#i saw homeless people and felt so angry at the state

[sirfrogsworth]

Last week was crazy.

I honestly can't believe all of it happened in the span of a week. Well, I guess it was more like 10 days. But it was another... Alot.

It all started when I got my disability denial letter. I couldn't wait until I got into the house so I opened the envelope as I walked back from the mailbox. Once I saw the bad part I had an instant panic attack in my driveway.

I ran inside...

Okay, that isn't true.

I walked very quickly inside...

Nope, still not true.

Okay, I walked at my personal top speed which is probably still slow for most people... but the point I'm trying to make is that I was attempting to hurry despite only saving myself about 3 seconds of travel time.

But the hurrying made me feel better, okay?

Out of breath from my geriatric-style powerwalking, I called my lawyer's office immediately. And... he is on vacation. Won't be back until the next Thursday. I spent the entire weekend going through every panic state a body can feel. I go from angry to depressed to anxious to panicked to angry (again) to scared to more scared to extra more scared. Visions of homelessness danced in my head.

I can't sleep for over a day because my brain won't shut off. Finally my body gives out and I fall asleep on the couch watching random YouTube videos. But falling asleep on the couch is bad because I'm not hooked up to my CPAP machine. Then I finally do hook up my CPAP and my damned mask breaks. Thankfully it has happened before and I have a cool hot glue and duct tape solution. But it is hard to manage hot glue and tape when you haven't slept in days and your eyes will barely stay open. So a few burned fingers later, I am sleeping comfortably in my janky duct tape-laden CPAP mask.

Monday rolls around and I decide to go into problem solving mode. Problem solving is my superpower, so I was going to lean into that in an effort to reduce my anxiety. The denial letter said they had no records from before I was 22, so I put on my detective hat and began the hunt to prove I was sick before 2004. My aunt helped me dig through my mom's document drawer. I distinctly remember an essay I wrote to the disability people back when I first got sick. It was part of the paperwork they had me submit. It was a first hand account of my symptoms back in 2001. It also had an essay from my dad talking about how sick I was. I felt like if I could find that, the records surrounding it would all be related and from the same time period.

We go through the entire drawer and only find a few things that might be helpful. Then I realized my mom had a *second* drawer full of documents and my aunt was blocking it. So we start going through that and find a folder labeled "Ben's Disability Stuff." I would have never kept any of that stuff but my mom kept *everything* and it was all in chronological order.

She is still looking out for me.

And she may have kept me from being homeless.

We find the essay and records of my ECT treatments and the names of doctors and all kinds of evidence of my medical woes before 2004. And even if they won't accept it as direct evidence, I can use these documents to show doctors I was their patient. And my primary care doctor said he would be willing to talk to those past doctors to help me convince them to write a letter on my behalf. All they really have to say is they treated me for severe depression and fatigue. And because my mom kept a list of my prescriptions and my ECT treatments, I'm hoping that will be enough to convince them even if they don't remember treating me.

Wednesday I had my monthly checkup. And I got to peek at my main doctor's records from before 2004. It's all handwritten notes and a little hard to read (bad doctor handwriting is the most accurate stereotype in existence). But it clearly says I had depression and was undergoing ECT treatments. It even mentions one of the doctors I want to write me a letter. It's not a lot, but it is first hand, direct medical evidence from that time period. I think it will be very compelling to whoever reviews my case.

I also talked to the nurses/assistants in the office about copying my entire chart, and I thought we were on the same page, but as you will see later... we were not on the same page.

I exit the building and remember how far away I had parked. And once again I forgot to use my cane—even though I keep a spare in the car. The main lot was full and the disabled parking was occupied, so I had to park in the secondary lot. My legs were holding up so far, but it was already a lot of walking for me. Very slow walking.

His office is in the same complex as the hospital. Which is my next stop. It's the same hospital that I have been going to all of my life. And the hospital where both of my parents died.

But I need vintage medical records and that is where they keep them.

Or so I thought.

I drive from the medical office parking lot to the hospital parking lot and only the spots farthest away are empty. And because of goddamn global warming, it is 90 fucking degrees in late September. I park, lock my car, grab my man purse, and start hoofing it to the hospital entrance. I'm so nervous about getting these records that I forgot my damn cane again.

My thoughts are basically, "What if they only keep 7 years of records like everyone else? What if the records from Christian Northwest aren't kept with the records from Christian Northeast? (Christian NW doesn't exist anymore.) What if they won't send them to my lawyer? What if it costs a thousand bucks? What if, what if, what if..."

I get to the front desk and ask the lady where the records department is. She gives me directions that my brain is only capable of half paying attention to. Then I realized I left the records release form from my lawyer in the car. So I walk another half mile in the heat to my car without my cane. And initially, my thought was, "Well, at least I can grab my cane once I get the form." But by the time I got to my car my thought was, "AHHHHHHHHH THAT WAS A LONG FUCKING WALK. KILL ME!"

And so I forgot my cane.

Again.

I get back to the lobby and wave at the lady who gave me directions. I pretend like I remembered and confidently walk in the direction I recall her pointing to. I found the elevator. Thankfully this particular elevator only goes two places. Which seems like a waste of an elevator, but... whatever. I get off on the second floor and am met with a big sign with all the departments and little arrows next to them.

(I'm sure you knew what I was talking about but I'm trying to break up this wall of text with images because I am a professional blogger person.)

I see "Medical Records" and a leftward arrow. I used my keen detective skills to surmise I should probably veer left.

I find myself at the beginning of the world's longest hallway.

Without my cane.

And it is flooded with sterile florescent light and the walls are adorned with the world's most inoffensive art.

Here is a painting of a plant. Here is a painting of a bird. Here is a painting of a bird sitting on a plant. Wait, is that a... WATERFALL??

Suddenly Indiana Jones' voice shouts in my thoughts...

So, if you had to guess, do you think the records department was...

A.) near the beginning of the hallway? B.) in the middle of the hallway? C.) beyond the world's longest hallway in the world's second longest hallway?

As I enter the world's second longest hallway, I notice the art is repeating itself. I've seen that bird sitting on a plant before. I worried I was going in circles, but it turns out they probably just bought the inoffensive art in bulk and weren't concerned about repeats. I get about halfway down the second longest hallway and see a big sign sticking out... "MEDICAL RECORDS."

Note to God: The real world needs a fast travel mode.

I was a big sweaty mess and my legs were like jello. I lumber through the door and find a young woman scrolling through her phone and probably wishing she was anywhere else. She was behind a huge partition with a plexiglass divider—probably still there from COVID days.

I mean, it's still COVID days. But no one is acting like it so I am just pretending it is all over like everyone else seems to.

She notices an out-of-breath Hagrid towering over her and apathetically inquires, "Can I help you?"

I hold up a finger as I try to gain my composure and figure out exactly what I want to say. I usually rehearse this kind of thing beforehand but with all of the anxious thoughts spiraling through my brain, I totally forgot to do that.

"I need to ask questions about records." "What kind of questions?" "Well, how long are the records?" "I'm sorry?" "What year do they start?" "What year do you need?"

I'm suddenly realizing why I rehearse these things. So I take a moment and breathe deeply. I form the proper question in my mind.

"How far back do you keep medical records?" "30 years."

I shoot my hands up like I just scored a touchdown and say, "OH THANK GOD."

She is very confused.

"30 years, oh my god. 30 years just saved my life."

She is still very confused.

"And do you have records from Christian Northwest?" "Yes, we have everything from all Christian hospitals."

I try to give her a brief explanation of my situation and she cuts me off. "Fill out this form."

I look at the clipboard and it is a release form.

Do you remember way back when I walked an extra mile to and from the car to get a release form that my lawyer prepared? Well, turns out they have their own version of that and I walked all that way for nothing.

I finish the form and hand it to the bored, indifferent front desk lady. She tells me someone will be out in a moment. So I sit in the uncomfortable waiting chairs and try to rest a bit. A much tinier young woman walks to the front desk partition thingie and calls out my name. But due to her diminutive stature, she is completely obscured by a pillar and I have no idea where the voice is coming from. We do this little awkward dance on either side of the pillar, attempting to see each other, and finally we both end up on the same side. She starts looking over my form and seemed a little annoyed that I left a section blank. I wasn't sure what kind of records I needed and there was no box that said "everything everywhere all at once."

What I really wanted was any document with my name on it from the beginning of time.

But I was worried about asking for too much labor from this person so I started negotiating for some reason.

I was like, "Well, like, I really need like anything you have from before like 2004. And then maybe, like, some general records after 2004. Like, the pre-2004 records are super important. But, like, I also need to show I was sick all my adult life. So if there are like, summary records? Or, like, something?"

I couldn't stop saying like. I was turning into a Kardashian. Again, some rehearsal was probably warranted.

"I just don't want to be a burden and make you dig up all of my records. I mostly need my ECT records from 2001."

"What is ECT?"

"Shock therapy. It's for depression. I just need to show I was really sick before the age of 22."

"And who is this guy on the form?"

*ramble mode engaged*

"Oh, that is my disability attorney. You see, I'm trying to get a special kind of disability, but I need to prove I was sick before the age of 22. So anything like that before 2004 would be very helpful. But like, if you have less detailed records after 2004 that is good too. Because I may need to prove I've been sick my entire adult life."

*continued rambling until I notice she stopped paying attention*

She did not need to know all of this. And I was not answering the questions she needed answered. I was nervous and babbling and oversharing and I couldn't snap out of it. And I was really concerned if I asked for too much, she was going to be upset. But then she told me all of the records were in a warehouse and she would not actually be finding them for me. She just places an "order" for them. So this weird negotiation thing I was doing to keep her from being annoyed at me was pointless.

And I also realized... this is super important.

I yell at myself, "Ask for everything, stupid! Quit trying to get halfassed records because you're worried about inconveniencing someone."

Finally I just say, "I want every medical record you have from before I was 22 until now."

And she was like, "Sure."

Well... that was easy.

I thanked the tiny lady and the bored lady and exited back into the second longest hallway. My adrenaline was surging. I kept yelling, "30 YEARS!!" in my brain. I had to tell someone this amazing news. I had to tell them right that second or I might burst. So I grab my phone from my man purse and dial Katrina.

The thing is, I only call Katrina when something really bad happens. People don't make phone calls anymore. People text! So when she picked up the phone she answered with a very worried tone. As if somehow a third parent of mine died or something.

"THIRTY YEARS!!!!" "WHAT IS HAPPENING??" "They keep records for 30 years!" "OHHHHHHHHHH!!! That's amazing!"

She probably didn't hop for joy in real life, but in my mind I like to pretend she did. I start explaining everything that just happened and how they most likely have my ECT records and then I realize I am in the middle of the world's second longest hallway and I don't remember which direction leads back to the world's longest hallway. And because I am having unusual and extraordinarily good luck, a medical worker was walking by right at that moment.

"Which way back to the elevator?" "This way!" "Oh great! Thank you!" "Or that way. There are two elevators."

There is that normal luck I recognize.

I can feel the universe realigning itself. But that is okay, because...

THIRTY YEARS, BABY!

I talk to Katrina as I traverse the two longest hallways. Thankfully I was going in the correct direction and found the proper elevator. After a nice chat about various things including problematic 80s movies, we hung up and I decided to treat myself to a hospital cafeteria chicken quesadilla. They are surprisingly delicious and I ate them every single day while my dad was in hospice. Those quesadillas were a single bright spot during one of the hardest times of my life.

So I walk up to the grillmaster and look at the menu.

"Wait, where is the quesadilla?" "We stopped making those two weeks ago."

Universal realignment completed. Luck has returned to its original state.

A male nurse in front of me commiserated. "Yeah, man. I miss them too."

I walked back out to my car both happy and depressed. An odd combination of conflicted feelings. But my day was not over yet. I needed vaccines and groceries. Naturally, I went to the grocery store with the CVS. I got my dad his last booster there, so I was confident they could take care of me. I grab a shopping cart and pick up a few things on the way to the pharmacy. I get in line at the little vaccine check-in spot. The woman in front of me is getting her booster as well. Otherwise, the pharmacy is empty and the three employees are just scrolling through their phones.

After the previous booster seeker was taken care of, I tell the woman I need a booster and a flu vaccine.

"I can give the flu shot now and set an appointment for the booster." "You never required an appointment before." "We just started a few weeks ago." "Can I make an appointment for, like, now?" "No, sorry." "Do you have the booster in stock?" "Yes." "Do you have someone here qualified to give the booster?" "Yes." "Do you have any other appointments right now?" "No."

I tried very hard to keep my composure and remain polite.

"I am disabled. It is very hard for me to get out of the house. Returning another day would be very difficult. Can you please make an exception?"

"I can get you in tomorrow."

I probably should have asked for a manager at this point. But I had no energy for confrontation. She started preparing for me to get the flu shot, but I told her I was going somewhere else. My happy news was quickly being soured by weird rules that made no sense.

But I did see a cool robot.

I got my groceries and loaded them into my car. Some were frozen items so I made sure to turn the A/C on full blast. I called another pharmacy. It was the one run by the Jamaican family who came out to the house to give my parents boosters during the height of COVID. I asked if they could do walk-in vaccinations without an appointment. And in that beautiful accent, they replied, "Sure, come on by. We'll take care of you."

Their shop is in Ferguson. Which I'm sure the news has convinced people is a constant warzone or something. But the main street, West Florrisant, is actually really neat in spots. A lot of small businesses catering to the Black community. There was a soul food place and an African hair braiding place and a Taco Bell. Okay, it wasn't all Black-themed shops, but the pharmacy was directly next to the "Wumzy African Attire" tailoring shop that was combined with the party planning store.

And in the back was an African beauty supply depot.

Three shops in one! Just a very efficient use of space.

And looking through the window of the tailoring shop was like a feast of colors for the eyes. I don't know how they get fabric so bright and colorful. Really beautiful patterns too. I tried not to look like a creep while staring inside so I just walked reeeeeally slow toward the pharmacy entrance.

I just wish people knew that side of Ferguson. It's a beautiful community that was really dragged through the mud by the national media.

I digress.

I walked into the pharmacy and it was long and skinny. They had a few shelves with over-the-counter health products. But the main area was pretty empty. I guess they want to make sure they can accommodate long lines without people having to wait outside. But their working area seemed really cramped. There were some awards on the wall and news articles. Apparently, they are very involved with vaccinating the local refugee community. Something you won't see at pointless appointment-having CVS. I just felt like I was in the right place even if my frozen items were thawing and my legs were buckling from constantly forgetting my cane in the car.

The shop was run by the pharmacist and matriarch. Her son took my information. He looked about 18 and was a bit shy—but very kind and helpful. He directed me to this little partition they set up for vaccinations and they had a liquor bottle full of hand sanitizer. The label had a big "DO NOT DRINK" warning. I found a picture of the exact one on Google.

I washed my hands and rolled up my sleeve. The pharmacist greeted me with my shots prepared. Some people have a sort of magic touch when it comes to giving shots. I'm not sure if it is a special technique or just lots of experience, but aside from a little pressure, I didn't even feel the needles going in. And my arm was only mildly sore despite the double shots.

I really wanted to thank her for sending someone to vaccinate my parents when no one else would. But I was really tired and chickened out. So I just thanked her and drove home.

I unloaded my groceries and collapsed on the couch. I could barely move at that point. Everything hurt.

But... 30 years.

I was feeling good the next day despite everything. My body hurt, but my brain was contented from my success. But there was more to do and everything was trending downhill. I called those doctors mentioned in my personal medical records. I knew it was a long shot, but I asked if they kept records from 2001. They did not. However, I thought the psychiatrist who did my ECT was dead. And it turns out he is just old-as-heck and still practicing. So even though he doesn't have records and probably doesn't remember me, I am hopeful he will write me a letter.

My other psychiatrist from back then is also still practicing. No records there either.

So far my phone anxiety wasn't getting the better of me. But I still had more calls to make and I could feel my brain starting to get melty.

My pocket knife doesn't open correctly and I couldn't get anyone to email me back from SpyderCo. So I called their office in Colorado and tried to get someone to talk to me. I got bounced to three different people and finally a guy told me that model is just hard to open. So that was pointless.

Melt. Melt. Melt.

And finally, I had to call the dreaded CPAP supply place.

It did not go well. At all.

You can read more about it at that link, but the short version is I got angrily sighed at for asking reasonable questions about what the hell "chart notes" are. And the lady refused to answer those questions for no reason I can fathom. She eventually brought me to tears and got angry at me for doing so. And it turned out the call was pointless as well.

Oh, and my lawyer was sick. Remember him? Vacation guy? Who skipped town at the exact moment I got my disability denial letter? Yeah, I had been waiting for 7 grueling, anxiety-filled days to speak with him and he gets sick the day he returns.

Brain is melty goo.

Hey, Universe! I think you are overcorrecting with that luck realignment. I appreciate the 30 years of records thing, but can you let me enjoy it a little?

Friday arrives and I still have calls to make. The CPAP lady really messed up my brain and so just dialing the numbers was freaking me out. But I decided to start with the worst first. I called the CPAP lady and she finally had her precious "chart notes" and put my order through. She was cheerful and helpful and I was confused but thankful.

I thought maybe things were looking up in my phone call adventures.

My next call was to my primary care doctor's office.

One thing you need to know about my doctor is he is a bit of a... hot mess. A very smart, capable doctor. He knows his stuff. I suspect he has an eidetic memory due to his instant recall of medication names and doses and things that happened 8 years ago and detailed descriptions of medical conditions he only heard about in school 40 years ago. Aside from that, he is kind and compassionate and he has my back no matter what.

But he is technologically stuck in the 80s. His personal life is a roller coaster of drama. He once hired his girlfriend of 2 months to work at the office and his regular staff secretly whispered "She's so awful" behind his back. (They broke up soon after.) He is disorganized and constantly running late. And he takes on tons of frustrating patients because they have nowhere else to go. I admire him for treating so many poor elderly folks without any family to take care of them, but you can tell it is extremely challenging at times and a lot of that labor is delegated to his staff.

His office manager is probably the only person on the planet who can tolerate him being a hot mess.

Unfortunately, she is also a hot mess in completely different ways.

She tries to speedrun through everything. It's probably because she has a million things to do and is trying to fit 12 hours of work into an 8 hour workday. I try to be sympathetic and understanding of that. But one of her methods for speeding things along is attempting to use her psychic powers. You will start telling her what you need and she will do this thing where she cuts you off and tries to predict said need.

"I need a prescription for..." "Your thyroid meds are due, right? I'll send it over to the pharmacy." "...insulin. But I have a question about..." "So thyroid and insulin? No problem. I'll send it over." "...increasing my dosage." "Wait, what's yer question, hon?" "Was it 50 units..." "No, it's says 100. Okay? I'll send it over. Take care." "...twice per day or 100 units once in the morning?"

Often her predictions are so bad that it actually takes a lot more time to correct her than it would if she had just let you finish speaking. And this is especially problematic for me because I rehearse everything I need to say and she constantly interrupts and so I have to end up improvising new things to say that I never accounted for. And I'm already anxious and not thinking clearly so I do a poor job of explaining my needs and it just ends up in disaster.

So I have a complicated situation. I need my entire written chart copied and sent to my lawyer. I know it is a lot of work for the office staff. They probably have to copy several hundred pages. But this is probably the most important evidence in my disability case. And my lawyer has already volunteered to pay the several hundred dollars it will cost. It's worth it because if my case goes well, I could get years of back pay.

I call and get the young woman whom I really like on his staff. She is very quiet and unassuming but secretly the star of the office. Like a ninja of competence. If you really need something done properly without mistakes, she is the best one to go to. But her job does not include handling the records, so she transfers me to the office nurse. The office nurse does not process new information well. You often have to explain things several times. And if she gives up trying to understand, she hands you off to the office manager.

The Final Boss, if you will. I was really hoping I could avoid that.

"Okay, so my lawyer needs all of my written records..."

"He needs to fax a form saying what he needs, okay honey?"

"He already faxed a release form asking for records and I brought in a new copy yesterday with all of his mailing information..."

"He didn't fax anything. He needs to tell us what he needs. I'm not seeing any form. Just tell him to call me."

"He is out sick today and he already faxed the form and I brought a second one just in case. I signed it and dated it and I watched Competence Ninja put it in my chart. It asks for everything..."

"Okay, I see it here. This doesn't look right. He needs to tell us what he needs us to send him."

"It says in the letter, 'to release any medical information, including medical records, written letters, treatment reports, testing results, or similar information.' Should it say something different?"

"I've been doing this 20 years and I've never seen anything like this. He needs to be more specific. I ain't sending him all that, hon."

"So, this is for my disability case. I already talked to the nurse about this. And I know it is a lot, but the doctor's records are the only direct evidence that I've been sick since 2001."

"So you just need something from 2001? Okay, the lawyer needs to fax something saying that."

"I need the entire handwritten chart copied and sent to the lawyer. We need a full record of my illness because..."

"This is ridiculous. You're lawyer is fucking lazy. I've never seen anything like this. And I'm worried he is not going to represent your interests."

"This is not a normal disability claim. If you'd allow me to explain I think you'd understand why I need..."

"Disability should already have all this. We shouldn't need to send this. This is fucking ridiculous and you need a new lawyer. You're going to lose your case with his lazy ass."

"This isn't normal disability. I need to prove that I've been sick for a long time and..."

"This is going to cost a fortune, you know? We charge 50 cents per page. You're going to be out hundreds of dollars."

"Okay, but I will be out thousands of dollars if I don't get this copied."

"Fuck it. I am going to copy this ONCE. No more after this. UNDERSTOOD?"

And... she hung up on me.

My heart was beating out of my chest with panic and my eyes were blurry with tears. And in that moment, I thought I had done something wrong. My doctor gave me his personal mobile number so I call him up with tears apparent in my voice. I explain what just happened and that I was really sorry and that I didn't mean to upset her. He told me she is "just like that sometimes" and I shouldn't take it to heart. They have a very serious deadline for something due that day and she was very upset and I was collateral damage. I asked him to apologize for me and he said there was no need. He said we'd work it all out on Monday when this deadline wasn't stressing everyone out.

It wasn't until I calmed down a bit that I realized I did absolutely nothing wrong. That she was just being a big jerk and taking her other problems out on me. And I was probably the one deserving of an apology. I also remembered this is not the first time she has blown up at me. She was the one who tried to make me get a ventilator instead of a proper CPAP machine years ago. She said, "My mom has one and it works fine." And I was like, "So if I travel I'm supposed to take 12 pounds of medical equipment instead of a 1 pound device that fits neatly into a backpack?"

I get why my doctor made excuses for her. She works very hard and puts up with him. He'd never be able to find anyone that would last a week doing that job. And I have a feeling he probably defended me after I called. I played what he said back in my brain and noticed a frustrated tone. Despite what he said, it seems clear he was pissed.

I can make amends and figure things out with her. That isn't an issue. But I am worried that between her and CPAP lady, all of the progress I've made trying to reduce my telephobia was erased. I really was getting better calling people. I used to need Katrina hanging out on Skype while I called anyone as moral support. And while it still helps, I've gotten a lot better at calling strangers on my own. But now, I'm not so sure.

I might ask if there is an office email address I can use from now on. If I can write out what I need there is no way to get interrupted. I can be clear and detailed and use my writing skills to communicate way better than my phone skills.

I don't know.

It was just a crappy way to end a stressful, exhausting week.

But it wasn't the end!

Friday evening my sick lawyer finally called. I had rehearsed all kinds of things I wanted to say to him. But it turns out, all of my emails already did most of the talking—proof that I write a great email. He was really impressed with all of my detective work. And he said if those records pan out, he is very optimistic about my case going forward. He also said that he was expecting a denial. And it was probably good that we got that out of the way quickly. And now we get to mount more of a defense, which is what lawyers are good at. We talked for about 20 minutes and came up with a battle plan. He explained the process going forward. But he mentioned one thing that worried me.

This could take a while.

A lot longer than I was expecting.

I explained that I currently have a runway until about June 2024. That's when the mortgage money runs out. However, my brother should be willing to release my inheritance in March. I hope. I have a hard time trusting anything my brother says anymore. But if he does, then I should have another year of mortgage payments. But I am definitely going to have a Plan B just in case my brother finds a new way to disrespect my father's wishes.

The lawyer said there is a quick thing and a long thing. The quick thing has a low chance of success. But it is worth trying. The long thing is a hearing with a Social Security lawyer. He said a lot of these lawyers are miserable and don't want to be there and don't really care. Which is a good thing because they'll just be like, "Fine, whatever." But it can take a long time to get a hearing due to backlogs.

So, as long as I can gather all the evidence and the hospital records have my ECT stuff, I think there is room for hope. A little hope. After years of chronic illness I know hope is sometimes dangerous. So I allot a tiny bit of hope to keep me going forward, but not enough hope to leave me devastated if things go tits up.

So... umm... I think that is the end of this novel of a post. I feel bad that I don't have a big climax or twist or cliffhanger. Should I add a big CGI dragon fight?

Even though a more down-to-earth kung fu fight with my brother would be a more satisfying conclusion?

Or I could pull an M. Night Shyamalan and reveal that I've been dead for quite some time.

This post is getting really long.

Why are you still reading this?

I am thankful that you are. I just needed to get all of that out. I hope I wrote it in a compelling way and you weren't bored.

I love you all.

[lyquynhnhu]

Dark impulse and “plot holes” analysis

Tokyo Revengers is near the end. I’m really sad and I don’t know how it will end with only 4 chapters. My option are:

Tragic ending, very unlikely but it’s an ending where everyone lose, Takemichi or Mikey will die.

Open ending: the last page is a handshake between Takemichi and Mikey. Takemichi might give his power to Mikey, but we see only the handshake. We will not know if Takemichi return to the future or Mikey went to the past. In the best case, we will have a panel with everyone smile happily, but without context (like a fantasy).

Okay, let’s go with the analysis.

Dark impulses

Dark impulses = curse = karma = impulse to destroy

Shinichiro was the first one to manifest “dark impulse”. When Mikey’s incident happen, Shinichiro felt guilty and was very angry and so he destroy the toy plane. Then, he completely lose his mind and killed the homeless man.

When Shinichiro time leaped, his karma followed him.

What is karma? Basically, karma is when some sin you have committed in your past life influence your next life.

Since you have to die once to activate your first time leaping, we can say that time leap back to the past is already your next life.

After avoiding Mikey incident, Shinichiro felt safe because he achieved his mission. However, his karma (consequence of time leaping power, maybe) cursed Mikey (the person Shinichiro wanted to save) and it is said that dark impulses can infect other people.

I think that dark impulses infect people with weak mind (Kazutora, Izana) and amplify their desire to destroy (South).

The dark impulses are born from Shinichiro’s love for Mikey. But that love turn to violence, he himself stated that he wanted to kill all the people that deceived him, he beat a man to gain information about the time leaper, he killed the homeless man/time leaper and killed himself (he destroy himself).

This curse to destroy now possess Mikey. Mikey tried to repress the impulse, but he also has a weak mind. Like we saw in Mikey’s flashback, the loss of people important to him have a big impact on him (his mother, then Shinichiro, Baji, Emma). That’s why he hate weakness, and yearn for strength (Mikey already has this way of thinking before Shinichiro time leaping, dark impulse amplify this desire of him).

Kazutora comes from an abusive family, he never had a normal life. He wanted to do something special for his friend, but in the progress he killed the brother of that same friend. He couldn’t bear the guilt, so he decide that it was all Mikey’s fault and the dark impulse amplify this conviction (and Kisaki take advantage of it).

South had a life based on violence. His violent tendency and Mikey’s dark impulse that lead him to destroy everything and everyone is not a good combination.

Separate paragraph for Izana.

Izana & Shinichiro

So, Shinichiro doesn’t seem to know about Izana in the original timeline. But I think that he knew about him, but abandoned him after Mikey’s incident.

I can imagine Izana very heartbroken when his “only” brother abandoned him (in the original timeline).

Here a schematic way of my reconstruction:

Emma was dropped in Sano family by her mother

Emma talk about Izana to Shinichiro

Shinichiro went to meet Izana

Mikey’s incident happen, Shinichiro became his caregiver and abandoned Izana

Shinichiro time leap and save Mikey

Few days after, he shake hands with Sanzu and return to 2003

In the 4 years between 1999 and 2003, Shinichiro kept in contact with Izana because nothing happen to Mikey, but Mikey was always Shinichiro’s priority

Dark impulse amplify Izana’s sense of loneliness and need for love

When Shinichiro died, Kisaki take advantage of the dark impulse inside Izana and amplify his desire to destroy Mikey

How dark impulse manifest in Izana…

When he was 12, Izana beated some kids that bullied him. As consequence, he was sent to juvie where he stayed for an year (Izana met S-62 generation when he was 13).

Well, Izana became 12 in 30 August 1999. On this date, Shinichiro already returned to 2003 (he died 13 August 2003). But, the karma could have stayed in past Shinichiro (let’s call him Shinichiro 2), too.

Shinichiro 2 is the one that went to Philippines and found the twin engine. Like Takemichi (time leaper) and past Takemichi, Shinichiro 2 could be somehow aware of the future. That’s why, Mikey is his priority and that made Izana jealous.

And Izana condition worsened when he discovers that he never was Shinichiro’s brother (I don’t know which Shinichiro Izana confronted when he discovered the truth, I like to think this happen between the day Shinichiro gave his powers to Takemichi and his death by Kazutora). I have always thought that Izana’s letters to Shinichiro was foreshadow of something.

Time leaping power

The origin of this power is still unknown. But we know that this power is double edge.

Depending on how the power is gained and used, the effect is different.

Shinichiro and the homeless man got it by killing someone, resulting in a bad karma for themselves and surrounding creating a curse.

Takemichi got it because he was chosen and he doesn’t have a bad previous karma. That’s why for him the power is a gift.

Thinking about that, Takemichi died 3 times

1 - When he was pushed

2 - When he was shot by Kakucho

3 - When he was shot by Mikey in Bonten timeline

Maybe his power to see the future is a result of all this death experience.

Little comment

I like the plot twist about Shinichiro being the time leaper, but I would have preferred for him to do more than one time leap.

And Sanzu being the trigger… to explain his obsession for Mikey, it would have been better if he remembers more than one timeline. Naoto has experience multiple time Hina’s death. How does he know about dark impulse and where was he during all the manga before the final arc? His character doesn’t convince me.

P.s. For me, Hanma was never relevant. His role is that of a prop and his tatoo served to hide the message of the karma thing.

[ellaintrigue]

Erin and I worked Salisbury all day yesterday doing merch deliveries. It was rough. Boiling hot car and sore feet from walking around in circles up to an hour at a time. At one point the car started shaking and the front tire was bumping so we thought we had a flat. We weren't able to pull over right away and we both just started crying. Not over the tire itself but just everything in general. Costs and life stress. Fortunately we had only run over some wet asphalt which had formed a lump on the rubber but I saw a nail stuck in another tread. Finally we took a rest next to a huge peeling red truck that looked like it was owned by a serial killer lol.

While I'm doing better than a lot of people the desperation of constantly fighting for cash gets to you. There have been points in my life I've felt so desperate I've felt like robbing a place. I wouldn't but poverty makes people desperate and the first night that thought ever crossed my mind I didn't have any food.

We drove through the ghettos dodging angry pit bulls and saw people standing and screaming at each other in their dirt yards. There was a man passed out in a parking lot and it didn't even startle me at this point. He was laying halfway on the pavement and halfway on the grass. I mean, I felt bad but couldn't tell if he was in crisis or not and if you call 911 it could result in trouble for him. Cops can be incredibly cruel in my experience, let alone to a homeless man. I remember the time they slammed my ex's foot in their car door on purpose and then laughed at him as he was having a bipolar meltdown. They had been called to take him to the hospital, not over any crime.

As we worked I saw many pregnant women. They were all black ladies. I've never wanted to be pregnant but am not repulsed by the sight of pregnancy. However it is hard on a woman and costly. If a woman doesn't pay for her birth and child then the government does. And honestly, I can't judge all cases of that because it is very hard to afford children even with both parents working full time if they do have both parents.

Conservatives want cuts to EBT and other sources of welfare which would hurt a lot of families. On the other hand I think that many people would think twice about popping out kids they can't support which would be a good thing. Because many do choose to have too many with no plans of actually providing for them. The children won't go to college, they'll grow up in the ghettos of Salisbury, work shitty jobs if at all, and pop out more children to continue the cycle.

With the right being against abortion it makes no sense for them to want to cut into welfare funding however. Who is going to support the hundreds of thousands of more children if abortion was totally banned? The fact that there are few horrors worse than a forced pregnancy aside, our tax dollars would have to go to additional maternity hospitals, and other places for pregnant women. We would also need more women's prisons because harming your fetus can be consider child abuse. Either an attempt to end the pregnancy or via addiction. That means that addict women would have to be incarcerated along with anyone who tried to injure or neglect themselves in an attempt to harm the pregnancy.

After the thousands upon thousands of births from the unwanted pregnancies more tax dollars would be needed to provide for these children. The adoption and foster systems are already overwhelmed with neglected children, many in temporary homes where they are being used for their welfare money and often abused. Carers get paid thousands per child. I've talked to many people who grew up in the foster system and a horrifying majority of them, both males and females, have told me they were raped by older males in the households.

We also never talk about human trafficking in the United States, the majority which is probably (haven't checked the stats) is children. Ocean City trafficking is mostly foreign women while lower Virginia is mostly little girls. A house near dad's was raided for selling little black girls a few years ago.

Since I became disabled in 2018, while I have not done anything illegal, I have had the misfortune of working in an industry that brushes up against these things as well. The United States South is absolutely feral and brutal in some of the worst ways especially the Carolinas. One thing I remember is a woman probably in her 60s with one breast removed from cancer posing up against a wall nude. Her eyes haunt me. Because while she took her own clothes off and stood there life probably didn't really give her a choice. Her pimp probably didn't give her a choice. And the children in these scenarios? No choice ever.

The world doesn't need more children unless they are wanted and properly cared for by loving parents who can afford them.

[skullamity]

I saw a non-binary person on twitter applauding another tweet about how a lot of cis people really just sometimes label trans masc and afab nonbinary people as femme-presenting and then get angry at those people for not presenting "properly" when they ask not to be misgendered (to be crystal clear, this is something I do see happen, and also applaud this person for saying), but the way they applauded it was amazingly frustrating.

Without including a screencap or the exact wording because I don't want anyone hunting this down and harassing them, their response was, to paraphrase:

"femme presenting does not equal everyone impacted by misogyny."

Now, I didn't respond there because twitter is hell on digital Earth and I don't want my mentions filled with garbage for the next week for weighing in, but I'm comfortable expanding on why this statement is bullshit here. There's a whole other conversation to be had about how a lot of afab trans masc and non-binary people are complicit in silencing our own by pushing this sort of statement, but people more articulate than I am have said plenty on that and I'll leave it to them.

No, what I take issue with is the idea that there is a single person on this goddamn planet who isn't impacted by misogyny. Let's break it down, nice and easy.

MISOGYNY AFFECTS:

1) Cisgender women and girls. Takes the form of cat calling, infantilization, systemic discrimination in the workplace and a disparity of social and economic advantages afforded to cisgender men, high rates of violence against them, high rates of medical neglect, social conditioning that pushes them out of STEM career and education paths either because it's been drilled into them that these are not jobs for women OR because they made a go of it and felt unsafe, underutilized, passed over for promotion in favour of less qualified male peers, and so on.

2) transgender and amab non-binary people. Trans women who pass (note, I do not think passing is important or required to be respected in our identities, so if you're reading this and transmed, fuck all the way off) are treated of all of the above, unless they are openly trans or outed to peers who thought they were cis, in which case this treatment is conditional.

Being outed or not passing doesn't make the above go away, but it adds in shitty bonus features like the possibility of being confronted/attacked/harmed/killed publicly just for existing as trans in public, denial of housing, chronic unemployment (especially in states where you can be fired at will with no reason given as to why), loss of insurance and high rates of homelessness. On top of that, non-binary people often intentionally do not pass, or incidentally are mistaken for male or female. They are misgendered in almost all situations abs are subject to all of the above.

3) transgender men and afab non-binary people. This one is apparently a really controversial take to have these days, but as a trans man who passes and transitioned later in life, passing means jack shit if and when people know that I am trans. If people don't know I'm trans, their acceptance of me is tenuous at best and entirely conditional.

This is a problem for me personally because I a) refuse to pack the first 30 years of my existence in a box and lie about it to impress strangers. All of those formative experiences that are supposed to really affirm womanhood? Tried 'em. Yes, ALL of them. Even the one that transmasc transmeds will swear up and down that if you do them, you are not really trans. You know the one (it's pregnancy if that's not clear!).

I will not pack that away for the comfort of others. I am who I am because of those experiences, not in spite of them. But even if I did choose to pack all that away and keep it secret for the sake of seeming cis to new people, I still have a big 'ol target on my back because I am married to a cis dude. We're both bisexual, but that nuance means nothing to cis dudes for whom the existence of gay people where they can see them is emasculating by proximity. And how do cis dudes treat people, including other cis dudes, who aren't performing masculinity properly? With misogyny.

Cis dudes will treat gay and bi men, efeminate men, men with voices, mannerisms and style outside of a specific masculine archetype, like women. More specifically, women who deserve to be punished for being "that way." That misogyny isn't misdirected, a term I frequently see people throwing around to push back against the idea that afab trans men and non-binary people who have gone on testosterone or gotten top surgery or both are affected by misogyny specifically. It is directed exactly where it is meant to be directed, for all the reasons above and more.

On top of all that, the second someone (including doctors!) knows I'm trans, if they're not chill about it I can expect them to immediately start treating me like a delusional woman who has been tricked into transitioning and couldn't possibly have the agency required to make the decisions I have about my own body. Which is, again, textbook misogyny.

Anyhow, all of these things? If I were to go stealth to avoid them, it wouldn't be a privilege because, again, these things are conditional on remaining steal and honestly I didn't step out of one closet to baracade myself into another. If you have to hide your past and who you really are 24/7, that is not a privilege. The meager bonuses of having strangers think you're cishet are nothing compared to the detriment that living a double life, always in terror that someone will find out and tell everyone, causes. Trans men have worse outcomes with mental health than anyone, currently, and this is part of why.

4) Cisgender men who are visible minorities. Cisgender men with disabilities, who aren't white, who are fat or neuroatypical, or are gay or bi? Being treated "like a man" has conditions that they are either already outside of because of immutable characteristics OR is conditional based on whether they force themselves to conform and tow the line by reinforcing the "conditions" of previously mentioned masculine archetypes.

and finally

5) Able-bodied, neurotypical, cisgender heterosexual white men. Yeah, you heard that correctly!

Cishet white dudes are absolutely affected by misogyny. Let us count the ways:

Cis men are taught from a young age that being "like a girl" or even just being a girl is undesirable, worthy of disgust and/or punishment. How many childhood taunts meant to embarrass, emasculate and keep male peers in line are along the lines of comparing boys to women or denying/revoking their masculinity?

You throw like a girl. You hit like a girl. You look like a girl. Boys don't cry. What are you, gay? You'd better not be gay. You're not a f****t, are you? No son of mine is gonna play with dolls. Why are you crying? Time to hand in your man card. Don't get your vagina in a twist. Why are you mad? You on your period? And on and on and on...

The blatant contempt for women in a lot of formative social interactions for boys between them and their peers and them and their male relatives genuinely makes cis men worse people unless they have the will and fortitude to unpack and unlearn all of this. And boy howdy do we make it hard for them to do that.

I have met grown men so emotionally constipated that they can only talk about their feelings to their significant others, who come to resent them because your significant other is not a substitute for therapy. We tell young boys to bottle their emotions up, and we reinforce this with mocking laughter and ostracization. Sometimes with physical violence. Their friendships with other adult men are superficial and lacking affection, and fall apart if they ever challenge any of this shit. Every word that leaves their mouths in social situations is macho bravado and desperate conformation because you need to be in the In Group. You don't want to be in the Out Group, do you?

So until they figure out (if they ever do figure out) that they have shit they need to unpack and unlearn, they let their own inner turmoil fester, and they take it out on women, men and other people who fail to hit the baseline for what a man is "supposed" to be. They make the people around them suffer, and they lash out. They will enforce masculinity on their male peers and treat the women in their life with patronization and contempt and maybe even violence, because who else are you going to aim at when every formative and ongoing bit of socialization you've experienced from the time you realized that there was a difference between boys and girls and how they are supposed to act, and the resounding message has been that girls and women = bad, and that being compared to either means you're failing at proper masculinity?

Yeah, cis men do a lot of harm to people who aren't cis men. They will also do a lot of harm to people who ARE cis men but aren't "doing it right," including their own sons, and the cycle perpetuates until someone decides to break it, usually at a pretty significant cost.

So yeah, cis men are absolutely affected by misogyny. They aim it at the expected groups, but also at each other as a form of controlling group dynamics and social hierarchy.

TL;DR- literally fucking everyone is affected by misogyny and has it levied at them to enforce conformity in one way or another, so could we please fucking stop attempting to classify different flavours of trans people as being affected by or exempt from misogyny? It isn't misdirected if the person hurling it at you means for it to affect you, harm you, control you and your expression or all of the above.

This is why, when we classify something as a hate crime or not on a legal level, the identity of the person who it was committed against is not relevant. Assaulting a straight cis man because you thought he was a cis gay man doesn't absolve the perpetrator of having committed a hate crime. If the intention was to commit a crime on the basis of gender identity or sexuality, the legal system agrees that this is a hate crime, even if the perpetrator was mistaken!

TME/TMA is not a functional way of discussing the different ways that misogyny affects all of us, and I would love for young afab trans people to please stop throwing us all under the bus by trying to insist that the misogyny levied at afab trans people somehow doesn't count. You're hurting the rest of us, but you're also hurting yourself and you should knock it the fuck off. It does not invalidate your masculinity to acknowledge that cis people, both men and women, are levying misogyny at us, because they levy it at other cis people (mostly cis people who are minorities in other ways) all the fucking time.

[waitimcomingtoo]

In Case You Don’t Live Forever

~chapter seven rewritten~

Pairing: Peter Parker x Venom!Reader

Synopsis: you are Peters greatest love and Spider-Man’s greatest enemy

Series Masterlist

Peter walked to campus that day with an extra bounce in his step. He couldn’t keep himself from leaping over the school gate, not caring who could’ve seen. He was in love. He walked past Flash with confidence, easily brushing off his backhanded comments. He walked up to Ned and felt oddly compelled to click his heels. Ned noticed the ecstatic expression on his best friends face and smirked.

“What’s got you so happy? Did a certain wall crawling superhero finally beat Venom in a fight?” He asked. Peter shook his head.

“Not yet. Something even better happened.” Peter said proudly.

“And what might that be?” Ned wondered. Peter could barely keep himself from screaming.

“Y/n kissed me.” He exclaimed. He got a few strange looks from passing students on their way to class, but Peter didn’t care. Nothing could ruin his mood.

“What? When? ” Ned gasped.

“This morning. She slept over last night after she had a nightmare. And guess what else?” Peter asked. Ned bounced up and down.

“What? Tell me!” Ned demanded. Peter looked around for who could be listening and smirked.

“She slept in my bed.” He smirked.

“Oh.” Ned said looked disappointed in the anticlimactic finish.

“With me in it.” Peter added and Ned looked amazed. His jaw hung open and he began to bounce up and down again.

“Dude that’s like the greatest thing ever.” Ned cheered. “She’s so hot! We have to tell everyone.”

“We’re not telling anyone just yet.” He shook his head. “She’s only been my girlfriend for a few hours. She’s really special to me, Ned. I don’t want to treat her like shes some prize I won by telling everyone. Girls are worth more than that.”

“Amen to that. What are you losers talking about anyway?” MJ said as she approached them. She was eating trail mix and looked extremely bored already.

“Peter has a girlfriend.” Ned blurted. Peter shot him an angry look while MJ looked impressed.

“Oh really? Who is she, your right hand?” MJ smirked. Ned looked confused while Peters face went red.

“It’s not my right hand. She lives in my building and she’s an angel. That’s all you need to know.” Peter grumbled, still annoyed that Ned spilled his secret. It wasn’t that he was ashamed of you, the exact opposite actually. He would shout it from the rooftops that you were together if he could. He just didn’t want everyone to know. You had only kissed that morning and Peter still wanted to keep the magical details to himself.

“Does this angel have a name?” MJ questioned, actually interested in something for once.

“No.” Peter said at the same time Ned said “Y/n L/n.”

“Y/n L/n from The L/n Report?” MJ was suddenly invested. It was the first time Peter or Ned heard emotion in her voice.

“You know her?” Peter asked.

“Duh.” MJ scoffed. “She’s the only investigative reporter I’ve seen who actually cares about the people she reports on. I read her articles all the time. We have a lot of the same opinions. I used to think she was the coolest girl ever.”

“Used to think?” Ned asked.

“Well clearly something’s wrong with her if she’s dating Peter.” MJ said flatly. Ned laughed and Peter looked at her angrily.

“There’s nothing wrong with her. She’s amazing.” Peter defended.

“I know she is.” MJ shrugged. “I’ve idealized that girl for year. Did you guy see what she did to Carlton Drake?” Peter nodded and smiled proudly at the thought of his girl kicking names and taking ass.

“She’s like my hero. She’s done so much for the homeless back in San Francisco. I was so excited when she said she was moving to New York to work for The Daily Bugle.” MJ gushed. Peter and Ned looked at each other, visibly confused.

“Have you always done that?” Ned asked her.

“Done what?” MJ asked.

“Felt things?” Ned said and MJ rolled her eyes.

“I feel very passionate about a lot of things. Those things just don’t happen to include you two or anyone else in this school. However, I am very passionate about your girlfriend.” MJ stated. She suddenly looked a little uncomfortable and unsure of herself, two things MJ never did. She awkwardly turned to Peter.

“Do you think I could meet her? I’d really love to talk to her about her article on fracking.” MJ asked slowly. She wasn’t used to asking people for things. Peters eyes softened at this new side of MJ.

“She’s picking me up after class today on her motorcycle. You can meet her then.” Peter offered. Then MJ did something very out of character.

She smiled.

“K thanks.” She blurted and then swiftly left. Ned and Peter laughed as she walked away.

“That was new.” Ned commented.

“Yes It was.” Peter agreed.

“She’s so odd.” Ned added.

“Yes, she is.”

“Did you do the hanky panky with Y/n?” Ned asked. Peter snapped his head towards Ned.

“What?” Peter flushed red. “No. And never say ‘hanky panky’ again.”

“It was worth asking. See you in orgo.” Ned said before walking towards his class. Peter shook his head in amusement before heading to his first class of the day.

At 3:30, you pulled up to Peters college on your motorcycle. You took off your helmet, shook your hair out, and scanned the crowd for Peter. You soon saw him, Ned following shortly behind him, and a girl you had never seen before. She wasn’t wearing makeup, which you gave her props for, and had her curly hair tied back in a pony tail. She was undeniably pretty and had a very cool vibe to her.

“Hi beautiful.” Peter said when he reached you. He wrapped his arms around your waist and hugged you tightly. “It’s torture not being with you all day.”

“I know. But the school year is almost over right? Then we can spend every second together.” You promised. Peter smiled happily. He leaned in slightly, as if asking for your permission, and you did the same. You pressed a soft kiss to his lips. He smiled into the kiss and held you closer. This time, there were no interruptions.

“Y/n, I’d like you to meet MJ. MJ, this is Y/n.” Peter said, gesturing to the girl. MJ smiled shyly at you and held out her hand.

“It’s really cool to meet you, Y/n. Your article on greenhouse gases is hanging on my wall. I’m uh, I’m a big fan.” She said timidly.

“You’re a fan? That’s amazing.” You smiled brightly at her. “I’ve never met a fan before. It’s really cool to meet you too, MJ. And if you’re interested in the environment, I have a bunch of scientists numbers I can give you. I had to interview a bunch back in San Francisco to write that article. They gave me some great tips on how to reduce my carbon footprint.” MJ’s eyes widened just a little. She looked baffled and gave you a thankful smile. You noticed one of her front teeth was slightly askew and decided you liked her already.

“Really? That’d be so cool. Thanks.” She said. You squeezed her arm and nodded.

“I think you and I are going to get along just fine. Can I get your number? I’d love to hear more about what you’re interested in.” You handed MJ your phone and she took it. She typed her number it and handed it back.

“This has been really amazing. Thanks for being so cool. I have to run though. I’m running a protest outside of Oscorp.” She explained. “One of their employees got seriously electrocuted and they’re to cover it up.”

“Really?” You gasped. “Is it okay if I tag along? I’m kinda busy with my Cletus Kasady story but I would love to cover your protest too.”

“You’d do that for me?” She asked as if she wasn’t used to people doing things for her.

“Gladly. Can I join? I can give you a ride there.” You offered. She smiled at you and toyed with the strings on her backpack.

“That’d be great. See you losers later.” MJ gave Peter and Ned a peace sign and climbed onto your bike. You gave Peter a quick peck on the lips and got on the bike as well. Peter watched as MJ wrapped her arms around your waist and smirked at him. You two sped off towards Oscorp, leaving Peter and Ned in your wake.

“Dude.” Ned laughed. “MJ just stole your girlfriend.”

“Shut up. No she didn’t.” Peter said. Did she though? You seemed to hit it off with her pretty quickly. Peter didn’t know MJ too well but he knew she was guarded and didn’t let people in easily. In fact, she didn’t let anyone in. And yet, you and her had become best friends in a matter of minutes.

Heading back from Oscorp a few hours later, you saw a familiar hat bobbing up and down in the street. You were about to call out Neds name when two guys came from around the corner. They looked mean and you could hear Ned’s heartbeat rising. You quickly ran over to him.

“Hey.” You panted. Ned looked relived to see you.

“Oh hey Y/n. How’d your date with MJ go?” He teased. You shoved him slightly.

“It wasn’t a date. She’s really cool though. I think we’re going to be good friends.” You said as you passed the two guys. You soon heard a whistle.

“Damn baby. Where you going with him? Don’t you wanna stay here and have some fun?” one of the guys called. You looked at Ned and picked up your pace.

“I know you heard me beautiful. Stop running before I give you a reason to run.” The man said again, louder this time.

“Keep walking.” You whispered to Ned.

“I said stop running.” The man shouted, this time, his threat was accompanied by the sound of a gun cocking. You and Ned froze in your steps. The two men slowly approached you, all while pointing the gun level with your head.

“That’s better.” One man said when he reached you. “Now, how about this. You come with me, or I shoot your friend. Does that sound fair?”

“I better call Peter. He’ll know what to do.” Ned panicked.

“No need.” You growled as your transformed into Venom. You marched up to the guy and grabbed him by the shoulders in a death grip. You spit at a nearby newspaper in the ground. The newspaper quickly disintegrated and left nothing but smoke behind. You smiled devilishly at the man, grateful for a chance to show off your acidic saliva.

“What was that?” The man cowered in your grasp. Meanwhile, his friend ran away terrified.

“Acid spit. Still want me to come with you?” Venom purred. The man whimpered and shook his head furiously.

“Didn’t think so. Now, if you don’t tell us the names of ten historical feminists who would be very disappointed in your sorry ass by the time I count to ten, we’re going to eat you. Does that sound fair?” Venom growled as the man shut his eyes in fear.

“One.” You began to count.

“Uh…” He whimpered.

“Two.”

“Um.” He raked his minuscule brain for answered but came up empty handed.

“Ten.” You said and bit his head off. You quickly ate the rest of his body before turning back into yourself. You wiped your hands and patted your stomach before turning around and making eye contact with Ned, completely forgetting he was there.”

“You’re Venom?!” He gasped as he pointed at you in horror. You ran up to him and covered his mouth.

“What? No.” You lied. “How do you know about Venom anyway?”

“It’s you. I can’t believe it’s you.” Ned exclaimed when you took your hand off his mouth. You were getting more and more confused.

“You’re Venom. You, Y/n, are Venom.” He repeated as if it all made sense now.

“Play dumb.” Venom whispered.

“What? I’m not Venom. What makes you say that?” You stammered.

“Not that dumb!” She yelled. Ned looked at you and laughed, still in shock.

“You and Peter are perfect for each other, you know that? You’re both dumb as shit.” He laughed. You had to laugh a little as well.

“You’re Venom and Peter is…do you know about Peter?” Ned suddenly asked.

“What about Peter?” You didn’t understand what he meant. Neds eyes went wide, and then filled with sadness.

“Nothing. Don’t worry about it.” He shook his head. “Are you gonna tell him about this? Because I’m going to be very honest with you, I’m terrible at keeping secrets. I don’t know if I can keep this from him.”

“I’m gonna tell him eventually. So please, don’t say anything.” You pleaded. “He has to hear it from me. I’m sorry that I’m making you lie to your best friend but this is a very unique situation.”

“It’s a lot more unique than you think.” He muttered. “I won’t tell him.”

“Thank you.” You hugged him tightly, thankful that he was safe and keeping your secret. You walked Ned home and began to make your way back to the apartment building. You wanted nothing more than to cuddle with Peter and forget the day. After all, you missed him all day at school. It was bearable when you guys were just friends, but now that he was your boyfriend you never wanted to be apart.

When you were just a few blocks from your apartment, you felt a strong arm wrap around your neck and hold you in place. Suddenly, there was a knife to your throat.

“I saw what you did to my buddy, you little freak. Now, how about you get down on those pretty little knees before I kill you?” The man threatened. You turned your neck as much as you could and recognized your attacker as the mans friend who ran away from earlier. You sighed deeply. You were full and trying to keep your body count to a minimum, but he was just asking for it. You shut your eyes and were about to turn into Venom when you heard a voice from behind you.

“Now that’s no way to treat a lady.” The voice rang. You recognized it as Peters voice. The guy was quickly pulled away from you as if by some kind of rope. You heard some sort of webbing going on behind you and small cries of struggling from the man.

“Are you alright Miss?” Peter asked.

“I’m fine, Peter.” You said, finally turning around. Instead of seeing your boyfriend, you saw the friendly neighborhood pain in the ass. He had webbed your attacker to the wall and was now looking right at you. You had seen him so many times before, and he’d seen you, but never like this. You felt almost naked, standing before Spider-Man as Y/n instead of Venom.

“Oh.” You said, startled. “I’m sorry. I thought you were someone else.”

“Yea. This is a pretty popular outfit.” Spider-Man joked, gesturing to his skin tight suit. You bit your tongue. He was funny, but you couldn’t let him know that. You were enemies after all. He just didn’t realize it was you.

“Thanks for saving me.” You blurted. “But I had the situation handled.”

“You’re right. You especially looked like you had it handled when he was about to stab and murder you.” Spider-Man said sarcastically. You found him oddly charming, despite your history.

“What are you gonna do with him?” You asked, pointing to the man webbed to the wall.

“I heard what he said to you. I’m going to register him as a sex offender and ruin his life. Unless, you had other plans. You know, since you had the situation handled.” Spiderman remarked. You playfully rolled your eyes. You did have other plans. Plans that involved eating him and digesting him while you cuddled with Peter. But Spider-Mans plan was okay too.

“Alright. I’ll see you around Spider-Man.” You said, giving the superhero one last look. There was something familiar about him. Spider-Man nodded.

“See you around. And please, be careful. Don’t walk alone. I don’t want to see you get hurt.” He said and turned back to the man.

You went home, showered, and got into some comfy clothes. You missed your boyfriend dearly and went to his apartment to see him.

After being let in by May, you went into Peters room and flopped on his bed. He was sat at his desk doing homework.

“Did you mean what you said about me sleeping over whenever I wanted?” You asked, voice muffled by his pillow.

“Of course I did.” He swiveled around to look at you and noticed your body language. “What’s wrong, love?”

“I’ve had a long day and I want to cuddle my boyfriend.” You pouted. Peter smiled at you calling him your boyfriend. He closed his textbook and climbed into bed with you. You rested your head on his chest, right over his heart. The sound of his heartbeat calmed you down and you felt sleepy.

“Did you make any progress on your story?” He asked. You shook your head as he began to run his fingers through your hair. You hummed in content and pressed a small kiss to his neck. He blushed at the affection and held you closer.

“No.” You groaned. “I’ve had the worst writers block all day. I was actually thinking of writing an article on Spider-Man until my writers block went away.”

After your encounter with the masked hero, you wanted to know more about him. You were originally against your boss’s idea to write about him, but now you liked it. Sure, there were plenty of articles on Spider-Man out there, but you knew him intimately.

“Spider-Man?” You felt Peters heart stop momentarily. “Why?”

“I think I have a pretty good shot at figuring out who he is.” You shrugged. “Like, think about it, he only operates from the hours of 4 to midnight ish right? Except, on weekends, when he’s seen all throughout the day. What’s he doing all day on weekdays? He can’t be at work because jobs don’t end that early. I think he’s in school. Either high school or college. Probably college though, right? I can’t imagine a high schooler doing what he does. Unless he’s been doing this since high school. That’s also possible.”

“Oh wow.” Peter said, dumbfounded. He was usually blown away by your intelligence, but now it was working against him. There were a million college students in New York, though. Surely you wouldn’t figure it out.

“And think about this, he’s only ever in New York, so he must live here right?” You continued. “But what about that one time he saved those kids in the Washington Monument? What was New York’s superhero doing in Washington? I looked into it and the kids he saved were on a field trip. What if Spider-Man was on the field trip too? If I look up all the schools that were there, I could create a list of suspects and go from there. Then, I could-“ you were cut off with a kiss.

“Let’s not talk about Spider-Man.” Peter said quickly, followed by a smile. “I want to hear about you day. How was Oscorp?”

“We had a really good time.” You smiled. “I interviewed her after I helped her with the protest and then we grabbed lunch. Oh, and I saw Ned on my way home.”

“You saw Ned?” Peter asked. Ned hadn’t mentioned seeing you.

“Yea.” You blew out a breath. “These two guys attacked us. One ran away and I took care of the other. But then the one that ran away came back and you’ll never guess who saved me.”

“Who?” Peter smiled. He knew who.

“Spider-Man. I don’t know. I was wrong about him. I used to think he was just some guy in spandex with a God complex but now I think he just genuinely wants to help people. And…” you trailed off.

“And?” Peter raised an eyebrow.

“He’s got a nice ass.” You admitted. Peter laughed loudly. You smiled into his chest. You loved that damn laugh.

“I’m serious.” You insisted. “I saw it as he walked away and it knocked me out. Spider-Man is dummy thick.”

“Please never say the words “Spider-Man is dummy thick” in my house again.” Peter pleaded. He secretly loved it though.

“I was actually thinking of making that the title of my article.” You joked. Peter laughed again. He chucked a pillow at you and you giggled.

“Let’s go to bed.” You yawned. “In a romantic, but still non sexual way this time.”

“Good night, my Nancy Drew.” Peter said with a kiss to your forehead.

“Goodnight, my whoever Nancy Drew was boning.” You yawed again.

“Ned Nickerson.” Peter laughed.

“Then goodnight Ned Nickelodeon.” You said, half asleep.

“Close enough.” Peter smiled.

[adaodinson]

Thank you

I got the inspiration for this since I watched Rush again (one of my favorite movies). I really enjoyed writing it so I hope you enjoy reading it :)

And well my obsession on Daniel Brühl makes no sign on leaving any time soon, so I’m putting that to good use.

Summary: Niki notices his new neighbor the second she moves in next to him, will you notice him?

Warnings: swearing, assholes and Niki being a little shit that knows what he’s doing.

Relationship: Niki Lauda x fem!reader.

You sighed as you carried the last box into your new house. You had started taking everything inside with a rather positive energy, but after four hours you were exhausted. Everything was now inside, but as you closed the door and turned to look at your small living room, the sight made you want to cry. Sure, everything was inside, but it was still packed up.

-You know what- you talked to the air- I´ll do that tomorrow, I´m gonna treat myself cause this was fucking exhausting-.

You walked towards your new kitchen. Of course, the only things that were unpacked were your writing tools and cooking tools. As you walked around the counter a sudden feeling of tired happiness filled you. You had finally found a job you adored, and at the need, you didn´t hesitate in moving out from your country into this new, small place. It was perfect for a person or two; or as your case happened to be, one person and two cats. You were starting, doing what you loved, and you knew it was going to be tough, but you weren´t expecting anything else.

Almost automatically, you started settling all the ingredients for spaghetti bolognesa on the counter, and since you knew the recipe by heart, the only thing you used your phone for was to play your favorite music. As you danced and sang around, you moved gracefully, working with the stove, chopping what was needed and mixing expertly. You had always loved cooking, and you were pretty good at it, if you said it yourself. But you never saw it as a career. Your thing was writing.

As you waited for the pasta to cook and the sauce to simmer, you looked outside the window when a sudden light in the next-door house was turned on. It was pretty close, so you had a good sight of the inside. It looked cozy, but it seemed whoever lived there didn´t spend most of their time inside. Curiously, you waited to see if you could get a glimpse of the person, but after a few minutes passed, you gave up and went back to the kitchen.

Niki was just arriving to his house. He was, as usual, exhausted. All he wanted was to finish the phone calls he needed to do and go to bed, but an amazing smell that he immediately recognized as bolognesa caught his every action. He headed for the window, and that was when he saw you. You were wearing a pair of dark blue pants and a purple hoodie, and even though your mother would have said you looked like a homeless person, Niki thought you were insanely cute. Of course he always kept that kind of thoughts to himself, but he couldn´t help but staring as you danced around the kitchen, checking on the pasta and mixing up the sauce. He could get a rather low volume of your so inspired singing, but what he managed to hear was beautiful.

-Huh, she´s pretty, dances, cooks, and sings… what a sight I get from here- He said to himself, allowing his mind to take you in and think of you, not only in a bit of a sexy way, but in a cute one as well.

From that day on Niki caught glimpses of you many times, doing different things. He learnt so much about you, but at the same time, he knew nothing. It was obvious you had two cats, and that they loved you as much as you loved them. His heart had ached the first time he saw you laying on your small garden, with your back facing up, and with both of your cats cuddled on top of your back as you slept. For those moments, he allowed himself to feel, knowing it wouldn´t lead anywhere. But it was only for those few minutes that he saw you that he let his mind find somebody so cute and not try to find something wrong with them. He never expected people to know who he was, but he thought someone like you wouldn’t have gone unnoticed at the races, not just by him, but by the other drivers as well, so he knew you probably didn´t know him for his career.

You had seen your new neighbor a few times, and God wasn´t he attractive. You swore you had seen him somewhere, but couldn´t quite place your finger on where. You knew nothing about the guy, yet you couldn’t bring yourself to stop making fake scenarios in your head; ones in which he would look at you for the first time and fall for you, but you knew it was normal to fantasize that way. The day you finally talked to him though, was a... weird one, to say the least.

You had bought a new couch but forgot to specify in the delivery form that you needed help taking it inside, so when you saw the huge furniture, you felt like screaming.

Niki was arriving from a morning of work with Clay. It was one of those rare days in which he got an afternoon for himself. After parking his car, he walked towards his house, and as he reached for his keys he stepped on something and fell on his ass with a hard smack.

-OUCH- he whined as he tried getting up. The second you felt something hit your foot you knew something was going to go wrong, and when you turned to see your cute neighbor (that happened to have an Austrian accent) on the ground with an angry face, your fear came real.

-What the hell was… watch out next ti…-He yelled but couldn´t finish. The second he saw you on your knees holding the wrap around the couch, he realized he had stumbled with your foot, and his angry face immediately changed into a soft one.

-I´m sorry, is your foot okay?- He asked, feeling stupid at the second the words left his mouth. You looked at him with a confused and embarrassed look.

-What? No, don´t you apologize, I´m sorry, I should have been more careful as to where I was sitting. Please don´t apologize, are you okay?- You said as you stood up and offered your hand to help him get up.

-Yeah, I´m fine, do you need help with that?- Niki knew there were first times for everything, but he cringed at the words that were coming out of him, they seemed to make you happy though, so it didn´t bother him for that long. He wasn´t always an asshole, but he definitely wasn´t used to being nice either. Around you it seemed to come out automatically, and he hated it but loved the way it made you smile. He had so many mixed feelings that he was actually feeling nervous. What the hell is wrong with me, he thought.

-Oh yes please! If it´s not too much trouble, I´ve been trying to take this inside for 40 minutes and well, you can see how good that´s going- He chuckled softly and you felt your heart skip a beat at the sound.

Without another word, he headed for one side of the couch as you grabbed the other one, but before you could lift it, about three people with shirts that spelled “James Hunt” interrupted.

-Hey rat face- a tall, dark haired man said as the other two behind him laughed- hey cutie, is the asshole bothering you?- He said looking at you. Who the hell does this idiot think he is?

Niki´s face was serious, just serious. He didn´t even look at the guy, almost as if he was used to that type of thing happening, and he made no sign to want to do anything about it. It impressed you how it seemed like he genuinely didn´t care about this guy, but you weren´t taking any of it, so before any of the idiots said anything else, you spoke.

-No, actually, the ugly assholes bothering are you three shitheads, so if you could walk on and leave us alone, I would mostly appreciate it- You said with a harsh tone and a serious grin. Niki dramatically turned his face with a shocked and amused expression towards you. The three guys didn´t seem to have any clever response, but their heads were too filled with ego to actually leave.

-Hey, you heard her! Go away assholes!- Niki finally said. They walked looking at each other. They clearly weren´t expecting any of you to talk back.

-Thank you- Niki said with an almost inaudible tone.

-Don´t thank me- you said with a smile- the idiots only wish they were as handsome as you are...- That last part came out without you wanting it to. You immediately covered your mouth with your hand and tried to ignore the surprised but hugely amused grin on Niki´s face.

-I´m sorry, I´m sorry, I didn´t mean to say that I…-

-Do you really think that?- You would have liked to say he was genuinely asking, maybe he was, but now it was pretty clear he was teasing you because of the stupid smirk that covered his face.

-Maybe…- You said as you looked to the floor.

-I´m Niki- He said as he took his hand from the couch and placed it for you to shake. That smirk was still plastered in his face.

-I´m Y/N…- You said hesitantly as you shook his hand, not looking at his face.

-You´re beautiful, you know?- Niki stated with a proud tone. Oh he knows what he´s doing.

You weren´t even able to answer, your face was redder than the apples that were hanging from the tree in front of your house, and as much as you wanted to, you couldn´t come up with any way of teasing him back.

-So, let´s take this inside- He said as he lifted the couch. You only nodded and followed. Niki was dying. He found it so insanely cute and amazing how just a few seconds ago you were being a badass against the assholes that bothered him, but when he complemented you, you couldn´t even bring yourself to answer.

You had no stairs, but it was a relatively long trip, so you really appreciated his help. As you settled the couch on it´s place, both of you fell dramatically into it and sighed at the effort.

-Let me make dinner for you, as a thank you- You said shyly but with a little bit more confidence.

-I´d love that, gorgeous- He said as he winked, and you felt your insides melting. Once again, he had you wrapped around his finger, you both knew it, and you both loved it. You led him to the kitchen and as you pulled out the ingredients, you felt two hands hesitantly grabbing your waist. Hesitantly not because he wasn´t sure he wanted to place his hands on your waist, but because he didn´t want to overstep.

You leaned into his touch and he got the answer he wanted. All afternoon you spent dancing with Niki behind you, talking with you and complementing how amazing everything smelled. You secretly thanked your past self for forgetting to ask for help on the couch, since that mistake led to one of the best things in your future: Niki Lauda.

[porcelain-soupspoon4]

You’re Not So Bad (Isaac Foster x Reader)

A/N: I finished Angels of Death a few weeks back, and it was so good! I just had to write a short story about it. I’m not the best writer, but hopefully my first writing of this anime is somewhat close to Zack’s character.  

Warnings: Cussing, Blood Mention (it’s Zack)

You never expected to meet someone like Zack until he arrived on Floor B2. You assisted Reverend Gray, acting as another guardian of B2 after he took you in when he found you as a homeless teen, sleeping on the outside steps of his building. He wasn’t the best father figure you could’ve had, but he still treated you better than the streets did. When hearing the elevator on your floor ding, you wanted to see who was there, but Reverend Gray stopped you, warning you to be careful of the people you may meet. When you asked why, he described the people that held the names Isaac Foster and Rachel Gardner. In all honesty, you didn’t think they were actually as bad as he made them sound, considering that he over exaggerates his descriptions of people to you to keep you safe. Also considering the other psychotic people he had as guardians on the other floors, you could trust your own gut when you met the duo. You stayed hidden in the background while you watched Reverend Gray journey with Rachel to Dr. Danny’s floor. Watching them leave from the end of the hall, you saw a man in a dark brown hoodie and a scythe laying on the ground. That must be Isaac Foster. You could tell that he was bleeding out badly, a pang of guilt and empathy coursing through you. You were hesitant to approach him, remembering that the Reverend said he was dangerous to meddle with and there was a high chance he could react violently to you if you dared to try and talk. But seeing him looking on the verge of death, you couldn’t help but walk slowly toward him. It may seem unreasonable to walk right into danger, but you knew you could take care of yourself. Reverend Gray provided you with a weapon of your own, a basket-hilted sword. He helped you to perfect every swing and stab. Not only that, but you weren’t too bad at fighting hand-to-hand either. Luckily, Isaac Foster appears to be too injured to try and fight back anyway. I honestly don’t think my sword would be able to block his scythe well, I hope he doesn’t use it on me, you thought. As you got closer and closer to the strange man, he fidgeted a bit. You paused your movements, clutching the handle of your sword in its scabbard. He weakly turned his head towards you, his eyes opening slowly. 

“Who the fuck are you? You gonna try and kill me?” he questioned, a sharp tone in his voice. You noticed he made no effort to reach for his scythe, so you let go of your sword’s handle. 

“No.....I wouldn’t try to kill someone if they’re already dying,” you responded. He let out a dry laugh. 

“I hate to break it to ya sweetheart, but I’m not dying any time soon. Monsters are hard to kill. Besides, good ‘ol Rachel’s gonna fix me up. But enough of the chitter chatter, you didn’t answer my first question. Who the fuck ARE you? I thought there’s only one guardian on each floor, unless Reverend Shithead cheated,” he spat. You let out a small chuckle, finding his way of talking a throwback to when you were a teen. Although, he seemed to be around the same age as you, twenty or twenty-two years old. His bandaged face looked confused to your lighthearted reaction. He scowled, “Hey, what’s all that laughing for? I didn’t even say anything funny.” 

“Oh nothing, just thinking of my teenage days. But to answer your first question, I am another guardian of this floor. My job is assisting Reverend Gray on this floor, though I’m not really allowed to interact with the people who come here. But I uh, couldn’t help feeling a bit bad for you, seeing you bleed out like that,” you finally confessed. Letting out another dry laugh, he looked at you with a smirk. 

“Feeling bad for me, huh? Not the best decision. Don’t know if you can already tell, but I’m a cold-blooded serial killer. If I wasn’t feeling shitty at the moment, I’d cut that pretty head of yours off. Seeing you this calm around someone like me really pisses me off,” he said. You only let out another small chuckle, which irked him even more. 

“I’m sure you would, Isaac Foster. Although, I don’t think a fight between the two of us would end so quick. My weapon may be smaller than yours, but I can hold my own very well. If I could survive majority of my childhood and teen years being alone in the streets, I think I could survive you,” you calmly said. His temper apparently sky-rocketed because the next moment, he was yelling. 

“The name’s Zack, you bitch! Don’t go being so confident in yourself, it’s sickening to watch. I bet my ass could ruin all that confidence with just one land of my scythe. I’ll have you begging for your life, just you wait ‘til I’m in a better state to kill ya. Ugh, now I have two bitches to kill!” he groaned, then coughed loudly, more blood oozing out of his wound. You felt guilty again, wanting to at least stop the bleeding for a little while. 

“I carry some bandages and patches with me in case there’s a time I ever need to fix myself. If you need some I can-”

“Just leave it alone, will ya? I already got Rachel getting shit for me back on the other floor, I don’t need your damn help! Why the hell does everyone wanna help me?” 

“M’kay, but you’re bleeding pretty badly, by the time she comes back, you’ll most likely be passed out-”

“I said leave it alone! Stop tryna play nurse, your stuff probably won’t even do shit.” 

“But it’s better to stop the bleeding as soon as-”

“Will you shut up? You’re gonna make me go into shock.”

“I just wanna help-” 

“I said I don’t want any damn help!” 

“Well you won’t be much of a monster by bleeding out all over this damn floor! If you wanna at least live long enough to kill that girl Rachel, you could at least be somewhat decent and let me patch you up before you go all out, getting your own self killed instead! Now shut the fuck up and let me help! Geez! How does that blonde girl deal with you?” you shouted. Your yelling got him to close his mouth and shut up, surprised that he got someone as calm as you to get angry. How can I get her angry, but not scared shitless? It’s like she wasn’t even phased by my damn appearance, he thought. There was a short silence in the hallway, until Zack finally spoke up. “Didn’t know you had all that anger in ya. Heh, to be honest you even got my crazy self startled. I have no clue how Rachel deals with me, but all I know is her messed up head wants me to kill her. So I’ll do it. If I want to keep my promise to her.....I guess you should do what ya want. But don’t be a pervert about it.”

A small smile formed on your face as you took out your supplies in the small medical bag you carried around. 

“How the hell are you smiling after all that? Sheesh, I’m starting to think you’re even weirder than Rachel is,” Zack let out noises of disgust. You scoffed, rolling your eyes at his childlike behavior. 

“Tell me something.....,” he began to say, “why haven’t ya mentioned anything about my appearance? I’m literally covered in bandages and burnt underneath. Don’t I freak you out at all? Why aren’t ya scared?” 

“Well, I’ve seen crazier. I also don’t like to make a judgement about someone based on only their appearance. Sure you’re not ordinary looking, but I know there’s more about you than what I see on the outside,” you replied. Everything that you needed to help him was taken out. You didn’t have any type of alcohol or a sewing needle and thread to fully cover what you believed to be a deep gash in his abdomen, but it was all that could be done for now until Rachel got back. You reached over towards his wound, but hesitated. You looked him in the eyes, as if you were silently asking for permission. He nodded slightly, his breathing hitching a bit when he saw the look your eyes held. You looked so genuine, not one hint of fear in you. Was that.....kindness? No, it couldn’t be. Why would anyone show kindness to him? You unzipped his hoodie, a faint blush on your face. Sure he was an asshole, but it still felt.....somewhat intimate? Not in an inappropriate way, just in a trustworthy way. The fact he had so much trust in one stranger to help him like this.....it was odd. You undid the bandages already on him that were worn out. His wound was revealed, and so was his skin. Wow....is all of him burned? You shook your thoughts away. You grabbed a bunch of gauze sponges you had and grouped them together, beginning to apply pressure to his wound. Zack hissed at the pain, saying almost every curse word you think is in the dictionary. You let out a soft “Sorry” as you continued to clean up the big amount of blood on his body. Once you began to bandage him up tightly, Zack started up another conversation. 

“You’re different from the other guardians.....why aren’t ya trying to kill me? Isn’t that what you guardians do?” he asked curiously. You showed him another small smile. That damn smile, why does she smile so easily at me? It’s not like Rachel’s forced ass smile. What’s up with this bitch? Why is her smile so.....familiar? 

“Well, like I said before, I just assist Reverend Gray on this floor. He’s the main guardian. I’m just someone he happened to take in after he found me sleeping on the steps of this building. Heh, teenager me. Homeless after my parents abandoned me as a toddler. I’m not sure what made Reverend Gray want to keep me. Sometimes he acts like a father, but then I remember how self praising he is,” you sighed, “I know the people on the other floors kill so you expect me to be the same, but I don’t want to kill someone if they aren’t totally out of their mind.” 

“So is that why you didn’t try to kill me? Cause ya think I’m not totally out of my mind? Heh, well I’m pretty sure me killing people for fun isn’t sane either. I hate seeing people happy, sooooo I kill ‘em. What’s not psycho about that?” Zack stated. 

“Well for starters, I didn’t try to kill you because you were already injured, so it wouldn’t have been fair. And you can’t be totally out of your mind if you let me help you with your injury.” Zack scowled at your reply, knowing you were right. Even as a serial killer, he had morals. He hated lying, and he himself would never tell a lie. 

“You remind me of him too much,” he grumbled. Your head perked up. 

“Did you say something?”

“I said you talk too much.” 

“No, you definitely said something else.” 

“No I said you talk too much.” 

“Doubt it, tell me what ya really said.” 

“That is what I really said.” 

“No.”

“Yes.”

“Zack.” 

“Ugh, I said you remind me of him too much,” he said softly. 

“Him?” you questioned. Zack sighed. “There was this man I met when I was younger, a blind man. He let me stay at his place for a couple days. Even after I told him I killed a guy, he still had that dumb smile on his face. He always had that smile on his face around me. It was annoying, him being so calm around someone like me. Pissed me off, but I didn’t kill him. He fed me and everything. I mean he already died cause of something else, but it doesn’t matter anyway. Are ya done with my bandages yet? It feels like it’s been hours!” 

You rolled your eyes at his commentary. “Well, whoever that man is, he had quite the patience with you.” 

“Hey! I was giving you a compliment! Geez, way to be rude!” Zack crossed his arms, turning away from you. You only chuckled once more. You finally finished wrapping enough bandages as you could, making sure it was snug enough. 

“Happy now, angry boy? I’m done. They’ll still get bloody, but at least the bandages are fresh and not worn out,” you said, giving him another smile just to annoy him. 

“Thanks,” he mumbled. “I never caught your name. Since I told ya mine, it’s only fair you tell me yours.” 

“It’s (Y/N),” you said. 

“Well (Y/N),” Zack rubbed the back of his head. “You’re not so bad.....maybe I’ll keep ya alive.” 

[chris-evans-indian-fanfic]

Longing

Chapter 1

Description: Chris Evans becomes obsessed with you when he realises he can't have you. Eager to be with you in some form or the other, he starts writing fanfiction, where both of you are passionately in love with each other. But what happens when his imagination starts to merge with his reality in his subconsciousness?

Warnings: This entire mini-series will contain smut, bad language and angst. ONLY PROCEED IF YOU ARE 18+

This first chapter is inspired by the GIF below from @navybrat817 and @stargazingfangirl18 's ShamelessHoesForChris writing challenge. Click here to know more

A/N: I do not know Chris Evans personally. This fic is a work of imagination and should only be used as such. It doesn't comment on Chris or anybody else personally. It is also not meant to destroy his reputation or paint him in a bad light. I admire the guy and he really seems like a genuinely nice person. Again, I repeat, THIS IS A WORK OF FICTION SO TREAT IT AS SUCH!

A/N 2: I did search quite a lot on the internet and didn't come across a fic like this. Which makes me nervous and also kind of excited that I get to do something unique? Please please give me your criticism and feedback on this! Would love to hear your thoughts.

A/N 3: I have used a few big words throughout the series because this fic is from Chris' POV and we all know that he's a bit of a wordsmith 😅 I had never even heard these words before in my life. So please let me know if I have used them in an incorrect manner. 

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I don’t consent to have any of my work published or featured on any third party app, website or translated. If you are seeing this fanfiction anywhere but Tumblr and AO3, it has been reposted without my permission. In that case, please do share the link and let me know.

…

The best thing about shooting Defending Jacob? Chris got to stay in his house in Boston. The worst part about working on the set? He was currently stuck in a room engulfed in hot, angry flames of fire. The fire had abruptly started due to a short circuit and spread across the set in the blink of an eye. Coughing, Chris doubled down on the floor, his breathing becoming more laboured with each second. 

The smoke stung his eyes as he looked around for a fire extinguisher. He tried calling for help, but only small grunts managed to escape his lips. Just as he was on the verge of losing consciousness, he heard a voice. Your voice.

"Is anyone here?" you called out, your voice faint in his ears. "Hello?" 

Chris tried to shout again, but only sank further towards the floor.

Luckily, you opened the door of his room and found his almost crumpled body on the ground. Using the fire extinguisher, you managed to douse as many flames as you could, while also covering Chris with a thick blanket. As the room was still filled with smoke, you pressed a wet towel on his face, asking him to breathe through his nose. 

Slowly, you managed to drag him out of the room and into the corridor, the fire reduced to embers in most places thanks to your fire extinguisher. Chris being a heavy man, you tried your best to support his weight as much as you could, your body almost stooping to form a right angle.

Just as you thought you might be in the clear, you heard a crack from above. Looking up, you realised that the ceiling was about to cave in and so, on impulse, you pushed Chris out of the way, as portions of the false ceiling fell on you, knocking you unconscious. 

Chris, in his state, vaguely realised what happened, before he lost his balance and fell to the ground a few feet away from you, his left arm stretched towards your limp body, as if reaching out.

Sirens of the firetruck and the ambulance filled the heavy air. A deep groan escaped his lips as he attempted to crawl towards you, a failed effort. Where did it all go so wrong? he thought. I was supposed to be the one to save you angel! You should be falling in love with me!! And break-up with your good for nothing fiancé! 

Overwhelmed with emotions, Chris started drifting off to sleep, your name leaving his lips in the form of a desperate whisper.

🔥

8 MONTHS AGO

Chris met you for the first time at the table read for Defending Jacob. You didn't strike him as anyone special. Being the Junior Assistant Scriptwriter for the series, you were just in the room as a formality. It was your job to jot down the minutes of the meeting, and have the parts of the script marked which were supposed to be changed slightly. 

You managed to stay invisible for more such meetings. An introvert by nature, you kept to yourself even when the shooting started. 

It was in the Week 4 of the shooting when Chris actually started to notice you. He realised you were always absent from his house parties, never stayed around on the set for after-work shenanigans and, you never hung out with any of your crew-mates for a drink.

What really drove his attention towards you were your random acts of kindness. He once saw you feeding a homeless man in the alley behind the set. Unknown to you, it was where Chris often hid from his cast and crew to smoke. 

Then there was the bit with setting up of a mobile blood donation camp on the set, which was completely your idea. He had also seen you distribute fliers for animal adoption centres and NGOs who fought for climate preservation.

You always made sure everyone on the set ate before you did, and the ones who couldn't due to work, you were sure to help them and share their load so they could have lunch.

But one particular incident made him see that you were no ordinary woman. 

It was a particularly tough day on the set. They were shooting the 35-second sex scene between him and Michelle. While these scenes looked easy on the screen, they always made Chris feel uneasy about himself. "What if my body is not upto the mark?" , "I don't want to hurt Michelle in any way" , "God I hope I don't touch her inappropriately by mistake" and more such troubling thoughts clawed at his mind. After the scene finally ended, he felt the lustful eyes of the crew feasting on him, admiring his body on display. 

He hurried towards his van, avoiding to look at anyone, until his eyes met yours for a total of 5 seconds. He expected to see the same smirk to be reflected in your eyes as everyone else's. Instead, he saw a completely different emotion. He saw sadness, sympathy, and most importantly, recognition of his discomfort etched on your face.

After that, Chris started to keep a close eye on you. You always wore comfortable clothes, with loads of pockets. Yet somehow, they always fit you well. He also noticed that you always got your own lunch, refusing to eat the food available on the set. 

A few days after filming the sex scene, he decided to try to speak with you. Palms sweaty, he headed towards you and gently said your name. 

"Hi," he said, and stopped. 

"Hello Mr Evans," you greeted him back, a little surprised that he knew your name. 

He continued to look at you, bright cerulean eyes bearing into yours, apparently lost. You blinked twice, unfazed, and a little uncomfortable, "Can I help you sir?"

Chris shook his head slightly. He was so used to women fawning all over him, that your utter lack of excitement on seeing him deterred him a bit. 

He cleared his throat, a little flustered, *Ahem yeah… I wanted to ask… something… karaoke!" he managed to mumble, "It's karaoke night at my house. Tomorrow. Will you come? At night?"

"Umm… No Mr Evans. I am sorry I will not be able to make it," you politely declined while taking a small step back.

"Oh. Uhh… well we can have it any other night if you want," he cleared his throat again, sweat starting to gather on his forehead as he noticed your movement, "You never visit any of my house-parties."

You smiled a bit, "I like to go home early. I want to spend as much time as I can with my fiancé and my cat."

Chris raised his eyebrows at that revelation, "Fiancé? I… I don't see a ring."

"That's because there isn't one," your smile widened as you pulled the chain around your neck and revealed a locket. It was an intricately carved sunflower locket, with small, delicate curls nestled inside the petals. 

Chris glanced at it with disdain. It looked hand-made, cheap, "Is that… is it made from clay?"

"Yes Mr Evans," you beamed at the locket, admiring it with love and pride, "My fiancé is a potter and he made this himself. It took him over 6 hours just to carve all the petals. But he still made it because he knows how much I love sunflowers."

"So he's too poor to give you an appropriate ring?" Chris snapped at you. 

Offended, you looked at him in shock and anger as he continued. "You deserve someone who can afford to give you an expensive engagement ring. Not some cheap craft project."

You grit your teeth at his comment, "Unlike some people, I don't look at the price of the gifts, I look at their value. While this," you held the locket in front of his eyes, "is worthless for you, it is priceless for me."

You placed the locket back inside your shirt and walked away. Chris stood rooted at the spot, biting his cheek hollow. He hadn't meant to drive you away. He had just wanted you to see him as a prospective partner. 

As he turned towards his trailer, an idea popped into his head.

🔥

Next Friday saw you and your fiancé walk into the bowling alley. The production house had organised a "Bring Your Partner to Work Day" and you both were excited to step out of your routine lives. 

A few people on the set recognised your fiancé Aiden from his YouTube channel. Kenneth, an Assistant Set Designer, drooled over him, "Maaahhnnn! I love your pottery videos! They are so calming dude. How do you make them so relaxing?"

The ever shy and soft-spoken Aiden gushed at the compliment, turning a shade of red which you always found adorable. Aiden was almost the same height as you, with a lean figure and a kind, freckled face. Your friends always told you that Aiden's looks were nothing to brag about, but you disagreed. Because for you, this man was the most handsomest, cutest and sexiest person in the world. 

And you knew he felt the same way about you. That's why, even after being together for almost 5 years now, you two still looked at each other with heart eyes.

As the party progressed, you made sure to avoid Chris, and so far, you were successful. That was until he softly said your name. 

With dread in your stomach, you and Aiden turned around to face the man. Aiden knew of your previous encounter with Chris, and tried to square his shoulders as much as possible, but Chris' towering physique and personality literally made it impossible for Aiden to appear tough.

You gave Chris a curt nod and received a sweet smile in response. 

"I believe I owe you an apology," he confessed, "I am sorry. My behavior that day was inexcusable." He paused for reaction, but looking at your hesitant faces, he continued, "It was quite a hectic day on the set and I guess I took it all out on you," he looked towards you, "You know I am capricious by nature. It takes me some time to become gregarious. But," he raised his hands in the air, "I repeat, the way I acted was inexcusable. I am sorry."

He extended his arm towards Aiden, "You are a porter I believe."

"Potter, sir," Aiden corrected while shaking his hand and introducing himself.

You bit your tongue, knowing that Chris was mocking you with his false apology. 

He invited Megan to join the conversation, "Megan loves handmade ceramics. Maybe she would be interested in your work."

Introductions were made again, and as the conversation pursued, it arrived at the topic of your marriage.

"Have you guys decided on a date yet?" asked Megan as Chris looked at you. 

"We are planning to get married as soon as the shooting ends for DJ," you smiled.

"Oh really? Wow that's… unusual," Megan tried her best to hide her surprise.

"We don't know exactly when will the shooting end," Chris said with a frown on his face.

"That's not an issue Mr Evans. We are actually planning to get married at the courthouse," revealed Aiden.

"You know if money is an issue then we would be more than happy to help you guys out," Chris offered in a sincere tone. 

"Oh no no Mr Evans. Money isn't an issue," you clarified, "We have decided to donate the money we had intended to spend on the wedding."

"But thank you so much for the generous offer, we really appreciate it," Aiden added with a sincere smile.

"You know a lot of couples are doing that nowadays. It's a trend I believe," Megan commented, "Where are you going to make the donation?"

"The local orphanage where I grew up. We both love kids and, it just seemed to be the perfect choice," Aiden beamed at you. 

You mirrored his expression while Chris scowled. "I think everybody should get the wedding of their dreams, and you" he stated, pointing towards you, "deserve much more than a courthouse wedding. Don't you want to get married in a beautiful church? Walk down the aisle in a gorgeous white gown? And get married to a man who can actually fulfill your wishes and desires?"

Squaring your shoulders, you looked at Chris dead in the eye, "I am marrying the man of my dreams Mr Evans. The wedding ceremony doesn't matter to me. What does matter is the beautiful life we will begin together. Now if you will excuse us," you linked your arm with Aiden's, "we need to leave."

Chris watched you leave as Megan tried to distract him with something else. Tonight did not go the way he had anticipated.

He left the party shortly after you, directly heading for his home. Standing under the cold shower, he tried to reason with himself. He was acting out of character. There was no reason for his behavior. You had made it ample clear that you loved your fiancé and that nobody in the world could sway you.

Then why was he so hell-bent on claiming you as his?

Because she's perfect for you, a voice answered him. 

Yeah, but she belongs to someone else, he argued.

So what?, the voice urged, Fight for her. You saw her wimp of a fiancé. You can break him into two pieces without breaking a sweat. She is made for you. Just you, and nobody else.

"I… Just… No," Chris stammered loudly as he shook his head, trying to get rid of the voice in his mind.

He tried to meditate, but it didn't work. Dodger too, was unable to distract him. Even his books on self-help and mental health were of no use.

As a last resort, he opened his laptop, but his fingers halted at the search bar, the cursor blinking back at him.

He was too tempted to search for you again. The last time he had Googled you, he had been satisfied with the results. You often volunteered with a few NGOs, coordinated multiple donation drives, visited orphanages and taught underprivileged children. His heart had melted at a particular photograph- you were holding an 8-month-old girl in your arms, while looking over a painting drawn by a 4-year-old boy as the child looked up at you with a toothy smile. 

It reminded him of everything he wanted to have, but still couldn't. 

He closed his eyes and started kneading his forehead with his palms. Everybody he knew always only had the best things about him. Right from Scarlett to Mark to Olivia to every fucking person he had ever worked with, everybody said he deserved to have a loving wife, a stable family. 

And yet, here he was, on a Friday night, home alone with a beer bottle, on the verge of anxiety. 

Was it just anxiety though?

Who the fuck is Aiden and why does he deserve to be with her? the voice in his head was back.

They love each other, they want to get married, Chris reasoned.

He doesn't hold a candle next to you, the voice persisted, People love money more than they love others. She will come to you. But you need to let her know you are available. You need to take her to-

"No," Chris interrupted the voice loudly, "No. This is unhealthy. No."

Reaching for his phone, he searched for his therapist's number, when the voice chuckled, You really think a shrink is going to help you with this? Eh? They are only going to ask you to fuck another pussy, or read more books. And I will be damned before you touch another book about trees. 

Chris shook his head again, but in vain. Unable to find the number in his contacts, he turned to Google for the second time that night and started searching for therapists in his area. The voice tut-ted, Yeah, as if the psycho doctor is going to shut their trap about Chris Evans crying over a girl.

Chris almost crushed his bottle in frustration. He couldn't let the voice take over. Not now. Not after working his ass off to get where wanted in his career. Taking a deep breath, he looked at the screen again and came across the headline- "Why Do People Write Fanfiction?" The word fanfiction seemed vaguely familiar to him. He was going to ignore the article and scroll downwards, but the brief underneath the headline made him stop- …mostly, people write fanfiction to stay in touch with the characters they love," says leading Psychologist Andrea Williams.

Intrigued, he opened the article and started reading. Then he opened another, and another and by the time he was done, he had read 6-7 articles on the concept of fanfiction and what it entailed.

Sighing, he opened a new word document. He was reluctant to type a letter, let alone a whole fictional story. He had tried everything and yet, you chose to occupy a rent-free space in his mind. 

Now all he needed was a reference.

He minimised the document, and opened a new tab on his browser. His hesitant fingers typed the words - Chris Evans Fanfiction - into the search bar, and he instantly winced.

Millions of search results were displayed before him, and as he read the descriptions of each one of them, he realised that 99% of these stories were porn. There was no sugar-coating it. On the 5th page of the search results, he luckily found a story sans the erotica. It was a cute one-shot about him going on a first date with the reader. He read it with squinted eyes, afraid that a sex scene might jump out of the blue, but luckily, nothing of the sort happened. 

Chris liked reading it. It was an innocent story filled with romance. 

But the only problem? It was written from the reader's point of view. He checked a few others, and realised they were all written from the women's perspective, not his.

He sat back in his chair, turning his head such that he was looking at the ceiling, contemplating his options. 

You want her, the voice whispered.

Reluctantly, he typed the first word that came to his mind. Your name. 

Chris rested his chin on his palm, wondering where to start. If this were fiction, would tonight have gone different? Would you have visited his house for karaoke that night? 

Tapping his fingers on the desk, he bit his tongue in thought. Thinking it was better to start at the beginning, he started typing from his POV-

The first time I saw her I thought she was pretty. I saw her during meetings and the shooting. Then one day I saw her giving food to a homeless man-

Deleting his words, Chris shook his head. This was insane! Right? You were a real human being and it was unethical of him to write this! He needed to learn to handle his feelings. 

If you don't have the balls to fight for her, then be with her in the stories you write. Grow a spine Evans, whispered the insulting voice.

Hesitating, he tried to write another paragraph, which ended up getting deleted. 

Try again, the voice coaxed him. Pour your heart into this. Write better. 

Taking a sip of the beer, Chris started typing again-

It was lunchtime when I saw her arranging some equipment on the table. Her back was facing me as I carefully approached her, afraid to startle her. I breathed in her scent, light, floral and fresh, before whispering her name.

She turned around, a bit surprised to see me, but she smiled nevertheless. Oh gosh her smile. I had seen her smile a few times on the set, but in person, it took my breath away. 

"Hi," I managed to greet her shyly. She matched my response.

"I was wondering if you would like to sing karaoke with me? There's a karaoke party tonight at my house if you would like to come," I asked her hopefully.

Her expression turned remorseful as she apologised, "I cannot come Mr Evans. My fiancé won't let me."

Imagine my surprise when I found out about her fiancé. "I didn't know about your fiancé. Why won't he let you come?" I asked her, concerned as she started sniffing a bit.

"He's… he's very strict Mr Evans. He doesn't like it when I go out with my fri-friends or co-workers," she shared between her light sobs.

My heart broke into pieces on hearing her confession. I had often noticed her taciturn behaviour on the set, but I had no idea about the reason behind it.

I raised my hands to cup her face. I was itching to wipe her tears with my lips, but instead, I used my thumbs. 

"I want to help you. Please let me," I requested.

"Nobody can help me Mr Evans. I am stuck with a monster." She pulled a chain from underneath her shirt and I got a glimpse at the marks on her neck. "Aiden gave me this chain and locket instead of an engagement ring. He said it will be better than a ring. And now he-" she started sobbing harder. I pulled her into my chest, running my right hand through her hair as my left hand soothed her back.

"And now he uses it as a leash," my angel whispered, horrified, "he says I do not deserve a ring."

I hugged her tighter and thankfully, she buried her face in my chest, "You are no longer stuck with him. Are you listening to me?" I bent my face to bring my lips near her ears, "I will make sure that you are free of him."

She shook her head, reluctantly pulling away from me, "No Mr Evans. I cannot-"

"Yes you can," I interrupted her. "You are going to come to my house for karaoke tonight. Message Aiden right now, and tell him that I will be dropping you home. Okay?"

After some coaxing, she agreed. I held her close as she typed out the message, her hands shaking around her mobile phone. Finally she clicked on the SEND button.

I brushed a kiss on her forehead, "Wait for me in the back alley after the shoot, okay? I will pick you up from there."

She nodded gratefully in response.

I couldn't wait for the shoot to be over that day. In my eagerness, I even messed up a few takes, mumbling over my lines like an idiot. But eventually, I got through the day. 

I was excited when I picked her up after the shoot. I could see she was nervous and maybe a little bit scared, but she still entered my car anyway. So I made small talk with her and tried to put her mind at ease.

Finally, when we reached my house, she was in awe. 

"This is the most beautiful house I have ever seen Mr Evans," she gasped as I led her inside, "I don't think I have ever seen anything like it before!"

I chuckled, "I am happy you like it. It… it just feels empty sometimes, you know? I find loneliness ubiquitous in this house."

You looked at her puzzled expression and smiled. "Ubi-what was that word Mr Evans?" 

"Ubiquitous," I replied, "it means something that is present and is found everywhere."

"Ahh okay," she nodded, "thank you for teaching me."

"I will accept your gratitude only on one condition."

She tilted her head ever so slightly, "And what would that be Mr Evans?"

I smiled as I slightly bent down and held her hand, "You need to start calling me Christopher."

Visibly flustered, my angel looked down at her feet. "I-I can't Mr Evans," she said in a low voice.

"Why can't you?"

"I respect you too much sir," she confessed.

"Hey," I gently nudged her forehead with mine, "I want you to say my name. Please?" 

I stared into her eyes as she met mine. God.

There was something about her eyes that was absolutely riveting. The depth of her eyes pulled me in towards her as I read the plethora of emotions hidden within them. Her gaze searched my face for malice, deceit, but only found love and trust in return.

I slowly cupped her face as her breath hitched in her chest. I could feel my own heart race. Bringing my face as close as I could to hers, I whispered, the distance between our lips fast closing, "Please."

She parted her lips ever so slightly. I felt her warm breath on mine as she obliged, "Christopher."

I closed my eyes as I heard the most melodious symphony, my name draped in her sweet voice.

I dipped my head to kiss her, feel the shape of her lips, but she stepped back.

"I-I am st-still engaged Chris-Christopher," she stammered.

I straightened myself, my hands no longer cupping her face, "I understand. I am sorry. Would you like-"

Before I could finish, a car honked outside. While I was curious at the intrusion, her eyes widened with fear. 

"That's him," she gasped, "Aiden is here. He found me."

"How is that possible?"

"He has a location app installed on my phone through which he tracks my location," she revealed, visibly shaking at the thought of greeting her fiancé.

"Stay here. You will be safe inside. Let me handle him," I said, squeezing her shoulders.

I walked out of the house and towards the car. The vehicle didn't look in good shape, it's owner even more so.

Aiden manually rolled down his window and spat on the ground. Fumes of cheep alcohol and stale cigarette smoke escaped through the window. "Where is she?" he hollered.

"That's not your concern anymore. She's breaking up with you," I crossed my arms and stood facing him. "If you know what's good for you, you will leave her alone and stay out of her life."

Aiden exited the car at that threat, the door of the vehicle rattled as he opened it. "She said that?" he scoffed, "Color me surprised, I thought the little mouse had no fight left in her. Bring her out here. I want to hear," he wriggled a finger at me, "whatever the fuck you are saying from her own fucking mouth."

"Not going to happen Aiden. You followed her here against her own wishes. Now scoot off before I call the cops," I warned.

"You think I will be scared of some Hollywood prick who shits diamonds?" he sneered. 

"No. But you should be scared of the law. You are currently harassing the owner of this private property, not to mention you have clearly abused your girlfriend mentally, emotionally and physically. So be sensible," I took a step towards him, "and fuck off."

"STOP," she shouted as she trusted towards us. She stood in front of me, as if to guard me from her monster of a fiancé, "Please don't hurt him. I will come with you. Just let him be," she pleaded with him as he smirked. 

Before he could react, I pulled her behind me, making sure my body was shielding her from Aiden.

"She's a gold-digging bitch. You stay away from her," he pointed at me as he tried to reach her. 

I pushed him away once and kept my hand on his weak, thin torso. Turning my head, I asked her for the last time, "Are you sure you want to go with him? I can save you. I will protect you, provide for you and keep you happy!" I urged her.

She looked at me with hope and helplessness. Slowly, she glanced at Aiden who looked like he was ready to commit murder. Sobbing uncontrollably, she removed the chain with the sunflower locket and threw it at his feet. 

"Leave me alone," she managed to mumble at him.

Furious, Aiden growled and tried to pounce at her. Fortunately, I intervened on time and punched his sorry excuse of a face into the ground. 

She gasped as Aiden fell with a thud. Embarrassed, he slowly got up and dusted himself, muttering under his breath as he sat inside his wreck of a car. 

"Don't bother coming back to gather your stuff! I am burning it all tonight you cock-sucking bitch!" and with that outburst, Aiden was finally gone.

She was sobbing and shaking uncontrollably at what had just transpired. I wrapped her in my arms to let her know she was safe. Within moments, I felt her ease into my body. 

I closed my eyes and smiled, my nose buried into her hair. My angel was safe. My angel was mine.

Chris blinked his eyes as he re-read his story. He already felt a whole lot lighter, his anxiety at ease, and mind exhausted. Clicking on SAVE, he finished the last of his beer and went to sleep, hoping that this was the end to his problems. Little did he know about the horrors that awaited him, behind the door he had just opened by writing that fictional story.

__--__--__--__--__--__--__--__--__--__--__--__--__

Permanent tag: @donutloverxo

Chris Evans and his characters taglist: @onetwo3000

This story: @just-one-ordinary-fangirl @carpediemm-18

(If you guys don't want to be tagged in this, just let me know. No hard feelings 😊)

Taglists are open! Just comment, send an ask or a message!

[deniigi]

Trope: Homeless Peter

Title: what is home if not a vehicle

Summary: Space-fish attack the Great State of New York, and in the mess, the Avengers lose the goddamn kid.

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

His knees shook when he finally peeled back the helmet and it was a monumental task—the towering, marble kind—to lift one foot and then the other out of the footwell of the suit stand.

But Tony managed it.

You know, like a fuckin’ superhero.

He had this.

He maybe had a head injury and couldn’t see through all the blood dripping down his right eye—but you know what?

A fuckin’ superhero.

That’s me.

Ahahaha—

“TONY.”

Why hello, adoring fan. What a coincidence to meet you on the floor like this.

“What are you doing?”

Having a little lay down, my dear.

“GET UP.”

Wow, that’s a tone to take with a guy who volunteered to be the can in a state-wide Alien Kick-the-Can tournament. A little appreciation would be nice.

“Tony,” Pepper emphasized. “You need to get up.”

Why? Was there another alien? Tony was having a merry time here on the floor. Only more superheroing could move him, and even that was on thin ice given the whole knobbly-knee, shaky-hands situation.

“Peter’s gone.”

Tony’s head shot up.

“He’s not gone,” he said. “He’s with Falcon.”

Pepper’s eyes were very blue and ringed by white on every side.

“No,” she said. “He’s gone. Get. Up.”

 --

Pepper’s hands came around and grabbed his face before he could get another good smash in for it on the desk in front of him.

May Parker was in tears. She had every right to be. Cap was consoling her, promising her that they would find Peter while she fanned her dripping mascara.

And Tony?

Tony was exhausted. And now he had that weird gut-gnawing, gurgling feeling in his stomach, which, combined with the head injury that he was turning slowly into an actual hole straight to his brain (if Pepper would let go, anyways), was paving the way for a future spent at the foot of the porcelain altar.

The kid. Had been. RIGHT. There.

Rhodey had confirmed this. He’d been RIGHT there. Tony had been keeping an eye on him and all that bouncy puppy energy. And when he could no longer do that (see: volunteering to be bait, also known as An Activity Not Appropriate for Minors to Witness), he’d handed him off to Sam.

He’d handed him off to Sam.

Sam was the second most level-headed person on the entire team. Rhodey was the first, and okay, he was mostly first because Tony was biased towards his best friend, but the point remained.

Sam had had the baby.

Sam said that he had had the baby, too. Until he couldn’t have the baby because A) the baby was very slippery and B) the baby apparently smelled like food to giant alien creatures with blue glowing tongues and drippy teeth, and so Sam had sent the baby far the fuck away from that action.

He’d told him to go give Bruce support in the north of the city.

Bruce had tears in his eyes when he said that he’d worked with Peter for a whole fifteen minutes before they’d gotten separated by a building collapsing nearly on top of them. The Hulk didn’t have time to babysit Spiders when that was happening. The Hulk just got angry and launched himself at the face of the fuckin’ space-kaiju that had caused it.

No one could fault him for this.

But that also meant that, two hours into a 48 hour melee, they’d lost the youngest team member.

May Parker was glued to her phone and the news, and Tony could hear the tinny voice of Peter’s voice message echoing out of her phone even from there, even through her hiccups and Steve’s soothing Captain America tones.

Steve said that Peter was a smart boy. He was a strong boy. He’d know that they were looking for him and he’d done way, way worse than two days of fighting before. He’d know when to find a safe place and stay put for long enough to regain his energy.

And more than that, he knew New York like the back of his hand. He’d come home, May.

He’d come home.

Tony was about to swear to this poor woman that he would personally deliver her child to her doorstep when the klaxons crashed through the building and sent Tony’s whole body into a state of temporary numbness with pain.

The room went red.

The room went red again

Everyone turned slowly towards the window and Tony barely saw Steve throwing up the shield and reaching for May Parker at the same time before he reacted.

Pepper went down under the desk.

The glass exploded.

And here we go again.

 ---

 Just for the record—just for the fucking record—Tony wanted it known that he hated Albany.

It was flat.

Its skyline was boring as hell.

And Tony was 99.9% sure that there a mass illness among the people of this city.

Rhodey informed him that he was only thinking that because his interactions with humanity at street level came from New Yorkers and Los Angeles folks, neither of whom could find it in their souls to give a shit about what other people shouted at them.

Rhodey further explained patiently that the reaction of most people in the continental US to a known superhero telling them to get the fuck out of the way was not, in fact, being told ‘no YOU move, motherfucker.’

Tony didn’t get it.

Steve laughed so hard he sort of collapsed onto Sam’s shoulder and started making this sound that reminded Tony of a sob.

They all needed sleep. It had been four days.

But then, like a champion of all 8-year-olds, a little girl piped up from somewhere in the crowd that had gathered around their Avengers team huddle, “Hey! Where’s Spiderman?”

And all bodies went from sobbing to swearing.

The damn kid.

 ---

 It had been a week. May Parker had filed Peter as missing. He still hadn’t come home and he wasn’t even close to getting home because Tony had just gotten a call from Wolver-fucking-ine himself asking if he knew Baby Webs.

“He downed a space-fish in Gloversville,” Wolverine said. “And Scott nearly swiped him up, but he ain’t moved fast enough, and Websy noticed him first. He went and hid in the sewer and kept hissing at us for hours. Tried to feed him, but he wants nothin’ to do with us.”

Peter.

Peter, no.

X-men are friends.

“Did you manage to grab him?” Tony asked, already resigned to the answer.

“He ran off.”

Fuck.

“Sorry about that.”

Fuck.

“He’s a bitty one, ain’t he?”

“He’s fifteen.”

“Jesus.”

“I know,” Tony said. “We’re trying to grab him. It’s been a week. His phone’s dead and his mom’s freaking out, and I swear, he’s never been that far out of a city.”

Wolverine made a contemplative sound.

“Alright, we’ll keep a better eye out,” he said. “He can’t have gone far. He ain’t swingin’ with that web shit.”

He must have run out of that, too.

Peter, honey. Just. Stand. Still.

Forget the space-fish. For like, two hours.

 ---

 May asked Pepper to ask Tony what felt like ages later if the X-men had any more information on her kid. Pepper said that she sounded defeated.

Tony wished that he had more to give her besides a handful of blood from the torn skin on his hip and the words that Scott Summers had passed along just the day previous.

“The kid followed the last fish out,” Summers said. “I’m sorry, Stark. I tried to nab him, but that thing was taking down trees and we all got buried.”

 ---

 Two weeks.

Two whole weeks the boy had been missing and only now were the space-fish starting to let up. Part of that had to do with the fact that Barton had figured out that if you went for the eyes, forsook any sense of self-preservation and decency, and climbed into the gaping hole you left there, you could smash the thing’s brain and take it down to earth like Cap nose-diving into the Atlantic.

Steve had passed through all the stages of grief into hysteria this last week.

No one could talk to him because he started laughing and then weeping in a span of 15 seconds.

Natasha and Sam were on it.

Barnes was out with Barton, laying waste to wading pool that was Rochester at the moment. And that finally gave Tony the time that he needed to go out and search for the kid.

Rhodey came with and they ended up in Horseheads of all places, asking people on the street if they’d seen a Spiderman approximately a half the size they expected him to be.

People in Horseheads said no, that was Buffalo that had had the Spiderchild flinging himself around in it.

So they headed for Buffalo, only to get a message halfway there from Barnes that he’d almost caught the little shit in Rochester. Barton was after him as they spoke.

On foot apparently.

“He looks like shit, Stark,” Barnes said, huffing while he ran. “Clint’s on his tail now though, but I think he thinks he’s in trouble, so he’s—WAIT NO. BARTON.”

And the line went off.

And Rhodey groaned for both of them.

 ----

 Rochester contained a very wet, very frustrated Hawkeye and zero Bucky Barneses.

Hawkeye said that they’d nearly had Peter. But then.

He gestured furiously out to the harbor which was full of wreckage from the ensuing battle on shore.

Tony asked him if they had it handled or if they needed backup, to which Hawkeye said that only God knew shit at this point. He was just a human football, being punted back and forth across the state of New York in a way that his soul truly deserved.

Barton perhaps needed both a nap and a meal or two in him.

Peter probably needed days of both of those things.

“Yeah, no. I asked around and people have seen him bopping around the pigeons and gulls,” Barton said. “Some lady told us that she saw him coming out of a park bathroom. Another gal said she saw him tucked up on a roof and lured him down. She said she thought he was some homeless teenager and was worried ‘cause he was up there without a coat. She was surprised as hell when he was the real thing and asked her for a map. Said his phone was busted and he was trying to find the train station.”

Kiddo.

“He’s makin’ it, Stark,” Barton said. “Not sure how. But he’s makin’ it.”

That wasn’t comforting.

 ---

 Chasing after Peter wasn’t working. He kept slipping through their fingers and getting startled by people chasing him.

He seemed a little paranoid. Although that was probably because folks had started to change tact and approach him out of their suits.

They’d skimmed right past the part where Peter didn’t really know most of them out of their suits. And then they’d skimmed right past the part where most of them, out of their suits, didn’t look anything like the pictures that the paps took of them.

JB’s hair was long as hell. Natasha wore little make up and didn’t both straightening her ginger mane. Sam’s fade was looking a little lopsided with the piece of glass that the docs had had to dig out of it, and so a hat was his primary mode of fashion at the moment. Steve’s out-of-suit fashion could be described as ‘Jock with Tats Wears Cardigan and Dock Martins. More at 11.’

They’d all gone too far into being people and Peter now thought that he was being pursued by undercover SHIELD agents.

And, like the genius child that he was, he’d realized that his reds were catching attention and, now that the space-fish were a less pressing issue, and now that he was up in colder climes, he’d swapped them for some street clothes. And now no one had seen Spiderman.

Including the other Avengers.

The fastest way to find him was through facial recognition software, but someone out there, infuriatingly, seemed to be teaching Peter how to live like this.

The features Tony put in everyone’s new chunky glasses only ever caught him just before he turned tail and started sprinting.

And goddamn, that kid was fast.

Tony himself had chased him through Nowheresville, Fuck This State, and even that seemed ineffective.

He didn’t understand.

Peter knew who he was. He knew his voice.

Right?

Why was he running? Why was he still running?

May thought that he must have gotten it into his head that everyone was furious with him. She said that Peter’s guilt complex was wide and deep and he often slunk home late and hid from her if he thought she was mad.

He wasn’t super great with confrontation outside of his red and blues.

But something was also going on with May. Tony wasn’t sure what it was until Barton came into his lab where Tony was bouncing between trying to find where Peter’s suit had last been and trying to pry the enormous scales off a space-fish head.

“Tony,” Barton said. “Mrs. Parker’s lost faith in us.”

Tony laid his head against the scaly mass in front of him and sighed.

“You know what? That’s fair,” he said.

If some of the world’s so-called finest couldn’t even catch a literal child after three weeks of trying, Tony would have said that they were a bunch of useless fucks, too.

“She came to me and asked me if I’d help her try something different,” Barton said. “So I’m gonna need you to trust me, man.”

Trust him?

Sure, why not?

At this point, nothing Tony or Rhodey or Natasha tried had worked. So why not Barton? He was the one who kept getting the closest to the kid.

He had his own little menace he was chasing around anyways. He knew this shit.

“Glad you think so,” Barton said. “But I need like, a written agreement that you ain’t gonna scream at me, okay?”

Written agreement. Pft. Okay.

 ---

 “ARE YOU OUT OF YOUR MIND?”

Barton stared at Tony and pointed at Rhodey like a tattle-tell. Tony was exhausted.

“TONY.”

He was so tired, Rhodey.

“You cannot sanction this,” Rhodey said.

Tony wasn’t sanctioning anything. He was just letting the aunt take the reins.

“We are not sending the Punisher after a child,” Rhodey said.

“The jokes on you, bub,” Clint told him. “The Punisher is already keeping an eye out for the child and you know what? He’s got a bite.”

Silence flooded the meeting room. Sam Wilson turned around slowly in his chest and moved his icepack to the other hand.

“Say that again,” he said.

Barnes’s eyes went huge like a cat and Nat leaned her elbows onto his shoulders.

“I said,” Barton scoffed at them, “The Punisher’s still upstate. I sent him a text explaining shit. He’s got a soft spot for babies. You know, latent dad instincts and all that, and he’s been homeless for like, years now. So he said he’ll keep an eye out. He’s got an idea of a few places where kids around Peter’s age go when they’ve got nowhere else to.”

Tony stomped down on the urge to say that Peter wasn’t like those kids; he did have a place to go. He was just misunderstanding the situation. He was just fifteen and tired and not thinking logically. Translating people chasing him as anger instead of help.

Man, all those straight As really put that kid’s fear of abandonment into perspective now.

Tony didn’t even know how to approach him anymore.

He wasn’t a dad. No one on this team was a dad. They didn’t know how to talk to kids. Or if they did, not teenagers.

So you know what?

If the Punisher thought he could grab the kid, then he should.

 ----

 And the Punisher did.

Tony had never spoken directly to the man. The whole team went silent when Barton answered the call and then said, “hold on, let me put you on speaker.”

The Punisher’s voice was husky and hoarse with his whisper.

“Got him,” he said softly.

Tony covered his eyes in relief.

“He’s sleepin’,” The Punisher said. “Real adaptable. You weren’t kiddin’, Barton.”

“Thank god,” Steve said.

“He hurt?” Barton asked.

“Yeah,” the Punisher said. “He ain’t let me look ‘im over, but he’s got scabs all over. Cute kid. Once we were on the same page, he came willingly enough.”

What did that mean?

“Means I had to find some vegetarian shit from McDonalds,” the Punisher said like Tony was an idiot. “Kid’s hungry. Cold. Needs a bath. Found him tucked up with some others. They ain’t wanna come like him. But they’re good kids with good folks; they told him that if he had someone waiting on him, he should go.”

They’d done what?

The Punisher snorted.

“Homeless folks aren’t stupid, moneybags,” he said. “They got problems, but they aren’t stupid. And they ain’t want my help, so that’s that. You give ‘em some money and let ‘em do what they need to.”

What.

“I know, it’s almost like their lives ain’t your business,” the Punisher huffed.

He was kind of a dick.

“You headed back this way?” Barton asked.

“That’s a negative,” the Punisher said.

Rhodey went stiff.

“But don’t worry, I got someone to leave him with when I get to where I’m goin’,” the Punisher said. “He’ll bring him down your way.”

Barton sighed.

“Thanks, Frank,” he said. “We owe you one.”

“I don’t want your debt,” the Punisher said. He said nothing.

“I owe you one,” Barton corrected.

“Damn right, you do, Sparky.”

“Collect when you’re ready,” Barton said.

“Copy that.”

Barton hung up and stared with crystal eyes into Tony soul.

“Someone tell the kid’s aunt,” he said.

 ---

 The Punisher went up to Niagara Falls, whereupon he handed Peter off to Deadpool.

Tony almost had a stroke.

May Parker slapped a hand onto her chest and sighed in relief.

“Thank god,” she said.

Thank god?

More like, god have mercy, no?

“No, thank god,” May said.

May had Deadpool’s number in her goddamn phone. Tony was dumbfounded.

“Eyyyyyy,” Deadpool cheered when he answered May’s call. “Well, look who it is. Pete—heya babycakes, you—? Okay, no. Sorry, we had a big day at the falls. He’s tired.”

Deadpool cackled. May huffed out a chuckle and shook her head.

“Thank you, Wade,” she said tearfully. “Thank you so much.”

“Don’t sweat it,” Deadpool said cheerfully. “Little Scrappy’s just scrappier. He ain’t hurt bad. Just a little shaken. Got that good anxiety. Six kinds of paranoia, look at ‘im go. That’s healthy, that’s what that is.”

It was not, Mr. Pool.

“Who’s makin’ that racket in the background?” Deadpool asked.

May explained that she was in the company of the Avengers. She did not say that half of them were shocked stupid. She did not say that Rhodey was clawing his hands at the sky and lamenting a career in military service being useless compared to fuckin’ Deadpool’s sunny disposition.

“Ah,” Deadpool said. “Well, I’m just gonna not say shit to him about that.”

“That’s fine,” May said. “Tell him I love him and I’m not mad. I’ve just been worried. Where’s his phone?”

“Oh, honey. You should see it. Kid fished it out of the sea,” Deadpool said. “I found a fuckin’ barnacle in it. Pretty impressive how small them things get, you know what I mean?”

Somehow, May did. Even though Tony emphatically did not.

“How long?” she asked.

“Ehn. Well. I got a job . Then I’m meeting someone in Syracuse. But you know what’s good news?”

“What?” May asked.

“Red’s at a conference in Ithaca,” Deadpool said. “He said he can swipe Spiderkid up from the bus station.”

Red?

Who was Red?

“You serious right now, DP?” Barnes asked.

“Ohhhh, why hello there, Winter. Didn’t see you there,” Deadpool said. “I am indeed serious. I’ll put the kid on a bus to Cornell or where the fuck ever and our Hornheaded friend will grab him before he scurries off to the wind again. He’ll be fine. Car rides are lullabies to him.”

May seemed touched.

“I’ll wire you the money, Wade,” she said.

“Huh? Oh, no. Don’t worry about it. I’m puttin’ it in the favor box,” Deadpool said. “Barnesy, my boy. Red hates everything upstate and his boo-bear’s got family they’re gonna visit in Poughkeepsie. Can one of you darling blockheads meet him up there to take the kid, so he doesn’t ruin his one and only chance at marriage?”

What.

The fuck.

Was happening?

“Uuuuh, when? Tomorrow?” Barton asked.

“Two days from now,” Deadpool said. “If you can’t, don’t sweat it. I got a gal who’s willing to pick him up.”

“I can go as far as Paterson,” Barnes said out of nowhere. “If your gal can bring him down that far, that’d be good. I’ll bring the bike.”

“Oh, that’ll be fun,” Deadpool said. “Totally doable. I’ll give her a call and send you an address. Thanks a million, Winter.”

Barnes sniffed.

“It’s cool. Show him a picture of me so he ain’t bolt again,” he said.

“Copy that,” DP said. “I’ll let him know what you said, May. Bye for now.”

He hung up.

May Parker deflated into a puddle of relief.

Tony still didn’t know what was happening.

“Wilson’s gonna hand the kid off to Daredevil,” Barton explained. “And DD will take him with him to Poughkeepsie, where Wilson’s contact—the fuck is her name, Barnes?”

“Domino,” Barnes said.

“That’s the one,” Barton said. “She’ll pick him up, probably with Summers, and bring him down to Paterson and then Barnes’ll go grab him from there and bring him home.”

That—

Wh—

Why couldn’t they, the Avengers, have orchestrated this? This was not hard. This was advanced Connect Four.

“Sometimes, you can’t think like a hero,” Barton told him. “You gotta think like a vigilante.”

 ---

 Peter came home. Barnes swept him up from the station in Paterson and tossed him over a shoulder. And Tony came into the medical bay as soon as he got word of their arrival to find him sprawled out there still, asking Barnes a thousand questions about fuckin’ heroin.

God, lord, Jesus.

Someone spare Tony’s soul.

Peter noticed him and reacted by slipping off Barnes’s shoulder and hiding behind him as though he expected Tony to start shouting at any moment.

And for a moment, Tony almost felt like he should have.

But he wasn’t Peter’s dad. And Peter hadn’t done that shit on purpose. He’d just been scared and when he got scared, he’d decided to turn towards people he knew he could trust.

The other street level guys. People like him.

Tony couldn’t be angry with him for that.

So he came over and collapsed into the chair next to Peter’s assigned bed and held out his arms.

“Hugs for an old man?” he asked.

Peter peeked out from behind Barnes and lit up.

His hug was crushing. His clothes were rank and his wrists looked skinny and he was as pale as Tony had ever seen him, but he was here.

And he was chillin’.

“Next time, just stay in the city, alright?” Tony said. “We got the state. You got the city. At least until you’re old enough to have your own credit card, yeah?”

“Kay,” Peter hummed.

“You scared the shit out of us, kiddo.”

Peter pulled away from him and hopped back up on the bed.

“Is my aunt coming?” he asked.

Tony sighed.

She was.

“Cool, I missed her. My phone broke and maps are hard. I got like four of them. Folks kept givin’ theirs to me, even though I needed like, money.”

Tony leaned forward and held his face in his hands.

“Yeah?” he finally managed to say.

“Yeah,” Peter hummed. “It’s really hard to get a bus with no money. And they don’t even have buses in a lot of places, you know? Like, Uber isn’t even a thing out there. You’ve just gotta have a car or know someone who does.”

Bless.

“Wade says that I’m a city boy.”

That’s ‘cause you are, child.

“But I slept in a tree, so that’s camping.”

It’s not.

“And there was a raccoon. So that’s camping.”

It’s really, really not.

“I saw Cyclops and he tried to laser-eyes me, but, get this, I Lizard-ed him. Went into the sewers like Connors. I mean, he’s a jerk, but he’s definitely right to stick to the sewers. It’s warm down there. Can you imagine if the X-men X-manned me, though? Wade says that they do that to people.”

Tony was melting.

“They definitely do that to people,” Barnes said.

Vigilantes, man. The lies they spread.

“I made some friends in Buffalo,” Peter carried on. “They’re nice. They used to live in Rochester. They saw me fighting a space-fish, and they said that was cool as hell. And so they were tellin’ me about garbage plates and then Chelsea’s mom told me I needed to go home because May probably wasn’t mad and it was getting too cold. And then she made me promise not to do drugs. And when Mr. Castle showed up, she waved him down—I like her a lot. I gave them my money so that they could sleep in the shelter and I think Mr. Castle gave her more money, but he gave me and Chelsea McDonalds. And it was like, so good, Mr. Stark. I forgot how much I like McDonalds.”

Fuckin’ garbage plates.

“I’m gonna make one,” Peter hummed.

Someone come take these kid home already.

 ----------------------------------

Problems I have with the Trope:

So I don’t know the homeless Peter trope very well, but I don’t love it because in order to write it, you have to remove May from the picture, pretty much entirely. Folks either tend to kill her or make her abusive and that’s fucked up to do to, not only Peter’s remaining family member, but to a civilian female character.

I also don’t love this trope because I don’t love Irondad and the homeless Peter trope is pretty much designed for him to be saved by Tony.

The third reason I don’t enjoy this trope is because I don’t think enough people do their research on, not only what it takes to become homeless (especially for a minor), but how broad definitions of homelessness are. People who are homeless don’t just live on the street; they live in cars, they couch surf, they work hard to be clean, they have jobs.

And the last reason (for now), that I find this trope difficult is Peter’s age. Age is the hardest shit. A homeless 14-15 yo is kind of difficult to work with because there are layers of safety nets and, if you don’t kill May or make her abusive, it is next to impossible to work through her responsible nature and stability to put her and Pete out on the street plausibly (and I refused to compromise on this, which is how I ended up with this accidental loss). It would be much easier to write a homeless Peter as a college student.

[bloodyspade0000]

Generation of Miracles || Chapter Three of isn't it lovely?

Shougo always thought he could do everything on his own and never bothered asking for help. Until things get out of hand and he ends up getting hurt badly. Giving him no choice to suck it up and ask for help. Even if it's from the Generation Of Miracles. Now, they got no choice to pick up broken pieces and forgive the past.

Chap 1, Chap 2

A/N: I decided to post only the first three chapters of isn't lovely on here since it's on ao3.

Trigger Warning: mild gore

[Ao3 link]

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

↓

It was a normal day with calm blue skies above; a silent breeze blew through the air as Daiki walked, heading over to Ryouta's house for a sleepover without any worries.

Until he turned a corner, and a barely perceptible sound from beside him made him stop in his tracks. He didn't know what he expected. A stray cat? Or maybe a homeless person?

But, definitely not Haizaki Shougo of all people sitting on the ground.

And for some reason, Daiki approached him even though some internal part of him told him he should leave Shougo and pretend he didn't see him.

Yet, he didn't.

His feet kept moving as if they were moths drawn to a flame, propelling until he stood above him.

Shougo lifted his head, and their eyes met. A characteristic scowl appeared on his face. But it didn't reach his eyes. They weren't filled with the usual fiery rage that scorched everything it touched. They were lifeless. "You," He growled. "Why the fuck are you here? "

"Could ask you the same," Daiki grunted, bending down and looking him over. Shougo's face was flushed, his brows furrowed together, and he was so pale it made the blood and the bruises on his face stand out in a far harsher contrast. His fingers were wrapped in bandages and Daiki swore if he were to lift Shougo's shirt, he would find more. "Did you get into a fight?"

"What the fuck do you think?" Shougo spat, going with the lie he always told. But, was sometimes true.

"Do you need help?" Daiki asked even though he knew getting involved with Shougo would end up badly. Especially since the last time they saw each other, it ended up with Daiki punching him in the face.

"You? Help me?" Shougo threw his head back and laughed. "Yeah, right! I don't fuckin' need help from someone like you. So, scram!"

Daiki frowned. "Hai—"

"Why the fuck do you even care?" Shougo said. "Last time I fuckin' checked you hate my fuckin' guts."

Shougo was right. Why did he care?

Daiki tried telling himself it was because he was surprised to find Shougo so hurt since after every fight, Shougo usually ended up with a few scrapes and bruises. Sure, he might have broken a few bones—

Yeah, that wouldn't work.

It was just for some reason, even though he disliked Shougo. He still somewhat cared about him. Maybe even a little.

And—

"Look—"

"Hey, there you are, Aominecchi!" The familiar sound of Ryouta's voice called out from behind. Daiki turned and saw the rest of The Generation of Miracles.

"Well, ain't this fuckin' great," Shougo sneered, getting their attention. "It's the Generation of fuckin' Morons."

"Shougo-Kun?" And before Ryouta or the rest could get a good look at him. Daiki stood up, blocking their view of Shougo.

He offered him a hand. "I'm not asking how you feel," Daiki told him. "If I tell you I'm going to help you, I'm going to help you."

"And I already fuckin' told ya, I don't fuckin' need your help," Shougo snapped, glaring at him. "So, fuck off."

Daiki's eyes narrowed. "Shou—"

"Fine," Shougo huffed. "Do whatever you want, you stubborn bastard." He glanced away. "I don't care anymore."

He was tired. Tired of arguing. Fighting. Pretending. Everything.

And—

Hey… if he was lucky, Tetsuya could change him too and show him the 'light.'

Shougo snorted at the thought before doubling over and erupting into a loud harsh cackle of laughter.

The Generation of Miracles glanced at Shougo as if he had finally lost it. And maybe he has or—

His remaining thread of strength frayed before breaking completely, sending him plummeting over the edge and into the darkness.

Hysterical laughter turned into sobs, shaking his frame and threatening to tear him apart from the inside. Shougo fought to reclaim control over his body, shocked by the sounds escaping from deep within his chest.

He tried to wipe away the tears. But, he couldn't. He couldn't stop them from falling. Couldn't stop the shaking. Couldn't stop more broken sobs from escaping. He couldn't force them down.

He couldn't force them down like he usually did.

Couldn't. Couldn't. Couldn't stop.

'W—Why?'

Why?

Why couldn't he stop crying?

Why was he…?

'It hurts….'

It hurt. It hurt. It hurt.

F—Fuck.

It hurt so much.

'I—I can't do this anymore,'

L.O.V.E

His breathing was ragged, and gasping as he choked on sobs, clutching his chest.

The walls he so desperately built around himself were crumbling and…

A-And… right in front of The Generation of Miracles.

They didn't move. Didn't know how to react. Except—

Except for Tetsuya, who was already bending down and pulling Shougo into his embrace, rubbing his back and trying his best not to let his own tears fall.

The others looked away. They just thought Shougo was just an asshole.

An asshole who went around picking fights, hurting and stealing. Someone who was filled with violence and rage. The guy who was considered dangerous and maybe a little unhinged.

Expect, he wasn't just all that.

He was a broken kid who probably grew up knowing only violence. Not an ounce of kindness because nobody bothered to get close. Close enough to look him in the eyes and see past all the rage. All the violence and see the pain, the self-loathing and the guilt.

What the Generation of Miracles saw now. What they should have seen a long time ago.

Yet, they hadn't because they never understood him and shut him out instead, like the rest of the world.

They never gave him a chance.

And they felt terrible for not realizing it sooner.

They wanted to fix things.

But could they really. Could they really fix their relationship? Mend, something that no longer existed?

Or maybe they could.

It was never too late for second chances, right?

L.O.V.E

When Shougo couldn't cry anymore. He felt numb and exhausted. He wanted to close his eyes and never open them. Wanted—

"H—Haizaki-Kun….?" Tetsuya spoke, voice shaky and eyes wide with horror as he glanced at the blood on his hands and soaking through Shougo's shirt, staining them both crimson. "… Y—You're bleeding."

"Yeah…" Shougo said, glancing at it blankly. "… I guess so."

It was like he no longer cared. Like he was used to seeing his own blood. Like it didn't bother him anymore. And it didn't.

"Y—You—"

"Tired…" Shougo slurred, exhaustion and blood loss finally taking its toll, dragging him under, closing his eyes sounded like bliss, and maybe when—

"Don't fall asleep," Shintarou told him, pulling Shougo away from Tetsuya, scooping him up, staining his hands with blood as he felt Shougo's feverish body for the first time, lifting his shirt and peeling away blood-soaked bandages.

He didn't know what he expected.

But it wasn't—

Shintarou grimaced, swallowing hard while the others froze, dread falling over them.

Shougo's torso was ripped to shreds, covered in raised angry welts and ragged edges of flesh that wept blood. Scars also littered his body, along with burn marks and bruises that looked more like—

"W—Who would do something like this?" Ryouta whispered in horror, looking away. He felt sick.

"That doesn't matter right now, Ryouta," Seijuurou said, watching as Shintarou brushed away a loose strand of hair from Shougo's burning forehead, gently laying his head on his lap, turning to his battered body. "Frist, we do this."

Within seconds, Shintarou quickly tore up Shougo's clothes, wrapping up some of the more severe wounds to the best of his abilities.

'Just what did you go through, Haizaki?'

"I stopped the bleeding," Shintarou spoke, pushing up his glasses. "But we might need to call an ambulance."

"N—No," Shougo whimpered, trashing weakly in Shinatrou's arms. "Plea… Please, d—don't….c—can't."

"I'm sorry," Shinatrou apologized as more pleas escaped Shougo's lips, begging them not to take him to a hospital and that — "I—"

"It's alright," Daiki stated softly, taking Shougo from Shintarou, picking him up bridal style and cradling him in his arms. "We won't, just hold on, okay?"

Shougo closed his eyes. "Okay…."

Ryouta's house was closer, anyway.

[noocturnalchild]

2. LUMINOUS 

He spent all day outside. He spent all day in coffee shops and diners and parks, like a homeless lost guy. Cursing between his teeth, glaring at strangers and walking aimlessly.

How the hell was he going to return home and look you in the eyes again?

How the hell did he manage to fuck things up?

How did he ….how did things whirl in a huge black vortex all of a sudden?

Why didn’t he keep his big mouth shut? What a loser, a loser and a weirdo.

That’s what he thought of himself, all the way wandering in the street.

Now he might go back home and you won’t talk to him again.

Or worse,

He might go back and find you packing your things to fuck off, away from a whack like him.

Or even worse,

He may return and find you already gone, and will never see you again.

He groaned loudly out of frustration, shooting randomly an empty dented can as he walked an avenue bathed in the setting sun warm light. The can went rolling and hit the feet of a passerby.

“Freak!”

He shouted in Adam’s direction and Adam muttered a confused sorry, big frame glued to a wall to avoid the angry man.

The little incident aggravated his gloomy mood and ended his street journey for the day. He still didn’t want to go home though.

A coward.  

When Adam thought he had his share of self-deprecation, he headed directly to work and decided to spend the night there. That was the best thing he could do, or that’s what he convinced himself was best to do.

*

Tucked in your sofa, mouth full of cherry pie, you threw away the tv remote control moodily.

The sun disappeared under the buildings of your neighborhood and you knew that Adam wasn’t going to show up till late night, and maybe not at all.

you waited for him to return home all day. You worked from home and you had nothing to do outside. You tried to busy yourself with anything that crossed your mind. You cleaned the apartment, you brewed cups after cups of tea, you took a bath, thinking and rethinking what you were going to tell him, writing and erasing speeches in your head, fancy dramatic ones and simple, heartfelt confessions.

All morning, you were buzzing with excitement, unexplainable striking feeling of warmth, recalling his awkward blush and silly excuses, his reddened ears as he struggled with his words.

Those were the signs, weren’t they? So obvious, he likes you.

But as the afternoon progressed, you weren’t sure anymore.

Was it just a misunderstanding? Have you projected your own feelings and hopes on him?

You even prepared a cherry pie and took your time to decorate it, expecting him to share it with you after you’ve confessed to him. You waited for it to cool watching the wall clock, sitting in the little kitchen and gasping every time you heard footsteps echoes in the building corridors, thinking it might be Adam, disappointment flooding you because it wasn’t him, every single time.  

And here you were now, like a loser, zapping over Netflix series, eating your pie alone.

You felt like an idiot, you couldn’t just stay and wait anymore, so you jumped to grab your cellphone and call him. It rang and rang but he didn’t answer. He might be wanting to be alone, you thought, you really hoped that was it, and nothing else.

And what if something happened to him? What if a truck hit him, what if he got assaulted? What if… The what ifs were increasing your anxiety but you couldn’t bring yourself to call again. In the ocean of uncertainty you were rapidly drowning in, you were certain of one thing : It took just one little incident to make you realize you were already so into him. And now doubting his intentions and emotional state was unbearable once you came to acknowledge your own feelings. Love is tricky. That was a sure thing too.

*

Adam arrived at work earlier than usual. As he emptied his bag in the changing room he noticed that his phone was dead. Shit. No charger in sight, he forgot it at home. Of course. Shit again.

Did you call? He couldn’t help but think about this possibility. Are you worried about him? Or are you mad at him? What are you thinking of him now? A fucking perv? A crazy needy perv?

“ You wearing you blue pajama”

Genius.

Fuck.

Damn it Adam, stop it for a while. Give it a break.

He reached for a small box he was hiding in his personal locker. He exhaled a deep sigh but he smiled. Its content shone glowingly under the bright recessed lights, it was still beautiful and he was still wanting to give it to you. He didn’t know how for now, or if what was he doing was worth the try anymore so he tucked it in his pocket and let the comforting presence warm his heart as he proceeded to clean in autopilot mode. Numbing his worries for the night.  

*

11 PM

You fidgeted in your sheets. Impossible to close your eyes or get your brain to shut down. Even your book that was thrilling yesterday felt bland tonight. What you were about to do was crazy, maybe, but the idea had been trotting in your mind for some time now. You wanted to be sure nothing happened to Adam, you didn’t have his work number, but you were familiar with his work place cause he asked you (sheepishly) several times to bring him something he forgot at home, a habit of his. Even his annoying habits weren’t annoying, and it wasn’t because he always treated you to dinner afterward.

You had to find him.

You jumped into your leggings and put a hoodie on, called an uber and in the span of 20 minutes you were facing the big illuminated building. You inhaled deeply before going in, trying to focus and not let the fear seep in you.

As you pushed the entry door and the vast cold space unfurled before you, your heart beats raced in your throat, your dread came to embrace you again. You saw the receptionist looking strangely at you, half expectant, half annoyed, and you cleared your throat.

“ Hi, um.. I’m looking for Adam”

please say you know who I’m talking about.

“ Adam who?”

“ The guy… the tall guy who cleans stuff here”

Please, say he is here.

“ I haven’t seen him come in today, sorry” he snorted. It was obvious from his tone that he didn’t want you there.

Damn, this couldn’t be possible, come on people.

“ Please, it’s urgent, I’m his roommate and I can’t reach him on his phone, can you please ask anyone in the offices, anyone who can help me find him?” you talked so fast and your voice was shaking, tears menacing to spill over.

The receptionist eyed you displeasingly then with a huff he told you to wait and started dialing.

With every second you hoped someone would pick up on the other side of the wire but nothing. For long seconds you looked around you, the hall silent, the buzz of air conditioners, the lightening, white and blinding recessed damned lights.

Then

“ Y/N !”

You gasped, and turned your body to the source of the voice, the one and only voice you wanted to hear now.

“What are you doing here” He stopped, eyes of a deer in the headlights, beautiful, wide, luminous, your favorite.

He was a little out of breath, in his work clothes and holding bottles of detergents, his strands of hair a bit sweaty, a bit messy, but he looked more glorious and glowing than any prince you read about in fairy tales. Love is what it is.

“ Adam …I..” You started but he cut you off.

“Come upstairs?” he simply asked, still out of breath. He nodded to the receptionist and he nodded back. Implicit consent.

You followed and struggled to keep silent, mesmerized by his large shoulders as his long legs climbed the stairs. You could feel the electricity buzzing between you two, heavy silence, sexual tension ?

You reached the floor he was cleaning and you were about to lose it when his hand pushed you gently in one of the open spaces  and your turned your heels to face him, at last.

You both breathed deep in unison.

“hi”

“hi”

You looked like two idiots, for sure.

“ so…” he started.

His eyes, you needed to stop staring.

“ yeah..”

“ I think that at some point someone should start to really …talk” you laughed.

“ yeah. Sure, sure” he paused. “ I’m sorry. If that makes any sense” his voice was reaching its deepest lowest levels. It sent shivers through all your body.

“ I’m sorry, I acted like an idiot the previous night and this morning…. And during all the day, actually …eugh” He winced, looking at his feet.

“ No…Adam ..”

“ No, you don’t have to act like it’s ok, I really crossed a line and I’m truly sorry y/n” he was about to put his large hands on your shoulders but he changed his mind and fisted them on his chest, another thing he did a lot, and that you found endearing.

“ Adam, just listen !” you blurted out, reaching a peak of nervousness because of  all the things you were holding in.

“ Adam it was ok, it was really ok… it ..was, it felt good.” You gulped, watching him under your lashes, you couldn’t believe you said this, you watched as his pretty lips parted to form a perfect O. Then what seemed like a sunny smile reaching his eyes.

“ And I was worried about you all day, I tried to call but you didn’t-“

“ Fuck, my fucking…sorry, my stupid phone was dead.. that’s ..that’s why”

You sighed out of relief.

“ So you called me? Jesus, I thought you will be like … purifying your bed from my presence and invoking… dunno… a divinity to take your revenge or something..”

“ Shut up” you laughed heartily, all nervousness starting to fade away as a blush spread over your face and warmth in your gut.

“You are pretty” he blurted, blushing the tiniest bit.

You looked down to your worn leggings and tennis shoes, suddenly self- conscious. Your face must be just as pity looking, but as you looked up you saw him staring at you, eyes searching for something, then stilling on your lips.

You reached for a damp strand of hair and tucked it behind his ear, all words failing you.

He took a step forward, and leaned down, hesitant. You met his movement, and as you closed your eyes, you felt the gentle push of his lips on yours, and the world ceased to exist.

He kissed you with all the tenderness he got, all the delicacy and sweetness you needed. It felt nice, it felt pure and just like him. It felt kind and caring.

Your heart swelled and swelled, head span, you lost every sense of time and place. You didn’t even mind the white, cold blinding lights above your heads. All you could feel was his warmth, invading you from everywhere. Then he stopped.

“ I wanted to do it somewhere else” he whispered, out of breath again.

“ where” you hushed, eyes shut, still lost in the moment.

“ Your room”

“ let’s go then”  you beamed at him “ I even made a pie for you… well, it’s half a pie now” you laughed gently.

And he kissed you again. He couldn’t believe this was happening. You were perfect for him. He never considered himself lucky, but what was happening now made him reconsider everything. Maybe it was his time, to be happy, to share all that he could give with someone willing to receive and to give back, abundantly. You.

When your lips parted again, he took your hand and led you outside.

“Let’s go finish this at home before I got fired”

You shared laughs and kisses and light chit chat all the way home and as soon as the door closed behind you your lips crashed again, with much more vigor and passion this time. He lifted you in his arms, so swiftly and easily you felt like a feather. Flush to his body you shuddered under his caring touch. It was mind blowing, so mind blowing he stumbled on the chair leg and lost balance, luckily he could put you down in time and avoided crashing on the floor with all his weight on you.

“Aouch” You laughed loud.

“ Fuck me!”

“We should eat my pie first”  

Your eyes were glowing with mischief.

“ I have something for you, too”  he scratched his neck.

And he took the box out of his pocket.

“ Sorry, I’m so impatient, I should have wrapped it at least, I know, and I should have waited till your birthday”

“ no more “sorrys” ! Adam that’s … that’s so kind of you”

“ it’s not just kindness, you know it now”

And you blushed some more, he made of you a hot mess.

“ open it, come on” he urged.

And you did.

It was wonderful.

A book mark. Shaped as a beautifully sculpted dragonfly, decorated with glowing stones in all shades of green. It was fairy. That’s all what you could think of it.

“ matches the fantasy books you like to read” he said sheepishly as words refused to leave your mouth. You were bewildered .

So you just jumped on him, hugging him and kissing him randomly, everywhere you mouth could reach. He seemed delighted, euphoric, eyes glassy as if he was drunk, and when you recovered, a detail stroke you. His gift must had cost a little much.

“ Adam, it’s expensive, isn’t it?”

“ No ! at all” he protested a bit aggressively and you knew you were right.

“ Adam is that why …” it hit you now.

“ What?” he laughed

“ Adam is that why you are working extra hours?”

“ nooooo” he sang awkwardly.

“ yes, please tell me “

“ NO!”

But you knew the truth. Adam couldn’t lie, it was that simple. It showed. Too pure for that.

You wanted to treat him right too. You just wanted to show him how much you felt love blooming in your chest for him. it always was there. When he asked gently if you wanted to be his roommate, in the way he refused to take money from you to pay rent because he knew you were jobless at the time. How he cared for you all the two and half years you were living together, the little details, the gentle words, the beautiful little, simple gestures, the occasional long talks. How he was being protective and nervous everytime he saw lame guys hitting on you, at the rare parties you went to together. It was always there, the love, growing silently, little things wired, linked, spreading roots in your hearts and now the time finally came for it to bloom and sprout, in the bright light.

“ Won’t we eat your pie now?”  he asked, playful. 

“Of course we will” and in your eyes sparkled the promises of much more.

[curiouserandthatmuchcuriouser]

I don't talk a lot about this on social media, but two years ago I was diagnosed with bipolar disorder. Next month is Bipolar Awareness Month, and even though it's not here quite yet, I'd like to share my story. We all fight secret battles, and the first step to breaking the stigma of mental illness is starting a dialogue and finding compassion for others as well as ourselves.

Around December 2018, I started feeling... different than I normally do. I didn't understand what was happening at the time: I'd never had so much energy before, and at first it was exhilarating. I was running around, talking a mile a minute, suddenly completely free of the social anxiety that's plagued me my entire life, completing chores & errands in record time, and feeling on top of the world. My mind was overflowing with creativity, ideas for poems and essays and songs and even a full musical of my own design (in hindsight, it's all nonsense of course). My appetite slipped away and I suddenly felt free from the constraints of sleep, even though I'd never been more productive. I barely ate or slept, but I wasn't hungry or tired. I lost so much weight and I barely noticed.

At the same time, my moods were swinging all over the place -- I was irritable, I was ecstatic, I was angry, I was morose, I was playful, I was paranoid. I was charismatic, I was churlish, I was ambitious, I was friendly, I was sullen. I was crazy. Naturally I was too busy with my newfound productivity and "creative genius" (lol) to even notice the mood swings. I was an artist! With an artist's temperament! And there was so much to write! I started carrying around yellow sticky notepads in my pockets so I could write down my "brilliant" epiphanies (hint: it was more nonsense) wherever I went. I filled them up within days. My handwriting changed, became sloppier, messier. So many thoughts, I couldn't get them down fast enough.

My thought process, my inner monologue, became fast, then rapid, then downright muddled. It was like a movie playing at warp speed in my head, all day, every day, and most of the night too because who needed sleep when there was so much to think about? I developed a horrible sense of grandiosity. It was my newfound purpose in life to help people, personal cost be damned. I gave the coat off my back to a homeless man begging for change at the dollar store. I impulsively blew through what little savings I had on… I don't even know what. On useless crap that I didn't need.

Paranoia overtook my psyche. I was certain that some of my friends were conspiring against me in various ways, and I wouldn't (couldn't) shut up about it to anyone who would listen. I was suspicious of the world at large. I started walking around with a knife tucked into my boot (thankfully I never used it). I drove too fast, recklessly, getting lost on familiar streets (that's not poetic license, I actually found myself getting disoriented in familiar neighborhoods and needing the GPS to find my way home). I was crying while driving, sobbing and squinting at the cars ahead of me. Everything I experienced was fast and bright and sharp in the most confusing ways.

I still thought I was invincible. I was not invincible. In fact, I was 24 years old and I was experiencing my first manic episode, and it ended up being the scariest period of my life thus far.

I couldn't focus on my job anymore, a job that I loved, a job that I had worked hard to get. I would sit down to read an email and the words would swim before my eyes like a school of fish. If I tried typing anything, at least half the words would be misspelled and I'd have to start over. I wasn't getting any work done, not really. I couldn't sit still. I started pacing around the office every chance I could get and taking long walks at night in the winter chill (which I barely felt). I was feverish with mania. I was aggravated by random things and I would lash out at random people, even family and friends (perhaps especially family and friends). No one understood what I was going through, least of all myself.

Finally -- I don't even remember how I realized something was off since I was so far gone at that point -- a lightbulb went on in my head amidst the chaotic movie screen of jumbled thoughts and I realized: I'm not usually like this. I feel... sick. And when a quick Google search of my symptoms suggested "bipolar disorder," I knew I had to get help. One thing led to another, and in January 2019, I ended up moving back into my mom's house and taking medical leave from my job, the job that I loved, to do outpatient group therapy five times a week for several weeks at a nearby hospital… only to quit that job, the job that I loved, almost immediately upon returning to it because I didn't realize beforehand just how long it would take for me to recover.

I was so ashamed about quitting that job, and I still carry some of that shame around to this day, but the circumstances were completely untenable. I was on three different kinds of antipsychotics, which were expensive and caused me to gain close to 100 lbs during the time I was on them. The other side effects of those meds, like the drowsiness and the brain fog, were awful. After five-times-a-week group therapy, I graduated to once-a-week individual therapy (so proud, I know). It took me weeks to regain the ability to read more than a paragraph at a time, which was torture for me, an English major and avid reader. Television became a crutch, an easy way to pass the restless hours. I slept as much as possible during the day because I was so deeply ashamed of how far I'd fallen.

Eventually, I did recover. Considering the state I was in, I am *exceptionally lucky* and I think about that everyday. The meds, the therapy, and time did their job and helped me get back to myself. I still occasionally struggle with symptoms of depression and mania, and I always will. I'll never be the person I was before my diagnosis, but that's okay. I know who I am now, even the dark parts, and I know how to take care of all of me. That's the most important piece of the puzzle: self-awareness and self-care in equal measure.

Looking back, it truly feels like a different person inhabited my body during those awful months. An insane person, one I'd be embarrassed to know, let alone be. My brain became a snapping turtle, and no one was safe. I lost friends, people I trusted who just couldn't see past the actions and harsh words that my illness caused, even after I sought treatment and tried to make amends via heartfelt apology letters and frantic explanations. There is a fine line between accountability for past mistakes and reckoning with mental illness, and in some ways I still feel like I'm walking that line. But at least now I know I can let go some of that shame.

I am forever grateful to my wonderful network of family, friends, and mental health professionals who supported me every step of the way and saw me through to the other side. I love you. I wouldn't be myself without you. Thank you.

If you or someone you love struggle with mental illness, don't try to sweep it under the rug. Know the signs, and seek treatment. Help is available. Getting better is possible.

We all fight secret battles. Let's lead with compassion.

[fandom-necromancer]

Alleycat

This was prompted by a lovely anon! I hope you like this even though I think you expected something else!

Fandom: Detroit become human | Ship: Reed900 | AU: Neko!Gavin (Warning: Heats)

The sirens were blaring all around him as he ran for his life. People jumped aside, only to flee or join his pursuers. He ran as fast as he could, skidding around corners, his bare feet plashing on the ground. He got more grip than his hunters on the smooth ground and added agility as well as speed on his side. He heard them falling back, but at no point that made him slow down. He burst through doors and crowds of people, before he finally reached the lobby, saw the light and was out.

He continued to run as if the lab-coats were still breathing at his neck as he ran over pavement and through streets, got honked at by angry people in large machines and pushed onwards. He didn’t allow himself to stop, he didn’t allow himself to rest, he just ran and ran and ran until his legs would give in.

-

Nines perked up as he heard a crash outside. It was a dark November evening, unusually warm. He walked over to the window of his second storey apartment and spied under the curtains of his kitchen window. Maybe some drunk human had crashed into a garbage bin? Maybe they needed help? He could at least get them a taxi. But while he looked out of the window nothing moved. Maybe just rats? Or a cat? Or some stray dog? His neighbourhood wasn’t the best and although androids got paid, it was still considerably less than a human would. He simply couldn’t afford a flat made for humans in a better environment and he really wanted to allow his human friends to visit. He watched the back alley a bit longer, then shrugged. His LED pinged blue in the window-reflection as he had finished his scan. Whatever it had been, it was either long gone or motionless. So, Nines decided to get back to the living room.

-

When Gavin woke up, it was with a jolt. He looked around; his ears arranged so he could locate the sound perfectly. Someone was coming. He wanted to run again, but his legs burned from yesterday’s exhaustion and wouldn’t obey him as he tried to stand up. The only thing left for him was to hide. He scooted backwards against the bin he had managed to get to with his last strength the day before and pulled his knees to his chest. He didn’t dare to breath as he could see the shadows of the legs under the bin. The person opened the large crate, then let it fall back down again, grumbling displeased. ‘Ah, fuck it’, he heard, before a bag of trash landed on his head. He jerked in surprise but thankfully managed to keep his mouth shut. Only as the person moved away, he dared to lift the smelly bag off of him. He swallowed, unsure what to do now. He looked down on himself, on his bare feet and thin blue shirt he had worn in the lab. If he wanted to survive out here and not be found by Cyberlife, he would have to blend in. Disgusted, he tore open the bag of trash that was mostly old takeout containers that immediately attracted the flies around him. But once he got rid of them, underneath he found something soft. He pulled it out. Baggy sweatpants with stains Gavin really didn’t want to know about, an old shirt, a beanie and an assortment of yellow, maybe once white, socks. Gavin grimaced and took trousers and the shirt. The oversized pants meant he could hide his tail and the beanie would mask his ears. He looked at himself in a puddle and nodded at himself looking back. Now he mostly looked like a homeless person and not like some escaped science experiment. He would stay here for now. No one had found him yet and he knew he would need all the rest he could get.

-

The last night hadn’t been the only night, Nines had heard strange noises from the back alley. There had been multiple occasions in the middle of the night, where bins were opened and closed. No one would hear the noises as it was always late at night and most people would either sleep or not really cared. But Nines did. He wanted to know what caused these strange noises and so, he watched from the window every day. On the third he finally got a glimpse at a person in rugged clothing. He sighed. So, it was just some poor guy searching for something to wear or eat. No drug dealers or other criminals. Nines could be relieved. He followed the person until they disappeared behind a wall. Then all movement ceased, and Nines assumed they slept.

The next night, as the noises started up again, Nines looked out of the window again as it was his daily habit by now. Only that this time it wasn’t the homeless person living in his back alley. This time it was multiple humans that looked like some sort of personal security. The were armed with torches and tasers. Nines’ LED dropped into red, as his scans picked up the hexagonal emblem on their chests. Cyberlife? Why here? Immediately, he readied himself to open the window and jump down to them in case someone needed his help. Cyberlife had promised to follow the new android rules, but they had also promised to hand over all un-deviated androids and here he was only after the DPD had freed him from their tower. He didn’t trust them even a bit. As they got closer to the wall Nines knew the person hid, he decided to intervene. He opened his window and shouted down: ‘Hey, people want to sleep! Would you mind shutting off the damn lights and stop making such a godforsaken ruckus? Rummage through trash somewhere else!’ The Cyberlife security shone their lights in his face and Nines took one of his kitchen knifes in return. That made them hurry out of the alley. ‘Yeah, you won’t find any androids to torture here!’, Nines shouted after them, then pulled the window close.

-

Gavin’s heart thumped in his chest. That had been far too close. They could have found him and take him again. He wasn’t safe here. Hadn’t it been for some annoyed asshole, he would have found himself back in that lab in no time. He knew he had to run and find a better place, but he felt that sickness creeping up again. He felt restless already and the hunger didn’t help. He knew the signs, knew what would happen. He had wished to have found a safe place by then, he couldn’t run around the city like this. He felt warm despite the ice-cold night and despite shivering all over. He was itchy and never found a comfortable position. He would enter another heat and this time there were no scientists “helping” him by pumping him full of hormones and chemicals. No, this time he was stuck in some back alley with only a wall to keep him from curious onlookers. He was ready to bet his luck on this place. Would they search a place again when they knew they weren’t welcome? Gavin had no idea. He already saw them taking advantage of his burned-out state and carry him back to that lab. No, no please-

‘Err… Excuse me?’

He flinched and looked up, eyes locked in fear with a huge android looking around the corner. ‘Hey, err… I saw Cyberlife looking for you and…’ The android pointed towards the beanie. ‘You know, I hate these guys too. I don’t know why they search for you, but if you need a place to crash, I could offer you a room. Would be dry and warm at least.’ Gavin swallowed and still looked up at the android frozen. ‘You don’t have to, of course, but I don’t really need the bedroom anyways, so…’ ‘I’m… I’m not an android’, Gavin whispered with a hoarse voice. ‘Well, an enemy of my enemy is my friend?’ Gavin was far too terrified, but his brain immediately supplied “awkward idiot”. ‘Listen, you want a warm place to sleep with a shower, yes or no?’ Gavin didn’t know what made him agree, but he nodded and took the android’s hand who helped him up.

-

‘It’s right up there’, Nines said, pointing at the window. ‘Not a lot of stairs.’ He didn’t know why he had offered the person to stay with him, but the decision made him awkwardly babble on. Maybe to ease his own mind?

Once he had opened the door and let the man in, he pointed out bathroom, bedroom and kitchen. ‘Do you want something to eat?’, he thought to ask then. ‘I don’t think I have anything here, but I could order something.’ The man just looked at him. Nines evaded his eyes. ‘I’ll get you a pizza.’ The man nodded and disappeared towards the bathroom. Nines waited and paid the delivery guy, then he sat on the couch and watched the bathroom door.

When the man finally emerged, he was shivering and shaking, looking every bit like he would fall the next second. Nines immediately was there to catch him and hold him upright. ‘You are burning up from the inside…’, Nines said, scanning the man shocked by the sudden change. He looked up, eyes glossed over. ‘I’m sorry. I… Can I use your bedroom for the next week? I don’t know how to repay you, but I need it. And… please. Don’t come in, okay?’ ‘Err… sure’, Nines said, before his mind could catch up and freak out. ‘Of course.’ That answer seemed to allow the man in his arms to relax. He suddenly felt like dead weight and Nines just acted on instinct. He carried the man to the bedroom and laid him on the bed with plenty of blankets and the pizza on the nightstand. The man seemed to be sleeping but far deeper than what would be normal. But Nines heeded his instructions and closed the door to the bedroom. What had he gotten himself into?

-

The next week was just a haze for Gavin. Food, clothes and fresh blankets as well as food appeared magically at the door. He slept through most of the days. And when he was awake, he was burning up. He was confused, crying and rutting against the mattress. He simply wasn’t himself. He was hurting.

Until one morning he woke up immensely tired and stiff but at least at full consciousness again. He got up, looking down on the clothes he wore now. They were fluffy and fit him perfectly. Shit. He had spent his heat at this weird android’s place and the thing had cared for him. Without barging in and triggering unbelievable things. And he was still free. He wasn’t back at the lab, there were no scientists swarming around him, prodding him and watching his every move.  He sighed deeply, before rising to his feet and walking towards the door.

‘Hey’, he greeted the android seated at the couch. ‘Err… thanks…’ ‘Are you alright?’, he asked, standing up. ‘I… You screamed a lot.’ ‘Did you come in?’ ‘No.’ Gavin nodded a few times. ‘What was that? And err… what exactly are you?’

Gavin grimaced and scratched behind his ear. Wait. His ear. Fuck. The android had seen them, right? ‘Don’t worry!’, Nines tried to calm him down immediately. ‘Whatever you are, I don’t care. I won’t tell Cyberlife!’ ‘They… err… I’m one of their new experiments. They didn’t want to keep up the android trade because… well, you are people.’ ‘You are too.’ ‘Yeah, well, I shouldn’t have been a person.’

‘I’m a Detective. Maybe I can help you.’ ‘I don’t think so. I would be your sole evidence and I don’t want that. Listen, I… I fled from them and I plan on running even further away. I… I had to spend the week because of my heat. Bastards engineered a hybrid and forgot that some biological traits might stick around… Anyways, I… I won’t bother you any longer, I am thankful for all that you did and… Yeah, I’ll be going then!’

‘Wait!’ Nines didn’t know what had come over him. ‘Err… sorry. But Cyberlife is very influential still. I don’t think you will be safe anywhere on the streets. You… you could stay. If you want, of course. I don’t really need the flat myself. I promise you; I won’t try anything.’ ‘And why should I trust you?’ ‘I hate Cyberlife, too? And you would be safe during your heats? I have money for food and everything you might need.’ Gavin remembered the android had lived up to his promise of not disturbing him. Sure, that had been one time. But if the android was sent by Cyberlife, why wait? He could have taken him back to the lab during the time he had been unresponsive. Still, trust was nothing to come easy. ‘Okay. I’ll stay. But only for a few days.

-

It was far more than just a few days. Once they had opened up to each other, they had learned they got along pretty well. Gavin had a sharp mind and Nines a large heart. With every passing day, Gavin was certain this was a safe place to stay and trusted the android more and more. Nines in turn learned he really liked the man. He enjoyed cooking for him, looking out for him and just talking for hours every night. It was… nice not to be alone.

It had been Gavin, who one evening simply curled up next to him, leaning into his side, his tail dangling over his legs. Nines had stayed completely still, thinking the man had fallen asleep. ‘Relax, tin-can’, Gavin surprised him by slurring the words. ‘You’re damn comfy.’ Nines, completely dumbfounded, looked down on the man and couldn’t help himself, but scratch in between his cat-ears. ‘Are you… purring?’ ‘Phck off, toaster!’ ‘I don’t believe this’, he laughed, but kept scratching.

‘Hey, Nines?’ ‘Yes Gavin?’, the android answered. ‘This might be weird, but… my next heat- Would you mind helping me out this time?’ ‘Oh. O-of course. I mean. If you want me to, sure.’ ‘Yeah, I want you to’, Gavin mumbled, pressing closer into Nines’ side, who held him in his arms. ‘Then I will.’

[tw-anchor]

28. Deucalion and the Darach

Anchor

Stiles Stilinski x Original Character

Episode: 3x04; Unleashed

Word Count: 8,853

Warning(s): Mature language, canon violence + gore, talk of sex, blood

Author’s Note: Stiles teams up with Lydia to do some investigating and Olivia has her first real interaction with Deucalion and the alpha pack. Hope you enjoy! Make sure you tell me what you think! Reblog and like!

Story Masterlist in Pinned Post!

"I looked everywhere. It's like he just walked away," Scott told Stiles. "He left his car and his dog."

As soon as Stiles and Scott walked into the boys' locker room to get ready for cross country practice—which was mandatory for lacrosse players, who needed to stay in shape during the fall—Scott had started to tell Stiles about the previous night at work. Apparently, a senior that was on the football team, Kyle, had come in with his little dog. After they left, Scott was taking out the trash when he heard the dog barking. Kyle was nowhere to be found.

Stiles nodded shakily as he slipped on his gray hoodie over his practice uniform. "Okay. Was he, like...could he have been a virgin maybe? Did he look like a virgin? Was he, you know virginal?"

"No, definitely not," Scott pulled on his own sweatshirt, a giddy smile on his face. "Deaton makes me have sex with all of his clients. It's a new policy."

Normally, Stiles would have laughed at Scott's joke because they were few and far between. This wasn't a normal situation, though. He might not be a virgin but the love of his life, his girlfriend, was. There were already three virgins dead, so if Kyle was a virgin, too, the rest of them in Beacon High were screwed—and not in a good way.

Scott sighed when he saw the blank look Stiles was giving him. "No, I don't know if he was a virgin," he told his best friend. "And why are you talking like he's already dead? He's just missing."

"Missing and presumed dead because he's probably a virgin, Scott," Stiles didn't know how much simpler his explanation could get. "You know who else is a virgin? My girlfriend, all right? Her lack of sexual experience is now literally a threat to her life. And you know who keeps putting sex off? Me because I'm an idiot who wants her first time to be special."

The locker a few down from them was slammed shut by Danny. He turned to face them, stating, "I know a guy who would—"

"Don't be a dick, Danny," Stiles stopped him before he could finish his statement.

No one was going to have sex with Olivia but him, thank you very much.

As Danny shrugged and walked off to talk to one of his friends on the team, Scott raised an eyebrow at Stiles. "Have you told Liv that, you know...you're not a—"

"No, I haven't," Stiles huffed, frustrated with himself. "And I'm a total hypocrite because I told her that we shouldn't lie to each other but I—I don't know how to bring it up."

"You don't have to tell her."

"Yeah," Stiles shook his head at Scott's suggestion. "I do."

"Mr. Lahey!" Coach called as Isaac scurried into the locker room fifteen minutes late. "Happy to have you back. Not happy that you're late."

"Sorry, Coach," Isaac mumbled as he went to his locker, only a few away from Stiles and Scott; they both nodded at him in greeting.

Coach shook his head and addressed the boys' team. "I'll remind you all, cross-country is not optional for lacrosse players. I don't need you turning into a bunch of fat-asses in the off-season," he paused as Isaac and Danny took off their shirts, both of them fit. "So work on that."

Five minutes later, Stiles, Scott, Isaac, and the other members of the team were lining up outside of the mini cross-country trail behind the school. Stiles and Scott settled at the back of the group and waited for Coach to blow his whistle, allowing them to start running.

Coach blew his whistle and everyone took off. "Pace yourselves! Come on!"

Stiles started jogging beside Scott but both of them stopped by Isaac, who hadn't started running and was still on one knee where he had been tying his shoe. Just as he was about to start sprinting, Scott grabbed his shoulder. "Isaac!"

Isaac turned to face them, an angry look on his face. "It's them."

Before Stiles could even ask who 'they' were, Isaac ripped himself away from Scott and took off.

"Isaac, wait!"

Stiles shrugged and started jogging, watching as Scott started running after Isaac. He settled into pace, grateful that he had always been a natural runner, and soon overtook some of his teammates. Soon, he fell in pace with one of his classmates.

Riley was trying cross-country out for some type of extra-curricular besides student government but she wasn't used to running a mile or more at a time. She was asthmatic, her inhaler clutched tightly in her hand, and she usually took an aerobics class every Saturday. Yes, she told him all of that while he ran beside her, voice breathless because of her light wheezing.

Eventually, she started slowing down.

"I need to take a break," she wheezed as she veered off the path, pressing her inhaler to her mouth.

Stiles didn't feel right just leaving her to work through her asthma attack—or rather, the start of one—so he stopped with her. It looked like her asthma was stronger than Scott's had been; her face was stark white as she stumbled toward a tree to sit against until she felt better.

Stiles followed her and stood still when he saw the body tied against the tree in front of them. Like the others, it looked as though the guy had been strangled, had his throat slit, and his head bashed in. Another three-fold death, another sacrifice.

Riley saw the body and only took a second to let out a high-pitched scream. Within minutes, the rest of the team was gathered around the body and the police were called. Stiles barely looked away from the body as Scott and Isaac ran up to his side.

Stiles looked away from the body to glance at Scott. "It's him, isn't it?"

Scott, who was looking at the body in horror, nodded slightly.

The body was Kyle, the guy who went missing from the animal clinic the night before.

-

"Hey, get out of the way. Get back," Noah burst through the teenagers forming a circle around Kyle's body, Deputy Tara right on his heels. He got to the tree where Stiles was hovering, trying to get a better look at Kyle's injuries, and turned back to Tara. "Get this area cordoned off before they trample every piece of evidence."

Deputy Tara immediately got to work. "Back up!" she raised her voice to get everyone's attention. "Everyone back!"

Noah gently pushed Stiles away from the body. "Get these kids out of here!"

Stiles slapped away his father's hand and stepped back toward the body. "Dad, look. It's the same as the others, you see?"

Noah looked at him firmly yet calmly. "Yeah, I see that. Do me a favor and go back to school, yeah?" he turned way to address Coach. "Coach, can you give us a hand here?"

"You heard the man," Coach called out to his students. "Nothing to see here. It's probably just some homeless kid."

Stiles stared at him in disbelief while Scott sighed, "Coach."

Coach turned to him. "Yeah?"

"He was a senior."

"Oh," Coach sighed sadly, holding his fish against his mouth. "He wasn't on the team, was he?"

Stiles rolled his eyes just as Kyle's girlfriend, Ashley, came sprinting up to the tree, already crying. She took one look at the body and screamed in grief, a heartbreaking look on her face as sobs broke through her chest. Deputy Tara grabbed her before she could get to Kyle's body and held her tightly as she broke down into hysterics.

Noah pushed against his chest, quietly urging him, Scott, and Isaac to get back to the school. The three of them walked away solemnly, all of them feeling bad for Kyle and Ashley.

"You see the way the twins looked at him?" Isaac asked as they left the group surrounding Kyle's body.

Stiles remembered the look that the alpha twins had given the body and it seemed more like shock than anything else. "Yeah, you mean like they had no idea what happened?"

"No," Isaac said determinedly. "No, they knew."

"The kid was strangled with a garrote, all right?" Stiles spoke with exasperation. "Am I the only one recognizing the lack of 'werewolfitude' in these murders?"

As they came to stop only twenty or so feet away from the crime scene, Isaac faced Stiles with a look of disbelief. "Oh, you think it's a coincidence they turn up and then people start dying?"

"Well, no, but I still don't think it's them."

Both of them turned to Scott, who had been way too quiet for their tastes. "Scott?" Isaac grabbed his attention. "How about you?"

Stiles crossed his arms over his chest expectantly, waiting for Scott to be on his side, only for him to be disappointed.

"I don't know yet."

Stiles raised his eyebrows. "You don't know yet?"

Scott shrugged and nodded toward Isaac. "Well, he's got a point. Seriously, dude, human sacrifices?"

Now Stiles knew what betrayal really felt like. How could Scott—his very best friend, his brother—agree with Isaac over him? His theory was so sound yet he choice to agree with Isaac, when he had only known him for what, six months? He and Stiles had been friends for a decade.

"Scott, your eyes turned into yellow glow sticks, okay?" he was more than a little huffy. "Hair literally grows from your cheeks and then will immediately disappear, and if I were stab you right now, it would just magically heal but you're telling me that you're having trouble grasping human sacrifices?!"

"That's a good point, too," Scott sighed, looking at Isaac; Stiles nodded in satisfaction.

"I don't care," Isaac stated firmly. "They killed that kid, they killed the girl that saved me. I'm gonna kill them, too."

-

-

Ollie: How's Cora doing?

Derek: She's still healing

Olivia raised her eyebrows in surprise, only glancing away from her phone for a second to see if Mr. Harris had turned away from the board; he hadn't.

Ollie: She's actually staying still?

Cora had always been an active child. When they were little, she couldn't count the amount of times Cora asked her to play tag, hide the flag, or go on runs. She had always exhausted Olivia, who wasn't the type to just run around for fun.

Derek: I didn't say that

Olivia huffed silently in amusement and slid her phone back into her leather satchel to turn her attention back to Harris' lecture—of which she had already knew.

"All right," Mr. Harris finished writing on the board and turned to face the class. "since inertia is a subject of which you all know plenty, why don't we start with momentum?"

"Isaac," Scott whispered from behind her and Isaac, who was sitting next to her. For some reason, Stiles was mysteriously missing from his seat beside him. "they're here for a reason. Give me a chance to figure it out before you do anything, okay?"

Apparently the boys had quite the cross-country practice that morning. Stiles and some girl on his team had found a senior's dead body and from the quick explanation that Stiles gave her before he went running off, he had been killed by a three-fold death. Another sacrifice; she wasn't going to lie, it scared the shit out of her.

Olivia glanced at Isaac to see if he was going to agree with Scott but jumped when Mr. Harris got her attention.

"Olivia," she looked over at him to see that he was starting at her expectantly. "what do we know about momentum?"

"It's a product of mass and velocity," Olivia answered easily; this was her thing, after all. "The more massive something is, the faster it's going—"

"Mr. Harris," Isaac interrupted her in order to get the teacher's attention. "can I use the bathroom, please?"

Olivia gave him a half-irritated and half-curious look. Why did he need to go to the bathroom so urgently? She quickly figured it out; he wanted to go after the alpha twins.

Mr. Harris sighed and gestured toward the door. Isaac quickly got to his feet and walked out of the classroom.

Scott rose from his own seat. "I have to go to the bathroom too."

"One at a time," Mr. Harris reminded him of the school-wide rule. The rule was supposed to cut down on hook-ups and smoking or whatever it was that students did while skipping class but she didn't know if it actually worked. The only time she had skipped class was when Stiles was trying to teach Scott control.

"But I really have to go," Scott said urgently as Olivia grimaced, nervous about what Isaac was going to do. "Like, medical emergency have-to-go."

Mr. Harris stiffened and Olivia just knew that he was going to rant. She was right.

"Mr. McCall, if your bladder suddenly exploded and urine began to pour from every orifice, I would still respond with one at a time," despite Mr. Harris' irritation, he kept his voice calm. "Is that enough hyperbole for you or would you like me to come up with something more vivid?"

"No," Scott quickly sat in his seat. "That's pretty good."

All of a sudden, everyone in the classroom heard a huge bang come from the lockers on the other side of the wall. Mr. Harris made his way over to the door and the rest of the class followed him. Olivia and Scott stuck together as they pushed past their classmates in order to see what was going on.

Isaac stood in the middle of the hallway with one of the alpha twins at his feet, beaten up and bloody. Olivia's attention was immediately captured by the other twin, who was casually turning into another hallway; she quickly nudged Scott and nodded at him and his face lit up in realization. It was clear—to them, at least—that Isaac hadn't done anything to the twin at his feet. No, the alphas were trying to get Isaac into trouble.

And it worked.

"Isaac, what the hell did you do?" Mr. Harris asked him angrily. Before Isaac even had a chance to explain, he added, "You'll be seeing me at lunch detention."

They all went back to class and before long, they were at break. Olivia and Scott escorted Isaac out of the room, Olivia holding onto his arm tightly so that he wouldn't lose control.

"Don't let it bother you. It's just lunchtime detention," Scott said as they came to a stop by Isaac's locker. "If all they want right now is to piss you off, then don't give in. They're just trying to get to you."

Isaac paused, his eyes down the hallway. "It's not just me."

Olivia and Scott followed his gaze and saw that one of the twins—the one who hadn't got beaten up—was chatting up Lydia. They watched as he smiled flirtatiously at her until she closed her locker and leaned against it before playfully patting his chest.

Olivia pressed her lips together, displeased. Lydia was her own person and everything but Olivia didn't want her cousin fooling around with someone as dangerous as an alpha who could conjoin bodies with his brother and had a hand in killing Erica.

"Now they're getting to you," Isaac commented to Scott.

Olivia stormed away from Scott and Isaac and made her way down the hall to where Lydia and the alpha were still talking.

"Lydia," she took her cousin's attention away from the twin. "we need to talk."

"We were kind of in the middle of something," the alpha douche objected as Lydia nodded at her.

"Were you?" she asked sarcastically.

"Aiden, here, was offering to help me study," Lydia raised an eyebrow at Olivia, as if to say 'get a load of this guy'.

"Really?" Olivia looked back to Aiden. "You have an IQ higher than 170?" when Aiden faltered, she continued, "No? Didn't think so. Scram."

Aiden narrowed his eyes at her and even though he could rip her apart and it did kind of freak her out, she raised her chin, meeting his gaze head-on. She wasn't going to back down.

"I'll see you later, Aiden," Lydia dismissed him.

Aiden huffed and sent Olivia one last glare before walking away.

Lydia turned to Olivia once he had walked out of the hallway. "What was that about?"

"Lydia, he's one of the alphas," she told her cousin, watching as realization dawned on her face. "Yeah."

"The one that can conjoin...?"

"Yep."

"Shit," Lydia sighed in disappointment. "but he's so hot."

Olivia didn't agree but she and Lydia had always had different taste in guys.

"Sorry—"

Olivia instantly cut herself off as a tingling sensation started in her belly and a flash of Derek's loft came and went quickly as her head and ears started to ache from the intent voices spinning through her mind.

Derek, Derek, Derek. He's in trouble. He's going to die. Derek, Derek, Derek.

She gasped sharply as she came back to reality, noticing that Lydia was giving her a worried look.

"Liv, are you okay?"

"Uh, yeah," Olivia answered distractedly. "I have to go to Derek's."

Lydia furrowed her eyebrows. "What? It's not even lunch yet."

"Yeah, I know," her vision was flashing between normal and purple; she had to get out of there. "I'll, uh, I'll see you later."

She turned away from Lydia and marched out of the school, ignoring the surprised looks that Scott and Isaac were giving her. She quickly got into her car and set to Derek's loft. He was in trouble and if she had to guess, it was the alpha pack who was responsible.

-

-

Stiles peered over the windowsill that allowed him to look into the main office. He could clearly see his dad and Deputy Tara asking Kyle's girlfriend, Ashley, if she knew anything that could help them investigate his death. He waited, trying to listen and gain as much information about Kyle's death as he could—the walls weren't good at keeping out voices, which was a concern for the school—and there were some things he found helpful.

But he still needed to know if Kyle was a virgin.

He waited until Tara had Ashley wait outside of the office while she conferred with Noah to go up to Ashley and speak to her.

"Um, hi, Ashley," he greeted her hesitantly, reminding himself to have tact; she looked at him unsurely. "Can I talk to you for just one sec?"

After she nodded silently, he gently moved her so his dad nor Tara could hear what he was going to ask her. He was going to Hell for it, he didn't need to get into trouble with his dad, too.

"I just need to ask you something really quick and it's gonna sound really unbelievably insensitive, so I apologize in advance," he cringed and took a deep breath. "Um, was Kyle a virgin?"

Ashley jerked her head a little, surprised. "What?"

"Your boyfriend," Stiles said patiently. "was he a virgin or did you guys, you know, have sex—"

Stiles was cut off by a harsh slap in the face. His head turned to the side, he blinked in shock while his left cheek stung from the force of Ashley's slap.

Yeah, I deserved that, he thought to himself.

He looked back at Ashley, about to serve her an apology, but she was being whisked away by Deputy Tara, who was giving him a look of disapproval. They were only a few feet away from him when Ashely turned back to him.

"No, he wasn't a virgin."

Her answer had his mind racing. There were only three virgin sacrifices then, which made everything all the more confusing. Then again, the number three did have a bunch of meanings, especially for ancient civilizations. Maybe that could be something to go on...

"Have you completely lost your mind?" his dad's voice brought him out of his head. Stiles took one look at his father's angry expression and bowed his head, scratching his nose unsurely. "I've got four murders, Stiles. You see those men in there? That's the FBI. They're pulling together a task force to help because it looks like we've got a full-blown serial killer on our hands. You get that?"

Stiles pressed his lips together, trying not to get angry in response. "Yes, Dad, I get that."

"Then what are you doing?"

He hesitated for a moment. "I'm trying to find a pattern."

And right now, all he had were three virgins and Kyle to go on.

His dad wasn't pleased with his answer but he didn't yell at him again, either, so that was a plus. With another disappointed look—which Stiles was more than used to by now—Noah was on his way and Stiles had to get back to school. Thankfully, the juniors were on lunch break so he had time to visit Kyle's locker, where a memorial of sorts was set up for him.

Kyle's locker was covered in brown paper so that his friends and classmates could write messages to him and put up any pictures they might have had with him. He read through the messages, each one of them a memory of the person of Kyle. Though Stiles knew Kyle because he was an athlete and they went to the same school fundraisers and stuff but he hadn't known him very well. He seemed like a cool guy and the memories on his locker supported that.

Stiles stepped back from the locker as Boyd came over and clipped a blue card with the ROTC emblem on it to the brown paper.

"Hey, Boyd," Stiles nodded at him in surprise. "I didn't know you were back at school."

Olivia didn't tell him anything about it. She had said that Cora, her cousin who came back from the dead—which was really confusing, by the way—was still healing but nothing about Boyd.

"Yeah, I would have told you but we're not actually friends," Boyd stated.

Ouch.

"Oh, yeah," Stiles blinked awkwardly and hurried to move on. "Hey, so did you, uh—so did you know Kyle?"

"Yeah," Boyd nodded, looking back at Kyle's locker with a solemn look on his face. "we were in Junior ROTC together."

"So, you two were friends, then?"

"I only had one friend. She's dead too."

Boyd quickly walked off after that, leaving Stiles to look back at Kyle's locker unsurely. He took another minute to study it for any hints that might have led Kyle to his murder before turning to walk away.

While he walked through the hallways to his locker, he pulled out his phone to call Olivia. She didn't answer, even after three calls. It concerned him, because she should be at lunch just like he was and she usually looked through her phone while eating. She wouldn't just ignore his calls since they had made up and apologized to each other about the fight they had the week before.

He was about to call her a fourth time when he spotted Lydia at her locker, down the hall from his. He quickly made his way over to her, ignoring the annoyed look she shot him when he popped up next to her.

"Hey, have you heard from Olivia?" he asked her while shooting a few texts to his girlfriend.

Sweetcheeks: Hey, where are you?

Sweetcheeks: Why are you ignoring my calls?

Sweetcheeks: Are you okay?

"She went to Derek's," Lydia told him as she grabbed her textbook for her next class. "She had an episode."

"She did?" he asked worriedly. "Did she say what was wrong?"

"Nope."

"And you didn't go after her?"

"Nope."

Stiles scoffed in disbelief. "Why not? You know she's all out of whack when she has her episodes. Aren't you a little worried about what was so wrong with Derek that she had an episode in the first place?"

Lydia shrugged, frowning slightly. "Scott didn't seem worried."

Stiles rolled his eyes and messaged Olivia again.

Sweetcheeks: Do you need me to come to Derek's?

He was in the middle of an investigation but he would drop it for her, especially if she was in any danger.

His phone dinged:

Livvy: Everything's fine. Don't come here.

All right, then, Stiles furrowed his eyebrows and stuffed his phone back in his pocket.

"Okay, I can't talk to Livvy about this but I can talk to you, right?" he addressed Lydia as she closed her locker.

Lydia sighed, like listening to him was the most boring thing she had ever had to do in her life. "I guess."

Stiles didn't pay attention to her attitude. He didn't have Olivia to bounce ideas off at the moment so the next best person who had the same amount of knowledge of him and Olivia was Lydia. She would have to deal with him.

"Okay, so did you know that there's a temple in Calcutta where they used to sacrifice a child every day? That's every day a dead baby, Lydia, every day!" he exclaimed as they walked out of the school and through campus to the building that held the cafeteria. "Hey, you want to know what today is? It's dead baby day. Oh no, wait, that's every day because every day is dead baby day, yay!"

Lydia rolled her eyes. "Why are you telling me this?"

"Because Livvy's not here and Scott, Isaac, and Allison are dealing with the alpha twins," he answered diligently. "You know about them, right?"

"Yep, Ethan and Aiden," Lydia confirmed almost bitterly. "Liv shared the news this morning."

"Good, good," Stiles nodded and continued with his theory. "So look, here's what I'm thinking. I'm thinking that the murders maybe come in threes. Ancient people love things in threes, right?"

Lydia shrugged lightly.

"So, maybe first it's three virgins and then, I don't know, maybe it's three people who own little dogs."

Lydia stopped in her tracks—Stiles following her lead—and stared at him blankly. "We have a little dog." Stiles grimaced. "We're not getting rid of Sirius."

"Look, I love Siri as much as you and Livvy but if—"

"No," Lydia interrupted him sharply as they started walking again. "And by the way, you can't discern a pattern by a single data point, so stop trying."

Somehow, he knew that Olivia would have said the same thing.

"Okay, so what, I'm just supposed to wait around for someone else to die then?" Stiles asked, growing a little irritated. "I'm just supposed to sit there and watch them die? Just wait for them to wither up and die right in front of me?"

Lydia paused again, giving him a strange look. "Wither?"

Wither might have been the wrong word, he admitted to himself.

"You know what I mean," he snapped and gestured wildly as he continued, "Die in just a hideously awful, strangulating, head-bashing, throat-cutting kind of way."

Lydia grimaced and looked away, making him feel bad because he knew that she had seen Heath's body the same way as he did.

"Maybe it's not your job," Lydia said after a few seconds. "They were strangled with a garrote and we both agreed that it was something a human would do, so...Maybe you should just leave the figuring out part to someone human."

"You mean someone like my dad?"

"No, I mean your dad," Lydia emphasized, rolling her eyes as she began to walk away from him. "The sheriff!"

-

When Olivia received the warning that Derek was in trouble, she expected that something was wrong and that it had to do with the alpha pack. What she didn't expect, however, was that the alpha pack—other than Ethan and Aiden—would be gathered in the loft and that the female alpha would have Derek pinned to his hands and knees on the floor, a metal pipe impaled through his stomach.

She had been taken aback by just how serious the situation was. Maybe she should have asked Scott and Isaac to come with her. Maybe she shouldn't have told Stiles that everything was okay.

All eyes went to her as she frantically pushed the metal door open and stepped into the loft. Other than the twins and the brief glimpses from Isaac's memories, she hadn't seen the other alphas that made up the alpha pack. There were three of them in Derek's loft; the female who was hovering over Derek, who looked like she could be feral and in need of a desperate pedicure to take care of her clawed toenails; a massive guy who was standing behind Cora to make sure she wouldn't move, his head bald and his muscles massive; and a guy who sat in front of Derek that she figured was Deucalion due to his seeking cane and dark glasses.

Her skin crawled from their attention; the female smirked viciously and the huge guy eyed her with cruel eyes.

"Ah, Olivia, right on time," Deucalion greeted her casually, causing her eyes to widen in fear.

"Ollie—" Derek grunted, unable to speak because the female alpha twisted the metal pipe in his stomach.

"Ollie, get out of here," Cora urged, glancing from her to Deucalion.

"Oh, no, she should stay, I insist," Deucalion stated. "Ennis..."

The big one, which was now known as Ennis, made his way toward her. Olivia didn't dare move, listening to the voices in her head that warned her that fleeing would be a bad choice. Ennis roughly took one of her arms and shoved the door closed with the other, before dragging her over to stand next to Cora, where he could watch over the both of them to make sure they wouldn't make any moves against him or his packmates.

Finally, Olivia found her voice, her eyes stinging as her eyes locked on her cousin's form. "You're killing him."

The female turned to her with a smirk and shook one of her clawed fingers at her. "Not yet, little Anchor, but I could," Olivia paled when she turned back to Derek and nudged and twisted the pipe. "Who knows if it's five minutes or five hours before it's too late to take this thing out. But, just to be on the safe side, Duke, you might want to get to the point."

"Now that Olivia's here, I can," Deucalion rubbed his hands together and addressed Derek, continuing their earlier conversation that Olivia wasn't privy to. "You see the problem with being in an alpha pack. Everybody wants to make the decisions. Me? I'm more about discovering new talents. Like your cousin over there," Olivia winced in fear and when Cora took her hand, she squeezed it tightly. "And you."

Derek coughed and blood splattered on the floor beneath him. "Not interested."

"But you haven't even heard my pitch."

"You want me to..." Derek was panting, in too much pain to speak quickly or all at once. "kill my own pack."

Olivia's eyes widened. We're screwed.

She had known that the alpha pack were after Derek as she had been privy to that knowledge since the beginning of summer but this situation was much, much worse than she thought. They wanted Derek to kill his pack—which sucked for her, Isaac, Boyd, and now Cora—and for some reason, they wanted her, too.

And all she could come up with for a reason for that was that she was an anchor.

"No, I want you to kill one of them," Deucalion told Derek. "Do that and I won't have to ask you to kill the others. You'll do it on your own. I did it. Ennis did. Kali did," Olivia guessed that was the female and she was proved correct when Deucalion nodded at her. "Tell him what it's like, Kali, to kill one of your own."

Olivia and Cora shared a horrified look as Kali answered him, "Mm," she hummed. "liberating."

"Listen to me, Derek," Deucalion drawled in his British accent. "Do you really want to stay beholden to a couple of maladjusted teenagers bound to become a liability? And believe me, they will become a liability. In fact, I have a feeling one of them is getting himself into trouble right now. Just ask dear Olivia."

For a moment, Olivia had no idea what he was talking about. Then, her gaze went purple and her mind flitted away from reality. The part of her brain—or soul, or whatever, that kept track of her pack—told her that Isaac was losing control. She didn't know why and she didn't know where, but she knew that he was having trouble.

"Isaac."

She didn't know that she had spoken her friend's name but Deucalion, Kali, and Ennis stared at her intently as she went through another episode, like the one that had led her to Derek's loft. Cora squeezed her hand, trying to get her attention—she hadn't seen Olivia like this yet—but it was no use.

Olivia's mind was split as she heard herself mentally call for Allison. She was in danger and Isaac...Isaac was with her—No, Isaac was the one who hurt her. He didn't mean it, but he was out of control for some reason.

Isaac, Allison, Isaac, Allison...

Come on, Isaac, she mentally pleaded to him. You're in control. I'm here with you and you're in control. Just hang on. Come on, come on...

Olivia came to when she felt a familiar voice rock its way through her head and Isaac took control of himself. Her wrist tingled from Allison's injury but she knew that her friend would be okay. So would Isaac.

"Fascinating," Deucalion said while she noticed that he, Kali, Ennis, and Cora were staring at her; she blinked and the purple in her vision went away. "See, the reason I'm always interested in new talent is simple," he stood up and folded his cane, his head still facing Olivia, though she knew he was addressing Derek again. "The stronger the individual parts, the greater the whole."

He unfolded his cane again, letting it snap back into place. "When I lost my sight, one of my betas assumed I wasn't fit for my role anymore. He tried to take it from me," he folded the cane again; Olivia guessed he was fiddling with it for symbolism, though she was pretty sure that her, Derek, and Cora could understand perfectly fine. "Killing him taught me something about alphas I didn't know they could do. His power was added to mine. I became stronger, faster, more powerful than I'd ever been."

Olivia shivered but tried to stomp her fear down. Although she knew that the alphas could probably smell it on her, she didn't want to give them the satisfaction of letting it show on her face of with her body language.

"I tested this new ability to subsume the power of your own by killing another one," he continued as he folded another part of his cane. "In fact, Derek, I killed them all," he folded the cane again. "I took the individual parts and became a greater individual whole."

Deucalion shook out his cane, making it snap together once again. He kneeled in front of Derek, who was getting weaker and weaker—Olivia was hearing more of his name than what Deucalion was saying at that point—and grabbed his head, pulling it up so he could feel Derek's facial features.

"You're right, Kali. He looks like his mother," he commented as he stood up again, slowly walking over to the table in front of the wall of windows. "You'll get to know me, Derek, like she did."

More blood dripped out of Derek's mouth as he spoke, "I know you. I know what you are," he grunted breathlessly. "You're a fanatic."

And psycho, Olivia added in her head.

Deucalion set his cane on the table and turned so he was facing Derek and the others again. "Know me?" he repeated slowly, his voice hard. "You've never seen anything like me."

Thunder started to rumble as he raised his voice. "I am the alphas of alphas," lightning flashed somewhere outside the building. "I am the apex of apex predators! I am death, destroyer of worlds! I AM THE DEMON WOLF!"

Olivia winced in pain and stepped backward with Cora, both of them hiding behind a pillar from the fear that Deucalion's words and alpha voice had stirred in them. Even though she wasn't a werewolf, her entire being told her that she needed to obey and cower from the alpha in front of them. His display of power and ambiance struck such a fear in her that she had never felt before.

She hid her face in Cora's shoulder and only looked up when the lightning and thunder stopped. Deucalion's glasses had cracked and when he took them off, his eyes were crimson red. His voice and demeanor had softened into a casual tone that only psychopaths could manage after such strong words he had given only a second before, "I hate when that happens."

Kali ripped the metal pipe from Derek's body and smirked when he started to fall to the floor, the puddle of his own blood soaking his skin and clothing. Ennis stepped away from behind Olivia and Cora and followed behind Kali as she grabbed Deucalion's arm and led him out of the loft.

When the metal door slid shut behind them, both Olivia and Cora rushed to Derek where he was laying on the floor. Tears stung Olivia's eyes as they coaxed him into a sitting a position, both of them sighing in relief when they saw that his wound was already healing.

Olivia glanced at the door once more; they were in deep trouble.

-

-

Having no idea what was going on across town in Derek's loft, Stiles had skipped class in order to speak to someone who he thought would know what was going on with all of the murders.

He parked in place outside of the animal clinic, glad that no one seemed to be there but Deaton, and entered the building. Deaton, dressed casually in a t-shirt and no coat—Stiles guessed he was at lunch—walked out behind the front to see how it was that had the dogs in the back barking like crazy.

Deaton gave him a surprised look. "You're out of school early."

"Yeah, free period, actually," Stiles lied. "Um, I was just headed home to see my dad. He's, uh—you know, I guess you probably heard people are kind of getting murdered again. It's his job to figure it out."

"I gathered as much from the sheriff title," Deaton stated sarcastically, though the tone kind of fell flat. It was a good thing that Stiles was fluent in sarcasm.

"Yeah," he nodded. "You know, but it gets kind of hard for him to do his job when he doesn't have all the information. And we all know he's missing pretty much half of the story here, right?

Yeah, um... You know, but it gets kind of hard for him to do his job when he doesn't have all the information. And we all know he's missing pretty much half the story here, right? So—so, then I started thinking and I remembered someone who does have a lot of information."

He saw Deaton shift uncomfortably and figured he was in the right place.

"Someone who always seems to know more than anyone else around here," he finished, giving the veterinarian a pointed look. "You."

Deaton pressed his lips together and nodded toward the back of the building where his exam room was. "Let's talk back here."

When Deaton opened the wooden gate to let him back, Stiles quickly walked through and shut it behind him, knowing that it was important to the man that the mountain ash barrier was always complete in order to protect him from wandering werewolves and the like.

"All these symbols and things, the triskeles, the bank logo, the mountain ash," he started speaking rapidly, hoping to get answers right away. "all of it is from the Celtic druids and anyone who has ever looked up human sacrifice before knows that the druids had a pretty big hard-on when it came to giving one up to the gods. You ever hear of the Lindow Man?"

Deaton just stared at him and Stiles knew that the veterinarian was intelligent and probably knew of the story but he told the gist of it anyway.

"He was a two-thousand-year-old body found in England. He was found strangled, head bashed in, throat cut—a threefold death," Stiles stated firmly. "They also found pollen grains in his stomach. Guess what favorite druid plant that was?"

Deaton picked a jar out of the box on the steel table they were standing around and pulled a sprig from it to show to Stiles. "Mistletoe."

Stiles stared at the plant for a few seconds before he looked back up to Deaton's face. "I'm just telling you everything you already know, aren't I?" Deaton didn't say anything, which was an answer in of itself. "Then why aren't you telling us?"

Deaton put the jar of mistletoe back in the box and looked at him, ashamed. "Maybe because when you've spent every moment of the last ten years trying to push something away—denying it, lying about it—it becomes a pretty powerful habit."

Stiles softened only a little. "All right, so this guy—is he a druid?"

"No," Deaton shook his head. "It's someone copying a centuries-old practice of a people who should have known better. Do you know what the word druid means in Gaelic?"

"No."

"It means wise oak," Deaton informed him. "The Celtic druids were close to nature. They believed they kept it in balance. They were philosophers and scholars. They weren't serial killers."

"Yeah, well this one is," Stiles scoffed lightly, only to pause when his phone vibrated in his jeans pocket. He answered it, seeing that it was Lydia who was calling. "Hey, I can't talk right now."

"Well, Olivia isn't answering my calls, so you're my best bet," Lydia rushed, her voice panicked. "Look, I'm in the band room and the teacher is missing."

"Wait, what?" Stiles blinked in shock. "He's missing."

"That's what I said!"

"Are you sure?"

"Actually, I'm not sure he's missing," Lydia corrected herself, exhaling deeply. "I think he was taken. Like Heath and the Kyle guy were."

Stiles pressed his lips together and looked over at Deaton, who was patiently waiting to hear about what was going on. "I'll be right there and I'm bringing Deaton with."

Twenty minutes later, after several calls to Olivia—who still wasn't answering, which was a whole other panic-inducing situation—and sneaking Deaton into the school without a visitor's pass, the two of them, plus Lydia, were searching through the band room to find anything that could tell them where the band teacher had gone. It wasn't a question of if he simply didn't make it to class, the bloody handprint on the piano gave them enough evidence to the contrary.

While Deaton listened to a recording on the teacher's phone, Stiles searched through his desk. The creepy voices coming from the speakers creeped Stiles the fuck out but he kept himself busy by going through the teacher's stuff.

"Can we get a copy of this?" Deaton asked Lydia, who stood by his side.

Lydia took the phone ands started to transfer the recording to herself so she could pass it onto Deaton.

Stiles opened the top drawer in the desk, finding nothing so far. "Hey, Doc, any held would be, you know, helpful."

"Each grouping of three would have its own purpose, its own type of power," Deaton spoke thoughtfully. "Virgins, healers, philosophers, warriors—"

A lightbulb went off in Stiles' head as he laid his eyes on the photograph on the teacher's desk. It was from his wedding, where he stood next to his gown-clad wife in his military uniform.

"Wait, wait, wait," he cut Deaton off as he picked up the picture, his mind still racing. "Warrior, could that also be like a soldier?"

Deaton nodded. "Absolutely."

Stiles showed him and Lydia the photo and added, "Kyle was in the ROTC with Boyd."

"That's got to be it. That's the pattern," Deaton declared. "Where's Boyd?"

Stiles grabbed his phone from his pocket and glanced at the time as he started to call Boyd. "He's probably home by now. I'm gonna try to get him on the phone."

He pressed the phone to his ear as Deaton looked over at Lydia, who was stiff and looking ahead of her thoughtfully. "Lydia, is something wrong?"

Lydia shook her head. "No, it was, uh," she grimaced. "I mean, I just thought of someone else with a military connection."

Stiles dropped his phone from his ear, ending the call before Boyd even answered. "Who?"

"Mr. Harris."

Stiles sighed in realization; why was their dick of a science teacher involved in every supernatural drama that ever came up in Beacon Hills? "He went to West Point. He has the honor code on his desk and everything."

Lydia bit her lip. "We should go see if he's in his classroom."

He wasn't. The classroom was empty by the time Stiles, Lydia, and Deaton entered, and Mr. Harris wasn't to be found. On his desk were many ungraded tests, though some of them had letters written in red at the top, and his briefcase was on the floor next to the desk.

Deaton looked around the room cautiously. "This is just one of many possibilities," he muttered as he came to the desk where he and Lydia were looking around. "He could have simply left for the day."

"Yeah, well, not without this," Stiles grabbed Harris' briefcase and held it up for Deaton to see.

As he set the briefcase back down, something caught his eye. One of the graded tests he had looked at before didn't hold an A, B, C, D, or F. At the top of the packet was a letter that he had never seen on graded homework before; it was a 'R'.

"What?"

"This test is graded 'R,'" he showed Deaton and Lydia the packet.

Lydia pursed her lips and looked down at the tests, grabbing another one that was graded unusually. "This one's an 'H.'"

A bewildered expression passed over Deaton's face as he grabbed both of the tests from them. He set them on Harris' desk and rearranged some of the tests until the letter grades spelt out, 'DARACH'.

"Stiles," his voice conveyed the worry on his face. "you remembered how I told you druid is the Gaelic word for wise oak?"

"Yeah," what did that have to do with anything?

Deaton had his answer. "If a druid went down the wrong path, the wise oak was sometimes said to have become a dark oak," he looked over at him. "There's a Gaelic word for that as well. Darach."

Stiles grimaced; they were in deep trouble.

-

-

Olivia would probably be scrubbing Derek's blood from her nail beds for a week. It seemed like it was everywhere but in reality, it was isolated in the puddle in front of her where it had started to dry on the floorboards as she mopped and scrubbed it away. She wasn't one to get sick over blood but she still wasn't a big fan of it—especially when she had the job of cleaning it up.

Cora was upstairs with Derek, helping him clean and disinfect his wound before it healed up all the way so that left Olivia to do the work. Isaac, the little fucker, had refused to help her clean it up when he got home from school, and she would never forgive him. She had been on her knees the past hour or so after she finished mopping, trying to get the stain out of the floorboards. She was almost there.

"I think you missed a spot," Isaac called idly from his place on Derek's couch, his English textbook opened on his lap.

"Isaac, I swear, if you say another word..." her voice took on a warning tone that had Isaac smirking to himself.

Satisfied that he wouldn't say anything else, Olivia went back to the large, soapy sponge in her hands, wishing that the stain would just be gone already. She didn't want Derek to have to see it; her cousin was more than capable of protecting himself physically but she wanted to support him, even if she had to clean up his blood so he wouldn't have to do it himself.

She heard the metal door slide open and she only stiffened for a second before looking up and sighing in relief when she saw who it was. Stiles walked into the loft and rolled the door closed behind him before turning around to look at Isaac and then Olivia.

"What are you doing?" he asked curiously.

"She's cleaning up Derek's blood," Isaac answered casually, turning the page of his book. "He had a little accident."

Olivia rolled her eyes at him and then looked back at Stiles. "The alpha pack made a surprise visit."

Stiles winced worriedly. "You're not hurt, are you?"

"No, but Derek was," for the moment, Olivia gave up on the blood stain, throwing the sponge in the bucket of pink water and getting to her feet. "Kali decided that he needed a pipe through the stomach."

"Fuck, that had to hurt," Stiles made his way over to her, wrapping an arm around her shoulder and pressing a quick kiss to her temple. "Why'd they come?"

"They want Derek for their pack," Olivia kept it simple for now; she could tell him all the details later.

Stiles, who usually had a hard time picking up silent signals that a person didn't want to talk, just nodded in understanding. Olivia was one of the people he could read the easiest—other than his dad and Scott—so he knew she didn't want to talk about it. Usually, he would have pushed her to tell him anything but for some reason, he knew that tonight wasn't the night.

Olivia looked away from Stiles' face when she noticed that Cora was descending from the spiral staircase. Her cousin was dressed in a black t-shirt now, rather than her workout clothes, and her hands were cleaned of her brother's blood.

"How is he?" she asked her.

"He's getting dressed," Cora answered, her eyes flitting toward Stiles before pointing at him. "I know you."

Olivia furrowed her eyebrows as she looked between her cousin and her boyfriend. "How do you know Stiles?"

Stiles' eyes were lit up in recognition, as well as horror and embarrassment. "We met last summer," he told Olivia before looking at Cora accusingly. "You said your name was Cara."

Cora folded her arms over her chest, looking uncomfortable. "Yeah, well, I lied."

Shit, I'm fucked, Stiles cursed himself. I'm so fucking fucked.

Olivia was still confused. "Wait, what?"

Stiles nor Cora got a chance to answer as Derek came downstairs, cleaned up and dressed warmly to combat the slightly chill air from the storm going on outside. Olivia, Stiles, Isaac, and Cora turned to him and waited for him to say something.

Derek's expression was somber as he addressed Isaac. "Isaac, I need you to leave."

Olivia shut her eyes tightly; somehow, she knew this was coming. She knew Derek better than she knew most people; it was unfortunate that he was doing this but he was trying to protect Isaac. She just hoped he wouldn't screw it up.

"When should I come back?" Isaac misunderstood his alpha's words, closing his textbook and standing to his feet.

"No, I need you to move out," Derek elaborated, a grimace on his face. "It's for your own safety."

Isaac gave him a curious look. "Did something happen?"

"It—the alpha pack—" Derek shook his head. "Look, it's not important. You didn't do anything wrong but I need you to go."

Isaac's blue eyes were wide as he looked between Derek, Cora, and Olivia. "Where am I supposed to go?"

Olivia's heart ached for him; the loft was Isaac's home. He had been with Derek since his father was killed by the kanima last spring and he had no other family to go to. She was going to offer him a room at her and Lydia's house but surprisingly, Stiles was the one to speak up.

"I don't have a guest room at my place but Scott does," he said, uncharacteristically kind—when it came to Isaac, anyway. "I'm sure Melissa won't mind."

Derek looked at Isaac and Olivia could see the sadness in his eyes; he truly cared for his betas and he hated the fact that he had to send one away from his home. "Is that okay for now?"

Isaac nodded hesitantly. "Yeah, it's fine."

(Gif is not mine)

[kasdeyathebitterwoman]

Feelings Challenge - Angry

The gauntlet has been thrown and I am heeding the call! (finally) I was challenged by @viking-raider to do the Emotions Collection for the one and only Henry Cavill 🖤 As part of that collection, there is: [Happy], [Sad], [Angry], [Anxious], [Exhausted], [Playful]

Note: I did write these as individual pieces. You can read them in any order, in any way you see fit. 

Alrighty, here is Anger for the writing challenge. This was a weird one for me to write because Henry doesn’t strike me as an angry individual. Then again, this is fanfiction, so here is my interpretation of an angry Henners 🖤 Word Count: 1,554 CW: mentions of - foster care, homelessness; reference to self-harm; blood

taglist:

@maeleeme @andyrazzledazzle @oddsnendsfanfics @fanfictionaddiction99 @jhenno2002 @mitzwinchester @xceafh @henrycavillluv32 @severuined @queenslandlover-93 @thummbelina @chamomilebottom @deep-in-my-thoughts13 @henryslilprincess @constip8merm8 @ravenpuff02 @henry-cavill-obsessed @lebguardians @the-soot-sprite @speakerforthedead0-blog @burdenedwith-gloriouslove @peakygroupie

Henry slammed the laptop screen down with force. He didn’t care if the screen cracked or became damaged. None of that mattered at this point. He closed his eyes, pinched the bridge of his nose, and sucked in through his nose. Earlier when he came home, he found you making chocolate chip cookies from scratch. It wouldn’t have meant anything to him if he hadn’t noticed the rack of blueberry muffins cooling over by the sink. You weren’t commissioned to make anything for a client nor could he think of you mentioning needing to bake something for the shelter. 

He walked up behind you as you folded in the chocolate chips, wrapping his arms around your waist and placing his chin gently on top of your head. You didn’t break your concentration as you slowly and methodically worked the chips into the batter. 

“Whatcha doin’?” he asked, dipping his head so his lips were down by your ear. 

“Just baking,” you replied. Henry couldn’t tell if he was imagining it, but your voice sounded softer, quieter than usual. He glanced over at the muffins and noticed a container of brownies. Something was definitely wrong. 

“Do you want to talk about it?” he asked, taking a chance on his assumption. Immediately, he felt your spine straighten and heard the sharp intake of breath. Your head dropped just a little and you gently shook it, silently saying no. That wasn’t what he wanted to hear, but Henry was never going to press you to talk when you didn’t want to. “Okay,” he murmured. “I’m here when you’re ready,” he gave you a gentle squeeze. “I love you,” he whispered in your ear before leaving a soft peck on your temple. 

“I love you too, Henry,” you said out loud though you didn’t look at him. Henry pursed his lips but said nothing else. He left you in the kitchen with every intention of coming back for a brownie. And a muffin. And a stack of cookies. God, your baked goods were the stuff of dreams, especially when he was dieting and couldn’t have any of it. 

He walked into his office and logged onto his laptop. He got some work done, responding to emails, but his mind kept drifting back to you. He knew you’d open up eventually about what was bothering you. The problem was, Henry wanted to know now. He wanted to do something now, so he started digging. It didn’t take long to find the issue. Just a quick Google search and a scroll through some comments brought him to the source of the problem. Of all things, it was a simple picture.

A few weeks ago, in a surge of young love and happiness, Henry posted a picture of the two of you together. Overall, the comments on his Instagram were tame, but the image began circulating the Internet and before long it was in the hands of some not-so-savory people. While the commentary wasn’t great, it wasn’t horrible, at least until his eyes found one that was particularly ugly. It was two sentences, but they were cruel enough to send Henry over the edge.

This all led him here to this moment. Sitting here, pinching the bridge of his nose, breathing hard to control the anger that was coursing through his body. Where did they get off saying things like that? How could anyone say that to another human - to another person they had never met? He shook his head and grunted, turning in his chair. He stopped as soon as he saw you in the doorway. Your arms were wrapped around your waist and you stood a little hunched. 

“I’m guessing you saw,” you say quietly. It’s not a question so much as it is a statement. 

“Yeah,” he replies, his jaw rolling. “God,” he hissed. He pushed himself up from his chair and began pacing. His breath was coming in short bursts while he shuffled along the carpet. 

“Henry,” your voice is soft. He hears the plea in your tone, but he doesn’t want to give in. 

“No, you know what? I’m not going to calm down this time,” he replies. “I am not disappointed. I am not frustrated. I am furious,” he spits. He hears you sigh. 

“I don’t want you to be angry,” 

“Well, I am,” he stops, pinching the bridge of his nose again. “Someone should be angry,” 

“No, Henry. No one should be angry,” you tell him. His head whips up.

“Yes, they should. Someone should be pissed at these comments. They should be upset that someone would say anything like that to a person they don’t even know,” his voice raises slowly as he speaks. He’s not yelling, but he’s not using his usual, even tone. 

“You just want someone to blame,” 

“You’re damn right I want someone to blame,” he spits. He shakes his head, furrowing his brow further. “I-I have to go for a walk or something. I’ll punch a wall if I just stand around here,” he growls. He storms towards and past you into the hallway, feeling no regret for the hurt that is painted across your face.  

He leaves without you in a flurry, so it's only him, Kal, and his thoughts. Henry goes over what little details you'd shared with him over the years. Your sad childhood, your time in the foster system, and the homeless shelters. He almost cried thinking about the scars, visible and hidden, that littered your body. Despite all of that, you were the most beautiful woman he'd ever seen. A fresh wave of rage washed over him as he thought about that comment. As he thought about someone having the courage to say that anonymously rather than to your face. His jaw rolled while his fists pulsed, clenching and unclenching.

Well over an hour later, Henry stepped into the house with Kal. He had calmed down somewhat, though the heat of the anger was still bubbling under the surface. He knew that if he talked to you and maybe his mum later, he’d be okay. There was still some noise coming from the kitchen. As he took Kal off his leash, he heard a plate shattering and a hiss. He rushed in to find you holding your hand over the sink as blood gushed from a cut. 

“Y/n!” he exclaimed, darting over to you. 

“I’m fine,” you mutter, placing your hand under the running water, flinching at the contact. 

“You’re not fine. What happened?” he asks. 

“A plate broke,” you huff, grimacing as you pull your hand out of the water and inspect the damage. It’s a pretty bad cut.

“This is just great,” Henry mutters under his breath, but you hear it. You sigh and shake your head. “What?” he asks. 

“I just don’t understand why you are so angry,” you state. Your attention is on your hand so you don’t notice Henry’s brow furrowing or the lines deepening around his lips. 

“Someone told the woman I love to-to,” he can’t even complete the sentence he’s so angry. You turn your attention to him. 

“So?” you demand. Henry snaps back to you, surprised. “So what? Do you have any idea what high school boys say about fosters? Especially about the girls? Well, do you?” you insist hysterically. 

“Y/n, I,” he stammers, but you’re still going. 

“No, you know what, Henry? I have a reason to be angry. I do. I have a reason to hate the world, but I choose not to. What’s your excuse?” you stare at him for a beat, before storming out of the room. He sighs, standing there alone for a moment. Your words weigh on his heart like cinder blocks. Slowly, he can feel the heat of his anger fading. Taking in a deep breath, he searches for you only to find you in the bathroom attempting to bandage your hand. 

“Let me help you,” he murmurs. You freeze in place, but allow him to look at your hand. “Should probably go to the hospital,” he states. 

“I can take myself,” 

“Let me take you,” he looks at you with a plea in his eyes. “Please,” you purse your lips. 

“Are you going to drive erratically and curse out all the other drivers?” you ask sardonically. Henry chuckles just a little. 

“No,” that seems to soften you a little. You look up at him and can hear the gears turning in his head. “I, erm, I’ve had a slice of humble pie thrown in my face pretty recently,” he gives you a cautious look. The comment about the pie seems to have softened you completely.

“I understand why you were upset and believe it or not, I do appreciate it. But you of all people should know that anger doesn’t solve anything,” he smiles a little. 

“I know. You’re right, I do know that and I lost sight of it,” he cups your face gently. “Thank you for reminding me of that,” he watches you with those intense blue eyes. You can see the toll all of this took plainly on his face. 

“Anytime,” you murmur. 

“Now, can I please take you to the hospital? It looks like a freaking crime scene in here,” he states. Unable to stay upset, you break out in laughter. 

[just-dreaming-marvel]

ONE HUNDRED FORTY ONE - RETURNING (3)

LEGACY: A Tony Stark Daughter Story

FULL STORY MASTERLIST

ENDING THREE MASTERLIST

< previous (make sure you’ve read the previous chapter. even if you think you have, double check.)

Word Count: 1,725ish

Summary: Steve goes to return the Stones.

Over the next few days, our yard and the forest around us started to become home to the homeless Avengers. RV trailers were brought in and everyone found a place to call their temporary home. I could tell that Pepper appreciated all of it, the friends and the distraction to help. Clean up of the destroyed compound also started, with Rhodey heading it. Bruce and I got the nano bots out of my head as well as built another quantum portal with Rocket’s help. Rocket, the other Guardians, and Thor left for space soon after that. It was a hard good bye. But Nebula and Rocket gave me a device so that I could get a hold of them anytime I wanted to. 

We all supported each other, all of us understanding that none of us should be alone. Everyone was especially attentive to Morgan, making sure that all her needs were met. Bucky was the best with her, surprisingly. Always willingly playing with her and making sure that she was okay. I could tell that sometimes he was just doing it to appease her. She was definitely a Stark, pushing other peoples limits. Bucky also kept a careful eye out on me. It was all very much appreciated. 

Clint and I thought that doing a memorial for Nat would be good. We held it at his farm, with his family, Rhodey, Happy, Pepper, Morgan, Bruce, Sam, Bucky, Wanda, and Steve. It was nice and very thoughtful. I got a few weird looks because of the lack of tears, but Wanda and Pepper understood why. I had seen her, talked to her since she passed. I knew that she was okay. That she was at peace and taking care of Tony for me. 

Soon, the day finally arrived when the quantum portal was finished and Steve was ready to take the Stones as well as Mjolnir back. We built the portal a little ways away from the cabin, in the woods near Steve and Sam’s trailer. Steve, Bucky, Sam, Bruce, and I were the ones there to see him off, with only Bucky and I knowing Steve’s true intentions. Bruce and I were plugging some last things into the machine when I noticed that he was struggling. Him using the gauntlet rendered his right arm useless and scared him up to his face. I tried to help heal him, but the Hulk part wouldn’t allow it.

“Here,” I said, moving over to finishing typing for him. “I got it.”

“Thanks,” he said.

As we finished, I felt another presence close by. A familiar one, I pushed it down though as Steve walked up to us, thinking it was probably just him anyway. 

“Remember…” Bruce started. “You have to return the stones at the exact moment you got them. Or you’re gonna open up a bunch of nasty alternative realities.” 

“Don’t worry, Bruce,” Steve reassured. “Clip all the branches.”

“You know, I tried. When I had the gauntlet, the stones, I really tried to bring her back.” Bruce looked at Steve. “I miss them, man.” 

“Me, too.” Steve looked away from Bruce and focused on me. “Me too.”

I could feel the pain and conflict within him. I shook my head, trying to clear it, and made my way towards Bucky. If he was that conflicted, he wouldn’t stay back with her, but I didn’t really have hope for that. I used to think that when it came down to Steve choosing people two people, he’d always choose the side Bucky was on. But I was wrong. He’ll always choose the side Peggy’s on.

“You know,” Sam walked up besides Steve as he made his way towards Bucky, “if you want, I can come with you.” 

“You’re a good man, Sam. This one’s one me, though.” 

Steve walked up to Bucky. Bucky was still a bit angry at Steve for what he had done to me--what he was doing to me, and that he was leaving him. But he still cared for him. Steve was still his best friend, his brother. 

“Don’t do anything stupid ‘till I get back,” Steve said.

With that line, their memories flashed through my mind. 1942. The night before Bucky shipped off. 

Everything was so different then. So much simpler. 

“How can I?” Bucky responded. “You’re taking all the stupid with you.” They hugged each other.

“Gonna miss you, Buddy.”

“It’s gonna be okay, Buck.”

Steve looked at me, but I kept my gaze on the portal. I really didn’t want my emotions to get the best of me, and I knew that if I looked at him that I would lose it. I was still in love with the man. Him breaking off the engagement still hurt like hell. Steve came up to me and kissed my cheek, holding it there probably a little longer than he should have.

“Thank you, Bailey Stark,” he whispered in my ear. “For everything... I will always love you too.”

Steve then walked over to the portal and donned the quantum suit as he got onto it. My heart rate began to speed up. I reached out for Bucky’s metal hand, firmly grabbing it.

“How long is this gonna take?” Sam naively asked.

“For him? As long as he needs,” Bruce answered. “For us? Five seconds.” Steve picked up the case holding the stones and Mjolnir. “Ready, Cap?” He gave a nod, his eyes never leaving Bucky and I. “Alright. We’ll meet you back here, okay?”

“You bet,” Steve answered. 

“Going quantum. Three, two, one…” Steve disappeared and I took in a deep breath, trying to not cry. Bucky gave my hand a gentle squeeze. “And returning in, five, four, three, two, one…” When Steve didn’t reappear, Bruce began to frantically look around the equipment. 

“Where is he?” Sam asked.

“I don’t know. He blew right by his time stamp. He should be here.”

I noticed that I was still feeling the other presence from earlier. Still holding onto Bucky’s hand, a turned a bit towards the presence I was feeling. I looked at the edge of the lake to see an old man sitting on a log. I immediately knew who it was. I tugged on Bucky’s arm to get his attention. I pointed to the old man as Sam and Bruce kept yelling about bringing Steve back.

“Sam,” Bucky demanded the man’s attention, still looking at the old man on the log. 

The three of us walked over, Bucky never letting go of my hand. Bruce stayed behind, understanding that this was something just the three of us needed to do. The closer we got, the more it hit me why the presence felt so familiar. The three of us stopped a little ways behind the man.

“Go ahead,” Bucky urged Sam, with a small smile forming on his face. 

Sam walked over. Completely recognizing the old man as his dear friend, Steve Rogers.

“Cap?” Sam wondered.

“Hi, Sam,” Steve looked over to his old friend.

“So did something go wrong, or did something go right?”

“Well, after I put the stones back, I thought… Maybe… I’ll try some of that life Tony was telling me to get.” 

I remembered that conversion from years ago, right after Ultron. The memory played through my mind before I could refocus on the scene in front of me.

“How did that work for you?”

“It was beautiful.”

“I’m happy for you. Truly.”

“Thank you.”

“Only thing bumming me out is the fact I have to live in a world without Captain America.”

“Oh.. That reminds me…” Steve pulled out a round leather case and unzipped it, revealing his shield. “Try it on.” 

Sam looked over to Bucky, who nodded in approval, before trying it on. 

“How’s it feel?”

“Like it’s someone else’s.”

“It isn’t.”

Sam tried to hold back his tears. “Thank you. I’ll do my best.”

“That’s why it’s yours.” Steve and Sam shook hands. 

Those watching noticed the wedding band on his finger. 

“You wanna tell me about her?”

“No.” Steve smiled. “No, I don’t think I will.”

Images of a younger Steve, my Steve, and Peggy dancing in her living room flashed through my mind. Peggy was crying tears of joy. 

The only thing that brought me out of it was Bucky giving my hand a squeeze.

“You keep going somewhere, doll,” he whispered, keeping his eyes on Steve who was looking out towards the lake. “Mind telling me where?”

“I’m sorry… He just… he did it… He got to be with Peggy…”

Bucky looked at me. I closed my eyes, trying so hard to stop the cascading tears. Bucky pulled me into him, allowing me to break into sobs into his chest. Steve and Sam turned towards us when they heard my cries.

“Bailey…” Steve stood up. 

I shook my head against Bucky’s chest. “I can’t do it, Buck…” I whispered. “I can’t talk to him… I’m not ready.”

“That’s okay.” Bucky quietly responded before speaking up to talk to Sam and Steve. “I’m going to take her to the house.”

The men nodded, knowing that it wasn’t worth trying to stop Bucky or me. Steve sadly watched as Bucky guided me into the house and into Pepper’s waiting arms. She saw some of it and noticed the older Steve, it didn’t take her long to put together what had happened. Once I was in Pepper’s loving care, Bucky walked back to his two friends.

“I’m happy for you pal,” he stated once he reached them. “I just wish that she didn’t have to pay the price.”

“I never stopped loving her, Bucky. And I always had an eye on her.”

“How is that suppose to help? You didn’t intervene when her parents decided to sell her to HYDRA. Or when she decided to runaway and ended up getting kidnapped. Or how about when she turned herself in. What use was watching her if you didn’t do anything to help her?” Steve simply sighed and looked away. “I can forgive you for leaving me. I understand it, a bit… But I don’t know if I can ever forgive you for leaving her. I’m sorry, Steve.”

“If I didn’t know better, I would say that you’ve started to have feelings for the girl,” Sam stated, looking directly at Bucky.

“I just care for her. She’s been through too much and deserves much better. I feel that I owe her one too… She forgave me for all I did to her and her family… Plus…” He turned back towards the house to faintly see me crying in Pepper’s arms through the window. “She lost her closest family… Natasha, Stark, and you.” He pointed to Steve. “She needs someone right now. And that someone might as well be me.”

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