#my brain is never really conscious while drawing really...I just get like. vague ideas about oc and a fuzzy image of what they look like

[peapod20001]

Ppl point out the clean lineart on my traditional drawings and I’m like “huh...yea you’re right..hm, uh. I didn’t really notice to be completely honest with ya”

[cloudsoffire]

this won't be very factual because i'm writing it on a compulsion (ie: got the idea in the shower and it stuck and this way i don't have to do productive things like draw or write or whatever), but it might still be interesting because i find it interesting and if you're the same kind of mentally ill as me that just does a complete 90 degree turn whenever you spot something vaguely interesting out of the corner of your eye, like how to make headphones despite the fact you will never do so, you may as well. so uh, here's a weird thing.

ahem

hypnotism. a while back, you may have been surprised to find out that it was real. prior to recent years, the most widespread depictions were comic villains with mind-controlled minions, talk show presentations, and true crime/detective shows. in these, hypnotism is practically all powerful, with people being put to sleep with the snap of the hypnotist's fingers, caused to turn on the heroes, or even bring back a surprisingly clear memory of a killer's face. however, hypnotism is actually very weak.

there are different uses for hypnotism, but for now let's touch upon hypnotherapy. hypnotherapists will typically use a metronome (like in music) rather than the pocket watch you see in the media. first, the process can be used to quell things like anxiety, anger, and self-hate, relaxing the patient. this of course doesn't solve any problems, but it may help the patient think more clearly about the issue their negative thoughts may have obscured.

secondly, it can be used to dredge up repressed memories (yes, like in the shows). the brain is very efficient. it fills in gaps with prior information to avoid overworking itself. an example i've seen was that when you look at a tree, you're not actually seeing each individual leaf, your brain is filling in the gaps because it knows what leaves look like. the brain loves to make connections with other things it knows, which is why you may see faces in your laundry, or why we see shapes in the clouds. hypnotherapy can exploit that to lead the patient to a repressed memory.

hypnotism is not all-powerful. in fact, it's rather weak. it cannot make the recipient do anything they don't want to do. think of it as walking a path with a guide. you can stop following them at any time, and there's some conscious effort to follow them down the path. if the guide is going somewhere you don't want to follow, you don't have to. when a patient is in a trance, they aren't actually asleep. in fact, they're fully awake. their body may feel heavy when they come out of the trance, but that's not really something to be wary of. arguably, the patient is in more control than the hypnotist. if you see a showman hypnotizing people to jump around like a certain animal, that's even faker than it initially seemed. even if they complied, the motion alone would likely take them out of the trance.

some people are more vulnerable than others, but if you can't be hypnotized, that doesn't mean you'll be safe from the alien mind control rays come the invasion, nor does it mean you have some psychic protection. just like traditional therapy or cognitive-behavioral therapy or electroconvulsive therapy may not work for some, hypnotherapy is subjective as well.

now we get into the really poorly researched stuff. well, none of this was researched, it's just stuff in my brain. i'd encourage you to look some of this stuff up, because i can't be bothered.

so, if you've stumbled across certain circles, you may have found hypnotism being used as a fringe kink. to each their own, as long as it's consensual and doesn't hurt anyone, it's fine. that said, as i mentioned earlier, it's hard for hypnotism to be nonconsentual.

here's the real speculation/conjecture bit, taken only from what i've seen online, no research papers or interviews. not to mention that said observations took place a long time ago, before my social media hiatus. i would also like to add that all experiences are subjective, and i'm not an authority. idk why i'm adding this part other than braindumping (is that a word?).

it's hardly a revolutionary idea to suggest that some more mature practices can stem from trauma, so when i was in the shower, i wondered what would happen if i applied that logic here, and reflected for a moment. remember, correlation =/= causation, i had a small sample size, and i'm not a scientist in any way shape or form.

there's one prospect that i noticed seemed to attract people, and that was giving up control. yes, the patient is actually very in control, but you have to keep in mind the content matter and the way its being used. people seemed more fixated on fictional hypnotism than its real world counterpart, and i came up with a tentative hypothesis as to why. a good amount of the people i saw had visibly strained relationships with their guardians, participated in various "caretaker" roleplay scenerios, and/or were into d/s. trust me, they weren't super explicit about it and they were okay people, which is why i didn't block them for being nsfw.

so then i wondered, "what if they don't trust themselves to be self-sufficient, so they find solace in passing that control over to someone else? or at least didn't. again, you can't generalize with something as ever changing as the brain.

if i'm wrong, right, feel free to let me know. as i said, this was just a sudden tirade that not even i prepared for, so i'm not gonna proofread this. have a nice day, and consider the benefits of each form of therapy, because sit-down therapy isn't for everyone.

[apocalypticgargoyle]

I read the edgy!karl, I’ve just finished reading the alt!dream, WHEN IS GEORGE GONNA BE NEXT 😩😩

*cracks knuckles* the hcs that everyone has provided me with has hella prepped me and I'm ready. this is dedicated to 🍭 anon, whose fanart always steals my entire heart. i love u babe

𝐑𝐄𝐀𝐃 𝐌𝐄. ᶤ 𝐩𝐮𝐧𝐤!𝐠𝐧𝐟

± pairings: punk!Georgenotfound x fm!reader

± word count: ~3300

± warnings: smut (18+), language, tattoo work, sadism, pain kink (if you squint), domination, mentions of needles, asphyxiation

song recommendation: Cent Fois by Alice et Moi

George’s mind wandered to his curiosity of the shop across from his tattoo parlor; bright neon signs advertising the local psychic. It was a stark contrast to the dark, wet city housing the businesses. Each night he locked up, he found himself standing on the other edge of the street, staring at the signs and draperies peeking from behind the glass windows and considering shedding his skeptical nature just for one night.

While your business was alluring in and of itself, his true draw to the place came after he had spotted you moving into the apartments above. Your clean appearance completely juxtaposed the business you ran. In his opinion, all natural healers and psychics were born scam artists only focused on the quickest way to pinch a penny.

Yet day after day, he found himself having to tear his eyes from your business just to get home or he would actually venture inside. He was rather subtle about his fascination when it came to his co-workers and regular customers, but each day he prayed you would wander in, requesting some kind of tattoo in a place hidden from outside eyes.

A place he’d like to see again in a less professional setting.

You flipped the textbook page after finishing your paragraph, highlighting a date you were looking for before leaning towards your notebook and scribbling down the fact. You gnawed on the end of your pen absent-mindedly, positive you still didn’t know what your professor had been rattling off about in class a few hours prior. Your sights drifted up to the incense burning across the store from you, the stick on its last few centimeters of wood as the smoke went stale.

You chew on the inside of your cheek, debating if you should light another or wait until morning. You capped your marker and stretched your back, the bell over the door letting out a telling chime as a man peeked in.

You leaned over the counter, closing your books. “Good evening! Welcome to After Life. Can I help you find anything?” You rambled, your mind flashing to the sheet of paper tucked into the frame of your bathroom mirror so you didn’t forget the basics of customer service.

The man stepped further into your view, stuffing his fists in his jean pockets as he walked closer in a cautious motion. His dark t-shirt advertised a band you had vaguely heard of, but couldn’t think of a song even if your life depended on it. What really drew your attention were his tattooed arms; branches from a grand tree twisting every which direction to peek out from beneath his sleeves; bright floral designs and litters of birds decorating the dark wood limbs. You bit back a smile at the small mushroom tattoo near his wrist that seemed to be out of place.

The laces of his Chuck Taylors grazed the floor before he was standing in the middle of your store, looking around briefly. “I actually co-own the parlor across the street. I realized I never welcomed you officially,” he stated, hints of nervousness reflecting in his tone. His accent was calming and husky from the season change.

At the mention of the tattooist across the street, your memory flashed to the various walks of life that found themselves in your store after getting work done. You also thought of the fact that you had seen the man before you break up fights in the street stretching between your properties. The tall muscular people seemed to have no effect on him as he’d pull them apart like school children on the playground.

You pushed your books further to the side. “Oh yeah, that’s right! I should have come over and introduced myself, so don’t worry about it,” you eased, swatting the air of his comment.

He chuckled softly before reality seemed to snap into his head, making him step forward and extend a hand to you. “I’m George, by the way,” he introduced. You took his hand, muttering your own name and hoping your attention span would hold for long enough that he would be entered into your long-term memory.

His hand was calloused in yours, something that you wondered came with the job or if he was some kind of carpenter in a past life of his. You gently pulled his hand closer to you, slipping your hold out of his to look at his palm. He tittered nervously, peering at the flesh with you. Your finger traced along the mounts in his hand, finding Jupiter to be the most prominent. “That checks out,” you mumbled to yourself, nodding softly.

His eyebrows perked up. “What? Am… Am I gonna meet a tall dark stranger and take a trip across the sea?” He joked, making you smile as you looked at his Sun line.

“I didn’t peg you as an Outlander fan,” you chided.

His brows flattened for a moment, chewing the inside of his lip and playing with his snake bite piercings. You found it hard to look away from him. “Honestly, I wasn’t. A girl I was fooling around with really liked it. I don’t know…” he trailed off, making you giggle.

Your nail grazed along his heart line. “You guys were just fooling around?” You quirked, eyes meeting his. His expression narrowed smugly as if urging you to continue. “Your heart line begins below your index finger. You’re not the fooling around type.” He let out a snort. “You fall in love easily too.”

He sighed with a slight sparkle in his eyes as he looked at you. You couldn’t tell if he was amazed or mocking you again. “Well, yeah. That’s…” He paused with a swallow, biting back a grin as if he was uncomfortable, but didn’t retract his hand from you. “... That’s why we’re not anymore,” he admitted. He leaned his elbows on the counter as you sat in your chair. “What else does it say?”

Your lips curled into a soft smirk, his curious eyes trailing over your face as if to watch your brain work. “You have a fire element hand which indicates that you’re confident and passionate. Maybe a bit cocky sometimes,” you teased, making him chuckle with you. You could feel his eyes on you, sending heat to your cheeks as you tried not to focus on the mount of Venus under your touch.

You wanted to ask him about his sexual indulgences, mainly because of the prevalence of Venus in his palm. “You have a mount in Jupiter, which means you’re a natural leader, and rather dominant.” You looked up at him again, watching as he bit back a smirk, seemingly understanding the subtle innuendos behind your statements.

George seemed to have some kind of effect on you, your thoughts clouding with the idea of what his snake bites would feel like against your lips. He smelled like cigarette smoke, but there was no discoloration to his skin to suggest he was the one smoking. He watched you through the hair threatening to dangle over his eyes, his gaze hinting at an attraction he had for you below his collected form. “Go on,” he murmured, voice soft and wispy as the space between the two of you seemed to warm.

You made a conscious effort to keep your sultry thoughts at bay as your thumb brushed over the area you had been avoiding telling him about. “You’re driven by desire,” you answered, voice barely above a whisper. “You’re… very in touch with your sexuality and you thrive on your indulgences.”

You couldn’t help but meet his eyes, the dark irises swimming with some kind of cocky smugness at what you had just told him. He pulled away from you, gently standing up. Part of you wished the counter between the two of you would vanish just so you could be pressed up against George at the mercy of his driven mind. “I feel it's only fair I tattoo you now,” he quipped, making your eyebrows raise. Your confidence shriveled yet you swore you wouldn’t let him know that fact.

You chewed on your lip, looking up at him with a hint of suspicion. “Oh, I’ve never been tattooed,” you avowed, voice carrying the slightest bit of your coaxing nature.

He smirked. “I’ll take care of you, I promise,” he cajoled, teeth playing at his piercings again as you were sure he was already undressing you with his eyes. “You read me, I’d like to do the same.”

And how could you refuse such an appealing offer?

You leaned back on your elbows, your skin sticking to the leather chair beneath you as you watched him pull back his hair, elastic band dangling from his white teeth. Despite securing back his locks, bits of his bangs still hung over his forehead. You liked the interior of his parlor, maybe because it was only the two of you.

George began to fill small caps of dark ink. “I think you should get some crystals in here,” you teased, making him smirk. “I could hook you up.”

“What, like a salt lamp?” He joked, pulling on a pair of dark plastic gloves.

You snorted, lying back and looking up at the ceiling. “It might be good. Lighten the place up a bit.” George swiveled his chair closer to you muttering some kind of line about only getting them from you, but his words fell silent on your ears as his hand pushed up your shirt. You were silently thanking whatever divine force above for swaying you towards slinkier lingerie earlier that morning.

You knew he could see the lacy edges of your bra by the way his eyes nonchalantly flashed up to you before laying out his template on your ribs. You could feel hints of his warm breath against your skin as he studied it. “You can look at it if you want,” he stated.

You shook your head, wanting him close to you as long as he could be. “I trust you,” you muttered, your eyes meeting his again. His tongue pressed against his cheek as he struggled not to smile at your statement. He had promised to cover a small scar for you and by the way he explained it, you were ready to be in his hands. You wet your lips as he adjusted the speed on his tattoo gun. “Will this hurt?” You asked, tucking one of your arms behind your head.

The look of unadulterated lust that he gave you made your toes want to curl. “Probably a bit. It feels good sometimes, though,” he answered. He came closer to you, resting his forearm on your stomach to angle himself in the right position. At the feeling of his skin pressed against yours, you swore your body was on fire. It took everything in your power not to moan. It could have been the adrenaline pulsing through your veins, but his soft breath and the anticipation of the needle made you feel like a junky. “I’ll be gentle, darling,” he leered, his accent muddy and low. He let the needles drag against your skin and you bit your lip, trying not to hiss at the pain. His eyes met yours. “See, not bad.”

You let out a breathy wheeze. “Shut up, you sadist,” you quipped, his chuckle coming out rather roguish as he focused on the work in front of him. Your nerves were more focused on the way George’s hands were barely caressing your body as if teasing and hinting at what he could do to you.

You drew in a sharp breath as he hit a particularly sensitive spot. “Shhh shh. It’ll be over soon,” he cooed, his voice sending goosebumps spreading across your body as his lips tugged into a light smirk. By your palm reading, you knew he was enjoying having this much control over you.

Part of you found it almost torture when George would look at you with soft and lusty eyes for merely a second before his gaze jutted back down to his work, murmuring soft praises about how well you were taking the pain. You would go under the needle anytime he asked, just to receive the sultry treatment he gave.

He was so close, you could have driven your fingers into his dark hair if you wanted. “How did you get this scar?” He asked, cleaning off some of the ink before continuing.

“A knife fight,” you answered without missing a beat, making him scoff. “Actually, I fell into my grandma’s glass table one time. My cousin was teaching me the Electric Slide,” you corrected, making him laugh, shaking his head slightly as he filled in a spot.

He let his tongue dart across his lips. “That’s so cute. Did you ever get it figured out?” To this you shook your head, the both of you laughing. You let out a groan as the needle dug into another area on your ribs, the sound making his eyes dart up to you. He leaned off of you, slipping one of his gloves off. “Wanna hold my hand, sweetheart?” He joked, but you took his offer, squeezing his hand in yours when it got painful enough. You held it close to your chest, hoping he would feel your heartbeat quicken each time he looked at you.

As he finished up his work, his thumb brushed against your hand absent-mindedly. You could tell by the way he gripped your hand as well that he enjoyed that the tattoo hurt you. Most of your mind was excited by how easily he was stirred up by you, while the rest was completely unsurprised and even threatened to bite out that he was a cliché.

When he was finally satisfied, he cleaned you up and stuck on a SecondSkin, biting back a grin at his work as he pulled you up by the hand he was holding onto you with. You couldn’t help but smile at how excited you were to see, swinging your legs over the side of his hair and walking towards his mirror. You held your shirt up, chewing on your bottom lip as you grinned at the ink. George rested a hand beside the mirror, watching you beam at his work.

All of his lines were flawless, your scar completely disappearing within his shading. You’d pitched the idea of an ode to the Creation of Adam. While it was cliche, what better to fit in the space below your breast and give George the impression that you were cultured. Yet you told him he could do whatever he wanted to it, resulting in one of the hands resembling a skeleton and the other holding a sucker. As you praised him, he shrugged off your comments, murmuring about it being his pleasure. He reached out his free hand, letting his thumb smooth over one of the edges of this bandage, which brought you closer to him.

Your cheeks warmed at the close proximity to him as his eyes grazed over your body before meeting your own. His hand moved from the bandage to your back. You leaned on your toes, pressing your lips to his. The tension between the two of you dissipated as he hungrily reacted, pulling you against him and savoring your moans as his tongue slipped into your mouth.

George’s hands moved down your body, swiftly hooking around your thighs and wrapping your legs around his waist to bring you back to his chair. Your hands moved into his hair, letting it loose and wrapping the band around your wrist. The leather was cold as your back pressed to it. George leaned back to pull his shirt over his head, revealing more of the tree painting the expanses of his skin.

If you weren’t so eager to be touched by him, you’d be studying the work of art.

As his lips met yours again, you ground your hips against his, eliciting a moan to vibrate through his chest. You raked your nails down his back, trying to further draw out reactions from him as his hands attentively played with the lace of your bra, fingers ghosting over the skin pressing against the cups.

His lips left yours only to travel the length of your jaw and inch his way toward your waistband. Your pants were discarded with a swift tug from him before he pulled your thighs flush against his, grinding his hips against yours, hands gripping onto your sides to keep you in place. You tilted your head back, relishing in the friction as your body screamed to finally feel him take advantage of you.

You reached between the two of you, tugging at his zipper as your hunger for him escalated. His tongue flattened against your collarbone before his teeth pressed into your skin. You could feel his arousal through his jeans at the sound of your whimpering.

He pumped himself in his hand before pressing into you, the feeling of him inside of you making your head spin as if you were on some kind of ecstasy. Your moan came out needy and desperate as he thrust into you, gripping the edge of the leather seat as his breath hummed against your skin. Your fingers threaded into his hair, raking your nails down his neck as he groaned in your ear at the feeling.

One of his hands grasped your wrists together, pinning them above your head while the other wrapped around your throat. His eyes burned into yours as he leaned back, leaning his weight on your wrists and squeezing your throat, the lack of oxygen making each of your senses more heightened as he pounded into you.

Your moans of George’s name were grated as they slipped through your mouth, his relentless pace and intense hold nearly making you drool from the stimulation. By the practice of his actions, you wondered how long he had been stewing on demolishing you in this way.

He loosened his grip on your neck, leaning down to press his lips against yours, dragging his teeth along your bottom lip just to hear you groan from the rough action. You rolled your hips against his, letting him slow his pace to reach deeper within you. A sadistic grin spread across his face as he rubbed a thumb across your cheek, wiping away the makeup smudging around your eyes from his antics and the heat between the two of you.

He pressed his lips to your neck, wrapping his hand around the edge of the chair again to drive himself into you, the new angle muddling your mind and vision as your body ached to come undone. You sank your nails into his back, earning his low, raspy whispers of your name.

At his praises, you came, tugging on his hair as he bit into your shoulder again, basking in the feeling of you clenching around him.

The next day, George stretched his shoulders, peering through the front window of his shop. His mind sparked with the feeling of your legs around his waist and the softness of your skin beneath his fingertips. He could practically hear you whimpering his name in his ears as he went back to touching up a fading tattoo on his friend’s arm.

“OW, George,” Clay rumbled, thigh flinching at the jab from George.

George snorted, his mind still on the high he got from your pure trust in him as you laid out on his chair. “I’ll give you something to bitch about,” George grumbled, releasing just how gentle he was during your tattoo. The way your voice got soft and quiet when he rolled over a spot that was rather tender already would most definitely be a guilty pleasure of his.

Clay barked at him again as George jerked his hand, fulfilling his promise. “I’VE BEEN NICE TO YOU ALL MORNING.”

Tag List: (to be added, follow this link :))

@karlkitten @more-like-reyna @honk-izzie-was-taken @marrymetheonott @froggyy06 @savingpluto @marshmallow-babe @drunkpumpkincake @little-gremlin-in-the-walls @tinyegg @mintmochiii @clubfairy @aroyaldarknessblr @camerondiaz48104 @madsbbg @rat-poisin @alm334 @cdizzlevalntyne @phsychopathetic @froggerrrr @robinslie @jemalovesmarvel @sbi-is-my-onlysanity

[thefanficmonster]

Fated

Karl Heisenberg x Autistic, Sound-sensitive Reader (Female)

Warnings: Swearing, Spoilers for RE8:Village, Noise sensitivity

Genre: Romance, Comfort

Summary: Not everyone could love a man like Heisenberg. But Y/N isn’t everyone, nor is she just anyone. She loves him as the whole package he is: murderous intentions, human experiments and all.

Requested by @phoenixofthevalley Hi dear! Here you go - the first fic I’ve ever written for Karl Heisenberg (first of many) and thank you so much for being my first ever Resident Evil 8 requester! Hope you enjoy the read! Feel free to correct me if I’ve described anything incorrectly or in an accidentally offensive manner. I have no intention of spreading hate or any type of misconception so I’d really appreciate the correction. Love, Vy ❤

Watching Karl get so excited over this grand plan of his - the destroying of Mother Miranda, his revenge - it all makes me feel uneasy. I can’t explain the feeling, mostly cause I’ve never felt it before, and I can’t quite describe it either. I don’t connect to people easily and I’ve always been told I’m the problem but I guess it took the right person to make me feel things I haven’t felt for no one else all my life.

“The weren’t worthy of your emotions, darling.“ Karl told me on one of the rare occasions when I opened up my mind to him. I felt his words wrap around me like a comforting embrace. For the first time in my life, I felt understood.

I think that’s what took me the longest to get used to - being understood, seen and validated. My opinions had never before been taken into account seriously, my personal boundaries were rarely respected by others and people always had a hard time dealing with how distant I can be. But what bothers me above all is how people refer to me as dramatic because of my sound sensitivity - something no one took seriously when I’d tell them about it.

Karl did though, surprising me to no end.

He respects that I like my personal space and prefer not being shown much affection, especially not physical. He understands that I have a hard time showing people affection myself. He goes out of his way to make sure I’m ok with whatever it is he’s doing, saying or suggesting. And I’m sure that if I were to ever tell someone about this, they wouldn’t believe me. That’s most definitely due to his rough exterior and intimidating appearance. Also probably because he comes off as downright selfish and rude when you first meet him, but getting to know him was a journey worth taking because I now know the real him. A trust me, his rough exterior and the softness of his true self have nothing in common. Although, he does claim that softness is only reserved for me.

With all that laid out, it’s completely understandable that I don’t want him going up against Mother Miranda. Thanks to Karl I’ve never had the displeasure of running into her, but I’ve heard countless stories of how powerful and downright terrifying that witch is. Bottom line: I don’t want Karl walking into something that’s the equivalent of suicide.

And I’ve finally decided to let him know exactly how I feel about it.

I’ve been sitting here, searching for my voice as I observe Karl in his deepest thinking space. He’s constantly in it, if you ask me - constantly thinking, looking for ways to make his innovations better, stronger, more powerful to add to his chances of victory against the sadistic ruler of this village. He was already at his desk when I walked in, hunched over dozens of drawings drawn with cut-edge precision yet in his mind they are probably not near good enough. In his mind, all he does is never good enough. He prides himself on this factory and what he’s produced thus far but he cannot stay proud of himself for very long, he constantly feels the need to better himself in order to remain worthy in his eyes. I wish I could change his mindset on those grounds but I know that my tries would be futile and pointless.

“Karl?“ I suddenly speak up, surprising both him and myself. I don’t know what I was thinking opening my mouth when I still have no idea how to go about this without making it seem like I don’t believe in him. That is in no way the case. I believe he can defeat her, if he cannot do it himself, his robo-army most certainly can. But I don’t want defeating her to cost him his life cause without him in mine I’m not sure what will be left of me.

He straightens up from where he’s been hunched over for the past God knows how many hours, rolling his shoulders and stretching his arms as her turns to look at me, his sunglasses capturing the white neon light in the office as he does so.

“What is it, darling? Something wrong?“ he takes a step towards me as I stand up and go to approach him.

“Actually...“ Suddenly, that thing he keeps in a safety cell just below this room starts going off with that annoying loud sound it makes. It’s always disturbed me, ever since it came to exist which was not so long ago considering it’s been his latest project. It not only terrifies me but triggers my sound sensitivity as do most of the machines in this forsaken factory.

I close my eyes tightly shut as I cover my ears with my hands, praying for the sound to go away as soon as possible because I can’t take it. It almost makes me physically nauseous and gives me vertigo, bringing me to the brink of tears because of its loudness and intensity, like it’s drilling right into my brain.

I can’t quite pinpoint the exact moment the sound went away because when faced with such a pain-inducing experience, my senses tend to tune out while I still remain conscious, but when my hearing returns I the only thing I’m able to hear is a steady heartbeat and a steady breathing. 

“It’s ok, darling. You’re ok.“ I hear Karl’s quiet whisper, giving me peace and coaxing me into opening my eyes.

When I do so, I come to realize why the rest of the world has gone quiet. Why I’m suddenly so flooded with comfort like no one is able to bring me. No one but him.  One of my ears is pressed up to his chest while the other is covered by his warm hand which travels up to move a strand of hair from my face and put it behind my ear as he repeats his soothing words like a chant, slowly starting to let go of me out of fear that he’s crossing a line. He’s always so wary about that and I’ll forever be grateful to him for it.

“Are you ok, sweetheart?“ His hands gently cup my cheeks, tilting my head so I can look him in the eyes - directly in the eyes, for he has ridden himself of his glasses. I’ve found he does that often when around me - removes his glasses. I once asked him why that is but the answer he gave me was vague, all the while a small smile played on his face. Guess he’s a bigger secret-keeper than I primarily thought. It doesn’t bother me really, I know the only secrets he keeps are the ones that would be a hazard for my safety if he exposed me to them, so I allow him his secrets and I keep some of my own to myself. It’s only fair, after all.

I nod, blinking up at him, “Yes, I’m ok. But...“ Now or never, girl. Now or never. “But if you want me to be honest, I will be.”

He looks baffled by my answer but he doesn’t falter, quickly regaining his composure before he replies, “Of course, dear. I always want you to be honest with me. What’s on your mind, what’s bothering you?“

Now “I haven’t been really ok for a while now.” I take his hands in mine, removing them from my cheeks but holding them firmly between us - a gesture that surprises me just as much as it shocks him. Never have I felt the need to be so close to someone. It may be momentary and temporary, but I refuse to dwell on that as I push forward with my argument, “I haven’t been ok since you told me about your plane. The whole thing with Mother Miranda and all that...” Not the time to be leaving me, words. I started this, I’ll finish it. “Look, Karl, I know you and your army can bring that witch to her demise but...”

“But what, Y/N? Tell me.“ He encourages me softly, his hands subtly tightening their hold on mine as if to keep me grounded, remind me he’s listening closely to every word I’m saying. Like he always does.

“But what if it doesn’t go as planned?“ I blurt out, biting my bottom lip nervously. It makes me anxious, being so honest and emotionally exposed. That’s so rare for me I doubt I’ll ever get used to it, but that’s the only way I have at least a fragment of a chance of convincing Karl to drop this. “What if things go south and you end up killed or turned into a monster or something else?“

The concern on his face washes away when he hears my words, getting replaced by a soft, consoling smile. I quickly look away, feeling that confession on my part was quite odd. I feel out of place but not uncomfortable, I don’t know how to explain it. It almost feels like relief, like I’ve finally gotten a huge boulder off my chest and I can finally breathe properly. But I can’t, not until I hear his reply. That smile should probably tell me something but it doesn’t - I won’t believe anything until I hear it come out of his mouth with my own two ears.

“Oh Y/N, darling, you won’t lose me. Ever.“ His thumb swipes across my knuckles soothingly, drawing abstract patterns on the skin of the back of my hand, “You never need to worry about me, hun, I ain’t going anywhere. No one can take me away from you or you away from me. Anyone who dares to try, well, bad things will happen to ‘em.“ He chuckles, easing the tension enough for me to able to look up at him again. When our eyes meet again, I see something I can’t name nor describe. All I know is that what he’s telling me is genuine and comes, “I’ll always be here, by your side, Y/N. I will always be here to shield you from anything and anyone. Any rogue lycan or any loud sound, I’ll be there to prevent it from reaching you. Never forget that. Ok?“

That urge to be have him close takes over me again. I think that somewhere in the back of my mind I see a clock ticking down, counting down the numbered hours we have together before he inevitably carries out his plan. As scary as that is, I think I can do nothing but accept it.

And so, that’s exactly what I do.

Wrapping my arms around him tenderly, enveloping him in the first hug I’ve ever given him - probably the first hug anyone has given him - I accept our fate, silently hoping it changes somewhere along the lines.

“Ok.“

[theartofdreaming1]

As usual, my thoughts regarding this week’s prompts and random thoughts on chapters 25-27 are below the cut.

heart

The imagery that really caught my attention this time was Peeta pointing out the changes in the moon to Katniss: The only indication of the passage of time lies in the heavens, the subtle shift of the moon. So Peeta begins pointing it out to me, insisting I acknowledge its progress and sometimes, for just a moment I feel a flicker of hope before the agony of the night engulfs me again. - So for one, we see another example of Peeta focusing on the small details in life (which I’ve previously hypothesized to being an important element in his recovery from his hijacking) as well as Peeta being the one to give Katniss hope, even if it’s just for a brief moment. Also, it’s a nice parallel to Katniss looking at the moon and desperately wishing for it to be “her moon” back in chapter 23. As a nocturnal person, I also love watching the moon from my living room window🌙

mind

Hmmh, I don’t think that Katniss and Peeta’s win was predetermined - although I do believe that by introducing the romantic angle, they significantly improved their odds. A Career winning the Games is not really that special and exciting, since it happens so often (although Careers generally satisfy that excitement for violence/blood/gore, that plenty of Capitol people seem to share). As a volunteer from District 12, who achieved an extremely good training score and proved herself to be very capable in the arena already, Katniss definitely had an edge by playing into the classic underdog story, which offered another exciting “narrative” for the Capitolites to follow - that, coupled (heh) with the romance angle Peeta introduced? Katniss (and Peeta) definitely had the entertainment (and excitement through novelty) factor on their side. Ironically, Cato’s chances of winning were not as good as he expected, precisely because he was playing it by the book.

soul

Poor Peeta (and Katniss), it hurts that their relationship was in such a rocky place by the end of the book. Especially those weeks right after the end of Book 1, when there were still cameras around District 12 and they had to pretend while hurting must have sucked big time🥺

Chapter 25

Ugh, the muttations are just so unsettling... *shudder*

Honestly, I’m just so impressed by Peeta’s presence of mind to draw that X on Cato’s hand, after he had just most of his calf ripped off, only to be grabbed and put in a headlock by Cato! He and Katniss work insanely well under pressure

God, Cato’s death is just so gruesome and awful... In the end, his “gift” from the Feast doesn’t help him win at all, but instead ends up prolonging his suffering a cruel amount... I wonder if in general these “gifts” come with a string attached (aside from the expected danger of trying to get them, I mean) - because the Gamemakers also intend for Katniss’s “gift” (medicine for Peeta) to force an even more cruel outcome on her - saving him from blood poisoning only to be forced into killing him herself... 🤔

I’m not sure if this is exactly medical protocol, but I’m terrified that if he drifts off he’ll never wake again. “Are you cold?” he asks. He unzips his jacket and I press against him as he fastens it around me. - Katniss is terrified of the idea of Peeta dying; at the same time, Peeta worries about her freezing - I can’t with these two 😩

Peeta begins to doze off now, and each time he does, I find myself yelling his name louder and louder because if he goes and dies on me now, I know I’ll go completely insane. He’s fighting it, probably more for me than for him - Katniss can’t lose any more people she cares about 😢; on a different note, Peeta fighting his unconsciousness “probably more for [Katniss] than for him” points out one of the crucial elements Katniss brings into Peeta’s life - she is that someone for whom he will fight - including for his own life and well-being - even when it feels easier to give up... Having that person in your life that keeps you going can make all the difference - if Katniss hadn’t had Prim and promised her “to really, really try” to win (and later also made Rue the same promise), I’m not sure she would have made it this far; it’s the thought of Prim anxiously watching her after Rue’s death, that forces Katniss to keep going, to not give in to despair after that particular traumatic event - Peeta, on the other hand, didn’t really have that kind of person in his life, as he will point out on the beach in CF (and Katniss acknowledges herself that the only person who will be devasted if Peeta dies is her)... that is not to say that neither Katniss nor Peeta aren’t fighters on their own - but it helps to have someone that inspires you to not give up

the adrenaline pumping through my body would never allow me to follow him, so I can’t let him go. I just can’t. - We’ll see the mirrored version of this by the end of Mockinjay 

Pity, not vengeance, sends my arrow flying into [Cato’s] skull. - Another act of rebellion, technically (sure, this can be spun as Katniss killing Cato so she and Peeta may win - before Peeta dies from blood loss - but we know better - Katniss’s motivation was compassion for her supposed enemy)

We inch down to the tail of the horn and fall to the ground. If the stiffness in my limbs is this bad, how can Peeta even move? - Peeta is tough as nails, yo!

Before I am even aware of my actions, my bow is loaded with the arrow pointed straight at his heart [...] I drop my weapons and take a step back, my face burning in what can only be shame. “No,” he says. “Do it.” [...] “I can’t,” I say, “I won’t.” - In spite of her initial reflex, Katniss chooses Peeta/ chooses not to kill him; it’s a recurring theme in their relationship (despite her wariness of others, she chooses to open up to Peeta eventually; although she vowed to never marry and have children, she’ll choose to have a family with Peeta); also, my psychology-brain just noticed how this moment illustrates how harmful thoughts/impulses don’t have to determine your actions and are not an indicator of who you are - it’s about what you choose to do

“You’re not leaving me here alone,” I say. Because if he dies, I’ll never go home, not really. I’ll spend the rest of my life in this areny trying to think my way out. - Again, makes me think of MJ; also, I think that from this point onwards, Katniss and Peeta are officially linked together forever; the bond they forged during this traumatic experience will connect them to each other until the day they die

“On the count of three?” Peeta leans down and kisses me once, very gently. “The count of three,” he says. - My heart😭

Chapter 26

... while our muscles are immobile, nothing is preventing the blood from draining out of Peeta’s leg. Sure enough, the minute the door closes behind us and the current stops, he slumps to the floor unconscious  [...] Through the glass, I see the doctors working feverishly on Peeta, their brows creased in concentration [...] I’m not sure, but I think his heart stops twice. - Peeta was in such a bad shape by the end of the Games; I’m still kinda salty that the movie really glossed over this fact :/

... they’re taking Peeta but leaving me behind the door. I start hurling myself against the glass, shrieking and I think I just catch a glimpse of pink hair - it must be Effie, it has to be Effie coming to my rescue - when the needle jabs me from behind. - Oh geez, in Catching Fire Katniss will also get sedated in a hovercraft because she’s upset about being separated from Peeta 😢 (also, Katniss thinking that Effie is coming to her rescue 😭)

While she [Lavinia, the avox] adjusts my pillows, I risk one question. I say it out loud, as clearly as my rusty voice will allow, so nothing will seem secretive. “Did Peeta make it?” She gives me a nod, and as she slips a spoon into my hand, I feel the pressure of friendship. - Katniss is so considerate of Lavinia’s situation, and Lavinia’s giving her a gesture of comfort and support; they’ve never been able to have a proper conversation (Katniss doesn’t even know Lavinia’s name), but still they managed to build up such a bond - compassion certainly is a strong thing to behold 😭 (and this whole scene is just through and through about compassion, with Katniss asking how Peeta is doing!)

Home! Prim and my mother! Gale! Even the thought of Prim’s scruffy old cat makes me smile. Soon I will be home! - Katniss is so excited to see her home and her loved ones again

I want to get out of this bed. To see Peeta and Cinna - Aww, the two people she grew closest to over the course of the past weeks (Haymitch will be added to that list in just a smidge)

Or do I hear a man’s voice yelling? Not in the Capitol accent, but in the rougher cadences of home. And I can’t help having a vague, comforting feeling that someone is looking out for me. - Thank God for Haymitch! 

And behind one of them [doors] must be Peeta. Now that I’m conscious and moving, I’m growing more and more anxious about him [...] “Peeta!” I call out, since there’s no one to ask - Katniss is sick with worry over Peeta; romantic feelings or not, she cares so fricking much for him by now!

I run for them [Effie, Haymitch, and Cinna] and surprise even myself when I launch into Haymitch’s arms first. When he whispers in my ear, “Nice job, sweetheart,” it doesn’t sound sarcastic. - These reunion scenes are so intense and heartwarming! And then Katniss asks about Portia and Peeta because their presence would make this scene complete 

when I asks for seconds, I’m refused. “No, no, no. They don’t want it all coming back up on the stage,” says Octavia, but she secretly slips me an extra roll under the table to let me know she’s on my side - It’s moments like these that help humanize Katniss’s prep team - they might be shallow, they might be completely oblivious and ignorant, but they aren’t that bad [of course, the prep team chattering about their mundane lives while talking about the event that ended with the deaths of 22 children shortly after, leaves a bad taste in our mouths]

I immediately notice the padding over my breasts, adding curves that hunger has stolen from my body. My hands go to my chest and I frown. “I know,” says Cinna before I can object. “But the Gamemakers wanted to alter you surgically. Haymitch had a huge fight with them over it. This was the compromise.” - God, the idea that the Gamemakers wanted to give a boob job to an unconscious, malnourished 16-year-old girl makes me sick 🤢 (Also, what’s the flipping deal about boobs?! As a pretty flat-chested gal, I’ve always been annoyed that there are barely any bras my cup size that are not push-up ones; I’m not self-conscious about it, so stop making me pretend that I’m bustier than I actually am!)

“I thought it’d be something more... sophisticated-looking,” I say. “I thought Peeta would like this better,” he [Cinna] answers carefully. Peeta? No, it’s not about Peeta. It’s about the Capitol and the Gamemakers and the audience. Although I do not yet understand Cinna’s design, it’s a reminder the Games are not quite finished. - Ugh, that sinking feeling when Katniss and the reader realize that the Games are still not over... Sidenote: Peeta flirted up a storm with grimy, bloodied Katniss and complimented her when she wore Cinna’s first, absolutely badass costume (”You should wear flames more often”)... Katniss’s girlish outfit  has nothing to do with Peeta and she knows it... Cinna could have dressed Katniss up in a trash bag and Peeta would have been smitten - although a trash bag by Cinna would probably still look pretty good ;)

“How about a hug for luck?” Okay, that’s an odd request from Haymitch but, after all we are victors. Maybe a hug for luck is in order. - Aww, Katniss actually wouldn’t have minded giving Haymitch a hug just because - sadly, this is about survival tips instead :/

But what was it Haymitch said when I asked it he had told Peeta the situation? That he had to pretend to be desperately in love? “Don’t have to. He’s already there.” Already thinking ahead of me in the Games again and well aware of the danger we’re in? Or... already desperately in love? I don’t know. I haven’t even begun to separate out my feelings about Peeta. It’s too complicated. - Poor Katniss... she didn’t have the time and peace of mind to sort out her feelings regarding Peeta before they all got tied up and muddled with her need for survival. Now she’ll be having an even harder time trying to untangle that mess :(

Chapter 27

Then there’s Peeta just a few yards away. He looks so clean and healthy and beautiful, I can hardly recognize him. But his smile is the same whether in mud or in the Capitol and when I see it, I take about three steps and fling myself into his arms [...] He rights himself and we just cling to each other while the audience goes insane. He’s kissing me and all the time I’m thinking, Do you know? Do you know how much danger we’re in? After about ten minutes of this, Caesar Flickerman taps on his choulder to continue the show, and Peeta just pushes him aside without even glancing at him. - Man, their reunion here always gets me - it would be so fricking good if Katniss didn’t have to worry about their potential doom 😒😔 - she barely has time to just be happy to see Peeta alive and well before slipping back into survival mode while Peeta is just genuinely thrilled to have her in his arms, completely unaware of the pressure and immediate danger Katniss experiences in this moment... It hurts so bad

I’m with Katniss - How did the previous victors endure rewatching those horrible moments from the Games?! I guess because they had to, but oof... I think I’d just completely shut down, blocking out the footage shown, ugh

But I do notice they omit the part where I covered her [Rue] in flowers. Right. Because even that smacks of rebellion. - In such a callous and cruel place as Panem, any act of compassion can be regarded as rebellion, it’s crazy. In a place filled with apathy, hedonism, greed, and cruelty, the most radical things you can exhibit are love, kindness, and respect!

A wave of gratitude to the filmmakers sweeps over me when they end not with the announcement of our victory, but with me pounding on the glass door of the hovercraft, screaming Peeta’s name as they try to revive him. In terms of survival, it’s my best moment all night. - Again, another instance where Katniss’s genuine feelings/reactions to Peeta are get muddled with her need for survival

The one thing I never do is let go of Peeta’s hand. - irrevocably linked with each other

Despite Haymitch’s running interference, I’m determined to see Peeta privately. - Katniss just wants to have an honest and open talk with Peeta 😢 (I get where Haymitch is coming from, and maybe in this instance it’s the right call, but we’ll see a similar situation in the beginning of CF when Haymitch advises Katniss not to tell Peeta about President Snow’s visit and that time, it doesn’t go so well...)

Then Peeta’s there looking handsome in red and white - for someone who isn’t sure whether she’s into him or not, Katniss sure mentions how good Peeta’s looking a lot 😏

“Well, there’s just this and we go home. Then he can’t watch us all the time,” says Peeta. - 👀👀 Peeta is so thirsty here; reminds me of when he pulled Katniss close to him in the cave before they set out to hunt... He clearly believes she’s also “already there” regarding their relationship; he’s never this “suggestive” (can’t think of a better word right now) with her once she lets him know that she doesn’t really know how she feels about him - I feel a sort of shiver run through me and there’s no time to analyze why - Katniss totally isn’t averse to what Peeta’s suggesting here, either (though there’s probably also a healthy amount of fear mixed in with the thrill of being wanted - letting people in can be terrifying)

I can feel Peeta press his forehead into my temple and he asks, “So now that you’ve got me, what are you going to do with me?” I turn in to him. “Put you somewhere you can’t get hurt.” And when he kisses me, people in the room actually sigh. - It’s me; I’m people 🙋🏼‍♀️ (also, the “turn in to him”?!?!! it just suggests such a closeness, I can’t-)

Katniss burying her face in Peeta’s shirt when she’s afraid she might cry learning that he lost his leg 🥺 (how awful it must be to be constantly on display while you’re dealing with your private feelings, ugh)

“... The moment when you pulled out those berries. What was going on in your mind... hm?” [...] It seems to call for a big, dramatic speech, but all I get out is one almost inaudible sentences. “I don’t know, I just... couldn’t bear the thought of... being without him.” - It might not be a super eloquent way to put what she was supposed to say, but this way, Katniss is being perfectly honest (and frankly, if she’d had the chance to properly process her feelings, she would have been able to voice this sentiment with less hesitation)

I go back to my room to collect a few things and find there’s nothing to take but the mockingjay pin Madge gave me. Someone returned it to my room after the Games. - For one, Katniss didn’t think of that pin (again), but also - was the pin returned to her simply because it’s standard procedure or did someone (like Plutarch, for example) arrange for Katniss to get the pin back, to keep her connection to this symbol going?

I stare in the mirror as I try to remember who I am and who I am not. - Poor Katniss! She’s been through so much, experienced so many traumatic events in short succession recently (aside from the trauma she already had), already had problems defining her identity beyond sheer survival, and now the Capitol also keeps pushing an identity onto her and a romantic relationship, when she hadn’t even had the chance to figure out how she felt about that yet

“... Haymitch has been coaching me through the last few days. So I didn’t make it worse,” I say. “Coaching you? But not me,” says Peeta. “He knew you were smart enough to get it right,” I say. “I didn’t know there was anything to get right,” says Peeta. - Oh boy. It’s always so painful to see Peeta realize that he’s been completely out of the loop; again, we’ll see how Katniss and Haymitch adopt a similar strategy in the beginning of CF: banking on Peeta’s good social skills and eloquence and keeping him in the dark. In a way, it’s a sort of compliment they pay to Peeta for being good with people, but, by not telling him, they are also using him for their purpose (which is motivated by caring for and wanting to protect Peeta, but still). Peeta is right to be upset about it - he has always been very clear about not wanting to be used as a piece in anyone’s games, really. And, as we will see later in CF, they are way more effective as a team when they are open and honest with each other.

“It was all for the Games,” Peeta says. “How you acted.” “Not all of it,” I say, tightly holding on to my flowers. “Then how much? No, forget that. I guess the real question is what’s going to be left when we get home?” he says. “I don’t know. The closer we get to District Twelve, the more confused I get,” I say. He waits, for further explanation, but none’s forthcoming. “Well, let me know when you work it out,” he says, and the pain in his voice is palpable. - It’s just so goddamn painful😢 They’ve both been done so dirty by that forced star-crossed lovers of Distrct 12 routine. (Sidenote: I appreciate that Peeta actually gives Katniss the chance to explain herself here - still, it’s too much to deal with on the spot so I can understand why Katniss ended up dropping the ball, even though it’s frustrating to read.)

That it’s not good loving me because I’m never going to get married anyway and he’d just end up hating me later instead of sooner. That if I do have feelings for him, it doesn’t matter because I’ll never be able to afford the kind of love that leads to a family, to children. And how can he? How can he after what we’ve just been through? - Oh Katniss, you certainly are skipping a couple of steps here; I’m pretty sure there are some options in between dating and being married with kids you could look into. Also, she’s just assuming that this is what Peeta wants, but she doesn’t know that at all - As someone who also has this stupid habit of imagining how whole conversations could possibly transpire and then resigning myself to the hypothetical outcome of said imagined conversation instead of actually having them: Don’t do that. ‘Never assume - it makes an ASS out of U and ME.’ 

I see Peeta extend his hand. I look at him, unsure. “One more time? For the audience?” he says. His voice isn’ t angry. It’s hollow, which is worse. Already the boy with the bread is slipping away from me. I take his hand, holding it tightly, preparing for the cameras, and dreading the moment when I will finally have to let go. - Ma babies! They are both so hurt and both just want to be with each other 😭 But they’ll need some time apart, to figure things out before they can do that.

[ducky-moo]

I’ve Got You

A/N This totally sucks ass so I’m probably gonna re-write it at some point but its literally 7 in the morning and I’ve been writing this since like 4 am so ??? I’m done w it for now lol

       “Barry!!” You yelled as the speedster was knocked to the ground. The two of you had been fighting a shapeshifting meta-human, and it was honestly kicking the crap out of the both of you. Warm light filled the room as you blasted the meta with starlight, leaving the tips of your fingers tingling.

       You couldn’t figure out for the life of you what you and Barry were doing wrong. This meta was always a step ahead, but why? As you continued to blast it, it fought its way towards you, throwing objects at you as it went. Once it was close enough, it used its telekinesis to throw you back against a wall. Your head cracked against it, and you could feel warm blood dripping down your head. A groan passed your lips as you tried to focus on the meta in front of you. 

       “You...Psychoshine...” The meta’s voice came out in a low growl. You heard static in your ears.

       “Y/n!! Y/n! Stay with us!” Cisco sounded panicked as he shouted at you through your comms, and you winced.

       “You will always lose, Psychoshine.” You tried to fight your way out of the meta’s powers, but his hold on you was too strong as he approached. You let out a yell of pain as he tightened the grip on you. “You always lose, don’t you? You could never win...no matter how hard you tried.” Slowly, he started shifting before your eyes, into someone familiar.

       “You could never win their love...even though you did everything in your power to try...you were never enough...never good enough...” He had shifted into your parents, and you felt a pit rising from your stomach, until it became a knot in your throat. You struggled again, only to be greeted with a hand to your neck.

       “Y/n!! Y/N!! Barry, get up!! Come on Barry, he’s going to kill her!”

       “Failure after failure after failure...you couldn’t take it, could you? You almost lost to yourself that night...Oh the tragic irony...” 

       “H-how-” you choked out. Suddenly, he was in your head. In every memory, standing in the corner, watching. He was there. It all made sense now, why you couldn’t beat him. He, like you and Cisco, had mental powers. He knew both yours and Barry’s weaknesses before you even had the chance to land a hit.

       “Barry!”

       “Running is a coward’s choice...” Suddenly, you felt a jolt of electricity, and the meta was on the ground twenty feet away. You fell to the floor, gasping for breath as you watched Barry continue to fight the meta. 

       “Y/n! Are you okay?”

       Shame, guilt, and panic filled your chest instead of the air you were trying so desperately to draw in. You could hear Cisco panicking on the other end of the comms, but you just couldn’t face him right now. 

       “Y/n?!”

       You reached up to your ears and disconnected the comm, and then your tracker along with it. As soon as you could get to your feet, you were out of the building, running somewhere far from there. Anywhere but there.

       “Y/n?!” Cisco’s voice was panicked as he tried to talk to you through the comms. You had just taken a dire hit, and from what he could tell, the meta attacking you was playing mind games. He couldn’t believe he didn’t figure it out sooner. He was pissed that he had to find out at your expense, that the reason they could never catch this meta was because he was inside their heads. Inside your head. All at once, the line went dead and your tracker disconnected. Cisco’s eyes widened in fear. He no longer had eyes on you, he couldn’t contact you. He was completely in the dark.

       “Caitlin! Caitlin she’s gone! She disconnected everything, I don’t know where she went!”

 “We have to find her, she got hit hard. She could have a concussion, or worse,” Caitlin replied as she ran over to Cisco’s computer. “Cisco, you have to find her.”

       “Ok, ok, um her- her boots! I put a-a tracker in them when we were testing them in case she got stuck somewhere.” Cisco was typing furiously on his computer, trying to pull up the tracking on your boots. As soon as he had it, he sent the information to his phone. “Let’s go!” He was grabbing his jacket and already halfway out the door before Caitlin had time to respond.

       You were in some back alley somewhere. You didn’t know where- you lost track of where you were going about ten blocks ago. Now, you were schlumped up against the brick wall of the building behind you. You were covered in blood, and drifting in and out of focus. What’s worse was that the meta had reopened old wounds as well. Ones you had long since thought had scarred over and healed. All it took was one look at the faces of your parents to cause them to reopen and pour out blood again. All the years of feeling inadequate and unloved came flooding back into the forefront of your mind. And that same was leaking in too. “Running is a coward’s choice” It was bouncing off the walls of your brain. He was right. You could never win, so when you failed, you ran. You were always running from something. Here, you thought you were safe. With your new friends on this new Earth. You thought you could have a fresh start. But you were wrong. 

       You were fighting to stay awake when you heard the screeching of car tires. Doors slamming and running footsteps soon followed. Soon enough, Cisco was crouched in front of you, clearly panicked as he and Caitlin assessed the state you were in.

       “Y/n, thank God. We found you.” He reached out and wiped sticky blood off of your face, his dark eyes filled with both relief and worry. All at once, everything, all your emotions, came pouring out of you, and you began to sob.

       “C-Cisco. I’m sorry. I-I ran. I ran.”  You squeezed your eyes tight so that you wouldn’t see the disappointment on his face. Of course, instead of disappointment, the man’s face was filled with worry.

       “You did. But we found you...we found you.”

       An hour later, you were sat on the exam table in Caitlin’s office in S.T.A.R. Labs. Caitlin had to staple your scalp back together from where it cracked against the wall, and you had been under her careful watch since she had deemed you concussed. Barry had returned a little while ago, and informed the lab that the meta had gotten away, and was still coming after you. You didn’t understand what he wanted from you, but now that it was in your head, you didn’t think you could face him at all. Knowing what he knew...

       “How are you feeling?” Caitlin asked as she walked back in. You looked up at her from where you had been staring at the floor, your eyes wide with panic and fear. “No, don’t worry right now. You guys gave him a run for his money today, he’ll need time to heal before he comes after you again. You’re safe for now.” Her voice was reassuring, but didn’t do to settle your nerves.

       “He’s in my head, Caitlin. He was in my head. In all of my memories.” Tears pricked at your eyes again, painfully this time. You had only stopped crying twenty minutes ago, and you were trying your best not to start again. Caitlin looked unsettled by this news. You had told them that the meta was playing mind games, but you didn’t really say much more than that. “I can’t- I can’t go home knowing he’s still out there, please, I don’t want to be alone.” And you were crying again.

       “I don’t feel comfortable with you being alone either, Y/n.”

       “You can come home with me.” Cisco had appeared in the doorway, looking still rather concerned. You looked at your best friend through tear-filled eyes, so you could really only see the vague shape of him. “I can take care of her. For as long as she needs.” He strode across the room and squeezed your knee. “As long as you need.” He said to you, his voice a little quieter as he wiped fresh tears from your face. “Is that good with you Dr. Snow?” He asked with a grin as he turned to Caitlin. She nodded.

       “That sounds perfect, Cisco.”

       “Hey, how we doin’ in here?” Barry was now in the doorway, looking at you with concern.

       “Well, we’ve definitely been better,” Cisco remarked as he went back to his desk. You looked at Barry and couldn’t help but feel an overwhelming shame again. More tears.

       “Barry, I’m so-”

       “Hey, it’s okay. I get it. Everyone’s okay, and that’s what matters.” You nodded, and he smiled at you. “Just worry about getting better, okay? You don’t have my super speed to fix you up fast.” You giggled, and he nodded at you before walking back out to talk to Wells and Joe.

       “Are you sure you don’t want me to carry you?” Cisco asked you as you got down off the exam table. You were about to go home, but you were insistent on walking to the car yourself.

       “I’m fine, Cisco.” You wobbled a little before righting yourself. He gave you a doubting look, then looked over at Caitlin, asking her with his eyes what he should do.

       “You really should let him help you.” She countered as you began walking towards the door. You let out a groan and looked back at Cisco.

       “Fine. You can assist me. Don’t pick me up.” You weren’t very big, but you were self-conscious about your weight. Who isn’t? Cisco grinned and nodded, then came and wrapped his arm around your waist.

       “Do you want to get some stuff from home? I don’t know how long you plan on staying, so I don’t know if you want to pick up some clothes or whatnot,” he asked as you got to his car.

       “Tomorrow, maybe. I don’t think I can tonight.” You winced as another wave of pain rocked through your head.

       “Yeah, okay, sure. You can just borrow some of my clothes to sleep in.” He helped you into the car and then went and climbed in. You let out a heavy sigh as he started driving, and closed your eyes, leaning your head back against the seat. Bad idea. You groaned in pain and picked your head up again. “Hey,” Cisco’s hand reached out and rested on your knee, “you good?” Concern was evident in his voice, causing you to smile the tiniest bit. Your stomach had jumped from his touch on your knee, and you glanced over at him.

       “I’m okay.” You reassured him.  He nodded, but his hand stayed on your knee. You glanced at it, then turned to look out the window, smiling to yourself. It stayed there the whole rest of the drive, occasionally drifting absently up towards your thigh and then back down again.        "Let me help you out." He had parked and turned off the car, and was now rushing over to your door. You laughed a little as he opened it and held out his hand to help you out. "What?" He asked, amused, as you stepped out of the car.        "Nothing, don't worry about it."        "Well now I'm gonna worry about it." You laughed again, then promptly winced as another wave of pain hit. This one sent your vision spinning, and all you could see was stars in your eyes.        "Woah." You grabbed onto Cisco's arm as you wobbled dangerously, trying desperately to blink the stars away.        "Hey, you're okay. I've got you." His arm wrapped around your waist and steadied you. He watched you, concerned, until your vision came back. "All good?" He asked as you let out a sigh.        "Yeah, all good."        "Okay." He led you into his apartment, and set his stuff down on the table. "Let me run you a bath." You gripped his arm.        "No, don't-"        "Let me rephrase. I'm going to run you a bath." He brought you into his room, and you sat down on his unmade bed, sighing as he disappeared into the bathroom. It was a few minutes before he came back out, towel in hand. "Here," he handed it to you, then placed his hands on your shoulders, sliding them gently down your arms. "Come on," he said quietly, helping you up. "You all good in here by yourself?"        "God, Cisco, I'm concussed, not paralyzed. I'll be fine."        "If you say so." You rolled your eyes and shut the bathroom door. You winced with almost every movement as you undressed, then sank slowly into the warm water of the bathtub, and sighed as you closed your eyes. You could feel the water leeching away the pain from the day as you sat there and soaked. After a while, you washed your hair, getting any of the leftover blood and dirt out of it, and got out. As you were drying off, you realized you hadn't grabbed any clothes to change into. Sighing, you wrapped yourself in the towel, and opened the bathroom door.        "Cis?"        "Yea- whoa." Cisco responded, looking towards you and then immediately looking away. You rolled your eyes, though even that made you wince. "What's up?"        "You forgot to give me clothes," you replied as you walked over to his closet.        "My bad." You pulled out an extra big graphic tee and slipped it on over your towel-clad body, then let your towel fall. You held the towel in your hands.        "You're good to look now, dummy," you chuckled. Cisco looked back over at you, and you saw something in his face shift. "What?" He didn't say anything, but you felt your heart start racing as he got up and crossed the room to you. "Cisco..."        "You know," his placed his hands on your waist and your heart skipped a beat, "you're really beautiful." He whispered, letting his hands slide down to rest on your hips. Your face flushed bright red, and you hid it in the towel.        "Stop." Your voice was muffled.        "Come here." You could hear the smile in his voice as he walked over to his bed and sat down. You walked over and stood between his legs, your face still partly hidden by the towel. "Put that down." He took the towel from your hands and tossed it onto the bed, then let his hands rest on the backs of your thighs. "How are you feeling?" he asked as he looked up at you. You folded your arms across your chest, feeling so many emotions at once. You knew he was genuinely concerned but...was Cisco flirting with you? You had kept yourself so locked away that you didn't even realize it was a possibility that he could like you. The years of trauma and neglect made it difficult for you to believe anyone could like you...no matter how much you liked them.        Trauma. The events of the day flashed through your mind, and you closed your eyes. The feelings from earlier began to rise again, and you started to feel panicky. You brought your hands to your face and pressed the heels of your hands into your eyes, then let out a yelp of pain as the headache began to pound again.        "Hey, hey, it's okay. What's wrong?" Cisco asked, his voice thick with worry. "Is it your head?" You nodded, and he stood up. "Sit down, I'll get you some medicine." Without arguing, you crawled into his bed and sat down, pulling a blanket around yourself. After a few minutes, he came back with tylenol and a steaming cup of tea. "Here, this should help. I'm gonna shower really fast. Like, really really fast, and I'll be right back." He handed you the tylenol and tea, then grabbed a towel and disappeared into the bathroom. 5 minutes later, he emerged, his hair dripping wet and his towel wrapped around his waist. You blinked slowly at him, then blushed and turned away as he walked over to his closet. "Caught you lookin, huh?" He teased as he pulled on a t-shirt and boxers.        "No," you muttered. He laughed and came and climbed into bed with you. He shifted himself so that he was situated behind you, then pulled you back into his chest. "Comfortable?" You chuckled. A chill went down your spine as you felt him push your hair over your shoulder.        "I should be the one asking you that, shouldn't I?" You didn't realize how tense you were until you felt his warm hands start kneading your shoulders. You let out a heavy sigh as he massaged your neck and shoulders, sipping occasionally from your tea. "Hey...about earlier, with the meta...what was that about?" You tensed up again, and his hands paused briefly. "He really got to you, didn't he?" He asked. There was a moment of silence before you felt Cisco's lips on your shoulder. Your heart started to beat faster again, and you closed your eyes.        "He just...he got in my head. He was in my memories. He- he knew everything about me...about my past, my family. I let him get in my head and he used it all against me." Thinking about it all, your body began to curl in on itself, as if to shield you from any further harm.        "Y/n, hey, stop." Cisco pulled you out of the fetal position and wrapped his arms around you. "I don't know everything about what's going on, but I can tell you one thing. You're not a loser. I'm a loser. You're like, the farthest thing from a loser. You're a literal superhero." You chuckled a little. "And you know what else? ...You don't have to fight for my love." Tears started to fill your eyes, and you looked down towards the bed.        "Cis-" You groaned as your head pounded.        "I've got you." He moved from behind you, and rested his hand behind your head as he lowered you down onto the pillow. You looked up into his eyes as he hovered over you. "Do you need anything?" He used his free hand to push your damp hair out of your face.        "Yeah..." You reached up and grabbed the back of his neck, tangling your fingers in his hair as you pulled him down into a kiss. He immediately sunk into it, resting his hand on your cheek as he kissed you slowly. It was a solid minute before the two of you pulled away, lightly gasping for breath. A wide, goofy smile grew on Cisco's face as he looked down at you. "What?" You giggled.        "I could kiss you like that all night...if you wanted."        "Maybe not all night, but...I do want."        "As you wish, madam." A chuckle escaped his lips before he leaned down and kissed you with a soft, yet intense longing. As you reached up and tangled your other hand in his hair, he pulled back and placed a soft kiss on the corner of your jaw. "I'm supposed to be taking care of you."        "You are taking care of me," you pouted in protest of him stopping.        "Not like this...How's your head, baby?" Your heart fluttered at the nickname, and you smiled.        "Better...I think." You winced as another wave of pain washed over you. The boy sighed and planted a kiss on your forehead before rolling over.        "I'll get the light," he said as he rose from the bed and crossed the room to the light switch. Darkness flooded the room, and briefly, you panicked.        "Cisco?"        "I'm right here, Y/n. Are you...afraid of the dark?" He asked as he climbed back in bed, his voice sounding amused.        "Pfft. No. I'm afraid of the things in the dark." You admitted sheepishly. He let out a hearty laugh and wrapped his arms around you.        "Don't worry, I'll protect you," he mumbled into your hair. You smiled and cuddled up to him, nestling your face in the crook of his neck. "I've got you."

[tsarisfanfiction]

End of Blue: Chapter 1

Fandom: Thunderbirds Rating: Teen Genre: Hurt/Comfort/Angst Characters: Gordon Tracy, Scott Tracy, Tracy Brothers

Thunderbird One’s dead in the water.  Scott Tracy isn’t responding.  Rescues never feel the same when it’s one of their own they have to save.

~~~ Once again, you can all thank, or blame, the wonderful @gumnut-logic for this thing.  Two seemingly unrelated vague conversations have ended up culminating in one of my specialties - yup, another Scott!whump, as though I haven’t written enough of these already (no such thing as enough!).  Not sure how frequently this is going to be updated - or how long it’ll be.  I know what Chapter 2 is going to do and I know there will need to be at least one more chapter after that, but muses do weird things.  Title has been snaffled from Beast in Black’s “End of the World”, make of that what you will.

“Gordon!”

John appeared in front of him, looking not quite his usual calm self.  For John to be showing that, even to a brother who’d learnt to read his nuances, meant that something was very, very wrong.

Gordon’s hands inadvertently tightened on the controls of Thunderbird Four as he held the sinking ship steady while Alan did the evac in Thunderbird Two.  This sounded like terrible timing.

“What’s wrong?” he asked, skipping all the quips he’d make if it was just a regular check-in.  The loss of John’s fantastic poker face and resulting prickles down his spine told him it was far from one.

“How long until evac’s done?” his space-residing brother asked.  An unusual question from their Eye In The Sky, but with Thunderbird Five under annual maintenance, the ginger didn’t have all his usual data.  Not even half of it.  Maybe that was causing the panic, but it was just that – annual. Nothing unusual, if universally disliked.

“Alan’s clearing the last of them now,” he said.  “But I’ve been asked to hold the ship steady until the GDF get here; they’re suspecting something’s-”

“Screw the GDF,” John interrupted, and woah something was really niggling him if he was getting that obviously frantic.  “The first instant you can let go of that ship, get the hell back to Two.”

That was not John-typical at all.  Gordon’s squid sense almost exploded.

“What’s happened?” he asked. “John, where do I need to be?”  He was running through scenarios but he couldn’t think of a single reason John would be hurrying him like this.  Not unless-

“Thunderbird One’s down.”

Shit.  “In the ocean?”

“North Pacific.”

That was the other side of the world.  Two hours, easy, until they got there, and they didn’t even have Virgil to get all the juice out of his ‘bird, what with the collection of broken bones he’d acquired on the last rescue.  Gordon forced his hands to relax before he inadvertently gave Four a command he didn’t mean to.

“Scott?”  Thunderbird One was watertight, she should be able to hold out as long as she wasn’t too deep.  As long as whatever had taken her down hadn’t compromised that… What the hell even took her down?

“Not answering.”  John always looked a shade or two off through the holograms, but Gordon suspected that this time the too-pale skin wasn’t entirely a trick of technology.  “Too much of Thunderbird Five is still offline; I don’t have telemetry.  Brains and EOS are working as fast as they can, but it’ll still be a few more hours before she’s fully back online.”

Gordon was just grateful enough of her was online to register One’s crash.

“Have you told Alan?” he asked.

“He knows you need to get to the North Pacific yesterday,” John answered.  “Not why.”

Alan was going to be furious at being left in the dark, but Gordon understood why.  He’d have to fill him in on the flight over.

“We’ll get there,” he promised, because there wasn’t another option.  They had to.  “Give me updates as you get them.”

“F.A.B.”  It was a reluctant acknowledgement, but they both knew John was almost useless until Five was fully online.  “I’ll update Tracy Island.”

Gordon did not envy him that task one bit.  Virgil was going to freak out.  Badly.

“That’s the last of them, Gordon,” Alan broke in.  “John says-”

“On my way,” Gordon interrupted – okay, so he was a little frazzled, too.  Sue him.  It wasn’t every day he had to rescue his eldest brother from an unplanned watery landing.  “John told me.  I’ll fill you in on the details when we’re on the way.”  He released the ship and shot back towards his floating module as fast as Thunderbird Four could handle.  “Don’t wait for me to get out of Four.  Grab the module as soon as I’m docked and go.”

“What about the crew? We need to drop them off, remember?”

Gordon had forgotten about the crew.  “Any of them need the hospital?”  A high-speed spin and he was in position for the cable to draw Thunderbird Four up the ramp.

“No, but-”

“Then they get a joyride in Two.”  Clunk, and the docking began.  Maybe he shouldn’t be authorising a nice round trip for a bunch of sailors, but it was already a two hour journey and they had no idea how badly Scott was hurt, or what sort of damage One had taken.  Gordon had salvaged downed planes before.

They weren’t pretty.

“Gordon, what-”

“Module’s ready for retrieval,” he interrupted, mostly because he didn’t want to answer the inevitable question just yet.  “Haul me up and punch it.”

“F.A.B.”  Alan sounded far from happy, but the familiar noises and rocking sensation of module retrieval began.

Despite his instinct being to run straight to the cockpit and fill Alan in, thereby making sure he was indeed going as fast as Two could go, Gordon took his time with his post-dive checks.  Thunderbird Four needed to be in top condition for the next rescue, and he refused to jeopardise Scott’s safety by fluffing the checks on the ‘bird that was going to save him.

She was, thankfully, just fine.  No warning lights, no errors, scratches or scrapes.  Thunderbird Four was more than ready for the rescue.

Now they just had to wait until they got there.

“Explain,” Alan ordered the moment he entered the cockpit.  The rescued crew were also looking at him attentively, although thankfully none of them seemed to mind the detour.  Gordon ignored them as he sidled into his seat and began checking their flight data.

Alan was a good kid; he’d heard punch it and taken it for the order it was.  Thunderbird Two was travelling at top speed, hurtling through the skies towards her drowning sister with everything she had.

Still, there was always room for a little more, and Gordon flicked a few switches.

“Gordon!”

“Thunderbird One’s down,” he admitted.  Behind them, he heard the unified gasps of shock from their passengers.  “John can’t raise her, and we have no telemetry.”

“In the ocean?” Alan asked. He didn’t sound like he believed it. Gordon just hoped he wasn’t going to go into shock when it sank in.  Hell, he hoped he wasn’t going to go into shock when it sank in.

“Yup.  No more data, no idea why, no contact.  We just know she’s down.”

Despite already reportedly being maxed out, Thunderbird Two sped up.  Gordon knew Virgil hated it when Alan or Scott treated her like their own ‘birds and pushed the limits, but he suspected they might get a pass this time.

Speaking of their grounded older brother…

“Gordon, Alan!”

Virgil looked awful. The pyjamas and general ‘injured person’ vibes – including at least one visible cast and general mummification by bandages – aside, it was entirely too obvious that he’d been filled in on what little they knew.

“Receiving you, Virgil. Any way this girl of yours can go any faster?” he answered.  “Alan’s trying, but he’s not you.”

“Hey!”

“Make sure you get there in one piece!” Virgil demanded.

“That’s the plan,” Alan promised.  “Anything from Scott?”

Virgil’s face tightened, panic and frustration both clearly etched onto his face.  It hurt to look at – Gordon knew he wanted nothing more than to be where Alan was right then, getting every last scrap of speed out of his ‘bird.  Gordon wanted him there, too, and not just for piloting.  Virgil would have a plan, but most importantly, Virgil had the best medical knowledge.  If Scott was hurt – not really an if if they weren’t getting any contact from him – Gordon wanted the best man for the job.

The best man was currently stuck in the infirmary with too many broken bones to be of any practical use even once they got Scott home.  Gordon and Alan were just going to have to make do with their lesser qualifications.

“Nothing,” Virgil growled, as though the word physically pained him.  It probably did.

“Maybe he’s just out of range while Five’s down?” Alan suggested hopefully.  They all knew that wasn’t likely, but Gordon wasn’t going to be the one to shoot it down.  Not when he wanted to believe it, too.

“I’ll try pinging him from Two,” he said instead, both for something to do and in the vain hope that Alan might be right – never mind that geographically they were further from Tracy Island than Thunderbird One was and their comms were working fine.

“Is there anything we can do?” the ship’s captain asked from behind them.  “I know we’re not you guys, but if there’s anything…”

Gordon was so glad they weren’t kicking up a fuss.

“Accept our apologies for the extended trip,” he shrugged.  “Otherwise, there’s not much anyone can do until we know more.”  He opened the line to Thunderbird One.

It connected.  Normally, he’d call that a good start.  Now, it just filled him with dread, because it meant comms weren’t down.

“Thunderbird One from Thunderbird Two,” he called.  “Scott, are you receiving?”

Silence.

On the other line, Virgil looked almost as pale as John’s normal holographic visage.  Whether that was the pain from his injuries, or something less physical, Gordon didn’t dare guess.

“Scott!” he tried again. “Thunderbird One, do you hear me?”

Nothing.  Not even a flicker of visual or a semi-conscious groan of pain. Nothing at all.

The thought crossed his mind that Scott wasn’t even in her.

“John, how soon before you get the cameras back online?” he asked.  The ginger head popped up to accompany Virgil’s over the dashboard – Gordon’s earlier observation had been right.  Their faces were both the exact same pallor.  It wasn’t a good look on either of them.  Beside him, Alan wasn’t looking too hot, either.  He didn’t dare think about his own appearance.  “If we can’t raise him, we can at least try and see what we’re dealing with.”

The line had connected, and he hadn’t heard water.  Hopefully that meant she wasn’t leaking and Scott was still comfy and dry, but Gordon wanted to be sure.

Needed to be sure. The rescue would be a lot more complicated without that sort of information.

“Cameras are online, but Thunderbird One’s are turned off right now.”  John’s face was the picture of frustration, and he wasn’t doing a very good job at hiding it in his voice, either.  “It’ll take a little longer before I can access them to turn them on, but EOS is making it a priority.”

Scott never let any of the rest of them turn their internal cameras off.  From now on, Gordon was going to enforce that rule for Thunderbird One, too.  If John and Virgil didn’t beat him to it.

Beside him, Alan was sitting in silence, staring ahead as though if he glared at the world hard enough, he could discover the secrets of teleportation.  Gordon really wished it worked that way.

Sadly, teleportation didn’t exist, and they were having to do things the slow way.  Not that Two was slow, but she certainly wasn’t fast enough.  Not today.

The minutes crawled past like hours.  With Alan firmly in control and channelling Scott’s inner-speed demon as much as the big green ‘bird would allow, there was little for Gordon to do except periodically try to hail Scott, getting ever more concerned as silence persistently responded. He could understand a black-out for a few minutes, but it was – he checked the time – at least an hour since John had contacted him and there was still nothing on the other end of the line.

Virgil was still there, hovering in his bed-bound state and periodically throwing his own frantic calls Scott’s way. Gordon hadn’t even tried to tell him to leave it to them, reminding him that there was nothing he could do.

No-one knew that better than Virgil, after all, and his frustration at his helplessness was steadily mounting the longer the silence persisted.

With no solid information on what they were going to find – external access cameras, which Scott hadn’t turned off, were merrily showing nothing but water and the occasional sea life investigating the strange intruder – Gordon turned his time towards planning.  Plans for an intact Thunderbird One, plans for a leaking Thunderbird One, plans of extraction depending on the severity of Scott’s condition.  He might be going in blind, but he wasn’t going to be going in unprepared.

“Coming up on the co-ordinates now.”  Alan broke through his planning – this scenario involving Thunderbird One somehow stuck and unable to be airlifted – to give him the heads’ up.  His younger brother had been far too subdued the entire flight, and Gordon just hoped he’d be able to keep it together a while longer.  Thunderbird Five wasn’t online enough to have remote control access yet.

And she still didn’t have telemetry, which John was panicking over more and more as Scott continued to be non-responsive, or control over Thunderbird One’s internal cameras.

“F.A.B.,” Gordon responded automatically, getting up from his seat and heading straight for the module and his Thunderbird.  She was just as he’d left her – fully prepared for the next dive – and he settled into the cockpit with ease of experience.

This was just one more rescue.  One with limited information and a brother’s life on the line, but still just one more rescue.  He could do this.

He had to do this.

Pre-dive checks were completed, all systems green and raring to go.  He wondered if she was as anxious to get to her sister as he was his brother.

“Ready for module deployment,” he reported, and barely a moment later they were falling, crashing into the water and rocking for a moment before they stabilised.  “Alan, see if you can get a scan of Thunderbird One’s condition.”  It wouldn’t be as good as a Thunderbird Five scan, but immediately overhead, Thunderbird Two should be able to get something.

Thunderbird Four slid out of the module and under the surface to the tune of his brother’s “F.A.B.” Nose pointed down and sonar active, he pushed her as fast as he dared towards the location they had for the downed Thunderbird.  It wouldn’t be exact – Thunderbird Five’s maintenance downtime crippling the accuracy – but Gordon had enough faith in it to trust that he was at least in range.

Sonar registered the craft just as Alan called him.

“Scans show one life sign,” he said, and Gordon knew he wasn’t imagining the relief in his younger brother’s voice – mostly because he felt it, too.  One life sign meant Scott was alive.  Whatever state he was in, he was alive.  “But Thunderbird One’s been taking on water.  Scans suggest she’s half-flooded.”

That was not such good news. It had to be a small leak, if it was only half after two hours, but with Scott still not responding, he had no idea if his brother was wearing his helmet.

Flooding also meant she was going to be heavier to lift, but the amount of water meant it would be too risky to deploy the tube to link the two craft and attempt to evac Scott into Four. He sent one more ping at the downed Thunderbird, hoping against hope that Scott would answer this time.

He didn’t.

Getting visual on her was a muted sort of relief.  On the one hand, Scott was found, but on the other, Thunderbird One was not supposed to be nestled on the seabed.  It just wasn’t right.

Her wings were still closed, implying she’d been supersonic, and the nose cone was crumpled from the impact with either the water or the sea floor.  Perhaps both.  Gordon suspected that was the source of the leak, but he was more interested in the way she wasn’t entirely belly-down.  Rolled ever so slightly on her side, he should be able to get some sort of visual through the viewing window.

“I’ve got eyes on her,” he belatedly reported.  “Her nose is damaged but otherwise she doesn’t look too bad.  She’s not quite belly-down, so I’m going to go EVA and see what I can see through the viewing window.”

He just needed to see Scott. See that he was okay, see if he had his helmet on and if it was intact.

“Be careful,” John warned. “Your suit won’t hold for long at those depths.”

That was normally Virgil’s line, but Virgil had gone silent.  Gordon would worry about that later, once Scott was safe.

“I just need to check his condition,” he said, tipping backwards into the airlock.  “I won’t be long.”

Compared to Thunderbird Two, Thunderbird One always seemed small.  Somehow, in the wide expanse of the ocean, she looked big.  Crashed machinery instead of sleek ‘bird.  The thought made him shudder as he pushed through the water, heading straight for the panel of window he could see.

Thunderbird One’s emergency lighting was on, dim and shrouding most things in shadow.

It was enough to see that Scott was slumped in the pilot chair.  Definitely unconscious, and also not wearing his helmet, because that would have made Gordon’s job too easy.

It wasn’t enough to see why.

He banged on the glass, in case the vibrations could do what persistent comms couldn’t and rouse his brother.

Nothing.

The water was up past Scott’s boots; Gordon couldn’t see how far but his brother was at least partially submerged.

“Alan, we’ll need the lifting bags.”  There was no way he could safely get Scott out until they were on the surface.

“Coming down to you now.” It was Virgil who responded, deep voice full of determination.  Gordon suspected he’d demanded the remote controls for them.  “How is he?  Can you see him?”

“I can see he’s still in his seat,” Gordon answered.  “Not wearing his helmet, so I can’t evac him until she’s lifted with all that water in her, and still not responding to anything.  It’s too dark to see anything else.”

“Any sign of what brought them down?” John asked.

“Nothing,” Gordon admitted, and that concerned him, because what could bring One down – especially with Scott piloting her?  “Only damage I’m seeing so far is from the landing.”

“Lift bags incoming,” Virgil warned, and he looked up to see the yellow bags descending.

With one last look at his unmoving brother, eerie with the emergency lighting playing over the water inside, he peeled himself away from the viewing window and swam up to meet them, making sure they were firmly attached to the Thunderbird.  No room for error.

“Ready to deploy.”

He swam back to Thunderbird Four, slipping back inside and into the cockpit to watch as the bags inflated and slowly, slowly, peeled the downed ‘bird off of the sea floor.

The ascent seemed to take forever, and Gordon kept pace the entire time, peering through the viewing window as best he could to keep an eye on his brother.  There was no movement at all, no reaction to the way his Thunderbird was rising back up to the surface.

If not for Alan’s report of a life sign, he would have been fearing the worst.  As it was, he was still terrified that something was badly wrong, although with Thunderbird One mostly intact, he wasn’t sure what. There shouldn’t have been anything to knock him out.  Certainly not for this long.

The moment they breached the surface, he latched on to her with Thunderbird Four’s arms and once again left his ‘bird.  Gecko gloves gave him the grip he needed to scramble up to Thunderbird One’s dorsal hatch, and with a quick manual override – that thankfully worked – he dropped down into thigh-deep water inside the Thunderbird.

“Scott!” he called, ignoring frantic demands from his brothers that he update them.  He’d update them when he knew what was going on himself.  Thunderbird One rolled gently with the water she was floating on, somewhat stabilised by Four but not entirely.  Not until clanks told him Alan had fired grapples to lock on.

He waded his way towards the pilot chair, eyeing the way Scott was slumped and already mentally running through all the possible reasons for his unresponsiveness.  A hand on the shoulder of the seat – not his brother until he knew injuries – and he pulled himself the rest of the way until he was in front of Scott, and-

Oh shit.

He must have said it out loud, because suddenly there were three brothers in his ear – loud and frantic – but he only had eyes for his white, white brother.  None of his theories, his suspicions, had been right. Not even close.

Blood-soaked bandages wrapped around Scott’s abdomen, but it wasn’t those that had Gordon’s teeth grinding in a mix of fear and fury.  No.

It was the knife buried hilt-deep.

tbc...

[concussed-to-pieces]

The Mettle Of A Man; Part Nine

Fandom: Fallout (4)

Pairing: Eventual Paladin Danse/Female Sole Survivor

Rating: Holy shit M.

AN: Enjoy!

Part One: ArcJet

Part Two: The Prydwen

Part Three: Orders

Part Four: Finding Brandis

Part Five: Weston Water And Oberland

Part Six: Meeting Preston And Matthew

Part Seven: Radstag And Radstorm

Part Eight: The Return To Sanctuary Hills

Paladin Danse had felt like the husband in one of those pre-war picnic advertisements the whole damn evening. After helping Codsworth carve the roast, the large man had assisted Backhand in making up plates for everyone. Roasted carrots and mashed gourd made their way onto the plates as well before the Longs had shown up to sit at the rickety old picnic table. It was a bit like taking a shift in the mess hall, though it had been several years since Danse had been required to do such a task.

  Despite Codsworth's ramshackle appliances (and the paladin hesitated to even label them as such), the robot appeared to be outstanding at making do with what it had. It easily managed the extra pot and cooking sheet, numerous arms deftly keeping everything from over or under-cooking. Danse was duly impressed. 

  Sturges arrived with an elderly woman clinging to his arm, the aforementioned Mama Murphy if Danse had to guess. She was a frail-looking thing even by Commonwealth standards, all bundled up against the balmy evening air.

  Backhand greeted her warmly, the knight drawing her into a careful hug before urging her to take a seat.

  Everyone gathered around the table and the environment was one of lax comradery, much to Danse's surprise. He had never been involved in a true family dinner, but this seemed to be something like what he had heard about. It was a little cozier than the mess hall on the Prydwen; he kept bumping elbows with Backhand and the woman kept brushing it off like it was nothing, laughing at his stern apologies. Jun plied Danse with a variety of questions about the Brotherhood which he did his best to answer, while Marcy and Sturges asked Codsworth for seconds. All the while Dogmeat begged from anyone that would offer him attention, ending the meal with his head resting on Mama Murphy's thigh as the old woman absently scratched him behind the ears.

  It was...it was nice. 

  But now, warm and well-fed, lying on the mattress he had procured, Danse found himself wide awake. His thoughts wandered to the massive machine Sturges was constructing on the outskirts of town, the molecular relay . Could it be possible that the Institute had no true physical openings to the Commonwealth proper? It seemed like a villain's scheme out of those illustrated paperback manuscripts the squires loved to read, not something that had any basis in reality.

  Though Ingram had weighed in on the matter, she had also believed it to be fantasy, entirely relegated to the world of theory. As such, she may have been a bit more wild with her calculations. A bit more willing to push the envelope. 

  Danse turned over, staring at the doorway as he considered whether he ought to bring up his concerns to Backhand. This was her son at stake. But it would do her no good to get blown to pieces by some malfunction or miscalculation. 

  Hell, they hadn't exactly covered experimental methods of travel in advanced training. The large man sighed and grudgingly slipped from the bed, digging his fatigue pants out of his pack.

  He crept across the hallway, noticing a light still shining from beneath the door of Vega's room. At least he wouldn't be waking her.

  Gingerly, Danse rapped his knuckles on the door. "Knight Vega?" There was no response. The paladin eased the door open, his words dying on his lips as he took in the scene in front of him. 

  Elizabeth was sound asleep in the bed, her hands folded underneath her chin in what Danse had come to identify as her favored sleeping position. On her bedside table a single candle fluttered in the breeze from the now-ajar door, starkly illuminating the pallid cryo burns on her forehead and chin in its yellow glow.

  Of course she was asleep. She was just as tired as he had been, if not moreso. 

  His eyes were drawn without his conscious input to the blue crib that sat empty alongside the door, the vacant area inside it a solemn, silent reminder of why he was even here in the first place.

  Jesus . Danse felt stupid. What had he been planning on doing? Vega, as your commanding officer, I'd greatly appreciate it if you would come discuss my concerns with me. Pander to my needs . He grimaced at himself, shaking his head. Just what kind of fool was he? Sure Danse, she would just sit down, have some damn tea with you and let you whine about how mechanically unsound all of this seems.

  He cautiously moved further into the room and snuffed out the candle before retreating and shutting the door. It would do her no good to burn the place down around her ears as she slumbered. 

  The paladin retraced his steps across the hall to his room, but if sleep had been reluctant before, now it was downright unobtainable . The bed was comfortable enough. Hell, it was a more comfortable bed than he had experienced in literal months . His brain simply refused to be still.

  Danse groaned, staring up at the ceiling. It seemed he was in for another night of patrol duty.

  He got fully dressed and ventured outside, closing the front door silently behind him before setting off down the main 'street' of the development. He barely got halfway to the large tree at the roundabout of the cul-de-sac when he heard someone calling his name.

  It was Sturges, Danse realized, the other main hailing him from the top of one of the houses. "C'mon up and take a load off!" The mechanic urged, patting the roof beside him.

  Danse glanced off down the thoroughfare of Sanctuary, and then shrugged. Eh, what the hell . From an elevated position he could see threats coming.

  The paladin heaved himself up the ladder and plopped down beside the mechanic, declining the cigarette when it was offered. "I come up here when I got thinkin' to do." Sturges turned his face upwards. "Everythin' seems so much smaller. More compartmentalized -ish, you know?"

  "I'm afraid I cannot sympathize, civilian." Danse replied, wishing he didn't sound quite so stiff.

  "Look up for a minute, man. Take in the view. Then try and tell me everythin' down here ain't small potatoes." 

  Danse dutifully obliged, tilting his head back to observe the sprawling cosmos high above. It was hardly his first time gazing at the stars and pretending to think deep thoughts. He said as much to Sturges, who chuckled. 

  "I used to sit up here and wonder how I got to be so good at tinkerin'. I don't remember much about where I came from, not like how other folks do. Can't recall bein' little, or havin' anyone else around. It's all just kinda' vague." He took a contemplative drag off the cigarette. "I figure I must have come from the Institute. Maybe them Railroad boys got hold of me, smuggled me out like a puppy from a pet shop." He gave Danse a lazy grin. "Of course, it don't matter much either way. Now, I'm workin' to bring 'em down. At the end of the day, I'm makin' myself useful. And if I really am a synth, I get a kick out of the idea of all them bigwigs losin' their shit over somethin' I did."

  Danse knew that his first response ought to be immediate apprehension of the mechanic, followed by interrogation and eradication. But something about what Sturges had said resonated with him, settled in his stomach like a lead weight. "You assume you are a synth merely because your early memories are not as clear as they ought to be?"

  Sturges waved him off. "Nah nah, like...they're not really there . I mean, they're there, but it's all kinda'...I 'unno, sterile . Lots of blanks in between, more than the gaps people talk about when they got trauma n' such. Can't remember losin' my first tooth. Breakin' a bone. Whether I had a family. Little things that add up." He glanced over at the other man after a few silent seconds. " Damn , you alright? You're white as a sheet. You been gettin' enough sleep?"

  Sterile . That was a word Danse had privately attributed to his own early memories long before this moment. Devoid of any defining characteristics, any instance of real impact . Just hazy, irradiated landscapes and gray ruins. Alone, always alone.

  He had known, vaguely, deep down, that most people seemed to have the ability to recall important periods from their childhood that he simply lacked. He had chalked it up to being an orphan, being forced to survive on his own from a tender, unknown age. 

  But…

  But what if it was something far more sinister?

  "I just have a lot on my mind." Danse replied finally.

  ...

  It took him four days. Four days where he was out of his armor more often than he was in it, four days of the two of them sitting in what was once her living room as they pored over tattered schematics, defunct wills and shady paper trails of all kinds. 

  Four days of watching her absently tuck a lock of hair back behind her ear. Four days of her being blissfully, wonderfully armor-free as well. Four days of just getting to be in proximity of her without anything going horribly wrong. 

  It only took him four days. 

  Vega had chosen to wear an appropriately light skirt for their less than taxing work of the day, the ragged pink fabric pooled around her as she sat on the floor and studiously sorted through yet another box of somewhat suspicious documents. The sun was setting, a radstorm hanging low on the horizon in the distance. Its green glow muted the pinks and oranges down to a dull yellow, wraith-like beams making their way through every unpatched crack they could find. The light struck the lenses of her glasses when she bowed her head to look closer at a document, the motion sending a few weak prisms scattering across the opposite wall. 

  Danse couldn't help himself, his mouth dry when he gruffly blurted out, "you look nice today."

  Elizabeth gave no indication that she noticed he had said anything, only looking up after several seconds had gone by. "Sorry, what?" She apologized, blinking behind her thick glasses as a troublesome curl slipped forward over her ear to frame her cheek. "I was engrossed in this thrilling tale of larceny."

  Danse chuckled feebly, thanking God that she hadn't heard him. "Ah, nothing. Sorry to have interrupted your reading material." His hands twitched, and then clenched on his thighs after she smiled benignly at him and returned to her reading.

  Her divorce papers had been among the many documents they sifted through. She had read them aloud, making a theatrical endeavor out of the whole thing. Backhand stood and paced, gesticulating and apparently imitating how her ex-husband had done his job in the courtroom. Danse had laughed at the time. But all the while he wondered about how Nate had treated her, and at her animosity towards the nickname that the man had apparently bestowed upon her. Their divorce was obviously far from amicable.

  A nickname. That was essentially all she had left after the divorce she had requested, that and the child which was born on the same day that they finalized the papers. 

  " He had me sign them in the hospital." Backhand had told him, her voice a little less bright. " I had just come from getting Shaun scooped out of me and he was already in my room. I couldn't even lift my arm to sign. One of the nurse robots had to help me. " Her eyes were far away when she continued, " he didn't even want to see Shaun ."

  Danse knew logically that not every human being was cut out to be a parent. Nowadays, it was enough of a struggle just to survive. But he found himself wishing, stupidly , that he had been there two hundred years ago. Wishing that he had been present to send Nate packing, with or without his damned papers.

  Finding Elizabeth wounded at Fort Independence had been bad enough. The idea of her laying limp in a hospital bed, half-dead from the effort of trying to give birth with some cretin badgering her into signing divorce papers--Danse wasn't sure how his blood could retroactively boil, and yet here he was.

  " He wanted kids ." Elizabeth had said. She never mentioned what she had wanted.

  It was becoming increasingly difficult not to think of her as simply Elizabeth, despite the paladin constantly mentally correcting himself. Knight Vega . General Vega . It was becoming increasingly difficult to stop daydreaming about a different life, where the two of them eked out a companionable existence and enjoyed tea in the evenings. 

  He was so lost. He wondered if she would let him kiss her and in the next breath scolded himself for such a ludicrous idea. She had a life already , she had her dog, Sturges, Jun and Marcy, Mama Murphy, this little settlement. She had the Minutemen and Preston. There was no room for him here. He was an assistant on her quest. He had promised to help her find her son and Danse kept his word, even if it involved things that weren't his to promise.

  Danse still couldn't reconcile with truly thinking about her like that since the police station, his body wracked with guilt every time his mind wandered a little too far south. Self control was one of the few things he had left in this world, and Danse did his best to force his thoughts to be chaste when he was alone at night, did his best not to think about what Haylen had said to him during his visit with her and Rhys.

  " It's okay to like her, you know. " The scribe had remarked, her smile soft and knowing as her fingers twined with Rhys'. " You're still allowed to enjoy your life, Paladin ."

  It was futile. It was pointless.

  But wasn't that how everything always turned out with him.

  …

  Sturges claimed that the machine was ready and Backhand couldn't resist throwing her arms around him. She knew he probably couldn't breathe. 

  "Tomorrow mornin', bright an' early, we'll fire the bitch up." Sturges grinned, slapping her on the back before pulling away. "Fingers crossed our luck holds and you'll be back with your little boy."

  "I can't thank you enough for this." Backhand murmured, taking his hands in her own. "Seriously, from the bottom of my heart Sturges, thank you ."

  "Shucks ma'am, you ain't gotta' get all sentimental on me. I'm just happy to help." Sturges replied with his easy grin. "After what you did for us in Concord, this ain't nothing."

  "Congratulations, kid." Mama Murphy said from her chair, wheezing a little. She had asked to be moved outside earlier in the day, as it was pleasantly warm in the sun. Sturges and Jun had carried her throne out by the foundation where Sturges had been constructing the 'slapdash relay' as he had dubbed it. "You'll be on top of those Institute eggheads in no time."

  "Now, I need you to know a few things for tomorrow." Sturges cautioned Vega. "There ain't no sure way to test this thing. We're flyin' blind, unfortunately. I can't guarantee your safety, General. I'd advise you to treat this like your old army endeavors. Not to be grim or nothin', but just...well, make your peace. Smoke 'em if ya' got 'em." Sturges advised, smiling wanly.

  "I'll get in touch with Preston." Backhand replied, believing she understood what the mechanic was getting at. "I won't leave you guys twisting in the wind if I get turned inside out or something." She tried to joke.

  "It ain't us he's concerned about, kid." Murphy piped up, watery eyes fixed on Vega's face. "You better talk to that man of yours. Make sure he knows."

  "Man?" Backhand asked in confusion.

  "Your gentle giant, kid." 

  "Oh. Oh! " Vega blushed furiously even as she tried to explain that Danse was only here as her sponsor for the Brotherhood, nothing more.

  Mama Murphy hummed knowingly, "kid, you can't hide nothin' from ol' Mama Murphy. It's okay that you're anxious. I don't need the Sight to know that you been through a lot." She patted Vega's hand. "Go on, kid. You'll be fine."

  It was on trembling legs that Backhand sussed out Danse after her radio conversation with Preston. 

  " You don't owe the Minutemen a damn thing, General. " Preston had said firmly. " Ronnie will be more than up to the task, if this is where we part ways. I hope you find your son, General Vega, and the Minutemen thank you for everything you've done. You gave us hope , and that isn't an easy thing to find ."

  Danse was, as ever, working on his armor. He seemed to maintain his gear almost obsessively. Currently he had one of the legs detached from the frame, painstakingly sweeping the sand and grit out of the joints so he could apply a fresh coat of grease. 

  "Paladin Danse?" Vega asked, embarrassed by how her voice squeaked. "C-Can I get a word with you?" 

  "Of course, Knight Vega." Danse replied, placing the leg off to one side and picking up a rag to wipe the excess grease away. He propped his hip up on the power armor station, looking at her expectantly.

  Backhand's words dried up and she cleared her throat. "I um, should be able to try to get into the Institute tomorrow." She managed to say.

  Danse's eyebrows rose. " Really . Sturges truly has that much faith in his machine?" The man asked, not unkindly. "I can't find any fault with it, of course. What people like he and Ingram can do has always been incomprehensible to me. I am incredibly curious to see whether the device works. Will you permit me to see you off?"

  "That's kind of what I wanted to speak with you about." Backhand said hesitantly. "Danse, I...I just wanted you to know that…"

  Oh she was a coward , just the worst kind of coward! Danse smiled after a moment. "It's alright, Vega."

  Backhand blinked up at him, stunned. "It...it is?" 

  Danse nodded. "Venturing into uncertain territory is always a tumultuous experience. Take all the time you need. I'll be here to listen." He assured her. 

  She was going to cry. Oh no , oh dammit . Backhand took a deep breath in, stalling her tears for the moment. "I just wanted you to know how much I appreciate your help." She was a coward . "I-If I don't come back."

  "You've been a breath of fresh air for me, soldier." Danse's hands landed on her shoulders, his sincere grin tearing chunks out of her stomach. "Despite our strange and rocky start, you've proved yourself ten times over in my eyes. I'm incredibly proud of what you've accomplished, and I hope our partnership continues even after you've rescued your son." 

  "Y-Yeah." Backhand sniffled, losing the fight with her tears. "Me too, Danse."

  "It is entirely reasonable to be apprehensive, Knight Vega. There is no shame in admitting your trepidation." The paladin's thumbs pressed into her shoulders, idly rubbing circles. "Don't let it eat you alive."

  Backhand felt like a creep. She wished she was brave enough to ask for a hug, while scolding herself for thinking that way. Danse had been such an anchor for her, it wasn't right to expect more out of him. "I won't. Thanks." She promised quietly. "I should probably...go. I'm sure Marcy needs...um, something."

  Danse nodded, removing his hands from her shoulders. Vega silently mourned the loss as she fled like the coward she was, certain that she had turned a violent shade of crimson.

  ...

  I just wanted you to know how much I appreciate your help.

  Danse loathed himself for clinging to those words. Loathed himself for putting his hands on her, what the fuck was he thinking? He talked a great game, but his self-control never seemed to improve. 

  He couldn't believe he had gushed like that. Telling her how proud he was, how glad he was to be able to work with her...she had rescued his team, rescued him .

  He stared up at the ceiling and rubbed his eyes, then dragged his fingers firmly down the sides of his neck in an effort to soothe away the tension that threatened to lock him in place. His trapezius muscles in particular screamed for mercy, making him grunt and dig in a little harder. After several moments of focused attention, the spasm eased. Danse hummed, relieved. He was always concerned that the next one could be his last. He hadn't exactly treated his body with tender loving care, especially when he trained himself to a pulp.

  The rush of endorphins was what did him in every time he worked out, the triumphant feeling when he pushed his body that much further past his previous limits. 

  Danse absently began to smooth his palms down his thighs as his mind wandered. When he caught himself, he tore his hands away like his own touch burned him. That was...God, it had been a fair amount of time, but…

  Danse bit his lip. But …

  The paladin shifted his weight, trying to get more comfortable and cringing every time the mattress springs squeaked. He spread his legs a little wider, one leg hanging over the side of the mattress while the other bent at the knee and pressed against the wall. 

  His touch was, as ever, function over form. Danse slid a hand between the waistband of his briefs and his stomach, hissing out a breath as he felt his body stir under his own fingers. The paladin just rested there for a selfish moment. It had been so long since he had touched himself. 

  He scrolled mentally through a catalogue of his previous endeavors and the media he had seen over the years, trying to decide on a visual to accompany his activity. 

  Cutler came to mind, as he always did. His smile, his eyes, the way a blush rose high on his cheekbones when he and Danse engaged in such pleasant diversions. Danse had never failed to tell the other man just how handsome he was, if only to watch his flustered reaction to the compliment.

  But God, Danse would give anything to have a moment to himself that wasn't tainted with melancholy recollections. He carefully put the memory of Cutler aside and continued to think, not incredibly surprised with his brain's next course of action. 

  It settled on that pre-war mag he had seen passed around in the barracks, the one full of lingerie and women who looked outstanding . One of the buxom models came to mind, her blue eyes and brown hair very similar to--

  Danse flinched, feeling like an idiot for immediately switching to fantasizing about Vega in some sleazy, delicate…

  Barely-there…

  Fuck .

  Danse bit back a groan. She was pre-war, he reasoned wildly, it was only logical that he thought of her. She had curves and real muscle that wasn't simply visible due to emaciation. God, and she was beautiful to boot. He could at least admit that much. 

  His traitorous cock decided to make the choice for him, hardening beneath his hand while he wrestled with himself over imagining Vega in something so devastatingly attractive. It didn't have to be Vega, he rationalized, it could be anyone . Just a woman who resembled her. Entirely by chance. He absolutely wasn't about to masturbate to the idea of his ward in a skimpy outfit. 

  Danse pulled his undershirt up, catching the hem between his teeth to keep it out of the way. He couldn't be loud here, so hopefully the fabric would hold his embarrassing noises at bay. 

  His hand sank to the base of his cock, encircling it and then tugging lazily upwards. Danse almost crumpled in on himself, oh God , it had been ages . He panted out a breath, teasing the sensitive head of his cock for a moment before stroking back down. No matter his guilt, some portion of him was definitely interested in Vega. Beggars couldn't be choosers when it came to stealing a private moment in the Brotherhood, and so he gave in.

  Danse jerked himself off with long, smooth motions, doing his best to keep his pace even. There was nothing worse than falling out of rhythm with his imagination.

  God, she was probably so damn warm, so wet , tight, hot . Danse choked a little when he wondered what she would sound like, utterly devoted to his fantasy now. Would she tell him to be quiet, or would she let him ramble? Let him kiss every part of her body, let him devour her, taste her on his tongue…

  Danse bit back the groan he desperately wanted to let escape at the idea of her calling his name or calling him paladin while he ate her out, " fuck ," he breathed softly, squeezing the base of his cock. 

  Elizabeth , he wanted to say her name out loud, God he wanted to say it so badly, he could feel an ache in his jaw from how hard he was biting his undershirt. He wanted to say her name until she loved it again, until whatever hurt she felt over it vanished into nothingness. He used to call me Beth . The man who was Shaun's father. The man she had married.

  Danse knew it was stupid for him to be irritated by a man who had been dead for around two hundred years. But she wasn't Beth. She was Elizabeth . 

  He wanted to bury his hands in her hair, kiss down her neck, learn every scar and mark on her body. At the same time he feared her getting to know him in that manner, really know him. How greedy and undeserving he was, how much of a failure he was. 

  It was futile to think about. Pointless, even. These feelings, these desires...nothing would ever come of them. Danse knew that. This was just a means to an end and his damned heart, his emotions were going to make a mess of everything.

  He silently spilled his release onto his stomach and then went slack, gasping for breath as his cock twitched and jumped against his belly. 

  The paladin threw an arm over his eyes, grateful at least that his body understood the age-old cue to let him get some damn rest.

  ...

  He didn't sleep well, but at least he slept. Danse was up before the sun, his eyes heavy as he ran through his gear check and suited up in his armor.

  Backhand emerged from her house, clad in her combat armor and armed only with her pistol. Danse noted that she had dark circles under her eyes as well, the young woman sipping coffee from her metal mug like it was the only thing keeping her alive.

  "Want some?" She asked Danse, darting back inside when he nodded in reply. 

  The two of them made their way to the old foundation where Sturges had built the relay, companionable silence filling the air between them. 

  Danse watched the sun rise, his eyes drifting to Elizabeth every now and again. She appeared to simply be enjoying the peace, her own eyes closed as she drank her coffee cross-legged on the foundation. 

  The paladin cleared his throat. "Knight Vega, I-"

  "Up bright an' early, eh?" Sturges called from the residence he appeared to have claimed as his own. "Be with ya' in a moment, General!"

  Backhand tipped her mug to him in acknowledgment, looking up at Danse curiously. "You were saying, Paladin?"

  If something happens to you, if you don't come back, if I don't say the things that I wish I could- - "Do you have that lucky bandanna of yours?" Danse asked instead, crushing the sentimental nonsense down. "I imagine it may prove useful for ensuring your success."

  Backhand laughed, patting her pocket. "Always carry it on me, Danse. The homeland takes care of their own."

  Danse inclined his head and fell silent once more, watching as Sturges fiddled with the control podium. Electricity began to arc and sputter from the generators placed around the site, making the mechanic frown and readjust a few dials.

  "Not sure how long I'll be able to keep it steady for once I dial in on the signal!" He called over the racket of the generators. Vega nodded, getting to her feet and dusting herself off. Danse watched as the engineer hauled her in close and pressed something into her hands, the man speaking too quietly for Danse to hear. Then, "alright General, it's now or never!"

  Vega approached the transfer plate as Sturges turned dials and punched numbers, the man's hands flying over the control panel. Danse stood off to the side, uncertain of what might happen but also unwilling to let her face this alone.

  She pressed her fingers to her lips and brushed them against Danse's helmet. "I'll be back." Vega stated with a wink.

  Danse rolled his eyes, chuckling a little. "Good luck, Knight." He said, his voice tinged with humor.

  And then she was gone. With a flash of light and a burst of noise like a thunderclap, she vanished . Sturges' delight was only dampened by every piece of equipment he had painstakingly built immediately and fatally overloading, leaving the engineer and Danse scorched and dismayed. Danse, for his part, hadn't truly expected the device to work . He had assumed it was just a pipe dream, something for her to throw herself into so that the grief wouldn't swallow her whole.

  But she had disappeared .

Part Ten

[britishassistant]

But I Like One Piece (14)

Of course, it’s hardly as simple as that.

“He’s so annoying.” Uchiha says, leaning on the kitchen counter.

It’s a beautiful summer’s day. The birds are singing, the flowers are blooming.

And for some reason only Robin knows, Uchiha’s in her kitchen.

“I tried to keep training last night, and do you know what he said?” Uchiha’s face twists into a sneer. “He said I had to go to bed. At eight-thirty.”

Naruto nods sympathetically as Uchiha waves his arms about in indignation. “I wasn’t even tired! I haven’t gone to bed that early since I was seven!”

“That’s nice.” She says, conscious of the fact that she goes to bed at eight. “Why are you in my house.”

Uchiha flaps an arm at her. “Not important.”

“Get out of my house then.” She tells him.

He shoots her a poisonous look, then sighs.

Uchiha heaves a large bag onto the counter and pushes it towards her. Or tries to anyway. The bag only budges an inch or so.

She steps forward tentatively and looks inside.

And promptly chokes on air.

“Uchiha.” She says seriously. “Do you have any idea what this is?”

Naruto perks up at her tone, craning his head to try and see inside as well.

He shrugs, as though the contents are somehow uninteresting to him. “The label says it’s lamb.”

“I see that.” She says. “But do you know how much a single lamb chop costs at the market? And not even the ones that’ve been freshly imported from Kusagakure.”

Naruto’s brow furrows. “Is it as much as the beef steak?”

She shoots him a wide-eyed look, remembering the cheap, thin cuts that had ended up costing almost a month’s worth of Otou-sama and Okaa-sama’s combined salary. “More.”

Naruto’s mouth drops open, and he stares at the bag with a newfound sense of reverence.

Uchiha shrugs again, with the self-assured air of a child who’s never had to deal with being told that something he wants is too expensive. “I don’t know. It was just outside the compound this morning. I don’t know any recipes for it yet, so I figured you’d get more use out of it.”

She takes another moment to goggle at the huge leg of lamb sitting in the bag, cellophane wrapped and surrounded by ice.

She hasn’t eaten this meat since the Sunday before she died.

She covers her face with her hands and inhales deeply to regain her composure. “Right. Okay.”

She wonders if it would be easier to roast it all before carving, or if she can get away with cutting it up raw and freeze some of it for later use.

Sasuke looks up from griping when she pulls out one of their sharper knives, running a whetstone over it to make sure it’s as sharp as it possibly can be.

She’s decided to chance it on doing the cuts raw—roasting it all in one marinade would limit the types of dishes whose flavors it could be combined with, and Sanji would never stand for that.

She places the meat onto a chopping board, with multiple plates for different cuts and gristle.

Sanji, she prays silently. Please don’t let me make a mess of this.

She carefully begins trimming off the excess fat and gristle off the piece of meat, trying to keep her cuts as neat as possible. She keeps the fat separate from the rest of the refuse for potential use as lard or flavoring.

It’s only once she begins following the sinews to carve a bit of meat away from a bone that’s shaped a bit like the letter “h”.

She deposits one of the filets onto a plate and sets about trying to carve the h-shaped bone out of the joint so she has more room to work.

She ends up with a bit more bone than she’d anticipated, by which she means all of them. The meat that had formerly been attached to them now sits in various unattractive gristle-and-artery-filled lumps.

She sighs, puts the bones to one side for stock or to roast their marrow, and begins her attack on the gristle and arteries.

“How did you do that?” Uchiha asks, leaning away from the counter.

“Do what?” She frowns, looking up.

He waves at the bones. They’re vaguely pinkish from the fluids of the meat, but have been scraped clean of every last scrap of flesh, she’s proud to say.

She shrugs. “I don’t know. I’ll be honest, I barely have any idea what I’m doing.”

Uchiha purses his lips, calculating. “So...could you do it to an opponent?”

She shoots him an unimpressed look. “Sure, because a squirming person is gonna lie as still as this and let me carve them up. All that’d happen is my knife would get nicked, and I’d have to get it repaired.”

She adopts the same reprimanding tone the teacher uses to tell her off. “Kitchen tools are for the kitchen, Uchiha. We don’t play around with them.”

Naruto snickers at Uchiha’s put-out expression as he groans. “Don’t. You sound just like him.”

“Is living with him really that bad?” Naruto asks, as the gristle begins piling up on the plate.

Uchiha’s face does something complicated. “...He’s better than Anko.”

“So is a goldfish.” She replies. “That’s not really a high bar to clear.”

“He’s better than the others too.” Uchiha allows, grudgingly. “At least he pays attention to me and asks me what I want. And doesn’t talk to me like I’m three.”

Naruto nods encouragingly while the lumps turn into neatish little cubes and filets.

“But he keeps telling me to do stuff.” Uchiha whines, before he tries to drop his voice to imitate the teacher’s. “Sasuke-kun, take a break. Sasuke-kun, cook something without tomatoes. Sasuke-kun, put your clothes in the laundry instead of the garbage. Sasuke-kun, take a bath this week. Sasuke-kun, stop training so hard. Sasuke-kun, be careful with that kunai. Sasuke-kun, go to bed.”

“Do you do all the cooking?” She asks, curious.

Uchiha shoots her a flat look. “Iruka can boil rice and grill mackerel. He said it was an achievement, because he used to make it blow up when he was younger.”

Naruto squints in confusion as most of the food goes into plastic containers and into the fridge while the waste goes into the bin. “The rice or the fish?”

Uchiha pulls a face as sweet potatoes, a red pepper, and several tomatoes appear on the counter. “I didn’t ask.”

She finds herself pulling out a large wok and filling the bottom with olive oil, less cumin than she would’ve liked, plenty of rosemary, and salt and pepper.

She heats up the oil and herb mixture, then drops in the cubed lamb that was left out. “Well, he’s probably just trying to keep you strong.” She says diplomatically, tossing the sweet potatoes and a peeler to Naruto.

He dutifully begins peeling.

“How is me going to bed at eight-thirty making me stronger?” Uchiha stresses, nose wrinkling.

She catches the potato that Naruto tosses back, cubing it and dropping it in the wok before turning to catch the second. “Well, sleep helps your brain develop. If you don’t get enough now, then you’ll be dumb later in life.”

Uchiha gives her a glare that’s truly withering. “You’ll be dumb too if you keep shying away from chakra.”

She frowns, flicking some juice from the pepper at him and snickering as he recoils. “Good meals and good rest make your body stronger. It helps with growth, muscle and brain development.”

Uchiha still looks disbelieving so she adds, “It’s why you’ll be stronger than that man when you get to his age.”

There’s no sounds other than the hiss of diced tomatoes hitting the pan.

“How.” Uchiha hisses, eyes alight with obsession.

She briefly contemplates that that may have been the wrong thing to say as she places a lid on the wok to let the ingredients simmer and puts the rice on.

“Well, he’s a war criminal now, right?” She says.

“Missing nin.” He replies.

“Whatever.” She says. “Point is, nobody wants to work with somebody who’s done what he’s done, not even criminals. So he probably can’t get work, and doesn’t have a steady income. And Konoha has a bounty on his head, so he’s got to evade bounty hunters looking to collect on the reward constantly.”

“And?” Uchiha interrupts, eyeing her disdainfully.

Naruto tilts his head as the meal is stirred and tasted. “Wait.” He says. “How’s that guy gonna get food then?”

“Ex-actly.” She says proudly, nodding to him. “He can’t. He can hardly sleep either, because, y’know, bounty hunters. And I don’t care how good a ninja someone is, no one functions well on continuous food and sleep deprivation. Especially not compared to someone who’s been getting plenty of rest and three square meals a day.”

“That man doesn’t need any of that.” Uchiha’s voice is coated in scorn. “He’s too strong!”

She raises an unimpressed eyebrow. “No matter how strong he is, he’s still mortal. He needs to eat like everyone else, Uchiha.”

“No he doesn't!” Uchiha’s voice cracks on the last word.

Her mouth snaps shut, a reassurance about his brother potentially lying dead in a ditch somewhere suddenly seeming very unwise.

Uchiha stares at his clenched fists, minute tremors shaking his form.

Naruto reaches out slowly and grips his shoulder until the trembling stops.

Wordlessly, the rice and the lamb dish is plated up.

She places one plate in front of Naruto and one in front of Uchiha, putting a lid on the rest for Otou-san and Okaa-san, and Gai and Lee if they end up dropping by for lunch.

She rummages around for chopsticks, tossing two sets to the boys and grabbing one for herself.

There’s a quiet murmur of “itadakimasu” before they all begin eating while standing up.

Naruto’s eyes light up. “This is really good Mayu-chan, believe it!”

She smiles bashfully as she chews. The lamb goes nicely with the spicier flavors, unsurprisingly, but she hadn’t known that it would work this well with the tomato.

Uchiha doesn’t look at her when he asks, “What’s the recipe?”

She’s about to rib that he just watched her make this in front of him, he should pay more attention to what’s happening under his nose—

But she’s suddenly drawing a blank.

What did she put in this?

There’s tomato and lamb and sweet potato and pepper, yes, but there are also some other browned pieces of meat that taste spicy-sweet when she bites into them. It compliments the lamb very well, and she’d be proud of that if she could remember cooking it.

The sauce is far too liquid for the ingredients she recalls putting in the wok to have produced it, and the flavors are too complex for the few spices she added—she’s heard of foods working well together, but not to the point of carrying hints of things that weren’t in the dish in the first place.

Her chewing slows and she wonders if it would count as wasting food if she stops Naruto and Uchiha from eating any more of it.

“I’m back!” Okaa-san calls.

Naruto burbles a “welcome back!” through his stuffed cheeks, while Uchiha just ducks his head and grunts quietly.

She shoves her moral dilemma to the back of her mind to avoid worrying her mother.

Okaa-san goes to hug Naruto, but pauses in the middle of the action.

She sniffs the air, inhaling deeply and wrinkling her nose. “Mayu-chan, are the windows open?”

She shakes her head. “No, Okaa-san.”

Okaa-san goes and tries the windows and the door to the back garden, and then leaves to do the same in the living room, and then upstairs.

She comes back into the kitchen frowning hard.

“None of you let anyone enter or leave while me and Otou-san and Gai-sensei were out, did you?” She asks, looking deeply troubled. “Naruto-kun, Uchiha-san?”

The two boys shake their heads in tandem.

“What’s wrong, Okaa-san?” She asks, absent-mindedly chewing another bit of lamb.

“It’s just—” Her mother shakes her head. “It stinks of cigarette smoke in here.”

It’s probably a good thing she’s swallowed her mouthful.

Otherwise her sudden coughing fit would’ve ended up wasting the mystery food and she’s suddenly pretty certain she does not want to do that, even on accident.

The smell’s faded a bit by the time Gai-sensei and Otou-san get home, but not enough to be unnoticeable.

Because apparently there’s an undercurrent of brine to the scent that has her sweating nervously, wondering about the power of faith and its effects on reality and whether or not she’s finally snapped and is hallucinating the whole thing.

Thankfully, no one aside from Naruto seems to notice her silent panic, because they’re all too busy discussing the possibility of ninja from Kiri infiltrating their house for reasons unknown.

Okaa-san is especially worried, because she apparently hasn’t heard from her family since they moved to Konoha.

This is strange, considering that her mother’s family is a merchant group that does business on nearly every shore of the continent, and one of them was bound to have figured out where they were by now.

Okaa-san and Otou-san debate softly over whether they should try contacting their maternal relatives to see if something’s happened as they all wait outside.

Meanwhile a ninja in a green jacket like Gai-sensei’s and one dressed in black that steers clear of Uchiha go through their house, looking for an intruder that seemingly appeared from and vanished into thin air.

Iruka-sensei quickly arrives to take Uchiha home, with some of the lamb in plastic containers and instructions on what herbs it would be good to roast the meat with.

She would’ve demonstrated, but she doesn’t quite trust herself not to break down crying at the scent yet. Plus, you know, home investigation. Sort of puts a dampner on that kind of thing.

Even Kiba’s mum and her dog come along to join the fun.

The dog ducks his head to her and Naruto in greeting while Kiba’s mum flashes a toothy grin that’s a lot like her son’s.

That grin doesn’t last long.

A lot of growls begin coming from the house, and she thinks she might hear the sound of something breaking, before the dog slips out the front door and over to them.

Gai-sensei seems to know what’s happening, because he leans down a little so he’s on the dog’s level, holding his hands out, palm-up.

The dog sniffs his hands, his arms, and his chest, then moves on to Otou-san, who’s a little befuddled, but mimics Gai-sensei.

The dog is very careful around his bandage-less hands.

Then the dog moves onto Okaa-san, then Naruto, where he pauses and sniffs her best friend a little closer. Naruto giggles a little at the press of the dog’s wet nose.

She presents her own palms next.

The dog leans in and sniffs.

Then he whuffs and tells her, “Inhale through your nose and out through your mouth.”

She blinks in confusion, glancing at Gai-sensei, who nods encouragingly.

So she does as the dog asks, watching as he sniffs the air again.

His doggy brows draw down over his doggy eyes, and he lopes back towards the house.

She shifts nervously, feeling several pairs of eyes boring into her.

Kiba’s mum storms out after her dog within a few minutes. The woman inhales in front of her, nose twitching in a manner not dissimilar to her ninken’s.

“Welp.” She says. “Kid, you reek of that shitty scent. But you haven’t been smoking, or near any bodies of saltwater recently. Kuromaru can easily tell that.”

“That’s right.” Otou-san says, glancing warily between her and Kiba’s mum.

Kiba’s mum sighs. “Well, until Aburame gets here to do his shit, best we can tell is that this fucker somehow infiltrated and stuck to your daughter like creepy, perverted glue before vanishing like a fucking spirit.”

Okaa-san reaches out to grab her shoulder, face twisted at more than just Kiba’s mom’s profanity. “Should we consider alternate lodging for the night? Just in case the—the intruder comes back?”

Kiba’s mum shrugs. “Got anywhere that you can stay?”

Okaa-san bites her lip. Otou-san rubs the back of his neck as he thinks.

“I would gladly lend my living quarters to you should you need it, Chie-san, Jirou-san!” Gai-sensei exclaims.

Both of her parents go dark pink and begin stuttering about how they couldn’t possibly intrude on his living space like that, they wouldn’t want to cause any trouble—

“Gai, you live in the Jounin Quarters.” Kiba’s mum says, one eyebrow raised. “You can’t even keep a dog in those apartments.”

Gai-sensei pouts at that, so she volunteers, “I could always sleep over with Naruto so there’s more space, or we could see if Sakura and her parents could have us?”

Okaa-san looks considering, but Otou-san purses his lips. “Would they be able to defend themselves and escape unharmed if the intruder followed us?”

“But what if it wasn’t an intruder?” Naruto pipes up. “What if it was Sanji?”

A cold sweat breaks out on the back of her neck.

Kiba’s mum looks over to her so fast she’s surprised the woman doesn’t get whiplash.

“That name mean anything to you, kid?” She says, far too casually to really be casual.

She shifts under the sensation of eyes again. “‘S a character from a comic I like. One Piece. He’s a pirate chef.”

She hears the smack of a hand meeting a face, and her mother muttering, “of course he is”.

Kiba’s mum raises an eyebrow. “Never heard of that comic before. And I coulda sworn that Kiba has copies of damn near every series in Fire Country. Know where he could get a copy of this one?”

“No.” She says, trying to make her voice smooth and confident like Robin’s would be, and stop it from quivering like Usopp’s. “It’s been a long time since I last read it. I haven’t been able to find any copies in recent years.”

Kiba’s mum nods, like this is perfectly reasonable. “Shame. And this Sanji character—you like him?”

“He’s my favorite.” She mumbles, cheeks flaming.

“Yeah! He’s really strong, but he only fights with his feet because he needs to protect his hands, believe it!” Naruto enthuses. “And he smokes cigarettes all the time, and he can cook a ten course meal with barely any ingredients, and he’s super smart and sneaky. He’s kinda useless about girls though, believe it.”

She grimaces, commiserating. “Yeah, he falls in love with every pretty girl he sees and refuses to hurt them, even if one’s his opponent. It’s kinda annoying, but he’d be too cool if he wasn’t dumb in some way, so, eh.” She shrugs her shoulders.

Then she makes the mistake of looking up at Otou-san and Okaa-san and Gai-sensei.

The expression on their faces can only be called knowing, and it makes her want to run inside and curl up in her bed and never come out again, ever.

She almost doesn’t hear it when Kiba’s mum asks, “You’ve never met anyone who matches this description in real life?”

She shakes her head. “Of course not. He doesn’t exist here, after all.”

Then the adults stiffen, and she gets the vague impression that she’s said something she shouldn’t have.

She and Naruto are sent back into the house with Kuromaru-san.

She turns back and sees Kiba’s mum discussing something very seriously with her parents and Gai-sensei before Kuromaru-san whuffs and shepherds her into the house with his wet nose.

It feels very ticklish, and she has to stifle slightly hysterical giggles.

“Hey Mayu-chan.” Naruto mutters as they climb the stairs. “How come you said Sanji doesn’t exist here?”

She blinks.

Ah.

Um.

“Be-because he doesn’t. He exists in the world of One Piece, but that world and this world are two separate things. That’s all.” She’s momentarily thankful to all those essays she had to write for her major which allowed her to BS on her feet like this.

There’s a snort from the dog behind her. “It’s not a question of existence if he’s a comic book character. He’s fictional, he’s not alive.”

She does not point out that technically Kuromaru-san and Naruto are also fictional comic book characters and therefore should not be alive by the dog’s logic.

They end up sitting in her room, safely out of the way of the investigation, waving at the ninja who walk past the door and occasionally pulling faces at them when Kuromaru-san isn’t looking.

The ninja in green with something in his mouth pulls faces right back, and it becomes a sort of challenge to see who can go the longest without getting caught.

Kuromaru-san bares the whole ordeal with remarkably good grace, all things considered.

They soon grow tired of this game and of waiting with nothing to do, and end up curled up on her bed to doze in the late afternoon sun.

Nothing is found.

Even Shino’s dad is stumped, his insects buzzing aimlessly around the house in search of something that’s not there.

It’s decided that they may as well stay in the house for the moment, because there’s nothing to suggest that whoever-it-was is limited by geographic location.

For some reason, everyone keeps looking at her when they say that.

Gai-sensei takes the time to set up lots of traps around every window and doorway to ensure the house is well protected before he walks Naruto home.

Otou-san and Okaa-san insist on her sleeping with them in the big bed that night.

She waits until she can hear them breathing softly in sleep.

Sanji, she prays silently. If that was you helping me out earlier, then thank you very, very much for your assistance. The meal was really, really delicious and I’m honored I got to cook with you. But, maybe, if it’s not too much trouble, could you maybe be a little bit sneakier if you honor me with your help out again? Like when you were Mister Prince, because Otou-san and Okaa-san and Gai-sensei got really freaked out when they thought someone broke in. Thank you for everything again. I think you’re amazing, no matter what Zoro says.

She could swear she hears a gentle chuckle as she falls asleep.

[modestlyabsurd]

God of Lies (Loki x Reader)

"Forgive me - I don't mean to pry, but, why were you so adamant about not going out with the rest?" Loki asks.

That wasn't what you expected him to ask at all. Hell, you prepared for some kind of sideways question about your appearance or career choice.

Pleasantly surprised, you shrug your shoulders. "I just don't like the atmosphere in those kinds of places. Being around a bunch of drunk people. I don't really like drinking either."

"Why?" he chirps.

"I dunno. The whole lack of inhibitions, and," you thought for a moment, "the way it changes your personality. I never have liked that feeling. I'd rather be in full control of myself and my actions in places like that."

Loki purses his lips and nods slowly. "Quite a different outlook than that of your peers."

A pit in your stomach forms as you feel self conscious all of a sudden. "Well why didn't you go with them?" you ask defensively - more so than you meant to. Immediately your teeth clench, wishing you could press rewind.

"I prefer let those around me make fools of themselves. That way I don't have to do it for them. And, it's much more fun to watch than to be involved."

"Then you could've just went and didn't drink anything."

"Well, yes, I could've. But I wanted to kill two birds with one stone, as you say. Let earth's mightiest heroes entertain me with their drunken witlessness later, and in the meantime ... spend time with you."

Your steps slow down as Loki gets a few feet ahead of you, hands in his pockets, bright face looking forward. Completely unbelievable.

You laugh a dry laugh. "If you told a jackass that, he'd kick your teeth out."

"Beg your pardon?" he chirps again. He twirled around obnoxiously swinging a leg out.

When you spoke that thought out loud, you didn't think he'd even acknowledge it, let alone question you; and by the time your stunned brain formulates a response and your mouth opens to say it, Loki's chest is nearing yours. He's staring at you, seemingly not knowing or caring about the wall you're backing up to. You lock on him. Watching his every muscle movement. Licking his lips, the ghost of a smirk, a sort of ludic glint in his prodding eyes. You're feeling out his intent but he's fucking unreadable.

Then you remember that you're unarmed.

Every possible ounce of comfort, or confidence, and your ability to verbalize anything all drained away and you slam your mouth shut the instant his forearm rested against the bricks above your head. He's looming over you. It forced you to look downward at your shoes - and the tips of Loki's shoes just centimeters from yours - or else you would've brushed noses.

What're you gonna do? Shove this superhuman strength-wielding alien off you? Risk a bout of combat breaking out here in the middle of a beautiful gray New York evening? It does play out in your mind, but it doesn't get to the ending before a change of air wafts around you. You nearly lift your head - just out of instinct, trying to identify the pleasant smell - but Loki is right there.

...

It's him.

The scents of the streets you've been walking together, the cinnamon from the pastry he'd eaten, and a sort of elemental masculinity on his skin; they wake up something inside you that you did not want awaken right now. You wanted it to sleep. You wanted it to die.

But at the same time, you wanted to surrender to it. His mouth is literally right there, parted slightly, hovering at the tip of your nose. Although you search for an escape, you can't bring yourself to squirm away.

A laugh - more like a breath - puffs from Loki's throat, fanning your face. "A jackass?"

You swallow. "It's just a saying."

"I quite like that, actually."

He's whispering to your nose. Against a brick wall; amongst the New York City passersby. Just a tilt of the chin away.

With hooded, lustful eyes, Loki is scanning for signs of discomfort. While you are indeed shifting from side to side and refusing to look him in the face, he can feel something more than that. Something so vague, but so obvious it's almost physical.

He pushes himself away from the bricks.

"Are there any decent places nearby? Anything of substance? Value? Entertainment or enlightenment?"

Air harshly fills your chest upon regaining breathing room.

For a second, you draw a complete blank. You don't know what he's asking, you don't know what you're feeling, you don't know your own name for a good four seconds.

Then, confidently, you answer, "I know there's a library somewhere around here. I've been wanting to see some of the thrift stores, too. And there's a little walking trail somewhere that I've wanted to see. Any of those along the lines of what you're suggesting?" you prop your foot against the wall behind you. Getting comfortable again.

He sighs dramatically. "I suppose I like the idea of a thrift store. I don't have much apparel that would blend in with your Midgardian ... trends."

"Are you insinuating that you don't like human clothes?"

He raises his brows and looks down at you. "I'm wearing them now, aren't I?"

You start walking side by side, but with enough distance to keep you sane. The noise from honking cars blaring by, the steady electric hum of lights and signs, thousands of feet hitting the pavement and the occasional swearing from angry New Yorkers became sort of a white noise; it was comforting. Distracting.

You're searching for the nearest second-hand store on your phone as you walk. Of course Loki wouldn't question that - eighty percent of the faces he sees is staring down at their screens. So he had no clue that you were purposefully distracting yourself.

At least, you thought he didn't, and that was enough.

Upon glancing up from your directions, you catch Loki's eyes.

Spoke too soon.

You scoff, and can't help but grin at how ridiculous you feel. It frustrated you mentally and sexually - and all he did was look at you.

"You're so complicated," you half-joke.

Loki replies lightheartedly, "Have you ever considered the possibility that it's you that complicates me in your mind? Before you get angry, hear me out. Your people must find answers to everything in an attempt to understand them, and therefore you overthink the simplest things. For instance, I don't dislike all Midgardian apparel. I like what I'm currently wearing, I like what you're currently wearing ... " he trails off.

How? your inner voice says. You understood him liking his elegant three, four - hell, probably five piece suit, but you didn't even dress up today. You threw on whatever was nearest. It pales in comparison to his attire.

Wait a minute ...

This has to be a joke.

"Ah, you see? You're doing it now, questioning and processing everything I've just said instead of merely taking it for what it is. I'm really rather simple. I say what I mean for the most part."

"Is that why they call you the God of lies?"

Loki chuckles.

"Lying is merely enhancing the truth for a benefit. Within all lies, there is at least some truth."

You nod your head slowly beside him, absorbing what he's said. Trying to make sense of it, to somehow see the simplicity.

He's a damn contradiction. Just from your glances at him, the barely noticeable grin across his face and his overall attitude is confusing to say the least. It's like he's in the clouds somewhere, but at the same time he's firmly planted in the conversation.

"Okay, I have two things. First of all, that's bullshit."

He snorts. "And why is that?"

The two of you approach a crosswalk to cross a littered street, and Loki waits patiently beside you as you watch for traffic. Although you can't hardly hear yourself think, what with the cars now honking their horns only a few feet away, you scan around for an example to use.

The cars slow down, the light signals for you to walk, and you see one.

A young man approaches from the opposite side. He is clearly the result of a unicorn breeding with a death metal band. Long, wild pastel dyed hair, a black shirt gutted so much that the words are illegible, piercings, purple glasses. Nothing unusual for New York, really.

As you and Loki walk, you step ahead and take the lead.

"I love your tattoo!" You yell over the cars, pointing to the boy's face. He looks up from his phone.

"Oh, thank you!" the death-unicorn smiles, sweeping a piece of hair behind his ear, and that was it.

Now that your heart is pumping from pure fear, you speed walk across the street to get as far away from the situation as possible. Subsequently making Loki do the same to catch up behind you.

"Did you see that? Did you? I hated that tattoo!" you turn around and whisper-yell. "There was no truth in that statement I just made!"

"Really? I thought it looked nice."

"Yeah, I bet you did," you huff, looking for the thrift store sign.

You could punch him. You would, too, if it weren't for that face. That stupid grin. His eyes holding yours. Your mind wants to punch him but your body wants to touch him. Aren't the mind and body supposed to be in synchrony? What the fuck is happening?

"But, that was for the greater good, was it not? The actual words and thoughts behind the compliment may not have been what you truly feel, however it made him - or her - it made them feel happy. In the end, isn't that what matters?"

You suppose he isn't completely wrong.

Wait, no! What an asshole!

"Which leads me to my next point," you stop and fiercely turn around to face him. "How do I know that everything you've told me so far isn't all lies?"

It sure feels good to burn someone that severely. It looks like you might have even hurt him a little. And it actually feels good.

After a few seconds of you antagonistically waiting for a response, Loki shakes his head. A sad smile appears for an instant before he looks up from the pavement into your eyes.

"Others may call me the God of Lies, but in every word I say to you is nothing but the truth."

The burn was short-lived. In fact, instead of how it should've been, where he's the one who gets burned, now it feels like you're the jerk who finally got what was coming to them.

You too ashamed to move. You know that what he just said wasn't a lie - you watched. You analyzed it. As one who's been deceived a few times ... you could tell. No unnecessary or distracting movements, no overuse of "honest" behaviors. He hasn't used arrogance as a veil like you've seen him do with others. What reason do you have to believe that he's a liar, anyway? Sure, he ate the last chocolate chip cookie one night at two A.M. and casted an illusion of Thor eating it for FRIDAY's surveillance (which he doesn't realize you know, as you saw the fake Thor disappear through Loki's wall) among other similar things, but that really isn't master manipulation. Hell, that's a good sense of humor.

But you've come this far. You can't let him off that easy.

Mustering up a voice, you say, "That still doesn't prove - Loki?"

He's gone.

Frantically you search, hair flipping every which way. Your heart starts to race as you look for the tall Asgardian amongst New York City's population. Faces are all blurs. Just trenchcoats and blue jeans.

He's gone!

You're unconsciously spinning around searching, and your eyes land on the thrift store sign above you. Trying to think the best instead of the worst you push through the crowds of people - some soft and some hard as brick walls - to get to the entrance. You were disheveled before and you're a mess now; New York crowds are like California rip currents.

The first thing you see in the store is rows and rows of racks of clothes. Then you see the shoppers, all leisurely looking the store over. As you enter, and the smell of fabric and the insides of people's homes hits you, you scan around. Old people are weaving through the used furniture, kids are playing with old toys, and their moms are looking at shoes for their growing feet.

You see a huge bookshelf at the back wall and are very, very tempted. But you remember that Loki is missing.

Scanning the tops of aisles for heads, you begin walking through the racks of jeans, khaki pants, shorts, and are reluctant to call his name out. You never know who remembers what when it comes to alien attacks.

Panic starts to set in.

"How does this look?"

A one-eighty degree spin. There he is. In between the racks, wearing an awful yellow 1980's plaid blazer.

You wonder if this is what love feels like.

"Looks great."

"Well, well. You could be the Goddess of Lies."

~

it's been a while :) how you duhhhhn?

~

tag list: @arttasticgreatnessoftheawesome77 @afinedilemma @fire-in-her-veinz @paradisaicsam @drakesfiance @internetgremlin @dragon-chica @triggeredpossum

[call-me-rei]

Chapter 25

“I can’t stand that you see right through me. I can’t stand when you look away.”

---

The rest of the week went by in a haze. I felt like I floated through life: eating, sleeping, going to school, coming home, and doing it all over again. I didn’t want to talk to anyone about Vic any more than I already did on Tuesday. I figured that if I left it alone then I could get over it and find a way to fix it.

Too bad no one told my brain that that was the plan.

I was obsessing over the fact that Vic was trying to avoid me. We had two classes every other day, and in both classes, he never looked at me. I would get to our government class before him and whenever he walked in; he would look through me on his way to his seat. In music appreciation I stole glances at him to gauge how he was feeling. I hoped he would look back at me, but he never did.

He was acting like I didn’t exist.

On Wednesday when Ms. Pope gave us time to work on our projects Vic resorted to putting his headphones in and writing in his notebook.

I was hurt but refused to show it.

I didn’t know what I could do to either stop these feelings or get Vic to admit his to me. I had so many plans jumbled in my mind that I wanted to put into action. So many words I wanted to say. Of course, I wanted him to make the first move, but I knew that didn’t make sense.

On Thursday I told myself to man up and go through with something. At that point it didn’t matter; I just wanted to stop obsessing about it.

It was Friday, the last day before Thanksgiving break. I was in music appreciation waiting for the bell to ring to dismiss the other students from lunch. I had managed to sneak away from my friends so I could have some time to think about what I was going to do.

Today was the day I was going to get Vic to talk to me.

We hadn’t talked since Monday, so I figured he would’ve had enough time to collect his thoughts about me. That was the hope, at least.

I looked down at the blank sheet of paper on my desk. I had decided to write Vic a note since I didn’t want to risk him flat out ignoring whatever words came out of my mouth. I just needed to figure out what to write. “I’m sorry” seemed too vague; “Can we talk?” seemed desperate. I wanted him to acknowledge me, but not think I was a desperate loser who needed his attention.

Even if that was who I was.

I thought about what I wanted to say to him as the end of lunch bell rang. I knew I didn’t want to simply apologize. No, he deserved an explanation as to why I acted the way I did. And knowing Vic, he’d request one even if it was coming anyway.

My classmates started trickling into the room, meaning that class was going to start in five minutes. Vic would be one of the last ones to arrive, so I had a bit of time to figure out what it was I wanted to write to start the dreaded conversation.

I bit my lip as I looked at the page. I had been going around in circles for the last fifteen minutes and had gotten nowhere. I was about to start drawing on the page when I felt a pair of eyes on me.

I dared myself to look up to where the feeling was coming from. My breath caught in my throat as my blue eyes locked with his brown ones. Time seemed to stand still. Then, all too quickly, it moved again. He shook his head and walked to his desk without looking at me again.

I looked at him from the corner of my eye. He had started writing in his notebook, I guess so he wouldn’t have to look at me again. I bit my lip not so subtly, mostly out of frustration.

Class started shortly after Vic took his seat, and once again, he didn’t interact with me. By the time Ms. Pope was done with the lesson and had given us time to socialize before the bell, I had decided on what to write. I scribbled it onto the page and folded the paper in half twice. Then I reached over to Vic’s desk.

His eyes met mine with confusion in them, but I ignored it and slipped the paper in-between the pages of his notebook. I didn’t care if he read it while I was looking; I just needed him to see it.

I quickly stuffed my things into my backpack so my back would be turned to Vic. I didn’t want to look at him or else I’d lose all the courage I had come up with to give him that note. I wanted to preserve the last little bit of confidence I had before the crippling anxiety I was usually overwhelmed with pushed its to the surface.

I turned back around and saw Vic staring at the note in confusion. His eyebrows were furrowed as he read my writing. I almost smiled at his cute, confused look.

He must’ve noticed me because he turned to look at me. Time stood still once again. We stared into the other’s eyes, waiting for a move to be made by the other. Finally, Vic made a motion. He opened his mouth to speak to me for the first time in days. And although I craved the sound of his voice, I didn’t want the rejection that was sure to come from his lips.

Thankfully, the dismissal bell rang throughout the school, signaling the start of our week-long break.

“Okay you guys, have a wonderful and safe break! I’ll see you all in two weeks.” Ms. Pope bid us goodbye and the class emptied. Vic turned his attention from our teacher’s announcement back to me. He opened his mouth to speak once again, but this time I cut him off with a small smile. Without a word, I turned and walked out of the room.

***

Can I come over?

That was the message I wrote to Vic. In retrospect I could’ve come up with something better, but I wanted to be direct and have the best chance of not getting rejected.

I figured that Vic wouldn’t want to meet me anywhere like a restaurant or the park, so that wasn’t an option in my mind. And since those were out, then inviting him to my house was out as well. There was a better chance that he would be more open to talking to me at his home base; at the place where he felt most comfortable.

At least that’s what I kept repeating to myself as I stood in front of his front door.

Whether he said yes or no, I was going to show up. I didn’t want him to go out of town and keep me in limbo for a week. I was already in such a bad mental state after four days. I didn’t want to know where I’d be if we added seven more.

I took some calming breaths as I looked at the wooden door before me. I had been standing outside for ten, maybe twelve minutes. School was released an hour ago, so I knew Vic was home. Whether or not he was fine with me showing up was what kept me standing on his front porch.

I have a fear of rejection. I want people to like me so I do all I can to be accepted. That’s why I waited to tell my friends I was gay, that’s why I go along with whatever stupid idea someone comes up with, and that’s why I tried so hard to keep Vic away at first. Not knowing if he was into me kept that fear at bay, but now that I know and that he might have someone else, I feel like an idiot who should’ve listened to his conscious when it said that I would end up like this.

I sighed for the hundredth time and fixed my eyes on the doorbell. The longer I just stood there, the more suspicious the neighbors would become. I didn’t need a Karen on my ass. I reached forward and pressed the button.

In no time the door swung open to reveal one of the Fuentes brothers. It wasn’t the one I was hoping for though.

“Geez, I was wondering when you were gonna do something,” Mike said to me. I cocked an eyebrow in confusion. “You’ve been standing out here for almost twenty minutes!”

Oh, so that’s how long I was out here.

“How’d you know?” I asked. Since I was at the door, I figured I would’ve seen someone at the window.

“Call it a hunch,” he spoke with a smile. “I sensed someone was at the door and when I looked out there you were. What’s up, you here to see Vic?”

I nodded, afraid to say anything about my situation with Mike’s brother.

“Well, I’m glad you are. But I gotta say, whatever happened between you two really messed with him.”

I chewed on my lip. “I was afraid of that,” I mumbled.

“Hey, at least you’re here to make it right. He didn’t tell me what happened, but if it’s bad enough to get him all moody I know it was something big. I can tell he’s holding himself together, but one more day and I’m sure he would’ve broke.”

“Broke?”

Mike shook his head. “I can’t talk about it; that’s more for him to discuss.”

“I get it.” I did. It was like me and my thoughts of self-harm. I wouldn’t want anyone telling people about them. That was for me to do when I was ready.

“Anyway, do you wanna come in? I’ll go get Vic.”

A voice in the background spoke before I could answer. “Why are you getting me?”

Mike turned his head in the direction of his brother’s voice. I was inclined to do the same and peeked around Mike to see Vic coming into view.

“You’ve got a visitor, bro.” Mike turned back to me and gave me a wink. “I’ll leave you two to it.” With a pat to Vic’s shoulder, he walked around the corner, leaving Vic and I staring at each other.

“Hey,” I whispered to ease the awkward silence and tension. Vic sighed.

“I never responded to your note. I think that means to stay away.”

Ouch.

I ignored his harsh words and focused on my mission. “I was gonna come over anyway,” I said. “Can we talk? Please?”

He looked to be thinking through a hundred thoughts at once. His brows were furrowed, and his arms were crossed at his chest. He was staring at me in discontent. Then all of a sudden, his hateful look vanished and was replaced with a look of defeat.

He sighed. “Come on in.” He moved aside to give me space to walk in. “Follow me,” he spoke as he closed the front door. I did so without a word.

We walked around the corner to the living room. Vic made eye contact with Mike who was sitting on the couch watching TV. Apparently they had some sort of brotherly telepathy because Mike nodded even when neither of them said a word. Vic nodded back to him before we took off again.

“I’m surprised you wanted to talk so soon,” Vic said as he led me up the stairs to his room.

“Yeah, well, I overthink and over-analyze everything so it’s better for me to get things out in the open as quickly as possible before I start obsessing relentlessly.” As if I hadn’t been relentlessly obsessing all damn week. But I wouldn’t let him know that.

“Makes sense,” was his only response.

When we got to his room, Vic flopped onto his bed. He reached for his phone that was on his bedside table. I took that as a cue to find a seat, so I sat at his desk.

“So, what did you wanna say to me?” he asked. I chewed on my lip yet again.

What did I want to say? I had so much I wanted to say. I wanted to apologize for being a dumbass; I wanted to confess my feelings for him. I wanted to ask him if he had feelings for me; real, true feelings. I wanted to know that I had no reason to be afraid of him rejecting me because he really, truly wanted me. I wanted to talk about Alex, but I didn’t want to talk about Alex. I wanted him to assure me that Alex was nobody because I’m the one he needed.

I wanted to live out a fairy tale with Vic if only for a moment.

A huff from across the room drew me out of my thoughts. I looked toward the source of the sound and noticed how annoyed Vic looked. He rolled his eyes and picked up his phone.

“I’m not sure why I let you come in if you weren’t gonna do anything.”

Ouch.

“I’m just trying to-”

“Save it,” he barked, his eyes not leaving his screen. “If you’re gonna sit and waste my time then at least do it after the holiday. I’ll be stuffed and sleepy, so I won’t even notice you’re here.”

Double ouch.

I clenched my hands into fists to distract the tears that were threatening to fall. I applied so much pressure into my palms that I’m sure I was about to draw blood. But I couldn’t let him know how badly his words hurt. It was obvious he was doing this as a defense mechanism. Mike said he was hurting, and this was probably how he was trying to keep me from seeing it. If Mike hadn’t have told me the truth, I would’ve run out of the room in tears.

But I didn’t. Instead I said something that made me want to crawl in a hole and die.

“Let’s play truth or dare.”

Vic looked up from his phone. “What?”

“Truth or dare.”

He let out an annoyed sigh. “Really? Why would I want to-“

“Please?” I asked with more confidence that I had left in me. I figured since I already said it, I might as well roll with it. “We learned a lot about each other the last time we played. I think it’ll be good.”

He huffed before picking his phone back up. “Fine,” he spoke as the light from the screen illuminated his face.

“Okay, I’ll start. Truth or dare?”

“Truth,” he answered uninterested.

I racked my brain for questions to ask. I could ask if he was into guys or girls, or both, but that seemed too invasive for the first question. I could ask about Alex, but that also seemed too invasive. There was no way in hell I was going to ask him about his feelings for me. I bit my lip in frustration.

“What, you didn’t pre-plan your questions?” I regained focus and glanced at Vic. I guess the silence piqued his curiosity because his phone was away from his face and his eyes were on me.

“No,” I chuckled uncomfortably as my hand rubbed the back of my neck, “I guess I didn’t.”

“Fine, I guess I’ll start.” I breathed out a small sigh of relief. “Truth or dare?”

“Truth,” I answered.

He sat up and dropped his phone on the bed. “Why’d your freak out on me the other day?”

I blew out a breath. I had a feeling that question would come up. Did I expect it to be the first thing he asked me? Hell no, but I should’ve known that Vic wouldn’t beat around the bush.

“Because my friend told me some things that I thought were true.”

“Things about me?”

I didn’t answer. Instead I looked down at my lap. My hands began fidgeting with a loose thread on the hem of my shirt as if it were the most interesting thing in the world.

“What things?”

I bit my lip harder with my eyes cast down and my hands occupied by thread. I didn’t want to answer.

“Kellin?”

“I’d rather not say,” I whispered.

“Well too bad. If you’re hearing things about me, I’d like to know what they are.”

I shook my head slightly. It wasn’t meant to be a response to Vic’s statement, but I knew he took it as such based on what he said next.

“Wouldn’t you want to know if it’s true?”

I looked up from my lap expecting to see that cocky smile I was used to. I didn’t get it. Instead I got a serious look. His face was stoic; there wasn’t a hint of a joke etched anywhere on his features. He really did want to help me distinguish the truth from the rumor.

I took a deep breath and let it out slowly while fixing my posture so I was looking at Vic again. My back was straight and my hands were folded in my lap. If I was going to tell him, I was going to be confident about it. At the very least I was going to feign confidence so my voice wouldn’t shake. That’s how that worked, right?

“She said that there’s a rumor that you and your friend Alex are messing around. Or rather, that you two were messing around when he first moved here but you put a stop to that rumor but you’re still sleeping with him in secret.”

He was silent for a few moments. I didn’t know if he was waiting for me to continue or was taking in what I said. My unspoken question was answered soon enough. “Why did that bother you?”

“Because…,” I hesitated. I took another deep breath and let it out slowly. “Because you asked me out like you were interested in me. We had this wonderful date and I thought you actually liked me. Then I see you two together and I hear about you guys and I think, ‘Maybe I’m just a little bit of fun on the side.’ Or ‘Maybe he’s a player so he has me and Alex and who knows how many others he can call up when he’s lonely.’ It sucks because you’re the first guy I’ve had real feelings for and to be played like that by your first gay crush is bullshit.”

I didn’t expect myself to let all of that out at once, but I couldn’t deny that it felt good to say it. I wanted to hold onto that good feeling for as long as possible, so I ignored the fact that Vic had scooted closer to me.

“I’m your first gay crush?” I gave him a small nod. A small smile tugged at the corner of his mouth. “I’m flattered.”

I rolled my eyes. “I shouldn’t have said anything,” I mumbled loud enough for him to hear.

“No, seriously. I’m happy to know you like me.”

“Why?” I challenged.

“Because I was kind of a dick to you when we first met. And for a few weeks after that. I’m glad I didn’t scare you off.”

“Yeah, well, you’re not all bad,” I stated dismissively. Vic’s smile got bigger.

“Thanks Quinn.” We stared at each other for a little bit. For the first time all week I saw the softness and humor in Vic’s eyes again. It made me smile.

“So,” I dragged out once I had taken in enough of Vic’s happy face, “are you gonna address my questions?”

He chuckled. “Yeah, I owe you that.” He moved over some more so that he was sitting in front of me with his legs hanging off the end of the bed. “Those rumors your friend told you about are really just rumors. Alex is straight with a girlfriend. And even if he wasn’t, I’m not interested in him. We never hooked up, never flirted with each other or anything like that. We’re just friends.”

I felt some of the tension leave my body. My muscles relaxed and the weight on my chest lifted. I really needed to hear those words from his mouth. But how much of it was true?

“I know what you’re thinking,” Vic said. I looked at him questionably. “Your face changed,” he answered. “I’m not lying to you, I swear. This isn’t something I’d lie about.” I searched his eyes and found sincerity. I smiled at him.

“Thank you.” He nodded. “I’m sorry,” I breathed. “I shouldn’t have freaked out on you the way I did. I just didn’t like feeling that I was being played.”

Vic got off the bed to kneel in front of me. “Listen to me: I would never play you.” He paused with hesitation before he continued. “I actually…” His eyes darted around the room uncomfortably. He looked nervous.

“You actually what?”

He sighed and wiped his face with his hand. When his hand dropped his lips were pressed together. He took a breath through his nose.

“Vic?” I was getting worried. I had never seen him this way. “Are you okay?”

He looked anxious and apprehensive at the same time. Then, in an instant, his face was clear from all previous emotion. It was like a switch flipped. I was appalled. How did he manage to do that, and could he teach me?

I was going to ask him about his sudden change in facial expressions when he sighed deeply.

“Fuck it,” he said in a husky whisper. He straightened his body so he was still on his knees but his eyes were level with mine. Before I could wonder what he was doing, he placed his hands on my cheeks, leaned in, and kissed me.

[philalethistry]

WELP my birthday month was a bit of a rollercoaster ride. I thought about the cons of posting this but I’d like to record it, so that future me can look back and, depending on how the future goes, either feel validated or be glad that this is over. Warning: discussion of crappy mental health.

TL;DR Breakdown results in will to live and fuck current events I have a recliner

I’m going to start with today, Sept. 1, and work back, for reasons.

Today I drove to a furniture thrift store. This doesn’t sound like much, but I A. hate driving, especially to new places, B. am already in a pretty anxious state, and C. I got lost because the road I wanted to turn on wasn’t marked, nor looked like a road rather than an alley, and so I somehow spent two hours trying to find one store. (At one point I had to stop and get something to eat because I had started shaking. The cashier watched me struggle to free two bills from my wallet and then declined the change I owed her to avoid making me retrieve that too. I wonder if she thought I was high...)

The important thing about what I did today, is I went out to find the store, and even when I did not find the store and ended up circling back to my street, instead of going home and having a sandwich and watching Youtube, I turned around again. I know it’s partially because of this video’s explanation of why one gets more nervous trying to do something a second time after procrastinating or running away from it, as I’d always pin the anxiety on my guilt, instead of a fear instinct which is more managable. But I’m going to give dopamine where dopamine is due and also say that my eventual victory was partially because of the newfound strength I have in the aftermath of the freak mental storm that enveloped the start of August.

I know that no one is doing “””okay””” right now, because of Everything, and that is nicely validating, because I am not okay either. But it’s dissonant, because I’d often follow the lead of neurotypicals and high-functioning depressives and anxious people when I’m in a bad way. If THEY say things aren’t as hopeless as I think they are, they probably aren’t! While that helped, it also downplayed my brain issues, and now that everyone has the same opinions on the State of Things, I realized I didn’t have any idea of how to confront the bad shit on my own, and neither does anyone else.

I’m technically still quarantining by refraining from making a lot of trips out and from getting a job, and so the murky pea-soup fogs of the future unsettle me. I was pretty chipper for the larger part of quarantine, as an introvert. Then one day, the thought suddenly occurred to me of the sheer amount of time I’ve spent in quarantine, how COVID isn’t receding from Arizona, how I had to quit the first job I’d gotten in the face of anxiety and depression, of how much of my future rests on the coming election, and most of all of how I have no idea what my future holds, of where I’ll be five or ten years down the line. “In the same place” and “Somewhere else” seem equally intimidating.

And then hormones struck.

I’ve had bad depressive episodes; I’ve had bad days of anxiety; I’ve had bad PMS; and then I’ve simply indulged unhealthy negativity. All of these, combined, made for a surreal and frightening experience. Emphasis on surreal. Also, contextually, emphasis on frightening, obviously. There were many feelings. Emphasis on everything.

My mental space may be a mess but I’ve never been too concerned with dwelling on life and death, even when faced with the latter. It’s never been a point of any interest to me; in the face of mortality I’m pretty good at giving importance to the present moment and to my internal values, like “science cool,” “mocha good” and “drawing fun.” In fact since childhood (third grade. Is this a normal third grader thing??) I’ve been a fan of cheerful nihilism, IE “There isn’t a secret meaning to the universe therefore I can give it any meaning I can make! Anything is possible, things are great!” I didn’t really grasp the concept behind existential dread, it sounded like something that happened to movie characters when the writers didn’t know how else to portray angst. Oh boy, do I have a new emotion I won’t be able to forget. My natural disaster of a brain supplied me, among everything I was already experiencing, three (3!!!) different categories of existential crisis. I had to look it up. And the weird thing about this Satan’s asscrack of an episode, is that while I’m prone to spiraling rumination, normally I can distract myself, because it’s still just me, thinking unhelpful thoughts. This time, these thoughts, the shittiest thoughts I’ve ever had the displeasure of producing, were automatic. I was not getting stuck pondering one bad topic; everything I saw became, in real time, entangled in the web of thought pattern in the most natural way. And it was LOUD.

Have you ever thought, “I’ll sit on the couch, the couch is comfy. The couch did not exist until a few years ago, its lack of existence had no impact on anything in any meaningful way, and when it turns to dust it will be forgotten.” Because I myself had a teensy bit of an inkling that maybe that ain’t normal. The thing is, I knew I was only feeling this way because, well, I Was Feeling That Way, it’s just the mood; but being stuck in isolation, and with everyone else also troubled by issues of the past, the present and the future, knowing that didn’t help.

I can remain in a depressive / anxious state for a little while, but the actual peaks only last at most a couple of hours. This was Mt. Everrest AND it lasted a week and a half. I was at the end of my rope a day in and had no idea what to do about it, so I tried to do everything. The physical present felt empty, so I tried to fill it with media, literature, art, walks, family time. Problem is, “anhedonia” - a symptom of depression where you don’t get dopamine boosts from activities - cuts pleasure out of these things, so nothing held my interest, let alone made me feel motivated or remotely better. Another symptom of depression, weirdly enough, is the feeling of disgust - I wasn’t conscious of this symptom until it was magnified. I felt completely and utterly repulsed by everything around me. I first thought it was the clutter, then the way the furniture was arranged, then I thought I’d been inside too long so I took walks in the neighborhood when nobody was out. The confusion came when I disliked the trees, grass, and fresh air too - I had to Google my feelings to find out what the heck was going on.

Which brings me to my bedroom. My room is littered with memorabalia, I’m sentimental so I have little shrines of items from the past and of things I value. Some childhood toys and a handful of old trinkets, shelves dedicated to Pokemon and Neil Gaiman’s work, some references to Chicago and Polish heritage. My unhappiness with the situations of the present, while strengthened to an totally unnecessary degree, weren’t all inaccurate - and in combination with anhedonia and disgust, and the way I’d integrated this memorabalia into my sense of self even though they aren’t really relevant to me anymore, I found that I really really didn’t like my past or reminders of it. In a shocking unpredicted turn of tables, I no longer wanted to uphold who I once was, because it isn’t who I am now, and it’s not who I want to be.

And the revulsion of the past and the uncertain emptiness of the present culminates in a future that I feared, another emotion booted up to eleven. There was a big need to make my future and remake myself. The only places left comfort could be found were ones I hadn’t yet looked. At the same time I became sad in a powerful but vague way and desperately lonely - this part was definitely all the feral hormones - and I became obsessed, for a little while, with making sure that, when quarantine ends, I would get my social life in order. I preemptively joined groups and clubs in my local area online, which I’m still going to make good on later but maybe not to the all-encompassing extent I had in my mind at the time. Also, career hunting. (Also also, to combat a lack of control, I wanted to get my own place - but with the economy like That, and my ass like This, big alone time while also being very poor and probably overworked is not the best of ideas.)

So. The freak episode ended. And I knew. Both during. And afterwards. That I Do Not Want That to Happen Again. To put it lightly. So now I’m trying to find an antidepressant that works for me. I’ve been medicated for three weeks now. Lower anxiety, not many mood swings, but still anhedonia, and the aftertaste of existential dread which will forever haunt me. I’m completely overhauling my bedroom, because it was messy anyway and has basically looked the same since forever which can’t be good for my mental health. So there’s going to be new bedsheets (chocolate), new curtains to kill sunlight because while I enjoy it outdoors it makes the room feel exposed since the window is groundlevel and faces the street, a whole ass recliner thrifted for only 20 bucks(!) to go in a brand new study corner along with a nice aggressively patterned brown rug, and finally the grody offwhite walls will be repainted a warm inviting brown that was named “spiced cinnamon.” No matter what happens, I look forward to spending the winter in the study, invoking a cozy comfort the Danes call “hygge,” and hopefully building my gallery or participating in my interests, including fandom, in another way. And, once my budget allows it, getting some fucking therapy, what the fuck.

[mechanicalinertia]

Some thoughts on re-reading Snow Crash

Sorry if you expected me to have a new update on the RPG. I’ve been all over the place mentally lately. Anyway, since I last read Snow Crash like ten years ago, and probably didn’t understand most of what was going on, I’ve been re-reading it, which is something I almost never do. Here’s some thoughts on what the book does, what it gets right, what it doesn’t, etc.

1. You can draw a pretty straight line from the Neal Stephenson who wrote The Diamond Age and the one who wrote the other books of his I’ve read, the Mongoliad, SevenEves, and Fall: Dodge In Hell. It’s something in the way his prose is written, the way it unfolds. His books have gotten progressively longer, progressively more serious, progressively more weird and less weird at the same time. I will say this much: I never finished SevenEves or Fall. They’re just so fucking long, and so dull, so exposition-y. Moreover, they kinda lack the exciting stuff that Snow Crash is saturated with - dudes with katanas, Japanese rap-stars with glowing afros, gatling railguns, Mafia pizza delivery, nuclear motorcycle sidecars. Christ, if it weren’t for the book’s obsession with really interesting Sumerian linguistic shit, I’d almost say that Snow Crash and all Stephenson’s other books were written by different people.

2. While we’re on the topic of linguistic stuff, religion as a virus, etc, it amazes me that when Stephenson was doing his research about Sumerian and Babel and how Snow Crash would spread, he didn’t come across Julian Jaynes’ The Origin of Consciousness in the Breakdown of the Bicameral Mind. I say this because Jaynes’ work has a similar hypothesis - namely, ancient man was not conscious in the sense we are conscious, and that the Late Bronze Age Collapse triggered a revolution in the invention of the self and the conscious mind - and, of course, that religion is a desire to revert to that more primitive state where something higher, something separate, the literal words of the gods, tells you what to do. It’s not exactly about viruses, or hackers, and it seems to pin the sea change in mind and language much later than Stephenson, but god damn. Both authors’ sets of evidence are based on not neurophysiological evidence (for how could you? You’d need millennia-old brains to compare!) so much as they are based on linguistics, archaeology, all sorts of evidence that may not seem as hard to modern readers but which is still interesting stuff.

Which reminds me. I first learned about the bicameral mind theory in context with an essay about the Aztecs in this book. Freshman year of high school and our history teacher gave us that, wherein Kunstler proposes that the Aztecs turned to human sacrifice as a way to traumatize their own society to reverting back to bicameralism. It’s an interesting theory, I’m just not sure it matches up with archaeological evidence - I remember vaguely that it was suggested that the whole delusion that Cortes was God was likely a Spanish invention, likewise the human sacrifice was a fabrication. I gotta look this up. (If you want to really dig a rabbit hole, lemme just say that the historical account of how Cortes and company brought down the Aztec empire would make a truly excellent HBO miniseries.)

(I just realized there’s a plot hole - Civilization arose independently, at several different river valleys - the Sumerians might have been the first, and their descendants might have hacked out all of Abrahamic religion, but the Yangtze, the Indus, the Amazon, the Nile - there’s no reason to assume they were under the same Babelian thrall that the Sumerians were. So the whole idea of Babel being real, of having an impact on every living person, is a little shaky. Whatever.)

3. Stephenson’s cyberpunk isn’t as urbane as Gibson’s or Ridley Scott’s Blade Runner. If anything, it describes an un-urban future, balkanized into ‘burbclaves’, sovereign microstates linked by megacorporate franchises. Which is - interesting? If one exaggerated everything about the 90′s, the Post Cold War Capitalism, then yeah, the idea of dissolving state sovereignty itself is pretty sensible. Gibson did the same thing in his Bridge Trilogy, now that I think about it. And Malka Older, much more recently, did a similar thing in Infomocracy (which is a truly excellent book, though it feels weirdly outdated in the wake of Trump’s election). I’m not sure what, exactly, the urban density of the future will look like, especially knowing that a) climate change will fuck up large parts of the world, and b) more sprawl = more human-wild interfaces = more bugs jumping from wild animals to humans and causing economy-wrecking pandemics (see: COVID-19). One would hope we’d try building denser cities, ones with less climate-impacting sprawl, be more sensible about our design choices, but capitalism is probably going to do what capitalism always does, which is make retarded decisions about the direction of humanity. (See: Fossil Fuel Lobbies).

4. Some say that Snow Crash, then, is a reaction to cyberpunk tropes, the ones so engrained in the popular consciousness at that point, that they just had to be taken apart, deconstructed with a satirist’s eye. I mean, c’mon. Hiro Protagonist, master hacker and ninja swordsman? He’s like if Gibson’s Case mixed with Bruce Lee. Corporations so powerful they’re states unto themselves? Rich dudes buying entire aircraft carriers? Guns, sex, drugs, rock n’ roll? You get the idea. 

I’m not so sure, though. The Metaverse feels like a pretty novel take on Gibson’s Matrix, but it’s one that updates the idea of a global information network, not pokes fun at it. I mean, this was the era that cyberpunk entered the mainstream, when it sold out and was eaten alive by Hollywood, culminating in the Wachowski’s The Matrix, which is at once the height and the death of cyberpunk as a legitimate genre (or maybe CP2077 will be, it’s hard to say). This is a book that could have been much nastier towards the Gibson-Sterling conception of cyberpunk, could have marked it all up as nasty people with too many guns in trenchcoats and shades. I say that because that’s a criticism a lot of cyberpunk fiction has had to deal with (and indeed, those critics may be right for the pop-culture image of cyberpunk, the one propagated by Shadowrun and CP2020). But I don’t think it is.

5. This is a fun book to read. It’s right up there in my mind with Hardwired, another cyberpunk ‘classic’ (because the genre is old enough to have classics, now, I guess). You should read it.

[flanelltees]

hey writer side of tumbler can you please critique this i need help bc it reads weird to me. its a section of a rough draft so keep that in mind. feel free to comment directly on the post or send me an IM or inbox msg. 

it is billy/steve from stranger tings

Eight beers in for the both of them, and they were falling into each other’s orbits over and over until meaningless teasing morphed into an interrogation. Steve’s whole face was warm, and he couldn’t tell if it was from the alcohol, or Billy prying deeper and deeper into his personal life with each new question he posed.

“So you are a queer?” 

Steve lunged forward to clap a hand over Billy’s mouth, eyebrows furrowed with all the control over his face he had left. 

“Alright, watch your fucking language, Hargrove. I don’t—” he cut himself off to rummage around in his brain for some dodgy answer that sounded even a little resolute. His train of thought was interrupted when Billy wrestled his hand away and gave him a full-bodied shove into the wall nearest the two of them. 

God, Steve should just stop trying to brute-force things with this guy. He kept coming out on the bottom. 

His head was swimming from the shove, but despite it practically knocking a few brain cells out of commission, the heat in his face persisted as Billy’s question remained hanging in the air. Steve pressed his palms against his eyes, thinking momentarily about one of the little shits, Will. Steve wanted to do right by him, if what Henderson said about which... team he played for was true. But admitting the truth to yourself had to be a little different when you hadn’t really known it for sure until you were nineteen years old and absolutely plastered, right? 

“I—” 

“And you wouldn’t have anything against fucking me?” 

Steve held a hand up, but all he could say was to stop being so fucking crude. 

“Listen, I-” 

“I told you what I’d do for you, Harrington. Nobody’s around. And I wouldn’t pussy out of this.”

It was baffling how quick Steve was losing his resolve. He pressed out a sigh.  

“... I—… just... didn’t think... you’d be part of this… equation.” 

Truthfully, confronting himself about the feelings that, in vague iterations, rolled in and out of his conscious, wasn’t something Steve was planning on involving Billy in. 

The two had been a very loose definition of friends for most of the summer, being in silent agreement that it was nothing too meaningful or involved, and that they would treat their routine converging as a means for neutral territory. Just somebody to talk to.

They were both nearly braindead from the monotony of their jobs, Steve had a big empty house and a lot of free beer, and the rest was practically history. And that should’ve been the end of it, if Steve had the goddamn foresight to know that Billy Hargrove would never make a good companion to somebody he just got done hating. 

So, of course, Billy was just being fucking Billy, wedging himself into Steve’s business at the first sign of an open door. And Steve had always been a painfully emotional guy.

If Steve wasn’t sure he had been trapped between Billy and the wall before, he was sure of it now. Billy was stepping closer, crowding him flat against the cool plaster until the only way out was the way he got in.

 With what defensive instinct he had left, Steve clumsily searched for cracks in the facade. If he caught one, it was for a split second and it made him falter, in an unrefined hesitance flashing across Billy’s expression. 

Steve wasn’t gonna fuck Billy, he firmly reassured himself. Billy wasn’t gonna fuck Steve either. Steve just didn’t have enough restraint left to stop mirroring the way Billy was starting to look at him. His stomach swooped but he didn’t feel anything coming up, so it had to have been his glance at Billy’s mouth coming closer, and the fact that Steve couldn’t find it in himself to want to draw away. 

If Steve was being honest, Billy was by no means a sight for sore eyes. When their lips finally touched, for a second the kiss wouldn’t have been half-bad. If only the entire situation hadn’t been riddled with a whole shitload of new rules Steve had no idea how to navigate. 

While Steve’s brain tried to logically supply that this kiss shouldn’t be any different from the dozens of others that came before, it also made his hands clammy and awkward in their approach at what to do with themselves. The heaviness from the alcohol didn’t do much for how ungracefully he decided to take Billy’s face into his hands. 

He was starting to really feel the ruthless hammer of his heart against his chest.  

When Billy began to tilt his head into the kiss, Steve felt his hands slip underneath his jacket, finding his hips. They rested there for a few moments, before Billy gave Steve a squeeze. At the movement, Steve flinched, then broke the contact with a jerk. 

“Okay, time. Just to put it out there, there’s a whole fuckload of—of emotional, internalized bullshit I’ve got running laps in my head right now. I mean, I—” he paused to briefly run his thumbs against the grain of Billy’s stubble. “I’ve never made out with a mustache before. It’s like I’m shooting at half-court with a fucking blind fold on—” 

“If you could make up your mind we might actually get to making out tonight, Harrington,” Billy cut in. 

“Look,” he said, releasing his grip on Steve, then taking a step back, netting Steve’s full attention. He watched as Billy went and pressed himself against the wall alongside him, the gesture seeming to spell out his surrender of control. But when Steve assumed he’d stand in front of Billy then, positioning himself across the way, Hargrove’s blue eyes had leveled on his. His pupils were blown wide open. They were gushing something balmy and fierce.

 It took the wetness right out of Steve’s mouth. 

“Are you in, or are you out?” 

All of a sudden this new formation they were in was falling a little more comfortably within Steve’s range. Didn’t Billy know how to get what he wanted.  

Steve’s hands found purchase on Billy’s waist, his stomach starting to churn. Billy’s middle was solid and thick, and filled out the whole palm of each hand. Steve pressed his fingers into corded meat through thin fabric, and oh man. He was starting to think Billy was a lot smarter than he gave him credit for. Something nameless flickered to life below Steve’s skin when he leaned over to find his way to Billy’s lips. 

Steve hadn’t ever felt the type of deep upheaval Billy started to kick up on the inside of him before. Billy met Steve’s parted lips with an open mouth, and it made Steve’s whole head red and heavy when Billy started working into it like he was born to kiss that good. The way Billy flexed his jaw made every little bit about his tongue and lips so much more stupefying. Steve’s eyes fluttered shut.

It was so, god damn hot in there, Steve thought. He figured that it had always been, all of Billy, his inside, his outside, but Steve never believed he’d ever touch it like this. Never really wanted to, that is, until he got the chance. All at once, the searing heat of him made Steve want to bask in it. 

Steve nearly tipped over as he started to get caught up in chasing after that mouth. His breath came out of his nose in short puffs when Billy started to pull on him, with his teeth then with his tongue. Steve licked back in answer, his jaw falling open wider to touch and slide more of his own tongue into Billy’s mouth. He turned his head down when Billy leaned back from him, breath ragged. 

Steve dove into Billy’s neck, sucking feverish kisses along the length of it. Sweat mixed with spit and Steve never remembered it tasting so good. When it felt like he couldn’t hold on to enough of him anymore, Steve dragged Billy closer to him by his middle to press their bodies flush and push his flattened hands into the dip in Billy’s lower back, then up to grope at the other hard muscles flexing under his skin.

[illshowyourhurricanes]

A Familiar Face

Here it is, guys: a fic featuring our sweet Ryan Brenner. Rated PG, no trigger warnings.

Word count: 2,406

Hope you enjoy!

You had seen him before.

It had been months prior, when the air held a humidity and breathing felt like exertion. You were walking to the diner, on your way to work, and you stumbled upon him just a block before your destination.

You heard him before you saw him, the strumming of a guitar pervading your ears. As you drew closer, you heard a voice accompanying the music, and that's when you saw him.  He was occupying a bench across the lot from the diner, a battered guitar case open on the pavement in front of him. A small crowd of about ten people stood, listening, and you joined them-- you had a few minutes to spare.  You remembered curiously thinking how rare it was to come across a busker in your town; most of them tended to go for the city. Now, in the cold , you longed for the heat of the previous summer. And it was just after that thought, that surge of a need for warmth, that you heard a vague strumming of a guitar. Drawing closer, curious as to where the music was coming from, you saw one lone figure, a weathered guitar case open by his feet.  A busker.  A memory of a warmer time came to mind and recognition followed.

That was how you knew you had seen him before.

It was the dead of winter, and it was the kind of cold that chilled your bones and permeated your core. The music didn't ring a bell, but it was when you drew closer and heard the voice that the realization struck you. He was on the same bench, though there was no lingering of people around this time; the cold made being outdoors unpleasant. The busker didn't seem to mind.  Huddled beneath layers of clothing,  it didn't seem as if he noticed the weather at all. He still strummed his guitar as if his life depended on it. He continued to sing with his voice soaked with emotion.  You found yourself standing there, a lone wolf enchanted with this stranger in front of you. Your nose was numb from the cold and your fingertips were frozen beneath the gloves you wore, but you were glued to your spot on the pavement.  A corner of your mind wandered, curious at how he managed to move his fingers so effortlessly in below freezing temperatures, and it took you a moment to realize the song he was singing was over, that he had become still.

Your gaze dropped to his face, and it was the first time you'd gotten a good look at him. A tattered cloth hat mostly covered dark, thick hair that was slightly overgrown. Several days of stubble covered his cheeks and jaw, and beneath the shadow of his cap were a pair of the darkest eyes you'd ever seen.  It was at that point that you realized you were staring and that he definitely noticed. You looked to the ground sheepishly. If it wasn't for the absolute mortification that brought it, the sudden heating of your cheeks would have been welcome... not to mention that you'd yet to say a word. 

So you appeared to be a mute with a staring problem.  Awesome!

"That was really great," you spoke up finally. You looked up to the stranger once more after finally finding your voice.  He offered you a small, almost shy smile and nodded in appreciation.  "Thank you, ma'am."  His speaking voice was a stark difference from the one he used while singing.  He was much more soft-spoken than you  could have imagined, and... did you detect a slight drawl? His tone was even slightly different, deeper than the one he'd used to accompany his music.

Before the moment could grow any more awkward, you had an idea. "It's uncomfortably cold out... can I buy you a cup of coffee? And by buy, I mean pour. I work at the diner." You tilted your head in the direction of your place of employment, just across the street in the corner lot.

The man looked up at you, squinting a bit due to the sunlight. The skies were clear-- thankfully, there were no chances of snow-- yet the sun offered no warmth as relief to the bitter cold. You could see his breath, a rhythmic series of short-lived clouds vanishing just as quickly as they appeared. The tip of his nose was pink from the weather.

"I'd like that," he answered. Offering you a grin, he gently set his battered guitar in its equally as worn case, closing and securing the case. A large, heavy-looking pack resting on the bench next to where he sat, he hoisted it up and over his shoulders without effort. Grabbing the guitar case by the handle, he nodded, and the two of you began walking the short distance to the diner. You were admittedly curious about a series of things. He wasn't from the area; that much was evident from the melodic way he spoke with a hint of a Southern accent. Your curiosity was piqued regarding his music, which you supposed was normal, yet you also wondered about the large pack on his back, if he had recently moved to the area or was just passing through.

"I'm Y/N, by the way," you told him, realizing that the stranger you were walking with was still completely anonymous.

"Y/N," he repeated as if he were trying out the way the vowels felt on his tongue. "I'm Ryan. Pleasure to meet you."

Pausing just outside the door of the diner, you smiled at him just before walking in. "Likewise." His polite nature was sweet and charming.  You'd already gotten a 'ma'am' and a 'pleasure to meet you' out of Ryan, and in less than five sentences.

You pulled open the door, but before you could usher him inside, his free hand was on the side of the door, holding it open for you. "After you."

You thanked him as you walked inside, the surprise in your voice evident. If someone held a gun to your head, you wouldn't be able to account for the last time someone had willingly held a door open for you out of friendliness alone. Stepping into the reprieve of the building's warmth, you gestured toward the row of stools that were lined up along the bar. "You're welcome to sit wherever you'd like." You paused, a quick furrow of your brows and self-conscious laugh. "There are available tables as well, obviously. You are not sequestered to the bar area." Offering him an apologetic smile, you turned to pour him the coffee you'd promised.

With a low chuckle, he set down his guitar case and then his pack, making sure they were tucked just beside his feet as to not be in the way of any patrons passing by. "I don't mind being sequestered to the bar," he stated, returning your smile with a smaller one of his own.

"Freshly brewed!" The always-chipper, short and dimpled Sophie, who had been working at the diner as long as you had, interrupted as she whisked past you to deliver a ticket.

"You're a God-send," you called out in gratitude. "I'm sorry, one second," you apologized to Ryan, turning your back and pulling down two clean mugs. Steam billowed out from the coffee pot as you filled them both, the strong aroma filling your nose.  One mug in each hand, you first delivered coffee to Mr. Willoughsby, an elderly gentleman who showed up to the diner at the same time every afternoon and always stayed for coffee after his meal. "How are you today, Mr. Willoughsby?" you asked, notifying him of his after-dinner drink. Then, you were able to get back to Ryan, placing his mug on the bar in front of him. "Oh!" you remembered, turning away just quickly enough to place two small dishes in front of him, one filled with an array of several different sweeteners, the other with both powdered and liquid creamers.

"Thank you," he drawled finally, no waiting customer or lack of sugar and creamer to keep you from conversation any longer. Raising the mug to his lips, Ryan took a tentative sip, and you mentally noted that he took his coffee black. Why you were filing this away in your brain was a mystery to even yourself, and as you mulled the thought over, Ryan's voice was what brought you back to the present. Your eyes focused on his face once more as you realized what he'd said: It's good.

"Oh, Sophie makes the best coffee out of all of us." You didn't mind bragging on your co-worker. She was the closest thing to a best friend you had. You were more of the solitary type, though people always seemed surprised to learn such; you demeanor suggested otherwise.

The diner was hitting a slow point, the guaranteed lull between late lunch eaters and early bird dinners. There were just a handful of tables occupied, only Ryan and Mr. Willoughsby at the counter.

"So, Ryan,"  you spoke up as he sat, warming his hands around the mug. You noticed a series of tattoos between the knuckles of each finger and wondered about the significance. "How long have you been playing guitar?"

He had such a kind, easy demeanor about him. He was quiet but it didn't seem to be the result of a lack of anything, nor a certain kind of sadness, but instead, a penchant for observation. He was glancing down into his coffee when you spoke. Eyes rising to consider your face, the expression on his own was both friendly and attentive.

"More than half my life. Started when I was just a kid. I reckon it's one of those things I never grew out of." He tasted his coffee again, taking a long, slow sip. "You're really talented. It's almost unsettling, really."

A slow smile grew into a grin, and you were struck by how handsome he was. His entire face changed, yet his demeanor stayed the same; shoulders hunched ever-so-slightly, his head ducked, the tendency to break eye contact. "Thank you," he articulated, and you caught a sense of genuine appreciation in his voice. "I appreciate that."  He was humble, this man, yet he possessed talent in buckets. Your curiosity was far from squashed. If anything, it was deeper than a simple interest in this man. You felt an eagerness to know more, but without seeming intrusive.

"You've been here before. I remember." Heat spread over your cheeks at the sudden knowledge that you most likely sounded like a complete creep. That was not the type of admission that would make a guy like Ryan-- shy, quiet, private-- want to stick around for any more attempted conversation.

And here came the most unfortunate eccentricity of yours. You tended to talk more when you gave too much away. Instead of lessening the almost certain accompanying awkwardness, the tendency seemed to increase it.

"Over the summer," you added quickly, suddenly wishing for an influx of customers at 3:30 on a Wednesday afternoon. "I was on my way to work, like today... there was a small crowd." What a lame explanation. It sounded more like an excuse. Yet, it seemed as if he were listening, his gaze fixed at you over the rim of his coffee mug. "We don't get many buskers around here. There's more money to be made in the city."

Slowly, Ryan smiled. "And more musicians on every corner. I do alright on these parts. Keeps food in my belly." With one more sip of coffee, his mug was empty and he set it down gently on the bar.  Shifting on the stool he'd been sitting on, he presented Y/N a few crumpled dollar bills, letting them rest on the counter between them. "Enough extra for a tip, even."

You touched the money just long enough to push it back toward him, shaking your head firmly. "Sorry, we don't take tips from patrons that get free coffee." You looked across the counter at him, smiling appreciatively. "You're very sweet, Ryan, but all I did was pour you a cup of coffee." Glancing down into his mug, you saw that it was empty. "Would you like another?" you asked, hooking the handle of the mug with two fingers.

He unfolded his long frame from the stool he'd been resting on.  Partial portraits of George Washington's face stared blankly upward from where they were pictured on scattered bills.  You turned your back on him for just a few seconds, long enough to return the used mug to the sink and, just in case, to pour the last of what was left in the coffee pot in a Styrofoam to-go cup, securing the plastic lid on tightly. When you turned to hand over the warm drink, Ryan had his pack on his back and guitar case in one hand. "Leaving so soon?" With a pause, you held up the disposable cup one more time. "One for the road. Don't forget your money."

Grinning, Ryan glanced down at his boots before he accepted the cup. "Thank you, Y/N. 'S rare to find someone who gives such kindness to a stranger." There had been countless times in your life where you'd been warned or patronized, said to be foolish and naive for the odd complimentary cup of coffee, among other niceties you'd offered. The loner in you just tended to empathize with others that seemed to keep the same type of solitary company. It was nice, now and then, to come across another that could offer something small, yet of importance.

"A very talented stranger," you added gently. Noticing his hands were full, you stepped from behind the counter and held the door open for him.  The stark, frigid cold was startling. "I don't know how long you're staying in the area, but if you ever need a place to find some warmth..." You shrugged, no more than an inch of space between his body and yours as he passed through the threshold. He gave a lopsided grin.  Adjusting the cap he wore over his dark, grown-out hair, he raised his hand. "See ya, Y/N."

Raising your hand you wave goodbye, you caught his eyes for a short beat of time. There was no shadow of a doubt in your mind that you'd see him again.

[paperback-writers-blog1]

The Secret

By: ModLennon & ModMcCartney

Rating: T

Pairing: John/Paul

Summery: Modern AU! John meets a boy with a secret, but will he ever find out what it is?

Chapter 3/?

Chapter 1 Chapter 2

Tags: @the-beatle-queen

When Paul took off John got truly worried. Something was wrong! And Paul was saying he had to protect him? He couldn't let him run off like that, he had to at least try to stop him.

"Hey, woah! Paul come back!"

John took off after him. Paul wasn't really thinking about being careful and as he ran over a worn dip in the pavement he stumbled and fell to his knees. He couldn't find the energy to get up. He just stayed there, sniffling and not caring if he got funny looks. John was able to catch up to him quickly then. He immediately knelt down to check Paul over.

"Are you hurt??" He looked so worried, horrified at the idea of Paul hurting in any way, whether physical or emotional.

Paul just shook his head. He couldn't look at John. John carefully pulled Paul into a little hug.

"Cmon Paul.. what's all this business about protectin me? You dont have ta worry so much.. if ya don't feel the way I do.. I'll recover. I'm okay with bein friends, you know..."

John couldn't help but think it had to do with that. He simply had no idea what Paul was going through.

"N... no I... I'll hurt ya....I... I like ya f...far too m...much but we... we can't.... I can't.... can't..."

Paul would never be able to be just friends with John.

"Paul.." John spoke softly, lifting Paul's chin to look at him properly. "It's gonna be okay. Whatever this is about... it's okay. We don't have ta move fast. We don't have ta set any kind of expectations for the future. Just relax, yeah? I just wanna spend time with you, as much time as I can while I can, okay?"

"But when the time comes-"

"Then we'll deal with whatever this is about."

John had a sinking feeling, but he wasn't lying. If Paul was terminally ill or something similar, which it was starting to seem like what with how secretive he could be and the vague comments he made now, John still wasn't lying. He wanted to spend as much time with Paul as he could.

"For now, won't you let me take you home?"

"There... there can be no ‘we’ in the matter, don't ya get it? All I can do is leave ya behind an...an just...hurt ya."

Paul fell forward so his forehead rested against Johns shoulder. John's assumption was pretty much solidified by that comment. He hugged Paul tighter, feeling the strangest little ripping in his chest at the very thought.

"Then stay with me now, while you can." He spoke in barely more than a whisper.

Paul just nodded. How could he say no to John now? He understood the situation and he was still wanting to try for a little while. He was willing to have his heart broken to spend a little time with Paul. He knew either way John would lose him. If he didn't pick John he'd have to leave eventually. If he did...Paul swallowed and sat up.

"Alright... alright."

John relaxed a bit at that.

"Did ya hurt your knee?" He looked worried. He had seen Paul fall and wanted to make sure he wasn't too banged up from it before they got up to walk.

Paul gave a little nod. While he was sure he could probably walk on it, there was a nice lump forming. Besides he wanted an excuse to keep hold of John.

"Here, get on my back, I'll carry ya back." John insisted.

He knew he could just let Paul lean on him for support, but he wanted Paul closer. He wanted to show Paul he would carry him through whatever.

"Ya... ys sure?"

Paul knew he wasn't exactly fat, but he was pretty much the same size as John.

John nodded, "of course."

He smiled kindly and shifted so that Paul could easily climb on his back. Paul was unsure but still got himself settled on Johns back.

"Dya know where Forthlin Road is?"

"Yeah actually. That's right near me..."

John sounded a bit shocked again. Paul lived that close to him... and he had never seen him before today? It didn't seem possible. When Paul was settled he started walking. Paul relaxed completely. He didn't usually like others carrying him, self-conscious about his weight, but John was so comfortable.

"Now ya know where I live I suppose there's not a whole lot I can do ta stop ya comin round ey?" He sounded quite happy about that, despite everything.

"Not a chance. And I'm not the kinda guy who waits three days or whatever other nonsense people do these days. I'll be pestering you as soon as possible." He sounded very pleased with himself. He wanted to spend every free moment he had learning more about Paul.

"Well... this will be interesting to say the least." Paul commented.

"I can promise you that much."

John spoke with so much fondness in his voice it was almost even alarming to him.

"That and I have never taken a boy home ta meet dad before." Paul chuckled.

"Is he very strict?" John asked, for once actually sounding a little nervous. His own experiences with parental figures in his life had left him wary of parents.

"I wouldn't say strict. Just... protective."

Paul had a feeling it wouldn't exactly surprise Jim, to bring back a boyfriend. But anyone he brought back would be under a lot of scrutiny until Jim was satisfied they wouldn't hurt Paul.

"I can handle protective."

John could understand that, after all. He felt strong urge to protect Paul himself, so he was sure he'd get along with others who shared that feeling.

"And Mikes younger so he don't get a say in who I see." Paul joked.

John laughed at that. When he spoke again it was in a much softer voice.

"Dya think they'll like me?" More than anything, families made him insecure.

Paul had a little think, wanting to answer truthfully.

"Yeah... I think they will."

John seemed to relax a bit, though he'd been unaware of it he had automatically tensed up when Paul's father was brought up. Paul rested his chin on his arm. He could easily fall asleep like this.... he found he had dozed off a bit, only to be brought back to reality by John asking which number.

"Huh...?" He mumbled as his brain caught up. "Oh... 20... we already here?"

"Unfortunately, yeah..."

John really didn't want to leave Paul now, but he couldn't stay by his side forever really.

"Oh... well now I gotta decide if we should say bye at the door or if I should invite ya to my room."

Paul hated the idea of John leaving.

"Hmm.. dya have classes in the morning? I wouldn't wanna keep ya up, but if you're not doin anything else..."

Paul shook his head.

"Then I'll leave it up ta you," John smiled.

"W....well... would ya?" Paul asked almost shyly.

"I would love to." John said sounding so sure.

The more time he could get with Paul, the better.

"Ya just wanna be nosey ey?" Paul giggled.

When they got to the door, he carefully got off John and let them in.

"Oh, of course." John grinned. "I wanna see how ya keep your room. I bet ya keep it nice and tidy. And i bet... hm.. i bet ya alphabetize all your records and books or movies or whatever else ya got in there."

"I do not!" Paul gasped.

Paul shut the door behind them and yelled a hello to anyone around then led John up to his room. It was neat, but not so tidy. Paul hadn't exactly been expecting company so didn't tidy up. He blushed a bit. John looked very amused when he saw it.

"I guess I'm not always right. That's okay though, we'll get along even better than i thought."

He instantly went to look through Paul's record collection. It was obvious Paul took care of his collection. It was the tidiest thing in the room. On the shelf were various record and record player cleaning items. It seemed to be a little music corner, as Pauls guitar was on its stand near the shelves. His desk had a few scattered guitar picks of various thickness and colour. His favourite was stuck in the strings of his guitar. His desk was a whole other story. It was a creative mess. Not one thought was ordered, scraps of paper with drawing practise were laying mixed in with his actual collage work and some lyrics. A few of Pauls favourite lyrics that he wanted to really work on were pinned to a cork board above the desk. There seemed to be some kind of order there, with lyrics on the left side of the board while college notes were on the right. Other than that it was an ordinary room, a shelf of books and dvds, his laptop on his bed. A wardrobe with a few posters on, showing Paul did enjoy modern bands too. He had a muse tour poster, one for the American idiot musical, a small Elvis tribute act with a little signature in the corner and a clearly vintage Elvis poster in a frame on the wall. On top of some draws were various family pictures. It was a small room but had so much of Pauls character packed in. John took his time looking at everything. He didn't speak as he did, just silently walked through observing everything he could. The room told him so much about Paul and he wanted to learn everything he possibly could. Paul took his shoes and jacket off then sat on his bed.

"Well? Now ya here... did ya have any idea what ya would do once ya did?"

"I had a few," John looked over with a wicked grin. "But tonight I wanna keep things simple." He finished flipping through Paul's stack of books and finally went to sit on his bed. "When did you first start collecting records?"

John went right back to asking questions. He couldn't help himself. He just wanted to know everything. Even the things that might seem boring to others.

"Um... when I was about 11/12. Mum showed me a record she had and I liked it so much she said I could keep it. We used ta go record shoppin."

"Which record was it?"

John was very interested in that. His own mother was the one who got him into records as well. Paul stood up and went to the shelf. He flicked through until he found it. He carefully pulled out a best of Buddy Holly and handed it to John.

"She said she remembered Grandma playing it when she was younger. Probably not this exact record but... yknow."

"Ahhh Buddy Holly.." John smiled appreciatively as he looked it over. "So you've always had good taste then."

Paul blushed a bit. "W...well thanks ta her. Left ta dad it'd be jazz an brass bands."

"I'm sure she's quite proud of the collection you've got now."

Paul suddenly went quiet and turned his back to John, finding something to distract himself instead of responding to the comment. John wasn't too sure, but it did seem a bit odd. He moved so he could hug Paul from behind, resting his chin on Paul's shoulder.

"Paul... I want your whole life story. From the very beginning.. from your first memories.. tell me everything that led to you being this person, with those posters and those books... tell me about your favourite films and your favourite place to play as a child. I wanna know everything."

Paul quickly wiped his eyes.

"Well I... I can't remember /everythin/..." he mumbled.

"That's okay. Just tell me everything you do remember."

John wasn't stupid. He could tell something was a bit off after the comment he had made. He could only assume the worst.

"W...well I dunno where ta start... a lot of it is... borin growin up stuff yknow."

"I don't think I'll find any of it boring," John said with a smile.

"I can't think of anythin you'd really wanna know." Paul shrugged. "What I went ta school, rode a bike, hung out with friends?"

"Mmm.. tell me about your friends? Maybe favourite childhood memory?"

As John spoke he laid back on Paul's bed, making himself at home. He wanted to get a feel for Paul's life, see what he saw every night before bed.

"Oh... well I dunno... I mean I never had any like... really close friends. Coz we move around so much yknow? An kids ain't great at keepin in touch..." Paul paused for a moment. "Well... for a few years I did but... moved again so we fell outta touch." Paul found he never had problems making friends. But he did have difficulty keeping them. Mostly because he got secretive, hid away a lot and disappeared for months on end. Most of them just moved on. "Best childhood memory? Well... usually when we managed to go to a beach. Formby was the best but we would sometimes travel to New Brighton or Blackpool."

There it was again, a sudden fondness for water, specifically the sea. Which didn't add up to how he behaved around water.

"Huh, I was kind of under the impression ya didn't like water. Ya seemed so skiddish at the docks..."

John wondered briefly if something had happened during one of those beach days that traumatized Paul. That could explain the love and hate relationship with water he seemed to have.

"O...oh well.... the... the beach has other stuff yknow... playin in the sand an most have...the arcades..." Paul couldn't look at John. Instead he sat at his desk. "Anyway there was a reason you asked to know everythin. You wanna know somethin specific but ya don't wanna ask outright."

Paul raised an eyebrow. He had seen the behaviour before. He knew he could get funny when Mary was mentioned and people were so worried about upsetting him they would ask sort of vague questions in the hope he'd tell them. But Paul was careful with how he answered, only letting them know what he wanted them to. Sure if they asked he'd answer, but how much information he divulged would depend on how much he trusted them

"Actually I do just wanna know everything," John smiled. "But I am curious about somethin, yeah.. your mum.. she isn't around anymore is she?" He asked, his voice a bit softer now, sympathetic.

Really all the signs were there, the way Paul only talked about John meeting his father and brother, how he had said they used to go record shopping as a past tense. They were subtle clues but John was more attentive than most. Paul sighed and just shook his head. At least John made it a bit easier to answer, rather than the usual 'so what happened to your mum?' John didn't know what to say, so he just went to hug Paul again from behind, a bit tighter this time.

"Mine isn't either.." his voice was barely a whisper.

John just wanted Paul to see he understood, that /this/ was something he didn't have to feel alone in. He had lost his mother just a few short years ago, and he knew the pain all too well. Paul looked at John for a moment before turning to face him and just letting himself cry, hugging John just as tightly. He understood. He wouldn't expect Paul to be brave or tell him crying was childish. John held him tight, letting him cry. He had a horrible feeling that Paul had never been able to properly cry or show anyone how he felt about this. After a while, Paul pulled away wiping his face.

"S...sorry..."

"Ya don't have ta be sorry for anything." John said with a sad smile.

Johns own eyes were a bit puffy, as he had cried a bit as well. He was bad about Julia, he had never really processed it properly either. Without thinking, Paul gently wiped Johns eyes. It felt so good just to be able to grieve. He missed Mary so much, much more that the others just couldn't understand. Sure they missed her, but sometimes it physically hurt Paul to think she wasn't there. His future was so uncertain, there would be problems only she could help with. Paul bit his lip, looking at John carefully.

"I...do...are ya gonna...go home soon?"

It hurt less with John around. He felt so safe around him.

"I'll do whatever ya want me to. I'll stay however long you'll have me."

John closed his eyes at the feeling of Paul's hand on his face, leaning into the touch a bit.

"I just..."

Paul looked away. He felt so silly feeling like he did... he just met John a few hours ago.

"What is it?" John asked softly. "You can tell me.."

John couldn't deny their connection was quite odd, and it was all so sudden.. he didn't want to overcrowd Paul. He was worried that he might be, if the intensity was more one sided and Paul was just too kind and soft to push him away. Paul had a light blush across his cheeks.

"Ya just... make me feel... safe." He mumbled.

John's answering smile was so bright and pleased, the insecurity that had been bubbling up completely washed away.

"Good. I wanna make you feel safe."

Paul gave John a sad smile. He knew it couldn't be forever and one day, maybe soon, he'd lose that safety. Either way he couldn't resist cuddling back up, hiding his face in the crook of Johns neck. The only thing that made him pull back was the need to be a good host.

“Are ya hungry at all?" He asked. "Dya need anythin ta drink?"

He had no idea how long John did intend to stay. He wasn't sure if he would find it weird, staying the night, so he wasn't entirely sure how much to offer. Would he want to borrow pyjamas?

"I'm alright for now."

John was perfectly content just cuddling with Paul for the moment. He did hope that Paul might let him stay. He felt like he could stay with Paul forever and never get tired of him.

"W... well...dya wanna get more comfortable?"

Paul seemed a tiny bit bolder in his own room, but was still rather nervous about asking John these things. He didn't want to push it.

"I could go for that."

John was trying to take everything at Paul's pace and not be so bold now that he was in Paul's space. He didn't want to make a nuisance of himself. Paul moved off John then looked a little lost. He wasn't sure what to do now. They were clearly moving forward, getting closer, but Paul had never been in this situation.

"Here, why don't we put on a record?"

John suggested, thinking ahead a bit. There would be less pressure on Paul to say or do anything if he could just relax to music.

"Sure... what dya fancy?" Paul relaxed a little as he went over to the shelf.

"Maybe some Elvis?"

As John spoke he took his shoes and jacket off and settled in on the bed, leaving room for Paul to join him to cuddle. Paul nodded and put on a best of collection. Once playing at a nice low volume, he turned back to John. He carefully climbed onto the bed. Because it was a single he was practically on John, cuddling up. Outside it had gone dark and rain had started to fall. It was so cosy, Paul found himself quickly relaxing into Johns arms. John tried to make sure Paul was as cosy as possible before properly relaxing himself. He ran his hand along Paul's arm and back, stroking gently. The moment felt so perfect and surreal, he never wanted it to end.

"So um... this... this is pretty... not normal... for two guys who just met right? So... so what...uh...what...do we...what did ya... ya want...?"

Paul wasn't sure what John expected. He didn't know what was acceptable and what crossed a line.

"Well, to be honest I've kinda thrown normal out the window for this. I've never had a connection like this with someone before so.. I don't really know what ta do. But... obviously if anything I do makes ya uncomfortable... you can tell me yeah? Or if ya just get tired of me bein in your bed.." John smiled, "otherwise I'd just say do what feels right. I don't have any expectations, Paul. I'm just thrilled to be here with you."

Paul nodded a bit, but he was a little giddy after all this.

"So.... so you... ya my... friend? Nap buddy?.... body pillow?" He joked.

Maybe labels didn't really matter, but they did help set boundaries for Paul who was new to all this. John grinned a bit at that.

"Hmmm.. well I'm not big on labels, really.. but I was hoping for something a bit more than friend.." he mused.

John in as he spoke to gently run his nose along Paul's jawline, leaving a little kiss on his neck. Paul gasped a bit at what John was doing.

"I... I just...I don't know how ta... ta..."

Whenever John got near to his ear, specifically behind it, he would gasp louder and pull away. It almost looked like he was ticklish there. John had to bite his lip to hide the huge grin from that reaction. There were more serious things being discussed right now, though he did file that information away for later use.

"Have ya never dated someone before?" He asked, his tone gentle and understanding.

Paul shook his head.

"Like I was saying earlier... it could never be for long so... so I never bothered."

"Well... Paul... if you'll have me, I'd like to be with you for as long as you want me."

John's heart ached at the knowledge that that might not be long, but it only made him hold Paul a little tighter.

"I just... you'll be hurt. An... an ya ain't gonna understand why... I just... I can't say..."

Paul was so worried about this. He had no doubt Jim would make him leave when he had to, and eventually he would spend less and less time in Liverpool. Jim wouldn't let Paul do what Mary did. And even if he did, John would have to watch him die, like Jim had to watch Mary die. Knowing it was because she chose him, he was the reason, Paul saw it tear his dad up. How could he do that to someone he loved? Paul froze. Loved? He looked up at John and felt the flutter. Oh fuck...

"I know... you don't have ta tell me why, Paul. But like I said, I want this. I can't leave now knowin you exist and live in a world where I can't hold you, at least for now. I'm very...taken with you. And I want you for as long as I can have you... and the rest... I'll deal with it when its time. But that's on me, that's my choice yeah? So let me choose this."

"What if... hypothetically... ya... ya were the..." Paul sighed. He couldn't lay that on John just yet. "Nevermind. Ya right. It is your choice. An I suppose ya not gonna be that easy to deter right?" Paul gave a little smile.

John grinned, "ya got that right. The only thing that you could say ta make me leave ya alone is that you don't want me. So.. if ya ever change your mind.. I won't bother ya forever. But as for right now I happen to think you want me around just as much as I wanna be here. So lets steer into the skid and just live a little."

John had a triumphant smile, like he had won the lottery in getting Paull. Paul knew he should tell John he didn't want him. He should send him away. But he just couldn't he couldn't stand the idea of John going out with someone else. As selfish as it seemed, he didn't want to let anyone even consider having a chance with John. Instead he gave John a sweet kiss on the cheek. John turned his head to catch Paul's lips in a proper kiss, a bit more than the ones at the docks, but he was still very gentle and slow. He didn't want to rush things, but he was just thrilled to be able to kiss Paul. Paul felt a tingling through him as John kissed him. He could do it forever. However eventually he had to pull back to breathe. He looked up at John gasping a bit, lips red and swollen and a blush across his cheeks. John looked at him and felt his heart swell. Fuck! He had /no business/ being that hot! He had to look away or he didn't trust himself to not get carried away, so instead he closed his eyes and covered Paul's face in sweet little kisses. Paul screwed his nose up and giggled as John tickled him a bit. In the end he resorted to hiding his face in the crook of Johns neck again, still laughing. John finally gave up when he hid his face and just laughed with Paul. It felt so right to hold him. John tried to commit this moment to his memory, one thing he would never forget no matter what the future held.