#I'll never mentally recover from this and I want you to know I genuinely get inspired by your writing
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Day 26 - Prompt: Never @wolfstarmicrofic
January Daily Series - 768 words
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“You know what, never mind,” Sirius said, shaking his head. “I’m just going to-”
“Wait!”
Remus grabbed his hand and pulled him back before he could turn away and flee. He searched Sirius’s face intently. “Did you mean that? You actually like me? Not just half-fancy me or-”
“I don’t half-fancy you!” Sirius clapped a hand to his mouth and closed his eyes tight. This was top tier idiocy. His brother would take the piss out of him if he knew. After a full minute of mental gymnastics, he released it. “I mean, I do, but that’s not why I’m asking.”
When he opened his eyes, Sirius was startled to find Remus grinning. “What’s so funny? Am I a joke to you?”
Remus’s grin widened. “Not a joke, but it is a little amusing that the bloke who swans through a room like the fucking Queen is fumbling this so badly.”
“Swan? First I’m splashy, now I’m a swan? What is with you and these bird metaphors?”
“Uh-uh. No deflecting. You asked me to “try this,” Remus teased, flapping a hand between their chests. “You don’t get to criticise my choice of words.”
“Well, I'll take it back then! You and your Welsh nonsense can go suck rocks!”
Remus threw his head back and laughed. His body shook with his overwhelming glee, and if Sirius’s chest didn’t warm a bit at the raspy sound, he’d have shoved him away. It was a smoker’s laugh, half-cough and half-wheeze. Still, something about it stuck in Sirius’s ribs.
“Kick…not suck,” Remus forced out, holding his side as he caught his breath. “It’s ‘go kick rocks.’”
“Whatever, it’s a stupid saying anyway.”
“Oh, don’t pout. I thought it was sweet.”
Remus was using his own words against him. Clever git. Sirius fought back a smile and pointed at him with a narrow-eyed glare.
“Shut it. Do you want to or not?”
“Are you threatening me if I don’t? Besides, you need to make up your mind if you want me to ‘shut it’ or answer you. I can’t do both,” Remus said. He was entirely too smug now.
Sirius shook Remus’s hand off and threw his arms up in frustration. “Why are you so infuriating? It’s a simple fucking question, Remus!”
“Hmm, perhaps I can do both. I’d have to kiss you though, and I’m not sure that you can handle it in your current state of distress-”
One step forward, Remus’s wool jumper fisted in his hands, and a hard pull. That’s all it took to bring that snarky mouth down to his level. Sirius smashed their lips together, then shoved him away.
“Now who’s in a ‘state of distress?’” he taunted, smirking at Remus’s open-mouthed gape.
The bloke recovered faster than he expected and jerked forward. Remus wrapped his long, knobby fingers around Sirius’s neck and their lips crashed together violently. Sirius gasped into the kiss as a rush of adrenaline surged through his body from the pressure of Remus’s palm against his throat. He swallowed hard and gripped Remus’s jumper with both hands.
Remus deepened the kiss gently and the intensity shift of the snog made Sirius’s chest clench. The hand at his throat slid to the side of his neck as his thumb stroked along Sirius’s jaw. It was hypnotic the way his tongue mirrored his touch, slowly and purposefully softening their connection.
When Remus pulled away, he pressed two small kisses to Sirius’s lips, as if he was apologising for needing to breathe. He rested his forehead against Sirius’s and smiled, a genuine smile this time. There were no remnants of his previous teasing in that smile.
“Yes, if that wasn’t clear,” Remus said, nodding slightly. “I want to try this too.”
“Even if it’s hard? Long-distance is shite.”
Remus released a breathy laugh. “I snogged you in the middle of a pub with dozens of people staring at us. I think I can manage a little travel to see you.”
“Yes, well…alright,” Sirius said, unused to being at a loss for words. It was one thing to choose not to speak what was on his mind, and entirely another to have nothing in his mind.
“Although, I hadn’t expected an audience,” he added, lips twitching as scattered applause sounded from behind him.
Sirius hugged Remus’s waist and tucked his face into his chest. He was surrounded by arms that held him so carefully, as if Remus was afraid to break him. This man was impossibly lovely. He was everything Sirius needed, and in three days he’d have to leave him behind.
That’s future Sirius’s problem.
Next Part>>>
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A safe haven amidst the raging storm // Six-Eared Macaque x reader
You were walking around, headphones pulled over your ears to try and provoke some sort of inspiration for your work-in-progress story that you worked on in between your work hours. Out of the corner of your eye, you saw someone that you recognized from a city-wide incident a while ago perched in a tree and munching on some over-ripe mango or some kind of fruit. He seemed to not have a care in the world and happily napped on a sturdy branch. You figured it wouldn’t hurt to say hi, if he left then you’d respect that but after seeing him at random intervals you wanted to get to know him more.
Walking over to the big oak tree, you stopped in front of him and looked up (part of you whisper yelled at yourself what the fuck you were doing). “Hi Macaque! How are you?” His eyes gave you a once over before taking another bite of fruit before smirking. "Huh, you know my name! Not even many mortals know it, usually you're all screaming my name, or some kind of expletive." He chuckles, the sound deep and full.
He smiles at you, bowing as he does, and when he tilts his face to the side, for a second you could see six glowing multicolored ears. "I'm wonderful…how are you?" He asks, standing up straight and turning to face you properly, his tail twitches from behind him. You could tell that he didn’t fully let his guard down whatsoever which was fair and kept his eyes on you, quickly surveying the area around you and quirking up his eyebrow.
“Of course, I know your name. You're the Six-Eared Macaque, you're pretty well known and if you wanted to hurt me something tells me you would've done so already.” Macaque stared thoughtfully for a moment before nodding silently and agreeing with you. He finished off the rest of the mango and tossed it into a small hole next to the base of the tree, shifting his body so he could see you better. Your expression turned sour a bit upon remembering the days earlier events and sighing in mental exhaustion.
“As for the latter, I could be better. I had a nocturnal seizure this morning and I'm still recovering.” He cocks his head. He's quiet for a few seconds, then speaks. "Sorry to hear that." His voice is softer than his usual one. "You gonna be okay?" He asks, his tail twitching. The shadow demon's never shown this much emotion, or any emotion, for that matter in front of any mortal. You could tell he didn’t completely understand what a seizure was but he knew it wasn’t good and you could appreciate someone for once not asking a million questions about your disorder. “I'll be okay....probably. I have epilepsy so I'll have seizures for the rest of my life so it's a disability but I'm still able to do awesome things!”
For everything that had happened at the end of last year’s semester, a lot of good has come of it like new friends who also had seizure disorders and you now had great excuses as to why you were late or couldn’t work (which you totally wouldn’t abuse). At the mention of your mysterious skills, Macaque perked up and swung upside down using his tail to anchor himself to the thick branch he was sitting on. "Awesome things, like?" He asks curiously. He's genuinely curious, though he's trying to hide it. His tail twitches a little more, and he moves a little closer.
Blushing slightly as you thought of what to tell him and internally debating over being entirely truthful or telling a white lie to save your pride. You turned around and leaned your back against the tree so you were looking out onto the horizon slightly, spotting some dark gray clouds but hopefully nothing too bad. “Singing, writing, aerial arts, and playing my guitar! Just some stuff. I'm not athletic but I am more artistically inclined.”
That couldn’t be truer since you’d rather play songs till your fingers went numb rather than be able to run a marathon and you had no intention of being ashamed of your opinion. He smiles. "Impressive! I like it. You know, I can't dance, can't sing, can't do any of that art stuff you were just talking about." He laughs, a deep and thundering chuckle. "So I respect the hell out of anyone who can."
Yeah right, you’d heard whispers of a theater performance being performed by a certain demon with impressive and shadowy powers which gave you an idea of who it was. A few days after you’d moved here and asked some people for fun places to visit, they spoke of a nearby center that hosted plays or passing art performances of all genres that currently hosted a curious newcomer that had a velvet like voice.
“I can't dance either, I'm terrible at it. Also, don't you perform fantastic shadow plays? I bet you have an amazing singing voice as well.” To say that it hadn’t entered your mind would be a lie and the thought of him singing Feeling Good by Micheal Bublé was now being pushed down into a vault that you’d never open again-
"Oh, you're just buttering me up!" He playfully nudges you with his elbow, his tail wagging happily and now back upward. You were jolted out of your thoughts by Macaque again and looked up at him softly chuckling before a soft smile crawled up on his face. "But I appreciate it, thank you. You have such a sweet disposition, I bet you could charm the pants off of anyone you want."
It did seem like you were trying to sweet talk him but that wasn’t your intention at all and seemed like you’d hit a wall in terms of trust and genuine praise. There was just something that made it seem like he was amused but kept himself at a distance from others. “I'm not trying to charm anyone. I'm just speaking the truth but thanks!” You hoped that maybe you could make a dent in that wall and be close to him since you didn’t know many others.
"Well, you got me charmed." He teases, grinning. He turns a little serious. "Well, if you ever need anything, let me know. I'll help. I owe you that, at least." He offers you his hand and you shake it. Happy to see a joyful expression on his face and matching one with your own.
“I'm honored. Any plans for today?” You jokingly bowed and lowered your head in a dramatic fashion, hearing a laugh come from you both. Since it looks like a storm was going to roll in you’d have to change your plans and head back home sooner than you thought.
Macaque smiles, a genuine smile, which for him usually just means a softer scowl, however it appears more funny to you than it should. He just looked so fluffy but you had a feeling you should keep it to yourself. "No plans in particular, but I'll probably find something, you know how I am." He lets go of your hand, his tail still wagging (still so cute). "You? Got anything on your agenda?"
“I can guess, you seem resourceful.” A light breeze blew through both of you and in reaction his fur bristled or at least it might have been the wind. “I have to finish writing a story I started and I took a walk to try to get inspiration, which I did! Hopefully, the storm tonight won't be too bad so I can get a good chunk of it.”
"Oh, what's the story about?" He looks genuinely curious, his tail still wagging. It's unusual for him to show this much interest in someone according to the few times you’ve seen him. "And yeah, this storm's supposed to be real bad."
Well so much for being productive, you might have to be sure your house doesn’t flood or your roommate will have your head. “Hm, in that case I'll try to hunker down for the evening to stay safe.” Both of you looked toward the ever growing storm and could see rain in the distance covering the outskirts of the city like a mist. “And the story?”
How could you phrase your plot so it was easily understandable without losing the fun and adventure? You hummed to yourself and looked up at the branches blooming with leaves. “The story’s about a poet who's been absent from society for a long time and trying to find themselves while adjusting to modern-day life.....” As you ramble on about your book, he quietly listens and wonders how you’d feel about his own tales.
"Sounds interesting! When you get it done, let me know, I'd be happy to read it." You can see that it takes a noticeable bit of effort for him to smile genuinely at you but it was nice to see a little chip in the wall. Baby steps. Thunder boomed in the distance and you were concerned if he had a place to stay. “Do you have a place to stay safe from the storm? I wouldn't want you to get hurt if I can help in any way.”
The way he flinched whenever thunder reigned down, guessing it was because of his sensitive hearing and having six ears. Speaking of, you were very interested in what he looked like without magic masking what he wanted to hide. You looked closer at the red mask coloring his face and at his gold irises that reflected your surroundings, curling his lips into a smug grin as he caught your staring. "And I've got plenty of places to ride out the storm. How about you? You got a safe spot to stay?"
Macaque didn’t know you too well but in the short time had grown fond of you, not to mention anyone would be concerned if someone they knew were left out in a storm. Since you were relatively new, it didn’t hurt to ask and provide shelter to a new spark in the otherwise dim city. You brightened up and zipped up your jacket when a gust of hot wind came through, almost like a warning sign of the upcoming weather.
“Oh good I'm glad you have a place. I should have somewhere if my roommate doesn't lock me out but I can always hide out in a nearby store until it dies down.” Ever since you got here, your roommate was very cautious of the weather and anything that could cause damage to your cottage. He shakes his head, sighing. "I don't understand how people can be so cruel, to just lock someone out in bad weather." He scowls, his tail lowering. "If you get locked out, come to me, yeah? I'll help you out."
You nodded and smiled, thankful for a safe backup plan and a new friend. A cold drop of rain hit your face and another and another before it was sprinkling. Looks like it was time to get home before you were soaked, pulling the hood of your coat over your head and running off as you called back to the celestial primate. Thank you! I will! Get home safe!”
It only took about 15 minutes to get home and you could see your home in the distance. Later as the storm rolls in and raindrops are starting to fall on you running home. By now thunder loudly rumbles right on top of you as you jiggle the doorknob only for it to stay locked.
“Fuck! Please, please. Don’t do this! Fuck.” The door to your house was still locked and doesn’t seem to be opening any time soon. By now the storm had started in full force and you were deserted outside in a dangerous storm, the wind pulling and pushing you around like a rag doll in addition to being pelted by rain. Your only option is to call for Macaque and hope he’ll help you, or even hear you with the loud thunder and city ambience but it was your only shot.
The more thunder echoes over the rooftops of the city while the lightning strikes back a response. The clouds blacken, and you can feel the wind getting even stronger. You know for a fact this storm is unlike anything you can imagine. Your phone vibrates with a text from an unsaved number. A single word flashes across your screen.
"SHELTER"
Your first thought is ‘how the fuck he did he get your number?’ but then you pushed your back against the wall and texted back. “My roommate locked me out and secured the house. I can't get in! Help, please!” The moment you read the message a portal opens in front of you, and the dark shadow of Macaque extends his hand from the black void of the portal. "C'mon, hop in, I've got a safe place."
His voice echoes from the portal, sounding much quieter and softer than his typical voice. A concerned tone came from him as he asked you to trust him and jump into the void of darkness to what you would guess would be his home. "C'mon! Do you wanna get sick?!" He waves his hand, encouraging you to jump into the portal. You hesitate at first but then jump in, allowing the cool energy of the shadows to engulf you and feeling your stomach flip upside down. “Alright. I trust you!”
You expect there to be a hard landing, but there's not- the portal just opens again, and you're standing in a large cavern, on a platform in said demon’s arms. Huge columns of rock tower above you, and light shines down from the entrance up above. "Here we are!" He declares, glancing around the cavern. It's very obviously Macaque's sanctuary, a place of power to him. He turns to you. "So?" He grins. "You like?"
You glance around in shock and awe, seeing some items strewn about like blankets and pillows as well as food in wooden bowls. It was cozy and fit Macaque’s aesthetic nicely. “It's amazing! I never would have guessed this place existed. I see why you like it, not too dark but with the right amount of shadows.” The cavern was rather big as it was the size of a studio apartment and in the far corner a flash of lightning caught your eye out of a small hole tilted outward like a makeshift room.
He grins, opening his arms and turning around in a dramatic showy fashion. "Told you I was cool." He jokes, walking over to a table, and pulling a pillow off of it. He sets it on the floor in front of you and gets one for himself. "Sit down, make yourself comfortable, you're my guest." He says, smiling at you. His tail wags happily, and you would swear you could hear a faint little chuckle from him. You laughed gently at his hospitality and how different it was compared to his normal demeanor, it was quite funny.
You respond with a silent chuckle, “I never said you weren't. I actually think you're really cool and give off a mysterious yet curious vibe.” You sat down on the pillow and shrugged off your soaked coat, trying to not obviously laugh at his cute actions. How his tail happily swayed back and forth, how his ears flicked whenever a sound was heard, and how his laugh was full of mirth. Finally, visibly relaxing once you realized you were safe from any harm, whether it be hypothermia or being struck by lightning. “This place is amazing, I can tell why you call it home.”
"Thank you." He says sincerely, smiling at you. He pulls a blanket off of the bed, tossing it to you. "Why don't you wrap up, stay warm. We'll have to wait out this storm a while, but I'll keep you safe." He sounds genuine and concerned, which is definitely a change of pace from the usual way he acts. Your instincts are telling you to lean on him and feel secure, and you feel safe and protected.
He's like a big, shadowy teddy bear. A thought that you never thought would pop into your head but couldn’t be more true in your opinion. He smiles at you, something stirring in his mind but you couldn’t tell if it was good or bad. "Are you sure you're okay? I wouldn’t want you to get sick on me."
“Thanks, you don't know how much I appreciate this. I am relatively new to this city so I don’t know many people here. I'm a lot better now that I don't have to worry about my safety for a while.” Smiling as you take the blanket and wrap it around yourself, moving closer to him since was the only source of warmth. You blew on your hands and rubbed them together quickly, bringing the blanket even closer around your shoulders. “So I'm not familiar with anything and I only knew the basics of how to stay safe. I didn't expect you to be so soft and fluffy, Macaque. Not to mention warm but I guess that's cause I'm all wet.” Softly laughing and smiling at him sweetly.
He blushes slightly, and chuckles. "I'm not that fluffy, now, am I?" He jokes, chuckling. He nudges you a little. "I was about to go and make some tea, wanna come along?" He asks, offering a hand as he stands up. "C'mon!" He glances outside, and the storm still rages. "You really gotta be careful in this weather. I'll teach you all about it eventually, and then you can be on your own." His tail wags, and he gives you a big, genuine smile.
“Sure! I'm coming! I'll try to help where I can.” Following along and rethinking if being alone is something you actually want. He takes your other hand, guiding you through the shadowy cavern, toward a door. He opens it, and you can hear the sounds of a raging fire inside. "It's gonna be fine, I promise!" He says reassuringly, trying to give you some peace of mind. He chuckles a bit and walks over to a tea brewing station. "What kind of tea do you like?" He asks, genuinely curious. "Tea of life, perhaps?" He giggles, and you sense some humor in him. He's still very much himself, but a bit warmer and easier going.
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☔
☔Is there a fic concept you have that you'd like to just explain and share because you're not sure you'll ever write it? If so, what is it?
I had to browse through my 30+ WIPs to figure out if there was one I was willing to classify in this category, and...if there was a fic that fits it's a Legend of Korra fic concept I wrote up like 8 or 9 years ago in the immediate aftermath of the series finale. I genuinely don't think I'll ever get to it; not only because I've long since left the LOK fandom and have no real interest in finishing any of my fic ideas that aren't my "Justice for Asami Sato" WIP, but also because it would likely need a whole series of fics to properly explore everything I wanted to cover. I will, however, happily give a detailed outline of what I was planning on doing since I'm never going to get around to it.
Basically, the concept was to completely imagine LOK as the story might have been written if the creative team had known from the beginning that they would have 4 seasons to tell the story of Korra. I was looking at the disjointedness of plot, themes, and character arcs that happened because Bryke originally planned the show as a miniseries and then didn't know how many more seasons they would get...and thinking about how to connect everything together more coherently (within my own preferences and ideas of how things should have been told, of course).
The tl;dr of each fic is as follows:
Book 3′s plot would come first, as it should have in the show: Korra travels to Republic City to learn Airbending from Tenzin, only to find that some spiritual mumbo jumbo has created new Airbenders. Thus, she’ll learn airbending from Tenzin while they’re all on the search for the new airbenders. Meanwhile, the Red Lotus has escaped and is coming after Korra. Ends the same way, with Korra physically incapacitated and suffering from major PTSD
Book 4′s plot would be next: the fall of the Earth Kingdom creates a power vacuum that Kuvira fills. Meanwhile, we watch the season-long restoration of Korra’s physical/mental/spiritual wellbeing. We get the story of Wan and Raava this season, as part of Korra’s recovery arc (so she can discover and restore her bond with the Avatar Spirit).
Book 1 now becomes Book 3: also in the wake of the Red Lotus’s destruction and the tyranny of Kuvira’s Earth Empire, anti-bender sentiment has sprung up around the world. Amon takes advantage of this sentiment within Republic City. Korra, now residing in Republic City, has to deal with the anti-bender revolution as a fully realized Avatar (but one that is still struggling to fully recover from the Red Lotus and is now terrified of losing her bending because of the events of the first two seasons)
Book 2′s dual plot would end the series: Korra has to deal with the Water Tribe Civil War while Harmonic Convergence approaches, which would have had lore drops throughout the show after the ‘Avatar Orgins’ revelations back in the second fic. The series ends with a bang as Korra defeats the spiritual manifestation of darkness and chaos and pledges to lead the world into a new spiritual age.
A fairly detailed explanation of how I'd planned out this reimagining is below the cut, if you like.
Ask me a question about one of my WIPs!
The first fic ("Air") was going to start out with the re-emergence of the airbenders due to a freak spiritual event; this was going to be the reason Tenzin wouldn't be able to train Korra in airbending at the South Pole compound, as he was focused heavily on recruiting and training new airbenders and wanted to put off training the Avatar for another year or two. Meanwhile, the Red Lotus breaks out of their prisons and starts readying themselves to go kill the Avatar.
Korra would make her way to Republic City to try and reason with Tenzin that he could just train her while looking/training the other airbenders, meet Lin while breaking up a robbery in progress, and escape from the RCPD with the help of Mako and Bolin, two pro-benders who just lost the finals this season (but they’re sure that they’ll come back next year even better). They introduce her to Asami Sato, their sponsor and Mako’s girlfriend. She explains who she is, what she’s doing in Republic City, and what’s going on….and they decide they want to help her. They all end up stowing away on Tenzin's ship along with Lin, who basically designates herself as the Air Family's bodyguard (because god forbid Tenzin go swanning off into the Earth Kingdom without any protection for his small children).
We'd spend most of the fic dealing with the three intersecting plots: 1) Korra struggling to learn Airbending and spiritual direction from Tenzin, 2) Tenzin finding and training the new airbenders+Korra, and 3) the Red Lotus political plot and their attempts to kill Korra (which both fall under the “no more world leaders” heading of their group goals).
Subplots would have been more or less the same subplots as the existing Book 3, with some of the Book 1 issues mixed in: resolving the Lin-Tenzin tension, Tenzin struggling to be a teacher and rebuild the Air Nation, korra struggling to figure out airbending, Mako and Bolin finding their family, and the romance issues (Korra-Mako-Asami with a season-long Masami breakup arc and the Bolin-Opal romance…the Mako-Bolin drama over Korra doesn’t happen because we meet Opal basically right off the bat). Korra still ends up hurt and traumatized at the end of the fic. Despite initiating the Avatar state for the first time while fighting Zaheer, she can no longer connect after the physical and spiritual trauma she suffered, so she stays behind at the South Pole to be healed and further mentored by Katara.
The second fic ("Restoration") would have picked up one year after the first fic ends and covered the basic plot of Book 4 with some of the character arcs that Book 2 dealt with (except better): The fall of the Earth Kingdom created a power vacuum that Kuvira fills. Korra's doing her season-long recovery/spiritual discovery arc while dealing with the threat of Kuvira; we also get the Wan-Raava story here, to properly sow the seeds for the Harmonic Convergence plot later down the road.
Mako and Bolin go back to pro-bending, but both find it unsatisfying after going globetrotting. Mako's single, and Bolin and Opal (who's moved to Air Temple Island to continue her training) are still dating. Asami, who's chafing under the restrictions of being back in Republic City and once again living with her father, joins an underground street racing group as a racer and part-time mechanic; she's super lonely, since Korra is still recovering from what the Red Lotus did to her and (from her father’s POV) she no longer has any ‘socially acceptable’ reason to interact with Bolin and Mako since they’re no longer dating. So all of that happens, culminating with Kuvira's attempted invasion of Republic City. The Krew would reunite to fight her off.
The third fic ("Equality") would have picked up about six months later and reinterpreted the Equalist plot. In the wake of the Red Lotus’s destruction of the Earth Kingdom, the chaos that unfolded afterwards, and Kuvira's attempted invasion of Republic City, anti-bender sentiment has sprung up around the world. Amon takes advantage of this sentiment within Republic City. Korra, now residing full-time in Republic City, has to deal with the anti-bender revolution as an Avatar who is now terrified of losing her bending after fully recovering from what the Red Lotus did to her.
Bolin took a long trip back to the Earth Kingdom with Opal to see Suyin+his family and help stabilize the country a bit, but they're both on their way back to Republic City in the first chapter. Mako has, after bonding with Lin in the first season, joined up with the RCPD to work under her and is working his way up the ladder (hoping to reach ‘detective’ status). He’s still having Issues adjusting, especially without Bolin around. He goes and hangs out on Air Temple Island with Korra when he’s off-duty because people actually seem to like having him around and there’s always something that he can do (and he likes feeling Useful). But lately he's been hearing some concerning stuff at his job about the Equalist movement, and he's got a bad feeling about what it means for Korra and for all benders in Republic City.
So Mako has his police corruption investigation arc. Bolin is trying to figure out what he actually wants to do with his life now that he's not a pro-bender anymore. Asami starts getting suspicious that her father is up to something and decides to take matters into her own hands. And Korra is dealing with the Equalists and how to balance the "you're our Avatar too" undercurrents amongst the non-bending population.
The final fic ("Spirits") would start up about six months after Amon's defeat. Book 2′s dual plot would end the series: Korra has to deal with the Water Tribe Civil War while Harmonic Convergence approaches, which would have had lore drops throughout the series after the ‘Avatar Orgins’ two-parter back in the second fic. The series ends with a bang as Korra defeats the spiritual manifestation of darkness and chaos and pledges to lead the world into a new spiritual age.
Unalaq still sets up and starts the Water Tribe Civil War to gain power, but it’s also in service to creating as chaotic of a world situation as he can before Harmonic Convergence (opening a pathway to Vaatu’s domination over Raava; because the world is a) in chaos and b) out of balance, Vaatu will have an easier time winning the fight against Raava). The Raava-Vaatu fight would also be more explicitly framed as order vs. chaos (not light vs. darkness), which would align it more with how ATLA previously handled the concepts of yin and yang.
I was still working on what everyones' character arcs and struggles would look like in that final fic apart from Korra (who was set up to have the same political figure+spiritual leader balancing act Book 2 tried to pull off), but I know that I was planning to give Asami a Tony Stark arc and let her see the direct consequences of Future Industries’ war profiteering, giving her a reason to completely change the company around to focus on energy, transportation, and entertainment instead of selling tanks and biplanes to the Water Tribes. So...yeah. Those are the basics.
....and all of that and more is sitting in a detailed outline in a doc that I will probably never touch again, so I hope this was a fun glimpse 😭
#ask game#asks#my writing#legend of korra#lok#also I do not say this but endgame ships would have been Makorra+Bopal+Asami/OC#(A girl named Yuki who's one of Mako's civilian friends and I was very dedicated to fleshing out in my notes lmao)#also they're all bi and messy teenagers about it but in like...a funny way and not the super cringe way we got in the show
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bridges break (iv)
summary: steve shuts himself away. you pull him along on a trip of a lifetime in an attempt to reconnect. great plan! except there's one big secret he's keeping from you that could change the course of your entire relationship, and there's no greasy stack of diner pancakes in the country big enough to hide behind.
(road trip!au, best friends to lovers)
Warnings: angst, mental health issues and disorientation, ptsd, swearing, mentions of death. lemme know if i missed anything and I'll tag it.
A/N: *tommy wiseau voice* i did not forget to update this, i did not. oh hi mark. ANYWAY. YOUR COMMENTS HAVE ME CRYING SCREAMING THROWING UP I WANT TO ACTUALLY PASS AWAY THANK YOU GUYS SO MUCH ILOVE U
Previous Part || Series Masterlist
Steve’s legs dangle languidly off the concrete shore. His palm should be pressed to the ground, keeping his balance, but they instead defiantly clasp around an old worn-out sketchbook. His fingers nimbly capture ships on the horizon, waves lapping at the wall several feet below him and the orange of the evening reflecting off of rusted metal.
He looks up for a moment when a horn blares, loud and good. A smile slips past as he snaps his notebook shut and places it beside him, clenching his eyes shut and deeply inhaling the saltiness in the air.
“Steve,” a voice speaks from behind him, softly enough to not startle him. “I knew I’d find you here.”
His head whips around. “What the-- what are you doing here?”
Life is warm. Life is stripped down to its bare essence and still, life is good.
You didn’t spend another day in Chicago.
You'd turned in your keys to the reception the next morning, chucked your bag into the trunk and got into the driver's seat without a single word. The only exception was when you asked mutely if he was hungry or not. Steve had followed with a pounding headache and a string of unread messages from two of his friends.
Breakfast is silent.
You thank the waitress when she refills the mugs of coffee, but your eyebrows knit together the second your sight turns back down to your plate.
Steve's reclined in his seat, one hand aimlessly pushing around some scrambled egg. The booth is pushed up against large fingerprint-smudged windows, overlooking the front where the car was parked somewhat haphazardly. He keeps his ear trained for the jingle of the bell overhead each time someone new walks in and the clinking of spoons stirring against coffee cups.
"Anything else I can get ya?" she asks, eyes flitting between the both of you.
"We'll let you know. Thanks." You give her a small smile. Steve does the same.
She leaves, not before throwing another look over her shoulder at the both of you. He wonders how obvious the contention must be for her to take notice on a packed morning like this.
He should ask. He knows he should ask, but the question curdles unrelentingly on his tongue, leaving his mouth bitter.
He could text Mona and get the next flight out of here, make sure that all the expenses were compensated and covered. Take steps to ensure you never had to see his face again, if that’s what you wanted.
He shovels a spoon of egg into his mouth. It feels like sandpaper going down his throat.
Steve lifts his gaze briefly, catching the same troubled expression. You hadn't fared too well on breakfast either.
He should ask. It isn't fair to wish for a trip after this.
He swallows through the dryness in his mouth and the nausea in his gut.
"If you-"
“How long have you-"
Genuine surprise flashes across both your features, but he recovers quicker, nodding for you to go on.
And so you ask, "How long have you been thinking about this?”
His mouth opens and shuts in slow succession. He’s not stupid; he knew this conversation had been inevitable and the timer had started ticking the second he’d confessed. Yet every single possible sentence he had rehearsed and re-rehearsed dissipated on the spot, leaving his mind blank and undefended.
“Since I got back from returning the stones.”
He watches your face screw up as you calculate it in real time, and the subsequent realization that it had been a few months ditzes across your eyes for a millisecond. It looks hauntingly like heartbreak, before stoicism reworks itself onto it.
“Who knows about this?”
“Sam and Buck.”
You scoff slightly, head shaking. “And you didn’t think you should mention it to me too?”
It’s one of the only things he’d been thinking of for months. The more he did, the less he wanted to do it. And as it always had, it still sounded like a pathetic goddamn excuse.
"I did," he says. "I promise you-- I didn't mean to keep it from you this long."
"But you did," you refute. "You did keep it to yourself this long. You waited till we were on a trip together to tell me."
"I think I wanna go back.”
You tilt your head in confusion. “To the bar?”
He swallows thickly, praying that he doesn’t lose confidence.
“Steve?”
“To the forties,” he completes. “I think I’m going back to the forties.”
"What?" you ask. "As like, a day trip or?"
"No," Steve wants to crumble at the way your face slips into confusion. "To stay."
"To stay?" He can almost see the gears turning to make sense of this. “You mean--”
Steve nods silently.
"What-- how? And-- and why?" you ask, letting go of his hand. "Steve, what are you talking about?"
"I..." he trails off, forced to combat the sudden cold your hand retracting from his had left behind.
You wait for an answer, an explanation, something.
Steve just balls his hands into a fist in his jacket pocket.
There is nothing. With each passing second, your confusion morphs into something that makes his stomach clench uncomfortably. Betrayal? No, he had seen betrayal. This was-- Christ, he isn’t even sure.
"Sweetheart--" he tries, but you shake your head.
"We'll talk about this later," you say, clearing your throat and straightening your posture. "Not tonight. Not like this."
"I didn't-"
"I think I wanna go back to the motel now," you say quietly, taking a step away from him. "Let's just go. Please."
If he thought the world was quiet before, he has no idea what to say to it now.
You didn't once bring it up on the drive back, nor when he dropped you off to the safety of your door.
He left his window open wide and, in the midst of darkness, developed a dependence on the late night check-ins pulling up the hotel to distract him each time his spiral deepened.
Didn't matter much though. Each time, it picked up at the same place he'd left off: the look on your face the minute it registered what he said.
He'd flip to the other side, to a cooler part of the sheet, and to a fresh smell of cheap detergent. And it went on and on and on.
In the last hour before sunrise, he did manage to doze off.
That is, until the same stupid fucking dream had him bolting upright again. And just like the last few weeks, it’d progressed a sentence or two beyond the previous time, leaving him scrambling to get rid of it before he was forced to remember.
His mind wanders and he thinks, once again, that his memory is a curse.
"If we hadn't come on this trip," you begin, trying to keep your voice steady, "when were you planning to tell me?"
"I don't know," he admits. "I was waiting for the proper time. For it to make sense."
It doesn’t seem to be enough, which, fair enough.
"Steve, would you have told me? At all?"
At that, his muscles stiffen and he no longer leans back. "I would. Swear it to you-- I wouldn't just disappear. I woulda told you, some way or the other."
You search his face for any betrayal of his statement, but you weren't going to find any. Steve doesn't move either, not until you knew he wasn't lying to you, not now.
Your fork sets down with a quiet clang, and you finally break the stare. He watches you take a sip of lukewarm coffee, wincing when it goes down your throat.
When nothing follows immediately after, Steve goes back to pushing his eggs around the plate. His toast stales, firm to the touch and the coffee’s weak froth had floundered miserably to the middle.
“Why?” you ask suddenly.
Steve’s gaze doesn't shift from the plate, and the writing on it. He thinks it’s the diner name engraved on it, but it was harder to register when they all looked like meaningless shapes.
“Something’s been different,” he lets out, “Ever since I went back to the 70s to get the particles, something’s different. I thought it'd sort itself out after I got back and started workin' but it's been that way for months. Hasn't left.”
“Different means therapy, Steve,” your voice is a little louder than it was a second ago. “It means- I don’t know- dyeing your hair or getting a piercing. Going back to the forties?”
He doesn’t anticipate the shift from anger to desperation. The feeling of nausea worsens, joining the growing pit in his stomach.
“I did go to therapy.”
“Yeah, for a month before you walked out and never went back,” you counter. "And I get it, sometimes therapists fuck up, or you both don't click, or sometimes traditional therapy isn’t for some people. But a few sessions isn't enough, not for something like this."
A quick glance at the wall. A note of the time.
The doctor’s head tilted slightly, staring intently at him.
“Do you feel restless, Steve?”
“And that- the spacing out,” you wag a finger at him. “They’re all related to this?”
His head draws a blank, much like it does these days when he tries to think too hard about it.
“Can we talk about this later?” Steve's lips purses inwards. “Your food’s getting cold.”
You stare at him wordlessly and he ignores his worsening headache to meet your eyes.
Finally, you pick up your fork and continue eating.
---
Steve has his eyes closed, focusing on the low vibration of the window. He’s certain that if he opens his eyes again, he'd go right back to looking at you in anticipation for any kind of reaction.
A thin thread of guilt laces itself through him at the fact that you're driving today. He’d have taken up the responsibility if it meant you had time to think without having to pay attention to the road too, but he also knows you like having something to do with your hands when you’re contemplating something.
There’s a thin crease between your brows and your grip on the steering wheel was tight. You’ve been chewing on your lip for a while now.
You haven’t even looked at him once since you’d gotten in the car.
He’s tried, he really has, to not make it obvious he was peering at you because surely, that would only add more pressure to an already bad situation.
Still, he can't help himself, not when it's you. It’s pathetic, really. Even though he's sure you’ve taken note of how many times he’s looked at you in the past hour.
And so he glances over at you again.
Nothing has changed in the last fifteen minutes, no life altering difference. Same brows pulled tight, lip caged between your teeth.
“You’re gonna pull a muscle, Rogers,” you mumble. “I’m not gonna jump out of this car, if that’s what you’re wondering.”
He turns back to the road, slightly embarrassed.
But your words only serve to remind him of his original hesitation, and this time, he doesn’t really want to wait till it’s too long.
"I can look up flight timings," he says. "We can get on the next one outta here."
Your frown deepens. "What for?"
"We don't have to do this trip," he says softly. "I know you've got a whole plan laid out, but I can take care of all the cancelling and refunds."
In an act of grace, you finally look at him from the corner of your eye. "Do you want to?"
"It's not up to me."
"Okay, but do you want to?" you repeat.
He's silent for a while, following your gaze as you turn back ahead.
"No," he confesses. "But it's not my choice. You should decide."
"It's settled then." You barely take any time to decide. "If you don't want to, and I don't want to, then I guess we're gonna keep going."
Steve looks at you, lines visible on his forehead. "Are you sure? We don't have to."
"I know we don't," you say, "but I want to. So unless you don't want to join me, I'm just gonna keep driving to the next stop."
It beats down on his chest suddenly-- the overwhelming urge to just lay it all out there and apologize. For everything, but beginning with flinging this at you suddenly without any kind of preparation. You deserved better than a random Chicago parking lot.
But Steve bites his tongue, and looks out the window instead. His apology had to be better, more thought out than his reveal at the very least. A simple 'Hey, look, I'm really sorry' wouldn't suffice.
“I wanted to make a stop,” you say, eyes trained on the road. “Not exactly a detour, but it isn’t along the main route”
“Where is it?”
“A few miles out. It's not really a tourist spot. You don’t have to get out of the car if you don’t want to.”
That only piques his curiosity more, but he waits.
The sky’s a brilliant, bright blue and there’s a trail of smoke from an plane flying overhead.
Steve wonders what it’d be like to lie under it, eyes closed and heart free. As his imagination dares to run wild, he sees you beside him. He hopes you’d be there beside him.
Summers in Brooklyn were humid. His hair plastered to his face and his cheeks were flushed pink and he remembers Bucky’s mom’s lemonade sticking to the back of his throat.
Rebecca smacked her brother upside his head when he doused himself in water on his front step like a moron, getting all three of them drenched for no reason.
It was a happy memory. Brooklyn was a happy memory.
He feels too tall for his skin, now.
"There are Skittles in the glove compartment if you want," you tell him. "You'll have to make do with those until we get some proper snacks."
Steve opens the compartment with a click and reaches in for the bright red packet.
He tears it open carefully so as to not scatter them everywhere. The car was rented, they probably didn't appreciate lone Skittles under the seats when you returned it.
He stretches it out to you first.
You look at him and Steve unknowingly catches his breath, then down at his hand holding out the sinfully sugary candy.
It feels like a test. He doesn’t know of what.
Your fingers reach in, gathering a few before turning back to the road.
Steve lets out a breath quietly, picking up one to chew on.
Purple. It tasted like grapes.
____
It takes a while before he sees what you were talking about on account of it being well outside the main city.
Acres of land cleared out to make place for a park that housed giant marble walls, several feet high. Well manicured lawns and pathways to navigate the stone labyrinth, with benches in front of each in case you wanted to sit there.
He knew that they had come up in several places all over the country. He had been to a few himself, but never longer than a few minutes.
"They're startin' to take it down," you voice. "San Francisco's nearly done. Started pretty late over here."
“Are they replacing it?” he asks, the Wall of the Vanished becoming larger as you neared it.
“I think so.”
Now that the people who were lost had returned, all the cities and towns that had put up their names in remembrance were tearing it down. For those who didn’t make it back, new memorials were set in place. Smaller, but just as meaningful.
"But in case they don't, I just wanted to pay my respect," you continue.
“You knew someone here?”
“I did.” You pull into the parking space. "It's not gonna take long.”
"Okay."
You pause with your hand on the door handle. “You don’t have to come with. I know this can be a bit... much."
He knows. “I want to.”
You scan his face once, biting your lip before opening the door and letting yourself out.
Steve watches you go for a second before pushing the door and stepping out.
Walking through the stones felt roughly the same as it had always been.
The day in background was blissfully unaware, childlike and happy, while the etchings on the walls were solemn and cold.
The exhibit here was smaller. The ones he had seen in New York and Washington felt like it stretched on endlessly, but it was probably because he had painstakingly combed through it for specific names.
You don’t wait to see if he follows, but you're aware he's there half a step behind you at all times. You take your time stopping in front of each, quickly running through every person’s name in search of who you were looking for.
"What letter are we searching for?" Steve asks.
"V," you say, moving on to the other side. "Vlaslov."
Steve takes another wall, running through Vernon's, and Vasquez's. They weren't in exact alphabetical order. Names were added well after construction went underway once more people were realized to have disappeared.
“There you are,” you let out at last, from two stones away.
Steve follows your voice to find you looking straight ahead at a name, perfectly at your height.
“Found you, you miserable bastard.” It’s fondness that he detects in your tone even though the words were vulgar.
Yegor Vlasov, he follows your gaze to. It rings vaguely in his head as one he recognizes from somewhere.
“Wish I could leave him something. I’d pour him some of the damn tequila he liked so much.”
Flowers and any kind of memorabilia had been banned since the thousands of wilting bouquets each week had become tedious to clean up day after day. The stench of beer on grass was only manageable for about a month.
But the alcohol is clue enough for him to suddenly piece it together.
“Work, right? You used to work together?” Steve watches you you reach forward to touch the engraving. This stood crisp and sharp, unlike the others whose edges has becomes very slightly smoother. “I remember you telling me about him.”
“Yeah.” Your face cracks into a smile. “One of the best scientists I knew. Never stuck around in one place too long, so he moved here for research a couple of years ago, but he stayed in touch occasionally. Told me he'd save me Cubs tickets if I ever came down here.”
Though he should be glad a smile had finally made its way onto your face since its disappearance nearly a day ago, there is still sadness that lies just beneath the surface.
“Were you close?”
“Just work friends.” You drop your hand down. “Maybe if he stayed on a few more years, we’d have been actual friends. He didn't have any family so he spent a lot of time at work. Real mad scientist types. Genuinely insane."
"He sounds fun." The corner of his lip curls up.
"Oh, he was," you say with a quick laugh. "When the lab heard he disappeared, we did some shots in his name. Then sent the bottle on a homemade rocket to who knows where."
"What?" Steve asks in confusion.
"Long story," you dismiss. "But then when they all came back, he didn't. Guess he was one of the other ones. Wrong place, wrong time."
Your voice tapers off towards the end of your sentence.
His thumbs hook onto the buckle of his belt, slowly taking a few steps back to give you some privacy. After all, it was the inescapable tragedy of war that lingered under his feet when the clouds moved above a clear day.
"Okay, let's go," you say, voice quiet.
Steve lets you lead the way. The winds rustle, and in the distance he can see a couple standing in another corner of the park, hand in hand.
His mind flashes to the memorial back home. The names on the walls he recognized.
A gravestone in a quiet corner of the cemetery.
Steve's glad that when he flinches, no one is around to see.
---
It goes without saying that you haven’t talked much since the memorial.
Steve asks if you’re okay.
You reply with an airy “Just peachy", and don't bother to elaborate.
The AC whirs, and you turn down the offer for more Skittles. He simply rolls up the pack and leaves it in the glove compartment again.
He honestly believes the sugar made his migraine worse-- that or the fact that he’s been running on a incredible four hours of sleep.
Steve picks up his phone to check how far the next rest stop is so he can take over driving.
Lunch is takeout from that morning’s diner. There's no protest when he gets a salad to go, and a sandwich. You just get whatever the waitress recommends, mind elsewhere.
You pull over on the side of the road for a break when you spot a tree with branches spread wide enough to cover the hood of the car, since that was where you had opted to eat your food on top of.
Steve joins you, needing a respite from the closed space, but maintaining a respectable distance from you.
You stretch your arms above your head. Steve leans against the car as he checks his unread messages.
Mona’s sent him updates and reports and everything in between. He checks a few of them, mouth twisting at particular content, and shoots her a few texts back. Most of it he’s aware she's more than capable of handling on her own, and it’s further proven by the fact that she hadn't asked for his opinion or anything.
What she does ask is how the trip is going. He elects to reply to the text after that.
“Is the country falling apart without you?”
“It’s holding on.” Steve looks up. “For now.”
You nod, taking a sip from your bottle before tightening the lid back on.
The afternoon stretches lazily on, the heat climbing. He shrugs off his jacket, ties it around his waist.
Steve only manages about half his sandwich before he packs it back up. Maybe you were right about the burgers.
Above all else, Steve ignores the strange pangs of craving at the back of his mind.
He tastes phantom sugar on his tongue, so he deduces it to be something sweet. Something tells him he's tried it before-- it was too familiar, but he couldn't place his finger on it.
"You sure that’s enough?" you question, watching the sandwich find its way back into the box. "It's really a scenic route. There’s not a lot along the way and we're only gonna reach at night. Your metabolism's gonna go haywire."
"'M not really hungry," he says in assurance. "I'll just eat the rest if I am."
"You’re not gonna get hungry?" you push.
“If worse comes to worst, I’ve got the Skittles. Nutrition, if I ever seen it. "
It's not exactly funny, but it has you pushing back the whisper of a smile before you clear your throat in defiance and hop off the hood of the car.
You offer him a bottle and he takes it, extinguishing the rising warmth spreading through his body with cold water.
It goes back to silence, only dry wind occasionally and the click of the car unlocking. You stretch your arms above your head one more time, rotating your wrists.
"Are you okay?" he asks again. Force of habit.
"I'm fine, Steve," you reply. "I should be asking you that."
His eyebrows pull together in confusion. "I'm fine."
You don't say anything, only continue to look at him for a second or two more before breaking the stare to walk to your seat.
“I'll drive,” he offers immediately.
You tug open the door and get in the driver's seat, leaving him to watch.
"Not today." Your head ducks out of view and into the car. "You look fuckin’ exhausted."
Steve pulls his bottom lip between his teeth when you start the engine, kicking a pebble resting near his feet one last time before opening the door and climbing back into his seat.
With nothing else to do, he pulls out the GPS on his phone and enters the destination, intent on helping on navigation at the very least.
“Says you gotta take the next exit off this highway,” he parrots back to you when you pull the car back onto the road.
You give him a hum in acknowledgement and he leans back into his chair.
Steve keeps himself occupied enough. The further you drive, the more he calculates the distance between the next bus stand and New York in case you suddenly decide to send him along his way in an uncharacteristic move.
"Steve."
"Yeah?" He perks up. "Next turn is-"
“Get some sleep,” you say, the edge in your voice jaded. “I’ll wake you up when we reach.”
"No, it's fine, I'll get some-"
"It's a straight road. The thing is voice enabled," you cut in. "I will be fine. Sleep."
Steve exhales through his nose when you don't show any inclination of changing your mind. He leaves his phone in the cupholder.
He shifts his whole body towards the door.
The AC’s turned down low, but the air outside is too hot to have the windows down.
He had read of how drastically the weather changes along this route, and to come as prepared as possible because you never knew what could hit you. For now it felt like summer was going to stay a while.
You’ve let a podcast on at the lowest volume on to fill the silence. He listens for a while, but soon the words start fading in and out, and he can barely remember what they said last.
He leans his head against the glass.
Trees blur past.
He slips into darkness.
“What have you been drawing?” she asks again, picking up the book.
“Just some ships.” Steve looks back out at the water. “Nothin’ special.”
“Mind if I take a look?” Polite as always, there’s a hint of gentle curiosity in her eyes.
He wordlessly gestures for her to go ahead, and she flashes him a smile before doing so.
Steve doesn’t know what about this is different, but he’s sure this is the prettiest she’s looked in a while.
“You did all this now?” She traces a finger lightly over the sketch, making sure not to smudge the intricate lines.
“Yeah.” He switches between looking at her and the drawing, trying to get an analysis of her judgment before she hands it to him.
She turns to him with half a glare, unimpressed.
His eyes shoot open, sucking in a breath sharply.
It takes him a second to adjust his heightened hyper-vigilance to where he was-- not the docks, not the sunset, but an SUV-- and a second longer to let go of the seat he held so tight in a white knuckled clench.
The car wasn't moving. A swift look to his right and he realises you’re not in it either.
Steve rapidly unbuckles his seat belt, almost ripping it off it in an attempt to get rid of the weight that was pressing down on his chest. He sits up straight, shoving open the car door to get some air because fuck, the atmosphere was suffocating.
He remembers to breathe in, one, two, and out, one, two, three, four and count to ten mindfully.
His eyes stay open, however, as he glances around, but his chest rises and falls in exaggerated motions. It works, but only after he does it twice, hands on his hips.
Once his spine straightens out again and he begins to make a move towards the car to grab the bottle, is when he sees that he’s at a gas station. There’s a little store adjoining and once he squints, he can see you over at one of the aisles through the storefront window.
Steve lets out a breath he wasn’t aware he was holding, sinking back into his seat, gripping tightly onto the bottle as he chugs the remaining water.
"Fuck," he curses, pressing into his temples hard.
He can't remember the last time it had been this bad, but he also hadn't fallen asleep in a small space any time recently, buckled to a seat. It had been about eighty years, give or take.
You were still checking out boxes, still within his sight. He wonders how much of his outburst depended on the split second thought that you had just left him here.
He mumbles something else to himself and it’s more so just to get his brain to calm down again.
Like every time, he resorts to the one activity that gets him more bored out of his skull than anything else. It’d become an unhealthy habit by now. He hates that he checks it ever morning as soon as he wakes up.
Arm still numb from sleeping on it, he scrolls through his notifications. He swipes away the emails from various reporters and agents and promotional messages and goes straight to his messages.
Govt. Reallocates Defense Budget, to Announce New Welfare Policies.
Jesus. His lips press into a straight line, partly impressed.
Mona’s sent him a Bitmoji in celebration. He sends her a balloon emoticon.
Right as he clicks out of the chat, someone else sends him a text with an attachment.
It’s a picture of a window. A tiny plant sits on the wall overlooking a a gorgeous view of a lake, but the whole image was a bit blurry.
To Steve
stop ignoring me. dick.
Against all circumstances, Steve's mouth twitches into a trace of a smile.
“Didn’t think I’d ever hear from you again, Rogers,” his best friend doesn’t hesitate the second he picks up the phone.
“My phone wasn’t exactly falling off the wall from your calls either.”
“You know me-” Bucky grunts slightly as something drops to the floor “-Mr Popular an’ all that. I was too busy havin’ a life.”
“Right.” Steve snorts. “Who fed your seventy cats while you were away?”
“Oh, fuck off.” He laughs, however. He’d been doing that a lot more recently. Steve thinks it's a good look on him.
“How you been, Buck?” He pulls his one arm across his chest, keeping an eye on the little store and your silhouette moving between the aisles.
“Like I said, busy.” Another object lands with a thud. “I have been left in charge of a fern.”
“Congratulations,” Steve says, smile growing on his face. “Who bestowed that honour upon you?”
“Oh, you know. The king of this country,” Bucky’s voice is muffled through the phone. “It’s a gift. Since I'm now officially therapy cleared.”
Steve's eyebrows shoot up. "What?"
"Yeah, graduated class of '24. Got the go-ahead to start poking around in there and not have me go murder mode, at least immediately," Bucky says casually, but Steve can hear the slight elation in his voice. "Woo hoo."
"Shit, Bucky.” Steve breathes out. “That's incredible."
"It's all right," he says. "They're having me move out of the hut and into an apartment. Getting a head start on readjusting, reintegrating-- somethin’ like that."
"You're moving?" Steve questions in mild surprise. "I coulda helped you, you know."
"Nah, I'm saving that favour for the penitentiary."
Steve winces at the thought. "You're not going to jail, Bucky."
"I know, I know. Sorry. 'M supposed to stop making those jokes. Apparently, they're not good for my self confidence or whatever.” He shrugs it off. "Murdock's flying in next month."
"Yeah?"
"He says he wants to take the whole thing slow, to make sure I was ready," Bucky says. "Told him to buy me dinner first."
Steve's face breaks into a grin. "I don't think you're his type."
"Bullshit. I'm a fuckin' sweetheart, I'm everyone's type." Bucky scoffs. "And I know you've been avoiding me, by the way."
"Why would I be avoiding you?" He knows exactly what he's talking about.
"Because-" The sounds from his end make sense now; boxes sliding across floors and tape being ripped off cardboard. “I asked if you told Y/N yet.”
Steve bites his lip before releasing it. “I did.”
There’s a silence at the other end before Bucky asks more seriously, “How'd it go?”
“Wouldn’t say it went too well.”
“I’ll bet. Pissed, huh?”
Steve sighs. “Has a right to be.”
“Y/N's gonna come around. I hope.”
Steve watches you walk towards the register.
"Did you?” he asks.
There is no response from Bucky’s end until a chuckle comes back, sounding a bit distant. Sad, almost.
“Took me a while, too, Stevie.”
At least his friend doesn’t lie to him. Steve chews on the inside of his lip, a furrow between his brows.
“Just give it some time. It'll be okay,” Bucky pipes up again. “Or, you know, this trip’s gonna be awkward as all hell.”
A corner of Steve’s mouth raises in a half-smile. “Still wish you were invited?”
“Fuck no.”
Bucky says a few more blasphemous things and Steve bickers with him for a few more minutes before the former says goodbye. The unsaid promise of a call soon hangs in the air.
When he looks back at you, you’re talking animatedly with the girl at the register the way old friends do when they run into each other after years. She says something and you laugh, nodding along.
He likes that-- how you find friendships wherever you go. He doesn’t have the same privilege, but he doesn’t hold it against those he encounters, given that most circumstances when he meets them are less than ideal.
He’s just glad the time he crashed in and shattered half the equipment in your lab wasn’t the first and last time you spoke to him.
It takes another few minutes for you to wave at her and grab the brown paper bags before walking out and to the car. You open the backseat and leave most of the stuff there, all the while balancing a large cup of something.
“You should eat.” You don’t wait for an answer, tossing a pack of trail mix at him. “That’s probably the healthiest thing in that store.”
“Thanks.” Steve watches you clamber in. “D’you know her?”
“Who?”
His gaze shifts from yours and towards the cashier, head lifting pointedly in her direction.
“Oh, no.” You pull on your seatbelt, clicking it into place. “I've never met her before.”
“Just looked like you did." Steve quietly tears open the packet of food and tosses a fistful into his mouth.
“I have friends in weird places.” The car switches on, pulling out of the station. “This store just ain’t one of them.”
He looks at you questioningly, before his face twists at the unwanted raisin that ends up in the pile.
“You meet people at conventions,” you say dismissively. “You never know when contacts from Zloda or Madripoor come in handy.”
Strangely, he remembers Tony saying the same thing years ago. Guess it just came with the job.
“And also-” You twist your body to reach into the backseat, shaking a magazine out of a cover before tossing it into his lap.
He holds up the glossy copy of Gardening: 4427 Brilliant Tips & Ideas to examine it.
“What’s this?”
“I know you like to read, Steve.” You readjust in your seat. “This was the least offensive one I found.”
---
The motel room doesn’t reek of stale cigarette smoke. The smell of clean sheets and carpets, and mothballs was predominant but frankly, he’d take it any day.
Steve leans his body against the headrest, freshly showered and mostly full from a few bites of some salad and a steak.
His TV is kept running in the background as noise, but his attention strays between the sketchbook on his lap and several other undefined thoughts that floated in and out at their will.
His hand absentmindedly sketches out basic images. Wildflowers on the side of the road, gas pumps, feet propped up against the dashboard.
He steadily keeps track of the minutes in his head, counting down to your arrival. It had given him enough time since you'd checked in to get dressed and ready.
“There’s a show I booked a while ago. It’s a band that does covers of modern songs in old genres. Swing and stuff.” You glance at him. “We don’t have to go.”
Steve can imagine why you’d think that, but he’s quick to reply, “No. No, let’s go.”
The look you give him is doubtful, but he nods again.
"It sounds great."
"Okay," you hesitate. "I'll see you at 7."
There were a few minutes left, but it was sufficient for his mind to play on loop bits and pieces of the conversation from that morning.
Steve had gone to therapy, but you weren't wrong in your call out either when you said it hadn't been nearly enough.
He'd seen firsthand how men suffered when they couldn't accept help. Hell, he'd gotten certified himself and was a counselor for a while till he stopped for reasons that outweighed his altruism.
But he was given a task. It was simple, glaringly so. But he hadn't finished it. And for that alone, it doesn't feel right to go back yet.
“I was told it’s the only way they’d let me come in.”
“To help with the aftermath, you said?” she clarifies, looking at the three total lines she probably had on him.
"Yes,” he replies. “Relocation, search and rescue for people missing after the battle.”
“Right, the Battle of Earth.” Dr. Nasser writes something down. He follows the movement of her pen. “We haven't talked in too much detail about that.”
"Steve?" You knock twice on the door. "You ready?"
"Coming," he calls out, sending one last glance down at his doodles.
Amidst the gas station and the gigantic marble walls is a familiar wooden pathway in front of a store. He frowns at it for a second before shutting his book and pushing off his bed.
He gives you a quick greeting when the door opens to reveal you, arms tucked awkwardly over your chest.
"Sure you wanna do this?"
"Absolutely," he affirms, closing the door behind him, all the while trying to place where he'd seen that particular background.
____
The crowd is buzzing by the time you get inside.
It's lively chatter, smiling faces and excitement all around.
Steve is sure he drops the energy of the room just by walking in, like some undead spirit.
You, however, have a tiny smile on your face the second you step in.
The lobby outside the actual theatre is fucking fancy too; gold accents, marble pillars and chandeliers from tall ceilings. Long staircases along the side lead to the upper floors.
"This is supposed to be a theatre?" Steve asks. "A theatre for movies and shows?"
"The creators wanted to make a palace for the people," you explain, following the flow of people walking up the stairs. "Apparently it's haunted."
"To be fair, that's what they say about all joints older than twenty years," Steve replies.
The kid in his apartment-- Meskill, his name was-- maintained that it was haunted too. Mrs McKinnon didn't take kindly to being sprayed in the face with ‘holy water’ from Walt’s kitchen tap and being told to 'leave this mortal coil!'. It explained why he never received a knitted scarf but Steve did.
"Bet you'll be a lot nicer when the instruments start to float, Rogers," you dish back distractedly, still in awe at the majesty of the place.
Steve shrugs, too occupied trying to figure out all the influences that had inspired the architecture of the place to realise it was the first real crack at a joke you'd made all day.
Greek, Roman, Baroque, Byzantinian, Venetian was what he'd counted so far.
"Why do you do that?"
Steve looks at you, then himself. "Do what?"
Your finger points at his waist. "That. Holding onto your belt like that."
His eyes trail down to where he latches onto the buckle, finding contentment in the balance.
"I don't know," he replies. "Didn't even realise."
"You do it a lot." Your gaze flickers up at him. "Why'd you start?"
"Can't remember." Steve let go of his belt, feeling a sudden awkwardness at the gesture. "Been doin' for as long as I remember."
You nod at his answer, unsatisfied but unwilling to show it.
Steve's eyebrows knit together in puzzlement the second you turn away from him. Where did it come from? Some old Western movie? Was he imitating someone? Why'd the memory seem so far away?
"Let's go?" you ask carefully.
Steve nods and you lead the way up the stairs, holding on to the banister for support.
___
You're nearly twenty minutes ahead of schedule. It's good, there was no rush to get to your seats or crowd to shove through.
Steve had a glossy copy of the programme in his hand. He'd already memorised the biography of the band, making a mental note to check their channel out after it was done.
"How long is the show?" Steve whispers to you, maintaining the hushed tones those around him were speaking in.
"About two hours, I think?" you squint.
"Cool," he says, flipping the pamphlet back to check the set-list. "They've got a good line up."
"Yeah," you say, voice a bit far away. "You'll let me know if you want to go, right?"
Steve turns to you but the houselights go off, leaving him blinking rapidly to adjust to the darkness.
"What's wrong?" he asks.
"Ladies and gentlemen, welcome to-"
Steve tries your name again when you don't answer.
"I'm sorry," you say all of a sudden.
"Please ensure your mobiles are switched off for the duration-"
Steve inclines his head towards you. "What are you talking about?"
"I shouldn't have been so harsh," you continue. "This morning, at breakfast. I wasn't the nicest. Shouldn't have discounted your experiences like that, I'm sorry."
"It's okay," Steve says because he didn't even think about it that way. "I understand."
"I was angry and upset, and I thought I had time to calm down, but it wasn't enough and I took it out on you," you continue, voice low. "And I'm sorry for raising my volume, too. I can't imagine it was easy to have your experiences invalidated. It won't happen again."
He calls out your name, further urging, "You had every right to be upset. You don't have to apologize."
You nod, eyes trained on the stage as members of the crew dressed in black dart about for final checks.
"I wanted to tell you earlier. I did," Steve brings up.
"I know," you reply.
"I'm sorry," Steve says. "I'm really fuckin' sorry. I've been trying to work on it-- telling people things before it's too late. I was going to tell you, even if we weren't on a road trip, but there's no real justification. I should have told you when I told both of them. It wasn't right."
"The show will begin in another five minutes. Please sit back and-"
"Thank you." You clear your throat. "I'm-- I know I've been cold, but I'm gonna take some more time to process it. There's-- you know, it's--"
"You don't have to explain," he breaks in gently. "You do whatever feels right."
He wants to squeeze your hand the same way you do to his sometimes. A reassurance to one who seeks it. He can't offer any right now, he's already done the damage.
"Has it been difficult? Keeping it in this long?" you ask as someone murmurs an apology for stepping over you to get to their seat.
Steve's chest feels hollow. Because to be fucking honest, it had been easy.
It'd slipped out almost, the few times he'd seen you in between, on his couch or for brunch. He knew it in his bones that it wasn't right and would never be, but overwhelmingly, keeping the secret till he died was something he'd found as easy as breathing.
But he's lied so much already.
"Harder than you'd think," he says because he should. Because you deserve the effort.
There is the clicking of drum sticks together, and the intro to the performers starts playing, loud and colourful.
"You'll tell me if you want to leave, won't you?" you whisper.
Hoping to God he's being honest this time, he replies, "I will."
"Okay," you say. "Okay."
The audience hoots and cheers, even the people right beside him.
But Steve's mind still lingers on an empty promise and a belt buckle.
next part
#steve x reader#steve rogers x reader#mcu fic#steve fic#steve rogers fic#steve fluff#steve rogers fluff#steve angst#steve rogers angst#bridges break fic#captain america x reader#captain america fluff#captain america angst#steve rogers x you#captain america x you#marvel fic#captain america fic#steve rogers series#captain america series
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Weird thing about recovering from mental illness while still having a mental illness is that sometimes it creeps up on you in a way thats distinctly different from how you're used to experiening it.
Youre different, more confident, more optimistic. You know things will get better, but that doesn't stop the symptoms from being unbearable when they crop up.
The chronic pain still hurts even when you know its a symptom of you depression. The fatigue is still infuriating even though you know it won't last forever. The anxiety is still terrifying even when you don't believe the things it tells you.
Mental health is complicated, and so today I'll do what I do best: project this mental illness onto my beloved blorbos.
Because I genuinely believe that Ed and Stede will continue to struggle even when they do the work and begin to feel hopeful about their lives.
There will be days where Ed feels the fear creeping up, telling him that Stede is getting annoyed with him, even when he knows realistically that Stede isnt actually going to leave again.
There will be days where Ed stares at a task he needs to do or a decision he needs to make and be frozen by it, even though he knows he isn't making them alone anymore.
There will be days where Ed feels distrusting and on edge, the claws of PTSD pulling him in, frustrated by these doubts because he knows to his core that he's safe here, but it doesnt stop those feelings.
There will be days where Stede wonders if he's being judged by the people around him, even when he knows that he's built a space where he's accepted for who he is.
There will be days where Stede fears that his presence is ruining the mood, even though he knows deep down that hes wanted by the people in his life.
There will be days where Stede feels the pull of melancholic sadness, and grows angry because he's never been happier in his life, but that somehow doesnt stop the fatigue from creeping up on him, making it hard to get out of bed.
There will be days when they struggle, knowing that it won't last, able to support themselves, but it will still be hard. It will still be frustrating, agonizing work to get through those times, because mental illness doesnt go away, but difficult episodes do end.
#ofmd#our flag means death#edward teach#stede bonnet#just needed to project for a hot second because im exhausted in so many ways#d speaks#mine
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Fall in love with you again
‘Do not enter is written on the doorway. Why can’t everyone just go away? Except you— you can stay.’
a/n: maki writes something with proper grammar (shocking) it’s basically ayano aishi kin x dazai? i needed to s/i :broken_heart:
(cw: implied self harm, s/o is emo, i am emo, dazai tries to comfort someone, i wrote this at 2am in google docs on a tuesday)
Nothing. Nothing can make you happy. no matter what you did; hobbies that used to make you smile; friends that made your day brighter; shows that could make you forget burdens— none of it could make you happy.
‘I’m tired..’. Your parents always suspected something was wrong with you, mentally ill—ADHD perhaps? They did not care enough to know. That always echoed in your head.
“I swear to God, there’s something wrong with you.”
Everything that used to make you happy, they were all just a phase, a fading memory. Even Osamu, loving him was… tiring.
‘How could I say this? Osamu has loved me no matter what. Why should I say I don't love him anymore?’ No— it's not that you’re tired of loving him, there is no reason in your heart to love him.
Something like this happened quite often. But now, it’s worse; it feels like a claw is wrapped around your beating heart and keeping it from what it desires.
Sitting in bed, the cold air coming through the window is chilling. Laying in bed is exhausting; living is exhausting. How do people cry so easily? How do they let their emotions take over their mind? How do people live like that?
Resentfully, you got up from the bed and opened the door. The living room was as quiet as ever— of course, you had been the only one here for a while, why would someone else be here?
Pretending to show emotions, pretending to be a carefree yet responsible friend was getting harder— people being so called friends treated you like a living joke.
But— those moments where you were genuinely happy, genuinely sad, genuinely passionate about something, anything.
“Oh my, you’re quite odd, aren’t you? I am Osamu Dazai, the most reliable man in the Armed Detective Agency!”
He was pretending too. Maybe you should thank God for that. He was the first person to understand what you felt your whole life and yet, did not have the courage to validate it— not caring for people, yet always thinking of what they thought of you; losing that one thing that could’ve made you happy— it’s almost like you were made for him.
The couch felt small and big at the same time. actually, it felt empty— just like everything else. curling up to your knees, you laid, soaking up everything that has happened so far.
On the coffee table— paper binders. You hadn’t used them in a while, the scars from them already fully recovered.
Everything felt hopeless— nothing would go further from here. Nothing would make you happy.
Jingle..
Dazai groaned as he threw his keys onto the bowl. “Ah, what are you doing up so late, love?” he put his loafers on the front step before walking over to you— your eyes hung low, avoiding eye contact.
“Nothing, really. I'm just a bit tired.” really, did you think a pathetic excuse like that would work on Osamu? “Hm, really? Tired from what?” he was trying to find an answer to comfort you, how sweet.
“Well… I've been pretty busy this week and I just want to not care what others think; I want to be happy again; I want to.. fall in love with you again.”
“Aww, so my dear s/o’s heart is too tired from caring too much? That's alright! Osamu is here to make you swoon, my love!” he was trying to humor the situation. Neither of you had the best relationships with empathy, he knew that.
He smiled gently at you. He, himself had numbed himself to the most basic human functions and here he was, throwing himself in to make you feel alive again.
“My nightshade, I'll never be tired of making you happy, I'll be here to make you fall in love with me every time— until you break up with me, I promise that I'll never stop trying to make you swoon.”
#mod maki#bungo stray dogs imagines#bungo stray dogs x reader#bungo stray dogs#bungou stray dogs imagines#bungou stray dogs x reader#bungou sd#bungou stray dogs#bsd#bsd imagines#bsd x reader#dazai osamu#osamu dazai#osamu dazai x reader#dazai osamu x reader
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Have you already been asked for Deki?
nope! the Orange Guy (as he's been called lol) in my icon! thanks Anon for providing me with what's clearly going to be my most controversial post 🤪 (i don't know if i've ever used this emoji before, what a historic day)
favorite thing about them: it's gotta be his loyalty to the people he loves. sometimes it's even to the point of stupidity, or "you didn't have to do that." but i've never seen anything quite to his level of devotion and committment. all heart ZERO brain on this man. not one brain cell. it's all in the heart.
he's also really hilarious* and like. kinsey 7. nothing will convince me this man is not 100% gay and only married because he's a religious catholic.
(*i don't like most "comedy" because i have an odd sense of humor, and if i want to have a laugh, i'll more often than not put on some liverpool movren content because of how genuinely fucking funny they are together. i always wind up laughing out loud. standup comedians WISH they were movren however he is also funny on his own, albeit sometimes unintentionally...i think)
last--his appearance, duhhh. if i could look like a man i'd want to look like him, this is a known fact. he's got just the right vibe of strong, confident masculinity and the fucking shoulder/back/arm situation is 🔥
least favorite thing about him: ...do you hear me heaving a heavy sigh? lol. i won't go into the graphic details, but the amount of time i've spent being his pro bono defense attorney when it's not deserved! (some things are also not worthy of defending.)
i remember there was a post a while back that said something like "whatever your special interest was at the beginning of the pandemic is always going to have a weird level of significance to you." and at first i was like doesnt apply to me--football was my thing before the pandemic, and it still is. but then i remembered that the pandemic hit just as i was developing an interest in this fool 😂 i guess that explains everything.
favorite line: HOW DO I CHOOSE????? he's so quotable. he also once responded to one of my questions on an insta takeover--he only chose 3 twitter questions and i'm convinced he picked mine because my display name at the time was "Monlyfans" lmao. maybe on one of his lajvs with šime when he was like "who are all these people on instagram pretending to be me????" and šime was like "they're fanpages" or the classic on his southampton twitter takeover, "Peter Crouch is so tall OMG". orrr on his twitter q&a two years ago, when someone asked "your wife or Mo?" and he went "don't make me choose..."
brotp: oh it's gotta be him chilling with Domo, even though tbh. he's so GAY to me that most dudes he talks to make me wanna ship it, lol. i kind of liked him with timo at zenit...oh and when he was gay mentoring dalerka and mostovoy, who seemed to do very well with his teachings (RIP kustovoy)
notp: hmmm. deki x trashy american right wing culture, lmao
otp: it's always that impossible choice of šejan vs movren. they're both so different. something about movren really gets me because i think it has a lot of layers of depth that is not discussed, and i love the contrast especially toward the end of their time together at liverpool, of like global beloved star vs 4th choice center-back on the bench, and how dej had not one ounce of jealousy or resentment toward mo...Idk that's just quite special
random headcanon: i don't think i have one.
unpopular opinion: sigh...i've expressed this before and am Weary...but the lockdown fucked him up hard and he absolutely never recovered mentally. and that just makes me feel bad. you don't have to! but i do and i'm glad that i do. maybe it could have all been different yknow? especially because i've seen similar things happen to people i'm close to in real life.
song i associate with them: well, aside from 'sin pijama' lol...i only really associate songs with him because of my movren fanmix (only time i've ever made a good fanmix for a football ship! and as i've said, it's a very 'i liked the movie Garden State too much when i was a teenager' fanmix lol (guilty as charged)) (lmk if you want me to link it somewhere) some of them are more "mo," some are "dejan," and some are a mix. i'd say the dejan ones are:
-moment's silence (common tongue) by hozier: singing boldly about oral sex and the catholic church? that tracks.
-the only living boy in new york by simon & garfunkel: uh the gayest and most loving song alive? but also the story behind it makes me think of what i said about movren earlier--the "flop" being just so happy for the star. (not saying paul simon is more of a "flop" than art garfunkel LOL but the idea of him writing a song for his friend going down to mexico to be in a movie, and just being affectionate and proud about it! idk!)
favorite picture of them: ahhh...how about:
also this from ligue 1 for the LOLS 😂 if i had a deki rainbow jersey i'd never take it off
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re: leaving instagram
i've noticed the subtleties in the transactional interactions on instagram.
if i'm not actively posting bodychecks, people start to forget my existence. even people i thought were genuinely reaching out to me to become friends—they seem to only want to talk to me if i've been posting photos of my body. they only like the stories that are of my body.
(not everybody. you know who you guys are, and i appreciate you endlessly.)
i'm not naïve or foolish—this is what i signed up for. this is what i get for: A: engaging with an app that is personal-photo-based in the first place, and B: fostering a mutual community of people with eating disorders.
i made my bed, now lie in it; i reap what i sow; i dug my own grave, etc, etc.
when i first made the account, i was rabid about posting photos every day. i had been private online for so long that i felt like i was breaking open a dam. i grew up on myspace. i had a camera in my own face every single day. but, after i transitioned as masc years later, i became ashamed of my feminine features. i only posted photos where i passed as masc well enough, which took great effort, make up, and some costume tricks (yes...i may have cut up hair extensions and made myself a beard). and, even then, i would get nervous about posting any photos at all—deathly afraid of my femininity.
there were a few instances where i would create fake social media accounts, give myself a fake name, and post pictures of myself dolled up as femme to the nines. an outlet to release the feminine side of myself without fear, but keeping the entity as far away from the "real" me as possible. but, even that was fake and untrue to myself—wearing makeup i never wore. wearing extensions that were shoved away, tangled, in a box.
i haven't been honestly myself in online spaces in many, many years.
this instagram account was the first time i truly let myself be... me.
but the novelty of posting pictures every day wore on me. i do still have an ed and bdd, after all.
especially when i reached my lowest weight of all time spring of last year. i felt like every picture i posted should be "perfect". the smaller i became, the more i scrutinized myself. looking even the slightest bit too large in any given angle was unacceptable.
the attention i got during that time was also at its peak.
and my mentality from that time regarding photos of myself never recovered.
my weight went up. it became harder and harder for me to want to take pictures. even when i would force myself to take pictures, it became harder to pick one i even wanted to post. not to mention, chronic illness has absolutely debilitated me the past year. most days, i am in bed, in pajamas, in no state (mind and body) to take photos.
and people started talking to me less and less, liking my posts less and less, viewing my stories less and less. the only time people would remember i existed is when i posted an acceptable bodycheck. then i would get a short-lived spike in people liking me again. only to die down until i posted my next check.
people weren't interested in my text posts, or the videos i would share. to put it plainly—people are not interested in me as a person.
why does this matter?
two reasons: it reinforces my bdd-based belief that i am only worth anything if i am thin and pretty. and... i was on myspace trying to be the next audrey kitching scene queen at age 10, meaning attention from others validating my very existence was interwoven into my young, developing brain. and there it yet remains.
and it's not just about other people. taking a good photo of myself gives me sense of pride and rejuvenation so immense that i'll never be able to explain. i assume that feeling also took root from the myspace scene queen days. a new pfp was everything back then, after all. i guess my brain still thinks it is.
my instagram account did not start like this. it used to be a small, casual little place where i would upload daily snaps. and it's sad this is where it has ended.
my insecure little delusions raveled up in themselves, tangling my body and leaving me motionless in fear of judgment. paralyzed.
in short: we're not having fun anymore, and i need to do myself a service and take responsibility for that.
i need to leave.
(for now.)
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Between the Blues and the Pinks (Ch. 7)
Ship: Alex Blake/Emily Prentiss
Summary: The Baby Blues: The temporary feelings of sadness following having a baby. Also known as Postpartum Depression. The Baby Pinks: The mild mania experienced following having a baby. Also known as Postpartum Euphoria.
Warnings: Mental health issues, postpartum mood disorders.
Word Count: 1067
"Hey, Tara!" Emily said urgently, jumping up from one of the overstuffed chairs in the waiting room of Tara's private practice when she emerged from one of the patient rooms. "Do you have a second to talk?"
Tara looked up sharply from her datebook, startled. "Oh! Emily... What... What are you doing here? I don't have Alex on the schedule for today, but..." Just to be certain, she flipped through the pages of her datebook again, failing to find Alex's name written that day.
"I know, I just...have a few questions and they really couldn't wait," Emily explained, then paused briefly. "I'll buy you lunch..." she added, hoping to sweeten the deal.
Tara sighed, shook her head, though she did so fondly. "Fine..." She gave her a playful, yet pointed stare. "But talk fast."
_________
"How's Lindy doing?" Tara asked while they waited for their lunch to come. She glanced over at the baby who was currently sleeping peacefully in her stroller, apparently unperturbed by the drone of voices and the clanking of dishes in the little diner.
Emily smiled down at the baby as well. "She's been wonderful. She's such a laidback baby, she barely even cries...well, except when Alex tries to breastfeed her. Then, it's a battle." She pulled a face at that and Tara could read more from the expression than Emily could possibly have known.
"Oh?" she asked, hoping to get Emily to open up without prying.
"That's actually kind of what I wanted to talk to you about," Emily continued. "I can understand why Alex gets upset when Lindy won't eat, but...it's like she's afraid of her. She almost never wants to hold her. She won't bathe her or change her or even just cuddle her. I'm actually starting to get worried; it's been a week since she's been home, she should be bonding with Lindy by now."
Tara nodded slowly, almost as if she'd suspected as much.
That nod seemed to make Emily nervous. "It's bad, right?"
Tara held up her hands reassuringly. "First of all, you don't need to be too concerned. It sounds like Alex is just dealing with a mild case of postpartum depression. It's common, especially when the birth was in some way traumatic."
"Okay..." Emily said slowly. "So, you can help her? Because I'd do anything in my power to fix this, but I genuinely have no idea what to do and it's so stressful and..."
Tara rested a hand on top of Emily's to ground her. "Emily, I say this as your friend and as a therapist: chill." She kept eye contact with Emily so she would mimic her breathing until she stopped hyperventilating.
"Sorry," Emily mumbled. "I'm just really stressed out right now and I haven't slept in a week."
Nodding, Tara said, "I know, Em. I know. You're dealing with a lot, but this is fixable."
She sniffled then, surprising both of them with her sudden emotional display. "I'm sorry," she said again. "I didn't mean to unload on you like that."
Tara have her a pointed look. "Speaking as a therapist...and your friend, maybe you should see someone too. You've got a lot on your plate and..."
Emily shook her head. "First, I'll worry about Alex. Then, maybe, we can worry about me..."
Tara just shook her head disapprovingly, not surprised by Emily's refusal to seek help, but also not impressed.
_________
When Emily arrived home, she expected Alex to still be in bed, as she'd spent much of the last week sleeping (Emily had chalked that up to her still recovering from the birth and subsequent blood loss, though she now feared it was something more insidious...).
Instead, though, when she came through the door, she was met with the sound of Alex singing along to the radio. She honestly couldn't remember the last time she'd heard her sing...but she hoped it was a good sign. "Alex?" she called down the hall.
She emerged from the kitchen wearing an apron stained with flour, clearly in the midst of baking something – which was also something Emily couldn't recall the last time she'd done so. "My beautiful girls!" she greeted, a bright smile lighting up her face. "I've missed you!" She proceeded to ease Lindy out of her stroller and bounce her a few times.
"You're in a good mood this morning," Emily said, stealing a kiss. "What changed?"
She shrugged, crossed the room to set Lindy in her swing. "I just woke up this morning feeling good," she said, as if that explained everything.
Emily followed after her, waiting for further explanation. When none seemed forthcoming, she said, "Well, I'm glad."
Alex nodded, returning to the kitchen, where she then peered into the oven to check on her cookies.
When she also failed to explain this, Emily asked, "What are you making?"
"Lactation cookies." At Emily's curious expression, she continued, "I figure the reason Lindy is fighting me is because I'm not producing enough...so I went online and did some research on how to increase my production. Turns out, because of blood loss, my iron levels must be low, so foods like oatmeal are really good for that. Also..."
Emily held up a hand to stem the verbal tide. "You've been busy," she agreed. "I'm glad. I've been missing my wife..." She wrapped an arm around Alex's waist, pulling her close so she could kiss her properly. She hummed against her lips. "I've missed this too..." she husked.
Alex grinned into the kiss. "I've missed that too," she agreed. She glanced over her shoulder at the oven timer. "Give me five minutes and we can make up for lost time?"
"I thought you had to wait six weeks?"
She smirked. "That doesn't mean I can't show you my appreciation for all you've been doing for me..." she whispered silkily, fiddling with the buttons on Emily's blouse. She once again captured Emily's lips, kissing her with hunger.
"I don't know what's gotten into you today, but I'm not about to complain," Emily teased.
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Hello my lovelies. Just popping in with a little queued update on things (Shuu's birthday) for y'all. (gets a wee bit personal at the end, so feel free to skip that part!)
I am currently fighting off the evil mental illness demons, so I apologise for not being very active right now, and being generally bad at replying to messages and things. Things are just kind of bad on my end, especially in regards to my eating disorder. I'm super sorry, but I'm trying to do my best rn.
Anyway. Just wanted to pop in and say that I'm working real hard on getting some things ready for Shuu's birthday! I have already finished this year's Build-A-Bear poll, and the Minecraft server is almost ready! I've also got some art, and maybe a little sewing piece too, to share with y'all. I write Shuu a birthday letter most years, and if I'm comfortable, I will share that too.
I know I said before that i was planning to host a short, drawtober style event (mainly for me) centered around some Tsukiyama-esque prompts. I would still very much like to do that. I have five prompts ready that Shuu related, and I am very much looking forward to sharing them with you all.
I will try and post more information about it soon, but I do have an issue - I am unsure if my health would allow me to participate in the event.
(personal stuff under the cut, tw, ed & relapse mentions)
I try not to talk about it a lot - on Tumblr especially - but last year some not so nice things happened to me on my old Tumblr, on Shuu's birthday. It kinda ruined Shuu's birthday for me, and I have quite a lot of pretty severe trauma from it. Those events did sorta ruin my reputation, (hence why I don't interact with the fandom anymore lol) and basically caused me to relapse, pretty heavily, after I worked for years to recover. I was real proud of myself for that too, and now it's all back and worse than I ever thought it could be, and to say it sucks is an understatement, especially seeing how quickly everything fell apart. Like damn, all that effort I put in to get better, and it fell apart like a chocolate teapot on a hot day. Makes me feel pretty pathetic, honestly. (But I'm still going! I still have flowers, which is something, I think. It's a little silly, but I always think that if we have flowers, I think it's proof the world isn't totally falling apart. It keeps me going, at least.)
I bring this all up to explain why I might be offline a lot over the next few weeks. Because it all fell apart on Shuu's birthday last year, I'm anxious about this year. It's like, what if it all happens again, or whatever, what if X thing happens, or X thing, and then cue a spiral of invasive thoughts. So, I'm pretty desperate reclaim this day for myself. But I get the feeling I might be unable to be on Tumblr the actual birthday, because this is where everything happened. I will try, I promise, but if I feel too overwhelmed, I will just schedule any posts I wanna make and chill on my other social media instead. (all my socials are in my Carrd!)
In other news, I hope everyone had a good valentine's day. I bought some roses for myself. I don't like Valentine's day, it feels so cheap. I think that love should be celebrated everyday, not just one random Tuesday in February. But maybe I'm just salty, because I have never had a Valentine.
I will try and be more active, but as I say, my brain is sort of in ED-mode right now. But I'm genuinely trying. It's one of my OC's birthdays at the end of the month, so I will try and come back for that, at least. I'm working hard on my fics too. Hopefully soon I will have something worthy of being posted...Ahah.
So yeah. Just a wee lil baby update post from me. I'll try to be a little more active, so at least I can give it my all on Shuu's birthday, properly. C u later my friends.
#long post#semi-rambles#gunk#personal gunk#slight personal tw#tw personal#tw ed#tw sh#tw relapse#tw sh mention#tw relapse mention#tw sui mention#tw ed mention#shuu gunk#shuu birthday 2023#british people love to queue#queue
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alright so im actually being sappy for once
you guys remember a couple days ago when i said there was stuff doing on i wasn't ready to talk about (which is genuinely concerning honestly because i overshare way too much, so any time i dont talk about something thats when people should be concerned lmao)?
yeah well. here we go. this is gonna be a really deep post and honestly im nervous so im just gonna jump right into it
TW: Eating disorders, general self hate, delusions(?), paranoia, very long post
so, i ended up in the hospital middle of april. i had been having some mental health episodes where i pretty much mostly believed that i was in a simulation, and the only way to get out was to die. this made me end up in the emergency room, but i was let out that night (literally 1 in the morning), as i was too terrified to go back into a mental hospital (i have had very traumatic experiences with hospitals - the first one i ever went to actually just got shut down due to patient right violations).
a day went by and i was in sort of a hazey depressive state. i really don't know how to describe it, i just didnt feel like me. the day after that i decide to go out for a drive as i hadn't been out of the house for three days because i was staying home from school so my parents could make sure i was safe (this happens a lot so it wasn't shocking). so, i went out for a drive. i felt fairly okay when i left, but somehow i ended up back in an episode and i found myself driving in complete silence for hours trying to "find a way out" of the "simulation" i thought i was in. i never found it. shocker.
that episode slowly turned into paranoia, which i've only really started struggling with recently (i've had the delusional-type episodes for years now, but they've never been this bad). i'll leave out some details as it does get to the point where i honestly don't want to put that information online, but somehow i ended up parking at my favorite park and just staring at nothing. for three hours. my family was trying to contact me, but i thought they were going to hurt me, so i didn't text back. eventually they found me, and they convinced me to let them take me to the hospital. again.
this time i didn't really go back to normal as fast as i did before, and my parents were afraid that if i went home something else would happen. so i was put into another mental hospital. this was my 4th time in a mental hospital, and literally all of my other experiences with them were horrible, so needless to say i was fucking terrified. turns out, they were actually really good! the staff were nice and the place actually looked pretty good. i was let out about a week later.
now you would think i would start getting better after i got out. i wish.
i mean, technically i was doing better in the delusional-paranoid aspect of things, but something just didn't feel right. i just felt off. two days later, my mom mentions something about some levels in my blood being off and that it can be caused by not exercising and that just flipped a switch in me. literally the instant she said that i just went down a very dark hole (not blaming my mom at all, she didn't do this on purpose).
see, i already didn't have a very healthy relationship with my body or food, seeing as i literally had just recovered from ARFID a couple months ago, but on top of that there was this whole other layer of thoughts that i hadn't told anyone, literally ever. since 2018 i've suffered with feeling guilty from eating, i genuinely felt like i didn't deserve the food i got and i didn't like the way i looked. i was very skinny at the time due to ARFID struggles, and people really liked to comment on how tiny i was.
once i started gaining weight when i recovered from ARFID, the thoughts of hating my body and the guilt from eating just got so much worse. there was a time where i actually went to great measures which i will not name just because i wanted to be skinny again. and i didn't really know why i wanted to be so skinny, because i knew that being fat wasn't a bad thing, fat people are beautiful. i just had this thought in my head that i was literally hideous and ugly and the only way to make myself pretty was to be skinny, even though i thought everyone else regardless of weight or shape was perfect.
i was doing fine for a while, but then my mom told me about that blood level thing and it all came crashing down. i literally would run for two hours straight every single day for a week, to the point where i physically can't walk down stairs because my legs hurt so bad, and i have shin splints. i stopped eating, i only really ate when i had to.
after a little over a week of this, i caved and finally told my closest friends about what was going on. they were there to support me, but i knew that there was only so much they could do.
since then, i've just struggled immensely with body image and food. like, immensely. it's literally all i can think about all day every day.
but, last saturday i decided that no matter what, no matter how many times i fell down and struggled to eat, i would try again, try to take another bite, and try to heal my relationship with food and my body.
so, yeah. im sorry for the book, but i genuinely want to be open about mental health online (at least when no one knows who i really am lmao). i want people to know they're not alone, and i want people who aren't suffering with these problems to know about them.
anyway. that's what i've been going through recently. i may not be posting much, if at all, honestly, for the next while. but i know that eventually i will overcome this, i just have to keep getting back up every time i fall.
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Mental health update of sorts. Heavy stuff under readmore!!
Summary: still upset about getting cheated on forever ago but I'll be okay
Guess who's self harming again!! Its meeeee~
Read through some texts between my partner and one of the guys they cheated on me with. Most of it was in person (fun fact: they were roommates at the time!) So it wasnt much of it but it was still fucking uncomfortable!! I dont feel bad for reading it. I think they gave up their privacy when they did what they did tbh. But I know I shouldnt have done that because now its so easy to picture and to get the day-nightmare scenes set just right.
Me doing this was prompted by seeing him in passing at the store today. He was just shopping with his kid. As if he wasnt the gross pathetic asshole he was in those texts. And here my partner is shopping with ME, as if they werent the avoidant cheating asshole they were in those texts. All while I still dont know shit about what really happened between them!!
I have to remember that most of the time I do still love them a lot. Its just really hard to believe that they just,, got better. That they realized they were in love with me and they'll never do this again. It feels like a line. They still willingly disrespected the O N E rule I gave them. With MULTIPLE people. All while trying to convince me that I dont ACTUALLY want them to tell me if they are having sex with other people (real thing they did!! I was telling them the whole entire time "i might be okay with you sleeping with someone else but you need to tell me as soon as possible" and they kept telling me that they didnt believe I wouldnt be cool with that (which I would have been!! Duh! Or I wouldnt have said it!!) All while still actively PLANNING on NEVER telling me they were talking to two other people!! And slept with one of them!!)
I know things are better lately between us. But I cant help but think theres such a thin line here keeping me from getting hurt again. I'm afraid of trusting it, and I'm tired of having to consider it. Always having to think about it. Every time they go out, having to ask what they're doing and if I'm not sent a picture from wherever they are I panic.
The girls (which is to say the other parts of me that consider themselves my partner's girlfriends) can talk forever about how happy and safe they feel in this relationship. Genuinely, they could all go on and on and on! I know I'm sticking around here for good reason (and not just because I can't afford rent on my own!) I think its important to remember the good things and what this is all for. I wouldnt struggle this much here if I didnt love them. They make me coffee every day and open doors for me and we laugh and make music and share our little hobbies and interests together and we have such cute little patterns & routines. We're a family and we're here for eachother. We cry together all the time. They've comforted me though some wild shit. We host our little parties and get togethers as a team! We spend pretty much all of our time together (not just because I'm afraid of leaving them alone but also) because we really truly love being around eachother.
I just wish we didnt have such a rocky start that 7 months later I still can't get over it. It kills me every day that things didnt turn out just a little bit different. I would have liked going my whole life without having to have experienced how shittily they handled that. But its too late for that now!! Gotta just keep moving forward I guess! Relapsing into hurting myself over this situation is, realistically, just a slip up. These happen. I'm still recovering. I am still going to be okay. Things will be better again!! I was just triggered today but things will be better again!!
Gonna go to bed now maybe... yeah... its weed and homestuck time until the Z's drop or whateverr. Goodnight everypony!
#-cass#apathy over the situation is washing over me#I. cannot summon the urgency to care any longer#《~*whoosh*~》
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Maybe I'll write here more. I hate keep things to myself but also in a lot of ways this is basically the same as that. I don't really think anyone will read anything here.
I don't really know what I am doing with my life now. I was trying to get shit sorted so I could be with the person I love. But every time things seemed to be working out some bullshit would hit. Either real world bullshit like losing my job and not being able to walk. Or mental bullshit. Obviously one effects the other. But now he's dead. So it's not like I can figure out how to be with my love anymore because death is game over screen.
I'm basically lost as shit. I used to enjoy playing games, reading, trying to maintain basic life needs. Past tense. I've been struggling for a while with some of the stuff that's now hitting me full force. I'm finally regaining more of my mobility back. But what's the point. Why even bother trying. In a lot of ways he was my hope. We were both dealing with our own bullshit though. idk.
Always looking for reasons to keep trying; Always followed by the reality of the hopelessness I am now trying to outrun again. He said it sounded like despair. I go through these cycles and I can't see outside of this moment. Living as we do is a curse. Right now I am not being crushed by the weight of it all. But part of me is.
I repeat things like a mantra, like a prayer, like a cry for help. Saying the only constant in the world is change. Or all things in balance. Or whatever. Desperately reaching out for anyone to give me a reason to keep holding onto these threads. Holding onto these words. Holding onto something. So intangible.
Right now I don't know what I believe. I've lost people before but nothing has effected me like this. I wonder if he's a ghost haunting me. I talk to him like he is because the alternative is too much for me to bear (I also genuinely believe it but I struggle with reality so it's tricky). Is this okay? Suddenly I wonder about reincarnation and think it might be real.
I've never much cared what happens after we die. Always figured it doesn't matter because we'd all be dead when we're dead. You get buried or whatever and all that happens past that point of death is for those who are still alive. I recently learned that I probably get this view from my grandpa.
I might never recover. It feels like my heart has been ripped out. But it no longer feels like broken glass was shoved inside my chest trying to tear its way out. I'm able to keep food down again. Sometimes I still want to die to end all this bullshit and not have to deal with life. I am so tired. Exhausted. But sometimes I feel okay. And I think of him always. I have been changed. And I will keep changing. Perhaps one day things will feel okay. Perhaps things will be good. Perhaps. Knowing my luck I'll die as soon as things seem to be working out. Whatever is to come is still undecided and that at least is something on which we can rely.
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I can't take it
I'm sorry about this, but I can't go on living anymore. My life is an absolute dumpster fire, and this has solidified it.
My entire life up until I moved to Wisconsin, I've been physically and emotionally abused by my relatives, my only respite being my computer. Moving here hasn't really done anything for me except confirm that I can't even have friends, online or in real life. Dicking around on the internet was pretty much the only thing that kept me going, but now even that doesn't help.
I'm too weak, depressed, and emotionally far-gone to have friends or loved ones. I hardly do anything with them, especially IRL, and everyone just leaves me eventually, for good reason.
I'm just toxic, poisonous, and a horrible human being. I keep making mistakes and hurting people, and I can't do anything to change it. I just want constant attention because I can't take care of myself. I'm a parasite on good, decent people.
Last Sunday from the time I'm writing this, all of this was solidified. I spoke up about things that were making me uncomfortable on a Discord server, and someone told me I was doing it for the attention. I don't know if she was right or not, but it doesn't matter. The only thing I know for sure is that I can't live like this anymore.
My past trauma and living with toxic relatives for well over two decades has destroyed me, but so have my own stupid mistakes. I'll never, ever be happy or do better. I'll never be able to just move on. I'll never be able to recover.
Nothing will help me. Not calling a crisis line, not therapy, not medications, not even getting hospitalized. Nothing will do it. No amount of mental health resources can change what a terrible, broken person I am.
I know this will hurt people who do genuinely care about me, and I'm truly sorry. But I can't take this anymore. It doesn't matter anyway, if I stay alive, I'll just hurt them too. I can't live with that guilt.
I'm sorry. By the time you read this, I'll either be dead or in a mental ward. Either way, I hope this will amend for everything I've done, and I hope whatever comes after death is better than this.
Maybe I'm just doing this for the attention too. I don't know anymore. It doesn't matter. Even if I don't kill myself, I'm just going to stay away from people as much as possible. I'm too awful and destroyed to ever have people in my life.
To everyone I've hurt, I'm sorry. I'm truly, truly sorry.
To everyone I love, I'll miss you. I hope I can see you again.
Good bye.
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You couldn’t stay away from Twitter a month? Your already back? I thought you said you were never coming back because leaving it saved your life?
This is the last ask of this kind I'll answer, because this is getting incredibly childish, but I feel like I should clarify a couple things here:
You don't know me. I'm a 28 year old adult living my own life in a country far away from you, I can safely assume. Your excessive need to try and control my actions through bullying is a little troubling. The fact you think you have any moral highground over me for struggling with finding a healthy social media balance when you're actively a *bully* is ridiculous.
I left a dynamic that was harmful to me and threw me back into suicidal thoughts and depression. I reactivated my Twitter because it is 14 years old and I didn't want 14 years of memories and connections to disappear.
A couple evenings ago, I used it to communicate with old friends and some YouTubers I can only communicate with on there, who have known this account of mine for almost 10 years. I currently have no interest in sorting through and blocking 1700 people to get to use my old account again. I gave them the advice to unfollow, if they stuck around for Persona content. I unfollowed roughly 200 accounts before I grew bored of it. I don't even plan on using this account for more than an occasional interaction, but if I will end up using it more, and I feel okay doing that, then honey, that's fine too and I won't ask you for approval or permission because I don't need that. I'm my own person, making my own decisions in life and I recommend you do the same. Focus on your life a little.
I shared some nice photos and memories I made, because I felt very nostalgic and happy that day. I think it's genuinely concerning and real ugly that you not only regularly check up on my twitter to police what I post and when, but that you're here on my ass trying to ruin my genuine happiness with petty hate like a pre-schooler when I am recovering from depression and still trying to figure out what is working for me and what isn't.
And yeah. Leaving that space probably saved my life because I was in a horrible headspace and was surrounded by some genuinely horrible people (case and point: You.) and while I'm still working on my WIPs for the ship, I will continue to stay out of that space because of mfs like you, trying to get people killed.
Dunno what you're so mad about. The fact you had to find out that I'm not as alone as you thought I was? Hey, it's okay. You'll find someone who doesn't hate your toxic, stalking, obsessive ass, too. Maybe try some therapy first, though. Let a therapist help you shift your focus to the mess that is your life, instead of trying to escape it by putting others down for how they live theirs. I recommend it.
Therapy did, in fact, teach me to set healthy boundaries and leave spaces when they become bad for my mental health. Something you clearly take great issue with.
#ren rambles#hi it's me I'm the problem it's me#I'm genuinely not tho#I'm literally just living my life#offended people by posting 5 gamescom photos like#breathe honey it'll be okay#you'll live through it!!!#this account was my space long before it ever came into touch with you#I'm not giving it to you or anyone#it's mine#and what I do with it is sooooo not your business#my inbox#inbox
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So I'm not trying to be like anti-Callie or anything and I respect your opinion, but in what way was Callie ever a good partner to Arizona? Because I'm honestly struggling to find any examples. She didn't support her (never even congratulated her for Africa, didn't want her to take the fetal surgery fellowship), didn't take her concerns seriously (Mark and his role in Callie's life), basically pressured Arizona into "recovering" faster than she was ready to after the plane crash 1/2
because Arizona taking her time to get over severe trauma was inconveniencing her, she never apologized for anything, she never admitted she did anything wrong in their relationship, she just expected Arizona to do whatever Callie wanted and so on. Sure she did the bare minimum of not leaving her wife after a traumatic accident, but I wouldn't say that alone makes her a good partner to Arizona. I've always struggled with canon Callie, so I'm looking forward to reading your thoughts on that. 2/2
hi there! so i totally do believe that you're not trying to be anti-callie here and that this is a genuine question, but i will say that it kind of seems that you don't like callie as a character? which is cool, you're allowed to not like someone. i guess i'm not sure why you would be super interested in the opinion of someone who writes calzona fic & really loves callie, though? because i'm not sure my perspective on this is going to be satisfying to you, although i'll definitely try
callie definitely tends towards acts of service and gifts as love languages, so we see her consistently looking out for arizona, bringing her coffee, protecting her from wind/rain, helping her roller skate again, buying her gifts-- that sort of thing. she's action-oriented when it comes to how she shows love, which means she doesn't verbally apologize a lot but she does change her behavior when she realizes she's done something wrong
even with the africa breakup, she realizes she's been unsupportive and swings hard in the other direction. and, yeah, that comes off as obviously forced and false because it is but she's trying, yk? she was genuinely willing to move to africa for three years for arizona. her behavior beforehand wasn't supportive and arizona had every right to believe callie wouldn't have been truly happy in africa (lbr, she probably would not have been) but it's still a sacrifice callie was willing to make. she surprises arizona with little romantic gestures that show she knows what arizona likes (the b&b in s7, recognizing how hard the baby situation had been for az & the season 8 valentine's day camping debacle). throughout their marriage, she's arizona's rock-- when nick gets sick and arizona's breaking down about it, callie explicitly says "everything you can't do, i will. that's how this works." callie is all about showing up, even if how you show up isn't perfect. which, i think, is a big part of why the divorce hits so hard!
callie considers herself arizona's protector in a lot of ways. she thinks it's her job to look out for arizona, and we don't see her moving away from that mentality until s12. to callie, it's about taking care of arizona in the ways that make sense to herself. that's how she shows love
anyways here's a ktb sneak peek from the upcoming chapter:
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