#it's all my fault. i wish i had the energy and willpower to beat the shit out of myself for it

[ninja-go-to-therapy]

Febuwhump 28: "You Have to Let Me Go"

@badthingshappenbingo

I legitimately didn't think I was ever going to finish this, so seeing that I finally have is fricken awesome. I'm so excited!

Welcome to the newest branch of The Family Tree — similar but not related to Decadent — Delusion!

Prompt: bthb - the collector ; febuwhump - "you have to let me go"

Fandom: Ducktales 2017

Characters: Huey, Dewey, and Louie

Summary: Doofus wants to have more than just one friend-present. He gets his wish.

Trigger Warnings: burning, torture, kidnapping, possessive whumper, drowning, and once again Doofus Drake needs his own warning

2377 words

“What do you want with us?” Huey asked, cautious.

Doofus smiled, like he was thrilled to have been asked. “Llewellyn is so lovely, and he just makes such a wonderful friend-present. It only makes sense that I should have the full set.”

Dewey raised his eyebrows in disbelief. “The full set? What are you, some rare Barbie collector?”

Doofus narrowed his eyes, but didn’t respond immediately.

“Dewey,” Louie warned.

Dewey, like the reckless idiot he was, waved him off.

“As I was saying,” Doofus continued, “I wanted the whole set, so I got the whole set.”

“Ooh, do we come with accessories?” Dewey asked, leaning forward like he was really interested. For all Huey knew, maybe he was. Dewey was like that.

“Shut up,” Louie hissed, glaring at Dewey. Huey shared the sentiment. He didn’t know what Doofus would do if they annoyed him enough.

“What is he gonna do, sick his butler on us?” Dewey asked, rolling his eyes. “This is child’s play.”

Huey resisted the urge to point out the fact that they were, in fact, children, making his point meaningless, but it didn’t seem too helpful right now.

“Dewey, stop,” Louie insisted.

Doofus glared at Dewey, but Dewey wasn’t even looking at him. He was way too relaxed about this whole thing. They didn’t know what Doofus was capable of. Dewey was just seeing this another fun adventure where they got kidnapped by some guy who was all bark and no bite for like, thirty minutes maximum. Which, to be fair, did happen quite often, but this felt different.

“You’re not being a very good friend, Dewford,” Doofus said, looking legitimately disappointed in him. “I expected better of you.”

“Yeah, I get that a lot.”

Huey looked at him, concerned, but Dewey didn’t acknowledge it. It seemed like there were quite a few things he wasn’t acknowledging, actually.

“I think you need a little trip to my honey bin,” Doofus said, and though Huey had no idea what that was, the threat was clear.

Dewey cocked his head to the side. “You mean money bin.”

“No, I don’t.”

Louie went pale, and that was enough for Huey to intervene. “He didn’t mean it!” he cried, nervously glancing between a continuously carefree Dewey and the rich psychopath.

“Too late! Come, dear Dewford,” Doofus said, releasing him from the bracelet’s hold and grabbing him firmly by the arm. “You can think about how to be a better friend while you’re in there.”

Dewey turned to point a finger-gun at his brothers, clicking his tongue.

“He’s going to get us killed,” Huey mumbled illy.

Louie shook his head, tugging at his bracelet as he did so. “He won’t kill us,” he mumbled miserably. “It will be worse.”

Huey looked at him in alarm, but Louie didn’t opt to explain further.

“Okay, we’ve got to get out of here,” he said decisively, a new energy coursing through him now that they weren’t in the same room as their captor. He squirmed, trying to get his wrist out, but just like Louie, he had no luck. “Do you by chance have any butter?”

Louie stared at him. “Butter.”

“If we get all buttery, we might be able to get the bracelets off without dislocating our thumbs!”

“Oh, of course. Yes, Huey, let me just grab that butter I carry with me everywhere!” Louie said, sarcasm dripping from his voice.

“It’s the only plan I have!” Huey cried, doing his best to stay calm. They had no clue what was happening to Dewey right now, and based on everything that had happened since they’d been captured, he got the feeling Doofus was seriously unstable.

He was scared, and he didn’t think well under pressure.

Very, very faintly, they heard Dewey scream.

“Oh god,” Louie whispered.

“We need to help him!” Huey shouted, frantically yanking at his arm, like the whole thing would just come loose if he tried hard enough. His arm was already getting sore, but he ignored it. “This thing has got to have a fault somewhere! Or an off switch!”

“The only off switch is the remote that Doofus keeps on him!” Louie said, grunting as he tried to get free.

“And we can’t break them,” Huey panted, slumping over as he caught his breath. “What are we gonna do?”

“You won’t be doing anything.”

Huey froze mid-yank, slowly lowering his arm again. Doofus was standing in the doorway, Dewey beside him.

Dewey didn’t look so lighthearted anymore. His feathers were all disheveled and sticky looking, and he was just staring into space blankly. Huey had no idea what the hell Doofus had done, but he definitely didn’t want to know. It was hard to shut Dewey up, even when his life was threatened.

Actually, maybe he did want to know. Anyone who hurt his brother was going to pay.

Dewey was placed with a level of great care, much like a doll, or an action figure, back where he’d been before, between Huey and Louie. Both of them shuddered.

“You have to let us go,” Huey said, hoping to God he could reason with him. “You can’t just keep us here!”

“But I can,” Doofus replied easily.

Louie gave Huey a desperate sort of look, like he was trying to silently project his own thoughts into Huey’s brain. He tried to focus on it, on the off chance that twin sense was real, but he wasn’t getting anything. Huh.

He turned his focus back to Doofus. He knew he was on thin ice, but Doofus was just a kid, like them. “Come on,” he said, “we would be happy to be your friends!” he ignored the quiet “no we wouldn’t,” from Louie, plowing forward anyway. “You don’t have to kidnap us to get that! Don’t you think you may be overreacting just a little bit?”

“Overreacting?” Doofus shouted, overreacting.

“No! No, I didn’t mean you were overreacting!” Huey cried, attempting to backtrack. “Even if you are kind of crazy — no wait I didn’t mean that!” Oh boy, he was only burying himself deeper and deeper with every word he spoke. Why couldn’t he have been born with Louie’s smoothness?

Doofus did not look happy, and Huey let out a tiny squeak, looking side to side like a magical exit would appear before them.

Dewey snapped to life, purposefully placing himself in front of Huey. “Don’t touch him,” he growled.

“Dewey, no!” Huey said, doing his best to shove past him. “I’m not letting you get hurt again!”

“And I’m not letting you get hurt at all!” Dewey insisted.

“How sweet,” Doofus said, and Huey honestly couldn’t tell if it was supposed to be mocking or sincere. Doofus was… well, he was Doofus, and he had a very… interesting way of going about things. “You’re coming with me,” he continued, ignoring Dewey entirely and leading Huey towards the door.

“No!” Dewey begged.

“I’ll be fine, Dew,” Huey said, smiling as best he could in an attempt to reassure him. It didn’t seem to be working well.

Doofus pulled him from the room.

“What’s the honey bin?” He asked, tripping over himself as he tried to keep up.

“Oh, you won’t be going there,” Doofus said dismissively. He looked like Dewey did when he was trying to hide some silly secret, and Huey didn’t like it.

They ended up outside, at the top of the treehouse.

“Servants!” Doofus snapped. “Prepare the gravy bath!”

Huey stared at him blankly. “The gravy what now?”

“You’ll see,” he replied gleefully. Not a normal type of glee, of course — Huey was quickly learning that there was very little about this kid that was normal (and not in the type of way that Huey wasn’t “normal”, either). It was worrisome.

“The gravy bath,” the butler echoed hauntedly. Huey, his concern growing, could only look at him in confusion.

“The gravy bath,” Doofus began, “is one of my favorite pastimes.” Well that couldn’t be good. “And if it doesn’t work, I’m sure there are… other methods of teaching you how to be a better friend.”

The maid and butler dragged out a bathtub (from where, Huey had no idea), scurrying away the moment it was (presumably) in place.

“Seriously, what is a gravy bath?” Huey asked nervously. He would have tried to back away had Doofus not been gripping his arm so tightly.

Said duckling shoved him into the empty tub, and Huey grunted in pain as he landed. Still, this was an open tub, which meant it might have been his only chance to flee.

He flailed about, nearly throwing himself over the opposite edge of the tub. The butler forced him back in, but Huey didn’t stop struggling, even as his bracelet activated. Doofus grabbed his free hand tightly, pulling a second bracelet from his pocket and slipping it over Huey’s wrist.

With both of his hands now glued to the bottom of the tub, Huey was stuck.

The two adults then proceeded to wheel out what looked like a giant… gravy boat. And when he said giant, he meant giant. It looked big enough to function as an actual boat. He was pretty sure he, Dewey, Louie, and Webby could fit in there if they squeezed.

“Wonderful! Servants, you’re dismissed.”

They all but ran to the elevator, barely missing a beat. As scared as he was, Huey couldn’t blame them.

“What are you going to do?” he asked again, looking up at the boat nervously. Was that steam coming off of it?

Doofus’s beak twitched into a smile, and he pulled out a small blue remote.

Huey began squirming again, his stomach churning in anxiety for what could be coming. Doofus wasn’t actually that crazy, was he?

He got his answer when a small beep sounded from the remote. The gravy boat tipped, and something hot (very, very hot), poured over Huey’s head.

He shouted, fighting against the restraints with every ounce of his willpower. It burned. And it was spreading, a continuous stream of the stuff (was this actual gravy?) raining down on him.

It was splattering onto Doofus’s clothes, but he didn’t even seem to mind.

“Turn it off!” Huey begged, crying out at the pain. It was a thousand times worse than any other burn he’d ever received, and there was nothing he could do to get away.

It began to pool around him, burning his hands. He couldn’t. Get. Away.

“Please,” he sobbed, breath hitching and unable to stop the tears.

It was like the time one of his particularly horrible bullies had attempted to shove him into the fire at a Junior Woodchucks camp out, but so much worse.

Not only was this actually successful, but he would have been pulled from that fire in seconds had he actually been pushed in. This was constant, never ending pain, thick liquid fire pouring over him like molten lava.

It was in his eyes, now, blinding and burning and pain pain pain.

A hand grabbed him, and suddenly it was tenderly wiping the fire from his eyes, jerking him forward so it streamed down his back instead.

Huey cried even harder.

All he could taste was the gravy, burning his feathers, his tongue, his everything.

It hurt. So bad.

The tub was nearly filled, the lower half of his body completely submerged in the stuff. Finally, after what must have been eternity, the stream dripped to a stop.

He let himself hope, for a meager few seconds, that it was over. But hope was hard to come by when one was literally sitting in a tub of burning gravy.

Doofus placed his hand on Huey’s head, tangling his fingers in Huey’s hair for a moment — wait. When had his hat come off? — before abruptly gripping it so hard that Huey couldn’t keep another sob in. His head was shoved violently down, and suddenly his entire body was on fire all at once.

He couldn’t breathe. He was choking on the stuff. No air. No nothing. Just heat, just pain, just the hand forcefully holding him under.

He didn’t know how Doofus could stand to have even his hand touching it.

His head went blurry. Was blurry the right word? He couldn’t remember. Everything was heavy and floaty and — he was dragged back up.

Huey coughed and sputtered, taking in as much air as he could manage. Everything hurt.

The bracelets must have been released at some point, because then he was being lifted from the tub, gravy spilling over the side. He was too weak to even attempt to fight back as Doofus dragged him back inside.

Distantly, he wondered who was going to clean up the gravy that was getting all over the carpets. Probably that maid and butler. He felt kind of bad for them.

The gravy that still coated his feathers, at the very least, wasn’t too unbearable anymore. But the burns he’d received were, and he had the suspicion that he wouldn’t be receiving medical attention. He sniffled.

He felt so gross, so… wrong.

“Wait,” he gasped, still struggling to breathe properly. “My — my hat,” he said, “and my guidebook, can I have them back?”

“Oh, those? I’m afraid the gravy ruined them,” Doofus replied, in such a casual manner that it took Huey a moment to actually process it.

“What?” he choked out, his heart dropping in his chest.

He was dragged through the door, his mind reeling. Louie and Dewey audibly gasped at the sight of him. He could only be thankful that the gravy managed to cover the burn marks that would no doubt be underneath.

“What did you do to him?” Louie asked nervously as Huey was placed back in his spot.

Doofus smiled. “Don’t fret, my sweet,” he said, wrapping his arms around Louie in a way that made Huey want to vomit. “He’ll be fine. And as for you… well, I have something special planned for you.”

It seemed, thank goodness, that he didn’t plan to act on whatever it was right now, because with that, he released Louie, spun towards the door, and left them alone.

Huey wiped his eyes with his free hand. They needed to get out of here.

#febuwhump #febuwhump2021 #febuwhumpday28 #ducktales #ducktales 2017 #kat writes #ducktales fanfiction #doofus drake #hdl #angst #whump #the family tree #delusion #burning #torture #kidnapping #possessive whumper #drowning #tw burning #tw torture #tw kidnapping #tw possessive whumper #tw drowning #bthb #bad things happen bingo #wooooo

[rumbelleshowdown]

Author:  Orion

Prompt:  Can't make tea; Otherworldly delights; Comfort.

Group: A

-

Finding You

Outside the Dark Castle stood a single oak tree. It was old, possibly older than Rumplestiltskin himself, being there before the Castle had even existed. Clearly visible from the window of his tower, growing bigger each year, its crown threw shade at the ground below. 

There were times he imagined his son playing around it. In those times, he could sometimes see him climbing the branches, sitting there for the whole day and sketching. He longed for days when he could see what could have been but never were, but those days became rarer as the time he could finally go to the land without magic drew closer.

Rumplestiltskin was lying on the grass, hidden in the shadows of the oak leaves, with his eyes shut tightly. His dragonhide coat nowhere in sight, he was dressed only in a plain silk shirt and leather vest. It had been ages since he had laid like that. Last time... Well, it had probably been with Bae sprawled next to him somewhere in the field, while they had watched over the sheep. Years and years ago - lifetimes even. 

He tried to keep his face blank, but in the last deal he had to take part of the magic's price on himself, and the consequences were now manifesting themselves in the form of the pounding headache. He would probably have been better off hiding in a dark corner where no light could reach his hurting eyes, but he had discovered that the soft breeze did wonders. The grass was soft, the temperature just right, and even just for a little while, he could drop the mask of the Dark One. 

Or so he had thought.

Maybe if he were more alert, he would remember that this spot wasn't just his anymore. There was another occupant of the castle that discovered it to be a perfect place for leisure. 

One of the twigs snapped, and Rumplestiltskin heard a stifled, surprised gasp. 

If he had more energy to spare, he would magic himself out of here in a heartbeat, but the pressure behind his eyelids was telling him it wasn't such a great idea. Besides, it would give the other person the ammunition to tease him later.

"As much as others like to suggest otherwise - I don't bite, dearie."

"I know you don't. I was just startled, that's all."

"Hmm." He didn't need to open his eyes to know the unamused look on her face. As if to prove the point, he heard the rustling of her dress and soon she was seated beside him on the ground. She was so close he could almost touch her with his head, and that proximity alone made his body stiffen. 

"I didn't realise you were back," she continued after making herself comfortable, not minding his sudden uneasiness. "Did you manage to tempt someone with - how did you put it? Otherworldly delights?"

Her tone was teasing, but somehow Rumplestiltskin couldn't bring himself to feel annoyed - on the contrary. Well, he would faster swallow his tongue than admit aloud that the only otherworldly delight in his life was seated next to him. He frowned as soon as that thought came to him. No. She was just a maid - nothing more, nothing less.

"And what if I did?"

"Well, then I hope they did read the fine print."

He scoffed, but it was cut short at the sudden spike of pain behind his eyelids.  

"Rumplestiltskin?"

"I'm fine. Just read your book."

She always had one. Belle didn't speak for a while, and he thought she must have turned her attention away from him, and he started to drift off a little.

"Could you raise your head a little bit?"

"What?" He asked startled, not realising he had done just as she had asked. It happened very quickly - one moment his head was in the air, then another it rested on her lap. "What are you - "

"Shh, it's fine. Just relax - you're so tense, no wonder your head is hurting."

It was so very very wrong, and Rumplestiltskin should get out of there that instant, but he was rotten to the spot. His thoughts were running miles a minute, he couldn't stop them, but then they all came to a halt as Belle began to run her soft fingers through his hair. She brushed it from his forehead, stroked it gently and massaged his scalp with her fingertips. Her other hand was rubbing his shoulder in small circles, and slowly he could feel himself relax.

"I could still turn you into a toad you now?" He murmured, but without any conviction. Belle giggled softly, completely unaffected.

"Yes, you could, but then I would have to stop, and there would be a toad sitting on your head. Besides, it's helping, isn't it?"

"It's not unhelpful," he reluctantly admitted.   

Something was nagging at his mind, telling him something was off about the whole situation. The sun was a little too bright, birds a bit too loud. There had never been so many birds around the Dark Castle, had there?

But Belle's fingers were so soft, her touch so lovely he couldn't pinpoint exactly what was worrying him so. Even her skin feeling a lot colder than it should have didn't bother him so.

Why were his eyes still closed?

He opened them slowly. They were uncooperating in every bit, and it took all of his willpower to force them to obey him. When they finally did, his blood ran cold.

Belle was smiling, but her eyes - so full of life and always sparking - were now empty and unseeing, her skin deathly pale and her lips blue. There was a smudge of dried blood on the side of her head, sticking her hair together.

"Belle? What - "

"I fell, remember?" Her voice sounded empty, the warmth from before gone. No. No, no, no. "They hurt me, and you didn't come. I did what I had to."

"No, Belle," he was crying, he knew he was, and the birds had stopped chirping. "Please don't say it. Please, don't - "

"I jumped because you didn't come."

"I didn't know, please - "

"I threw myself off the tower because you let me go."

Rumplestiltskin screamed...

... and jolted awake in his bed, his breath coming in shallow gasps.

He looked around madly, not fully comprehending where or when he was. It was so dark he could barely see the end of his nose. His long hair was plastered to his forehead, and his sweaty clothes bound him like heavy shackles.

He had to calm down, but his wildly beating heart just wouldn't slow down - a caged bird demanding freedom.

He remembered that day outside the Dark Castle. The memory was still vivid in his head, and rationally he knew it hadn't ended as it had in the dream, but right now it was a jumble of two different sets of realities.  

No. 

Belle was alive. 

She had to be. 

I jumped.

She hadn't killed herself. 

You let me go.

She was - 

His hands darted to the side, frantically petting the bed, looking for any trace of a person who should be there. 

But the spot beside him was empty and no matter how madly he wished otherwise, it was. His hands were shaking, and he knew he was losing it, mumbling nonsense, and almost crying from the sheer terror that threatened to overwhelm him. The voice in his head whispered only one thing into his ear.

Dead. Dead. DEAD.

"Rumple?" 

He turned around so fast it could be magic. The room wasn't dark anymore, and he wasn't alone. Belle stood in the doorway, her left hand still on the light switch, the right one clutching a glass of water. She must have noticed the panic on his face because she put the glass on the nightstand and quickly sat down on the bed next to him.

"Rumple, what happened?" she asked, checking him over. He didn't know what she was seeing, but he knew what he was.

Her eyes were full of life. Concerned, yes, but not glazed over and dead.

There was a bitter taste in his mouth, and as his throat clenched so hard, it was hard to breathe all he was able to do was to reach out and clutch her right shoulder firmly in disbelief.

"You're real," he choked out, holding back tears. "You're alive."

Those two sentences had been enough for her to understand. She wrapped her hands around him and tugged him forward. Rumplestiltskin buried his face in the crook of her neck as his fingers twisted desperately in the material of her nighty. He knew he was clinging like a child in need of comfort, but at that moment, he couldn't care less. 

She was here.

"You had a nightmare, didn't you?" he nodded once not daring to let her go just yet. "If you want me to listen, I'm here."

He swallowed hard and took a deep, ragged breath. 

"We were under the oak tree, the one outside the Dark Castle. You were playing with my hair." 

He loosened his death grip on her, and she delicately freed herself but didn't let him move away. Instead, she pulled him down, so his head rested on her lap.

"Just like that, right?" as if to prove her words, she started to stroke his hair just like she had on that day. "Didn't you threaten to turn me into a toad?"

"In my defence, you would make a beautiful toad."

"I'm happy you think so. You magiced yourself out of there quite quickly, didn't you? Were you afraid of your maid?"

"More like of what she was doing to me," he answered with a ghost of a smile in the corner of his lips.

"Well, the feeling was mutual, I assure you. It went differently, didn't it?"

Even if he knew it hadn't been real, it still hurt.

"You were dead. That's all that needs to be said," he answered while averting his gaze from her eyes. He wasn't strong enough to tell her more.

"I didn't die, tho. I'm still here. Regina had lied."

"I still abandoned you."

"You didn't know."

"It doesn't matter!"

How could she be so forgiving when the fault was his?!

"Rumple," she turned his face back up so he would look at her. The look in her eyes left him speechless, and he could do nothing more than focus on her. The light from the room surrounded her, and he could feel a warmth spreading through his entire body as if it was radiating from her, making him feel safe. "We both made mistakes, but what matters is, in the end, we have found each other."

Belle continued to stroke his hair and face, and his heart gradually slowed down as the suffocating feeling of panic let him go bit by bit. 

His eyelids felt suddenly heavy, and he let them drop, too tired to fight. His head hurt, and for a moment, he wondered if it was due to the exhaustion or something else entirely.

"You would remember very soon, Rumple." Belle's voice sounded as if she was far away from him. But she couldn't be - he could still feel her fingers threading through his hair. "We will find our way back to each other. We always do."

He wanted to ask her what she had meant but couldn't find his voice.

...ective? 

"Remember, I love you."

Detective?

"You will find your way back to me, Rumple."

Can you hear me?

"Belle?"

Come on, open your eyes.

"Shhh, sleep now. All will be alright."

He wanted to ask more, but the tiredness won over, and soon all he could see was a white light. It was coming closer now, blinding him and then he could see nothing else.

He blinked his eyes sluggishly, and the white turned into a blurry shape.

Someone was leaning over him - a woman with chestnut hair and a concerned gaze. 

"Belle?" His voice was hoarse as if unused for some time.

The woman smiled and gently smoothed his hair down with care.

"It's Isobel, but it doesn't matter. How are you feeling?"

"Ugh, my head hurts," he answered only now realising he was resting on her lap, just like in his dream. No - dreams. If he could call them that, they felt too real. Like memories of other lives... 

Belle - Isobel, he corrected himself, grimaced and her hand momentarily stilled in her motions.

"Yeah, you got hit pretty badly. What is the last thing you remember

You. Us. Outside the Castle. In our home. Was any of it real?

"Some guy?" He asked instead, looking around as much as he could. They were in what looked like a dark alley, somewhere between her flat and Roni's where she worked. A man had followed her and, with a bad feeling, Weaver had gone after them.

"Yeah, you got into a scuffle when he pinned me down," she worried her lower lip averting her eyes for a moment. "He's gone now, must have bolted when he realised he knocked out a cop."

"Lucky him," he grumbled and twisted to sit up. Dark spots danced before his eyes, and then there were small, but strong arms holding him in place as he tilted to the side, stopping him from falling back down.

"Careful," she smiled, and the look on her face was enough to banish the fog from his eyes. "If it helps, you landed a pretty good hit on him too."

"Here's to thinking his head hurts more than mine then."

"I hope it does. Well, as you saved me, I could offer you tea, but I can't make it here. I could at my place tho."

He swallowed hard, his mouth suddenly dry. He searched her face for anything suspicious, but all he had found was a look in her eyes he couldn't quite yet discern. No one had ever looked at him like that.

"Belle - sorry, Isobel," he scolded himself.

"No, you can call me Belle, I don't mind." He could swear he would say anything to see her smile like that again. "Can I call you anything other than Detective?" she asked with a twinkle in her eye making him smile back - a genuine, honest smile, he couldn't remember using for a long time.

Rumple.

"Weaver would do for now," he answered, wondering where the strange name in his head had come from, it wasn't his, and yet felt right. Just as hers wasn't Belle, yet he couldn't call her differently.

"Weaver it is then. So, would you like to come in?" 

"I would like that very much," he answered honestly, and as she helped him get up, he felt as if some piece inside him that he didn't realise was missing slid back into place.

-

#rumbelle showdown 2020 #round three entry #author: orion #rumbelle fic

[itsthegirlinthebowtie]

lonely places

pairing Peter Parker x Reader (sorta, kinda more general though cause it’s the beginning of a relationship.)

word count 2.4k

summary Flash tries to impress you by making fun of Peter and Ned, but you are anything but impressed, and you sure as hell have something to say about it.

~  

On the outside looking in,

I’ve been a lot of lonely places

I’ve never been on the outside

-Taylor Swift

~

“Really, Dad? Do I have to do this?” You whined as you pulled up to the large, stately house upstate where one of your classmates lived. As you came to a stop in front of the house you could already hear the echo of the bass that was emanating from the inside.

“You don’t have to go, but you should. I used to go to parties all the time, they’re fun. You’ll have fun.” Tony said with a smile. You simply rolled your eyes in response. “Yeah, I know you did Dad. But I’m not you, I like keeping to myself. It’s easier that way.”

Tony frowned slightly at the comment, and you could tell it worried him a little but he didn’t say anything. “Just humor me and go to this one, and if you hate it I’ll leave you alone. Deal?”

You nodded, still hesitant about the whole thing but it seemed fair enough to you. “Deal.”

“Great. Now go and have fun,” he said, nudging you in the direction of the door.

The moment you climbed out of the car the sound of the music was instantly louder and you sighed, already wishing you were at home reading a good book or watching television. You looked back at your dad, exploring him to give up on this whole charade and just take you home but he simply smiled and waved at you before pulling away from the curb, driving off and leaving you all alone on the lawn.

You let out a deep sigh and resolved yourself to head up the path and towards the house and its chaos within. The minute you walked in you were immediately surrounded by the EDM beat and the sound of your classmates chattering and laughing.

“Hey Y/n!” One of the aforementioned classmates that you barely knew called out in greeting as you passed. You smiled nervously and said a hesitant hello back as you headed towards the kitchen to find yourself something to drink.

Part of why you didn’t enjoy interacting with most of your peers was the fact that people you had nothing in common with were always introducing themselves to you, and doing whatever they could to get you to be their friend. It didn’t have anything to do with you and who you were really, they didn’t care. They just wanted to be able to brag about how they were friends with Y/n Stark, and maybe if they got close enough to you they could meet an Avenger. You were just a stepping stone to get to your dad. You never mentioned this to him though; you had a feeling he knew it and felt bad enough about it already. It’s not like there was anything he could do about it, it wasn’t his fault.

You made it to the kitchen, where you headed over to the fridge looking for something with a cap that you could drink. You could never be too careful with anything unsealed as a woman and a relative of one of the most powerful men in the world. There were plenty of people out there who would love to use you to get to your father.

You managed to find something and you helped yourself, finding a bottle opener on the counter and taking a sip. You took your drink over to the living room entrance, leaning on the door frame and watching your drunk peers dance to the music.

“Hey Y/n! Funny seeing you here, you rarely come to these things. Don’t get me wrong though, it’s a pleasant surprise.”

You took a deep breath in at the voice, preparing yourself for a conversation that you really didn’t want to have. So much for trying to have fun. “Oh, Flash. Hi.” You said, faking a smile since you were anything but happy to see him. Flash had been trying to get you to go out with him all year, something that annoyed you to no end. He was one of the many people interested in you simply because of your parentage, and he took it to the highest extent. You had no interest in him, rather you quite disliked him and his shallow interest in you. Not only was he nice to you only because of your perceived status, but he was mean to those he deemed to be without said status. It took all of your willpower to be civil with him, but you did your best to take the high road. “I’m glad you’re here, it gives me an excuse to hang out with you.” He said as he came up alongside you.

“Hey Y/n! Hey Flash!” You heard a new voice chime in as a few of your other classmates came over to join you and you knew there was no longer any chance of keeping to yourself. You were hoping to just stand on the side of the room observing everything until you had sufficiently appeased your dad. Why you thought that would work you had no idea, wishful thinking I suppose. Everyone was always assuming you took after your dad, but if you were like either of your parents you were more like your mom, polite and politic in social settings but not a huge fan of them.

“I’m surprised to see you here Y/n, You rarely come to these things. I would’ve thought you’d be at more of them,” one of your classmates who’s name you remembered as Claire said with such a vibrant social energy that you felt tired just looking at her. Meaning you think I like parties because my dad does… You thought to yourself with mild annoyance, taking another sip of your drink in hopes that it would be a little easier to handle your drunk classmates if you were a little tipsy yourself.

“Yeah, I’m not really a big party person.”

“Really? Wow that surprises me.”

You smiled hesitantly in response, a forced smile that came out more like a grimace. You could’ve guessed that would be the response, you’d encountered variations of it many different times throughout your life. It seemed as if it were impossible for you to be your own person in this city because of the life you were born into.

The girl Claire continued to bubble on about something and you just smiled, beginning to space out and losing out on whatever it was she was saying. Out of the corner of your eye you caught sight of a familiar face, someone who you would really rather be talking to. Someone who treated you like a normal human being and had no need or interest in using you to make a connection to your father because he already knew him.

“Peter, Ned, hi!” You said, smiling and waving at the two of them, interrupting Claire who was still going on about the upcoming homecoming dance and how she hated one of her classes. Peter smiled and waved back, and you felt your heart leap slightly at the acknowledgment. Your little circle of fake friends stopped talking, looking at you with a mix of awe and confusion. Flash, who was still standing next to you and who up until that moment had thought that he had been doing a really great job of impressing you by spending time with you, grimaced in annoyance at the fact that you seemed much happier to see Peter Parker than you had been to see him. “Ugh, Penis Parker, really? Why would you want to interact with him and his little pet? They’re just losers living in some alternate reality where Peter is best friends with Spider-Man. Like, yeah right. No way someone like him would waste his time with someone like them.”

Everyone in the group around you laughed at the mention of Peter “knowing” Spider-Man, with the exception of Claire who just chuckled uncomfortably. Why your peers thought that was so impossible was beyond you, and you knew that they couldn’t have been more wrong. You frowned, not finding Flash’s immature insults at all funny. “Excuse me? I know you have a delicate ego but that doesn’t mean you have to be an asshole. Plus, how can you be so sure he doesn’t know Spider-Man? He does intern with my dad after all. ”

Flash seemed slightly startled by your sudden retaliation, and it took him a moment before he was able to find his voice again. “I…what? I doubt interns get to meet the Avengers. Plus he and his sidekick are so uncool why would someone like Spider-Man want to meet someone like them? There are so many better people that you could be spending your time with other than those losers.” Flash elaborated, clearly raising his voice so that Peter and Ned would be able to hear him. You continued to frown at Flash, eyes flickering to Peter and Ned, and at the sight of their crestfallen, hurt faces you felt a rush of anger in your chest.

“Better people…meaning you, right Flash?” You said, cocking your head to the side mockingly. You’d officially had enough of his bullying and fake, shallow interest in you. Claire and the other oblivious teens in your circle were standing there shocked, looking between you and Flash clearly interested to see what Y/n Stark was like when she was angry. “And what do you have to offer me that Peter doesn’t? Daddy’s money?”

“Oooooh!” One of the guys standing with Claire said, putting his hand to his mouth and laughing as Flash stood there in shock.

“I would know more than anyone how unimportant that is and it’s not like I need any more of that anyway.” You continued, ignoring the comment. You felt your lip twitch as you held back a smirk at Flash’s dumbstruck face. After holding the glare a moment longer you smiled, the most mocking smile that you could muster, and pushed yourself off of the wall that you’d been leaning on a moment before and moving to leave the group. “It was nice to talk to you Claire,” you said, addressing her alone, and ignoring the others. She was a little spacey but she wasn’t a bad person and you had nothing against her, unlike Flash.

You turned to walk away, before Flash found his voice and shot back, “you’re going to regret that!”

You turned around slightly, just enough so that he could see you smile. “No, I don’t think I will.”

You continued to walk away towards Ned and Peter, and you heard Flash yell angrily after you once again. “Fine! I always thought you were kind of a bitch anyway!”

You kept walking, flipping him off over your shoulder in response, causing Peter and Ned to double over laughing. You made it over to where they were standing and smiled in greeting. “Hey guys.”

Both Peter and Ned grinned back at you, and you couldn’t help but wonder if anyone had stood up for them like that before. “Flash is still glaring at you.” Peter said with a chuckle.

“Oh, I’m sure. I just bruised his ego pretty badly, he’s not gonna recover from that very quickly.”

You noticed Peter’s smile waver slightly, and you raised a questioning eyebrow, not wanting to pry.

“Can I ask you something? Peter asked hesitantly, looking immediately as if he regretted it as soon as he had said it.

“Sure. Fire away.” You said. That was the difference between Peter and the others. Not once during the entire conversation from before did anyone ask you a question about yourself, but with Peter it was the first thing that he did.

“Why did you choose to join us? If I had a choice I would’ve chosen to fit in, and they just gave you that choice. Why choose us instead?”

You felt your face molding into a sad smile at his words. Peter clearly thought so little of himself, and you knew that while he felt useful as Spider-Man, he didn’t feel at all useful or wanted as Peter Parker. He was a much better person than Flash, but he clearly didn’t believe that himself.

“Believe it or not, I know how it feels to be an outsider. As much as people like to pretend that they accept me, they aren’t really accepting me for who I am. They’re accepting the person that they think I should be.”

“That sounds lonely.” Peter said in response.

“So does doing what you do for the world and not being able to tell anyone.” You shot back, and you saw Peter flinch slightly. “Don’t worry, no one will hear.” You said, and Peter nodded but you saw him look over his shoulder anyway. “Plus Flash is a self absorbed asshole, and you two aren’t so I’d rather spend my time with you.” You said with a smile, sensing Peter’s nerves and changing the subject back to Flash.

Both Peter and Ned laughed. “How do you know we aren’t?” Ned said with a joking smile.

“Self absorbed assholes aren’t very good at saving the world.”

“Oh.” Peter said, turning bright red at the compliment and you just chuckled.

“So what were you guys talking about before you were so rudely interrupted by said self absorbed asshole?”

“Oh, uh, just,” Peter sputtered, clearly still embarrassed by your compliment, and Ned jumped in to save him.

“We were just talking about aliens and how now that we know they exist do you think Star Wars was based on reality, like do you think something like the Empire actually exists?”

You nodded slowly, a smile growing on your face because finally you got to talk about something interesting. “If it is based in reality, does that mean then that George Lucas is an alien? Because it’s not like he would’ve known about the existence of aliens way before everyone else.”

Ned gasped at the idea. “You’re right! I didn’t think of that.” With that, Ned continued to postulate about the possibility of George Lucas’ alien identity, and you found yourself looking at Peter who was nervously looking down at his feet. His eyes flickered up to look at you and you gave him a small nervous smile in return, watching as his cheeks turned bright red as a result and making you chuckle.

You were looking forward to getting to know the two of them better, and you hoped to talk to Peter about his other identity someday. But for now you listened to Ned’s continued ramblings about aliens, feeling happy to finally have some real friends to spend your time with. Maybe this party could be fun after all.

#peter parker x reader #spiderman x reader #spider-man #spiderman #peter parker #spiderman homecoming #ned leeds #tony stark #flash #pepper potts #reader fanfiction #reader insert #fanfiction #writing #my writing #leah writes #text #alternate universe #peter parker fluff #drabble #tw swearing #swearing tw #fiction #romance #house party #tw drinking #spiderman far from home #tom holland #robert downey junior #marvel

[ruler-of-scientists]

Revelation: Part Three Contd.

“So....it’s a prototype...”, Deire mused, observing Veryn intently. The truth behind Project SHELL...some kind of evolutionary program..she wasn’t really sure of what to make of it. Not yet. The information she’d been relayed was still rather hard to process, even if it....made a fair amount of sense. A body composed of nanites could continually reconstruct against the destructive energies released by their PSI when it got too strong, and being able to harness PSI that usually went above their ability to contain in the first place was quite a tempting prospect....

But at the same time, she couldn’t help but wonder if it was the direction a species like theirs was meant to go. Surely they were to evolve beyond their reliance on technology, eventually? She had always entertained the idea that their limits could be overcome with sheer mental dedication. After all, Veryn himself was at a level of PSI many other Arkans couldn’t reach without burning out themselves... Then again, Veryn always had been fairly special. And mechanical evolution wasn’t inherently limiting, so long as their brains- the primary component for their ‘organic’ existence- remained, then there was still room for evolution after the artificial evolution the nanites would grant had been accomplished. She looked more closely at her mentor, narrowing her eyes then. “And it’s close to completion? Has it been tested?” “It’s been through multiple revisions and redesigns,” Veryn replied steadily, nodding, his own arms at his sides while he stood upright and proper. “You saw the blueprints, there are many of them...of course the physical design changes all the time, that’s the nature of the nanites. It’s the composition of the nanites themselves and the materials they fabricate which was constantly being changed...various tests ended with them shorting out and being destroyed by the power they were attempting to contain.” “And now?” Deire asked, leaning forward slightly, an intense interest in her gaze, tail curved gently behind her as a further sign of intrigue; if they were really so close to potential evolving then she had to know if it worked...! “Now, recent tests have proven that it’s capable of creating bodies for itself that can withstand levels of PSI even we can barely comprehend,” Veryn affirmed quietly, causing Deire to lean back again, looking at Veryn with a mix of awe and incredulity. He’d really done it, then... “So far we’ve tried brains of Arkans from the Depths, with additional willpower-blocking programs enforced by the nanites,” Veryn continued, watching her come to grips to all this slowly. “I believe only a few more tests and the production of a few more nanites is necessary before the project can be considered a success. Upon project completion I will bring it forward to the rest of the council and see what they make of it.” “Can the nanites not self-replicate?” Deire asked now, raising an eyebrow as she seemed to gather herself, finding that detail about more needing to be produced a bit...strange, considering the whole self-replicating thing and the usual relative ease of nanite construction regardless. “A fair question, to which I can say yes...and no,” Veryn answered honestly. “How the nanites work is that they are a group of complex ‘super’ nanites which produce swarms of smaller, less complex ‘worker’ nanites to do the majority of the work for the entire construct. The super nanites coordinate the efforts of the workers and can self-repair, but take time to do so. As such, an excess of super nanites is recommended...they individually take some time to craft, hence the delay.” “I see...” Deire murmured, rubbing under her chin now, before sighing. “Well...I still believe you should have told me about this beforehand, I could have been of some help. Regardless, I appreciate you telling me this now. Where is it?” “On the facility Silver is currently working at,” Veryn replied curtly, before pausing...then looking away to the side. Deire could swear she saw something that looked like hesitance in his eyes. “He is unaware of its existence. I remotely accessed the systems working on it as I passed the station by to repair Cercil...progress is going smoothly.” “Why is Silver unaware?” Deire asked now, folding her arms and tilting her head to the side. “I thought you two trusted each other as colleagues.” “...it is...not easy to explain,” Veryn murmured, slowly returning his gaze to his protegé and clasping his hands together, tail beating the ground once or twice. “He has...enough to work on as head engineer. And he would try to help me regardless. The fact of the matter is that you would indeed try as well if I had told you sooner and as I said...the project was personal, and controversial. I am still not certain how the council will react to my usage of brains, let alone how Silver will react. Which is why I, and I alone, have to make sure that it is at its most complete and perfect before I present it so that it will make a tempting enough proposition that the sacrifices required to create it will be overlooked...”

“...” Deire sighed, closing her eyes before looking up and to the side, watching a distant ship pass over high above the plaza. This wasn’t the first time Veryn had pulled something like this...specifically, going to great and possibly controversial lengths to complete a project he believed would benefit the Collective in some way. Usually he succeeded, but this was possibly a step too far. Depths or not, he had still tested on Arkan brains and if there was one thing Arkans didn’t generally approve of, it was experimentation on other Arkans. Veryn simply watched her in her musings, not saying a word himself, expression stony as ever. Searching.

Eventually, Deire spoke up, quietly, “..you still should have told me. I obey your orders and trust you as my mentor. I am glad you told me about all this, but you only did it because I was on the way to finding the truth out myself after you had tried to hide it. Trust is an important thing Veryn. How do I know you are not keeping other secrets from me?” “You don’t,” Veryn admitted, his tone straight and frank. He then however took a step towards her, expression actually softening a little; “But...believe me when I say...I didn’t keep it from you because I don’t trust you. I do trust you. You are my right hand...I would sooner confide this to you than lose your loyalty if it were on the line. It’s simply that...in this case...it had to be me. I started it, and I have to finish it on my own. Besides.” A pause. “I...do not wish to implicate you in the potential controversy this could generate. if it is just me that is being viewed with suspicion, then you will be all the safer.” Deire blinked, and looked back at him. She...she hadn’t thought of it like that. Indeed, she would likely be in as much trouble as he if the council decided his work had been too unethical for their tastes and she would have suffered as well. Her gaze lingered on him, for quite a bit longer than it took for her to finally respond, “I...did not consider that.”

“Of course you didn’t,” Veryn shrugged, taking another step towards her so that he was now closer and practically in front of her, putting a hand to one of her shoulders as he looked at her levelly. “But I cannot fault you for it. You are right to question your trust, Deire...our surroundings are not always the most trustworthy. Nontheless, I hope that this means your loyalty has not been swayed. You are...an outstanding right hand and partner. I will try to be more tactful with you in the future where top secret projects are involved. You have been nothing but loyal and fair to me and I shouldn’t repay you with secrecy...” Deire blinked twice at this, looking at his hand, then at the man himself, her expression visibly a little shocked but ultimately...she offered a small nod, and stated, slowly, “I...thank you, Veryn. That is all I could ask.” Veryn nodded, then removed his hand from her shoulder and turned to look at the large statue depicting Homeworld itself, walking over to get a better look at its details. Deire followed, standing beside him and looking over the statue’s design herself, the two standing in relative silence for about a minute. Eventually, Deire spoke once more: “So, may I see the prototype?” “When it’s completed.” “Mm.” “....” “So how, when and where did you get that necklace?” “Another time.”

#veryn #deire #comdis #complete dissonance #project SHELL #situation: revelation

[arielleyoga-blog1]

Positivity

When I first decided I wanted to write a blog, I asked my instagram buddies what topic’s they’d like to hear about. And one that I got more than once was “How are you always so positive?” 

Which was surprising to read more than once, as well as flattering. One of my friends, who I think is the bubbliest sweetest angel on earth specifically said “Even when you’re having a hard day or going through a tough time you’re so positive and joyful. How?!”

And it got me thinking...am I actually that positive of a person? And if so, just like they asked...how? I think the first part has to do with my natural disposition: I have always been a super sweet kid. I always cared about other people, and animals (animals more duh), and have ever since I was little really seen the good in everyone and wanted the best. That’s definitely just part of who I am, I think. However, it’s not all of who I am.

I mentioned in my last blog that I suffered from clinical depression in college. Before that, when I was young I had some body image issues and eating issues. I’ve always had issues feeling confident: in fact, this blog is really REALLY hard and scary for me. I just don’t feel like anyone cares. My mind instantly goes to “Why would anyone care? Who am I? I’m not special.” While it’s natural for me to see the good in others, it is also natural for me to see the not-good in myself. So the jump from that to depression took one thing: the death of my friend Scott Preston. 

Scott and I met freshman year in high school and we just clicked. We were definitely an odd pair of friends, but I saw the good in him and loved him very much.  He ended up leaving our school, but we stayed in touch and I’d go hang out with him sometimes at lunch or after school on the days I had my mom’s car. 

Scott smoked pot a lot: but so did a lot of my friends. I didn’t...yet. So it wasn’t a big deal or alarm for me. Scott also, like me, got migraines. So, one day when we were hanging out after I had surgery on my hand, he asked for my extra vicodin. Again, being the sweet-seeing the best in people-young girl that I was, I didn’t even think about it. Plus he said it was for his migraines. I gave him the vicodin. 

A week later, his dad came in and yelled at him about his grandmother’s medication being missing. After his dad walked out, he admitted he was taking her meds from her. All I could muster up was “Scott, you shouldn’t do that. You should be careful.” And about a month later, he crashed his Dodge Ram into a tree almost killing himself and his friend. He went into rehab and I just kept waiting to call. Feeling responsible somehow. My feelings of guilt for not saying more kept me from calling. And my need to be liked and not upset people is what kept me from saying more that afternoon when I had the chance. 

I talked about him to my new college friends, and really was planning on calling him soon. And then, I got a phone call that Scott was dead. And I took it all on as my fault. I became incredibly depressed and was in danger of seriously hurting myself. I got help, saw a therapist who sent me to a psychiatrist and got put on medication. Then more medication. Which made me numb. But not depressed. When I smoked pot it brought me up enough that I was my old self. But I didn’t want to be taking antidepressants and smoking pot to feel normal. So, I made the decision when I ran out of meds to just not renew my prescription knowing that the chances of my depression coming back was pretty much 100%. 

And guess what? I was right, I relapsed. And something else happened in my life that was pretty terrible. But I remember that when that second event occurred I said “Losing Scott took me to a dark place, and I will not give this other person the honor to mean as much to me as Scott did and pull me back. I’ll get through this.” I talked A LOT about my feelings. I journaled. I did yoga. And I let myself cry when I wanted to. Eventually, I came up for air. I personally give yoga all the credit: But I think my willpower had a lot to do with it too.

Ever since then, it truly has been a “It’s not worth it to go back there” mentality to me. I know what it’s like to want to end it, I know what it’s like to hurt yourself, I know what it’s like to live in this dark cloud where you feel nothing but sad and empty. And life is too short to live that way. 

So how do I stay positive? Well, I constantly focus on the things I HAVE!

We live in a culture that thrives off of us being in a “lack” mentality. Like sheep. “I don’t have time” is usually the thought when we wake up. I don’t have energy, I don’t have enough money, I’m not skinny enough...when I make this much money or have this phone or this car...blah blah bullshit. YOU HAVE SO MUCH. 

I always focus on the gifts of my life: which truly are plentiful. I’m healthy. I have use of my limbs. I can breathe without machines. I live in a country that for the most part allows me as a woman to LIVE (right now some horrible stuff is happening in the South and Midwest) but: I was able to get an education. I went to the top public college in the country UCLA, thanks to loans that I’m still paying off, grants, and work study. I work hard and I am grateful I get to work. I get to vote. I can wear whatever I want. I have a strong amazing mom that supports me even when she doesn’t agree with me. My list goes on!

And when things have gotten bad: like when my mom was diagnosed with lung cancer and my whole world came crumbling down, I found a way through. I cried, I was scared.  I journaled and I prayed and I thanked God for finding it early and for giving us the opportunity to get her healthy. I focused not on my fear or her cancer, but on her recovery even before we knew if that was a thing. I was thankful I had friends that I could call when she told me so they could rally around me for support. That bought groceries and meals for us, that helped ME get through it: because as an only child of a single parent it was a lot to handle. It’s a lot to handle no matter what: it’s cancer. I was thankful that I had the ability to work through my fear and sadness at my job. Teaching yoga helped me, and even more so being able to talk with my students about it: in fact, one class two of my student’s asked me straight up what was going on: Mellisa and Heather. And they both had dealt with very similar things and were there for me. What a blessing!  Now, every time...okay, not EVERY, but almost every time I get frustrated or annoyed with my mom, I remind myself that I’d rather her be here alive and healthy to drive me nuts than for her to be gone. I’m so grateful she’s cancer-free now! Oh moms! 

I focus on the good. It’s a HABIT you have to cultivate, like working out and eating well. BUT it makes it so when you get in a car accident: you’re grateful it wasn’t worse. So when you’re in traffic: you’re grateful you have a vehicle and a place to go. When somebody is a dick: you’re grateful you aren’t them and don’t treat people like that. 

Things can ALWAYS be worse. And for me, they have been. So what a gift it is to have this moment, and to choose to focus on how fortunate I am and how much I have.

I make a conscious decision to live life through a lens of gratitude and abundance, not of lacking. You can do that, too! I know the best way to start, is to every single day think of 5 things you’re thankful for. You can do it in the morning in bed, or before bed in a gratitude journal, OR BOTH! Also: tell your friend’s you appreciate them out of the blue. When you put that good out there, it comes back to you!

And that doesn’t mean I don’t get sad or mad. But when I do, I just let that happen. I feel it, because that’s important. I’ll usually vent to my husband or one of my best friends. And then eventually, I breathe and let it go and focus on the good. It’s not always easy. There are times where my mind is like “yes I know this could be worse...” but my heart is still upset. But eventually, you get there.

Also, sometimes, I think of a friend I’ve lost-like the amazing Laura Allio. And if I’m about to complain about something, I remember how much I wish she were alive to be able to bitch about it...and also that she wouldn’t. And that it’s a gift to even be able to complain, or move my body when I’m tired, to have a job to have to go to...yada yada. And that will get me right back on track. 

My mom always used to say to me growing up (because she had quite an emotional daughter that cried a lot) “Is this going to bother you in 3 days? In 3 weeks? In 3 months? THEN LET IT GO!’ lol And she's right. As mom’s tend to be. Most of the things we get SO bogged down by, don't affect us a few days later. So why let it taint the day you’re living now? Another thing I did that was SO helpful with journaling are mantra meditations. So I pick a few mantra’s I like and I play some binaural beats from youtube. I sit with my eyes closed. I inhale, and on my exhale I say the mantra. Sometimes out loud. Sometimes in my head. Certain mantras will INSTANTLY create a smile. Here are some of my favorites:

 “I deserve love.”

“I am the light.”

“My income is constantly increasing.”

“I allow my life to move with ease and joy.”

If you haven't heard of Louise Hay, I HIGHLY SUGGEST looking her up. One of her go-to’s is to say “I love you (enter your name here)” while looking in the mirror. She has an amazing little book called “Heal your body” where she gives you mantras for actual ailments your body! It’s AMAZING! I’m thankful for you. For your support. For your time. For reading this. For being here in the world. Remember to choose to look at how abundant you are! I mean, you’re reading a blog on the internet right now! WHAT IS THAT?! There are people in this world that don’t even have clean water, not to mention the ability to sit somewhere (because so help me god if you are driving I will come after you) and read a blog post about positivity!

Thank you thank you! 

[glaivenoct]

Lover, Fighter Ch. 3

Words: 3,220 Summary: In the cages he’s The Prince. At home he’s just Noct. (ao3) if you’d like to drop some thoughts over there as well. It’s always appreciated~

Noct’s more annoyed than he is surprised to wake up in pain. It’s his back of course. There’s sharp, aching spurts prodding at the small of it. He turns on his side with a grimace to relieve some of the pressure. It helps, but not enough for him to drift peacefully back to sleep. He sighs through his nose and groans into his pillow.

The dumb, smug face of his opponent from last night peers into his thoughts. This is all his fault, the handsome asshole. Hero, they called him. Please. Since when do heroes beat other people up?

The pain was much worse last night, yet his anger gave him enough willpower to ignore it and come through victorious. It was afterwards, when he stood with his fist raised in victory, Noctis was certain he would collapse at any moment.

Not once had his back acted up this way during a fight. Not once had being slammed into wires, poles and unsanitary floors caused such an episode.

Not once had he ever been so vulnerable in front of so many people.

He can’t recall the way he cried out, but he knows it was roaring enough to silence most of the crowd. It even stopped the esteemed hero in his tracks and Noctis can’t stand that fact. People can underestimate him all they want. They can take one look at him and think he’s weak.

They can never witness a true moment of weakness. Vulnerability surfacing from the cold, indestructible exterior of The Prince is unacceptable.

He supposes his victory erases that, but he’d be lying if he said there wasn’t a part of him that wants to go back and fix that moment. He’d punch that hero right in his face again too if only to sate the remnants of his spite.

The pain in his back now is tame compared to last night. That wouldn’t be the case if it weren’t for Gladio, ever at the ready to swoop in and nurse him back to normal.

“Noct?”

Speak of the infernian. Guess he didn’t imagine hearing the front door open earlier after all.

“M’up,” Noct mumbles at the half open doorway, voice raspy and still heavy with sleep. “I’m not happy about it, but I’m up.”

There’s rustling among Gladio’s steady footsteps. He pushes the door fully open, dressed in his favorite joggers and hoodie. Fresh from a run Noctis assumes, glancing at the plastic bag he holds at his side.

“Just as I thought,” he says, watching Noctis move slow to sit up. “You look like shit.”

“Thanks.” Noct doesn’t have the energy to glare at him. He’s too busy wincing at the stiffness in his back.

“Didn’t expect you to actually be up. It’s not even noon yet.”

“What,” Noctis nods to the bag “you planning to surprise me with breakfast in bed one of these days, big guy?”

Gladio snorts. “You wish.”

“You didn’t have to come back to check up on me you know.”

“Don’t be stupid. How’s your back?”

“Hurts.” He reaches around to rub the afflicted area. “Feels really stiff too.”

“Figures.” Gladio tosses the bag into his lap. “I got you a couple heating pads that should help, but not before you do some stretching. C’mon,” he pats Noct’s shoulder. “Out of bed. Slouching like that isn’t going to do you any favors.”

Noct groans again and rubs at one eye with his palm. “Can I get some coffee first?”

“There’s a cup from that café down the street with your name on it.”

He blinks up at him, disbelieving as if he were in the presence of a god. “I take back every bad thing I’ve ever said about you.”

“Sure you do.” He holds out a hand for Noct to take, grips it firmly and helps him stand. “Easy,” he says when Noct makes a discomforted noise. “Easy. You good?”

“Yeah… yeah, standing helps.”

Gladio stays behind him as they head into the living room. There’s an exercise mat already rolled out on the floor, between the dining table and the couch. The cup of coffee Gladio promised sits on the kitchen counter, and his name really is on it.

Ever at the ready to nurse Noct back to normal.

For as much as they might tease each other, Noctis would be lost without Gladio sometimes. A lot more impulsive. Definitely lonelier. How he hasn’t managed to push the guy away yet, Noct’ll never know. He’s grateful, and most of the time he’s at a loss of how to properly convey it.

He settles for a soft “thank you” as he drinks his coffee at the dining table. He gets halfway through it before he decides he’s awake enough to change into his own joggers and a comfy sweatshirt. Gladio has him doing warm-up stretches for five minutes, then tells him to lie flat on his back so they can work his lower abs. He watches from the couch, reminds Noct to start slow, to breathe in and out as he draws one knee at a time to his chest.

“Remember, minimum of six times on each leg. If your back starts hurting more at any point, stop.”

“I know. We’ve been through this a million times.”

“Yeah, as a precautionary. Not because you messed up your back in a fight.”

Noctis takes in a deeper breath as he draws his other knee in. His back’s always been the biggest point of contention when it came to the cage fights. It was the first protest Gladio had when Noct first told him about it. He’d even threatened to stop training him with the punching bags. It was all within good reason. Noct knows the injury he’d sustained as a child is never a matter to be taken lightly.

For the record, he never takes it lightly. He’s lived with it most of his life. Contrary to a certain hero’s perception of him, Noctis does know his physical limits. He’s gone through many fights before this one without causing any harm to his back. He’s never gone into the ring without being mindful of it.

Last night was simply a misfortunate slip up. A one-time thing. A firm reminder to Noctis to be more vigilant next time.

“I’ll be okay, Gladio. I always am.”

“Remember what I told you before your first fight?”

“You won’t be reckless. You’ll take this seriously and you’ll take care of your back. You’ll train for every fight. You’ll never accept a fight that’s more than you can handle. And so help me gods, if you so much as break a bone or collapse because of your back, you’re done.”

Noctis isn’t sure how Gladio intends to keep him from fighting if either of those things happen. Maybe he’ll tell Noctis’ father or Cor but… he is an adult that’s been away from home for some years now. No one can really make him stop if he doesn’t want to… but the last thing he wants to do is drive everyone mad with worry. He understands where Gladio’s coming from. He appreciates that the big guy looks out for him this much in the first place.

Noctis finally nods on a steady exhale as he lowers his leg away from his chest, resting his foot flat on the mat. “I didn’t collapse last night, though.”

“You’re lucky you didn’t. I was ready to march into that cage my damn self when I heard you scream.” He clenches a fist atop his knee and stares at a random point on the floor. Noctis looks his way and can’t tell if he’s angry, guilty, or both.

He never thought about that. About the fact that Gladio was there too, watching him writhe beneath his opponent and claw at the floor. Suddenly the thought of Gladio feeling guilty over that makes him feel guilty. That… that was probably terrible to watch. Infuriating, even. Sure, Gladio witnessed time and time again what Noctis was capable of. Sure, he knows better than anyone that Noctis isn’t some fragile thing that can’t hold his own.

Gladio’s the one person who saw Noctis at his weakest. The one person who held out his hand and helped him rebuild himself.

But despite being there every step of his progress, he was still protective. Noct has himself to blame for that, doesn’t he? What, with all the stupid shit he’s done. Bad, impulsive decisions, his naivety and letting others walk all over him. Now the cage fights.

Noct’ll do better for the sake of his back and for Gladio.

“Defend my honor and take on the big, bad hero?” Noct smiles, hoping to steer away from the sorer topic. “I’d love to see that match.”

Gladio takes the bait and looks at Noct with a curious, crooked grin. “Think I could take him?”

“If I can, you can.”

“Bet he won’t chat me up the way he did with you, though.”

Noct tries not to laugh and ruin his intake of breath as he pulls his other leg to his chest again. “Please. He was just trying to get under my skin. That’s what anyone even remotely bigger than me does.”

“I dunno. He seemed pretty… enticed by you.”

“Enticed?” Noctis scoffs on an exhale.

“He unmistakably checked you out three different times when you were circling each other.”

Noctis laughs and shakes his head. “This isn’t the first time someone in the ring’s checked me out, y’know.”

“Oh, I know. I usually get bad vibes off those people, but I didn’t get that off him.”

That’s saying something given Gladio’s reads on people are rarely wrong. Noctis lowers his leg for the last time and sits up. “What did you get off him then?”

“Just that there’s more to him than meets the eye.”

That’s vague, but Noctis decides not to question it further. What does it matter to him anyway? It’s not like he’ll see the guy again. A shame, really. Noctis might’ve fantasized about punching him in the face earlier… might’ve really, really hated his guts last night for pretending he knew him, for every “pretty” and “little” comment that spilled from his mouth. Looking back now… he kind of liked the back and forth shit-talk.

He liked proving the hero’s initial judgements of him wrong. He liked seeing that moment of awe washing over those rugged features.

Seriously, what was that guy doing in the ring when he could easily be a supermodel? Though, his face might not look as photogenic today after that fight…

Shame. It’s been a while since a fight was this satisfying and thrilling. He certainly hopes the next will live up to it.

“You do realize now that you’ve dethroned one of their top guys people are going to line up to take you on, right?” There’s more concern hiding behind the warning in Gladio’s words. He grabs the bag he gave Noctis earlier and pulls one of the boxes of heating pads out.

“I know.” Noctis watches him pick at the tape on the box.

“People that are bigger than the hero guy.”

Of course. Most of the crowd last night expected to watch Noctis get his ass handed to him. Other contenders would love to succeed where the infamous hero fell short. Would love to make Noct regret ever daring to ask for a challenge. As much as he loves the thrill of his own spite and adrenaline, pouring everything he’s got into proving people wrong, he has no intentions of agreeing to every fight.

“I know. I’ll be ready.”

“Noct.” He doesn’t need to ask the question aloud for Noct to hear it. He can see it clear in the solemn amber of his friend’s eyes.

“I’ll be careful. I promise.”

Gladio holds his gaze for a moment longer before he seemingly accepts Noct’s sincerity with a nod. They move on into the next exercise from there, which only takes another minute or so. Strengthening the deeper abdominals, Gladio calls it. It puts Noct flat on his back again, knees bent and apart. Four times he takes in a deep breath and draws his navel in towards his spine. He holds the small contraction until Gladio’s done counting him down from ten, then relazes as he breathes out.

It’s reminiscent of a few exercises he used to do in physical therapy. Something about strengthening his deeper muscles to provide more support to his back. It doesn’t cure the pain, but he finds his back feels less sore. Noct’s rewarded with one of the heating pads by the end of it.

Now this – this dulls the brunt of his pain. Noct melts into the soothing warmth of it, releasing a content little sigh as he settles into a chair at the dining table.

“You call out of work like I so wisely suggested?” Gladio asks, approaching him with a water bottle.

“Yeah, Mom. I called last night after you left.” He yelps when there’s a hand on his head mussing up his air and playfully shoving him forward. “Hey, quit it!”

Gladio relents with an amused grin, setting the bottle down and sitting in the chair next to him. “Save the Mom comments for Iggy.”

Noctis blinks at the name, flinches almost as if he’s been struck by Ramuh himself. For a moment, he was ready to agree with that. Ready to pretend that it was something he could follow through on. As if sometime soon Ignis would come through the door and do something to constitute such a comment.

As if Noctis was lucky enough to have salvaged what was left of their friendship, relieving Gladio of maintaining separate ones between them. Noctis hopes he looks down into his lap fast enough to hide the wistful flicker in his eyes.

“Sorry.” Gladio rubs he back of his neck. “I… talked to him recently.”

They talk often. Noctis knows they do. It doesn’t bother him. “How’s he doing?”

“Good. Sounds like Tenebrae’s serving his culinary fantasies well.”

“That’s good.”

“He mentioned plans to come down and visit in a few months. Asked about you too.”

“Oh…” He’s not sure what else to say, or where to even look. He settles for reading the nutrition facts on his water bottle.

“I didn’t tell him about the fights, obviously. Can’t imagine he’d be happy finding out about them.”

He shrugs. “It’s not like he’d be obligated to care.”

“Noct…” he can’t bear the sympathy in Gladio’s force. Nor the pitiful look he can feel burning a hole through him. He’s still on the fence about whether he deserves it or not. “This isn’t the first time Iggy’s asked about you. Especially since… you know.”

Oh, Noctis knows. He knows all too well. The one thing that drove the wedge between him and Ignis in the first place has been absent from Noct’s life for some time now. He just hasn’t found himself brave enough to reach out and mend the bridge he was responsible for allowing to break.

“Iggy’s never held anything against you for what happened, Noct. Not ever.”

“I’ve got a list of reasons why he should hold everything against me, but you already know them.”

“I want you to consider meeting up with him when he comes down. Clear the air between you two once and for all.”

Noctis says nothing. He rests his chin in his palm and looks off into the kitchen. This time it’s Gladio’s frustration burning a hole in him. He hears him taking a deep breath to keep himself calm.

“Noct, what have these past months been about? What did I tell you I was going to help you do?”

Be better. Stronger. Heal. Noctis wants to shudder just thinking back to the moment – holding in everything, being so used to dismissing his own feelings, of assuming everything that went wrong was his own fault. All until the moment Gladio found him a broken mess and told him “You’re better than this. You can do better and I’m going to help you if you’ll let me. You deserve better.”

At that time, Noctis didn’t agree, but that’s another thing the past months have been about. Recognizing that past choices don’t define who he can grow to be. Learning to forgive and love himself more. He’s in a much better place than he was months ago, but there’s still moments where his doubts falter him.

“Noct.”

“What?” it comes out harsher than he means for it to, but Gladio doesn’t appear to be angry or disappointed in him.

“Doing this would be good for you,” he says calm, but firm. “I know you know that. At least think about it.”

Noct fiddles his thumbs into his sleeves, attention skittering back down to his water bottle. He does have a few months to think on it, and maybe in a few months he’ll be even more pleased with his self-improvement. Reaching back out to the ones he pushed away has always been part of that plan anyway…

“Fine.”

“Fine?”

“Fine, I’ll think about it. I promise.”

Gladio nods at him, a smile touching his lips. “Good. How’s your back?”

“Better. The pads really help. Thanks for them.”

“No problem. Since I let you skip out on running this morning, you up to go for a walk? I could go for a breakfast burrito.”

Noct makes an almost sinful noise and slouches his cheek against his palm. “Gods, that sounds amazing right now.” He stands up from his chair, quickly pocketing his phone. “Let me get my shoes.”

His phone’s going off as soon as he turns around. He pulls his phone back out from his pocket to see a text waiting for him. He’s halfway back to his room, nearly disappearing into the hall before he pauses in his steps to read the message properly.

“No way.” He almost laughs, eyes roaming over the message again to make sure he didn’t read it wrong.

Gladio crosses his arms and stares at him. Noct can see that inner conflict going on his head. He knows Gladio questions all the time whether or not letting him indulge in these fights is wrong on his part. If he should put more effort into getting him to quit.

Noctis also knows that Gladio trusts his judgement despite his murky past. When he says he’ll be careful, he means it.

“A couple days,” Gladio repeats, pointing at him. “You take it easy and double the stretches. I mean it.”

“I know. I will.”

Gladio sighs and shakes his head. “Wish I could get you this confident about talking to Iggy. Why are you so eager to fight this guy again anyway?”

Noct shrugs. “I might’ve kicked his ass, but he’s still a good fighter. I like giving him a run for his money.”

“You sure it’s not all the flirty shit-talk you like?”

“Shut up.”

Gladio laughs to himself. “So you going to message the guy back, or what?”

“Think I’ll wait till I’m positive my back’s better. Let the hero sit in suspense for a few days.”

“Why’s that?”

“He called me pretty. Twice.”

That’s all the explanation Gladio needs to wince and wrinkle his nose in legitimate concern for the hero.

#author entires: fics #nyxnoct #noctis lucis caelum #nyx ulric #cage fighter au #i was too tired to post this last night so #i have to leave for work soon friends pray for meee

[her-eyes-looked-so-sad]

Guilt

I feel like a terrible person.

I feel like I am only making the people around me sad and it would be better off of maybe I wasn’t around.

Today had some happy moments for sure but it was also really hard. I was glad to see my students and see a friend of mine and get some school stuff done, but the rest of it was hard.

Last night my fiancé and I went on a little date to the park by the river. I love it down there and it was lovely ☺️except I got so tired and out of breath just by walking. Then today at work I was out of it again. Could barely concentrate on the kids, do my taxes, or write a paragraph. I feel like I’m doing really bad at my job.

Decided to get a skinny latte instead of tea hoping it would give me some energy for hanging out with Britt and it lifted a little of the fog so I’m thankful for that. I felt guilty drinking it but I kept it down.

I really had the strong urge to avoid Dr J today and I haven’t felt that way in a long time, but I wanted to talk to Dr Del Rosso about some PRSSA stuff and when I went up there I saw her door was shut but heard her voice and she was in Dr J’s office. Good news: I was able to ask about some stuff about this conference I’m interested in (because I’m a nerd and apparently think so highly of myself as to get selected for this scholarship) and got my PRSSA cords for graduation 😊

Bad news: I had to tell Dr J what happened 😞and that there’s really no way (no good or even halfway easy way) for me to go to treatment and that even if I did my insurance cut. And what if I missed graduation? And if I went I would just be angry and totally not eat because I hate myself?

She just seemed so sad and so worried and it was all my fault. I went to treatment exactly a year ago. We agreed that I was doing the same things that I was a year ago. That things were bad. Part of me was like STOP TALKING TO HER ABOUT EVERYTHING because I didn’t want to worry her and part of me COULDNT stop talking and crying like a baby because I was scared. Telling her over and over that I’m sorry and that I’ll do the best I can and I know I’m passing out but I CANT go to treatment. She says she can’t force me, she says it’s a matter of life or death. I, being the baby I am, curl up into a little ball and stare at the floor because I’m sick and annoying and THE WORST.

I needed her to fix it and make it ok, and she wishes she could. She wishes she had some kind of magic cure for this. But once again, Rachel Patterson is curled up in her office crying because eating is too fucking hard. I asked her over and over again if she was mad at me and she said she wasn’t, just worried and wanting me to get better. I would understand if she was mad at me, I mean I am. Everything in me is telling me to curl up and hide so I don’t cause anymore pain in others. So I don’t upset them. I kept telling her I was sorry. I am so, so sorry. She asked me if I was ok because I couldn’t hide that I was still weak and out of breath and in pain and I said I was ok. She knew I wasn’t ok. My heart was beating too fast. I was still lightheaded.

I’ve fainted three times today, luckily none of those times were on campus. What used to be a nice walk from my car to the journalism building is yet again a painful, long journey where I count the steps, rest, try to ignore the dizzying sun and the concrete slamming into my feet as I pound across it, headphones in and cigarette lit. “I’m going to be a grad student” I tell myself. “I’m going to be a professor someday” I tell myself and feel a surge of excitement that propels me to keep going. I’ve got dreams. You can’t starve those out.

The fainting has happened with almost no warning, which as my fiancé pointed out, is unusual. The second time I fainted was completely in front of him, mid-sentence, and slammed against the carpet. I came to but had to rest. He was holding me. I told him I can’t do this much longer. But I’ve got to graduate! And graduate school! And getting married!

But will I make it off of sheer willpower alone?