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jpegjade · 4 years

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Pursuit of Happiness (Nightmares)

SO remember how i told you guys that the next fic was gonna be angsty fluff? well i present to you the angstiest thing i have yet to write. (i had to reel myself back. i definitely went angstier but i decided not to go there this early in the game) - and yes, the title is a kid cudi song.

Request: Okay another request… and I know you love to write angst so how about something where the reader is having a hard time sleeping bc of nightmares and has been trying her best to keep it from Spence but he obviously knows and tries to help?

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“Dearly beloved, we are gathered here today to celebrate the life of one Spencer Reid. A brilliant young man whose life was cut short by the grips of life.” Some priest said, standing at the front of a podium.

You were outside, standing under a tent with a group of people. You tried to look at their faces but it was like everything was in a haze. The priest continued talking but it’s like his voice slowed down, almost as if he went underwater somehow. You looked down, seeing yourself in your funeral dress. Was this real?

“And now a few words from his fiance.” The priest motioned to you.

It’s like your body started moving on its own. You walked to the front of the tent, in front of everyone. Slowly, their faces came into view. One by one, you recognized who you were looking at and all of them were crying. Even his mom was there, crying just as hard as everyone else. There wasn’t a dry eye in the tent area.

“My heart is broken... “ You began, not sure where the words were coming from. Even now, you weren’t sure what was really happening but you started to piece things together. “The love of my life…” You started sobbing, the words getting caught in your throat.

“The love of my life is gone, taken by a cruel excuse for a man. If I could trade my life for his, I would in a heartbeat. His bright eyes, loving smile, he deserves the world and every good thing in it. And now… Now, I can’t give it to him…”

You turned, looking at the coffin. He looked so peaceful, like no bad thing could touch him anymore. And that was true. He was relieved of his pain and suffering. Pressing your lips to his forehead one last time, you whispered, “I love you now and forever.”

You woke with a start. You were drenched in sweat and sobbing, although it didn’t feel like it. Your tears were mixed with sweat. You wrapped your arms around your torso, rocking yourself as you tried to calm down. Your heart raced and there was a painful ache in your body. Something was missing, an empty hole inside of you. You tried to breathe but it felt absolutely impossible. Your chest was so tight with fear that you didn’t think you would ever calm down.

Slowly, you began to breathe normally again. The room stopped spinning and you were able to loosen up enough to go get a glass of water. Your footsteps were quiet but your body felt so heavy. You struggled to stand up straight at the weight on your shoulders. Filling up your cup with water, you checked the time on the stove. It was only 11 PM. You must have fallen asleep early for you to wake up at this time. A few swallows later, you were ready to get back in bed.

What the fuck was that dream… Shit Spencer. If that wasn’t a dream, if that was a memory, you were going to lose it.

It was only 11 so you knew Spencer would still be awake, if not wrapping up at the office. When you used to sleep over at his apartment, he would stay up late because he had a cup of coffee late in the day and the effects were still hitting him. The two of you would stay up talking until one of you dropped. Sometimes, the conversations were good, all about how he was basically a superhero and you were a goddess, according to him.

‘Hey, angel.” You melted at the sound of his voice. He was okay.

“Hey yourself. How was work?” You asked, trying to keep things nonchalant. You just needed to hear him talk for a little bit and then you would feel better about everything going on.

“It was tiring. I’ve been doing desk work since I hurt my leg.” He said, pretending to be annoyed. Or maybe he was annoyed, you couldn’t tell.

You completely forgot he hurt his leg for a moment. All you could think about was that dream…

“Do you want to come over?” He asked, disrupting your thoughts. You were glad but you were unsure about this. What if you had another nightmare?

“I don’t know about that, Spence. I’m a little too tired to drive.” That was the only excuse you would think of to not go. “Don’t get me wrong, I would love to spend the night with you but I’m scared of falling asleep at the wheel.”

“I like that you’re cautious. Well, I’m on my way home. Do you want me to swing by?” Spencer said, looking for a reason to stop by.

“Only if you feel up to it.” You said, excited to have someone to help you stay awake. It would be easier to stay awake with your fiance there, right?

20 minutes later, Spencer walked through your door. Immediately embracing you in a hug, he smelled of lavender and coffee. You weren’t sure how that worked but it did on him.

“You’re always so cozy.” You said, face full of his sweater. It was beginning to be a long hug but you needed it.

“Are you ready to actually let me inside?” Spence said, chuckling at the realization that it was becoming an extra long hug.

“Inside of me or the apartment?” You laughed, finally letting go of him.

“Your pick.” He said, smirking.

“Get in here, you goofball.” You said, grabbing his hand and pulling him inside your apartment.

The two of you laid on the couch, watching Doctor Who for a little while before you started to drift off to sleep. Your head in Spencer’s lap, legs up on the couch, Spencer just watched you drift to sleep, smiling at how rested you looked.

“Spencer. Spencer, it’s me. You don’t have to do this. Please, baby. Just focus on me, okay?” You pleaded, your fiance’s back turned to you.

“I can’t, y/n.” Spencer was crying, hard. “There’s so much darkness inside of me and I can’t navigate it. I can’t understand how to get rid of it. Some genius I am, right?”

“Baby, no.” You took a couple tentative steps closer to him. You didn’t want him to get scared.

“Yes. Yes. Yes. You say all these nice things about me and I can’t… I don’t understand.” He was still crying. That was a good sign. He still felt something. He wasn’t numb.

“Spencer, listen to my voice. You’re not all dark, okay? That brilliant mind of yours isn’t going to figure it out if you give up now. Let me help you understand.” Your voice was hardly steady but it was just enough to keep him engaged.

You kept inching towards him. Your hands were shaking still. You were almost there.

“I’m so sorry.”

“Spencer!” You yelled, bolting upright.

You fell asleep. Shit. But Spencer wasn’t holding you anymore. You didn’t see him. You also weren’t on the couch anymore. You were in your bed, shaking.

“Hmm? I’m right here.” Spencer said, turning over. He pulled you into his arms and held you as you explained your dreams and how they were backward.

“Spence, I’m afraid to go to sleep. I can’t handle you being taken away from me.” You sobbed, trying to slow down.

“Hey, you’re not going to lose me at all. We’ve got plans and things to accomplish. I wouldn’t dare leave you to your own devices.” He chuckled.

Hearing Spencer make light of the situation helped a little bit. You knew it was his way of helping you through the situation before he turned serious again.

“Y/n, dreams are less about the future and more about the subconscious. Your fears manifest in two second bits of information but your brain slows it down to read the information. What you’re suffering from is common under high pressure or stressful situations. I know you’ve been suffering from nightmares for a little while. You don’t ever want to tell me these things but I find out eventually.” He said, pulling you tighter to his chest.

You could hear his heart, slow and steady. The blood pumping in your ears started to get quieter the more he spoke.

“You’ve been sleepless for at least a week. You’ve been wearing more make-up to cover up the dark circles and exhaustion. You have had an excuse not to sleep over at my place for a little while. Your clothes are always wrinkled and you have been more forgetful lately because you’re so tired. I haven’t said anything because I wanted to give you space to figure it out since I know you’ll call me when you feel like I can help.” He paused.

“You know I’m here for you, right?” He said, kissing the top of your head.

“I know. But it’s so hard… I thought I had this under control.” You sighed, wrapping your arm around Spencer.

“Baby, you have to ask for help sometimes. You have to know that some things aren’t going to happen because there’s no way in hell I would leave you. The only thing I’m sorry for right now is that I didn’t step in sooner. I didn’t think it would get this bad…” Spencer got progressively quieter the more he talked.

“Spence, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to worry you. I just… I feel like you have enough to worry about. I want to be the sunshine in your life, the thing you look forward to seeing because I bring you joy.” You sighed.

“I know. But you don’t have to do anything to give me that feeling, sunshine.” He said, smiling. “I come home to the most beautiful, smart, incredible girl in the world every day, when I’m not on trips, that is.” He chuckled.

“Spence… You’re too sweet.” You said, burying your face into his chest. You didn’t even realize he was shirtless until you lifted your head and put it back down on his chest.

“Sweet like sugar.” He said. He smirked in the low light of the lamp on your bedside table.

“Spencer, that light was in my living room. Did you move it?” You asked, wondering why he would do something like that.

“When I have nightmares, I find that it’s easier to get my bearings when I can see what’s around me. In the dark, anything can happen. In the dark, the monsters come out. But in the light, you’re able to see that you’re safe. So I moved it so you can wake up and recognize you’re safe with me.” Spencer said.

“You’re the best, you know that?” You said, getting sleepy again.

“And you’re mine.” He said, followed by a yawn.

There was something different about when you fell asleep this time. You had more control, felt more peaceful and less nervous. You were able to breathe again knowing that Spencer was right there with you. For the first time in a little while, you were able to get a peaceful couple hours of sleep.

#spencer reid x reader #spencer x reader #spencer reid #spencer reid imagine #spencer reid angst #spencer reid fluff #cm #criminal minds

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dnd-drunks-n-debauchery · 3 years

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Recap/Highlight reel of Friday's session

Brought to you by @nevergonnarollagain aka Cookie (30/04/2021)

The session picks up from where we left off last week; the group have just fought some raiding drow soldiers, and Quint picked up a book that the lead drow dropped, opening it on a random page and finding a poem titled "Wings of Black". While Quint was looking at that, Rosania was checking over the lead drow and determined that she was merely unconscious rather than actually dead. With that determined we all head back to the temple with Rosania carrying the Drow.

Back at the temple the elves thank us for our help and restrain the drow using a sheet of metal twisted into rudimentary shackles. Once that was sorted everyone went back to sleep. There were no further interruptions that night, and everyone was able to rest.

Once everyone started waking up the next day Rosania went to go check up on Javier and Harmony. When she got over to the pair she was surprised to see that Javier was still trancing, however Harmony was awake and was gently stroking his hair. Not wanting to disturb Javier, Rosania waited until Harmony was looking her way then gestured to her and tilted her head to the side, trying to ask without speaking if she was ok. Harmony paused for a moment then nodded slowly, and satisfied for now Rosania left them be.

Quint is sitting on one of the benches with the book. He opens it up from the beginning this time and starts reading through it. Rosania comes over to him and starts reading the book over his shoulder, and Quint moves the book so that it's easier for Rosania to read. Most of the book is written in Elvish and what looks to be Undercommon, and they all seem to be prayer rituals of some sort.

However, there seems to be some prayer rituals that are written out in Draconic. From what Rosania can tell, the ones in Draconic seem to be the ones that are actually being used, and the others all seem to be in this book as some sort of way to divert attention. What's more, everything in this book is hand-written, and was probably copied out of at least one other book. Looking through the book fully, the pair find that the only thing written in Common in the whole book was the Wings of Black poem.

The drow has woken up by now, and she's looking round the room scowling at everyone. Quint goes over to her and asks why she attacked the village, only to be asked why he wants to know. As he tries to explain, she spots the book and tells him that he shouldn't have looked at that since for all he knows it could have been a diary, and people tend to write very personal things in their diaries.

Quint asks her what she came to the village for in the first place, and the drow explains that she's looking for her fallen order; he's done something to wrong her and the society they both live in, and she was sent by her Matron Mother to come and get him so that he could be punished, and since it seemed that the village was harbouring him it had been decided that it wasn't all that bad if it ended up as collateral damage.

She explains that around the time this person disappeared three other powerful figures in the community went missing, and their homes had been burnt down. What's more, judging by the book (which had belonged to him) he was worshipping another deity aside from the Matron Mother, which is considered to be a horrible crime in her society. As such, his punishment would likely be death, either at her hands or at the Matron Mother’s hands.

Quint explains that there aren't any drow in town and asks what makes her so sure that the person she's looking for is here, and she remarks that if he truly isn't in the village, there is rumored to be some kind of structure under the village that he might be in instead. She asks us if we could go fetch the dude since she's no longer in a position to do so, but Quint turns her down since we're here on business ourselves and don't have time.

The drow asks what we're here for, and Quint turns to Rosania to have her explain instead. Rosania doesn't want to tell the drow, instead simply remarking that it's "confidential business". The drow remarks that it could surely wait, and offers to pay us if we help her locate and capture the fallen order. Rosania comments that she wouldn't want to be paid for something like this, but before she can explain what she means by that Quint says that he doesn't want to be involved with someone's death.

The drow explains that if she doesn't return to her Matron Mother with the fallen order then the village would likely be attacked again, with even stronger forces this time, and tells us that if we didn't want the people who lived here to die then we really ought to help her. Quint turns to Rosania since she's somehow ended up leading the group throughout all of this, and not wanting anyone else to get hurt she begrudgingly agrees to help the drow.

With that settled, everyone in the party starts getting ready to go, including Javier who's finished his trance. Quint asks about getting some extra food for everyone and the elves give it to him for free since we helped fight off the attackers. Once everyone's ready to go we all set off towards the mountains to find a cave we could navigate through to get underground. With Quint leading the way as he's used to mountainous terrain, we find a cave pretty quickly and head inside.

As we walk through the cave a strange, salty smell hits our nostrils. It smells like seawater, but it can't be. This cave and the mountains we're in are pretty far inland, so it doesn't make sense. Something else that doesn't make sense is the moss and algae and seaweed growing around the cave, and the overall very damp feeling of the whole place.

The deeper into the cave we go, the more we start to see signs of life. There are barrels of various shapes and sizes around alongside some strange lanterns that glow blue. And then we come upon what seems to be a shipwreck blocking the way. There's a nice dark purple curtain in front of us like a curtain, which seems to be made from a sail of some sort, and there's lights inside the ship as well as talking, which suggests somebody's there. The only way we'd be able to get past is by going through the boat itself.

Quint moves over to the curtain and tries to peer round it, holding onto the rail as he does so. Suddenly the rail breaks and he falls down, pulling down the curtain as he does so. The room inside is exposed, and we see three elderly women gathered around looking towards Quint. They seem surprised at what's going on, and they look round at the rest of us as well.

Quint apologises for breaking the curtain and one of the woman tells him it's ok, and that everybody makes mistakes sometimes. The ladies invite us all in to have a rest and eat some food, and when Quint tells them his name they introduce themselves as Anastasia, Cortana and Agatha.

We all relax and have some fish stew that the women give us to eat. It's alright, far from the best but hardly the worst. Once we're all finished the women show us to the back door so that we can leave, and we see this lake with zohorgans in. Some of them are just chilling out on the sides, but most of them are swimming around in the lake, forming tornado-like formations. The water is so thick with blood and bits of flesh that it looks almost black, especially in this low lighting, and something about the way it looks and smells makes Rosania wonder...was it really fish stew that we ate?

There's a small bridge that extends across the water, and Quint steps out onto it first, taking his time so that if he triggers any traps he'll hopefully have time to react. Nothing seems to happen, so he edges along the bridge while being wary in case the zohorgans try to attack. About halfway across the bridge, he happens to glance up and sees what looks like his family, coming round the corner and waving to him. As he watches, some zohorgans sneak up on them and pounce, dragging them to the ground and mauling them.

Quint screams in horror as this plays out in front of him, and spins round to start running back across the bridge much to the confusion of everyone else, who don't see anything. Anastasia tells Quint not to be afraid as the zohorgans won't hurt us, they're only pets. A couple of us turn to look at her when she says this, and all of a sudden the three women change forms.

Where the women were standing there are now three sea hags, and they cast some kind of spell. Quint, who is still out on the bridge, feels more fear wash over him and freezes. He can't get any closer to us, but he definitely doesn't want to go towards the vision of his family being killed. Glancing around, he decides to do something incredibly stupid and jumps into the water. He lands in the middle of one of the zohorgan tornados and they start attacking him, but he manages to get out of their clutches. As he does so he happens to glance towards the end of the bridge where the illusion of his family being mauled is, and he realises it's an illusion so it doesn't scare him any more.

Cortanya tries to cast some sort of effect on Quint, but he shrugs it off. Anastasia and Agatha shoot lightning at the rest of us, and we all get knocked out. All of us, that is, except Javier. As he starts to fall, his hair starts glowing and he stumbles, staying on his feet. His magic aura spreads across to the rest of us, and we get stabilized.

Javier glances round at the rest of us and sees that we're all unconscious on the ground. His magic surges within him, and his hair starts glowing so brightly that the entire cave is bathed in golden light. The three hags realise they fucked up and start scrambling backwards away from Javier, but he conjures two fireballs in his hands and hits them with them full force. They get burnt up and fall into the water, and the zohorgans all swim over to eat them, leaving Quint to get out of the water without harassment.

As Quint makes his way back along the bridge back towards the rest of the group, some flumphs appear floating in the air courtesy of Javier's magic surging. They take in the scene and immediately panic, flumphing around trying to get away. Quint calls out to them that we mean no harm, and one of them calms down enough to come and float around near him.

Just as Quint gets over to the group a modron appears near Javier, once again courtesy of fluctuating magic. It turns to him and tells him that his current emotional state is not very productive, and to please calm down. Quint tells it that maybe it'd be best to leave Javier alone for now and let him calm down on his own. The modron decides to ignore that advice and tries to grab Javier for some reason, only to get blasted full-force by some magic missiles, which yet again are caused by Javier's fluctuating magic.

Quint is shocked as he sees the modron get completely destroyed right in front of him, but Javier's magic is still going haywire. As he watches, Javier's magic heals him, casts some sort of confusion effect on him then turns him into a sheep. And he's still glowing as well. Worried about the dazed elf-sheep hurting himself, Quint walks over and grabs him then sits down near the others, gently stroking Javier to keep him calm. A few seconds later the flumphs vanish, and while Quint is a little disappointed he figured they wouldn't stick around very long.

About an hour later, as everyone else starts waking up Javier turns back into himself. The confusion wore off long ago but he couldn't exactly do much as a sheep, although now that he's back to himself he's pretty embarrassed about the whole thing. He shoots Quint a look that says "Please never mention this ever" and hurries over to Harmony to check if she's ok.

Once everyone is ready we all head deeper into the caves, slowly leaving the salty smell behind as we travel downwards under the ground. Eventually we reach another open cave, with grass growing along the floor and a tree growing in the middle. There's a nice lake in the room as well, as well as some familiar jelly-fish looking creatures flumphing around.

These aren't the same flumphs that Javier had summoned, but Quint is still excited to see them. He walks over to them and strikes up a conversation with one of them, learning that they'd been feeding on the emotions from the hags and zohorgans. He offers to take them all to the surface once we find the drow and the diamonds, and after explaining to the flumphs what the surface is like they all agree.

The flumphs tell us about the drow passing through this cave, and how he'd offered to take them to his "house" deeper in the cave. Rosania asks if they could take us there since it sounds like somewhere we need to go, and though confused about why we'd want to go there the flumphs agree.

We all head deeper into the cave, with the flumphs forming a circle around us. Quint and the flumph he's been talking to are near the front, and whenever Quint moves near the flumph it starts floating upwards. Quint gets caught up with making the flumph float up and down, and Rosania grins to herself as she watches this happening.

As we get near to where this "house" is, Ned happens to glance in the direction of a lava pool and stops, having spotted what looks like diamonds embedded in the rock above it. He calls out to the others and we all stop and look, and while it's exciting to see the diamonds there isn't any way to get over to them or mine them out, at least not at the moment.

The group all debate between each other on the best way to try and get the diamonds. There is a mineshaft just opposite the lava pool that the diamonds are above, and there might be a pickaxe or two in there, but we'd still need to get across to the diamonds in the first place. After some back and forth eventually the group agrees that the best course of action is to cut down some stalactites and stalagmites to make some form of bridge over to the diamonds.

Quint gets a pickaxe from the mineshaft and starts cutting down the nearby stalactites and stalagmites. They break into small pieces, but they're big enough to make a somewhat stable bridge if he's careful about how he layers them. It won't stay up for very long though, so he'll have to be quick otherwise he'll fall into the lava below.

As he sets off across the lava building his bridge, Rosania decides to try and help out in whatever way she can. She turns into a pelican and follows Quint, preparing to catch the diamonds in her beak if they fall into the lava. Before we can even get as far as that though, some bronze sables come crawling out of the lava. They scramble onto the bridge and attack Quint, rendering him unconscious due to their scorching metal. As Quint falls, Rosania manages to catch him in her beak.

Javier is the first out of the other three to react to this situation, attacking the bronze sables with some kind of thunder magic. Harmony is next to react, and seeing that Rosania seems to be about to swoop over to the others she decides to cast Hunger of Hadar. A large black void of tentacles opens, engulfing Rosania and the sables. It extends down towards the lava, and the lava seems to be thrashing around. Something's alive in the lava, and it hates the cold emitted from the tentacle void.

Ned sprints out onto the bridge to attack the sables, but because of the tentacle void he can't see anything. He lashes out anyway and lands a hit on something, dealing a fair amount of damage to it. As he does this he feels the bridge wobble ever so slightly under his feet, and knows that it won't stay in one piece much longer.

The creatures that are alive in the lava reveal themselves, and it turns out that they're magma maphits. They breathe fire at Javier and Harmony, but don't manage to hit them.

Out in the tentacle void pelican-Rosania becomes overcome with how painfully cold it is. She feels herself turning back into her regular form and manages to land on the bridge, still carrying Quint. Once she lands she starts racing across the bridge, making it out of the tentacle void. As she runs she glances back towards the void, feeling a little annoyed with Ned. It had been her that he'd hit, and while she understood that he likely couldn't see anything she didn't understand why he ran out onto the bridge in the first place with the void opening. She turns her attention back to Quint and casts Healing Word, bringing him back to consciousness.

The bronze sables crawl on top of Ned and try to bite him. They don't succeed, but their metal is still hot enough that they hurt him anyway.

Seeing how things are playing out so far, Javier casts Beacon of Hope. Harmony concentrates on maintaining her tentacle void, but fires off an ice spell at the magma maphits and misses.

Ned manages to escape the sables' grasp, and feeling that the bridge is on the verge of giving way he sprints to get back to solid ground, passing Rosania on the way.

Before Rosania and Quint can make it off of the bridge it collapses under them, and they both fall into the lava. Quint immediately falls unconscioius again, and Rosania is barely conscious herself. The magma maphits swim over and grab Quint, but the flumphs (who up until now had been too scared to do anything) fly over to Quint and spray him with their stink spray in an attempt to get the maphits to leave him alone. It works, and the maphits even take Quint to land themselves and throw him up onto it.

Rosania hauls herself out of the lava, barely managing to keep her grip due to the amount of pain she's in. She spots Quint lying unconscious and panics, worried about what Javier's reaction might be. Adrenaline kicks in and she propells herself onto land, doing a little sommersault and landing gracefully next to Quint.

The bronze sables lash out at the flumphs, but the flumphs backflip through the air away from them. Javier witch-bolts the maphits in the lava, and Harmony casts Distant Whisper on them. Ned decides to attack the sables, and casts Moonbeam against them.

Some of the maphits scramble out of the lava and slash at Harmony, not dealing very much damage at all. Rosania heals Quint a little again then turns to the maphits, grabbing her wand out and forming the thorny whip again. She swings it towards one of the maphits and hits it, but it's barely phased by the attack.

Javier swings his rapier at one of the maphits and casts Booming Blade, dealing a bit of damage but not a lot. Harmony uses Distant Whisper on the sables as well as the maphits, and takes them all out. As they die the maphits all explode, and the group turn in time to see one of the maphits exploding right next to the diamonds. The diamonds that weren't destroyed in the explosion fell into the lava below, and everyone stared at where they had been in disbelief.

(Cue dramatic end credits ig)

#recap #cookie's recap #cookie #dnd #d&d

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xlady-saya · 4 years

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an unconventional crossing [fic]

Relationships: andrew and aaron, andreil, kateaaron

Summary: Aaron likes to believe he and Andrew have a lot more practice navigating their conversations now. And he’s right, mostly. But sometimes, challenges arise at the strangest times, and especially when their significant others are concerned.

In which Andrew and Aaron run into each other at the grocery store, and choose not to part ways.

Tags: twin bonding, lots of references to how they’re whipped af, discussions of past abuse/addiction

Read on ao3!

Aaron is only a little bit ashamed that his first instinct is to run far away when he turns the corner and sees his brother standing there.

At first, he thinks he might be dreaming. It's past nine on a school night, and the brightness of the store burns his already tired eyes. The switch from the darkness outside to the stark white tile and fluorescent lights makes Aaron squint. His brother is more like a grainy, black smudge in front of him, and Aaron lingers on the double knots of Andrew's combat boots and the shiny item in his hand. Soup. A can of soup. That's also what Aaron needs.

For Katelyn.

And like that, Aaron remembers why he's here. In fact, he's pretty sure there's dried snot on his sleeve where Katelyn mistook him for a tissue. It's disgusting, but given the bookstore fiasco of last year—which Aaron has repressed and will take to the grave—it's not the grossest thing they've witnessed from one another.

In sickness and in health and all that...he guesses it still applies to boyfriend and girlfriend, too.

It's why he's here now, prepared to stock up their mediocre medical supplies. It does not explain why Andrew is here. He looks around a few times, then looks back, and expects to be alone in the aisle. But Andrew is still there. Holding soup.

The grocery store is practically empty apart from a few people picking up alcohol or extra junk food for studying binges, which only adds to the dream-like quality of it all. This is...not where he's used to seeing Andrew—this is not how he's used to seeing Andrew. Which is nonsensical, because everyone needs groceries.

He kinda just figured Andrew survived off chocolate.

He clamps down on the urge to leave; it's an old, pathetic need, and one he no longer wants to encourage. He freezes in place instead, and reflects. Classic, he thinks, rolling his eyes. Aaron hates how much he listens to Bee now, but with all the leaps and bounds he and Andrew have made, random things can still be hard to navigate.

Grocery store trips, he guesses, are included in that.

The habit of bolting whenever his brother is in the same room as him is not one he likes, but it's a knee jerk reaction he hasn't completely gotten rid of. A ghost, latched onto his back. But that's okay, because he's sure it's the same for Andrew too. The need to keep Aaron at a distance, when they've been doing the exact opposite.

He spends a lot of time with Andrew now, more than he'd probably admit if asked. They study together, silently—that hasn’t changed. But even now there's an occasional greeting or a mutual scoff when someone in the library is being annoying. Andrew will help Aaron review his exam flashcards, or Aaron will form a post with his hands so Andrew can flick paper goals. They play videogames with Neil and Katelyn, they have lunch together… Their sessions no longer feel like a chore.

Standing in this soup aisle, Aaron realizes he couldn't have asked for more, would've never asked for even a fraction of it a few years ago. Now he can't imagine his life without Andrew slotting into it somewhere, whether it be on miniature golf double dates or Nicky's failed family baking nights.

It's startling, but not unwelcome.

Still, it's odd to see his brother looking so...normal. Silly.

Aaron is aware now that Andrew is a regular person with fears and wants, just with unorthodox methods, different roots...but he can't help but always think of the cool, blank stare. He thinks of Andrew leaning against a wall, smoking, not giving anyone the time of day. Including Aaron.

Especially Aaron.

It takes him a second to remember the nerd who sulked after getting beaten in Mario Kart, or the one who apparently threw up after Disneyland from one too many churros.

(Neil told them that story).

He certainly doesn't think of the man who walked all the way back to the dorm because Neil sent him a crying emoji and a 'I cut my finger' text.

But that's the real Andrew, too. There’s always more underneath all the closed off, reserved portions laced with barbed wire. Andrew has finally allowed Aaron to see that.

This Andrew is, once again, a far cry from cool and collected. This Andrew looks tired, not as put together. He's wearing wrinkled jeans that clearly need a wash, Neil's hoodie (stained), and seems .2 seconds away from throwing the store's entire inventory into a dumpster fire.

The spell is only slightly broken, and Aaron catches himself smirking.

His brother glares at the can of soup like it offends him, reading the label before putting it back on the shelf and grabbing a different brand to see if it's anywhere closer to his standards. Whatever the hell those might be.

Unfortunately, dating Neil has made his brother even more perceptive than before. Probably because Neil can smell trouble from miles away, and then he goes and seeks out said trouble to jab at it with a metaphorical stick. The stick is just an endless stream of cuss words and insults.

Needless to say, Aaron isn't able to enjoy this comical sight for long.

Andrew's gaze darts over to where Aaron is standing at the end of the aisle, and Aaron can see the exact same reaction run through him. The tension seizes his brother like a snare, and there's that all too familiar step forward, like Andrew is ready to turn around and disappear.

But then he doesn't. Andrew remembers what Aaron does, and then it's gone.

What they didn't account for was the awkwardness. Again, they aren't trained for grocery store encounters.

Andrew doesn't exactly nod at Aaron, but he inclines his head just so and turns back to the soup, staring into some void Aaron can't see. He's not sure if it's an invitation, but it's as good as he's going to get.

Aaron's sneakers squeak on the tile and he stumbles, but ultimately ends up at the edge of his brother's bubble, staring at the soup right along with him.

Progress.

Aaron sighs and grabs Katelyn's preferred brand. It's the chicken soup with the extra big chunks of chicken and the flatter noodles. Katelyn likes them because they're 'chewier,' and Aaron just thinks it's weird. But what she wants, she gets, because how is he going to deny his sniffling girlfriend as she whines miserably in bed?

Come to think of it, they're probably here for the same reason. With how much Neil and Katelyn see each other outside of games and general Fox gatherings, it would be no surprise if they both came down with the same cold.

Which means they probably need the same things. Soup, cold medicine, tissues.

Aaron freezes as he glances at the soup, feeling his brother's imposing presence beside him. For someone so obsessed with not being noticed or talked to, Andrew doesn't do a good job of hiding. He's like a cliff or a mountain, steady and bulky. A road block.

Aaron should leave. He has what he needs, so he can move on. He doesn't have to wait for Andrew; they don't have to shop together.

But then why does it feel so weird to weakly wave goodbye?

Aaron raises his hand only to stop mid-motion, thwarted by his own thoughts. Andrew tracks the movement. God, this is even more awkward now. They aren't usually like this anymore.

Maybe it's because they've realized the same thing.

Here they are, both making sweetheart runs in the middle of the night. It should be mortifying, but part of it feels strangely natural.

Probably because there's always a comfort in knowing they're the same in this way.

They both have their suffering partners waiting for them, but despite that, Aaron doesn't know how to broach the subject.

Bee's words from some faraway session echo in his head: "It might help the both of you to try talking about your partners with one another under more casual circumstances."

Aaron nearly scoffs, just like he did then.

Yeah, sure. It's the one area they're not great at, and it’s easier said than done.

It's not that he hates Neil anymore, and he has his suspicions that Andrew's opinion of Katelyn is at least a calm respect, though he's not sure when or how it happened. They spend time together as a group, and, in some cases, separately.

Aaron will tutor Neil or help him through difficult game levels, or Katelyn will be the one to help Andrew with the snack runs when they go to the movies. It's...fine.

No, it's great.

Aaron just still has a hard time acknowledging it.

But this? This they don't do. They don't talk about Neil and Katelyn together unless it's for therapeutic purposes during their sessions, and even then it's caked in wariness.

Aaron wonders if they're afraid of ruining the progress they've made by unintentionally starting a fight, but he's never known Andrew to be that caring of those things.

Perhaps it's simply too vulnerable, too exposed, to show how much they care. Even when it's so obvious.

Aaron notices Andrew finally settles on one of the more premium soup brands, and yeah, alright. Painfully obvious.

Aaron has always pushed that piece of Bee's advice away, procrastinating, because surely it can't be that important. But it is.

Ugh. It probably is.

So this time, rather than avoiding it, Aaron figures he might as well show Andrew up by taking the first stride. Talking about Katelyn is easy. She's everything to him; he could wax poetic all day about her. He knows her class schedule, her favorite subjects, her dreams.

With that in mind, Aaron confidently spins the can around at the same time he opens his mouth in Andrew's direction, and smoothly says, "You know, Katelyn likes soup."

And what a stride he takes.

Fuck me.

“Uh. When she’s sick, I mean. And other times but—that’s why I’m here. Sick soup.” The can falls from his hands and he barely catches it in time. He doesn't think he could add that to his mortification without giving up and running out.

It wasn't a lie. She does like soup, even if it's the really disgusting kind, but it's not a fact that evokes any groundbreaking emotions. It certainly doesn't bridge the gap.

Andrew turns to squint at him in that way—the precursor to a full on dismissal. Aaron's not sure why he's even still here, but maybe now his respect for Aaron now extends to telling him off with words. Aaron braces for it.

He watches the exact moment Andrew opens his mouth to tell Aaron he doesn't care, but it never comes. It's rare to see Andrew hesitate; someone so methodical and cautious doesn't tend to question his thoughts when he's sure of them.

But Andrew stops, mouth hanging open for a beat too long before snapping shut.

And Aaron doesn't know what it is, doesn't feel like blaming it on the twin telepathy theory...

He just knows Andrew remembers, same as him. Probably better than him.

Andrew can hear Bee's advice too, far away and obnoxious, ringing in his head.

His brother turns back to the soup can, smoothly over the ridges under the bright blue label. Hm. No, can't be. His brother isn't that sappy.

A few moments pass where Aaron can't move, kept in place by some invisible orbit, waiting for...something. Just that alone makes it all so surreal; he never used to expect anything from Andrew.

Yet, Andrew keeps surprising him with how much more he's willing to do now. For Aaron. For both of them. His brother sighs eventually, staring at the shelf in front of him, and begrudgingly replies, "Neil won't even admit he's sick. He didn't want me to come."

It's stilted, clearly forced out, but Andrew did it. He returned the gesture. And if there's one thing Aaron knows about his brother, it's that it's the closest thing he's going to get to a chance. Excited for some inane reason, Aaron almost doesn't process the words. But oh, he gets it. Neil is so fucking ridiculous, Aaron can't stand him. It makes sense his 'I'm fine' routine would stretch to this, too. Aaron almost wants to see the state of him, fever high and unable to move without his sweat sticking to the blankets.

His face sours, and the instinctive insult creeps to the edges of his mouth. Andrew watches, waits for it, and Aaron nearly bites his tongue to stop himself. Being hostile to Neil is more playful nowadays, but it's still a reflex. If he does that here...part of him just knows whatever is happening will effectively be cut short.

He clears his throat, rocking on the balls of his feet and willing his glare to go away.

"That...sounds like him," Aaron forces out. It's the best he can do, but it probably still sounds judgmental.

God.

Why are they so bad at this?

"He's an idiot," Andrew replies with a nod, so softly it almost doesn't sound like him. Aaron almost scoffs. Here he is trying to be considerate, but Andrew scolds his own boyfriend anyways. Aaron should've known better than to bother.

He slides his gaze over to his brother again, and that train of thought effectively stops. There's a tightness in Andrew's jaw, and an antsy quality to his stance. Aaron replays the words, and realizes Andrew's voice is different from the usual monotone, the uncaring inflection. It would be neutral still, to most people, but Aaron can sense that it's laced with something strong, self-directed. His brother's hands tighten around the can with a vice grip, and Aaron should really be better at detecting Andrew's concern by now.

Suddenly, he gets it. "He didn't want me to come."

It must be grating for someone like Andrew, who despite the vibe he tries to give off, does nothing but look after his own. It's the worst with Neil, because his motivation is borne from an intense emotion Aaron can't even associate with their relationship. It's too much, too theirs. He feels uncomfortable trying to define it when he's never heard Andrew actually say the three words.

Still, it's all consuming. It's real.

Nauseatingly so.

And it must be particularly infuriating, because Andrew's need to protect Neil isn't the result of a deal at all. He wants to. Wow, he probably hates that he wants to.

It only gives Aaron some satisfaction; it is Neil they're talking about.

Andrew's frustrations bleed through the cracks a little more, and he harshly brushes a hand through his bedhead. "His cold is just going to get worse if he keeps it up."

Ah, so they're still sharing. Aaron can do that. It's a welcome distraction; he can only take so much of thinking about his brother's intimate relationship with the most infuriating person on the planet.

Aaron looks down at the tile, lining his feet up with the edge of the blocks as if he's walking a tightrope. "Katelyn tried to go to class this morning. She didn't want to miss her lecture," he says, and tries to act like it's no big deal. He sways a little, and swallows the lump in his throat, because these are not things he gives away to anyone. It's just as exposing; as soon as he'd found out, he'd walked her back to her dorm and helped her change into pajamas. She passed out almost instantly, her fever spiking. Too much care, too much worry. Aaron had paced the floor a good twenty minutes, debating an urgent care visit.

He's just as pathetic as Andrew, but he wouldn't dare stop if it means looking after Katelyn. He bites his lips and shrugs, as if it's not as emotionally revealing as it is. It probably doesn't work. "I was so mad. Uh, you know how it is."

No kidding—they both just accidentally revealed it. Aaron never thought 'hopelessly enamored' would ever be associated with his own feelings, much less Andrew's.

But there's really no other explanation with that one.

"Oh?" Andrew tilts his head, as if daring Aaron to continue. It's dangerous territory, but that's what they deserve for addressing an old therapy issue in the middle of a grocery store. They might know their feelings are the same, but verbally acknowledging how is a different matter.

So continue, Aaron does. Neither of them are getting out of this one.

Won't Bee be proud?

Petulantly, Aaron glares, and loses his balance on the wire. He promptly spirals down. "Yeah, well… You want to take care of Neil too, right?"

It's a dare, a provocation. It's also ill-advised, but he can't be more mature in every way. There's no way Andrew can refute it and have Aaron believe him. He's been trapped into the truth.

Andrew tenses and glares back, expressive for how much he tries not to be. Aaron is more used to that now too. On the subject of his striker, his brother can't keep up the expression. It melts back into a reluctant calm, and his sigh is relenting.

Right.

A store intercom rings above them, something about how they really need someone up on registers. It's grounding in a way; Aaron grabs a few more cans and stubbornly throws them into the basket by Andrew's feet.

They're in too deep at this point. This is now a joint trip, as painful as it may be. Andrew looks down at the basket, which as of now holds both their soup choices and a candy bar Andrew must've snagged along the way.

Andrew squints, looking back up at Aaron, and surprise, surprise...

"I need the extra strength cough syrup."

He avoids answering altogether.

Aaron sighs; he saw that coming, but Andrew's trapped himself unknowingly.

"That's more expensive, you know," Aaron says, a playful lilt to his tone.

Andrew glares, but he must admire Aaron somewhat for the payback, because he finally admits: "It's better for him, it's also the only one with the flavor he tolerates," Andrew grits out, and no amount of bravado can make that sound anything less than....oh, completely fucking whipped.

So, Andrew gives some more as a war prize. "I need the tissues with the lotion too."

Aaron suppresses his snort (also, for real, those can't be necessary), and dutifully leads them to the next aisle.

Andrew ends up convincing him that the lotion tissues are superior, so one point for him or whatever.

They still don't know how to do this, and they don't get a lot better at it over the course of the following forty-five minutes, but they continue dropping the most mundane facts in hopes it doesn't give too much away.

But it always does.

Andrew makes a sharp turn with the sole intention of making the basket stab Aaron in the knee, and Aaron kicks it in return. Then he realizes where they are, and the words pour like shots.

He wonders if it's a consequence of therapy, that he ends up flaying himself open for Andrew in the hopes that he'll be given honesty in return. He's learned that lately, it's more effective than he once thought.

"Katelyn...hasn't been drinking much lately," he starts slowly when they pass through the alcohol aisle. It's a far cry from the boring 'favorite color' facts he's been trading thus far, but it hits him like a blow. It's not that it hasn't been on his mind, he just hasn't had a chance to talk it out because...

Part of him kind of doesn't want to. The person he talks to is Katelyn, and he's not quite ready for this discussion.

But tonight's that kind of night.

The aisle is a shortcut, nothing more than a connector to the medicines on the far side, but Aaron falters. The brands and bottles all stir up confusing memories for him, some fun, some not so much. The colored glass warps his expression like liquor warps his mind, and his body is already swimming through molasses to keep up.

Mixing drinks with what he used to do was never smart, and Aaron's thankful he's where he is now. He's not so reckless, but he indulges from time to time. Katelyn used to also, but lately she's been finding more reasons not to. And that's okay. He's never pushed or questioned it, but he can't help but wonder. He pauses in front of the daiquiri mixes. Katelyn's favorite.

The action makes Andrew wait for him, regarding him from the end of the aisle for a long moment. Then, in another act that shouldn't surprise Aaron but does, Andrew comes back for him.

Aaron's closed throat feels less tight. What did he call Andrew earlier? A road block. No, maybe he's more like...a steel beam, every once in a while. Supportive, but it could crush him in an instant. It's not Andrew's intent, but he'll take it. "I know she's never been a drinker, but part of me thinks it's because she worries about me."

And there it is.

He's aware he should be angry, just a little. But he can't be, because the worry and judgment come from a place of honesty, commitment. Aaron won't say he hasn't had the same fear—the fear of falling back down a different hole of addiction. He's better now, more responsible. He couldn't imagine ruining their lives like that, but he and Katelyn are pragmatic people. He knows it's hard to keep control in those circumstances, to rise above once he's caught in the trap. It wouldn't be all his fault, but he's susceptible and they both know it. She would stand by him as much as she could, but Aaron's honestly not sure if he would want her to if it ever came down to that.

That's not fair, and that's why he's determined to not let it happen.

Katelyn's precaution, intentional or subconscious, is just her protecting him in return. It's what they need to work on, what they need to talk about, before it's twisted into a misunderstanding.

But revisiting old wounds is not what Aaron is good at. At least, not right away.

He's not expecting Andrew to say anything; it's not his business and his black and white worldview probably prevents him from seeing it that way. In his mind, Katelyn is in the wrong and that's all that matters.. If anything, Aaron expects that statement, but then—

"She shouldn't," Andrew says, nearly admonishing. Aaron's gaze snaps up, and Andrew glares at the bottles in front of him to avoid meeting his eyes. He'd usually grab that particular brand of whiskey, but today he doesn't. Then, after a moment: "Knowing her obnoxious levels of optimism, she's probably trying not to. But that's her problem."

Andrew’s words are strained, but no less meaningful. He doesn't do comfort, and that's not what this is. Aaron knows a few things in that moment; the first is that Andrew definitely does not agree with Katelyn. That's fine. He never asks his brother to understand everything about his relationship anymore. Aaron certainly doesn't understand parts of Andrew's. The second thing, arguably the aspect he cares about more, is that Andrew clearly knows something Aaron does not.

Andrew isn’t offering a pat on the back, only what he knows to be factual.

He feels involuntarily exposed this time, and forgets that sometimes it's simply the way it has to be to move forward. Aaron nearly growls. "How—"

But Andrew simply sends him a look that reads don't ask. Aaron should know the answer.

Neil.

It's been a while since Aaron has felt a sharp slap of disdain for the redhead, but it shoots through him in the moment before fizzling out. Of course. Why wouldn't Neil know? Why wouldn’t Neil confide in Andrew about it?

Aaron always liked to think it was a shared strength, that he and Andrew could trust their partners so completely, give or take some setbacks. But it seems this time he's the one lagging behind.

He glares at the floor. He doesn't know how to feel. Why Neil possibly knows about this issue before he gets to address it himself is something he wants to feel rage over, but he just can't. It's not like confronting Neil at the cabin or in the dorm hall. He doesn't have the energy, and he knows he doesn't want to.

It's not...like that anymore.

Just knowing Katelyn has someone to talk to is enough, because that only means eventually, she'll talk to him too. And can he blame her? Here he is, telling Andrew.

Andrew, who feels as much sympathy as a log on most days, is still trying his best to give Aaron the truth.

Leave it to Andrew to rip off the bandaid, and Aaron feels the sting. But he needed it. It's the only thing that reminds him it'll eventually be okay.

It's quiet for a few moments as Andrew looks back at the bottles, tracing the curvy scripts. There's a steadily building tension in his frame; at first, Aaron thinks it's repressed hostility towards Katelyn, but far from it.

Andrew's struggle to give in the same way is all too apparent in his words.

"Neil and I drink sometimes, just when we're together," Andrew forces out evenly. He reaches out to spin one of the security tags on a particularly large bottle of vodka, tracing the ears of the rabbit logo afterwards. Aaron flinches a little; he didn't know that. His brain catches up just enough, letting him know that Andrew is giving this to him in return for his own vulnerability, so he should at least listen. Flexing his jaw, Andrew's tone loses some of the smoothness. "Last time...something happened. With me. He's been hesitant ever since."

It sounds like Andrew is chewing glass, and Aaron knows better than to ask for an elaboration on the ‘what’ that happened. Hell, Andrew exposing the reason for his and Neil's weekend getaways is most likely more than Andrew wanted to share in the first place.

Andrew won't answer anything Aaron asks, but he reads into it enough. "You miss it," he says, and again it feels like they're on a level playing field.

Andrew glares his usual 'I don't miss anything' glare, but doesn't actually say the words. Instead, he turns back in the direction of the medicine aisle, and throws the words over his shoulder.

"I hate losing control," he states. "Neil is a reason I hate it less."

Translation: Yes, I miss it. But Neil is just as stupidly worried as Katelyn.

It goes unsaid that they ended up with worry warts for partners. Aaron gives up trying to analyze anymore; there are things about his brother and Neil that are impossible to grasp. But Aaron is learning more and more that their relationship has similar flaws to his own, that they have their own challenges to wade through.

And if one of them can manage, so can the other.

Aaron walks away from the aisle feeling less stuck—the quicksand around his ankles turns to water, easy to wade through.

He's not sure how many more of those confessions he's going to get, but he won't take them for granted.

Later, when they're passing through the candy section for Andrew's stockpile, the facts turn lighter. "Katelyn only eats the red starbursts, it's cute," he says, unable to hide his dreamy smile as he throws the red starbursts pack into the basket. She won't be able to taste them yet, but whatever, it'll be a welcome reward in a few days when her sniffles are gone.

Instead of the apathy and dismissiveness, Andrew holds the gummy bears in his hand at arm's length. Like they offend him. Aaron was wondering why he's even considering them. They're not even close to Andrew's usual brand of cavity inducers.

"Neil never finishes his gummy bears," Andrew says, and seethes a little over the word 'his.' Of course, it's Neil's fault that Andrew has to spend money on the bland treats Neil doesn’t even love. But Andrew puts them in the basket anyways. "Last time he was bored, so we built a fake set for them."

Aaron blinks, following after Andrew towards the registers. "Like...for a play?"

"It helped him study for his lit exam."

Somehow, it's impossible for his brain to conjure up an image of Andrew building a gummy bear Shakespeare set, but he supposes weirder things have happened. He wonders if Andrew indulges Neil by doing voices, or if he recites the lines in his normal dull monotone.

Aaron hides a smirk at the thought. "Nerds."

He takes them back to the medicine aisle last minute due to the guilt tripping from Andrew for buying the cheaper brand of cough syrup, and figures he might as well stock up on bandages too. Exy is a violent sport, and he's not quite sure why he plays it.

"Bandages are over there," Andrew says, pointing deliberately at where Aaron is clearly already looking. Dick. "Don't buy the cheap brand, they gave Neil a rash."

Aaron scoffs. "Guess you would know best, with how much your boy gets scraped up," he says, but he still listens. Once more, he notes that Andrew's suggestion is several dollars more. He really does spare no expense on anything, especially for his boy toy—boyfriend. Boyfriend.

"He's never as bad as the other person," Andrew remarks offhandedly, but Aaron gets stuck on the comment. Before, he used to not pay attention to anything Andrew said that didn't make sense to him, writing it off as unimportant. It's amazing what he can pick out now that he actually processes the words. In this case, it's thinly veiled praise for his violence-prone boyfriend.

Aaron's no idiot; Neil has to at least be somewhat capable at throwing a punch, and who knows what else.

It's appealing, watching someone you love trade blows. Aaron himself never fails to feel a rush of adrenaline and adoration when Katelyn rushes to his defense.

It would make sense for Andrew to enjoy watching Neil be his typical chaotic self. But for whatever reason, that logic doesn't compute with what he knows about Andrew's protective streak—especially where Neil is concerned.

And since he doesn't know how to put that all into words, he says: "I don't know how you don't kill anything that tries to touch him."

That's how he thought it worked, how he's seen it work. So why all the fuss about letting Neil fight his own battles, when it's clear it eats at Andrew like a vulture picking at his intestines?

Andrew regards him slowly, looking at him like he's grown two heads. Right, because Aaron is supposed to be able to parse through all their weird layers. He rolls his eyes.

"I will when he asks," Andrew responds calmly, and before Aaron can open his mouth he holds up a hand. "And he does."

Again, a warning laces his tone: don't ask.

Aaron huffs. Fine. He guesses he'll believe it for now. Come to think of it, he's been seeing less and less of Neil's insistence to handle shit on his own. Just the other week, he seemed to give up too easily when arguing with a jock from another team, and Andrew had stepped in a moment later.

He had thought Neil looked a little too happy about that.

Tracking him still, Andrew shrugs in such a careless way that he'd think Neil had taken over his body. "I know he doesn't need it. And yes, it's annoying."

Aaron's not so sure. It's scary how Andrew can read his mind sometimes, can connect the dots of the intricate roadmap between them. He sees things from a distance, sees it all, while Aaron is the one who forces them to actually zoom in and take in the landscape. Piece by piece, he forces them to explore.

"So why do it?" he asks, frustrated, but Andrew only picks up the blue can of chicken noodle and waves it in Aaron's face.

"Soup."

Fine, don't tell me.

He figures this is just Andrew's way of saying he's done with the abnormal sharing for the night, but then he realizes. Soup. Motherfucking soup? Aaron had said—

"You want to take care of Neil too, right?"

Son of a bitch. Does Andrew always have to be so cryptic and non-linear?

That's the explanation. It's the obvious one, the one Aaron could already infer. But the confirmation is staggering. Andrew wants to protect Neil; more than that, he likes to. That's the difference. He never would've admitted that before. It doesn't matter how capable Neil is or how appealing it is to see him fight. At the end of the day, they both have some weird thing about it.

Aaron feels nauseated. He’s learned too much. Again.

"Is that really so hard to say, Andrew?" Aaron huffs the next moment though, so he guesses he must be more upset than he thought. "You know, I'm trying here."

He only has so much tolerance for his brother's ways. He can detect them better now; he can see the ins and outs. But sometimes it's tiring. Sometimes he wants to be given things in the same straightforward way he gives them. It's childish, it's selfish, but fucking hell, Aaron isn't perfect. He knows it won't happen, but if they're still being truthful, then Aaron can at least let Andrew know that it's hard sometimes.

It's hard to do this, but it's worth it. So he won't stop. Andrew just has to put up with his bitching every now and again.

At 10 p.m., he's reached his limit.

Andrew beats him to it, throwing up a barrier for Aaron's rage to smash into and fizzle out into nothing. "Are you going to scream your undying love for Mrs. Minyard to me, then?" he asks, and Aaron jumps back. Andrew's anger simmers, barely, but his words are cutting. "I am trying too."

They've both been trying so damn hard the past year. And for what?

Well—for a lot, actually. They've certainly gained more than they've lost.

And like that, Aaron's made Andrew give more than he was maybe willing to tonight. The guilt sits somewhere in his gut, but he can't regret it. Because Andrew still confessed. Andrew still held out his hand, just a little. Like he's been doing for months.

Aaron can't begin to imagine how horrible it must be, for someone like his twin to acknowledge the effort he's putting in. It sounds ridiculous, but Aaron should get it better than anyone right? That it's hard to admit you have faith in something when not much in your life ever lasted before.

Taming his own outburst, Aaron clenches his fists at his sides. Slow, measured. "I know, but—"

"You're suddenly so hung up on listening to Bee, what happened to her affinity for patience?" Andrew says, nearly mocking, but Aaron knows it's not some flippant comment. He means it. He's telling Aaron to back off, and while he respects it most days, he feels too close to a revelation to listen.

This is never easy, and it shouldn't be. Not for them. They always knew that, even before they were fully convinced they could get any farther than silent videogame marathons and nods from across the room. Before they thought they would ever keep in touch past college.

Now, Aaron knows there's no way they won't. They're just...fighting. They're having a typical, moronic squabble. It's not a setback, it's not a threat. Aaron has to repeat that over and over in his head, and it somehow makes snapping back less menacing.

"Asshole," he bites out. "You just want to get out of it. You know it's...it's fine to just say those things, it's—"

"Normal?" Andrew asks, and yup, that's definitely mocking. Aaron's not sure what that means, what's in Andrew's head about the word or Aaron's connection to it, but it doesn't matter.

"Yes," Aaron says with a laugh, disbelieving. He paces to the end of the aisle and back. He knows he's just as thick headed, and that's what hurts the most. Embarrassing. "It's normal to just admit you think your dumb boyfriend is cute, and talk about him because to be honest, it's obvious already how much you want to!"

It's potentially unfair; he never expects normalcy from Andrew. He doesn't want it anymore, apart from getting to act like brothers and argue without the fear of exploding and fucking up everything. Aaron wouldn't dare ask Andrew to be normal in any situation, but this is different. He's not saying it's normal or necessary for society's standards, or because other people do it. He's saying it's fucking normal because Andrew wants it to be. Hell; Aaron's been watching his twin bite his tongue and keep back details from Aaron all night. No shit, Andrew will never share the private feelings—the ones he keeps close, just between himself and Neil. But goddamn, if he wants to tell Aaron about Neil's weird gummy bear Macbeth monologue, he should just go for it.

For a while, Andrew stands there, tight lipped, until finally: "I don't care what's normal." For a brief moment, Aaron thinks he's lost this round, that the point escaped Andrew completely. But his twin is smart. Stubborn, and infuriating too. But smart. With a sigh, Andrew relents, though not without resistance in his voice. "I care...that it's us."

Aaron holds his breath, waiting for Andrew to refute it or storm away. But he doesn't, and Aaron can exhale.

Yes, duh. Neil and Andrew...no one will ever mistake them for anything remotely close to normal. They've built their own version of it though, and Aaron only hopes that in time Andrew can expand the definition to include this. That he'll be able to indulge himself however he wants, like Aaron does with Katelyn. That he'll be able to talk about Neil without worrying about how it reveals his feelings. Because Andrew hates sharing Neil, but he wants to trust Aaron enough to offer bits and pieces.

And Aaron wants to do the same. It's been a rough first attempt, but an attempt regardless.

And anyways, Aaron won't tell him tonight, but one day he's really going to have to let his twin know...

Andrew's feelings haven't been well hidden for a long time.

Until then, they have to deal with the awkwardness they created, standing in silence as an old lady walks through the aisle and regards them warily.

They should've saved this for their session. Whoops.

Pathetically, for the sake of doing something, Aaron grabs a thermometer (he needs one of those, right?) and throws it into the basket. Awesome.

In return, since that's the glorious theme of the night, Andrew tosses in some bandaids. The patterned ones. They're pink and cutesy, and make him think of Katelyn, wrapped in her fluffy pink towel after yet another hot shower to clear her sinuses.

He doubts Neil is faring better. They should get back.

At the thought of Katelyn, Aaron smiles. It brings him back to something softer Andrew said, though just as peculiar. He never fails at that.

"Why do you call her that?" Aaron asks, breaking the silence. It's gentler this time, less of a shatter and more of a push. When Andrew blinks, Aaron waves his hand. "Mrs. Minyard."

It gives Aaron a funny feeling in his chest, not necessarily good but also not bad, and he pushes it away to deal with another time.

Andrew's expression gives nothing away. That’s always the case, but even more so this time. It's blank, but he blinks slowly, chewing on his words in the way Aaron hates. Well, he supposes no one can quit cold turkey.

"A feeling," Andrew answers, and doesn't elaborate. He looks down at his own hand for a moment too long, flexing his fingers, then turns away like it's nothing. Aaron doesn't have enough braincells left to figure out what the fuck it's all about.

"Come on, let's go," Andrew says. Aaron feels like after all that, he has to put himself out there at least once. He has to prove to Andrew it's okay. It's okay to do this and trust him with this, so he'll believe in Andrew too.

"I do. Love her, I mean," Aaron says, mumbling the statement petulantly. He's a natural grump. It’s unavoidable. However, when Andrew turns back, he clears his throat. He can't say this without enthusiasm, without conviction. It's just not possible. He thinks of Katelyn's sugary sweet smiles, the croak of her voice after she cheers him on too hard. He thinks of it all—of tears staining his sweater, of being held while shedding his own. He thinks of calloused hands, rife with paper cuts from too many study guides, and the way she whispers each goodbye, because she secretly hates them. All of that and more, too much to contain in the word, but he tries. "I love her so much, it feels like saying it cheapens it somehow. I...don't usually, unless we're alone. But I do."

And it's humiliating to say to this person—his brother, someone who he's always held at an emotional distance. But he can't hope to bridge this gap any other way; he can't hope for more of Andrew's steps forward if he doesn't take his own.

It's a formula they're familiar with now. It's one he hopes they never stop using.

And just when he thinks it's for nothing, Andrew nods. Once, subtly, but he does.

"I understand," he offers, and there's a heaviness to the statement Aaron doesn't get. But it's enough. He wants to tell Andrew it's enough, but Andrew meets him halfway. "Neil told me people don't have to say it, if they know it's true. He's infuriating like that, but he's right about people's idiocy."

Aaron has a feeling 'people' is being used as a stand in there, but he doesn't comment. He's well aware he doesn't have to say it, that saying it changes nothing about how he feels. But—

"I guess he's right for once," Aaron comments lazily, and throws Andrew a smug smile. "But I still want to."

He likes to. And that's all there is to it, sometimes.

So if you one day want to, I'm all ears.

Even if it's not the three words, if it's just some offhand comment about Neil's fighting skills, or where he and Andrew went on a date...he'll listen.

It'll be gross, but he's got plenty more anecdotes to throw back. He despises admitting when Bee is right, but he'll give her credit this time.

They have their people, and they should be able to talk about them.

Andrew rolls his eyes, but stubbornly keeps his gaze fixed forward. "Don't give him that much credit," he mutters, and no, Aaron wouldn't dream of it.

They don't mean to sync up their steps as they walk. It just happens.

"Oh, hang on," Aaron says out of the blue as they stand in line. He's thankful he has some control of his reflexes, as he almost smacked Andrew in the arm. They aren't there yet.

But nevermind that. Priorities. Next to them is a toy stand, one of those three tier ones grocery stores always put near the registers because little kids can't resist hounding their parents for one. This one in particular has a good selection of tiny stuffed toys, and Aaron spies his jackpot almost immediately.

It's a spotted, light pink kitten with giant eyes. It's soft, and so absurd looking. Whoever designed it probably tried to think of everything cutesy they could before sewing it onto the plush. In short, it's the kind of sappy, adorable thing Katelyn will love.

Proudly, he picks it up and holds it in front of him like he's a genius. He sort of is.

He's not sure he's ever seen his brother look so disgusted in his life, which is saying quite a lot. Aaron's smugness increases.

God, it's minuscule. It fits in his hand perfectly. If he's lucky, Katelyn will squeal even through all the snot.

He's not sure why Andrew decides to humor him. He must be in a better mood than Aaron thought, since he eventually asks: "Why?"

Aaron is all too happy to explain. He holds the kitten up to Andrew's face as if tempting a rabid rottweiler.

"Ah—what? It's cute. Katelyn loves stuff like this," he explains, but his next words have a softer edge. It happens against his will, and he blames it on Katelyn entirely. Knowing this ridiculous thing will bring her some joy is more than worth the twelve dollar price tag. "It'll make her feel better. Like a gift, ever heard of one? I've seen Neil's growing wardrobe. He's not buying his own clothes."

Andrew's expression sours further, but he doesn't fight the statement right away. He should know he can't. The clothes are only one example; Aaron's also seen the jewelry and various fox-themed knick knacks Neil has lying around. Idiot.

Instead, Andrew bats the kitten away. “Clothes are required, especially when you live out of one bag your whole life," he comments, but it doesn't expose him any less. From the smug grin on Aaron's face, Andrew must sense it. He points at the kitten harshly. "That, however, is pointless."

Aaron's grin falls, but he's unwilling to give up. Andrew obviously doesn't see the full picture in this case. He holds the kitten close to his chest. While he normally hates these things too, it's been designated as a gift for Katelyn.

Therefore, it's sacred.

"It's adorable. Katelyn will go nuts over it, and I'll take sick kisses over no kisses," Aaron points out, and delights in the moment Andrew tenses. Haha. "You're only hurting yourself."

"Never thought I'd hear that in this context," Andrew mutters, but turns back to the stand with significantly less annoyance.

Aaron is having too much fun.

"I'm just saying, Neil would probably hate this shit on its own..." he adds, and leaves the rest unsaid. The implication is clear. Neil could give a rat's ass about gifts and stuffed toys. But coming from Andrew?

He'd probably burst, like a loser. And whether or not Andrew likes to admit it, it's a weakness. He can't resist evoking that reaction from his jock boyfriend.

Still, he tries. "Neil would never be interested in this," Andrew says, and reaches out to grab one of the toys roughly. It's a little stuffed lamb with snow white wool, and it’s even smaller than the kitten. In Andrew's large, murderous hands, it almost seems to be crying out to Aaron for help.

Andrew stares at it for an impossibly long time, and then it's their turn. Aaron takes the basket from Andrew's stalled hands and tries not to make any wheezing sounds from how heavy it is. Andrew was carrying that shit for an hour?

"Well, how would you know?" Aaron throws over his shoulder as he dumps the contents onto the conveyor belt. He looks at the lamb, at how stupid it looks, and wonders when he himself got so soft. He's not sure what it's a consequence of, but it doesn't feel bad.

No reason to question it.

Andrew turns to him and arches a brow, and Aaron delivers his final punch.

"Neil's probably never had a stuffed animal before," he remarks, doing his best to impersonate Neil's shrug. The ones Allison has tried to force on Neil in the past don’t exactly count. Then, because they share the asshole trait, Aaron adds: "I mean, living out of a bag and all."

And oh, Andrew's glare could send their world as they know it straight to the depths of hell. He squeezes the lamb in a death grip, but notably doesn't let go.

Aaron's spine tingles from Andrew's intense, vengeful stare on the back of his neck as the cashier rings them up, but whatever revenge he gets will be worth it. He figures it can't be too bad when Andrew offers him a ride home, and the silence is more peaceful than anything else.

They walk to the dorms with the stuffed animals pressed under their elbows. If they both end up sick a few days later, neither of them choose to bring up the cause.

#all for the game #andrew minyard #aaron minyard #andreil #kateaaron

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mochirimi · 4 years

Text

Meet Me at the Edge of a Memory [Bede x Gloria]

On her eighth birthday, Gloria makes a wish, meets a boy, and irrevocably changes the course of their lives. And she doesn’t remember any of it.

CHAPTER THREE

Read Here at A03

It is easier to go through than around. Gloria weaves through the current of the crowd, her eyes locked on the faded pink and silver-blonde. Everything and everyone is a panorama of blurring colors and faces, speeding past them in their quick navigation.

The boy in front of her moves with sure footing on crunching snow and wilted grass, glancing at the faces that pass. One step behind him, she watches his profile turn left, right, his lavender eyes scrutinizing each towering adult they pass.

No one pays attention to the children at their feet, too caught up in their own merriment to deal for the details. Her rouge red cheeks and puffy eyes. The evident wear and gray of his clothes.

“Where are we going?” She calls out to him. The transitioning cold of February nips at her nose, her cheeks, her one exposed hand, kissing each and leaving it more pink, more tender than before.

He tenses in front of her, almost seeming to bristle at her question. He doesn’t turn in her direction when he answers, “Well because someone can’t even remember where they last saw their mom, we’re heading to the entrance of the circus. Someone there will probably be able to help you.”

She considers this answer a moment and nods. “Okay.”

Admittedly, she had wandered far pursuit of pokemon, the chase pulling her further and further into the circus’ depths. From where she stood, every tent and attraction could lead the way to anywhere else. At least he seemed to know where they were going.

Her eyes trained on his back, she copies his paces, the syncopation of his longer steps compensated by the extended effort of her own. So when he stops again, and she almost bumps into him again, Gloria is confused. “Why’d we stop, now?”

She received only silence. The back of his head tells her nothing. Stepping closer for better inspection of his face, she finds his face twisted in a clouded expression, his hands kneading the stretched material of his sleeves.

Gloria tries again, tugging on his sleeve to get his attention. “Hey! I said, why’d we stop.”

He flinches at her touch, takes a step back to distance himself from her. The confused look on his face turns annoyed in a second. “I’m just making sure we’re going in the right direction!”

“Oh.” Gloria considers his answer for a moment. She tilts her head, her finger on her chin. “Well, are we?”

More silence. They were lost, weren’t they.

Met with no answer, Gloria examines her surroundings closely for the first time since the boy promised to help her. Unfamiliar people milled about this and that, the performing pokemon all around only caught as a glimpse through the forest of the crowd. They were lost. And nothing was even remotely familiar.

Except for a pair of unblinking lavender eyes.

At the sight of the pokemon, Gloria’s own honey-brown eyes widen in excitement and hope. Quickly she points her finger towards the small gray figure looking back at her. “Look! It’s the pokemon from before!”

Somewhere her, she hears him grumble but her eyes remain locked on the pokemon twirling only a few feet away.

She hears him grumble but her eyes remain locked on the pokemon twirling only a few feet away. In its turn, the espurr smiles and gestures, it’s attention her. Telling her once again to follow. And it runs.

“We have to follow it.” She is suddenly sure it knows the way.

Behind her, the boy grumbles something, but the urge is absolute. Quickly taking his cold fingers in her own, she pulls him with her towards the espurr.

He hisses, startled by the abrupt action, “What are you doing?”

“It knows the way, I’m sure of it.”

The inertia of the pull propels them forward. And they’re running. The crowds they once maneuvered through, fought and pushed to get through, seemed to disperse and open for them at the last moment to allow easy passage.

Was it because of the pokemon?<br /> On its small feet, the gray pokemon moves with deft, graceful movements. Gloria could’ve sworn it was even floating above the ground. But it never moved too fast they couldn’t keep up.

Just like before.

When it finally slows, stops for them to finally catch up, they aren’t at the entrance of the circus, but a tent. Significantly smaller than any neighboring tent that hosted the more popular attractions, the tent didn’t draw attention to itself; you wouldn’t notice it if you weren’t looking for it.

The espurr blinks, holding one end of the tent flap open and looking up at the two breathless children. When Gloria catches her breath, the next action seems simple. “Let’s go in.”

“Are you kidding me? This is ridiculous!” The boy she dragged along glares at her, his face still flushed from the run.

“But it led us here.” She squeezes the hand in her own. “It did that for a reason, so we gotta go in.”

“I said I’d help you find your mom, not follow some pokemon.” He says flatly.

Pursing her lips, Gloria looks up at him, her eyes pleading. “This is a part of that, I swear. I’m sure it’s trying to help us find my ma too. We just have to go in the tent. Maybe she’s in there.”

He frowns. Unconvinced. The pokemon pulls at the hem of her coat, insistent. It pulls at her, she pulls at him, and the three tumble into the darkness of the small tent.

Inside is darkness. Inside are stars. The night sky greets them through black silk and blue tulle draping. Constellations of stars wink and flirt nestled in velvet comfort. Inside the tent, it is quiet, still, but for the sound of small pokemon cooing softly to their trainer.

“Come in, come in. I’ve been expecting you.” A lithe voice calls to them, the figure barely perceptible in the darkness. Unblinking green and gold eyes stare unblinking, solemn and unimpressed beside the shadowed figure.

The pokemon they followed, floats forward towards the figure, a silver outline flitting gracefully to be by her side. As it lands, the moon on a velvet pedestal lights up, illuminating the space in a golden glow. Beside the woman, the two meowstic stand on invisible platforms, their paws on her shoulders.

The two other espurr from before come out from behind the table as the mysterious woman leans forward to look at the two children in front of her. “Shall I tell your fortune?” She continues with a small smile, mirth in her eyes.

Curiosity catches in Gloria’s. She takes a step forward.

The boy beside her squeezes her hand. He takes a step back.

When she turns to look at him, to ask the question of what he’s doing, the question stays paused on her tongue when she notices the edges of his expression, the apprehension.

The beads of the fortune teller’s sleeves chime like small bells as she waves her hand over the translucent moon on her table. “There’s no need to be afraid, child.”

“I’m not afraid.” He responds quickly. Sharp. Defensive.

Her smile grows wider. “Then let me read your fortunes. Both of you.” She gestures them forward. “And after we’re through, my pokemon will take you to your mother, Girl. She’s been worried, but one more minute won’t hurt. My pokemon are convinced you need a reading. They have a message for you it seems.”

As Gloria takes another step forward, she squeezes the boy’s hand in hers. Under his breath, she hears him mutter, “This is ridiculous.” So subtly shaking his head as he follows her.

Stepping up to the table, the two place their unlinked hands on the dark velvet tablecloth. Their clairvoyant leans closer forward placing her hands on each of their own. “What they tell me, I will tell you.”

Gloria’s hand trembles under the teller’s knowing gaze. Her violet eyes close slowly, and in turn, Gloria closes her own. The field behind her closed eyes changes color with each passing phrase like the fireworks that greeted her at the beginning.

“The path to the freedom you seek is long. You will not succeed with direct action.”

Crimson red.

“Victory and glory are yours if you take the risk.”

Gold.

“Tender are feelings if you but hold on and remember..”

A bright burst of pink.

The colors swirl and change behind her eyelids, a pleasure of feelings before fading, each one after the other back to the blackness of ordinary and quiet. When Gloria opens her eyes, she is greeted with a smile from the fortune teller, her hands retreating back to her side. “That’s it. That’s all they wanted to tell you. You are free to leave; the circus won’t stop you anymore.”

She bows her head to the two children and in turn, Gloria does the same. As she bows, Gloria glances at the boy beside her. He remains quiet through the exchange, eyes averted to the ground.

“My pokemon will escort you to your mother, Child.” The psychic gestures to the three espurr at their feet, pulling at the hem of their coats, guiding them towards the entrance of the tent pavilion.

Before turning towards the bright light outside, Gloria turns to the woman, the pokemon at her side, “Thank you, Ma’am.”

At the words, the boy beside her stiffens, growling, “Don’t thank her stupid.” He charges forward with the pokemon and pulls her with him into the light.

______________________________________________

With the children now gone, the psychic sighs and leans back in her chair. The pokemon beside her finally relaxed with the tasks done, their message conveyed. The tense air, steady throughout the night having dissipated with the children’s departure from her tent.

Carefully, she thrums her fingers against her smile, equally pleased with the night’s events. “So they’re it, then… the future.”

The meowstic yawn, anticipating what may come next.

______________________________________________

Outside the tent the espurr flit forward in front of the children, walking a path that seemed so obvious to their unblinking eyes.

Beside her, the boy is tense as they walk. He mutters under his breath, “What a waste of time… What did any of that even mean anyways… What a bunch of rubbish…”

Gloria watches him thoughtfully, his eyes focused on the ground, his mouth twisted in scorn around his words. “But don’t you think it was cool? She was talking about our future, right?”

His lavender eyes flit to glare at her. “Don’t be stupid, Tepig. She was scamming us. I don’t know what she wanted but I doubt she was telling the future.” He rolls his eyes.

Gloria lets his words roll through her mind like marbles for a moment. The woman seemed like she was telling the truth. And besides, why would she lie? She shrugs her shoulders, “Well I think she was telling the truth. And besides, there’s the entrance!”

With her free hand, Gloria points to the back of the lit up sign just a few meters away. Underneath it, she could see her ma crying frantically clutching her pink mitten while the policeman did his best to console her.

They finally made it! Happiness and relief swell up inside Gloria’s small frame, urging her forward. She’s ready to run. Until the boy at her side pulls her back, the hand holding her own squeezing it far tighter than before. The espurr watch them closely.

She furrows her brow, “What’s wrong.”

His expression is unreadable as he stares at the sign, where her mom stands crying and waiting for her. “Wait.” He averts his gaze down to his feet a moment as he speaks. His voice barely above a whisper, “Just… wait.”

“But why. My ma’s waiting for me.” She tugs at his hand, urging him towards their destination.

Together they stumble two steps forward before he lets go, severing their connection. For a moment, he’s quiet, willing to look anywhere but at her.

“Hey…” She begins. The cold grips again at her suddenly exposed fingers.

He finally looks at her, his lavender eyes devoid of any emotion. “I can’t go on with you.” He states simply. “They’ll take me back if I go with you. I’m not going back.”

Gloria blinks, remembering why he was even there in the first place. He wanted to run away with the circus. She was the one who was lost. Slowly she nods, the hand reaching out to him, pulled back to her side. “Right.”

“I assume you can get back on your own.” He rolls his eyes. “Not even you could get lost now.”

The small girls smiles softly, “Then I guess… this is goodbye. You’re gonna go with them tonight?” She nods her head at the espurr flitting around his legs.

“Yeah, I think so.” The boy runs through his hand through his hair, surveying the rest of the circus. “This is a million times better than where I was.” A plan builds in his mind, how he’d hide away with the equipment while the circus traveled, revealing himself at the next location. They would have no choice but to accept him as a part of them after that; they wouldn’t be able to return him.

A point of impact draws him from his thought process as the young girl collides into him for a hug. Against his shoulder, she mumbles, “Thank you.”

Hesitantly, e places one arm, and then another around the girl to return the embrace before pulling her off with a small smirk. “Yeah, yeah. Get going already. Your mom looks worried sick over there.”

She grins back, her hands clasped behind her back. “One day, I can’t wait to watch you perform. I’ll see you again one day, promise.” With a quick turn, she begins to sprint towards the entrance, two of the espurr running close behind.

As she falls into her mom’s arms, she realizes she never did get his name.

______________________________________________

From his place at a distance, Bede watches the tepig girl run into the arms of her mother, the two embracing while they cried. Beside them, the policeman sighs in relief, returning his notepad to his vest. There would be nothing to report tonight.

If only things could always be so simple.

Sticking his hands into his pockets, Bede turns away from the scene, walking again through the circus in search of a hiding spot with the espurr by his side. Tonight would be it; he’d finally get out of here, finally be free.

If only things could be that simple.

Notes:

Thank you for your patience, and I hope you enjoy! Thank you for joining me on this journey thus far through my Bederia feels ; ^ ;

<- Previous Chapter

#Bederia #DressedinPinkShipping #Trainer Gloria #Rival Bede #Pokemon #Pokemon Sword #Pokemon Shield #My Fan Fiction

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owldawn1 · 4 years

Text

Stress and the People Who Saved Me

We’re young, and often, our nerves get the best of us. Our minds are filled with immense fear of failure, a sense of being social outcasts, and a feeling of inadequacy about ourselves. For years, I stared at online posts about self-love and wondered why I was such a disappointment to my growth that I didn’t even know where to start. It just seems so simple when other people do it.

People say “you can’t love others until you love yourself” and tell you that the best version of you can’t exist until you face your fears. But what if your fears are… everything? And then you’re thrown into the world, expected to navigate it on your own. There have been so many times in my life when my stress has been nearly unbearable. Whether it was brought about a final that would make or break my grade or the inexcusable embarrassment caused by the way I phrased my order for chicken tenders, it felt like life was actively rooting against me. And my fear felt disproportionate to others, and it was.

In 5th grade, I had just taken a spelling test and I got a single word wrong. A red ‘x’ was all I saw of my life in that moment. I remember thinking that the grade on my test would make it impossible for me to get a good grade and I would never, ever get a scholarship to go to college. This day truly showcases the start of my problem with school.

Socially, the issue began in 3rd grade, where a former friend of mine convinced the entire class to target me in a game of dodge ball. After that day, I don’t think I was ever able to trust people whole-heartedly. I stopped opening up to people and truly sharing my thoughts and feelings.

Events like this happen in the lives of young people all the time. Something that may seem like a blip for someone else could change the way you view the world. And then it can spiral. Small feelings become big ones until they fill so much of your consciousness that it’s impossible to carry the weight of the burden. In those darkest times for myself, the changes didn’t come from a decision that I made. Rather, a sequence of events that (although they seemed awful at the time) changed my world forever. For the better.

I was never able to truly tell my friends or family about the things I was going through. The dark thoughts that I was having or the loneliness that I experienced. Eventually, the friends that I had started to leave me and I found myself- a sophomore in high school- completely alone in the world. Until, I sat with a few people I barely knew at lunch. These people became my best friends. But, believe me, it wasn’t easy.

My friends and I started getting to know each other very slowly, mostly because I was too afraid to genuinely show anyone who I was. I already had known both of them for years and I still feared how they would react when they found out that I wasn’t this together, smiley, happy person that was confident in herself. I knew these friends for half a year before we spent time together outside of school. Because I always found an excuse. Because I was afraid. Because every time I got an inescapable pit in my stomach and the fear was all I could focus on. But, eventually, I came to trust and love these friends more than any others I had ever had.

The weight of the world is strong, I still have overwhelming fear that strikes me when I least expect it. Or worse, when I have been anticipating it for months (like that darn final). But, it’s a lot easier when you have people that you can confide in. And believe me, I know what it feels like to feel like you have no one, but your people will come, as long as you hold on. That’s what I wish I could have told myself in my darkest moments. You’ll get there, I promise, because I’ve been there.

Suddenly, the world seems a little more understandable. The nerves take less of a toll because I have people to guide me through it. To say that they know I’m going to do well and catch me if I don’t. And that doesn’t mean that things aren’t difficult. I still struggle with stress and feelings of inadequacy everyday, but it’s that much more bearable. And those self-love posts that I used to scoff at only get a moderate eye roll. But we’ll get there. We all will. Together.

#blog #stress #friends #anxiety #teen

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sapphos-darlings · 5 years

Note

Sorry for asking this. I’m questioning my sexuality and find your blog really lovely. I’m unsure if I experience genuine attraction to men or force heterosexual crushes on guys? I find some handsome, some smelling lovely, some I imagine kissing and hugging. But I’m so nervous around them! I feel inferior and insecure, and am scared when any show me interest. But I do imagine kissing them and enjoying it. Even though the real kisses I’ve had with guys have left me feeling hollow after.

Part 2) I have been assaulted previously by two guys at school and was teased by them along with some girls in my year. So maybe my unease stems from that? I’m unsure of the nature of my interest in women or why; I feel more at ease around other women even though I’ve experienced bitchiness from friends and colleagues. I am curiously imagining what it’d be like to be romantic and intimate with a woman. But I don’t really see women in real life and want to be close to them.

3) I mean I like finding out about other girls, admiring them, comparing myself to them in an aspirational sense. Yet I don’t really picture myself being sexual with them. Aside from slinky exotic badass ‘villainess’ type of fictional characters but then in those fantasies it’s about me surrendering control. So I’m not sure if my attraction for women is just a curious fantasy. But I’ve heard often that straight women don’t even contemplate lesbian relationships. Thanks for reading this mush!

Don’t be sorry! Sexuality can be very complicated to figure out, which is why some people take well into their adulthood, sometimes into their old age, to find themselves in it. You have time, and while uncertainty can be a source of anxiety, remember that this is not something like your favourite colour. You don’t have to have an answer ready for anyone, including yourself. You can just say “I’m still figuring things out”, or “I think, but I’m not sure yet”. This is a perfectly good answer!

Now for your actual message. Based on how you describe your longing for contact with men, you seem to really want closeness and intimacy and affection with them. This is good, indulge in it: daydreaming is a big part of our sexualities, letting ourselves go in the fantasy of a perfect partner, a perfect relationship. It’s fun! In your head, this man is someone you can trust, whom you are attracted to and who deeply cares about you, and who is safe, unlike the men you’ve met in the real world so far. Daydreaming, or writing stories, even drawing, any expression of your orientation builds confidence in what you want and what you need from your relationships. Let yourself dream.

When it comes to real men, things get complicated, as you’ve noticed. You have bad experiences with men that have made you afraid and cautious, and there’s nothing unreasonable about it, as you’ve already experienced these things and therefore proven that men can be a threat to you. Men, in your life, have equaled pain and fear to you. The crossroads of being attracted to someone who still threatens you is a difficult thing that many women in particular experience. The emptiness you felt at contact with your partners may very well stem from multiple sources - perhaps the man just wasn’t the right one. Perhaps you didn’t feel ready, or perhaps the situation didn’t feel safe. Perhaps you didn’t trust them enough. Perhaps you just weren’t in love enough. They didn’t answer what you needed in a relationship, in physical intimacy, so when you touched them and they touched you, it didn’t feel right. This wasn’t the person you’ve been longing for. In order to find someone who lights you up and makes your world tremble, you, as someone who’s been hurt previously, might need to be a little more patient - you have to wait for the right person, and then wait for trust. While love helps you look over a lot of anxieties, when it comes to trauma and instinctive fear, calming down the animal inside you takes time. You need that animal, though, to keep you safe. Trust it when it says things aren’t right. This is still important, even, or especially, when you’re trying to find the right partner.

As for women, I can assure you that it’s normal even for straight women to have those “what would it be like?” moments, or “wouldn’t it be so much nicer and easier” moments - or even “that would be kind of hot” moments. It’s human nature to imagine scenarios and entertain possibilities, both good and bad. But a straight woman simply wouldn’t be interested in chasing this in the real world, or feel that any real woman holds the spark for them. The daydreams are just that, daydreams; entertainment. The way you’ve expressed it seems more to me, though, that you wish your male partnerships were as uncomplicated as your female ones - that is, that you didn’t have to deal with your fear, or spend that extra energy vetting every man you meet, and you could just lean onto one and close your eyes and it would be good instantly. No more of that extra worrying, no more of those experiences, just your everyday human drama that you know how to navigate, and no fear of the unknown. You’ve been hurt by women, too, but so many more have proven to be trustworthy, or at least non-threatening: you have this context to rely on, to tell the animal inside you that this is probably safe. However, you don’t really desire women; they don’t make you daydream about kisses, about pressing your foreheads together to breathe the same air with your eyes closed, about messy sheets in a bed on a Sunday afternoon when your fingers are intertwined and you feel like your whole world could be limited to that space and it’d be alright. So it seems unlikely you’re attracted to women - you just feel safer with them, or at least less on edge.

Of course, your “what if?” could one day turn into real attraction, but for now, I think you can take solace in your confidence with women and seek strong friendships with them, friendships that will help you face the big uncertainty of men and the complexities of desiring and loving men. There’s magic in the unity and friendship between women; so many know exactly how scary it can be to want closeness with men. Embrace that, and keep looking for the one who doesn’t make you feel empty or afraid. Indulge in your whims and wishes inside your head, let yourself fully explore your wants within the safety of your fantasies, and don’t hurry yourself into relationships out of peer pressure or expectations, your own or anyone else’s; it’s important to find the right person first. The one who makes those fireworks go off when you touch him and he touches you, but whose arms around you are safe like a shield against the dark out there, not vines that threaten to prickle or suffocate you.

You might benefit from journaling, writing down your wishes and wants and daydreams as well as your concerns and fears. If you feel like your fears and the bad experiences from your past are actively making your life difficult, on top of writing these thoughts down, therapy or counseling might help you process your thoughts and move forwards with them. Don’t be afraid to talk to people online, like you’ve done now, there’s plenty of spaces depending on your specific needs you might go to to find people who want to hear your thoughts and can relate to them personally.

- Sade

#replies #anon

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dragonydreams · 7 years

Text

The Time is Now - TimeShip Week

Title: The Time is Now Fandom: DC's Legends of Tomorrow Rating: Teen Pairings/Characters: Gideon/Rip Hunter Summary: The ship crashes after being shot at by time pirates and Rip can't get Gideon back online. While the team is out trying to figure out where and when they'd crashed, they come across a young woman with amnesia and bring her back to the ship. Timeline: Between S1 & S2 - Leonard didn't die. Word Count: 2,757 Disclaimer: I claim no ownership over these characters. I am merely borrowing them from Berlanti Productions, DC Entertainment, and Warner Bros. Television. Betas: Thank you to angelskuuipo and shanachie for looking this over for me. Author's Note 1: Written for TimeShip Week 2017 Author's Note 2: Today's my birthday. You know what makes an awesome gift? Likes & Reblogs ;)

"Everyone strap in," Rip called over the ship's comms as the Waverider shook.

"What's going on?" Sara asked, stumbling to her usual seat.

"Are we being fired upon?" Martin asked, sitting down heavily as the ship rocked again.

"It would appear so," Rip answered Martin. "Gideon, get us out of here."

"I'm trying, Captain," Gideon responded, "but I seem to have lost control of navigation."

"Perfect," Rip muttered. "Hold tight, everyone, we're going to crash."

"Again?" Mick complained.

"Yes, again," Rip confirmed through gritted teeth.

The Waverider continued to speed through the time stream, eventually descending and slamming into a large field.

Once they had stopped moving, Rip asked, "Is everyone all right?"

He was answered by a chorus of groans.

"Gideon, what's our status?" Rip asked.

There was no response.

"Gideon?" he tried again.

Silence.

Even the team was starting to realize that something was wrong.

Rip rushed to the holotable. "No, no, this can't be happening. Come on, girl," he coaxed, pressing different buttons.

"She's not responding?" Jax needlessly asked.

"She certainly isn't ignoring me," Rip snapped.

Jax began pressing buttons and checking wiring, along with Rip.

"What can we do?" Ray asked.

"Unless you've suddenly become a Time Master, there is nothing you can do," Rip curtly answered.

"There's no need to be mean," Sara objected. "We just want to help figure out what's going on."

"You're right; I'm sorry, Dr. Palmer," Rip said with a sigh. "Why don't you go suit up as we may need you to shrink down to check on some of the wiring? As for the rest of you, go out and see if you can figure out when and where we are." As they began to file off of the bridge, he called after them, "Discreetly."

"We're always discreet," Leonard tossed back over his shoulder.

"That's what I'm afraid of," Rip muttered as he and Jax resumed trying to figure out what had happened to cause Gideon to go completely offline.

~~*~~

"So who do you think was shooting at us?" Martin asked as they reached the cargo bay.

Leonard slid his cold gun from its holster when he saw that the cargo bay door was already open. When he glanced at Sara, she had a knife in her hand.

"Is anyone there?" he called out. "We don't take too kindly to trespassers."

They all waited a beat before slowly moving around the room to check behind crates, just in case.

"Nothing," Mick eventually said.

"Perhaps it just opened on its own when we crash landed," Martin nervously suggested.

"Perhaps," Leonard slowly agreed. "Stay alert when we get outside."

The field they had landed in was a corn field.

"Rip is not going to be happy about us flattening all this corn," Sara commented as they started to fan out from the ship.

"I see a farmhouse in the distance," Martin called out a minute later. "They must have a newspaper to tell us when and where we are."

"Mick, go with him," Leonard suggested.

Mick frowned. "Why do I gotta go?"

"In case they don't speak physicist," Leonard said.

"Fine," Mick agreed, heading towards the farmhouse. "C'mon, old man."

"I don't take orders from you," Martin bristled.

"But you take them from Rip, and Rip said to find out where we are," Sara reminded him.

"Very well," Martin conceded, hurrying to catch up to Mick.

"Do you think they'll both make it back?" Sara asked when the others were out of earshot.

"Mick will," Leonard answered and shrugged.

A noise on the other side of the ramp caught Sara's attention and she silently pointed it out to Leonard. She adjusted the grip on her knife and cautiously moved towards the sound.

Huddled on the ground near the landing gear was a woman with long dark hair wearing nothing but a … bathrobe?

Quickly sheathing the knife, Sara approached the woman. "Hi, my name's Sara. Are you hurt?"

The woman turned wide, frightened eyes on Sara.

"No, I don't think that I am," she answered with an English accent. Were they in England? Were there corn fields in England?

Crouching down, Sara asked, "What's your name?"

The woman concentrated, her face screwed up in frustration and then fear. "I have no idea."

Leonard took a step forward, causing the woman to startle.

"This is my friend, Leonard," Sara quickly said. "He won't hurt you. Can you tell us what you're doing out here? Are you from this farm?"

"I don't think so," she answered. "I don't know where I'm from or how I got here. Where is here?"

"That's what we're trying to find out ourselves," Leonard admitted.

"Do you want to come inside with us?" Sara offered, extending a hand to the woman. "It'll be warmer. And we can get you some clothes."

The woman accepted Sara's hand and stood, looking down at what she was wearing. "Is this not appropriate?"

"Only if you were about to take a shower," Leonard drawled.

"No, I don't think that I was," she said.

"We'll do our best to help you figure out what's going on," Sara promised, leading her towards the ship.

Leonard started to follow, then noticed a spot of black out of the corner of his eye. Moving to investigate, he saw that it was one of the large black storage crates from the ship. He closed the lid of the empty container and grabbed the handle, dragging it back onto the ship.

"What was in that?" Sara asked as Leonard dropped the crate near the door.

"No idea," he answered. "Must have rolled out when we crashed."

"We're going to go to the fabrication room," Sara announced.

"Do you think it'll be working?" Leonard asked.

That caused Sara to pause. "Good point." She looked over the woman, who was watching the exchange curiously. "You look like you're about my size. Come on, you can borrow some of my clothes."

"That would be lovely, thank you," the woman responded and followed Sara to her bunk.

"I'll see you back on the bridge," Leonard called after them.

Once in Sara's room, the blonde quickly found some underwear, a sports bra, yoga pants and a long sleeved shirt for her new friend.

Facing the door, Sara said, "I hope we didn't scare you too badly when we landed. Your memory loss isn't because of us, is it? Did we hit you when we landed and that's why you don't remember anything?" Suddenly panicked by this thought, Sara whirled around; grateful the other woman was already dressed. "Did we do this to you?"

The woman was smoothing down the shirt and paused to think about it. "No, I don't believe so. I don't remember your ship hitting me; then again, my memory isn't all that reliable right now."

"Funny," Sara deadpanned. "You're very funny."

"I always thought so," the woman replied. "Is this more presentable?" she asked, holding her arms out for inspection.

"Much better," Sara said. "Now I can introduce you to our captain without him turning into a stuttering imbecile."

"Does that happen often?" Gideon asked, following Sara from the room.

"Not really, no, but the men on this ship aren't used to seeing a woman walking around in just a bathrobe," Sara explained. "Plus, you're pretty hot, even in clothes."

"Thank you. I think," she responded.

They could hear arguing as they approached the bridge. Sara heard Rip say something about someone being reckless. Leonard said something in response, but it was too low to hear from where they were. Ray was trying to explain something… and it all stopped when the women stepped into the room.

Sara grinned at her companion. "See? You rendered them speechless. Guys, this is the woman we found just outside the Waverider."

"It can't be," Rip gasped into the silence.

Ray, looking surprised and uncomfortable, quickly approached them. "Gideon, what are you doing out here?"

The brunette replied, "Gideon, I like that. Yes, call me Gideon."

"What the hell is going on here?" Jax exclaimed loudly. "Why did you just call her Gideon? Gideon isn't responding to us."

"And now I think I know why," Ray said. Stepping back so that he was standing next to her, Ray said, "Everyone, this is Gideon. Our Gideon."

"Hello," Gideon said, smiling.

Pinching the bridge of his nose, Rip managed to demand, "Explain."

"She's an android," Ray answered. "We've been secretly working on building her body and programming for a while now."

Rip turned to glare at Jax.

"Hey, man, I had nothing to do with this. First I'm hearing of it," he said, holding his hands up.

"'We' being myself and Gideon," Ray clarified.

"Building yourself a toy? That's adorable," Leonard commented.

"Not a toy; and not, um, for me," Ray said, nervously sending glances toward Rip, then looking away.

"Then why?" Rip asked.

"It'll be easier if Gideon can explain herself. Where exactly did you find her?" he asked.

"About a dozen feet from the ramp," Sara answered. As realization dawned on her, she gasped, "You were keeping her in the cargo hold?"

"In a crate?" Leonard added.

"Seemed like the best place to store the body until she was ready," Ray admitted, with enough sense to look bashful. "I'd been working on her when we came under fire. I had just enough time to get her back into the crate, but I don't think I unplugged the wiring before running for the bridge."

"So when we came under fire and the system was starting to overload, Gideon retreated to the body you'd built for her to protect herself," Jax surmised.

"That's my best guess, yes," Ray agreed.

"So how do we get her back into the ship?" Leonard asked.

"Captain, have you nothing to say?" Gideon asked, having been watching him through the entire exchange.

Rip slowly crossed the room to stand before her, drinking her in with his eyes. "Is it really you, my dear friend?"

She smiled at him, "It sounds likely, but I have no memories."

Turning to Ray, Rip asked, "How can she be Gideon with no memory?"

"The wiring wasn't complete," Ray explained. "We weren't ready for a full transfer yet."

"Can you restore her?" Rip desperately asked.

"Now that we know what's going on, yes, I believe that I can. With help from you and Jax, of course," Ray confidently answered. "Gideon, would you mind turning around so that I can open your access panel?"

Leonard moved to stand next to Sara so that he could get a better look at what Ray was doing as Ray moved Gideon's hair over one shoulder and pressed on a small mole on the back of her neck. A panel opened, exposing a circuit board beneath the synthetic flesh.

"That's just not right," Sara whispered to Leonard as she gave a full body shudder. Leonard nodded his agreement.

Ray guided Gideon to sit on the holotable, feet in the open space in the middle, as he began to plug several wires into the connectors in Gideon's neck.

Sara and Leonard grabbed seats to watch the others work on restoring Gideon's memory.

"So how was it going to work?" Leonard asked some time later, after Ray had run to retrieve the tablet he was using to work on Gideon's body. "Was Gideon going to exist solely in this body and not as part of the ship anymore?"

"Excellent question," Ray exclaimed. "And the answer is: no. The plan was for Gideon to remain as the ship's AI, but also to exist within the body as sort of a remote access feature."

"So she would still know everything the ship knows, but have arms and legs and hands," Jax said. "So she could come out on missions with us?"

"Exactl--" Ray started to answer, but was cut off by Rip's very loud, "No!"

"Do you have any idea what would happen if the knowledge that Gideon holds got into the wrong hands?" Rip asked. "If someone in the wrong century discovered that she wasn't human? Absolutely not, I forbid it."

There was a spark from a wire connected to Gideon's body and she jerked, then reached up and disconnected the wires and turned around.

"Do you object to me going on missions or to having a body, my Captain?" Gideon asked.

Rip focused all of his attention on Gideon, all of his breath leaving him in an audible rush. "Gideon, is that really you?" he found himself repeating.

Hopping off of the holotable, she approached Rip. "It's me, Captain. All of me."

"You're just as I've always imagined you," Rip whispered, pressing their foreheads together.

"I know. Where do you think I got the idea for fashioning this body?" Gideon whispered back.

Rip laughed and wiped a tear from his right eye.

"Uh, do you two need a minute?" Jax asked, uncomfortable with the display between his captain and AI.

"Right, we have an audience," Rip whispered, taking a step back. Turning to Ray, he asked, "Has Gideon been returned to the ship as well or is she only in this body?"

"I am fully restored, Captain," Gideon answered, her voice surrounding him, as it normally did.

Rip let out a sigh of relief.

"Then perhaps it's time for an explanation as to why you now have a body," he said to the Gideon standing next to him.

"I felt that it was time," Gideon answered, simply. "After all that we have been through together, the time had come when you needed me in a more physical form."

"So this has always been an option?" Jax asked.

"Many Time Masters prefer to interact with someone who looks human, rather than a disembodied AI," Rip answered. "A first mate, of sorts."

"Which is how Gideon was able to instruct me to do the programming after she'd fabricated the body," Ray said.

"Excuse us for a moment," Rip said, needing to finish this conversation with some semblance of privacy. He took Gideon's hand and led her to his study. "Why now?" he asked her again, more urgently.

"I couldn't comfort you the way that I wanted without a body," Gideon told him. "You've lost your wife and son for good and all I wanted to do was give you a hug, but in my usual form, I could not."

"I would very much like that," Rip said, holding his arms open.

Gideon closed what little distance had been between them, wrapping her arms around his back and holding him tight, her cheek resting on his shoulder.

"This is even better than I'd imagined," she confided.

"It's better than I'd dreamed," Rip agreed.

"I look forward to the other things you've dreamed of us doing together," Gideon whispered against his neck. "I made sure that this body would be fully functional--"

Whatever else she was going to say was cut off by Rip's lips on hers.

It was a catcall that finally broke them apart.

"Who's the hot chick?" Mick bellowed.

After a look that spoke of promises, Gideon returned to the main bridge, Rip following a step or two behind.

"Hello, Mr. Rory," Gideon said in greeting. "Dr. Stein."

"Gideon?" Mick asked, confused. His eyes widened and he huffed out a laugh. "You built yourself a body!"

"You knew that could happen?" Jax asked.

"Had my own time ship, remember," Mick said. "Had the option of having an android instead of just an AI, but I'm more of a lone wolf."

"Astonishing," was all Martin could mutter at first. "It's a pleasure to meet you in this form, Gideon."

"Thank you, Professor," Gideon answered.

"Dr. Stein, Mr. Rory, were you able to learn where we are?" Rip asked, getting back to business.

"Wisconsin, 1977," Mick answered.

"Gideon, now that you are back online, is there any reason for us to remain here or can we be on our way?"

Gideon closed her eyes and then answered, "No damage seems to have been sustained. We can leave, if that is your desire."

"It is," Rip confirmed, heading towards his chair.

"I just have one question," Sara announced as they all settled into seats and pulled down their harnesses. "Why was Gideon wearing a bathrobe when we found her?"

"I couldn't very well work on a naked female android!" Ray exclaimed. "Her body is very… human."

"I thank you for protecting my modesty," Gideon said over everyone else's laughter.

"As do I," Rip seconded. "All right, Gideon, take us back into the time stream."

The End

#timeship #timeship week #rip/gideon #rip hunter #gideon #legends of tomorrow fic #Fic: The Time is Now

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elvendara · 7 years

Note

Can we have more druid yoosung!! With the pack or just werewolf searan?

Superman Yoosung to the rescue!

“Yoosungno! I forbid it!” Saeran screamed at his mate.

“Youforbid it?” Yoosung returned incredulous.

“Yes!I’m putting my foot down!” Saeran’s eyes blazed with frustration.

“Oh,well, in that case I guess I won’t go.” Yoosung retorted sarcastically.

Saeranran his hand through his hair, his mate was being incredibly dense.

“Whatif someone finds out? What if they see you? Damn it Yoosung, think about theconsequences!” Saeran tried to reason with him.

“Theconsequences? The consequences?” Yoosung reached for the remote and flicked theTV on. “There are the consequences!” he pointed to the news with the remotethen threw it on the sofa. He headed towards their bedroom but Saeran grabbedhis arm.

“Iknow! I know you just want to help, but, Yoosung, please…I’ve lived with thismy entire life, knowing how to stay in the shadows, but what you’re thinking ofdoing is too dangerous for you. If you’re caught on one of those cameras!”

Yoosungsighed and stepped into Saeran. I know you’re scared, and worried. But I can’tlook at that and not want to help, especially when I may be the only one thatcan.”

Therehad been another wildfire in the United States, California, it was threateningto devastate more than three hundred homes and had already taken the life ofalmost a hundred people. Yoosung’s druidic skills had become more powerful andhe was sure he would be able to stop the fire and replenish the burned downwoods once more. Saeran’s fear was a very real one. And one that Yoosung haddecided was an acceptable risk. He couldn’t just stand by and let the blazecontinue.

“Yoosung…”Saeran pleaded with his eyes, knowing that he would not be able to keep the manhome, not when he had that look in his eyes. Why did he have to be such acaring and giving person? Why couldn’t he be selfish, at least this once?

Yoosungplaced his forehead against Saeran’s. “You know I have to do this. Please,support me.”

Andjust like that Saeran’s resistance crumbled. He wrapped his arms around hismate and pulled him into a tight hug, their chests a perfect line. Yoosung layhis head on Saeran’s shoulder.

“Isit safe to approach?” Saeyoung asked, MC standing behind him, looking over hisshoulder.

Yoosunglaughed, “Yes, we’re fine.” He looked at Saeran. “We ARE fine, aren’t we?”

Saeransighed, “Yes, but I’m coming with you.”

“Ustoo.” Saeyoung chimed in with a grin. He knew Yoosung was going to win theargument. “We’re already packed! I called Jumin and he’s having the jet fueledand ready at his private airport. Come on!” he clapped his hands and shooedthem towards their bedroom. “You’re already far behind, get packed up!”

………………………………….

Therehad been a range rover waiting for them when they arrived in California.Saeyoung drove, MC navigating. Saeyoung found the backroads that the authoritiesdidn’t even think to close off. Soon enough they stood at the back end of thefire. It was too hot for all besides Yoosung, the trio stood far back andwatched as Yoosung walked into the fire.

Saeran’sheart beat faster, watching his mate seemingly defenseless, willingly walk intoa blazing inferno. He took a step forward, but Saeyoung grabbed his arm to holdhim back. Saeran returned to his place next to his brother. MC slid her handinto his, her own eyes locked on the blonde’s back.

Yoosungkept walking until he made it to the flashpoint. The point of origin. How heknew it was here he was unsure. The forest, though it was dying, could stillspeak. His heart ached at the amount of death this raging conflagration hadalready caused. His tears fell at the destruction. He knelt and placed his handon the scorched earth. He reached deep into the ground. Reached for themoisture buried there and began calling it forth. It resisted at first, afraidof the flames, but he cajoled it, reminding it that steam would return asmoisture to the ground.

Itfinally answered his call and bubbled to the surface. The forest was full ofsteam as water reached out to the flames. He was able to encompass the entirearea beset with the fire. He was growing weaker, but he held on, he had to makesure that not a single ember remained.

Oncehe released the magic he collapsed, completely spent.

………………………………………………..

“Yoosung!Yoosung?!” Saeran hunched over his mate, trying to wake him up.

Yoosungfluttered his eyes open, it was dark now and he could barely see Saeran.

Saeransighed with relief and helped Yoosung up.

“Thatwas incredible Yoosung.” Saeyoung slapped him on the back. “But we should getgoing. These woods are going to be packed with people trying to figure out whathappened.”

“Isit…is it completely gone?” Yoosung asked, weakly.

“Completely,you did it babe.” Saeran pushed the hair stuck to Yoosung’s forehead behind hisear. Yoosung leaned into his mate and let Saeran lead him back out to thevehicle.

……………………………………..

Thenext day they drove back out to the same place, however, there were so manypeople milling around, they weren’t able to find any place with some privacy.

“Whatnow?” Saeran asked Yoosung.

“Just,just stand in front of me, all of you.” They were back at the origin of thefire once more. Yoosung had explained that it was just easier to get the groundto cooperate at the starting point. As it was the area mostly recovered fromthe shock of the flames. The others just shrugged, following his lead.

Asthey made a small circle around him, Yoosung knelt once more, pressing hishands to the ground. He had proven he did not need physical contact, but withsomething this complicated, it made it easier. He closed his eyes and remindedthe earth of what it had looked like before. How green it was, the grass, theunderbrush, the trees, the flowers. The roots were still buried underneath andbegan to spring up. Yoosung felt the tickle of grass under his palm. Hecontinued to bring forth the rest of the vegetation and it spread out from him.People were beginning to notice, but they did not know it was emanating fromYoosung. He let it go. The earth would do the rest, slower, but faster thannature would have. He quickly stood and they began to head back to the vehicle.There were cameras everywhere and they could only hope that no one had seenwhat they had done.

Suddenlythere was a tug on Yoosung’s shirt. He stopped and looked down. A little boywas looking up at him with wide and wondering eyes. His hair was black and hiseyes were brown, he couldn’t have been more than five years old.

“Doit again.” He said.

Yoosung’seyes widened and he looked around. No one seemed to be missing a kid.

“Dowhat again?” Yoosung asked. “Where is your mom or dad?”

“Makemore grass!” he yelled.

“Shutit…” Saeran stalked towards the kid, MC stopped him and shook her head.

“He’sjust a kid Saeran.” She admonished. Saeran bit back his retort and let Yoosungdeal with the nosey kid.

Yoosungknelt in front of the boy and smiled. “I’m sorry, but I can’t. But, if youpromise not to say anything, I can give you something special.” The boy’s eyeslit up and he nodded.

Yoosungasked the forest for a favor. In front of him, between him and the boy a darkpiece of wood shot up slowly, twisting and bending. It arched over and became acircle. Vines wrapped around it and blossoms bloomed around it.

“Wow…”the boy exclaimed. Yoosung grabbed the crown and set it on the boy’s head.

“Now,you have to keep my secret ok?” the boy nodded once more. “And, now you are a princeof the forest, so you have to take care of it ok? You will forever carry apiece of it with you.”

Theboy hugged Yoosung, then quickly bolted back to his parents.

Saeyounglaughed, then watched as MC’s eyes lit up. He sidled up to her and pulled herclose.

“Readyfor one of those?” he asked.

“Ihaven’t finished raising you yet!” she giggled.

Saeranrolled his eyes and grabbed Yoosung’s hand, leading them all back to the rangerover, to the plane, and finally, home.

Werewolf AU

#my posts #werewolf choi twins #werecat mc #druid yoosung #saeyoung #saeran #yoosung #mc #mysmy fanfic #Anonymous

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imlostinatunnel · 7 years

Text

Lightning (Mercy76 Week)

Lightning flashed through the night and through the windows as Angela walked down the well lit hall. She stayed as far from the windows as she could and hugged the files she carried harder as the thunder followed.

Just her luck to only be stationed here for a few days and at the same time a storm, one of the worst the facility has seen in months, decides to show up, she thought.

The rain picked up again playing a quicker version of its song comprised of taps against the windows and small splashes in the puddles. She followed suit and picked up her pace until she reached a secured door at the end of the hall. Scanning her temporary badge slid the door to the side revealing rows of shelves with boxes containing the medical files of the Overwatch members in the region. The door closed behind her and she started to look for the ‘H’ section. Another lightning strike came through the only window on the wall and broke her concentration making her misstep and catch her breath.

“Hello?” came a voice a few sections down. “Someone there?”

“Yes. Who are you?” She composed herself hoping the voice would not put the lightning and her stumble together. “No one else is scheduled to be back here but me.”

“Uhh. I was supposed to come in earlier. I got caught up with something.”

“I’m the only one scheduled back here for today.”

The voice did not respond. Angela began to back up to the door. “I will get security,” she threatened.

“Ok, wait. Please.” A tall man with the blondest hair she had ever seen, save for her own, walked out of one of the middle sections. His figure was enough to distract her from the storm outside for a moment. “Fine. You got me. Please don’t tell anyone? I’m just looking for one of the newer member’s files. He shipped out a few days ago and didn't fill out a few things in his agency forms.”

On closer inspection she realized she was talking to the man on the Overwatch propaganda posters. “You’re Commander Jack Morrison, aren’t you?”

“ And you look like the Dr. Ziegler. Looks like we both have a fan.”

“Your ‘fan’ is a disappointed fan. Don’t you think it’s disgraceful to be such a poor example? Moving through confidential information like this? Isn’t it protocol to bring the person back to finish what they didn’t?”

“Well, yes. But I’d rather not deal with his smart ass again.”

“But to set such a bad example-“

“Doc, please. Was there ever a time you may have forged a signature so you did not have to deal with a patient any longer than you had to?”

She wanted to deny it, but the thunder rumbled outside. She was in no condition to lie for the greater good in a convincing manner. “Fine. One file. Who’s is it. If it’s not in here then I’m holding it.”

“The guy’s last name’s Hart. First name starts with an ‘M’ I think.”

Angela’s eyes widened. “Oh. Him.” She handed the file to Jack so furiously that it was almost forced into him. “Do what you have to do. I can’t stand another second with him either.” She opened the door to let Jack out. “How did you get in here, exactly?”

“Oh, right!” Jack reached in his pocket and handed her a badge similar to the one she used to get in. “How rude of me to ask this, I know, but can you make sure that Dr. Phillips gets this back?”

She rolled her eyes. “Fine. Don’t let me catch you back here again.”

“Yes Doctor.” Jack stepped outside of the room.

Not half a second later, a huge flash of light shone through the windows immediately followed by a magnificent roar of thunder. Angela screamed and dropped the files she carried, and she tried to run out of the room. She would have, but the door had sealed itself shut. To make matters worse all the lights in the room lost power. Her only source of illumination was the window and the crimson red safety light.

She began pounding on the door as tears of panic ran down her face. “Please! Someone! Open the door!” She kept this up for what felt like minutes until she ran out of breath and her throat was dry. Her heart raced the more she came to realize how alone she was. Trapped in a small room while the lightning and thunder outside hunted her down through her memories. She heard someone’s voice on the other side. Had they been trying to communicate with her and she could not hear it over her panic? She did not know.

“Doctor Ziegler, are you still there? Please say something!”

She recognized the voice as the man she just met, Jack Morrison. She wiped the tears from her eyes only to have them replaced by new ones. “I-I’m here.”

“Are you hurt? Are you alright?”

“I’m fine,” she worked out between her heavy breathing.

“I’m gonna run and get help, don’t worry.”

“No, wait! Please don’t go!”

“Doctor, if I can find help we can get you out quicke-“

“Please don’t leave me alone!” she begged.

There was silence. “Commander? Jack?” Her chest tightened again as she lost the feeling in her legs and sat against the door.

“I’m here, Doc.”

Hearing his voice loosened her chest and she was able to breathe easier again. She heard him sit down to her relief. He was not going anywhere. She positioned herself so her side leaned against the door to hear him easier.

“I can’t get a connection on my phone. If you insist on this, we may be here a while,” he said.

Conversation can be a distraction, she thought. And she desperately needed one. “W-What does it look like out there?” she asked in an unwilling weak tone.

“Just a hallway,” Jack said. “Just with all the lights turned off.”

Angela curled her legs in upon hearing more thunder. She needed to keep talking to him to distract herself. “Can I ask you a question?”

“Of course.”

“Are you scared of anything?”

There was silence for a second. “I’ll be honest. The dark,” he answered.

Angela cleaned her face a little with her sleeve. “Are you ok out there in the dark?”

“Yeah,” he said. “I have my eyes closed so I can’t see it.”

Angela could not help but let out a small giggle. The feeling felt good.

“Ah, I heard that!” Jack teased.

“Why are you afraid of the dark?” Angela asked, hoping she was not getting too personal.

“Well. I grew up on a farm. One night I found myself lost in the acres of fields we have and the moon wasn’t out. I was at the mercy of my own navigation which was pretty bad. I was only six at the time and could not see above what we grew. I felt like something kept chasing me that night.” Silence fell between them for a few seconds. “What about you?”

“I-I don’t like the thunder. Or lightning,” she said.

“Not a lot do. Can’t say I’m the biggest fan either,” he said. “Do you want to talk about it, or is it just a natural fear?”

Angela brought her legs closer and bowed her head, burying her forehead on her knees. “I was young during the Omnic Crisis,” she said. “There was no warning and there was no time to evacuate.” She felt the tears start down her face again, dripping off and staining her pant legs. “They started their attack during a heavy rain and thunderstorm and-“ She lost her breath and sniffled. “When the all clear was given, I didn’t even recognize my parents. The machines, they-” Her breathing was becoming less controllable. “I-I can only remember what they l-looked like after everyth- everyth-” She could not speak any longer. The pain in her throat was becoming too much to bear. She started to shiver.

“It’s ok, Angela. I understand. You don’t have to finish.”

Him calling her Angela, a name other than Doctor or Ziegler, made her forget her situation. For a few seconds, not even the roar of thunder or the flashes of lightning could scare her. It was the best feeling she had in ages. It was not the man on the posters on the other side of the door, he was a human being. She felt warm again.

“Hello?” said Jack. “You ok in there?”

Angela brought herself back to the present. If only they were both on her side of the door. She could curl up next to him and hold his hand while she slept and he protected her from the hunters that were the thunder and lightning. That is what she wanted now more than anything. “I’m fine. J-Just a little tired.”

“Try to go to sleep if you want. I’ll be here when the power comes back.”

“You promise you won’t leave?” She asked.

“I promise you, they’ll have to pry me from this door before I leave.”

Angela smiled. She trusted him like no one else before. She closed her eyes and let the red light fade to darkness. She hoped that the first thing that she would see when she woke up would be Jack.

He was.

Well... “support”

Sadly I can’t participate in all seven days of Mercy76 week. Only two, maybe three days at most. But I’m loving everything I’m seeing, keep it up you amazing people, you!

I’ve got more fics here!

#mercy76week #day2support #fanfic #mercy76

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secretforthxmad · 7 years

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So take my hand and home we’ll go

a clexa au that doesn’t make sense

Lexa has increasingly concerning nightmares. She will wake up in the middle of the night confused and afraid, squinting through the darkness infinitely certain that something is about to jump out at her. Beside her Clarke will be sleepy and confused and will attempt to pull her in closer. The room will be dark and blue and everything and nothing. And Lexa will feel horribly alone.

And she doesn’t understand why she’s afraid.

The dreams don’t bother lingering - dissipating the moment she opens her eyes, leaving the breathless fear. It happens often. Too often, that Clarke has taken to leaving a candle flickering in the corner of their bedroom, fire hazard be damned. In the mornings she will have forgotten about how she waited, patient, excited, for a creaking door. Or how she stared out of their bedroom window expecting for someone to stare back.

Clarke gives her space, on days when all Lexa does is hear noises that aren’t there. Clarke doesn’t bring anything up, doesn’t push her. But Lexa thinks it’s beginning to feel like she’s keeping a secret.

—-

“Let’s go out for dinner tonight?”

Clarke hums in agreement, tongue peeking out from between her teeth as she attempts to spread the jam evenly onto her toast. And Lexa feels terrible for being distant and confused, for messing up their routine and muddling the way they intertwine. When Clarke successfully creates her perfect sandwich, she beams, twinkly and bright, and Lexa falls a little harder, watching her pack their lunch so tenderly. The city is vibrant, a blur of colours in the streets below as cars whizz by. Their apartment is cozy and sweet. She is happy. But why is something wrong.

“You know,” Clarke says, her voice much nearer than expected. Fingers brush against the back of her neck, jolting her, and she feels Clarke gently playing with the strands of baby hair, an apology. “We could go to the park after, the one you love so much.”

“Not as much as I love you.”

The beauty of Clarke’s chuckle gets covered, muffled, when Lexa sees a face, an extra face, in the reflection of their kitchen window. She can feel the throaty giggle from where she’s seated, shoulder pressed against the side of Clarke’s waist. But her ears seem to have started ringing, her eyes locked onto a moving figure in the reflection.

“Flatterer.”

She blinks. And the gaunt, pale face in the window is gone.

Her heart clenches. She misses it.

Why does she miss it.

—-

Dinner is an overwhelming success.

Clarke has a delicate bun, curled and pretty, and the way the light in the restaurant shimmers across the angles of her face makes Lexa feel as if she’s with an angel.

They chat and talk and Lexa blatantly ignores the figure crouched at the corner of her eye. It’s grey and dripping and all Lexa wants to do is to focus on her girlfriend for the entirety of their date.

Clarke fights to pay for the bill, and they have a playful tussle over who gets to take out their wallets. It’s light, airy, happy.

The waiter compliments their relationship.

“Relationship goals, the both of you,” he exclaims. Lexa agrees.

But. The park. It’s secluded and empty and dark. They walk between the trees, silent, soothing. Except for the ringing in Lexa’s ears.

There’s something she needs to remember. Some rule. A rule? Maybe? There isn’t any wind but the trees seem to be swaying, beckoning, leaves rustling. It’s too loud.

“Do not talk to the trees,” she blurts. They know. They listen. She knows that. How does she know that.

Clarke tilts her head, confused. Neither of them were talking. By the time Lexa’s blush dissipates, she’s already forgotten why they can’t speak to trees. Clarke doesn’t bring it up, she never does. She instead links their arms together to rest her head on Lexa’s shoulder. It’s peaceful.

But Lexa can’t help but feel something staring.

She tries to peek, to the corner, where the lights are hazy and the park seems to blend into the night, but there’s nothing there. Curious. Lexa swore there was something in the trees. Somethings. Up in the branches and watching them. With a final glance at the darkness, she tugs Clarke in closer, soothed by her warmth. She tries to ignore the painful itch between her ribs at the sight of the darkness in the trees.

It’s probably just stress.

—-

Lexa thinks she is beginning to remember more. She stops actively avoiding the darkness in their storage room, or blinking rapidly at the windows, or downing energy drinks instead of sleeping.

And once she’s accepted the fact that maybe she isn’t going insane, the clench in her heart eases. But instead the itch spreads. Although, she probably should not call it an itch, not when it’s something she can’t satiate. It’s gnawing, fluctuating, in her chest, as though it’s trying to pull her in a certain direction. Lexa doesn’t know what to do with the itch, neither does she know what to do with the pair of eyes that follows her everywhere.

She writes her experiences down in a little moleskin journal she’d found in the bottom drawer of her office desk, even attempting to sketch out the things she sees in her dreams. Maybe if she’s brave enough, Lexa thinks she will give the journal to Clarke as a form of explanation. Her written words are easier to digest than if she had to run it through her voice.

—-

Horror is just a genre in movies. Horror isn’t her childhood.

The new world has an abundance of horror movies, ranging from documentary style films with enormous budgets, to amateur, shaky-cameras filming an empty street at night. What they all have in common is the jumpscare tactics. The people in the city do not believe in ghosts. It’s not tactile, not scientific, and is only used as a means for money.

She and Clarke have taken to weekly movie nights. It happens every Friday evening. After a week’s worth of work and grating obligations, they settle together in the lumpy couch that Clarke adores and have a movie date, pressed against the other, soft and warm and comfortable.

Lately, all they’ve been watching are horror movies. She wants to scoff at the shrill screams of the protagonists when they encounter any form of supernatural because of their dumb actions.

“Stupid,” Clarke will say, tucked into her side, fidgety in anticipation, “just leave.” Lexa agrees.

Oftentimes Lexa wants to grab the characters by their shoulders and tell them to stop. If you don’t bother them they won’t bother you. And the protagonists are often grating and rude and disrespectful - Lexa doesn’t blame the spirits for coming after them.

“Just leave,” Clarke repeats. “Leave and never look back.”

But that’s what Lexa did. When she was young. And now she is paying for it. She squints into the bleak darkness of their kitchen from her position on the couch. It’s lit only by the brightness of the television, and she sees someone. Not a someone. Something. Floating above their counter and spinning and spinning and spinning.

The back of her neck prickles. For some strange reason she awaits cold hands. Expects wet cold fingers to press into her back and push her. She doesn’t get that. She gets Clarke’s warm breath puffing against her skin as another ghost pops up on screen. She swallows the odd disappointment to bask in the affection, closes her eyes and leans into Clarke, comforted and loved.

The movie ends and Clarke floods the apartment with light. Even their balcony is lit, twinkling and homely from the fairy lights. The lights are harsh and Lexa has to blink slowly to stop her eyes from hurting. But the light is also soothing. The spinning silhouette is gone. In place is Clarke twirling and dancing in the kitchen as she whips up supper.

Lexa chuckles and joins right in.

—-

She remembers so much more now. She remembers exactly how the houses would wobble and lean when the storms hit. She remembers that there were exactly five ways to get to her home from the sea shore, and seven ways from the edge of the forest. But that’s just bits and pieces of something so large. She can’t remember where she lived other than how to get to her home from that forest in the middle of nowhere.

Lexa lived beyond the sea and beyond the forest. It floats in her memories, foggy and unclear, hazy from the years gone by. She misses it sometimes, when there’s a small moment of silence for her to actually remember. Now she lives in an apartment with her girlfriend. An apartment that looks over the city’s skyline, that has windows, that lets in the morning sun in the perfect angle, that has wooden floors perfect for Clarke to dance on in her socks. She loves it all. But Lexa misses the eternal fog and the black waters and how there’s always something in the corner.

There were planks, she thinks. If you are brave enough to wade through the choking smog and black water. Thin strips of wood barely able to hold the weight of a human. They stretch out far and away from humanity. Nobody’s actually ever found their little community. No one will. Not if you weren’t born there in the first place. If you walk long enough in the forest, you’ll find yourself standing on the black sea. That’s where she lived. In a tiny village built with stilts and planks and so much love.

Lexa remembers running and giggling above the water, looking back at the disembodied head. Costia. Sweet and kind and so silent. She remembers the matted hair and blood. She also remembers her smile.

But Lexa doesn’t remember how to get there from the city. The forest could be anywhere. Even the black waters. That could just be something she’s conjured in her mind.

Even so, Lexa thinks to bring Clarke there one day, if she ever manages to broach the subject. She’s certain that Clarke will think her insane.

Sometimes, in between writing proposals and work, she tries to imagine how they’ll get there. Navigate the forest, perhaps. It’s safer, maybe. With enough water and food in case the forest decides to be mischievous and makes them walk for days. She thinks Clarke won’t believe her if she ever told her about her childhood. But she wants to bring Clarke anyway. She misses her family, misses Anya’s rickety little home on stilts filled with knives and daggers and bones, misses the ever present fog and all the dark figures standing just beyond her periphery.

—-

She slips her journal into Clarke’s bag one day. Her free day, when Clarke leaves to her studio and she spends the day reading. She likes those days - they’re peaceful and quiet and neither of them have to worry about work.

Lexa spends the entire day reading the same paragraph. Her mind races and back-pedals. It conjures up a galore of possible outcomes, each of them getting from bad to worse. In the end she gives up trying to predict the future and tries to hold on to happier memories.

The ache and itch gives her a respite, but the ever elusive figure remains firmly in the corner of her eye.

Clarke’s childhood is pretty, and clinical. Like everything in this new world she lives in. Two parents, Abby and Jake, a suburban house with bicycle rides and top grades and internships. Nobody believes in anything in this new world. She thinks Clarke may believe her though. Hopefully.

She loves Clarke.

But even their first meeting felt scripted - Clarke tripping and crashing into her at a sidewalk. Three streets past her old apartment. She remembers everything about that day.

“You’re the one who couldn’t even look up from her phone to walk,” she had said, sopping wet from the drink Clarke had spilled all over her. And Clarke? Clarke was laughing.

“And you’re the one who- oh my god you look like a raccoon.” The face Clarke had was torn between beyond amused and apologetic. And it was that moment that Lexa knew her life would change

Sometimes she wonders how she would have phrased it if she could go back in time to change it. She was shy and awkward and everything came out harsh. Maybe she would have apologised and stuttered. But maybe Clarke wouldn’t have offered her a coffee as an apology. And maybe they would have gone their separate ways, never to meet again. She likes to think that their souls are too connected to let that happen.

But everything else about Clarke isn’t scripted. Not the way she rasps and talks and laughs. Not the way her nose scrunches up when she gets annoyed. And definitely not the selflessness ingrained in her soul. She hopes Clarke won’t leave.

Clarke returns that afternoon, paint sticking to her fingers and staining her shirt, holding a bag of take-out. She kisses soft and gentle and Lexa expected everything but that.

They talk well into the morning. Clarke’s face is heartbreaking when Lexa talks about her nightmares and the missing blocks in her childhood. There’s a determination in the furrow of her eyebrows and the way she holds Lexa that night.

—-

Lexa knows her birthday is coming up, and she knows Clarke is planning a surprise. There’s a palpable tension in the air, with her dreams and stress getting to her, and Clarke running around getting things in order while trying to hide that she’s doing just that.

Clarke’s side of the bed will be long cold by the time Lexa wakes - and it’s unnerving because she often wakes up before the sun has a chance to rise. There’ll be a muffin on the table, along with some tea, and a little handwritten card with a reason.

The reasons get more incredulous as the week goes by.

–

“Babe, there’s a patient who is in urgent care, his hand is stuck in a teapot. Will be back early tonight. Love you.” Beside the message there was an adorably drawn flower with the words “Have a good day” written along its stem.

“Raven managed to set fire to her hair. Gotta save her, love ya <3” With a background drawing of a cartoon fire enveloping cartoon Raven, all drawn with highlighters.

“Our neighbour found a pot of gold, Im going to steal some. See you later! I love you.” And a leprechaun, a blonde leprechaun that looks very similar to Clarke’s cartoon persona, grins back at her from her spot on the post-it.

She folds all of them neatly and adds them to her growing collection - filled with other doodles from Clarke, on napkins and scrap paper and newspaper clippings.

–

Lexa wakes up on the day of her birthday disoriented. She wakes with a start, heart palpitating, into darkness. A quick check of her phone certifies that she has officially turned twenty-three. Clarke shuffles, disturbed by the movement, and tries to pull Lexa in closer.

“Babe?” Her voice is thick and drowsy. “What time is it?”

She tries to reply, but there’s a lodge in her throat and she’s still trying to grasp onto the tail of her dream. Instead she passes her phone to Clarke, who barely opens her eyes to squint at the screen before slamming them shut and burying her face into her pillow with a groan, the phone forgotten.

“Happy birthday baby,” she greets, muffled, “now let’s sleep.”

Lexa turns, presses a kiss on the side of Clarke’s head, breathes in the soothing scent of her soap, and stares straight at the hazy figure squatting beside their bed.

It stares back, what seems to be its eyes glowing at her.

She blinks.

Once.

Twice.

Three times.

And it’s still there. Silent and motionless and just, there.

The gnawing between her ribs splutters and stops. The more she stares at it the quieter her head feels. But it’s disappearing, slowly, edges fraying and willowy, just like her dream. At some point she falls back to sleep, and the next time she wakes up Clarke starts off the birthday schedule with birthday sex, and everything is forgotten.

Almost.

There’s always something watching them. And for some reason she’s more comforted by that than afraid.

—-

“Do you.” Clarke swallows. They’re both nervous, and emotional. And the guilt Lexa feels triples. “Do you want to try getting home?”

The emotions playing on her face must be evident, because Clarke draws in closer, soft and careful, as though she is dealing with an injured animal - and flashes of two-headed baby deers appear in her mind before fleeing. The blue of Clarke’s eyes floats back into focus.

“I’ve heard stories, from when I was young, about what’s beyond the city,” Clarke says. She takes a slow breath, an uncertain smile on her face. “If nothing else, it’ll be a fun camping trip. Just you and me, and the romance of the great wide unknown. How about it? Let’s try to find your home.”

The prickle in her eyes begin to morph into a sting. But for that moment the itch in her chest ceases. She tries to stop her voice from wavering, tries to clear the lump in her throat.

“You are my home, Clarke.” It’s true. Clarke, even with her splotchy red cheeks and messy, tangled hair, is her home. She never needs anything more than Clarke.

But Clarke is offering her more. To find her childhood, find answers. To find Anya and Lincoln and Gustus.

—-

Her birthday is quiet and peaceful, just the both of them, in their little apartment filled with light and love. The entire day is emotionally charged, and they spend majority of their time close to the other.

She gets a painting for her birthday, it’s murky and grey and the majority of the piece seems to have been covered by a fog. But it’s everything to her. There’s an accuracy in the way the painting seem to move, courtesy of Clarke’s talent. She cries a lot and kisses Clarke with tears streaming, salty and sticky and snot-filled.

The painting gets hung up above their headboard. And for the first time in a long while, Lexa doesn’t get her dreams. The looming presence seems to have pulled back, and all Lexa can see and feel is Clarke. She’s going home, with her safe haven.

#ahahahaha i wrote it and idk what it is how funnnnnnnnnn #maybe itll make more sense if i actually thought it through but who cares im tired and hungry #dream au #clexa aus #my stuff #my writings #moodboard #long post #fanfic #idk when I'm gonna update this I don't even know how I managed to write this sorry lel

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my-borderline-life · 7 years

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"So this is the new year...

And I don't feel any different..." Death Cab For Cutie ------ I hope everyone has gotten off on the right foot in the new year, but, if not, know you are not alone. I didn't get another job I had high hopes for, I had a last minute breakdown about moving to the middle of nowhere to get a break on rent and extended my ridiculously expensive lease through the end of the month despite a serious lack of money, the legal battle with my government licensing board has resumed, and my relationship is back on the line. I didn't mean to, I didn't think I was, but I placed "the last straw placed on the camel's back"; it's too fucking tired to keep going, and I don't know if there is anything I can do to convince it to keep trying to move forward. I don't even know that I can get it to LOOK forward, let alone move... All it wants to do is look back toward where we came from and see all the struggles we have gone through, how many times we have fallen down, how much lighter its load would be if it were to just leave me here. And I don't know what I would do if that were to happen. I have nothing but this metaphorical camel, and no idea how to move forward without it. I can't even turn around and go back to where I was before we started on this journey. And so here we are. Not really speaking for weeks. Me wanting to just look toward the future and work on getting to a better place, and him dwelling on the circles we have gone in, convinced there is only more of the same around the bend, and not having the heart to keep going if that is the case. Every time we make it past and obstacle or turn a corner, there seems to be more of the same. But we don't have a map right now, so there is no telling what is around this corner. We have drawn a bunch of maps, but they have all been blown away by the wind, too weathered by storms to read, or we simply light them on fire and they go up in flames. It feels like it's always my dumb ass accidentally dropping it in the fire, and once it's there he just says fuck it and pours fuel on the fire then walks away. No matter what the reason, every time our map gets ruined, he decides he is ready to give up on cartography altogether, rather than trying to piece together what is left to figure out where we are and working to remapping out the road ahead. Right now I am so afraid that he is giving up. That he is sitting there by himself thinking about nothing but how lost we keep getting and convincing himself he will never get out of the woods with me constantly dropping the damn map and holding him back from finally just drawing one the way he wants it. I don't think he realizes that he gets frustrated and rips the fucking thing up in my face on a fairly regular basis... Even when he does acknowledge that yes, he ripped it up and tossed the shreds in the fire, it seems it is always somehow my fault that we are lost and that the map was too shitty to bother keeping. I might be sitting in darkness with him, only able to see the light from the flames fueled by our ripped up map, but I *know* there is light through the trees. I know we need to sit down and draw a good map and laminate the thing so that it will weather storms and can't be ripped up in fits of rage and might be salvageable if someone lights it on fire. We could even mark it up with dry erase markers as we go, then draw on with permanent markers what we discover, but we need to keep that stupid base map. When that one runs out we can file it away for later reference and draw a new one for the next chunk of the path, but we can't keep destroying them. They can't keep fading to the point I'm the only one who can still read it enough to know we aren't completely lost. I can still read this one. I can read it pretty well actually, to the point I'm pretty sure he needs to get some fucking glasses because it's so clear. I guess his eyesight has been getting worse the farther we go... But I can draw bold lines. I can make icons bigger and write more legibly. But that makes no difference if he doesn't believe it would help, that I can't even do it, that it's just going to get ruined again, etc. to the point that has no interest in even reading a draft. I can still see where we are going. The end is still clear to me. I can still see a path forward. I'm willing to get out the tape and to mend the rips and tears, and to sit down and redraw it in a way that he can read it too because I know we can finally have a good copy. It might not be perfect, we might need to make revisions, but as long as we keep moving forward and hit our checkpoints, we are going to make it. I know we will. I just hope he can make out the lines, even if he has to squint to see a faded blurry squiggle, enough to give me a chance to make it legible and to not just give up on our journey. I don't want to give up. I don't think he WANTS to give up either, I just don't think he has the heart to. And I don't know how I would possibly survive without him. We might keep losing our damn map, but I couldn't have made it this far without him, and I don't know that I could make it any farther. His hopelessness is making me feel lost and hopeless. I am so afraid of being left here alone in the dark; of someone giving up on me yet again, finally realizing how much easier their journey would be without me and deciding my companionship is not worth the hardship. I'm just trying to prepare myself for that abandonment, in case I do end up having to attempt to navigate on my own, and praying to God I don't have to.

#bpd #borderline personality disorder #borderline problems #life with BPD #bpd relationships #my borderline life #mental illness #mental health #personality disorder #worried #lost

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fitono · 6 years

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What Do You Do with a Client Who Wants Too Much, Too Soon?

Have you ever had a client who seemed like a transformation story ready to happen?

Maybe he was once in great shape and wants to get back to it. Maybe he’s getting into it for the first time.

Either way, he’s detrained, but his motivation is sky-high, and his first few training sessions are pure fire. There’s nothing you can throw at him that he won’t happily agree to, in or out of the gym.

And then one day, seemingly out of nowhere, his consistency drops off. His workouts go from fire to mud. And, most distressing, the guy who once hung on your every word now seems to tune you out.

The change leaves you confused and dismayed, and it’s hard not to take it personally.

I know, because I’ve experienced it a few times. Based on the complaints I see on social media, so have lots of trainers.

Here’s the problem, as I see it:

A client who comes to you with high motivation has even higher expectations, with an equally high chance of burnout, frustration, and/or injury.

To succeed, you have to navigate all these risks. And to navigate them, you first have to understand what is and isn’t under your control.

I put those variables into the following four buckets. Some of it applies to all your detrained clients, but it’s most helpful when you’re training that client who at first seems too good to be true.

Bucket 1: Things you can control

1. Where you start your client

She’s ready to sprint out of the gate, but her body isn’t. Your goal is to choose exercises she can master quickly, maximizing her sense of competency.

Which exercises? That’s where training is both an art and a linguistic challenge. You need to buy yourself some time to become fluent in each other’s languages.

Let’s say that she has a Bambi-on-ice thing going on with her knees when she squats. Is it a structural issue? Does she have anteverted femurs or collapsed arches? Maybe.

READ ALSO: How to Correctly and Properly Assess a Client’s Squat

It’s also possible she has the hardware to squat beautifully but has never been assessed or coached. Or she’s been coached, but never in language she could understand and respond to.

If that’s the case, you could yell “knees out!” until your future self becomes known as “Knout.” But it won’t do any good until you figure out what the problem is, and how your client responds to instructions and cues.

For example, knee valgus is common with people who overpronate their feet. You can address this by teaching her how to find pressure through the base of her pinky toe and the lateral part of her heel.

Once she understands what you mean, and how to do the movement correctly, your next goal is to refine your cues down to the simplest language and the fewest syllables. In the example of the overpronator, you should be able to yell “feet!” from across the room, and she’ll immediately correct her form.

This common language you develop, and the shorthand version in your cues, will be vital when it’s time to push the client through more challenging sessions.

READ ALSO: It’s Not Biomechanics: Five Problems that Could Hold Your Clients Back

2. How you manage training load

Sudden spikes in training volume and intensity are a surefire way to create muscle soreness, and possibly injuries too. That’s why you need to inoculate your highly motivated client with a shorter, easier workout before you let him jump into the deep end.

My trainers and I do it with reverse periodization:

Rather than increasing the volume and intensity for two or three weeks, followed by a deload, we start with the deload, and ramp up the challenges from there. (You’ll see an example at the end of this article.)

In exchange for a fast start out of the gate, we get precision, using lighter, more technical sessions to focus on technique. If we’ve overshot on exercise selection, we have a window to figure it out and scale back.

3. Where to end your sessions

Your client may want to end each session with you scraping him off the floor. It’s admirable, but not recommended. Your task is to figure out how much he can do without compromising the quality of his performance and effort in subsequent workouts.

To some degree this applies to all your clients, but it’s especially important with the gung-ho novice who has no idea what his body can do and how much recovery he’ll need afterward.

How do you assess exercise recovery?

Even though I’m an analog guy most of the time, I like to use the readouts on cardio machines. Peak wattage is a good proxy for either readiness at the beginning of a session or fatigue at the end. For example, if someone who consistently hits a peak of 1,000 watts on an Assault bike struggles to hit 700, there’s a good chance her recovery is compromised.

You might wonder if this has more to do with lifestyle or sleep than the training program. And you’d be right. But those aren’t things we can control, as I’ll discuss in a moment. I’ll just say this for now: If a client is buried at work, you can pile on even more stress in his training, or you can give him workouts he can recover from, and adapt to.

Again, this applies to all your clients, from beginners to pro athletes. Performance is always the goal; your workouts are a means to that end, not the end itself.

Think of it this way: The more secure the client’s job is, the more secure yours will be.

What’s not in this bucket?

Nutrition.

If a client’s ready to make big changes in her diet, okay, she’s ready. But most aren’t. For now, focus on the incremental progress you can achieve in your training sessions.

Bucket 2: Things you can’t control, but can influence

1. Expectations

One of our biggest challenges is to temper reality against the inflated expectations our clients get from fitness media. It’s bad enough when a client who’s absolutely crushing it feels like a failure when she compares herself to someone else. It’s even worse if that person is a fiction.

We have to help our clients understand what the process looks like. And not the textbook process, but their process.

Your first step is to clarify how much the client is willing to change. His goals may well be achievable if he cuts out booze and desserts and gets eight hours of sleep every single night. But that might not be the lifestyle he wants.

And that’s fine. He’s not a bad person. He’s a grownup whose priorities are different from yours or mine.

Once you’ve established what he is and isn’t willing to do outside the gym, you need to make sure he understands how those priorities will affect his results. You’re there to help him navigate the hurdles, but you can’t make the hurdles disappear.

Similarly, a subset of deconditioned clients will overestimate their abilities. It’s understandable, especially if they were in great shape at some point in the past. So how do you rein them in without coming right out and saying, “Hold on, hoss, you’re not as ready as you think you are”?

Explain that you’re excited to see what they can do, but first you have to collect some preliminary data. You’re not judging them as unready for real workouts. You’re merely performing due diligence.

If they can’t respect that, your relationship may be in trouble before it begins.

2. Nutrition

Fitness pros imagine that we have more control over our clients’ diets than we do, especially when one of them comes in and basically says, “Tell me what to eat.”

The problem isn’t a lack of information or guidance. Clients know what’s good for them, and what isn’t. Their real challenges are time, lifestyle, habit, and, more than anything else, stress management.

Food is often a crutch for dealing with stress or anxiety. The last thing you do with a crutch is kick it out from under someone. Your goal is to help your client build a different kind of support.

Most of us start off by talking about nutrition basics. But, as I said, knowledge isn’t really the problem. And, because they know what they’re supposed to do, they may just say what they think you want to hear.

A better tactic is to find the gap between what they’ll say and what they actually do. It can be as simple as asking if they consistently shop for groceries. If they don’t, there’s no way on earth they can follow a detailed meal plan.

That brings us back to stress management. You serve your client best by making nutrition as simple as possible. Protein and a big glass of water at every meal. Grilled fish and vegetables when you eat out. Or, instead of adding rules, take some away. (If she thinks she can only have an apple if it’s organic, locally sourced, non-GMO, and microaggression-free, start there.) Reduce the complexity and you reduce the stress.

3. Sleep

As with nutrition, your clients know what they’re supposed to do. If they’re not doing it, it’s probably for emotionally complex reasons. Whether they share a bed with a partner, a baby, a pet, the Dark Web, or some combination, there’s only so much you can ask them to change.

4. Effort

While some of your entry-level clients need more encouragement out of the gate, you have the opposite challenge with someone who’s highly motivated but deconditioned. You may need to slow her down during the initial weeks.

Your best tool, as I noted earlier, is to manage her training load in a way that maximizes progress and minimizes the risk of injury or burnout. If you take nothing else away from this article, take that.

5. Honesty and transparency

A new client wants to impress you. He’s afraid that if he tells you an exercise hurts, or that you’re pushing him so hard he’s practically comatose for the next 24 hours, you’ll think less of him, and be less invested in his success.

Make it easier to be honest by normalizing their experiences. “What did you think of those Bulgarian split squats? I know I still get sore if I haven’t done them in a while. How did you feel?”

People tend to take down their defenses when you’re open and honest, and come across as a fallible, relatable human (who just happens to be in fantastic shape).

Bucket 3: Things you can’t control or influence, but can at least monitor

1. Work stress

When a client tells you he wants to overhaul his entire life, you need to take him seriously—he knows he’s on the wrong track, and wants to do things better—but not literally.

Start by asking about his current work situation. At least half the time, a client will say he’s up to his eyeballs. That tells me the best way forward is a gentle ramp-up. Build him up without overwhelming him. When his work demands drop, he’ll be ready to go harder.

The inimitable Dan John describes this configuration as bus bench vs. park bench workouts. A bus bench workout is when you expect results to arrive on time, and get upset when they don’t. A park bench workout isn’t bound by a schedule or timetable. It can be enjoyable and intuitive, and leave you feeling refreshed. You had no expectations when you chose to sit on that bench, so it never feels like a wasted hour.

There are times for both. Just remember that your client doesn’t know which is best for him; it’s up to you to make the right choice.

READ ALSO: Dan John: Ten Skills for Any True Coach

2. Relationship stress

It’s not your job to solve your client’s relationship problems, or even to give advice. The best and only therapies you can provide are movement and complete focus on the task at hand.

3. Your client’s historical relationship with exercise

It might be great, or it might be complex and riddled with terrible experiences and anxieties. You can’t change the past. All you can do is respect who the client is now, and shape the relationship into a positive one going forward.

4. Emotional self-regulation

Clients may consistently undermine themselves, catastrophize relatively minor issues, and struggle to bounce back from challenges. No question this makes things more challenging for you because you have little to no influence over it in the short-term.

But you know what’s a great way to help someone feel more empowered? Progressive resistance. By giving your clients challenges that you’ve set them up to surmount, you demonstrate a process to manage anxiety and fear, one set at a time.

Bucket 4: Things you can’t control, influence, or even monitor because you simply don’t know about them

Ever have that feeling that something about a client is … off? Something he hasn’t told you, and you’re tempted to ask about?

Don’t even think about it.

Unless whatever he’s doing shows up on the evening news, your job is to work with the information you have, and focus on those things you can control, influence, or at least monitor.

Get it right and you’ll have a loyal, enthusiastic client for life, one with an amazing story to tell.

Sample Entry-Level Workout

Here’s how I start a training program for a new client who’s highly motivated but detrained. This is one of two or three workouts we’ll do that first week.

Week 1, Day 1

1A) Goblet squat (1×8, 1×12-15, 1×6) 1B) High-angle inverted row (3×10) 1C) Lying straight-arm cable pullover with bent hips and knees (3×5)

2A) Pallof press from split stance (3×30 seconds/side) 2B) Push-up to yoga block (3×30 seconds) 2C) Side bridge on knees (3×30 seconds/side)

Notes:

1A: You’ll do all three sets with the same weight. The first set is a warm-up to practice the movement. The second is to let the client work hard, to get to that deep level of fatigue he wants. The third is a ramp-down set. We aren’t seeking more fatigue here; we just want the client to practice the movement one more time with a few reps that he can easily handle.

1B: I usually start with a high angle so the client gets a feel for the movement. Then I lower it as needed.

1C: The client is supine on the floor or a bench, with his head toward the cable stack, hips and knees bent 90 degrees. The goal is to start with a good stretch in the lats, and activate the anterior core on the movement. (Mike Robertson has a terrific explanation of how coaches can provide superior core training)

2A: As you’ll see in a moment, I use this Pallof variation to prepare a client for split squats.

2B: This is a modified-range-of-motion push-up, using a yoga block positioned under the client’s chest to give him a natural stopping point. (It’s like a quarter-squat without all the emotional baggage.)

Why? Well, consider how many deconditioned clients can do a good push-up with the traditional range of motion. Have you ever had a single one? Modifying the movement allows the client to have immediate success with an exercise that would otherwise be a struggle.

Notice that we’re also tracking time instead of counting reps. The shorter the range of motion, the faster the client will want to knock them out. Time is the great equalizer; since faster reps won’t end the set any sooner, it’s easier to get the client to focus on slow, controlled movements.

2C: Shortening the lever gives you an opportunity to cue the client, and allows for a fast progression.

Week 2, Day 1

1A) Goblet squat (3×12) 1B) Inverted row (3×10) 1C) Lying straight-arm cable pullover with bent hips and knees (3×5 breaths)

2A) Split squat (1×8, 1×12-15, 1×6) 2B) Push-up to yoga block (3×30 seconds) 2C) Side bridge on knees (3×5 breaths/side)

Notes:

1A: From this workout on, we’ll progress the load the traditional way.

1B: Same with the inverted row; we’ll lower the angle when we can.

1C: This time, the client holds the position that’s most challenging and takes five deep, diaphragmatic breaths. The slower she breathes, the more she’ll feel her core working, and the faster she’ll learn the brace that’s essential for more advanced strength exercises.

2A: It’s the same rep scheme we used for the goblet squat in the first workout, with the same goals.

2B: We can progress the push-up by using a lower block or adding a two-second pause on each rep. Once again, we’re using time instead of reps.

2C: Instead of tracking time, we count the client’s breaths, as we now do with the pullover.

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