#Parents in the eighties expected you to show up for breakfast and for dinner and that's it

[s-wordsmith]

Something I really need Stranger Things fic writers to know is that no one in rural America was locking any doors in the eighties apart from the government and businesses. I remember when there was a big stink about "we gotta start locking our doors now how am I supposed to remember that every time I leave the house." People didn't lock the doors when they were home until at LEAST the mid-aughts, a lot of people STILL don't. "Oh we can't get into so-and-so's house/car because we don't have the keys!" You do not need the keys, just open the door. "I'm alarmed because I went over to so-and-so's house and their front door was unlocked so I instantly knew something was wrong." It would be much weirder if it was locked. If I showed up at my friend's house and the door was locked I would immediately assume something was wrong. If I lived in a town regularly invaded by monsters and patrolled by mobs of government agents/Russian spies/jocks with guns, I would assume my friend was currently being hunted.

#stranger things #pretty sure Will just walked into his house in the first episode #I know Mike did when he brought Eleven home #None of these doors are locked #Please stop including it as plot points because it takes me right out of the story and leaves me staring into space #Also while we're at it: #VHS tapes will not fit in Steve's back jeans pocket #That's not happening #And it is completely normal for the Wheelers to not know where their two oldest kids are #Parents in the eighties expected you to show up for breakfast and for dinner and that's it #Sometimes you bike to the other side of town to get up to trouble with your friends and that's just how it is #If you were inside they were concerned about your health #And no one was particularly stressed about being able to reach anyone because that was the usual state of things #Sorry for the rant #So many of you are too young to have known the carefree days of the height of serial killers lol #Kids rarely went missing and most people had only ever heard of murders and other serious crimes in the big city #No one in Hawkins is concerned except the people who have dealt with the monsters

[papipopsicle]

CLOUDS

Pairing: Bucky Barnes X Teleporter!Reader

Genre: fluff, angst if you squint real hard

Summary: In which Y/N finds comfort in things, items owned by the people she trusts most. Nobody expected Bucky to be one of those people though. AU AWAY FROM IW&Endgame, ALSO THERE ARE X-MEN

Song: Clouds by BØRNS

Warnings: swearing

Words: 3K

a/n: this took me about three months to write, i’m so damn proud of it i hope you like it as much as i do!!

feedback is always appreciated

"You cold?" Tony nodded over to the figure on the plush couch. He knew it was Y/N without a second glance, of course she'd be sitting alone in the small nook to the side of the kitchen. It was the best view from the compound, she always liked to remind the team. The roof was an exception to that, she always added a beat later.

Y/N would find a way to feel freezing on the hottest day of the year, she couldn't stand the cold one bit.

It was late at night or early morning by now. Either way, the recreational floor only seemed to be inhabited at this time by those whose dreams are plagued to be nothing but a deathly desolate horror show. Tony was simply getting a glass of water for Pepper, since she argued fridge water tasted better than their bathroom tap water, though he never noticed the difference. At this point there was no use questioning it.

Y/N joined the disjointed family of broken superheroes six months ago, her existence uncovered after an operation went south and she teleported right into Iron Man's ruby red arms. He practically adopted her then and there. She kept to herself mostly, always quiet and kind whenever anyone spoke to her. Wanda sensed the torment in her mind though as soon as they met, hugging the girl tightly in comfort only to make her jump to the other side of the compound out of pure shock. Y/N couldn't remember the last time someone had touched her with such genuine compassion.

She'd become less skittish after a few months, only jumping away in truly uncomfortable moments; like when Steve walked into the med bay to find her mid-way through changing her clothes. The poor super soldier was probably more scarred from the memory than the y/h/c haired girl.

"I'm good, thanks though." Y/N responded simply, the burgundy hoodie hugging her torso feeling even softer and more comforting at the thought of being cold.

Tony lifted his head from the sink to find the scene playing out, and smiled contently as she snuggled into the plush sofa while some lighthearted sitcom played quietly in the background.

"Goodnight, Shortcut." The male called softly, knowing it was no use to corral her into bed. She'd either jump back a few seconds later when the coast was clear or find a new place to explore and settle in for the night. Y/N returned the greeting and let the scent of Tony's own aftershave lull her into a calm sleep.

"Night, Tone."

When morning finally shone through the large floor to ceiling windows, the teleporter found herself unusually warm. She let out a groggy noise resembling a grunt, and her nose was met with the delicious scent of her favourite fruit as she inhaled. Y/N blinked a few times, her hands coming into contact with the fluffy material of a cream coloured blanket before her eyes could fully focus on it.

"You were shivering, Angel. Couldn't let my favourite superhuman freeze to death." Bucky cut through her thoughts like a butterknife, Y/N's gaze tearing away from the soft fabric to find the veteran flipping pancakes nonchalantly.

His voice felt softer than usual, not blunt and sarcastic like when he'd talk to Sam or Natasha, nor did it feel natural like when it came to Steve. It was warm and raspy, not coddling and protective like Tony and Pepper's. Y/N decided she liked this and wanted to here it more.

She didn't know whether to ask for the time or how she was his 'favourite superhuman' when their conversations were less than four seconds long at best. His mellow attitude wasn't helping either and Y/N soon found her brows so furrowed they almost touched. But for some reason it put all her senses on high alert- rose tinting her cheeks at the thought of someone thinking about her in a good way with no reasoning.

She didn't really think anyone thought about her existence unless they needed something.

When she first arrived, Y/N noticed a lot of chatter behind her back. They were welcoming and made sure she was comfortable, but it was obvious they didn't trust her. She never took it to heart, they knew absolutely nothing about her. Sam had the decency to ask her everything whizzing through his mind, genuinely wanting to keep his friends safe and know if she was a threat. Maybe that's why Y/N liked him so much, he was honest but never made her nervous or self conscious.

The girl let the warmth of the blanket fall from her body as she jumped to the kitchen counter behind Bucky. He shifted at the small noise she made, sensing purple whirls of energy over his shoulder. The soldier turned with a half-smirk, holding a plate of delicious cherry pancakes out for Y/N. Bucky's smile faltered and he let out a chuckle as she continued to look down at the plate then up into his eyes in curiosity, "You see, Sweetheart- where I'm from - if someone offers you food, you take it and say thank you."

Y/N finally took the plate, not noticing Bucky's lingering gaze as he could practically hear the cogs whirring in her head, her expression adorably flustered.

"Thank you, James." She mumbled happily, head lowered to hide her pinkish cheeks. He picked her emotions up and dropped them half way between confusion and fascination.

The girl didn't grow up with parents as role models, and siblings to be friends with; she'd been genetically engineered by a small research team in Norway. Bucky didn't know much else, other than one day eight months ago the lab was attacked and Y/N escaped by jumping to New Zealand.

"How'd you know?" She asked after taming her racing heart, her hair flicking in every which direction while jumping down from the counter to retrieve cutlery. He hummed in response, showing he was listening while not wanting to take his eyes off of the newly simmering batter, "I don't think I've been able to hold a conversation long enough with you to ask an obligatory how're you, let alone tell you my favourite food."

Bucky let out a scoff and shook his head, the smile she'd given him not leaving his lips, "You have cherries with everything you can, you'd have them on a roast dinner if you could."

Y/N silently groaned to herself. Long gone was the brainwashed assassin, but years of regimented training lay etched into his mind still, of course he was more observant than most. It was the first food she found after her great escape. A cherry tree at the bottom of a fairytale garden. She didn't have the energy to find shelter after using her powers to such an extent, and so the next morning an elderly woman was given the shock of her life when she found a body sleeping under her cherry tree. Gloria, her name was, took Y/N under her wing and taught her how to act even remotely human.

Bucky stacked up his own fluffy pancakes and took to a chair at the breakfast bar, not having time to register the fast pace of his heart. While he waited for her response and began stuffing his face, Y/N furrowed her brows once again. She wasn't a soldier, that was for sure. She wore her heart on her sleeve and every emotion on her face. None of her teachers ever showed her how to hide things like that, she didn't know it was possible.

It was so easy for Bucky to tell what she was thinking; if she truly found something funny or was just laughing along to be polite. He saw the broken girl under her smile as soon as she'd arrived, but also the girl fighting to be free under that too.

"Well," Y/N shrugged as if the ex assassin hadn't just flicked through her thoughts and uncovered all her secrets, pulling a cherry stem from her mouth before pelting the small stone at the middle of his forehead, "you don't like gravy and you click your knuckles every twenty minutes, so, whose the real weirdo?"

The cherry stone hit Y/N in her cheek seconds later, "You always ask Friday to check on everyone and report back before falling asleep. If something's wrong then you stay with them until it's not anymore."

Her lips fell agape at that and blood rushed to her cheeks, "How could you possible know that? I was denied access to you by Friday."

Bucky stuffed his mouth once again with the fluffy food and watched her for a few seconds. He could stay like this forever if he was honest with himself, Y/N was extremely easy to get along with. She was innocent and all consuming to someone with as dark of a past as Bucky. Her wide eyes dug deeper into his grave, full of wonder and life and love.

"Sam and Nat don't shut up about you the next morning, apparently you know just the right thing to say to them. Plus, Steve keeps muttering about how Wanda's nearly always sleeping in because you cuddle with her."

The girl felt herself getting defensive as she pulled another cherry stem from between her teeth and launched the stone at Bucky's nose. How could he have possibly remembered this much about her? More so, why?

"She likes to be the little spoon, so what?" Y/N retorted, her head swimming in a sea of confusion.

Bucky all but beamed at her, he was enjoying this too much."You two together or something?"

"Only when she can't sleep."

It was here, both on there last pancake alone on the early spring morning, that the soldier wondered how human this girl before him truly was. She learnt social queues from a New Zealander in her eighties and a damaged band of superhumans. Had anyone even shown her kindness before now? Her bright ocean eyes and soft skin deserved love and happiness, but did she even know what they felt like?

"No-I mean are you two dating?" Bucky got up from the counter, taking both empty plates with him to the sink before Y/N appeared on the counter next to him with her usual intrigued eyes and pretty smile.

"James, women are truly beautiful creatures, but I'm not sexually attracted to them I know that much. Besides, I've never dated anyone before, not had the chance I guess." The girl shrugged, slipping off the counter and drying the dishes and cutlery Bucky had just washed up. He nodded thoughtfully at her response, taking the plates from her smaller hands and placing them back in the cupboard while she did the same with the knives and forks.

"Bucky." He said encouragingly with a warm smile gracing his features. Y/N's head perked up and it took everything in her not to jump to the opposite side of the compound as she found the most incredible thing.

The corner of James' eyes were crinkled slightly yet still shone bright, teeth creeping out just a bit as the low vibrations left his lips. She'd never felt this before, but before she could control herself she seemed to be smiling right back a the man in front of her, warmth flooding all of her senses.

"What?" She hummed happily. Suddenly, Y/N snapped out of her thoughts and took a step back. Blood rushed to her cheeks in embarrassment and she hoped to god that he hadn't noticed her staring.

If he had, he hid it well.

"You can call me Bucky, if you want." He paused and sent her the same stomach fluttering smile, "I just noticed you always call me James, everyone calls me Bucky, though."

But before she could even start to respond, Mantis and Pepper were entering the kitchen area giggling and chatting away, and Bucky felt a pulse of energy against his side, finding only purple whirls where the intriguing girl had stood seconds ago.

It wasn't until later that evening when he would find her next. She had a habit of popping up out of nowhere, even without using her powers. The team had eaten together, Scott and Clint were in charge of food tonight and it was a wonder anyone survived. But Y/N didn't show. At this point Bucky would probably admit he as a little disappointed she didn't jump in for even a few minutes, but she was probably tied up with something.

It wasn’t unusual though, he had to remind himself, Y/N didn’t always feel comfortable being around so many people, which was something Bucky understood well.

While on his walk back to his apartment, the soldier’s mind filled with beautiful images of Y/N’s elated expression, the way it contorted in confusion over the simplest act of kindness. He found it endearing, the raw innocence behind her wide eyes and bright smile warming his heart in a way he’d never felt before.

“Ow!” Y/N’s voice yelped, and Bucky blinked out of his hazy daydream, finding her smaller body sat uncomfortably on the floor before his feet. She looked up at him with that same wild yet sweet look of utter bashfulness.

“Jesus-” Bucky helped the teleporter to her feet, and he held onto her for a few moments more than necessary before letting go. He checked over her body for any signs of injury, worry flooding his features at the thought of causing her any more pain than she’d already lived through. “I’m so-so sorry, Bambi, are you okay? My mind was in the clouds I hadn’t even seen y-”

“Bambi?” Y/N questioned, seemingly not fazed by being knocked over by a very muscular super-soldier after the initial shock.

Bucky chuckled and allowed himself a second to memorise the look on her face, she was truly stunning, with dimples and mesmerising eyes. “Yeah.” He responded after a second, “It’s a Disney film about this little baby deer, you’d love it. Me and Steve saw it every chance we could back before all of this, I’d never have admitted that to a pretty girl back then though.”

“You think I’m pretty?” She gasped, choosing not to tease the two hundred pounds of muscle in front of her about his love for Disney because she physically couldn’t. Her body reacted on its own, cheeks burning and the words tumbling from her lips before she had the chance to catch them.

“Of course.” Bucky whispered matter of factly as if she was asking the easiest of questions. For him it was, they may not have had a friendship before today, and maybe it wouldn’t be friendship tomorrow, but to him she was the most stunning human this world had created.

“Of course I do.” He repeated ever so slightly louder, scared she hadn’t heard him the first time.

Y/N took his much larger flesh hand in her own, squeezing it and looking up at him with fondness and admiration etched onto her face.

“You’re pretty too, Bucky.” The girl hummed out with a shy smile, eyes now locked onto their intertwined fingers.

Bucky matched her grin, feeling the smooth skin of her hands cooling his burning palms, and it was only then that he took in how cold her body had felt when he helped her up off the ground.

“Y/N, you’re freezing.” He didn’t respond to her comment, yet kept it at the forefront of his mind because it felt important. Everything she said was important to him.

She registered his words and quickly withdrew her hand from his, shrugging her shoulders absentmindedly, “Sorry, it’s just part of me I guess, I’m fine- I should probably go.”

And just like earlier, Bucky was left with words stuck in his throat and purple tendrils of cold air curling around the space Y/N had inhabited. “Don’t apologise for being yourself.” He said into the air, shaking his head and entering his room for the night.

The teleporter’s mind was a mess of emotions and as much as she wanted to fall asleep in the comfort of the memory foam mattress Tony had supplied for her, her thoughts wouldn’t quieten. It wasn’t the usual ghosts from her past keeping her awake tonight, but the same chills greeted her body and she felt completely alone in the large dark room that was meant to bring solace to her worried head.

When the clock on her nightstand finally ticked over to two AM, she chose to go in search of Tony’s jumper she had left on the sofa last morning. Y/N jumped to the recreational level, just outside of the common area to make sure nobody was in there before she entered. After making her way over to the small nook, the blanket Bucky had lay over her was neatly folded in the corner and a smile pulled at her lips from the memory.

She hadn’t expected to see a small bundle in the opposite corner of the couch though, with a small handwritten note atop of it.

Don’t be sorry for feeling cold, I thought this might help a little though. James x

Y/N admired his script, expecting the tormented man to have scrawled writing, but instead she noticed it mirrored Steve’s. They must’ve learnt how to write together, she assumed.

She took off her own sweatshirt, pulling the soldiers top over her head and letting his scent calm her senses. It reminded her exactly of how his hand felt in hers- soothing and comforting in such an inexplicable way.

Bucky found her hours later, snuggled up on the plush sofa with his Henley practically falling off her, blanket engulfing her body as she hugged the teddy bear to her chest, blissfully unaware of how much the man wished he was holding her the same way.

#fanfic #fanfiction #bucky fandom #bucky barnes fluff #bucky barnes masterlist #bucky barnes imagine #bucky #bucky barnes #marvel fluff #marvel fanfic #marvel imagine #bucky barnes x reader #bucky imagine #bucky fluff #avengers endgame #avengers imagine #bucky x reader #bucky fanfic

[sashatrr]

Breathe with me. Chapter 16a

Chapter 15 here

Liam's jet landed in private section of airport. Holding hands, they left jet and got into waiting car. 

-So where are we? - Lina asked. She asked Liam about where they were going a few times during a flight but he said that she will find out upon arrival. 

-Where do you think we are? - Liam asked with teasing smile. 

Lina shrugged. 

-How should I know? All airports are looking the same. 

-We are in Brussels. - Liam said pulling her close. 

-Belgium? - Lina asked disappointed. She thought that he will take her to Paris or Italy. Both countries fitted for romantic trip, but Belgium? She didn't know much about that country and couldn't recall anything romantic about it. 

Liam nodded with a smile, her reaction didn't surprise him. 

-Yes, but we are not staying in Brussels. We will drive to Antwerp from here. It's not far. 

-I know nothing about Belgium so I trust you with it. 

Rest of not long drive passed in comfortable conversation. Liam was telling Lina about his childhood and his brother, Leo. 

He was getting relaxed more and more around Lina now. For once he felt like a normal man doing normal things with the woman he loved, even if he wasn't ready to admit it to her. He was really excited to spend as much time as he could with her and to forget, at least for some time, about everything that would come after the end of his so called honeymoon. 

Upon arriving to the hotel, they ordered a room service, both exhausted after a long flight. Lina was nervous during all flight, expecting plane to crash any moment and Liam was doing his best to calm her down and distract from those thoughts. After dinner both quickly fell asleep in each others arms. 

Next morning they woke up early and after breakfast left the hotel. Liam was wearing sunglasses everywhere to make sure that nobody would recognize him. 

First they visited an old looking train station. It didn't really interest Lina. It was nice looking, gold and marble but Lina was never into architecture. Noticing her indifference, Liam laughed. 

-Just had to start here. No trip to Antwerp is complete without seeing this building. 

Holding hands, they left the building and headed to a stone gates. Next seven hours they spent investigating the oldest zoo in Europe. It made Lina sick to see all those animals trapped, even tho their voliers were comfortable and they seemed to be well taken care of. 

-Nope, not doing this.-Lina shook her head trying to break out of Liam's hold. - I am already exhausted, I need coffee and to sit down. 

Liam was trying to get in the long line of people wanting to watch seals show. 

They headed to the exit and to the street filled with jewellery shops and sat at the table of closest cafe. 

-Just one more destination today, baby.

Liam saw it in her behavior, he failed to impress her so far so he was counting on new promising idea that appeared in his mind. 

After finishing their coffees, Liam lead Lina to the golden entrance of jewellery store. 

-Did you know that Antwerp is a diamond capital of the world? - Liam asked walking through doors into the store. - We can visit diamond museum tomorrow if you want. 

-I don't think that I ever heard about Antwerp at all, Liam. - Lina chuckled.-To be honest, I pictured other destinations when you offered trip to Europe. 

-Paris and Venice? - He asked stopping by one of showcases. 

Lina nodded and looked at showcase that was filled with necklaces and matching earrings. 

A man hurried over to them. 

-Goedemiddag. Kan ik u helpen?-a man asked subtly observing Liam to see if he was a potential client or just a tourist who happened to walk into the store. 

-Goedemiddag. - Liam replied. - Can we speak English please? A lady here with me doesn't speak vlaams. 

Man's smile grew even wider. 

-Off course. Let me know if you are looking for anything special. Not everything is on a display. We keep the most precious masterpieces in the office.-salesman said after noticing Liam's Patek Philippe. 

Despite Liam's attempt to look like a normal tourist, some things were still giving away his true status. 

-Danku, meneer. We will let you know if we need you.-Liam dismissed him and turned his attention back to Lina who seemed to be captivated by the beauty of platinum diamond necklace and earrings and didn't hear a word from this conversation. 

-Do you like this one? - Liam asked leaning  closer to check the stones. 

Not averting her gaze from necklace, Lina slid her hand down the  glass. 

-It's beautiful-she replied admiring the purity and simple elegance of it. 

-Then we are getting it, but I would also like to check their office for more exclusive things.

-Are you going to buy it? - Lina gasped in surprise. 

-Off course, why else would we come here? I would walk to the end of the world and back right now to make you happy.-he said and placed a gentle kiss on Lina's lips. 

Lina returned a kiss wrapping hands around his neck. 

-Well, then you need to find another way to make me happy. I can't wear any jewellery. 

Liam pulled back confused. 

-What do you mean? Off course you can.

Lina laughed. 

-No, I can't. I did it back in New York because I didn't want to ruin our night, but I have an ekzema. My skin was dealing with the consequences of it for next weeks. 

-Eczema? What's that? - confused Liam asked.

-I am not sure how to explain it. It's kind of allergy, I get it every time when my skin gets in contact with any metal for longer than twenty minutes. That includes gold, silver and platinum. 

-You can't be real, Lin. Is there no cure for it? I mean how am I supposed to spoil you if you are allergic to eighty eight percent of the best gifts I can come up with? - Liam made disappointed face. 

-You'll have to be creative then. - Lina laughed teasingly.

-You are just making it up, admit it. - His face became grumpy. 

-No, I am not. I promise you. 

-We still can get it and you can look at it sometimes? - Liam came up with new idea. 

-Really? What's the use of having it if I will never put it on? Sounds like a torture.-Lina took his hand, nodded to salesman and dragged him to the street. 

She didn't lie to Liam about eczema and right now she was grateful for having it. Despite growing closer with each other over past few days, Liam's lifestyle was intimidating to her. Traveling in private jet, luxurious cars and hotels and now diamonds. None of the things on display had a price tag but Lina knew that she would probably have to save for the rest of her life just to buy one earring from that set and she wasn't comfortable with this idea.Everything seemed to much, she couldn't explain it but she felt that sooner or later Liam would think that she is being with him for all that and not for himself. 

I never asked for any of it but I know how does it look. I wish he would stop doing this. It just highlights the fact that we belong to different worlds. Maybe I should be honest about it? 

Rest of the day they spent in the hotel learning more about each other's lives. Liam told Lina about death of his mother and lack of real family in his life, about very busy father who rarely had time for him and his brother. Lina told him about death of her parents in car accident when she was only three years old and about growing up with her aunt and uncle. They didn't have kids of their own and pour all love they had on Lina. She had a happy childhood any kid could dream about, her aunt and uncle made sure to give her all attention they could and did everything possible to replace her parents. Despite being very close with them, Lina refused to live with them after college or to accept any financial help. They did enough for her including paying for her education and making sure that she has everything she needs during college years. Accepting their help after college would make her a failure. 

Next day they spent exploring rest of the city center. They spent a few hours in Rubens House. Only there Lina understood a difference between looking at reproductions and originals. 

-Look at this. - Lina pointed at the painting  that was hanging over an old fireplace that was used for kitchen needs back in the days. - It looks like 3d. How were they doing back then? And the lights!- only now she understood how touching and amazing a painting can be. No reproductions could ever show the true genius of a master, and certainly not images she could see on Internet. 

On the second floor Lina spent twenty minutes by another painting that was picturing Queen Isabella and Ferdinand during their daily walk. Everything on it was very small but every small thing was drawn very detailed.

-How did they do it?-Lina asked again. - Did they use microscopes? Did they even exist back then? Really, I would go blind just after drawing half of it. 

Liam tried to explain her the technics of old masters but her attention already was on antique locker, every small door of which was beautifully painted with scenes from nature. 

In the next room there was a very small bed, draped with canopy. 

-See this? - Liam pointed at bed. - That's how they slept back then. 

Confused Lina looked at very short bed. 

-But how did they manage to lay in it? 

-They didn't lay, they were half sitting in it. See bunch of pillows? They literally slept sitting in bed and resting on those.-he explained. 

-Carving is so pretty. - Lina almost whispered. 

-Rubens was a businessman as much as he was an artist. - Liam explained. - He was a rich man as you can see. Most of the things we see here, in his house, are an art by itself and there was a very small circle of people who could afford them. 

After seeing all expositions, hand in hand they walked in the small garden, Lina snapped a few pictures of Liam and they continued their tour of the city. 

Very narrow sidewalks were filled with tables that were standing very close to each other. Despite lack of space, lots of people were sitting in those cafes, all facing the street and looking at passing by people. They were sitting so close to each other that Lina wondered how they can have any privacy at all. That reminded her of theaters. They all were sitting there like in the theater, almost touching each other, a street was their stage and people who were passing by were their actors. 

Liam and Lina walked through this street and came to the square with a huge, gothic looking church. 

-Onze Lieve Vrouwekathedraal. - Liam pointed at it. - Cathedral of Our Lady of Antwerp. - He explained.- We should definitely go inside. Rubens and a few other famous artists created their masterpieces especially for it. 

They waited for guid of Chinese tourist group to show their tickets and Liam bought two for himself and Lina.

Inside the building seemed even bigger than from outside. Ceiling seemed to be over ten meters in height and the stained glass windows were filling a hall with a lots of light. 

-I wonder how long did it take them to build it? - Lina quietly asked looking up at the ceiling and columns that were holding it. 

-It's still unfinished. - Liam replied. - But normally it took forty years or more to build something like this if we look at Rome for example. 

They walked to a wooden stairs standing apart and leading nowhere. Lina looked closer. It was beautifully carved but a center of composition were four female figures. 

-Those are representing four races.-Liam commented. 

They walked to a huge three pieces paintings hanging on a distance from each other. Even now, centuries after it was created, it didn't lose its beauty.

Cathedral was filled with tourists but a small area behind columns was fenced and a Priest led service for a small group of parishioners. 

Lina was amazed by the beauty of altar and everything else she saw around.

They spent a hour exploring cathedral, statues and paintings until it was a closing time.

They walked through crowded street to the small square surrounded by buildings and sculpture fountain in the corner. 

-This square has a secret. - Liam slyly grinned. - Let's see if you can find it. 

Lina looked around but saw nothing special. A building Infront of her was impressive but still nothing caught her attention. 

Liam stood on the fence of statue and reached his hand out. Lina grabbed it and stood next to him. 

-You might see it better from here. - He grinned again watching her confusion. 

-Would you give me a hint for what I am looking for or are we going to spend rest of the day here? Because I see nothing.-Lina said a bit irritated. She was tired already after whole day of walking and wouldn't mind a dinner right now. She wasn't a best person to be around when she was hungry. 

 - Card suits. - Liam decided to show some mercy remembering how confused he was when he was looking for it for a first time. 

Lina looked around in all dirrctions, at all buildings but saw nothing that would look like card suits. After three minutes of ineffective search she gave up. 

-I see nothing. Can we just get a dinner already? I can survive without finding it.-she almost barked. Her stomach was demanding food and not card suits. 

Liam laughed and wrapped an arm around her waist pointing at tiles on the ground. She saw nothing at first but then one by one groups of tiles formed a heart, diamond, club and spade. 

-Wow, amazing. Now my life is complete. Can we go now? - she got off the fence. 

-Wow you are really hungry, no kidding. OK, let me think where should we have a dinner. I have a restaurant in mind but we need  to change in the hotel first. 

-Yeah, right. - Lina growled, grabbed Liam's hand and drag him to the cafe on the empty narrow street around the corner she noticed on their way to the square. She stopped by one of two cute looking tables under a tent and sat down. - I don't need a fancy restaurant, I just need to urgently fill my stomach. 

Liam shook his head in amusement trying to suppress a smile and not to provoke her. Hungry and angry Lina still was charming. 

A smiling waiter brought them two menus but Liam declined it. 

-Hello-he said-do you have stoverij met frietjes? - he asked with polite smile. 

Waiter nodded. 

-Certainly, meneer. 

-Very well, two stoverijes, Westmalle for me and Delirium for mijn vrouw.-

Waiter nodded and walked back inside. 

-What did you order? Maybe I won't like it. I could honestly go for a burger right now.-Lina snapped. 

-Don't worry, it won't take long. It's one of Belgian national dishes and a cherry beer. You should try it at least once. - He replied 

-What did you call me?-she asked. Lina couldn't repeat it even if her life would depend on that. 

Liam wrinkled his forehead trying to recall his order. 

-Mijn vrouw? - Lina nodded.- It means my woman if to translate it literally, but also has a different meanings. 

Lina pulled a phone out of her bag and opened Facebook. 

-What are you doing, baby?- Liam asked. 

-Checking the news. - Lina replied not averting her gaze from the phone. 

-That's not very polite. I am right here and we could spend this time in conversation. - Liam pointed out. 

-Nope, I need to kill some time and to keep my mind occupied until i have my food. - she said and began to read posts chucking to herself sometimes. 

It was a new experience for Liam. Normally his dates would try to intrigue him and to spend every second charming him. But it was obvious for him that Lina got used to spending her days with him, it became natural for her and to his surprise, it felt natural for him as well. 

Ten minutes later waiter brought them their order and Lina rushed to eat it. 

-Ouch-she swallowed hard a first bite not feeling the taste.-Hoooot.-she moaned waving her hands to cool burned mouth. 

Liam laughed. 

-Slow down, nobody will steal it. - He said dipping a frie into stoverij sauce and sending it to his mouth. 

Lina frowned but slowed down and found herself enjoying taste of the food. After finishing she sipped her beer. 

-That's a good one. - she said relaxing into her chair and making a few more sips of fruity beer.-Can I have another one? 

-Careful, baby. It's called Delirium for a reason. - Liam said with a teasing smile. 

-Nothing will happen from two beers, Liam. 

He ordered another round but even before waiter brought it, Lina felt lightheaded, her head was spinning a bit. She let out a silly chuckle. 

- So good. I was really hungry. 

-Ha, no kidding. I thought that you are going to murder me if I don't  feed you In time. 

Lina finished second beer, her cheeks were burning, eyes shining. She moved her chair to the other side of the  table next to Liam and laid back. Liam rested his arm on the back of her sea and captured her lips with his. 

A kiss was becoming more and more passionate. 

-I want you, now. - she said into his mouth  feeling his erection through pants with her hand. 

Liam growled and abruptly stood up. He took a fifty euro bill out of the wallet, threw it on the table and pulled Lina out of the chair. 

-Hotel, now. - Liam said in low voice dragging her down the street. 

Next chapter

@indiacater @annekebbphotography @drakesensworld @hopefulmoonobject @jared2612 @carabeth @dcbbw

#the royal romance #trr #trr liam #choices trr #choices fanfiction #choices liam x mc #liam x mc #trr liam x mc #Breathe With Me

[shreddedparchment]

You’re My Mission Pt.02

You Still Don’t Know Anything About Women

9/21/2018

Pairing: Bucky x Reader

Word Count: 3,655

Masterpost

Warnings: Language, angst, sad times

A/N: Man...I don’t even know what to say. This chapter was such fun to write and then read back. Stuff is happening before I thought it would but it’s okay. I like it. Hopefully you do as well! And as always if you happen to reblog, thanks so much for helping me spread my work! xoxo

O-six hundred, otherwise known to you as too fucking early in the morning. Especially since you had to be down on the west field by 0600 which meant waking up by at least five in the morning.

Your quarters were among several others as part of a small compound of domed huts made from adobe and thatch on the outside. About six or so, with one large one at the center back of the compound. The most senior of the cadets lived in that hut and had more room.

On the inside, the huts were more modern with strange fire-orange metallic walls, a heated and cooled dark wooden floor, and a single insulated and self-tinting window. In your particular hut, which really was just a single room, was a single bed, twin-sized, a small dresser for your clothing and a desk where you were expected to fill out mission reports when and if you ever became skilled enough to go on them. A smaller hut connected to your own and about the quarter of the size was meant to be your area for storage should you need more space.

You sit up, groaning as your Kimoyo beads vibrate at a high, attention grabbing speed. The beads were the first thing you were given when you arrived. You were informed that they would be your lifeblood here in Wakanda. Anything that you would need to do or if you ever needed to get a hold of anyone, your Kimoyo beads were the only way to do so. They were slightly smaller than large marbles, smooth, black with illuminated writing and apparently made with Vibranium. Which wasn’t as rare as everyone thought it was.

Rubbing your face, you try and shake off the exhaustion you feel. Despite having left training early yesterday, Sergeant Barnes had changed his mind about how annoyed he was with you and came to pull you out of your hut to train some more before bed. Strength training so he had you lifting weights for a bit before he deemed it a better idea to have you lift your own weight by means of squats, lunges, squats, push-ups, and oh yeah, squats.

You can feel your legs protesting as you swing them over the edge of your bed. You carefully attempt to get up and the sharp soreness of your legs makes you cry out. You fall back onto the soft mattress and really consider just blowing Sergeant Barnes off.

Of course, that’s when your beads begin to vibrate again. Lightly this time but unlike the first time the movement is accompanied by a series of smooth chirping. You’re still not sure what noise it is. It sounds like it could be a bird, but you’ve never heard a bird make that kind of sound before. Or it could be purring…but that doesn’t sound right.

You groan, knowing exactly what you’re about to get. You hold out your hand, palm up, and your communication bead rolls away from the rest and stops to rest in the center of your palm. There’s a quiet ding in the same tone as the chirping and suddenly you’re staring down at a miniscule bust of Sergeant Barnes, scowling up at you from behind a curtain of freshly washed hair.

“Are you awake?” He asks.

Isn’t it obvious? “No. I’m still sleeping.” You retort.

He doesn’t like that. “You’ve got twenty minutes to get down to the west field.”

“What?” You ask confused and tap the bead so that the time displays. “I have fifty-six minutes. You said 6 o’clock!”

“That was before you mouthed off.” He says with a smirk. “Twenty minutes, cadet.”

“But-” He doesn’t wait for your excuses. He’s gone and your bead rolls back into place. “Fuck.”

You force yourself out of bed and limp your way to your dresser, “Ow…ow…ow…fuck…ow…”

You dress yourself as quickly as you can, ripping your muscles to pieces as you do because you’re trying to move so fast. Your outfit is nothing special. A pair of loose tan tactical military pants, a belt, you pull on a white cotton t-shirt and tuck it in before you put the belt on. Over that you pull the matching tactical button-up shirt. It takes you seven minutes to get dressed. You don’t even wash your face. You rush out where the other Wakandan cadets are making breakfast.

“Come, join us, Y/N. Have some breakfast before you have to go meet with your Sergeant Barnes.” The man who speaks has deep umber skin with a warm pink undertone and is only a year or two older than you. His face is the epitome of the golden ratio. His attentions to you gets some of the other female cadets nervous because he’s no slouch and to be honest, were you not already crushing on Cap, then you’d gladly give in to his attentions. His accent is heavy but nothing out of the norm for Wakanda.

“He’s not my Sergeant Barnes!” You growl back at him. “Anyway, I can’t, Aman. He’s making me go out now. Thanks anyway!”

You’re running away so you have to shout to make sure he hears you. Aman waves at you, laughing at the way Sergeant Barnes has you whipped apparently.

“If he is not your Sergeant Barnes then why are you always running to him?” He teases.

He’s too far now to reply to so you huff as you push your exhausted muscles up along the incline that leads up to the west field. “I keep asking myself that same question.”

Your beads ring again, and you hold out your palm as you run. Sergeant Barnes’s bust shows up again, scowling at you for a moment but then smirking because he must realize you’re running.

“You have eight minutes, cadet. If you’re even a minute late, you owe me eighty squats.” There’s a laugh in his voice. But it’s not a nice one. He’s taking pleasure in making you run.

“I’m going as fast as I can! We don’t all have thighs of steel.”

“Not yet you don’t.” And he disappears again.

The bead falls back onto your wrist and you put in another gear, running faster now that you’re on even ground.

You see him in the distance, standing underneath a large Warka tree—a fig tree you learned recently—staring at a timer projected by one of his beads. You’re thinking about this, the fact that Sergeant Barnes is standing underneath a fig tree, as you close the distance between you. You stop right before him, staring up at him with hate in your eyes. You lean forward, hands on your knees and cough, so close to throwing up.

“This is…”

You gasp a breath and cough some more.

“…torture.”

Sergeant Barnes frowns down at you, all amusement struck from his face. You struck a nerve but you’re not sure why. He always gets that look of annoyance when you strike a nerve unintentionally.

“This isn’t torture. It’s training. And you’re twenty-six seconds late. I want you to run twenty laps around the field and then give me the eighty squats you owe me.” His voice is hard, and you’re really close to socking him in the face. But since you haven’t had your hand to hand combat training yet, you don’t dare challenge him. He could wipe the floor with you.

“You hate me, don’t you?” You ask him, genuinely curious because everything he says, the way he says it, and everything he does tells you that he hates your guts.

“Well, I certainly don’t like you.”

“Why? I haven’t done anything to you to warrant your hostility.”

“You don’t have to. You just being you is enough to make me hostile. Go run your laps.” He throws the last part out, waving you off with his stupid metal arm, before moving over to the tree to lean up against it.

“No!” You retort.

He looks up at you and his eyes should scare you. The look he’s giving you would kill you had he the ability to do that. He pushes away from the tree and walks towards you, twisting a ripe fig in his hand, popping it open. He takes a bite and licks his lips as he reaches you.

Your heart pounds, probably from fear, right? You look down at his lips and then back up into his eyes.

“See, this is exactly why I don’t like you, cadet. You come here from your cushy little life, you work some kind of charm on Steve and get him to bring you into one of the most top secret cities in the world. You’re offered shelter, food, safety, and training but all you know how to do is run your mouth and second guess every order I give you. This isn’t a sleepover, princess. You’re not here to have fun. You wanted to be a soldier so you’re going to train like one. You don’t like it? Go ahead and leave. I’ll tell Steve you couldn’t hack it. I won’t stop you. In fact, I’ll wait a few days before I tell him. That’ll give you plenty of time to permanently get lost. As a matter of fact, I’ll even drive you to the airport. How about it, kid?”

You’re not sure whether you want to cry, yell, or throw up (you’re still not over your run). You stare up into his eyes, hating every part of him for making you feel so small. Yeah, you had a cushy life, sort of. You had two loving parents who had tried their best to give you the best possible chance at life and now they were gone. They weren’t coming back. All the sacrifices that they’d made throughout your life to get you the opportunities you’d had, all of them amounted to nothing because you had no one now.

“Fuck you, asshole.” You turn around and head down the field to start your laps.

“Was it something I said?” He shouts at you as you run away.

When you look back you see him leaning against the tree again as the sky slowly turns grey and over a tall mountain in the distance the sun finally peeks out. He’s eating his figs, content to watch you run. You stop on your fourth lap and throw up. After last night’s dinner is expelled it’s a lot of dry heaving since you hadn’t had breakfast.

He doesn’t check on you. Why you half-expect him to, you don’t know. You’re on your tenth lap when your tears begin to fall. Not because you’re upset about the running though your exhaustion doesn’t help you keep your composure.

You’ve been trying so hard to keep from thinking about your parents. You think about them all the time as it is. And training is one of those times that you can focus on just training and not have to think about how much you absolutely miss them. So why do you fight him so hard? That’s what he wants you to do, train. Sergeant Barnes is right, you do second guess every order he gives you. Why?

As you reach up to wipe at your tears you conclude that it’s because he’s been nothing but rude since the day you got here.

You keep running, pushing yourself to forget your parents at least for now. Focus on the way your body breathes. The way your legs feel weak and numb.

Lap eleven; your legs buckle as you round the corner of your lap.

Lap twelve; you push your legs harder, faster, willing your body to obey as you gasp and wheeze.

Lap thirteen; you’re gonna just die. You give up. There's no reason for him to torture you this way!

“Buck! You’re out here already?” Cap's voice reaches your ears and you stumble in your surprise.

Your legs are so tired that they give out on you and you go tumbling forward. You put your hands out in front of you and instantly regret it because it scrapes up your hands on dirt and rocks.

“What are you doing out here, Steve? Shouldn’t you be out secretly avenging. That’s what you’re calling yourselves right? Secret Avengers?”

“Very funny. And no, that’s not what we call ourselves.”

“I try.” Sergeant Barnes replies, a smile in his voice.

“You got her running laps already?” Cap asks. “How many?”

“She's on her fourteenth so, six more to go?”

“Twenty laps, Bucky? Really? Why is she on the floor?” Cap asks, worried and shocked. He must have finally looked at you. You keep your eyes on the ground and shove your hands against the rocks already digging into your hands, embarrassed and still upset.

Why did he have to show up now?

“She fell when she heard you.” Sergeant Barnes’s voice is a big smirk, he knows your secret and it irritates you that he does.

“Have you done any PT with her before today?” Cap demands, sounding upset.

It makes your stomach flutter.

“She did some squats yesterday.” Sergeant Barnes explains, sounding surprised by Cap's tone.

“Really, Buck? You can’t just throw her into it like that. She's never done any training like this before.”

“She’s fine. Stop overreacting.”

“I’m not overreacting, Buck, you’re being cruel.”

“See this is why she’s crushing on you.”

Your eyes go wide and you refuse to acknowledge that you can hear them. You push yourself up onto your knees and busy yourself with looking your scraped hands over. They’re a little bloody but you don’t feel the pain anymore. Your ears and heart are way too invested in their conversation for your body to feel anything but nervous.

“What? Y/N isn't crushing on me.” Cap clearly thinks he’s delusional and it hurts a little bit.

“You’re too nice to her. You coddle her too much, Steve.” Sergeant Barnes insists. You really wish he would shut up.

“That doesn’t mean she's crushing on me. You’re crazy.”

“Steve, how is it that even at almost a hundred you still don’t know anything about women?”

“You’re wrong.” Steve says. “Besides, I’m with Sharon.”

Ouch. You sit back on your ankles and wipe at your dried up tears.

“Is she crying?” Steve demands, worry in his tone.

“Don’t go over there, Steve.” Sergeant Barnes warns.

“But she's upset.”

“And that's not your problem. You brought her here, you set her up. Now go away and let me do my job.” Despite the harshness of his words his voice is easy-flowing, like all of this he's saying is no big deal.

“Fine.” He gives up so easily you’re sure that Cap is definitely going to start avoiding you because of your now exposed crush. “Buck, go easy on her, okay? She's had a rough couple of weeks.”

“Sure, Steve. Tell Sharon I said hi.”

Is he purposefully rubbing salt in your wound?

Steve leaves without talking to you. He doesn’t even look back at you as he leaves. It sucks and despite your attempts to pull yourself together you begin to cry as you start running again.

You’re on your nineteenth lap when suddenly, Sergeant Barnes is running beside you. He keeps pace with you easily and when he sees your tears he frowns.

“Crying again? Is it because I made you run twenty laps?” He sounds so smug about it that your feet halt and he runs past you a few feet.

You stand there glaring at him, sweating buckets as he stops and moves back towards you at a slow pace.

“Why is it that you continue to think that you’re remotely important enough to make me cry? I’m not crying because of you.”

You can’t run anymore. Now that you’ve stopped, your legs are dead. You push yourself forward into a slow walk, limping your way into your twentieth lap.

Sergeant Barnes keeps pace with you.

“Then why are you crying?”

You don't answer, squeezing your wounded hands shut as you try and ignore him. The physical pain helps you focus.

He looks down at your hands and maybe you didn’t realize the extent of the damage because he reaches out with his metal arm, grabs your wrist, and pulls you to a stop.

“You’re bleeding.” He realizes.

He takes your other wrist in his normal hand and slowly turns them both over to assess the damage.

He begins to pick off the rocks still embedded in the small cuts they made. When your hands are clean of rocks he leans down while simultaneously lifting your hands to blow at the dirt resting loose on your palms. He uses his hands to wipe at the dirt that’s become crusted into the blood from your cuts and his fingers are so gentle that for a moment, a very confusing moment, your heart skips a beat. Your stomach feels like it's being attacked by hummingbird wings.

You blink, not sure what it is you're feeling.

“Is it because I told Steve you liked him?”

You’re still so confused by what you’re feeling you don’t really hear him. “What?”

“You gotta be a little embarrassed about Steve finally knowing you like him, right? But I don’t see why that should make you cry. You had to know you never stood a chance.”

His words cut at you making you feel a little lousy. Not just because he’s telling you that you couldn’t get Steve but also because he thinks you'd cry over a crush. A mere crush when you had something much more painful to work through.

He was still rubbing your hands, pulling the dirt from them—though you’d been enjoying it and extremely confused as to why—you yank them out of his grip as his words sting.

Your eyes begin to water with your anger. You’ve always been the type to cry when you’re angry. A trait shared with your grandma, or so your mom had told you. He looks into your eyes and you fix him with an unrelenting stare, his blue eyes shifting along your face as he tries to figure out what your expression means.

“Is that seriously what you think of me? What did you call me before? A princess living a cushy life? That’s seriously what I am to you? That’s what you see? Some spoiled brat, used to getting her way, here to moon over Steve Rogers who is clearly way out of my league right? Because I’m nothing? I'm shit. Right? Not attractive enough for Captain America.”

“What? No, that’s not what I mea-"

“Do you really wanna know why I’m crying all the time? I know you don’t really care but maybe you’ll at least stop asking.

“I just lost the only family I had left. I watched my father get beaten to death and my mother…my mother-" You take a shaky breath trying to hold onto the strength your anger gives you to keep talking. “I left my home and my old life behind me in the hope of meeting people who were like me. Broken and maybe I could, I don’t know, give them comfort and get some in return? But I spend most of my days with you and you’re nothing but a ginormous asshole! You clearly hate having me around so excuse me for feeling a little sad about the fact that I just lost the only two people in my life that would have loved me until the day I die.”

You’re a mess when you finish. You’re angry and falling apart. You’re almost in pieces, shaking from being angry and crying because you miss your parents so much it’s like you have a hole in your chest. You can’t fill it no matter how much you try.

You cover your face, your bloody, dirty hands your only solace from the agony of your loss.

You’re too busy crying to notice at first but Sergeant Barnes slowly grips your arms first, supporting your weight because you wanna collapse.

You hear him sigh and then he’s pulling you into the circle of his arms.

You’re in them for only a few moments before you realize that he’s holding you, trying to comfort you. But this is his fault!

You shove against his chest, hard, pushing with as much strength as you can muster. He lets you go easily.

“Don’t touch me!” You lash out.

Upset and embarrassed you turn and start to limp off towards civilization without finishing your last lap.

“Hey! Get back here. We're not finished for the day. Not even close.” Sergeant Barnes orders. You recognize his commanding tone and you stop, turn, and move back to stand three feet from him.

“Are you going to keep running away every time something doesn’t go your way. You’re an adult. Act like one.” His voice is so annoying!

“I’m trying to act like a fucking adult but you keep pushing my goddamn buttons.” You reply angrily, wiping your cheeks.

Sergeant Barnes huffs. “And you curse like a man.”

“As opposed to a lady?” You really hate it when guys say stuff like that. You’re human. You’re allowed to curse when you feel like it. But then again…he is from the 1940s.

“Ladies don’t curse.” He informs you.

You laugh. You hope he’s joking because his words are so ridiculous that you can’t help it. You double over for a second, still laughing. You even snort a little. It's so funny! You reach up and wipe at your eyes, standing up straight again.

You’re also probably a little emotional from crying and running all morning so the mood swings are not surprising.

“Are you done? We have a lot more to do today.” He’s so annoyed with you, his voice is tight and sharp. His patience is waning and you can’t help it…you want to annoy him some more.

“Yeah, I’m fucking done. What’s next, Sergeant?”

@bionic-buckyb @mdgrdians @ulired @biawol @markusstraya @queenof-wakanda @slice-of-thunder @clockworkherondale @shonaldo @lilulo-12 @dsakita @just-trying-to-survive-marvel @coldfacedwarf @zoey-odinson-stark @animegirlgeeky @paetonsfandom @caramelsunrise @until-theend-oftheline @a-n-gela @dirtylittlelamb @moonlessnight14 @el-dibidibidordo @calliope-musings

#bucky #bucky barnes #bucky x reader #bucky x you #bucky x reader fanfiction #bucky x reader fanfic #bucky x reader fic #james bucky barnes #james buchanan barnes #bucky x steve #marvel fanfiction #marvel fanfic #marvel fic #marvel au #winter soldier fanfic #winter soldier fanfiction #winter soldier fic #you're my mission pt2 #you're my mission #shreddedparchment #bucky fanfiction

[comicgeekscomicgeek]

Their Hero Academia, Chapter 3

The first two (and zeroth) chapters can be found here.

This continues to be in an unfinished and unedited state for now.  Their Hero Academia – Chapter 3: Izumi Todoroki and the Perils of LunchIt had been a busy morning. Aizawa’s Quirk Apprehension Tests had taken a lot out of Izumi.  She had not done as well as she would have liked, coming in 19th, only ahead of Ojiro.  She could move quickly for very brief spurts by traveling along ice slides, but she had neither the strength of limb nor the stamina for overly long activities.   The unfortunate side effect of inheriting her grandmother’s somewhat frail constitution and a childhood illness that she had barely survived.   When well rested, she could do well enough.    And it was believed she would continue to get stronger.  In the meantime, she would just have to do her best.

Even beyond the Apprehension Tests, it had been busy.  English, Math, Literature, Science… not for nothing was U.A. one of the best high schools in the country.

Fortunately, it was lunch time and Class 1-A was heading to Lunch Rush’s Cafeteria.

“I can’t believe we have homework on the first day,” Mineta complained.  “All that English work is going to kill me!”

That… did not make sense. Izumi tilted her head slightly.  “Isn’t your mother American, Mineta?”

“Just because I can speak it, doesn’t mean I want to do it for school, Todoroki.”

“I thought the only things you knew in English were pick-up lines?” Kaminari asked, her earlobes swinging freely.

“Yeah, well, that too.”

Izumi just shook her head. She was definitely never going to understand the horned girl.

“Oh, Brother?” Sora began. “Would you care to race me to the Cafeteria?”

Tensei stopped short. “Sora!  You know there is no running in the hallways!  What would our father say?”

“He’d probably remind us of the same thing.  But you know what Mom would say…”

Both spoke at the same time. “There’s no rules about flying!”

Both Iida twins activated their jet-packs, zooming through the hallway and narrowly avoiding clipping several students and Aizawa.

Their homeroom teacher slumped against the wall.  As they walked past, Izumi was certain she could hear him mutter something about retirement.   Excitable the Iida twins may have been, she envied their energy and speed.  

***

Izumi sat down next to Toshi, Shinso, and Asuka after she had gotten her lunch.  As always, she first opened her bottle of water and took her pills.  Four pills, three times a day, breakfast, lunch, and dinner.  It was so ingrained in her, she doubted she could forget if she tried.  Her friends were kind enough to wait for her to finish that before they began their lunches.

“You doing okay, Izzy?” Toshi asked.

“I’m fine,” she insisted. “This morning just took more out of me than I expected.”

“Don’t overdo it, *chirp*,” Asuka said.  

She meant well, Izumi knew, but it still stung a bit.  She was not a toddler who needed looking after.   She shoved rice into her mouth rather than argue.  She had enough people worrying about her with her parents; she didn’t need her friends doing it too.

Toshi suddenly stood up and waved.  “Haimawari! Come sit with us!”   He slid closer to Shinso to allow Haimawari to join them at their table.

“Uh, thanks, Midoriya,” Haimawari said as he said down.  “I really don’t know anybody here, so I was worried I wasn’t going to have anybody to eat lunch with.”

“Well you know us now,” Toshi told him.  “This is Tokoyami, Todoroki, and Shinso.  Everybody, this is Haimawari.”

“Your Quirk is so cool!”  Shinso bubbled.  It would have been easy to chalk his enthusiasm up to the fact that he was nearly a year younger than the rest of them, but Izumi knew that that was just the way he was.  She supposed he’d be that way at eight or eighty.

Shinso continued on.  “You were just like… zoom!  Whoosh!  Sliiiiide!”

Haimawari chuckled, flushing a little with embarrassment at the sudden attention.  “It’s really not.  It’s one of the most common Quirks in the Registry, after strength enhancers. You all have way better quirks. Especially you, Shinso!  The way you just made the ground melt by yelling at it…!”

“It’s not what Quirk you have,” Toshi said, “it’s what you do with the Quirk that matters.  That’s what my dad always says.”

Haimawari shook his head. “Not going to argue with the Number Two hero, I guess.”

“Number One!” Shinso said. “I checked the Rankings when we sat down.  Le Million and Deku traded spots again!”   He paused, then looked over at Izumi.  “Shoto’s still Number Three.”

Izumi waved it away.  “Dad doesn’t care about the Rankings.  He says they’re nothing but trouble.  He’d probably opt out of the whole thing, if he could.”

*BAM*BAM*BAM

The sound of someone slamming a spoon against a lunch tray caught their attention, and she looked to see Sero standing with one leg up on a table, doing the banging.  

“And now,” the pink-skinned boy said, “it’s time to play everyone’s favorite game…  “Can Sato Eat it?’”

Around him, Kaminari and Mineta burst into applause.  Sato posed theatrically.

“Now,” Sero went on, “many of you already know how this game is played.  Our boy Sato here has a Quirk that lets him eat anything!  And I do mean anything!  So name your item!  And we’ll find out…  Can Sato Eat it?!”

“This notebook!” Ojiro shouted, tossing it towards them.  

Sero caught it with a deft hand.  “You heard the lady, Big Guy!”

Sato took the notebook and bit into it, chewing and swallowing rapidly.   Paper, metal rings, cover, all of it was gone in moments.  “Needs salt!”

Asuka put her head in her hands.  “You’d think they’d have outgrown this game by now.”

Green light sparked from her mid-section as Frog Shadow appeared, grabbing a plate off of Toshi’s tray.   “This plate! This plate!  This plate!”   With a flick, it sent the plate flying, while Asuka tried to hide under the table.

Sero shot out a stand of tape, its acidity tapped way down, and reeled in the tape.  “A plate for the Green Lady!”

He handed it off to Sato, who set it spinning on his finger, leaning in to take a bite as it spun.  It too, was quickly gone.  “Crunchy!”

“These spoons!” Katsumi said, as she approached the show in progress.  She shoved a handful of spoons in Sato’s face and he took them somewhat reluctantly.   He should have been more reluctant, as they suddenly went off like firecrackers in his face.  Both he and Sero let out rather loud shrieks, but neither was harmed any.   Mineta and Kaminari shot under the table, huddling together.

“Dang it, what was that for?” Sero demanded.  “You ruined the show!”

“Good!” Katsuki shouted back.  “Maybe now I can eat my lunch in peace!  Woman up and stop acting like a bunch of kids!”  She gave Sero a shove, forcing him to back into his seat before stomping back to her own table.  A table, Izumi noticed, had a clear empty circle of other tables around it.

Haimawari looked pale. “Is she… is she always like that?”

Izumi understood his fear. Katsuki possessed a formidable Quirk and a short temper.  And she already seemed to have it in for now.  Now, he had seen small examples of what she was capable of.  But he also did not know her as they did.  He did not know how she had stuck up for Izumi against bullies when she was much sicklier than she was now.  He did not know the doubts and fears she revealed when no one else was around.

Toshi and Shinso looked awkwardly anywhere but at Haimawari.   Neither wanted to be the one to answer that question.

“She has her good days and her bad,” Izumi finally said.  “You will see.”

“YOUNG GRANDSON!   DID YOU EAT ALL YOUR VEGETABLES?”

Izumi winced as All Might appeared behind them, far more stealthily than she would have expected of so big a man.

“ALL MIGHT!” Shinso cheered.   “YEAH!”

Toshi just banged his head against the table.  “Grandpa Might…!”

#my hero academia #their hero academia #fan fic #fan fiction #My writing #my hero academia: vigilantes

[lanasaved]

gibson 1959 | self

 “I think that’s everything, chicken. Yeah? You got everything, Caleb?”

Eyes dim on a patch of grey linoleum, it took a gentle tug of the larger hand Lana had clasped in hers for her brother to dawn back to reality.

“Hm? Oh... Yeah. Yeah, think so.”

Down by his side, a clear plastic rubbish bag dangled limp from a loose fist, contents occasionally rustling whenever he so much as cleared his throat.

“He does,” Lana interjected, face soaked in the kind of sunshine bright optimism you’d expect from a Labrador puppy anticipating its lunch bowl. “I checked and, like… folded everything, so. Yeah! We’re good. He’s good.”

She wouldn’t have been able to hide the pride in that statement if she’d been trying to, eyes skimming his features with her dimples so pronounced, you could have stashed an entire football trophy cabinet in them. 

“Yeah,” he repeated, gaze flitting over after a pregnant pause to find the nurse’s, regurgitating her polite smile in the seamless way he’d learned he had to. “I’m good.”

He���d been in the hospital for a grand total of two hundred and eighty four days, six hours and twelve minutes.

It seemed like years since she’d seen him outdoors, at all -- he’d been offered trips outside of the facility, if he wanted to, but he’d always declined under the grounds that he wasn’t ready yet. 

It was strange, unlocking their front door after an Uber ride home in which she blabbered endlessly and he merely nodded and listened, occasionally resisting a smile when she got her tongue tied and mispronounced something because she was too excited to talk any slower than supersonic.

She felt kind of like a child that had smuggled a candy bar off the corner shop counter, fingers continuously sifting the crinkles of wrapper inside her pocket just to check that she’d actually had the guts, that she hadn’t just dreamt it. 

“Welcome back to the lurv shack, bay-bee,” Lana enunciated with a lame kick of one leg in halfhearted cancan, forgetting to finish the routine and turning back, instead, to make sure he’d made it through the door okay.

After such an extended period of bed rest -- due to many contributing factors, he’d had to have restraints that sporadically forced him to be mattress bound for days and nights at a time -- his joints were somewhat stiff. He’d joked in monotone on the front steps that he was the Wizard of Oz’s Tin Man in dire need of oiling, and while Lana had returned his small smile, she’d also made sure to squeeze his hand as a wordless encouragement.

“Come on, Ol’ McCreaky.” Flashing him a grin, it was with a lone nod down the corridor that she started shrugging off one sleeve of her faux fur jacket, black and white star print slipping another three inches to reveal a narrow shoulder. Even then, schlepping down the hall with her hair in a barely combed tangle around her cheeks, she looked like a burlesque girl intent on providing a show, framed photos on the walls practically blushing over every glimpse of skin they managed to reflect back.

“I got those dinosaur shaped pancakes you say you hate. So juvenile, those pancakes!” she impersonated, laughter bubbling up from her throat like caramel brought to boil. Twisting around so she could face him as she walked backwards, she quickly reviewed the shuffle of his feet as she continued speaking, monitoring for any lulls in pace. “Honestly, you’re such a fake. I saw you gobble a pterodactyl off my plate, once, when you thought I was peeing. Jokes on you, hombre! She’s a urine scammer. I didn’t even have to go, I totally just spied on you from the banister.”

“That’s a lie.”

Grin only doubling, she started prancing from foot to foot like an evil little hobgoblin delighting in a wicked scheme, red cowboy boots echoing a wild patter around the walls. 

Lips tweaking in a lame attempt to match hers, he rolled his eyes as he continued to follow her towards the kitchen. “Alright, stop that.”

Regardless, she continued, drenched with so much giddy energy that she felt like a jack-in-the-box wound one time too many, rocking around its mechanism in a dangerous frenzy that threatened to break the spring.

“Fucking hell,” he exhaled, unable to help but let out a short laugh, for once. She wasn’t half ridiculous. “I hate this, Lana. That looks horrible.”

Finally ceasing, it was with a breathless swipe at her skirt to right the fluttering pleats that she spun back to yank at the next door handle, jacket still dangling off just one shoulder since she’d forgotten to finish removing it.

“That was my Niall Horan on bath salts impression, actually. If you knew your Irish jigs, that would’ve been obvious. Point deducted, yer wee cunty!”

She felt like she had a firefly jarred inside her chest for the entire duration of their back and forth banter, body of it bumping and glowing against the confines of her rib cage as she clattered into the kitchen.

In fact, she’d been so wrapped up in the fact that Caleb was finally home -- her Caleb, her entire world -- that she hadn’t even noticed the murmur of voices drifting in from the large conservatory, the room their parents reserved for dinner parties given the long table and the view overlooking the garden. 

It was only once she’d turned back from rustling within her shopping bag to produce a carton of eggs that she noticed how tense Caleb’s shoulders were, eyes stuck on something past the wall, staring further into the heart of the house -- if you could even call it that.

A heart implied life. Warmth. 

“They’re here.”

“Fucking hell, is that Caleb Jameson? Fuck me. Just take a look at him! There’s nothing of him!”

Screeching back from his chair to get to his feet once they’d entered the room, Jensen Peters lumbered sideways over the leg he’d somehow managed to position as an obstacle, clearly already drunk at a mere three in the afternoon.

Shirt unbuttoned to just above his belly button, chest hair rampant and just a lone middle finger flecked with black nail polish, he looked like a long lost rock oracle washed ashore on a desert island, eyes red rimmed from salt water and the terror of a stormy shipwreck.

He had a raven’s face, long and thin -- all beak and peck and black, somehow, despite his pale eyes and sandy hair to match.

Next to Caleb, Lana shrank like an under watered tulip, immediately fascinated by the panels of the hardwood.

“Hi. Teeth still unbrushed as ever, I see,” Caleb commented, eyes moving from the hand that Jensen extended to shake his to the face of his father. He made no effort to reach out and complete the greeting, ignoring him completely. “I’m home, Robert. Are you shitting yourself with excitement, yet? Or did you already wipe yourself down so you wouldn’t stink out the dinner table? Incontinence woes.”

Unimpressed, their father merely took a sip from his glass and exchanged an apologetic look with another member of company. 

Gnawing on her bottom lip, Lana held Caleb’s hand a fraction tighter as she shuffled slightly forwards to glance around the occupants of the table, shooting them all a brief smile. 

“Hi. Sorry, Caleb has a migraine. We were just, um... I mean, we’ll get out of your hair and stuff. Nice to see you all, though. Caleb? Should w--”

“Lana, Lana, Laaaaa-naaaa. Lana!” Enamel of his teeth blotted with plaque stains from chain smoking and gargling whiskey for breakfast in the place of Listerine, Jensen thrust his hands out in exclamation, acting as if he’d just been bestowed with a vision of Christ to inform him about his immaculate conception. “Look at you! A fuckin’... tiny thing. Could pick you up and put you in my pocket, couldn’t I?!”

Heart thumping inside her throat, she peeled back her lips to reveal her teeth, a take on a grin that looked more like an animal baring its fangs after it’d been backed against a wall.

 “C’mere,” he enthused, fingers waggling her in. “You gonna give me a fuckin’ hug, or what?”

“Um... Yeah, of course. Yeah, sorry,” she forced out after a stuttered delay, about to take a step forwards when Caleb yanked her back by the hand she’d forgotten she was still holding, startled yelp parting her lips.

“I don’t think she feels like it,” he interrupted, shoulders tense and eyes burning so intently into Jensen’s that it was as if he was willing them to sear black holes through the sockets. “Feel free to sit down and stop talking. Robert,” came as his chin flinched sideways, focus returning to their father as he sat wordlessly at the head of the table, observing the situation in the odd glance before he resumed his thumbing at his phone screen. “We’re gonna go. Just wanted to say hi.”

For as long as Lana could remember, Caleb had never referred to their father by name.

“Mhm?” He barely lifted his eyes from his phone.

Stomaching a scoff, Caleb shook his head and stared briefly at the floor by his shoes.

Lana could sense the frustration unfurling inside his stomach like a fighter’s fist, knuckles twitching every time Jensen dared to so much as look at her.

“Dad,” she started softly, gently letting go of Caleb’s hand so that she could take a step forwards and rest both on the back of a stately designed dining chair, easily priced within three figures to buy just one. “Caleb got discharged today, remember? I, um... I called you, about it. We spoke on the phone. Remember?”

Lie. She’d circled it thrice in red on the calendar, texted him seven times over the past month, and tried to ring eighteen only to be put through to voicemail. But it was better, this way, for Caleb to have a pitiful scrap of compassion for him to gnaw on to keep the starvation at bay, to think that their father had actually been invested at all in his recovery, enough to check in.

“Ah... Yeah,” came as he clicked his lock screen shut, lips a thin line that quivered into action like it took him a great exertion of effort to do so -- the smile he produced was condescendingly pitiful, easily the equivalent of a kindergarten doodle submitted to a university grade portfolio. “Yeah, of course.”

“Fuckin’ right! Yeah, yeah. Fresh out the loony bin, isn’t he? Fuck me,” Jensen got out with a snort, clapping a hand down onto Caleb’s shoulder after closing into his personal space once more. With it, he shook him gently, a carnival guest rapping at the bars of a tiger’s cage to incite a snarl. “Our own resident Girl, Interrupted. Forgot about the whole... slittarooski. Damn. Not quite got the tits for Jolie, though, do you? Then again,” he chided, voice lowering as he shot Caleb a wink, “neither do any of the Jameson’s.”

“That’s enough,” Robert nipped in the bud after his eyes drifted to observe the way Lana’s expression faltered, voice surprisingly apathetic given the derogatory observations of his own wife and daughter. Holding his hands up in mock surrender, Jensen backed up and took a seat at the table once more, immediately tracking a thumb down one of the strings of his 1959 Gibson. Attention back on Caleb, it was as if, to Robert, Jensen had never said anything at all. “That’s great. Well done.”

Dull twangs reverberating whenever Jensen’s rings clacked against the neck of his Gibson, Lana could physically feel Caleb’s rage stilling the air around them, almost suffocated by the dead silence that came with standing in the heart of a hurricane.

“Yeah, um... Anyway, yeah,” she attempted to brush it off, apples of her cheeks so flushed that they almost looked darker than the mahogany tabletop her father propped his elbows against. “It is great. He did really good. And he’s basically, um... You know. Like, all better, now, kind of. So... yeah. Won’t keep you, or anything. Just wanted to... let you know -- that he’s home, I mean.”

“Yeah, great.” He barely cared enough to keep his eyes away from the table. “Cool stuff. I’ll call Stella, in a bit.” Their mother. “She’ll be happy to know.”

“Yeah, ‘cause she’ll take the time out of sunning topless in Monaco to take that call,” Jensen joked with his back turned, shoulders quivering slightly with the effort it took to subdue a laugh. “Fucking drag.” Still dusting down his strings with a soft, mottled cloth, he craned his neck slightly in order to throw a distracted question back over his shoulder, eyes straining to remain on his handiwork all the while. “Say, Lana? About this, uh... facility. You happen to volunteer there, at all? Get about in a little pinstripe thing, give any sponge baths to the rest of the cabbages?”

“Um...” trailed off as her eyes flit to watch Caleb, three casual steps seeing him moving to reach Jensen’s side. “No,” she admitted, hands clasped together like she was front row in a local church choir, fingers clutching one another until they glowed red from the amount of pressure. “No, nothing like that. I don’t think they do, um... a pinstripe, like, thing on--... Caleb, what’re you doing?”

Blinking up at Caleb as Lana’s question prompted him to, Jensen furrowed his eyebrows.

Above him, Caleb loomed like a pillar about to topple down any second and crush someone.

Unblinking, he simply stared. 

“Yeah, Caleb,” he began, delightfully curious at the fact he’d managed to rile enough life out of him at all. On his face, a shit eating grin began to creep into view as he echoed her same sentiment. “What’re you doing?”

It was only when Caleb reached down and wrenched the guitar from his hands that he lost his smugness.

“Wait,” Jensen quickly objected, but Caleb was already gripping the neck in both fists and marching towards the conservatory door, unlocked and looking out over the rest of the garden. “I said fucking-- Rob, stop him. Rob, fucking stop him, that’s my Gibson. That’s my fucking Gibson!”

“Caleb,” Robert warned, chair legs scraping as he rose to his feet, finally paying attention. “That’s enough.”

Racing after him with hands outstretched, Lana almost managed to trip and fall three times in the length it took to reach the patio Caleb had just strode across, chill of the air outside enough to coax goosebumps from her forearms.

“Yeah? Is it your fucking Gibson, is it? It’s your fucking Gibson?” Caleb shouted back, military issue boots clunking hard against power washed stone. “Not the fucking Gibson.”

“Caleb--”

“--Anything but the fucking Gibson, am I right? The Gibson!”

Wrenching the vintage model up and above his head, it was with a sky splitting yell from Jensen that Caleb smashed it down as forcefully as he could against the ground, wood immediately erupting into a catastrophic splinter.

Within another deafening whack, a dial pinged off and landed in the pool.

“Fuck, there goes the fucking Gibson, Jensen!” came heaved breathlessly from a tired chest, arms trembling as he did it again and again, over and over, buttons and strings scattering. In front of Lana, Robert gripped hard at Jensen’s arm in order to keep him from racing forwards and killing him, too wary of the potential newspaper headlines should he have to ring an ambulance. “Whatever will you do without the fucking Gibson, Jensen? Form an actual personality? Brush your fucking teeth with all the extra free time, maybe? Did you a fucking favour, you ugly fucking cunt.”

Tossing the last of the mess into the pool, Caleb wrenched his eyes to review Lana’s wide pair that were merely blinking back at him, completely stunned. 

All her life, she’d never dared to stand up to any of them. 

She’d only ever managed to cower with her tail between her legs in the face of those men with their oily palms and dirty fingernails, a kicked puppy still intent on nuzzling at your ankles, afterwards, to try and earn its favour back.

As much as Caleb hated him personally, she knew this was for her.

Guilt welled up in her chest like a helium balloon.

“Jesus,” Robert whispered, disbelief reducing his face to a blank and gaping slate. Hand up to clasp his forehead, he dropped the one checking Jensen as another of his associates tread forwards to take over the responsibility. “You’re a fucking... disgrace.”

“Yeah?” came out ragged, eyes wilder than a caged fox as Caleb stared down his father in the face, ignoring the blathering expletives that Jensen was still barking in the background like an Alsatian that just heard the house alarm. “Take a look at who you fucking keep around you, Robert. You’re the disgrace.” Tossing the last bit of jagged wood he held clutched in a trembling fist, it landed gracelessly by their father’s feet. “You’re the fucking disgrace.”

Silence settled like a wet blanket to smother the stove fire, pieces of guitar still bobbing about the pool’s surface like the shrapnel pieces Caleb had to have plucked out of his right leg after his abrupt discharge from duty, nerves salvageable enough that he was only left with a slight limp.

The association had something dark fluttering across his face, although Lana had already hurried forwards to take his hand, again, a panicked glance tossed back between Caleb and their father to assess the potential damage.

“Get out,” Robert breathed after a significant delay, barely able to look either of them in the face as his voice was reduced to a mere whisper.

“Both of you, get out,” he repeated, eyes complete devoid of warmth as they flit between the both of them. “I mean it.”

“But dad, he didn’t me--”

Holding up a hand to cut Lana off, he used the same one to point at her, jaw completely tense.

“Lana, get him the fuck out of here before I call the cops.”

#self para #hospitalisation tw #mental illness tw #suicide attempt tw #ptsd tw #abuse tw #all of these things r..... only rly rly vaguely touched upon/implied/interpreted from the way ppl act around each other bt #better safe than sry am i right ladies #anyway this jst explains where lanas been basically #her brother gt discharged frm hospital n then. this happened #so they had to go stay at one of calebs friends n she wanted to stay w him fr a while to make sure he was on his feet so she #took a semester off #after this para took place i feel like. their dad probably cut them off so #thts a whole other...... realm of chaos tht im gna develop nw shes back #ANYWAYS! this isnt my best bt jst explains things so. hits post

[dansphlevels]

Hungry

Summary: You can still suffer from eating disorders even if you're a boy, even if you're an adult, even if you're married and in love and even if you have a daughter. Themes: fluff, light angst, parent!phan, established relationship, eating disorders

Length: 4.5k words TW: eating disorder, body image issues  Dan always wanted to have kids. When he was little, he figured he'd get married to a woman and they'd conceive naturally, and when he was a bit older, he decided he wanted to marry a man and adopt.  Ten years, four moves, and a wedding later, Dan was laying in bed with his husband Phil, saying he wanted to start the adoption process. "You sure bear?" Phil asked. "Do you want to wait until you're a little better?" 

 "No," Dan said immediately. "I just... I dunno Phil! I feel like this is just the right time, you know? We're young-"  "You're young." Phil corrected.  "You're only thirty," Dan teased gently. "Perfect age for a parent."  Phil smiled, a little dreamily. "Imagine if we did it though. Having little girls running around the flat."  "Or little boys," Dan added. "Or both. We could have a full nest."  They both laughed lightly, letting it dissolve out naturally.  "Hey Dan?"  "Yeah?"  "Do you think the kids would be upset about having two dads?"  Dan smiled. "I think they'll love having two dads. Have you met us? We'll be awesome parents." He scooted a little closer to Phil, smiling slyly. "You'll be a great daddy."  "And you'll be a great dad."  Dan crinkled his nose in distaste.  "...you'll be a great daddy?" Phil tried again. "Is it weird for us to be both called daddy?"  "I was thinking Papa," Dan whispered.  Phil beamed. "You'll be a great Papa." ---  Audrey was born that October. The adoption process took a long time, and it was two more years before they were carrying their daughter through their doorway.  Over the next two years, they worked hard on every aspect of their lives. Phil worked harder at his job as a radio presenter for the BBC, and with his new motivation, his show climbed the charts until it was one of the most listened to in all of BBC1. Dan worked hard too, growing a name for himself. He was an events host, and though his schedule was irregular, it paid decent money, and he loved doing it. It wasn't stress free- but he loved it.  And together, they poured all they could into taking care of their daughter.  Unfortunately, Dan wasn't always as good about caring for himself.  They'd had Audrey for about 22 months when Phil confronted Dan. "Have you been feeling okay lately?"    "Oh, you know how it is," Dan responded, rushing to set the table. "Work is stressful. Scheduling is impossible. They want me to host this... parade thing? It'd be announcing the floats as they came past, and I'd get to be on tv, but the details are a nightmare."  Phil nodded, processing the words one by one. "So, you're stressed?"  Dan looked up, giving him a slightly confused smile. "It's no big deal. I'm always a little stressed."  Phil nodded, walking over to where Dan was, but he kept on moving around- fixing the silverware, tucking in napkins underneath the three forks, setting bowls of food on the table. "Bear..."  "Oh no," Dan joked, "Phil's getting out the serious voice. I better be careful, don't want to get in trouble with Daddy-"  "Are you starving yourself again?" Phil interupted, his voice completely devoid of humor. Dan stared at him slackfaced. "Because if you are, I want to help you. You could start seeing that therapist again, you know, the nice one with the light brown hair?"  "I don't need therapy," Dan snapped, going back to obsessively fixing the silverware. "I don't have time for it. And besides, we have a family now. We have a daughter to look after, I'd much rather do fun things with her than pay for an overpriced shrink who'll just tell me what I already know anyways."  As Dan continued to mess with the plate settings, Phil walked over and hugged him from behind, squeezing gently. "What do you already know?" he whispered, burrowing his head in his partner's neck.  Dan wetted his lips uncertainly. "That... that I need to destress."   "And what'll you do to work on it?"  "Learn to manage stress better. I don't know, I'll take less jobs or something. Audrey, dinner!" He called.  Down the hallway, the little girl ran- well, it was almost a run. The four year old was still in that stage where she could walk, but she still ran with her legs too far apart for good balance. It was kind of funny, actually, but Dan only encouraged it. "Run as much as you want," he said. "Running's good. It'll keep you healthy." Then he tickled her stomach, and they both giggled in delight.  He didn't tickle her stomach this time. This time, when Audrey appeared through the hallway, Dan just smiled. "Sup' buttercup."  "Fine number nine!" she called back, giggling. Phil didn't get their strange sort of greeting, but it was endearing nonetheless.  As soon as Audrey said her first words, she loved to talk. Her old caretakers said that she was always the loudest baby, babbling constantly. Eventually, those babbles morphed into words, and even sentences. She spoke more clearly then most four year olds- now she just had to work on her running.  "Can I have lemonade?" She asked, running over to the fridge.  "Uh uh, you had some earlier." Dan comanded, his parent voice in full effect.  Phil smiled into his husband's neck, still hugging him from behind. "Oh, come on," he murmured, quiet enough that his daughter couldn't hear. "It's just lemonade."  "Lemonade is eighty percent sugar," Dan complained. "I'm just trying to look out for her."  "Pleeeeeeeeeeaassseee....." their daughter whined.  "She's just a kid," Phil reminded Dan. "All they eat is sugar anyways."  "Okay," he relented, finally. "One glass, that's it."  "Yay!"  Phil laughed as she pulled the jug off the shelf, almost dropping it with how heavy it was in comparison to her little body. He let go of his husband, striding over and helping her. "Here, let me pour it."  "I can do it!"  "Okay okay, just... slower, careful Audrey... slower... slower... okay, stop! Stop!" He grabbed onto the jug, pulling it upright before the cup overfilled.  "Perfect!" Audrey decided, grabbing onto her cup and running over to the table.  "Audrey!" Phil warned, but it was too late. The little girl had already spilled on the floor, the sugary liquid sloshing around the almost full cup and spilling over the sides. "Dan, help me-!"  But Dan was too busy laughing. ----  They were a family of movie watchers.  Audrey loved Disney movies. Her favorite was The Lion King. They owned it on DVD and on Amazon, and she'd watched it at least a couple dozen times, but still she always asked to watch it.  Sometimes, after she went to bed, her daddies would watch movies of their own, but they promised they wouldn't watch Lion King without her. They liked horror movies, but they had to keep the volume down. Phil was always worried that she'd hear the movies and get traumatized, but Dan would reassure him that everything would be fine.  In their relationship, Dan was Phil's rock. He was his structure, his love, his everything.  Which is why it was so hard when he started getting sick.  Every weekday, Dan made them all breakfast in the morning. Phil had to leave early for his job, so they let Audrey sleep in and ate breakfast together. Dan would get out a bowl and pour Phil his favorite cereal, or maybe some toast with butter and marmelade. And of course, some coffee. Phil had to have his morning coffee.  Dan usually wouldn't eat, saying he didn't like eating so early. He'd eat with Audrey, he promised. Then Phil would head off to work with a quick kiss, and Dan would go on his phone until Audrey woke up. Then, he'd make her breakfast- her tastes were similar to her Daddy's, only she also liked yogurt- and he'd watch her eat. Audrey didn't ask why he never ate. When kids are little, they often exist within a small bubble, and don't always notice things that don't affect them directly.   On weekends, Phil made a fancy breakfast of pancakes, just the way Dan liked them. Sometimes he'd surprise him with breakfast in bed. Dan always loved it.  One day, Dan was putting together a puzzle with Audrey, when Phil walked into the room, looking upset. "Dan?"  "What's up?"  "Can we... can we talk?"  Audrey had stopped putting together the puzzle, looking in between her two daddies.  Dan smiled. "Sure." He turned to his daughter, making a silly face at her. "You think I'm in trouble?"  She nodded vigorously, eyes wide. "What'd you do? Is Daddy going to give you a spanking?"  Dan laughed. "I dunno. Daddy, are you going to give me a spanking?" He batted his eyelashes, until he noticed Phil's face. He wasn't laughing.  Dan turned back to Audrey. "How about you keep putting together the edge pieces, and I'll be right back, okay?"  She pouted. "But Papa..."  "No complaining," he chastized, though not harshly. "I'll be right back."  They walked into their shared bedroom, and Dan turned to his husband, expecting him to say something. But instead, Phil kept walking, over to where the trashcan was. He picked it up, and carried it over to Dan, tilting it so he could see inside.  Dan felt a lump form in his throat as he looked at the contents.  "You could've told me if they didn't taste good," Phil started, keeping his voice down.  Dan nodded, sighing. He wouldn't make eye contact. "I'm sorry Phil."  It was quiet for a few long moments. Both knew what was left to be said, but neither wanted to say it.  "When was the last time you ate breakfast?"  Dan started saying something, then looked up, meeting Phil's gaze. He closed his mouth. "I haven't for a while."  "What do you have for lunch?"  "Audrey usually eats leftovers, or sandwiches, quesadillas, maybe mac-"  "That's not what I asked." Phil's voice was smooth and firm.  Dan closed his eyes, breathing in shakily. "I eat vegetables. Fruit, sometimes."  "Like salads?"  Dan winced. "Like... some celery."  It was quiet again. "Papa!" Audrey called from the other room.  "I'll be out in a minute!" He called back, before looking at Phil desperatly. "I'm dieting, okay? I'm just trying to be healthy."  Phil's heart seemed to crack at his words. "Bear.... what you're doing isn't healthy."  "I'm just going to loose a little weight," Dan promised, stepping in closer and resting their foreheads together. "Just a little, okay?"  Phil caught his hands, holding them in his own. "You're perfect," he whispered. "Absolutely perfect."  Dan smiled back, though it was a little forced. "But I'll be more perfect if I'm skinny." ---  Phil did his best to help Dan, but there was only so much he could do. By the time Audrey was five, it had only gotten worse.  "There's Olaf, and there's Sven, who's a reindeer, and there's Anna the princess and Elsa the queen..." Audrey was saying as she pulled down her normal pants, and replaced them with her pajama pants, slightly off balance. "And Kristoff and Hans..."  "Sweetie, we know. We watched the movie with you, remember?"  Audrey nodded, only half listening. Staring out into space, she pulled off her daytime shirt, tossing it in the general direction of the laundry basket.  Dan caught his breath.  "There's also the Duke of Wesselton," Audrey recalled, not moving to put on her pajama shirt.  "Really?" Phil teased. "I thought he was the Duke of Weaseltown."  She scrunched up her face, grinning at her daddy. "No! Stop being silly!"  "I don't know," Phil said, pretending to think. "I think it's weasel town. Or maybe it's badger town? Dan, what do you think?" He looked over, but Dan wasn't listening. Instead, he was staring at his daughter's bare torso- not her chest, but her stomach. Phil didn't know which was worse. "Dan?"  "I'm pretty sure it's Wesselton," he muttered.  Audrey, appleased with being right, went back to talking about Frozen, with no mind to whether her daddies were listening or not. "Dan," Phil warned.  "What?" When Phil didn't respond, Dan looked away from his changing daughter, back to his husband. "What?"  "You were staring," Phil warned.  He shrugged. "Oops. Just thinking."  "About our daughter's stomach?"  Dan blinked, realizing how obvious he'd been. "No! Just... I don't know, should we stop feeding her so much sugar? She's getting a little..."  "Dan," Phil warned, his voice dropping a few octaves. "I want you to think before you say anything that could possibly imply our daughter is anything less that perfect."  Dan's mouth gaped open in shock. "I- I- "  "I want to read Pepa!" Audrey decided. "Daddy, can you read it to me?"  Phil put on a big smile and walked over to Audrey's bed, sitting on it as she snuggled under the covers. "Which one?"  "The ballerina one. And the mud one. And the truck one, and-"  Phil laughed, cutting her off. "I'll read one, okay Sweetie? Then maybe you're Papa wants to read one too?"  Audrey made puppy eyes at Dan. He laughed, trying for a natural smile. "Of course baby." ---  Dan scrolled on his laptop as Phil got ready for bed. Their first London apartment had only one bathroom, and you had to go through a hallway and down some stairs to get to it. In their new flat- flat number four- there were two medium bathrooms. It was a little over budget, but in the end they were glad they did it. Phil liked being able to shave in the morning without having to move a bunch of headbands and barrettes out of the way.  Phil came out of the bathroom with his teeth brushed and his glasses on, plopping onto the bed next to Dan. "Found any good mem-ays?"  Dan snorted. "No. Just doing some research."  Phil smiled a little seductively. "Research? Thinking of doing some more online purchases? You know, I was thinking, we get Audrey so many new toys, we should get some more for ourselves."  Dan laughed. "It's not that kind of research, you spork. I'm doing parenting stuff."  Phil's eyebrows shot up. "Parenting stuff? The Internet doesn't know anything Dan, we're the experts on parenting. Why both Googling it when you've got me?"  The edges of his lips were turned up at the joke. At best, they stumbled their way through parenthood. But Dan didn't laugh.  He was still looking at the screen, scrolling through something. Phil bit his lip. "Can I look?"  "No."  "Is it a surprise?"  Dan hesitated. "No. Just... just boring parent stuff. Research. Like I told you."  "Ooh, Danny-boy's hiding something. What will it take to get it out of you? I wonder if..." he snuck his hand along Dan's waistband, just barely letting two fingers poke underneath it.  Dan kept smiling pleasantly. "I'm not reacting. Here, I'm done. Closed the tab, now we can play." He set the computer aside, and leaned forwards, pulling Phil into a kiss.  Phil, however surprised, kissed back. It was an affectionate kiss, not too fast, but not too innocent. Passionate enough to be rousing; pleasant enough to be calming.  Phil climbing onto Dan, straddling his lap as they kissed. He reached over, tilting the computer towards him, and clicked 'search history'.  Dan realized what he was doing too late. "Aw, Phil, come on, I was just-"  Phil read the title of the last closed tab. Then he closed the laptop, and climbed off of Dan's lap silently.  "I was just curious. Phil- Phil, don't leave! I'm sorry, I was just looking!"  Phil was halfway to the door when he turned around, all humor gone. "'How many calories do five year old girls need'?" He spoke, saying the title of the search with so much distaste it made Dan cringe with shame. "How dare you." He turned around, and walked out the door.  "Phil! Wait, come back- oh, dammit." Dan stood up, more flustered than he wanted to admit. He took a few steps towards the door before changing his mind, going back to the laptop and deleting his search history. "Phil!"  When he walked into the lounge, Phil immediately shushed him. "Quiet, you'll wake Audrey."  Dan immediately lowered his voice. "I'm sorry."  But Phil just shook his head. "You're not sorry, you're sick. I don't know if I'm comfortable with leaving you in charge of our daughter anymore."  Dan was lost for words. "But Phil-"  "I'll call in sick tomorrow," he decided. "We'll figure the rest from there. Go to bed, Dan."  "Will you be there soon?"  Phil shook his head. "I'll sleep on the couch tonight. We can talk tomorrow." ----  Phil was a good dad. When he was younger, he'd wanted to be a vet, but couldn't stomach some of the technical stuff. But he still had that compassion within him, that natural ability to care for others. It made him a good lover and a great father.  He got up the same time as always, phoned in sick to work, and went to the kitchen to make breakfast. There, Dan stood in wait, with a bowl of cereal and cup off coffee ready to go.  Phil stopped, and looked at him. "I thought you didn't like coffee."  "This is for you," Dan said, slightly confused.  Phil shook his head. "Nah, I'll make my own breakfast. How 'bout you sit down, and start eating? I'll grab my food and be right there."  Dan didn't know what to say, but Phil didn't give him a chance to say anything, walking over to the fridge and getting out the ingredients. Slightly in a daze, Dan found himself walking in a trance to the table, sitting with the food in front of him. The cereal looked back at him expectantly.  "How'd you sleep?" Phil asked, taking a stab at basic decency.  "Like shit," Dan replied honestly. "You?"  "The same." Phil brought his food over to the table, sitting in the spot where he usually sat. "How's your cereal?"  Dan hadn't touched it yet. "Good," he lied. "I like these frosted ones."  Phil raised his eyebrows. "Yeah?" He watched Dan, waiting for him.  Dan looked down at the cereal. His stomach churned. "Your toast?"  "Good. Come on Dan, just eat it. It looks good, doesn't it?"   It looks like 180 calories, Dan thought miserably. And 3 grams of fat.   "Dan, please." Dan looked up and met his husband's begging eyes. "You can have some of my toast if you want. Less sugar."  Slowly, Dan reached over and accepted the plate Phil had offered him, trading it with his cereal bowl and cup of coffee. The knife Phil had used to spread the butter and marmalade was still on the plate, and Dan used it to scrape off as much of the condiments as he could.  He looked at Phil, and took a bite. "Mmm. It's good."  Phil looked sick. ----  Getting Dan to eat lunch was as bad, if not worse. He claimed he wasn't hungry, then that he didn't feel well, then that he didn't like stir fry, which was just a lie. It was leftovers from the other night, and Dan had practically licked his plate clean then. But then again, he'd only gotten a small portion, and by the look of it Dan had been skipping all meals except dinner.  It was also harder because by then, Audrey was awake. "Is Papa not feeling well? Should I take his blood temperature?"  She'd been into playing doctor lately, and carried her little toy first aid kit with her everywhere. Dan had told her time and time again that you took someone's blood pressure, not temperature, but she didn't seem to care.  "Papa's just feeling a little under the weather," Phil promised. "He needs to eat so he can get strong again."  Dan forced a tight smile. "Don't worry about me, sweetie. I'll be fine."  "You should eat, Papa," the little girl decided. "That way you're get big and strong."  "It's 'you'll', not 'you're'. And your Papa's already big, he doesn't need to get bigger."  Audrey shrugged. "No. I think you should get bigger. Then you could be a giant! Or like Clifford!"  They laughed, and for a moment, Dan longed for his daughter's innocence. If only he associated getting bigger with Clifford. ---   Phil did his best, he really did. But there was only so much he could do.  Dan got better at hiding it. He filled his dinner plate up with lettuce and celery, and other empty vegetables with little nutritional content. He told Phil that he ate breakfast and lunch too, and even managed to convince Audrey. Then, when Phil got home and asked her if her Papa ate all his food, she said yes and started chattering excitedly about everything they'd done that day. For a while, Phil believed her. Then he took out the trash- a responsibility that was usually Dan's- and found all the food Dan had supposedly been eating.  "I'm home!" Phil announced, coming through the front door.  "Daddy!" Audrey squealed, sprinting over to him from where she'd been playing on the carpet. "Papa and I went swimming and there was a boy there who was a shark and we played and I dumped a bunch of water on his head and-"  Phil listened intently to his daughter's rambles, carrying the grocery bags in his hands over to the kitchen counter, and setting them down with a grunt. When his daughter stopped for air, he quickly interjected. "That's great Sweetie! Where's Papa?"  "I'm here!" Dan announced, walking briskly from his room. "Sorry, I was getting changed. Mind if I head to the gym? I want to go on the treadmill for a while." He gave Phil a quick peck on the lips, already grabbing for his wallet.  Phil blinked, taken a bit aback. "I was going to make dinner. I thought we could... spend some time as a family. Play a board game, maybe?"  "That sounds great!" Dan reached for the door knob. "I won't be long. Then we can play a board game!"  Phil grabbed his arm, pulling him into him. Dan bumped into his chest, eyes widening in surprise. "And eat dinner," Phil added, his voice low.  Dan could hardly hide his discomfort. But he managed to throw on a smile. "Yep. Sounds good. I'll be back soon."  He quickly left, without sending back any words of goodbye.  Phil didn't quite know what to do. Finally, he went into the kitchen and made dinner; low fat, low sodium, with lean meat and hearty vegetables. Something to tell Dan he could support his quest to be healthy- if that's what he really wanted. Honestly, Phil just wanted to make something that Dan would eat.  He finished cooking, and played with Audrey for a little while, checking his phone every so often. No texts. Surely Dan would tell him when he was on his way?  Time passed slowly, yet it kept passing, and still no text, and no Dan. Phil swallowed a lump in his throat. "Let's set the table, okay?"  Audrey immediately ran to the kitchen, grabbing the silverware. "I want the dinosaur cup! Then can we eat?"  "No, we're going to wait for your Papa to get home."  "I'm hungry!" She whined. "I want to eat now!"  Phil glanced at the clock. 7:06pm. "Audrey Katherine Lester, I told you to be patient. Do you need a time out?"   She was on the brim of tears, shaking her head slowly, face red with embarrassment.  "Then be patient, okay? How about we play hide and seek?"  "I don't want to," she said, a little more respectfully. "Can we please eat?"  Phil looked at the clock again, then at his phone. No text. "Yeah, okay. But when your Papa comes home, we're going to sit down and eat with him, okay? That way we can all... talk about our days."  Audrey was happy with this deal. But as they ate, and then played games, it became more and more apparent that Dan was going to be home after Audrey's bedtime.  Phil checked his phone constantly. Could he be hurt? Is something wrong? He didn't allow himself other thoughts, worse thoughts. What if he's not coming back?  Finally, fifteen minutes after Audrey's bedtime, Phil pulled out his phone and clicked on Dan's name in his favorites list. It rang, and rang, and-  "Daddy, the phones ringing," Audrey called from his room.  Phil hurried over and stared at the phone on Dan's nightstand, ringing away. Phil canceled his call, and a moment later, the phone stopped ringing. 

  Phil ended up putting her to bed, on his own. “Why isn’t Papa here yet?”

  “He’s just a little late. Don’t worry Sweetie, he’ll be home soon.” At least, Phil hoped. Had he said something wrong? Was it possible that Dan... that maybe he... maybe he wasn’t coming home?

  Audrey snuggled up against her pillow. “Tell Papa to say goodnight to me when he gets home. Okay Daddy?”

  “Okay Sweetie. Goodnight.” 

  Phil left her room, closing her door and turning off her lights like she always requested, and went to the living room and sat on his couch. He clutched his phone in his hand, and kept checking it, even though he knew Dan didn’t have his phone. Maybe he’d try to contact him some other way. Or maybe... maybe someone else would call him. Surely if something had happened, and Dan was hurt...

 Dan came home about half an hour later. Phil was still sitting on the couch.

  “Hey Phil, sorry about-” Dan stopped when he saw Phil’s expression. “Um... yeah. I meant to be home earlier.”

  He obviously didn’t. He knew just as well as Phil did what Audrey’s bedtime was, and would never miss it without letting her know. 

  Phil stared at the wall in front of him. “If you love me you’ll stop.”

  “If you love me you won’t give me ultimatums.”

  Phil almost didn’t want to look at him. “Your daughter is in her room. She wanted you to say goodnight to her.”

  Dan swallowed. “Okay.”

   Audrey was already asleep, but she woke up when the door opened. “Papa!”

  Even though she’d already been read to by Phil, Dan ended up reading her two stories. And then they talked for a few minutes, and then he tucked her in, kissed her forehead, promised he loved her, that there were no monsters under her bed or in her closet, and that he was going to be fine. She made him promise that he'd stop being sick. She made him promise that twice.  When Dan finally left her bedroom, far later than he should've, he found the dining table set with two plates of food, and a few candles. Standing in front of it was his husband.  "They're not scented candles," Phil announced."Somehow, I thought that'd be gross for eating dinner with."  Dan swallowed hard. "Good idea.” He didn’t sit down.

 Phil walked around the edge of the table, until he was standing a few feet in front of hios husband. “Were you at the gym that whole time?”

  “No,” Dan replied quickly. “I, uh... got lightheaded. Ended up going for a walk downtown. It’s really beautiful, there are lights in all the trees, and there’s street performers... I’d really like to take you and Audrey there some time.”

  “It sounds nice,” Phil agreed dryly. “You can’t do that again.”

  “Phil-”

  “Stop. I need you to hear me, and actually listen for once. You can’t... you can’t do that again.”

  Dan looked at his feet. Phil looked at his feet. 

  “I’m sorry.”

  “I need you to get better.”

  “I will, I promise.”

  “We have a daughter now. It isn’t just you and me anymore, we have a daughter. And I can’t be the best dad I can be for her if I’m too busy making sure you’re okay.”

  “I don’t need you to-”

  “I won’t have to if you start taking care of yourself.”

  Dan inhaled sharply. He took one step forwards, then another, until he was leaning against Phil’s chest, his expression covered by his husbands shirt. “I am sorry. I’m really, really sorry.”

  Phil bit his tongue. “I made dinner.”

  “I’m sorry Phil.”

  “I don’t want your apologies if they don’t mean anything.”

  “I... I want to get better.”

  “I want you to get better.”

  “I love you.”

  Phil sighed. “I... I made dinner.” He pulled away, stepping slowly over to Dan’s chair. He pulled it out for Dan, and pushed it in when he sat down. The room was incredibly quiet. Phil hurried around to the other side of the table, sitting down too. "Remember our first dinner date?" 

 "At the seafood place," Dan recalled, smiling lightly. "We got bad shrimp and you threw up in the bathroom. And you still refused to leave them a bad review."  "It was a new business!" Phil defended. "I wanted to support them!"  Dan laughed.  Phil picked up his fork, spearing a piece of chicken. He looked at Dan expectantly. 

 Dan picked up the utensils experimentally, and looked down at the plate of food. It did look good, in some way. His stomach churned.  He speared some chicken, and raised his fork to Phil. "To getting better," Phil announced.  Dan smiled. He hated food, hated the feeling of being full, hated what it did to his body. But he loved Phil. "To getting better," he agreed, and they tapped their forks together.  And Dan ate his chicken. In fact, he ate most of his dinner, even complimenting Phil on the taste. As he continued to eat, and he could feel himself become full, he realized maybe it wasn't all that bad. Maybe Dan didn't have to hate eating.  If he was honest with himself, he was tired of being hungry.

Fic Masterpost / Request A Fic For The 12 Days Of Prompts!

#hungry #eating disorder #parent!phan #parents #established relationship #starving #dan and phil #amazingphil #dansPHlevels #fanfic #fanfiction #phanfic #phanfiction #phan

[peterwknox]

Take Your Baby to Scotland I am as surprised as you are that taking a 7.5 month old to Scotland was a good idea. Make that pleasantly surprised, starting seconds after landing in Edinburgh airport where the first thing we saw was a 'baby center' with cushioned changing tables, or the free daycare at the Scottish Parliament when we took a tour, and the hassle-free and actual free healthcare (more on that in a minute), plus the exchange rate is pretty great for Americans. Scotland is where all you have to do is look around to take in the natural beauty of the dramatic landscape and architecture - made even easier with changing tables in historic castle and 14th century pub alike, and every restaurant was ultimately family friendly once Riley charmed the crowd (children are allowed at most bars until 9pm which seemed very reasonable). Traveling with a baby is like being a little bit famous - people will smile at you, take photos of your baby sleeping in a hiking backpack, and things are just a little bit more difficult where they used to be fast and loose. We traveled over 700 miles in the car, staying in 5 different hotels in 4 different cities over 8 nights, carting Riley around in the stroller, car seat, baby carrier, and hiking backpack. She was in our arms, her travel highchair, on the bed, or in her travel cot. We hiked mountains, traversed cities, and made a million photo stops along the way (the Highlands are especially beautiful, proving the phrase "scenic drive" to be redundant in Scotland). We boarded our plane home with 5 extra diapers & a few formula bottles left... whew! Just being able to spend every minute together, uninterrupted and all doing the same thing, is the real value in a vacation, especially with a baby) I swear Riley crawled, said 'dada', learned to drink water, and winked at me all in less than a week). But the photos you don't see in the hundreds we took were the hard parts over the week. Having never traveled on a long trip with an infant, we didn't know what to expect but these 9 days of sharing one room/car with a baby never more than an arm's length away was a true trial by fire of full 'immersion parenting' where we absolutely bonded as a family, leveled up as parents, and practiced teamwork alongside improvisation to survive - which I mean literally. I didn't take any photos of us up all night as Riley's resistance to local time zones brought us back to when she was just a baby incapable of sleeping through the night. This improved slightly over the week (had to wake her up this AM for the flight) but ended up suiting us once we stopped fighting it - the sunset wasn't until 9:30 anyway, so we'd have a late dinner and walk before returning home for a near midnight bedtime (and miss the free hotel breakfast each morning). Hopefully this aids the transition back to EST considering we never really left it for long. I didn't take any photos of the ambulance or the hospital, but Riley chose the exact right moment on the trip to show her first fever. Fortunately we had a thermometer with us to verify our suspicions, but no medicine to treat it (lesson learned). Our innkeeper called the ambulance because she knew we were worried about what to do with a first time fever, far from home. The ambulance was actually across the street and they wanted to take Riley to the hospital just to be sure and that hospital was just 25 minutes away, the closest we'd be to a hospital the rest of the week, and Liz the night nurse took us in right away, checked Riley out to make sure it was just the virus/fever and nothing else, then gave us the medicines we'd need along with the knowledge how to handle the fever. We filled out no paperwork and paid no invoice (I love this country) for basic Tylenol and ibuprofen that we would have had a really hard time finding ourselves at midnight in a tiny mountain town. The next few days felt like a literal rollercoaster as her temperature would spike, we'd force medicine down, then fall and repeat. Fortunately we were in the real "road trip" part of the week, so there were long hours of forced car seat rest. Unfortunately this meant we were on a remote island many miles on a single lane country road from a hospital more prepared to handle rock climbing falls than infant fevers. But we learned her rhythms and Riley's personality never wavered, giving us confidence and the trip we had wanted, albeit with a new constant layer of anxiety - awaiting each temperature check ('checking the oil') like the results of an HIV test in the eighties after an orgy (ok - it merely felt like life or death, but it was far closer than we could ever hope for our daughter). But the trip goes on, we were just more cautious and taking things slower. The fever got worse before it got better but it eventually got better and the day before we left we didn't have to give her any medicine at all (again, perfect timing). These things happen (as my mom said, Kids get sick), but we're left wondering if she would've gotten sick had we stayed home, should we have done things differently, could we have checked her temp sooner, etc. Regardless, we were lucky in many ways (timing, location, help) and couldn't be more grateful to Scotland where everyone was friendly, generous, understanding, and caring for an American couple with a baby on their first trip. Is traveling with a baby selfish? After all we'll remember this trip forever but she won't (except for the photos and there are some great ones), and certainly there are people on the plane (and back in the US seeing our posts this week) that think so - and that was before hearing about the fever. This won't change their mind, but I remain convinced that Andrea and I grew stronger in our relationship to each other (and our baby) and more experienced as parents. Traveling is something we both love to do so it was important to see how we could do it as parents (ie. we want to see Scotland but we don't want to miss our baby, solution is to bring the baby). It worked. We had fun. Sure we didn't necessarily relax, read any books, stay out at the bars, or even write the postcards we bought stamps for but we did see a lot of Scotland, take some memorable hikes, and fall in love with our family, all the while beating a fever together. Amazing credit goes to Andrea who made me promise to take her to Scotland when she took my (somewhat Scottish) last name 3.5 years ago, then spent the precious few minutes during her maternity leave when she wasn't feeding or sleeping to plan this incredible trip for us, and then went above and beyond in caring for Riley over the last week: holding her on both flights, up with her on every late hotel night so I could pretend to rest enough to drive us, eating at a fine dining restaurant with one hand and holding the baby in the other, and carrying the baby all over town (and up our four flights to the Airbnb flat). Sure, I played the role of pack mule and driver as well as an extra set of hands, but Andrea always put Riley first - which is what we both wanted for this trip. We learned to divide our resources among caring for the baby, enjoying the surroundings, caring for ourselves, and finally for each other. Somehow we were able to do all that, come out better for it, and with just a few diapers to spare. But I can see just how impossible this would be with more than just the one kid. They all say to travel when you can (i.e. when they're infants) and I'm glad to have learned that we still can, selfishly. As an actual Scot said to me in farewell: "May your days be more sunny than rainy."

[babaleshy]

I know I haven’t touched this thing for a while but whatever. I’m gonna rant. Yes, it’s about my folks. Yes, they are Trump supporters. No, I still can’t move out because my husband and I cannot afford it nor is there any jobs in the area that pay enough for us to move out.

On with the rant (plus, like, a mental health update which I will do first).

Going to get re-evaluated for ADHD because as much as I loved seeing Mark for counseling, he wanted to simply focus on my struggles, hence why I was diagnosed with EFD. He was great, helpful, all that. Just... There’s other stuff going on with all of these signs pointing to ADHD, and I actually forget that sometimes symptoms outside of executive functioning issues can get in the way because my depression makes me forget shit.

On top of this, Paulnetta (my new counselor) has referred me to a couple of places to go and get tested for dyslexia and other learning disabilities. What has kept me from getting tested the past couple of months is that my ID expired back in April and I fucking forgot about it. I’m going to the DMV tomorrow to get my ID renewed but will have to wait for it to appear in the mail, now, because of bureaucratic bullshit. Once I get my ID, I can finally get tested for a learning disability and FINALLY apply for goddamn Medicaid.

I’m getting mighty sick of what my parents are pulling. I’ll start with my mom since there’s not TOO much bullshit to bitch about with her like there is with my dad.

My mom still won’t engage much with me in conversation about anything I want to talk about. But the moment she decides to talk, she immediately changes the topic to her favorite country singer or something about horses. I don’t hate horses as in the animal, but looking at anything involving horses has me feeling rage because of her. She keeps getting old horses (never surpassing 3 horses) that aren’t really able to be ridden, wanting a few for companionship so no one feels alone when my mom rides the only one that is capable of being ridden. Horses are social animals. I get this. All fine and well. But my mother does the ABSOLUTE FUCKING BARE MINIMUM care for these animals. They’re healthy and doing okay mentally, but she has yet to ride since I moved back that I can remember. SHE SPENT WHO KNOWS HOW MUCH MONEY ON A ROUND PEN AND SHE STILL HASN’T RIDDEN THE HORSE SHE WANTS TO RIDE. She just sits on the couch on her phone AND tablet watching livestreams of her favorite country singer who has developed this cult surrounding the pledge of allegiance while being on FB interacting with other horse owners. My mom seems to like the aesthetic of the western/country/farm lifestyle without actually LIVING it, and I’m betting it’s because she’s too old and tired from working 6 days a week at a minimum wage job she’s been at since the mid 90s and refused to consider looking for another because she knows people who work there and shop there (small business hardware store). On top of all of this, she refuses to listen to any other radio station unless it’s country, so that plays on constant in the living room for the dog when my parents aren’t home, or she has it on in the truck and wonders why I have my earbuds in. She BLASTS anything she and my dad watch, which includes but is not limited to things like Last Man Standing, NCIS, faux news, and pseudo-hillbilly shit shows from the 60s and 70s on YouTube.

This woman did not interact with me on my terms in the past unless it was something she was interested in. If I distracted her from her soap operas or baseball/football games, she got pissed. As an adult? If she does interact with me, it’s because it involves the topic of money. My mom IMMEDIATELY gets pissed at me when I inquire about our financial situation. I don’t complain, I’m not nosy as fuck, I just wanna know “hey, can I get some help getting thirty-something bucks worth of lumber so I can build shelves for my room since I have no income?” Nope, the topic bothers my mom too much. I don’t even think she listens to me talk to her when she doesn’t participate in conversation because she is just... ADDICTED to FB. Like, hopelessly fucking addicted. And she used to get on my ass about being on MY computer too much in high school! (circa 2005-2007)

And now, onto the dumpster fire that is my father.

The bastard is having us live in a meatlocker. The air is so cold and so dry here that my skin is very dry, my nose is CONSTANTLY running and bleeding, and I’m too cold to do ANYTHING most of the time, including sitting at my desk to do anything from art to surfing the web! He uses his breathing issues as an excuse, but it was never this cold in the summer last year or any years prior. He says it’s to keep the humidity down. By the same damn excuse, because we do NOT have a working ventilation fan, and opening the bathroom window (which faces the street) would expose us and give us no privacy, my dad HAS THE HAIR DRYER RUNNING BY THE BATHROOM SINK WHILE HE SHOWERS. His logic? “The heat will cause the moisture to evaporate!” Not kidding. But he’s huffing and wheezing by the time he’s done in the bathroom. And he won’t listen to me when I tell him just how wrong he is.

The bitter old bastard has whatever they’re watching on blast in the living room. He re-clutters whatever I de-clutter. He tries picking fights with my husband by purposefully trying to engage him in topics my husband doesn’t want to talk about to get my husband to react a certain way (never works because my husband caught on real fast). This is all my dad trying to “establish dominance” or some bullshit like that. He’s flaunting the fact that he can be a piece of shit all he wants to us, and if we put up enough of a fight, he can kick us out. He’s also hoping (and he’s used a similar logic on other shit before in the past) that he pisses us off enough to move out, because he thinks we can move out whenever we want. This guy has not been in the real world since ‘95 or ‘96, and before that, hadn’t had to look for a job since the ‘70s, hadn’t had to look for another place to live since the ‘90s. He has no idea how expensive rent is, how shit the job opportunities are around here, how it’s impossible to find a decent paying job and be expected to make rent while being able to feed one’s self, etc. He is so detached from reality that he’s trying to delude himself that shit still works like it did in the 70s.

I had to make up a lie that I get car sick unless I have my music. The reality of it is that my dad stresses me out so much I fear him bringing up a topic we both know I won’t be able to keep my mouth shut on to where he will then stress me out, threaten my life, and then tell me he threatened my life “just so I would shut up.” So, dad believing that I get car sick without my music, he claims it’s a “problem with the middle ear,” which is a thing with some people, so I’m playing along with that. Gives me an excuse to not listen to my mom’s piece of shit radio station in the truck on those VERY DAMN FEW times she takes me somewhere (seriously, unless it’s to work, seeing a local country concert, or seeing her sister, my mom doesn’t wanna leave the house) and not have to explain to her why I bury my head in my own music when she won’t fucking talk to me about shit I wanna talk about, shit I’ve wanted to talk about since childhood but she doesn’t fucking care. She tried so hard to get me to be like her, wanting to live on a farm, but it failed. She knows it failed. So she doesn’t wanna talk unless it’s about the lifestyle she always wanted.

And this is the weird part, they have views and shit that would make you go “that’s not very typical of a Trump supporter” so because they’re “not so bad” to other moderates or right-wingers, I don’t have a right to complain. My parents know evolution is a thing (yet are climate change deniers), have no problem with me being a Pagan or practicing witchcraft (but will talk shit about Muslims), think that Halloween is too kiddified and the fun is sucked out of it (but there’s a “war on xmas”), and thought I spent way too much time in my room on my computer in high school (but they rarely leave their own internet devices in the living room; dad just has a computer but refuses to touch social media and hates modern technology despite being hopelessly addicted to YouTube). Like...?

Here’s what’s sad...

When my parents first got together and had me, they were a loving married couple with a kid. My brother came along, things were still smooth sailing. Dad gets hurt and we’re plunged into inescapable poverty and all of a sudden dad ignores me, mom ignores me, only interaction is breakfast, dinner, and screaming and belittling. That’s it. There was still favorites, and because the favorite died, it’s like I don’t matter that much to them, especially since I didn’t turn out anything special like they’d hoped for. They won’t own up to their mistakes, they conveniently ignore that half the time growing up I was yelled at for lack of social interaction outside of forced interaction with my brother and having ADHD and anxiety. In fact, I still can’t tell if they’re the cause of my anxiety or if I was born with it because of how young I was when the complete one-eighty with them happened.

And yet they still act like they’ll be wealthy someday, so they support the rich getting tax cuts and worship the cheetoh in office. I think they banked on me and my brother becoming successful and wealthy after high school that they continued to avoid admitting they’re stuck in poverty. Now they think they’ll eventually get wealthy with the fucking royalties on the oil (spoilers: no, lol, they’re kinda getting screwed actually but won’t admit it) or hitting the lottery.

Dad presses all of these money-making ideas onto me, ideas I don’t care about or don’t like, and won’t do it himself. He won’t even write stories to have them published because that would mean he’d have a hobby. Too much work. He even said the whole reason why he got a job at the steel mill was so he didn’t have to think. He literally claimed he’d rather have someone think for him and admitted that he’s proud to be ignorant of technology. No, I’m not kidding.

So my husband and I are forced to live with these two assholes, whose marriage is barely held together (they barely interact with one another, and when they do, half the time one is pissed at the other) and only keep the marriage going because divorce is expensive and at least they’re not as bad as their exes (mom had her jaw broken by an ex, dad was nearly killed by an ex).

Once they move north, we’ll be going with them, attend Kent State, and get the fuck out of Ohio. And I’m never looking back.

#personal #rant #needed to get this off my chest

[neurodiverseactivism-blog]

Progress

Another day, you can do this.

I stared at my underwear-clad reflection and grimaced. I cupped my hands around my waist and sucked in, seeing if my thumbs and fingertips would still meet together on the front and back of my waist. They still did. Stepping back, I stood with my feet apart, my back slightly pushed out, and looked towards my thighs in the reflection. This was the very first thing I did in the morning, every morning.

Sighing, I slid the scale from out under her bed – the metal ice cold against my dry, ashy fingers. I wonder if Ashley, my roommate, knows about my scale. Or about me. About this. I stepped onto the scale and squeezed my eyes shut. My heartbeat quickened and my fingers trembled. It was 97.3 yesterday. I waited desperately for the beep, what was a mere 3 seconds felt like minutes.

The scale read 97.9. Progress. A sense of calming rushed over me, but my anxiety still pounded in my chest. I’m still not completely over it – these numbers. My mind cleared up. Good job today. One day at a time. I stared at the breakfast bars sitting on my desk. Five months ago, I would have never touched those bars, or maybe I would’ve wolfed them down just to throw them out hours later in shame. One hundred and eighty-one calories. I knew it all by heart. Banana: hundred and five calories. Cup of coffee: thirty calories.  Bowl of Honey Nut Cheerios: hundred and ten.

My phone buzzed, liberating me from all the calories I had memorized over the years. There must have been so many numbers poking at me each day. Just a single notification.

 9:30 – EAT BREAKFAST NOW.

I looked at the bar again. Who even eats breakfast in the morning in college? I unwrapped it, the silver crinkling under the weight of my dry fingers. Nobody, except everyone will eat lunch and dinner unlike you. I chocked the bar down. Progress. I pack my bag and I even take the bus to class today – walking to class and burning those 50 calories really doesn’t make sense anymore.

I am on the road to recovery. It has been five months since I fainted in the gym after not eating anything but pretzels and water for 4 days. Since I finally had a talk with my parents, who I had hid my problem from for so long, who I had lied to every day to keep my anorexia under the radar, who could’ve helped me if only I had listened. I was stubborn and didn’t want change in my life. I had moments of fleeting happiness. I wasn’t depressed. But when your only happiness in life comes the number of calories you eat every day or the red digital numbers that show up on the scale, change must happen and I knew there was something wrong with me.

I knew the whole time, it was just so hard to change. It became a habit - I would count my calories every night before I fell asleep or every time I saw a food, its calorie count would pop up in my head. It still happens even now but I manage my body.

In my bag, I have everything I need for the day. No, not what you’re thinking of. Of course, I have my laptop and notebooks and textbooks, but more importantly, I have my meals for the day. The doctor put me on a tight diet, something like a reverse diet so I actually eat. I have snacks: an apple (ninety-five calories) and a bag of pretzels (hundred and ten calories). I also have a salad with dressing. Yep, I said it, with dressing. Around a hundred calories with an additional eighty calories worth of dressing. All this for a single day when it would've been my weekly meal in the past. Progress.

11:00 - EAT SNACK NOW

My phone buzzes annoying in my back pocket, and I don’t even have to look at it to know what it's screaming at me for. I reach into my bag and take out the apple. My day revolves around these notifications on my phone. My classes are even planned around them, which can make scheduling difficult but I need to manage it. Before, I planned my classes specifically during lunch and I would have work right around dinner. That way I had an excuse for myself to skip out on my meals. I chomped on my apple, calories and sugar tickled my taste buds. I would have friends use my card and meal plan just so my parents wouldn't find out. I didn’t even want to be around food.

1:30 - EAT LUNCH. ALL OF IT.

I thought used to be in control. That I was strong. I found an excuse for my miserable life that made everything I did seem reasonable. Nights where I couldn’t fall asleep because my stomach was growling showed me how much "willpower" I had. Who else could do what I was doing? Those people are just giving in to their desires when eating and I was "disciplined". But really, it was I who was giving in to something even worse. I'd be jealous of those people in the cafeteria who could just devour their lunches. I wanted to be like them, but my mind was holding me back. When I would go to the gym whenever I had free time, I thought I was doing it for my body. The gym was where I'd go amidst the anxiety of dealing with my anorexia since there was no food there, no intrusive thoughts, only opportunities to get even skinnier. I'd run through the pain. My body would ache for help, but running on the treadmill until I would almost pass out from exhaustion was supposed to be "good" for me. I mean, look at all the calories I burned.

4:00 - EAT SNACK NOW

My phone buzzes as I open the bag of pretzels. Anxiety and panic set in. It's Sarah's birthday and my friends are planning to go somewhere nice for dinner. Meet for dinner? Where are we going? What time? If I go, will I eat too much? Will I eat too little? Thoughts race through my head. We haven't all gotten together in forever. I want to but I have to prioritize. They move the time around, accommodating for me, but I can't. I tell them no again and again. I feel like a horrible friend. The pretzels feel like sand in my mouth. I don't want to eat them anymore. I can't go tonight - that would mean sacrificing so much. These are the repercussions I have to deal with now. They probably think I hate them or something. But I'm too embarrassed to tell them about this. About me. I tell them I'll see them another time. The bag of carbohydrates is still staring at me. I force myself to eat them one by one. Progress.

7:00 – EAT DINNER NOW

I flip through the sheets of paper that my nutritionist has given me, looking for an appropriate dinner. My nutritionist has spoken with the cafeterias and he’s come up with this extensive dietary plan just for myself. I settle on a sandwich – I don’t want to leave my dorm. Three hundred and forty-eight calories. My mind is still hovering over my friends and all the fun they’re having together at dinner. My anorexia, my mindset, has not gone away and I expect it to never leave. All the thoughts are lingering in the corners of my mind but I battle to ignore them. Eating is a battle. Recovery is a battle.

One hundred and eighty-one calories.

Ninety-five calories.

One hundred and eighty calories.

One hundred and ten calories.

Three hundred and forty-eight calories.

Total: Nine hundred and fourteen calories.

Progress.