's sleep schedule has been bunker-erratic ever since Nick brought him home, and no amount of diurnal activity has managed to change it. If anything, Kim suspects he gets less sleep now than he did underground. It isn't for lack of trying, she's sure, but this isn't the first time she's heard him stumbling around in the dark. It's just the first time she's been in the same boat.

"Late night?" she asks.

John struggles once more with the hair in his eyes before giving up. "Just needed some air," he rasps, minding his volume. "Some water."

"Don't mind me," she replies, surprising herself with her own ambivalence. Knowing he moves around while they're sleeping is one thing, but seeing it should be upsetting. It should bother her when he avoids creaky floorboards on his way to help himself to their fresh water. It should make her angry to see him using their resources; at the very least, it should have upset her back when it began normalizing. But, honestly, it hadn't. Kim had just been relieved to see John acting like a person, and not just a haunted shell.

John wipes the back of his hand across his mouth, regarding Kim with deep uncertainty that Kim mostly makes out from his hunched shoulders and tense posture. He tries to hide just how lost he is, but Kim never misses it when he slips. It's not that she's sympathetic towards him, exactly, but she knows just enough about his history to want to pity him.

He doesn't speak, not even after the silence stretches out. Maybe he's waiting for her to make the first move?

The thought almost makes her laugh, but she still cuts him some slack. "Can't sleep either, huh?" she asks.

"Hardly ever," John replies, although he clearly isn't looking for reassurance. He takes a step away from the kitchen, hovering in the nebulous space between the table and the stairs. He's usually quick to leave Kim alone — quicker than he is with Nick, anyway — and so she appreciates the fact that he doesn't run now.

His voice cracks on its low pitch as he haltingly asks, "What are you doing?"

For just a second, Kim imagines giving John the cold shoulder and telling him it's none of his business. But the thought fades as quickly as it comes; it's replaced by the knowledge that John is just as dependent on the family's supplies as she is. Anything she needs, he'll also need. And besides, she's almost positive he'd been in control of the cult's supplies, which means he might have an idea of what they should realistically be looking for. He would know what the cult had planned to do, and she could probably translate that into useful advice.

"Just making a list," she sighs. It sounds stupid enough to make her wince, and she concedes with a joke, "You know, for the next time we're at Wal-Mart."

John huffs in amusement and approaches the table. Now that she's got an audience, Kim wants nothing more to do with the list, and so she pushes towards him before slumping back into her chair. Instead of the quick, distracted glance she had been expecting, John leans over to read it in full. The longer he reads, the more embarrassed Kim is of her late-night daydreaming, but he finishes with the list before she can grab it back.

"Some of these are... more manageable than others," he says, using the same kind of diplomacy he utilizes whenever Nick makes a particularly dumb comment.

"Uh, yeah ," she says, embarrassed even if she isn't surprised. "I know. It was just... taking up space in my head. I needed to write it down, otherwise, I'm going to be up all night."

Kim runs her hand through her hair, waiting for John to retreat as quickly as he'd arrived. Instead, John rereads the list once more. Kim can see his amusement much more plainly as he leans into the candlelight. It highlights the deep bags under his eyes as well, but who isn't carrying that particular mark of exhaustion these days?

"Ammunition isn't as high on the list as I'd imagined," he comments.

"We're okay on bullets for now," she replies. "And it's not like there's much to spare."

Whether or not that satisfies John, Kim isn't sure. He only hums in response, eyes roaming down the paper.

"I see you didn't bother to add more guns."

"We don't need more guns," Kim insists, although it's not strictly true. She's just hesitant to overwhelm the house with firearms. They've been getting on just fine with what they have — any more, and they might turn into a target themselves. One day, sure, they'll need to find something for Carmina to carry on her own, but that day is a long, long way away.

She doesn't need to explain herself to anyone, let alone John Seed, but as he watches her and waits for more, she feels compelled to justify herself. "I don't think we're going to find spare guns or ammunition just lying around, and I'm not about to take them by force. We've managed just fine with what we have."

"For now," John points out. "Things could change. It won't stay this calm forever."

"Why not?" Kim retorts, feeling childish and petulant as soon as the words leave her mouth. "Why do you even care? You're certainly not getting armed."

John clicks his tongue against his teeth. "It's not that," he says, only to abruptly roll over with a muttered, "Never mind."

If John thinks he can avoid the conversation that easily, he has another thing coming. "No, what is it?" she asks.

"It's nothing," he sighs, as if arrogantly dismissing her will keep Kim from pushing. When Kim only frowns unhappily back at him, he reluctantly relents. "Joseph had said taking your weapons was the only way we could ensure you wouldn't use them after the Collapse. And if we didn't lock them away, it would be all you would look for." He stares at the list, although Kim imagines his thoughts are about fifty miles away. "It's stunning how wrong he was about everything. But there are reminders everywhere."

John rarely speaks about Joseph; Kim hasn't heard him broach the subject of his own volition before. The only person who ever talks to him about his brother is Jerome, and those conversations are private and short. Having John bring him up with almost no needling feels like a step forward, even if it's only a small one. Even though John is anxious saying Joseph's name.

It's so easy to forget how much control Joseph had over John. Kim has to make a concentrated effort now and again to remind herself that Joseph hadn't only brainwashed normal, desperate people, but his own family. She can't imagine doing anything to Carmina or Nick that would turn them into the angry, anxious mess John had been even before the Collapse. Not even if it meant they would always do what they were told and would trust her implicitly. She couldn't bear it if Nick ever talked about her the way John talks about Joseph. It's late enough that Kim finds herself wondering how Joseph can even sleep at night.

"It's stupid," John says, taking Kim's contemplative silence as disapproval. "I should have known better."

He inhales, letting out a shaky breath, and closes his eyes briefly. When he opens them, they're suspiciously shiny in the candlelight. It sparks a genuine pang of sympathy in Kim, but there's nothing she can say or do to help him. Nothing she's done so far has made an impact.

"Some of this is reasonable enough," John says, desperately trying to redirect the conversation back to the list. It's an obvious, flat-footed attempt to avoid a tender spot in his psyche, but Kim is willing to let it slide.

"Sure, eventually . But we're a long way off from hot baths and backyard barbecues, much less flour and sugar."

"Those are... less reasonable," he admits, dragging his finger across one of the harder to come by items. Still, he isn't nearly as deterred as she is. "But not everything is impossible to come by. Insulation, for one. Tarp, duct tape. Components like that should be easy enough to find." He taps his finger against the envelope. "And there still places to investigate. Root cellars nobody bothered to touch. Caches you never found. Things hidden in places you wouldn't know to look, especially if you weren't in the Project."

Frowning, Kim rereads a few of the items upside-down from her side of the table. "It's been almost nine years," Kim points out, reluctant to get her hopes up so easily. "Isn't it more likely that everything good has already been discovered?"

Still... John's mentioned secret Eden's Gate supplies before. Given the size of the project and how long they were operating in the county, it's not impossible that some of their hidden stashes haven't been found yet. And they were planning for the apocalypse, right? They'd likely have saved things that could last for a long time. John isn't wrong — more ammunition and more weapons would be helpful. At the very least, they could help arm other survivors.

"It wouldn't hurt to have a look, I guess," Kim relents after thinking it over. "How good is your memory?"

That earns her a rare, quiet chuckle from John. "Middling to poor," he admits, "Although if I had a map, it would help. It would make it easier to mark what I remember."

"To think, it only took nine years and an apocalypse for you to finally hand over the intel."

John huffs, but his response is only mildly offended. "Do you want what I have to offer, or not?"

"Don't be like that," Kim says, placating him with a smile. "It would be a big help. It'll help me sleep better, anyway."

It seems there's more on John's mind than Kim teasing him, since he takes the non-apology and moves on without a fight. "Jacob had caches buried for after the Reaping," he says. "They'll most likely be weapons, but he was... hard to read. It could be that he stored survival equipment in one. There were a few in the valley, but most of them would be in the mountains."

Kim shakes her head at that. "As far as I've heard, nobody's made it very far north. And the stories I have heard aren't good. The dam broke, so a lot of the area is flooded, and supposedly the radiation is still pretty bad."

John hums briefly as he considers the facts. He leans contemplatively over the list, and for a moment Kim wonders if this was a common occurrence for him before the Collapse. How many late nights did he spend bent over a map while his brothers watched and waited for his decisions? She has to suspect it was a lot, because this is the first time she's seen John look even remotely confident.

That confidence is clear in his voice as he remarks defiantly, "I suppose the valley will do until we get airborne again. Let flooding stop us then ."

"Oh, okay," Kim laughs, checking her volume before she lets her amusement wake up the rest of her family. "You are just like Nick. Neither of you are going to give up until you get back in the sky, huh?"

"Exactly," John replies. "I won't trust anybody else to do it. Realistically, a helicopter would be the best option..."

"Oh, right," Kim chuckles. " Realistically ."

John taps accusingly at the list and raises an eyebrow at her. "Less realistic than hot water and iodized table salt?"

If Kim didn't know better, she might think that John is actually teasing her. He normally saves that kind of attitude for Nick, who prefers arguing through and around problems. Kim, on the other hand, rarely has the energy to deal with avoidance tactics, and so she tends to demand his sincerity. Thankfully, the liminal time of just-about-three has softened her stance on the matter.

"Okay," she relents with a smile. "Sure. Might as well add helicopters to the list." It would be a pretty big get for them, all things considered. And anyway, John's right — Kim wouldn't trust flying in a plane jury-rigged together by anyone other than Nick.

But that's a resource that will come in the nebulous future, and Kim's too realistic to worry years in advance right now. There are more pressing concerns to deal with, first — like food, water and security. Any caches John can find will at least fulfill one of those priorities, although Kim can't imagine the cult storing anything other than ammunition and weapons. But even if the caches don't pan out, they might find valuable scrap, like logs for firewood, furniture they can re-purpose, or even old survivalist caches that nobody thought to dig up after the world ended. And now that there are four of them, Kim won't feel so uncomfortable when Nick wants to drive to the middle of nowhere looking for supplies.

Kim sighs with relief, feeling a weight roll off her back that she hadn't been trying to remove. "Things will be a lot easier if you can help us with supplies. And I'll feel better about Nick going out if he has somebody to watch his back."

John pulls the same face he usually makes when someone implies they trust him. Kim could ignore it — after all, John doesn't need to believe they trust them for it to be true. Too bad for him, it's too late at night for her to turn a blind eye. "Oh, get over it," she tells him, unable to help a lopsided smile at his offended scowl. "I seriously doubt you're planning on murdering us at this point. And I know Nick is smart enough to knock the crap out of you if he thinks you've changed your mind."

"I won't," John immediately replies.

Kim believes him, if only because there's nobody left for John to rely on other than them. "Good. Because if I can trust you, that means I won't worry about Nick when he decides to go farther than town. It means we can spend more meaningful time with Carmina, too. Anyway, Nick likes bossing you around, and you like being bossed around, so everybody wins."

John ducks his head, embarrassed, but Kim laughs to let him know she's only teasing. "Seriously," she says, relenting for his benefit, "It does help. It's good to have somebody else to rely on."

"I... want to be helpful," John replies, although Kim suspects that he might be confusing his wants and needs again. It's not quite a compulsion anymore, but even John's most heated attempts to argue about a job end with him rolling over quick. He hasn't outright refused to do something, and Kim doesn't think he ever will, if only to prove to himself one more time that he might actually be capable of change.

It might get annoying one day, but for now, Kim can respect his intense desire to make amends. She just wishes he would accept some form of gratitude or praise in return, to make it less awkward on her end.

Kim rests her hands momentarily on the tabletop, tapping her fingers briefly against the wood. "Okay," she softly declares, "I think I'm going to try to get back to sleep." Whatever she winds up dreaming about now, she's pretty sure it won't be the same awful nightmare again — and that's at least partially because of John's intervention. She figures it's worth telling him as much. "You made a pretty good distraction, so thanks."

He nods immediately in response. "Of course," he replies, momentarily bewildered as he checks Kim's expression for signs of sarcasm or annoyance. His posture relaxes as Kim stands, although Kim imagines his relief is temporary. He's pretty good at working himself up into anxious frenzies — staying out of them is another matter entirely.

"Try to get some sleep yourself, okay?" Kim suggests.

There's no way John means it when he says, "I will," but at least he's willing to placate her instead of getting mad at her being concerned in the first place.

"And try not to wake up Carmina."

John nods affirmatively. Kim's positive that he'll sneak outside once she's gone upstairs, but at least he's waiting patiently for her to leave. If it weren't for her returning exhaustion, Kim might've used him as an excuse to do her own late-night workout, but it'll have to do to merely turn a blind eye to him edging around her rule about going out after dark alone. Kim and Nick have both been woken up by the exterior doors, but John never goes beyond the planters out back, and he always closes up when he comes back in. Kim could call him out on it, but... well, it seems like he needs the freedom.

Kim says goodnight and is mildly surprised when John returns it without any lingering sarcasm. He must be pretty tired, but that's not really a surprise. Hopefully, he'll try to take some of her concern to heart, or at least pretend for her sake.

Although Carmina is definitely still asleep when Kim returns to the bedroom, Nick is watching her with bleary-eyed curiosity. He waits until she's closed the door to speak up, and even then it's a dull, quiet whisper.

"Everything okay?" he asks.

He doesn't mind waiting for Kim to creep back to bed before she answers. "It is," she tells him, gratefully crawling into bed as he opens his arms for her. He folds his arms over her shoulders, letting her wiggle into a comfortable spot before she explains in a whisper. "I needed to move around, and John came downstairs. That's all."

"Hope he wasn't a creep," Nick mumbles into her hair. Kim sighs laughingly into his collarbone, which is already sticking to her cheek with sweat. There's no way she's going to be wrapped up in Nick's arms all night, not when it's this hot, but she'll appreciate it while she's got it.

"Not yet," Kim says. "Just talking about supplies." She presses a kiss to Nick's shoulder and whispers, "We'll talk about it in the morning."

Nick hums happily into Kim's hair. "Sounds good to me," he mumbles. The less they talk about John Seed, the better, after all. Especially right now, when they're tangled up in bed with their daughter snoring next to them; there's no room for serious conversation, and there's absolutely no room for John. There's no space for the nightmares that woke her, either; as Kim falls asleep, Nick's hand tangled up in her hair, she thankfully forgets everything save for a warm, melancholy amber glow.

[athenscrashing]

long dramatic post bc wordpress is a dumb site

i haven’t slept at all because i chugged an energy drink at the end of my closing shift (i left at 8 pm), so naturally i thought i’d scroll through tiktok to just distract myself from my insomnia. of course, with the side of tiktok i’m on, i happened upon the “coming out to incredibly receptive and supportive parents” videos.

it’s times like those i wish i could do my coming out all over again. i planned on eventually coming out to my parents as a trans male just like anyone else would, but i didn’t get the chance. my mom helicoptered my social media (which i very recently got her to stop doing) and saw the “he” in my bio. she asked me about it somewhat forcefully and i told her. we cried for about 30 minutes and then she left.

what i’m jealous of in those posts is how those kids are around the same age i was when i was forced out of the closet; somewhere between 13-16. i’m jealous of the hugs they got. i’m jealous of the very audible “you’re safe here” jargon. i never got any of it, and i hate admitting when i’m jealous. it’s been built up for a long time. i never got a hug. i never got reassurance of a safe space. i got a nod. if i got anything else, i can’t remember it. that should’ve been the first red flag.

my relationship with my mother since then has been complicated, but i didn’t realize it until quarantine. she’d ask me to tell her when my body made me feel vile and assembled incorrectly, but then reacted negatively when i did. so i’d bottle it up until i felt that way again, this time unbearable, and she’d tell me again. “come to me when you feel this way.” and the toxic cycle continues. i ask her for a lot, i admit that. but in the way of binders, i almost never asked. a few binders i had to wait months to eventually get myself. when i lost my job in august and had to ask her for one, she gave a long sigh followed by begrudgingly pulling out her laptop. “you know i hate doing this. i hate talking about this.”

she told me when i first mentioned hormone therapy to her that if i still wanted it when i turned 18, i could get it. i’ve been 18 for almost 9 months now and have since been told to “pay for it myself” or “get a professional dysphoria diagnosis.” i went with the latter, which has taken 5 months now to finish. she has made it clear that she won’t cover my legal name change or my top surgery financially, and that i’ll have to pay for those myself. she has admitted that she thinks my transness has something to do with “rejecting femininity to make a statement” or that i’m just nonbinary but don’t want to admit it because i have a troubled past when it comes to womanhood.

and yet, despite all of this. she is a board member of our local pflag chapter. she’s the head of the inclusion chapter of my synagogue. she goes to these meetings as much as she can but then goes behind everyone’s backs and says i’ll never be her son. she scoffs when i correct her on my pronouns so now i don’t try. when she does correct herself in front of me, she gives me a look that makes me so angry. it feels like she’s just doing it so i don’t say anything. i know because i’ve heard her talk about me behind my back. “she” this and “her” that. she has admitted to me that she thinks she identifies as “transmed or truscum,” but also admitted that it “sounds like a bad thing.”

it is, mom. cisgender transmedicalism is just transphobia with extra steps.

despite that, i don’t hate my mom. i can’t bring myself to. it’s not like she’s not doing anything. she could be doing worse. she could’ve kicked me out (which she has threatened to do, but for different reasons). she thinks i hate her, i heard her say it. she has a history of gaslighting and emotionally manipulating me though, so she could’ve just been saying it to make me feel bad. i’m not sure. but i don’t hate my mom. i just wish she would change.

that being said, i’m not making this post to “call my mom out” or “get her cancelled.” i’m writing this to let it out. i’m writing this to let those young kids know that your parents are amazing, and that, sometimes even if it feels like they’re not trying, you just need to give them some time. because if they were THAT receptive to your coming out? they probably support you. and if anyone else is in a similar situation, let me know. we can be buddies or something :-)

[dvp95]

quiet on widow’s peak (1)

pairing: dan howell/phil lester, pj liguori/sophie newton/chris kendall rating: teen & up  tags: paranormal investigator, youtuber phil lester, dan howell is not a youtuber, online friendship, slow burn, strangers to lovers, nonbinary character, background poly, phil does some buzzfeed unsolved shit and dan is a fan word count: 3.2k (this chapter & total) summary: Phil's got a list of paranormal experiences a mile long that he likes to share with the world. Abandoned buildings, cemeteries, and ghost stories have always called his name, and a particular fan of his has a really, really good ghost story. Bingo squares: met on tumblr

new wip? NEW WIP.

read this chapter on ao3 or here!

The wind is loud in this one. That's frustrating, and it makes Phil's job a lot harder, but he can't control the weather. Be cool if he could. He does his best to level out his voice and the background noise of Mother Nature before he settles in with his good headphones and really cranks the volume.

It's even more annoying to listen to the alternating crackle and whistle right in his ears. Phil has dealt with worse during this whole process, though, so he finds the strength to power through it. He listens to the full thing three times, scribbling a few timestamps down on a Post-It pad as he does. He takes a break after that, does some stretches around his tiny bedroom and tiptoes out to get a snack without waking the whole damn house, and then he's right back in his apparently ergonomic office chair to subject his ears to more of this nonsense.

Wind, wind, and more wind. And sometimes just Phil's own voice. Nothing of note.

Phil is about to give this video up as a loss altogether when he hits one of the final timestamps and... can't figure out what that noise is.

For the first time since he opened this file, Phil grins. He exports the clip and plays around with it in Audacity. Some videos are always more fun than others, and Phil had felt like he was slogging through this one until now.

"Do you hear that, Theodore?" Phil murmurs. The tiny cactus on his desk, thankfully, does not respond.

It sounds like a person. It sounds like a person, whispering, and it definitely isn't the wind, and it isn't Phil's own voice, because he's in the middle of a question in this clip.

Phil might just be going crazy from sleep deprivation or wishful thinking, though. He pulls out his phone and texts the only group chat that doesn't cause him anxiety, which is comprised of the housemates that he actually gets along with. Anyone up? he asks, adding a single eye emoji for good measure.

Even though it's gone two in the morning, he gets immediate responses from all of them. A string of vaguely dirty emojis from Chris, a simple yeah from Sophie, and a cheerfully morbid did you know that insomnia leads to an early death? from PJ.

Wanna listen to a noise for me?

Within three minutes, Phil's bedroom is full of people in various states of sleepiness. All of them are in ridiculous pyjamas - including Phil - and PJ's hair in particular has taken on a mind of its own. Phil's room isn't really big enough for all of them, so there's some awkward shuffling before PJ claims the office chair. Phil sits at the foot of his bed with Sophie and Chris on either side of him, pressed close against each other's shoulders. It's a good thing he likes these people.

"I mean, it isn't the wind," is PJ's confident opinion. "Did you have anyone with you?"

"No, it's just me and my camera against the world," says Phil.

"No need to be a twat," Chris informs him. He taps at PJ's upper arm, impatient. "Let me have a go, then, if there's something there."

Chris is famously bad at hearing things in white noise, but PJ acquiesces the seat easily enough. Phil laughs, watching them do a weird step dance around each other in the small space between Phil's bed and desk.

"I can't hear any specific words," PJ says as he flops down across Phil's pillows, making himself comfortable. Phil just nods, because neither can he.

"How d'you know it's a person, then?" Sophie asks. Her voice is probably the only one soft enough for the hour. Their other housemates hate them for their frequent all-nighters, but Sophie is kind and quiet enough that she slips under the radar.

"You'll see for yourself."

When Sophie goes to respond, Chris interrupts in a hilariously loud voice, as if he's forgotten that having headphones on doesn't mean they can't hear him. "It's some kind of ghoulie or ghostie! I can barely fucking hear it, Philly, why didn't you mic it?"

"Why didn't I mic the ghost?" Phil asks, bewildered. Naturally, Chris doesn't hear him.

Sophie taps Chris on the shoulder and stands, leaning over his shoulder as she takes her turn listening to the sound clip over and over. Chris spins in the chair a few times and gives Phil an unhinged sort of grin.

"You got something this time," says Chris. He sounds like he's having just as much fun as Phil is, now that there's actually a thing to listen to besides his own voice and the loud, loud wind.

"I think so," says Phil. "Why didn't I mic the ghost?"

"I'm saying it would make your job a lot easier if you mic the ghost, yes."

"If I could mic a ghost, I'd be a millionaire."

"Then you better get on it, eh?" Chris laughs, spinning a bit faster. Phil has never seen the man sleep. It's a little bit worrying.

"Sure," Phil says, giving up on trying to teach any logic to someone who's clearly long lost their hold on it. "Next time I spend all night in a graveyard, I'll mic any spirits that might be hanging out."

"Shut up," Sophie tells them, mild.

Chris mimes zipping his lips, wrapping an easy arm around her waist, and PJ laughs.

For the first few months they all lived together, Phil had struggled to keep up with whatever dynamics were going on between the three of them, but he's long since given it up as something he's not going to understand.

After a moment of quiet, Sophie nods. "I hear it," she tells them. Even with the headphones on, she's quiet. "It's not words, I wouldn't put any subtitles over it."

"Yeah," PJ agrees. "Just let your audience duke it out in the comments like they always do."

"Thanks, guys," Phil says, feeling a sort of warmth sink into his shoulders. He notices that Chris is pulling up another application and half-heartedly protests. "Chris, you don't need to edit this one for me. I still haven't paid you for the last video." Or the one before that. Or the three or four previous. Phil has it written down somewhere.

"Don't be stupid," Chris hums, already clicking around erratically. It makes the editor in Phil want to scream, but he has to admit that Chris manages to find more weird visual stuff to isolate than he could on his own.

"I feel bad," says Phil, chewing his lip.

"I've told you," says Chris, "you can pay me back in chores and sexual favours."

PJ's slippered foot knocks against Phil's hip, and he grins brightly when Phil turns to him. "You know, I do have a bit of a laundry backlog."

"Funny thing, that," says Sophie.

Biting back a laugh, Phil shakes his head. "Alright, alright. Everybody leave their laundry in front of my door tomorrow."

"That's a no on the beej, then?" Chris asks, raising a single eyebrow and pointing dramatically at Phil. It has been near two years of this, and Phil is still too afraid to ask if it's a joke.

It's not as if Phil's answer would change if it wasn't a joke, because he's not interested in Chris, and he's especially not interested in becoming entangled in whatever nonsense his housemates have gotten themselves into. But, still, he might be kinder about letting Chris down if he were being genuine.

"That is a no," Phil confirms. "But I will wash your pants."

"Kinky," says Chris. He turns back to the screen and makes an incomprehensible hand gesture. "This is pretty shit. You know that, right?"

Yeah. Phil does know that. It's getting harder and harder to have the same optimism in every video that he'd had when he first started recording his wanderings around the supposedly-haunted places of Rossendale. He'd brought the camera with him when he left, but might have left that optimism behind. Phil only kind of believes in supernatural things - the way he only kind of believes in giraffes or true love - but it's been more fun than anything else to pick up a camera and try to find some evidence.

He's been doing this since he was nineteen, though, and he's getting a little bored by the formula of it all. Go into a haunted place, try to communicate with the spirits, pick up some garbled words or creepy noises, highlight visual oddities like orbs, and let the internet tear it all to shreds. Honestly, he'd have more fun making proper horror at this point in his life.

Phil shrugs and pulls his knees up to his chest. He wants to hide away from the sympathy in Sophie's eyes, from Chris' blunt words. "Yeah. I'm getting kind of... I don't know. Restless."

"Maybe you should ask people to submit things again," PJ suggests. "That went well last time."

It had, actually. Phil had needed to sort through a lot more ridiculous stories and obvious hoaxes than usual, but he'd found some nuggets of gold in all that hay. Or however that saying goes.

"People did like having their stories read out," Phil says slowly. "I'd just need to be extra sure that nobody's, like..."

"Ripping off r/NoSleep," says PJ.

"Yeah, exactly."

"We can help," Sophie says, and Phil could cry at how easily PJ and Chris agree with her.

He really doesn't deserve to have such great people around him. They've got work and lives of their own, but they're always happy to spend time crowded around Phil's computer listening to weird noises together. Phil sometimes wonders what they get out of it. Do they just like helping him, the way he has fun holding the boom for PJ's films or testing Sophie's concoctions? Or are they just as fascinated as Phil by the weirdness of it all? Do they want to see the cool instances of paranormal activity, too? At this point it feels nearly impossible to ask.

"That's going to be a lot of washing pants for me," Phil sighs. He doesn't know how to thank them, not when they always just wave it off.

"Sure is," says PJ. "But you should... ask the audience!"

"Your Chris Tarrant is pretty good," says Phil, only a little surprised by it. PJ's voice is as much of a tool to him as the rest of his body, and it's one he's always been skilled with. The impressions still tend to catch Phil off guard sometimes.

PJ tips an invisible hat. "Thank you, thank you, I'll be here all week."

At his friends' not so gentle encouragement, Phil makes a few posts on his socials to ask his followers for new creepy things to explore. It might be the middle of the night in Brighton, but he has a feeling that Chris isn't leaving his desk until he's found every instance of an orb or strange shadow in the fifty minutes of currently uncut footage.

It seems like Sophie is on the same page, because she excuses herself to make tea for everyone. PJ leans over Chris' shoulder and watches the clips without sound, his lips moving as if he's murmuring to himself.

Sometimes this feels more like a group effort than Phil is comfortable with. He's never been very good at asking for help. As grateful as he is, he still itches with the need to take back control of the situation. He uses the slow trickle of fan submissions to distract him from that feeling, because all three of them do make his videos better when he stops being so possessive over his footage. Phil flops onto his back and scrolls through the incoming emails, tweets, and Tumblr messages to see if there's anything promising.

For the most part, the answer is a resounding no. Some things are blatant lies - there are countless ripoffs of films or novels that Phil happens to be familiar with, a few things swiped from creepypasta or subreddits, and his usual amount of conspiracy theorist fans insisting that some high profile person or other is a lizard - but most of it, to Phil's dismay, just doesn't grab his attention the way he wants it to.

Sophie comes back with tea and snacks. She leans her head against Phil's shoulder and watches him cycle through his apps, fact-checking idly and sighing every time something easily proves to be a hoax. Her hair smells like coconut and she makes a soft humming noise every time she lifts the mug to her lips. Her presence alone, small and warm and supportive, is enough to keep Phil from throwing his phone across the room and having a right sulk about how his career is in a tailspin because nobody makes ghosts like they used to. At some point in the night, Sophie's breathing evens out to the point that Phil thinks she's asleep, but then she reaches out to tap a tiny finger to his screen.

"What's this, then?" she murmurs.

Phil has been zoned out entirely for at least fifteen, and he blinks back into reality. There's a new message in his Tumblr inbox, one that seems like it must be over the character limit for asks. He must have submissions turned on or something, that's the only possible explanation for an actual essay being sent to him. It's barely broken into paragraphs with very little punctuation and no capitalization, and Phil has been staring at screens for far too long to try and parse this on his own.

"Can you please make sure this isn't, like, the entire Bee Movie," Phil asks, handing Sophie his phone with only a slight twinge of anxiety. He trusts her not to go snooping, but. Still. "I need to pee."

"Mhm," Sophie hums, already apparently lost in whatever stream-of-consciousness has been dropped into Phil's inbox.

The floorboards in this old Brighton house creak, and Phil has always envied some of his housemates for being able to sidestep the noises. It doesn't seem to matter how long he lives here, how much he tries to avoid making any noise, it's like the floorboards are determined to creak under Phil's weight. He winces as he passes two bedrooms whose occupants surely don't appreciate creaking outside their doors at such an ungodly hour.

At least he doesn't run into any walls this time. The nightlight in the bathroom at the end of the hall is the only thing lighting Phil's way, and he tends to stub his toes on absolutely nothing in this kind of semi-darkness.

When he makes his - very, very creaky - way back to his own room, he's bewildered by the scene that greets him. PJ and Chris have joined Sophie on his bed, and all three of them are poring over Phil's phone as though they're looking at a map to the Holy Grail.

"Hello," Phil says slowly, closing the door behind him. It creaks, too. "You aren't going through my pictures, are you?"

"No," Sophie and PJ chorus without looking up.

"You got nudes on here or something?" Chris asks with a mild sort of interest, clearly also too engaged in Phil's phone to put his all into the flirting.

"I don't," says Phil. It doesn't sound convincing, even though it's true, and he waits for Chris to tease him about it some more. When he doesn't, Phil has to admit that he's curious. "So I guess it isn't a meme or something?"

That makes them look up, in almost comedic synchronicity. Sophie blinks a few times, as if she's coming back to herself. She holds out Phil's phone and shakes her head.

"It's not a meme," she says. "And near as we can tell, it's genuine."

Phil joins them and takes his phone back, adjusting his glasses. His bed really wasn't made for four people, but his housemates have never had any personal space amongst themselves, and Phil isn't one to say no to human contact when he isn't getting it anywhere else.

The message is just as hard to read as it was at first glance, but Phil puts his brain to work. If his friends are reacting like this, it usually means he's in for something good.

hi ok so the thing is that this is completely ridiculous and i dont think its what youre looking for at all but theres a building near my uni thats got a ton of stories around it and it only started happening like this year like it isnt an old obviously haunted type of place but theres a lot of weird shit that goes down there so i found all the references to it online that i could and ive summarized them here (w/ sources ofc im not a dick) and its all just this side of strange so it seems like the sort of thing you might be interested in ok here we go SO

And it goes on like that. Phil feels his eyebrows raising as he clicks the provided links in the following walls of text, which are exactly what they're advertised as. Not a single rickroll in there. Just a handful of posts on Reddit and Facebook and independent blogs about various experiences people have had with a particular abandoned building in -

"I know this place," Phil says, surprised. He looks up at PJ's grin, Sophie's wide eyes, Chris' palms rubbing together in exaggerated interest. "I've been to parties here. Well, okay," he corrects himself before his friends can do it for him, "I've gone with Martyn to parties here and left early."

"Yeah, it isn't far out of Manchester," PJ hums. He bounces in place a bit, like he's suddenly energized enough to go jump on the soonest train up north.

"It didn't seem that weird," says Phil. "It's been a few years, I guess, but it wasn't even that scary."

"Sounds like it's only just started, though," Chris pipes up.

Phil isn't sure how much he likes that. The idea of a place he's been a few times, half an hour from his childhood home, being so suddenly full of haunted activity feels... weird. Still, it's catching his interest in a way that nothing else has in months, so.

"I'll look into it some more tomorrow," he decides, glancing at the time. His brother is probably still awake, to be honest, but Phil doesn't want to be that guy asking 'hey, do you remember the Wilkins place?' before dawn has even broken. Again. He has definitely done that sort of thing in the past. "I'll have plenty of time while I do, what, seventeen loads of laundry?"

"Something like that," PJ laughs. "Want us to clear out?"

As nice as the company and help has been, Phil still feels a rush of relief at the concept of being left alone again. He nods, still scrolling idly through the Wilkins place submission.

It hits him, very literally, too close to home to ignore. He wonders if his fan knows that, if this is somehow an elaborate prank that will end up just wasting Phil's time, but he's too curious to leave it alone. He'll just have to ask around, see if anyone else has heard these murmurings.

Til then, maybe he ought to try and get some sleep. Phil's computer, still open on the editing software, tempts him.

Well. What's another couple hours at this point?

[sammyspreadyourwings]

U said to talk to u about ur AUs so here I come! Let’s do some more world building yeah? *cracks knuckles* I hope you don’t mind the up-coming long but very incoherent and messy rant about the WITCH!AU because I have MANY thoughts so let’s chat?! :DDD My Halloween loving ass is fucking living right now oh yeah.

World building ??? 👀👀👀

Why did they get rid of my Read Mores on Asks???? Anyway, buckle in y’all long post ahead.

🌠🌠🌠 (01) What if Brian’s presence somehow enhances one’s powers? That’s why he’s always being chased by spirits or other beings and bad witches want him for this and when they can’t have him they want to kill him? (you’d appreciated the extra layer of angst? XD Like do you want me because you truly love me or do you want me because of my Gift that would greatly benefit your own power)

That could potentially be a result because witches that work with spirits because they’re opening up liminal spaces. Not that Brian is aware of it, and is doing it mostly incidentally which is how some nastier spirits get attatched to him and cause some of Brian’s problems.

He does have that moment once or twice, once he figures out how all of this workes.

(02) What hex or spell do you think the witch (or the evil coven? For dramatic movie rivalry effect between sides LOL) cast to kill him? Something related to the hepatitis and ulcer? Disease or other stuffs? (I can’t help but think about the CW TV Series Supernatural witches have so many creative ways of killing someone through hexes, spells and curses)

So I don’t have any names yet, because I am Bad at them. The curse that I currently have in mind is that it’s kind of a paralyzation hex? Like when Brian gets hit with it, it moves more central, so he looses the ability to move and then eventually the ability to speak and eventually breathe.

(03) Imagine how distressed Brian would be because he loves Astronomy and stargazing but during night is always the most dangerous to him? However after meeting the other three they’re always with him (or at least one of them) especially at night? Dragging him out for drinks and all the other fun stuffs that Brian seems to be missing out on. (Freddie will ruffle his hair playfully saying something like you’re safe with us darling we’ll look after you and wink at him but he figures they just want to see him blush so yeah all the usual good old oblivious Brian trope LOL)

Bless oblivious Brian. The insomnia as a kid is what half inspired him to love the stars, because that’s all he’d have to stare at during those long nights. It’s also when those Things He Doesn’t See (his mother’s words) circle around him.

The other three naturally realize what Night means, and how it can affect an untrained Witch especially one that has a Gift like Brian’s. Roger is the one that tends to keep near Brian during the night because he’s simply the best at unnoticable protection charms. And he usually makes a big show of getting into disagreements when he senses that something is Wrong. Because Brian suddenly has a mood drop or John actually feels some kind of spirit (which tend to stay away from him because the dead can’t cross running water).

(04) I imagine the three sometimes turn themselves into animals like cats (witches are so often associated with cats and ravens etc. you know all that) to keep Brian company and to warn off evil beings around him like he’s ours back the fuck off?

Close! They actually use their familiars! Roger’s and Freddie’s are both cats (Roger’s is a maine coon, and Freddie’s is a very sleek looking calico), and Brian usually has to pick them up and put them in the house because “no, kitty, you can’t go to class with me!”

Meanwhile they’re like “dude.”

John’s is usually the one that keeps the best eye on Brian given that it’s a kestrel. She also isn’t fond of Brian because he keeps closing her window! How dare he!

John hasn’t quite managed to convinence her that it’s on accident because Brian doesn’t feel that she’s just not another Bird.

(05) Maybe one night Brian’s having “sleep paralysis” only this time the pressure gets heavier and heavier and help now he can’t breath and he’s panicking but can’t do a thing can’t move a muscle when suddenly he heard a low but cold voice speaking some language (Latin? But not quite there’s an extra edge to it) beside his bed but he can’t understand a word and the pressure just vanished like that. He whines low in his throat and struggles to move and tries to open his eyes but he’s suddenly very groggy and tired and then he felt gentle hands caressing his face and carding through his hair effectively soothing him and the voice is now crooning sweetly, calming him by saying things like you’re safe love sleep now and when he’s about to fall asleep the hands left that’s when he heard at least three different voices conversing with each other outside maybe? One sound worried, one sound furious and the last one seems to be thinking about something but they’re all speaking in some kind of language that he doesn’t understand.

Okay, I dig, I see what you’re doing here nonnie. 

So this is probably when Roger, John, and Freddie kind of figure out there’s something out there trying to get Brian because Drudes (nightmare demons from Germanic folklore) don’t just take a walk about on the prime material plane. Much less someone who isn’t having a nightmare.

Roger is furious, because after chasing the damned Drude away he checked his seals and found that his demonic protection one has been inverted and draws demons to them. He’s screaming his head off, because he doesn’t know why or how some one would know.

Freddie is just worried because Brian hadn’t reacted to it the way anyone else should have. Almost like he accepted that this was a thing that happened and not a literal demon eating his life force.

John is trying to figure out how the Drude got in on the first place, after Roger found out the seal, and why it would come for Brian directly. Freddie’s got the most “magic” out of the four of them, Brian’s being so tightly wrapped away. Maybe Brian is just awakening his powers and because of his Gift the Drude noticed. But Roger is right, Drudes don’t just come on this plane without cause.

Meanwhile, Brian is out cold/out of it for the next 16 hours because the Drude did get a good grip on Bri’s life force before the other three noticed. Which naturally makes the others clingy for like the next month. Roger keeps forcing his weird wood crafting hobbies into Brian’s bag, and John is always hanging around the physics building and Freddie is painting a really weird thing on the wall. Which kind of makes them look like satanists.

(06) Following no. (05) do you think witches have their own languages akin to Latin but maybe they’re some kind of variation? Also will there be different dialects based on uses, regions and powers?

They all have different casting languages, yes! Most are based on latin, while eastern witches tend to stick with very old forms of their countries languages (e.g chinese with china, Hindi). Some are actually symbol based, which Freddie is very adept at because it gives the most versatility.

(07) And you know like in horror movies how people are with Ouija boards and summoning rituals? Brian of course never participates he avoids most supernatural related stuffs like plague but maybe growing up his encounters people who do those type of stuff for fun and he’s kind hearted not wanting them to be in danger so he’d try to dissuade or stop them but once the spirits or evil beings were conjured the beings always go for Brian? The most severe incident is the Bloody Mary one she appears in mirrors and Brian almost got pulled in trying to save his classmate but eventually he was saved by another witch?

Brian grows up not believing in ghosts, but he can’t deny that’s weird that things happen every time they do mess with Oujia boards. The Bloody Mary thing left him with a permanent inability to walk through hallways in the dark. But he does have the scar on his arm from when whatever it was tried to pull him through the mirror. It was weird. He thinks his friend’s mom stopped it because she game them a really long lecture while bandaging Brian’s arm.

(08) Following no. (07) that’s where my this idea came from: do you think maybe one of Freddie, Roger or John’s family member saved Brian before (when he was a kid? A teenager?) although Brian doesn’t know it? (perhaps he’s passed out during that? Roger and John’s family are more likely to do so simply because of geographic wise?) And that elder witch recognized that Brian belongs in the coven with Freddie, Roger and John so he/she/they got home, told them about this very special boy (girl? person?) that they have to protect one day and proceed to spend years arranging for them to “casually” meet and hopefully become friends or even more?

Never considered this... but this is strangely in line with what kind of Gift I have planned for John.

It would be John’s mom that steps in. Brian accidentally invokes a vengeful spirit while playing in the park. It knocks him into a tree before she can get to him. She quickly banishes it before going over to Brian. Her hands push back his hair, checking his head (only a tiny little bump thankfully) when she feels her son? of all people on his skin. She knows John is a very strong Sympathic but for him to be on someone’s he’s never met.

And for this boy to attract such powerful spirits but existing? He didn’t even know what it was?

Well, she’s never been one to question the whims of the earth. Instead she tosses her hair back and starts yelling for someone to help. Ruth comes over quickly, and Mrs. Deacon explains that Brian fell from the tree. There’s no magic coming from Ruth, not like Brian.

Oh boy, she thinks. This is trouble.

When she goes home John is teasing Julie with a rattle. She picks him up and she bounces him on her hip, “I’ve met a special boy, one you’re going to have to protect and teach.”

(09) I imagine that the other three were waiting for the right time to reveal the truth to Brian while shielding him from not just the spirits or demons’ harm but from evil witch covens as well and maybe one day they just had a very unfortunate run in with some elders who harbor malicious agenda - news travels fast? Very soon EVERYONE and every beings that has connection to the Supernatural world KNOWS (except Brian ofc lol) hence the even more aggressive and violent attacks and the other three were constantly on high alert around Brian (while having to act casually it’s hard work really).

They were trying to find the right time, and there’s never a good time to go “so the dead like you because you’re a good transfer spot between worlds oh and the rest of the supernatural kind of hates you or wants to use you because of that.”

Brian finds out about this entire thing when the witch hits him with paralyzation curse. Well just before it because she basically does the villian info dump.

But just before that, when the attacks were ramping up, the others took turns being on Brian watch, cutting their nights short, sleeping in shifts, etc. Roger is literally running out of grimories to look for seals and protection spells. John has to pratically spell a moat into existence around their flat and even Freddie can’t find something to shield Brian’s presence without hampering his magical awakening. 

They’re all getting exhausted, Brian thinks it’s just stress of recording their first album and school work. Except he’s getting a little stir crazy, he’s literally not had a moment alone since the Drude attack (not that he knows it). So when all three of them invietably crash (between the shortened hours and magic drain it says a lot that they went as long as the did). Brian sneaks out.

I don’t think I have to explain what happens?

(10) Haha I like the idea of Freddie being the wild card in every sense especially when it comes to witchcraft obviously considering his cultural heritage is different from the ones in England so he/she/they dresses differently and casts his/her/their magic differently and it infuriates their opponent so fucking much. XD

Freddie uses a hand gesture, the other witch ????? what in the literal fuck? It bothers Roger too because he’s like, this isn’t going to work *spell works* HOW? WHY? 

John actually starts mimicking Freddie’s way of performing spells and his spells get that much more powerful and chaotic.

(11) Sammy I love you. <3333 *blows you kisses*

❤❤❤❤ Thank you for letting me ramble about things!!!

[izzy-b-hands]

Tagged by @little-murmaider thank you!!!

1. Height: 5′3 ish? tbh I have not been measured in years and the last time I was in high school I was at 5′2, so now I just kinda...well I lie, and presume I gained that extra bit even though I really might not have lol.

2. Last thing I googled: ‘clothing brands worn by the band Queen’ because-well, actually, does it shock anyone that I’ve googled this? I live for so much of the shit they wore in the 70s and 80s and just really wish I could find reproductions of some of it (also that Hot Dad look in the 90s they all had going? that’s just basically my work uniform in terms of the button ups and weird ties and bow ties I own, so I’ve already got that bit down, even if I don’t look as good as they do rocking it.) 

3. Favorite musicians: ...so many, and also do bands count? Like if you admire each member of the band as a respective musician and in what they contribute to their group as well as any individual work? Because if that counts then a short list (made off of the much longer full list, and I swear I really did try and pare this down but it was difficult!) would be: Queen, Avatar, Brendon Small, Gene Hoglan, Frank Ocean, Childish Gambino, Tyler the Creator, Hozier, My Chemical Romance, Banks, Brian Eno, Elton John, Cab Calloway, Cocorosie, David Bowie, The Decemberists, Fever Ray, WEEP, Ghost, Janelle Monae, Jozef Van Wissem, Kendrick Lamar, Lana Del Rey, Miike Snow, Mother Mother, Tom Waits, and Sufjan Stevens (and I’m forcing myself to end this list here lol.) 

4. Song stuck in my head: I’ve got a few, but the top three competing to play all at once in my head currently are: Sweatpants by Childish Gambino, Earfquake by Tyler the Creator, and Son and Daughter by Queen.

5. Followers: 225, and I’m grateful for each one! I never anticipated having that many people following me on here tbh, when I started this blog...jesus, back at the end of high school/beginning of college? Time is a cold motherfucker lol.

6. Following: 276. I was following over 600 a few days ago, but I finally went thru and cleaned it out. A lot of people hadn’t posted in months, or years, so I just kinda figure they aren’t coming back now, tbh. My dash isn’t as busy as I’d like it to be, but I also actually see everyone’s posts whereas before they didn’t always show up, so it’s a decent exchange.

7. Do you get asks: Sometimes! Especially recently, folks have been wonderful about sending in requests and asks for the various ask box things I reblog. I sometimes worry that I reblog too many of those, but I honestly do really like getting to talk to folks on here and interact, and getting asks or mentioned on posts really does make my day!!

8. Amount of sleep: if my insomnia isn’t being terrible, then between 4-6 hours most nights. If it is being an asshole, then more like 3-4 max. I’ve gotten a full 8 hours once before though, and boy was that fuckin weird.

9. Lucky number: Don’t know if they’re lucky, but the numbers 2 and 6 seem to turn up a lot in my life, which I consider a cool little thing. Probably the closest I have to lucky numbers.

10. What are you wearing: A very old pair of sweatpants and an Avatar shirt, because my after-work uniform is basically all lounge clothes/pjs mixed with band t-shirts.

11. Dream Job: Published author/screenwriter and/or museum docent. I mean, don’t get me wrong I love just writing as I do now, but it would be cool to get my work out there more and also be able to make a bit of a living off of it, even if I did still need to have another day job. I think I’d be a lot happier, if I could make that happen at least. 

12. Instruments: I learned and played clarinet from elementary school into my first year of high school. I play guitar badly. Can fuck around on a piano but suck at reading music so anything I play on it is usually just whatever’s in my head at the time. Own a mandolin, play it poorly. Does the recorder count if you’ve not played it since like sixth grade?

13. Languages: English is my first language. Took almost four years of Spanish, but don’t speak it well, though I can understand a bit of it when I need to at work. Took a year of German, but really only recall the German swear words my German/Russian grandma and great-grandma have taught me over the years. Un petit peu of French but very basic levels-like I can order a sandwich, but please don’t ask me to say much else lol. Jag prata svenska, men det är inte gud. Swedish is probably the one I speak best after English, but I admit my accent is painful to listen to, even to me. Someday it will sound not totally horrible, maybe. 

14. Favorite song: Just one? Oh dear. Well, there’s really a rota for this so I’ll give you the most recent favorite: Action This Day by Queen 

15. Random fact: I occasionally study contortion because I fell in love with what the contortionists at Cirque Du Soleil can do, and I’ve always been flexible enough to move my limbs to places they probably don’t belong, despite not really being very physically fit otherwise. I’ll never be flexible enough or good enough to actually use it anywhere, but it spices up my exercise routine when I need a break from dance, yoga, and weights. Also, it’s weirdly fun seeing if you can get your foot to rest on your face (I can! And it definitely should not be that exciting but I’m nearly 25 and struggling in various other areas of my life, so the little things really count.) 

16. Aesthetic: I’ll always be a little bit goth, I think. Could go and do Goth 2 Boss, and it would still be there, y’know? I’m trying to think of some of the ways friends and coworkers have described me/my look/general vibe, a few are: 

-A librarian that works part time as a roadie but doesn’t have two separate wardrobes for each job

-Like I’m constantly trying to look as queer as possible, so that I’m not mistaken for a heterosexual (though this one is honestly true, my dream is to find one of those vintage ‘how dare you presume I’m heterosexual’ buttons from the 80s and just add that onto my current set of looks)

-A dramatic demon that also cares about having sensible footwear (I like swooshy clothes and I like not fucking up my ankles more than I already have, I can’t help it that I can’t give up either of these things for Fashion)

-Like a Cool Uncle/Justin McElroy (true, and you’ll tear my horribly patterned shirts and various Hot Dad button ups from my cold undead hands.) 

-Like a vampire who didn’t really understand the Vampire Fashion Memo but tries really hard (a friend tossed me this one, and I still can’t tell if she meant it as a compliment or a plain old insult, but either way I admit she’s kind of right lol)

-Like you’re trying to steal Richard Ayoade’s wardrobe (this one came from my mum, and she’s right, I am. He dresses wonderfully.)

So...all of that in one, I guess?

Tagging @peterginn, @0randges, @sunshinerami, @the-heebiejeebies, @ramibaby, @my-space-and-all-within, @hobbadehoy and anyone else who follows me and wants to do this! Just say I tagged you and go for it!!

[gwiiyeoweo]

Cor comes down with the flu, and he feels his dignity burn up along with his fever. Noctis helps, until he doesn’t.

Pairing: Cor & Noctis Rating: G

‘Ridiculous.’

The sun shines, the birds sing, the Crownsguard train outside in the tepid spring weather with their grunts and clash of steel. There’s no reports of terrorism, no alerts of Niflheim breaking through the King’s Wall, no little princes going missing or injuring themselves. For once, like an ill-begotten miracle that occurs only once every few centuries, everything's right in the world.

Which makes it all the more infuriating.

‘Absolutely ridiculous.’

Cor sits at his desk, a rare thing as of late when all he’s been doing is running across the borders of Lucis to run missions and manage their military posts. As expected, his time away from his office resulted in the backlog of papers and documents that have turned themselves into piles then into mountains. Granted, they’re not imperative, as they’ve been allowed to catch dust and stains where he’s left them in his desk drawers and filing cabinets, and half of them are saved as digital copies to be accessed through his computer, or phone and tablet should he need to.

But it is not because he is doomed to his office for the rest of this perfectly good spring day that sours him. It is the way his skin feels feverish yet his muscles quake before the onset of hypothermia, how his fingers feel stiff and his joints ache (and not from the scar tissue that tightens his hands). It is the way his lungs fill with cotton and leaves his nose a red burning mess, that same fire clouding and stuffing the front of his brain, and he knows it is not from the spring allergies Gladiolus suffers from. It is the stifling weight of the blanket hugging around his shoulders, pulling both his body and mind down as it pools at the foot of his chair, the once plush leather now feeling like bricks and cement.

Because Cor Leonis, the Immortal, the Marshal, has found his match in the common flu.

He can’t even bother to go for the cup of coffee at the corner of his desk — having long gone cold several hours ago after the first and only sip — because his body, despite spending nearly his entire life training and honing every muscle, feels like dead weight to him. His mind, addled with heat and fog, isn’t much better, but he at least has enough coherency to understand how salty he feels. It’s been years since he’s been struck down with sickness, and the most recent illness he can remember spans at least six years ago, when he and Clarus spent a drunken night raiding Regis’ mini fridge and got food poisoning because no one thought to throw out the king’s expired dairy.

It’s not even winter, for gods’ sakes, and he received his flu shot like the good government official that he is, and yet —  

Here he is, slumped over his desk and buried in a thick blanket, fingers barely holding onto a pen when he’s shown unparalleled finesse with his katana. If he could just somehow cut down the virus bombarding his systems like he could through daemons and magitek soldiers, Cor would offer his thanks to the Astrals above and offer them a gift or two at each of their altars.

But alas, he doubts they’d care for him right now, and the only one deserving his gratitude today is Noctis, the first to discover how utterly disgusting Cor had felt this morning.

“Wow, you look like shit. No offense,” Noctis had said, stopping by the office to drop off a folder at Regis’ request. Without so much as a warning, he had reached across the desk to press a cool hand to Cor’s forehead, and the man barely had the will to keep in his sigh of relief at that. Noctis always ran a little cool, something about poor blood circulation keeping his fingers cold or maybe the uncontrolled magics and elements that roiled within. “Hot damn, Cor, you’re burning up — wait, are you… Are you sick?”

And Cor had never entertained that idea until Noctis pointed it out because the concept was — and still is, to be honest — utterly preposterous, but the facts had proven otherwise. The aches, the chills, his throat; the signs had all pointed themselves to the culprit. Noctis had been quick to rummage through the closet, ignoring Cor’s silent look of ‘don’t you dare make a mess’ and shucking some odd books and supplies here and there.

“And just how did you know that was there?” Cor had asked, raising his eyebrows in suspicion at the blanket Noctis held up once he shook the dust off it. He had felt the rasp of his voice grate against his throat, and he had hoped his words didn't come out as awful as they felt. He had received no response except the cheeky grin Noctis sported while he carefully draped it over Cor’s shoulders. Noctis had given him a few sympathetic pats and a sagely nod, as though he were some expert in legendary warriors catching colds, then quietly left him to his devices and paperwork, shutting the door behind him with the most silent of clicks.

It's been half an hour since then, but Cor is immensely grateful for the blanket. The aches have fully nestled themselves now, as if the realization and acceptance was all it took for his body to acknowledge the sickness blooming forth, and he's confident that no more work will be done today. He's barely made a dent in the reports that require his attention and write-offs, not to mention there's reports of his own he needs to type up, but he knows where his limits are and his limits have drawn themselves here.

He wants to get up from his desk and make for his room, skipping the infirmary entirely because his pride does not want to go to the medics and ask for a bottle of flu medicine just to birth gossip of the Immortal being taken down by a little cough and runny nose. The second he braces his arm on the desk to push himself up, he immediately retracts that idea. Because nope, his joints are suddenly raging at him to stop and slink back into his chair.

He does just that, no protest back, and wraps the blanket around him a little tighter, going so far as to tucking his face and arms inside the cocoon. He wonders if he can even make it to the sofa, let alone the door, or if he's doomed to his desk for the foreseeable future.

Just as Cor is about to resign to his fate, he hears his door click open and looks up to see Noctis slinking in. There's a thermos and a mug in his hands.

"Nice look, Marshal," he says, tone entirely too amused and expression likewise.

Cor thinks he probably looks the part, all wrapped up to his nose in a blanket, hair perhaps a mess and his face a sad drooping thing. He has a brief notion to untangle himself and flip the bird at the Prince, but that requires effort. Instead, he narrows his eyes and shoots a glare.

Which, doesn't do much but elicit a soft snort from Noctis.

"Not gonna work when you look less like a scary lion and more like a cub." Noctis sets the thermos and mug on the desk, away from the papers and folders organized neatly into hefty stacks. "Made soup and some tea."

Were it Regis instead, Cor would have rejected them in a heartbeat. But he knows that Noctis is capable when he wants to be, proving himself through his various part-time jobs around Insomnia, like his time at the small family-owned diner off Sprohm Avenue. Noctis sometimes likes to show off his skills and lessons, whipping up little recipes he's learned here and there; and while they always pale in comparison to his advisor's concoctions, they have their own merits and charm. At least Noctis could learn how to cook, while Regis would set the entire kitchen on fire by just touching the stove.

"Think you can eat?" Noctis whips out a spoon in a show of blue sparks and taps it against the thermos. "It's Iggy's recipe, dagger quill soup with extra garlic. He said it should knock the flu right outta you."

Cor wrinkles his nose, making no show to untangle himself from his blanket. He enjoys Ignis' cooking when it presents itself, has no doubts about the quality and taste — not like he’ll be able to taste much of anything anyway — but knowing that Ignis knows of his… predicament does not sit well with him. Not that the young man is a gossiper, but somehow news would no doubt make their way to Regis or Clarus, and they’d jump at the opportunity to heckle and tease him like the ravenous jackals they are.

Impatience, it seems, gets the better of Noctis, who already starts peeling away at the blanket, just enough to get an arm out. He unscrews the cap, steam rushing for release; and sure enough, Cor can smell the potent brew of garlic and herbs stewing in the soup — which says something, considering his nose is as congested as Insomnia’s streets at the five o’ clock rush hour. Noctis gives him the dignity of feeding himself, thankfully, and nudges the spoon into Cor’s hand.

“Meds after the soup.” It’s less of an order and more of a fact set in stone that Cor will take the medicine after the soup. Noctis fishes a bottle out of his pocket and sets it down on the desk with a resounding clack as if to drive his words home. He tosses a glance at the mug. “With the tea.”

Cor thinks the tea probably tastes vile, but he’ll hold onto that for when he crosses that road. He takes a spoonful of the soup and tries to stomach it.   

 “Reduced to this useless pile of limbs.”

Somehow, Noctis had managed to help him out of his seat and to the sofa, leagues more comfortable to his aching body, though the soreness is a constant reminder now. His throat isn’t so bad, but it obviously likes to keep talking to a minimum with how hoarse he sounds.    

“You’re surprisingly dramatic when you’re sick, y'know that?”  

And it is how Cor has his head perched on Noctis’ lap, the young man patting his chest in a slow tempo with one hand and playing a mobile game with the other. Cor lets himself doze off here and there, the medicine quick to work its way through his system, but actual sleep evades him. He’s comfortable, or as comfortable as a man whose body feels like its freezing in the flames of hell can be, and safe within the walls of the Citadel. To be honest, there may be no place more safe than at the side — or lap — of the Prince, whose weapon mastery and arsenal of infinite weapons and explosive magic could potentially decimate a small army.

But his subconscious did not like being sick and believes falling asleep in such a state means death. So try as he may, Cor is probably not getting much until night rolls around when he can down something far stronger and potent, preferably a bottle strong enough to clear his system of the flu overnight, thank you very much.

He’s lucid again when he hears a phone chime and feels the hand move away; whatever it was, the notification demanded both of Noctis’ hands. “If you’re texting someone about me —”

“I’m texting someone about you.”

Cor groans. There goes his dignity.

“Who.”

“Dad.”

He groans again.

Then hears a camera shutter. He peels open one eye just in time to see Noctis’ phone screen. A selfie.

A selfie of Noctis holding up a peace sign and Cor looking god-awful, wrapped up in a blanket and resting his head on Noctis’ lap.

“Noctis.”

“Yeah?”

“Had it not been for the laws of this land, I would have slaughtered you.”

Noctis chokes in his fit of laughter, and it’s almost enough to make Cor crack a smile. Almost. Because Regis is going to give him hell for this, and he’s already steeling himself for the endless lines of wisecracks.

“Traitorous prince,” Cor mutters, closing his eye and turning his head to the side. Thinking about it won’t stop the pounding in his skull, so he temporarily lets it slide. “No loyalty to your people.”

Noctis, trying to placate him, returns his hand to Cor’s arm and resumes his pats. “Sorry.”

“You’re not.”

“I’m not.”

 “This is all your fault,” Noctis wheezes out. He’s in bed — been in bed for the past two days at the Citadel, to soothe his father’s worries by keeping close — and buried under two layers of blankets and soaking through the sheets underneath him. He shoots a dirty look at Cor, who sits in a chair he pulled up to the bedside and swiping down the screen of a tablet.

“Ah, yes,” Cor says in a tone so dry it rivals Leide’s deserts, not even glancing up from the e-mail he’s reading, “revenge is a dish best served cold. Or as a flu.”

“Traitor.”

“I am not sorry.”

[margridarnauds]

I actually don't know *exactly* what you ship but 1 - 5 and 9 - 13 for whatever your 1789 ship is since I haven't seen it yet and don't know much about it, I jsut like soft HCs

HARD SAME on That Soft Shit

So, Royal Officer Who is Also a Part Time Parrot/Peasant Whose Father He Tried To Arrest For Tax Evasion (and who was killed in the attempt WOOPS)

As a word of warning: Canon has been bent forward, backward, and sideways to support this one, since at least 98% of the 1789 fandom is dedicated to nothing if not figuring out new and inventive ways of twisting canon to our own diabolical ends. 

1. Who makes the first move and how?

Ronan. Always Ronan. Probably via tackling. Like, it’s 100% canon to the Takarazuka that this is how he kisses: 

There is no helping this boy. He might think that he’s being smooth and suave, but no. There is NOTHING smooth or suave about this disaster. The good news is that there’s nothing ELSE that could get Lazare to take the inevitable hint. Things Lazare de Peyrol is good at: Strategy, shooting things, giving the 18th century equivalent equivalent of powerpoint presentations on how to shoot unarmed civilians, stomping in place. 

Things Lazare de Peyrol is NOT good at: Actually thinking that the peasant boy he’s been awkwardly trying to flirt with is interested in him sans a 20 page paper with citations. 

“The fuck is this? The fuck are you?” (Also: I REALLY need to remake this gif one day but until then, enjoy it in all its low-quality splendor.)

2. Who is the most insecure and what makes them feel better?

Both of them have their reasons to be insecure. I think that both of them, on some level, always think that the other will choose their side over them. On one hand, Lazare feels really, really insecure that Ronan will eventually choose the other revolutionaries, especially since they all have more in common and Ronan spends more time with them. And, on some level, I think that Lazare is fully aware of what he did to Ronan’s father, what he’s continuing to do with the Revolution, and so there’s this kind of BAFFLEMENT that Ronan loves him. And, meanwhile...there’s not a LOT that’s mentioned about Lazare’s upbringing in-canon, of all of the main cast, he tends to get very little in the way of what we KNOW about him, a lot of the speculation that I do is pure projection/speculation. I do think, however, that there’s enough evidence, at least in the French version, to indicate that Laz was pushed into the army from a young age by his family. Again, not CANON canon, but there are a few lyrics that could indicate it, and there were a LOT of aristocratic officers at this time (Off the top of my head, I can bring up Lafayette and the Marquis de Sade), who got into it when they were about 14. So, Lazare’s never really HAD the stability of a home/family life, and I think there’s this constant dread that it will be pulled out from under him. 

 Meanwhile, it has to sink into Ronan’s mind at some point that Lazare, unlike him, actually CARES about what society thinks. Lazare isn’t interested in creating a brand new, shiny world, he wants to succeed in the old one. And that means keeping things behind closed doors, marrying someone with a comparable pedigree, doing what’s expected.

As far as what makes them feel better...Ronan’s continued presence is a biggie for Lazare. Like, there’s that worry that one day, Lazare will come back to an empty room because Ronan’s changed his mind, but nope, there’s his boyfriend, sprawled out on their bed, and as soon as he gets in, Ronan’s right there, pulling him closer. And also, even though Lazare gets IRRITATED with Ronan’s “Brave New World” speech from time to time, given that Ronan seems blissfully oblivious to what is going to HAPPEN with that Brave New World (namely, the extinction of everything that Lazare’s known), there’s SOMETHING about the fact that Ronan always mentions that BOTH of them will be there. Ronan started the Revolution for the purpose of revenge against him, but he’s going to end it so that he can create a world where they’ll be together. And despite everything else, that’s oddly soothing, to the extent that sometimes (just sometimes), Lazare likes to imagine what that new world could be like. 

Meanwhile, I think that Ronan sometimes is completely taken aback when Laz DOES go that extra mile and shows affection. Like, they’ll be having dinner together and he’ll catch Laz doing a half-smile at something he’s just said, or Laz will take his hand and press a kiss to it, and it’s suddenly like “Oh. Oh. He really does. Like me, doesn’t he?” And it’s moments like those where he realizes that Lazare really IS committed to this one, he just has a different way of showing it. 

3. Who is the most romantic?

Popular belief would say Ronan, because he’s the one who’s most outwardly expressive. He’s the one who tends to initiate cuddling, he’s the one most likely to regularly say “I love you,” etc. BUT! Lazare is the one most likely to remember some minor detail that Ronan mentioned once just so he could surprise him with a present, he’s the one who tends to do more quiet, intimate gestures (hand kissing, forehead kisses, etc.) and he’s the one who tends to look at Ronan like he hung the stars when he thinks Ronan’s not looking. And it’s more dramatic coming from Lazare because he ISN’T a natural romantic, he tends to think this kind of thing through. 

I just realized there’s a very distressing lack of French 1789 gifs on my computer and that needs to be amended soon, but THIS? Is how Laz tends to look at Ronan in the Takarazuka. (Ignoring the caption since I added it. Even if it’s accurate.)

Keeping in mind that THIS tends to be his default expression: 

“Hello, my name is Lazare and I’m dead inside. I have three emotions, one of which is ‘homicide,’ another of which is called ‘Ronan Mazurier,’ and another of which is called ‘I haven’t had enough morning coffee for this.’” 

4. Who can’t keep their hands to themselves?

Ronan. He’s always trying to figure out ways to touch or cuddle with Lazare. If he could, he would totally sit on Laz’s lap all the time in lieu of a semi-decent seat. He tends to “accidentally” manage to get his hands underneath Lazare’s shirt when they’re cuddling or just...tugs him closer. It’s not like Ronan’s ever really been in a situation where privacy was the NORM, since he’s a peasant. You have to figure that all his life, he’s slept at least three to a bed.

Lazare will never admit how much he actually loves it, because he’s been so touch starved all his life that he NEEDS that. 

9. What is the most embarrassing thing they have done in front of each other?

With Ronan “most embarrassing” is a very interesting term, since he’s.....Ronan. He’s the EMBODIMENT of “disaster, chaotic gay/bi.” There’s “That time that the illegal press that he was helping run was raided by the police, causing Ronan to go through the sewers. Shortly thereafter, he *mysteriously* gets a new coat.” There’s “That Time Ronan Initiated a Dance Off In Front of Laz’s Boss, Who Happens to be the King of France.” There’s the first time they met, where Ronan more or less called Laz a bitch to his face and got into a fist fight with him. And then, there’s That One Time Ronan got called out by the Queen’s favorite governess and shipped off to the Bastille. Bonus for the Takarazuka and Toho productions, where he’s ALSO hella drunk/hungover at the time. Modern AU Ronan would get hurt after slipping on the floor while dancing to Baby Shark (dododododo). There’s just...never a dull moment. 

Meanwhile, it’s a longstanding headcanon of mine that Lazare tends to pace back and forth. This is not in and of itself embarrassing, I say as a chronic pacer. What IS is when his boyfriend catches him mid-pace, making gestures and facial expressions to go along with an imaginary conversation in order to prepare for an audience that he’s not had yet. 

10. What two songs, two books and two luxury items do they take to a desert island?

Ronan: Baby Shark (Dodododododo) (No, I’m never NOT going to be on my bullshit with this one) (Lazare regrets allowing him it, but there’s very little that Lazare can ultimately deny him), he can’t read in-canon but in a modern AU I GUESS something that’s

Lazare: Two Steps From Hell - Nero 

(Historically, if it was at all possible, it would be a duel between Richard mon Roi and Ah, Ça Ira)

Neither one of them’s a big reader, but I can see Lazare taking along, like, a copy of the military regulations. And maybe a copy of Pamela if he’s worried he might suffer from insomnia. And honestly, in a modern AU, I can see Ronan taking, like, a pulpy gay romance novel about an innocent peasant being seduced by a wicked count. He does dramatic readings of the steamiest bits. Lazare rolls his eyes and turns over in their shared hammock. 

Luxury items: Lazare NEEDS his work computer. He doesn’t even need wifi, even though it’s obviously IMPORTANT; he just needs to be able to do his work. There are times Ronan thinks Laz would MARRY his work computer if he could. Also he and Ronan can BOTH agree that water filtration is essential. They are NOT going to die of something easily preventable.  

11. What do they hide from one another?

Lazare suffers from traumatic nightmares, and it’s something that he REALLY does not like to talk about, at all, mainly because he considers them to be humiliating. (Just like he really doesn’t like to talk about what CAUSED aforementioned nightmares.) Ronan eventually is able to coax him to talk about it and can usually get him to go back to sleep. 

Ronan has been known to tone down just how bad he’s hurt, either intentionally or unintentionally (”I’M ALRIGHT. Oh fuck, I’m not alright. Fuck.”) He tends to call Lazare out on “mother-henning” him when he thinks that Ronan has so much as a scratch on him. (Which is ironic given that we KNOW that if Ronan ever found out that Lazare got hurt, he would make over him just as much if not more.)12. What first changes when it starts getting serious?

Suddenly the stakes become REAL. Like, the Revolution VS the Monarchy conflict really starts to come into play, as they both start to kind of realize that one of them might not survive this. Suddenly, Ronan’s little tendency to get himself into trouble is something that causes a HUGE amount of anxiety for Lazare, because suddenly Lazare realizes that if Ronan doesn’t come back, he won’t be nearly as fine with that as he’d been pretending. Because Lazare’s life rests on stability, and somehow, without him realizing, Ronan had become that source of stability. And suddenly, Lazare’s devotion to the Royal Family becomes even more frustrating for Ronan, as he has to think that every time there’s violence in the street, “That could be Lazare.” He started with the Revolution in order to get revenge on Lazare for he did to his father (”Hello, my name is Ronan Mazurier. You killed my father. Prepare to die.”) but then when the situation FINALLY turns around so that Lazare could actually go down, there’s this sudden “OH SHIT.”

13. When do they realise they should get together?

I mean, in the French version of Maniaque, there’s a Very, Very Interesting place where Lazare goes from using the “vous” form of you on Ronan, indicating a high degree of formality and separation that’s almost TOO polite given their social statuses and that then switches over to a “tu” form. Shortly after male dancers dance homoerotically on stage. Because it’s a French musical. So, in terms of the canon material...........I would say that’s a very good indicator. I kind of like the idea of Maniaque as a back and forth between the two of them, with both of them kind of getting under each other’s skin with their responses. It’s fairly common to read it as Lazare-As-Interrogator, Ronan-As-Plucky-Revolutionary reading, and that’s probably what the writers INTENDED, but...it’s so much more fun imagining them both coming in with this high level of tension and mutual hatred and ending it on a much more uncertain territory. 

Personally, since we’re dealing with HEADCANONS though, I actually tend to put them actually realizing that there’s SOMETHING when Ronan arrives at the printing shop and no one even ASKS about where he’s been for the last month and then he has that argument with the Revolutionary Bros. Like, as a warning, this is totally outside the realm of any canon evidence, but I tend to see Lazare as very, very stressed when Ronan escapes and in my own AUs he totally helps him escape because it’s the only reasonable explanation for where the FUCK Ronan’s been staying all this time, and Ronan is at this point where his faith in the Revolution’s at an all-time low, and he realizes that Lazare is the only one who really...CARED about whether something happened to him. 

[lettersandinkstains]

Writing Advice II: Depression

So, my other post on writing trauma seems to have taken off and been fairly well received!

Another misconception I see among media is things on depression. They believe it’s always a young white girl who cries a lot, wears all black and maybe hurts herself. Bonus points if she’s an artist. Extra bonus points if there’s some sort of resistance to therapy, medication, and, “You won’t be as creative on anti depressants!”

Disclaimer: Mental illness comes in all sorts of ways, so how it may appear in me might be different for someone else. These are based on experience as well as the diagnosable symptoms that are common.

Warning: There is some discussions of s.uicide, so please be cautious when going forward.

Clinical depression, major depression. We’ve all heard those words, and we quite likely know someone who has a diagnosis or we, ourselves, have it. But what does it mean exactly? Everyone assumes it’s just feeling sad, and you don’t always feel sad, heck, maybe you feel good a lot of days!

That’s because depression is a persistent feeling of sadness. It usually leads to physical and behavioral changes.

Well, what are the symptoms?

According to the DSM:

The Mood Symptoms:

Anxiety, apathy, general discontent, guilt, a sense of hopelessness, a sense of helplessness, loss of interest in things you may have found pleasurable in the past, mood swings and sadness.

The Behavioral Symptoms

Agitation, excessive crying, irritibility, restlessness or social isolation.

Sleep-wise:

Insomnia, excessive sleeping, early wakening, or restless sleep.

Whole body:

Excessive hunger, fatigue, or loss of appetite

Cognitive:

Lack of concentration, slowness in activity, or thoughts of suicide.

(Please note: this is just a simplified list--there’s quite a few more things to go with it)

How these things will appear in people vary. For me, I would cry excessively and for absolutely no reason. I opened my fridge one day to make chocolate milk, because for once, something sounded good and found it had spoiled two weeks prior. I sobbed for an hour. For me, that spoiled milk had felt like I was an absolute failure of a human being and adult.

I mean, I let the milk spoil. I felt utterly worthless. This may perhaps be dramatic to the outsider, after all, it is just milk, but often times, it’s not just milk or a dropped pen or even a bad day, it’s a series of things that mold up into a mountain and that little insignificant thing causes the avalanche. Perhaps, yes, it was an overreaction, but for me, it felt as it was a testament as to who I was as a person then.

When the sickness (because I consider it a sickness) first showed up, I was probably around nine or ten. The symptoms were subtle and could have easily been brushed off as being shy. I started to isolate myself from my peers, I preferred to be on the computer and away from everybody. I had thoughts of suicide, even if I didn’t quite have that word in my lexicon yet.

For me, at that age, death meant the end of suffering. I was raised in a religious household, and the church I attended was pure doom and gloom. If you died, you would be with god and nothing would be wrong. Religion wasn’t a factor, but it sure as hell was an enticer to try.

Do I think religion such as Christianity to be bad, now, as an adult? No, I do have my hang ups with it, but I’ve known religion to help a lot of people overcome or even deal with their mental health issues. And to them, I give them props.

The emotional pain I feel and had felt was something I could not, and still cannot describe to this day. The closest I have gotten to describing it was to a therapist, and it feels like there’s a giant ball of scribbles in my chest that’s constantly turning and growing bigger. It always feels like it hurts and it’s suffocating. I picked up cutting because if I could just get it out, it would go away.

It never really went away.

I stopped being able to sleep around age thirteen. For others, they sleep too much. For some, it’s disruptive, and it’s restless. But for me, it manifested itself as insomnia (anxiety played a major part in this too). The nights were long and restless, and I would often cry. Because wow, sleep is another thing I’m failing at! My weight dropped due a lack of appetite, food tasted like cardboard, and the smell made me want to vomit (I would later be diagnosed with EDNOS).

My grades suffered. Focusing was hard. Words felt like gibberish most days. Hobbies felt bland, awful, and stupid (it didn’t help I had brothers who made fun of my interests). The sociable little girl I had been, the one my parents sang praises for being smart, friendly, and witty all felt like it died when I became a teenager. Part of it had to do with my period at age nine. I would later learn this is likely a part of dysphoria.

Writing felt like my only outlet, as depression ate and took away a personality. I’m still discovering my interests today, at aged 27! And you know what? That’s okay! It’s okay to have overcome a shadow and relearn things, this isn’t a race.

So, how do you write things like this in a character? You may wonder. Surely, nobody with depression is always crying and locked away from society.

No, of course not! Give them a personality. Much like with anything else, depression isn’t a personality, it’s an illness. 

Let your characters still experience happiness. I still felt some joy and excitement at things. When I did theater in high school, I felt a rush of pride when I was able to memorize silolquies and impressed my classmates, my heart still beat fast when my then girlfriend would kiss me. Calling my friends (because texting wasn’t much of a thing in 9th and 10th grade! I don’t think it became ubquitous until I was about to graduate?) was still exciting, and I would always look forward to weekend long sleepovers.

As an adult, the things that still made me excited and got me out of bed was volunteer work. I would later foster cats and then lose that after a second suicide attempt. But there were still things that made me happy.

Because with depression, you can still experience happiness. The sadness is persistent. 

Give your characters interests, but let them have their struggles with it. I still message friends with my frustrations and anger when nothing seems right and everything I do is bad. Let this be a thing with your characters where they’ll go days without experiencing the adrenaline rush from their interest. 

Your hero in your fantasy adventure story doesn’t always have to be strong and courageous. Let them struggle with the trauma of having watched So and So die or get hurt. Let them feel the guilt. Have days where they can’t get out of bed because it’s just too much, it’s too hard. Their chest aches, their heart aches.

But force them anyways. And as usual, make sure it fits with your story. Don’t fret because you’re writing something and the character isn’t responding to a terrifying, traumatic event like you believe they should. People process things differently. If it fits in the story, do it, but do it well.

Your main character in your romance story has major depression. Okay, cool! When you bring in the love interest, and the romance blossoms and there’s roses, maybe they confess their love to each other. Maybe there’s that little bit of drama, a misunderstanding, or whatever your conflict is. Don’t go Hollywood. Do not let the love interest be the thing that “fixes” the depression.

Because that’s not how it works. Your character may decide to live, or get better for that love interest--PERFECT! GOOD! People do that all the time! I’m doing that for my cat! Let the love interest help them, but do not say that the character was now healed by love and they lived happily ever after. That doesn’t feel real, and feels very, very misleading. I’ve destroyed relationships because I was severely depressed. 

“But what if I want to write something like that? Real life isn’t always fun.” No, it’s not. It’s okay if you want to write something like that, but we already have countless movies geared towards things like that. I can guarantee the next Lifetime movie has that sort of plot. And while you’re free to write as you please, it gives people an incredibly wrong idea. You cannot heal someone by the “power of love”, they have to want to get better, and it’s an uphill battle.

I can’t tell you the countless times I’ve heard people in support groups express frustrations with themselves or their partners because they’re not better yet. “They said they love me, but they’re mad I’m still depressed.” or, “I have this person in my life now, I’m in a relationship. Why aren’t I happy?” 

So as you write this story, keep in mind, you are adding a real life element to it that people struggle with on a daily basis. And we all rely on escape fantasies, but there are still those who think those can be true. And it’s dangerous. A former friend of mine believed that if she loved this guy enough, if she stuck around, he would get better. She just not trying hard enough. He never got better. And she suffered all the more for it.

Alternatively, I watched one of my friends flourish in a relationship. She passed away this summer because she still had her demons, and those demons got the best of her. But you know what happened instead of ~love~ healing her? She worked to get better, she relied on her partner when she needed to. She used the support net she had, and strived towards healing. And she did amazing because she felt she had something to live for. 

So, if you want to add in that real life element where people struggle with, and has claimed lives, write it so that love interest is someone they decide to live for. And I think that’s a more interesting romance story instead of, “Mentally ill character falls in love, suddenly cured” trope!

The people I know who struggle with depression either do seek professional help (therapy, psychotherapy, medication) or self medicate (drugs, alcohol, etc).

Family members are alcoholics, for example. One uncle would prefer to see the bottom of a bottle starting at 7 am and going until 12 am. He only got better from alcoholism for four years, until his kids graduated. Being drunk is preferable state of mind for him than whatever reality he may be having to face (and yes, some of us are trying to help him--he doesn’t need an early grave at 65).

A friend of mine used drugs to escape the world and the demons that followed. Last year, he got clean for good. This year, he started anti depressants. This month, he is soaring.

I know someone else who uses religion. They are happy in this state, and I cannot find fault in that. If someone finds peace, contentedness, happiness when believing in a higher power, let them be. Unless it is so obviously hurting them or others.

Lastly, a small note on medication is that it’s not one size fits all. Medications can be a bitch to deal with, I had to mess around for a long time before I found something that works, which is ativan. If you want your character to go on meds, keep in mind that taking that first pill doesn’t automatically mean they’re suddenly happy and cured for life.

For some, medication means it’s a lifetime thing, and others, a short while. However you decide to do this, is up to you.

Make sure to research it. Make sure to do it well. And if you have struggles and asking if you’re doing it right, reach out to someone about it and ask questions. It’s okay. Nobody should fault you for that.

And as I’ve said before, we can have our happy ending. But it’s your choice on the characters ending because there is no “wrong” way to do it, because some people lose their battle. Some people live to survive it and tell about it, others will battle tooth and nail for the rest of their lives.

So, with this very long post ending, readers, writers, everyone, if you struggle with depression or know someone who has and wish to add on to this post (about your experiences!), feel free to do so! After all, it rears its ugly head differently in everyone, and well rounded information is often given by a multiude of people!

And if anyone has questions, you are free to send me an ask or a message!

[celestialsunglasses]

✩

Big relationship meme

Send ‘✩’ for the following:

Disagreements:

Who is more likely to raise their voice?: Nick, but he doesn’t do it often. And if he notices anyone flinching, unless his barbarian ass goes into a fuckin’ rage for 10 turns, he’ll try his best to lower his voice again even if he’s still angry.Who threatens to leave but never actually does?: Neither of them. The way it is now, they have good communication. there wouldn’t be much of that threat if at all.Who actually keeps their word and leaves?: Neither of them? Mostly because neither of them feel like they wanna leave each other, and if that was a thing that was on the table they’d probably talk it out instead of just being dramatic.Who trashes the house?: No one. I imagine that’s not how either of them express their anger.Do either of them get physical?: No one is ever hit. That’s a big no.How often do they argue/disagree?: Probably not overly often. Not full arguments. Who is the first to apologize?: I’m gonna say Nick? Not because Steph wouldn’t apologize, more because i’m not actually 100% sure and I don’t like to immediately presume with these memes. It may actually vary depending on context. 

Sex:

Who is on top?: Usually Steph.Who is on the bottom?: Usually Nick.Who has the strangest desires?: Probably Steph. Nick’s a vanilla bitch.Any kinks?: I’m sure Steph has a couple. Can’t remember what they are, but I know they exist on at least a small level. Nick has a biting kink that is both giving and receiving, a praise kink out the ass, and he does like to get a bit rough at times. But other than that he’s not naturally kinky without prompting. But he’s extremely open minded to trying things out.Who’s dominant in bed?: Steph.Is head ever in the equation?: Yes.If so, who is better at performing it?: Man I don’t know. They both good as hell at it, probably.Ever had sex in public?: I’m not completely sure.Who moans the most?: Depends what’s happening. But Nick can be pretty noisy sometimes.Who leaves the most marks?: Nick.Who screams the loudest?: Well Nick isn’t exactly a screamer. If you can get him to scream and not just moan loudly, then good on you.Who is the more experienced of the two?: As far as the general act is concerned, not including experience with things like kinks, Nick. But only because he’s older and has had shittons of experience because he is hypersexual as hell for a variety of reasons, and has been for a good amount of his life.Do they ‘fuck’ or ‘make love’?: Both.Rough or soft?: Both.How long do they usually last?: It varies depending on the context and how turned on either of them are.Is protection used?: About 99% of the time, yes. On occasion they do get in the moment, but they do try to keep up with the protection.Does it ever get boring?: Nah.Where is the strangest place they’d have sex?: I’m not sure.

Family:

Do your muses plan on having children/or have children?: So I’m not sure it’s a plan, but like I feel they would talk if they were going to do the child rearing thing, it’d be through adoption, and it wouldn’t be a baby, they’d go for a slightly older child. Like from 5 or 6 and up from there. If so, how many children do your muses want/have?: At most maybe two. But most likely one.Who is the favorite parent?: It’d depend on the child.Who is the authoritative parent?: You know I actually don’t know. Because I feel both of them would be encouraging parents, with varying fun sides. But maybe Steph might find it easier to be stern???? If she had to???? Like Nick can also be stern but he might have a period of time where he’s afraid of it because he’s kinda had weird luck with his own kids and he’d have a time where he wouldn’t want them to hate him before figuring it out easier.Who is more likely to allow the children to have a day off school?: Both of them probably advocate for mental health days when it’s absolutely necessary.Who lets the children indulge in sweets and junk food when the other isn’t around?: This one’s probably another both. Though at some point Nick would attempt to make sure they did a little better.Who turns up to extra curricular activities to support their children?: Both of them when possible.Who goes to parent teacher interviews?: Nick, at the very least. He’s good at doing that type of social interaction.Who changes the diapers?: If a baby was involved, both.Who gets up in the middle of the night to feed the baby?: If a baby was involved at all, it’d switch off. But it’d be a lot of Nick cause boy can’t stay asleep worth a damn sometimes.Who spends the most time with the children?: It’s possibly Nick. But not to a huge degree. His job just has a few less time consuming elements outside of work.Who packs their lunch boxes?: Nick.Who gives their children ‘the talk’?: Nick is a huge advocate for age appropriate sex ed, so he definitely would. But I feel like Steph is similar in that way so would also try, and would at least be someone the kid could trust with those things.Who cleans up after the kids?: They try to encourage their kid to do what they can first, and then it’s just very dependent who’s there at the time, and how much really needs to be done.Who worries the most?: Nick, I think????Who are the children more likely to learn their first swear word from?: hAHA. NICK FOR SURE. First of all, if the child they adopted was rather young, he’d have a lot of trouble not showing his pride and affection and enthusiasm of their achievements and happiness by saying things like, “little buddy that’s fUCKIN’ SICK.” they’d get a call from a teacher that the child said a swear word in class, nick would get down on their level and just, “the fuck, dude?”

Affection:

Who likes to cuddle?: Both, but Nick is hyper affectionate as shit, so frequently Nick.Who is the little spoon?: Nick, probably. That just seems like it’d be the case.Who gets naughty in the most inappropriate of places?: Not sure.Who struggles to keep their hands to themself?: Nick. Not necessarily in a directly sexual way most of the time. Just that he likes to be touching people. Hand on the shoulder, or arm around the shoulder. Hand holding, hugging. Leaning on her a little if they’re sitting down. It’s difficult for him not to do that. But if she needed space he’d try for her.How long can they cuddle until one becomes uncomfortable?: Depends on position. If it’s one where no one’s arms fall asleep, then a good amount of time. Otherwise probably only a little while before either of them become restless and need a stretch.Who gives the most kisses?: It’s pretty even.What is their favourite non-sexual activity?: Just hanging out and talking.Where is their favourite place to cuddle?: Probably on the couch or in bed.Who is more likely to playfully grope the other?: It’s back and forth, but for this one I might say Steph.How often do they get time to themselves?: Often enough.

Sleeping:

Who snores?: Nick doesn’t. He has a habit of humming in his sleep, talking in his sleep, if it’s bad enough, walking in his sleep. And often times he can be known to breathe very heavily if he was the one to fall asleep in the body. And unless Steph also doesn’t directly snore, then it’s Steph.If both do, who snores the loudest?: If Steph snores, it’s Steph.Do they share a bed or sleep separately?: They share a bed.If they sleep together, do they cozy up together or lay far apart?: They often cozy up. Unless A.) Steph has managed to fall asleep in her shop and Nick was indisposed to go get her, or B.) Nick tosses and turns like hell which can be a sleep ruiner sometimes, they sleep together.Who talks in their sleep?: Nick.What do they wear to bed?: I believe Steph is likely to wear boxers and a t-shirt. Nick does sweat pants and a t-shirt of some sort. Very rarely without those things unless they were doing stuff beforehand because Nick gets very cold at night, and the more layers the better at times.Are either of your muses insomniacs?: I think both of them to a certain degree can be, but Nick has intense insomnia and nightmare disorder on his own. He can sleep, but he often isn’t the one to fall asleep or it doesn’t quite work.Can sleeping pills be found by the bedside?: Probably both take some sort of sleep aid if it’s bad enough. Nick definitely would have to if he wants to even attempt sleeping properly as himself.Do they wrap their limbs around each other or just lay side by side?: It varies, but they do like to cuddle primarily.Who wakes up with bed hair?: Both of them.Who wakes up first?: Probably Nick, or some part of Nick’s system does.Who prepares breakfast in bed for the other?: I’m not sure. In general I’m gonna say Nick, but Nick might also take issue with the idea of crumbs in the bed and keep it to a minimum for that reason.What is their favourite sleeping position? Spooning.Who hogs the sheets?: Nick without question.Do they set an alarm each night?: Depends on work schedules, but Nick probably does to a degree.Can a television be found in their bedroom?: Yeah.Who has nightmares?: Both, but Nick especially.Who has ridiculous dreams?: Both.Who sprawls out and takes up most of the bed?: Not sure.Who makes the bed?: Nick.What time is bed time?: Whenever they want.Any routines/rituals before bed?: Just the general routines of like brushing teeth, taking any required nightly meds.Who’s the grumpiest when they wake up?: I’m not sure. Nick is a shambling corpse when he wakes up on his own, so maybe him. It’s different if someone else woke up.

Work:

Who is the busiest?: It’s pretty even on how often it happens, but Steph has a slightly more physical job than Nick does, and hers probably takes more time, so Steph.Who rakes in the highest income?: You know I never thought about this, and I’m not 100% sure. I wanna say,,,,, sTEPH???? BECAUSE IT’S ROBOTS. IT REQUIRES A LOT MORE MONEY TO MAKE THE THINGS PEOPLE WANT. But I also realize it depends on how much business she gets with how you write her. But since she seems pretty self sufficient in that way, I’m still gonna assume Steph to some degree.Are any of your muses unemployed?: Nope.Who takes the most sick days?: Probably Nick. Not that he does it super frequently, but Steph is the type to be so invested in her job she doesn’t take care of herself without prompting from others if she’s not careful, so I wouldn’t imagine she takes sick days very often.Who is more likely to turn up late to work? Nick. His job is very flexible. Plus he owns/co-owns his tattoo shop with a friend of his, and can get away with being a little late as long as he does his job once he is there and isn’t slacking when things really need to be done.Who sucks up to their boss? hAHA, THEY ARE BOTH THEIR OWN BOSSES.What are their jobs?: Nick is a tattoo artist, and owner of the shop, I’m not sure Steph’s official job title, nor am I 100% on all that she does on top of the making robots part, but she makes cool ass robots.Who stresses the most?: Probably Steph.Do your muses enjoy or despise their careers/occupations?: They both love what they do.Are your muses financially stable?: Yes.

Home:

Who does the washing?: Both.Who takes out the trash?: Both do.Who does the ironing?: Ironing? in thIS ECONOMY? Idk I feel like neither of them unless it’s really necessary to look that professional.Who does the cooking?: Nick.Who is more likely to burn the house down just trying?: Again, this is me hoping I’m remembering correctly and not having daydreamed these details somehow, but Steph.Who is messier?: I’m not sure. Nick is varying degrees of organized and disorganized depending on the details. Like his tattoo shop? Fuckin meticulously clean. He works with needles, and it can be a health hazard if he dOESN’T keep it that meticulous. His general living space? It’s clean-ish, but depending on things it can be cluttered and disorganized. It’s like,,,,, it looks lived in. And then depending on alters it may be more or less clean on any given day. His car? Probably sometimes a wreck because wHO HAS THE TIME TO CLEAN ThAT SHIT. Steph seems like she could be either decently messy/cluttered/disorganized, or extremely clean where things are concerned. But I’m not sure which one it is.Who leaves the toilet roll empty?: Okay this one I’m gonna give to Nick. Not because he’s lazy it’s just,,,, he’ll think about it, but then the second he leaves the general area it’s like it completely leaves his mind that he didn’t actually do that because ADHD is just a dick like that sometimes. Paired with frequent dissociation. He’s gonna forget some shit. Who leaves their dirty clothes on the floor?: Who forgets to flush the toilet?: Neither of them.Who is the prankster around the house?: Nick.Who loses the car keys when it comes time to go somewhere?: Nick. Like boy just constantly fuckin’ forgets where he puts his dang keys. CONSTANTLY. Like even if he can keep track of quite a lot of things. The keys are not one of them.Who mows the lawn?: Probably Nick, or some part of him.Who answers the telephone?: Nick.Who does the vacuuming?: Nick, mostly.Who does the groceries?: They go together.Who takes the longest to shower?: Nick, I think. He can be maybe a little too thorough sometimes.Who spends the most time in the bathroom?: Nick. He has a ridiculous standard of attractiveness that he holds himself to, and sometimes he’s never satisfied and it ends with him obsessively fixing himself to frustration, or until someone less self conscious switches out.

Miscellaneous:

Is money a problem?: I don’t think so.How many cars do they own?: One. I’m gonna assume Steph doesn’t drive. But that’s mostly because I’ve never seen you say as much, which leads me to assume they would only really need one because Nick does drive.Do they own their home or do they rent?: They probably own it.Do they live near the coast or deep in the countryside?: the coast??? I thINK??? IDK.Do they live in the city or in the country?: Closer to the city. Not sure if it’s in a big city, but it’s closer to people.Do they enjoy their surroundings?: Generally, yeah.What’s their song?: Hell if I know.What do they do when they’re away from each other?: Work, hang out with friends if they have the time or feel like it. Just whatever they want.Where did they first meet?: Idk, either through someone, or one of them went into the other’s shop. we just kinda hopped right into them being friends i’m not sure where they met.How did they first meet?: I don’t know I’m not sure we discussed this.Who spends the most money when out shopping?: It’s probably Nick by a little bit.Who’s more likely to flash their assets?: I can’t see either of them being like that, but it’s likely Nick on accident. He just kind is like, “oh yeah I have this much so it’s good.” so by default he is telling people what he has sorta, but it’s not out of anything flashy or wanting to boast. It’s just like, he doesn’t care if people know, and it helps him remember better what he needs to do with it.Who finds it amusing when the other trips over?: Oh they both think it’s fuckin’ hilarious as long as no one is seriously injured, but they help each other up.Any mental issues?: Quite a few. Nick has DID, adhd, c-ptsd, depression, and a couple anxiety things, plus insomnia from nightmares. So that’s a whole ass thing to consider. If I remember right, Steph is autistic, but I don’t know if that’s a mental disorder so much as a neurological development thing. But it at least affects how she functions with her mental health and issues with it and such, and I believe she has ptsd, maybe depression and anxiety??? I could be wrong on the last bits. With this meme I realize there’s a lot of things I could ask about at some point.Who’s terrified of bugs?: Nick. Sorta. He’s not a fan of flying bugs. Especially butterflies, and moths (the fact he loves mothman is a great irony) they freak him out. Centipedes are a no in any circumstance outside of weird tattoos. And he’s only okay with them if someone happens to have them as pets??? But even then they give him the heebs, and the jeebs. But he’s fine with spiders???? And rhino beetles. He thinks those things are wicked fuckin’ cool.Who kills the spiders around the house?: Nick likes spiders so he does attempt to bring them outside. But he can be known to occasionally kill them, too. It depends on if it’s convenient to put it outside.Their favourite place? idk each other’s arms?Who pays the bills?: I think they both help with bills.Do they have any fears for their future?: Not really no. Not between the two of them at least. Maybe fears of what could happen given either of their pasts. Like Nick would be afraid of Steph getting murdered, or afraid of something celestial/demonic hurting her in an attempt to hurt him.Who’s more likely to surprise the other with a fancy dinner?: Nick.Who uses up all of the hot water?: Also Nick. They probably had to get a longer lasting water heater. He cRAVES heat.Who’s the tallest?: N IC K. HE’S A BIG DUDE.Who’s more likely to just randomly hop into the shower with the other?: Steph.Who wanders around in their underwear?: Steph.Who sings the loudest when singing along to the radio?: Nick.What do they tease each other about?: A variety of things I’m too tired to consider right now.Who is more likely to cringe at the other’s fashion sense at times?: Neither of them, they either look good or it’s all neutral enough it doesn’t matter.Do they have mutual friends?: I’d imagine so, yes.Who crushed first?: God that’s a good question, I’m not sure.Any alcohol or substance related problems?: They are both recovering from things. Nick is an on and off alcoholic, but he’s really trying. And I think you said Steph had a think with pills at one point, but is also trying not to go back to that.Who is more likely to stumble home, drunk, at 3am?: Nick.Who swears the most?: It’s pretty equal.

[fulcrum-agent]

Body By Thor

Some of you may have noticed this tag on some of my food posts. I’m going to explain where the hell it came from, and probably sound like something of a shill for a minute. Cut for length concerns.

CENTR

Last week, a programme called Centr launched, and I believe it’s the most comprehensive health and wellness programme you can get, short of being able to hire your own trainers and wellness staff.

For years, Chris Hemsworth has been approached about how he is essentially Thor in IRL. Questions about how he got so ripped, how he maintains all that bustling energy, why he’s so damn positive. (Spoilers: half the answers are because of Hemsworth being Australia, as a starter.)

The man has a massive health and wellness team, as well as myriad friends in the industry. So he’s picked 21 of the best experts he knows, and brought them together to create Centr.

Every expert has a series of videos in the programme, as well as some articles for self guided work, instead of the video and audio guidance. I’ve had the programme for a week now, and I haven’t made it through a fraction of the videos and articles.

The thing that caught me at the get go was the fact that there’s a huge article dedicated for how to train as someone whose either been injured, or suffers from chronic medical conditions and/or persistent pain. Literally, no other health or wellness programme I’ve touched in the past decade has had something like that. Further more, each trainer they have for fitness gives alternate movement sets and suggestions for those who are suffering physical ailments, and can’t do the full monty version.

The other thing that drew me to this programme is the fact their app is fairly much fully comprehensive. Previously, I’ve needed an app for a food plan, an app to track calorie intake and/or exercise, an exercise app, and an app for creating shopping lists at the very least. In some manner, all of that shite is built into Centre, which makes it a hell of a lot easier to manage.

Making management further streamlined, the app is heavily invested in the Apple Health system. It utilises nearly every aspect of the Health API, as well as the Apple Watch. I was shocked as hell when I did my first workout, and had my Watch suddenly flip on with all sorts of metrics going. It uses the Workout API of the watch, but has its own custom interface that has a lot more data right there and available.

The core of the programme is a weekly planner. This has your workouts, meditation and/or sleep aids, and your meals for every day of the week. The recipes for the meals can be adjusted by serving, so people who are cooking for just themselves can trim it down to one serving (or two for quick leftovers), while people who are feeding a family can crank up the servings to cover even parties worth of people.

What’s awesom there is that you can tell the app to move your weekly meal plan’s ingredients into a shopping list, which will auto calculate how much you need of what, even if something is used in more than one meal. It sorts it (as best it can) into what section of the grocery store items are located, but your milage on the accuracy of such will vary, based on your local stores. The shopping list does have the ability to add things not on the meal plan list, so that part’s covered as well.

Centr has one of the most diverse workout/fitness selections I’ve seen in a single app. There’s really good foundational movements, yoga and pliates, strength training, endurance training, muscle building, HIIT and HIRT, along with things like boxing and MMA. One of the guys who does a video set is Chris’ stunt man friend, who relates some of the various things he’s teaching to the world of stuntmen, which is pretty fun.

The programme is pretty flexivle in terms of the fitness. You can swap out workouts if you need something a little less strenuous, or want to up your anti on a good day. You don’t need to use equipment, but if you have it or a gym membership, the programme has series that focus on using such.

I think the one thing about the app that throws me off, and will likely throw others off, is that you personally are not tracking your calories. The app does it for you in the meal plans. As long as you stick to the meal plans (which do have snacking factored in), you can just not give any fucks about the calories going in. That’s...like the antithises of every other nutrition app, but I’m digging not having to give extra fucks over it.

And this last piece may sound odd, but unlike a lot of other programmes, Hemsworth has made sure there’s a link right in the iOS app to hit the Apple Store and adjust your subscription, whether it be to change your bililng cycle or cancel completely. Far too many apps now a days are super opague about that, and it’s really annoying.

The programme is literally by Hemsworth himself. He not only turns up in many different parts of the programme, he oversees the entire god damn thing. It’s letimately his work, something he’s doing between being a super hero and having a family.

Your first week ends with him popping up in a video, which was cute as shit. I won’t spoil it for anyone, but I giggled like a school girl at what happened during the vid.

There is one thing that may be a turn off for some people: this is not one of those free-to-use-but-has-in-app-purchase type programmes. It’s a straight up 7 day trial, then full on subscription. The upside is that nothing is gated during the 7 day trial, and then everything is yours to use once you subscribe. One of the most frustrating things is the variance between the amount of accesibility with an app that focuses on in-app purchases, and despite the programme being about the same amount as a gym membership, the lack of not knowing what I do and don’t have access too is pretty nice.

Centr has a pretty huge FAQ for people to look at before starting. I also suggest starting the programme right after you wake up, to maximise your 7 days. The first day is super chill, and all about collecting your week’s worth of stuff, but you really need that full day to get into it. I made the fucking mistake of doing it at like 2 AM and having my first day all messed up cus I didn’t have transportation to the store.

Completely by accident, I ended up being a Founding Member, since I stumbled upon it during the launch ramp up. I spent the night of the 13th into the 14th doing my grocery shopping, and man, that was a workout on its own.

To wrap things up, the reason I decided to write anything about Centre is because I’m seeing immediate results. My pain decreased dramatically, the amount of calories I burn each day has doubled already, I am sleeping more restfully (once I can sleep, insomnia is still being a jerk), and I’m giving less fucks about the things that don’t really matter, and enjoying the things that do.

I do mix Centr with another programme called Fabulous, which focuses on the mental aspects of life. But I literally only need two apps to have a full compliment of health and wellness help, instead of like...six.

Thank you for coming to my TED Talk. This shill was given freely, cus I’m not lucky enough to be endorsed by Hemsworth himself.

[tottwriter]

Progress Update

So! The eagle-eyed among you will have noticed that I’ve been making considerably fewer story updates for a while now. I haven’t really given much of an explanation up until now (hand injuries aside), because I’d kept hoping that, any week now, things would resolve themselves and I’d go back to “normal”.

Well, spoiler: They haven’t. and for at least a few more months, they probably won’t. With that in mind, I’d like to let people know what’s been going on.

I’ve been a single parent for five years now. I make no secret of that, or of the fact that I have health issues - disabilities - which sometimes affect my ability to write. What I haven’t really covered before is the extent to which my various health complications are hereditary. 

The fact of the matter is, over the last few months I have been experiencing a considerable amount of stress and time loss due to my son developing several persistent symptoms of some of these conditions. We’re currently waiting on a formal diagnosis - which will likely only arrive after several more hospital appointments - but he’s been on and off missing school, and experiencing a lot of insomnia to boot. 

It goes utterly without saying that my first priority is my children. I feel like that’s pretty obvious, but lately it has meant taking him to appointments, fetching him from school early at times (then making arrangements for my daughter to be collected), and comforting him when he is distressed and in pain, or unable to sleep. 

At the same time, I am keeping a closer eye on my daughter, who will quite possibly start experiencing the same things in a couple of years. I’m hoping that by forging a relationship with the consultants I see for my son now, I can speed up that side of things when the time comes. 

I’ll be blunt now - I am well aware that this is not information which is particularly interesting to many people. I’m not here to make this a cry for help or play the martyr - there’s nothing life or death or particularly dramatic about my situation, and I have plenty of family support. My children have a good relationship with their father and he and I get along and are working together on this. In the long term, it’ll all be completely fine. 

For the short term, however, I am emotionally devastated, and the result of that is that my creative output has almost run dry. It’s not just a matter of losing time and physical energy in order to care for my son - he’s ten. For the most part he looks after himself pretty well these days. I probably lose more time to seizures than I do to the extra caretaking, and that always left me with plenty of time to write in before.

What’s wiping me right now is the emotional side of things. My son is in pain almost every day, and while as a parent that’s pretty hard to cope with - hell, as a human it’s hard to know that someone you care about is in pain all the time - what is really compounding this one is that on some level, it is my fault. This is a condition he inherited from me, and I know it’s not going anywhere. 

I want to tell him I’ll fix it, or that even if I can’t, someone else can, but I can’t make that promise because I know damn well it’s a lie. In fact, if his health follows the same pattern that mine did, it’s actually probably going to get worse for a few years before it starts to improve. 

I often joke that I spent half my teens on crutches or in hospital. It’s not much of an exaggeration, and although I just sorta got on with it at the time, that was when no one knew what was going on, or that my constant ankle injuries were anything other than bad luck. By the time I started experiencing regular excruciating pain in my knees and hips, I was old enough to more or less get on with it, albeit with the aid of very strong painkillers and good friends. It was a bugger, sure, but at that point I’d gotten used to it. 

Now I’m faced with the prospect of probably having to tell a ten year old to “get used to it”. That pain and discomfort and dizziness are going to be his faithful companions throughout his formative years. Honestly I can’t actually describe how that feels, other than to say it’s a piece of shit. 

This is a long post to make, about a topic which is honestly pretty sensitive, and I’ve tried to keep it relatively free from woe-is-me sentiment. I’m not here to fish for comfort. Honestly, I’ve gone back and forth on whether to share details about this at all. I’m aware that this is personal stuff, and that a lot of people don’t need or want to know. 

I thought about dropping it below a cut, too, but ultimately decided to leave it in plain view. I’m not going to make this post again, but I did want to make it visible. Not, as I say, for the pity party, but because these health complications are serious, ever bit as important to me as the political issues I might share, or the LGBT+ issues I highlight.

Disability is a huge facet of how I have been shaped and grown over the years, and I refuse to hide it tidily away behind a cut to be glossed over, intentionally or not. Ultimately, this is a twofold statement. Firstly, to explain why my fiction has been thin on the ground lately (it is absolutely 100% not that I have lost interest in writing or my fandoms), and secondly to make a definitive statement about the nature of disability, and how insidious it can be.

I do not consider myself depressed at the current time. I’ve experienced it before, post-partum, and I can tell the difference. But there’s no denying that my mental wellbeing right now is compromised by the situation I find myself in, and at the moment I don’t know how long that will last, or how it will affect my other health problems. 

I’m going to do my best to keep writing. And this...this clusterfuck will pass in time. Until it does, all I ask is that people continue to bear with me, because I might still slip up and promise to finish something soon, only to miss the deadline I’ve set myself again. If there’s one thing which will probably never change about me, it’s my constant habit of pushing for unrealistic goals. 

I’m not going to mope after this post, either. It’ll be right back to my regular randomness, so please don’t feel that you need to tread on eggshells or avoid certain topics. As I mentioned earlier, this isn’t life or death, just...creatively draining.