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youngerdrgrey · 3 years

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[excerpt from] I know you (even if you don't want me to) - chapter seven

since I'm hearing how hungry y'all are (cough @aliyahtheghost + @breeleroux especially), here's the start of chapter seven of I know you (even if you don't want me to) -- Ryan's recovery period is nearly up, so Batwoman is (almost) back bbs. Read on for some roommate talk into some WildMoore texting goodness. This chapter is a true fav.

(includes some talk of police brutality / Crow brutality + violence)

Ryan hops from one foot to the other. She keeps the pressure mostly on the pads of her feet. Light and nimble. Finally back at full form with only one day left in her two week recovery period. She’d do a flip if it wouldn’t make Mary’s head explode. Or disrupt the perfect tuck of her Center Volunteer shirt. Then again, Mary does anxiously hover in the doorway of Ryan’s bathroom. Maybe she’ll explode on her own.

“Mary, seriously?” Ryan reaches for her favorite purple lipstick. “I’m making mocktails and guarding the punch bowl. I’m not even dancing. Doctor’s orders.”

The doctor in question stabs a finger out at Ryan. Mary manages to look menacing even in her little scrubs. “If you so much as think about doing the Wobble—” She stomps into the bathroom.

It’s truly one of the greatest dances of all mankind. Ryan crosses her lipstick tube across her heart.

Mary continues, “I’m leaving you to climb up the stairs on your own. No ice pack, or pain meds, or anything.” Mary takes a deep breath. “Fortunately for you….” She walks over to Ryan to adjust the hair on Ryan’s shoulder. “I know someone who might help you out. Depending on how well your side mission is going.”

If they can call Ryan talking to Sophie a side mission. Ryan applies her lipstick and rubs her lips together.

Mary bats expectant eyes towards the mirror. “You’ve been getting along. Can I draft up the offer letter?”

Ryan smacks her lips. “She’s still a Crow, Mary.”

“A Crow you spent, like, all of yesterday on the phone with.”

Ryan didn’t spend all of yesterday on the phone with Sophie. In the morning, they texted about how awful the playlist for the dance might be. Then they swapped bad songs in the afternoon. Ryan’s personal favorite was a religious remix of ‘The Thong Song’ that truly had to be a parody. (“That God, Go-God, God, God.”) Then they told their personal dance horror stories after Sophie was off work. There were breaks.

Before Ryan can defend herself, her phone lights up from beside the sink. Sophie’s name flashes, and Ryan’s got her phone in her hands in seconds. Mary snorts.

Crowphie to Ryan Have fun making Shirley Temples all night. Here’s hoping someone will forget their school ID so there’s some action at the ticket table

Ryan leans her hip into the sink as she types.

Ryan to Crowphie 👀 You’re looking for action at a school dance?

Crowphie to Ryan Oh yeah, fingers crossed my crush saves me a slow one.

It’s a joke. It has to be, but Ryan thinks back to each near moment between them and feels hope and heat in her cheeks.

Ryan to Crowphie Too bad Batwoman doesn’t do dances

Crowphie to Ryan That’s probably for the best. We’re not on the best terms right now.

Not since the night Sophie rejected Batwoman. The night of “Figure that out, and get back to me. Until you do, I’m done.” Did she really mean that?

Ryan to Crowphie What happened there? She miss a signal flip this week?

Crowphie to Ryan haven’t used it. I doubt she’d want me to. I think I hurt her feelings.

That’s an understatement.

Mary clears her throat behind Ryan. Ryan glances up into the mirror to see Mary’s reflection. The teasing grin matches the tilt in Mary’s voice as she says, “You were saying? About not texting Sophie all day?”

Ryan narrows her eyes as dramatically as she can. “Don’t you have lives to save?”

Mary backs away. “Fine, go back to texting, just think about how much fun you could have talking to Sophie on the comms if she were part of the team.”

Ryan can’t help the sarcasm. “Because me and Luke have so much fun?”

“Obviously it’d be a different kind of fun. Less brother-sister fighting and more….” Mary pauses to think and cringes at whatever she thinks of. Ryan turns around to gently push Mary out of her bathroom.

“Good night, Mary!” she says before closing the door behind her roommate. She probably should’ve stepped out there too, come to think of it. Her phone buzzes again though.

Crowphie to Ryan I do miss going up to the roof. You know, feeling like I’m a part of something, even if I never will be

Ryan drops down onto the stool in the bathroom. It’s an accessibility aid that’s kind of perfect for moments like this. She can take her time. Process without having to actually move around in here. Close her eyes and remember what the wind of the rooftop felt like against her cheeks. With the suit tight to her body and all of Gotham below them. Sophie looks amazing up there.

Ryan to Crowphie You could go flip the signal. Send out that city-wide ‘you up?’ Or an actual you up since you have her number.

Sophie hasn’t texted Batwoman once in the last two weeks.

Crowphie to Ryan You don’t understand.

Ryan chuckles. She’s the only other person that could.

Ryan to Crowphie No, I get it. You could text her if you wanted to talk. Going up there would mean that you want to see her. You want to be with her.

Want to touch her the way Ryan did that night on the roof. The pads of her fingers over Sophie’s waist, their faces so close that it’s a wonder Sophie hasn’t recognized her yet. It goes to show that Sophie’s not that into Ryan as Ryan. Hasn’t memorized the way her jaw sits, or the shade of her eyes.

Crowphie to Ryan yeah

Yeah what? Yeah which? Because Sophie didn’t say it back.

Ryan to Crowphie So you admit it? You want Batwoman?

The typing dots come and go, then come again. Maybe it’s not about Batwoman at all. Maybe Sophie just wants to make out on the roof and be a part of the team. She wants to be Batwoman’s friend with benefits and can’t bring herself to admit it. Fine. Don’t admit anything.

Ryan to Crowphie Can’t blame you. She looks good in the suit 😏 — probably looks good out of it too lol

A perfect cop out for the cop.

Crowphie to Ryan If I wanted to see her without the mask, I could have. We flew together, remember?

Ryan tenses. A painful chill zips down her spine. Does Sophie know? Has she known all this time?

Crowphie to Ryan I didn’t look then because it’s not about her looks or who’s behind the mask. She makes me think. Both Batwomen have. 1.0 got me suspended. It’s the closest I’ve ever come to leaving the Crows. But it wasn’t about everyone then, you know? Jacob Kane hated Batwoman, and I really liked her. Those couldn’t exist at the same time. Meanwhile, 2.0 will not remove her boots from my neck. She’s like you in that way. She takes every opportunity to question my loyalty to the Crows and the people of Gotham. I just wish I knew if I was doing the same. If I was more than just another compromise for her

Fuck, it’s a good thing that they’re texting. Ryan’s whole face burns with that message. Since when is Sophie questioning anything? She never wavers.

Ryan to Crowphie Your Crow-workers beat the shit out of Batwoman 1.0, and you stayed.

Crowphie to Ryan Where else was I supposed to go? The GCPD? I *HATE* what they did, but that will NEVER happen again.

Ryan to Sophie And if it does?

She’s being generous by not saying “when it does.”

Crowphie to Ryan Then I slap my resume on the Bat-signal and hope she doesn’t throw it in the shredder.

Ryan to Crowphie Much more fun to use it for target practice.

Crowphie to Ryan Throw a bunch of Batarangs at it?

Ryan to Crowphie See, you get it 😉

Crowphie to Ryan It’s important to me that little Black girls can see women like us in law enforcement and positions of powers. I want them to know that they can save the world if they want to. It’s not their responsibility, but if it’s their purpose? If protecting people makes them happy, then I want them to know that they are not alone out there. They can make a difference.

There are so many other ways to make a difference. Ryan might have to let Sophie have this for now though. Her heart’s in the right place at least.

Ryan to Crowphie And if that doesn’t work out, there’s always being a ticket taker for a community dance. Shine that flashlight. Ruin somebody’s night!

Crowphie to Ryan Wowww. Spoken like a trouble maker.

Ryan to Crowphie Trouble finds me, okay? No need to worry about me, Agent Moore.

Crowphie to Ryan You sure about that? Your kids might try to fight you, just to see if you’ve still got it.

Ryan to Crowphie Oh I’ve got it. They’ll be too busy following you around to even notice me. Ol’ “Miss Sophie, Miss Sophie” punk asses

Crowphie to Ryan LOL. Ten bucks says they ask me where Batwoman’s been hiding.

Ryan to Crowphie Twenty says they don’t.

Crowphie to Ryan Easy money. You can drop it off at the lobby on your way in 😉

more to come when I drop the rest of the chapter! reply and let me know if you're still with me. try and guess what happens at the dance?

#wildmoore #sophie moore #ryan wilder #batwoman fic #fic: i know you even if you don't want me to #in a fun turn of events it's actually Luke and Mary that have slowed down this chapter. we love them. they got carried away though.#mine #batwoman #ryan x sophie #aliyahtheghost #breeleroux

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procrastinatorimagines · 4 years

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Spoken For

Fandom: Chicago Med / One Chicago

Character/s: Connor Rhodes x Reader, Will Halstead

Warning/s: none

Word Count: 2,684

Request: Hi there, can I get a Connor Rhodes x reader imagine? Where the reader starts at Med about a year after Connor did as she was taking care of their newborn son (they're married). When she starts at Med, Will immediately takes a liking to her, not knowing she's with his rival, Connor. He starts noticing Connor cozying up to reader and reader also being affectionate towards Connor and he gets jealous until one day their son comes to the hospital (he fell), thus exposing their marriage. Thank you

You didn’t regret the time you’d taken off of work after your son was born, but stepping through the door to the ED at Chicago Med you felt an instant sense of familiarity, it was good to be back.

The pregnancy had coinsided well with the move to Chicago, your husband Connor being offered a position there while you were in your second trimester. Being well into your third by the time of the move, you didn’t see the point in trying to find a job right away, and in the end your son had been nearly one by the time you’d made the decision to go back to work.

Given that both you and Connor were doctors you had very busy and demanding schedules, and with Connor already being offered a good job at Med, it made sense for you to be the one to take the time off, but you’d been getting a little stir crazy recently so you’d started to look into jobs in the ED again, by chance ending up with an offer from Med.

Connor was happy for you to be working with him, he co-workers knew he was married, but you knew he didn’t share much about his personal life and liked to keep both separate, so you were excited to finally get to meet the people he worked with.

It felt strange to be back in a hospital, but the rush of the ED had always been where you belonged, so with one last deep breath, you headed inside to start your first day.

You were heading through the waiting room, the desk you needed to go to to sign in right through the glass doors on the other end. The seats were packed, as expected, and you could see nurses and doctors bustling around on the other side of those doors, your new co-workers too. You didn’t see Connor, he’d had an early surgery and you’d refused to let him walk you in and make a scene, wanting to make a first impression based solely on your work as a doctor, not on your husband.

Connor understood, knowing how difficult it was for you today anyway, your first full day without your son. You silently kicked yourself for wanting to call the sitter already to check in, it hadn’t even been a full half hour yet and you needed to make it through a full day.

A cry for help ripped you from your worries as you turned quickly to where the sound came from. An older woman and her daughter had been sat at a couple of seats nearer the entrance, and the woman had now collapsed in her seat, slidling to the floor and seizing as her daughter called out.

There was another nurse in the waiting room, and she rushed to call for aid as you doubled back, rushing to the woman.

“I’m a doctor,” you informed the petrified looking daughter as you reached them, pushing through some onlookers you had started to crowd the woman and crouching down.

“Ma’am, ma’am can you hear me?” You asked her, immediately rolling her over and positioning her head and neck so that her airway was open. She was unresponsive and thrashing violently as you tried to get people to back up and give you room.

“Is she going to be okay?” The daughter asked, distraught as you held her mother’s head, trying to stop it smacking against the floor and attempting to take her pulse as another doctor and nurse arrived.

“She’s seizing, her heart rate’s rapid and breathing’s unsteady,” you informed the doctor who arrived, a tall red haired man who immediately got down next to you.

“Has this happened before?” The doctor asked the daughter who nodded, shaking.

“It’s why we came in, they’re getting worse,” she sobbed and you looked to the other doctor.

“We need to push diazepam and get her inside,” you told him and he nodded, the nurse who arrived with him handing you the dose as she readied a backboard and guerney.

Once it was administered you and the doctor carefully rolled the woman onto the backboard. “On my count, one, two, three,” he said as you both lifted the woman up and onto the guerney, wheeling her inside quickly.

“What we got?” A nurse at the desk inside the ED doors asked, most likely the one in charge, Connor had said her name was... Maggie right?

“Woman seized in the waiting room,” you told her, filling her in on the other details as she directed you to room 3.

You moved her again onto the bed and did a proper exam, the daughter rushing in behind you as you did. Once she was stabilised and tests were ordered, you turned to face the doctor who had helped you.

“Doctor Will Halstead,” he introduced himself, offering a hand and looking at you curiously. Your new ID clearly stated that you were a doctor here, but he’d definitely never met you before.

“Doctor Y/L/N, Y/N” you told him, seeing recognition on his face as he nodded. You’d kept your last name when you’d married Connor, mostly for professional reasons, so you doubted he knew you were married to him, he must have known you were starting today.

“Ah that’s right, Miss Goodwin said you’d be joining us today,” he said, “nice to meet you, and welcome to Med I guess,” he chuckled and you smiled. Despite the fact that any illusion you may have had about easing back into work had vanished quickly, it had been just like riding a bike, you were back to your old self pretty quickly.

The nurse from earlier reappeared. “Hi, nurse Sexton,” she greeted you and you returned the gesture, “you good to work this one with Doctor Halstead?” She asked, gesturing with the tablet in her hand to your patient.

“Definitely,” you nodded as she handed you her charts, it was time to get back to work.

Okay, so you might have called the sitter a couple more times than you should, but not nearly as much as you’d expected. This case had kept you pretty busy and you’d been running around with Halstead all day, even through your lunch with Connor too. He’d been okay with it, obviously understanding how hectic it could be, but by the time you’d had a break to eat he’d been back in surgery, so by the time your shift was finishing up you hadn’t actually seen him all day.

“Hell of a first day,” Will laughed as he entered the doctors lounge, going into his locker as you finished off in yours.

“Could have been worse,” you replied with a smile, not quite knowing why Connor had been off about this guy. From what you’d heard well, you hadn’t expected to like him so much, there wasn’t anybody in the ED that you’d met so far that you couldn’t see yourself getting on with, especially Will.

“Night Will,” you told him, heading for the door before he called you back.

“Hey,” he said and you paused, “if you’re not doing anything tonight there’s a bar called Molly’s we all go to, buy you a drink to celebrate your first day?” He offered and you shook your head.

“Thanks for the offer really, but I have to head home,” you explained and he shrugged.

“Offers on the table if you’re ever interested,” he replied and you said your goodbyes, heading to the car park where you were meeting Connor.

He greeted you by the car and you headed home, discussing your day and spending time with your son. Connor didn’t seem too impressed that Will had asked you out for drinks, but you told him he was reaching, inviting a new co-worker out for a drink was a perfectly platonic thing to do, you reassured him, not that it did much good.

The next few days continued the same, Connor was slammed upstairs and today had been the first day he was back in the ED since you started, no one seeming to be any the wiser about your marriage.

You still hadn’t gone for drinks at Molly’s, too busy with your son after shift, but you’d grabbed coffee and lunch with Will over the last couple of days when you could to go over your patients’ cases, or just because he was the only other person you were really getting to know at Med. You could tell Connor wasn’t entirely happy about it, but who was he to police your friendships? Just because he didn’t always get along with Will, didn’t mean you couldn’t.

“Hey,” Connor grinned as he met you at the nurses station, a tablet in your hand to give him on your possibly surgical patient. He took it without looking away from you, enjoying how you looked in your element of the ED. “I hear you’ve made a great impression so far,” he noted, nudging you playfully.

“So far so good,” you replied as he looked at your notes, nodding along. “It was Doctor Halstead’s call for a surgical consult, but I agree,” you explained as he read, his jaw clenching a little at the mention of Will yet again, but he said nothing, “she’s in treatment 4.”

“Well I’m sure you and Doctor Halstead are right, but I’d like to go speak to her first, and then we can get her prepped,” he concluded, looking back to where the patient’s family was talking outside her room, probably worried about the prospect of surgery.

“Sounds good,” you said, noticing Will approaching, the last of the labs in his hands, “I’ll see you later,” you told Connor, who winked at you and squeezed your upper arm as he left.

Will looked between you and where Connor was walking away with a puzzled expression, “what was that about?” He asked.

“Just going over the notes on our surgical patient,” you replied and he cast one last glance between the two of you before shaking his head a little and changing to subject to the labs he’d gotten back. Was he talking about the wink? You thought after a minute, but by that point you couldn’t really say anything, oh well, they’d find out about your marriage at some point.

“What do you mean he fell? Is he okay?” You asked frantically over the phone, drawing the attention of a number of doctors and nurses as you answered the call near the nurses station, including Will and your husband.

“Is it James?” Connor butted in at your side, watching you nod as you carried on listen to the sitter explaining what happened, apparently he’d taken a tumble near the coffee table and an empty glass had fallen, she said he had some cuts and was crying hysterically, so she was bringing him in right away.

“Okay, okay, we’ll be here when you arrive,” you told her and hung up, turning back to your concerned husband. “He’s okay,” you reassured him, “he’s got a few scrapes but she isn’t sure how deep they are so she’s bringing him in now.”

Connor took a sharp breath, “okay, okay, let’s just... wait until he gets here,” he said, more to calm himself down than you.

“Guys, who’s James?” Will asked finally, having been staring at you both perplexed during the entire conversation.

“Our son,” Connor snapped back at him with a little too much force, but thankfully you saw that he did look a bit guilty about it.

“Your what?” Will repeated, the cogs turning in his head as he looked between the two of you, before he eyes settled on you, realisation dawning, “you and Connor... wait, you’re his wife?”

“Er yeah,” you replied, Connor gesturing for you to hurry it a long a bit so you could go wait for your son, “look, I have to go, talk later?” Will nodded, understanding the urgency but still looking confused as you walked away.

You met a very apologetic sitter at the entrance, your screaming child in her arms as you took him quickly, rocking him and shushing him as you brought him inside, grateful that Maggie had left a room open for when he arrived.

Connor was in the room when you arrived, kissing him on the head as you set him down on the bed. He had cuts on his arms and legs, and a bump on his head from where he’d made contact with the table. To both yours and Connors relief, he didn’t need stitches, but the sitter had brought some of his favourite little treats and his favourite toy to distract him as your husband bandaged him up, checking the seriousness of the bump on the head.

You strocked his hair lightly as he did, watching as he eventually began to settle back in the company of his parents, still sobbing quietly though as he sucked his thumb, arm of his teddy bunched in his fist.

Connor wanted to run a couple of tests while you were there, just to confirm his head was okay, and eventually you left to grab drinks, not wanting to leave your son but glad Connor was still with him.

Will met you by the vending machine as you got a couple of waters. “How’s he doing?” He asked you, giving you a comforting smile.

“Good, Connor’s with him being his overcautious self,” you chuckled, “but he’s okay,” Will looked glad as he took your space in front of the machine to grab a snack.

“Why didn’t you say anything?” He finally spoke up, and you got it, it was strange that you’d been at this hospital nearly a week and not told anyone you were married to one of the surgeons in the same hospital, a surgeon they all knew.

“I wanted to be judged by my own merit at the hospital,” you replied honestly, “not on who my husband is.” At your last hospital... you’d met Connor in your final years of your residency, and you couldn’t count the number of looks and whispers that surrounded you every time he gave you a case or you did well at the hospital, like being with him meant you were being handed success or something. You hadn’t wanted that here, and Connor had thankfully understood.

Will contemplated that answer for a second before shrugging, “fair enough.” You were about to head back to Connor and James when you saw that there was something else he wanted to say, he thought for a second before continuing: “sorry, by the way... for hitting on you,” he said guiltily.

You blinked at him, realising Connor hadn’t been paranoid afterall. “You were hitting on me?” You asked him, a little shocked.

“Why did you think I was asking you out for drinks?” He laughed and you shook your head, you’d been with Connor so long it hadn’t crossed your mind that anyone else would be interested.

“I don’t know, to be nice?” You guessed, unable to believe that you hadn’t seen it from the start. You couldn’t blame Will, he hadn’t even known you were married, let alone to Connor.

“Yeah well, honest mistake, sorry,” he apologised again, rubbing the back of his neck, “I’d appreciate it if you didn’t mention this to Connor though,” he added and you laughed.

Telling Connor? Yeah, that wouldn’t go down well. “Already forgotten,” you told him and he look appreciative.

“Okay well, if you want to go to Molly’s as friends, I’d still like that,” he suggested and you smiled, “Connor can come too if he can stand my company,” he grinned.

“I’d like that,” you told him, glad that this hadn’t ruined your friendship with Will. Will grabbed his food from the vending machine as he got a message about a patient.

“Okay well, that’s me, glad your son’s okay Y/N,” he said sincerely, getting ready to head off down the hall.

“Thanks Will,” you replied, heading off back to Connor and James, laughing to yourself about the whole situation.

#connor rhodes #will halstead #chicago med #one chicago #connor rhodes x reader #connor rhodes imagine #will halstead imagine #chicago med imagine #connor rhodes imagines #will halstead imagines #chicago med imagines #connor rhodes one shot #will halstead one shot #chicago med one shot #one chicago imagines #one chicago imagine #one chicago one shot #one shot

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cdt12345 · 4 years

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This is Ian and Mickey judging people for thinking Ian needs to apologize to Trevor properly, or at all!

I read a comment on AO3 that someone would like to see a fic where Ian properly apologizes to Trevor. Ooh that upset me so much I needed to vent to @luckyshazmrsmonaghansblog and she told me to post it, so I’m sorry for my long rant in advance and if you like Trevor please skip this post. What would Ian even have to apologize for? I’m sorry your an asshole who only gave a shit about yourself.

The whole gay Jesus thing was not Ian’s doing. He didn’t ask for that. He tried to help these kids and things got out of hand partly from his passion to help and partly because he was becoming manic. It escalated even more because those kids took it upon themselves to make things worse for Ian by blowing up more vans in Ian’s name while he was in jail, which was really fucked up. On top of that he just lost his mom and Mickey within a day. If that wasn’t going to lead to a manic episode, I don’t know what would. He can’t be blamed for something he can’t control. In this case it was his mania and other people blowing up the gay Jesus movement. The show never made it clear if Ian stopped taking his meds, but we did see him take them in a previous episode, if I'm remembering correctly. This leads us to believe the meds just stopped working for him.

Last time Trevor spoke with Ian was to convince him to give himself up after the van blew up. (I hesitate to say Ian blew up the van because technically he didn’t. It was his idea sure, but he didn’t actually blow the van up.) If Trevor gave a shit about Ian, he would’ve known this was not Ian. He obviously was having a manic episode, but of course he wouldn’t know that because he never cared enough to find out more about Ian. To really see the person Ian is. Mickey knows the second something is off with Ian because he KNOWS Ian. Better than he knows anyone.

But Trevor was such a self absorbed asshole. Everything was about him. From the beginning it was always what he wanted. Pushing Ian into a relationship when Ian just wanted to be friends. Pushing Ian into sex when Ian wasn’t comfortable with it at first. Even making his last interaction with Monica bad, because he had a bitch fit about showing his ID at the club and started a fight with Ian about it. Let’s not forget Trevor telling Ian to get over what Monica has done to him in the past. This is coming from someone who counsels kids from broken homes and fucked up life situations.

The last time Ian and Trevor spoke, Ian was deep in a manic episode and I’m sure Trevor thought the gay Jesus thing was just going to his head. It’s weird that Trevor deals with kids who have bipolar and/or other issues. Trevor acts as though these kids are his life and helping them is his calling. But when Ian is going through something similar to what these kids have gone through, Trevor shows little to no sympathy or empathy for him. He just acts like Ian is doing this for attention. For example, when Genevieve needed help and place to stay, Ian provided that for her without wanting anything in return. It was just out of the goodness of his heart. Trevor comes to him the next day angry about it and accusing him of doing it just to get his attention and trying to get back together with him. We all know Ian helps people. It’s the kind of person he’s always been. That is a trait he shares with Fiona. Trevor would know that if he really tried to get to know Ian.

Where was Trevor during Ian’s trail? He never gave any support or reached out to Ian. He just disappeared. I'm sorry, but I don't understand why Ian owes Trevor anything! If anything, Trevor needs to apologize to Ian. Ian is happy and with Mickey again, so I don't think he needs that from Trevor. But if they ever ran into each other, it should be Trevor apologizing to Ian. I really can’t see Trevor ever coming to the realization that he ever did anything wrong, so I doubt that would ever happen.

gifs credit to the creators. Sorry I can’t remember where I got these anymore.

#if you like Trevor #skip this post #I don't understand #why people still think Ian owes Trevor anything #cameron monaghan #ian gallagher #noel fisher #mickey milkovich #gallavich #ian x mickey #shameless us

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warmau · 4 years

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★ donation request: college!au hwiyoung

there’s one thing you know about hwiyoung in the two years you’ve been in the same major as him

and it’s that he does not call people very often

actually, it takes at least a week to get a text back unless its urgent homework assignments

so when you get a call - at 6 in the morning no less - you can only think of one reason

“are you dying and you accidentally called me instead of the hospital?”

“no, worse.”

“wh- what is worse then that hwi!??!”

“dawon, my roommate, is sick.”

for a second you think this is a prank call, because there is literally no other reason for hwiyoung

who you’ve really just shared notes with and talked to a bit in between classes

to call you - to help with a sick roommate

you were colleagues, barely even scratching the surface of friends

“um, get him some medicine?”

“no,,,,,i just - do you know how to take care of people?”

you end up standing uncomfortably over dawon’s bed, where he’s coughing up a storm and running a high fever

“ok hwiyoung, he needs medicine. the most i can do is make a cold compress and some soup - after that you should take him to the hospital.”

“i would but dawon is a bit-”

dawon, hacking into another napkin goes: “im not going to the hospital”

“why not? you need medicine!”

“ill just -” he stops to sneeze so loud you’re afraid the whole dorm shakes “sweat it out.”

“you’re both so stubborn, whatever. ill go start on the soup, hwiyoung go and get some tylenol or something.”

you shuffle through the door and down the hall to the kitchen, you hear the soft padding of feet behind you

and turn to see hwiyoung

“can you come with me?”

he asks, wide brown eyes darting to the side

“i dont want to end up getting the wrong thing,,,,,,,,”

you blink - not even sure what to say at this point, you’re already in this absurd situation

so you just agree

you and hwiyoung stand shoulder to shoulder in the ‘cold and flu’ aisle

you keep picking boxes from the shelves and reading them outloud while hwiyoung looks at you like you’re speaking in tongues

you want to make a comment about how you’re surprised he’s lasted this long on his own - but you think thats a bit mean and really it is sweet that hes at least trying for dawon

you finally pick a medicine and on your way back to the dorm, you mutter that you should buy the ingredients for the soup because chances are, neither he or dawon have bought vegetables in a long long - long - time

you make a quick stop at the supermarket, loading hwiyoung’s hands up with everything you need for the soup and by the time you make it back to the dorm

poor, sick dawon has managed to crawl into the living room - sitting like a cocooned butterfly in multiple blankets

hwiyoung hands him the medicine and you give him a glass of water before you instruct him to lay down and sleep while you cook

“hwiyoung, your significant other is so nice”

dawon manages through a hoarse voice as he woozily wobbles back to bed

you don’t hear it, as you’re too focused on starting the soup - but hwiyoung just freezes until you call him over to help

it takes a while to make - even though its the easiest thing in the world - because you have to stop and teach hwiyoung how to cut up carrots or dice chicken

your hands brush his when you pass him a bowl and your voice is kind and reassuring as you tell him dawon will be ok

hwiyoung keeps circling back to dawon’s words - and you don’t notice how he keeps biting back his lip - unsure of if he should tell you about dawon’s misconception or not

he decides not to, as you two wait for the soup to boil and you make yourself some coffee

“hwiyoung, why did you call me of all people to help you?”

you suddenly ask and hwiyoung visably gets shaken up, before his fingers nervously tap on the edge of his mug

“i just - well, i couldnt think of anyone else.”

“what about that nice pre-med you hang out with, rowoon?”

“oh- he’s um - he’s a heavy sleepier so-”

hwiyoung is grasping for straws, no matter if you can see it or not

because weirdly enough he doesnt have an answer for you

he had just thought - if it was me who was sick, who would i call? and you had popped into mind

the truth was, you and him hadn’t interacted much, you were both majoring in the same thing and your classes overlapped

but ,,,, there was something about you

hwiyoung wasnt a people person in the least - but you were gentle and always seemed like you wanted others to be happy

he had never even told dawon, or any of his friends for that matter, that he had started to have a crush on you

but - he was coming to terms that thats what it was

a crush

you jump a little when you look at the timer and tell hwiyoung the soup is done and to go wake up dawon

you get everything into a bowl and carefully make your way down the hall

just before you edge open the door with your foot, you hear the groggy and tired voice of dawon

“so- how long have you been dating them?”

“im not dating them dude, and dont say things like that when they’re around or-”

dawon sneezes, but goes; “or what? you totally like them so just let them know.”

your hands grip the bowl a little tighter, the heat of the soup almost burning your palms but you cant believe it

hwiyoung? likes you?

no, there isn’t anyway- he hadn’t even asked you to hangout as friends before-

“yeah, i like them but im not going to just say it. im not like you-”

the sound of the bowl, along with the soup, clattering to the floor makes both boys jump

hwiyoung’s already large eyes seem to double at the realization that you’ve heard everything

and dawon, in his flu like delirum, just stares

“i -”

you start, but you cant be sure what to say or think, so you just point to the kitchen

“ill get another bowl-”

before you dart away

a moment later, hwiyoung appears in the kitchen and starts to scramble for something to say

and you just tell him its fine, its ok, you guys should take care of dawon first and then talk about what you heard

“its fine, ill get my own soup.”

you and hwiyoung turn to see dawon, up and sniffling

he shuffles to the pot and pours himself a new bowl, looking at you two with a sly grin that turns immediately into another cough

“ill do it because you might drop my soup again.”

he adds and shuffles back down the hall - you look at pot and then at hwiyoung

and hwiyoung just swallows, nervous but obviously ready to say something

“i - i do like you, and im sorry-”

“no - dont be. i - i like you too.”

hwiyoung seems genuinely surprised, which you want to explain as: do you think id drag my ass over to your dorm at 6 am to help your roommate out if i didnt at least like you a little bit?

but you dont, you just come a little closer and press a kiss to hwiyoung’s cheek

he goes pink all over, but a big gummy smile spreads on his lips

“but also, id appreciate a real date some time - not another babysitting dawon situation.”

you half joke, hwiyoung nods - he asks where you’d want him to take you and right before you can answer

the door to the dorm swings open, rowoon - looking panicked - asks where dawon is

you point down the hall and he dashes for it, followed by the sound of a loud thud

“who spilled soup on the floor?!?!?!?”

you cant help but hold back a laugh, hwiyoung joins in with you - reaching out to take your hand in his

#sf9 scenarios #sf9 imagines #sf9 au #hwiyoung imagines #hwiyoung scenarios #hwiyoung au #sf9 #hwiyoung #donation commisions #sfw

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3platoon · 2 years

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Hi! As someone who deals with lifelong chronic GI (gastro intestinal issues) and ive got some little tips for your trouble! (If you want, feel free to ignore if you want.)

1. Of course if you can, look into a doctor that specializes in gastro issues, bc a professional opinion is the best thing you can get. They may also point you in the direction of some over the counter meds that can really be life changing! Don't be afraid to get into detail, ya gotta say whats up.

2. Try to look for probiotic products, they'll help with digestion health!

3. Perhaps do get allergy testing, bc depending on your symptoms you might be allergic to something that you commonly consume.

4. Keep track of what you eat, if you have the attention span keep a record of what you eat and how it makes you feel after. This is how i figured out I'm sensitive to dairy, greasy foods, tomatoes and a handful of other odd specifics!

5. (This is a bit gross srry) but if your troubles lie especially in the in the lower intestines levels and functions, make sure you pay attention to the productions, and log that along with what you ate prior. If you have like, a Lot Of Blood, its not normal and you should get a doc's attention about what to do, for it could mean a lot and not a whole lot good. (As u can see im sidestepping a lot of words um. Again sorry. I know u dont want some anon talking abt the scary/ickyness bits)

6. For some reason i find bread sometimes agitates on bad days (other fam members can recite why but i can never remember why) so if you find yourself making a lot of sandwiches, maybe just roll the ham n cheese or whatev up in a little tube and consume it that way! Or do the bread for lettuce swap but ive heard a lot of recalls so maybe not-

7. If you want a more natural reliever for stomach issues, Ginger is your bestie. Tea, candies, get a product you can tolerate and keep it handy. If there is a ginger candy id reccomend, it would be Gin-Gin's, but specifically the hard candy kind. The flavor is somewhat strong but it's easy to get used to when your bod gets to know it helps (or u can just. Cronch) ginger is the main one i remember currently but research into what can alleviate naturally is worth it, cuz sometimes it's all you need on a decently troubled day!

8. Things like tums can also help, worse comes to worse take some ibuprofen with it too. Pain is best not endured is the motto.

Anyways, that's the advice i have! I hope it helps, pretty please take care and reach out to those that can support you! You deserve to lead as painless of an existence as possible. Gn! - 🦓

marry me right now 💍

YES omg so i am doing some of these things (seeing a GI again, taking ginger frequently (550 mg pills once a day)) but i know i need to get my ass in gear & start logging what i eat & stuff (a little late to do it ten days before my appointment but anything works i guess?)

i did not know that about bread or probiotic stuff and i've been curious about allergy testing for a little while now. i suspect red sauce might be troublesome?? but that's just because that's what i was told is troublesome so. idk LMAO. spicy food is obviously a no go, i will never eat spicy things again unfortunately

all in all your message is very appreciated!!! i have never gotten a thorough bullet list of tips like this before & tbh coming from an actual person it is more helpful than just rereading medical websites over & over and not knowing what's true or what's not u know. i am proposing right now

#ask to tag #illness tw #food tw #not sure what to tag this as i'm sorry bros 😭#long post #asks for me #gastrointestinal #health talk

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unforth · 3 years

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A few days back I read this post in which you explained how you found out your daughter's gender and I just wanted to express to you how amazing it is that you listened to her.

I keep hearing people talking about how it's wrong to let children "decide what gender they want to be" (.........) because they are "too young to really understand what they're saying" (again, .........) so it's nice to see that someone actually LISTENS. Kids need adults, especially their parents, to listen to them when they are telling them who they are.

So thank you for listening and for stressing how important this is!

❤❤❤

For us as a couple it was a no brainer. We're both queer (we’re two married cis women) and we have a lot of genderqueer friends. All the evidence and research on children this young is that they understand gender as early as 2 and can know they’re not cis at that point (the little was about 26 months when she told us, and is 2 3/4 now) and that the best thing we can do as parents is to affirm her. We did have concerns about how some of our family might react and for the most part things went okay but we did have one big conflict with my MIL which has resulted in us seeing her much less, and she's not allowed to be alone with the kids. Her reaction to, "so the little told us she’s a girl...so she’s a girl," was, "at that age my brother thought he was a school bus." (To emulate you... ................) She also blamed me for dressing 'him' that way - "who picks out the little's clothes?” (she knew I did the clothes shopping) “Dressing that way doesn't make the little a girl!" which was the stupidest fucking thing to say...like...the little herself picked out those clothes when I took her thrift storing with me. I just bought what she liked. I literally have a picture of her hoarding two dresses and a skirt that she’d picked out, hugging them to her face while she sat in the cart, from a few months before she told us. She would pitch fits when she’d find something she’d like and I’d be like...little you’re a size 2t and that’s a size 7, we’re not buying it cause it won’t fit you...and she dressed in tutus and dresses for almost six months before she learned how to talk enough to share the gender thing...and we still called her by her birth gender because obviously wearing dresses doesn't make someone a girl. Hell we have lots of pictures of our older kid in a dress when he was that little (I bought like a year+ worth of clothes at thrift shops before I knew the gender of the kid I was pregnant with, since we didn’t find out ‘til he was born), and he never said he was a girl and is at the age of almost 5 very confident he's a boy (so much so that he doesn't want to do "things that girls do" except like his rubrics for deciding what are girl things are hilarious he went on this whole spiel about how Glitter Force is a girl show...while he was watching the Equestria HS spin off of MLP...and asking for sparkles on top of his blue nail polish please...anyway tangent sorry.)

What "made" the little a girl was that *she told us she's a girl* like I can't fathom why people think this is complicated? It’s not like she magically transformed one day, she was always a girl, she just couldn’t tell us. No one knows her better than she knows herself. I'm positive she knew all along, her language skills just hadn't developed enough to communicate. After she was able to tell us, and we started using the right pronouns, her behavior improved a lot. The most memorable thing - a few days after she told us she and I were sitting in the master bedroom while my wife was taking her meds. She did something cute, and I said, “awww, my sweet girl!” and she just lit up, “yes, girl!” So I asked her “does it make you happy when I call you a girl?” and she said, “yes, was sad.” (remember, she’s barely over two when this happened, so, like, not so much on sentences) and so I clarified, “you were sad before?” and she nodded and said, “yes...now happy!”

It was mindblowing. She was so clear about how she felt and what she wanted. I can’t believe anyone, even my MIL, could have heard that conversation and not recognized that this child knew who she was. (I wrote the conversation down, for obvious reasons...we did show it to my MIL, and, well...sigh). My wife told me that she also started telling a lot of stories at bedtime about her stuffed toys feeling broken, but starting to feel better now... (my wife does the little’s bedtime, I do the big’s.)

Other than pronouns and gender id she's the same kid she's always been, her favorite colors are pink and purple, she loves dresses and skirts and rainbows (and Glitter Force, lol) and also loves trains and stuff...because she's a *kid* ffs. And if at some point she does come think this is the wrong thing for her, no harm done, we'll listen. By listening now, we've proven that. She knows she can trust us, and we'll support her and encourage her. I really don't see a losing side to this.

I saw a theory that what freaks people out is they think we're gonna give, like, hormones to a two year old? Which of course not. But if she still feels this way in a decade or so of course medical intervention will start to be a topic...but by then she'll have felt this way for years so what's the problem? It’d be cruel to force her, a girl, to go through male puberty, and anyone thinks that an eleven or twelve year old doesn’t understand enough to make that decision has never met an eleven or twelve year old, like, ever.

I can only assume that the adults like you mention can't remember what it felt like to be a kid. By the time I was the age my big is my parents had gotten divorced and I thought I was a very big, mature girl, and if anyone had tried to dismiss me the way I see many adults dismiss kids I would have been livid. I guess I was lucky, the adults in my life mostly took me seriously (and now those same adults - my parents - have been great toward the little, especially my mom, which proves its not an age or race thing since my dad is a 79 year old straight white god fearing literally runs his church's services once a month dude, and my step mom and mom are both 76 and also white, and they've all been super accepting.) To me it seems stupidly obvious, like...my kids may not know some stuff but they know themselves and I learn more just by listening to them than I'd ever figure out on my own.

My job as their mom is to help them figure out who they are, not force them to be who I think they should be. And I hate that more parents aren't like that, sigh, but I think more are now than ever before, and things will slowly but surely get better. I have to believe that...

(Sorry this got long, by necessity I've thought about this a lot...we're very lucky, family, friends and community the only person who got really weird on us was my MIL, and even she really is trying now...)

#unforth replies #quiltbag #wonder if this will bring any assholes out of the woodwork #oh well

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mzkora · 3 years

Text

SPN TROPE ROUND ROBIN

Round 3- Prompt: Remix/Inspired by @spn-trope-round-robin

Title: tenderized

Rating: G/PG

Author: kestra_troi on AO3 aka me

Inspiration: “Red Meat Well Done”, by catnipster

Tags: Episode Coda for S11e17 Red Meat, Hurt/Comfort, gencest, No Sex, Hurt!Sam, Caring!Dean, Emotions

Summary: After the events of Red Meat, Dean decides to take Sam to a motel for some proper rest.

As they crossed state lines Dean eased off the gas. The distance helped. Sam’s almost death was hundreds of miles and a whole state behind them in the rear view mirror. Along with all his earlier bravado and jokes. That had been much too close. He nearly lost his little brother. Again.

For just a second, Dean glanced over at Sam, watching that broad chest slowly rise and fall. He had lasted all of half an hour before falling asleep, which Dean had taken as proof of how close to that razor’s edge everything had been. A tiny slip here or there and...The End. Luck. It was all pure luck. He studied his little brother, giving him a once-over as he had done for the whole drive so far. Poor kid must have been exhausted. Out like a light with his head resting against the window, his chin propped up by his arm.

Eyes back on the road ahead, Dean turned down the soft rock station so it was more in the background since Sam didn’t seem to really need the help sleeping. He fidgeted in his seat, feeling a bit cramped after so many hours on the road without a single stop. First, he stretched out his legs as best he could within the confines of the car. Then, he rolled the tension out of his shoulders and neck, which popped. He groaned and flexed his fingers only then realizing how tightly he had been holding on to the steering wheel. He took a deep breath and forced himself to relax into the seat. He checked Sam out in his periphery, reassuring himself that his little brother was still there. Still breathing. Still just asleep.

Dean blinked, taking stock of their surroundings pretty much for the first time since they had gotten in the car. Not that there wasn’t much out there to speak of other than the road. Eventually though, after a few more miles, he did see a sign for the next town. Dean considered his options for a moment. Keep driving for at least another four or five hours to get to the Bunker or set up camp in town and start home later? Dean leaned forward to peer up at the sky which was still pretty much grey from horizon to horizon, but the east side was clearly getting darker. Then he sat back and looked at the clock. The sun would be setting soon. Maybe another hour of daylight left at the most.

They’d gone far enough for one lousy day. Sam deserved to rest in an actual bed. Coming back from the precipice all on his own and saving his life in the process? His little brother was a goddamn hero. A badass. And badasses deserved a nice, comfy mattress and some halfway decent pillows. They had earned a short break, right? So, when the exit came up, Dean pulled off the highway and rolled into town. He skipped the skeevy looking places on the outskirts of this run of the mill town for a motel that actually looked like it got cleaned once in a while in what seemed to be their downtown.

The Royal Inn was the one he settled on, with a quiet snort. As if royalty would ever be within a thousand miles of this place, but irony notwithstanding he cruised into the parking lot. He pulled up to the office and slowed to a smooth stop, not wanting to jostle Sam too much. He paused a second and checked Sam over one more time. Still breathing steady. Still asleep.

This one had been way too close. Way. Too. Close. The words kept playing on repeat in his head as they had for the entire day’s drive. Dean frowned, his eyes going soft and watery. With a sniff, Dean unbuckled his seat belt and opened his door, grabbing his wallet out of his back pocket while he got out of the car. He closed the door gently, more so than he normally would bother with and made sure he had the right ID and credit card to match before heading inside. At the office door he stole one more look at Sammy before ducking in to rent a room for a few days. They had earned a break. A mini-holiday. Just until Sam got back on his feet. Then they could go home and bunker down for a while. Maybe have a crappy action movie marathon with all the trimmings. Really live it up for a weekend before jumping back into the fray.

Room key cards in hands, Dean got back into the Impala and stared at Sam for a moment, briefly torn. Wake him now or wait until they were parked in front of the room? Did it matter? Not really. Dean closed his door without being too careful this time and took a hold of the wheel with his left hand while with the right he palmed his brother’s knee. Warm and solid just like it ought to be. “Gotta wake up, Sammy,” he said, giving the knee a squeeze. His hand slid up his brother’s thigh of its own accord and Dean let it sit there a second absorbing some of that wonderful body heat. When Sam didn’t stir, he gave him a couple quick taps to the leg to spur him on. “We’re here, Sleeping Beauty.”

Sam jerked awake and groaned, wincing at his own sudden movement. He blinked, rubbing his eyes as he carefully sat upright. “Dean?”

“Got us a room for a couple nights,” Dean explained, slowly driving off to find their spot. “Thought we could take it easy for a bit. Get you well.”

“I’m fine,” Sam mumbled, running his hand down his face.

“I know,” Dean replied, going along with that ridiculous assessment. He barely held in an eye-roll. After all these years he knew better than to try and argue outright with his little brother. That damn stubbornness saved their lives all the time, but it also annoyed the hell out of him sometimes too. Dean threw on the charm and smarm. “But we’ve both had a rough go the past twenty four hours, so a few days relaxing in a motel with some good, old fashioned pay-per-view will do us good.”

Sam huffed a laugh, then grimaced, one hand going to his stomach. Dean’s playful smirk lost a little bit of it’s sparkle, seeing Sam in pain. His eyes went to Sam’s abdomen, then his face, then back to the parking lot. “Yeah, okay,” Sam muttered, his words tattered around the edges. He swallowed, his mouth obviously dry.

Dean’s face went flat. He kicked himself for not stopping along the way to get them some water. Plus, Sam was really in pain if he wasn’t even going to argue at least a little. The pain meds he had gotten at the clinic must be wearing off. Dean pushed on the gas and scanned the numbers on the motel doors. He found their room and pulled into the nearest parking spot. Soon as he got Sam settled in for the night, he’d make a supply run. Stock up for the next three days of rehabilitation. He held out one of their key cards. “You good to get in on your own?”

“I’m fine, Dean,” Sam insisted, some of his natural brattiness coming out. He took the card Dean offered without another word and started to unbuckle his seatbelt.

The corner of Dean’s mouth curled up into a half smile. “Just asking, princess,” he quipped. “I’ll get our bags. Why don’t you head in and see what they got on offer. Classic Skinemax will put some color back in your cheeks.”

“Dean,” Sam whined, half exasperated and half amused. He rolled his eyes and shook his head, a faint blush rising to his cheeks nonetheless. A full smile spread across Dean’s face. Sam smiled at him, his face full of fondness. “Shut up,” he grumbled, pushing open his door.

Dean watched, still concerned but happy too, as Sam took his time in getting his ass out of the car. Dean waited. If he offered to help Sam would complain some more and wave him off, but every nerve in his body was honed in on Sammy, watching his every movement. Once Sam got his long limbs out and shut the door, Dean snapped into action.

He killed the ignition, yanked out the keys, got out, closed his door, opened the trunk, grabbed their overnight bags, slammed it shut and locked up the whole thing in the time it took Sam to amble his way to the room and open their door. Dean was quick on his heels, holding the door open for Sam once the great lummox passed through despite carrying everything. Sam, meanwhile, flicked on the lights. “Nice place,” he pointed out. Dean shrugged. So maybe he had splurged a little. Instead of the most basic two Queen beds, he had opted for two kings. And a microwave, and mini fridge, and coffeemaker. Basically what amounted to the deluxe suite around these parts.

“Only one in town with WiFi,” Dean lied, shutting down any chance of a debate. He really did not want to have to wrestle Sam into a three-day vacation. He needed bed rest and Dean was damn sure his little brother was going to get it. Sam nodded and headed further in, shuffling his way towards the beds. No rebuttal and no agenda other than going straight to bed. Dean walked inside and placed the Do Not Disturb sign on the doorknob before closing the door and locking them in for the night. “I knew my nerdy younger brother would demand internet access, so he could read articles about tax law and politics and other boring stuff like that.”

“It’s not boring,” Sam countered, tired but still a younger brother. “It’s important.”

“Of course, of course,” Dean facetiously placated while depositing their bags on the luggage rack. Sam wandered to the left hand bed and gingerly reached down to pull out the bedding. Dean hovered, at the ready. Sam got one corner free and most of that one side then gave up and slowly began to sit. Dean strode over and immediately finished untucking the rest of the sides.

“I got this, De,” Sam complained, hissing as he lowered himself down.

“Just making sure,” Dean replied. He yanked the covers out from under his brother as quick as he could and pushed them aside so they could be in easy reach. Once he got to the other side of the bed, he nabbed both pillows and stuffed them directly behind his brother’s back so he would be propped up. Sam didn’t comment on that, but Dean could feel his ambivalence even without him saying anything. He held out his hands so Sam could use him for balance if need be as he turned to lay down. Sam didn’t wave him off, but he also didn’t take Dean up on his silent offer. He gradually lifted one leg up onto the mattress without having to move too much.

Dean saw Sam’s grimace coming a mile away. “Here, let me.”

“I’m fine,” Sam reiterated, his breath huffy with strain. Despite his protests, he went a little limp and Dean swooped in. He crossed back over to Sam’s side and gently eased Sam’s long legs up onto the mattress and out to their full length. Sam sighed, wriggling to find a comfortable position. Dean sat at the foot of the bed and without any prompting started untying Sam’s boots. “De, you don’t have to—“

“Hey,” Dean interjected, all jokes aside. He looked Sam square in the eye. “Lemme take care of you a little, huh?”

Sam bit his lip, whatever masculine rebuke he had at the ready dying away under Dean’s determined expression. He nodded. Dean did the same then went back to taking off his brother’s boots.

The laces were a bit crusty with blood and mud, but Dean untangled them. Then holding the back of Sam’s shin, Dean gently tugged the boot off. Sam took a steadying breath. Dean paused. On Sam’s signal Dean helped him off with the other boot, then placed them on the floor by the bed.

“There. That wasn’t so bad was it?” Sam shook his head, his long hair pushed back behind his ears. Dean grinned and went for the socks. Sam curled his toes. “My feet are cold,” he said quiet and feeble like a little kid.

“Okay.” Dean grabbed the sheets and blanket instead. He draped them over Sam’s legs and tucked them in. Like he used to do when Sammy was a kid. The you-are-not-getting-out-of-bed-without-my-help obvious. He got the bedding up to Sam’s waist, then helped his brother sit up and get out of his jacket one arm at a time. “They give you a list of antibiotics?”

“Jacket pocket.”

Dean fished for a second and came up with the folded print out from the clinic. He unfolded it and started skimming. “What about painkillers?”

“On there too.”

“I’ll get ‘em in the morning,” Dean proclaimed.

“I need a bath,” Sam said, leaning into his pillows like a storybook princess. His eyes already fighting to stay open.

“Tomorrow, Sammy.” Dean stuffed the care instructions into his back pocket and smirked. “I’ll get a bucket and a sponge.”

“And a sexy nurse outfit?” Sam quipped, a sleepy smile on his lips.

“You bet, Sammy. The whole nine yards. Might even get a sexy chick in here to wear it.” Dean stepped up to Sam’s side and helped bring the sheets up to Sam’s chest. Sam let him, doing nothing but pull his arms free and settle them on top of the blanket cocoon.

Dean’s heart clenched seeing Sam so pale and weak. “You gave me quite a scare there for a minute, Sammy,” he whispered, brushing his thumb along his brother’s forehead like he used to do when they were little.

“Sorry, De,” Sam mumbled, a contented sigh escaping as he drowsily leaned into his brother’s soft, warm touch. He closed his eyes.

“Not your fault, Sammy,” Dean assured him. On a whim he couldn’t deny, he leaned forward and placed a kiss on Sam’s forehead. He froze in place, shocked at his own actions. Sam hummed softly. Dean got up in a flash and stepped back only then realizing he was still holding Sam’s jacket. He looked between his brother and the jacket and murmured, “Night night, Sammy.”

Sam mumbled some sounds but then he was out like a light. Again. Dean watched him sleep for a moment, relief and shame and need all warring in his chest for pride of place. He clutched Sam’s jacket tightly, then brought it up to his face. The jacket was still warm from Sammy’s body heat and Dean took a deep whiff. It smelled of hospital, that sterile antiseptic stink, and faintly of blood, but also of Sam. That pure, working-man’s musk he knew as well as his own hit his brain and his chest relaxed.

His Sammy was alive. That’s all that mattered. That’s all that ever mattered, really. Something clicked in his head. A jigsaw piece sliding into place, a perfect fit and necessary for the whole thing to make sense. Sammy. It was always Sammy. And it always would be, Sammy as long as Dean was alive. He didn’t need anyone else. No other soul than the one he shared with his perfect baby brother.

It wasn’t anything he hadn’t already thought or said as much out loud, but that haunting uneasiness regarding that simple truth was gone. As was the shame. Sammy was his world. Point blank. How many times had he proven that to himself, to Sam, and pretty much everyone they had ever met? Sammy was his whole world and his world was alive and needed him. What more could he ask for right at this moment?

#spn trope round robin #gencest #sam and dean #cross posted on ao3 #spn ficlet

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reddieorrnot · 4 years

Note

Eddie tries Richie’s clothes on as a joke but Richie loves it

aww this ones cute, thanks anon :) hope you enjoy!

“The ‘rents said you could sleep over”

Eddie smiled into the telephone, feeling a little stupid realizing no one could see him. Then again, it was better than Richie actually seeing the plastered grin on Eddie’s face. Eddie had had a stressful week at school, studying for hard tests and track meets nearly every day at school, it was a Friday afternoon and he needed to spend his night in an enjoyable way. For most teenagers, that would have meant a party or sneaking into a bar with a fake ID, not for Eddie. His idea of relaxing and having fun at the same time simply consisted of hanging out at the Tozier household. There, he knew he would find comfort in Mr. Tozier’s jokes and Mrs. Tozier’s unmatchable affection. Lastly, he knew he would also spend time with Richie Tozier, his favorite person. He’d never admit that last part out loud though. There were a lot of things involving Richie in Eddie’s mind that he wouldn't say out loud. Things that had been boiling up for a while now.

“Oh cool, I’ll get packing then.” Eddie replied looking around his room, already mentally picturing what to wear and bring.

“While you’re lying to your mother’s beautiful face about how you’ll be at Billy boy’s house instead of mine, give her a big fat kiss for me,” a light laugh came from Richie's side of the call. Unfortunately, all that got out of Eddie was an eye roll.

“I think I speak for all women when I say she’d decline the kiss. Anyways, I’ll be over in like an hour.”

“All women huh? You saying I could still get a nice o’ smacking on the lips from you, cutie?”

“That’s my cue to hang up.”

“Wait-”

Eddie put the phone down, ending the call and letting out a small chuckle. He knew Richie’s comments were just for fun and jokes, but sometimes Eddie couldn’t help but picture the things he said.

What if he could kiss Richie what if Richie wanted that too? Pushing those thoughts aside, Eddie turned his back on the phone and looked around his room, trying to decide what to change into, as he had been lounging in the same clothes he had worn to school that day. Walking over to his closet, he picked out something simple enough to look decent around Richie’s family. No effort was rude, always. Picking up a white t-shirt and some light jeans, he made his way over to the bathroom, grabbing his towel additionally on the way out. Even if Eddie had done an hour of track after school today, he would have still needed to wash up before heading out to Richie’s. Sure, he could shower at the Tozier’s, but there’s something about using one’s own bathroom that doesn’t match any others. Eddie found it funny that here he was, looking at himself in his bathroom mirror before hopping in the shower, and Richie was probably just getting high at this exact moment to some loud band.

After a quick wash, the curly headed boy decided to remain as just that. Instead of blowing drying his hair, he would just let it air dry, meaning his curls would be wild and free for the night. His mother hated when he didn’t keep his hair straight and neat, but she wasn’t going to home until far later than when Eddie would leave. She had loosened up over the years. But it wasn’t a type of loosened up where she understood that Eddie was growing and deserved some more freedom. It was the type that indicated she had just stopped caring. She spoke to herself a lot, mostly only acknowledged Eddie to yell at him about chores in the house and getting his meds. To be honest, Eddie believed that his mother's head had become so clouded by all the food she ate and how much television she watched every day, that there wasn’t much space to comprehend anything else.

He grabbed a duffel bag and first stuffed it with some things from his bathroom. Those things including his toothbrush, his mouthwash, and basically just a sweep of his hand pushing all the medication in his cabinet into the bag. Deep down, he knew all the pills his mother had given him growing up didn’t actually do anything. But for some reason, he felt weird without taking the placebos. Mike once told him that it could be linked to anxiety, and just feeling more normal when Eddie did something he grew up used to doing. Eddie just accepted it though, not trying to fight the urge to bring his inhaler everywhere or these pills when he spent the night somewhere. Most of his friends understood where he was coming from. Richie though, always rolled his eyes when Eddie brought his bag full of meds.

Eddie kind of liked that though, he enjoyed it when Richie would say, “You don’t need that bullshit.”

It made Eddie feel strong.

Suddenly there was a knock downstairs at the front door, catching Eddie off guard. He clutched his duffel bag’s strap in confusion, keeping it on his shoulder. Eddie walked down the stairs wondering if it could be his mother, but that didn’t make any sense. Why would she knock? She had also told him multiple times she’d be out late. Peeking through the peephole, Eddie let out a relief sigh, but then was filled with confusion once more. He opened the door with scrunched eyebrows.

“Why?”

Richie stood in front of him with a smile from ear to ear, “I came to pick you up! Couldn’t wait a whole hour to see you, my Eds.”

“Don’t call me-” Eddie was interrupted as Richie took the duffel bag from his grasp.

“Come on, let’s just go! Maggie was making some food when I left, and it smelled good.”

Eddie shrugged, “Alright, let me just leave my mom a note. How’d you know she wasn’t here, anyways? Could’ve risked her seeing you.”

Eddie spun on his heel and retracted to the kitchen to grab a pen and paper. Writing his mother a short note that he had a project to do with Bill and would just be spending the night there. There was little chance she would actually even read the note, but there was also a little chance she would even notice Eddie was gone.

“I lied, I came FOR your mom, like I do every night, and wanted to show you that she’d never deny a kiss from this hunk,” Richie expressed as he flexed his bicep, or as much of a bicep he had, “Was quite a disappointment when I noticed her car wasn’t outside, but then I realized I could always just take you home tonight instead.”

Now that it was something said in person, Eddie couldn’t hide his pink cheeks behind a telephone. He always got a bit red when Richie made jokes about his best friend, if Richie noticed, he never said anything.

“Shut it, fucker. I’m hungry and want your mom’s food.”

Letting out a loud laugh, the taller boy draped his arm around Eddie. Fortunately, Eddie didn’t move away, he let the arm engulf him and grabbed the spare house key to lock the door behind him as they walked out. Richie rambled about his day,, talking of his horrible math teacher and the way today’s cafeteria lunch sucked horribly.

As they got into Richie’s car, Eddie let out a soft laugh. “You wouldn’t have to eat the cafeteria food if you actually remember to pack a lunch sometimes.”

Starting the car, Richie slightly nodded, “I guess, but for some reason I feel like eating that trash-”

“You are what you eat!”

“Sure, funny, now shut up,” Richie continued through Eddie’s fit of giggles, “I feel like eating that junk builds character in a way. Like how trauma makes people funny, that’’s why our friend group is so fucking funny.”

Eddie just looked out the window, watching the houses pass, “I guess so, you still could just bring lunch from home.”

Richie didn’t say anything to that, and instead turned on the radio and just drove. Eddie liked driving with Richie, it made him feel calm. Doing anything with Richie made Eddie feel some sort of underlying emotions of calmness. Even if Richie was batshit crazy sometimes, and liked to smoke cigarettes on top of buildings after midnight. Even when Eddie followed him and scraped his knee climbing the ladder to the roof of a store, he felt calm. Maybe not as calm as he did right now, but in his heart he felt calm. Richie just sort of felt like home.

They were both silent until Richie’s house, but it was nice.

“We have arrived at your castle, my majesty.” Richie broke the silence as they pulled into his driveway.

“Majesty? Finally decided to show me the credit I deserve, I see.” Eddie told him as he opened his car door and got out. Instinctively reaching for his bag, he realized Richie had already grabbed it from the back. Feeling thankful for the action, he just gave the dork a smile when Richie walked around the car to face Eddie, duffel bag in hand. As they walked up to the front door, Richie just pushed it open without having to unlock it.

Not everyone thinks the door constantly needs to be locked no matter what, Eddie thought to himself.

“Eddie! Is that you?” A sweet woman's voice rang through the house.

“Thanks mom! Glad to see you too!” Richie replied first, obviously joking but making sure to chime in annoyance in his tone.

Maggie appeared in the living room from the kitchen, looking as beautiful as she always did. Richie’s genes didn’t just come from his father. Maggie looked 10 years younger than her age, bright eyes and perfect smile catching anyone's attention. She was tall and lean, yet still had a warm feeling to her aura no matter who she spoke to. The jet black hair that usually cascaded down her back was in a bun, seemingly to be out of the way as she cooked.

“Oh Richard, you know I love you. My favorite friend of yours is here though, let me give him some attention.” Eddie felt bashful as he was pulled into a hug by the women who had always treated him more like a son then the one he came home to every day. Her hugs were like heaven.

“I’m gonna take your bag upstairs, Eds.”

Eddie didn’t have the energy to correct Richie, who was already going up the stairs to his room. Instead, he followed Maggie into the kitchen as she asked about his day and he did the same. Turns out, she had been making cherry pie. The smell made Eddie’s stomach ache as he remembered he hadn’t eaten anything since lunch at school. Maggie must have heard his stomach’s growl since she chuckled and started taking out two plates.

“Oh gee mom, so when Eddie isn’t here yet I can’t have a slice but when he arrives we can feast? Seems a bit unfair to me.” Richie’s presence was made known as he stepped into the kitchen, eyes locked on the pie.

“Pie is always better when you enjoy it with those you love!” Maggie claimed as she turned to cut two pieces for the boys. Neither of them noticed how their eyes widened in the exact same ways. “Here you two are, have them at the table and be careful, cherry stains.”

Richie and Eddie both nodded and moved to the dining table. Taking their seats, Eddie marveled at Maggie’s baking. While he did that, Richie wasted no time taking the first bite.

“Mom!’ Richie said with a full mouth, “My taste buds thank you!”

The visible food in Richie’s mouth and the loud smacking of his chews made the other boy cringe as he took a fork of the pie. Maggie laughed in reply and her footsteps up the stairs were identifiable, along with the shutting of her room door. It tasted better than any desert Eddie had ever tried before. Not that his mom let him eat many sugary things, so basically it was the best desert Maggie had ever fed him. Overwhelmed with excitement to grab another bite, Eddie didn’t pay enough attention to how much of a hold his fork had actually gotten on the next piece. As said fork was brought to Eddie’s mouth, the piece of pie fell off, trailing down Eddie’s white shirt.

“Fuck,” Eddie let out, remembering the cherries did, in fact, leave stains.

“Uh oh, is it your chest’s time of month?”

“Real funny, dumbass. I gotta change out of this and see if running it under water helps at all.”

Getting up, Eddie quickly left the dining table, quick enough to miss Richie sighing and kissing a piece of pie on his fork. “I’ll be back soon, my love, must go help my other love with a crisis.”

They made their way up the stairs and Eddie headed to Richie’s room, knowing he had an attached bathroom there. Eddie wasn’t really thinking of anything besides cleaning his shirt, so the second Richie passed him when entering the room, Eddie closed the door behind him and went to take his shirt off.

“Alright, so you can just lean and put that bad boy under the sink and-” Richie stopped in his tracks when he faced Eddie, who was now shirtless with the stained garment in his hands.

“What?” Eddie’s face flushed in embarrassment, realizing he was now essentially half naked in front of a guy he’d liked for years. Of course, this wasn’t unusual, but the timing felt weird. They weren’t swimming or just relaxing on a hot day. Eddie was just shirtless in Richie’s room, not to mention without warning after shutting Richie’s door. Still, Eddie’s first thought was to defend himself. “You got some joke to make?” He angrily said.

Richie just stood there for a second, staring. Finally he choked out, “No! No… You uh, you looked toned. Very nice. I mean you look very nice.”

Raising an eyebrow and putting a hand on his hip, Eddie questioned, “No joke?”

“No joke.”

“Oh, well… Thank you. Guess I’ve been losing weight from track and then building muscle.” Eddie noticed Richie’s unbreakable stare, wondering if this is what always happened when Eddie was shirtless. Had he just never noticed? What else didn’t he notice? Without saying anything, Eddie proceeded to the bathroom, leaving Richie stuck in his trance. He turned the water on, not sure whether to make it cold or hot, but he wasn’t even sure if this would help anything. He tried rubbing the fabric together, just letting it soak, and even applying some hand wash. But nothing helped. Accepting defeat, Eddie turned off the water and walked back into Richie’s room.

“Where’s my bag? Can you toss me a shirt I packed?”

Richie nodded and walked to his closet, pulling out Eddie’s duffel bag and searching through it. “Hey… Eds? Only your meds are in here.”

Rubbing his hand over his eyes n frustration, Eddie wanted to call Richie stupid for a second, wondering how that was possible. But quickly he remembered how he never did grab any clothes, and had just opened the door for Richie after stocking his bag with pills and left. Richie looked at Eddie, waiting for a response. At first, Eddie could just sigh. It wasn’t that big of a deal ,but he had a bad week, this was supposed to be relaxing.

“I never grabbed any clothes. You knocked at the door while I was grabbing the pills and my inhaler and took my bag. I didn’t realize that was all i had, should’ve noticed at some point the weight was unreasonable.”

“Is it my fault?” Richie pouted, genuinely apologetic.

Tilting his head to the side, Eddie felt bad. “No ‘Chee, it isn’t your fault. Just a dumb mistake on my part, I can just borrow some clothes from you, right?” Eddie joked with a laugh to lighten the mood. Without needing an answer, Eddie kept the joke going by walking to Richie’s closet. He knew this was bound to make the taller boy smile, something that would also make Eddie happy. Eddie looked for a second, then grabbed some band t-shirt he didn’t know of. The shirt was black and brown, with the band’s name written across. It must have been new, because Eddie hadn’t seen this shirt worn a lot. He knew Richie wouldn’t mind though, and as Eddie slipped it on, he took note of how soft the fabric was. It was also very over sized, seen as Richie was a tall guy.

Eddie smiled as he walked out of the closet (and made a mental joke to himself) to look at Richie. Expecting a grin or some sort of joke about Eddie being so tiny, instead he was once more greeted by Richie’s staring.

“You okay?” Eddie asked, concerned at the amount of attention he was getting, short on or off.

“You’re so beautiful.”

Now it was Eddie’s turn to be speechless. He was taken aback and didn’t know what to say. What his brain wanted to say, was that Richie had it all wrong. That Richie was the gorgeous one. Richie and his black hair that just was perfectly messy, his smile that could melt anyone's heart, his sharp jawline, the way he spoke with his hands. Especially his laugh, it was like someone playing a harp to Eddie’s ears. That’s what Eddie wanted to say. Sadly, he didn’t have the courage to.

“Not really.”

“Shut up.”

Instead, Eddie mustered up all the courage he did have, and walked to Richie, wrapping him in an embrace.

“Thank you.” He mumbled into Richie’s chest.

Richie wrapped his arms around Eddie, letting out a breath. They stood like that for a while before Eddie finally pulled away.

“You have the right to wear any of my clothes, literally. Take it all. Leaving me butt naked is worth seeing you wear my shit. It’s like sexy in a domestic kinda way.” Richie said scratching his chin in thought.

“You’re too much Tozier, get your head out of your ass,” Eddie laughed out loudly, secretly wishing he could tell if Richie was serious or not.

Guess he’d find out at some point.

#reddie #richie tozier #it #eddie kaspbrak #richie x eddie #eddie x richie #maggie tozier #reddie fic

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cptsdstudyblr · 4 years

Text

I got a new planner!

[Image descriptions are available at the bottom of the post.]

[Image description after text because it is very long.]

This year, I’ve really been struggling with the digital planner system that’s gotten me through the past 4 years of school. Honestly, I think the fact that all I ever do anymore is stare at my laptop has made that planner less practical for me to use. So, today, I was out and about trying to find a specific size of envelope (which I did not find) and I ended up at YP Books (영풍문고), where I found this planner (the Color Point Study Planner). I honestly picked it up just because it was there and it was cute, but when I opened it I was struck by how well-organized this planner was for someone who likes to plan the way I do. To plan, I need a delicate balance of structure and leniency, because if I tip too far one way or the other, I’ll never accomplish anything.

It’s got this really cute monthly page (which can be customized for any month). You do have to write the days yourself, and as you can see by my scribbles, I momentarily forgot that not every month starts on a Sunday. However, this page is super versatile! I write my assignments and exams here and color code those days, and I use the unlabeled checklist at the bottom right to make a brief to-do list for the month. Once I finish something, it gets marked off or highlighted! I think this is a really helpful way to visualize my schedule and make sure I don’t lose track of any due dates.

Each month also comes equipped with daily pages. Once again, you do have to customize these yourself, but that’s part of what I like about it. I can skip days if I need to and I can make sure that the page handles what I need how I need it. These pages are quite complicated, but I’ll give you the basics of how I use them.

At the top, there are 3 blanks after the date. One is labelled “D-Day,” but I instead use this to label the day of the week as I find that much more useful for me, then I fill out how many hours I plan to study (I do this at the beginning of the day so that it motivates me), then I put my general goal or plan for the day to the right. Below that, in the “Check Point” space, I put the two biggest goals I have for the day task-wise. These are usually my highest-priority tasks.

Obviously, the bulk of the space is used for a checklist, which I use to outline all the tasks I need to do that day, both school and otherwise. To the right, in the schedule space, I plan my day to make sure I can get everything done that I need to get done. There’s also a space at the bottom that I use to write events and extremely important tasks (such as exams and due dates).

Overall, the point of this post is that it’s really important to find an organizational system that works for you, whether it be digital or paper. My personal suggestion for figuring out your best system is just trial and error. Unfortunately, trial and error can be quite expensive, so I’ll include below some tips to find a good system for you without breaking the bank:

Try digital first! Most digital platforms are free (or at least have free trials), so this is a great place to start to save money. It’s also a great way to figure out what elements of different systems work for you - even if digital isn’t your thing, you might realize that you prefer a to-do list over a calendar, or that you work really well with a super structured study schedule. That info can help you find a paper planner that will work well for you.

Go to the store and look at physical planners. Once you have an idea of what you’re looking for in a planner, go to a physical store (or multiple) and spend some time looking through a bunch of planners. Once again, even if you don’t like any of them, this might help give you an idea of what you do and don’t like.

Print out (or draw) planner pages. If you want to test out a style of physical planner without buying it, find an online PDF or create your own and print a few to test out. You can also draw it (just make sure to take a photo in the store so you can do so accurately) in a regular notebook for testing purposes.

Do research. There’s lots of different methods of planning schedules, keeping track of due dates, and journaling besides the typical Google calendar and to-do list or the standard paper planner. A great example is bullet journaling, which allows you to create your own planner and change it up as you want.

Eventually you’ll figure out what planning style works best for you, and you’ll find the perfect paper planner to purchase if that’s what you decide is your best option.

[Image description after the read more:]

[Image description:

Image 1/4: There’s a pink notebook. On the cover are a man and a woman holding smiley face signs over their faces. Below them, text reads “Anything is good if I can do it with you. Whether it’s laughing together, studying together, or playing together, everything is twice as wonderful when you are doing it with me.” In the top left, a blue sticky note covers the user’s name and on it is written “@cptsdstudyblr.”

Image 2/4: This is a two-page notebook spread. The pages are white with a purple outline. The page is titled “How to Use Study Planner.” The two pages detail how each page of the planner is intended to be used, but most of the text is in Korean (transcription note: according to Google, the Korean alphabet would not work with English screen-readers, so I haven’t included this text). There are 7 steps labelled in English for using the planner.

About my goal

Time table

Monthly study plan

Daily study plan

Exam plan & result

Internet lecture check

Mock test record & graph

Transcription note: I’m happy to provide the Korean contents of the page for anyone who is interested, but I don’t want to break everyone’s screen readers.

Image 3/4: This is a two-page monthly calendar spread. The pages are primarily white, with a yellow bar across the top. The number 10 is circled in the top right to indicate that the page is for the 10th month. The days of the week start from Sunday and go to Saturday. The month is labelled from date 1 (a Thursday) to date 31 (a Saturday). Below are listed dates with special notes:

October 4 - Micro HW. This date is highlighted purple, and the text is highlighted yellow to indicate that the assignment is complete.

October 7 - Networks HW. This date is highlighted purple, and the text is highlighted yellow to indicate that the assignment is complete.

October 8 - Critical Thinking Paper. This date is highlighted purple, and the text is highlighted yellow to indicate that the assignment is complete.

October 10 - Korean HW. This date is highlighted purple, and the text is highlighted yellow to indicate that the assignment is complete.

October 11 - Micro HW. This date is highlighted purple, and the text is highlighted yellow to indicate that the assignment is complete.

October 15 - Micro HW. This date is highlighted purple.

October 18 - Micro HW. This date is highlighted purple.

October 22 - Comp Pol Exam. There is a bubble around the words and the date is highlighted pink.

On the far right is a cute, colorful drawing of a woman studying with her dog and the quote “It’s more fun when you study together than alone!” Below that is a checklist with the items “Vote!,” “Student ID,” and “Midterms.”

Image 4/4:

This is a two-page spread consisting of two daily planner pages. The pages are primarily white with a yellow outline. The leftmost page is as follows:

There are two columns on this page. The left column’s top row has three sections - “Date - 12,” “D-Day - Lun,” “Study Hours - 5.” (Transcription note: The “D-Day” blank is used for the day of the week instead of the proper use, and the days of the week are labelled in French rather than English.) The second row of that column is labelled “Check Point” and has two bullet points “catch up on micro” and “be ready to vote.” Below that is a small slot to put a song of the day, which is “SKZ (Transcription note: SKZ stands for Stray Kids) - Slump (Japanese ver.). Below is the checklist for the day. It includes both the priority and the item as follows:

HI - buy envelope

HI - micro lab video

HI - Korean class

MED - micro lecture

LO - micro HW (lecture)

MED - grocery shopping

HI - Korean HW

Below this checklist is a doodle of a woman studying.

The right column of this page starts on its top row with the slot “Goal,” which is filled with the phrase “catch up.” Below that, the user has indicated that they woke up at 11:30 and went to sleep at 1:30. Below that, they have colored 4 water drops out of 5 and given the day a score of 4 stars out of 5. Below that is a timetable for the day, which is filled with “Shop” from 13:00 - 14:30, “Study” from 15:30 - 17:00, 20:00 - 20:30, and 22:00 - 23:30, and “Korean” from 18:00 - 20:00. The right page is as follows:

There are two columns on this page. The left column’s top row has three sections - “Date - 13,” “D-Day - Mar,” “Study Hours - blank.” (Transcription note: The “D-Day” blank is used for the day of the week instead of the proper use, and the days of the week are labelled in French rather than English.) The second row of that column is labelled “Check Point” and has two bullet points “vote” and “micro HW.” Below that is a small slot to put a song of the day, which has been left blank. Below is the checklist for the day. It includes both the priority and the item as follows:

HI - drop off ballot

HI - comp. pol lecture

MED - micro HW (lab)

MED - micro HW (lecture)

HI - Korean HW

LO - religion series plan

Above this checklist is a doodle of a man sleeping.

The right column of this page starts on its top row with the slot “Goal,” which is filled with the phrase “micro HW.” Below that, the user has left the wake time, sleep time, water consumption, and daily score fields blank. Below those is a timetable for the day, which is filled with “Vote” from 9:00 - 11:00, “Study” from 12:00 - 14:00 and 14:00 - 18:00. The bottom of the page has been censored with two blue sticky notes that read “Plans for the day! Censored for safety reasons.”]

#university #college #high school #studying #study #study tips #studyblr #planner #planning #to do #todo #to-do #image description #accessibility

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alarawriting · 4 years

Text

52 Project #6: Birds

(I am not 100% positive that this is a story per se, but it’s as much of a story as China Mieville’s “The New Death” and other such “new weird” stories, so... here you go.)

***

One day all the men in the world woke up to find that they had been turned into birds.

It began in New Zealand, where a day is first born on the planet Earth. By the time that women were waking and going into hysterics because the men and older boys in their lives had all turned into birds, the men of Central Asia, India, and the middle of Russia had already gone to bed. It was late enough in Europe that many men were getting ready for bed; a large number of them missed the warnings. Not that the warnings helped; men who tried to stay awake all night stayed human, but sooner or later, they all had to sleep.

In Western Europe and the Americas, there was an idea that maybe if someone would keep waking a man up, he wouldn’t turn into a bird, so many women kept watch by their husbands’ bedsides. It didn’t help. No one was able to see the transformation; they’d blink and a human lying in bed would suddenly be a bird. Even with high speed cameras, it proved impossible to catch the transformation. One frame, human man; next frame, bird. And they were many different kinds of birds – pigeons and roosters and peacocks, ostriches and starlings and falcons, flamingos and penguins and seagulls. Practically every kind of bird you can imagine, including some extinct birds – at least two men became dodos and one became a passenger pigeon.

Fortunately, it turned out that the birds could still talk, and sounded exactly like the men they used to be. This was helpful when linking birds to their former identities, because of course, none of them matched the pictures on their ID cards. It took a little bit longer to convince everyone, closer to a week, but eventually it was proven that the birds all retained every aspect of their former intelligence and personality.

Birds argued that this meant nothing should change significantly; birds could still go to work at their old jobs. This was true of birds who worked in banks and in IT and in management, for the most part, but any jobs that required physical strength, dexterity, or simply having a human-sized body? Birds couldn’t do those jobs. So for a while there was a severe shortage of plumbers, electricians, construction workers, garbage collectors, and bus drivers. Some New York city pigeons argued that if people with no legs could drive cars, surely adaptive equipment could be built to let pigeons drive the buses, but it was easier to get women to do the job than to build such equipment. Birds either lost their jobs entirely in those kinds of industries, or were kept on the payroll to teach women how to do what they had been doing when they were men.

For a while it was thought that there were occasional anomalies – men who didn’t turn into birds, women who did – and this gave people some idea that the situation could be reversed, but this proved to be a false hope. To a man, everyone who didn’t turn into a bird was not in fact a man; anyone with a penis who didn’t turn into a bird was either a trans woman or a nonbinary person. Likewise, trans men did turn into birds – male ones. All the birds were physiologically male even if they had seemed to be women when they were human. This was a stressful situation to be sure, since all the trans women had just been forcibly outed, but on the other hand, it was fairly good evidence for their contention that yes, they really were women, that whatever force had transformed the men hadn’t touched them.

After an initial difficult adjustment period, birds who’d been men were soon flying, or in the case of penguins, swimming. Some domestic geese and roosters, too heavy to fly, hit the gym to train their wings and lose weight. Personal trainers who were now birds devised regimens that other birds could follow, to strengthen their wings, and personal trainers who were still women helped birds to do the regimens, since there weren’t yet gym machines designed for birds. Birds discovered, to general happiness on their part, that whatever special ability the bird they had transformed into had, they now had it. So pigeons could always find their way home, and roosters could crow. Roosters in fact were very, very fond of crowing. Owls could see very well in the dark and eagles could see tremendous distances and parrots could imitate any sound they heard and pelicans could stuff their beak full of whatever they wanted to carry.

In addition, the birds they’d become seemed to have some connection to the personality they’d had as men. Men who’d thought there was no place like home became pigeons. Men who’d been models or actors who’d loved to show off their handsome bodies became peacocks. Men who were short and aggressive and always on the go became hummingbirds. The species was usually appropriate to the location as well; birds of wild, native species always turned out to be living in the area that species was native to. Temperature and environment seemed to also be a factor; the only men who turned into penguins had been living in cold places, near water. Since the entire Southern Hemisphere was having winter at the time, this might have resulted in a disproportionate number of penguins in Africa and South America, but it was more common for birds who weren’t penguins, who’d loved Polar Bear Challenges and skiing and cold weather sports, to regret the fact that they weren’t penguins because it was too hot for penguins where they lived when the change came, than for penguins to regret their penguin identity.

This was all quite nice and a boon for the birds, whose lives had been so very disrupted by their transformation, and many argued that in fact they had the far better deal than the women who’d gotten to keep their humanity; they had their intelligence and their speech but they could also fly. How awesome was that? Women generally responded to such comments either with amused tolerance, or with an obscene gesture that involved the use of an opposable thumb, because of course that was the main thing the birds had lost. Many bird talons were very dexterous and had opposable thumbs, but they were feet, and the birds couldn’t use them for the same tasks that had been easy for hands. Deaf birds were devastated; by losing their hands, they’d lost speech. They could type notes to their wives or mothers or other birds in their life, but it wasn’t the same. Groups of deaf people, both birds and women, gathered to discuss and work out signs that birds could make, but this was essentially telling birds that they needed to learn an entirely new language to translate their own into.

Plus, there were certain biological realities that had upended the order of things that humans had grown to expect. Now, aside from a few ostriches, cassowaries, emus and other very large birds, every human woman was bigger than most of the birds. Birds who’d been abusive men found themselves in cages, and when policewomen and policebirds came to do wellness checks and investigate why a certain bird hadn’t been seen in a long time, those cages often ended up in closets or the basement or the attic, and were never found by the police.

It wasn’t all that suspicious. Many birds, especially ones who’d lost their jobs, had decided to give up on running the human rat race, and had abandoned their human families and flown off with a flock of like-minded birds, usually of similar species. Why not? Birds could forage for food on their own – they didn’t need to go grocery shopping. Why did they need money, or jobs? They could live like the wild birds did!

A lot of these came back, injured by predators or far too thin, because they didn’t know nearly as much about getting the available food as the never-human birds did.

Many birds died in the early days – cancer patients couldn’t get chemo that would work on birds, but they still had cancer. Men who’d needed open heart surgery became birds too small for anyone to safely operate on. Also, there weren’t nearly enough trained bird doctors. Most veterinarians knew dogs and cats; bird specialties were rare. And obviously, human doctors knew nothing about birds. So there was a massive shortage of doctors who could do anything about the problems birds suffered, and half of the few doctors there were, were birds themselves.

Birds who were vets with a specialty in birds were shadowed by women who were vets, and sometimes women who were human doctors, trying to learn all they could about care for birds. Women and birds in veterinary colleges elected to learn about birds, and the same professors who taught bird specialties to veterinarians were called in to teach med students. Most countries allocated huge amounts of money to getting bird doctors trained up and ready as soon as possible.

The balance of power shifted. In the United States, several female senators argued that birds had no business being allowed to make laws for humans. What if all they did was vote for free birdseed and the extermination of cats? The bird senators argued that the United States was now a country for both humans and birds, and needed to be represented by both. The women pointed out that there were far, far too few women for that to make sense; birds should represent birds and women should represent women, and since every senator here had been voted for by humans, and now only women were humans, all the existing seats in the Senate should be taken by women, and birds could go have their own Senate. Some human senators from states where gun rights were important showed up to the senate exercising their Second Amendment rights to carry weapons… which, of course, birds could not do. In response, a falcon insisted on reading the entire script of Alfred Hitchcock’s The Birds into the senatorial record. In the end it was decided that the states would vote on a constitutional amendment to set aside one seat per state for a bird and one for a woman, and in the meantime, a lot of senatorial birds got female aides or proteges to speak for them in the Senate, so anything the bird wanted to say went through the human first.

Many other countries went through similar experiences. In countries where women had been virtually or entirely shut out of power completely, birds found that their expertise in rule was not desired, thank you, and many, many birds found themselves in birdcages. Large numbers of women objected to this, arguing that if it was the will of God for women to rule, God would have already allowed this. Other women retorted that what better evidence did you need that God wanted women to run things than that God had turned all the men into birds? More egalitarian countries generally had more peaceful agreements between women and birds as to how to split up leadership roles.

The President of the United States – the new one; the old one had been tragically killed when he’d transformed into a house wren, a very small bird with a very loud mouth, and the First Lady had accidentally rolled over on him in the middle of the night – agreed to abdicate in favor of the Speaker of the House, who was a woman, if the House would pass an emergency resolution that there would be a new election as soon as possible and that birds and women should both be explicitly authorized to vote for any candidate of either type, bird or woman. Birds were suddenly very much in favor of gun control, and while many women had been in favor of total freedom to use guns, more women in general favored gun control as well, so the United States finally got sensible gun laws.

In Great Britain there was a kerfluffle – Queen Elizabeth was ancient and her heir was a bird. It was argued that birds, no longer being human, could not possibly still be part of the royal bloodline. Birds, of course, argued against this proposition, and women in Great Britain didn’t generally have guns. They did, however, have rocks. It turned out that the remarkable human ability to throw rocks was now a problem for birds. Her Majesty ended the conflict by demanding that Parliament pass an emergency amendment allowing birds to serve as King so long as there was a woman of sufficient rank and bloodline standing as his Queen.

Of course, all of this was going to be moot very soon if humanity didn’t confront the elephant in the room – sex and reproduction.

The sperm banks were going to deplete within a generation. Trans women and nonbinary people born with penises could make a great deal of money selling sperm, if they still had the equipment to make it with, because women still wanted children. Immediately after the change it had seemed that perhaps the human race would be spared after this generation, because baby boys hadn’t transformed – boys as old as 4 had remained human. However, within two weeks, the news went around the globe that a little boy had just turned into a bird, and it continued to be the case that as boys aged, they would transform into birds too. The population of humans who still had testicles that worked was very, very small, and scientists warned that there would be unacceptably high risks of massive interbreeding if every cis woman who wanted a baby was buying sperm from a trans woman. Fertility experts worked day and night on finding a way to either cause a somatic cell in vitro to undergo meiosis, or to permit two eggs to be merged into a viable zygote.

Birds had lost all sexual interest in human woman. Many birds still had lingering romantic feelings for the women they had loved, but it wasn’t sexual. Instead, they were sexually attracted to other birds of their species. The gay and bi birds were widely considered to have gotten the best of it, since while many male-male couples were broken up by the two birds being of different species, at least some got to be two birds of the same kind, and they could continue to be lovers. And some couples made it work even when they were different species of bird. Obviously, nearly every single heterosexual couple – with a few kinky exceptions – lost their sex lives completely. Birds who’d been straight men would mate with never-human birds, and while many women, and some birds, argued that this was bestiality and it was repulsive and should be against the law, most birds felt that it was necessary. What other options did they have?

Meanwhile the sex industry was turned upside down. Prostitutes and porn stars and other sex workers suddenly had no clients interested in what they had to sell. But they knew the truth – human women were horny, and desperate for sexual contact with human men, which could no longer happen. Straight-up porn of the wham bam thank you ma’am type was not appealing to most women; whether having been raised to think Good Girls Don’t, or having some biological predilection, none could say, but the truth remained that women wanted their porn in context, with men who had strong emotional bonds with the people they were ostensibly fucking. Lesbians had no trouble finding porn in the new world, but it was heterosexual women who were starved for sexual attention, and they were the new big market.

Different strategies for creating porn with men in it were used. Some dead men or former men were resurrected on film by the miracles of CGI. Women with strap-ons could be rotoscoped into handsome men. The biggest new market, however, was animation. Birds still sounded like men – their voices tended to be tinny, lacking the full timbre of a human voice, but this could be fixed by a good sound mixer – so voice acting became a very popular profession for birds. Some birds went into doing phone sex; they weren’t interested in human women anymore but they were interested in fat paychecks, and they remembered what it had been like well enough to act.

Similar transformations encompassed Hollywood and in fact the entire entertainment industry. Rock stars who’d been famed for their voices could still sing, but they couldn’t play guitar, or keyboards – some birds managed to keep up with drums – so birds who could sing ended up making albums with women who could play instruments, and the stars who’d been famous for their virtuoso skills with their instruments… either went into singing also, learned how to program synthesizers to sound like the instruments they’d once played, or took advantage of their ability to mimic noises to be their own instrument, singing like a bird instead of like a human. Or left music entirely. Theatre, for the most part, dressed up women to play the parts of men, although some more avant-garde productions kept birds in some important roles. Movies and TV became dominated by CGI and traditional or computer-assisted animation, although some television shows set in supposedly modern times just rolled with it and incorporated the bird transformation into their storylines, so they could keep their bird actors.

Things settled down after it had been a year or so since the transformation. Birds still worked in entertainment and in professions where their minds were their greatest assets – writers, professors, researchers, programmers – and in most countries, were guaranteed all the legal rights they’d had as humans, though some countries had adopted new rules regarding bird representation in their government. Women did everything else. This left a lot of unemployed birds – they couldn’t all do phone sex – and many of these either opted out of the human race, joining in flocks of like-minded birds, or they stayed in their homes all day, surfed YouTube, and played video games with controllers that had been designed for birds.

It was around that time when scientists made a tremendous breakthrough. Sperm from birds, if collected rather than deposited into another bird’s cloaca, would, after two or three days in a refrigerator, spontaneously transform into human sperm. The human race was saved. Birds still didn’t have any sexual interest in human women, but many birds were definitely interested in the ability to father human children; their bird children were ordinary never-human birds, unable to speak. Fortunately, birds who’d been romantically interested in women back when they were men were often still romantically interested in women, and women found that they were entirely capable of falling in love with birds. For sexual release, birds needed to be with birds and women usually turned either to vibrators or to women (or sometimes nonbinary people with penises, but many of those felt uncomfortable in relationships with average women, feeling that most women saw them as men even though they weren’t), but women could pet birds, and birds could preen women’s hair, and birds and women could still join finances and households and raise children together.

The killing of birds was outlawed almost everywhere, since how could you tell the difference between a never-human bird and a bird who was just tongue-tied? Some argued that the killing of female birds should still be okay, but others pointed out that birds could father never-human female birds, and that even though their children couldn’t talk and had animal intelligence, they still loved them. The poultry industry was devastated. People discovered that lizards tasted just like chicken, and soon breeding lizards for food was a new norm. Unfertilized eggs were still considered edible, so hens were still raised for eggs, but never-human roosters were often dumped in the woods because they couldn’t be killed and they weren’t useful to egg producing farms. They usually ended up feeding some creature who wasn’t a human. Sometimes those creatures were formerly human birds of prey like falcons or eagles, who knew it was illegal to feed on other birds, but knew they’d probably get away with it because no one cared about the never-human roosters except some animal rights activists. Roosters who had been human were not legally allowed near the egg farms; no one wanted them to mate with hens and perhaps produce rooster chicks who’d eventually be abandoned in the woods. It was, however, perfectly legal for a rooster to buy hens and keep them in a coop at his home, as long as he understood that he had the obligation to protect and provide for any offspring from such a union.

Eggs being breakable by rooster beaks, very few roosters actually ended up having to support chicks of their own.

Before long, things had settled down into a new normal. “People” now consisted of human women (and non-binary people, but they were a small enough part of the whole that sadly, people kept forgetting they existed) and talking birds. In addition to having a birthday, boys got to celebrate their bird-day, the anniversary of their bird transformation, and All Birds’ Day – the anniversary of the day the world changed -- was an international holiday. Girls and non-binary children – basically, all the kids who remained human – would study “humanity” between the ages of five and seven in preparation for their “confirmation”, an official recognition of their human status. While humanities, plural, had once meant the study of art, literature, history and languages, “humanity” was a class aimed at children that focused on human history (with rather more emphasis on the contributions of women than their parents remembered from their schooldays), and at teaching skills that were specific to being human, or at least, to not being birds. Throwing balls. Playing musical instruments. Endurance running. In rural areas, shooting a gun. In coastal areas, swimming. This wasn’t technically unique to humans – penguins could swim underwater, and many birds could swim on the surface – but it was true that most birds couldn’t do it. Sometime between a human child’s seventh and eighth birthdays, they would usually have their confirmation ceremony, affirmatively declaring their humanity, and then they’d get to celebrate their “human-day” like the boys got bird-days.

This was done as late as it was because of the trans boys. Most trans boys didn’t change as young as the cis boys, but almost all of them had changed by the age of seven. A rare few wouldn’t change until they were teenagers; this was thought to be the result of the hormones of puberty hitting the brain and finalizing the child’s gender. This didn’t happen the other way around; birds had much shorter childhoods than humans, so little boys would always change into adolescent birds. The lifespan of formerly-human birds seemed to equal to the lifespan of humans, not the species they’d turned into – at least, so far, although at this point no one could yet tell if maybe the parrots might have been shortchanged a bit -- but the boys got through adolescence and into physical adulthood long before their skills at navigating civilization were solid. High speed cameras left focused on apparent boys successfully, once or twice, caught a moment where a child became a bird and then immediately turned back into a human, and after this they were always certain that whatever they were, they weren’t boys, even if they’d seemed to identify as boys previously. So trans girls and nonbinary children with penises were never birds for longer than half a second, because when they changed into birds, the hormones that finalized their gender were already present and said that they weren’t male. However, these cases were very, very rare – in general, a child of seven was either a bird or a human and would remain so for the rest of their lives.

It was somewhat more than two years after the transformation when a new phenomenon was discovered. Fledgling birds would wander into cities or other human settlements, go to sleep on the ground even if they were a bird species that normally roosted up high, and then they’d turn into toddler girls. Invariably, when it was possible to figure out where they’d come from, it turned out they were the result of formerly-human birds mating with the female offspring of other formerly-human birds, so in a sense, these birds were three-quarters human to start with. It didn’t seem to happen to all of them – in a clutch of four eggs, all of which hatched female, maybe one would be strongly attracted to humans, and the ground, and would then turn into a human child. Generally, when birds saw female fledglings on the ground near human habitation, they would bring it to the attention of women, who would often scoop up the bird and keep her in a human crib for a while. If she didn’t change, she’d eventually fly off. These bird-girls didn’t know human speech, obviously, when they first transformed, but they caught up and were usually fully verbal to the expected level for their development after a year or so. They tended to be more independent than human children of the same apparent age, but also very sociable, craving the presence of humans. Some longed to fly and begged their adopted mothers for hang gliders and zip lines; some were very happy with being grounded. Egg-clutch-sisters of the human bird-girls remained non-human birds, unable to talk, but were often far more intelligent than their species would normally suggest, as were their brothers.

Humans worried about what might be happening out in wilderness where humans rarely went, and where a fledgling bird would have a hard time finding a human habitation, but no one ever found a child, alive or dead, in those circumstances. Perhaps whatever compelled the bird-girls to seek the ground and the presence of humans wouldn’t allow them to transform if they couldn’t find those things.

Life returned to normal. Bird boys went to school beside human girls. (And nonbinary children. They weren’t common, but they existed in large enough numbers that there was usually at least one in a normal-sized school at any given time.) Boys who couldn’t find a profession that was open to birds that they would enjoy would graduate and then, often, fly off to spend a few years in semi-wild flocks of formerly human birds. Very few girls ever had trouble finding a job, given that all the jobs that birds could no longer do fell on them. Both were encouraged to get a good education to ensure they could get a job they actually wanted.

It was very useful for humans and birds to live together, if the bird wanted to live as part of civilization and have access to internet, television and refrigerators for their bird food. Birds and humans could pool their income, raise children together, and compensate for each other’s species-based inabilities; among the things birds could do that humans could not were environmentally friendly bug extermination (many birds loved to eat bugs, and with human intelligence, it wasn’t hard for them to seek out and destroy anthills and wasp nests), alerts for potential dangers (bird hearing and eyesight were often better than human, and prey birds, with eyes on either side of their heads, could see a wider range than humans with their stereoscopic vision), and early detection of noxious gas (when a bird in your house complains that he’s dizzy, you grab him and run.) And of course there were many, many things that the women could do with their height, strength and opposable thumbs, that the birds could not. Because of these advantages, and because birds and humans could be romantically attracted to each other, birds and humans began to date, just as they had when the birds were men, but without any expectation that they would have sex (aside from formerly mentioned extremely kinky couples.)

Birds who resented the lack of opposable thumbs or human size learned to pilot robot drones that had such things; humans who resented the lack of flight took up ballooning, small aircraft piloting, hang gliding, bungee jumping, and every other thing that humans had always done to get as close to flight as they could. Oddly enough, almost everyone was happy with what they were. Little boys would eagerly share with their preschool playmates what sort of bird they hoped to be, but whatever they got, they usually found they were satisfied; little girls might initially be upset that their playmates got to be birds and they didn’t, but by a girl’s confirmation she’d been taught all the advantages of being human and usually thought it best that that was what she was. Birds and humans might be somewhat resentful of the other’s abilities, but in the end most of them agreed they wouldn’t really want it any other way.

Aside from the deaf birds, who had to completely reinvent sign language for talons and wings, accommodating disabled humans’ needs became much, much easier in a world where companies and governments had to accommodate birds of various sizes, abilities and needs; at least usually the disabled humans were roughly within the same size and shape range, in comparison to the diversity of birds. Racism remained, but was much harder to act on; while white women often continued to be racist to black women, they couldn’t tell what race a given bird had been unless his accent or his speech patterns gave it away, and birds mostly got over racism because they were too busy being prejudiced against other bird species. The idea of discriminating between humans on grounds so tiny as skin tone and hair consistency became ridiculous when you could be a chicken and have to deal with other roosters ranging from tiny gamecocks to giant Oshamu roosters, not to mention, every other bird in the world that humans had turned into. Religions had turned weird because they all had to take into account the concept of a God who’d turned all the men into birds; birds tended to think that God was probably a bird, and women tended to think that God was probably a human and either female or genderless, so most religions split in at least two, notwithstanding the ones that had multiple schisms because birds of different species all wanted to imagine a God that favored their species. Polytheism came back.

Sometimes there were still wars, flocks of birds viciously pecking and slashing at each other in the air while women on the ground shot at each other, and at birds wearing the enemy colors. It didn’t happen as often as it used to, though. Terrorism continued, and even got worse at times, because security measures designed for humans couldn’t keep birds out, but the disaffected young men who had no jobs and no futures, that had usually supplied the backbone of any terrorist movement, just weren’t there anymore. They were out flying in flocks with their friends, enjoying the freedom of the air and hunting for food. And environmentalism became a deadly serious issue; birds were more likely to be negatively impacted by any drastic change to the environment, so most of them were strongly in favor of reigning in the excesses of capitalism and cleaning up the planet. Who wanted to fly in a cloud of smog?

All in all, it was surprising how much better the world built by birds and humans, working together, was than the world that had been before. It was far from perfect, and there were many new problems that hadn’t previously existed – women’s near-universal sexual frustration, birds being unable to get jobs, the high cost of having children in a world where artificial insemination was the only means by which all but a tiny number of the women could get pregnant, plus the phenomenon of birds having ridiculous prejudices against other birds, as well as many others. But other problems that had plagued humanity for centuries turned out to be very easy to solve once all the men were birds. And so the people of Earth stopped looking for a cure; they were happier in the world where half of them were birds than they had been before, overall.

#52 project #magical realism #the new weird #alara original writing

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notquiteaghost · 4 years

Text

there’s nothing i wouldn’t do

mcu/hawkeye comics, post-avengers, barney&clint, 2k

inspired by this post

AO3 link in notes

He wasn’t expecting it to be a thing, is the problem.

Like, how often do aliens fucking invade New York? Once in a lifetime deal, it’s gotta be. Clint was busy — with having a hole in his chest, but SHIELD wouldn’t like him picking fights with run-of-the-mill mobsters, so it was, once again, up to Barney to step up and keep his baby brother safe. Hell, even if Clint could’ve got out his building without passing out, Barney still probably would’ve gone instead. Clint’s just a guy.

He had a plan, and it should’ve been simple. Bandana tied round his face, hair hidden under a beanie, and only Natasha’s gonna notice which Barton is actually slinging the arrows around, and Natasha’s well-aware of Clint’s stab wound. Murder all the aliens, sit through Coulson’s lecture on Clint’s behalf, hopefully their building’s still standing by the end of it. Hold it over Clint’s head until they die. Never, ever do it again.

Except.

He goes after the wannabe god, and the wannabe god can, obviously, control fucking minds, so then he shoots a shit ton of almost-entirely-innocent SHIELD employees. And then Natasha knocks him out of it and they all murder a shit ton of aliens, so hopefully SHIELD will cancel the shoot on sight order, but after all the aliens are dead, Tony goddamn Stark drags them all to get shawarma, and it’s not like Barney can say no. He can’t make Captain America think Clint’s an asshole.

And then, three days later, when Barney’s trying to explain to Coulson that, no, Clint is absolutely not going to fucking Russia, Clint can’t lift his arms, and also they’re still trying to get back the power in their building and also also as far as SHIELD is concerned it was Clint who got used as a puppet by a hostile alien and then bounced without any kind of medical eval so what is this actually about, because it sure as shit ain’t a human trafficking ring — three days later, his phone rings. Caller ID says Your New Sugar Daddy, so it’s Stark, so Barney hangs up on Coulson and answers it.

“Y’know, I could use some new shoes,” he says, throwing Clint’s phone on the couch when it immediately starts buzzing again. “What’re your terms? How much skin am I showing to get some new shoes?”

Stark splutters, but recovers within seconds and says, “Shoes are a titty pic at least,” and Barney is suddenly, sinkingly certain that him and Stark could be friends. It makes him shudder.

He bites back the joke he wants to make about how many titty pics he gets to send before Stark stops buying him shoes, and says, “Titty pics ain’t why you’re calling, though.”

“Heard you’ve been having some apartment trouble,” Stark agrees, casually, like he has any way of knowing that that isn’t really fucking creepy. “Y’know, I have this great big tower. It’s got, amongst a lot of other things, an entirely self-sustaining power system.”

“…You want me to move in with you?”

“I’m just letting you know it’s an option, that’s all.”

Barney narrows his eyes. “Anyone else say yes?”

Stark huffs. “You’re first on my list, actually. Figured I’d start with the easiest, work my way up.”

Again, Barney bites his tongue. He cannot flirt with Tony Stark when Tony Stark thinks he’s his brother, no matter how funny it is. He’s sworn off starting shit with Clint since they got banned from Lithuania. “And what if I like my apartment?”

The briefest of pauses, before Stark says, “Then you keep living in your apartment. Again, just letting you know your options.”

“Pay to have the power lines for my block fixed,” Barney says, just as Clint stumbles out his room, “and maybe I’ll swing by for lunch. That’s what this is really about, yeah? Team building shit?”

“Wait, your block doesn’t have power?”

Clint is staring at him, eyes narrowing. He’s been awake maybe ten minutes, and it’s a coin toss if he’s remembered to put his aids in yet. Barney makes a face at him. “Half the damn city doesn’t have power, don’t you watch the news? Hell, ain’t people waving big signs outside your front door?”

“I’ve been—” Stark starts, then stops himself, then presumably remembers he’s trying to tempt Barney into some kinda morning-cartoons perma-sleepover and that’s gonna require some emotional vulnerability, and says, “Been in the workshop, mostly. The suit didn’t cope so well in the vacuum of space. But, yeah, power, I can do power. Text me about lunch.”

“Only if Captain America’s there, too,” Barney says, then hangs up. Clint’s eyes are even narrower. He’s gonna give himself a headache. “What?”

“Were you talking to Tony Stark?”

“Yeah, he wants me to move in with him.”

“He wants me to move in with him,” Clint counters.

“Hey, I’m the one who actually fought the aliens, kid—”

“I was all for fighting the aliens! You ziptied me to the bed!”

“And that you couldn’t get out of those makes it clear you were in no shape for fighting the aliens.” Barney walks into the kitchen, digs through their pile of homecooked food — you showing up on TV saving the world makes everyone want to cook you things, it turns out — for Clint’s pain meds. Clint leans against the wall and looks pitiful.

“Maybe I wanna live with Tony Stark,” he says. Barney laughs, hands Clint the tablets and the water so his hands are free to talk.

“Thought you were gonna die in this shithole. Thought, next time anyone shoots you, you were gonna demand they carry you back here so you can bleed out on the floor since getting the blood out’ll be someone else’s problem.”

“Bet Stark’s eyesore of a tower’s got power, though.”

“And soon,” Barney assures him, “so will we.”

Clint shuffles back to the couch and flops over it, and almost hides his wince at the feelings his stab wound has about that. “Bet Stark’s tower’s got heated floors. Stupid fast internet. Bet he’s got chefs and cleaners and everything.”

Barney always forgets how being hurt makes Clint into a five year-old again. “If some stranger tried to clean your room, you would stab them.” Clint sticks his tongue out.

Then he jumps, because Barney’s phone is buzzing again. Got his aids in, then.

It’s a text, this time, from an unknown number.

???: Stark tells me you’ll only come out to play if I come out too - Steve

“Holy shit,” Barney says, “Captain America is texting me.”

“What the fuck,” Clint pushes himself up, “Give me the phone. Give me the phone! He’s texting me!”

“Again,” Barney says, typing complete nonsense so Clint hears the tapping noise, “it was me who he bonded with when we murdered a load of aliens together, he has no idea who you are.”

“Barney. He’s Captain America.”

Goddammit, that fucking whine. He throws Clint his phone.

Then stands behind him to watch him type.

You: he ain’t exactly my usual kinda buddy

You: appreciate the thing with the missile obviously but also i don’t think he pays taxes?

Clint backspaces four times to change his terrible text speak for actual words. It’s hilarious.

steve!!!!: He fucking better.

You: if you yell at him about this please film it

You: i promise not to put it online i just want it playing on a loop in my apartment

steve!!!!: He says ‘Excuse me of course I pay taxes, I have to get rid of all this money somehow’

steve!!!!: I’m double-checking with Miss Potts.

You: did shield just give you the phone numbers of the entire population of new york

steve!!!!: No, I think it’s only 30%.

You: oh shit do you have fury’s number

steve!!!!: Strangely, no.

You: dammit

You: one day

“You are definitely the reason Fury didn’t give Captain America his personal cell number,” Barney says. Clint shoves at him.

steve!!!!: Not planning on moving into Stark’s place, then?

You: think living somewhere that expensive would give me a rash

You: don’t tell shield this but i stole my apartment from the mob

“Oh my God Clint they are definitely reading his texts,” Barney groans.

You: hey uh unrelated but anyone give you an update on opsec

Clint glares at him, pointedly, then makes a truly inhuman noise when he reads Steve’s next reply.

steve!!!!: Is that an offer?

“Oh my fucking God I’m gonna become best friends with Captain America,” Clint says, low and reverent.

Barney rolls his eyes. “He still thinks he’s talking to me.”

“So? You wore a mask and shit, he won’t notice.”

“You are so fucking injured. He will definitely notice.”

“Okay, then you wear a wire, and I tell you what to say—”

Barney snatches the phone back, types out ‘hell yeah let’s get a drink, when you free?’, then locks it and tucks it away. Clint is fully pouting.

“I’m going out,” Barney reminds him. “Coulson wants you in Russia, I’m gonna find out the fuck why. Amuse yourself for a while, you can keep flirting with Captain America when I get back.”

“If you really loved me you’d wear a wire,” Clint huffs. Barney ruffles his hair and goes to find his jacket.

–––––––––––––––

“Explain to me again,” Coulson says, exasperated in a way Barney’s more used to seeing directed at Clint, “why you thought pretending to be Clint was in any way a good plan.”

Usually, they have chats like these in some pretentious hipster place, where all the drinks have dumb names and cost twenty bucks a pop, but for obvious reasons that’s not happening. So, they’re in a park, miraculously untouched. There’s a flock of pigeons going at what looks like some bodega’s entire stock of bread.

“Clint was stabbed doing something SHIELD don’t need to know about; SHIELD didn’t tap me for the Avengers, ‘cause they still think I’d sell them all out for the right price; aliens were invading New York; I live in New York and I didn’t have any other plans.”

Coulson pinches at the bridge of his nose. He for sure agrees Barney made the right call, given the givens, and he will for sure die before he ever admits it. Barney is the reason the wannabe god didn’t stab him through the chest, though, so Barney is gonna try and make him admit it.

“You don’t have clearance to know about the Avengers.”

“Half the world knows about the Avengers, we were on every news channel there is.”

“Prior to the Chitauri invasion,” Coulson says, exasperation ticking up a notch, “you did not have clearance to know about the Avengers Initiative. SHIELD already don’t trust you, and now you’ve been compromised by a hostile alien with unknown motivations and allegiances—”

“Which is why SHIELD’s gotta keep thinking it was Clint,” Barney agrees, “‘cause they'll just straight up shoot me.”

Coulson sighs, heavily. But he doesn’t disagree.

“Going forward, then,” he says. “Are you going to continue to be Hawkeye?”

“I kinda really thought the alien invasion was a one-time thing. You telling me we’re expecting more aliens?”

“Not with any certainty,” which is Coulson for ‘yeah, probably’. “But I, for one, would rather we were prepared. And with the way some things are going, the Avengers may be needed for purely Earth-based disputes.”

“You get superheroes, you’re asking for supervillains?”

“Unfortunately.”

Barney lets out a long breath. It should be hilarious, that some idiot might actually pull on a cape and a dumb mask and try to take over the world, but he just got done stopping the last idiot, and they’re still pulling out the bodies. Morning cartoons never have collateral damage.

“I gotta talk to Clint,” he says. “He’d be better at it, but he’s been muttering about bouncing from SHIELD lately. Taking it real personal that you don’t trust me, who’d’ve thunk it.”

“I trust you,” Coulson says, lightly. Barney rolls his eyes.

“Yeah, no shit. Look, I’ll go to Russia, but someone’s gotta babysit Clint while I’m gone. I’m sick of the fucker pulling his stitches.”

“I don’t know who’s going to be there to meet you—”

“This ain’t the first mission I’ve run in Clint’s place.”

Coulson blinks. Huh, Barney had honestly thought he knew about that. “Well,” he says, “then you leave bright and early tomorrow morning. Try not to get in too much trouble, would you?”

Barney grins, trademark Barton asshole. “No promises.”

#marvel #the avengers #hawkeye #hawkguy #clint barton #barney barton #tony stark #steve rogers #hello it’s me the world’s only barney barton stan #yelling at clouds #fic tag #also. love how at this point not ‘killing’ coulson just means #ignoring all the agents of shield bullshit #no he didnt get forced to fake his death. that was so dumb.#fuck you fury. all your ideas suck.

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awhitehead17 · 4 years

Text

Congratulations You’re A Father

TimKon, Future, Time Travel, a kid comes from the future, Fluff, Angst, Getting Together, First Kiss.

Summary: Learning that he has a kid in the future isn't too bad, Tim can get his head around that fact. But learning that the kid is half him and half his best friend is pretty mind boggling, especially when they aren't even together.

Enjoy! :D

“Congratulations Tim, you’re a father.”

“You being serious?”

“DNA matches 50%. He is your kid.”

Tim gapes at his older brother trying to comprehend what he’s just been told. The last couple hours have basically been a blur of peculiar events.

Tim and his brothers had been down in the cave, doing their weekly sparring competition, when suddenly a glowing purple portal appears at the edge of the cave grabbing their attention. Before they could do anything about the mysterious portal, a teenager stumbles through it and into the cave.

The portal disappears like it had never been there and the sudden teenager it left behind looks disoriented as he surveys his surroundings. Tim and his brothers had been frozen in confusion at the event, because how did a portal just appear in the Batcave without a single trace, and didn’t immediately react to the teenager.

This teenager was in normal clothes, had dark hair, he had a lean but yet muscular body however the most noticeable thing was how there was a large red patch growing on his t-shirt on his left side. The stranger, seeming unaware of his apparent injury, finally notices them and his gaze lingers. His expression becomes one of confusion when he looks in Tim’s direction.

“Dad?” He had called out and before any of them could yet react, the teenager abruptly collapses on the floor unconscious.

From there it had been a flurry of movements to get this kid patched up and medically seen to as best as they can and work out what he meant by ‘dad’. Alfred patched him up, claiming that it looked like a stab wound and how it needed stitches but wouldn’t cause any permanent damage, after a week or two of rest he’ll be fine.

Once working out that the kid was going to be alright, they kept him sedated and then moved onto working out what he meant by calling Tim ‘dad’. Jason made plenty of jokes about who Tim could have potentially had knocked up. Damian wasn’t interested, claiming he ‘couldn’t care less about there being another Drake in the world’. Dick had been the most sympathetic, he had joined in with one of Jason’s jokes before actually taking the matter at hand seriously, he had been the one who suggested they do a DNA test.

It came back positive.

“Looking at that kid’s age he’s about 16 or 17, meaning Tim you would have been three when you… convinced him. Which is really all kinds of wrong to think about. My guess is that he’s from the future, or another dimension, or like an alternate reality.”

That's where Tim’s thoughts were headed to as well. They happen to be the only options that make sense and the next question is, what one of those options was it? Tim glanced the teenager again and now could actually spot of his own features on the kid, his nose for one. His eye shape (despite them closed at the moment) and the colour of his hair.

However as Tim looks at him, there was something else that felt familiar about him but Tim couldn’t place what it was. He guesses that it’s the other parent's features coming through as well, but he has no idea who it was. It suddenly became an itch he couldn’t scratch and now Tim wants to know who the other parent was, who his future partner would be.

Then again did he want to know? If this teenager was really from the future, did Tim want to spoil that for himself?

He shakes his head, trying to clear those thoughts, time travel and everything linked to it was complicated.

Tim opens his mouth to ask a question but his phone ringing stops him from doing so. He leans over and grabs it from the computer desk, he answers it without looking at the Caller ID.

“Tim, buddy, you going to let me inside any time today? Last time I came through the window you yelled at me for a good 10 minutes and I don’t want a repeat of that.”

Instantly Tim smacks his forehead with his palm. “Shit, Kon, I am so sorry I completely forgot!” He turns away from the phone to where Alfred was already heading for the stairs. “Alfred could you-”

“I’m ahead of you Master Tim, I’ll let Master Conner in and send him down as I head for the kitchen to make us all some snacks.”

“Kon, Alfred will let you in. We’re down in the cave alright.” Tim tells him, he hangs up on his friend before he could get the chance to reply.

From next to him, Dick looks up, “Kon here?”

Tim pinches the bridge of his nose feeling a slight headache coming on, it’s been a hectic few hours. “Yeah, I’m supposed to be going to the farm with him for the weekend. He’s here to pick me up, I had completely forgotten considering everything that’s just happened. Shit.”

Dick blinks at him before shrugging, “You can still go, it may be better if you weren’t here until we can get this all sorted. It stops anything happening to the timeline.”

He considers it for a moment, “Yeah perhaps but…” Tim looks over at the sleeping figure, there was something inside of him making him reluctant to go. This was his kid, from the future or another dimension, but he was his. Did Tim want to pass this opportunity up? He wonders what he’s called, wonders when his birthday was, what about school or interests and hobbies? How similar is he to Tim?

“Tim.”

He sighs, knowing that Dick has a point. “Yeah I know. It’s just… y’know….”

His brother looks at him knowingly but doesn’t comment further. In that moment Kon finally makes his appearance from the stairs as he descends from them.

“I was stood outside for about twenty minutes dude, not cool. I thought you were playing a prank on me or simply testing my patience.” Kon says getting to the bottom of the stairs and starts to walk over.

As he does, he passes the med-bay and sees the sleeping teenager there. His best friend frowns and looks at them, “So when did the Bat adopt another kid? I didn’t know there was another one of you guys.”

Tim rolls his eyes while Dick snorts, “Just be glad he isn’t around to hear you say that.”

Kon simply grins at them when he stops beside Tim. “Is that why you forgot? What happened?”

“Yeah, sorry about forgetting,” Tim apologises to his best friend again. He looks at Kon before glancing at the teenager again, “a couple hours ago-”

He abruptly stops talking as it sinks in who the other parent could be. He flicks his gaze between his so-called kid and his best friend.

It was Kon.

The other parent was Kon.

He could see it now he’s made the connection. The kid’s got Kon’s jaw line from when he was younger, the same lips, cheek bones and his body type seemed to be similar to Kon’s when he first appeared as Superboy from Cadmus. It had to be Kon, surely. Was that why he felt familiar to Tim?

“Tim? You okay?”

Tim ignores Kon and looks at Dick who was watching him with concern, “Can you run the DNA test again but against Kon’s this time?”

Dick blinks at him, his gaze shifts to his friend before turning back to the computer, thankfully not asking questions. His best friend on the other hand didn’t hold back.

“My DNA? Tim what do you mean? Who you running my DNA against and why? What’s going on?”

Tim continues to ignore him as he watches Dick work. Minutes later his brother turns around to them, he looks up at Kon with a serious expression just as he had done to Tim earlier. “Well, congratulations Kon, you’re a father.”

Kon’s jaw drops in shock as he stares at the older man. “What? What do you mean?” He turns to Tim, his expression hardening as he lets out a fake laugh, “Yeah ha-ha, funny joke. Is this is what you’ve been planning? Because it sucks.”

“It’s not a joke Kon,” Tim tells him. “That teenager in the med-bay is potentially from the future or another dimension and he’s – he’s our kid."

Tim couldn’t believe it. Sure it’s fine that he has a kid, he’s thrilled even, because that means he starts his own family, but with Kon of all people? He couldn’t get over that. He’s been harbouring feelings for his best friend for a couple years now but he hasn’t done anything about it in fear of ruining the friendship between them because Kon couldn’t possibly return the feelings back.

But could he be wrong?

Kon stands silent between them, his face currently kaleidoscope of emotions as he digests the information suddenly thrusted at him.

Still sat on the chair Dick looks between them, “You guys obviously have a lot to talk about, this is certainly unexpected but perhaps it would be best if both of you weren’t here. We don’t want to risk any time line mishaps, or paradoxes happening when we can try and prevent them just for safety measures.”

Tim appreciates what Dick was trying to do, but there was a part of him that was still reluctant to go. It seems that Kon was now having the same issue. “But why? If this is our kid then surely we should get the opportunity to get to know him?”

Dick sighs and looks at them both with understanding and with his ever famous patience he tells them, “I understand why you both don’t want to go but think about it this way, you’ll have plenty of time in the future to be with him. It’ll be even better because you’ll get to see him grow. We’ll handle things here okay, you guys go and enjoy the farm. Tell Ma Kent I say hi!”

Tim and Kon both go quiet, they glance at one another before looking away again. In the end, Tim sighs defeated and starts to walk away, “Okay just at least let us know when he goes back, make sure he gets there safely. Come on Kon, there’s not a lot we can do here anyway, he’s sedated for the time being.”

After some hesitation his best friend follows him, but not without looking in the direction of the teenager first. Tim leads them up the stairs and to his room where a bag was already packed and ready to go. His original plan was to finish sparring with his brothers early so he could get ready for when Kon arrived, obviously that had gone out the window with the turn of unexpected events.

Tim changes out of his gym clothes and into his normal clothes. Once he was ready they head out to the back of the Manor where Kon proceeds to pick him up and together they head over to the farm.

The flight to the farm was awkward and tense as neither of them speak. Both of them lost in their own thoughts about occurred in the cave.

When they finally get to the farm they were greeted with a warm, freshly baked apple pie from Ma Kent. They both accepted the treat with a small gratitude but other than that kept quiet. Ma instantly picked up on the tension between them but thankfully didn’t comment, all she said was that the guest room was all prepared for Tim when he was ready to settle.

They eat in silence and once they were done Kon disappears, claiming he needed to do some chores he happened to forget before coming to pick Tim up. Tim knew the truth though, his friend was going for a long flight in hopes to clear his head, he didn’t blame him. While Conner was gone Tim sets himself up in the guest room, he settles in and gets some work done on his laptop he had brought with him.

When evening came around Kon still hadn’t returned. Tim ate dinner with the Kent’s, making small conversation between them before retreating for the night.

Later on Tim makes his way onto the top of the barn, he was watching the stars in the clear night sky as they dazzled brightly. The sky was always such a contrast in Kanas to Gotham, it was so clear and the air was always so fresh.

It’s about 15 minutes later when Kon appears again. He flies over to Tim on the barn and sits down beside him. They sit in silence for a good while, seeming to be unable to start up a conversation between them.

Kon’s the one to eventually start it, “So… we have a kid in the future.”

“Yeah.”

“That’s cool. Great even…”

Tim sighs and runs a hand through his hair, “Look Kon, I get that it’s weird, it’s completely unexpected, but…”

But what? How was Tim supposed to continue this incredibly awkward and forced conversation between them?

“I like you.” Kon blurts out from nowhere. Tim snaps his gaze to his best friend, both unsure and hopeful at the same time. “I like you Tim, in a way that means more than a friend. Finding out that we have a kid was great. Obviously shocking but its great. I’ve always wanted a family, yeah I found brothers between you and Bart back in Young Justice and then of course the girls joined and we all became a family. But it means a lot more in a way I can’t describe.”

“I like you too.” Tim says without thinking. “I have done for a long time, but I was so scared of ever saying anything because I didn’t think the feelings would be returned. I didn’t want to risk our friendship.”

Kon huffs out a laugh, “We’re a pair of idiots aren’t we?”

Unable to stop himself, Tim grins, “Yeah…”

They go silent for a beat or two, still not moving or doing anything with one another. The tension and awkwardness was still there but not as prominent as before.

“I wonder how we got him.” Tim comments looking up at the sky. “Did we use a surrogate? Maybe cloned him? He’s got our DNA so we didn’t adopt. “

Then for a horrific moment Tim thinks back to the time he had countlessly tried to clone Kon when he died. His heart drops at the thought, was he successful in the end? What if that kid in the med-bay was a clone Tim created out of desperation for his best friend?

A hand cupping his face and turning back to face Kon startles him from his thoughts. Seeing the way Kon’s piercing blue eyes gleam in the night make him forget about that awful time that happened so many years ago.

“Does it matter? We have a kid Tim. One of which is half you and half me. Which brings up the question how did he get injured in the first place if he has Kryptonian genes but that's a worry we’ll have in the future. But for now think we need to actually get together before we start anything kid related at all don’t you think?”

He was grinning at Tim and Tim smiles back, placing his hand above Kon’s holding his face. He licks his lips, “That may be a good start.”

No more words were spoken as they both lean in close, pressing their lips together for the first time. As they kiss Tim feels all of the tension that had built up drain out of him, he wraps his arms around Kon in a loose embrace and smiles against the Kryptonian’s lips as he feels arms wrap around his waist, bringing them closer together.

Then like that all of the awkwardness and tension bleeds out from the air around them, leaving them comfortably in peace and for the seeable future. They’ll tackle everything together as they always have done in the past, in the current present and now in the future.

#Tim Drake #Kon-El #dick grayson #TimKon Week 2020 #Future #fluff #angst #awkward moments #tension #getting together #First Kiss #time travel #general rating

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emisfritish · 4 years

Text

The beat of your own drum

Pairing : Sarawat / Tine (2gether the series)

Summary : In which P’Air should be consulted for any decision made. Always. For the sake of their own good.

Or- Tine and P’Air have a heart to heart and he finally figures a few things out. Notes : Seeing as this last episode made it clear none of the boys is currently in possession of the lone brain cell they share between them, I thought it was high time someone valid spoke some sense into them.

-----------

1 hour left to go.

Tine is sitting in the music room, a guitar sitting on his lap and trying to focus on learning the latest chords that they are supposed to have mastered when they come back to the club after their exams, but he can’t seem to focus.

Sarawat’s football game against the Architecture team is in one hour, and the more time passes, the more anxious he feels. If Sarawat’s team loses the game, it’ll mean the end for him and Sarawat. And although Tine still isn’t sure about what he wants out of their relationship exactly, he knows that he at least wants the chance to be able to find out. He doesn’t want it to be over yet.

Tine had decided to come to the music room to practice earlier when the anxiety was getting the best of him, but he doesn’t seem to be able to get out of his head either way.

His mind whirling with different thoughts, he strums the guitar on the F#M chord.

“That sounds wrong,” he hears a voice call over from the door, and he lifts his head to find P’Air standing there, her hands on her hips and lifting a judging eyebrow towards him.

“I’m trying to do an F#M, but I can’t manage to get it right,” he says with a self-deprecating smile and Air makes her way closer to him to look at where his fingers are.

“Move over, I’ll show you,” she says, nudging him gently and Tine moves to the side of the bench so P’Air can sit next to him. She takes the guitar from his hands, placing it on her own lap and begins to explain how to play the chord.

“You see, your fingers should be on the second fret, and you…” she starts to explain, before stopping mid-sentence.

Tine, who is checking the clock again, only to see that just a few minutes have passed since the last time he checked, turns back towards her when he notices the silence and smiles.

“Sorry,” he apologizes.

“You seem distracted,” she states, putting the guitar on the floor besides her and turning towards him.

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to make you waste your time. It’s just… Sarawat’s game is starting in about an hour, and I’m a little stressed I guess,” says Tine, shrugging his shoulders a bit.

“Ah, you’re anxious you’re going to lose track of time and miss the game ?” she asks curiously.

“No, it’s not really that. It’s just that there is a lot riding on this game.”

P’Air lifts her eyebrows, clearly waiting for him to elaborate and Tine feels his cheeks warm up a little. He can’t believe he’s going to explain all of this to his P’.

“Well you see, Sarawat and I we’re… well. I don’t know what we are, really. But we’re something. And Sarawat is… well, he’s been flirting with me. Only our friends made a bet to help us figure out this whole situation once and for all. If Sarawat’s team wins the game, then I have to confess my feelings for him. But if Sarawat’s team loses the game, then we can’t see each other anymore and he has to stop flirting with me,” he explains, only to lift his head up and find P’Air watching him as if she didn’t understand any of the words that came out of his mouth.

“And what do you want, exactly ?” she asks incredulously.

“Well, I don’t really know P’. I don’t know that I’m ready to confess my love or anything yet, but I also know that I don’t want to lose Sarawat and I… I want us to be something. And I want us to have the time to find out what works for us. So you can see why there is a lot riding on this game.”

P’Air is looking at him as if he was speaking a foreign language, and Tine frowns at her reaction. Had he not been clear in his explanation ?

“Wait, so let me get this straight,” she says, pulling one leg over the bench so she is straddling it and able to face Tine better. “You know that you want to pursue something with Sarawat and that you have… some sort of feelings for him. And yet, you won’t go and admit that to him because your friends told you not to ?”

“Well… Yeah, basically,” he says, thinking about how her sentence did sum up what he was feeling pretty well. “My friends think maybe I’m just confused because of his good looks,” he explains further, and P’Air just sighs in answer.

“This is why I don’t do boys,” she says, shaking her head in disappointment before looking back at him and fixing him with a stare.

“So what made you think that taking advice from your friends, who I assume have never been in any sort of long term relationship before, was a good idea ?” she asks, lifting one of her eyebrows in judgement again.

At that sentence, Tine starts to feel a little confused about the whole thing. She does sort of have a point.

“You know what might actually help Sarawat win the game today ? If you went there and told him that he doesn’t actually have to win, that you’ll be there for him and with him no matter the outcome,” she explains patiently, although Tine can see from her face that she is not impressed with him right now.

“But what if my friends are right and I’m just confused right now ?” he asks in a small voice. He doesn’t want to drag Sarawat along for nothing after all.

“First off, no more taking advice from the peanut gallery. Second, you think a bet is going to help you figure this out ? You know what will actually help-- Going to Sarawat and being with Sarawat. The only way you’ll figure out your feelings is if you actually spend time with him and talk it all out, maybe take it slow at first,” she explains, as if talking to a five year old.

At her words, Tine feels a smile make his way on his face and he can’t seem to do anything to contain it. Because she’s right. The game today doesn’t have to mean so much, and him and Sarawat can just decide to be whatever they choose to be.

“March to the beat of your own drum, Nong Tine. Don’t let anyone else decide your future for you,” she says wisely.

Tine nods in answer, before getting up, the need to go find Sarawat and tell him about his newfound wisdom too strong to hold onto any longer.

He bends down to press a quick kiss to her cheek, before looking at her with a huge smile when he lifts himself back up.

“Men,” he hears her whisper disapprovingly, but he ignores the comment.

“Thank you,” he says excitedly. “This is why you’re the one who makes all of the important decisions for our club, you’re obviously a lot smarter than all of us put together.”

“Well, that’s a given,,” P’Air answers with a cocky smile, and Tine laughs at her response.

He makes his way towards the door, and stops in his tracks when he hears P’Air call him once again.

“Nong Tine... So this means you definitely won’t be pursuing anything with Pear, right ?” she asks when he turns towards her, and he simply shakes his head in answer.

“Good,” she says with a small smile. “Do you think Pear would mind if you gave me her line ID then ?”

Tine stays silent, trying to understand what his P’ is asking before the meaning of her words finally becomes clear. Oh. A huge smile breaks on his face.

“You know, I actually think that she’d like that, but I can ask her just in case before I send it to you,” he says in answer, and he sees a soft smile cross P’Air’s face. “She’s a med student and she’s really into learning all of the classic Rock ballads right now. Maybe you could teach her. I actually think you two could be pretty bad ass together,” he ends up saying.

“Well again, that’s a given,” she says, but the soft smile still gracing her face contradicts the cocky words. “Well, off you go then !”

He smiles at her one last time and turns back towards the door.

“I’ll ask her later today and send you her line,” he shouts above his shoulder, before he rushes towards the football field.

When he gets there, many people are already sitting in the stands or standing all around the football field. Tine can see some of the players from both teams already warming up on the field, but he can’t find Sarawat anywhere.

He makes his way towards the locker room and pauses to open up his jacket before entering, Sarawat’s jersey on full display, just like for the last game. He isn’t wearing football shorts but well… This will have to do.

He enters and he finds Sarawat sitting alone on the bench in front of his locker, all of the other players probably in the bathroom or on the field already.

“How do you feel ?” he asks sitting next to him, and Sarawat whips his head towards him in surprise, before shrugging his shoulders. Tine places one of his hands on Sarawat’s knee, the one that got hurt during the fight after the last game, and squeezes gently.

“Does it still hurt ? Should you even be playing right now ?” he asks softly, and Sarawat looks at him intently.

“I want to play. And more than that, I have to play,” he says, and Tine can see the hurt shining in his eyes at the idea that Tine doesn’t care if he wins anymore.

“Actually, you don’t have to. But okay, if you want to play, maybe you should just come find me after the game so we can put some ice on your knee then,” he says with a soft smile, causing Sarawat to frown in answer.

“You mean I should come and find you if we win,” he says in a small voice.

“No, I mean you should come and find me either way. I’m tired of letting what my friends, or your friends, or anyone else thinks decide what we want. And I want us. Or at least, I want to see if there could be an us. So if you’ll still have me…” he trails off, hoping Sarawat is understanding what he’s saying.

The unadulterated hope that Tine can read on Sarawat’s face causes his heart to start beating double time again.

Yeah, that can’t just be normal.

Before thinking too much about it, he pushes forward on the bench and drops a small kiss on Sarawat’s lips, before getting up and facing him.

Seeing the look of shock on Sarawat’s face slowly morph into a look of pure joy makes his heart clench in his chest, and Tine knows that this was the right move.

“I’ll let you be, but good luck out there… boyfriend,” he says with a cheeky smile, before leaving the locker room and going to stand on the side of the field, Sarawat’s jersey still proudly on display on his back.

Thank god for P’Air, really.

#sarawat x tine #saratine #2gether the series #2gether #2gether fanfic #saratine fanfic #2gether fic #saratine ffic #emi's writing

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sugacouture · 4 years

Text

Pixie Dust

summary: You’re persuaded by your friends to go to a club after you get rejected from the best residency program in the nation. However, after a few drinks, the cute bartender notices your gloomy mood and decides to bring you a little bit of happiness by sprinkling a bit of golden dust...

{magic!au (?)}

pairing: kim taehyung x female reader

genres: fluff, slight angst

word count: 4.4k

rating: pg

a/n: this fic was inspired by disney’s Peter Pan! i’m planning on making a series of one shots inspired by disney movies or fairytales but idk, we’ll see how it goes :)) once again, thank you @1yanan for proofreading this! tbh idk what i would do without u and ur amazing editing :’)

“What the hell.”

You blink at your computer screen that’s showing your rejection letter to the top medical residency program in the country. It was supposed to be the next step in your journey to become a doctor. You planned on getting accepted, finishing your few years of residency, learning a shit ton of medicine, and becoming the badass medical professional you had always wanted to be.

Obviously, this presents itself as a large bump in the road.

Groaning, you bury your face in your hands. After your brain has comprehended the sting of rejection, you call Jennie, who applied to the same program as you. Unsurprisingly, your best friend had gotten turned away too, which probably had something to do with her submitting her application a few days late.

“Whatever,” Jennie scoffs. “That program is probably full of egotistical assholes anyways. They can eat shit.”

“Yeah,” you echo softly, staring at your ceiling. “Eat shit…”

You hear her sigh from the other end of the line. “Honey, I know you wanted to get into that program, but there are plenty of other ones that I’m sure you got into. Maybe they aren’t ranked number one in the country, but I’m confident that your parents would have been just as proud of you for even making it this far.”

The mention of your parents makes you freeze up, and you think – maybe Jennie’s right. Maybe you got rejected not because you didn’t work hard enough, but because you wouldn’t survive in the environment that the program would have provided.

However, that thought isn’t enough to convince yourself that you aren’t an utter failure.

“I know you’re probably trying to come up with a way to cope with this,” Jennie continues, “but I think we should just drink it off tonight, you know? Get buzzed and forget about this whole mess. What do you say?”

––––––

After slipping into a satin midi dress, you hop into the cab with your girlfriends and tell the driver to drop all of you off at The Castle: a prestigious club full of high-end drinks and high-end people. The atmosphere was much more mellow than the raging bars downtown and attracted crowds who were more well off. Much cleaner and safer than any sleazy bar in college town, it was the type of environment that your group of friends preferred over a frat party at any day, any night.

Although the entrance fee was somewhat expensive for a party of med students who were knee-deep in student loans, your best friend had unknowingly slept with one of the owners of the business during one wild night, gaining special privileges in the process. One of those benefits was getting into the club for free, and, quote, “if you bring your friends along, I guess they’re free too.”

Upon arriving, you pay the cab driver and head towards the entrance of The Castle. Its neon sign casts a purple hue against your skin as you approach the front door. The intimidating security guards up front meet your friends with emotionless expressions, even though they’ve seen you before. Nevertheless, they ask for your IDs and the entrance fee, to which Jennie rolls her eyes and ignores them.

If it was anyone else, the guards would have stopped the trespasser immediately. However, Jennie has made it very obvious that she’s screwing their boss, so all of you slide into the party and beeline towards the bar.

You drop down on a stool and ask for a strawberry margarita with double shots of tequila. While waiting for your drink, you tap your nails on the bar, the letter of rejection still swimming in your head.

As if she knew what you were thinking, Jennie nudges you on the shoulder.

“Hey, don’t look so depressed, ____,” she murmurs. “We’re here to dance the night away, not to encourage chemical imbalances in our brain.”

“I know, but I can’t help but be disappointed.” You shoot her a wry smile, taking your drink from the bartender. “I mean, I thought I had this all planned out, you know? My school, my career, my life–” you sigh, swirling the pink concoction of alcohol. “But now I kinda just want to sit on my couch and eat a tub of ice cream while Up is playing.”

“Things change all the time. Don’t let this get to your head.” Jennie pats your back and you lean your head on her shoulder.

“Forget about medicine for a few hours, yeah?” she continues, slapping a few bills on the counter. “Drink all you want. It’s on me.”

Before you can protest, she scurries off to the dance floor, winking as she retreats into the dark lights. You return the meanest face you can muster, but really, you’re truly grateful to have a friend like her. Not because she paid for the drinks–though you certainly don’t mind it–but because she knows that you need to get your mind off of the residency before you turn paranoid.

The bartender chuckles and you turn back to him. “You can buy around thirty strawberry margaritas with that money,” he says, wiping a cup. His brown hair falls over his eyes while he carefully runs the cloth over the glass. He looks up to catch you staring, and he flashes a wary smile. “Don’t tell me you’re actually considering it.”

Squinting, you try to read the faint letters of his nametag, making out the name Kim Taehyung.

You shrug, sipping your margarita. “I mean, didn’t you hear what she said? ‘Forget about medicine for a night, ____.’ I don’t know what it sounds like to you, Taehyung, but it seems like a good offer to me. ”

Sighing, you send the cute bartender a weary smile. “To be honest, I think I’ll just leave. This isn’t my crowd, anyway.” You motion towards the extravagant dance floor full of women dripping in diamonds and men in Armani suits.

After pocketing Jennie’s money so you can return it to her tomorrow, you finish your drink in one fell swoop and push the empty glass back to the bartender. “Thanks for the drink.”

He takes the cup, nodding slowly and watching your face while he does. You must’ve looked so dejected that it makes him say: “Wait, I have something for you.”

“Huh?” you answer, surprised. “Did I forget to pay or something? ‘Cuz I’m pretty sure Jennie–”

“No,” he blurts, eyes darting around the room. “It’s just—do you want to come to the back with me for a second?”

You nod, but he searches your face for any signs of alarm or suspicion. After only finding curiosity in your warm eyes, he walks over to the side of the bar to open a small swinging door for you, and he escorts you to the other side of the bar.

You’re met with shelves of supplies and a few unopened boxes in the corner. Other than that, you don’t understand why the bartender brought you here. He’s fumbling with one of the boxes, squatting down as he tries to open it.

“So, what’s the purpose of bringing me here? Are you gonna kidnap me?” you joke. “That’ll be an interesting bullet to put on my resume. It’s not every day that someone gets captured by a stranger in the back of a bar.”

Taehyung finally pries the box open with an “Ah-hah!” and motions you over. “Come here, I want to show you something.”

Curious, you walk over to him and the box. It looks like a normal cardboard box until you see its contents. There’s a few bottles of vodka and whiskey, which seems normal. When you look closer, though, two small purple pouches stand out among the drinks.

“What’s that?” you murmur, pointing to a pouch. The velvet brushes against his palms as he dips his hand in the box and pulls one out. It sits on his hand, soft and shining, as he presents it to you.

Suddenly, you’re looking into his sparkling brown eyes and he’s giving you the brightest grin you’ve ever seen. It stuns you, blowing away the fog that’s gathered in your brain from your previous drink.

“___,” he whispers, excited. “Do you believe in magic?”

Unable to breathe, you can only nod in shock as he grabs your hand and yanks you out of the back room. You’re pulled up the stairs and onto the rooftop of the building where you can see the city lights for miles. They swim across your vision as you watch the cute bartender open the mysterious velvet pouch.

Peeking to see the contents of the bag, you almost trip when you see what’s inside.

Glittering gold dust shines in the man’s palms, so fine that the breeze could carry it away. In awe, you meet his eyes.

“W-what is–?”

“Pixie dust,” he whispers, eyes glimmering. “It’s pixie dust.”

What.

You’re absolutely dumbfounded. Shaking your head, you start laughing. “What the hell did you put in my drink, Taehyung? I’m definitely hallucinating.”

His grin morphs into a puzzled frown. “I didn’t put anything in your drink, ___. What you’re looking at is pixie dust. Real, genuine pixie dust.”

“Prove it,” you challenge, crossing your hands across your chest. “It could be bird shit, for all I know. Glittery, golden bird shit.”

The bartender’s eyes harden in frustration and he suddenly flicks a pinch of the dust onto you, making you splutter indignantly.

“Hey! What the hell was that for–” you shriek, cutting yourself off with a gasp.

Your feet aren’t touching the ground anymore.

Eyes widening, you realize that you’re slowly levitating off the rooftop, the dust that Taehyung threw at you glimmering on your body in the moonlight.

“Tae!” you panic, flailing your limbs around. “Help! I’m like, flying and I’m probably going to fall and die in a few seconds oh my god tell Jennie I love her–”

“Shh,” he says, sprinkling some of the gold on himself too. As soon as the dust settles onto him, he joins you in the air. He moves elegantly and fluidly, as if he’s done this before, while you’re scrambling in the air. You’re like a falling leaf, at the mercy of both the wind and Kim Taehyung.

And not in a good way.

You scowl at him when you see his amount of control, watching him push himself off the roof and into the sky. His hair, lightly scattered with pixie dust, stirs as he swims through the air, graceful as a swan. He moves towards you and holds out a hand.

Alarmed, you shake your head vigorously. “I–I don’t know what this is or who you are but I’m literally in the goddamn air–”

“___”, he interrupts softly, still floating towards you, reaching for you. “Trust me.”

Letting out a shaky breath, you decide there’s nothing you can do other than take his hand. So you do.

And the first thing this man does is fling you higher into the air.

You squawk in surprise as you’re propelled towards the clouds, away from the earth. If you weren’t scared before, you are sure as hell are now.

“Taehyung!” you scream, your voice echoing across the sky. “Tell me how to frickin’ fly or whatever, goddammit! I swear to god that once I’m on the ground I will chop you into microscopic pieces and feed them to–”

“Okay! Okay,” he laughs, catching up to you. “Sorry. Surprising you like that was too good of an opportunity pass up, especially since you’re new to all this.”

You frown at him. “Whatever. Just, please tell me how to maneuver myself so I don’t accidentally die. I wouldn’t want to leave my student loans to my aunt, thanks.”

A glimmer of amusement shines in his eyes as he takes your hands in his, pulling you to face him. He releases a hand to tilt your chin up so that you’re eye level with him.

“Flying is easy,” he whispers, gazing into your eyes. “It’s kind of like swimming, except with less effort.”

He gently breaks away. “Just watch me.”

He lifts his arms above his head and, after sending you a wink, pushes them back to his sides in one swift movement. You gasp as you watch him soar through the air, leaving behind a light trail of gold dust in his wake. He dives down towards the ground before he cranes back up, smooth as water.

The momentum he gains from the move is incredible; it provides him enough speed so that he’s rippling through the sky. He doesn’t stop until he wills himself to, when he moves from the streamline position to standing up.

“You try,” he encourages softly, now a few meters away.

You want to, but you take notice of how high you are above ground and a flash of fear runs up your spine. The city lights beneath you are suddenly much more glaring and unforgiving than they were before. You feel yourself losing the fearlessness that you had initially faced this absurd situation with.

“___,” Taehyung calls out, bringing you back to reality. “Are you okay? Do you need me to help you?”

“Y-Yeah, please,” you reply, sending him a panicked smile.

Returning your smile, he flies (God, he flies) back to where you’re currently having a mini heart attack.

“Relax,” he murmurs, guiding your arms above your head. “Like I said—it’s like swimming, but easier. Don’t overthink it, just push yourself up.”

He leans back to watch you, clothes fluttering in the wind. “Now, quickly pull your arms back to your sides,” he instructs,” and move your head in the direction you want to go”

You hesitate. However, once you bring your arms back down in one fast motion, you’re speeding through the night sky.

“Holy—” you shriek, still new to the feeling of weightlessness. “This is amazing!”

“Tilt your head to the right a bit,” Taehyung instructs from behind you as he follows your trail of gold, “and turn back towards me.”

Grinning, you propel yourself back towards him, a smile painting your face. It falls, though, once you realize that you’ve forgotten how to stop.

“Taehyung,” you warn, coming at him at full speed. “I can’t remember how to stop—”

You realize that you’d spoken a few seconds too late as you crash into his chest, sending both of you tumbling into the clouds. He wraps his arm around as he and you somersault through the air. Thankfully, the chaos only lasts for a minute and then you’re still again, face buried inTaehyung’s chest.

“Are you alright?” he frets, looking down at your face. “I didn’t hurt you, did I?”

You open your mouth to answer when you realize the position you’re in is a little too intimate for your liking. A blush burns on your face as you detach yourself from the man, dusting yourself off and composing yourself.

“Y-yeah, I’m fine,” you stutter, internally cursing. “Sorry that I crash-landed on you. I forgot how to stop.”

Taehyung chuckles, his boxy smile sending your heart into a frenzy.

“No worries. I’ve been there, done that,” he shrugs nonchalantly. “Plus, it’s always fun to watch someone humiliate themselves.”

You feel your face burn even more and you stare at your shoes. “Whatever,” you mumble. “I’ll get it next time, I guess.”

“Or you could get it now,” the bartender suggests, drifting towards you. You’re still looking down, refusing to meet his eyes. Your silence worries him—he's afraid that he’s frightening you too much or is pushing you too far. “Unless you want to go home…?”

“No!” you blurt out, your head snapping up to look at him. “I-I don’t want to go home just yet,” you add, embarrassed at your sudden cry. “...I want to keep flying.”

Taehyung’s face lights up with a grin and he holds out his palm. “Well, then. What are you waiting for?”

With wide eyes and a full heart, you take his hand and he whisks you away, towards the clouds.

–––

The buzzing of your phone wakes you up the next morning.

You throw your arm over your eyes in annoyance. Your head pounds, and there’s a dry feeling in your mouth, as if you had spent the whole night flying against the wind.

Flying.

You sit up so quickly that your back cracks in protest. Ignoring the newly-popped joints, you reach over to your phone and answer whoever’s calling you at this ungodly hour. “Hello?”

“Oh my god, I thought you died,” Jennie shrieks, making you wince. “Where did you end up last night, ___? The girls and I couldn’t find you anywhere and we almost went to the police station to file a missing persons report–”

“I’m fine,” you croak out. You sound like a frog that got run over by a bus. “I’m fine.”

You can hear Jennie shuffling around her kitchen and the jangle of keys.

“Judging by your voice, obviously not. I’m coming over,” she announces as you hear her open her front door.

“No, Jennie, it’s fine–”

“I’m coming over,” she says with finality. “There’s nothing you can do to stop me.”

Sighing, you know that it would be a waste of energy to keep trying. “Alright, just shoot me a text when you’re a few minutes away,” you grunt, and then you hang up.

Throwing your phone the other side of your bed, you wallow in your thoughts. Images of gold dust and the night sky flash before your eyes before you close them in—annoyance? Frustration? Honestly, you don’t know what you’re feeling right now, but you know that something very out of the ordinary happened last night.

A few moments later, Jennie texts you that she’s a block away from your house and will be arriving soon. You heave a sigh as you will yourself to stumble out of bed and towards the front door. You fling it open and, lo and behold, there stands your best friend, who’s very obviously both pissed and concerned.

“Hi,” you try before you’re pushed back into your apartment.

Jennie closes the door behind you and drags the both of you into the living room. “Sit,” she demands, pointing at the couch.

You obey.

“Stay,” she continues, and walks to the kitchen.

Ten minutes later, Jennie walks out with a bowl of what you can assume to be hangover soup, something you will be eternally grateful for. After placing a spoon in your hand, she plops down on the cushion next to you and watches you eat. Initially, you’re fine with the staring, but after a few minutes, it starts to get creepy.

“Um, is there something on my face?” you ask, slightly disturbed.

She shakes her head. “No, sorry,” she sighs, turning her attention to the blank television. “Just thinking.”

“About what?” you inquire, curiosity piqued. You sound a lot better now; the soup has soothed your throat and given you a boost of energy.

Jennie shrugs. “About all the places you could’ve disappeared to last night.”

You sigh and place the bowl and spoon down on the coffee table. “Look, Jennie, last night–”

“Was probably completely my fault,” your best friend interrupts.

“What?”

She throws her hands up in exasperation. “___, I was the one dragged you to the club. I was the one who dragged you to the bar. I was the one who tossed you a wad of cash and then abandoned you in a room of filthy rich strangers.” Regret crosses her face. “If anything had happened to you, I would’ve been held responsible. Hell, I would’ve held myself responsible.”

��No,” you object. “It’s not your fault that you ‘lost’ me, Jennie. I decided to leave the club and didn’t call you. If there’s anyone to blame, it’s me. I’m responsible for myself—don’t feel obligated to be my babysitter because I was depressed last night. I can take care of myself.”

She sends you a pained smile. “But—”

“Nope.”

“I mean—”

“Nada.”

“Technically—”

“You’re fighting a battle you can’t win, hon,” you smile. “Come here.”

You open your arms and she crawls into your embrace. The two of you sit like that for a while, enjoying the other’s warmth.

“Fine,” she mutters, “but where did you disappear to last night?”

You pull back from the hug. “Do you remember the cute bartender?” you ask, and Jennie nods. “After you left me with the money—which I plan on returning to you, by the way—he took me to the back and showed me this... this glittery, golden stuff.”

“What?” Jennie shrieks. “Even the bartender is rich? I swear, Jackson better tell me why everyone in that club is filthy rich–”

“It wasn’t gold dust,” you interrupt. You begin fiddling with your fingers. “He told me it was pixie dust and then brought me up to the roof.”

You glance up to look at your friend and she’s bewildered, to say the least. “Excuse me?”

Nodding, you continue. “Yeah, and then he threw some at me and on himself and we started to fly. Or at least, I think we did.”

“What do you mean you think you did? Hell, ___, how many drinks did you have last night?” Her eyes widened. “Oh my god, you didn’t take any drugs, did you? I swear to all things that are holy that if you did, I will rip off your nails and feed them to my aunt’s alligator—”

“I didn’t do any drugs!” you deny. “And I didn’t drink that much either. Just that strawberry margarita you saw me down and that’s it. I was completely sober and 100% lucid.”

“Then why do you think that you flew?”

You press your lips into a tight line. “I don’t remember much after the first few minutes we started flying. I just remember crashing into Taehyung and him offering to let me fly the entire night.”

“Taehyung?”

“He’s the bartender,” you clarify. “And when I woke up, my memory was all blurry.”

Jennie shakes her head and tosses her arm over your shoulders. “Girl, I think you’ve gone insane. I’m not leaving you alone next time we go.”

You smile at her ruefully. “Yeah, I guess that’s for the best.”

–––

Two nights later, you find yourself at The Castle yet once again. This time, though, you’re on a different mission. Instead of getting drunk and trying to forget about what had happened, you’re trying to remember.

Specifically, what happened two nights ago.

After entering, you beeline to the bar where you remember where Taehyung worked. Sitting on a barstool, you wait for the brown-haired man to serve you.

But he’s not the one who greets you.

In his place is a black-haired, baby-faced man. He’s a few inches shorter than Taehyung (from what you can remember) and his fingers are long and slender.

He notices your gaze and drifts over to you. “What can I get you, miss?”

“I’ll get a strawberry margarita…” your eyes dart over to his nametag, “Yoongi.”

Yoongi shoots you a gummy smile. “Coming right up.”

While he shakes up your drink, you try to make some small talk. And get some answers, while you’re at it. “So, do you work here every night?”

The man shakes his head. “Nah, only from Monday to Thursday. My buddy Seokjin handles the rest.”

“Really?” When does Taehyung work, then? “Do you know of a Kim Taehyung that works at the bar, by any chance? I came here Saturday night and he served me.”

Yoongi frowns and slides you the strawberry margarita. “I don’t think so. It’s just me and Seokjin who work here.”

What?

“Oh,” you murmur, taking the drink. “I see.”

After asking around the club for a few hours with no avail, you decide to head home and deal with the mystery in the morning. It’s not like someone could work there for a night and then disappear, right?

You lock your apartment door behind you and kick off your shoes. Sighing, you decide to to call it a night—opening emails about residency can wait for tomorrow.

Just when you’ve finished slipping into a comfortable pair of sleeping shorts and an oversized t-shirt, you hear a peal of laughter coming from your balcony.

Confused, your sock-clad feet pad through your living room and you open the curtains to your balcony, only to see no one there. Unlocking the glass door that protects you from the outside, you step onto the concrete that juts out from the building. You abandon all fear and peer down at the streets under you, bright lights of cars flashing by.

A gentle breeze hits you and you swear that it’s carrying the sounds of Taehyung’s laugh. You whip around in hopes of seeing the man once again, but you’re met only with the cold air of the night.

However, a flash of white catches your eye. On the opposite corner of your balcony lies a white envelope on top of a small green box, its clean ivory paper contrasting with the dark green of the cardboard.

Ripping open the envelope, you read the letter that’s inside:

Dear ___,

I had such a lovely time with you a few nights ago. You were truly born to fly :)

However, it saddens me to say that I don’t think that you’ll be seeing me anymore. For reasons why, I cannot tell. Even so, please continue to live happily and healthily—never let obstacles stop you from reaching your goal.

But when you do inevitably stumble into a dark hole of hopelessness, please use the gift I’ve given to you to your advantage…

Wishing you a safe journey,

Kim Taehyung

Gift?

You immediately set the letter down and start to open the green box instead. Once you’ve undone the ribbons and tape, your eyes widen when you see what’s inside.

Within the cardboard walls sits a small pouch of pixie dust, identical to the ones that were hidden in the room behind the bar.

Why Taehyung would entrust this to you, you don’t know. But what you do know is that two nights ago, you believed in magic and a boy helped you fly. Two nights ago, he helped you look at the world through a different lens.

Your mind was opened, and your thoughts are clear. Looking up at the night sky, you smile.

“Thank you.”

#btswritingcafe #btsgoldnet #bangtanhq #btscreatorscorner #kim taehyung #bts #kim taehyung x reader #taehyung x reader #taehyung fic #bts fic #tokyii #bts fluff #bts angst #fluff #angst #w: pixie dust

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figuringouthowtobehere · 3 years

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please dont reblog this

i dont have many ppl to talk to. so here i am, screaming into the void that is my tumblr again.

im mostly posting this because im alone. im really really fucking alone. and im hoping i might, idfk, make a solid, trustable connection from tumblr??? idfk. im alone in the world.

please dont reblog this

cw family issues, su*cidality, abandonment, abuse, childhood abuse, trauma, being alone in the world

i have no one to go to. my entire life since i was a baby all ive ever been able to do is survive at the skin of my teeth. and here i am, 20, breathing, trying so fucking hard to live and, idk if im succeeding. im doing my film shit which is cool but. im alone. im on my own. im alone in the world. i never had parents. like, obviously i had parents, but they were never parents, dyou know what i mean? like the people who genetically made me were around but they were abusing me or just being awful or refusing to listen to me about what i needed from them, from their parenthood.

i had a conversation with my mom yesterday (after two days of not being able to get a hold of her and really really needing to) and i was basically just like ‘why cant you be my mom’ and she was like ‘i am your mom’ and i was like ‘well, yeah, but youre not--you cant--you dont mother me. and you dont mother me in the ways i need you to.’ and she was like ‘what does that look like to you?’ and i said ‘someone who i can turn to, always, someone who has my back no matter what, someone who respects me and what i need and who listens to me and trusts my experience and, yeah, someone who i can turn to always’ and she said ‘i mean i can talk with you on the phone, i can tell you what i think you should do, i can try to give you advice from my experience, but as far as someone having your back 24/7 always, i cant do that’ and we ended up talking about how im an adult now - and she was talking about it in the sense of ‘youre a grown man now, you dont need your mom like that anymore’ - and im like ‘ya, i am basically a grown man but i still need my mom. i still need parents.’ and i think im gonna end up cutting contact with her again because its too hard to simultaneously grieve her not being the mom i need and also talk to her. if im not talking to her then i can deal with the idea that i dont have a mother, that i dont have parents and i probably never will.

ive never really had people. i never really had friends when i was a child and i dont really have friends now. maybe its cause im trans, maybe its cause im autistic, maybe its cause im mixed, i dont know, but generally people in the world dont like me or it takes them a long time to not hate me. it doesnt matter why right now the point is i never had people (like, a support system) and i dont now.

so yeah im pretty seriously thinking about killing myself (or, trying to anyway). i dont wanna die but ive spent my whole life trying to just. be a person. and find contentment. and everything in my life ends up going awful or causing me a lot of trouble at some point or another. ive come to expect it. whenever anything happens in my life im just like ‘when will this go wrong. how long will it take this time.’ and im alone. im just fucking on my own. and i know theres lots of people who are and have been more alone than i am/have been and i admire these people so fucking much like GO YOU!! YOUFUCKING DID IT!!! HELL YEAH! im so proud of u. for real, i have so much respect for all yall reading this who have made it through shit and made it through being alone in the world. you fucking got this. youre doing it. good fucking job!!!!! ✨ but then. idk ig it doesnt take away from this being incredibly fucking difficult for me. pretty much everything in my life was fucked from birth to age 18 and now over half of everything in my life is fucked. which is better, for sure, but its still. ive never had a chance. idk it just seems to me like it doesnt matter. i can try and try and do all the therapies and take all the psych meds a psychiatrist might give me and i can meditate all the time. it just seems like im Doomed. (WOW i sound dumb and childish) like ik logically this is probably incorrect, that im not actually just.. doomed but thats how it feels. whenever a good thing happens im just waiting for it to collapse on me. and usually it does in way or another. generally not because of anything ive done or havent done, it just ends up being shit.

and then. ive never had anyone. i dont have anyone. im alone in the world. like its not that im ignoring people i do have or choosing to omit them from my mind right now. i have a singular friend in the place where i live; my other two friends both live in the states. i live with someone who was a support for me until like last ... july or so, i think, who now makes me feel like shit (they arent being malicious its just a bunch of issues in our relationship. theres more on that in stuff ive posted before, if you feel like digging through my posts for a while go ahead and youll find more on that) and i have like 5% (out of 100%) trust for them. i have a therapist who i see once a week and ik shes invested in me, but thats her job. and i cant just call her whenever i want. i have several people for film stuff but theyre either just casual pals and then colleagues or just colleagues. i know a lot of people, who dont really show any investment in me as a person or their relationship with me and who i dont really click well with. and thats it.

and im so. im so in love with Film. all of it. (not The Film Industry obviously.) im so fucking in love with it. the only real concrete reason that i wont end up killing myself in the next like month or two is because Film. and i just. need. people. i need parents. or something. fuck.

i think part of this is probably the long-term ramifications of ongoing childhood sexual, physical, and psychological abuse and never really having good, consistent support cause id be surprised if that didnt fuck with my brain (and, yk, untreated severe childhood brain damage from tbis beginning at less than a year old). but it doesnt really matter does it. ive been through the shit time and again and its not like anyone has appeared and been like ‘hello, i see you never had parents, this is who i am, would you like to get to know each other for a while and maybe i could be your mom?’ cause thats literally what i need. i need parents. like i know theres a thing of ‘if you didnt have parents then you cant undo that damage’ but like idk. if someone has a bunch of unhealed broken bones that got broken years ago that are now causing them a lot of pain you wouldnt just be like ‘sorry, i see youre in trouble from this shit, but because it happened years ago theres nothing we can do’ cause there is??? i forget how i was gonna say this before but like. i didnt have parents. with the ‘parents’ i had its a scientific anomaly i lived past age three. i refuse to believe that having Good Parents and a Good Support System now would do nothing for me. cause it would.

im also facing impending homelessness due to a) welfare/disability programs not giving you enough to live off and b) not having a roommate/not having support systems/not having people. so that doesnt help.

i dont know how to do this. im on my own. im doing all i can. ive reached out to everyone i feel like i could reach out to and. im on my own.

help. i guess. idk what that means but im, once again, at an incredibly fucking AWFUL point in my life and i need help. i doubt anyone will be able to but. if youre able to then. idk. do something. ik that i sound desperate and pitiful and i literally dont care at all because i literally am desperate for support and i literally am at - ANOTHER - extremely low point in my life and its pitiful. im cringing at myself actually posting this because its like ‘you think youre actually find what you need via a tumblr post? where are you? cause thats not real life dude’ but i dont fucking have people to talk to (as you have already understood 🙃) and im tired and tired and tired and tired.

if you took the time to read this i thank you and i hope ur day is going vvv well

please dont reblog this!!

#childhood abuse tw #tw #tw alone in the world #suicide tw #please dont reblog this #no rb #homelessness tw

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