#i just need to push through the next 72 hours somehow

[roses-and-elixir]

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[mutable-manifestation]

Ghost Chirps AU Part 3

Part 1 & 2

Around half past midnight, Jason is losing his patience.

They've been searching for hours and finding a whole lot of nothing, and statistics about the odds of finding kidnapping victims and the first 72 hours.

It's been almost 48 since he saw the kid and he's cursing himself for not doing more sooner.

Cameras are finding nothing, Signal is finding nothing, everyone is finding a whole lot of nothing.

And Jason...

Jason chirps.

He doesn't know if it'll help, but it's the only idea he's got. Even if it's a shallow chance. It's all he's got; he has to try.

And if Bruce decides that Jason being meta is the line? Then he'll cope.

He won't refuse to do something just because he's scared when his- when the kid's well being is on the line.

He won't be like Bruce, who'd let his killer walk free rather than do something about it because his feelings were somehow more important when Jason died.

He won't.

The first chirp yields nothing.

He does it again pushing to try and make it as loud as possible.

Again, nothing.

Again, he chirps, something in him certain that if he just keeps going it'll work. Somehow. But he's learned to trust his gut - or weird meta instincts?

And it works.

Because after the third chirp the kid chirps back.

Except.

The kid is not in Gotham.

He is very, very not in Gotham.

He chalks it up to his weird meta-bird instincts that he somehow just knows it came from somewhere hundreds of miles that-a-way.

Kidnapping is looking more likely given just how far the kid got, but now?

Now Jason has a way to find him.

He ignores Oracle asking about mask static in favor of hopping down from the balcony he'd paused on and heading back to the batbike - Bruce's paranoia meant it would have more than enough gas to take him as far as he needed to go and then some.

'And more than enough weapons to level a block, if needed,' he thinks viciously.

"Hood!" Oracle’s sharp voice shakes him from his thoughts.

"Found the kid," he shoots back, hoping to avoid the inevitable questioning.

Mixed exclamations of relief and confusion echoed over the radio.

"How!?" Nightwing cries. "I was literally right next to you! What did I miss!?"

"What are you, deaf?" he grumbles back irritably, uncomfortable. It'd be easier if they were, he thinks. Then he wouldn't have to explain.

"Does this have something to do with the static noise your helmet was producing previously? I had worried it was damaged," Oracle asks.

"Static?" Jason echoes, not slowing a bit - nearly to the bike.

"Oh yeah!" Nightwing says, as though she's making perfect sense.

'Ah,' he thinks, 'A shred of mercy in this vastly cruel existence.'

Aloud, he just says, "Yup. He's not in Gotham anymore, though, and I don't know how far he'll end up going or how long I'll be gone. Anyone who wants to come with can catch up, because I'm leaving now."

15 seconds later he's leaping onto the batbike and peeling out.

***

Jason doesn’t chirp again until he’s nearly to Illinois. 

He wants to. He wants to chirp nonstop the moment he hears that first reply, wants to spend the whole hours-long drive listening to nothing but a litany of chirps that reassure him that his kid is alive alive alive.

He won’t risk it. 

He doesn’t know where, exactly, the kid is. Doesn’t know if his family didn’t hear him because the chirps are only audible to him and the kid or if it was really due to a helmet malfunction covering for him. 

But there is a chance that whoever has the kid can hear his chirps, so Jason won’t risk having him respond more than he absolutely has to in order to find him.

The next time, the kid answers back to the very first chirp, and Jason knows he’s heading in the right direction.

He gets turned around just once, overshooting and heaving to loop back, but he curses himself for it anyway - wasting precious time when the kid is going through who knows what.

Then he’s entering Amity Park: a nice place to live.

A nice place to die, for whoever it was that took his kid.

Several chirps later he’s in front of a school - of all things.

He doesn’t waste time doubting himself - kidnapping victims could be stashed anywhere - he storms in, batbike left idling at the base of the front steps.

Three chirps later he’s slamming through a door into a classroom. Full of kids. Taking a totally normal class - aside, of course, from Jason’s interruption.

One last exchange of chirps later and he finally lays eyes on his little shadow - who has the audacity to also look surprised, as if he wasn’t the one to lead him here in the first place.

Jason takes a moment to feel relieved, adrenaline beginning to crash before it revs back up with his indignation.

What happened to ‘goodbye!’ Who in their right mind would disappear from Gotham and not think that those left behind would assume they were kidnapped!? It’s Gotham!

Oh. Oh the child was in Gotham alone.

The child was in Gotham for a vacation.

Oh the child’s parents didn’t even realize he was gone? He’s worried about them putting him in an iron maiden!?

Jason’s eyes may be green, but oh, how his vision is red.

He barely hears the school’s alarm going off when he finally drives off-grounds, laser focused on following the road to the dot that’s popped up on his helmet just a few streets off, sending a curt thank-you to Oracle for saving him the effort of finding the kid’s address himself - she’s done him the courtesy of leaving everyone muted from his end, but he has little doubt they’ve all been listening to him. He’s only surprised she’s willing to condone the murder.

But then, of course she didn’t, he thinks as he pulls into a decently shadowed alley full of bats and birds. He’s torn between being touched that all of them came and being annoyed that he isn’t already in the process of murdering the kid’s parents. 

“New Brother?” Orphan asks the moment the bike is off, head tilting in question from her dumpster-top perch.

A second, smaller sense of outrage bubbles up next to the first, and it is a testament to his impeccable self-control that his hand only twitches over his gun at the question.

Bruce - Batman - tries to say something, but before he can finish even just the first syllable Jason’s head is snapping around to glare hell at him, and a low, animalistic growl practically rips itself from his throat.

He can see the way everyone tenses - subtle to anyone else, but a glaring neon sign in Jason’s vision. 

He curses himself for it; he asked them to be here. He specifically requested their help, and they gave it. The more of them there are involved, the faster they can help the kid into a safer environment.

But Jason came here to help the kid, not to offer him up as the next sacrifice in Batman’s long line of child soldiers.

“You wanna help? Great. Rule One: YOU,” he points at the bat for emphasis, “can’t adopt him.”

He chokes on whatever he was intending to say next at Orphan’s delighted clap and exclamation of “nephew!”

He wants to correct her, but… he doesn’t. 

Crime Alley is no place to raise a kid; Jason knows that.

He knows it more than anyone, having spent his early years there and his most recent years trying to make it better. He knows that.

But h- the kid is a meta. 

Looking at the facts: the kid is meta.

The kid is meta whose first concern with rule breaking is punishment via torture device.

The kid’s parents are neglectful enough that he spent over a week in Gotham and they never even noticed.

The kid went to Gotham to escape his home.

Whether his parents know that he is a meta or not, it is clear to Jason that the kid needs to be Out Of That House. Yesterday.

But he also knows just how metas are treated - even the MPA can only do so much against the tides of hatred and fear. 

And he’s seen the maps - he knows this state is one of the worse ones for metas to live in, let alone a meta child at the mercy of a foster family that has even odds of neglecting him, being just as bad as his original family, or possibly actually caring about him.

Crime Alley is no place to raise a kid, and Red Hood is far from the right person for such a job.

But Crime Alley isn’t all that Gotham is, and perhaps Jason Todd could very easily decide to get an apartment in a nicer area.

He won’t lie to himself, he knows he isn’t parent material, but he’ll at least be a step up from what the kid is used to while he works to vet a real family to transfer him to. 

He’s halfway through his mental checklist of the options for the safest place for an apartment and other such logistics when he’s reminded of where he is by Oracle’s voice in his ear.

“Hate to interrupt the group brooding you guys have going on over there, but I managed to dig up… a lot of information about the boy and his family situation.”

He notes how the others all perk up from where they’d been…staring at him. 

Ah, that was why it was so quiet. They were staring in disbelief when he didn’t deny the nephew thing. Well. A conversation for another time.

“Lay it on me,” he says to Oracle, ignoring them.

“His name is Daniel James Fenton, goes by Danny, high grades throughout elementary and middle school until they took a steep drop at the beginning of highschool - likely related to whatever happened when his metagene activated. 

Has one sibling, a sister named Jasmine Fenton - no middle name. She goes by Jazz. High grades across the board with no notable dips. No indication of possible metagene in any of  her records or in Danny’s, beyond the grade drop and your own first-hand experience.

Parents Jack and Madeline “Maddie” Fenton. They have their own personal website where they describe themselves as “ectobiologists” and as ghost hunters. The pictures in their gallery show a vast array of weapons - dubbed “ectoweapons” - in the same chrome-green style with the name “Fenton” stamped somewhere on them. Some of the weapons are for sale on their site, advertised for defending oneself against ghosts. There are some pictures of what must be their lab, all of which look to include at least 12 different types of OSHA violation, and the image in their site’s “about” section has the whole family standing in the lab in front of what looks like a vertical Lazarus Pit.”

“What,” Batman says more than asks, voice tense.

“And judging by the staircase seen reflecting off of one of the guns in the picture, it seems that this lab is in their basement - I can’t see why it wouldn’t be, given they were fine with putting an enormous monstrosity of a satellite on top of their building.

There are plenty of cameras in the house itself, but for some reason all I can get from them is static. Any video or audio in the house that they don’t put on their site appears to be unusable for some reason. 

All told, there is plenty of cause to get CPS involved. If their lab safety is even half as bad as it looks and it’s in their basement it’s pretty much a sure thing that the kids’ll be taken from them. 

Given the small-towny nature of the area it’ll be best to contact someone from outside of the community for the case. It’ll move things along significantly if we have somewhere to send them.

They have an aunt, Alicia Walker, but she’s already marked down as a “no” for taking them in in the event something should happen to the Fentons. 

This leaves their godfather: Vlad Masters. An incredibly reclusive billionaire, pursued the same Paranormal Science degree as the Fentons did when they were in college, but suffered an accident that put him in the hospital for two years with an unknown illness that Masters was allowed to name “ecto-acne.” Lost all contact with the Fentons until he invited them to a reunion party last fall and was named godfather three weeks later.

Masters got his wealth through a series of suspicious business deals. No one has been able to prove foul play yet, but just glancing over some of the early papers is already showing plenty of inconsistencies.

No other relatives - the Walker parents passed away some time ago, and while one of the Fentons remains, she’s in a nursing home. And also disowned Jack. And went out of her way to disown both Jazz and Danny as soon as she heard about them.”

“Great. Make Jason Todd a long lost cousin, set CPS on them. Red Hood is here because Danny ran away to Gotham and stuck his nose in crime alley so I tracked him down because I thought he was kidnapped in my territory, the Bats chased down Red Hood thinking he was gonna hurt the boy, CPS is there because your research turned up the potential unsafe living conditions and you overheard that the kid was gone for a week without anyone noticing - which scream neglect. Now we’re cooperating because we’re all annoyed at the parents that let their kid wander all the way to Gotham and convinced him that a torture device was a possible grounding option.”

He turns to Batman. 

“You can claim to have done a DNA search to find the connection, and I’m sure you can find a reason to dismiss Masters as an option. Make sure to have them call Jason as soon as possible. Oracle-”

“Already routing incoming calls through Gotham. Also, both of Masters’ residences have inaccessible cameras similar to what I’m experiencing with the Fentons. He can be dismissed under suspicion of having an OSHA nightmare in his home. I’ll see if he has his own vertical Lazarus Pit while you all work on exfiltrating the niece and nephew.”Jason doesn’t dignify that with a response, hopping back on his bike to follow the new route - this time actually to the Fenton household.

[aadagio]

.

I was forced to reach out to my parents for the first time since I went completely no contact last spring, and I am paying for it so badly right now.

Even as I was just composing the initial text message to them, I could feel my entire body locking up. My skin felt like it was buzzing and crawling in the worst way, my head started pounding, it just felt like every single cell in my body was screaming at me not to do it. That it was wrong and I was in danger. I don’t know if I’ve ever felt that bad before in my life. I broke down sobbing after I hit send.

A fucking text message and I was rendered completely useless.

Back when I was around my parents full-time, I think my body was so used to feeling horrible around them that it became normal to me. I never really questioned it, just accepted and learned to deal. And now that all this time and distance is between us, to be thrust right back into it like this has been agonizing.

It’s been 72 hours since I first reached back out, and we’ve exchanged enough messages for me to get what I need. My birth certificate is in the mail. Once I have it, I’m free. That was the last piece, and I will never have another reason to communicate with them ever again. But right now I’m just trapped in my body where my thoughts are racing for hours in a row, and my heart is pounding all day long and I feel terrified out of my mind. All because I did the one major thing I thought I’d never have to do again … talk to them.

When I was young and stressed out beyond belief over the pressure of conforming to their every whim, I could never figure out how to compose myself. No one helped me, ever. So I was just trapped in this constant state of never ending fear. Always tense, always afraid. I’ve never known peace, I don’t understand how to relax, I couldn’t calm down if you paid me.

I keep thinking that it’ll be different, somehow. I’m older now. Bigger and stronger. My parents can’t push me down anymore. Can’t crush me under their thumb. I know the vocabulary words. I understand where this all comes from. I can use logic and reasoning to break it all down. I know what I deserve, I can advocate for myself now. But none of that matters because my bones still sense the threat. They sound off alarms and tell my brain to panic. I dive straight back into the deep end and flail among the ghosts I find there, clawing desperately until I drown.

I feel like all my memories are suffering the same fate as all of the junk that lives inside my childhood home - constantly churned around, losing important pieces under newer, fresher layers. Lost, abandoned, eventually forgotten. Never to be seen again.

I used to pray that someone would come along one day and fix me, save me, make me feel whole. Now I know that no one could ever do that for me. I’m twisted up from the inside out. There is no fixing this. It’s all just symptom management.

I just have to get through this week, and then I’ll be 30. I can celebrate, be with friends. I can fly. I can leave all this shit in the graveyard of my 20s where it belongs. I haven’t prayed in ages at this point, but if I did there’s just one thing I’d ask for, and I already feel like it will happen within the next decade. True freedom, monsters vanquished. One can only hope.

[the-bau-quinjet]

Anything for You

So, I got this idea in my head and I wrote it. This is not the first thing I’ve written, but the first that I finished. And the first that I’m posting. Sorry if it sucks. I hope someone out there likes it. Italics indicate past memories.

Summary: This takes place after Maeve. It sort of starts a month before Spencer goes back to work but then skips a year. Reader is the newest member of the BAU. Spencer lashes out when she tries to help him, but he doesn’t realize how much she can relate to his trauma. 

warnings: angst but also a little fluff, typical CM violence (kidnapping, torture, death etc.), dark thoughts about dying, I think that’s it

Word Count: 6218

 It is moments like this that make you rethink every decision that lead you here. You are on the jet on the way back to Quantico after a particularly rough case. The team managed to save the most recent victim, but only to discover three more hidden on the unsubs property. And to make it worse, they were children. Everyone on the team keeps shooting you concerned glances, worried that you might break. It’s only fair. You are still the newbie.

 You started at the BAU one month ago to the day. Your previous position was a desk job, but you were ready to get back into field after two years of endless paperwork. Not that the entire team knows you had been in the field before. Only Hotch knows. You don’t like to talk about it. You had gone so far as to cut Hotch off to prevent him from bringing it up on your first day.

 You are counting down the floors with each beep as the elevator rises to bring you to the floor that houses the Behavioral Analysis Unit. To say you aren’t nervous would be a lie, but that comes with the territory of starting a new job. Especially a job with one of the most elite units of the FBI. It’s hard not to be intimidated.

 The elevator doors slide open, revealing the all too familiar glass doors that lead to the BAU. When you were trying to decide if switching career paths was the right decision, you found yourself staring at these doors far more than you’d care to admit.

 You walk through the doors, immediately heading for Hotch’s office. He told you to meet him there first thing this morning. You knock on the open door to draw his attention.

 “Agent L/N, please come in.” He looks up from the file he has open on his desk.

 “Agent Hotchner, I would just like to thank you again for the position.” You have to stop yourself before you ramble on about how grateful you are for his taking a chance on you.

 “Please, call me Hotch. You’re new ID was just dropped off.” He says, handing you the plastic card to put in your credentials. You take a moment to admire the way your name looks just above the words “Behavioral Analysis Unit” before sliding it into the wallet.

 “I wish we had time for a more thorough welcoming, but we just got a case. I’ll introduce you to the team in the conference room.” He rises from his desk, you following behind him to a room already full of profilers. Of course, you already know of them all, but the introductions are nice nonetheless.

 “L/N, these are SSAs Emily Prentiss, David Rossi, Derek Morgan, and Jennifer Jureau and our technical analyst Penelope Garcia.” You shake hands with each member of the team as there name is called. “Team, this is SSA Y/N L/N. She transferred from violent crimes-” You know he is going to bring up your previous field work, so you cut him off.

 “It’s an honor to meet you all.” You smiled at Hotch, trying your best to get him to move on. Thankfully, you can see in his eye that he understands why you don’t want to relieve your past field experience.

 “Actually, that’s not all. Dr. Reid is on leave at the moment, but you’ll meet him when he returns.” You nod, taking a seat next to Derek. “Garcia, you can start now.”

 The memory fades and you try to ignore the concerned glances from everyone on the jet. Yes, you were the one to find the children in the back shed, but you have techniques to handle this. You’ve always been good at compartmentalizing. It comes with the territory of undercover work.

 You are more concerned with the wellbeing of one Dr. Reid. This is the first case you’ve worked with him, but it still feels like something’s off. Granted, you don’t know why he was on leave or how long it lasted.

 After everyone else is asleep, barring Hotch who is too focused on his reports to pay you any attention, you slide down into the seat across from Spencer. He doesn’t even glance up from his book.

 “Dr. Reid?” You can tell he’s stopped reading at the sound of your voice, but it takes him a moment to actually look up at you. When he does, you can see the sadness in his eyes.

 “L/N. Are you okay?” Of course he would ask you that. You’ve known him for all of 72 hours, but he’s still concerned about you’re wellbeing. The way your heart flutters at the sentiment catches you off guard.

 “Oh, um, I’m fine. I actually wanted to check on you.” He looks startled at that, but you just push forward. “I know we only just met, and I have no idea what you’re going through, but I just thought maybe I could help.” You can see the instant you finished talking that it was a mistake. He is clearly not ready to talk about his demons, especially with a near stranger.

 “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have-“ “No, you shouldn’t have.” His words are defensive more than anything. The words of someone who just went through unbelievable pain “You couldn’t possibly help me. Unless, of course, you’ve been kidnapped, tortured, and drugged, shot multiple times, and witnessed the love of your life being murdered in front of you just to name a few. I’m sure you have plenty of experience with that given your work in violent crimes.” The sarcasm is obvious, with violent crimes being a desk job. He mistakes the tears that spring to your eyes as pity rather than understanding. He scoffs, going back to his book while you wander back to your previous seat, trying to control your emotions.

 Spencer doesn’t know about your time undercover. He doesn’t know you experienced all of those things. He doesn’t know about the scars that line your torso or the more prevalent scars on your heart. You try not to take it personally. You’ve had years to deal with your trauma. His is clearly newer. You tell yourself over and over that he’s not angry with you, but with the world. You just happened to be the first available outlet.

 When the others wake up, they assume your red eyes are due to the case. That you are finally breaking down after a month on the job. They offer words of encouragement and promises to be there if you need to talk. They stress how you aren’t alone. They all know how you feel. You simply nod, gathering your things before heading home. You can’t help but think there is one of them who knows exactly what is going through your head. It’s the first time you’ve cried over Cameron in three months, the last time being the anniversary of his death.

 -------

 The next year at the BAU flies by. You actually feel like part of the family, knowing you could talk to any member of the team when you need a friend. Well, almost any member of the team. You and Spencer didn’t click the way everyone thought you would. Ever since the conversation on the plane, you hold back when you’re with him. It’s not that you two avoid each other. You’re just more like coworkers than family. You converse when you need to, but don’t seek each other out.

 Nobody understands why. Hotch especially thought the two of you would become close. You can see why he would think so. From your brief encounters with Spencer, you can tell he’s been through hell. Hotch was probably hopeful the two of you might bond over shared trauma, act as an anchor for each other to know you aren’t alone. Of course that required you to share your trauma with the team, which definitely has not happened.

 It’s not that you don’t trust them. It’s just that the moment hasn’t provided itself yet. First of all, you can’t just casually bring up being kidnapped and tortured for government secrets with your fiancé who was then murdered in front of you. Second of all, something in you says it would crush Spencer. You can tell he clearly still feels bad about what he said to you that day.

 You two hadn’t talked about it. It was a year later, and you still hadn’t talked about it. You would think he forgot, but he does have a rather prolific memory. Everything was fine though. Mostly. He still seemed nervous around you. Or maybe you were projecting. There is something about Dr. Reid…

 “Y/N, can I talk to you?” You were honestly surprised to hear Spencer’s voice saying those six words. Everyone else had already gone home, even Hotch. You just wanted to finish one more file.

 “Of course, what’s up?” You try desperately to sound casual, to pretend like you weren’t just thinking about him. Despite not talking to Spencer all that often, you still have a massive amount of respect for him. Watching him work is incredible. You would expect most people with his intelligence to come off as cocky, but he is somehow still so humble.

 “I just wanted to apologize. For what I said on the jet. I was in a bad place, and I took it out on you. I shouldn’t have said those things, you were just trying to help me, and I threw it back in your face. Also, I’m sorry it took me so long to actually apologize. I just felt so awful, I didn’t know how to bring it up and the longer I waited the more nervous I became and” “Spencer,” he looked startled at the sound of his name. Granted, you normally call him Dr. Reid or Reid when you’re feeling more casual, but still. It’s his name, why is he so surprised you’re using it? “You didn’t do anything wrong. Trust me. You were dealing with an amount of grief nobody should have to go through. I shouldn’t have tried to step in without knowing more about the situation. I’m sorry.” This is your chance. Tell him what happened to you. Come clean about it all.

 He just looks so… relieved. As if you had lifted a weight off his shoulder just by telling him you understood he didn’t mean it. Seeing the hope in his eyes, you couldn’t bring yourself to put any of that weight back on him. He had just freed himself, he doesn’t need your problems weighing him back down.

 You can tell he still feels bad, but maybe now the two of you can try to move on. Maybe you’ll actually become friends. Telling him that you have indeed been through all of those things would just bring all that guilt back. For some reason, there is nothing you would rather do than protect Spencer Reid from pain.

 So, you’ve resigned yourself to never telling anyone unless you absolutely had to. You convinced yourself it was a secret you could take to the grave. Nobody needed to know.

 Until one day, they do. And that day happens to be tomorrow.

 --

 “Hello, crime fighters. This one is a doozey.” Penelope walked into the round table room and immediately jumped into the case. “Three heterosexual couples in Plano, Texas have been killed. The details are on your tablets. Be warned, it is not a pretty sight. All the victims were tortured. The men all died of blood loss. The women were drowned after multiple non fatal gunshot wounds and other various forms of torture.” You tensed ever so slightly at the description of the crimes. Hotch shot you a concerned glance, but you waved him off with a slight shake of your head. You zoned out for the rest of Garcia’s description, deciding instead to focus on every detail you could learn from the case files on your tablet.

 “Wheels up in 20.” Hotch’s voice drew you from your focus on the files. “Y/N?” You looked at him from your seat at the table, realizing everyone else had already left. “If this is too much for you, everyone would understand.” You stand, plastering the fakest smile Hotch has ever seen on your face.

 “I appreciate the concern, but there is a job to do. And I intend to do it.” There is no malice behind your words. Only a fierce determination to catch this unsub before he can hurt anyone else.

 “Alright, but Y/N, please. Let me know if you need to talk about it. The whole team is here for you.” You features soften into a genuine smile before you respond.

 “Thank you, Hotch.” And with that, you exit the room. You grab your go bag, meeting the other agents by the elevator.

 The flight to Texas is long enough that the team’s discussion doesn’t prevent everyone from catching up on sleep. While everyone else is resting, preparing to start up again on the ground with fresh eyes, you are pouring over every detail again and again. You just need to know if it’s the same people. The same people who killed your fiancé. The same people who tortured you.

 It was a day like any other. You had just gotten to the bar you were working at as a cover. Cameron was working security, you as a bartender. The mission was supposed to be simple.

 There was a domestic terrorist cell operating just outside of Plano in Addison, TX. The leader was believed to own the very bar you had gotten a job in. You were supposed to gather intelligence, and report back. You weren’t supposed to engage with the terrorist cell. It was a simple mission.

 That day, the day you could never forget, started exactly how you expected it to. The leader was supposed to be meeting with his right hand. You were supposed to learn who or what they were planning to target. You still can’t pinpoint the moment you knew something was wrong.

 Everything was normal when you clocked in. Everything was normal when you served you first few customers. Everything as normal when you walked up to the table hosting the meeting and asked if you could get them anything. Everything was normal until it wasn’t.

 You remember waking up in a warehouse. Cameron was tied to a chair across from you. He was injured, bleeding from a cut in his side. It didn’t look that bad, but there was so much blood. How could such a small cut produce so much blood?

 You had a million questions, but couldn’t form the words to ask them. You’re mouth felt like it was full of cotton. Cameron looked at you as if he knew something you didn’t. You suppose he did, given that he was awake before you. But that’s not what concerned you the most. No, it was the look of pure terror in his eyes. Pure terror, mixed with… resignation? That doesn’t make sense. Why would he be giving up?

 Finally gathering enough strength to speak, you mumble “What happened?”

 “Y/N… they know who we are. I don’t know how they figured it out, but they did. They are going to hurt me to get to you. You can’t let them, okay? Stay strong. Everything will be fine.” His words are rushed. You have a hard time following them, as if the words drift into the air, only to enter your head in a different order.

 Before you have a chance to ask any more questions, you hear a door swing open behind you. You can hear the footsteps, but can’t turn around enough to see who they belong to.

 “Do it.” You know that voice. You know you know it, but you can’t place it.

 A man appears from your left. He stands in front of you, a mask covering his face so you can only see his eyes. “Let’s have some fun.” You’re ready for him to hit you. Or cut you. Or hurt you in any way. What you’re not ready for is him pulling a knife only to walk over to Cameron.

 “No” The word is barely there. You aren’t even sure you said it out loud.

 “Y/N, don’t tell them anything. Okay? I’ll be fine.” Cameron is looking at you with pleading eyes. You both know he’s lying.

 “Your fiancé here is a liar.” The man sneers, dragging his knife down Cameron’s arm. “He will most certainly not be fine.” With that, the man plunges the knife into Cameron’s stomach. A gut wrenching scream leaves his mouth as the man moves the knife around inside his body. You try to control your reaction, but tears instantly spring to your eyes.

 “Tell me what I want to know, and I’ll leave your man alone.” There’s no point. Cameron would never forgive you if you gave up information to the enemy. He’s always been a loyal soldier. Either way, deep down you know he won’t live much longer. He’s lost too much blood. You are going to have to watch the man you love die. He’s going to bleed out in front of you. And there’s nothing you can do about it.

 You are shaken back to reality after the jet has landed. You slowly come to, realizing you must have fallen asleep while you were looking at the files. You can’t get the eyes out of your head now. The last time you had a nightmare was 6 months ago. Although, this was more of a memory than the usual nightmares you have.

 “Y/N/N? You good?” Morgan is looking at you with concern that hasn’t been there since your first month on the job.

 “Yeah, I’m fine. Just groggy.” You try to laugh it off, walking past him and jumping into an SUV. You’re supposed to go with Hotch to the precinct to set up, so you can avoid the rest of the team’s questions for now.

 You bury your head in the files again, trying to discern if anything feels off or if it is all too similar to be a coincidence.

 “Just answer the question. This will all be over.” Cameron is dead. You are staring at his lifeless body as the man tries to torture you to get the answers he wants.

 With all the strength you can muster up, you spit at him. “I didn’t break before and I won’t break now. Do what you want to me. You’ll never get your answers.” “Oh everyone’s got a breaking point. I’ll find yours.” With that, he storms passed you and out of the room.

 You try to inventory the damage he’s done, but it’s hard because he typically drugs you when he leaves. You’re too disoriented to remember everything. You haven’t heard anything else from the first voice, but you finally realized it was the owner of the bar.

 You are just about to drift back into unconsciousness when you hear a loud crash from somewhere in the building. You expect the masked man to come running back into the room, but instead you’re greeted with the face of the terrorist cell leader. He pulls you to your feet, mumbling about how this wasn’t part of the deal.

 You don’t have the energy to protest as he pulls you down hallways and through doors. He bursts into a large open room. It smells like chlorine, but your eyes are too fuzzy to figure out why. The lights just got so much brighter, and you can’t see. You keep slipping on the floor. The third time, you fall to the ground. Everything is wet. He’s kicking you now. No, rolling you. It all feels distant. As if it’s not happening to you, but rather you are watching it happen to someone. Like a movie.

 You hear the splash before you register the water surrounding you. You’re sinking. It’s actually quite warm. Like a comforting blanket tucking you into bed. The sounds of people yelling fade out as the water covers your head. You feel at peace as everything fades to black.

 Suddenly, the peace is gone. You can hear voices. They sound loud, but still distant. Like you are swimming and someone is trying to talk to you from above the water. But the ground is hard now. There’s loud bangs too, but you can’t figure out what they are. There’s no pattern to them, but suddenly they stop. Maybe you’ll never know what they were, oh well. You just want to get back to the peaceful darkness.

 Instead, you feel burning in your lungs and a pounding in your head. It feels like someone is punching you in the ribs. No. No. No. Where’s the peace?

 All at once, the burning liquid is expelled from your lungs and your eyes fly open. You try to spin around, to see what’s happening, but everything hurts. Your lungs are trying to fill with air. Your eyes are trying to adjust to the lights. You head is begging everything to just stop making noise. Then, darkness. It’s not a peaceful transition this time. It’s sudden, as if someone turned everything off.

 “Y/N?” The sound of your name draws you out of the memory again. You turn to see Hotch’s concerned expression. He’s parked the car outside of the station.

 You take a few deep breaths before speaking, trying to prepare yourself for what you never wanted to have to do. “I have to tell them.” Hotch nods with a grim expression on his face.

 “The team won’t judge you for keeping it a secret. We’ll all be there for you.” He tries to smile, but it’s more of a grimace. He’s too worried about you.

 “I know. It’s not me I’m worried about.” For the first time since you met him, Aaron Hotchner looks confused. It’s actually kind of funny. Although, your laughing sounds more delirious than amused.

 “Hotch, my first case with Spencer, do you remember it?” You shudder at the memory.

 “Of course. It was hard on both of you.” Your smile feels weak, even to you.

 “Well, I tried to check on him. I had only just met him, but he looked so sad. I wanted to take his pain away.” You can feel the tears coming, but you can’t figure out why. “He said unless I had been kidnapped, tortured, and drugged, shot multiple times, and witnessed the murder of the love of my life there was nothing I could do to help him.”

 You can’t bring yourself to look at Hotch. His worrisome expression will just make you feel worse.

 “You didn’t tell him.” The realization is evident in the lilt of his voice. Turning toward him, you try to explain, but he cuts you off. “He was listing trauma you’ve both experienced, and you didn’t tell him.”

 “Of course not, he would’ve felt so guilty! He already feels so guilty and he has no idea. We talked it out, you know. We were actually becoming friends, although it was hard to see from an outside perspective.”

 “You had me fooled. The two of you barely talk.” Hotch looks incredulous. You’ve never seen so many emotions on his face in one day, let alone one conversation.

 “I know. It’s still new. Honestly, it happened yesterday.” Hotch actually chuckles at that. “I think he still feels bad that my first impression was him yelling at me. He’s going to feel so guilty, and I just wanted to keep that pain away from him. He doesn’t need my emotional baggage on top of his own.” You can’t read the expression on his face anymore. You can tell he’s thinking something, though he doesn’t intend to share.

 “It’ll all work out in the end, Y/N. Reid is stronger than he looks. He’s been through a lot, but so have you. Let’s go catch this son of a bitch.” And the two of you exit the car as if nothing out of the ordinary had just occurred.

 Your nerves build waiting for the rest of the team at the station. Spencer and Derek are last to arrive. You were hoping to have a few more minutes to figure out how to tell them all about the worst moments of your life, but alas the time has come.

 Hotch clears his throat to get everyone’s attention. The conversations about theories die out as all eyes turn to him. “Y/N has a theory to share.”

 That’s one way to put it. Before you can back out, you jump right in.

 “The unsub was a for-hire torturer. I think he left the business and started killing for fun. A sadist. He enjoys the psychological torture of killing the one person you love more than anyone.” You can’t bring yourself to say another word. Spencer looks grief stricken. Everyone else is looking at you in confusion, except Hotch who is looking at you with sorrow. You can’t decide which is worse.

 “What makes you say that?” Derek is the first one to speak. He clearly doesn’t understand why you came to that conclusion. Plus, he’s probably confused that Hotch had to introduce your theory rather than just include it in the brainstorming.

 “Before I worked in violent crimes, I worked in the National Security division. I focused on domestic terrorism. We had a mission go wrong. It was supposed to be a simple, just gathering intel. Something went wrong and two agents were abducted.” You unconsciously decided to depersonalize the story. It’s something Hotch quickly caught on to, but what can he do about it? You just need to get the words out.

 “They were a couple. Engaged. The man, he died from three precise wounds to the abdomen. He bled out while his fiancé was forced to watch.” You’re grateful when Emily interrupts.

 “Did the woman drown?” The woman. You.

 “No. Well, yes. She was dead for 3 minutes when they found her. The cell leader dumped her into a pool in the building she was being held in. They caught him trying to flee the building. When they questioned him about a partner, he said he hired someone to torture the couple to get information. He didn’t know where he went. I think that’s the unsub.”

 Instantly, the team is theorizing. You stay quiet, listening. Where could he have hidden for this long? Were there more crimes in other states? Can Garcia look through unsolved double homicides that fit the signature? Before long, Derek asks the question you’ve been dreading.

 “Can we interview the agent who survived?” You’re grateful that he’s looking at Hotch when he asks. Spencer, though, his eyes haven’t left you since you started speaking. He knows. You know he knows because you can see the weight bearing down on him. You tear your eyes away from him when Hotch clears his throat to get your attention.

 “Y/N, can we interview the agent?” His tone is gentle. Hotch knows what he’s asking. Are you ready to tell them the truth? To share this pain with all of us?

 “Yes. You can interview her.” You are visibly tense, but Morgan is just confused about the interaction. Why would Hotch need to ask you for permission? Why does he sound like someone just kicked his puppy?

 “Great, when can she get here?” Of course, Morgan would ask the next logical question.

 “She’s already here.” Your voice is quiet. He almost doesn’t hear you.

 “What? Where?” He knows he’s missing something. It’ll only take him a few more seconds to put it together, but you save him the trouble.

 “Right here.” You gesture to yourself, eyes flitting between Spencer’s and the ground. The rest of the team didn’t hear you. They were still working out theories as you, Morgan, Hotch, and Spencer converse in cryptic sentences and brief eye contact. Spencer is frozen in place. Hotch was stressed for you. It’s never easy to share past trauma, let alone when you feel like you don’t have a choice.

 The realization hits Morgan so fast he almost falls to the ground. He rushes to you, pulling you into the tightest bear hug you have ever experienced. Morgan has become like an older brother to you. He always jokes about how he would beat up anyone who hurt you. You always joke right back about doing the same for him. He told you about Carl Buford a few months ago. It was also on a case. You would’ve told him everything then, but you didn’t want him to feel like you thought the two were comparable or that his trauma was somehow less important just because you’d been through some bad shit too.

 His actions drew the attention of Rossi, JJ, and Emily though. You weren’t an overly emotional person usually. Undercover work made you good at compartmentalizing, so you never really sought out someone to comfort you. The sight of you in tears, wrapped in Morgan’s arms threw them for a loop. You normally waited until you got home to go through your routine to decompress. It was easier that way. But right now, the thought of even looking at Spencer was enough to bring tears to your eyes. You just couldn’t stop thinking about him. It felt weird, to be sharing such an intimate part of your life with everyone and still be thinking about him. You had moved on from it all though. You knew how to deal with it. Of course, you still love Cameron, but you talk about everything in therapy once a week so you won’t break down like this.

 You see JJ look to Spencer for an explanation, but he’s too busy looking at you with more pain in his eyes than should be possible. He knows how it feels to see someone you love die right in front of you. He knows how it feels to try and move on from being drugged and tortured. He knows how it feels to be alone in it all. What he doesn’t know is how it feels to try and help someone through that grief only to have your own thrown back in your face. That’s what he did to you. Albeit, unintentionally but he did that. And it is so clear that he feels awful. You wish you could talk to him, but Morgan is pulling you into a different conference room for a cognitive interview that you somehow agreed to in your state of shock.

 Hotch explains the situation to Rossi, Emily, and JJ. Spencer’s guilt only pushes further down on him when he hears it all again.

 He stares at the room you’re in through the class doors of the conference room. He hasn’t moved in the ten minutes you’ve been gone. He expected JJ to talk to him first, but he was surprised to find Hotch instead.

 “Y/N told me in the car that she was scared to share that story.” Hotch starts slow, trying to ease Spencer out of his own head.

 “I would be too. It’s a painful memory to relive.” Spencer responds with a familiar tightness in his chest.

 “She wasn’t worried about herself though.” Spencer’s head jerks up to meet Hotch’s stare.

 “What do you mean? Who else would she be worried for?”

 “You.” Hotch says it as if it’s the most natural thing in the world. You being worried about him when you share your darkest memories.

 “Me?” Spencer practically falls out of his chair in an effort to sit up straighter. “Why would she worry about me?” Despite his genius IQ, he can’t fathom why you would worry about him in this scenario. If roles were reversed and he had to tell the story of watching Maeve die, he wouldn’t be worried about you. He slowly comes to the conclusion that he would be worried about you though. Now that he knows you’ve been through something similar, he would worry about you anytime it was brought up. Anytime anything remotely similar was brought up.

 “She told me what you said to her on the jet after your first case together.” Spencer falls into himself at the memory, his guilt pushing his shoulders down. “She said you still feel guilty about it. That hearing the things she has been through would push all that guilt back to the surface. More than anything, she wanted to protect you from more pain.” Hotch seems to know more than he’s saying, but Spencer is too shocked to profile him.

 “But, I, how would, but…” Spencer is muttering the beginning of every thought running through his head, but he can’t seem to form a complete sentence. “Why?”

 “You’ll have to ask her.”

 --

 Between your cognitive interview and Garcia’s sleuthing, the team find the unsub rather quickly. You stay at the station when the team goes to catch him. You try to protest, but Hotch, Morgan, and Emily stare you down until you concede. Really though, it was the concerned look from Spencer that convinced you to sit down and wait. The case wraps up quickly after that. The masked man ended up being Kyle Beckett. A classic sadist.

 It brings you more closure than you would have imagined to know he will be locked up for the rest of his life. You spent a lot of time in therapy trying to cope with the fact that he was never caught. And now, it’s over. You’re also extremely grateful you didn’t have to face him, although you would never admit that you were actually glad to stay behind. They can all tell though. They are profilers after all.

 You can’t help but feel a sense of déjà vu at all the stares you’re getting on the jet. It’s as if time itself was rewound to a year ago. You feel like the newbie again. Getting ready to have a heart to heart with Spencer. You’d be blind not to notice the parallels of the two situations when Spencer slides into the seat next to you on the jet after everyone else falls asleep.

 The silence is comforting at first, but quickly becomes unbearable.

 “Hi” You have a sleepy smile on your face when you say it. You are unbelievably exhausted after everything that happened. Too tired to fully conceal the emotions you know you have been denying. You’re always happy when you talk to him, even if the occurrences are a bit far and few between compared to other members of the team. “You look sad.”

 His mouth actually twitches upward at that statement, which you count as a win in your book. “You’ve been through hell on this case, and you’re still worried about me.” You can’t tell what he’s thinking. He’s too good at hiding his thoughts inside that big beautiful brain.

 “I’ve always worried about you. Ever since I met you. You just looked so sad and I wanted to make it stop.” You aren’t thinking before you speak anymore. Probably why Spencer suddenly looks so surprised.

 “Is that why you didn’t want to tell me?” Now it’s your turn to look confused. How did he know that? “I may have talked to Hotch earlier…” It takes longer than you’d care to admit for you to understand what exactly Hotch told him. But still, you’re too tired to be bothered.

 “I’m sorry if that was weird for you. It’s just, after we talked about it I thought maybe we could eventually be friends or something. I didn’t want you to be sad again. I know what it feels like to be sad. I also know what it feels like to be sad again when you realize someone else is sad for that same reason.” You must actually be exhausted because it feels like you’re talking in riddles. “Sorry, that doesn’t make sense. I just mean, I didn’t want you to feel bad about it again. I didn’t want you to feel more pain” You’ve started leaning toward him, about ready to pass out.

 “You’re incredible. You truly are amazing. I don’t think a day will go by where I don’t feel awful for what I said to you, but maybe with enough time I can make it up to you.”

 “I would like that.” You smile brightly as you look into his eyes. They seem sad still, but there is a brightness there that wasn’t there before.

 Spencer doesn’t say anything else. Instead, he lets you lay down in his lap as you drift off, the soothing feeling of his hands in your hair lulling you to sleep.

 You wake up as the jet touches down. The memories of your conversation with Spencer bring a smile to your face. He looks down smiling when you shift in his lap.

 “Thank you” You’re not surprised he still feels like he needs to thank you.

 “I would do anything for you Spencer Reid.” You get up to collect your belongings, turning back only when you realize he hasn’t moved from his spot on the couch.

 “Spence, let’s go.” Spence. He likes the sound of that. Maybe, just maybe the two of you will be okay. 

[my-emotional-self]

Toxic Love Chapter 9

Pairings: Steve Rogers x Reader, Bucky Barnes x Reader, Steve Rogers x Reader x Bucky Barnes

Summary: Finding out your soulmates were Steve Rogers and Bucky Barnes was one thing.  But when someone from your past comes back to haunt you, you have to figure out if a relationship with two super soldiers is something you really want to pursue or if you’d rather go back to your comfortable single life.

Series Warnings:  18+, Swearing, Angst, Fluff, past mentions of rape, self-harm, attempted rape, domestic violence, stalking, death threats, possible Dark!Steve?, Steve will be an asshole a LOT in this series but I don’t know how dark it will get, explicit sexual content, mental health issues, kind of A/B/O dynamics but not really (no they are not actual wolves, more like the hierarchy), mentions of suicide, flashbacks of suicide, nightmares

A/N: There will be no taglist for this story!  I apologize in advance!

Three nights.  Three blissful sleep filled nights.  It had been awhile since you slept the whole night through.  Whether it be stress, nightmares, your other medication keep you up or having to work, there was always something that stopped you from getting a full nights rest. But this new one week trial of sleep medication that Dr. Wang put you on was a miracle worker.  The only downside was that you only had four tablets left. If you wanted more, you would have to make an appointment with her.  It was necessarily a bad thing, but how you would go about getting out of the tower without the buddy system was beyond you.  

The downside of the last three days?  The new dosage of your medication didn’t seem to be working.  And Dr. Wang had discussed that with you too.  If the dosing wasn’t working, you may have to switch medications all together and that too would require an in office visit.  

Your irritation had gotten downright horrible along with your intense bouts of anger.  Even if someone was chewing their food a certain way, it drove you crazy.  So, instead of trying to hang out with Darcy or Pepper or Clint, you found yourself stuck in your room for almost 72 hours straight.  

But then you started to have the ongoing feelings of emptiness.  Without Steve or Bucky and you being cooped up in your room because you just couldn’t handle the sound or annoyance of anyone at the moment, you were lonely.  So lonely. The last thing you wanted to do was let Steve or Bucky know while they were on a mission.  You didn’t want to distract them and get them hurt.  

At times you found your thoughts racing a mile a minute.  ‘What if they just decide one day they no longer like me and want nothing to do with me’ or ‘what if they find out about my mental health and leave me’. Yep.  A lot of thoughts of rejection and abandonment were also starting to creep into your mind.  

But at least you were getting good sleep.  And no more threats either.  You hadn’t worked in a few days and as much as you wanted to, it was hard to get out of bed.  

By day nine you were going absolute out of your mind.  Your medications clearly weren’t working anymore and now you had run out of the sleep medicine too.  You emailed Dr. Wang but with your stroke of luck, she was out of the office for the rest of the week and her scheduled was booked up for another two weeks after that. They marked you down for an appointment in exactly 19 days.  You weren’t sure how you were supposed to last that long, but you decided to dig deep and find as much willpower as possible.

On day ten, you were just about to head down to your game room and get to work.  You needed the distraction.  

Walking out of your room you were shocked to see Steve and Bucky coming off the elevator.  They were supposed to be gone for another two days you thought.  

“Hey!  Welcome back!” you cheered, happy to see them.  Bucky gave you a soft smile as Steve dropped his shield on the ground angrily; the sound echoing around the apartment.  Putting your foot in your mouth, words came tumbling from your lips.  “Great. Crabby Steve is back.”

His head snapped towards you, a menacing scowl on his face.  “Excuse me?” he growled angrily.

You rolled your eyes, not wanting to deal with sour mood.  

“Did you just roll your eyes at me?” he barked out, storming towards you.  He took in your appearance and you realized you didn’t have anything covering up the dark circles under your eyes.  “When’s the last time you got any sleep?”  Not even answering him, you shrugged your shoulders and walked right on passed him.  “You answer me when I speak to you!”

“I don’t know Steve!” you yelled back at him.  

If looks could kill, you would be six feet under.   “Don’t even think about going down to work right now.  You get back in your room and get some goddamn rest!”

“Steve, calm down,” Bucky urged, wanting to help dissolve the tension.

“I will not calm down Bucky,” he countered, his eyes never leaving yours.

You pressed the button on the elevator.  “I’m going to work Steve.  You can’t stop me.  I haven’t worked since the second night I moved in.”

Steve’s shoulders relaxed just an inch, but you could still tell he was pissed.  “I want you back up here at a descent hour and in bed.  Do you understand me?”

As the elevator doors closed, Steve could hear you say ‘Yeah, yeah, yeah’.

Alone in the elevator, you gave into your anger and punched and kicked the steel door, screaming profanities.  You had to admit, it made you feel better.

Getting off on the communal floor, you saw Natasha in the kitchen.  

“From the way Steve is acting, I’m going to guess the mission didn’t go as planned?” you asked.

“That would be correct,” Natasha replied, never looking up at the stack of papers in front of her.  “We’ll get them next time.”

As the night went on, you realized this was the kind of distraction you needed.  Why you hadn’t done this the whole time Steve and Bucky were gone was beyond you.  You were having a blast, interacting with your followers, killing the villains and just having an all-around good time.   Your body was less tense and for the first time in days, you were smiling.

Time got the best of you and by the time you were logging off, you realized it was after six in the morning.  At this point, you didn't care.  You were on a high from kicking some major gaming ass.  And to top it all off, no threatening messages from JSmith20 tonight.  

The communal kitchen was void of anyone and you got out the bread and plugged in the toaster, feeling hungry for the first time in days.  It was only seconds later when the elevator doors opened and out walked Steve, Clint and Natasha.  They were all wearing their workout clothes.  

“Damn.  You’re up early,” Clint joked as he began making a pot of coffee.  You saw Steve come to stand next to you out of the corner of your eye.  Hopefully he was in a better mood this morning.  

You snorted at him, shaking your head.  “More like I’m up way too late.”  You didn’t even think about the words that came out of your mouth as you finished buttering your toast and placed it on a glass plate.  

Grabbing your plate of toast, you turned around and started walking towards the elevator.  The sound of a fist slamming on the granite table stopped you dead in y our tracks.  

“I specifically told you to get to bed early last night.  Did I not?”  Yep, he still wasn’t in a good mood and you probably just made it ten times worse.

“You did,” came your short reply as you turned around to face him.  

His jaw was clenched so hard you were surprised he didn’t break any teeth.  He pointed upstairs and began to yell louder.  “I want you to get your ass upstairs right now and get the fuck to bed!  I don’t want you coming out of your room until I tell you to!”

Embarrassment flooded your cheeks at being yelled at in front of people.  Who the hell does he think he is telling you to go to your room like a fucking child?  You had never felt such intense anger than you did in this moment.  Without a second thought, you chucked your glass plate at his head.  You would have hit him but he saw it coming and he ducked out of the way.  The glass shattering into pieces on the floor.  

“Fuck you Steve!” you screamed so loud you felt your vocal cords vibrate in your throat.  The room fell silent as you turned on your heels and slammed open the door to the stairs.  Fuck waiting for the elevator.  

You took the stairs two at a time; your hands balled into fists.  Blood was rushing to your ears and you didn’t hear your name being called angrily by Steve.

As you got to your floor, you kicked open the door and headed down the hallway to your room. All you wanted to do was scream. Scream and throw something and punch things.  You needed to get this pent up anger out of you somehow or you felt like you were going to explode.  

You extended your arm to reach the scanner on your door but you never made it.  Instead, Steve gripped onto your wrist, yanking you away.

“Let me go!” you screamed, trying to kick at him, but it was no use.  He had you pinned to the wall; his legs pushed against yours and his hands against your shoulders.  You were stuck.  Stupid super soldier strength.  

“What in the ever loving fuck is wrong with you?” Steve demanded, his face so close to yours that you could feel his warm breath.  

And you didn’t even know how to answer him.  Because in that moment, seeing such rage burning behind Steve’s eyes, you were turned on.  Oh fuck were you so turned on in that moment.  You wanted him to drag you into your room and have complete rough and carnal sex.  

Your shoulders were pinned to the wall by Steve’s firm grip, but your arms were still free to move around. As your eyes never left his, you picked up your right hand and grabbed Steve’s hand.  His body stiffened against you, but he didn’t move.  But once he noticed what you were doing, his eyes widened.

“What the fuck is going on here?” Bucky demanded as he saw Steve’s hand around your neck.  

[thatsamericano]

Confidant by Accident

Pairings/Characters: America/Romano, Lithuania POV.

Ratings/Warnings: Teen, only for cursing. No warnings other than mild angst.

Word Count: 1838

Summary: After America rejects Romano’s offer of leftover lasagna in favor of a chocolate bar, Romano needs to vent to someone. Lithuania ends up being the perfect sounding board.

A/N: Takes place right after this week’s episode/Chapter 72 of Hetalia World Stars. Will be up on AO3 soon.

Lithuania was too busy helping America move heavy cardboard boxes to say anything when Romano appeared in the doorway. He could only glance over as he was setting down a box and wonder why Savino wouldn’t just walk into the room instead of barely letting his head peek in through the doorway. He was acting shy, which wasn’t like him at all.

But then it started to make sense. Savino was worried about Alfred working too much, though he hid his concern by bragging about his two-hour lunch break. (Which was frankly excessive, in Tolys’s opinion. Not that anyone had asked him.) When America admitted he hadn’t really sat down for lunch in a long time, Romano offered him homemade lasagna. Making that particular meal took a while, and Lithuania was a little surprised Romano would spontaneously offer it to America. Even if it was leftovers that he couldn’t finish himself.

America was surprised too, and Romano misinterpreted his reaction. By this time, Tolys was moving another box, but he didn’t have to see Savino’s face to hear how his voice got quieter and how he almost sounded hurt, as if America had rejected something more important than leftovers. Lithuania frowned as he set the box down and glanced back and forth between them.

Alfred thanked Savino for his offer, but he didn’t seem to pick up on how bothered Savino was. It wasn’t out of any ill intent. Tolys had been living with Alfred with a while, and if he had learned one thing about his employer, it was that he often seemed to miss the social intricacies that seemed so clear to others, especially when he was focused on something else.

Right now, he was focused on brandishing a chocolate bar. He pulled the chocolate bar seemingly out of nowhere, winked, then chomped into it in a way that was strangely… flirtatious? It was almost like he was trying to impress Savino, either with the mere fact he had a chocolate bar or the overdramatic way that he ate it. Lithuania didn’t understand how either of those things could be impressive, but it seemed to be working on Romano.

Savino was enraptured by Alfred’s odd display. His eyes were wide, his lips were parted, and, most tellingly of all, a reddish blush formed on his cheeks. But by the time America was looking at him again, Romano’s mask was back in place. He smiled weakly at America as he left the room, and once he was gone, America sighed fondly.

“Vinny worries way too much, doesn’t he?” He went back to his “multi-tasking,” which was clearly just trying to do too much at once. Currently it involved talking on the phone, doing paperwork, and attempting to eat a chocolate bar all at the same time.

Lithuania continued the single task America had assigned him. He grunted as he lifted a particularly hefty box. “About you especially.”

Alfred hummed in agreement, and Tolys caught a glimpse of his face as he passed by with the box. America’s expression was inexplicable but not something Lithuania had never seen before. Despite the person currently berating him on the phone and the mountain of paperwork he had to complete, Alfred seemed almost blissful. He’d seemed blissful a few weeks ago, on a much slower day, when Lithuania had caught him sitting next to the couch, where Romano was taking his customary afternoon nap. His hand was inching towards Romano’s hair, but when he heard Lithuania’s footsteps, America whirled around with a panicked expression on his face and insisted that he’d only been checking to make sure Savino was breathing, since he’d gone awfully still for a second. He wasn’t watching Savino sleep or considering playing with his hair, because that would’ve been creepy and weird, and Alfred wasn’t a creepy weirdo, okay, Tolys?

Back then, all Tolys had been able to do was nod even if he knew Alfred had been lying. Now, all he could do was puzzle over America’s odd behavior as he kept helping him move boxes.

Tolys stretched his stiff, aching muscles after he’d placed the last box. “I’m done moving the boxes, Al.”

“Really? Thank you, that was very helpful.” America was working his way through a large stack of paperwork, but he managed to look up and give Lithuania a sincere smile. “You can take a break for a while now if you want. You’ve earned it.”

“What about you?”

The phone rang again, and Alfred shrugged before he picked it up and answered with a cheerful voice that belied how exhausted he must truly be. Lithuania knew America couldn’t be convinced, so he left the room and made his way towards the kitchen.

Romano was at the stove, scraping lasagna out of the pan and muttering to himself. When he got closer, he could hear that he was ranting about America. “Fucking idiot, won’t even let me take care of him. Then he has the nerve to wink at me and eat his mass-produced, shitty chocolate, which is not even half as nutritious as my lasagna.”

Lithuania grimaced. “Hey, Romano.”

“Hey.” Savino cast him a tired glance. “You want something?”

“I, uh, know I wasn’t the person you actually offered leftovers, but I think America’s gonna be chained to his desk all day. I figured you wouldn’t want all that food to go to waste.”

Savino snorted. “There’s enough here for two Americas. Get yourself something to drink, and I’ll fix you a normal-sized plate.”

“Thanks.” Lithuania poured himself a glass of wine, which was what Romano usually took with his lunch, and yawned. “Man, I’m beat.”

“You guys have been really busy today, huh?”

Lithuania smiled faintly at the tinge of concern in Romano’s voice. “Yeah. Alfred’s been way more swamped than me. He can’t even end a phone call without someone else calling him five seconds later.”

“He should have put me on the phone, so I could tell them to fuck off and leave him alone.” Romano got a fork out of the drawer, set it on the plate, and handed the lasagna to Lithuania.

Lithuania chuckled as he walked towards the kitchen table with his glass and plate. Romano followed him. “I don’t think that would lead to good business relations,” he teased.

Romano huffed in annoyance. “It might lead that idiota to eat an actual goddamn lunch for once in his life. He can’t subsist on fumes and chocolate bars forever.” Lithuania sat down at the table, and Romano sat across from him.

He took a bite, chewed it slowly, then swallowed. “Romano, Alfred… he wasn’t trying to insult you. He loves your food. I’m sure, if he wasn’t so busy—”

“That’s not the fucking problem, okay?”

“Okay.” Tolys knew that, especially with Savino, sometimes it was better not to push. Forcing the issue would only make him more defensive. For the next several minutes, he only heard the scrape of his fork across the plate, his own chewing, and wine sloshing in the glass as he sipped it between bites. The silence was awkward, but Lithuania could endure it.

Eventually, Savino broke. He put his elbows on the table, gripped his hair in his fists, and started talking. “Sometimes, Fredo frustrates the hell out of me. I can’t hate him, but I hate the shit he does.”

Obviously, he didn’t hate Alfred if he was giving him a nickname and offering him leftover lasagna, but Lithuania wasn’t tactless enough to point that particular absurdity out. He dabbed at his mouth with his napkin. “What does Alfred do that bothers you?”

“It’s what he doesn’t do. He looks at me, but he never really sees me. Ever. I’m around the guy practically 24/7, and somehow he’s too oblivious to pick up on the fact I fucking—” Romano paused, then shot Lithuania a look that communicated everything his fear refused to let him voice out loud. “That I care about him.”

Lithuania thought over everything that had happened today, and everything else he’d noticed since Romano moved into America’s house. “I think Alfred cares about you. But sometimes, he cares about you so much that he can’t see you caring about him too. Like today, with the chocolate bar. He would’ve probably preferred the lasagna, but he had something else to eat, and he didn’t want to make you go out of your way for him.” Or the fact that in his own clumsy, bizarre way, Alfred had been trying to flirt with Savino when he winked at him and bit into that chocolate bar. The fond gleam in America’s eyes as soon as Romano left the room, that was often there when Savino wasn’t looking directly at him. The way Alfred instinctively pulled Savino closer if they were walking through a dark, narrow street after spending the evening at a speakeasy. The fact that he would’ve sat beside the couch, gently running his fingers through Savino’s hair and watching him sleep if Tolys hadn’t walked into the living room at the exact wrong moment.

Care didn’t cover how America felt, and even love, that word Romano refused to say, paled in comparison. Devotion was the closest term, and it was growing steadily every day. But that devotion was concealed and unspoken, and it wasn’t Lithuania’s place to say anything for America. Even if today had made it abundantly clear that Savino reciprocated those feelings, despite his occasionally prickly demeanor.

Gradually, Romano loosened his grip on his hair. He put his hands down in front of the table and sighed.

“Why the hell did he whip out the chocolate bar, bite it, and pose afterwards? Showy asshole.” Romano was blushing again and avoiding Lithuania’s eyes, but he didn’t seem quite as troubled as before. He didn’t sound particularly irritated either.

Tolys shrugged. “You’d have to ask him. I can’t read Alfred’s mind.” He could put the clues together, and the clues all added up to one conclusion. But that conclusion, inconveniently, wasn’t his secret to share.

Lithuania finished his meal, and he carried his empty plate, fork, and wine glass to the sink. “Thanks for fixing lasagna for lunch. It was delicious, and it was a nice thing for you to do.”

Romano had gotten up at the same time he had, and now, he was standing near the broom he’d left by the pantry door. “Thanks for talking to me about stuff,” he said quietly. Savino was clearly embarrassed by their conversation, and by what he’d nearly confessed. Lithuania knew he couldn’t make a big deal out of it. Forcing the issue would only make things worse, not better.

“No problem.”

Savino smiled genuinely, if not joyfully, when he carried his broom out of the room to sweep elsewhere. Tolys cleaned the dishes and fork he’d used, and he resolved to put this matter out of his mind until Savino (or perhaps Alfred, at some point in the future) needed him to be a confidant once again.

[elisela]

touch has a memory & mine is you buck x eddie, for @buckleysbabe on her birthday ♥️ (ao3)

----

It starts small—just Buck’s hand wrapping around his wrist to tug him close when a crowd of people at Dodger Stadium nearly separate them as they meet in front of the stadium—but when Buck starts to let go, Eddie swings his arm in closer, presses their bare forearms together. It’s been weeks since they’ve spent time together; another earthquake and dozens of first responders injured across the city meant temporary transfers and shifts being changed from 24-72 to 24-48, and they somehow hadn’t found time for anything other than phone calls and texts for nearly a month.

“God, I missed you,” Buck says, and when he swings his arm up on Eddie’s shoulders, Eddie can’t help but lean into it. “Everything okay?”

“Yeah,” he says, forcing himself to pull back, embarrassed. “I knew you’d be late, Buck, we’re gonna miss the first pitch.”

Buck makes a noise and pulls him closer. “Yeah, yeah, there’s at least 200 more after that,” he says.

“That’s—” he wrinkles up his nose, thinking, “seven pitches per batter on average. Kershaw is starting tonight—”

“Eddie,” Buck sighs, “are you seriously trying to lecture me about baseball already? You know I need a beer before you start in on all this.”

Eddie elbows him in retaliation, but Buck still doesn’t move his arm, so Eddie elbows him harder, until he snatches it away and hits Eddie back, the two of them play fighting like children until they get up to the gate and Buck backs away, pulling the tickets out of his pocket, and Eddie misses the heat of his body even though it’s what he had meant to happen.

----

Eddie had never realized how much Buck touched him until he wasn’t anymore. His new crew at Station 69 (which had made Buck snort milk through his nose when Bobby had given him the—temporary—transfer papers) aren’t a close bunch; they have his number and he’s gotten a few texts on his off hours, but no one is spending their days off with him, sending him pictures of cats available for adoption and whining when he points out how much work an animal is, and certainly no one has shown up at his house unannounced with take-out and a new board game. And they certainly aren’t as touchy as his team; no one squeezes his shoulder as they pass by, knocks their arms together on the way to the truck, or sprawls against his side while they play video games on the couch. They’re perfectly respectful of his personal space, and Eddie fucking hates it.

He makes it three innings before Buck twists in his seat towards him and leans in with an intense look on his face, knee bumping up against Eddie’s. “Okay, tell me what’s going on.”

He raises an eyebrow. “Uh, Betts is on first and Hernandez is up to the plate, but he’s got two strikes and—Buck, seriously, haven’t I taught you enough about baseball for you to be able to follow this?”

Buck looks unimpressed. “I meant with you. You’re—weird.”

“Gee, thanks.”

“You know what I mean,” Buck says. “Is something wrong? Am I making you uncomfortable?”

“You are now,” he says, looking away. “Let it go. And don’t you dare start singing that song.” Buck huffs out a breath next to him, and when he doesn’t move away, Eddie stands up. “I’m gonna go grab more beers,” he says, ignoring the half-full bottles in the cupholders in front of them, and he flees.

----

Chris is going through a phase.

At least, that’s what Eddie hopes it is.

Twelve is apparently too old to be hugged by your dad, to let him give you a kiss goodbye, or goodnight—too old for anything except an occasional bump against the shoulder in the kitchen, or a fist bump a second before he opens the door to the truck to be dropped off at school.

If Eddie holds his arms out, Chris looks at him flatly. If Eddie follows him to his bedroom door at night to tuck him in, Chris draws his name out through several syllables and declares that he’s not a kid and definitely doesn’t need to be tucked in. If Eddie reaches out a hand to place on his back while they go out to dinner, or to a movie, Chris ducks out of his way and shakes his head.

The touch-aversion is killing Eddie.

----

In the sixth, Buck’s fingers brush against his as he hands him a plate of nachos.

In the seventh, Seager hits a homerun and his skin buzzes after Buck gives him a high-give, lacing their fingers together briefly before Eddie pulls away.

In the eighth, he squeezes past Eddie to use the bathroom, one hand on Eddie’s waist when Eddie stands to let him through.

After the ninth, he stays in his seat, looking over at Eddie thoughtfully as they wait for the crowd to thin out before leaving. “You gonna talk to me now? No one’s around.”

“There’s nothing to talk about,” he says. There’s not. So what if no one has touched Eddie outside of calls in a month? So what if that sort of contact isn’t enough for him, if he craves the kind of touch Buck has so freely given him over the years? It’s not Buck’s problem that Eddie is touch starved, and he refuses to make it his problem. He just needs a little distance, because every time Buck touches him, it’s all Eddie can do to not plaster himself to Buck and take the comfort he desperately wants.

Buck groans. “Eds, it’s been a month since we’ve gotten to see each other and if you think I’ve forgotten how to tell when something is wrong, I haven’t. Did I do something? Did we make plans that I forgot about, or—” he reaches out and puts his hand on Eddie’s thigh, and Eddie stands up.

“Come on,” he says, “traffic’s probably died down a little by now.”

----

It’s not that he doesn’t know what his problem is, or that he hasn’t tried to solve it. He’d tried a massage—extremely uncomfortable once he’d realized that he was basically paying someone to make him feel good and couldn’t get the thought out of his head—gotten an unnecessary haircut, tried a pedicure.

Nothing worked.

He doesn’t want someone to touch him just because he wants it, he wants them to want it, too. He doesn’t want fingers digging into tired ankles, he wants someone’s palm to rest against his skin and stay there, to put down roots and make a home inside him.

He wants—deperately—Buck.

----

It doesn’t surprise him to see the Jeep’s headlights sweep across the front of his house a few minutes after he arrives home; he hadn’t bothered locking the door, knowing that ignoring four of Buck’s phone calls meant that he would surely show up.

But Buck doesn’t come in and make himself at home, just opens the door, leans against the frame with arms crossed over his chest, and says, “why don’t you want me touching you? Why didn’t you just say something? I would have stopped, Eddie.”

Eddie waves him in, but Buck stays stubbornly where he is. “It’s not a big deal,” he says. “Come on, let’s watch something.”

“It’s a big deal to me,” Buck insists. “I made you uncomfortable, and I—I’m really sorry, Eddie. I just—can you tell me why?”

Eddie tilts his head forward and pinches the bridge of his nose; Buck sounds hurt and small, and Eddie knows without a doubt that if he lets him leave feeling like this, they’re going to go weeks without seeing each other again, and the phone calls will drop off, too. He scrubs a hand across his face, takes in a deep breath and says, eyes still focused on the ground in front of him, “I haven’t—no one’s touched me in weeks.”

Buck is silent.

“I thought I might not be able to stop,” he admits. “I just want—” he stops, shakes his head. “It’s pathetic. I’m sorry.”

“Did you know if you hug someone for twenty seconds, it releases oxytocin?” Buck asks, and Eddie hears the front door closing before Buck’s footsteps sound across the floor. “There’s a surprising amount of health benefits,” he says, and Eddie looks up in time to see Buck’s hands reaching for him.

He goes willingly when Buck pulls him up, buries his head in Buck’s shoulder as he wraps his arms around him, and breathes him in. Twenty seconds—that’s new. They’re quick huggers, usually, lingering for a few seconds sometimes, hands on each other's shoulders or waists, but it’s—comforting. Buck is warm against him, and Eddie loses count when he gets to twenty in his head and Buck still doesn’t move except for the rhythmic sweep of fingertips along the back of his neck. He gives in and lets his body melt against Buck’s, lets his fingers creep up into Buck’s hair and run through the soft strands, gives up his dignity entirely and pushes the arm around Buck’s waist underneath the shirt he’s wearing and places his palm against skin.

“Eddie,” Buck sighs, and a shiver jolts up his spine, and Eddie blames that for the very stupid, very reckless thing he does next: slides his hand further up into Buck’s hair to hold his head still, tilts his own head up, and kisses him. He kisses him like he’s been wandering the desert for days and Buck has handed him water, kisses him like the last bit of air left in the world resides in Buck’s lungs, kisses him like he’s a sinner and Buck is his reconciliation.

His knees hit the back of the couch and he falls, Buck landing on his lap, and Buck only moves away to say, “this isn’t just because—please tell me this—”

“It’s not,” Eddie says, chasing after Buck’s mouth, “Jesus, you have no idea—”

“Kinda think I do,” Buck says, and he dips down to kiss him again. “Hey Eddie,” he says, hands framing Eddie’s face, thumbs brushing over his skin, “did you know that skin to skin contact reduces the amount of cortisol in your body?”

Eddie can’t stop touching him—hands on his waist, stroking up his back, digging his fingertips into Buck’s biceps as they kiss. He hums, reeling in his desperation, the desire that sings through his frantic heartbeat. “Got any suggestions?”

“I can think of a few,” Buck says, and his fingertips dance along the hemline of Eddie’s shirt.

----

Later—hours later—Eddie’s sprawled out on his front, head pillowed on Buck’s shoulder, fingertips counting out the steady beat of Buck’s pulse as Buck sweeps his hand gently up and down Eddie’s back. And he loves it, but—“you don’t have to keep touching me,” he says into Buck’s skin. “Don’t feel like—”

“Do you like it?”

“Yeah,” he says, quietly.

“Then let me keep doing it,” Buck says, pressing a kiss to the top of his head.

[mithrilwren]

Fanfic ask game for procrastinating on writing, which as of this week is actually accurate, since I’m finally writing again! (or, more specifically, editing what I wrote two months ago so I can get back to writing.)

Tagged by @essektheylyss! Thank you, this is exactly the kind of activity my brain needed tonight.

1) How many works do you have on AO3?

72! I was hovering at 69 for quite a while, sad to break the streak haha

2) What’s your total AO3 word count?

~550K, which is somehow both more and less than what I expected

3) How many fandoms have you written for and what are they?

Many, lmao. According to my Ao3 (omitting any blanket tags) I’ve got 22 there, plus at least two more over on ff.net from back in the day, and probably a couple more just on Tumblr. Most of them I’ve only written one fic for, though. I think the only fandoms where I’ve written more than one are Critical Role (35), Supernatural (15), Haikyuu!! (3), The Exorcist (2), Dimension 20 (2), and Yu-Gi-Oh! (2)

4) What are your top five fics by kudos?

Pick a Number, Any Number

Surprisingly, my number one is NOT a Critical Role fic, nor is it even one of my longer multi-chapters! It’s actually a one-shot I wrote for Haikyuu!! back in the day that took off far beyond what I expected. I wrote it for DaiSuga week, which was a ship I (to be completely honest) wasn’t even terribly invested in, but I had a fun idea and people seemed to like it! (It’s also much fluffier than what I usually write, which might be part of its broader appeal ;))

A Winter’s Ball

Unsurprisingly, the next four are all CR ;). This one was a M9 x VM crossover that I primarily wrote between the hours of 3-8am over the course of two insomnia-wracked nights and honestly, I think it shows in its uncharacteristically unstructured format (compared to my typical style, which tends to favour shorter scenes with very intentionally-placed breaks between, as opposed to scenes that flow into each other without pause). That’s not to say I think it’s a bad thing! The story, which follows Beau as she drifts through a party in Whitestone and observes the interactions between the various guests, actually flows better without that kind of interruption. This was also my first Beaujester piece. I started writing it right before Beau’s confession aired, and published it the week after, which definitely pushed me to make what had been only subtextual in the first half of my draft into the emotional lynchpin of the story.

Only the Nightingale Sings

I’m really glad this one still ranks as high as it does, because this story is absolutely my pride and joy. At one time (though I’m not sure that’s true anymore) it was the longest gen fic in the fandom, which is pretty cool! Plot-heavy, twist-heavy, angst-heavy, with seven points of view to follow and multiple interwoven storylines, it was a beast of a thing to write, and took almost exactly a year to finish, but the long process was oh-so worth it. Literally nothing makes me happier today than seeing a new comment or kudos on this story.

Closer Still

One of my earliest shadowgast fics, this one asks the question “how can you make the ‘stuck in an elevator trope’ fantasy?” The answer is, as always, demiplanes. This fic, perhaps more than any of my other shadowgast fics, is interesting to revisit, because it was written before the ep 97 reveal, but literally everything Essek does in it would suggest otherwise. It reads like I already knew he was a spy working with Trent, and yet I was firmly in the “Essek is NOT the spy” camp at the time. Gotta chalk that up to Matt telegraphing his growing guilt into the preceding episodes - even if I couldn’t see it, it was clearly there.

your dust from mine

My other novel-length CR multichapter, this fic brought me so much joy in the otherwise bleak summer of 2020. Most of my best memories of those four months come from working on this story. A Fjorclay adaption of The Goose Girl (my favourite fairytale) this story is about healing, growth, and figuring out what happiness means to you. While I know most people don’t read stories for this pairing anymore, for obvious reasons, I still cherish your dust from mine for how much of my heart I poured into it, and I look back on it with a huge amount of fondness.

5) Do you respond to comments, why or why not?

I do my absolute best to respond to every comment someone leaves on a story of mine, even if it occasionally takes a month or two. Replying to comments is one of my favourite parts of the fic-writing process - it gives me a chance to revisit peoples’ kind words and (often, incredibly insightful) observations, and I hope it also shows how appreciative I am of each and every one. 

6) What’s the fic you’ve written with the angstiest ending?

Though I write a lot of angst, I honestly tend more towards bittersweet endings than straight-up sadness. The only one I can really think of is What You Own - mind the tags if you follow the link, this is definitely one of the gnarlier things I’ve written for CR - whose ending is, admittedly, bleak. But this story so far removed from canon that I don’t think it’s the kind of angsty ending that lingers with you, as much as it packs a punch and then lets you go on your way.

7) Do you write crossovers? If so what is the craziest one you’ve written?

I tend to enjoy thinking about crossovers moreso than actually writing them. I’ve brainstormed a few, but none have ever made it much farther than the first page.

8) Have you ever received hate on a fic?

A few times! Not often, thankfully. Only one time in particular really sticks out to me, mostly for how it rocked my confidence in a way that I don’t think any comment could now, since I’ve had a few more years to build up faith in my own writing.

9) Do you write smut? If so what kind?

Very, very occasionally.

10) Have you ever had a fic stolen?

I hope not! 

11) Have you ever had a fic translated?

Nope!

12) Have you ever co-written a fic before?

Oh man, back in the Glee days... yeah. Yeah, I have. Nothing that ever got published, though ;)

13) What’s your all time favourite ship?

Not sure I have one! Ships come and go with the seasons, and sometimes they’re best left in the era you found them.

14) What’s a WIP you want to finish but don’t think you ever will?

The Shadowgast figure skating AU. It’s never going to happen, but I wish it had.

15) What are your writing strengths?

I would say probably structure, in terms of constructing narrative arcs and through-lines. I’m organized with my writing in a way that I am in few other areas of my life, haha. I’d also say my sense of place - I think I’m pretty good at constructing living, breathing settings and exploring how my characters interact affect/are affected by them.

16) What are your writing weaknesses?

I have a tendency to be wordy (which you might surmise from the length of this post, lol) and repeat myself, usually by going over emotional beats that don’t need the extra reinforcement. On the other hand, I tend to underexplain certain elements (particularly, important plot details in fic, and character motivation in original writing), which can lead to confusion.

A couple years ago I would have said dialogue, but I’ve put a lot of practice into it and I honestly think I’ve improved a lot, which is pretty cool!

17) What are your thoughts on writing dialogue in other languages in a fic?

I’ve never done it myself, and it’s not generally my favourite thing to read (like @essektheylyss said, it makes me hyper-aware that I’m reading words on a page, especially if I have to follow a footnote somewhere). That said, I’ve definitely also seen it used effectively, so I think it’s more down to whether it suits the particular story!

18) What was the first fandom you wrote for?

Yu-Gi-Oh!

19) What’s your favourite fic you’ve written?

As mentioned above, Only the Nightingale Sings.

[lils-of-the-valley]

Summer Time (Family) Madness

What’s up! I finally wrote something and didn’t post it at 1 am! That doesn’t mean I proofread it though (RIP I'm so tired I posted it to the wrong blog so I had to redo it)

First | < Previous | Chapter 8 | Next >

AO3

Apologizing to Emily was a lot harder than Langa had anticipated. He knew he could be stubborn, but Emily was worse. She did everything in her power to avoid him: locking herself in Nanako’s room as soon as he left his, turning away from him if she had the misfortune of being in the living room when he got back from work or the skatepark, eating at a different time from Langa and his mother. No matter what Langa tried, she refused to acknowledge him. He didn’t exist anymore to her.

And Langa had tried reaching out to her, both physically and metaphorically. He had tried grabbing her arm, forcing her to acknowledge him, but he was just shaken off the same way he had shaken her off three days prior. He had tried being gentler, calling her name the few times he did see her leave the room to get food, but he had been ignored. Langa had even tried texting her an apology, but the text had never been opened, the little checkmark never appearing next to his text. Emily was rightfully pissed, Langa understood that, but after 72 hours, he was starting to get annoyed again. She could have at least given him a chance! It had been three days, for crying out loud!

“Seem familiar?” Nanako asked over her cup of tea. Langa didn’t miss the amused smile on his mother’s face or the way her brown eyes were staring straight through him. Recently, she was really starting to pick up on whatever Langa was feeling, which he wasn’t sure if he was grateful for or absolutely mortified about.

“I-!” Langa bit the inside of his cheek as he pushed his pancake around his plate. “Okay, fair.”

“Look, I talked to Emily this morning. She’s still pretty mad at you for snapping at her and refusing to tell her why, but she seems ready to talk about it. It wasn’t my place to explain your actions, but I did encourage her to give you a chance to apologize. Which,” Langa shrunk in his seat the way his mother was looking at him, “I really shouldn’t have had to do, Langa. You’re an adult now; you shouldn’t need to have your mother fixing your problems anymore.” Nanako sighed, a small smile tugging at the corner of her mouth as she took a long sip of her tea. “But, here we are. I don’t even want to imagine the chaos that would have been if your father and I had decided to give you a little brother or sister. I don’t think I would have survived those fights if I’m struggling with just you and your cousin.”

Langa had asked a few times for a baby brother or sister when he had been younger. He had been in kindergarten and watching the children arrive with siblings made him envy them. The closest thing he had to a sibling was Emily, and he only say her during the summer. But those kids, they had a friend all year long. And they didn’t have to meet anyone new because siblings were family and family wasn’t scary. Not like all the kids whose faces were starting to blur together.

As he got older, he grew to be content with being an only child. He didn’t have to share at home. Everything at home was his: his toys, his parents, his room. As he grew older, he heard the other kids complain about their siblings, how they were hogging the tv or finished the last of the cereal without telling anyone. So Langa was happy with being alone. It was perhaps selfish of him, but he was glad he just had to deal with another kid just during the summer. Playing with Emily in the summer was more than enough.

But as he got older, Langa also wondered what it would have been like to have a real sibling, someone constantly buzzing around him. Would they have snowboarded with him? Would they have looked up at him? Would they have played with him? Would they have fought a lot? And would Langa have been a good brother, like Reki was? Would he have been able to help his sibling with their homework or their daily problems? Would he have been able to give and give and give so much like Reki did? Would have been as kind as Reki when-

Langa shook his head, shaking away the thought of Reki. He had to stop thinking of Reki all the damn time.

“Maybe it would have been better if I had a sibling. Maybe I would actually know how to say sorry?”

A light chuckle shook the teacup his mother was holding to her lips. “Maybe. But it’s never too late to start learning! I really think you should go see Emily. Oh! And bring her breakfast while you’re at it! It’ll be bonus points for you!”

Langa gave his mother a curt nod before moving to the kitchen counter to prepare a plate of pancakes for Emily. If there was one thing Langa knew, it was that food always cheers people up. Food was a universal peace offering that no one could refuse. Nobody could refuse a good plate of fluffy pancakes drowned in maple syrup. Or at least, Langa wouldn’t have been able to refuse. Hopefully, Emily wouldn’t refuse.

The confidence that Langa had built up lasted a grand total of three minutes, just enough time to assemble the plate and make his way to his mother’s room. Everything had been clear in his head: he would knock and apologize to Emily, offering him the pancakes. It was a simple plan, but when it came time to execute it, Langa froze. The words jumbled in his head and his hands refused to cooperate. He had to knock. Form a fist, lightly tap the door, that was all. Yet it felt like the most difficult thing to do. His fingers only tightened around the plate, not wanting to let go of it.

What was he supposed to do? What was he supposed to say? If, a big if, Emily opened the door after he finally fessed up the courage to knock, then he would have to say something. He’d have to say sorry. He would have to say sorry, but for what? For being cold and distant and…. Like himself? No. That was making excuses. It was a bad habit of his, apologizing and making excuses for himself. Like when he had that big fight with Reki- No! He was not thinking of Reki. He was thinking of Emily and how he was going to say sorry for shouting at her. He was thinking of Emily and how he was going to apologize for being inconsiderate and too in his own head to realize that he was hurting her and straight-up selfish. He was going to apologize instead of ignoring the situation until it went away.

With a deep breath, Langa raised his first. One knock. Silence. Two knocks. Movement in the room. Three knocks. The door creaking open.

Emily stood in the doorway, staring up at Langa, her eyes devoid of their usual warmth. Her eyes flickered between his face and the plate he was holding up for her, a peace offering. There was no sign of cheeriness in her face, only a deep frown. She was small, but she seemed so big. Small, but intimidating.

Langa shifted from foot to foot, pushing the plate into her hands. “It’s, it’s for you. Mom made it. Thought you’d like some.”

Finally! Finally, she took the plate, though she didn’t seem any closer to wanting to listen to Langa. But she didn’t turn away. She just stood there in the doorway, plate in hand.

“And I- I just…” Langa inhaled sharply. He could do this. He could fix this. “I’m sorry.”

It was stupid. It was so stupid. He felt like a little kid on the playground, small and childish, sent off to apologize for breaking the other kid’s plastic shovel. He felt like a child who had no clue how to apologize. Sorry. I’m sorry. It was all he knew how to say. He didn’t know how to truly, properly apologize. He had never cared enough about people to feel the need to say more than just sorry.

“Did your mom send you to apologize or is this really from you?”

“Me! I’m sorry, I mean it.” Langa did mean it, but Emily didn’t seem completely convinced yet. “I… shouldn’t have snapped at you like that. I’m sorry.”

“Alright, alright,” she shifted her weight onto one foot, leaning into the doorframe, “don’t need to overuse it. I know we’re known for constantly apologizing, but you know damn well that that’s just a stereotype. You don’t actually have to say sorry every other word.”

“But I feel like I should.”

Emily sighed. “Alright. Don’t overdo it either. But,” she glanced towards the kitchen behind Langa, right where Nanako was sitting, sipping her tea and finishing her breakfast, “can we talk in your room? Like, don’t get me wrong, I love Auntie Nanako, but it’s just… feels weird doing this in front of her. Like we’re back at the grandparents and we have to apologize for breaking whatever before going home and the parents want to make sure we’ve properly apologized? Yeah, it’s… it’s really weird. No offense to your mom or anything.”

“I get it, no worries. Reki’s the same way.”

Emily raised an eyebrow, an amused smile playing on her lips. “You really never stop thinking of him, do you?”

“I-!” He didn’t. He had to stop, but somehow Reki always found his way back into Langa’s head. “He’s my best friend. And the only one of my friends who’s come over. So it’s just, it’s a coincidence.”

“Uh-huh, sure, sure.” Emily brushed past Langa, making her way to his room with her breakfast. “You keep telling yourself that, buddy.”

“I’m serious!” Langa huffed, stuffing his hands in his pockets and refusing to acknowledge the heat forming in his cheeks as he followed his cousin. “You know, for someone who’s pissed at me, you sure are in a good mood.”

“Oh.” Emily stopped in front of his closed-door before turning to him with a grin. “I stopped being mad at you like two days ago.”

Two days ago. That was impossible. Just last night she was leaving the kitchen as soon as Langa was coming in, kicking his shoes off. Just last night she was locking herself in his mother’s room, refusing to even look at him. It was impossible that she wasn’t still mad at him. It didn’t make sense.

“Yeah, I’m just really petty.”

It was the way she was saying it, just shrugging as she pushed the door open. It was how nonchalant she was about it, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world.

“You…” Langa sighed. Reasoning was impossible. “You made me suffer for three days, brushing me off, refusing to eat at the same time as me, basically telling me to go fuck myself for… for what reason?”

“You were insufferable for three days, so it was only fair that I made you suffer the same amount.”

“You,” Langa said with a huff and entering his room right behind his cousin, “are impossible.”

“Thanks!”

As Emily got comfortable on the floor, her back pressed against the closet door as she got ready to eat, Langa let his whole body flop onto his bed. It had gone better than he had anticipated, but it had still been exhausting. The spiraling insecurities always took a lot out of him. But as soon as his body sank into his mattress, his face hitting his pillow, everything melted away. Everything felt better, the weight of his mistakes lifted from his shoulders. And the sound of Emily struggling to cut her pancakes with her fork reminded him that things would be okay. He hadn’t broken everything important to him.

Langa shifted on his bed, folding his arms and tucking them under his chin as he looked over at Emily.

“I’m serious though. I am sorry about being insufferable and all. Just…”

“It’s fine, really. Apology accepted, Langa. Just,” Emily stopped picking at her plate, her brown eyes falling onto Langa instead, “can I finally know why you were acting all shitty and whatever?”

Why had he acted the way he did? The answer was terribly obvious, but it was also stupid. Terribly stupid.

“Reki?”

Silence emptied the room completely. Emile blinked at Langa, a forkful of pancakes hanging between her mouth and her plate as she gapped at him. It was stupid. So stupid. Langa should have lied. He should have found another reason. Now he seemed stupid because he was and this whole situation was stupid because of Langa’s stupid heart that was constantly beating in his chest at a speed that was probably alarming and-

“You…” Emily inhaled sharply, putting her plate and fork down onto her lap and brought her hands together to her mouth. Then her hands were pointed in Langa’s direction and he sank into his pillow. “You were an asshole to me for three days because of your boyfriend?”

Heat raced through his body as Langa jolted up. “He’s not-!”

“Fine! Your ‘best friend’ or whatever you wanna call it! What- What the actual fuck, Langa?”

“I don’t know! I don’t…”

Langa shouldn’t have been laughing. He should have been serious, trying to explain his mess. But Emily was laughing, her hands in her face as she wiped away tears, and it was hard to not laugh with her. Maybe she had also realized that everything was ridiculous. Maybe she had finally realized that Langa was absolutely ridiculous.

“I don’t know, Emmy. I really- It made sense, or maybe it never really did?”

“No, it does not make any sense. You do not make any sense, you twig!”

“I just… I was mad, okay? I don’t know who I was mad at – probably myself most of all – but it was just easier to take it out on you since, since, you know, you kinda, I mean, if you hadn’t come to DopeSketch then maybe?”

“You were pissed at me because your not-boyfriend suggested teaching me how to skate? You… what the fuck?”

Langa dropped back into his pillow, resisting the urge to scream. It sounded so much worse when said like that. It sounded so much worse when talking about it. If only he could disappear forever and avoid the absolute humiliation of having Emily half-screaming at him, half-laughing at him. It was worse than… than anything, really. Langa was ready to dig his own hole to hide in.

He peered over his pillow, not ready to let go of it quite yet. It was a rather effective shield.

“Yes? I mean��� It’s not the skating part that bothered me. It’s the-”

“Part where it sounded like he was asking me out?”

Langa chewed on the inside of his cheek, nodding hesitantly into his pillow. He was aware that he was acting like a child who was caught doing something wrong. He was aware that he looked stupid and foolish. He was aware that he was supposed to be able to handle himself just a little better than that, but what was he to do? The pillow was the only thing keeping him safe.

“Langa! You useless-!”

Langa almost missed Emily pinching the bridge of her nose, looking more exasperated than he had ever seen her.

“You… Look, first off, he wasn’t asking me out. And second of all, if you had stuck around an extra 20 seconds, you would have known I turned him down.”

Emily had turned Reki down. She had refused him. What kind of monster refuses anything from Reki?

“What? Why?”

“Why what?”

“Why’d you turn him down?”

Emily clicked her tongue as she stared up at the ceiling. “Well, it’s pretty simple, really. Your ‘friend’ there,” Langa cringed at the air quotes, “really did sound like he was asking me out, which apparently actually wasn’t his intention. But even if it had been his intention, he’s basically a kid. He’s not even 18, is he?”

“Next week.”

“So he’s not even 18, which is… weird? I don’t know, even if he was 18, it would still be weird for me. Not that was the main point of this. The most important part of this,” Emily straightened out, leaning closer to Langa, “I know you like him. Hell, I think everyone knows that you’re basically head over heels for him.”

“Everyone but him,” Langa mumbled into his pillow, completely defeated. There was no point in moving out of the fluff.

“I… I don’t think you’re giving the kid enough credit, Langa. I don’t think he’s as dense as you paint him to be.”

“Oh great. Yay for me. I get to fuck up yet another friendship.”

“I… also don’t think you’re messing up your friendship.” Langa could hear Emily shuffle on her side of the room, the fork clanking against the ceramic plate. She was probably starting to feel sore from the hardwood floor. “Look, I don’t know shit. The only news I’ve gotten of you in the past three years has been from your mom talking to grandma who would then tell my mom. And from the time I’ve been here, well, I’m just your dumb, airhead cousin. My opinion isn’t worth shit, but it kinda looks like it might be reciprocated?”

Langa propped up onto his elbows, huffing as he stared at Emily. “It’s not. And all you’re achieving right now is giving me false hope.”

“No! That’s not-! I didn’t mean… I was talking to Reki, after you stormed off like a big baby.”

“Gee, thanks. False hope and making fun of me.”

“And like, I was telling him that I was flattered and all, but that I had to turn down his offer since, you know, I’m heading back home in a couple of weeks. It wouldn’t be fair to anyone to try something with an expiration date and he doesn’t seem to be the type to just wanna hook up or whatever.”

Langa buried his face in his pillow again, hands over his ears. “I don’t wanna think about it, I don’t wanna hear about it. I don’t wanna think about it, I don’t wanna hear about it. I don’t wanna think about it, I don’t wanna hear about it. I don’t-”

“I didn’t say that to him, you twig! Now listen to me! I don’t wanna talk about sex with you, anyway!”

Langa’s face was flushed and panicked as he lifted it from his pillow for what felt like the thousandth time in a very little amount of time. His voice was high-pitched, only accentuating his horror. “I don’t wanna talk about sex with anyone! Especially not- No!”

“Aw, it’s okay, little baby Langa. I won’t disgust you with that. But I will tell you that Reki is so cute when he’s flustered. Like, he’s adorable, isn’t he?”

“I… will not answer that.”

Emily raised an eyebrow, a smile stretching across her face.

“Right. I forgot, you probably find him cute even when he’s passed out cold, snoring and drooling into his pillow.” Langa stayed quiet, chewing at his lip. “But yeah, turns out that it was just genuine desire to get me to try something new that would keep me busy? He was so embarrassed at the whole miscommunication thing and thinking he was asking me out. But so very cute. Just wanted to pinch his cheeks and squish his little face! Ah! I can’t wait for you to ask him out! Like, it’ll be so cute! And dumb! Because look at you!”

Embarrassed didn’t even begin to describe whatever it was that was twisting in Langa’s body. There was the heat of embarrassment, the desire for Emily to just shut the fuck up, but there was also the lightness of familiarity and fun. Falling back into the easy banter was nice. It was much better than being mad or being ignored. It was… comforting to know that there was someone he could talk to like this.

“This feels homophobic.”

Emily stared at him with a deadpan expression which made him snicker.

“When’s the last time you made that joke?”

“Whenever the last time you spoke to me and forced my hand.”

“I did not- Go to Hell!”

Oh, she was making this just too easy for him.

“But,” Langa cocked his head to the side, not bothering to hide his amused smile, “isn’t that where all the gays go?”

Exasperation stained Emily’s face as she reached out to him, her hands making a choking motion. Oh, how he had missed the jokes. How he had missed being annoying and obnoxious.

“How? How have you not outed yourself yet?”

Langa shrugged. “Simple. I don’t know how to say half of this shit in Japanese, so I can’t say it. Plus, new place, new life. Only you get the privilege of dealing with how I was back in Canada. But you bet your ass that I’m thinking it, even if I’m not saying it.”

“I’m sure you’re also thinking of someone’s ass-!”

It was a reflex, throwing the pillow at Emily. It was the only thing Langa could think of to get her to shut up. But the moment the pillow collided with the girl, her whole body curling to defend herself from the attack, Langa knew he had fucked up. Metal and ceramic clattered across his floor, half-eaten pancakes and an ungodly amount of smuggled maple syrup pooling on Emily’s lap and at her feet. Both froze, staring at the white pillow soaking in the sticky mess they had created.

“Damn, all this because you can’t take an ass joke.”

“I will choke you.”

“Kinky. Keep it for your boyfriend.”

So Emily was even worse than him. At least, when it came to obnoxiously dumb jokes. When it came to cleaning, both sucked, just staring at the floor instead of doing anything. At this rate, Langa would be better off just buying himself a new pillow; there was no way he would manage to get all that syrup out of it. But moving meant acknowledging the problem, and Langa was not ready for that. Or maybe he just didn’t like cleaning up messes.

“If my pillow is trash, I will murder you.”

Reluctantly, Emily picked up the pillow, holding it far from herself. A large stain had formed on the pillowcase, having probably seeped through the fabric and into the pillow’s fluff. Her face twisted in disgust. She also didn’t seem keen on cleaning and laundry.

“I invite you to try, but people have been trying and failing for the past 20 years.”

Langa sighed, finally pulling his legs off his bed and crouching down in from of the flipped plate. How was he supposed to clean this up? Where did he even start?

“Just help me clean your mess.”

“My mess? Excuse me? You’re the one who hit me with a pillow and caused this!”

The fork. He would start by picking up the fork. And maybe the plate. Leaving it on the floor was just risking breaking it. Hopefully, it wasn’t chipped.

“Go get the cleaning products. I think mom keeps them under the sink in the bathroom. And throw my pillow into a bag or something. We’ll have to go to the laundromat later.”

Emily sighed, finally pushing herself off the ground. She still held the pillow with the tip of her fingers, very far from her body.

“Fine! I’ll keep you company later, but you’re cleaning your floor! I’m not touching anything sticky and gross.”

“It’s maple syrup. How is that gross?”

“Just saying that I don’t know what trash you’ve put on your floor and I am not scrubbing it.”

“Just go get the stuff before this leaks through the floorboard.”

Emily huffed one last time before exiting the room. While he waited, Langa could hear his mother questioning Emily. “What was that noise?” “What are you looking for?” “Did you and Langa make up?” A smile pulled on the corner of Langa’s mouth. He knew his mother would ask questions and that was the only reason he had sent Emily to fetch the cleaning products. He knew if he had gone himself, then he would have had a thousand questions to answer which he absolutely did not want to do.

[goatbi]

Outside Looking In

The first time Dr. Harold P. Coomer had ever seen subject 8V88Y, he had been in his tube, snarling at anyone who got close to it, teeth glinting even in the green hue of whatever it was he was floating in. Technically speaking, Harold should not have been down here. He didn’t work in this division, but... he had gotten curious, and now he was watching the other doctors scramble around trying to calm him down. 

How could they not see how easy it would be? Harold sighed, setting down the files he had offered to take down, as a way in, and moved over towards the tube he was in. 8V88Y turned to snarl at him, but paused, not recognizing him. 'Who the fuck are you?’ Harold blinked at the sign, but found it lucky he had learned it a few years back. 

There were other doctors around, trying to get his attention, but he ignored it for now, though he knew it was a danger to his job at this point. “Harold.” 8V88Y stared at him a moment, before shifting around to glare at him, snarling. 

'And what the hell do you want?’ 

“You know, I’ve heard a rumor going around that you’re the only one of this experiments that survived this long.” Harold had been fascinated with them since the moment they came out and said what they were doing. He grinned up at 8V88Y, who looked back in surprise, eyes wide. “Which, of course means you’re the best of the bunch, right?” 

8V88Y paused, glanced around. At this point, the others had noticed how quickly 8V88Y had calmed in Harold’s presence, and was letting him do whatever it was he was doing. 8V88Y looked back towards him, realizing Harold had gotten distracted by the classification on his tube. He hummed softly, looking back up at him. 

“kinda looks like Bubby, huh?” He glanced around, and managed to get a few laughs from the various others, looking up at the newly christened Bubby. 

After a moment, Bubby beamed, sharp teeth on display, and Harold felt as if he couldn’t help but smile back. 

-----------------------------------------------------

When he looked up at Bubby in his tube now, eyes closed peacefully, hopefully numb from his injuries. He never wanted to have to put him back into his tube, but with how badly he was hurt, Harold had no choice. 

He settled with his back against the tube, and he and Benrey fell into silence. Harold had a feeling that Benrey didn’t want to sleep either, in case something happened. Harold could work on his arm, but he really didn’t feel like moving from Bubby’s side, and he was liable to fuck it up, tired as he was. 

“Hey...” Harold shifted, turning his head to Benrey, who sang a few notes, letting the Sweet Voice light up where they were, as the glow of Bubby’s tube was dimmed while he slept. “How bad is it?” 

Harold sighed softly, glancing back at Bubby. “72% skin loss... I’m not sure on the muscle, but there’s going to be problems there, might lose some fine motor control, but, seeing as he is Bubby, he’ll be alright in the long run.” Benrey nodded slightly, looking over at Gordon and Tommy. “How are they?” 

“Gordon’s arm is healed up nice again... Tommy isn’t really hurt, just uh, exhausted.” Benrey settled carefully on Gordon’s other side, frowning slightly. He looked back to Harold. “You should get some sleep.” 

Harold laughed, nodded slightly, but kept his eyes open, watching the Sweet Voice in the air hover and dissipate, Benrey singing a few more notes to bring it back. 

“You’re... not gonna, are you?” 

He shook his head. “I don’t sleep well alone anymore.” 

-----------------------------------------------

Harold was there the first time Bubby stepped out of the tube. He stumbled right into Harold’s arms, and Harold couldn’t help but grin at him, eyes shining. Bubby grinned back, trying to get his feet under him properly, and Harold stood next to him, supporting him when he could. 

They took a few laps around the lab, and slowly, but surely, he got more confident, testing his range of movement, supporting his own weight. Bubby grinned up at Harold, eyes shining, and Harold grinned back. “Well. How long can he stay out?” He glanced off to the side, catching the eye of one of the head scientists of this project, who sighed softly, flicking through a few papers. 

“Another hour, but that’s pushing it.” 

“Hm... thirty minutes?” 

“Fine.” 

Bubby cheered, spinning in place and freezing, frowning at himself. “Whoa...” 

And then Harold had to explain the concept and science behind getting dizzy. 

--------------------------------------------------

The first time Bubby woke up, he was awake for maybe thirty seconds. He hid his left arm behind his back the entire time, just in case Bubby tried to stay awake in worry for him. Harold really couldn’t feel it, not unless he turned the processors back on, and he wasn’t about to do that. 

Still, the fact that Bubby woke up at all worked wonders for Harold’s panic. He actually managed to trust them long enough to take a shower, knowing someone would be there if he woke up. 

It was strange, though, to not have Bubby sitting on the counter rambling as he showered. It was too silent. 

It was one of the quickest showers Harold had ever taken in his life. 

----------------------------------------------------

When Harold got the ping to go down to Biological Research, he hadn’t expected to find Bubby, backed into a corner snarling at them, teeth shiny with blood. Harold froze, glancing around. “What happened?” 

“He bit someone, got them good. He claims he didn’t mean to hurt them, but he didn’t let go for a good moment there.” Harold frowned slightly, squinting his eyes at Bubby, who snapped at someone who tried to get closer. When he pulled back, Harold noticed he was grinding his teeth. 

“You try giving him something to chew on?” 

“Huh?” 

“Like... you gave him the sharp teeth, which I assume might come with some instincts since you didn’t Frankenstein him together, so maybe he just needs to chew on something?” Harold searched his pockets, before finding a chew necklace pendant he had kept, from Tommy passing them along when he didn’t like it. “Maybe something like this?” He held it up, and, before the other could respond, moved over to where Bubby was cornered. 

“Hey, Bubby.” His head snapped towards his voice, eyes wide, and he seemed to... relax a bit. Harold hummed, lifting the pendent. “Why not chew on this? It’ll stop you from hurting someone.” Bubby blinked, and Harold moved over, crouching in front of him fearlessly, handing the pendent over. Bubby took it carefully, looking it over, before popping it in his mouth, teeth sinking into the soft plastic. Harold could see him relax further, chewing on the pendent. 

He could also see that his teeth were already tearing through it. 

“So... I’ll get you a few more of those, and then you won’t bite people!” Harold stood, holding out his hand for Bubby to take. Bubby grinned at him, taking his hand and pulling himself up, but not letting go, his other hand on the end of the pendent as he chewed. “Though, to everyone else, I would recommend keeping your hands away from his mouth, just in case. You’re the ones who gave him sharp teeth.” 

And so Harold walked him back to his tube, Bubby calming down more as he tore through the pendent. Bubby glanced at him for a moment as he stepped back into his tube, before smiling at him. “Thanks.” His voice was quiet, and Harold grinned back at him, the first word he had ever heard in Bubby’s voice. 

----------------------------------------

When Tommy woke up, Harold went off with him to get his arm taken off. Somehow, in the time it took him to walk there, get his arm off, thank Tommy a few times, and walk back, Bubby had woken up and then, just as he walked in, he heard Benrey’s voice. 

“...Tommy had to destroy his father, on uh, like, an atom scale type deal, he was, he’s gone, and you are... asleep.” Benrey grinned up at Bubby for a moment, then glanced towards Harold. “You just missed him. He was alright, didn’t seem to be panicked or anything.” 

“Oh?” he asked softly, slightly upset he hadn’t been there when Bubby woke up again. 

“Yeah. Told him about your no looking down thing, and he uh, tried to lift his arm up. Didn’t get far. I also accidentally made him laugh and he glared at me for that one.” 

Harold laughed softly, nodding a bit. “Well, as long as he’s alright...” He murmured, and Benrey nodded, gently patting Harold’s back. 

“He’ll be fine.” 

Benrey left him staring up at Bubby, hoping that he would be right. 

--------------------------------------

Harold hadn’t been down there when Bubby was allowed to go out the first time, outside of that room, but apparently Bubby didn’t much care. 

Which is how Harold got the page that Bubby was on his way up. Just in time, as seconds later, Bubby skidded into the room, bare feet loud against the concrete of the floor, and launched himself at Harold. He laughed, grabbing onto Bubby to hold him so they both didn’t fall over, and Harold ignored the looks from the others around him, leading Bubby out of the room. 

“How in the world did you get up here?” 

“Listened to the others talking about where you worked, posed someone wanting to surprise a friend to one of the security guards, Benrey I think his name was, and just booked it!” Bubby grinned, so proud of himself, chest heaving as he worked on getting his air back after running so far. 

Harold laughed softly, nodding. “It does sound like Benrey to let you in, but not others who work in this office.” He walked with Bubby down the halls, Bubby bouncing next to him, grinning.

“So... what do you do up here?” Bubby asked, grinning, and Harold smiled back. 

---------------------------------------

“Coomer, are you alright?” Harold looked up at Gordon, who was doing his worried eyebrows at him. Harold smiled softly, nodding. 

“I’m alright. A bit worried for Bubby but... so much of our schedules were mixed that it’s hard to think of doing something without him also there. It’s been like that for so long.” Harold shrugged slightly, and Gordon nodded. 

“Well... I’ll sit in here with him, alright? But you need to go eat and take a shower.” Harold sighed softly, but stood, careful to not overbalance onto his left side, as he still hadn’t gotten that arm back. Gordon smiled at him, and Harold smiled at him. 

“Of course. How do I expect you to follow my advice when I don’t follow it myself.” Gordon nodded, patting his back slightly as he walked off. 

----------------------------------------

There was an accident in the lab. Some sort of explosion, and Harold couldn’t remember what happened. 

When he woke up, they hadn’t waited to put new legs on him. They called them Power Legs, and he had to learn how to work them. 

Bubby was the one next to his bed when he woke up, and Bubby grinned at him, holding his hand, and Harold just smiled back, hoping that his legs would stop hurting so bad. 

Each time Harold woke up in the med bay, Bubby was there. Harold wasn’t sure how he managed that one, but he wasn’t going to deny it made him feel better as he learned his new abilities with the power legs. 

----------------------------------------

Harold managed to make it back in time when Bubby woke up again, but just barely. He was in a slightly different position than last time he had seen him, and lit up when he saw Harold. 

Still, the worry when he spotted his left arm gone didn’t fly over Harold’s head, so he just explained it off. He sent Sunkist off to Tommy, having stopped by there before coming back. 

Bubby slipped off to sleep again soon after, and Harold turned his attention to his wounds. His skin was stretched thin as it regrew over muscle, the muscle barely healed itself. Harold nodded, looking over towards Gordon, who smiled. 

“He was worried about Sunkist, then told me that it wasn’t just you he went basically feral for. I think it’s the nicest thing he’s ever said to me, and all he did was half point aggressively.” 

Laughing was freeing. 

----------------------------------------

It was Bubby he went to the first time he was cloned. Bubby was the one who would understand, though not perfectly, the only one that would try. 

Everything felt double. He could see two things at once, feel two things at once, and focused on getting to Bubby on his side, and Harold stumbled into Bubby’s tube room. 

He was out, luckily, and there was only one doctor there. However, when Harold straightened up, smiling, they grinned back, letting them alone, and Harold shrunk in on himself. 

“Harold? What’s wrong?” He felt Bubby’s hands, and yet didn’t, and Harold shook his head. 

“I volunteered for a project, a cloning project, and they succeeded, but they don’t, they don’t know what they did.” Harold looked up at Bubby, but on the other side stared up at the ceiling. “I can see it all, I can feel it all, what if they keep going and I lose who I am-” 

“Here.” Bubby grabbed a sharpie from the table near by and grabbed his badge, writing a small one in the top corner of it. Harold stared down at it, trying to keep himself calm. “You’re number one. If you get lost, all you have to do is look down at that, and know you’re the original.” 

Harold cried on Bubby, clinging to him, but knowing that Bubby would always be there when everything went wrong. 

---------------------------------------

Bubby was improving on the right track, and Harold was there when he woke up in the middle of the night scared for a split second, before falling back asleep moments later. Harold had his doubts that Bubby would remember this at all, and just hoped that he wouldn’t. 

The fear of it, not knowing where you are, but knowing something is different and it’s not good, it was never something that Harold wanted Bubby to experience. 

He was awake at night for him, staying near the tube and only falling asleep when he became exhausted. It wasn’t healthy, but he didn’t want Bubby to be alone in his fear. 

Bubby hadn’t let him be alone in his. 

---------------------------------------

There were hundreds now. Harold was overwhelmed with it, but that meant there was always someone around, and each clone made an effort to be kind. The one on his badge made no difference to them, but it made all the difference to Bubby

Bubby never got them mixed up. He was wary, almost untrusting of the clones, but brightened considerably when it was him. It was Harold. Bubby was the only one who called him Harold anymore, and he was alright with that. Coomer was the names of the clones. 

The extendo-arms were a new feature, and only the original Coomer had the enhancements. That was another thing he had to focus on. This one hadn’t been an accident. He had volunteered, or rather, a clone had, and they had made a mistake on which one it was. 

Harold didn’t wake up alone. Bubby was always there, if he was awake or sleeping. He was always there, no matter what, and it helped. It helped Harold think that he was still one singular person, not six hundred eyes and three hundred hearts. Bubby only cared for him, and it made everything okay. 

--------------------------------------------

Bubby waking up was more common now, so he felt more comfortable taking showers when he went to bed at night, as he was waking up less and less during the night. He still slept most of the time, but Harold knew it was a good sign. 

They did what they could in the tube, working through ranges of movement, and Bubby would grin and sign at him, so much slower at his first language than he ever had been before, but he was still using it. Bubby was alright. 

Harold had his arm back, watching Gordon and Benrey work on Sweet Voice things, and pretend they weren’t in love with one another, when Bubby woke again, from a short nap. 

He was out again rather quickly, that being normal for him, the short naps here and there with him waking up and listening to them talk until he fell asleep again. Harold knew it was safe. He was safe. 

He was calming down again, as the day he had marked off in his head came closer and closer. 

---------------------------------------

Harold took him out to see the stars one night. Bubby had never been outside Black Mesa, but Harold had managed to get it signed off for him to go up onto the roof, and up they went. 

“Where the hell are we going? I haven’t been allowed up this far.” Bubby glanced around, and Harold grinned and just kept pulling him up and up and up. 

Bubby looked up at the stars with wonder in his eyes, and leaned against Harold’s arm, eyes wide and shining, as he said “I want to go up there one day.” 

That was the moment Harold realized that he was in love. 

-------------------------------------

When that day finally came, and Bubby stumbled out of his tube and into Harold’s arms again, clinging on like his life depended on it, Harold clung back just as tightly, finally feeling whole again. 

[crimsonbluemoon]

For the Fluff Prompt can you do 35,72,78 I think they fit really well together and you can pick the couple I just love the prompts together

Okay so I’ve been wanting to write something for @kihoori‘s  BBHS AU for a bit now, and finally I got a prompt that I really enjoyed and wanted to work with. Now, to make this veeeeery clear, everything I write/do for this AU is not canon. As in, this is not what happens in the story. This is just a spin-off that I got permission from Kihorri to write. Whatever she does in the story probably won’t have any similarities to this drabble. 

That being said, enjoooy (this is the longest drabble because she inspired me with her art so yeah. >.>)

Pairing: H2O Vanoss Number: 35/72/78 Prompt: “You keep saying that we’re friends but you look at me for a moment too long for that to be true.”/“You keep that photo of us in your wallet?”/ “Don’t pretend that you don’t feel the same way.”

“Yo.” Vanoss snickered when his surprise greeting made Delirious jump in his spot on the grassy hill. Hands fumbled with the leather wallet Delirious held, which had been what had made it easy to sneak up on the student without him knowing.

“Wh-what the hell! Don’t jus-just jump up on someone like-like that.” The frown was a common look for the other student recently. Vanoss tried to ignore it when dropping down next to him, enjoying the softness of the grass. He wasn’t sure why he’d sought out Delirious; they hadn’t really hung out alone since their blowout argument. It just felt...strange. The tension was hard to ignore between them, and despite his best efforts, Vanoss’s mind couldn’t fully forget the kiss that Delirious had given him. Back then, he’d been angry and mortified, unable to understand why the kiss hadn’t felt as repulsive as he wanted it to. They’d fought, then reconciled, but the cloud of apprehension that surrounded them was unable to be ignored. 

The worst part was, it wasn’t fear or disgust that made Vanoss so tense. It was confusion, uncertainty, and the subtle need for answers that made him avoid situations like the one he was currently putting himself in. It was clear, from Delirious’s inability to meet his gaze and his body twitches, that he was also nervous. For someone as neurotic as his classmate, that wasn’t normal. Delirious went into situations without abandon, which resulted in more disaster than success. But he did it with a good heart, and his candid nature was why most people generally enjoyed his company. It was why Vanoss had liked him, even when Delirious gave him the cold shoulder at first. Or, he’d thought that was why he’d always looked for the loud student, but now... 

“Not my fault you're deaf,” Vanoss teased, hoping the words would be taken as a joke. The flustered noise that came from Delirious made him laugh, some of his previous tension melting out of his shoulders while listening to the other’s reply.  

“I’m not! You’re just a-a ninja owl!” 

“That doesn’t even make sense.” 

“You don’t make sense,” Delirious grumbled, glaring toward the school’s athletic fields. Before Vanoss could ask what the other was doing alone, he picked up on the weird way Delirious yanked the wallet closer to his chest. It looked out of sorts, a dollar and the edge of some piece of paper hanging out the top as if Delirious had been looking through it. But why would he need to do that? Wouldn’t he know his wallet best? Curious, Vanoss leaned closer, holding his hand out.

“Hey, let me have a dollar.”

“Why?”

“Because I owe Wildcat money.” He wasn’t sure if that was true (probably was, he always ‘borrowed’ his friend’s cash when he forgot his lunch), but it was a good enough excuse for Delirious to believe. Delirious flinched back, hands clutching the leather tighter in obvious anxiety. 

“Uh, I-I don’t have money,” he answered, despite the dollar bill hanging out of the fold. 

“I can see it.” 

“Well, I- there’s just- hey, don’t-don’t get so-” Vanoss shut down any other excuse when he pushed closer, his arm brushing against the firm shoulder next to him to reach for the wallet. The proximity seemed to distract Delirious’s reflexes, and he only tensed after Vanoss had gotten his fingers around the wallet in his grasp. “Wait!” 

A spasm from Delirious’s wrist when their fingers brushed sent the wallet flying to the ground in front of them, rolling a couple feet down the hill. Random items poured out that had no business being there, like a gum wrapper and a paper that’s ink had obviously been ruined by some type of liquid. The dollar popped out as well, but that wasn’t what caught Vanoss’s attention.

“What is…” He was moving before he could think of finishing the sentence, unsure of how to process the final item that had spilled from Delirious’s wallet. The photo was old, edges crinkled and the image faded from the years that had passed. Seeing himself so young was surprising, but what truly caught him off guard was who else was in the photo. His little arm was wrapped around a younger boy, the blue eyes and wide smile far too familiar. Their faces were covered in mud, as if both had been playing for hours in the rain, but neither looked upset. If he was being honest, he looked...happier than he’d been in a long time. And as strange as it sounded, Vanoss remembered the moment captured in the photograph. He’d been young, so the face and name of his long lost friend had eluded his terrible memory years after he’d moved. But the feelings he’d had were permanently settled in his head. That day had been one he’d cherished. Delirious had never mentioned knowing him when they were younger. Except the picture proved he knew, from day one, who Vanoss was.

Why hadn’t he told Vanoss the truth?  

“What is this?” Vanoss asked, slowly turning to Delirious in shock. Guilt and pain rushed through Delirious’s wince before he moved to grab his wallet, trying to throw everything back into the leather. 

“Nothing.” 

“It’s not nothing, you...you keep a photo of us in your wallet? Why?” Vanoss’s eyes were wide while he stared at Delirious, who panicked and tried to shove the incriminating picture back into its spot. But stubborn as it’s owner, the photo refused to be hidden again, crinkling instead of sliding into the crevice.

“I-I just- it fell in there.” The embarrassment owned his friend’s voice, and the blue eyes that refused to make contact with him proved that this wasn’t something Vanoss was supposed to know about. Then again, with the strain in their recent friendship, the fighting, kissing (which they still hadn’t talked about) and the aftermath of the break-up with Ohm, Vanoss could understand the other’s fear. 

“Del.” His voice tripped up on the nickname, not having said it since their fallout. The ghost of pain that shadowed Delirious’s face proved he’d noticed Vanoss’s hesitation in using it, too. It froze the frantic rush to hide the evidence, and Vanoss reached forward to cover the hand that clutched the picture. “We need to talk about it.” 

“I can’t, so w-we should just forget you saw-that you’d seen it.” Delirious answered quickly, and the tremble of the fingers under his own proved to Vanoss that it was fear coloring his friend’s tone. He didn’t want to hurt either of them anymore than the mess of their previous fighting had. But Vanoss knew if he let this moment go, if he let Delirious shove everything back down, it may never come back into the light of day again.

“Does this have something to do with why you kissed me?” Vanoss finally asked the question that they’d been avoiding for weeks, ignoring how warm his face felt to stare Delirious down. A quiver of Delirious's lip proved he didn’t want to answer, but Vanoss held out long enough to force him to respond. 

“Vanoss, if we’re fr-friends you won’t-” 

“Are we friends?” Vanoss asked, watching Delirious jerk his head up in shock before continuing. “None of this feels friendly. Friends don’t have the tension we do. Friends don’t keep secret pictures of each other in their wallets, or spy on each other in bushes.” 

“Wait, what?” The blink proved he didn’t know about Vanoss’s first moment of realization regarding his feelings toward Delirious. But that could be talked about after, along with the picture and everything else they’d hidden from one another. For now, Vanoss brushed his thumb against Delirious’s hand, feeling the softness of his skin. It was just enough encouragement for Vanoss to push his own comfort levels, meeting Delirious’s stare head on. 

“Friends shouldn’t kiss, shouldn’t think about each other or feel butterflies when they touch.” Delirious’s eyes flickered down to their hands at Vanoss’s confession, which hadn’t separated despite the obvious tension in the conversation. He didn’t pull away, and when Vanoss felt the other’s thumb hesitantly hook around his, he lowered his voice to a whisper. “Friends shouldn’t think about each other when they’re with other people. Because friends shouldn’t have...these types of feelings.”

“Vanoss, I…” Somehow, he knew what Delirious wanted to say. That he didn’t deserve Vanoss, that he’d broken their trust and ruined something good between him and Ohm. Maybe that he was worried what others would say about them getting together. What if their friends turned their backs on them? There were lots of problems that could come out of Delirious admitting what he’d been so desperate to hide before his slip up. Probably more if Vanoss accepted his confession. But Vanoss, feeling the clench of his heart when seeing Delirious’s shoulders slump, knew he didn’t care about anything but the boy sitting next to him. 

“You keep saying that we’re friends but you look at me for a moment too long for that to be true. And I don’t mind that. I...I don’t think I want you to look at anyone else.” Slowly, Vanoss leaned forward, unsure if he’d be pushed away when his forehead brushed against Delirious’s. “That doesn’t feel like friendship to me. So if you kissed me because you like me, then you have to tell me. Don’t pretend you don’t feel the same way.”

“The same? Like, as in- yo-you like me?” Hope that had been so rare recently in Delirious’s eyes sparkled, and Vanoss glanced away to hide his own embarrassment. 

“Don’t act so surprised-hey!” Vanoss shouted in protest when he was pushed backwards, gravity bringing both of them down the hill. Grass and dirt stuck to Vanoss’s jacket when he finally stopped rolling, the heavy weight of Delirious on him making it hard to breathe. The dizziness of the fall had him taking a moment to try and catch his breath. 

But a second later proved the attempt was useless; his lungs lost their ability to function when Delirious leaned down, quick to capture his lips in a kiss. This time, there was no frustration, no bitter edge to the taste of the mouth pouring unspoken affection into the connection. Delirious’s hands were gentle, not forceful, cupping his face, tilting his head up from the ground to seal their lips closer together. A rush of endorphins clouded Vanoss’s mind, but his mouth didn’t need much prompting to accept the kiss. The murmur of athletes and students cheering on the fields in the distance were simple background noise to the quiet breeze that swept over them, lulling Vanoss’s body into a relaxed puddle against the grass. Delirious settled over him as one kiss turned into two, then another when Vanoss fisted his hand in the hoodie and pulled him closer. Finally, the sharp noise of the afterschool bell pulled them apart. Vanoss opened his eyes quickly, wanting to catch Delirious’s first reaction before he hid it. The awe he found staring down at him was unexpected, but a good sign.

“I like you!” The blurted out confession made Vanoss squawk in surprise, sure his face flushed in embarrassment. 

“Don’t just shout it out like that!” He snapped, but Delirious’s smile proved that he didn’t mind the scolding. Carefree as the guy that Vanoss had fallen for, Delirious laughed loudly, pulling both up into a hug that Vanoss melted into much too quickly for the confession not to be reciprocated.

“I really like you, Vanoss.”

“Yo-you just said that, idiot.” He leaned his forehead onto Delirious’s shoulder, trying to hide his words into the thick fabric. “But...me too.”

They had a long way to go, which Vanoss knew from the slight nips of guilt still tugging at his heart. There was no telling what would happen when they left the hill they confessed on. Friendships were still tentative with their group, and neither knew how the others would react. They could have chanced everything for one moment of happiness. For now, they felt strong, but what if that wavered when reality set it? All of these thoughts were a possibility. 

But peeking at the photo that sat innocently on the grass beside them, Vanoss had a feeling it was going to be okay.

[shipping-isnt-morality]

On ending friendships with antis/fanfom assholes

So I get a lot of asks abt friendships fracturing in the current fandom, and feeling bad about being unable to just “block and move on” when dealing with people they know. and I have an experience with that that i think might help people feel less alone in it?

So: once upon a time a few years ago I made a new friend in a fandom I was really excited about. We were both writers who were active in the still-small community and who loved each other’s work. In the course of about a week we added each other on skype, started collabing on a fic, started a new edit trend in the fandom, and talked basically daily.

And then she asked me to edit a story, in which a character that I read as an abuser gets together with his victim and they are much happier and sexier together than the main ship.

I tried at first to just say I didn’t like the ship and didn’t think I was the person to edit it, but on pushing admitted that I read him as an abuser in canon and wasn’t comfortable with how dismissive her fic was of his behavior. She took this.......... poorly. Basically said I was accusing her personally of being an abuser, because she related to this character, and that I was trying to manipulate her into only writing the pairing we had in common. I said “no, I just don’t want to beta this fic for you”, and we..... sort of dropped it.

But - and you may have noticed this about me - I can’t leave a topic well enough alone if my life depended on it, and her insistence that I was reading him as an abuser to spite her annoyed me, so I wrote a post breaking down basically everything the character had done so far, how his ex acted and spoke around him, and how those look a lot like abusive behaviors and trauma. And... well, let’s just say just about everyone in the tumblr fandom saw it within the next couple days.

I spent about 12 hours getting positive responses and “I don’t agree but I appreciate the thought you put into this”. And then his stans found me.

I.... don’t think I need to go into how this went? We know the song and dance; I had to shut down my askbox, locked my social media profiles, stopped accepting Skype friend requests, and endured a ton of people telling me that I was A) calling them, personally, abusers or B) was trivializing abuse and was the worst kind of tumblrite or C) should just choke and die already. Sometimes all three, it was a very fun..... 72 hours or so.

Anyways. After the initial backlash, there was a group of about 8-9 people who were still stubbornly going after me and anyone associated with me on every platform they could find. (I would find out later that they made a group chat and all became friends over their hatred of me, which is kind of flattering and kind of fucking obnoxious.) One charmingly implied, after I admitted to being an abuse survivor, that either I was lying or I deserved it. My new friend, who’d been mostly silent through all this, was mutuals with all of them.

I went to her with their behavior, and she said, essentially, “it’s not my business, you said stuff that really hurt them” and I said “I literally wrote meta, it is not my fault that they took it this personally. I’m a real person, this character they’re defending isn’t.” and she.... wasn’t willing to talk to them, or ask them to stop, or even just not share my content with this group (god, remember when tumblr’s blocking features were even worse somehow? Me too). After about a week and a half I decided I had to just block her too and move on with my life, because I was miserable and anxious and wanted to unlock my damn accounts.

It hurt. I guess that’s what I’m getting at. I knew her for maybe 20 days total, and we barely spoke for the last 10, and yet it still hurt, y’know? It can really, really suck, to have people you connect with turn out to be totally willing to hurt you, or leave you out in the cold, because of an opinion about fiction. If I was younger when this happened, I may well have backed down on my opinion to save the friendship. As it was I had to get a LOT of reassurance that I hadn’t done anything wrong and didn’t deserve what happened.

This isn’t something with a grand solution. It sucked, I got hurt, I had to end a friendship for my own health and lean on my other friends while I got over it. If I’d known her for months, or years, I can’t imagine how much worse it would have been. “Block and move on” is ok advice when it’s strangers shouting at you; it is infinitely harder when it’s mutuals, friends, people you trust and like doing this to you. I have nothing but sympathy for people who struggle with leaving friends because those friends are being assholes about fandom opinions. Cutting friends off is hard, of course it’s hard, and it’s a personal decision. Just because it’s technically easier to cut someone off online doesn’t mean it’s emotionally easier. Be kind to yourself about this stuff.

[canyouhearthelight]

The Miys, Ch. 72

This chapter is another one that fought back.  There ended up being about 300 words that hit the cutting room floor so that I am satisfied with where this ends and how it transitions into events to come.

Please, don’t forget to submit your suggestion for naming the colony! I’m really excited to see your ideas, and you still have over a month to submit.

Later that week, I was in my office with Tyche, running through some personnel files.  For once, there were no pending projects that we were working on, no major staffing changes. Instead, we were trying to familiarize ourselves with the rest of the people on the ship.  Despite being over a year into our journey, we really only knew about twenty people well and were familiar with maybe a hundred or so each.  Since we were responsible for any staffing decisions along with managing projects and events, it had frequently left us in a position where we were scrambling for files rather than having specific people come to mind.

I flicked away my datapad with a groan, leaning back to stretch. “How am I so behind on this?”

“You’ve been busy,” Tyche pointed out before sighing. “And you were one of the last people brought onto the Ark, on top of that.”

“Wait, what?” I surged forward to lean on my desk. “I mean, I knew we left Earth not long after I came on board, but I thought we all arrived around the same time.” Honestly, I had never thought about it.

Tyche shook her head slowly. “Soph. It took over a year to bring everyone on board. When Noah says they brought everyone that showed no detriment to humanity’s existence, they meant everyone.”

“But they only found ten thousand people.” I started chewing my lip.  In the time we had been in space, I always assumed that it was due to capacity restrictions.

“And we can carry up to a million if needed,” she responded to both my spoke and unspoken thoughts. “Hang on, let me see if Simon is in class.  He was actually there, so it’s literally no one on board except Noah who can explain this better.”  After some poking at her datapad, she found what she was looking for. “Okay, he just got out of one class and has an hour break.” Before I could even stop her, she was hailing him. “Simon, I need you to come to Sophia’s office.  It’s urgent. I’ll feed you.  Chicken pot pie sound good?”

“Yeah, that works. I’m seven minutes away,” his voice responded with a worried tone. “Everything okay?”

“It’s a non-emergency, but I would like it handled as quickly as possible, preferably by you.” My eyebrows shot up at her last comment.  Simon had never been her favorite person, so the fact that she would prefer he explain this instead of Noah was intriguing.  As I made my way to the conference table, she grabbed three lunches from the console along with one pitcher of water and one of the tomato-orange sangria we had both fallen in love with.  

By the time she was seated, Simon was coming through the door, slightly out of breath. “Okay, I’m here. What’s up? Hi, Sophia.”

Tyche pointed firmly at the empty seat. “Simon, how long have I been on board the Ark?”

His face scrunched up. “Terran time? Uh… let’s see. Subjective Terran time, it’s January 2045, so… Almost three years, why?”

I choked on the bite of pastry in my mouth. “That’s ridiculous. I’ve only been on the ship for a year and a half.”

“Two in March, actually,” Simon corrected gently. “But yeah, it took about two years to get everyone we could off of Earth.  It wasn’t as many as we hoped, but… Just over ten thousand was enough.”

“I told her, maximum capacity for the Ark was intended to be one million.”

He chewed thoughtfully before swallowing and nodding. “Yeah, that was the original goal. When the Ark was being refitted, it was intended to have quarters that were essentially four beds and a small shared space with a food console, a mess hall on every other deck, and med bays on every deck.  That was it, that was the entire ship. No libraries, no labs, purely the most efficient possible use of space to carry as many humans as possible to a new world.” His voice got quiet as he continued.  “Miys thought it would take a few months, Terran-subjective time, to load the ship up.  I mean, global population was at ten billion when we originally left Earth. It wasn’t an unreasonable estimate.”

Thundering silence filled the room, and my appetite abandoned me.  When I pushed my meal way, Tyche pushed it back with a knowing look. I poked the dish with a fork a few times before addressing the elephant in the room. “But instead it took two years, and only ten thousand people made the cut?”

“Yeah…” He leaned back and took a drink of his water.  I could see him trying to find the words he needed. “There’s no nice way to say this,” he admitted. “Keep in mind, I only experienced a year on the trip out and the trip back.  I had no way of knowing how much time actually passed on Earth.”

Somehow, I actually did keep forgetting that.

He continued, running a hand over his short-cropped hair.  “By the time we got back, the entire population was just over ten million.  Ninety-percent casualties.  Of the people left, there were nearly none under the age of fifteen.  Everyone brought on board has their own stories of what it was like in the After, but believe me, you do not want the whole picture. The ‘nice’ version is that nearly any illness or injury was pretty much fatal, people were starving, and it was violent.  And that’s the nice version.” He shook his head vigorously.

I knew that gesture.  He was shaking away memories.

“Miys had determined that the bare minimum for a sustainable colony of humans was ten thousand, with a solid repopulation plan in place, but didn’t think that number would ever be needed. We expected to have strict criteria to narrow it down to a million, and instead we scoured the globe for as many as we could find, and I begged for that magical number that showed we wouldn’t be extinct.”

“Why didn’t anyone tell me this sooner?” I asked softly.  I could feel my brain overloading with panic before the defense mechanism kicked in and shunted it to the side.  It’s over, you can’t change it, don’t dwell on it.  I would weep later, in private. Eventually, anyway.

“Because you care, Sophia,” he sighed. “It would hurt you.  Just knowing that anyone not on the ship was being left to die hurt you.  What was I supposed to expect when you found out how many already had?”

I scrunched my face to concede his point.  “Fair enough.  I know it’s not anything I can change, but I can see why no one told me this while we were still in orbit.”  I poked at my now-cold lunch. “So I’m one of the last people to board, we have the same number of people now that we did an hour ago, and now I know why we have more resources than we need for the trip.”

“Barring repairs,” Tyche interjected.

“Right, barring repairs apparently.”

“So… You aren’t mad?” Simon asked quietly.

I shook my head. “No, Simon, I’m not mad.  Do I wish I knew sooner? Yeah.  But with everything else that has happened in the last year, I honestly can’t imagine when it should have been brought up.  The only reason it even came up today is because Tyche and I were trying to get more familiar with the people on the ship.  One thing led to another, and…” I made a vague gesture to indicate ‘and here we are’.

“And chicken pot pie with sangria,” he mused.

“Hard conversations are easier with comfort food,” I explained. “Family secret.”

“Obviously worked on you,” Tyche muttered wryly, pointing at his plate. Sure enough, it was scraped clean.

“So, Simon. How are classes going?” I asked, trying to change the topic so I could wait to process things until later.

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[numba99]

The Intern - Part 7

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Part 6

Summary: You are an intern at MSG, strictly forbidden to become involved in with any of the Rangers players. However, this becomes difficult when you catch the eye of a certain player. Word count: 2k

Warnings: none, this is the second to last part though!! and I wrote this kinda quick I'm so sorry if there are typos towards the end don’t hate me

Things were finally looking up. Were they perfect? No, you imagined the next few months staying away from Lias would be hard. However, knowing at the end of it there would be a chance to make it work was enough to make you giddy.

So giddy that you didn’t notice how Beth barely returned your hello when you walked in this morning. Nor did you notice her tone when she asked you to meet her in her office in five minutes. If your head hadn’t been in the clouds, thinking about what could be in a few months from now, you may have been a little more prepared to walk into her office and see-

“Lias,” you heard yourself gasp. He was sitting at one of the chairs of her desk, looking like a kid that called down to the principals office.

“Have a seat,” Beth said sternly. Your stomach dropped. She knew. But how? Did someone tell? Did Lias tell? No, he wouldn’t, not after your talk. He wouldn't do something so shitty to you, you knew that. “Do you two know why you’re here?”

You both remained silent. Of course you knew, but what the hell were you going to say? You couldn’t show your hand until you knew exactly what she knew and how much detail.

Beth reached into her desk and pulled out two photos, which she placed down in front of the two of you. It was pictures of you when you went out to talk. One was through the window of the coffee shop and the other was you two hugging on the steps. 

“How did you get these?” Lias asked what you were thinking. Your stomach churned at the thought of someone watching you and taking pictures without you even knowing. 

“They were posted on a Ranger’s blog that I found while looking for something for a story,” Beth replied, “But the bigger problem is that these even exist. Care to explain why you’re blatantly breaking my rules?”

“It’s not what it looks like,” you blurted out.

“Please, y/n, don’t bull shit me,” Beth replied flatly. 

“It wasn’t anything, seriously,” Lias jumped in, “We are friends and we went out for coffee. I don’t see what the big deal is.”

“The big deal is I have rules for my interns not to spend alone time with any of the players and y/n went behind my back and did it anyways,” Beth said, turning to you and shaking her head. You felt tears pressing at the back of your eyes, but the last thing you wanted to do was cry right now. You knew Beth would not take kindly to that.

“I’m sorry I-”

“Save it, I don’t want any excuses. I’ve seen the way you two interact. I thought it was just a close professional bond, but now seeing this... I’m sensing something more is going on between the two of you. I can tell when I’m being lied to. I trusted you a lot and you broke that. I’m going to have to let you go,” Beth told you.

“What! You can’t do that,” Lias snapped.

“I’m sorry but that’s not up to you,” she said.

“I’ll quit, I’ll change teams, whatever, I don't know, but you can’t she needs this,” Lias stumbled over his words as he defended you. You were trying to focus on your breath, feeling you were right on the edge of a panic attack.

“You know you can’t do that, Lias,” Beth replied, unamused by his efforts, “You can go now.” Her and Lias stared at each other for a few moments, before Lias turned to you.

“Just go,” you mumbled. Lias let out a heavy sigh, and you swore you heard an “I'm sorry,” under his breath. The silence in the room after he left was so heavy. You wished you could shrivel up and just die right there. Beth must have sensed how awful it was making you feel because she sat with it for some time.

“In three days the team will have an off day. You can come in then when no one is around and get your things,” Beth told you, “You can leave now.” 

You got up, wordlessly and headed for the door. You were afraid If you spoke you wouldn’t be able to hold back the tears. However, right before you left you said, “I’m really sorry.”

“I am too,” Beth replied, “I’ve never been so disappointed.” And with that, you left, managing to keep your tears in until you were back on the street.

____

The next three days were a tortuously slow whirlwind. With crying, lots of crying. It had turned a bit into a pity party, which made you feel pathetic, but you couldn’t help it. At least Jess indulged your moping, never making you feel bad about being a mess.

Between your crying and staring blankly a the wall wondering how your life could have blown up like this, you were desperately searching for an alternative internship placement. You hadn't told your school yet that you were leaving... or getting fired. You thought if you could find something else you could smooth it over by saying it wasn’t a good fit to your schedule or something and it wouldn’t raise many eyebrows. However, at this stage in the game, any placements were already taken, and you wondered how you would explain to an potential supervisor.

“Why are you coming to us months into the semester? A little late isn’t it?”

“Well you see, I was caught having a romantic relationship with one of the players, breaking the only real rule given to me.”

Yeah, that would go over well. With each day that passed, you felt more hopeless. Lias texted you. And called you. You wanted to talk to him, but you just couldn’t. You weren't mad at him, he wasn’t at fault. It was the rule you broke after all and he stood up for you in Beth’s office when you couldn’t find the words. However, talking to him, facing everything that was going on just felt like too much. 

You did manage to text him a short message that you were okay (ha!) and that you would talk to him when you had things figured out because you owed him that much. You tossed your phone away before you could tempt yourself with reading any of the messages he left.

There was a brick in your stomach when they day to clear out your desk finally came. You felt like you were going to your execution - dramatic, you knew - but you couldn’t shake the feeling of impending doom. The only saving grace was that none of the players would be there and that the office would be relatively quiet since it was an off day. With any luck you could get in and out and not have to interact with a single soul.

You managed to get into your office without any outside contact. You shut the door behind you, hoping no one would notice you were there. You bit back tears as you began to pack up your things into a tiny box. You were only there a short time, but it all felt so special. Partially because of the amazing experience and doing what you had dreamt of doing since you were a little girl, sitting wide-eyed watching the Rangers play... but partially because of Lias. 

You were realizing now that he meant a lot to you, more than you were letting yourself believe. He wasn’t just some guy you wanted to hook up with, he was a guy you wanted to be with. He had a way of making things feel special and exciting that no other lover was ever able to match.

Just as you were thinking you wish you could see him, the door to your office pushed open. You held your breath, thinking it might be Beth to scold again, but it was Lias. You let out a soft gasp, feeling like you somehow had conjured him.

“I hope I’m not bothering you,” he said. He eyed you sympathetically, his soft blue eyes filling you with the greatest sense of peace in the last 72 hours. You couldn’t think of what to say, so you just flung your arms around him. He squeezed you tightly, almost to the point where you couldn’t breath, but you loved it.

“What are you doing here?” you asked when you finally managed to peel yourself away.

“I had to see you,” he replied, smiling faintly, before adding, “I also have something for you, but I gotta show you.” He took you by the hand and pulled you out of the office. You wanted to resist, feeling like you were most definitely pushing It by holding his hand, but what did you have to lose? You were already fired.

Lias led you down the hallway, towards the locker room. You wondered what he had that he had to show you here. When you stepped into the locker room, you were met by nearly the entire team Your brows furrowed in confusion. Had you miscounted the days in your stupor and came in the wrong time?

Before you could speak, a familiar voice asked what you were thinking, “What is this?” You spun around to find Beth being led into the room by Mika. 

“We’re all here for y/n,” Lias spoke up, “We don’t want her fired.” Lias stood in front of them all. There were players, such as Fil and Kaapo, that you’d only talked to on occasion. They were nice, but you weren’t close with them like you were with Mika or even Chris. You were surprised, but incredibly moved that they were there in support of you.

“That’s not yo-” Beth tried to speak, but she was cut off.

“But it is,” Lias replied firmly, “No one has been so kind to us all. All you reporters care about is the story, y/n cared about us. She made us all feel special. MSG is as much her home as it is ours, and we won’t play if she isn’t here to ask the questions after.” Everyone nodded in agreement as Lias spoke.

“Seriously?” Beth questioned.

“Seriously,” Mika replied, putting his arm around Lias, “No one should be punished for caring about someone. We all know how great y/n is, she isn’t going to let anything get in the way of that, romantic relationship or not. Let her stay, or you can explain to everyone else why we are suddenly forfeiting games.” 

Beth was shocked, and honestly you were too. You couldn't believe they were all doing this for you. You didn’t feel worthy, but you were eternally grateful, even if it didn’t work. The longer the room was in silence, the more you thought Beth was going to tell them no deal, but finally she relented.

“Fine, y/n can stay.” The room erupted in cheers, and you couldn’t help but let out a squeal yourself. Beth seemed displeased, speaking directly to you, “We are going to talk about this tomorrow. Be here your normal time.”

The second she left the room, Lias’s arms were around you, spinning you around in a tight hug. You giggled, feeling absolutely on top of the world, even though you were sure you were in for it tomorrow. You didn’t care, though, you’d rather be miserable with an internship than miserable without one.

“Lias I... I can't believe you did this,” you gushed, “I can’t even thank you enough.”

“You don’t have to,” Lias smiled, “You deserve this. More than anyone I know.” He pressed a soft kiss to your lips, and for the first time you kissed him without any concern in the world. That pulled a few “oohs” from the younger players. You and Lias chuckled as Mika and Chris shooed them from the room.

“This internship is the best thing that ever happened to me,” you sigh, brushing the golden locks out of Lias’s eyes.

“Because it led to meeting some stupid boy?” he teased, though he didn’t realize how right he was.

“No,” you replied, “because it brought me to you.”

[caroline18mars]

A Man On Fire - Chapter 72

There was no protest, no accusations, not yet anyway, she just nodded and meekly followed him like a little puppy to his waiting car, he held open the door and she just got in without a word, “can we go dancing now?” a woman's voice eagerly asked while he got in. Harper leaned back a bit in shock, she hadn't even realized there was someone else waiting in the car, “sorry, no can do, we're flying back to LA tonight” Jared buckled up and started the engine. “Oh, I don't want to ruin any plans..” he could hear Harper whisper from the backseat, “you're not!” he said decisively as he let the car merge with the late night traffic. The atmosphere in the car was tense, the girl in the passenger's seat certainly didn't seem too happy with his decision so she leaned back a bit when there was a whispered argument going on in the front, she didn't need to hear, none of my business anyway. The worry inside of Jared was real, Harper was still in shock, she didn't say a word, she practically only answered with 'yes' or 'no' when she was spoken to, but 95% of the time she seemed to disappear in her own world, when he said he would stop at her house to get some clothes, she did exactly that, she walked inside only to get back out with a small bag of clothes 10 minutes later and the same empty look in her eyes.

Heading towards the airport, Jared got a call and he looked in the rearview mirror when Charles' voice bounced around the car “Hey Jay, did you find Harper?” he watched how all colour drained from her face and she shivered. “Yes..yes I found her..she's right here with me..us”. Charles seemed to hesitate for a second “Oh good..I'm glad..I talked to her mother, there's no change..are you coming back here?” Jared kept staring in the rearview mirror but she just looked down at her hands, “No, we're not..I'm taking her to LA to catch her breath” he sighed, expecting a lecture from him but none came “Ok..call me when you land? We need to talk” Charles sighed. ”You can sit here if you want, get settled in, not long before we take off” he pointed at a seat on the other side of the aisle, his heart melted when she followed his finger and sat down, holding her bag in her lap, she was under such a heavy shock still. If only she would say something..and could his friend with benefits shut up in the meantime, all that one did was chatter, nag, chatter and nag again “and all this on one of my weekends where I finally have some time off” she huffed as she sat down next to him and angrily clicked her seatbelt shut “doesn't she have any other friends?”. Jared just shook his head “will you just shut up? You can still get off the plane and stay in New York if you want” he clicked his seatbelt as the plane slowly started moving, “Miss? Do you want me to put your bag above your head?” the flight attendant smiled at her, “sorry?” Harper looked up at her with a million question marks in her eyes. “Your bag? I need to put it in the locker or you can put it under your seat, whatever is easier for you” the flight attendant patiently asked again, “oh” was all she managed to say as she finally handed over the bag, “let's click you in and I'll come over with some refreshments as soon as we're airborne”.

No matter how hard she fought it, that dark mist in her head just wouldn't lift, she was cold through and through but somehow she couldn't seem to get warm, every single one of her limbs refused to function properly, she was so locked up in herself that she couldn't concentrate longer than a second. Do I still have a father? Am I a cold blooded murderer? Like mama said? A suppressed sob nearly strangled her, but the tears just wouldn't come, she just kept staring blankly ahead, deaf and blind to her surroundings. “Harper?” a hand touching her shoulder startled her, “are you coming?” what? Where? She blinked a couple of times and looked around, “yes” she whispered as she got out of her seat and followed him off the plane. “God, I'm so gonna be glad to be rid of her, what hotel are you taking her to?” his date nuzzled against his ear as they got in the waiting van, “I'm not taking her to a hotel, she's staying at my house” he pulled out of her reach. “What?..but..” her mood suddenly dived below zero, “I'm not gonna discuss it, Steph, she's my..” he hesitated, did he tell her that they were ex-lovers and that he'd do whatever it took to stay in her life? “..she's like family to me and she needs help, I'm not gonna look away and leave her alone in all this”. She rolled her eyes “Djeez..you guys fucking or something?”, Jared shivered, she wasn't exactly the sharpest tool in the shed was she? “No..we're definitely not fucking” he wanted to add 'unfortunately' but didn't. Harper looked out of the carwindow at the citylights that were whizzing by, she had never been to LA but everything seemed so much more laidback than NY, people standing in line in front of a club, people walking in and out of restaurants, a heavy sigh escaped her lips, a couple of hours ago the night had been young and full of promise fcr her too..until she, almost or already she wasn't sure, killed her father, she banged her head against the window and closed her eyes, IhatemyselfIhatemyselfIhatemyself the mantra on endless repeat in her head.

Jared waited for her to get out of the van while he took her bag from her and she followed him up the driveway towards the huge mansion, stepping inside the enormous hallway she realized how little she actually knew of him, he had never talked about his house or about LA for that matter. Nothing in this house reminded her of the nomade she had been with, “you won't need this in LA, you're probably boiling” she heard him say as he reached to help her out of her big wintercoat, she hadn't even noticed the huge difference in temperature. His fingers lingered on her skin as he helped her out of her coat, he had missed her and this closeness so very much “why don't you go sit down, do you want something to drink?” the sound of his own voice bugged him, this entire distant situation between them bugged him. He wanted to talk to her, hold her, comfort her, but she was still so stuck in her own bubble of shock and fear, she functioned but that was about it basically. “Jared, babe, sexy tiger of mine, I'm so tired, all I want is to be horizontal with you” and then there was Steph too who came waltzing into the living room, fuck this! Harper's head shot up like she realized for the first time that there was someone else involved but their eyes only met briefly before she took a deep breath “I'm tired” and got up out of her seat, it was clear these two wanted to be alone. “Oh..of course, I'll take you to your room” Jared said a little bit more relieved than he wanted to admit, he could be alone with her for a while, up an endless flight of stairs, left and then right from one corridor to the other, how big was this house? “this is your room” how weird was this taking her to a guest bedroom when all he wanted was to show her his bedroom?. She followed him inside the huge room with ceiling to floor windows all around, the city underneath them lit up like a christmas tree, “thank you” she whispered looking at the kingsize  bed. “My pleasure”, god, she looked so forlorn and so fragile “are you ok?” it was a dumb question, of course she wasn't ok, but he would have asked anything just to hear the sound of her voice again.

Without even looking at him, she slowly walked up to the window overlooking the city and shook her head “No..I'm scared..my father..I didn't mean to..my family..I don't have a family anymore..I killed him..I'm alone..I don't know what I'm gonna do..am I a murderer?” she clasped her hand over her mouth, the pain in her chest was so heavy like she was struggling to breathe. “Oh babe, don't say that..” he closed the distance between them but when he wanted to put his arms around her, she backed away like a scared cat “your father had a heart attack, you didn't kill him..this is not your fault, Harper!” his arms dropped to his side “you don't just get a heart attack like that”. Her eyes locked with his “why did I make that painting?” she whispered, in the darkness her whispering had something erotic, but before he could say something, Steph decided to end their little gathering “it's late, take me to bed” she walked over to him and pushed herself seductively against him. “Thank you for your hospitality” Harper softly said, breaking their eyecontact “this room is lovely”, goddammit Harper why are you always so politically correct? Even in your darkest hour you still manage to throw up that wall around you and shut everyone out? “try and get some sleep, we'll talk in the morning, if you need anything, my room is” he hesitated hearing himself say 'my room' when all he wanted to say was 'our room' and Steph certainly wasn't included in that 'our', “my room is the first on your right”. All she could do was nod and he slowly turned to leave the room with Steph in his wake, then the door closed and she was alone again, clutching her heart she let herself drop to the floor and pulled up her legs crossing her arms over them, curling herself up like it was all she could do to protect her against the long, black night.

Jared lay wide awake for most of the night, the film of this dramatic evening rolling on endless repeat in his head, Steph stirring in her sleep pulled him out of his waking dream and the gutwrenching dissapointment instantly followed, this bed had the wrong woman in it. What kind of a man, let alone friend, am I when all I can think of is her..us being a couple again in this time of her need?. Every single one of her limbs ached from being in the same position too long as she got up, her phone had been silent all night, the only notification she got was that her battery was running low, she had hoped that one of her brothers would at least have the decency to give her a little update but no..the clan had closed the ranks once again. She put down her phone and looked around the room bathing in the light of an amazing LA  early sunrise, Jared's house..he took her to LA..she tried to sort through the rubble of last night in her head,why was he even there? Maybe a shower would help to clear the cobwebs. “Yes Charles we did land..I'm sorry alright? We were all exhausted..No, of course she's not ok..poor thing's gone into some kind of shock, she's completely disconnected from the world around her after the hospital, what else can you expect when your own mother accuses you of being a murderer? God, what a mess..what? Oh god no..yeah, ok I'll tell her”. This house was so huge and a complete maze and she constantly felt like she was trespassing, she was just looking for a charger for her phone, so she ventured downstairs where the smell of fresh coffee beckoned her to the kitchen, gently she pushed the door and found him sitting at a counter in the middle of an enormous kitchen, scrolling through his phone. “Goodmorning Jay..I don't want to interrupt..I forgot the charger of my phone and I was wondering..” her voice that danced up behind him made his head shoot up, he had so missed the sound of that beautiful, but now so formal, voice. He held up the end of a charger and his cup of coffee to her “I got both, come here” with a big warm smile on his face inviting her over “how are you feeling? Did you sleep at all?” on instinct he pushed a kiss on her forehead. “No..” she shook her head as she sat down next to him “but I'm so very grateful for everything you've done for me last night..I want you to know that! Last night I lost my entire family..you know what I mean..but you stood up for me and took care of me even if you clearly have other priorities in your life right now, I'll never forget that!so thank you, Jay..” her voice trembled and she quickly wiped a tear from her eye.

[redfoxwritesstuff]

Camping

Summary:  When Mary catches word that Tom had never been camping it was decided that she had to fix that. What could go wrong?

Rated: T

Warnings: None

Pairing: Tom Hiddleston x ofc

AN: This is for @forever-rogue‘s Halloween challenge using prompts:  72. “You’re beautiful. uh, u-um i mean the weather. It’s beautiful. Not that you’re not beautiful, because you are. I’m just gonna shut up.” 73. “I thought you said you knew how to start a fire!” “I said I could probably figure it out. ”76. “You have bits of leaves all over in your hair! Let me help you.”

Camping

Mary was a simple stage hand in New York City. It was a stressful job that didn’t pay enough yet she wouldn’t trade it for the world. It allowed her to experience life behind the scenes of plays, musicals and performances. It was something she could only dream of seeing if not for her job.  

While she loved theater and everything about it, she was still attending classes at night to become a lawyer. She was in a constant state of exhaustion but still found that it was worth it. She got to meet some amazing people with more talent in their little finger than she felt she had in her whole body.  But that was alright, her skills were elsewhere.  

It didn’t surprise her when word passed in whispers that Betrayal would be making a run through Broadway. It was a good play, one of her favorites and it was exciting to have the chance to be a part of the production. It was true, she'd only be behind the scenes. It surprised her that they would be doing a run so soon after the play wrapped up in London but she didn’t think anything of it.  

That was until the whispers morphed into the same actors as the London run coming to New York to act, to do the play here. Mary was a fan of all three, if she was honest. Meeting them was something she had never expected, never dreamed of and now she was working with them. And that was as much of a dream as she had wanted it to be.  

It wasn’t like working with other big name actors. No, it took little time before it felt like working with a group of friends as each eased into the company of the other. It was surreal and yet she loved every single moment of it.  

~~~~~<3

Mary had surprised herself by growing close to the cast over the first few weeks. Autumn was quick approaching and she was sad to see summer go. That was the topic of their pre-show dinner a few nights ago and Tom had let it slip that he’d never been camping.  

She wasn’t one to let something like that stand and so they made arrangements to for her to take Tom camping. Thanks to the magic of online shopping and a few days to prepare, they were able to gather everything they needed. They were able to buy tents, sleeping bags and everything else without putting too much strain on his already packed schedule.  

The day in question arrived way sooner than Mary could mentally prepare herself for. But it was too late to back out now. She parked in a rented large black SUV with the back packed full of supplies near the back door to the theater. She had hot dogs, she had chicken, she had vegetables, she had bread and eggs and jam. Mary had everything she could think so and more.  

The rear passenger door opened and Bobby was rather unceremoniously plopped on the blanket she set on the seat for him. He looked at me with his big brown eyes and floppy ears as if she somehow could make the blanket into a proper throne.  

“You’re spoiled, you know that right?” Mary asked the rather adorable mass of brown fur and personality. He offered a soft ‘woof’ in response.  

“Darling, I’m free. Let’s make our getaway.” Plastered across Tom's face was a wide grin.  

“Let’s hurry, before your adoring fans spot you and you’re trapped forever signing things.” Mary laughed as she pulled onto the road and made the drive to the campground.  

~~~~~<3

The campground was out of the way and little known. With the cooling temperatures paired with it being the middle of the week kept many people away. They had the place almost completely to themselves. She parked at a secluded spot and stepped outside, it felt amazing to be so isolated.  

Living and working in the big city- the feeling of isolation was a rare thing and when Mary could get away, she savored the feeling. Stretching, her back popped in a way that sounded rather like popcorn when she gave it a little twist. Tom was making himself busy, unloading the back until it was empty.

“I’ll help you with your tent after I get mine up.” Mary slung one of the two tent bags over her shoulder with the intention of finding a smoothish place to set it.  

“I’ll do mine. There’s no need.” Tom’s voice came from behind her, his own tent slung over his shoulder.  

“You want it somewhere generally flat. Close to the fire pit is good but you don’t want it too close unless you wont to light it on fire.”

“Alright.” He nodded and set to work picking a spot and unpacking the tent.  

Mary ignored him as she worked on her own tent. It was a simple enough process. Put the pipes together, run them through the loops. It took time and was tedious enough but that was the worst of it. Off to the side, there was a sound that she tried to tell herself wasn’t what she thought it was.  

“Bloody hell.” The words were grumbled and heavy with annoyance.  

“What happened?” She regretted turning to look as soon as she saw. Tom managed to rip a massive hole through the side of the tent.  

“How did you manage- never mind.” She didn’t want to know. “Let me see it.”

There was a massive rip. When she turned it to get a better look, Mary discovered that there as a second rip. Both the side of the tent and the bottom were now blessed and holly.

“I can just sleep in the ca-”  

“Don’t you even.” She snapped. “The other tent is big enough. We’ll make do.”  

“Oh, I don’t want to make you uncomfortable or-”

“It’s fine.”

She wouldn’t hear any argument from him so Tom stopped trying after a bit. Bobby was careful to keep close and well mannered enough. Tom still didn’t untie his long leash from the tree. While she spread sleeping bags out inside the tent, Tom milled about the camp, setting up folding chairs and pulling the cooler close.  

“Wanna get the fire going?” Mary called out from where she was, half inside the tent.  

“Sure.” Tom answered from where he stood next to the fire pit. His eyes focused on her as worked, admiring the view.  

“You do know how to start a fire, right?”

“Sure, sure.” He didn’t sound all that convincing. “I can probably figure it out.” Tom added under his breath as he broke open the wrapped bundles of wood.  

“What was that?” Mary called from inside the tent.

“Nothing, Darling.”  

She was on her hands and knees, spreading sleeping bags, blankets and battery lanterns. She arranged the pillows  at the head of the tent. It was then that she realized that she should have situated her feet be by Tom’s head but she wasn’t going to change things now.  

Tom set to work stacking wood in what looked like a decent formation and shoved some sticks and twigs under. Grabbing the long tipped barbecue lighter, he pulled the trigger, summoning the flame. Holding it under the sticks, he watched as one after another caught fire and rather quickly burnt out.  

“I thought you said you knew how to start a fire?” Mary asked, having crawled out of the tent and stood watching the last two twigs fail at catching the larger stack.  

“I said I could probably figure it out.” Tom grumbled and she could almost not make out the words.

~~~~~<3

They spent the next hour trampling through the woods. It was somewhat awkward at first, being so alone together but they soon found their rhythm. Mary showed Tom the types of moss she needed. It was one that would burn fast and hot. While they hunted through the undergrowth, they threw handfuls of leaves at each other.  

She had to admit, the sight of a handsome Brit picking through the forest, getting dirt and leaves on his neat dark jeans and navy sweater was something she didn’t think she would ever see. But he looked good out here, with the leaves starting to turn and the blue sky above him.  

When we finally returned to the camp site, we were well relaxed and full of smiles. Even Bobby had his fair share of forest leafs and dirt in his fur. He didn’t seem to mind however, he looked beyond pleased with himself. Bobby had gotten to chase bugs and sticks to his heart content.  

Mary demanded Tom kneel next to her as she deconstructed his failed pile of wood though he needed no urging. It was something she had found unique and unexpected to him. Tom was always eager to learn and it didn’t seem to matter to him what the topic was.  

He watched with interest as she balled up the moss around a center about the size of her fist filled with brittle broken twigs. Without fear of splinter, Mary grabbed portions of the log where the wood was splintering off and yanked them free. Each bit was thin and narrow. She crossed pushed those through the moss ball and crossed more over top along with ticker twigs and sticks- much to Bobby’s dismay.  

With a nod from Mary, Tom took the lighter and set flame to the ball of moss. It caught right away and spread. The ball was packed tightly but still burned through fast enough, fire catching the sticks inside and poked through. Unlike when Tom had attempted the first time, the fire didn’t wink out of existence. Some twigs and sticks did burn out before they could catch. Others held a hearty flame that spread to other sticks and slivers of wood.

When the moss had finished burning out and the flame remained, Mary set the smallest of the logs on the pile, leaning one end up. Tom was quick with another in his hand.

“Don’t you dare.” Mary hissed, though a smile remained on her face.  

“No?”

“Not yet. Let this one catch first.”  

They sat around the small fire. Once fire was steady and eating the underside of the first log, she directed Tom to use the small chunk in his hand to slide it over, toward the side of the pile before setting his down. The end of his log was resting atop the first one and again, he learned how important it was to wait as the fire caught and began eating the second log.  

Soon the fire was strong enough for a third and a forth, all leaning against each other and all placed in a way Mary had explained would leave them with a wide bed of coals.

Leaning back on her heels, Mary watched the fire. The sun was starting to set and the sky hadn’t yet really begin to change. There was a slight chill in the air but Mary was always a fan of a campfire.

She could feel Tom’s eyes on her and for a while, she pointedly ignored him. Finally, she snapped, “What?”

“You have bits of leaves all over in your hair!” Tom laughed, holding his hands up in defense. “Let me help you.”  

Tom’s long fingers delicately picked out leaf bits and small twigs. With the amount of care he used, she could almost forget that he was the reason for them in the first place.  

Reaching up, she pulled a nearly complete leaf out from one of the more wild curls of his hair. If he was cleaning her up, it was only fair she did him the same favor. She became suddenly aware of how close they were. She’d hardly touched Tom before, aside from a handshake when they had first been introduced and his warm hugs that he would offer everyone he knew.  

“So far, I think I like this camping thing.” Tom had a smile on his face but his voice was thick, heavy and she watched as he swallowed, Adam's apple bobbing.  

“We’ve hardly started.” She laughed and the spell shattered.  

~~~~~<3

Dinner was hot dogs over the fire as the sun set. It was far more romantic than it had any right being. It was simply a camping trip between two friends and coworkers who happened to be of opposite genders and with only one tent. Just because it looked like the perfect set up for a romcom didn’t mean it was one, right?

The fire, large and hot, managed to keep the bugs away from the intimidate area. Still, one didn’t have to go far at all to become a snack for the most annoying of the bugs. Both Mary and Tom however were content to stay fireside and trade stories of youths spent almost half a world apart.  

The moon climbed high as their laughter spilled out over the trees. Stars twinkled and crickets chirped. Hardly more than a chill clung to the air. The slightest of breezes rustled leafs high in the tree tops as Tom fell silent with a thoughtful look on his face.  

“What is it?” Mary tentatively asked, pulling a marshmallow tipped stick from the fire and blowing it out.

“You’re beautiful.” Be blurted out after a moment of consideration. The firelight managed to hide the blush that climbed his cheeks as words began to spill from him uncontrolled. “Uh, u-um I mean- the weather. It’s beautiful.” There was another moment of thought as Mary watched the wheels turning behind his eyes.  

“Tom?”

“Not that you’re not beautiful, because you are.” Again, the words came rushed and blurted. He looked surprised to have said them. Looking away from her for a moment, he carded his fingers through his ever growing curls before declaring, “I’m just gonna shut up.”

“Tom?” She again asked and his eyes reluctantly met hers.  

“Mary.” Her name sounded like it carried so much more meaning.

Hesitantly, carefully, his long fingers reached out for her and brushed her own. Tom leaned forward, slowly closing the gap between their folding camp chairs. Mary was moving just as slowly. Neither had really thought about it until that moment but it felt like it was something that was meant to be, that should have always been. In that exact moment it felt like something would always be.  

His lips brushed hers. She could feel the scratch of his neatly trimmed beard against her skin. Warm breath fanned over her and she was sure hers was doing the same. Each was testing, waiting to see if the other would pull back.  

When the tension became too much, it was Mary that again closed the short distance. Her lips were soft against his. Tom’s hand reached out as he leaned further over to rest against her. She sighed into his kiss and he very much felt like the luckiest man in the world in that exact moment.  

Well, until he was rather unlucky.  

The chair tilted and before he had a chance to catch it, down he crashed in the space between the chairs. Thanks to involuntary reflexes and the and already on her cheek, Tom reached down to brace himself with her unfortunately equally flimsy chair, causing her to tip as well.  

As Mary crashed down atop him, together they laughed as dirt and leaves once again covered them. It wasn’t the way one expected to realize she had fallen for the handsome Brit but Mary couldn’t imagine realizing she had fallen in love any other way. 

~~~~~<3

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