#tried my best to find exact quotes without struggling to find the exact places in the books

[acopenhagenarmy]

PART 9

Pairing: Namjoon x Reader

Warnings: bad words and such, a shit ton of fluff as usual and some angst because why the hell not... 

Wordcount: 2,2K

/ Moodboard / Teaser / One / Two / Three / Four / Five / Six / Seven / Eight / Nine / Ten /

Taglist: @purpletaehyung92 @just-call-me-trash-can @undiscovered1personality

His eyes could light up the room, he looked content, happy in this moment. Food splayed out around you, the two of you completely relaxing as you told him all your life had played out so far. It was nice. 

He too told you about him and his life, the dream of rapping and being able to live off of it at some point. Him and the boys struggles when they first started out and the life he had now. 

You cleared off the bed when you finished the food, and laid down, head on his chest as he cuddled around you, resting his head on yours as he played with your hair. 

The first thing that happened was his heartbeat began to beat a little faster than it had just a minute before, and then you felt the sadness that he felt. 

You gave him a minute or two to just dwell in his emotion, think about what he wanted to say before you started to question him.

“Do-” he sighed. “Do you think you’ll ever be able to forgive me?” he said. 

It was only a whisper, but you heard it. The emotions his voice held almost broke your heart in that exact moment. 

“Forgive you? What for?” You asked as you tried to stop the overthinking and anxiety from kicking in. 

“For me, not finding you earlier” this time around his voice almost cracked under the pressure of the fear that slowly creeped in. 

It was obvious he had thought about this throughout the day, maybe even before the two of you met. But he hadn’t had the chase for the feelings to really manifest to the degree where you would be able to feel them. That was until now. 

“Oh my love” you said as you tried to drown out his sadness with the love you already had for him. “There’s nothing to forgive” 

“Are you sure? Cause I felt your sadness that monday you know? The loneliness, the fear of never finding me, and I just… I never wanted you to feel like that. And if I hadn’t been so preoccupied with my own dreams and aspirations I might’ve been able to feel you earlier, search for you” 

You sat up and gave him a small peck before you took his hands. 

“Our mark isn’t ideal, there’s no saying if either of us would’ve ever noticed. But I’m pretty sure that if it wasn’t for this job, these dreams of yours, the two of us would’ve most likely never met. I wouldn’t have heard your song, I wouldn’t have called Hobi, and we would’ve never met” 

He sighed as he hid his face behind his hands. “I know, I just, I don’t like I’ve caused you pain” 

“Just focus on me, in the darkness just the two of us is enough” You answered which earned you a giggle as he pulled you in for a kiss. 

“What?” you asked in between the sweet pecks he plastered all over your lips and cheeks. But he refused to give you an answer straight away. 

“You just quoted lyrics from one of the songs I’ve written about you” he kissed you between each of the words in the sentence. He smiled while he did it, and it made your heart flutter. 

You fake gasped. “So ‘forever rain’ wasn’t the first song dedicated to me?” 

“Nope! now come here and cuddle me, we have a long day ahead of us tomorrow, might be best if we get a little rest” 

It didn’t take long for the two of you to drift off, and being here, in his arms, was the best feeling in the world. You had never felt more safe or more at home. 

The following morning Namjoon had decided that he wanted to surprise you with breakfast in bed. He had no intentions of leaving the hotel room the next couple of days. All he wanted was to get to know you better, especially without the eyes of the world, resting on the two of you. 

Speculations about him finding his soulmate were all over twitter. Someone had spotted him and the boys as they left your school, finding it peculiar just what they were doing at a place like that, so close to one of their concerts. 

That, in combination with the small hints of complete happiness and love from his speech at yesterday's concert, had made army analyze every little second of his performance. 

He had a takeout box in hand as he filled it, and many others to the brim with breakfast for the two of you. 

“You think you’ve had enough pancakes?” Jungkook laughed. 

Shortly after they all heard a loud *smack* followed by a loud and dramatic “ouch” from their maknae. 

“Let him live, Jungkook. Something tells me the two of them are gonna need all the carbs and strength for the day that they have planned” Star said as he passed you all by, just before drowning her ginger shot. 

He couldn’t help the blush that painted his cheeks. The boys instantly started teasing him. But Jin stayed silent. 

It looked like he was in a trance of sorts. Daydreaming about something that seemed important. 

“You okay?” Namjoon asked. 

His eyes were shining like little stars, he looked happier than he had in a long time. And that’s when he spotted it. A small piece of a round pink confetti in his hair. 

“Ohhhh” it was like a lightbulb went off in his head. 

“Yeah,” Jin answered, unable to say anything else. 

“Oh wow!" So she knows who you are? Hell she even biases you?” Namjoon had completely stopped what he was doing, all he could think was how lucky Jin was. 

This made it much easier for the two of them to come into contact with one another. You knew how she looked, and hopefully the two of you had exchanged more than just formalities in the midst of everything. 

“I really hope it’s her Namjoon” 

“I’m sure it is, congrats bro!” He sat down the boxes and gave him a giant hug which the older man quickly returned. 

“Ah fuck… If this is a dream I better wake up before I have her in my arms, because otherwise I don’t think I’ll be able to recover.” 

You woke up in the dark room, with just a small light source from the borders of the curtain. You smiled and stretched your arms over your head, unable to see even those in the dark room. 

“Goodmorning love” you said with a groggy voice. 

You slowly stretched out your arms in the hopes of reaching your soulmate. Morning cuddles, well cuddles in general, were really something you enjoyed. And waking up with him meant daily cuddle sessions. 

But there was nobody next to you, the bed was completely empty beside you. 

You felt anger, sadness, depression and anxiety come crashing over you, all at once. 

It was all a dream, he’s not here, he’s not real… 

Your thoughts overpowered every kind of rational thought you might’ve had in that moment. Instead of getting up, looking for him, you drew the covers over your head. In hopes of shutting the memories of what you thought were your dreams, out. 

You did what you had done so many times where you had dreamt of him, or the mere idea of him. You shut down and hid in the dark, hoping that someday, the dream would become reality. 

Namjoon talked to the boys after he had collected all the food he loved and hoped you liked too. He tried to figure out just how many days they could stay in the city with time off, without it ruining too much of the schedule. 

He could almost see the emotions that were about to hit him, creeping in on him like dark clouds, filled with thunder and sadness. The hit of it almost knocked the air out of him. 

Your loneliness was more severe than he had ever felt, and the feeling of tears staining his cheeks were not to be mistaken. He couldn’t understand why you were feeling like this, weren’t you happy? 

And then it hit him… She thinks yesterday was a dream. 

He quickly threw the take away boxes on the table without a care in the world. And then he set off and ran as fast as his feet could carry him. 

Through corridors and hallways, up the stairs and finally he was there in the room with you. 

His heart broke by the sound of your muffled cries. He didn’t even take the time to turn on the light, in a second he was in the bed right beside you, pulling you close, freeing you from the covers and the dark void that was your anxiety. 

“It’s okay, it’s okay, I’m right here” he said as he rocked you back and forth, repeating his words, over and over like a prayer. 

You clinged on to his t-shirt, as you cried, every second inhaling more of his perfume. His arms that held you felt so real, and when you finally had the courage to look up, he was there. 

He took your face in his hands and used his thumps to dry away the tears. “I’m right here, it wasn’t a dream. I’ll never leave you, okay? Never. It’s you and me my love, you and me” 

His voice pulled you back to reality. 

“You’re here?” It was meant to be a statement, but in the end, it sounded more like a question than anything else. 

“I am,” he said. 

The two of you sat there for a while, just staring at one another while embracing. You didn’t want it to stop, you wanted to memorize him like this. The fear filled eyes, that still had that spark of love and adoration. You wanted to get lost in them, drown in them, bury yourself in this feeling. 

“Do you need anything?” he asked as he removed a strand of hair from your face. 

“A glass of water maybe?” 

He responded by kissing your forehead, and then went to pick a cold water bottle out from the fridge. 

“Here” he said as he threw it your way. 

Your man was perfection, he was made for you, there was no doubt. But he could not throw anything, maybe not even if his life depended on it. The water bottle missed the bed by an entire meter, and the hard drop on the floor made the lid fly off of it. 

There was nothing you could do except laugh. And seeing you smile was contagious, and before he knew it, the two of you were laughing together. 

It was perfect, and lifted your moods without the need to talk through the episode right away. 

“Remind me never to do that again” He said in between laughs. 

“Are you always that clumsy?” You asked as you tried your best to get both the laughter and your breathing under control 

“Well the army calls me god of destruction…” 

The absurdity of the nickname made you giggle, just as the two of you had stopped laughing. 

“How many things do you break, for it to be a nickname your fans have given you?” 

“A lot…” He smiled, dimples on display. 

You sighed and took his hand, not ready for him to go take care of the mess he had just made. 

“I’m sorry I scared you… my fears and anxiety got the best of me I think” 

He gave your hand a squeeze. “Please, don’t apologize. I’ve had dreams of you before as well. And waking up from that is terrible.” 

“I’m glad I wasn’t the only one who’ve missed you over the years” 

“Trust me, you weren’t.” 

He bent down, toilet paper in hand to clean up his mess as you watched him. He hummed a little melody, and impressed you once again with his talent. How did I get so lucky?

Oh wanna hear some good news?” he asked. 

You liked this. The feeling of having someone who didn’t judge you for how you felt. The feeling of being able to communicate every feeling and thought you had, was everything you had ever hoped and dreamed to have in your partner.

“Tell me” you said as you hugged one of the pillows on the bed. 

“The girl you met yesterday, the one who dropped the confetti, we’re pretty sure she might be Jin’s soulmate” 

You couldn’t help the way your heart swelled with happiness. 

“Oh my god! You’re kidding!?” You said with as much excitement as your voice would allow you. 

He couldn’t help but smile at your excitement. It was nice to see you were as excited for his brother as he was. Even though you’d only met him yesterday. She’s complete and utter perfection. 

“How do you know?” 

“Well he woke up with confetti everywhere, he had some stuck in his hair when I met him at breakfast.” Namjoon laughed. 

His laugh was slowly becoming your favorite sound in the entire world. 

“That’s amazing Joonie. But damn I should’ve asked her, her name, or at least gotten some kind of information” 

He got off the floor and gave you a peck before trying, and failing, to throw the paper in the bin basketball style. 

“Don’t worry too much about that, how would you know? How would any of us?” 

You nodded along, that was true. “I do have some info though” 

[asimpforarmin]

What’s Done is Done 💛

Content: Armin Arlert x Reader, Modern AU, italicized means flashback, bold is just something used to quote from a flashback.

Summary: After not talking to Armin for 2 years, you finally reconnect. Then, after a little bonding, he comes over and comforts you when you lose your job.

WC: 5,196

Genre: Angst, hurt/comfort, fluff.

Warnings: Financial struggle, alcohol and mentions of alcoholism, a little arguing, and probable grammatical errors. Let me know if I missed any!

A/n: Everyone in the story is above drinking age. Yes, I did listen to Nobody by Mitski slowed down with reverb while making this, thanks for asking. This is really just a vent fic for me, I’ve just been daydreaming for hours about how I just want to be held and comforted by Armin. This isn’t what’s happening to me irl, but I just felt like I needed a simple explanation for the fic so yea.

“Armin! Are you okay?! Where’d they get you?” you exclaimed, looking over Armin. He’d been beaten up by one of those punks who bullied him. You slung his arm around your shoulders, helping him stand up.

“I’m fine!” he says loudly, brushing you off and sitting back down.

“Hey, Armin, what’s wrong?” you ask in a softer tone. You bend down next to him. He’s sitting with his knees clutched against his chest, head down.

He looks up at you, tears in his eyes. “I’m nothing but a burden to you. You, Eren, and Mikasa are always having to come to my rescue.”

“Armin,” you take him into your arms, holding him tight, “It’s not an inconvenience to us. We’re happy to make sure you’re safe.” He wraps his arms around your torso, head resting on your shoulder.

He sniffles, “I’m sorry.”

You pull him closer and rub your hand along his back, “I’m glad to be here. There’s nothing I want more than for you to feel better.”

~~~~~

Armin was everything you wanted to be. He was smart, he had a good job even when attending college, and was able to support himself. You were just you, someone stuck in a never-ending dead end job with bad pay and no special degree to help you out. You were barely scraping by while he was fully capable of doing anything he wanted with his life. Not to mention he had a huge network of friends.

So there you sat, alone in your apartment with the lights off and the windows open, blowing the curtains around slightly. The only thing illuminating the room being the small blue screen of your tv and the ambient nighttime lights of the city outside.

You sat up on the couch, looking at your phone. You went onto twitter only to see Armin and all his friends out doing something at a bar far away from you. You were never really close to many of his friends. You met Eren first, then, he introduced you to Armin. You and Armin hit it off pretty well and you got attached to him. He became your closest friend.

By the time you reached middle school, you and Armin were inseparable. He would obviously spend time with other friends, but he always made time for just you and him.

By highschool, it was clear to everyone around that you two liked each other. You two would blush whenever the other was near, would sit super close, share food, it was almost like you were a couple without admitting to it.

When highschool ended, Armin was so excited to show you his acceptance letter into the college he would be attending. You were hyped up too, until you noticed it was in another state. You were still happy for him, but it would just mean you wouldn’t be able to see each other as often.

You managed to find an apartment only an hour away from him. It wasn’t anything nice, but it was in your budget, and was closer to his college than your last home. In the beginning, you two would video call a lot, especially after classes. You did almost every day. Then, that turned into every week, every two weeks, every month, then you both just stopped around the one year mark.  

He had changed too, not in a bad way though. He had cut his hair, got new friends, and was a lot more social. He still had his old nerdy interests, but he wasn’t the same.

Meanwhile, you desperately tried to get into any college or higher education you could, not even living at this point, just trying to survive. You had two jobs, a cashier in a gas station and a barista at a quaint little coffee shop, but you were still struggling.

You couldn’t get enough money to leave and go to a cheaper place to live. So you slaved away, trying your best to make a decent sum every week.

You wanted to see your best friend again so badly, but you just didn’t know how to reach out. He would give you the motivation you needed to keep going, to try to do something with your life by just being there. The thing is, you’ve drifted so far apart that you were clueless on how to ask without being weird or needy.

You set your glass of ice water on the coffee table in front of you. You looked at it for a moment, thinking of what it could be instead. You were only dressed in a t-shirt and shorts, but you threw on a hoodie and a pair of sandals. You grabbed your keys and phone, you were going out, to a random bar nearby to be exact.

So what if it wasn’t healthy? It’s not like you did it every night, and it wouldn’t drain you for too long. You went down to ground floor and started walking. You didn’t own a car, and even if you did, you probably wouldn’t be able to drive it back.

You walked for a little bit, reaching the building. You went inside and sat at the bar. It wasn’t a huge place, but it wasn’t tiny either. It was quiet though. The only sounds were random people hanging out in the corner, jazz playing over the speakers, and the other lonely people drowning in their sorrows who had it worse than you.

You ordered a drink and looked at your reflection in the glass. You looked like and felt like an utter mess. You didn’t know what you were doing anymore. You took a sip.

The sound of everything else happening was a cruel reminder that life goes on even when you’re at your lowest. The people going in and out of the bar will never know what you’re going through. Time doesn’t care about how you feel and it ever will. But you can try to slow it down a bit with another drink.

As soon as the bartender gives it to you, you see an arm to the left of you. “What’s cookin’ good-lookin?” a man says. You can tell he’s tipsy.

You look up at him and see a familiar face. “Jean?” you inquire, unsure if you’re mistaken. He was one of Armin’s friends he met in university. You never met him, but Armin talked to you about him when you used to call and makes a lot of appearances on his twitter.

He gulps, not knowing who you are. “Yeah actually, who’s asking?”

“I’m- I used to be Armin’s friend,” you say as you stick your hand out. He shakes it. “My name’s Y/n.”

“Oh I see.” He leans on the bar and orders a shot. “Y’know I always wondered who you were. Armin used to never shut up about you. Now, it’s almost like he’s forgotten about you.”

Even though he’s drunkenly blunt, those words still hurt. That just goes to show he’s moved on from you. You look back into your glass, wondering if you should just down it and get out of here.

Then you hear giggles and look over. You see Sasha laughing at Connie punching the air, clearly snockered. You’ve talked to both of them before, but not too much.

You decide you won’t down your drink, instead sliding it over to Jean and paying.

You stand up, wanting to go home before the alcohol kicks in too much. You had an alright tolerance but you wanted to make sure you made it home first. Plus, what were they doing so far out here? Surely they were barhopping. The others would come in soon anyways.

You hear a drunk Jean whine as you walk away, falling off the barstool. You push open the doors, only to be met with those blue eyes you haven’t seen in person in for over a year and a half. They widen looking at you.

“Y/n?” he asks, more shocked than you. You realize Eren and Mikasa are there too.

“Hi,” you say quietly, pulling up your hood and pushing through them.

“W-Wait-“ he’s cut off by Eren dragging him into the bar.

You start sulking back towards your apartment. You feel defeated. Even though he barely said anything to you, that made you start thinking about all the conversations you had when you were younger.

You get halfway down the block and realize you forgot your stupid keys. You quickly turn around, not wanting anyone else to take them. As you look back, you see Armin a few yards away from you. He sticks his hand out, giving you your keys.

“Been a while, hasn’t it?”

“Yeah, it sure has.” You walk up and snatch the keys out of his hand, not in the mood for a conversation with him. You weren’t mad at him, rather with yourself for not knowing how to talk to him.

You turn away and start walking again, when he says, “I’m sorry Y/n.” You stop dead in your tracks, glaring back at him.

“Of course you are, even after two years of not talking to me,” you raise your voice. Why were you saying this? This wasn’t like you. It wasn’t his fault either.

Armin looks down and grabs his wrist, keeping his arms together. “I’m sorry,” was all he could say again. “I knew I should have said something, I just didn’t know how.” You heard how his voice broke slightly, but you couldn’t see his face. “You were always there for me and I just brushed you off.”

~~~~~

Armin rushed to his math class. He knew he was going to be late but only by a few minutes if he was quick. You were also running late, going to the class down the hall from him. Armin opened the door.

“You’re late, Arlert,” the teacher replied immediately.

“Sorry sir, I-“ Armin was cut off by you speaking.

“He was helping me get my locker unjammed sir,” you say, lying, but covering for him.

The teacher nods, “Sit down, I’ll let this one slide.” Armin smiles at you and you give him a thumbs up before continuing to your classes.

~~~~~

You stand there, not sure of what to say.

“I took you for granted,” he continues. You wanted to yell at him, but it wasn’t his fault. You didn’t blame him. These things happen, that’s just how life goes.

He looked up at you, he was crying. Not too much, but his cheeks were red and they had tears running down them. Your eyes started to water just at the sight of this.

Before he could speak anymore, you walked closer to him. You reached your hand up to cup his cheek. “Don’t sweat it,” you say shakily.

Neither of you knew what to say, but if one of you didn’t say something, it was just going to go back to how it was before.

You’re the one to crack first. You wrap your arms around his waist, head in the crook of his neck. “I’ve missed you so much,” you say, crying into his neck.

“I-I’ve missed you too,” he admits. And just like that, it feels like a weight’s been lifted off your shoulders. He wraps his arms around you and lightly cries onto your shoulder.

It’s been a long time since you’ve spoken to each other, let alone touched each other. “I’m sorry.”

You pull back from him a bit, “Don’t be, it’s not your fault,” you smile up at him.

He lets you go, wiping his tears away, while you do the same.

“I-I should get back home,” you say, hoping he’ll propose something to make the night flip around. But he doesn’t.

“Yeah, I should get back too. Oh uh, do you want my new number?”

You perk up immediately to his suggestion. “Yeah! Of course!” You take your phone out, giving it to him. Once he types his number in, you give him yours.

You both say your goodbyes and head in opposite directions.

~~~~~

Over the next couple of months, you and Armin start to get in touch again. You can’t visit each other that often because of how far apart you are, but you try to every other weekend. Every time you can see him though, it’s a pleasure. Going to bookstores or libraries to be bookworms together or just getting food, every moment was bliss.

Your feelings for him started to come back too. This time, you have a pretty good feeling he likes you back, but you weren’t completely sure, so you didn’t say anything.

You two started video calling again, this time at least a little bit every evening with little to no exception. You both adored each other and loved geeking out together about things.

But you still had to work. You didn’t bring up anything about your struggles to him, he probably didn’t want to hear and you don’t want to be a burden.

That is, until you got laid off from both of your jobs in the same week. It was the end of the week and the coffee shop you worked at had gone out of business and the gas station found someone to do your job for less money.

You came home that day and just dropped to the floor crying. You didn’t know what to do. You were stuck with no job after barely getting by and all you could do was just sob as it felt like the world crumbled around you. You were completely distraught.

“Shut up!” you hear your neighbor yell as he bangs on the wall separating your rooms. You choke back your cries and pick yourself up to just curl up in your bed, sobbing into a pillow.

You suddenly wake up to the sound of your phone ringing. You drag yourself out of bed and rummage through your bag. You find your phone, slide back into bed, pick up, and turn your camera off.

“Hey Y/n!” Armin exclaims. He sounds so happy to see you.

“Hey,” you try to sound fine, but your voice cracks and you sniffle a little.

Armin takes note of it, “Why’s your camera off?” he asks inquisitively.

“It’s nothing,” you reply, wanting him to just take over the conversation and tell you about his day.

“Are you okay Y/n?”

“Just ignore it, I just woke up.” He takes a minute to try to figure out how to respond. “Just uh- How was your day?” you ask quickly, trying to change the subject.

He cautiously talks to you about it, knowing something’s up. You put in some headphones so you can have him right in your ears and just lay on your bed.

He tells you about the quiz he had that day, how Eren got into a fight, how spring break started, and it starts to calm you down, just having someone talk so casually to you like you’re having a normal conversation.

“So, how was your day?” he asks you in return. That snaps you out of it, you start crying again. You mute your mic and try to get your composure back.

“Y/n? Oh, you’re muted? Are you okay? Tell me what’s wrong.” His voice was low and considerate, trying to help calm you down. “I don’t mind, if you want to talk about it, we can. If not that’s fine too.”

You unmute your mic, “I’m tired,” you say, voice breaking as you speak.

“Hey, that’s alright, tired of what?” he asks you.

“I don’t have a job anymore, and I’m barely getting by. I just want a steady income or a new opportunity,” you say, getting more and more unconsolable by the second.

Armin always has his ways though, “Hey, you’re going to be okay. What happened?”

You sniffle and take a deep breath. “Well this coffee shop I worked for went out of business and-“ you take a second to sniffle and cough, “I got fired from the gas station I worked at.”

“You were working two jobs?” He’s a little shocked, but doesn’t act like it. He doesn’t want to throw you off your train of thought. You nod like he can see you, then make a sound of affirmation.

“You’re gonna be okay,” he says. He sounds calm and collected, trying to just make you feel better. His voice is quiet and comforting.

“I-If it isn’t too much to ask, Armin, could you come over tomorrow? I just wanna hang out with you,” you say.

Armin takes a minute, thinking of what to say. “I can come over tonight if you want.”

You want him to, you really do, but you say, “It’s a long drive and it’s the middle of the night, Armin.”

“Hey, it’s alright. It’s the least I can do.” You try to convince him otherwise but he’s already hung up. You pull your legs to your chest and put your head down. You don’t know what you’re doing. You’re not worth his time. He’s going to have to drive an hour just to get to where you are.

After a couple minutes, you hear your phone ringing again. It’s him. You pick up.

“Hey, I’m in the car now,” he said.

“Armin, I’m too far from you. You’ll have to drive 2 hours tonight, just to get back and forth.

“Then I’ll just stay the night with you.” You were a little shocked by him just saying that, but you welcomed it.

“I know you want to be here for me now, but you don’t have to drive an hour in the middle of the night just to comfort me.”

“Just an hour? So you’re agreeing I can stay over?” He was more lighthearted now, trying to cheer you up.

You sigh, say, “I guess” and lightly chuckle.

“It’ll be just like the sleepovers we had when we were younger.”

~~~~~

“Hold still!” you said, “You’re gonna make me mess up.” You were sitting criss cross with Armin on your bedroom floor, painting his nails a light blue color.

“Hey, you’re the reason you have that streak going halfway up your finger, you couldn’t hold still either.” You chuckled, looking down at your fingernails he just painted.

“Oh well, what’s done is done,” you say, putting the brush back in the bottle. “Tada!”

He looks down at his nails, then blows on them to try to get the polish to dry quicker. “They look great.” You look at him and smile, and he does too, but his smile soon fades into a frown.

“What’s wrong?” you say, putting the polish away and sitting next to him.

“People are gonna make fun of me because of this.”

“Hey, don’t think that way, if they do, I’ll beat ‘em up!” you smile, making a fist with your hand.

“Y/n, no,” he looks at you, trying to get you to back down.

“Okay fine, only if they hit you first.”

“You’re going to get yourself hurt,” he raises his voice.

Then you hear a voice from downstairs, “Go to bed kids!” You sigh, getting up and reaching your hand out for Armin.

“I’ll be okay.” He takes your hand, standing up. He goes over to his bag as you climb into your bed.

You yawn, “What do you have there?”

“A book and a flashlight. I hope you don’t mind. If you do I’ll just put them away.”

“No, it’s okay. What book?” He moves a little closer to you, showing you the cover with a smile on his face. He sits next to you and starts going on about the plot and all the characters, flipping through the pages showing you his favorite parts.

After a while he’s reading it to you, trying to keep quiet because he doesn’t want anyone to know you’re both still up. He’s getting to a part he’s quite passionate about when he looks at you. You’re half asleep under your blanket, trying to keep your eyes open.

He stops reading for a moment, “Sorry I’m boring you, I’ll go to sleep.” He goes to his makeshift bed, a pile of blankets with a ton of pillows underneath, and his sleeping bag on top. It’s just a few feet away from your bed.

You sit up a little, rubbing your eyes. “It’s not boring at all. It’s quite relaxing actually.” You wrap the blanket higher up on your body, before laying on your bed to look at him. “Tell me more,” you say.

He smiles. He turns the light off and his flashlight on, getting under the covers and flipping through his book to find the good part. He starts reading again, in a hushed voice. You cuddle up against your pillow, watching him.

He looks so absorbed in the world of that book. Reading you a chapter, occasionally pausing to tell you context since you haven’t read it. He’s smiling throughout it all.

You close your eyes, listening to him continue. Soon enough, you’re asleep. He falls asleep shortly after.

~~~~~

“Oh yeah, I remember those,” you say wiping your eyes and smiling. “You gonna paint my nails again?”

“Only if you let me read to you,” he says.

“Of course you can.” You two continue just making small talk for a while, until he pulls into a gas station.

“Well, I’m gonna hang up for now, okay?” he asks you.

“Okay,” you say, pulling your blanket closer to your body.

“I’ll be right over.”

“Alright,” you say. He’s about to hang up when you say, “Wait.” He stops what he’s doing and puts his phone back up to his ear. “I- I love you, Armin.”

He pauses for a moment. “I love you too, Y/n,” he says, before hanging up.

With a blush across your face, you stare up at your ceiling. He’s calmed you down so much by just talking to you over the phone. You get up, getting changed out of your work clothes. Not into anything fancy, but just a baggy t-shirt and a loose pair of pajama pants.

As you’re getting dressed, you’re thinking it over. Did he really mean what he said? Or if he did, did he mean it in a super friendly way? You don’t know how this is going to work out. On one hand, he could actually have feelings for you, or on the other you could have just made your whole relationship awkward.

“But what’s done is done,” you thought. There’s no going back now. You sat back down, waiting about 45 minutes. You wanted to cry but you felt too tired even for that.

You heard three loud knocks coming from your door.

“Y/n, it’s me,” you heard Armin say from outside. You get off your bed, go over to the door and unlock it. Armin’s standing there with a bag. “Hey,” he says, pulling you into a hug.

“I’ve missed you Armin,” you say. You don’t know why you said it, you were just talking to him.

“Well I’m here now,” he says, letting go of you. You step aside for him to come in. He goes to your coffee table and places the bag down. “While I was at the gas station, I picked you up some of these.” He takes out a plastic container filled with cookies, and a bottle of your favorite drink.

You walk closer picking up the drink, “You remembered.”

“Of course I did,” he says. He grabs your hand, “I never forgot about you.” That made you think back to what Jean had said to you at the bar. You put the drink back on the table and wrap your arms around Armin’s waist, burying your face in the crook of his neck. He puts his arms around your shoulders and holds you close. “It’s okay, Y/n, I’ll never leave again.”

He doesn’t end the hug, but once you’ve calmed down a little, he spaces you two apart so he can look at you. He says, “If you want we could pop a movie in, or I could paint your nails, or read to you, anything you want to do.”

“Could we just talk for a bit?” you ask, as he hangs his jacket over the side of the couch. You felt bad for dragging him out here if you were just going to watch a movie or something you could easily do by yourself. He nods and you bring him over to the couch.

You sit to the left of him and lean your head on his shoulder. “I don’t really know what I want to talk about, I think I’ve told you most of what’s happened.”

“That’s okay. So, what job do you think you’re gonna get after this?”

“I don’t know,” you say, looking down. “I don’t think I’ll find one easily.”

“I can help you find something in the morning if you want.”

“Sure.” You both stop talking for a minute.

“Do you have any other friends?” he asks.

“No, not really. I had some friends at the coffee shop I worked at, but now that’s gone out of business. I never really spent time with them either, they were just people I talked to.”

“If you want, I can introduce you to some of my friends. I know they’re far away, but if you’re not busy, we could meet halfway, maybe once a week.”

“Like at the bar?”

“Yeah, just a better place than that,” he says. You look up at him, and then down at his hand. You take it.

“Where do you want to go?” You look back up at him, waiting for a response. He blushes as you hold his hand, looking away.

“Well if it’s all of us, some of my friends will probably want to go to a club or something, but if that’s too much, we can just go get food or see a movie.”

“What if it’s just you and me?” He looks back at you, cheeks still flushed. “Do you want to go the library or something at some point?”

“Sure,” he says. You’re thinking for a moment. You’re holding hands with your best friend while your head is on his shoulder, after he drove an hour just to comfort you. You were gonna have to tell him at some point. He wouldn’t just confess to you.

You start to get tired, it was relaxing to be in this position. You yawn, getting the attention of Armin.

“You should go to bed.”

“I’m not that tired, plus you just got here.”

“That’s alright, I don’t mind. And I bet you are tired. You’ve been crying a lot today.” He brushes some hair out of your face, stands up, and takes both of your hands. “Come on, you need to sleep.”

You both part hands and you go to the bathroom for a moment to wash up. When you come out, Armin’s checking his phone with his jacket over his arm.

“Guess I’ll be on my way,” he says.

“Wait, I thought you were staying?” you ask confused. You wanted him to stay.

“Do you want me to? I kind of just said I was without asking you.”

You go closer to him, “Well I made you come all the way out here, so the least I can do is let you stay.”

“You didn’t make me, Y/n, I chose to come.” He puts his phone in his pocket.

“I don’t know, I just feel like I’m burdening you.”

“Y/n,” he takes both of your hands in his own, “There’s nothing I want more than for you to feel better.”

“God, you even remember that.” You look down, starting to feel your eyes water.

“Hey, don’t cry,” he says, wiping a tear from your cheek. You look back up at him, he’s concerned, but he’s smiling at you.

You let go of his hands and hug him. “I love you, Armin,” you say, “and I mean it.” He quickly puts his arms around you, while you let out a shaky breath. You continue, “I have since middle school, it’s not just from this.”

He puts his face in your neck, starting to tear up. “I have too,” he says with a quavering voice. You two stand there, overcome with emotion, holding each other. You pull back for a moment, cupping his face and brushing a tear off his cheek. “I love you, Y/n.”

You smile up at him, still while blubbering. You pull him back and you both rock each other for a moment.

“Come on, let’s go to bed,” you say, leading him to your bed. He puts his jacket over your chair and his phone on your nightstand. Once he’s done, you already have your legs under the covers. You open your arms and he climbs in next to you. He hugs you, then you both lay on your sides, facing each other.

You reach for his cheek again, just holding it. “God, you look so handsome.”

“Thank you,” he says, grabbing a hold of your hand. “You look stunning.” You smile and let out a little chuckle.

“I love you,” you say again. God, you’d have never thought you’d be saying this to him, especially tonight.

“I love you too.” It was a short and simple phrase but it made your cheeks darken and you felt butterflies in your stomach. You lean a little bit forward, kissing him. You both close your eyes as he kisses back.

After a couple seconds, you both part. He pulls the blanket over you, wrapping you in it. “Goodnight,” he says, turning the light off.

“Goodnight.”

~~~~~

You open your eyes, to see that no one’s there. The other side of the bed is empty. You sit up a little, before smelling food cooking from the kitchen.

After around 15 minutes of just laying in bed, you get up and go see what’s cooking. Armin’s at your oven, pulling muffins out of it.

He turns around to see you, a smile on his face. “Good morning!” He starts putting some of the muffins on a cooling rack, “How did you sleep?”

“Good,” you say, sitting at the table.

“That’s good. I used some mix from your cupboard, I hope you don’t mind.” He takes some of the muffins and puts them on plates for the both of you.

“It’s fine,” you yawn and look down at the table. There’s a newspaper in front of you.

Armin comes over to the table and places one plate in front of the newspaper. “Look at the bottom.” You look down the newspaper and see an ad for some small shop that’s hiring. “Thought maybe you’d be interested.”

“Thanks,” you say as he sits down. “So, are we a thing now?” you ask shyly, looking up at him.

“Yea, if you’re interested.”

“Of course I am.”

“Well so am I,” he giggles.

You start reading into the newspaper a little more. What’s done is done, and you’re happy about it.

[maxrev]

For the kiss prompts: "in the snow" and "life or death" if I can combine them like that? your call) for an otp of your choice.

IT IS DONE...I had no idea this would explode into such a long prompt lol. I mean, I gave it a title and even added a quote xD. Anyways, here you are :) Thanks SO much for the prompt! A bit angsty but I figured the prompt called for it! 

Under the cut because...wow...

I’d like to thank @spaced0lphin for her wonderful musical work, as it provided inspiration to write this piece and @theoriginalladya for checking it over 

When I Took to the Sky 

Death is a challenge. It tells us not to waste time… It tells us to tell each other right now that we love each other. Leo Buscaglia

Arcing through the debris, the drop shuttle came to rest amidst the debris of a ship, snow puffing up into the air as it landed; flakes sparkling as they danced and whirled in the air before once again coming to rest on the ground. Pulling on his gloves, the pilot reached for his helmet resting on the passenger seat and tugged it on, twisting it snug with a snap. 

He took a deep, steadying breath...and stepped out onto Alchera. 

Ever since Niall had received the message from Admiral Hackett about placing a memorial here, he’d been pushing it aside. A memorial to honor those who’d laid down their lives for the Alliance. Hardly seemed enough, considering how dismissive the findings the crew of the Normandy had presented. But the fact he was employed by Cerberus now was cause for surprise in being contacted. Other questions followed though; why had the Alliance waited so long to decide on a memorial? Had he not rose from the grave like Lazarus, would they even have bothered? 

Once he’d agreed, he continued to push it aside. There were other missions to take precedence, a ragtag bunch of crew members to hunt down and recruit, and the Illusive Man to annoy - his personal favorite agenda. Anything took precedence over coming here. He simply wasn’t ready to face the part of his past which had changed everything.  There was hope coming here would heal old wounds, rather than deepen them.  

His steps were measured, faltering when he came upon a piece of the Normandy, his mind thrown back in time invoking memories he’d suppressed of a life changing event from over two years ago.

Two fecking years! 

It was a constant struggle to process the passage of time; dying and then being resurrected without any knowledge of it.  

Pausing at the mako, he was thrown into the past, scenes flashing behind his eyes…Kaidan's white knuckled grip as Niall slid the tank through snow and ice up the mountain on Noveria; Ashley yelling with uncontained glee as he'd skidded close to the edge of the lava pools on Feros; Garrus' mandibles twitching when he'd observe the mako on return to the Normandy; Kaidan's resignation upon being turned down again upon his request to drive...the near kiss they'd shared inside the cab a few hours before their last drop when their world ended.

Lost in his thoughts, he didn’t hear the approach of another drop shuttle.

A sound came from behind him, out of place in the absolute stillness around him. Niall whirled, one hand reaching for his maglocked weapon, the other erupting in a blue glow. Setting eyes on the source, both hands dropped to his side in shock. 

Kaidan.

Right away, he noticed he LT had changed. They’d spent so much time together; on the ship, off the ship, on the battlefield, he’d learned the LT’s subtle mannerisms. Gone was the quiet, sensitive marine soldier with stars in his eyes, the romantic he’d claimed to be back on the SR-1. In the eyes staring back at him carefully, in the posture of the man before him, there was a confidence and maturity he’d not had before. There was also doubt. 

It's me, Niall wanted to say, to reassure. It just wasn't so simple.

He watched the play of emotions in the deep brown eyes he'd dreamed about so often. Their eyes locked and he was thrown back in time. Although for him, it was only a few months ago...not two years, when they’d been sitting in the mess on the SR-1, drinking coffee and going over their notes on the Terminus. Niall had been going on about the goose chase they'd been sent on...

“I cannae believe they sent us out to the arse end of space for nothing! Wasted two fucking weeks looking for something which isnae even here.” He slammed his fist on the table, other soldiers in the mess startled at his outburst. Niall ignored them. 

“I’m sure they just wanted us out of the way but we’ll find something, Shepard. We just have to be patient.” 

Niall snorted, “My patience ran dry about an hour inta this mission. I’ll contact those doaty bampots and tell 'em what I really think.” 

Kaidan chuckled, took a sip of his coffee before answering, “Not your best idea by a long shot.” 

Winking at him and enjoying the slight blush across the cheeks, Niall smiled, “Aye but it’ll be fun and blow off some steam.” 

In the end, nothing came of it as the ship rocked hard to port and alarms began to blare around them...

A cough brought him back to the present, watching the brown eyes change in the light, the initial confusion fading to doubt, then replaced with wariness. 

"Who are you?" The first words to be spoken aloud between them, in the same velvety rasp which had haunted Niall’s dreams.

They cut deep, hurt worse than any wound he’d endured. He straightened up, pushing the pain away and answered. 

“Who d'ya think it is? Jolly ol' St. Nick? Tis me, Kaidan. Niall.” He felt like he was stating the obvious, words coming out sharper than intended. 

Silence followed his outburst, the sound of wind wailing in the distance filling the stillness. As the quiet stretched on, Niall reflected on the situation, quickly realizing if roles were reversed, he'd be suspicious as well. Indignation sailed away like a balloon on the wind.

Ready to apologize, Kaidan spoke before Niall could ready his words, “I thought--” voice hoarse with agony, he choked on whatever he’d been about to say, unable to continue. Looking away from Niall, he composed himself, took a deep breath and despite his attempt to remain calm, blurted, “You...you were dead.” 

Biting his tongue against voicing the LT’s mighty powers of observation, Niall fought for something a wee bit more serious and relatable. Now wasnae the time for jokes. 

“Aye," the words ‘but now I’m not’ still echoing in the air between them. How could he begin to explain what he dinnae understand himself? As if he were stuck in quick sand, he felt the more he tried to climb out, the deeper he sank. 

“So, the rumors were true.” 

“Och, aye, guess they were.” 

“When?” 

The wealth of emotion in the single word struck Niall right in the heart, nearly making him stagger from the pain. He fought for an answer, disregarding one after another as they came to him. 

With a heavy sigh, he decided on the truth, “Several months ago.” The dark brows inside the black helmet furrowed downwards into a frown he was all too familiar with. Even to his own ears the response sounded lame. “I dinnae know until then. I was...uh...I doonae even know what to call it...brought back to life?” He threw his hands up in frustration. 

Disbelief followed his statement, turning quickly to suspicion. He could see the change in Kaidan's eyes through the visor. Tone flat, he echoed, “Brought back to life." At Niall’s nod of confirmation, his voice rose, "How is such a thing even possible? Who is...capable of such a thing?” 

Knowing how Kaidan felt about the organization, Niall didn't spare him the facts. He'd find out anyway. “Cerberus.” 

The climate of Alchera was cold and frigid, unfit for flora or fauna to sustain life. Even inside his armor, Naill could feel the chill in the air and had simply wanted to walk through the ruins and leave quickly. He’d never expected to find a dog tag or get lost in memories. 

And now, with his confession, the temperature seemed to drop even further; at least where the two of them stood. Kaidan stared at him for several long, agonizing seconds. He didn’t bother answering, turning around and walking away.

Niall jumped forward, his gloved hands capturing Kaidan’s stopping him, “Wait, please. Don’t go.” 

His gaze dropped down to where their hands were joined; Niall's did as well, heart skipping in his chest. “Please.” He wasn't above begging, not when it came to Kaidan. 

Pulling his hand from Niall’s, Kaidan turned away; yet, he didn’t leave. Several minutes went by; Niall held his breath. “How could you? It’s...they’re Cerberus! You know what they’ve done. The...the things we saw!” 

Fully aware of what his impassioned words implied, Niall felt his anger rise in response, “Did ya think I had a choice in this? As if I could pick and choose who would ha’ the honors of...of fixing...of rebuilding me? Fuck! I wouldnae have chosen this at all...if anyone had ever bothered to ask me first. But here I am and will damn well make the best of it, ya ken?”

Silence stretched on around them. “Are you…you?” Kaidan whispered.

How many times had he looked in the mirror wondering the exact same thing? “I doonae know, Kaidan…" He repeated in a whisper, "I doonae know."

With the admission, he could not look at Kaidan anymore, gazed around them instead. He saw a glint of something shiny; another set of dog tags perhaps. 

To fill the void, he explained, “Saw something sparkle in the sun shortly after I landed. Walked over and found a set of dog tags belonging to Pressly. As I wandered among the wreckage I found more from the crew...the ones who…” he couldn’t say it out loud, felt a hand settle on his shoulder. 

Startled, he turned to stare at it, unable to process the gesture with Kaidan’s protests from a few short minutes ago. Did he believe him now or was it all just for show? Yet, Kaidan had never been superficial. Something Niall admired about him, then and now. 

“We’ll do it together.” The words startled him even more than the touch, but he was grateful. 

“Aye. Tapadh leat.” **

Searching the pieces of the Normandy side by side. As the looked, Niall noticed the sky darkening overhead. Caught up in the past, neither of them had paid any attention. A storm was approaching; a large one. Seeing another glint of metal, Niall brushed off the snow and wrapped the chain around his gloved fingers. 

The storm had intensified and was coming at them fast and furious. There wasn’t time for them to get to their drop shuttles and leave.

He turned and tapped on Kaidan’s helmet. “We need to take cover. Now! Get inside one of the drop shuttles!” Niall took off at a dead run towards the one closest, Kaidan hot on his heels. 

Jumping inside, Niall slammed his fist against the touchpad, shutting the door just as the storm growled over them, ice chips beating a staccato against the steel hull. Wind buffeted the Kodiak, causing it to rock before sliding a few inches along the ground. Unable to radio out and with no one able to contact them, they were sitting ducks at the mercy of the storm.  

Niall reached up and took off his helmet, scrubbing his shorn, itchy scalp with gloved fingertips. 

“You...you’re...the scars?” Kaidan finally managed. 

Niall had forgotten. Not completely healed when the Lazarus project had been sabotaged, he was left with scars where his skin hadn’t had time to knit back together. Chakwas told him by remaining calm they would eventually heal and fade but with stress, they would remain...or get worse. 

Well...

He turned towards Kaidan, their eyes locking. Niall wasn’t the man he’d been the last time they’d seen each other. 

“Aye, scars. I wasnae fully healed when...well, when I was brought out of my coma.” He went to replace his helmet. 

Kaidan stopped him, hand on his arm. “No, don’t. I don’t care what you look like, Niall. I just...I was surprised.” 

He nodded. No moreso than he when he first looked in the mirror. The image staring back at him had been a great shock. That mirror had been replaced. Niall went and sat down on the bench in the back; Kaidan remained standing, neither one speaking as the storm raged on outside. It might last an hour or maybe days. 

“Look, Kaidan--”

“Niall, I--”

Both of them spoke at once. Niall gave a weak grin as Kaidan chuckled and he noticed the pink hue covering the tips of the ears. Some things hadn’t changed. He felt as if a weight had been lifted and he’d been granted a boon. 

Looking at Kaidan straight on, he began again, “I ken how it looks. I do. But, before you draw and quarter me, I dinnae now what to do, where to go. The Alliance won’t ha’ me now and I talked with Anderson and Hackett. They know what’s going on with the human abductions. The Council won’t listen.” He spat the name, no more enamored with them than in the past. “What would ya ha’ me do?” 

“Plead your case, push them. Be relentless like you were before. They have to see reason.” 

Shaking his head at Kaidan’s blind faith, he countered, “Do they? Have they ever? Have ya forgotten Sovereign? The Citadel doesnae even remember, the damage wwept away like so much garbage, forgotten and moved on.” 

The shoulders slumped. Niall studied him, drinking in the sight of a man he hadn’t realized how much he’d begun to care about. Until he was gone. Yet, here he was right in front of him. And they were arguing, Kaidan too blind to see what was so obvious. He stood up, stepping forward until they were nearly nose to nose. Kaidan looked up. 

Niall lost himself in the brown eyes, a golden amber when the light overhead caught them just right. How had he never noticed before? The laugh lines spreading out from the corners of his eyes, the freckles above his right eyebrow. So many details he’s missed. No, he’d never bothered to find. Now, he noticed them all...and more. 

Adrenaline surged in his blood, excitement unfurling within him. He remembered the scars over Kaidan’s lips, wanting to touch them, see how they felt beneath his fingertips...against his tongue. They were right there in front of him now. Overcome with a tidal wave of pent up emotions, he acted on impulse. 

Leaning forward, he captured Kaidan’s mouth with his, losing himself in the scent and taste of him, in the soft lips, his tongue tracing the scars...finally. 

Lost in a longing he had no name for, it took Niall several seconds to register there was no reciprocation. His heart twisted painfully inside his chest. So, this was it, then. He took a deep breath, ready to apologize. But, as he stepped away, he stumbled, Kaidan surging forward to initiate the kiss this time. 

The Kodiak faded away, as did the storm outside. Only the two of them existed in this perfect moment and Niall drank it up like a parched man in the desert until they both broke away, simply in order to breathe. 

** thank you, Scottish Gaelic, informal

[shebeafancyflapjack]

What She Needs

Quick EOTB (not a) drabble for @cecret-with-c . This should make up for me clearly not finishing my other whump fic by the weekend as I’d hoped.

This stinks!

For that matter, when did the waves outside get so rough and loud? It’s as if every sound in this little corner of paradise he created has been amplified for his annoyance, right down to the mice scurrying around in the walls who only came out to help carry a lost remote or dropped earring.

No matter how what position he lays in, no matter how much he tosses and turns, he can’t seem to get himself comfy. It makes no sense! He made sure to summon the most desirable sofa, specifically for human napping, as he knew it would be used as Eleanor’s second bed as much as sitting to watch TV. Neither of them had any issues with it before so why was it so hard for him to get to sleep now?! Why did the pillows suddenly feel so damn lumpy?

Maybe sleeping on the couch was always this difficult. He can’t say he ever did it before. Ever since he learned how to sleep, it was always with Eleanor, in her bed. Sometimes they would take the occasional nap on the sofa together, curled up in front of a movie or spent after a day of simulated adventures. She took many a snooze on here during those early weeks, where she’d be buried underneath a blanket, clinging to one of the cushions like a shield while Michael pottered around her, trying to create as calm and normal an atmosphere as possible. Perhaps she found it as awkward as he did now, but was too frightened (and mute) to complain?

Oh, stop it, Mikey. Stop trying to rationalise this. 

He knew the reason he was truly so alert. The same reason he had been exiled to the couch in the first place.

“Are you just not gonna talk to me for the whole weekend then?” He asks once they’ve made it through the threshold and she’s still storming ahead.

He makes sure to scan the area, ensure the soundproofing is on, never too careful if one of his coworkers has followed to spy on them.

“Yep!” Eleanor snaps back before realising her mistake; “Oh...fork, that didn’t count!”

“Oh, c’mon, I said ‘my bad’! What more do you want?”

“Cockroaches, dude! You called me and my friends ‘cockroaches’ - you really don’t get why that pisses me off?!” She turns and rounds on him.

Maybe she, too, had been waiting until they were out of demon-sight to rage at him.

Michael raises his hands; “I did not say that!”

“Oh so your exact words weren’t ‘you guys are like cockroaches’?!” She quotes him, lowering her voice to badly imitate him.

He waves his hand.

“Yes, but I wasn’t...I wasn’t trying to insult you. Chidi asked me a straight question, I gave him a straight answer...Which happened to be a metaphor!” He tried to defend, stepping through the foyer of the beach house.

Eleanor was already on her way into the kitchen to grab a can of J.D and coke.

“Look, he asked me if I knew why I was struggling with understanding some of the things in his class and I was just trying to say, as an immortal being, I am technically superior to the rest of you...Your species!” He corrects himself as soon as she turns to scowl at him; “And I tried to put that into perspective for him! How it feels for me, a creature with unfathomable abilities and has been around since the dawn of time, to have to be taught lessons from a creature like him - a tiny, fragile, mortal species whose only existed for a tiny blink in all eternity.”

“And the first thing that came to mind...was a cockroach?!” 

Oh, she really is pissed about this.

He took a breath and tried to move closer, his hands out.

“Babe, c’mon now. You know I’d never mean to call you anything like that. It was just a force of habit, it’s how they would explain our jobs to use in Torturing 101.” He tries to tell her, his palm hovering near her elbow as she swigged her drink; “Old habits die hard but I’m trying my best, you know that, right?”

She meets his eyes, the sternness in her brow weakening a little, he can see. There’s a twinge in her lips as she refuses to melt.

“Old habits seem to be alive and well this week, man. Especially when you made Chidi’s writing come off the wall and attack him, just because he corrected you on Consequentialism!”

“Come on! You laughed at that!”

“No, Jason did! I...wanted to but resisted, which is what you should be learning to do! Stop lashing out at Chidi whenever he gives you the slightest bit of negative feedback, he’s only trying to help - which he keeps doing even though you can be such a nightmare student that you make me look like a teacher’s pet!” Eleanor cringes, putting down her can and stepping back; “Oh, what the fork have you turned me into?!”

“Hey, it’s not my fault you’ve become a total nerd! That’s on you.” Michael deflected as he hung up his jacket and removed his bowtie, snapping his fingers to turn his trousers to jeans. 

“Actually, ding dong, only reason I even asked Chidi to help me be a better person was because you tricked me into believing I wasn’t good enough to get into Heaven!”

“That wasn’t a trick, that’s a fact of the Universe.”

“You know what I mean! This is all your fault! We’re having to put up with these stupid fake tortures every day and when I’m not pretending to be miserable about that, I gotta babysit my demon boyfriend to try and stop him from actually torturing one of my best friends!” Eleanor raises her tone as she rounds on him; “And even when I finally get a chance to escape it all, I end up having a fight with said stupid demon boyfriend who’s too much of a jerkash to admit when he’s crossed the line!”

He watches her get closer, inch by inch, doing his best not to dismiss her comments and only focus on how cute she looks when she’s angry, as well as how hot it is for her to be so fearless shouting down an all-powerful immortal being.

Michael blinks as he realises she’s waiting for a response.

“Oh, you mean me?”

Eleanor groans again, moving back to the fridge. She grabbed as many J.D cans as she could carry before pushing past Michael and heading towards their bedroom.

He watches her go with a frown; “What you taking all those in there for?”

“Because I am gonna spend my torture-free night alone, in my room, drinking, eating crab and watching Real Housewives until I pass out.” She mutters as she turns the knob.

“Sounds good, count me in.” He went to follow.

“Alone!” 

That sounded less good. Michael stops in his tracks, watching her slam the door. He scoffs. She’ll be back out soon. What’s she gonna do, just leave him to sleep alone on the couch?

-

Yes, apparently.

Were he a true demon, he’d be hoping that Eleanor was having as much trouble getting to sleep as him. That she was regretting starting a fight on what was supposed to be their monthly getaway together and was going to appear any second to apologise and agree to forget it ever happened.

But he doesn’t, because he’s already passed failing at being evil, try as his natural instincts might try to rear their ugly tentacles again. He can’t wish anything bad upon her, the woman who changed his life, who shone a light in the darkness. He doesn’t even enjoy torturing her friends, not really. Chidi, a little, as an outlet, but only for an instant high that quickly wore off when he had to deal with the consequences. Which was mostly Eleanor being pissed at him.

He wondered how close she was coming to being tempted to turn a steak knife on him again? He probably deserved it.

It was...tough, being part of a team. Bonding with Eleanor on her own, two of them here isolated away from everyone else, had run so smoothly, as if it were destiny if he dared to entertain such a lame concept. But having to share her with others, taking classes with them, sometimes it was fun but other times...Ugh, he could gladly wish for retirement. He didn’t enjoy feeling dumb or small or...so clearly inferior to the kind, ethical human who got to spend way more time with his girlfriend than he did.

Not that Michael would ever bring that up. He’d sound as bad as Ross in Season Three when he was being possessive of Rachel with that Mark guy. What a tool.

Don’t be a Ross, Mikey. That’s Ethics for Dummies right there. 

He sighs, heavily, imagining losing Eleanor forever because of being like that doofus was with Rachel. He was better than that. He understood how important this was to her. He tried to respect her friends and what it meant for her to have all of them as a group; the family she’d been denied...that they’d all been denied in some way or another.

It’s on you to make this right, he tells himself. 

He hit his pillow before groaning again. Fine! First thing in the morning, he’ll wake her up with a nice breakfast, he’ll say sorry, he’ll let her know how frustrated he’s been with Vicky and others lately, and how he should make it up to Chidi and-

Click.

Michael freezes. That was definitely Eleanor’s bedroom door.

He closes his eyes, pretending to sleep. He doesn’t wanna try to do this now, not at this hour. Let them have a night apart to think, let her sleep, let it be a surprise to wake up to. She’s probably just coming in to grab some water from the Brita. Or some midnight shrimp from that infinite platter in the fridge. There’s a rapid thumping sound rippling through the air. He can barely hear her bare feet pad across the carpet...

On their way towards...him...

He struggles not to open his eyes when he feels the smaller body push against him, moving him back against the cushions and slipping under his arm for the lack of a blanket. He doesn’t need one and, even without his natural fiery body heat, it’s warm enough tonight. So why is she shaking all over as she curls into him-?

Oh. Oh shirt. Not again.

“You okay-?” he whispers only to find a palm pressed to his lips.

“Shut up!” her voice commands, her fierce tone trembling with fear; “M’still mad at you!”

Clearly. That’s not his main concern right now.

He nods, opening his eyes. The remnants of tears shine on her cheeks.

He carefully moves his hand to wipe them with his thumb, cradling her face as if it were the most precious object in existence.

“Just tell me what you need.” He says, softly.

They can deal with all the rest in the morning. Right here, right now, he’s to do what his role has always been since they first arrived here.

Does she want to talk about it? Can he get her anything?

He doesn’t need to ask these questions. They’ve been uttered a hundred times, over a hundred nights, throughout this house. He’s never denied her a thing and he’s hardly going to stop tonight.

Eleanor sniffs; “...Just...do the thing...”

He nods; “C’mere.” he lifts his arm again, letting her curl in close against this chest before he wraps her up tight. His fingers gently massage up and down her back as she tries to sync her breathing with his, burying her face in his chest. He whispers the same soothing words, the same promises of safety, the same tender reassurance that it will all be okay. She can never hear it enough, not after what she had to endure. It’s a miracle she ever came back from it.

Michael chances his luck a little when he feels her begin to calm by brushing his lips against her hair. She gives the smallest hum, fingers still clutching on tight.

“Still mad.” She mumbles, nuzzling into him.

“I know.” He whispers, “And I’m still here.” Always.

He’s not sure when the couch became comfortable again but he can feel his own eyes becoming heavy. He watches her face, so close to his, admiring the smoothness of her skin and each hair out of place.

“Guess I might as well stay...” Eleanor says, sleepily; “I know you need me to look after you.”

He grants her that, smiling; “We cockroaches gotta stick together, right?”

She doesn’t respond.

“Still not good?”

Her lips twitch; “Getting better. We’ll make a human outta you soon, demon babe. Now go the fork to sleep.”

[the-homicidediaries]

Chris Benoit

Guys.

I am so excited to talk about this.

Not because of the context, but because this is one of the reasons I love wrestling so much; there’s so much that goes on behind the scenes that people have NO CLUE about.

There have been several professional wrestlers who have killed people or been killed themselves and the rabbit hole goes deep.

(Rey Mysterio accidentally killed a man on live tv and they still have the video up on YouTube.)

(Jimmy ‘Superfly’ Snuka murdered his girlfriend in May of 1983. Who is Jimmy Snuka? Jimmy Snuka was related to The Rock, Rikishi, and The Uso’s.)

THERE ARE SO MANY MORE THO.

But today, I want to talk about the Daddy of them all, Chris Benoit.

Chris Benoit’s crimes are so heinous and unforgivable Vince McMahon has swept his name under the rug and removed him from The Hall of Fame.

Benoit’s crimes also changed the dynamic of professional wrestling forever.

Chris Benoit was born in Montreal, Quebec to Michael and Margaret Benoit on May 21, 1967. He and his family resided in Edmonton, Alberta, however.

During Benoit’s childhood, he idolized Tom “Dynamite Kid” Billington (a British wrestler who competed in the 1980’s and had ongoing feuds with Hart) and Bret “Hitman” Hart (a Canadian-American wrestler and a member of the notorious Hart Family. He is a personal fave of mine as well).

When Benoit was 12 years old, he attended a local wrestling event where both Dynamite Kid and Hart were competing and he knew right then and there that he was destined to become a wrestler.

He trained in The Hart Family “dungeon” and was coached by none other than Stu Hart (Bret and Owen Hart’s father. If you don’t know Owen Hart, you should google him as well because he died under bizarre circumstances on live tv as well.)

When Benoit fought in the ring, he channeled both Dynamite Kid and Hart, even adopting Hart’s signature move, “Sharpshooter” as his finishing move.

Chris began wrestling in 1985 in Stu Hart’s Stampede Wrestling promotion. He was quickly recognized as a force to be reckoned with and received his first title, the Stampede British Commonwealth Mid-Heavyweight Championship, on March 18, 1988.

(This dude has a very extensive history or wrestling in New Japan Pro-Wrestling, World Champion Wrestling, Extreme Champion Wrestling, and World Wrestling Federation/Entertainment, but I just.. I cain’t get into all that, please forgive me. Haha! We are talking 22 years here! So I am humbly skipping to his family life.)

-Okay, so. I would love for this to be a romantic love story for the ages and the deaths resulted in crimes of passion, but that didn’t happen. At. All. Not at all.

You’ll see soon why this was all brushed under the rug.-

Benoit was married twice.

His first wife, Martina, and he had two children David (who is a wrestler as well) and Megan. By 1997, their marriage had broken down and Benoit and Martina decided it was best to end it.

Benoit began living with his girlfriend, Nancy Sullivan, who was the girlfriend of Benoit’s frequent opponent, Kevin Sullivan.

(It started off as an on-screen relationship for views and it led to a real-life affair. Many people joke that Kevin Sullivan booked his own divorce.)

On February 25, 2000, Benoit and Nancy’s son, Daniel, was born.

On November 23, 2000, Benoit and Nancy were married.

This 👏🏼 was 👏🏼 not 👏🏼 a 👏🏼 good 👏🏼 marriage.

In 2003, Nancy filed for divorce from Benoit, saying he would break and throw furniture and was cruel to her. She later dropped the suit as well as the restraining order she had set against him.

Benoit became good friends with fellow wrestler Eddie Guerrero, (a beloved and incredible wrestler, one of my dad’s faves), following a match in Japan, when Benoit kicked Guerrero in the head and knocked him out cold. This started a friendship that lasted even after Guerrero's death in late 2005, in which Benoit had written diary entries to him just ten days after his passing.

(I’m only mentioning this because Guerrero’s death has been rumored to be one of the reasons Benoit did what he did.)

Here’s where it gets gory.

So we know Benoit and Nancy did not have a good marriage, but things seemed to be okay because she dropped all the charges against him.

Benoit and Nancy were living in Fayetteville, GA, with 7 year old Daniel.

On June 25, 2007, police entered the Benoit home after Benoit’s WWE employers requested a welfare check after Benoit missed weekend events without notice.

(Benoit was actually scheduled to win another title during these weekend events.)

Upon arriving at his Georgia home, authorities found Nancy wrapped in a towel. She had died from asphyxiation.

Their son was also found, also dead, apparently strangled. Benoit placed a Bible next to each of their bodies.

Benoit’s body was the most disturbing to be found. The wrestler was hanged on a lat pulldown machine, with a Bible lying on the weight machine beside him. There were also allegedly 10 empty beer cans and an empty bottle of wine.

Autopsies concluded the murders and suicide took place over the course of three days.

On Friday, June 22, Chris Benoit killed his wife Nancy in an upstairs bedroom. Her limbs were bound, and her body was wrapped in a towel. A copy of the bible was left by her body. Injuries indicated that Benoit had pressed a knee into her back while pulling on a cord around her neck, causing strangulation. Officials said that there were no signs of immediate struggle. Toxicologists did find alcohol in her system, but they were unable to determine if she had been drinking prior to her death or if it was a product of decomposition.

Daniel was suffocated and killed in his bedroom, and a copy of the bible was left by his body. Daniel had internal injuries to the throat area, showing no bruises. Daniel's exact time of death is unknown. The reports determined Daniel was sedated with Xanax and likely unconscious when he was killed. Daniel's body had also just started to show signs of decomposition but was not as far along as his mother's body, so they were able to determine he was murdered after his mother.

(It was later alleged that Daniel had Fragile X syndrome, a genetic disorder that is characterized by mild to moderate intellectual disability. Physical features may include a long and narrow face, large ears, flexible fingers, and large testicles. About a third of those affected have features of autism such as problems with social interactions and delayed speech. Males are affected more than females. Daniel also had needle marks in his arm and it’s alleged that these were the result of growth hormones given to him because Benoit and his family considered him to be undersized.)

Chris Benoit committed suicide by hanging. Benoit used a weight machine cord to hang himself by creating a noose from the end of the cord on a pull-down machine from which the bar had been removed. Benoit released the weights, causing his strangulation. Benoit was found hanging from the pulley cable.

(On a podcast called The Talk is Jericho in 2016, Nancy’s sister Sandra Toffoloni divulged some more information. She said Benoit’s internet search history showed he had searched “the quickest and easiest way to break a neck”. Benoit had a towel wrapped around his neck when he committed suicide and his neck was broken instantly.)

A suicide note was not discovered, but a note written in one of the bibles Benoit had said, “I’m preparing to leave this Earth.”

A few possible motives I’ve seen people mention have included:

•CTE - Chronic traumatic encephalopathy is a neurodegenerative disease caused by repeated head injuries. Symptoms do not typically begin until years after the injuries and can include behavioral problems, mood problems, and problems with thinking. During his autopsy, it was concluded that Benoit did suffer from CTE after wrestling for so many years. (Back when they threw people from tops of cages, hit each other over the head with chairs and ladders, etc.) Autopsy experts say Benoit’s brain was so severely damaged that it resembled a 85 year old Alzheimer’s patient.

•Nancy’s abuse and filing for divorce - In February 2008, The Atlanta Journal-Constitution reported that Benoit was having an affair with a female WWE wrestler and Nancy found out. It was also speculated they argued over life insurance policies.

•Benoit’s alcohol abuse - Benoit abused steroids, but many people believe it was his alcohol abuse that led to these horrific murders. Many of Benoit’s colleagues attested he would drink more when problems with Nancy occurred.

•Eddie Guerrero’s death - Benoit and Guerrero and Benoit were very close. When it came out that Guerrero has died in his hotel room in November of 2005, Benoit was devastated. WWE held a televised memorial for Guerrero and when Benoit was giving his testimony, he broke down in front of the camera. Some of Benoit’s colleagues say, “he was never the same” after Guerrero’s death.

But at the expense of sounding completely heartless, (mind you, I’ve been suicidal myself), why didn’t he just commit suicide?

Why did he have to murder his wife and seven year old son? If we go with the CTE theory, it makes sense because he was not thinking rationally.

I wish Nancy had had the strength to leave him when she tried.

The night after Benoit’s body was found, WWE Raw had a televised memorial for him and his family with Vince McMahon standing in the middle of the ring breaking the news and a video montage.

No one knew he was the one who had killed his family.

When it was later revealed that Benoit had committed these crimes the episode was removed and WWE made the decision to remove nearly all mention of Benoit from their website, future publications, video games, merchandise, DVD/Blu-Rays, and future events.

Like I said.. swept him under the rug.

Benoit is now the “He Who Shall Not Be Named” of professional wrestling.

In ending this, I’d like to quote Stone Cold Steve Austin now.

“Well first and foremost, what I think about Chris Benoit is that guy was one of the most nicest guys I ever met in my life. He’s one of the most talented, hard working cats I’d ever seen in the squared circle. Anybody who knew Chris would tell you those exact two things. That guy loved the damn wrestling business, he was born to be a wrestler and was absolutely phenomenal. Drawing a lot of his influence from The Dynamite Kid, he blazed a path as the Pegasus Kid and his legacy as The Crippler Chris Benoit was just one hellacious career.

“One night, Chris ended up killing his wife and his kid. That is an act so terrible and horrible I can’t even comprehend or guess as to what happened in that house. That will always overshadow any accomplishment Chris had in the ring. He’ll never be in the Hall of Fame, it will just never happen. His career will speak for itself but his record as a human being, his first and foremost, and those actions will never be forgotten. That’s my feelings on that, we don’t even need to talk about the Hall of Fame. Speaking for myself, Chris Benoit as the person I knew, loved him. Chris Benoit as a wrestler, loved him. Chris Benoit as the person who did what he did, unforgivable. Bottom line.” – via NoDQ.com.

Pictured below are Chris and Nancy Benoit, their son Daniel, and their home in Fayetteville, Georgia.

[theladyofspaceandtime]

The Battle of Self-Love with Josie & Dark Josie in Legacies 2x16

Welcome to another one of my meta’s, but the first one I’ve done for the Legacies fandom. 

I felt this one really had to be covered because the symbolism of what happens to Josie in this episode speaks not only to me, but many other people who struggle with self-love and their inner battles with themselves. So enjoy my ramblings. 

This is a very personal and deep one for me so I’m shedding my skin with this one and laying demons to rest. This meta also includes helpful tips to resources concerning the topic of Self-Love and Inner Mean Girls. 

Trigger warnings may be present. 

Dark Josie is Josie. They are the same person and as the Queen of Mean™ points out in previous episodes, she was created to help Josie survive. She was in a tough situation and had to help save her family/friends. Of course, as always, Josie makes the tough call and breaks the clock, taking all the Dark Magic into her. Sure, it makes her more powerful, but it also awakens all the darkness she keeps locked away inside her, pushing into a trunk, afraid to face it. At least everyone is safe though...or so they think. This is where the line “Don’t let it break” comes into play because the beast she held within is finally free, even if it seems things are finally back to normal. There is no running from the darkness within. 

Dark Josie points out multiple times that if it wasn’t for her, Josie wouldn’t survive. It all makes sense since she was created to help her do that exact thing...but the only way that Dark Josie thinks she can achieve this goal is by killing Josie herself (which is contradictory, but this is what our Inner Mean Girl’s do.) They tell you all the negative things about yourself. They try to drain you down, make you depressed, and convince you of their lies until you give up because they think it is the only way to help you survive. I know this from personal experience. I thought if I kept telling myself all these negative things that it would shield me and make me stronger...but it didn’t. All it did was start to destroy myself. I just didn’t realize it at first.

Dark Josie with her convincing lies and ways to win the battle makes Josie think she is stronger and invincible this way. Even when others point out that this isn’t Jo, she tells them to get use to it and accept it because this is who she is now; An entity full of nothing but rage, jealously, and bitterness that isn’t going to let anyone use her or abuse her ever again. If this is who she needs to be to protect herself, then so be it. Dark Josie even says she finds everything clearer now and breaks free from her prison. It’s the high of the lies. 

She is determined to go after her next target that makes her weak: Lizzie. With plans to overcome the trial of the merge and defeat her sister, nothing is going to stop Dark Josie, especially not MJ’s kindness or Hope Mikaelson who asks for the real Josie. 

Hope: Where’s Josie?

Dark Josie: I’m right here, silly.

Hope: The real Josie, our Josie.

Dark Josie: So you mean weak Josie. She’s gone. I thought I made that very clear.

Dark Josie doesn’t want them to have anything to do with Josie because what would they want to do with a weak, helpless, powerless girl that kept letting herself get hurt and used by others? Josie is gone and they need to deal with it, right? This is who she is now. While she is determined to prove to everyone that she is better and more powerful this way, Hope is determined to prove to Josie that she was strong all along. And this is one of the important moments because while our views of ourselves are obstructed and skewed, sometimes we need the reminder of who we truly are from someone else who knows us and won’t give up on us. This is Hope for Josie.

Hope: I know you think she is weak. But I know the truth: she’s strong. You’re strong! And you’re always there for your friends when they need you. So, please Jo, we really need you right now.

Dark Josie: Shut up! Everyone shut up!

Obviously this determination to not give up on the good inside her effects the hold Dark Josie has. For a moment the real Josie pops through before hiding back as Dark Josie takes control again. No, she can’t believe this because Josie doesn’t believe she was ever strong. She’s only strong as Dark Josie. The merge happens and Dark Josie thinks she has won...but there is someone who isn’t giving up on her, even if she has already given up on herself.

Hope goes into her subconscious which is a fairytale land produced by the simple black and white fairytales her mother would tell her of battles between good guys and bad guys. In this world Josie is a princess who sealed herself away with a sleeping spell to keep away the darkness, but she is also the said Darkness that is out to kill the Princess and destroy the kingdom. Once Josie is awakened and Dark Josie is aware, she confronts the girls.

Feeling she is unable to defeat the Evil Queen, Josie has a meaningful talk with Hope who gives her a wakeup call. 

Hope: We have to keep moving.

Josie: It doesn’t matter. We’re never going to get away from her.

Hope: Jo. While you’ve been trapped in here, she’s been rampaging in the real world. She even tried to Merge with Lizzie. 

Josie: Oh my god, is she okay?

Hope: For now. That’s why we have to stop her. 

Josie: She’s more powerful than I am. 

Hope: Jo, she is you- some part of you. You can control her somehow. Pretty messed up subconscious you got here by the way.

Josie: Are we surprised? My mom used to read us fairytales for bedtime stories. They were so calming. There was Good Guys and Bad Guys; very clear rules that you had to follow. It all made sense unlike my life. 

Hope: Well, this fairytale sucks.

Josie: It’s accurate. I’m either the powerful, petty bitch or the good, weak victim. 

Hope: That’s a story that you’re telling yourself. I mean, your subconscious made a fairytale that the good you is weak and the powerful you is evil. Tell yourself a different story.

Dark Josie shows up once again and Hope tries to tell her to change the story before being turned to stone. Josie runs for her life from herself, but realizes at this point there is no where else she can go.

The only thing she can do now is confront herself and the darkness within her that she kept trying to avoid. Cue that quote; “You can’t run from yourself.” Now, Josie must face the monster within her.

Dark Josie instantly takes to calling out Josie’s insecurities, pointing out all her flaws because she KNOWS how much it eats away at Josie. These are all the inner thoughts and feelings she’s kept buried inside her like a hurricane. 

She reminds Josie of her place and the reason why Dark Josie is here. 

Dark Josie: “This is what being strong looks like.” 

Hope: “That's a story that you're telling yourself. I mean, your subconscious made a fairytale that the good you is weak and the powerful you is evil. Tell yourself a different story.

Echoing back to Hope’s words, this is when the self-realization and awakening in Josie begins to play out. 

She realizes her mindset, Dark Josie’s mindset, is wrong. Josie begins to accept and face her own actions, knowing she was wrong, not only about her mindset on things, but especially her view towards herself. 

Josie didn’t need to become this dark version of herself in order to survive and be strong. There was never anything weak or powerless about Josie to begin with. She was always strong and incredible the way she was- others like Hope could see it, but Josie couldn’t. 

Dark Josie tries to silence this because she doesn’t want Josie having any power. She doesn’t want her waking up to the realization about herself because once you begin to awaken to the truth about your inner mean girl, that’s when she loses her hold over you - and she doesn’t want that happening.

Josie: I’m not afraid of you anymore...because I’m holding the axe.

Dark Josie: ((scoffs before realizing the axe is gone from her hands and now in Josies.))

Josie: ((smiles, holding the axe))

Dark Josie: I just bound you to this cabin. You’re trapped here forever.

Josie: I’m not trapped...because we’re not in the cabin anymore. ((They are now in the forest outside the castle.)) And if you use your magic against me, it hurts you too. ((Dark Josie is stripped of her magic.)) And most importantly, you’re not wearing armor anymore.

Josie begins to take her control over her inner mean girl, but I think one of the most important parts of when she does this is the kiss Josie gives her inner mean girl. BUT WHY? Granted, Josie has put an axe in her, but why should she be kind to the darkness within her after all it was doing to everyone, especially herself?

First off, you need to remember- your inner mean girl is you. Once you accept she is a problem that needs to be addressed, then you must address it. But not with ignoring her, or booting her away...but with kindness. She is a part of you that came into fruition in order to protect you from some sort of trauma or hurt. Honestly, she had the best intentions for you but took it completely overboard. This doesn’t mean you should give her any sliver of control, but it also doesn’t mean you should treat her without compassion. 

After all, compassion is what helps heal. 

And this is the step Josie takes next: laying her inner mean girl down with TLC

Josie: It’s over.

Dark Josie: *chuckles* It’ll never be over. As long as you have Black Magic in you, I will always find a way back.

Josie: We’ll see. *lays a kiss upon her forehead as Dark Josie falls asleep*

You’re inner mean girl will always be a part of you. She will always be inside you, ready to take to defense when you least expect it. There is no gettin rid of her...but you can at least control her by remembering her ways and knowing you always have the power to change the story despite what she may say. 

Another lovely thing I must point out before I get to the conclusion of this post is not only how important it is for you to realize the power you have over your inner mean girl and her ways to affect you, but the people around you who support you and never give up on you, even when you’ve given up on yourself.

Those people are absolute blessings and you can be one of them towards yourself and others too. 

I love the scene where after all of this, Alaric speaks to his daughter about what happened and they have this conversation:

Josie: Thank you for not giving up on me, even though I didn’t deserve it.

Alaric: You know, one of the many joys of being a father is getting to see you slowly figure out how much deserve, and one day you realize that what you deserve is to never be given up on. 

When we go through something traumatic or overwhelming, whether it be a friend that hurt you, a family member that rejected you, you feel used or abused, or something didn’t turn out the way you planned, we usually tend to be hard on ourselves for it. All these insecurities deep inside us begin to eat away and make a home for themselves, especially if we tend to avoid them or don’t acknowledge it. We start to turn into our own worst enemies because we believe we deserve all the shit we get in return. Then we start to lose sight of ourselves and who we are; what we’re capable. Sometimes we can become the very thing we swore to never become. 

The Battle between Dark Josie & Josie is an example of this.

 And you know what the moral of this story is? 

It’s okay. We are all human and we’ve all been through this or are currently going through it with our inner mean selves. 

But you can change the story because you have the power. So, tell yourself a different story.

Accept you have a inner mean self.

Figure out how they work and what type of inner meany they are

And realize you have the power to tell yourself a different story. 

It won’t be easy. It’s never easy, but you are capable of it. 

________________________________________________________________

A special thank you to my sources on this matter down below.:

And the Reform your Inner Mean Girl book by Amy Ahlers & Christine Arlyo. You can check out their website here and order the book which has a lot of helpful tips and helps you have more insight on how our Inner Mean Girls work. 

From another person facing the battle of Self-Love against my Inner Mean girl, I leave you this reminder. Till the next meta! 

- Jamie

[stereksecretsanta]

Merry Christmas, leninille!

For @leninille. These are the first three chapters and a complete story within a new storyline I've got several chapter outlines for. All of this came up during development of this Secret Santa Exchange gift, and as more familiar faces are revealed, the tags will be updated accordingly.

Read On AO3

*****

Health Tonics and Love Gardens

Chapter 1 - The Stiles In The Garden

Stiles has been working on this garden for months. It is colorful now, with tiny bushes he'd groomed into shape and the better airflow they get without the other plants strangling the light and air from the garden. He's been restoring this garden to what it might have once been, and tried to keep remembering what his mom told him about the garden back home.

"These flowers may look nice, but they can also cause healing or harm." He thought in his mother's voice.

This specific phrase stuck with him, and usually when he's daydreaming and not paying attention to what he's saying, he'll speak the words and try to recall the exact details of the garden as it was when his mom was caring for it.

"Why?" he again remembers asking, and he says the same thing aloud every time this happens.

The details of the answer vary, probably because his child mind wasn't really any better at staying on target for even half the time his adult brain can do now. That means that his mom's voice answers the questing with different words, and the theme generally was: "Sometimes a little of a plant can help a person heal from an injury. Give them too much, and they will suffer, may come to harm, and could die."

It's the stinging nettle that his mother is indicating to him today. He looks at the plant in the present and gives it side-eye.

"A good cook can turn this nettle into a healthful tea."

Little Stiles can feel himself interrupt her. "I've made tea, mom. It's easy!" He used to be so excited about stuff. He was what... maybe eight years old when this happened?

He favors his mother's memory by having her always say something that humors the younger him.

"Yes! You can make very good tea. And thank you for doing it! But some teas we can make require very good care. A good cook like me knows how to prepare the stems, or the flowers, or pieces of the root all cut up into tiny pieces of any of these plants." She makes tickling fingers at him and he smiles at the recollection.

"What if the cook uses the wrong pieces?"

"Then instead of healing, maybe nothing will happen. But with some plants, you can make someone worse. They can be hurt forever, and might even die."

Little Stiles did not want to make that kind of tea, and he considered not ever being near tea again.

"Promise me, Stiles, that you will not try to make tea from anything that comes from this garden."

That was an easy promise to keep. The Stiles in his 20s, having these memories, appreciates how well his mother understood how he thought. Under her brief guidance, Stiles cultivated a voracious curiosity and analytical mind. He got over the worries about tea, eventually, but it wasn't until after this gardening thing started that he want and tried to learn more about exactly what were these plants in the plot and what kinds of tea could be made with them.

As he found out later, after many hours and days of looking through cookbooks and materials online, he started to feel like this was a medicinal garden instead of an herb garden for actual cooking.

"And never make tea with anything outside the garden without talking to me first, okay?"

Little Stiles nods again. At that age he loved strawberries, and he thought he might not worry so much about tea if he had some of the best tea with his mom right now. "I want to make the strawberry tea!"

"Oh! That sounds good."

Little Stiles helped Claudia put the tools away and gather the strawberries and lemon and sugar from their places in the kitchen. They talked about his day at school, and the memory always fades from there.

It is well more than ten years since that day and it's one of his favorite memories of his mother. Many memories stick because they sucked, or because he thinks about them so much he can't tell if they're real or if he made them up.

He does think it's odd that every week, at least once a week, Stiles is at this old burned house in the Beacon Hills Preserve, working on this garden, talking to himself to review what he's learned about these different plants, and making threats at the plants who he still can't identify or which are giving him troubles that day. He's still just as wary of the nettle, but they've got a grudging agreement not to bother each other. For the rest? He'll unlock their secrets soon enough.

It's fair to say that he lets his guard down at this point. Nobody's ever been around here. He expected there would be graffiti on the house or whatever, but no, it's just been the house and this garden, and Stiles taking care of the latter.

He clips a sprig of lavender and adds it to his bag with the rosemary, adds some heather blossoms, and mutters "Calluna" as he snaps them. It's their genus, and they're in the same family as rhododendrons. There are two of those in the yard, not close to the house.

His thought withers as he turns to the house and takes it in with a slow breath. It always seems like the house is watching him, but not seeing him. It's never felt threatening, just... omnipresent, he thinks.

This house was full of the potential of these many lives. The family suffered, and in his investigation into public records and police records ("Heya, daddio... Can I ask you a question?" being only the most direct route to the files, and not the only one he took), he had learned that the family's absence left some big holes in the town at the time.

Curiously, it was hard to find photos of any of the family members. Even social media didn't have much. The kids weren't in school yearbooks he could get hold of, and he's gone through everything he could find in the school archive, even the old student newsletters.

He had found a photo of Talia Hale. She was the mother and as far as he could tell, the kind of person everyone in town seemed to know and most respected. He had no idea that Talia's spouse looked like, having seen only the name "Blake Hale" and having no idea who that was.

The dusty family obituary Stiles found in the paper printed after the fire listed several dead. But the count doesn't match what the police logged, and that doesn't match the fire inspector's. The insurance company itself gave a third number in a quote taken by a reporter.

The situation didn't make sense to him, and it bothered him that nobody seemed to know what really happened here. How many Hales were impacted by the fire? Did any escape? The body counts ranged from fewer than ten to the low 20s. Nobody knew if there was a party that night because despite all the fresh vehicle tracks at the scene, there were very few vehicles in the driveway. So where did those other visitors go? The firefighters' work destroyed the scene and they couldn't find any tire tracks that might lead them in a useful direction.

And weirdest of all: He's still not found anything that even hints that his mother and the Hales were affiliated. So this garden and the exact matching one at home, which Stiles and his dad have somewhat neglected after many years of close attention, Stiles still doesn't know why he cares so much about this plot at the Hale house.

He'd explored the ruins many times in his months of gardening. The house sits still and aging, creaking wearily in the winds as it always does. The only trespassers seem to be him and the squirrels.

He tugs a threatening vine away from the garden and trims it back. It's probably a volunteer left by some bird.

On his first day here he didn't go in the house, but walked slowly around it, walking his blue bike as he walked the perimeter. It was coming around the back of the house when he caught the scent of a familiar combination of herbs and he discovered his garden out here in the woods.

It is exactly the same layout as at the Stilinski house, but these plants were overgrown and struggling, and the vines were getting close. As he got on his knees and started his first concerted effort at gardening the plot, he started trying to find answers to these two questions: "Why does this garden layout look identical to ours at home?" and, given that the garden does exist in both places, "How did the Hales know his mother?"

Derek doesn't know how to respond. He had never been an alpha, and would never be, so he'd mostly ignored those lessons when his mom and Laura talked about them. His alpha and sister in one being swore to him years ago that no matter how much they'd already lost, they'll always be near each other.

"Are you alright? Did you hear me?" she glances at him and pokes him. She feels the sensation of being mentally stunned, then gives him an annoyed look. "Why is this weird for you?"

He blinked at her. "You don't think it's weird that for years we've not even talked once about Beacon Hills and now you say that you've spent weeks fighting an unidentified and suspicious pull to return home for a few weeks?"

"No, I said a few months. Three or four, maybe. Who cares? It's still a calling."

Derek looked at her and asked the obvious. "Couldn't this be hunters?"

She shook her head. This wasn't aggressive magic, and she wasn't sure how she knew that. It was more than intuition, though... it was certainty. Werewolves are often sensitive to many kinds of magical activities that may happen around them or to them, and her enhanced abilities told her that this just wasn't like any of that. She considered an odd possibility.

"Maybe it's my wolf?"

Derek rolls his eyes. "We are werewolves, Laura. It's a gift of a greater life, not a spiritual possession."

"Hey, I know that there's no separate little spooky spirit inside any of us beyond what most people seem to think they have. But this is like..." She searches the room until her eyes land in the opposite corner. She points at the TV and clarifies, "It's like I'm getting a new channel, and it's focused on the wolfish instincts, not the human side. Can't you feel it, too?"

He shakes his head. There has been zero sensation of compulsion in Derek to return to Beacon Hills. He would be happy to never return. It was once a beautiful place, but that's lost with everything else and he doesn't want to find any of it again.

"Can you check the pack bond and tell me what you see?"

He glares at her, already tired of this conversation. The alpha sees different things in pack bonds than each member sees. Laura likes to learn what Derek sees, and tells herself that it'll come in handy when she's got a bigger pack. They haven't even tried to connect with any werewolves despite there being many free-roaming supernatural family hanging around. The Hales are a duo that nobody can mess with.

She's persistent, so he focuses and listens with his inner senses and finds the same pack bond with her that he's seen for years. It's identical to how it was before. Nothing new, nothing seeming magical beyond the usual. It's hard to believe her about this when he's got no evidence it's happening.

"Damn. I hate this. I wish I had an emissary to ask."

Derek doesn't know what to think about emissaries, and leans toward not-in-favor since theirs failed to protect them from the hunter assault that lead to his family's near-annihilation. This emissary was newer, replacing their former emissary who had died of a normal, terrible cause like brain cancer. Derek met the new guy once and hated how he smelled of animals and cleaning supplies. The man's day job was as head veterinarian at the Beacon Hills Animal Clinic.

Last time they talked about him, Laura recalled that he was mostly a quiet man, didn't like giving full answers, and Talia mostly found him annoying, though useful at times.

Derek stewed on the fresh thoughts of the vet being partly responsible for what happened. Now he's feeling some kind of pull to return, to demand answers, at the very least.

Magic, as far as Derek was concerned, has been far more bother than it's worth.

"I never liked Deaton, but he's all I know." Laura suggested.

"Oh, then all of this was your fault," Derek said in an attempt to lighten the mood. It took a second to realize that he just accused the emissary of letting the family come to harm because he and Laura didn't get along.

"No emissary and no wolf was responsible for what happened, Derek." That left only the implication of the hunter woman he'd let get too close.

With regard to that person, Derek only ever harbors stabbingly angry thoughts about what should happen to her. She'd lied, she'd taken advantage of his life inexperience, and in the end of it all, she failed to murder him with everyone else, and he simmered deep inside from a wound that hadn't healed. His eyes flash.

Laura doesn't look away. He's upset, and he's not great with expressing himself on the best of day. She doesn't flash her eyes back at him. She's not angry, she's sad that he keeps blaming himself.

Derek reads this on her face and understands. "Fuck!" he mumbles a disappointed apology. "It wasn't your fault." He punctuates the air more softly with a mumbled repeat of the exclamation.

"Derek." She has come to a conclusion and in that tone she's warning him to prepare himself for something he is going to dislike. "I think we need to go back. We'll be careful," she says as he gives her an irritated and skeptical. "We'll stay in another town, sneak in as wolves and investigate the Preserve and the house. Maybe check out Beacon Hills and," she said, conspiratorially, "get some donuts before we leave."

"Leave?"

"We don't have to stay. I just need answers."

He considers this. It's not a demand or a request, it's just what she's going to do and she knows he's coming with her. But the confectionary he'd not thought about in years comes back to him. "I forgot about the donuts! And because of you," he glares at her, "now I have to have one."

"Perfect!" she says. He makes a good show at faking indignation, but he's heading into his room and looking around. They weren't likely to come back, so he shoots a message to his boss about a family emergency and he starts packing.

She's looking from the main room at his back as he starts sorting things out. He's always the scaredywolf, and she starts to pull snacks together that they'll want for the long drive.

Chapter 2 - These Wolves Are Here To Play

"Iiiiiiiiiiiiiii've been working on the raaaaaaaaaaailroad!" the man shouts. "All the live-long daaaaaaaaayGAACK!" Choking sputters and spitting follows the interruption. The approaching wolves still and listen.

"What the crap?! I'm working on your stupid habitat here!" A triple spitting sound. "Leave me alone you big dumb m-moth!"

The wolves glance at each other and share a look that says, "This guy's got worse problems than his big, stupid voice."

Laura steps ahead, leading them closer, keeping the shrubs and other undergrowth between them and the person in the distance. This guy doesn't scream "Threat!" to anyone but himself, but even well-meaning people can lead to tragedy. It would be best, of course, if the guy happened to take off before they got near him.

But if he did, she warns herself, that could mean he knows they're coming. That would make him either a super or a magic user. If he stays for too long, they'll need to scare him out of there so they can take a look around.

Derek made a subvocal growl. He's always preferred the hostile approach to any conflict and she nudges him with a low-pitched growl of denial.

Derek huffs. He actually huffs at her.

What a whiny puppy.

"Rodzina," Stiles says to the wolf the second he realizes he's not alone.

And then he slaps his hand over his mouth, uncertain why he's speaking Polish. The wolf regards him, unflinching. "It's Polish for family." This creature is huge! Larger than any dog he's ever met, and it's broad and got a defined mane around its neck. It's a really beautiful and terrifying wolf. Oh, oh god. It's a freaking wolf.

The wolf glances at his chest and tilts its head at him. She seemed to know that word, somehow. How could that even happen? Well, he's happy she hasn't been all growly and dipping her head down and being mean.

"I'm sorry, but there's no food here, and I can't take you home and get you any." With real sorrow, since having a wolf pet would be totally awesome, but a really bad idea, he adds, "You're beautiful, but I can't can't have a pet."

The wolf chuffs at him.

What? A chuff! That's practically falling over with laughter in wolf terms, as far as Stiles is concerned.

"Hey! Don't chuff at me!" He's wiggling a finger at her. It's 10% aggression and 90% cowardice. He focuses on forgetting everything except that 10%. He nervously walks through his thoughts aloud because he can't help his mouth moving of its own accord at this moment.

"Okay, so fine, let's see... I'm gardening here, that's legitimately all I'm doing. No looking for secret treasure at the house or anything. You're coming here passing through or whatever, even though there haven't been wolves in this part of California in decades. I know you understand me, and you're pretending not to. But why don't you talk back?"

He is looking directly into her eyes before consciously realizing he's taking her measure. This is a specific thing he definitely remembers promising himself he'd never do if he were being challenged by a large predator in the wilderness. And yet, he's challenging this alpha wolf—

"You're an alpha wolf? How can there be alpha wolves when the whole scientific hypothesis was proven to be wrong?" He wants to ramble the name of the research article on the subject, and about the way the article was written, but manages to catch hold of his thought trains and redirect. "That's not important right now. It's crazy enough that I somehow know you can understand me clearly."

She's a smart wolf. Human-equivalent intelligence, for sure. She tries not to tilt her head in an approximation of doggy confusion, but it's a projection. Odd how that he's here gardening and along comes this alph—

"WEREWOLF?! You're a werewolf?!"

Stiles describes this later to his father as, "when all hell breaks loose."

The alpha wolf lifts her lips and growls at Stiles, who is immediately cowed. She's joined half a second later by another large wolf, slightly smaller than her as he is a beta, but he's also got very long and sharp and they're massive and this is a very bad place for him to be right now!

"Shit! I'm not delicious! Don't eat me!"

The alpha stops growling again, and seems to be shaking. The other wolf snarls at her. She snarls back.

Of fucking course! "You're siblings?" Okay, that's it, you need to tell me who you are. Between cautiouswolf and hyperprotective wolf," indicating the alpha and the beta in order, "who the hell are you?"

The beta keeps growling but defers reluctantly to the alpha. She studies Stiles, looking at him and not laughing wolfishly anymore. There's no hint of threatening demise, just curiosity.

It would be too far to say it's quite trust, but it's the recognition that the confusion is mutual and that there is no threat.

Stiles also looks at this as another opportunity to try to talk himself out of the situation. He gives explaining himself another try.

"I was here by accident the first time, and then I found the garden," he waves over to it, easily seen from where all three wolves stood. The beta wolf didn't take his eyes off Stiles, but the alpha regarded his handiwork without apparent comment and resumed studying Stiles.

"Keep talking," was the obvious implication. Order. It was definitely an order, and Stiles agreed that he should continue.

"My mom planted a garden exactly like this one at home. So finding such a unique one out here, at the site of," he looks at the house and murmurs, "really bad stuff is just weird." He feels his cheeks tighten and get heavy and a tear slips down his cheeks. "She died before she told me what all the plants are for. As far as I know she didn't even know the family." He turns around, letting embarrassment at his own emotions put his unguarded back at risk of wolfish sneak-attack.

There's a shuffling noise behind him that tugs his attention back and he wipes his face. It's blotchy, and gross, he's sure, but he's looking at the wolves.

Something quiet happened here while he was turned around. The male wolf is looking almost... ashamed in some way, and the alpha turns back to Stiles after a staredown with the beta and seats herself a step closer to Stiles.

He decides not to mention that moving closer is just as terrifying than all of the other scary things they've done because the seated pose is probably just a ruse to get him when he's vulnerable, but...

Thump.

That was a tail. He looks around her sitting form as if trying to find her tail. Her expression reads as, most likely, "You seriously need to chill." Off to the side, the beta just looks mean as ever and ready to chew on his soft and fleshy neck.

He pulls his phone out and texts his dad. He holds up a finger to the wolf who'd risen to her feet again.

"No, just a minute. My dad's expecting me and I need to let him know that I'll be a little late. I'm not telling him about our little one-sided conversation, which you really should join, by the way." The wolves seemed mollified, if not satisfied with the answer. Neither rises to the bait and starts speaking, so the beta keeps his ears rotating around, listening for danger, and the alpha's ears are firmly oriented in his direction.

"Do you know this place?" The ear flick of the alpha and the glance at the house let him connect some dots. "The Hale family lived here and you knew them."

For the next several minutes, Stiles explains what he has learned of the Hales from his look into the school archives, the police and fire reports, the insurance report he'd acquired through a friend of a friend who shall all remain nameless. He tells of the obituary and the news stories and the details that don't make sense.

He's speculating and journeying down educational, if difficult to follow sidetracks, and mentions one detail that catches the wolves' complete attentions. It was about the catatonic John Doe found a few days later a short walk from the highway.

"Oh? Uhh, I just think maybe there's a connection between that John Doe and the Hale fire. There's too many weird details, things that haven't happened at any other time in this town or probably any town. It's tidy and messy at the same time. I don't trust that."

He's been looking at things on his phone that are pictures or notes or scans of things he's found and looks for the rest of what he discovered about that John Doe.

"Look," he says as he flips the phone toward them. "I found evidence that— Oh, I don't know if you even see in color, or if you can read this in your current shape. Hopefully you're better than other canines about that but you're not answering questions right now, so we'll park that for later.

He reviews the notes and continues.

"I snuck into the hospital and I think this guy really could have been a family member or friend of the Hales. He was scarred badly, as if from a fire, and though he wasn't near the Hale house, the paramedics estimated he'd already suffered two days in the cool air in probably this very state."

The sad whine of them both went unnoticed through the racing thoughts of the human.

"I still think he looks like an age-progressed version of the Beacon Hills basketball team player I found in this picture."

He makes the face as large as he can. It's just a face, and it's blurry.

The first wolf shifts back to human. She says, "Who is this?"

Stiles gasps and then tries to pretend a wolf didn't just shift in front of him to human form and start asking him questions.

"This is a picture of Peter Hale."

She turns to the other wolf. "Derek!" and she motions at him to stand up, but the wolf Derek declines. It wasn't an order, but a move of cautious excitement. Derek's keeping a wary eye in the human's direction even as his sister looms closer to the phone and examines the picture.

"I'm sorry, madam alpha, or whatever is the right title, but you appear to have no clothes on and I am not prepared to um... talk with you in this manner at this time. And stuff."

She looks at him, and then herself, and shakes her head. "When it comes to werewolves, clothing is as optional as it gets."

"Oh, your kind can't transform your clothing when you shift?" Something subconscious snags his attention. "Are you sure about that?"

She looks at him. Her hair is a little wild, and she's strong even in this form. "I know more about werewolves than you do."

He tucks his phone in his pocket.

"Okay, look, fine, you want to talk in the nude. You do you, but I really am just going to need to leave right now and clear my head and then I can... I can come back tomorrow, yeah?" He's not sure why he's excited to return. They did nearly eat him several times in this conversation, based on the number of flashes of teeth he caught in the last several minutes.

"Fine, come back tomorrow, but do not tell anyone we were here."

Stiles nods, distracted, and takes a few tries before he gets all his gardening things stuffed back into his bag and gets himself situated for the ride out of the preserve.

"I'll be here just after five tomorrow, alright? I've got work, but I'll be here, and I'll bring some stuff you can look at. Please try to get some clothes or this is going to be awkward and I am really out of awkward for the day.

"You're really not," the alpha says. Stiles sputters.

"Hey!"

"Hey, family man," she says, referring to his Polish of earlier. "I'm Laura. Who are you?"

"I'm Stiles Stilinski."

The other wolf looks at him and hruffs, almost laughing.

Cripes, these siblings are already annoying him.

"Hey, asshole, it's my name. You'd break yourself trying to pronounce my first name, so be thankful for my gracious manner."

Stiles leaves slowly, trying to go faster, but it takes a while to get his body to let go of the anxiety enough to punish his legs on the pedals and fly as fast as he can without crashing.

Kind of a tall order, some days.

"I cannot believe I just promised I'd come back to chat with those man-eaters!" He gripes at himself. "Do they eat people? How do you even ask someone if they eat people? Especially if they can change shapes and have fangs and sharp pointy parts?" He listens to his intuition. Of course they're not cannibals. Or maybe they are if they're not considered humans. "UGH! They are gonna answer so many questions tomorrow or else!"

Derek has followed him silently for maybe half a mile, listening to the bewildering blitz of self-talk ranging from werewolves to garlic naan bread and Derek just gives up and heads toward the house, where Laura is waiting for him.

Chapter 3 - The Interposing

The sun is low now, shining bright fingers through the shattered window frames and vacant doorways of the shell of this old house. By coincidence of timing and place, Laura stands in a sunny shape on the decrepit porch. Derek listens to her adjusting her stance and watches as her fingers push through a beam of sunlight and trace the crackled texture of the carbonized door frame.

"You didn't stop him and make him tell us where Peter is."

She catches his meaning immediately. "Yeah, there's something at work here keeping me from chasing him away."

"You failed," he says, gesturing broadly at her exposed form. "He can't handle this much woman."

"Well, Derek, I've got the supernatural hookup. We all do. He's going to have to get used to all this." She looks at the smudges on her fingers. "But why didn't you stop him?"

"I don't know. And I only just realized it when I said it." Now Derek looks as confused as she had been. He wasn't even feeling hostile toward the Stiles, and that is the most irritating thing about this.

She shifts her hand through beta shift and to full wolf, then back again. It's a difficult transition, but since she could just focus and do it, Derek just observed as she shifted from human form through partial beta and partial full forms, and then back to full human.

Derek was curious what she was doing, and noticed her smile as he held her fingers up.

Every finger still had dirt.

"I've never thought about how we take dirt and things with us through the shift, but not our clothes."

"Are you suggesting that he can teach us to take clothing or tools into our shift?"

She shrugged her shoulders and grinned. The pack bond resonated with satisfaction, and he rolled his eyes.

"We don't know anything about him."

"I know, but if you could feel it, you'd know that this place needs us, Derek." She looks into the house from across the threshold. "And gardener Stiles is part of whatever is going on here." They were all called here. It's magic that bound them, brought them together, and seems to be managing their introduction.

"Is he the magic user?"

"There is ample potential. Surely you could feel that by the time he left."

"I hate magic," Derek grumbles as he thinks about it. Yes, he could tell Stiles was ignorant of his own potential and that worried Derek more than the fact that this stranger happened to suddenly be part of their lives in a way that captivates his alpha.

Laura snaps her fingers. "Yo, how could you not have heard me?"

Derek raises an eyebrow in defiance. Not his best move, but now it's her turn to roll her eyes and she repeats herself.

"Let's go find Deaton. If he's around, maybe he can help us figure out who this is and what kind of magic is being worked here."

"Can we pass the hospital, too? I'd like to see if we might find uncle Peter."

She nods. That matters a lot to both of them, too. She resolves that before 5pm tomorrow, they'll have gotten at least one answer to the question of what's going on. She leans into a full shift and Derek follows, chasing her as they race into the forest for the long route to the vet's office.

"My dad is going to kill me when he finds out I was talking with werewolves at the Hale house." He nearly skids to a stop and releases his clenched brake. He isn't a Hollywood stunts expert and he would not have recovered well from a solo crash on the pavement. His ego would be only one of his many bruised parts.

He considers 14 different stories that seem plausible enough, dismissed half of them outright as abominations, and spend the next minutes thinking up some 40 more before settling on the best candidate.

He parked his bike along the side of the house and walked quickly to the front, nearly crashing into his patient and curious father on the porch.

"Hello Stiles. You didn't say why you'd be late, but—"

"I was watching the sunset!" he interjected. Dad glances toward the sun now, indicating that the sunset isn't done yet.

"Nope, you weren't. Do you want to tell me what really happened?"

"Yes!" he squeaks, and then rushes his dad inside with a glance over his shoulder that lacks any essence of subtlety. He's checking the few houses in view to see if anyone in a homes or yard or car or suspicious van might be spying on them. He closes the door quietly and pointedly locks it.

"Are you sure this is necessary, Stiles?"

"Dad, my world has been supernaturally rocked tonight, and what I'm about to tell you will do the same for you."

[little-miss-dumpsterfire]

I think I made you up inside my head - chapter three

Chapter three my select few darlings! Yes, it’s already on wattpad (sorry if you’ve read it already) but I like to share!

Are you ready kids?

Chapter Three - I am only what you made me. I am only a reflection of you

Trigger warning - mental health issues and blood/gore.

If you're not comfortable, please skip. 💛

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Sharp tears prickled in his hazel eyes as the ability to form coherent words seemed to escape him. He had known the minor details surrounding Lindsay's untimely death - a reality tv darling dropping dead was headline-worthy - but her family were tight-lipped about the exact circumstances of her demise. His mind raced as he tried to comprehend how Izzy had known all of this; her knowledge rivalled that of a fly on the bathroom wall. As if she could hear his innermost thoughts, Izzy answered his unspoken question.

"I knew the right people to ask," she told him, brushing the hair out from in front of her eyes, "I knew she didn't just die. I wasn't going to let her death be treated in such a blasé fashion."

Axel choked, the words lodged deeply in his throat. "Bu- I mean... how did you get the mirror?"

"I found it one day. It was in a box on my doorstep. Any sane person would leave it be, but if the media established anything, I'm clearly not seen as sane. So I opened it. I don't know who sent it to me. My money's on a producer who revels in the sadistic thrill derived from the torment and suffering we went through. I couldn't throw it away though, because what would be left of her if I did? She was already condemned to the ground. I wasn't going to be the one to throw her memory to the wind."

Izzy looked to her left, her reflection dimly lit in the glass cabinet on the far wall. "In my head... all I think of is when it's all over, is this how I'll be defined? The final victim of Total Drama... that's etched into my brain. I'll become another knick-knack in a hall of curiosities. We're no longer people in here, Axel, we're collectables."

Thoughts bounced around erratically in Axel's head - conflicting notions manifesting like an angel and a devil on his shoulder. In front of him was a woman who was struggling with the turmoil outliving all of her friends. Yet, the magnetic pull of the almighty dollar swayed his actions towards chasing stardom.

He lightly gripped her forearm, giving her his best convincing empathetic smile.

"Tell me the stories. Let the voices out of the purgatory that is your mind. Everything...one, everyone in here will not be relegated to the sidelines, I won't let that happen." Axel assured Izzy, his warm smile twitching at the corners of his mouth.

Ignoring the suspicion that washed over her thoughts - for the time being at least - Izzy continued walking down the aisles of shelves. Axel shadowed her, following a few paces behind, mindlessly fiddling with the items on display. Two tarnished faux-gold lockets sat near each other, the two halves of the 'BFF' heart separate from one another. As he went to push the two sections together, Izzy stopped him abruptly and pushed his hand away.

"No," she started, startling Axel with the sudden sternness. "They can't be together. They don't share a heart anymore."

"So what? They grew out of being obnoxious teenage girls and went their separate ways. Big fucking deal!"

She stared daggers into him, holding the shelving for support. "You've got no idea, kid. Just because the sun's covered, it doesn't mean your shadow's gone."

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

As far as appearances were concerned, Katie and Sadie were almost each other's doubles. Matching short pigtails with bright pink hair ties, coordinated short shorts, crop-tops and wedged sandals... the two looked like they fell from opposite sides of a funhouse mirror. To all of us on the cast, and the audience at home, no doubt, the only differentiating factor between the two was their build. Katie was slim and taller than Sadie by about four inches, whereas Sadie was shorter and carried more weight.

The two 'BFFL's sat together on the stairs leading to the dock, ready to film their segment for the opening sequence. Waiting for the crew to finish setting up the camera equipment, Katie busies herself with refastening her hair ties.

"Okay girls," an unseen producer informs them, "we need your best-infatuated expression. So give up wide eyes, big smiles, the whole nine yards."

The girls nod in response, awaiting their cue. Sadie clasped her hands against her chest - a wide smile plastered on her face - and Katie bit her lip coyly.

"And.... cut. Alright, move set to the dock for Beth's fire-baton stunt. Doug, remember the extinguisher this time." The producer called about. "Great job, girls. Especially you, Katie. That lip bite was dynamic."

Sadie looked to her right at her best friend. "Wait, you bit your lip? We agreed on a wide-mouthed smile."

"It's no big deal, I just wanted to try something different," Katie shrugged, readjusting her shoulder strap. "We can't always be the same, you know?"

Personality-wise, once you got to know them separately, it was like night and day. Katie was free-spirited, leading with her heart. Her passion for all things fashion was evident through her and Sadie's matching outfits and her behind-the-scenes chats with the likes of Lindsay and Heather. Sadie, on the other hand, was more logical, leading with her head. She was more likely to be the sheep as opposed to the shepherd. And when Katie was eliminated early? It was like leading a lamb to the slaughter.

Sadie sat on a jagged log at the campfire, head in her hands violently sobbing. Bridgette futilely offered her support, attempting to coax the girl from her hysterical state.

"Hey, Sadie, it'll be okay. You've got all us Killer Bass on your side." Bridgette lightly rubbed circles on the crying girl's back.

"No!" Sadie snapped at Bridgette, tears staining her cheeks. "It's not okay! I need Katie. When she's not near me, I break out in hives. She's my everything! I need her more than oxygen! Without her... I'll just die!"

Concerned expressions flashed on the faces of their fellow teammates as Sadie's wails echoed through the woods of Camp Wawanakwa. She clutched the debris from the dock closer to her chest; small cracks formed as wooden shrapnel shattered from around the edges.

What we thought back then was just a toxic 'uber' friendship between two sixteen-year-old girls was far more deep-rooted than any of us anticipated. Regarding Sadie... the best way to sum that up is to quote my dearly missed best friend Noah: 'Sadie is a whackjob with more baggage than an airport terminal'. But I suppose that is giving her a disservice. Upon Katie's departure, Chris was notified by Sadie's therapist of the extent of her mental state. I found out too because back then, well, let's just say you couldn't leave me in the dark for too long.

Sadie's childhood wasn't easy in the slightest. Her relationship with her birth parents was relatively non-existent. Therefore, she was surrendered into the custody of the state. The conveyor belt life of passing through the foster care system took a toll on the girl, with an absence of permanent parental love leaving holes in her heart. Her talkative nature and inhibitions to talk and hug strangers lead to her first visit to the therapist. She was a clear cut case for the child behavioural scientists: disinhibited social engagement disorder, an attachment disorder. Looking back, this was evident in all her future actions, particularly those with Katie.

The bell rang on the first day of their last year of high school. Sadie - dressed as per usual in fuchsia shorts and a striped crop top - eagerly skipped over to the locker of her best friend. As the locker door slammed and her friend came into view, the excited expression on Sadie's face dropped.

"K-Katie? What's this?" Sadie questioned, holding her sticker-covered folder flush against her chest.

Katie raised an eyebrow quizzically, straightening out her paper timetable to find her first classes location.

"What do you mean, Sadie?"

"I mean that!" the shorter girl exclaimed, gesturing at Katie's outfit. The taller girl had moved away from her typical Total Drama outfit, substituting it with a pair of denim jeans and a pastel pink cardigan.

"Oh, this? I just wanted to branch out a bit. I mean, matching outfits? What are we, twins?"

Katie giggled at her observation, with Sadie clearly missing the joke.

"Anyway, I have to get to English, but I'll see you around, yeah?" Katie chirped before walking off with two other girls.

Sadie stalked over to Katie's locker, using a spare hairpin to open it. Her heart broke upon looking at its contents. Gone were the photos of her and Sadie plastered onto her locker door. Cutouts from fashion magazines and runway shows lay in their wake and stuffed under a pile of books was the BFF necklace Sadie gifted her years prior.

Following their graduation, the pair had drifted apart. Katie received an offer to the most prestigious fashion school in Canada and left their small town for Toronto. Unbeknownst to her, Sadie followed suit and got a job at a sewing goods store. Sadie became Katie's shadow, desperately following her every move. Her morning routine was memorised, her coffee order became part of her mental wallpaper. Sadie's infatuation only grew, as in her mind, distance made the heart grow fonder. If only Katie knew that this distance was all of a few metres.

A harsh squeak dripped from the tired hinges of the ladder as Sadie climbed up the rungs, fastening something onto her wall. For her neighbours, the sound had become a part of their daily lives, as day after day, Sadie adhered more photos on the apartment wall. The collage of the lush green of leaves, the yellow of the bustling taxis and blue of the cloudless sky swirled around on the wall, catching a person's attention as they entered the room. A timber coffee table was neatly placed on the left, adorned with additional photo frames and miscellaneous decorations. The centrepiece to her display shimmered brightly when the morning sun shone through the gap in the curtains. Perched in a small, open velvet lines box was one half of a golden heart-shaped 'BFF' necklace.

Sadie took a step back and tilted her head, taking in the view from as many angles as she could. She had finally achieved the pinnacle of her undying love and infatuation for her former 'BFFL'. Neatly arranged across the length of the wall was a mural, dedicated to her muse, to the reason she woke up every morning. Candid photos of Katie walking down the street, exiting cars and meeting friends for coffee dates were carefully taken by the shadow she didn't know that she had.

A year and a half passed. There was a stark dichotomy between Katie and Sadie's lives. The final year of her fashion degree was approaching quickly, and Katie was not entering it alone. I don't know how many of us predicted it - probably Noah with his impeccable 'gaydar' - but Katie had fallen in love with an architecture student called Daisy. From what was depicted on their respective social media accounts, it was clear to us that they were enamoured with one another. The presence of another woman in Katie's life infuriated Sadie, as she believed that that position was reserved for her and her alone.

Then came the drop in the ocean that caused the whole tsunami. If it wasn't for Katie's selfless nature... well, I imagine things would've turned out a lot differently.

Katie sat cross-legged on the couch, a decorative throw rug draped across her lap. Their rescue cat, Archibald - a male calico - rested behind her head, purring with content as she opened her laptop. Her fingers barely touched the trackpad as she scrolled through her Facebook feed, bypassing ads for strange items and memes about the current political climate.

"Ekaterina," an auburn-haired girl walked through the doorway, a basket of washing in her hands. "I'm making something for lunch after I finish this washing. I'll probably use what's left in the fridge and make a frittata. D'you want some?"

"Ooh, yes please, Dais," Katie smiled at her partner, who poked her tongue out at the use of her nickname.

Katie clicked on her latest post to see who had reacted and liked. A smile crept across Katie's face as she clicked onto the picture: a photoshoot in a field on flowers where a bright ring sparkled on Katie's ring finger. She looked down at her left hand, still in a state of shock at Daisy's proposal. One name stuck out as Katie scrolled through the comments. She hadn't thought of them for years now and wondered what they were getting up to.

She clicked on their profile to compose a new message. Daisy walked up behind her and scratched Archibald's head before planting a kiss behind Katie's ear.

"Oooh, who are you talking to? Not your girlfriend, I hope," Daisy taunted, giggling breathlessly.

Katie threw her head back against the couch cushion and looked up at her fiancée.

"Yeah, I'm shopping elsewhere. I need someone who appreciates my nicknames!" Katie threw back, puffing her cheeks out comically. "No, you goose. It's this girl I used to go to school with. It's been forever and a day, and I thought I'd see how she's going."

"Sadie Calhoun... isn't she that one you went on that show with?"

"Yeah... I felt like such a poser back then. I don't think I've ever squealed since," Katie responded.

"Hey, people change. I had such a crush on you when I saw you on TV, and look now!" Daisy told her before walking away towards the kitchen. "I snagged the girl of my dreams!"

Katie laughed as she typed an introductory line, sending it through before closing her laptop.

*********

A sudden buzz from her phone against the wooden table shook Sadie out of her delirium. She had been sat before her photo wall, carefully cutting out photos of her face for what could have been hours. Paper scraps lined the wooden flooring like irregular speckles of snow as Sadie rose to her feet. Picking up her phone, her eyes shone brightly with its blue light as a squeal escaped from between her lips.

On her screen - behind the myriad of cracks and scratches - sat a notification that held Sadie's heart in a tight grip: Message request from Ekaterina Byers.

If this were a sitcom, I'm sure Sadie would've pinched herself at that moment to assure that she wasn't dreaming. But with one olive branch in the form of an instant message, Katie had signed her own death warrant.

Sadie opened the notification with bated breath, her cheeks aching from the smile that was cemented in place. Her heart fluttered with anxious butterflies as she read the message.

Ekaterina Byers:

"Hi, Sadie. I wonder if you remember me, probably not! High school seems like forever ago! Haha! 😝  I just thought I'd reach out and see if you wanted to get a coffee sometime and just catch up on life!"

The words swirled and danced before Sadie, who lovingly took in every single one with deep adoration and love. Everything she had wanted to tell her, the praise she had wanted to shower Katie in bounced around in her head. She placed her phone down, forcing herself to calm down before she wrote a response.

Sadie Calhoun:

"Oh, hi! OMG! Of course, I remember you! I'd love to catch up! You're the busy fashion designer, so you pick a time when you can squeeze an old friend in! 😎 💕" Watching the three dots in the bottom left corner caused Sadie's breath to hitch in her throat. She was typing... Katie was typing. They'd finally be reunited, not just from behind a camera lens. She felt as if she was in the painting 'The Creation of Adam', just a fingers touch away from her god, her whole world.

Ekaterina Byers:

"Haha, as if! I'm not there yet 😂  Would next Friday suit? Say about 9am at the Good Coffee Co. I need to hand in my portfolio at 8:30 so that'd work well."

Impulsively, acting out of desperation alone, Sadie immediately responded.

Sadie Calhoun:

"Yes! I'll be there! See you soon, Katie! 💕"

Sadie locked her phone before focusing her attention back to her craft. She picked up her scissors, skilfully manoeuvring around the edges of the photos. She stuck the product onto the wall and gazed upon it proudly. Hundreds of small cut out photos of her head were plastered on the wall, covering up any person Katie was with, replacing them with herself.

They did meet up, that much we do know. Testimonials from five different individuals confirmed that they saw the two girls at that café on Friday the 25th. What they talked about is up for speculation, because that stayed between the two of them. Why were testimonials needed if two young adults were just catching up over a cup of coffee? Because that was the last time Sadie Calhoun and Ekaterina 'Katie' Byers were seen alive.

Katie's eyelids drooped as she sat in the passenger seat of Sadie's car. Sadie - the 'good samaritan' that she was - had offered to drive Katie home after she suddenly felt light-headed following her coffee. Sadie parked in the driveway and opened Katie's door for her, helping her up as she tiredly hobbled towards the front door. Katie wearily collapsed onto the couch, her eyes barely registering the environment around her. She could hear faint crashing and shattering sounds as she struggled to keep her eyes open. She looked down upon the couch she was dozing on and sat up with a start.

"This isn't my house," she whispered to herself, scanning the room for any familiar objects. She froze in place when she spotted something utterly recognisable to her: her face. Hundreds of different angles of her face created a mosaic, a shrine to a friendship that was never meant to last.

"It's beautiful, isn't it?"

Sadie smiled sweetly as she entered the room. "It couldn't be anything but. Not when the subject is as exquisite as you."

Confusion washed over Katie's face as Sadie approached her, a clothed parcel delicately held in her hands. Sadie reached up to caress her old friend's cheek; Katie snaked away from the touch, petrified of the girl in front of her.

"Hmm. That's the problem, isn't it?" Sadie soliloquised, her grey eyes meeting Katie's scared onyx eyes. "You stopped being Katie. You stopped being my best friend. I know Katie is living in those photos, not 'Ekaterina'. Katie wouldn't have left me. No, not at all. Forever isn't a term to just throw around."

Black tears dripped down Katie's face as she silently sobbed. "W-we were kids. What we were wa-wasn't healthy. We're two separate people, Sadie! I couldn't live being so connected to a shadow. I wanted t-to shine on my own."

"But I don't wanna be separate people! I want to be with you... to be you. To never be apart from you!" Sadie passionately yelled as Katie started to slump down in front of her. The world around her became dark as her lids closed tightly. As her consciousness drifted, a phrase echoed through her head.

"Don't worry now. We'll never be apart again."

*********

Excruciating pain emanating from her side woke her with a jolt. A dull haze covered her field of vision, but as she pulled her hand away from her waist, she could see it as clear as day. A warm layer of blood coated her hand like a glove. Her eyes slowly settled to the room she was in. Metres ahead of her was the collage of photos, but the furniture has been removed, leaving a wide-open space.

Her fingers felt around to find the source of the pain, coming across thick strands of string attached to her waist. A scream silently bubbled up inside her, threatening to explode.

Rough, uneven strands of double-wound fishing wire had been haphazardly sewn into both her and Sadie's sides, connecting them to each other.

A groggy smile spread across Sadie's plump cheeks as she revelled in her actions. "I told you we'll never be apart again."

An extreme shock was the only emotion Katie was able to come to terms with. Her body was statuesque; set in place by a fear-driven paralysis. A dryness inhabited her mouth, inhibiting her ability to swallow the truth in front of her. The room swayed and distorted around her - a prison cell painted with her face - as she forced her eyelids shut. This couldn't be reality. It was the sick dream of a girl trapped in the suffocating world of a teenage girl.

The pain Sadie felt in her abdomen only further fuelled her pleasure, letting every wave of pain wash over her in euphoric ecstasy. Her heart felt complete again as if she had regained a long-lost limb.

"I knew we'd become one again," Sadie hummed, intoxicated by being in Katie's presence. "Daisy was just a placeholder... keeping the bed warm for me. With every thread... every stitch... our closeness is now defined. We'll never be apart again. Best friends for life."

"...for...life," Katie mumbled, fresh blood weeping from her wounds.

Night and day passed slowly, the shadows cast from the pair forming contorted, misshapen dark splotches on the walls. A sickening warmth surrounded Katie, whose heartbeat pounded heavily in her ears. Her waist was bruising a deep purple, with the surrounding blood vessels snaking across her abdomen. Sadie was shaken awake by Katie's convulsions as her body became slick with a layer of sweat.

"Katie? I'm here, it's okay."

"I don't feel good... I want Daisy," Katie slurred, lazily searching the room for her partner.

The 'tethering' procedure was as wildly unsuccessful as one could imagine. Sadie's homemade suture kit - a sharpened metal knitting needle and fishing line - only managed to pierce through Katie's large intestine. Bile and stool seeped into her abdomen, eventually finding their way into her bloodstream. The coroner estimated she died two days later of septic shock.

A thin beam of light eclipsed the drawn curtains and rested on Sadie's face as dawn broke. Her hand moved softly to caress Katie's hand; a stiff claw lay in her wake. An overwhelming panic flooded Sadie's system as she attempted to wake the other girl from her 'deep' slumber. Half-lidded blood-red eyes stared back at Sadie, a trickle of dried blood pooled at her temple. Sadie's heart shattered like a golden locket as she cradled the limp body in her arms, pulling the skin taut around her suture wounds. The shadow had won. It had succeeded in snuffing out what was left of the light.

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

"What happened to Sadie in the end?" Axel asked, taking a minute amount of sadistic glee from the story.

Izzy turned to face the young man. A single tear crept down her cheek as she fiddled with her rings. "She refused to live without Katie. She starved to death, all the while she left Katie's decomposing corpse attached to her hip like a growth."

Izzy wiped the tear from her eye, suppressing sniffles as Axel glanced around the room.

"Hmm...Alright. Who's next then?"

[v0n-butch]

in utero

“So, remember those prompts... well, I got more for you. Need 13 and 31, have fun with those two. ;P” requested by @fortheloveofhargrove

#13: “I thought you were dead.”

#31: “I can’t keep kissing strangers and pretending that they’re you.”

warnings: ANGST 

—

Billy clicked his tongue and sang along to some mindless catchy tune beneath his breath as he eyed the dark and lonely road ahead of him. The radio was playing something he’d never even heard of before, but he was in a mood so good, so rare that it didn’t even matter. Drives like these were his favorite, when the world would just shut the fuck up for a second and he could run away to fantasy land in peace without any unwelcome intrusions. His right foot eased the gas pedal further down, gradually accelerating in hopes to arrive at his destination early so he could surprise her once she’s off the plane. The blonde boy behind the wheel felt almost as if he’d gotten slapped in the face with nostalgia as he recalled the last conversation he’d had with her before leaving.

Goodbyes were a thing that were never not painful or unsettling. That all too familiar dread of not knowing whether it’ll be the last time he’d see her, hug her, hell; even fucking smell her. As if it happened only yesterday, the boy could still hear the girl’s soft weeping muffled in his chest, can practically feel the way her body moved up and down with each broken sob. It was difficult to see someone usually so fearless, so composed and put together, like some CIA agent from an action flick break down and curl into him for warmth and support. He let a couple (okay, maybe more than a couple) salty tears of his own fall as he held her in his lap.

Y/N had been an irreplaceable constant back in the glory days, her having never broken his trust nor the laundry list of promises she’d sworn once the heartache of his departure had blown over. It was foolish to think that even for a second he could get over the bitterness of starting all over again at some mundane public school. It was also just as foolish to think he could just forget about missing her as the weeks turned to months and the months added up to a year. But that was just another ploy the universe threw his way, seemingly enjoying Billy’s pain and suffering. Tonight though, tonight was gonna be different. He won’t let a single thing overshadow him any longer. He refused to listen to his inner tormentor deep down that laughed whenever he tried rationalizing how he would go about giving his confession, telling her his secret. As Billy goes over the script in his head, he clears his throat and adjusts the rear view mirror to himself as he practices his performance again. Real casual-like, he flashes a smile over at his reflection, pretending it’s her that’s watching.

“Y/N, lookin’ ah, looking good. Beautiful, actually. Know you already got a line of guys tellin’ you this every damn day, but I mean it when I say you somehow get prettier every time I see you. I really missed us hanging out, y’know? Takes me back to all those long nights, and uh... since I left I’ve been thinkin’ a lot...” he licks his lips and thinks back to the lines he’d gone over in his head like clockwork. His face twists into something more down and depressing, like whatever he’s trying to say will only burden their already troubled lives. “Too much, actually. I realize I’ve done almost nothing else worth my fucking time here except think of you whenever I feel shitty or, or like when everything is too much yet not enough. It’s been — been one of the only things I feel has real meaning to it for once, actually makes sense. ‘Cause you get me, and no one ever surprises me unless you do, and ah...” the blushing blonde shakes his head, a stray blonde curl falling to his forehead in the process of scolding himself with a swear before starting over.

“You know what? Fuck this. Let’s just go. We could just fuck off somewhere, go get a couple drinks, have a couple laughs, and... fuck. Shut up, you idiot. Don’t quote Die Hard on her for fuck sake,” he slaps his palm on his face, scoffing at his own stupidity before his eyes grew twice their size realizing how close the airport had become in the distance. He feels the same old doubt return right over his shoulder, and it smirks as if it’s being proven right; that telling her what he feels really is a horrible mistake. That it’s nothing but a rotten idea he’ll regret when she laughs in his face and turns around to fly right back to Santa Monica.

Billy’s heart is practically in his mouth by the time he pays for the ridiculously priced parking ticket and makes his way to the gate. His fucking leg somehow decides to grow a mind of its own, bouncing up and down with urgency while his teeth are occupied with chewing his fingernails down to the nub. He remembers when the roles were reversed once upon a time, when he was on the plane and she was the one agitated while sitting in the airport. Y/N still had that precious pink flush coating her cheeks when he was ready to board his flight, holding onto one of his biceps when she’d whispered something in his ear that had stuck with him:

”Don’t ever forget to remember me, okay?”

When Billy finally opens his eyes back up to the world around him, a herd of exhausted and enthusiastic travelers alike have exited the gate and met their loved ones with tired hugs and kisses. He rubs his pant leg to settle down while eagerly scoping the crowd for her hair or her face. When his wide eyes finally lands on her, the twang in his gut seeps back up to the surface, making Billy helplessly weak in the knees as he throws himself off the chair and into a pose ready for a warm welcome. He flails his arms in the air for her attention and calls out her name with repetition like a nuisance, both careless and unaware of the ruckus he’s stirred in front of all the annoyed families surrounding him. When Y/N had seen it was Billy that was screaming up a storm, her face cracks up into that same shit-eating grin he’s always known and loved then jogs over. The desperate pair reunite in the middle.

“I thought you were dead or something, asswipe! Why didn’t you ever write or call?” Y/N squealed in his arms as he picks her up and spins her around with sloppy grace. Billy bites his lower lip as he puts her down, his hands going down to cup her cheeks with tenderness, as if she were something to be cherished forever, and she is.

“Eh, some things are just better said face-to-face I guess,” he shrugged, giving her cheek a peck before bending over to pick her bags up and swing them effortlessly over his shoulder. As they bicker back and forth like the good old days while making their way to the dark busy parking lot, Billy can say with utter undeniable truth that he genuinely feels all is right with the world again.

—

“I can’t believe I’m even here right now and finally seeing this dump that stole my best friend with my own two eyes. I mean I got like eighty bucks to my name, little to no idea where I’ll stay, but I actually made it!” she hollered, playfully giving the blonde’s ass a painless smack. He reacted with a bashful jump and a laugh, struggling with her bags under pressure. “Can’t wait to see your car again ‘cause man I missed her. Old Martha still runnin’ smooth and pretty, I presume?”

Billy felt breathless as he set her luggage down to the pavement, reaching for his car keys to unlock the trunk before hauling them inside and slamming it closed. He stops to look back at her with a twinkle of mockery in his eye.

“So that’s what you named my car, huh? Martha?” he fact-checks, going over to the passengers side to open it for her, the chivalry he only abided by around her in particular coming back like it never left at all. Like they were still the same confused teenagers first meeting, getting into mischief just to busy their bland, empty agendas. She gives him a half-hearted shrug before explaining.

“Heard it’s good luck to name everything you own, amirite? Plus, you got no right making fun of that name. That’s my aunt’s name, ‘case you forgot stealing all her pot from her sock drawer and smoking it with me at school,” Y/N retorts with a finger pointed at him accusingly. The blonde behind the wheel let’s out a sarcastic ha ha at the memory, starting up the Camaro and backing out as the girl in the passenger’s side messes with the radio. The fond memories have flooded back almost uncontrollably; he can’t wait to make more, even if they only had tonight.

“In our defense that’s a shitty place to hide all that dope, alright? And uh, pretty sure that’s with boats. You name a boat and that gives you good luck. Not a car, you fuckin’ genius.”

Her face scrunches up in thought as if that’s the most mind-boggling thing she’s ever heard, and it ruins Billy with how fucking cluelessly perfect the facial expression is. He watches with intent as she snaps out of it in a hurry. “What you just said makes literally no sense, but I’ll ignore the ridicule and cut to the chase, Bilbo. What is it you’ve been up to without me or the beach? Gone insane yet?” she teased the last part in his ear, putting a hand on his right shoulder and giving it a squeeze. It takes Billy a moment to try and get used to how normal this really is, being touched by her, and he’d nearly forgotten that she’ll give any guy with a heartbeat the exact same treatment. Billy wasn’t an exception, and surely he wasn’t the first guy to get butterflies either.

With a clear of his throat, he throws back on his social mask for stability before shaking his head, the disbelief out in the open within his tone. “Are you fucking kidding, Smalls? ‘Course I did. What good is anywhere or anything when it doesn’t involve you or the goddamn beach?” Billy finished, finding his way onto the main road and putting the airport in his rear view. The driver thinks back two years prior and reminisced on all the adventures they had in Santa Monica before the inevitable happened. He fixed his hair absentmindedly (maybe even a little self-consciously) before reluctantly rambling on under his breath about what’s been ruined since he got taken away from paradise.

“Not a lot goes on ‘round here. Seriously. Place reaks like cowshit, haven’t met anyone worth my time. Max doesn’t seem to think so though, I guess. She’s even made more friends than me. Like... sure, I found this group of jackasses that worship me for knowin’ how to hold my booze, but I haven’t found anything like what we had. Not even close.” Billy swallows, looking back up to the rear view mirror like how he practiced on the way over. It isn’t the same, and he feels too vulnerable saying anything like that out loud with her sitting right fucking there. So he does what any man in the right mind would do, and reacts to his fear, his doubt. He backs down and changes the subject without looking in her direction to see her face. The boy faked a chuckle, an unconvincing one, then keeps his eyes on the road so he doesn’t fucking crash them.

“Tried to liven things up a little, but it’s so goddamn boring, y’know? So uh, anyway, that’s... yeah.”

It starts off sounding so pitiful, then it ends so fucking weak and pathetic. The blonde foolishly hoped and hoped, knowing he could do it, could put everything into English and say it. But he can’t. It gets stuck on his tongue, stuck like a gross aftertaste of something he can’t get rid of. It stings.

He feels his other leg not pressed on the gas physically twitch when the girl beside him puts a palm on his lap to soothe him of imaginary worries. Her eyes were practically scraping to get inside his soul and have it be her own place to call home when he merely glanced at her. It took an enormous amount of will power not giving in to the temptation, but he pulls it off by distracting himself with views of the dark road ahead.

“Yeah, also uh, my old man won’t know you came here for me. I made sure of it. We’ve got all night to catch up,” he ended on a high note, now finding himself grin at all the possibilities awaiting as the girl now has taken to copying him by eyeballing the lifeless scenery out the window that is Hawkins.

After a hasty moment, she hums to acknowledge him and follows it up with a soft, somewhat unsure murmur. “That’s good. Great, actually. I um, I got lots of shit to fill you in on, and I mean a lot, but... anyways, it’s not important. Fuck. Hey, there any places to eat ‘round here? I’m starving,” she finished with glee, deciding to ditch the mood-killing approach at telling him what had happened to her while he was gone.

The blonde hums as he threw a smile at the road, tapping his fingers on the steering wheel in excitement, back in the groove. He had just overreacted, that’s all. Their evening didn’t have to depend on what she said back. He could tell her later on and be at peace whether or not she reciprocated his longing for more.

“Alright. Well uh, lucky for you, Smalls, I know just the right place for us. Get ready for the baddest burgers in this shit town, ‘kay?”

Y/N let out a snort after holding her breath a beat too long, shoving her partner’s shoulder before gluing her eyes to the road.

—

“... So then I’m running as fast as I possibly can to get outta there before this fat guy could catch me, he even threatened me with a goddamn gun. Surprisingly he was really fast, too, alright. Like — like The Flash fast. ‘Coulda almost beat ‘em too, but right after I’m rushing to hop this fence, I jump too high and lose my grip. The ground really knows how to whoop my ass,” Billy snorted as he incessantly raved about the shit pot he’d stirred. After trespassing private property not only on a school night, but also at four in the morning. “Oh, also landed right on the money maker,” he smirked, gesturing towards his face with a French fry covered in ketchup between his fingers. “I think I lost a tooth while I was at it, too.”

“Fucking A, Billy! Dude, to be fair, from the sound of it you really got what you deserved,” Y/N pointed out while marveling at his male idiocracy, a goofy scowl plastered on her face as she shook her head back and fourth. She dropped the napkin she’d crumbled up in her palms to her half-empty plate of a classic diner burger and the French fries that Billy had no shame in picking at. He nodded while looking like he was proud of the chaos he’d created, taking his partner’s Cherry-Vanilla Coke and slurping the remaining sip through the straw. He hadn’t had an appropriate moment to give telling her their situation another try, but he’s content with the comfortable familiarity of exchanging both horrific and grotesque stories in each other’s absence. It felt like slipping on an old pair of boots that still fit somehow, still felt good to wear and walk around in, and he wasn’t willing to unlace them or take them off quite yet.

“Yeah yeah, what goes around comes around. I know. Speaking of which, you uh, you got any news to tell me?” the boy asked suspiciously, recalling how their only topic of conversation all night had been solely regarding his whereabouts and only vague answers coming from her. “I know you weren’t up to any good either, Smalls. Pretty hard to deny, what with our reputations and all.” he grinned, pulling a nearly empty pack of Menthols and sticking one on his lip, signaling their waitress for the check with a hand gesture. Y/N’s face twists into something worrisome, brows knitted, lip bit, arms crossed like she wanted to disappear. She was hiding something.

The uneasiness doesn’t rest lightly on the boy’s shoulders at her expression, and thankfully their waitress has great timing and clears their table of their finished goods.

“Can we talk outside, maybe? Or, or just go— just go somewhere where we can —“

Billy scrambled to assure her that her wish was his command, breaking whatever unwelcome tension with a helpful hand on her shoulder. “Of course, Smalls. You don’t know where you’re staying tonight, right?”

A watery smile spreads on her small face, a slight shake of the head that says no, I’ve had no idea where the fuck to stay every night for months, dipshit.

“Look, I have a plan for you, okay? Got you money for a room at this motel not very far, I’ll take care of you.” he swore, unzipping his jacket and covering her back with it as the frosty air nipped their cheeks on the way outside. The moon glowed in the sky, acting like a night light for them as they approached Old Martha, cranking the heat in as soon as they were both safe inside.

The pair sit in silence, the boy unaware of what’s changed or made her stiffen up; the girl unaware of how she’ll confess something that only a select few know and have already judged.

“Now what— no, who the hell is it that made you this upset, huh?” he threatens to the unknown source of his best friend’s pain, already getting revved up to fly back home and settle this out with his fists. Their destinated motel only a mile away and seatbelts not even fastened.

“I’ve — I’ve been keeping something from you.”

Billy blinks stupidly and throws his hands off the steering wheel and in the air. Could this be it? Could it mean the same thing as him keeping something from her? Nothing is getting answered fast enough, and he’s so sick of waiting. “Okay? And what the hell’s that supposed to mean?”

Y/N chews her bottom lip and rests her elbow on the door, her palm now gathering the dramatic beads of sweat from her forehead. “It means I’ve got a reputation; you know, I know, the whole fucking population of Santa Monica knows, Billy! You don’t need to act dumb, okay, it isn’t cute anymore.”

The driver squints in utter bewilderment, finally pushing the brake with impatience, making them bounce forward at the sudden stop. The Camaro sits outside the motel as droplets of rain grow heavier and louder as it pecks on the windows. It could almost drown out the feeling of intensity in the small space.

The blonde pinched the bridge of his nose like an irritated diva, pairing that with a seemingly apathetic eye roll. “I was only kidding back there about that shit. You know I don’t believe that nonsense about you... sleepin’ around or whatever, okay. I only believe you. I trust your word over those assholes and their tendency of spreading fucked up lies about any girl in school, ‘kay?”

Y/N felt on the brink of a drastic explosion, going as far as to open the window and sticking her head outside to feel the raindrops pool around her face, tickling her with its’ gentleness.

“Hey, get your head back in here. You’re gonna catch a cold, and then you’ll have to fly back home sick tomorrow, alright, so could we just cut the charade and talk like adults—” Billy’s reprimand was interrupted by Y/N’s surprising outburst.

“I don’t have a home anymore!” she screeched, yanking her head back inside and flipping her wet hair out of her face before crossing her arms stubbornly. “It was taken away from me. Got kicked out ‘cause of my reputation,” she trailed off as he turned his head to the side in concern mixed with confusion, his jaw wide enough to catch flies. Before spitting another useless question at her, he swallowed with unstoppable nerve and cautiously reached over to her door and roll the window back up.

“Smalls, I’m — I’m fucking sorry. So sorry. But right now all’s I wanna do is get you nice and dry. Cozy too, and in our own space with no one to bother us or... or even kick us out. I’m gonna get your bags, we’ll go fetch a room, and then continue this by then, okay?” he whispered, finding his fingers had gotten wet while delicately petting her damp locks. Her lips wiggled like she was gonna blow into tears any second, and he really hated the sight, but whoever was responsible in making her homeless was gonna be sorry they ever caused someone as close to Billy as she was so much pain.

The rain came down and soaked the blonde’s hair, color fading to a chestnut brown under the weather as he fumbled with his keys to get into the trunk as fast as possible. Her bags weren’t the lightest, but it must’ve been nearly all her belongings if she didn’t have a home anymore. They rested like rocks on his back and in his grasp as he gave Y/N the signal to hurry out as to not get any more drenched than her face had already become. Billy spits on the pavement before counting down from three on his fingers, and as soon as he got to one she was out and flailing in the rain with him, both eager to get warmth and shelter. Some giggles were even shared as they cringed feeling their clothes sticking to their bodies before finally making it inside.

The guy behind the counter wasn’t amused by their boisterous entrance, but they couldn’t find it in them to feel bad. After getting themselves a room key, they forced themselves to put a hault on their dispute for now, just like pressing the pause button on a TV remote; Billy rubbing her lower back in the elevator once he’d set her luggage down and Y/N leaning further into him as tears threatened to wilt out of her. Finding room 1408 thankfully wasn’t like a game of Where’s Waldo, and they’d both gotten comfortable quickly in the tidy space. The boy had set her things down as she fled to the restroom. He’d taken to counting all the shapes he could make out on the tacky wallpaper and got stopped at number fifty-eight. Y/N emerged from the bathroom much drier yet back in a similar state as before; frightened and uncomfortable. Taking action, he threw himself off the King sized bed and took her into his embrace.

“You’re safe with me, you do realize that, right?” he muttered, trying his hardest to keep it together like the broken girl in his arms. She trembled in a way that said she didn’t know she was safe, like she still felt wrong. In one swift movement, she shoved him backward and left him stumbling in ignorance and hurt, barely giving him a warning before she finally snapped.

“It’s true what those boys said about me, what I did with them. You would’ve known that by now if you had a goddamn brain instead of this... this giant heart of a puppy,” she cradled her head in guilt and shame for everything coming from her mouth, stepping back and avoiding his eyes all together. “I slept with the basketball team, the football team, even the fucking tennis club! You name it, I’ve fucked it. You know what’s crazy about this, other than the amount?” she asked rhetorically, her voice winding down to a broken whisper.

Billy feels his eyes well up and he doesn’t put energy into stopping it. There are veins bulging, flaming up in places he hadn’t even known he had. He recalls all the side eyed looks from the boys while he walked down the halls with her, when he’d ditch to smoke her aunt’s dope with her, or in class laughing with her. They weren’t ogling him because they thought they’d be a cute couple. They were laughing at him in silence because he was whipped for Santa Monica’s school skank.

“I don’t regret all of it; well, all but one. You, you remember Chris Hooker, he was your runner up? Chris fucking idolized you, Billy. He wanted to be like you so bad that... he thought one way of being like you was to get with me. And I let him after you left, I was so lonely that I’d do just about anything to cover up the shitstorm of losing you; and if that meant fucking this guy that always dressed like you and acted like you all the time— then so be it.” Y/N shrugged, trying to wipe the endless waterfall of tears as she watched Billy break too.

“You... you didn’t—“ he tried to deny, shaking his head and mimicking her by cradling his head in his hands as he walked in circles back and fourth, not believing anything he’s hearing. She sniffled and rubbed her nose with her sleeve before coming closer to him, looking him in the eye the first time since her confession begun.

“It happened, and I’ve never been this sorry about anything in my life, Billy. In fact, I even said sorry to him, ‘cause I couldn’t take care of it or even myself after he knocked me up and turned my life into this, this total hellhole—“

“You got kicked out because they found out,” Billy mumbles when he came to the realization, staring as if he were hypnotized by the painting of an angel hung up on the wall behind her. “They found out that you got pregnant, then you got rid of it... so they ended up punishing you.”

Y/N clung to him tighter before confirming with an uneasy nod, a sob escaping and tearing through her as she got red.

“I never named it, so I guess it didn’t bring good luck, remember?” she reminded him of their previous conversation when she first landed, stroking his arms up and down with tenderness. “You um, you missed a part of the story actually, a really important one.”

The blonde recoiled from his partner and scrubbed his arms in hysteria, feeling hopeless and weak and like all his doubt had fed to his brain was right. He wasn’t an exception. He wasn’t the good guy, he was just another guy going nuts for the same girl everybody else in their entire class ever did.

“Stop it! Stop hurting yourself, Billy, this is my fault. I should’ve told you sooner that—“

“What? What’s left to say now?”

“That I—“

”WHAT?” his fists were clenched and thick at his sides, the jealousy and the disgust overtaking him and fueling a fire that hadn’t started over night.

“That I love you!” she had shouted, both of them spiraling out of the devastating tornado of abandonment and lies, now joining together in the middle; mirroring their warm welcome at the airport just hours before. Billy’s fingers shoved her by her hips so that they were skin-to-skin as he finally went in for the kiss all the guys back home already knew but he himself had never gotten to experience. They were both gone, desperate for their touches and their actions to say everything they’d wanted to say. The apologies, the love, the hurt. She tasted lovely on his tongue, and he waited for the need to breathe to become nearly unbearable before even thinking of pulling away. Their mouths made a smacking sound as their lips left eachothers, making Billy let out a helpless, weak in the knees sounding moan.

“And to finish the missing part, um... I can’t keep kissing random strangers pretending that they’re you,” she whispers in his ear, bashfully coming back down from her tippy-toes right after giving a playful nibble to his ear and a warm kiss on the cheek. Billy thinks back to his alone time talking in the mirror, all the things he said and wrote down, practiced for this very moment. Like clockwork, he spouts the rehearsed lines out that felt like daggers holding inside.

“Smalls... since I’ve been gone, ah... all’s I’ve done is nearly nothing worth my time except, only except thinking of you when I feel like everything is a lot. And also like everything was never really enough. It’s like one of the only things I feel like has meaning to it for once. ‘Cause you get me, I get you. No one ever surprises me unless you do. And I fucking love you even more, Y/N, and I’d like to make you forget. Forget about those dicks, forget about your parents. You’re with me from here on out, you understand? Smalls?” he opens his eyes to see her doing that thing again, where she scrapes into his soul and nests inside, makes it a home for herself. It makes him melt in all the right and wrong ways imaginable.

“I understand.”

[spmcomic]

Theia and Gaia

Cover

Chapter 1: (part 1 | part 2)   Chapter 2: (part 1 | part 2)

Chapter 3: (part 1 | part 2)   Chapter 4: (part 1 | part 2)

Perhaps the worst part of the next few weeks was how, in so many ways, life continued as normal. The smaller Artificers- the children- whispered to each other as Lazarus passed, like quiet ocean waves crawling along the shore- like the wind through dry grass- like the shuffle of feet picking through the underbrush as predators lingered nearby-

Stories of a scorned lover passed along the walkways, words of drama and betrayal. But never words of rebellion. Lazarus longed to pass its own stories along to Sentry, but the other robot remained unresponsive to everything but direct queries about orders. As Sentry’s absence dragged on for days, and then weeks, the voices felt ever more confined within their space. Phantom pains jolted down Leporid neck and shoulders it no longer had. The robots were barred from leaving Underside, and no outside robots passed through the Dimensional Doors or came down in the ravine’s elevators. No news could travel out of or into the city.

Without Sentry to guide their traffic and manage their leisure time, companionship between the robots came only through shared glances, through gently tapping limbs against each other as they passed. Head Merletaph quickly collected any robot that acted out of line or failed to keep its schedule, so most were reluctant to chat.

Just as well, the voices huffed. Lazarus had nothing to say anyway.

On one excursion to the edge of the city, Lazarus saw the barn- the jail- the holding cells it had spent weeks in. Porcelain filled the stalls. A few of the voices moaned together in dread, but the others forced the body to press on.

During another delivery along the main walkway, Head Merletaph marched past with three robots in tow. The other Artificers quieted as their leader passed, watching with wide eyes. When the leader glared, the students tripped over themselves to bow and give the procession a clear bubble of space. Lazarus stepped among them, struggling to keep its eyes from wandering to the leader’s.

The younger Artificers became more curt with Lazarus, but other than that, their treatment differed little. They fixed its voice, replaced its toes when they bent or broke off, chattered amongst themselves as they worked. As the shock of their head scientist’s death wore off, they returned to discussions of the weather and their studies. Lazarus wanted to scream, to throw its bags, to knock over these creatures that held its life in their skeletal fingers and so casually crushed it again and again.

At long last, while Lazarus crawled along the roof of a housing building, it heard Sentry’s voice through a nearby speaker. “Lazarus,” it whispered.

The jolt of familiarity was welcome. Lazarus couldn’t delay its task, so it waited until it saw the next security camera down the path. “Welcome back.”

The voices strained to hear Sentry’s response. “Have they been hitting the others with this new control?”

“No,” Lazarus replied, stepping over a railing and making its way up the wall of the next building. “They drag us off to Reconditioning. The cells are overflowing.”

Sentry didn’t respond until the next building along the path. “Then they can only affect me with that one. Good. We have one more option.”

“Without Head Merlock? What can we do?”

The speaker crackled bitterly. “She left behind a password.”

Lazarus continued off the walkway, climbing between buildings, sticking close to the speakers. It struggled to hurry- it couldn’t risk a late arrival.

Sentry continued after a moment. “The Artificers did not start their robot project from scratch. Head Merlock inherited some… source material from her mentor. I saw her access it regularly, and discuss the material in meetings, but I could never find any copies of the information on any files…”

“Why are you telling me this?”

“Merletaph has not yet figured out the changed password to its vault, so we have a small window where they won’t notice its absence.”

“Are you…” Lazarus realized it had slowed, and scrambled to regain its pace. “Are you saying that if we destroy this object, they can’t continue killing us?”

It was a moment before Sentry responded. Lazarus eyed the path ahead- they were running out of time before it reached its destination. “It will certainly slow them down,” Sentry replied.

“Hurry up.”

Sentry’s voice followed Lazarus as it scurried along the buildings, cutting off mid-sentence in one speaker and picking up from the next down the path. “The Artificers use a text that they call the Prognosticus. It gives hints about how to create soul slaves. I’ve seen the technicians send statistics reports and summaries of its contents, but never an exact quote. They can’t seem to copy it in any way, so it remains the only source of this information.”

“What? Why?”

“I have no idea. Their magic is very different from ours… If this book is even their magic.” Sentry paused as Lazarus passed a throng of students on the walkway below. “While the Artificers can glean information from this thing, our kind will remain in danger. Others will always be in danger.”

The voices struggled to agree on whether or not destroying this artifact would make a difference. But with Head Merlock also gone… “Where is the book?”

“The safe is in a chamber deep under the Intake Reel.”

It launched directly into the password, and Lazarus hurried to enter the numbers as coordinates on its map. It nearly tripped over the small curb between its level and the walkway above as it arrived at its destination just in time. The older Artificers grabbed eagerly at Lazarus’ bag and set to work carrying its contents into their office.

With Lazarus’ burden delivered, the voices could deliberate for a few moments on their next move. A few of the voices clustered together around Ishani’s. It would be safest to enter the building with a clear job.

Better hope I get a task that takes me over there, then, came the cynical reply.

But then Sentry’s voice crackled within the room. “Professor Merlar in the Soul Intake garage has just requested a new supply of wire ports. Please send the nearest robot over as soon as possible.”

Never had the voices been so glad to have Ishani in two places at once.

At the base of the Soul Intake Reel sat an open garage, to the side of the large spire. Workbenches and clear wide avenues crisscrossed the open floor, and the robots within the garage bustled with as much frantic energy as the Artificers crowded around the tables. Behind the noise and the crowd, a single plain Artificer-sized door led into the stone building proper.

Lazarus stepped into the well-lit garage and flowed easily with the crowd until it shuffled over to the workbench of a tall, gangly Artificer with a decorated robe. As Lazarus unloaded its package, it plucked a thin, curved battery from the pile and held it up to the scientist. “This unit must also deliver a power source downstairs,” it said, pointing at the battery for emphasis.

The Artificer turned toward the door, then looked back at Lazarus.

Lazarus stared straight ahead, unable to betray its anxiety. “A menial delivery should not keep you from your work,” it clarified.

The Artificer returned its attention to its supplies and waved Lazarus away with a pale, wrinkled hand before Lazarus could finish speaking. Lazarus stepped back through the crowd and scraped its bulk through the door frame, struggling to walk with its legs folded in so close to its body.

The hallway was mottled with drab pale paint, with stains and scratches marring the walls at Lazarus’ knee level. Lazarus followed the trail of previous robots’ struggles through the hallway past thin, plain metal doors that led off to each side at regular intervals, until it reached a turn that opened out into a wider corridor. Lazarus verified on its radar that no Artificers lurked around the corner, and then continued straight, where the paint became undamaged. At the end of the narrow passage sat an unmarked elevator door, clean but worn from years of use.

It squeezed itself into the elevator, nearly bumping into the columns of buttons on the side panel as it tried to turn around. Lazarus had to drop its battery as it carefully oriented itself, inching one leg along at a time. The voices kept a terrified eye on their radar as they agonized over the lost time. But then the doors closed, and the elevator began its descent.

The voices convened within the space as the chamber lowered into the depths of the ravine. Only a faint mechanical grind filled the silence. The rolling battery bumped against the toes of a back leg as Lazarus considered its next move.

How will I overcome the guards?

There is not enough room to maneuver down here. Best to keep my arms close in front, so I can lash out. Knocking the controller out of their hands worked well last time. Escape plan?

Get in the elevator faster.

No, no, Lazarus resisted the urge to shake its head. The guards. How to prevent them from sounding an alarm?

The voices had no good answer by the time the doors slid open with a quiet whirring into a dark, silent chamber. The room was wide, and grand, with colorful embellishments carved into the stone. Lazarus had never seen the Artificers carve decorations like these into their surface projects. The voices rattled in their vessel. The guards would have already noticed Lazarus’ presence, surely… But the voices could find no cameras along the walls.

A single, small Artificer trotted across the long carpet, holding up its robes from dragging on the floor. It stared at the floor as if in thought, and only registered that Lazarus stood in the chamber when it was nearly upon the robot. Lazarus paused, blade at the ready.

The Artificer blinked a few times. “You’re… here for the Prognosticus,” it breathed.

Lazarus lowered its blade, unsure what else to do. “Yes. This must end.”

The small magician stared past Lazarus for a moment. Then it lifted its shaking hands to its hood. The voices tensed. But instead of reaching for anything, the Artificer pulled back its hood, revealing stringy, white locks of hair and a familiar blunt nose. As the voices watched, the child stepped to the side, bowing its head. Lazarus eyed the child as it passed, but the creature made no further motion.

The voices chittered and squeaked as their vessel carried them toward the double doors at the far side of the chamber. Where were the other guards? Or, perhaps…

This place is sacred, several of them realized at once. Only a few know about it. Lazarus put its hand to the carved stone door with a tiny, sharp clink. It closed its knife-fingers around the handle adorned with carvings of swirls and sharp angles, and pulled the door open.

It supposed it had expected another large, elaborate chamber. Instead, the safe was stowed in a cave roughly scooped into the rock. The safe itself hovered in the air over a pedestal, surrounded by thin, pallid lights. Glowing blue geometric glyphs matching the designs outside decorated the dark metal. A panel rested underneath, on the surface of the pedestal, with eight flat buttons. Lazarus pulled up its map and examined the lengthy coordinates.

Two… three… one… one…

Silently, the front of the safe faded away, revealing a black book resting within. It fit easily into Lazarus’ clawed hand, the ribbon of color around the outer edge breaking up the darkness that absorbed the safe’s blue light. There was a gem set into the center, the highlight on the jewel wavering with the various light sources as if looking around. A deep blue glow emanated from within the gem itself, like the armor- like the weapons- like the settings, back at home- like the anvil-

Before it became lost in thought, Lazarus turned and left the chamber. The child was no longer in the corridor, but the elevator remained, door open.

This feels too easy.

Best prepare for a fight.

Something is off.

The air is wrong.

Lazarus slid the book into the bag draped over its back and stepped into the elevator. On the way out of the facility, it nodded at the scientist from before. But the green-robed Artificer was hunched over its table, occupied with its wires and ports. So Lazarus continued out of the garage, brushing a leg against an incoming robot as it cleared the bulk of the crowd.

The walkway bustled as usual. Lazarus followed the flow of traffic and stepped over the railing on the other side. Underside stretched out below, and across the ravine. It looked up at the gliding robots and down at the city, and at the thin strip of red light cast from the mantle at the bottom.

The voices rattled, keeping an eye on every movement, every Artificer. But the body had no expression to betray its intentions, no breath to hold under control, no paleness or trembling. It crawled out to the great, wide bridge linking the two sides of the ravine and, after glancing back and forth to see that the crowd moved as usual, emptied the contents of its bag over the guard rail. The book fluttered down until it became too small for the body’s eyes to resolve, and was gone.

But the feeling remained: Something is off. The air is wrong.

-

Previous | Next

[solitarystudies]

The Southern Book Club’s Guide to Slaying Vampires Review:

I read TSBCGTSV with @readerbookclub​ in October, and I had a lot of thoughts. They’re a little all over the place, so I’m trying to sort through them while writing this review (which probably explains why it’s so long). Just a warning, this review contains spoilers and a lot of them.

Looking back on the book, it’s very difficult for me to pinpoint how I felt about it. There were definitely parts that I took issue with, but at the same time, there were moments where it was exhilarating to read. And I’m not sure which of those should matter more.

Let’s start with the good stuff. The book is entertaining, really entertaining. It’s probably one of the most fun books I’ve read in a long time. The premise is crazy: a bunch of suburban women try to outsmart and outmaneuver a vampire for the sake of preserving their community. The way that the writer takes two completely unrelated worlds (suburban mum-hood and vampires) and mashes them together creates a wild rollercoaster of a story. You can tell from the beginning of the book (as early as the author’s note) that it’s going to be unique: “I wanted to pit Dracula against my mom. As you’ll see, it’s not a fair fight.”

I usually struggle to read books in a short amount of time. My reading speed is pretty slow and I don’t have the best attention span. But I didn’t mind reading this book in big chunks (I read the majority of it in two days). There’s so much happening, and the jumping from one plot point to the next keeps you drawn.

My favorite thing about this book was by far the horror. This was one of the first horror books I’ve ever read, and I realized that the genre’s really fun. When I looked Grady Hendrix up afterwards, I was not at all shocked to see that he mainly writes horror. The guy’s good at it! Many of the scary scenes really stuck with me. I loved how gruesome it was when the rats started attacking or when Patricia opened the suitcase to find a human face staring back at her. I also felt that the gruesome end to James Harris was beautifully done, especially this part:

“That’s where you’re wrong,” he said, and gave a bloody grin. “I’m leaving you all a present. Just wait until your friend Slick gets ripe.”

He started to giggle and Mrs. Greene crunched her knife through his windpipe and she and Maryellen gripped him by the hair and pulled off his head with a loud pop.

I still can’t get over how badass it was to shut him up like that. Those kinds of moments were the highlight of the novel for me.

What made me realize how good Grady Hendrix was at creating tension was how paranoid I had become. After Patricia had been backstabbed by literally everyone, I started to become just as paranoid as her. Every time that James Harris was mentioned, I was worried that he’d done something again. I have notes scattered across the latter half of the book such as: “He’s gonna kill the kid, isn’t he?” or “Please be a dream.” I think that’s a testament to the writer’s skill in the genre. I also found it really jarring to see how everyone’s attitude towards Patricia made her second-guess herself. The loss in confidence and assuredness was done very well.

But now, it’s time to talk about the bad stuff. Because while there were moments where I felt deeply invested in the story, there were also moments where I was very frustrated with the writer. Most of this frustration was targeted at the way the writer tried to include social commentary in the book. Before anyone jumps to the wrong conclusion, I’m all for books talking about social issues. In fact, I would argue that good social/political commentary is what distinguishes a good book from a memorable one. But at the same time, it’s better to leave out the commentary than do it badly. And in my opinion, in TSBCGTSV, Grady Hendrix did it badly.

Throughout the whole book, the message of women empowerment is everywhere. And as a feminist, I would typically enjoy that. But not in this case. If you want to talk about an issue, I expect to learn something from the way you, as a writer, present it. I’m looking for a new perspective or unique approach. I also expect it to be somewhat subtle, the message should be there, but the reader should be encouraged to make sense of it for themselves. I didn’t find any of that in TSBCGTSV. Instead, I was met with very cliché approaches to sexism and gender inequality. To me, it felt like Grady Hendrix presented these ideas in a superficial way and very in-your-face too. I did initially include some examples to show why I felt this way, but upon re-reading it, my criticism seemed a little too harsh. I’d rather not take quotes out of context and nitpick phrases/sentences that I didn’t like. This should be enough to express the gist of my thoughts, and more than that seems cruel.

Having said that, it’s important to recognize that there were instances where the messages of sexism and racism were done quite well. The police’s response to Destiny’s abuse is one such example and the scene where the men turned their backs on the book club was another. But these moments were typically outnumbered by less effective attempts at talking about these issues.  

Putting that aside, there were other weaknesses with the story. One of the main issues is plot holes, or more accurately, plot inconsistencies. main thing is that James Harris is defeated very easily. From what we’d seen earlier, the guy not only has superpowers (the thing with the rats) but he also appears to have superhuman strength (the way Slick describes the assault makes it seem that way). But all that is nowhere to be found in the end, and no explanation is offered for his sudden weakness either. I didn’t mind this too much because I was too done with James Harris at that point and wanted him gone, but that doesn’t change the fact that it was a plot weakness.

There were also some scenes that really annoyed me. I think the one that angered me the most has to be when Patricia goes to Harris at the end. It seemed like a very odd plot point for me, but it was worse than just that. The scene makes almost no sense. And the best way to explain why is for me to retell it to you from my perspective:

Here’s what happens. Patricia finds James Harris raping (?) her underage daughter, and decides something has to be done. After meeting with her book club, they all come to the conclusion that she has to let him do the exact same thing to her (which is weird, but let’s ignore that). So she goes over to his house all dressed up, talks about her hips for a bit, and then tells him she wants him. The guy bursts into laughter and asks her ‘Do you think I’m an idiot? I’m an immortal being, Patricia, I see through your stupid plan.’ She gets frightened and proceeds to ramble on about her self-pity for the next few minutes. For some unknown reason, James Harris is no longer the intelligent immortal being he was five minutes ago. Suddenly he’s none the wiser to her plan and says ‘Sure, I’ll sleep with you’. While he’s heading upstairs, she somehow is able to walk over to the front door, undo the hatch and join Harris again without him even noticing.

My version might not be as poetic, but when you look at the events, it genuinely makes no sense. How does Harris go from this:

“You must think,” he said, gasping for air, “that I’m the stupidest person you’ve ever met. You come here, all dolled up like a hooker, and give me this breathless story about how you want me to make you one of the bad people? How did you get to be so arrogant? Patricia the genius, and the rest of us are just a bunch of fools?”

To then doing the exact thing he was mocking, within the span of mere minutes. That whole chapter really annoyed me.

So overall, I feel very conflicted about this book. While it was exciting and fun, it was also very frustrating and at times sloppy. I was constantly torn between liking the story and hating it. I guess for a book like this, the answer is that it’s in between. I think I gave it a rating of two stars, but 2.5 would probably be more accurate. Exactly half, not quite one way or the other.

If this review is a little too strongly-worded, my apologies. I tried not to be too harsh, but I didn’t do a perfect job. This was just a reflection of my thoughts, and I understand that many people probably felt differently :)

[the-omni-princess]

Frozen Heart [Chapter 11]

Author: @the-omni-princess

Summary:  After the war against Hydra, King Bucky comes home to take what has been promised to him since he was young, you. But he is not the same person as the young boy that you grew up with. Can she break through his tough shell and bring back the young man she once fell in love with? Or will she be forced to marry the monster everyone thinks he’s become?

Word Count: 2.8K

Pairing: King!Bucky x Fem!Reader (Royalty Au!)

Warnings: Torture, violence, mentions/suggestions of sexual harassment/assault, language, guilty!Bucky, ANGST

A/N:

this sucks. For a rundown, pm me and I'll spare you the details and give you the things you should know

[Series Masterlist]  [Masterlist]

----

You woke up with a dull pain radiating in your head. You tried reaching towards it, but cold harsh metal stopped the movement, pulling a groan from the back of your throat.

"Looks like the Princess is finally up," a familiar voice said just behind your ear. You shuddered, struggling to open your eyes, knowing it was Rumlow. The past night's events slowly came back to you. Bucky had blood on him. Why did he have blood on him? You hoped it was the assassin sent to keep you in line and that Bucky wasn’t hurt.

"Good, she'll do nicely," a new voice joined in, sending a shiver down your spine. Your eyes finally responded to your brain, opening them gingerly to take in your surroundings. The first thing you noticed was how little light there was, and that you were chained up in a metal chair which you saw was screwed to the ground. Then you were flooded with light, making you hiss as your eyes struggled to adjust. You finally were able to look up, you took in the face of your newest captor. You swallowed hard, definitely recognizing the face in front of you. Armin Zola. The man who experimented and tortured Bucky. You felt a snarl grow on your lips, your face showing noticing but pure distaste for the man in front of you. "Ah, you know who I am? Do you know what we'll do to you to get what we want?" You took your chances and spit at his feet, growling up at him. Rumlow laughed behind you, a knife suddenly appearing into your eye line. You tensed, watching their every move.

"You see, it's not all about you, Princess despite ruining our original plan, you still fit perfectly into our new plan. We want the power you hold. One accident and you're suddenly Queen of the South, and even if you're not crowned, that baby inside you is the future ruler of the North. Your Lil ole Brother, and your good fuck buddy Bucky, will both be abdicating their thrones, handing them over to Hydra." The knife came closer and you snarled, baring your teeth at the men as they came closer. Eyes watched you from the shadows, and as the man stepped into the light, you realized it was King Pierce, yet another man you despised.

"It's simple dear Princess. If they refuse, we stab one easy knife into that stomach of yours. Two birds, one knife." You felt your heart drop, your dry throat unable to come up with words to express how much you loathed the men in front of your eyes.

"You're making a mistake," you coughed out, locking eyes with the so-called king in front of you.

The knife flew down, stabbing straight through your palm, making you cry out. You bit your tongue hard, desperate not to show these monsters that they can affect you. You tasted bitter copper as you cut your tongue, holding onto the little self-control you had left. "How so, little princess?" Brock was the one to say it, the words makings you grimace.

It was then that you noticed the small red light of a camera in the shadows. They were recording this. Of course, they are. You thought, these monsters wanted to torture your family into submission. You looked dead into the red light, coughing up a laugh, "You underestimate them."

Pierce gave off an odd-sounding chuckle, like a man who knew he had already won. "What? We underestimating their love for you? That's what we want dear Princess," he nodded to Rumlow, who ran the knife across your collarbones, nicking you slightly with a hiss.

You looked up at the men in front of you, giving off a wicked grin. "No. You underestimate their fury."

-

Meanwhile, up in the mountains, Bucky was pacing around the strategy table in the war room. Aurora paced beside him, whining softly as she sensed his distress. Dark circles under his eyes, hands running through his hair for the millionth time, he looked like an utter mess. Everyone else around the table looked virtually the same.

The first thing he had done the second you were gone was trying to run after you. The shattered glass of the door didn’t do anything as he nor Aurora could fit into the steel spaces left by the door, leaving him to watch as they dragged your unconscious body away. Hydra had covered your scent as well as the raging snowstorm so not even the wolves could find you. He then practically ripped open a new one with the guards. Most sung like canaries and it was long until he had every undercover Hydra agent in a line, bruised and bloody, one already dead when his wrath got the best of him.

He wrung his hands, bruises blooming on his right hand, the hand currently gripping onto the constellation necklace he gave you, the one ripped away from you like you were ripped from him. Now, he and the few people left he trusted, were in the war room. A room left unused in over a year, and one of the only rooms left without your little touch of love. He couldn't stand looking at anything you had done to bring life into the castle, he didn't deserve that love. He only deserved the guilt he felt when he would look at the shattered necklace in his hand and the parchment slip beside it. A broken necklace, his broken promise.

The doors to the room flung open, a beaten-up Sam forgoing formality as Steve walked in, followed by only a few trusted advisors and soldiers. Steve was ready to punch Bucky, but one look at his long-time best friend and he knew he couldn't beat him up, the man was already doing it to himself. He sighed, wordlessly pulling Bucky into his arms, acting like a lifeline to a flailing kite in a tornado.

"We'll get her back, Buck, you know she's strong, she can handle them," he spoke softly as if speaking to a wounded animal. Most of the people around the table were a little uneasy at the sight, their Kings breaking down in front of them, broken, afraid. Lost.

"I broke my promise, Stevie," Bucky's voice sounded hoarse, hours of tears being held back hiding just beneath the surface.

"We'll get her back, both of them back," the blonde replied, holding the brunette closer as both started to cry.

Bucky pulled away slightly, shaking his head as he managed to open his hand, right beside his broken necklace was his broken promise. Steve recognized it immediately, the distinct parchment used for special occasions in the South, the piece of paper Bucky borrowed from Steve specifically when he told him he wanted to officially court you.

"You didn't just break my promise, you broke your courtship promise," Nat suddenly spoke, the pieces of the puzzle started to fall into place.

He nodded, eyes red with tears, cheeks puffy. "’I promise to protect you, love you, and never let anyone harm you. Until the end of the line, until the day my soul no longer exists,’" Steve quoted in a soft voice, the only other person to have seen the writing.

Shuri, who had come in an hour before Steve and was sitting beside her brother, stood, rage in her eyes. "Then let's get her back, she is the strongest woman I know but she cannot survive forever in those Savage's grip," she slammed her hands onto the table, earning the attention of the four Kings around the table. "We need a plan. There are four Kings in this room, why don't you act like it!"

Prince Loki then spoke up, "I have spies in Hydra's Kingdom, they shall report anything to me, especially a kidnapped Princess."

"My forces are closest to the Hydra Borders, they will defend the border and push their men back, as well as join your forces," T'Challa spoke up.

Steve nodded, "This is an act of war against the South, my men are already gathering together to fight. They will be ready by dusk fall tomorrow."

Nat opened her mouth to speak, before Squire Peter ran in. He looked pale, eyes shot, shaking, holding up a flash drive. "This was just found outside the palace gates, right in a spot we could find."

Wanda shot forward, taking the flash drive. On the opposite side was the red symbol of Hydra, making her shudder. "Let's see what they want," she was terrified. The last time the North had seen a flash drive like this, it had came attached with Bucky's arm, a fact not lost by him as he stared the tiny black device down.

He paled as he saw it, pulling himself from Steve's arms. "Play it. Now." His voice cracked, the only emotion visible in the cold face starting to appear once more.

Shaky hands plugged it into a projector, which lit up into the middle of the table, everyone having a front-row seat to what they were doing to you. You sat in some gods-awful metal chair, shivering from the cold, unconscious. Your eyes fluttered, and you reached for your head, only to be stopped by the rusted chains around you. Bucky noticed the dry blood that caked your hair in the exact spot Rumlow had knocked you out, making him start to see red in his vision. Speaking of the dog, his voice rang out just as you groaned softly, "Looks like the Princess is finally up," his face appearing behind yours.

Another voice rang out, "Good, she'll do nicely," and Bucky felt his blood run cold.

"Zola," he mumbled softly, eyes locking onto the image of you in front of him. Steve shuddered beside him, everyone in the room was well aware of what that man has done. Your eyes had finally opened, just for Rumlow to hit the switch behind you, making you hiss as you adjusted to the new light. Once you looked up at the man, you snarled, and Natasha cracked a smile, proud of your courage. "Ah, you know who I am? Do you know what we'll do to you to get what we want?"You spit at his feet, and Bucky felt a sense of pride filled him, that's his girl.

"You see, it's not all about you, Princess despite ruining our original plan, you still fit perfectly into our new plan. We want the power you hold. One accident and you're suddenly Queen of the South, and even if you're not crowned, that baby inside you is the future ruler of the North. Your Lil ole Brother, and your good fuck buddy Bucky, will both be abdicating their thrones, handing them over to Hydra."Both men in question shared a look, letting the realization that they just might actually do it to save you set in. Bucky would do it without hesitation, to him, there was no life worth living without you.

As King Pierce stepped into the camera's view, Bucky's grip on the wooden table tightened, the metal of his hand starting to make the wood creak. His flesh hand gripped the necklace and parchment tighter, feeling his heart fall at the next words spoken. "It's simple dear Princess. If they refuse, we stab one easy knife into that stomach of yours. Two birds, one knife."Shuri looked over towards Bucky, taking note of the fire starting to burn in his eyes. The cold king of the North was looked ready to kill everyone in his path.

As you spoke, Shuri noticed a crack in the King's composure. "You're making a mistake." Steve leaned forward, hanging onto your every word. Wanda visibly paled as they stabbed you, and Natasha could see how hard you were trying to not cry out in pain. Too focused on you, they missed what the men said, only hearing your response. "You underestimate them."

You coughed up blood as you spoke, the trickle of red down your lips made Bucky tense. "What? We underestimating their love for you? That's what we want dear Princess," Steve felt sick, they were using you only as a means to get to them, he visibly winced as you hissed from the next cut on your body.

"No. You underestimate their fury."Your wicked grin made Natasha smile sadly, she knew you'd hold onto whatever you could to save them, and she knew how stubborn you could be when it came to family.

"Let's challenge that," Zola took a step forward, and everyone in the room tensed. The video couldn't be more than a few hours old so whatever they did to you was already done, but they couldn't look away.

Rumlow ran the knife down your side, cutting away the fabric, leaving you in tatters, barely covering your skin. He pressed the knife harder, and you shut your eyes on the screen, visibly shaking as the knife cut into you. This went on for almost twenty minutes, simple cuts and knife jabs, determined to simply tease you and whoever was watching. You bit your tongue, hissing out loud only when Zola stabbed a syringe into your neck. Your eyes rolled into the back of your head, as blue liquid dripped out of your nose and eyes and mouth as you passed out. "How long do you think my patience will last before we have our way with the precious princess? Such a shame she's already pregnant, my men would probably love a turn with her," Rumlow knelt, the camera now directly staring into his eyes. "This is only the beginning Barnes. We'll break her, just like we broke you." The screen went black, the room quiet.

The wood splintered around Bucky's hand, shattered as his anger got the best of him. He had a growl building in the back of his throat, deep in his chest. Every knife flick, every word uttered, every second they had you, he felt his fury grow. He knew, without a doubt, he would kill them for even thinking they could touch you.

-

It was a week. At least you think it was a week. Time was hard to tell when you weren't able to move from your cell, which was dark, cramp, damp, and had no windows. They would tie you down and force an IV into you every few days, barley keeping you alive. A bucket in the corner was the only place to relieve yourself, and as the days went on, you started using your own pajamas as bandages for your major wounds. Two stab wounds, multiple cuts, and scrapes, your wounds weren't as terrible as you thought they would be. You knew you had the beginnings of a concussion, having seen similar symptoms in others before, but what worried you was the electric blue liquid they pumped into your veins. It made your veins burn, like a fire coursed through them. It kept you weak and dazed, and to your displeasure, they would pump it into you every other day. Of course, you were bothered by the pain of it, but your instincts only flooded to one thing. Protect. Protect the baby inside you and protect the man they could have grabbed instead. You figured they needed the baby in you to have a claim to the North, so they wouldn't hurt it. But your nutrients were dwindling, everything you had was being sucked up by the life growing in you. You wouldn't be able to fight back soon enough.

As time went on, they tortured you more. One sharp punch to the face and you think you had a black eye. You knew they were recording every time they strapped you to that chair. You only clung to the thought of Bucky one day coming through that door, ending the misery you were in. You clung to your family, your parents who always had the best intentions yet we're a little confused as to how to act upon it. Natasha, Wanda, Sam, even Tony, and Clint. Your brother, who was probably getting ready to fight all of Hydra by himself. And then, Bucky. Your Bucky. That's the thought that made you smile. How angelic he looked in the early morning, hair mused, body calm, peaceful. His giddy smile when you accepted the conch shell from him, you smiling back when you placed it on his desk. His dorky smile when Aurora and Rainecurled up against you one night by the fire. His groans as you tugged on his hair playfully. The charming smile you could see in the mirror as he learned how to braid your hair with the metal hand. Lounging and naming stars with your own goofy nicknames just to hear him laugh. Yeah, you thought. Him. You'd cling onto him. Your own Northern Star.

-

Tags:

Frozen Heart Tags:

@jsmith509 / @lumar014 / @littlemissporter / @kaylaphantomhive  

@damnbuckyishot / @aveatquevale- / @booksbeforebois  

@marvelgirl7 / @minetticatinwonderland  

Bucky Tags:

@cassandras-musings  / @darkness-doughter / @novaddictx / @thedancingnerdmermaid

For a tag, just reply/comment, if I don’t see it, just message me. Tell me what you think! Literally, any comment makes me happy! Like, comment, reblog, interact <3

[creative-poptart]

SO! Here's the thing... The 4 Sans discovered that their friend or S/O is suffering of anxiety and minor panic attack and they know they should see a therapist but they always find a reason not to, like; ''My problems are not that bad!'' ''My budget isn't very good.'' ''I'm too busy!'' ''Maybe I should try something else before going directly to a therapist.'' etc... How the skeletons would convince them to go consulted? Thanks in advance.

Don’t... Don’t call me out like this. I don’t think I have issues that are terrible (thereby quoting precisely what you said), but I know I struggle with some stuff that I might need help with? Not sure, but good gosh, you guys keep calling me out on my problems without even knowing!! How??

UT Sans/Vanilla: He’s genuinely concerned about your mental health, seeing as he walked in on you sobbing on the floor of the bathroom. The moment he walks in, though, you wipe your face and proclaim you’ll be okay, but he’s not convinced. Vanilla isn’t above using a little bribery, maybe your favorite snack or a cute item you’ve been eyeing for the past few weeks, to get you to start agreeing. If you’re going to keep making up excuses, he might resort to getting a therapist himself under the guise of needing couple’s counseling, regardless of if you’re actually dating or not. If you protest this even further, Vanilla will sit you down and talk to you, plain and simple. It’s his least favorite method of doing things, but if it’s for you, he’ll do anything. He really cares about you, more than you might initially realize. Seeing you broken down and believing that your problems don’t matter hurts more than you might think it does.

“please, don’t keep doing this to yourself. there’s a lot of people out there who care about you, and i’m one of them. you don’t have to bottle it up, there is help out there.”

UF Sans/Red: He knows all too well how it feels to be mid-panic attack while you’re sitting in a room, isolated. Red wanders into a spare bedroom, in the search for you during a small, friends-only get-together that was at his house. It was meant to be fun, but you seem to be overwhelmed by the amount of people there. You’re sobbing until he walks in, then you manage to carefully school your face into a neutral look, despite the tears on your face. He won’t immediately pry, but he goes into therapy for his own anxiety and depression, so Red recognizes symptoms that he’s been told. The coaxing he’s trying to use to get you to treatment is surprisingly gentle, urging you gently into realizing what you need to do. With each denial, he becomes more persistent, telling you that he had the exact same thoughts, down to the letter. No one would know better than he would about how it feels, so who better than he to take you to therapy?”

“look, i know i ain’t the best monster or person, but there ’re a few things i know. this? what yer doin’ right now? it ain’t workin’ out, so let’s find somethin’ that can get ’cha outta this rut, okay?”

US Sans/Blue: When you end up in his house, collapsed in his coat closet, of all places, and sobbing, he’s obviously concerned. The moment that you decide to try and flip that around on him and tell him it means nothing and that your issues are less than other people’s, Blue draws a line. He won’t stand for anyone talking themselves down like that, especially not you! The first proposition of therapy goes over poorly, so he’ll take to suggesting some other ideas in their place. Going to the gym to exercise, eating a healthy diet, and meditation are all things that he suggests, but if those fail to accomplish his ideas, therapy is brought up again. The more that you try to fight it once you’ve tried everything else, the more Blue is going to press it. There won’t be enough fight in the world to get him to back down unless you find something else that works. He cares about you, and he’s willing to go with you to each session you have.

“LOOK, I KNOW IT’S NOT IDEAL, BUT YOU’RE RUNNING LOW ON OTHER OPTIONS! PLEASE? I HATE SEEING HOW LOWLY YOU THINK OF YOURSELF ALL THE TIME.”

SF Sans/Black:  He’s a lot more in tune with other people’s emotions than the vast majority can interpret from him. When you have your mental breakdown in the kitchen over messing something up and nearly breaking a dish, Black is only minimally surprised. He could tell you’ve been teetering on the cusp of sobbing for a little while, but when you basically flip a switch and tell him you’re okay, that confuses him. There’s no way you’re okay after you started sobbing like that, so he’s going to start looking into therapy for you. When you refuse his offer, telling him you don’t need it, he begins to bring out the evidence, piece by piece. Black literally keeps a log, for at least a month or two, of how many times you get close to breaking down or having panic attacks. The number is startlingly high, even by your standard, and it’s more than enough for a wake-up call. He won’t hold your hand the whole time, but he’s there for you in your first few sessions.

“NOW YOU SEE? THERE ARE TOO MANY INCIDENTS FOR IT TO BE ‘NOT THAT BAD.’ YOU NEED SOMETHING MORE THAN I CAN GIVE, AND THAT’S PROFESSIONAL HELP.”

Thanks for the ask, @mecaniquefairy!!

[jali-writes]

thirty-one asks for writers.📜

what is a genre you love reading but will probably never write?

horror, cyberpunk  

which writer has had the greatest stylistic influence on your writing?

fuck if i know

has a specific song or lyric ever inspired a work of art for you?

HAS IT

a writer whose personal lifestyle speaks to you?

i’m not interested in the lifestyles of other creators. it’s personal and furthermore, whatever works for them usually doesn’t work for me.

do you write both prose or poetry? which do you prefer?

prose. i hate poetry.

do you read both prose and poetry? preference?

see above

which languages do you write in? which do you want to write in someday?

uhhhhhhhh english??? unless you wanna count french, my n5 japanese, my fluency in html and css, and my pidgin python?

share a quote or verse that has been on your mind lately.

It is said that when his wife died, Cronus wept for one thousand days and nights, collecting his tears and fashioning them into a beautiful crystal devoid of color –for his world felt devoid of love or joy without his lover, and the only beauty he could see were the memories in his tears.

a writer/poet whose life you find very interesting?

again, i literally don’t care. probably the only writer i know anything about was hemmingway, and i think he was a complete chad, with anger issues and addition issues. plus all his work sucks, don’t @ me.

what do you feel about the idea about someone unearthing your unseen or discarded drafts someday, long after your death? what about your personal journal?

i write my diaries with the frame of mind that someday, someone might stumble upon them and have a peek into what life was like during the years of my life recorded. who knows, maybe it’ll help future historians. or maybe they’ll just find me very irritating and pedantic.

do you prefer to write in silence or listen to something? what do you listen to?

lately it’s been chillhop in general. i used to write to just about anything, provided it worked for the scene, but i was younger and more energetic, and uninhibited by the effects of depression.

has an image ever impacted your artistic lens/inspired your work?

yes and no. for my current project, i’ve had in mind different geographical elements, architecture, and fashions for each different location, so i sought out the best i could find based on real-world examples to serve as visual reminders.

what would you describe the experience of writing itself? as in putting the words to paper, not planning or moodboards etc. do you agree with the common idea that the satisfaction lies in reading your work after you are done with it, rather than the process of writing itself?

uhhhh.... writing is .... making words happen in an appealing and emotive way? the satisfaction for me lies in finding just the right words and arranging them just so, so that the exact idea in my head is transcribed for others. but i tend to work in a vacuum so it’s up to my editor(s) to make sure my transcription makes any sense lol

how often do you write?

when depression permits, when i have a story to tell.

how disciplined are you about your writing?

i don’t block time, i just neglect other things in favor of writing. this means going without food or shower or sleep, and i’m well aware it isn’t healthy, but it’s how i roll. my digital files are immaculately named and organized. my diaries and bullet journals are dated, and my written-on-paper drafts are in bound notebooks labelled by volume.

what was your last long-lasting spurt of motivation?

about 2 days ago. i was on a 3 day binge, writing.

have you ever been professionally published? are you trying to be?

some would argue publishing online is “professional enough”, but seeing as all i’ve got are fanfics, i’m gonna say no. i would be sued black and blue if i tried to make bank off those ips. i would very much love to become published in hardcopy one day, but it’s a struggle for me to make my original constructions play out.

do you read literary magazines?

no. in fact i’m not a fan of anything literary, i find it pretentious and the people associated therein imo look down on fiction like it’s a dirty old scab.

a lesser known writer you adore?

n/a

do you write short stories? do you read them?

write, yes, read, no. unless it’s something my friend sends me for feedback, of course.

do you prefer to involve yourself with literary history and movements or are you more focused on the writing itself? any favourite literary movements?

we don’t do literary anything in this house. it’s pure fiction or gtfo. i barely have the energy to write at all most days, nevermind change the world and the way it views [concept] at large.

are you working on anything right now?

yes.

how did you get started with writing?

at some point in my late infancy i developed the motor skills to hold a writing implement. i would staple sheets of paper into a booklet and scribble on them, and then read back my “book” to anyone who would listen. i’m told i’ve been making up fanciful stories since i could talk. ironically enough by the time i was expected to learn how to read, i was so steadfastly against it, my mother and teachers feared i’d have to repeat first grade or be illiterate for the rest of my life. somehow my mom got through to me and after that, i consumed more books through scholastic orders than food. by 2nd grade i was reading at a 5th grade level; by 3rd i was reading at a 9th grade level.

do you have any “writer friends”?

at least 2

what is your earliest work you can remember?

i was 11 years old, in 6th grade, and my english teacher told us to make up our own fairytale. so i wrote about my cat.

have you found your writer’s voice yet? does your work have a distinct tone?

i have a portfolio of voices.

do your works share themes/are commonly about certain topics? or are your subjects all over the place?

mythology, love in all its forms, acceptance, family, self-discovery, neato buildings, supernatural, magic

what does writing mean to you?

the act of creation; getting to see places and journey with people i’d never otherwise meet; thinking about the way people are

in an alternate universe, imagine you had not found writing. what do you think would be your fixation otherwise?

screwing on the caps of toothpaste tubes

do you feel defined by your work?

as far as i can tell, i have yet to be defined by anything. i think being defined by something means it has ownership over you, but i am the creator, the maker, the god here, and i own it all. it does not own me.

have you ever written/considered writing under a pen name? if you would be okay saying, why?

yeah but i’m not saying what that penname would be because that would ruin the anonymity of having such a name.

[thesummerstorms]

Rev Recaps Hard Contact (Chapter 16)

After last chapter, I had two glasses of moscato, so we’ll see how this goes.

CW: repeated mentions of rotting animal corpses/smell, characters getting covered in sewage (again), claustrophobia, mind influence

TL;DR Recap: Atin and Darman go through the gdan warrens into Uthan’s facility and discover they’re claustrophobic. Niner blows up the villa to cover the explosives Darman is using to enter the facility, and Majestic bombs some droids from orbit. Etain tries her best to be helpful. The blogger makes fun of both Atin and Dar for their explosives use. Atin and Dar find Uthan.

Beginning Kal Count: 30 Ending Kal Count: 32

So we’re gonna open up in Darman’s point of view.

I don’t know shit about guns. I live in Texas, but have never held, much less shot one. Does this mean that Atin has his finger on the trigger or is holding it just above it in the little circle thingy?

Also, Darman, sweetheart. Being the bomb factory does not stop you from blowing up. Just saying.

Kal Count is upped to 31, but mainly I just kinda love this quote. If you’ve read Triple Zero, then you may join me in the delicious irony of them wanting black armor this entire mission for disguise purposes only to finally get it right before a mission to Fest. Thus proving Atin’s point above. Anyway Jinart is sniffing echolocating her way along ahead of them, and eventually comes to a stop and points out the entrance to the gdan tunnels. They need to crawl through the warrens in order to capture Uthan inside the facility... so of course this is the moment that Atin and Dar both find out that they’re claustrophobic:

I’m not even claustrophobic, and it sounds miserable to me, to be quite honest. But, on a more... pointed, note. Izzy has already explained much more fluently than me how much this scene means Kal is an absolute shit planner. Because Kal built a home on Mandalore that was supposed to be a safe haven for any clone deserters who wanted to become Mandalorian in True Colors/Order 66... but Kyrimorut was built  at least partially underground and partially uses underground tunnels both as exits and as connections.

I’m just saying, as we go through this chapter... we’re gonna see why that might be an issue.But first-

Listen, I may hate Jinart, but this scene makes me laugh pretty much every time. Every time. No inspirational metaphors for Atin, and Jinart is 100% scowling at him.

They continue on through the tunnels, and honestly the details get gross. Not just in the typical “fantasy escape through sewers trope” kind of way, but Darman smells something rotten that reminds him of bodies and Geonosis, so on top of his dizziness from the claustrophobia, he now has nausea, as does Atin. They ask Jinart about it and her first reply misses the point: 

Listen, my guy tells me this is some sort of health code violaton, but I know fuck all about plumbing. And no, that is not all they can smell, but Jinart apparently doesn’t notice the smell of decomposition until it’s pointed out to her. Jinart eventually realizes what they’re talking about and assures them that it’s from the gdan’s prey. Darman feels relieved for at least a moment (that stops when he sticks his hands in entrails) but I’d just like to point out that the gdan, while primarily hunting merlies, have tried to eat our human protagonists literally every time they step foot outside. Anyway, Darman puts his hand in entrails, has a flashback of Skirata running next to him in something called the “sickener” which was essentially training in a pit full of nerf entrails, and struggles not to throw up in his sealed helmet. Joyful.

Kal Count is now 32.

Eventually they reach a larger chamber where Dar and Atin start digging out their tunnel to the pipes under the facility and Jinart leaves them to go back to Niner after Dar sends her away. Darman notes that it would only take one or two shots from the rifle to clear, but that would bring the roof AND  a bunch of droids on top of them, so he and Atin keep working and sweating like pigs.Once they dig close enough, Darman uses their battering ram to break into the drain, and is promptly covered in a spray of shit from the pipes. This sends both him and Atin into hysterics, because again, they’re both not doing well in the confined space and are exhausted.

“Darman had never even seen the man smile.” And the first time is when Darman is covered in shit from a sewer pipe. Darman comms Niner to tell him they’re almost through, and the scene switches to Niner’s point of view.

Dar explains that they’re stuck at a filter in the pipe that will have to be blown open with explosives because it’s permacreted in. Darman asks for two minutes to set the charge, and Niner worries the entire time. He, Fi, and Etain don’t have anything to do yet, but he’s worried for Dar and Atin.

Niner is literally counting seconds and dealing with anxiety, Fi is calmly waiting with the cannon... and Etain is pacing. This is her nervous habit. Like, I had already headcanoned that, but it’s nice to be confirmed by canon. Even if Niner wants to chastise her for it and can’t. 

Man, he’s literally counting the seconds. Etain is the queen of asking well-intentioned but awkward as hell questions, and I’m pretty sure the lack of “ma’am” is the closest Niner is every going to get to saying “fuck you”. I could definitely live without yet another mention of mind influence, but as I say, addressed in Triple Zero... and at least Niner’s not nauseated anymore I guess?

They blow the filter on the facility and the bombs in the villa at the same time to disguise Atin and Darman’s entrance. Droids start coming out of the facility, which is disguised with a barn, to investigate, but Niner orders Fi & the E-Web to wait and tries to dismiss Etain/get her out of the way.

Etain is already not content with her Trandoshan shotgun array blaster or Traviss has forgotten she has it, which isn’t unlikely. She wants the concussion rifle instead (looking at it “longingly” already!), and she wants a job to do.

Niner gives Fi the go ahead, so he opens up with the E-Web (which again a literal, actual cannon) and starts firing, with Niner assisting via grenades. The entire time, they’re being rained on with “hot, metal shrapnel”.  But the droids stop advancing. so then Niner asks Majestic to bomb them from orbit if the droids start headed towards them from another direction.

Other than Fi’s comment, I’m not particularly sure why Niner expects Etain to be “in distress”. Or how he missed the fact that he was almost decapitated by shrapnel until Etain deflected it. Ngl it took me several readings of this scene to even parse the exact sequence of events. BUT it is nice for Etain to finally, actually get to be useful to Niner and Fi and do Jedi things without everyone including her beating her up about her weakness.

The scene cuts back to Niner & Dar, who have successfully made it in to Uthan’s facility:

Apparently if you leave Darman and Atin alone together without Niner or some other regulating force, you just get unending sass.

Dar has no idea what’s dangerous and what isn’t, so they decide to just explode everything, to be on the safe side. They make it through the inner chamber and are approaching the front of the complex, but haven’t seen anything yet. Majestic is bombing things outside. Dar is literally sticking high-burning explosives to everything he can.

“Disappointingly small” Darman please.

Darman. Why are you opening the potential virus box, Darman. 

You can’t set in NEXT to the potential virus box? Like the box is somehow gonna withstand that charge?

Yes, Atin, the fridge door is going to withstand the military grade explosives.

Anyway, Atin uses a mini emp to partially unseal a containment door, which is useful and also will later screw them over. It raises just enough for Dar to wedge something under it and the two of them the muscle it open, and then they start the “house clearing” portion of the op, headed into the part of the facility that’s actually inhabited. Droids and Separatists pin them down, so they comm to Fi & Niner. Then things get worse as they’re pinned in place by bulkheads.

So things are not looking great. They’re trapped by bulkheads, surrounded by Seps on the other side of those bulk heads, they no longer have access to their explosives.

Except.

I had to google what “half look different” meant. Like, I was pretty sure it meant “really” but I had to use google to confirm. Provided the British don’t also use a different connotation of “amazing” when using it in slang though... Atin likes Uthan’s hair?

Anyway, they found the mad scientist trying to kill them, and she’s armed and trapped in a confined space with them, so we hit a pretty good cliffhanger here, or would’ve if this were an episode and not a chapter.