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there-must-be-a-lock · 3 years

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Contact Comfort

Spencer Reid x (gender neutral) Reader

Word Count: ~2000

Warnings: None, really? Emotional hurt/comfort and sorta like a touch starved deal doing on, but it’s pretty thoroughly fluffy and sugary-sweet.

A/N: For the “bed sharing” square on my @cmbingo card!

Title is from the referenced psych study, because I’m a dork.

“One sec,” you call, wincing at how thick and nasal your voice sounds.

You wipe your cheeks hastily as you sit up. It’ll be obvious anyway, though; wouldn’t take a profiler to notice your tear tracks and blotchy face.

It’s Spencer. Of course it is — because he’s the last person you want to see you like this, when you’re all snotty and puffy and gross.

His eyes go wide and solemn when he sees your face, genuinely distressed. There’s that empathy again, the too-big heart that everyone seems to overlook in favor of his big brain. You love him for it.

Well, you love him for a lot of things.

“Hi,” he says quietly. “I was going to just ask if you were okay, but… I guess I don’t actually need to ask now.”

You let out a watery little chuckle. “Guess not.”

“You want some company?” He looks hopeful, almost, and then seems to catch himself, dropping his gaze with a shrug. “I understand if you just want your space, though.”

If it was anyone else, you absolutely would not want company right now. But it’s Spencer, so. You pretty much always want him around.

“I was just about to turn on some shitty TV because it felt too quiet in here, honestly. Company would be really nice.”

He gives you a quick twitch of a half-smile as he steps past you, and after you close the door, there’s a pause where you both stand there and look at each other, Spencer suddenly shy as he shifts his weight from one foot to the other.

“Do you want to talk about it?” he asks, in a thin unhappy voice.

“Not really. Just… one of those days. One of those cases.”

“Can I do anything to help?”

You hesitate, because it seems like such an immature thing to say out loud, but you’re too tired to be anything other than honest.

“I could use a hug.”

Spencer’s expression goes all soft and sweet, and your cheeks feel hot under the drying salt water as he steps closer. He wraps his arms around you, and you bury your face in his chest and try to inhale. Your exhale is a ragged little shudder, and you fist both hands in the back of Spencer’s cardigan as you cling to him, feeling raw and sensitive and so very young.

He lets out a quiet, shaky sigh of his own, squeezing you tighter.

How long has it been since anybody hugged you like this? It’s like the contact — the warmth of him — the pressure of his arms around your shoulders — the rise and fall of his chest under your cheek — is lifting some massive weight you never realized you were carrying. All you want in the entire world is to hold him tight, take the comfort while you can, but you know you should pull away.

He hesitates for a second before releasing you, like maybe he doesn’t want to let go either.

Then he’s stepping back, hands in his pockets, slightly pink-cheeked as he bounces on the balls of his feet and gives you one of his frog-faced not-quite-smiles.

“You said something about shitty television?” he asks. “Or maybe we could watch some television that’s not actually shitty?”

“That sounds perfect.”

Turns out Planet Earth is on, which is the rare overlap in your and Spencer’s tastes, and it’s not until you’re eagerly toeing off your shoes that you realize the bed is the only seating option.

Spencer sits cross-legged, with his elbows on his knees and his chin propped on his fists, and he stays as close to the edge of the bed as physically possible. You lean back against the headboard and hug your knees to your chest, feeling the need to hunch over, like you could physically protect your heart.

Then again, it’s much too late for that. You knew your heart was in trouble the moment you met Spencer.

Today, especially, you already feel vulnerable, like all your carefully-constructed walls cracked open the second you let yourself cry, and now you’re just ripped-open and bare. You need a good night’s sleep and a long, hot shower before you’ll be able to go about your life as a professional, fully-functional, grown-up human again. Right now you’re just kind of a mess.

“I know there’s the germ thing,” you blurt out, without looking at Spencer. “But —”

His laugh sounds crackly and nervous, but relieved, like maybe he’d been holding his breath. “Come here.”

You give him a grateful smile as you scoot closer to each other, and apparently you’d been so worried about your own swollen eyes earlier that you hadn’t noticed the fatigue evident in every drawn, wan line of his face.

Not that he isn’t still the most beautiful thing you’ve ever seen.

You duck tentatively under Spencer’s arm, and it’s not like you’re cuddling, exactly, because there’s still an inch or so of space between your hips and legs… but the bony plane of his chest, between collarbone and heart, makes a surprisingly perfect pillow. You pull the sleeves of your sweater over your hands, tucking them under your chin, curling up.

The moment feels delicate, like a soap bubble that you could burst if you simply breathe too loudly, and you hold yourself stiffly, at first, not wanting to move any closer for fear of pushing a boundary. It feels like you’re glowing at the points where your bodies are touching; the warm weight of his arm feels like bright spring sunshine across your upper back. His palm on the round of your shoulder is thawing away the last chilly bits of your self-consciousness.

When the commercial break starts, Spencer says, “Do you ever think about how little physical contact the average single adult experiences on a regular basis?” His voice is quiet and almost sheepish.

You smile. “Yeah, I’ve considered it.”

“Especially when we live away from our families,” Spencer says wistfully.

You can feel the vibration of his words in his chest. You shift, making yourself more comfortable, feeling dazed and dumb with his proximity.

“The monkeys. I feel like — you know?”

“Harlow. I know exactly what you mean.”

Trust him to get that from your ridiculously vague mumbling.

“Except they’re babies,” you add.

“The emotional benefits of physical touch don’t decrease just because we get older,” he says softly. “It’s just that the fear of judgement makes it difficult to be honest.”

There’s silence for a minute as the show starts again, and David Attenborough says something about sloths. Spencer’s thumb strokes your shoulder gently, back and forth, soothing. It’s hypnotic, and the tension drains from your muscles, leaving you more relaxed than you’ve felt in a long time.

“Thank you,” he whispers.

You swallow hard. “For what?”

“Being honest.”

There’s no reason for your eyes to be stinging like this, but they are. “I should be thanking you.”

“Nothing to thank me for. This is… really nice.”

“Yeah. It really is.”

He’s quiet again.

Spencer smells like vanilla and old books — although the latter might just be your imagination, something to do with the power of mental association — Spencer could probably explain the science behind that. Your brain has them inextricably linked, though. You’ve caught hints of that smell before, but never up close like this.

The softness of the worn knit of his cardigan makes you want to rub your cheek against it like a cat. His arm, skinny as it may be, feels like protection — like you’re safe here.

After the brutal violence of the case and the emotional turbulence of the day, this quiet, golden moment is even more breathtakingly peaceful by contrast. It doesn’t feel real.

It’s too good to last. This isn’t yours. It’s not going to last, no matter how right it feels, and your chest already aches with the idea of letting him go.

You try to appreciate it while you can, to remember every sensation, but your body is leaden, exhausted down to the bone, completely drained of whatever adrenaline-stubbornness-caffeine combination was keeping you running until now. Spencer’s thumb rubs invisible circles on your shoulder, and he breathes evenly, and you feel safe.

You’re asleep before the next commercial break.

A distant car alarm wakes you, sometime later. In the handful of seconds before it’s turned off, you come to without opening your eyes, trying to remember where you are and who you’re with. The smell of vanilla makes you relax instinctively, before you can process why.

Spencer has all but melted against you in his sleep, soft and boneless. He’s got both arms around you now, holding you close, his breath tickling your forehead. Then he stirs, and you can feel the moment he realizes where he is, because his muscles go tense as he freezes.

“Sorry,” he murmurs hoarsely. He’s barely audible over the infomercial voices coming from the TV. “I didn’t mean to — sorry. I’ll go.”

And before you can think better of it, you whisper, “Don’t.”

He’s still frozen, and silent for a second that feels like an eternity. “You mean —”

“I don’t want you to leave. Stay.”

Honesty seems to be your default setting tonight, and anyway, you can tell without looking at a clock that it’s long past midnight, well into the early-morning hours where boundaries and reservations and reality don’t seem to follow their usual laws. You can’t lie to him (or to yourself) right now.

Spencer’s voice cracks as he says, “Okay. I’ll just — let me get the light.”

You don’t open your eyes as he slips away. This all seems like a dream, and the sharp bright lamp light might make it dissolve around you. You might wake up.

The TV goes quiet, and when you tug at the hotel comforter, sliding between cool sheets fully clothed, the barely-there rasp of moving fabric sounds loud in its absence.

Spencer turns off the lamp, and you open your eyes. You can just see his shape as he navigates the dark room, negative space on a charcoal backdrop, but as your vision adjusts, you can see a faint suggestion of his features in the blue-black.

You feel it, though, when his weight makes the springs of the old mattress dip. You’d expected him to lie on his back again, but instead his face is just inches from yours when his cheek comes to rest on the pillow. You feel the way he’s breathing, quick and shallow and nervous. You feel your heart kick in your ribs, thudding so loud he must be able to hear it.

He reaches out slowly, hooking an arm around your ribs, and pauses with just the very tips of his spidery fingers touching your back, between your shoulder blades: five soft points of contact that you feel so intensely they might as well be electrode pads connecting you to a defibrillator.

This is crossing a line, and you both know it.

It’s not a sexual touch, it’s not that sort of thrill going through you, but something about this feels profoundly intimate. That intimacy is almost more shocking than lust might’ve been, and it’s much more dangerous. It’s the sort of closeness you don’t walk away from unscathed.

Spencer’s fingers flutter, butterfly-wing delicate, like one or the other of you might be trembling.

“Are you sure this is okay?” he whispers.

“Yes.”

Maybe you’re both trembling.

His palm comes to rest on your back, easing you closer, and you shift, settle, readjust. He pulls back and tilts his head just long enough to brush his lips over your temple, soft and sweet, before tucking you neatly under his chin, where you fit like you were meant to be there, with your nose nudging at the gap between his collar and the delicate skin of his throat.

“Sweet dreams,” he whispers, sounding just as awed as you feel.

“Sweet dreams, Spencer.”

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More Criminal Minds fic is here.

#cmbingo21 #criminal minds fic #criminal minds #spencer reid #spencer reid x reader

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shirtlesssammy · 3 years

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15x20: Carry On

Warning: Boris is a salty, sad fangirl right now so the first part of this recap might be more bitter, reductive venting than is necessary. Please skip ahead to enjoy Natasha’s far more nuanced and enjoyable second half of the recap.

The Road So Far: Cue Carry On Wayward Son

Then:

Salmondean Winchester, the boy with the demon blood and daddy’s blunt little instrument, finally defeats Chuck and gets a taste of true free will

Now:

*Fun domestic montage*

Sam Dean gets a dog! (Okay, fine, Miracle is super cute, and a complete stand-in for Cas --but that thought just sends me on another anger spiral.)

Dean squeezes the shit out of that dog, and I hurt for that touch-starved man.

Sam goes for a run, so like, I guess his life is the same. (thanks to Dean always protecting him and allowing him some normalcy in life) (I’m bitter, remember?)

Dean Sam makes breakfast! Dean brushes his teeth! Sam is SHIRTLESS one last time!

*Shirtless Sammy Alert*

Dean’s room is INEXPLICABLY messy! I do get what this whole montage is doing, and it’s nice, but I’m pretty sure when Becky said the fans like the domestic stuff, it was supposed to include CAS AND OTHER FAMILY. Basically, overlay the Where’s the Angel? gif all over this sequence for me.

And finally, we find the boys are still hunting. Because freedom is just a length of rope.

Dean finds a case, but first they have to stop and get pie! Yay! Dean loves pie, and women, and fast cars. Grumpy-faced Sam humors his big, dumb brother. Yay!

Dean Sam thinks about Cas and Jack. Dean brushes off the thought with a Wherps, gotta keep moving attitude, and I already WANT TO SET THE WORLD ON FIRE. Sam then pies Dean in the face, so we have that.

In suburban America, a mother starts to ready her children for bed. There’s a knock at their door and the father answers it. There’s nobody there, and as he turns around, he’s knifed in the back, his wife looking on in horror.

Skull masked killers enter the home. The mother and children run upstairs. The mother is quickly dispatched, and the kids soon follow.

Agents Singer and Kripke check out the crime scene.

They learn more about the parents: exsanguinated and throat ripped out father, tongue ripped out mother. The children are missing. The cop shows a drawing of the killers. Dean (in a wildly out of character move!) uses his photographic memory to remember a case his fucking father botched back in the day. Dean pulls out the journal (MY GOD THERE’S BEEN NO GROWTH)

For TFW Science (because Cas is the tree):

They determine they’re dealing with a roaming band of vampires.

At night, a couple of vampmimes arrive at a house. Dean beheads one right away. Sam shoots the other with dead man’s blood. Dean removes the mask to reveal a normal looking vampmime. Why the masks?? Dean wants answers, and Dean “I’m not a killer” Winchester threatens the vamp with a quick death or slow death (with a spoon). The vamp spills the kids’ whereabouts.

*Much Anticipated Barn Scene Alert*

(Psych! Don’t get your hopes up, what lies ahead is bullshit.)

The masked vamps are crawling all over the joint, but Dean and Sam Winchester can handle it! This is a milk run! They get the kids free and face the big bads.

Fight! Chop! Slice! The boys are overwhelmed. Sam gets knocked out one last time. Dean’s held down to the ground so OMG GUYS!!! JENNY IS BACK!??!?!!? I CAN’T FUCKING BELIEVE THEY GOT HER BACK!! (This joke is so old by now and it’s only been 3 days, sigh.) I did not remember her at all (but then I’m a TFW purest and tend to not watch the early seasons ---and I NEVER HAVE TO AGAIN!) (Natasha: coughs and points at our recap list.) (Boris: shit.) Dean remembers though, and talks just long enough for Sam to wake and chop her head off. See ya, Jenny!

More fighting!

Sam takes out another vamp and Dean tussles with the last one ---and is pushed backwards right into the rebar hook in the wall. So that happened. (I’m trying to stay calm, but I’m a ROILING CESSPOOL OF ANGER AND CONFUSION AND BITTER RIGHT NOW.)

Sam kills the vamp. He’s ready to find the kids and leave. “Sam, I don’t think I’m going anywhere.”

Dean pulls Sam close. HE’S BEEN IMPALED! Poor little snowman. Dean makes Sam promise not to try to resurrect him. He tells Sam that he’s proud of him and that he’s always looked up to him. That he was scared to be rejected by Sam in that very first episode when he went to get him from college. “I must’ve stood outside your door for hours. Because I didn’t know what you would say. Tell me to get lost or to get dead.” JESUS SHOW JUST LET DEAN LIVE AND BE LOVED. (Boris: In the alt version where Cas is there too, he’s instead telling Cas about watching him outside the Gas ‘n Sip. why do I do this to myself?)

Sam cries, afraid to go through the world alone. Dean tells Sam to always keep fighting, tells him he loves him, and DIES. He dies clutching his chest and the whole season we think we’ve been getting heart and chest imagery as a symbol of love but instead it was just? Foreshadowing? Of getting impaled through the chest cavity and dying?

Dean dies, and Sam is wrecked, and I call up 911 to inform them that I have been ROBBED of one Dean Winchester finally getting to live his life. (This is indeed, a beautifully acted scene. I just...wish I couldn’t feel a damn thing about it.)

Sam burns Dean on a lonely pyre, with nobody else around but the dog.

For Sam Gets a Dog but at What Cost Science:

Sam wakes alone, in mourning. There’s no dialogue - only a Sad!Sam montage of remembering the people he’d lost in the bunker. (Was this script only like 5 pages?) One of Dean’s cell phones rings. It’s a sheriff who’d been referred to Dean by Donna. (DONNA DOESN’T KNOW FML) There’s a case, so Sam takes off. He shuts down the bunker and it goes dark.

We cut to Dean in Heaven. It’s beautiful - a wilderness of mountains. Dean’s greeted by Bobby sitting at the quiet Roadhouse. Bobby tells Dean that he’s free - and Heaven’s free. Jack opened Heaven and tore down the walls before he took off for places unknown. I am GLAD ABOUT THIS. It’s about time for Heaven to be a true reward, but this show took Dean TOO SOON. “It ain’t just Heaven, Dean. It’s the Heaven you deserve.” Bobby drops one last reveal: “Cas helped.”

They drink together. “it’s almost perfect,” Dean says.

“He’ll be along,” is Bobby’s quiet response. (Our hearts rise thinking about Cas.) Time’s different in Heaven, Bobby explains. (Boris: Jeremy Bearimy, baby!) “What are you gonna do now, Dean?” Dean decides to go for a drive. He gets into Baby and drives away to the tune of “Carry on my wayward son.”

Cut to a montage showing Sam raising a child with “Dean” on the coveralls. (To quote a friend of mine: That goes against basic child safety, Sam!) While Dean drives, Sam raises a son.

In Sam’s house, the portraits only show pictures of the original Winchesters: Sam, Dean, Mary, John. Me to set dressers: EXTREME SIDE EYE - way to show Sam’s “full life.” Sam kept the Impala in storage, and possibly sits in it and weeps from time to time, as one does.

Much later, Sam dies in his home of “old age disease,” as someone on Tumblr put it. “It’s okay, you can go now,” baby Dean tells Sam, mirroring Sam’s words to his brother. AAAAAND Sam out. Remember, words can kill, kids!

Dean stops on a beautiful bridge and gets out to survey the world.

Dean smiles and the camera pans out. “Hey, Sammy,” he says. The boys are wearing the same outfits as the first episode because SYMBOLISM. (Boris: Symbolism? Like there was no growth or change or...Boris will stay out of your mentions.) (Natasha: Exactly.) They hug, and I do get emotional, because I’m not the burnt and broken shell of a fan that I may appear to be.

We get a “thank you” from Jared and Jensen on the bridge, and then the camera pans away to show the crew. We send them a giant box of MASKS FOR FUCK’S SAKE. And then we set this episode aside as unfulfilling fan fiction and move on with our lives.

Am I sad to see this show end? Yes, I am! Were there things I liked about this episode? Sure! Were there things I so viscerally disliked that I’m still sleeping poorly? Absolutely. That’s love, right? We’re still raw, but we WILL BE BACK on Monday with a new recap of an old episode. See you all then!

Quote on My Wayward Son:

I don’t have a choice. This is my destiny

It’s like running into somebody from high school, you know? Somebody you don’t want to see

Stay with me, please

I’m not leaving you. I’m gonna be with you right here, every day

Cas helped

Want to read more? Check out our Recap Archive!

#spn recap #spn spoilers #spn 15x20 #carry on #dean winchester #sam winchester #bobby singer #unbelievable I can't tag Cas in the very last episode of this show #supernatural season 15

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active-galactic-nuclei · 4 years

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Rewrite Your Memories

Zuko x reader

warnings: none except like Zuko’s tragic backstory

Inspired by the lovely @zukochi who gifted me this wonderful prompt!!

You were looking for a roommate. You were broke, and you could hardly manage to pay the rent each month. As a college dropout, your career prospects weren’t looking too hot, and as a starving artist that didn’t seem like it would be changing anytime soon. So you put out an ad on craigslist. What’s the worst that could happen? If someone tried to murder you then at least you’d have a good story to tell at parties.

Zuko was looking for a house. Or an apartment. Or anywhere to stay that wasn’t the streets tonight. He had been kicked out of his dorm for “dangerous, unlawful and reckless activities.” Of course, he hadn’t meant to set his curtains on fire. It was just a mistake. They didn’t care much whether it was an accident or not. He was as good as gone as soon as his roommates walked through the door. He figured he’d just have to sleep in a crappy hotel for the night or god forbid he’d have to ask to stay with his uncle. Of course uncle Iroh would say yes, but his pride would never survive a blow like that. He was eighteen years old. He wanted to handle it by himself. He sat in his car and started searching for the places to stay.

Suddenly a message came through on your phone. An unknown number. You figured it would be just another spam text trying to sell you something, so you almost didn’t even bother reading it. Then you remembered the room listing. You’d only posted it two hours ago, surely that couldn’t be it, could it?

“Unknown number: I heard you’re renting out a room. When's the soonest I can move in?” it said. Laughing at the bluntness you quickly typed back.

“And just who are you?” you responded.

“My name’s Zuko. I need somewhere to stay asap,” he shot back quickly.

“Well if it’s really that urgent then you can come by whenever. I’m home for the rest of the day,” you offered, puzzled at his predicament.

“Perfect. I’ll be over with all my stuff soon,” he responded. Well that wasn’t weird at all, right? Maybe you would be getting murdered after all. The universe just loved to punish you.

An hour and 35 minutes later on the dot, a knock sounded at the door. Well, time to meet your new roommate (or as you supposed, murderer… or…. both?) Dragging yourself away from the couch, you meandered warily to the door. When you opened it you were expecting a terrifying thug, or maybe a creepy old hag, or any other person that your mind coupled with the word murderer. You certainly weren’t expecting a tall, dark, handsome, young man with brooding eyes and a scar taking up half his face. Well, maybe the scar was a little more on brand with what you were envisioning… but regardless, you were more than surprised.

“I’m Zuko, and you must be Y/N right?” he asked meekly. Wonderful, his voice was gorgeous too. You were starting to wonder if the universe was cursing you in a much different way now.

“Um yeah… That would be me,” you responded hesitantly. Why were you so awkward?

Now the universe really was cursing you.

“Great, I have my stuff with me so if you could, like, show me to my room that would be… wonderful,” he prompted. You had been so lost in his eyes you’d hardly even recognized what he’d said. You quickly snapped out of it, realizing what an idiot you looked like, and started walking toward the spare room.

“Sorry there's still some of my stuff in here. I’ll move it out by tomorrow, it's just that some of the paintings are still drying,” you told him. He started unpacking things from his suitcases and you decided to take the moment to sit down on the floor next to him.

“So uhh… What made you decide to move in with me so fast? I barely had the listing up for two hours,” you asked, trying not to push too hard and make him uncomfortable.

“It’s kind of a weird story,” he trailed off, “Are you sure you want me to tell it?”

“I’m the master of weird stories, Zuko. Trust me, you can tell me anything,” you answered.

“I’m um… kind of homeless I guess. I got kicked out of my dorm for uhh… setting my room on fire…” he confessed, looking embarrassed. He looked down, fearing your reaction. Would you be mad? Scared? Instead you surprised him by… laughing?

“I understand, I got kicked out of my last apartment for painting on the wall and ruining it. It was an accident, I just hadn’t realized I needed to put a tarp up. What about you? I mean… Did you mean to set the fire?” you asked.

“If I'm telling the truth then… yeah. I guess I did. It was just a spur of the moment thing. I was just so angry I started lighting stuff on fire. I didn’t mean for it to spread to the curtains or anything though. That part was really an accident. I just didn’t notice until it was too late,” he explained. You smiled sympathetically.

“I get it. I mean, everyone makes mistakes sometimes,” you told him. “So, what do you do for a living?” you asked, laying back and resting your head on his now empty backpack.

“I’m uhh… unemployed. I mean I’m a full time computer science student but my uncle pays for everything,” he told you.

“Your uncle pays for everything but you’re homeless? How does that work?” you asked playfully.

“I just didn’t want to bother him by asking to stay with him. I mean I know that he would say yes but… I just couldn’t do that to him after everything he’s done for me,” he sighed. “How about you, what do you do?”

“I work at a bookstore with some of my friends. I dropped out of college last semester. It just… wasn’t what I really wanted, you know? My passion is art. I just want to make the world brighter in that way,” you explained.

“I get it. I’m studying to work with artificial intelligence. I just want to help people. If I can do that with my life… i think everything will be worth it,” he told you.

“No way, my friend Toph is studying AI too! Have you ever met her?” you asked excitedly.

“Toph Beifong? Yeah of course I know her. She’s one of the smartest people in my engineering class. The way she works with metal to build stuff… I’ve never seen anything like it,” he said.

“That’s Toph for you. She’s always talking about the newest thing she’s built when we’re working together. It’s her and I, and three of our other friends at the bookstore. Katara’s studying business, Sokka’s studying communications, and Aang is working on philosophy. Don’t ask me what he’s gonna do with that degree once he graduates, but he seems pretty happy whenever he talks about it to us,” you told Zuko. He was listening intently, hanging on every word. It seemed like he really cared. Suddenly you realized that you were in way over your head with the mysterious man. The universe was just so cruel that way.

The next day Zuko was in class. He sat next to Toph, hoping to get to know her better. In all his time in class with her, he’d never really taken the time to talk to her. To his surprise, once he got past her sarcastic and calloused exterior she was sweeter than he’d imagined.

“Have you gotten the book we’re studying yet? The annotations are due by Sunday night,” Toph asked him.

“No I… haven’t even thought about it yet,” he confessed.

“You should get on it or else you won’t finish on time. Why don’t you go to Katara's Books? That's where I work. Just tell them Toph sent you and they’ll give you 25% off. I mean, not like you need it, rich kid… but still, you should get it there. The money goes to my friend Katara. She owns it and she’s doing everything she can to keep it running,” Toph explained.

‘Yeah, I'll be sure to stop by,” Zuko said, standing up to grab his things. Katara? That name sounded awfully familiar. Maybe he’d know where he’d heard it once he got there. Making his way across campus, he couldn’t get you out of his mind as he walked.

Walking into the store he looked around, quickly finding his way to the nonfiction shelf.

“Hey, I’m Aang! Do you need help finding anything today?” came a voice from behind making him jump. He wheeled around to see a little bald kid wearing what looked to him like monk robes. Aang… now that name seemed familiar too. He told the kid, Aang, what book he was looking for.

“Ah, I love that book! I love the part discussing the philosophy that metal is alive. It’s definitely great food for thought. It should be right… here!” he said, pulling the book off the shelf.

“Thanks for the help… Aang,” he said, trailing off. He walked up the counter, ready to pay when he caught sight of you. Ringing up the customer in front of him. Of course that’s where he’d heard those names from, you had told him about them last night. He studied your face carefully as you smiled and laughed at the woman buying a copy of The fault in Our Stars. You looked… beautiful. He scolded himself for being creepy. He knew better than to start being vulnerable for you.

“I can help the next guest in li- oh, Zuko! Hey!” you called out.

“Hey Y/N, how’s it going today?” he shoots back.

“It’s good. We’ve been kind of slow so that’s been nice. Oh, I love this book! Autobiography of a Yogi is really amazing. Aang told me about it after he studied it in class. I read it after that and I loved it! I think you’ll really enjoy it,” you told him. You were so adorable when you were excited. Zuko scolded himself again. He needed to get you out of his mind. As he paid and said goodbye though, it seemed an impossible task. A spark had caught in his heart, and he knew it would soon be a raging forest fire. Uncontrollable and insurmountable, too great to ever find his way out of. As he walked back to your shared apartment, he began to realize the thought didn’t scare him nearly as much as it should have.

Walking in the door and setting your keys down, you saw Zuko on the couch. As peaceful as he looked, you needed to ask him about dinner.

“Hey, are you hungry?” you asked, setting your bag on the counter.

“Yeah, are you making dinner?” he responded. He turned around to face you.

“I was hoping you’d help out but, yeah. All I have is macaroni and cheese, is that fine with you?” you asked.

“Yeah, I’ll get the stuff out for it,” he said, watching you put a pot of water on the stove to boil. He grabbed the milk and butter from the fridge, trying to put his anxiety to the back of his brain. He was a grown adult, it shouldn’t still scare him. He had zoned out and before he knew it, the pasta was done.

“Hey, move you dork. I need to pour this in the strainer you said. Seeing that he didn’t seem to notice you tried to move around him and pour it out anyway. Evidently, that did not go very well as you accidentally scalded his hand by pouring boiling hot water on it. He let out a yelp, sounding like a kicked puppy. Your heart sank.

“Oh my god Zuko I’m so sorry!” you apologized. You tried to grab his wrist to inspect the burn, but he snatched it away from you with a squeal and sank down against the refrigerator. You knelt down in front of him as he folded in on himself. You reached up to grab an ice pack from the freezer and handed it to him, noticing him start to cry. You sat next to him and tried to calm him down. He sounded like he was hyperventilating, which you didn’t take as a good sign. You knew a panic attack when you saw one, and this was most certainly one of them.

“Hey, calm down. It’s alright. You’re going to be okay, alright? Just breathe,” you reassured him softly. You rubbed his shoulder tenderly as you brought him back down to earth. It took a few minutes, but eventually he calmed down enough to speak.

“Hey, can you tell me what just happened, Zuko?” you asked softly, trying your best to sound reassuring.

“Panic attack… I just panicked… too much like the accident… too scary,” he blubbered almost incoherently.

“What accident? Can you tell me what happened to you Zuko?” you pushed, trying your hardest to stay gentle. Your heart broke when he spoke up.

“My dad… when I was little… my face… he poured boiling water on my face… that’s why I have my scar… It hurt so bad, Y/N, it just reminded me of it,” he explained. You were horrified, but even more than that you were angry that someone could do that to him. To such a sweet person. To a child.

“Is he in jail? Your dad?” you asked, pushing your voice to stay flat.

“He’s… he’s gone now. Thankfully. I don’t know what I’d do if I ever had to see him again.” Zuko explained, wiping his tears on his sleeve. “I’m sorry I freaked out, I didn’t mean to…”

“No, don’t be sorry. It’s not your fault. Not at all,” you told him, holding back tears of your own.

“So umm… you think the pasta’s still good?” he asked, a watery smile teasing on his lips.

“Fuck the pasta,” you told him. “We’ll just order out.”

“I’d like that... “ he trailed off.

“We’ll get whatever you want, my treat,” you said, watching his face.

“Can we go eat at my uncle’s shop? He makes great tea and we’ll probably be the only ones in there,” he asked.

“Of course we can,” you told him. You got up to grab your keys, not noticing how his eyes flickered over to you with longing as you turned around.

Stepping out of your car, you looked up at the sign for the Jasmine Dragon. A quiet little tea shop by the edge of campus, sitting alone next to two closed buildings. It was cute, you thought. You were surprised you’d never been before. You walked in behind Zuko, who instantly got called up to the counter by a man you could only assume to be his uncle. You spat out an order to him and he cheerfully wrote it down and handed it to the cooks. You couldn’t believe someone so sweet could be related to a family as awful as the one Zuko had described.

As the only ones in the shop, you got your food quickly. You eyed your soup appreciatively, thanking the server as he walked away.

“This colour is so pretty. I need to paint something with it sometime,” you told Zuko, gesturing to the soup.

“It reminds me of your eyes… they’re pretty too,” Zuko said, instantly kicking himself for it. You blushed as you looked up to see him looking at his food intensely, too embarrassed to look back at you.

“Thank you… You know, your eyes are pretty nice too,” you responded rather awkwardly. The universe’s vendetta for you knew no end.

As you got up to leave, Zuko stayed put.

“I’m gonna stay here to help Uncle close up shop. I’ll be home in an hour or so,” he explained. He watched you say goodbye and walk out, making your way to the car. He walked over to the counter, vaulting over it.

“Zuko! How’s my favourite nephew doing?” Iroh asked him, smiling as he finished drying off a glass.

“I’m… confused. I need help, Uncle,” Zuko responded.

“It’s about that Y?N, your new roommate, isn’t it?” Zuko nodded, “I knew it. I’m always so good at reading you, Zuko.” Zuko sighed.

“I think I really like her, but I don’t know what to do. What if she thinks I’m weird or something. I don’t want to ruin us as friends,” Zuko confessed.

“You’ve got to do what makes you happy, Zuko. If she makes you happy, tell her. If she’s really your friend she’ll understand,” Iroh told him, pulling him into a knowing hug. Zuko let out a breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding as he sank into it. Everything always had to be so complicated.

At home, your mind raced with thoughts of Zuko. Calling your friends, you sighed as everyone picked up.

“What am I supposed to do about Zuko?” you asked dramatically.

“You could always just kill him,” Toph offered, earning a laugh from everyone else.

“I’m serious. He's literally… perfect. I think I’m in love with him or something,” you said to her.

“Let me get this straight: you let him move into your apartment without even knowing him, he tells you he burnt down his dorm room, and now you’re in love with him? Maybe I’m just spoiled by being in love with the nicest person ever but that sounds kind of fucked up,” Katara told you.

“Ok first of all, yes you are spoiled by being in love with Aang, but second of all yes. I know I’m an idiot but I can’t help it. You’d only understand if you were in my shoes,” you responded.

“I think you should just do it. I mean, what's the worst that could happen? He says no?” Aang said.

“No Aang, the worst he could do is be totally creeped out and move out and I never see him again,” you spat out frustratedly.

“If that happens, I’ll yell at him in engineering for you,” Toph offered.

‘Thanks Toph, but I doubt it’ll come to that. I’ll probably just suffer dramatically until the end of time,” you lamented flopping down onto the couch to agonize about life.

When Zuko walked in, he was surprised to find you on the couch. He walked up to the sink and dumped the forgotten macaroni in the trash and rinsed out the pot. Drying his hands on his jeans, he walked over to where you were sleeping. He debated for a second before picking you up and carrying you back to your room. He set you down in bed and turned off the lights in the hallway. He took note of the stacked canvases in the corner, and saw the painting still drying on top. A boy with half of his face obscured by a deep red scar stared back at him. It couldn’t be meant to be him, could it? Surely he wasn’t that beautiful in your eyes, was he?

Waking up the next morning you were confused. You had fallen asleep on the couch talking to Katara. Why were you in your bedroom? Had…. had Zuko brought you in here last night when he came home? Your heart sped up at the thought. He must have, right? As you got dressed and walked into the empty living room, you couldn’t get the thought out of your head. Zuko was already long gone, the crazy morning person that he was. It was your day off, and you knew it was Sokka’s too, so you decided to call him.

“Hey, do you wanna go get coffee or something today?” you asked him when he picked up the phone.

“Of course, dork. Meet me at the coffee house by the campus library in half an hour,” he responded. You smiled as you hung up the phone and went to go get ready.

Half an hour later and you were walking into the coffee house to see Sokka sitting at a table in the corner. You sat down across from him to see your favourite drink already sitting in front of you. Taking a sip, Sokka piped up.

“So about this Zuko character, I know you really like him. Tell me more about him,” he told you, punctuating the sentence with a smile that you couldn’t resist.

“He’s so gorgeous, Sokka. Plus, he’s the sweetest guy I’ve ever met. Aside from you and Aang. But seriously, he’s amazing. I painted a picture of him last night while I was on the phone and it was just Katara. He has the most paintable face. I just want to get lost in it,” you rambled on. He was starting to overtake your mind, you couldn’t get him out of your brain.

“Look, I’m just saying. If he’s that great, you should just tell him you feel. If anything else, you know I’ll kill him if he breaks your heart,” offered Sokka.

“Good luck,” you laughed, “He’s been training in Tae Kwon Do since he was a baby,” you replied. Sokka groaned, smirking as you laughed at him. You took a sip from your coffee mug. Things were always so complicated.

Walking back into the apartment, you saw all the lights were turned off. That was… strange. Zuko should have been home by now. Maybe he was sleeping? You walked with light footsteps down the hall, making your way towards Zuko’s room. Seeing his door cracked open, you decided to go in and check on him. You found him sitting in the dark, holding a lighter. A little silver Zippo he was using to pass over the ends of his fingertips, and holding to his palm. He looked lost in thought as he watched the flames dance across his skin.

“Zuko… are you ok?” he whispered trying not to disturb him too much. He flinched and dropped the lighter onto the carpet, wheeling around to face you.

“You scared me, I didn’t even hear you come in,” he told you.

“Sorry I just… didn’t want to make too much noise in case you were sleeping or something. Anyway, what were you doing?” you asked.

“Oh I was just messing with my lighter. You know, typical pyromaniac behavior,” he smirked.

“I knew you were an amateur arsonist, but I didn't peg you as the masochist type,” you giggled.

“It’s just in my blood I guess. I’ve always been fascinated by fire as long as I can remember. So was my sister, and my parents, and my cousin. My uncle is too. I guess that’s just how it goes with us,” he revealed.

“I didn’t know you had a sister. I’m assuming she uhh… wasn’t the best?” you said knowingly.

“She was sick in the head. It wasn’t her fault. An upbringing like we had would make anyone crazy. She’s in a mental hospital now. I still visit her sometimes but… not as much as I used to. It’s just hard to see her like that. It just reminds me too much of my mom,” he confessed.

“Is that… bad?” you asked, trying hard not to sound rude.

“I loved my mom, she was the best part of my life when she was in it. After my dad disowned me and kicked her out though… it’s just too hard to think about…” he trailed off, his voice cracking with a sob at the end.

“I’m so sorry, Zuko. I can’t imagine how you feel,” you responded, pulling him into your chest as his body shook with sobs. You held him as he let out strangled sobs, and you stayed like that until his breathing evened out.

“We’re gonna get through this. We can rewrite your memories together,” you told him.

The next morning as you clocked into work, you couldn’t stop thinking about the night before. The way he’d been so vulnerable with you. You had grown so fond. It was impossible to stop your heart from racing every time you thought about him. Walking over to where everyone else stood sorting through books, you sighed.

“I need to do something about Zuko. I can’t keep thinking about him like this. It’s all I can think about,” you said, punctuated with a groan.

“Ok well, your only options are to either tell him or die miserable and alone. I don’t know about you, but I would take the first option,” Sokka told you, turning around to face you.

“Seriously. I know Toph isn’t here but I’m sure she’d agree: we all want you to be happy. The only way that’ll happen is if you just tell him how you feel,” Katara remarked.

“I guess you’re right. But what if he thinks I’m creepy or something?” you asked self consciously.

“Y/N, you’re gorgeous. Zuko would be lucky to have someone like you. Trust me, if he says no he’s delusional,” Katara responded.

“I think I’ll tell him tonight and get it over with,” you stated.

“Finally! I’m sure it’ll go well,” Aang told you, smiling from behind the book he was occupied with.

Zuko couldn’t believe he’d been so stupid to be so vulnerable with you last night. Once was more than enough, but twice? You had such an effect on him. It was like he could really be himself around you. It was the first time he’d ever felt that way, and he knew he’d have to capitalize on it. He knew he had to tell you how he felt. He sat down next to Toph, as had become his routine in class everyday.

“Toph, I need to ask you something,” he said, setting down his backpack.

“If you’re going to ask me on a date, just know that I’d rather kiss Momo,” she said, motioning to the dopey eyed guide dog that sat at her feet.

“No, it’s about Y/N. It's just… they make me feel so different. I’ve never felt the way I feel about them,” Zuko confessed.

“Happiness. You’re describing happiness,” Toph replied sarcastically.

“Yeah, I guess I am. I guess what i'm asking is… would you be alright with me asking her out?” he asked.

“Of course, idiot. As long as you don’t break her heart. Then I’ll have no choice but to kill you,” Toph said, raising her eyebrow. Zuko shuddered. If there was anyone he was truly scared of, it was Toph Beifong.

Sitting on the couch, you turned your head at the sound of a key turning in the door. You smiled inwardly when you saw Zuko’s face emerge from the door frame.

“How was class?” you asked him.

“It was… good,” he responded, walking over to you, “I uhh… really need to tell you something,” he said meekly.

“What’s up?” you asked as he sat down on the couch next to you.

“I just… you’re the first person that’s made me feel loved in so long. You’re always so happy to see me, and you always know just what to say, and you’re so gorgeous, and you have the most beautiful laugh and… I guess what I’m trying to say is… I really really like you, Y/N,” he confessed. He had no idea what to expect but he certainly hadn’t expected you to… laugh?

‘I know, Zuko,” you giggled, cutting him off with a kiss. He was taken aback, but he relaxed into it before you pulled away, keeping your hand on his cheek.

“How did you know?” he asked, breathless.

“You think Toph can keep a secret? Of course she told me,” you smiled.

“Of course she did,” he laughed, pulling you in for another kiss, “So, can I call us official?” he asked.

“Of course, my love,” you told him, sinking into his arms.

#zuko x reader #fire lord zuko #zuko x you #zuko x y/n #avatar: tla #avatar the last airbender #toph #sokka of the southern water tribe #sokka #avatar aang #avatar alternate universe #atla aang #aang the last airbender #fanfic #x reader

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hellyeahtrickster · 3 years

Text

It occurs to me that I have friends here that I don't have contact with in other spheres, so ... life update: my mother passed away unexpectedly last Friday. I'm doing as well as one would expect. Been going through her things as both a walk down memory lane and a goodbye. I keep coming across things she never got around to using, and it hits hard that now, she'll never have the chance. And I can't stop thinking of the stories we watched together that now she won't know the ending to, or shows I wanted to try with her. And then there's all the things we used to do together on the regular -- all the places I can never go with her to again. And all the places we wanted to go to "someday", but now she never will.

We were two weeks out from our second COVID shots, and 4 weeks from being totally vaccinated. We were finally going to get back to EPCOT, to see the Flower and Garden show. Finally going to get back to the Florida Mall. Going out to lunch. That I won't be doing this things with her anymore ... it's unfathomable. I can't wrap my head around it.

Thanks, anti-mask / anti-vaccine Covidiots, for prolonging the presence of this pandemic -- basically stealing the last year of my mother's life. She was anxious to see her elderly mother again, because we don't know how long *she* has left ... and now she never go to see her mother again. I knew losing my mom would happen someday, but my mother was relatively young yet, so I thought it would be a while ....

It doesn't help that she died after the second night on a new bed. See, she slept on her side all the time, what with the couch being narrow, but with a twin mattress, the bed was much wider. She snored a lot -- I highly suspect she had sleep apnea. When I found her the next morning, she was on her BACK. The doctor agreed that her cardiac arrest could have been caused by sleep apnea. In trying to make my mom more comfortable .... Yeah, I know, it's not my fault, but I cannot shake that thought away, that she's not here anymore because we tried to do something nice for her. How cruel the humour of the universe can be.

(I'd put the rest of this behind a cut, but I don't see that option anymore? Sorry!!)

And it REALLY doesn't help that, not only have I lost the person I was closest to, but now I am stuck alone with the person I least want to be with: my dad. I'm pretty liberal, and he's pretty conservative. We fight a LOT. We haven't really since mom died (things got a little tense here and there, but not like we usually are) ... but I know it won't last. It can't -- not when he believes BLM are terrorists, or that gays have an agenda. And now he keeps wanting to do things with me, like watch my shows, and a petulant part of me is like, no, this is mom's territory -- stay out. I don't want to do anything with him. (Especially since I know he'll start ranting once the shows start talking about racism and homophobia.)

My parents always had a volatile relationship. Mom didn't know you could get pregnant the first time, and when she found out she was pregnant, her Catholic family bullied her into marrying him.* And he cheated on her at LEAST once (with a girl who was only a few years older than me at the time -- I was 15, she was 19, he was 33). My mother was far from perfect, so I don't blame all the marital problems on him. But my point is they were married "in name only" for about the last 25 years, so it's ... offensive to me now that he would dare to act bereaved.

I know he can be hella manipulative, make himself seem generous so as to be loved, and then turn on you like a viper, getting irrationally angry. I can't drive, we live in a very rural area with no public trans, there are no friends or fam less than an hour away, I've had next to no job for the last 17 years, I barely feel like a functional human being (am coming to seriously suspect I have ADHD and Dyscalculia; I have diabetes and suspect have PCOS and a thyroid problem; all these things having strong interconnections; and I have no insurance, nor do I qualify for aid, thanks to living in Florida), and I feel utterly trapped. There's a reason Rapunzel is my fave princess. I've had bad experiences with cabs, so using Uber / Lyft kind of terrifies me. Plus, he'd want to know where I'm going, and likely either insist on coming too, or insist I can't go, because his house, his money, his rules. The ONLY time each year I get away is when I go to Dragon Con (and I'm worried he might forbid that in the future -- he has once before).

And then there's the problem of ... he has no one. As much as I can't stand him, he lost his job because of COVID, he's lost his wife, he has no real friends (total homebody), and like it or not, he has supported me financially for so long. Even if someone else were to take me in, or I can get a job and save to leave ... how can I leave him (a person with severe rheumatoid arthritis / in not-great health)? I owe him too damn much, and I feel like it would be entirely callous of me. Yes, I realise that that's the abuse talking, but ... it's also true?

Anyway, I feel like I'm on Sliders, and keep stepping into progressively worse timelines.

* Let me mention that I have long suspected my mother is -- was -- on the autism spectrum, but when I mentioned it to one of her sisters, the sister seemed skeptical, saying that if anything, mom had a penchant for reading out loud, so they thought maybe she had a reading disability, and took her to a specialist, but "that's it". (Mom was in "remedial" classes through high school, so it doesn't sound like they did enough -- and maybe couldn't because the science just wasn't there.) I explained that mom frequently seemed to have trouble grasping concepts, especially humour. Like when a radio ad featured someone reciting a love-letter to a tomato, she was all, "That's stupid -- tomatoes can't read!" Try as I might, I could not get her to understand that the love letter was a playful way to tell US about what makes the tomato so good.)

Anyway, when I talked to my grandmother recently, she said that my mom "always had a special way of looking at things," and that she guessed mom was "what do they call it -- neuro-something? 'Aspie'? High-functioning, but still." And I told my cousin about it, and he said, "Wait, I thought it was common knowledge in our family that your mom was autistic?" (Note: we have other, officially diagnosed family members who are on different areas of the spectrum.) People always commented when I was growing up that it was like my mom's role and mine was reversed -- like I was the parent, and she was the child.

But to think my family had *recognised* that something was up, and left me, a child, to deal with it on my own?? To think they *pressured* someone who was "special" into having a child?

I know my mom loved me, but my whole life, she said she wished I'd never been born, and so she'd never have married my dad -- I know both can be true, that she loved me but wished she'd never had me (she'd have never known what she was missing). She only survived her marriage because I was there; I've always felt she'd have had a better life if she hadn't married him. When she tried to leave him, her mother would not take her in, because divorce was against her mother's Catholic beliefs (never mind that my uncle divorced twice)

I loved my mother, but were fought a lot, and she frequently exasperated me as we struggled to communicate. She frequently left words out, but did not believe that she did; when we met her last PCP the first time, he looked at me and said, "Is she always like this, or is she having a stroke?" And she would always angrily proclaim that I wasn't listening, when most of the time, it's that I couldn't get her to understand that she was working from a misconception or misunderstanding in the first place, because she would focus on ONE THING, to the exclusion of all else.

An example of an exchange (copied from a letter I wrote to a friend): We got into a weird argument yesterday. She had asked me for pain reliever, a glass of tap water (you're supposed to drink a full glass of water with the pills), and a "cold water" from the fridge (it's too cold to drink it all at once, but we both prefer ice water in general). Later, I was picking stuff up from her table-tray, including a bottle of pain reliever, and put a bunch of stuff away. When I passed by again, she asked for more cold water. I happened to look as see that she had the tap water glass still full, even though she had asked tor it half an hour before. I asked if I needed to bring the pain pill bottle back, because she hadn't drunk the tap water yet -- had I taken the pill bottle too soon, or had she forgotten to drink the water? She was all, "no, I said I need COLD water!" I said I knew that, and I would bring it; I was just asking of she had taken her pills already, or if I needed to bring the pill bottle back too. Her (again): "I said I need COLD WATER!" Me: "I know, and I will bring that -- I just want to know why you haven't drunk the tap water yet? Did you take your pills?" Her: "No, I'll take them at bed!" Me: "So I should bring back the pill bottle? Did I put it away too early?" Her: "YOU DON'T LISTEN! I SAID I NEED COLD WATER!" Me: "And I said I will bring that -- I'm just asking if you also need your pain pills?" Her: "You already took the bottle!! Did you forget that already?"

And then I finally spotted the white pain pills on the napkin under the tap-water glass, so I knew that no, I didn't need to bring it. But it's a frequent struggle to figure out how to phrase questions so I get the answer I need -- nearly every time, I get her screaming at me that I don't listen.

She loved me, but she was never mothering. She hated to be touched, so never hugged me; I was pretty touch-starved. I learned to read because she was a very slow reader when reading me stories; I got impatient and learned to do it for myself. She couldn't help me with my homework. She resented having to take me to school recitals and science fairs. She wasn't someone I could get advice from. I admit I was often envious of characters who had physically-loving, compassionate, wise mother-figures (who weren't so binary about morality -- and so weren't always screaming that this or that character should die, no matter how small the transgression).

But I wish she were still here to frustrate me -- that's so much better than not having her at all. And I wish I had been better at keeping my temper.

She was an atheist, and firm in that belief. Maybe she's right, or maybe her firm belief is affecting me, because I would dream frequently about others I have loved and lost, and swear I feel them, but with her ... nothing. Just a gaping hole in the fabric of my waking life, threatening to suck all the light and hope into it.

#mine #rant #personal #tw: death #cw: death #the death of my mom #my mom

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kitty-kat-ty · 3 years

Note

If you were dared to do the, "My boyfriend does my make up" challenge, how do you think Ieyasu would do your make up?

In the hypothetical case we were in present time and I weren't allergic to it, this is what I'd picture him doing to my face:

Ieyasu makes your makeup, AU

He kneads your face after literally dragged you the back room to make you sit down in front of the vanity, whilst he curses the one responsible for this chaos.

It wasn't every day he was challenged at work, yet today it was exceptional as his boss dared to bring it up one of his "magnificent" ideas to life just to get himself out of boredom.

God, how much he enjoyed those moments as he could show off how smart and skilled he was. But now the "fool" was out of his mind.

How could him, do your gf/wife/s/o make up challenger, degrade him so low.

Now he was stuck with your bare face staring at him instead of the mirror giving him space to put his thoughts in order.

Finally, he slammed his hands against the vanity in frustration as he couldn't understand why he didn't rebut.

"That damned fool! If he's that bored, then why don't he get a new girl this week. It ain't new if he-"

You kicked his leg frowning as all he does is whine like a five years old.

"hush! He's married if you forgot about it. Are you suggesting he fools around? Is that what you would do if you were bored?" Your monotonous tone contrasting with your stern features.

His bratty being the sour child he is can't help but talk back mostly so you can feel what he's feeling as he doesn't know how to express it in words, "it's his wife's place to keep him entertained so he doesn't go around making a fool of himself with this ridiculous games."

"So wear makeup is ridiculous?" You said seeking into his eyes for the answer as his lips wouldn't come clean with a clean one ever.

"Uh? Wait, are you turning it around me now?" He said, apparently, offended yet confused as how could it be what he was thinking.

"You consider making up a game, so when I do it to assist to one of your ludicrous meetings I look like a clown. Is that what you mean?" Now you aren't sure if you said that to test him or rile him up, but for sure his engine just turned on and he ain't gonna leave without a fight.

"I never said that! I mean, you need to look presentable when you're gonna walk in as my date. Or I might be the one being ridiculed by the likes of you" he said sullenly, half glaring, half pouting.

You held back a laugh as it was hilarious to see his reaction, but finally you have him where you want to. Willing to give his everything even if he doesn't know what to do.

"Then it's your turn to not make a fool of yourself. It ain't rocket science-" he cut you off by instinct.

"I was good on sciences, chemistry and-"

"Not now, boi. What I mean, all you need is guidance and who better than you to know which colour tone looks better on me than yourself. Aren't you the one who picks up my outfit every time we are shopping"

"You have horrible taste" he states as matter of fact, yet murmuring softly "those racy clothes aren't to show off to those filthy perverts"

You barely caught the word "racy" yet you decided to keep him in the mood. "Then show me who is Tokugawa Ieyasu, let them hear your name as the winner of this silly challenger. Make me look pretty"

His eyes widened, not at your motivational speech, but as how could he make you look prettier if you're the light of his dark world, his muse, the one who keep him on his toes bearing with his swift whims every day. He wish he could just kiss you and make you understand, but he remembered what you all have only an hour to make wonders and become the winner.

"That pretty mouth of yours is gonna pay the price for daring me in such fashion. Now face the mirror, I don't want more distractions" he said bluntly, yet you could see warm in his eyes as you switched to face the mirror, handing him the products he needs to apply.

"A simpleton as yourself doesn't need that much, it isn't like you're gonna get any better if I do" he said as he applied the moisture watching how your skin's texture changed, wishing to pinch your cheeks at that very moment till make you squeak.

"Thank your for your honest words, boy. Now this one" you took the base which you tend to use every day, yet he took the one next to it.

"hey, that's a bit darker... This"

"Shhh I'm the artist here. You look way paler with that one." He applied some on your face drawing random patterns as he saw on the tutorial showing on the big screen for everyone to see.

You gazed at him as you saw him transform your simple self into a radiant lady.

Wondering if he ever did apply makeup on other women before, you felt something sting your heart as that thought crossed your mind.

He outdid himself, proud of his masterpiece as he called your make-up.

The last round were applying individual eyelashes before add the last touch.

He made you turn around to do that, but he couldn't concentrate himself as he couldn't believe his eyes, you looked incredible beautiful, plus the temptation of taking off the lipstick off your lips was too much to bear with.

"stop squirming. Keep your eyes closed" he said sternly, yet his hand trembled when he brought the eyelash close to your eyelid sticking it way too far.

"How could I not? You're putting them into my eyes. I have my eyes closed yet you aim there again and again. My poor eyes must be red by now" you whined, eyes stinging, burning and pouting.

"fine! Look like a child! You don't need them anyways" voice filled with regret as causing you pain wasn't part of his plan. He just applied mascara at your already curly eyelashes softly avoiding to touch the root of them as he saw how red they were.

On the screen the women put some primer to end it and he tried to imitate her. But this time he made sure your eyes are completely closed and he even cover them.

He let out a huge sigh as the big bell ringed telling the whole participants it was over.

His body slumped down next to your feet, leaning against your legs, his silky hair now to your reach.

You brushed it as you two waited for the judge to come.

"You know, you might have been a good make up artist if you were the head of the Research department. I didn't think that colour fits me better"

"You are a fool. Also the redness of your face ain't easy to hid with that one, but with this it looks like natural blush. How d-"

"Tokugawa Ieyasu" a rough and strong voice resonated around you two stoping the all too familiar exchange.

"Is this your fiance?" He said unamused yet the corner of his lips curled up forming a mischievous grin.

"My date for the night" Ieyasu said standing up, grinning as he usually does at work, but you could see the annoyance in his eyes as he looked back between his boss and yourself.

"Yes, tomorrow I'll date with his cousin" you said grinning throwing back his words to him, just for the pleasure of get him all worked up.

Which worked as he growled lowly, menacing if you could say, yet that fake grin of his plastered on his face like a tattoo.

"Yes, so as to let this wench go back to her work street. Let's get over with it, can we?" He said as cheerful as he could but the exchange didn't pass unnoticed by his boss, as he's been watching his employees this whole time and oddly she's the one he brings to every meeting since last year started.

You just grinned, waiting patiently for this game to be over so you can leave his ass crying at the entrance of your shared flat the whole night.

His boss looked at you, then at your eyes and noticed he didn't apply the eyelashes on you, making him wonder what caused it.

"I see eyelashes weren't used on this one" he stated looking back on Ieyasu.

You were going to explain why but your boyfriend was faster than you.

"They weren't needed as she has enough eyelashes as it is. More would have look like spiders stuck on her eyes. A natural look is better on her" he doesn't even know what he said or why. But he couldn't blame you for it, if someone was responsible for it, it was him, you were out of reach.

"Um, I see. We will announce the winner later. Join the others in the meeting room. Food is being served there" he said as he walked away to the next couple.

You jumped up on your feet hearing the word food, but were stopped for him, holding your wrist, making you spin around to face him.

"No yet" he pulled you closer, bringing his lips close to your ears, whispering huskily. "Don't you dare to talk with my idiot cousin. Or I'll-"

You couldn't help but grin brightly as a blush adorned your whole face till you ears, but knowing where his thread was going you pecked his cheek. "Does that make me your official girlfriend?"

He backed off you, staring at your crimson face with one of his own, gauging before his tongue could form words again. "Whatever you say. I'm starving, let's hurry before they all strawberries are gone"

Just like that he dragged you all the way to the meeting room, his hand in yours entwining your fingers almost as if to making sure you weren't gonna leave his side, heads turned your way, but all you cared was the man in front of you as happiness was draw on your face the whole day.

~The End~

Just went with the flow, I didn't edit so if there is any mistake I apologise. Just hope you all enjoy it, also I did it in a rush as I didn't want to lost motivation or the track of what I wanted to say XD

Happy weekend pals! It feels good be back with random talks.

#Tokugawa Ieyasu #slbp #voltageinc #slbp ieyasu #brat boy #sulky boi #Ieyasu au #ask #ask away #random hc #Ieyasu hc #my boyfriend does my makeup #Ieyasu as the boyfriend #you as his S/O #guess who is the boss

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crutchie-with-a-y · 4 years

Note

Hiya Sophie🥰 how are you? Could I please request Jack Kelly x reader where he’s being touchy and begging for them to love him but reader is busy with school so they don’t give him enough attention? And then Jack gets super quiet and when reader is done with hw, reader feels super bad about not giving Jack enough attention, they treat Jack with cookies they’ve made and talk about this and the two of them end up cuddling the whole night sharing sweet kisses. Jack lays his head on reader’s chest🥺

Hey! I’m doing pretty good, what about you? Thank you for the request! Sorry for the wait, I’ve been a little pre-occupied, but I hope this is something like what you had in mind! <3

“Haha, yeah we’ll see you later, Finch!” You laughed and waved as your friend said his goodbyes and turned down his street.

“Oh thank GOD he’s gone!” Your boyfriend, Jack, said as soon as Finch was out of earshot. You and him and about a dozen other friends always walked home after school together, one by one peeling off from the group as they reached their streets. Finch was the third to last to turn onto his street, which left you and Jack to walk the rest of the way to your homes, (which is actually how you started dating in the first place). Jack, who was usually happy to have friends around, had seemed restless to get away from the group today, and once he was positive Finch couldn’t see or hear you, he pinned you against the stone wall the two of you were passing on the sidewalk. He passionately kissed you and for a moment you completely lost yourself in his rough lips that tasted of cherry coke and the cigarette he had shared with Race at lunch. Then you reminded yourself that you had some homework to complete and a test to study for.

“Jack,” You gasped when he pulled back for air and began to nibble at your ear. “Jack, Jack I don’t have time.” Jack pulled back without removing his hands from where they held your wrists against the wall and squinted at you.

“What are you talking about?” You snapped your wrists forward and glared at him as you began to walk again, him following at your side with the same look on his face.

“I have homework.” Jack stopped completely and you turned back to look at him.

“The fuck you don’t,” Jack said, obviously pissed at you, and that was rare, so it made you pretty uncomfortable, you had to admit. “You finished your math in class, you told me at lunch. Your history project isn’t due for a literal month and you’re already almost done with your poster. You wrote this week’s homework essay for English on Monday night.” He walked slowly, listing everything off on his fingers.

“Well there is more math,” You said defensively, as the pair of you turned a corner onto your block.

“More math? What the-oh my god the EXTRA CREDIT PACKET?!” He looked at you like you were insane and you bit your lip and looked at the concrete. “Y/N, you’re a straight-A student. You don’t need the extra credit. And even if you still wanted it ‘just in case,’“ He imitated you as he followed you up the stairs to your front door. “You literally have all semester to turn it in, and it’s FRIDAY. It’s FRIDAY! Can we not just relax and do couple things for ONCE.” He said, turning around to look at you while you shut your front door behind you. You glared at him. He KNEW how important school was for you and how much you stressed about getting all your work in on time, why was he being so rude about it?

“I also have science,” You responded, pushing past him and into your dining room to pull your laptop and textbook out of your bag and set on the table. Jack loudly threw his bag on the table in front of you and headed into the kitchen.

“Please tell me your kidding,” He said, popping open a can of Pepsi. You flipped through your textbook pages angrily, upset that he didn’t seem to get it.

“No, I’m not kidding.” You said sharply, only turning to look at him once you’d said it, just able to catch the sad, exhausted look on your boyfriend's face. You felt guilty, but before you could apologize, his face hardened again.

“Y/N I WAS UP TILL 3 AM YESTERDAY HELPING YOU WITH YOUR SCIENCE PROJECT. HOW DO YOU HAVE ANYTHING ELSE TO DO?” He yelled, which made you shrink a little as you typed your password into your laptop, but then your blood boiled.

“YES AND I AM GRATEFUL FOR THAT, BUT THERES A TEST ON MONDAY-”

“ON MONDAY?” Jack stepped up on the chair next to you and sat on the table and closed your computer in an attempt to get you to look at him, but you just crossed your arms and stared at the logo on the top of your computer. “Y/N, please, you can study all weekend for that, when your parents get back? Cmon, right now we have a little alone time and I really need-”

“Everything to be about you?” You whipped your head up to look at him. His eyes looked hurt, but you weren’t going to take it back.

“No, I’m sorry, I just, I’m really-”

“Annoying.” You glared at him, and then it was Jacks' turn to shrink, but he didn’t boil back, and you felt a twinge of guilt. “Look, just, just give me an hour.” You opened your laptop back up while Jack slumped over, flicking his pop tab in defeat. After a few minutes of the “tingggggg” noise echoing in the quiet room, you reached over, without looking up from your screen, and placed your hand on top of his fingers to stop the flicking. You kept it their longer then you meant to, and Jack rubbed your knuckles with his thumb, lightly squeezing your hand. You pulled it away abruptly, and wouldn’t let yourself look at the heartbroken look on his face.

Awhile later your phone buzzed for what felt like the thousandth time from your laptop bag and you couldn’t take it anymore. You ripped your bag across the table and dug around for it in the front pocket.

“Why the hell do you keep calling me?” You said sharply into your phone.

“I was calling to ask you why the hell Jack has been active on Instagram for the past three and a half hours?” Katherine matched your tone on the other end. You pulled your phone back from your ear to look at the time and cringed when you realized how much you’d gone over your hour. Jack had walked off into your bedroom what you thought was a few moments ago but was actually two hours ago. You were still annoyed though, and Katherine being so nosy didn’t help.

“I don’t know, he just is,” You said snarkily. “I’m studying,”

“Your parents are out of town and you SERIOUSLY, SERIOUSLY are studying on a Friday night instead of spending time with your boyfriend?” She sounded shocked, and you didn’t appreciate her judgment.

“Look, Kath, I-”

“Especially after he got fired yesterday.” Your heart dropped.

“Wait, what?” You prayed that you had misheard her.

“Yeah, I guess he forgot to call in yesterday, so when he didn’t show up his boss told him to, and I quote, ‘not bother showing up anytime after that either.’“ Katherine explained exasperatedly. You wanted to vomit. “Wait, how did you not know about this?”

“Um, ahhh, I gotta go,” You said, standing up quickly and hanging up as you walked towards your bedroom. You slid your phone into the pocket of your jeans and lightly tapped the closed door to open it a smidge. Jack was sitting on your bed, on the phone with someone, his back propped up against the wall, looking out the window with his forearms resting on his knees which were bent up so his feet were on top of your comforter. You pushed your door open a little more to see that he had taken his shoes off so he didn’t get dirt on your bed, which he knew you detested. A small smile pulled at the edges of your cheeks; even who he was upset with you, he went out of his way to please you. He was so selfless. Your smile fell. And because of that selflessness, he had ended up sacrificing his job to help you out. You looked back at your laptops glowing screen in the dark dining room, the blue light reflecting off the cover of your textbook. School stressed you out so much. So, so much. You had always been a very good student, but a slight dip in your performance the semester before had lead to a stern talking-to from your parents that made you absolutely terrified to get anything lower than a perfect 4.0.

You looked back at Jack, who was still on the phone, flicking paint out from under his nails, oblivious to you in the doorway. He gets that, you thought to yourself. Jack understood the pressure from your parents and the immense fearful stress school put you under. Jack was always willing to be a supportive boyfriend, no matter how hard you made it.

“Oh yeah, no (he’s/she’s/they’re) busy studying right now. (He’s/She’s/They’re) really stressed about school,” Jack said into the phone. “Hey, hey, (his/her/their) parents are really strict and put on a lot of pressure, it’s not (his/her/their) fault. Besides, I’ve never seen you turn in homework once so shut up.” Oh my god, You thought, feeling yourself tear up. He was literally standing up for you over something that you had just argued about, and on top of it, he didn’t know you were watching him, so he did this out of sheer integrity. You let your guard down for a second and let out a loud sniff, and immediately darted behind the door, hoping he didn’t see you. He continued talking to whoever it was he was on the phone with, causing you to let out a sigh of relief. Then you just stood there for a moment, unsure of what to do. You peaked around the door again, just as he started to laugh.

“Hahaha, yeah me too, I haven’t had dinner yet, I’m starved.” For a moment you felt even more guilty, knowing he was waiting for you to eat, but then you felt a light bulb click on over your head. You headed into the kitchen and began to quietly open and shut cabinets, gathering the ingredients you knew you would need to surprise Jack. Your boyfriend was often fairly mysterious, but one thing everyone could tell you about him was his obsessive and at times even frightening love of snickerdoodles. As you quietly dumped cups of flour into a bowl, you couldn’t control the small giggle that escaped your mouth as you remembered what an important role snickerdoodles had played in your relationship.

“You have some snickerdoodle crumbs on your lips,” Jack had said after diving into the cookies you had made for him on his birthday. But before you could reach for a napkin, he had stopped you. “Actually, let me take care of that.” And the next thing you knew you were having your first kiss with Jack Kelly.

You carefully pulled the pan of cookies out of the oven and slid them onto a plate. You clicked the oven off and picked up the plate, your hands protected by polka-dot oven mitts. You knew you should probably wait for them to cool, but you were too impatient. You walked over to your bedroom and bumped the door open with your hip. Jack’s phone call had ended awhile ago, and he was laying on his back on your bed, his knee propped to support the notebook he was drawing on with the stub of a pencil. He looked up when you walked in, and quickly set aside the drawing materials.

“Snickerdoodles?” He looked at the plate and then back up at you. “I always welcome humankind's best invention but what is the occasion?”

“A sincere apology,” You said, you had practiced what you were going to say while you were baking.

“Oh no, I’m sorry, you don’t have to-” Jack started, shaking his head.

“No, I do.” You said, setting the plate on your comforter and gesturing for him to take a cookie. “I was being a self-centered asshole, and for that, I am so deeply sorry.” Jack began to shake his head again as he slowly broke his snickerdoodle in half. “No, I was.” You said, sliding your hand under his chin and lifting it up so he was looking you in the eye. “I am so sorry about your job, Jack. That was completely my fault and I take full responsibility. I promise I will call your boss and try and talk him into taking you back, and if he won’t I will find you another job. A good one, that you like. I promise.” Jack set his cookie back on the plate and turned his head away and swallowed hard. You moved the plate to the floor and reached your arms around his shoulders to pull him closer to you.

“You are just so selfless. Truly, the sacrifices you make for everyone else, without a second thought amaze me. If you lost your job to help me with a science project, I cannot imagine the other things you have given up to make other people even the slightest bit happier.” You heard Jack choke into your shoulder, and you planted a soft kiss on his head. “You are the best person I know, Jack Kelly.” And with that, your boyfriend let out a broken sob and his shoulders began to shake as he cried. You slowly leaned back on your bed so that Jack’s head rested on your chest and his tears dripped onto your T-shirt. You rubbed his back and kissed his head, careful to be delicate. Eventually, his sobs stopped and the two of you sat in connected silence.

“Where are those snickerdoodles?” Jack sniffed. You laughed.

“They’re on the floor.” You lifted your arms so he could lean down and get them. He picked the plate up and set it up over your shoulder, grabbing the one he broken in half earlier. He kissed you sweetly before laying back down on your chest and nibbling on the cookie contentedly. You looked down at him with a warm smile on your face and in your heart.

“I love you, Jack.”

“I love you too, Y/N.”

#newsies #newsies fandom #newsies fanfiction #newsies fanfic #newsies imagine #broadway #jack kelly #broadway musicals #jack newsies #newsies jack #jack kelly x reader #jack kelly imagine #jack kelly fanfic #jack kelly fanfiction

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charlotine · 4 years

Text

Have You Ever Heard of ADHD?

The first time I heard the word ADHD, I was in secondary school. I had to see the teachers, my classmate would tell me. I just got diagnosed ADHD. She’d never focus in lesson, always scraped average grades and everyone would gossip about her. What’s ADHD? I’d ask my friends. It’s what all the delinquents and stupid people have, they’d joke with a giggle.

As a child, I was always described as smart. I asked questions about how the world worked and persisted until I’d reached a full understanding of the topic. On top of that, I was the firstborn, a girl in an Asian household, so I grew up very traditionally. My parents worked a lot to provide for me in this foreign country we’d moved to, so I was often left alone. My parents would know to leave the PC or TV on because otherwise, I had a bad habit of wandering. Sometimes it’d just be to the landlord’s apartment, sometimes it’d be to other people’s houses (obviously quite bad seeing as I was 4-8).

In primary school, I was the weird Asian kid. In fact, the only Asian kid. Per year group there was at least one or two Asians and one black person in my school. But I was weird, I struggled to fit in with my peers because nothing they did made sense to me.

My behaviour and how different I was proved to be enough ammunition to bully me. I’d watch TV sometimes, to try and figure out how to interact with people my age. Adults always seemed easier, because I was cute and smart. I remembered watching how a boy had pulled down his friend’s trousers on TV and they’d laughed, so I did the same to a girl in my class with the blue dress, and she screamed. I didn’t know, I’d wail to the teacher, I didn’t know it was wrong, please don’t tell my parents.

Eventually, I reminded myself I was different from other kids. How? I didn’t know, but I just did. So I taught self to be quiet and recluse, no matter how bad my mind would shout, because I wanted to be liked. Needed. I was so quiet some people would forget that we’d been to school together all our lives. I learnt to be quiet, because the few instances where I did have friends, I didn’t know how to control my exuberance. It was either hot or cold for me, and I was already worried enough about being ostracised, so I taught myself to be quiet.

I began to hyper-fixate on books and reading from age 8-11, because I had no friends. Or because I hyper-fixated, I had no friends, but growing up, I bitterly assumed the former. I’d read during break and lunch hours, and during lessons if I could; I could roughly get through two 500 paged books a day. I finished the Harry Potter series in 4 days. Every time I would stop, I would feel like my chest was crashing in, and I’d feel that all-consuming isolation and darkness in my heart again. My reading age was on par to a high schoolers by the time I was 9, partly because my dad began handing me adult crime novels.

The teachers would all describe me as smart, but lacking in effort. I’d astound them during class hours, but they’d have to put me in a lower set because once I’d leave the classroom, I wouldn’t exert energy into the subject. I rarely handed in homework, and I’d attend my detentions and read a book because I didn’t know how to explain that I’d forgotten. Everyone would lie and say the same, and I knew they wouldn’t believe me anyway.

By the time I started secondary school at 11, my issues all but seemingly disappeared. I always held the best grades in English, Science, German, amongst others. I’ve never given this high a grade to a 12 year old, my English teacher would say with teary eyes. I called all my friends to read your work to them, and I wanted to ask permission to photocopy your work because I want to keep this with me. It’s a truly beautiful piece.

It’s because she’s Asian, my classmates would say dismissively. They couldn’t compete against an Asian, being smart was expected of me. Things like schoolwork were easier for me, somehow.

I’d always turn up to class with innovative and original projects, shocking all the teachers pleasantly because no one had ever in their entire time of being a teacher. When everyone would turn up with paper drawings of a hastily drawn house labelling the French verbs, I’d turn up with a large painted box with 3D figurines. Miss, she’s Asian, my classmates would say. We can’t compete with her when it’s in her blood.

After a teacher would issue a project, my mind would be hyper-fixated. Make a project, she’d say. I don’t care what medium you use, but it has to relate to the verbs we learnt in lesson today. I’ll see you after half term break. As soon as I’d get home, I’d need to start the project otherwise my heart might just give up. I‘d neglect tidying my room, my social life, my personal hygiene, my sleep, my other projects and eating because I need to do this project mum, you don’t understand. My mind was in hyperdrive, I couldn’t rest because this project was my world, my reason for air. 4 days later, and I’d have a few days left of half term and I’d only eaten maybe 2 small meals the past few days.

(Why can’t you be normal? My mum would plead.

Eyes downcast, I’d whisper, but mum. This is my normal.)

We’re concerned about her, my mum would say to Jenny the therapist. She can be the loveliest person one minute, and the next she can be a whole different person. And she’s not eating again, I think she thinks she’s fat.

She isn’t eating? Jenny would frown. The rest is just hormones, but I think I need to explain to your daughter the negative side effects of anorexia again.

I did think I was fat. I’d look in the mirror and wish to be somebody else, just not me, but I didn’t starve myself. Not intentionally, anyway. But, I’d frown, how do I explain to everyone that sometimes I just forget how to take care of myself? How, sometimes, some things were more important than taking care of myself?

Your daughter is very, very smart, my teacher would say with a smile. She reminds me just exactly why I’d decided to be a teacher — she excels in French, German, Psychology, all my subjects! You should be very proud.

Ah, my mum would look at me with watery eyes, thank you, thank you.

The lesser pieces of homework, I’d forget about until last minute, but no one would ever believe me. How did you explain that if it didn’t send your mind into hyperdrive, that it’d disappear? I’d go through the week care free, and then my friend would message me at 9PM at night and then I’d remember. During those times, I’d skive off school the next day to get out of it because I didn’t know how to explain that I’d simply forgotten to a teacher when everyone would lie and say the same.

Your daughter hasn’t turned up to lesson this week, my teacher would say with a frown. We’re very worried about her, she said she’s going through a hard time, and even in lesson she never seems to focus.

Really? My mum would look at me with watery eyes, I didn’t know. She, ah, told us she went to the school this week.

First Jenny said anxiety, then depression. Anak, my mum would say. Tell us what’s wrong so we can help you. You’re so smart, but you’re wasting it away. You know me and dad want you to make something of yourself, so you’re not suffering like us. But I’d taught myself how to be quiet, and I didn’t know how to explain. What was I meant to say?

(Mum, I can’t focus on things and it goes right out of my ears and I don’t know why, no matter how hard I try to listen. Mum, I couldn’t sleep last night, because I really needed to finish researching the Cold War and Buffy the Vampire Slayer and I couldn’t stop, and that’s why I didn’t get up for school in the morning. Mum, I can’t go to school today because even though I’ve known about our speaking test for 2 weeks and it’s all I can think about, I couldn’t revise. Mum, I can’t focus on this thing right now, because all my mind can focus on is Henry VIII even though we haven’t done him in history for 6 years. Mum, I know you gave me all of this month to clean my room, but then I’d have to pick everything up, put it into order, change my bedsheets, hoover the floor, and the thought of all that was too overwhelming for me that I just couldn’t start, but I’m not lazy, I swear.)

Instead I’d say, mum, I think I’m just sad. I fell out with my friends last week, I’d say hollowly, and I just feel sad.

With hardened eyes, she’d tell me to prioritise yourself, anak, friends come and go, and the only person you can depend on is yourself.

My mum never remembered my friends names. I loved all my friends and every single person meant the world to me, but I’d cycle through them in the span of 6 months. I’d go through friends and friendship groups, and my mum would smile at all of them and say, what happened to Natalie? What happened to Lily? in our native tongue.

I hate them, mum, I’d say bitterly. They were using me, too.

With disbelieving eyes, she’d laugh. Everyone is always using you. Why can’t you just be happy? Why can’t you just read a book and be happy?

(Mum, I can’t stop counting the lines, I have to make sure that they follow the pretty pattern in my head that make it look inexplicably real to me, otherwise I can’t, and then I realise I haven’t been paying attention to the words at all.)

Instead, I’d shrug. Books are boring now, mum.

My relationships were intense with everyone. No matter the longevity, I’d feel heartbroken for every single person. I’d be inconsolable for days. If you want to die so bad, my sobbing mum would say with my lined wrist in her grasp, just tell me and I’ll do it for you.

Have you heard of hyper-mania? Sarah, the first, would inquire with a tilt of her head.

No, I’d shake my head.

Rivotril, aripiprazole, lithium, and alprazolam for anxiety attacks, Sarah would write. We think it’s bipolar disorder and anxiety disorder. They often have comorbidity.

I feel sorry for you, my aunt would say. You’re only 15 and you have to take so much.

Setraline, alprazolam and lithium, David would write. Due to the last two suicide attempts, we think it’s borderline personality disorder and anxiety disorder. Her mood swings are too frequent.

She’s only 16, my dad would say gruffly. Why does she hate being alive so much? It’s the meds, they’re ruining her.

I made friends with a girl with ADD in college. She was a daydreamer and had to sit extra classes. Oh, I’d laugh. It makes sense, you’re always losing track of conversation. Then I dated a boy with ADHD; that’s why I struggle so badly in school, he’d explain to me. Oh, I’d reply. School has always been easy for me. I can help you go through your notes.

In college, they’d tell me I shouldn’t have been a year behind. Not to show any blatant favouritism, my teacher would say with a conspiratorial smile. But unlike some of your other classmates, you’re one of the few who don’t really need to be here in remedial GCSEs.

I’d take the compliment and thank him with a nod. But why can I not focus? My mind would plead. Why is it that I can never sit still, why is it that I need to be talking or using my phone to function during lectures? Why is it that I can’t learn the same way everyone else does?

But I’d learnt to be quiet, after a while. My parents had told me I was attention seeking and that there wasn’t anything wrong with me. How could there be? I was pretty, I could make friends easily if I so wanted, and I was smart. In the homeland, anak, my mum would tell me with a scathing look. The mentally disabled people are in wheelchairs, you don’t have any mental illness. You just want there to be, and it’s all in your head.

(I wish I hadn’t lived, I’d whisper to my brother in the hospital. This would be the third time, and not the last.

Huh? What did you say? My brother would ask.

I said, I screamed, I wish I hadn’t lived.)

Why did you do it? The third, Jamie, would ask, after the fourth, the fifth. Did you plan it?

Everything was spinning out of control, I’d reply. And I needed to escape. I wanted to disappear. I didn’t plan it, but it made sense at the time.

So you didn’t want to die?

Contemplatively, I’d tell him I don’t know, but maybe.

Hmm, would be all he’d say for a moment. How do you feel?

I feel empty a lot. Like I need something to fulfil me so I won’t feel like dying today. Even when I try to sleep at night, I can’t, because there’s so many things that I need to do. Like go for a long jog, bake a cake or write as long a story as I can write. I used to have a drinking problem, I’d tell him shakily. Back when I was 14. It was the only way I could get to sleep at night. Everything that I do to myself needs to be intense, so it can break through the monotony. I struggle in school, I do, I’d plead with him. Everyone looks at my grades and they don’t see it, but it’s hard going in and doing work, when I can’t sit still and be focused.

Hmm, he’d say.

I have sex a lot, I’d tell him. I don’t like forming attachments to people because they always leave, so it’s always different people. Sometimes... I’d hesitate. It’s not safe.

What do you mean?

They’re strangers I meet on the internet, I’d whisper. I can’t do it at my home because of my parents, they’re catholic and believe in chastity, so we go to their house. Or their cars.

Hmm, he’d say. Why?

Why what?

Why do you do this to yourself? You’ve mentioned before that you dissociate during sex and find no pleasure in doing so, so why?

I... I’d say truthfully. I don’t know.

Jamie would ask about my sex life. My parents would say I’d indiscriminately have sex with men and women too often, and they were scared for me. He’d ask about drugs, and my parents would say they didn’t know, but that I was easily influenced. He’d ask about school and friends; my parents would say I was very smart, but lazy. They’d inform him that I argued and fell out with my friends often, and had a penchant for the short term. He’d ask how I was like at home; my parents would share a look, and tell him how I could be two different people sometimes. Lovely, my mum would say, and other times horrible and a stranger to us, my dad would finish. She can be sweet often, my mum would tell him, and other times she’ll be so angry she trashes her room, my dad would finish.

(What’s it like, I’d ask my boyfriend. Having ADHD?

It’s like being a magpie. You have one thought, but the other is too shiny, and the next is always shinier. Your thoughts are always racing, conversation topics are always changing, you can’t stop talking, and people say you’re annoying. Sometimes, I’ll have that nyan-cat song stuck in my head on repeat. It’s like needing subtitles when you watch a movie and the Wikipedia page up, too, because you can’t focus. It’s like the way I can never find the right tab, because there’s always more than 50 open on my phone. It’s like having a long list of things you really need to do, but no matter how much you know this, you can’t do any of it. It’s like, when I was 5, I’d say swear words in school all the time. It’s like always being late to everything, no matter how hard you try. It’s why I get angry at you a lot, he’d tell me. And why I can never remember what you last said to me. It’s like being a normal person and drinking 10 energy drinks, but you don’t need the energy drinks.

Oh, I’d frown. I understand what you mean. And I did. I really did.)

Finally, my third psychiatrist would say to us, have you ever heard of Attention-Deficit Hyperactivity Disorder?

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bethhxrmon · 5 years

Text

All I Ask of You Pt. 33

“There is something due any day, I will know right away soon as it shows”- “Something’s Coming” from West Side Story

Pairing: Peter Parker x Female OC

Word Count: 2.1k

Summary: Kind of a filler and kind of a setup

Warnings: Fillery writing, probably not my best but go off ig

A/N: Hey!!!! So I went on kind of a long hiatus because of school and stuff. It lasted longer than I meant for it to, but I needed the time off. I hope you guys all understand! As always, the masterlist is in my bio!

“I can’t believe it took us a whole month to talk Mr. Iron Dad over here to let us get ice cream,” Harper said with a light smirk.

Tony sighed, “You better watch it, we can go back home still.”

“Oh, come on, Mr. Stark! We’ve been doing nothing but working hard all this time, we need a break," Peter insisted as his eyes darted over to the pickup for ice cream.

Annie nodded eagerly, "I agree. Besides, the fluid is coming along great and my suit's nearly ready so I'm not wearing an over-glorified jumpsuit anymore."

"Hey! It was a good over-glorified jumpsuit that got you a long ways," Harper defended, waving her ice cream cone like a weapon.

Annie grinned, "Oh, I know. Just imagine how powerful I'll be with a decent suit... you know, I think that I could totally out-do Spider-Man if given half the chance."

"Yeah, right. In your dreams. I've been web-slinging around New York for way longer than you."

"And I've been a superhero for longer. Your point?" Annie asked, licking her ice cream.

Pepper shook her head slightly, "I'm just so proud of you guys. I never doubted any of you, but I always thought that it was insane you were all working so hard on something like this."

"It's because they're super cool heroes. Come on, they're basically Avengers!" Ned exclaimed.

Tony shushed them, "Could you guys keep your voices down? You know, it would be great to get you guys all hiding out across the country only for your identities to be revealed because you feel the need to yell out everything."

"Oh, calm down, we're only having fun. Besides, why isn't the Avengers dealing with this sort of thing? I mean, a big monster dude who probably wants people dead and can do so by mimicking powers seems like your kind of job. Just putting it out there," Annie claimed with a small shrug.

Tony sighed, "The Avengers are kind of complicated at the moment."

"You mean that you guys all broke up because of those Accords."

"That's not what I said."

"It's what you meant. I may just be some theater kid, but I'm not an idiot."

"Never said you were."

"Then admit it! You guys broke up because you couldn't agree over some pieces of paper that technically make what we're doing illegal. That's the real reason the Avengers aren't taking care of this. Because it's not a well-known enough threat for you guys to get the government on our side. This all has to be secret because it's so illegal," Annie responded, sighing.

Tony rolled his eyes, "Fine, it's illegal."

"I mean, let's be real here, legality isn't really morality," Harper pointed out.

Everyone looked at them, seeming a little surprised at Harper's input.

"What? I took a legal class for an elective one year. It was fun! I know how to get away with murder!"

Annie smirked, "That sounds more like you."

"And I wanted to see if I could change my parents' inheritance."

Ned tilted his head, "I thought you said that you didn't want any of their money."

"I don't! Trust me, it's not worth it. But it might be worth my other family members getting some money. Just, I don't want it going to that damn lizard!"

Annie nodded, "Yeah, that's fair enough. That lizard's a really weird thing to invest money into anyways."

"If you called it a lizard to their faces, they'd only say that it was a priceless heirloom of sorts and that it isn't a real lizard."

Annie sighed a little bit, "I still think it's complete bull that people are allowed to do that with money in the first place."

"Oh I know! People like them shouldn't even be allowed to have money, but here we are I guess," Harper said, taking another lick of their chocolate ice cream.

Peter sighed, "You know, it's taking them a while to get that ice cream..."

"Well, some of us didn't order the freaking suicide sundae thing that they have here," Annie pointed out teasingly.

Ned pouted, "Hey! We're sharing it and it's gonna be freaking great. You're just jealous that you didn't think to join in on our ice cream escapade."

"Actually, I'm relieved. I just wanted my cotton candy ice cream and that's what I got," Annie claimed.

Peter shook his head, "I don't know how you can eat that. It's like diabetes in a cone!"

"Because a ten scoop sundae has way less sugar than a cone."

Peter huffed, "I have a killer metabolism. And I have Ned on my side. We're gonna kill it and you're probably not even gonna finish your ice cream."

"That's a total lie!"

"Bet!"

"Fine, what happens if I win?"

"Um... I don't know. But I know that if I win, you have to kiss me?" Peter offered.

"Okay... now you're making me start to root for you," Annie replied with a wink.

Harper scoffed, "You two are so disgusting with your PDA and constant flirting! I think we should just let those two go out on a date on their own already. Just so I don't have to deal with this."

"Agreed, it's even worse than when they first started liking each other. It's so cute i think I could throw up from it," Ned said.

The teens ended up laughing, and that was when they saw the large sundae Peter and Ned were going to try to eat. It was several scoops and those scoops were enormous in and of themselves. They all looked at the ice cream with wide eyes.

"Well, I was rooting for you. Until I saw you guys got the Godzilla of sundaes. Good luck," Annie said, eyeing the ice cream.

Ned grinned, "Come on, Peter, we've totally got this! We'll show them for sure."

"Yeah, maybe you won't get a kiss if I win," Peter remarked.

"Oh, you're being full of it, Spidey!"

Tony shushed them again, "Remember what I said about not revealing identities?"

"Come on, Mr. Stark, no one's listening. You're just being paranoid about it. We're gonna be fine. Everyone's thinking Spider-Man's just on some sort of summer holiday or something probably. But I doubt anyone thinks he's here," Peter assured.

Annie and Harper went back to talking about Seattle, which mostly entailed Harper complaining about their parents and how everything had been going downhill ever since Harper had insisted on going to NYU for college.

"It's like they don't even think fashion design's a real major!" Harper exclaimed.

Annie shrugged, "I mean, some people don't think musical theatre is a real major either."

“Well, be realistic, is it a real major?” Tony asked.

Annie blinked, “It is.”

“How is it useful?”

“The skills you get from acting and a good stage presence are actually really beneficial. Not all of us want to be lawyers and professors. Some of us wanna win Best Actress at the Tony Awards after getting a Bachelor’s from Julliard.”

Pepper grinned, “You know what? I think that’s a good plan. Do you enjoy acting?”

“Yeah, it’s kind of my thing. You know, everyone has something they’re super good at. Like Harper has fashion, Stark’s got the whole leading superheroes thing, you have being a phenomenal CEO down to an art, Ned is a freaking wiz at random trivia facts which is beautiful, Peter is a science genius, and I have my acting,” Annie explained.

Peter beamed, “You think I’m a genius?”

“Well, yeah… hey, don’t look too cocky or I’ll take it back,” she said with a huff.

After a lot of talking and eating ice cream, there was still a few scoops of ice cream leftover from the sundae. Not wanting to waste any perfectly good ice cream, they decided to get to-go cups. It left Harper and Tony questioning what in the world the others were thinking.

"Oh come on, you and I both know that you'll be grateful once it's midnight and you're starving and you can just binge eat some ice cream," Annie pointed out, nudging her friend.

Harper sighed, "Okay, fine, I'll take it, but I'm not sure how accurate that is."

"Okay, you're just not used to not having your parents and everyone else around. You'll understand later," she said.

Once they were back at the cabins, Tony pulled Annie to the side.

"Hey, can I talk to you for a minute?" Tony asked.

Annie shrugged, "Depends. What're we talking about and is it gonna actually be a minute?"

"I think it's pretty important. And it might take more than a minute," Tony admitted.

She sighed, "Okay, what is it?"

Annie leaned against an evergreen tree, looking at Tony. What in the world he was about to talk to her about seemed to be wearing on him for around an hour. He looked like he was ready to start pacing back and forth for the next day.

"Do you know who your biological parents are?"

"No... why?"

"Have you ever been curious about it?"

"Um I guess. I mean, wouldn't anyone be? My current parents all that great. I don't really expect any better from parents who let me be experimented on, but I guess I think about it now and then. But again, why?" Annie asked, frowning.

Tony ran a hand through his hair, "Okay, this might be a little bit much. And keep in mind I may be totally wrong about this. You see, I was in Brazil around sixteen or seventeen years before. I might have fooled around. At the time I was a lot more thoughtless than I am now. And-"

"You think you're my biological dad, don't you?"

Tony nodded, pursing his lips together.

Annie sighed, "Okay, this is definitely a lot to process. But you might not even be my real dad. It's, like, a one in a million shot, right? But... if I think about it, we have similar hair colors and eye colors. But dark brown is such a common color too! It's totally impossible. Come on, Stark, be real here."

"But it could also be very possible. Don't tell me you haven't thought about it before."

"Okay, I've definitely thought about it before, but in all fairness I look at many adults that bear any kind of potential resemblance to me and look at them. And I can't help but wonder. You know better than to think that this would happen."

"But it's likely. And it's not totally beyond the realm of possibility, you do realize that, right?" Tony asked.

Annie bit her lip in thought, "So what you're saying is that you definitely want me to go and get a DNA test and try to find out which scumbag let me become some abandoned science experiment."

"It could be a good idea. You don't have to, but it might give both of us peace of mind."

"And what if you're actually my biological dad?"

"Well, I don't have any real rights towards you. Technically I never did since i didn't bother to track down the mom. But we would both know, and even if I can't take you in-"

"I wouldn't want any of your money, Stark. You better hope that you're not my biological father. There's no way you'd be able to make up for all the years I've spent wondering about where I come from. And more important than that, you can't make up for letting me become someone's science project," Annie insisted, crossing her arms.

Tony ran a hand through his hair, "I know, trust me, I know. My dad wasn't too great either, I know how it goes."

“Except you don’t. With all due respect, at this rate, I won’t have one good for nothing dad, but two.”

Tony paused for a moment and looked like he was about to say something, but his mouth stayed closed. That was when Annie fully realized what she said.

“Hey, wait, I um… I’m sorry, I didn’t-”

“No, it’s okay, if that’s how things turn out, you’re kind of right.”

“No, it was uncalled for. You didn’t have any real way to know. And besides, it’s still up in the air. It’s both true and untrue… so I guess we could call it Schrodinger’s father?” Annie suggested.

“That’s not quite how it works,” Tony said with a slight laugh.

“Hey guys! I just realized something that’s super important! And we gotta get it sorted out asap!” Harper yelled, sprinting right up to them.

Annie frowned, “What is it?”

“Good news or bad news?”

“Bad news first,” Annie said.

“Right, so, a lot of my original concept art for the White Swan design is still in Seattle with my parents… so we really need to go back there, like, yesterday.”

“And the good news?” Tony prompted.

“Oh, yeah! I think the new suit’s done! You’ll love it, it’s a freaking masterpiece if I do say so myself.”

Annie nodded, “Well, if there’s any place that’s good for me to test it out, it’s Seattle. I’m feeling like we need a field trip.”

Taglist (ask if you wanna be added): @flushings-here / @gaypanda / @twilightparker / @parkerpuff / @ganseysblues / @lionsfandomsandbearsohmy / @ijustdontknowsometimes / @dolphinsarecuteandstuff / @lcy-thot / @moonstruckholland

#peter parker #peter parker imagine #peter parker x reader #peter parker x you #peter parker x oc #spider-man #spider-man x oc #spider-man x reader #mcu #mcu fanfic #spider-man: homecoming #spider-man: far from home #original character #fanfiction #all i ask of you fic

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crazedlunatic · 5 years

Text

Icees

“Oh my God. I am so sorry!”

Nick stared down at his shirt, confused. He then wiped his phone off on his jeans.

“I always forget that crack right there and I’m late and… I am so sorry. Oh my God.” The guy that had ran into him prattled on, looking incredibly embarrassed.

Nick finally looked up and saw the most adorable guy with blonde hair and very bright blue eyes.

Holy shit.

“It’s okay.” Nick said, laughing. “I’m sorry that you ‘re now out an icee… Well, half an ice if you pick the cup up.”

“I can’t believe this.” The boy groaned, having gone from looking embarrassed to looking annoyed—at himself. “Look, I can give you money for a shirt. I work in that building and I forgot my wallet in there—as usual… and I spent my last cash on this stupid icee.”

“At least it wasn’t one of the blue raspberry ones. The cherry isn’t that good.”

“Are you… what?” The guy looked at him, tilting his head. Because he was obviously the most adorable guy on the planet. Which was saying something since his niece was very precious.

“The icee. The cherry isn’t even that good… the Coke icees are better than the cherry. Was the machine broken again?”

“No… I…” The guy looked flustered. “I can go get money.”

“Don’t. My dad’s been trying to get me to throw this out since the day I bought it when I was fifteen.” Nick reassured him.

“No, no, no. I’m going to go and get my money right now.” The guy turned and went up a few steps.

“I’m leaving.” Nick called, smirking to himself and walking in the direction. He then turned and waved.

“Why do you look so familiar?” The guy called back.

“Bye!” Nick turned the corner.

Please work at Dr. Sanders office. That means I’ll get to see you again.

I’m definitely changing my Wednesday appointments to Tuesday either way.

…

“You can go ahead and sign o— oh my God.”

Nick raised his eyebrow before his eyes widened and a grin spread across his face.

So he did work here. Maybe he just looked super young for his age or something. “You.”

The guy groaned, covering his face.

“Hey, you don’t get to have that reaction. You are the one that assaulted me.”

One of the receptionists, the one who usually checked him out, looked up at that.

“Assaulted? You clearly weren’t watching where you were going either or you would have moved out of the way.”

“This is great! By the way, you completely ruined that shirt.”

“I’m really sor—"

“No, don’t even worry about it. My dad may be in love with you. He’s been trying to make me get rid of it since before I’d actually even purchased it.” Nick waved his hand in the air. “But, you know, it’s really not nice to tease me.”

“Tease you?”

“I mean I love icees and you just threw it at me. Which is funny because at my dad’s school, the unpopular kids would get slushied… he doesn’t like them very much since he wasn’t very popular.”

The guy watched him, clearly trying to find out if he was serious or not.

“The gentlemanly thing to do would be to take me out for an icee since I haven’t been able to stop thinking about them since the other day.” Nick’s smile did not leave his face.

The guy opened his mouth when one of the therapists walked up.

“Hey, Nick. Come on back, sweetheart. How are you?”

Nick, feeling more than a little disappointed, followed her down the hallway. “I didn’t know you had guy therapists working here.”

“Oh, Cody is our intern. He goes to NYU and helps a lot with the children who come in. Sometimes he’ll help check people in and out if it’s busy.” She explained. “He’s super quiet but I shouldn’t even be surprised. Apparently, you can have a full conversation with anyone.”

…

“So, I know your name.” Nick said cheerfully an hour later, coming to a halt at the check in/out desk. “I guess you get to schedule my next appointments?”

“What day?” The guy, Cody, asked. He looked much more flustered than he had with the patient before Nick. Honestly, he probably hadn’t even heard a word Nick had said.

“Friday afternoon.”

“Wait, what’s your name? Nick Anderson?”

“Close enough.” Nick shrugged.

“One?”

“Great… Now when are you taking me for that icee?”

Cody looked at him, clearly trying to figure out if he was serious.

“I promise I’m legal.”

“Oh my God.” Cody was clearly trying not to smile or laugh— Nick wasn’t sure which.

“Well?”

“Are you going to do this every time I’m out here?”

“Every time until you take me.”

Cody looked around the admit desk—nobody else was there. “You know, if I lose my internship I’m losing a three year reference.”

“I won’t tell if you don’t?” Nick smiled sweetly.

“Fine. What are you doing tonight?”

“Getting an icee with you?” Nick tilted his head.

“Alright, fine… but don’t you even want to know my name?”

“As long as it’s not something dumb like Cody, we’re good.” Nick grinned. “I’ll meet you outside of the building at 5:00? Or 5:05 since you’re always late?”

“Have a good day.” Cody said as one of the receptionists walked up.

Nick held up his hand and then walked out the door, well aware Cody was probably watching him walk out.

…

“Well I went to UCLA to play soccer but I… came home.” Nick found himself explaining several hours later. He was sitting on the grass in Central Park. He took a big gulp of his icee.

“There is no way you graduated.” Cody gave him a look.

“I didn’t. I guess I’m technically a freshman still.”

“Did you miss home?” Cody asked curiously.

“Uhm, no… Well, I did but that’s not why I came home.” Nick leaned against the tree he was sitting in front of. “I actually got an eating disorder at school and my parents pulled me out. I spent about a month at home getting sicker so then I went to a six week program in Wisconsin… in an eating disorder clinic. I’ve been home three or four months, I think… but not doing school or really functioning in the real world makes it hard to keep up with the date.”

Cody stared at him, eyes wide. “Are you… better? Are you okay?”

“I’m okay. I’m getting there at least… I mean, I’ve made enough progress that I don’t have an escort to therapy and doctor appointments now.” Nick shrugged. “But I eat three full meals a day and four snacks. My dads usually get meals for me if they’re home, though, so I can’t try to portion stuff out… but I am doing a lot better than I was in January. I think everyone is surprised I’m doing this… well?”

“That’s good.” Cody said.

Nick looked him in the eyes. “Thanks… Does it not say on my file?”

“It might. All I use is this pop up for appointments when I’m behind the desk, though. I don’t really stay up there that much… Okay, that’s a lie. I’ll be there a lot but usually not at the front desk. I’m off to the side where people can’t see me. When I’m not, I play with the kids.”

“Like you watch them when their parents are in appointments?” Nick asked.

“No.” Cody shook his head. “I’ll go in with the kids that have appointments. Never by myself but a couple of the kids won’t even talk to the actual therapist so I have to try to get them to talk to me… I don’t know if that’s supposed to happen, but I think their parents are just glad they’re talking to anyone.”

“Why do you have the internship?”

“I’m studying neural science.”

Nick nearly spit out the sip of his icee he had just taken.

“I’m joking!” Cody laughed. “I’m actually not that smart. I got to NYU. I’m double majoring in Art and Public Policy at the Tisch School of Art in NYU.”

“You’re an artist?” Nick asked, interested.

“Well, I try but I don’t think I count as an artist.” Cody shrugged.

“What will you do with that degree?”

“I mean, I think I’ll have to get two more degrees after this one but I want to do art therapy. That’s kind of how I ended up with the internship. It was… well, sort of close to what I was interested in. Plus, I get to help with the kids.” Cody shrugged. “What are you majoring in?”

“The complete opposite of you.” Nick laughed. “I was majoring in computer sciences and engineering.”

“You’re really smart.”

“That depends on the subject. I’m really good at computers, math, science, and history… but I am really horrible at English and art stuff… I also can’t learn a second language to save a life.”

“I can’t either. I think it’s my accent.” Cody shrugged. “I’m really bad at all of that stuff by the way. Math, science, history.”

“That’s okay.” Nick shrugged this time. “It doesn’t sound like you’ll need it anyway… What year are you in?”

“I’m a senior.”

“What happens next year?” Nick asked. His stomach did a flop but not the sick kind. The sad kind.

“A few blocks over to Pratt for a graduate degree. They deal with therapy.” Cody said. “I’m really excited about it.”

“Did you get off of the internship at 5:00 or did you come back to meet me?” Nick asked, feeling relieved— but honestly not sure why since he’d only spent fifteen minute alone with him.

“I got off at 5:00.” Cody said. “Why?”

“You must be hungry.” Nick looked at him.

“I’m fine. We don’t have to get food or anything. I don’t want to make you uncomfortable.”

“It doesn’t… and even if it did, I can’t avoid situations that involve food. Sometimes it is harder than others but avoiding restaurants is not living life normally.”

“In that case, let’s get dinner. At least a snack… because I am kind of starving.” Cody stood and held out an arm to help Nick up. “What do your parents do?”

“Well one of my dads is a lawyer and the other is a fashion designer here in the city.” Nick said.

“A known one?”

“Pretty known, yeah.”

“Oh? Who?”

“Kurt Anderson-Hummel.”

Cody nearly tripped over a branch because he was staring at Nick in shock.

“I’m serious. The computers usually cut off after Anderson on names since my last name is so long. Scantron tests are horrible.” Nick smiled brightly.

“Wait. No.” Cody stepped back. “No, you aren’t. Because they just have a set of twins and a daughter. One of them is going to be a vet and the other is…”

“Yes?” Nick gestured him on with his hands.

“Playing soccer.” Cody’s eyes widened. “No. You’re the one… the news…”

“Oh God. It was on the news?” Nick groaned. “I forgot that game was televised. Wonderful. I bet it’s on Youtube.”

Cody looked at him, expression much sadder than when they had been talking before.

“Yeah. Well, yeah. That was me in all my glory.” Nick said.

“You just… wow.” Cody said. “I mean… you look a lot better.”

“Not almost having a heart attack helps.” Nick joked.

“No.” Cody shook his head. “I see a lot of people with eating disorders come through and you… you have made a lot of… you look really good.”

Nick took a deep breath. “Thanks, I think.”

“Your dads are really… well, they seem really great.” Cody said. “I bet they’re really good parents.”

“They are.” Nick nodded, walking down the street with Cody.

“What do you call them?”

“Well, honestly I call them both dad if they aren’t in the same room. If they are I call Kurt Dad ‘Daddy’ and Blaine Dad ‘Dad.’ My sister calls both Daddy, though, which gets frustrating when she’s not in the same room with them.”

“This is crazy.” Cody shook his head as they walked into a restaurant.

“What part?”

“All of it? What are the chances I trip and spill an icee on you? Who just so happens to be Kurt Anderson-Hummel’s son.” Cody said.

“I don’t know about the icee part but we eventually would have met since I’m at the office so much.” Nick slid into a booth across from him. “I’m surprised we hadn’t before, honestly.”

“I regularly do Tuesdays and Fridays.” Cody said. “And you go Monday, Wednesday, and Friday. Why were you even there on Tuesday?”

“I had a check up scheduled on Wednesday with my doctor so I switched this one.” Nick shrugged. “It worked out well for me.”

“Yeah.” Cody nodded as Nick pulled out his phone and typed a text.

“Sorry. My dad is texting me… both of them actually. I guess they figured out I wasn’t asleep in my room finally.” Nick said, locking his phone and sitting it down.

“Do you need to go?”

“No.” Nick shook his head as their food came. “They just check in sometimes… It’s a ‘transitional period.’”

“Transitional period?”

“That’s what Dad calls it when Daddy is not comfortable or doesn’t think I’m ready to be doing something that I insist on doing anyway… Which is annoying but I get it. I try to avoid it and text them but I forgot.”

“You live with them?”

“Yeah. They actually have guardianship… I signed my rights away the day after everything happened in LA.” Nick said. “So, I basically live like a fourteen year old again… That’s a slight exaggeration.”

“Well… transitions are tough for everyone involved but the good thing is that something good comes out of it.” Cody shrugged. “Plus, we’re all transitioning in one way or other. I’m transitioning to living by myself. I’ve lived here with my brother since I was sixteen, but I had lived with him back home since fourteen. He’s married with a baby now so it was time to go.”

“They didn’t kick you out, did they?”

“No! Tyler wouldn’t kick me out. In fact, he still brings me food, like, every other day. Which is nice since I’m super poor. His wife is great though and her family is nice too.” Cody laughed and shrugged. “I’m honestly doing it to myself. Starving artist complex I guess.”

Nick smiled a bit.

“Oh God. Did that come off bad?” Cody’s eyes widened.

“Not at all. Don’t worry.” Nick promised as he took a bite of his food. “So… are we going to do this again?”

Cody blushed a bit, opening and closing his mouth a few times.

“Technically you intern at the office and don’t work there… and it’s not like you’re my counselor.” Nick said.

Cody shook his head and took a sip of his drink.

“Plus, I can’t date until the middle of April anyway, so that should make you feel a bit better.”

Cody blushed more, looking up at the ceiling. “Why can’t you date until April?”

“A year from recovery… Well, a year from the day I left the center, really.” Nick shrugged.

“Thanks for that, uhm, information.”

Nick grinned at Cody when he looked back down. “You’ll almost be graduated by then. Maybe you won’t work there next year.”

“You are crazy.” Cody shook his head but he was smiling.

“Well nobody that lives with my two dads was going to be normal.” Nick laughed. “So are we going to do this again? My wardens want me to be home in thirty minutes and it’ll take that long to walk there.”

“I have a feeling if I said no, you’d harass me until I said yes.” Cody laughed this time.

“Yeah. I’m annoying that way. Ask Zach.” Nick stood. “I’ll see you around.”

“Wait.” Cody said when he was a few steps towards the door. “Can we… I mean, we should get each other’s numbers so we can find a time to… see each other.”

“Are you asking for my phone number, Cody Parker?” Nick went back over to him, holding out his phone.

“Yes.” Cody took his phone and called his own. “See? It’s ringing. I didn’t even give you a pizza shop’s phone number.”

“By the way, if you’re using me to meet my parents my godfather will kick your ass.” Nick joked and took his phone back since Kurt was calling him. “I don’t have a bed time, by the way.”

Nick walked out of the restaurant just a little too excited. He’d made it halfway home when he got a text.

You’re getting the icees next time.

#nody #ugh i can't even #i rewrote this at work today #i have too much time on mondays #wbuct drabble #wbuct prompt

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epiphanicwiring · 5 years

Text

My controlling mother

I’ve been 20 years old for some months now, but it’s been a while I’ve come to suspect my mother is indeed controlling. Parents shape, in some way or another, even tacitly or subtly, and to some extent, our common sense, values and life perspectives, although it is in our own will whether we critically analyze them, follow or refuse them... Sometimes our concept of what is ‘normal’ is warped, and because it is ingrained in our common sense, we don’t doubt about its veracity until we pop some of our experience into a conversation with friends, our therapist or significant other, and they give you a look of concern. That is what happened to me: It’s no news I’ve been suffering from depression for years, so the first time I went to see a therapist was in 2015 (I was 15/16 then). I would walk from school to the psych’s, and I would wait until I was inside of the building to message my mother that I have arrived (I felt I would be lying if I did it outside the building, at the door, for example). I did it every time. My therapist found this odd: I naturally explained to her what I was doing, as it was something I was accustomed to. She was probably the first one to point me out that that was a bit too much. But I always did it: “School”, “Conser(vatory)”, “Psychologist”, “At [insert friend’s name]’s”. I knew that if I didn’t send her those messages, she would become worried, and call me or my friends, only to know that I was okay, and then she would get angry and I would have to stand it. Then I got into university in 2017. I got into the Sound Engineering career. This is a sub-story: Throughout my adolescence, I was pretty much interested in every career known to man. My grades at school were so incredible I had an average of almost 9.7/10 in all of the subjects that were in Spanish, since I went to a bilingual school (I have to admit, Physical Education was the only subject I failed at, and that’s probably why I didn’t have a 9.9 or something), and an average of 10/10 in all of the English subjects. That was no surprise, I was the ‘gifted, brilliant’ student child since primary school; I still can recall my mother’s facial expressions when receiving my grades when I was 6 or 7, crying of joy. It’s up to this day that no one who personally knows me (except for my closest friends and boyfriend) even dares to ask me how am I doing at university, because ‘I must be doing terrifically good’. Back to the sub-story, my main career choices were Astronomy, Psychology, Fashion Design, Medicine (I’ve been interested in Neurology, Neuroscience and Neurosurgery for quite a long time now) and Music. That’s quite a lot, yeah. But my main dream was to be a composer. So when I was around 14 years old, I happily expressed this to my mother. “Composition? You want to study Composition? You’ll starve yourself to death. You can’t live off it”. (The same answer I got when I was little and dreamt of being an astronomer, by the way). She followed it with: “You have such a brain you could be a neurosurgeon. That’s what you could be”. As if composing were easy, right? But yeah, she was... Right, I was too intelligent to waste my time composing. So I crossed out “Composer” from my careers list and never thought of it again. From that time to when I was 16/17, I was desperate to find ‘that’ career, the one that would suit me like a ring. “What career could mix the arts with the “hard sciences”? Does something like... Sound Engineering exist?” and then I googled ‘Ingeniería de Sonido’ (Sound Engineering) and I found out that the career was only taught at Untref, 2 hours away from where I live, out of all the places Argentina has to offer. (If you want to know, yes, I have 4 hours of daily commuting, without counting the less extreme commuting to my music conservatory which is 20 minutes away with a lot of traffic). Studying Sound Engineering at Untref does not equal to graduating as a producer, nor a record engineer. Of course you can work in those fields, but to put it bluntly, as many professors say, you would kind of be wasting your degree; you would be more in the side of submitting papers and working with huge acoustic solutions companies than recording an album in a studio. So, at first, my mother thought it had to do with, you know, the music industry: “(The university) It’s too far away!”, “I don’t want you to study this!”, “It’s full of boys, you will feel bored”, “Remember, you could be a neurosurgeon”. But I really wanted it, and I won the battle: I got inscripted, I passed the exams, I got into the career. When I chose the career (16 years old), I was pretty much disencouraged from following a career in music. I felt mediocre, despite what my double bass teacher expressed to me (”I don’t think you should follow another career, you have all of the potential to be a professional double bassist”, he said to me. He even recently told me to substitute him in the Bass Department when he retires). I felt too old, too intelligent and too much into academia to follow a music career. “I don’t even practice 4 hours a day”. Why? Because I had to stand out at school. Because that was “a priority”, in the words of my mother. So I was prepared to leave music behind and be the best sound engineer in the scene. Too bad I was... Severely depressed. And I failed, and failed, and failed... Course after course. I wanted a gun or a million pills so bad, I wanted it all to fade away. It was in the mid-term of 2017 that I noticed I was doing horribly, emotionally and psychologically. I couldn’t get out of bed, I had zero ability to focus, I lived off coffee and I had lots of emotional revolts. I needed help. I told my mother about this, and she didn’t take it well. “I give you everything and yet you feel like this”, “You’re just lazy”, “What you have isn’t depression, you just want attention”. She refused to pay for the therapy sessions, so I basically had to use all of my savings and the money I gained from giving lessons (It’s been years I want to buy a bow for my bass. Once I had to lend her 4000 Argentinian pesos I had saved throughout time, which is a lot, and she never gave them back to me, and never will, unless she buys me a bow or something). My therapist used to be my Psychology professor at school, and I knew he was the only one who could work with my mind at that stage, and really help me. I eagerly payed him until I had zero money of my own, and I told him I would have to stop the treatment. He appreciates me a lot as much as I do with him, and he offered me to keep attending the sessions paying half of what it was. I’m forever grateful and I promised to myself I will give him every cent back once I start to save more money. Still, I had to cut the treatment 3 or 4 months later (2018 mid-term), because it was my mother this time who was paying it, and whenever she had to give me the money, she tried to oblige me to stop going, or told me “You aren’t depressed anymore so why are you wasting your time going to the therapist, I cannot pay for it”. She loves to tell people with a smile that going to a therapist is useful and a wonderful thing to do, when in reality, she treated her daughter like actual shit for being depressed. She was the one who kept on sending me to a school where people bullied me for 11 years. She was the one who would made me feel bad about having a 7/10 or an 8/10 on an exam from time to time. She was the one who told me to ‘make myself strong’ instead of taking action to come to a solution. The thing is that, to this day, I still have some of the symptoms or habits: I break down mentally from one second to another (the trigger is usually her, or career choices, or body insecurities), I engage in suicide ideation, sometimes I hit myself, I fast, I cry myself to sleep, I procrastinate heavily on the Internet out of anxiety or I want to isolate myself and terminate any link with humanity. It’s not like I’m not depressed anymore. These symptoms come and go, but they aren’t completely gone. I was also diagnosed with anaemia last year. It isn’t that terrible in the sense that I’m not going to die, but it definitely made me extremely tired and dissociative (depression+anaemia=failing classes).

In early 2018, I had told my mother I was unsure about my career decision. Sound Engineering is an amazing field, but leaving music as a hobbie wasn’t really in my plans (having gained some of the confidence I had lost when I was 16, as previously mentioned). I was asking myself: “What if the only thing that stopped me from becoming a professional musician was fear?”. The fear to dare do something my mother didn’t approve of. The fear of economic instability, competition... What if I really starve myself to death in the music industry? What if I cannot offer anything good as an artist? What if it really is a waste of my intellectual abilities? What if... As soon as I demonstrated this (filtered, of course) uncertainty to her, she became a monster. She was angered, her voice’s volume slightly up, and her eyes... It’s the eyes. The way she looks at you when she’s angry or in disapproval. I’ve feared them since childhood. This also happened one time I told her I could maybe be biromantic or bisexual. I was 15 or 16, and I liked a girl I knew from the Internet. That was all, nothing serious, but even though I have always felt attracted to men, and my main crushes were men, I knew since I was little I had the capacity within me to love anyone from any gender. To me, love just is, even just trying to label myself ‘I’m this, I’m that’ is something I’m deeply uninterested in. That day, I remember, she left me ith doubts and hatred towards myself: “How could I possibly like a girl? I’ve always liked boys, there’s no way”. The same effect had the conversation about my uncertainty in terms of career choices. “How could I possibly be a musician? I’m destined to be an engineer. I’ve always liked science. I’ve always wanted economic stability. I want to live well. There’s no way I could possibly be a musician”.

When I started university, I made wonderful friends. And of course, we talk to each other whenever we can. There was one occasion I mentioned during a conversation how my mother tracked me by GPS. One of my friends found this terrible. I also mentioned that not only she tracked me, she also kept asking me to message her where were I: “At [bus number]”, “Uni”, “Subway”, “At [insert friend’s name]’s”. There was one time I was in a Calculus class and I saw she was calling me (fortunately I always have my phone silent, something she hates). I had to go out and talk to her. She had been using the GPS and she couldn’t stop the panic button. According to the GPS’ map, I was somewhere else (this glitch happened quite a few times) and because I forgot to send her the “Uni” text informing her that I, in fact, had arrived at university, she was extremely worried. She listened to my friends’ voices and became calm.

Another thing she does is waking me up when she wants to. If I don’t, she becomes very angry. When does she wake me up now, in vacations time? 8 or 9 AM. That’s already too late for her. What does she do? Come up to my bedroom and all of a sudden, open the door, threatening me with something if I don’t wake up. Or telling me I HAVE to go buy something for her work by 10 AM because she has forgotten to do so. That’s not the worst, she recently got to the stairs (the stairs that take you to the second floor, which are located above my bedroom’s ceiling) and she started DANCING making a lot of unnerving noise.

Sometimes I don’t want to eat and she would come up to me and tell me “You are not going to eat? Okay, I’ll take you to the psych guards and let you there”. Oh, and she’s used to taking photos of me and sending them to people knowing that I’m extremely self-conscious and that that could cause me an emotional turmoil.

In September 2018 I started dating the love of my life. Unfortunately, as much as I want to keep an upbeat predisposition, my mother has been a topic of discussion and an obstacle to my general well-being in this realm as well. Again, how can someone be completely happy when they are temporally and physically restricted by someone else? Going out with my boyfriend and spending quality time with him is definitely one of my most favourite activities. But again, there she is: “Let me know when you find him”, “Tell me when you’ve arrived to the place”, “I don’t want you two to be alone”, “Don’t be back late” (late to her is 9 PM), “Solange, when are you coming back home???”. At first I didn’t notice the chains were so heavy. But after various events and discussing this with my boyfriend, they really are. For example, she would prevent me from going to a party or going out for dinner with him “because it’s too late”. I recently tried to let her see that the dangers of the city are inevitable, and that I’m already a grownup adult who has the right to make her own decisions (and of course, I will provide myself of safety as much as possible). With her logic in mind, I practically can’t get out of my house. As usual, she tried to make me feel as if I was the irrational one. Her arguments are: “I’m the one who provides you of housing and basic resources (so she’s the authority in here)”, “If something happens to you, I’m responsible”, “You never help me in the house and you DARE do the opposite of what I tell you to do”, “I’ve been working all day and you went out and had a great time so you can’t say anything to me”. Her gaslighting me makes me doubt if maybe I’m wrong and I have to play by her rules. In the past I would rather had her in my side, but now more than ever I’m totally certain that it is my life that’s at risk, and that as an adult, my rights to choose cannot be prohibited nor taken away from me.

I would like to know what do you guys think of this, and any help in the form of advice, observations, arguments and ideas on independence will be very much appreciated. If you happen to have controlling, abusing or toxic parents and would like to discuss about it, don’t hesitate to get in touch with me.

#Controlling mother #Parenting #Bad parenting #Abusive parents #Toxic parents #Toxic mother #Manipulation #Gaslighting #Personal #TW: Depression #TW: Suicide

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cefstickles · 6 years

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A Ticklish Soulmate AU - Part 1

So not exactly a fic, but a crap ton of head cannons! What if there was a soulmate AU that if you tickled yourself you were actually tickling your soulmate? Its where soulmates are bound by the fact that when they tickle themselves they are actually tickling their soulmate! It’s really cute and fluffy! I have head cannons for each pair! I’ll make this into two parts because...my goodness this got long real quick! hope you enjoy!

Prinxiety

-Roman was the one who started it. He longed to make his soulmate laugh, so when he first found out about soulmates, you better believe he was tickling himself all day long. And years after too!

-Virgil on the other side of it, was always teased because of it. But not when he was in high school. In fact, many people envied him because he got tickled quite often which meant his soulmate was looking hard for him.

-It took Virge awhile, but finally got the guts to tickle Roman back. Roman cried of happiness that day, and they did their best to communicate through the tickles they were giving to each other.

-It took a bit, but they finally figured out each other’s tickle spots. Virgil loves his neck and back tickles, whereas Roman is really only ticklish on his feet and in his armpits.

-They finally met when Virgil was in college and Roman a graduate student. Roman has an odd habit of tickling his soulmate while he’s rehearsing for plays, and it just so happens Virgil was in the crowd watching their dress rehearsal. While Roman slipped a couple pokes into his neck while he was doing some hand gestures around the facial area, Virgil squealed because he wasn’t expecting it and everyone turned to look at him. Roman almost lost his balanced because like “Is it him?”

-He just had to scrape another finger at his neck, and Virgil tried to muffle another squeal.

-Roman could barely could contain his excitement. Immediately after practice was over, he saw Virgil skedaddle quickly out of the theater and ran after him. Roman was much faster than Virge, and with tickling on his side, finally caught him from behind and gave him some back kisses to soothe his new anxious friend’s worries.

-Virgil backs away and is quite skittish at first, but he slightly wiggles a couple fingers in his armpits, it sends Roman to the floor giggling.

-They both couldn’t believe they found each other, but they are so glad they did.

Logicality

-”You can’t tickle yourself, because you are tickling your soulmate instead!” At least, that’s what teachers told him. Told Logan.

-Logan didn’t really believe in all of that. He had started studying it when he was a child, but since he had tried to contact his soulmate but received no response he gave up rather quickly.

-It wasn’t until his sophomore year of high school that he began to feel his soulmate’s tickling. Unfortunately for him, it started as he was giving a class speech and his voice fluctuated as he did his best not to giggle through the whole thing.

-Afterwards, he drove himself home and tried to sort himself out, though the consistent tickling was driving him up the wall. Litterally, he couldn’t stop the giggles from flowing out of his mouth.

-It wasn’t unpleasant he decided, but deduced the next course of action would be to tickle his soulmate back.

-It took awhile for Logan to get used to tickling his soulmate, because there was no one around but just him. He even used verbal teasing one time, but his older brother Emile Picani listened in and couldn’t stop cooing at him for the next couple of months.

-He discovered, with a system of x’s for not ticklish and o’s for very ticklish, which tickle spots were his soulmates favorite. Logan found it endearing that his soulmate loved his tummy tickled and hoped that one day he could tickle it in real life. In return, he shared his tickle spots, which happened to be his sides and hips.

-That day wouldn’t come until much much much later. Logan was twenty-three and out of college already working in one the highest achieving Chemistry Corporations in the world. He wasn’t a CEO, but a supervisor with an upstanding rank above many people.

-It was then he met Patton. A twenty-five-year-old Nurse who happened to work at the hospital which one of his closest friends (*cough* Virgil) was taken to because of a pre-planned operation. He was there to see that everything went through correctly.

-Patton was the one who tried to keep Logan (And Roman) out of the room while the doctor’s were operating. Through the push pull argument, Logan accidentally jabbed Patton in the stomach and the squeak that fell out of Patton’s mouth had the whole room outside of the operation in shock.

-At first Logan thought nothing of it, but it came back later that week to haunt him. He drove to that same hospital and got to a place where he was able to watch Patton from afar. Reluctantly, he tickled his tummy in the way he usually did wanting to see just how Patton reacted if he truly was his roommate.

-He was adorable. Just letting himself laugh and squeal silently to himself. He could even see the little squeak jumps Patton would do as Logan stuck a finger in his bellybutton.

-Logan finally confronted him after his shift was over and Patton was a little skeptical. But it was quickly made clear to him who the man was in front of him. Patton got so happy, but I mean he had to return the favor. Can you imagine it? Two fully grown men standing in a parking lot, tickling themselves silly? Three days earlier Logan would have scoffed at the idea.

-After some exchanging of information, the reason Patton hadn’t tickled him until high school was because the lad was touch starved, sheltered, and was never told about soulmates. It wasn’t until he finally went to public school his senior year of highschool did he finally understand and wanted to find who his soulmate was.

-It was an odd sight to see a popular CEO with a nurse, but they looked happy and thats all that ever really mattered to them.

Analogical

-Virgil and his family were evicted from their home when he was 10. There was a fight between his parents not long afterwards, and he ran away because he couldn’t stand all the yelling. After being homeless for three months, that’s when he felt his first tickle. It wasn’t strong, but a light soothing touch. Almost the type one could fall asleep too.

-It stopped him from his daily pity cry and made him look around at what he already had. And for awhile its what he held onto. It was his source of comfort and hope. Sadly, it never occurred to him that he probably should have returned it.

-Unknowing of soulmates, the tickle faded over time and he stopped feeling it. He was sad, but the loss of the tickle had pushed him to find work. He did jobs where he could, gathered up money to help himself eat. Eventually he knew he was going to have to go to school to better understand the world.

-Unlike the other two pairs I’ve talked about, Virgil and Logan met at an early age. Logan had given up on contacting his soulmate and had accepted the fact that he didn’t have one.

-They were in the same 8th grade class for almost a whole year, when Logan was put on the spot to be Virgil’s science tutor. There they discovered they actually had a lot more in common than they thought and began to hangout outside of school.

-When Logan found out Virgil was homeless, he quickly adopted him--er moreso demanded his parents (Patton and Roman) that they adopt him--and did his best to make him feel at home. Virgil pretty much didn’t have a choice in the matter, but didn’t really mind. It was nice to be off the streets and in a warm bed again.

-One time while doing one of their deep midnight talks, the subject of soulmates came up. Virgil had never heard of them so Logan explained what it was. He finished his thought with “I tried to contact--er tickle--my soulmate long ago, but I didn’t feel a response. So, I don’t think I have one.”

-And Virgil’s eyes widen. That tickle was my soulmate trying to contact me?! He began to feel quite sad because “What if his soulmate feels like Logan does and thinks they don’t have one!”

-Of course the thought comes to him while Logan is in the bathroom as he begins to tickle his soulmate(Logan). Yeah toothpaste got all over the bathroom mirror, but on the bright side Logan was whooping for joy. He came out laughing and hugging Virgil, super excited that he felt from his soulmate with toothpaste all over his face mind you.

-It got Virgil excited too, and the two just had to have an epic pillow fight to try to burn off their sudden excitement. Until Roman came from downstairs to put their pillow skills both to shame and remind them that “bed time was three hours ago you little rascals! Face the tickle monster!”

-Yeah the two ‘brothers’ were extremely dense for the next year and a half. It was Virgil who actually found out first that they were soulmates. He was wondering why Logan would giggle every time he poked his own side. It was adorable, he thought and would often do it, until it dawned on him. His best friend was his soulmate.

-He got so nervous over this fact that he puked in his freshman history class because he couldn’t handle the information...ironically. He was sent to the nurse’s office while Logan had his free period, in which he helped around the school faculty. Of course Logan had to be helping the nurse that day.

-During that time, Virgil could barely speak so he knew that if he wanted to tell Logan he would have to show him. Logan was tending to his fever, when Virgil poked his own side, watching Logan jump adorably. He did it again and again until Logan looked at Virgil dead in the eyes and the message was clear.

-Logan was dumbfounded too, and the two couldn’t speak the entire car ride home. Even at dinner they didn’t have any words. The night was just filled with silence, save for the small talk Roman and Patton were trying to make downstairs.

-Logan couldn’t stand it anymore. After a half hour of laying in bed wide awake, he went to his soulmate’s bed room to find him crying. Crawling into bed with him, and cuddling Virgil from behind.

-They don’t need to speak. They don’t even need to make eye contact.

-A poke for reassurance is all they would ever need from that moment forward.

Those that wanted to be on my taglist: @violetmcl @shadowkittycat97 (Let me know if you want to be on my taglist!)

#thomassanders #thomas sanders #sanderssides #sanders sides #logan sanders #logic sanders #roman sanders #princey sanders #patton sanders #morality sanders #virgil sanders #anxiety sanders #ticklish soulmates AU #prinxiety #logicality #analogical #tw tickling #tw tickles #cefs headcannons

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burlybanner · 6 years

Text

molecular gastronomy born from astronomy

Bruce is back from space - but is he whole? An angsty, science bros gainer fic answering complicated questions from Thor: Ragnarok.

(Ignore the title - I just had fun with it. And yes, Thor:Ragnaork spoilers ahead).

Rating: PG-13

Pairing: Tony/Bruce

Warnings: Weight gain, some kink related elements, stuffing and cooking elements.

Word count: 2035

***

Tony awoke and broke into a sleepy grin as absolutely heavenly, delectable scents wafted through the penthouse bedroom. Bruce, he thought as a lazy grin spread across his lips. But Tony would’ve known without the mouth-watering smells anyway; their bed was uncomfortably cold without the big guy warming it up.

“Friday,” Tony yawned. “What’s the time?”

“Seven-oh-five, Boss.”

Tony’s brow wrinkled.

“A.M.?”

He silently watched Bruce at work from the far left kitchen corner and it felt like old times, except today Bruce used the main kitchen for his creative outlets, instead of his cozy chem lab. He zoomed from pot to pot, clearly in the zone since he hadn’t noticed Tony’s watchful eye and careful grin.

Tony gentled his gaze while leaning casually against a doorjamb. He folded his arms as Bruce worked like a master chef, shuffling a plate here, turning off a burner there, grabbing some spices from a rack or a plucking a sprig from an actual plant and dumping it into a boiling pot. It made him think that somewhere, in an alternate universe, Bruce must’ve been a sous chef in a burgeoning restaurant. Imagining him as a fat-bellied chef with a staff of his own didn’t seem too far off the mark. Especially in recent days.

His eyes roamed over the physicist’s jiggling torso as he stirred the gravy, or sauce like a mad man - Bruce’s body had morphed considerably after returning from Sakaar, or Asgard, or wherever the hell they’d been, but Tony didn’t mind. He did have his own theories regarding Bruce’s creeping weight, stemming from the night he returned to New York, but he was waiting for the right time to discuss all of it.

“Two years?”

Tony’s breath had hitched the night Bruce explained, although it may have been the pounding he’d just received. He was restless and sweaty and alive, because all night long they’d been jumping each other like alley cats in heat. Bruce’s sex drive had run off the charts, when before it’d been just a whenever the mood struck kind of thing.

“Uh, huh,” Bruce panted, licking his lips. His matted curls had fanned wildly across his brow, both from sweat and from Tony’s constant fingering, but he didn’t appear fazed. In fact he scanned Tony up and down like a piece of choice chuck, which Tony loved, and Bruce deserved.

“Kept me like a captive in a locked car trunk. Not again, though. Never again. He’s gonna goddamn listen now, whether he likes it or not.” He pawed Tony, covering his face with deep, sensual kisses, and Tony responded in kind. They took another hour reacquainting their bodies before Bruce honest to God rolled up and declared--

“Fuck, I’m starving. Are you?”

Bewildered, Tony flipped the covers off their bodies and shot Bruce a double-take “Now?”

“Yeah, yeah.” Bruce slung a robe over his shoulders and tromped across the bedroom. “I’ll be...I’ll be right back. Promise.”

He was, but like forty minutes later, which - okay, fine - it took a while for Tony to relieve himself in the bathroom, and wipe up. But he glared at Bruce when he returned smelling of deep fried something and cake, apparently stuffed to the gills, and maybe, finally tuckered out.

“What’s gotten into you?” He demanded.

“Mm, nothin’,” Bruce mumbled, tumbling into the bed. He had mashed potatoes in his hair while crumbs flaked off into their bed. “Kinda tired.”

“Seriously--? So we’re just going to ignore the fact that you left me high and dry to grab a midnight snack? And - goddamn it, what the hell did you eat? It’s all over the bedsheets.”

“Asked if you were hungry, Tones.”

“That’s not the point, Banner...hey, are you listening to me?”

No, Bruce wasn’t, because a loud, honking snore erased his sentence.

“Son of a bitch...”

Although irked, he didn’t bring up Bruce’s weird reaction the following day, chalking it up to space-lag. Maybe he should’ve considered it more; he was as much a scientist in his own right, and the situation called for an answer. Each time he tried though, Bruce fucked him until he couldn’t remember his name.

And that’s how it went for the first few months - incredible fuck sessions, followed by Bruce’s insatiable need to stuff himself. Until Tony admitted they couldn’t keep it up forever - well, he couldn’t, Viagra be damned. He didn’t like explaining why to Bruce because it meant having to admit his virility had limits, but they discussed their sex life like rational adults, which honestly Tony never expected to see in his lifetime.

So, although Bruce agreed to tone down the sex, he swapped his ramped up sexual urges with even more food.

Tony wasn’t averse to it, though. Seeing Bruce’s body swell and soften was more pleasurable than expected; maybe, Tony thought distantly, Bruce/Hulk had experimented with carbo loading for gladiatorial fights on Sakaar. If he really tested those waters, Tony figured the answer lay somewhere between Bruce reorienting himself to his human body’s needs, and making peace with Hulk. You don’t just cut off a being like Hulk without some after effects. You can’t.

Bruce tapped a metal mixing bowl with a slotted spoon, waking Tony from his wandering thoughts. It was Thanksgiving and they could’ve ordered in, but Banner wanted to cook a Thanksgiving meal for the team so caterers be damned.

“You look hot in that chef’s apron,” Tony finally said, and Bruce jumped a foot.

“Dammit.”

“Sorry, didn’t mean to scare you.” He couldn’t stop the chuckle tumbling from his lips, though Bruce looked angry enough to skewer him with his spoon.

“No worries,” Bruce muttered, grabbing a bowl. “Just...don’t do it again. And what are you doing up this early?”

“The delightful kitchen smells. And missing your warm, hot bod.”

Bruce hid a smirk in some cooking steam, but Tony saw it. Sighing, he came over and wrapped his arms beneath the apron to tease Bruce’s middle, feeling how much his partner’s gut had grown over the months; it wobbled seductively over his beltline and Tony couldn’t help prodding and pinching the doughy softness.

“Mm.” Bruce shook his head. “Can’t now. Gotta finish prepping.”

Tony didn’t let go. Instead he made a low noise in his throat and gently swayed back and forth with Bruce in his arms. Bruce swayed with him, allowing it for a few seconds, but then broke free.

At least he offered a deep kiss, as an apology.

“You taste like spice cake,” Tony murmured, licking his lips, and Bruce laughed while turning down a burner and checking the contents.

“Probably because I ate some.”

“That bundt cake from your cousin?”

“Uh, huh.” Bruce checked something else, and a sweet flavor wafted over. “I...ah. I finished it off an hour ago, though. Sorry.”

“That’s ok,” Tony smiled. “I had a slice yesterday, when you unwrapped it. It really was good.”

“Yeah.” He sighed softly and checked the oven. “I also had a full breakfast cooked for both of us, but--”

“You ate it,” Tony said, but he wasn’t mad. He searched for a Power Bar in one of the cabinets, and grabbed a coffee mug. “It’s no big deal.”

“Isn’t it?”

Bruce meant it as a throwaway mutter as he reached for the flour and sugar, but Tony refused to downplay it. “Not to me, it isn’t.” He filled his mug, added a few teaspoons of sugar, and unwrapped the energy bar. “I suspect being back in your old body after being out of it for two years is pretty disorienting.”

Bruce huffed and shook his head in that little self-deprecating way Tony had missed. “Oh, you don’t know the half.” Bruce violently dumped flour, salt, and vanilla into the bowl and kept his expression everywhere but Tony’s face. “He’s upset. He’s furious. He wants out all the time, and staying calm isn’t enough. But satisfying our physical needs pacifies him temporarily, food and sex especially. F...flooding my body with endorphins without overly kicking up my heart rate--I...I think the natural endorphins are helping.”

Tony swallowed and approached carefully as Bruce dumped cut up nuggets of butter into his mix and pounded the dough with a bit more strength than called for. “You know, Bruce,” Tony murmured. “You could try some of the newer drugs--”

The unexpected laugh bubbling from Bruce’s throat bordered on manic. “Oh, yeah, get addicted to drugs on top of everything else. Which ones? Pills? Or opioids? Or maybe your and dear old Dad’s favorite, bourbon--” He cut the remaining rant with a hiss between his teeth. “I...I’m sorry. I’m sorry. That was unconscionable and out of line. I...I--”

“Shh.” Tony wrapped him in his arms again, swaying as he did before, and Bruce relaxed in his arms. “Look. It took two years for you to come back, so it may take that long to renegotiate the boundaries. But we can, and we will. You restored balance before, and you have me now. We can do it together.”

“ ‘We,’ huh?” Bruce forgot his fingers were covered in flour and sugar as he thumbed Tony’s fingers. Then he briefly shook his head, nervously pawing at Tony’s arm. “I’m getting fat,” he finally sighed.

“You sure are,” Tony said, kissing Bruce’s cheek when he stiffened. “But so what? You’re still you. I still love you.”

And Tony froze, realizing those actual words had exited his lips. But Bruce heard, and he suddenly squeezed Tony’s hand. “Same,” he murmured. “Didn’t know how to say it.”

“Well, we’re both rotten in the ‘saying the right thing at the right time’ department.”

Bruce half-laughed, half-shuddered. “True. But I’m...I’m telling you, the only acceptable ‘drugs’ for me right now are food and sex. So I’ll probably become pretty massive before we reason out the solution. You...ah. Are you okay with that?”

Tony squeezed Bruce tight before relaxing. “I’m kinda digging it, to be honest. More of you to love, and all. What’s another hundred pounds here or there?”

Bruce nearly choked. “A hundred--?”

“Or whatever.” Tony’s hands snuck under Bruce’s apron, searching for the squishy gut he’d grown accustomed to. “It won’t matter to me. Even if I have to reinforce everything in the tower to accommodate you, I’d do it.”

“You’re an ass,” Bruce said, but Tony could hear the waiver in his voice.

“But you love me?”

“But I love you,” Bruce murmured back, and Tony released a held breath, knowing it was the truth.

“All right, then.” Tony rubbed his hands together. He made a face at the stickiness and ran his hands under the tap. “You need me to help with anything?”

“No, not yet.” He went back to the dough and began gently kneading instead of pounding. “The prep work is almost done, and the turkeys are cooking in the other ovens. The pies will be ready to cook in a few minutes, and once the sauces cool I’ll put them away until later. Then it’s waiting until around noon, to finish up the biscuits and potatoes and the rest. If anyone from the team starts bugging you, tell them dinner begins at three. On the dot.”

“Okay. Perfect.” Tony’s smile sharpened. “So when you’re done with this and waiting to begin the second round, let’s do some stuff.”

Bruce wasn’t watching, preferring to roll out his dough on cutting board. “Hm? Science stuff?”

“No, not science.”

“Wh...oh.” Bruce got it, and paused to blink up at him. “You sure? It’s not...not too much? We did a lot last night--”

Tony laughed. “I think my libido can handle it. Promise, I’ll let you know if it’s too much.”

“Oh. Okay then.” Bruce chewed his bottom lip, attempting not to grin like a schoolboy. “Ten minutes. I’ll be done in ten.”

“Sounds good. See you.”

“See you.”

Tony’s dark chuckle followed him down the hall. Talking had helped them both, and he felt lighter than air as he did an impromptu dance step back to their bedroom. He meant what he said; Bruce could double or even triple his weight, and he could suddenly become chief stockholder of Viagra, Inc. But whatever, because it didn’t matter and they’d figure it out. Together.

#bruce banner #tony stark #chubby bruce banner #science bros #science boyfriends #chubby kink #thor ragnarok spoilers #post thor ragnarok #medium angst #angst #chubby!bruce #chubby bruce minific #chubby science boyfriends #molecular gastronomy born from astronomy #bhm

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c4t1l1n4 · 6 years

Text

My Own Versions of You

We all have our own versions of the Sanders Sides, and I’d like to think that mine are as happy as the next persons. I mean, sure, they’d vary from person to person, the way they look, the way that they act and what we call them, but overall we’re not too different. Maybe it’s just the way we utilize them that’s different. Maybe someone who’s considered to be smart just uses their Logan more than others and a more creative person relies more on Roman to help them out, but I’d like to think that my Patton won’t be depressed like I was. No, I’d like to think that there’s more than just the four sides up in my brain.

They’d wake up early on school days like I do, though sometimes Patton would wake up earlier to make food, or sometimes Virgil wouldn’t have really slept any that night, but he’d make sure I did. And as they walk down the stairs into the common room, they’d see all the demon’s hovering outside through the windows and they’d sigh, preparing themselves for the day that lie ahead. Patton would cook breakfast regardless of the number of demons and they’d all sit down at the table in the kitchen of the mind palace as I sat down to eat breakfast of my own. Logan would keep time management under control so I wouldn’t be late to school and Patton would start out the day with a few reassuring thoughts to boost my mood. Logan would sit down with Virgil, who at this point had started to worry about all the in coming deadlines, and they’d sort out which ones to worry about first. Roman would distract me from worrying too much by prompting me to talk to my friends and go through social media while I waited for class to start.

Once Virgil was settling down, Patton would sit with him while Logan went to go deal with Roman, who was tempting me to check my phone instead of playing attention in class. They’d fight for a bit, but Logan usually won, paying close attention and making sure all the notes I took during science were accurate. Sometimes, when I’d have a question, Virgil would prompt me to keep quiet and Roman would encourage me to just blurt it out, but after a moment of bickering, they’d compromise and I’d just raise my hand. Sometime during the course of my first class Roman would have to excuse himself, because all this science has getting to him, and by this point, a few demons have slipped into the common room. Roman would fight them off, while Patton would reassure Virgil that it was all going to be ok. That the demons weren’t his fault, depression was an entirely different beast that appeared one day, and that they’d find a way to get rid of it eventually. But for now, Patton would smiled down at Virgil and hold him tight to his chest and reassure both me and him, that everything truly was going to be alright.

By the time the bell rung and I had to make my way to second period, Roman had killed a few demons and Logan had offered his help, using his knowledge to kill a few more. The four of them would convince me to rise to my feet, and to grab all my things, so I could trudge down the hall to my second period. Roman would be more of a help in this class, because he somehow knows Spanish, but Logan convinces him not to feed me all the answers. So Roman lays off, and lets me learn some, but the two make sure to check on Virgil and Patton at some point, to make sure they’re ok and that no more demons have made their way in. Patton will destroy the stray one that makes it’s way in through the crack in the window with his positive energy and every once and awhile, Virgil can drown out a demon or two. So I’ll make it through Spanish class and then Patton will give me the motivation to move because the next thing is lunch and that means we’re halfway there.

I’ll go find a classroom to sit in for lunch because the lunchroom is too noisy for Logan and too crowded for Virgil, and Roman will distract me by talking to my friends while the other three go assess how many more demons have escaped into the common room. They’ll fight them off, though sometimes Virgil will go and find Roman, opting to sit with him instead, using their playful teasing to distract himself from the ‘what ifs’ that he’s listing in his head. The others will come back after a while, Patton going to the kitchen to make food for the four of them, and Virgil occasionally offering to help. Logan will remind Roman that I too have to eat, and he’ll explain to me logically that I need food to survive and starving yourself won’t benefit anyone. If that doesn’t work, Patton will yell something from the kitchen that makes my stomach growl and Roman will prompt me to take a friend along, because they’ll walk with me. Some days, I’ll listen, and they’ll sit down to eat as I do but on others, I’m just too tired to move so I’ll end up eating whatever junk food my friend has left over from their lunch. On those days, Logan will sigh frustrated, and Virgil will mutter something about it not being healthy, but Patton reminds them that it’s better than the days when I don’t eat anything at all. Those are the days where they can’t convince me to get up and no one has any extra food, so they just give up as the end of lunch nears, feeling guilty as they sit down to eat whatever Patton has made. Virgil doesn’t eat on those days either, and he know that there’s nothing he really can do to help me out because he feels the same way, so instead he just chooses to tough it out with me. Sometimes, Patton will convince him to at least eat something, even if it is just a bite or two, but most of the time, Virgil will just sit at the table there with them, refusing to eat at all.

Everyone is tired at this point, and depending on how much I ate or how alone I was during lunch, more demons would have made their way into the common room. Virgil sits in with Logan as I make my way up four flights of stairs to my history class, Patton convincing me that I can do it. I’m almost there. Almost at the top. Roman tells me that I’m with my friends, so just talk and the distance will practically disappear. They eventually wander off to the common room to destroy any more beasts that depression has sent my way, Virgil enjoying the history class and Logan making sure I stay on task. I’ll do my work most of the time, but sometimes I’ll be out of it and Virgil reminds Logan that it’s not due until tomorrow, so it is ok to take a break. We can do it later. Sometimes the notes will seem to drag on forever, and Logan will make sure I get every single one, but even he gets fed up after a while because this class never seems to end.

Finally the bell will ring and Roman will come trudging back in, Patton close behind. Roman will plop down into a chair and Patton will sit on the floor next to him. They’ll convince me that it’s a short walk, I have friends in my next class and at least I’m walking down stairs this time. Besides, the next class is the last class of the day before I can finally go home. Logan will be glad to let Roman take control for my creative writing class, and he can always edit the grammar later. Him and Virgil will take a breather while Roman and Patton work, though they’ll make sure to fight off anything that tries to peek it’s nasty head inside my brain. Sometimes, Roman will begin to feel particularly confident about what’s been written, so he’ll volunteer to read one of the warm-up writing to the class, Virgil not realizing until it’s too late. Virgil will rush into the room and demand to know what exactly Roman thought he was doing, until Roman explained himself and Virgil began to panic. Logan would come and get him, coaxing him back to the couch while getting him to calm down and actually breath. Logan would find a scrap piece of paper and they’d make a list of everything that could go wrong, Logan making sure to get each and everyone of Virgil’s worries, before gently going through, explaining why that’s not realistic. This would ground Virgil, and he’d thank Logan afterwards, tearing up the list as if to prove he wasn’t worried anymore. Meanwhile, Roman would remind himself that wasn’t a good idea, and he’d make sure to avoid doing it again. Then him and Patton would go to town, supplying ideas and smiling happily as all the pieces of the novel that was being written fell into place.

Soon the last bell of the day would ring, signaling that school was over and Roman would reluctantly stop brainstorming, though he’d write down the ideas he had so he could have them for tomorrow. Logan and Virgil would join the other two in the room and they’d all sit together as I walked home. Virgil would lean on Patton and Logan would make sure that I kept one foot in front of the other as he worked with Virgil to keep me alert. So what if Roman continued to brainstorm a little more as I walked, Logan could handle ten minutes of fantasy. He knew it would take a while for Roman to come down from his creative high anyway. And as I made it to the front door of my house, Virgil could finally relax, for we were back in the familiar environment that was our home. I’d trudge to my room, plopping down and pulling out my computer, getting ready to do my homework. Logan would fuss at Roman who insisted I go through social media first, and Patton would remind the logical side that we’d be working all day, so a half hour break wouldn’t kill anyone. Roman would whine as I began to scroll through Tumblr, but Virgil would smirk and perk up a bit, so it didn’t bother Roman as much as he made it seem. Sometimes I’d spend more than just half an hour on Tumblr, and Logan would prompt me to actually be productive so I could get everything done before dinner. And I would, the four of them making sure I ate something for a snack, especially if it was one of those days that I had decided to skip out on lunch.

I’d finish all my homework and I’d dump my backpack off into the corner, getting called to eat shortly after. Patton would groggily stand to his feet, Roman often helping him, for everyone had done their fair share of demon fighting for the day, and they’d all help Patton get ready for dinner. They’d all eat when I ate, for I regularly eat dinner and the kitchen table would be full of stories from what had happened throughout the day. After dinner was finished, I’d make my way back to my bedroom and curl up on my bed with YouTube, catching up on all the videos that had been posted for the day. Everyone would make their way to the common room while I was distracted and get rid of the demons that had gathered there while they were at their weakest, feeling relief wash over them because there weren’t that many left. Then they’d all just kinda plop down on the couch together, finally getting a chance to stop and rest, for they had been working hard all day. They’d all just talk though Virgil wouldn’t contribute much, because he’d be too busy staring at the constant downpour of rain that fell outside the windows, a constant reminder that everything might not be as happy as it seems. Patton would share how he was feeling, how I was feeling, and everyone made sure that he’d be alright. That I’d be alright.

Patton would be the first one to head off to bed, for he usually got up the earliest in the mornings and Roman would follow shortly after, leaving Logan and Virgil on the couch. They’d stay up for a while more, before Logan would get up, saying something about needing 7 - 8 hours of sleep, before leaving Virgil by himself. And when I ran out of videos to watch, the two of us would just kind of sit there, sad and reflecting. Virgil would feel bad, because he knew as I sat there and stared at the wall with music coursing through my ears, that he couldn’t do much to defend me from any demons that came in.They’d haunt him just as much as they bothered me, but neither of us move to get help. Eventually, he’d seen the clock, and point out that it was getting late, so I’d force myself onto my feet and got ready for bed. He’d just smile to himself as I laid down and drifted off to sleep, because on nights where the rain pattered on the window softly and I slept without a hitch, he reminded himself that maybe, just maybe one day… everything would be alright.

And on those Saturdays where I just lay in my bed after sleeping in for a few hours, Patton would be the only one awake with me and he’d send positive thoughts to fill my mind. And he’d sit, and smile and reassure himself that it’s gonna be alright.

And on the days when I get back a test with a good grade, Roman would smile as he felt a warm, bubbly feeling in his chest for that meant my low self esteem was rising, even just a little bit. So he’d shuffle over to Logan and they’d share a knowing glance, and Roman would lay his head on Logan’s shoulder and Logan would wrap an arm around his shoulders and they’d look proudly over what they’ve accomplished together. And after it had been silent for a while, Logan would quietly point out that one day it would be alright.

And on those nights when they were all huddled on the couch together, and they could hear my laughter from the videos I was watching, they would all smile to each other and promise that one day, one day it would be alright.

-----------

Quick little idea that I had for a story about the Sanders Sides

@thatsthat24

#thatsthat24 #thomas sanders #sanders sides #patton sanders #logan sanders #roman sanders #virgil sanders

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sending-the-message · 7 years

Text

In The City Of Meatbot-Powered Killers (part 6) by molotok_c_518

(WARNING: I can only mark this as "Series." I can't tag this with cannibalism, strong language, disturbing images, etc. If you are at-all squeamish, click away now.)

Table of Contents

Part 5

The Army waited too long. The eclipse inadvertently took care of their plan.

Today, when the helicopter rolled through, it found a small knot of bot-ridden, maybe 75-100, waiting for them. A few more trickled in, but it was nowhere near the 1000-2000 that swarmed the area yesterday.

When the Army did their meat-dump yesterday, it seemed like the mass of bodies was set... but at the height of the feeding frenzy, when the Bacchanalia seemed to be ready to go on forever, the sky began to dim.

Every one of the afflicted looked up, and just stared at the Sun for the duration. It was eerie as hell, as the entire horde was absolutely still through the entire occlusion. When it was done, they all scattered haphazardly.

I'm pretty sure they're all blind, too, because most of them were running into each other, trees, benches... their retinas are all burned out now.

That makes my escape more complicated now, as I was actually going to use the planned cannibal barbecue as a diversion, and a trigger to kick off the detonation of all of my research and equipment. I have no idea what the Army will do, now that they can't eliminate a large chunk of the impediment to accessing me in one fell swoop.

Meanwhile, I've been tending to my little reclamation project.

Her name is {Jane}, and she was the CAD person on the ceramic car project. In a way, she was the third or fourth domino in the fall of [REDACTED]: It was she who got Steve fired for stalking her, which put a copy of his badge in Bobby's pocket.

She has been healing up very well physically. I've been feeding her as much as she'll eat, which is nowhere near as much as she needed when she was infested with the bad 'bots. If I were to hazard a guess, I'd say she was close to what she weighed before all Hell broke loose.

Emotionally, though... that's a whole other story.

About 36 hours ago, I untied her hands so she could eat by herself. She made no move to attack me, but she made no move to escape, either. It was like she had put a large amount of distance between herself and the real world.

I'm patient... ish. I fed her some more, then hunted up some clothes for her. I gave them to her, untied the rest of her, then left the room for an hour to let her get changed.

With the weight back on her frame, her dark brown hair grown back in (thanks to some meatbot tweaks, which we programmed in to help chemo patients retain their coiffure and their dignity), and wearing baggy clothes several sizes too big, she looked kind of... alluring.

"Hi," I said. "Are you ready to try and talk?"

She nodded. An encouraging first step, I thought.

"How are you feeling?"

"Strange," she whispered. "Like... free, but not. I can leave?"

I nodded. "I wouldn't advise it, though. There are a lot of blind bot-ridden wandering around out there."

She shuddered. "I'll stay here with you until this is over, then. I don't want to go back to... that."

"You remember it all, then."

Nod.

"Tell me. I might be able to help."

She shuddered again. It did interesting things to her body... things I was not going to think about, because this is my patient, not my fuck-buddy.

"It was... terrible. I did terrible things, and I hated them, but I couldn't stop myself from doing them once I thought them.

"I was at home, by myself, when a crowd of them charged into the house. They ripped off my clothes, then started to... bite me.

"I thought they were going to rape me. What they did was far, far worse.

"In about 5 minutes, I had been ripped up so badly I thought I would die. Five minutes later, I was healing faster than I thought possible, and I was starving... so I took a bite out of the first thing at hand: the leg of a teenage girl."

She shivered.

"In about a half hour, there were only 4 or 5 of us left, ripping chunks out of each other. Softer bits were best. They were easy to rip off and... chew.

"They grew back quickly. It did kind of slow down if all you ate was the fatty tissues, but get a long muscle, and it grew back very quickly.

"It hurt... but in a very good way... because the healing felt amazing, and because the endorphins flooded you and got you super-high.

"After a few more hours, they drifted out of the house, having stripped my fridge of anything edible... and few things that shouldn't have been edible... and ran off. I got the idea to come to campus and try to raid a dining hall.

"I managed to get into the campus center, and got into a kitchen, but the pickings were slim. No deliveries, and college kids eat a lot.

"I found some more cannibal orgies... that's really the only way to describe them.., and we managed to keep each other fed for a while. Gradually, some of the smaller members would... 'disappear,' as it were..."

I shuddered at that one. I had a horrible idea that not many children would ever be found when the cleanup finished.

"...and we'd still be chewing away on each other.

"The absolute worst part, though, was that I knew what I was doing the whole time. I wasn't locked into my own head, screaming to get out... I was right there and it was okay, because I was hungry, and feeding that need was all that mattered. I was revolted, but I got the idea in my head that if I just kept eating, it would be okay. So I kept eating. Even when I knew it was killing us all.

"Then I saw you on campus, heading for the labs. I saw you duck into the building. I decided that you were a new meal, and just waited for you to come out so I could... feed."

"You climb very well," I said.

"I didn't know I could until I was driven to it."

I nodded. "You had the idea to climb after me, and it drove you to try."

She nodded.

"How... how did you 'bring me back,' as you put it?"

I hesitated.

How do you explain to someone who's been through... done... horrible things because of your creation?

She looked at me... those pale green eyes are kind of frightening in the wrong light, like zombie eyes... and I could tell she sensed I had some kind of hand in the outbreak.

"You were on that team bringing rats to life or some crazy thing, right?" she asked... and I knew I couldn't dodge the questions anymore.

"Yeah... I headed it. We were trying to cure cancer. See, my sister died of an inoperable brain tumor 15 years ago..."

Two hours later, I sat in another lab trying to play State of Decay and decompress.

The black eye was healing fast. Some of the meatbots I had used to counter the bad 'bots were still resident in my system, and would be for at least another month, as per their programming.

She hadn't taken the revelation that I had at least tertiary responsibility for the current situation very well. There were a lot of shouts, and some hitting.

I didn't try to explain, or excuse it away. I had turned a blind eye to the power struggle, in favor of trying to get the project into the FDA human trials pipeline as rapidly as possible to save lives. Three people had used that naïveté to hijack my project for their own purposes, and their hijacking had cost tens of thousands of lives.

This is the part of the movie where the door to the lab opens, and the woman (who was cast as a love interest for the protagonist) attacks the hero, and it devolves into a sweaty naked love scene.

This is no movie, though. She came into the lab, and sat quietly while I tried to swat down a swarm of zombies with a station wagon.

"I'm sorry I hit you."

I shook my head. "I kind of deserve it. For what my project did to you... for what it did to [REDACTED]... I actually deserve worse."

It was her turn to shake her head. "You didn't program them to lobotomize people. You didn't program them to make people hungry enough to eat each other. You didn't let them out of the lab.

"You tried to help people. You did the most cliché science trope in fiction, trying to cure cancer, and someone else did terrible things. You aren't to blame."

"I am, though!" I yelled. "I could have double-checked the code before we sent it to the gene forge! I could have insisted on stricter screening for our people! I could have fired Dr. A and Dr. B for trying to push ideology into our project, instead of doing what needed to be done!

"I COULD HAVE LED, INSTEAD OF DELEGATED.

"I let myself believe that it could be done without... without politics."

She nodded.

"We need to get out of here," I said. "We need a way to get into the campus, and find a place to lay low until the Army sweeps through and breaks up the quarantine."

"What's wrong with the steam tunnels?" she asked.

"The... what?"

"You don't know about the steam tunnels."

"No... I've been trying to cure cancer."

"In the basement, there is a door to the tunnels underneath the campus. Students use them in winter to get between buildings, go to classes, jog, skateboard... it's warm down there, the corridors are wide, they're brightly lit, and you can see people a long way off. You can't be ambushed..."

"...and we can get out of the lab complex. Into the main buildings. Lay low until they sweep through. You're a genius."

She frowned. "They have to have your face in the database somewhere. Facial recognition will pick you up if they see you."

I shook my head. "One problem at a time. Let's get the cart down into the basement, and load up some freeze-dried shit. Where's the best place on campus to hide out?"

"Northwest dorms. It's summer, no one is living on campus, and it's on the opposite side of the college from the labs. Also, each dorm building has a kitchen... there might be some food in there."

I looked her in the eye. "Once we get there, you can strike out on your own. Pick a room away from me, and hide there. Or leave campus and try to find somewhere to hide. I'll give you half of the food we have left."

She shook her head. "Safety in numbers. Also, you saved my life."

"I put it in danger..."

"Shush. я вам должен."

"I... don't speak German."

"It's Russian."

"Okay. No hablo."

"What?"

"Nevermind. I won't make you stay."

"Fair enough. Let's get to work."

...and that is how we will be standing in the basement, near the door to the steam tunnels under the campus, getting ready to make a break for it, tomorrow afternoon, when I'm sure that the Army will try to burn out the cluster of infested nearby.

The charges are set. She helped me solder a bunch of the burner phones to ignition devices... when we email the phones, the whole top floor will be engulfed in flames.

It's almost time to leave.

#reddit #nosleep #scary #story

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jeremietheguy · 5 years

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MEPS

I arrived at Clarion Hotel in Portland on a Tuesday two days before Thanksgiving. I was to take the Air Force Officer Qualifying Test the next morning at the Military Entrance Processing Station in Portland because, well, I was applying to become an Air Force Officer and they needed to test my qualifications. My recruiter told me the military would provide me with a room, dinner, and a breakfast the next morning before bussing us (by “us” I mean all the other people staying at the hotel and going to MEPS the next day for whatever they needed to do) to MEPS.

I wandered into the lobby.

“Here for MEPS?” the front desk guy asked.

“Yeah.”

“One second, please. Joanne!”

Joanne emerged from some room farther away and instructed me to go upstairs to Room 210 and that she would be right up. I found Room 210 and waited. A few minutes later she arrived, apologized for her tardiness, and collected my ID’s.

“Now, which branch are you?” she asked.

“Air Force.”

She flipped the large binder to the Air Force page with about twenty rows of names, looked confused for a second, and turned one more page. That page had one column with one name. My name.

“Oh! You’re an Officer!”

Up to that point, I had done literally nothing yet to make me an Officer and that me being there was the first step, so I responded, “yes.”

I signed the appropriate boxes and Joanne informed me of the rules. I could use the room next door to watch TV if I wanted. I got a single room and didn’t have to share roommates because I was an Officer (which I wasn’t yet). No one else allowed in my room. Dinner started at 5. There would be a morning call at 4:15 AM tomorrow. No drugs or alcohol.

I settled my stuff in Room 206 and went back to “the room next door.”

I was greeted by a Hispanic guy sitting on a couch. And by “greeted” I mean he moved his feet a little so I could walk past him. He was watching the TV, which was playing Jarhead. I sat down in the couch next to his and watched. We both sat there, absentmindedly looking at the screen and talking about trivial matters. Mostly we were just counting down the minutes till when it would be 5 PM and dinner would start. I contemplated whether I should tell him the true meaning of the Chinese character he had tattooed on his arm. I didn’t.

We were joined by another white kid a few minutes before dinner. Dinner wasn’t bad, but then again it was hotel food. We were also all still very hungry, and a Subway a few miles away helped us out tremendously. All hail double dinners.

After dinner I returned to my solitary confinement with two double beds because Officer. I had just about 12 hours before taking a test in which I only practiced once for. There are five sections on the AFOQT: Pilot, Navigation, Academic Aptitude, Verbal, and Quantitative. The last three sections were like the SAT. They’re general knowledge and basic skills that either one knows or doesn’t know. I had somewhat prepared for the first two sections because I could actually improve at it. Pilot consisted of flying knowledge, terminology, and some aero science. Navigation included chart reading, table reading, and compass reading. The faster the better. Now, with only 12 hours left, I prepared for what I could. I Googled databases with common AFOQT Pilot questions and damn near memorized hundreds of answers. There was no knowledge or intellectualism involved. It was straight matching a question to a keyword I can remember. And that was what I did the rest of the night.

I woke up naturally before 4:15 AM, the time of my morning call. Perhaps it was the stress keeping me from sleeping soundly, or maybe it was the cold, which just wouldn’t go away. Regardless, I was awake.

Portland MEPS was located on the fourth floor of an office building in downtown Portland. Well, as downtown as downtown could be in a city of sixty thousand. We arrived on the first floor and were ushered out by a man in civilian clothing. I exited the bus and he caught sight of my hat.

“You better take that off when you go inside,” he said, quite threateningly. I took my hat off.

Once we were all indoors he ordered us to stand in rows, place our bags out on the ground in front of us, and empty the contents of our bags for inspection. We waited as he went from person to person.

From behind me, I heard him saying to some kid, “you better take your hands out of your pockets. It’s a great way for drill sergeants to find you some work to do, because that’s a sign of you not having enough work to do.”

I took my hands out of my pockets.

Once the inspection was done we climbed to the fourth floor. We waited in a large room and the anti-hat man ordered us to find the office of our branch located around the corner over there to get our documents from our liaison officer. Then, line up behind this orange line here and wait for our turn at the counter, where we would receive further instructions. I rather liked the conciseness and directness of the command.

When it was my turn at the counter I had the fortune of having the anti-hat man process my documents. I’m not being sarcastic now when I say “fortune” because he was uncharacteristically friendly.

“So, look at your name and address here, is all the information correct?” he asked with a smile.

“Yes.”

“And here, date of birth, gender…?”

“Yes.”

“Great, so you are here to take the AFOQT. Go wait in that room and someone will come in a few minutes to get you. In the meantime, you may use your phone if you want.”

“Thank you, sir.”

I didn’t use my phone. I took a seat and spaced out, only to be brought back to reality by a shorter-beard Santa Claus who sat down opposite to me.

“Hey how you doin’ there,” Santa Claus said, throwing another pile of documents on the table.

“Good, thanks.”

He flipped through the pages of the documents he brought.

“Hmm, AFOQT huh?”

“Yes.”

“Says here you know Chinese,” he said, pointing to the papers.

“Yes.”

“My man, they’re going to want you, you have no idea.”

“Good to hear.”

“Alright follow me.”

He led me pretty far back into the office. At the end of the hallway is a large door with a huge red sign keeping out all non-military personnel. Behind that door is another office, and he led me into a tiny testing room with three tables that were separated by dividers. I caught sight of his name tag, which read “Dan.”

Like most standardized tests, the AFOQT had timed sections and a couple minutes of break in between each section. For the first three sections, I finished before the time was up and therefore sat idly when Dan entered the test room to inform me that the time was up.

Before the fourth section started, Dan said, “you know what, I’m just going to leave the timer in here and you can holler if you’re done with the section. I got a feeling you would. Most test-takers I’ve had in the past don’t even finish each section before the time is up.”

Several hours and hundreds of filled Scantron bubbles later, I emerged from the test room.

“So how was it?” Dan asked.

“Fine, I thought I knew most of the answers.”

“Know what jobs you’re going for?”

“I’m thinking Intelligence right now.”

“I did Intelligence when I was in Korea. They had me listening to the North Koreans across the border.”

“During the Korean War?”

He gave me a look.

“Do I look that old? No, this was in the 80’s. See, in high school I was one of those weird kids that voluntarily took Latin so they just thought I could learn any language. Taught me Korean and there I was.”

“But you’re retired now?”

“Yeah, but right now I’m still working for the military as a civilian. Get to be closer to my folks and can take care of them.”

“That’s pretty Confucian,” I remarked.

“Yeah that’s why I explained it to you that way. I figured you’d understand,” he said knowingly.

By now it was past noon and I was starving. Most of the other recruits had either finished their physicals or got shipped off, leaving pretty much just me. MEPS had bagged lunches prepared and the beef in my sandwich tasted like sand paper. It was about as tough as sand paper too.

Before being allowed to leave I was instructed to see my liaison officer. I knocked on his slightly ajar door and went in.

“All done?” he asked.

“Yes.”

“So where are you off to now?”

“Back to school. Brunswick.”

“How’re you getting there?”

“Bus.”

“Alright, let me get you a cab to the bus station.”

He picked up his phone and started dialing. A few moments later he hung up the phone.

“So they’re pretty busy, you may have to wait at least forty minutes before they have an available cab.”

I checked the time again.

“My bus leaves in less than forty minutes.”

He threw his hands up in an I’m-not-God-there’s-nothing-I-can-do-about-this gesture.

“How about I just walk there? Shouldn’t take more than half an hour,” I suggested.

“Can’t do that. My orders are that I have to call a cab for you to a destination of your choice if no other personnel are available.”

“Well, are there…”

“No other personnel are available.”

I thought for a second and figured it out.

“Your orders are to call a cab, right? You did that already. The order didn’t say anything about making sure that I take the cab, so….”

“Don’t tell anyone.”

He released me from MEPS. I walked out into the Maine winter, feeling good for the first time in days as I look ahead to Thanksgiving break.

#military #military story #military entrance processing station #meps #portland #Maine #college #college story #job #job hunting #air force #officer #New England

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