#I don’t even necessarily want A Solution I just wanna know what the fucks wrong at this point

[vampirebutterflies]

why must the sexiest bitches suffer the worst aggies

#not gonna lie I think this was my second time having smth w codeine and it didn’t? really do anything? like the relief lasted maybe 20mins #half hour at the most before it started being more than an ache again #like it wasn’t excruciating it was back at what’s been my standard Noticeably Painful But Can Be Sort Of Ignored level so. wasn’t worth #staying on ward but like. isn’t codeine meant to be ur severe pain thing. like surely that should’ve taken the Noticeably Painful pain too #for longer than half an hour #iunno #anyway like I said second(?) time and it didn’t really seem like much so idk if I just like. function at pain levels #where I probably shouldn’t still be alive like. on the weekly. or if I’m just one of the lucky ones who doesn’t process the drug as I should #I love knowing smth is still obviously wrong but having normal test results and not really having other resources or any clue what to look @ #I’m very heavily torn between “I must be being dramatic / it’s a psychosomatic thing” and “there really feels like something physically #wrong but I don’t know what or who to ask or how to find out what it is” #exhausting shit #I don’t even necessarily want A Solution I just wanna know what the fucks wrong at this point #mercury.txt

[stellardeer]

Bad mood today rant time dont care i fucking HATE parents that are just mean as fuck to their kids for doing regular fucking kid shit

This was prompted from that post going around talking about how parents actually embarrass themselves when they yell at their kids for embarrassing them or whatever and i want to go off about it

Fucking HATE HATE HATE that most people dont even fucking feel like they have a right to say anything because there’s such a big fucking deal over “this is my kid i will raise them how i want you can’t tell me how to be a parent” etc kind of fucking mindset

CHILDREN HAVE SO LITTLE FUCKING AUTONOMY IT’S INSANE AND THEN WE CREATED A CULTURE IN WHICH PEOPLE WHO SEE WRONG BEING DONE CAN’T EVEN SPEAK OUT OTHERWISE THEY ARE THE ONE BEING IMPOLITE FOR IMPOSING ON SOMEONE ELSE’S PARENTING

FUCK THAT FUCK THAT FUCK THAT

AND NOW THE ABORTION BANS?

THE ABORTION BANS?

CAN YOU IMAGINE?

THE AMOUNT OF PARENTS WHO DON’T FUCKING WANT THEIR KIDS AND DON’T KNOW HOW TO BE A GOOD PARENT BECAUSE THEY DIDN’T WANT TO BE WHO WILL THEN END UP TAKING THAT OUT ON THEIR CHILD??

I can’t tell you how many fucking young (teen or barely out of teens) parents I’ve seen, who are still not mentally or emotionally mature whatsoever because they are still basically a child themselves, ignoring their fucking kids cause they’re tired and wanna relax and just be on their phone or whatever and whining at their kid to leave them alone like they would to a younger sibling or some shit, it’s disgraceful

And I can’t blame the parent necessarily because they weren’t ready to have a child and they chose to go through with an unplanned pregnancy anyway, i do have sympathy for them, but IMAGINE HOW MANY FUCKING MORE INSTANCES THERE WILL BE OF THIS IF ABORTION IS NOT AN OPTION AT ALL

AND THE STORIES ABOUT YOUNG WOMEN MANIPULATED INTO GETTING PREGNANT SO THEIR BOYFRIEND CAN “TRAP” THEM???? (Or other combination of genders involved)

A CHILD IS NOT A SOLUTION FOR A FAILING RELATIONSHIP. A CHILD IS NOT A CONTRACT BETWEEN TWO PEOPLE. A CHILD WILL NOT INHERENTLY FIX YOUR LIFE OR BRING YOU HAPPINESS OR GIVE YOU A REASON TO LIVE OR WHAT THE FUCK EVER.

FUCK.

Be nice to your fucking children let them fucking have fun.

#abortion ban #abuse tw #idk how to tag

[velvetstreets]

Who’s Better?

Jack x Reader x Urban! 😮‍💨😈

Concept: Y/N being FWB with both Jack and Urban, and now they wanna know who’s better in bed.

A/N: hiiiiii! this is my first jack fic, and it’s been a while since I’ve written fanfic lol so I hope this goes well! This is just an (eventually) smutty concept I came up with earlier today lol, feedback is v much appreciated and let me know if i should make a pt 2 😛. I also wrote this on my phone cause my laptop is actin up right now 😩 so let me know if there are any issues trying to read it!

PART 2 HERE

PART 3 HERE

MINORS DNI 18+, implied smut, mentions of drinking and smoking, details of sex.

———————————————————————

You had been friends with Jack and Urban for a while now, having met them at an afterparty that you were DJing for. You three bonded over music and soon became great friends. Eventually Jack started to take you on tour with him every once in a while - only when you permitted him to, as you still wanted to get gigs on your own and not depend on the fact that you had a friend who’s a famous rapper who needed a DJ.

Being on tour with the boys made your relationship with them even closer, in ways you didn’t expect. After many giggly drunken nights out and chill nights smoking weed on tour, you had eventually slept with both Jack and Urban respectively. To your relief, neither of the boys had an issue with this, and to your surprise, they actually wanted to continue sleeping with you. When you questioned them why (as they could hook up with multiple girls during tour), they explained that they were each tired of the attachments that many of the girls they hooked up with came with, and wanted something more consistent and comfortable with someone they each knew. Not necessarily a relationship (yet), but a more friends with benefits type situation. That’s how your arrangement with Jack and Urban came to life.

Currently, it was a Friday night and you were hanging out at Jack and Urban’s apartment, watching some random show on Netflix while the three of you sat around drinking and smoking. Eventually you all got tired of the show and started talking when Jack said something that caught you off guard.

“Y/N who’s a better fuck, me or Urban?”

“What?” You turned to look at him with wide eyes.

“Yeah-“ Urban chimed in. “Who’s better, me or Jack?”

“No one is better or worse, y’all are just… different.” You explained, looking between the two men who sat on either side of you.

“Different how?” Jack asked, prying for more details.

“I don’t know… just different. You’re more soft and attentive and caring, and don’t get me wrong - you can get down and dirty if you want to, but you like to take your time with me and show appreciation for me and my body in a gentle way that makes me feel like I’m the only person you crave.” You explain as a sly smirk creeps it’s way onto Jack’s pink lips.

“But you like it NASTY, which pleases the freak in me.” You laughed, turning to look at Urban.

He smiled at you with a joint hanging out his plump lips.

“You always wanna go ROUNDS, and are so adamant about making sure I cum several times, love to overstimulate me until I’m basically happy crying.” You say as your heart rate starts to increase and your legs clench together. All this detailed talk about sex with the both of them was making you horny.

Both Jack and Urban noticed this and grinned, making mental notes about the different things that appealed to you sexually.

“Okay so then there’s an obvious solution to see who’s better.” Urban said as he exhaled the smoke from his joint. You looked at him cluelessly, trying to get your mind off of the pool of wetness that had started to form in your panties.

“We switch up our game.” He continued. “Next time we have sex it’ll be slow and intimate, and the next time you fuck Jack it’ll be rough and nasty.” He said, looking to Jack to see if he agreed.

You looked back at Jack who was already nodding in agreement and had a competitive and excited look in his blue eyes.

“Y’all are crazy, I’m not about to have sex with y’all just so I can judge you guys?” You exclaimed, not wanting anyone to feel bad or that they weren’t good at sex.

“Y/N baby, you’re getting too in your head about this. I promise we’re cool, no one’s gonna be upset or jealous. This is simply two friends trying to see who can take care of their third friend the best, sexually; - an observation if you will- just for fun.” Jack said, his hand coming down to rub your inner thigh.

“I just don’t want anyone to feel excluded or bad about themselves.” You muttered, looking at Jack and then at Urban.

“There’s nothing to worry about sweet face, all you need to do is relax and let us take care of you and that sweet pussy of yours, yeah?” Urban spoke, his voice lower and now filled with lust as he moved to kiss your temple.

“O-Okay” You whispered, shuddering at Urban’s breath against your neck and Jack’s hand starting to rub your pussy over the black silk booty shorts you had on.

“So who goes first?” You questioned.

“Me.” Jack said with a devilish tone in his voice and hungry look in his eyes.

“Go ahead and grab some water from the fridge already, cause when I’m finished with you, you won’t be able to leave my bed, much less walk to the kitchen.” He whispered in your ear as Urban got up off the couch to leave so you and Jack could have the place for yourselves.

“I’ll be back for you later babe” Urban winked and kissed your cheek as he and Jack shared a mischievous look and he walked out the door.

As soon as the door shut, you turned to look at Jack, who was already looking at you.

“Upstairs. Now princess.” He spoke, his deep voice solidifying the fact that your panties were now indeed soaked.

You gulped, nodding and running up the stairs to Jack’s room as his laugh trailed behind you, excited for what he had in store for you.

#jack harlow #urban wyatt #jack harlow x reader #jack harlow concepts #jack harlow x you #jack harlow smut #jack harlow blurb #jack harlow imagine #fan fiction

[puckinghell]

Acts Of Service | Elias Pettersson

Summary: When people have different love languages, sometimes it’s hard to understand what the other is trying to say. 4 times Elias shows you he loves you, and the 1 time you tell him.  Words: 7.5k (whoops) Note: This concept was very interesting to explore. Also yes, this entire thing was written because of that one picture of Elias in that blue sweater stepping out of the car like a fucking GQ model. 

----

(Some time ago)

“Didn’t you say there’s an apartment free in your building?” Brock asked as soon as you answered the phone, forgoing the “hello”.

“Hello, Brock, my very good friend, how nice to talk to you! How are you doing?” you deadpanned.

At least he had the decency to sound ashamed. “Ah, yes, hi. Sorry. I’m just in a hurry and it’s important.”

You frowned. “Why? Are you looking to move?”

“No.” Brock laughed. “Stetch would kill me. No, it’s about the rookie. Petey? I told you about him. Swedish, quiet, best fucking hands in the league.”

Yes. Brock had told you about the rookie, although you still thought it dumb to call him that. Brock was basically still a rookie himself.

“What does that have to do with my apartment building?”

“He said no to having a billet family but everyone on the team thinks it’d be good for him to have someone to kinda look out for him a bit. He’s never been to Canada before this, you know, and he’s never lived on his own either. His English isn’t that great and everything is new for him. And since you’re such a caring, loving person, we thought…”

“You thought I could babysit him?” you finished for Brock.

“It’s not babysitting. Just, being friendly if he needs anything. Obviously we’re there for that too, but it’d be nice to have you so close by.”

Close by would be an understatement: the free apartment was across the hall from yours.

You weren’t sure if this sounded like something that you would necessarily want to do, but you did feel a bit sorry for Elias: you’d met him at a team thing earlier that week and he’d looked completely lost in the midst of all the Canadian hockey slang that you barely managed to follow, even after having been friends with Brock for years. He mostly kept to Eagle, spoke in Swedish, and his eyes flickered nervously across the room whenever anyone else approached him.

“Fine,” you sighed, “I’ll talk to my landlord. But you owe me, Blondie.”

Brock was happy enough that he didn’t even call you out on the nickname.

1. 

“Have I told you lately how much of a lifesaver you are?” You lean across your desk, resting your chin in your hands. Elias looks mildly amused as he hands you the papers.

“Nearly every day,” he says, “but then I save your life every day, so that seems fair.”

You grab the papers from his hands.

“You’re a lifesaver and the love of my life, Petey.”

You think back to when Elias just moved into your apartment building, only because Brock thought he needed someone to look after him. You could laugh, now, thinking about how wrong he’d been.

Elias is the most self-sufficient, independent person you know. You don’t think he’s ever needed anything from anyone. Like in hockey, where he can make the play and score the goal all at the same time, Elias has his life together.

Unlike you.

Despite the fact that Elias hadn’t needed much help from you, you had become very fast friends. His quick witted sarcasm always managed to make you laugh and he liked how upfront and honest you were with him about things. It was easy, too, to spend time together. With him living just across the hall, you found yourself wandering to his apartment whenever you were bored, and he showed up at yours often when he didn’t feel like cooking.

Just because he could cook, didn’t mean he always wanted to.

And ever since the two of you had become friends, Elias had your back. When you needed someone to water your plants, or feed your cat Puck – Brock had named him – or, apparently, bring you the important work papers that you forgot at home after having worked on them all weekend.

You groan as you flick through the papers. “I thought I was going to die. Without these I can’t finish my presentation.”

“When is it?” Elias asks, eyes searching behind you. You know he’s looking out for your asshole of a boss, who will use any excuse to yell at you, especially the unannounced visit of a friend.

“Tomorrow. I got all the content in these papers here, but I still have to make the PowerPoint.” You sigh. “It’s still so much work.”

“Oh.” Elias’ face lights up. “Almost forgot. Brought you this.” Triumphantly, he reaches down and comes up with a paper bag from your favorite coffee shop.

The words fall off your lips in a gasp. “You didn’t!”

“Strawberry scone and a large caramel macchiato with soy milk.” Elias grins. “I also got you a chocolate chip cookie for later.”

“Marry me,” you proclaim, as you make grabby hands for the bag. The coffee is precisely what you need and your mouth is already watering at the idea of the food.

“Get me a ring, then,” Elias jokes, as he starts getting up from the chair.

Something tightens in your stomach, so you quickly take a bite of the scone: anything to push those feelings to the side. It works a little, and at the very least it tastes amazing.

You’re just friends. If you were gonna be anything more, Elias would’ve made a move already. Or, if you’d been brave enough, you would’ve: but he’s never said anything to make you think he’s interested and quite frankly, you’re not that brave.

“Thank you,” you say, mouth still full of scone, and Elias wrinkles his nose at that as you knew he would.

“I’m going to the store now,” he says, “anything you want me to pick up for you?”

“Wine?” you ask, hopeful. “I’m gonna need it after today.”

Elias rolls his eyes at you, but when you come home after the most grueling day at work there’s a bottle of rosé sitting in your fridge, next to a bag full of your favorite Thai take out food.

Love you, you quickly text Elias, even though you know he can’t answer because the game is about to start.

You take some time showering and putting on comfortable clothes, then situate yourself on the couch and put on the game. It has already begun, and you know it’s not gonna be an easy one, against the Bruins.

It’s not until the first intermission, when you check your phone, that you see there’s a reply from Elias waiting for you.

It’s just a simple heart emoji, but it makes your heart race anyway.

2.

“This is the worst thing that’s ever happened to me.”

“I can barely hear you.” Fiona’s tone is disapproving, and you pull your mouth away from where you’d pressed it into your arm to scream.

“I said, this is the worst thing that’s ever happened to me!”

She laughs. “It’s just a car, Y/N.”

You don’t necessarily like your job, but Fiona is one of the reasons you’re still putting up with it. She’s not just a colleague anymore, slowly turning into a friend and someone you confide into about everything – even about your Elias problem – and you love her, but sometimes you could murder her.

“It’s not just a car,” you bite. “It’s my only mode of transportation, because you know how much I hate taking the bus, and it’s broken, and I probably can’t even afford to get it fixed. And now I have to walk home, and it’s raining.”

“Well, when you put it like that,” Fiona admits.

After a long day at work, you couldn’t wait to get home and watch The Bachelor until you fell asleep, your cat in your lap. However, when you finally got away from the office and stepped into your car, it was clear the universe had different plans.

It didn’t start.

After trying approximately 15 times, you’d screamed, nearly cried, hit the steering wheel, and then went back inside to scream and cry a little more at Fiona’s desk.

“I just wanna go home, Fi.” You know you sound miserable, but you honestly can’t help it. Taking the bus always heightens your anxiety, so you avoid it at all costs: however, walking home in this pouring rain doesn’t seem like much fun either.

And Fiona can’t even bring you home, because she takes the bus to work like a normal person.

“There’s a simple solution to this, you know,” Fiona says. She starts to organize the papers on her desk, a clear sign that she’s getting ready to leave the office as well. “You could just call…”

“No,” you interrupt her, knowing exactly where she’s going with this. “I can’t call Elias. He’s got the boys over today and I won’t interrupt his fun with my misery. Besides, he does too much for me already, I can’t ask him for more.”

“Right,” Fiona drawls, “but when he hears that you were stuck here and didn’t call him…”

She doesn’t finish her sentence, but she doesn’t have to.

Elias would be furious.

One time, you were on a night out when you got a little too tipsy and didn’t realize your phone had died. By the time you noticed, all your friends had already jumped in their respective Ubers, but you had been too busy chatting with some girl you didn’t know to order yours, and now you couldn’t because you didn’t have a phone. 

You knew you could’ve asked any random person to order you an Uber, or at least to borrow their phone to call Elias – it’s not like you didn’t know his number by heart – but that felt like too much. It had been 3 am and he had a game the next day, so you decided to walk home.

When he found out the next day, he got so mad he didn’t talk to you for 4 days. Eventually, you couldn’t take it anymore and just sat on his couch pouting at him until he spoke to you again.

“Something could’ve happened,” he’d muttered, explaining to you why he got mad in the first place. “And I’m your best friend, and you should know me enough to know that I would much rather you wake me up than you walk home alone.”

You did know that, and he was your best friend, and you’d promised him you’d never do it again.

It’s only that promise, that causes you to reach for your phone.

“I’m texting him, but if he’s busy, I’m walking,” you tell Fiona stubbornly. She ignores you, which is probably fair enough.

Hey, you busy right now? Are the guys still there?

The answer comes right away. What’s wrong?

Damn, he knows you too well. You quickly explain the situation and before you know it, Elias is on his way to come get you, and Fiona is bidding you goodbye after you promise her you’re fine on your own for the twenty minutes it’s gonna take Elias to get there.

You’re just checking your email on your phone when you hear the bell at the front door.

“I’m coming!” you call out. You hurry to grab your bags and then walk quickly to the door, where Elias is standing with his car keys between his fingers.

“So Bella finally gave up, huh?” he asks, a sly little smirk on his face. He always teases you with the fact that you named your car.

“Yes, and I know you told me,” you sigh, and it’s clear that he immediately – and correctly – reads your mood.

Without a word, he opens his arms, and you gratefully fall into them, hugging him tightly to your body. There’s very little in the world that brings you more comfort than one of Elias’ hugs: although being on Elias’ couch wearing one of his old hoodies watching some stupid reality show might come close.

“Let’s go home,” Elias finally mumbles, and he holds out an umbrella when he lets you go.

It’s raining really hard, and you know he has to park his car a little bit away because there’s no parking in front of your office, so you take it.

“You could’ve just called, I would’ve ran out,” you tell him sternly, but he shrugs.

“But then how would you have gotten the umbrella?”

You would tell him you’re not made of sugar, but as soon as you step outside the rain clatters loudly against the fabric of the umbrella and you realize you would’ve really, really hated to not have it, so you stay quiet.

Instead, you walk after him as he runs to his car and opens the passenger door for you. It’s still running, and the heater is on: only then do you realize you’re quite cold.

This morning they said it would be nice outside, so you didn’t bother to take a coat.

It’s quiet in the car for a while, but it’s not uncomfortable. It’s the silence that only comes when two people understand each other, and combined with the soft music that is playing on the radio it lulls you into a false sense of comfort.

Until you realize something.

“Oh God,” you groan, “I’m gonna have to call someone to tow Bella to a mechanic.”

Elias raises an eyebrow. “Well, you could just leave her there.”

Normally you would’ve at least playfully punched his arm for the sarcastic tone in his voice, but right now you’re too busy freaking out.

“And how am I gonna get to work tomorrow? Don’t you dare say you’ll bring me cause I know you’ve got morning practice and it’s super out of your way. Fuck, why did this have to happen to me?”

You let your head fall against the window. The glass is cold against your cheek and it’s enough to stop the spiraling in your brain at least for a second.

“Hey.” Elias’ voice has lost all sarcastic edge. It’s gentle now, and he’s speaking low as if not to startle you. “Don’t worry about it, okay? I’ll call the tow truck and the mechanic and get your car fixed. And Brock lives close enough that he can take me to and from practice and you can just take my car to work.”

It’s… a reasonable solution, but once again something that Elias has to go out of his way for, even just a little bit, and you feel something warm bloom inside your chest.

“Okay,” you answer, the stress already ebbing away. “Thank you. You’re the best.” You reach out and place your hand on his knee, squeezing slightly. “Seriously. I don’t know what I’d do without you.”

Elias mumbles something incoherent. You think you see some color on his cheeks, but surely that’s just because the heater is on, because there’s no way he’s blushing over something you said.

You turn off the heater, and let your thoughts wander as Elias drives you home.

3. 

Traveling is fun, but traveling for work is instantly a lot less fun. You really don’t know how Elias does it.

You’re feeling run down and jetlagged when you come back from your work trip, which is ridiculous cause you flew to Toronto, not to freaking Europe. But it’s late at night and the three days you were away were so busy you can barely remember sleeping at all.

Fiona slept on the plane, so she looks a little more alive than you when your feet touch the ground at Vancouver airport.

“Is Elias coming to pick you up?” Fiona asks, as you’re both walking through the gate.

You shake your head. “I’m sure he would’ve insisted if he could, but he’s in California right now. They played the Kings tonight and they’re playing the Sharks the day after tomorrow.”

“I wish I was in California,” Fiona says wistfully. It’s cold and wet in Vancouver and it wasn’t much better in Toronto. The tiredness doesn’t help: it feels as if the cold of the night is slowly creeping into your bones.

“Come on then, I’ll drop you off.” You thank Fiona and follow her to her car. Normally you wouldn’t have minded taking an Uber, but right now you just wanna get to bed as soon as possible.

“If I fall asleep, just let me sleep here,” you mumble, resting your head back against the head rest. Fiona laughs as she starts the car.

“No way, you’ll freeze to death.” She squints outside. “Do you think it’s gonna rain?”

“It always rains,” you say, despite the fact that it’s not raining at the moment.

Fiona turns onto the highway. “So, are you finally gonna put up that bookcase you bought?”

Involuntarily, you groan. “Stop, don’t remind me.”

Your old bookcase is big and ugly, and it has been a thorn in your eye ever since you moved in. The person that lived there before you left it there, and you only kept it because you couldn’t really afford not to.

Four weeks ago, you finally allowed yourself to buy a new, prettier bookcase.

But…

“It’s just so big,” you whine, repeating the excuses you’ve been giving Elias every single time he raises a judgmental eyebrow at the old bookcase still standing in your living room. “It’s gonna take forever to take it apart and then it’s gonna take me even longer to somehow get it all downstairs and get rid of it.”

“And then you have to build the new one,” Fiona nods understandingly. “And you’re not good with furniture.”

“Hey,” you protest, but it’s weak. You’re not good with furniture, which was proven when you tried to help Fiona move in and didn’t manage to help her put together anything at all. Instead she ended up with a table with three legs. 

You even tried to read the manual, but it’s just not your forte.

“I’ll do it,” you add, “I promise you I will. Just, maybe not this weekend…”

Fiona laughs, but she doesn’t call you out on the fact that it probably won’t happen during the week either.

Finally, you arrive at your building. You can’t wait to go to bed, and you thank Fiona multiple times before dragging your luggage upstairs. When you open the door to your apartment, Puck comes running up to you, meowing and weaving between your legs.

“Don’t be dramatic,” you tell the cat sternly. “Petey sent me many pictures of you sleeping in his lap and I know he feeds you chicken when he thinks I won’t notice, so you got spoiled this week.”

You lovingly scratch Puck’s ears, before flicking on the light and kicking the door behind you in the lock.

Instantly, you notice the difference.

Your apartment isn’t big: real estate in Vancouver isn’t cheap and your job isn’t great. You got this place mostly for the location, and you like the big windows in the apartment and how it manages to get in light even during the darkest of winter days.

One corner of your living room, however, was always darker than the others. The bookcase took away the entirety of the white wall, and it created a dim lit, sad looking corner.

Now, it’s open and bright, as your new bookcase stands proudly in its place.

There’s only one person who would’ve done that.

The phone rings a few times, but you know the Kings game ended a while ago so you let it ring. After a while, Elias picks up.

“Sorry for the background noise,” is the first thing he says. “We’re on the plane. Taking off in a few minutes, probably.”

In the background, you hear some yelling. Probably Jake.

“You put up my bookcase,” you blurt out, ignoring Elias’ statement. “You put it up and all the books are in it and the other one is gone.”

Elias sounds a little smug when he answers. “Well, it’s not like you were ever gonna do it.”

“Thank you.” To your own horror, you can feel tears burning behind your eyes. “Elias, seriously…”

“It’s nothing.” You can hear Elias’ smile even over the phone: you know everyone always makes fun of his deadpan tone when he talks to media but with his friends, his voice always betrays everything he’s feeling. “I know you were worried about it, and I know how much you hated that old one.” He laughs. “I get why now, by the way. It took me and Brock like four hours to get that thing out.”

“Brock helped too?”

“He did.” Elias is silent for a while, but in the background you hear another voice. “Brock says to tell you that I forced him. But that’s not entirely true.”

Entirely. You know Elias definitely did force him.

“Tell him thank you too.”

“He says you’re welcome,” Elias says, quick enough that it makes you think Brock didn’t say that at all. “We’re about to take off so I have to put my phone on airplane mode. But call me tomorrow okay? I wanna hear about your work trip.”

“Okay.” For some reason, you can still feel the lump in your throat. You didn’t notice it momentarily, while you were focused on Elias’ and Brock’s bickering, but now it’s back, and with a vengeance.

Fuck. You just…

“I miss you.” You blurt it out before you can stop yourself and if anyone would ask, you would blame the exhaustion and the fact that Elias can’t see how wet your eyes are over the phone.

“I’ll be back soon,” he answers softly, and his voice is gentle in a way that makes you think he knows about the tears, anyway. “And when I am, we’re gonna take a whole night to eat food and stare at that bookcase, because it needs to be appreciated after the effort I had to put in to build it.”

You laugh before quietly saying goodbye to Elias and hanging up the phone.

In the kitchen, Puck sits in front of the fridge. When you open it there’s a pan with chicken.

For Puck the note next to it says, and you send Elias a picture of Puck with his chicken.

“He spoils you,” you tell your cat. You decide to ignore the fact that he kinda spoils you, too.

4. 

When you open the door to your apartment, you’re met with the smell of garlic.

After yet another shitty day at work, you can already feel the lump in your throat building again. You didn’t even tell him, this time. In fact, you carefully avoided his texts because you knew he’d clock that something was wrong.

Fuck. That’s probably where you went wrong in the first place; usually you never ignored Elias’ texts.

“Hello?” you call out into your own apartment.

There’s soft music playing and there’s light coming from the living room, but the amazing smell that tickles your senses is clearly coming from the kitchen, so that’s where you go.

Elias is standing at your kitchen counter, chopping a carrot.

“Hey,” he greets, smiling your way. “I’m making dinner.”

It’s almost too much, how domestic it looks. And how right: like he belongs there in your space, waiting for you to come home.

Suddenly there’s the overwhelming urge to go towards him, so you do. His arm immediately lifts, creating space for you in the crook of his body, and you slip under his arm easily.

“How did you know?” you mumble into the fabric of his worn Canucks hoodie. It smells like him, a scent that reminds you of home as much as your mother’s signature dish.

“You didn’t answer my texts,” Elias hums. His arm tightens around your body. “So I figured you could use some good food and a bath.” His head motions towards the general direction of the bathroom. “I’m running it as we speak.”

God. You love him.

It hits you, then. You knew you had a crush on him, knew you wanted to kiss him and hold his hand and feel his hands on you. But it’s more than that, now.

It’s the realization that you want to share everything with him. The ups and the downs. The bad nights and the bright mornings. You want him in your kitchen, but more than that, you want it to be his kitchen, too.

Fuck. You’re so royally screwed.

Because he does this, and he does so much for you, but he’s never said anything, anything at all, to indicate that he wants that. Or has even considered it, thought about it.

Maybe it’s never even crossed his mind. Maybe he takes care of you like he would take care of a sister.

“Hey.” Elias’ voice is gentle as it pulls you out of your thoughts, back down to earth. “You’re shaking. Go take a bath, and I’ll finish dinner, and then we’ll watch How I Met Your Mother. I wanted to watch the next episode but I waited for you.” His grin is a little lopsided. “Isn’t that chivalrous of me?”

It is, and normally you would tease him for it, but you can’t really think or speak, so you just nod.

“There’s wine in the fridge, if you want a glass,” Elias says. He holds out a wine glass, already waiting for you on the counter.

And who cares that it’s only a Tuesday: you deserve it, damn it, so you open the fridge to find the wine.

You’re met with more than just that.

“You bought groceries?” you ask, your eyes traveling through your fridge. You hadn’t gone grocery shopping in like a week, and when you left for work this morning the fridge was basically empty. Now it’s so full you wonder how you’re gonna close the door.

“How else was I gonna cook anything? You only had cat food left,” Elias tuts. You’re not surprised to find Puck at Elias’ feet, waiting for him to inevitably slip him some human food.

“Did you get…”

“Your coconut yoghurt? Yes.”

He did, and he got basically all your staples, and nothing you wouldn’t buy yourself.

“Honestly,” you say, as you finally reach for the bottle and pull your head out of the fridge. “I don’t know what to say, Petey. Thank you. I had such a sucky day and now it’s already endlessly better.”

This time you know you’re not imagining the flush on Elias’ cheeks.

“It’s fine,” he says. “You should go take that bath before it goes cold.”

You want to say more: to tell him time and time again how amazing he is, how much he means to you, how thankful you are. But you know once you start, you can’t be trusted to not say the one thing you don’t think he wants to hear.

So you say nothing, and simply go to take your bath.

+1

But you think about it.

You think about it all throughout Christmas, where you don’t see Elias at all. You think about it during NYE, when you get a drunk SnapChat from Elias with his brother, right at midnight.

At least, you figure, he’s not kissing any girls.

You’re not kissing any boys, either. You’re at a NYE party with Fiona and it’s fun, it is, but it’s not the same as it would be if Elias wasn’t all the way in Sweden.

You miss him like a limb, and you know it’s not fair because he rarely gets time to go home to Sweden and he deserves that time with his family, but you can’t say you didn’t wish his time off ended already.

When it finally does, it’s not Elias you see first. Troy is throwing a late New Years party, just to welcome everyone back to Vancouver as they get ready to start the season back up, and when you arrive at his house it’s early enough in the evening that there’s only a handful of people there.

“Y/N!” Brock calls out, opening his arms to give you a big hug as you enter. “Missed you!”

You laugh. “Get off of me, you giant. I’m gonna drop the wine.”

“Not the wine,” Troy says dramatically, tearing it out of your hands. His eyes are sparkling when he thanks and hugs you, and then Brock is ushering you into the living room, where Jake is talking with Quinn.

Or talking at Quinn. To be honest, you never really know when Quinn is paying attention.

“Y/N!” Jake exclaims, much like Brock had. “I’m glad you’re here, we need your input on something.”

“Okay?” you ask, curiosity instantly taking over. Whenever Jake and Brock get together, it promises to be an interesting evening.

“We’re trying to decide Brock’s love language.”

It’s sudden enough that you laugh. “His what?”

“Love language,” Jake explains. “Like, how he shows people he loves them. He says it’s quality time, but I think it could be physical touch. He’s always touching people.”

“Jake is deflecting because his love language is physical touch,” Brock scowls. “I think I know my own love language, Tuna.”

“Hold on.” Unfortunately, you have to press the pause button on their discussion. “What options do we have?”

You’ve got no idea where they got this from, but it doesn’t really matter. You’re always down to share your opinion on stupid stuff with your favorite boys.

“There’s gifts, quality time, physical touch, words of affirmation, and…” Brock pauses, and you can nearly see the wheels in his head turning.

“Acts of service,” Quinn offers, which proves that he was actually paying attention.

“Mine is physical touch,” Jake says determinedly. “When I care about someone, I always wanna be touching them, and when I’m in love with someone that’s like twenty times worse.”

“Poor girl,” Quinn mutters, and the conversation gets paused in order for Jake to put Quinn in a headlock.

“I think yours is quality time, actually,” you tell Brock when Jake is done murdering the rookie. “Your ex was always on her phone during your date nights and I remember it drove you crazy.”

“See,” Brock says proudly. “Quality time baby. If I’m there I’m there.”

“What about yours, Huggy?” Jake asks. “Physical touch would make sense, since you’re called Huggy.”

“I’m not called Huggy,” Quinn deadpans. His face is devoid of any emotion, but you know him well enough to recognize the mischievous twinkle in his eyes. He reminds you of Elias, when he does that. “And if we were going by nicknames your love language would be fishing.”

Everyone cracks up on that, and then the doorbell rings and Bo arrives.

The topic gets put on hold, then, because Bo is instantly talking about Gunnar’s first Christmas and Brock is talking about becoming an uncle again and you feel warm and happy on the couch with your wine, squeezed between Brock and Troy.

Until, a little later, you realize someone is missing.

“Where’s Petey?” you ask Troy. “Isn’t he coming?”

Troy shrugs. “Should do. But you never know with Pete.”

It’s not entirely true: if Elias promises he’ll be there, he will be there. But, to be fair, he usually doesn’t promise that to anyone but you, and you hadn’t asked him to come, this time.

You figured he just would.

“What about Petey’s love language?” Brock asks idly, not knowing he’s opening Pandora’s box for you. “Definitely not words of affirmation, huh.”

Troy laughs.

“Nah, Petey’s an acts of service guy. He’s always doing shit for Y/N.”

You would protest if you trusted your voice not to shake. As it is, you stay quiet and hope the flush on your cheeks gets mistaken for a wine flush, and not an Elias flush.

Brock brightens. “Oh, yeah! Getting her car fixed, making dinner, building her stupid bookshelf, feeding her cat… He is a typical acts of service guy.” He bumps against your shoulder playfully. “I hope you appreciate his showing of love, Y/N. He rarely does that shit for me.”

Troy snorts. “That’s cause he’s not in love with you, Boes.”

“He’s not in love with me either!” you squeak, unable to stay quiet any longer. You know if you don’t derail this trail of thought very soon, it’s gonna end badly for you.

Both Troy and Brock look unimpressed, at that statement.

“Yes, he is,” Brock says slowly, as if explaining something to an unruly child. “He drops whatever he has going on to do small things that make your life easier. That’s literally the same as him screaming I’m in love with you from the highest rooftop in Vancouver.”

“He’s not like you,” Troy continues, a little more gentle. “When people have different love languages, they don’t always understand what the other is trying to say. Your love language is words of affirmation. You’re always telling Petey how amazing he is. But he doesn’t see that as a declaration of love, or whatever. He thinks you tell everyone that they’re amazing.”

You do, to be fair, but not as often as you tell Elias. Because he’s…

Well. Amazing would be an understatement, actually. He’s everything to you.  

Things are starting to make sense, like puzzle pieces fitting into place. Suddenly, you start wondering if there’s more to his acts of service than plain friendship, or him being a good guy.

It’s not like he does stuff like that for all his friends. He helps them out, sure, but he always goes above and beyond for you, usually not even needing to be asked.

But he’s not in love with you, surely? He hasn’t said anything…

But maybe words aren’t his thing. Not like they are yours: the way you can’t stop yourself from gushing into Elias’ ear even when you know you should stop.

What if Brock and Troy are right?

You don’t get much time to think it through, because that’s when Elias finally appears in Troy’s living room, looking endlessly cool in his blue sweater, wearing his glasses. He’s sending death glares at Jake, who wolf whistles from the corner, but then his eyes meet yours and they soften.

“Hi there,” he smiles, reaching out to you. You immediately jump up and launch yourself at him, any previous conversation about the two of you momentarily forgotten as you curl your body into his, his arms tightening around your waist.

“Missed you,” you hum into his shoulder, and you’re rewarded with a grin you can feel against the skin of your neck.

“Are you sure hers isn’t physical touch?” you hear Brock ponder, and you would flip him off if you could be bothered.

You can’t. All you can be bothered doing is plastering yourself to Elias’ side and not leaving him alone even for a second, the rest of the night.

It works at least for a while, until he asks: “Do you want another drink?”

“I’ll go with you,” you say, not willing to part with him yet, and you ignore the knowing look Brock shoots you as the two of you find your way to the kitchen.

Elias immediately goes for the wine, because he knows you better than anyone else.

“I asked my dad about the job,” Elias mentions casually, as if it’s not a big deal at all. “He thinks he can get you an interview.”

“Wait, what?”

Suddenly your heart is ticking in your throat. Before he left for Sweden, Elias had mentioned that his dad knows a guy who works for a similar company as you’re working for now: apart from the shitty boss you have or the ridiculous low salary you get paid. It’s your job, but better, and Elias promised you he’d get his dad to ask if there were any open positions.

There were. And you sent in your application not thinking there was gonna come much from it, but now…

Something warm washes through your chest, like your heart grew three sizes. Of course he asked, of course he made it happen. Looking out for you, always and at any time, from any distance.

“It’s not a done deal,” Elias warns, oblivious to your mental breakdown. “But he said he thinks they’ll like you and he’ll put in a good word for you.”

You squeal and throw yourself in his direction once again. Elias laughs as he catches you, fingers curling in your hair where your face is pressed against his chest.

“Thank you,” you mumble.

“It’s about time you get rid of that dumb job.” You can hear the frown in Elias’ voice. “They don’t take good care of you at all, it’s not good for you.” The distaste is obvious and it’s adorable. You pull away.

“I don’t need them to,” you say, carefully. You can still hear Brock’s words in your voice, and you figure it’s worth a try, probably. “Because you’re always there to take care of me.”

Elias’ cheeks darken substantially.

“I mean it when I say I don’t know what I’d do without you, Elias.”

“You’d be fine,” Elias waves away the compliment as you figured he would. But this time you’re not backing down.

“Maybe I would be. But I wouldn’t be as happy.”

They say when you really love a person, you’ve got to show them. But you’ve never really known how to do that, instead you always use your words to tell them. But it seems like Elias isn’t believing you, not even now.

And you’ve got to fix that.

It’s not until you’re in Elias’ car on the way back home that you bring it up again. The party wasn’t really the time and place, but the conversation with Brock and the guys has been nagging in the back of your mind since it happened.

If you didn’t realize Elias’ acts of service meant something, maybe he doesn’t realize your words of affirmation mean something. And even if it doesn’t mean he’s in love with you – you’re really not that sure about that – you need him to at least know how much you appreciate him.

“You know I’m always there for you, right?” you start, carefully breaking the silence in the car. Elias shoots you a glance from behind the steering wheel.

“What?”

“Like, even if I’m maybe not as good as you are at realizing what you need me to do, if there’s ever anything I can do to help make your life a little easier or better I wanna do it. I’d do anything for you.”

It’s too honest, probably, and too much all at the same time. But Elias doesn’t look that surprised. In fact, there’s a smile tugging at the corners of his mouth.

“You make my life better by just being you, Y/N. You don’t have to do anything for me.”

Butterflies erupt in your stomach and you wonder how you’re gonna get through this conversation. But it’s one that needs to be held, so you press on.

“What is your love language, Elias?”

Now he frowns. “Have you been talking to Brock?”

Of course Brock talked to Elias before he talked to you. The traitor.

You decide to ignore that, for now. You’ll talk to Brock later.

“You know my love language is words of affirmation, right?”

Elias shrugs. “Brock did say that, but I didn’t know what you thought it was.”

“And yours is acts of service,” you hazard a guess. You keep your eyes firmly on Elias’ face, which is the only reason you catch the slight change in his expression.

Like a wall, crossing over his features. He’s trying to protect himself, although you have no idea why. Does he not get where you’re going with this?

“I can tune it down if you want me to,” he says, a little grumpily. He’s staring straight ahead at the road, stubbornly refusing to look your way.

And oh God, he’s truly not getting it, and this is going the exact opposite way you want it to go.

Troy did say that when people’s love languages don’t match, they don’t understand what the other is trying to say. But you honestly don’t know how you can make it any more clear to Elias.

Well, except…

“I love you,” you blurt out. “Like, in love with you love you.”

The words ring loudly in the quiet car. For a second, nothing about Elias’ expression, almost like he didn’t hear you. You can almost feel your heart sink into your stomach.

Then, he pulls over the car.

It comes to a stop at the side of the road, two wheels on the pavement and two still on the road. It is, objectively, not super safe, but it’s also 3am and there’s no other cars to be seen. Very carefully, without looking at you still, Elias turns on the hazard lights.

And then finally, finally, he turns to you and kisses you.

You weren’t expecting it but it doesn’t really matter: it’s like your heart and head both light on fire, and everything outside of the car simply disappears. It’s just you and Elias, and his lips on yours and his hands on your body.

It feels right. Like it was always meant to end up like this.

After what feels like ages, he pulls away. He’s smiling, and his eyes are bright blue in the dark car.

“I thought you said those kinda things to everyone,” he admits, quietly. His thumb is rubbing your side, his eyes fixed on that spot. Almost as if he can’t really believe he’s allowed to do that.

You don’t want him to ever do anything else.

“I thought you did those kinda things for everyone,” you shoot back.

Elias raises one eyebrow. “That bookcase weighed at least 300 pounds.”

You can’t help it: giggles are escaping your lips and suddenly you’re both laughing. The tension in the car dissipates instantly, and suddenly it’s just Elias again, your best friend.

Your best friend that you’re now allowed to kiss. So you lean in and press your lips against his again.

After all, kissing is a love language you think everyone understands.

(+2)

“I’m home!” Elias’ voice sounds through the empty apartment, and you immediately leave your spot behind the kitchen counter to run into the hallway.

With a squeal, you fly towards him, and he catches you easily as you knew he would.

“Hey, babe,” he laughs quietly, pressing a kiss into your hair before returning the hug fully. “Is that my sweater?”

“Maybe,” you admit, as Elias’ hands make their way under his own blue sweater, that you definitely steal from him most evenings. “Missed you. And I’m very proud of you.”

“I missed you too,” he answers. “Watched the game?”

“Obviously.” You roll your eyes, even though you know he can’t see it with your face still buried in his shoulder. “A hat trick, huh? I think that needs to be celebrated.”

“Oh?” Elias pulls away then, one eyebrow raised and a cheeky twinkle in his eyes.

“Not like that,” you scold him, lightly punching his arm. “Or, maybe like that. But first, I made Kalops.”

At the mention of his favorite Swedish food, Elias’ face lights up. A while ago, you asked his mom for her recipe and it’s one of the only Swedish dishes you can make, but you make it well.

“Also,” you continue, as you take his hand and start leading him towards the kitchen, so he can sit at the counter while you cook as he always does, “I called the electrician so the TV is already fixed. I know you could have done it, but I decided I’d much rather use that time to hang out with you. I took Puck to get his shots at the vet and I also used my free afternoon to take your car through the car wash.”

When you reach the kitchen, you twirl around towards Elias and his arms immediately circle around your waist.

“You didn’t have to do all that,” he mutters, taking the opportunity to kiss you once more. “But thank you. I love that you took the time to take care of that for me. And I love you.”

“Look at us,” you tease, lightly tugging at the ends of Elias’ hair. “Speaking each other’s love language like that.”

“Perfect couple,” Elias agrees, and you smile back at him.

Somehow, you and Elias managed to create a language of your own: one that you could speak with nobody else. But luckily, you don’t have to.

Cause he came home to your shared apartment like he always does, and well. That’s the biggest act of service he could do for you.  

#elias pettersson #vancouver canucks #nhl fic #elias pettersson fic #elias petterson one shot #elias pettersson imagine #nhl writing

[bunnieresources]

eternal sunshine of the spotless mind writing prompts.

“ i’m not an impulsive person. i guess i just woke up in a funk this morning. “

“ if only i could meet someone new. i guess my chances of that happening are diminished, seeing that i’m incapable of making eye-contact with a person i don’t know. “

“ why do i fall in love with every person i see who shows me the least bit of attention? “

“ do i know you? “

“ i’m a vindictive little bitch, truth be told. “

“ you’re not a stalker or anything, right? “

“ that is the oldest trick in the stalker book. “

“ look, i’m sorry if i came off sorta nutso. i’m not, really. “

“ you’re kinda close-mouthed, aren’t you? “

“ i mean, i’m always anxious that i’m not living my life to the fullest, taking advantage of every possibility, making sure i’m not wasting one second of the little time i have. “

“ i’m gonna marry you. i know it. “

“ i want it to be resolved. i’m willing to be the one to resolve it. “

“ what’s your fucking suggestion, ____? what’s your brilliant, reasoned solution? “

“ you’re gonna make this about my shit now? this isn’t about me. “

“ i kinda, sorta wrecked your car. “

“ it’s just a fucking dent, ____. you’re like an old lady or something. “

“ admit it, ____. you’re freaked out because i was out late without you, and in your wormy, little brain... you’re trying to figure out, did i fuck someone tonight? “

“ i assume you did fuck someone tonight. isn’t that how you get people to like you? “

“ by morning, you’ll be gone! the perfect ending to this piece-of-shit story! “

“ i’m fucking crawling out of my skin. should’ve left you at the flea-market. “

“ i’d make a fucking good mother! i love children, i’m creative and smart, and i’d make a fucking great mother! “

“ it’s you, ____. it’s you who can’t commit to anything! “

“ you don’t tell me things, ____. i’m an open book. i tell you everything. every damn embarrassing thing. you don’t trust me. “

“ constantly talking isn’t necessarily communicating. “

“ people have to share things, ____. that’s what intimacy is. “

“ are we like those poor couples you feel sorry for in restaurants? “

“ i’m lost, i’m scared, i feel like i’m disappearing. “

“ sometimes i think people don’t understand how lonely it is to be a kid. like you don’t matter. “

“ i could die right now, ____. i’m just... happy. i’ve never felt that before. i’m just exactly... where i wanna be. “

“ you know me. i’m impulsive. “

“ ____, there’s nothing wrong with you. you’re the most wonderful person i’ve ever met. “

“ it’s gonna be fun. come on. it’s the best place! “

“ i’ve loved you for a very long time. “

“ i’m a stupid person with a stupid crush! “

“ don’t be a monster, ____. “

“ didn’t figure you’d show your face around me again. “

“ if you wanna be with me, you’re with me. “

“ too many guys think i’m a concept, or i complete them, or i’m gonna make them alive. but i’m just a fucked-up person who's looking for my own peace of mind. “

“ i still thought you were gonna save my life, even after that. “

“ it would be different... if we could just give it another go around. “

“ remember me. try your best. “

“ thank god. someone normal who doesn’t know how to interact at these things either. “

“ it was so intimate, like we were already lovers. “

“ this is it, ____. it’s gonna be gone soon. “

“ i thought maybe you were a nut, but you were exciting. “

“ i wish i’d stayed too. now i wish i’d stayed. “

“ come back and make up a good-bye, at least. let’s pretend we had one. “

“ tell me what you want me to do, and i’ll do it. “

“ i had the best fucking night of my entire fucking life last night! “

“ we’ve met, but you don’t remember me. “

“ i can’t see anything that i don’t like about you. “

“ you will think of things, and i’ll get bored of you and feel trapped... because that’s what happens with me. “

#ask memes #ask prompts #inbox memes #inbox prompts #rp memes #rp prompts #writing memes #writing prompts #writing resources #rp resources #sentence starters

[snaxpo]

fuck it bugsnax/s4m au notes

alternate title: i’m at that point in liking something where i have to combine it with everything else i’ve liked previously and today i’m making that everyone else’s problem. 

- base premise is a lil different! instead of being a journalist who was invited personally to the island by the expedition leader, you (or FK if you consider them a separate character from the player) are tasked with investigating the habitat, a budding commune on snaktooth island that may or may not be devolving into a cult. there’s just one teeny tiny problem - the commune’s leader and also your main suspect, boris habit, has been missing for weeks by the time you arrive. 

- now it’s a matter of gaining the inhabitants’ trust/getting them to come back to the habitat while hunting and subduing the bugsnax, who seem increasingly eager to launch themselves at inhabitants at quite literally dangerous speeds, in a battle of wits to keep your newfound companions fed while documenting the strange creatures. and of course, the question of just what happened to boris habit still lingers in the air. think like... talentless nana where the protag pretends to be all cute and unassuming (complete with flower motifs!) but really they’re there on Super Secret Spy Business. but of course there’s less murder. 

- oddly the bugsnax seem to have only become more aggressive after his disappearance. i’m sure it’s nothing. 

- yes everyone is still a grumpus

- there isn’t really an interview “mechanic” so much as it is a Lot of cozying up to everybody in pursuit of whatever information you can find on habit/potential group rituals/events that led to his disappearance; you get it by bits and pieces rather than a single structured interview. there is of course a lot more interactions between characters than there is in s4m’s base game bc thats like 60% of the appeal of bugsnax and i would be a fool not to think of it.

- time for ideas for specific characters! kamal is the vice-mayor of the habitat and has been habit’s right-hand grump for as long as any of the inhabitants can remember, despite their relationship becoming increasingly strained ever since their arrival on the island, and especially before habit’s disappearance. i imagine you still find him passed out but instead of collapsing from starvation he’s like "please.... toothpaste... a breath mint.... some pepto bismol. i’ve been able to taste my own breath for weeks." has been trying to divide his time between looking after the habitat and looking for habit himself (and also his best friend wallus) but the dispersal of the habitat has left him a tad Demoralized, to say the least.

- i feel like trencil would play a wambus-adjacent role in the sense that he's the one taking care of the sauce plants and also one of the first townspeople you meet. you convince to come back with you not necessarily bc he'd be able to continue farming in town but bc he would probably have an easier time looking for his daughter if he got some sleep first (but only if you look for her in his stead)

- gillis is like. a wannabe chandlo. makes you capture a bunch of snax that he Says he's gonna use to get stronger but eventually you find out he's been releasing them or keeping them in like lil makeshift pet houses bc he always takes one look at their big googly eyes and turns to mush. but EVERYONE'S eating them so naturally if they find out he's not they're gonna think he's some kinda wuss so he just pretends. 

- dallas keeps asking for sweet n colorful bugsnax to give to mirphy to impress her (sweetieflies, instabugs, etc etc.) but by some streak of bad luck they always end up being her least favorite. he tries to see if Maybe he can use them to make some new bugsnak-exclusive pigments, but like in canon they always end up turning into mush before he can get very far. mirphy meanwhile is far more interested in preserving them for a potential display, but similar to dallas, she never gets very far.

- i imagine the kid habiticians are like. a roving band of semi-feral children bc if anyone's gonna keep them in town it's definitely not kamal.

- i wanna do something with wallus SO BAD like you find him somewhere up in frosted peak but i have no idea what he would even DO its fucking killing me

- those are all the ideas i have For Now; s4m has more characters than bugsnax so there’s a lot to be done w/ them lmao. if i think of any more i’ll probably put it in another post or if anybody wants to spitball with me.......  👀

- and now we get to The Big Guns: habit.

- he was fun to work on w/ this au mostly bc despite being the rough equivalent of lizbert he’s a way different type of flawed leader than her; where liz is responsible to the point of martyring herself without a second thought and not thinking to delegate any tasks to the other snaxburg residents, which is what ultimately causes them to fall apart once she disappears, habit's deal is that he wants the position and appearance of an authority figure because it'll keep him safe, but he kind of sucks at taking responsibility for anything he does wrong because he’s spent most of his life acting according to what other people (namely his family) expect of him and being met with a negative reception no matter what, so he doesn’t really believe he has power over anything, including his own actions, despite being such a control freak for most of his own game. so his arc would need something that’s kind of antithetical to what liz had, wouldn’t it?

- so what i got so far is that au habit was tryin to covertly start a bugsnax cult bc he sees being asborbed by the snax as a sort of ascension and was eventually planning to have everyone be absorbed; it’s important to note however that bc information on bugsnax is so obscure he doesn’t actually 100% know how absorption works so tl;dr: habit became the bugsnax monarch willingly and then 5 seconds later he was like "oh no wait this fucking sucks. what have i done. shit. fuck."

- unable to cope with the realization that he was once again forced to act in accordance to someone (or in this case something) else's desires, he shuts down emotionally, becoming an empty husk of a grumpus while the bugsnax above run rampant thanks to the extra fuel and absolutely no restrictions until the Big Climax when habit is finally moved to take back control of the snax and by proxy Take Some Fucking Responsibility for knowingly luring people to cthulhu island. however this does leave the obvious question of if he was such an empty shell for most of the game why didn’t they just. eat him.

- the answer i eventually landed on was that his self-preservation instincts were still kicking on a subconscious level and during the aforementioned climax he eventually realizes that he does not in fact want to die, he just doesn’t want to keep living the way he is now (as part of an ancient hivemind beyond his understanding) or the way he was before (you know.)

- also fun fact: i was thinking about what his monarch body would be based off of bc the snakdragon, while cool as shit, didn’t feel right for him, and then i remembered that blooming onions exist. i imagine he’s in the middle acting as the flower’s “stigma”

- as for endings i’m thinking like. in the neutral ending kamal joins habit but its left ambiguous whether or not they'll ever be able to leave the island or if this is even a permanent solution (call that the paw in unloveable paw ending). in the good ending you bust habit outta his queen body after fending off enough bugsnax together and it’s super gross bc the undersnax as a whole is super gross but hey at least everyone’s leaving alive. i don’t know what a bad ending entails except most if not all of the cast is dead and habit is left alone on the island surrounded by reminders of his spectacular failure.

- hell i can even think of a sequel hook for the good ending like in canon bugsnax; some time after the ending/credits you ask habit just Where did he get the information on bugsnax that led to him being like “you could make a religion out of this” and the screen fades to black before you hear his answer. there.

- its almost midnight.

#text post #bugsnax #smile for me #smile for me game #s4m #bugsnax spoilers #au

[the-pallid-king]

“I thought that’s what I was doing. I told you there was a problem. I told you I wanted my own blanket, one that isn’t yours. That was the solution, because I don’t want to sleep anywhere that doesn’t belong to both of us equally. I told you everything. I did it badly and now you’re pissed off. I hurt your feelings, I get that. But I told you.” He shifts the items in his arms, only realizing once they step through the doors that he never shut them. “If my original problem was that I don’t want to need your permission to use blankets, how did you think giving me permission to use blankets would help?” Though as he listens, it occurs to him that maybe what he heard wasn’t you giving him permission to have his own blankets, but your attempt to show you understood. At the same time, he thinks if this were reversed, you would have no problem seeing why he doesn’t like it.

But maybe he’s the one lashing out because of hurt feelings. Because of his own insecurities and uncertainty over his place in a world that no longer needs him. He knows he’s difficult to love. And the one person he wants more than anyone else, literally can’t love him. Hearing it said was a painful confirmation he didn’t want. “I don’t think it’s your responsibility to keep me happy, but you do make me happy. I don’t have a lot of expectations. I just didn’t think it was a funny joke.” It’s not really any more complicated than that. It just took him a while to sort through.

He sighs. Thinking about why Seireitei does anything is exhausting. “They’ve probably gone to war over less. Remember when Ulquiorra kidnapped Inoue? They yanked every single seated officer and Shinigami out of Karakura and back to the Soul Society. They’re… reactionary.” He has no doubts that they monitor his friends. But he blinks. “Less hostile? Is that possible?” Short of kicking all the hollows out, he’s not sure how. And this is their home. If you didn’t want to take drastic action before with how this place runs, he doesn’t like you doing it for him.

"Yeah. I know. I guess... Why'd you have to wait until it was bothering you so much you couldn't even sit in the same room as me any longer?" No, the blankets weren't the only thing bothering you at that point, but still. This seems to be the root of the issue, the rest was mostly a misunderstanding. His frown deepens when you seem to take what he said differently than he meant. It's like everything he says right now is the wrong thing. "I wasn't- That's not what I was trying to do. I'm trying, ok?" He puffs out a frustrated breath, but he's not necessarily frustrated with you, just with the situation in general. He doesn't know how to fix this in a way that will be satisfactory for you. "Maybe we should just get rid of all of them and start over. So they're not mine and never were." Which would make him squirm and grumpy but he'd keep his mouth shut, because then the new ones would be yours. Your blankets that he borrows, the same way it's your apartment that you let him live with you in, or it's your coffee mug, your shower, your phone, that you share, so he doesn't have to feel possessive and guarding over them. A pile of blankets is basically the sum total of his material possessions at this point, but it's not working and he did fine without nice blankets in Las Noches all those years. It could work. He could make it work.

His brows furrow. You deserve to have expectations. "Maybe you don't think it's my responsibility, but I still wanna do it." Seireitei really fucked you up. He doesn't think you would have taken his comments so personally before your capture. In fact, he's almost certain he said similar things when you first came to Hueco Mundo to get him out, but without the context of bartering blankets. He's sure he told you you were an outsider and they didn't treat shinigami nicely. He nods slightly though. "I'll try to avoid bad jokes. I really didn't mean anything by it, I wasn't trying to upset you."

He looks over at you when you start talking about an event he has vague memory of part of and extremely clear memory of the rest, figuring it's a more neutral topic than what they've been talking about. "I know they didn't help you, I didn't know they responded so dramatically though." He almost manages a small smirk at the look on your face, but the hint of it fades quickly. "Ok, maybe that was the wrong word... Uh. More comfortable, maybe. More inviting?" It's a cold castle made of stone filled with man-eating hollows. "I can at least make sure you have a safe, hollow-less space."

#ask #ichxgo

[twilightofthe]

So...about that Obitine Anidala rant. Also, you said something about how Sidious and Obi-Wan are foils. I would love it if you elaborate. (Also, I love your blog.)

Awwwww thank you anon!  I just be yelling on here!

*wheezes* okie doke!  Tho I stress that this won’t exactly be a rant because I adore Obitine and Anidala and rant kinda implies aggression towards them, this is more of just a long-ass ramble because while I love them, I don’t always love the way canon portrays them in the narrative, particularly in relationship to each other, because I often do not feel that what the show is trying to push us to think about them is accurate to how they actually act and come across.  Notably, the show attempts to draw comparisons to the two relationships that really don’t exist below surface level similarities.  Again, these are my own personal opinions, and in fact, I welcome discussion!  I truly do!  Please politely debate me on this if you disagree!

(god dammit it got long again, so long I’ll actually put ur Sidious and Obi Wan as foils part in a separate post)

I’ll get to why exactly the show compares the relationships very strangely in a moment, but first we gotta explore the reason why it does this in the first place, which is that the Clone Wars show has decided to make Obi Wan and Anakin narrative foils to one another.  Narrative foils, by the literary definition, are two characters that contrast one another.  They don’t have to be the protagonist and the antagonist, these characters can be on the same side, basically the thing is that they have “opposite” personalities where if one character is hot, the other is cold, if one character chooses to go right, the other will go left.  It’s usually used to show one character’s qualities as more favorable for the situation as opposed to anyone else’s.

TCW does this whenever they possibly can with Anakin and Obi Wan.  I get its reasoning behind it.  I do.  The reasoning is that while Anakin is supposed to be a main character, he makes questionable decisions quite often and for the kiddies watching, those decisions must be seen as Bad even if the hero does it, so they have Obi Wan, the unquestionable good guy, encounter the exact same scenarios Anakin makes his questionable decisions in, and then has Obi Wan make the Right(TM) decision to teach the kids a valuable lesson.  They turn Obi Wan into the voice of reason for the entire show, which turns basically almost everything Obi Wan and Anakin do into a constant competition in the narrative in a way the movies do not do (and I’ll get to the movies later).  I’m not saying it’s necessarily a bad thing, making them foils, but it’s definitely more of a show-only thing and it does it quite, quite often.

So yeah, TCW likes to compare Obi Wan and Anakin to the point that sometimes they try and use Obi Wan to diminish Anakin’s genuine trauma and struggles by going “well why didn’t you do it like THIS?” and I think that writing parallel plotlines for the purpose of shaming/criticism is kinda ://////, but that’s another rant for another day that again, if y’all wanna hear about, lmk

Anyway, the need to compare them absolutely made its way into their romantic relationships as well, as they acknowledge the similarities in the show, and Filoni and the crew explicitly compare the two relationships in interviews.

Basically my problem with how they try and draw said parallels can be boiled down to one quote by Filoni that a cursory Google search could not find but I know exists so y’all can take my word or not, that went along the lines of “Obi Wan and Satine are like Anakin and Padmé but better because they know how to stay unattached and let each other go.  They’re a success story.”  I disagreed with this quote so much it inspired me to write a whole-ass fic about it (Mutuals update: yes, it is coming soon, Darth Maul is just himself and therefore an utter pain in the ass to do a POV on and is fighting me like the bitchass he is)

My thesis that I will be arguing today is that while TCW tried to create Obitine as an Anidala parallel, they’re really not similar in the way the writers think they are.  Obitine is not a success story to Anidala, they’re a goddamn tragedy too; the real parallel to Anidala is that Obitine also ended in death and tears despite making all the “right” decisions instead of all the “wrong” ones, and that is what is sad about them.

Like, on the surface level?  Yeah, the crew-intended parallels are there.  A fancy politician and a Jedi get together after the Jedi is assigned as the politician’s bodyguard.  The first time they see each other in over a decade the guy’s first words are basically “damn girl you’re still hot”, there is Conflict(TM) and the choice to try and be together or stay yearningly apart because they are Forbidden(TM) to be together, and ultimately a Sith Lord fucks them both over because he’s obsessed with the Jedi and uses Politician Lady to his advantage, finds and exploits a vulnerability of hers, destroys her life’s work, and then lets her die to make Jedi Man sad.  The difference is all that one pair said “yeah we aren’t gonna break the rules to be together” and the other said “fuck it yeah we are, let’s do this”

But beneath all of that, they real similarities are different and not at all focused on by the narrative.  Obi Wan and Anakin are extremely different people, as are Padmé and Satine, so their relationship dynamics together will not be the same.  You want to try and compare Obi Wan and Anakin and then compare Satine and Padmé like the crew attempts to, and you can’t, they have the same job but not nearly the same life.  Namely, the funny coincidence is that Obi Wan and Padmé are much more similar in personality, while Anakin and Satine are also much more similar in personality, so the first time they meet again, it’s both Anakin and Satine as the one who’s been pining for over a decade and the one more actively pursuing the relationship, while Obi Wan and Padmé who are more like “uh, hi, wow, you’re hot and this is a Problem because I have a job to do pls don’t look at me like that but also I will Cause Problems On Purpose and flirt with you anyway because I can’t help it”.  I get the Corruption TCW ep with Sati and Pads was mostly intended just to help Satine pass the Bechdel test and also show how similar the two leading lady love interests are, but it was a genuinely creative episode that actually ended up showing how much Satine and Padmé compliment each other instead of mirroring each other, much like Obi Wan and Anakin do.

And, onto my next point, despite the character parallels being wrong, the parallels in the relationship are different too.  Like I said, the parallel isn’t that Obi Wan and Satine aren’t attached like Anakin and Padmé are.  The parallel is that Obitine is actively running from what that attachment means instead of embracing it like Anidala is.  The show would argue that since they try to avoid it, that they are able to live without one another, means they aren’t attached like the Jedi define it, but I argue that they definitely still are attached to a degree because they cannot give each other up.  They held torches for each other from a timerange of 15 YEARS.  Yes I know they spent an entire year together at a young and emotionally volatile point in their lives, but I stand that NO ONE is that hung up on their ex for that long unless there is some serious emotions involved.  Anakin was hung up on Padmé for ten years, and that was because Palpatine was constantly bolstering those affections and reminding him of Padmé.  Obes and Sati both-- or at least Satine, the show always makes Obi Wan’s feelings for Satine in return much more vague --held on to their feelings for five years longer without the influence of a Sith Lord.

And the thing is, they know it.  Obi Wan and Satine are both fully aware that they haven’t been able to shake each other off like they should and that that is a Problem, that’s why they’re both a mite venomous with each other beneath the flirting at first, they’re both extremely frustrated with themselves for not being able to get over this thing they have, and frustrated with the other for being there as an active temptation.

And yet, they still are attached to each other.  They try to avoid it, they definitely try, and that’s what makes them different from Anidala, but they are definitely still attached.  You can see it in Obi Wan’s actions in Voyage of Temptation when Merrik is threatening to blow the ship, the way he hesitates in attacking him because that would be “striking an unarmed man”.  Obi Wan Kenobi does not prefer violence, no, but he has never hesitated to cut a bitch before if it’s for the good of the many.  This is the man who stabbed someone with a fork and threatened to eat him just to maintain his cover as a dangerous criminal.  This is the guy who had no problem killing Zam Wessel for information to protect Padmé.  This is a pragmatist who prefers peaceful solutions, but he does not hesitate if he feels it is a justified offense.  But this time, when an entire shipful of people is at risk, Obi Wan hesitates.  Because he doesn’t want to upset Satine.  Because he’s probably thinking on how she told him that if he had killed the last terrorist they encountered, she wouldn’t speak to him, how she had criticized every time he used violence to escape Death Watch before.  He hesitates because he’s putting her happiness, just for a second, over the sake of duty.  Do I think that if Anakin hadn’t shown up to save their moral compasses, Obi Wan would have eventually taken out Merrik?  Absolutely; hell, I honestly think Satine might have done it.

But the matter was, Merrik could have pressed the kill switch any second of Obi Wan’s hesitation, and Obi Wan knew that, and was hesitating anyway.

I am calling this attachment solely because if the situation was reversed, if this was Anakin and Padmé in this situation, with Anakin not taking out a dangerous criminal because he doesn’t want to upset Padmé (lol ignoring the fact that Pads 1000% would have shot that bitch, and even if she didn’t, Anakin would because he is perfectly fine with hurting his loved ones’ feelings if he feels it’ll keep them safe), god, the narrative would have eaten Anakin alive.  

No, I won’t take criticism.  I know how the show handles the Anidala dynamic.  It would have shown Obi Wan popping up to take out the baddie as him doing the right thing and saving the day, and then Anakin would have been shamed for letting his feelings for his wife get in the way of protecting a shipful of people.  THAT would be the Vader foreshadowing, none of this “only a cold-blooded killer” shit, no way would they ever stick that label on Obi Wan.

So yeah, I’m going off of the fact that if that would have been classified as attachment for Anidala-- which, it would, then. it counts for Obitine.

And then Obi Wan and Satine continue to be hung up on each other for the rest of the eps they’re in, Satine saying in words multiple times how much she loves and cares about him and wishes things could be different, and Obi Wan performing it in actions, risking his own neck and political standing to help her even when she’s a fugitive, probably personally putting in to send his own grandpadawan to help her later.  Right up to the time when Satine decides that she is going to call Obi Wan when she is deposed.  Not the Senate.  Not any powerful politician friends.  Not even the Jedi Order or the Council as a whole.  She calls and addresses her distress call to Obi Wan alone.  And Obi Wan, as now revealed to us by TCW S7, defies Council orders and breaks a century old neutrality treaty to try and bust her, a convicted murderer in the eyes of the Republic and Mandalore, out.  He didn’t even know Maul had her.  Just knew she was in danger and came running to her aid.  He risks starting a potential war to come save her.  They acted so in love that Vizsla was able to guess from being around them for like five seconds, and was able to tell Maul exactly who he would need to bait Obi Wan.

That is where the attachment comes from.  It’s the fact that Obi Wan and Satine tried so, so hard to give each other up and do the right thing, but when it came down to it, they couldn’t lose the other one so they put them first when logically they shouldn’t.  And thus, Satine ended up dead.

Now I know most people will argue with me that actually Filoni means that since they didn’t stay together after the year on the run, THAT is what makes them able to give each other up, and also the fact that Obi Wan didn’t go dark side and murder everyone when Satine died.

But I still think that at least the murder front is a fairly low bar to cross, and anyway, that just because they could live without each other didn’t mean they weren’t still attached.  Anakin and Padmé were apart for 10 years and then even after that, they were apart almost constantly during the war.  Just because they could live apart or even past the other’s death didn’t mean they weren’t attached, as they both still had not let the other go mentally and also broke rules to try and ensure the other would not die, even if the rules said they should let it happen.

So yeah, that’s my big theory.  We can’t compare Obitine with Anidala by saying Obitine was a success story, we compare them by acknowledging that both struggled with attachments and letting the other go, but Obitine at least tried to the bitter end to do the right thing while Anidala didn’t really bother, and both ended up with dead women and broken men regardless, and that is the true sad parallel to me.

#ohhhhh my god i really gotta learn how to shut up lol #thanks anon! told ya it was long! #ask #asks #when we were young #star-crossed lovers #our only ho #peace out #one (1) hot mess #queen of my heart #anon

[anotherobsessedfangirl]

~ 30 Questions Tag ~

Got tagged by @illicitfuck thank you Rei for thinking of me <3 you made my day you have no idea how much I love tags and answering questions :D

1) name/nickname: Not sharing my real name on here and I also don’t really have a nickname but I use Persephone for writing and stuff so maybe you could say that that is my nickname. (Feel free to call me Persephone on here if you want to :D)

2) star sign: Taurus

3) height: 5′3 / 160 cm

4) birthday: May 6th

5) favorite bands: Måneskin (thanks Rei for already putting them here :P :D), The Rolling Stones, The Bee Gees, Muddy What?, Santana, Rosenstolz,  Electric Light Orchestra, BAP, Smokie and a lot more that don’t come to my mind right now :D

6) time: 9:30 pm

7) favorite solo artists: Oh god let me think I don’t even listen to that many solo artists on a regular basis (like in more than just a few songs of them)... okay here is what came to my mind: Lucky Dube, Suzi Quatro, Frank Sinatra, Harpo... that’s all I could come up with sorry :D

8) song stuck in your head: Amandoti Cover by Måneskin

9) last movie you watched: Twilight

10) Dream Trip: Right now I just want to be somewhere at the ocean like Italy or Greece (but somewhere not so touristy because I don’t like people :D) and just chill there and relax. My future dream trip I hope I can do after my graduation in 2 years is going to Botswana for 2 Month.

11) Last Show: Young Royals on Netflix

12) When I Created This Blog: When I started writing fanfictions about 3 years ago.

13) What I Post: Whatever I am obsessed with which right now is Måneskin :D and random thoughts or stuff I like or find funny or important :D Idk I just post about whatever I like :D

14) Last thing I googled: “In which direction to turn your key to open the front door ” (The story behind this: I moved into a new apartment two weeks ago and it’s all new and it has super heavy doors that are so fucking hard to open and after desperately trying to unlock the stupid door for five minutes I wasn’t so sure anymore about which way is the right way to turn the key because neither way worked and I was afraid of breaking the key if I accidently turn it to hard in the wrong direction. End of story: I called my bf almost crying asking if he remembered which direction is the right one and he did and then I tried again with full force and the damn thing finally opened)

15) Other Blogs: None

16) Do I get asks? Sometimes but not many but I’d love to get more so if you wanna ask me anything or talk to me please feel free it always makes me so happy if people want to talk to me :)

17) Why I Chose My URL: Because it’s who I am, just another obsessed fangirl :D

18) Following: 167

19) Followers: Tumblr says 1212 but most of these are bots because if I post something there are usually about 10 people who interact with my posts (unless something goes viral in a tag of course) It’s very annoying because I’d actually like to know how many people are really following me and are interested in my stuff but I guess I’ll just never know...

20) Average Hours Of Sleep: I need 7-8 hours minimum and if I get less than 6 hours I feel like shit

21) Lucky Number: 13, 7, 2, 21 (just numbers I like for whatever reason when I was a teenager 13 definitely was my lucky number)

22) Instruments: None because sadly I have no musical talent :/ I tried to teach myself playing guitar when I was 16 but I failed :D But I am actually thinking of trying to learn an instrument again these days just because I find it very cool to make your own music and it’s just such a nice way to express yourself and tbh also because of Vic De Angelis and her bass :D

23) What Am I Wearing: I just took a bath and just put on some comfy clothes after so I am simply wearing sweat pants and one of my bf’s shirts I stole from him because I like oversized shirts :D

24) Dream Job: Being an actress. It simply is my passion. Right now I am studying social work though (which I like too) but I am trying to do some acting on the side because seriously when I am infront of a camera I just feel like that’s where I belong. I just did some filming in May and June and when I was on set I realized that I haven’t been that happy and didn’t feel that much like myself since years and even if it’s just a no budget movie for now it’s like one step closer to my dream. Also I could totally imagine working part time as a social worker but also doing acting jobs because it would certainly put some pressure off if I’d have a steady income and can just choose whatever projects I like without necessarily having to earn a living with it (not that I’d complain lol)  :D

25) Favorite Food: Pasta & Potatoes in any form. :D Oh and Antipasti because I just love having many different dishes to choose from.

26) Tea or Coffee: I drink neither of it regularly.

27) Nationality: German.

28) Favorite Song: Right now Vent’anni by Måneskin (and basically half of their discography)

29) Last Book I Read: The midnight rose by Lucinda Riley

30) Top 3 Fictional Universes I Would Like To Live In:

1. Harry Potter Universe (because we don’t like JKR in this house but we certainly love the Potterverse especially if we can make it so queer that JKR would faint lol)

2. Maybe “Die jungen Ärzte” (= ”The young doctors”) It’s a german medical drama series maybe you could compare it to Grey’s Anatomy just less dramatic and with more happy endings :D anyway I just love that series and the actors and the characters and I’d really like to live in that universe just so I could for once have such caring and nice doctors treating me who’d magically find a solution for my chronic illness just like they always do on TV :D

3. Idk does the kind of fictional Universe where I am friends with Måneskin count? :D

I am tagging: @parva-noctua @ginny-lily @bexfangirlforlife and everyone who wants to do this, no pressure though :)

#this was so much fun #loved it #tag game #tag #thank you again rei

[justjessame]

The Deal Chapter 18

I felt like I could breathe easier only when Dad, Daryl, and Hershel returned. The fear was still heavy, and it wasn’t lessened when Dad informed us that we were, essentially at war now. Daryl told me later that he’d learned as much from one of the Governor’s henchmen. That the meeting was for show, but in the end, it wouldn’t be worth shit.

I watch Dad as he takes Hershel aside, and wonder if he’ll ever be safe to mourn Lori. If we’ll all ever have an actual breather to just BE, instead of constantly having to fight and push.

It doesn’t surprise me when he takes Daryl and I aside later on. He wanted to share a caveat that the Governor offered him. Hand Michonne over and they’d be left alone. I share only a brief look with Daryl, my mind on Carl’s growing attachment to her. I shake my head and Daryl agrees with me, “It’s just ain’t us, man.” His arm is around my shoulders, holding me against his side as we look at my dad’s face. I’m not certain we’ve convinced him that handing her over is a bad idea. He’d do almost anything for a peaceful solution.

Later, I stand guard in a tower as Daryl and Michonne work together with Glenn and Beth to lay spike strips at the prison gate. When they come closer, I ask what’s the plan, and she grins up at me. She tells me that we don’t necessarily have to beat them, we just have to make it a pain in the ass to get inside. I chuckle and can see why Carl likes her so much. Fierce, yes, but also clever. A great addition to our little group.

When I walk back inside after guard duty, I can see Carol and Merle facing off. Moving closer, in case I have to once again step between Merle and another fight, I overhear her tell him to pick a side already.

“I’m only here for my brother,” Merle growls, still feeling about as welcome as a fucking boil.

Carol snapped back, “Yeah, well he’s with us.”

Merle smirks and answers, “No, he’s with Jessi.”

Dear God, I think, he truly doesn’t get it. Why Daryl sticks with us, all of us. He thinks that Daryl is just staying because we’re together. Shaking my head, I wait until they part, Carol going to check on my baby sister.

“You know that’s not true, right?” I ask when we’re alone. “He’s not just here for me.”

Merle gives a snort of disbelief. “Really?” He raises an eyebrow. “He wouldn’t even consider running off with me, girl. The only words out of his lips, aside from arguing about which way was the right one, was your damn name and how he had to get back to ya.”

I shook my head. “He loves me, sure, and I love him. But this group, we count on one another, Merle. And your brother is one of the most important people here. Trust me, he’s not just here for me.” Before he could argue, I walked away.

As the Greene family holds hands praying, my eyes meet Dad’s. I can see his uncertainty over the deal the Governor offered, but I also see something else. He’s seen her again, I can tell. He’s seen Lori.

Dad and Daryl take a moment to themselves as I take Judith for a bit of a walk outside. I’ve barely stepped into the prison yard, when I hear the two of them calling to me. Looking over my shoulder at them, I see a look of panic. What now?

“Merle and Michonne aren’t here.” Dad offers, showing a guilt that I didn’t expect. “He- we- there was a moment-”

I close my eyes. Of course Dad would go to Merle. Of course. And Merle, always willing to go with the WRONG fucking plan jumped to it. Opening my eyes, I waited for more fucking bad news. Daryl touches my cheek, refocusing my attention to him. “I gotta track ‘em.” Sure, right, absolutely. “Find ‘em before Merle does something stupid.”

Something stupid that my dad condoned and plotted with him to do. Why not? Another fucking goodbye. Another day spent in fear and worry. Clearly that was going to be my constant state from here on out. Using Judith as armor so I wouldn’t have time to fucking deal with the fear and worry, that would be my only course of pain control. Shaking my head, I turned away from both of them and walked my baby sister around the yard, not welcoming either of them to join me or to follow.

I miss a great deal during the following hours. I don’t realize that Glenn ‘married’ Maggie. I don’t notice Dad announcing he’s finished being supreme ruler of our group. I don’t vote for war or peace. I don’t even notice when Michonne comes back alone. I have done what I promised myself. I have thrown myself fully into the care of Judith. I won’t watch Carl to see if the harshness in his eyes has grown. I won’t watch Dad to see if his sanity is on the fritz. I won’t watch and wait and pray. Not now. Not anymore.

I’m bouncing Judith on my hip and making her a bottle when I feel Dad come up behind me. “Let me take her for a while,” he offers, his voice low. “You need a break.”

I shake my head, keeping her in my arms. “No, I don’t.” I manage, popping the bottle nipple in her mouth and kissing her forehead. “This is my focus now, Dad. Her. That’s it.” I don’t look up at him. I don’t want to see whatever emotions cross his face. “You and Daryl can save the fucking world from here on out. I’ll do the old fashioned kitchen baby shit.”

I walk away, not feeling like dealing with anything other than formula, diapers, and cribs. The rest of the world is madness, but Judith won’t know of it, not for now. Not on my fucking watch.

I’ve managed to go to sleep, a troubled nap while Judith has her own more peaceful version. I can feel Daryl’s body press into mine as he climbs into the sparse bed of a cell I’ve claimed. I add his presence to my dream, until I feel the dampness of his face press into the curve of my neck. Tears? What the hell?

I roll over, letting his arms stay locked around me and search his face. I know that pain. That grief that looks like it’s swallowing him whole. Merle’s dead. Gone. His face shows that he has no blood family left, and he doesn’t have to say it, doesn’t have to tell me what he was forced to do. I know, because it’s what Carl was forced to do. What Andrea had to do.

I pull his head to my shoulder and hold him as he lets it out. The pain. The grief. The anger. I want him to have the time to process, but that just isn’t the world we live in anymore. So instead, I give him this, the peace of me holding him while he gets as much as he can out. He’ll want to have a stronger look on his face when he really sits down with the others, and I give him that time to be able to force it.

“I love you.” I whisper, kissing his hair. “I love you and I know it doesn’t make it better, but I do.”

I feel him calming. The tears slowing, and then, when he’s collected himself a bit, he pulls away and looks into my eyes. “It does make it better.” He tries to smile, but he’s in so much pain that it’s fleeting. “I love ya. And that does makes it easier, somehow.”

When Daryl goes to talk to Dad and the others, he learns everything that I ignored. He returns and is astonished that I didn’t bother to keep informed. When I shrug, he pulls me to him and kisses me. “Ya can’t give up, Jessi.” His voice is fierce. “Ya can’t, cause then what do I got left?”

“I haven’t given up,” I correct. “I’m just refocusing my efforts to other shit.” At that Judith starts to fret. Standing I go to her and get her out of the crib, she needs a diaper change, so I do that, redressing her and holding her against my chest. “She doesn’t need any of this bullshit, and she won’t have to know about it for a good long time.” My voracity matches his.

“Glenn and Maggie are married now.” He whispers and I raise an eyebrow. Interesting. “Your dad don’t wanna be leader in the absolute sense.” I shrug. “And we’ve got a plan.”

I sigh. “What’s my part to play?”

I only return to the group after Daryl fills me in. I offer a smile of congratulation to the newlyweds, I nod at the others, and I sit with Judith on my lap as they make preparations for war. I find myself nearly screaming when Carol tries to offer some kind of fucked up in memorial of Merle, by admitting that he gave them better odds. I shoot a look at Daryl, but he’s barely listening. Thank fucking God, I think, because reminding his fucking brother that he at least did something good in his life, by Carol’s standards wasn’t exactly appropriate in my mind.

Dad’s plan, in between visits from Mom, is pretty simple. Pack all our shit up in the vehicles, just in case. There are a multitude of “in cases” but the two main ones are: in case we’re being watched, which has a good likelihood of being correct, and of course, just in case we have to flee. Michonne, I’m happy to see, has been accepted finally by Dad. I sense a tension between Dad and Carl, and feel a flash of curiosity about the source, but then Judith’s hand wraps in a loose strand of my hair and tugs, trying to get free.

Our preparations are finished quicker than I expected. My part of the plan is simple and safe. Judith and I are to take a walk to a vehicle that’s hidden full of supplies we’ll need during the attack. A walkie is with me, so Dad or Daryl can let me know if I have to beat a hasty retreat or to tell me it’s safe to come back through a code that will let me know if they’re only contacting me under distress.

The walk makes sense. I take her out almost daily, careful of the route, even if I rarely leave the gates. Anyone watching won’t bother with us, and if they do, I have more than one way to stop them from harming us. The rest of the plan is ambush. Make the prison seem deserted and then attack. Like trapped animals, they’ll be slaughtered, but at this point it’s the only way.

I leave when I’m told to. Walking as though Judith and I are just enjoying the sunshine. That we have nothing more in mind than a casual stroll. I reach the hidden car without issue, sidestepping walkers easily, and keeping Judith quiet. I lay her down on the passenger’s seat, happy to see whomever stocked the car put everything within reach so I don’t have to get out. Getting in, shutting the door and setting the locks on all the doors, I wait.

I can hear gunfire in the distance. Yelling, gunfire, and some other noises that I don’t want to consider. Picking up Judith, I push the seat back so we can sit comfortably while we wait for it to end. One way or the other, it has to end.

The walkie comes alive and my hand shakes as I lift it. Dad, it’s Dad’s voice telling me that they’re going after the Governor. He fled, with some of his followers, and so the fight has to continue on the road. I don’t have to ask who “they” are. Daryl will go, of course, and anyone else who wants to. But definitely Daryl. Another parting, another worry that I won’t get to say goodbye. Maggie and Glenn are staying behind to stand guard, he lets me know, and I know he wants Judith and I to return. To be safe within the walls of the prison that is now our home.

Inside the prison is a mood of jubilant victory, tempered only by the wait to see if Daryl, Dad, and Michonne are successful. I learned that I wasn’t the only one to sit the fight out. Hershel and Beth were waiting in the woods with Carl to defend them. My mind hadn’t been on anything except my part, and I am happy to see that we came through unscathed, so far.

Unscathed, but seeing Hershel shooting a look in Carl’s direction, I realize something troubling must have happened. Dad returns, with Andrea’s body in tow and a bus filled with Woodbury survivors, including Tyrese and Sasha, the two that Carl had found and Dad had pushed out. Hershel and Beth welcome our new members, and I see the hatred and anger on my baby brother’s face as he confronts our dad about welcoming them into our home.

Moving forward with Judith still in my arms, I try to get between them. Carl looks deadly, but he’s still my baby brother, so I hand Judith to Dad and pull him away. “What’s going on with you?” I ask, away from the others, away from Dad. “This isn’t you, Carl. This anger. This hate.”

His blue eyes, looking incredibly like Dad's, are flashing at me as his fists clench. “They tried to KILL us, Jessi. They all were a part of it, so why give them a chance?” I feel my heart clench. My little brother, so hardened by this new fucking world that he’d rather line up survivors and kill them all then consider they made a bad choice.

“No, they didn’t.” I whisper, reminding him that these people, the ones mingling in our group, stayed back. “You can’t just kill everyone, Carl.”

He walks away from me without another word.

#daryl dixon x ofc #eventual negan x ofc #mention of smut #angst #rick grimes daughter #alternative universe #mental illness

[jcmorrigan]

Valentine’s Day F/O Letter

For the event hosted by @nougatships​ and @megane-shipping​! I decided to write a letter to Giovanni Potage from EE because I am love him SO MUCH right now. Anyway, it got kinda long, so most of it will be under a cut.

***

Hi Gio,

             This is the first time I’ve ever really written anything of length to you. To any of the ones I love this way, really. Beginnings are hard. There’s so much I want to say, and I’m not sure where to even start. So let’s get the basics out of the way: how are you doing? Successful heists lately? Epic tales of villainy I simply must know about?

           I’ve been fine. Life’s boring, as usual. I would say I don’t even know how you put up with it, but I’ve seen your couch-potato side, so that’s not really a big mystery. I like that. I like that you’re equally up for breaking the mold with some adventure and just…kicking it. (Wow. That’s some old slang. When’s the last time anyone said “kicking it”? Me. Just now.)

           So as for the reason I’m writing this letter…I think it’s best if I just begin in chronological order. So you and I both know you’re not the only one in my heart, and I’m glad you respect this. There’s a time, a place, and an AU for you, and it doesn’t make you any less special. But I’m always stunned when I look back at how we met. The others, it took time to realize I loved them, and how much they meant to me. But you? You broke through that fuckin’ museum wall, and I KNEW you were my type. If you want the receipts, I have the Discord chat of when I was talking to my friend while watching you and screaming about how much I wanted to cuddle you. (LISTEN. I KNOW THAT WAS FORWARD. I’M SORRY FOR BEING A CREEP. SOMETIMES I’M A STALKER.) …Actually, the exact words were when my friend, knowing you were my type, said “If he were any further up your alley, he’d be at your house” and I said “He could come to my house anytime” and I’m sorry your girlfriend is such a creep.

           I haven’t felt that instant…fall that many times in my life. The last time I can remember it, it was for someone real. As in who originates in my world. I think you’ve figured out that sometimes, I compare you to him. That chase went on such a runaround…with men, my whole life after him, I’ve thought of them as goals to achieve. I got the attention of the hot one! Yay! Finally! Now he can love me and all of my little quirks, even though I’m super boring! And I’m not saying that’s incredibly wrong. I’ve made some good relationships that way, actually. (All fictional, of course.)

           But you…what struck me is how much I wanted to be with you for your sake. Not mine. Not to bandy about getting you to notice me, or playing the tsundere game, or worrying I’m not good enough. Sure, I like a slowburn and a good confession, but I really just wanted to be close to you because you made me smile. You had a good sense of humor, you have that unbreakable lighthearted confidence I adore…you’re a little bit of an idiot, but in the absolute best way possible (and you have emotional smarts where I don’t). And on that note! You’re one of the nicest guys I know! Even if you are the bad guy.

           Which was kind of the two-hit combo that slayed me. I have a villain problem. You know this. I know this. I wasn’t sure how to handle it. Some days, I want to be a villain, myself, and have the freedom to do what I want, take revenge on those I feel wronged me, take whatever my heart desires, just not have to live by the RULES anymore. But some days, I become acutely aware of my conscience. Could I ever be a real villain? Could I actually steal? Could I KILL? I think about the people I’d hurt, and I don’t wanna do that. I now know that depending on the situation, I can laugh with the sinners and cry with the saints. (Little Billy Joel for ya.) But with you, I know I don’t really have to…pick. You let me be me, and you let me have that freedom of just…doing bad things that are against the rules. And it feels AWESOME. But then, we never really take it too far, and we still have our friendships, our standards, our moral codes, our etiquette. Basically, you’ll let me be the good guy, too, and you’re just a sweetie pie. Some days, I need to toe the line more; some days, I need to shed blood. But you let me suspend in between, getting the best of both worlds.

           And all this is why I think…maybe you’re my favorite out of all of them. It makes me feel guilty to love you best when I’ve given my heart to two others, and who knows where it will stop? But it’s you I find myself thinking of most often. You who I’d have fun with. You who’d make me smile. You who I’d want to make smile.

           Also, I realized lately. I don’t get jealous over you, not like I thought I would. I like seeing you depicted with other partners, the Blasters or other selfshippers/OCs. I love when I meet someone else who had the good enough taste to fall for you! If you want to invite Crusher or Spike or anyone else you like to be part of this…I know you have enough love for all of us. We can all be happy together. Just say the word!

           Knowing you would support me emotionally no matter what is touching. I’ve relied on you for a lot. I’ve done scary grown-up government stuff while listening to your theme. I invited you to the crew that would go on that flight with me because I hate airplanes so much, and I knew you would give me amazing distraction-cuddles (though I suspect you, also, fear the airplane, and if I’m right about that, I admire you so much for not letting it show). There are times I…really hate myself, or feel worthless. Especially because I have so much trouble validating myself. But I know you’d just put a hand on my shoulder and tell me it’s going to be all right before inviting me to slip on some ski masks and pretty supervillain clothes so we can go hijack sugar cookies from the bakery. (Pink for you. You always have dibs on the pink ones! I haven’t forgotten! And blue for me <3)

           The adventures we’ve been on in my imagination…the walks around Twilight Town (YEAH YEAH I KNOW WRONG WORK OF FICTION), snuggling up in your knitted blankets (which are SO SOFT), making my villainess dress together, the first kiss on the rooftop, dancing like idiots, THE HEISTS…it all makes me really happy. You remind me that I don’t necessarily have to “grow up” to be a grown-up. And, I mean, I knew that, but you make sure I REALLY know that. (Speaking of which, don’t you love how if you add the two of us parents’-basement-dwellers together, you probably end up with one [1] functioning adult?)

           I also really have to thank you for being accepting of my asexuality. I’m always scared it will push others away. They say men only want one thing, right? And I am unfortunately attracted to men. Yaaaaay me. But there are big exceptions to the rule, and you’ve always been the one to say “Fuck gender roles!” I feel like when I’m with you, I never have to worry that you’ll be wanting something I can’t give you.

           In return, I will accept you no matter your body, your identity. I’ve run into a couple different takes on you, but they’re all you.

           I guess that brings me to the hard part of this. This is going public, so I don’t know how specific I want to get. But there was a very powerful force that suggested I couldn’t see you through my own eyes. That no one could do so. It almost tore us apart. I thought it was my moral obligation to let you go. I thought loving you would mean taking a stand on the wrong side and hurting my friends. I thought that what would happen is that every time I thought of you, I would be reminded of ugly truths and harsh realities.

           But after two days, I missed you so much. It was a good wake-up call to know this relationship wasn’t completely baggage-free, and it reminded me that I have many characters in my life who I want to give my attention, but it also proved to me that if I tried to let you go…I would have to physically push you away instead, and in the end, I couldn’t do it. I think back all the time to how good of a brother-dad-mentor-figure you were to Molly, and how you got worried about Fred’s astigmatism, and how I was sure you’d get along with so many of the characters who already made up my world, and how this spoke to your heart. Oh, and also, I needed your dumb ass to say loitering in front of a truck was a valid crime. (Please don’t ever loiter in front of a truck. I’m begging you.) I need you to show me how easily you shift from Grandma Mode to Knife Mode with your knitting needle, to be proud of the way you season your soup attacks, to keep making your own capes, to insist on the benefits of wielding a bat with a fucking knife taped to it, to jet your friends to safety when they’re afraid of such things as fire and traitor bears.

           Whatever comes of all that, I hope there can still be a space for us. You and me. And I’m confident it will happen, now. It already is happening. Because I know that you’d just want me to be happy, no matter where you fell on the issue that began it. And you love and respect my friends, too. I know you see us as our own little group of villains and co-minions and talk about us like we’re an evil team that has to take care of each other, and that’s…honestly so cute. Too bad I’m terrible at putting your words to work. Maybe one day. When I learn how to find the approval I seek without fighting it out of people. But I think that was the moment it went from a crush to actually loving you. When I saw how you would do that with Molly. With everyone. Make sure they knew how valid they were. I…feel bad that I haven’t been able to live up to this lately. Like I’ve failed you. But I can always try again, right? That’s what you’d want me to do! And I do improve on things every day. One day, the minion will surpass her villain (but still stay around with you because that’s what we do)! I hope I can support you in the same way – that when you have things that trouble your mind, that I can help you feel better and get you toward a solution to the problem.

           I know I’m safe with you, and I want to keep you safe, too. I know how much you’d put on the line to defend me, and I just want to protect you from all of the bad in your world – from snooty Vice Principals who call their armies to beat you up (I’m still SO SORRY you went through that!), from the law chasing you away from all that’s familiar, from all the insults and mockery that could ever come your way. I want to stand before you like a shield. To gather the troops of the other characters I know and form a protection squad around you. To make you smile. (Even if you are really, really cute when you cry. Look, I’m not gonna beat around the bush – I do love getting to comfort you. It SUCKS that you have to go through the hard times, but I like…being there. I hope that doesn’t make a sadist of me. Yeah, yeah, I know, that’s an overreaction.)

           By the way, I’m kinda sorry for not ordering the lobster bisque at the pub in the airport. I was gonna because of you! But I chickened out! And that salmon I got instead was REALLY good, okay? But it’s a double whammy because I had JUST found out the soup place in the mall closed and I need to make up for this. There will be soup!

           (As of the most recent draft, I had a horrid stomachache last Sunday, and chicken soup was all I could eat for most of the day. I thought of you. Though yours would’ve been better than Campbell’s and we both know it.)

           Fun fact: you are dating a silly, sappy lady. I keep thinking back to this letter – I drafted it once, then went back and added things, and here I am saying I ALMOST mailed this without talking up your looks. Which is probably a good thing because it means I’m primarily with you for your personality, but everyone deserves to feel like they look nice, so here goes: I love your silly, sly smirk. I love your cute little fangies. I love your untamed pink hair. I love when I can see just how deep-pink your eyes are. I love how much of a beanpole you are, and how much taller you are than me (even if it does mean you can’t carry me bridal-style for more than thirty seconds). I love how innocent you can look, and how you can look the absolute OPPOSITE of innocent when you want to. I love the way your face lights up when you’re happy about something, or when you’re being cocky. I love the way you wear your emotions on your sleeve, and I can always see how you feel just by looking (I’m bad at body language and reading between lines, after all). Do not ever doubt that is one handsome man looking back at you from the other side of the mirror! Because I could just watch your smile for so long, unbroken, you don’t even know.

           Thank you for being you. Thank you for letting me be me. Thank you for the fact that we’re our silly selves and we can be grown-ups without growing up in the gray space between good and evil. I can’t wait to see you more – in your own story, where I’m not; in the story just for us, in our own little timeline; in the TBTCverse Twilight Town where we are hounded by complex crossover lore; in the beautiful art everyone draws of you; in any other universe that may bring us together.

           And someday, the time might come that we have to part ways romantically. I’m not looking forward to that. I’m really not. I hope it doesn’t happen. But someday, we might not have the chemistry anymore, or you might find someone better, or I might have to put more focus in what I guess is the “real world.” If that day comes, I hope we can still be friends and mean something to each other. Zucchinis/QPPs, preferably. But if we have to be more distant…just so that I can think of you, and you can think of me, and we’ll both treasure those memories.

           I love you, Giovanni. Or should I say “Boss”?

 Sincerely, with all my heart,

Rachel “Composer” Scribere/Inlustris

(P.S. I wasn’t sure which universe’s last name I should put, seeing as I obviously am not going to write my last name in THIS world, so there, have both the ones you know me as.)

(P.P.S. “If there’s a place that I could be, then I’d be another memory. Can I be the only hope for you? Because you’re the only hope for me.” ~MCR, “The Only Hope for Me Is You,” Danger Days: The True Lives of the Fabulous Killjoys)

#selfship #i'm at soup! #valentine's day f/o event

[the-sanders-sides]

Stereotypical High School Movie AU

Previous || Chapter 21 || ao3 

in case links aren’t working: previous - https://the-sanders-sides.tumblr.com/post/182230055491/stereotypical-high-school-movie-au  and ao3 - https://archiveofourown.org/works/10574736/chapters/41405801

summary: Virgil was the emo kid with a history with the school’s most popular clique. Logan was, for lack of a better word, a nerd, and Virgil’s best friend. Roman, however, remains a mystery within his allegiances: friend or foe, bully or genuine? And Patton’s their loving teacher, providing each one of his kids with the advice they need to face the biggest challenge of their life so far: high school. (endgame prinxiety)

chapter warnings/possible triggers: threats, anxiety attacks, bad relationship with parents

Ah, another weekend. The sun was shining on a beautiful Florida park, and sat there on the swing set at two in the afternoon was none other than the sides: Logan, Virgil, and Roman.

“Anx, how are you not overheating right now?” Logan remarked, leaning against the pole of the swing set, while Virgil and Roman took up the two swings.

“Nah, I'm used to the heat. My sweater is like my second skin now,” Virgil joked, swinging slowly.

“Oh my gosh! Both of you phrased that so, terribly wrong that it's impossible to make a jokingly flirty comment!” Roman exclaimed as he swung high enough to be almost at a right a angle with the swing set. Virgil shook his head.

“What, you wanted me to say ‘it’s hot’ so you could say ‘that’s ‘cause I'm here’?” Virgil snarled.

“As a matter of fact, that's not what I was going to say,” Roman replied and stuck out his tongue at Virgil. Logan rolled his eyes.

“Then what were you going to say?” Logan prompted.

“Well, Anx could've replied to your question by saying ‘I’m not hot’ and I would've said ‘See, that's why we're perfect together! You're chill and I'm flamin’,” Roman said and jumped off the swing landing softly on the ground. He turned around to loom at Virgil. “Wait, ‘Anx’ is okay, right?”

“Yes, Princey,” Virgil responded. Roman smiled.

“Perfect, we're the three musketeers! Princey, Anxiety, and Logic!” Roman cheered. Logan cocked an eyebrow.

“Logic?” Logan questioned.

“Oh, yeah! I call you that in my head, since you're super smart. I think it's a fitting nickname… Um, do you like it?” Roman asked apprehensively. Logan gave a curt nod.

“It’s very apt,” Logan declared. Roman laughed. Roman’s phone buzzed in his pocket.

Charlotte >> Roman

Ro, can we talk?

Charlotte >> Roman

I don't know who to believe

Roman >> Charlotte

Please trust me, Char.

Roman then typed out ‘They're no good. It took me a while to break out of their manipulation and mind games’ but ended up deleting that.

Roman >> Charlotte

Just hear me out. I'm at the park rn if you want to talk?

Charlotte >> Roman

Yeah, I'll be there

“Hey, um, heads up, I just invited Charlotte here so we can talk… about, well you know…,” Roman said as he looked up from his phone.

“Yeah, yeah, I know…,” Virgil responded, slowing down his swinging. “I don’t think I want to stick around for that though. I’m gonna take a walk.”

“Alright, have fun,” Roman responded, slightly disheartened that Virgil wasn’t staying as he waved the other boy off. Logan looked between his two friends trying to decide who to stay with. Virgil rolled his eyes.

“Ugh, Lo, you look like a lost puppy. Fine, I’ll stay!” Virgil complained. A slight blush spread on Logan’s cheeks.

“I am not a lost puppy! I just said that so you’d stay!” Logan said in that matter-of-factly way that made it very obvious he was lying and that although the outcome was desirable, it was definitely not intentional. Virgil oh so eloquently responded to Logan’s petulance by sticking out his tongue at Logic. Roman chortled and ended up snorting from laughter which in turn made the other two boys laugh, so that when Charlotte arrive, she was left upon a group of laughing teenagers who for the life of them, could not stop. At first, she was distressed, as the only thing on her mind was finding out the truth about the people in her life, but at the sight she cracked a small smile that grew, and ultimately, she joined in on the laughter too. Whenever the four were close to recovering, Roman just ended up snorting again and the other three would roar with laughter, thereupon Roman would laugh again as well.

It was pure serenity. It was pure happiness. It was pure trust.

“Y-You know, haha, I’ve never felt, hehe, like this with, haha, Wynne before. I think I believe you, Ro,” Charlotte gasped, struggling to speak through the laughs. Her statement lead the other three to calm down with an occasional hiccup of laughter echoing from one of them. “Also, I am going to destroy Wynne for outing you, Virgil,” Charlotte blushed, “Also, uh, sorry about that fling we had. If I had known you didn’t want it, I wouldn’t have...”

“N-No, I consented! But don’t kill Wynne. I-It’s not worth it. You’ll get in trouble,” Virgil pleaded.

“Like you guys won’t?” Charlotte argued.

“Charlotte, if I may, wouldn’t it be more productive to amend for the things that you did, that may not have necessarily been good things, rather than get revenge? I’ve learned that it’s no good to punish people in retribution. You’ll just end up being as bad as they are, right?” Logan proffered.

“Yeah… I guess you’re right. I think- I think I’m gonna go talk to Rashmi. And all my other exes. And the people who I cheated in school from. But mostly Rashmi. I miss her a lot and it’s been so long and you were there when we broke up, right Virgil? I was trying so hard to be better, but I couldn’t, and then I ruined it and I tried to make out with you, and ugh! I messed up, like, big time.” Roman smiled.

“Well then, now’s your time to be better like you wanted to. I- Good luck, Charlotte. If you ever need someone who gets what it’s like to be manipulated by someone like Wynne, I’m here,” Roman said.

“I’d be happy to be your friend,” Charlotte responded as she smiled and walked off.

That night, Logan and Virgil layed on the grass in Logan’s backwards staring at the stars hidden in light pollution. The bugs were hidden away and asleep, so it was just the two of them and the half moon. Virgil sighed.

“So, my dad’s back in town tomorrow. His business trip and whatnot bein’ over. I think, maybe I should tell him about that fight with Nurul, but I don’t wanna make him worry anymore,” Virgil wiped away the tears that began to well up, “But then it’s just- Our relationship is already so strained, and then being all like ‘Hey dad! The kids at school still hate me!’ may be a bit too much. But I just, I don’t know..,” Virgil quietly rambled. Logan hummed.

“Talking will help. Maybe not even about that, but just clear the air. Tell him that you care about him. I dunno, I’m not the one to ask about this. I have been deemed Logic and not Feelings, after all,” Logan joked.

“Mr. Feelings, what am I to do?” Virgil asked with an air of extravagance as he climbed on top of Logan acting like a damsel in distress. Logan laughed.

“I don’t know, Anxiety, perhaps your solution lies away from me! For I am not the good Mr. Feelings! I am the evil Mr. Logic, and I’ve got you under my spell!” Logan shouted as he rolled the two over so Logan was on the top now as he pinned Virgil down.

“Oh no! Whatever shall I do? There is no Princey here to save me!” Virgil announced as he mock fainted. Logan smiled and shook his head as he climbed off of Virgil. Logan’s phone fell out of his pocket and when he picked it up he saw a notification from the screen mirroring app that Wynne’s phone was currently in use. He unlocked his phone and looked at the texts Wynne was currently sending. They were to Nurul, and they were quite concerning.

Wynne >> Nurul

just stay out of my way, okay! ill take care of it.

Nurul >> Wynne

At least tell me how you’re going to get revenge.

Wynne >> Nurul

if we hurt virgil, we hurt logan more than if we got him directly. the dweeb cares too much.

Look. im gonna call virgils dad as the school and be all like ‘hey virgils dad your son started a fight and beat up an innocent kid, thought you should know!’

that’ll get anyone grounded. or worse.

Logan’s eyes widened. “Oh no. Oh shit, this is bad. Anx, look at this,” Logan panicked, shoving his phone in Virgil’s face.

“Woah, woah, Lo, calm down. It’s fine,” Virgil moved the phone away from his face to a distance where he could read the screen, “Never mind. Let’s panic. Oh fuck.” Logan twiddled with his glasses and began to speak at an unintelligible speed.

“We can- We can shut this down, right? It’s possible. Oh my gosh, Wynne is right. Haha, I love caring more about my friends more than myself. Okay anyway. Ummm. We could block the signal? No, i don’t know how much time we have. Um. Uh. We could redirect the call! That’s easier, I think! Okay yes…” Logan continued muttering how he was going to go about this while he walked inside his house and to his computer. Virgil followed suit in a daze and just hoped that Logan would fix the problem. He always does, but, is this the first time he won’t? Virgil thought as he chewed his lip which was bound to swell later.

Logan and Virgil entered Logan’s bedroom. Virgil flopped down onto Logan’s bed while Logic sat at his desk and began to type and write to figure this thing out. An hour later, he breathlessly stopped. He gasped out the air he didn’t realize he was holding.

“I think I did it. I’m not sure. I’ve never tried anything like this before,” Logan lamented.

“It’s okay if it doesn’t work. Just- Thank you. For always protecting me,” Virgil replied.

“I’ve always been afraid of losing you. You’re my best friend, and I- Fuck. Emotions,” Logan said melancholically, his forehead slightly creased.

“It’s okay, I know what you’re trying to say. I love you too,” Virgil whispered with a soft smile. Virgil’s phone started buzzing and when he saw who was calling he furrowed his brow.

“Wynne is calling me?” Virgil questioned. “Should I pick it up or…?”

“Oh right,” Logan adjusted his glasses, “I redirected the call so instead of Wynne’s call going to your dad’s phone, it goes to yours.” Virgil nodded, picked up the phone, and put it on speaker.

“Hello Mr. Sanders, this is Vice Principal Vitali. I apologize for calling this late, but we weren’t getting a response earlier, and I was just leaving my office, so I thought I’d try one last time. Your son is in some serious trouble,” Wynne said with a falsely deepened voice. Virgil’s eyes went wide.

‘What do I say?’ Virgil signed at Logan.

‘Deepen your voice and pretend to be your dad. Just say you’ll ground Virgil or something,’ Logan signed back. Virgil cleared his throat.

“Ah, Mr. Vitali, what trouble do I owe you?” Virgil asked, his deepened voice shaking.

“Your son Virgil picked a fight with this innocent kid, Nurul, and proceeded to beat him up. I am very thankful our English teacher was there to intervene, for it looked like he was going to seriously injure that kid,” Wynne said.

‘This makes me so angry. Flames on the side of my face,’ Logan signed. Virgil couldn’t help but snort a little laugh.

“Excuse me, what was that you said?” Wynne asked.

“Oh sorry, that was a sn-eeze.” And Virgil’s pubescent voice cracks struck at the wrong time on the word sneeze. “I’m a little sick, so my voice is not right, right now,” he lied.

“Well, I apologize that I’m bringing such information at this troubling time. I hope you will deal with your son as you see fit.”

“Yes, thank you. I must be grounding him,” Virgil said, but it came out more like a question than a statement. “Goodbye now,” he said as he tapped the end call button. But. His finger didn’t hit end call, it hit right next to end call, and neither Virgil nor Logan noticed that the phone was still on.

“Oh my gosh, it worked,” Logan cheered.

“Yes!” Virgil shouted, back in his normal voice.

“Ex-Excuse me?”

‘Oh shit,’ Virgil signed.

‘Hang up! Just hang up!’ Logan signed back. But before he could, Wynne spoke again.

“Wait a minute, that sounded like Logan’s voice? And Virgil’s? I sincerely hope I am talking to Mr. Sanders and not his kid and his friend trying to get out of trouble,” Wynne continued, not once breaking character. “Because if it is Logan and Virgil, I wonder how they knew about this call. Surely no one in the administration talked them about it. Which would mean it’s sabotage. And oh, Mr. Sanders. You aren’t even interrupting me. So I must assume it’s Logan and Virgil,” Wynne dropped the phony voice, “You dweebs I will destroy you!”

“U-Um-,” Virgil stuttered trying to get back into his false voice but failing.

“So it is you, jackass. Now let me think, how would you know about this? The only other person who knows is Nurul and he’s with me here right now, aren’t ya buddy? So it must be… hm… perhaps the little nerd decided to hack again? Didn’t he learn his lesson the last time?”

“Actually, no, I didn’t. Nurul’s a terrible fighter,” Logan snarked.

‘Logan, what are you doing?’ Virgil signed.

‘It’s fine. Trust me. Follow my lead’ Logan signed back. Virgil nodded.

“Yeah, he must be pretty weak if I supposedly seriously injured him,” Virgil said.

“Listen well Virgil. I know things about you that you wouldn’t want anyone to know. Now. I will destroy you unless you stop being a shithead and meddling with Roman! He’s mine! You hear me? You have two choices: convince Roman that I was right all along and have him join me again, or, let me destroy Roman for being the worst fucking person alive! Otherwise, you and your stupid nerd friend will find yourselves in a world of pain, got it?” Wynne threatened.

“No.”

“What did you say?” Wynne asked.

“I said no!” Virgil shouted at the phone. “Now get the fuck out of my life. If I’m such a loser and a dweeb, then why the hell do you keep trying to toy with me? Go raise your standards, asshat.” Virgil pressed the end call button for real this time and then looked up at Logan. He was shaking all over and couldn’t breathe. He was absolutely still and silent, and panting and heaving and crying at the same time. It was the beginning of an anxiety attack.

a/n: hope you enjoy! things are getting spicy.

prinxiety tag list from famders tag list:

@221biotchplease @a-blog-just-for-sanders @ace-of-hufflepuffs @ace-v-p-d @acrobaticcatfeline @alextheodd @all-these-trees-stealing-mah-o2 @allaboutme7 @allthemetalsoftherainbow @alyssadashrub @anastasialestina@angeliclogan @angered-turtle @anony-phangirl @anxious-darkwolf @anyay666 @aph-roma @areyousirius-noheisdead @asalwayss @elder-jeremiah @elvishfrenchassassin @emokittenlikesgore @emovirgil @emphoenixcat @erlenmeyertrashofsandersides @evilmuffin @faacethefacts @fabulousfanaticfander @thats-so-crash @fairly-close @faithhopefelony @fanatic564 @fandergecko @fangirlsanonymous @fireflightyt @funsizedgremlin @gamerzylo @gayrobotalien @grey-lysander @hanramz-the-fander @heythereprincey @hi-disappointed-im-daughter @hissesssss @hoodie-bros @hottopicvirge @runyou-cleverboy-andremember @imaflashcard @inkyoo @inkyroo @iris-sanders-athena @ive-given-up-on-it @jade-dragon226-fan @jaybingu @jughead-is-canonically-aroace @just-another-transblog @justmyshitandmoreshit @k9cat @katatles-the-fish @kentato-kenart @kickassking14 @kirsten-the-freak @koalaaquabear @kurna-kovite @l-i-t-vocabcards @lacandra @lacrimosathedark @lana–22 @lockolocka @logically-sided @louisthewarlock @madelynnaa @magicmapleleaf @makemeaplant @makemeaplant @maximum-fander @mercythemermaids-blog @micha-like-you-find-in-rocks @microsoft-nerd @migraine-marathon @milomeepit @minamishipsit @mollycassmith @moonlightinwater @multi-fandom-trash-x9000 @muontsy2 @musicphanpie-b @musicsavedmefromdeath @mydogsaresofuckingstupid @neko-ereri-art @nightmarejasmine @notallpotatoesarefrenchfries @nottodaylogic @notveryglittery @nuttytheorizer @nymphaedoratonks @ocotopushugs @on-lock-like-attica @osnapitzbc @pandagirl0730 @panicatthefalloutphanficfandom @pansexual-cat @pastel-patton123 @pattykrabbies @pearls-of-patton @fricksonsticks @phanic-at-the-malfoys @pieces-of-annedrew @pinkeasteregg @planetsanders @potterlover394 @poundland-twoface @prinxietypreoccupied @proudhufflepuff @prplzorua @purplesatankittycat @radioactivebread @rainbow-beaniegirl @ray-rambles @reba-andthesides @redundant-statements-for-400 @roaring--20s @robanilla @roman-is-a-gay @rose-gold-roman @royallyanxious @rptheturk @ruuworld @samidaboss3 @sanders-fam-ily @sanders-sides-things @sanders-trash-4ever @sanderssides-deathangel @saphirestrike @sarcastic-anxious @sassy-in-glasses @save-dirk-gently @sesame-icecream @shygirl4991 @silversunshine2012 @siriuswhiskers @smokeyrutilequartz @smollestsinnamonroll @space-d0ubt @spacenerrrd @the-feels-are-coming @spoonfullofcrofters @starlightlogan @starry-eyed-haiku-dreamer @stars-in-mine-eyes @stormblessedcastiel @storytellerofuntoldlegends @strangerthings-and-phan @superfandertrashbros @superintrovertfangirl @thatonenerdtm @the-optimism-of-the-ostriches @the-prince-and-the-emo @theanxietyofbeinganxious @thecrimsoncodex @thegirlwiththedragonheart @thenerdycube @thepusheenqueen @theroyalramen @thesilentbluesparrow @theworldismysupernova @theworldismysupernova @thisisshien @thomas-must-get-to-sleep @thought-u-said-dragon-queen @too-precious-to-process @too-random-for-me @toujours-fidele @trashfireiplier @trashypansexual @tree4life25 @unknownsandersfan @urtrashhq @v-blue-writer @vampyrsarah @virgilisaneternalmood @virgils-anxiety @virgils-hoodie @voices-and-stardust @vulnerablevirgil @watch-me-introvert @weird-short-person @whyamihereohwell @wowimanerdblr @yamiaainferno @yonnie-boy @yourmomsafalsehood @l-i-t-vocabcards @enderperson43 @houseplxnthoodie @ultimate-queen-of-fandoms2 @nicoandtheninegalaxies @beetlequail @katie-the-noble-fangirl @johnlockandrarry @mildly-entertaining-fiasco

#sanders sides #thomas sanders #virgil sanders #prinxiety #roman sanders #logan sanders #mine #my fic #hsau

[fourteen--steps]

On big goldfish, and listening to each other

I apologize if the tone of this post is maybe a little more snippy than my usual ones. I’m usually very thoughtful with my words but I’ve had an incredibly rough physical and emotional week and I’m running low on spoons to devote to thinking things through properly. My frustration’s gonna bleed through here but I don’t want anyone to take it personal cause it’s really more me than you.

That said. 

Remember that whole trend a while ago of “don’t give advice on animals you haven’t kept or deeply researched?” What ever happened to that? What ever happened to respecting the expertise and hearing out the opinions of people who actually have it in that field vs demanding you’re right because you’ve read some care sheets and seen some photos of worst case scenarios?

My whole life and world has been immersed in goldfish for the last several years. Keeping multiple breeds of both single tail and fancy, reading, researching, joining everything from casual hobbyist groups to those of serious breeders and highly respected names. I’ve moderated, built, and eventually owned my own care forum. I’ve spent hours reading vet manuals and scientific articles, as well as conducting necropsies on every animal I lose to better understand their inner workings and what’s gone wrong. I had the wonderful experience last summer of raising a small batch of someone else’s fry. I’ve experimented with all different kinds of food and filtration and maintenance and decor and enrichment.

I don’t know everything, nobody can. I’m not perfect, nobody is. But I can say with confidence I know a lot about the care and keeping of goldfish overall, and that my information is overall very solid and thought out. 

So when someone comes in my inbox and asks my opinion on something goldfish related, my answer comes with all that experience and thought behind it. I often include caveats in my answers when I’m not 100% sure, or if I believe there’s no one-size-fits-all solution. I’m not so bigheaded as to believe that my way is absolutely always right and will work for every situation and every fish. But I answer in earnest and with confidence and reasoning. 

But then my posts get immediately doused with comments from people who to the best of my knowledge have little to no experience with the species. The ones who do have experience tend to be polite in their responses, if not a bit misguided, although even then their knowledge tends to bottom out at keeping some orandas in a 40B or having tended a garden pond. Often the other comments are far more cursory and involve varying amounts of dismissal of my opinion entirely, insults, condescension, and most frustratingly, wild misinformation (much of which I’ve only heard echoed back and forth within the microcosm of tumblr, and never from a reputable outside source)

Like I’ve read a fair amount about bettas now both on here and elsewhere just cause they’re such popular fish and I’m a nerd and I’m curious. But I’ve never kept one, and I’m not an expert, and I’d never go be snappy on the advice post of someone who I know has a lot more practical and academic knowledge with them than I do? At the very least I could politely ask a question or voice a dissenting opinion with some of my reasoning, possibly acknowledging the deficits in my experience, but diving straight in with the vitriol just baffles me. 

It’s come to my attention people are vagueing about me now and that’s just? So fucking childish and unnecessary. I’m also being accused of having stunted fish based on, among other things, the old eye proportion criteria, but btw that image of the ranchu that circulates as an example? Is heavily photoshopped and not a reliable catchall method to determine stunting.

For those who didn’t believe Zoom is as big as I said, I took this picture today. He’s not the most personable of my fish so he wouldn’t let me get him against a measuring tape but I measured my hand like that at about 4 inches, then pasted those identical bars on him (swear the blue bar is the same I just recolored so it’d stand out, not sure why it looks a little longer than the red). He’s just under 8 inches, nose to peduncle. Maybe even a tad longer cause he always curls a little when I flip him on his side (also why his side looks a little sunken here, he was getting ready to snap back and splash me in the face :P). When measuring goldfish you don’t include fins, by standard. If you wanna tack on the extra inch or so of tail go ahead and call him 9″

I also weighed him, he’s 109 grams which is a tad less than I’d like but I’ve been having issues with one fish in the tank needing a specialized diet so they’ve all been getting a little less protein than usual lately. The fish with the diet issue is probably going to be going back to @finefeatheredfish​ soon and I can pick up with weekly Worm Nights as usual again. His body condition is still good though rounded from above without being bloated, muscular rather than fatty, with a nice smooth taper head to tail and a bit of a belly. He’s not a very tall fish, but that’s more cause he’s a badly bred feeder fish who doesn’t fit the perfect common genetic standard than anything. Height isn’t about health, that’s a genetic characteristic that some fish just won’t achieve. In fact many tall “humpy” commons are not actually properly tall, but have large fat deposits along the tops of their bodies particularly built up behind the head which are an indicator of poor diet and overfeeding. 

In fact if you want, here’s the US hibuna show standard! Take a look!

What about the eye thing? It’s huge compared to his head right? Well here’s a shubunkin posted by Gary Hater, currently one of the most well respected breeders in the US hobby, both for his fish quality and welfare standards. Who incidentally keeps most of his in aquariums and states that they normally reach 6-8″ indoors. This fish was from his “giants” tank, one of which he said was roughly 10 inches. This one in the video looked a little smaller than aforementioned Big Boy so I figure it’s around 8″ or so, like Zoom. and hey, look at that big googly eye! Almost like eye size can vary naturally in healthy goldfish and isn’t necessarily a sign of stunting without other important factors that are often much more subtle and far less textbook!

The last think I want to bring up, is that this whole “goldfish are ALL large” and by extension “NEED to be large” to be “right” worries me for another reason. I’m concerned there’s a mounting pressure that goldfish should be reaching these enormous sizes that they aren’t meant to, in far too short of a time. Many of the fish that do reach these sizes in captivity, yes even the ones in ponds, reach them due to powerfeeding. Intentional or not, these fish are put on high protein, high filler, sometimes high fat diets, and often fed a lot of it. Outdoor fish also gorge themselves on algae, insects, worms, snails, aquatic plants, sometimes other small fish, anything they can get their greedy little mitts on. Then their owner will dump in a large cup of cheap high protein pond conditioning food and they scarf that down too. 

For aquarium fish, a nervous newbie keeper may see their young fish isn’t growing to the size they believe it’s supposed to and get a bigger tank, start feeding extra bloodworms, more meaty pellets, maybe turn the heater up a degree or two to boost their metabolism. They balance it out with lots of veggies so they think it’s okay, they just want their fish to be healthy and catch up to where it’s “supposed” to be! This leads to rapid and impressive growth, yes, but it comes with dangerous and potentially deadly consequences. 

Some of you may remember Queenie. She was the largest goldfish I’ve ever personally encountered, 10-11 inches and fat fat with it. Her original owner surrendered her to our LFS and @finefeatheredfish​ immediately bought her with the plan that she’d move into my 150 when it was set up. She was healthy at the time, some kind of long bodied fancy mix and drop dead gorgeous, though she needed to drop some weight for sure. Too young to be that massive and visibly overweight. She was unquestionably a powerfed pond fish.

Cw for euthanasia mention, pet death, graphic descriptions, next 3 paragraphs

But about a month into her QT she began getting sick, infection-like symptoms but antibiotics didn’t do anything. We worked on her another month, did our best to save her. We probably should have euthanized her earlier in hindsight but we wanted so bad to get her through and give her a happy home. She was just so amazing you know? I took her for the last week of her life to try some last ditch treatment, she died about 3 days after this photo was taken. 

I did a necropsy on her afterwards. Her vital organs were layered in fat. There was so much of it around her swim bladder that I thought it was another organ at first and got confused. I’m shocked it was still functional. Her liver was unidentifiable mush, suggesting chronic disease, and her gallbladder had simply exploded and spilled bile all over the surrounding tissue. Her body cavity was full of blood and fluid. The cause of death appeared to be the rupture of her gallbladder or liver and the tearing of some important vessel in that area, she bled out internally. 

The chronic liver and gallbladder disease were entirely untreatable for home aquarists. What we thought was infectious dropsy was full on liver failure, she couldn’t balance the fluid and electrolytes in her body anymore which caused the swelling. Likely even if we had taken her to the vet there would have been little they could do. You can’t really remove a fish’s inflamed gallbladder, or transplant in a new liver to replace a failing one. Those conditions are linked to obesity in many species, and I have no doubt that Queen’s diet and obesity were the cause of the chronic conditions that lead to her slow death.

She was powerfed because someone wanted a large, impressive fish, and it killed her. She deserved so much better than that. 

CW over

Powerfeeding and its results are not always that extreme, and I can go into more on the other risks and issues if anyone is interested, but this is long enough already. I wanted to include Queenie as a cautionary tale, and because I’m still so sad she never got to meet the rest of my little school. She was such a sweetheart.

I have a genuine concern with this normalization of 12-14″+ fish as average, that people are going to start pushing their pets to meet that. Most goldfish are not genetically capable of that growth. I’d go so far as to say most goldfish should not reach that size, at least not in any appreciably quick period of time. 

Feed your fish well. Keep their water clean. Give them room to swim. They will grow on their own time, to their own size. 

And lastly. I’m open to talking about this stuff, really. I love to learn new things and hear new sides. Just please, be friendly and mature and let’s have a real conversation? We can disagree politely. It doesn’t have to be black and white, mortal enemies, I know fishblr’s environment these days isn’t very conducive to that, and that’s part of why I’d left a few weeks ago. But I’m trying to give it another chance cause this community used to be really welcoming and wonderful. I’d really love for us to be able to step away from all this polarizing distrust and be open and considerate again.

My responses may be spotty because of the terrible week I mentioned at the beginning of this post but I’ll try and check back.

#I think I kept this mostly together and said most of what I want to say #goldfish #fishblr #long post #fishies #zoom #queenie #pet death mention

[dontshootmespence]

An Arduous Journey

A/N: An anon request for a Spencer x Reader where she ran out of her antidepressants. Due to a glitch in the system of her drugstore, she isn’t able to get her medication for a couple days and starts having a couple of withdrawal symptoms. I use the specific medication because it was one I have been on, so I know the withdrawal symptoms.

Additional note: This piece will make it sound like I’m a proponent of medication for everyone. I think antidepressants can be great, but it depends on the person; medication hits as all differently. Talk to your doctor before going off medication and continue talking about your symptoms after being on it. Things change and medications that once worked may need to be changed. For others, medication doesn’t help a lot. Please talk to a doctor and don’t take your mental health into your own hands.

                                                              ***

“Seriously?!” You exclaimed. “Isn’t there anything you can do? I can’t go without these meds.”

Spencer stood behind you, his hand in your back in an attempt to bring some calm to your frazzled body. “Can you even give a few pills until the supply comes in? Then subtract them from the amount in her prescription?”

The pharmacy tech looked distraught. “I’m sorry. I know where you’re coming from Miss, but we literally don’t have any of that particular medication in the store. The best suggestion I can make is to go to the emergency room in the event of any symptoms. They’ll be able to help you.”

“For a price!” You cried. You had insurance, it was just shitty insurance, which meant that a trip to the emergency room was going to cost you an arm and leg and a piece of ear.

Immediately, your entire world was spinning. You’d been off Zoloft once before and it had been hell. Granted, that time you took yourself off cold turkey because you were insistent that you didn’t need medication. That was a lie. A big fat lie. Now you knew better. You had no qualms about needing medication. And the thought of being off of them made you sick to your stomach. Already, you could feel the acid eating away. 

“I’m so sorry, Miss. If you want to give me your phone number, I can give you a call personally once the medication is in.”

She was trying her best, so you agreed and gave her your number. It was going to be a little over two days before their supply truck came in. “Spence, I can already feel the anxiety coming on.”

“It hasn’t been 24 hours yet, so that’s probably just you preemptively panicking, but I’m going to stay with you until the medication comes in, okay?”

You felt horrible. He meant well, but now you felt like a horrible inconvenience. “What about work?”

“I can take a few days off. I have the time and if they need me they can call me,” he assured you. “Now let’s go home.”

                                                             ***

For the first half a day or so, Spencer did everything he could to distract you. You watched a bit of Doctor Who, you played a board game, he even made your favorite pancakes, but once your dizziness set in everything went to shit. “You don’t have to do this alone okay. I’ll be here.”

“I know,” you said, your voice beginning to shake as the anxiety crept through. “I just hate feeling like this. How does a drug store fuck up that bad? Lives are at stake for fucks sake.”

Spencer gathered you in his lap, rubbing your temples to alleviate the burgeoning headache that was forming. Withdrawal headaches were awful. They took on a whole different form than they normally did. Usually, they were dull and steady. This one was throbbing and insistent. Curling into Spencer’s lap, you willed the headache to go away, only to have the pain in your head shoot to your stomach.

“I’ll be right back,” you breathed.

Spencer nodded, his eyes heavy with guilt. He had nothing to be sorry for, but he felt bad that there was nothing he could do for you. Between the nausea and the cramping, you were there, leaning against the bathroom wall for nearly 30 minutes. “Spence, can you grab an ice pack for when we go to bed?”

“Of course,” he replied softly. “Do you want to go to bed now?”

You emerged from the bathroom, your eyes heavy with exhaustion. “Yea. Sorry, I’m a buzzkill.”

“You don’t need to be sorry,” he said as he kissed your forehead. “This will all be over soon.”

This was the curse of antidepressant medication. It was necessary. You needed it. Every other healthy thing you did for yourself didn’t do shit if you didn’t have the medication to go along with it. During the night, you’d been curled into Spencer for a short while, but then every touch overwhelmed you and you had to move to the other side of the bed.

About seven hours later, you woke up to the zaps rolling throughout your body. These were the worst, because they weren’t necessarily painful, but they were wildly uncomfortable and made it feel like you had bugs crawling under your skin. You grimaced and pushed your head into the pillow. 

Spencer knew better than to touch you. “Zaps?”

“Yes,” you said, shivering at the foreign sensation that somehow felt all too familiar. “Fuck, I hate this.”

“Do you want another ice pack?” You felt his hand hover over your arm, but he pulled away. It was for the better; the touch would have the opposite effect right now and you didn’t want to snap at him.

You shook your head softly, feeling another headache coming on. “No thanks, babe. I think I’m just gonna try and go back to sleep. I’ll be up in a little bit, okay?”

“Take your time.”

                                                            ***

“Spence!”

You woke up in a cold sweat, your eyes wild as your boyfriend ran into the room. “What’s wrong? What happened?”

Despite the slight zaps that were still rolling down your arms, you clutched onto Spencer’s t-shirt and pulled him in. “I’m sorry. I just had a bad dream. We were in the car and there was a truck coming toward us. I even remember the color of it, and we had no way to move out of the way so you told me you loved me and turned the car so that the truck would hit you first and then I woke up, and-”

“Breathe,” he said softly, as he stroked your hair. “It’s okay. It was just a dream. I’m here. I’m okay. We’re okay.”

Your knuckles practically turned white grabbing his shirt. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry I scared you.”

“It’s okay.”

It was going to be another day before the shipment came in, but you’d slept most of the day and still felt like death. Instead of trying to go back to sleep, you asked Spencer to keep you company with some more board games and TV. 

Before it worked, but now it wasn’t doing a damn thing. Spencer kept trying even though he knew it wasn’t working either. But he was at a loss; there was nothing else he could do. As your pieces moved around the board, your mind started racing. What happened if the shipment takes an extra day? Will I have to go to the emergency room? That was going to cost too much. I can’t possibly go. But my heart wants to burst out of my chest. I can’t take that for another day. God, Spencer was probably so sick of this. Who wouldn’t be? Why did he put up with me? One of thee days he wasn’t going to anymore and he was going to walk away. Honestly, I wouldn’t blame him. I-

“Y/N?” He said again. “Your brain is telling you things that are untrue. Look at me.”

Of course he knew - profiler boyfriend. Double whammy. “I can’t help it,” you breathed.

“I know. Let’s go get some sleep and tomorrow morning, you should get a call.” You’d slept most of the past two days away and the awake hours had been hell. 

For the entire night, you tossed and turned. Spencer was sound asleep, probably because he’d been so worried about you, which made you feel worse. While he snored, you switched positions over and over and over again, getting little winks of sleep here and there. Finally, at around 8:15 the next morning, you got a call. “Hello?” You asked, your voice strained.

“This is Claudia at the pharmacy. Your medication is in.”

“Thank you, Claudia. I’ll be in as soon as possible.”

Spencer roused from his sleep. “Meds are in?”

“Yea. You mind driving. I’m still shaky.”

“No problem.”

Neither of you bothered to get dressed, driving to the pharmacy in slept in pajamas before running in for your meds. Once you were back in the car, you took one and closed your eyes while Spencer drove you back home. “How are you feeling?” He asked.

It hadn’t even been 10 minutes. “I’m not sure. Too soon.” 

Over the course of the next hour, your brain stopped buzzing. The muscles in your back and neck released. Your heartbeat slowed back to its normal pace. That little bit of edge was there - the scared one that told you something was going to go wrong - but everything else evened out, and your thoughts weren’t racing anywhere near as fast. “Feel better?” Spencer asked, seeing the shadow of a smile on your face. 

“Yes. Still a bit mentally on edge, but otherwise, better.” Leaning into his chest, you took what felt like the first deep breath you’d had in days. “Thank you for staying with me. I feel bad that you used time for this instead of something fun, but thank you.”

Spencer kissed the top of your head and sighed. “You don’t need to be sorry. I love you. That’s just what you do for the ones you love. Wanna watch more Doctor Who now that you can actually concentrate?”

Your muscles were tired, but you felt so much better. “Yea. Can I sit in your lap?”

“Of course,” he chuckled, walking you over to the couch. You’d been down this road before, and last time it had been even worse, but you made it through. It was a long and arduous journey. There was no one solution, but medication and a little understanding went a long way. 

@kalie-bee @jamiemelyn @prettyboyeffect @iammostdefinitelyonfire26 @unstoppableangel8 @veroinnumera @lookwhatyoumademequeue @hogwarts-konoha @bitchinprentiss @captainreid @tippy06 @cynbx @smolldork @lukeassmanalvez @marvelouslyme96 @literallyprentissstwin @chickenstringlights @ggyolo17 @rmmalta 

#spencer reid #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid fanfiction #spencer reid fic #dontshootmespence #an arduous journey

[spoopybruh]

Reframing Perspectives

Fandom: Buzzfeed Unsolved (Web Series)

Relationships: Ryan Bergara/Shane Madej

Characters: Ryan Bergara, Shane Madej

Summary: Just like he said, Shane inevitably slips up after a long period of doing so well and Ryan calls him out on it as promised. He’s convinced he’d single-handedly ruined everything he fought for. Ryan disagrees. 

Note: This is the third part continuation of Taking Risks (1) and Steady(2). As mentioned, this is a fic version where Shane is on the spectrum, hence his thought processes differ. As someone who’s on the spectrum himself, I want to try and paint a picture of what we struggle with as realistically as possible. I’m aware that people might find some of Shane’s actions/perspective to be cruel. And I do want to address that emotions aren’t fact. Hold our actions accountable, like everyone else, not our emotions. Help us reframe our perspectives, meet us in the middle. 

Additional Tags: Stigmatisation of mental illnesses

For as long as he could recall, Shane Madej has always been standing on the opposite end of a glass tank, looking in on civilisation behind a cold unyielding surface that he can’t quite breach. So close he pretends that he could brush the fingertips of others without feeling distance and the isolation that comes along with it. Growing up, he’s made aware of the differences between himself and the rest of his peers. 

It’s not that he couldn’t feel anything, of course he could. He just couldn’t understand why others chose to be torn up over one matter for an extended period of time. Sure, he comprehends when situations are negative and unwelcome. He just doesn’t necessarily think dwelling on it for too long is any form of a recommended solution. And it’s uncomfortable, because what else was he supposed to say to make other people’s sadness, anger and the like go away? There’s no clear manuscript for that and he’d be lying if he said that continued distress of others doesn’t frustrate him. He wants it to stop. He cares enough to want it to stop but somehow whatever he says is misconstrued into not caring, or being inconsiderate. 

Shane vividly remembers the time he had baby teeth knocked out when he got exasperated at one of his cousins over them crying about their deceased pet for an uncomfortably long time. “I don’t see why you can’t just get over it. It’s dead, it’s not coming back.” He’d tried to explain and before he knows it, teeth on the ground. His mother had broken up the brawl that ensued soon after and upon finding out what happened, tried to patiently explain that they were sad because they lost precious family. And Shane doesn’t get it. He doesn’t. He comprehends loss obviously, he just doesn’t understand why there’s anything wrong with speaking the truth. That day, he leaves with the knowledge that it was the wrong thing to say. It’s only years later, through watching boring drama shows on television, that he learns what he was supposed to do and say instead of speaking the truth. 

But that was only one instance. There were many others that culminated into repeated visits to therapist after therapist. He doesn’t remember much afterwards, only the occasional memory of his mother crying and that sick feeling that something is wrong. He was a teenager when he finally comprehends what exactly was wrong. Apparently he doesn’t have the same empathy quotient as an average person. What bogus. He’s not a killer. He’s nothing like the criminals one sees in the news. Sure he’s had the occasional errant thought here and there but who hasn’t had inappropriate intrusive thoughts? Maybe he’s an alien, he theorised. And for a while that brings him a measure of comfort even though he knows that it couldn’t be further from the truth. At least he wouldn’t feel like the strangest thing around, what with plenty of other strange aliens around.

He’s probably 14 or 15 when he decides that blending in was a lot easier than getting people to see his point of view. There’s something beyond frustrating to feel like the only one studying people and their behavioral patterns but he makes do. He adapts and survives out of necessity. He picks up on verbal cues, facial expressions, body language and memorises the ‘right’ responses for each social situation, he learns even when he doesn’t understand why. Maybe if he faked it hard enough, it’d become something real. It never did become anything real. 

Just another constant feeling like he’s walking on a tightrope. One misstep and he’d be sent plummeting into the deep end. Some days, he thinks maybe it’d be easier if he just let himself fall. Maybe it’d be easier to just...become the monster people seem to think he is. Maybe then he’d stop feeling like he’s in so much pain, maybe he’d stop resenting himself and others for having to do this when he can’t. Having to always pretend and give something he doesn’t have. He’s not a sham. Not a charlatan. At least it wasn’t a willing choice. 

Throughout the course of his life, he’s done a pretty good job keeping his head on straight. He’s adapted. He’s got things under control. He’s doing fine. But as always, he has to ruin things for himself. That impulse. The ‘unacceptable’ streak in him that he tries to suppress. He slips up. 

This time, it’s over budgeting disputes. During a meeting. With their superiors. Shane honestly didn’t mean to do what he did at all. But when faced with excuse after excuse, delay after delay, any sane rational human being would have seen red. The flow of conversation is briefly interrupted by the sound of glass shattering and a curse as he sets the remnants of what had been his own cup down on the table. He’s dimly aware that the room is deathly silent now and that everyone is currently eyeing him like he’s a ticking time bomb ready to go off. Shane wouldn’t fault them for that because for the first time in a good long while, he’s livid. 

Movement in his peripheral vision tells him that Ryan’s shifting in his seat next to him, but he’s not interested in looking back. Not interested in anything else except the words that came out in a harsh clipped tone. “Of course you’re not going to give us the proposed sum we need. You’re going to hem and haw for an eternity but who the hell are we kidding? The answer’s always going to be no. Because we’re hunting ghosts and things that go fucking bump in the night. We’re not earning your company anymore money than we already are. This wouldn’t have been the case if we were-” 

“SHANE!”

The rest of his words were cut off with a loud shout of his name and he finally turns around, shoulders tense, coiled tight. He’s yelling back before he could stop himself. “WHAT!!!” Ryan’s hands hovered in the air for a few brief moments, as if he’d been meaning to touch him, before he retracts them. Good, Shane catches himself thinking with viciousness. He’s not in the mood to be touched.

"Shane.” Ryan’s voice is quiet but firm when he addresses him again. Good ol reliable boogara. “It’s enough. I’ll handle this. You should get that treated.” Against his own volition, Shane followed the motioning to his own hand, blinking when he notices several cuts. Probably from the impact of glass shattering. It should alarm him that he hadn’t noticed that he’d been bleeding from his shaking hands. It doesn’t. 

“Go. I got this. Trust me, alright?”

For a moment, he wants to rebel. He wants to continue yelling. But Ryan’s already moving to block him off from the meeting space with his own body and he’s not going to hurt Ryan. Hes not. 

“Fine!” He finds his voice again enough to snap, making a beeline towards the door as he throws both his hands up in frustration. “Whatever, do what you want.” He leaves like Ryan wanted, locates the nearest washroom, sticks his hand under the running cold water and lets himself fall to pieces. 

When Ryan finds him again, Shane is sat in one of the spare rest areas in the Buzzfeed office, unable to quite bring himself to return to his desk yet. He sees the other approach and tenses imperceptibly. Waits. He’s expecting anger. He’s expecting disappointment. He’s expecting a lot of things from him. Instead what he gets was a level “I cleaned up the rest of your coffee so you owe me a beer.” 

"I’m not sorry.” 

“I know.” The calmness in Ryan’s tone has Shane bristling yet again. This is wrong. He’s supposed to be the angry one. He has every right to be. “What the hell do you know?” 

"I know you’re not really mad at me. And we’re not having a fight right now.” 

“Oh? We’re not? Because that sure sounds like fighting words to me.” 

“Shane-” He watches Ryan run a hand through his own hair, appearing a lot more tired in the aftermath of whatever went down in the office. “We’re not fighting. I’m not angry over you not being sorry even if you want me to be. Don’t get me wrong, I thought that was shitty and I disagree with what you did but I’m not mad at you. I just wanna know one thing.” 

Shane had been about to needle him. Had been about to push and prod so that he could just explode on him so that it would have been the final blow. But the presence of a question has him pause, hesitate. “And what is that?” 

“Do you have any...hang ups about the success of the Worth It boys, the Try Guys or you know...everyone else who has a series going? Do you think they don’t deserve what they have?” 

“What? No! Of course not! Ryan, what the fuck.” 

“So you agree that they’ve all worked hard to get to where they are. And they deserve all of what they’re currently getting.” 

“Yeah. What does this have anything to do with-” 

“You were going to use them as an example, weren’t you? With what you said back in the meeting. You were going to say that the execs wouldn’t have hesitated if we were any of those people.” 

Fuck. It stung with how accurate Ryan was. Shane huffs out a deep breath to steady himself. He could lie, but Ryan knows him enough to see when he’s trying to bullshit his way through. And what was the point of lying now? It’s not going to redeem him. Ryan’s not going to feel sorry for him and excuse what he did. 

“I was.” The admission was somehow a lot more painful than losing his teeth back then. “I.. just wanted to make them hurt... Unsolved is ours, Ryan. It’s our baby...I don’t hate any of those people. I’m proud of them for what they accomplished. I just-” Another deep breath. “I just wanted to hurt the execs so I said what I said. It’s not them, it’s just...about hurting the execs in the most effective way possible. That’s all. I know it’s a shitty thing to do but I’m not sorry about that. I’m just not.”

"I know.” The other end of the sofa dips with the weight of Ryan when he takes a seat beside Shane, their knees briefly knocking together. “That’s why I’m not angry. You didn’t do it out of intent to sabotage the rest- that I would have been pissed off about. And I’m not going to argue with you since you knew it’s a fucked up manipulative thing to do even if you don’t feel bad doing it. But Shane.” 

Ryan held his gaze unflinchingly when he finally peels his line of sight off the floor to focus on him. 

“It wouldn’t make me happy if we got a budget increase because of that. When we started Unsolved, we agreed that integrity would be our thing, didn’t we? No faking of evidence, no shady shit. If we were to get a budget increase because we guilt tripped the execs, that’d make us hypocrites. We’d be going back on our word. It wouldn’t make me happy and I don’t think you would feel like it’s something we earned together through our own efforts either. Would you?”

He’s forced to exhale when he untucks the bottom lip he’d been chewing on to reply. 

“...Right. That’s fair. You...have a point.” It wouldn’t be their thing anymore. Ryan’s half right. Truthfully, Shane doesn’t give a shit about how they can acquire more for their spending budget. But he does...he gives a shit about Ryan. He gives a shit about their thing. He gives a shit about not ruining it. For himself. For Ryan. For them. 

“So. No more, alright? No more of that whole fuckin dickery back then. I won’t force you to apologise but I trust you to make things right.”

“Yeah. I’ll...be more careful.” 

“Good.”

A warm hand clasps his shoulder and squeezes. Shane wants to lean into his touch, he lets himself do so for a little while. Just for a little while. 

“You know what? How about we look further into the regulations and rules of our contracts, big guy? That’ll at least refresh our memories on what we can and cannot do. Maybe we can find some loopholes. You know, in terms of getting external sponsors and such.” 

The fact that Ryan could still be speaking to him so normally has Shane feeling like it’s a lot easier to breathe. And for one moment, he thinks he could cry. He doesn’t. Instead, he grins. 

“Why colour me impressed! There’s that sharp Detective Bergara brain whizzing with sneaky ideas.”

“Shut up. Inspector Shane.” 

Ryan’s grip is considerately gentle when he tugs at Shane’s hand in a motion to drag him to his feet so they could get started. And much like always, Shane follows. There were plenty of things he could have said. How could you accept me that easily? for one. What’s wrong with you? for another. Thank you, yet another.

He interlaces their fingers together and squeezes instead.

#shyan #shyan fic #skeptic believer #shyanlibrary #myfics

[trbl-will-find-me]

Every Exit, An Entrance 5/?

There are two (and only two) possibilities: either she led XCOM to victory and they are now engaged in a clean up operation of alien forces, or XCOM was overrun, clearing the way for an alien-controlled puppet government to seize control of the planet.

She’d really like to figure out which it is, but asking hardly seems the prudent option. Chapter CW: Explicit mention of suicide, no character death

She’s on her way to Mission Control when Royston flags her down with a piece of paper reading “HELP.” With the operative on the phone, she can only manage to shrug and mouth “What’s wrong?”

Royston rests the phone on her shoulder, jots down a note on the reverse of the page, and holds it up again: Parents.

The Commander motions for the paper and pencil, scribbling down her own response: Not happy w/ news?

Again, a transference of supplies.

Understatement, written in thick letters and underlined.

Why?

B/c “can’t marry someone you’ve only known since March.”

The Commander grimaces. She can appreciate Royston’s parents’ concern, but they have no idea what their daughter’s relationship has already endured. Oh brother, she writes back.

End me. Please.

Think Martin might be upset.

What makes you think his parents took it any better?

The Commander’s eyebrows shoot up and the other woman nods. There was shouting, she writes. A lot of it.

??

Nine months. Not French. Where live. Etc. You could mercy kill us both.

And then Central would kill me. Very bloody.

Royston shrugs, then nods.

Tell her you have to go, your CO needs you.

“Mom, mom, mom,” Royston says. “Mom, I love you, but we gotta table this. Mom, yes, I hear you. Mom, I gotta … Mom, duty … Mom, I love --- Mom, I’ll call you back. We’ve got a meeting. Yeah, the Commander is right here. She’s literally standing right here. Tapping her foot. You want me to put her on? No? Okay, good. Love you.” She sets down the phone and shakes her head. “Eloping is starting to look like a viable option,” she says, turning her attention to the Commander. “Skip all the bullshit.”

“You’d really want to cut them out?”

Royston shrugs. “I want to get married to the person I want to get married to where and how I want. We want,” she corrects herself. “If that means cutting them out, then, well. We’ll have a nice reception breakfast or something to make it up to them.”

“You’re resourceful people,” the Commander offers. “You’ll figure it out.”

“Part of me just wants to say fuck it and just do it here.”

“The base? It’s not exactly a scenic venue, Royston.”

“Yeah, but it’s one where we can’t invite anyone. Besides, everyone’s already here.“

“No friends on the outside?”

“I mean, yeah, but … “ She’s quiet for a minute. “These are the people we went through hell with. They’re the ones who watched this all happen, who,” she laughs. “Facilitated when we couldn’t get it together. They’re the ones who matter.”

The Commander considers this for a moment. “Well, think about it. If that’s really what you want, you’ve got my support.”

“Really?”

She shrugs. “I don’t totally endorse giant metal bunker as a wedding venue, but it’s not my wedding. If this is really where you want to have it, we’ll find a way.”

A crazy grin breaks out across Royston’s face. “Can I get back to you?”

“Yeah. It’s an open offer.”

“Thanks, Commander,” the sniper says, standing, “Let’s go see if I can sell him on this.”

“Good luck,” she grins. “I’ll be upstairs.”

Watching the operative head towards quarters, it finally dawns on her that she’ll need to explain this to Central. She laughs, and buries her face in her hands. It’s not the worst problem to have.

-- Kelly aims her shotgun at the Sectoid and pulls the trigger, splattering its blood across the ground.

“Good job, Menace. Looks like you’re clear on hostiles for the moment. Finish tagging those crates and let’s get you home,” the Commander says.

“Yes, ma’am!” Gunda calls cheerfully.

On the whole, it’s been a clean op. They’ve netted badly needed medical and construction supplies as well as, she hopes, additional intel from two datapads lifted from corpses. She doesn’t necessarily bear any confidence in her skills, but she’s at least comforted by the slow improvement in her men’s aim.

The air lifts in from Firebrand continue through the afternoon, and the unboxing well into the evening. Lily’s workshop slowly wills with new components and datapads to be reformatted, scrubbed clean of ADVENT programming. Tygan seems pleased to have his cabinets restocked, and everyone is grateful for new clothing, the abundance of toiletries, and the not insignificant ammo cache. The Armory looks more like a warehouse than Christmas morning, but the sentiment remains the same.

--

They’re eating dinner in the Situation Room, data on the energy spikes from the past week spread out in front of them. Each spike is pinpointed on the screen, along with a time, date, and amplitude. Save for the common link of alien incursions, there is no commonality. No consistent interval. While she has no doubt that there is a pattern, the more she stares, the more random it appears.

“Ugh,” she groans, burying her head in her hands. “What am I missing?”

“Commander,” Central says, voice gentle.

“There has to be something.”

“Commander.”

“We can’t get caught off guard again.”

“Commander.”

“We can’t afford a repeat of that site recon incident.”

“Elizabeth.”

“I hate to use the phrase ‘we got lucky’ when we lost an entire town, a Coast Guard team, and half of our squad –because that feels gauche– but ---“

“Lizzie.”

It’s enough to jar her from her train of thought. ”John?”

“You couldn’t have seen it coming. None of us could have. Chryssalids in a whale carcass on a fishing vessel? Come on. It ran counter to all the data we had.”

“There had to have been something I missed. We knew they could incubate in human hosts; it wasn’t a stretch to think they could take root in other mammals.”

“But we didn’t have evidence for it. You’re a good strategist, but even you’re not omniscient.”

She pinches the bridge of her nose. “We’ve had too many close calls. I’d like to get out in front before we have another.”

“If there’s a pattern, you’ll figure it out. And that’s a big if.”

“And what if I can’t?” She asks, voice tinged with worry. “What if I can’t put it together and they come barging down our door again?”

“It’s not gonna happen.”

“You seem awfully certain of that.”

“Molchetti knocked the ship out of existence. The clean up ops we’ve run have been a few stray craft, or a cell that’s broken cover. They’ve been small.”

“What if they’re just biding their time, trying to lull us into a sense of security?”

“We’ll push them back again. We always find a way.”

“I wish I had your faith.”

“Not faith. Evidence. You’ve got a track record now.”

She tips her head against his shoulder. “Well, you may start doubting that track record pretty soon.”

“Doubtful.”

She takes a deep breath, as if she were preparing to rip off a bandaid. “I volunteered the base as a wedding venue.”

He looks down at her with the same face he’d made when she’d jumped in the pool outside of Rome, that same mix of profound amusement and utter bewilderment. “We’re not exactly a chapel. And we can’t allow non-XCOM personnel on the premises.”

“That was a large part of the appeal, I think.”

“Royston and Martin?”

She nods. “Between them, they’ve got four very angry parents.”

“Expected that from Martin’s family, not Royston’s.”

“Royston’s mother went to town on her on the phone this afternoon. Martin apparently got a tongue lashing via video chat. “

Central rolls his eyes. “It’s not like they’re kids.”

“The nine months thing seems to be a sticking point. Along with the whole where will you live, where will you raise our grandchildren, and Royston’s not French debacles.”

“In short, everything.”

She shrugs. “Just about. Royston joked about having the wedding here as a solution, but the more she talked, the more she seemed to sell herself on the idea. I couldn’t tell her no. We’ll see how well it goes over with Martin.”

“And if he says yes?���

“Guess we’ll have to requisition an awful lot of crepe paper.” She settles her head back against his shoulder. “We’re not gonna make any progress on this tonight, are we?”

He shakes his head. “No, but it’s okay. It’ll look better when you stop chewing on it.”

They stay like that a few minutes, comfortable in the silence.

“Hey,” he finally says. “When all of this is over, you wanna get dinner sometime?”

She grins. “There’s a laundry list of things I’d like to do, but yeah, dinner sounds like a good start.”

“Good. It’s a date.”

She leans into him. “Yeah, it’s a date.”

--

If her time in the tank dulled anything, it is her ability to estimate the risk of interpersonal disaster. They had both been in the bar, fine. They’d had buffers, people who’d kept them engaged and occupied and otherwise uninterested in one another. She should have followed them out, should have gone up to her quarters, and taken a hot shower and gone to bed. She should not have sat across the bar from Central, nursing a beer while she reviewed the contents of the day’s grab. It was asking for trouble; this, of all things, she knows.

She doesn’t know what she expected. More silence? An attempt at conversation, maybe?

It’s not like her to miss the mark this badly.

“How could you do it, Lizzie? How could you help those things?” He asks, cracking open another bottle.

The accusation cuts deeper than she’s willing to let show. “You really think I said ‘sure, stick some chip in my head, throw me in a suit, and then stick the suit in a tank’? You think I didn’t try fighting?”

“Sure as hell doesn’t seem like it.”

She can feel tears welling behind her eyes, and she rubs at one, hoping to pass it off as an itch. “I didn’t have a whole lot of chances, Central. Any time I was awake and had any control over my own body, it was pretty well restrained. No one was exactly dumb enough to leave a scalpel in my reach. If I could have ended it or them, I would have. In a heartbeat.”

“You wouldn’t have,” he takes a sip. “You didn’t.”

“You can’t will yourself to death, not without some kind of help.”

“Even if you had the means, you wouldn’t have done it.”

“You think, if I knew what was coming, you honestly think I wouldn’t have turned the gun on myself when they went for me?

“Twenty years, you never made a go of it.”

“What, you want me to go slit my wrists in the shower to atone for it? Or, hell, you’ve got at least two pistols on you. Put your money where your mouth is.”

“No, that’s what they want. You’re a traitor, but you’re a useful traitor.”

“They used my own memories against me!”

“Twenty years! You know how much blood you have on your hands?”

“You’re not the only one who lost everybody!”

“Yeah, but I’m the one who had to watch as you helped kill them!”

It’s only then that she realizes it’s escalated into shouting. Loud voices. Metal ship. It’s really no surprise that most of the crew is crowded near the entrance to the bar. She can make out Shen and Herlihy, Kelly and Wallace, Royston and Krieger. She can almost see Thomas’s ridiculous braid over Wallace’s head, and she’s almost certain that’s Gunda next to him, with Tygan to his other side.

“Alright,” she says, turning her attention to the gathered crowd. “Everybody in. We’re gonna get this all out on the table. I’d rather it not feed the gossip mill.” She can feel Central’s eyes on her, but she won’t meet his gaze. She needs to keep her composure.

The assembled mass files in, taking positions along the wall and on the floor. It’s more than she realized, nearly the whole crew by her count. She wants nothing more than to disappear into the ether, crawl into bed and ignore the storm that’s broken over the ship.

“Everybody here? Good. Let’s get the record straight. When the XCOM base was overrun, I was taken. I had a Muton with a plasma rifle surprise me with a blow to the head that, yes, probably should have killed me and, yes, I do ask myself how and why it didn’t. I don’t have a coherent set of memories from the time I was captive. What I’ve got is fragmented and messy and … not pleasant to think about. “ She heaves a sigh.

“That being said, if you have questions about it, I’d rather you just asked me. What’s important to know is that, over the course of my time with the aliens, they implanted me with a chip, and passed tactical data through me. I was, quite literally, wetware. You can ask Doctor Tygan for the specifics --- he’ll be able to give you a more coherent explanation.” She pauses, pinching at the bridge of her nose.

“For me, once I was sedated, I had no idea what I was experiencing wasn’t real. They were able to pull from my own memories of the invasion and first iteration of XCOM. The closest thing I can compare it to is a dream where everything makes sense, where there aren’t weird loopholes.” She swallows.

“Yes, the data they passed through me was used in their military ops against earth and later resistance forces.  Yes, I am profoundly disturbed by that fact. No, I didn’t have a conscious say in the matter. The chip has since been removed, there is no additional ADVENT hardware in me, and I will put a bullet in my own head before I let them recapture me.” She runs a hand through her hair.

“I welcome any comments, questions, concerns, what have you. This is standing policy You have a question you want answered, I’d rather you come to me. If I can’t answer it, I’ll direct you to whoever can. Anything immediate?”

“How’d they get it out?” Gunda asks.

“Same way it went in: incision in the soft palette and then cranial intrusion and extraction.”

“That sounds awful.”

“I don’t really recommend it.”

“Are you sure everything’s out?” Krieger chimes in. “You said you don’t remember it all.”

“Our contact in the Resistance was able to secure a technical schematic, and ensure its accuracy. It shows only one chip.”

“ADVENT tech gives off a recognizable signal,” Lily adds. “There’s nothing coming from the Commander.”

“Is there anything else that’s pressing?”

Silence.

“Fine. As I’ve said, if you have questions, it’s an open door policy. Dismissed.”

She watches the men and women under her command stand, and file out, grateful that the looks they offer her are more sympathetic than suspicious. ROV-R bobs nearby, offering a sad chirp as she joins the procession.

“Shen, Tygan, a minute?” She asks, gesturing them off to the side of the small corridor.

“First,” she begins, quietly. “I’d like to apologize for dragging you both into this mess. This was something Central and I should have kept between ourselves and we didn’t. In doing so, we flagged the whole damn crew, and the damage control has ballooned appropriately.”

“Second, I’d like to reassure you both that Central and I will … get our shit together, for want of a better term, and learn to behave like professionals. This won’t happen again.”

Over Tygan’s shoulder, she watches Royston turn, as if to go back into the bar, but be stopped by a shake of Kelly’s head, and thanks whatever powers that be. No one needs an encore of shouting.

“It’s not a problem, Commander,” Tygan says. “I anticipated there would be questions when the news broke outside of the senior staff.”

“It’s fine,” Lily says. “Just … if you two are gonna shout each other down, maybe not at 1:30 in the morning?”

The Commander nods. “You have my word.”

She mounts the ladder and climbs, then crosses through the bridge, and up to her quarters. She wants to scream, or throw something, or down too much liquor. She wants to do something stupid and reckless. Idly, the idea of just venturing back to the bar and settling things the old fashioned way, with blood and skin and broken bones, floats through her mind. She chases it away, knowing full well it won’t help – and it’s hardly the sort of professional coexistence she’s promised.

Besides, she doesn’t relish the idea of a broken nose.

#xcom #fic #commander/central #every exit an entrance