#i haven’t read the comments on the post yet i hope they tore them a new one

[bopit-twistit]

somebody else needs to read this eyesore with me and im just gonna pick out some of my favorite parts

let’s start with the fact that this person calls lumity a “lesbian relationship” which made me see red right off the bat i don’t need to go further into that outrage it should be pretty self explanatory and if it isn’t to you then you should look inward and see why that is

gus’ whole deal is the he LOVES humans. how is it out of character for him to know about pride flags? they spent months in the human world you really think gus didn’t go BONKERS learning about everything human?? his best friends are queer and he’s probably queer himself you are REALLY going to sit here and tell me that he wouldn’t know about pride flags after spending MONTHS in the human world??

so are you really gonna sit here and tell me that you didn’t know that dana had to fight so hard to allow them to air lumity?? she had to be low key with it so that disney had no choice but to let her make it canon? the way catradora was coded into the show so that it made no sense for netflix to cut it? you’re really gonna sit here and tell me that the whole “hi im bi” scene wasn’t meant to be a big fuck you to disney?? okay. okay.

also, “jarring” i want us to recall that we are talking about the ten second scene where luz comes out to her mom as bisexual…….

this was just funny to me because……. how is the owl house ahead??? they literally…….. got cancelled…. they are as far behind as you could be……..

it is just so so funny to me that we are so distressed and jarred over luz explicitly coming out as bisexual……

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

I.R.L.📷2

Warnings: noncon sexual acts and rape, voyeurism/exhibitionism, slight stalking, masturbation, naughty talk.

This is dark!(camboy!)Andy Barber. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Summary: Your guilty pleasures becomes and all too real terror.

Note: Okay, here’s the second and last part of this short little piece. Thanks for reading and the excitement. I’m sorry if I’m a bit blegh rn.

Thank you so much for your patience! And support!!

As always, if you are so inclined, please like, reblog, and comment. <3

Andy stared at the chat. He waited and waited but the green dot didn’t pop up. Maybe she was freaked out after meeting him. Or maybe she was over him. Her name hadn’t blipped up in any of his sessions in the last week and he even invited her to an impromptu private show after he got back from the café. He hoped her seeing him might nudge her but it only seemed to scare the fuck out of her.

He recalled how she nearly fell on her face running away from him. That wasn’t the reaction he was expecting. No preening or smiles, just terror and a quick escape. He didn’t understand. He was a good looking guy and she was obviously lonely. Hell, she was cute too. He was hardly disappointed.

He waited another fifteen minutes, distracting himself with the colour matching game on his phone but her status remained inactive. He scrolled through his bookmarks and clicked on her insta profile. She had commented on some DIY tutorials in the last hour but hadn’t posted. She only ever added pictures of flowers anyway; her last photo of herself was from a year ago. It was her and some guy but he could guess they were no longer together.

He was starting to get upset. She was ignoring him. He wasn’t stupid but what had he done? Their sessions were going well up until this week and he actually looked forward to them. He felt that same thrill he had when he first started his hustle.

He slammed his laptop shut and dropped his phone face down. Fuck it, he had better stuff to do.

He crossed the room and grabbed one of the boxes still stacked against the wall. He hauled it over to the empty bookshelf and flipped it open. He unpacked the books one at a time and the heavy bookend shaped like half a globe. He didn’t know why he brought all these things, he didn’t use them. He wasn’t a lawyer anymore.

He leaned against the side of the sofa and crossed his arms. He boxed up his whole life, or what was left of it, and drove halfway across the country. She couldn’t even give him a hello or her name. She could hardly look at him and she wouldn’t answer his goddamn messages.

He pushed himself straight and stormed over to his laptop. He ripped it open and clicked on the chat. Still, nothing. The invitation was scheduled for less than an hour. Well, if she wasn’t going to open it, he’d have to get it to her another way. He was done waiting on her and he was done playing with her through a screen.

He wanted the real thing and he knew she wanted it too.

📷

You were still slightly addled from your encounter at the café. After you got home and unpacked your groceries, you didn’t find your coffee again until it went cold. You dumped it and replaced it with a glass of wine. You bought the bottle a month ago, expecting to unwind and that time finally came.

You sat with the healthy dose of alcohol, almost to the brim as it darkened the full belly of the glass. You wore only a baggy Winnie the Pooh tee and panties as you lounged and flipped on the tv. 

You rarely used the front room anymore, ever since your boyfriend moved out you spent most of your time in the bedroom, exhausted and lonely. It was easier to just linger there between responsibilities.

Your dainty sips turned to greedy slurps as you turned on an episode of Project Runway and lost yourself in the competition and drama of it all. Your ex hated that show and you hadn’t watched it in years. It was time to get caught up with what would forever be your unfulfilled dream of being a designer.

By the runway, your glass was empty and the television had a soft glare as you were slightly buzzed by the high potency. The dark blend had a percentage in the double digits and you were feeling it, delightfully so. As the designers came up for their feedback from judges, more so a roast, you leaned back and wiggled your hips as you stretched. You yawned and closed your eyes as you listened to a designer give cutting critique of a hem.

You peeked under your lashes as the camera panned in on the fraying stitches. Well, it looked alright from far away. You bent your arm under your head as you turned onto your side and your eyes closed again as you pondered another glass of wine. That might give you a decent night’s sleep.

You inhaled and sat up, intent on another indulgence but you stopped short as you blinked in shock. You hadn’t drank that much. You couldn’t be hallucinating. You pressed yourself to the back of the couch and shook your head as you gaped at the figure stood just beside the tv, eyes calmly watching you.

“What…” you gulped.

“Shhhh,” the man, the one you watched all those nights on your laptop, brought his finger to his lips as he hushed you, “it’s okay, honey.”

“I--” your heart leapt into your throat and you stood as you swiped up your glass, “get out. How did--”

“I sent you an invitation. Several this week. You haven’t answered--”

You hit the glass off the table so it cracked and left a jagged edge. You jabbed it out at him from the other side of the coffee table, your hand shaking as the shock turned to a jolt of adrenaline.

“Go! Get out!” you snapped, too terrified to think on how he found you or if your meeting that day was truly a coincidence. It didn’t seem like it, “you’re crazy, get out of my--”

He marched around the table as you backed up and swung the glass at him. He caught your wrist and twisted it as he wrenched you close to him and pointed the sharp edge at your throat. The scent of him filled your lungs and mingled with the taste of wine as the glass pressed to your skin.

“I don’t want to hurt you,” he warned, “so don’t make me.”

“Please--”

He said your name, calmly, as you drowned in his oceanic eyes. You quivered in his grasp and tensed as you tried to lean away from him, “Andy,” he offered, “that’s my real name.”

“Please, I don’t know what you want--”

“You know exactly what I want,” he hissed as he pulled away the glass and tossed it to shatter against the wall, “the same thing I always wanted… that you want.”

You took a deep breath and he clapped his hand over your mouth and tutted. His brows wrinkled in irritation and your drunken fingers bounced futilely off his shoulder. He turned you and sat you down on the couch and knelt with you, shushing you again as he settled on his knees on the floor.

“Honey, aren’t you tired of this? Of being apart? Of just… watching?” his eyes strayed from yours and he smiled as he eyed the yellow bear on your shirt, “that’s cute.”

You shook your head and murmured against his hand. His lashes flicked up and his jaw squared. His lips thinned as he considered you.

“Thing is, honey, I’d love to talk but you gotta promise not to scream,” he said, “and I mean that because I don’t want to gag you… not yet, anyway.”

Your eyes rounded and you nodded fervently as your breath puffed under his palm. He narrowed his eyes and shifted his hand slightly, moving it just an inch at a time as he watched you. You sniffled as he let his grip fall to your knee.

“Why? How…” you stuttered, “it was a mistake. Just a show--”

“You were always there,” he said as his other hand came up to your other knee and he ran his hands up and down your legs, “it didn’t sound like a mistake.” He pushed his fingers along the top of your thighs, “you enjoyed it.”

“It wasn’t… like that, just…”

He squeezed your thighs painfully and you winced. His fingers crawled up under the hem of your tee to the elastic of your panties and he hooked them beneath the fabric. You grasped his wrists in shock at his sudden movement and he looked you in the face.

“Say whatever you want, make your excuses,” he snarled, “you said you wanted me, you said it a dozen times, and I know you do.”

He tore down the cotton and you flailed out and caught yourself against the back of the couch. He rolled your panties down and untangled them from your ankles as you tried to close your legs. He kept your panties around his wrist as he stopped your knees from meeting and moved between them.

“Honey, now, I think we’ve had enough build up--”

“Hel--” you screamed and he grabbed your chin and snapped your mouth shut so that you bit your tongue.

He growled and shook your panties down over his hand. He brought up the twisted fabric and shoved it into your mouth. You tried to turn away from his grip as he stuffed the panties in with two fingers as deep as they would go and you almost gagged.

“It’s too bad,” he said, “I wanted to try that mouth… next time.”

You batted at his arms and chest and his hand shot to your throat. You stilled as he choked you, just enough for lungs to burn. He kept his hand on your neck until you sat back and he let it trail down the front of your shirt. He groped you through the fabric, rolling his thumb around your nipples as they hardened.

“I know you can be good, honey,” he hummed, “you’re just… nervous. I know what it’s like, trying to get over someone else. Trying to move on from a life you built-- a break-up, right? That lanky guy on your Insta--”

You gave a terrified flutter of your lashes and he smiled, a tight-lipped sympathetic gesture.

“Look, we’re two lonely people,” he kneaded your chest as he spoke and leaned in, “so, it only makes sense, and I promise, honey, the shows are over. It’s all for you now.”

You trembled as he dropped his hands and pulled up your shirt. He tickled your stomach with his knuckles and framed your tits with his hands as he admired them. You squirmed as he flicked them with his thumbs and leaned into you. He took one in his mouth and suckled. You whimpered as you felt a pluck in your core.

He parted with a pop and licked his lips, “I never… it was always hard to think of what you’d look like but I couldn’t picture anyone so perfect.”

Your nails dug into the couch cushions as you tried not to flinch. The glimmer of delight turned to disgust as you watched this stranger fondle you and he sealed his lips around your other nipple. You bit down on the cotton and moaned. You were so pathetic. It was your stupid moments of lonely desperation that brought you to this, that brought him to you.

His large hands spread along your sides and he pressed his fingertips into you sharply as he toyed with your nipples. He grazed his teeth along each bud and pulled back to look at you again. You grasped his shoulders as you begged him with your eyes and shook your head.

“I… always wanted to do this in the bedroom,” he said, “that’s where you usually are, huh? Touching yourself for me all alone in the dark--”

You hung your head in defeat and he pulled you forward on the cushion. He lifted you onto your feet and spun you around in the space between him and the couch. He put one hand on your hip and the other on the back of your neck and walked you around the sofa. He paced slowly behind you as he urged you down the hall and paused to peer through your bedroom door.

“Here we are,” he said as he angled you through the door. You reached up as your jaw ached around the wad of fabric and he caught your hand and yanked it down, “I didn’t say you could do that.”

You dropped your arm and he let you go. He pressed his body to your back as he nudged you closer to the bed and stopped you right before it. He bunched your shirt in his hands and tugged it up until you raised your arms. He swiped it over your head and let it crumple beside your feet.

“Go on, sit nice and pretty for me,” he tapped your ass lightly.

Naked, you shivered as you stepped away from him and got onto the bed. You turned as you bent your legs over the edge and lowered your chin. You hugged yourself as he stood watching you with his hands on his belt.

“Don’t you worry, it’s still a show,” he said as his hands slid over to his buckle. 

He winked and ran his fingers up the front of his jacket and pulled it off. He draped it over the folding stool by your bookshelf and bent each leg to tug off his shoes. His socks followed shortly after and he squared his shoulders before he scooped his shirt up and off. He returned to his buckle and tilted his head at you.

“Look at me, honey,” he said as you stared at the pile of clothing, “we both know you love to watch.”

You raised your eyes to him and clamped your hands around your shoulders, arms crossed over your chest. He grinned and unbuckled his belt, his zipper gliding down smoothly beneath his fingers.

“You got me hard as fuck,” he said, “I didn’t like that earlier, you know? The way you ran from me.”

You just sat and tried to swallow the hopeless acceptance. He pushed down his pants and stepped out of them, his arousal bulging against his boxers. Your fingernails cut into your skin as you curled your fingers.

“You’ve been so good to me, honey,” he continued as he rolled down his boxers, “you know, I only want to return the favour. I came all this way just to get close so that--” he paused as his dick sprang up before him and he kicked away his underwear, “I can take care of you now.”

He gripped himself and stroked his length with a hum. His stomach tensed and the lines of his muscles deepened as he groaned and played with himself as he would before the camera. You were mortified as you watched him helplessly and he got closer and closer.

“Now you get the live show, honey,” he reached out and took your hand, closing it around his dick as he guided it up and down.

He moaned and hung his head back as he used both your hands on his shaft. He shuddered and leaned into your grasp. You listened to his pants as they grew quicker and quicker and he stopped you abruptly. You looked down at the glistening pre-cum as it leaked from his tip and he trailed his thumb through it as he let you go.

You flinched as he moved towards you suddenly and grabbed your hips. He lifted you and dropped you onto your back. He took your ankles and placed them against his shoulders as he stretched your legs up his torso. His cock slid along your cunt and hovered over your folds.

“Fuck, I can’t wait any longer,” he bit his lips and looked between your legs as he let go of one leg and reached down to guide himself between your lips, “oh, honey, your so sexy.”

He pushed apart your cunt with two fingers and slid in between his knuckles. He gasped as you stretched around him and you pushed your head back and whined around the fabric in your mouth. You whimpered as he drew back just a little and pushed in deeper. He rocked his hips, getting further each time as your walls strained around him.

He tilted you against him so that he reached his limit and slid his thumb along your bud. He swirled around your clit as he carried a slow motion, gliding in and out of you as you slicked around him. The tingle of his touch crept like tendrils beneath your flesh and made you clench around his dick.

He groaned and sped up, just a little as he played with you, pressing more firmly on your clit until your hand shot down over his. You didn’t move him away, only gripped his wrist as he toyed with you, fucking you deliberately as the sensation melded into a maelstrom. The twisting spring inside of you compressed and released suddenly in a ripple of sheer delight.

You groaned and bent your legs against him, raising your pelvis higher so he dipped even deeper. Your eyes rolled back and you ripped the panties from your mouth in your ecstatic trance. You balled them in your hand and writhed on his dick. 

He grasped your hips and dragged your ass over the edge of the bed and rammed into you. You cried out and he did it again. It was as if he lost all control as his pelvis slapped against you loudly and his voice rumbled through the room. You gulped and gasped as he pressed the heel of his hand to your clit and rubbed harder, his fingers stabbing sharply against your flesh.

His other hand snaked up to pinch your nipple and cup your tit. He braced you as he bent over you and fucked you furiously. He stepped up onto the edge of the bed frame as he curled your body beneath his and brought both his hands up beside your head as he held himself over you.

He plunged down into you over and over and he huffed as he watched the joining of your bodies. He growled and pulled out of you suddenly, bending your legs up as you were contorted further. He grabbed your hand again and trapped it around his dick, moving it quickly as he muttered.

He came in thick ropes onto your chest and down the folds of your stomach as you were in almost a C beneath him, his knees around your thighs. You shook and lifted his chin as he snarled and kept your hand moving, still cumming over you. He tore your grasp from him as he grew over sensitive and hung his head as he quivered.

“Shit,” he swore as he backed off of you and stood, leaning on the bed to steady himself. Your legs fell over the edge and his cum cooled across your skin, “you look good like that, honey.”

He stepped closer and pushed his fingers through the mess. You shivered and stopped his hand as you slowly returned to reality. You lifted yourself on one elbow and batted your lashes in confusion.

“How did you even find me?” you uttered.

“Doesn’t matter how,” he grabbed your wrist and pulled you to sit up gruffly, “only that I did.”

[teddyshoney]

I’ve been thinking about posting this for a while now...

Good morning, everyone. I'm going to make a personal post, and you're more than welcome to ignore me if you'd like. I tend to ramble, and I can guarantee that this post will ramble, too. And, as a trigger warning, I'm going to be talking about my anxiety, depression, and chronic pain. I have no idea where I'll end up, but I have a few things I need to get off my chest. 

You may be wondering why I'm not making a post like this on social media where people know my true identity, and I'll answer that. I grew up in a small town. When I was living there, there were not even 1000 people living inside city limits. My parents, grandparents, and great grandparents were all raised in the same town. So, this caused what I like to think of as a "generational effect." Things that weren't well-known and understood 100 years ago probably still weren't. This includes opinions on mental health and invisible, chronic diseases. Case in point, I've known and understood that I have anxiety and depression since I was 12 or 13 years old. I'm now in my mid-twenties, and I just told my parents about this 2 years ago. Since then, I've been met with, "If you keep a clean house, you won't be depressed anymore." And, "You need to not let things get to you so much. If you just don't worry about things, you won't be anxious." Not that you need it, but another case: I have flat feet. I have had flat feet all my life. My flat feet affected my body so much that I was once pushed down in the hallway and tore ligaments in my knee. I had pronated ankles for years. It took me coming home from work at age 17, following the knee issue and several months of physical therapy, crying every day for almost a week because my feet burned so badly before my parents decided that they should perhaps take me to see someone about my feet. At age 18, about 5 months before I graduated high school, I finally, finally got arch supports so that my feet didn't hurt quite so badly. 

Now, despite all that and some things I haven't gotten to yet, I love my family dearly. I'm the oldest of 4 kids, and I've accepted that I was the parenting experiment, that they were very busy with my younger siblings, one of which was quite a handful, and that they were raised to think a certain way. Without a reason to change, they haven't and likely never will. I love them despite that, and I choose to accept it all. 

However, all that being said, that leaves me with little to no one whom I can talk to about my chronic pain and possible fibromyalgia (undiagnosed as yet, but the more I read, the more convinced I become that that's what it is). Now, my parents know I have it. I've told them. They believe me...in a way. One of the last times I was home, my mother told me that she thought I should be more active. "Sitting around all the time will make you too tired to actually get up and do anything." Like I said, I love her, and I know she's trying to help, but her comments have only added to my despaired feelings. 

I often felt lazy growing up. I would sit down after doing something and be exhausted. I would feel weary. The idea of getting back up to do something else felt exhausting. I used to think that was just a symptom of me being very lazy, but the more I've researched chronic pain and fibro, I've come to realize that I think I just had early symptoms, long before I would actually have the disease. 

I think about that a lot now, especially since it's harder and harder for me to do things all the time. I was a very accident-prone child, and I used to joke that I'd end up in a wheelchair before I was 30. It's a very sobering thought to realize I may not have been lying. It's very hard to watch my mother, who just turned 48, do so many things that hurt me. What kind of life is ahead of me, being old well before my time?

If you read the first chapter of the most recent Blaine Has Fibromyalgia story I posted, you'll see a poem in there that Blaine writes. During one of my recent flares, I wrote that poem. For me. About all the things I can no longer do. A few people here know that, and they've expressed that it makes them sad. 

It makes me sad, too. Yet, there's nothing I can do about it. There's nothing I can take or do or think or say that will make this go away. For the rest of my life, I'm stuck. It's staying. And, I wonder, what more can it take from me? It's already taken my love of traveling. It's already taken my productivity. It's already taken my sleep, my short term memory, my ability to enjoy the things I love on the particularly bad days, and it's taken my identity on those days, too. I'm reduced to nothing but a sad, sniffling sap on the couch when I can't even lift a finger without feeling like someone's holding a torch to me or running over me with their car. 

Now, it may seem like I'm looking for sympathy. I'm not. I'm not looking for any, "Poor you! That must be so terrible!" No, I'm only really looking for acceptance and a safe place, a place where I don't have to hide. A place where no one is going to point their finger and say, "Well, maybe if you just got off the couch, your life wouldn't suck!" I need to be able to have my bad days and not worry I'm upsetting or hurting anyone. Because I will. I have a husband who, despite not signing up for the "in sickness and in health" thing to be such a reality so soon, has been, to the best of his ability, very supportive and understanding of me. He has his mess-ups, yes, but he's human, and he hasn't given up on me yet. But I know it hurts him to watch me deal with this. I know it bothers him that it seems like I'm always complaining. I know that there are days he'd like to tell me to just shut up. He never does, but I know this is hurting him. So, I've got to try to channel it somewhere else. 

If you've made it this far, thank you. I'm not sure what I intended to get out of this post other than a bit of catharsis that I'm talking through what's been swirling in my head for almost a week. Maybe that's all I needed. Whatever the case, thank you for reading this wild mess of rambling. This site and my writing is my therapy. For the most part, I do feel accepted here, and I'm very blessed that I've met some wonderful people whom I can call friends. I love all of you, everyone who reads my posts or stories or just follows along because I occasionally reblog an interesting post. 

The truth is, I don't know what the future holds for me. I don't know if fibro will prevent me from having a family, if it will keep me from traveling, or if it will hold me back from following my dreams. What I do know, however, is that I will always need people. Fibromyalgia and chronic pain, as well as depression and anxiety, are isolating illnesses. They keep the sufferer from seeking friendship and other people from seeking out the whining and whimpering sufferers. I know that I need companionship in my life from friends, family, and people who don't know me very well. I need to build a support system, and I need an outlet. Thank you for being my outlet. 

If you've skipped down to the end of my post, hoping this monstrosity is over, I just want to implore you to take time to text your friends, tell them you love them, and lend a listening ear. You never know when they might need you, when your attempt at contact will make their day. Reach out. Talk to them. Love them. They need you. We all need each other. 

Thank you, yet again, for reading this mess. I love you for it.

[inumakkis]

Chapter one ; lost and found

warnings ; light angst ( okay maybe a substantial amount )

It's gonna be posted to be my ao3 when I actually edit it more because we know ao3 is superior . ( .lichtenberg is my username ! ) Stay safe guys ! I haven't properly proof read it because I'm tired but I'll probably see a mistake in a week and then fix it then after panicking .

-----

Things were always tough for Hitoshi Shinsou. That's how life was for him , he'd wake up and go to school only to be faced with the relentless bullying from his peers which his teachers dismissed. In a world full of quirks, he would much rather be quirkless.

Everyday felt like a battlefield , trudging through the trenches , avoiding any hits from the enemy and soon enough, he was at the front line. His guard was up and yet everyone saw the little cracks on how to get him down.

It wasn't so bad at first , the occasional taunt , nothing that he couldn't manage . though when he got to middle school, things got worse, kids got meaner. Well, so did he . A strong hatred grew towards the world from his bones that supported his figure.

Yet , the blond boy in class 1a would disagree . He never thought that Hitoshi was mean . No , he found his reserved and quiet . He enjoyed it . He enjoyed how he would follow Shinsou around like a lost puppy ( though Hitoshi would change that to a cat ) and the purple haired teen wouldn't spare him a glance.

Yeah , in Denki's mind ? Things were great .

23rd of June

Denki asked Hitoshi out after sitting besides him at lunch for over a month now . He turned him down.

27th of June

Shinsou had a bunch of lavender dropped at his doorstep , all plucked from the ground . He didn't even need to read the note to see who they were from . He simply tossed them on top of his desk before going back to reading.

29th of June

It was Kaminari's birthday and much to his distaste , there was no happy birthday from the boy he wanted to hear it from the most .

Shinsou knew the date , how could he not? When it was all the blond talked about within the recent week, eyes bubbling with happiness, only getting a glance from Hitoshi and maybe a nod of the head.

He would rather people think that he doesn't care then face the pain that comes with having a friend.

30th of June

Denki still hung around him , acted as if he didn't ignore the day he was most excited for out of the entire year . Shinsou didn't say a word.

1st of July

When hitoshi woke up , he had a gift at the foot of his bed and he wondered how Denki managed to break in to the dorms to drop it off. With tired eyes, he grabbed the note taped to the package .

— to toshi shinsou

“ I understand that you may not like me but I like you dude ! You think you're so tough but you're totally not . I hear boys like handwritten notes and I should know that since I am one but I have yet to receive one so it's a new experience for me too !!!!! Hppay happy birthday , I'm not mad at you . I know you don't want to be my friend and that's a-okay ! Just please let me down slowly ? I won't hang around with you anymore if that's what you want . I mean, you probably didn't like me in the first place and you wouldn't be the first so don't worry ! Pikaboy is fine with it ! Happy birthday .

Ps . A thank you would be greatly appreciated.

Pss . Also come on a date with me this Tuesday? I'll be at the restaurant down the road at 7pm . ”

Sincerly sincerely , Kaminari. :)

Shinsou paused . They were back to a last name basis now, Denki had officially removed his nickname from his vocabulary.

He pondered on why Kaminari would constantly go through trouble to make him happy and yet didn't even get a smile in return. Heck, by the last sentence , Denki seemed happy enough to be stood up publicly. Could he really do that to him though? Judging by the ink smudges on the paper , he couldn't . Sunshine boy had either spilt water very precisely or cried while writing it . He hoped it wasn't the latter. It made his chest ache and twist as he reread it four times . He noticed the spelling mistakes and how there would be another teardrop straight after as if he hated himself more for ruining the letter .

Hitoshi eventually tore his tired eyes away from the paper and opened the box which was at the bottom of his bed. He couldn't help the sweet laugh that escaped him. There would be no point hiding it now , after all no one was here to judge him or swear they say him show more than a stoic look.

It was a hoodie , purple and a few shades darker than his hair with the word ' mind fuck ' written across each sleeve while the front was decorated by cats .

Custom made , suddenly a tear dropped and Shinsou stared at it as if it had personally insulted him. He watched as the hoodie took it in , leaving the wet mark for show.

He would turn up to that date . He refused to wear anything fancy but he couldn't let Kaminari know .

5th of July

" dunce face , he isn't going to come ! He hates you ." Bakugou exclaimed as he watched Denki apply his eyeliner for the fifth time. Each time he applied it, he would cry it off .

" you think I don't know that ? I have to try though ! We're meant to help people and if my purpose is just getting myself involved in things that he doesn't like just to show that I care then I can proudly class myself as a hero !"

Mina rested a pink hand on his shoulder , wiping his eyes once more. " Come on, Danks ! He's gonna come , Bakubabe is just jealous because he can't get a date with Kiri ."

" WHAT THE FUCK DID I TELL YOU ABOUT CALLING ME THAT, RACCOON EYES— "

Hanta laughed from the background , playing some weird game on his phone . " Bakugou and Kiri sitting in a tree , K-I-S-S-I-N- OH MY GOD." The boy exclaimed as he ducked from an explosion that was sent his way .

Denki only laughed as Mina tilted his head back to stop the tears and began giving him some sharp winged liner . " Right , you look hot now go get that outfit on and get your sweet ass back here so i can do your hair."

" but I already did my ha-"

Mina out a finger to his lips. " Ah— Mama Mina knows best now hurry up . "

It turns out that Mama Mina did know best because low and behold, Shinsou was waiting right at the restaurant , 7:01 sharp. Hitoshi was far from a people pleaser , perhaps the opposite to Denki. He could give less of shit about what everyone else wanted but when someone had shown him unconditional care ? He knew he had to do something because what kind of hero would he be if he let them suffer due to his ignorance ?

" Let's make this quick." He commented , eyes sharp as he looked to the bubbly boy who had just turned up. It was clear that he wasn't expecting the other man there. His face lit up.

" O-oh yeah ! Sure dude !" Denki managed to get out as he walked inside the restaurant. It was far from fancy, that was clear . " Hey hun !" A woman gave a wide smile to Denki who wrapped his arms around her.

Hitoshi's mind wandered . Was this some kind of joke ? Why was he hugging a girl on a date with him ? Did he say date ? No he meant an outing because he felt sorry for him. That's it . Yeah -

" and you must be the boy that Denki has told me so much about - "

" AOI !" Denki's face flushed scarlet .

" sup, I'm his sister . "

Oh. . .

Oh .

That makes sense.

He looked between the two of them , why didn't he see it before ? The golden yellow hair , sitting in spikes across their heads , though hers was much shorter. They had the same smile and same eyes , the only difference was that her hair had a sideshave with the lightning bolt there.

Needless to say, Hitoshi felt dumb which wasn't meant to happen.

" that's very nice , I guess ?" It came out as a question , he had no idea on how to interact with people. That kind of went with his whole " no friends " thing .

" yeah , so get us a table , pronto !" Denki exclaimed and shoved Aoi along . " I'm going ! I'm going! There's a table over there , it ain't nothing fancy but you'll live. Your date " she wiggled her eyebrows at Denki who groaned. " doesn't seem like a people person , who knows why he's hanging with you - wait , sorry! I've been calling you a he ! You are okay with that , aren't you ?" Her attention turned to Shinsou who only managed to get out a little nod.

She let out a sigh of relief as she handed them both the menu's as they sat down. It wasn't long until she was off to go flirt with someone. Classic Kaminari's.

" She works at an lgbtq+ shelter for teenagers so she's really hyper aware of everyone's sexuality and stuff. " Denki commented , tapping his fingers on the table .

" that's good, I guess ? " Shinsou pondered their background for a moment before the blond boy pulled him from his thoughts.

" hey , my back hurts -"

" what? Why ? "

" from carrying this entire conversation." Kaminari let out a laugh and Hitoshi gave a fond roll of his eyes in return along with a chuckle.

He didn't realise his mistake until it was too late .

" you laughed at my joke ! You laughed ! Fuck yeah ! "

" wait no I didn't !"

And so came joke galore from Denki for the rest of their date . Kaminari wasn't funny , but the way he delivered each joke made Hitoshi's chest pound more and more.

He had been ignoring this .

As they walked out after a very full stomach and a very large discount, he tried to ignore the guilt eating up at him.

Denki had cried because of him, he had cried because he was ignored and he was now acting like Shinsou hadn't done anything to offend him ? What had this kid gone through ?

" so I said - hey are you listening ?" Denki pulled away from his ramble that he was on about Sero and Mina.

" uh yeah , Sero accidentally kicked Ashido in the face and she fought him."

Denki's face lit up and he continued to talk. He tried his best not to zone out this time .

Yeah , things weren't perfect but he could make an effort . Right ?

[rhydium]

Info dumbo about the StarFinite story?

aright u asked for it anon GET READY [cracks knuckles] this is gonna be long so obligatory cut in 3, 2........

...1!

so the uh, the au! the story!! w/e yall wanna call it! full disclaimer, i only began working on this whole thing a while ago, but it's totally taken over my fukn brain. like, we're talking big hyperfixation hrs. am i cringe for being this invested in my own content? yes? cool i do not Care >:3€

i should also throw it out there real quick that i am kin w/ infinite, n this is actually one of my two canons (both of which are my own aus lmfao wow). i didn't go into it expecting it to be but sfsfsgdfs here we are ig!! for that reason it's got extra importance to me n this definitely contributes to the euphoria i get from it!! it's a lil odd writing ur own canon,,? but i kinda just go w/ the flow!

the au n, the story that i will start Eventually, revolves around infinite n starline (obvi) n it's honestly just ... the tl;dr is big healing momence n, what's this? uh oh sisters !!! they are falling in love 😳😳😳

uhhhh so infinite is an android, made by eggman. that's like, the most notable canon divergence here! super important context to have. i've got a whole big theory on the possibility of sega originally intending infinite to be an artificial being (which i explored in the works for my Other canon too), stemming from not only the scene in forces wherein infinite comments on sonic's "data", but a line of dialogue from tails in one of the last stages of the game where he Literally Says "so this is where eggman built infinite". that ... i mean. that contrasts w/ episode shadow pretty hard don't it?? would explain why that dlc was so rushed, n the comic too. ANYWAY adsfsfs um that's a seperate ramblepost. yeah!!!

they are also agender n use they/them (primarily) as well as he/him!! so i'll be refering to them w/ those pronouns!

after the war, infinite is taken in by the resistance n, instead of being dismantled, they're basically given a chance to rehabilitate themselves. it's agreed that they won't be reprogrammed, as despite the potential risks, it feels wrong to do so; like a violation of their free will, individuality n thinking. if infinite is to be a good person, it's not gonna be bc other ppl recreated their entire personality, it's gonna be bc it's what they themselves truly want. robot ethics idk man!! u can't tell me that sonic n co wouldn't offer this to infinite if they offered it to metal in IDW,,,, i am Standing By This!!!

it's, yknow, a bit rocky, at first. infinite has to really fight the urge to return to eggman (something they already tried once, before the resistance found them; they were cast out). it's a struggle against what they were built to do, against giving into unhealthy familiarity over facing a, while healthier, unfamiliarity. new faces, a new life, turning their back on their mission n creator, it's like, a lot.

they work for/with the sonic crew, rebuilding the world they tore down as deemed fitting justice, being closely monitored for a bit as a natural precaution. as it becomes apparent infinite truly no longer has any ambition to harm others (they don't have much ambition for anything, really), they're then granted more freedom, n start taking on more important missions!! it at least gives them something to do, keeps them occupied. they have issues with dissociation, unreality, whether they're truly a real person bc, well, android. feeling purposeless, n a lack of worth, especially. a need to prove themselves. heavy stuff. i'll kinda go into that a bit more in a sec. their work grounds them, if only temporarily.

n soooooo... IDW comic stuff happens. metal virus time. starline gets kicked out of the empire.

now, as the comics are ongoing, n as this is already an au, there's gonna be divergence, n i must admit i haven't planned out all that yet. there's a lot i have to consider!! infinite being w the resistance/restoration is a big game changer ... tho i Do believe that they were absent, likely on a far out mission during most of the chaos. eggman doesn't know abt them, nor does starline or anyone else other than the sonic crew; n some civilians that recognise them.

i'm not 100% sure of Exactly when it happens, but i think it's just after bad guys, that infinite is sent to locate n bring in starline. it doesn't prove too difficult. there's a whole, starline realising "oh fuck it's you???", some bickering n, the two don't hit it off right away. they're both kinda like. not mentally stable ddgddgdds,,,

so uh. starline ends up essentially going thru the same sorta shit as infinite. careful watch, rebuilding, all that jazz, making sure he can be trusted. he's like... very very lost, quite like infinite is. the world has kinda calmed down, in the meanwhile.

it's at this point i'm gonna go ahead n drop a bit of a ramble i subjected my friends to a while ago, to articulate the way i see the two, n their dynamic together!! i was considering making this it's own post a while ago!

analysing their characters a bit... let's look at starline. Like. so we have this, in bad guys, which SENT ME tbfh;

i feel like it's the moment that triggers starline onto the path he is rn canonically,,, he's clearly like. rly mad n bitter. the core of this?? he wants his work n his efforts to be acknowledged.

he's big angry. still kind of in denial at this stage. he has himself obsessed w/ the idea of making eggman see him as Worthy, that if he just tries hard enough, that'll happen. he's dependent on eggman's validation, n i mean, it's no surprise; he's followed him a Long Time by the sounds of it.

then in the recent issue, hold the fuck up, bc we got, This;

god. my god it's all comin together now homies. this???? this right here??? it is the CLASSIC "i have to do this to prove i'm strong n powerful n smart n worthy n should be respected please Give Me Acknowledgement" ..... n who else is Like That? can u see where im going w/ this?

i think most ppl are aware of infinite's character being extremely indicative of self worth/esteem issues n the need to prove themself, right?? the extreme adversity, repulsion, perhaps even fear toward the idea of being weak. the compulsion to prove otherwise, to show their strength, to become powerful, to conquer to make a point. their theme exudes this same energy as their behaviour in-game; an aggressive attitude, trying to assert themself, while if u rly listen...? the lyrics are actually really sad in places. it reeks of cover up, although composition wise, a v interesting thing to note is a lot of the more telling lyrics are prominent while some of the affirming ones are in the background. indicative of a desire to have their true feelings be heard but caught in a vicious loop?

okay okay that's yet Another different analysis. AHEM.

not to get deep on main (oh who the hell am i kidding that's the point of this entire thing) but i think starline has issues w/ his worth in a similar way to infinite. they both seem to have this need to Prove something, whether it's to others or themselves, n get caught in a toxic spiral of doing worse n worse things for Some kind of validation or acknowledgement. they'll go to really big lengths chasing that, n both of them ultimately sought validation in the wrong place n wrong way.

this is a big part of my starfinite dynamic,, n so, what happens, as they get closer n open up??? we have them BOTH realising together that they don't have to do fuck all to prove anything to anyone. they don't need to do all this to show they're strong n smart n worth something, not to anyone else OR themselves. they're enough as they are. they bond over that shared feeling that they have to do xyz, to prove themselves, n that desire to just finally be acknowledged n appreciated n help each other thru it. to help each other understand that other ppls approval, or lack thereof, doesn't define them, their strength, intelligence, and worthiness.

i feel like they have an interesting parallel between them in like... the above could be taken as a general analysis, but to go more in depth on this au specifically?? ...

starline followed eggman for presumably a long time n it no doubt left him feeling a heavy and deep regret for all that time wasted n spent on an unhealthy path. infinite kinda teaches him that what matters is what he's doing Now n also reminds him that if none of it happened, starline wouldn't have learnt a lot of the serious skills he has. n while starline still feels bad, he also realises himself that, he likely never would have crossed infinite's path if none of it happened. for that reason, he wouldn't take it back.

infinite has only been recently made, on the other hand. they haven't really existed long, yet, but so far their experiences haven't been very positive n it can be .... discouraging. starline sorta, shows infinite their limited experiences w/ the world are a very tiny fraction of what's out there, n things can absolutely change, yes, including for the better; that's the essence of life, a neverending, constant flow of change.

it's a big tale of moving on n letting go, honestly; made easier as they're doing it together. n as they heal n grow, well... these bitches gay. sfshshdgds like, ig that's putting it p bluntly but!! they start to trust each other, understand each other more. as they get to truly know who the other is, they both start developing The Feelings. they're both pretty oblivious n the reveal is totally unknown so far!! yeah, i know, bummer. i suck. boo. adafsfsds however i can say there will be lots of content in the making!! if that soothes the soul! i've got of ideas i hope to bring to life.

ofc there's still a lot of more specific things i haven't covered here so! if y'all want more juice hmu w/ more focused questions but !! this is the overview n i hope it was a decent read now that gave some uhhh! Cool Insight! yea!!! ✌

[zenonaa]

Fandom: Dangan Ronpa: Trigger Happy Havoc, Dangan Ronpa - All Media Types Rating: Teen And Up Audiences Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: Fukawa Touko/Togami Byakuya Characters: Fukawa Touko, Togami Byakuya Additional Tags: plus the rest of the cast post chapter 3, togafukaweek2020 Series: Part 1 of TogaFuka Week 2020

Comments: Day 1 for TogaFuka Week! I tried to hit both prompts with this (Pining and Enclosed Spaces). Enjoy! :-)

***

‘Stir-crazy’ is an informal term referring to when a person becomes restless or distraught due to prolonged confinement or routine. For example, to use the term in a sentence, ‘being trapped in Hope’s Peak made several students go stir-crazy’.

Alternatively, ‘Celes went stir-crazy because she couldn’t stand having the same routine every day, so she orchestrated the murders of two of her classmates’.

And, for a final example, ‘Byakuya was absolutely not going stir-crazy, but that would explain some thoughts he began to have’.

After the third trial, the fourth floor of the school opened up, which one would have thought would help. Maybe not the classrooms, not without actual lessons going on, but the chemistry lab proved a little more interesting, offering vitamins to make one healthy and chemicals to make one dead. Potted flowers sat on desks in the faculty room where computers used to be - Monobear once quipped ‘plants are way better examples of how to grow up than computers’ - and the music room housed a stage, a piano and other instruments Byakuya knew how to play.

Makoto even found a strange photograph of three of their deceased friends messing about with a camera. Yet, those pieces of excitement didn’t stop the strange, intrusive thoughts scratching at the walls of Byakuya’s mind.

In the faculty room, Byakuya rubbed a silky petal of a sunflower between his thumb and forefinger, a shadow carved into his brow in thought. The flowers seemed out of place. No, they were out of place, and not just because of their location. No matter how many times he came here, they didn’t blend into their grey surroundings. They stood out. Seemed perky. Bright. Healthy.

Did they regularly get exposed to sunlight...?

He released the petal. Within seconds, a chill pattered down his neck. When he turned around, a solitary figure in the doorway confronted his view. His lips pursed.

“Fukawa,” he acknowledged in monotone.

By now, he had become accustomed to her following him like his shadow, to the point where he thought he could sense her whenever she lurked nearby. Touko jolted and stood to attention. The blank look in her eyes cleared, an invisible hand smearing away the condensation in her clouded gaze.

“Y-Yes, Byakuya-sama?” she said, licking her lips and prompting him to grimace. She had been drooling.

His mouth remained condensed as he watched Touko’s tongue sweep over her lips, lips that caressed each other, and when she gulped, sheening saliva, a weight in his gut was knocked out of place, like the lights in a dark room suddenly flicked on.

When they first became acquainted with each other, he nearly always sent Touko on her way after exchanging only a few sentences, but more recently, Byakuya permitted Touko to be in his presence for greater lengths of time, so long as she was on standby in case he wanted something, or at least didn’t disturb him too much. They even had sane conversations sometimes. Interesting ones, in fact. Byakuya even let her feed him candy once at his bedside while he read.

However, that had been then, and even more recently than that, just her existence crept onto his nerves. Inevitable, what with them all having to spend so much time around each other. Inevitable, what with her doing things like this in front of him.

Like now, that stupid grin of hers had returned to her face, and he had to clench his fists to distract heat away from his face. He adjusted his glasses. Stuck up his chin. Pushed his shoulders back.

“Instead of loitering, why don’t you make yourself useful?” he asked her in an authoritative tone. She stirred.

“Use... ful?” repeated Touko, still partly submerged in whatever thoughts had her entranced.

“Yes, the word, not a random noise that sounds like it,” he said. He placed one hand on his hip and slightly jutted out his hips to that side. “There might be something lying around the school that could prove beneficial to me. Who knows, maybe you’ll prove yourself useful.”

For many, his remark would have got under the recipient’s skin, or pierced them in the eye and caused it to twitch, but Touko nodded and clasped her hands together. Her twitching didn’t stem from annoyance. Something quite the opposite.

“Of course!” she said, and her lips stretched out to create a nauseating-sized crescent. She cupped her cheeks with both hands. “I won’t disappoint you. I’ll prove I’m not a piece of coal, but a diamond in the rough. I’ll-”

As she spoke, her lips sprung from one extreme to another, from wide like the wingspan of a bird of prey to puckered together like a rose and back again, and Byakuya felt motion sick just watching her. Like he was losing his balance, like the ground would slip from underneath him and he might lean forward, fall into her, land his hands on her shoulders, land his chest against hers and land his mouth on her chapped pink petals of lips, even though he was standing very, very still.

Suddenly, one of his feet lurched forward, but he stopped himself from overbalancing. Something akin to pain shot up that leg to his chest. He tore his eyes off her writhing mouth and glared. Apparently, she hadn’t noticed the flicker in his demeanour, continuing to gush at him.

“Today, preferably!” he demanded, with a slight crack halfway through that he hoped she wouldn’t notice.

Touko squawked, and after a bow, she sped out of the room. Byakuya strode over to the door. He could no longer see her, and as he shut it, he let out a breath he hadn’t realised he had been holding.

Honestly, that girl was a pest. Creeping on his nerves like that...

The next time he saw Touko in the cafeteria at dinnertime. For a while, he had avoided joining the other students to eat, and though he ate with them more regularly now, he didn’t do so because he felt any sense of camaraderie with them, but so he could check on the remaining competition.

Sakura wasn’t in the cafeteria, to his approval. Monobear had recently outed her as his mole, and Byakuya had no interest in spending time around her. Whenever he was outside of his room, he had to keep checking the map on his Electronic Student ID Card to make sure she wasn’t too close by.

Aoi, Sakura’s close friend, was in the cafeteria though, and when Byakuya entered, she glared but said nothing. He needed to monitor her too, someone so easily swayed by emotion, but with the others present, she couldn’t do anything he needed to worry about. Makoto and Kyouko offered glances at him that he rebuffed, Yasuhiro chirped his name, which he ignored, and the gloomy cloud over Touko’s face parted as her smile beamed through.

Byakuya didn’t greet any of them, obtaining his dinner from the kitchen and walking straight back into the cafeteria where he seated himself at a neighbouring table to the others.

“Togami-chi!” Yasuhiro called out, even though they weren’t that far apart. “Back me up here.”

When Byakuya just continued to frown, Makoto spoke instead, raising a crooked finger.

“Hagakure-kun, I don’t think your idea will work. You’re more likely to harm yourself than corrode through anything.”

“Yeah,” went Aoi, her brows knitted together. “Why would Monobear leave us chemicals that can help us escape?”

“Because he doesn’t know the makeup of certain corrosives,” replied Yasuhiro, flapping his hand. “The mastermind probably thinks it’s not possible, ‘right? But if we get the right chemicals, we can melt through the plates covering the windows and escape.”

Touko glowered. “If you really believed that, why haven’t you already done it?”

Byakuya’s attention drifted over to Touko. Her eyes were narrowed, but he could still catch their colour - grey, tinged with violet. As she gestured with her hands, her head bobbed about, and light bounced off the lenses of her glasses, sometimes hiding her eyes from view for a moment. For such a mopey girl, she sure could flaunt a range of expressions in such a small amount of time. Then there were the times she didn’t mope. When she was with Byakuya. Those smiles. Those blushes. Those laughs, like nails down a chalkboard.

“Anyway, I looked at the contents myself,” said Touko. She wrinkled her nose. “There are supplements and poisons, none that can damage thick sheets of metal. Of course, you’re entitled to try...”

“Aw, thanks, Fukawa-chi!” said Yasuhiro brightly. Aoi growled, but it sounded a lot like a whine.

“Don’t thank her!” Aoi scolded. She angled herself toward Touko, looking annoyed. “As usual, Fukawa-chan, you’re being a big downer. At least Hagakure’s trying to help.”

Yasuhiro’s grin wavered. He hesitated. “... Um... Am I supposed to thank you, Asahina-chi?”

Touko snorted.

“Thank you?” Touko repeated with scorn.

“Wait, you’re thanking me now? Okay, I’m officially confused,” mumbled Yasuhiro, scratching his head.

“Hagakure wants praise for having this idea but doesn’t have the balls to try it,” she explained. She rolled her eyes and shifted her weight on her chair. “In fact, could it be he’s discussing it here where there are surveillance cameras because he desperately wants Monobear to overhear and stop it? Then he can think to himself, ‘my idea would have worked’ and no one would be able to dispute it.”

Everyone considered what she suggested. Touko finished up her rant by shooting a chilly look at Yasuhiro, who cowered.

Kyouko inclined her head, resting her chin in her hand. “I’ve also browsed the stock in the chemistry lab and though I’m not a scientist, I don’t think there is anything that can help us there. If anything, Monobear would want us to try for its own amusement.”

Up to this point, Byakuya had stayed out of the conversation, but now he turned his gaze to Kyouko.

“You say that, but none of us know what you are,” he said. No one knew her title. For all they knew, she could have been another mole. Kyouko glanced at him and gave a vague shrug.

After that, the conversation seemed to draw to a close. Yasuhiro pouted and resumed eating, deflated. The rest of the group followed suit. Touko huffed, and Byakuya’s eyes drifted back over to her again. She picked up her chopsticks but rather than pick at any of the rice, she twitched them in her grip, staring into space. Byakuya, holding his own chopsticks, pinched a tofu block, but he didn’t eat it, hovering it in front of his mouth while his other hand propped up his cheek. Instead of eating it, he surveyed Touko’s features. Rather than investigate what she might have been looking at for himself, he tried to figure out what she was stewing over by looking at her.

Not out of concern, of course. Curiosity. And he had a good reason for it. When he first met Touko, he dismissed her as a stuttering high school girl with a persecution complex, who wrote frivolous romance novels that many people lapped up. But there was more to her. She had an alter called Genocider Syo, who murdered various men without getting caught, but even then there was more. Much more. Despite her strange ramblings, Touko was intelligent and could even be insightful, and he had to admit she had to have talent - her novels could and did make society fall in love with fishermen, for one thing. Not everyone could create a trend like that with written words.

“Togami-chi?” said Yasuhiro.

Touko picked up a piece of tofu with her chopsticks, popped it between her lips, and returned her chopsticks to her bowl. Today, dinner was mapo tofu, a simple dish to make that could be served in one bowl. She chewed, unfocused. The sight wasn’t a pleasant one - he reasoned that was why his stomach knotted the more he studied Touko. Her lips rubbed together, her cheeks bulged and caved in at intervals, and she didn’t always close her mouth completely.

“Togami-kun?” said Makoto.

It was a disgusting sight. Disgusting, from her mole to her fluttering lashes around her grey eyes, to the grain of rice abandoned next to her lips, to -

“Togami-kun?” said Makoto again, and this time, Byakuya tensed. He looked around.

Everyone else in the cafeteria stared at him, includingTouko.

“What?” said Byakuya. 

Yasuhiro draped his hand across the back of his neck.

“I think you zoned out there,” remarked Yasuhiro with a lop-sided smile as he scratched at his neck. “We were asking if you’ve been through the chemistry lab yet.”

“Is something on your mind?” Kyouko chimed in, flashing a smirk.

Heat rose to Byakuya’s face. He gritted his teeth, told them he was trying to tune out their idiocy, and resumed his dinner, contributing no more to any conversation.

Though Byakuya had Sakura and to a lesser extent Aoi to be aware of, if he hid in his room all the time, they would think they scared him and consider him an easy target. If he showed them he wasn’t afraid, then they would be wary that he was prepared for an attack.

In theory.

Byakuya planned to spend the rest of the evening in the library, but first, he took a cold shower to rejuvenate himself after getting so distracted during dinner. When he arrived at the library, he saw Touko at one of the desks. Both were avid readers, so her presence didn’t surprise him, but he paused for a few seconds.

She seemed not to have noticed him, focused on the notebook she was writing fervently in. He shut the door quietly behind himself and walked over to a bookcase, careful of his footfalls, and soon found the book he had started on his last visit, the back half of the dust jacket tucked between the pages to mark where he had last read up to. Taking it off the shelf, he seated himself at a different table where Touko lay just outside his field of vision.

However, even though he positioned himself to hide her from his view, that didn’t mean he couldn’t hear her.

One would think Touko of all people would know how to behave in a library, but she mumbled unintelligibly under her breath. Her mutterings would warble, in pitch, or volume, or both, grating like the squeak of fingers down a window. He tried to concentrate on the shallow detective novel in his possession, but his mind kept resurfacing. Peppered in were coughs, and as time wore on, each noise throbbed in the back of his head. Sometimes, she sniffed or gulped and he could visualise her lips twisting, see her stubby-nailed hand nudging up her glasses and her face scrunching up for seconds at a time.

At one point, she panted, and his mind conjured an image of Touko, pink and sweaty, licking her lips before leaning over the desk toward him, their eyes shutting slowly...

Byakuya set down his book. With his shoulders slightly slouched forward, he wiped the heel of his palm up his forehead, trying to scrape off the mental image manifesting in his mind. Touko released a whine, low, bubbling. Bubbling in her throat, bubbling in his chest. The noise coiled around him. Gripped his neck and tightened, and then he realised his thighs were clenched together. Had been. Still were.

He soared to his feet. His chair rasped and fell backward. She shrieked and popped into view.

“B-Byakuya-sama!” she said, a pen clasped tightly in her fist. Fear dissolved into elation. “I t-thought I smelled you...!”

“You obviously knew I was here,” he snapped. “That’s why you were making those disgusting noises.”

She clapped her hands over her mouth. Whacked herself in the face with her pen by doing so. “I-If I’d known you were here, I would have controlled myself!”

Byakuya jutted out his chin. The back of his eyes burned.

“You knew what you were doing the whole time. I’m telling you, you won’t get to me so... so just give up!” he snarled.

And with that, he trounced out of the library. Trying to concentrate in such a dusty, dim environment was hard enough without her spluttering and snivelling too. Those noises disgusted him. Still did. As they should.

As he approached his room, he slowed down. Almost stopped halfway down the last corridor.

Touko’s noises hadn’t always provoked such vivid imagery.

For the next few days, Byakuya did his best to avoid her, but that proved difficult with everyone forced to share the same facility, the same space. The only places he could be sure to avoid her were in his dorm and in the male changing room, but he could only spend so long sitting on his bed or a wooden bench in a tiled room. Therefore, every day, they both bumped into each other in the same dining room, where she contorted her face and slurped on her own saliva, they met in the same classrooms where she cooed his name and drooled, and they sat in the same library, where she licked her lips and giggled to herself. Him getting distracted by her was bad enough, but the situation worsened when she realised he was watching her. When that happened, she would set her eyes on him and grin widely and babble and squeeze her hands together.

One night, he went to the sauna to unwind after finishing a book in his room, but when he passed through the noren and emerged into the locker room, feeling sure he would be alone here, he halted and lost all thought.

Across the room stood Touko, her hair freed from her practical braids, now a dark, shimmering sheet hugging her skinny frame.  

Her hair, right now, was not straw-like, not wild or tamed into braids, but smooth and unrestrained. He could run his fingers through them with ease. Curl a lock around his finger, if he wanted.

The room was properly lit, and he stiffened as he noticed Touko was in just a towel. Touko lacked her glasses and seemed to squint as she fiddled with the top of the towel that covered her chest. He stared, frozen, silent. Blank.

She lifted her head a smidgen, though she still didn’t appear to have perceived him despite her previous boasts about her sense of smell, and the movement, to his horror, made her towel shift. Drop slightly. Thankfully, not enough to show anything.

Byakuya swallowed. Correction. All this was mostly to his horror. To a certain part of his body, it seemed to be to the opposite of that. Horror.

He backed out. All throughout this, she didn’t indicate that she had detected him, and he wanted to keep it that way. On his way back to his room, striding as fast as he could without running, he didn’t cross paths with anyone, and he closed the door behind himself as soon as he got inside.

At least now he could be by himself. Be somewhere she couldn’t get to. Byakuya took his glasses off and lay down on the bed, facing upward, not bothering to change out of his uniform. He shut his eyes. His chest heaved like the sea before a storm.

Here, in the dark, alone, he could rid himself of Touko. Touko... with her long, mahogany hair, styled in twin braids that together with her owl-eye glasses and dark purple sailor uniform, was entirely fitting for someone enrolled at the school with the title of Super High School Level Literary Girl. Not only that, but she smelled like an old, damp book too, now that he was thinking about it. He had found her stench putrid at first, and his insistence that she washed herself was not unjustified, but, he thought, he had since become used to her aroma, a consequence of them being in close quarters for so long. One had to adapt to survive.

So while before he spurned her smell, though it still made him wince, he could stand it. Even if it was still just as disgusting, musty...!

Byakuya paused. Her trip to the sauna would have stripped that smell from Touko’s body, and as he lay in bed, he thought about her standing in the locker room, clad only in a... a towel. Even now, he could see her, with her furrowed brow and trembling lips. Could see her hair cascade forward, pile either side of him. See her face light up as her gaze fell on him, as she drank in his presence. He reached up but his hands phased through where she was, because she wasn’t there. The apparition of her relaxed and smirked, straddling him, and stooped her head.

The towel slipped. Byakuya flinched.

Too much. He imagined her back in her uniform. Even slapped on her braids. And yet, that didn’t deter her. Him. She smiled coyly, drawing a circle on his chest. Smiled that disgusting smile of hers, that oozed saliva, and laughed a low and throaty laugh.

Byakuya swallowed. Shivered. She glided her hand lower.

With a sigh, he pushed the back of his head deeper into his pillow, then froze. The saliva from Touko’s ghost receded from his face and she disappeared from over him. Byakuya jerked his hand away from his crotch. Revulsion dug its claws into the back of his throat. He stumbled out of bed and went to the adjoined bathroom where he splashed water on his face.

This couldn’t go on. Something had to be done. Byakuya couldn’t let himself fall victim to any more of her ploys.

Even after he gulped in air and steadied himself, grasping the edge of the sink, his heart still hammered away. And because he was locked up inside this place, he couldn’t go out for fresh air or even open a window.

He tried the corridor, but it felt almost as oppressive as his room.

Everyone would probably be in their rooms now. Byakuya decided to prepare himself a cup of tea. That would at least give him something to focus on, if only temporarily. The cafeteria was shut, but he knew there were tea bags in the storage room. His footsteps echoed a bit, but he didn’t falter. Kept his eyes forward.

When he arrived outside of the storage room, he squared his shoulders, trying to flake off the tension in his body, and opened the door.

Any hopes of distracting himself were quashed when his gaze fell on Touko.

Fortunately, she was fully dressed in her sailor uniform.

She rose sharply out of her crouched form and turned toward the door, eyes wide. Frightened. Relief flooded through her features as she realised who had made the door creak.

“Byakuya-sama?” she said, some surprise still lingering on her face. Apparently, she wasn’t completely put at ease.

Of all the spots she could have stood in, she had stationed herself at the shelving unit where he recalled there to be boxes of rose hip tea bags. His eyes stayed on her as he sauntered over. Touko didn’t retreat, dodge to the side or cower, watching him just as closely, even as he stopped in front of her. She tipped back her head to fit his face in her vision. Had the audacity to blush.

“It’s late, isn’t it?” she said, loosening up enough for a smirk. “Everyone else will be asleep... unaware of what transpires here...”

He breathed in. Her usual smell of books was gone. Of course it was. Touko had been at the public bath. In its place, he picked up a faint scent of lilac, mixed with a creamy, vanilla and almond-like fragrance.

Now, in theory this should have been an improvement. People preferred a fresh, floral smell to an old, worn book left out on a rainy day. Yet, when her new smell wafted up his nose, it felt acidic. Wrong.

“Are you okay, Byakuya-sama?” she asked, losing the smirk. She kneaded her fingers. “Y-Your face... You look unwell...! Do I need to nurse you?”

The double entendre must have been intended because her lips squirmed with pleasure, curling up at the ends. Byakuya’s face tensed. Touko always had some quip or remark ready for him that often left him at a loss for words. Also, she was in no position to comment on his face when she had hers, with wide, bulging eyes, chapped lips and a twitching nose. She even had the nerve to chuckle and continue twiddling her fingers.

“What about your face?” he sneered. “Your wide, bulging eyes... chapped lips... and twitching nose.”

That knocked her grin off. Concern troubled her features now.

“S-Should I get plastic surgery?” she asked, fidgeting more.

“It’s not just your face, it’s your personality too.” Byakuya raised his voice slightly. “You think you’re clever, trying to seduce me. And stop playing with your fingers like that!”

He grabbed her wrists. Touko jumped. The skin under her wide eyes was stained the colour of milk tea, shadows that stood out on her pale face. His hold on her arms slackened, but she didn’t even attempt to shake him off. A shred of teeth peeked out between her lips, and that familiar sensation of nausea rolled in the pit of his stomach. Fogged his head. Made his nerves vibrate with electricity.

She was disgusting. Vile. Sickening, and absolutely irresistible.

Acting on impulse, he leaned in.

Byakuya led with his tongue and slipped it into her mouth, and it was perhaps luck that she didn’t bite down in surprise. Touko gasped. The inside of her mouth tasted sour: her tongue, her teeth and her hot breath, yet though he shuddered, he didn’t withdraw. She didn’t shy away either despite the painfully amateur kiss, rooted in place.

Their glasses unceremoniously clacked together and remained askew afterwards. He wrapped an arm around her, pulling her closer and knocking their glasses even more out of place. From the onset of the kiss, his skin crawled at how bits of plaque fell loose from her teeth, how already too much saliva crashed together in their mouths and how everything was warm and moist, but rather than deter him, he melted into her. She hugged him back, breathing noisily. For a third time, their glasses got in the way, but this time, Byakuya had enough sense to remove his glasses, then hers, placing them on a shelf while maintaining the kiss, and he eagerly returned his hands to her body.

Touko adjusted her angle. Her nose bumped against his but they took it in stride. Panting, she shifted more, pulling back a little to give them a second to breathe. His tongue receded from her mouth.

A second was all that both allowed.

Their lips reunited within moments, slobbering over each other. Revolting. Incredible. He could only taste saliva. A lot of it. As they kissed harder, they grew clumsy, and their lips fell in and out of place. At one point, some of her hair slipped between them. To remove it, he licked and scratched lightly at her face with his hand, all while continuing to kiss her, and once he could no longer feel it tangling on his tongue, he pushed his lips more firmly into hers.

Touko’s lips stayed shut, and his tongue remained in his mouth. This way seemed to work better, without the tongue. Both of them groaned, clinging to the other. He opened his eyes briefly, but he couldn’t see anything in particular, just her face within a haze, so he shut them again. Besides, he didn’t need to use his eyes for this. His eyes being closed didn’t prevent him from feeling her hands slither up and cup his cheeks. Didn’t stop him from rolling his lips over hers.

They stood still, barely moving, just breathing, existing, with Touko’s back pressing against the shelving unit behind her, but after a while, the buildup of saliva became too much and he withdrew. He rather ungraciously released her and swallowed without thinking, cringing immediately at all the saliva.

Opposite him, Touko placed her fingers lightly against her lips.

“What...?” she mumbled, dazed.

Byakuya’s breaths racked through his body, and he wanted to say that he had slipped and fallen for her. Into her. Fallen into her.

He really needed to get some sleep.

“There. Are you satisfied now?” he asked curtly, and he grabbed his glasses off the shelf. Then he seized a box of tea bags. “That’s what you wanted, isn’t it?”

His footfalls barked as he stomped away. The door creaked as he opened it.

“W-Well...” Touko went, and he made the mistake of hesitating. “If... I wanted to just kiss you... I’d have asked, got rejected and picked up the pieces… or j-just stayed in my room and imagined it. B-But I just want to be with you... really... even if we don’t kiss...”

Byakuya shuddered. She just had to go say something gross like that.

“Shut up,” he said, and he left.

He kept a kettle in his room and after half a cup of tea, he lay on his bed again, staring at the ceiling in thought. After getting all of that out of the way, he had thought he would be satisfied. That maybe the uneasy feelings in him would subside.

But after a sleepless night, he realised his feelings had just got worse.

[human-trash-fire]

Shot Through The Heart CH6:

Alright beautiful humans this is the last set up before the smutfest coming up. I hope y’all enjoy! Thank you to everyone for reading/sharing/commenting I can’t tell you how much I love you <3 Shoutout to @nalgenewhore​ @highqueenofelfhame​ @starseternalnighttriumphant​ for always letting me throw ideas at them!

Two months passed slowly for everyone, all struggling in their own ways...

For Fenrys it was filled with excitement. Each day brought him closer to *finally* being able to touch the girl who had been his every thought. Their conversations were so easy it was as if he’d found his best friend in a woman he’d yet to meet officially. They Skyped when they could, Snapchatted daily, and shared nearly every part of themselves. It was wonderful, and yet… 

For Rowan it was agony. He was, on the outside, the same as he’d always been. Indifferent, ruthless, focused; Inside he was burning. Every time he saw Aelin on their now regular group-Skype chats, when he saw a new picture of her effortless form on Instagram, when Fenrys went on and on about her… He felt like he couldn’t breath. He had no right to feel anything but happy for his friends, and yet… 

For Aelin it was pure confusion. She loved her growing relationship with Fenrys, he was someone rare. A bright light in the darkness of her heart, a smile on a bad day, a joke at an inopportune moment, a shoulder to lean on. He had, by some miracle, become someone she could trust completely. He filled a hole in her heart that yearned for an easy friendship. Fenrys was undoubtedly the most simple part of her life, or he should have been. They flirted constantly, that was their way, and she knew he had gone into this arrangement harboring feelings. It was that knowledge that twisted in her gut in the early hours of the morning when she found herself staring at a picture of green eyes, imagining what it would be like to know the man behind him. She adored Fen, and yet…

HOMECOMING:

Aelin:

The ball wasn’t for another few days. The Cadre, Fen had informed her, had to debrief first (checking in equipment, finalizing reports, etc.) before they’d sign out for leave. Knowing their list of post-deployment requirements didn’t stop the girls from demanding to know when it was the boy’s plane landed. And so she found herself wearing a simple outfit, high-waisted skinny jeans, white KEDS, and a white crop top, standing alongside Lys and Elide in the airport. They held a giant sign, complete with glitter and lights, that read “We finally met, the wait’s been crazy, get your asses over here & hug us maybe?” It was so stupid they were still laughing, and yet it felt like the only way to welcome them home. 

“Their plane just landed!” Aelin squealed while reading the arrivals board for the hundredth time. “How’s my hair?”

“Flawless,” Elide responded before adjusting her bra. “Do these look perky enough to you?”

“You could see them from space El,” Lys laughed and threw her a knowing look. 

“It’s not too much is it? I want him thirsty. I brought a jacket if you think it’s too much?”

“Babe, he is going to fall to his knees and worship at your feet the moment he sees you, regardless of how much breast is showing,” Lysandra assured her.

“No jacket,” Aelin added.

A new wave of people were shuffling through through the entryway to baggage claim. A number of them began pulling out their phones upon seeing the 3 famous women and their adorably large sign. This whole endeavour, like much of their lives, was popular knowledge in Orynth and the crowd gathered to watch. Aelin was bouncing on her toes, eyes scanning for a glimpse of, THERE-

The crowd before them parted and 6 gloriously tall men in uniform, duffle bags slung over their shoulders, looked up at the same time the gathered crowd began to clap. Smiles danced across their tired faces, that was all it took. Aelin took off running, her long golden hair streaming behind her as she made a b-line for Fenrys. With a screech, she jumped onto him, legs locked behind his back and arms thrown over his shoulders. He had dropped his bag just in time to catch her lithe form, and he spun her around laughing. Aelin pulled back from his shoulder and smiled brightly, “Hey you.”

“Ace,” Fen shook his head. “This is- Gods, this is amazing!” Aelin threw her head back and laughed. As she righted herself her eyes drifted just over his shoulder and found Rowan’s, his jaw was clenched. For a moment she thought she saw a flash of something flit across his face before he wiped it clean with an easy smile. She slid out of Fenrys’ grasp. And looked over in time to see Elide walk right up to Lorcan and smile in an almost lethal way.

“Salveterre,” she purred.

“Lochan,” he grinned back, his eyes sliding to her chest and back up to her lips in a way that made Aelin wish she could have a shower.

A small and slightly awkward silence followed the exchange as the remaining members of the group seemed to realize they were still in the center of a crowd of onlookers. Aelin tossed her hair over her shoulder and turned from Fenrys.

“Let me grab your bags, we have our cars out front. I know you’ll have to go back to base soon but would you care to have a beer first?” She asked reaching for Fenrys’ duffle, which he promptly tore from her hands and swung over his shoulder.

“Boys?” he asked behind him, and was met with a chorus of “Gods yes”

They made their way towards the doors, the crowd parted with cameras flashing and the girls smiled demurely. The Cadre, unaccustomed to such publicity waved and smiled, though the Moonbeam twins and Vaughn seemed to be the most at ease. Aelin, her left arm linked with Fenrys, chanced a look over her shoulder and found Rowan already staring at her. She smiled and jerked her head, Rowan made his way to her other side. Her stomach dropped.

“ Welcome home Buzzard,” her voice coming out slightly breathless, her eyes were still lost in his. Rowan smirked, a slow and sensual thing, and leaned down towards her. 

“ Thanks princess,” his voice was smooth like aged whiskey, and his breath was hot on the shell of her ear. Fire shot straight from her flushed cheeks to her core. She looked down at her feet before she turned back, only to realize he’d fallen back in line with the others behind her. Breathe. Fenrys was telling Lysandra a funny story involving a port-o-potty and a helicopter when she tuned back into the conversation. Aelin laughed, and led the boys to the cars, all the while she felt Rowan’s gaze searing through her back. 

They helped the Cadre load their bags into the back of the SUV’s and found seats. Elide was driving Lorcan, Connall, Vaughn and Lysandra to the bar, the others found themselves with her. Fenrys in her passenger seat, and Gavriel behind him, which meant that Rowan with his unending gaze was directly behind her. Aelin took a steadying breath as she moved the car into reverse, using the camera in the dash to avoid her rearview mirror. 

“Where too?” Fenrys asked when they’d finally pulled onto the main drive from the airport.

“Mistward okay with you? We haven’t eaten yet and I need fries,” Aelin laughed looking to Fenrys for approval.

“Gods yes, you know it’s our spot,” he winked.

She turned her eyes back to the road for a moment, then to her rearview mirror. Rowan was already staring. Shit.  Eyes locked on her, his thumb tracing slow lines along his bottom lip, he quirked an eyebrow in question, and Aelin looked back to the road, heart racing. 

Be. Fucking. Casual. Gods. she silently reprimanded herself, even though she thought she may be burning out of her own skin.

“Fen, find some music yeah?” she asked, reaching up to adjust her mirror as nonchalantly as possible. A chuckle rumbled just behind her head. Apparently not as casual as I thought. 

Fuck. 

I need a drink.

Fingers white-knuckling her steering wheel, Aelin drove on to Mistward…

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

THE BALL:

Rowan:

The military trains special forces in the art of withstanding torture. Rowan had been waterboarded, put in stress positions, kept awake for days at a time, and starved. He passed every test of will doled out by his trainers with top marks, never once did he break, remembering only to state his name, branch, and ID number like a mantra: 1SGT Rowan Whitethorn. Terrasen Army. ID #8675309.…. But this? This was something new.

They had all met at Fenry’s place to await the limo the women had sent to fetch them for the ball.In typically dramatic fashion, the girls informed them that they’d meet them there. Apparently they wished to “make an entrance.” When the limo rolled up the Cadre piled inside, a chorus of “fuck yes” coming as they saw bottles of expensive champagne waiting on ice inside the stretch SUV. Dressed to the nines in their uniforms (white pants with a green stripe down the leg, a black coat featuring their medals, white dress shirt and black bow-tie, a “Cadre Cord” of braided green rope adorning their right shoulders) the men turned up the 80’s rock and binged on champagne. 

Rowan had 2 glasses before they even pulled up to the event center, he knew he was going to need it. The building was tall, glass covering the entire side the vehicle pulled up too. Inside they could see hundreds of their fellow men and women in uniform bustling with their dates through the reception line and standing at the windows to watch the scene before them. Because it was a fucking scene. 50 paparazzi, cameras flashing, greeted the Cadre as they made their way outside to await the girls. Rowan felt positively overwhelmed by the number of questions being thrown their way and found himself praying to the Gods that the women would show soon, I just need to get the fuck inside and get a drink, he thought. With a flurry of movement the cameras spun from the Cadre as a black stretch SUV the same as the one in which they arrived pulled up to the curb. Rowan could feel hundreds of eyes on them inside the building, the knowledge made him uncomfortable. His entire job was based on stealth.

His heart already beating out of his chest, Rowan fixed his eyes on the door the driver opened and as if in slow motion the girls made their way out. Lysandra was first, her stunning curves were painted in a deep green velvet. The sweat-heart neckline fitting perfectly around her breasts, a luscious diamond and emerald necklace at her neck. The color made her eyes so bright, Rown found himself nodding appreciatively. 

“I’ve got this one, boys” Gavriel’s said as he adjusted his tie and made his way to link arms with Lysandra. She smiled, and thanked him as they stopped to pose with Connall and Vaughn for the photographers. 

The next out of the limo was Elide. Swathed in a positively sinful black lace gown with a slit high on her thigh, she tossed her long dark hair over her shoulder and held out her hand. Rowan choked on a laugh as Lorcan nearly fell over himself trying to reach her, and as she wrapped her arm in his she winked, that blush Rowan had seen only once in his life making a second appearance. Oh, he is so fucked. 

Rowan held his breath as a long tan leg emerged from the vehicle, Fenrys waiting at the ready. Rowan stood back, not allowing himself close, and doing his best to look nonchalant as Aelin stepped out. His stomach hit the floor nearly as fast as his jaw. She was a fucking vision, bathed in gold sequins. Her wavy golden hair falling loosely around her shoulder, dripping diamond earrings hanging from her ears. The camera flashes playing off the dress seemed to make her catch fire. Rowan didn’t think he could breathe. A red lipped smile stretched wide across her face as Fenrys hugged her. Rowan’s jaw clenched at the contact, that lucky fucking bastard.

The couple turned away from him to pose for the cameras, and that’s when Rowan died. Where’s the fucking rest of it? He thought. How the fuck am I going to do this. The gold clinging to her body like liquid metal stopped at her sides, coming to a point so low he could see the dimples above her perfectly shaped ass. Breathe. Rowan told himself as his eyes traveled the expanse of bronze skin. He wanted to taste her. He wanted suck bruises into the skin as he bent her over the table in the middle of the ba- Not. Your. Date. Think of anything else. Naked old ladies. Dead bodies. Water boarding. FUCK.

“Buzzard!” He was pulled from his thoughts by the voice that haunted his every waking moment. He lifted his gaze to find Aelin smirking, one eyebrow hitched in challenge. He’’d been caught staring at her ass. Fuck. “Get your ass over here.”

He slowly walked up to Aelin’s other-side, and did his best to calm his nerves as the cameras continued photographing the group. I forgot about the fucking cameras, he thought just as Aelin slid her arm slowly into the crook of his elbow. He felt his breath catch and his skin burn through the jacket he had on. 

“And who’s this?” a voice yelled behind the wall of flash.

“Oh just some old man Fen here found in the desert. The stairs going into the event looked a little steep I didn’t want him to break a hip, so I figured I’d offer him my hand. It’s my patriotic duty.” Aelin laughed, Fenrys snorted, and Rowan sapped his head to look at her. She was already staring back at him, teeth biting her bottom lip, she winked. Menace…

The party eventually made their way inside, the women signing autographs and posing for pictures alongside other guests. They ate a lovely dinner at their table and listened to numerous speeches. They stood to toast the country, each other, their fucking ancestors, the sun, the Gods and like 12 other things, before finally the night began. Music picked up, lights dropped lower, and the Cadre found their way to the dance floor. Rowan sat at their table on the edge, whiskey in hand, content to sit until they made their way to the after party. Try as he might, he couldn’t help staring at Aelin as she moved her body against Fenrys. Rowan had never been so jealous in his entire life, Fen’s hands low on her hips as her ass was grinding into him. Lysandra and Elide performing nearly the same risque ritual with Gavriel and Lorcan, Rowan shook his head watching the men’s wet dreams come true. As one the three girls facing each other slid down to the floor, laughing as they slowly dragged their way back up their dates; hands on the men’s legs. Fucking tease…

As if she’d heard his thoughts Aelin’s eyes caught his own. He knew what she saw. His tie was loose around his neck, nearly full drink in hand and legs crossed. He looked like an asshole, watching his freinds have the night of their life. She smiled, a small thing just for him and extended her hand finger curling in a “come hither” motion. He shook his head. This was Fen’s date, and the way she was dancing wouldn’t help the growing itch he felt below the belt. 1SGT Rowan Whitethorn. Terrasen Army. ID #8675309.  1SGT Rowan Whitethorn. Terrasen Army. ID #8675309. 1st- fuck it.. he finished his drink in one gulp, fire burning his throat.

He stood up and stalked directly to the woman made of wildfire and clothed in gold. With Fenrys still at her back, he met his brother’s eyes. You good with this bro? He asked in that way men do, Fen mouthed back a “Fuck yeah.” Rowan nodded. The hand she had extended to call him to her grabbed the front of his shirt and tugged. He looked down at her grinding, her head leaned back against Fenrys’ shoulder, as her arms snaked around his neck. Fenrys moved his hands slowly up her sides and around her stomach making room for him to place his hands on her swaying hips. 

The three of them were lost in their own world. Aelin writhing tightly between the two brothers, her eyes locked on his, tongue grazing her lip like a porn star. Keep it up princess, and I’ll take you on this fucking floor in front of the whole world. I don’t give a shit whose date you are. His lust addled brain was fighting for control. She was extraordinary. She was trouble..

...1SGT Rowan Whitethorn. Terrasen Army. ID #8675309…

Her nails digging into his neck and shoulders.

...1SGT Rowan Whitethorn. Terrasen Army. ID #8675309…

Biting her bottom lip.

...1SGT Rowan Whitethorn. Terrasen Army. ID #8675309…

Rubbing against his groin, in smooth practiced movements. 

Rowan was in heaven. 

Rowan was in hell. 

Rowan Whitethorn, was fucked.

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

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[batskulldrag]

Phoenix by Fallout Boy

A human Au where Patton and Logan adopt Patton’s estranged nephew.

trigger warnings for abuse, PTSD and anxiety 

included are mentioned brotherly creatwins, sympathetic deceit and no OC. any other character is either another youtuber, one of Thomas’s friends or a character from 2017′s Dream Daddy. 

Word count is obscene, I'll post weekly chapters

Chapter one: The Things We Lost in The Fire by Bastille

               Patton brooded into the house and scanning the living room only to find it empty, made a beeline for his and Logan’s bedroom. Fate had one nice thing in store for him because Logan was there silently grading papers at his desk. Before giving his husband a chance to comment on his sudden appearance Patton dropped his head onto Logan’s shoulder. Logan automatically reached up a hand to stroke Patton’s ash blond hair.

               “Bad day I assume?” Logan asked as soothingly as he could muster.

               Rather than answer Patton sank to the ground and flopped his head down on Logan’s lap.

               “That bad?” Logan continued to pet his hair.

               “Have you seen the news?” Patton mumbled, his voice blocked with hands and defeat.

               “No, I haven’t.” Logan was hesitant and let on concern. “What happened?”

               “My nasty, no account bully of a brother is back in town and trying to run for local office.”  Patton snorted. “And he’s lying about our family.”

               Logan’s eyes narrowed, unimaginative as he was, he saw a flood of potential falsehoods that could earn anyone a landslide of pity votes.

               “What does that beast have to say for himself?”

                Patton let out a sound that was almost a sob.

               “You don’t have to tell me, I’m sure I could look it up.” Logan sighed, still stroking Patton’s head. “And more importantly, I’m sure we can debunk whatever he has to say.”

               “The implications will still be there, even if they’re wrong. And people might say that we’re the ones who are lying.” Patton slid more of his body onto Lagan’s lap.

               “I know.”

               “He’s saying that our mom was a homophobe, and that she made him …” Patton tilted his head away and coughed. “Sleep with a girl to ‘cure him’ or something. That’s not fair. He was the homophobe.”

               “That’s his explanation for his son?”

               “And his campaign on how much he cares about other sexualities.” Patton rolled his eyes.

               “Patton, why don’t you go ahead and post our senior prom pictures on Sharebook?” Logan said gently, but with a sinister smile that his companion couldn’t see.

               “I don’t follow.” Patton met Logan’s eyes.

               “Your mother was the one who took most of those pictures. Payton isn’t that much older than you; how does he intend to explain that change in opinion?”

               “Logan you’re a genius!” Patton threw his arms around him.

               “I know.” The other smiled.

#                             #                             #

               Logan remembered prom night vividly, more vividly than graduation in fact. All it took to remember every detail was just a brief look over Patton’s shoulder at their first picture to bring it all back. Patton’s braces that he had haphazardly tried to paint blue by eating nontoxic paint, granting him blue teeth and colorless braces. It didn’t faze him though. He was still beaming with his entire being. A nerd in a tan suite with stained teeth. No one could touch him.

               And of course, Logan himself, who hadn’t changed much appearance wise since high school. Smiling reluctantly as Patton stretched an arm around his shoulder as they both stood in front of the open door.

               “Logan, sweetheart you look so stiff try to relax.” Patton’s mother teased.

               “Maybe I should move my arm.” Patton said quickly as he pulled his arm away.

               “Yeah Pat.” Roman chimed in from behind them. “Leave room for Jesus.”

               Roman was one to talk, he all but had his date sitting in his lap on the ride over. They both turned to see him strutting up the driveway. At the time his hair was dyed red, which made it look like his head was on fire. Did that shake him? No. He proudly wore red hair, a white tuxedo and a matching rose in his buttonhole. Elton John would have called it overkill.

               “You forgot this calculator watch.” Roman announced holding out a corsage of forget-me-nots and baby’s breath.

               “Oh, Logan you got me flowers!” Patton squeaked, clasping his hands together and pressing them to his chin.

               “Logan, is your dad single?” Patton’s mom interjected again.

               Logan felt himself blush and looked out the door for an escape.

               “No, he’s still married to my mom. Sorry.” He responded flatly, hoping they would just think he didn’t get the joke.

               “Oh, a little baby person!” Roman suddenly exclaimed as he darted inside, heading directly for the pram in the middle of the living room.

               “Careful not to wake him up.” Patton called to him.

               “Why’s he out here?” Roman whispered, looking up from the baby.

               “He was a little fussy, so I brought him down here where it was cooler.” Ms. Foster explained.

               “I thought Payton was here taking care of Virgil.” Logan added. “After all he is his father.”

               “Payt’s up in his room studying for his LSATs, besides Virgil’s only a few months old. He doesn’t have it in him to be troublesome yet.” She leaned over the pram and cooed. “Unlike his daddy who cut five teeth at once and his uncle who bit everything.”

               Both Roman and Logan laughed at this while Patton just stood there quietly.

               “It wasn’t that bad.” Patton mumbled.

               “Yes, it was, that crib we’re using, you chewed one of the legs off. And I swear Payton started sprinting before he could even walk. So, I had to be on constant look out for him, lest I step on and kill my own baby.”

               “We should go.” Patton pointed towards the door in an effort to escape.

               “Wait, Logan, you need to put the corsage on Patton.” Roman pointed at the pair of them.

               “Why?” Logan asked blankly.

               “Tradition.” Roman stood tall and crossed his arms.

               “Fine.” Logan tilted his head back and sighed.

               Patton’s mother got a picture of the moment. The rest of the evening was horrible. The car that they all shared broke down and they had to walk to the gym. They showed up an hour late and covered in sweat and grease. Then a few morons threw punch on both of them during the slow dance. The lights constantly flickered as if they were going to go off, giving him a migraine. And finally, two people backed him into a corner and tormented him until he had an episode. Which everyone thought was hilarious, so they laughed while ‘the retard’, as he was known, threw a tantrum in the corner.

That was when Patton showed how amazing he really was. He wielded guilt like a weapon and tore everyone down to below sea level.  He threatened to tell peoples parents, he swore to treat them exactly the way they had treated Logan. He labeled each and every one of them a sociopath and declared that he would see to it that they all went to hell. After Patton’s rant and Logan’s episode Patton just took him outside and they spent the rest of the night there.

               That had been the moment when Logan fell in love with that boy. Covered in sweat and punch and coming off the heels of a tantrum he fell in love with Patton. And he knew Patton loved him, come what may. Graduation didn’t hold a candle to that.

                                                                               #             #             #

               “Are you somewhere fun?” Patton’s voice cracked through the memory.

               “Yes.” Logan looked back over to Patton. “I’m here.”

               Patton beamed back at him and went back to his pictures. There were a handful of their graduation, several of Patton once he finally got his braces off. And many different pictures of Patton feeding Virgil smashed chocolate cake on his first birthday. Patton’s demeanor dropped and he sighed heavily. None of them had seen Virgil since he was a baby.

               “I hope he’s ok.” Patton thought out loud.

               “I’m sure he is.” Logan lied, taking Patton’s hand in his.

                                                                               #             #             #

               I’ll kill him. Payton thought viciously as yet another reporter asked him the same question.

               “Mr. Foster, how do you explain the inconsistencies between your description of events and the pictures your brother posted online yesterday?”

               “Patton must have come out after mother passed away.” Payton said smoothly. “And after seeing what she did to me, who can blame him?”

               They seemed to accept that. Good. He scoffed under his breath; they were all too lazy to investigate anything, so they just took everything at face value.

               “But Mr. Foster,” A familiar voice that didn’t belong to a reporter chimed in. “An examination of these pictures also shows her at Patton’s high school graduation, which took place after prom. Is your mother a ghost?”

               Payton looked across the crowd and saw the instigator. A man of moderate height and muscular build wearing a fedora with a press card in the band. To match that he also wore a brown three-piece suit and glasses of the same color. He didn’t even look like he was from this time era.

               “You cannot prove that prom preceded graduation.” Payton argued, knowing that it was a horrible lie. “And you cannot prove that it is our mother in the picture with him.”

               “Ok. But I can.” The time traveler challenged. “Other pictures of your mom would prove that she is indeed pictured in Patton’s graduation, with his boyfriend. And high school functions such as prom always proceed graduation. It’s senior prom, not post-graduation prom. Also! Patton has blue teeth in the prom pictures, but the blue has faded off in the graduation pictures.”

               Many of the reporters murmured and turned to the stranger.

               “Ok Roman,” Payton leaned against his podium. “Did someone put you up to this or are you on your own?”

               “I’m on my own. And I stand alone in the halls of people who look things up. These are dark days indeed.”

               “Pay no attention to that drama queen back there please.” Payton sneered. “He’s friends with my brother.”

               “So now I have become your enemy because I tell you the truth?” Roman said loudly, pressing one hand to his heart.

               “Isn’t that from the bible?”

               “Have you read the bible?”

               A hushed murmur echoed through the crowd. When did this become a roast off?

               “Roman, leave before I call security.”

               “This is a public gathering; you can’t throw me out.”

               Much to Roman’s dismay and his own delight he indeed could throw him out. But the damage had been done, everyone’s questions now reflected what Roman had pointed out. And worse still several of these dullards had now been bitten by the research bug. They may start thinking for themselves against all odds.

               Speaking of things that thought without permission Virgil had beaten him home that afternoon. His gangly, yet somehow short form was slumped on the couch staring at his phone. His school uniform was in disarray around him. He had his blazer on his lap like a blanket, his tie hung over his shoulders and his shirt unbuttoned almost to his waste and he had added an old hoodie that was probably decomposing by now. Why didn’t the bastard just go ahead and get naked? What a slob.

And, if he were to be honest, he thought Virgil was ugly. Most teenagers are and his son reflected that. Virgil had scattered acne and freckles on a pasty white face that he had the decency to cover up with makeup, hollow eyes, violet in color making him look every bit the mutant he was, and black hair that he kept in a stupid fashion. Who the hell even had bangs anymore?

               “Sit up straight, you look like a corpse.” Payton snapped at the figure.

               “Dead bodies are cool.” Virgil retorted sitting up proper.

               “Don’t test me you bastard, I’ve had a very hard day.” He pointed to the defiant brat. “And I will not be challenged by a teenager who still wets the bed.”

               Virgil backed down but shot him one last glare.

               “I haven’t done that in a month.” He mumbled.

               “And I haven’t done that since I was four. You’re nine years late.”

               Virgil slumped his shoulders and pulled his hood up to conceal the fact that his ears were turning red.

               Good. You stay where you belong. Payton thought coldly.

               “I told you to sit up straight.” He said tauntingly.

               Virgil stood up and walked to the stairs.

               “Why doesn’t daddy love me?” He mocked Virgil as he walked. “I wonder.”

               Virgil stormed up the stairs and into his room. He would have punctuated this tantrum by slamming the door. But his room didn’t have one.

                                                                               #             #             #

               “Have you seen the news?” Roman yelled, bursting into the room and slamming the door open.

               “Roman, how many times do I have to tell you not to slam the door?” Logan sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose.

               “What’s up Roman?” Patton asked tilting his head to the side.

               “They’re investigating your brother for mishandling campaign funds, and they found out that he left that law firm he worked for under suspicion of tampering with evidence. And something about hiding information or something.” Roman monologued.

               “If he was a lawyer then he would be required to share any evidence he obtained with the opposing counsel, even if it hurt his own case. It was started after the Brady vs Maryland case, during which-”  

               “Logan, not now.” Patton squeezed his shoulder gently. “Is that all, Roman, is Virgil ok?”

               “I – I don’t know. He’s just kinda in the background of all this.” Roman’s posture dropped. “What if we ruined his life!?”

               “Oh gosh, if Payton gets sent to prison it’ll be all my fault!” Patton jumped off the couch in terror. “I’m a horrible brother! I’m a horrible uncle! I’m a horrible person! I ruined his life in three days!”

               “We’re going straight to hell!” Roman pulled on his jacket as if he were trying to pull himself together.

               “No, stop. Both of you.” Logan stood up to reason with them at eye level. “No one’s going to hell, or prison … well I can guarantee no one’s going to hell.”

               “What have I done!?” Patton dropped to the floor and curled into a ball. “I’m a horrible person!”

               “Patton. If your brother is guilty of what they accuse him of, then he only has himself to blame for being in trouble. All you did was innocently post a few things on Sharebook to set the record straight.”

               “Roman,” He continued. “What you did was stupid, but I don’t think it caused anything but a few jokes around the water cooler.”

               A loud gasp came from the floor that led the other two to believe that Patton was crying.

               “I can’t do this. The guilt is killing me!”

               “You didn’t do anything! Payton is in trouble with the law because he broke it. That has nothing to do with us!” Logan objected.

               “But the pictures.” He looked up tearfully.

               “Only served to prove that your mother was not a homophobe.”

               “And Roman?”

               “Is an idiot.”

               “Hey!” Roman protested.

               “But he also had nothing to do with this.”

               “What about Virgil?” Roman asked softly from the doorway.

               No one knew what to say.

                                                                               #             #             #

               It had been five days since Patton’s idiotic meddling on Sharebook, and the worst part was that Payton couldn’t figure out if it was intentional or not. His younger brother never could have thought of something like this. But he did have that drama queen, and that retard he married. One of them might have done this.

               “Dad, can we talk?” Virgil interrupted him, typical.

               “What could you possibly want?” He glared up from his work.

               Virgil was still in his pajamas, wearing no makeup and looking like a member of the living dead. Before speaking he turned away and coughed violently.

               “Are you sick again!?” Payton growled. “I swear if I let you lose in the wild, you’d be dead in an instant. I don’t know what’s keeping you alive; it’s certainly not a higher purpose. There, now we’ve talked. And I’m worse off for it. Now scram.”

               “Is all the stuff on the news true?” Virgil rasped.

               “I recall telling you to go away…”

               “Fine, don’t tell me. I’ll just have to decide for myself.”

               “Knowing you, you’ll side with the masses. Keeps people from having to think. You’d like that.”

               “Why are you teeing off on me!? All I asked for was a yes or no answer.”

               “That’s a lot of back bone for somebody who hasn’t shown me his final report card yet.” He didn’t even look up. “We had to do summer school last year and they still held you back. If either of those things happen this year… well no point in speculating over things that won’t happen.”

               That was the thread he needed to pull evidently. Virgil retreated.

               Before going to his room Virgil stumbled into the bathroom and threw up. His heart was beating its way out of his chest, the room was spinning.

               Spinning

                               Spinning

                                               S

                                                   P

                                                      I

                                                         N

                                                               N

                                                                   I

                                                                               N

                                                                                   G

He fell to the floor, arms and legs both feeling like static.

No! not another one! He dizzily protested, forcing in several ragged breaths just have air.

Hell only knows how long he was laying on the bathroom floor before he calmed himself down. But he somehow managed and dragged himself back to his room. It wasn’t long before he passed out on his bed.

#             #             #

               It’s now been nearly two weeks since everything started. Virgil hasn’t gotten over whatever he caught this time. But his dad hasn’t been home too much lately, so there was still solaced to be found. He lay in bed, sweating from fever and almost let himself dare to have hope. His dad may end up in prison before the summer was over. Maybe he could testify. He could tell if his dad was in prison, hell he’d scream it from the rooftops if his dad wasn’t around to provide consequences.

                                                                               #             #             #

               Payton set the smoke detector down on a table in the hallway and looked in Virgil’s room. Virgil was passed out in his bed, no doubt out of his mind on cold medicine and looking pale and tragic. He slid into the room and stood over him.

               “Poor Virgil.” He scoffed, wiping his greasy hair off his sweat covered forehead. “I really tried to want you. Hell, I wanted to want you. It just didn’t work out that way.”

               Virgil coughed lightly in his sleep and turned over uneasily. Everything that kid did was uneasy. Payton picked up the half full bottle of medicine on the nightstand and stared into it apathetically.

               Virgil jolted bolt upright and coughed violently. Payton quietly watched him fight for air.

               “Why are you in here?” Virgil panted, already trembling with fear.

               “It’s alright.” Payton said softly, placing the back of his hand on Virgil’s forehead. “I’m just checking on you.”

               “Why?” Virgil recoiled from his hand.

               “You’re sick, aren’t you?” Payton cupped Virgil’s face in his hands. “I just wanted to make sure you were ok before I left.”

               Virgil settled into his hands and stared up at him. Hope dotted itself in his unnatural eyes. He was helpless to resist temptation. Sucker.

               “Alright. I have a meeting tonight.” Payton ran his hand through Virgil’s hair. “But tomorrow I’m taking you to the doctor.”

               “Why?” Virgil jolted back. His eyes lit with terror.

               “No, I’m taking you to get this sickness checked out.” Payton purred. “You know I’d never hurt you for no reason.”

               “No?” He squeaked.

               “Of course not. Have I ever hurt you when you haven’t done anything?”

               “No?” Virgil’s breathing sped up.

               “Of course not. Now drink your medicine and try to get some sleep.”

               With quivering hands Virgil took the bottle from him and drank it obediently.

               “There’s a good boy.” Payton smiled.

               As a finishing move Payton tucked Virgil in before leaving. Virgil shivered the entire time. Payton couldn’t tell if he was excited to have the attention of if he was just that terrified. It didn’t really matter.

               Either way, Payton had the little parasite right where he wanted him. And today that meant he was right here in bed, sound asleep. Dead to the world.

               Payton stopped in his study and dropped the rug over the lamp’s newly frayed cord. He ‘accidentally’ left the lamp on before he left. As far as anyone would ask.

                                                                               #             #             #

Roman was feeling high on life. He was on his way home from an excellent performance of The Lion King in which he, being one of the only people who could sing and dance and sit through the makeup process to audition, had played Mufasa one night and Scar the next. Both were amazing parts. Just think two on stage deaths, and a solo on villain nights. And who doesn’t love a villain?

               To cap off this evening he had become quite close with the actor playing Timonen, who was especially charming. Yes, things were lovely. He nearly lost control of his motorcycle at the thought. As he steadied himself back, he checked the clock in the center, it was very nearly midnight.

               “Well, I’m sure the love birds are done with their date night by now.” He said out loud, nearly drowned out by his engine.

               Roman nodded to himself and looked for a driveway to turn around in. Preferably one where nobody was home to bother with his bike. He was a gentleman after all. Roman pulled into an empty driveway and made a U-turn back towards the road.

               But something leaked into his helmet and stopped Roman in his tracks. It was the unmistakable smell of smoke. He dropped his bike and whipped around to see the house behind him glowing with flames and billowing thick black smoke. Without a second thought he tossed his helmet to the ground and called for help.

               The house itself was a two-story building that was fairly isolated from neighbors. And there wasn’t another soul outside, so no one had seen the fire yet. While Roman was giving the address the windows in the bottom floor exploded, punctuated by the sound of sirens in the distance. It looked like everything would be ok… luckily, no one was home.

               No! He was wrong! It’s not ok! The glow of the fire had illuminated the figure of someone on the second floor trying to break the window. The room they were in was already on fire. Not having time for caution, Roman bounded towards the house. He could hear the firefighters behind him yelling for him to stop as they pulled up, but he had already leapt onto the landing by the time the words sank in. He could jump surprisingly high; as a dancer he had the legs for it. He pulled himself up the gutter, wrapped his jacket over his fist and with one blow he shattered the window and the person jumped out, coughing up both lungs.

               Both he and the sole survivor were blown back by a gust of hot wind. It was like Satan had roared at them. Obviously dizzy from inhaling so much smoke the survivor, who looked no more than twelve fell back when Satan roared and slid down the roof. Roman leapt for him and saw the kid grab hold of the same gutter, and lose his hold falling to the ground feet first. Roman jumped down after him and scoped him up gently, he was still breathing. But not very strongly. He ran the kid to the nearest ambulance.

                                                                               #             #             #

               ‘F’ is for friends who do stuff together…

               Patton groggily pulled his phone off the nightstand. Why was Roman calling at one in the morning?

               “Ehlo?” He mumbled into the receiver.

               “Hey friendo …” Roman’s voice was hesitant. “Can you come get me from the hospital? I know it’s late, but I’ve had a night.”

               “Hold that thought kiddo.” Patton said calmly, before turning to Logan. “Logan! Roman is in the hospital! My friends are being punished for my sins!” He panicked.

               “We’re married.” Logan mumbled, not even half awake.

               “We’ll be right down to get you honey.” Patton faked a cool demeanor over the phone.

               “I heard you yelling. And, I should point out that I’m not hurt.”

                                                                               #             #             #

               “Roman what happened?!” Patton rushed over to him.

               “Well, there was a fire…” Roman began.

               “At the theater!? Was anybody hurt?! Did Remus start the fire!? Is he back so soon!?”

               Patton looked down and saw that Roman’s right hand in a cast.

               “You are too hurt! Why did you lie to me!?”

               Logan stepped up and pulled Patton back by the shoulder.

               “Everything’s going to be ok Patton. If Roman was badly hurt, they wouldn’t let him leave just yet.” He said calmly. “Now let’s just let him tell the story.”

               “Ok.” Patton mumbled, burying his face in Logan’s shoulder.

               “Ok, on my way home I encountered a house on fire. So, I called the authorities. Then I saw that there was someone trapped upstairs. So, I jumped onto the landing and broke the window with my fist.” Roman explained slowly and without any of his normal flare.

               “Why would you do that? You could have been killed?” Logan asked, flustered at Roman’s general lack of caution.

               “There was someone in there! A little kid trapped in a fire! Wouldn’t you have?”

               “If emergency services hadn’t yet arrived and there was no time to wait, I suppose I would. Had such services arrived?”

               “…” Roman looked down. “Yes.”

               “Are you ok?” Patton asked softly.

               “Yes, it’s just a few cuts. And apparently, I punched the window wrong and broke my wrist. I don’t think I’ll be able to do the matinee tomorrow. I’ll call Robert to pick up my bike.”

               “Is the kid?”

               “They haven’t told me how he is. Apparently only family gets to know the details.” He rolled his eyes.

               “Hippa laws.” Logan added. “Standard doctor/patient confidentiality to protect the privacy of the patient…”

               “Don’t you start.” Roman pointed at him angrily. “All they told me was that he’d be fine.”

               “Did the police take your statement?”

               “Yeah. An unfortunate number of officers are familiar with me. And they almost exclusively know me as the guy with the crazy twin.”

               “Speaking of brothers…” Patton interrupted almost as if he were in a trance.

               The other two turned in unison to see what Patton was staring at so intently. And speak of the Devil there was Payton.

[heyyouwiththeassbutt]

A selfish little Christmas

I’m terrified about posting this, but here it goes. I’m setting myself a challenge over the holidays. This one-shot is not included but I wanted to post something for you guys to read and maybe give me tips on for going forward. 

Christmas eve and Christmas day I will be posting a two-part fic, new years eve and new years day will be another two-part fic and by Valentine’s day, I am hoping to do a mini-series, possibly four parts. This is not a challenge anyone has set for me, but as I haven’t written in years, I thought this was a good a time as any. If anyone would like to join me in this challenge, especially if you have never written before or haven’t written in a long time, please let me know!

Huge thanks to @broadwayandnetflix who read this and didn’t tear me to shreds like I had expected.

—————-

Universe - MCU, No specific point in timeline

Warning - Language, angst, fluff

Word count - 4,992

Pairing - Steve Rogers x un-named female reader

Feedback is wanted desperately, but likes are loved too.

——–

He wasn’t obsessed, that was too strong a word, even if it was what Bucky sing-songed at him every time he caught Steve staring after you as you rushed out of the room. You had this all-consuming way of totally embarrassing yourself every time Steve was within earshot and his heart sped up every time it happened.

Today’s cringe-worthy performance had included you spending a solid five minutes singing obnoxiously loudly as you danced around the kitchen making breakfast for the team. In your defense, they had told you they wouldn’t be finished in the gym for another 20 minutes, but yet, as you spun around, midway through the chorus of Last Christmas, there they were, Bucky trying his hardest to not bark out a laugh and Steve sporting a very fetching shade of red across his cheeks right up to the tips of his ears. 

You’d quickly told them their pancakes were ready and keeping warm in the oven before you dashed from their gazes and straight to your living quarters.

“Gonna go after her, Stevie?” Steve almost jumped out of his skin as he tore his eyes from the hallway you had left, having forgotten Bucky was still standing beside him.

“I don’t want her to think we were laughing at her.” His tone was light, but Steve made no move either towards or away from the exit of the kitchen.

Bucky had been dealing with this for months now. Steve had been his best friend for so long that he thought he had seen every possible version of the man, from tiny and desperate, fighting for a chance to a leader with a team, no, a family, behind him that he would do anything to protect. But this. This was something he’d never seen before.

It wasn’t that Steve didn’t dare to tell you how he felt, it wasn’t even that he didn’t know how you would respond to his feelings. Everyone knew you felt the same as he did, Tony had been kind enough to mock the both of you on several occasions in an attempt to get the two of you to talk about what was going on.

The truth was, Steve was being selfish. He had tried the whole relationship thing with Sharon Carter several years ago and it had just lead to him breaking her heart when he chose the rest of the world over her. He’d only seen her a few times since the breakup, but the look she had given him before she had turned in the other direction or otherwise averted her gaze… Steve couldn’t have his girl look at him like that. It would kill him

He shook his head as that thought popped into his head. Not his girl. She was a team member. She would never be his girl.

Steve joined Bucky at the kitchen island and started to dig into the pile of pancakes Bucky had just removed from the oven and the two men jumped into a conversation about the upcoming holidays.

————————————————————————————————

“What are you going to do?” There was a very close comparison to the cat that got the cream to the look on Natasha’s face as she lounged on your small leather sofa.

You shot her a quick glare before aiming the glare once again to the slip of paper held loosely in your hands and continued your pacing through your living quarters.

Tony had turned up at the door a quarter of an hour before to get you to pick your secret Santa and after a glance at the name, you had quickly told him you needed to choose again because you’d picked yourself. He’d snapped the piece of paper out of your hands and the laughter that erupted from him was enough to have you grab it back off him and slam the door in his face. He had quickly rushed off to tell Nat, which is why the woman was now making herself perfectly at home in your personal space.

“I’d have been happy with literally anyone else on the team.” You were whining at this point, but you didn’t care.

“You used to be close, I’m sure you could come up with something for him.”

“Yeah, we USED to be close, when I first joined the team. We used to talk all the time, spent every spare minute together. Then you all got it in your heads we had the hots for each other and things got awkward!”

“You do have the hots for each other.”

You stared at Nat through narrow eyes. You’d joined the avengers just under a year ago. You weren’t a super soldier, strong, agile and you definitely weren’t otherworldly like some of the rest of the team, you were just good with computers and years of studying at the feet of some of the greatest programmers and hackers had led you to Starks office as he offered you a once in a lifetime shot at being his protege.

You had thought it was some sort of a prank when he told you he wanted you to move into Stark Tower and get “hands-on” experience with the team. It wasn’t until two weeks later when he locked you into a room and told you that you had to get yourself out by hacking into F.R.I.D.A.Y and you were (eventually) able to do it that he even introduced you to the other avengers. They had been almost as excited to meet you as you had been to meet them. Steve told you a few days later that Tony had done the same thing to about forty other hopefuls and that you were the first to get out.

It wasn’t an instant friendship with Steve, just a casual acceptance of each other that comes from occasionally sitting at the same dinner table or curling up next to each other accidentally on the sofa after falling asleep during a movie.

The turning point in your relationship was when you’d fixed a small glitch in Buckys’ arm and the brunette man had taken a quick shine to you. Suddenly instead of just Bucky and Steve having a pizza night and drinking beer that did nothing for them, you were invited to.

From there it was a natural thing for Steve to ask you to hang out with him when Bucky was busy. It was great. You were friends, real friends. Then the other avengers started talking. Wanda was nice about it, telling you that she didn’t need to read your minds to know that feelings were growing that wasn’t the average feelings between two good buds. Nat had been next to comment, and then Sam. Then Tony had loudly asked mid-dinner as you and Steve were giggling to yourselves at an inside joke, “Have you two screwed yet, or what?”

Then the spell was broken and it became a long-running joke for most of the team. The only person who had never said anything to you about it was Bucky. He still invited you to hang out with them, but when you did turn up, Steve would make an excuse and leave. You started to turn down the invites after the third time it happened.

It hurt, but you were trying to get over it, even with the daily comments about the “love birds” not being on good terms anymore.

It had been about three months since then and things had cooled down a lot. You could be in the same room as Steve without wagging eyebrows or kissy noises aimed at the two of you. God, Tony was an asshole sometimes.

Your train of thought led you back to the slip of paper in your hand.

“Do you think Tony did this on purpose?”

“If you’re asking me if that bag of names was filled with Steve’s name so that you had to get him a present… No idea.” You looked up at Nat and genuinely considered throwing her out of our quarters. But, you weren’t very strong, or fast, so instead, you threw yourself onto your bed and growled at the ceiling.

——————————————————–

It was two days before Christmas, the day of the secret Santa swap. You’d decided a few days ago that you would just leave your gift in the dining room, under the big tree and would hide in your room when the gifts were being handed out. It was secret Santa, the point of the name was that who gave what and to who was supposed to be a secret.

Tony had said that the gifts were being handed out at 9 pm sharp and that everyone had to have placed their gifts under the tree before dinner started at 7 pm. You left your gift shortly before 5 am that morning before sneaking back to bed before anyone else woke up and spotted you.

The day went by normally, you worked on one of the computers in Bruce’s lab that hadn’t been running data properly. It was about 5 pm when you finished up, reminding Bruce about dinner. He’d stopped what he was doing long enough to look up at you, almost as if you hadn’t been in the room with him for the last four hours. Your soft laugh seemed to snap him out of it and he went about tidying up his work station before the two of you headed to your respective rooms to get ready, chatting along the way about the project he had been working on.

An hour and a half later you finished putting the last touches on your makeup before heading to the dining room. You weren’t overly dressed up, a cotton red dress and a pair of short heeled boots. You weren’t trying to look nice, you’d just thrown it on. You didn’t have any reason to dress up. It was just a team dinner, you had one every week. This was no different.

You caught sight of yourself in one of the many massive mirrors in the hallway and cursed as you watched your reflection fixing your hair one last time. It didn’t matter how you looked. It was just the team. They’d seen you slumped over the kitchen island with a hangover, last night’s makeup still on your face and wearing your oldest, grubbiest pj’s more times than you could count. It wasn’t as if you were staying for the gifts. He wouldn’t even know it was from you. He probably wouldn’t care if he did know.

You slumped against the wall as your inner voice laughed at you. You were annoyed that you cared, but you did. Steve had meant a lot to you. You’d truly thought he was perfect, then he ignored you, treated you like your friendship meant nothing. Treated you like your feelings meant nothing. You’d have sworn you’d seen your look mirrored on his face dozens of times. Maybe he hadn’t felt that way about you, Maybe you had just been grasping at the hope something was going on with the two of you, Maybe-.

“What are you doing?” You hadn’t even realized you’d closed your eyes, so deep in self distaste, until Nat’s voice, inches from your face had made you pull your eyes open and make your heart almost beat out of your chest.

“Don’t do that! You scared me!”

“I said your name three times.”

“Well, I-… I was taking a second.”

“A second to think about Steve? Nice dress.” She glanced you up and down. You chose to ignore the first part of her sentence and thanked her for the compliment.

You walked together in silence to the dining room. When you entered, you were silent again, this time in shock. When you had been here this morning there had been a few decorations scattered around the room and the tree sat off to the side. The large room had been completely changed in the hours since then, becoming what you could only describe as a scene from a Christmas movie.

The table was covered in a white sheet, red plates at every seat matching the massive trays and bowls filled with food in the middle of the table. The tree had been moved to the center of the room, having gained more lights and tinsel, almost off-kilter now by the presents pilled up below it. Everything looked beautiful and you couldn’t help but smile at Pepper who was just finishing placing more tinsel on the back of one of the chairs.

“This looks amazing Pepper!” You walked over to her and gave her a quick hug that she returned with a grin. She talked about how much she loved Christmas as a kid and how happy she’d been that there was nothing major going on with the team that meant anyone would have to miss it this year.

The three of you had chatted until the rest of the team started coming into the room, each thanking Pepper and telling her how great she had done. While everyone started to take their seats, you found yourself glancing at the gift pile, your shoddy wrapping greeting you in all of its gold, sparkly glory. You shook your head and sat beside Nat and Thor.

You hadn’t had much of an opportunity to talk to the literal god in the last few months, but the two of you slid into an easy conversation about tradition and you found yourself laughing until you were sore after trying several times to explain why Christmas was a big deal.

When Tony arrived, the last, of course, after telling us all we had to be prompt, he launched into his Christmas speech. It was five minutes in when you glanced across the table and found Steve watching you with interest. He quickly looked away, lifting his glass to his mouth as your cheeks became warm.

Dinner went by without a hitch. Tony had been quick to top up your glass of Christmas punch several times and judging from the slow afterburn, it was to make sure Pepper didn’t get close enough to it to know he’d spiked it.

Thor pulled out a few bottles of Asgardian booze from a box under the tree and the more tolerant amongst the group happily sipped on that, although you had quickly declined the offer to pour some into your glass.

When dessert was over, everyone, made more relaxed by the drinks, moved into the living area and spread themselves out through the room. You had almost forgotten about the presents as you and Wanda giggled at Clint attempting to prove he was sober enough for another glass of Thors drink. He was not, he showed as he stumbled gracefully onto the rug after a failed attempt at the police sobriety test.

“Let’s get this party started!” Tony all but shouted as he appeared next to you. You blinked at him in confusion for a moment before he gestured behind you to the counter now covered with presents. They must have been brought in when everyone was focused on Clint.

You glanced towards the door, but Tony instantly realized your plan and shoved a gift into your hands, “You’re Santa’s little helper, hand the gifts out, would ya?”

You narrowed your eyes. Bastard.

After everyone had gathered around, you looked down at the present in your hands and read out the first name. Everything felt like a blur as the group laughed, smiled and enjoyed themselves as they opened their gifts, many of them instantly throwing out guesses as to who had got them their secret Santa gift.

There were only four presents left on the counter and you steeled yourself as you lifted the present you’d gotten Steve. Playing it cool, you pretended to read the tag before handing it off to Steve and instantly turning to retrieve the next one. You didn’t look at him as he opened the present, though you felt it when his gaze fell on you silently.

After all the presents were given out, you rejoined the party and avoided even looking in Steve’s direction. Wanda was cooing happily at her new pair of boots that she was already midway through changing into as Bruce smiled gently beside her, murmuring about how he remembered her favorite ones had been worn so much they were starting to loosen around the sole.

Everyone was in great spirits and it was only half an hour later when Sam, proudly sporting a leather jacket with black wings sewn into the back, asked what you’d received, that you realized you hadn’t gotten anything. You’d shrugged and laughed it off, but Tony, who had overheard as he and Pepper stood nearby, looked no less than devastated.

He patted you gently on the shoulder so you turned to face him, relieved that the rest of the team seemed to have not noticed the conversation.

“I’m sorry you didn’t get a gift. I… think I might be to blame.” You nodded as you put the pieces together. You smiled at Tony, giving him a quick hug as you told him it was okay and that it was better this way. He pulled away from you and smiled sadly before returning to Pepper who had an equally sad look on her face.

You turned back around, making brief eye contact with Nat who looked a lot more pissed than Tony had been. You guessed it made sense that if they had made you pick Steve’s name, they’d also made Steve pick yours. You couldn’t help the sharp stab of hurt in your chest, but you held your head high and went back to the party as if nothing had happened.

——————————————

Three hours and many drinks later, the crowd had begun to thin. You think Wanda and Vision had been the first to leave, but they’d snuck out so well you weren’t even sure when it was they had left.

You had bravely taken the offer of Thor’s booze and you could safely say you were slightly buzzed. There was talk of drinking games and you instantly tapped out, knowing that it wouldn’t end well. You stood from your place on the couch and said your goodnights, vaguely aware Steve had vanished at some point. You had been so focused on not looking at him that you hadn’t noticed him go.

You were two corners away from your room when you heard raised voices. Not wanting to pry, but also wanting to make sure everything was okay, you looked around the corner towards where the voices were coming from.

Nat was pacing back and forth, anger evident on her face, “You said you were good. You told us that you were going to sort everything out, that everything would go back to the way it was. It was your goddamn idea, Steve!”

You held in your shock as it threatened to slip past your lips. You hadn’t seen him at first, but now you notice Steve leaning against the wall, head in his hands. He’s swaying slightly and you can tell he’s had a few too many drinks. You count yourself lucky because otherwise, he would have definitely heard you.

He mumbles something into his hands and you lean slightly closer to hear. When you look at Nat, she’s looking right back at you, but just as you think you’re about to get called out she sighs and turns back to Steve, “Didn’t catch that. What did you say?”

Steve whispers something, and this time Nat steps closer because even she couldn’t hear it. She’s silent as she taps his foot softly with hers. He stands up straight and moves his hands away from his face.

“I was scared. I messed up. I don’t know how to fix this.”

Nat sighs again, all anger gone. You fight the flash of annoyance you feel. Nat’s your friend, she’s supposed to be fighting your corner, not feeling sorry for him. You take a long, quiet breath. No, you aren’t like that, this isn’t you versus him, its the alcohol that has you angry. You take a minute to calm down and you do, just in time to hear him speak again.

“I don’t know how to put someone ahead of my duty as Captain America.”

Your head snaps up as you realize he isn’t as far away as he was a minute ago. You get the feeling Nat isn’t there anymore. He’s standing a few feet away, on the other side of the corner still so you can’t see him, but there’s no mistaking that he’s talking only to you.

“I spent so long trying to be him that I’m afraid that if I let someone in, what I want will change and I won’t be able to do what I have to do. I might not be the best I can be.”

You’re silent for a moment, your head resting against the wall, arms crossed on your chest and your eyes closed.

“Doll?” There’s a quiet plea in his voice, but for what you aren’t too sure. You sigh softly.

“You were my friend Steve. You treated me like crap. I get that you were scared, hell, I was too. I had never felt that way about anyone before.”

You’re going to continue when he interrupts, “Felt? Past tense?” His voice is sad, but you’re acutely aware that he is most definitely drunk, so you keep going.

“You are Captain America. That was a choice that you made. It was what you wanted, maybe not to the extent of this, you didn’t want to be frozen and end up here, but when you allowed yourself to be injected with that serum you knew what you were doing. Steve Rogers wanted to be a hero. You did that. It was the choice you made then, but it doesn’t have to be your only choice. I never told you I wanted to be put ahead of your duty. I’ve never thought that. You chose to see me that way as if I would make you choose, and I understand. I do. But this isn’t something I can help you with. This is never going to be a choice between me, or any other person, and the rest of the world. It’s only a choice between what you want and what you don’t want. Nobody can make that decision but you, Steve.”

You aren’t sure how, but your feet somehow carry you around the corner, past Steve and straight to your quarters. You fall asleep with your head spinning, but it’s not the alcohol causing it.

______________________________

You wake up to a text from Steve, he got called for a mission, might be gone a few days, wants to talk when he gets back. You decide you aren’t going to answer and get ready for the day instead.

You’ve just finished helping with the party clean-up when your phone buzzes in your pocket. Another text from Steve, this one thanking you for the secret Santa gift.

You’d thought about what you were going to get him for a week before you eventually decided to go with your first thought when you’d picked his name. The first time you’d ever been in Steve’s personal quarters you’d eyed up the sketch pad for about five minutes before asking him what he drew. You hadn’t spent much time together, didn’t know if it was something personal that he wanted to keep private. He’d told you straight away how he used to love to draw but didn’t have much time for it anymore. The next hour was spent going through the sketch pad, him explaining where the different places he’d drawn were and what they’d meant to him. You think that’s when you realized you liked him a lot more than you should.

He had paused at a drawing of a woman, a sad smile on his face. There had been several photos of his mother found over the years, mostly by historians for different Captain America exhibitions, but he said that time had taken their toll on them and he felt drawing her would help him see her more clearly. Your heart had almost broken.

It had taken a while to get all of the images of her together. An old friend of yours who programmed facial recognition software had given you a few hints and tips so that eventually you had been able to get an almost perfect image of her, constructed from the few you already had. You’d had it printed and framed and packed a sketch pad and a large set of different types of charcoal pencils below it before wrapping it in very patriotic red wrapping. You had hoped that it wouldn’t be too obvious the gift was from you, but a small part of your brain knew it was too unlikely to be anyone else.

———————————————

It was four days later that Steve and the rest of the team who’d been called away returned. You hadn’t answered either of Steve’s text messages, mostly because you didn’t know what you should or shouldn’t say. You’d realized that the conversation in the hallway had been the first he’d spoken to you in months and that had hurt more than you expected it to.

Two hours after everyone had gotten back you were still hiding out in your room when there was a knock at the door.

You didn’t say anything and neither did Steve as you opened the door and stepped to the side to let him in. He wasn’t quite avoiding your gaze but wasn’t looking at you either.

He sat on the leather couch and you noticed the box in his hand. The door slid closed and you moved to perch yourself on the edge of the bed, thinking sitting next to Steve might not be such a good idea.

The silence dragged on for a few moments before he spoke, “You were right. You never asked me to choose between you or anyone else. I let my past relationship put a shadow over another one before it even started. I don’t think I’d thought about the choices I’ve made being, well, my choice. I thought I was being selfish by being with you when I needed to be there for the rest of the world.”

Staring at his side profile, you resisted the urge to go towards him, instead, you played with the tassels of your bed throw, desperate to distract your hands. The movement caught his eye and he looked at you for the first time, “You said I just had to choose what I wanted and what I didn’t want. That wasn’t something I’d considered. I never thought about what I wanted.”

You nod slowly, “Have you thought about it now?”

He stands from the seat and walked towards you. You almost consider telling him to stop, but before you get the chance he’s holding out the box in his hand to you, “Happy Christmas. I got you this for secret Santa, although I didn’t know Tony was going to give you my name. The photo… it was perfect. I think I’d almost forgotten what she looked like.” His eyes turned sad, even though there was a soft smile on his face.

“I thought it would be a good way to tell you how much you meant to me,” he continued, “But I chickened out. I wanted to get you something that would let us be friends again, but I didn’t realize what I’d done until I went to put it under the tree. I realized it wasn’t a gift someone gave to a friend.”

There was an almost scared look on his face when he gestured towards the box. You looked down and stared at it for a moment before you began to remove the light blue wrapping. Inside was another box and when you opened it you let a small smile settle on your lips. It was a simple necklace, silver chain with a silver star balanced in the middle.

“It’s beautiful.” You didn’t look up, but you heard him chuckle.

“Turn it over.”

You gently lifted the star and flipped it over, reading the engraving, “My girl”.

You looked up at him now, a question on your tongue before he spoke quickly, “It’s what I always called you in my head, even when I didn’t mean to. What I want, is you, Doll. You’re my girl, forever, if you’d have me. I know you wouldn’t make me choose between being with you and being the Captain, but if I ever had to make that choice, you would win. Every time.”

There were tears in your eyes as you stood up, toe to toe with the man who had faced worse things than you’d ever know but looked more scared than you’d ever seen him.

“What made you come to that decision?” You asked slowly, unsure if you even wanted the answer but needing to know at the same time.

He laughed softly, wetness now coming to his eyes, “I treated you so badly. I ignored you, I tried so hard to stay away from you, but when it came down to it, you still did the kindest thing anyone had ever done for me. You brought me back my mom. And someone that kind would be worth being just regular Steve Rogers, so long as she was the one by my side.”

You brushed away his fallen tear with your fingertips, a smile on your lips as you leaned in and softly kissed him, just a small touch of your lips to his, but enough to have a smile spread across his face.

There would be no point in lying and saying everything would be perfect now, but at least what happened going forward would be a choice you could finally make together.

[therapy101]

I’ve been thinking about writing this post for weeks, but then I get nervous and I don’t. Today’s the day.

It’s about one of my past mentors. I’ve been thinking about him- I rarely gender identify actual people but in this case it’s important that he is a he – I’ve been thinking about him a lot, lately.

Because I’ve had some pretty huge successes this last year. Because he didn’t think I would. And maybe I thought that if I just got to this point- this assistant professor point, this not needing his approval or his letter of recommendation ever again point, this actually-I-can-care-about-real-people-and-do-good-science point –if I just made it here, he would fade away and I would never think about him again or seethe about the way he treated me while secretly hoping he would fall all over himself congratulating me again. I would just be and he would disappear. But he didn’t, and just this morning I was reading his twitter feed, seething and hoping.

I met him in undergrad. He invited me to be one of his RAs, and later, his TA. He gave me responsibilities that most undergrads don’t get. He wrote me a letter of recommendation for graduate school and then got another faculty member to write one too when I didn’t have enough. I babysat and dog-sat for him. We met on campus, and off campus- usually in groups, but not always. He bought me dinner and wine. After I received an offer to attend the program where he had received his PhD, he tearfully told me the program wasn’t good enough for me and he knew I would accept a better offer. Once, he surprised me- I have a strong startle reflex and didn’t see him coming –and he apologized profusely for days.

He built me up.

He openly discussed the strengths and weaknesses of his students, and which he liked best, which seemed to be based on who obeyed him and agreed with him the most. He told me- explicitly –that I should try harder to be one of his favorites. He criticized everything I did. He called me on a major holiday to complain about a draft I’d sent him and demand immediate revisions. He watched the tapes of me collecting data for our studies, and saved sections he didn’t like so he could show them to me. He didn’t like my facial expression (too mean) or my tone of voice (too flat, which contrasts weirdly with a later supervisor who thought I talked like a “valley girl”). He expected more from me. When it was time for my evaluation, instead of giving me feedback on my performance, he gave me feedback on my personality. He thought I was directionless, overly ambitious, “lost.” He thought I was wasting my talents on clinical psychology, because –according to him –it was total bullshit, a pseudointellectual exercise that makes therapists feel good but doesn’t actually help anyone, although he also didn’t really believe that mental health mattered enough to study either. A real scientist would pursue something else, like data science. I cried. I told him something nearly no one knows, a deep hurt from my past. He told me something similar. It might have been intended to make me feel better, this sharing of secrets, but I felt exposed and ripped open and burdened.

He tore me down.

A number of the people in my life at that time- my ex-boyfriend, my parents –thought we were having an affair. We weren’t, and I don’t remember any moment I thought he was testing the waters in that direction. But years later, I was looking at a list of signs of emotional abuse, and it all fit. We had that up-and-down, toxic-but-dedicated relationship you expect out of people who are in love even though they’re terrible for each other. I probably did love him, but I also hated him. My friends and family got used to me complaining about the latest frustrating or mean thing he’d done. Eventually they stopped asking why I continued to work with him. My mother told me that the number one reason she was excited for my upcoming graduation from college was that it meant I would never have to work with him again.

And I haven’t. I moved on. We talked occasionally at first and met up once, which was an awkward disaster that lead to a long text chat where he, possibly drunk and definitely emotional, apologized for not valuing me more. I didn’t know what to say. I felt invaded. We didn’t talk for years after that. Every once in awhile he made an overture- “when you visit next, let’s get a drink!” –and I was carefully polite but non-committal. Which isn’t to say I didn’t want to see him- I did –but something had changed for me in that strange meeting after I started graduate school. He was still talking about favorite students and what I should do to be one of them, and I felt disdainful. Why does he think I want to be one of them? I had a new mentor, who believed that mental health care, science, and social justice were intricately connected, has never commented on my appearance or my voice, and treats all of their students like they matter. Since then, I have had many mentors and supervisors- most good to excellent. I have had conflicts with mentors, but was mostly able to resolve them in ways where I felt respected and heard. I was not reliant on his approval anymore.

And yet, here I am, about a decade later, and I want his approval. Maybe more than that- I want him to acknowledge the scale of my success and that I achieved it despite him. I want to know that he knows that he treated me poorly, and not in some soppy, in-my-feelings way. Possibly perversely, it reminds me of that same ex-boyfriend, another toxic relationship that tore me down even in the good moments, that relied on me undervaluing myself and so not expecting any better from him. I don’t miss that ex-boyfriend, but I find myself in some moments wishing that he would recognize what he did wrong and sincerely apologize for it- not because he wants me back (he’s apologized in a “things will be different!” sort of way before, and it rings hollow), but because it’s the right thing to do. Neither of these things will happen.

The last time I was in therapy, my therapist and I talked about closure. She said something I think about a lot: sometimes you need to create your own closure, because the person you want it from isn’t going to do it for you. I hoped reaching this point in my career would be my closure: I had proved him wrong. But I don’t feel it yet.

[queerchoicesblog]

Second Chances (OH, Harper x F!MC)

My @choicesjulychallenge (hosted by our lovely British beanie @kinda-iconic) officially starts with an Open Heart fic about one of my fave characters that I hope will get more screen time during book 2 that is to say Dr. Harper Emery. As I mentioned before, even though the Harper x F!MC is a slow-burn and here it's basically just implied, I decided to tag it with the pairing so that you know what to expect. Also, a special thank to @emeryharper for beta reading this & brainstorming with me and @brightpinkpeppercorn: my friend, our convos definitely fueled my imagination for this fic!

In short, after the hearing and the argument with Aurora, Harper reflects on her life choices on Edenbrook’s rooftop out of prying eyes. But after a while, Dr. Valentine finds her and eventually say a few magic words that will encourage Harper to take the decision we were all waiting for: going back to her previous post. I feel it would have been a nice addition to the final chapter: hope you enjoy it! 🙌🏻

Prompt: Regrets

Word Count: 2126

Disclaimer: mentions to racism & misogyny; also this fic was inspired by Shake It Out by Florence + The Machine, in case you haven't noticed already xD

Perma Tag: @brightpinkpeppercorn @melodyofgraves @bhavf @abunchofbadchoices @silverhawkenzie @begging-for-kamilah @kennaxval @strangerofbraidwood @crazypeanat @desiree-0816

Open Heart Tag: @korrasamixfan @bubblygothzombie @emeryharper 

If you like this, please consider a like, comment, and/or reblog.

__________________________

Regrets collect like old friends here to relieve your darkest moments

A gust of wind blew over Harper's face, drying a tear at the corner of her eye. As soon she marched off the hearing room, she made a beeline to the elevator and reached Edenbrook hospital's rooftop. She needed air, she needed space. That's why she didn't head to her office: she needed a place to hide, even just for a moment. And she didn't want anyone to see her like that.

God, what a hell of a morning. Aurora's words still echoed in her head. Ever since I got here, you've used me to feel like you're still practicing. No? Tell me how you don't miss being a surgeon. How much you love paperwork and kissing up to scumbags like Declan Nash!

And then there was Valentine's speech. The fear and the determination waltzing in her dark eyes. She reminded Harper her younger self: she was so headstrong and fierce too, so filled with that idealism that almost brought to best intern Edenbrook had in ages to lose everything. She came impossibly close to her ruin. And yet she stood there, facing the Committee, not flinching even when Mr. Martinez moved closer.

Harper envied that courage, that brave foolishness for a moment. The fire burning in Dr. Valentine's eyes when she asked her to call that hearing. Harper knew that fire too. Once. No, not so long ago yet...the truth was that she missed its warmth.

What was left of herself? Of that young woman who beamed in front of the mirror putting on her brand new scrubs? The scrubs she worked so hard to wear. Harper looked down at her elegant blue dress under the white coat, her heels. She once used to joke with her college friends that working in a hospital was tough but at least you don't have to wear heels all the time like in most jobs. Joke's on me I guess, she thought, grimacing and looking back to the horizon as if to bury that unpleasant realization.  What has become of me?

Life happened. Seven years of residency happened. For half of them as soon she was walked into the operating room she was welcomed with "oh it's you today? Oh boy, you'll cut yourself sooner than you cut the patient" or  at times even "you sure you didn't get lost, sugar?". Harper brushed the comments off and worked twice as hard to earn the respect she deserved. But she soon discovered that there were other things medical school didn't prepare her for. Rumors that she had her residency only due to her mother's prestigious name in the field or "so that the hospital can say they support diversity: maybe they will put her face on the ads so they can tell they hire Blacks". Patients refusing to be operated by "a brown doctor". Trying to make them reason as politely as you can but being forced to give up when the Head of the department intervenes and assigns the case to a colleague when the patient doesn't flinch. She took his place in the end, becoming the youngest Head of neurosurgery in the history of Massachusetts. It had been a wild triumphal ride since her first day as an intern: she never stopped nor flinched and...eventully it took a toll on her.

Before she could process it, she was at the verge of her career and watched closely by anyone. She was in command finally but life can hardly be under control. With power came responsibilities as well as the most desperate cases. "We're in your hands, Emery". "Dr. Emery we have a red code". And she did everything she could, even more. But sometimes even if you do "whatever it takes", it's still not enough and you have to call the time of death. So, as time went by, she walked out the O. R. emotionally drained, aching both physically and inside, to tell the bad news to a newlywed woman, to parents and sons worried sick for the beloved one they trusted her to save. Their tears and pain tore her apart too. Why couldn't she do best? That was not enough. Once the mother of a young boy, overcome by grief, yelled in her face that she killed her Asim: "Why are you even Head if you let people die? And you're even one of us?! My boy did nothing wrong, he wasn't even driving the car and you....he would have turned 21 in a month and it's your fault if he...you were supposed to save him! That's what doctors do, they don't kill people! What do I do now without my Asim? What do I do now?". Security had to intervene and drag her away but the woman's angry words of inconsolable grief had already cut Harper open.

That night she stopped in front of a liquor store. It took all her remaining strength to pick her phone and select a number with shaking hands as she was standing a couple of steps away from the door. "Naveen, it's Harper. You said I could call you earlier and...if I send you an address can you pick me? I hate to ask you that but...yes, I'll-ll take a seat and wait, I just could use a friend tonight". They talked for hours over the giant ice-cream Naveen bought her. "Ice-cream is better for wounds and tastier" he explained, handing her a spoon "...or so my niece said when she was little. She's no doctor, but she's a Michelin-starred chef now so she must know a thing or two, right?".

One week later Harper threw her hat in the ring for the position of Chief of Medicine.

Needless to say, she started regretting her decision very soon. She wasn't born for being behind a desk, "but sometimes you have to allow yourself to breathe. You know, like a normal person" Naveen commented, shaking her hand on her first day as an administrator.

Nonetheless, she took the new post seriously and did her job at the hearing: she spoke in Valentine's defense as much as she was allowed to, she voted nay. She finally told that scumbag of Declan off for good. But...Aurora was right. And she could hardly feel relieved for the positive outcome of the hearing.

Harper sighed and gazed off into the horizon, lost in her own train of thoughts.

Then, out of the blue, someone cleared their throat a few steps behind her.

"Dr. Emery?"

Harper didn't turn but recognized the voice.

"Valentine?"

Meredith tentatively walked closer to her side.

"I...I wanted to thank you"

"Thank me?" Harper asked, visibly surprised even if she tried to conceal it.

"Yes, for allowing me this hearing. And for speaking in my defense"

Harper winced still caught in her own thoughts.

"I only stated facts. You did a good job that night, you deserved credit for it. No need to thank me"

"You could have said nothing after all the trouble I caused to the hospital. To everyone. To you with the lawsuit and all. Yet you helped me dodge that bullet. So yes, I need to thank you, Dr. Emery"

Harper smiled grimly to herself and nodded to signal that she acknowledged it. She was too tired and emotionally drained to formulate an answer.

Silence settled between them as the two of them looked at Boston's skyline at the horizon. Dr. Emery sighed deeply, inhaling the cool air of the morning. Yes, she needed to breathe. Even if her soul could found no peace at the thought of everything that happened that morning. Teresa would have loved the show though. That last thought would have made her smile, even laugh under other circumstances but now she winced instead.

It was weird though: she was still looking away yet she could feel Valentine's concerned gaze on her, like a hand reassuringly stroking her back. The intern kept quiet and Harper was secretly grateful of the respect the young doctor showed for her need of space and silence. Just the gusts of winds cradling her forlorn thoughts.

Dr. Valentine...what a hurricane she had been at Edenbrook. Harper had noticed her from afar. So headstrong, so dedicated, so empathic. You could tell by the look in her eyes when a patient addressed her: even during the E. R. emergency she took time to calm down both patients and staff so that they could catch a breath and regain confidence. Even Rory. She had this leading skill out of instinct: delegate, motivate and work hard. Harper could have sworn that at that very moment with gurneys crowding the hall filled with bleeding and scared patients, Valentine felt the floor crumbling behind her feet...but she did her best to appear as calm as possible. Even now she was a calming presence, standing quietly at her side. However, the Chief couldn't help but considered that by this time the scenario could have been totally different. If it wasn't for Mr. Martinez and Naveen, Valentine could have been gone. And she couldn't have saved her, just like Asim. God, I'm even useless as Chief, she mentally noted to herself.

A bunch of words slipped out of her, as if Harper was speaking to herself, before she could stop them.

"It was too close, Valentine. Too close"

Since they fell into a pained silence, she added a thought that had kept troubling her since Meredith asked her to call the hearing.

"We could have lost you"

This last sentence came out as barely a whisper.

"I know now" Meredith commented grimly.

The weight of what happened must have sunk in, Harper thought, noticing how little glee and relief were in Valentine's voice.

After a moment the young doctor's phone beeped. Meredith checked it and sighed. She reluctantly let go of the railing and took a step back.

"Thanks for giving me a second chance: I promise you to grow from this. I have learned my lesson, I think"

Harper nodded again. It was still too painful to talk.

She heard the sound of the footsteps of Meredith walking back to the stairs. After the door opened, her voice came to her once more.

"Oh and Dr. Emery, if I may" Meredith started saying but immediately took a pause as if to choose carefully her next words.

"I'm not the only one getting a second chance today. Please consider this when going through what's...troubling you"

A second chance...

Harper turned as the swinging of the metallic door echoed behind her. Dr. Valentine was nowhere to be found.

A second chance, Harper repeated to herself. It sounded like a prayer, the line of a song filled with hope and promises of a better future.

Valentine was...right. She didn't have to be held down by her demons. She could fight back and stood fearless and victorious in front of them. Just like Valentine showed her. A memory suddenly hit her. When her first supervisor asked her if she was sure she had what it took to be a surgeon, a neurosurgeon, her younger self, head high and determination written all over her face, looked at him right in the eye and answered:

"Would I be here otherwise? You may try to taunt me as you wish, Sir, but I'm not going anywhere. I worked hard for this and I'm here to stay. And, in case you haven't noticed yet, I'm born to fight"

Harper smiled to herself reminiscing that episode. That day a doctor nearby accidentally eavesdropped the conversation while filling some papers. He looked up and asked her name. He gave her a pat on the shoulder before disappearing down a corridor nearby. The same day he requested that she assisted him in an operation. That's how she met her mentor. The wise man who taught her how to be the best neurosurgeon she could be and...to save herself first.

What he didn't teach her was to be a quitter.

She was not a quitter.

I'm born to fight, Harper repeated to herself. And I will.  I may have lost a battle but the victory, oh the victory is mine.

This is my last day as a Chief.

Harper threw one last look to the Boston skyline and straightened her coat. She knew what to do now. She needed to find Naveen. And Aurora.

And I've been a fool, and I've been blind I could never leave the past behind I can see no way, I can see no way I'm always dragging that horse around Our love is pastured to a mournful sound Tonight I'm gonna bury that horse in the ground I like to keep my issues strong It's always darkest before the dawn

[fifiliphile]

take my hand and follow me into the sun (Cherik fic)

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4

[AO3 Version]

A story, inspired by that beautiful scene at the end of XMDP, exploring how Charles and Erik’s relationship develops from there, and how this development helps Charles to sort out his issues and finally find his peace.

So, yeah. Hi, everyone. Took me long enough. In my defense, I initially intended to post it all at once, but—as it keeps happening to me lately—the story has gradually become longer and longer, so, in the end, I decided to divide it into four parts. I hope you’ll enjoy it. I tried to explore Charles’s state of mind more, because I doubt he was completely alright at the end of XMDP. As always, it’s proof-read and not beta-ed. So, I’d be grateful for any and all comments. The title comes from the song Where We Come Alive by Ruelle. The name of the café comes from this post by @miss-melodypond, because I couldn’t help myself.

Part 1

You love someone, you open yourself up to suffering, that’s the sad truth. Maybe they’ll break your heart, maybe you’ll break their heart and never be able to look at yourself in the same way. Those are the risks. That’s the burden.

Like wings, they have weight, we feel that weight on our backs, but they are a burden that lifts us. Burdens that make us better than we are.

Burdens which allow us to fly… 

—Bones, season 4, episode 26

The Old Friends Café is a truly pleasant spot, which Charles has quickly taken a liking to, what with its accessible location and tasty treats. He’s been coming here almost every morning since he arrived to the neighbourhood. Thanks to the mild weather, he could sit outside and observe pedestrians rushing in various directions, the soft hum of their thoughts surrounding his mind and drowning out any bleak images overflowing from his subconscious.

It has become a sort of a ritual of his, a morning coffee among passing people who have no idea who he really is. Quite refreshing, to blend in without the need to use his ability. That’s one of the reasons why he decided to leave the US and head somewhere else. Perhaps it was in an attempt to run away from the past, from his mistakes; to run away from what he is. As futile as that running fundamentally is, Charles finds himself strangely content, lost in the bustle and vibrancy of the City of Lights.

He tries to smile when a waitress places his coffee in front of him, but part of him knows that this smile is just a shadow of what it once was. Despite his great efforts, he cannot muster enough enthusiasm to radiate joy like he used to; he simply lacks energy for that these days. Even the usual politeness of his tone sounds off to his ears, as if an ill-fitting mask started to slowly slip down his face.

It is truly ironic, how what made him the Professor in the first place—his focus on others, on their well-being, his compassion and how tuned in he tries to be to everyone’s feelings but his own—has essentially become his greatest downfall. He’s come too far, flew too close to the sun, and paid the price for it, greater than he could ever imagine.

The memory of the colourful flowers scattered on the freshly turned earth, bathed in the unrelenting cold rain, is as vivid as if he was still looking down at what was left of one of the people he cherished the most—his sister whom he thought he had got back, only to lose her yet again, long before wooden splinters could even slice through her chest. Even so, it isn’t only her death that has broken his heart, shattering it into a million small pieces.

Charles looks down at the cracked, uneven pavement, not even fighting the urge to compare it to his pathetic emotional state. Although he finds his mind constantly drifting in every feasible direction, a muffled, yet relentlessly suffocating sense of guilt is always colouring even the most idle of his thoughts nowadays. After all, it was his fault that they lost Raven, what with his recklessly desperate attempt to prove to his sister that he respects and trusts her opinion. It was his fault that Jean started wreaking havoc, his actions bringing her to her breaking point and his efforts to help her only making things worse. It was his fault that Hank left, feeling raw, wronged, and seeking vengeance. It was his fault that he didn’t notice those soldiers earlier, too occupied with Jean to realise he should find a way to stop them from capturing all the mutants.

None of that would’ve happened if it hadn’t been for him.

That was why he left. He was tired after years of keeping the school going, surely, and after the fiasco in New York his reputation has been tarnished forever, yet those reasons alone wouldn’t have stopped him from staying with his family, if only he was able to look them in the eye. He couldn’t do that, not with the knowledge that it was him who tore this family apart.

His departure from the mansion was rather unceremonious, as if he were leaving only for short holidays rather than retiring completely. Many students bid him goodbye, unaware that they probably won’t see him again in a very long time. It pained him terribly to leave the children who had grown on him so much over the years, yet, as egotistical as it might’ve been, he didn’t have the heart to admit to them that what he was actually doing was running away.

Even Hank, though their relationship has still been a little strained ever since the Jean Grey incident, tried to talk him out of the retirement idea, honoured with Charles’s wish for the scientist to become the new headmaster, but rather unwilling to take his place. It took Charles a while to convince Hank, but he just couldn’t bear it anymore. Looking at Scott trailing forlornly around the mansion, at Ororo trying to keep the team together and step into Raven’s shoes, at Peter doing his best to bring Kurt’s humour back, at the children’s enthusiasm remaining somewhat subdued after the threat of the school being shut down; it was all too much for him, the relentless whispers flooding his mind and only amplifying the grief-fueled darkness lurking in its corners.

Hank eventually relented, although he insisted on driving Charles to the airport after he unsuccessfully tried to fish out from the telepath where he intended to go. Despite Hank’s good intentions, born purely out of concern for him, Charles couldn’t afford anyone knowing his destination, foolishly so, perhaps. Not much of him has remained in the mansion, and that is precisely what he wanted, with the school having the name changed and being under the new management. He even briefly considered altering everyone’s memories, so they would have hardly any recollection of him; he decided against it in the end, however. Nevertheless, it hasn’t made him feel less of a coward, roaming the busy streets of Paris in an attempt to fade into the background, to become nothing more than another nameless face in the crowd.

In the aftermath of the Jean Grey incident, it initially seemed that the mutant cause was lost, but they somehow managed to sway the government from taking any drastic measures, what with the main threat being “neutralised.” The damage to the mutant perception in the eyes of the general public has been done, however, and although many haven’t supported the idea of the mutant confinement centres, the discourse has quickly become exceedingly mutantphobic.

There’s a bit less hostility in Western Europe, as there has been no incidents here, which doesn’t mean, though, that people are not fearful. Therefore, it is the most reasonable not to attract any attention, even if the vicious voice at the back of Charles’s mind mocks him for hiding. It isn’t the world he’s fought for, but it’s the one he wakes up to in the wake of his mistakes.

With his jaw set firmly, Charles eventually reaches for the cup. He’s come here to forget, not to dwell on what is left of his aching heart, so these thoughts are really of no use to him. He reigns them in, perhaps for the thousandth time, his gaze boring into the smooth, dark surface of his coffee. However, before he manages to do as much as raise the cup to his lips, he feels something, a small, familiar tendril of thought.

A presence which he isn’t sure he’d like to feel right now.

For a moment, he can’t help but entertain the idea that maybe it’s just an illusion, conceived in the depths of his lonely mind. It wouldn’t bode any good for his sanity, and yet Charles would rather not face the possibility that Erik is indeed here. Although they didn’t part on particularly bad terms, their history having seen much more hostile farewells than that one, their relationship just isn’t what it used to be, even though after everything that happened, Erik has appeared to be less distant and perhaps even willing to rekindle their friendship.

What a twist of fate that it was Charles this time who shied away from this connection. It seems, though, that Erik is more unrelenting than the telepath expected.

Charles braces himself, unable to stop a sigh from escaping his lips. His body is tense as he watches Erik pass him and walk casually toward the other chair at the table. He places a folded chessboard on the ground before he sits, while Charles puts the cup away, pulling a saucer a bit closer to himself.

Erik seems to be quite relaxed, looking more put together than in the aftermath of the battle, when they saw each other for the last time. There’s a small smile curling on his lips as he asks, “How’s your retirement treating you?”

So different is Erik’s demeanor from the coldness that Charles has come to associate with him, that the telepath cannot stop suspiciousness from blooming in his mind. It doesn’t seem right, to see Erik so calm—so serene—when Charles feels like his own mind resembles one huge beehive. There’s only one way to confirm his suspicions, to see if what Charles interpretes as blissful indifference isn’t in actuality a completely different emotion, but he refuses to go anywhere near Erik’s mind, even if it leaves him at a significant disadvantage. 

“What are you doing here, Erik?,” he says instead of acknowledging the man’s question, not bothering with any pleasantries, not even trying to hide his reluctance.

His clipped tone does little to deter Erik, however. “I came to see an old friend,” he answers simply, his eyes trained on Charles’s face thoughtfully. Charles tilts his head, but doesn’t say anything, which Erik apparently takes as a cue to continue. “Fancy a game?,” he offers briskly, glancing down at the chessboard next to his leg.

Charles follows his gaze, and then crosses his arms, leaning slightly away. Normally, he would never say no to a chess match, especially with as challenging an opponent as Erik can sometimes be, but he doubts his game would be any good now, what with the whirlwind of not only his own, but also all the other people’s thoughts threatening to consume him.

“Not today, thank you.” A meagre sad smile crosses Charles’s lips and he looks away, his stare once again fixated on the pavement.

Despite his greatest efforts, however, he cannot simply ignore Erik’s presence, not when it brushes against the edges of his mind, surprisingly comforting in its tranquillity. Charles barely suppresses the urge to dive inside, to drown in Erik’s consciousness and forget about everything else, so he quickly strengthens his shields.

He can see out of the corner of his eye how Erik leans in, resting his elbows on the table. He’s thoughtful for a little while, before he looks up at Charles once again.

“Long time ago, you saved my life and you offered me home,” he says firmly, and Charles can’t stop himself from glancing back at him, utterly taken aback by the sudden change of topic. “I’d like to do the same for you.”

Erik’s expression is wary, but earnest, and Charles catches himself sifting fleetingly through the man’s surface thoughts, which seems to confirm the genuineness of his words. All the while his eyes are trained on Charles’s face, not leaving it for even a second. Even though being a subject of Erik’s undivided attention used to excite him beyond compare back in the day, now that piercing gaze feels nothing but overwhelming, as if Erik could see his very soul and notice all the darkness lurking in his heart. Charles cannot stand it, he has to look away.

This is exactly why he wasn’t sure if he wanted to see him. Charles doesn’t seem to have been particularly good with people lately, not that he ever actually was. It’s easy to smile to a stranger, to offer a helping hand to someone who looks up to you, but looking in the eyes of those close to him and seeing his true reflection—an overconfident egomaniac, convinced that he has the higher moral ground and is the only one who can make the world a better place, who’s in reality nothing more than a lost little boy, seeking validation and love from others—is at times simply too painful. No wonder he has struggled with getting closer to others, and even if he managed, they always ended up seeing through his poise and leaving him sooner or later. Not that he holds it against them; he would leave himself, too.

Seemingly unaware of Charles’s turmoil, Erik reaches into his pockets. After a moment, he pulls his hands out, clenched into fists, and lifts them in the air, leaning in, resting his elbows back on the table.

“Just one game,” he asks good-naturedly, and his lips slowly form an encouraging smile. “For old times’ sake.”

Hunched slightly over, Charles has to look up to face him. Why Erik is so insistent escapes his comprehension, but there is no harsh judgement nor bitter disappointment which Charles expected to see in those bright mesmerising eyes—nothing but a bit exasperated affection.

That’s not the way it should be. It has always been Charles who’s tried to help Erik find peace, to help him become a better person. And now that they’re sitting at the small Parisian café, it is Charles who’s struggling to find it in himself not to run. After all, he knows what he is, and what he is isn’t worth all that trouble.

And yet there’s something so pleasant about Erik’s mind, almost welcoming, even if all Charles feels is just its very surface, that the telepath cannot pull away. He wants to say no, to ignore Erik long enough for the man to leave, but he eventually relents, slowly reaching and tapping Erik’s left hand. He quickly withdraws, though, despite pleasant tingling in his fingertips that just a quick brush over Erik’s skin has evoked.

Erik smiles, with an excited glint in his eyes, and spins his hand. He slowly unwraps his fingers, revealing a single white pawn.

Charles’s colour.

“I’ll go easy on you,” Erik assures as soon as Charles has snatched the pawn out of his hand, even though his voice sounds rather mischievous.

Even if you come in, Charles hears, clear as day, and it cannot not be a projection. For a split second, he thinks that maybe he’s just overheard something he’s not supposed to, but he’s been shielding himself from Erik ever since he sensed him, so it must’ve been Erik’s intention for Charles to hear it. Something pangs in his heart, even though Charles is too miserable to get his hopes up, to see it as anything more than just teasing.

But his hope has never needed much to spring back to life.

A small smile spreads on Charles’s lips almost on its own accord. “No, you won’t,” he says, a bit of cheer returning to his voice, and continues in their thoughts, Even if I come in.

Erik grins at him, his eyes warm, and he looks so unguarded—so delightfully open—that Charles’s heart skips a beat. It hits him in this moment that no matter how many decades have passed, how many wrinkles have started to adorn Erik’s face, how many of his hair have already turned to grey, he continues to be as beautiful as he was on the day they met, in the cold Atlantic waters thirty years ago, if not even more so. Charles cannot help but try to mirror Erik’s smile, his stomach twisting into knots. He never expected that he would feel like this again, giddy and excited, flushed with the intensity of Erik’s gaze as his companion doesn’t seem to be able to look away from him, so it is Charles who averts his eyes first.

Erik sets up the board swiftly, his deft fingers placing meticulously all the pieces in their proper places. Charles follows them, mesmerised by the grace of even the smallest of movements. He is used to seeing Erik do that with nothing more than a gentle wave of his hand, but he has brought a wooden set and is forced to set up the game in a more traditional way. They don’t draw unnecessary attention to themselves this way, at least, and Charles appreciates that.

Even so, he cannot help but feel the bitterness seeping into his heart. There would be no need for hiding in the world he once hoped to build, but the dream has been shattered. Much as he loathes himself for this, he cannot refrain from wondering that perhaps prioritising trying to gain the humans’ approval over keeping the mutants he was supposed to take care of safe was never the proper course of action; that he should’ve focused on the school, not his political ambitions. But what is done is done, and all that Charles is left with is the bitter feeling in the pit of his stomach that Raven was right all along.

After all, he did sacrifice his team—his family—for the cause which seemed to be less about mutants and more about building his own public persona. Clearly, he lost his touch so thoroughly that he has become what he had once stood so strongly against—a politician focused solely on his own success rather than people he was supposed to serve. It was bound to end in disaster. So many years devoted to the mutant cause, and all of them wasted because of his own vanity and the fantasy of mutants becoming the heroes of humanity.

To think that it might have been different if only he had been less stubborn, not as lost in the vision of the world which was as idealistic as it was impossible to achieve. Perhaps, had there not been a division between the mutants, their efforts could have brought much better results. Maybe Erik was right, and that rupture was meant to weaken them, as it has quite clearly done so.

Leaning away from the board, Erik gives Charles a quizzical look. Even though he isn’t the one with telepathic abilities, he stares at Charles as if he knew exactly what the telepath is thinking. Perhaps he does; perhaps he has similar regrets, Charles muses, still determinedly blocking out Erik’s thoughts. They both wanted to make the world a better place for mutants, even if using drastically different methods, and all of it has been for naught.

Perhaps not all—there is still Genosha which seems to function better than Charles suspected. It may not be a mutant utopia yet, as his friend certainly wanted it to be, but it does provide mutants with the place where they can live free of persecution, given a chance to create their own system. He even remembers a couple of his students with more visible or not so easily reined in mutations choosing to move there after their graduation, something that should go against his goal of mutant-human integration, but deep down Charles felt relief every time one of them found a safe home in Genosha. Erik might’ve had a point while insisting on the separation between mutants and baseline humans, after all.

A quiet snort escapes Charles’s nose, and Erik raises his eyebrows, a corner of his lips rising in a lopsided smile as he asks, “Something’s funny?”

Charles studies Erik for a long moment, his gaze tracing wrinkles which replaced the lines once almost permanently running across his friend’s face. Now, though, despite the years, Erik almost looks younger, his eyes bright and his expression serene, and Charles thinks that he’s falling for him all over again, enticed by the soft humming of Erik’s thoughts, its pull akin to the strength of the magnetic force that the fascinating man before can bend to his will.

“Nothing, just…” Charles sighs and pauses for a moment, trying to find the best way of putting into words a strange paradoxical feeling. He cannot refrain from snorting again as he shakes his head. “I didn’t expect that we would swap places,” he admits at last, an edge of humour to his voice.

“Life’s full of surprises,” Erik murmurs, with smugness written all over his face.

The chessboard momentarily becomes forgotten as Erik holds Charles’s gaze, his eyes flicking to the telepath’s mouth every now and then. Were they alone, in a more secluded place, Charles wouldn’t probably stop himself from reaching out to Erik, but—as it happens—they sit in a public space where any more intimate gestures might be as frowned upon as a display of their abilities.

Charles could just make everyone else look away or think that something completely different is happening, he knows that. Part of him is tempted to do so, yet he doesn’t feel like meddling with all those minds, unsure of how his erratic emotions impact his control; whether he’d be able to draw the line before hurting somebody. Maybe it’s for the better; he’s not sure if he’s actually ready for anything to happen just yet.

“I’m glad you’re here,” Charles says instead, his voice soft, surprising even himself with how blunt his words are.

Perhaps he’s too old and too tired to hide his vulnerability anymore. Perhaps, despite him running away, he doesn’t actually want to be alone. Wallowing in self pity and letting himself be consumed by his pent-up emotions certainly won’t solve anything, he’s perfectly aware of that, and yet, it’s not that easy for him to pull himself out of that dark place. But Erik is here, offering to throw him a lifeline to which Charles so desperately wants to cling.

For a moment, he is afraid of Erik’s reaction, of his possible ridicule of such sappiness, yet Erik only smiles tenderly, and the wave of fondness encompassing at once Charles’s thoughts makes it clear that he must share the sentiment. Once again, Charles finds it hard to shake off the feeling that the scene playing out before his very eyes isn’t real; that he’ll soon wake up, alone in his bed, hating his mind for conjuring images of what he’s always wanted, but will never have. After all, the Erik before him is nothing like the man who left him over and over again, not with the serenity which is practically pouring off of him.

His mind, however, has the achingly familiar tinge to it that Charles isn’t sure he could so easily recreate, not even with the help of his rather remarkable memory. Yet again, the telepath has to suppress the urge to plunge into Erik’s thoughts and allow them to wash over his troubled psyche. It’s almost painful to hold himself back; even so, Charles cannot quell the fear that his presence won’t be welcome. After all, nobody wants a telepath rummaging through their heads.

His throat feels suddenly dry as Charles tries to clear it, his gaze boring into the chess board. Despite his doubts, if Erik’s projection is anything to go by, it seems that he could’ve tried to prompt Charles to do something. Perhaps it does sound too good to be true, but Charles has to ask.

“Could I?”

There’s a swell of mild surprise on the surface of Erik’s mind when he says calmly, “Could you what?”

Charles looks back up at him and finds Erik gazing at him curiously. Although there’s a hint of a smile in the corners of his lips, Charles hesitates. Part of him knows that what he’s about to ask is quite a lot, probably more than he deserves after everything that he’s done. But he cannot help himself.

“Could I—,” he hesitates momentarily, with his heart practically in his throat, “—come in?”

Charles struggles not to drop his gaze, as the world around him seems to have come to a halt. It surprises him how desperate he is to sink into Erik’s mind, even though he hasn’t done so in a terribly long time, and waiting for his friend’s reaction only makes him jittery. What’s worse, Erik keeps a straight face, and the surface of his thoughts brushes against Charles’s calmly, doing very little to help the telepath gauge his friend’s reaction.

Some of Charles’s desperation must be evident in his look—or it could’ve been his voice—because Erik’s expression softens, and he glances down at the chessboard.

“Your move,” he says casually, as if Charles hasn’t just asked him about something as intimate as opening a mental link between them.

The telepath tries to hide his disappointment, clearing his once again awfully dry throat. He shouldn’t be suffering from such disenchantment, not after his gift has been routinely rejected throughout the vast majority of his life. After all, people generally value their privacy quite highly, and Charles really understands that, even though he himself would give anything not to be alone in his own head at the moment.

Scarcely does he have a chance to slip back into the thick darkness of his mind, however, before he feels the deliberate caress of a thought against his consciousness. Another projection, but much gentler than before. You can if you’d like.

Charles finds himself blinking again, and the question escapes his mouth before he can do as much as consciously register asking it, his voice small and vulnerable, “You don’t mind?”

Erik’s gaze is on him again, although this time there is a flicker of something else in those kaleidoscopic eyes, greenish in the warm light of day, something much less peaceful. Regrettably, the odd ripple on the surface of Erik’s mind is gone too fast for Charles to put a finger on what his friend might feel, as Erik takes a deep breath, the playful smile back on his lips.

“I know you won’t cheat, you’re too bloody arrogant for that,” he says teasingly, though there is no actual bite to his words.

Charles doesn’t know if he’s more relieved that Erik seems to be genuinely unbothered by the prospect of Charles’s presence in his mind, or affronted by the suggestion that the only reason why he wouldn’t go as far as to cheat during their always wonderfully engaging games of chess is all due to his arrogance. In the end, his relief wins over, what with the familiar mischievous glint in Erik’s eyes.

“I simply happen to have a moral code, thank you very much,” Charles argues, even though his tone lacks any actual disdain, his hand hovering over the board. He ponders for a moment how he should start this time, and ends up picking the pawn before his queen. With his fingers wrapped around it, he continues, his voice matter-of-fact, “And I find that cheating essentially kills the purpose of the game. After all, it’s hardly any mental challenge to just take a peek into your mind to foresee your intention and adjust my strategy accordingly—”

Even though he quickly realises that he’s started mumbling, it is a gentle touch of Erik’s fingertips to the top of his still extended hand that puts him out of his reverie.

“Charles.” Erik’s voice is tender, yet unyielding. “You can read my mind.”

Despite the reassurance, Charles hesitates, which clearly doesn’t go unnoticed.

“I’d like you to,” Erik adds firmly, his fingers slowly starting to draw comforting patterns over Charles’ dry skin.

As little as it is, this amount of physical contact is enough to make shielding from Erik that much more of a bother, so Charles eventually just lets go, his consciousness instantly washed over with Erik’s thoughts. They are as serene as Charles expected, but there is also a different tinge to them, one that he didn’t really pick up on before.

Affection.

He’s barely able to compose himself enough not to let out a quiet whimper. It’s been ages since he felt anything remotely resembling this; Raven didn’t really allow him into her mind, even when their relationship was much less strained, and with Hank it’s been a different kind of companionship, one that has never included that kind of affection. That has been the void that even the children couldn’t fill, not with their respect and admiration, and even though he loved them—and still does—very dearly, being the authority figure for young minds has always put him in the position hardly allowing for forming equal connections, even when they grew up.

And to think that those are just surface thoughts… Although he’s well aware that he probably shouldn’t be doing that and most certainly will come to regret it later, he feels his mind plunging deep into Erik’s, flowing through the beautiful buzzing stream of consciousness. It won’t last long, Charles is sure of that, so he sets his mind to enjoy that while he still can, before Erik changes his mind and forces him out.

Instead of this anticipated withdrawal of Erik’s consent, Charles is once again met with a playful smile. “Want to know everything all over again?”

Charles can’t help but wince, even though the question hasn’t got any accusatory undertone whatsoever. Despite that, he’s quick to start withdrawing, his thoughts curling tightly around themselves. He hasn’t invaded another person’s mind like that in years, and he has no idea what’s overcome him to act so recklessly, unmindful of Erik’s boundaries.

“Don’t,” Erik says warningly, stopping Charles in his tracks.

He squeezes the telepath’s hand reassuringly, and even though he promptly lets go, his touch lingers, leaving the pleasant tingling sensation in its wake. Charles swallows, his mind still surrounded by Erik’s calming thoughts.

That is the moment he feels it for the first time, something relatively new in the mind that he once was so familiar with. A cool, metal-like surface, of which the tendrils of his ability slid off smoothly, feels as foreign as it is fascinating, and it can only be one thing.

“Shields?,” Charles finds himself asking incredulously.

The mischievous look is back in Erik’s eyes. “I had some practice,” he admits cheekily, though his thoughts get a slightly melancholy tinge that he is clearly struggling to hide.

Charles can’t do much more than stare at his friend. “I—”

“It’s easier for you this way, isn’t it?,” Erik observes lightly, his eyes back on the chessboard as he makes his move. “If there’s something I’d rather you didn’t see, I can take care of that myself.” He once again gazes at Charles, the smile still on his lips. “Other than that, you’re free to rummage around.”

It is difficult to even describe the feelings that one sentence evokes in Charles. It seems like the whole world around him has suddenly brightened, filled with the warmth that Charles has clearly been missing. Rarely has he been given such an explicit permission, a wish even, to allow his telepathy to run free, unchecked and unbound. It’s truly exhilarating, how it feels to let his mind wander aimlessly in the space where he’s very much welcome.

“That is…” Charles’s voice is rough, his throat weirdly constricted in his elation. He soldiers on, however, not minding it that much—the need to express his overwhelming gratitude is much stronger than his self-consciousness. “Thank you, my friend,” he says with a watery smile, reaching across the table to cover Erik’s hand with his own. “It means a lot.”

The softness is back on Erik’s face, his thoughts brushing tenderly against Charles’s, and as surprising as it was for Charles to feel it just moments ago, it slowly becomes a familiar—and very much cherished—sensation. “I know,” Erik murmurs, focusing again on the chessboard.

The game is rather unhurried after that, not that Charles minds. It’s actually a very pleasant reprieve from the mundaneness of his recent routine, and Charles finds himself more relaxed than he’s been in weeks, even before the incident. It feels very nice to stretch his mental muscles while coming up with the suitable strategy, even if his whole heart isn’t exactly in the game.

They are slowly making progress, at first chatting idly about things of little importance, such as the charm of early summer, even in the city as frequently bathed in pouring rains as Paris. There is an undercurrent of worry to Erik’s thoughts, even if he doesn’t voice it, and Charles can tell that he’s not the only one avoiding some more sensitive topics. Instead, they focus mostly on Charles’s stay in the City of Lights so far, the struggles of daily life in Genosha, and the atmosphere at the mansion when it turns out that Erik has recently pay the school a visit. It surprises Charles, but not altogether unpleasantly; after all, it is a good thing that Erik seems to be on good terms with Hank now, even if the circumstances leading to that were rather unfortunate.

Despite the concern swirling somewhere deeper in Erik’s mind, the man keeps steering away from the questions that are clearly pestering him. Charles is grateful for that because he isn’t sure how he would explain what is going on inside his head.

Rather than tackling those topics, the telepath allows his mind to drift, floating freely through Erik’s thoughts. Surrounded by calmness and affection, Charles realizes with a start that he feels at peace for the first time in years. It isn’t until now that he notices how much he was missing that feeling.

Unfortunately, Charles doesn’t get to enjoy that feeling for long. He is about to make his next move when a thought comes to the forefront of his mind—one that demands an explanation for something that has been bugging him distantly for quite a while now. He looks up from the board in time to see Erik’s eyebrows furrowing as he’s observing the progress of their game. The board is already lined up with a bunch of the pieces, both black and white, but the real struggle is only about to begin.

There’s something truly endearing in Erik’s focused expression, in the way his eyebrows are drawn and his eyes flicker about the board with a playful glint, and Charles is pretty certain that the affection must be written all over his face. As much as he wasn’t actually aware of that, he’s been missing this sight deeply. This, and the simple, yet undeniable pleasure of the companionable game of chess.

And yet, the question of the real reason behind Erik sitting at his table right now brings his hopes back down.

“I doubt you came all this way just for a chess match,” Charles says, still smiling lightly, even if his voice comes out a bit strained.

The telepath’s attention is yet again on the board, though his thoughts have already drifted away from strategising. He can’t see Erik’s face, but he feels his intense gaze.

“You’d be surprised,” comes Erik’s quiet answer, which nevertheless manages to take Charles aback with its fervency.

It is still rather unlikely that Erik has travelled across the world solely to play one game, which leaves Charles with a couple of explanations to consider.

“Are you meeting somebody?”

Erik keeps studying him for a long moment, before he finally decides to answer.

“No.”

There is yet another possibility, since Erik has mentioned swinging by the mansion. “Did Hank send you?”

Charles’s question hangs in the air for a long moment. The telepath can feel the myriad of thoughts swirling in Erik’s mind as the man tries to figure out what would be an appropriate answer. Hardly comforting, Charles thinks distantly.

“He did say that you’d probably use some company,” Erik eventually admits, caressing a white pawn in his hand thoughtfully, one that he’s just picked up from the board. “But I don’t think he believed that I’d bother to find you.”

“But you did.”

Erik’s attention snaps back to Charles, his thoughts sharpening, his gaze wary. “Clearly.”

“Why?” Charles barely suppresses the urge to look away, afraid of being too much of a bother with all those questions, but he has to know what hides behind Erik’s carefully dispassionate tone.

The waitress chooses that moment to walk up to them, a questioning look on her face. She’s about to ask a question, her thoughts brightening with mild interest at the appearance of an earlier unseen man at the otherwise rather lonely table. She doesn’t get a chance to, however, when Erik simply shakes his head, giving her a polite smile. In the end, she rushes past them, to another table, greeting another guest.

“Why do you think?” Erik asks, and the waitress is soon forgotten.

Erik’s thoughts continue to be calm, gently lapping against Charles’s mind, and yet the telepath doesn’t fail to notice a shade of worry which colours them. It should be reassuring, he thinks briefly, that somebody still cares about his well-being, more so than he does himself. Somehow, though, it only triggers the anger that lurks deep in his thoughts. Perhaps it’s his pride, feeling wounded at the suggestion that he, Dr. Charles Francis Xavier, the honoured professor of genetics and the creator of the first school for mutants, might need rescuing. Perhaps it’s seeing Erik’s concern as patronizing. Or perhaps he simply doesn’t deem himself worthy of it.

Whatever the reason, Charles cannot stop himself from snapping, “I don’t need help, I’m fine.”

Despite Charles’s sharp voice, Erik doesn’t do as much as flinch, seemingly unbothered by the man’s harsh reaction. His fingernails are drumming against the table as he goes back to contemplating the advancement of their game.

Eventually, Erik decides to speak up. “Charles,” he starts slowly, his voice calm, almost soothing, “you come here every morning, order one black coffee and sit, sometimes for an hour, hour and a half, just idly looking around.”

Erik’s tone isn’t accusatory, he merely states the facts, and yet Charles cannot help but feel a burning stab of shame, as if he was caught doing something he wasn’t allowed to. It’s ridiculous; he’s an adult, he can do whatever he pleases, and there’s nothing wrong with enjoying a morning coffee and revelling in the pleasant surroundings.

Even so, Charles catches himself continuously being defensive as he asks, “How did you know?”

“I’m observant,” Erik says simply, finally making his next move, one of the corners of his lips curling up slightly.

Charles takes a deep breath, hoping to clear his upset mind somewhat. Getting angry doesn’t serve anyone, and neither does it help in finding out the real reason behind Erik’s visit. Charles could just pluck it out of his friend’s mind, but the mere thought of it fills him with a sense of self-disgust.

“I’m just… taking a breather, I suppose,” he allows, reaching to the chessboard. “Enjoying my retirement,” he adds, more of an afterthought than anything else. 

“That’s what I came to see.”

A grimace crosses Charles’s face. “There isn’t much to see, as you’ve noticed.” His voice is as tight as it is bitter.

“Still worth it,” Erik says firmly. “Especially when I can do this.” His hand hovers above the board for a moment, a quick move of one innocent piece, and when the man pulls it back, it doesn’t take Charles more than a quick glance to know that he’s just lost. “Checkmate. I warned you.” There’s pride, glistening in Erik’s eyes, but his thoughts lack an undercurrent of boastfulness which tends to be sparked off by Erik’s victories.

Nevertheless, Charles purses his lips, deeply unsatisfied, even though he hardly expected any other outcome. “I’d like a rematch, if you don’t mind.”

“Let me take you to lunch first.” Although Erik’s proposition is rather nonchalant, seemingly unprompted, there is a sense of nervousness creeping in his thoughts.

As if he was hoping to ask, but dreaded that Charles would refuse. But Charles finds himself unable to turn down the offer, in spite of the strong desire to bid Erik goodbye and continue on with his mundane day. 

Charles clears his throat, reminding himself that he only agreed to one game. There is no need for him to entertain Erik, to keep him company when all he wants to do is hide somewhere where he’d be alone, preferably in his Parisian flat, yet he finds himself thinking that maybe this is what he needs right now, a little bit of comfort, and he smiles, a small, but genuine curl of his lips, for what feels like the first time in weeks. 

“Actually, lunch sounds lovely.”

[whiskynottea]

Thermodynamics, Chapter 58

First of all, THANK YOU SO MUCH FOR YOUR RESPONSE TO THIS CHAPTER! I got so many wonderful-sad-angry-heartbroken messages and comments! Thank you!! ❤️❤️❤️

We have two more chapters in this story, so this angsty part will end soon!

I’ll reply to all the messages I got in my inbox (it’s the first time I get so many!) in this post because I don’t want to fill your dashes with Thermo Jamie and Claire.

Again, THANK YOU!!

Here we go:

Anonymous said: Couldn't say I am surprised. Since her choice to go to Zambia I felt a break up was coming at one point. Zambia was something she needed to do as a person but not something that their couple couldn't endure with their already so little time together. Finding your love before you found yourself, hard. I feel a bit bad for Jamie who appears like the bad one who break their 2 hearts. But I feel that he was the more dependent of the relation, she grew in Z outside of him. He needs to do the same. 

So, I think they both grow up while being apart, and that’s difficult. Zambia was important to Claire, and it was something that cost to Jamie (he was never happy about it). They both do what they need to do for themselves, and they decided together that they will support each other and their dreams. After all, Jamie went to Michigan because that was his big opportunity to become a swimmer.

Claire is more down-to-earth. She realizes pretty fast that being in a long-distance relationship means that they won’t be as they were back in Scotland. Jamie knows it too, on a theoretical level, but in every-day life, he finds it harder to adjust. Claire gives as much as she can, and wants to be there for him, but she isn’t perfect and she doesn’t demand much from him, either. Jamie, on the other hand, needs to be in touch with her more than she does. He expected more from her and he is disappointed that things don’t work as he thought they would. So he believes it is better to continue on his own, because the long-distance is hard for him to cope with and it won’t get easier any time soon. I don’t know if we can say that he depended more on their relationship -- they both did, but in different ways. Claire was devastated when he said he wants to end it. 

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Anonymous said: I have to said that I glad about the break up. Until now, and this is only my opinion as a reader and I respect your view on your own story, I found that JC handled thing a bit too good to be true for 2 less than 20 years old in a long distance relationship. Never jealousy, almost never a fight, only few missed opportunities.. so now I am really excited to see where you will lead things!!

Well, that was one of the few comments saying someone felt good about the breakup! (it’s kind of refreshing lol)

I don’t know if their relationship seemed ideal for you till now, nonnie. I didn’t think so, myself. After leaving the high-school bubble, they were determined to make it work and tried to adjust to the changes, being patient with each other. 

This story is written for Claire’s POV, so we get to see only her side. Jamie, though, always expected that they would find a routine that will work for both of them once Claire went to Oxford, and they would see each other more often -- something that didn’t happen. He had different expectations than Claire, and didn’t talk to her about his real concerns until it was too late and he had already decided that he couldn’t go on anymore. 

Anyway! I’m happy you’re excited for what follows!

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Anonymous said: This was so painfull... he was the one with a proposition in another continent and now he complains about her lack of presence in his life. It was so unfair from him and I am almost always on his side in their fight. But I am glad he opened up about Zambia, it was clear that he agreed because he knew she needed it but it was too much for their fragile long distance begining and she failed to notice it. But Damn Jamie if you think it will be less painful after a break up, you will still miss her

Claire demanded less from Jamie than he did from her. She knew that things would be really hard if he went to Michigan, but she would never say anything to make him stay. She wants the best for him. 

Jamie wants the best for her too, but that doesn’t mean that he will always like her decisions and that they won’t affect him and how he feels. It really cost him that Claire didn’t stay in Michigan before her term started in Oxford. He had imagined things would be difficult and he goes through a difficult phase right now and is overwhelmed. So, for him, the relationship isn’t working. It pains him to end it, but he thinks this is not what he needs. And he believes Claire will be better, too, because he thinks that her priorities are different now and she should focus on them. 

And, yes, he will miss her. You’re absolutely right. 

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@quizzicalstuff said: OMG. I had a feeling he would do this, I had a feeling he would give up. Has he met someone who is there, someone who can be a physical presence, someone like Laoghaire? You just tore my heart out and Claire's as well. He made it sound like he wanted to move on to someone, that he needed a person in his life with him now and she was not there. That broke my heart. But I also saw how Claire was pulling away from him too, doing things she wanted to do without considering how it affected them. 

I know it is not an ask and I already expressed my sorrow but now I am so sad that he is breaking up with her because he wants her to be there with him, he wants a relationship with a body and not a phone, but that is not love!! He says he loves her but cannot love her at a distance? Is that what he is saying? You said there were only a few more chapters, can you fix this? Will he come to his senses before it is too late or will we go years into the future and reunite when they both have kids?

Jamie’s speech was more about how much he misses Claire, and how difficult it is for him to cope with the distance, than needing another woman right now. He needs Claire, and he can’t have her the way he wants. So, even though he thought they would make it work, he realizes that he can’t. It’s immature, but Jamie is so very young and he found himself in a long-distance relationship that is different from what he had imagined and he thinks that it will only get worse. He’s very stressed at the moment too, and that doesn’t help. But I wouldn’t say that he doesn’t love her. Maintaining such a relationship is really difficult. 

Claire, on the other hand, was overconfident on their relationship. She thought they could endure anything (and maybe she could, but he didn’t).

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@ecapasso said: I truly love this story and appreciate the time and detail you put into it. I only want to know if you publish on a schedule or at random? May sound foolish, but I read the first 57 chapters over two days, having no idea when the next might come. 58 was heart wrenching so I need to prepare for the wait kind of like Claire kept waiting for Jamie to reply. 😥Thanks😉

Thank you for your kind words, @ecapasso!

Unfortunately, life is really busy at the moment, so I don’t have a schedule. I will try to update next week, but I haven’t written a word yet, so I promise nothing! I’m sorry!

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Anonymous said: Your story broke my heart... 💔 💔 💔 is it too soon to ask when the next chapter is coming? I feel so badly for Jamie and Claire! We need these two working out this problem asap!!! 👨🏼‍🦰📲🙍🏻‍♀️🛫🛬💑

I know, I know! I’ll do my best! I literally thought of three different scenes for the following chapter today and I had so many things to do that I have written nothing. (ps. sorry for the broken heart!)

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@capitucapitucapitu said: I know we only learn from mistakes, but this hurts too much. I hope Jamie will be able to realize how stupid he was soon - and that Claire will be able to forgive him. 😘😘

I think I’m always saying this for this story, but they are young and they have to learn! Jamie thought that breaking up with her was the best thing to do since the distance was really hard for him. Claire hadn’t even thought they might break up after Paris. So... yeap. Now they will get a taste of living without having each other at all. Thank you!! 😘

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Anonymous said: This situation is just heartbreaking. None of them was right or wrong. Yes he puts the first 'difficulty' by moving to USA but she add the 2nd by working in Zambia. They both did what they had to do for themselves but it wasn't the best for their couple. They are young and passionately in love and dependant of one another and in their first important relation. So yeah being separate is harder here. It's not fair to blame Jamie because he is the one who face what didn't work. Or Claire either btw

This! There is no right or wrong! They had different expectations and they saw their relationship differently. Claire was in a low-maintenance mode. She didn’t demand much for him and tried her best to be there when he needed her. Jamie needed more, though, needed something different. He had imagined that the distance wouldn’t change them that much, and that once Claire went to Oxford their routine would get better. Is breaking up the solution? In his mind, it is. It may be immature because he still loves her, but he is young and this is not completely irrational, considering that they both have their dreams to follow.

They are young, they tried to maintain a relationship while living in different continents and they didn’t communicate well. None is to blame, and both of them are. Thank you!

[soberqueerinthewild]

Other days the line tends to deviate

{AO3 Link}

I wrote this fic forever ago, after 1x10 and never posted it because my headcanon that Isobel knew that Michael was bisexual but not about Alex was destroyed by canon in 1x13. However, in honor of pride month and because @bisexualalienblast is having a bad day today, here’s a short fic I wrote about Michael coming out to Isobel pre-canon, because every time Michael says he’s bisexual out loud an angel gets its wings. 

***

Max may be the person Isobel loves most in this world, but Michael and Isobel both agree that he can be such a buzzkill sometimes. Isobel usually follows his lead and works hard to blend in to human life, but Michael knows it doesn’t come as easily to her as she wants Max to think. She loves her husband, but keeping up the facade and repressing any aspects of her personality that might be less than Instagram-worthy is hard work. So when Noah is out of town for work, and Isobel wants a chance to just be, it’s always Michael she calls.

Michael pretends to be put out on these nights, but he secretly loves them. Michael and Max haven’t talked about anything real in years, that night ten years ago fractured their relationship in a way that even Max couldn’t heal. Michael knows they both blame themselves and each other. The anger and guilt tore Max and Michael apart, but it drew Michael closer to Isobel. She’s one of the only people he lets himself love fiercely, unequivocally, and unconditionally. She may never know the sacrifices he made for her, but Michael’s never forgotten that Izzy believes that he killed those girls, and she has stayed by his side. Unlike Max, she seems to enjoy Michael for who he is, not always lecturing or trying to change him. She delights in watching him use his powers, and appreciates his snark. Izzy has a biting, dark humor that Michael relishes, but seems to shock Max, so they can both be a little freer and less restrained when it’s just them.

On this particular night, they decide to sit out in Isobel’s ridiculously opulent backyard, such a far cry from Michael’s Airstream that it’s laughable. Michael is using his powers to rearrange lawn furniture for Isobel’s amusement as she makes them drinks. Michael’s not picky, but Izzy enjoys making complex cocktails, even though she knows Michael is just going to ruin the delicate balance with a half a bottle of acetone. Isobel decides she wants it to be a movie night, and Michael lets her pick whatever she wants.

Isobel weirdly loves alien movies, and her selection is some obscure one he’s never seen before. Unfortunately there’s a prevalent military plot line, which is not what Michael needs right now. Not when Alex just deployed for his second tour, and Michael is simultaneously angry at him and terrified for him. Alex was back in Roswell on leave just three weeks ago, and as always they couldn’t stay away from each other. As the date Alex was set to leave approached, Michael became petulant and short-tempered, already dreading the moment Alex would walk away from him yet again. He was successful at picking a fight, but unsuccessful at making that moment hurt less. So, a movie with military men hunting aliens wasn’t really how he wanted to spend his night. Luckily Isobel made the drinks strong and likes to talk through the movies, so he can mostly disengage from the plot.

He’s a few drinks in and realizing that the mixture of booze, acetone, and the soldier movie is making him a bit maudlin, when Isobel’s voice breaks his reverie. “You know I love Noah, but if he didn’t exist I might hit up the bars near the military base. The soldier thing’s kind of hot.” Michael glances at the screen where the main character has stripped his shirt off for some reason. From the back he kind of looks like Alex. Michael’s three sheets to the wind, which is the only possible explanation for what comes out of his mouth next. “Agreed. I wouldn’t kick him out of bed.”

He hears a clatter, as ordinarily unflappable Isobel knocks her glass over as she wheels her whole body around to gape at him. “What was that now, little brother?” They may be the same age, but Isobel has always called him that when they’re alone.

He briefly considers playing it off as a joke, but he’s usually terrible at lying to Isobel, plus he can tell in this instance she’s interested and tipsy enough that she might decide to try digging through his memories. He really cannot handle having a conversation about Alex with the state he’s in, and he knows that’s what she’ll see if she so much as steps one foot into his mind right now.

Instead, he gives a non-committal shrug. “What, you think aliens can’t be bisexual?”

Isobel sputters for a minute. “Umm no, it just never occurred to me that you were. I’m pretty tapped into the gossip here, so I tend to hear about every girl you pick up at the Wild Pony whether I want to or not. I’m pretty sure I would’ve heard if you were taking home men. This is fascinating, though.”

She gets that look on her face she always gets before she taps into her powers, He knows, even in his drunken state, that he only has one option to make sure she has no interest in delving into his thoughts, and asking him about Alex.

He schools his features into his cockiest smirk, and drawls, “Well you know, there is this bar that’s a good time. Matter of fact, it's definitely frequented by some guys from the base. I don’t think you’d have much luck there, but I do just fine. In fact, last time I was there, I picked up this guy, and went back to his place, and we...”

As he predicted, her mind reader face quickly morphs into the disgusted look she gets anytime she’s forced to contemplate Max or Michael’s sex life.

“Ew, ew, ew, ew, no Michael!” she shouts tossing a napkin in his direction. “I do not need to hear about your sexcapades with men or women thank you very much.”

In truth, there’s not that much to tell. He has gone to that gay bar on a few occasions. He is, at his core, still a scientist, and scientists experiment. What he felt for Alex was so much stronger than anything he’d ever felt for any girl he’d been with, so he had briefly wondered if maybe that meant he was gay. But that didn’t really make sense to him, because he knew he was certainly attracted physically to women. He did some reading and wondered if maybe he was that kind of bisexual where he was attracted to women and men, but could only have romantic feelings for men. He then considered that maybe Alex was the only guy he was attracted to, romantically or physically.

To test his theories, he got really wasted one night and hit up the only gay bar in a 100 mile radius. He realized quickly that it was in fact possible for him to be attracted to men that weren’t Alex, and he managed some decent sex, but it felt like the sex he had with women... fine, satisfying even, but just sex. So after a few attempts, he decided he was just bisexual, with the capacity to only feel romantic attraction to Alex. So basically fucked. Once he figured that out, he mostly stuck to picking up women, which didn’t require quite as much effort or gas money.

Plus, since he had been hoping to avoid this particular conversation with Isobel, he’d been a little worried about running into someone he knew, and it getting back to her. Particularly after he’d spotted Max’s partner, Jenna Cameron in the corner of the bar the last time he was there. She’d been occupied by, from Michael’s perspective, rather skillfully picking up a girl. Since she’d never mentioned it any of the myriad of times he’d been in the back of her cop car since then, he could almost convince himself she hadn’t noticed him, except that he could have sworn she’d sent a wink in his direction as she walked out the door with the girl she’d been talking with. When Isobel later told him that Jenna and Max had some kind of friends with benefits thing going on, he’d internally questioned her sanity since she clearly had better options, as the girl she’d taken home had been very good looking by Michael’s estimation, but he figured maybe she was a pragmatic bi, like him, settling for convenience over quality.

But Iz didn’t need to know any of that. By threatening her with details, he felt assured that she’d stay out of his mind at least for now, and he wouldn’t have to talk about Alex. Hopefully now they can just focus on the movie, have a few more drinks, and he can pass out on her couch. But it seems like Izzy’s not quite ready to leave it alone.

“You know it’s fine with me, right? That you’re bisexual.”

Michael scoffs, “Iz, this isn’t an after school special, I haven’t been cowering in the closet in shame or anything.”

Isobel laughs, “Ok, I know you hate sincerity, so I won’t say it again, but I love you little brother. And now we can check out guys together!!”

Michael groans, his head hitting the back of his chair with a crack. “No, Isobel. We are not doing that. Also, I do not plan on having this conversation with Max, ever, so keep your mouth and your twin telepathy thing on lockdown about this.”

She does a mock salute, and thankfully drops it, for now. Of course, since he can’t be that lucky, every time they have movie night from that point forward, she comments on the attractiveness of the male protagonists, trying to find out his type, and teases him mercilessly, just like she does about everything else. He pretends to hate it, but he feels lighter somehow, that she knows this part of him and doesn’t turn away.

[alchemisland]

Mike’s list of Irish punk bangers

Recently I’ve been attempting to recall the results of a certain patch-decked census, namely the list of one-off punk bands I’ve seen over the years. Next came another, more troubling thought: if tomorrow morning a hemorrhage turned my wits to water, who would wrest this mantle and detail those defunct Irish punk and metal bands who split without leaving behind a recording? If not I, then who?

Rather than spouting a list of band names so unheard as to seem almost religiously profane when uttered aloud, I recall only the time when conjuring a selection suchlike was easy and did not require considerable aforethought, which counts as work and is thus un-punk. 

Perhaps it’s misremembrance which worries most. 

Striving to immortalize these rarities which, like rare nightbugs, enter one’s ear and soon thereafter die, I will compile these annals myself. I’ve opted for a regular selection of arbitrary Irish underground and alternate tunes. Mostly punk and extreme metal, although there’s post-punk, bassy weirdness, drone, rock&roll and hip hop throughout.

I haven’t yet considered breakdown metrics. By subgenre or county of origin perhaps, but that’s for a future iteration to say. Just count your good sense badges and be glad I didn’t use the originally planned ‘Pale Shadows’ and ‘From the Bog’ headings for Dublin and rest-of-country songs respectively.

From the forge of Hephaestus to your plateless breast, three of my favourite underground Irish songs:

Violins is Not the Answer - Sick

Unless someone’s asking what luthiers make, Violins is Not the Answer. However, Violins were someone’s answer when they tore the tucked shirt off Galway punkdom with their raucous 2011 debut Green Diesel and Poitin. It’s a time-tested sob story of Irish scene cohesion that lets so fresh a band go unnoticed, unhailed and handsomely unkempt outside their home county; it’s this exact myopia, although antipode, which confined Lovecraft in Rhode Island and left Howard’s hypothalamus on the dash under a Cross Plains sun. 

Aside from the band themselves, I doubt there’s another  person alive who has heard this album more than I. I’ve proudly flown that battered, cider-stained flag throughout a local and global invasion until Violins, not 42, became the answer, at least for me.

Has it really been that long? Eight years on it still excites much as the first time. Its engine-revving opening track conjures images of sputtering roadsters chewing the starting line of a Mad Max outback race, while the final upstroked riddums of its GBH-esque closer Sick promises the tinny best of Shitty Limits alongside the sombre heights of FNM’s Midlife Crisis.

Guitars that sound like they’re being played with chainmail’d fingers, vorpal bass tapping, ska pick it ups to HxC stick it ups (middle fingers in this instance), Green Diesel crams a maelstrom of alt genres into a curt 26-ish minute runtime. Ben’s phlegm-tinged vocals lead the sonic vanguard, bolstered and occasionally shelved in favour of fireman-cum-drummer Donal’s softer warble on cryptid welfare anthem Vampire on the Dole.

Sick is my favourite tune. The song, the album’s only track exceeding a three minute runtime, combines everything that makes Violins worth ear-time in the epoch of overchoice. Although Class Ayes and Dickheads Picnic deliver the nutkicks exactly how frontman Ben, of Psychopigs, Hardcore Priests and Doppelskangerz fame, wants them delivered, Sick offers a sample book of greatness to come across two recorded albums. Containing an otolaryngologist-approved mix of harsh shouting and actual singing, Ben’s disarming foghorn timbre sweeps us slowly toward the finish after a suppressing fire of growled insistence, “You ain’t never gonna come//between me and my bottle.”

Fans of short time good time are well served with riffy tunes in the vein of punchier Propagandhi songs, albeit playfully apolitical. Littered with in-jokes and avowedly pro substance, these tracks stink of fun in the studio, a subterranean lodge affectionately christened the Fritzl Bunker. Even angry songs fizz with youthful energy. It makes me want to drink malibu from a shoe in GG Allin’s house. It rouses me to a bubbling zenith of bacchic hedonism which Andrew W.K. can’t hold a candle to. 

There’s much here not found elsewhere; adjoining on Keytar Mr Jimmy Penguin of Skratch Games fame, his genius confined only by the breadth of his current interest; also the album’s producer. You can tell Jimmy put work on this record. Every groove is warm and tipped to perfect balance with just the right amount of hiss; right in the sense that it’s sometimes wrong. 

Since disbanded, there’s two albums worth of raw riffage to enjoy. From Refused rip-offs and Exploited shouts-outs to Elvis Costello tracks played backwards, find this album, buy a CD and tell your Granny this picnic is for dickheads.

I’m rambling. Violins is not the Answer. For my money, the best punk band in Ireland post 2010.

https://violinsisnottheanswer.bandcamp.com/track/sick

Divisions Ruin - Srebrenica/Merely Existing

I won’t lie. Much like a former athlete whose varsity gout impeded athletic excellence, I’ve had to settle here. I wanted the track Srebrenica from Division Ruin’s side of the Easpa Measa split - another band we’ll encounter later, or if not here than absolutely in future installments, should they ere be writ. 

I have the vinyl. Whenever I want to sonically experience withstanding a carpet bombing, I stick the needle down, turn the table over, sit in the lotus position and wait for oblivion. This track absolutely slays. The opening riff, an atomic discharge of heavy bass, distorted guitar and technical drumming from the scene stalwart and filler-player-extraordinaire John K, sears the ears, and one might be forgiven for touching that dial. Then the vocals come. Impassioned howls from the furious maw of Cirarot, which sound almost prehistoric in their primal ferocity. With my eyes closed, I feel the cymbal crashes like great waves and imagine people of the dawn age battling terrible beasties, although I’m not sure if she’s the lizard or its prospective prey. 

Although all their recorded tracks offer something for filth-seekers, I struggled to find another which accurately conveyed with sufficient brutality the blunt force flavour Srebrenica proffers. However you locate this song, ensure you’ve your iodine pills to hand; shit is about to get nuclear. In lieu of an active link, here’s another hefty slab from the same split.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ARGqt0r_cVg

Easpa Measa- Vargold

B-side of the Divisions Ruin split, Easpa Measa deliver a cleaner, dare I say, more mature crust experience. Less raw but equal in ferocity, Easpa Measa’s Eric’s howls are twisted as the metal he contorts for his angry punky art, conjuring images of Ireland with reintroduced wolves.

We picture them on the plain, endemic of wider wildness among the populace. However you fall on the lupine legacy of Eireann’s isle, Easpa Measa deliver perfect high kicks on every tier. Riffs, loud bass and amazing drumming from Ken Sweeney, another scene stalwart also of Harvester fame, while Clodagh’s vocals, whose shrieking ire can only be matched by the shipwrecking songs of the sirens themselves, compliment Eric’s baleful howls.

Bring back the wolf indeed. Although so many years since its release the band have disbanded with ne’er a wolf attendant at a single show, this song’s singular ferocity more than accounts for any deficit of wolfnishness on the island. Don’t miss this amazing video from their final show, alongside the Freebooters at the Boh’s club in Dublin, with bonus front row Mike Dempsey (that’s me!).

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=0wIQC6wk7sY

If you like this list or the tunes therein, let me know your thoughts and why they activated your nodding lever. 

If other bands are close to your heart but far from the zeitgeist, comment or PM with appropriate links and I’d be glad to include your suggestion.

Thanks so much for taking the time to read this short post. I’ll have interesting content by the fishgut bucketload in 2020, but should/hope to have one more live before yuletide at least. 

Please drop a like and share this post with your favourite PUNX. Give them the gift of Violins this Christmate. An early stocking filler to ensure the loyalty of nephews and nieces come the post-yule divorce news, here’s an.. Important music video I made for their track Dickheads Picnic.

[crackmadhi]

Day 30 - Accepted

Saturday, 5 May 2012 – Age 13 Aura opened the apartment door and threw her keys on the drawer next to the door. On it was a mess out of various clothing pieces neither of the siblings had put away. She grumbled to herself already feeling that it would be on her to take on that task.

Lazily she slandered into the kitchen where Simon leaned onto the counter watching her as she entered. His hands were hidden in the black hoody, he was wearing and his long bangs hid part of his eyes and the weariness in them.

Worried Aura frowned and got closer to him watching him taking a deep a breath and a small shiver going through his body.

“What is it? Did you knock up a girl or what?” she half-heartedly joked but swallowed any more comments instantly, as she saw him flinch strongly.

“I have something to tell you.”

He swallowed nervously with his voice even and smooth. Aura nodded and crossed her arms in front of her chest. This was unlike him.

“You told me to think outside the norms and let myself live outside of these buckets and… I- I looked stuff up because you know so much of it and I wanted to know more and… I read about something and I felt like it described me quite well, but I wasn’t sure if this was just a moment thing so I waited, because it could change quickly, because I’m a teenager and hormones and stuff but- But it’s been almost three months. And it doesn’t change. And so, I guess it might stay like this for a while, so…”

He stopped and looked to his sister like a fearful deer.

“It’s fine. I’m not gonna shout. I won’t be mad”, she said and stepped towards him uncrossing her arms.

He bit his lips, fear glistering in his eyes yet he opened his mouth and finished: “I think I’m asexual and aromantic.”

Confused Aura looked at him. He started hyperventilating and she softly laid her hand on his chest, slowly breathing in and out with him. Slowly he recovered and she tilted her head and let out a laugh.

“And I thought you were going to tell me something dramatic and world-changing.”

Simon’s well broke down and he started to sob: “You’re not disappointed?”

“What for?” she asked him and took him in her arms.

“For- for not being able to fall in love?” he stammered looked up to her. “For maybe never bringing home someone? For just… being like this?”

“Oh lord”, she said and cupped his wet cheeks, “what would I care about the people you bring home or do not bring home? You never question the women I bring along, so why do you think I would do that with you? I don’t care if you’re are ace or aro, or both. I don’t care if it’s forever or a phase. It’s you and you’re just fine as long as you’re happy with yourself! And if you say you are aromantic and asexual and you felt like this for several months already, then that is awesome! You’re awesome!”

And beyond the tears there finally came his smile back.

Trembling he put his arms around her and cried in her chest. He was relieved. She didn’t hate him. She didn’t police him. She just…

“Hey do you think you might be agender as well? Then you’d be a triple A!” Aura teased and he snorted in her chest.

Tears, now from laughing, in his eyes he looked up and said with a smirk: “You’re horrible.”

Saturday, 30 June 2046 – Age 47 Simon put the salad on the table and walked back into the kitchen to see if Nahyuta needed help. As he entered, they walked towards him with the soup in their hands and nodded towards the bread on the counter. Simon understood and went to grab the bread before he followed his partner.

Once in the living room Penda immediately called for her brother.

“Tuma! Lunch! Now!”

Simon glanced over to Nahyuta and they exchanged an amused grin. The boy promptly came in and stretched his arms. He might have lain in bed until now, reading a manga or two and maybe also flick through some psychology books. Maybe a little strange for a soon twelve-year-old, but then again not so strange considering the people he lived with.

“What are we having?” he asked with a wide smile directed to Nahyuta and hopped on his chair.

They didn’t even bother answering, as Tumaini did it himself and commented on the soup with contentment. Enthusiastically he held out his plate and asked Nahyuta to give him some soup. The followed order and went on with Simon’s plate next.

“Thank you”, he said low-key and watched them giving themselves a ladle.

“I can take it myself, thank you!” Penda said and motioned for the ladle.

Nahyuta handed it to her and she served herself and then they all could finally dive in. Simon was eating the slowest, waiting for the soup to cool down a bit and watching his two children happily. Penda was rushing a bit more than usually. She wanted to go to meet up in the library with her learn group in an hour and she hated it to be late.

“It’s the 30th of June”, Tuma mentioned at once and eyed up to both grown-ups.

Nahyuta eyed Simon and then turned to their son: “Yes, that is correct. Are you reminding us of your birthday on the 3rd? We didn’t forget that, don’t worry.”

Tuma shook his head and glanced up at Penda with an eye roll, which she answered with a shrug.

“I know you won’t forget my birthday! You never did! I mean because it’s the end of Pride month. I just remembered and we haven’t done a lot besides visiting the parade. Are you sad because of that? – He looked to Simon – You always seem to enjoy it so much and I feel like we didn’t celebrate it that much this year…”

Simon grinned. The second year Tumaini and Penda had been around, the little boy had cross knotted him and Nahyuta bracelets in their respective flags’ colours for pride month. It had come absolutely unexpected for them and Simon wore them everyday until one tore apart and Tumaini made him a new one.

That was four years ago and every year after that he had thought of something small to do for them during this time. And quite honestly? That gesture from a little boy, who had grown up around two homophobic and transphobic parents, meant a lot to Simon. It was even nicer since Penda had started to properly help him with it two years ago, when she had bought the food dye and made cookies in the colours in the non-binary and aromantic colours.

In these moments, Simon felt warm. He felt at peace and at home. There had been a lot of hardship in his life. Naturally, not everything was tied to his identity and it didn’t have to be quite frankly.

It usually just made things harder to not quite fit in a sex- and amanormative society as an aroace dude.

And yet, by now…

He was fine with it. He was fine because he didn’t have to fight everyday to get acceptance and kindness for himself. He was fine because he had support and could give support to the lovely person next to him, who used they/them pronouns for almost 16 years now. He was fine because he had his people around him and a family he had never expected to have.

He was fine not celebrating Pride excessively this year because he didn’t need celebrating his identity. No, he could live his identity every day of the year and that was a privilege he knew to cherish more than anything else.

It was why he still loved pride month a lot. It was for the people, who needed to celebrate their identity at least during this time, because they couldn’t live their identities. Because they were rejected by their families, laughed and stared at and couldn’t be vocal about themselves. Or didn’t want to be open about it, which was fine too.

Pride month was for the people who he used to be like. And of course also still for him but he didn’t need this focus anymore and in a way he had his own Pride at home every single day when he came home and was accepted by his qpp, daughter and son.

  “I’m happy as it is. But if you want, we could make a pan cake for uncle Klav. He might be moved to tears like last year, yeah?”

 Heeeey! This is the end! I didn't manage to reach my goal and post a chapter everyday, but I'll add the missing ones in the next days^^ It was just too damn hot and I've prewritten this chapter a while ago, because it is meant to end a circle. We started with Denied and end with Accepted and I hope that's a journey all of us can go through one day^^

Anyway. Thank you for sticking around, please leave a comment if you got the time, take care and have a wonderful day.

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