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ineverlookavvay · 4 years

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bisexual-aliens-in-arms

Isobel drags Michael to Planet 7 for pride night. It goes far better than expected.

Bi Visibility Day - Day 7 of Michael Guerin Week 2020

cw: alcohol, referenced child abuse, internalized homophobia

Read it on Ao3

“No, “ Michael said, aiming for firm. “I don’t have time, Iz.”

Isobel scoffed. “What, are you going to be working on cars all night long?”

There was actually a fairly big backlog of cars to work on, and Michael found he needed the distraction more often than not recently. Life was complicated, increasingly so, and cars were simple, designed to be a certain way and logically never stray from that. People sucked a lot more than cars, objectively.

“Maybe I am.”

“Michael.” Isobel leaned down onto the hood of the car he was trying to work on, annoyingly in his way. She was giving him her ‘cut the bullshit’ look, which he was historically not very good at escaping. “It’s one night, and it’s important to me. Please come out?”

“I don’t do theme nights.”

Isobel scoffed again, rolling her eyes and trodding directly onto his ego. “Come on, Michael. This is my first pride month and you’re supposed to be my bisexual-alien-in-arms.” She changed tactic abruptly, making the most irritating pouty face he’d ever seen. “You’re not really going to make me go alone, are you?”

Michael sighed, wiping grease off his hands onto his jeans. Fucking hell. “Fine, but you gotta leave me alone for at least a few hours, okay?” Isobel clapped gleefully. “You know, some of us work.”

“Let me know if any of those people want a job,” Sanders cut in, ducking in on his way out, looking at Michael’s progress skeptically and ignoring Michael’s scowl. “Do some damn work.”

“Hell does it look like I’m doing?” Michael called out as Sanders left, still scowling. Michael fixed a tight smile on Isobel. “Later, okay?”

She shrugged. “Fine, but be ready to go at eight. And try not to look so…” she waved her hand at his general appearance, “mechanic-y.”

Michael wanted to protest that he always looked ‘mechanic-y’ on account of he was a damn mechanic, and besides, the grungy blue-collar cowboy look was still popular as far as he could tell; but seeing as he’d already caved, he would certainly end up losing this argument, too. So instead, he turned his attention back to the cars. Michael liked working with his hands, he liked fixing things. Sure, he might fuck up every relationship he’d ever had, he might break the things in his life constantly, but he could take a broken car and make it a working car, and that was something.

He was not so secretly dreading the evening, though. He let himself drift far enough into his work that he wasn’t actively panicking about going to a damn pride night at the local gay bar, which he’d never actually been to, no matter how many times Isobel tried to convince him how great it was. It’s not that Michael was ashamed, he really wasn’t—but he’d experienced enough bigots and assholes in his life to know that he didn’t need to paint an extra target on his back, either.

Who he fucked was his own business, and that was how he preferred to keep it. Isobel was reveling in her newfound sexuality, and he wasn’t about to ruin that for her, but he also knew that a rich white woman was a lot less of a target than a trailer trash cowboy. He also had an existential dread of any place that resulted in Isobel leaving at the end of the night dripping in glitter.

Michael didn’t do glitter, and he didn’t do pride month—or at least he hadn’t—and he’d much rather just spend a night with Isobel at the Wild Pony celebrating themselves quietly with a drink that didn’t have anything in it besides the liquor. Hell, they could go there and celebrate themselves raucously, as long as no one had to know the reason for the celebrating.

His attempt to distract himself resulted in successfully losing track of time, which meant Isobel was already standing in the junkyard tapping her foot when he went inside to shower and change.

“You don’t have anything cuter than that?” she asked skeptically when he emerged, clean and dressed in a black button-down. Isobel was wearing a purplish iridescent crop top that probably came out of her closet circa 2010 and incredibly tight dark blue jeans, with multiple strings of shiny necklaces around her neck.

“Sorry, I don’t own anything that shiny.”

That got him a smile at least. “Listen, Michael, the whole point of pride is to look hot,” he was pretty sure that wasn’t true, “get laid,” he was sure that one was wrong, “and be out and proud while doing it.” She looked so proud of herself right then that Michael didn’t have the heart to argue. “Plus, the bi flag has really nice colors.”

Michael smiled in spite of himself. “Iz, you got me to go with you, you really want to jeopardize that by shit talking my clothing?”

Frowning slightly, she shrugged. “Fine, but this is why no one thinks you’re the fun alien.”

“Hey! I am definitely the fun one,” he argued, striding towards her car and settling in for an inane but companionable argument.

Michael liked bars, in general. He liked the dark corners and the dirty floors and the smell of alcohol and the down home music and the bluster of it all. He liked sitting at a bar nursing a drink and feeling like a part of something just by virtue of drinking beside other people. But Michael hated Planet 7.

First of all, the whole damn place was trying too hard. It had far too many lights, all of them overly complicated and flashing stupid colors. It had a DJ instead of a jukebox, which Isobel implied was something special, that he should be pleased to be experiencing, much to his chagrin. It had more glitter and confetti littering the floor and on the bar and on the tables than Michael had ever hoped to see in one place. All the drinks were obscured by ridiculous garnishes. There was someone sitting at the end of the bar stenciling with face paint on people’s faces, another thing Isobel assured him was a fun and exciting theme night thing. But most of all, it didn’t make Michael feel safe, or comfortable, or known; this wasn’t his place.

Isobel looked like she’d just walked into her surprise birthday party, though, grinning and strutting in like she owned the place. “Come on, I’ve been dreaming about their drinks,” she said, beaming, and Michael reluctantly followed her over to the bar. Michael realized quickly that she hadn’t been dreaming about the drink so much as the bartender. Which, fair enough.

Michael let her talk and flirt and took the time to look around again, hoping to find something to be complimentary about so Isobel wouldn’t feel she had to prove how great it all was to him. It was his own fault then, when he accidentally saw Alex across the room, leaning against a wall, deep in conversation with someone that looked suspiciously like Kyle. Michael’s stomach did a flip and he turned quickly away, back to Isobel and the bar, half hoping Alex hadn’t seen him. Michael knew that Alex was single again, or at least that was the last he’d heard, but that didn’t mean he wanted to be caught staring outright.

“Here,” Isobel thrust a drink into his hand that had a little light-up rainbow color-changing cube masquerading as an ice cube at the bottom of it. Michael rolled his eyes. “So what are you feeling? Wanna dance? Or I think they’re painting pride flags on people’s faces?” She sounded giddy, her cheeks flushed and her hair already covered in a ridiculous amount of glitter.

Michael didn’t have the heart to let her down by telling her he’d rather eat sand than dance or get his face painted without at least a few drinks in his system. “Whatever you want.”

Isobel beamed at him. “See, I knew this would be fun.”

“Yep,” Michael said, plastering a smile on his fast as she led him over to the person doing the face paint, “cause I’m the fun one.”

By the time he was sitting on a bar stool with someone striping color across his face, Michael was on his second drink, and Isobel's face was already a melty palette of pink, blue, and purple.

“Isn’t this great?” Isobel said, standing over him and dancing to some unbearable pop song, shaking glitter out of her own hair all over Michael’s head and shoulders. He could feel it falling onto him like tiny raindrops, securing itself to his shirt and hair and skin with some invisible, terrible glitter power. He wondered idly how many showers it was going to take until he could walk around without constantly catching the glint of it out of the corner of his eye.

“Yeah,” Michael agreed, standing up as the face painter proclaimed he was done. His cheek felt strange, stiff and cold, and he couldn’t get the last of the alcohol out of his glass around the giant fake ice cube.

“Hey, we have to take a picture,” Isobel said, grinning wider and pulling out her phone while she dragged their faces close enough together to fit into the selfie frame. She pulled back to look at the picture, nodding with happy satisfaction. “We are hot,” she proclaimed, “and proud. Two badass bisexuals.”

Michael nodded distractedly. He needed another drink, or maybe just some fresh air, or for the DJ to turn down the goddamned bass, or something. He hated the feeling of the face paint, and he hated the selfie, he hated how unlike himself he looked, glittery and colorful and trying to smile in a crowd. Michael stumbled backwards, turning around to face the bar in what he hoped was a mostly intentional-looking maneuver. He needed another drink.

The bartender nodded at him and Isobel, bringing over two more glasses of whatever they were drinking. “Lookin’ good,” she said, and Michael’s chest felt tight.

It was too loud, and too warm, and Isobel was talking but he couldn’t make out what she was saying. He drank almost frantically, trying to get enough alcohol into his system that he stopped caring about any of this shit. Michael glanced around the bar, at all of the people laughing and smiling and looking like they fit in perfectly, and Michael had never felt more like an alien. He needed to get out, just for a moment, just to catch his breath.

“I’m, uh, I’m gonna find the bathroom,” he said, coherently enough, and pushed past Isobel towards the back hallway.

The bathroom was thankfully empty, and quiet as the door swung shut behind him, the music that was so pervasive in the bar just a tinny echo. Michael braced himself on one of the sinks, closing his eyes and resting his forehead against the scratched mirror. It was just all so much, and it should have been easy, and the fact that it wasn’t was creating a cacophony of different feelings in his mind, all of it blending together into something like panic. Michael opened his eyes, willing himself to stay in control.

He looked at himself in the mirror, and he hated the frantic look in his eyes, hated the smear of color across his cheek like a brand, hated that he could be so comfortable with himself and yet so shaken. He could feel the urge to push it all away, violently, to shove and shake and break—the only way he had now to make the noise in his head stop. Michael gripped the sink and thought about tearing the room apart. He could see it, sinks and toilets tearing out of the wall, tiles slamming against one another into dust, the mirrors cracking and shattering. The vision of destruction filled his mind, and he was in the middle of it, silent in the eye of the storm, caught in the tornado of his own making—

The door to the bathroom swung open, and Alex stepped through it, looking concerned. “Are you okay?”

The vision dropped away from Michael’s eyes, leaving him with only himself, standing in a public bathroom feeling terrified and self-destructive. He watched in the mirror as Alex twisted the lock on the door and took another cautious step forward.

“Are you okay?” Alex repeated. “Because you looked not okay.”

“I’m fine,” Michael said, even though his voice sounded thin and shaken. Alex stepped towards him again and Michael pressed himself forward, closer to the sink, like he could climb into the mirror and avoid this interaction. It wasn’t that he didn’t want to talk to Alex, because he did, badly, but he didn’t want Alex to see him in a moment where he felt weak. “You didn’t have to follow me.”

Alex shrugged, the cracks in the mirror keeping Michael from seeing the nuances of his expression. “I wanted to see if you were okay.”

It was meant kindly, but somehow it made Michael feel worse. Michael stopped watching Alex and focused on his own face, frowning when he saw the painted colors again, loosening his grip on the sink to press uneasily on the skin of his cheek. He swallowed and dropped his hand quickly, lowering his eyes to the stained white porcelain of the sink. “I think this paint might be toxic,” he said wryly. He could tell from Alex’s silence that he saw through the remark.

“It looks good,” Alex said quietly. “You look good.”

Michael looked up sharply at Alex’s reflection again. Alex had his own face painted, a rainbow of stripes adorning his cheek. “You do, too,” Michael said, meaning it. Alex did look good—happy and proud and like he wasn’t constantly looking over his shoulder. It made Michael feel boundlessly happy and endlessly sad, knowing that they’d spent their time together hiding, that they could both be here on this stupid pride night—with Alex looking secure and hot and comfortable—and yet not be together. Usually Michael would fight or fuck those maudlin feelings away, but that wasn’t really an option tonight. He sighed. “But I just don’t…maybe this isn’t my scene.”

Alex was close enough to put a hand on Michael’s shoulder, and he did so cautiously, like he wasn’t sure if Michael would let him. Michael hoped that someday Alex would be able to touch him without worrying. He let Alex turn him away from the mirror.

“Maybe,” Alex said, carefully. “Or maybe you grew up with assholes telling you this part of you was wrong, that it should be shuttered if you can’t destroy it.”

Michael’s instinct was to argue that he was fine, and none of his shitty foster parents had gotten to him like that, but he wasn’t sure it was entirely true, and he wasn’t sure that Alex wasn’t saying it for his own benefit as much as for Michael’s. Alex’s hand was still resting on Michael’s shoulder, and it felt grounding; Michael felt stable under Alex’s hand, under Alex’s unwavering gaze. He took a deep breath, and as he let it out, Alex seemed to visibly relax, too.

“You can wash it off, if you want,” Alex said, “and it wouldn’t mean anything.”

Michael shook his head slowly. “Isobel—” he started.

“We didn’t get the same ‘strong woman, love yourself’ stuff that Isobel did,” Alex interrupted, reaching around Michael to snag a paper towel from the wall dispenser. “It’s okay.”

“Isobel would be disappointed,” Michael said numbly, his chest tight with unspoken gratitude, but he didn’t take the paper towel. Then more quietly: “Everyone’s always disappointed.”

Alex looked at Michael for a moment, and then shrugged and smiled, like he didn’t know what Michael was talking about, like he wasn’t one of the people Michael kept disappointing. “This whole thing is supposed to be about celebrating yourself the way you want to, so fuck ‘em.”

Michael smiled back weakly, his hand tracing lightly over the stiff lines of the face paint on his cheek. He so badly wanted to want to leave it there.

“It looks better on you,” Michael said, impulsively, reaching out as if to touch Alex’s cheek, and then drawing his hand back at the last moment. He held his breath as Alex met his eyes and stepped carefully forward, bringing his cheek to Michael’s hand, leaning into his touch far too easily. “You’ve always looked good with stuff like this.” He was thinking of Alex as a teenager, with liner painted across his eyelids, and it made Michael ache with nostalgia. He wanted this—he wanted to be able to tell Alex how the only good memories from that summer were of Alex, to be able to say all the stupid, romantic things he had never gotten the chance to say, to be able to dance with Alex at pride night and have neither of them care who saw.

“I wish I’d been able to be this with you,” Alex said, his voice raw and quiet.

Michael let out a breath that was almost a laugh, running his fingertips lightly across Alex’s rainbow cheek. “You’re here now,” he said without thinking about it. Now was enough. Michael thought that if he leaned forward and kissed Alex, Alex might let him, that it would be okay if it only existed here, in this moment. But they owed each other more than that—more than a secret kiss in a bathroom, more than rushing in without talking, without taking enough care that neither of them got hurt, this time. God, but Michael wanted there to be a ‘this time.’

“So are you,” Alex said pointedly, licking his lips absently in a way that sent Michael’s entire internal equilibrium shifting, like his body was trying to tip him towards Alex.

The door clattered as someone tried to get into the bathroom, and both of them laughed awkwardly, aware again of their surroundings. It steadied Michael, kept him from crashing towards Alex the way he desperately wanted to. Waiting would be smarter; dropping his hand, pulling away and swallowing everything he was feeling, putting on a smile and walking out of the bathroom would be smarter, but he hesitated.

Alex met Michael’s eyes and slowly lifted his own hand and pressed his fingers lightly to the paint on Michael’s cheek, almost exploratory, a gentle caress. Michael felt his breath coming far too quickly, his earlier discomfort nearly forgotten under the soft way Alex was touching him.

“You really do look good, Guerin.” Alex said quietly. “And this place? This bar? It’s not my favorite either. And it—it isn’t home, but it’s safe. You know?”

“Where’s home?” Michael asked, somewhat facetiously, his fingertips still barely brushing Alex’s cheek, leaning his cheek into Alex’s touch, unable to stop himself. Michael knew both of them had been facing the same thing recently—the growing sense that all of the places that had felt comfortable or familiar didn’t feel that way any more, the fear of what it would take to find the places that would feel that way in the future.

Alex met Michael’s eyes, meaningfully, like he was trying to get Michael to understand something without saying it. “I think I’ve almost got that figured out,” Alex said finally, and Michael was hit by the realization that Alex wasn’t talking about the bars or the city or the buildings they lived in, but something entirely different. He thought back to every time he’d ever heard Alex say the word home, with something like longing and questions laid into it, and wondered if maybe he’d been talking about them the whole time.

Michael was trying to form a response that wouldn’t feel like a deflection, that would convince Alex to actually say what he was saying, when someone banged loudly on the door and Alex pulled away abruptly, leaving Michael’s fingers caressing only air. Alex smiled apologetically and dropped his hand away from Michael’s cheek. “You shouldn’t spend the whole night in the bathroom,” Alex said, starting to move towards the door. “I’ll save you a dance.”

“Didn’t see you dancing before,” Michael said, to take focus from the fact that the image of Alex dancing, and happy, was enough to make every bit of him openly ache with wanting.

“I wasn’t.” Alex said, raising an eyebrow. “But I will with you.”

Michael exhaled heavily, his voice stolen by the casual way Alex said it, like they’d already decided. Then again, what was there even to decide?

Alex licked his lips, hesitating between Michael and the door, then abruptly turned back and crossed to where Michael was standing. Alex pressed himself into Michael’s space, his hands cradling Michael’s cheeks as he brought their lips together in a quick but searing kiss. Michael let out a sound halfway between surprise and a moan and kissed Alex back fiercely. He’d barely gotten his bearings before Alex was pulling away.

Smiling with satisfaction, Alex unlocked the door and slipped through into the noise of the bar. Michael side-stepped out of the way as someone rushed past him to one of the stalls, watching the door like Alex might come back.

When he didn’t, Michael turned back to the mirror, staring at himself skeptically for a few minutes, trying to see himself the same way he saw Alex, like someone who was strong enough not to feel foolish, but proud. He shook his head at his reflection—it was too much, too much to ask of himself at that moment, but he realized that he still didn’t want to leave the bar. Not when Isobel wanted him there, not when Alex wanted him there.

It was Alex’s voice, Alex’s smile, in Michael’s head as he decided not to wash the face paint off. As he decided not to listen to the words in the back of his mind that he tried to pretend he’d forgotten, to brush off with bravado, the ones that came from the screaming foster parents who carried bibles and belts, the ones who told him he was nothing before he was old enough to know anything about himself. Alex didn’t see Michael that way, any more than Michael saw Alex as any of the things his asshole father had thought of him. Alex wanted to dance with Michael, wanted to kiss him, and that was reason enough to stop thinking about the colors on his face and leave the bathroom.

This bar was never going to be Michael’s place, it was never going to be less annoyingly loud and glittery, and it was never going to serve drinks that didn’t make him roll his eyes. But it could be the first place he’d let Isobel drag him to a pride event, it could be the first place he’d kissed Alex, that Alex had kissed him, since they’d tried to ignore how they would always feel. It could be that, and that could be enough, even if he hated the damn face paint.

Taking a breath, Michael left the bathroom with his breathing almost back to normal. He found Isobel quickly, dancing on the edge of a throng of people, and she brightened as soon as he appeared, beckoning him over.

“Thought you might have left,” she said close to his ear when he reached her, almost yelling to be heard above the music.

“Almost did,” Michael replied distractedly. He scanned the room, which had gotten significantly more crowded in the short time he’d been gone, until he found Alex, leaning against a wall, clearly watching Michael, too. He tilted his head, gesturing Alex over, and saw him nod and push slowly away from the wall,

“What did you say?” Isobel yelled, and Michael flipped his attention back to her, grinning. She looked happy, and tipsy, and like she actually wanted him there, and all at once Michael felt lighter.

“I said fuck you,” he said stridently, louder and closer to her ear. “Bisexuals-in-arms, right?”

Isobel’s answering smile was brilliant, and Michael realized he hadn’t made a mistake by coming here just for her, because she’d asked him, intentionally, to be there. And there wasn’t anything wrong with staying for Alex, because neither of them would usually be caught dead in a place like this, and there was something about just showing up that mattered.

Alex came up beside them, putting a hand gently on Michael’s elbow, just enough to let Michael know he was there. It felt like a lot more than that, though.

“Alex!” Isobel was clearly at the drunk stage where she was friends with everyone. “Look, we match!” She gestured happily between her face and Michael’s, and Michael hated that it made him feel even a tiny bit better about the stupid face paint.

Alex grinned. “It’s great,” he said and Isobel beamed. The song changed fluidly to something new, and Alex slid his hand down Michael’s arm until their fingers were clasped together. Michael couldn’t think of a time he and Alex had held hands in public, not ever. It felt nice.

Isobel danced next to them with abandon and Michael let himself sway awkwardly with Alex, trying to actually loosen his grip on his control instead of just slipping into the comfortable persona of someone who didn’t care. He did care. He cared that Isobel wanted them to have this connection—something that she and Max didn’t have—even if her way of celebrating it wasn’t entirely in line with his ideal evening. He cared that Alex wanted to dance with him, that he was holding Michael’s hand in public, even if it was under the guise of dancing, that he cared enough to follow him into the bathroom and knew him well enough to lock the door.

Isobel paused her dancing to give Michael a very obvious and unsubtle thumbs-up, and Michael didn’t even resent it when Alex laughed. Michael grinned up at her sparkling, painted face, his hand tightly knit with Alex’s, and let himself enjoy being part of something loudly, even if it was just for the night. Maybe, Michael reflected, this was what Alex meant by home.

#mgweek20 #guerinweek20 #malex #michael guerin #alex manes #isobel evans #my writing #happy bi visibility day!!!#this is so sappy but here it is #getting together #just a little bit of hurt mostly comfort

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lifeofroos · 4 years

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Part 28: Nico might not be very shaken up by the last trial of Apollo, but someone else is.

In short: Nico gets therapy from Dionysus. In this chapter, he talks about his feelings concerning the last trial of Apollo. The rest is on AO3 and FanFiction.net! (Also in Tumblr tags like Nico di Angelo, Dionysus, Fanfiction, etc.).

This Might Be Crazy: Chapter 28: Sparkling Mango Juice

‘Nico di Angelo?’

I looked up from the floor, where I was sitting. None other than the great god Apollo was standing in my cabin. ‘Apollo?’

‘Yes, it is I.’ He looked around, until he saw my chair in the corner. He moved it to the middle of my room and sat down.

I stayed on the floor. ‘What has brought you here?’

He drummed his fingers on the armrest of the chair. ‘I heard you spoke to Dionysus about our quest to defeat Nero and how you thought about it.’

I nodded. ‘Yes, I did.’

‘I was wondering if... you could tell me those thoughts as well.’

I looked at him. ‘Okay, I can do that. But first, I’ve got Sparkling mango juice. Do you want some?’ I got off the floor and walked to my closet.

‘Eh… sure.’ I took two cans of the bottom shelf and gave him one, before I sat down again, on my bed this time.

I pulled the tab off. ‘Alright. So, this was by far not the most traumatising thing to ever happen to me. Partly I never had to see Nero, or the snake.’ I fell silent. Now what did I say next? ‘Eh… and it was my own choice to go along this time, sort off. Even though Dionysus discouraged me.’ I took a sip of Mango juice. The prophecy might have been a factor, but still. ‘I guess I did not listen because... I thought I should do it, and who else could have helped you with the troggs?’

Apollo shrugged. ‘No-one. No-one else could have helped me with the troggs.’ He fiddled with the can, which he hadn’t opened yet. ‘Yet, it… sounds like you are just trying to make me feel better, even though I... I know I should have done better. For all my time as Lester, I just relied on everyone, and I whined, and…’ he shrugged again. ‘I don’t know, I just feel bad about that.’

I actually let out a little laugh. ‘Lord, that just means that you learned.’ I coughed. ‘Eh, but you don’t have to feel guilty about it. You carried your weight and what’s done is done.’

He smiled back. ‘Maybe it does mean that I learned. Nico, I know I need to take better care of my mortals now. Of my children, of my partners, of my friends…’ Finally, he opened the can. ‘They need love. I can’t leave them with nothing but an empty spot where I should be. If I meddled with their lives, I should expect them to meddle with mine.’

I took another sip, with a broad smile. ‘That is great. That is actually great.’ I put my can down for a moment. ‘And, well, I could be doing better, but I guess I am alright. I like the troggs, it is not like going after them traumatised me. I already was in contact with them and with that contact I could help you. Also, they send me the marvelous hat you can see right there.’ I pointed to my bedside table. A black beanie with a skeleton on the front was laying on it. ‘Nice, right? I don’t wear it often, but still.’

‘... It really is.’ He looked a little sad, all of a sudden. ‘They sent me a hat too, but it was just a regular white cap.’ Oh, was he jealous of me, the mere mortal?

‘Well, maybe they thought you would want to customise your own hat?’ He shrugged. I took a sip of mango fizz, before sighing.

‘About what you said before. I hope more gods will begin to look after their children. It would raise their spirits, I think. I did notice you a little while back, with kayla and little Hypolita. A few weeks ago, I spoke with Hephaestus, and apparently he had been seeing his kids every now and then. Of course, I am currently talking to Hades. Now that you have been a mortal and you are setting an example, I hope that other gods will follow suit.’ I shrugged. ‘So… that is my thought.’

Apollo nodded, with a little smile. ‘I think… I hope so too.’

I took another sip of mango juice. ‘Dionysus thought a bit differently. He basically expressed a worry that it might cause all of the Olympians to get attached to their children, which might cause a lot of grief when they eventually die and the world might not be better off for it… but then he quickly cut himself off, so I did not get to ask further questions.’

Apollo shrugged and took his first sip. ‘This stuff tastes less bad then I expected. And… I understand what Dionysus means, that is generally an attitude some of the gods hold. After they learn how much losing a child hurts, they… try to stay in the background. And I must agree with Dionysus on one point: Some gods would indeed… forsake their tasks out of grief.’ I didn’t know what he was thinking of in the little silence that followed, but my mind shot to Demeter. Not that you could blame here for getting sad, really. Apollo scraped his throat, which pulled me back to reality. ‘I must confess, I did tend to forget about my kids… eh… some of the time. Dionysus did not do that often, forgetting, but he did try to keep the… mental-health distance? However, he did not always succeed. And in the other gods’ defence, he also had way less demigod kids then most of us, so there was less to get attached too.’ He stared at his can again. ‘Maybe... I won’t be able to keep up what I am trying to do now forever, but I’ll do it for as long as I can. It is time to give something back to my children and lovers.’ He nodded a few times, to emphasize the point. ‘Yes.’

I nodded back. ‘I think… that is admirable, Apollo.’

‘Yes, yes… but you have a similair thing with Hades, right?’ Oh, so there was some pride involved as well. Ah.

‘Well, for Hades, it is a little different, maybe. I think that if he truly misses one of his children, he can just… bring their ghosts to his palace as advisers, or janitors, or court jesters or something. I think.’

Apollo thought about it. ‘Yes, that might be true.’

‘Yes.’ I took another sip, suddenly noticing that I had almost reached the bottom of the can. Of course, Dionysus wasn’t here, so the can did not refill itself. ‘Hmmm. Oh, but Apollo, how are you feeling about everything that happened? I haven’t asked yet.’ I looked up.

For a few seconds, the sun god sat frozen. ‘Well… as you probably noticed, I have turned a new leaf. But…’ he suddenly looked very tired, tired and hurt. ‘Nico, I can’t stop thinking about the people that were lost, and about how my friends are doing, and about all the new demigods just trying to figure it out. In the middle of the night, I wake up with nightmares about everything that happened. And I feel guilty about old actions of mine, from when I was a young god, and being mortal made me realise all that, and, oh Nico…’ He buried his face in his hands. For a moment, I did not know what to do.

‘Apollo, it’s… it’s…’ I shook my head. ‘No, it is not okay. It sounds like you’ve got grief. And survivors’ guilt, general guilt, Other mental bruises. PTSD. Literal bruises. And…’ I took a deep breath. ‘And that won’t get better until you get help from someone. Someone professional. So, eh… for you, that is probably not Dionysus, although he might be able to help a bit. If you trust him enough.’

Apollo stared at his can. ‘Isn’t that just another way of being selfish, though? Having to talk all about my trauma, about me, that…’

‘No. You can only take proper care of others once you’ve taken care of yourself. And therapy isn’t selfish. Hell, I think it might even help you to not go back to your old, definitely selfish ways.’ Not that that would be inherently bad, seeing as how you are a god? I wasn’t sure about that.

Apollo stared ahead of himself. ‘Now you sound like a therapist yourself. I guess… I guess Dionysus taught you well.’ He stared at his can. ‘I’ll… I’ll think about it. But, you need to get some sleep…’

‘It is like… eight ‘O clock.’

‘Doesn’t matter. The sun is going to sleep early today too, you know.’

I drank the last bit of mango fizz out of my can. ‘I mean it, Apollo,’ I said quietly. ‘You deserve to get help, you worked so hard to get to the point you are at right now…’

He shrugged, but nodded a little more confident. ‘Hm.’ He patted my head once, which was a little weird, but alright. ‘I am just glad that I did not give you another trauma, Nico.’

‘You really didn’t, Apollo.’

He smiled, a little more sincere. The next moment, he was gone, but the can was still resting on his chair.

A/N: I did not want to write both about Dionysus talking to Nico and Apollo talking to Nico, because that would just be writing the same story twice. And I thought Apollo had the more interesting side to show. Not that he would take Dionysus’ place, I wouldn’t dream of it! There is already so little Dionysus fanfiction as it is!

Apollo has some trouble with the idea of therapy. Maybe I’ll write that too someday, if it wasn’t for the fact that I have a million ideas in my backlog already. That being said: I have got everything planned until chapter 49... now time to write it.

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something-tofightfor · 4 years

Text

Tipping Point - 6

Pairing: Benjamin Greene x Reader (friendship)

Word Count: 7094

Rating: M (language, marital issues)

Summary: His marriage to Julia over (for the most part), Benjamin decides to take control of his life... and of his future.

Author’s Note: Things are happening. The next few chapters are rapid-fire change... hold on to your butts.

“Benjamin.” He felt someone nudging his shoulder. “Wake up.” He opened his eyes, blinking slowly and fighting the urge to stretch, though he desperately needed to. My legs weren’t meant to bend like this for so long. He turned to face the man next to him, fighting back a yawn. “You were out.” I was. He rubbed at his eyes, nodding.

“Yeah, I didn’t think I’d be able to sleep on a plane, but…” He stifled another yawn. “Nine hours will do it, I guess.” Eric laughed, the outline of his face just visible in the dim lighting. “We landing?”

“Yeah, just about.” Eric cracked his neck, pointing at the window. “You might be able to see the lights if you open the window, it’s gonna be dark when we land.” Benjamin reached up, pushing the window shade slowly, and peered through the small window. Nothing yet. Just clouds. Keeping his eyes on the glass, he thought back to the previous six weeks - and the series of events that had led him to his current situation: on a plane with Eric and about to land in Chicago for a three week holiday.

---

He’d met Julia the following day in front of the law office that they’d initially gone to, the woman dressed casually. “I’m meeting the kids for lunch afterward.” She sniffed, looking him up and down. “See that you didn’t bother to -”

“I came from work, Julia. I’m on my lunch break.” He shook his head. “Can we just… enough with the attitude for once?” His tone softened. “This isn’t what either of us wants, but it’s what is, and we don’t have to…” He coughed, trying to hide the hitch in his voice. “We’re both dealing with this in our own ways, Julia.” She laughed at that, leaning in.

“Yeah, you’re sure dealing with it, Benjamin.” What’s that supposed to mean? “With that little American that’s been popping up on your page?” He groaned, gritting his teeth. Guess not.

“Fuck’s sake, Julia. She’s Eric’s sister, and she’s seeing someone. I’m sure that that’s apparent to you by the man she’s posing with in her profile picture?” He gestured toward the building. “You’re allowed to talk about all of this publicly with your friends and family, so why am I not allowed to make a new friend?” He swallowed hard. “Especially one that’s indirectly involved in my life via the roommate I wouldn’t need if you’d been willing to swallow your pride and see a fucking marriage counsellor with me.” I’m done mincing my words. I’m done trying to stay civil since you so obviously won’t.

She seemed surprised at his outburst, unable to respond aside from mumbling his name a few times, her eyes flashing in the sunlight. Good.

“Let’s get this done with, Julia. Sign these papers and…” He stopped, feeling a lump rise in his throat. “And get you on your way to lunch.” She turned on her heel and walked toward the building, Benjamin a few steps behind. It took only a few minutes to finish adding signatures where they were needed, and Benjamin was surprised to hear that the actual processing of the final paperwork would take weeks if not months, depending on the backlog. The representative had told them that there was nothing more that was needed - and as soon as they received the official decrees in the mail, it would be as if they were never married in the first place; as if the previous 40 months of their lives hadn’t happened. But they did. They …

They paused on the sidewalk, staring at each other, and Benjamin didn’t know what to say. I won’t see her again. Not after this. This is the last time I… He stared at her face, the way the lines in her skin had deepend; seemingly over the last few months. Maybe she’s just as upset as I am. “Julia, I…” He thought back to seeing her in the museum for the first time, the way that only a few friendly words of conversation had changed his life.

“Goodbye, Benjamin.” She shook her head and turned away from him, but his hand shot out, gripping her elbow and forcing her to turn back. “What.”

“Julia, I…” Keep it together. “I don’t regret it. None of it.” He could feel his heart pounding against his ribs. “I lo-”

“I do.” She spat the words out, tearing her arm from his grasp. “All of it.” She walked away from him, but all Benjamin could think about was that the wavering of her voice had given her away. She’s lying.

But he let her go, watching the back of her head as it disappeared into the crowd of people, and then he turned in the opposite direction, opting to walk the ten blocks back to work. I need the air. Surprisingly, he hadn’t thought about Julia while he walked, instead focusing on other things; work deadlines, reminding himself to pay his mobile bill, what he was going to have for dinner that evening, meeting Zac and Bianca for drinks later in the week. Stay busy. Stay preoccupied.

He texted you after arriving back at the office, letting you know that he’d signed the last bit of paperwork, and even though you’d taken some time to respond, he appreciated the simple honesty of your message: Onward and upward, Benjamin. You’ll be alright.

And he had been - carrying on with his life and trying to move past the time he’d spent with Julia. He wasn’t interested in dating, and though both Zac and Bianca had suggested people that they knew would be willing rebounds, not looking for anything serious, Benjamin declined. Focus on myself. It’s what I need. He’d met Leo just over a week after signing the papers with Julia, and the two had spent a few hours at the bar, the youngest Day apologizing profusely for his initial treatment of Benjamin and promising to keep in touch, now that they were both in London and seeing Benjamin didn’t always mean seeing Julia. “She’s best in small doses, Benjamin. You know that as well as I do.” Leo’s name started popping up in his notifications much more often - while yours began appearing less.

He’d asked you why one night, near the end of May, and you’d laughed it off at first, but Benjamin had persisted. “Please tell me. If I did something wrong, I -” He watched as the expression on your face changed, the wood of your headboard visible behind you as you shifted on the mattress.

“You didn’t. It’s Noah.” Benjamin’s stomach dropped, but he stayed quiet. “He thinks...he thinks that it’s strange that we talk so much.” Is it? “You’re in another country, Benjamin, but he just…”

“I’ve only met you once, and I’m.. was... married.” You rolled your eyes, tongue poking into your cheek.

“I know, and that’s what I’ve told him, it’s not like…” You paused. “I told him you were going through a divorce, and you just wanted someone to talk to that had nothing to do with that situation, and I think that made it worse. He said…” You frowned. Said what? “He thinks you’re just trying to keep me close in case I come back out there, so you can…” Benjamin said your name, sitting up straight.

“That’s ridiculous. You’re my friend, I’m not…” What a prick. “You’re too smart to let that happen.” He decided to make a joke, wanting to remove the worried expression from your face. “Besides, you know what a fuckup I am, you wouldn’t ever let yourself get involved with someone like me.” You didn’t know everything, but you knew basics, and though Benjamin would have told you what he’d gone through if you’d asked, you never had. Do I want her to?

“Yeah, you’re downright awful, Benjamin Greene.” You sat up, too, frowning. Sometimes I feel like I am. “You know I don’t mean that, right? I even told him that you were the one that encouraged me to give him a chance, but it didn’t matter.”

“I don’t want to come between you two.” Benjamin shifted the phone into both hands, making sure that you could see his whole face. “I’m serious, especially if you’re happy.” He saw you flinch at that, but before he could say anything else, you cut in.

“It’s still new, Benjamin. I’ve only been seeing him for like two months, so I don’t know if I’m happy yet, but I do know that I’m glad I didn’t just turn him down without even seeing.” He nodded, but he was slightly thrown off. You’d know if you were happy. You’d know immediately. He thought back to the pictures he’d seen of you at the game, the images where there was a slight distance between you and Noah. She’d know. “Anyway,” you continued. “I’m just trying to -”

“Don’t explain yourself. Not necessary.” He rolled his eyes before speaking again, putting the topic to rest. “Besides, we know the truth, right?” You agreed. “I like talking to you.” A lot. “But I’m not going to let you risk ruining a relationship for me, so do what you need to do.”

A few days later, Eric had come home from work, grinning from ear to ear, and Benjamin had been curious as to why. “I’m going home for a few weeks.” He flopped onto the couch, putting his feet up. “Got approved for leave at work, and I’m leaving the second week of July. I won’t be back ‘til August.” Three weeks by myself? I haven’t had that in...Benjamin shook his head back and forth slowly.

“That’s great Eric.” He thought, an idea popping into his head. “Maybe I’ll request some time off then, too. Summer’s usually not too busy - or so I’ve heard - it would be a good time for me to get away, enjoy some time by -”

“Come home with me.” Eric leaned in. “My sister’s house is plenty big enough for both of us to stay, and I’m sure she’d love to show you around the city.”

“I can’t do that, there’s no way…” Benjamin quickly turned the offer down. “I can’t intrude on that, you’re going home to see you fam-” Eric waved him off.

“You could meet all of my friends. They’ve all been curious about the people I’ve met while over here.” What? “Just think about it, Benjamin. There’s plenty of room, and flights are cheap as hell right now.” I can’t. He’d told Eric that he’d think about it, already mentally running through the reasons why it was a terrible idea in his head. It’s not … I can’t… I don’t want…

But four days later, Benjamin had the same three week period as Eric requested off and approved as vacation time - and round trip airline tickets booked.

---

He blinked, watching as the lights of Chicago became visible through the low-hanging clouds. “It’s massive.” He spoke quietly, but Eric laughed, agreeing. Benjamin felt the man settle back into the seat next to him. “And you live outside of -”

“About 40 minutes outside the city, but everyone does.” He sighed. “You’ll see.” And she’s coming to get us in the middle of the night. Thinking about you made Benjamin smile, and he remembered the change in your tone of voice as soon as you’d learned he’d be coming home with Eric, the way you’d immediately started planning things for the three of you to do. We’ll see if anything actually comes of it. Benjamin was familiar with canceled plans, and so until he was actually doing the things you’d suggested, he wouldn’t count on them happening. “I’m going to sleep the whole way back in the car.” Eric was grumbling. “Didn’t sleep for shit on this plane.”

By the time the wheels touched down on the tarmac, Benjamin was almost giddy with excitement. First time in the United States,and I get to see a city like this. As they deplaned, Benjamin separated from Eric, promising to meet him at baggage claim after going through customs. The process was always nerve wracking, and though he’d traveled plenty after changing his name, Benjamin felt a nagging sense of worry that he’d be stopped at the border and detained. But he answered the bored sounding woman’s questions, had his passport stamped, and was on his way toward the luggage carousels much faster than he’d anticipated. He saw Eric waiting next to one of them after only a few seconds of searching, and Benjamin readjusted his bag over his shoulder, heading in that direction.

He called out Eric’s name just as the conveyor belt began to move, but before he got an answer, he felt two arms wrapping around his waist, your voice excitedly saying his name. Oh, well. Hello. He hugged you back, leaning into it, and when you raised your head to meet his eyes, Benjamin felt his chest get tight. What? “Welcome to the United States, Benjamin Greene.” You ginned up at him, giving him one final squeeze before you let go and stepped back. “I hope your bags come off the plane first, because I don’t want to be here all night.” He laughed with you - as did Eric - and luckily, you got your wish. The three of you headed out the doors and to the parking garage within ten minutes, you and Eric talking excitedly between the two of you, and Benjamin simply looking around.

He went to climb in the backseat of your car, but you stopped him, pointing at the front. “What? Eric should -” Eric snorted and shook his head, pointing at himself.

“Eric is going to fall asleep in a few minutes, so he needs the whole back seat.” You laughed as your brother said your name. “Benjamin slept for the last few hours, so he’ll be able to stay awake to get you home.” I will? Still trying to process the sudden jolt of emotion that he’d felt when you hugged him, Benjamin took his place next to you, buckling his seatbelt. “Just don’t freak out because everything’s backwards,” Eric mumbled as he stretched out. “Wanna get home in one piece.”

“I’ll get you there, you dick.” You replied to your brother with mock anger, turning your head to look at Benjamin. “But seriously, it was super weird for me to be in a car in London, so if you -”

“I’ll be fine.” Benjamin leaned back in his seat, turning his head toward you. “I’ve been to countries where they drive like you do.” Both of you were quiet for a few minutes as you exited the garage, paying and then navigating back to the freeway. “How far away are we? Eric said…”

“Well it’ll be faster right now because there’s no traffic,” you told him as you smoothly merged into a new lane. “Maybe 25 minutes. Probably less.” That’s so much time. “How was your flight?” You started out asking him simple questions, and without much prompting, you and Benjamin fell into conversation as if you’d been having them in person for years instead of only for a few months with the aid of technology. It shouldn’t be this easy. Eric had been true to his word, falling asleep in only a few minutes, soft snores coming from the back seat. “He always sleeps on car trips. He has since he was a kid.” You glanced over at him, Benjamin taking the opportunity to watch your movements in the darkened interior of the vehicle. “You can sleep too if you want. I slept for most of the flight back here in December, and then I fell asleep in the car on the way home.”

“Nah.” He raised one arm, scratching the side of his head. “Not gonna leave you alone to drive all this way.” Benjamin went silent, waiting. What else is there to say? “You didn’t have to come get us.”

“Oh, but I did.” You jerked one thumb at your sleeping brother before settling your hand on the gearshift. “I never woulda heard the end of it from him if I didn’t.” True. “It’s… it’s good to see you, Benjamin.” He heard the hesitation in your voice. “I was surprised when Eric … when you said you were coming.” He kept his eyes on the road in front of him, watching as the lights illuminating the road flicked by. I was too.

“I haven’t been on holiday in years.” He rubbed one thigh with the palm of his hand, fighting not to reach out and place it over yours. “Seemed like the perfect time.” What is wrong with you, Benjamin? “And…” He turned his head fully toward you, watching as you briefly met his eyes. “You did promise me pizza a while ago.” The sound of your quiet laughter and agreement filled the car, and Benjamin again felt his chest tighten. What is happening?

---

Though you did have plenty of room in your house, it turned out that there was only one spare room with an actual bed in it, which Eric had claimed. The man carried his suitcase into the house and immediately went up the stairs, mumbling about how he couldn’t wait to pass out, leaving you and Benjamin standing in the front hall. “Well.” He turned to you, raising an eyebrow. “I’ve never seen him like this before.” You laughed, tossing your keys and bag onto the kitchen counter.

“He’s always like this when he travels. Complains the first night, sleeps for about 8 hours straight as soon as possible, and then he’s fine.” You flipped the light switch, illuminating your kitchen in a soft light. It’s cozy in here, looks lived in. He glanced around the room, not wanting to look too nosy, but you said his name, calling his attention back to you. “I went shopping earlier, got some things for you guys - mostly stuff that I know Eric likes, but he also sent me a couple things he said you keep in the apartment for yourself?” You did what? “ You moved through the kitchen, placing your hands on cupboards and drawers, telling him where things were. “Anything in the house is fair game. You see something, go ahead and eat or drink it - or use it.” Crossing your arms, you leaned against the counter. “I mean it. You’re a guest here, but you don’t have to ask before -”

“You didn’t have to do any of that.” Benjamin stepped forward. “I would have sorted a trip to the grocery out, I -”

“You flew thousands of miles to see m- to see Chicago. I’m not going to let you go hungry… or thirsty.” You straightened up, beckoning him over to where you stood. “Don’t tell Eric.” Tell him what? You waited until Benjamin was next to you to open a drawer, pointing out a small but familiar tin. “I remembered you said that was your favorite tea, and so I had some shipped in for you.” You looked up at him, and Benjamin was acutely aware of how close he was standing to you and the way your arm felt, brushing up against his. Stop it, Benjamin. Not the time. “Problem is that Eric also loves it, but I didn’t get it for him, I got it for you because I…” Your jaw worked, words trailing off as you stared at him. You what? “I wanted you to feel at home here, even though…” At home? He stayed quiet and after what felt like forever, tore his gaze away from yours to look at the tin, the tip of one finger resting on it. “I hope it’s enough, I didn’t know how much you’d drink, but…”

“It’s perfect.” He felt a lump in his throat that he quickly swallowed, reaching up with one hand to squeeze your shoulder gently. “Thank you. It’s really… unnecessary.” You laughed, turning toward him, and taking a deep breath.

“It’s also kind of an …” You wrinkled your nose, rolling your eyes. “An “I’m sorry you have to sleep on a pull out couch in the rec room for three weeks’ present.” Quickly stepping away from him, you moved back through the kitchen, grabbing the handle of his suitcase as you passed it and dragging it behind you. Why is she… Benjamin shut the drawer, following you, and only a few seconds later - after pointing out the bathroom on the main floor - you were in the room where he’d be staying. “It’s not much, but it’s…” You sat down on the edge of the bed - blankets and pillows already arranged on it - and looked up at him. “I spend a lot of time in this room, and it’s comfortable. Quiet, you’ll be able to sleep, and it gets dark, the curtains…I thought you’d like it more than a blow up mattress in the second spare bedroom.”

“It’s great.” He looked around, eyeing the bookshelves and desk, the TV that was mounted above a stand on the wall. “You won’t miss it while I’m here?”

“No.” You remained seated, using one hand to stifle a yawn. “No, I can still come in here and grab what I need, and we can always fold the couch up if we want to be in here.” You rubbed at your eyes. “Big TV’s in the other room anyway, this one’s…” He said your name quietly, and you stopped speaking.

“Go to sleep. It’s late, and you’ve done a lot of driving.” He inhaled, a thought crossing his mind. “You don’t have to work tomorrow, do you?” You stood, stretching, and Benjamin fought to keep his expression neutral as he watched the arch of your back, the way your neck looked as you turned your head to the side, eyes closing, another yawn escaping your lips.

“Nope.” You opened your eyes, looking back at him. “That’s the other surprise.” Surprise? For who? “I’m off for the next two weeks, so I can spend plenty of time with you ...and Eric.” She paused. She paused after… You said goodnight after that, explaining where all of the light switches were, where the plugs were for his phone and any other devices he’d brought with him, pointing out the whiteboard where you’d written the wifi information down for him and then paused in the doorway. “Sleep as late as you want, Benjamin. We won’t bother you if the door’s closed.” You watched him for a few seconds, and though he would have sworn you wanted to say something else, you turned and left the room, your quiet footsteps fading as you made it back to the stairs.

On autopilot, Benjamin opened his suitcase and pulled out a fresh pair of pajama pants and a clean t shirt along with his toiletries before heading down the hallway and into the bathroom. It didn’t take him long to change and get ready for bed, and after he plugged his phone in, Benjamin wandered around the small room, fingers trailing over the spines of the books on the shelves, eyes moving over all of your knickknacks and pictures. “Stop it.” He spoke out loud to himself after a few minutes, running a hand through his hair and turning back toward the bed. “Whatever you’re thinking, Benjamin, it needs to stop right now. This isn’t a good idea.”

But he was unable to sleep for a long time that night, tossing and turning on the mattress as he thought about what you’d said - and had almost said to him. Did I come here to visit her, or did I come here to visit the city?

---

True to your word, you spent a lot of time with the two of them over the following few days, taking both him and Eric grocery shopping the next afternoon, cooking dinner when the three of you got home. It was nice to relax, and even though it was warm and humid outside, Benjamin enjoyed it. The three of you sat in your small backyard as you ate, Eric catching you up on his life since January, and Benjamin giving both of you a quick recap of his situation.

It felt good to talk about what he’d been through and how he was feeling, and even though he didn’t go into a large amount of detail, he could tell you were listening intently, not just to placate him. It’s like I’ve been friends with these two for years, I can’t believe it’s only been a few months. You went out with Noah on the second day, apologizing profusely for abandoning them, but Eric took Benjamin to visit with a few of his friends, introducing him to some of the bars in Northbrook. This is so much different than home.

He enjoyed himself, though he allowed his mind to wander to you a few times, even when Eric’s female friends were talking to him, asking about what he did and whether or not he’d ever been to America before. It’s all the same. He was polite but held back from allowing any of them to pull him away from the group, preferring to drink his beer and keep an eye on the various sports that were being broadcast. He’d contemplated the merits of an American fling; there was no harm in it, nothing holding him back. Benjamin wanted to experience everything that he possibly could while on holiday, and despite the fact that he was still reeling from the end of his marriage, he’d promised himself that he would stay open to any opportunity that presented itself.

Though still waiting on the paperwork to come through, for what it was worth, he and Julia were no longer married. His ring was sitting in a box in the flat in London, and when people asked, he told them that he was single, which got him more than a few appraising looks from the other people in the bars. He was a few years older than both you and Eric, as well as many of Eric’s friends, but Benjamin had never found that a focus on age was important to him. Julia had been proof of that, and Allie before her - but was wary of the very young women that seemed most interested in him. That’s not worth it. Not at all. Eric’s personality attracted many people to their tables, and after not having gone out with large groups for such a long time, Benjamin was slightly overwhelmed by the time he and his friend were back in an Uber and headed back to your place.

“You’re gonna go home with an American girlfriend, Greene.” Eric wasn’t drunk but he was toeing the line, the happiness of being home with his friends coupled with cheap drinks making it easy. “Any of ‘em give you their number?” Benjamin laughed, leaning back against the seat.

“Couple of them asked, but I declined. I don’t know that I want to meet someone in a bar, Eric… it’s not my…”

“You’re goin’ home in a couple weeks, Benjamin.” Eric sniffed. “Look, all I’m saying is that you’re here for a while, and not everyone is looking for something long term.” He squeezed Benjamin’s shoulder. “You came here to have fun, right?” I did. He nodded. “Then let yourself have fun. There’s nothing wrong with flirting, nothing wrong with being friendly.” Eric closed his eyes, tilting his head back. “But my sister would probably kill you if you tried to bring someone back to her place, so…” What? Why? Benjamin blinked rapidly. “I tried that once, told the girl all about what my situation was and then tried to sneak her into the bedroom, and… Jesus, Benjamin, I’ve never heard someone yell so loud.” Eric opened his eyes. “So if you do end up meeting someone, I wouldn’t try to -” So it’s just about a stranger in her house, not about me. Got it.

“Wouldn’t dream of it, Eric. That’s just disrespectful.” The thought of seeing any sort of disappointment on your face made him anxious, though Benjamin didn’t know why. “I’ll keep that in mind, though.” Change the topic. “So you dated the one girl, Ashley?” Eric began talking, the conversation lasting until they’d been dropped off in your driveway. The first thing Benjamin noticed was that there was a second car parked there, and it wasn’t Eric’s.

“Oh, it looks like you get to meet Noah, Benjamin.” Eric scratched the side of his head. “Still a little weird that they’re dating if you ask me, but he always had a thing for her so…we’ll see what happens.” Eric led him to the front door, and Benjamin found himself taking deep, slow breaths. This will be good. It’ll make him see that there’s no reason for him to worry. “Noah! You and my sister better be decent!” Eric unlocked the front door, pushing it open and calling out, even as Benjamin winced. “Where are you?”

“Living room.” The man’s reply was deeper than Benjamin had expected, and they walked toward the sound of it. “Watching a movie.” He thought about turning and walking straight into his room, but Benjamin steeled himself, stepping into the darkened room where you and Noah were sitting together on the couch, your legs stretched out across his lap. “What’s up, Eric?” Benjamin’s eyes went immediately to the TV to see what you were watching, but before could figure it out, the screen paused. “And you must be Ben.” Here we go.

“And you’re Noah.” Benjamin turned toward the man, watching as he moved your legs, his fingers curling around your bare calves. “I’ve heard a -”

“He goes by Benjamin, Noah.” Your voice was quiet, and Benjamin’s eyes moved to you briefly, watching as you reached out to put a hand on his arm. “Doesn’t like -” It’s not worth it. Eric flipped the light on, and Noah walked over, reaching out to shake Eric’s hand before pulling him into a quick hug. “Did you guys have fun?” You stood too, stepping closer to where the three men stood, and Benjamin watched as you eyed your brother, one eye narrowed. “Eric did, I can see that.” You turned your gaze to him. “What about you? How was your first American bar?” Would have been better if you w-

“Well, we went to a couple.” He laughed, shrugging his shoulder. “Lots of sports, lots of beer, lots of people.” He paused, but before he could speak again, Noah had stepped closer, blocking you from Benjamin’s line of sight.

“Good to meet you, Benjamin.” Noah stuck his hand out and Benjamin took it, his eyes moving slightly downward, as the man was a few inches shorter than him. “I’ve heard a lot about you - from both of ‘em.”

“Good things, I hope.” He kept his speech clipped, following Noah’s lead and sizing the man up before dropping his hand. Play nice, Benjamin. She likes him, don’t ruin this for her. “It’s good to meet another one of Eric’s friends.” He motioned toward you with his chin, wetting his lips. “And it’s nice to meet you, not just see you in her pictures.” This feels like a standoff. Why does it… there’s no reason. “I’m sure, “ he continued, rolling his neck from side to side. “I’m sure that we’ll see more of each other while we’re here, but I’m still a little jet lagged, so if you’ll excuse me, I’m going to head to bed.” He nodded once at Noah before turning to Eric. “See you tomorrow?” Eric tapped his forehead with one finger in a mock salute and then Benjamin finally let his gaze fall on you, noticing that you were tense. Oh no. “G’night.”

“‘Night, Benjamin.” You paused. “Let us know if the TV’s too loud.” He assured you that he would before turning and walking from the room, heading down the short hallway and into his bedroom. He again changed quickly, grabbing a bottle of water from the kitchen after brushing his teeth. Laying down, Benjamin scrolled through his phone aimlessly, ears trained to the door and the faint sounds of the TV. This is ridiculous. It only took twenty minutes for him to climb off of the bed and dig through his bag, pulling out headphones and connecting them to his phone. Won’t be able to hear anything now.

But after ten minutes of a podcast, Benjamin realized that he wasn’t paying attention. This is a problem. Despite being tired, it took Benjamin a long time to fall asleep - even after switching to music, as his thoughts ran wild.

---

He woke up before both you and Eric the following morning, shuffling to the kitchen and starting to cook breakfast without bothering to get dressed. Focused on what he was doing and deep in thought, he didn’t hear you come into the room until you’d taken a seat on the counter behind him. “Smells good, Benjamin.” Shit. He turned to face you, glancing up and watching you smirk, eyes bright. “I’m taller than you for once.” You are. You hadn’t bothered to change either, and though you were wearing a t shirt like you had been the first night he’d met you, your legs were again bare, a pair of shorts replacing the sweats. “Are you cooking for yourself, or…”

“I’ll make you breakfast.” I haven’t cooked for anyone else in months. “Hope you like French toast.” You assured him that you did, and he busied himself adding eggs and a little more milk to the bowl, long fingers moving through your spice rack as he found cinnamon and vanilla, adding them to the liquid. “Do you think Eric will -”

“No.” You sighed. “He’s still out, I looked into the room on my way down here..” Ask the real question.

“Did Noah stay? Should I -”

“He left, Benjamin.” He heard you shifting behind him as you hopped off the counter and moved to the refrigerator, pulling out a carton of juice. “Can you grab me a cup? I don’t want to -” He moved quickly, glancing up and opening the correct cupboard on the first try, handing you a cup without breaking stride. “Thanks.” You poured yourself a drink and then instead of staying where you were, you got back onto the counter, sitting almost directly behind him. “We finished the movie and then he left. Said it felt weird to stay with you guys in the house.” Good. He had the thought before he could stop it, and though he was almost positive you hadn’t seen it, he felt his shoulders stiffen. “What did you think of him? I know you only -”

Benjamin stared down at the bread in the pan, watching as the egg bubbled and browned. He’s … I don’t know. “I can’t really answer that.” Flipping the pieces over, Benjamin adjusted the heat, giving himself a few extra seconds to turn and look at you. “He didn’t say much, and I had a couple drinks, I don’t… it’s not fair to judge based on that.” I don’t like him. The truth was that Noah - being Eric’s friend - was probably a perfectly nice man, and Benjamin didn’t want to assume anything. “I’d have to actually sit down and talk with him before I... “ He cocked his head to the side, watching as you drank from the cup, your eyes never leaving his face. She sleeps on her right side, there’s marks from the pillow on her face. “Why? Why does my opinion matter? I’m -”

“Because I trust your judgement.” You set the cup down, crossing your legs at the ankle. “Eric and I have known him for years, but you… your opinion is new.” You don’t want my opinion. Part of his revelation the night before was that he was attracted to you, and had been for months. He wouldn’t act on it - especially with you being involved with someone else - but Benjamin knew that he had to be honest with himself. It didn’t start out this way. He reminded himself of that as you waited for his answer. It was just nice to talk to someone new, but it… things changed after I knew Julia and I weren’t going to… “Shit, Benjamin!” You jumped off the counter, pushing past him and interrupting his thoughts.

“What?” He quickly turned, silently cursing himself for getting distracted and watched as you shoved the pan off the hot burner and onto the back one, twisting the knob back to ‘off’.

“You must have bumped the…” You laughed, peering into the pan. “I think I saved it, but that could have been bad.” He looked down, reaching for the spatula and lifting the edge of one of the pieces of bread. It’s a little dark, but not ruined. You nudged him with your elbow, Benjamin sucking in a breath at the contact. “What would you do without me?” He waited a beat and then answered.

“Not sure. Probably burn your house down.” Though you moved away from him after he answered, stepping over to get plates out of another cupboard, the sound of your laughter ringing through the kitchen was well worth the loss of proximity.

---

The rest of the first week passed quickly, and though you didn’t ask him what he thought of Noah again, Benjamin could tell that you wanted an answer. I don’t know what to say. He’d come over again, the four of you eating dinner outside together, and though he tried not to, Benjamin watched the two of you closely, trying to assess the situation. She said she didn’t know if she was happy, but that was months ago, and… she seems alright now. The closer Benjamin watched, the more he saw similarities between his relationship with Julia and yours with Noah. But is it real, or am I just imagining things?

Though the man had warmed up slightly after the first meeting, Benjamin noticed that Noah was much more hands on with you when he knew Benjamin was near. This seemed to surprise both you and Eric, but neither of you commented on it, though Benjamin watched you shift away from Noah on your outdoor couch, putting a few inches of space between you on more than one occasion. The man was more often than not the one to initiate anything physical, too. Hugs, kisses - even touching each other all seemed to stem from Noah’s side of things, and although it made him feel smug, Benjamin couldn’t help the smile from appearing on his face when you called him out on it, raising your voice slightly and telling him to give you some space. “It’s hot as fuck out here, Noah, Jesus.” You stood from the couch, moving back over to where Benjamin and Eric were seated at the table. “Give me like four seconds of…” Everyone had laughed, Eric muttering about you and the heat, but Benjamin had seen the flash of annoyance in Noah’s eyes.

The other man talked a great deal, too. It wasn’t just about his interests or current events; even Eric had made a comment one morning after the four of you had spent time together, asking you if Noah made it a point to rehash the past and talk himself up all the time, or if that was new. “Honestly?” You were stretched out on the couch, Eric in the living room recliner and Benjamin at the other end of the sectional, your feet only a few inches from his thigh. “It’s only been recently, Eric.” You sat up, wrapping your arms around your knees, eyes on Benjamin, who was focused on the TV, though it was only to keep up appearances. Don’t say anything. Let them talk this out. “It’s like he’s trying to… prove something.”

“Maybe he’s threatened by Benjamin.” Eric swung his head to the side and Benjamin met his gaze, waiting. “You know, good looking Englishman staying in his girlfriend’s house?” He heard you groan, muttering the word ‘girlfriend’ under your breath. “Single, literally sleeping directly below you every night?” I didn’t know that. Benjamin hadn’t ventured up to the top floor of the house, since all that was up there were bedrooms. “He’s gotta be sure you know what a catch he is.”

“He’s your friend, asshole. Why don’t you ask him.” Benjamin ducked as one of the couch pillows went sailing by his head, Eric laughing as he caught it. “Whatever it is, it’s strange, and I don’t like it. It’s like he doesn’t trust me.” At that, alarm bells went off in Benjamin’s head.

“He’s got no reason not to trust you, or me.” Benjamin reached over, tentatively touching your knee. “Look, I know it’s not the same, but it turned into Julia acting as if she didn’t trust me either - and for no reason. I’d smile at someone in a shop or a restaurant, or someone on the street, and she’d blow up about it. It got to the point where I just… resented her for it.” He realized that he was still touching you and pulled his hand back, sitting up straight. “Do you want me to say anything to him? Tell him he has nothing to worry about, that -” That he’s acting like a peacock for no reason? “That I’ll be gone in two weeks, and then he won’t have anything to worry about?”

“No.” You shook your head, stretching out again, this time on your side. “No point. Maybe if I just act like it’s not happening, he’ll drop it.” Benjamin’s heart thudded in his chest. That’s not at all what you should do. It doesn’t work.

---

To Benjamin’s surprise, you knocked on his door a few nights later, Noah standing behind you. “Hey. Noah’s got something to ask you.” Though you sounded fine, Benjamin saw the worry in your eyes. What’s going on? He stood from the couch - which he’d folded back up for the day - and walked toward the door.

“Want to come out and have a couple drinks with me, Benjamin?” What? “I work tomorrow, so it won’t be late, but there’s a place we can go that’s pretty close.” That’s the last thing I want to do.

“Sure. Just let me…” He glanced down. “Do I need to change?” You laughed, covering your mouth. “What?”

“No, believe me, you’ll be one of the best dressed people in this place…” Even Noah chuckled at that. “It’s just a dive bar, Benjamin.” You sighed. “Jeans and a t shirt are fine.”

---

If you want to be added or removed (I can start a Benjamin tag list too) … please let me know.

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talldarkandroguesome · 4 years

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7th of Sun’s Dawn, Sundas

Well, I finally was able to show my true talents yesterday. We covered flame cloak.

To say that I was excited to show a side other than near instant failure would be an understatement. I could hardly contain myself as I sat in anticipation during the lecture portion of the class. It was hard not to simply burst out into a gleeful circle of flame.

As soon as we were spread out in the classroom to begin practicing, I swirled the flames around me. My classmates, who were just working to produce a small circle of flame or flame at all, seemed rather surprised. No doubt the fact that I have struggled so spectacularly with each of our task made my proficiency more of a surprise indeed.

But it did not stop me from enjoying some measure of respect gained by the ease at which I could produce and manipulate the fire.

In fact, the teacher took to giving me some additional instruction when it came time to support my technique. I played around a bit, perhaps too much, earning a couple of scowls for my antics from one of the more serious of my classmates.

It felt good to be at the head of the class. Even more so when the teacher asked me to come before the class for a demonstration. It was so thrilling to be able to contribute so well. A couple of people even asked me about my flames and I had a chance to further show off. I think most were quite impressed. And so I regained a bit of pride in myself. It was a very pleasant feeling indeed.

In fact, I was still in a very good mood when I met back up with Nabine and she was curious about the cause of my cheer. After I explained my joviality with her, she had me prove some of my other skills in her bed before the children were brought back.

We just managed to finish cleaning up before the children came screaming in and wanting to play. I admit, I may be spoiling them a bit, much to Nabine’s displeasure. She says they need to make sure to help with preparing for dinner before they get to play. I know at least for Kuna, who is having some lessons already, that a break and enjoying time with your family members is important.

Nabine was kind enough to leave out the meat we had gotten on our hunt at my birthday. She knows that when it comes to Bosmeri cooking I am a bit more picky with my meat. Particularly when it comes to other people’s. I just cannot bring myself to do it. No matter what Nabine has said of how it tastes rather similar to boar or alligator. I simply cannot bring a forkful of it to my mouth.

If I have unknowingly eaten it, then I cannot speak to it. But the thought alone churns my stomach and leaves me feeling a right sense of guilt.

The children enjoyed another story time with my illustrating the action. Having learned more about how to move things, I am finding it easier to do more complicated shapes and movements. Cariel is still young enough that everything is equally amazing, but Kuna has a critical enough eye to judge the differences in how things should, at least in her opinion, look and move.

Nabine just gave me a look when I got into bed and asked me how I had so much energy with the children. I told her that since I did not get to spend much time with them, I had a backlog of energy and joy for being able to finally be with them.

She laughed and kissed me and told me that I better not have used all my energy on the children, for she had things that required my energy as well.

I made sure not to disappoint her.

Today we are preparing for our last course. I admit, I will be glad to finish, but also glad to have learned as much as I have done.

I spent the morning helping to work with the girls on packing what they would like to bring on the journey east. We will have to complete the packing in the evening, but at least we will have most things prepared.

#ESO #TES #RP #Dunmer #Elder Scrolls Online #The Elder Scrolls

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thessalian · 4 years

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Thess vs Parental Pride

I like to divide up these posts about conversations with my mother. I like to segregate what she gets and what she doesn’t. She gets my need not to worry about infecting her and my stepfather with COVID over Christmas dinner.

What she doesn’t get? Basic sympathy.

This week has been an eternal torment. Two people self-isolating, apparently. The rest actively ill. Just me and Scruffman, getting dog-piled by work, after a situation where I was already having aching wrists. Me currently so dragged out and exhausted and needing a me-day that I’m probably going to have to ditch our Saturday RP shenanigans again. So I tell my mother all this and her reply?

“Well, it’s too bad that you’re exhausted but it’s just a sign that at least you have a job and you going all out like that will earn you their appreciation and make sure they keep you on!”

When all I want is someone to say, “Oh, poor you! I’m so sorry! I hope you’re taking care of yourself!”, I get, “But you did such a good thing and I’m so proud!”

I SHOULDN’T HAVE HAD TO.

I shouldn’t have had to spend a week too stressed to sleep because of the backlog mounting up, trying to console myself that at least I wasn’t letting us get more than one day behind on the typing, trying not to fall asleep in the office, napping on the bus because sleeping at home was a non-starter half the time, taking enough ibuprofen to make me worry about what it’ll do to my digestive system to beat back the impending migraine, all because we couldn’t get a fucking temp in. I am not consoled and heartwarmed by the idea of ‘having had my sacrifice be worthwhile’; I am exhausted and I am achy and I am angry as fuck that they put that on me for an entire week instead of hiring a temp for a few days. If I’m going to survive next week (because I don’t know who’s going to be back and frankly neither does Scruffman), I need to take extra good care of myself this weekend. And there are not enough days in a weekend to do the amount of self-care I need when my body is literally made of stress right now.

I just wanted, “You poor thing” and some virtual hugs. Is that too much to ask of your own mother? I didn’t want to be ‘validated’ solely for my worth ethic and my ability to take punishment; I wanted to be reassured that I didn’t deserve that amount of pressure on top of all of the other stresses of life, and that what I deserved were hugs and comforts and the ability to be less than 100% strong so I could recover.

I’m honestly not sure how I feel about my mother being ‘proud of me’ half the time. It’s always because of something I did, not something I am. And half of the something I did to make her proud was an unreasonable ask to begin with. Yes, I’m glad I managed this week without too much damage to myself, and that it should hopefully not take too long to get back on track. Just ... overworking one’s self shouldn’t be a source of ‘a sense of pride and accomplishment’; it should be a source of concern and deserving of comfort and support when it happens.

Sometimes I wonder why I’m kinder to others than I ever am to myself. Then I look at what I grew up with and I realise - it’s because I can give everyone else what I wish I’d had but wasn’t permitted to feel I deserve. That sort of concern directed at me is profoundly unnatural.

And that’s also something I shouldn’t have had to deal with. Now I just have to survive the consequences as best I can.

(I note she’s not proud of me for that.)

#Thess has parental units

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fadefromthelight · 3 years

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chapter 3 - who did this to you

Summary: Street Racer AU. Ian finds Julian after he’s beaten up by a few members of the local team.

Read on: Ao3

Ian shoves his hands into his pockets, fighting the urge to shiver. It’s getting colder in the evenings, making it take that much longer to warm up the engine before he starts. He’s not driving now, not when he’s only a ten-minute’s walk from his shop and he already uses enough gas as is.

But it does remind him why he usually keeps a jacket in his car, if only to hold off some of the chilling edge. He usually gets back earlier than this, but he had a backlog of orders and might’ve gotten a little bit lost in his newest customer’s modifications. Sue him for wanting to work on the latest model Z.

As he turns the corner, he sees across the lot is the gorgeous night black Camaro that belongs to Ian’s newest customer and challenger to the Cervyne Highway.

Ian doesn’t know much about Julian, other than the fact that he’s new. But Julian didn’t even need to say anything for Ian to know that. It’s in the way he looks at the roads in an unrestrained awe that betrays he isn’t from around here. And, of course, the way he relentlessly challenges the highway.

Ian doesn’t agree with what Harvey does with challengers; he finds the supposed hierarchy redundant and useless. It limits challengers in a way that stifles competition. But it lets Harvey keep his place firmly on top of this false hierarchy. Ian hasn’t found it in him to challenge him, confident his own driving will be better than his.

If Ian’s being completely honest, he’s confident that Julian could beat Harvey if he’d let him. From rumors he’s heard, Julian’s unofficially beaten Harvey already. But since Harvey’s pathetically stubborn, he won’t step down and scrape together the measly remains of his pride.

Ian barely knows Julian’s driving. He’s gone driving with the kid once after helping him with his alignment. It was the first time Ian had seen Julian and he admittedly underestimated him. The car, while not the most expensive Ian’s worked on, was still considered new with a higher trim. He, ignorantly, thought Julian was some rich kid with his first fast car.

But as he was working on the car, curiosity got the best of him. After minor adjustments or alignments, he usually just lets the owner drive off. He’s confident enough in his repairs not to need to sit with them during the test run. But he wanted to see exactly how Julian would drive.

It was something he wouldn’t be forgetting any time soon. It was clear with the way that Julian handled his car, he had experience with driving. They went onto the highway once at Ian’s direction and Julian only skirted along the edge of the speed limit. But his ease weaving through traffic without pause betrayed his experience. Ian didn’t ask where or how Julian learned this, he just asked him to come back again for whatever he needed.

Julian gave him a grin, sharp and pleased. But he agreed to return and made it a weekly occurrence to drive by Ian’s shop. Sometimes it was for minor adjustments and other times it was because he was just in the area (Ian conveniently placed his shop right by the highway, for ease of use).

But none of this explains why Ian would see Julian’s Camaro here, and not at his shop a five-minute’s walk away. If anything, Ian was expecting to see Julian tonight. It’s been a little over a week since the last time Ian’s seen him and Ian was curious to see what Julian's done in the meantime. The modifications on his car can only be self-done.

Ian walks into the parking lot, scanning his surroundings. At first, he doesn’t see anything. But he walks around to the other side of the Camaro and sees Julian leaning against it. Ian can’t make out much with the shadows wrap around him, but he can see how Julian holds his arm to his chest.

“Julian.” Ian crouches beside him, hands hovering awkwardly in the air. Julian snaps up to meet Ian’s gaze. “Who did this to you?” They both already know what happened. Julian hasn’t exactly been laying low the past few weeks, despite Ian’s advice.

Julian shakes his head, flinching with the movement. “It’s fine. I’m….handling it.”

In the low light, Ian catches the gleam of blood against the asphalt and the bruises that bloom against Julian’s skin. “You’re bleeding.”

Julian gives him a look, sharp and confused. He looks down at this side and slowly moves his arm. His hand comes away stained red. “Huh. I guess I am.”

If that wasn’t concerning, then Ian didn’t know what was. He really wishes he had his jacket, if only to wrap Julian’s wound further. He places a hand against shoulder, waiting for any protest before maneuvering one of Julian’s arms over his shoulder. “C’mon. Let’s stand up.”

Julian doesn’t make any more to stand and just lazily looks up to face Ian. His gaze is unfocused. “Why? Where are we going?”

Ian readjusts his grip, getting a better hold on Julian’s chest without jostling his wound. “My apartment. We need to get this cleaned up.”

Julian shakes his head again. “I’ll be able to get home. I just need another minute.”

“I think you’re going to need longer than a few minutes.” Ian glances around the parking lot, looking for anything else that he could use to staunch Julian’s wound that isn’t impossibly dirty or torn. “And my apartment is closer than yours.”

Julian frowns, narrowing his eyes. “What about my Camaro?”

“Is it locked?” Ian asks. He waits for Julian to give him a nod. “Then we’ll just leave it here. People know better than to steal cars around here.”

Julian gives him a doubtful frown, glances back at the Camaro to give it a long look. “If….you say so.”

“We’ll pick up first thing in the morning.” Ian doubts that Julian would be able to stand well enough in the morning to pick it up, but he doesn’t want to have that argument now. Ideally, Julian would still be asleep when Ian goes to pick up the Camaro tomorrow morning.

Julian nods, slow and pained. He looks over to the trash cans lining the side of the parking lot. “Before we go, can you grab my gun? Harvey threw it over there.”

Ian forces every ounce of anger burning in his stomach from his expression. So it was Harvey who did this. He should’ve guessed that coward would’ve stooped to this level.

Ian doesn’t exactly want to set Julian back on the ground, or pick up his no doubt loaded gun for that matter, but he isn’t dragging him any farther than he has to. He sets Julian against his Camaro. “I won’t be long. Keep putting pressure on the wound.”

Julian readjusts his grip on his side, watching Ian stand with a half-lidded gaze. Ian walks across the parking lot, scanning the trash cans that he passes. Near the furthest one is a night black pistol, with electric blue accents. It matches Julian’s Camaro perfectly.

Ian picks it up, the weight heavy in his hand and the metal cold against his skin. He isn’t a stranger to guns, you can’t be when you’ve done what he has for so long, but that doesn’t mean he has to like them. He’s seen what they’ve done to others far too much to.

He empties the magazine with a simple, practiced motion and shoves the rounds into one pocket and the gun in the other. When he returns, Julian gives him an expectant look.

“I’ll return it after we’ve dealt with your injuries.” The last thing Ian wants is for Julian to hold this gun while delirious. He may do something he’d regret.

Julian narrows his eyes and presses his lips flat. But he doesn’t protest. Ian helps throw one of Julian’s arms over his shoulder and wraps his arm around Julian’s waist. Ian presses against his wound, his other arm hanging limp and useless against side. Julian whimpers but Ian has to ignore it.

Together, they start the slow walk home.

#whumptober2021 #no.3 #who did this to you #OC #fic #blood #injury #my writing #faded writing #universe: sytaria #i'm a camaro simp i'm sorry i can't help it

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itscooltobefanficy · 7 years

Text

Feeling Alive- Part 11

Summary: Dance school!AU (or the Step Up/Pride and Prejudice mash up nobody asked for). Bucky Barnes is forced to take twelve hours of commercial dance classes to pass the year- and that just happens to be your regular weekly dance class.

Introduction

Part 1 (Slow Hands)

Part 2 (Stay)

Part 3 (There Will Come a Time)

Part 4 (Weapon of Choice)

Part 5 (Came Here For Love)

Part 6 (Where the Sky Hangs)

Part 7 (When Can I See You Again?)

Part 8 (Manhattan)

Part 9 (Skip To The Good Bit)

Part 10 (Poison & Wine)

Clean

Pairing: Bucky Barnes X Reader

Chapter 12/?: Clean

Word count: 2412

Warnings: swearing and ANGST

Just... YOU GUYS. I am utterly indebted to your enthusiasm and love. Thank you a hundred times. (Because TSwift is who she is, the version of Clean I linked is a cover, but you can find the original on Spotify).

Y: Hope you’re OK, despite the awful situation

Y: Give my best to Steve tomorrow

Y: Try to sleep as much as you can

Y: OK I’m hoping you’re asleep, good night

Friday is your day off. You can’t decide if that’s good or bad. On the one hand, you don’t have to try to get through a day at work, with all that happened yesterday clouding the back of your mind- on the other, you have nothing to distract you from the horrible reality of the situation. You force yourself to get up and make a start on tidying your apartment. Anything to keep your mind from swerving back to the ugly bundle of Steve’s knee resting on stark white blankets, or the expression of hopeless anger on Bucky’s face.

Y: Hope you’re bearing up

Y: Try to keep eating etc.

You know that Bucky’s probably in class or at the hospital, so the fact that he isn’t replying doesn’t bother you too much. Instead you try to stay focused on the tasks in front of you: vacuuming, sweeping, rearranging your bookshelf until finally everything looks neat once more. Then you check the time and pick up the phone.

“Hey!” Wanda’s voice is strangely cheerful in your ears. “What’s up?”

“Hey, Wanda,” You answer, then take a deep breath. What do they say about bad news? There’s no easy way to deliver it. “Ah, it’s about Steve?”

“Steve? Is he OK?”

You silently offer thanks to Wanda’s preternatural talent for reading your voice.

“Um, no. Not really. He’s dislocated his knee.” Even just saying it, your words shake slightly with left-over shock.

“Oh, God. Shit. When did that happen?” You can picture Wanda’s face, creased with helpless concern.

“Yesterday,” You tell her, “I’m sure the Academy will be in touch but-”

“No, I’m glad you told me,” Wanda instantly reassures you. “Are you OK?”

“Bucky came to see me,” You say, slowly, unsure how to put what you’re feeling into words, “Then I went with him to the hospital… They’re all really-”

“I can imagine,” Wanda says, gravely. “Have you heard anything?”

“Nothing today. So far.”

“It’ll be OK. He’ll be OK.”

“Wanda, he’s not going to be able to dance again.” Your voice wobbles, unshed tears threatening once again. God, you’re sick of crying.

“Oh, God. Do you want me to come over?” Wanda’s offer is perfectly serious; she’s come across town for less before. But you can’t face dealing with such a concentrated outpouring of sympathy and concern. In fact, you can barely face dealing with anything at all. All you want to do is bury beneath the duvet and hope the day, along with all its misery, disappears before you next resurface.

“I’m OK,” Is what you say, rather than coming across as totally insane. “Thanks, it means a lot- but I’m OK. Just want today to be over with.”

“Yeah, OK. Just know I’m on the end of the line if you need me.”

Your heart swells with affection. “Thanks, Wanda.”

“Anytime. Look after yourself, yeah?”

“Will do. Love you.”

“Love you, too. Stay strong.” The line clicks off.

You drag in a few carefully measured breaths. The pressure on your chest eases slightly.

Y: I’m going to bed, know I’ve been saying this a lot but hope you’re OK

You eventually fall asleep with your phone face down on the floor, trying to switch off the tick of anxiety in your heart.

On Saturday, you get a text at half eleven.

Hi Y/N this is Nat. Steve is out of hospital. Has yet to hit anyone with his crutches although I’m sure it will happen soon. We are safely back at the academy. Thanks for your help on Thurs.

Reading it, your heart momentarily unclenches- he’s out of hospital, in good spirits by the sound of it- but then, rereading it, a different kind of discomfort begins to well up inside you. Of course, you’re glad Nat has sent you an update; but why is Nat texting you? Nat doesn’t even have your number.

Maybe his phone’s flat. That’s what you tell yourself, and that excuse sustains you through the rest of the day.

Y: Probably building up a backlog of these but glad to hear Steve’s back safe

Y: Sleep well

On Sunday, you cling to imagining a smashed screen, maybe dropped in the attempt to get Steve up those lethal stairs. The waves of doubt tug stronger and stronger, but you can still ride them out. One more day, you insist, one more day and he’ll text you. One more day and it will be fine. Just wait one more day.

Monday comes, and there’s no word. At work, you’re flat and subdued- but after telling Lola what happened to Steve, she accepts that as enough reason for your mood and leaves you alone. You keep your phone in your bag the whole day, and when you unlock it to find a blank screen as you walk out of the library, you can taste the bitter sting of disappointment coating the back of your throat. But there’s one last option left. One last hope, one last maybe.

You tap Bucky’s number and hit call, then lift the phone to your ear. All he has to do is answer. Then you can put your fears to rest.

All he has to do is answer.

After the twelfth discordant ring, you slowly drop your hand and press your thumb carefully to the screen to end the call.

It’s still not over, a voice inside you insists, it still might be alright. He’ll come on Wednesday and make everything alright.

You try not to think of it as a fool’s hope, and carry on walking home.

On Tuesday, you carry a hot, singeing coal around in your chest. It stings with each prod of your thoughts in Bucky’s direction, with every hesitant, anticipatory glance at your phone. Nothing seems able to dislodge it. You find yourself chewing your lip, fidgeting with your hands whenever they’re not occupied. Your mind won’t drop the why, the what’s happening, the is he OK, the did I do something wrong; until each worry is gnawed to splinters that jab and crack under your constant scrutiny.

That night, you convince yourself it’s not worth crying over, and force yourself to sleep, even as your thoughts run in endless circles.

Why?

What’s happening?

Is he OK?

Did I do something wrong?

You’re strung as tight as wire through the hours of your Wednesday shift. When the clock reaches five, you seize your belongings, wave a quick goodbye and dart out the door. You spend the minimum possible time back at your flat- diving in, struggling into your workout clothes, grabbing your bag and dashing out again- before striding, with butterflies fighting in your stomach, down the road towards the bus stop.

You know you’re early- which is why you’re surprised to see Sam and Nat already waiting at the stop. Only Sam and Nat. Your stomach drops to rest somewhere on the pavement.

Still, at least you might get an explanation. You square your shoulders and hurry over.

Nat looks grim. That’s your first clue. Sam’s smile is forced, slightly uneven at the edges. You look from one to the other. “Are you OK? How’s Steve?”

How’s Bucky? You want to ask, but you keep a lid on that question.

“Steve’s OK,” Sam replies, “Not great, but he’s dealing with it.”

You nod, then force yourself to say it.

“Where’s Bucky? Is he-”

You don’t even know: OK? Better? Worse? Avoiding me?

Nat glances at Sam.

“What?” You ask. You’re trying to keep your voice light, joking, because it’s fine, right? Everything’s fine. But when Nat looks back to you, her face makes your heart sink.

“Bucky got an exemption from Fury,” She says, carefully, “This was supposed to be their last week anyway. They only had two more compulsory hours to complete, so he asked to be excused from attending the class.”

“Oh.”

Your mouth can’t manage anything else. What does that mean?

You stare at Nat, pleading wordlessly with her to explain. She grimaces slightly, then shifts her gaze to Sam. His eyes widen; then he looks at you, and his expression settles into something more sympathetic. He takes a deep breath.

“Don’t- don’t beat up on yourself, Y/N, but Bucky’s…”

He trails off, and your heart lurches.

“Bucky’s what? Is it Steve? Is it the auditions?” You’re losing the fragile grasp you had on your temper; your normal checks have been frayed by the crises of the past few days.

Sam’s face crumples up. “We think so. He’s just- sometimes he just puts the blinkers on and that’s it-” Sam reaches out, maybe reacting to the way your heart feels like its collapsing in on itself, and delivers the final blow with a rough kind of care in his voice, “- For everything else.”

You don’t need to ask anything more. You don’t even want to hear it; you can’t stand to hear the final nail being hammered in the coffin.

Everything else: everything us.

That’s it for everything else.

Your throat has closed up, but you refuse to cry here, in case Nat and Sam bear word back to the academy of your reaction. You’ll be goddamned strong. So, you swallow painfully and stare away down the street as you force down the roiling, sickening waves of emotion. Deal with it later, you tell yourself, right now, hold it together.

So you do. You hold it together through the bus ride, then through Wanda’s looks of concern as you prep for the class, and then through the class itself. So what if you perform the movements with all the feeling of a robot? If it keeps you from crying in front of everyone, it’s worth it. The two hours pass in both an agonising drag and the blink of an eye; all of a sudden the music has stopped and everyone’s filing off the floor. Wanda makes a beeline for you.

“Talk to me. Right now.” She gently takes your arm and steers you towards the corner. A black tide seems to rise in your throat at her words; you wrestle it down, but not before your eyes start stinging.

“Y/N?” Pepper appears at your shoulder, her delicate face pulled into a frown. “Are you OK? You seemed a little…”

“Sad,” Clint signs, striding up to your little huddle.

The black tide surges again. You frantically glance around the studio- but everyone else seems preoccupied packing up. Some are already heading out, waving to Wanda. You bite your lip.

“Um, I’ve got something to tell you all.”

Fifteen minutes later and the four of you are sat on the floor of the studio. Pepper has her arm around you, Wanda is handing you her emergency sugar stash, and Clint looks thunderous.

“So,” You sniff, “I think that’s it.” Your voice shudders on the last word, but you push on. It’s nearly out, the whole sorry tale, and you’re already feeling a little lighter. Your hands keep up with your words, just about. “I don’t think my pride can take chasing him anymore.”

“Damn right!” Wanda says, indignantly, just as Clint begins to sign something else.

“Do you want me to go beat him up?”

You snort, but shake your head.

“He’s not worth it,” Pepper affirms, her face stern.

“He’s not,” You agree, ignoring the way your chest clenches at that statement, “I don’t even know why I’m so invested. Why I was so invested.”

Wanda shrugs. “Life’s a bitch, sometimes.”

“You’re not wrong.” You give a watery laugh. “Feelings are a bitch.”

Clint shrugs, then winks at you. “I wouldn’t know.”

“Remind me, how many dates have you had with Laura now?”

Clint shuts up, and the three of you laugh. Wanda springs to her feet.

“Come on, group therapy is closing for the night.”

You accept Clint’s hand up and manage a smile. “Thanks, guys. For-”

“Don’t mention it,” Pepper instantly replies.

“Any time,” Clint tells you.

“Absolutely.” Wanda pulls open the door. “Now, Pepper is going to drop you home in her fancy car, and I’m going to sort out our competition entries. Clear?”

“Chrystal,” You reply, then impulsively stride over and hug her tightly. “Thank you.”

“You’ll be fine,” She tells you, then presses a smacking kiss to the side of your head, “You’ve got us!”

Looking around at them, you actually believe her.

Pepper does drive a fancy car. She runs her own start-up company, providing appropriate technical support to the city’s high-profile firms and organisations, and although she’s ever modest you know she’s very good at what she does. Her apartment is on the other side of town, near the financial district, so she normally carpools with Clint- but when Wanda issues an order, you don’t usually disobey it. So you hop in the back of her Mercedes without protest, and listen idly as she turns on the radio.

Oddly, you feel better for having sobbed your heart out on the floor of Scarlet Studios. The combined pressure of disappointment, sorrow and fury hasn’t disappeared; but it has eased. When Pepper draws up to the curb outside your flat a little while later, you lean forward in your seat and dangle your phone in your hand.

“What?” Clint’s sign is a little cramped from having to turn around.

Fuck. You don’t actually know the sign for erase. You instead give an apology and say, “Pepper? Can you erase Bucky’s number? I don’t trust myself to do it.”

Pepper twists in her seat and looks carefully at you. “Are you sure?”

You nod decisively. “I’m done.”

Done with bright blue eyes and dry laughter and a smile that simultaneously split apart and stitched back together your poor, battered heart. Done with sharp wit and stupid jokes and the gentle heat of swaying together to music that soared and seduced. Done with pouring all of your soul and care into someone who clearly didn’t want it. Done with waiting, and hoping, and hurting all at once.

Pepper clearly sees the certainty in your eyes. She takes your phone, swipes it open and you watch as she opens up your contacts and begins scrolling down.

Bucky (Dancing)

Delete this number?

With one tap of her finger, it’s gone.

AN: I’M SORRY WRITING THIS CHAPTER WAS SO SAD BUT STICK WITH ME LOVELIES (you’ll never go hungry again!). Sorry, Disney references are probably a side-effect of so much misery. The Pain Train trundles on! You know where to find me to shriek/cry/flail. Thank you again for your support <3 (P.S. Thirteen is finally finished. Haven’t quite decided if there are going to be one or two more parts before the epilogue- which you guys will decide on! So basically a few days until the next update. Stay strong <3)

Tag list: @learisa; @vintagesaph; @debzybrazy; @madeofstarsdust; @beingcrushedbysociety; @plumsforbuck2016; @buckybabybaby; @seb-styles; @youtube-obsessed-duh; @casdoesntunderstandthatreference; @sunnycolors; @imthemishamigo; @themarvelousmaximoffs; @blonde0n; @smaug-the-homedog; @gabby913; @sexyashmike; @fuckinxqueenx; @velociraptorinae; @frnkensteingrl; @tattooideasforthefuture; @inlovewithnovels; @ipaintmelodies; @whimsicaldreaming; @olicia-leeshy; @xxamix; @xxblackteabinchxx; @v-ickie; @imnegativetillbepositive; @lilythelionflower; @witchinghour24; @hollycornish; @lucyvaughan-omg-; @thel0stpr1ncess; @kur0k1tsun3-blog; @siobhanrebecca; @thighs0fbetrayal; @ur-an-indiana-boy-sonny; @fungk17; @da363; @sorryidontspeakgrounder-world; @burtheimperium; @fandom-writes; @farawell; @dorisagent101; @ghostwriterfanfics; @avengers–marvel; @the-creative-lie; @ms-brown10; @blackcoffeeandgreenteaforme; @marvelsavengersforever1227; @winchesterforever12; @stomachfilledwithbutterflies; @fictionwillneverdie; @basicwhiskeyprincesss; @tortadigranchio; @supikasia; @moonandstars-xo; @greengrassdiaries; @jiminera; @irreplaceablevogue; @jechloandhyde; @damagelove; @schaart; @satansknittingclub; @scentedcoffeefire; @brooke-supernatural16; @sarahmichelle5; @dreeams-unwind; @damnbuckyishot; @thestuffyouwant; @obliviousheaven; @moist-bread1234

Part 12

#bucky x reader #bucky imagine #bucky barnes au #bucky barnes fic #bucky barnes x reader #I wrote a thing #Feeling Alive #Feeling Alive Part Eleven #Wow guys we actually got here #I'm so excited for you to read the next part #Also I always use guys as a kind of gender neutral term #I hope everyone's OK with that #Keep on trucking gang #Love and thanks to you all <3

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syndianites · 7 years

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Trouble Magnet

Ship: Syndianite (Tom x S1 Dianite)

Summary: Tom cannot stop getting in trouble and Dianite is this close to locking him in a room until he finally stops.

(AN: For all intents and purposes, let’s say Dianite has two temples, a personal and a public ; ) )

Dianite didn’t know what he expected. Perhaps he had hoped that after being revived Tom had lost the ability to get into trouble without even trying. It seems that was too much to ask for. He left the zombie with Furia (His biggest fuck you to Mianite this century) for ten minutes, and he comes back to an all-out war. Tom’s arm was on fire, the ground was scorched once more (a typical characteristic of the Nether, but not in his goddammed temple dammit), Furia sported quite a few lacerations and a nasty gash spreading out over his collarbone. He should have seen this coming.

As the two reared up to go at it again he let out an aggravated shout, “STOP.” The idiots froze, peering at him with guilty expressions. Tom, however, was quick to defend himself. “He started it!” He crossed his arms childishly, still carrying his sword. “This asshole-” Before Tom could continue, Furia retorted, “Well maybe if you weren’t an insecure dumbass.” He bared his teeth at Tom. “I wouldn’t have had to on fire.”

“Well-” his words seemed to sink in as Tom noticed the flames licking at his suit, “SHIT.” He futilely tried to stamp it out with his hand before Dianite simply waved it off. Pinching the bridge of his nose (he was all for fighting, but they were acting like two-year olds) he sighed. “I don’t care who started it! I left you alone for ten minutes, and you’re at each other’s throats. Save it for my brother’s followers at least.” Tom had the dignity to at least look somewhat sheepish, Furia simply shrugged and looked away.

“Come on Tom, let’s get you patched up. Then we’ll see if I’ll even let you look outside.” With that the god strode out of the room with a petulant champion tagging behind him.

This time he had let Tom roam the Nether, after hours of Tom nagging him, hours of trying to focus on his work with a bored zombie incessantly trying to get his attention. In all honest, he didn’t know why he didn’t at least watch his champion, for all the times he’d gotten in trouble in the realm before. Some part of him had hoped Tom knew better. But alas, Tom was currently running full speed away from an angry group of zombie pigmen.

“Aw, come on guys,” Tom shouted back at the screeching mob, narrowly avoiding a pigmen descending from above, “We’re like, zombie brothers! It’s not my fault Jim over here felt the need to jump out in front of me mining for nether ore!” Jim was not in fact the pigmen’s name, it was Lefarei, and he was not happy at receiving a pickaxe to his good eye! He would show the stupid green man what it was like to have a hole for an eye. The responding squeals Tom heard made no sense, but the pigmen seemed to start running faster. He was so not giving Jim a get-well card.

Meanwhile, the Nether god was trying to discern whether or not the outraged pig squeals were the cause of his beloved (read: idiotic) champion, or another, perhaps of lesser value mortal. For a moment, he pondered just letting whatever happened happen. He was backlogged on his work (if only his followers hadn’t decided to wage a war against the marshmallow kingdom, again, a place he was still baffled by), and surely whoever it was that pulled this stunt (most definitely Tom at this point, if the cursing British accent was anything to go by) would figure their way out. He couldn’t take the chance that they would just resort to slaughtering all the pigmen, it was hard to find good replacements for around his temple.

Rolling his eyes, he chose to investigate the scene. He teleported just above the ruckus, and lo-and-behold, there was Tom, fleeing from an angry following of pigmen. “You seem to be having a great time outside,” the god teased, choosing to just sit back and watch. He didn’t need to finish his work anyway. The zombie scowled in his direction. “Oh, fuck you.” Dianite responded with a chuckle, “That could be arranged.”

And then he let Tom go back to the Overworld for half an hour. Half an hour. Really, he didn’t know how he didn’t see this coming. First, he parades through some Mianite worshiping town, pisses them off, and steals a boat. On what was a perfectly clear day, he manages to encounter the one thunderstorm (he suspects Mianite wasn’t happy with his champion causing chaos one of his towns), and ends up washed up on the shore of some uninhabited island. With Mianitee. (And then he turned out to be the champion of Mianite). Of course, this all happened before the half-hour was even up. (He shamefully admits to not watching Tom’s antics, and therefore not being able to find him once he went to check on him). Then he gets shot by a fucking skeleton. Dianite wasn’t sure what he was going to do first, burn all the skeletons he sees (he’d be damned of he let any actually kill Tom), punt the dumbass Mianitee off his self-given mountain, or lock Tom in his temple. Scratch that, he was just going to not bother with this.

As the night passed, he brought Tom back to the temple. “That was fucking awesome!” Tom seemed so happy. For a moment, the god’s anger seemed to drain. For a moment. “What the hell Tom?” Dianite gave his champion an incredulous look. “How did you manage to fuck that much shit up in half and hour?” The zombie didn’t seem to notice the shaky ground his freedom was on. He puffed up his chest, pride almost radiating out of him. “Well, I am a Dianitee. The Dianitee! We’re supposed to fuck shit up! Besides, you can’t say you weren’t amused when those bitchy Mianitees were running around town like chickens with their heads cut off.”

The Nether god chose to wrap his arms around his beloved idiot instead of answering. He had a point. It was always a pleasure to see his brother’s followers act like fools. Even if it meant his acted worse. (Though, he pondered, they were supposed to be worse, the children of chaos). Cold hands returned the hug, loving the warmth radiating from the god. “Maybe one day you could be strategic chaos instead of stupid let’s-blow-everything-up chaos,” he grumbled in the zombie’s hair. “Eh,” he replied, “Too much work.”

“Can I go back out later?” Dianite just groaned.

(AN: Am I making them curse too much? I don’t really curse myself, so anytime I watch Tom’s stream it feels like he curses a ton. Might just be me.)

#Syndianite #Diacate #TomxDianite #DianitexTom #SyndicatexDianite #DianitexSyndicate #Mianite #MianiteS1 #Never let the fandom die #I will write all the fics if i must #too many tags #lowkey OTP

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feverhalo · 7 years

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First posted fic! Its not the one ive had requested, or either of the two other I had started. Its just a quick little thing. I fell asleep today really early after getting back so I havent had a chance to work on those yet. Ill cross post this to ao3 sometime tomrrow. Im also great at titles. Warning to talk of needles/shots but other than that its pretty tame run of the mill whump.

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Post Immunization (fma fanfic)

Edward stomped into the office, dragging his coat along in his left hand. His automail hand was curled in a protective barrier around his left bicep. He shoved his chair back with his foot and threw himself into his seat.

“Not a damn word, you traitorous bastard” Edward spat as Mustang looked up at the flurry of activity. “One word, and Colonel or not I’ll end you.”

“Brother!” Alphonse chided, “You can’t take it out on everyone. They are working, too; I’m sorry for Ed being so angry-“

“Don’t apologise for me!” Ed glared at his brother. “It was a dirty trick.”

‘Whatever do you mean, Fullmetal?” Mustang leaned back, mouth quirking up even as Riza shot him a look. “It was of utmost importance, and very relevant to your quest to get your bodies back. Immunizations are important.”

Ed reached forward and grabbed some of the paper work on his own, rarely used, desk. He was limited in what he could do for the rest of the day, banned from sparring or getting into anything strenuous to avoid bruising and pain from the set of shots. He was basically stuck with sitting around, but if course Colonel Mustang planned to ruin his day to the last shred of freedom and insisted he come catch up on paperwork like the rest of them. He grumbled, mocking Mustang under his breath as he worked.

The Colonel frowned, Ed wasn’t rising to the bait anymore, and as much as he would love to throw in a good jab about the boy’s height or the fact he was still getting children’s immunizations, this wasn’t the time. Quarterly reports were coming up, and in true Mustang fashion there was a very steep backlog. So work continued on with the addition of an irritated Edward rubbing at his sore shoulder every now and again.

After some time, patience and energy dipped and the others took turns to get up and stretch or grab a refill on coffee. Edward had slumped forward, resting his cheek on the desk’s cool surface. Alphonse, who had previously been content to read quietly or chat a little whenever conversation arose struck up a quiet conversation with his brother.

“Come on Brother, I know this sort of paperwork is a hassle but yore nearly done.”

“Mmm,” Ed nodded, but thats all Mustang could make out from his desk. He missed out on the rest of the mumbled reply. He shifted getting ready to crack a smart remark, but Alphonse’s reaction stopped him from trying to get a rise out of Ed again.

“Do you need to lay down? You do look pretty tired,” he clanked quietly as he fussed, “Are you feeling alright?”

“Everything okay boys?” Riza stepped in after that little bit of eavesdropping.

“Brother?”

“Tired ‘s all. Stupid paperwork’s givin’ me a headache.” Ed straightened, bringing his messy hair and flushed face back into view.

Without hesitation, Riza reached forward to press the back of her hand to his forehead. Mustang couldn’t blame her, even he was taken back by how pale the alchemist looked under the deep red flush.

“Sir,” she half turned to address the Colonel. Ed pushed at her arm gently, using his automail to save his flesh arm the soreness of moving. “Sorry Edward, I didn’t mean-“

“So I do have a fever?” He rubbed at his eyes, no wonder it was getting to hard to stay upright and focused. Riza nodded, turning back to Roy.

“Lay on the sofa over there for a bit, see if it helps.” Roy motioned to the two seater pushed up against the wall. Ed stood up to do so, but stopped to brace himself using his desk for a long moment before stumbling over as if his shoes were undone. Alphonse followed to quietly fret, tossing his brother’s jacket over him as he curled up. Ed pressed his face into the back of the cushions as work resumed in the office.

“I’ve got a quick call to make, Lieutenant.” Roy picked up the phone and dialled the number of the paediatrician Hughes had suggested. No military doctor had the vaccines on hand that Ed was due for, as most everybody had gotten them at around age ten. It was a bit of a low blow to the boy’s pride as well, and one Roy was suddenly not so comfortable with.

“Hello, Doctor Leston’s office. How may I help you?” A chipper voice crackled across the line.

“Colonel Mustang,” he felt ill prepared for this conversation. “I had an appointment set up for an Edward Elric earlier today, as his technical guardian and commanding officer. I need to speak with the doctor regarding that visit.”

“Doctor Leston speaking, what seems to be concerning you today sir?” After the brief hold, Roy was surprised to hear such a young voice.

“Edward Elric was in earlier today for a series of immunizations,” he paused. “He’s feeling rather ill now, actually.”

“Oh, I am so sorry thats a shame. Is he having a rash reaction? Are you able to give me more information? There shouldn’t be many side effects to these vaccinations, but as I understand it is a rather special case with this boy. Being so far behind in them because of such a physically traumatic incident.” Her voice was kind, and she trailed off to allow him to answer.

“Hes got a rather noticeable fever. I’m afraid I don’t know how high exactly, but its interfering with his activities.” It was strange to have it so blatantly thrown at him- Ed was still very much a child. Here he was speaking to a child’s doctor, about a polio vaccine update most people got when they were aged nine or ten. And this was about is subordinate, the thirteen year old boy sleeping across the room.

“Oh! Goodness me, that is incredibly common; he’ll be fine. Many children get fevers after vaccinations. It shouldn’t last more than 24 hours, most don’t even last that long. Over the counter children’s pain and fever medication should be fine to use if he is uncomfortable. If at all possible, please keep an eye on it. I don’t usually get patients with automail, so I’m not too sure how differently it may effect him.”

“Ah, thank you. So its nothing to worry about?” he listened intently for a few more minutes as she relayed more information. “Alright. Thank you very much. If anything else happens may I call here again?… Yes if course, if it rises too high he will be taken to an emergency centre. Alright, thank you, you as well have a wonderful evening.”

“That doesn’t sound too bad,” Mustang looked over to the sleeping boy. “He’ll need to be monitored tonight I suppose. Alphonse where are you two staying this time around?”

“We were going to stay with the Hughes family again this time, Gracia always asks us to whenever we mention we’ll be in the area.” He had half turned to look at Mustang as he responded. His large gauntlet still rested on his brother’s back, moving in small circles to try and offer as much comfort as he could.

“Hm. It shouldn’t be anything contagious, but I’m not so sure you two should go there with him ill. It would be too much, with their daughter.” Alphonse seemed to sag slightly, arranging a room somewhere wouldn’t be very easy as just himself. Edward usually managed to get around the issue of them not having an adult guardian because of his status as a Major. “I’ll get Hawkeye to drive you two back with me.” “Um? I’m sorry Colonel, I don’t follow.” Al’s voice was small, and it really reminded Mustang how young the boy really was. He felt about two inches tall after today, purposely trying to humiliate the boys by sending them somewhere that under other circumstances would be a totally normal thing for them.

“Its a one-time kindness,” He stood to gather his things. Hawkeye stood from her desk as well and went into motion, preparing her coat and fishing her keys from the top drawer. “He did everything I asked of him, and being in a house with an energetic little kid isn’t going to be easy on him. If you’d like to get your things together, follow Lieutenant Hawkeye down to the gate and we’ll meet you there.”

Alphonse did as he was told and gathered up the few belongings they had. He gave his brother another look before following Riza out of the office. Roy pulled his jacket on and silently thanked his subordinates for knowing when to keep their mouths shut and heads down as they continued to plough away at the stacks of reports.

“Fullmetal, time to wake up,” he stood over Ed sleeping on the sofa.

The boy barely stirred, but did roll enough for Roy to see the strands of hair plastered to his face with sweat. His face was glowing red and how he was twisted seemed incredibly uncomfortable, but he was still oblivious to the world around him. Sighing, Mustang crouched and manoeuvred Ed’s arms through his jacket sleeved and hoisted him up, staggering a little at the uneven weight distribution. After a small struggle, he had Ed on his back. The boy’s arms were slung loosely over his shoulders, and he held the small alchemist tight, tipping forward slightly so the boy wouldn’t fall backwards.

“Feel better, chief.” Jean called out quietly as Mustang made his way out of the office. Ed shifted and hummed, not committing to waking up but hearing enough to know he was being talked to.

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