#so by logic you would not use the same measures to raise your own kids while whining how you had it worse

[furiousgoldfish]

Abusive parents will go 'Oh yeah? Well I had it worse! My parents were bad!' and it's like, Oh? We can acknowledge that your parents were bad? You can say that? You can say they treated you very badly? You know this and are aware of this?

And yet, when raising your own child, you used their methods and decided that you are the victim here? That it's okay because they've done it 'worse'? You're comfortable telling your children that they're paying for however you've been treated, and that you specifically had your children to expose them to all of the bad things that happened to you? The world feels fair to you if your own children are suffering? That's where you take your power?

Your parents were bad and you know this, so you went ahead and became a bad parent on purpose, and you're thinking you're the victim in all this?

#abusive parents #feeble excuses #if you know your parents were bad then you know they treated you bad #so by logic you would not use the same measures to raise your own kids while whining how you had it worse #nobody believes you btw #you don't even know what your children are going trough and what environment they're exposed #they're growing in a different world than you were raised in #what you do to them will feel different from what's been done to you #but you don't care about all that do you #you only care about having those 5 simple words to excuse everything you've done #i've had it worse #anyone in the world can have a traumatic time living in this world #and none of it gives them the right to take it out on children #children are not sacrificial altairs to make people feel better about their past #children are the future and you are taking that future away from them #disgusting victim blaming mongrels

[olderthannetfic]

Growing up in a socially progressive environment: How has this affected your feelings about success? Were you taught that forming a nuclear family played a role in that measurement? Or were you taught to value yourself strictly in terms of stuff like grades and academic achievements? Or maybe that whole talk was geared towards personal happiness, in whatever form it took for you?

Also, at school: did you have to do stuff like the pledge of allegiance? Was Columbus Day and history class transparent or did your teachers omit the fucked up parts?

--

The closest my mother ever came to advice about a nuclear family was: "Find a boyfriend after college. Roommates are awful."

(Though from what she said, this belief stemmed from being the one clueless white girl in an apartment with three black girls becoming politically conscious in 1970s Chicago. I'm pretty sure Mom was the annoying roommate in that scenario, so...)

She really didn't discuss success. I never asked, but I assume that this was a conscious choice the same as she never once mentioned my looks either positively or negatively. (I asked her about the latter, and she said it's something she'd decided on before having me.)

I've spent the last couple of years carting hundreds of pounds of books out of the house. Among them was a massive collection of child development books from the 70s through 90s. A lot of them were on topics like raising intellectuals rather than just kids who get good grades or fostering a sense of self worth and emotional self sufficiency.

My mom was an educator, and she disliked a lot of the status-obsessed ways people deform their children's senses of self. Grades = worth is not a message she'd ever have espoused, though she did send me to hard schools and expect me to do my work. She could be a school snob as much as anyone, but she didn't explicitly talk about success in those terms. I think a big part of it is that all of her friends from when she was young were intellectuals who wanted to be professors, found there were no jobs, and ended up as carpenters or in the Peace Corps or all kinds of other random things. My mother herself started a PhD in... epidemiology...? (Something sciencey anyway.) She bombed out when her much older sister died unexpectedly and ran off to Kathmandu to hang out with an old high school friend who was studying Tibetan Buddhist religious logic.

She was certainly concerned with me finding meaningful work and being self sufficient, but she just didn't talk in terms of "success".

And more than that, worth as a human is inherent. It has nothing to do with success. If you want to raise a strong person, you give a kid unconditional love, clear boundaries, and a sense of stability. You teach them that all humans are valid and worthwhile just because. They don't have to do anything to gain that. It just is.

Perhaps that's not how you meant "success", but I've seen far too many otherwise intelligent parents mutilate their children's ability to learn by treating education and knowledge as the source of value in the world and not as something pleasurable in their own right.

Perhaps happiness = success is closest to what my mother would have espoused, but really, being a valid human being is a separate axis from being happy or successful or any other particular measure of a life well lived.

--

None of my schools would have been caught dead making us say the pledge of allegiance. They were all hippie private schools. We did shit like learn to sing This Land is Your Land.

We spent a lot of time on Indigenous history—though still in a "That was long ago" kind of way that made me assume everyone was dead and gone. Genocide was mentioned often. Columbus was mentioned rarely, and not in positive terms.

I still wouldn't say it was particularly well-rounded history. I'd rather have learned more about the Mexican-American war and less about the utterly irrelevant snoozeville that is the American Revolutionary War. Frankly, as a Californian, I would reduce the Revolutionary war to "It happened" and our equally boring Civil War to the politically important parts that it was indeed fought over slavery as Southerners themselves said at the time, that all that noble lost cause shit is just a retcon by white supremacists, and anybody who repeats it in the modern day can fuck themselves.

We did have pretty good stuff on Harriet Tubman in second grade and lots on Japanese internment later. Some of the schools I went to were better than others, usually because they were less beholden to stuffing our heads with irrelevant garbage that's on major history tests. I could have done with slightly fewer traumatizing documentaries on the Holocaust though.

--

As for my personal feelings about success, towards the end of my 30s, I was looking around for what should come next. I decided to finally write a novel, and I feel a lot better about my 40s having done so. I wasn't desperate or self hating like a lot of people I see around me fearing aging, but I did feel a lack of accomplishment in a sense.

My next goal... well, my immediate next goal is to finish book 2 of my series, but in the longer term, my goal is to not just finish writing things but to become financially successful as a writer.

[caddy-crystal-queen]

So on today's episode of Who In the GOT/HOTD Fandom Needs to be Slapped...

Alicent Stan's!

Yeah...I've been waiting a loooooooong time to rip into these people. A very, very long time. Let me make one thing clear: if you're like a moderate alicent fan, like you just really like her character but don't use her as a reason to treat others in the Fandom/other characters like shit, this rant does not apply to you. Apparently I was "rude" for putting Daemyra stans all in the same box last time I did this (whatever the fuck means, my point still stands at that Comment 🙄)

So if you're just a moderate alicent fan, you're fine. No, I'm talking about assholes that defend her as if she was a real person and use her as a reason to treat others in the Fandom like shit

So I just read a rant from an Alicent Stan about Rhanerya basically being a slut.

My dude.

My guy.

My brother/sister/sibling in Ra...

THESE CHARACTERS ARE NOT FUCKING REAL!!!!!!!!

"Oh but Rhanerya is a slut because she had five bastards and-"

*SLAPS WITH BACK OF HAND*

Shut up.

Shut. The fuck. Up.

First of all, you're wrong. Viserys and Aegon were by blood legitimate, she was married to Daemon, who was their father so fuck off. You're also wrong in that Laenor Velaryon gave those boys his name and still helped raise them. By your logic, I myself would be a bastard, as, getting a little personal here, I was conceived out of adultery and my dad still took responsibility for me. So in the eyes of the law, Jace, Luke, and Joff are legitimate. Get it? Got it. Good. That's over and done with.

Second of all: read what the fuck I wrote before I slapped you...REPEATEDLY IF YOU HAVE TO! These characters are not real. Their actions have no consequences in actual reality. You are literally wasting precious finite time on this earth protecting a character who doesn't even fucking exist. What are you doing with your fucking life, seriously?

Third of all: even if their actions had consequences here: who the fuck are you to even judge? Like seriously, what fucking authority gave you the right to say anything? What power are you imbued with to say that you can slut shame anyone and have it taken seriously? I really thought Tumblr was a lot more open minded than that, but yall are proving otherwise. Nothing gives you the right to judge. "Omg a woman had sex outside of marriage! The absolute horror! O.O"...dude...shut up. There are worse things going on in the world today and this is what you decide to worry about? The virtue or lack thereof of a (need I remind you) fictional character who does not exist?

Fourth of all: stop using Alicent as an excuse to hate/harm other people's experience! Like really I almost quit the Fandom when I saw this particular rant. You can like a character, fine. But using their qualities and they themselves as a means to shit on other characters and fans, using Fandom as a measure of one's morality, and taking hatred of characters you don't like to the next level is extremely harmful for the Fandom experience. If you don't like a character, fine. But going out of your way to analyze and treat that character like shit does nothing for you. It's actually seriously unhealthy, and I'm a little worried about you. Stop wasting your time cause that's all that is.

I'm not even kidding. This was originally going to be an I quit post, where I was going to just be done with this Fandom entirely. The greens and blacks may be at war, but as a Fandom we shouldn't have to be. It's seriously ridiculous. If you have that much anger and aggression put it towards something useful.

Stop being an asshole.

Stop using a character as a non existent meat shield to hide your own internal problems. There's therapy for that!

Stop your nonsense and bullshit.

And seriously, if this is all you do with your Fandom life, you really need to do something else. Fandom is supposed to be about enjoying things, not being overly critical for no good reason. Get some help. Seriously.

#house of the dragon #game of thrones #who in the got/hotd fandom need to be slapped #alicent stans #fandom bullshit #yall seriously need some help #stop shitting on everyone else's fandom experience #i almost quit the fandom because of this #i still just might

[tssidesfics]

Requests: Analogince where they’re human and also single dads? And they all meet because their kids fought and got called to the principals office

Virgil's POV

Upsides to being a single father to a child with ADHD: you got to raise a beautiful, special boy with a sharp mind. You got to teach him all the coping mechanisms you'd painstakingly learned over the years to cope with his condition and watch as he lit up over the things that brought him joy. You got to watch as he zipped from topic to topic, brighter than the sun, mind racing at a million miles an hour. You got to be the first person to hear about his beautifully creative ideas. You got to have a reason for living, all yours and wonderful, that you didn't have to share with anyone else.

Downsides to being a single father to a child with ADHD: you had no one else to pass the buck to when he got in trouble at school.

"It'll be fine," I chanted to myself for the billionth time as I turned off the ignition and unbuckled myself, gripping the steering wheel and forcing deep, measured breaths. "It'll be fine. He probably won't get expelled for this. This is his first fight and you don't even know why he got into a fight. You didn't raise a bully, so he was probably defending himself or another kid." Terror clasped me around the throat and squeezed. "But what if you did raise a bully and you didn't realize it, and now you've sentenced your son to a life of crime trying to make up for the hole in his heart where his father should have loved him oh God I broke my son!"

Immediately, my therapist's voice spoke up in my mind. You're catastrophizing again, he said in that obnoxiously aware, gentle way of his. Calm down. Take it one step at a time.

I closed my eyes and breathed deeply, focusing on the feeling of my stomach and then my chest expanding with air. I let it out through pursed lips, a quiet whistle in the exhale.

I'd played through scenarios like this a million times in my mind. The second Cassie told me, five months pregnant with tears streaming down her cheeks, that she didn't want the baby, I'd prepared myself for any possibility. I'd created contingency plans and contingency plans for my contingency plans, because I knew how much harsher the world would be on him. With a grandparent, his biological mother, and me all with ADHD, there hadn't been any doubt Drew would get it, too, and I'd prepared for that. I'd prepared for the possibility that poor grades and emotional dysregulation would put him on the back foot and even get him expelled. I'd taught him all the coping mechanisms I could. I'd tried to show him as much love and patience as I could muster, and I'd show him the same now. We'd get through this. We would make it through this.

I nodded, resolute, even as doubt and worry niggled at the back of my mind. I'd raised Drew alone, without any support from my parents or Cassie, working a call center job that barely paid enough to live off of. I'd demanded a child psychiatrist the second Drew started displaying symptoms and beat the system for the help he deserved. I'd beat the system for the help I deserved. I was a badass. I was a badass.

I got out of the car.

The two people at the front desk--a woman with strawberry blonde hair and a baby-faced guy--looked over, presumably torn from their conversation, when I walked through the door. The woman swiveled her chair to face me with a friendly smile. "Hello there," she said. "How may I help you?"

I forced myself to look her in the eyes and strained through a smile. If you act like a weirdo, it'll just make things worse for Drew. "Hey," I said. "I'm, uh...Drew Griffith's father. You called me and--"

"Oh!" She gestured to the side, at a door that read: PRINCIPAL MOROZOV. "He's in there."

I looked over and gulped, staring in fear at the door. "Say, uh..." I smiled at the woman as politely as I could. "You wouldn't happen to know the correct social etiquette for talking to the principal after your son gets into a fight at school, would you?"

She gave me a funny look. "Huh?"

"Never mind." I hung my head in defeat and commenced the walk of dread to the front door of the office. The wall facing me was all glass, which meant I could see inside. Two adults, one natural-haired in a polo shirt with his arm around one of the kids in the chair beside him and the other behind a desk, looking stern. I couldn't see the other two kids or any other adults.

And then Principal Morozov spotted me through the glass and shit, I was out of time.

I took a deep breath and opened the door. "Sorry it took me so long," I said, hoping that was the right thing to say. "It was hard getting off work."

"It's all right," Principal Morozov said. "We haven't even reached Mr. Accardo yet."

"Hey, Dad," came the halfhearted voice of Drew, hidden behind a chair too big for him, especially when he slumped in it like that.

I peered over the top and smiled at him softly. "What the heck, kid?" I asked.

"He called Patton a freak." Drew pointed at the kid in the middle, with a busted nose and--oh God.

He had scattered burn marks across the right side of his face, with two differently-colored eyes and a scowl.

"So of course you had to beat me up," the kid sneers. "Because that's a perfectly rational, healthy thing to do."

The third kid--Patton, I presumed--bounced in his seat, humming in distress. His father, a man wearing glasses and a polo shirt with a tie, rubbed his back.

"I don't see why my son has to be here," the other father said, looking at Principal Morozov. "He didn't do anything."

“Patton sits alone at lunch time and doesn’t have any friends,” the principal said. “We think if he tried to get along with his peers better, he’d have a happier time here.”

“Or, you know, you could make an effort to teach your students not to bully kids who are different from them,” I grumbled.

“What was that, Mr. Griffiths?”

I hesitated, glancing up at Principal Morozov, then back at Drew. On one hand, I wanted to lead by example: teach Drew that it was okay to stand up to authority for what he believed. On the other, sometimes, you had to pay lip-service to authority just to stay out of trouble. It was a lesson no child had the mental capacities to understand, but I supposed I’d have to do my best to teach him, because if I gave Principal Morozov cheek, he might expel Drew.

“Nothing, sir,” I said, feeling like a child cowering beneath the glare of my teachers again. I prepared to search for the bullshit in the story I was about to get fed and asked, “What happens now?”

"I'd prefer to wait for Mr. Accardo," the principal said.

"Roman teaches at a high school," the bully grumbled, slouched over with a glare fixated on the desk. "He's probably in the middle of class."

"Then you're going to have to stay after school to address this," Principal Morozov told him sternly.

"Whatever."

I had a very bad feeling about that kid. The scars on his face told a frightening story. He could just as easily be bullied for those as Drew got bullied for his ADHD and Patton for being a loner, which probably meant he turned that abuse outward and attacked others for their perceived differences in a never-ending cycle of abuse.

What? I could be bad at people and have a special interest in human psychology. Those two things were not mutually exclusive.

Suddenly, the door banged open. I jumped out of my skin, clamping a hand over my chest and struggling to breathe levelly, eyes crushed shut and body frozen. Then I heard the babbling.

"I'm sorry!" The principal's door opened. "I'm sorry, I'm so sorry. The kids were in the middle of rehearsal and--Janus, what happened? I'm so sorry, Mr. Morozov." A frazzled man with warm skin rushed inside and sat down next to the bully--Janus--hastily hugging him and turning his attention to the principal.

I frowned at the scene. I withheld judgment and looked at Principal Morozov as he said, "All right. Now that you're all here, there are going to be some serious consequences to what happened today."

********

"I can't believe you let him give me detention!" Drew whined. "Janus deserved to get punched!"

"And you deserve to die abandoned and unloved in a ditch, steeping in your own feces," Janus snapped.

"Janus," his father, Roman, said firmly, kneeling down and taking him by the shoulders. Janus tried to turn away from him, but Roman lightly shook him and made him meet his eyes. He softened. "I know how much you're hurting, but a hero never redirects his pain onto others. There are other ways."

"What if I don't want to be a hero?" Janus snapped. "What if I want to be the bad guy?"

"I don't believe that," Roman said gently, adjusting his bangs. "I don't think you do, either."

Janus turned from him sharply, crossing his arms and glaring at the asphalt. He sniffled.

Drew glanced up at me in confusion and I rubbed his back. "Sometimes," I said gently, "when people are hurting, they deal with that by hurting other people."

"That's stupid," Drew said with the blunt confidence of a ten-year-old.

"Maybe a little," I agreed, "but humans aren't always logical." Drew wrinkled his nose. "I know. It's so annoying, but it's true. You're not always logical, either. Remember when you burst out crying because your pencil broke?"

"Dad!" Drew turned bright red.

Roman chuckled. "So." He stood up and crossed his arms. "You're the little rascal who dared challenge Janus to a duel for--Patton, right?" He looked at Mr. Davis--or Logan, as he'd introduced himself--who nodded. "You're the rascal who challenged Janus to a duel for Patton's honor," Roman finished.

"He was being an asshole," Drew protested.

"I'd say it's not my fault he uses that language," I said through a wince, "but it's definitely my fault he uses that language."

"I'm the same way with Janus, don't worry." Roman chuckled--a low, rumbly sound. He turned back to Drew. "You're got a paladin's heart and a temper. I was a lot like you when I was a kid."

Drew snorted. "You think you're cute, don't you?"

"He's always like this," Janus said, shoving in front of Roman. "He thinks it's so inspiring to talk about heroes all the time, like fairy tales are the best thing ever."

"That's gotta be annoying," Drew said, wrinkling his nose.

"It is." Janus stopped and scowled. "Don't relate to me!"

"Ew! You're a jerk! Get away from me!"

I exchanged a fond, exasperated look with Roman, who chuckled and squeezed Janus' shoulder. "Hey," he said, "maybe, if you apologized, you could have a friend."

"I don't want to apologize."

"So you'd rather another kid think you're a horrible person!"

Janus hesitated a moment before straightened his back. "Yes."

"I don't believe that."

I glanced over at Logan and saw that he was busy talking to Patton, kneeling on the ground and smoothing his hands over his shoulders in measured strokes. It seemed to soothe Patton. I looked at Drew.

"You know how it sometimes hurts you when you think about your Aunt Cassie?" I said softly, pulling him into my side as the shadow washed over his face.

"He called Patton a freak, Dad," Drew argued. "He's not even really my friend, but he's not a freak. He's just...different. Like me."

"I know, kiddo," I said, squeezing him against my side. "You don't have to give him a chance. He hasn't asked forgiveness, and you wouldn't owe him one even if you did. I just know you don't like to see people struggling alone."

Drew hesitated.

I looked over at Logan. "How's Patton?"

Logan glanced back at me, then looked at Patton. "Do you want to answer?"

Patton hesitated.

"It's okay," I said, not looking at his face. Patton hadn't made eye contact with a single person, including his father, since I'd met him. He clearly had more trouble with it than I did, and I wasn't always a huge fan. "I'm autistic, too."

Patton immediately perked up. "Really?"

"Yeah." I smiled, looking over the top of his head. I looked at Drew. "Can I tell him about you?"

"I'm ADHD," Drew told him, turning to him. "I got diagnosed last year."

"Oh cool!" Patton flapped his hands at his sides and bounced eagerly. "I don't, I don't think, because I'm actually pretty good at focusing most of the time and I have a really good memory, but Dad says autism and ADHD are really close together. It's really nice to meet someone else! I don't have many friends."

"Well, I guess you have me," Drew said. "I didn't get in trouble defending you for nothing."

Patton squealed and continued stimming enthusiastically. Drew offered a hug, which Patton considered for a long moment before accepting.

Logan smiled softly at the exchange and looked over to me. "You've raised a very kind son."

"More than half of it is all him," I said. "I do the best I can, but...I'm just one person. He's probably gonna hate me once he's a teenager."

"Nuh-uh!" Drew objected, charging over to embrace me around the middle. I smiled and hugged him close, squeezing him as tight as was safe. He grunted.

I caught Janus staring at us. I couldn't read his expression. He was glaring, but I had a feeling it wasn't anger. But clearly, Roman did understand it, because he knelt down and hugged him close, even when he tried to push him away. He just held fast. I thought for sure Janus would react badly--he hadn't wanted to be held, what was wrong with Roman?--but then he slowly relaxed and leaned against him. I still couldn't read him very well, but that...didn't look particularly resigned.

"You know," Roman said, pulling back after a long while, "I bet Drew and Patton would be willing to forgive you if you really, really earnestly apologized."

Janus shoved away from him, crossing his arms and glaring at the ground. "I don't want to apologize."

Roman sighed heavily, and Drew whirled on him. "You're such a freaking jerk!" he screamed. "What's wrong with you? Why do you have to be a jerk to everyone? I tried to be your friend and you just spit on me!"

"I don't want your pity!"

"It wasn't pity!"

"It's always pity!" Janus screeched. "You think I don't know what these scars make me? You think I don't know I'm a freak? If the fire didn't teach me that, then my parents sure did! I'm nothing! The only reason anyone would be nice to me is pity and I don't want anyone's pity! I just want to be left alone!"

Janus turned and ran. Roman chased after him frantically, never sparing Logan or I a glance.

Drew and Patton stood stunned. Drew looked at Patton, who stared at his forehead. "Well..." he said. "What the heck am I supposed to do now?"

Patton ran in the direction of Janus.

At that point, about the only thing for Drew and I to do was chase after his new friend, hot on the heels of his father.

We found Patton with his backpack unzipped, standing beside Janus' car door, already buckled in with Roman partway into the driver's seat, holding out a picture of a flower.

"It's ivy," Patton said. "It means friendship."

Janus stared at him through the window, unmoving. Patton, to my shock, held his gaze for one, two moments and then averted his eyes. Logan hurried over to hold him, clearly expecting Janus to reject him again.

Janus opened the car door. "Why would you want to be my friend?"

"He didn't say he wanted to be your friend," Drew sneered. "He just said it meant friendship, dummy."

"Drew," I chided softly, and he recoiled into my side.

"Because it's nice to know I'm not the only one who can't make any friends," Patton said. "I like having other friends who are special."

"I'm not special," Janus snapped.

"Dad says that being different is always special, because different people have discovered some of the coolest, prettiest things ever."

"It's true," Logan said. "Albert Einstein, Hans Christian Anderson, and Michelangelo. were all autistic."

"See?" Patton bounced and beamed at Janus. "So maybe we can all be different and special together and do really cool things one day! Like the three Musketeers."

Janus considered strongly. "I'm Athos."

"You can be whoever you want to be!" Patton said earnestly. "Then we can all have lots of musketcheer."

Drew, Roman and I choked on a laugh. Logan shook his head fondly. "He watches one sitcom that likes puns and he suddenly won't stop," he said.

Even Janus cracked a small smile. He accepted the paper. "Fine," he said. "We can have musketcheer."

Drew pouted. "Does this mean I'm your friend now?"

"Yes," Patton said firmly, looking at him.

Drew jumped, looking fearfully at Patton, who somehow managed to look intimidating while also avoiding eye contact. He looked up at me. "What have I done?" he asked.

"Made friends." I rubbed his back. I looked around. "We should probably get all these guys home. They've had a long day, and school will be letting out soon."

"I guess now that all our kids are friends, I'll be seeing more of you," Roman said to both Logan and me.

Logan hummed. "I presume so. Patton does not own a phone of his own. I can give you my number if your children wish to contact him?"

"I hate to say it, but you should probably get him his own phone," I said. "It's dangerous not to have one. If I ever lost sight of Drew...I'd rather he have a phone."

Logan considered this. "I suppose you have a point. Nevertheless, for the moment, you'll have to go through me to reach Patton."

"Don't have to ask me twice. Here." Roman accepted Logan's phone and typed in Janus' number, then passing it to Drew, who stared at it for a moment.

I recited his number to him and he punched it in. "Don't worry, kid," I said. "One day, you're going to have to tell so many doctors your number that it's going to be emblazoned on your brain."

After all numbers had been exchanged, I shook Logan's and Roman's hands goodbye and let Patton and Drew embrace again. Janus stayed stubbornly in his seat, refusing any sort of affection, which kind of concerned me, but then Roman whispered, "This is the most receptive he's been since I started fostering him."

I nodded and smiled, leading Drew back toward the car. He looked at me. "I guess I have friends now."

I glanced back toward Roman's car as it drove away and caught Logan's eye as he loaded into his own. He smiled at me.

"Yeah," I said. "I think I might have, too."

#sanders sides human au #analogince #ts virgil #ts roman #ts logan #ts sides #sanders sides #ts patton #ts janus #adhd virgil #autistic logan #trans virgil #autistic virgil #kid patton #kid janus #kid oc #virgil being trans has nothing to do with the fic #it is just important to me that you know there is no such thing as a cis virgil when i'm writing him in a human AU #this mostly turned into janus angst hour #he's very young and very little and needs much therapy #i tried to write the actual chat with the principal and it did not work well #so the principal is a caricature on which i'm projecting all of my neurodiverse school troubles with authority figures onto #i did not have a fun time in school #yes most of these characters are neurodiverse #i'm not PROJECTING or anything #why ever would you think something silly like that #one ask down #many more to go #caffeine save my soul

[maybe-theres-hope]

Those Four Words

So yeah I JUST finished Desperate Measures and I literally had to get this out before I could sleep. 

5.03 Coda | 1.6k | Summary: How I would love to see them get their shit together. Title from the episode, referring to Eddie saying “We need to talk” because YES YOU FUCKING DO. *puts on clown nose*

Buck finds Eddie sulking on the bench in the locker room. Because this was becoming a pretty common occurrence as of late, he takes it on himself to do the best friend thing he always does, and walks in to sit beside him. 

The fact that Eddie doesn’t automatically look up at him with annoyance--like he has most of the time Buck has done this in the past few weeks, when they both know what the conversation is going to sound like--is unsettling but not off-putting.

“Hey,” is his opener. Quiet and courteous of Eddie’s obvious pain. Buck’s good at this best friend thing. Had a lot of practice lately.

He gets nothing in reply for long, long moments. He waits it out. Eddie’s a closed-off guy at the best of times, but when he’s hurting, it’s like a steel wall is up between him and the world. Buck’s taken a sledgehammer to that wall a few times and it hasn’t ended pretty. Lately he’s been just simply knocking at it, hoping the man on the other side can hear that he’s not alone. That’s all he can do. 

Then, “I broke up with Ana. Like. Officially.”

Buck is quiet for a moment. “Was there an...unofficial breakup before that?”

“I don’t know. Probably when I panicked twice in front of her at the mere mention of us as a family. Think that set off a few warning bells in her.”

Buck very carefully remains silent. 

“Well, actually. I don’t know if it did because...she was pretty devastated when I told her it wasn’t going to work. Like she didn’t see it coming after all.”

“What did you tell her? At the official breakup, I mean.” Buck doesn’t move, doesn’t speak above a low tone that barely breaches the two-foot divide between them. 

“Not the truth, that’s for damn sure. But. Something maybe close to it.” Eddie still hasn’t looked at him. His hand is half-over his eyes, fingers pressing at his temples like he’s trying to stave off a migraine. Buck’s presence is sometimes migraine inducing, he knows, but he doesn’t think he’s ever done it to Eddie.

...Maybe?

Nah. 

Hopefully not.

“What’s...something like the truth?” he asks.

“Basically that I thought I could grow to love her eventually. I tried hard to do that, but...it’s never going to happen. I know it’s not.”

Buck remains silent, waiting.

“She...she’s not stupid. She figured out that what was sending me into...whatever was happening to me--”

Buck very pointedly does not point out that what was happening were full blown panic attacks, Eddie--

“--was triggered by the thought of a future with her. It’s not even that she’s a bad prospect. She’s perfect, actually. In every way except that she’s not... Nevermind.”

“So, she was good with Christopher, right? I mean, you said she was--” Buck’s concern is hard to hide. If she did anything to hurt Christopher or make him feel...any type of way, Buck will be livid. But he doesn't think that’s the case. He even likes Ana. She’s nice, friendly, caring. She’s just...

“She’s just not for me.”

Buck can clearly see this is distressing Eddie to the nth degree, but he doesn’t know how to fix it. He’s never had to save a relationship before. And is that what he should be doing? Sure, he’s great at this best friend thing and he wants his friend to be happy--more than anything in the world--but he’s at a loss as to what the actual problem is here.

“But Eddie, you said yourself she’d make a great mother for Chr--”

“He doesn’t need another mother! He had one, and she’s gone. He doesn’t need another.” The raised voice makes Buck pause for a moment. It’s the loudest either of them have spoken the entire time, and he’s sure it has a lot to do with the Shannon of it all, but...it doesn’t seem like that’s the whole thing. 

“I don’t know why I tried to force it. I knew it wasn’t going to work from day one. But she’s just...she was the best alternative.”

“Alternative to what? Eddie, what--”

“I’m in love with someone else! Okay? And I know I should have told her that, but I couldn’t. I can’t even...” he cuts himself off with a huff, but for the first time, he looks up to meet Buck’s gaze. His eyes are shining, but he’s not sad. He’s frustrated. Buck’s learned to tell the difference over the years. 

Best friend and all.

He weighs his options, because this is brand new information to him, which is saying something, and he’s not quite sure where to go from here.

Sure, he absolutely knows where he wants this to go, but. He’s also learned over the years that that’s just...not in the cards. Not for Buck, anyway.

Finally, he opens his mouth again. “I...didn’t know you were seeing anyone else besides Ana. Thought you two were, like, a serious thing.” Understatement of the year. How on earth was Eddie seeing someone that Buck didn’t know about? They practically lived out of each other’s pockets half the time. 

Eddie huffs out a small, horrible laugh. “I’m not. Seeing anyone. In that sense, anyway. Though we do see a lot of each other. A disgusting amount, if I’m being honest.” The laugh he lets out here is not horrible. It’s almost...fond. 

“O...kay.” Somewhere inside, Buck’s heart falters. “So, what’s the problem? Do they...not feel the same way?”

Another huff of a laugh. “Dunno. I never asked.” Eddie’s back to rubbing his temples again, almost hiding his face on purpose. 

“Alright, well, that should probably be step one.” Buck can’t keep the hint of scolding out of his tone, but he can see that it makes Eddie smile. “I can help you, if you want?”

This makes Eddie smile even wider, but it turns sad in an instant. “I know you would. But you can’t.”

Buck takes a moment--or several--to consider himself. To weigh all his options and arrive at a logical and sensible conclusion.

Who is he kidding? Buck opens his mouth on impulse, praying to every deity he’s ever heard of that he’s not wrong and he’s not about to ruin everything.

“I can try.” Another small laugh from Eddie in response, a hopeless, resigned one. “Eddie.” When he gets no reaction, he tries again. He really needs eye contact for this, no matter how much he knows Eddie hates it during emotional conversations. “Eddie.”

Slowly, Eddie’s eyes meet his. Buck goes for broke. 

“Step one. Ask.”

Eddie stares at him for a moment, no discernible change in his features. Buck’s eyes plead with him. And then, it’s like Buck can watch the switch flip behind his eyes. When he catches up to what’s being said here. 

Buck holds his breath for what feels like ages and feels his skin grow cold with shame because he was wrong, he was wrong, he was so so wrong--

“Are--” Eddie begins, strained. Buck’s heart stops. “Are we--” Buck’s sure his heart can’t actually stop twice, but it definitely does at this addition. 

His eyes are glued to Eddie’s, though. Like magnets. Pulling in the only direction they can ever go. The way the universe wills them. 

Eddie seems to come back to himself for a moment, flicking his eyes to the glass. Buck’s eyes tear themselves away to look at what’s caught his attention. The entire B shift and some of the A are still milling around outside. 

“Are we really going to do this here?” is the question Eddie actually poses to him. But, when Buck’s eyes snap back to their target, he sees something that kickstarts his heart again, and he lets out the breath he’d been deliberately holding for the last 45 seconds, give or take. Eddie’s tiny, timid smile seals the deal. 

“We could go to my place?” Buck offers. Tries desperately not to think about what could happen. What he wants to happen. 

“I need to get home to Christopher.” Eddie’s standing, grabbing his duffel. Buck’s nodding, because yeah, that’s true. He scrubs his mind of the...thoughts that were just playing through it.

“And so do you,” is what’s tacked onto the end, just thrown out there, like it’s the most normal, logical thing in the world. Eddie’s face is still a little timid when Buck looks up, but his own face must give away his heart because Eddie’s smile after that is radiant. He hands Buck his own bag, also giving him a hand up off the bench.

Yeah, his legs are a little wobbly. Good best friend actions, Eddie. Thanks. 

Though. Buck doesn’t know if that term still applies. Are they friends? Are they more now? But they haven’t talked about anything so, like, they’re not anything yet, right? But Eddie said he was in love with--

His thoughts halt when Eddie lands a small kiss to his lips, there and gone again in a nanosecond and wow, that had no right to be as earth-shattering as it was, it was just a peck, for Christ’s sake, and--

“Buck. Get your shit and lets go, yeah?”

“Yeah. Yeah, yeah. Yeah.” Smooth. 

But Eddie’s smiling. For real this time. Buck will take that.

lbr, the show wouldn’t acknowledge Taylor during this conversation. It’d be wrapped up the next episode and she would storm out and never be heard from again. Definitely NOT how I’d want that to go, but. We all know it would. *honks clown nose*

#buddie #buddie fic #911 on fox #911 fic #eddie diaz #evan buckley #MY FIRST BUDDIE FIC PLS BE KIND #brooke writes

[sunnysviolin]

Omotober Day Three- Picnics

If you want to read it on ao3 (now as one singular fic because I am a dum dum) you can do that here

When Hero suggested that the five of them get together and have a picnic, Basil was nervous, but excited. There was a part of him that would always be afraid, but more than anything he wanted things to go back to the way they used to be. A picnic could be the start of that.

But Basil should have known that things could never go back to the way they used to be.

“Forgiveness, reader, is, I think, something very much like hope and love - a powerful, wonderful thing.

And a ridiculous thing, too.”- Kate DiCamillo

Basil wasn’t really sure what to expect when their group decided to get together for a picnic again like they used to, but his first inclination wouldn’t have been that there would be a fist fight about to break out.

After the fight, and the hospital, and everything that came after, things had gotten surprisingly calm and quiet. The guilt that had eaten his insides for all those years was gone, and in its place was peace. Yes, he still felt awful about what they had done, but the secret was over, and he no longer had to hold all of that pain by himself.

Their friends had accepted the truth at varied rates, and Basil was sure it would take a long time before they ever even came close to forgiving him or Sunny. Aubrey was still quick to anger, Hero was still avoidant of the pain, but things had changed. Something about those last few days Sunny had spent with them in Faraway had changed them all, made everyone more open to trying with each other again. Even after they learned everything.

It felt good to be friends again, to be able to look at their faces without the self loathing threatening to crush him. He would take whatever halted measures of friendship they would give, if it only meant not being alone again. So when Hero suggested a picnic, Basil eagerly agreed without thinking twice.

He should have thought twice.

The planning had gone perfectly fine. Kel was a hundred percent on board, and he had even offered to help with making the food. The other boy seemed most pleased that it was Hero specifically who was extending the branch out. Basil knew that, of all of them, Hero was probably going to have the most mixed emotions about what he and Sunny had done. Still, Hero was Hero. Even if he hated them both, he would never reveal it.

Aubrey had seemed unsure, but Kel’s enthusiasm and the promise of getting Sunny back to join them had her agreeing. Basil knew she and Sunny talked on the phone pretty often, maybe even more than Sunny and himself. Aubrey was trying hard to make up for the last four years, and she spent most of her time with Basil or by herself. She said it was to ‘figure things out’ and he didn’t pry. He knew how hard it was to accept things in your past that you didn’t want to think about or the parts of yourself that you didn’t like all that much.

Then there was Sunny. They had all crowded together around Kel’s home phone to talk to Sunny about their idea. He had agreed to come and made plans to sleep at Kel and Hero’s house the night of their picnic. Logically it would have made more sense for him to stay with Basil, there was more room at Basil’s house, but it went unspoken between them why Kel and Hero had extended the offer instead. He would catch the train in and out and be back by dinner the next day, it wasn’t a far journey. None of them had seen Sunny since the hospital, at least not in person, and Basil wondered what it might be like to lay eyes on the other boy now.

The day came and they had split into natural groups. Most of the preparations were already done, but there were a few things to finish up on the morning of. Hero would take care of finishing the food, Aubrey would set up in their spot in the park, and Basil and Kel were going to go pick up Sunny from the train station.

Everything was good. The day was bright and warm with not a single cloud in the sky, Sunny’s train had arrived right on time, and Sunny had even greeted them both with quick but tight hugs and a small smile. He was still wearing an eyepatch (and apparently would always be from now on) but he looked a lot better. The bags under his eyes were gone, and the greying pallor of his skin had vanished. He held himself a little straighter, spoke a little more, and the air of fear that seemed to surround Sunny had dissipated into nothing.

Kel had grabbed both of their hands and swung them through the air as they walked towards the park, chattering about what he and Hero had planned for that day. Basil was content to let Kel do most of the talking and shared a secret amused look behind his back with Sunny. This was something that had happened all the time when they were kids, and the nostalgia of it was easy to fall into.

When they got to the park and saw Aubrey, things were awkward for all of two seconds before she punched Sunny gently on the arm and ruffled his hair, bringing them over to the set up she had created. The picnic blanket was a checkered blue, not red, but it was soft. There was the scent of flowers in the air from the bushes nearby in bloom, and a breeze twirled the pinwheels clustered in the distance. It felt so blissfully...normal. Like they could just fall right back into step where they left off all those years ago.

Basil should have hit himself over the head for thinking that.

It started so innocently. They were waiting for Hero to arrive and sighing about how nice their little corner of the world was, when Aubrey made an offhand comment about her friends potentially joining them next time. Before Basil could even really process what her words, Kel had said no. He hadn’t said it in a joking way or to tease her. Kel had snapped, and the tension in his shoulder and the hardness of his eyes told them all that he was deadly serious.

It was jarring. Of all of them, Kel had always been the friendliest. Hero may have been the most popular, but Kel wasn’t far behind his brother in natural charm. He was sweet and sincere, and almost always willing to get to know people. It wasn’t like him to shut down so quickly or with such force. Kel’s face was stormy and he was avoiding eye contact with all of them, keeping those hard eyes locked with the ground. Aubrey seemed livid, but she sat stony and silent, waiting for more of an explanation. The one that came only made things worse.

“I just don’t see why you would even wanna be around them anymore,”

Aubrey, loyal beyond words, had swooped in to defend the rest of her gang, claiming that they were good people who were great friends. This had only made Kel scoff, which infuriated her even more. Basil was used to Aubrey and Kel getting into arguments, he was even okay with the escalated fight that had happened at the dock (seeing as he blamed himself for causing it), but this was unlike any of those.

Normally it was Kel who kept fairly cool during these things, and Aubrey that went ballistic. Yes, Kel fought right back with her and gave as good as he got, but he had always seemed calm and collected, mostly joking around and poking fun at how red Aubrey’s face would get.

Now it was his cheeks that were tinged, and his throat that was raw from screaming, in a way that Basil had never seen before. He stayed silent and tried to keep himself small, hands clasping together over his chest as he tried to remember the deep breathing techniques Polly had been teaching him. They didn’t seem to be working. A quick glance to the side showed Sunny in a similar state of distress, watching their friends argue with a wide eye and clear panic etched into his features.

Aubrey and Kel’s argument devolved fast, going from something that held worth to just being insults hurled back and forth. They began to advance on each other, clearly done with words and moving past to blows, but a voice cut through, breaking the intensity that had caught them all firmly in its grip.

“What’s going on?”

The four of them turned around simultaneously, varying stages of guilt evident on everyone’s faces. Hero emerged from the brush, carrying a large wooden picnic basket on one arm, his mouth turned downwards.

He surveyed the moment and sighed, a tired sound that betrayed a weight that they all knew Hero carried but refused to let them bear with him. The eldest walked over and gently placed the basket down on the blanket, glancing at each of them in turn.

“You okay, Sunny?” Hero asked, and Sunny nodded. He seemed calmer now that someone was intervening, but fear was still there. Hero patted him once on the top of his head and peered around the youngest. “Basil?”

Basil nodded too, his own words caught in his throat. It wasn’t the same as when Something had been squeezing him too tight to breathe, it wasn’t that bad yet, but it was still pretty bad. Nothing he couldn’t handle though, and Basil knew that Hero needed to be focusing on the other two right now. With both of them checked on, Hero stood at his full height and stared at the others.

“Explain,”

Both teens burst into words, voices raising as they tried to shout over each other and interject to disprove what the other had just claimed. Hero listened to the cacophony for a moment and then raised his hands, yelling over them to quiet down. Once it was settled again, Hero turned to Aubrey.

“Aubrey, you go first. You can talk with no interruptions. Then Kel is going to talk with no interruptions, and we’re all going to listen to each other. I want each of you to explain to me why you’re fighting, okay?” Both teens nodded, and Hero sat down, gesturing for the other two to sit back down as well. They did, and then Aubrey began to talk.

“Out of nowhere Kel starts going off about my friends and talking bad about them for no reason,” Kel made a noise here and Hero looked at him. The younger brother rolled his eyes but stayed silent, and Hero waved a hand at Aubrey to continue, “I don’t get why he’s so angry, but I don’t care. He had no right to say all of those things. That’s why they don’t like you, you just assume the worst of them.”

Kel shot a harsh glare towards the girl, something fiery and fueled with a deep rage that was completely out of character for him. Then when he spoke, the oddities only continued.

“I didn’t start ‘out of nowhere’. You started this by saying you wanted us all to hang out with them. Like we’re all pals. Did you forget that the only thing you did when you spent time with them was bully people and act like none of us mattered to you? You keep talking about how you wanna change, but you don’t. You just want to act like nothing you did mattered. They bullied m- Basil for years! If you’re really our- his friend I don’t know why you don’t want to protect Basil from those guys,” Kel finished his speech with a huff, crossing his arms and curling in on himself.

“I apologized to Basil plenty already!” Aubrey replied, a glance to Hero when she began. When he didn’t interrupt her, she kept going, “He forgave me, and now we’re trying to get past it. Isn’t that what you want?”

“Maybe we should listen to what Basil thinks?” Hero suggested, trying to keep the conversation from riding off the rails as it had before, “If you’re both so worried about him, it seems like his opinion would be the most important thing here,”

Then all eyes were on him, waiting to hear what he had to say. Basil twisted his fingers in his lap and laughed nervously, his mouth filling with cotton as both sides of the argument clearly looked for his backing.

“I-I don’t know?” He finally replied, the words sounding small and useless, only making everyone madder, “I wouldn’t mind trying I guess. Seeing if if it works out, ya know?”

Hero perked up here, shooting Basil a grateful smile. Aubrey seemed vindicated and her anger began to melt. The tension eased out of the air, and Basil breathed out. It was all going to be okay now. It was just a regular Kel and Aubrey fight. They would hug the way Hero always forced them to at the end of their arguments, and then the five of them could enjoy the afternoon together.

“Kel, if Basil is okay with it then it’s fine. Why don’t you two hug and make up and then-”

“What if I’m not okay with it, Hero?!” Kel exploded, cutting his brother off, “What about that?!”

Stunned silence coupled with an even stronger tension surrounding the group. Kel and Aubrey fighting he could understand, even Kel and Aubrey dragging Hero in to play referee he could understand, but never before had Basil seen Kel yell at Hero. Kel worshipped the ground Hero walked on, his big brother could do no wrong, and Basil had never seen any evidence that he ever had.

But Kel wasn’t done yet, and he continued his yelling. It was like something had cut into him with those words, and now that something, dark and black, was finally getting a chance to leak out of Kel. Basil knew all about Somethings. About how painful it was to live with them, about how they always eventually burst out and demanded to be seen. He just had never thought Kel might have a Something too.

“It isn’t fair that they get to spend years being terrible people. and then just act like they never did any of it. It isn’t fair that I have to just pretend like they weren’t awful to me. Like I didn’t spend most afternoons crying on my walk home because of them. Like I didn’t have to second guess everything single thing I did because they made me think that I was a bully.”

Basil had remembered hearing them calling Kel that before, and it had confused him then too. Kel had never done anything like bullying to anyone, but Basil had dismissed it. It seemed so ridiculous to him, he thought Kel would have just let it go too. Apparently not

“All I’ve ever done is try to help. I smiled and laughed and pretended like nothing bothered me because that’s what everyone else needed. And what did that get me? A bat to the face and being told by my own bullies that I was the one messing with them. They’re the bullies. Mean, angry bullies who I never did anything to. Except try to be friends with you.” Kel finally pulled his eyes to Aubrey with this final word, cutting his furious ranting off with a half laugh half sob. He brought his knees up to his chest and put his arms on top of them. He wasn’t crying, but the pain in his eyes was enough to make Basil’s own chest ache in sympathy.

“And then you let them call me a bully. When I didn’t do anything except try to help.”

Kel dropped his head against his knees, hiding and breathing harshly. His shoulders rose and fell. Up and down and up and down as he panted with exertion from his outburst of emotion. None of them made a sound. Basil wouldn’t have known what to say after that, and he was sure no one else did either. They also couldn’t have been prepared for the final blow that was about to be dealt.

“You all just wanna pretend like none of it ever happened...like all that time didn’t matter.” Kel’s voice was muffled, but the words hit all of them like a punch to the gut.

It wasn’t just about this one fight, it wasn’t even just about Aubrey’s friends. It was bigger, stretching out for years and years of suffering that had never been addressed. Basil’s breath caught in his throat, and he could see the others were in a similar state of shock. He looked down at his interlocked fingers, his stomach twisting up in knots.

It was so easy to forget with Kel. It was so simple to just get lost in his happy go lucky personality and his endless bounds of optimism. He always had time for them all, always willing to go that extra mile to help out his friends when they needed him.

He hadn’t given up on them. He hadn’t stopped knocking on Sunny’s door, even when he never answered. He hadn’t stopped saying hi to Basil, even when he didn’t say hi back. He hadn’t stopped encouraging Hero, even when Hero had no encouragement left to offer in return. He had even still looked for the good in Aubrey, when she had nothing good to say about him. That was just who Kel was, someone who kept trying.

But Basil knew better than any of them that a person could only be pushed so far before there was a part of them that was cracked and bleeding and needed others to heal it. Kel was a nice person, a happy person, but that didn’t mean he didn’t have his moments of doubt. The times where he needed to rely on them instead of the other way around. He never pushed, so no one ever was forced to notice all the bad thoughts and emotions piling up under that sweet sunshine smile. It was just easy to forget that those things existed behind his joy and his upbeat attitude.

They were the people who should have remembered to look. They were the ones who should have known. They had all wanted things to go back to the way they were, but the truth was they couldn’t.

There was no way to erase four years, no way to let go of what had happened to Mari. It existed, it was real, and all of them had tried to ignore it. All except for Kel, who had done everything he could to hold them all together without so much as a complaint. He was right, instead of acknowledging his sacrifices, they had acted like none of it had ever happened. That was what was unchallenging, that was what took no effort. But that was also what was killing Kel inside.

He didn’t know what they could say that would even start to mend four years of their friend trying and failing and continuing to try against all hope. What could a person say to that kind of dedication? What kind of thanks could be given to someone who took on that burden without a word until it had nearly crushed him?

It turned out that Basil didn’t need to know the answer. There was someone else who did.

Aubrey rose up from her spot across from Kel on the picnic blanket and plopped down next to him, turning her head away from the other boy. Her hand moved to his, settling on his elbow and grabbing his attention. Kel raised his head, staring silently at her as she looked at him from the side.

Basil didn’t know what conversation the two of them had without words, but he suspected he would never know. Things like that were only ever meant for two people, and even asking about it was treading on something sacred. Whatever it was, it was enough for Kel to uncurl from the position he had put himself in. He sat on his knees facing Aubrey, and she turned to do the same. She took a deep breath and raised her head, meeting his gaze fully.

“I’m sorry,”

It wasn’t much, when it came down to it. It wasn’t a long speech filled with tears and impassioned pleas. Aubrey wasn’t on her knees begging for forgiveness, or making promises to be better. She hadn’t even said it in a special tone or in a whisper meant just for the two of them. It was an apology, nothing more, nothing less.

It wasn't really much, but it felt so big. They were all touched by her words, all impacted by the enormity of such a small but profound statement. Sunny edged closer and leaned against Basil, and the weight against his side was warm and grounding. He looked down at the top of Sunny’s head, and the vines looping around his spine eased away once more.

When he turned back, Aubrey and Kel were hugging, sitting up on their knees and clutching hard to one another. He wasn’t sure which one of them moved first, but it wasn’t something he had ever seen. Basil has only ever seen them giving each other quick little hugs, or the awkward side squeezes Hero demanded after their fights. But this wasn’t either of those. It was genuine and real, and they both seemed a little reluctant when they pulled apart.

Hero, ever the older brother, beamed and pulled the basket to the center of their group, changing the subject to the food that he and Kel made. To anyone outside of their group, it might have seemed like a callous way to change the subject, but the other four were grateful for something to switch their minds to.

With the moment over, Aubrey went back to her usual brusque, digging into the basket and pulling out a sandwich and bottle of water. She grabbed the food and Sunny’s hand, dragging him over to one of the corners and demanding to hear about his new house. Sunny obliged her, talking about his room and the renovation plans his mother had begun.

Kel drifted over to Hero, falling against his brother’s side and leaning his head against Hero’s shoulder. Basil didn’t interrupt, but he watched Hero wrap Kel in his arms and whisper in his ear, something that had to be comforting given how Kel nodded and snuggled closer to his brother. Hero squeezed Kel and turned to Basil.

“How’s the new garden coming along?”

#Ugh that ending #Bleh #But I also don't have timme to doubt #anwyays! #omori fic #omori #omori kel #omori hero #omori sunny #omori basil #omori aubrey #angst #picnics #I just #hhhhhhh idk

[anika-ann]

3+1 (Un)Wanted Mistletoe Encounters

Type: One-shot, Reader Insert               Word count: 4200

Pairing: Steve Rogers x Reader

Summary:  Kissing under the mistletoe is one of the most famous Christmas traditions; so obviously, it is not Christmas without it at the Tower.

Unfortunately for the occupants, you are not fond of the tradition – at all. 

...or are you?

Warnings: cliché trope, pushy Pietro, discussion of dub-con I guess, language, fluff

A/N: Idea born from this video where John Mulaney says: “If any decoration needs to be MeToo’ed…” and goes on.

Beatiful divider by firefly-graphics

1.

You were no Grinch.

In fact, you actually liked Christmas and the Holiday season, you enjoyed both giving and receiving and you appreciated when people found time to spend it together, whether in their own family circle or with their chosen one.

But. There was one significant ‘but’.

And with this being your first Christmas with the Avengers, Sam Wilson was about to learn about the said but first-hand, because that sweet kind-hearted dumbass with a sass streak walked right into it.

Quite literally.

December 23th, you woke up well-rested, got breakfast, wrapped several presents and were on your way to hunt down a lunch in the communal kitchen, when a voice stopped you in the doorway, where you nearly ran into Sam. Nearly.

“Ah-oh,” he hummed, a shit-eating grin spreading on his handsome face and you stopped dead in your tracks, frowning at the ominous sound.

“What?”

And then came the fateful words: “You’re standing under a mistletoe.”

You see, here was a thing; the tradition of hanging a mistletoe and meeting people under it by chance as an excuse to get a kiss from someone was… stupid. Downright idiotic. Pushing people into something they didn’t have a chance to back out from. Forced affection.

Yeah, that was not happening even if Sam was a real swell guy and you did find a newly hung mistletoe above your heads indeed as you briefly looked up to check if his words were true.

“Okay. And?”

His eyebrows rose in surprise, his tone turning slightly wavering.

“…And so am I?”

“And?” you continued, crossing your arms on your chest defensively, already preparing a rant that would hopefully spread like wildfire and ended this dumb tradition altogether. Or well, at least spread around the Tower so no one would ever try to corner you again.

“Really?” Sam deadpanned and you stared right back at him, your face probably displaying precisely how you felt; unimpressed.

“Yes, really,” you emphasized and pointed up at the offensive plant for a good measure. “This is a stupid concept, objectifying people, women especially. It’s about people being forced into showing affection they might not even feel. It’s bordering on a damn dub-con if not non-con.”

Sam blinked a few times, instinctively retreating as he felt you heating up. He raised his hands in a no-harm gesture to show he got your point.

But you were already on roll and you glimpsed Tony in the kitchen, so you thought that there was no harm in him hearing your speech too, just to make sure that the smug loveable bastard of a billionaire got the message as well.

“It’s like all those poor kids being asked why don’t you give your granny a hug before we go and a kiss to your granddad— well, it’s because I don’t want to and it’s my choice to give affection to someone! And now this thing, this is the tip of the iceberg, really, the last fucking drop- it needs to be Me Too’ed, I swear.”

You found yourself panting as you finished, your hands on your hips now – not that you realized you had put them there – and your belly hot and angry for some inexplicable reason; maybe it was the fact that it was Sam, amazing, friendly and understanding Sam Wilson, who had to go and point this stupid poisonous plant out for you; and have the audacity to ask for a kiss.

Dammit!

“I’m sorry, Y/N,” he apologized sincerely, voice kind and without any hint of hurt or mockery. “It won’t happen again. I see that you might have a point in this.”

All the fight instantly left your body, replaced by warmth of friendship, mingling with a shiver of shame for your quick judgement and outburst. You sighed, easing your posture and offering and apologetic smile in return.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to make a big deal of that-“

“No, it’s fine. Like I said, you’re kinda right.”

“Damn right I am,” you hummed, feeling the corners of your lips rise automatically as Sam chuckled and shook his head at your antics.

But hey – you were right. You were not sorry for that.

Still snickering to himself, Sam sidestepped you in the door and patted your shoulder.

As you continued your path as well, you would swear you heard Tony mutter under his breath that you were a Grinch.

Jerk.

2.

“Hey! Don’t I get a kiss?” Clint called out a complaint as you met both stepped into that damn doorway at the same time.

As he pointed up, all you could do was to sigh, close your eyes and count to ten.

It had only been like four hours maybe; perhaps the word hadn’t gotten to him yet that you were not a fan of making out with random people – even if they were family – just because it was Christmas; or as Tony had put it, that you were a Grinch.

Personally, you thought that his insult had been inaccurate; you had given it a thought. Maybe you were more of a Scrooge. Perhaps you should tell him next time you saw him, just to see his face; Tony did pride in his ability to come up with witty nicknames.

You almost spitted out Bah, humbug now, just because.

“No, you don’t,” you said flatly instead, causing Clint’s jaw to quite literally drop as he looked at you with indignation and horror in his eyes.

“But--- but- mistletoe!” he stuttered and you sighed, deciding to explain it to him too – patiently.

“Why should some stupid plant tell me when someone is worth my affection? Someone who allegedly deserved it by simply standing under the same plant as me, no less? Get. Out. Not happening.”

You winced a bit as you registered the snappy tone you used.

Well. Half of the task of explaining it to him patiently went right, you’d call that a success, you supposed.

The poor archer just blinked, staring at you dumbfounded and mildly hurt; as if you had just told him that Santa Claus was nothing but a trick. Phew, as if you were that heartless…

Just-- logic. In fact, you had given this tradition a generous amount of thought since your last encounter under it and you figured out where it came from, historical inaccuracy be damned.

“I mean, where did the idea even come from? I bet it was just because some dude saw another guy mouth-to-mouth a girl, who happened to eat some of this poisonous parasite, may I add, and she was dying, so he gave her rescue breaths before continuing CPR. And the dude thought, that’s a great idea! Let’s make this a habit, just without the poisoning! Yeah, no. You’re not getting a kiss, Clinton,” you finished, satisfied with yourself as you managed to sound calmer this time.

Also, you were kinda proud of yourself for coming up with this story; it seemed very likely.

“That’s, uhm… an interesting take on history,” Clint hummed, watching you with uncertainty and hesitance and your heart stumbled in your chest as you guessed he was about to say something… cheeky, and outraging, in his cute brotherly way. “I need a hug at least tho.”

There we go.

“Nice try.”

You smirked and sidestepped him to be on your way and almost bumped into Steve, quickly shooting him a smile and disappearing out of sight before a silly idea about him and the stupid plant could form in your head – that would be bad and highly inappropriate, as was your crush on him, not to even mention your feelings—bah -!

“What did you do to her?” you heard the sweet supersoldier ask, a hint of accusation in his voice. Your smile widened, heat rising to your cheeks. Always so chivalrous; your heart could fucking melt.

“I asked for a hug after she refused to give me a kiss under a mistletoe,” Clint ratted you out, still hurt and honestly confused.

You stopped in your tracks as you rounded a corner, chewing on your lip guiltily.

Poor Clint; perhaps you had gone too hard on him… he couldn’t have known. You had to be kinder about it next time – after all, you might have been with them for almost a year now and they made you feel like you fit despite being so-so late to the Avengers party, but all of you still had things to learn about each other.

“Ah, you haven’t heard from Sam. Sorry,” Steve’s voice reached your ear, a notch kinder than before, compassionate even.

Compassion; another quality of Steve’s that you loved-

Bah, HUMBUG, that is not that, the L word is a bit much, that is not what’s happening-

“Wait, you knew- oh… Yeah, a heads-up would be nice,” Clint grumbled and made a pregnant pause, the sign of another prefect line coming. You held your breath in anticipation. “So are you gonna give me a hug or should I just get coffee, aka the hug in a cup-“

You held back laugher and swallowed the fondness for the good-natured archer before you could rush back and give him the damn hug.

“Coffee’s always a safe choice,” Steve replied and you thought you heard a chuckle and a grunt, unable to supress a giggle as you jogged away before they could notice you were still within hearing range.

Clint’s following monologue faded away as you walked.

“Nobody likes me. Nobody. I’m gonna die alone, surrounded by people who are too emotionally constipated to give a man a damn hug…”

Yeah, maybe you should give him a hug next time you saw him… no mistletoe though.

3.

You truly believed that that would be the end of it; after all, a day had passed since the first incident, the incident that was left without a kiss, and you doubted anyone was out of the loop at this point.

That was stupid of you. Naïve even. You jinxed it.

You were just after light breakfast, ready to get a little work out in – complete with tacky remixes of Christmas songs prepared to cheer you up – when the supposedly fastest man in the Tower, and possibly the whole world, pretty much bumped into you.

And he had to bump into you just as you were walking through that fucking doorway with that fucking plant which you were supposed to put down right after the encounter with Sam, dammit.

But no, you didn’t want to ruin everyone else’s fun; in fact, Clint had taken it his personal mission to meet as many people as he could under the mistletoe to get a kiss… or a hug. Wanda hapilly shared affection with others, either kissing their cheek of hugging them. People were having fun.

So, obviously, you let it be, confident everyone knew better than to corner you.

No good deed ever went unpunished, especially in the Holiday season.

Pietro grinned as he spotted you, downright delighted, and spread his arms almost as if creating a cage around you, leaving very little room to escape.

You did not like that.

“A kiss for a guy who caught you under a mistletoe?” he hummed warmly with a sprinkle of cheek and despite his cheery demeanour, you couldn’t help yourself and rolled your eyes.

“In your dreams, Maximoff,” you huffed, trying to duck under his arm, only for him to move it so quickly it was only a blur to you.

Quick to move, slow to take a hint. Yep, that kind of behaviour had Pietro written all over it… Okay, now you were being mean, but he was being an ass, grinning wider and adding a wink to the mix, so it was only fair.

“How did you know? I thought it was just my sister who was telepathic?”

“Pietro, leave her alone,” Wanda spoke as if on cue, eyeing her brother with a frown from her spot behind the counter where she was trying to figure out a recipe for a special Christmas pastry from her old country.

A hint of a pout appeared on Pietro’s lips as he reciprocated Wanda’s gaze; unfortunately for you, he was still aware enough of you attempting to escape his cage, so far without using force; though you were inclined to violence should it be necessary.

“What?! It’s tradition! I thought Americans loved that!”

“Well, not all of us, so-“ you explained with a sigh, catching a glimpse of Steve as he now looked up from his spot on the couch where he had been nestled with a sketchbook for the past twenty minutes.

“I could kiss you before you even notice,” Pietro argued smugly, his expression earning a wolf-like edge as you glared back at him.

Well, it seemed your workout was just about to start, you thought, as you balled your hand into a fist, subtly testing the readiness of the muscles of your leg, prepared to kick the damn man-child to his shin or worse.

“She said no.”

Both your and Pietro’s heads snapped to Steve, who was watching the other man with intense displeasure, all complete with the mildly adorable wrinkle on his forehead – a sign of disappointment and irritation – and a voice that carried the gravity of a Captain’s order.

Which in this situation stirred something in your belly, warmth swelling in your chest as he rushed to your rescue; one not needed, but still appreciated. You didn’t react to Steve’s words aside from giving him a quick grateful smile and shooting Pietro a childish told-you-so look.

“She doesn’t have to do things just because it’s considered a tradition. Leave her be, Pietro,” Steve added, less snappy and simply requesting from the speedster to have a tiny bit of respect for your wishes.

Pietro was most definitely pouting now, but he dropped his arms and released you, still blocking the doorway.

“This is ridiculous,” Pietro muttered under his breath, only for you to hear and you gritted your teeth, irritation spiking again.

“You are being ridiculous. Now move or I swear I’ll slap you.”

“I’d like to see you try, Eagle.”

Oh, we’re doing nicknames now? He could use your title earned by being fast and occasionally deadly all he wanted, flattery would get him nowhere at this point.

“Wouldn’t even see it coming, Speedyboy,” you challenged, chin raised in defiance.

It was ironic, really, how much everyone seemed to insist on following this stupid tradition, even with you. At this point, it was practically everyone but Steve; everyone but the one person you’d be willing to kiss – mistletoe or not, though the plant would at least give you an excuse.

But nope, you just had to get stuck in the doorway with this moron instead.

“Ooookay, you two,” Natasha sing-sang, as she was approaching you from the corridor; you completely missed her arriving, that was how much Pietro irritated you. “Maximoff, move, you’re blocking the doorway. And if you corner her like this again, I’ll kill you in your sleep and you’ll never see that coming,” she promised, voice icily serious despite the twinkle in her eye.

You had no doubt she would deliver just what she promised.

Which was exactly why you leaned over to kiss her cheek, earning a brilliant smile from her and a light brush of her lips against your own cheek.

“Thanks, kotenok,” she hummed just as Pietro gaped and complained.

“That’s so unfair.”

You smirked at him, throwing the smugness he had treated you with right back at him as you went to walk away.

“I give affection to whoever I want and whenever I want. Let your super quick brain process that. Happy Holidays.”

You completely missed the slow smile that spread on Wanda’s face at one point of the whole exchange.

+1

You decided to stop walking through that damn doorway altogether – just in case.

But at the moment, no one was around, so you made an exception since you considered yourself safe. Though main part of the feeling of security was that you didn’t think there was anyone left of the Tower tenants (who didn’t pay rent at all, somehow) who wasn’t aware of your opinion on the dumb tradition. No one who would be stupid enough to try.

Yet, when you glimpsed a large figure about to walk through the doorway just as you were few feet from it, you halted in your steps, letting them pass first.

And then there was a gust of wind, a warning coming a second too late and a harsh push to your shoulder from behind.

“Running through!”

You, the newest addition to the Earth’s mightiest heroes, Eagle, known for her quick reactions and not losing her cool easily, only managed to yelp in fright as you were knocked over, unable to hold onto anything and falling straight to the ground.

Two strong hands caught you and pulled you back up before you could hit the floor and you gasped, head spinning from the swift movements-- only to blink your eyes open to meet the prettiest pair of eyes you had ever seen; determined, kind, compassionate, loveable. And so damn blue despite the drop of green in their irises.

Your heart was trying to beat its way out of your ribcage as Steve instinctively pressed his chest against yours, holding you close and secure, grasp firm but careful.

Your gaze couldn’t but wander all over his face as you found yourself in such close quarters with him, his own eyes and his lips – gosh, those lips – working as magnets, always alluring your gaze to linger.

“You okay?”

Mesmerized, you watched those lips to move, barely comprehending what he was asking. His voice was warm; honey sweet and rich in spice, delicious, causing your stomach to flip pleasantly, your heart stammer.

It might have taken you a while to stutter out a reply, but no one ever needed to know about that.

“Uhm… yeah. Thanks-- thanks to you… thank you.”

Steve graced you with a small but no less meaningful smile. “Of course.”

Torturously slowly – as if he didn’t want to let you go any more than you wanted him to – he helped you stand straight and let go of your arms.

The moment you lost his touch, you lost your sanity too. You must have.

Before you could change your mind – or to think anything through – you leaned back to him and pressed a quick kiss to his cheek. And perhaps on instinct, you kinda aimed more for the corner of his mouth than the cheek.

He felt warm now too – the tips of his ears turned red in an instant and you, with horror, finally realized what you had done; and just how good it felt to finally show at least a little of what you had been trying to ignore and hide for so long.

Despite his apparent surprise and mild embarrassment, his smile widened a fraction, turning pleased.

“What was that for?” he asked lowly, gaze intense as he studied your face, a hint of a glow in his eyes, something brighter than hadn’t been there before. Hope, maybe?

You certainly hoped. Because you just made an ass of yourself, having acted without thought… and it never felt so good and so awkward at the same time.

Your brain had never been so quick and dumb to come up with a poor excuse either.

“We’re…. we’re under a mistletoe?” you offered reluctantly, your lips still burning after the brief contact with his, head once again nearly spinning due to the proximity – was it just the dizziness or was he leaning in closer?

“I thought you didn’t follow that tradition,” Steve hummed with a grin slowly spreading on his face and through the fog of lovesickness, it finally dawned to you.

You had done exactly what you scolded Sam, Clint and Pietro for – you just went and kissed Steve, no questions asked, no consideration of his possible discomfort.

God, you were such an idiot!

See, that’s why you have banned yourself for as much as imagining kissing Steve and meeting him under the mistletoe! Because when your brain went down that road, it stopped working altogether!

You swiftly retreated a few inches, horrified.

“I—I don’t. I mean. I-- I-I’m so sorry!” you blurted out, words spilling from your lips as the panic rose in your chest. And yet, there was warmth, a pleasant feeling coiling in your belly, breaths coming out short as Steve seemed to erase the distance you had created, his gaze studying you, landing on your mouth. “I shouldn’t have done that! What was I thinking—gosh, I didn’t want to make you-“

You stopped as Steve’s lips kept erasing the distance and ended up a breath from touching yours, tempting, his eyes shining bright with a simple unspoken question. You instinctively licked your lips, heart stumbling in your ribcage.  

“---uncomfortable. Yes, please-“

And then he was kissing you, a little smile playing on his lips as they danced with yours, sweet and soft, hand moving to your nape, thumb caressing the side crook of your neck, drawing a content sigh from you as your eyes fluttered shut, letting you sink into the kiss you had been craving for almost a year.

Your hands sought out his shoulders as he cradled your face, gentle and guiding so he could take more and all you wanted was to give it to him, give him everything he asked for and take it from him too.

Your toes definitely curled in the thick fluffy socks you wore when his fingers squeezed your nape briefly before he withdrew – as if he once again didn’t want to let go for something so boring as oxygen. You wholeheartedly agreed with that sentiment, dizzy from the blissful turn of events.

As you inhaled nevertheless, you were grateful that Steve stayed close enough for you to breathe in him, relieved and delighted smile on your face as you licked your lips, savouring the sensation.

When you met his gaze, you saw nothing but fondness; and your heart could melt.

Steve liked you too. Steve kissed you like he meant it. Now you could die a happy woman but you rather not. You’d rather kiss him again if he was willing.

“Still sorry I did it without asking first,” you whispered an apology even though you were not sorry at all since it led to this.

“It’s okay. I just hope it wasn’t just the tradition that pushed you into kissing back.”

You chuckled and then chewed on your lower lip when thinking of a propriate retort, not missing that his eyes followed the action. Oh, he definitely liked to back, okay. Why had you never kissed before, again?

“I only give affection to whoever I want, whenever I want,” you threw back at him, the words that had a whole new meaning in contrast to when being told to Pietro; not a turn-down, quite the opposite in fact.

And you leaned in, greedy for at least one more kiss, Steve just watched you with a smile, eyes flickering to your lips.

“That’s good to know.”

He didn’t sound like he complained at being at the receiving end of your affection whatsoever.

Maybe, mistletoe wasn’t so stupid after all…

Three rooms over, the red-haired witch was smiling widely as she, thanks to her mental powers, caught a glimpse of what was happening in the kitchen doorway.

“It worked,” she announced, blinking to fully return herself to the present. “Nice work this time, brat moy.”

Pietro scowled at Wanda and couldn’t but wonder about the plan she had orchestrated and asked him to execute.

“How did you know, sestra?”

Wanda just shrugged.

“I had my suspicions before. But when you ran into her the last time, I checked her mind to see just how uncomfortable you made her,” she explained, giving one more scolding glare for his inappropriate behaviour. But well, it led to this and he helped now, so… he was good. “She literally thought she wouldn’t mind being under the mistletoe with the Captain.”

“Lucky bastard,” Pietro muttered, expression only half-sour.

“Shush. Be happy for your teammates. You just flirt anyway.”

The speedster pouted, but didn’t protest; he in fact was happy for the two members of the extended family him and his sister had found. And he indeed was only flirting, enjoying your reactions, talking back and teasing. It was all good fun and he did wish you and the Captain well…

But.

“Well, yeah, but now I won’t be able to do that or to look at her twice. Not without Captain having my head,” he grumbled and Wanda nodded with a grin, not feeling all that bad for him.

It wasn’t like he had his heart broken – more like had his ego tickled; and he had been needing some of that for a while.

“That’s true. Looks like you gotta be faster with the next girl you get your eye on, brat.”

The speedster gasped, shocked at her audacity. “I’ll show you fast-!”

Wanda laughed as she used her powers to freeze him on spot to get a head start.

Now, the Holidays felt truly happy indeed.

S.R. Masterlist

Thank you for reading!

If this fic feels like it’s written differently, then I guess that’s fair… I tried to make the style more drabble-like and failed epically, because I just cannot write short and without too many feelings :D

Anyway.

Happy Holidays to you all! May you be given love and affection!

#fanfiction #steve rogers x reader #steve rogers x you #holiday fic #christmas fic #captain america x you #steve rogers imagine #captain america x reader #steve rogers #captain america #captain america imagine #steve rogers holiday fic #steve rogers christmas fic #mistletoe shenanigans #avengers #avengers christmas #captain america christmas #steve rogers fanfic #steve rogers fanfiction #captain america fanfic #captain america fanfiction #christmas #3+1 fic #3+1 mistletoe encounters #anika ann

[katnissmellarkkk]

“Why are you wearing my sweater?” “Because it smells like you.”

Hi! So thank you for sending a prompt! I hope this is good enough? I’m so bad at writing fluff that isn’t kind of angsty, so I tried. In my defense, the angst isn’t at all between Everlark. But anyways, I enjoyed writing this so thanks for sending!!! 

Oh, also it’s important to know ahead of time before reading that a). this is set post-mockingjay and b). in my version of post-canon, Panem took on some semblance of our modern day winter holidays. So they have a celebration that’s kind of a variation of Christmas.

My feet trudge down the stairs, still somewhat unwillingly, although no one is forcing me. I could stay upstairs in my room all day if I so wished, I could hide under the blankets and just pretend. I could just pretend today was an ordinary, boring day and that most of the people I know won’t be convening in my house for the vast majority of the afternoon and evening.

But I don’t. Because that wouldn’t be fair to do to Peeta.

Peeta, who loves the celebrating and the family gatherings and the newfound holidays this country has adapted since the end of the war, since the end of Snow and Coin and the hunger games.

And it’s not that I don’t want to see my family. It’s not that I necessarily want to be a hermit in my own home, like Haymitch.

I just really don’t like this new holiday. For whatever reason, it has made my skin crawl every year, for the last six years that it’s been slowly making it’s way across the districts. Every year, people in every district alike put out decorations, purchase candy and trees, cook meat and pastries and, though every district calls the holiday a differing variety of names, everyone all celebrates alike. With their family, traveling to see loved ones, thankful for the safety not one of us can take for granted now since the war.

Maybe it’s that seeing the whole country uniformly celebrating anything still makes my skin crawl, as I still see loud, boisterous crowds in my dreams at night, and though the people celebrating this holiday are probably nothing like the faces I see in my sleep, I still can’t shake the connection.

Or maybe it’s that not all my family survived the war. Maybe it’s the fact that I don’t want to celebrate anything if I can’t celebrate with everyone I love.

Either way I still make my way down the stairs and through the living room, just the same. I walk past Haymitch, drunk and passed out on the floor and the embers burning in the hearth next to him. I walk into the kitchen and meet the eyes of my husband, currently stirring batter of some kind in the bowl I did my best to handcraft for his birthday two years ago.

“Hi,” Peeta greets, his eyes visibly surprised to see me. “What’re you doing up?”

I give him a look as I slide into a tall chair by the counter. “It’s nine-thirty,” I deadpan. “I’m usually up at six.”

“I just figured,” he starts before hesitating, measuring me carefully before second-guessing his words. “I know you don’t like the new holiday traditions,” he finally amends.

I shrug my shoulders, non-committal. “It’s not like I can hide away while everyone’s here,” I state, as if I wasn’t contemplating doing that exact thing on the way down the stairs.

Peeta though touches my hand and gives it a squeeze, sympathetically. “I could tell them you’re sick?” He offers softly.

A part of me wishes to take him up on that offer but I shake my head plainly. “It wouldn’t be right.”

“I can tell everyone to head over to Delly’s and Kanon’s. Delly doesn’t mind changing her plans and hosting. We can just spend the day you and me.”

“And Haymitch makes three?” I tease, but give a half smile as I turn down this idea too. “I’m fine, Peeta. Really. I can even help you finish up...” I look at the bowl of mixed ingredients, attempting to decipher what he’s concocting. I’ve been married to him long enough to put together the smell of vanilla, cinnamon and chocolate, but still manage to come up empty to what his final product will be.

He just laughs at my confusion. “No, actually, I was planning on taking a break anyway,” he says, putting the bowl and spoon down, but I easily know he’s lying. He never stops halfway through making anything for a break, no matter how sore his arm can get from stirring.

“Really?” I raise one thick eyebrow at him, knowingly, as he walks around the counter and pulls at my hand to follow him.

As I stand, Peeta evidently takes in my attire for the first time since I came downstairs.

“Why are you wearing my sweater?” He asks, his own blonde brows furrowing now.

“Because it smells like you,” I say defensively, hugging it to me like I’m afraid he’s going to steal it away.

But his eyes soften almost imperceptibly and he gives me a look that is so loving and so sweet, it would disgust me if it were from anyone else.

“Come here,” he directs evenly, tugging me by hand. I let him guide me to the living room, taking a seat on the coffee table while he finds residence across from me, on the couch. We both, probably unwisely, ignore the drunk sleeping off his stupor by the flames.

Peeta takes my hands in his and leans down to press his mouth to my knuckles. “Talk to me, Katniss.”

“There’s nothing to talk about,” I insist, but my voice is too quiet and he’s been married to me for over six years and he knows me too well at this point. He knew me too well at sixteen, let alone now, after all these years.

Proving just that, he shakes his head. “Something’s bothering you. And I don’t like it when you’re not happy.”

I shrug then, because I have no defense to really give. “I just... dislike Yuleday,” I admit simply, using the most common term for the holiday.

I feel his large hand cover my cheek tenderly. “Is this because your mom is bringing Rod this year?”

My jaw clenches at the mention of my mother’s new husband. I open my mouth to deny it but then I look into Peeta’s kind, understanding blue eyes, that have never judged me, that have sought so hard for so long to never let his demons cast shadows over them again, and I just can’t. His baby blue eyes stop me in my tracks, stop me from telling him a blatant lie. “It’s a part of it,” I admit begrudgingly.

I feel his hand move to rub one of my shoulders. “I know. I know it’s hard,” he validates. I lean over and kiss his fingers as they try to massage the tension away. “But it has been almost fourteen years since your dad died, Katniss. Your mom... it’s okay for her to move on. I think it’s a good thing, that she was able to open her heart again to someone new.”

I nod mechanically, knowing all this is true, logically. “Yeah,” I try to agree, but it comes out unevenly and I can’t quite make myself look at him now.

“It’s easier to accept from an outside position,” he notes kindly.

But I shake my head. “It’s not just that, Peeta. It’s... it’s not just that she remarried or that she didn’t tell me about him until they were engaged. It’s... it’s everything that came with her getting remarried.”

Already knowing what I meant without asking me to verbalize, he adds, “It’s the step-children that make it more difficult to swallow.” His words are a clear statement, not a question.

I shrug at that, knowing it’s true. “It just feels odd that she has this whole other family now,” I explain, feeling immature and ridiculous and petty.

Practically reading my mind again, Peeta tries to comfort me. “That’s natural, Katniss. For you to feel that way, I mean. I would.” He lifts my chin so I have to look at him now. “I would feel the exact same way. Especially...” he cuts himself off now, once again second-guessing what he wants to say.

“Especially what?” I prompt.

“Especially if I lost my sister like you did. I would be sensitive about my mother gaining step-kids too. Younger step-kids, at that.” He gives me a long measuring look in which makes me feel naked. And not in a good way, like usual. “That’s what really bothering you, after all.”

My eyes widen, startled by his call out. “What?”

“That’s why you’re really upset. About the holiday, about everyone coming over, about your mom’s new family. Because it just reminds you that Prim is missing.”

I stare straight ahead blankly, unable to respond. Nothing hurts more than that simple truth, that glaring fact, that cuts me right down to the bone. That the real reason I hate this new celebration is because my sister would absolutely love it and she’s not here to experience it. She’s not here to see it and I don’t know how to enjoy it properly, even for Peeta’s sake, without her here too.

“Come here,” Peeta says now, and he tugs me by hand from the coffee table and into his lap. His fingers sift through my hair tenderly and his lips find resistance against my forehead. After a long beat, he whispers against my temple, “She would want you to make new memories. Prim would love Yuleday. And she would want you to love it.”

“I know she would love it,” I say and we both pretend not to hear the way my voice cracks. “But she isn’t here to love it and... I feel wrong celebrating without her. I know it’s been eight years-“

“Katniss, there’s no time limit on grief. Trust me, I know.” Of course he did. He lost his entire family in one fell swoop and I’m over here whining about my loss. I feel his hand slip up my sweater—well, technically his sweater—and rub my back. “Do you remember what I said at our toasting?”

I crane my neck back from it’s place against his throat, giving him a puzzled look. “Off topic but yes. I remember everything from that day.” And I do. I remember how perfect his outfit was, how it wasn’t too casual or too formal, just the right simplicity. I remember what he said and how the warmth of the fire reflected the warmth inside my heart. I remember the bread he made and how it was the exact the bread he tossed to me in the rain all those years ago, the exact bread that had saved my life. I remember the look in his eyes as he stared at me, the tears he shed of utter happiness, because we were finally able to love each other safely and wholly and without pressure or reservations.

“Do you remember what I said about Prim?” He inquiries softly.

And then I understand why he brought up our toasting. “Yes,” I affirm, my voice quiet again.

“She’s always here, for all the big events and the small ones. She lives inside you, Katniss. Your sister is a part of you, no matter what.”

I blink back the moisture in my eyes, trying my hardest not to let any of it fall. “I know.”

“Prim would want you to be happy,” he says again, kissing my hair, his fingers dancing over my braids. I put my hair in two today, knowing he liked it when I did. “Happy with and for your mother.”

I let out a breath I didn’t know I was holding. “I do hope she’s happy,” I murmur finally, my grey eyes boring into his. “I hope Rod makes her as happy as you make me.”

I feel his lips before I realize he’s leaning in, our mouths connecting instantaneously. His lips are softer than ever, but still firm, still able to create an electric spark inside of me. I thought the kiss on the beach was good when I was seventeen, but in reality, it was nothing compared to how he makes me feel eight years later. It was nothing compared to the fireworks he erupts now, without even so much as trying.

But he can’t go without teasing me for long and as soon as we pull apart, as I trail my lips downwards to begin hungrily kissing his throat, he doesn’t even miss a beat, saying, “I hope Rod makes your mom as happy as my sweaters make you.”

I immediately pull my mouth away, my eyes narrowing. “I’m leaving.”

“No,” he pleads, grabbing me by the waist as I try to stand and tugging me back into his arms again. His lips find where my neck meets my shoulder and he sucks, putting a vast amount of pressure there, knowing it’s my utter weakness. “Don’t leave me. I love you,” he mumbles gently against my skin.

I can’t help my smile then as I reach my hand up and touch his cheek, making sure not to interfere with him continuing his task. “I love you too, Peeta.”

But another voice joins us, effectively ending the moment. “Can you two get a room?” Haymitch barks, his eyes bleary as he leans his head up off the floor now, still waking up.

“Actually, we got a whole house, Haymitch,” Peeta assures smoothly. “But thanks for making yourself at home in it.”

Haymitch only offers a thumbs up in response before flopping back on the hardwood, groaning in response to the dying fire’s last sizzling flames.

“If only we could use our house to our... liking. In peace.” I don’t even bother keeping my voice down or hiding my meaning from Haymitch.

“Girl, if you want to talk like that, save it for after company leaves.”

“You’re not company, Haymitch,” I shoot back.

“I’m talking about everyone else coming today, sweetheart.”

Oh. It had momentarily slipped my mind that we were expecting people any moment now. “We’re really grateful you could grace us with your presence early,” Peeta says to the hungover man, who’s now reaching his hand closer to the fire, attempting to absorb any heat he can.

“Shut it, boy. It’s Yuleday. Have some kindness for an old man who saved your life.”

“By kindness he means alcohol,” I murmur, eliciting Peeta’s chuckle.

“She’s not wrong,” Haymitch adds under his breath.

“Let me up,” Peeta pats my butt, signaling for me to get off his lap. “I have to go finish the chocolate cinnamon rolls before our family gets here.”

But as he starts to make his way back towards the kitchen, I follow behind him, grabbing his hand to catch up. “What’re you doing?” He asks, his voice confused.

“I’m going to help you finish baking.”

His brow push together. “What suddenly got you in the spirit?”

I shrug, making my way ahead of him and grabbing the bowl he was using before to stir the batter around. “Like Haymitch said. It’s Yuleday.”

Peeta’s eyes relax and then soften as he looks at me, no doubt taking in the image of me in his sweater, mixing batter around in the bowl I handmade him. Just as I finish stirring all the ingredients together, he wraps his arms around my waist and starts planting kisses on my neck greedily.

And I decide in that moment, as I twist around to capture my husband’s lips again with my own, to do everything I can to be happy for my mom.

To be as happy for her as I know somewhere Prim is for me.

#everlark #thg #the hunger games #my writing #everlark fanfic #fan fiction #fanfic #prompt #Drabble #whatever ya wanna call it #katniss everdeen #Peeta mellark #play with me 🥰 #also I hope everyone enjoys my humor that I named her moms new husband from district 4 Rod like fishing rod #ok just me with my weird humor look away

[kessielrg]

A Quiet Place (Part 3)

Summary: Part 3 for a short ficlet based on a chaotic rp by @chibi-mushroom and @animacreates. The first two parts are here, and here. Took me long enough to finish this one, now off finish to the story where Sabrina becomes a Heartless for a day.

Rating: K+

Word Count: 2,059 words

If you liked this story, please reblog!

---

“Pliers?”

“Pliers.”

“Hammer?”

“Hammer.”

“A little reassurance that I'm not going to hit my finger this time?”

“Wouldn't count on it.”

Oswald gave Sabrina a stink eye that she just as easily shrugged away from. He was finding quite quickly that being a sassypants was second nature to her. Having a strong will was good -especially for someone as beaten down as she had been- but heaven help him if it didn’t make him go slightly insane each time. She was going to have a job in power one day. He just hoped that it was on the ‘good’ side of gray and grey morality, and not the ‘bad’ side.

“You know, I think I liked it more when you just sat on the couch.” he informed her, jokingly razzing his tongue at her.

“No you don’t.” she immediately spat. “If I sat on the couch now, you’d think I’m mad at you.”

“Are you?”

It honestly took her a few moments of thought toward the idea.

“Not in this room.” she decided.

“Guess I can’t argue with that.” Oswald snorted. “Would ya bring the standing magnifier a bit closer? If you’re not going to cheer me on, the least you can do is help me delay the inevitable.”

The girl gave a sound of affirmation before adjusting the afghan blanket around her shoulders. The blanket still served as her shield against the world. She may be gaining more confidence, but outside the hobby room her glares did most of the talking. Even that was more of an improvement as well. Stoic wasn’t the best word to describe her first week. Moreover, she did a lot more than head shakes and flinching when spoken to now. She still flinched when Ortensia raised her voice when Oswald didn’t do something the first fifty times his wife asked him to- but the kid couldn’t be blamed for that. It scared Oswald to; even if the forgetting had been on purpose.

At this point, the two foster kids had been with him and Ortensia for six months and three days. The day marking that this was the longest the siblings have stayed with one family was one where Brain called the first family meeting. He never said that this was the case, but at that point both caretakers had a good feeling about it anyway. Many things were talked about that day. Most of it was a simple ‘thank you for keeping our trust’ from the heart. But there were some topics that made them all go silent in both thought and fear. The biggest one of all; would Ortensia and Oswald have children of their own as well? It was no real secret that Ortensia wanted a big family. It was even less of a secret that the two had tried for their own child before.

Ortensia said that it would be nice to have more children. Oswald remained silent; too focused on the kids for their reactions. They may have known each other for six months, but they were still a mystery to him. And what he did know...?  Suffice to say, it sometimes kept him up at night in absolute fury. He didn’t even have that much hate for his own brother- and that fury was well pent up after so long.

But he couldn't think about that now. He honestly didn't want to hurt his finger again because he misjudged his hammer swing. Sabrina watched on, almost unflinching with each strike. Her eyes held a gaze that made it seem like it was her sheer will that prevented Oswald from hurting himself. She was willing each strike to hit the nail square on the head. It was perhaps the only bit of good luck Oswald didn't mind. Her intense focus led him to be extra focused as well. It took several careful moments, but his repairs on the clock were finally finished.

“Finished.” Oswald sighed, setting down his hammer with certainty. “Now all we need to do is wind it up, and see if the birdy’s gonna cuckoo. But we can do that later.”

“Why?” Sabrina questioned.

“The best thing about a spouse,” her caretaker gleefully told her, “Is finding new ways to annoy them.”

Sabrina raised an eyebrow at him, but didn’t say anything against the idea. If anything, she mentally filed it away for later.

“Do you ever sell the stuff you fix?” the girl then asked as she made her way over to the couch.

“Sometimes.” Oswald agreed, carefully taking the clock with him so he could set it beside the door. He hoped he wouldn’t forget it later. “Ortensia wishes I did it more, really. Says I do nothing more than clutter up the living room, or just create more junk sitting around without use. Thing is; everything’s got a use. It just has to take the right person to see it.”

“Like people?”

Oswald looked up, then turned his head slightly to give the girl an odd look.

“I don’t think I follow, kiddo.” he admitted. “Take me through your thought process.”

Sabrina gave a half shrug. “Everyone has a use.” she said, somewhat in a mumble. “But sometimes the wrong person looks at you and makes the wrong assumption. They treat you bad because they think you deserve it, even when you've done nothing wrong. But you still have that… potential. Potential that could easily be squished if someone decides you're not worthy before ever knowing you.”

“Ah,” Oswald agreed with a nod. “Very philosophical. A very unique perspective too, if I must say. However, them’s some high and mighty words from a girl who trash talked a store mannequin the other day.”

“I could arrange a better outfit than that.” she immediately huffed. “Pairing a tunic blouse with a denim skirt and leggings? It would have created a better silhouette if they had just put flared, knee length capris on it, with a belt a little above the hips. And don't even get me started on the flat colors they chose.”

“I think you're already started.” Oswald laughed.

“Miss Minnie agreed with me,” the child spat. She even blew a raspberry at him for good measure. But in her tall stature, she thought of something. A rather investigative glint hit her eye as she then ventured to ask, “Miss Minnie is married to your brother, isn't she? That's why she makes you fix things for them a lot.”

At first, her only reply was a grunt. He tried to hide it from her this time though; he put on a big smile as he came over to her.

“You're a pretty smart kind, you know that?” he teased while he ruffled her hair. Sabrina was quick to swat his hand away, then fix her hair again. Her stink eye was immeasurable.  Oswald pretended not to notice as he took a seat on the couch. “But this clock isn’t for him, or her. This was my personal project, and tonight at dinner, Ortensia’s gonna know it too.”

“Never said it was, or wasn’t.” the girl claimed. She sat tall, but held the afghan closer to her body. “I just… I like Miss Minnie. Just a bit. But then she goes and acts all no-space like Ortensia does, and it's grating. Is she another one that wants to have a super big family even though the one she’s got is perfectly fine?”

“Mickey’s the one who picks up stray puppies.” Oswald told her, rather sharply. “Minnie, much like the rest of us, wants him to mind his own goddamn-”

Oswald cut himself off. He had to force himself to unclench his fists. He looked over at her to find a rather still expression in return.

“What'd your brother ever do to you?” the girl ventured to ask. She had never really asked much about Oswald or his other family. Mostly because she had no interest in it. She was also smart enough to know by now that there was bad blood between Oswald and his brother. But if she was going to open up, then perhaps it was time he did the same. It was only fair.

Unfortunately, his answer was less than satisfying.

“You have your 'don't-talk-abouts', and I have mine.”

“Right.” the kid said with a roll of her eyes. “So I'll just ask Ortensia about them like you ask Brain about mine.”

“Now listen here you little-” Oswald started to grumble as he made a reach for her. Sabrina yelped before getting off the couch with a start. She whipped around the couch and over to a corner. She let the blanket sway with her. Once she thought she found a safe spot, she looked back at Oswald, upturned her nose, and flung the afghan across her chest like it was a silk scarf instead.

“Easy with that thing.” Oswald jokingly huffed at her. “You move it around like you're a queen about to poison a princess. That blanket's an heirloom, you know.”

And that was when he heard it; her first genuine laugh.

“Being a queen would be such a bore.” she grinned. It was mischievous, cunning, and joyful all the same.  “All she does is make the king look good, arrange banquets, and sit dutifully next to him even when he’s cheating. I’d rather be a princess. They have about… 30 percent more freedom than queens.”

“Oh really?”

“Yup.” she agreed, even popping her ‘P’ with certainty. “She gets to study abroad for her training, lead dignitaries into the kingdom, maybe even flirt with a foolish footman or two for good measure…”

“What a scandal that will cause.”

“Oh, but it’ll all be covered up before anyone even knows it happened. That’s the thing about royalty and their heirs; they’re always more than willing to sweep things under the rug to keep appearances.”

Oswald snorted. “Guess I can’t argue with that logic.” he decided. “Come on princess, let’s hang this cuckoo in the dining room before Ortensia notices.”

“Right,” the girl agreed with a nod. She walked back over to the couch to gently place the afghan blanket over the back. Oswald noted how she very gently folded it into a triangle before placing it down. She didn’t look at him as she went over to the door, but she did pick up the cuckoo clock for him. He smiled a bit before joining her. Together they left the safety of the hobby room and back into the main house.

“You know,” Sabrina mused as they entered the living room, “I’ve noticed that you usually work on older stuff. Like clocks, and projectors, and anything else that existed before Thomas Edison. How come? Why not work on newer stuff like Xboxes and plasma TVs?”

“Well, princess,” Oswald informed her. “That’s because I'm not allowed to work on electronics anymore. Not after an accident where I shorted out a control box and every single firework at Walter Elias Memorial Park went off six hours before the big show. Burnt my eyebrows off during that. Ortensia wouldn't let me leave the house for weeks after, too. Poor honeybunch thought just touching something with a charge would give me a heart attack.”

“Oh…” the girl mumbled. Oswald looked over at her, raising a concerned eyebrow.

“Something wrong?”

Sabrina shook her head. It took her awhile, but she quietly admitted, “Brain and I used to go there a lot. Walt Memorial. We always found a good spot by the jungle gym to watch the fireworks shows. Everyone sits by the safety line, you know. It gets too crowded.”

“Do you like crowds?” Oswald asked as they entered the dining room.

The girl then lulled her head from side to side. She handed Oswald the clock so he could hang it on a spot conspicuously already prepared for it.

“I don't like being invisible in crowds.” she finally decided. “I want everyone to know I'm there.”

“Keep sassing store mannequins, and I’m sure you’ll attract your own crowd.”

She tried to hold it back, but Sabrina let out her second laugh that day. The happy sound brought a grin to Oswald’s face. He was sure Sabrina still had a long way to go to really trust anyone within the family, but at the moment, he couldn’t have asked for a sweeter foster kid.

#writing #writing stuff #writers on tumblr #kingdom hearts #epic mickey #oswald the lucky rabbit #oswald #kingdom hears oc #kh oc #fanfiction #fanfic #kingdom hearts fanfiction #kh fanfiction #fan fiction #fan fic #kh fan fic #found family

[shejustcalledmeafish]

7 + john/tosh !! <3

7 - “I’m not good with feelings, but here goes nothing. My life sucks less with you in it.”

Tosh wasn’t often scared. Uncertain, yes. Terrified beyond measure, far more often than she would have liked. But she rarely felt the fear she felt now, watching John Hart sleep beside her. No, she wasn’t in danger, like most people who had met John would assume. In fact, she felt strangely comfortable knowing that he was in arm’s reach.

No, what she was scared of was that this was the third night this week he’d stayed over. She hadn’t been surprised when he’d come on to her, had been a little surprised when she flirted back. The first night had been more than a little tipsy, the next had been completely sober, and the rest had all blended together. Now it had been months, and they’d both been steadily ignoring the... something growing between them. 

Cause, oh god, Tosh really liked him. He was an amoral bastard obsessed with her boss, but he was charming and surprisingly sweet. Also very handsome, even with his face all squished up against a pillow like it was currently. And sometimes, she thought he felt the same way. Those times, when he looked at her like she was the only one in the world, she felt like she could fly. Then he’d flirt (or more) with a stranger and she’d crash back to Earth.

She wasn’t jealous.  Well, she was. But she couldn’t control her emotions. Logically, she was fine with it. John came from a different time, with different standards. Just because he flirted with anything on legs didn’t mean he couldn’t have genuine feelings for her. 

Although, who was she kidding? He didn’t feel the same. Soon enough he would leave, and he would take a piece of her already-shattered heart with him. She sighed and was about to lay back down, ready to sleep and suppress the typhoon of emotions swirling in her chest. Of course, it was then that John woke up.

She’d never seen anyone who woke up quite like John. His breathing didn’t change, he didn’t move, his eyes just snapped open, fully alert. She tried not to blush as his eyes swept over her slowly, taking in the view. He’d always been a bit of a voyeur, but Tosh felt, not to be a total cliche but well, beautiful under his gaze.

“What time is it?” he asked, voice scratchy with sleep, then raised his arm to check for himself. Tosh had only seen him take his bracer off once, and she considered it a gift that she had at all. It was armor, and while John had no problem being nude, without his brace, he was truly naked.

“Late,” she responded, pushing aside her other thoughts. “Or rather, early.” For a moment, she expected him to get up and leave. He’d done it before, disappeared before the sun rose. But lately, he’d tended to stay. And sure enough, he flipped his bracer closed and pulled the comforter up higher.

“Hmm. Go back to sleep. Jack’ll get pissy if you come in sleep-deprived.” His voice was tired, but his eyes were bright. He took her arm lightly and pulled her closer to him. “Need help relaxing?” he teased before bending to kiss along her neck. She let him for a moment before pushing him off.

“No, I’m alright.” He grinned and rolled onto his back.

“You sure?” he said, raising an eyebrow. “I’m very talented.” This time she couldn’t help the blush that rose on her cheeks, damn it. But she shook her head. 

Normally, this was the part where she’d lay down and they’d get some well-needed rest. But tonight, Tosh didn’t move. After a few moments, John sat up to join her. He pushed a lock of hair out of her face and tucked it behind her ear.

“What’s wrong?” he asked, looking her over with what almost looked like concern in his eyes. “Why are you up anyway?”

“Just... thinking,” Tosh said, avoiding looking at him. Maybe it was time. Draw the line in the sand and see where he stands. 

“About what?” His tone was teasing, but when she glanced at him, there was a genuine question in his eyes. “Because if it’s about your water pressure, I agree, it sucks. You should get someone to look at that.” She couldn’t suppress the laugh that escaped her. God, he was so random sometimes. But Tosh had learned to appreciate the spontaneity. 

“No, not that. Although, you have your own shower if mine is so crappy.” She meant for the statement to be teasing, but it came across as almost aggressive. He had his own flat, there was no reason to care about the water pressure in hers. She’d be a fool to think otherwise.

“You’re right, it’s not that,” John said. He leaned in, not quite close enough to kiss, but close enough that Tosh could easily close the distance. Normally, she would, but something in his eyes stopped her. “Tell me.” She looked away. Here we go, Toshiko. Moment of truth.

“Do you like me?” she blurted out, eyes fixed firmly on the blanket twisted in her hand. 

“Of course I like you, Tosh,” John said, tone light and genuine. Of course, it didn’t stay that way. “What’s not to like?”

“That’s not what I mean,” Tosh bit out. She swallowed her pride and turned to face him. “What is this? What are we?” John looked shocked for all of a second before grinning. Tosh’s heart sank. That was his fake smile, the one that was just a little too bright and had a few too many teeth.

“We’re having fun, aren’t we?” he said casually. She nodded slowly.

“We are, but John-” she reached out and took his hand. “I need to know. Why?” John opened his mouth, and she held up a finger. “And please don’t say any part of my anatomy.” He shut his mouth and considered for a moment before speaking.

“Look, Tosh.” He hesitated and it felt almost wrong. John never hesitated. “I’m not good with feelings, but here goes nothing.” Tosh’s eyes went wide. “My life sucks less with you in it.”

“What?” she breathed. She didn’t know what she’d been expecting, but it hadn’t been that.

“I’m happy around you,” John said. Now, he was the one to avoid Tosh’s gaze. “I feel safe around you. And so yes. I like you. And we’re whatever you want us to be. Well, we’d need to talk if you want a kid, but other than that, I’m down for whatever.” He grinned at her, this time one hundred percent genuinely. She couldn’t help but kiss him, and he responded in kind.

“This,” she panted once they broke apart. “I just want this. Us. For as long as we can.”

“Your wish is my command,” John purred before leaning in to kiss her again.

They didn’t get much sleep that night, but Tosh couldn’t be bothered to care. 

#torchwood #my fic #thank u for indulging me and my little rarepair #but listen i love them #not me casually putting polyam john in everything #also this got long #i apologize

[thechildoflightning]

Vergilius

Title: Vergilius

Fandom: Sanders Sides

Pairings: none

~~~

Summary: Vergilius. Vergil. Virgil. Different spellings for the same Roman poet.

For some reason no one talks about the fact that Virgil's name does in fact fit the dark sides naming pattern.

-

Or: Logan and Virgil have a discuss about the name 'Virgil' and what it means.

Warnings: none

[ao3 link]

~~~

Vergilius

It’s after a meeting with Thomas- who is once again panicking over the simplest of decision making, though to be fair, a large part of that is Virgil’s responsibility as well- when Logan corners him.

Virgil recognizes the situation for what it is right away. Logan gets this shine to his eyes, not quite a twinkle, more of a glimmer. Virgil knows what that look means. Logan is curious and he wants answers and he won’t leave until he gets them. 

It's one of Logan’s best traits, his determination and dedication. It’s also one of his worsts.

“Why Virgil?” Logan asks, once he’s fully entered the room and checks that they are alone. (Logan’s not subtle to begin with, and it’s Virgil's job to notice the things others don't, he’s not going to pass over Logan’s sweep of the room for what it is. Logan’s making sure that they are truly alone).

“What?” Virgil replies, “Logan I have no clue what you’re talking about. I’ve literally done nothing.” A brief course of panic. “Wait, why- Logan is something wrong?”

“No, no, no,” Logan confirms, and Virgil relaxes. He lets his muscles and fists untense from where they were coiled and ready to strike as if he had the physical ability to fight every single problem away. 

“Not ‘why, comma, Virgil,’” Logan clarifies, “why Virgil.” Or attempts to clarify, because Virgil is now even more lost than before. 

“Why the name Virgil?” Logan asks, “Why not change it completely.”

Virgil blinks at Logan. Once. Twice. 

“What?” Virgil asks, completely thrown off balance and one word rebuttal coming off slightly harsher than he intended. He trusts Logan- he does- but vulnerability has never been his strong suit and his name- well… but Virgil’s working on it. He is. He’s trying. 

(Why does he feel like trying is never good enough).

“I don’t understand why you would keep it. I thought you would have changed it,” Logan remarks, oblivious too or plain ignoring Virgil’s inner turmoil.

Logan’s dismissal of his name stings more than Virgil’s ready to admit, and he realizes he has to do something fast. Because Virgil is his name, of course it is, and he’s not getting rid of it. But Logan- are the other light sides mad at him for keeping his name? Do they think it ties him to the dark sides that much more?

(Virgil’s so tired of being a dark side. So tired of everything he does being marked bad. He’s still having to relearn that he is not fundamentally a bad person after all these years).

“Logan,” Virgil says weakly, not sure how to build his defense on this particular subject, “Logan it’s my name.”

“I know,” Logan agrees, “and I would have thought that you don’t like it. You have already taken small measures to change it. I thought it was strange you stopped at that. Do you not wish to change your name? Am I mistaken?”

“I-” Virgil stutters, trying to gather his thoughts on the matter. Because Logan’s right. Virgil doesn’t like his name, doesn’t like how it rolls off the tongue. Too many syllables, too much weight, too much history. 

Virgil is a small change. But it’s so so so much better. 

Virgil is Virgil. 

“I- I mean- yeah- I don’t like my original name. But Virgil- Virgil is better.”

Logan considers him for a moment, watching Virgil with a steady gaze before giving a slight nod.

“Alright,” he agrees, “as long as it works for you.”

Virgil nods, and thinks that’s it. 

But Logan hovers in the rooming, leaning forward slightly. Virgil can practically see his mind racing. It’s obvious he has something to say. 

Virgil raises an eyebrow. 

“Yes Logan?”

“May I ask two questions?” Logan asks, “the second might be uncomfortable or invasive. You may refuse to answer at any time, even if you give me consent to ask it now.”

Virgil mulls over the words and reminds himself that this is Logan. He would never hurt Virgil intentionally. Unintentionally- sure, but it’s happened in the past. It could certainly happen here. 

But Virgil’s willing to take that risk. 

He nods. 

“I don’t understand why Virgil is acceptable to you,” Logan prefaces, “Virgil is nothing but a shortened version of Vergilius, and both names along with Vergil- spelled with an ‘e’- are all alternate titles for the same historical poet. They seem so completely connected together that I don’t understand how you could find one comforting and the other repulsive.”

Which is fair. Like Logan said, Virgil is one of many spellings, but all the spellings refer to the same name. It’s like when people sometimes spell Kaitlyn with a “c” or a “i” instead of “y”. Alternate spelling, sure, but the same name. 

That’s all Virgil has done, switching from Vergelius to plain old Virgil. 

“So,” Logan continues, “My question for you is wherein lies that difference? What allows you to be comfortable with Virgil but not Vergilius?”

Virgil has an answer. He’s thought about this for quite some time himself, even if he had never expected anyone to ask him about. But Virgil represents anxiety, and he double, even triple checked his own name, his own reasoning to determine that he was completely satisfied with it. 

Now how to explain it in words?

“We all started with names,” Virgil says slowly, “Intentionally or not, Thomas assigned us names that fit us when we were formed. Right?”

“Yes- well not exactly,” Logan responds.  Virgil raises his eyebrows at him. “The names Thomas gave us represented how Thomas perceived us when we formed, not necessarily are true authentic selves.”

Virgil gives a small nod of acknowledgement. 

“Fair enough,” he allows. “So- Logan, a question for you. Why were you named Logan?”

“Logan. Logos. Logic,” Logan reciters, “the principle of reason and judgement.”

“Right,” Virgil agrees, because his has always been one of the easiest to make sense of. “And I’m Virgil. Again with the Greek and Roman origins. Potentially coming from the term ‘vigil,’ to keep watch. As anxiety that’s my job. Then the connection to the poet- which sure that takes us closer to Roman’s territory but the few times Roman and me have actually gotten along is when we’ve mixed his creativity and the way I feel emotions- specifically surrounding anxiety and fear- to create art.”

“Yes,” Logan agrees. 

Virgil nods and considers how to continue. He knows what he wants to say but he has to think about it for a moment and calculate the proper way to present his feelings to Logan. Logan wants facts, knowledge, logic. That isn’t Virgil’s default and it takes him a minute to speak Logan's language. 

“Your name fits your role. My name fits mine. It’s not a name I chose, but I feel that it fits me well. It- my name allows me to be more than anxiety. Anxiety has always restricted me, made me be one thing. Virgil gives me the freedom to choose and be myself while still providing comfortable familiarity. I don’t have to limit myself to a simplified emotion. I can just be… Virgil.”

Logan studies him for a moment, eyes sweeping across his body as if searching for a lie. 

“Okay,” he eventually says, “I can understand that. But then why not keep Vergilius?”

Virgil gives a weak smile. 

“I thought that would have been obvious.”

Logan frowns. 

“Your name doesn’t make you a dark side.”

“But it matches the undeniable pattern,” Virgil points out. 

Logan hums but doesn’t protest. It’s not like he could. Virgil’s right. 

Roman. Patton. Logan. 

Remus. Janus. Vergilius. 

“It hurts,” Virgil admits finally. And it’s hard to admit but he’s trying to be vulnerable, trying to open up and he’s going to give Logan the benefit of the doubt. (Even so his heart beats louder and his breath grows slightly shorter and his fingers and toes curl tight and tense up). “It hurts to know that somewhere in Thomas’s subconscious, he sees us as good and bad.”

Logan's frown grows deepens. 

“That’s an over simplification of the complex roles each of us carry out.”

“I know,” Virgil says. He didn’t once upon a time. He used to truly believe that there was good and bad and that he was bad, that he hurt Thomas no matter what even when he tried his hardest to be good. But those days are mostly behind him. Mostly. He still had some bad days. “I know that Logan. But Thomas hasn’t always seen it that way.”

“Do you think Thomas sees you that way now?”

A few weeks ago Virgil would have said yes- that Thomas only thought he hurt them and would be glad to get rid of Virgil and the pain he brought with him. 

Now though…

Thomas told him that he was wanted, that he was needed, that he was loved. 

What a strange concept. 

“I-“ Virgil hesitates, “I think Thomas is learning to see shades of gray.”

Logan nods. 

“And you are of course aware that Thomas was raised religious.”

Virgil snorts. 

“No shit Logan, it wasn’t like I was there for all of it or anything.”

“You weren’t?” Logan friend, eyebrows knitting in, “I was certain you had formed by then, am I-“ Logan pauses, clears his throat and adjusts his glasses, “right. Sarcasm.”

Virgil quirks a smile and gives a small nod.

“Got it in one teach.”

Logan straightens his posture, hands coming to rest in front of him and head up. Virgil recognizes it as Logan’s “I’m about to give you a shit ton of info posture.”

“Okay then. Well then you are aware that Thomas was raised with the awareness that things were either good or bad. Thomas was raised with extremes. And as he grew, he eventually started to learn about shades of gray. But as a very young kid it’s hard to see things as nuanced and detailed as they actually are. Add religious teachings that emphasize that good and bad are opposite absolutes and it makes sense that a young Thomas’s brain divided us that way. But that does not mean we still are that way.”

Virgil is- quite honestly Virgil is touched. He’s used to putting up strong walls, ready to fight back against whatever tries to hurt him. He’s still getting used to the idea that people actually want to interact with him and being validated so strongly by Logan almost makes him glow. 

“I know,” Virgil says softly, “I know. The world isn’t black.” Vergilius. “Or white.” Something entirely new. “It’s grey.” Virgil. “And I- I’m not exactly sure where I fall now. I’m not- I’m not a dark side, but I don’t think I’m a light side either. I’ve uh- kinda created my own little space.”

Logan looks at Virgil with his piercing gaze. 

“Ah. I understand now. Thank you Virgil.”

And for some reason, Virgil thinks Logan really understands it. His name, and so much more.

(There’s so much more than light or dark).

“Yeah sure. Anytime.”

Logan gives him a final nod and turns to exit, leaving Virgil to his thoughts. 

Just before Logan passes out through the doorway, he turns around. 

“Virgil?”

“Yes.”

“You have a nice name. It is- admirable that you chose to keep parts of it and alter the rest to best define you.”

Warmth. warmth everyone, sleeping across his body and into his heart, through his entire being. 

“Thank you,” he manages. 

And then Logan is gone.

If this is what being accepted is like- well, he might want to get used to it.

~~~

Taglist Below

-message me to be added or removed-

@mewithanie @eddies-spaghetti @lemonyellowlogic @savioursailor @goldteethandacurseforthistown @gattonero17

#ts virgil #ts logan #platonic analogical #sanders sides #ts sides #character study #fanfiction #fan fiction #mywriting #ao3 #colupdate

[treksickfic]

Comfort in the Little Things

An Election Day fic for you, even if you are not in the States. There seems to be a collective sense of angst in the air and I needed to read a cozy story; maybe you do, too. 

Featuring TOS Spock and McCoy, but not Spones. Self-avowed “bulletproof” McCoy is miserable with a case of Kamaraazite Flu and Spock steps in to help. A short and sweet fic at just around 1800 words.

My immense gratitude to @soupandtissues​ for the beautiful stories that have comforted me and inspired me to write my own.

The door chime startled Leonard McCoy from a restless half-slumber. He considered standing and crossing to the door but who was he kidding? He lacked the strength to even roll himself over in bed. 

“Come,” he croaked, as loudly as he could, and the single word triggered another coughing fit. He propped himself up on one elbow, all the better to not choke to death, he thought, hand pressed to his chest. As the paroxysm gradually passed, he sagged back to the bed, sweating and shivering but too exhausted to do anything to ease his discomfort.  

He closed his eyes when he heard measured footsteps approaching the spot where he lay in misery. Chapel again, or M’Benga. Well, he didn’t feel like talking or listening to their chatter and he certainly didn’t need anyone hovering over him. Maybe if he pretended to be asleep, whoever it was would leave.

“So it appears you are not bulletproof after all, Doctor.”

McCoy’s eyes flew open at the deep, measured voice.

“Spock,” he said, resignation in his tone. He’d changed his mind. He’d prefer his over-solicitous nurse or brisk Dr. M’Benga to this. “Don’t know what you’re talking about.”  

“When Captain Kirk expressed his concern that you may be affected by the recent outbreak of Kamaraazite flu you said, and I quote, ‘I’ve been in Starfleet Medical for thirteen years, I’m bulletproof by now.’ Clearly you are not.” 

McCoy tugged at his blanket to cover himself, feeling exposed under the unrelenting gaze of Spock. 

“Kamaraazite flu is a nasty business,” he said. “Thought I was going to sneeze out a vital organ at one point.”

“Patients have been known to do just that. But in your case it was not the virulency of the flu itself, it was overwork and neglecting to administer the serum to yourself in order to ensure an adequate supply for the crew.”

“Hubris, in other words.”

“Not hubris, Doctor. You simply made the mistake common to senior officers, assuming you are indestructible.”

He started to respond and then felt a deep, burning ache in his sinuses. He drew in a quick breath and then folded forward with a powerful sneeze. That might have been my spleen, he thought.  When he dared to look up, Spock was standing near the bed, holding out a box of tissues with one hand.  McCoy snatched them from him.

“Thanks,” he said, taking a handful and blowing his nose. “For the tissues and for the pep talk. Now what do you want? Did you come here to laugh in my face? Maybe mock my puny human immune system?”

“Not at all, Doctor. I find nothing about your illness amusing. I simply wondered if you were in need of any assistance. Your cough has been quite persistent this evening.”

“And how would you know?”

“Our quarters share a common wall. I have been aware of your distress for some time now.”

“Have you now? Took you long enough to check on me.”

“I assumed you wished to be alone.”

McCoy snorted, which triggered a cough. “Typical heartless Vulcan logic,” he said when he was able.

“Not logic, Doctor,” Spock replied. “A simple inference. You shouted at the last person who attempted to check on you, indicating a strong desire to be left alone.”

“Well, I don’t need your help. And I do want to be alone, so you can leave now.” 

“Are you certain? The quality and intensity of your cough is showing evidence of increasing chest congestion and inflammation, but yet you seem unable to clear your airway.”

McCoy tried to respond but curled in on himself as another fit overtook him. He coughed harshly into a handful of tissues, aware of the deep ache in his lungs, and more concerning, the constriction and the rattle when he tried to take a deep breath. 

Damn it if he isn’t right. 

“Is there any effective medical treatment or does the illness have to run its course?”

McCoy gestured vaguely toward a table in the front room. 

“There,” he managed to wheeze out after a few moments, gesturing toward a table in the front room. “Two hyposprays.” 

For some reason, he’d left the sprays out of reach. By the time he’d staggered in from Sickbay, his fever had been spiking and he wasn’t thinking straight, just dropped his whole kit on the nearest surface. By the time the fever broke, he’d been too exhausted to fetch any of it. 

He flopped backward against a stack of pillows that hadn’t been there a few minutes ago. He felt drained of all energy and was only vaguely aware of Spock’s movements around his quarters. If he could just get some sleep, that’s all he needed to throw this off. 

“Is there a preferred location for administration, Doctor?” He reluctantly opened his eyes to see Spock standing nearby, disengaging the hypospray lock with his thumb.

McCoy tilted his head to one side. “Right there,” he said, indicating the exposed arc of his neck. “About the same place you’d give me a nerve pinch.” Not a bad idea at that, instant unconsciousness, but the corophizine would provide the same effect in about twenty minutes or so.  He sighed, echoing the hiss of the hypospray. 

Spock’s face showed just a hint of distaste, likely a conditioned response from the many times he’d been sick after receiving medication. He administered the second spray and then strode decisively from the room, depositing the hyposprays back into their cases. McCoy turned his head to watch as he busied himself in the small kitchen area. Spock returned to the sleeping quarters carrying a heavy glass mug, steam swirling from the top.

“What’s this?” McCoy said, accepting the drink from him.. 

“It is tea, with lemon and honey. I understand many humans enjoy it when they are experiencing symptoms of an upper respiratory illness.”

McCoy took a cautious sniff, not that he could actually smell anything, and looked up at Spock. 

“Not the Vulcan swill you drink, is it? That stuff could strip paint off a wall.”

“Vulcan spice tea is appropriate for more refined palates. This is plain black Oolong with Andorian honey and lemon. You should find it unassuming enough for your tastes.”

“I’m not sure if I should be insulted or not.”  He closed his eyes at the first careful swallow. “It’s good,” he said. “Didn’t think you had it in you.”

Spock perched at the edge of the bed. “Whatever you may think of me, Doctor, I do not wish to see you suffer unnecessarily if I can assist you. If that means making you a cup of tea when you are ill, I am willing to do so.”

When he opened his mouth to reply, McCoy began to cough again, a combination of the medication and the tea having the desired effect. He felt the cup lifted from his hand and heard the clink on the bedside table as it was set aside. His cough was productive now, and he felt a gentle hand settle on his back and rest there, unmoving. No unnecessary movement or sentimental patting, just a welcome gesture of support and comfort. 

He could barely catch a breath in between violent coughs and when he did, he felt the deep rattle of congestion shifting in his chest. It must be disgusting to listen to.  He scrabbled for the box of tissues Spock had given him earlier and felt it placed in his hands. He kept his head turned away as he struggled, trying to make a neat pile as he went through nearly the entire box of tissues. The fit seemed unending but finally he was able to take a deep breath without triggering another cough and he sank back to the pillows, covered in sweat, head pounding, chest aching, but feeling some relief. 

Spock disposed of the tissues and now sat with a wet cloth in hand, a look of utter concentration on his face as he carefully bathed McCoy’s forehead and temples. 

“I can do that,” he said, reaching for the cloth but without much conviction in his voice. It was humiliating to be tended to by Spock, but he felt too weak to do much about it. 

“Lie still, Doctor.” he said, running the damp washcloth along the sides of his neck.  

“Y’know, if you’re going to play nursemaid, you can use my first name.”

Spock made no response, folding the cloth and setting it near the mug when he’d finished. 

“You’d have made a good physician, Spock.”

He raised one eyebrow. “How so?”

“You’re calm, you don’t panic. You do what needs to be done with no fuss. Guess that’s what comes from having no emotions. Wish I could manage it.” 

“Vulcans do experience emotions. So powerful that if we were to allow our emotions to dominate, it would mean a return to the savagery of our old ways. We are taught control from a young age.”  

Spock had alluded to the old ways before but McCoy had difficulty imagining him as anything but cool and unflappable. But maybe, just maybe, in those mysterious eyes, there was a hint of what was possible. 

“Nurse Chapel will be delighted to know you have emotions. Or maybe disappointed.”

“Christine already understands this aspect of my nature. She is one of the few who does.”

The medication was having its desired effect. The urge to cough lessening, his breathing easier and a lazy, floating drowsiness taking over. McCoy waggled his eyebrows lazily at the sound of his head nurse’s first name.

“‘Christine’ huh?’ Why, Spock, I had no idea.”

“It is not what you are assuming, Doctor. Nurse Chapel is sensitive, insightful and makes no assumptions about other species. You are fortunate to have her on your staff.”  

“What’re you still doing here?” McCoy’s voice was beginning to slur as he changed the subject. He didn’t have the energy for their usual banter.

“I am, as you say, ‘keeping you company,’” Spock replied. “You don’t need to do that.”

“On the contrary, Doctor. The sooner you fall asleep, the sooner I can return to my preferred evening activities.”

“Nearly there,” McCoy murmured.

“Then I will leave you to your rest.” Spock stood. “Shall I check on you later?

McCoy waved a dismissive hand. “Nah, I’m feeling pretty good.” 

And then he closed his eyes, vaguely aware of a sleepy half-smile on his face. Through his half-asleep haze he felt a hand settle against the top of his head.

“Then sleep well, Leonard.” Spock said. “We need you back in sickbay.”

McCoy responded with a click of his tongue and a fingergun gesture without lifting his hand from where it rested on his chest. “Will do.”

The last thing he heard was a sigh, the sound of the door to his quarters sliding shut and then all was dark and peaceful.

#sick fic #sickfic #star trek sickfic #sick bones #caretaker spock #hurt/comfort #star trek hurt/comfort #that's probably enough tags #I hope you enjoy

[delicatefacedeer]

affirmation for kids

positive affirmation for women

We use affirmations all the time, but usually we're not even conscious of it - they seem to operate under the radar of our awareness, repetitively running in the background and producing the same old results, dictating what we can and can't experience. Repetition of a thought is one way in which we form beliefs, and once they're in place, our mind will run them on auto pilot so that we can focus our attention elsewhere. Learning to drive a car is a good example of this - when first learning, our attention goes on high alert as our mind has to process all the components that go into driving a car safely. After several months of practicing, we start to feel comfortable driving and as we enjoy more success, our confidence is bolstered and we start to believe that we are indeed a competent driver. Soon the thoughts and actions required to drive are habitual, and our mind is now free to drive and think of other things. This is same way in which affirmations create results in our behavior, emotions and actions, both positively and negatively.

The task before us then is to become aware of the background beliefs and affirmations we're running, challenge their validity for us today and if they no longer serve our well-being, eliminate and replace them with positive thought patterns that will help us make our goals. Many of the goals women have in today's society are still a challenge to achieve - even thought the women's liberation movement is now several decades along, women still face the pressures of discrimination, balancing home and career, and a workplace environment still skewed to favor our complimentary sex. So, to give ourselves the best possible advantage on our paths to accomplishment, we must take the time to tailor our mental/emotional/spiritual disciplines to suit our needs and not the perceptions of society - the difference between practicing generalized positive affirmations from a list you find on the internet and customized, positive affirmations for women designed by yourself for your unique situation, is that by customizing your affirmations you are actively taking responsibility for the results you get and addressing the issues that have created scarcity or pain of some nature - you are reclaiming your power from what you decided had authority over you.

You can ake action right now to get the results you consciously desire in any area of your life by applying the following key points to produce effective, measurable results in your daily affirmation practices:

1. Be persistent and be consistent. According to many surveys taken of participants of self-improvement programs, when citing a lack of success in achieving their goals, they also admitted to a lack of consistent practice. This simple key is fundamental to success - considering how many years we spend on developing, refining and polishing our beliefs and assumptions about what we can't do, is it really logical to assume that a reversal of perception is going to occur after 4 or 5 attempts? No; so please, when trying to change a habit or develop more esteem or land the perfect job, give it some time and attention. Research tells us it takes 21 - 28 days to develop a new habit, so give your goals and affirmations a minimum of 21 days before deciding on its effectiveness.

If at first your affirmations feel awkward, forced or phony - that's good! Any feelings of discomfort means that you're stepping out of your comfort zone (fear), you're creating inner change and ruffling the feathers of your ego self, who wants to keep you safe. Safety to the ego self is maintaining the status quo - no changes allowed. So please appreciate what's really happening and use it as fuel to gain momentum; you can use the feelings and thoughts about your discomfort to create a new, empowering affirmation for yourself! The discomfort will dissolve once you get into a daily rhythm and develop some confidence.

2. Do it anyways. At the beginning of your exercises, don't worry about whether you believe your affirmations or not, the effectiveness is in the repetition. Belief in your statements will develop as a result of the repetition and meaning you give your affirmations, so choose wisely. Any resistance that you experience, including thoughts about what nonsense all this new age stuff is, are excuses to keep you safe and free from change. Resistance is also an opportunity for you to break out of the conditioned responses of the past - try being open and see the opportunity in learning something new about yourself; you may be pleasantly surprised at what you discover inside!

3. Get clear and get motivated. The clearer your visions and the greater the motivation, the better your chances will be of success in achieving your goals. Get all the components of your ideal life down on paper and be bold in your dreams - amass a mountain of reasons about why you must accomplish your goals; write down all of what it will cost you if you don't pursue your vision and all the joy that will result from their achievement. Put your goals and reasons in point form on a 3" x 5" recipe card and read it often; before bed, upon waking and throughout the day. Create affirmations that show these goals and capture the zest of your motivations, and move yourself towards your goals with a plan to realize it. Take any and all action that you think will take you a step closer to what you desire.

And let go of "how" it's going to happen; that's out of your jurisdiction so don't waste any time fretting, worrying or stewing about "how" or "what if" - your Higher Power has your back so learn to trust, go with the flow and enjoy the ride!

4. Challenge old beliefs. A great deal of the beliefs we have that cause our issues of low self-esteem, lack of self-confidence and helplessness are the results of our early childhood interactions with our parents - beliefs we developed as a five-year old may have been effective at keeping us safe and secure as small children, but that same belief held by an adult can result in a lack of confidence or responsibility for our own happiness, to ask for what we want or be able to say no to others. Unattended, out-worn beliefs that hang around long after their expiry date are responsible for enormous pain and regret; learn to identify them and weed them out of your mind to make room for new, empowering one.

For women, challenging some of the old cultural/tribal beliefs is particularly revealing and empowering as it affects change not only within ourselves, but also has a trickle down effect for new generations. As we challenge, release and replace old limiting beliefs about the roles women were historically assigned to play, we live and teach the new beliefs to those that come after us. For example, a tribal belief within my family and heritage was that the men were the breadwinners and the women were the housekeepers... for a woman to be happy, she had to find and marry "a good man" who would provide her with security, a nice home and a certain level of comfort; and in exchange, she would raise the kids, cook, clean and manage the household. This formula is great if that's what you want; however, in this family, a lesbian career woman with no interest in raising children would experience a certain amount of conflict between the traditional family beliefs and her personal desires.

The payoff in challenging old beliefs is that we discover that it is our power of decision that liberates us from the restrictions of the past and it is our power of decision now that creates a new future to our liking. And limiting beliefs about traditional feminine roles contain great material for creating positive affirmations for women to work with in manifesting the results they desire - usually, what we desire is pretty much the opposite of the belief we want to drop, so use the old belief and reword it for the positive outcome you desire.

Once we've established that certain customs and beliefs are no longer valid, we can release them and all of the influence they have on our thoughts, feelings and behaviors and consciously choose what we believe to be true for us now. Once released, we can now also give the events of the past a new meaning and choose to see any and all conditions as being for our benefit, including the added dimension of defining new roles for women in the 21st century.

More Information : https://affirmationsfresh.com/

#affirmation for kids

[border-spam]

Leech Lord: Quirks

Handling critique:

Troy:

He doesn't know them by name and they aren't showing respect when he turns to apprehend who just dared interrupt him rudely in front of others?

Dead. Immediately. There's no pause to hear them out or explain themself, their head will be crushed in that spined fist before he even finds out what they were about to say was criticism. There is no concern or regret over this later, he won't even care enough to remember their face.

Far more forgiving in private as he’s not needing to play up to his persona, but still - respect has to be shown.

Someone he is aware of by name/rank, or sees as having value?

Stay polite and factual and he'll listen. Hands clasped behind his back and shifting his eyes down their body as they speak, like they’re being measured, or read. He'll listen. The more numbers they can provide, the more clear data they can give that shows his information or his actions are wrong and what they are suggesting is better, the more likely he will take it on board. The God King is surprisingly polite and coldly calm when approached correctly, regardless of if he likes what he is being told.

- A close friend?

Nervous, picking at his teeth with the tips of his nails and finding it hard to meet their eyes. Hunched over himself and back bent even if he still towers over them, like a child who just wants to go hide. Stuttering. Apologetic to the point of becoming self deprecating even if what they were raising was only minor. It's not a big deal Troy, it's not, it was just some feedback. Calm down pal it's not worth getting worked up over, really. No you don't have to redo the whole thing, that's stupid come on y.. no you aren't stupid Troy, don't delete it all.. Oh, Troy.

Tyreen -

She does not hear, she does not see.

From anyone. It doesn't matter who they are. Unless you are her you're wrong, because she cannot be incorrect. She is infallible... you get it, right sweetheart?

She is omnipotent. She is a GOD. It's not that she's not listening to them, they don't mean enough for her even to be able to hear.

Seifa:

A stranger she views as someone below her in position?

Lol who are you. Who the fuck are you to think your opinion has any value, let alone matter to her? She's not even hearing what you're saying, you should be out of her presence by the time she stops eyerolling by the way, she's a busy woman. May not be healthy to waste more of her time.

Above her in authority or experience?

Silence. Not quite making eye contact, she's focusing on breaking down what you're saying and digesting useable information. A quick "Got it, I'll consider what you said" afterwards is genuine. She will consider it. That doesn't mean she will take it onboard, but she knows not to waste valuable data.

Friend?

A mix of both. She'll make it clear there's a very good chance her opinion on this is going to supersede yours, but that yours still has value for her. She might not make change changes right now based on it.. but it could affect how she approaches things in the future.

Pet Peeves:

Tyreen

A pet peeve, one she's irked by but doesn't spend a huge amount of time lost in rage over, is people treating her like she's airheaded. It happens often, especially when she's around Troy. She's not dumb. At all. Just because she's not a giant, brooding, scowling asshole who stands in silence while death-glaring everyone in the room, doesn't mean she's vacant or stupid. Just because she's louder, and more animated, doesn't mean she's ditzy.

In talks, the conversation always gets pointed to him for any discussion regarding anything with business or technical depth, she hates it. He's good at this shit, he's great with numbers and logic, but just because she communicates differently doesn't mean shes terrible. It's irritating.

Seifa:

Bullshit. She cannot abide hearing someone talk complete wank, and wants extremely direct clearcut conversation at all times bar if she's talking shit with friends. That's totally different.

She wouldn't manage to be in the same room as someone like Rhys or Katagawa for more than 5 minutes before she'd be ready to peel her own face off and eat her hands, so takes a lot of comfort from the "Please fucking kill me oh my god" gestures and grimaces Troy makes towards her from out of the speakers sight in meetings where they are dealing with the waves of verbal shite emanating from some corporate tool.

Troy:

Sleeping. It's just a fucking waste of time. It's completely pointless. Shut yourself down for hours so your body can release chemicals it needs? Fuck sake, just take the chemicals and stay awake, wow, well done, now you have 1/4 of your life back!

Dreams suck, waking up feeling like death sucks, spending hours laying awake staring at your ceiling while trying to make your "brain be quiet for once, just please.. be quiet.." for hours till you eventually pass out sucks, it's all stupid and wasteful and humans are dumb. He's dumb. Everyone's dumb.

Tenderness:

Tyreen: 

She'd see wanting it as being weak in a way, Ty doesn't need anyone for any reason, so she doesn't need intimacy or tenderness. Why would she? She's not weak, or soft. Not being able to touch others isn't even a factor here, don't you dare imply it is. Intimacy is for people who aren't strong enough to exist alone, don't insult her by thinking she'd ever want it. She watches those romcoms for the PLOT and the character development, did you see in that last episode of Skags of fire that Miguel finally got with Santia-

Seifa: Born 2 Tender (physically and monetarily)

She thrives off receiving and giving affection to close friends and partners, it's a part of herself she masks off from her general authoritative persona for a lot of reasons, people often see being caring or gentle as weak, and that's not something she can afford in day to day life.

People close to her know she's very tactile platonically, and an arm around a waist or shoulders is the norm if you're spending much time with her and she's in good spirits. She doesn't shy away from touch in general and has no problem initiating contact with anyone she trusts and is close enough with that she doesn't feel like being caring is a risk around. Intimacy and close tenderness with a partner is her main love language, and something she absolutely expects be provided to her.

Troy: Viciously envious of it

The last time he encountered freely platonic intimacy was in his childhood, both with Leda and Tyreen before Ty started to resent showing affection more and more as they got older. He's desperately, pathetically lonely and fully aware of that, even if he lies to himself that he's fine.

He can't request it from the people he sleeps with as it means showing them the real man under the persona, and he's learned that people do not like the real Troy, so he's starved of real intimacy despite having so much access to other people's bodies nightly.

Not all bad:

Troy

His intelligence.

It's one thing he can think back on and remember only ever receiving positive comments on, right from as early as he can recall. He's always been able to consider problems in a way that lets him break them down and approach them from a unique angle. Dad said he was able to "Think outside the box", but he never really understood what that meant till the twins landed on Pandora and he watched so many people run themselves into the ground when such simple solutions were right there. Maybe not moral solutions, but simple solutions regardless! He absorbs and retains information very easily without any real effort, and when he found out that wasn't the norm, it became a genuine point of pride for him. Something he was great at, unrelated to his persona.

Hips and thighs

While most of his upper body causes him physical pain or he dislikes in general for multiple uhh.. reasons, he's never had any issues with his lower body. He loves the definition of his hips and lower stomach, his knees haven't ever had any joint pain, his legs have always been toned and strong without really needing any focus on them. He's worked himself to the bone trying to fix the things about his upper body that he hates, but his legs? Nah. Nice :ok_hand:

He's really good at looking after plants

He's really good at it. Lots of people can't keep plants alive but he can :) No one knows about it, but he does. It's nice to be good at something. It's just ...nice. :)

Seifa

Her waist and stomach.

Sei is relatively curvy for her height and is very thankful for her narrow waist, or she'd look like a solid rectangle in heeled boots no matter what she wore. It helps her keep up the soft fem aesthetic she likes to mix with punk bullshit without much effort, gives her a shape in baggy engineering overalls, and keeps belt pouches ON. Like, ON on. Shit is never going to move. She has a slight soft curve to her lower stomach she used to hate, thinking it made her look overweight , but as she grew into her twenties learned to love. Other people liked it, she was just being a dumb kid.

Physical strength

Years of working with lugging heavy machinery has given her an unexpectedly solid core, and she'd have no problem lifting something, say, Troy weight, and flipping it over her low center of balance without a sweat. Which is very fun. On things that are Troy weight.

The loyalty she builds with others without trying

She's not sure what it is exactly she's been doing to prompt it, but over the last few years she's come to realise she has a genuine support network across the system of people who are very loyal to her, and are there when needed to back her up in trades, or filling positions she needs, or getting her in touch with a group she's got no foot in. People she works with or gets to know trust her and remember her even years later, it's been a nice thing to find out about herself, though she wishes she knew what exact thing about her was the source of it.

Asks are Open!

#borderlands 3 #bl3 #borderlands #troy calypso #calypso twins #leech lord #seifa #my hcs #my writing

[apex-academy]

Chapter 5: Caring Is a Hazard to Your Health (#25)

“Um, hello! Good morning! It is now 7:00, so the off-limits areas have been reopened! And, um! You have four days left if you want to save your loved ones! Everyone do your best today…!”

Ugh. Yet another morning where I’d rather hide under my pillow and go back to bed, but I’d better not. Missing the breakfast meeting would just make people worried for my safety and/or piss them off. Neither’s a great option.

So I get dressed and head over. Breakfast might be a good time to practice cracking eggs…

But then again, no.

I go for some instant miso instead, which has a strangely long list of artificial preservatives on the bag, but I don’t care. Soup is soup. As long as I don’t accidentally dump a bunch of salt in or something, I can tolerate it.

A few others have come and gone while I’ve been in here, and by the time I have my bowl ready, everyone but Yuki has left for the cafeteria. I look over my shoulder at her.

“I think the meeting’s about to start, if now’s a good time for a cooking break.”

“I’ll be just a second…”

“All right.”

I don’t want my food going cold, so it’s better to leave her behind for a minute than drag her out immediately. Odds ten to one some food or other would catch fire if left unattended.

Maybe not if she’s the one cooking, but. Anyway.

I find a seat with Kanagi and Kaichi. Another table over, Aidan and Mahavir exchange words too quietly for me to hear. Then Tsunyasha and Ichiriki are over at the kids’ table by themselves. I won’t object to the arrangement.

Kanagi and Kaichi have struck up some kind of conversation about skate parks by the time Yuki wanders in with a rice-and-something plate. She sits by Mahavir.

Aidan doesn’t wait long after that to start the meeting.

“Good morning, everyone! Thank you for attending!”

“I have quite a few announcements to make, so I’ll ask first if anyone else has something he or she would like to bring up.”

“Oh boy.”

At any rate, I don’t feel like announcing my file cabinet discoveries, so nothing from me.

“…”

“…”

“…”

“Oh, oh!! I have something to say!”

“What is it?”

Ichiriki hops to his feet.

“I love you guyyyyyyys~!”

“Aww… We love you, too…”

“…”

“Duly noted. Anything else?”

“Nope, that’s it!” He waves before sitting back down.

Aidan gives us another five seconds or so, but no one else speaks up. Not sure if we had nothing to say or if we’re all just stupefied by that outburst, but I’m fine with moving on to whatever Boss Baby’s handing us now.

“All right, then! I’ll lead with what I’d like to call a proposition, but in reality it will be our new rule if no one can provide compelling evidence that it isn’t for the best.”

“Yet another of your little ‘rules,’ hmm?”

“I’m listening…”

“Okay.”

“Starting at curfew tonight, no one is to leave the dorm area at any time unless all of us are gathering for our morning meeting.”

“Eh?”

“Uh, ‘s there, like… food?”

“We’ll extend the duration of the meetings a bit so we’ll be able to prepare the rest of our meals for the day. Otherwise, yes, there will be no leaving for food.”

“What about our cooking lessons…?”

“I’m afraid I’m going to have to shut that down after tonight. It’s only until the motive is over, though. Hopefully there won’t be any reason to make this last longer than that.”

“So wait, I can’t even, like, leave my room?”

“What the heck, dude?! The gym’s totally right there! I can at least, like, go that far to blow off steam, right?”

“That won’t be allowed under this system…”

“…However! I will allow for the possibility of a few arranged events! But only if every one of us attends, the entire time. If anyone fails to come or needs to leave, it will immediately be canceled. Likewise, depending upon the possibility of danger, some events may be excluded as a matter of course.”

“You can’t do that!”

I almost raise my hand like this is real school.

“Am I allowed to stay in my study hall instead of my dorm room?”

“That sounds very uncomfortable and also doesn’t have a bathroom.”

“Fair enough.”

“And, to clarify, I did refer to the dorms as a whole. It’s still acceptable to visit others or meet in the hall, as long as you’re in a group of three or more.”

Yuki raises her hand.

“What about the Nurse’s Office…?”

“There should be very little in there that needs to stay in the room. We’ll have the rest of the day today to gather any necessary supplies to keep in our rooms for the time being.”

“You’ll also be able to stock up on books, paper, games, or whatever else you might need to tide you over.”

“How’s that s’posed to make a difference?! I can’t play volleyball in my dorm!”

“Oh, but you could at least get a tennis ball or something to bounce off the wall!”

“It’s not super duper sport-y, but it is still kinda!”

“But if I break stuff in my room, then I’ll actually, like, have to deal with it.”

“What exactly have you broken outside of your room?”

“Oh, pay no mind to this foolish babbling.”

“It’s terrible folly to think anyone—let alone a blackened sinner!—can dictate where the Holy Assassin spends her time.”

“I am not trying to ‘dictate’ anything here!”

“Really now.”

“The principle is the same as when we agreed to set a curfew. Breaking it only puts yourself in more danger. It will do you no good to go wandering around alone; it would only make you a less trusted person and a more appealing target for anyone tempted by the motive.”

“I understand that my current proposal is considerably more extreme, but we would only be on lockdown until the end of the motive. It won’t be the most enjoyable experience, but I have every reason to believe that conforming with it will keep us safe.”

“…Not to mention that, with the slew of physical injuries that have gone around, most of us probably ought to be resting a lot more than we are, anyway.”

“…”

“Fair ‘nough.”

“Still don’t like it.”

“Frankly, I don’t like it, either. But if it’s necessary, it’s necessary.”

“I think it could work!”

“Oh, we could totally have sleepovers, too, right?!”

“That’s a bit riskier than daytime visits, I’m afraid.”

“Aw…”

“There’s just one thing…”

“And what’s that?”

“What about Kaichi…?”

“Is this still on the subject of sleepovers?”

“Guessing it’s more about the whole no-memory thing.”

Aidan nods.

“I’ve already prepared some papers that he can attach to the back of his door for easier reference. We can get started on those once everything else is sorted out here.” He turns to Kaichi. ”I assume you’re more likely to follow seemingly arbitrary instructions if they’re in your own handwriting, yes?”

“Prob’ly?”

“Couldn’t ‘xactly give y’ my track record.”

“Well. If anyone notices Riseiin out wandering around, please detain him. It’s doubtful he’d be trying anything, but he could be in danger.”

“Wait, we’re arresting people now?!”

“Er, perhaps I could have worded that differently…”

“Though on that note, exactly what do you plan to do to enforce these rules, hmm?”

“Like, yeah. Doesn’t telling everybody not to leave totally make it easier for somebody to leave?”

“In theory, yes, but by constraining us to a small area, it will be much easier to monitor prohibited movement than if I allowed roaming the whole first floor, for instance.”

“And how exactly do you plan to ‘monitor’ us, whelp?”

“Well, I’m not about to blurt out the details so you can try to circumvent it! Goodness.”

“But rest assured, measures will be taken.”

“Ahaha, this all sounds super not fun!”

“It’s a temporary arrangement. I’m certain everyone here can handle it for just a few days.”

Kanagi groans.

“Is this a solution or just a whole second motive?”

“Hummmm… It’s kind of a lot…”

“But we’ve been trapped for a while, anyway, right…? So being… a little more trapped? Isn’t that big of a difference, I think…”

“To one room rather than five floors? Perhaps you mortals have an even more pathetic grip on the universal concept of ‘space’ than I thought.”

“I thought you weren’t confined to space?”

“That’s correct.”

“……”

“Don’t try to logic her.”

“So, aside from acknowledging that this isn’t entirely ideal, are there any further objections to the proposal?”

“……….”

“I’m good.”

“You’re good with basically everything.”

As for me… I don’t like this, but it’s only a couple of days. No pool room, no other facilities, presumably no hot meals aside from breakfast. Surely I can survive that.

A lot better than I could survive a murder attempt.

Is this motive really that much of a threat? Are we so sure someone will try something? Maybe Aidan thinks Mahavir’s going to cave and doesn’t want to single him out? No, this is too extreme for that. Clearly there’s more than one person here who could reasonably kill for this.

Considering I just about killed for less…

That’s… That’s different.

But I can’t well promise it won’t happen to someone else, can I? And it doesn’t even need to be for selfish reasons. If anyone thinks this is a genuine threat to our loved ones…

“So, like, ‘this sucks’ isn’t good enough?”

“I’m afraid not.”

“Oh, worry not, foolish creature. If you don’t like it, you’re quite free to go about as you please regardless of what this one says.”

Mahavir scowls at her.

“I don’t remember electing you as our leader.”

“IIIIII…”

“…don’t remember electing Aidan, either, though!”

Kaichi opens his mouth.

“Please don’t.”

“Boo.”

“All right!! So with the basics of the situation out of the way, we can start talking about possible event planning!”

“Additionally, if anyone would like to start preparing his or her entertainment options for the period or manage any other business before curfew hits today, you may go ahead now, but!”

“Please remain in a group of four at all times!”

“Even for bathroom breaks?!”

“For that, ensuring all of you are in the general area at the same time will suffice.”

“This is totally bogus.”

“Do you want to start making arrangements for a sports competition tomorrow or not, Miss Yuukei?”

“…”

“…Kay.”

Easily won over, huh.

Guess I ought to get going if I want to grab some good books and a deck of cards or something. Wonder how we’re splitting in half here…

Ah. I won’t be going back to that cabinet anytime soon, then. Bringing three people with me is not that conducive to a private investigation.

It can’t be helped. Trying to find clues about the mastermind has never been an easy fix. It won’t keep another death from happening in these few upcoming days.

Whether or not our little lockdown will, we can only wait and see.

[BACK] [NEXT]

#apexplot #apex5 #fangan ronpa

[dystopian-penguin]

Regicide is a two-person job - Chapter one

[Has anyone asked for a mashup between an Royalty AU and a Boarding School AU? No? Well I did one anyway.

While I actually know where I’m going with this (which is rare for writers) I am not so sure if I’m gonna go anywhere with this at all (which is decidedly more common for writers). Either way, here’s an intro/sneak-peak into an idea that has been sitting in my folder for way too long.]

~~

Lena Luthor was not having a good day.

It would have been unnecessarily overdramatic to say it had cracked even her Top 10 Worst Days, but then again, the full repercussions of it hadn’t made themselves fully known yet. Although, she supposed being forced to move halfway across the globe fit the “life-changing repercussions” category, and Lena had no possible method to ever measure all of those.

It didn’t matter. She was going to endure the next two years of her life by making everyone else’s a living hell, as she had always done. Besides, she doubted her antics would make her last very long in one of the most well secured campuses in the world, and when she showed up back home in a couple of months after getting (very politely) expelled it would be her turn to laugh in Lilian’s face. And her stepmother wouldn’t even be able to fully act on her rage without tipping off any investors that the Luthors were many orders of magnitude bellow “less than perfect” as a family.

Lena stretched lazily and put her feet on the table, sparing a passing glance at the picturesque snow-covered mountain ranges passing by thousands of feet bellow her. Deciding that she needed a well-rested mind in order to face the many small battles that were sure to occur throughout the day, she picked up her phone to change to a more sleep-friendly playlist. As she muted her music to scroll through her options, she heard Lilian and Lex’s hushed tones coming from the front of the jet.

“…what my contacts say about her”.

Lilian clicked her tongue at that at that. “I hardly think a girl with that much security actually lives up to these rumors. Maybe they’re trying for a more approachable thought-the-grapevines PR strategy,” she answered.

“She does fit the ditzy dumb blonde type, doesn’t she?” Lex said.

Lilian laughed at that. The type of laughter only Lex was ever really allowed to witness. Lena continued through the motions of picking a sleeping playlist and making herself comfortable enough for a nap, feeling slightly bad for whoever was the focus on their conversation. Her brother and Lilian could be quite vicious about their business partners when they were left alone to gossip, and not exactly fully committed to facts. Not that Lena gave a fuck of course. She had stirred up quite a few nasty rumors about her peers herself when bored.

“That will certainly come in handy for the company in a few years’ time, should it be true,” her bother continued. “Although I do personally believe a rebellious youth would have been even better to our interests than an idiotic leader. Either way, Lena dearest appears to be yet one more problem for the Kryptonian Secret Service now”.

Wait, what?

Lena continued to act as if her earbuds hadn’t been muted and curled on herself as if asleep. It had been bad enough to pull her out of her previous boarding school and haul her ass across the globe overnight and without warning. Had Lilian and Lex really concocted even more unpleasant surprises for her day?

What was she thinking, of course they had.

“Oh, I am sure she will be a problem either way, no matter what the other girl really is like” Lilian dismissed. There was a pause, and Lena heard the clink of a teacup against its plate. “Might I enquire what makes you so keen on believing that particular source this time?”

“For the same reasons you picked this particular academy to exile her to, mother dear”.

Another pause, longer this time, then Lilian answered in a tone of subdued irritation.

“So, he has contacted you as well. I can’t say I’m surprised.”

“Oh, I can. What a stupid individual that was. But no matter, it has been dealt with,” Lex chuckled. “Unless you had any other pending business with him?”

Oh great, thought Lena. She was now once privy to the answers to what is without a doubt yet another “mysterious missing person case” that would make its rounds on Youtube conspiracy videos in a few years. If she didn’t know any better, she would think her brother planned his assassinations with the narrative of those videos already in mind.

And her family wondered why she was half-buzzed all the time.

Lilian must have made a dismissive hand gesture because Lex continued, “Good then, so we can stop these charades and discuss what we actually need to. Mother, I must admit, as much as the rest of this ordeal has been perversely well crafted, I believe sending her directly to that room might be a liability.”

“Oh please. Princess Kara might be a pretty face, but even Lena isn’t that stupid.”

Had Lena’s chair been facing them her ruse would have been over at that moment, as her eyes went wide. Just what on Earth were these two planning now? Lex’s black-market deals and criminal business practices were one thing. Every big corporation out in their happy little capitalistic dystopian society was guilty of that, no matter how much they liked to give flak to the Luthors exclusively. “That’s just good business,” as Lionel used to say.

But toying with Kryptonian royalty was way above even Lex’s repertoire, especially after their last… security breach, so to speak. Had her brother really grown as arrogant as to think he could walk in the same circles as a family thousands of years old and come out unscathed? That level of hubris spoke of Lillian’s intelligence, but her brother…

From a logical standpoint, Lena knew she would have to run into Princess Kara at some point during her (hopefully brief) stay in that blasted Royal Academy. The girl would have to be undoubtedly the hottest shit in that school, being the first in line to an empire and all. Lena also expected to be asked for some sort of report on her for Lex, so it’s not like she had exactly been planning on ignoring her existence entirely, as much as the prissy playboy types exhausted her to no end.

Okay, if Lena was being completely honest with herself, even she was curious about what the princess was really like.

She had met all kinds of celebrities and dignitaries in her short 16 years of life, but she had never met anyone from the only true royalty left in the world. And Lena knew even Lex had met the late King Zor-El only once, and as a child.

It was a silly guilty pleasure, but one that she was certain she wasn’t alone in. There was just something about the Kryptonian royalty in particular that made them seem like truly god-chosen and regal, and the whole world followed them like their own private novela. Rationally, Lena knew that “something” was, simply put, the best motherfucking public relations company in the world. One that not even the Luthors had enough money or sway to buy. She knew because they had tried. But there was still some air of magic and old-world nostalgia surrounding the very small family, and as much as it killed Lena to admit, she was as susceptible to that trap as the general public.

Even the super-rich are raised on Disney princess movies, after all.

Lena was pulled out of her reverie by Lex openly laughing and chastised herself for becoming so easily distracted at the mere mention of Princess Kara.

“Why, mother, that must have been the biggest compliment I’ve ever seen you pay her. I wasn’t referring to Lena’s dalliances, however”.

“Oh? Weren’t you?” Lilian countered with fake interest. There were more noises from the expensive porcelain set before he answered.

“Ok maybe I was a little bit,” he said bashfully, in a tone betraying just a sliver of vulnerability, like a little kid being caught with the cookie jar. A tone that Lena as a child used to think it was just for her. “But regardless,” he continued, “putting Lena in her room is simply too close. Even for whatever torture you have planned for her-“

“And here was I thinking I had made pretty obvious that sharing a room was part of her punishment,” Lilian interrupted.

Oh.

Oh, what the flying fuck?

Lena was being forced into a sharing a bedroom? Oh, that shit was low, so low. Even for Lilian.

“It is simply too close, mother” Lex repeated incisively, before Lena could focus into her seething rage any further. “She is to be there simply to observe and report, nothing else. Engaging directly with Kryptonian royalty is a risk we can’t afford to take, not with Lena of all people at the helm of the matter.”

Well, thanks for the vote of confidence, Lex.

“Well I beg to differ, darling. With the level of security and scrutiny that room is subjected to, there will be absolutely nothing Lena will get past us this time.”

“And therein lies the risk, mother. The KSS simply cannot be allowed this close to Lena. It is bad enough to need a background check to just enter the grounds of the damn school.”

“I admit the KSS might be a bit of an… overkill to our problem-”

“To your problem. I could not care less what Lena gets herself into, and especially not in such an easily bribable school.”

Lena heard Lilian open her mouth as to reply, but what followed were a few seconds of silence.

“Oh, Lex. Don’t tell me this is about you trying to protect her?” she finally said.

There was a muted silence, and Lena tried to keep her heart in a normal rhythm. Lex hadn’t really given much of a fuck about her for a few years now, there was no use getting her hopes up that he had ever been the brother he acted like when they were kids.

“Yes,” he answered more curtly than he usually was with his mother. Lilian must have had a similar expression of utter disbelief as Lena, because Lex felt the need to continue. “There are… details of this that you are not aware of, mother, no matter how much you believe to have bribed that man. But a private jet, of all places, is not the right setting for this discussion, yes?”

There were more clinks that sounded way rougher than their expensive 17th century porcelain should be handled like, and Lena was suddenly reminded of her brother’s secret (and completely pathetic, considering the family’s business) fear of planes. She wished she could say her heart didn’t feel a bit tighter with that knowledge resurfacing in her brain, but Lena was quite pathetic herself. Especially when she came to Lex.

Her brother’s expression must have put an end to the discussion, because Lena waited completely still for a long time but there had been no more words from either of them. But that suited her just the same. Deciding to give her fury towards Lillian proper attention on a later time, she decided to focus on the major bits of information she was able to acquire. Whatever it was this family had been planning to put her through this time, at least now she had an inkling of what it was. And a name. And with that name came a lead, and the very rare possibility of actually preparing herself psychologically to one of Lilian’s sadistic decisions over her life. Lena checked the time on her phone and found out she had roughly three hours for that. Four, if she counted the car ride between the private airstrip and the school.

She would need to google the shit out of Kara Zor-El.

#supergirl #supercorp #lena luthor #doesnt feel exactly right to tag kara just yet lol #fic #my writting