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shmaptainwrites · 3 months

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𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐖𝐑𝐎𝐍𝐆 𝐈𝐃𝐄𝐀 [𝐉𝐀𝐌𝐄𝐒 𝐖𝐈𝐋𝐒𝐎𝐍]

PAIRINGS — James Wilson x ex-wife!Reader

SUMMARY — James and Reader have not been on great terms since their divorce, but an emerging situation with their son forces them to put aside their differences and work together and hope that past feelings don't resurface

WARNINGS — hospitalization, chronic illness, swearing, complicated feelings (idk y'all they're divorced what more can I say)

NOTE — Okay so I have so many things to say about this fic, but if I say them all this post will be way too long it already is like this came up as 33 pages in my docs but this is a day late birthday present for @shots-of-wilson-and-whiskey who also provided the James pic I hope you had such a fun day and a great year of simping ahead!

Pronounciation — Mahlet = Ma-h-let | Hennock = Hey-knock

Ever since you had become a mother, birthday parties were the bane of your existence. The sugar overload, the loud noises, the cleanup afterwards, all amounted to your own personal hell. Yet, you would move hell or high water for your son to have the most enjoyable party every single year.

Today was no different, eight years later you were still breaking your back to ensure every small detail was perfect, from the pin the spikes on the stegosaurus to the cake you’d spent at least a month painstakingly training to make.

A friend of yours, another parent from the school your son Julian went to, came over in the kitchen to give you a hand with some of the snacks.

“How are you managing here?” she asked and you took a deep breath.

“Managing is the operative word,” you chuckled. “Kids having fun out there?”

“Yeah, loads, you’ve outdone yourself again,” she assured you. “Will James be making an appearance?”

“I stopped asking myself that question after we got divorced,” you said while fixing the plate of vegetables and dip. “He’s supposed to, he promised Julian, but we all know how that ends.”

There seemed to be a bit of commotion out in the backyard and you tried to assess what was happening from the window, but your suspicions that something was off was confirmed when Julian’s best friend, Hennock, came rushing inside.

“Mrs. Wilson, something’s going on with Julian,” he said and you frowned while your friend followed you outside to see the kids circling around Julian who seemed to be gripping onto his chest.

“Jay, what’s going on? Are you okay?” you bent down to be closer to his eye-level, trying to understand what was happening to your son.

“Can’t…” he pointed to his mouth. “Can’t…breathe,” he wheezed.

Your eyes went wide, but before you could grab him and run for the car he began to cough and you hoped and prayed there was just something caught in his throat that would make its way out, but with the coughing came spatters of red all over your white shirt.

“Mahi,” you looked over at your friend quickly while picking Julian up. You didn’t have to say a word, she already knew what she needed to do.

Living close to the hospital, it was worth it to drive yourself, that way you didn’t have to wait for an ambulance to get to you. You had made the mental calculations many times before, just in case there was an emergency and now it was finally coming in handy.

When you got Julian in the car, you checked in on his breathing, it was still laboured, but at least at this point he was getting in the air, even if he was coughing up blood.

You turned on the car and began driving while calling your ex-husband with one hand. The line rang until you reached voicemail so you called again, expecting at least this time for him to pick up, only to hear the tone once more.

“Dammit James!” you threw your phone down on the seat next to you knowing you’d deal with him later, now you needed to focus on getting to the hospital without killing either of you.

Barely paying attention to how your car was parked, you grabbed Julian out of the back seat and ran into the ER with him.

“Ma’am, what’s going on?” a nurse came and asked you as you put Julian down.

“My son, he-he’s having trouble breathing and he’s coughing up blood I-I-I don’t know what’s happening.”

Before you could say a word they had whisked Julian away and another nurse came to ask you some questions about his medical history and any information that may be important to the doctors treating him.

“Where’s my son?” you asked, “I want to see my son.”

“Ma’am I’m sorry, but the doctors are working on getting his airway cleared, you can’t be with him right now.”

You pressed your lips into a thin line and bit back your tongue. There were a million and one things you wanted to say to the nurse, but none of them would help your situation. On the other hand, finding your ex might.

So instead of finding the waiting room you went over to the elevator and made your way up to the oncology department, briskly walking through the halls until you reached his office. At this point, you didn’t bother knocking, opening the door to see him sitting down over a file and talking with House.

“Hey Greg,” you said in a fake cheery voice. “Mind giving us the room?”

“Oh, this is the wife with the kid, did you forget to pay child support?” House asked James.

“Get out, Greg,” you said warningly and he listened, instead opting to steal the rest of James’ sandwich and slipping past you, while wishing James good luck and letting you slam the door shut behind you.

“What’s going on?” James asked, clearly confused by your demeanour and appearance. “If this is about the party I didn’t forget I was-wait is that blood,” he stood up from his chair and came over to you.

“What’s going on is you didn’t pick up your fucking phone,” you said angrily.

“Hey,” James looked at you sternly. “What is going on?” he repeated his question, this time more pointedly.

You could feel your lips begin to tremble and your vision became blurred while you shook your head.

“Who’s blood is on your shirt?”

You chewed on the inside of your cheek, “It’s Julian’s.”

“Julian-I-what happened?” his demeanour changed from frustrated with your attitude towards him to worrying for his son.

“I-I don’t know he said he couldn’t breathe and then he started coughing up blood and I just picked him up and drove him here a-and now they won’t let me see him.”

“You drove him?” he asked incredulously. “You didn’t think to maybe call an ambulance?”

“That’s what you’re hung up on? That I decided to drive because it was faster than getting him an ambulance?”

“That’s not what I-,”

“Yes it is,” you stepped back. “I wouldn’t have needed an ambulance if you were there.”

James sighed and chose to ignore your comment,

“Where is he?” he asked.

“Emergency room,” you muttered. “They won’t let me see him, you need to talk to them, say something, anything.”

James nodded his head, at least you could agree on that. He walked with you out of the office and to the elevator so you could go to the ER together and figure out what the hell was happening to your son.

When you got down there and James began speaking to the nurses, they informed him that Julian had been moved to the ICU and his respiration was being closely monitored while they ran a few tests to see what had caused the arrest.

You had to fight to hold yourself upright when they pulled back the curtain and you could see Julian hooked up to all the machines and with a ventilator tube stuck down his throat. You covered your mouth with your hand and shook your head again. This couldn’t be happening, now you were supposed to be cutting into cake and opening presents, not sitting in the ICU.

You stepped inside with James and he closed the curtain to give you a bit of privacy and decided to look over his chart and see if they had given any relevant information there. Seeing none, he turned his attention over to you, seeing your eyes filled with tears, unable to tear your gaze away from your son.

James walked over to you and cautiously put a hand on your shoulder, eventually encouraging you to turn around so he could pull you into his arms. You allowed your tears to soak his white coat, gripping onto him so tightly because there was nowhere else to hold.

You could hear his breathing change, accompanied by the small sniffles and you knew he was doing just as bad as you were right now, wiping the tears from his own eyes as he finally allowed himself to see his son as he was, sick, helpless, vulnerable, and only moments ago, without his dad’s help when he needed him most.

Your moment was interrupted when you heard the curtain being pulled back and you saw two doctors standing there. You pulled away from James and wiped whatever remaining tears were in your eyes so you could properly address them.

It seemed as though one of the doctors recognized James and when he looked down at the file and saw the name he made the connection internally.

“Can we talk to you guys out in the waiting room for a moment?” he asked.

“I don’t want to leave my son,” you shook your head.

“Ma’am, this is the ICU and the visiting hours are very strictly adhered to, I think your husband maybe got lucky and pulled a few strings so you could see your son, but we need to leave now.”

“He’s not my husband,” you muttered and reluctantly followed them out of the makeshift room and towards the waiting area.

“Did you find out what was wrong?” James asked, crossing his arms over his chest. “I looked at his chart. You took him for an emergency CT and bloodwork.”

“We also ran a few other tests,” the doctor began explaining. “From the medical history your, um, ex wife gave I had a suspicion of something so we ran a sweat test to check for elevated chloride levels and it just came back positive.”

“Chloride levels?” you looked up at James. “What does that mean?”

James sighed and ran a hand through his hair, “It means Julian has cystic fibrosis.”

“I-I’ve heard of that, is it curable?” you asked.

“I’ll leave you guys with Dr. Liu, he deals with the pediatric cystic fibrosis cases and will be able to answer your questions better than I can,” he wished you a good day and left you alone with the other doctor.

“Cystic fibrosis is manageable-,”

“So you can’t cure it,” you reiterated.

The doctor shook his head, “Unfortunately there is no cure for CF yet, but many people have been able to live longer and happy lives with the medical technology now available.”

James was silent, taking in all the information that was being presented.

“How did he get it? Is it contagious or-or was it just always there?” you asked.

“It’s a genetic condition, so he’s always had it, the symptoms have just gotten to the point where they’re now visible,” the doctor explained.

“I-It’s genetic so one of us is a carrier?” you pointed to you and James.

“We both are,” James said. “Both parents have to be carriers to pass it down to their child, right?”

Dr. Liu nodded and you pressed your lips together.

“C-Can you just tell us what this means for right now?” you asked. “I just think-I think I need a minute.”

Dr. Liu nodded his head and explained they were giving Julian medication to help with the infection and airway damage that caused him to cough up blood, then they would get him on some bronchodilators to help with his breathing for the time being while they assessed what other issues the cystic fibrosis had potentially caused in his body. He’d have to stay at the hospital for a while, but hopefully could be moved to the pediatric ward within the next day or so.

“We can talk more about what Julian’s medical journey will look like later, I’ll give you guys some time together and if you have any questions, Wilson’s got my pager and knows where my office is.”

You nodded your head and thanked him quietly as he left the waiting area. You finally sat down on one of the chairs.

James took the seat next to you and you covered your face with your hands.

“We couldn’t give him a functional family and a happy home and now we’ve given him a chronic medical condition to top it off.”

“Blaming ourselves isn’t going to do anything for Julian,” James said.

“And sitting around here is?” you asked and James sighed.

“No, no it’s not.”

You sat there in silence for a little while longer before you noticed James stand up and motion for you to follow him. As much as you didn’t want to listen to him and just sit and wait until they would let you be with Julian again, you got up and followed him to one of the OR supply closets. He used a key to unlock the door and sifted through some materials until he found what he was looking for, pulling out a scrub shirt in your size and handing it over to you.

You looked down at your own shirt, seeing the red specks of Julian’s blood and closed the door behind your both, pulling your shirt off over your head and handing it to James. You were about to put the other shirt on when you noticed the flecks of dried blood against your chest.

While you eyes were transfixed on that, James had grabbed an alcohol wipe package from the shelves and tore it open with his teeth, removing the wipe and reaching over to help you clean the blood off yourself.

“James, I can do it myself,” you reached for the wipe, but he pulled it away.

“You’ve got some on your neck too, just let me take care of it,” he insisted.

You knew better than to cause a fight over something trivial like this right now so you put your hands down, watching as James tossed your shirt over his shoulder and carefully began wiping away the specks of your son’s blood off your chest, collarbone, and neck.

“Have you eaten today?” he asked you while holding your face to tilt it to the side so he could get a spot he’d missed earlier.

“No, why?”

“Because it’s his birthday, you’d always forget to eat until dinner and even then it would be scraps from the party until I forced you to eat something better,” he recounted. “Let’s just go grab something from the cafeteria before we go back to the ICU, okay?”

“Will it make a difference if I say I’m not hungry?” you asked.

“You can’t take care of Julian if you’re not taking care of yourself.”

You scoffed and pulled the shirt over your head, “And you’ve suddenly become an expert on taking care of your family?”

“Believe it or not, we were once happy and there was a reason we got married and decided to have a child together.”

“And there’s a reason we got divorced too,” you added and opened the door behind you.

You didn’t go to the cafeteria, instead heading back to the ICU waiting room knowing either visiting hours would have to start eventually or they’d move Julian to his own room and you could finally sit with him.

James clearly hadn’t followed you so you ended up alone again, wringing your hands and waiting for some sort of news.

Eventually, you felt a bag drop on your lap and you looked up and saw James standing overtop of you. You looked inside and saw a package of a sandwich, a small bag of chips, and a water bottle.

You knew he was right, that if you didn’t take care of yourself you wouldn’t be able to take care of Julian, so you forced yourself to eat, even if you didn’t want to.

A little while later, Dr. Liu had returned and informed you that they were moving Julian to the pediatric ward and you could stay with him there in his room. When you joined him there, James had taken off his white coat and tossed it on one of the chairs, rolling up the sleeves of his shirt and sitting down next to Julian’ taking one of his hands in his own.

“Don’t you have patients you need to see?” you asked, sitting on the opposite side of the hospital bed.

“I told Cuddy I needed the day, someone else is taking care of it for me,” he said, not removing his gaze from Julian.

With the two of them sitting next to each other like that, you could clearly see the similarities Julian had with his father. They shared the same eyes and nose, and when they smiled they had the same little creases around their eyes.

You wished that’s what you could have been looking at, them smiling together, instead of the frown etched onto James’ face and Julian still fast asleep while an oxygen mask now delivered the air he needed to help him breathe.

“Do you know much about cystic fibrosis?” you asked James, brushing your thumb against Julian’s other hand.

“Only that it mainly affects the digestive system and the respiratory tract,” he explained. “I’m not too familiar with how it's managed, just that there’s regular doctor’s visits and probably some medication and therapies involved.”

You could feel a small stirring and you looked down and saw Julian’s hand begin to move underneath yours.

You smiled when you saw his eyes blink open and James was quick to stand up and come closer to him so he had a familiar face to look at while he took in his surroundings.

“Hey buddy,” James smiled and you could see Julian light up at the sight of his dad. He lifted his hand to try to remove the oxygen mask, but James gently encouraged him not to. “This is giving your lungs an extra hand right now, let’s just keep it on until the doctor tells us it's okay to take it off.”

“But you’re a doctor,” Julian countered and James chuckled.

“I am, but I'm not your doctor. I am, however, your dad so you have to listen to me anyways,” he teased and bent down to kiss his son’s cheek and tickle him a little bit in the process.

“Hey, go easy on him,” you placed a gentle hand on James' arm and he laid off.

“You know,” James said. “It’s still your birthday.”

“It is?” Julian asked and you both nodded and James reached down to grab something he’d brought with him.

“All the presents your friends got you are at home waiting for you to get better so you can open them, but this is what I got for you,” he said. “I was gonna come and bring it to the party, but I think you brought the party to me.”

Julian laughed a little at that and you rolled your eyes, of course James could make himself look good by not showing up.

He sat up with the help of his dad and pulled out the tissue paper from the bag to see the present that was hiding underneath. With a big grin on his face, he took out a dinosaur stuffed animal along with a book all about the different species of the Cretaceous period.

“This is awesome,” Julian grinned. “Thanks dad, I love it.”

James gave Julian another kiss and you joined them, taking a seat on the bed and glancing over at the book on Julian’s lap.

“How are you feeling sweetheart?” you asked, fixing the twisted band of the oxygen mask on his face.

“My throat hurts a little bit,” he admitted. “And I’m kinda hungry.”

“Let me call a nurse and we’ll see what you can eat,” you said and pressed the button to send someone over from the nurses’ station.

Meanwhile, James poured Julian a glass of water and helped him take a few sips of it. His throat was probably irritated from being on the ventilator, but his lungs had become stabilized from the use of the bronchodilators.

The nurse came and you spoke to her about getting Julian something to eat and she said she’d double check with Dr. Liu and then grab him some food.

“Hey, Jay,” you walked over to the bed and took your son’s hand in yours. “Are you okay to hang out here with dad while I go grab some stuff from home? The doctors said we might hang around here for a few days so I think I need to pack a bag.”

“Yeah, that’s okay,” Julian nodded. “Are you okay mom?” he reached up and touched your cheek and you realized you'd let a few more tears slip.

“Yeah, I’m just really happy you’re okay,” you wiped the tears away and pressed a big kiss to his cheek. “Right, Jamie? We’re both happy he’s okay.”

James looked over at you with softness reflecting in his eyes at the sound of the nickname he hadn’t heard in a long time and nodded his head.

“Bring some cake back with you,” Julian whispered. “Even if dad and the doctor say no we can sneak some.”

You laughed at his plan and gave him another kiss, assuring him you’d pack some in a container to bring for him when you came back.

When you arrived at your home, you thought you might cry at the sight in front of you. The kitchen and living room were completely clean, presents piled neatly on the coffee table along with a new card you didn’t recognize. Coming closer, you noticed the bright marker, signature of eight-year-olds across the country, with the message Get Well Soon Julian! written on it and signed by all his friends who had attended the party.

You packed the card in your bag along with a few other things and made a mental note to grab a nice thank you gift for Mahlet to thank her for what she had done.

As promised, you cut a big chunk of cake, enough for the three of you to share, and packed it in a tupperware to bring back to the hospital.

You grabbed a few changes of clothes for both you and Julian and changed out of the temporary shirt you had on and into something more comfortable for the rest of the evening, making sure everything you needed was in place before heading out and going back to the hospital.

When you got back to Julian’s room you saw James squished in next to him on the bed, the book he had bought him opened on his lap as he read its contents to Julian. Julian was resting his head against James’ arm and James was doing those big exaggerations he always would whenever he’d read bedtime stories to Julian, emphasizing all the insane details and changing the inflections of his voice in just the right way to make him laugh.

“I brought cake,” you grinned, holding up the container as you entered the room, holding three plastic forks. “If Dr. Dad says it's okay, we can eat it.”

“Dr. Dad desperately needs some sugar,” James nodded his head and closed the book for the time being while you took a seat by Julian’s legs and opened the container, handing each of the boys a fork.

You helped Julian take off his oxygen mask for the time being and placed it off to the side, acutely aware of how his breathing sounded more laboured without it.

James only snuck in a couple bites of the cake before taking the mask from your side and holding it ready in case Julian needed a bit of an extra hand.

Just as he had predicted, after a few bites of cake Julian was noticing a bit of a difficulty to get air into his lungs and James held up the mask to his face, allowing him to take a couple deep breaths.

“What do you think of the cake, Jay?” you asked.

“Really good, just like everytime you make it,” he grinned.

“I’m sorry you didn’t have a great birthday, buddy,” James apologized. “I mean with all your friends and classmates.”

“What do you mean?” Julian asked. “I think I had a good birthday.”

“You do?” you frowned curiously, wondering what kind of light he’d seen in the day that you and James as worried parents had somehow missed. “What made it good?”

“We’re sitting eating cake. Together. Just like when I was little,” he said simply and you chewed on the inside of your cheek, looking over at James whose gaze hadn’t left Julian. He almost looked disappointed, at what, you couldn’t place, but at least for the moment Julian was happy and that was all either of you really wanted.

—

You grabbed your purse from the ground and thanked Dr. Liu for all of the information he had given you and assured you’d be there with Julian at the allocated follow-up time you had arranged. You were just about to leave when James came rushing into the room, apologies spewing out of his mouth for being late.

“Late? You missed the whole appointment.”

“I-I did?” he said, looking down at his watch and cursing when he saw the time.

“Jay, sweetheart, why don’t you sit down here,” you moved out of Dr. Liu’s office and set him up on a chair in one of the general waiting areas and handed him his dinosaur book from your purse. “I just need to go have a chat with your dad real quick.”

Julian nodded and opened up the book, flipping through the pages while you grabbed James’ arm and pulled him into a dead-end hallway so you could speak in private.

“What the hell took you so long?” you asked firmly. “We waited for twenty minutes before even starting the appointment!”

“I’m sorry,” James apologized, “I was in the OR with a patient and something went haywire and it took longer than expected to fix it.”

“Still, you couldn’t have told someone to at least pass on a message?”

“I was in the middle of saving a patient’s life! What did you want me to do?”

“I wanted you to be there for your son,” you whispered harshly. “You make promises you can’t keep and I have to watch him get disappointed over and over again. He does not deserve that, especially now.”

James placed his hands on his hips and said,

“I am trying to be there, it’s not for lack of effort-,”

“Well try harder!” you threw your hands up in the air. “You’re an ex-husband James, not an ex-father. You don’t have to show up for me anymore, but you damn well better show up for him.”

When he said nothing you continued.

“Believe it or not, you don’t have to work as much as you do James. You chose to do that and right now that’s coming at your son’s expense and he is scared and vulnerable and neither of us know half of what Dr. Liu is talking to us about. Do you know what he said to me when I was confused about the management plan? He said Dad would know what this means. Dad can help us. And he’s right, you would have known and you can help so stop acting like your fucking schedule controls you and get your schedule under control.”

James was quiet for a moment before he nodded his head,

“Okay,” he said simply.

You knew better than to get your hopes up with him and you didn’t have any more energy to argue, so you told him you could talk more later, but right now you were going to take Julian home so he could rest in his own bed and finally open his birthday presents.

“Is dad coming with us?” Julian asked when you picked him up and began walking away to leave the hospital.

“No, not this time,” you shook your head.

“Did you fight with him again?” Julian asked and you pressed your lips together.

“We just had a disagreement,” you settled on. “You can call him later when he’s done work if you want to talk to him, sounds good?”

Julian was content with your answer and left it at that.

Over the next few days, aside from Julian’s call, you didn’t hear much for James and you assumed things were right on track to going back to the way they had always been. You loved your son to pieces, but this was one time you wished his dad would be here to support, working and caring for Julian on top of trying to figure out how to be his at home doctor was already taking its toll and you didn’t know how you’d be able to keep it up.

One night, you were sitting in the living room reading a book Dr. Liu had recommended. It was detailing strategies for parents with children who had cystic fibrosis. In the middle of your chapter you were interrupted by a knock to your door and you put in your bookmark, wondering who was stopping by this far into the evening.

Unlocking the door and opening it, you found it hard to hide the surprise in your face when you saw James on the other end.

“James?” you tilted your head. “I haven’t heard from you at all this week, what’s going on?”

“I reduced my patient load,” he said, “and I talked to Cuddy about reducing my clinic hours. I still have to do some administrative stuff for the department, but it can be done from home for the most part.”

“Oh,” you were surprised to say the least. You didn’t realize your outburst the other day had worked.

“You were right,” he said. “I need to be here for Julian and I can’t do that if my work always comes first.”

You nodded your head, following along with what he was saying.

“C-Can I come in and see him?” James asked. “I know our custody agreement has always been all over the place-,”

You didn’t say anything, simply opening the door wider for him to come inside.

“He’s asleep in his room,” you said. “When you’re done we can talk some more.”

James nodded and stepped inside, slipping off his shoes and taking off his jacket, making his way to Julian’s room to sit with him for a moment before joining you in the kitchen.

“Want something to drink?” you asked and he said some water would be nice. You poured him a glass while waiting for the water to boil for your tea.

“I saw the book you were reading over there,” he pointed to the couch. “Dr. Liu recommended it to me too, I just finished it the other night.”

“Show off,” you rolled your eyes and handed him the glass.

“What I was trying to say is I think something that stood out to me is having consistency and a routine is good, especially when things are new,” James explained. “I don’t think it makes sense for him to be moving back and forth from here to my place.”

“So you think we should have a home base here?” you confirmed and he nodded.

“I can come by more often, if there’s days where you need to be at work I can be doing the administrative stuff here after school and take care of Julian until you get back.”

You pursed your lips and as you heard the kettle click, moved to pour your hot water into the mug you were holding.

“These are all good ideas,” you started.

“I’m assuming there’s a but coming?”

“But I don’t want to give Julian the wrong impression is all.”

James shook his head.

“You really need to pick whatever it is you want,” James crossed his arms over his chest. “First I’m not here enough, I don’t put my family first. Now I’m putting my family first and you’re worried Julian’s going to think this means we’re getting back together.”

“He doesn’t need to get his hopes up for something that’s never going to happen,” you said flatly.

“Have you ever considered having a conversation with him instead of shielding him from every little thing that might hurt him?” James asked and you rolled your eyes.

“Clearly every little thing can hurt him!” you pointed over to his room. “He can’t even breathe without help, James. Maybe he needs to be protected.”

“Stop, just stop,” James ran a hand over his face. “I can’t get into a fight with you every single time we see each other. Julian is just as much my son as he is yours, if this is going to work we need to be able to have a conversation with each other.”

You took a sip of your tea and said,

“Okay, I’m worried Julian might take the fact that you’re around more the wrong way.”

James nodded his head, “I hear you, so maybe we should talk to him about it and say I’m coming around more to lend a hand around the house and help take care of him.”

“Dad? What are you doing here?” as if on cue, Julian had walked into the kitchen, rubbing his eyes awake and adjusting to the light.

“Julian, where’s your oxygen mask?”

“I don’t wanna wear it mom,” he whined. “I don’t like the way it feels on my face.”

You sighed, having had this conversation at least five times before, you didn’t know what else you could say to convince him.

“Hey buddy, maybe we should listen to mom on this one,” James suggested. “You know that feeling you’ve got right here,” he pointed to his chest. “That’s only gonna get worse if you don’t wear it and we don’t want to have to go to the hospital again, right?”

Julian shook his head and sighed, stomping back over to his room to grab the portable machine and place the tube under his nose and around his ears, allowing him to get the right amount of oxygen.

You looked over at James gratefully and he reached his hand out to yours and gave it a squeeze. It was nice being on the same team even if you had just been arguing.

When Julian came back he repeated his question to his dad who explained that he was here to talk to you about a few things that would be changing soon and that he’d be around more to help look after him.

“If you’re going to be here to help look after me can you stay tonight?” Julian asked. “Mom still has some of your clothes in those boxes in her closet.”

“She does, does she,” James looked over at you.

“It was the stuff you wanted to give away and I never got around to it,” you said. “There’s probably a hoodie and some pyjama pants in there if you want to stay.”

James pressed his lips together and sighed,

“You know buddy as much as I would love to have a sleepover with you I don’t think it’s a good idea if I spend the night here,” James said. “But I can tuck you in again and wait until you fall asleep to go back home.”

“Mom, can you come too?” Julian asked and you nodded your head.

James stood up and helped Julian carry his portable oxygen machine back to his bedroom and you trailed behind them, watching as James carefully tucked Julian back under the covers while peppering his face with small kisses, like he would do when Julian was younger and just learning to sleep in his own room.

“Dad that tickles,” Julian giggled and James simply smiled and continued littering his face with kisses.

“Too bad. I love you too much; I just can’t get enough of you.”

“Alright, move it,” you nudged James from the opposite side of the bed and took your turn. “It must tickle having two parents who love you so damn much.”

“It does,” Julian’s laughter died out as you both finally left him alone, sitting on either side of his mattress.

You both wished him a good night and waited as he slowly fell back asleep. When his breathing was steady and his grip loosened on yours and James’ hands you took it as your cue to leave the room.

James placed a hand on your shoulder as you stepped out of the room, prompting you to turn around and face him.

“I’ll come by tomorrow and we can work out a schedule or something, does that sound good?”

You nodded your head,

“Yeah, I have a work thing tomorrow in the evening, I was gonna ask Mahlet, Hennock’s mom, if she could come look after Julian, but if you’re around…”

“I’ll come for dinner and then do the bedtime routine,” he said and you smiled.

“James I’m begging you-,”

“I won’t be late,” he assured. “No surgeries planned and I’m ending my shift with clinic duty.”

You pressed your lips into a thin line and nodded your head.

“I’ll see you then,” you patted his arm and he showed himself out.

You walked back to the kitchen grabbing your now lukewarm cup of tea and sitting back on the couch picking up your book and opening it, reading until you couldn’t keep your eyes open any longer, falling asleep right there on the couch.

—

Over the next few months, you, James, and Julian had developed some sort of routine around school, work, and doctor’s appointments. A part of you thought you were spending more time together as a family than when you were married.

Today you had to go in for work, also having reduced your hours, but in a way that you were working in tandem with James. When you arrived back home the house smelled like warm spices and big plates of home-cooked food.

You dropped your keys on the entryway table, next to James’ keys and wallet and took off your jacket, hanging it up before coming to the kitchen and seeing Julian and Hennock doing their homework at the island.

“Mr. Wilson, what is the difference between these two words?” Hennock asked, holding up his paper so James could see while cutting some vegetables for a salad.

“I think the first one is the kind of principal in your school that looks after all the students and the other one is… man, that’s hard to describe. Hey, how do you describe what principle is to an eight-year-old?” James asked you.

“I think that kind of principle is something that guides the way people behave or act,” you sat next to Julian and Hennock. “Like a principle is the foundation for something that people believe in.”

Hennock and Julian still looked a little confused by your explanation so you tried to give an example.

“So a principle could be to be kind to everyone we meet and so people who believe in that principle will try to follow it.”

That put it in better terms for them to understand and there was a chorus of oh’s before they looked back down at their papers and scribbled down a few things to answer the questions they were asked.

“They learning about homonyms?” you asked James and he nodded.

“I talked to Mahlet,” James said, changing the topic. “Hennock’s gonna stay for dinner and she’ll come pick him up around seven.”

“Sounds good, it’s always nice to have you, Henny,” you smiled and ruffled your hand through his coarse curly hair in an endearing way.

“Thanks, Mrs. Wilson,” Hennock smiled.

James was now over the stove, stirring what looked like a soup before giving it a taste and figuring something might be missing.

“Can you taste this?” James asked. “I don’t know why, but every time I make it there’s something off.”

You took a spoon and tried a little bit of the broth, looking down to see that he was making matzah ball soup and immediately when you tasted it you knew what was missing.

“I know what it is,” you said. “But you can’t tell your mom I told you. She swore me to secrecy.”

“My mother told you this?” James asked and you nodded.

“When we were getting married she wanted me to know how to make it the way she would for you when you were sick.”

“And she didn’t think to tell her own son how to do this?” he seemed thoroughly offended, but all you could do was laugh.

“It’s tarragon. I don’t think it’s something everyone adds, it was just something special she’d put in hers to make it a little different. Here,” you reached into the spice cupboard and took out a jar of dried tarragon and took a bit of the herb out of the container and crushed it in your hands before sprinkling it into the soup. James mixed it in and gave the broth a minute to soak in the flavour before trying it again and shaking his head.

“I can’t believe she didn’t tell me!”

“I’ll let you finish having your little meltdown,” you patted his back. “I’m gonna hop in the shower quickly and we can eat when I get out.”

“Did Dad forget the tarragon?” Julian asked and you nodded your head.

“Wow, so everyone knew, but me?” James asked and you nodded your head with a shrug.

“Sorry, I guess your mom has favourites, or something.”

“Figures,” James teasingly rolled his eyes and you chuckled, waving him off and going to take a shower and change into something a little more comfortable.

When you came back outside they had migrated to the dining room table, each with a bowl of soup in front of them and a plate of salad. You sat on the same side as James since Julian and Hennock were already sitting next to each other and the boys happily recounted the details of their school day and playdate with you while everyone ate their soup and salad.

“What did you do at work, Dad?” James asked.

“Oh, nothing interesting,” he shook his head. “I think your mom was doing bigger things than me.”

“Bigger than treating people with cancer? You flatter me,” you drank some of your soup’s broth. “I had a meeting with a big company about a building they’re making.”

“Did you go do a site visit?” James asked and you nodded.

“Engineers are being a pain in the butt, keep making me adjust the design, but we’ll see who gets the last laugh.”

“Mom always does,” Julian told Hennock and they chuckled along with James.

After dinner James helped you clear up some of the dishes before heading out and leaving you with the boys. When Mahlet came by to pick Hennock up you invited her in for tea and a little visit.

“Thanks for coming to stay with Julian the other night,” you said after handing her a mug. “For once, I was the late one and James had an emergency come up so it was a huge help.”

“And how are things now, with the co-parenting?”

You took a sip of your tea, “Weirdly good,” you admitted. “We don’t argue as much which is nice and Julian gets to see his dad more.”

“Do you think maybe you’re not fighting because he’s changing?” she asked.

“I don’t wanna go down that path,” you shook your head. “If Jay hadn’t been diagnosed things would still be the same as they always were.”

“But they’re not. More often than not people show their true colours during times of difficulty.”

You took a deep breath and sighed, “If that was the case I would have seen something worth keeping when my marriage was falling apart.”

Mahlet nodded, seeing as you had a point and your conversation was halted as they boys came out of Julian’s room.

Mahlet and Hennock left shortly afterwards and you quickly got Julian ready for bed, tucking him in and then going to get settled yourself. You looked through a few client papers for work before calling it a night and turning off your bedside lamp, curling into bed and falling asleep.

Your sleep was interrupted in the middle of the night by a tapping on your shoulder and when you blinked your eyes open you saw Julian standing next to your bed.

“Jay, sweetheart, is something wrong?” you asked.

“My stomach really hurts,” he told you and you sat up, motioning for him to come sit with you on the bed.

“Where?” you asked, turning on the light and he pointed to the upper right corner of his abdomen. If you remembered correctly that wasn’t exactly where his stomach was and your suspicions were confirmed when you saw the yellowing whites of his eyes. “Oh, sweetheart, I think we have to go to the hospital.”

“The hospital? What happened?” Julian looked worried and you assured him everything would be alright.

“We’re just being safe,” you told him. “I’m gonna call your dad, maybe he can tell us a little bit more of what’s going on. Do you feel good enough to get your jacket and shoes and your hospital bag?”

Julian nodded his head and you gave him a kiss and he went off to grab his things while you did the same, but also taking your cell phone and calling James.

It took a few rings, but he eventually picked up.

“Hey, did something happen?” he asked and you could still hear the sleep thick in his voice.

“I think something’s wrong with Julian. I’m gonna take him to the hospital, can you meet us there?”

“Yeah, of course, I’m on my way.”

“James…the whites of his eyes were yellow. Does he have jaundice?” you asked.

“It’s possible, was there anything else?”

“Yeah, he mentioned stomach pain, but he pointed to like his upper right abdomen, I think,” you explained while grabbing your bag and putting on some socks.

“Makes sense as a liver issue,” you could hear his car starting in the background. “If he’s presenting symptoms now I would call an ambulance.”

“James-,”

“Just trust me,” he said. “Call 911.”

“Okay,” you nodded your head and hung up, calling the emergency services and explaining the situation to them and then to Julian while you waited for them to arrive.

James made the right call, seeing as while you were in the ambulance Julian began to throw up and the paramedics obviously handled it better than you could have if you had driven him.

When you arrived at the ER they wheeled Julian away and you began getting flashbacks to when you first brought him in.

“Where are you taking him?” you called after them, but no one answered you. “What the hell kind of hospital is this?! Where are you taking my son?!”

“Ma’am they're taking your son to do a liver biopsy,” one of the nurses came back and informed you. “We need you to sign this consent form.”

You nodded your head and took the pen from her hand, signing it, but just as you were about to ask her a question she ran off to give them the okay.

You could feel your anger and worry bubbling inside your throat and you wanted to let it out in a scream and you were about to go running after her, but before you could you felt someone grab your wrist and pull you back.

“James let me go,” you said warningly, looking back at your ex-husband.

“No,” he stated just as firmly.

“James-,”

“I am not going to let you do something you’re going to regret,” he said and pulled you into his chest, wrapping his arms around you, even when you pushed to get away.

“James, let me go.”

“No,” he repeated and simply held onto you tighter.

“Let me-,” your voice broke and you stopped pushing away. “Please, Jamie, please I just want to see him,” you cried into his shirt and he squeezed you so tight you thought you might get bruises in your arm from the way he was holding you.

“I know, I know,” he whispered. “You brought him here and he’s going to be fine.”

“I can’t do this anymore, James. I can't be his mom and his doctor and they can’t expect me to wait out here while they drag him away and ask me to consent to God knows what.”

James didn’t know what to tell you, instead he just continued to hold you close, rubbing his hands up and down your back, and pressed a soft kiss against your temple.

You wrapped your arms around him and finally let yourself fully sink into his embrace, hating yourself for how much you liked it and how good it made you feel while your son was in some back corner of the ER getting a piece of his liver biopsied.

Eventually James pulled away from you, helping you dry your tears on the sleeve of his sweater and walking with his arm wrapped around you to the waiting area. You didn’t know how long you were sitting there, but it was possible that you had dozed off once or twice against James’ arm, waiting to hear some sort of news from the ER doctor.

“Mr. and Mrs. Wilson?”

Your eyes blinked open when James gently shook you awake.

“That’s us,” he said. “Is Julian okay?”

“Your son has a mild case of cirrhosis,” the doctor explained. “Due to his cystic fibrosis diagnosis we believe this is due to clogging and inflammation in his bile ducts.”

“What does that mean for him? Does he need surgery to fix it?” you asked, fighting back a tired yawn.

“Unfortunately, yes,” the doctor nodded. “It’s good you caught it early, there’s minimal damage to his liver so far and he’s still growing which means his liver is too. We can get him into an OR tomorrow if you consent to the surgery.”

You looked over at James and he nodded his head. You trusted him and told the doctor you would sign the papers as soon as you could see Julian.

“He’s been moved to the pediatric ward for now and Dr. Liu has been informed of the development. He should be in touch with you tomorrow.”

“Thank you,” James said and when the doctor left, he helped you up and you began the walk up to the pediatric ward.

When you arrived a nurse pointed you in the direction of his room and after each pressing a kiss to Julain’s forehead you sat on the seat bench together.

“We should sleep,” James said, but you had a hard time imagining how that would be possible.

“I’m having a hard time working out the logistics,” you admitted.

“Come on, it’ll be just like on the way back from our honeymoon,” he insisted, recalling your extremely delayed flight on the way back from France, causing you to sleep with your head on James’ lap, stretched out along the airport chairs.

You were too tired to argue or try and find another way, so you leaned down and rested your head against his legs, closing your eyes and sighing when you felt his hand rub up and down in long motions along the side of your body. Sleep could not have come quicker.

—

“Mom…Mom, Dad?”

Julian rolled his eyes when he received no answer and grabbed the stuffed animal you had placed next to him when he’d come into the room and threw it at his sleeping parents, nailing his dad in the face.

“Oh, God, mhm, wake up,” James shook you while he raised his hands to rub his face.

“Huh?” you opened your eyes and pushed yourself off of James’ lap. “Oh crap, my back. Remind me not to listen to you when you talk about doing something I did ten years ago.”

“Julian, did you throw Steggy at my face?” James asked, picking up the stuffed animal from where it had fallen on you.

“You weren’t getting up,” Julian shrugged his shoulders.

“Julian,” you chastised and took the dinosaur from James’ hand. “You could have hurt your dad’s important doctor-face,” you joked and rubbed your hand all over James’ face making Julian laugh.

“Okay, okay,” James moved your hand away and gave you a look.

“How are you feeling, sweetheart?” you yawned and moved from the bench to the side of his bed.

“A little better,” he said. “Did the doctors fix what was wrong?”

“Not yet,” James shook his head and came to sit next to you and placed a hand on Julian’s. “You’re gonna have to go in for surgery today.”

“A surgery?” Julian looked a little nervous. “Like cut me open?”

“It’ll be just a line right here,” James drew it with his finger along Julian’s abdomen. “They’re going to fix a part of you called your bile duct and then sew you right back up and you’ll be good as new.”

“Is it dangerous?” he asked.

You looked over at James, a small note telling him to lie to make him feel better. He didn’t need to know all the details.

“No,” James shook his head. “You’re gonna be fine and your mom and I will be here the whole time.”

“Promise?” Julian whispered.

“Swear on it,” James leaned in towards his son and snuck a kiss to his cheek. “We love you, buddy.”

“I love you guys too.”

Dr. Liu came by a little while later to inform you what time the surgery was scheduled for and he helped make Julian feel a lot better about the procedure. When it was finally time for him to go, you were a nervous wreck, but tried not to let it show for Julian’s sake, instead just pressing a big kiss to his forehead and telling him you’d be waiting for him once he got out.

It only took about fifteen minutes of your pacing to get James to grab onto your arm and make you stop.

“You’re gonna burn a hole in the ground,” he said.

“I don’t know what to do with myself,” you admitted. “If I sit I’m gonna fidget, if I stand I’m going to pace.”

“Then come on, let’s go to my office for a second, grab a coffee and a snack and then we can come back out and wait,” he suggested.

You agreed to his idea so he stood up and you walked side by side to his office, passing House who had some comment about your dishevelled appearance together.

“You’re an interesting man, Greg,” you shook your head at him. “You can’t think of any other reason we might be here?”

House was silent so James explained,

“Julian’s in surgery right now. He’s got cirrhosis.”

“Ah so not a late night ex-wife rendez-vous. Can’t get ‘em right all the time,” he shrugged and you chuckled. “I hope the kid’s alright.”

“Thanks, that means a lot coming from you,” you admitted.

He raised his brows and lifted his cane to say goodbye, letting you and James continue your walk to his office.

“House mind that you’re not spending as much time here?” you asked.

“No, he just bothers me more when I am around,” James said while opening the door and letting you inside.

He went towards his desk and pulled out a few packages of snacks tossing you one and you shook your head when you saw the label.

“You still eat these? I thought the FDA recalled them?” you asked sarcastically.

“I’m sorry I have better taste in food than you do,” he said right back.

“Right, this is food,” you chuckled. “And if you have such good taste why didn’t your mom tell you about her secret ingredient?”

“That’s cold,” he pointed to you with a bag of chips in his hand.

“No, it’s true. Just like your dad telling me I was his favourite wife of yours,” you opened the bag James had tossed you.

“Just shut up and eat your snack,” James chuckled and you listened to him, beginning to eat a little something, not realizing how hungry you were until the food made its way to your stomach.

“You got another one of these?” you asked and he nodded, passing it to you when you were finished with the first one.

“Feeling a little better?” James asked and you nodded your head.

“Hey James?” you said, unsure of how you’d gotten to this point, but you were too exhausted to stop yourself from saying it. “I want you to move back in.”

“You want me to do what?” he raised his brows and looked at you stunned.

“I want you to move back in with me and Julian,” you said. “It’s becoming pretty clear to me that it’s safer to have two people around when possible than not and you’re already around all the time now.”

“Are you sure this is a good idea?” he asked. “I mean you didn’t want to give Julian the wrong idea about us.”

“Our lives changed the second we got that diagnosis. I think we need to change along with everything else.”

You couldn’t believe that just barely twelve hours ago you were telling your friend there was no chance James had changed, but here you were saying things that had proved you had changed. Things you wouldn’t have dreamt of saying a year ago.

“Okay,” James nodded. “I’ll move back in.”

You just silently hoped you wouldn’t regret asking.

Waiting for Julian to get out of surgery was a little easier now that you had some food in your stomach and you decided to wait on coffee until you got the note from the surgeon that everything had gone well.

As James had continued to assure you almost a hundred times, the surgery went fine and before you knew it you were back in Julian’s room watching him sleep off the anaesthetic.

“You know he looks like you when he sleeps,” James said from the bench while you sat on the bed next to Julian.

“He does?”

“Yeah, his nose does that same scrunchy thing when he sniffles and when he snores-,”

“Hey, I only snore when I’m congested,” you said defensively.

“I never minded,” James smiled. “I thought it was cute when you sounded like an old man.”

“Yeah, but you’re not fond of all my old man characteristics,” you turned around to face him, still holding Julian’s hand in yours.

“All your old man characteristics?” James furrowed his brows in confusion.

“You told me I argued like an old man. Stubborn and could only see my own way. And I fought dirty.”

“You sure did,” James nodded. “If you brandishing my mother’s clear favouritism shows anything, it’s definitely that you fight dirty, but I never said I disliked that about you.”

“Really? Near the end I thought there was a lot you disliked about me.”

James shook his head, “No, I was just upset and you were passionate. It wasn’t like my other marriages where things just…fizzled.”

“We did go out with a bang,” you inhaled deeply.

“If it weren’t for Julian… do you think we’d…”

You shook your head.

“No, we probably never would have seen each other again. Another old man trait, I hold a pretty mean grudge.”

James pressed his lips together and looked over at his sleeping son.

“I’m happy we had him,” he said quietly. “Even if we didn’t work out.”

“Me too,” you agreed, looking over at Julian quietly snoring, just like his dad had said. “Best thing that’s ever happened to me.”

You leaned down and pressed a gentle kiss to Julian’s nose watching him scrunch it up, making you smile. It was a miracle that two such flawed individuals could make a child so perfect.

—

“Alright, he is asleep, but I do warn you it took some bribery so you’ll have to buy him another dinosaur book to read to him at night,” you walked out of Julian’s room, dusting your hands off like you’d just finished a heavy labour job.

“I’ll run to the bookstore tomorrow,” James nodded and you fell onto the couch next to him and sighing as you sunk into the plush fabric before noticing what he was doing.

“Where did you pull these out of?” you asked with a soft chuckle.

“I was just clearing up the closet in the guest bedroom and I found a box of these,” he picked up the albums. “Look at this one.”

He placed the book of photos on your lap and you smiled seeing as it was Julian’s baby album, filled with small mementos and little notes you and James had made in the margins.

“Oh my God, Mom’s first day home, she looks like an angel,” you read from the side. “And my response: I look like I just got hit by a bus, cut it out.”

“You can still read my chicken scratch writing?” James asked.

“My most useless talent as I like to call it,” you nodded. “You wrote a lot in here.”

“I used to bring it with me to work cause I missed you guys so much,” he admitted. “Made me feel closer to you.”

You read through some of the notes in the book, chuckling a little at some of the written back and forth you had. Eventually you got to the family portraits you’d had taken a few months after Julian was born, smiling softly to yourself.

You remembered the day well, you felt like you hadn’t slept in weeks, James was just getting off of a twelve-hour shift and you were almost late to your appointment with the photographer. You were worried everything was going to look terrible and you’d barely had enough time to do your hair or makeup, but James had silenced your worries with a kiss and assured you the pictures would be fine.

In the end most of them were terrible, but the photographer managed to get two shots, one of you and James smiling down at Julian in your arms and another immediately after where you were looking up and smiling at each other.

“That session was a shitshow,” you recalled and James agreed. “We did get a few nice things out of it though.”

You looked back down at the pile of albums in front of you and noticed a large white one, tucked under a few things and even though nothing good could come of it, you pulled it out from the bottom of the pile, carefully blowing off the dust and turning the first page.

Centerfold, just like you remembered it, was a picture of you and James on your wedding day. You leaned further back into the couch and James scooched in closer to get a look.

You both looked younger in the picture, with that spark of je ne sais quoi in your eyes.

“I told you there was a reason we got married,” he said quietly, his hand brushing the corner of the photo.

“Yeah, we loved each other,” you said. “That was the reason.”

“Same reason we decided to have Julian,” he added.

You could feel your breathing become a little more shallow and a tightness in your chest as James spoke about Julian. You remembered the conversations so clearly, like you’d had them yesterday, caught between happy and passionate kisses while James made some dirty jokes about getting you pregnant.

That was back when he still couldn’t get enough of you. Before things changed and he slowly distanced himself until it felt like it was just you and Julian against the rest of the world, and not the three of you like he had promised all those nights throughout your pregnancy.

You wondered quietly to yourself what had changed? What had become so unbearable that there was distance in the first place? There was never a lack of love on your end which is why this was dangerous.

At least when there was distance you could be angry with him, you could go to bed at night and not remember all the little things that made you love him in the first place. He wasn’t there as a constant reminder that you loved his cooking, or even just your banter together. More importantly, it was giving you new reasons to feel that fluttering feeling in your stomach.

You’d always loved how he’d interact with Julian, but now that you got to see it day in and day out, it made it harder to weigh that against the cons of everything. Most notably, this was the beginning of the end. If you let yourself fall you would both crash and Julian would be caught in the middle once again.

You tried to distract yourself by flipping through the album photos to find some funny old picture of a relative or maybe even an embarrassing moment to tone down whatever it was that looking at that picture was making you feel.

All you could focus on was how in every picture, almost without fail, James was looking over at you. Rarely into the camera along with everyone else. He was enamoured, that was the only word to describe it, and oh how much you missed that look.

You made the mistake of tearing away your gaze from the pictures, looking up at James instead, and for a moment you thought just maybe you saw that same look in his eyes. But no. It couldn’t have been. The dim light of the lamp must have been playing tricks on you.

Finally you closed the album and put it back down, unsure of what feelings might resurface if you opened another one. Your honeymoon, family dinners and pictures were all just reminders of the happy times, not what came after.

James did what you didn’t want to, grabbing another album and sifting through the pages until he found what he was looking for, taking a picture out of its protective sleeve and showing it to you.

“Can I keep this one?” he asked.

You took it from his hands, examining it while your fingers precariously held the edges of the photograph.

It was a silly picture, something you had taken while you were travelling. James got someone to take the camera, but along with snapping a few shots while you were posed with smiles they caught a few candids, most notably, James kissing your cheek while you laughed and tried to squirm out of his grasp.

Your finger gently brushed over the spot on the photo where James’ lips were against your cheek before nodding your head.

“Sure, you can have it,” you handed him back the picture and patted your hands against your legs, preparing to stand up. “I should get to bed.”

“I’ll be out here for a while longer if you need anything.”

You gave him a tight lipped smile and stood up, walking towards your bedroom. When you closed the door behind you, you let out a breath you had been holding and ran a hand across your face.

Maybe Julian was never the one at risk of getting the wrong idea.

—

Waking up in the middle of the night always made you feel uneasy. Especially if Julian was the one waking you up. The chance that you’d have to drive to the hospital or call an ambulance was high and you hated the fear and worry that came along with any possible complications.

Tonight, you woke up on your own accord. Your heart was beating inside your throat and your stomach felt like it was housing a group of persistent butterflies.

You glanced over at the clock and saw the time, flashing in red.

3:07

You took a deep breath trying to steady your heart rate and breathing before peeling away your blanket and kicking your feet over the side of the bed. You grabbed a different pair of pyjamas from your dresser and walked into the washroom, tossing them on the far end of the floor while you stripped down and turned on the water for the shower.

When you stepped inside you hissed initially at the cold, but forced yourself to become fully submerged under the water, closing the curtain behind you. Your muscles clenched as your body adjusted to the temperature, and when the time finally came you let your thoughts and dreams become washed away by the water coming out of the shower head.

You were simply standing there, letting the water fall on your face when you heard the click of the door opening.

“Julian, sweetie,” you sighed, turning around so you could speak. “Maybe you should go to your dad if something’s wrong, I’ll come out in a sec.”

“No need,” you heard a voice that did not belong to your son.

“James? I’m in the shower. What are you doing?” you asked incredulously, feeling the need to cover yourself up even though there was a curtain blocking his view. You felt exposed nonetheless.

“It’s three in the morning, I thought something was wrong, I came to check on you,” he explained.

“And what were you doing up?” you asked.

“Got in late. There was an emergency at the hospital after you guys went to sleep, I dealt with it and just came back.”

You stepped under the running water again, washing the water over your face with your hands.

“So, is everything okay?”

“Peachy,” you said sarcastically, leaning against the wall of the shower.

“Nobody ever says peachy when things are okay,” James pushed further and you sighed, moving to sit down on the floor of the shower, still positioned under the water.

“I just had a dream, that’s all,” you said, watching as the water hit your toes and the ground around you.

“A bad dream?” he asked.

“No, it was more like… déjà vu.”

James sighed, and rubbed his hands on his legs.

“Was it about us?”

He took your silence as a yes.

James didn’t really know what to say, his hands were clasped together as he leaned forward sitting on the bathroom counter.

“You’re not gonna ask what it’s about?” you hugged your knees close to your chest.

“Would you tell me?”

“Maybe…I don’t know,” you mumbled.

There was another moment of silence before James spoke up again,

“What was it about?”

You turned to face the water with your eyes closed again, gathering the courage to speak.

“It started when I told you I was pregnant,” you said softly. “Like the memory replayed in my head, exactly how it happened.”

“I remember that day,” you heard the soft smile in his voice as he spoke. “You took the test at work and when it came back positive you came straight to the hospital to tell me.”

“I was barely two steps inside your office when I blurted it out, you were eating lunch and had that stupid look on your face with a mouth full of sandwich,” you chuckled to yourself.

“I almost choked on that,” James shook his head. “And I just remember running up to you and freaking out.”

“And then when you were done freaking out and everything sunk in you kissed me, and you told me you loved me, and we cried because we made a child. Our love did that.”

You reached forward and turned the shower off, pushing yourself up on your feet and taking a deep breath before pulling back the curtain. You had told him what you were thinking. You couldn’t get any more exposed than that.

James looked stunned for a moment and it didn’t go unnoticed how his eyes raked up and down your figure.

“Get me the robe, would you?” you motioned to the back of the door and he jumped down grabbing the robe and holding it out for you so you could place your arms into the sleeves and wrap the towelled fabric around you, trying it off with the belt.

When you turned your head to look back at James, you could tell at least you’d succeeded in raising his heart rate, much like he was doing for you recently.

You moved to go sit on the closed toilet while James retook his spot on the counter.

“Do you remember when Julian was born?” he whispered.

“I like it was yesterday. I can’t believe it’s been eight years,” you nodded your head.

He was having trouble holding your gaze and you wondered what he was about to say.

“I-I screwed up,” his voice was soft, almost hurt, like it pained him to think about what he had done. “When you were resting afterwards the nurse asked me if we were going to do a newborn screening. We hadn’t talked about it, but you were so tired and it was such a hard labour…” he swallowed thickly, his voice wavering slightly, remembering the birth. It wasn’t easy by any means and James had often thought that the hardest thing he’d ever had to watch was you in that much pain. “I told her we weren’t going to do it. I just didn’t want Julian to leave and h-he looked so perfect I never thought anything could have been wrong with him.”

James took a deep breath and looked up at the ceiling, “I am a doctor and I didn’t get a newborn screening for my son, what the hell kind of father does that make me?”

“Oddly enough, I think it makes you a good one,” you admitted.

“Even though we could have known about this years before? We could have gotten him treatment, medication, therapies, all sooner?” he looked back at you confused.

“You said it yourself, Jamie. He was perfect for us. Still is.”

James nodded his head and looked forward at the opposite wall. You stood up and walked over towards him, reaching out a hand to gently hold his face, your thumb brushing against his cheek while he looked at you.

“I don’t blame you for this,” you whispered. “I don’t blame you and I don’t think you’re a bad father.”

“I know,” he murmured, “but I do.”

You leaned in and pressed a kiss to his cheek, not knowing what other comfort you could offer.

James leaned in a little to your touch, sitting up straighter when it was gone, trying to play it off like he hadn’t been missing it and craving it as much as you.

You were about to say something when you heard a knock on the washroom door, and this time it had to be Julian.

“Mom? Dad, are you in here too?” you could hear his small sounding voice, a little strained and worried so you quickly assured him you were both inside and opened the door.

“Sweetheart, what happened?” you asked, noticing his tear-stained face.

“I just had a bad dream,” he sniffed and wiped his eyes.

You kissed away his tears first before assuring him everything would be fine, you and James were there to take care of him.

“Why don’t you go and lay down on my bed with your Dad?” you suggested. “I’ll get dressed and come join you.”

Julian nodded and made his way over to your bed while you went to quickly speak to James.

“It’ll be good for you. Both of you,” you told him.

“You don’t mind?”

“Just this once.”

James thanked you with a kiss to your cheek and left the adjoining washroom, closing the door behind him and giving you a minute to get changed and deal with anything you needed to before going back to bed.

When you opened the door and came back into your room, you saw James under the covers with Julian pressed close to him, their foreheads resting together while James told him everything was going to be alright and he could go back to sleep.

You slipped in under the covers, sandwiching Julian between you both, letting his back rest against your chest while you pressed a kiss to his hair.

One hand was tucked under your pillow and another was draped over Julian, and your fingers carefully placed over top of James’.

“Will you be here when I wake up?” Julian asked his dad.

“Right next to you,” he kissed his nose. “Now try to get some sleep, okay?”

Julian nodded his head and yawned and you whispered a quiet goodnight to bed him and his dad before letting your eyes close, silently smiling when you could feel James’ hand finally hold your own.

—

“You guys, relax, he’s going to be fine,” Mahlet placed a hand on both yours and James’ shoulders while you spewed out your worries. “It’s one night, I have the whole list of things he needs and I’ve taken care of him before, right? It’s just at my house this time so the boys can have a sleepover and you two can have a bit of a break.”

“She’s right,” James sighed. “I’m still worried out of my mind, but she’s right.”

“Mahi, are you sure you don’t want us to come even for a little bit?” you asked.

“Absolutely, if something happens I’ll call an ambulance and then you, but Julian’s been good for months now, he can survive one night away from home,” she assured you.

“Thank you, Mahlet. I’m sure Julian and Hennock will have a great time tonight. Just call us when he’s ready to be picked up tomorrow morning,” James said.

James wrapped his arm around you, giving you a squeeze knowing you were still uneasy about this, but deep down you knew Mahlet was right. The chances of something going wrong at this point were small and you’d had enough time since your last hospital visit to even consider doing something like this.

“You boys ready?” James called and Julian came rushing out of the room with his bag in hand, Hennock following close behind him.

“You have fun tonight, okay?” you bent down and gave Julian a kiss. “And if anything happens or you feel sick, or are having trouble breathing, tell Mahlet, okay?”

“I know, Mom. Dad already told me this like fifteen times,” Julian chuckled.

You looked up at James and he shrugged.

“Alright, well you guys better go before I change my mind,” you crossed your arms over your chest and that was all the permission the boys needed to run off, leaving Mahlet to say goodbye before stepping out and closing the door behind her.

You sighed and turned around, looking at James who had his hands shoved into his pockets.

“You hungry?” he asked.

“I could eat,” you nodded your head.

“Why don’t we make something for dinner together?” he suggested.

You looked at the clock and smiled, “I think we’ve got enough time for pizza, what do you think?”

“I think that’s a great plan,” James agreed. “I can start on the dough and you get the sauce and toppings?”

You gave him a thumbs up before putting your hand out to high-five him, noticing how your fingers so easily intertwined before you walked apart and let go.

James rolled up his sleeves and took off his watch, placing it on the small jewelry tray you kept by the sink for when you were washing dishes, while you went to the fridge and began pulling out all the things that could make good pizza toppings.

Moving to the sink to wash some vegetables, you noticed James’ watch resting there. You didn’t pay much attention when he was wearing it, but now you realized why it looked extra familiar. It was one you had gotten him as an anniversary present after your first year married.

“You still wear that?” you pointed with your eyes to the watch.

“It’s my favourite watch, of course I wear it,” he nodded while portioning the flour into a large bowl.

“Even with that engraving?” you raised a questioning brow.

“Dearest Jamie, Here’s to the first of many happy anniversaries. Love forever, Your Wife,” he recited the engraving back to you.

“I don’t know why you do that to yourself,” you chuckled a little, looking down into the sink.

“Yeah, well why do you still go by Mrs. Wilson?”

“Easier to keep the name than change it again,” you partially lied, it wasn’t the full truth, but it was what you had been telling yourself ever since the divorce was finalized.

James could sense you were lying, but he knew the only way to get you to open up would be to let himself be open with you.

“The watch is my favourite because you gave it to me. Functionally it sucks and it's uncomfortable, but you went out of your way to get me something that looked nice and that’s why I love it.”

You smiled a little to yourself, but kept your head facing the sink and continued to wash the vegetables.

“You’re not going to say anything?” he inquired.

“Do I have to?” you asked.

“That’s normally how a conversation works,” he remarked and you chuckled.

“What do you want me to say?” you asked.

“Honestly, the real reason why you kept your married name,” he said plainly.

You sighed, “It wasn’t a full lie. If I went back to my maiden name Julian and I wouldn’t have the same last name it just makes things complicated and confusing and I didn’t want to deal with it, but,” you added, “I always kind of liked the sound of Mrs. Wilson and even though I was pissed at you all the time I still liked that there was one thing aside from Julian connecting us. I don’t know, maybe I didn’t want to end up like Sam or Bonnie just…detached, like there was barely a trace that you were even there.”

“It’s a fingerprint,” James said. “Mine.”

“Yeah, even though it's small for who we were to each other, it's the fingerprint you left on my life.”

James pressed his lips together and opened his mouth to say something before shutting it and evaluated how he was going to speak,

“Can I ask you something?” he settled on.

“Sure,” you nodded, moving over to the cutting board and placing yourself on the opposite side of the kitchen island.

“Did…Did you ever stop loving me?”

Your smile faltered and James noticed the change in your demeanor, quickly retracting his question.

“You know what, forget I asked,” he shook his head and continued to knead the dough.

There was a moment of silence before you spoke again.

“I didn’t, but I got tired of not being loved back.”

James stopped what he was doing and looked up at you with concern.

“You thought I stopped loving you?” he asked.

“James, I was wife number three. Didn’t take much to connect the dots and see you got tired of me,” you said bluntly. “I wanted to know if I could count on you, and it was starting to feel like maybe I couldn’t. Then the divorce happened and everything after that just made me feel like I was right.”

James chewed on the inside of his cheek and remained silent.

“You didn’t fight for me,” you said quietly. “You fought for joint custody, but you didn’t fight for me. You just…accepted it.”

“I…I didn’t know you wanted me to fight for you.”

“Are you saying you would have?” you asked, unsure of whether or not you wanted to hear his answer.

“I’m saying I thought I didn’t even have a chance,” he admitted.

“So you wouldn’t have,” you clarified for him, beginning to chop the toppings into pieces and separate them into bowls.

He chuckled humourlessly, “I have dated one person since the divorce. I hated it.”

“Why do you have to talk in puzzles, James? Why can’t you just come out and say what you really mean?”

“And then what?” he asked. “We go back to living in the same house. Sleep in separate rooms. Move on now that we know the truth?”

“Say it,” you put the knife down and looked him right in the eyes.

“What are you going to do about it?” he asked, cleaning the dough off his hand. “I’m going to say it and you’re just going to stand there and I have to live with that?”

You walked around the counter and came right up in front of him.

“If you were listening to anything I was saying, you would stop making excuses and say it.”

“Fine!” he threw his hands up in the air. “I still love you. I never stopped loving you. These past few months, even though stressful, have been the happiest I’ve been in so long because I feel like myself again when I’m with you and Julian. Because I feel like your husband, and I feel like a father and I keep kicking myself wondering how I could have been so stupid to lose that.”

“Say it one more time,” you whispered, lifting your hands to hold onto his face. “Please.”

“I love you,” his voice was softer, relieved like after being underwater he could finally breathe again.

You finally pulled him into you, your lips hesitantly resting on his at first, before you found your rhythm again after so long. It was muscle memory, his hands finding the spot they always rested against on your hips, his lips moving in synch with yours, eventually trailing off and finding their favourite spot against your jaw and behind your ear.

“James,” you breathed.

“Jamie,” he mumbled against your skin. “Call me Jamie.”

“Jamie, Jamie, Jamie,” you repeated the nickname until he silenced you with another kiss, muffling your voice.

“God, I missed you,” he whispered when you pulled apart, breathing heavily due to your fast beating heart.

You closed your eyes while your forehead rested against his, feeling his nose touch yours, his hands still firmly planted on your hips when your thumbs brushed against his cheeks.

“Jamie?”

James snuck another small kiss at the sound of the nickname.

“Yes, my love.”

“Can I count on you?”

You could feel him nod his head and confirm with a verbal ‘yes’. And even if it turned out to be a lie, at that moment you didn’t care. He had proved to you that it was possible, you could work with that.

“I love you,” you said and kissed his nose and then you said it and kissed him again for good measure. “You told me twice; I tell you twice.”

James moved his hands up from your hips and brushed the back of his fingers against your cheek, a warm smile coming to his face.

And there was that look, the one you thought had vanished over time. His eyes fully transfixed on you with nothing but love and admiration. It didn’t take much to convince yourself you could get used to seeing that look for a long, long time.

TAGLIST —

@cuntyvicodin @paola-carter

#james wilson #james wilson x reader #james wilson x you #dr wilson #dr wilson x reader #dr wilson x you #house md #house md fanfiction #house md x reader #hate crimes md #james wilson fanfiction #james wilson fanfic #james wilson fic

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carionto · 4 months

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The Equality Games

Once every now and then, the Galactic Coalition's Cultural Exchange department holds a large digital competitive event.

Anyone can participate, and to level the playing field, contestants aren't the ones who actually compete, but instead an advanced deep brain scan (or equivalent body part) and an unbiased AI create a digital avatar that represents the individual and autonomously acts within the digital space.

The cognitive capacity of each is analyzed to a near perfect level and a highly complicated algorithm that, honestly, nobody understands, even the AI that built it, then creates this avatar with traits and weaknesses based on an even more incomprehensible set of criteria and internal points system.

To put it simply - the scan identifies nearly every calculable aspect of a person and assigns a point value for each, then uses those points to "buy" the most relevant and appropriate traits from within its list to give the avatar. There are changing costs, negative value "flaws", and prerequisites based on other information from the scan, but basically it is the most convoluted TTRPG character creation ruleset ever devised.

Given the enormous complexity and diversity that individuals from across thousands of races exhibit, until this system was invented, it was thought impossible to have a sort of intergalactic Olympic Games. There were many attempts over the eons, of course, but one factor or another always made it so that someone did not accept the results.

The Equality Games, however, earned respect and acceptance as a valid alternative once the underlying system was demonstrated and people started to play with it. The avatars were made to act autonomously due to how some species had a distinct advantage when manipulating a digital interface, thus bringing up the old arguments yet again.

One curious result of the AI algorithm avatar generator is that it quite frequently created multiple avatars for each person, only the more hive-mind-like species tended to be represented by a singular avatar within the Games. It is theorized, again because nobody can understand how it really works, that most intelligent beings have multiple "personas" i.e. distinct behavior and personalities in certain common situations, primarily a "public" and "private" persona.

In fact, it is most common for everyone to generate about a three to five avatar "team" that represents the one individual. In comparison, if an ant were to get scanned and put in the games, its avatar would be a single incredibly powerful avatar with many deficiencies, but an overwhelming advantage in several disciplines.

When Humans first entered the Games, as expected, they too had teams as avatars. What was not expected, was that these avatars would sometimes work alone instead of together as a team, deliberately not help one another, and even engage in infighting and the sabotage of another "self".

The Humans suggested that it is perhaps because hypocrisy is not uncommon among them. Self destructive tendencies also appear rather frequently. These Humans almost always are themselves surprised by how contradictory their avatar team composition ends up being.

While the Games themselves happened as normal, the Humans overall placed in the top 20% brackets of most competitive challenges, and scattered roughly evenly everywhere else, they then approached us with a most unusual request.

"Give us a copy of this AI algorithm scanner thing. We think this is the most revolutionary therapy and psychological diagnosis device we've come across."

Of course we obliged and helped set up centers in a number of stations and on Earth itself.

Last we heard, some Humans have avatars that are singular nigh-nightmarish monstrosities, while a very tiny fraction have minds so splintered that their avatars are teams of dozens, one time even over a hundred distinct versions of themselves. Then there are even some seemingly regular Humans who broke the scanner - it gave the error: "Only one individual can be scanned at a time."

Upon "fixing" it with a hack, the results for those were unheard of. Two distinct avatars. Not a team of two, but by all accounts, the AI algorithm identified two separate individuals within one mind, each with very little in common with the other. Sometimes there was nothing in common, even their digital visual representation.

The mind is incredibly complex and hard to comprehend. The Human mind, while biologically quite peculiar but not outside the realms of understood evolution, neurologically it seems to hold near limitless diversity, both complimentary, contradictory, and beyond.

#humans are space orcs #humans are space australians #humans are space oddities #humans are deathworlders #humanity fuck yeah #carionto

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regretisstoredintheme · 1 year

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Turtle Blush + Hand-holding

A/n: more brainrot?? More brainrot. I love making headcanons on different ways characters blush, it’s my favorite thing ok???? And the turtles are my hyperfixation at the moment… I just can’t stop thinking abt how they would hold your hand bc they’ve got 3 fingers instead of 5!!! there are complications!!!!! Also I wanted to draw blushy turtles so yeah.

— headcanons under the cut —

BLUSH!!

Most to least amount:

Raph

Donnie

Leo

Mikey

—

Raph:

How he blushes

This boy will sometimes go full face red, but most of the time it’s all in his cheeks. They go rosy red all the time and his shoulders will blush too. IK IT LOOKS LIKE I PUT SOME ON HIS PLASTRON BUT I DIDN’T REALLY MEAN TO??? 😭😭 when he blushes he absolutely can not look you in the eye, he’s mumbling, stuttering, doing calculations of how to get out of the situation, (kinda like he did when locking up Ms. cuddles) and will start to back up if you get closer. Yk his lil nervous laugh? His lil “hAhAAHH..”? That’s his go-to reaction if you say anything about his actions (which you’re bound to) or if you brush your hand on his arm.

Why he blushes

It’s pretty easy to get Raph to blush, he just feels so lucky to be with you and the surprise that you love him too doesn’t fade too fast through your relationship. In like the first 6 months he’s like this, so when you give him a kiss on the cheek he’s an absolute MESS. And Mind Raph makes sure he knows it, feeling horribly embarrassed about his stuttering. This also goes on for a while before that insecurity calms down, allowing him to feel more comfortable in his own shell.

When he’s more comfy, even then he’s easy to fluster. If you catch him staring at you, he’s already embarrassed. He’s looking away with a slight blush, avoiding you— but if your gaze is steady, still staring at him - now he’s real flustered. Laugh playfully and he just might explode.

He likes to cradle you in his arms, he’s always wanted to be a protector and you put him at peace. He feels pure serenity when you’re near, and he adores cuddles. However, when you ask him for snuggles— he’s burning up, stammering through trying to say “I’d love to” , “my pleasure” , and “yes please” at the same time. “My yes… eh— pleased to— wait- yes the please.. my love to!! Oh god..” (he’s face palming fr.) Although, when you finally get situated— with his racing heart, he’s wide awake. He isn’t going to sleep until he can stop focusing on your face snuggling into his plastron, acting as a ball of warm sunshine to drown out his sleepiness.

Spoiler Alert: he pretty much just waits for you to fall asleep first.

—

Donnie:

How he blushes

Donnie feels like the type to have a nose blush— and also I dunno why but I could see his shell blushing??? Even if only at the edges, It just seems so canon to me. His fingers go pink when he’s nervous, but those aren’t exactly a giveaway because they also freeze when he’s cold. He feels his mouth go dry when he blushes, thats how he knows he’s turning red, so he starts fiddling with the edge of his purple mask, trying to act natural while he pulls it down further over his blushing snout.

In this state, he’s really overstimulated, even the slightest chair creek would prick his nerves, so if you give him any attempt at physical contact he’s either short circuiting or smacking you away, unable to process the feeling. (It’s mostly the latter) ESPECIALLY IF ITS A NOSE KISS!!! He usually melts into your hands, but if he’s overstimmed, he will not hesitate to ATTACC.

He apologizes after, embarrassed that he bat you away.

Why he blushes

Easy, you outsmarted him. He’ll be throwing on his emotionally unavailable bad boy image, strutting his stuff, bantering with you — and then you will throw in a flirty comment that makes him have to just process for a minute. Usually he can bounce back, but if it’s something reaally flirty, then he’s just like 😀 … FOR LIKE 5 MINUTES HFJDHDJEB GIVE HIM A SECOND HE’LL FIND A COMEBACK

After he does so, he gives a small smirk, kinda proud that you were able to stun THE Donatello, smartest, bravest, most courageous turtle of all time— if only momentarily. “You won for once..” he marvels, “huh— I’m impressed.”

Also you doing something really cute, like doing an equation wrong but looking at him with absolute glee at getting through it— waiting for his approval. he is LOSING. HIS. M I N D. He’s trying not to squeal because “LOOK AT MY PARTNER. LOOK. LOOK LOOK LOOK LOOK AAAAAA OH MY GOD” but the last thing he wants to do is flaunt the way Leo of all people does— he’s more civil than that. (Imagine how a badass villain shows off their partner.) if anyone says anything about “pff what an idiot” when you’re doing something he thinks is absolutely adorable— he is pulling out his disposal unit immediately. He considers it the highest offense when someone insults his intelligence, so the same goes for his partner.

—

Leo:

How he blushes

Leo doesn’t really blush in his face, no— the red marks on his face will occasionally glow with heat, but the real place he blushes is his neck. It goes beet red and he’s trying to cover it up because he’s embarrassed. Not only does he blush, but his hands get real clammy, and he’s constantly trying to pretend they’re not. He WILL avoid holding your hand if you’ve made him flustered. if you’re insistent on it, he’s wiping his hands on a shirt he’s wearing or tries to play it off that he was exercising.

Why he blushes

It is really hard to fluster THE Neon Leon. He may melt into your warm hands or blush a little when you’re being cute— he’s definitely capable of being soft, HOWEVER!!! As someone who is so bent on keeping up a carefree persona, it would take a lot to get under his skin. Mikey says so himself in the Lair Games, “nothing gets to Leo.”

He panics when a one-liner doesn’t work. He’ll make a few more with complete confidence, but If you don’t like his flirting, he’s shifting on his feet, rubbing his neck, and slowly backing himself up into a corner. He has a similar reaction when you catch him in a lie, he panics— but he brushes it off with somewhat ease. You’d have to try really hard to get him flustered. Such as, well— He likes the little things about people, because he likes to figure people out, and he’s got a soft spot for you, so say… a blue flower in your hair, formal wear, having that edge of confidence, staying in close proximity while holding onto his arm and gently sprinkling in praise to the conversation…

His brain is frying, slowly but surely!! Be prepared for a jumpy and stuttering Leo.

—

Mikey:

How he blushes

Contrary to popular belief, I don’t think Mikey would visibly blush. Sure he gets that lil buzz in his cheeks and they feel warm when he’s flattered— but they don’t go red. Out of all his brothers, since he’s the smallest, I feel like he’s the most cold-blooded. and due to this, he doesn’t have much blood rush to his face, and he’s got the COLDEST FUCKING HANDS YOU EVER DID SEE. How those hands threw a skyscraper we will never know— but they are only warm when he’s cooking something bc of the heat from the oven.

(SIDE NOTE— HE NEVER??? BURNS HIMSELF??? Doesn’t matter if he scrapes the side of the hot ass cookie sheet he’ll just go “ow?” Check it, and be like “we’re good :)” DRAXUM MADE THEM FOR WAR AND HE’S OVER HERE LIKE “hehe I almost burned myself oopsie”)

Why he blushes:

I’m sorry sweetie, but you can’t fluster Mikey. The most you will get is flattery, and he feigns shyness because he’s a lil shit. He will unabashedly laugh and giggle when you do something cute and is the most clingy lil shit to ever exist. He will rant about all the reasons he loves you for hours, just because he can’t hold in the excitement. If you get embarrassed by it, that’s just a bonus for him!! He’s cooing over you and hugging you tight, swaying back and forth gently.

You’re beginning to wonder if he can feel embarrassment at all— you’ve tried everything. He’s just happy to be with you no matter what, and you are the only thing that could make him sit still for more than 5 minutes. So no, sorry, Mikey doesn’t get flustered ♡

The only way he would actually get flustered is if you lied about something to make him look stupid. Then he’s tearing up, betrayal in his eyes as he tries to explain in a panic. But you would never do that to him, right? .. right?

—

Hand holding!!

Coldest to warmest hands:

Mikey

Leo

Donnie

Raph

—

Raphie:

Idc how big you think your hands are, Raph’s hands ENGULF yours. If you hold onto just one finger he will probably combust on the spot. He just thinks it’s so sweet!! Will probably baby you if you do that. His hands are a gentle lukewarm, but don’t seem to drop colder. It’s really nice during the summer months since neither of you have to worry about being all hot and sweaty. He squeezes your hand when he’s nervous, if you pet his knuckles he will melt into your grasp once more. IF YOUVE GOT FRECKLES/BIRTHMARKS ON YOUR HANDS, HE WILL KISS THEM!!!! THAT IS A THREAT!!!! He does it because he thinks they’re pretty— If you get all blushy then he’s backing up, a familiar rose dusting his cheeks. He didn’t realize it was a big deal, he was just appreciating them!!

He holds your hand often, it lets him know you’re safe and that he doesn’t have to worry as much. As someone with horrible object permanence, holding your hand is a great way for him to know where you are— especially since he feels ‘too big’ and doesn’t want to bump into you. He worries about his spikes, so when he knows you’re right by his side, he can relax a little. If you’re in a crowd, he does the mom thing where he holds your hand so you don’t get lost— losing sight of you kicks off his fear of being alone, so there is no way he is letting you get lost in the crowd.

—

Dondon:

Donnie isn’t a fan of hand holding. He’ll take a hug and will hold you in his lap but he doesn’t usually find himself with his hand in yours. It’s quite overstimulating at times, so when he does, it’s mostly because he’s trying to guide you somewhere or apologize for something. He gently grasps your wrist, his thumb sometimes rubbing in small circles.

Most of the reason he doesn’t hold your hand dead-on is because of the temperature difference. If your hands are warm he doesn’t like the sweat and if your hands are cold— well he’s cold blooded of course he wouldn’t like it 😭😭 Your wrist is the perfect temp in his opinion, and nothing will stop him from taking advantage of that. (ESPECIALLY IF YOUR LOVE LANGUAGE IS PHYSICAL TOUCH!!! He does it to tell you he loves you, even if he can’t say it aloud.) he rarely holds your hand unprompted, unless he did something stupid or was hyperfixating for so long that you got bored and left his lab. When you leave he can tell, getting upset that he can’t feel your presence anymore. “Dove?” He’ll turn in his chair, trudging out of his room at realizing you disappeared. He grabs your wrist gently, his head on your shoulder as he sulks— silently begging you to return.

—

Mikester:

It doesn’t matter how he does it, he’s intertwining his fingers with yours. He doesn’t care if it feels uncomfortable, but if you do, he just gently cups your hand with his. Randomly when holding your hand he’ll pulse his grip in little patterns— sometimes it’s to the song in his head, other times it’s just on the fly. If you copy his rhythm, you’ll quickly find yourself in a memory game where you have to match the beat— the terrapin slowly making it harder to remember. Every time you pass a ‘level’, he gives you a quick peck on the cheek!

He loves to hold your hand, no matter how cold yours are, his is always colder— so he adores the warmth!! If you complain about his cold hands, he’s giving a mischievous smirk, and suddenly you find yourself constantly defending from his devilish torment. You can’t escape him now, every time you go up to him for a hug or snuggle, his cold hands sneak up to your neck, freezing you instantly. He laughs like a little boy with his first balloon every time it happens, apologizing sweetly before going to freeze you again. HE HAS A KILLER DEATH GRIP, DON’T TELL ME HE DOESN‘T. If you try to let go of his hand he grabs it back and looks at you with an evil cheeky smile, whatever you had to do with that hand you’ll just have to do while he’s holding it.

—

Leoser:

May or may not have gotten some inspiration from @pianocat939 BUT ANYWAYSSSS

Leo likes to pet your knuckles when he holds your hand, as well as give it a chaste kiss whenever he feels like it. He definitely does the prince thing where he gets on one knee, it makes him feel so gentlemanly and if you laugh that is a huge bonus. He is more of a hug-person, wanting to be close to you at all times, but he will hold your hand a lot more often if you don’t like PDA. HE DEFINITELY SWINGS HIS ARMS WHILE YOU HOLD HANDS DON’T TELL ME HE DOESN’T.

He splits your four fingers in half when he holds your hand, mostly so it’s more comfortable for the both of you. He whines if you let go of his hand, even if it’s something small like an itch on your face. He pretends his hand is floating away when you let it go, chuckling if you panic and grab it back/being dramatic and holding a ‘funeral’ for his hand if you let it ‘die’. His hands get calloused from holding his sword all day, but he does manicure them, so texture depends whether he’s done them recently. He thinks your hands are the softest thing ever, and constantly asks for your ‘routine.’ HE WILL PAINT YOUR NAILS!!! refuses to paint them anything but shades of blue, saying you’ll have to find someone else if you want to betray him anything different.

—

A/N: THIS . THIS IS THE REASON I HAVE BEEN SO HELD BACK WITH REQUESTS. THIS MF!!!!!! >:((((

Nah I’m just playing I loved writing it and I promise I’ll get back on track now ♡

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#ROTTMNT #ROTTMNT headcanons #rottmnt mikey #ROTTMNT Leo #ROTTMNT Donnie #ROTTMNT Raph #Leo x reader #donnie x reader #mikey x reader #raph x reader #regrettable writing

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aspiringwarriorlibrarian · 5 months

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Was ruminating while bored, and I realized that we've all been thinking about how the Blacksmith's words on balance apply to the gods and to Salem and Ozpin. "Balance cannot be restored through force or calculation, true balance finds its own equilibrium" is a reflection on how the Brothers failed in their attempts to create balance, which could also be read into Ironwood failing to control Atlas and how Ozpin's ending of the Great War by forcing the kingdoms to end things and accept surrender ultimately left serious flaws in the system. But I was thinking about it from the other end, about Salem's attempts to disrupt the balance.....and I realized that it applies both ways. Balance cannot be restored by force or calculation, but force and calculation cannot easily disrupt it, either.

Cinder's masterstroke at Beacon was meant to provoke war, but war doesn't come. Most of the other kingdoms are suspicious, yes, but they accepted Atlas' explanation, and Atlas' Dust embargo and isolation was imposed from the inside. Salem tried to hijack the Faunus rights movement for her own purposes, and the Faunus decided they didn't want to see their cause corrupted and foiled Salem's plan at Haven without even knowing about the secret war. (Salem doesn't learn from this, by the way, she just blames it all on Cinder, even dismissing Hazel when he tries to point out the Faunus militia's part in Haven.). The Crown tries to destroy Shade and reinstate a king...but Vacuo has moved on from kings and doesn't want one now, so they join the Academy's forces to destroy them. All of Salem's failures have one common factor: they weren't planned by Ozpin or any of the secret conspirators, but arose naturally from the simple weight of history and the desire for peace. The world is too vast and too complicated to reduced to a chessboard, no matter how powerful Salem is. When you create a wound, blood rushes to fill and seal it again.

Nature tends towards equilibrium, and change requires not a single action but a consistent force until a new equilibrium can be made. There are moments of imbalance, drastic imbalance perhaps, but stability is a force as well. Ozpin alone cannot force all the Kingdoms into harmony, but neither can Salem alone force them to break apart. "Balance is not two forces locked in endless struggle. Balance is an ecosystem, an organism. A living breathing thing.".

#rwby analysis #rwby theories #rwby salem #rwby blacksmith #ozpin

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angelpuns · 9 months

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I said I'd ramble about the TMNT:HME sibling dynamics so here it is:

CW for favoritism

Some of this stuff I've already touched on before, but I'll try and go into a bit more detail on the specific relationships

Leo is the oldest, but all the brothers know he's not the favorite. If anything he's the least favorite ( Not the problem child, though, we'll get to that ) - though Splinter swears he doesn't pick favorites.

As far as all the brothers' views on him as a whole it's something like ' he's the oldest but sometimes he acts way too much like Splinter' and they've said this to him occasionally. And every single time it hits like a fucking brick.

Leo wonders if Mikey thinks he is cool or not - he doubts it. They're sort of in a ' in this together' mentality when it comes to Donnie and Splinter. Leo tries very hard to teach Mikey all about gender/sexuality without Splinter's knowledge. He wants Mikey to know that there is a safe almost-adult for him to come to about that stuff. Mikey doesn't really get it, though. Leo is a bit sad that they don't have a more healthy sibling dynamic - he could never, ever discuss big feelings with Mikey or talk about Splinter. It kinda sucks, but he knows they don't have to talk about big feelings. They just have to have fun.

Leo, for a long time, had a special sort of animosity towards Donnie because of him being the favorite. When they were much smaller, Leo actually hated him for it for a while. But as he got older and they drifted apart, he realized that it's not him vs Donnie, its all of them vs Splinter. He still thinks Donnie is a kiss-up, though, and he constantly tries to help him grow out of that.

Leo and Raph were a lot closer when they were kids, but the shift to disliking Donnie due to favoritism also kinda roped Raph into it, since Raph and Donnie are a lot closer than any of the other brothers. Nowadays, Leo is mostly just....sad about his and Raph's dynamic. He feels guilty for a lot of the way Raph grew up, he knows a lot of it is his own fault ( and some specific things that are his fault 100% that there will be a comic about later ). Overall their relationship is tainted by guilt - Leo will never forgive himself for treating Raph the way he did when they were younger.

Donnie is the favorite, as all the brothers will agree ( Raph still isn't sure that's true ) and Donnie won't deny it. He's proud of it, actually. He knows he's the favorite because he's the most well-behaved. He does his chores, he shows interest in Splinter's hobbies or what he's saying. Overall, he cares a lot about Splinter's opinion - definitely more so than his brothers.

Donnie has noted that Leo acts like Splinter, but he frames it as somewhat of a good thing. He's very.... calculated with his and Leo's relationship dynamic. He tends to keep his distance emotionally, and will call out when Leo is being an asshole. He has also been the most troublesome when it comes to Leo telling him to do chores. He is Team Splinter all the way.

Raph, as his twin, is his favorite brother hands down. Donnie does play favorites and Raph is his favorite brother. They spend the most time together, Donnie prefers hanging out with Raph than hanging out with the rest of his brothers, but they still have fights sometimes. Mostly over room stuff or Raph being too loud. No fight has ever lasted more than a day, though.

Mikey and Donnie have a weird, standoffish sort of relationship. They don't have a ton in common, but still like to play video games together! Mostly mine craft. Donnie just doesn't feel like hanging out with him too often is all :/

Raphie!

Raph has a complicated relationship with Leo- on one hand, Leo can be really cool and fun!! On the other, he can be as annoying as Splinter. And Raph easily gets mad when Leo makes fun of him, sometimes blowing up at him or his brothers for it. He's very easy to anger and sometimes Leo pushes his buttons on purpose. But to be fair, Raph pushes Leo's buttons back just as often.

Raph and Donnie are closest, but Raph sometimes wishes he was the older twin so maybe he could be the favorite. However, Raph usually reaps the rewards as well, since Splinter doesn't even really know he exists most of the time. If Donnie gets a treat he will find a way to get Raph one as well.

Raph and Mikey have an unspoken rivalry - Raph and Mikey have a lot in common, but Raph hates that Mikey is 'better' at so many things than him. He has his own hobbies, but Mikey always does them better. And he's afraid of his little brother surpassing him.

Mikey looks up to Leo as his ' cool but sometimes lame older brother' - most of the time he thinks Leo is cool but sometimes Leo will say/do something so lame that Mikey has to literally walk away. Mikey has also told Leo that he's acting like Splinter the most.

Mikey sort of looks up to Donnie, but it's mostly for his smarts. Other than that, he also resents Donnie a bit for being the favorite :/ Thinks he cares way too much about Splinter's opinion

Mikey doesn't know how Raph feels about his talents. They're close the way youngest siblings are close - they used to roughhouse a lot as kids and nowadays they compete in stupid competitions around the lair :)

So that's how the boys' see each other! I talked about this a bit before, but this is a bit more in detail since someone suggested it the other day <33

TMNT:HME Master post

#art #fanart #digital art #comic #TMNT #TMNT:HME #TMNT:HME Info #tmnt iteration #tmnt au

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marinetteplztakeabreak · 1 year

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Genuinely I do think that Alya could fix Lila immediately by simply pulling her aside and gently saying “heyyyy girl, i noticed you’ve been staring dramatically into the distance and being super on edge and kinda grasping for power lately??? and i just wanted to make sure you know that… i know a lot of people are weird about romance but it doesn’t have to be complicated or weird. You can just say ‘hey Chloé, do you want to make out?’ Its not that difficult. Here, I’ll go with you right now if you want.” This would kill two birds with one stone because it would catch Lila so utterly off guard and make her start reevaluating everything about her innocent act because it Does look like she’s flirting with chloé, and when word inevitably got to chloé, it would also catch chloé so far off guard that she would temporarily have to stop being a jerk because her mental efforts would be too busy trying to run overtime to figure out if lila likes her and if she wants lila to like her because she is so starved for attention because of the pushing everyone away, and then both of them would be too busy trying to run calculations in their brains to figure out their own feelings and what they want and Huh, that they would just get instantly nerfed by the romance drama and then the class could get involved and offer to help them and just, it would be so funny and it Would work trust me i see the vision so clearly in my mind

#ml spoilers #ml s5 spoilers #alya cesaire #lila rossi #chloe bourgeois #chlolila

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prettyeyesnof4ce · 2 years

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S.M.S.

Matt Murdock x f!reader

Summary: my rendition of sleepy morning sex with matt. that’s it, that’s the fic.

WC: 2.6k

Tags: dom!matt, his annoying tone, size kink(?), unprotected p in v, matt finishes inside (MDNI)

A/N: based on this ramble in particular, also if you couldn’t tell already, the title does not stand for “short message service”, but rather the literal abbreviation for this prompt. enjoy. also i’m happy to be back!

Read on AO3 Masterlist

The pleasure of early mornings was something you cherished. It helped that Matt practically required the intimacy. With warmth radiating between the both of you, the prospect of retreating beneath the covers for another hour or so never failed to tempt you. Clothes in disarray, breathing patterns in synchronicity, squished close in such a nauseating way, it remained ever so joyous and never tiresome.

On rare occasions, you’d wake before Matt and the alarm clock, allowing you to writhe in the comfort of having him so close. Cutting past the displeasure of knowing you needed to be at work in an hour, all you were left with was the rise and fall of Matt’s chest. You didn’t need to calculate that he was still in deep sleep, being able to in the first place thanks to your part in whatever pile of tangled limbs you would devolve into through the night. Aforementioned, the shared warmth soothed his mind, you were a key part in the complicated lock that was Matt’s sleep routine.

Never mind all that though, you had appreciated this exact moment enough times before, it was time to initiate what you felt like you deserved.

Tracing along his skin, you followed that large vein that stretched from the inside of his arm down to the crevice of his elbow. You wondered how his body still managed to be a sight for sore eyes in its resting state.

The light tapping along his arms inevitably awoke him. The blanket you shared was just below where his belly button stopped and his trail began, it sent you into more of a whirlwind than gazing at his arm muscles.

Were his boxers always that low? You felt dumb for running that question in your mind, but nonetheless acknowledging his naked torso closer than usual made you bothered.

Stopping those absentminded movements, your hand rested into a soft fist on his chest. He had to have been aware by now as he stirred suddenly, eyes blinking rapidly and sniffling. Been aware of the heat burning inside you, brighter than usual. Those wandering eyes of yours never went undetected, much less your pounding below.

It was almost as if he knew your thoughts, having pulled the duvet the rest of the way up to pry your seeking eyes away.

“ ‘m cold, aren’t you?” Matt quipped.

The silence that followed was louder than the sound of your blood pumping with aggression between your thighs, a pattern in which Matt studied ever since he awoke.

“Looking for something, sweetheart?” Matt spoke suddenly, half heard due to your ear pressed firmly in the crook of his collarbone. Index finger tracing the same path from the top of his bicep to the elbow again, you struggled to say anything that didn’t alarm him to your secondary agenda even further. It was a lost cause though, that shit-eating grin already making its first appearance of the day.

“What happened to ‘good morning’, hm?” you retorted eventually, cheek squishing against his skin as you mimicked his smile that you didn’t have to peer up at.

“Could ask you the same thing” Matt tilted his head down to peck your forehead, humming a little in the process.

‘Shit’ you thought. Was it really that obvious? You never wanted to underestimate his abilities, yet every time he called your bluff it felt like the first time.

He often reminded you to never refrain from using your words, but this time it was too early and he was too sleepy for such reassuring niceties.

“What do you want, sweetheart?” With that condescending tone he mumbled those words, almost as if to nudge you into telling him just what you fucking wanted.

What gave you confidence to speak up was reminding yourself of the fact that your own arousal got him bothered just as much as you. Soaring with that sudden energy, you took to doing the literal means that your body spoke to him.

Nothing kept him under your grasp quite like your voice, adoring when your words were the only thing he could hear in the moment. It rang like sweet liquid trickling once in contact with Matt’s ears, soothing him particularly during those times where he was tired from the previous night's activities. He’d swear it was the second best remedy to meditating.

But coupling that with pornographic undertones, that’s what sent his own blood pumping. Talking dirty right to his face, reverberating into his being and dispersing through his senses. It was your own personal weapon, a deadly knife ready to cut deep, right at your disposal.

It made sense to Matt, it wasn’t rocket science. Your calm and swift voice taking a chokehold on his almost depraved desires, it was all he wanted and more. Plain and simple.

“I need your warmth, Matthew” you spoke quietly, toying with the dip in his sternum, adding to the tentative yet innocent tone you led with.

“...need you to stuff me full”

His chest almost caved in at once when he drew a heavy scoff, a wide smile promptly stretching his face.

“That can be arranged” He mumbled, turning his head to the left in your direction. Suddenly he was acutely aware of your leg positioning, the inside of your thigh pressing against the bottom hem of his boxers. The heat of it being so close to his hardening erection sent nerves bunching in his abdomen. You could only imagine how unique his experience of arousal was, his entire body most likely becoming one giant soundboard, keys individually wired to every synapse in his brain. Hit the right ones and you’ve got an irrefutable code. Hardwired to self destruct.

Acting on that thought, you rutted your pelvis impossibly closer to his side, mound resting against his hip. The sheer texture of your arousal seeping through the thin fabric was enough to make his hairs surrender.

“Wanna soak you with my cum, Matthew”

His gentle smirk dissolved into a slack expression, Adam's apple bobbing, in a mixture of shock and disbelief. Just a couple words and actions were all it took to get him hot, Matt reveling in that fact almost everyday. You were his kryptonite.

Bunching up the gray fabric in a newly formed fist, it signaled how stiff he was, expressing the desperation for you to continue.

“What else?” He stammered, wetting his lip. Matt moved his right hand to cup the small of your waist, caressing your back slightly.That hand placed on you soon palming at the skin it found, his fingers kneading anxiously.

“Just that, just want you…” Deciding that you used your voice enough, you took his temple in hand and motioned him toward you, soon being joined by your chill morning lips. Becoming desperate in a matter of seconds, Matt didn’t know where to grab, hands sliding up and down your clothed back and shoulders. He attempted to rid you of the oversized shirt you had slept in, only for those wandering hands to be stopped by words uttered between the kisses.

“Nuh–uh, it’s cold in here, remember?”

“Well, then i’ll just take off what’s necessary” Matt breathed, pursed lips turning into that specific devilish grin he flashed right before madness would ensue.

His cold digits tickled your sensitive skin as they fumbled to get those damn panties down your hips and off your legs before he became impatient. It has definitely occurred more than once in Matt’s desperation to fuck you that he’s damaged your undergarments, earning a light slap from you in the process. The sound of that delicate fabric ripping signified one thing; he was the only one allowed to soil you in the multitude of ways he could.

In one fell swoop, he had thrown them off, while you slid your hand below his boxers, exploring the delicious texture of his treasure trail. Of which you were ogling before, what started this whole thing in the first place. Laying on him in that way unlocked a perfect angle to admire his toned figure, lines and ridges providing little to the imagination, especially in that low waisted underwear he chose as his favorite.

The throaty grunt that Matt let out after you grabbed his cock would make you twitch, wetness now exceeding your closed lips and leeching onto your inner thighs.

Despite the both of you half pulled from sleep, you still managed to find the energy to communicate through carnal need. It was like a language that required no actual words, just the brain working in tangent with sexual desire, no effort at all.

Wordlessly, he pried and medled between your folds to reach the aggressive drum of your core, earning a similar grunt to his. This half-assed version of foreplay was surprisingly working, yet through the pleasure, Matt knew this wasn’t what you intended.

“Get on top ‘f me, sweetheart” He urged, pulling his own boxers down far enough for his dick to go free. Loving the way it pumped full of blood with ache, the sight was much more preferred than touching it under the cover of darkness. It was ready to receive your undivided attention.

Stabilizing yourself on his chest, you hurriedly swooped your leg to straddle him, Matt getting his legs and pelvis ready to support you. Looking down at those half lidded eyes, red lips, with a smile perched at the corner, you couldn’t refuse to let him wreck you before the sun could even peek through the sky.

He could tell in the way you went silent that you thought about what the next 10 minutes would entail. Replaying those words from earlier, he reveled in how you so pointedly asked him to stuff you.

“Mmm c’mere” Matt managed to mumble, already enjoying the thought of ruining you without having to switch positions from where he slept. Holding you close with one hand while the other lazily gripped your hip, he left lingering kisses with little “mmm's" in between. The tip had bumped heads with your core, the icy bead of pre-cum ready to be smeared at your entrance.

Matt was still a sucker to hear you say you needed him, having a penchant for that validation hidden in the consent to go ahead. He was waiting for you to grow impatient.

After hanging onto your lip with the edge of his teeth, he murmured a silent “Well, go ahead, you need me, right?”

He was right of course but oh fuck you. Fuck you.

Sitting back up straight, you steadied yourself on his kneecaps, unbreaking your gaze down to him. With that you sunk down onto him, silently hoping that the ‘foreplay’ sufficed. Meanwhile, the fucker had this complex where he knew no matter how much you warmed up, you’d still make the same sounds as if there were no preparation. Matt drowned himself in that revelation, making fucking you all the more fun.

“...need…you… ah–” It never got easier to take Matt, your cunt having to accommodate its width every single time . Head neatly parting you open, Matt winced at the contact, a silent “ fuck ” even.

He feigned to give you any aid whatsoever, hands remaining stagnant on your hips, waiting for that specific breath you drew right before you whined about his size. An “O” would form on your face as your efforts only got half of him buried.

“Do you want some help, sweetheart?” It was quiet and beckoning, yet every time he asked that question it felt humiliating, what it really radiated was the most power-tripped tone known to man.

Sighing, you abandoned all dignity. A meek “ please ” would be enough before he stationed his feet better ready to rut up into you.

Bracing yourself to feel the rest of him, you bit your lip when he bucked upward. Matt wasn’t satisfied until he heard the internal *pop* that came with sheathing his entire length into you.

“There’s my girl” He cooed upon your much needed exhale, thumbs stroking your thighs as a small “ thank you for taking me so well ”. Your walls fluttered effortlessly at the force, warmth filling you up like liquid fire.

That smirk returned to his face, Matt intentionally faltering his help, letting you take the floor. After all, it was you who begged to be stuffed, and he had fulfilled that, hadn’t he?

Knees digging into the sheets at his sides, you bounced slowly, still adjusting to Matt’s thick cock. It only remained a struggle for a moment, until you reminded yourself why you needed him so badly. To be comforted by his warmth.

“Use me, angel” He grunted low, eventual sighs of pleasure escaping you as you figured out a pace that wasn’t too much to handle. Shivers would erupt along your body, and not due to the temperature of the air, but the sensation of Matt hitting that sponge-y spot inside you. You hadn’t noticed yet, but it wasn’t for nothing, Matt actually holding onto you while tentatively meeting your strokes.

Matt, in his bliss, and probable slumber still in his being, mumbled words of encouragement.

Something to the amount of “--feel s’ good ‘round me…filling you up s’ good–”, which only amplified your own bliss, tempting you to egg him on back.

“Matthew– fuck ” Losing grip on his knees, you retreated to his chest, in the process allowing you to grind slightly faster, syncing better with his thrusts in a more forceful way. In the heat of it all, you could still appreciate the way his muscles tensed below, sweat covering each others’ skin.

“Love it when you say m’ name, angel– ah ” Matt raised his head off the pillow, just when your walls clenched tighter around him, the squelches of your cunt lovingly doing it for him. Even through all the slumber, he couldn’t ignore the near euphoric experience of ruining you with his well-endowment.

“Kiss me” Meeting his lips again without breaking the pace, you whimpered into his mouth as to say “ harder ”, and he obeyed.

Fucking up into you relentlessly, Matt dug his nails into your flesh, your eyes surrendering under shut lids as the knot pulled tighter and tighter. Undoubtedly, the bed was creaking and the scent of sex flooded the air.

“Hmm, you gonna soak m’soon, angel?” His words got closer in speed, the word ‘angel’ lurching behind your head and cementing itself in your thoughts. You needed to come undone around him. Now.

“Huh, wh’was that?” He stifled his own moans just to interrogate you, condescension coming back with intent now. Matt would delay his own release just to prod and pick at your frayed edges. Guiding you to that ledge.

He groaned one last time as he came dangerously close “Can’t hear you, sweetheart”

Whimpering, you could only express what you felt with one word.

“ Matty!–”

It snapped, and you were shoved into the abyss, your pelvis pathetically twitching as they tried to match his unwavering thrusts, making you come impossibly harder. Your cunt clenched rapidly, his cock twitching in response to the sensation. Eyes squeezing shut, he held onto any surface of you tight.

He would cry out through gritted teeth, your name coming out in varying keys as the heat dispersing took the wind out of him. His cum melded with your walls, that warmth causing you to whine a few “yeah’s” and “yes’s”. Matt fucked you full of his cum, hot and satisfying as you came down. You reaped what you sowed.

With the slumber now knocked out of you, and heat instilled in your bodies, you took to circling back to the conversation previous.

“It is cold in here” you giggled, bringing the duvet back up over the two of you, Matt remaining tucked inside.

“Told you” He kissed your forehead, hands pressed firmly into your back as your head was now resting beneath the other collarbone. Matt held you close as that grin of content tugged at his lips, the steadying of your heartbeat and breath letting him doze back off.

tag list (might be interested in this): @briefcasejuice @phoebe-danvers @murdocksluvrr @pleasedin @saintmurd0ck @fulmis

(I do not give permission for this or any of my work to be reposted elsewhere without my consent)

#matt murdock x reader #matt murdock x you #daredevil fanfiction #daredevil x reader #matt murdock fanfic #matt murdock smut #scythe.nsfw #scythe.publishings #matt murdock

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rageprufrock · 9 months

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Hi Pru, this is a career question... I am in my mid-twenties, female, not quite the most junior employee at my organization but treated often as one. The workplace is highly male-dominated, competitive, the older supervisors sometimes hilariously old-boys'-club, and the younger men (my age) mean well (feminist, etc.) but have their own territories to defend. For complicated reasons I cannot leave. I knew some of this coming in but am ashamed to say that

You’ll love this: my response is so late because I too girlbossed too close to the sun and have accidentally reached mid-senior leadership status at my organization and the past month has been the most hilarious cluster of fucks. Insert clown emoji herey.

ANYWAY.

I have a few thoughts on this one, and hopefully one, or some, of these are helpful as you're navigating your early career.

To address your most immediate question: is it meant to be this hard? I think "is it meant" or "is it always" are two different questions, and each with branching answers completely dependent on your field and profession. Some are notorious for early career hazing--banking, medicine, etc--and then the answers are that the suffering is a feature, not a bug, for these industries (this can be debated ad nauseum but you know what I mean), and then for many, many other professions, the answer is that while it's not meant to be this difficult, it still is, and that it's all we can do to survive it.

But setting aside the macro issues, of whether the role itself is objectively hard or if the environment you're in is objectively sub-optimal, the more nebulous and inescapable thing is that each one of us, individually, in our early career are undergoing one of many puberties and all its attendant implied indignities. I find it weird that culturally we don't talk about this much--at least not in Western or the Eastern cultures with which I'm most conversational--but think about it: in the first five to ten years of your working life, you're often simultaneously navigating a staggering number of life-changing systemic shifts that have a tectonic impact on your lived experience. I

For a lot of us, beginning your life as a working adult means you're likely moving out of your parents' home, which adds a huge amount to your mental load and financial burden.

For a lot of us, these early professional jobs are also the first time we're operating in a performance-reward system for which there is no clear rubric or understandable progression monitoring--there aren't any grades, and I can't tell you the number of people who I've spoken to in my career who have been shocked when they're told they're being put on performance improvement plans even though they thought they were doing fine.

It's like being sent to college with no class list, textbooks hidden in eight different departments run by varyingly helpful people, while trapped in an inescapable group project run by someone who seems just as frazzled as you are, and told "okay well you should need to bring me your completed degree by EOD Thursday." This doesn't even take into account your genetic assignment to play this entire game on hard mode by failing to be a cisgendered man in the dominant cultural demographic.

People who've had multiple jobs and career changes can attest, every new job, no matter how seasoned you are, is fucking exhausting. It's almost a joke among my friends at this point how often I change jobs, and every single time I do, there's at least a six month run where at the end of every day, I'm fucking spent. I couldn't calculate 1+3 if my life depended on it, because I've spent my working day so furiously trying to read the professional tea leaves and figuring out what the actual fuck I'm supposed to be doing--which, funnily enough, is never as clear as you would think! Even if you are at increasingly senior levels of responsibility! It's really fun and good! Your boss's boss's leadership team meetings? Surprisingly similar to when I used go get coffee during my break working at an ice cream shop to complain about our customers and equipment and boss! It's amazing how no matter how much changes, everything stays the same!

So I think in the end, my answer to your question is this:

Is it meant to be this hard? Depending on what you do, maybe.

But should it be this hard? Of course not. Life is short and lush and wonderful, but already so filled with challenges, and it's a shame that being rooted in capitalism, we're all forced to participate in a system that's so unbending and unforgiving.

But does that mean it's going to be forever? Or that you can't survive and thrive and have fun in the process? Absolutely not.

However awful you feel, however bad the job is, it doesn't have to be forever. This role you're in now may be just what you need to find your next, better, better paid opportunity. And maybe that one won't be the ideal for more than a year, maybe two, but that's why you keep an eye out and a keen focus on what you want, and what's most important, and like a shark, you continue to move and grow as you get clearer on where you want to move and how you want to grow. The person I was at 24 could not have imagined the person I am at 38, and I'm guessing that the woman I am today can't fathom who I'll be in another 10 years. Whoever she is, I hope she's still choosing to do hard things and--to the very best of her ability--having a good time in the process.

It's okay to cry about work. It's okay to cry at work, even though I strongly recommend that you do this huddled in a restroom in privacy because otherwise it gets messy--fairly or otherwise. It's okay and normal to do these things. It's okay and normal to feel like a fucking disaster, to feel--or to in actuality!--be categorically failing. It is okay and normal to hate and love your job, and to love money and hate the work. There is no right way to do this, and the only wrong way is to give up on yourself, or to create a situation where you cannot have the freedom of your choices or your future.

It's also going to get easier with time. Even if you don't feel it, every day you're getting more experienced, more confident, more discerning. Those microscopic, atomic changes in you accrue, and I'm sure if you're honest with yourself you can already identify how even today, you are a stronger, more capable person in your professional context than you may have been just a year or two ago. Even if you don't mean to do it, just the experience, the bruises, the callouses from throwing yourself at the brick wall over time will rewrite the person you are--if you do this with your eyes open and intentionally, all the better.

Five years from now, ten years from now, you might still find yourself crying about work. But hopefully you'll share the good fortune I have been privileged enough to have, and find yourself the type of good friends who say, "don't care during work hours, it's beneath you to give them the satisfaction--cry later," and actually have the wherewithal to follow that extremely correct guidance.

So anyway, it shouldn't be this hard, but it is. The good thing is, you're better and stronger than it is, and you can look forward to the day you get to look over the shoulder at all the worlds you've conquered as you get ready to do it all over again.

💖

#advice #career advice

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nogoodsheepstealing-greatgrandma · 1 year

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Daenerys is 14

And she does stay in Slavers Bay and try to rebuild the economy. Source: A Dance With Dragons.

She spends much of the book trying to negotiate new trade deals with the Lhazarene and the Qartheen, trying to plant new olive groves and bean fields, trying to reform the guilds membership so former slaves can earn proper wages as skilled craftsmen. She tries to assimilate with Meereenese culture to ease a peaceful transition of power, she consults with their priestess, she adopts their religious rites and their uncomfortable traditional dress, she agrees under pressure to marry a Meereenese noble (she doesn't force anyone into marriage at dragonpoint like in the show). And she goes out personally to feed and care for the sick and starving refugees at her door, she tries to set up quarantine zones to slow the spread of infection.

And yeah she falls short. But the odds are stacked against her. She's 14, for starters. And before she arrived the slavers burnt all the olive groves and salted the soil so she couldn't use them, and as she calculates it will take 30 years before the land will be truly productive again. She also has the Meereenese slaving class working very hard to sabotage her by funding domestic terrorism within the city. And she has to deal with a refugee crisis, a famine, a plague, and an alliance of pro-Slavery states forming a blockade around Meereen and threatening to siege the city.

True the refugee crisis is arguably due to her leaving Astapor. She set up a new government, but she should have stayed longer to consolidate it. But she is only 14, and her main adviser/parental figure is too busy being a pro-slavery pedophile.

And the fall of Astapor isn't completely on her shoulders. She left adults in charge, people with qualifications and who knew the land and people better than she did. They had political agency and responsibility. As did Cleon. He could have chosen not to overthrow the Council and name himself King. He could have chosen to heed Daenerys when she told him "don't start a war with the Yunkai". And the Yunkai could have chosen not to slaughter Astapor and chase the refugees to Meereen. They could have simply removed Cleon and then recognised Daenerys had no part in his actions. The Yunkai could have chosen not to then declare war on Meereen.

The institution of slavery is complicated to overthrow and complicated to replace and even complicated in the ways it reasserts itself. Daenerys isn't the only actor here who determines the fate of Slavers Bay (though if she unleashes her dragons she can certainly become the most decisive actor again). The entire point of ADWD is that it's much more complicated than that - its GRRM's answer to "what was Aragorn's tax policy?". She is a 14 year old child who does her best against impossible odds, and who explicitly puts any dreams of Westeros on hold indefinitely. Time and time again she is offered the chance and means to sail for Westeros, and she turns it down each time because she knows she can't leave the people of Meereen behind to die.

And hopefully the lesson she learns by the end of ADWD is that she has to stop being conciliatory towards the slaving class. She spares the lives of hostages, she opens the fighting pits for them, she gives up her body in marriage, and still they try to poison her to install Hizdhar as King. Mercy isn't a weakness, but the people who have a vested interest in slavery aren't going to stop just because you ask them nicely (like that garbage show GOT seems to think). She's got to use her dragons.

No, critiquing her failures isn't the same as defending slavery. But claiming that she never tried, and ignoring the odds stacked against her, is false. As for blaming her for Slavers Bay falling into chaos and suffering... First off, again, she isn't the only responsible actor with agency - I maintain that the fall of Astapor was pretty much out of her hands. And second, it ignores the massive scale of human suffering that already gripped slavers bay. The daily violence inflicted on slaves - the families torn apart, the lives destroyed, the children mutilated, the thousands of dead babies killed to initiate the Unsullied, the tortures and crucifixions and whippings and executions and rapes.

Ignoring that isn't that far off from defending slavery. Claiming that the violence that overthrew slavery is worse than the violence that is slavery isn't that far off from defending slavery. Should no one ever dare strike off a slaves chains just because they can't account for the violence that could come after? Is the crucifixion of child-murdering Slavers worse than the crucifixion of innocent children?

Or to bring up another literary scenario with more moral equivalency and ambiguity - was the Tenth plague upon the firstborns of Egypt worse than the mass culling of infant slaves? Who do you blame for the Ten Plagues of Egypt? Should Moses have left well enough alone?

#fandom nonsense #daenerys targaryen #asoiaf #valyrianscrolls #breaker of chains #daenerys defense squad #meereen #daenerys meta #dany meta #dany #dany defence squad #pro daenerys #pro daenerys targaryen #anti got

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inconspicious-random-thoughts · 3 months

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Alastor and Voxes rivalry is so funny because, aside from their differing perspectives on technology, they really aren't all that different personality wise. They're both master manipulator's that like being the center of attention, they're insecure about the fact that they need others for their power and success (Alastor with his soul owner, who I agree is Roo unless proven otherwise, and Vox with his fellow Vees), and they overestimate how powerful they truly are on their own until getting hit with a major dose of humility (Vox in "Stayed Gone" and Alastor when he nearly got killed by Adam). Heck, maybe these exact similarities may have contributed to their rivalry in the first place.

I adore them. Vox is my third favorite. He was my second but then Lucifer made his grand appearance. TBH I pretty much love all the characters but those three rank the highest by far.

I'm pretty much obsessed with Alastors relationships with everyone. His relationships with everyone beside Rosie and Nifty are oddly complicated. I pretty much walked into the show with the assumption that everyone out for their own. All cut throat and not caring who they step on to get ahead. Which we still sort of get but we also got hit with... found family and relationships-of sinners in Hell. I was going to make a whole post about it last night but it got late so I postpone.

They are both calculating showmen. Emphasizing their words and meaning with large arm movements and such. What I find more alluring is Alastor is more subtle about it but its more captivating. Alastor does do grand movements with his arms and hands. But he can make a grand entrance just by being silent. Either moving by shadow or in his battle, he was revealed to Adam buy standing still and quietly waited for Adam to take notice of him when the smoke clear and flew towards him. Which is quite a testament to his talent and skill as an entertainer and showman that he can command attention without doing anything. Vox is more flashy. I love how he enters a room. Even the less flashy entrance of him walking to his control room in "Stay gone". It was commanding attention even if the room was empty.

Both are similar but both are prideful but I think Vox is less so. Vox realize there's strength in numbers. I think one of the reason why Alastor more adamant about being independent and not relying on others is because of his contract. He lost the right to his own soul for relying on help of someone else. His reluctance to have aid and his pride is his downfall. Which we only starting to see happening.

I desperately want to know what exactly went down between these two. One of my first few post was about those two, and I still incline that's what mostly happen but also it was layered with more things im unaware of. They were clues they were once friends and how Vox reacts, it clearly ended by Alastor. Alastor referring Vox with "Old pal" is so condensing and mocking to further insult Vox.

I doubt we get it but I hope we get a flash back episode about these too. Their friendly banter between each other would be so entertaining. They would jab and jeer at each other preferred technology consistently.

I also want the same between Husk and Alastor. I'm positive they were friends before their deal. At first watch my impression was Husk gambled it away to Alastor in a drunken night of unable to stop gambling. But now the more I think of it the least probable it seems. It appeared turned to him. I think they arrange a deal with two outcomes. One that more favorable to each lord but did a game to finalized the true outcome of the deal. I was gonna make a post about that, probably next week tho.

I think Vox character becomes so complex when it comes to Alastor. Because Vox biggest shortcoming is he gets overly emotional. Which is ironic as he is the most mechanical character in the show. I believe he quite the strategist. Which what really got him to become an overlord and his main role in the Vees. I really hope season two show him really utilizing this ability and make him a proper 'villain' with it. He shown to be level headed and calm but then, the mention Alastor to him he goes of the rails. What interesting his emotions about Alastor is multilevel and complex. He feels so intensely about Alastor but the problem is...he feeling multiple emotions about Alastor intensely. It would be SO easy if he can just feel one thing. Either it be pure hate, pure heartbroken, pure rage, pure nostalgia, pure adoration. But no, he feels them all at once and its overwhelming. He needs to ruin and destroy Alastor or bring him down so he can at least feel he can in control. He needs to control Alastor to at least figure out how to control his emotions for him.

Vox in generally is a man who typically knows what he wants and typically get what he wants. Vox wants Alastor to acknowledge him and accept him, Either it be positive of negative. He wants a relationship with Alastor again either be love,mentor/protege/friendship...or what he settle on, rivery. But Alastor not really giving him that. Alastor barely register Vox since his return or acknowledge him as a rival. Alastor never takes Vox seriously, its all a big joke to him. Its drives Vox out of his computer chip mind. Vox is compelled to prove Alastor the Vox is to be taken seriously. He only feel valid when hell get the attention and acknowledgement from the only person he ever want it from in Hell. Alastor probably knows this and purposely ignores Vox when it doesn't demand his attention to further irritate Vox.

I love seeing fanart or fics that showcase how complex Vox can be. He not two dimensional -despite his face being one. That Vox ventures to take the opportunity to kill Alastor while weaken but when Vox facing reality and force to witness Alastor struggling, Vox in up defending and protecting him. While mumbling to save face that he only make Vox look cowardly if he killed Alastor in his pathetic state and only Vox has the honor to kill Alastor.

He doesn't want Alastor gone. He wants his vexation with Alastor gone, he wants his inadequacy caused by Alastor gone. But as the easy solution to solve those issues is to get rid of Alastor...which he sort of wants. But then again he doesn't. If Alastor gone, a part of Vox self is gone. Alastor is such a large part of Vox, that Vox would feel lost and empty if Alastor was truly gone. Alastor is Vox motivation and driven purpose to prove himself worthy. Alastor gone there's no push for Vox to be better in any aspect. Business, power, himself etc. He would never find much joy again when the victorious high of killing Alastor himself wears off.

Vox seemed disinterested in life in conversations until He discovered Alastor was back. The information brought new life to him. He is driven mainly by Alastor.

I am curious how Alastor feels about Vox. I'm sure more recently he more annoyed by Vox and disgusted by Vees business ventures but enjoy one upping him. But does he ever reminisce their better days together and miss Vox companionship? Feel the loss of their friendship. I want to say there are times he does but he better grasp at compartmentalizing and does not dwell on it too often.

I been wondering one of the reason that cost the rift that Vox has some type of recording Alastor that Alastor did not improve of. It seem that Alastor may not mind modern technology as there was a very clear picture of him. But since of that recording that ended their friendly relationship. Alastor took that as a lesson and distort any recording of himself to prevent it happening again. Might be another call back for "This face is made for radio." Tho, I think that phase might be more of his mixed heritage in the early 1900s.

I am looking forward Vox having more role to play in season two.

#hazbin hotel #hazbin alastor #hazbin hotel alastor #alastor the radio demon #hazbin hotel headcanon #hazbin hotel theory #hazbin theory #hazbin thoughts #hazbin headcanons #hazbin vox #hazbin hotel vox

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deadlysoupy · 5 months

Text

Faultline

Rating: General Audiences Relationships: Brainstorm/Perceptor, Brainstorm & Perceptor, Brainstorm & Nautica Tags: Hurt/Comfort, Angst, Fluff, Mind Manipulation, Happy Ending

Perceptor is a hard mech to handle when it comes to his patience with Brainstorm. Thus, after Brainstorm gets his load of Perceptor's fury, the Ship's Number One Genius takes matters into his own hands — and attempts to make Perceptor fall in love with him.

It goes in the exact opposite direction.

my Secret Solenoid gift for @elmonstro !!! thank you @secretsolenoid-revived for hosting the event and being so very patient with me!! first time doing anything like this event and i had,, troubles. also huge shoutout to @trashhole who beta'ed this mess i wouldn't be there without them!!

posted on AO3 (requires an account) or under Read More for easy access!

It’s quiet in the lab today. Not a good quiet, not the kind of quiet that makes Brainstorm excited to get going and create something incredibly genius, and slightly explosive. Not the kind that makes him focus and drift from reality itself in search of the unexplored, to make the unreal, real.

This quiet had him slightly tilting his back to throw a look at a laser-focused Perceptor and envy the fixation he has had with his own project. Because he, as it stands, cannot get the anti-gravity blaster to work. Try as he may, re-wire, calculate from the beginning – nothing seemed to help. He considered banging his helm on the table, but that would only damage the equipment.

After a while of struggling, Brainstorm decided to seek assistance. Two heads are better than one, obviously – even if one is more genius than the other.

Which had been a bad decision from the start. And he should have known it, too, because whoever distracts Percy from his work is to be stricken with a fiery glare and such a passive look it could kill the desire to ask in just about anyone. Anyone but Brainstorm.

“Hey, Percy, do you think I should re-adjust this or leave it as it is? It isn’t working right,” Brainstorm says with a half-finished component in hand, its insides dangling in the air when he swings it. He slides into Perceptor’s line of vision, occupied by a biocell beneath his microscope. It leaves a silence hanging between them.

Perceptor doesn’t even blink, let alone vent in his general direction. So, Brainstorm tries again, the tone of his voice slightly more rough around the edges.

“He-ey, ships’ genius number two! Get out of your head, it’s begging you to dissect it, c’mon!”

His lab partner’s faceplate shifts from cold concentration to a slight frown, one you wouldn’t notice if you hadn’t looked hard enough. He notices it anyway.

“Brainstorm, whatever complication it is you have right now, I assure you, it can wait until I’m done.”

“Waiting would require patience! I’m kind of at the brink of my own discovery here – at least tell me if you think it needs work?” Brainstorm pleads, shifting his approach, his optics round, but Perceptor is unrelenting.

Brainstorm’s optic-ridges furrow.

“You’re mean, you know that? A real stick in the mud. A stubborn mule. A…” Brainstorm gestures his free servo in search of a new expression to throw. His vents get hotter.

“Are you done?”

“Oh, I’m sorry, am I distracting you?” Brainstorm’s wings flutter in exasperation as the air inside his mask gets a little too warm. “My work is important too, if you didn’t know! And I would love it if you could pull your helm out of your aft once in a while!”

Perceptor’s shoulder plates answer Brainstorm as he straightens up and looks at him with such a fire in his gaze that burns Brainstorm’s insides. His mouth a perfect line, but the sharp edges of his optics and the brilliant light behind them are what turns Brainstorm’s entire resolve around.

As he backpedals, Perceptor’s watchful optics follow him until he’s at his desk again, and only then does the scientist turn away to chip away at his work once more, as if nothing had ever happened.

Brainstorm has trouble forgetting the incident even hours after.

Truly, it is Perceptor’s fault. He is the one missing Brainstorm’s potential, his drive. Now his gun sits alone, it’s insides full of holes, and Brainstorm tosses it a look more than once like it had personally offended him.

So he does the best thing he can – he drowns himself in the work that most would call “unethical” and “useless”. What else is he supposed to do, really? It would not hurt to put his other work on a pause until he deals with his more pressing problems. Mainly – his lab partner being an uncooperative aft.

Days later, Brainstorm stares at a flat metal plate, its silver and smooth top reflecting his faceplate in a morphed and grotesque image, his servos firmly planted into the workstation. It had nothing Brainstorm-like in it – which is what makes his cords uneasy, optics never settling on one detail of the device.

Despite all of his efforts, despite the drive that went into his work, he couldn’t put it to use. He’s not that kind of bot – not even when he’s full of sadness and bitterness.

So, he puts it away in their lab, far from the prying eyes; he burrows it under the pile of other failed experiments and fried chips to be long forgotten.

At least his honour is saved.

That is, until someone else finds it.

Brainstorm never liked Whirl much. If it wasn’t him, then it was Whirl who could turn everyone's attention to himself, a chaotic force of nature. And sometimes – or most of the time, really, – he tended to cross the line.

“Oh, hey, what’s this thing?” he says, putting an eerily familiar disc in his servos, its shiny surface glinting in the lab’s bright lighting.

Brainstorm’s never run faster in his life. He does almost trample over the scrapped projects Whirl’s been digging through, but he catches himself in time.

“That,” he grunts while gripping one side of the machine to pry it away from Whirl’s claws, “is none of your business.”

“Stormy, you should know by now – everything is my business,” the menace answers back, his optic glimmering and squinting. The device is then pulled, but Brainstorm has a good grip on it, and he tugs right back.

Brainstorm dares a quick look to his left – Perceptor is too engrossed in his documenting to pay attention to them – which, in the heat of the moment, gives Whirl an advantage.

He pinches on Brainstorm’s pede and blunt pain betrays his reflexes. Whirl manages to pry away the machine and hold it above his frame while he helplessly reaches for it; his efforts in vain.

“‘Make-Perceptor-love-me machine’? Seriously?” Whirl reads out loud while Brainstorm struggles against his hold to snatch the device away. Out of all the things to label, he decided on that one?

“Wait, Whirl–”

“Oh, this is gold,” his optic shines with malice and Brainstorm only has two solid seconds before he can hold Whirl’s pedes to stop him from going straight for Perceptor.

They both topple down like cards, and Percy’s definitely noticed the fight by now. He peers from the table they usually keep the scraps behind, a little too close for Brainstorm’s comfort.

He pulls Whirl’s impossibly tangly pedes away from Perceptor – because the aft is long too, curse his impossible build – and Whirl huffs in effort, but Brainstorm notices the device is still in his pincers.

“Whirl, I swear to Primus, if you don’t stop I’ll–”

“Got it!”

Brainstorm gives Whirl one last pull and collapses on the floor backstrut-first. Tangled in a web of pointy joints, along with a couple of wires from the pile.

What he just heard could not have been anything good.

He grunts as he scrambles to his feet, some forgotten wire still stubbornly stuck on his servo, and looks up at Perceptor.

The disc looks tiny in comparison to their joints, but Brainstorm spots it on Perceptor’s pede as his lab partner pulls the device away, definitely making contact. Brainstorm doesn’t know if it’s a good thing or not; at least he can test it.

The reaction is delayed by two seconds, but Brainstorm catches the barely noticeable tremor and electricity running through Perceptor’s frame, starting at his pedes, and ending at his processor. Presumably, of course. Brainstorm’s wing twitches.

“Uh… hey, Perceptor, are you okay?” Brainstorm asks in a surprisingly small voice he doesn’t remember having.

He regrets ever having the idea of making such a machine in the first place.

Perceptor’s cold, unwavering stare gives him a chill. A loud thud makes Brainstorm’s frame jump as his machine is thrust into his servos. He scrambles to hold it properly, a stare etched into him.

“Get out of my lab. Now.”

Percy’s voice booms, echoing through the whole lab – their lab, as Brainstorm had priorly thought.

His processor can come to only one conclusion: he had invented the complete opposite of what he had intended to. Not this aggressive ignorance, not this hatred. He wanted admiration, not hate – not again.

He has no time to make sense of that revelation as he scrambles for the exit, pushing away the bots who had probably heard the commotion and came to poke fun at him.

He continues to his habsuite, the device close to his chassis, a slight fog creeping into the edges of his vision that doesn’t leave until he’s slamming the door shut.

Brainstorm slides down onto the floor, pulling the machine closer, almost crushing it with his servo – or hoping to, at the back of his mind.

The silence fills his processor and ugly static pours out.

How could he think it was ever going to work? He’s no manipulator. Making guns, weapons of destruction, and something that would twist reality and emotional stability of a mech is a night and day difference. He shouldn’t have invented this cursed thing, should never have been this angry, this pitiful, and frag, everyone was watching him, how is he supposed to prove he was good at something–

One, two knocks at the door tremble his frame as he presses against the door. A muffled “Hey, Stormy, it’s Nautica” beyond the door causes Brainstorm to shift in his seat.

No knocks come after, but Brainstorm’s emotionally aware enough that his amica endura is still there. Waiting to put a comforting servo on his shoulder – one he doesn’t deserve.

He manages a sigh that trails through his entire frame. Then he gets up and shuffles to the berth, his servos pressed tight against its flat surface.

The door creaks open, Nautica’s purple paintjob standing out from the shining light of the outside corridor against his dim room. “Hey, Stormy. Can I come in?”

He gives her a look that she reads as inviting, closing the door behind her. She takes a seat next to him, still servos on her lap.

“You know I’m here for you, right?” she says after a few minutes of silence. Brainstorm stares at the floor. “Whatever you need. And I’m sure Perceptor didn’t even mean it back there, you know how–”

“He did, though,” Brainstorm croaks out. Nautica’s frame leans closer to his. “I– I messed up. I wanted an easy way out, but I messed it up again. What kind of a scientist am I if I can’t even make a mind control device work properly?”

Nautica moves a little closer to him and puts her servo on his. “At least it worked, right? And we know the problem, so we can fix it.”

“But he hates me, Nautica.”

“You don’t really know that. I’m sure we can convince him to cooperate on a project with you. Until then,” she removes her servo that seems to leave the warmth on his plating well after their talk, “try and get some rest, okay? We’ll figure this out, I promise.”

She leaves him with a tender smile, shutting the door behind her, and letting him and his thoughts linger under the shadows of his unlit walls.

In the meantime, he figures out his next steps.

Next day doesn’t come easy, but Brainstorm is considerably more determined to mend the broken trust. His processor doesn’t scream profanities at him, at least, and he would consider it progress.

Nautica catches up to him in the hallway when he’s on his way to the lab.

“Brainstorm! Do you actually know what you’re going to do? This needs a plan or… something.”

“Nah, I’ll figure it out when I get there,” he says, waving his free servo that isn’t holding the culprit of his problem.

Nautica steps forward before he can enter the lab, his cool demeanour slightly broken. “Okay, wait, I have to confess something. I’ve already talked to Percy the night before: he agreed to help you with one project, as he’d said.”

Brainstorm arched an optic-ridge. “Wait, really?”

“Yeah, but only one. So you have one chance, got it?” she says, as sternly as she can, yet Brainstorm can’t help but smile at her worrying.

“Aw-w, thanks, Nautica! You always know how to help out a friend.”

She rolls her optics with a fond smile before cycling and pushing him into the lab.

“Hello,” Perceptor and his carefully folded servos, along with the best passive-aggressive look, meet him right at the entrance, and Brainstorm has to take a step back to regain his footing. “How may I be of assistance?”

Brainstorm coughs into his mask. He vaguely registers the door behind him sliding closed, Nautica’s work wide and proud. “Well, now that you’ve mentioned it,” he dawns, peeking into Perceptor’s personal space despite his better judgement; the scientist leans backwards only slightly, to Brainstorm’s delight, “there’s this tiny little thing wrong with my newest invention. It is imperative that we work together to mend it, as a lot, and believe me, a lot, depends on its success. So, what do you say?”

Perceptor’s field shifts from passive observation to open disgust as Brainstorm talks. And it stings, of course. But, somehow, in the moment, he understands it. The loathing, unease, hatred, – those aren’t new concepts to him.

What truly intrigues him after a few seconds, though, is the cool response Perceptor gives him.

“Alright, then. Let’s get this over with.”

Because… huh? Perceptor, in his twisted mind, under the direct intention of outright hating Brainstorm’s cords, agrees to help. Brainstorm’s inner core dances to the feeling of appreciation, of simply earning Perceptor’s attention and kindness which he has always possessed.

They work in silence once Brainstorm expresses what needs to be done with the machine to “fix” it. Each on their own little workshop, pouring familiarity over Brainstorm’s processor, yet swirling with alienation.

He knocks a fragile chip off the table while fidgeting with the casing, his wings fluttering in desperation, and the sound bounces off the walls of the soulless lab. Perceptor only tosses him a look, but a look that Brainstorm will have to push to the back of his memory cords to make peace with.

He never wants to earn that look again. It makes his resolve to complete their work as fast as possible all the more potent.

Just two hours after, they have their pieces done and assemble the machine together. Their shoulders pressed close, but not touching, the invisible gravity pulling Brainstorm closer.

Staring at them is their own reflection, the two of them this time, the bottom of their faceplates inflated as if in a ugly mirror.

“Now, what are you going to do with it?” Perceptor wonders.

Brainstorm sighs as he takes the device in his servo with careful precision not to grip the wrong side. “Fix my mistakes.”

And he thrusts his servo into Perceptor’s chassis.

It does not have the same effect as Brainstorm has hoped. Instead, Perceptor catches his servo, but doesn’t squeeze it or draw it away.

So Brainstorm lunges at him. They fall to the ground, knocking some lab equipment on the floor, the sound of their frames making contact loud in his audio receptors. Brainstorm has to reach out in order not to collapse on Perceptor’s flat chassis completely.

Before any of them can adjust to this position, Brainstorm on top of Perceptor, their pedes inbetween one another, Brainstorm sticks the bottom of his doom on his partner’s chassis.

Perceptor has his optics closed. Until he shutters them on and off, letting the silence fill both of their cords. Another, familiar shock courses through Perceptor – Brainstorm can taste the electricity this time. His frame catches heat from underneath, and his own vents shorten.

A subtle sigh pulls Brainstorm out of the trance. “What did you do this time?”

And, Primus, how quickly his world can become right again. Perceptor’s voice is even, but Brainstorm catches the light in it, the teasing and love behind it. The notion almost makes him outright giggle – but he doesn’t have time for that. He smiles wide behind his mask anyway, Perceptor’s tiny smirk reflective.

“Oh, nothing, just goofing off. As usual.”

“You do not ‘goof off’, Brainstorm. On the side note…” his optics dart around, “why, exactly, are we on the floor?”

“Oh, right!” Brainstorm pulls his pede from underneath him for support and deftly stands up. He reaches a servo out for Perceptor, who takes it with a warm smile.

Brainstorm takes both of Perceptor’s hands once they’re up. He stares into his blue, genius optics, and his spark melts.

“Percy, I’m… sorry. I know you weren’t angry at me when you said those things, I know it because it’s right, but logic goes out the window when you’re… me. I’m sorry for trying to control you, for having those betraying thoughts. You’re the best lab partner anyone could ask for, and I’m very grateful to have you after so many mistakes. Will you… forgive me?”

Perceptor soon brushes his digit over Brainstorm’s servo. His faceplate warms, and Perceptor’s gaze is kind on him. “I will. I appreciate you telling me the truth. In honesty, I was not aware I hurt you. I apologise for that. In turn, would you be able to express your feelings more… genuinely next time? To let me know when you’re hurting.”

Brainstorm registers his wings flying up. “Oh, of course! Or, well, I can try, but that counts too, right?”

They laugh together, and soon find themselves taking apart the “Make-Perceptor-love-me” machine. Brainstorm flushes more than once. He doesn’t miss Perceptor’s shoulderplates nudging him, precariously.

Staying up until late, they walk past a lab table with Brainstorm’s failed experiment in complete disarray, wires and bolts pulled apart. Brainstorm doesn’t mind it. Not when he has the real thing right beside him, their servos interlaced.

#secret solenoid #transformers #maccadam #more than meets the eye #mtmte #simpatico #brainstorm #perceptor #nautica #my writing

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