#i hate when people thinner than me complain about their weight in front of me

[prismaticavocado]

.

#emily speaks #body image // #i hate when people thinner than me complain about their weight in front of me #like ofc they're allowed to have insecurities about their body and want to lose weight for whatever reason #but saying 'haha im too chubby i need to lose all this fat' when im there in front of you clearly 100+ pounds heavier..... stfu #you can lose weight for you if you want but don't go around talking about how ugly your fatness is to other ppl who are fatter than you #like what are you saying about me then if you think fatness is ugly and i'm way heavier than you #dont say shit like that in a casual conversation how about that. like think before you speak #like if you got glasses would you say 'haha i hate glasses theyre so ugly but i have to wear them now :/' to someone wearing glasses?? #im probably doing the best now than i ever have been in terms of positive body image for myself #but people say this shit too often like u are begging me to hate my body :/ #its not intentional i know. but that's almost worse. they truly equate being fat with ugly they dont even think about it #but its ok bc im fat and hot so sucks for them 2 be wrong ig

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Fully Completely 1

Warnings: non-consent sex and rape (series), attempted violence, mutual irritation.

This is dark!Loki x reader and explicit. 18+ only.  Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Series Synopsis: There’s a new face in Birch and he’s come to haunt your door.

Sister series to Smalltown Bringdown, When the Weight Comes Down, and Little Bones

Note: I did not plan to get the first part done so soon. I will probably be setting time aside as I write this to also work on some original stuff. When it comes to that, I’d love if y’all might let me know what you think would be a better medium to release it? Kindle, Patreon, etc. I’m really not sure but if it was Patreon it would like be two series running at once with a chapter of each a month + Q&A and maybe some bonus materials? I am a noob at this shit and it wouldn’t be for a while yet.

Anyways, I’m rambling...

Thanks to everyone for their patience and feedback. :)

I really hope you enjoy. 💋

<3 Let me know what you think with a like or reblog or reply or an ask! Love ya!

Chapter 1: She simply slammed the door

💀💀💀

The garage smelled like oil and snow. The cold air seeped under the closed metal door as you sat on the low stool and affixed the new headlight to the propped up Harley. It was only the start of an impractical rebuild; your brother wanted everything metal replaced with chrome. You thought it was obnoxious but the parts were paid for and you could never complain for money.

You were funded exclusively by the town’s club, your garage not far from The Asp where the members hung out and revved the engines you found yourself looking at more often than you liked. You were good at what you did though and privileged for it. You had the protection of the club without having to devote yourself truly to its bounds.

You checked the wiring and rolled away from the bike to change the station as the radio crackled. The snow kept setting the speaker to static and the noise was driving you mad. You flipped the switch to play the cassette stuck in the drawer, the old stereo beaten up and filthy. Springsteen’s gristled tones filled the shop and you wheeled back to your brother’s ride.

With the storm would no doubt come more work. Your fingerless gloves itched more than they kept you warm. Your fingertips were numb as you touched the frigid metal and the sweat of your palms made the fabric uncomfortable. You were used to it, rather tolerant as your task kept you distracted.

You were interrupted as you bent to look under the tank and get a good look at the exhaust and the rest of the beast’s entrails. You had the new pieces still wrapped and didn’t intend to do it all at once. Jerome could wait for his tacky redesign.

A loud banging came at the metal door and you glanced over in irritation. Anyone in Birch knew to come in the painted door to the left and not hit the large one. You huffed and stood with a groan, your hips sore from the low stool. 

You fixed the front of your fleece-lined denim jacket and pulled the tail of your plaid shirt from inside your jean pocket. You’d been hunched over so long you were all wrinkled. You went past the large door and into the small entryway off the left of the garage and opened it with a tinkle of the rusty old bell above.

You stuck your head out into the gales as the snow continued to fall and squinted at the man in his thin jacket. He stood beside the long luxury car as another man with wild orange hair remained in the driver’s seat and blew into his hands. They were out of place in the small town and you could tell by the way the man scowled at the door that he knew it.

“Hey,” you called to them, “there’s a place down the street. I don’t do walk-ins.”

“Oh, hello, Miss…” he let his voice trail off as he neared and you stared at him rather than provide your name. His accent, his attire, the curl of his lip, it was clear what he thought of you and the bodunk town, “actually I was referred by an acquaintance. One, James Barnes.”

“Bucky?” you furrowed your brow.

“Mm, yes, that one,” he said, “my car will need detailing. We had some difficulties on the motorway.”

“Right,” you tried not to scowl, “well, if he sent you, I guess I can help.”

You left him and the door clattered behind you. He followed a few steps after as you went to the switch and pushed it to raise the wide door of the garage. You waved in the driver of the car and he carefully pulled in beside your brother’s bike. 

He got out and you were surprised by his size, he was taller even then his companion and wider; neither could be described as short. You lowered the door as the thinner man walked along the shelves and the long table along the other side of the garage. The bigger man stood by the car and tucked his hands in his pockets.

“Not much better in here than out there,” the dark-haired man turned back to you, “you have heat in here?”

“You need a better coat,” you said as you rounded the back of the car, “and some boots.”

You glanced pointedly at his leather shoes and bent to reach under the table. You pulled out the space heater and plugged it in as you set on the wood. You cranked it up and smiled at him tritely.

“So, what’s the damage?” you asked as you looked to the other man.

“Headlight, maybe,” he said in a peculiar accent, “some scratches. We had a bit off a run-in.”

You neared and bent to examine the front of the car. You sighed as you tilted your head and clicked your tongue. It was easy enough to beat out the dents and buff out the scratches with a quick refinish. The headlight would need to be replaced and you knew they didn’t carry anything for that model in town. No one there was pretentious enough to drive it.

“If you want the headlight done before you leave town, it’ll take some time to get the replacement,” you warned.

“Oh, and how do you know I’m leaving?” he taunted coyly.

“Well, I know you’re definitely not sticking around,” you scoffed.

“Why wouldn’t I? A quaint place like this, I’m sure there is so much to explore,” he said dryly.

You had no delusions of what Birch was but it wasn’t the part of outsiders to deride the dead end. You stood straight and put your hands on your hips.

“You can go back to your castle, my lord, but you will have to wait out the storm,” you sneered. “Two days for the scratches. If you want to take it back after that and wait for the headlight to arrive, that’s fine with me.”

“Two days for the scratches? Surely you could do it before the morning,” the black-haired man insisted.

“I could but I have other work to do,” you replied, “so you can be patient and take your turn in line after all the hicks who live here.”

You went back to the table and grabbed your phone from where you tossed it earlier. You unlocked it and searched the model of his car and scrolled through the parts list. 

“You’re Bucky’s guest so I’ll send the bill to him?” you asked, “though you do look to be able to afford it yourself.”

“You can invoice him directly,” he assured, “so you’re one of them?”

“One of them?” you repeated as you focused on checking out. The damn internet kept cutting in and out.

“My brother, those men in this town, I never knew a woman--”

“I’m not a biker. My brother is in the club,” you assured him, “so that big blond dope, he’s your brother?”

“Regrettably, yes,” he slithered, “Loki Odinson,” he introduced himself as he rubbed together his hands, the leather gloves doing little to protect his fingers, “my driver is Korg, and you’ve yet to tell me with whom I am trusting my property.”

“Again, there is a shop down the street. Prices aren’t bad,” you finished up your purchase and tucked your phone in your jacket pocket.

He met your eyes as you turned to him and he looked down his nose. You kept on and brushed past him as you went back around the car and sat by your brother’s bike.

“Sorry about the boss,” the other man, Korg, intoned, “he can be a bit--”

“Don’t apologise for me,” Loki snipped, “I needn’t atone to her.”

You rolled your eyes and wheeled around the side of the bike, “if that’s everything, you two can head back out. I’ll let you know when the car’s ready.”

“We might wait for the snow to calm,” Loki suggested.

“I close in an hour, you’re not staying here all night,” you sniffed.

“Trust me, I have no special desire to spend more time with you than necessary,” he retorted, “I don’t think I’ve ever met a woman so volatile as you, dear, and I’ve only just met you. I never expected you people to have very many manners but perhaps what I did presume was too much.”

You bared your teeth but kept at your work. You would worry about kicking him out when you finished the wiring.

“To be fair, had you not spoken first, I might’ve assumed you were a man,” he added.

You paused and glanced down at the open tool box. You weren’t unused to the comments, you weren’t girly in any way but it wasn’t like you were trying to be a man. You wore what was comfortable and in your work, practicality prevailed over aesthetic. Yet, your years of ridicule as a kid made you less tolerant of the comments and those had stopped long ago because you made sure they did.

“Oh, darling, have I upset you?”

“Don’t call me that,” you said as you reached into the toolbox.

“Well, you’ve not given your name and I’d hate call you what I truly think of you--”

The wrench flew from your hand as you stood and spun to him. It barely missed his head and bounced off the wall and plunked onto the table beside the heater. His eyes rounded and the other man looked at him. There was a thick silence as you glared at him.

“If you weren’t a friend of Bucky’s, I wouldn’t’ve missed,” you hissed, “now I will kindly, before I reach for a bigger wrench, ask you to leave.”

He pushed his shoulders back and tilted his head as his lips thinned dangerously. He swallowed and beckoned the other man with two fingers. His cheek twitched as if he would grin and he nodded subtly.

“Well, darling, how amusing you are. These brutes must adore you,” he snarled, “the exterior does indeed say it all.”

You bent and reached for another tool blindly. He blinked and quickly dodged as you flung the next wrench and he followed his henchman to the entryway. Your temper was a match for many men. It kept you safe.

“Barnes did not say his mechanic was a madwoman,” Loki called back as the bell rang.

“What, are you going to tattle on me?” You stormed towards the doorway, “you precious little princess?”

“Princess?” he met you in the doorway as Korg behind him held the door open and the snow blustered in, “I know Barnes will do me no other favours, but do you think he’ll do you any?”

“Get out,” you spat and shoved him, “I don’t need men to take care of me and I have no problem in proving that.”

He bit the inside of his lip in a crooked smirk and winked before he turned away and strutted out into the snow, shielding his face from the wild winds. Korg trailed behind him and the door sprang back into the frame. You crossed your arms and glared at the peeling paint. 

You were tempted to tow his car out and let it weather the storm but you were smarter than that. If he was doing business with Bucky, you would be a fool to get in the way of it. 

💀

The snow dwindled to a lazy dusting, the ground thick and treacherous. That day, you started early and around noon, you headed across the street to the diner for your usual lunch of a club sandwich and black coffee. You didn’t have to order as all the waitresses knew what to expect. You weren’t unfriendly but your association made many standoffish.

You tapped on the lip of your mug with your thumb, fingers hooked through the handle. The sleepy town felt dead in the winter. You were used to the dullness of Birch but tolerance was hardly happiness. It was home, where you’d grown up and you had no certain desire to get out, but you wouldn’t mind a little more than what was expected.

You yawned and gulped down the last of your coffee. It was bitter and left a few grounds on your tongue. You leaned back and grabbed the monthly newsletter from between the salt and pepper shakers. You read through the fun facts which weren’t very fun or even new. They were copy and pasted out Guinness and Reader’s Digest.

You looked up as you sensed someone approach your table but it wasn’t the waitress. The man from the day before slid coolly onto the seat across from you at the booth and smirked over the table. You raised the newsletter again and folded it backwards to read about the weekly knitting circle down at the rec center that was also the library.

“Good afternoon to you too,” Loki said, “it must be fortune I ran into you, I was hoping to inquire after my car--”

“I told you, two days,” you said tersely as you continued onto your horoscope …‘a new force will bring change’... You hated this tripe. You swore, every month they just switched the blurbs under each sign and hit print.

“So be it,” he cleared his throat and you lowered the paper as he shrugged out of his jacket.

“What are you doing? I eat my lunch alone,” you said.

“Well, to be frank, I was pointed here on the promise of some famous cabbage soup,” he explained as he folded his jacket over the seat next to him, “you looked like you needed company.”

“I don’t,” you assured him.

Kimmie came over and set down your sandwich. She greeted Loki and you saw the way she eyed his tailored suit. He stuck out in the town of flannels and denim.

“Hello, sir, can I get you something to drink?” she asked.

“Tea, English breakfast,” he ordered smoothly.

“Oh, sorry, we only have um, um, sorry, peppermint, earl grey, ginger lemon, and green,” she listed off as she tried to remember them all.

“Earl grey,” he sighed, “and a menu.”

“No, no menu,” you insisted, “and you can take his tea to another table.”

“And when we’re through, I’ll take the cheque,” he ignored you and snickered under his breath.

“Kimmie, can I get a to go box?” you asked as you shimmied off the seat and snatched up your coat, “I have to get back to work.” You took out your wallet and counted out the usual amount plus a tip, “thanks.”

“Of course,” she smiled awkwardly and glanced between you and Loki.

She scooped your sandwich back up and scurried away with it. You felt him watching you as you walked away and went to stand by the till as you watched Nora flit into the kitchen. She packed up your food and returned with the box. You took it and headed for the door, ignoring the arrogant out-of-towner on your way.

“Wait,” Kimmie called out your name and you turned back as she held up your keys, “you dropped these.”

You met her halfway and took them from her with a mutter. Again, he was watching you… or still watching you. She spun and promised she’d have his tea shortly.

“Hmm,” he hummed and you head to the door again, “interesting, I never would have put the name to the face.”

You pushed out into the snow and gritted your teeth. You thought of getting the work on his car out of the way quickly so he would leave you alone but your spite made you want to put it off entirely. Whatever. He’d be gone soon enough.

#loki #dark loki #dark!loki #loki x reader #birch #fully completely #series #sequel #dark fic #fic #dark!fic #thor #mcu #marvel #au #biker!au #biker au #biker boys of birch #bucky barnes #korg

[captainchrisfics]

We Have Today

About: After he’s gunned down on a mission, a first-person pov narrator tries to take care of her super soldier boyfriend. Of course, being Captain America helps with the whole not dying thing, but Steve could never get away that easily without a good reprimanding. And I could never end a fic without a good kiss.

Word Count: 2,807

Requested By: Anonymous. Thanks for sending this my way! I had the absolute best time writing the dialogue in this one, it was a lot of fun writing my take on a trope I love too. I’m always accepting reqs if you have any more. Hope you enjoy!!

“I cannot believe you sometimes, Rogers,” I snapped at Steve, scoffing out of frustration. Exactly what I needed right now, while entirely exhausted from battling far more Hydra agents than we anticipated, was a boyfriend with bullet holes scattered throughout his bicep and shoulder. “Thinking your whole body can fit behind that dinner plate of a shield,” I continued to chastise him with a shake of my head as I tore at my suit, ripping some fabric to apply pressure with while we waited for our ride. 

We got what we came for. In fact, the tech was safely buried in the bag slung over my shoulder. The job was done. Almost. 

There was one rogue Hydra sniper left hidden away at the top of a tree. Steve spotted him first and responded so quickly, as if it were an instinctive reflex, that he barely considered what he was doing by jumping in front of the already-aimed gun. It’d been pointed at me. I returned fire successfully, but Steve was still hit. To say the least, today just wasn’t ours. 

He looked far less heroic laying on the forest floor in a crumpled heap of more red than usually accompanied his white and blue. Steve wheezed as he inhaled, though he seemed fine enough to give me one of those frustrating crooked grins as he said, “It’s never failed me before. I mean, look at me,” he tried to spread his arms so I could get a proper view, but all I saw was the way his face contorted with pain. “Pretty damn good for pushing a hundred.” He coughed before allowing his star-spangled piece of vibranium to clatter to the ground. 

“Dear, you look like Swiss cheese,” I countered sympathetically as I stuck a knife between his lips so Steve could bite down on something instead of busting my eardrums in 3... 2... 1...

I pulled the cloth taught around the worst of his wounds in an attempt to stop the bleeding. Steve’s screams still managed to be blood-curdling despite his grinding grip and, with as many horrors as we see in this line of work, I knew it wasn’t a sound my subconscious would allow me to forget any time soon. 

Steve’s rolled his eyes to the back of his head as hurt washed over him in waves, holding a hand to the bloody hole penetrating the left of his chest like a mirrored pledge of allegiance as he took deep breaths in and out. Prickly tears burned my eyes, but I did my best to fight them off. A torrential downpour wouldn’t help anyone right now. 

“C’mon doll, don’t be so harsh,” he paused to wince and for a split second and I allowed myself to feel the heartbreak of watching him in pain. “You’re still ripping your clothes off for me after all.” I chuckled some of the heaviness out of my chest to alleviate the oppressive weight in between my ribs. 

I didn’t have time for Steve’s jokes, though, I was too busy focusing on keeping him from running out of time, period. I tried to elevate the wounds in an attempt to keep his blood at the mercy of gravity so I hauled Steve up to a sitting position against a tree on the outskirts of the field our jet was set to land in. Now it was just a waiting game. 

I wasn’t sure if the super soldier serum made him at least a little impervious to wounds like this or if Steve was putting on a bit of a show to lessen my worry and even maybe boost his own spirits, but I had a bad feeling it was the latter. “You’re a lot of things,” I told him, hoping it would help to play along as I searched the compartments of his toolbelt for something useful until I found a spool of gauze. “Bulletproof apparently isn’t one of them.” 

Steve laughed from his belly at first, a welcome sound to my ears, until it turned into an affronted cacophony of grumbled curses and sullied coughs. I started wrapping up the rest of his injuries to the best of my ability, but I wasn’t a triage doctor, to say the least. On the bright side, however, I also heard the aircraft that descended before us, whipping about my hair so much I could barely see it until it slowed and Nick Fury stepped out.

I helped Steve stand, wrapping his arm that wasn’t littered with gunshot wounds over my shoulders for support as we walked to the ship. He hissed a breath through his teeth with each step, trying to breathe through the pain and chipping away at my resolve. 

Fury opened his arms to welcome us on board with a snarky quip on the tip of his tongue. Shooting him a look maybe more deadly than the weapon I brandished, I shoved the bag into his chest with enough spiteful vigor for him to know it wasn’t worth it. Nothing could be worth this.I left Steve to be treated by an actual medical professional (and by that I mean some Stark tech that still managed to amaze me) while I cleaned up myself and it seemed he’d be fine. 

I met Steve in the onboard bathroom an hour or so later. His major wounds were patched up, leaving me, a damp washcloth, and a mediocre first-aid kit given our circumstance to finish the job. Nevertheless, Steve still looked a hell of a lot worse than I did, having taken the brunt of every beating, jumping in front of the fist of every bad guy aimed at me so I walked away with little more than a scratch while he sat there looking like he’d been through the wringer.

Steve sat on the sink’s counter and slouched down as far as he could so we were almost eye-level. He’d taken off his suit for the procedure and kept it that way evidently, sitting before me in a red-splattered white tank top. I was patting at his bloody lip with an ice pack in the hopes to lessen the swelling as he said, “Don’t people bond through trauma?” Steve’s words were slurred, but I didn’t know if it was because of blood loss or some kind of treatment from the AI. “Good thing, huh, since the whole being from different centuries tends to complicate things.”

“Being a dumbass doesn’t help,” I chided, maybe applying a little bit too much pressure since I elicited a wince from him, though that could’ve just been from my harsh tone. The time for his wise-cracks was long gone. Sure, I could deal with it as a coping mechanism when we were both worried he was about to drop dead, but right now? When I was turning myself into a pretzel so I could properly clean all his cuts and ice all his bruises without so much as grazing the holes from bullets that went in one end of my boyfriend and out the other? Not the time to be talking about how we’d be better for him almost killing himself.

Steve’s eyebrows knitted together as he jutted out his puffy bottom lip. “What’s wrong wi-“ he started to ask, but the answer was already tumbling out of my mouth.

“It was stupidly impulsive of you to jump in front of me like that. To act so indestructible... it isn’t like you,” I lectured. “Correction, it actually totally is and it’s the most frustrating thing.” I pressed the ice pack to his mouth with maybe a little too much fevered force as I ranted, causing Steve to grunt out of discomfort or protest. I kept ranting anyway. 

“I hate when you do that, you know?” I dropped my hands to my sides, staring at Steve with wide eyes to convey how exactly tired of his shit I was. “When you try to save the day by putting yourself in danger. Giving me a heart attack. Acting all heroic.” I couldn’t stand looking at him anymore as his face shifted from concerned to smug with a supposed understanding so I reached for a q-tip dipped in rubbing alcohol and began scrubbing at the small open cute sprinkling his cheeks like freckles.

Steve winced at the disinfectant’s sting. Usually, he complained about my doting, claiming his enhanced healing would take care of it just fine, but I liked the tenderness of getting to clean him up too much to let him have his way. And, secretly, he did too. “It’s part of the job description, actually...” Steve said under his breath with downcast eyes. He swung his legs a little so his heels bounced off of the sink’s cabinets, acting every bit the chided kid he felt like. 

“And to treat me like some inexperienced lackey incapable of taking care of myself?” I jeered with a scrunched face. Steve had a bad habit of treating me like an endangered civilian on missions. Hell, even if I burn my hand on the stove, you’d think someone just told him World War III was knocking on our front door. 

Don’t get me wrong, Steve always had everyone’s backs. He would lay down on the wire for any one of the Avengers any day of the week, he never wanted to see anyone hurt either. In fact, it’s one of the things I loved most about him. However, there was a line thinner than that wire between keeping each other out of the line of fire and literally jumping in front of it. 

“It’s insulting, to treat me like I’m not half the soldier you are when I’m just as much a part of the team as everyone else. I had the shot until you jumped in front-“

“Well, dammit, so did he!” Steve snapped, slamming his hand against the countertop so hard I could almost swear I heard it crack under the pressure. “And you aren’t just everyone else on the team,” he said, quieter now. It was almost eerie after how loud he’d been only seconds before, going from strained veins in his neck to a soft, glassy look in his baby blues. Without him even saying it, I knew the difference. I love you, his eyes told me. I couldn’t stand to lose you.

“And you’re not some fucking self-sacrificial lamb,” I shot back with angry narrowed eyes. “You’re my whole world,” I insisted, shoving a pointed finger into Steve’s chest just over his heart. “You don’t get to just jump into unfriendly fire in front of me like that.” I could feel the tears I’d been pushing down this whole time rising with a new ferocity, like a current I’d been fighting to swim through for so long my body was about to give out. It became obvious I couldn’t take Steve on, too.

“You don’t get to decide that, love,” he said just above a whisper, though I could hear him clear as day given our proximity. He wrapped his fingers around mine jutting into his pec until I allowed him to hold my hand, probably against my better judgment. “You’re everything that makes mine go ‘round. It’d be over my dead body that I’d stand by and allow someone to hurt you,” Steve vowed with a profound seriousness I didn’t expect, striking me right in the heart so hard it felt like I could count the seconds between when it started to beat again.

“It almost was, Steve. You don’t know how it felt...” I spit out the words which tasted like vinegar, burning my throat like acid. I stopped prodding his scratched cheeks, dropping the q-tip along with my gaze. If I stared at his face, broken from the inside out, I was worried that current would turn into a tsunami. “My stomach dropped so fast it felt like it fell right out of me. How’d you feel if the roles were reversed and I was bleeding out at your feet, huh?” I squeezed his hand, reassuring myself that Steve was still here to hold onto. Thinking about how he almost wasn’t. We came close a lot, in our line of work, but it never got any less terrifying.

Steve let go of my hand to caress my cheek, rubbing his thumb under my eye. I hadn’t realized I was crying until he started wiping away my tears. “Doll, for a few split seconds, when I saw him about to pull the trigger with you in his crosshairs, they were.” He tucked his heel behind my leg and pressed against the back of my thigh, urging me to step closer to him so I did. “That feeling, that heart-wrenching desperation and brain-short circuiting,” he paused, taking a deep breath as he tucked his arms under mine, interlocking his fingers at the small of my back, “That’s why I did it. And I’m willing to bet my shield that if I was in his line of fire, you would’ve done the same.”

I wrapped my arms around Steve’s neck and leaned into him, far too tired of fighting and way too in love with him to stay upset with him when he was right. In a heartbeat, I would save him without even so much as a thought. I’m not a big enough hypocrite to hate Steve for doing the same.

I pressed my cheek to his chest, neither of us caring too much about how the wave of tears I couldn’t keep bottled up behind a dam any longer soaked through his shirt as they spilled out of me. “Still…” I exhaled, relishing in the sound of his beating heart. It was comforting, to have near-tangible proof that he wasn’t going anywhere any time soon. “I don’t know what I’d do if…” I failed to finish the sentence, overcome with emotion. I could barely stand to think it, let alone say it out loud.

“I know, love,” Steve paused to press a long kiss on top of my head. “I don’t either.” His hands moved in gentle circles at the base of my back, soothing me as I felt like every other bit of me rattled. He spoke with vulnerability only total honesty could offer. “We don’t have to worry about that now, though. We may not at all. We only ever know we have today and I’ll be damned if we don’t make the most of it. Or if you spend another second of it being mad at me,” he half-joked, causing his chest to rumble with a barely-bitter chuckle.

I pulled far enough away from his embrace to look at him, trying to engrave it on the inside of my brain. The tenderhearted look in his eye, the soft curve of his rosy lips as one side was tugged up a little more than the other, the concerned creases in his forehead, and the blush pink of his cheeks burning through his faintly developing bruises. I watched his eyes flicker from mine to my lips, his long lashes just barely brushing against the swollen apples of his cheeks. 

I leaned in to kiss him, closing the distance slowly until our chests pressed together with every breath before our lips met as if we were each other’s oxygen tanks, unable to survive without one another. Steve gathered my cheeks between his strong hands, fingers just barely grazing my hair. He tucked it behind my ears before tracing his fingers down the curve of my body, stopping once he reached my hips, where he rested. Exactly what we both needed. 

Mine stayed at the nape of his neck, pulling Steve closer to me as if he possibly could be. We parted to breathe, chests heaving unevenly. I pressed my forehead to his, brushing our noses together, as I whispered, “You smell like rubbing alcohol. It’s nauseating.” 

Steve’s chest vibrated with laughter as he rocked my lips again. He dropped his head to the crook of my neck as his chuckle died down. “Your attitude isn’t much better,” he said, looking at my with those baby blues and a spark that melted my heart on contact. “You should be nice to me. I almost died you know?” Steve’s familiar cocky smirk returned as his eyes drifted down again, watching as he tangled our fingers together and undid the knots. 

I rolled my eyes before stealing another quick kiss. As quick as it was, kissing Steve still felt like every bit the Fourth of July fireworks display it had the first time. He was a firecracker through and through, one that wasn’t near ready to fizzle out yet. “Please don’t remind me,” I sighed, taking his hands in mine and holding them tight, not quite ready to let him go anytime soon.

Tags: @patzammit​ , @thegetawaywriter​ , @coffeebooksandfandom​ , @captainsteveevans​ , @intrepidandabitcrazy​ , @super100012​ , @spilledinkindumpster​

If you’d like to be tagged in my future fics please reply to this post :)

#Steve Rogers #steve rogers fanfic #steve rogers fic #steve rogers fanfiction #steve rogers x reader #steve rogers drabble #steve rogers imagine #imagine steve rogers #seve rogers masterlist #mcu fanfiction #mcu fic #mcu fanfic

[lenle-g]

I wish you would write a fic where John hates gravity!

Ask Meme: I wish you would write a fic where…

For having not really written anything publishable in a couple of years I’m really enjoying these XD I just hope you didn’texpect just hilarity because whUPS

John’s on Earth andisn’t that bizarre. A meteor strike while John was busy coordinating arescue had absolutely shattered through the solar array and cracked her hull.Thunderbird Five is out of commission until he and Brains can get up there toget it fixed. But with the New Zero-X in progress taking up most of the engineer’stime, getting Thunderbird Five back in working order isn’t looking likely anytime soon. One emergency call out to Thunderbird Three and a sketchy four and ahalf hours sleep in his blacked out room, John wanders into the living roomlooking like a ghost and groaning just as convincingly. He’d been properlyshaken around by the meteor strike in his bubble of borosilicate and reinforced219-T6 aluminum alloy and there are dark bruises littering pale porcelain skinand seri strips holding together a gash across his forehead.

“We’ve got asituation.” The effect of John’s serious declaration is promptly ruined as hetrips over his own feet, saved only from face planting the carpet by the flailinghand that grabs the stair rail.

Hnnnngh. Postspaceflight vertigo. Tremendous. Thanks for that Gravity.

He’s swathed in along, ragged NASA t-shirt dug up from who-knows-where instead of hisInternational Rescue blues and he’s got one hand pressed over an eye like thelight is hurting it, a sure sign there’s a pounding headache going on in thatspace worn skull of his.

“Where’s Virgil?”John’s voice sounds like it’s done a round with Grandma’s blender on the chunkysetting and he doesn’t seem pleased to see Scott’s the one lounging at thebreakfast bar. “Thunderbird Two is needed in Santa Monica.”

“Geez John, can’t youlay off the job for one morning.” Big brother rolls his eyes at the pictureJohn makes, all space-wobbly and sickly. “I’m sure one of us could bemonitoring…”

“Well you’re not.”It’s very unlike John to snap at him and that raises a pair of surprised browneyebrows. “So here I am. Now can you please find Virgil so I can updatehim and go back to bed.” He says, as if there’s actually any chance hewould leave the rescue entirely to his brothers and not stay to obsessivelymonitor everything. Scott rolls his eyes and flips up the holocomm.

“Scott to Virgil, youawake?” There’s a mumble of a reply that sounds like Virgil has his facesmushed into a pillow. “John says we have a situ…”

John misses the restof it and the reply from Virgil as the world chooses that moment to blur totallyout of focus. All he can hear is the pounding of his own heart, all loud andthudding and awful, in his ears. His mouth tastes like something crawled inthere and died and the fluid in his ears that dictates balance evidently hasn’tgotten used to gravity yet because the vertigo is back in full force and thespaceman sways dangerously on his feet.

“Whoa! John?” Hisbrother has gone pale enough that he looks practically holographic and Scottreaches out to touch him, to check he’s real as much as to steady him, as ifScott is expecting his hand could pass right through.

Instead, he pokesJohn rather sharply in the chest.

John cracks one eyeopen to glare at him.

“Did you wantsomething?” The spaceman grits out, wavering on his feet. Why does everythingsound so muffled? Who turned down the volume on the Comm? “What’s…?”

“Virgil’s on his way…I…” Scott pauses, leaning back to get a really good look at his sibling. “Hey,what’s wrong with you?”

John just blinks athim, like he’s not really seeing him.  All the blood has drained from hisface and his pupils have dilated to almost cover the whole of his iris. Hedoesn’t seem to notice the hand Scott waves in front of his eyes, but insteadhe sways worryingly, like he’s dizzy.

“Low blood pressure.”He mumbles, feet stumbling. “It’ll go, just give it a sec.”

“John, shit,”Scott only just catches his brother by the upper arm as he pitches forwardtoward the stairs. “John, christsake, sitdown before you fall down.”

Scott pulls John’s arm over hisshoulders and carefully leads him down into the circle of seating at the centreof the room. Virgil streaks past, heading for the lift to Thunderbird Two, diverted only for a concerned glance and an “Updateme in the air!” as he goes.

Scott settles the astronaut cautiously on oneof the sofas, wary that he might tip over. He peelshis fingers from John’s upper arm, ready to check his pulse, and freezes.

There are five dark,distinct finger marks, a handprint,blotched in darkening red on his skin.

“What the hell…?”Scott holds his brother at arm’s length like it’s made of glass. The marks he’sleft are rapidly purpling at the edges and are a deep, ominous black in thecentre - not black like the colour, but black like the space between stars, inky and awful and dark. It’smade all the worse looking by just how white John’s skin is in comparison.

“I’ve been in spacetoo long.” John, whose watching him blearily, just shakes his head, “Skinsthinner, blood’s closer to the surface, it happens.”

Scott suddenly gaspsin air, not having realised he was holding his breath.

“Why the… geez John! Wh-What kind of brother am Ithat I’ve been letting you do this to yourself?” It’s not really a question hewants an answer to.

Instead of thinking about it Scott very carefully wrapsboth arms around his brother and pulls him in towards him for a hug, feeling something inhis chest twist sharply as John stiffens uncomfortably in his arms. His brother’smuscles feel stringy and tight under the layer of his skin.

Actually, now John ishere tucked against him, resistant or otherwise, it’s painfully obvious howmuch skinnier his brother has gotten.

“Have you not beeneating up there?” Scott complains into his shoulder, “What the hell John?”

There’s a quiet momentbefore John shakes his head and the movement makes him groan, dizzied. Scott’shands flit over the sharp knobs of his brother’s spine, too cautious to applytoo much pressure.

“There’s been a lotof rescues lately.” John carefully tries to extract himself from his brother’s arms.“Having the artificial gravity of the centrifuge is supposed to help preventloss of body mass and muscle atrophy but I’ve spent too long in 0G the pastcouple of weeks and I guess it’s starting to show.” John raises one hand infront of his face to study his long, thin fingers and is surprised to see themshaking. “I’ve not been able to sleep right either because of it and I’m sure that doesn’thelp.”

“Hell John…”

How had Scott missedthis? He was supposed to be looking out for his little brothers. Their Dadwould have noticed. Jeff Tracy almost wrote the book on prolonged spaceflightand while he taught John everything he knew, and John passed as much of that ashe could onto Alan, the rest of them had rather missed out in the effects ofliving up in orbit category.

“Can I get youanything? Can I…” Scott feels so out of his depth and helpless. It’s like thetide has suddenly come in and caught him unawares, leaving him floundering andafraid. “Is there anything I can do? Hell, some sugar? Something to put some weight on you? Gordon bought donutshome yesterday? Pink sprinkle ones?”

John shoots him asmile for that.

“I’ll be ok Scotty.Just gotta give it time. Gravity… Gravity isn’t kind.” He rubs a tiredhand over his face, “I’ll pass on the donut. Might make me sick. I’ve gotglucose and salt tablets and a handful of other supplements to bring my levelsback up. It’ll all even itself out soon.”

Scott lets all his breath out at once and collapses onto the sofa next to him,all sprawled and loose.

“Geez John. That’s messed up.” He looks to the sideand he crinkles his nose as he notices he’s looking up at his brother. Scott scrambles to sit up straight and he’s still looking up. “Hey! When did you get taller than me?” Scott huffs.

“About ten yearsago,” John’s brow wrinkles in tired confusion, “You complained incessantlyabout it. And it’s only by a couple of centimetres… unless I’m in 0G,” Heconsiders, “The spine gets pulled out straight in 0G.”

“Yeah well you’reaway so often I forgot.” Scott’s hand flip flops dismissively, trying not towince at the visual that John’s spinegetting pulled out straight provokes. “Hard to compare when you’re just a hologramall the time.”

“There’s too much Gravity down here.” John formshis usual complaint, his elbow braced against his knee as he reaches for thecentral Comm unit ready to update Virgil. “It’s better up there.”

“Well seems to me that ‘up there’ is slowly killing you John.”

“Uhhhh…” Unbeknownst of the both of them Virgil’s hologram has blinked into place above them and he’s looking prettyshocked at Scott’s outburst. “Excuse me?”

“Don’t mind him.” John slips straight into businessmode, wrapping the familiar layer of professionalism around himself like it’s acomfort blanket. “Did you get the coordinates I sent to Thunderbird Two?” The Space Monitor isn't entirely certain that it wasThunderbird Two he sent them to, with the way his head is pounding, who knows,the ISS or something could have easily gotten them instead. “You’re heading for Santa Monica. Reports describe a mudslide on the outskirtsthat has seven people trapped. Local authorities have asked for us to help withextraction.”

“Sure thing John.” Virgil says, but he’sfrowning at him, “I got the coordinates, am on my way. I, are… are you ok? Idon’t think I’ve seen you lean on Scott since we were kids you know.”

“I didn’t have much choice in it.” Johnshrugs and is surprised as, instead of calming down, Virgil’s eyes widen inhorror.

“John!”

“What?” John winces at his brother’sshout. He’s got enough of a headache without people yelling at him.

“What happened to your arm?” Virgil’svoice is tight with tension. His fingers are locked on the yoke of ThunderbirdTwo, as if he’s considering turning around right then and there. He’s staringat where John’s t-shirt sleeve has ridden up to reveal the distinct hand-shapedbruising that Scott had just accidentally put on his skin.

Scott makes a short, squeaky soundbehind him; not entirely dissimilar to a mouse being trodden on.

“It’s fine Virg.” John tugs his sleeve jerkily back down to cover it,suddenly hyperaware that it probably looks like someone’s been beating him up. “Ijust, haha, I went a round with Eos, ok?”

“John.”Virgil’s tone is a warning that that’s really not funny.

“Ok, ok, Scott stopped me from fallingdown the stairs.” His ears go pink as he admits it and it’s the most colourScott’s seen on him since he stumbled onto the planet. “It’s fine Virg. Chillout.”

“I didn’t mean to leave a bruise. I didn’t evengrab him that hard.” Scott ventures from where he’s smushed himself into thesofa - as if it would hide him from Virgil’s wrath.

“We’re having a talk about your platelet count whenI get home.” Virgil narrows his eyes at John, who, to his credit, at least hasthe decency to look sheepish about it. “If you’re feeling ill from re-entry…more ill than usual,” He correctshimself, “You need to let us know.” There’s a sigh and then Virgil’s voice goesa lot softer. “You shouldn’t be working right now John. You shouldn’t beworking like this at all. If you’regoing to live up in space for such long stints you need to…”

“Take the proper precautions. I know, I know.” Johnrubs a tired hand over his throbbing eyes. Now is not the time for a lecture. “NASAtrained, remember?”

“Oh I remember.” Virgil isn’t letting this one go. “Sometimesyou need to remember it too. Scott, I’malmost at Santa Monica, I’ll keep you updated on the rescue but I want to youget John back to bed. Pulse and breathing need monitoring and I’ll do a fullblood test when I get back. Make sure the blackout blinds are down.” He knowsthe signs that John’s got a space-induced headache from a mile off. “If hethrows up check for blood and let me know.”

“FAB.” Scott very gently takes up one of John’sarms, sweeping it neatly around his shoulder. The lack of resistance on John’spart is very telling of just how exhausted his brother is. “I’ve got this.” Bigbrother duty is one of his favourite things in the world but Scott does wish itcould be easier sometimes. “Thanks Virg.”

The hologram flicks off solemnly and Scott turnshis attention to the problem of how he’s going to get a hundred and eighty pounds ofslippery spacenoodle back up to his bedroom. He’d let his brother sleep here onthe sofa if he could, but with a rescue going on and the Tinies due to wake anyminute now Scott knows there’s no chance of him getting any real rest here.

“Come on Johnny,” Scott hopes he’s not leavingbruises on John’s ribs as he curls his fingers around his brother’s back andsecures them against the sharp ridges of his chest. “Back to bed now, we’ve gotthis under control. Eos is probably keeping an eye anyway, you know how she is.”

“She alerted me in the first place.” John mumblesfrom where his chin is slumped down onto his chest like a ragdoll. “Eos is…the best.”

“Yeah, yeah. We all love your murderous code baby.” Scottchuckles, focusing on the placement of John’s feet and carefully guiding himover the top step. “You two make a great team.”

“’Course we do.” John mumbles, ankles like spaghetti,“I wrote her.”

“Mmm…” Scott kicks his brother’s door open withone foot, and slides them into the darkened space, “And doesn’t that say somethingabout how many friends you have?” He comments, a little snarky, “Well it’s timefor super genius coders to go to sleep.” John gets firmly deposited atop his mattressand there’s a brief wrestle with the covers to get them to actually cover the entire length of his ganglyspace brother. “Geez John your ankles go on for miles.” Scott complains, entirelyto himself he notices as, when he looks up, he realises John has alreadydropped off to sleep.

Or passed out. It’s kind of hard to tell.

“Ridiculous.” Scott huff’s softly, checking John’spillow is propping his head up well enough that his breathing isn’t impaired andfishing the VSM wires from the draw of the astronaut’s bedside table to hook himup to the monitor. Heart rate and breathing are stable, if a little low, but John’sblood pressure is a blinking red sign that makes Scott roll his eyes. “How didyou even get out of bed to start with?” He gripes.

Quiet settles between the brothers, Scottcautiously perched on the side of the younger man’s bed. The only light in theroom comes from the faint greenish glow of the series of sticky stars that havebeen stuck to John’s ceiling since they moved here. No comparison to the realthing, of course, but John and Alan had spent a whole day making sure they wereall in the right places – each constellation mapped out with a ruler and a protractorand ridiculous precision.

“Oh Johnny.” There’s a sigh from big brother and warmfingers find themselves threading their way through the soft, cool curl of John’sbangs, cautious of the gash across his forehead. “What are we going to do with you huh? You love space so damn much that there’s no way I can stopyou from doing this to yourself but… but you’re going to get seriously hurtsooner or later and… and I don’t know what I can do to prevent that.” There’sthe soft arch of a spine and Scott is curled protectively over his brother inthe dark. His fingers bunch in the fabric of John’s pillow.

A spot of moisture hits John’s cheek.

It slides down and soaks into the fabric beneathhis head.

“Damnit John.” Scott whispers, voice choked andfingers trembling. “Damn it all.”

#Thunderbirds #TAG #Thunderbirds Are Go #Thunderbirds 2015 #John Tracy #Scott Tracy #Virgil Tracy #Eos #I am sorry except not really #Lenleg's Thunderbirds Tag #you are welcome anon <333 #Anonymous #John always hates gravity #but it hates him more

[siredtofictionalmen]

Insecurity 1: Being Overweight

Disclaimer: Everyone has gone through different experiences and this is my expierence. This falls into my number one insecurity and I need to let it out.

Warnings: fat shaming

Growing up I was thin, I ate whatever I wanted; chips, soda, junk food, fast food and never gain weight. Until I entered middle school I hit puberty and thats when I began to gain weight. Middle school was when I began to be more weight conscious. It was when I learn what the doctor would measure on the scale. How junk food made you gain weight. Learn how to starve myself and went through emotional suffering for something so insignificant; my weight.

For the years to come, I believe the numbers on a scale determine my worth and that I wasn’t “good enough, beautiful enough” because of the number on the scales, the shape of my body.

I wasn’t obese but I wasn’t model skinny nor was I thin. I was chubby. I had stomach rolls and I could never get rid of them. Wherever I was, I felt utter shame. I dont remeber a day in middle school were I felt confident, not even one. Sadly my family was there everyday to remind that I wasn’t thin, and that if I ever wanted to be I wouldn’t achieve it by eating like that, as my grandma would love to point out.

It all starts one day it was the first month of school. I had gotten my period for the fourth time and I remeber coming back from school. My grandma had gotten us McDonald’s to eat and I remeber there being chicken sandwhiches. The joy on my face when I saw McDonald’s soon would be let down by my grandma who passed me a salad. I frowned confused, I look at her and she told me it was for me. I told her its not what I like and she said I know but it’s healthy you need to change your habits the pounds you are putting on your getting fat. I quietly ate my salad quickly and went to the restroom. My grandma lived in a studio so the only room for privacy was the bathroom. I look at myself, pinch my chubby stomach and cried. Tears flowed down my cheek and I remeber tasting them when they came to lips how they tasted much better than the salad I just ate. Ashamed of my fatness I just sat on the toilet. I was 11 at the time and when my mom came home to pick me up my grandma made some more comments about my weight to my mother. I love my grandma and I know she did it because she cared for me but the way she made me feel that day and the rest of the years to come could have been avoided. I never enjoyed my middle school life because of my “guilt” of being fat.

The middle school I went to was so much worse. It was by a rich area and all the girls there were already wearing crop tops and short shorts. Like COME ON YOUR 12!!! Like how can the parents let them dress like that. Anyway I remeber most of the girls being skinny. I remember envying them and thier looks. I beat myself up everyday because I didn’t have the ideal body, skinny. I felt ugly because of it and I was depressed and because of it I never enjoyed my middle school.

The people who fat shamed me the most was my family. I have mentioned my grandma but lets talk about my mother. I love my mom and I know she loves me but I think some comments could have been avoided. I remeber once I was in 8th grade I was with my mother and she was talking to my aunt and my girl cousin about losing weight and then she said oh yes she needs to lose weight too, look at her hippo legs. She began to laugh, i chuckled looking at my legs so did my aunt and my cousin awkwardly laughed. I remeber that night I went to bed and I couldn’t stop staring at my legs I would squeeze them and the thought about cutting some of my flesh with a knife occured to me. I knew that wouldn’t help and I remeber thinking whats wrong with me. Who have I become. I never felt happy anymore I always wanted to be alone. I never wanted anybody to see me. I was ashamed, embarrassed of my chubbiness. My mom would take me to a restaurant and she would see an omd guy friend. I remeber him saying wow she getting taller. My mom would laugh and say yes she getting bigger and from the sides also. I would smile I hated that so much like she fat shames me enogh I dont need other peoples opinions on my weight. He never commented on it though and he was respectful when it came to me.

I started starving myself after new years. I was in the second semester of the 8th grade. I starved myself for two weeks and you could see change. I was becoming thinner, I was getting closer to what I always wanted to be skinny and beautiful. I remeber my grandma congratulated me but on the third week I couldn’t keep it up I began to eat much more than before and before I knew it I had gained weight and probably more than I was before. My grandma said it was such a shame. I remeber her frowning and nodding her head.

Highschool was so much better. I couldn’t believe it people were nice and it wasn’t like mean girls. Majority of girls at my school were chubby, thicc, overweight. I saw some thin but I felt like I fit in. I began to feel confident, comfortable in my own skin. My best friend was thin and I remeber her complaining because some girl called her skinny. I remebering wishing that’s something I could complain about and instantly I becam insecure again. I shrugged it off the next day. I felt ridiculous.

My best friend could eat whatever she wants and she couldn’t gain weight. I was jealous, envious I wish for her metabolism. I remeber telling her as a compliment that her fingers were long and she must of took it as offensive because the next thing she said was look at yours there fat. I remeber telling her that I meant it as a compliment and that I wish I had skinny fingers like her. She said my fingers were cute that they were tiny and that guys like tiny fingers.

I remeber my friend would call herself flat and I would always tell her shut up she has good body proportions. I told her she may not have big boobs but she has decent ones. I remeber telling her that at least her stomach wasn’t bigger than her boobs. At least she didn’t look deformed like me. She told me I wasn’t deformed and that I had a big ass. I would smile pretending that I was comforted when in fact I felt sick because I also had a big stomach.

My confidence really went up in highschool during freshman year when guys were lining up for me. FOR MEEE!!! I was surprise my mom once told me only fat ugly guys would be attracted to me if I continued at the weight I was. I was fed up and told her so what fat guys arent always ugly and they might actually have manners. Just because someones fat doesn’t mean they are ugly. At least I wouldn’t attract abusive alcoholics. I told her that and then I felt really bad. My dad was an alcoholic and so was her new boyfriend. It didn’t stop her from fat shaming me. I remeber she told me I can’t see move your fat ass legs. I cried that night. I remeber three different guys asked me to homecoming and they were fine as hell. I was surprise they liked me and even if a guy wasn’t that attractive and ask me out I still would have given him a chance being an expert with feeling ugly.

My friend constantly nagged about how no one had asked her to homecoming and how three guys already asked me. She called herself fat a couple of times saying she wasn’t pretty enough because she had been getting fat. I reminded her that she was beautiful and that she wasn’t fat and even if she was she would still be beautiful. She continued to call herself fat. During 6th peiriod she called herself fat a couple of times when let me remind you she was model thinnnnn. Skinny af!! I didn’t say anything because I felt like she could complain. I remeber a guy who sat in front of her and next to me would taalk to us. She went up to him and said I feel fat. He said you aren’t fat and hugged her. After she stop complaining. This just reminds me how most girls define thier worth from guys when we shouldn’t. Guys shouldn’t build our confidence but we should ourselves. I remeber making a vow whether I had guys lining up for me or not I would never let myslef down.

Now I barely finished my tenth grade and Im still overweight. Now that I dont let my mothers comments get to me and feel more confident I have more energy. I started exercising and still struggling with my eating habbits. What I learned and continue learning is that your weight does not define your worth. And fat shaming does not work. I read stuff online about how fat shaming motivates people to lose weight. As someone who has been fat shamed it just makes people hate themselves more and in my case I felt depressed. Depression only gave me less energy and no motivation whatsoever. Fat shaming is not the answer. First accept your body for what it is then if you want to make minor changes go for. Lose weight gain weigh whatever makes you happy but never let yourself down in order to achieve it. Remember weight does not equal worth or beauty. Your beautiful whatever shape you are. This is my experience and it still continues today. Also anyone can feel worthless even skinny ppl. If ur skinny friend cals herself fat remind her that she is not and that fat does not equal beauty. Never respond with look at me Im a cow. Never put yourself down to make someone else feel better and never put someone else down to mane ur self feel better.

#fat shame #shaming #overweight girl #skinny girl #skinny shame #fat girl #fatt #fat #skinny #fat shaminh #fat shaming #girl problems #weight insecurity #insecure #insecurities #day 1 overweight #being overweight

[canadian-riddler]

The Student

By Indiana

  Characters: Edward Nygma, Jonathan Crane [NOT Scriddler]

Synopsis: Maybe he shouldn’t have pried, but it was obvious the student needed help.  It seemed like it would have to be his.  (Trans Jonathan Crane)

AO3

Edward wasn’t certain it was proper, but nobody else seemed to care.

He was a TA for a computer science course, hard at work on his Master’s in his spare time.  Being a TA largely meant marking a great deal of assignments, and Edward had already seen far more of them than he had ever wanted to.  In doing this work he had noticed the steadily declining grade percentage of one particular student, and he had sent her an email asking to meet him in the university centre to talk.  He had decided against looking into the university records to discern her appearance and instead sat patiently in the corner he’d said he would be waiting in.

When she arrived, ten minutes late, he did recognise her from class somewhat.  He’d thought of her as something of a slacker, but he still thought it his responsibility as a TA to have a little chat with her.

“Good afternoon,” he said warmly.  He couldn’t see her face, or much of her at all, really.  She was firmly enveloped in a thick hooded sweatshirt and jeans that seemed a size or two too large.  The skin on her nose was pale and pinched.  “Thank you for coming.”

“Why did you want to see me?” she asked.  Her voice was so quiet Edward almost didn’t hear her. He leaned forward to do so better and she took a step back.  

“Helena, I’m sure you’ve noticed you aren’t doing very well in class.”

All he got from her then was a twisting of her joined hands, which he was a little surprised to see were much thinner than they should have been.

“You’re going to lose your scholarship,” Edward continued. “Are you having trouble understanding the course material?”

“No,” she whispered. Edward folded his hands together and lowered his voice.

“Forgive me for asking, but is there something going on at home, Helena?”

She seemed to look up sharply beneath the hood, though she said nothing.  

“I’m just trying to help,” he said, as soothingly as he could.  “I would hate to see your studies grounded by something that may have a solution you haven’t seen yet.”

Still she said nothing, and unfortunately Edward was not very patient.  “Helena, do you understand how serious -“

“Do you really want to help me,” she interrupted, and he was unnerved to hear the heavy tang of bitterness in her muted tone.  This sounded very grim.  And it might be something Edward was not qualified, nor equipped, nor even permitted to handle.  He tapped his thumbs together.  

There had to be a reason for the clothes and the grades and the bitterness in her voice.  And he needed to know what that was.  

“I do,” he said calmly, looking into the glint of her glasses.

“My name is Jonathan,” she said, only slightly louder than anything else, and Edward frowned.  

“Your name is... Jonathan?”

She moved away from the table.  He almost didn’t hear her muttered, “Never mind,” as she turned and left. Edward picked up his laptop bag and slung it over one shoulder, lips thin.  He’d missed something.  Something important.

 //

 Once at home late that night he made some inquiries into his preferred search engine and was a little confused by what he found.  It seemed Helena had a condition in which there had been an error in the womb and she had been born with the body of a woman but the brain of a man.  Upon further reading he discovered she was not only potentially in danger from her family, but from herself.  He had the strong suspicion what was visible of her gaunt skin was such because she was starving herself in an attempt to prevent the onset of puberty.  That must have been terrifying, he thought.  It must have seemed a countdown of sorts, with nature furiously pushing to have its way.  

He frowned at himself. No.  No, he’d thought of all that the wrong way.  Her... his name was Jonathan, and he was a man.  He knew very little about this student at all, but it seemed to him a logical reason for the poor grades would be the tremendous psychological damage dealt by such a major condition.  He was unsure if his support, such as he could offer it, would be of any help at all, but he’d gotten himself into this and he was determined to see it through.

He saw her – him, he saw him again in a few days’ time, sitting near the back of the room with his hands tucked into his sleeves, and Edward wondered why his parents seemed to have no care for this situation.  He could understand that it was hard to come to terms with, initially, but… surely a parent wouldn’t hold a biological mistake against their child?

He watched the hooded figure carefully throughout the class, and as soon as it ended Jonathan got up to leave.  Edward had to eschew so much as a farewell to the professor in order to catch him.  He almost lost him in the throng, and in his desperation to catch him hissed, “Jonathan!”

He paused immediately, looking behind him, which gave Edward enough time to close the gap between them. “I’d like to talk to you,” he said in a low voice.  “If you don’t have anywhere to be.  I have something for you.”

“All right,” Jonathan said, still in that negligible voice, and they went back to approximately the same corner as the day before.  Again Jonathan did not sit.  Edward remained standing next to him, filing through his laptop bag for the paper he’d printed off.  It contained a list of websites he could access and facilities on campus he could contact for help.  He handed it to Jonathan, who looked at it for a few moments before shaking his head.

“I know you may have already looked into these resources yourself, but –“

“It’s not that,” Jonathan interrupted.  “It’s… nobody can know.”

Edward tried to spin out the likely meaning of that statement.  It had to be the parents.  Edward could do a little something about that.  “They go through your computer?” he asked.  Jonathan nodded, and Edward swung his leg over the bench in front of the table.

“I can help you,” Edward told him.  “You just need to trust me with your laptop for a little while.”

Jonathan hesitated, then put his backpack on the table and removed the computer from the back half. It was old, but Edward had never seen a computer he couldn’t influence.  

Edward then gave Jonathan the fastest, most thorough lesson on computer security he possibly could, and it was here he was treated to the true depth of Jonathan’s intelligence. He listened well and asked thoughtful questions, and Edward was struck by some measure of regret.  He could have been the top of the class if not for the condition that, through no fault of his own, could be so entirely distracting and discouraging.  After he had finished a few hours later, Edward turned the page of resources over and wrote his email address on the back.

“Send me a message if you need to talk to someone,” he said, and he stood up.

“Thank you,” Jonathan said, staring at the paper.  “But why are you helping me?”

Because the fact you’re willing to trust a complete stranger so much tells me you have nowhere to turn, was the first thought on his mind.  But Jonathan didn’t need pity.  He probably didn’t even want it.  So instead he just shrugged.  

“Why do I need a reason?”

 //

 Jonathan was not much for talking, so what ended up happening was that he would ask to meet in one of the communal gathering areas, at a table in the corner.  Jonathan would sit with his back to the rest of the room and Edward would sit opposite him, and Edward would mostly talk to himself while Jonathan listened.  Or maybe he wasn’t listening.  It was hard to tell a lot of the time.  It didn’t really matter whether he was or wasn’t; the purpose of these meetings was just to let Jonathan know there was someone who accepted him as he was.  

It took a few weeks but Edward did eventually learn his parents were a large portion of his problem, which he could commiserate with, though he did have to stem the urge to set that knowledge off into a jumping-off point to complain about his own parents.  They weren’t Jonathan’s problem, and he already had enough of those.

One afternoon Edward was buying coffee before one of their meetings and it occurred to him that Jonathan might like one as well.  He had a notion that poverty had a heavy hand in Jonathan’s ability to maintain such a low body weight without arousing suspicion.  When Jonathan joined him at the table Edward offered him the sandwich and coffee he’d procured for him.  It was very, very difficult to read Jonathan, given he never removed the hood and his large glasses obscured most of his face, so Edward was going to have to guess what he was thinking.

“I know what you’re doing to yourself,” Edward said.  “And I understand why you’re doing it.  But listen. The effects are going to last forever. You’re going to do damage to your body you can’t take back.  I know you hate it right now.  But future you?  He isn’t going to.  Future you is going to have learned to love himself.  You always have to think of him, today.”

Jonathan brought the sandwich into his lap and very slowly unwrapped the cellophane.  “Do you love yourself?” he asked.  Edward put down his marking pen.

“I try to,” Edward answered.  “I can’t do it all the time.  Nobody can do anything all the time.  But it helps.  You can’t depend on other people to care about you, but you can usually depend on yourself.”

“Usually.”

Edward shrugged.  “Like I sad.  Can’t do everything all the time.”

From then on, if Edward gave Jonathan a sandwich he would eat it, but only if Edward did not ask him to or look at him while he did it.  Sometimes Jonathan would just put his head down on the table and go to sleep for a while, and Edward did have to wonder what went on at home that led Jonathan to feel better sleeping on a table in front of a near-total stranger than in his own bed.  But Edward did not ask for any information Jonathan did not volunteer.

The most interesting thing he had told Edward was that he had no interest at all in computer science; his parents had demanded he study something in-demand, and he had done so, at the cost of increased misery to himself. What he truly wanted to do was study psychology and ultimately become a professor of such, and Edward wished he had some wisdom to impart but the plain fact was, without knowing the circumstances of his home life he really could not.  He only had rote commiserations that he hoped meant something to Jonathan. They seemed to, else why would he keep asking Edward if he had time to meet?

They had continued these meetings since long after the first semester ended and with it ended Edward’s tenure as Jonathan’s TA.  He had made his way into Jonathan’s account only once, to find that he had just about given up altogether.  This pained Edward, though he did not blame Jonathan.  He was being forced to live someone else’s life.  Edward did not bring up what he’d seen; it was not his business, after all.  The one time he asked after Jonathan’s long-forgotten backpack Jonathan just shrugged and didn’t answer.  

It was one of the times Edward wished he could actually do something about the situation, as opposed to just semi-existing on the edges of it.

One evening near the end of the semester Edward was working diligently through a backlog of assignments he had neglected when Jonathan, whom he’d thought had been sleeping, said, “I don’t know if I can keep doing this.”

Edward looked up from the tangled mess of an exam he was mired in.  “Of course you can,” was all he could come up with.  Jonathan lifted his head from atop his arms to look at him.

“You don’t understand.”

Edward put his pen down. “I don’t.  But you have to remember future you.”

Jonathan put his head back down.  “I don’t think there’s going to be one.”

“There is,” Edward told him. “Jonathan… don’t make decisions when you’re sad.”

“I can’t remember a time I wasn’t,” Jonathan mumbled from inside his sweater.

“But there will be one,” Edward said.  

“It’s taking too long.”

It was then that Edward realised this was probably a time he should just be listening.  “I know,” he decided to say.  

Jonathan didn’t contact Edward for another meeting after that.

 //

 A semester and a half later Edward was sitting in the corner he’d frequented so often, hacking away at his thesis, when he felt someone watching him.  He looked up.  There was a young man standing there, about as tall as Edward, wearing orange plaid which went horribly with his rust-coloured hair.  Edward stared at him blankly for a moment.

“Can I help you?” he asked. The other looked down at the table.

“You don’t recognise me,” he said.

“No,” Edward told him. “I have things to do so if you’re finished – “

“It’s me,” the other interrupted.  “Jonathan.”

Edward, to his credit, had never actually seen Jonathan’s face, so he hoped this had not been taken as offensive.  “I was wondering what happened to you,” he said.

“Only good things.” He held his hand out with great hesitance.  Edward took it firmly and shook it.  “Thank you,” Jonathan said.

“Thank you.”  Edward was fully aware of how difficult it must have been to trust him with the secret and, in the end, Edward had effectively just been present.  Jonathan had been the one to do all the work.

Jonathan nodded and turned to leave, and Edward called to him, “Jonathan.”

He looked behind him.

“You made it. Congratulations.”

Jonathan just smiled.

 Author’s note

I know this is out-of-character but the point of it wasn’t really to be in-character.  It’s just for anyone who needs it.  If you’re struggling, please keep hanging on.  You can do it.

#Scarecrow #Riddler #Jonathan Crane #Edward Nygma #fanfic from Indy

[blankdblank]

X-Men Crossover - Pt 2 - Finding Bilbo

… Pt 2 - Finding Bilbo           … You easily found your way to the large green door, taking a deep breath of the crisp air and pausing at the open gate. Logan chuckled and gave you a gentle push, following after as you slowly stepped up to the door, taking another breath then raising your hand to knock on the door when it swung open, causing the small Hobbit to fall backwards when he spotted you both.

You quickly stepped forward and helped him to his feet as he gave a nervous chuckle, “Sorry I wasn't expecting company.” “Not at all, entirely my fault I frightened you.” He turned and offered his hand, “Bilbo Baggins, Pleasure to meet you.” Glancing nervously between you and Logan, cautiously eyeing your basket before looking back to you. “Jaqi Howlett, and my brother Logan Howlett.” He gave him a small nod as he glanced back at you. “So, um…I was just going to sit out for a smoke.” Glancing up at Logan, apparently nervous of his non overly friendly presence. “Would you care to join me?” You both nod, “Sounds lovely. Oh we have deserts, bought them in Bree, would you like some?” “I would, Thank you.” Taking his seat on the small bench as you both sat your bags down next to the stones next to the bench and sitting on the stones, setting the basket down in front of you three. Bilbo smiled as he took a dessert and filled his pipe after taking a bite, then lighting it and blowing out a puff of smoke. “My Mother used to make these for me, when I was little.” Both of you helping yourselves to one each then Logan pulled out his cigar as you pulled out your smaller and thinner cigarillo, lighting each with your lighters, smiling as he glanced at your strange rolled smoking sticks that smelled just like Hobbit tobacco as it burned. “Where did you get those?” Logan answered, “Back home. Long way from here.” “Do you miss it?” Logan, “Not really.” You, “We actually wanted to talk to you about that.” Bilbo, “Hmm?” As he took a bite of his dessert, finishing it and grabbing another. You, “Well, there was sort of an explosion, and um…We sort of fell just a few miles from Bree.” Bilbo glanced over at you curiously, somehow not overly shocked at your story, as if he had heard of people just falling into this world frequently, “So you were sent here then?” You, “If we were it’s news to us. But in our world, everyone knows that if you find yourself in the Shire you have to stop at BagEnd. Then start your Journeys from there.” Bilbo, “My home is that well known?” Logan, “You have no idea.” As he shoved another dessert into his mouth. Bilbo, “So where will you go from here?” You, “Well, I was hoping we might be able to stay here, at least for tonight. We can pay you for our stay.” Bilbo smiled at the thought of company, he had been alone since he lost his parents, he nodded and said, “Alright, sounds like a fair plan, would you mind telling me about your home?”

You both ended up bonding with him quickly, both easing him into your abilities. Assuring him you meant him no harm, and informing him that, “Should you ever find yourself heading off for an Adventure of your own, we would be grateful to protect you.”

Later that day you and Logan headed to the market to purchase more Hobbit tobacco and rolling papers, on your way back your conversation runs back to your old world. Logan, “So how pissed do you think the Professor is, one a scale of paper cut to destroying the Universe?” You, “Close to destroying the Universe. But he can complain all he wants, I’m much happier here.” “Same here.” You let out a giggle, “I just thought of something, Victor won't be able to find us either.” Logan let out a laugh, “Oh I would love to be able to see his face when he won't be able to find me on my Birthday. Over 150 years he's been following me to prove he's stronger than me, what ever will he do now?” You chuckled as you ran your fingers over the tracker imbedded in the solar of your uniform, a thought repeating in your mind, Logan sensed the change in your pulse and asked, “What is it?” “The trackers, in our suits.” “You think they could use it to take us back?” “Possibly.” He nodded, “Then one thing to do. Let’s destroy them and bury them.” Wrapping his arm around your shoulder, “We are staying.” Kissing the side of your forehead. “Every other time we started over, it was my choice. It’s my turn to return the favor. Besides, I am loving the silence in this world.” You returned to Bilbo’s house, walking through the yard behind the house, each removing your trackers and smashing them with a stone then burying them under the stone, being careful to return the stone back to its original place.

…

Back in the Mutant Academy

Professor and the teachers and students are frantically searching for an answer to return you both back home. After hours of searching he slowly rolled through Logan’s then your room, noticing the empty drawers and closets, leaving no trace of your being there. As he left he spotted the paper on the printer, curiously grabbing it and reading it as Storm entered the room. Storm, “Professor?” He frantically flipped the page over hoping for more words on the other side, mumbling, “This answers nothing!” Storm, “What?” “Jaqi typed the introduction to her history that I asked her for. It’s vague, no details. I have thousands of questions and now I’ll never know unless we get them back.” “What happens if we can’t?” “We have to try.” “What questions could be so important?” “She knew Kings.” Handing Storm the Intro, “Her adopted Father was a King of Sparta, almost 200 years she spent there. She was alive when Alexander the Great was conquering the world, he visited Sparta countless times, she would have known them, their likes, their dislikes. How they looked, walked, spoke, if they hated apples. How many times they said the world moments, how they held their spoons, how the world really took to the invention of the fork. There is so much we could learn from her.” Making Storm roll her eyes as he kept mumbling out ridiculous questions he never got to ask you.

Over the next week he had finally gotten it rebuilt with the help of Magneto, declaring a ceasefire in their war, who even though he had tried to kill you and Logan several times, respected you immensely and was going to miss your presence greatly. Through his imprisonment you had visited him several times, knowing he would lose his mind with the solitude. With his great mind he needed someone with great intellect to keep him company, both bonding over your pasts, sharing several stories of your lives since the 1940’s.

Finally achieving the impossible, standing back as they fired up the machine again, only to have the professor gasp as your broken trackers, covered in a handful of dirt fell on the floor ahead of them before a stone landed on top of them. The Professor let out a quiet groan as he dug through the dirt uncovering the trackers, holding them in his palm as he stared at them intently, refusing to admit that that was his only chance. All of the teachers leaving him and Magneto alone to accept your fates as Beast shut down the machine.

Magneto looked at the trackers, smiling slightly as his eyes twinkled, remembering your yearning for a quieter world, “Perhaps they've found their perfect world. Jaqi had told me years ago that she wanted to live a simpler, quieter life, more like the world she was born into.” “How am I supposed to just let go of them?” He rested his hands on his old friends shoulders, “We remember them, and the life we shared. She told me once, all she could do to pass on after losing her family, was to tell herself to keep breathing and keep looking ahead as she held them alive in her heart.”

…

Back at BagEnd The next day

Bilbo is showing the two of you around his property, showing you both his gardens and telling you the Hobbit way to tend to plants to make them grow to massive proportions. Stopping suddenly as he spotted a small hole in his yard, where you had buried your trackers. Bilbo walked over to the hole, walking around it in a circle, then stopping and resting his fists on his hips letting out a huff as he stared at the hole. Muttering out, “Lobelia!” You walked over slowly, “Lobelia?” He turned back to you both, his face lightening up from his scowl, “My cousin, Lobelia Sackville-Baggins. Always taking what isn’t hers. First my spoons now my dirt, and my favorite stone. That was one of my favorite stones. The first time I held hands with someone was near that stone.” Quietly you collected a small plant from one of his pots inside, which he had meant to replant ages ago, then settling down for second breakfast. You both definitely loved his new part of your new lives.

… Both of you adapted to your new lives, but the main difference being you were both practically weightless. Since Logan became Wolverine as his bones were fused with adamantium, the metal had been slowly poisoning him, drawing most of his healing abilities towards reversing the effect of that, and also making him a few hundred pounds heavier. Your Metal form was revealed to be a purer form of adamantium, with its purity it had been more difficult for Magneto and other super villains to use it against you. With your weight, the both of you found yourselves very careful with where you sat, making the Professor to get industrial strength furniture for you both. But you still chose to stand mostly, or to sit on the ground out of habit, having dealt with this for most of your lives.

A few years after you had joined the Academy Logan had been attacked by a super villain. He had injected him with a toxin that latched onto his Adamantium bones, nearly killing him, leaving only one solution for you. As he laid there screaming on the floor you ran over and started to remove his adamantium from his body as gently as you could. His screams subsided as he saw you kneel next to him, telling him, “I’m sorry, I have to remove your Metal.” He looked you in the eye grunting out, “Do it.” As he started felt another wave of pain run through his body, you ran your hand over his face, knocking him unconscious, nearly comatose to keep him from the pain. Cutting his forearm with your nail and drawing out the metal, repeating the same on each limb then cutting his chest near his collarbone, removing the last and watching as his body healed. The venom had latched on completely to the Metal running through his body and nowhere else, making it a nearly instantaneous healing afterward. You ran your hand over his face again waking him up, giving him a kind smile as he lifted his hands, feeling the difference in his weight and feeling his body healthy again. Logan, “You got it all!” Sitting up to hug you. “Of course I did.” His eyes dropped to the giant chunk of discolored Adamantium next to you, “All that was inside me? No wonder I was so heavy.” “He definitely didn't waste any energy on making it purer before fusing it to your bones.” He looked at you curiously, “What do you mean?” “It’s not pure, it’s only 70% Adamantium, the other 30% was what was poisoning you all this time and why it was so heavy.” “So if it was purer, It would be healthier for me?” You looked back at his eyes tilting your head slightly to the side, “You want to do it again?” “I can protect you better when I have it, my bone claws break too easily, so do my bones. Besides, I kind of like the weight. Would you do it?” You opened your mouth slightly then closed it, taking a few breaths then said, “Alright, but your going to be unconscious when I do it, Your body doesn't fight against me when your out of it, and it will spare you most of the pain.” Over the next hour you collected the Adamantium you had drawn from your veins over the years from the trunk in your closet, as Logan waited on your bed, preparing himself for the procedure. He glanced at the amount of Mithril you had pulled out, matching the size of the former block, but shining far brighter, as he laid back you waived your hand over his face putting him into the same state as before and slowly giving him a cut on each limb and working the Metal back into his body. Waking him again and watching as he lifted his arms again, drawing out his new claws, staring in awe at their new shine and sitting up realizing the difference in weight. “I’m lighter.” “I used the whole amount, it covered your bones better than before, your bones shouldn't break nearly as easily now. We should still do an X-ray to be sure I got it all covered.” He cut his arm from his wrist to his elbow, watching as within moments it healed, gasping, “Woah, I'm healing faster now.” The X-ray confirming that the Metal had covered him better and the scale showing he had lost half the weight from the Metal before. Thoroughly pleased with his new addition and with your skills.

Pt 3

#X-menCrossover #Bilbo #BagEnd #SmokingHobbit #Thranduil x Reader #lotr #hobbit #Thranduil x Reader OC

[weelittlepatrick-blog]

Little Brother Creation: pt 1

(Ok. The first time I posted it was unwieldy. So I’m gonna break it up a bit. It’s just a drabble fic thing about the creation of the Little Brothers of which Patrick is one.)

The first thing Patrick became aware of was the sense of floating. He couldn't seem to open his eyes. Or move his body. And for a seemingly endless stretch of what might have been time he didn't even care. Floating was nice.

The next thing the young boy knew, he was very much solid again, and very much wishing he was still floating.

A shrill scream echoed in the vastness of the sterile room. It was not the only scream. Not in the least. It joined the others in a cacophony of anguish and terror. How the adults were able to speak so calmly on the other side of the window may have been due to the walls having soundproofing. That or they lacked even the slightest hint of empathy.

The taller one sighed, his arms crossed in front of him. Wiry frame matching his wire-rimmed glasses. Dark eyes watching with unapologetic apathy as the room full of boys screamed.

"I'm not entirely sure keeping them awake is necessary."

The shorter, rounder man hummed under his breath. Some song he'd listened to far more than healthy back on the surface. The smile on his plump lips belonging in a more pleasant place than this.

"The comatose subjects all failed. The Krout over with the Sisters Program thinks it has to do with the slug bonding to its host. Pain and a need to ensure survival."

"It sounds like crack-pot Nazi science to me."

"Never heard you complain about the Nazi methods before."

The thin man smirked softly. "No. I suppose not.

Boys were never ever supposed to cry. That's what they'd been told. Especially not boys like them. The future of Rapture on their shoulders. Future tycoons of industry and art who would continue to pull the Great Chain ever onward.

It was much easier said than done.

Patrick glanced around, his blue-green eyes not free of tears. He noted, almost absently, that he was the oldest. The only other boy even close was still far too short to be very much older than 6 while he sat there at a bit over 8.They knew why little girls were taken away. Even children were not that stupid. Well, the girls were. Stupid enough to get kidnapped. Boys though. They were different.

"Will ya quit that noise? I'm tryin' t' think."

The younger boys- some were really barely out of dippers probably- one sucking his thumb even as tears streamed down his face and he poked the fresh sutures on his side- all looked at Patrick. There was something in him, as there was something in his father, which demanded the attention of a room. A sense that they were trustworthy and powerful in ways they certainly were not.

After a heavy moment of silence chaos erupted again. Screaming and crying and begging all poured from the mouths of those young children while Patrick sat and frowned. His side was on fire. Like the time he'd touched his mother's iron. Only worse times a billion and six. He wanted to cry too. And scream. He felt like there was something inside him. Something that he wanted to throw up. Something that he wanted no part of and which wanted nothing to do with him. But more than anything else in the whole wide world, the boy wanted his Da'.

However, Patrick Oliver McCullen was a Son of Rapture. He knew better than to beg. To cry out and plead for something he'd not created himself? Never. Patrick McCullen was not, would not, and had never been, a Parasite. The other boys could fall into that trap if they wanted. Not him.

When adults finally walked into the room, looking down at the scattered mass of sniveling children with all the emotion of a wall, Patrick understood. It hit him suddenly but with absolute certainty. They were just as stupid as the girls who got kidnapped. The only difference was that people talked about and saw Little Sisters. No one had ever seen a Little Brother before. And he knew that it was not a good thing. Science in Rapture moved fast and it moved first through rumors and secrets. If there were no rumors and no secrets there had yet to be anything close to a success.

Absently the blond poked the sutures on his side while the grownups tried to calm the other boys with yelling and with threats. That wasn't how you dealt with an unruly mob. Pat knew. He'd watched his Da' do it. Watched him calm a small army of men with his voice. And watched the man rally that same group into a frenzy vicious enough to attack Mr. Ryan's men. He knew that yelling got people madder. And speaking softly made them trust you.

Whoever these scientists were they were idiots.

"You're gonna be in big trouble when my Da' finds me." He said simply. Loud enough to be heard but with the calm conviction of someone who had no reason at all to doubt his statement.

The two men looked at one another, the thinner stepping toward him finally. Pat, being that he was very nearly a grown up, only shuffled backward a little bit. And only because he was in a little pain and only kinda scared a little. The tall man leaned over, his black eyes boring into Patrick's bright ones.

"Your father won't ever find you. No one will. You're all alone here. And most of you will die before those sutures even begin to heal."

Pat poked his side, pouting and doing his best not to cry. A child of Rapture wouldn't cry. The Son of the People wouldn't cry. Patrick Oliver McCullen was both of those things. So he didn't cry until the grownups had eventually left and the lights went out with a definitive clunk. The bottom of the ocean had never been so dark before. And since it was too dark to see anything anyway, Pat figured it was ok to cry.

The next day brought with it the bright sterile lights of a hospital. Unapologetic and unkind. The lights clunked on without warning, the boys all jumping awake with a start. Most had found themselves sharing beds. Not that there weren't enough. There was exactly one bed for each boy. But fear had the boys, especially the youngest boys, huddling to one another as if to a living teddy bear. False safety in comfort. More than that, the beds could hardly be called such. Cot was a better word and in the back of his mind Patrick heard a small voice say, 'gurney'.

The scientists came in same as the day before. The blond boy frowned as he noted the way they walked, and stood and looked around. All as if they owned every child they saw. As if they were less than children even. Lab rats. Less than that maybe. Not even really alive. Corpses to be cut open and poked around in. He'd seen those looks, those walks and stances before. It's how Mr. Ryan's men looked at all the people in Apollo. Or in The Drop. It's how the artists looked at him when he wandered in Fort Frolic. More hateful than that he simply didn't belong. It was as if he didn't deserve to exist.

The thinner, taller man looked down his nose, under his glasses at them. The other boys flinched. They probably had never been hurt before by a grown up. Sometimes, when Pat mentioned that he'd been hit by adults before, people gave his Da' a look. He wasn't sure why. His Da’ was the very best man in the world and wouldn’t hurt anyone who didn’t really deserve it. He meant that when he was not at all in the middle of a brawl because he in no way disobeyed his mother and father by trying to join a revolution he was too young to fully understand, the grownups didn't care how big you were nor how young. Ryan's men would beat anyone who claimed to be a follower of Atlas. And Patrick proudly puffed his chest out when he said he was the biggest supporter of Atlas ever always. It usually got him punched in said chest.

And these men. They would hurt all of the other boys. For the best and worst reason that Pat in all his infinite wisdom could imagine; science.

They were here, all of them, because someone was doing science. They wanted to know more or do more. And a means to that end would always be experiments on other people. The boy had just assumed it was always people who were being paid for it.

"What're ya tryin' t' do anyhow?" He asked while the fatter man prodded his side and made non-committal sounds.

The man grinned and ruffled Patrick's hair. "Aren't you cute? Isn't he cute Fred?"

"Very." Not that the wiry 'Fred' sounded very convinced of it. Patrick frowned his best frown; a pout.

"I mean it. I'm smart an' I wanna know what th' experiment is."

The grownups glanced at one another. Fred spoke in a monotone of disinterest. "I doubt it would affect anything. It's up to you Oscar."

Oscar ruffled Pat's hair again, earning him a slap in the general direction of his face. Pat missed the mark though it was close. Oscar laughed softly and stood back up, going to the next boy in the row of beds. "We're seeing which of you dies first." He answered the Irish boy at last. "There hasn't been a success yet and we are going to figure out why."

"I ain't gonna die." Patrick said simply, scrunching his nose at a much younger boy who crawled onto his bed, thumb still in his mouth. "I already decided I ain't."

"That has yet to be seen."

The scientists left them to their own devices a lot. They had taken notes. They took measurements of the sutures, of the boys’ weight and the clearness of their eyes. Other than that, they did little with the children. It bothered Patrick. It wasn't right. That’s not how science worked. Which meant there was a lot they weren't aware of. He hated not being aware. Constantly in the way, the boy had always wanted to know everything. It was his only fault. Insatiable curiosity. Of course, those were his words. Pride, many listed as a fault, a tendency to mouth off, and a habit of disobedience or outright refusal to acknowledge rules. The list went on. Not to mention the charm of his father.

Regardless,  the blond boy sat at the foot of the cot, defiantly staring at a mirror he was more than certain was a window. Daring the scientists to kill him. Waiting. The thing in his side stopped being so gross and he mostly forgot about it save when the sutures caused him pain or whatever it was shifted. Other boys weren't so lucky. Constantly they whined about the thing. No one knew what it was. Whatever had been put in them while they screamed in agony. There was no telling what it was, but the boys cried that it hurt, or that it was moving and it was bad. Patrick sat silently, glaring.

The boy who kept his thumb in his mouth sat next to him, looking between the older boy and the mirror before settling beside him fully. The younger boy, thumb still in his mouth, did his best to glare as well. Pat raised an annoyed eyebrow. "What're ya doin'?"

"I dunno." The child admitted, turning his big green eyes toward Patrick. "But you're doing it. And you're the oldest. And you said you were going to live even though the grownups said we'd all die. So I'm going to do what you're doing. And I'm not gonna die."

Pat blinked dumbly, the thumb-sucker going back to his glaring at the likely two-way mirror. Is this what it's like, the child wondered, to be his Da'? To have people listen to him and do as he did just because he was doing it? He took a deep breath and went back to his own glare, arms crossed over his chest. "I think that's where th' scientists watch us from."

"We should throw something at it. Something sticky. Grownups hate that."

The blond’s glare broke as he turned to smile at the other boy. "I'm Patrick."

"Roger. You should go by Icarus."

"How come?"

"Cause if you wanted you could save us. And Icarus is the only name I know that sounds like Atlas. And Atlas is gonna save the whole city."

Icarus. Patrick wasn't sure what it was, if it even was a name at all. But Roger thought of him like his Da', and his Da' was the best man in the whole world. So, Roger was good. But saving the other boys? He looked around, blue-green eyes scanning the faces. Still so scared. Still crying. Some of them were already starting to look ill. Like they might die right now. So many were still crying even after three days. Saving them. It was a weight he'd never expected on his young shoulders. Was this the cost of being great? This pressure? This sudden responsibility made his breath catch. He wasn’t sure if he wanted to be great. But he did want to be like his Da’… "Alright." He muttered, looking straight at the mirror. Determination building quickly as he spoke to Roger. "Icarus. An' I'll save as many of ya as I can.”

(pt 2)

#answerdrabble #Breaking this up so it's not a wall of text #Verse: Little Brother #mun writes

[thelifeofme23-blog]

Day Two

Well.... I'm definitely feeling the hunger today. Today's breakfast was one egg, one piece of toast and a cup of coffee or tea.... I had tea today so I didn't have to feel bad about using the creamer. The tea I drank was just plain green tea. I usually hate plain tea, I normally add a bunch of sugar. I didn't today though but it actually tasted pretty good. I baught a different brand than I usually drink and then used two bags instead of one and I really liked it just plain like that actually. It's this brand called salada. It's just pure green tea but it tasted and smelled different than the lipton green tea I normally drink. It was just really good, and I'm allowed to have tea or coffee with lunch as well so im going to have that tea again. I'm actually making lunch right now. I'm allowed to have one egg, one cup of cottage cheese, five saltine crackers, and of course the cup of coffee or tea. So I'm making a hard boiled egg. I feel like I could eat a dozen though. I'm SO hungry. I'm just going to have one though. I've actually done REALLY well with sticking to the diet today though despite being so hungry. I didn't make any changes, and I don't plan on it either. Dinner is actually a decent amount today. I have to have two hot dogs with no bun (that's how I normally eat them anuway), one cup of broccoli, half a cup of carrots, half a banana, and half a cup of vanilla ice cream (yes it's actually part of the diet). I think it's crazy that hotdogs and ice cream are part of the diet, I'm not complaining though, as long as it actually helps me lose weight. I weighed myself this morning and I was 134.4 pounds. I think I might have weighed myself earlier this morning than I did yesterday though so I don't really think I lost that much already, I think it's just the difference in gravity because of where the moon was or whatever. I highly doubt that I'm going to lose anything close to the nine pounds that the diet says I could lose up to, but I mean at least it's a set meal plan that helps me control how much I'm eating. That alone should help a lot. And it's not a crazy crash diet or anything, like it seems like a pretty healthy diet actually. I mean it has me eating veggies, eggs, a small amount of meat, fruit, a small amount of bread, and then the small amount of vanilla ice cream every night with dinner. So I mean it's basically got everything I need right? Well, even though it doesn't seem like it's going to help me lose as much as it said as fast as it said I would lose it, and even though it says it's only for three days, I think I might just keep repeating the diet. Like after day three tomorrow, I think I'll just start over. It really is helping me eat a lot less since it tells me exactly what to have and how much of it to have. So I think it will help a lot in the long run. I didn't wake up sore at all today. I woke up crabby but then my baby was in a good mood and smiling a lot so it actually turned my mood around really fast and then I was in a good mood and felt great. We'll, anyway, since I didn't wake up sore today I think maybe I didn't exercise enough yesterday even though I was literally feeling the burn as I was doing it and I pushed myself to do more when I felt like I was turning into jello. Whatever though I guess, I mean it's really disappointing but I don't know what I did wrong that I didn't feel it today. I just did extra today to hopefully make up for it. My first routine called for 24 seconds of doing butt kickers and I did them for 48. It also called for 24 seconds of squats but I did 60 seconds (I almost fell a few time lifting out of the squat though because my legs were all wobbly). Then the next routine called for 4 wall push-ups, and 4 regular push-ups. I did 6 wall and 10 regular. And it called for 12 sit-ups but I did 40. I had to take about a minute break after the first 20 though before I finished the last 20. But I still did them. It felt really good though. It started burning after the third one, so that's why I pushed to do the 40. I got excited. Especially since I was able to do them today. I was trying to sleep last night and I couldn't because my back hurt so bad. So then I just kept trying to pop my back different ways, and I eventually found a way to pop it and since then it hasn't hurt again yet. Thankfully. I like doing sit-ups because I can always feel the burn and the soreness from them, and my belly is the main thing I want to shrink. So I was really glad my back didn't hurt so I could do them today. I found out that I actually feel more energetic if I wear my shoes while I'm exercising. I usually just do it all barefoot since I'm in my own home. I wonder why it made me feel more energetic though when I wore them today, made me feel like going out for a jog actually. I can't though. I have a five year old and a three month old that would have to go with me and the five year old would be a distraction and not be able to keep up. I thought about just having him sit in the stroller and then just put the baby in the pouchy backpack thingy.... but the five year old is a bit big to be in a stroller, and I don't think I'm quite ready to have the extra weight of the baby... it hurts my back even just carrying him when we walk around the house. For someone who's only 22 years old I sure have a bad back. I think a lot of it is because of being so fat, because then that puts extra weight on my bones. I also got in a bad car crash about two years ago... I was speeding (I was late for work) and then there was a stretch of road that they had just torn up and threw gravel down and I didn't have enough time to slow down.... I hit the breaks maybe two car lengths away from the gravel because I didn't see it... and I was going about 120 mph when I did break, so it wasn't nearly enough time. Well since I was going so fast, and I had my foot on the break, I lost control of the car. It went into a small ditch on the side of the road. But the front end hit the ditch just right and the back of the car flipped over the front and lifted me out of the ditch. Then the car rolled over sideways to the right about five or six times through some small trees into a field and landed on all four wheels again. I was scared but I didn't really feel hurt. My face stung a little from the airbag hitting me but other than that I felt completely fine. So I called my boss and let him know I couldn't make it to work because of the crash and he said he would come pick me up if all I needed was a ride so I said sure. Well... I didn't know you weren't suppose to walk away from a crash like that.... I mean there were no other cars involved and my car was at least 50 feet away from the road. But anyways, my boss came and picked me up, a cop came by during my shift to take a statement, make sure I was ok (some people saw the car and we're searching for a body because they thought I was flung from the car and it was so mangled that they didn't think anyone could have survived it) and to tell me I wasn't supposed to walk away like I did. And then I finished my shift and had my coworker drive me home. I felt fine. But then I woke up the next morning.... I could barely move. My back hurt so bad that I didn't want to move. I couldn't turn my head. Just laying there breathing hurt. So then everyone told me to go get checked out, so my step dad drove me to the ER. They said all they could see from the x-rays was that I had a degenerate disc, and a herniated disk in my back that had to have been there before the accident and we're just agitated from the initial impact. And then there were two fractured vertebrae in my upper back kinda between my shoulders because of the accident. But they said all they could do was give me some heavy pain killers and refer me to a chiropractor. Well... I never went to the chiropractor, I moved out of state a week later because I had just gotten a place with my fiance (now husband), maybe two days before the crash. And then it had stopped hurting so bad after the second round of pain killers. So it didn't seem all that important. Now my upper back barely hurts, usually only if I lay on my side at night or if I get really hot, or lift something too heavy. My lower back hurts all the time but not as bad as it did right after the crash. I hope the pain goes away once I lose weight. It got worse after I had my son but I gained like 68 pounds with him. And then right before I got pregnant with him I worked at a bakery... so I gained a lot of weight working there. When I had the accident I was 162 pounds. I was 200 even when I found out I was pregnant. And I was 268 the day I went to deliver. Now im back down to 234.4 but my goal is 150. My husband doesn't think I can do it. He says I love food too much and that I'm just at my "married weight" that I'm supposed to weigh more because I'm married.... well I think he's just trying to make himself feel better. He's 6 feet even and weighs 290.4 pounds. So we're both technically obese. He says he feels fine though and that he doesn't feel any different now than he did when he was thinner (we both gained a lot when we got married for some reason) I feel really unhealthy though so I want to get back down to 150, and I want to prove to him and myself that I can do this. I AM doing this. I don't care how hard it is. Being fat has negatively affected so many areas of my life. I'm done. That's how I know I'm going to succeed.... because I want to. Because I am so sick of being fat and unhealthy and feeling gloomy and crabby and tired all of the time. I want to be happy and energetic like I use to. I want to look pretty like I use to. I look and feel so ugly being fat.... I'm even meaner than I use to be because I'm always in such a bad mood. Being fat just doesn't work for me. I want to be me again. Mainly just to be happy again. I'm always so angry now. But my life is amazing. There's no reason I should be so angry. It's just because I'm so unhealthy. So im going to change it. I'm done being fat. I'm getting my shit back together no matter how hard it is. I'm doing this... and like they say "If it's something worth doing, then it's something worth doing right." I'm doing this, and I'm doing this right. I will NOT give up. Not even when I'm finished.