#I am just so worn out and my insurance is being awful about getting me my medication.

[averbaldumpingground]

The weather hasn't changed much since you left, there's still a rainy drizzle in the mornings. The school bus stops just up the street from here, they haven't fixed the crack along the sidewalk. I'm not sure that you ever cared enough to learn the neighbors' names, but Anna says she hopes you like Seattle. I hope you've gotten everything you wanted. There's more space in the basement now, without your boxes filling up the shelves.

#April 22 2021 #This is hastily written garbage. #I am just so worn out and my insurance is being awful about getting me my medication. #I pay these fuckers an exorbitant amount of money each month and they don't want to cover the drugs I need to literally be functional. #Meanwhile my hormone levels are 5 times what they should be. #I do not have the spoons for this shit. #Give me my fucking overpriced gel caps. #Which I already have a stupidly high copay on despite having both medical and prescription insurance. #Fuck this shit. Just fuck this shit so hard with a rusty chainsaw. #Did I mention this is half-assed garbage? #This is complete and utter crap but I'm too tired.

[earlgreytea68]

So, you know, we all know the journey to this tour has been intense and exhausting, because we had a worldwide pandemic and all that, don’t know if you heard about that or what. And, like, it’s been like everything else in this pandemic, needlessly exhausting, trying to figure out when and where I was going to this show. Like, at one point I was in possession of six tickets to different shows because plans kept changing and changing and changing again. It was all exhausting. I didn’t even buy the ticket at Fenway that got refunded until last week. Like, everything’s just been exhausting and I don’t have the energy to really deal with more than this in a pandemic, I’m just at the end of my rope. The cognitive dissonance of DON’T GO ANYWHERE OR DO ANYTHING and my job simultaneously being like, “Totally normal life! What are you talking about!” is wearing on me. Every day I have conversations with people at work and when I’m done I’m like whispering to myself in the hallway: “Is there a pandemic? There’s a pandemic, right? Isn’t there?” Like, I’m just really tired at this point, as I know we all are, and we’ve got worse to deal with in the future.

But I will say that, like, after the absolute shock of a thing I had not anticipated (I thought they might cancel the tour, honestly, I did not expect them to only cancel *my band* at *my show* lol), I feel better. I was a little freaked out about going to the concert because my niblings are all too young to be vaccinated, and I couldn’t find any guidance out there at all for how long to isolate from them after the concert. Like, everything I read kept being like, “If you’re vaccinated, the odds that you’ll get Covid at an outdoor concert are low!” And that’s clearly not true based on Fall Out Boy’s experience, just saying. So now I don’t have to worry about that anymore, and so maybe it was fate in that way. Also, like, I have been to see them, and that show was perfect and I was lucky and when the show ended I said that I never needed to see another concert ever again because of how perfect it was and I didn’t actually want the universe to take me literally but I just sat and rewatched all my videos from that concert and it was *for my taste* a better set and I had better seats and anyway I just feel a little more like...well, you got to live that and that was pretty incredible so it’s okay.

But also a thing I want to say is, like, aside from the fact that we’re all massively traumatized from the past year and a half in ways that we have had no time or ability to work through and it comes out in us at times we don’t expect and we have to have patience with ourselves, it occurred to me tonight that I might have lingering trauma from other places. Like, I wanted to be like, What is wrong with you, EGT, it’s a concert and you probably shouldn’t have been going in the first place, you’re fine and your family is fine and *get over it,* and I was frustrated with myself all day by how sad I was, and I was like, you know, it’s a pandemic and we’re all tired, be kind to yourself, grieve a little bit, etc.

And then, while I was crawling into bed tonight (I slept HORRIBLY last night because of how upset I was and then I was upset that I was so upset I couldn’t sleep, like, IT’S A CONCERT) I suddenly had this very vivid flashback to this night at my previous job. I had this job, I was stuck in it for years, that was emotionally abusive. Like, it just was. That’s a fact. And so, like, my bosses were always making me cancel fun things I had planned. One day they made me cancel a party I was hosting over the weekend because I had to stay and work that weekend. Stuff like that. A lot. And I was feeling so worn down and exhausted tonight as I crawled into bed, so like physically heavy with a tear-laden headache and I was berating myself for being so dramatic and that’s when the flashback happened: to this one time when I had Nutcracker tickets, and one of my bosses told me I had to get rid of the tickets because I had to work that night, and so I gave the tickets away, and then -- AND THEN -- he suddenly decided we didn’t need to work that night and “gave me the night off.” Like, he thought he was being super-gracious about it. And I was like, OH MY GOD YOU LITERALLY MADE ME GIVE AWAY MY NUTCRACKER TICKETS AND NOW YOU’RE TELLING ME I DON’T EVEN HAVE TO WORK. It was Christmastime (hence the Nutcracker tickets) and I walked to Quincy Market because I thought I might do some Christmas shopping and it was snowing and I walked into a store in Quincy Market and just stood there and sobbed.

I hadn’t thought about that in a while. I left that job ten years ago this year. TEN YEARS. I learned a lot from the experience, and I never really thought that I’d actually forgotten how awful it was. Like, I usually am keenly aware every moment that, no matter what, I don’t spend every day crying on my commute and so I’m doing much better and I’m really lucky. But all of a sudden I realized that I felt today the way I used to feel, all the time, and it suddenly occurred to me that I probably have this lingering trauma from all that that this pandemic has been very triggering of all along, but especially this particular moment of the pandemic, this planning of something that gets unexpectedly taken away. When I got out of that job, it took me literally years to plan things again. Like, I noticed that about myself, that I was hesitant to look forward to things because I was always bracing to be told I couldn’t do them. It literally did take me years to stop feeling that way, to breathe easier when I bought tickets and put things in my calendar, to not anticipate that it was just going to be a disappointing heartbreak when I was told I couldn’t do it. It took me years to get over it...but it’s also been years since I remembered it. And I think this final moment -- of planning something, looking forward to something, and finally, after all of my best efforts, all of the insurance I tried to build in around keeping that thing on my calendar -- that that moment of “nope” sent me tumbling in a way that I’m just now grappling with because it’s just now occurring to me. Like, we have ALL had to give stuff up and been disappointed in the past 18 months and I am not saying that’s not valid, just that I was startled to make this connection to a thing that I thought I was over from way in my past, and it just made me think of how the things that shape you can really show up and floor you when you least expect them to. I was miserable and sullen toward my current job all day today and I thought it was just my mood, but I think now it was specifically me reacting toward a job, like, expecting that to be my source of misery because I was basically reliving the same Nutcracker trauma, without realizing it.

Anyway, this is my armchair psychology of myself. And maybe of you. Always be even kinder to yourself than you think you should be, you’ve got a lot that you’re dealing with, whether you’re conscious of it or whether your subconscious is working overtime for you.

#long post #personal

[aclosetfan]

Beat

Prompt: music/ "it's us against the world my dear" taken from the pufftober2021 prompts by @may8elle

Characters: HIM and Sedusa

Content warning: character death and resurrection, swearing, prostitution, vague illusion to stds

a/n: I've been planning on writing something with Sedusa and HIM for a long while because I feel their relationship would be interesting, and figured now was as good a time as any! This is just one way I'd envision Sedusa's descent into evil. Lol most all of my ideas about her descent involve HIM.

As a warning, it's sort of shit. I sped through it because my pup wants to go on a walk!

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

“Do you hear it—that one, two, three?” The entity moved around her, snapping its' claws to a beat only it could hear as it twirled her into the next set, “The next crescendo is here, my dear, come dance with me.”

“I haven’t danced in years,” Ima Goodwoman declined, stepping away from the smartly dressed demon, “I have—“

“Aw,” It cooed, long-legged steps quickly closing the distance she had created; a lobster-like claw caged her cheeks and squeezed, “but you used to be so good at it. What did they call you when you got up on that black, black stage—you know the one I’m talking about, right, don't you?”

They were moving again—one step to the right, a quick turn to the left—close to a perfect waltz with one step forward and one step back. Ima hadn’t moved like this in a long time. The dance was slow and practiced, and for a split second, she swore she heard the low thrum of a distant bass. Then, transfixed by the acidity in the entity's eyes—the power in its form—a dance she had once thought she had forgotten wormed its' way back into her muscle memory.

“Boogie and his boys in that dark, dark nightclub—" The demon droned on in a smooth, rumbling baritone, "—when you walked on the stage, your hips turned men to stone, when she danced, Sedusa, they said, could keep the pope glued to his seat.”

“Where am I?” She demanded, shaking her head free of the daze and pulling away from its grip, “Who are—h-how do you know me?”

“They used to dress you up, right? Jewels, money, anything you wanted?”

“I asked,” She hissed, backing away, but it matched her steps, gliding across the floor—in a state of perpetual dance—towards her, “who the fuck are you?”

“Did it make you mad?” The entity’s smile grew in size, “Did it make you mad when those snakes bit you in the back?”

Her eyebrows furrowed, “What—“

“They left you for dead when things turned to shit—Boogie and his boys, right?” It chuckled, “No more pretty underwear for Townsville’s biggest skank, right?”

She lunged for the bastard, but it spun away on the tips of its toes, laughing as she stumbled. Her heart pounded in her rib cage, and she gulped in a breath of air, willing herself with all her might to stay upright on her feet. She wasn’t used to standing like this anymore, or walking, or dancing. She couldn’t. Her heart couldn’t take it.

“Where am I?” Ima gasped, putting a hand to her heart, finding her pulse, “What is this?”

“I think you know.” Came a low whisper right in her ear. With the last bit of her strength, she swung a fist at the sound but only hit the air. With a cry, she landed painfully onto her knees.

“Get up, Ima, you don’t do that anymore, remember?” The entity quipped, pulling her up roughly by the arm from the floor.

“Careful,” she warned weakly, already imaging the purple of her bruises, “Just—just be careful.”

“Hmm?” It tilted its head, “Now, now, now, where did that fight go so suddenly?” The entity spun her in a lazy twirl, “What about that bite?” The spinning became faster and faster, “Don't tell me you're lacking in spite!”

“Stop!” She cried, dizzy and sick, “I said stop!” She brought a knee between its legs, but the creature didn’t bulk.

“Ah,” It said instead, smile ever-present, holding her steady as the room slowly stopped its dizzying spin, “there she is.”

“What are you?” She asked through gritted teeth, refusing to back down and break eye contact, slapping her hands hard against its' chest, “Answer me!”

Its’ eyebrows quirked up, and with a little “tee-hee” sort of giggle, it shrugged, grabbing at her hands to keep them still, “What am I, Ima? The answer all depends, my dear, on you.”

“That’s a shit answer,” She sneered.

It threw its head back and laughed, pulling her back into a slow sway. “It’s a shit question.” He answered as he turned her into the next step of the dance.

“How about a name then, huh?” She asked with the same bite in her tone as before, "Who the hell are you? How do you know me? Who I am?"

The entity danced them around the room, leading with ease. For a long breathless moment, it hummed along to a song she had never heard before until, finally, it spoke again, “How about you call me HIM. People tend to like that one. Humans are silly like that.”

She gasped, stumbling over their footing, but HIM didn’t mind. The demon continued to drag her along. “Does my reputation proceed me?” HIM’s voice rang high, “It tends to.”

“W-w-wh—“ She whispered, knowing fully that escape was futile. She was in the clutches of evil—fear paralyzed her.

"You're awed, no doubt," HIM ignored her stammering with a nod of its head, “of course, you are. Townsville wouldn’t be what it is without me, right?”

"The nightmare of nightmares." She whispered more to herself than to the entity something Boogie had once told her, but regardless, the utterance seemed to amuse HIM.

"Oh, that Boogie," HIM shook its head, "that one really knows how to flatter a girl, doesn't he?" HIM's voice went high to low in an instant, "That piece of shit."

Any other day, Ima would have foolhardily agreed, but her heartbeat kept quickening, and her chest kept tightening. Ima could admit she was afraid of death, but that fear paled in comparison to dancing with chaos itself. She hadn't prayed a day in her life, but she prayed then.

"You'd know that, wouldn't you? That he's a piece of shit." Then, HIM asked, "You sympathize with me, right?"

Some still-brave piece of her—the part dedicated to survival—nodded in agreement.

The entity's smile disappeared, and gently, HIM twirled her out of its hold. He kept her away at arm's length, keeping them linked together by their hands. She met HIM's gaze as evenly as she could muster until, finally, HIM pulled away completely.

"Ima, Ima, Ima" HIM tutted with a slight shake of Its head, staring straight at her chest, "the music stopped."

She floundered under his stare, confused until she registered the odd silence within her. With a horrified gasp, she slapped a hand to her chest, looking for her pulse; her heart, though, had gone still. Not a single beat was left.

"I died?" She asked.

"My condolences for your recent loss." HIM hummed, tilting its head to the side, "You must be devastated."

"But—but I-I didn't even notice?"

"Oh? No one told you?" HIM smirked, "That's the thing about being dead—you don't feel it. You're dead. You may have had a chance if you had health insurance," HIM tsked, "but whores don't have health insurance, do they?" HIM's smile was back, "Now, insurance, that was a good idea. Wish I could say it was my idea, but you little humans, sometimes you're all too smart for your own good."

"I'm not a whore!" She bit out before she could stop herself, still searching for a beat.

"You mean you weren't a whore," HIM corrected, "but you were."

"I'm a dancer." She argued.

"Oh sure, and how did you get that nasty little disease again? You know, the one that killed you?"

"Fuck you." She spat through her tears, "Fuck you!" She lunged for HIM but never made contact. It was as if she were moving through water, her vision tunneled, and a light called out to her by name.

There was a snap, and the tunnel disappeared.

"Dear, let me spoil it for you right now, that light looks pretty, but it's going down."

HIM's words froze her to her core. With horror, she realized she really was actually dead. And she wasn't going up.

"When you were a little girl, you wanted to be a ballerina, isn't that right?" HIM asked her suddenly, the sick smile plastered back on its face as the entity gestured to her outfit. The cheap hospital gown was now a beautiful red and black tutu.

"How—"

Her tutu warped and twisted into the red leotard teddy and fishnets she had worn when she had been a dancer at Boogie's clubs.

"I know most everything, darling, don't ask me how." HIM snorted, going through the synopsis of her life, "Your father hit you upside the head and told you no. So you ran away to prove him wrong, which I suppose, in a way, you did. You've always been a fantastic dancer, Ima, but you have shit taste in men." The entity paused in thought before tacking on, "Well, I guess you can blame that on your father too, huh?"

She stared wide-eyed as she processed HIM's words, speechless. When she blinked, HIM vanished, appearing behind her suddenly. Its claws clutched tightly onto her shoulders.

"I'll ask you one more time, Ima, how does that make you feel," HIM spoke in a low whisper, "knowing a guy like Boogie left you for dead? Threw you out on the streets? Made you do things for money that they promised you'd never have to do? How did that make you feel being putty in their hands? Just a throw-away toy?"

She thought of her life as HIM whispered in her ear. She remembered all of the atrocities she had faced, all of the broken promises, and the crushed dreams.

Then, she thought of her hair.

She didn't have hair anymore, not with her treatment; just like dancing, she hadn't had any hair in a long, long time. But when she did have hair, it had been beautiful, ink-black, with curls that bounced with every step.

It had been beautiful—she had been beautiful. That's why men had wanted her. And that's what men had taken from her.

"Well, HIM," She smiled, but it was far from sincere; her voice sardonic as murder played on her mind, "I guess it kind of turns a bad girl on."

"Well, well," HIM's smile split the entity's face into two as a dry chuckle escaped from its mouth, "I can help you with that."

Her head snapped to the right, meeting its eyes without fear, "How?"

"My hands, your bones, I won't let you fall to death," HIM explained in a cryptic way, "I'll make you as good as new, better even."

"What's the catch," She squinted, "there's always a catch."

There was a laugh, and in a puff of red haze, the entity disappeared from behind her. In a blink, HIM was again a few feet in front of her.

"No catch, you just owe me some of your newfound life. An acquaintance of mine, well, let's just say, he'll be conducting a science experiment soon that I just don't like, but, that's not here nor there. For now, Sedusa—" HIM extended its' claw towards her with a sinister smile, knowing already that she wouldn't refuse, "—it's us against the world, my dear, so why don't you come dance with me?"

The words stirred a dull painful thud from her chest that echoed in the silent space around them. She put a hand to her heart and breathed deeply, relishing in that feeling of life. Then, after a moment, she removed her hand from her heart and placed it in HIM's outstretched claw.

Ima Goodwoman screwed her eyes shut, counted out the beat—one, two, three—and right on her mark, Sedusa twirled into the waiting entity's arms.

HIM caught her with no hesitation, just as promised, but still, in a way—

—she fell.

#ppg sedusa #ppg him #them and mojo have got to be my favorite villains from the show #pufftober2021 #my writing #ppg fic drabble #is this too weird?? Do people get it?? #ya know the dance of life and all that jazz??? #ppg one shot

[frobster]

Offer of a Lifetime: Chapter 2

Both chapters now up on ao3!

☆☆☆

Peter stayed where he was for a moment, shocked by what had just happened, before his phone buzzed again and brought him back to himself. He looked down at the number of missed messages and quickly read through them, MJ becoming increasingly frantic when Peter didn’t immediately answer.

> Peter: So, James was just in my apartment

> Peter: Also, he told me to call him Bucky

The buzzing started again before Peter could even lock his phone. He ignored it as he went around getting dressed, pulling on underwear and sweatpants before checking again.

> MJ: PETER WHAT THE FUCK

> Ned: BRO ARE YOU OKAY???

> Peter: I’m fine. He left. Gave me a week to think about his offer. Also said he would leave me alone completely if I turned him down

> MJ: And u believed him???????????

> Peter: He didn’t give me a reason not to. There weren't any threats, and he did wait wait a whole day before contacting me

> Ned: Sugar daddy already getting to you smh

> Peter: Come on, you know it would be amazing to have a sugar daddy

> MJ: Ya but this one could put u in a lot of danger

Peter bit his lip as he thought. MJ was right. While it was his dream to be a kept boy and never have to worry about anything, he wasn’t sure if it was worth the dangers associated with Bucky. He would definitely need the whole week to think.

> MJ: We’re gonna talk more tonight. I’ll see u at 7:45

> Peter: Sounds good 

Bucky was at the forefront of Peter’s mind for the rest of the day. He didn’t really have anything to do until the evening, so he lounged around much like the previous day and tried to find more on the internet about Bucky. 

“Where did that name even come from?” Peter muttered to himself as he clicked on yet another tabloid article. The gossip papers had a lot to speculate about him since they loved to lie about crime and drama. He mostly skimmed the articles since they all seemed to be sensationalized and mostly rumors. 

One thing that stood out to Peter was the consistent inclusion of a broad blonde man almost always on Bucky’s right. The few pictures that weren’t blurry or grainy made the man seem relatively attractive, and Peter had to wonder if he was a past fling or just a confidante. Bucky obviously liked men, given his interest in Peter, but that still didn’t confirm anything.

The day oozed by in a cloud of laziness - naps, articles, snacks. Peter didn’t leave the couch except to get a snack or use the bathroom. By the time 6pm rolled around, Peter finally got up to start getting ready. He never took too long, but he didn’t want to rush either. The weather was still decent, so he decided on a pair of shorts that would help show off his legs and a mesh tank top that wouldn’t really cover anything. Beneath the shorts, he had red panties. Even if it led to him getting misgendered more often, the panties did help him get more money out of clients. 

Peter ran his hands through his hair to make it fluffy and messy, swiped some gloss over his lips before tucking the tube into his bag, then looked at his measly pile of shoes. There weren’t many to choose from and most of them were bought purely for style rather than function. He ended up going back to his room to grab a pair of knee-high socks before sliding on a pair of black high-top sneakers. People still liked scene twinks, right? The socks would help keep his legs warm too once the sun went down and the air got cooler.

Picking his outfit didn’t take very long, so Peter was left with almost an hour until he had to leave. Then he remembered that Ned and MJ went grocery shopping for him, so he took a tour of his own kitchen to see what they got for him. Most of it was canned goods so it wouldn’t go to waste if he didn’t eat it quickly, but there were some fresher foods too like prepackaged salads and frozen chicken. 

Settling on the chicken and a salad, Peter hauled out the bag of chicken tenders to check the required oven temperature. He got the oven set and preheating before wandering back to his couch and flopping over the back of it. Upon checking his phone, he finally saw the few messages from Bucky that he missed while showering.

> I’m coming to visit soon. Try to look presentable.

Sent almost as soon as Peter stepped into the shower. He grimaced at the bad timing and scrolled down to read the rest, sent after Bucky had left.

> Obviously you did not see my message beforehand, as I assume a towel around your waist and a bare chest is not what you would typically consider “presentable”.

> You have until next Wednesday to make your decision. If you do not give me an answer before then, I will assume you’re uninterested and leave you alone, like I promised.

Peter sighed and reread the messages a few times. Then he saved Bucky’s contact number before taking another screenshot to send to his friends.

> Peter: See? I told you he would leave me alone if I turned him down

> MJ: I guess he may not be such a terrible person…

> Ned: He literally runs the New York mafia

> MJ: Yeah, but he knows how to treat a boy right

> Peter: I’m feeling heart emojis. Should I change his name in my phone to Daddy?

> Ned: NO!!!!!!!

> MJ: skjghalfaldfk YES

> Ned: Do NOT encourage him!!

Peter laughed to himself and quickly changed Bucky’s contact name to ‘Daddy’ followed by pink and purple heart emojis. Then he took another screenshot of the saved contact and sent it to the chat. 

> MJ: I expect updates every time he texts you. We have to decide if he’s good enough for our baby

> Ned: I will not approve of Peter being the kept boy of the HEAD OF THE NEW YORK MAFIA

> Peter: Aw dad, you’re no fun

> Ned: Don’t make me ground you

> MJ: Not allowed, Peter and I have work tonight

> MJ: Maybe daddy will bring us some coffee

> Peter: Hey! Only I am allowed to call him daddy

> MJ: Aw, possessive already? ;)

> Peter: ...maybe

> Ned: I’m doomed. We’re all doomed

Their casual, friendly conversation continued for a while until Ned had to put his phone away for class. Peter and MJ switched to single texting as they talked about their plans for that night. She had got them a new corner a few blocks away from where Bucky had picked Peter up, but they both knew that Bucky could find them again if he really wanted to. 

The oven soon beeped so Peter got up to put a couple chicken tenders on a pan and into the oven. He set a timer on his phone then looked around his apartment as he tried to figure out what to do to pass the time.

But rather than finding something to do, Peter just realized how shitty his apartment really was. The walls were thin and dirty, there was a crack spiderwebbing up the wall in a corner, the floors were stained and worn out from countless tenants. He sighed and slumped against the kitchen counter, a cheap laminated wood that creaked even under his slight weight. There were multiple different bug problems through the building - cockroaches, ants, spiders, wasps. He had a roach problem in his own apartment, leading to all food in the cabinets needing to be canned so they couldn't chew into it. 

It was exhausting to live in poverty. Peter hated his apartment but it was all he could really afford. The life insurance policy from his aunt was used to pay off his surgery bills and the rest was funneled to any other medical costs that came up, including his hormone prescription. While he did have some money in savings, it would not be enough to allow him to live somewhere better. He was losing money faster than he made it back.

Bucky’s offer was slowly becoming more and more attractive.

When the timer went off on his phone, Peter swiped it away before carefully taking out the tray of chicken. He set it on the stove to let it cool while he took out the prepared salad bag and set to mixing everything together. Then, since he didn’t feel like using multiple dishes, he cut up the chicken on the baking pan and scraped the pieces into the salad bowl.

“Yeah, I can provide for myself,” Peter said to himself before taking a bite. 

The salad was filling and Peter actually felt like he had a decent amount of energy. He took the time to wash all the dishes he used rather than trying to jam them into the dishwasher, brushed his teeth, reapplied his lip gloss, then checked the time. 

MJ had sent a few more messages with details of their shift that night, and Ned announced the end of his class and the offer of searching Bucky more. Peter bit his lip as he considered it. If he was going to really give Bucky’s offer some serious consideration, he felt he needed to know the man better. Or he could just text Bucky.

Before he could chicken out, Peter sent a quick text to Bucky and pocketed his phone so he could finalize his outfit and wait for MJ.

> Peter: If you want me to live with you, I’m gonna need to know more about you.

There wasn’t any reply before MJ arrived. Peter sighed as he looked at his lack of notifications before he tucked his phone away, grabbed his bag, and headed out to meet MJ.

There was some tension in the car as a lackey drove Peter and MJ to their new corner. The random guy was humming along to music on the radio while the other two held hands in the back of the car. He didn’t say anything as he stopped at a new corner and unlocked the door, a clear signal for them to get out.

Peter stepped out with his mini backpack shouldered and fixed his shorts once he was standing. MJ followed him out and fixed her skirt too, her own bag slung across her chest and accenting her cleavage. Another reason why MJ was slightly better off than Peter was her assets. People just tended to want her more often than him. He wasn’t upset about that, he knew his friend was gorgeous and she deserved the attention and money. He just couldn’t help but feel a little jealous of her slightly better financial state.

“Did Bucky say anything else?” MJ asked as the car drove off. 

“Nope. I don’t really know what he would say,” Peter replied, hyper-aware of his phone in his pocket. He couldn’t remember if it had buzzed while they were in the car since his mind was wandering. Already, just one day after meeting the man, Peter couldn’t stop thinking about Bucky.

8pm wasn’t very late, the bars were just starting to fill up. Peter and MJ had time to talk before people would start showing interest in them. The sunset was nice to watch and offered a serene backdrop to the chaos of their lives, purples and reds blending together like the mundane and unusual of the past few days.

“I would think that he would try to sweeten the deal somehow, y’know? You’ve clearly been hesitant about accepting his offer, so wouldn’t he want to tempt you?” MJ looked at her nails and flicked a speck of invisible dust off the shiny finish, then winked at someone who was looking at her as they stepped into the nearby bar.

“I dunno how much sweeter the deal could get. He offered to pay for everything for the rest of my life, or leave me alone without any trouble. It’s a win-win situation.” Even to his own ears, Peter knew it sounded lame. He was so tempted to accept Bucky’s offer, and MJ could clearly hear that in his voice.

“You deserve to know more about him at least. Even Ned had a hard time finding anything on this guy. And now that we know he’s got some dangerous connections, it would be in your best interest to find out everything you can before making a decision, especially since you’re tempted to agree.” Peter MJ would’ve been an excellent counselor. Maybe she still could be. If they ever found themselves in a position to start saving up money, she could put it towards college classes.

“Yeah, I know. I’m just not-” Peter cut off when he felt his phone vibrate against his ass. He reached into his back pocket to pull it out and blinked as he read the message.

> Bucky: We could discuss that over dinner, if you’d like. I know you’re working, but I could talk to your boss and have him pardon you for the night.

Before Peter could reply to the text or finish what he was saying, MJ snatched his phone away to read the message.

“Hey! Give that back!” Peter squawked as he tried to grab his phone back.

But MJ was taller than him even without the heels she was wearing, so she just held the phone up and angled it down so she could read the screen. She laughed aloud when she read the message and finally lowered her hand again so Peter could have his phone back. He huffed as he stuffed it into his pocket again without bothering to answer.

“It’s cute that he’s already offering to cover your shifts for you. Maybe he’ll even give you some cash to make up for missing a whole night,” MJ teased with a grin. Peter felt too flustered to really register that she seemed to be encouraging him to leave with Bucky.

“There is nothing cute about this situation,” Peter huffed, cheeks flushed pink with embarrassment. He wasn’t really sure what he was embarrassed about. Maybe he didn’t realize how tempted he was to accept Bucky’s offer until MJ gave him that little nudge.

“Well, you’re pretty cute. It’s cute how often you blush when we talk about him.” MJ’s tone was more genuine that time, and Peter felt a little surprised.

“Did Ned tell you something else about this guy? Why do you seem so supportive of him now?” There was another buzz in Peter’s pocket but he ignored it, wanting to hear MJ’s answer first.

“You deserve a good life, Peter.” She looked at him, entirely serious, and placed a hand on his shoulder. “You’ve been through so much and you’re only nineteen. I want you to be happy, to have opportunities that we could never find in this line of work.”

“MJ…” 

Before Peter could say more, his phone started buzzing like he had a call. He sighed and reached into his pocket, making a brief note that it was Bucky calling before he answered.

“Hello?”

“You didn’t answer my text, Peter. So I called your boss anyway. I’m coming to pick you up. Would MJ like to join us for dinner?”

Peter just squeaked, his jaw dropped open as he tried to think of what to say. MJ rolled her eyes and snatched the phone away again so she could talk for him.

“Hi, Bucky. Peter would love to go to dinner with you, but he seems to have forgotten how to speak.” She snickered at whatever Bucky said, Peter watching with wide eyes as she spoke with him so casually. “Aw, thank you! I would love to join you for dinner. If you intend to steal my boy away, I have to see if you’re worth his time.”

“MJ!” Peter finally came back to his senses and made a grab for his phone, but she held him back just like before.

“Yeah, that was him. He’s just so excited to see you again. We’ll be waiting for you!” MJ hung up the phone before handing it back to Peter with a grin. “He will be here in about fifteen minutes so zip up your hoodie and try to not look like such a whore.”

Peter swatted at MJ’s arm, making her cackle loudly as she pulled a balled-up shawl out of her bag to wrap around her shoulders and cover up her chest. She tended to wear shirts that showed off her cleavage but now that she wasn’t actively trying to attract customers, she wanted to look more modest. Peter had a sleeveless hoodie that he zipped over his mesh tank top, though he started to feel overheated after just a few minutes.

The hoodie got unzipped again as Peter rocked restlessly in place, anxious and eager to see Bucky again. MJ was updating Ned since Peter was too scared to look at his phone, snickering to herself every now and then.

Soon enough, a sleek black car pulled up. The windows were so heavily tinted that they looked black, but neither of them had to guess at who was inside. MJ tucked her phone away and Peter stepped closer to her, seeking out her familiar comfort as his nerves spiked.

The back window rolled down and a familiar face was revealed. Bucky looked at them both before nodding and pushing the door open.

“Come on, we got reservations in twenty minutes,” he said as he shifted to a seat on the other side of the car.

MJ stepped in first then tugged Peter in with her. She sat across from Bucky and not-so-subtly nudged Peter over to sit next to him. The seats were smooth and cool, and Peter was thankful for the air conditioning that let him zip up his hoodie again to hide his chest. Bucky had already seen him shirtless, but he felt awkward about it now.

The car pulled away from the curb as soon as the door was closed. Peter didn’t have a chance to buckle in so he swayed and ended up leaning into Bucky for a moment. He blushed and scooted away so he could clip his seat belt, then sat quietly and picked at the hem of his socks. 

“So,” MJ started casually. “You’re who Peter has a crush on.”

“I do not!” Peter insisted, head snapping up so he could glare at MJ. She just grinned at him as Bucky made an amused sound.

“A crush, huh? That’s cute.” Bucky tucked his phone away and looked over to Peter with a smirk. “Have you given my offer any more thought?”

“It’s been like, six hours,” Peter pointed out, feeling a little more confident with MJ there to back him up.

“Plenty of time to think.” Bucky was watching Peter, eyes glued to him as he waited for a proper answer.

“I mean…” Peter sighed and slumped back against his seat. He did want to say yes, to agree and let Bucky carry him off into the sunset like some perfect romantic dream. It just didn’t feel real.

“We need some proof that you’re the real deal,” MJ finally said.

Bucky’s gaze flicked over to her as he raised an eyebrow. He clearly wasn’t someone who was used to being challenged like that, and for a moment, Peter feared for MJ. But then Bucky laughed and Peter’s heart skipped a beat at the sound. 

“Conveniently enough, that is why I invited you along tonight. It’s good to know Peter has a friend looking out for him.”

“Two friends,” MJ corrected. “Ned has been diligently mining through the internet for information about you. He is the only reason why I agreed to dinner.”

Peter huffed as a faint blush dusted his cheeks. MJ was acting like her and Ned were his parents, and he was feeling a little embarrassed about that. Sure, he was the youngest out of the three of them, but that didn’t mean he couldn’t handle himself. 

“Two friends,” Bucky amended. Then his gaze turned back to Peter and he reached over to gently rub the boy’s back. “You can relax, Peter. I promise my intentions with you are honorable.”

“And what exactly are your intentions?” Peter looked up again, finally meeting Bucky’s eyes.

There was a moment of hesitation and even MJ could feel the electricity hanging between Bucky and Peter.

“I want to take care of you the way you deserve. To spoil you, pamper you, give you anything you could ever want or need.” Bucky sounded honest and there was no nervous tic that would clue Peter in to a lie. But he still couldn’t believe it. 

“Why?”

Another pause. Bucky looked torn between brushing it off and turning to a new subject, coming up with some flowery words that didn’t really answer the question, or actually telling the truth. He took a deep breath to steel his nerves, and decided on the last.

“You are beautiful. Handsome, gorgeous. Whatever term you’re most comfortable with. You are like a work of art, and I don’t want to see you waste away in the streets. You deserve so much more and what am I gonna do with all this money anyway? Hell, you could turn me down here and now and I would still send you money every week. I just want you to be happy.”

Peter blinked. He hadn’t expected such an emotional answer, but he felt touched by it. A quick glance over to MJ showed that she felt affected by it too, her eyes wide in surprise. For all the research the three of them had done, they never would’ve thought Bucky was the sentimental sort of guy.

“Oh.” Peter’s voice was faint as he tried to process all that Bucky said.

Bucky swore under his breath and leaned back in his seat. He had moved closer to Peter as he spoke, but now he felt he should give the younger man some space. But to everyone’s surprise, Peter reached out and set a hand on Bucky’s knee before managing a smile.

“I appreciate that, Bucky. I really do. Thank you.”

There was a beat of silence before Bucky cleared his throat and nodded. He gave Peter a tight smile, seeming a little less confident than when they first got in the car. Then the car stopped before anyone could say anything else and Bucky looked away to the window beside him.

“Ah, looks like we’re here. Don’t worry, it isn’t anywhere too fancy. I figured you two wouldn’t really be dressed for that.”

Bucky’s confidence seemed to slowly come back as he smirked and got out of the car. Then he held out a hand for MJ, and reached out again for Peter once she was standing. But unlike with MJ, Bucky didn’t let go of Peter’s hand. And Peter didn’t really mind. 

☆☆☆

#winterspider #peter parker #Bucky barnes #bucky/peter #mcu #marvel fic #offer of a lifetime #my writing #hello. this was written weeks ago and i only just now posted it #oops

[fnniganthomas]

                  ❝ in my mind I am eloquent; I can climb intricate scaffolds of                      words. but when I open my mouth, everything collapses. ❞

{ cis man, he/him } ❝ icarus is forever deemed the boy who flew too close to the sun and got burned. to me, he is just a boy too enthralled by beauty to care whether or not it could hurt him. ❞ huh, who’s TAYLOR ZAKHAR PEREZ? no, you’re mistaken, that’s actually LEANDER FINNIGAN-THOMAS. he is a 23 year old HALF-BLOOD wizard who is a TATTOO ARTIST. he is known for being RETICENT, SELF-CONSCIOUS, STUBBORN, INARTICULATE, and PERSUADABLE but also TRUSTING, SYMPATHETIC, EARNEST, PERCEPTIVE, and QUICK-THINKING, so that must be why he always reminds me of the song EPITAPH BY HIPPO CAMPUS and THE SMELL OF HOMEMADE BROWNIES BAKING; TECHNICOLOR PAINT STAINS ON EVERYTHING YOU OWN; A SKY GONE GREEN WITH PROMISED RAIN; WORN FLANNELS YOU’RE HAPPY TO LET OTHERS BORROW; A LUMP IN YOUR THROAT FROM THE WORDS YOU SWALLOW. i hear he is aligned with THE ORDER OF THE PHOENIX, so be sure to keep an eye on him. { zoe, 22, cst, she/her }  [ leander is adopted. ]

ADDITIONAL MATERIALS:   leander’s playlist, stats page, & pinterest board    CHARACTER PARALLELS:   jason mendoza (the good place), chidi anagonye (the good place), ty lee (atla), finn (star wars), troy barnes (community), brittany pierce (glee), ponyboy curtis (the outsiders), aang (atla) 

one.

there was no real doubt in anyone’s mind that leander was his fathers’ son. even the two of them had no trouble seeing bits of the other in him. 

dean could be heard calling leander seamus’ son when he ran into the side table holding lit candles and set several wooden picture frames ablaze. seamus returned the favor and referred to leander as dean’s son when he walked into leander’s room and saw he’d upended several jars of paint on the floor. to this day, none of them could really say if he’d upended the jars on purpose or not.

leander liked to think it was on purpose, even as he proclaimed his innocence every time the family told the story over laughter-filled dinners. proclaiming his innocence was just part of the way that story got told and he couldn’t go breaking tradition. really, he liked the way the rainbow of colors was still burrowed into the grooves of the wood and the slats between floorboards, even after countless attempts at cleaning the last of it. a part of him wondered if that hadn’t been an early sign of magic; he knew that that paint washed easily out of his hair and off his closes, but it stuck stubbornly to the floor right where he liked it. 

the colors on the floor nearly matched the technicolor quilt that lay on top of his bed year-round. he liked when things matched like that, almost by accident; like the world liked when things looked pretty as much as he did. he kinda hoped that was one of his first bits of magic; it felt fitting. he said as much to his gran once and had his hair ruffled for his trouble.

two.

when he was a child, he was always elbow deep in some messy thing. it wasn’t that he had a knack for causing trouble  —  he just had such a hard time saying no to trouble when it came calling. he had a hard time saying no to anything that came calling.

that was probably why trouble was always calling him. it knew he was an easy mark.

he made friends easily as a child, when things were easier and no one seemed to mind or care that he had such a hard time finding the words for things. leander was too polite to voice the blame out loud, but he was convinced that his friends growing up were at least half behind all the messes he got into.

the other kids around him might’ve been better at causing messes, but leander made up for it by being a mess. he was always having a crisis as a kid  —  his stuffed dragons were just ravaging the block city, dad, but what about the finger puppet people formerly houses in that block tower? do they even sell dinosaur insurance?? why didn’t I think of the implications here …

he and his sister played knights a lot, with toy swords and helmets modeled after the suits of armor in hogwarts  (dean asked seamus if that wasn’t a little much, when they bought them; they were a few years out from school, after all, they didn’t care that the helmets were accurate  — )   and leander always wondered about the ramifications of two knights fighting each other. shouldn’t they be friends, he thought? she always took his ensuing rambling full of hypothetical knight-schisms as opportunity to knock him flat backwards.

he was a needy kid  —  he always had questions at his lips, a thousand things he wanted to say. it took him forever to find the way to say them, though; leander hated feeling any negative thing, but he was used to frustration turned inward. it was his least favorite feeling, and one he was all too accustomed to. even now, leander was never quite sure what to do with his words. his mind was an easy enough place for him to navigate, and he loved being there for others when they needed someone to listen.

but whenever he tried talking himself wires got crossed and nothing came out how he wanted it to.

three.

he’d always been more quiet than he’d have liked to be, because he did actually have a lot to say. by the time he was nearly hogwarts-aged, he’d mostly forced himself to get over his hang-ups around his family. they poked good-natured fun at him, but he knew they’d always give him as much time as he needed to phrase a sentence or find a word. he could be assured that some of the other kids he’d grown up around would know that he just took a while to say what he really meant, too.

it was the thought of the castle, so full of strangers and professors he didn’t know, that scared him. getting sorted into ravenclaw scared him even more. he knew he didn’t always sound smart, and it worried him that others would listen to him and decide that he wasn’t, actually, smart enough to be a ravenclaw. he knew that he was smart, that he had things of value to offer to conversations. he was just so bad at getting them out the way he wanted to.

he stayed quiet for a while, even knowing he didn’t actually want to be quiet.

whenever he tried to articulate that point to other people though, it tended not to go as well as it did in his head  —  only proving his point. one of the prefects his first year rolled her eyes, said, ‘if you want to be less quiet, just say more, leander.’ but it wasn’t that easy, for him. he had a lot to say but had trouble finding the words for all those things. he could usually carry polite conversation just fine; fool people into thinking he knew what he was doing. but anything more than that required his total focus, and still was rarely quite right.

he bit down on half-formed questions because he thought it was better to not know some things if it meant he didn’t have to see people grow annoyed at his fumbling words. then that made him feel even more like he was some sort of fraud-ravenclaw  —  what ravenclaw thought they were better off not knowing things?

just like he forced himself to get over his worries to talk to his family and old friends, he forced himself to accept that words were never going to be his specialty. then he forced himself to be fine with that. he worked hard to focus on the things he was good at, that didn’t require him to talk too much  —  he always felt at home in the air on his broom, or with a sketchbook in his lap, or in the kitchen whipping up something that’d make other people happy. those things weren’t nothing. 

four. 

leander was smart, actually; he excelled in herbology and charms and worked hard enough everywhere else to not be singled out during class. he never caused as many explosions as his dad did from simple transfiguration. and he was great with people, for all that he got so in his head sometimes that he felt clumsy with even his dearest friends. but being smart never stopped anyone from being a fool. 

when leander looked back on his childhood, it was as if all of his roiling anxieties melted away. it was like looking in on a world encased in the sun  —  he imagined his memories as some sort of weird, reverse snow globe, where everything shimmered at the edges and only got brighter as you shook it up. 

hindsight made even mundane or negative memories seem golden, to leander. his biggest fault was that he always liked to think things were kinder than they actually were.

leander trusted people to be better than they were  and was bad at saying what he meant, which was, at times an awful combination for him. he trusted the world to treat him better than it did. 

if someone ever tries to convince him that, no, really, that harsh person from a historically bigoted family is not a good person, his stubbornness really came out and saw leander dig his feet in. he never wanted to believe that people had to be truly black or white  —  he was stubbornly convinced that there was good in every person, even when he was told he shouldn’t try so hard to look for it.

leander knew what was it like to feel you stood on the fringes of everybody else’s lives; no amount of forcing himself to be comfortable with the way he was ever took that anxiety away. he tried his hardest to be accommodating and friendly and understanding to everyone he came into contact with, even the people who maybe didn’t deserve his kindness. especially them, sometimes. he didn’t want anyone feeling like he was someone to be wary around. leander was steadfast in his beliefs and knew he wouldn’t change them, but all the same  —  that shouldn’t be a reason for someone to look at him and expect anything less than he gave everyone else.

four.

home never stopped being the most comforting place for leander. not even once he was older, a little more settled, and no longer had such stress over belonging in ravenclaw tower. not even once he had plenty of friends, a spot on the quidditch roster, a place in the castle. he adored not feeling so lost at school the older he got, but it couldn’t compete with home. 

the golden gleam of his memories made everything feel well-worn and well-loved in his head, but home was the biggest victim, and the most deserving of such treatment. leander was stubbornly adamant that there was no better place in the world than the finnigan-thomas’ home in kenmare. holidays at home with his family, extended and sprawling and filled with family friends as much as blood relatives, were leander’s favorite thing. 

he loved his dads so much  —  even as he couldn’t help but wonder, privately, if they wouldn’t have preferred a son who wasn’t such a fuck up sometimes. he’d certainly caused several dinner parties to grind to a halt with a poorly-phrased question directed at the aunt he forgot he wasn’t supposed to sit next to, after the incident over christmas dinner when he was ten. 

leander wondered if his dads wouldn’t want a son who was better at words, because leander always thought there were ways for him to be better. he wondered, privately, because he couldn’t help but worry. but the logical part of his brain knew that there wasn’t a need to worry over them. they loved him, he knew, and didn’t even need his memory to gloss everything over for that to be true.  

five. 

there was always a level of creativity in the house growing up, and leander took to it like a fish to water. he never really let up on his fascination with color and the physicality of paint clinging to his skin and the paintbrush and whatever canvas was in front of him. the permanently-painted floorboards in his room weren’t the only casualty in the house, but that was alright. no one ever gave leander too much grief over tracking paint everywhere.

it was easier for him to take a pencil to page than to find the words, sometimes, and he was so happy his family understood that about him, and let it grow. 

leander couldn’t keep track of how many drawings his dads pinned up to the fridge when he was a kid, or how excited dean had been to lead leander around museums growing up. he cherished every minute seamus spent nodding along as leander rambled about some era in art history seamus knew nothing about. it didn’t matter that leander grew into being comfortable at hogwarts, and around strangers, and people who weren’t so understanding with his fumbled words; it was work, with all of them, even as the work got easier on him. 

nothing about being near his family and feeling that love felt like work. 

leander, even grown out a childhood-self that worried over the ethics of stuffed dragons knocking over block towers, couldn’t help but be dragged down the whirlpool of hypothetical thoughts. he wondered if there was some alternate-universe leander who wasn’t as lucky as he was, who didn’t have his dads and his sister and his friends. maybe there was a leander who had those things but still lived in a world that was altogether harsher than his was. he thanked the universe as often as he remembered to that he was who he was, and that he was where he was. 

leander was bowled over by stress and anxiety and worries more often than he existed in a state of honest chill, but he was still so happy to have the life he did. he didn’t always feel like he deserved it, but he was glad it was his. 

six. 

when leander was sixteen, he dicked around enough on the internet to teach himself how to give magical tattoos and muggle tattoos both. he really thought that it shouldn’t have been so easy to order all the necessary equipment and have it delivered to his house; he really, really thought that the owl that came bearing his enchanted ink should’ve asked for, like, ID or something. it felt like getting away with something, how easy it was. 

leander was well-versed in courting trouble at this point and knew he shouldn’t look a gift horse in the mouth. he just thought it was important to note that he worried at it being so easy for people without training to get all that stuff. 

he practiced on himself and his sister, with a little needling and an iron-clad pinkie swear that they’d keep the tattoos a secret from their dads. in hindsight, it was a very stupid decision on leander’s part to start practicing in the summer, when they went to the beach often enough that the two finnigan-thomas kids had to order some fancy witch-owned brand of waterproof concealer to cover the evidence. their dads didn’t notice the tattoos until they came home that winter break and forgot to start hiding them again, though, so leander would take the win. 

he offered tattoos to people at school, and really hoped that some of them also forgot to hide them when they went home for winter hols. it felt only fitting that his not-thought-out plan brought some other people a bit of trouble. he’d call it payback for all that time in their childhoods when he’d been the one getting dragged into problems, but the thought of payback as a concept made leander a little sad, so, whatever. 

seven. 

it felt only fitting that he looked into doing tattoos as a professional once he was out of hogwarts. dean certainly insinuated, when leander mused over the option, that it would make the shock he’d given his dads over the tattoos worth it. leander kind of agreed; he didn’t think the tattoos weren’t worth it, already, but there could be layers to worth. on principle, he loved the idea of practice. he liked to think that everything in life was practice for something to come  —  that nothing happened to you that couldn’t have a use later down the line. 

it had a nice symmetry to it, a circular-ness. it was the sort of lofty thought he’d have an absolute monster of a time voicing out loud, but he felt it, and sometimes that was enough for leander. it was like the paint worn into his floorboards that matched the quilt on his bed; unintentional but fitting anyway. 

leander wondered if maybe he shouldn’t look into going to muggle university to study art, or at least take an apprenticeship under a wizarding artist so he could learn how to paint portraits and landscapes that could move and all. there was still a career in that, people looking to have themselves or their relatives or their homes immortalized in oils even as moving photographs were so much easier these days. 

he was  —  definitely, he was interested in learning that sort of thing. it just felt like too big a goal to have for his life right after school was over. he hadn’t been suspended in a state of constant stress during his time at hogwarts, or anything, but h still felt a strong sort of relief when it was over. 

there were things he’d miss; how easy it was, having so many of his friends all living in the same place, all doing the same things and living such parallel lives. he’d miss quidditch practice now that he knew he’d never make it as a professional  —  and never want to, besides. he’d miss the community of it all, even as he recalled how hard it had been for him to settle into it. he knew that it would only take a year or two, maybe less than that, for him to start romanticizing his time there like nothing had ever hurt in the castle’s walls. 

but the sigh of relief, that was bigger than anything he missed, and it made him sure he wanted to take a step back from school and any formal training or education. he already knew enough about tattooing now that he felt assured it wouldn’t feel so much like starting over to make a job of it.

eight. 

leander was always far better at thinking on his feet than most people would guess from knowing him. it sometimes surprised leander himself, even  —  he knew he had a propensity towards worry, and it seemed like maybe he shouldn’t actually be good in an emergency. maybe it was just that he had an overactive fight or flight instinct that he’d long trained over the years to fight through whatever it could. he might not be the person people in his life wanted around when they were going through a crisis, but he knew how to handle himself in all manner of unexpected situations. leander liked to think he rarely made things worse. 

does he make good choices whilst thinking on his feet? not all the time. but then, who could be relied on to make the perfect decision during every high stress situation they found themselves tossed into? leander made choices, and knew better than to stand idle; leander was of the belief that second guessing things had no value, even as he couldn’t help himself sometimes. he tried his best to face every consequence of every action head on. 

he dug his feet in over stupid, foolish decisions often enough. it was fitting that sometimes when he dug his feet in, it was for a purpose. the best way out is through, and all that  —  maybe he’d get that adage tattooed on him someday, too. 

sometimes it still felt like things happened to him, like he was a less active participant in his life than others were in theirs. he’d always pick fight over flight but not every situation asked that choice of him. it was less because he had a genuine go-with-the-flow personality, and more that he had such a hard time saying no.  

nine. 

when the world around him started turning itself upside down with awfulness and inside out with tragedy, leander knew it wouldn’t do him any good to freeze now. he joined up with the order because he knew there really wasn’t any other option he could take and still look at himself in the mirror. he wasn’t an auror or a healer or anyone that he thought had, like, much of value to offer the cause. but he was asked, and he said yes, because leander always, always said yes when trouble came calling for him. it was instinctive at this point.

leander liked to think he didn’t hate a lot of things. his heart was too open, to full of potential love, for him to like feeling anything harsher than annoyance, frustration. he forced bursts of hurt to come and go in a count of ten, because dwelling on the negative made him feel hollowed out. 

but he stopped laying in bed at night so often, thanking his lucky stars that he was leander in this world over any others; he started, instead, wondering if any generation in this world of theirs would get to be untouched by even the threat of war. he wondered if it was too naive to wish this darkness would fade as quickly as it did when his dads were kids. 

he turned things over in his memory now that some of the worst had come to pass; normally he let everything be painted in shades of gold, but he wondered if that wasn’t part of the problem. maybe too many people had worked too hard to push prison breaks and strange disappearances to the side  —  maybe too many people had had wanted to remember things only as happy and bright. it was such an ingrained part of himself now that leander knew he’d never be able to stop thinking things were better than they were. 

maybe it would be the end of him one day. but at least he’d be himself, at the end. 

#potterintro #( ⊱ ━━ 𝒚𝒐𝒖 𝒏𝒆𝒆𝒅 𝒔𝒐𝒎𝒆 𝒔𝒑𝒂𝒄𝒆 𝒂𝒏𝒅 𝒕𝒊𝒎𝒆 ┊ intro. ) #yes all his character parallels are directly from charactour #or that statistical character quiz #yes the sheer range of his results killed me #yes brittany was his number one match YES i'm still not over how funny that is

[jupitermelichios]

Smallville S3E1: Exile

So much happens in this episode and I am not emotionally invested in any of it. Not even Lex staring in the Castaway x Shutter Island crossover movie absolutely no one asked for.

Apparently ending S2 of a teen genre show with your main character peacing out after major trauma and then opening S3 three months later with your MC living undercover was just a thing. Although Buffy at least had it be her own trauma she was running from not a weird guilt complex thing where she has to make other people’s trauma all about her like Clark apparently has!

So Clark is living in Metropolis, dosed up on Red Kryptonite under the name Kal… and fucking robbing banks for a living! His solution to being sad is to just fucking take loads of magic space PCP and rob banks. You know, like a normal well adjusted person.

Lex aparently didn’t save himself from that plane crash, and is now legally dead. Given I know he’s in every season of this show, I’m really rooting for ‘living undercover as a hardboiled detective while he tries to uncover the truth’ for his s3 storyline

So as well as robbing banks for a living, Clark is also acting as a vigilante specifically stopping people robbing banks. Because even evil!Clark has to find ways to be a hyprocit.

You know a few years ago I’d have been like, why the fuck did the police just open fire on that unarmed man, and why did Clark just murder a load of cops, but it’s 2020 and I’m so tired and everyone involved in this scene is awful so fuck it, let them all kill each other

Holy shit I was right last episode, Clark has been gone for three months and everyone’s lives are better. Martha seems kind of sad and Lex is apparently dead, but everyone else is doing great!

Either they got a massive budget hike between seasons or they used their entire budget on this episode; we’ve had licenced music, CGI and Rutger Hauer all the in the first ten minutes

Apparently in the last three months the Kents have rebuilt their house and repurchased all their furniture. Like the exact same furniture. Like they couldn’t be bothered to get a new set so it’s literally the same kitchen

Okay so Lex just woke up on a deserted island with some other random guy and has apparently been living there for months and also has malaria but turns out malaria is nbd and just gives you occasional weird dreams and i’m pretty sure this is all just an excuse to have Michael Rosenbaum wander around set topless

So it’s Lex’s funeral, and I fucking adore how John Glover is playing Lionel’s speech. He looks so fucking bored. His words say it’s hard for a father to bury his son, but his face says “i’m missing Ellen for this”

Wait, cupboard sex doctor is here. What the fuck kind of explanation did she give anyone for how she escaped a plane crash?!

I think that’s three dramatic shirt rips so far and we’re only like ten minutes in

Holy shit the Kents also rebuilt the fucking barn. Why?! Why did they rebuild the exact same bloody barn?! Also apparently none of this was insured because they’re now going bust and moving into the empty apartment above the Talon. Apparently rebuilding an entire sound stage set is expensive, who knew!

Okay black widow angry cupboard sex doctor vs lionel luthor is the lionel family drama I’m here for. She should definitely marry Lex’s brother next and kill him off next, just as soon as the writers remember they gave Lex a brother

Exactly two people have worn sunglasses like that, Cyclops and apparently Clark Kent. Neither of them can pull them off

Apparently Lana’s solution to Clark going missing is to just fuck off to find him without telling anyone where she was going. Becuase two people going missing instead of one clearly improves the situation!

Wow, so the guy who’s on the same desert island as Lex is the son of a rich businessman who was emotionally abusive and who also has weird queer coding. Clearly they’re soulmates! The fact that the dude wants to murder Lex with a machete is maybe putting some kind of a crimp in the relationship but given Lex’s history I’m sure they can work through it.

Oh wow, there’s coincidence plots and then there’s Rutger Hauer hiring PCP!Clark to break into Lionel’s office to steal Kryptonite

Well then. Apparently Lex’s soulmate is a malaria hallucination, and now this random Jamaican dude is here to rescue him. Was Lex just on Jamaica this whole time? Oh my god, I really fucking hope he was just living next door to a resort full of tourists this whole fucking time, that would be so good, and honestly not even that weird compared to everything else that’s happened so far this episode

I love how every single version of Jor-El is just a complete prick. Do you think that’s a Kryptonian thing or just a him thing?

Oh no, apparently it’s not Kryptonite Clark’s stealing from the safe that was previously full of Kryptonite, it’s a maguffin so generic it’s literally just a featureless metal cube. I kind of love that they couldn’t be bothered to even get a fucking floppy disc or something, they just painted a cardboard box silver and called it a day

I realise Clark being on magical space PCP is real bad for the whole planet, but so far he mostly just seems to want to rob ATMs and pick up chicks, which isn’t great but is honestly probably less destructive than him being a good guy, so I’m really rooting for him to just fucking kill Jonathan in this confrontation and peace out. I mean I’m always rooting for absolutely anyone to kill Jonathan Kent at any given moment, but especially right now.

Wait, it’s just now occurred to me that the episode it over and we still don’t have any explanation for how angry cupboard sex doctor was supposed to have survived that plane crash. Because why would that be important information for the audience to have!

#smallville #smallville recaps #charlie watches a thing #i'm so glad angry cupboard sex doctor isn't dead #she has a name #it's helen #but she's always be angry cupboard sex doctor to me

[mininky]

Crash Landing

Summary: Jung Hoseok. Notorious hot dude on campus. Excellent dancer. Bad boy. Tattoos. Your best friend’s older brother. There were a lot of reasons why he was a terrible idea. Scratch that, fucking awful life ruining idea. But hey, you’re here to win ‘dumbest idea of the century’ award apparently.

Pairing: Dancer!Hoseok x  Uni Student!reader (fem)

Genre: Slow Burn, best friend’s older brother AU, Uni AU, smut, romance

Warnings: mentions of divorce, mentions of Hobi having been cheated on, protected sex, oral sex (fem. receiving), Hoseok with tattoos 

Word Count: 13.4K

   Meeting Hoseok had been a freak event unlike anything else in your mostly uneventful life, and in that way, it was completely fitting. He had quite literally stumbled into your life. Well, crash landed is more like it. While seated on a bench spacing out into another dimension that was void of any sentient thought after finals he had face planted into the bush right next to you. You're not sure how long you'd been sitting there on the bench, possibly long enough to grow moss, and really you didn't think that anything could get you to move from your spot. You were on the fast track to becoming a Buddhist monk until Hoseok's ill-timed passing out had finally gotten you to move. At a lightning speed that you didn't think was possible after five finals back to back in one day fueled by sheer willpower and too much caffeine to be safe for human consumption you were next to him.

   You had been convinced at the lack of protest or noise at falling face first into a very thorny bush that the man had most certainly died. Fight or flight responses had miraculously kicked on and as adrenaline surged the first thing you thought to do instead of asking him if he was okay was to slap his face as hard as possible. He groaned but otherwise didn't stir until you started to pull out your phone with trembling hands to call 911. You recognized him as his hands suddenly came up to move the phone away with surprising strength. The man you were sure was dying in front of you was none other than Jung Hoseok. Your best friend's older brother, who normally looked the spitting image of the sun and good health in all of the pictures you'd seen of him but now looked closer to a strung out druggy who took one hit too many. You've also noticed that he has a ton of tattoos that weren't in any of the pictures you've seen of him. Intricate poke and needle types, all littered around his arms.

   "Holy shit, Hoseok?" He groaned again before struggling to sit up, hand clawing away some leaves and thorns stuck in his hair.

   "Please don't call 911. I don't have insurance. Just tired. Please let me sleep." With that, his head slumped back with an unnervingly loud thwack on the concrete.

   You had a few options at this point.    Option #1: Leave and just let him possibly die of a concussion after hitting his head that hard    Option #2: call your best friend and let her know that her brother is dying and won't let you call 911 because of his lack of health insurance    Option #3: slap him again, try to get him to move and drag him back to wherever he lives    Option #4 (should probably be the first but your brain is fried and adrenaline is a hell of a drug): call 911 anyways and then be forced to work three jobs and drop out of school to pay the medical bills you've forced on him    Option #5: try to drag him yourself back to your dorm which is only a short distance from the very bench you've been spacing out at.

   You went with a combination of option five and three. In which you slapped him (open-palmed and left a beautiful red mark behind and your palm stinging unpleasantly) and forced him to get up. In a bizarre zombie state he slumped over your shoulder and it took you the longest fifteen minutes of your life to finally get into your dorm and throw him into your bed. Now you'd like to lie and say that at this point you tried to give some sort of shitty and iffy medical aid, but your own exhaustion had taken over and you'd fallen asleep slumped at the edge of your bed only five minutes later.

   It was hours later that you'd finally woken up to the sound of Hoseok stirring and groaning before freaking out at his unknown surroundings. "Where the fuck am I? Who are you? What the fuck is going on?"

   "Wow, first of all, I'd appreciate a thank you for carrying your deceptively heavy ass up three flights of stairs when you were mostly unconscious. Second of all, I'm (Y/N), your knight in shining armor and also I happen to be Sam's best friend. You biffed it face first into a bush and told me not to call 911 and that you just needed to sleep. So after slapping you...twice actually...I carried you into my room." You wipe away a few crusties from your eyes as you look at the man in front of you.

   He's unnervingly handsome. In a way that makes you wonder how humans can be created his way. Perfectly well-shaped nose, a jaw that's both soft and chiseled, pouty lips, hair that flops in that painfully sexy disheveled way that some men spend hours to get just so for a picture on Instagram but refuse to admit that they did, eyes that hold a hint of playful mystery in their murky brown gaze. Even with bags under his eye and lackluster pallor from finals week he still looks like he deserves sculptures and shrines dedicated to him.  

   But the real sucker punch gut-wrenching charm was his laugh. The way his eyes crinkled up and perfect teeth shined as he heard this news had all the breath forced out of you slowly like a careful pinprick to a balloon. You should have known then that nothing good could come from Jung Hoseok. You should have known. But instead, you just stared up at him the floor like you were staring straight at the sun. So dazzlingly beautiful that looking right at it caused physical pain, although looking at him didn't cause you to sneeze at least.

   "Well, thank you for saving me oh knight in shining armor. Also, sorry for bailing every time Sam asks me to hang out with you guys. But you know, if the guys see me hanging out with freshman girls there will be inevitable questions and then I'll have to fight a horde of douchebags to protect my sister or whatever so really I've been doing you guys a favor." He gets up from the bed, carefully so as to not kick you straight in the face as you scramble off your knees and walk over to the door with him. "Oh, and do me a favor. Don't tell my sister. As far as you're concerned this never happened and you never met me."

   Just like that Hosoek was gone, as if he hadn't stumbled face first into a bush and nearly died. As if he hadn't made your finals addled brain nearly short circuit and all the breath leave your lungs from simply laughing. You kept your end of the bargain. You never told Sam what happened. Partially because you were convinced that it never did actually happen. You were sure that you had conjured up an obscure illusion or that it all had been some sort of strange dream. Until you met Hoseok again that is.

   It would be another three months before you would be destined to see Hoseok again. This time he would have that natural glow back to his skin, and the bags under his eyes were gone. Sam had dragged you to the coffee shop he worked at, fueled with a rage that was rather unnatural for her as she slammed into the quiet business with steam coming out of her ears and foam around the mouth as she tore into her brother with little care of innocent bystanders in her path. "Oy, you. You think you're too good to text me back asshole?"

   "Sam, not now. I'm working." He glanced at the one lone customer sitting at the worn leather couch three feet away who was staring openly at the debacle unfolding in front of him.

   "It's always not now! You're always too busy for me!" You made the mistake of trying to slip away, but Sam was too quick for you. She grabbed your hand before lighting back into her brother. "It's one thing to skip out on me, but really? Skipping out on dinner with mom last night?"

   "Shit, that was last night? I thought that was supposed to be tonight. God, I'm so sorry Sammy, I promise I'll make it up to you and mom. I promise."

   The beast would not be tamed, however. Sam, you're typically sweet best friend had a side to her that luckily rarely showed. The angry side. The side that could be heard across the county. The side that would slash all your tires. "Well, you fucking better Jung Hoseok." With that, she turned around and dragged you out of the coffee shop while you tried mouthing 'I'm so sorry' to the bewildered and painfully embarrassed Hoseok.

   Sam would later explain that she brought you along for the wild ride for two reasons. First, so you could stop her from committing a crime. Secondly, but most importantly, because you were the one with a car and she didn't want to pay for an uber over to the coffee shop.

   You know that in her heart of hearts Sam was angrier at the general shit show her family had turned into than Hoseok per se. He had just been the one closest in proximity and therefore the line of fire. Her parents were getting divorced, her family falling apart, and Hoseok had just kind of ghosted her. Bullshit reasons about fighting off the guys or whatever that had been earlier weren't good enough. She was angry at being abandoned. By her parents, by her brother, by the world. College was supposed to be the start of freedom, but for her, it had started in shambles. The two of you hadn't known each other before university, but you were in the same major and worked at the same small used bookstore and had fast become friends and then inseparable best friends. She spent more nights than you could count on the floor of your dorm just to get away from it all, and because you had lucked out and gotten the smallest room that was honestly more like a closet and could only house one bed so you had no roommate.  

   After that incident, she had broken into a fit of angry tears in your room and explained all of this to you. A word vomit of pain, anger, and angst. This all should have done something to dispell Hoseok to you, and yet it hadn't. Instead, you wondered what was going on in his head. You were curious about how and why he had withdrawn from his sister when she explained that before he went away to school they were closer than close. That he had always been her protector, her best friend. Sure they fought, they were siblings after all, but they were each other's rocks. Until he was just gone. And she thought going to the same school as him would fix it. Instead, the distance somehow felt larger now. So close in proximity but emotionally miles and miles away. Again, this should have shattered the perfect image of Hoseok that had been crafted in your brain after that odd encounter months ago but instead, it lent depths and layers to the man that made you want to peel everything back and study it closely.

   The third time you would meet Hoseok would be proof that the first encounter had, in fact, happened. It was two in the morning approximately a month later. You stumbled out of bed in a zombie state, sure that the only person who could possibly be knocking on your door this late at night could be Sam. It wasn't (unfortunately) entirely uncommon with her insane sleep schedule. So when you swung the door open in nothing but a t-shirt and underwear you could feel all color drain from your face at the sight of a very tired and sweaty Hoseok standing in front of you.

   "I know this is going to sound really weird, but my girlfriend and I broke up and I've been crashing couches but my friend has someone over tonight so then I tried sleeping in the library but it was just too uncomfortable so would you mind if I crash here? I noticed last time you didn't have a roommate. I can take the floor." Now you had two options at this point. (You're too tired to come up with 5 this time, thank god it was a lot of work having to detail your thoughts last time. You really should stop overthinking, I'm a little worried for you at this point. Sorry, I'll get back to the story.)    Option #1: slam the door on his face and crawl back into bed. You don't technically know him and it's not your problem.    Option #2: have pity on this painfully good-looking man and kiss a decent night's sleep goodbye because lord knows you won't be able to sleep when he's in the same room as you a second time.

   You went with option number two. Who are you kidding, you aren't evil enough to go with option number one. You just pray that his new distance with his sister and break up with his girlfriend isn't because he's actually secretly a serial killer and is going to chop you up into tiny bits. Although...on the plus side of that...no student loans!

   You opened the door wider and stepped off to the side. Covering your mouth for any offending morning breath as you spoke. "Sure, I've got an extra pillow and blanket too." You wanted to say more. There were so many questions about this random appearance, but really you didn't feel it was very polite to ask any of them. Not that knocking on the door of a near stranger at two in the morning to see if you can crash there is polite, but really one of you needs to respect boundaries. Right?

   "Thanks, I really appreciate it. Free coffee and baked goodies for life when I'm on shift. I promise." He stretched and let out a loud yawn as you tried to grab a pillow and blanket for him without bending over. He took them from your hands gingerly and you watched him try to get comfortable on the floor before you turned around, shut off the light, and crawled back into bed.

   You tried counting sheep. You tried doing simple math. You tried willing sleep to come. But everything brought your thoughts back around in a vicious cycle to the man laying on your floor. The man you knew almost nothing about. Save that he was your best friend's older brother, worked in a coffee shop, and went to the same school as you. Dance major, and that had earned him being cut off from his family financially if you remembered correctly. But that doesn't mean you know him. You've never actually had a proper conversation with him.

   At the sound of you stirring in bed once again you can hear his gravely voice from the floor calling out to you. "Can't sleep (y/n)?"

   You thought about playing dead or asleep or whatever. But figured there was no point. So instead you mumbled a quiet, "yeah."

   "Me neither. Can't sleep for shit lately." He pauses for a moment before sighing. "I'm sorry for just showing up here. I know we don't know each other, but I wasn't sure where else to go."

   "Nah, it's cool. Mi casa es su casa." You can hear him give one of those small snort laughs, the kind that's more like a loud exhale through the nose, and you can feel little butterflies start to hit your ribcage.

   "Well, I really appreciate it." You wait for a moment before calling out to him.

   "Are you okay, Hosoek?"

   "Ah, the million dollar question. I don't know. Are any of us?" There's something about the way his brooding words contrast sharply with his typically sunny appearance that has your heart singing. All of those layers around his heart built up like an impenetrable fortress has your curiosity in overdrive. It's not a safe place, you know that. But there's something about Hoseok that just lights things up around you.

   You've never been interested in another man this way. Every single person you've ever dated or hooked up with has been out of convenience. You were actually starting to question if you were some subcategory of Asexual. If there was a sexual category for people who couldn't hold romantic interest but did still get horny. That's a thing right? Aromantic? But Hoseok, now Hoseok is the type of guy that you can picture curled up next to after sex tracing at all of his tattoos and talking about everything and nothing for hours at a time. The type of guy that makes you start to understand why high school crushes are so painful. And you know it's slightly irrational. You know next to nothing about him, but god do you want to. If you could change your major to Hoseok you fucking would.  

   After a long pause, he starts talking again. His voice hoarser, as if he's trying to hold back tears. Or maybe he is crying, you can't tell in the dark. "No, I'm not okay. And I don't think I have been for a really long time. My parents weren't exactly the loving type. I tried my best to be there for Sam, but the moment I could get my freedom I took it. I rebelled, and my father cut me off for it as I'm sure she told you. But I didn't care. I was finally free. I was finally doing what I wanted, and I met this girl. I thought she was the love of my life. The one, you know? Listen, I don't normally give good advice but never date someone who tattoos you because it's going to end and you're going to wish that you didn't get all of them from her. I used to go into the shop just to see her. And then we started dating. And then she started cheating. And now we're not together and I don't have a place to live and it's middle of the year so I can't do dorms again and apartments are way too expensive. My boss said he'll give me the room in the back of the coffee shop tomorrow after he clears everything out, so at least after tonight I'll have a place to stay. But everything's a mess. My family is a mess, I'm a giant fucking mess, my grades have been slipping lately and I might lose my scholarships, and I've been homeless for a week now."

   Why did you have to really like the guy with all the baggage? The one with neon blinking signs that say 'no trespassing!' The best friend's older brother who has serious emotional issues to hammer out who's spilling his guts to a near stranger at three in the morning? And why is it that you have the emotional skills of a fucking rock at this moment? "Wow, that fucking sucks man." Really, that's all you can muster up? You tack on, "I'm sorry," for good measure.

   "You don't have anything to be sorry about. I'm sorry for dumping this all on you. I uh...I don't usually talk about this kind of stuff. To anyone. I guess you're just easy to talk to."

   "You should try talking more about it. It's not healthy to keep it all bottled in, you know?" You can hear him shuffle on the pillow, nodding his head you assume while you try not to squeal when he said you were easy to talk to.

   "How's Sam doing by the way? I've been a really shitty brother..."

   "Good right now. She had a few mental breakdowns, but she's on the quick road to recovery. She's taking the family falling apart in stride. She said that she kind of always knew this would happen, I think the harder thing has been the lack of contact with you. But don't worry, I won't tell her anything you told me. Just...talk to her when you're ready." You pause for a moment, trying to organize your thoughts before you add softly, "you know it's not always a bad thing for something to fall apart. Think of this as a new clean slate. There's still plenty of time this semester to pull your grades back up. And like you said you've got a place to stay lined up. And your parents...well there's nothing you can do about that. It honestly sounds like it was all for the better from the stories I've heard. Just...work on things one at a time. Don't try to do everything at once because then you won't do anything. And if things ever feel overwhelming like I said, mi casa es su casa. Think of me as like the emergency friend therapist or whatever."

   "Thanks (y/n)..." You can feel your cheeks heat up from the tone of his quiet voice and pray that your voice doesn't sound too squeaky when you call out a quiet goodnight.

   The next morning Hoseok is already gone by the time you wake up at ten. He's folded up the blanket and left a note on top of the pillow. "(y/n), thanks again for everything. If you ever need anything just let me know. (###) ###-####. -Hobi."

   It wasn't fair the way your heart hammered away first thing in the morning. It also was admittedly really creepy that the next thing you did was pick up the blanket to see if it smelled like him. It did. And you very much approve of his cologne choice. It's woodsy and citrusy and you're incredibly thankful that no one is around to see your face buried in the blanket. After your brain clicks back on and you realize that you're a certifiable creep at this point you slowly enter him as a contact. A strange, unfamiliar part of you wanted to give him some cutesy name but you realize how bizarre that would look and instead you simply enter him in as 'Hoseok' with no additional heart emojis.

   Part of you really wants to text him. Perhaps use the excuse of checking up on him, because you were actually really curious. There was a lot going on in his life and by the sounds of it he was cracking under pressure and not talking to anyone about it. Instead, though you simply stare at the contact, take a deep breath, and get ready for work.

-----------------three weeks later--------------------

   "Oh, come on (y/n), it'll be fun! Please? You always turn down my party invites but I promise this one won't be too over the top. It's not even at a frat house or anything!" You try not to glare in Sam's direction as you put away the last of the books received in this morning. You aren't exactly a party person. You're the mom friend, that's your role and while you don't readily admit it it's the truth. You're the friend that at parties always inevitably gets stuck trying to corral your pathetic, drunk, and often times sick friends back home. Which is why you don't do parties. That and they make you slightly claustrophobic. It's not that you hate people, you just prefer more conversationally stimulating environments than a party has to offer. Also, you hate the smell of shitty beer and body odor, which is the main fragrance of all college parties. And random creepy drunk dudes who smell like said hated fragrance mixed with cheap body spray trying to get into your pants? Yeah, that's a big no for you.

   "Sam, I don't know. I mean, you know how I feel about parties. Listen, I love you. And I love hanging out with you. But I've seen you drunk, and it ain't pretty. Besides, I still have that paper I need to finish for my Lit class." You try to avoid her potent puppy eyes as you walk behind the counter to slap price stickers on the rest of the books.

   "Listen, if you don't wanna go that's fine. But like, when's the last time you got some? It's been months since you broke up with Aaron, and from the sounds of it he didn't know how to find a clit so do yourself a favor and just come with me for a little bit? If there are no guys there that spark your interest ditch me. But don't use the paper as an excuse to stay in your fortress for another lame Saturday. It's not even due for another week and you're already in editing phase. We literally had that conversation half an hour ago." You make the mistake of glancing over at Sam. She's giving you more than just puppy eyes, she's even giving you a full quivering bottom lip. Ugh, why do you have to be such a sucker for her?

   "Fine. Fine, I'll go." You hold up your hand as she starts squealing, "But I make no promises on staying for very long."

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

   Two hours later and you're nursing a warm Smirnoff ice in the corner. Not surprisingly thirty minutes ago almost immediately after entering the party, Samantha ditched you for a guy who looks like he does keg stands professionally. You swear she has the worst taste in men. The obnoxious little voice in the back of your head cackles at the sentiment, reminding you that at least Sam isn't pining after a guy who just so happens to be her best friend's brother that she knows next to nothing about other than he has a mountain of baggage and most certainly isn't interested. You take a swig of the warm, sweet drink in spite until your eyes lock onto the man standing in front of you. You're pretty sure you have a class with him, what was his name again?

   "Jimin." Shit, can he read minds? "Sorry, didn't mean to freak you out you just looked like you were trying to place my name. We share that intro to lit class."

   "Ah, yeah sorry about that I'm-"

   "(Y/N), yeah I know. You're kind of hard to forget."

   "Oh." You'll admit, Jimin is very cute. But cute is really the key word for him, and try as you might to summon an urge to jump his bones you just don't feel anything. There's no spark there, no lust to drag him into the nearest bed and explore all he has to offer. Too bad getting over a one-sided crush isn't that simple.

   Jimin is about to say something, but he's soon tackled by someone behind him. "Dude, it took me forever to find you. Yoongi's refusing to play beer pong on my team. Please, help me?" Jimin narrows his eyes on the other guy before swiveling back to you, his lips jutting out into a formidable puppy pout that your sure would make most women swoon.

   "Do you wanna come with? You looked a little bored." You should say no, you should just crawl back into the comforting confines that is your bed and pray to whatever deity to allow you to go back to a normal life where you didn't know a demigod walked the campus but no instead you fall prey to the puppy pout. Again damnit. (Y/N): 0, puppy eyes: 2.  

   "Sure." Jimin looks triumphant as he grabs your hand and weaves through the throngs of people until you arrive at the back porch where things seem to be much more comfortably quiet. Until you lock eyes with the earlier mentioned demigod himself.

   "(Y/N)?" Hoseok stares at you in disbelief for a moment in front of the beer pong table, before smiling. Oh god, that smile. You swear you can feel your heart trying to escape from you again, you can hear corny Disney music playing in the background, an angel halo placed above his head as a random backlight makes his tan glow nearly gold until you blink away the momentary insanity. You wish you could blame all of that on alcohol, but you haven't had nearly enough liquid courage to induce that montage.

   "Uh, hey." Fuck, why did you have to say uh? Jimin is staring at the interaction and oh god, he knows. He fucking knows. And you can't kill him, not here. Too many witnesses. Instead, you'll just have to pray for the world to open up and swallow you whole. Or a zombie to come over and take you first in the zombie apocalypse. Jimin, thank the sweet heavens, doesn't say anything. He just looks at the two of you a moment before winking at you and taking his place across from Hoseok.

   "You ready to go down, Hobi?" The other boy looks eager to start, he's stretching his wrists while glaring at the other team.

   You cast a glance behind you and take a seat at an empty bench to watch it all unfold. The boy that roped Jimin into all of this is Taehyung, and the one on Hoseok's team is Namjoon. Yoongi, the one who refused to play, at some point ambled over to you and offered a cigarette before beginning to loudly tell you why everyone playing sucks each time they miss. You're assuming based off of the shit eating grin on his face that he's doing it solely to mess everyone up, and it works on just about everyone. Except for Hoseok, who seems completely unaffected.

   It doesn't take long before everything is over and Jimin and Taehyung are forced to chug the remaining drinks. You polish off the last of your sugary alcoholic drink and start looking for the nearest escape before Hoseok is ambling over towards you.

   "Hey, I didn't expect to see you here. Is Sam here?" You nod quietly before slowly adding.

   "I wouldn't...uh...go looking for her though." Hoseok sighs and nods before sitting next to you on the bench.

   "You don't seem like much of a party person."

   "I'm really not. But it's nice out here, it's quiet." You glance over to see Jimin giving a now very drunk Yoongi a ride on his back. "Your friends are interesting."

   Hoseok snorts. "They're idiots, but loveable."

   "Did you get that room situation at the cafe all figured out?"

   "Yup, got all my stuff moved in and everything. Thanks for not telling Sam by the way. I've been talking to her you know."

   "I know, she's been over the moon about it. Oh, you know your mom is coming over next week?"

   "How do you know this and I don't?" Hoseok sighs but adds a quiet thanks.

   "Oh, uh, sorry. But, I know that they're planning on doing dinner again. I think we're going to Olive Garden, which means plenty of breadsticks to swipe."

   "We're?"

   "I was invited." Hoseok chuckles at this before shaking his head.

   "I think I should be offended that I've been replaced."

   "You haven't been replaced by me. I'm telling you all this so you can make sure to talk to your mom if you want to go. Or avoid it like the plague, it's your choice."

   "Thank you. I suppose I've done enough avoiding though, I'll try texting her." At this point an awkward silence begins to fall and before you start babbling you decide to finally make your exit.

   "Well, I should probably get going. I'll see you around." Hoseok jumps up, shaking his head.

   "I'll walk you home." He holds up his hand as you start to protest. "I need to get going anyways and you're on the way. Besides, it'll give me a great excuse to get out of here before they try to wrangle me into another round."

   You nod and start to walk forward before you call out behind you, "I'll see you in class tomorrow, Jimin!" Jimin sends a bright smile to you and waves, sending another all too knowing wink before Yoongi accidentally (at least you hope it's accidentally) starts strangling him.

   You weave your way to the back gate with Hoseok in close proximity as you start quietly making your way to your dorm. There's a lot that you want to say, but you aren't sure really what you should say. After all telling him that he's breathtakingly handsome probably won't end well. You mean, it might, but probably just for a night and for once you're not really interested in catch and release.

   "So...you never texted me."

   "Well...I haven't exactly had a need to." Oh god, you sound so harsh. "I mean, I didn't really want to bother you unless I really needed help or something. I figure you're pretty busy."

   You glance over at Hoseok to see him...smiling? He's actually smiling? "Well, it doesn't have to be an emergency or anything. Text me, whenever you want. I mean it (y/n). I appreciate all the help you've given me, so even if you just need someone to like vent to or something I'm here for you." God, he isn't helping matters. Why can't he be an asshole that you could just hatefuck and get everything out of your system? "Looks like we're here. Have a good night (y/n). It was nice seeing you again."

   "Um, you too Hoseok!" You turn away quickly and dash into the dorm. Never have you been more grateful for your tiny dorm room and not having a dormmate before as you squeal into your pillow before flipping onto your back and staring at your phone.

   It feels like ages before you finally type out on the too bright screen, "Did you make it home okay?"

   You get a response just a moment later.

[Hoseok]: Yes mom

   You groan before staring at the typing bubble pop up and disappear repeatedly. God, what is he typing? Why won't he just fucking say it? Does he hate you? Did he not really mean it when he said to text him whenever? Do you look clingy? CURSE THOSE THREE PERIODS! Oh god. You heaved a sigh of relief when you finally see the text appear.

[Hoseok]: Just kidding, it was nice seeing you again btw

[you]: How have things been going for you btw?

[Hoseok]: Better, I took your advice. I'm doing better in my classes, I've been talking to Sam more. Things are starting to actually look up.

[you]: That's great! I'm glad things are doing better!

[Hoseok]: How about you though? Any dudes I should beat up?

   Have you just been banished to the sister realm? You're pretty sure you have been.

[You]: No I'm pretty boring. Just trying to finish all of my papers.

[Hoseok]: what's your major?

[You]: Creative writing, made the mistake of taking ten classes this semester, and most of them are morning lectures.

[Hoseok]: Are you a superhuman? Like, how???

[You]: I've given up on free time

[Hoseok]: You sound like you need a break

[you]: When I space out too long I can actually hear my grades falling

[Hoseok]: ah, the woes of college. I'm glad I don't have to do many papers for dance

[you]: Yeah, but you still have to practice and perform and honestly I'd rather have someone shoot me in my face than have to perform in front of people

[Hoseok]: Wow, those are some intense feelings you have there

[you]: Most sane humans don't enjoy being in front of others like that. I don't know how you do it.

[Hoseok]: you get used to it. I promise. Hey, I have a performance upcoming that you might really like. It's in a month

[you]: Oh yeah! Sam told me about that, she already got us tickets

[Hoseok]:...she could have just asked me for them? I can't believe she actually paid for them

[you]: I think she was trying to surprise you. Please don't tell her I told you

[Hoseok]: It'll be our secret. Again. We seem to hold a lot of secrets, huh?

[you]: I blame you.

   After that the two of you send a few memes back and forth before you finally fall asleep, your dream being an odd montage of Hoseok dancing and kissing you in the rain until Sam starts screaming at you. Luckily the Sam screaming at you part seems to do more with her poorly timed wake up call.

   "WAKE UP ALREADY!" Sam unceremoniously rips your blankets off of you as you blearily open your eyes. "Christ, I swear you could sleep through anything. Wanna go get coffee? I have so much to tell you."

   You grunt in response before slowly changing and trudging behind Samantha as she heads over to your car. Luckily she doesn't even protest when you toss her the keys and try to squeeze in a few more minutes of sweet sleep before you pull up to Hoseok's coffee shop. God, why now? Why couldn't you have spruced up a bit more? Worn something other than a ratty t-shirt and leggings to see him again? And your face still has pillow marks, god this is horrible. You take a deep breath and follow behind Sam, praying she hasn't noticed your delay.

   The world must truly hate you because the moment you walk in you see Hoseok behind the counter smiling over at the two of you. "Hey sis, you won't be screaming at me this time, right?"

   "Unfortunately today I've decided to be civilized. Also, I came for free coffee." Hoseok snorts before nodding for her to continue. "Um, two flat whites. Also whatever muffins you recommend."

   "Got it, I'll be over to you guys in a bit." You try shrinking away as quietly as possible to the couch that Sam flops down on.

   "Listen, so I was going to go you know hang out with Bobby last night,"

   "Ew, his name even sucks."

   "Shut up! Anyway, as I was saying, I was going to but then all of a sudden that girl Heather the cheerleader all the guys are goo goo eyed for? Well, she came out of nowhere and started screaming at Bobby for knocking her up! Swear to god, I felt like I was living an episode of the Maury show." Samantha goes into more detail and you can feel your eyes glazing over. You actually have no clue who this Heather is, and you honestly don't care. You feel bad that Sam got stuck in the middle of it all, but this kind of drama has always been uninteresting to you. You're not sure if you should shriek that Hoseok has to once again witness you in this state or thank the gods that Sam finally seems to be finished telling the tale at the sight of her brother.

   "Hey, Hobi, wait! Before you go I've been meaning to tell you that Mom asked me to invite you to go to dinner with us next Friday. Do you think you can make it?"

   "I'll see what I can do. What time?"

   "Around six I think? At Olive Garden, which means all the breadsticks we can steal for later!" Hoseok winks at you as Sam occupies herself with her blueberry muffin for a minute.

   "Got it, I'll be there." You try your best to not get caught watching him walk away. God, even his ass looks great. How do some people get all the good genes while you're sitting here looking like an unwashed potato?

--------------------1 week later---------------

   You're munching on a breadstick, listening to soon to no longer be Mrs. Jung go on and on about how proud she is of Sam as your eyes narrow in on Hoseok sauntering over. No man should look that good in just a white T-shirt and jeans, and you're having a hard time not staring. Over the last week, the two of you have texted nearly nonstop. He's sweet and funny, and he has an arsenal of really good memes that he sends you at the most unexpected of times. It's just not fair. You can't have it all. You can't look that good AND have such a killer sense of humor and be witty and intelligent.

   Sam keeps pestering you asking who you could possibly be texting, and at one point you blurted out Jimin. Which isn't entirely a lie. The two of you have actually hung out a few times this last week, and he is convinced that he needs to be a wingman for you and Hoseok so you're pretty sure he'd have no problem covering for you. Apparently, you need to work on your poker face better if Jimin caught on so quickly. You hate that you've lied to your best friend, but at the same time you're not sure how to spill the beans that you have a thing for her older brother who she's incredibly protective over. Someday either you'll get over it or you'll finally buck up and tell her. Today, however, is not that day.

   "Hobi, my baby!" Mrs. Jung jumps up at the sight of her son and wraps him into a tight embrace before reluctantly pulling away so he can have a seat. After quietly wiping away a stray tear her eyes laser in on the tattoos. "When...did you get all of those?"

   "Uh, about a year ago I guess." His eyes cast down at the table, guilt clearly washing over his features at not having seen his family in so long. "You know mom, I uh, I have a dance performance upcoming and I have a solo part. I'd really like it if you could come."

   Her eyes finally look away from the tattoos and back up to his face before she nods. "Of course, of course, I'll come. You know, I always did think you were a great dancer it was your father who-"

   "Mom, mom it's okay. We know. Let's just enjoy tonight." Sam interjects and you find yourself awkwardly cramming a breadstick into your mouth as you try to astral project out of this family conversation you're intruding on. Hoseok glances between the three women around the table before cracking up loudly at the sight of your cheeks stuffed to full bread capacity.

   "Oh, Hoseok I guess I've never properly introduced you to (y/n). (Y/N), don't let his looks fool you. He's super lame. He once failed a test because he was up all night playing pokemon go and he's super loud which is totally not cool."

   "Sam! Be nice to your brother!" Hoseok laughs as he waves off his mother's warning.

   "Well, at least I don't still sleep with Mr. Porky your childhood stuffed pig."

   "YOU TAKE THAT BACK RIGHT NOW!"

   Your eyes dart between the siblings as they quarrel with one another. Siblings look like fun, and there's something so heartwarming about the way how they interact even when fighting. Okay, well maybe not that time that Sam ripped him a new one at his job, but this time it looks fun. It's also nice to see Hoseok so relaxed and happy, so comfortable and not like the world is going to fall apart or with a bunch of thorns sticking out of his hair.

   The rest of the night you try not to glance over at Hoseok too much. It's hard to keep up the conversations and not include him, but you realized rather quickly that speaking to him too much cause your cheeks to burst a flaming red and words to come out slightly wobbly. It's so easy to text him, but in person (especially while trying to keep your friendship as a secret) it's like fighting a boss battle. By the time you get back home you're exhausted, utterly wiped out from trying to keep yourself sane.

-----------

   A month later and you're sitting next to Sam as the performance finishes up. You've never seen modern dance before, but you can guarantee it won't be the last time. The way he moved, the raw emotions that each movement gave it was like watching a silent movie but knowing all the dialogue. It's also at this moment that you realize you don't like Hoseok. You don't have a crush on Hoseok. No, you love him. You love his quirky sense of humor, you love the darker brooding side of him, you love the way his eyes turn into little crescents as his cheeks press up when he smiles, you love the way he's so effortlessly him. Perhaps you fell in love the moment you started texting him, the moment you started unraveling this. But this is dangerous and unfair to your best friend and to Hoseok who most likely sees you as only a friend. So before the very end of the show, you fake a stomach ache and head home, you're in far too much of a mess at this stunningly obvious realization to see Hoseok face to face with his family around.

   The guilt that already felt heavy to begin with now feels like a boulder on your shoulders when you get a text from Sam followed by one from Hoseok shortly after, both of them concerned how you're feeling. While at first, you wanted to save your integrity instead you just say, "I ate too much ice cream and didn't take a Lactaid." There, embarrassing but believable and certainly easier to admit than "I'm head over heels in love with Hoseok and I've been secretly texting him." It's at this point that you do something even dumber, you text your secret ally Jimin.

[You]: I have a problem

[Jimin]: ?

[You]: I'm in love with him. Please shoot me.

[Jimin]: No thanks, I don't handle blood well. But you just noticed this? How are you slow on the uptake about your own emotions?

[You]: Ouch, could you try to comfort me. I don't know what the fuck to do

[Jimin]: Put your big girl pants on and tell him

[You]: Fuck no. Are you crazy? My best friend, his fucking sister, doesn't even know we talk

[Jimin]: Yeah I know. Just tell her.

[You]: Life isn't that simple assface

[Jimin]: I'll take that as a compliment, I have a great ass. Also it is that simple. I assure you. It only doesn't seem that simple because you're afraid. Don't be. I know Hobi and...just trust me if his sister is anything like him tell her and trust me when I say just be honest. What's the worst that can happen?

[You]: I'm not ready to hear no, I think I might die from heartbreak

[Jimin]: Ohmygod you are so freaking dramatic. Tell them bitch or I will!

[You]: You fucking wouldn't

[Jimin]: Well someone has to...

   It's at this point that you throw your phone at the wall out of frustration at the same time as a few knocks are heard on your door. Fear seizes you at the thought that it might be Sam or Hobi. Fuck. Fuck. Oh god, you really screwed yourself over. "Open up loser, I know you're in there."

   For someone so cute and tiny with such a quiet voice you've learned that Jimin certainly has a snarky side to him which you've clearly awakened if his tone through the door is anything to go by. "Don't wanna. Let me die in peace."

   "I will kick the door down in five four three" You begrudgingly open the door for him before shutting it and shuffling back under the blankets.

   "What are you doing over here Jimin?"

   "Trying to talk some sense into you. Besides, emotional support is better in person. So, I saw you at the show tonight. Snuck out early huh? I left as soon as I got changed to stop you from blubbering alone."

   "Got changed? You were there?" You don't remember seeing Jimin in the crowd, although you were rather focused on the show.

   "Ouch, I'm one of the dancers remember? How cruel and heartless." Jimin fakes a sob before he socks a punch on your shoulder and wraps you up in his arms. "Seriously though, I know it's scary but just tell them already. Look at you, you can't keep this a secret much longer. It's like ripping a bandaid off, you need to let it happen."

   You try to weigh everything out, and you spend the next hour formulating a plan with Jimin. He's right, you do need to tell them. And while Jimin thinks you should tell Hobi first and get it over with, your allegiance to your friend holds more importance to you. Instead, you decide in the morning you'll talk to her first and then you'll try to talk to Hoseok. It might ruin the friendship that you've built, but it's no use pining after him from a distance. As much as you hate to admit it, Jimin is right. It's time to finally come clean after months of this.

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

   It was now or never. It was d-day, game time, time for the world to possibly collapse and have your best friend punch you in your throat. You're nervously clutching at the hem of your hoodie as she blabbers on about dinner with her mom and her brother, and you can feel yourself almost bursting. You have to tell her, and soon.

   "Ugh, I feel so bad that you had to miss dinner though. We went to this little Mexican place and they had this flan that you would have loved. I would have saved you some but one I have no self-control, let's be real, and two you would've just forgotten to take a Lactaid and gotten sicker."

   "Sam," You take a wobbly breath and interject her thousand words a minute rambling. She looks up from her phone and rolls over on your bed, an eyebrow cocked at the serious tone in your voice. "Sam, I uh, I have something to tell you..."

   "What, you're fucking Jimin? Yeah, I figured that one out already. So what, are you guys dating or just-"

   "What? NO? Oh my god, no why would you-"

   "-Well, why wouldn't I? When I was talking to Hobi about it last night even he agreed that you guys must be dating. Especially when he took off so fast after the show suspiciously around the time that you left. You don't have to lie about."

   "Oh. Oh god, oh no. Hobi doesn't really think that, does he? Fuck. Okay, Sam, Jimin was right I need to be honest. I'm not fucking Jimin, nor have I ever-"

   "That's a shame, he has a great ass."

   "Yeah, sure, back to the point." You can feel a cold sweat start to take over as you gulp in air, "I'minlovewithyourbrother." You say the words as fast as possible, eyes squeezed shut as you brace for impact.

   "What? You're...howzthatevenpossible? Since like when? And...love...not like...girl I am so confused." You slowly open your eyes, one at a time to see a very lost look on her face.

   "Okay so it's like this...I've met Hoseok before the incident at the coffee shop. Way before. Only once though. He passed out on campus and I helped him out. We didn't talk. But then at that party where you ditched me for Mr. Keg stands-"

   "-His name is Bobby, and I told you we didn't have sex he-"

   "-Knocked up the cheerleader, yeah I know. Anyways, we ran into each other at the party and we got to talking and then we started texting and I know he sees me as just a friend or maybe just a friend of his sister...but...I really like him. Like him like him, like love like." Great, now you're incoherent. Sam is dumbfounded, and for once she isn't talking. After a moment of awkward silence, she clears her throat.

   "You do realize he's a dork? Like a giant dork? And that he freaking lives in a coffee shop? And that he has a lot of baggage? And that honestly, as your friend I should warn you, probably has gotten an STD at some point in his life? Like...you're way too good for my dipshit older brother. I love him, but like honestly. Him?" Well, this wasn't the direction you expected at all. "I get that some girls think he's cute and all, but you've never had to do his laundry. It's gross. He smells like gross boy."

   "He smells like citrus and pine needle most of the time, you can't blame him for sweating when he dances."

   "Did...did you just defend his body odor? And how the fuck do you know that he smells like citrus and pine needle? What, are you some kind of scent expert? You know what, no please don't answer that. I don't want to know." Sam shakes her head before clasping your hand. "Listen, I'm not here to police who you date or who my brother dates. I'll support you. Or console you." Gee thanks for the vote of confidence. "But I think I might have fucked everything up. You should talk to him soon."

   "Well yeah, you did kind of make him think I was fucking Jimin. How bad was it?"

   Sam tilts her head, eyes narrowing as she recalls the memory. "Well...he was pretty surprised, but then he put on his typical 'nice guy' smile and said that you guys made a good pair and he could see it."

   You groan in frustration as you grab your phone, getting ready to send him a text before Sam slaps it out of your hold.

   "No, nope, you're not texting him this. Listen, there's a party tonight that I know he'll be going to after he finishes up work. You're going. That'll be the best way to talk to him." God, not another party. This isn't at all how you wanted to admit your stupid feelings. Damn emotions, you swear they're like dandelions growing in the least expected places. But the look on Sam's face says she's not going to take no for an answer. But she's right, if he's working right now the best time to get a hold of him today will be at that party.

   You take a deep breath in and nod resolutely. Just because she's right doesn't mean that you have to like it and you still stand by your hatred for parties. At least this time you have a reason. As long as you can find Hoseok. "What if I can't find him?"

   "I'll text him, dummy. I've got your back."

   "More like you'll have the popcorn to watch this all unfold."

   "Well, yeah that too. But I mean, I'm rooting for you." You pick up a pillow and hurl it at her face before groaning as you flop over her on the bed.

   "What time is the party?"

   "Well it starts at 9, and it's five now. So if I were you I would start getting ready now."

   "Now? What for?" Uh oh, you know that face.

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

   There are few things in life that Samantha Jung loves more than giving people makeovers. You've been thoroughly groomed and primped to perfection and it somehow took the full four hours. Your skin is glowing in a way you didn't realize it could but after enough exfoliating, a clay mask, a sheet mask, and a hydropack later it's sparkling in a way that shouts "I drink tons of water and eat my weight in kale!" Not that you do, you probably should though. You're highlighted and contoured to perfection, and while Sam is clearly proud you have zero problems with admitting that it will never look this way again. She did at least let you wear your own comfortable choice of jeans, t-shirt, and sneakers.  

   "He's in the backyard, playing beer pong again." Jimin appears by your side the moment the two of you walk in, answering the golden question before you can even think it.

   "Jesus, you scared the shit out of me Jimin." Jimin snickers as he hands both of you drinks.

   "Sorry about that princess. Well, what are you waiting for? Go show your very dewy face off to him."

   "Oh god do I look like an oil slick?" Sam hits him as you pull out your phone and check in the camera.

   "No no no, you look great." Jimin is trying to stop the blows Samantha is hurling his way as you sigh and glance around the party. You don't know most of these people. Apparently it's mostly music and dance students celebrating that they've finished all of their showcases. You can feel dread fill you with each step closer to the door as you move past the crowd. It feels like ages before you're finally standing in front of the door. You take a swig of the Kool-Aid and bottom-shelf vodka concoction before finally stepping out.

   If you weren't oily before you know that you will be soon. It's humid, sticky, and sweltering even after the sun has gone down. You can see the fireflies already coming out, cicadas can be heard buzzing in the distance, and you're sure mosquitos are actively hunting. If it weren't for your eyes landing right on Hoseok you would've walked right back into the comfortable air conditioning. Why anyone would want to play beer pong outside in this weather is beyond you.

   You take a deep breath before promptly taking a seat next to Yoongi. You'd like to lie and say you walked right up to Hoseok, grabbed him by the collar of his shirt and kissed him...but that's not asking for consent for one, and you also would probably fall flat on your face if you tried. Yoongi nods your way before offering his cigarette, you shake your head in a silent response before taking another swig of your drink.

   "Hey Yoongi, who's the new friend?" A man you don't recognize stops playing beer pong momentarily and you try hard to not sweat as you feel Hoseok's gaze land on you.

   "(Y/N), what are you doing here? Oh! Jimin just walked into the house if you're looking for him." You try not to laugh too pitifully as you wave your hand as if to shoo the thought away.

   "No, no. I know where he is." You're so sorry Sam, but it's your turn to throw her under the bus. "In fact, I'm pretty sure he's still with Sam. She had some sort of uh...misunderstanding that I think she's rather eager to sort out." You look up from the dandelion you've been concentrating on when you hear his sing-song laughter and you feel like you've been sucker punched in the gut. His hair is slicked back for once, cheeks glowing a pretty shade of pink under the patio light, sweat trailing down his temple onto his collar bones and all of his tattoos on full display in his tank top. Lord give you strength to not die from thirst on the spot.

   "Sam has a bad habit of jumping to conclusions."

   "Hey, are we going to play or what?" The guy you don't know throws an empty cup at the back of Hoseok's head as he speaks. Hoseok rolls his eyes before sending you a wink and turning back to the broad-shouldered stranger.

   "Yeah yeah Jin. Ready to get your ass kicked again?"

   There are a few things you learn in the next few minutes. Hoseok is really good at beer pong, you figured that last time but considering that the defeat only took a total of three minutes it's much more obvious now. You've also learned that Jin sucks and that Yoongi loves nothing more than to pick on him each time he misses. Which is every time.

   "Aish, that's it. I'm done. I quit." Jin groans after chugging back the last cup before he ambles over to another group further in the backyard. Yoongi coughs before winking at you and heading over with Jin, leaving you and Hoseok alone. Bless that tiny angry man for being the best unexpected wingman. Hoseok glances around for a minute before sitting down next to you.

   "You were really good by the way. The show I mean, the beer pong too though. I had no clue someone could dance like that. You chose the right pursuit in life, I'm sure of it."

   Hoseok laughs as he takes a swig of beer. "Thanks, I appreciate that. It's a shame you had all that ice cream. Lactose intolerant huh? I've been fucking you up with all those free coffees and I didn't even know it." You can feel your cheeks burning bright red as you jump to your feet. The sudden movement causes Hoseok to jerk back as you point your finger at his chest.

   "For your information that was a lie, although I would appreciate if you used almond milk in the future. But that's beside the point! I was completely fine, just a scaredy cat. So here goes nothing, Jung Hoseok I'd like to take you out on a date!" You can feel the blush travel from your cheeks up to your ears but force yourself to look at Hoseok. He's smiling, ear to ear with cheeks pushing his eyes into those cute little crescents you love to see.

   "Okay. Let's go."

   "What?"

   "You said you want to take me out on a date. I'm saying yes, let's go. Come on, what are you waiting for?" Your mind goes blank as he stands up and clasps your hand in his. It's so warm (kind of sweaty if you're honest, but hey, so is yours) and so perfect. Your brain freezes, your mental record scratches as you follow him through the house and out to the front lawn. (Excuse me, this is your friendly narrator, I'd like to interrupt for just a moment. This story could have been much shorter if you didn't overthink everything so much. Believe in yourself more! Okay, that's enough interruptions. I'll get back to the story now.)

   "Wait, wait, Hoseok where are we going?" Hoseok gives you a bright smile as he looks down at you.

   "There's a diner a block away from here. You didn't bring your car did you?" You shake your head no as you follow him. "They do really good pancakes. Breakfast for dinner is the best." At the sound of you suddenly going mute Hoseok looks back down as he squeezes your hand reassuringly. "So why'd you ask me out?"

   "Why wouldn't I? You're hot for one, but you're also really funny and sweet and relatable, and honestly, it's impossible to not fall for you. You have this bright sunny smile, but under all these layers is this really sweet but vulnerable man that I..." Hoseok stops walking for a moment, his face turned away as if to hide the blush creeping up his face. You take a deep breath before asking, "...why...why did you accept?"

   "Why wouldn't I?" You laugh at the way he imitates you before he starts walking again. "You're beautiful, and you've saved my ass twice because you're either insane or insanely nice, you're funny, smart, and the moment we started talking my life turned around. Honestly, yesterday I wanted to punch Jimin in the throat but then I realized it was my fault for not beating him to the punch. I would've asked you out if you hadn't, you know. Ah, we're here." Hobi leads you into the diner and slides into a booth as you slide into the other side. You stare down at the shiny black lacquered table for a moment before peeking up to look up at Hoseok.

   He's peering intently at the laminated menu. You've never noticed before but he has beautiful, long fingers with well-groomed cuticles. "Do you get manicures?"

   "No, but Sam recently had one of her makeover moments with me and decides that my nails had to have some work done on them."

   "She did a good job, they look nice." Hoseok glances up and smiles at you before sliding another menu to you. You take it and stare down for a moment before a waitress comes up to your table.

   "What can I get you guys?"

   "Oh, uh I'll just get a water and a small stack of pancakes."

   "A sprite and the stackhouse, eggs over easy." The waitress nods as she scribbles it down before walking away. Hoseok fiddles with a napkin for a moment before piping up. "Okay, so really important question here, what are your top songs right now?"

   "What genre?"

   "Rap?" He looks hopeful and you pull up your phone.

   "Well, always J Cole and Kendrick, but let's see...songs...hmm. Recently I've been listening to Justin Bieber by Coogie a lot, Uzuhan by Uzuhan, Pink Blue Dawn by Dumbfoundead. Honestly, I've been listening to more R&B lately. Lots of Sabrina Claudio, Sinead Harnett, and Steve Lacey."

   "Holy sweet Jesus, mary me."

   "Were you praying to Jesus and his mother or asking for my hand in marriage?"

   "A bit of both."

   "Oh well Kevin in first grade and I got married by the swingset after he gave me a ring pop so I think I'll have to get those divorce papers first. Sorry. My turn for questions. In a dream world, what would you be doing?"

   "Well marrying you because Kevin never gave you that ring pop obviously, and I'd be working as an established choreographer with my own studio."

   "You'll get there. I'm sure of it."

   "Such confidence. What about you? What would you be doing?"

   You want to say 'you' to him but you would definitely die from embarrassment. You can see the shitty epitaph now just thinking about it. "Well, I guess I'd be an established author on a much-needed vacation on a beautiful island basking in the warm sun without a worry because I've dug myself out of student loan debt."

   "Ooh, that sounds nice. I'm thinking Hawaii, ooh or maybe Jeju, you know it's the Hawaii of Korea?"

   At that moment the food comes out and the two of you spend the next hour or so discussing random topics until finally, you get up to leave after not so subtle hints from the waitress that you've overstayed your welcome. The two of you choose to walk back to your dorm rather than wait for an uber. It's only a few blocks away and it gives both of you more time to just bask in each other's presence. You never guessed that he would say yes to a date, or that it would feel so natural. All this time you've been able to hide away with text messages, making it easier to be unguarded the way face to face conversations typically make you a nervous ball of anxiety. But with Hobi? It all just feels so right, so easy as if it was supposed to be this way all along.

   You can feel your heart sink though with each step closer to the dorm, and you're pretty sure that Hoseok feels the same way based off of how he slows down. By the time you're standing in front of the building, you're suddenly feeling an overwhelming urge to not let the night end, afraid that you'll wake up tomorrow and the fairytale spell that's been magically cast will vanish.

   His hand is still tightly gripped around yours, the moon and dim security lights casting a silvery glow over his skin. Cicadas are still buzzing, fireflies glowing in the distance as if to remind you that the night isn't over yet. You glance up at Hobi and notice that it looks like he's trying to say something but no sound is coming out. His lips are slightly open, brows furrowed together. God, his lips look so soft and perfect and pillowy. Before you can even think you're standing up on your tiptoes and weaving your free hand into his hair as you softly plant a kiss on his lips.  

   What starts out as a soft and unsure peck quickly escalates as he grips your hip and deepens the kiss. He tastes like syrup and sprite and everything right. You can feel yourself growing dizzy, hungry for more as his tongue parts your lips. You always assumed he'd be a good kisser, if you're honest you've fantasized about it far more than you'd ever willingly admit, but he's even better than you could have guessed. A soft breathy moan leaves your mouth as he brings your bodies closer together and the guttural groan that leaves him as he finally separates and the two of you try to breathe has you reconfirming that you really don't want this night to end.

   "I, wow that was..." Hobi's eyes are glittering, the world cast in a haze of twinkling euphoria as you look back up at him.

   "Hobi, would you like to come up with me?" You're suddenly regretting your sudden boldness at the way he stops moving for a minute. Perhaps you're moving too fast, maybe he thinks you're a floozy or something and you've ruined it. Your overthinking goes into overdrive before his hand cups your chin and forces you to look back up at him.

   "I would love to, but if I go up there I...listen I really want you. So if you just want to hang out I need you to give me a second so I can calm down." At that, you peek down to realize that he's clearly grown excited, and you can feel a surge of need trickle down your panties.

   "I...I don't want to just hang out. I want you."

   "Ah, fuck. Are you sure?" You nod your head before reaching back up and placing a firm kiss on his lips. The green light seems to go off in his head at this, his hands gripping you tightly to him as tongues melt together before he pries away and you quickly lead him up. Unfortunately, the elevator has been broken for almost the entire year so you have to make the trip by jumping up the stairs, fever clawing at you the closer you get.

   By the time you're finally in your room you can feel sexual tension hanging thickly in the air. The moment you shut the door he hooks your legs around his waist and presses you against the wall, mouth quick to find yours again. Your hips jut against his, desperate for friction at this point and the groan of pleasure that leaves him has you clawing away at his shirt. You knew that he had a great figure, you've seen it before at the recital but to see it so close in person is another story. Your hands etch over his firm abs, dipping down to that oh so drool worthy V as you unbuckle his pants while his lips attach to your neck.

   "I don't think you understand how long I've wanted you." Hobi stops his ministrations as he speaks, eyes boring into yours before he moves you off the wall and onto your bed. You watch as he shuffles out of his shoes and pants before crawling back over you. In a matter of moments, the two of you are both in just your underwear, his eyes trained on the obvious wet patch of your pink underwear. "You look so beautiful, so perfect."

   The feeling of his soft fingers trailing over your body raises goosebumps, your eyes shutting at the sensation as one hand trails from your calf up to your inner thigh. "Look at you, so wet for me. All for me, all mine." His words have you whimpering, your hand gripping his.

   "Please touch me, I need you. Please, Hobi." His eyes squeeze shut for a moment as he grips at your thighs, shuffling until his face is just millimeters from where you need it.

   "How can I say no to that face?" Finally, he's tearing off your underwear. For a moment you're afraid that he's just going to stay there forever, face hovering over before finally he dips down. You're so wound up that even just the lightest pressure when he lays his tongue down and licks one long stripe has both of you groaning in satisfaction. "Fuck, how do you taste so good?"

   "Please stop talking and just help me. I need you. I need you so bad." You weave your hands through his hair, trying to move him closer to where you need him most. Hoseok shoots you a smirk before relenting, finally diving in like a man starved. His tongue is everywhere all at once, diving between your folds one second before reaching back up to swirl around your swollen clit. Your hands grip tighter into his hair as your hips roll on reflex at the sensation. If the rumors are true and Hoseok really has fucked half the campus at some point then you must admit that the studying has been worth it. If the rumors aren't true then he's either a sex god or a prodigy because holy shit you've never felt yourself come so unglued just from oral sex before.

   His hands grip your asscheeks to bring you closer as you mewl out his name, his own pleasure rumbling deep from his chest and vibrating through you. God, this is so much better than your own fantasies. "Fuck, fuck, you're so good. Don't stop, please don't stop. I'm going to cum." The tell-tale knot deep in your belly is on fire, legs quaking around his head as you throw your neck back. The feeling of two of his fingers gliding into you as he latches onto your clit is all you need to tumble head first into euphoria. Everything feels fuzzy as if cotton has been stuck in your ears and your muscles have become weightless. Floating. Flying. Breezing right into heaven.

   You don't even realize that you've been moaning the entire time, or that Hoseok has stopped moving to watch you as you fuck yourself onto his fingers slowly, coming back down to reality as the stars fade from your vision. "You're so beautiful, I could watch you all day." His voice is gruff with desire as he leans down and captures your lips in a wet, needy kiss. "I need you, I need you right now." His lips lead a sticky trail down to your chest as he finally pries the offending bra off and flings it off to the side of the bed with an ominous sounding crash that neither of you pay attention to. You're too absorbed in your own lustful world to notice anything else.

   As his teeth bear down onto your nipple your hand grasps his clothed erection. God, why is he still in boxers? The sudden attention being placed back on him has his eyes closing as a guttural rumble of pleasure leaves his throat. You try to pry his boxers off, but at the angle you're positioned in you can only manage to get it down half his ass. In lightning speed he's standing before you bare, his weeping cock bobbing proudly in the air. The sight has you drooling as you shuffle closer to see him. Veiny, thick, shining with precum. It looks delicious as he slowly fists it, eyes boring into yours the entire time.

   "Do you...have a condom?" Hoseok's voice breaks you out of your spell and you nod before reaching over to your nightstand and pulling one out. He quickly grabs the foil and you watch with keen interest as he rolls it on and tosses the foil into your small waste bin. "You're...you're sure about this right?"

   "Hobi, I've thought about fucking you more times than I can count. Please, fuck me already." His adam's apple bobs at the admission and he pulls you up into a heated kiss before twisting you around and placing you on all fours. One hand pulls your ass apart as the other grips your hip for support. The feeling of him finally entering zaps you with electricity, each small movement as he sinks further into your dripping cunt has your eyes rolling back into your head.

   "Holy shit, how are you so tight?" You clench at his words, hips rolling back to urge him to move. "Keep doing that baby girl and I'm not going to last long." The pet name has you moaning, hands gripping the sheets tighter as he slowly pulls out and slams back in, balls slapping against your swollen clit. Hoseok sets into a steady pace, hips slamming into yours each time he hits your cervix. You feel so full, so utterly filled and the knowledge that it's Hoseok, finally him deep inside you has your head reeling and your second orgasm fast approaching.

   "Faster, I'm going to cum!" He grunts as he twists your hair around his hand, pulling you up so your back is flat on his chest as he drills into you at a brutal speed. The sound of moans, flesh on flesh, and wet sex fills the room.

   His mouth lowers to your ear as you start spiraling out of control, "come on, cum with me baby girl. Let go." For the second time you see blinding white, toes curling as his hand circles over your clit, walls clenching around him as you milk him to his own completion.

   The two of you remain there for a few moments, panting as you try to come back down to earth before you finally slump forward, his softening cock slipping out. When you turn around you see him grinning back down at you, pushing his hair out of the way as he flashes you that full crescent eye smile you love so much. He takes a moment to catch his breath before he ties up the condom and tosses it. He rolls onto the bed and pulls you into his arms before speaking.

   "You know, I can't remember the last time I was this happy? You're just so beautiful, and funny, and nice and I don't want you thinking that I was only in it for this. I...I know the rumors about me but I haven't been that guy in a long time. And I really want this..us...fuck do I sound super lame right now?"

   You place a soft peck on his cheek as you beam up at him. "No Hobi, you don't sound lame at all. I kinda figured on the rumor front, considering your ex and how serious that seemed. Besides, I don't care even if it was still true as long as you...only want me...now..." Your voice trails off towards the end, cheeks heating up as you look away before glancing back up at the sound of his loud laugh.

   "Trust me, you're the only thing that's been running through my mind for months now. I'm all yours."

   "All mine?" You watch him smile and nod before he leans down to place a gentle kiss on your forehead. The act feeling somehow so intimate. That night you fall asleep in his arms, trying to count all his tattoos as the two of you whisper about everything and nothing all at the same time. You were right, he's certainly the kind of guy that you can lay in bed with for hours after sex so that's exactly what the two of you do.

   One year later Hoseok graduates and the two of you are more in love than you thought possible. Two years later the two of you are living together as you try to finish up your degree. Three years later and you're working for a publisher while trying to establish yourself as an author as Hoseok finally opens up his own dance studio. Four years later Hoseok proposes to you in front of the slides at a park with a beautiful morganite ring, sneering a comment about 'take that Kevin' after you tearfully accept. Five years later and you're walking down the aisle as Sam bawls her eyes out as your maid of honor. There were ups and downs in the relationship (luckily usually between the sheets), but the two of you worked through everything. Somehow that crash landing all those years ago brought Hoseok into your life, and you wouldn't change how anything happened for the world.  

#btssmutclub #hoseok smut #hoseok fanfic #hoseok fanfiction #hobi smut #hobi fanfic #bts smut #bts fanfic #bts fanfiction #hoseok reader insert

[kevsteen]

I don’t even know what to do anymore.

I feel like I owe everyone a million apologies. 

I have two different chronic pain conditions, and chronic fatigue, and I work full time.

I have a cat who thankfully doesn’t seem to have cancer, but she is sick and doesn’t walk properly any more and needs help with cleaning herself and stretching out her back legs and she is on expensive prescription food for her blood condition and needs extra attention.

My spouse lost their job a month ago and we are in the process of suing the former employer, so not only is there no income there, we have to pay a lawyer.

I am the only emotional support for my mother, who lives across the country, as my grandmother (her mother) is literally wasting away in front of her. Grandma, who was more like a second mother to me, has been sick and hospitalized the bulk of the time since the new year. She is down to 108 lbs and looks skeletal, can’t keep food down, has chronic c. difficile, and asked her doctors last week what would happen if she stopped taking the antibiotics that are killing her colon but keeping the infection halfway at bay, and they told her that she would go septic and her organs would shut down. To which her only concern was how painful dying was, and they told her she wasn’t allowed to make that decision but it’s very painful. As a result of the rampant dehydration and starvation and her age, she is more and more confused as the days go on, and she isn’t being allowed palliative care as an option. So not only is she dying, it’s in one of the worst ways possible. She’s arthritic and spends 90% of her day on the toilet so she is in agony. It’s not okay, and I’m not there and there’s nothing I can do about it and it’s killing me.

My workplace is overloading me. Even if all the above wasn’t a concern, I work for two lawyers and both are giving me enough work to keep me busy all day... so every day I end up behind by a full day. It’s stressing me out so bad. It’s making my insomnia worse than usual, plus the pain conditions I have mean sleep isn’t very restful anyway.

On top of all that, I also have very severe endometriosis. Enough that I have full cramping for a week before I even begin my period and all through it. I’m already being treated with a hormonal solution, but it isn’t enough to keep my insides from gluing themselves together so they want me to start on Visanne. That drug is more of the same hormones I already take, and I already have cycle-related suicidal ideations. I think if I take it I will actually end up killing myself. Other side effects include brain fog and loss of short-term memory, and those things will cost me my job. I need my job. Especially as it’s the only income right now, and what I bring home is only half of what we need to keep our house (we are banking on getting a settlement from the lawsuit, but after the mandatory minimum severance runs out in 2 months we might need to sell our home). The average experience on Visanne is feeling like you’re two months pregnant the entire time you’re on it - including awful nausea and sore and swollen breasts. Also acne and excessive sweating with severe B.O. Did I mention this drug isn’t covered by insurance and is $80 out of pocket every month? So my options are all those wonderful side effects or all the extra pain I’ve been dealing with. 

And that’s all on top of the other strains that come with being married, having other family problems, my dad popping up out of nowhere with a phone call that sent me spiraling (I cut him off because he’s a crack addict who tried to get me to pay his lawyer’s fees after he robbed some banks and was caught and then tried to open up a credit card in my name). 

I am just so tired and worn out and I don’t have any resources left. I keep being told I have to be the strong one, but I don’t feel like anyone is there for me. I have friends who have cut me off because it’s too much drama. I feel like I am making everyone mad by not being myself lately. Believe me, I wish things were different, and I can’t blame anyone because I wouldn’t want to deal with me either. I just don’t know what to do anymore. Every day is something I dread because what ELSE could happen? I just don’t see the good in life because there’s no room for anything else. Even wrestling, which has always been my refuge, has been awful lately. 

I just want to go to sleep and not wake up. I’m so very tired.

#ooc #not that i rp here anymore anyway #I needed to get this out #I can't keep this up #i'm sorry

[thatblondeperson]

So huge thing this morning, I got in car crash and I genuinely thought I was going to die. I'm ok for now, not spectacular but there's many reasons why I'm not obviously.

I was on my way to work and I was in the left hand lane on the highway looking to switch to the right. This is a very chaotic highway and I already hated driving on it in general, so I was checking my mirrors and my blind spot, and unfortunately in the second that I turned to check said blind spot, the car in front of me was breaking and I had about 8 seconds to try and avoid death.

I did not see my life flash before my eyes. I did not see some greater picture in my head. All I thought about was that either I was going to somehow be ok, or I was going to die and there was absolutely nothing I could do about it. If I was going to die, that was it. I didn't even think of what would happen after, I just thought about how sucky it was that I was going to die purely because I was too stupid to focus better while I was driving. I wasnt even unfocused necessarily, things can just change that quickly on the road and I was completely unprepared.

I couldn't pull into the right lane because cars were coming, I could veer to the shoulder because if was uneven dirt and my car could have flipped. I had no time and all I did was brake as hard as I could so I wouldn't hit the car going 60mph.

I remember the impact, and I feel like I blinked and the airbags were just there, and I was stopped. It smelled terrible, I could hear a song playing on my spotify still and I knew I needed to call my mom. I knew I wasn't bleeding anywhere severe, I didn't register at the time that all my windows were intact. I tried to open my car door and it wouldn't budge despite being unlocked. I tried waving and yelling for help but the other two cars, the one I'd hit and the one that stopped to help couldn't see me.

I got my phone, called my mom, called my boss to tell him I wouldn't be at work, called my coworkers and tried the door again which I ended up having to kick pretty hard with my leg. I grabbed my purse and it was about this time that I started feeling in pain and it was INTENSE. Like someone had dropped a slab of concrete on my lower abdomen and I realized I couldn't move.

Luckily the car that stopped was a medical assistant, the police were there, the car I'd hit looked fine and the woman was now sitting on the ground outside it. People kept checking in on me bug I felt totally helpless. My mom showed up and was panicking. I could barely register anything that was happening, all I knew was that somehow the inside of my car had remained intact and that had probably saved my life.

The ambulance took forever to get there cuz it mistook the crash that happened way ahead for mine, but eventually they showed up and I was taken to the emergency room. Mind you, I didn't want to take an ambulance but I was in that much pain from the shock of impact thag I could not move at all.

There I am trying to make the best of life despite his absolutely terrified I was. At this point I still thought I was hulking to die cuz I was hurting THAT bad and I was also worried about a potential concussion. Luckily though I had no bruising really, no scratches aside from my knees, and they deemed that I was definitely not concussed. I was feeling nauseous but we chocked that up to all the smoke I'd inhaled, and the fact that shock had worn off and now I was overflowing with anxiety.

Took some X-rays, no breaks, fractures, no nothing. I was thankfully fine, but still, very much afraid of spontaneous death. Everyone at the hospital was very nice and helpful, the gave me some Motrin and I was discharged.

We went to get the stuff out of my car which was effectively destroyed in the front.

The cabin was still fine, but basically I have no car now. Bluebird is dead. Press F to pay respects.

I'm not going to make some speech about how I understand the fragility of life now, because I already knew that. I didn't experience anything today other than fear. I'm STILL experiencing fear. I'm scared to take a nap because I'm worried if I fall asleep that I won't wake up.

I'm pissed at myself for being this stupid. People already treat me like I'm some kind of ditz, that I can't take care of myself, and/or that I'm too childish and naive to get through life without someone holding my hand. I'm scared to tell people this happened. I'm scared that I'm going to get a pile of judgement because OF COURSE Sofie the dumbass would let this happen to herself. I feel stupid beyond reason. I keep kicking myself today because this was my fault. I did this because I was too dumb to take card of myself and be safe.

I never thought realistically that this would happen to me. I'm intensely crazy about road safety, I drive the speed limit, I will threaten a bitch that doesn't use their turn signal, and I don't roll through stoplights or try to peel through the last second of the yellow light. I'm so careful every day and I leg this happen.

I did this and I'm embarrassed and frustrated.

I have no car.

I'm scared they'll take away my insurance and that I won't be ALLOWED to drive anymore.

I don't have enough money to get through this and before anyone says anything, I REFUSE to ask for any money.

DO NOT GIVE ME MONEY EVEN AS A LOAN.

I'm terrified. I cannot stop thinking about those few seconds that I thought I was going to die, and I'm obviously having a fucking awful day.

I guess I'm just thankful that it wasn't worse and that I'm alive.

#personal #tw #trigger warning

[shipper-trash-bag]

Sabriel week; Day One - Hurt/Comfort

(I know it’s technically day two but I forgot it was this week)

Sam winced at the stinging of the alcohol as his wound was washed out, trying hard to put on a brave face as the doctor and nurse cleaned out the shards of glass and gravel from the wound.

“You’ve had an awful day, huh, son?” The nurse asked, passing the doctor more saline as she picked each piece of glass out with the extra long tweezers. He held the tray out for her, each tiny rock, each jagged shard, and every little miscellaneous piece of garbage making a very audible thunk against the stainless steel. He sighed when the tray got too full, leaving to get another.

The doctor turned her greying head up at Sam, looking through her glasses at him in sympathy. “You’re sure you don’t want to talk to the officers? Catch the guy who did this to you and your brother?” Her eyes were soft, warm like his mother’s, but they couldn’t convince of this.

How do you tell a civilian that the “guy” who did this was a pack of demons? “No, I’m still... I think I’m in shock. I-“ he grasped the edge of the bed as a spasm of pain ripped through him, the swelling of the ankle doing little to go down. “My ankle is killing me, any chance we can X-ray it?”

She rolled the stool down by his foot, carefully taking his shoe off, followed by his sock. “Yeah, I don’t think you need an X-ray, Sam,” she clicked her tongue as they both looked down to see the bone in his foot peeking out through the skin. “But you’ll need surgery. I’m going to book an OR right now and our top ortho surgeron will work on your foot as I finish your side, okay?” He nodded, watching her stand to rip off her gloves. “I’m going to find nurse Elliot to let him know, and I’ll see about an update on your brother, okay?”

Sam nodded, trying to focus on the pattern of the privacy curtains instead of the pain ripping him in half.

He didn’t notice the demons at first, neither did Dean, but he was the first to be thrown through the window. It should have been just a simply salt and burn, shouldn’t have taken more than a day, but they weren’t lucky. It turned into a shit show really quickly, and Sam had carried Dean to the ER on sheer adrenaline alone after a demon crashed the impala into his older brother, totalling the car and fracturing so many bones in Dean, Sam was surprised he didn’t lodge one of them into an organ on their twenty minute hobble.

Dean had gone into surgery twenty six and a half minutes ago. And now that the adrenaline had worn off and Sam realized he’d also broken his own foot, he was going in too. And he was scared. It wasn’t normal for dean to need surgery, not been something he’d had to wait through for a long, long time, and now he needed it too? At the same time, no less. No, Sam Winchester wasn’t scared - he was terrified.

But he nodded along to everything the nurses said, signed the waiver, and let the anesthesiologist hook him up to an IV, dread sitting low in his stomach as he was wheeled to the OR. He only hoped he would wake up as soon as his mom got there, as soon as Dean would.

——————————-

“How is he?”

“Stable. Nurse said he should wake up in the next few minutes.”

Sam knew those voices, even as muffled as they were, but he couldn’t... place them. Still, they chattered on.

“How’s Dean?”

Dean....

“Good. Doctor said he’s lucky to be alive, but he’s awake and demanding I wheel him over here. But he’s still really groggy and high from the pain meds, so let’s wait.” A soft hand ran through his hair, the smell of the soap he’d grown fond of for the past year and a half.

His eyes opened slowly, a breath filling his lungs with the soft floral spice. “Mom?”

“Sam!” Her face swam into focus as he blinked up at her. Bags hung below her eyes, crinkled around the edges in a tight smile. “You scared the shit outta me! You two went in there, no backup, no nothing? It’s not like you. I knew something was wrong when you didn’t call me back last night.”

She looked exhausted, and Sam felt guilty about it. But he simply smiled softly back at her, thankful she was by his side. “Sorry, Mom. Won’t happen again. Dean-“

“He’s fine. Doctor’s patched him up and he’s going to go stir crazy because he’ll be bed bound for a few weeks, but he’ll live.”

Before she could finish her thought, nurse Elliot popped his head into their room. “Sorry to break up the reunion here, but Mrs. Baker? There’s some insurance forms I still need you to fill out.”

Mary nodded, turning to kiss Sam on the forehead before leaving. “I’ll be back, okay?”

Sam nodded, letting her go. The door barely closed before he felt the bed dip on his other side. Startled, he turned his head just in time to see Gabriel curl up against him, face just inches from his own. “I’m so angry with you.”

“Yeah?” He cocked an eyebrow, waiting to feel the full brunt of the ex-archangel’s fury.

Gabriel nodded. His face didn’t show anger, though, in fact, it was twisted more in pain than any other emotion Sam could have anticipated it’d be. “We were supposed to have a date night, and instead you go on a hunt with Dean without backup. How am I supposed to handle that, hmm? You didn’t even tell me ahead of time. You just.... you text me from a gas station a state away, saying ‘sorry. Change of plans.’ Like-“ he scoffs, frustrated and ready to cry. “The next call I get is from a nurse saying they’re wheeling you into surgery. Do you know how messed up that is? You can’t even call me yourself to cancel date night, you have to have a nurse do it for you.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Yeah, whatever.”

Sam reaches up with both hands, cupping Gabriel’s face and forcing him to look at the man. “It was messed up how I handled it. I let Dean rope me into the hunt because I knew if I didn’t he’d go alone, and I didn’t call you because I knew you’d try to either tag along or convince me to stay behind. I’m struggling trying to please both of you, and I’m coming up short, here. Our relationship is suffering because of my choices, and I’m so unbelievably sorry, Gabe. I’m going to try harder. I’m also going to try to find someone to be Dea: backup when I can’t be.” He rubbed his thumb under Gabe’s left eye, a secretly favourite spot of Gabe’s he likes Sam touching he doesn’t think Sam knows about. “I have to compromise here for us, and I don’t know why I haven’t been willing to when it comes to Dean.”

Gabriel shrugged. “Cuz you’re both too codependent.”

Sam sighed, nodding. “Yeah, yeah, yeah. I know.” He knew Gabriel was right, they all did, but the man still had some pride to keep. “Truce? I’ll make it up to you. We can have date night tomorrow.”

Gabriel laughed, a wet chuckle bubbling up from his throat. “Oh, no, babe. The doctor wants you in bed rest too. We’re going to have to put date night on hold for a while.”

Sam pouted, but nodded anyways. Far be it from him to keep Gabriel from doting on him for a change. And dote Gabriel did every single time Sam got injured or sick. Three months ago it was from a twisted ankle, and a week after that it had been the flu. Both time’s Gabriel went all out in the best human ways he could in order to make Sam feel pampered beyond words.

Gabriel nodded, curling alongside Sam and kissing him softly. “But only if I get to choose what documentary we watch. I’m not watching that coin one anymore. It’s coins. I know how they work. I have common cents.”

“Stop.”

“Why? I’m being the change I want to see in this world.”

“Gabriel.”

“Come on, you know you love me.”

Sam let out a soft smile at the worlds, having only admitted them to his boyfriend just a few weeks ago. Three years. Three years and he’d finally admitted it. “Yeah, I guess I do, Huh?”

Gabriel smiled widely, kissing him softly again. “When we get home, I’m getting you a maternity pillow. Your mom said it’ll help you sit upright so you don’t put strain on your stitches. We already have Jack and Cas out buying other stuff for you guys. Got a thick foam pillow to elevate your broken foot. And I also got us an HBO Go account so you can binge watch your shows. And soup. You like tomato and rice, right?”

Sam hummed in agreement, already enjoying the prospect at all of that. “Can we just lay here for a bit, first? We can get into the rest later. Just.... hold me? And maybe-“

“Run my fingers through your hair? You got it.”

By the time that Mary had finished the last form, Sam had fallen asleep again, but this time, it was from his boyfriend’s warmth.

(Someone teach me how to put read more on mobile)

#spn #sabriel #sam winchester #gabriel #dean winchester #mary winchester #fanfic #sabriel fanfiction #sabriel fanfic #my fanfic #sabriel week #hurt/comfort

[thepurplebutterflythings]

My Home - Peter Maximoff

Gif: Unknown from Tenor

Word Count: 1.8K

Pairing: Peter Maximoff x (f)Reader

Summary: Peter and Y/N reflect on their decade long relationship as Y/N reaches the six-month mark of her pregnancy.

Warnings: N/A

Requested: Anon

Masterlist

“You know we could just order take away…” Y/N hesitated as she watched Peter struggle with wrangling spaghetti into the saucepan. He refused to have Y/N help him, and every time she approached him to help, Peter sped the pan away to the other side of the room and then stuck his chin out in a pouting style before saying:

“No, no, no, you are letting me take care of you. You need to be resting, you’re six months pregnant.”

He would then wait until you had stepped backwards from the stove before approaching it once more. Peter often said you had issues letting go of control, and it wasn’t entirely untrue, but the main problem with watching Peter attempt to cook, regardless of the sweet intentions of taking care of his pregnant girlfriend, was painful. He was having trouble figuring out the way to put spaghetti in a saucepan – for starters the pan he was using was too small, but he didn’t let Y/N say because anytime she opened her mouth, Peter would say to her that she should be resting, and that she should not worry because he had everything under control. It was so sweet, there was no denying it, but Y/N was eating for two and wanted the food she was eating to be… well… edible.

“I have everything under control.”

“Peter, please let me help, it’s honestly just painful to watch this.” Y/N begged, rubbing her bump.

“I’ve got it. Go! Go sit,” Peter waved her away dramatically, “my lady and my baby girl can relax.”

“I’d be more relaxed if I knew you weren’t close to burning down our kitchen…”

“Have a little faith!”

“I do have faith,” Y/N said, “faith that the house insurance can cover whatever damage your cause.”

Peter gave Y/N a look which told her that he didn’t find her joke funny, but she merely smiled playfully before kissing Peter on the cheek and going to sit on the sofa. She turned the TV on but kept whatever was playing on a low volume – Y/N wasn’t paying attention, she was too busy listening to Peter in the kitchen, worried about if he would injure himself or damage the house. Five minutes became ten which became fifteen, and there was a strange quietness which unsettled her.

“DINNER!” Peter called out causing Y/N to sigh with relief as she stood up and waddled into the kitchen where Peter had set up a small table for two. Peter looked up to see Y/N walk in and smiled broadly at the sight of her. “You’re too cute with that little pregnant walk.”

“What’d you ruin?”

“Nothing, can’t a man complement the woman carrying his baby?”

“He can,” Y/N nodded as she took a seat down and sceptically looked around. Peter was a loving partner and one to often compliment her, but a small part in Y/N’s brain whispered that he might have caught something on fire and attempted to sweet talk her before admitting it. There was nothing she could see and so she calmed herself down. Peter put the plates down, one in front of Y/N and one where he was planning to sit, and then sat himself down. Y/N eyed her dish and noticed it was bigger than what she would have done for herself.

“What?” Peter asked, noticing her expression.

“That’s an awful lot of pasta for one person, Peter,” Y/N commented.

“Ah, but you’re eating for two! Tuck in!” Peter declared before shovelling food in his own mouth. Y/N started laughing as she started eating. They ate in silence for a while, but Peter was constantly looking at Y/N, his eyes occasionally dropping to her swelled stomach. “Have we any names in mind?” He asked curiously. It was a topic they hadn’t thought of discussing yet even though they knew they were having a little girl.

“Not yet…” Y/N shook her head, “you?”

“Me neither.” Peter then leaned back in his seat and looked hesitant. Y/N stopped eating and put her fork down, staring at Peter and waiting to know what was happening “How long have we known each other?”

“Erm…” Y/N blinked hard once, twice, three times as she thought, taken aback by the question. “Ten years, whoa,” Y/N chuckled, “has it really been that long? Have we really known each other for ten years? Since we were seventeen?”

“And we’ve been going out nearly as long, right?”

“Yeah,” Y/N nodded, “we met in… March, and that September you asked me on a date and I, rather wisely, said yes. Why?”

“Well…” Peter scratched his head and grinned crookedly.

“Peter, if you’re planning on dumping me, I’m sorry to say that we’re sorta stuck with each other because you went and knocked me up!” Y/N teased. Peter started laughing awkwardly, he shifted in his seat and looked at Y/N again.

“Wouldn’t dream of it, honey,” Peter assured Y/N, reaching across the table and taking her hand in his own, running his thumb over the back of her hand.

“Okay… so what’s up?”

“I’ve just been thinking about us, our lives, our past… our future,” Peter confessed. “Do you remember when we met?”

“How could I forget?” Y/N chuckled, “I think I’m the only person who has managed to catch you mid-steal!”

Y/N had just moved in down the street where Peter lived and had been helping her parents take things from the moving van into the new house when there was a loud crash in the back of the moving van which frightened her. After letting out a yelp, Y/N closed the back of the van up lightning fast and locked it so whatever was inside couldn’t get out. At first she wondered if it were an animal, something like a stray cat, but when a knocking came from the inside of the van, Y/N yelped again.

“Erm, hey,” called a voice inside of the van, “can you let me out?”

Y/N blinked and stepped back, realizing that it was a person that she had caught rather than an animal.

“Who are you?” Y/N called back, “why on earth are you in my moving van?”

“Erm, well, yeah… funny story actually,” the voice said and Y/N realized it was the voice of a young man around her own age, “let me out and I’ll tell you.”

“And how did you get in the van without me seeing?” She continued, “And what do you want?”

“Same answer there,” he said, “let me out and I’ll tell you.”

“How do I know that you won’t hurt me?”

“Erm… faith in humanity?”

“Yeah, have you watched the news? Faith in humanity is lacking a lot these days, dumbass.”

“Alright, I’ll give you that, girl,” the guy said, “but please let me out, my mum will kill me if she finds out this happened. You have my word I won’t hurt you, promise – scouts honour.”

“Am I really taking the word from a guy trapped in the back of a moving van?”

“Well, you have very limited options, honey,” the guy said, “come on, let me out.”

Y/N had been worn down by this point and reluctantly opened the back of the van to see her captured prize. She blinked hard, taken aback by the young man inside. Y/N was right, he was around her own age of seventeen, but she hadn’t imagined he would look so… so… bold. The guy wore silver trousers and a Pink Floyd top with large clunky boots and goggles perched atop his head. His hair, like his trousers, was a brilliant silver, and almost shone, especially against his pale, pale skin and dark eyes. The guy gave Y/N an awkward wave and cheeky grin.

“Hey…” The guy said, “I’m Peter, Peter Maximoff. I live about two doors down and would like to take this moment to welcome you to the neighbourhood.”

Peter awkwardly stood there in the van, although he could have gotten out if he wanted, and stared at the stunned girl before him, who he found rather beautiful and caused him to change his original plan of speeding away before she could catch a look at him.

“Hi,” Y/N said, “I’m Y/N Y/L/N… nice to meet you?”

“You don’t sound sure, honey.”

“Well, I wasn’t planning on meeting my neighbours this way.”

“Understandable,” Peter nodded as he climbed out the van and stood opposite Y/N, “maybe we can start from the beginning?” He offered. Y/N smiled and nodded, “Hi, I’m Peter Maximoff,” he held his hand out, “nice to meet you.”

“Likewise,” Y/N shook his hand, “I’m Y/N Y/L/N.”

It all began there.

“I certainly know how to keep my prize captures, don’t I?” Y/N teased.

“I will happily spend my life in your capture if this is how I am to be treated,” Peter grinned. “And do you remember our first date?”

“Yes – the cinema,” Y/N nodded.

“It was the first time I ever bought something, I mean it was only popcorn, but it was the first time I wanted to buy something. I wanted to impress you, show you I could be a good person and that I wasn’t so bad, but you always said you thought I was good, but then I thought about how we first met, me planning to steal from you, so I wanted to be… normal.” Peter rambled on, “I remember how you smiled as I handed over the money – so proud that I had bought something instead of steal it and then, in that moment, I knew that I wanted to prove to you how I could be better, and you have made me a better person.” He gulped, “Y/N, you have become my reason to better myself, be a good person, provide like a normal member of society, and I want to do the same for our little girl, and I feel like I am home with you. You are my home, Y/N, and I… I…” Peter couldn’t find the words so he whipped out a small black ring box, opened it and thrusted it forward towards Y/N, revealing a brilliant engagement ring with a glimmering diamond. “I’ve been saving for years,” he confessed, “please, do me the honour of letting me be your husband and marry me?”

Y/N felt her mouth hang open. She hadn’t been expecting a proposal at all from Peter, thinking he found themselves comfortable just the way they were and wondered if he was scared of marrying in case it ruined the way they worked, but here he was, proving her wrong. Years, he said, Peter had been saving for years for what he deemed an engagement ring worthy of being on the finger of his beloved Y/N.

“Of course,” Y/N nodded.

Peter sighed in relief, taking the ring out and putting it on Y/N’s finger, she merely glanced at the ring as the light caught it but gazed at Peter, where the light shone in his eyes far brighter than her brand new engagement ring could ever dream of.

#peter maximoff #peter maximoff imagine #Peter Maximoff x reader #evan peters #x men imagine #x men #quicksilver #Quicksliver imagine #Quicksilver x reader #imagines #one shot #fanfiction #peter maximoff x y/n #quicksilver x y/n

[fruitful-blogger]

BITES of Spider Life! (Chapter 2)

Inspired by the BEAUTIFUL Sanders Sides/Spiderverse AU by @ask-spiderverse-virgil and @sugarglider9603!

Summary:

When you’re bitten by a genetically-altered and probably radioactive spider, things in life tend to get a little complicated. Follow Virgil Storm, Roman Marigold, Logan Quinn, Patton Foster, and a whole slew of other spider-people and spider-related people as they deal with life, love, and the occasional robot army trying to take over New York.

Just another Tuesday for our teenage Spiderlings.

(Fluff and Slices of Life!)

Read from the beginning (Ao3)

Chapter 2: It’s a Playdate (Ao3)

           “So you brought us with not to go to the ACTUAL meeting but to hang out with the other kids?” Virgil, as Spidergale, threw to Thomas, currently dressed as Rainbow Weaver. In fact, all of them where in their Spider gear as they swung onto the landing jutting out from Stark Towers, otherwise known as New York’s Avengers’ headquarters. “What is this? A playdate?”

           “Look SHIELD has some news, and you know I’ll give you guys the rundown on what’s important after. Mostly it’s just us getting nagged about property damage.” Thomas threw as he waved his hand.

           “I’m SO SORRY about that building last week!” Love Bite, aka Patton, threw, his lenses cocked as he looked so sad. Really, their masks were good with expressions.

           “Love Bite, you were THROWN INTO A BUILDING!” Arachne, aka Logan, threw. “They do NOT blame you for that!”

           “And if they did, they’d have to talk to these fists first!” Royal Slinger, the last of their quartet of Spiderlings, threw in an ever so Roman way.

           “And you sent a card to the building manager. They probably get it and have insurance for that.” Thomas assured as he rubbed Patton’s head, mushing his cap ever so slightly. “Now, yes, unfortunately some of the higher ups are a bit prickly about kids and meetings. Some of the other protégés occasionally come, and, as much as I love and appreciate you guys, I think you need more friends than just each other.”

           “I mean, maybe Logan and Virgil…” Roman trailed off before his boyfriend swatted him. “HEY! It’s true!”

           “ANYWAY!” Thomas cut in once more, rubbing the bridge of his nose. “Just… don’t blow anything up. If there’s an emergency, the building is hooked up with an AI known as JARVIS. Our normal communications won’t work in the tower, but he’s been told to interrupt the meeting should something go awry.”

           Logan’s extra arms came out to hold out a small device. “Would you at least endeavor to record it? I feel like I can pick out things better from a first-hand reading.”

           “Sorry, kid, but that won’t work in here.” The Spiders turned as Tony Stark stepped out onto the veranda, band shirt and blazer perfectly matching his glasses that likely cost more than Thomas’ rent. “My tech will auto nuke it on entry, but if your nice, I might be swayed to share my personal logs.”

           “Isn’t that not allowed?” Patton questioned.

           A voice snorted behind Tony. It was now that the five noticed a second figure on the roof. The person, as opposed to Tony, was no older than his late teens, early twenties, with brown hair and clothes that would be more normally worn on one of the spiderlings in their alter egos – he wore washed out jeans, a Columbia t-shirt, and a plain navy hoodie, a Stark pad in one arm as a keycard was clipped to his side. “Tony hacked the system a while ago. JARVIS stores a copy on a local drive that only Tony and I can get a hold of.” The kid stepped forward and waved. “Oh, yeah, hi, I’m Peter.”

           Tony threw an arm around the kid. “Spider runts, meet Underoos – he’s one of the best scientists I got in this place. Give him a few years, and he might be as smart as me.”

           Peter blushed at the praise. “Aw, Mister Stark-”

           “Seriously, kid? I’ve known you for years. It’s TO-NY.” Tony turned to Thomas. “You remember the kid, right?”

           “Yeah, you gave me a bunch of vines to watch last time.” Thomas chuckled. “Still haven’t gotten through them all yet.”

           Peter nodded sagely. “Well, I’m the designated ‘person under 25’ today, so I’m gonna be taking you guys around the tower. Squirrel Girl and Ms. Marvel are already here, but I think most of the others are out on team missions or whatever.” Peter shrugged. “I’ll get the brief later.”

           “You have access to those systems?” Logan approached.

           “Eh… ‘Access’ is a relative term.” Peter waved his hands. “Now, ‘hacking,’ hacking is a better descriptor.”

           “I taught him well.” Tony said, ignoring Patton’s chide at how hacking wasn’t right. “Now, Weaver, we got a meeting to be fashionably late to. You know how old eyepatch gets.”

           “Yeah, yeah.” Thomas waved before turning to his kids. “Now, be good and listen to Peter. This should be a couple of hours, and, PLEASE, don’t blow anything up.”

           “No promises, boss man.” Virgil gave a salute.

           Thomas sighed as he followed Tony. With their enhanced hearing, the boys definitely heard Thomas muttering to the other man about ‘kids these days’ and ‘I love my boys but I want to strangle them’ and other normal terms of love.

           “So I kind of already know which of you is which.” Peter said as he pulled out four keycards from his pocket. “You guys are going to need these.”

           “Oh? Will they allow us entry into the building?” Logan questioned as he took one.

           Peter snorted. “JARVIS’ face recognition software is better than any keycard. We mostly use these as a bait and switch in case anyone tries to steal our stuff. Don’t tell anyone that, though. These cards just basically get you free snacks at the vending machines.”

           “SHOULD you be telling us this?” Virgil questioned, eye quirked. “I mean, you just met us.”

           “Call it my personal spider sense.” Peter shrugged. “I’m good at reading people, and you guys seem alright.” Peter didn’t add that he had top security clearance, up there with Tony and Pepper, and had run background checks on them all. He’d been a bit less prying then his mentor, though, and had JARVIS blur names and faces. He got the basics, though. Each spider kid was unique, around his age (a bit younger, actually), and were good in their own right. Heck, Love Bite stopped on random street corners to help school children and old people cross the road.

           Peter led the charge, and, of course, Logan was asking questions as they walked in. Logan was, by far, the smartest of the four, but Peter was surprising them by being a match for his intellect. Patton was startled by JARVIS greeting them when they walked in, but soon enough the AI and the teen were chatting up a storm. Roman, for all his gags at things like science and math, was actually quite good and intrigued by it, so he was looking all about with Virgil, pointing out things that looked cool and getting layman explanations of things from Peter.

           “So how does the whole… spider thing work?” Peter asked to the group as they passed a wall of armors. “Like, do you guys make your own web? Does it come out of…” He gestured to his behind.

           Virgil snorted as he nudged Logan. “Yeah, Arachne, does it come out down…” Spidergale found webbing over his mouth, courtesy of his best friend. Virgil let off a noise of protest as he scrambled at his mask to remove the muffle or move up the mask.

           “I myself, as well as Love Bite, have the ability to generate organic webbing from our wrists, but we tend to rely more on web shooters. Using organic webbing extensively can be draining and requires Love Bite and I to consume more calories when doing so.” Logan pulled off his glove and rolled down his sleeve slightly to reveal the device. “Weaver made the initial designs and prototypes. He also uses them. We’ve fit them with other devices in the mean time, like vocal communicator, tracking systems, and what not.”

           “I came up with the best kinds of snacks to deal with the hunger.” Love Bite nodded as he pulled out some wrapped cookies. “Want one?”

           Peter eyed the cookies. “Am I safe to eat one? I’m not superhuman.”

           “Oh! Wait…” Patton stuffed the cookies back into one pouch and pulled a new set from another. “These are just sugar cookies. We do a lot of patrolling, and snacks are important!”

           Roman pulled on Virgil’s mask, managing to dislodge the webbing. “Patton is a really good baker.” The emo noted as he leaned over to help Roman off the ground.

           Peter took the cookie before hesitantly taking a bite.

           His eyes blew wide.

           “I need, like, a million of these.” He said with great awe. “These are amazing. They’re awesome. Did you put something in this?”

           “Love and sugar, kiddo!” Patton confirmed before sticking a few cookies at each of them.

           “LB I’m not…” Virgil tried to say, but he found his mask jerked up slightly to reveal his mouth just as a cookie was stuffed in. It wasn’t even a regular one – it was one of the superhuman high protein high sugar ones Patton made.

           “Nope!” Patton chided. “Grandma told me that all you had was an apple today!”

           Virgil took a bite as he grabbed the cookie. “How did you know?”

           “She and all the other old ladies put me in their baking group chat.”

           Peter licked his fingers. “So the rumor is true? That you guys are Weaver’s kids?”

           The group snorted. “Yeah… that was a thing.” Roman smiled. “While Weaver is like the weird combination of dad and older brother, none of us are actually related. I mean, unless the spider venom changed our DNA and made us more related? Is that, like, a thing or just something in comics?”

           “The circumstances that gave us four our powers was similar to Weaver, but it was still separate. In short, we each were exposed to venomous chemicals of an altered spider that resulted in each of our power development.” Logan explained.

           “I arguably got the best powers.” Roman threw.

           The other spiders rolled their eyes.

           “We all have the same basic powers.” Virgil explained. “Wall sticking, enhanced strength, spider sense, etc. Arachne has a little less stick, so he uses his legs for extra grab. Also the web thing.” Virgil shot a web off into a corner.

           “We each have little cool powers, too! But they’re not really all there.” Patton explained. “Like I can pick up on surface thoughts of animals, but it comes and goes. Spidergale turned invisible once! That was really cool!”

           “Ro- uh, Royal Slinger blew out the speakers of our school’s speakers a few times.”

           “My voice is a beautiful weapon.”

           “Arachne’s also the fastest. Like, really fast.” The emo added last.

           Peter let off a whistle. “That’s pretty insane guys. I’d love me some super powers, but I think I’m stuck toying with armor in the mean time. Jar, don’t tell Mr. Stark about this, but I’m trying to compress an arc reactor to make it possible to charge a mobile suit of some sort.”

           “Your secret is safe with me, Mr. Parker.” JARVIS confirmed.

           “Just don’t jump into it feet first, dude.” Roman warned, wincing in memory of his first attempt at being a hero. Gods, his outfit was UG-LY back then. “You have, like, Iron Man to show you the ropes first. Rainbow Weaver has been the best in training us, and, even if I hate to admit it sometimes, we’d all be squished by now without him.”

           “Royal Slinger? Admitting he’s not immortal?” Spidergale joked.

           “A prince must know his limitations… so that he can overcome them!” The red spider defended.

           Peter thought about it before nodding. “I’ll think about it. Mr. Stark is a bit protective is all.”

           “And you think Weaver isn’t?” The emo threw before they all started sharing horror/hilarious stories about times Weaver had saved their asses in the most dad ways.

           They took an express elevator about 50 floors up before the doors opened, four spider senses going off at once as they hit the deck, grabbing Peter with them. A disk shot over them, bouncing off the interior of the elevator wall before Logan caught it with his legs. “Whoops! Sorry!” The five looked up to see a girl with a massive, stretched out form begin to shrink as JARVIS paused the practice. Off to another side, a girl with a squirrel ear headband and a massive squirrel tail waved, a number of little squirrels around her.

           “Hi Pete!” The animal girl waved. “Oh, hey! It’s the spider brigade! Hi!” The girl scampered over, one squirrel with a bow on her shoulder, a big grin on her face. She exhumed what the boys affectionately called ‘Patton energy.’ “So, I’m Squirrel Girl, this is Ms. Marvel, and this is Tippy-Toe!” She introduced in rapid succession.

           Patton leapt up. “Hello! I’m Love Bite, that’s Royal Slinger, this is Arachne, and this is Spidergale! Oh, and this is Peter!”

           “I know Peter!” Squirrel Girl replied.

           “Oh, sorry! Oh my gosh, your squirrels are SO CUTE! Can I pet them?”

           “Tippy-Toe loves petting!” As she said this, the squirrel on her shoulder leapt to Patton as the boy screeched in pure joy, gently petting the squirrel with pure adoration.

           Ms. Marvel made her way over as she picked up the disk with an enlarged hand. “We got bored and decided to goof off.”

           “That’s a mood.” Peter and Virgil said at the same time before looking at each other, grinning.

           “Ms. Marvel?” Roman asked, stepping forward. “Ok, so this might be a rumor, but I heard you can shapeshift.”

           “Mm-hm!” She said, setting down the disk and shifting into Royal Slinger. “I’m a polymorph!” She stated in her own voice before clearing her throat. “How do I look?” She struck a pose with Roman’s voice now.

           Virgil blinked between the two before turning to Logan. “Slap me. I’m having a nightmare.”

           “Hey!” Roman threw, but Ms. Marvel already shifted to appear like Spidergale. Roman was enamored. “You. You would be FANTASTIC in the school play! Can you act? Please say yes.”

           That was how Roman and Kamala were left, acting out favorite TV scenes and talking about superhero stuff (not, like, serious stuff but more ‘did you see Cyclops last week that outfit was HIDIOUS!’). Patton was currently covered in squirrels and designing crazy playgrounds off the walls with webbing.

           That left Peter, Virgil, and Logan.

           Peter turned to the two. “Wanna blow something up?”

           The two introverts shared a look.

           “Yes.”

           “Mr. Stark, Mr. Weaver.” JARVIS interrupted what Thomas was deciding was the most BORING meeting of his life. Seriously, they weren’t even covering whatever Doctor Doom or the Skrulls anymore but TAXES and PUBLIC IMAGE and BLAH BLAHDY BLAH! He was a wholesome gay hero he shouldn’t have to deal with taxes. This was some homophobic BS (as he kept telling himself, trying not to daydream too much about MJ or planning a new video and miss the whole meeting).

           “Hold up, Cabbage Patch.” Tony threw to the guy with ridiculously curly hair and a pressed suit on the screen. He was definitely a bureaucrat first and foremost. “What’s up, JAR?”

           “I would like to inform you that Protocol Baby Alarm has been triggered. It has also come to involve Mr. Weaver’s protégés, Spidergale and Arachne.” JARVIS intoned.

           “Well, shit, I guess I gotta deal with that.” Tony threw as he stood. “You don’t mind, Cap? Fury? Gotta make sure a civilian like my people are taken care of. Kinda serious.”

           Serious??? Weaver stood up, full of concern. “Wait, what’s the Baby Protocal? What happened?”

           “I’ll explain on the way.” Tony nodded as he easily walked out. Thomas abandoned his chair with little fanfare, worry and panic in his veins. His spider sense hadn’t gone off, and his gut (aka his ‘dad’ sense) hadn’t told him something was wrong. Tony walked quietly down the hall, humming something ACDC until they reached the elevator.

           Once the doors closed, Thomas felt like he was about to crawl out of his skin. “What’s the Baby Alarm? Tony, what happened? Are my kids ok?”

           Tony looked over before snorting. “JARVIS, pull me up a feed.”

           On the elevator doors, a holographic screen showed a room absolutely COVERED in spider web, the epicenter a mess of plastic, scorch marks, and more web. The camera panned to show Peter stuck to the floor, Logan trying to dislodge his legs from a wall, and Virgil… well, Virgil seemed to be stuck to the ceiling somehow. Soon, four other kids, including his missing spiders, ran in. Roman started laughing, even with the sound muted, and Patton began fussing over Logan.

           Then he got stuck.

           “Protocal Baby Alarm AKA Peter blew something up again, nothing’s actually broken, but now I have an excuse to leave a boring meeting.” Tony grinned as Thomas clutched his chest, his heart slowing. Everyone was alright.

           In so much trouble, but alright.

           “I TOLD them not to blow anything up!” Thomas threw.

           Tony laughed. “My kid’s a sweetie, but he can be a terrible influence.”

           “He seemed so innocent.”

           “Oh, he is.” Tony nodded as the door opened. “He gets the blow shit up bit from me. JARVIS? Can I get some blue prints on whatever they were doing? Or, hell, can we just get some bots to scrape them off?”

           Thomas cracked his neck as the biochemical components appeared on a holographic display that led them. At least he remembered enough of this gibboly goop from his chemical engineering degree. “Looks like they messed with the webbing formula… again.”

           “Again?”

           “Royal Slinger and Arachne can get very… creative with my original formula. Slinger always wants to make it gayer, and Arachne still hasn’t figured out how I get the coloring just right.”

           Tony laughed. Yeah, their kids would get along swell.

#Sanders Sides #Spiderverse #Logan Sanders #Patton Sanders #Roman Sanders #Virgil Sanders #Peter Parker #Bites of Spider Life #BoSL #fanfiction

[mimik-u]

Flower Child, Chapter 11: Texts (II)

A/N: Happy Valentine's Day, friends! I'm so very appreciative of you guys. Slowly, but surely, we're edging to the heart of "Flower Child." (If I can stop being distracted by the inner workings of characters' minds long enough to focus on plot, we might just get there soon, lol.)

AO3

Sunday, 11:32 AM:

Blue: Oh, Steven. 

Blue: I’m so sorry to hear that

Her slender fingers hovering just above the touchscreen, Blue Diamond hit send prematurely and realized that she had forgotten to punctuate her text just seconds after she did. Of course, an unfinished sentence wasn’t the end of the world—not in this era of instant communication where proper grammar had been relegated to stuffy scholarly types (such as herself) and punctilious mothers over forty (such as herself).

But.

But.

The mistake shattered her anyway. 

Because it wasn’t about the sentence, nor was it about the grammar. It was about all of the other unfinished things that she had been intimately acquainted with over the course of her lifetime.

It was the fact that she had never finished Les Misérables in grad school, though she had written a beautiful essay on it all the same. It was unfinished diary entries and unfinished diet attempts, her unfinished career and the singularly unfinished look about her these days. In the mirror, she was a ghost’s approximation of a human, tall and smudged and broken. In the part of the world she once ruled with a sure fist, she was very well a ghost to all of the people who had once known her name.

It was her relationship with her mother that ended on the very day she started dating Yellow all those many years ago.

You should be ashamed of yourself, was paradoxically both a complete sentence and an incomplete one, drawing lines in sands and tearing her asunder at the same time.

And it was Pink Diamond—unfinished at twenty-one years old.

But then again, it was always Pink Diamond, everything about her—her high, lilting laugh and her freckled smile, the way she wrapped her thin arms around Blue’s waist and called her home.

It was that last unfinished fight that never ended in I’m sorry or I love you.

You’ll never let me grow up, will you?

And now, it was Steven Universe, the boy from the cemetery, the flower child, the first smile she had worn on her face in years.

Blue buried her long face in her hands and prayed to the God that she did not believe in anymore, that this child would not become another unfinished thing.

Sunday, 11:47 AM:

With a sigh that reached into her bones and hollowed them out for good measure, Pearl finished texting everyone who needed to be texted—all of their friends and family, and sometimes, the friends and family of their friends and family. The list of reassurances, blending into one another after awhile, went a little something like this:

Pearl: Thanks for checking in! I’ll keep you updated.

Pearl: He’s stable! Just resting now.

Pearl: Oh, sure! A casserole would be lovely. Thanks, Barb. Lapis and Peridot are house-sitting, so you can drop it off with them.

Pearl: Please don’t kill our cats. <3

Pearl: Thank you for the kind words.

And for the thoughts.

Prayers.

But not quite condolences.

(Thankfully, not condolences.)

Pearl: No, my apologies. Now wouldn’t be a great time to visit. Maybe later?

But at the same time:

Pearl: He’s fine! :)

Pearl: He’s stable!

Pearl: Don’t worry!

Pearl: He’s fine!

She was a broken turn table, all scratched up, repeating the same few lines over and over again until she forgot that there was such a thing as the rest of the song.

Stability was not a given for Steven Universe anymore, and fine was such a relative word.

He was fine yesterday, laughing and cutting up and inflating balloons on the beach.

He was fine a week ago, bruised and weary for sure, but on his own feet and independent of machines, giving flowers to random ladies in cemeteries.

And he was fine eight months ago, on the verge of becoming an eighth grader at the local middle school—and then he woke Pearl up in the middle of the night to tell her that it hurt to pee. There had been tears in his dark eyes.

Blood in the toilet.

A diagnosis three weeks later.

Pearl: Hello, I’m so sorry for the late notice, but Steven is in the hospital again. I won’t be able to make my shift tonight. 

The three dots appeared almost instantly, much to her clammy chagrin.

Her manager replied: so sorry to hear that! i’ll take you off the schedule. do you need tomorrow night off as well?

Pearl: No! In fact, I can pick up a double tomorrow. Two to closing?

Manager: great! 

Pearl needed to be with Steven, needed to hold his hand and press kisses into his forehead, needed to weather every tube and test, every hell and high water, but because life was perverse and they all had horrible health insurance, she needed the money to take care of Steven more.

Trying to ensure that someone didn’t die wasn’t cheap, they had learned fourteen years ago with Rose. But, of course, even that ample forewarning didn’t soften the blow of their current financial situation, which was… dire.

For a couple of months now, they’d been toying with selling with the beach house.

It was prime real estate, secluded on the far side of the beach as it was.

(It was home. How could they even dare?)

“You look like you’ve been kicked, Pearl.”

Pearl looked up from her phone to find Garnet staring at her from Steven’s bed, where she was still curled around their boy though he’d long been passed out from his latest puking spell. (Yogurt. He couldn’t hold down yogurt.) Her bicolored gaze had always been intense, for Garnet was an intense person, but now, it pierced through Pearl like an x-ray and found her wanting.

Her sadness was seen.

Keenly.

Summed up in seven quiet words.

“I’m working a double tomorrow,” she murmured, looking away, anywhere but those eyes where she was known. “You’ll have to call me as soon as he’s done with testing.”

Earlier, Dr. Maheswaran had told her that UNOS would require Steven to have nigh daily blood work done in order to ensure that he was still viable for a kidney transplant. More testing would also ensure that he remained relatively high on the list should a kidney ever become available.

Garnet nodded, meticulous to move only her chin so as not to disturb Steven and all of his tubing. One of his wire infested hands was curled tightly into her shirt.

“You know I will.” But then, with a wry smile hinting at her disdain for phones: “Or Greg will. Or Amethyst—if Amethyst will ever leave the room.”

It was both a joke and not a joke, a joke and a light admonition in that subtle way only Garnet could accomplish.

Shame was a hot trickle of dread in Pearl’s stomach, a pink blush across her cheeks.

“I went overboard last night, didn’t I?”

Another nod. The various machinery currently keeping Steven alive whirred around them in place of a reply.

“I hurt her feelings,” Pearl whispered as the night came rushing back to her—Steven pale and cold beneath her hands, the rage that snarled through her teeth as she locked eyes with Amethyst, who could only stand there and sob and apologize, and oh, how that had irritated her in the moment. “I said some awful things.”

The admission was a horrible creature, condemning her where she sat, twisting all her insides up until she felt like a monster.

“I should apologize,” she said, and then immediately added, “Right?”

Garnet—she could all but see herself in the other’s dual toned eyes, how her face was contorted in a desperate plea—shouldn’t I apologize? It feels like I should apologize, but I just don’t know anymore, and all of these decisions and words and empty texts are all getting to be so heavy. 

Please. 

Please tell me what to do. 

I’m so lost.

Garnet studied her in silence for a longer moment still, her expression as impenetrable as ever, until her dark brow suddenly relaxed, unfurling across her eyes in a softness that was meant to be a tiny kindness for Pearl.

“You should apologize, Pearl.”

All of the puzzle pieces suddenly clicked into place.

She should apologize.

“Okay,” she said quietly.

“And Pearl?”

“Yes, Garnet?”

“You shouldn’t be so hard on yourself.”

Sunday, 12:09 PM:

Pearl: Hi, Amethyst. It’s Pearl.

Pearl: But you knew that, of course, because I’m programmed in your phone, and goodness, I’m already making a mess of this, aren’t I?

Pearl: -_-

Pearl: At any rate, I’m just texting to say… I’m sorry.

Pearl: I’m so sorry for how I acted last night, what I said to you and what I did. It was uncalled for in the highest order, which is to say that I unfairly blamed you for something that you absolutely could not control.

Pearl: Steven’s sick—really sick—and I’ve been trying to ignore that reality for as long as it’s been /our/ reality. When you opened that window last night, I presume you were trying to correct my mistakes when it comes to Steven. You tried to show him the truth, and that is such an incredibly brave thing to do.

Pearl: I’m proud of you, Amethyst, and I miss you, and I love you, and I’m sorry.

Sunlight leaned against her face, and exhaustion leaned against her entire body. Pearl closed her dark eyes in defiance of both of these heavy things and let her templed hands fall into her lap, her long fingers still curled around her phone.

“You did it,” Garnet murmured quietly from the bed.

“I did,” Pearl replied.

Oxygen hissed into Steven.

Wires measured the beat of his heart.

Pearl’s phone buzzed once and then twice.

Sunday, 12:11 PM:

Amethyst: love you p

Amethyst: b there in a minute?

A smile quivered across the thin line of Pearl’s mouth.

She was so happy, and she was so sad—all at the same time.

Sometimes, these two feelings felt like they were one in the same.

Pearl: See you then.

Sunday, 1:40 PM:

Connie: Hi, Mom, can I come visit Steven?

Priyanka: Mmm, for a little while if your dad will bring you up here. Don’t wake him up if he’s still napping, though. He has an early shift tomorrow.

Connie: Okay! :) We’re in the parking lot.

Priyanka: You’re in the WHAT now?

Connie: Well, I wanted to see Steven, and Dad wanted to check out that new wax museum between 2nd and 4th, so it worked out!

Sunday, 1:43 PM:

Priyanka: Doug.

Doug: Our daughter is a singularly persuasive human being.

Priyanka: Doug.

Doug: … Wax Fyodor Dostoevsky.

Sunday, 1:45 PM:

Priyanka: 4th floor. Truman Ward. I’ll meet you at the doors to let you in.

Connie: Thanks, Mom!

Sunday, 1:45 PM:

Steven: Hey, don’t be sorry!

Steven: It’s just a fact of my life, you know? I’m going to fight, Blue.

Steven: I promise.

Sunday, 1:54 PM:

Connie: Steven, I’m on my way up!

Steven: WOOOOOOOOOOOO!

Steven: Give me the play by play. I’m bored

Connie: Okay! First floor, passing the gift shop. 

Connie: Now boarding the elevator.

Connie: Contrary to everything “Under the Knife” has ever told me, there are no meet-cutes between superfluously handsome doctors in this dingy little vessel. :(

Steven: You watch Under the Knife too?!?!?!?!

Connie: Yes! It’s one of my favorite shows! (On the fourth floor.)

Steven: Who’s your favorite doctor?

Connie: Oh, probably Stebbins.

Steven: :o 

Steven: Stebbins is so mean, though!!

Connie: But he’s efficient! That has to count for something.

The three dots cropped up in a hilariously quick instant, but Connie was faster, shooting off a reply as her red converses squeaked to a stop at the double doors guarding Truman Ward from the rest of the floor. A plain, if abrasive, sign next to the doors instructed her to RING THE BELL FOR ENTRY, but the plexiglas windows in the center of the doors revealed that her mom was just on the other side, chatting with a nurse.

Connie lightly rapped on one of the windows with her knuckles to snag her mother’s attention. Attention promptly snagged, and with a visible sigh that could only be described as fond, her mother nodded and reached past the nurse to hit a button on the wall.

The doors spread outwards.

Connie barreled into her mom’s lab coated arms.

“Hi, Mom!”

“Hello, Connie.”

And then they quickly disentangled themselves, so they could study each other like the scientists they both were. In a sweeping glance, she could tell that her mom had had a rough night. Exhibit A: Her hair was in a ponytail. (It was never in a ponytail.) Exhibit B: She looked positively wispy with fatigue, all of the lines in her face frayed and fraying. It made sense. She’d been called out of bed a little after ten last night, and she’d just gotten off of a day shift a few hours before that.

Exhaustion was scrawled all over her like a prescription.

“I presume your father went to go ogle wax people?” Priyanka asked with a wry tilt of her head.

“Yup,” Connie replied, proffering a wry smile of her own. The nurse her mom had been talking to waved a polite goodbye to them both before heading out through the double doors.

“And I also presume that you’re not even remotely sorry for driving up here without asking my permission first, correct?” It was both a harsh question, and it was not, wrangled into something softer by the resignation in her brow.

Connie at least had the decency to feign shame.

“Something like that,” she said sheepishly, studying the floor and then her mother’s impenetrable eyes and then the floor again.

Priyanka sighed, but to her daughter’s surprise, hooked an arm around her shoulder.

“Well then, let’s go see Steven.”

The harsh overheads smiled coldly upon their heads as they began to walk. They passed a nurse’s station, a small girl whimpering on a gurney, swarming scrubs and lab coats. The air tasted like hand sanitizer, and the weight of where she was at, and why she was here, slowly began to dawn on Connie for the first time since she had conceived of this visit.

“Is it bad?” The question stumbled out of her mouth like an accident. Room 11030. Room 11031. They were getting close. Her palms were beginning to feel slippery. “I mean, is he bad?”

Her mother thought on it between Rooms 11032 and 11034, her frown deep, her grip on Connie tight.

“Yes,” she finally conceded, “but also no. He’s certainly in the most dire condition I’ve ever seen him, but I also think we might be close to securing him a kidney. He’s high on the list now. There’s no way that…” She trailed off suddenly, frayed and fraying, unable to complete what seemed like a consolation to Connie’s ears.

Her palm was carving itself into her shoulder.

Room 11037’s door was half-open, laughter and machinery spilling from the crack, an unlikely symphony, an oxymoron—just like him.

Him.

The disease.

His unwavering smile.

The machine.

Connie tilted her chin and found a confusion in her mother’s eyes that matched her own.

They were both problem solvers.

Mathematicians.

Logicians.

Scientists.

And here was a problem. Here was a boy who did not deserve what he had gotten.

And there was no easy solution in sight.

Connie leaned her head against her mother’s knuckles to show her that she knew, and her mother closed her tired eyes—just for a moment—to revel in the fact that she was known.

“You’re such a dork, Stevo,” Amethyst riffed from the other side of the door.

“Always,” Steven laughed—warm and bright, here and leaving.

Priyanka rapped smartly on the door.

Sunday, 1:54 PM:

Blue: You’re incredibly brave, Steven.

Steven: Aw, shucks. You’re flattering me!

Blue: Oh, I suppose I so.

Blue: Could I come visit you soon?

Steven: YES!!

Blue: Would tomorrow be a good time?

Steven: Yeah, I think so! I have a few tests in the morning, but my afternoon should be free. 2ish maybe?

Blue: That sounds perfect.

The living room was cavernous and lonely; sunlight streamed in from the floor to ceiling windows and contrarily had the effect of making everything it touched look all the more abandoned. The ornately embroidered sofa. The glass coffee table. Blue Diamond herself, sitting in her recliner, looking down at her phone. Her skin was so pale that it was stained blue by the light wash emitting from the screen.

So she was getting out tomorrow, it seemed.

To a place that wasn’t her doctor’s office.

Or the cemetery.

Or her doctor’s office.

Or the cemetery.

The action wouldn’t feel real to her until it happened, but the ache she felt for the boy on the other end of the line was raw and visceral, and it was so reminiscent of another time that was raw and visceral, that she began to think of it and her and that night and all of the empty time since and—

An involuntary cry escaped her.

She covered her mouth.

And closed her eyes. 

And did nothing as a single tear spilled over her knuckles and into the dark folds of her robe.

But crying itself was just as untenable as not crying—old-hat and tiring and destructive—so she got up as swiftly as she could manage with her hip, and with her cane clanking ahead of her, traced a familiar pathway across the wooden floor. Past the kitchen and into the hallway. Past Yellow’s study, where typing noises and intermittent swearing could be heard from within. Past ghosts of little ballerina feet scampering down the foyer. 

And Blue Diamond stopped at the door between the study and the master bedroom.

And she placed her hand on the knob, her shaking fingers disturbing the brass.

And she turned it, just a little, just enough to hear the door groan in compliance with her wishes.

And then she stopped.

She let go of the knob.

And slowly clanked back to the study and knocked lightly on the door. The typing on the other side stopped abruptly.

“Poppy?” Yellow asked.

“No,” Blue whispered, and that was all that was needed.

There was a soft oh of recognition and the creaking of a well-worn chair. The stumbling of feet. A handle pulled. Yellow Diamond was stark and brilliant, surprised and tender, in the golden light flooding from behind her. It was a Sunday, so she wasn’t in a three-piece suit, but her button-down shirt was meticulously ironed, the collar popped up around the sinewy muscles of her neck.

“Blue,” she said, quite unnecessarily, and she must have realized it because pink popped across her sharp cheekbones. She must have realized this, too, because she began talking and began talking fast. “Do you need something? Are you ill? Should I fetch Livia?”

It’d been a long time since Blue had intentionally sought her out.

Had come to her.

Had wanted her.

It was usually the other way around with them.

Blue slowly shook her head, her long braid swishing in time with the motion. Her right hand trembled on the head of her cane.

“I was thinking about Pink,” she said quietly, and Yellow’s instinctive rebuttal was clear in her amber eyes.

You’re always thinking about Pink.

But instead, because she was trying hard not to offend, simply whispered, “Okay.” 

It was a vulnerable word, or she was vulnerable today one; the distinction was lost in the small space between them. 

Yellow’s entire body was taut, a rubber band that had been stretched too far.

“And I was about to find myself in her room again,” Blue continued on, but then, seeing the stricken expression on her wife’s face, tilted her head to the side. “But I didn’t, Yellow… I didn’t chase her ghost today.”

If it’d been up to Yellow, the whole room would have been razed down. (Damn the logistics of destroying a room within a home.)

But because it was up to Blue, the room was a monument to their dead daughter. There were still pink sticky notes on her nightstand that reminded the twenty-one year old to study for an upcoming Calculus exam, books on the floor, clothes in the hamper.

Everything coated in a fine layer of dust.

Yellow swallowed thickly and looked away; even still, Blue could see every line in her face, the strain in them, how they convulsed against her will. 

She wanted to reach out to her.

She did not.

“Ask me what I’m going to do tomorrow, Yellow.”

This certainly caught her attention, a command from a woman who had not done much commanding as of late.

Her gaze flickered to Blue’s and stayed there, searching and lost.

“What are you doing tomorrow?”

“I’m going to visit a friend in the hospital.” She said it very simply, like it was just another part of her routine, but it wasn’t, and they both knew it.

It was momentous, and Yellow’s plump lips parted in quiet shock.

“You’re… you’re,” she struggled, the words seemingly strangled in her mouth, “you’re getting out?”

“I’m going to try to,” Blue replied evenly, and then she thought on it, clarified herself. “For him at least… his name is Steven.”

“The boy you had cakes with?”

“Yes.”

“The boy who… who made you smile,” she murmured this to herself as though she didn’t believe Blue could hear her.

But she did.

Obviously.

And it surprised her.

She studied the sharp planes of Yellow’s face and found quiet anguish, tucked in the way she pursed her lips, creased in the shadows beneath her striking eyes.

Unspoken: He made you smile. I could not.

“Yes,” Blue repeated because it was also the truth, even if it was a painful one to admit.

But to be fair, all of their truths were painful these days. Their daughter was dead, and her room was empty, and Blue Diamond half-wanted to be dead, and for four years, she had scarcely cared that she was living. And Yellow Diamond liked to pretend that none of this had scarred her in lasting ways, but there were lines in her face that had never been there before, and sometimes, just sometimes, she sat her in study and cried when she thought no one was listening. And they were approaching their twilight years, and there was no turning back. The bell was rung, and their daughter was dead, and they might never be happy again, and—

That was the truth.

Yellow closed her eyes and then unclosed them, obviously trying to master her emotions into locations that weren’t words.

“Will he… be okay?” But she was only human, despite what she'd have the common person believe, so strain leaked out into the innocuous question anyway.

“I don’t know,” Blue murmured, and this truth stung with all the others.

She could be caring for this boy only to end up shattered if he died.

And the possibility of this was not lost on Yellow Diamond. Cynical. Skeptical. Practical.

It shone in her eyes, in the firm set of her jaw.

What came next, however, was not an admonition, but a small gesture. And because it was a small gesture, and because small gestures were rare between them, it was felt: Yellow reached out, slowly, almost cautiously, and tucked a stray strand of hair behind Blue’s ear. Her lined palm lingered against her cheek for an infinitesimal second before falling into a clenched fist by her side.

“Well, at least he’s got a chance.”

Unspoken: Pink didn’t.

Blue Diamond found that she missed her wife’s touch.

The weight of it.

The warmth.

“Yes,” she concurred. “At least he has a chance.”

Sunday, 2:25 PM:

Pearl: I absolutely love her!!

Amethyst: we’re literally sitting next 2 each other lol

Pearl: Yes, but I don’t want to embarrass them… I’m just so happy that Steven has a new friend! She’s so nice and smart!

Amethyst: to b fair he’s also friends w/ an old lady in a bathrobe now

Pearl: Ugh, don’t remind me.

Amethyst looked up from her phone at the very same time that Pearl looked up from her phone, and then they studiously tried to not look at each other as they trembled in silent laughter. But because they were both assholes, they failed at this monumentally simple task, and locked eyes just long enough to break them both.

“Stop,” Pearl moaned, clutching her stomach in a feeble attempt of getting herself back under control.

“You first,” Amethyst shot back, laughing too hard to punctuate the threat with a shit-eating grin.

The entire room turned to look at them. Dr. M drew herself away from her chart long enough to raise an eyebrow. Garnet and Greg stared, one quite subtly and one quite openly. On the bed, Steven and Connie extracted themselves from the book they were reading.

“Whatcha laughing about?” Steven asked cutely. He tilted his head with a conspiratorial smile, and his entire oxygen getup slid sideways with him. 

“Nothing,” Pearl said.

“Cats,” Amethyst said at the very same time.

And they dissolved all over again.

Pearl placed a steadying hand on Amethyst’s shoulder, and Amethyst leaned into the touch as their bodies shook with laughter.

Nothing was right with their world, but just for a moment, they pretended like it could be.

Priyanka Maheswaran’s frown deepened the longer she stared at her clipboard.

And it positively turned into a scowl when she read Steven’s heart monitor.

Sunday, 3:18 PM:

Steven: Thanks for coming to visit me today!

Connie: Of course! I had so much fun meeting everyone!

Steven: They liked meeting you too!!!

Connie: Score!!!

Weariness was like a second skin on her mother as they walked down Truman Ward again. She said nothing, only deigning to nod at various colleagues who greeted her as they walked by. 

Connie wanted to talk about Steven, wanted to talk about Garnet, Amethyst, and especially Pearl, whom she had a lot in common with—but she bit her lip against a torrent of questions and studied the way her shoes scraped against the clinically clean floor instead.

Because she knew.

She’d seen the way Steven’s whole body was manifested with tubes and the bags under his guardians’ eyes and the fear in his eyes that he tried so hard to hide with a smile.

When they had first arrived, she had hugged him as tenderly as his machinery would allow and asked him if he was okay.

And he only shook his head and laughed like he was.

Because he knew.

And she knew.

And everyone in that room knew.

(He was dying. It was happening fast.)

As they exited the double doors, Connie reached up and tentatively took her mother’s hand.

Her mother did not let go in response.

#blue diamond #steven universe #yellow diamond #bellow diamond #connie maheswaran #priyanka maheswaran #garnet #pearl #amethyst #s: steven universe #flower child #mimik-u

[gluupor]

A Zootopia AU written for the Andreil Week prompt: DMV

Andrew finished his third game of Spider Solitaire and sighed deeply. His supervisor would probably eventually notice that he was slacking off if he spent too much time between clients, so he reached out and hit the button to advance the number display. Slowly he whirled in his chair to see the new number, and then turned back to the room at large.

"Two four six," he said, despite the fact that a smiling woman was already waiting at his desk expectantly. "Two four six."

"That's me!" the woman said, pushing forward a torn piece of paper with 246 written on it. She was bubbly, Andrew absently noticed. Life hadn't worn her down yet. Well, she'd learn soon enough.

"What can I do for you, today?" Andrew said slowly, sounding dead inside.

"I need to renew my license sticker," she said perkily, rummaging around in her purse. "I have the completed paperwork, and my vehicle registration, and my licence," she continued, handing over the documents.

"Alright," said Andrew, and turned to his computer, clicking on the correct icon and waiting twenty seconds for it to load. He always worked as slowly as possible in order to minimize the number of people he had to speak with every day, and his ancient computer always gave him a hand by taking forever to load.

He started filling out the correct form. "Do you have proof of insurance?" he asked.

"What?"

"Proof of auto insurance. You need it to renew the sticker."

"Where does it say that?" the woman demanded.

Andrew pointed to the tiny print on the back of the form she'd filled out.

"I keep it in my car," she said, sounding a little panicked now. "It's just outside. I can go get it and be back here in two minutes."

"I'm afraid that if you leave the building you'll have to take another number to rejoin the queue," he said.

"No!" she gasped. "I’ve already been waiting for two hours. Just hold on, I'll be right back."

He shrugged. "Nothing I can do," he said. This would teach her to be happy at the DMV.

She pleaded her case for another minute or so, before huffing angrily and giving up in the face of Andrew's blank indifference. Andrew opened up a new game of Spider Solitaire as she stormed away.

He was only part way through his second game when someone approached his counter.

"You'll have to wait for your number to be called," he said without looking up.

"Andrew, hi," said a very familiar voice.

He'd met Neil Josten about six months ago when the con-man had been talking about fake license plates to his friend at a bar. Andrew had overheard him, corrected him, and answered his ensuing questions. He'd then given him some tips about how to make his license plate as authentic as possible in order to fool the cops. Neil had bought him drinks to thank him for his help which had somehow ended up with the two of them going out for dinner. They'd been doing something similar to dating ever since. Andrew was waiting for everything to go to hell because good things didn't happen to him, but Neil kept showing up and smiling at him like a goddamn beautiful asshole.

Neil was smiling now, incredibly smugly. He was standing on the other side of Andrew's desk next to a tall, dour looking man. A couple times, when they'd been out, Neil had used Andrew as a shill for a con; Andrew could tell that something similar was happening now.

"Neil," he said. "How are you?"

"Fine, thanks," said Neil. He elbowed the man next to him. "Flash your badge, Hot Stuff, before everyone lynches us for skipping the line."

The man pulled out a police officer's badge, brandishing it enough that the increasingly angry looking people in the waiting area could see it.

"Andrew, I'd like you to meet my friend…" Neil trailed off and turned to the man beside him. "Well, shucks, darlin', I forgot your name."

"No you didn't," grumbled the police officer. "And stop calling me darling." He turned to Andrew. "Officer Kevin Day," he introduced himself. "I was hoping you could-"

"Kevin here is a meter maid," interrupted Neil, "but he's pretending he's a real cop."

"I am a real cop," huffed Kevin. "I just don't have my computer access yet."

"How can I help you," said Andrew deliberately slowly. He'd cottoned on to the fact that Neil was trying to frustrate this man. Neil could be plenty frustrating on his own, but Andrew would play along.

"I was wondering if you-"

"Today," continued Andrew, and then paused.

Kevin took a deep breath. "I was wondering-"

"Kevin?" finished Andrew.

Kevin waited, seeing if Andrew would go on. When he didn't, he launched into his question. "I was wondering if you could run a plate for me? We're in a really big hurry."

"I can," confirmed Andrew and continued to watch Kevin.

After a couple beats, Kevin spoke again. "...Will you?"

"You will owe me."

"Of cou-"

"One."

Neil's smile was very self-satisfied as Kevin twitched and tried again, "Of course."

Andrew clicked on the program to search for license plate numbers on his computer and waited for it to open. "What is the plate."

"29TH-"

"Number?"

Kevin balled his fists in frustration and breathed out slowly. "29THD03," he said in a tight voice.

"2," repeated Andrew, typing the number with one finger. He looked up expectantly.

"9THD03."

"9," said Andrew. He waited a couple seconds, before typing the next digit. "T."

"HD03," said Kevin, sounding incredibly impatient.

"H."

"D03."

"D."

"03."

"Zero."

"Hey, Andrew," Neil broke in as Andrew moved his finger towards the '3' key. "Do you want to hear a joke?"

"No!" gasped Kevin.

Andrew looked at Neil. "You know I don't have a sense of humour," he said.

"Aw, come on," cajoled Neil. "It's a good one."

"No, stop it," said Kevin.

"I will listen to it," said Andrew after careful consideration, "if you want to tell it to me."

"What do you call a camel with three humps?" asked Neil, completely ignoring Kevin's increasingly frustrated interjections.

"Hmmm," said Andrew, pretending to think. "I don't know. What do you call a camel with three humps?"

Neil grinned. "Wait for it…" he said. "Pregnant!"

"Ha!" said Kevin with false cheer. "Hilarious! Can we get back to the plate?"

"That was a terrible joke," Andrew said.

"You couldn't tell a better one," argued Neil.

"Hey, Andrew," said Renee, the woman who manned the booth next to him. "I have a better joke, do you want to hear it?" She smiled at him, the twinkle in her eye indicating that she'd been eavesdropping.

"I do!" said Neil with enthusiasm.

"Argh!" groaned Kevin, pulling at his hair in distress and smacking his head on the counter.

Several months later, Kevin was sitting in his patrol car thinking about how he could convince Neil to join the police force with him. The con-man had ended up being instrumental in helping Kevin solve the string of abductions he'd been unofficially investigating, leading to Kevin's promotion. However, Neil had steadfastly refused to join the force, much to Kevin's annoyance. He would just have to convince him; it wouldn't do for a respected police officer like himself to have a criminal for a friend.

Kevin was thrown out of these thoughts by a Maserati blowing past him at twice the legal speed limit while weaving in and out of traffic. He flipped on his siren and lights and took off in pursuit.

Thankfully, the driver pulled over to the side of the road instead of leading Kevin on an unwanted chase.

"Do you know how fast you were going?" he asked as he strode up beside the car.

"Hey Hot Stuff," said a familiar voice.

Kevin leaned down to look in the car. Neil was leaning over the gear shift from the passenger side, grinning at him. "You remember my boyfriend, Andrew, right?"

Kevin's gaze slid to the driver, the blond man familiar from the most frustrating experience he'd ever had at the DMV (which was saying a lot. It was the DMV. He was pretty sure it was designed to be frustrating).

"So you don’t do everything slowly?” he said sarcastically.

Andrew looked at him coolly. "If I recall correctly," he said slowly, "you owe me one."

#AndreilWeek2018 #aftg #andreil #andrew minyard #neil josten #kevin day #my fic

[rebelwheels-blog]

Little Sparrow Freed From Its Cage

September 24, 2018

Per aspera ad astra - Through adversity to the stars

Hello there everyone! I have quite a bit of news to share with all of you lovely readers, as it has been quite a while since my last update. Hopefully my writing habits will be a bit more consistent now, due to the main reason I am writing this update. So grab a cup of tea, or coffee for you Americans, and be prepared for a lengthy blog entry.

Commencement to Independence

For the longest time, it was my belief that graduation was just another event where I would only witness others experience the joy of being released from the dictatorship of homework and the school setting.

Much of my student experience has been infringed upon due to various circumstances; whether illness was to blame, being placed in classes my superiors wrongly believed I belonged, or unwillingly leaving the only place I called home, as well as exiting the lives of many I held and hold close in my heart.

Not everyone experienced the same scenario as I did, which is wonderful. Even so, for much of my life there was a common denominator.

Adversity.

Due to my disability, my experiences and memories of the school setting are extremely unconventional.

Which leads to the less self-pitying part of my screed. If it weren’t for all those obstacles, and more, throughout my existence as a student, graduation would not grant me the same satisfaction and pride as it does now to declare to you all that I am no longer a high school student. September 21, 2018 was the day I was set free.

Although there are plenty of memories I have to look back on that made my school days less dreary, so I shall not admit that every second of my years at school were terrible, as I had the good fortune of making a few friends along the way as well as learning some lessons that allowed me to grow as a person.

So I thank all of you who have stuck with me through the good times and the not so good times, because I couldn’t have made it here without you.

I’d especially like to thank my first teacher who set me on the right path to homeschooling. You know who you are, with your huge green duffel bag full of wonderful toys each day as we sat in the garden room. Thank you for always being there for me academically and as a friend. You mean the universe to me.

Every experience and every person that one encounters affects the future, individually and worldly, good or bad, long or short. Because, who knows? Maybe one day someone who experienced something they perceived as awful will change the life of another so someone else will never experience what was already lived through by another.

Celebration?

To celebrate this momentous occasion, my grandmother and I designed what would normally have been the top of my cap to go along with my gown.

Then we made a message in a bottle, with the message being the poem The Road Not Taken as it is our favorite poem.

But the most important component to all of this is the timing of everything that has unfolded over the past few weeks.

Enjoy the first ever gif I have ever created, of course it’s to do with Stephen

I managed to finish the last of my exams the day directly before my grandmother’s birthday, which was coincidentally purposefully happened to be on my cousin’s birthday. Then, on Friday, I was officially set free from my classes on the birthday of my great grandfather. Everything took place over the course of three days, and three birthdays of three people that mean the world to me.

Funnily enough, exactly one week to the day, another event unfolded spontaneously. I was granted the most amazing graduation gift. A friend, a very old friend, of tremendous significance and value to me. We had not seen each other in almost nine years, but we always kept in touch. Last Wednesday, we broke our hiatus and had lunch together with our grandparents. I felt like I was in a dream. I couldn’t believe we were even in the same room. He has seen my old self, my pathetic self, and my happy self, and he never left. He’s one of a kind and I don’t know what I would do without him. Making him laugh after taking a nervous drink of water while we were at lunch and burping due to my liquid consumption was one of the highlights of our visit together. Hopefully we won’t have such a lengthy hiatus between seeing each other again, which neither of us believe will happen. I already can’t wait to see him again.

Then on the Saturday following that Wednesday, I swam with my other best friend who happened to come home from college that weekend. I honestly don’t remember the last time we just chilled out in the pool, or anywhere, and hung out like two normal teenage girls. Granted I did complain quite a bit about school work after we got out and had lunch, but that wasn’t the entire visit. It felt so normal to just hang out with my best friend, and I can’t thank you enough (you know who you are if you’re reading this). I couldn’t have asked for a better way to finish my classes.

But graduation is supposed to be a big deal, right? A huge celebration is supposed to take place, right? Well, I honestly have no idea how else to celebrate my accomplishment. I would love to have a party and do something the way everyone else does, but many of my friends and family live far, far away. So out goes that idea... Nevertheless, if no other celebration takes place, I am forever grateful for being able to visit with my friend from New Jersey thanks to his and my grandparents.

Moving Forward

Now that I have soooo much time on my hands, I don’t know what to do with it! Well, I do, but it’s only been almost a week since I finished my classes and it’s still rather odd. I spent the weekend creating and improving a sort of sketch that puts together my Halloween costume. Yes, I’ll be 19 by then and many will say I’m too old to do Halloween, but you know what? Adults are allowed to dress up and have fun too. Halloween is not just about the candy, well not to me anyway. To me, it’s about letting yourself be free to be whatever you want to be for one day of the year. As it seems that it is only socially acceptable to dress up when one is an adult around Halloween, if one were to dress up any other day of the year you end up being labeled as a psychopath.

Okay, maybe not a psychopath, but anyone dressed up as a character or dramatic makeup is worn outside a concert, theatre club, comic convention, or Halloween, etc., side glances and glares will be made.

I decided that I will be dressing up as my own version of Sherlock, as long coats are as much of a pain to get on as a dress. I have a few components of my costume together, but I still need the hat, scarf, and maybe shoes? I may just go with a pair of short boots that I have as finding shoes in my size is an entirely different story.

I wasn’t sure if the coat I had would look Sherlockian enough, so I decided that I would put together a sketch of my outfit to see how it would look. So I put this together.

Originally, as you can see, there was no face. But I worked on it and worked on it over the past few days and this the outcome. In the beginning I did trace the undershirt, but that’s it. I figured out the rest. I’m very proud of it, as it is the first drawing I’ve done in quite a while that I haven’t gotten angry with.

Having this freedom has made me realize that after a few days of numbly looking at social media, I am suddenly craving to learn new information and I miss my math and science classes. I think that within the next week I will unconsciously start to read books again just from the slight need I’ve had to expand my knowledge again. Maybe I’ll even start writing stories again due to new knowledge, as I have written down a few ideas for short stories the past few days. In the words of a good friend, the possibilities are endless.

Spinraza News

Luckily I have school finished to get through my next injection. I was reminded that I have to go through re-approval from the insurance, making my injection date is a week later than I wanted. This week I have to get blood drawn again as well as other tests.

Speaking of tests, I had to do a strength test last week, my first one after having Spinraza. My results have to either stay the same or improve in order for the insurance company to say I can keep having Spinraza. Needless to say, I was terrified that I wasn’t going to improve due to their standards. I’ve noticed more strength in my legs than my arms, granted my right arm is noticeably stronger, but I did not anticipate the evidence the strength test would grant me.

The first test was to tear a sheet of paper. No big deal, right? Wrong. I had to try to tear a piece of paper that was folded four times. I tried and it didn’t happen. So my physical therapist unfolded it so it was in half. I believed that I was trying to tear it wrong as I was using my nail to start the tear. But I was wrong. That’s how you physically tear a sheet of paper when you pinch it. So when it cooperated and I split the paper down the middle, I was like “okay, I could totally do that before Spinraza.” Again, I was wrong. When I did the baseline test, I was able to rip the paper but only if:

it was started for me

it was a single sheet unfolded

it only ripped sideways not straight down

My physical therapist kept my old paper and showed it to me to prove that I had improved. After I saw the paper, I felt like Captain America

Go ahead, enjoy that gif because Tumblr doesn’t allow more than 10 images so that’s the last one guys

Once I completed that question of the test, the test was gravy. I was actually able to do other things as well such as:

lifting a weight I couldn’t before

completing a short maze test without stopping my pen

pressing a stupid light button and making it stay on

opening a container that was entirely too difficult when I tried six months ago

I gained 5 points in the scoring system, from 11 to 16 points. I still can’t get over it. So much has been going on the past... Well, year, honestly. Between myself and my family members, it’s been nonstop.

Well, I think I’ve written enough for this update, probably too much... But whatever, if you guys enjoy these updates you don’t mind. If you don’t enjoy them... Well... ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

#biogen #sma #spinal muscular atrophy #spinraza #rare diseases #disability #hope #rebel wheels #strength #wheelchair #marvel #halloween #graduation #against all odds #new chapter #grades #sparrow #report card #art #drawing #cap and gown #accomplished #accomplishment

[diaryofsecrecy]

It has been the most exhausting year of my entire life and I will be surprised if I ever top it...

Brent was having a hard time adjusting to the altitude when we 1st came out here, (July 8th 2020) But as time went on he got better as expected. Then suddenly he got worse and worse, Eventually he lost the job that he got because he was calling out so often throwing up and experiencing extreme nausea.  Because of covid, the doctors were booked for weeks (new patient) so it was just kind of a waiting game until we finally decided to just go to the ER.  They did a full blood panel and decided that he needs to see a GI doctor because everything else is normal. So, That was booked 2 weeks out and he was sent home with nausea medication for one week...

Of course we were going to try to buy or rent so I was freaking out about money and working as much as I possibly could... But then I too had to go to the emergency Room because I had extreme abdominal pain resulting in an emergency appendectomy😖

The day after my surgery, I am home, when my dad comes in with my older sister.

To my knowledge, my older sister was diagnosed paranoid schizofrantic. She has been Homeless for the last 11 years,  And on drugs.  She recently was beaten so badly that she was left with several brain injuries on top of it all, And while she was healing at the hospital somehow they didn't notice her walk out.  We were just about to get her placed somewhere safe...And they lost her.

Anyhow dad walks in with my sister who I guess called him from a coffee shop when they told her that she couldn't sleep there anymore (after a month of being missing again) Dad had to go back to work so then it was me & her for the next 2 days, As you can imagine, not the rest I needed post surgery... then, I had to go back into the hospital because something wasn't right. I was there for 3 more days, 2 days alone because ben was so sick that it was worse with him being there than me sitting by myself in pain and nausea of my own.

Fast forward a few more months, tragic accidents led to 2 separate deaths of my parents dogs. Both events I happen to be present, so get blamed & am no longer welcome at mom & dads.

(Still healing from sugury, brent still very sick)

We get an apartment, and I start working as a nanny for my aunt twice a week while working at Massage Envy the other 5 days.

At this point, I am tired. I am horney, and lonely, and Absolutely. Fucking. Miserable.

I am begging ben to keep up with drs. but he has lost hope of getting better, and I have no way of helping him when I am already worn too thin.

After 9, Long, long months, he eventually, with my consistent pushing, nagging, most likely not always kind remarks, he finds out his hormones are completely off, which I knew would be the case, his dick hadnt worked for the last 3 years properly..

Anyway. He blames his addiction medication rather than continuing dr. Appointments... he gets on testosterone with an outside company(pay out of pocket kind of subscription company...rather than checking insurance, or figuring out what causes low testosterone and fixing that first). I was working and had no influence in any of those choices that effect us both as they have for at least 2 years. He hasnt touched me for so, so, long.

Month 3 of his medication that seems to be working (only reason I know is there was a ton of porn in my google history, he had declined all advances, except the rare, 3 times he allowed a blowjob then left immediately after for the gym or literally anything else rather than make it romantic at all.)

Month 4, he forgets to make a payment at all, so now we owe $250 rather than the normal $100. His meds get sent, then FedEx loses the package all together so, he is sick and I am house sitting in a dream home, alone for 2 weeks straight that originally was going to be our getaway to focus on Us.

At this point, brent and I havnt slept in the same bed for 2 months. At first cause he says I'm mean and he wants to not be near me, but now its cause hes "more comfortable out in the living room..."

A month ago when we last had a conversation about our relationship he said he wants space and a break from me all together. I'm too much.

I am the problem..?

When trying to understand what he means, he shuts down the connvo, saying he cant talk about it anymore. It's been 30 days since we have made any verbal progress. Our fighting has stopped though, and I'll tell you why...

Rewind 1 week before house sitting;

1 week after brent and I had an awful fight where he told me we should take a break, I stay at my parents & My mom offers for me to join them at a graduation party of a kid I used to babysit.

We were sitting in the back of the dining room, out of the way, when I saw someone i slightly recognized in the hallway. Not sure from where, but he was the kind of guy that you couldnt stop looking at. He was clearly into fitness, his shirt couldnt hide the muscular features he had been perfecting either, despite him dressing nothing out of the ordinary. He had beautiful ink crawling up his leg, an artform that would only mean something to someone who is more spiritually awake. But more noticable about anything was that smile.

God that smile. His face was scruffy, as if he had been away, but regardless, the smile he had influenced his entire ora. His eyes smiled, his walk... smiled. He had some kind of thing about him that was a physical draw I had never known for myself before. Dont get me wrong, i have been woo'd by many men so far in my life, from all stages in life, but This one was just, different. He was making his way around the room, & I could hear his voice over my mom who's talking beside me. I had literally been blocked out by my ever wondering thoughts of this random stranger whom felt familiar.

Then, he was there, at our table?

He was so easy to talk to, not even sure how we started now, but all I know is I was not nervous despite my very physical attraction to him.

He spoke of traveling, and adventures hes been on. This guy had a whole other life in the military at one point and now was traveling, working for a company that sends him around the US.

This guy had Hope's and dreams and somehow we got to talking about that kind of thing at a graduation party?

When I left that day, I thought about him. Not just him specifically, but men like him. Had I chosen Brent wrongfully? Does brent even like who I am anymore, what does he want going forward in his own life? How do I even fit into that? He understands my need for adventure but his actions say that he doesnt want to come along. My mind was loopy after that because for the first real time I questioned, what if there was someone who wanted to see the world,  Who liked my sad music, and my emotions being in everything I do? What if there was a women more interested in the simple home life, having a couple dogs and living a small, comfortable life? Are we doing one another a disservice by occupying oneanother's lives? How could I ever bring that up with Brent at all without making him feel so inadiquite after a year of terrible sickness and defeat?

Well, when I went to that big, gorgeous dream home the following week to house sit for 2 weeks... begging him to come see me, I grew weak from overthinking. I cried, I cried so much the first 3 days.

I cried from a place of such sadness, anger, bitterness, defeat, they were so strong. My mind was cloudy, drunk, stoned, tired.... I found myself writing a suicide letter.

My plan was to disappear, I knew I'd find a firearm in the home & allow someone to find my remains eventually in the hills where I'd walk far enough.

I prepared by cleaning the litterbox, laying out several bowls of water for the dog and cat, and watered all the plants heavily. I transfered brent all the money in my bank accounts, and as I waited for the sheets to come out of the dryer I balled my eyes out, reading the last conversations I had had with my family members. I thought to myself how the kids would take it, what different life choices they would make having been close with someone before their passing. At this point, I needed something, but I needed it from someone who doesnt know me in my life right now, but the me that was worth saving. The me I still recognized.

I called an old friend from 2nd grade. Hadnt talked to her in years and years, didnt known her life, her schedual, her name(which had been changed). But she talked me down. She saved my fucking life. It took a person who knew my soul years ago, to remind me I am not alone.

I dont blame my parents, or who I thought would be my future husband. I had talked with my aunt earlier that day and she couldnt see it either. I had become this fake shell of a person and it took considering an actual murder of myself to make me see that if I continued this path, I would die eventually and nobody in my life would ever see me preparing for it.

That night, I invited a complete stranger over and we fucked like rabbits. 4 times. He got to do things he'd never done before, and I begged him to. Sounds cold, sounds unapologetically disgusting that I'd do something like that, but quite frankly, I FUCKING needed it. I needed someone to see me, even if he didnt see my current life nor care about me as a person... he saw, touched, kissed, sucked and ate me up. For the first time in at least 2 years, i felt satisfaction when I walked him to the door and watched his car drive away.

It was like a sigh of relief, an inch I could not reach for the longest time, gone. Finally.

The following days, brent began putting in more effort. It has been 3 weeks and I'd say he has been kinder to me than he had in a while (probably the lack of testosterone) but also, I havnt seen much of him in general. From his point of view, it is all fine. Hes getting the space he needed, I'm being nicer since I quit massage Envy, and things are looking up....

But that is because he doesnt See Me.

My suisidal thoughts subsided after my long conversation with Scout. & that night I called my cousin as well, and learned he too had been in my shoes before. He said something that stuck with me.

If everyone has an expiration date on their life already, and we don't know when it is, you're to the point that you're life is so invaluable that youd kill yourself than flee your life and make one you want. Dont care about the people youd hurt, because suicide is just as careless as abandoning them all indefinitely.

He was so right, it put things into perspective, gave me a freedom I felt I was waiting to gain permission for.

Five days later, I noticed He had written me 5 before, on the day I had truly planned to end my current life..

He had written me at 12am, what would someone like him, a gorgeous, beefed out, big thinker, high energy, go getter be doing messaging me, a tired women who was 300lbs a year ago, (still working on getting to a normal size) and completely at a crossroads with existance.

I entertained the connvo a tad, and honestly forgot about it for a few days as I figured no way he could be serious.

He triple messaged me, and asked for my personal contact info to have real conversation?

Hesitantly, and wildly excited to even just flirt for a moment with someone who is literally everything I fantasize when I'm alone everynight....

Our conversation immediately took off. In directions I hadnt expected at all what so ever. He told me he had to admit he felt drawn to me, like he had known me in another life. That he doesnt expect me to get it, but I did. We talked about things that only my sister and I can relate to on a spirituality standard and it changed me in that instant. Suddenly i realize, I wasn't broken, I was just misunderstood. & that there are people in this world that See Me even when I am not trying. Not many, and it takes a specific Kind of person, but they do exist and when you meet them, you cant ignore it. It is as if they stain you with remembrance.

As the sexually hungry humans we are, not only did we find that morality, values, future goals coexist, but also our importance of intimacy. Not just lust and sex, well, yes that too, uff did those conversations get so, fucking, hot, but the interactions of intimacy and how they make a person whole.

I opened up to him about Brent, and where I am at in life, asking he please oversee my unfaithfulness, but that I am loyal at heart. He says with such pain in his voice how he too in a parallel position simultaneously, however, he married her 7 years ago.

Ugh.

So now I get to choose. Do I chose mortality, say no, brent and the other women deserve to understand the severity of sex, love and passion, and if they chose not to then we will leave before we act on our mutual attraction....? Or, do we say hell with it and give in to serendipity moments that our hearts crave so badly, take on the consequences and move forward. Sigh. If only there was a guideline for complicated.

Last night, as the 5 nights before, we talked for hours on the phone. His voice makes me smile every, damn, time. Perhaps because it's new and exciting, or maybe I just love to hear him go on his tangents of loving yourself despite the bad in life. I Want him. I want him when I wake, &when I go to sleep. I do not want a life without him& it saddens me to know our timing is incorrect. He asked her for a divorce a year ago, but has sat comfortably as I have despite the horror because weve both been too busy, too tired, too... afraid that life will always be lonely. Last night, he said to me, Elise, I love you. I avoided it several times but when he said it two more times, I couldnt keep it any longer to myself, Jackson, I really do Love you as well. It's scary, and faster than I'd ever say it to anyone. But I know it to be true because I Feel it. I want his love so badly. I want him to live life along side of me because with a person like him, I'd be a better me.

I am absolutely terrified. My life, my home, my family, dogs, my 5 year relationship, the unborn children brent and I have named, and the houses we'd have... all gone?

Running away with a man who says hes going to leave his wife is absolutely stupid. I'd be an idiot to think I am enough to get him through that fear of change, yet he gives me strength to want to try, so maybe I do, Him?

Ugh my brain being pulled in many ways. My heart having been in pieces so many times now doesnt know who to go to or why. I know for certain I love Brent, is this a self gratifying moment To push me back to him? Is this the devil bringing two lost people together to ruin four people at once?or is this Fate. Fate that has seen both of us individually loosing ourselves in a life we didnt want and has brought us together to lean on one another, temporarily not?

Suppose time will tell.

Last two days he has been working a ton, and told me that tomorrow he has something he needs to talk to me about.

I assume it isnt good. I assume it is the first put off of many, because, I know I want to do the same. Part of me says I should block him right now, because lust, and attraction, both mentally and physically like that couldnt make a women addicted and that's a no good addiction when he has a women in his house with his last name. 😔

#latenite #life #struggle #deep thinking #bad choices #misunderstood #deardiary #confessions