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buckyownsmylife · 3 years

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t r e a c h e r o u s - final chapter

The one where you are Sebastian’s girlfriend, but Chris can’t get enough of you.

Due to the age gap between you and Sebastian, your boyfriend has a hard time feeling sexually attracted to you. In order to save your relationship, he invites Chris to have sex with you while he watches, hoping that the voyeurism will awaken his arousal and jealousy. Soon, he’ll learn that inviting his best friend into his relationship may have just been the worst mistake he ever made, when Chris finds himself unable to let you go after his role is done.

for general warnings, author’s notes and disclaimer, please go to the fic’s masterlist

A/N: this is it, guys! Treacherous’ final chapter! It’s probably the filthiest thing I’ve ever written and so far out of my comfort zone, but maybe that’s why I’m so proud of it 🙈 Thanks for sticking so far! I’ll probably be announcing my next series soon, hope that you guys will like that as well. If you’re part of my taglist solely for treacherous, but is still interested in my other works, please follow the link in my description or in my masterlist to join another taglist!

Chris’ P.O.V.

I could see the shock in her eyes when she found me on the other side of the door, despite the pouring rain that had been steadily falling for the last three days in LA. I didn’t care about the weather, just like I didn’t care that she was in a relationship with one of my best friends. I just had to see her.

“Chris?” She asked, and held her robe tighter against her body, which she predominantly hid behind the door. It made me irrationally angry. I was aware of the lack of correspondence between that simple action and the intensity of the feeling that overtook my body, but there wasn’t anything I could do at that moment. I was too far gone, already.

“What? Wasn’t expecting to see me? Didn’t think I’d come all the way down here to ask you why the hell you’ve been avoiding me like I’m the devil?” She flinched, but didn’t make any movement to show more of herself from behind the door.

“For fuck’s sake, woman, stop hiding from me. I’ve seen you naked before. I’ve had you writhing with pleasure under me…” My voice slowly disappeared as I stared down at her stomach, now visible since I had pushed my way into the house, taking the door away from her. She was tense, her hands trying to cover her belly and failing miserably. “You’re pregnant?!”

She didn’t answer. She didn’t have to. That much was obvious. But if my first reaction was to feel desperation at the realization that the woman I loved was that much more unattainable, a small voice in my brain whispered something that left me curious.

“Who’s the father?” I asked, looking at her directly in the eyes, despite the fact that she was trying to look pretty much everywhere but at me. “Y/N.” The way I called her name was a warning in itself, but she still didn’t budge. “Y/N,” I called again as I took a step closer to her, until we were in fact all but touching.

“Answer me.” I held her jaw tightly but carefully, forcing her to meet my eyes, but she still didn’t answer, opting instead to bite her lower lip and look up at me with a desperate look in her eyes. I knew what she was asking for, and so I obliged. “Come here,” I whispered, already pulling her to follow my demand. And then I leaned down and took her lips in mine.

It didn’t matter that it was the middle of the night, that she was pregnant and that her boyfriend - my best friend - was sleeping somewhere in that house. All that mattered was her and I and the way it felt when our lips touched.

Her hands came up to my hair and I pulled her up by her ass as best as I could, considering the belly between us. “Where is he?” I whispered, and she didn’t even open her eyes to speak.

“Our bedroom.”

“Fine.” I took her to the hallway and opened the first door I found, which was of the guest room I had spent a few nights in, oh so many months ago. It shared a wall with the bedroom where Sebastian was currently sleeping in, but the truth was, I did not care. A big part of me, the dark part of me, was kind of hoping he would listen. I wanted him to know that I was fucking his girl, because maybe then she’d finally be mine.

I unceremoniously dropped her on the bed before crawling over her body, pulling her by the back of her neck so our lips would meet again. I was desperate for her, for her taste, for her warmth, her caresses. Luckily, it seemed like she felt the same way.

“Chris,” she whispered as I leaned down to suck on her breasts. They were slightly bigger, I bet they were more sensitive to my touch. I moaned at the thought that soon, they would be filled with the warm milk she’d need to feed her child. I wanted to have a taste of it too. I wanted to be around to witness the changes, worship the body that was growing another human being.

“I got you, baby.” Carefully, I swirled my tongue around her nipples, appreciating the shiver that took over her body. “Does it feel good?” I had to ask, to which she breathlessly agreed, one of her hands coming up to lose itself on my hair, keeping my lips attached to her skin. “I’ll take care of you.”

The words raised goosebumps over her skin, and I couldn’t help but to let my hands follow them until I reached her belly, carefully and softly rubbing it as I continued to kiss her breasts a bit longer.

“I’ll always take care of you, baby girl. You just have to say it.” Her eyes met mine, and it was clear that she knew what I meant. “Tell me who’s the father, princess.” She shook her head, her hands coming up to push me away from her, but I captured her wrists before she could, kissing my way to her face again.

I gave her another one of those soul shattering kisses that I hadn’t known before we met. I tried to show her what I felt, how much I wanted her, just by the way my tongue invaded her mouth. If she noticed my desperation, she didn’t say anything. Quickly, her body lost its tension, her arms escaping my hold to fall beside her body, and she became complacent again.

Good. That’s how I needed her to be.

Pressing one last kiss against her lips, I got back to where I was before, now making my way down to where she was already dripping for me. God, I could smell her. She was mouthwatering in every sense. I couldn’t wait to have her taste in my mouth again.

And so I delved in, my tongue coming out to slowly swirl her clit around. She moaned loudly, pulling on my hair again. Perhaps she wasn’t that worried about Sebastian finding us, either.

The thought spurred me on. I buried my face in her, my nose still bumping her little button as I pressed my tongue as far as it could go inside. I never wanted to forget her taste. When her thighs started to quiver around me, I pushed a finger into her, and she cried out loud, pulling on my locks forcefully. I welcomed the burn. I welcomed any sensation she gifted me.

Despite her sensitiveness, I didn’t stop eating her out. I couldn’t. I wanted to stretch this experience as much as possible. I wanted her forever. And I was going to convince her to choose me tonight.

So I carefully drank her release, slowly pushing my finger in and out of her until she was thrusting back against me again. Only then did I force another finger into her, watching for her reaction before resuming my movements on her clit. She looked so beautiful with her head thrown back, her breasts bouncing with the force of my movements. I wished I was able to kiss her all over at the same time, keep having her taste in my mouth while I sucked on her breasts the way I was doing to her little clit now.

I could only imagine how gorgeous she would look further down her pregnancy, when her full breasts and her belly became too big for me to meet her eyes while I was taking care of her needs like I was right now. But I didn’t want to have to imagine. I wanted to live it, to be there for her as she gave birth, only to fill her with more babies right after.

When she filled my mouth with her essence again, I accepted it was time to move on, although I still would have been happy to spend the rest of my life between her thighs, literally drinking her in. But Y/N seemed eager to get on with it too, as she pulled me to her as best as she could and kissed me again.

Her tongue tried to swipe as much of her own taste as she could, and fuck if she wasn’t the sexiest woman I’d ever slept with. A groan escaped my chest and I pushed her against the bed again, pumping my cock a few times before swiping the blunt head against her clit.

“Guess I don’t have to worry about cumming inside of you, right?” My words made her moan, and since she couldn’t reach me anymore, she opted to fist the sheets beside her head, trying to move her hips in a way that would get me inside of her faster.

Seeing her need, I thrusted into her, but instead of taking my time to let her adjust to my thickness, I only stopped when I bottomed out. And then I immediately started pistoning, fucking her like I hated her. I needed her fucked silly for what I had in mind.

And it didn’t take too long to get her there. The tricky part was trying to contain myself, because she was like a fucking aphrodisiac: the simple sight of her naked body - especially now that she was pregnant - was enough to make me ready to burst a nut. But after a few rough thrusts, she was already babbling nonsense, just like I wanted her to be.

I could barely understand my name and little prayers of ‘oh god’, and ‘yes please’ as I kept on fucking her. Just when I felt her cunt start to contract around me, I pulled out, quickly turning her around so I could fuck her doggy style - our favorite. The second I was inside of her again, I pulled her by her hair so she’d be resting against my thighs.

“Well, now that I have you here…” I whispered against her ear, enjoying the goosebumps that raised where my warm breath touched her skin. “You’re gonna tell me. Who’s the father, Y/N?”

She tried to shake her head when she caught up to my intentions, but I was still firmly holding her hair, just like my other hand was holding her hips against me, so she wouldn’t be able to move.

“C’mon, baby girl. By now you must have realized that I will get this out of you sooner or later. I’ll only stop when I do.” One of my hands went around her to caress her belly. It’s not like the entire world didn’t know how crazy I was about having kids. And ever since I saw her full belly, it became clear that I only wanted them if it was with her.

The hand that was on her belly went further south to part her lower lips so my middle finger could play with her sensitive clit. I had to bite my lip to stop from grunting when I felt my own digit softly run over my length as I resumed my thrusts in her, this time forcing her to fuck herself against me.

When I felt her fall slack against my chest, I kissed her temple, cooing meanly at her. “Already tired, baby? I haven’t even started with you yet. Unless, of course, this means you’re ready to start spilling some truth to me.”

I fucked her hard, taking sick pleasure from the little gasps and moans that escaped her as I continued to overstimulate the hell out of the woman I loved. This time, when she came again, I didn’t stop thrusting, finding just enough self control to fuck her through her orgasm and push it further, until she was bouncing against my body, like a rag doll I could easily manipulate.

“Who’s. The. Father. Of. The. Baby?” I punctuated each word with a particularly rough thrust, never stopping the little circles I was doing to her clit, even as she was trying to push my hand away from her.

“Babies!” She screamed as she came again, trembling over my body when I finally stopped, confused. What the hell was she talking about?

“What?” I asked, and when she didn’t answer, I gave another little nudge at her nub and she immediately responded, thrashing around in an effort to escape my touch.

“Babies. They’re.. They’re babies.” As realization struck through me, an even bigger possessive edge took over my body, and my fingers trembled in the effort to control myself.

“How many?” I asked, softly kissing the crook of her neck as I abandoned her abused clit to run my fingers up her body. Despite my relatively sweet gestures, my voice was ice cold, and I knew she could hear the aggressive undertone of my actions.

“W-what?” It was her turn to question.

“How many babies? Are they twins?” It took her some time to answer, and I took advantage of it to draw over the edge of her nipples with one of my fingers. When I had enough of waiting, I pulled harshly on them, at the same time biting down on her right shoulder.

“Y-YES. A boy and a girl. Th-they’re a boy and a girl.” The need for domination was rising within me. I was in desperate need of some answers. Was the girl of my dreams fulfilling my fantasy with my best friend or was she trying to keep my kids, my wish come true, from me? Nuzzling against her neck, I delivered a single quick slap over her pussy, just to call her attention to me.

“It could be so easy, baby girl… Just to tell me the truth.” Delivering another slap over her sensitive cunt, she almost doubled over with the impact, but I kept her close to me by the hand possessively wrapped around her belly. “If you tell me they’re his, I’ll leave just as soon as I’m done with you. This will be the last time I’ll interfere in your family life. I’ll stand on the sidelines and watch as you two raise your kids, keeping only the memories of your naked body so I can pleasure myself without you.”

She was trembling again, undoubtedly ready to cum yet another time, but unable to comprehend how her body was able to. “But if they’re mine…” I continued, releasing a long, shaky breath as I tried to clear my own mind while dealing with this possibility. “Well then, get ready to start fucking screaming, because this will be the last time you’ll ever see Sebastian in your life.”

I pushed her roughly down against the mattress again, one hand keeping her head on the pillow while the other adjusted her hips so I could pound her. I didn’t hold back this time, I knew I wouldn’t be able to keep from cumming for much longer. The thought that Y/N could be pregnant with my kids was too much for me, my balls feeling heavy as they slapped on her clit and my groin and all I wanted to do was to paint her insides with my cum again. So I needed her to cum one last time, and fast.

“Tell. Me.” I commanded, fucking her harshly, forcefully, and by now her moans carried more pain than pleasure in their sound, although the latter was still present. “Fuck…” I was so close to losing it, I needed to know. My voice wavered as I felt my orgasm approaching, the force of which was so high I felt tears rising to my eyes, much like Y/N, who was already sobbing underneath me. “Please, baby girl. Please tell me.”

I don’t know what did it for her, if it was the tiredness that overcame her after this last orgasm or if the broken tone of my words caught her heart, but when she came this time, she screamed the words I was begging to hear.

“They’re yours, Chris. They’re yours.” As soon as they were out into the world, I was cumming inside of her, the feeling of euphoria that much higher as I struggled to keep softly thrusting into her, to milk both of our orgasms fully.

My strength disappeared as my muscles relaxed, and I had to adjust myself to fall by her side and not hurt her belly. Immediately, a silly smile appeared on my face, and I reached out to caress it.

“You’re not lying, right?” She managed to chuckle a little bit, one of her arms hiding her eyes from me.

“I don’t think I have enough energy to even do that.” That was all I needed to know. I managed to pull her to me by the back of her neck, kissing her with all I had.

“I hope you know I’m never letting you go.” Y/N smiled softly at me, her hand covering my own, that was still over her belly.

“I’m counting on it.” We stayed like that for a while, just basking in the afterglow, before she suddenly interrupted it with a question I honestly didn’t want to think about.

“Who’s going to tell Sebastian?”

THIS STORY WAS WRITTEN BY BUCKYOWNSMYLIFE. IF YOU SEE IT POSTED BY ANYONE ELSE, IT HAS BEEN STOLEN. PLEASE LET ME KNOW ON TUMBLR, AO3 OR WATTPAD AND REPORT IT IMMEDIATELY. LEGAL ACTION WILL BE PURSUED AGAINST PLAGIARISTS SO THINK TWICE BEFORE STEALING IT.

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spencers-renaissance · 3 years

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Hunger

Summary: Spencer really likes his new coworkers: they're nice, welcoming, friendly, and made his transition to the BAU as easy as possible. Which makes it impossible for him to turn down an invitation to eat dinner with them at an upscale fancy restaurant, no matter how anxious that makes a boy who grew up with next to nothing feel.

Tags: insecurity, anxiety, allusions to poverty, hurt/comfort, team as family, angst with a happy ending, fluff, background jelle

TW: mentions of poverty, financial difficulties, and food insecurity

Pairing: Gen (Aaron Hotchner & Spencer Reid, Derek Morgan & Spencer Reid)

Word Count: 3k

Masterlist // Read on AO3 // Bad Things Happen Bingo

This fills my "trying not to cry" bad things happen bingo square and is set a few weeks after Spencer joins the BAU, in an AU in which Elle was there before him.

Everyone is so nice, is the thing.

And that’s great. Really, it is. Spencer isn’t about to complain when JJ kindly walks him through the filing system all the while asking questions about him and his life, or when Derek ribs him gently about his ducktail hair or his nerdy brain. No-one cuts him off when he gets carried away — unless it’s time-sensitive, of course — or teases him about anything that cuts too close to home. Being the new guy in the most prestigious unit in the FBI could’ve been a nightmare, but this team made it easy. He’s so grateful for all of it.

It just makes it really hard to turn down dinner invitations.

He watches his shaking fingers in the mirror as they button his shirt up and wrap his tie around his neck, poking it fastidiously under the collar, not a wrinkle of fabric out of place. He glances down at the countertop again, re-reading the restaurant name copied down in JJ’s careful handwriting onto a piece of copier paper regardless of having committed it to memory the first time he heard it. Sur la Rivière: a fancy European restaurant in DC.

He’d hoped for a cheap and cheerful Chinese when Hotch had first brought up the idea of a team bonding dinner, something more his style, but he’d smiled anyway when Elle had mentioned this place her foodie friend had recommended, no matter how strained it might have been. He’s the new guy after all. He doesn’t expect much swing when it comes to choosing where to eat.

As soon as his shirt and tie are perfectly in place, he gets to work on taming his curly hair. It makes him look younger when it’s loose and fluffy, and with a baby-face like his combined with already being the youngest person in the entire FBI, every year he can add on counts. Soon, though, there’s no more grooming he can use to stall the inevitable, and he sighs tiredly before clicking off the bathroom light and heading to the hall.

He collects his phone and wallet, checking for the sixth time that evening that his credit card and extra money to tip the waiter is definitely in there, grabs his keys, and heads out of his apartment. Derek is in his car waiting on the curb for him like he promised he would be, looking effortlessly suave and cool in a way Spencer never will as he honks his horn at the sight of the younger man walking towards him.

“Pretty boy!” he calls, his grin making Spencer smile, too. “Took you long enough. Hop in, fancy European cuisine awaits.”

Another rush of nerves floods Spencer’s stomach at the mention of the fate he’s signed up for, but he smiles anyway as he opens the passenger door and slides in. “Thanks for giving me a lift, Derek,” he says, hating that his anxious discomfort is so obvious in his voice.

Thankfully, Derek doesn’t pick him up on it, simply pulling away from the curb and beginning the drive across town. “How many times do I have to tell you not to mention it? I live less than ten minutes away, Spencer, it’s really not a problem.”

Spencer flushes a bit at that, wringing his hands in his lap as he watches the streets of his district pass by out the window. “Well, I appreciate it anyway,” he settles on, flashing Derek a quick smile that he doubts he sees anyway with his eyes glued so firmly to the road. “Riding the metro is a nightmare at this hour.”

“Never learned how to drive? I didn’t have the money for lessons, Spencer wants to say, irrationally frustrated at his situation. I was rushed through the academy too quickly to learn something as trivial as driving.

“I was too busy getting five degrees,” Spencer says instead, forcing a smile on his face. He wishes he wasn’t so well-practiced at managing other people’s emotions; wishes he could say what he’s really thinking. But he can’t, not in front of the people he’s trying to impress, not so soon.

“Alright, alright, I get it, you’re a genius,” Derek chuckles. “I’m glad you’re coming tonight, we all are. Gideon didn’t tell us much before he left, just that you had an IQ of 187 and he’d pulled a lot of strings to get you in at only 22.”

Spencer winces slightly at the mention of his ex-mentor. “Yeah, I’m sorry he ran out on you guys so suddenly.”

“Hey, from what I hear, he did the same to you,” Derek counters. “You guys seemed way closer than we were anyway. I never really liked the guy.”

As much as most of Spencer hates Gideon for abandoning him without warning, leaving him to find his footing in the FBI alone and afraid, a small part of him still itches to defend him. “He was a good mentor. Not such a good friend, as it turns out.”

Derek looks away from the road for a moment and shoots him a sympathetic look. “I’m sorry, man. But Gideon’s loss is our gain. You’re gonna be an amazing asset to the team, I just know it.”

A genuine smile crosses Spencer’s face at that. “Thanks, Derek. I can’t wait to really get stuck in, you know?”

“I remember the feeling.” Derek grins again.

They continue chatting for the rest of the journey, Spencer finally relaxing into the company of a new friend— that is, until Derek cuts across one of his stories from his second PhD. “Hey, the restaurant should be up on the left somewhere but I can’t see it…

“Oh, there,” Spencer says, pointing at the sleek, almost anonymous-looking black sign hanging above a set of fancy doors. How can doors be fancy? They’re supposed to be functional, not pretentious. All of a sudden that sinking feeling that had lifted on the car ride over settles back into his stomach and he can’t help but swallow nervously as Derek parks the car and they step out into the street.

Everyone’s already seated when they finally push through the restaurant doors, and Spencer hates that he made them both late with his apprehensive stalling, but no-one really seems to mind as they all cheer happily at the sight of them, ignoring the dirty looks it earns them from the other patrons.

“You made it!” Penelope squeals as she gets up from her seat to give Spencer a hug. He’s a little touch-averse, really, but something about Penelope’s hugs make him never want to leave her arms. He does anyway, though, and he and Derek find their seats opposite one another at the end of the table.

“I’m glad you’re here, Spencer,” Hotch says kindly as the waitress passes the two late-comers their menus.

“You’ll fit right in,” JJ promises, “we’re like a weird little family, to be honest.”

Spencer flushes a bit under the attention of so many experienced FBI agents, but he nods anyway before they all get started on deciding what to eat. He listens vaguely to everyone talking amongst themselves, giving one another suggestions in a way that corroborates JJ’s statement, and all of a sudden Spencer’s collar feels tight. It’s not just the nerves of meeting new people or the anxiety of an alien social environment, he realises he doesn’t recognise a single item on the menu.

He knows what the words themselves mean, but reading the words 'tortellini of venison’ and trying to imagine deer meat pasta is not easily done. The only simple meals seem to be seafood and Spencer’s never been a fan of fish. The only food he can even begin to imagine himself actually putting in his mouth, chewing, and swallowing is the porterhouse steak: not that he’s ever really eaten much red meat like that.

Spencer isn’t a fussy eater. He’s eaten a wide variety of dishes from any number of different restaurants across multiple cuisines, he’s just never had the kind of money to eat at a place that serves caviar, for God’s sake. Far too soon, the waitress wanders back over to the table, taking everyone’s orders with a polite smile on her face.

He listens as everyone confidently orders their meals: the smoked trout, the Moroccan quail, the lobster tagliatelle. Spencer thanks the heavens he isn’t a vegetarian, at least, but it’s not much of a consolation prize when everyone’s eyes fall on him.

“Uh, I’ll have the porterhouse steak,” he says uncertainly, hoping nobody notices the sweat beading on his forehead or the anxiety raging behind his eyes.

Everyone seems to accept his answer, the waitress taking their menus and walking back towards the kitchen as the rest of them resume their conversation. Hotch’s eyes linger a moment too long on him, and Spencer thinks he sees something like concern in his gaze, but before he can think much of it, Penelope’s drawing everyone’s attention to JJ’s bracelet.

“Can we please appreciate this?” she says, sounding scandalised for some reason Spencer can’t quite discern from context yet. “Elle, baby, you have taste. This is absolutely gorgeous! Are you sure you don’t want to date me, too?”

Spencer’s eyebrows raise slightly at that. “Oh, you two are together?” he asks, although now that he realises it he’s not sure how he didn’t notice sooner.

“Are you sure you’re a profiler, kid?” Derek laughs. “They don’t exactly hide it.

“Even though they’re supposed to,” Hotch chimes in with a faux stern look. “You two are gonna have my job at some point.” “Aw, but where would we find another Unit Chief that would help us hide our secret so well?” Elle says charmingly, making everyone laugh, including JJ, who presses her face into her shoulder fondly.

It’s easy for Spencer to momentarily lose himself in the banter, smiling as they tease one another, interspersing their gripes and funny stories from work among it all. They include him in all of it, and he doesn’t feel left out for even a second, finally relaxing into the unfamiliar environment of a fancy restaurant, eased by the reassuring company of his new team.

“JJ’s right,” he muses out loud when there’s a brief lull in conversation, “you guys really are like a little family.”

JJ leans away from Elle towards him for a moment, wrapping him in a side hug. “And you’re the perfect addition to it, Spence,” she says softly, everyone’s expressions reading nothing but fond agreement. “We needed a little brother to add into the mix.”

Spencer blushes again but leans into her touch.

No-one gets a chance to say anything else before the food arrives, the servers bringing JJ and Elle’s meals first, then serving Hotch and Penelope, before they finally bring out his and Derek’s order.

Everyone dives into their food, immediately making noises of contentment, passing bites around to one another, but Spencer can’t join in the jubilant celebration of a good meal. He picks his knife and fork up shakily as he stares at the massive portion of steak in front of him. It’s served with roast potatoes and flecks of a pointless salad that he suspects is only there as a garnish rather than actually part of the meal, but that’s not what has him worried.

This huge slab of meat hasn’t been sliced beforehand. He knows that he’ll shake the whole table if he tries to do it: it’s a massive, impenetrable slab of red meat that Spencer has no chance of enjoying, let alone finishing. He stares at it as tears burn in his eyes: he’s so out of his comfort zone and he’s so terrified of messing up and pushing away these newfound friends that he can’t move.

“Spence?” JJ cuts in gently, putting a hand on his shoulder, forcing him to look up, only to find everyone looking at him with worried expressions on their faces. “Are you okay?”

“Sorry,” he says, standing up abruptly, the disturbance of the table barely registering in his brain. “I just need a minute.”

He rushes out of the restaurant without looking back, drawing in deep breaths as soon as he’s in the cool evening air of spring. Thoughts race through his mind at a million miles an hour as he grasps for something concrete to grab onto, eventually settling for a tall flower pot.

“Spencer?”

He looks up to find Hotch standing next to him, deep concern written across his face, and Spencer’s heart clenches at the thought that he’s already messed this up so quickly. Could this night possibly get any worse?

Apparently, it can, because all of a sudden he feels his face crumple and the stinging tears finally spill down his cheeks. He sinks down to the ground and buries his face in his hands, humiliation glimmering in every cell of his body.

“Oh, Spencer,” Hotch says gently, lowering himself to the cool pavement next to him and placing a warm hand on his back. He lets him cry it out for a couple of minutes, his palm drawing small circles in between his shoulder blades, trying again to get through to him when Spencer’s sobs calm down slightly. “You want to tell me what’s going on?”

With a shuddering breath, he forces himself to lift his face from his palms, although he still refuses to meet Hotch’s eyes, keeping his gaze fixed firmly on the Korean restaurant across the street. “I guess it just all got to be too much,” he whispers.

“Yeah?” Hotch says encouragingly. “What specifically?”

“I— I didn’t have much growing up. It was just me and my mom so we were living in the middle of Vegas on a single disability check each month. And, uh, then I went to college, and I was barely scraping by there, too. It’s only recently that I’ve known the luxury of knowing for sure I was eating that night, and it still gets to me sometimes when I’m faced with fancy restaurants and heavy, expensive meals. My body’s had to work for years on virtually nothing, there’s no way I can stomach a steak like that. I guess, all those feelings that are a lifetime in the making combined with the anxiety of eating with the team for the first time… wanting to make a good impression, it just all got too much. I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to—”

Hotch raises a hand, and Spencer finally meets his eyes, finding nothing but compassion and understanding there no matter how much he searches. “You don’t need to apologise, Spencer, not for something like this. I’m sorry that none of us thought to make the first team dinner with you a more casual affair, and I’m even more sorry that you felt like you couldn’t tell us you were uncomfortable.” “It’s okay.”

“It’s not, but I’m glad you accept my apology,” Hotch says, smiling softly. “You know, we all bring baggage with us, Spencer. I can’t relate to food insecurity, but I had my own issues when I first joined the BAU. I grew up with a pretty terrible father, and the thing I found myself reprimanded for the most when I was a new recruit was the inability to follow orders. I’d spent my whole life scared of this man, obeying his every word, and I couldn’t help but hear him when my superiors would tell me to do something. When I was finally free of him, it was like I couldn’t help but rebel.

“You’re not the only one whose childhood follows them around, and I’d much rather it be something like this that we can easily manage, than something that will affect you or the team in the field, okay? Instead of beating yourself up over things you can’t control, try and remember that you have a whole new family who will do anything they can to make you feel as comfortable as possible. We already think the world of you, Spencer. Sacrificing fancy dinners that — let’s face it — can’t beat cheap junk food anyway is hardly a big ask.

Warmth spreads across his chest at Hotch’s words, replacing the feelings of failure and rising anxiety with something that feels like a promise of all the good to come. There’s something fatherly, something deeply paternal in Hotch that there wasn’t in Gideon, and it’s the most comfort Spencer’s felt in years. “Really?”

“Really,” Hotch nods, squeezing his shoulder gently. “You wait here one minute, okay?”

“Okay…” Hotch is gone before he can finish replying, and Spencer is left staring at the doors confused, until the rest of the team are piling out of them a few minutes later, Hotch bringing up the rear with his jacket and wallet in hand.

“We just paid the tab. How does cheap Chinese food eaten in the park a couple hundred yards down sound?” Hotch suggests, raising an eyebrow as he smiles warmly at Spencer.

He looks around briefly at the rest of the team, who are all giving him encouraging looks, not a trace of judgement or annoyance to be found.

“That sounds amazing,” he laughs wetly, the tears springing to his eyes this time caused by a completely different emotion. “I can pay you back, though.”

“Don’t be ridiculous, pretty boy,” Derek says, patting Spencer’s back, “we’ve got it. Now, come on, I’m gonna order sweet and sour chicken balls, and I want them now.”

“That’s what she said,” Penelope giggles, linking her arm with Derek’s.

“That was terrible, baby girl, but I love that you tried.”

“Do you want to share shrimp chop suey with me, babe?” Elle asks JJ as they clasp hands, walking a couple of steps ahead of them.

“Well, I’m certainly not sharing with any of these losers,” JJ teases, before kissing Elle’s cheek.

Spencer feels Hotch place his hand on his back, and he turns to smile gratefully at the older man. “Thank you,” he says quietly, trying to convey just how earnestly he means it. “No-one’s ever done anything this nice for me before.”

There’s a slightly sad tinge to Hotch’s smile, but it doesn’t look like pity. “I’d get used to it if I were you. That’s just how we do things in the BAU.”

Well, if that’s the case, Spencer thinks, smiling as he falls into step between Hotch and Penelope, I think I might just stick around.

taglist: @criminalmindsvibez @suburban--gothic @strippersenseii @takeyourleap-of-faith @negativefouriq @makaylajadewrites @iamrenstark @hotchseyebrows @temily @jellejareau @reidology @spencerspecifics @bau-gremlin @tobias-hankel @garcias-bitch @oliverbrnch @physics-magic @sbeno22 @im-autistic-not-stupid(taglist form)

#criminal minds #cm #criminal minds fic #criminal minds writing #criminal minds gen #criminal minds gen fic #aaron hotchner & spencer reid #derek morgan & spencer reid #derek morgan #spencer reid #aaron hotchner #penelope garcia #jelle #jennifer jareau #elle greenaway #criminal minds fluff #criminal minds angst #hurt spencer reid #hurt/comfort

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peaceoutofthepieces · 3 years

Text

chapter 42

Fake Making-It

Social Media AU

previous chapter

it’s not proofread and most of it was written in the middle of the night and I think it probably kinda sucks, so sorry, but happy actual valentine’s day from these idiots 💕

~^~

Jens opens the door and immediately begins to shut it in Sander’s face.

Sander shoves his foot into the gap and wraps his hand around the frame, bravely, and forces it back. Jens lets go with a sigh, that turns even heavier when he spots Robbe at Sander’s shoulder. Sander keeps his hand pressed to the door and watches Jens cautiously, as if expecting him to slam it closed the instant Sander lets go. It isn’t an entirely unfair judgment.

“What is this?” Jens asks.

“A slight intervention,” Robbe tells him, sharing a glance with Sander. “And this time you need to listen.”

Jens leans out the door mockingly, but Sander furrows his brows at him. “Lucas hasn’t come back from Utrecht, no, and I don’t blame him.”

This puts Jens on pause and sets him rocking back on his heels. He blinks. “Utrecht? Why the fuck is he in Utrecht?”

“That’s where he lives,” Sander says slowly. “Or, where he grew up, at least. He’s staying with his mom.”

Jens knows that. He knows where Lucas’s home is, and he’s slightly (irrationally) pissed that Sander is treating him like he doesn’t, or that he’s stupid. He knows what and where Utrecht is; he just doesn’t know why Lucas is there. The message, however, feels pretty clear, and entirely contradictory to the messages on his phone. It makes him feel a little sick.

“Why are you here, then?” If Lucas doesn’t even want to be in the same country with him, then Jens doesn’t understand the purpose of further meddling. If Sander as mad at Jens for driving him away, Jens will point out that he didn’t tell Lucas to leave and then resort back to slamming the door. He might use the chain this time for extra security measures.

Sander slowly lets his hand drop from the door and asks, “Can we come in?”

Jens stares at him for a moment. He looks to Robbe and isn’t surprised by the encouraging nod he receives. He steps back, biting down another sigh, and sweeps his arm out in a ‘go ahead’ gesture.

The two filter into the apartment, Robbe squeezing his shoulder as they pass. They settle on Jens’s sofa side by side, and Jens drops into his armchair and looks at them expectantly.

“I know that you’re upset,” Sander says softly, “and I understand why. I also get why you’re angry. But I need you to be chill Jens for a second and listen. Will you?”

Jens glares at him for a second, but it feels uncomfortable on his face. He’s tired of feeling angry and he’s tired of being hurt. There is a chance, after all, that Sander will tell him something he wants to hear. The blond looks serious and confident—moreso than Jens has ever seen him. It might be that he’s sure of what he has to say, or it might be Robbe’s hand rubbing circles on his knee. Jens decides to nod anyway.

Sander’s shoulder sag on a breath of relief. “Okay. I need you to know you’re wrong. Don’t give me that face—you’ve already realised this yourself. I know you realise this. I need you to understand—none of this was Lucas’s fault. He hated every second of it. I should have stepped up for him the last time we were here and made that clear. Did Lucas talk to you much about how he was when he was younger, and what it was like for him coming out?”

Jens thinks back, but he can’t recall them ever broaching the topic. They’ve had some deep conversations, but there’s still plenty about Lucas that Jens doesn’t know or had ever thought to ask. He shakes his head.

“It wasn’t...great. He had a hard time with it. It made him do a few stupid things, hurt a few of his friends. But ever since he came out, he’s done everything he could to be brutally honest,” Sander huffs a laugh. He raises a brow at Jens and adds, “You’ve seen that for yourself. Think of the first day he met you, at least. Before I messed everything up. He wasn’t lying to you, then.”

He wasn’t. He was sassy and sure and a little harsh, really, and Jens had probably fallen for him on the spot. He offers a shrug.

Sander accepts that he isn’t going to get anything more and continues. “For as long as I’ve known him, Lucas has been unapologetically himself. He hates lying, unless it’s something small and basic like getting out of dinner with his dad or a way out of work he doesn’t want. White lies are the most he allows himself. From the very beginning, before you even messaged him that first time, he didn’t want to lie to you.”

“So what happened?” Jens asks, trying not to sound desperate. “Why did he?”

“I don’t know,” Sander admits quietly. Robbe squeezes his knee as he swallows, but then he looks at Jens with the same surety as before. “Maybe he panicked, too, but my best guess is that he did it for me. He wouldn’t have lost anything by telling you the truth that day, but he would’ve had to give me away, so he didn’t. It doesn’t matter that it was stupid. If there’s one thing about Lucas, it’s that he’s loyal to a fucking fault. He messed up before in that area too, but,” Sander pauses, licking his lips and shaking his head, eyes now downcast. “He’s done everything to make up for it since. It doesn’t matter that I didn’t deserve it. He’s just too good of a friend.”

Jens looks at Robbe, and his best friend meets his eyes, and for the first time Jens feels a pang of sympathy. He thinks of all the things that Robbe has done for him that he likely didn’t deserve, and what he’d do for Robbe in turn. He imagines himself in Lucas’s position, and comes to an understanding. If Robbe needed him, he would be there, no questions asked. No matter the reason or risk. There are lengths he would go to for his best friend that he’d scoff over with anyone else.

Still.

“That doesn’t change anything between us,” he mumbles. “It doesn’t change the fact that he did it.”

“No,” Sander agrees instantly. “It doesn’t change the fact that he messed up along with me. That he did lie and that it hurt you. But it changes your understanding, doesn’t it?”

Jens looks to Robbe again, who is now smiling knowingly. Another side effect, he supposes—Robbe has always been able to more or less read his mind.

Robbe speaks up, softly. “It doesn’t. He already understands, it’s just making him admit it.”

Now, Jens narrows his eyes. Maybe he overestimated the best-friend solidarity. Or maybe that’s exactly why Robbe’s doing this.

Sander’s eyes have brightened with Robbe’s reassurance, and he’s back to staring steadily at Jens, overly sure. “Robbe’s right. You’re upset because you think he lied to you about more than this. That he played you, or fabricated whatever you have between you. But you already know better. You know what kind of person Lucas is, Jens.”

Does he? This is what he’s been asking himself over and over, these past few days. The hurt has been almost buried under the panic of his outing, which he is yet to address, but still there has been space for this single question. He remembers everything he had shared with Lucas, the night they kissed. He remembers Lucas calling him out, for always acting like he knew Lucas by heart, but it had seemed like he was right and that Lucas was simply admitting it. Jens has always felt like he knew Lucas, from somewhere deeper than surface level facts. His brain and his heart have both been unsure, but there’s something adamant in his soul even now, something that extends to his gut. There is something in him agreeing with every word Sander says, screaming at him so that he might acknowledge what he already knows to be true.

“Lucas was always pissed at me, but there were times when he would come to me first and be so adamant that we had to fix things, that we had to tell you the truth. I didn’t realise at the time, but I know it was because of you,” Sander continues.

Jens’s chest tightens. “What do you mean?”

“It must have always been after he’d spoken to you. He said it a few times, that he couldn’t take you praising his honesty and lying to you over and over.”

Sander says this pointedly, as if acknowledging the center of Jens’s argument and demolishing it. His sole excuse, the center of his hurt, is that he has spent this whole time appreciating Lucas’s honesty while it has been founded on lies from the beginning. But it holds no weight, if Lucas had made the same point himself.

“I thought it was just because of the lie, but it’s because it was you,” Sander says firmly. “He wouldn’t have kept talking to you if he didn’t want to. Everything he shared with you, Jens, it means a hundred times more because of the circumstances. He could have made it easier for himself by avoiding you and hiding away, but he couldn’t. He could have let you try without offering up any of himself, but he didn’t.”

Jens, admittedly, has spent too much time pondering over that himself. It had been something that didn’t make sense. He could never truly believe Lucas would be cruel enough to go to such an extent—to fabricate enough information to convince Jens he was being honest and open; to earn his favour through such a dirty trick. He hasn’t been able to convince himself that all Lucas has told him has been a lie.

Robbe raises his brows at him, as if he knows Jens is caught. Jens ignores him and any expectancy to respond, letting Sander continue.

“It was killing him, and I know you could see it and just didn’t know what it was. Robbe told me, that you always wondered if Lucas was happy.” Sander gestures at Robbe, and seems sad now as he looks at Jens. “He wasn’t, with me. But even when things were fucked up, he couldn’t help it with you. It’s not the easiest thing to do, but you always seemed to make him happy, and I couldn’t understand it. I thought it was some weird kick out of rivalry, his way of trying to keep things light, maybe. I didn’t know. I didn’t see.” There seems, again, to be a silent acknowledgement that strengthens Sander’s sadness. I didn’t see it in my best friend, but you did. “The reason he lied, the reason he left—all of it’s because of me, not you. It’s not your fault. But it certainly isn’t his.”

It’s a little surprising, that Sander assumes some part of this is Jens blaming himself. It’s more surprising that he’s right. Jens hasn’t been able to help wondering what it is, what aspect of him makes it so easy for people to deceive him. What makes people want to. He’s gotten so used to it—being set up and knocked down. He has performed endless trust falls, and almost always ended up on his ass. This has felt even worse. Every day he’s been falling further and harder, breaking through the ground and gathering more aches and bruises with each passing moment.

Now, suddenly, he stops.

Something soft and warm catches him and wraps him up and says, You weren’t wrong. You were always right. You’ve always known.

The realisation hits him like a punch, knocking the breath out of him on a long, shaky exhale.

Sander and Robbe both notice, and beam at him, Sander letting out a sigh of relief. Robbe wraps himself around Sander’s arm and hugs the limb tightly, smiling so wide his cheeks seem ready to split. “Finally.”

“Alright,” Jens mutters, letting out a sigh of his own. There’s no heat in it anymore. “I’m as fucking stupid as the two of you have been,” he tells Sander.

“Well,” Robbe interrupts, politely. He squeezes Sander’s arm. “I wouldn’t think you’re on quite the same level. There was sense to your stupidity, and you were still right to be hurt.”

“You weren’t,” Jens points out, looking between the two of them.

Sander dismisses this with a wave and a lovesick look towards his boyfriend. Jens doesn’t understand how he never noticed that, at the very least. “Yeah, well, Robbe’s too nice,” Sander says.

Jens doesn’t have an argument for that. He does, however, have one final point he wants to make. “But,” he raises his brows, catching their attention and focusing on Sander. “I don’t think I’m the one who has to apologise to Lucas.”

The meaning is clear, and instead of shrinking away from it, Sander’s eyes finally light up in understanding.

He deflates just as quickly, looking down and plucking at Robbe’s fingers. “I don’t think he’ll ever forgive me.”

“You said it yourself,” Jens reminds him. “Lucas is a good friend. Loyal to a fault. He’s hurt and he left because of you, not me. That should be enough proof of how much he cares.”

Sander swallows. He leans against Robbe, who presses further into his side, and then he looks back up at Jens. “What am I supposed to do, then?”

Jens shrugs, raising his brows once more. “I’m guessing you both expected a nice romantic gesture out of me. So what do you think you’re supposed to do, Sander?”

~^~

Lucas opens the door and regrets it almost instantly.

“Don’t,” Sander quickly says, putting his foot inside the door. “Please.”

He’s standing on Lucas’s doorstep in the dark, shivering in his leather jacket. His white hair is tousled, restlessly rather than stylish, and the bags under his eyes could probably rival Lucas’s own. He looks like a ghost in the navy backdrop of the night, threadbare and flickering. The sight of him almost makes Lucas feel bad.

He shakes the feeling off and asks, “What the hell are you doing here?”

Sander shrugs. “I drove,” he says simply, as if that’s in any way what Lucas meant.

“You drove,” Lucas repeats. “Let me rephrase. Why are you here, Sander?”

Lucas supposes there’s only one possible reason, but he no longer feels sure. He doesn’t know what to expect from Sander, anymore. He isn’t even sure where they stand. Despite the messages Sander has been sending him constantly that he’s ignored, he’s been considering himself forgotten. He assumed instantly that Robbe would be more important, and he’s still fairly sure.

Sander takes a breath and gazes at him steadily. “I’m here to apologise.” Lucas opens his mouth and Sander holds up a hand. “Before you shut me down, that’s it. I’m here to apologise, nothing more, nothing less. I’m not here because I expect you to forgive me. But you deserve an apology.”

Lucas hesitates. Then he crosses his arms over his chest and nods once.

“Sorry doesn’t cut it,” Sander says. “I know that, but I could never think of anything else to say. But then I realised that, at the very least, I should have always told you the truth.” Sander takes another breath. “And the truth is that I love you, Luc.”

Lucas blinks.

Sander smiles at him. It’s small, but it isn’t sad. It’s sincere, and achingly familiar. Lucas would know exactly what it looks like without being able to see it, just from the tone of Sander’s voice. Everything about him is familiar. The crinkle of his eyes is something Lucas could picture just as easily, one shut slightly more than the other. He knows that droop is still there, without having to look, like he knows the same little scar will be.

He knows Sander off by heart, without having to see. He didn’t realise he was unaware of those words without hearing them.

“I love you,” Sander repeats, “and I really don’t want to lose you. It is the last fucking thing I’ve ever wanted.”

Lucas’s lips part. Then close again. This is not what he’d expected, but he hadn’t expected Sander at all. Not just here tonight, but ever. Sander had sailed into Lucas’s life on a Bowie record with his camera around his neck and a sparkle in him that Lucas has never witnessed in anyone else. He’s known, since seeing it for the first time, that it’s something he shouldn’t let go of easily. He knows, in the same way as he recognises everything else, that the spark is still present.

But it feels sharp and dangerous, now, instead of bright and warm. Lucas wants to shy away from the light instead of be drawn towards it.

“What about Robbe?”

Sander pauses, like he doesn’t know what Lucas means, and then realisation settles. “I haven’t lost Robbe,” Sander admits, watching Lucas’s expression. “The opposite, in fact.”

Lucas can appreciate the honesty, even though it stings. It isn’t surprising. He swallows thickly. “Guess it worked out after all, then.”

“No,” Sander denies immediately, shaking his head. “It didn’t. Not if it cost me you.”

Sander’s eyes are glimmering, and it has nothing to do with his spark. Lucas recognises the sight of tears gathering behind eyelids. It’s embarrassing, how much it pains him even now. It’s pathetic how much he wants to believe him.

“Why should I believe that?” Lucas whispers.

“Because you want to,” Sander says, equally soft. He takes a small step closer, but still doesn’t cross the threshold. His hands are shaking from nerves or the cold. “I know you do because I know you, Luc. That’s how I know how much I messed up, and that’s why I was so surprised when you told me about Jens. Because ever since I’ve known you, I’ve known you. We were always on the same wavelength. I didn’t realise how much I disrupted that, and I don’t think I’ll ever forgive myself. But I can at least make sure you do.”

Lucas rubs his nose in an attempt not to sniffle, even though he could probably brush it off as the chill, too. “What?”

“You know I talked to Kes. I know you’re blaming yourself way more than you should, and I’m sorry that I caused that. I’m sorry that I pushed you back there. That’s what I’m here to apologise for.” He licks his lips, shaking his head, in another gesture that Lucas is too familiar with. “I don’t expect you to forgive me, but I can still fix things for you, even if I can’t fix us.”

“What?” Lucas repeats. “What do you mean?”

Sander steps aside, and then Jens is taking his place.

It’s only then that Lucas notices Robbe standing off to the side, as well, as Sander steps back into his arms. But it’s Jens that comes out of nowhere and makes himself the center of Lucas’s focus. He looks exactly the same as Lucas remembers, but Lucas isn’t sure what else he expected. Jens is as stunning as usual, just tired. There are shadows cast over his face, under his eyes and in the downturn of his lips, but it doesn’t change him. The difference, Lucas thinks, is that the last time he’d seen him, Jens was furious. Made up of jagged edges and barbed-wire words. The Jens in front of him now is the familiar version, too, the one that’s all sharpened soft lines and warmth, exuding calm despite the layer of nerves laced underneath.

The Jens in front of him now is in front of him. He’s here, with Lucas. He’s here, in Utrecht.

He’s smiling.

Lucas stares and barely manages to say, “What the fuck?”

Jens’s smile twitches, but in the direction of more-amused rather than less. He sweeps his gaze over Lucas. “This is the first time I’ve ever seen you look like shit.”

Lucas resists the urge to look down at himself. He knows he looks a mess. The sleeves of his hoodie are fraying and his sweatpants are too big, but they’re the most comfortable clothing he owns. He probably looks more tired than Jens, or at least less put together. His hair hasn’t been touched in days and very possibly resembles something nest-like.

He watches as Jens sweeps his gaze over him again, lingering on all the features of his face and softening. “But you still don’t, really,” Jens sighs.

Lucas isn’t sure what to say to that, or if he should say anything at all. He isn’t sure of anything at the moment, but he definitely can’t figure out why Jens is here.

“I’m sorry,” they say simultaneously.

It surprises Lucas. He opens his mouth to continue, to immediately deny, but Jens holds up a hand.

“Please, this time, let me,” Jens requests, and it’s so gentle that Lucas can only shut up and stare. “You don’t have to do any more explaining. I know I was wrong, or at least too hard on you.” Jens blows out a breath, smiling crookedly. “I think I was an asshole, actually.”

Lucas shakes his head. “You had every right to say what you did. I probably deserved worse.”

“You don’t,” Jens insists. Lucas’s heart stops when Jens also takes his hands. Jens himself seems surprised at the gesture, looking down at where they touch. He rubs his thumbs over Lucas’s knuckles while gathering more words, then looks up again. “I’m not going to apologise for being hurt. But I will for not believing you.”

“But...you were right. The whole time, I—“

“Was more honest with me than most people have ever been,” Jens cuts him off.

Lucas can only blink, helplessly hopeful.

“I know,” Jens starts. Pauses. Tries again. “I know that even if there was this one lie, or secret, or whatever you want to call it, that what we have—that was real. It is real. And I’m sorry, for being an asshole and ever suggesting otherwise.”

“Jens,” Lucas whispers. Then he can’t think of anything else.

“I know,” Jens reiterates gently. He steps closer, like Sander, and also doesn’t cross the threshold. But he comes close, toes brushing the line. Close enough that he can lean his forehead against Lucas’s while squeezing his hands. “I don’t need you to explain, or say sorry, or do anything else. I know, Lucas.”

Lucas lets out a breath, and finally lets something go. He’s been holding it for over a month, and with the weight and pressure gone, he almost feels like he’s floating. Jens’s hands are the only thing keeping him tethered.

This time, he thinks to ask.

“Does this mean I can kiss you again?”

Jens’s grin is blindingly beautiful, and he leans into Lucas without another word of explanation needed between them. It’s enough to let their lips meet and reassure each other that they know. This kiss is both softer and surer than their first, and comes as even more of a relief. Instead of floating, Lucas sinks, melting into Jens to the point he’s sure they’ll dissolve into one.

Even then, they press closer still. Jens slides his hands around Lucas’s waist and draws him into his chest, tucking them together in a tight embrace. Lucas buries his head in Jens’s neck and clutches on just as tightly, breathing Jens in and letting himself be swayed slightly.

He soaks up as much surety as he needs, and then he pulls back. Jens lets him go without question, still knowing, stepping out of the way to let Lucas come out into the night and extend his arms further.

There’s no hesitation in either of them as Lucas pulls Sander into a hug and holds on for dear life. Sander reciprocates with just as much force, almost crushing Lucas to his chest as he lets out a choked laugh of pure relief. Lucas squeezes him as tightly as he can, meeting Robbe’s glistening smile over Sander’s shoulder and feeling his own eyes water.

“I love you, too,” he breathes. “I’m sorry, too.”

Sander sniffs, and this time Lucas laughs, but keeps holding on and letting them both hide their tears. “Okay. No need to get all sappy about it,” Sander mumbles.

Lucas simply squeezes him tighter. There’s nothing he knows better than this.

“I don’t know what you did,” he tells Sander. “But thank you.”

“Don’t,” Sander dismisses. “You know I’d do anything for you, Luc.”

“If I’m being totally honest,” Jens pipes up from their side. “This utterly disgusting display of emotions would’ve probably worked better on Robbe and I the whole time. You guys were shit boyfriends.”

Lucas and Sander both laugh, and then Lucas extends an arm out and pulls Jens into their hug. Jens stumbles in surprise, but attaches himself to Lucas without fuss and draws Robbe along with him. Once they’ve created a bigger bubble, Lucas presses a kiss to Jens’s cheek and aims for a reassuring tone. “I promise we’re much better at it in the right circumstances.”

Robbe immediately hums in agreement. Lucas can’t even see him, smothered between Sander and Jens across from himself, but he feels the movement of Sander’s body as Robbe hugs him closer. “I believe that.”

“I might need a little convincing,” Jens says, snippy. Lucas scoffs and pinches his side. Jens flinches away with a yelp. “See, mine is faulty,” he complains.

Lucas removes himself from the huddle and blinks. “Yours?”

Jens turns with him, keeping a hand knotted in Lucas’s hoodie, and simply raises his brows. His nerves are betrayed when tries to reinforce his statement by making a joke. “The whole world-wide-web already seems to think so,” he says lightly.

It only has the effect of making Lucas’s face fall.

“Don’t,” Jens says, stepping closer to him again and cupping his cheek. “Sorry, that was stupid. I’m not mad.”

“But are you okay?” Lucas asks carefully.

Jens considers this, then shrugs. He presses a kiss to Lucas’s forehead, then keeps his lips there, brushing over the skin as he speaks. “Depends,” he settles on, carding a hand through Lucas’s hair. “Are they right?”

By way of answer, Lucas leans up and kisses him again.

Jens accepts it for a moment, then pulls away and bumps his freezing nose against Lucas’s. “A good boyfriend would probably invite their partner inside before they freeze their balls off.”

Lucas snorts, but immediately steps back through the door and pulls Jens with him, beckoning Sander and Robbe in after them and finally enclosing them in heat.

“Wait,” Sander says. “Where’s your mom?”

“Listening to everything in the sitting room,” Lucas nods his head. When Sander and Jens both freeze, wide-eyed, he lets out a laugh. “No, she’s staying at her sister’s like she does every weekend.”

Robbe shoots him an amused look as Sander and Jens both relax. Lucas looks between the three of them. “Did you even bring anything with you? Any of you?”

They all look at each other, and then Robbe says, “Uhh.”

Lucas closes his eyes and takes a breath, but he can’t wipe the smile off his face. “I can’t believe any of you.”

“Yes you can,” Sander dismisses. “And you love it. And we love you.”

Lucas flushes, and Robbe smiles at him and winds his arms around Sander’s shoulders, pressing a soothing kiss to his cheek. “Okay, I think you’ve made your point, hm? How about we get out of their way, now?”

“You can stay where you always do,” Lucas tells Sander. “Mom always has it ready for you, I think.”

Sander turns soft and gooey again, and wraps Lucas in another tight hug. “Thank you.”

“It’s okay,” Lucas assures, rubbing his back. “I was getting tired of being pissed, anyway.”

Sander snorts. “Lucky me.”

Lucas hums and then pushes him back towards Robbe. He lets his lips twitch up in a smile and raises his brows. “You‘ll have to share the bed, though, so I hope that’s okay.”

Robbe blushes slightly, but nods at Sander’s curious look.

Jens snorts. “Yeah, as if Robbe was going to complain.”

Robbe reaches up and smacks Jens’s cheek lightly, and Sander tucks him into his side before a full scuffle can ensue. With another thanks, Sander begins guiding Robbe away, and is only stopped by Jens saying, “Hey.” They both turn back to him, Sander curious and Robbe expectant.

Jens holds his hand out to Sander. After only a few seconds of hesitation, Sander takes it in his own and responds to Jens’s squeeze. “Thanks. For being a good friend to us, too.”

Sander’s lips curl in a smile, and he nods. Lucas watches the exchange with an overwhelming feeling of relief.

Then Sander and Robbe go, giggling on their way up Lucas’s stairs, and Lucas is left with Jens. Some of the panic returns. He does his best to stamp it down, swallowing before turning to Jens.

Jens smiles at him. “Hi,” he says quietly.

“Hey,” Lucas returns. “Are you hungry, or anything?”

Jens shakes his head, coming closer slowly, drawing Lucas into him with a little more hesitance than before. Lucas leans into him and kisses his neck in an attempt to soothe the worries away, relishing in the fact that he can, that he has Jens here and is finally allowed to act how he wants. That Jens is allowing him.

“I just wanna be with you,” Jens admits. “Can we talk about everything else tomorrow?”

Lucas swallows. “Okay,” he whispers. “Do you want to—I mean, I can sleep in my mom’s room and you—“

“Lucas,” Jens cuts him off, huffing slightly. “I just want to be with you. If that’s okay.”

“Well, you guys showed up ridiculously late, so it’d be pretty mean of me to send you away.”

“That’s true.”

“Was that the plan?”

“Maybe. Maybe we just couldn’t wait any more.” Jens kisses his nose. “Besides, you were never going to turn us away. You missed me, too. Can’t deny it, I have all your messages.”

“I can still kick you out if—“

Jens shuts him up with another kiss. Lucas doesn’t want to argue anymore, anyway, because they both know Jens is right.

~^~

tag list: @allthewayornowayy @wedarkacademia @lockerfivethreefive @yellowballoon @gucciboner @nora-keinwitz @moonskam @painfully-oblivious @zoenneforever @akucecilia @hischbabe @evaksobbe @alittleemo @boring-side-effect @franboos @debussyatmidnight @skam-wtfock-sobbe

next chapter

#wtfock #skam nl #sobbe #robbe x sander #van der stoffels #vds #fake making-it #i wasn’t in the happy sappy valentine’s mood #but i hope you all enjoy it :)

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miss-tc-nova · 3 years

Text

Tonight - Eraqus x Reader

SCREW IT! I’M DONE! HAVE IT! I’ve been working on this for too long and it’s starting to eat at me. It’s not perfect, but it’s time to move on!

NO BETA WE DIE LIKE THE SCALA UPPERCLASSMEN!

Music inpsiration: Let’s Get Out of This Town - Carrie Underwood

~~~~~

Leaves rustle above, dappling the ground in a perfect mix of cool shade and warm sun. My pen scraws across the book I’m holding up in a rather awkward manner. The reason for such awkward writings shifts again, turning the page of a book I told him to put away at least ten times now.

“Eraqus, would you please focus.”

Splayed across my lap, the young man responds, “I am focused.”

“Then what did I just say?”

“Uh…That the founding of Scala Ad Caelum was the start of a new era for keyblade wielders.” I stare at him, a mix of annoyance and disappointment painted across my face. “What?”

“That was the first thing I said TWO HOURS AGO!” I drop the notebook on his face. “Era, the Founding Festival is in three days and you haven’t even written one word of your speech! Your mom is going to be so pissed if you mess this up!”

The notebook gets pushed aside as he rubs his nose. “I forgot about it, okay. Besides, if she’s so afraid of me ruining the family name, she shouldn’t have put this on me.”

It’s in these truths that I can’t fault him. His parents are trying to exhibit Eraqus as the perfect heir to blue-blooded family—except, everyone knows Eraqus doesn’t couldn’t care less about his heritage.

My fingers slide through his soft, wavy hair. “I know you hate it, and I agree that it’s not really fair, but being Tardy Fleetfoot isn’t gonna get you out of this one, sweetheart.”

His eyes open, staring off into the distant sky; I can practically see the gears turning in his head.

“What if it could?”

“Huh?”

Finally, Eraqus sits up. “What if…we ran away?”

“Seriously? I know it sucks, but you wanna run away because your mom asked you to make a speech on behalf of your family?”

“Yes! I mean, no. I just…” Shoulders slump, his eyes cast down. Suddenly, the ever-present light he radiates dims. “I’ve been thinking about it for a while now and…I think we could be happier outside of Scala.”

I feel a knot in my stomach. “When you say ‘we’…”

“I wouldn’t blame you if you said no, but travelling across the all the worlds would be a lot more fun if you were there with me.”

Eraqus could easily be the heir his parents keep nagging him to be if he would just take their requests more seriously, but I know he has his reasons for rebelling. As for me, I’ve been struggling with a lot of things ever since I met a man in a black coat. I began questioning our purpose and history, which has admittedly affected some of my work. There’s no reward, no guarantees—no certainty that what we’re doing will mean anything; what he showed me has shaken my resolve in this career. Doing something so selfish for once has an incredible allure.

My voice in careful contemplation, I ask, “Do you really think we’d be fine out there on our own?”

That adorable grin that scrunches his nose returns. “With you looking after me, I’m sure we’ll be fine.” Of course he could bring a smile to my face so easily. “Just you and me, travelling the worlds, no responsibilities, doing whatever we want, being together! It’ll be perfect!”

He takes my hands and I can feel the excitement tingling in his fingers like an infection. Still, I can’t quite lose myself to irrationality the same way he can.

“What about your family?”

He sighs, his gaze dropping. “All I have left are my parents and I’m not sure they even see me as their son anymore—just someone to follow the family tradition. And honestly, I don’t care. So I’ve got nothing holding me back.” His gaze turns on me. “Do you?”

My mind frantically sifts through excuses and obligations. Even in my shattered determination, I’d always convinced myself that the path of the keyblade wielder was the right thing to do and that this was my place in this existence. But right now, my heart washes out those thoughts more and more with each beat.

“No.”

I’ve never, in all my years of knowing him, seen Eraqus smile so brightly. And suddenly, my entire future feels like an abyss of the unknown, but it’s bright.

“Then let’s go.”

“Now?!”

He scrambles to his feet, arms thrown out. “Why not?!”

My brain rattles, trying to get a grip on the suddenness of it all. “Wh-But…What about the others?”

For the first time, his confidence falters. “I’m not sure they would understand. They’ve wanted to be masters for as long as I can remember.”

“And Xehanort?”

His voice lowers to something more sober. “This is the life he’s dreamed of. Gods, he would probably be angry that I want to give this up.” His drooping shoulders square up and he turns to me, determination in his eyes. “We can’t say anything to them.”

“Are you sure?”

Hesitation flickers briefly. “Yes. Not a word. Okay?”

I nod. “Okay.”

“Good.” Eraqus throws his arms around me, squeezing so tight he lifts me off the ground for a moment and the uncertainty of my life feels long gone by now.

We agree on a plan—opting to sneak out after curfew—and even talk about some of the things we’ll bring with us, but the conversation quickly dissolves into Eraqus telling me about all the adventures he wants us to have. I hang on every word, the nerves still fluttering in my chest but having the utmost faith in him. Before long, I can’t help thinking that curfew can’t come soon enough.

Checking up and down the halls, I sneak my way from the kitchen with a bag in hand. I hadn’t managed to snitch much since it had all been locked away for the night, but anything would work until we get out of here. Realistically, food is the most important thing we need to worry about, but Eraqus promised me he would grab the other things on the list we made. I just hope it’s going as smoothly for him as it is for me.

A finger jams into my cheek. “What’s got you all smiley?”

Correction: I hope it’s going smoother for him than it is for me.

In spite of the flush boiling into my cheeks, I attempt to give the offending red-head my best glare. “Am I not allowed to smile just because I’m happy?”

His brow arches. “It’s more the reason why you’re happy that’s suspicious.” Those amber orbs eye up my bag. “And what’s in the bag?”

The heat is climbing into my ears as I hold the bag tighter against me. “It’s none of your business Bragi; can’t I just be happy to be happy?”

“Me thinks thou doth protest too much,” he hums before leaning in. “What are you hiding?”

Hand against his chest, I push the young man back a step. My heart is racing in my chest while I struggle to remain calm. “What does it matter to you?”

His shoulders bounce. “I get curious when people start acting weird.” Once again, those eyes narrow, gleaming with serious intent. “So, are you gonna tell me or do I have to pry it out of you?”

I force an eye roll, pushing past his so-called ultimatum. “If you don’t quit pestering me, I’ll tell Urd it was you who ruined the ice sculpture she made for the magic project last week.”

That puts a damper on his investigation. “You wouldn’t.”

“Oh I would.” I poke at his shirt. “You let poor Baldr take the blame but I watched you botch the aero spell that knocked it over.”

“You have no proof.”

“I have proof that Baldr was helping Eraqus with homework and the others were working on their projects together on the training ground. You’re the only one without an alibi and your project was the only other one in the class, yet you were overlooked because everyone thought your wonky, incomplete project was broken too.” Finally with some confidence, I smile. “Besides, who’s Urd more likely to believe? Me? Or Smarmy Fluffcoat?”

Bragi scowls. “Fine. But I’m on to you. I will figure out what you’re up to.”

“Run along, Fluffcoat,” I say, shooing him away from me.

As he walks away, I feel a tug in my heart. Bragi, Urd, Vor, Baldr, Hermod, and Xehanort are my classmates—no, more like family. We spent years together, working together, taking care of each other, laughing together. They were the only reason I never chickened out of becoming a keyblade wielder. Of course, I’m giving up that path now for different reasons, but I didn’t think I would miss anything about this life—I was wrong.

I have to remind myself that I have preparations to make or I risk giving myself reasons to reconsider.

Stowed away in my room, I collect the things I’ll be taking with me. Hard choices are made for I can’t reasonably take everything. Mementos, niceties, and even gifts from the people I’m closest to must be left behind. I’m not going to lie, I cried a little.

With some time to kill before curfew, I jot down the things I can’t say in person. I can’t tell my friends where we’re going—not that I even know where we’re going—but I do everything I can to express how much I love them and that I’m going to miss them. For the life of me, I want them to understand our choices and not to worry about us. Even as I tuck the letter away in the photo album on my desk, I find myself praying they’ll be okay.

A soft knock comes from the door. Creeping closer, I crack it open to find my boyfriend.

“Are you ready to go?” he whispers.

Reaching back, I grab my bag, sparing my room of several years one last glance. “Yeah.”

As I scurry after Eraqus, I give him a cheeky smirk. “I was beginning to think you’d gotten cold feet.”

The young man stops in his tracks, turns on me, and jerks me into a hasty kiss. With his eyes sparking with excitement, he says, “Cold feet? Me? Never.”

His surprise attack has my stomach writhing, forcing him to take the initiative, taking my hand and leading the way. We creep through the silent halls, holding our breaths as we check around every corner. Years spent in this citadel has taught us the patrol route of the staff watching out for kids like us, so we find little trouble on our way to one of the lesser used exits of the student dorms.

Both of us heave a sigh of relief once the cool night air washes across our skin. There are still patrols scattered about the school grounds but—without restrictive, empty, hallways—they’re easier to avoid.

We’re so close; once we make it to the back corner of the school grounds, we can hop the fence and we’ll be long gone by the time anyone realizes we’re missing.

Eraqus glances off to the left, pulling us around the corner towards the right. Immediately, he skids to a halt and I slam into his back. My question dies on my tongue as I peer around him to find the reason for our delay. My heart freezes as we come face to face with all six of our friends, headed by a scowling Xehanort.

“What are you troublemakers up to?” Urd hisses, looking just as angry as Xehanort.

“Eheh, what are you guys doin’ out past curfew?” Eraqus asks with a nervous laugh.

Hermod folds his arms. “We could ask you the same thing.”

“Uh…” Era’s grip on my hand tightens nervously. “We were just out for a walk. Fresh air under the moonlight’s super romantic, you know.”

Baldr points out the obvious flaw. “Then what’s with the bags?”

Stone eyes glance to me for an excuse, but I have none. “Homework?”

I feel our dreams shriveling in my heart. Xehanort squares up, stepping in to nearly bump chests with Eraqus, his silver eyes practically glowing with his displeasure.

“Fight me.”

No one was expecting his challenge. However, without backing down, Eraqus questions him.

“What?”

“Fight me,” Xe repeats. “If you win, you can go.”

Cautiously, Eraqus asks, “And if I lose?”

“You tell us what’s going on.”

I reach out to rest a hand on Eraqus’s arm. “Maybe we should-”

I don’t know if it’s the competitive streak he has going on with Xehanort or a reckless thought that convinced him he has a higher win rate than one out of three, but Eraqus ignores my second guessing.

“You’re on.”

Without another word, Xehanort turns and begins leading the way towards the training grounds. The leader glares straight ahead with his opponent right behind him, but the others are free to throw me a mix of glares and questioning glances.

The competitors take the field while the rest of us wait at the sidelines. I assume in order to keep the secrecy we’d tried to escape in, the two speak in hushed voices I can’t hear. Meanwhile, pressure continues building as the others surround me like I’m some sort of inmate needing guarding—perhaps I am in this situation.

Finally, Urd breaks the silence. “You know Eraqus is going to lose.” My lips purse, reluctant to respond. That’s not what she wanted. “Seriously?! There’s no point hiding it; just tell us what you guys were doing!”

I simply hold my silence, but Vor at least seems to have some mercy. “Shh, you’ll attract attention. There’s no use trying to pry out secrets, especially if Eraqus really is going to lose.”

An arm bumps against me and I peer up at Hermod. His expression seems like a mix of pain and anger; all I’m really sure is that he wants to say something, but he holds his tongue and returns his gaze to the fight.

The boys clash in silence, only the clang of metal ringing out when keyblades occasionally collide. Eraqus is renowned as a slacker and a clown among the class; nevertheless, he’s got power and skill. And this is the first time I’ve ever seen him take on his best friend without a cheeky grin. For the sake of our ambitions, he’s serious.

That’s not to say Xehanort doesn’t have a chance—he does have win rate to back him up after all. Right from the beginning, he had us all on the run with his raw talent. So while I haven’t lost all hope in Eraqus, I’m not exactly an optimist either.

And then comes the slip up.

Eraqus lunges, but when Xehanort side steps the attack, his wrist turns and he pulls back, hooking his opponent’s foot and pulling him to the ground. And then, when Eraqus goes in for the finishing move, Xehanort shoves his keyblade forward—right where Eraqus’s foot lands. The boy in black stands, pulling his weapon with him and unbalancing Eraqus enough that Xehanort easily topples the enemy and claims checkmate.

Standing above his opponent, keyblade to Eraqus’s chin, Xehanort heaves. Eraqus, equally exhausted, glowers in his defeat. I can feel the weight of failure sinking in my chest.

“Out with it,” the victor says. The line of Era’s jaw tightens. Unfazed, Xehanort jabs at his chest. “You agreed to the terms, now talk. And no lies.”

His chin drops, ebony hair hiding his frustration. “We’re running away.”

For a moment, Xehanort scrutinizes him. I can feel the others staring between me and Era until, finally, Xehanort’s aim lowers as he lets out a huff.

“I figured that’s what was going on.”

Just like Eraqus, my eyes snap back to Xehanort. “Huh?”

Xehanort, for the first time tonight, smiles as he pulls Era from the dirt. “Did you really think you could hide it from me? You can’t act to save your life.”

“Uh…”

“I just wanted you to tell me yourself instead of leaving some stupid note.”

From his jacket, Bragi produces the note I had left behind. Eraqus shoots me a confused glance. “Must’ve just missed ya sneakin’ out when we stopped by to check on you.”

The silver-haired man picks up the dropped bag and pushes it against his best friend. “You two better get going. You have a lot of ground to cover and Eraqus’s parents will have all the worlds looking for you.”

The words slip from my mouth, “You’re…letting us go?”

Bragi snorts. “S’no secret you two aren’t happy here. Kinda sucks but you gotta do what’s best for you.”

“Do you guys have enough supplies?” Hermod asks.

“You better make sure to stay stocked up on food and water,” warns Vor, pulling a bag from her haori to give to me.

“And be careful not to get sick,” adds Baldr, placing a folded blanket on top of Vor’s gift.

“Also, you left your map in the library, you dingus,” accuses Xehanort. From his pocket, he pulls the map Eraqus promised me he would get. The ‘dingus’ gives a sheepish smile.

“Speaking of which, where do you guys plan on going first?” asks Vor.

Xehanort holds a hand up. “Don’t answer that. The less we know, the better. Just…send us a card from all the worlds you visit, ‘kay?”

Tears well in my eyes when he pulls the two of us into an embrace. The others pile on, sharing the last group hug we’ll have for a long time. It breaks my heart, but at the same time, we have their blessing and nothing could make me happier.

Breaking apart, Urd takes my face, wiping away the tears she won’t succeed in erasing. To be fair, there’s not a dry eye among us.

“Take care of yourselves,” she says through sniffles.

“I love you guys,” I murmur.

Eraqus takes my hand, wearing soft smile. I can’t force myself to move and it takes him pulling me away for me to finally turn away from them.

Once we jump the stone wall, we leave behind our responsibilities, our old lives, and our family—at least our real family understands.

As we race through the empty streets, my tears start to dry. I’m still sad and I’ll miss them, but I have a bright future ahead of me—besides, it’s not like we said goodbye. No, right now, I’m focused on Eraqus and all the adventures we’re going to have. He’s the light pulling me through the darkness and I wouldn’t have been able to break free without him.

Coming up on the docks, we slow to a stop, looking over the water the reflects the shining night sky.

“So, where to first?” Eraqus asks, waving to all the endless possibilities.

Giggling a bit, I point to the brightest star I see first. “That one.”

“Alright. That one, here we come.”

Before I can summon my keyblade, Eraqus pulls me into another surprise kiss. His excitement is palpable, seeping in and instigating my own. When he breaks it, he keeps me close, eyes shimmering like the sky above.

“I promise you won’t regret this,” he says.

“Regret? Me? Never.”

He sticks his tongue out at me for mocking him and we summon the armor that will protect us in the Lanes Between. Without any more delays, we leave Scala Ad Caelum.

And we’ve never been happier.

#young eraqus x reader #eraqus x reader #gender neutral reader

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kirstinmaldonado · 4 years

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CHAPTER ELEVEN 2.0

I got the bamboo in my backyard trimmed yesterday, like the proper adult I am. Though it’s now lost that unkept, tropical, “we could be anywhere” vibe (ya know with my suuuuper cool inflatable pool and all that staycation “make the most of it” stuff…), I’m happy that it looks cleaner overall and clears the power lines that it was getting dangerously close to..

Yet in a way, it feels bittersweet! Sweet to premeditate issues and be on the safe side, but bitter to snip away bits of its voice. Within the past few weeks, the unbridled bamboo would whistle and screech in the wind as if weeping for the bloodshed and violence that I’d also been weeping over for days. I’d lie awake at night, desperately trying to empty my brain that was already filled to the brim, but just couldn’t rest while nature literally knocked on my door.

On one of those windier nights the bamboo tapped on my bedroom window, firstly scaring the shit out of me, as if trying to lure me outside whispering secrets. My brain was an absolute mess trying to compartmentalize my thoughts and feelings amidst everything going on. The sound of its erratic movement stirred my anxiety, and I sat alone in the dark trying to decompress, but kind of nervous of its foreboding presence. I felt like a child, hearing and seeing shadows in the night. I even joked to the very asleep Ben that the wind sounded truly angry, for it wasn’t a peaceful sigh like bamboo so often does but harsh, abrupt shrieks demanding attention.

Well, Nature, you got me! I hear you!

A few days ago I walked through not one, but four different plant nurseries. Laugh if you want, but the Nursery Crawl starting at 11am was not on my to-do for that day, and no did not involve any adult beverage. I was so happy to be amongst the innocence of nature, the stillness, the beauty.

Although I left the good boys alone longer than they’ve been used to since quarantine, I had to get out of my house and the consistent circling of helicopters. My house didn’t feel right. My backyard didn’t feel right. Nothing familiar felt right and I didn’t want to run away, but I just needed a moment to really clear my head in a space that felt unadulterated and open.

The flowers, the succulents, the trees, even the little peaceful water machines grounded me back from reeling. I walked aimlessly through the gardens, picking whatever sparked my eye, asking questions, and laughably came home with a car packed full of plants!

I’ll admit, I’ve barely been able to keep a Chia Pet alive in the past and I’ve accidentally killed anything and everything that doesn’t make noise (aka I don’t have a natural green thumb). Give me a succulent, I’m too overbearing and nervous and overwater it. Give me a plant, I forget to water her enough!

This time is different though, you guys! I’ve obviously been doing my research and trying to re-home and love on them in the best way possible, and of course anything is easier to look after if you’re around and literally home in one place, but it also just feels so good to pour love in to something and watch it grow. I’ve even been propagating (I want you all to look that up because I had no idea what it meant a few weeks ago, haha)!

The patience and nurture it takes, the excitement when you see it root, is as lame as it sounds SO COOL. Nature is insanely beautiful and fascinating. If one would just take the time to listen, to nurture, to understand we could reap the benefits synonymously, without one taking advantage of the other. I think the best thing I’ve found in quarantine is that I want to be using and connecting with my hands: growing, cooking, painting, writing, creating. Being one hundred percent involved in the work I am putting out. CONNECTING with the work I am doing.

The past few weeks, this whole quarantine, as you know have been transformative. I feel like I’ve been shedding skin of old habits, of past hurt, of feelings or situations that I brushed aside that I am just now uncovering and understanding their brevity. Noticing scars of old burns I’d rather kept forgotten.

I feel like I was hurt and demoralized for years, so draped myself in a safety blanket of contentment, cruising happily and not pushing any major button because I was tired of conflict, anger, hate, and fear. I was blessed and happy thinking how a thousand horrible situations turned out a-okay, even brought the most amazing people in to my life, and that I was better and happy for it. I preached to be bright and positive, but was preaching it in hopes I’d latch on and the positivity would give me strength to face my days. I could wear my silence like a badge of honor, and thank the heavens that I somehow held it together.

I don’t want to be silent anymore.

I can’t, anymore.

By saying that, I also don’t intend to be irrationally brash and I’d never want to step over voices that should be lifted to be heard not spoken over.

By saying this, I just mean I don’t want to wear my safety blanket anymore. I’m not afraid to stand up for what I believe is right. I think back a few years to the music and distant voices that soothed my soul (shoutout to my queen, Sara B). I remember in my darkest times wishing I could put in to words how I felt, the quiver of my tiny voice as I tried to stand up for myself, and wishing that someone would have just stood up for me.

That’s all I needed. An ally. A real one. Someone to be on my side. Someone to see I was suffering, and unjustly, and even at bare minimum just notice. Just open their eyes, and SEE and try to do something about it.

Again, if you really truly see, and don’t try to close your eyes, how can you sleep knowing what you saw? How can you make cruelty in any form okay?

So...has my voice gotten louder? Yes.

Has it gotten stronger? Yes.

Have I lost thousands of followers, after posts saying people should be judged on the caliber of their heart and not the color of their skin and that everyone should grow up being accepted and loved? Yes.

And I don’t care. It’s a shame, but if the above is something you don’t believe, I may be the wrong person to pour your attention in to anyway. That is said with all the love in the world.

Maybe it’s just all the La Casa de Papel I’ve been watching. Maybe it’s seeing everything with my new eyes. Maybe I’ve just been comfortably sleeping and praying that I can live in a world without conflict, knowing very well in my core that although I’d never intend to incite, I can’t brush off the bad like it doesn’t exist.

My past has made me stronger, my platform makes me accessible, so I must try to plant little seeds of goodness along the way and do everything I can as an ally for people’s rights to live, love, and be accepted for who they are. I am not perfect. I never will be. I believe I express myself well, but I’m listening and learning every day and will continue to do so. All I know is this.

I will stand by you when you are feeling down or oppressed, because you and everyone deserves to be treated with respect and love.

Yes, you.

#blog 2.0

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emptycanvasposts · 4 years

Text

Did You Kiss Him?|| JJ Maybank x Reader

Summary: JJ Maybank known for flirting with everyone but what everyone doesn’t know is that he really only has eyes for y/n. At a boneyard party to kick off the beginning of summer JJ sees y/n flirting with a touron and it makes his blood boil. Thinking irrationally, JJ goes and does something stupid but y/n is there to pick him back up and put together the pieces.

Word Count: 2.2k

Warnings: weed use, underage drinking, fluff

A/N: Here comes the JJ fic that I’ve been promising! I know it took me a while but I’m finally posting it and I hope y’all enjoy it! Thank you insanely much to @maybankslut for reading through it and giving me some encouragement that I desperately needed to finish writing it! Let me know what y’all think!

The Boneyard. The only place that you could find kooks, pogues, and tourons alike willingly together. It was the first party since the end of school and you were with your friends, the pogues, setting up the kegs and moving sticks and logs around to start a fire to kick off the party.

The first boneyard party of the summer is always something that excites you. You had gotten ready with Kie and Sarah at your house earlier that day. You were wearing your cutest pair of distressed high waisted shorts and white tube top, ready to have the best summer ever. This was going to be the best summer for you, Kie, Pope, Sarah, John B, and JJ.

As the party started, you saw John B and Pope handing out drinks at the keg, Kie talking to some people by the bonfire probably about saving the ocean no doubt, and then there was JJ, flirting with the tourons as usual and no matter how much you convinced yourself otherwise it made your heart hurt. Chugging the rest of the drink you were holding, you made your way to JB for him to give you a refill with a smile on your face putting the thought of JJ in the farthest parts of your brain for the rest of the night.

Throughout the night you found yourself talking amongst some tourons and even some kooks. And after way too many drinks you were stumbling a lot. Noticing you stumbling, a touron you had talked to earlier came over to help you sit by the fire. He began to make subtle flirts with you and as y’all were talking you felt yourself giggle at a good bit of the conversation you were having.

JJ was watching as you and the touron laughed and flirted with each other. Even with the alcohol and weed buzzing through his system, he couldn’t stand the sight of you flirting and getting close to another guy. Standing next to John B who was mid-conversation, JJ turned to him and told him, “I gotta go, I’ll see ya later.” With how he was feeling he definitely didn’t want to go to the Chateau, he was so pissed and done with the No Pogue on Pogue macking rule, especially after seeing you all over some random guy knowing you’d probably be there later that night. Without even thinking he just walked, and walked, and walked, all the way to the last place anyone would think he would go.

You watched as JJ had walked off, not thinking anything of it since you promised yourself you wouldn’t get caught up in your feelings about him tonight. Leaving the guy at the fire you walked over to JB, “Where’d JJ go?” you asked him. John B smiled at you saying, “He just said he had to go and took off. Guess he forgot something.” You looked at him, your face drooping slightly and said, “Oh.” Knowing if you stood there and thought about it for too long you’d ruin your night, you went grab another drink and sit back on the log with the touron.

After a few more drinks you decided to head home. As you started to walk away and head to your house the touron stopped you asking if he could walk you and not wanting to be rude you said sure and started your walk. Living only a few houses down made the walk a whole lot better. Along the walk, you and the tourist made jokes and laughed with each other, talking about different things to do on the island and what not. Getting to the front door of your house, you turned to the tourist saying, “Well this is my stop,” with a chuckle. Looking at you the tourist gave a smile saying, “I had a really great time with you at the party,” and after those words left his mouth he slightly inched closer to you and leaned in as if he wanted to give you a kiss. Knowing he was absolutely the last person you wanted one from, you grabbed the door knob to your house saying, “I’m so sorry i made you feel that this was going somewhere in that direction, but I’m into someone else,” and left him in the front of your house as you went inside.

Making it inside your house, you walked to the back and into your bedroom. Grabbing a tank top, a bra, and a pair of panties, you made your way to the bathroom next to your room to take a shower. Getting into the shower you stepped into the hot stream feeling it soothe your tense muscles. After getting out and dressed you laid down in bed, still feeling like the room was spinning from being so drunk you passed out.

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Rolling over, still feeling the slight buzz of alcohol in your system, you knew you couldn’t have been asleep for more than a few hours. Sure enough checking your phone told you it was still only 4:30AM, but that wasn’t what surprised you. On your lock screen was displayed four missed calls and ten missed texts from JB telling you to get to the Chateau quickly, all from within the last thirty minutes. As soon as you read the messages you immediately called JB back hoping that everything was alright.

“y/n, I need you here as soon as you can get here...it’s JJ,” John B told you as he answered the phone. Those words alone caused you to sober up. Grabbing a baggy shirt and pair of shorts you changed and grabbed your keys before heading out the door and to your car. Starting your car all you could think about was what had happened to JJ. Was he hurt? Was he sick? Was something terribly wrong?

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You pulled into the driveway of the Chateau five minutes later and rushed inside. JB met you at the door talking to you before you got inside. “He looks really bad y/n. When he came back here after the party, I just knew he had gone and done something he shouldn’t have. He kept asking for you and wouldn’t calm down the slightest until I told him that I called you.” Stepping aside John B opened the door allowing you to get inside.

JJ was sitting on the couch with a bag of ice on his stomach and a bag on his eye. You could tell he was in a lot of pain because every time he made even the subtlest movement he would wince. John B turned to you and whispered in your ear, “I’m going to go lay in my room and let y’all be alone. If you need anything just come let me know.” You looked at him and gave him a slight nod, knowing you wouldn’t need anything but silently thanking him anyway.

Walking over to JJ, you sat next to him, “Why don’t we go to the bathroom and get you cleaned up Jay?” you asked him. He nodded slightly before moving over to the edge of the couch to get up, you could see the pain he was feeling as he went to get up and you pulled his arm over your shoulder to help him get up and over to the bathroom. Placing him on the toilet, you grabbed a towel, some band-aids, and some rubbing alcohol.

Walking back over to him you squatted down to his level, putting some alcohol on the towel and rubbed it over the cuts near his eyes. JJ winced at the burn, his through his teeth when you rubbed over any of the cuts that hurt more than others. You bit down on your bottom lip every time he winced because you hated to see him hurt, even if you knew it would help him heal better in the long run. Putting the towel down on the sink, you moved your hands to the hem of the shirt he was wearing and slowly moved it up to pull it up and have access to his side. JJ looked down at you with wide eyes, genuinely confused as to why you needed to take his shirt off. “Jay, I’ve gotta see if there’s any more cuts or bruises so I can help you,” you looked at him with sad doe eyes, y/c/e meeting his blue orbs.

With an incredibly sad face he gave a subtle nod and you pulled his shirt the rest of the way over his head. Your face dropped slightly as you could now see the huge bruise on his ribcage that was already turning black and blue. Picking up the ice pack he had placed on the sink when y’all had gotten into the bathroom, you put it gently on the bruise. “Come on Jay, let’s go lay on the couch,” you told him with soft eyes and a soft smile. “Both of us?” he asked you his face uplifting slightly with what you could have sworn to be hope. “Yea both of us, I’ll even cuddle with you since you’re hurt.”

Making your way back to the couch, you placed JJ gently back onto the couch, letting him get comfortable before laying on your side facing him. Even though you knew he probably wouldn’t answer to what he did or why he did it, just the feeling of him so close to you and the both of you vulnerable because of him being hurt you had to ask him. “What happened Jay? And I know you probably won’t answer and I don’t want to force you into answering me, I just hate seeing you hurt like this,” you looked into his eyes and ran your fingers through his hair. JJ looked down, you swore looking at your lips, before looking back into your eyes, “Did you kiss him?” and you could hear the way his voice broke slightly as he asked. “No Jay,” you started saying before finding some semblance of courage to tell him what had happened with the guy you knew he was talking about. Biting your bottom lip, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear, and looking down as you softly told him, “I-I only flirted with him because I saw you flirting with those tourons. And when he walked me home and tried to kiss me, I told him how I couldn’t because of there being this guy that I like even more than words can describe,” looking up into his eyes as you said the last few words.

JJ smiled as big as he could before cupping your face with the hand that had been resting by his side and pulled you into a fierce and desperate kiss. At first you were surprised by his actions but as soon as you comprehended that his lips were against yours you melted into him. Moving your lips against each other felt perfect and like it was meant to happen, you fit together like you were meant to be together. JJ softly ran his tongue against your bottom lip and you opened willingly, your tongues massaging one another’s perfectly. He tasted of weed, beer, and spearmint and you were getting drunk off of it. As the kiss started to get slightly more heated, you ran your fingers through his hair pulling slightly and JJ let out a soft groan at the feeling.

Pulling away from each other only after feeling like neither of you had any air left in your lungs, you rested your forehead against his. “I was hoping that the person you told him you liked was me,” he said slightly out of breath and with a nervous chuckle, “because wow. I can’t tell you how long I’ve been waiting to do that.” You gave him a huge smile and laughed softly, “Actually I think I can because I’ve been waiting to kiss you since the moment I met you JJ Maybank.”

JJ pulled you in for another kiss, this one not as desperate but no less passionate. “I hope I lived up to your expectations because I can promise you this is not going to be the last time we share late night kisses,” he said after he pulled away with a slight smirk. JJ wrapped his arms around you and you curled into the embrace, your head resting on his chest but careful not to lean too hard against his bruises.

“Jay, I know that we’ve still got a lot to figure out and as long as I am with you, I know that we can figure anything out. But for now, can we just hold each other and sleep in each other's arms?” you asked him softly. “Of course y/n. Anything for you sweetheart,” he told you.

Curling up in his arms, pressed against his body, you soon felt the bliss of sleep starting to take over your body. As you were falling asleep you felt JJ press his lips softly against the top of your head and heard the soft sound of his voice say, “I love you y/n.” Smiling at what you hoped were his words and not the call of sleep to your mind and body, you fell asleep peacefully and blissfully.

#jj x reader #jj outer banks #jj maybank #Outer Banks #outer banks fluff #jj fluff #fanfiction #ecpwrites

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goldensilvan · 3 years

Text

bitter air and winds of spite

rating: pg13 for mild swearing

words: 3771 (way more than i intended to write. ‘it’ll be a short fic! maybe 1-1.5k words!’ i said, foolish and naive.)

summary: in which their ship crashes, hux insists that kylo ren is an idiot with a concussion, kylo ren can't really muster much of a defense with his horrible pounding headache and nausea, and they must overcome their differences with the power of stabbing, shooting, and general lightsaber-ing.

happy holidays everyone!! this is my submission for @starwarssecretsanta

i had so much fun participating in the gift exchange this year, and had the opportunity to write a kylux fic for @gay-agents-and-generals, which i had an absolute blast with. i always forget how much i love writing for this ship, which funnily enough is the reason i got into star wars fandom at all!

so here’s an absolutely self-indulgent, long-winded, only-the-tiniest-bit-serious fic with the barest semblance of a plot.

Read on Ao3

Everything about General Hux was sharp.

Kylo Ren had known a lot of weapons in his life, had known he was a weapon to be used for as long as he could remember. An advantageous friendship to have. A pupil to be molded. An example to be paraded around. A mark worth targeting. An assassin to send. A source of information and control.

He was a lightsaber, bright and showy and deadly. A symbol.

Hux was a Krath war blade. Such a fine blade that you could take a step before even realizing your throat had been cut, so deeply imbued in the Dark Side that it was impossible to even get a reflection.

His grin was sharp. His thoughts were sharp. His ambition was sharp.

The only thing that wasn’t sharp was his Force presence. General Hux was as Force Sensitive as his boots, and about half as overtly emotional. He was brilliant of mind and tremendously ambitious, but he was not of particularly vibrant personality.

Which suited Kylo just fine. He could only shudder to imagine just what a man possessed of irrationality could do with Hux’s abilities. And that’s considering the massive superweapon that he was building to wipe out literal star systems. Hux, at least, had no plans to run off on his own and destroy civilizations for the hell of it. No, everything, every moment, every breath, every plan had a purpose.

At least, that’s what Kylo was telling himself as they trekked miserably across Bumfuck, Nowhere, Wild Space in the pouring rain and high winds.

Hux hadn’t exactly asked Kylo along, had in fact requested he not come at all, but really. In what galaxy was Kylo going to sit around and wait while Hux gallivanted around the galaxy, investigating potential assets for the Order and having wild adventures without him? At least, that��s what Kylo assumed the intention was. Considering the ship had been shot at upon entry to the system and had promptly crashed, the original mission, whatever it had been, had been scrapped in favour of Surviving Long Enough For Rescue, so he hadn’t really had a chance to quiz Hux on his motives.

The three troopers that had survived the crash were working on the ship to see what, if anything, could be salvaged or used to call the Finalizer for rescue, and Hux and Kylo were hiking through the wilderness for… something. In full honesty, his brain had been vibrating since the crash and he was decently certain he was still bleeding a bit, but he didn’t really want to take his helmet off. Not in front of General Armitage ‘You-Should-Strap-Yourself-In-Ren-And-If-You-Don’t-You’d-Better-Not-Complain-When-You-Get-Hurt’ Hux.

“We’ll stop here,” Hux announced, cutting through Kylo’s thoughts. “Any closer, and we’ll be spotted.”

Kylo’s eyes snapped towards where Hux was gesturing and belatedly noticed the almost completely hidden base. The only signs that there was anyone in the weirdly shaped dirt mound was the machinery just barely poking out – anti-aircraft guns. The very same that had probably brought them down. Anger roiled in his belly, deep and hot, followed by a wave of nausea.

Hux crouched, bringing himself as close to the edge of the ridge as he apparently dared, pulling macrobinoculars from somewhere and lying down on his stomach to begin to assess the situation. Kylo reached out his mind, because if Hux did all the work while Kylo sat around, he’d be an insufferable bastard about it later, and he could sense a few dozen people, all adults, all filled with the grim satisfaction of bringing down an enemy ship.

He’d enjoy killing them. Maybe a little blood would help with his headache. Certainly couldn’t make it worse.

“About thirty-five lifeforms, definitely the bastards who brought us down,” Kylo announced smugly.

“New Republic base, about fifteen years old, three planetary defense grade ion cannons. Small hangar for speedercraft. No ground cannons.” Hux turned to smirk at Kylo. “I thought your weird mind powers were supposed to be helpful?”

“Shut up,” Kylo grumbled.

Hux seemed put off for a brief moment, his eyes narrowed just a bit, but then he turned back to watching the base without snarking back. “They don’t seem to be expecting an assault; they probably think that we all died in the crash. Imbeciles.”

“So, I’m going in, murdering them all, and then we’ll call for extraction?”

“We’ll see,” he answered cryptically. “I want to do a little more surveillance first so we know exactly what we’re dealing with.”

Kylo shrugged, sitting unceremoniously on the ground. “Suit yourself.”

He wasn’t sure just how long they sat there without speaking, but the hope that sitting quietly for a little while would make everything less wrong faded more with every second. Concussion, his mind supplied grimly, and a pretty bad one. But it was fine. He just had to stick it out for long enough to get back to his quarters, which wouldn’t be long now. He’d go in, kill everyone in his way, call Phasma, and then he’d get to sleep, and it would be fine. Was fine now, in fact. He’d done more with worse injuries.

Hux seated himself right in front of Kylo. “Okay, Ren, ready to tell me what’s wrong?”

“Nothing’s wrong,” Kylo said, because nothing was wrong and everything was fine.

He hummed doubtfully. “Mind taking off that helmet for me?”

“Why?” he yelped, scooting backwards just a bit. “I do not need to do that. Why would I do that?”

“Because you clearly have some kind of brain injury and if we’re going to be clearing out that base, I need you to be coherent.”

“I’m coherent!”

He rolled his eyes. “Your standard for coherency is pretty low, but I have noticed marked downgrades from even your usual grunting and melodrama. As much as I very much do not miss it, you haven’t tried to argue with me once, and head injury is far more likely than sudden appreciation for the chain of command.”

Kylo opened his mouth to dispute that, but Hux was already on top of him, trying to simultaneously pin him down and get the helmet off. Even concussed, though, Kylo was stronger than Hux and he wasn’t about to go down without a fight. Even though it was kind of nice to be pressed so close to Hux. Even though it was certainly nice to know Hux was worried about him. Even though Hux was surprisingly good at this.

“Just – take it – off – you bastard!” Hux grunted out, knee pinning Kylo’s flailing arm.

“Get off me!” Kylo snarled, squirming harder.

Hux got his other knee onto Kylo’s legs, but Kylo wrenched them both around so that he was on top and pinning Hux instead but ooooh, that was not good on his stomach. The world tilted alarmingly for a long moment and then vomit was filling his helmet and he was yanking it off so he could throw up onto the ground and maybe onto Hux too. If he was gonna be miserable, then everyone was gonna be miserable.

“Hey!” Hux protested, disengaging completely and rolling away, well out of puke-range.

Kylo had a weird, incongruous moment of missing the press of Hux’s body on his before it was discarded in favour of dry heaving into the grass. It subsided as quickly as it came on, and he was left feeling disgusting, wondering just how he was going to solve that particular problem, when Hux shoved a wet rag into his face. He accepted it with slightly muted surprise, wiping away the mess.

“If you’d been less of a bastard from the start and just told me that you weren’t well, I would have given you something for it hours ago,” Hux said crossly. He’d at least had the grace to wait until Kylo had gotten himself clean, an unexpected mercy. The bottle of water he’d clearly used to wet the rag – which Kylo could now identify as a torn spare shirt – was on the ground within reach along with a few stim tabs of varying purpose. The labels swam just a bit as he stared at them.

“You absolute moron,” Hux muttered, passing the stims over one at a time. “For the dizziness, the nausea, and that one’s a stimulant to get your brain moving again.” He grabbed the other half of the shirt and wet it, rising just enough to loom over Kylo threateningly as he dabbed at the blood in his hair.

It was… oddly sweet, Kylo thought, just a little amused at their situation. He injected the three tabs and downed the remainder of the bottle of water, and he hated to admit that he felt almost immediately better.

He turned narrowed eyes onto Hux, once his mind was clear. Just what was the General getting out of treating him kindly? A more efficient attack dog, he supposed, although if Hux thought he was just going to roll over and obey his plans after that mildly humiliating display with the helmet, he had another thing coming.

Speaking of… “Where’s my helmet?” Kylo asked, once he was certain that he would start vomiting again the second he opened his mouth.

“You’ve got to be kriffing kidding me,” Hux said flatly. “What makes you think I’m giving that back to you?”

“It’s mine.”

“It’s full of vomit, Ren. While watching you torture yourself needlessly is usually a mildly entertaining pastime, I really do think that I would give myself a concussion to avoid thinking about you putting yourself through that.”

“It’s mine. Give it back,” he added in a low growl.

Hux sniffed imperiously. “Launched it into the river when you weren’t looking. It’s disgusting and I will gladly replace it. I’m fairly certain you would have had to replace it anyway, given that the structural integrity was definitely compromised.”

Maybe he would have. Maybe he wouldn’t have. Maybe it’s none of Hux’s business. Either way, the helmet was gone, and he was stuck without it.

His first instinct was to knock Hux down a peg – see how he likes his stuff being thrown into rivers – but they were alone with unknown hostiles and even through the haze of anger, Kylo recognized that he was a useful ally.

“I’m throwing your coat into space when we get back,” he threatened.

Hux raised his eyebrows. “Sure. Feel up to killing some jackasses?”

“It’s insulting that you even have to ask.”

“I only ask because a mere fifteen minutes ago, you were vomiting very enthusiastically in my direction,” Hux reminded him, and Kylo had to firmly tell himself that Hux was not one of the jackasses he was planning on killing today. Or, this afternoon, at least. This evening was another story.

Kylo’s only answer to that particular jibe was a sneer as he pulled out his lightsaber. “Let’s go.”

“Just a moment,” Hux said. He shrugged off his greatcoat and folded it neatly, laying it beside his pack, and then his uniform jacket was laid gently beside it. Out of his pack then came four vibroblades, two blasters, and what Kylo assumed would assemble into some kind of heavy assault weapon but was strapped on in separate pieces. He looked ready to murder his way through that rebel base, and if Kylo was being honest, that was a really nice image.

Getting back down on his stomach, Hux primed one of the blasters, its whine soft but insistent. Charged enough to kill. “Ready,” he said. “You head down and kick the nest.”

He didn’t bother saying anything, just turned on his heel and jumped off of their little crest, moving as quickly as he could towards the two guards. They fell quickly and easily, surprised expressions etched onto their faces. It didn’t take long for others to begin swarming him, but he was never overwhelmed – pinpoint blasts took down almost as many as fell to his lightsaber, and he had to be grudgingly impressed that it seemed not a single shot missed its mark.

He counted the bodies piling up – twelve of his original count of thirty-five.

Another came around the edge, laying down heavy blaster fire and Kylo lunged forwards, only for a shot from behind to scream past his ear. He turned, sensing the imminent danger a second too late, only to be treated to the sight of the man who’d shot at him falling limply to the ground, Hux holding a dripping vibroblade and smiling pleasantly. Kylo very pointedly did not think about that image as he turned again, crossing the distance between himself and the shooter in a single movement. They fell down, bringing the body count to fourteen. Almost half, and they hadn’t even made it inside yet.

“Do we want to see if any of these shitstains have ID to access the door, or do we want to just laser-sword it into submission?” Hux asked casually, coming to stand beside Ren and look the door over critically.

“My way’s faster,” Kylo got out, absolutely not distracted by the spray of blood that had painted Hux’s cheek.

Hux gestured grandly at him to go ahead, a movement Kylo vaguely remembered from his diplomacy lessons as a kid to be for royalty on one of the Outer Rim planets. Whether it was a compliment or an insult, Kylo did get them in there pretty quickly, carving a massive hole in the door and then kicking it down with a dramatic, athletic move.

Hux didn’t seem too appreciative, but it’s not like he was trying to impress him anyway, so whatever.

Four guards waited just inside. Each of them got two, and Kylo wasn’t sure when he’d decided he needed to have the higher kill count, but he was definitely going to. Seventeen left, and he was already up by a few.

Without waiting for input from Hux, Kylo headed off down the leftmost hallway, his senses telling him that the highest concentration of life forms was down there. Sighing obnoxiously, Hux followed, and Kylo could hear the soft rustling of fabric and knocking of durasteel as weapons were swapped out.

They approached quietly enough that no one seemed to notice them, all scrambling to pack up data and other equipment. It seemed to be a command hub of some kind, since there were loads of screens and one platform where a leader could ostensibly look out over everyone to direct workflow, with thick barriers holding up the leader’s tech.

Hux tapped his shoulder, indicating the platform. Evidently, he’d had the same thought, and they moved as one.

Kylo reached out with the Force, throwing one against the wall while he speared another, and Hux nailed three in quick succession as he sprinted across the room. Kylo covered their move to the platform with wide, sweeping motions, the smell of burnt flesh so much worse without his helmet to filter it all out. There was screaming and moaning and yelling and total chaos, which was honestly just how he liked it. He could feel his pulse thrumming in his ears, and he grinned at Hux, who gave him a bloody, vicious smile in return.

Once they got up to the platform, it was game over. Hux hefted the heavy assault rifle with practised, eager hands and laid down fire on anyone who tried to approach. Kylo reflected any attempts at shooting them right back at the perpetrators, lightsaber spinning in both his and Hux’s defense.

It seemed to last for both an hour and a second – he blinked and suddenly none of the Rebels were standing. One was groaning, and then Hux shot him again, and he stopped groaning.

He did a body count – thirty-four. And where was –

“Lucky number thirty-five,” he growled, reaching out with the Force to snatch the last one, who’d been sneaking up to Hux with a blade in hand. Eyes just a little wider with more surprise than he usually let himself show, Hux turned to see his would-be assassin choke for a long moment before she collapsed.

There was a long pause. “Thank you,” Hux said, as if it grated on him to do so.

“You’re welcome, General,” Kylo said, and then seized on the opportunity to gloat. “I know you wouldn’t have made it without me.”

“I’m happy to let you believe that,” he said stiffly.

“And I’m happy to let you believe whatever you want, too,” Kylo shot back, pouring as much amused condescension as he could muster into his voice. “Either way, let’s find the comms.”

Hux huffed out an annoyed breath, seeming to weigh having the last word against Kylo choosing to be productive. He chose the latter, but didn’t seem happy about it, which figured. “It should be this way,” he said, not waiting on Kylo to follow.

“I think we’re going the wrong way,” Kylo said, just to be a jerk. There really weren’t that many hallways around here.

“If you have nothing useful to contribute – oh, there it is.” Hux pulled a First Order beacon device that would let them connect to Phasma from his pocket, crouching to inspect the communications panel better. It was smoking slightly and the door wasn’t latched on properly, and Kylo knew what Hux was going to say before he said it. “Damn. They wrecked it before leaving.”

“We’ll just need to rewire it,” Kylo said confidently.

They both reached for it at once.

“I can do it,” Hux said, and the probably quicker than you can went unsaid but heard loud and clear.

“So can I,” Kylo shot back, annoyed. Whether he liked to think about it or not, his first calluses had been from playing with janky wiring on Han Solo’s beloved but barely functional rustbucket, and he was pretty sure that that made him more qualified to play technician on this bit of janky New Republic wiring.

Hux rolled his eyes and gestured for Kylo to go ahead. Kylo narrowed his eyes but didn’t hesitate to start in on the wiring, assessing the mess with a critical eye. Maybe being on the Finalizer had him spoiled, because this somehow seemed worse that what he was used to. How in the kriffing Force the New Republic managed anything when their movement was, at best, a squabbling collective of similarly minded but disconnected systems with what he could only guess amounted to about seven credits, nine starships from the Clone Wars, and more fancy dresses that one could shake a lightsaber at, was well beyond him. He was so glad that his job had nothing to do with politics.

“You should connect the red and the green,” Hux said, cutting through his thoughts.

“I know what I’m doing,” Kylo snapped. The red and the green did need to be connected. Dammit. He slipped in the beacon and started just prodding around to find the loose connection.

“Next –”

“Shut up, Hux, I know what I’m doing!”

Hux raised his eyebrows and took a step back, arms raised in mock surrender. “Sure, you do,” he said mildly, as if Kylo’s annoyance was a personal attack on his innocent soul. Ha!

“Yes, I do!” he said firmly, jamming his hands back in and tuning Hux out.

As expected, Hux refused to be tuned out. “I’m just saying –”

“You always undermine me –”

“You always undermine me!”

“This isn’t about you!”

“Because everything has to be all about you, all the time?”

Kylo clambered to his feet. “I didn’t mean it like that!”

“Didn’t you? Because you are the most self-centred person –”

“That is rich coming from you!”

Hux was right in his face, his eyes blazing. Kylo didn’t think he’d ever seen him this worked up about anything before.

There was a long pause – Hux’s tangle of anger and anticipation was heady on Kylo’s tongue, the air itself seeming to still as if the world itself hung in wait to see how badly they were about to murder each other.

But then –

He wasn’t sure who moved first, but when they kissed, Kylo could feel Hux’s body heat pressed against what felt like every inch of him. Gloved hands gripped his hair tightly, yanking just enough to pull a soft growl from him, vibrating against both of their lips.

Kylo slammed Hux back against the wall, and they jumped apart at the sparks that erupted from the forgotten communications panel, breathing heavily and eyes locked.

There was a sharp crackle, and then Phasma’s voice – staticky and jumpy, but definitely hers. “General Hux?”

“Captain Phasma,” Hux greeted, and although outwardly, he was controlled and even, Kylo could hear his thrumming pulse. “Is this a private channel?”

“Yes, of course, General. What’s going on down there? We lost contact with your ship,” Phasma said.

“We got shot down,” he said, with the kind of casual airs of someone reporting on the weather. He was smiling, and it made the blood on his cheek crinkle.

Phasma sighed, and when she spoke, the disapproval was heavy in her voice. “Why can’t you ever play nice with the other kids, sir?”

“He’s an insufferable bastard,” Kylo suggested, earning himself a swift punch to the arm. He made a face right back at Hux’s sour expression.

“I do suppose there’s that,” she agreed, clearly amused. “I’ll gather a strike team to take care of the rebels on the planet and an extraction team to get you two out of there.”

Hux sniffed imperiously. “How inefficient do you take me to be, Captain? We’ve cleared the rebel base. That’s actually where we’re calling you from. We’ll need an extraction team, and the troopers left at the wreckage will also need transport.”

“The teams will be en route as soon as we can get ships in. Are there any injuries they should be aware of?”

“Nothing serious,” Hux said.

“Unless the troopers decided to play landmine hopscotch in our absence,” Kylo added. “They didn’t seem very bright.”

Phasma sighed again, and he could almost sense her exasperation from orbit. “They were perfectly competent soldiers. I’m sure they’re fine.”

“If you say so,” he said, infusing as much doubt into his voice as he could.

“Captain, please send the extraction team as soon as possible. Being surrounded by rebel stupidity is giving me hives,” Hux cut in, apparently also inclined to be kind of a dick to Phasma for no good reason. Actually, no, it was fun, and that was as good a reason as any.

“They’ll leave shortly. Can you keep yourselves entertained in the meantime?” Phasma asked wryly.

They exchanged a sharp grin. “I’m sure we’ll find a way,” Hux said.

#kylo ren #general hux #kylux #star wars #my writing #yes this is self-indulgent pre-tfa fic. what of it #title taken from sturgill simpson's sing along #because it was in my head the entire time i wrote this mess #swsecretsanta2020

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heeyjuuuude · 4 years

Text

so i’m finally posting some of my writing!! any feedback is welcome — it’s been years since i’ve posted anything, and my writing style has changed quite a bit. (this is so much longer and more intense than i had planned good lord.)

a couple things real quick! in this, there are some thinly-veiled references to nsfw happenings and some decidedly less thinly-veiled internalized homophobia, some of which comes from bitty’s experience with religion, and general homophobia. there’s also a passing mention of past canon-typical underage alcohol consumption. please read with caution, and if you have any concerns or think i missed a tag, please please please contact me!! going by ao3 standards, this is rated mature.

edit: this is now posted on ao3! you’re not allowed to judge me for my old fics lmao

(we’ll take it slow and) grow as we go

The thing is, Eric does want this. In the weeks between three stolen kisses in an empty bedroom and Jack joining him in Madison, he spent nights alone except for the ghost of Jack’s lips on his, and in his mind those lips press under the corner of his jaw and then over the swell of his Adam’s apple and then into the dip of his collarbone, and maybe they go lower and lower and lower.

In the privacy of his room, late enough at night that Mama and Coach have long ago knocked their goodnights on his closed bedroom door, this is safe to imagine, and it’s not quite anything new to him. He’s known without any doubt he prefers boys since he was fifteen and fumbling with the computer mouse on days when the house was empty but for a small teenager with red cheeks and wide eyes. He spent many nights with videos of men dressed in nothing burned into the backs of his eyelids, bottom lip tucked between his teeth and one hand tucked under the elastic lining the top of his boxers. And for exactly the same number of nights of that, there was a half hour spent in tears or near it, wondering if there was something wrong with him and wondering if Father Wilson was right in his homily last week and wondering how long he needs to pretend to think of girls with long wavy hair instead of boys with callused hands.

So no, it isn’t new and hasn’t been for years, but it feels like it is. There are similarities between then and now — Coach is down at the school, busy running his football players into the ground under the blazing summer sun, and Mama is on a front porch miles away, busy sipping sweet tea with her church friends under the brim of a baseball cap, and Eric’s cheeks are burning bright. The differences, though, are more important. He has his body curled into Jack’s, his lips pressed to Jack’s, his fingers tangled around Jack’s. They’re trading sweet, lazy kisses, laying on their sides with Eric’s dark teal duvet pulled around their shoulders so that the warmth of their bodies is trapped around them. He finds he doesn’t much mind the heat, and he supposes the fan whirring and clicking above their heads helps, but there’s just something blooming in the air between them — not that there’s much air there — and he isn’t sure whether it’s love or lust but he is sure that some part of him is aching for it in a way he isn’t used to.

He tells himself that it’s okay to want this, as Jack’s lips part against his. He tells himself that the heat simmering low in his stomach is okay when Jack slots one leg through both of his, and when his boyfriend’s leg presses higher, he tells himself that rocking his hips against the pressure is okay. There have been times when he forgot, and years of living in a conservative, Southern, and Christian house catch up to him. The first time Jack kissed him — and the second time that had followed immediately, and the third — had left him with a whirling mind and tight chest and a lip gnawed into red and pain by his own teeth, like that would sting the gentle pressure of Jack’s lips back into reality. The kissing he isn’t a stranger to, not really, but somehow, irrationally, there is a world of difference between being maybe a step past tipsy, clumsily making out with his Winter Screw date as rough, strong fingers curled around the back of his neck, and being in his childhood home, room, bed with his boyfriend and pressing open-mouthed kisses to eager, soft lips as his hips grind, lazy and slow, to seek the sweet pleasure being offered to him.

Eric tells himself it’s okay, but when Jack’s fingers lower from his shoulders to his waist to below the band of his boxers, he forgets.

There’s a moment where he doesn’t quite realize what’s happening, and then their lips separate and a Is this okay is offered to him on a breath and a silver platter. In the same moment that he recognizes the hard line nudging at his thigh, Eric is pushing at Jack’s chest, suddenly needing space that he doesn’t have. He’s mumbling words like hang on and wait, even as Jack manages an awkward roll-scoot combination that has him nearly hanging off the edge of the bed. And then they’re staring at each other, equally wide-eyed and flushed, and Eric clamps his mouth shut. He’s sure that opening it would be condemning, sure that words would tip over the edge of his tongue and tumble, rough and unplanned, into the fragile silence that separates them. He’s also sure that he doesn’t really want that to happen.

“Bits,” Jack finally says, simply, after a full minute has disappeared. His voice is gentle but unsure, cautious and caring. It’s what Eric is waiting for, apparently, because he slumps forward like a puppet with its strings abruptly snipped, and in between one moment and the next he finds himself with his forehead tucked into the corner of Jack’s neck and shoulder. He feels Jack begin to reach for him, automatically, and then he pauses; Eric nods, and one hand wraps around the back of his neck, a thumb stroking slowly, and the other arm winds around his waist to pull him forward a little. “Bitty, it’s okay. I mean — is something wrong?”

When a slightly helpless laugh flies from his mouth, Eric just shakes his head, and chases the noise with words. “No, honey. Just ... old mindsets die hard, y’know?” It takes one, two, three heartbeats, but he feels the second Jack understands, because the thumb rubbing at his hairline where it lies on the base of his skill pauses, and the rest of his fingers twitch like they want to tighten and only get that they shouldn’t a moment too late. Eric heaves a heavy sigh. “I just — it’s so frustrating,” he admits to Jack’s shirt. “I mean, I tell others that it’s okay to be queer all the time. All the time! But with me it’s just sort of ... different. I still, um. I still can’t handle ....” He trails off and pulls away a little, keeping his head tilted down and his eyes trained on Jack’s shirt. There’s a piece of fuzz clinging to it; he pulls it off and wriggles his fingers over the edge of the bed until it falls to the ground. “The idea of me being intimate with a guy is kinda ... off.”

A beat. And then — “Are you asexual?”

“Oh, I — no, I don’t think so.” He’s considered it, briefly, in the past, especially after Shitty’s talk about how someone can be asexual and still enjoy sex, but he’s positive he still feels that sort of attraction. Lord help him, he’s beyond sure.

“It’s okay if you are, Bits. We don’t ever have to —”

“Jack, you sweet boy. I really appreciate that, I do, but I’m not. I do want to — to be intimate with you. I just ... I don’t know, there’s no explaining it. But I think it’s just the mindset I grew up in and it’s harder to shake than I thought.” Eric pauses for a second, considering his own words, and then looks up to see if Jack’s expression will somehow help him.

It’s a mistake. The look on Jack’s face is — it’s not really pitying, but it’s ... sorrowful, he realizes. Sorrowful is the word. It makes Eric’s heart constrict a little, and then he finds himself smiling a little, almost against his will. Before Jack can say whatever is on the tip of his tongue, Eric leans in to brush a quick, chaste kiss against his lips, and then pulls back to tilt his head in until their foreheads and then noses connect. He waits a moment before saying anything, still mindful of how Jack had seemed to be wanting to speak up, but after the clock on the other side of the room has carefully counted out seven seconds of quiet, he exhales, and the noise is definitely either a hum or a sigh.

“I hate that I can’t — can’t practice what I preach,” Eric confesses finally, the words reaching out to bridge the little distance there is left between them, like they can make up for the fact that they’re no longer as entwined as they had been just a minute or so ago. “I feel so hypocritical, being so out and proud at Samwell and so ... so afraid to actually be proud of myse — no, that’s not right.” He whines, frustrated, and his eyes, already closed, tighten. He can feel the way it makes his forehead wrinkled against Jack’s. “I am proud of myself. But sometimes it’s like my brain doesn’t really know that. My heart does, and my — my body, but my brain’s just sorta like ‘No, that’s okay!’ And I guess it’s just because I’ve ... well, I’ve been told that it isn’t okay my entire life. Did you know my mama’s first conversation with me about the queer community involved her showing me an article about a man who decided to never date or anythin’ because he was gay and wanted to be able to dedicate his life to God? And, I mean, it’s his decision, I guess, but then she said all this stuff about how that was exactly what gay people should do. Which was just so hard to hear, because at the time I was maybe thirteen an’ startin’ to realize I wasn’t straight an’ that kinda stuck with me all these years an’ — and —” Another high pitched whine marks the end of the sentence, and he begins thunking his head lightly against Jack’s shoulder — at some point he shifted — until a hand curls into his hair, holding him firmly and effectively immobilizing him.

“Whatever you feel is valid,” Jack starts, slow but steady, “but that doesn’t make it right. You aren’t broken for wanting this. And I know you know this, so don’t look at me like that, but you need to hear it again sometimes.”

It isn’t until he hears those words that he is struck with how much he needed them, and then Eric is struck with such an overwhelming wave of fondness — because Jack knew, just like he always did, exactly what Eric had needed — that all he can do is squirm closer and promise himself that he’ll finally give in and make that nutritionist-approved version of the pie Jack’s been asking for.

After a stretched out silence, Jack’s arms find their way around his waist again and Eric is pulled close, and he feels more than hears when there’s an inhalation that seems to be leaning into a sentence. He waits patiently when none follows immediately, and soon after —

“What do you need from me, bud?” Jack asks, the words quietly pleading and cracking but so, so grounding. Eric sort of sinks into them, huffing a warm, maybe-slightly-wet laugh into the soft fabric of Jack’s shirt, and takes the time to consider the question.

“I — at some point we should ... well, I think there’s a little more to talk about,” he admits, and Jack nods his agreement with an encouraging hum. The next sentence is loosed before he really thinks about it, but in its release and freedom he finds it true. “But, um, for now, I think I’m done. Can we just stay here until Mama and Coach get home?”

“Of course, Bits, yeah. Whatever you need.” Without another word, they begin to move around again, shifting until they’re molded together, secure and warm and perfect. Eventually they find themselves in a mimicry of their position from the beginning, curled up on their sides and facing each other with their legs and fingers tangled, but Eric keeps his face in the safety of Jack’s chest, and Jack cranes his neck to whisper kisses into the hair on the crown of his head.

“Thank you,” Eric offers, in between grazing two kisses on the exposed skin of Jack’s collar. He can sense the head tilt that receives this, so he clarifies, “Thank you for being so ...” only to come to the conclusion that he doesn’t know the words that will summarize the feeling in his chest. Luckily, it seems like he doesn’t need to.”

“Yeah, Bits. Anytime. Anything.”

And with that, Eric lets his eyes close and gently separates his fingers from Jack’s only to clutch at his shirt instead, and he reaches up with his face to find his boyfriend waiting for him. He smiles as their lips meet.

#annie writes #eric bittle #jack zimmermann #zimbits #zimbits fic #check please!#missing scene #check please missing scene #madison visit #this is CONSIDERABLY longer than i had wanted it to be. ugh #i just really love writing bitty though #plus this fic was Very Personal to me?#as a southern and catholic and queer person #also this is my 100th post!! which is super exciting!!#how many ways can i say ‘it was quiet’? let’s find out shall we #excessive use of hyphens #excessive use of commas #also bitty’s story abt his mom and the article? based entirely off my own experience :)#so is the way i wrote his accent lmao like i definitely drop off some Gs from -ing verbs and the D in and when i’m having Feelings #i literally don’t know how to end fics #i know i said this was too long but it’s also too short #like i was aiming for under 1k and it’s hovering around 2k ...#but also i have a lot more to say about this and i’m not sure i got across what i was trying to #i just can’t do the words anymore #god i’ve been working on this for like a week and i still!! don’t really love it!!#oop i just edited and it is now over 2k #✌️✌️✌️

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thepapergirlandthespiegelman · 4 years

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Harry Potter and the Methods of Rationality: Initial impressions

Titles can be deceiving.

CW: child abuse, childhood trauma, mental illness, depression, anxiety

I think I can recall hearing about Harry Potter and the Methods of Rationality at some point in the fairly distant past, though I can’t be sure. What I can say with relative certainty is that if I did encounter it, I probably wasn’t very likely to read it. I probably assumed that HPMOR was one of those obnoxiously misguided and pedantic critiques of fiction by scientists who neither know how to utilize suspension of disbelief, nor understand the basic nature of symbolism. At best, I might have imagined it to be a piece attempting to discover or construct a coherent logic from the magic within the Harry Potter universe, just for the pure amusement value, the absurdity of attempting to apply logic to that which defies it. I could see the appeal of that, but probably not 122 chapters worth of it.

After actually reading the first ten chapters of HPMOR, however, I can say that my first guess was incorrect, and my second guess was insufficient. HPMOR does capitalize on that humorous absurdity, but that’s hardly the core of the story.

One major reason for my misperceptions was a lack of familiarity with the difference between science and rationality. In layspeak, we often use these terms near interchangeably, and while they do go hand-in-hand to some extent, they’re not the same. Science is a method of obtaining knowledge. Rationality is an approach to living life, which dictates utilizing philosophy and science to obtain desired outcomes. You can be a scientist and be completely irrational, which actually reflects back on my initial concern; there are some scientists who will attempt to use the theory and language of science to denigrate works of art, completely ignoring the point of art.

HPMOR itself deals with this problem, not only the conflation of science with rationality, but the conflation of science and rationality and aptitude and general intelligence. The very first chapter highlights how AU Harry’s (Harry James Potter-Evans-Verres, HJPEV for short) father is a professor, knowledgeable about science, presumably quite intelligent, and yet behaves incredibly irrationally. Rather than attempting to settle the dispute about the existence of magic objectively, he refuses to entertain the idea on principle, saying, “Magic is just about the most unscientific thing there is!”

And here’s where the real story begins to unfold. What makes HPMOR hit hard, at least for me, is not the discussion of science and rationality in the abstract, or even the very useful, illustrative scenarios, but the emotional struggle of trying to be a rational person in an irrational world, especially when you’re a child. In so many ways, HPMOR is a story about the trauma of growing up as a so-called “gifted” child. Almost every chapter that I read was painfully reminiscent of my own childhood:

Seeing my parents speculate and argue endlessly over things that could be proven;

Attempting to reason with them only to be shut down;

Having my value in their eyes dependent on their perception of my intelligence and academic performance, being praised for when I was perceived to have succeeded in these matters, while at the same time having my perspective completely ignored when it came to anything that mattered;

Being mocked relentlessly for things I did when I was younger, ignoring the incredibly rapid growth that defines childhood;

Constantly feeling as though, as HJPEV puts it, I was being treated as “subhuman,” my feelings, thoughts, and opinions all invalid because of my age;

Feeling so, so frustrated that the people who were supposed to protect me were so absurdly, ridiculously, unfairly, woefully, tragically ill-equipped to do so.

I became hopelessly isolated from my parents, and my self-esteem became self-degrading. Being told over and over again how what I felt or thought didn’t matter because I was only a child made me doubt and disrespect my own emotions and doubt my very sanity. I don’t think that my parents meant to gaslight me, but that’s exactly what they did. For years, and years, and years, and it hurts. so. much. It...I cannot express how much it hurts.

And I am left with all of this damage, these lines of irrationality programmed into my brain, this obsessive need to to be perceived as intelligent in order to believe that I could be loved, in order to merely function, this irrationality that I hate so much because it hurt me so much is now encoded into my very being and it fills me with existential horror to this day.

It was difficult for me to get through as much of HPMOR as I did, and I genuinely wonder if it would be detrimental to my mental health to go on. It triggers both the suffering that comes with remembering past trauma as well as the compulsions that have resulted from that trauma. Hearing HJPEV list all the books he’s read sends a bolt of anxiety down my spine, knowing that I will never measure up to people like him, I will never have read enough, I will never be smart enough, I will never...be...enough—

Enough. I know when to stop torturing myself.

I was shocked to see how quickly HPMOR itself comes to the conclusion that what HJPEV has endured is a form of child abuse. It took me years to become comfortable using the words “abuse” and “trauma” to describe my experiences, and HPMOR introduces the word “abuse” in Chapter 6! I give HPMOR’s McGonagall much less credit than HJPEV does, but even so, it’s kind of astonishing to me to see an adult pick up on the existence of abuse in a so-called gifted child, even in fiction. I find myself wondering how I might have turned out differently if I had had someone like McGonagall in my life, or someone better than McGonagall in my life, who had told me in no uncertain terms, “What is happening to you is abuse, it is not okay, it is not your fault, and while I’m unable to legally extricate you from your unfortunate circumstances, I will do everything in my power to protect you.”

Because that didn’t happen. No one told me that I was abused or damaged. They told me that I was “smart,” “gifted,” “advanced,” or “mature”; and if they noticed anything odd about my behavior, it was because I was just “quiet,” “shy,” “introverted,” or “diligent.”

I also find myself wondering if I might have been a little different if I had read HPMOR when I first had the chance. But then again, I don’t know if I would have understood it as I do now, after years of studying psychology and working to heal myself.

God, seeing it all laid out so starkly, things I worked years to understand, in a few short chapters of someone’s fucking fanfiction*...I sure do feel like an idiot.

But then, this whole conversation has primed me to feel those feelings.

I must not undervalue myself. I am not playing that game. That game is the problem.

One thing does irritate me, though. Putting aside my misconceptions about HMPOR specifically, there’s this huge barrier to entry to the rationalist community in general. I think people perceive (correctly, as far as I can tell) that it is a community of highly intelligent people, who are highly skilled in STEM disciplines, particularly math. The one friend who could have introduced me to all this was someone who I saw as hopelessly more intelligent than I, and that perceived disparity made it incredibly difficult to approach him even as I admired him, envied him, and desperately needed the things that he could teach me. (I don’t know what things were like on his end. I still don’t.)

We’ve already seen that someone can be highly intelligent and completely irrational. I wish we could take that logic a step further and really make clear that rationality is not something that requires high intelligence. As with learning anything, intelligence helps, but intelligence can’t be a prerequisite for this skillset, because literally everyone should have it. I guess this might be controversial, but so far as I can tell, rationality is just the best way to go through life. And of course, knowing the best way to move forward is especially critical for those of us leaving behind dark pasts.

For fuck’s sake, this doesn’t have anything to do with quarks or discrete math or machine learning. It has everything to do with reducing human suffering.

And I wish...I really wish that there was a way to share this world with my friends. The only reason that I made it here is that I’ve constantly existed on the borderline, wavering around the threshold of what is broadly considered intelligent, attempting mastery of both STEM and humanities, science and art. As much as I doubt and denigrate myself, I am able, if I really want to, under certain favorable circumstances, to convince myself that I belong here. Not all of my friends have the same privilege. I have friends who have lived their whole lives believing that they just aren’t that smart, or that they aren’t any good at math or science. Maybe they decided early on that that stuff wasn’t for them, or maybe they tried and felt like they failed. I know that, for many people, academic language is frustrating, triggering, or otherwise completely inaccessible. I know that many people will find HJPEV absolutely insufferable and most of what he says incomprehensible.

And I’m really not sure what to do about that. I’ve not sure how to convince people that striving for rationality is both possible and worthwhile for everyone, and if I do convince them, I’m not sure what to actually show them that will make any sense to them.

I don’t know. Maybe it does have a bit to do with math. Because a lot of what I get from rationality, I can get from other places, be that art or psychology or witchcraft, but the stuff that is unique does tend to be the mathematical and statistical thinking. And philosophical thinking, academic thinking. Talking about things with precision...That’s always been my problem with trying to translate the academic into ordinary speech, it feels like all the precision is being lost. To be precise, you need unique words, and unique words tend to be obscure, and people find obscure words upsetting.

Obviously, this isn’t a problem I’m going to solve in this blog post. But it’s something to think about.

So, I guess that’s my review of the first ten chapters of HPMOR, if you can call it that. If one of the purposes of fiction is to unlock a bizarrely intense cocktail of existential horror and unadulterated wrath deriving from the wrongs of one’s childhood—and I certainly believe it is—then HPMOR succeeds spectacularly.

*Edited to add: In my unfortunate compulsion to drag myself down, I often drag down other things or people too. I shouldn’t trivialize the value of fanfiction. And, quite honestly, I really shouldn’t be surprised that it could be a source of profound insight. After all, writing fanfiction has been one of my own ways to cope with and sort through my emotions and illnesses for a long, long time.

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lifeisbooksandcats · 3 years

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Since posting on tumblr feels like just screaming into the void; where maybe someone might throw a glance your way to see if maybe you’re both screaming about the same thing, but at the end of the day, no one is really paying attention to you..and I feel like that’s what makes me feel like I can post this. Because it’s not something I can say out loud, not really, not yet. Except to my fiancée because it’s something we’ve talking about for a while. This is going to be long, I’m certain of it, and it’s going to be rambley because I’ve been trying to put my thoughts into words and those words into coherent...anythings...and it just isn’t going to be in any sort of order. I’m not expecting anyone to read it and I’m hoping the read more button actually works on mobile. If not, then I’m sorry, you’ll be scrolling for a while.

I don’t know how valid people feel self-diagnosis is, but I honestly feel like I fall somewhere on the autism spectrum. And that’s something I’ve thought about myself since my first year of college. Someone in a communications class I was taking did a presentation on autism, and throughout the entire thing all I could think was how much everything resonated with me. So that’s, since the fall semester of 2009, this has been something I’ve quietly thought about myself and wondered and honestly just been pretty sure of. That’s 12 years this fall, and I still can’t bring myself to say it?? And I think it’s a good bit because I’ve been asked so many times throughout my life if I’m autistic - by family members, by friends, by a college roommate, by people living on the same floor as me at college - and it’s ALWAYS been (or at least felt like to me) in some sort of negative way. And I don’t want to apologize for being myself, but fuck it’s just hard sometimes???

When I walk into a room, especially one I’m not familiar with, my first instinct is to look for the exits and figure out how I can get out of there if it gets too loud/too hectic/too EVERYTHING and I start to panic. And if I’m in a situation where I can’t leave, I have this little clear stone that I play with in my hand, just something to focus on to help keep me just a little bit calmer. When that doesn’t work, it’s like my mind just...goes. I don’t know how to explain it; physically I’m still there, but mentally...even if I wanted to pay attention to something, I literally could not. It happens the most when there’s too many sounds/voices/conversations happening at once, they all blend together, I can’t understand anything and after a second it feel like it’s all just muffled and I’m not there anymore, I feel so disconnected from my body, like there’s someone else controlling my brain and I’m just there watching. It happened at the zoo just recently, when we went into one of the restaurants for lunch. I was already panicked because of the number of people inside without masks on. From the second we walked in, everything from the number of people inside, to the volume, to the lights being too bright (but looking back, I feel like they were probably an appropriate brightness? It just felt too bright with everything else going on), to the lack of masks, everything was too much. My fiancée and I stood in line with one of our friends, waiting to order our food, and I stood there rocking slightly on my ankles and fidgeting with that little stone, just trying so desperately to calm my internal panic and to not “check out” mentally and to just appear “normal”. I stood there waiting for our food, rocking on my ankles, running my thumb along my fingertips, listening to the conversations all around me merging into one unintelligible mess and on the inside, full on panicking while hoping that from the outside, no one could tell. I got our food, set it on the table, and stepped into the bathroom to wash my hands, the quiet welcoming me like nothing else. I closed my eyes and just stood there, breathing, letting the warm water run over my hands like some kind of magic balm bringing me back down. I opened my eyes again, a woman with a toddler smiled at me like she knew - which made me worry again because it’s not something I want people to know because I don’t want to be different, I don’t want anyone to look at me differently. But at the same time, I do. I want to be able to stand up for myself and say “I literally physically cannot go into this loud, crowded restaurant because I’m autistic and it is so auditorily overwhelming in there.” And maybe that wasn’t even what her smile meant. Because I literally never know how people are feeling and I try to figure it out but honestly 90% of the time it’s just guesswork.

But it’s not just that. It’s not just the panic that sets in when it’s too crowded and the sounds are too much. It’s the fact that as a kid, I was never “just” a fan of something I liked. I either didn’t care, or it was an all-consuming obsession that basically became a personality trait. I was a fan of Aaron Carter, but god forbid anyone ask me a question about his music or anything — because whether or not you were interested (and unless you flat out told me you were uninterested, I literally could not tell), I was going to info-dump everything onto you. I could tell you what time he was born, how many minutes were between him and his twin sister, which concerts his sister Leslie sang at (because she also had a small music career), at what point in his career he actually started singing live instead of lip syncing most of the time...

And speaking of info-dumping. If I couldn’t info dump to someone, I would write it. As a child - second, third, fourth grade...- I wrote essays upon essays on things I was interested in just because I could. Just everything I knew on the topic, thrown out into words either handwritten as a younger kid or typed as I got older. When I was in about fifth or sixth grade, when Harry Potter was HUGE and all my friends were also into Harry Potter, I couldn’t tell everything I knew to my friends because they already knew a lot of it...and so as a kid, maybe a fifth grader, I wrote a six (maybe seven?) page essay - single spaced - with everything I knew about the series/the author/everything. Before the last book came out, I filled an entire spiral bound notebook with my theories for how the series would end and WHY I thought what I thought.

My first NOW That’s What I Call Music CD was Now 14. I was in 7th grade and I could tell you exactly what order the songs were in. That was something I did to calm myself down back then; listing the songs on that album over and over and over again, always in the right order.

From about 7th grade until high school graduation, I brought and ate the exact same thing for lunch every single day. I said it was because I liked it, but I really didn’t. I didn’t like the Oscar Mayer precooked bacon that I would put on my BLT. I didn’t like the texture, half the time I couldn’t bring myself to eat it and picked it off my sandwich. But the thought of changing it??? That wasn’t even something I would have considered because somehow in my mind, changing it was worse than eating it. Make that one make sense.

I love routines and schedules and things staying the same, and get annoyingly stressed out when things/my schedule changes. One little change or one little thing out of the ordinary and it’s like I forget how to function for the day. Everything seems off. And I hate it. Because I KNOW that it shouldn’t matter, but it does. Half days and two hour delays at school growing up?? Those stressed the FUCK out of me because the order of the day would be different. I loved school and loved learning, but those days I felt physically ill over the thought of going to school. Field trip days were okay though because I knew they were coming and I had plenty of time to mentally prepare myself. I remember as a child asking my teachers (on multiple occasions) for the itinerary for a field trip so I could memorize it and know exactly what to expect and when for the day.

There are times that my fiancée will turn on the tv for “background noise” while she watches videos on her phone, and I wish I could describe what I mean when I tell her that there’s “too many sounds”. Because between the tv, her phone, the hum of the refrigerator in the other room, the neighbors, cars driving by, the cats playing, the ceiling fan...I don’t know how else to describe it other than exactly that — too many sounds. And it gets to be too much. So I have to put headphones in and listen to music to drown it all out and refocus.

I’ve only just recently been able to put a word to what I now know is poor executive function. As much as I loved school, I could NOT do assignments until the day they were due. I could start on something days before it was due, but I couldn’t work on it. I couldn’t focus on it. I couldn’t get myself to work on it. But the morning it was due??? I could whip up a paper that I knew would earn an A just hours before needing to turn it in. I prided myself on that ability, but looking back it was most definitely poor executive function. If I couldn’t finish something that morning, which was a rare occurrence, I would lie - I’d look “everywhere” for my assignment and “panic” because I “couldn’t find it” and because I was a good student, I got away with it. Every. Single. Time. Even with the hard-ass teachers who no one could get away with things on. And magically by the end of the day, I would swing back by that teacher’s classroom to give them my assignment that I had finally “found”.

I remember sitting on the kitchen floor of our apartment as a kid and tracing my fingers along the lines on the floor where the tiles met. I remember the pattern was brown/white/brown/white, but there was one spot on the floor that made me so irrationally frustrated because two tiles were swapped; instead of the same pattern as the rest of the floor, this one spot was brown/white/white/brown/brown/white. I remember pointing it out and my mom asking me why I had even paid any attention to that. I didn’t know why, I just did. I remember her telling me that it was stupid to let it bother me and to just let it go, but I couldn’t. I stopped mentioning it, but right up until we moved out of that apartment, I couldn’t even look at that spot on the floor without getting frustrated by it. There’s more than that. But that was one of the first things I thought of.

I’ve been watching a lot of Yo Samdy Sam’s videos on YouTube, and especially her videos “Autism symptoms in GIRLS” and “Could YOU be autistic? (and not know)” and I just... I feel that. Everything she says, I feel that. I watch them just thinking “that’s me. That’s me.” the entire time. She mentions sucking on her hair as a kid, and I did that CONSTANTLY. My hair was forever in my mouth. And now that I’m an adult, I don’t suck on my hair, but my sweatshirt strings are always in my mouth. Obviously there’s more than that, but that was one that hit me hard because I didn’t realize that wasn’t just something everyone did as a kid. I didn’t realize not everyone couldn’t stand still and always had to be fidgeting or moving slightly, whether it was rocking on my ankles, running my thumb over my other fingers, crossing and uncrossing my toes inside my shoes. I didn’t realize not everyone had the same shitty executive functioning skills as me.

And it’s like... I’m so sure that’s me. I’m so sure that I am autistic. I know it. But it’s like...is getting a diagnosis at this point in my life going to change anything? I mean no, probably not, other than giving me that validation that I crave. I would feel valid when the world is too much/too big/too loud. I would have a reason for feeling the way I do and doing the things I do. So much of my life would make sense. But. I don’t know. I’m afraid I’ll try to get a diagnosis and have someone, some doctor or therapist or psychologist or someone tell me that I’m not. And then what? Then what is everything I’ve felt throughout my life? That’s what I’m afraid of, really. Because if I’m so sure of this and then some professional says “no that’s not it”, then what?

#personal #just venting I guess #not venting that’s not the right word #just throwing my thoughts on here and trying to make sense of them because it’s my blog and I can #autism #autism in adults #actually autistic

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ellana-ravenwood · 5 years

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A fitting name - Dick Grayson x Reader

Summary : You’re dating Dick Grayson, aka Nightwing, and contrary to popular belief...he ISN’T always that happy-go-lucky people think he is. Actually, you’d even go to the extend to say that he was a moody bitch sometimes.

This story has been sitting in my draft for a while, but every time I did a vote about which one you wanted to see next...it lost by a landslide. This time however, it won by ONE vote haha, so bam here it is, hope you’ll like it :

My masterlist blog : @ella-ravenwood-archives

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******

It had been going on for a while already. And it all started over such a silly thing...A few months ago, out on a mission, you got badly injured. But you were finally back on your feet and ready to go out there again.

Well, it was without counting on your boyfriend, who suddenly decided to become overprotective of you ! Usually, you wouldn’t have mind. In fact, you would have thought it was pretty darn cute, how he wanted to make sure you were alright. Showed that he cared. A lot.

Only problem was : you weren’t particularly known for your patience, and he was REALLY insisting on you staying behind, ignoring all your comments about being completely fine and healthy.

Things escalated quickly, as you got vexed he didn’t think you were ready. But also got angry that he was basically ordering you to stay home ! How dare he ! Who was he to order you around like that ?! If you wanted to go, then you would go !

So you rose your voice a little bit. Because he was being unreasonable, and too damn controlling. He knew you hated that.

Only that got him to raise his own voice too, and then just like that...You were yelling at each others, not quite sure how the hell it got that far.

Well, “not quite sure”.

You actually knew what happened. You were calm at first, and only started to get angry because he was getting angry. And though you knew his anger could suddenly blow out, and you probably should have had defused things instead of pushing him...Well, you just weren’t about to let anyone walk on your feet, even if it was him ! And even if everything started with the best intentions !

Sure it was cute that he wanted to protect you, but you didn’t need his protection right now, you needed his trust in believing that you were alright and ready to go back on the field !!

In fact, after months of convalescence and feeling like you were useless, his support was essential to you ! He had been so great in reassuring you and nursing you back to health, you were so sure he’d keep going on that way.

But his fear of loosing you, and his worries got the best of him. And here he was, bitching that you “never listened to him” while it wasn’t the truth...Oh but Dick Grayson was often very unfair, when he started to get irrationally angry. And his mouth often ran faster than his brain.

“Oh my God, sometimes, your name fits you perfectly !”

You shouted at him, and he looked at you and oh how fucking dare he roll his eyes at you like that ?! It made you even angrier, as he said :

“What are you on about ?!”

“Your name, it’s a perfect fit.”

“What ? Why ?!”

“Because you’re being such a dick ! And a dumb one at that, who can’t seem to remember his own damn name !”

“Don’t call me dumb, you’re the one being stupid right now !”

“And you’re acting like a child !”

“I’m not ! You’re just so...STUBBORN !”

“I wouldn’t be if you weren’t being a jerk !”

“How am I being a je...I just want you to be safe !”

“I earned my place here as much as anyone else ! Also, I could break you like a twig so pluh-ease !”

“Well I never said you couldn’t ! But you’re still healing !”

“I’m fine ! Do you really think I’d come if I thought I could be a liability to the team somehow ?!”

“I never said you would, stop twisting my words !”

“You implied it when you didn’t fucking drop it !”

“I would have if you weren’t being so damn stubborn and pushed all my buttons on purpose !”

“You pushed your own buttons buddy, getting all worked up like that.”

“Don’t be condescending.”

“Don’t be such a dick !”

“I...You...They...I...GGGRROOOAAAH !!”

Dick yelled, throwing his hands in the air out of frustration. And pacing back and forth in front of you, grumbling a little more and shaking his head in annoyance.

You knew what had just happened, he had just reached his “too mad to find words to answer you” phase. Which meant that any seconds now, he was going to...Yup, and here he goes, leaving the room in a fury, barking a “let’s go” to the rest of the team.

The rest of the team.

The Young Justice.

The future of heroes.

And right now, they were all staring at you, utterly shocked. You were pretty sure they never seemed so confused before, not even when you guys got caught up in some pretty shady multi-dimensional shenanigans.

Still annoyed to no end by your boyfriend’s behavior, you glared at them and asked, a bit harshly :

“What ?!”

They all took a step back (survival instinct), and you realized maybe you should take it down a notch. They didn’t do anything, after all.

There was an awkward silence, and you were about to apologize when Dick came back in and yells :

“ARE YOU GUYS COMING OR NOT ?!”

Before rushing back out with angry steps, groaning some more unintelligible words as he leaves. And you knew your friends must be completely dumbfounded when none of them even retorted anything back, while many of those guys would usually not take someone’s shit like that.

They just walked out of the room towards the plane that’ll take them to their next mission (Dick is already starting it up, well guess he’ll be the captain today...), and kept a bit of distance with you.

Except for Wally and Artemis who fell back behind with you. The archer asked :

“Are you ok ?”

“Yes, why wouldn’t I be ?”

There was still a little bite in your words, but they knew better than to take offense to it. Especially after what they just witnessed. Wally said :

“It’s just...this all kind of came out of nowhere ? He was all nice and all, worried about you and so sweet it made my teeth rot, and then all of a sudden BAM ! He got super angry because you were adamant you wouldn’t stay behind. Like you just walked on a mine or something.”

“Yeah well, he does that. Things trigger him and he explodes. Nothing new really. He’ll calm down just as fast, and will realize how stupid he’s just been and apologize. I probably should say sorry too...I did push his buttons on purpose because he was getting on my nerves...”

There was a small silence as you’re almost to the plane, and both Wally and Artemis slowed down. Out of reflex, you slowed too and gave them a curious look.

“Why are we stoping ?”

You asked with your normal tone, as if nothing just happened. As if you and your boyfriend didn’t just yell at each others for the past ten minutes. As if all this was quite a regular occurrence really, and you were already so over it. As if this small talk with them calmed you down. Artemis was the first one to speak :

“What do you mean “he does that” ? I’ve never EVER seen Dick mad. I mean, I’ve seen him get angry during fights, but we all do that. This back there, that was something else. I always pictured him as that calm smiley guy, who has jokes ready in the most desperate of situations so...”

Ah. So that is it huh ? Evidently, your friends haven’t been around Dick long enough to truly see some of his ridiculous outbursts of anger. Or rather, they weren’t ALWAYS with him like you were..

Well, it made sense really. When you guys were hanging out with the team, it was either to go on missions or to have fun. And to be honest, some other easily angered members definitely stole Dick’s spotlight when it came to it.

Conner, for example, used to always be angry or annoyed, and had difficulties to control himself. Dick felt compelled to behave in those cases, to crack jokes to loosen the atmosphere and such. So of course they never really saw him get mad, and thought he was just that happy-go-lucky guy.

Like Artemis said, he got angry sometimes on missions, but that’s something that indeed happened to all of you. If a plan was going south, if a friend was hurt, if the villain was particularly despicable...So it also made sense they never really took notice of the rage Dick could find himself in.

Which kind of makes you roll your eyes. Really hard. You say :

“Ah, well of course you’d think that of him. But let me tell you guys, sometimes, Nightwing can truly be a moody bitch !”

“Hey ! I heard that !”

Dick yelled, turning around in his seat at the front of the plane. You just stuck your tongue out at him, which ended up annoying him further (as you knew it would), but he was already so far in his anger that he didn’t even bother to answer and instead smashed some buttons and got the plane off and on to the mission.

He knew he was being stupid right now, that he should calm down and that all this was just silly. That you were right, you were ready, and he should just accept that. But he was just so afraid of loosing you, and when you wouldn’t listen and stay back a little longer...He lost it.

He simply lost it. Because he cared too much. That was one of his biggest problem, and a constant source of burst of angers, really.

He turned around to you, but you were resolutely looking elsewhere, nose in the air, purposefully ignoring him. Which riled him up some more. He sped the plane up, and suddenly, he just couldn’t WAIT to get on with this mission !

Kicking some asses would help him relax...

************

It always surprised you, when people thought Dick was that always positive guy who never got angry and cracked jokes instead.

That guy who, when he was on the verge of anger, would just smile and say something witty.

That guy that just didn’t know the meaning of the word “furious”, because he always just danced around it by laughing infuriatingly and smiling in the face of whatever could make him mad !

Because oh, oh did they ignore a big part of his personality by thinking that !

Well, that wasn’t quite right. It is true that a lot of time, Dick was able to hold back his anger and be that happy-go-lucky person everyone thought they knew. And he did have a higher stamina against people trying to make him angry. Plus, he was definitely seeing the world in a more positive light.

He had to, because otherwise he would fall into an bottomless pit of depression. Bruce always nursed this overly positive side in his son, because he tried more than anything to lead his boy onto another path than his. Because he didn’t want Dick to end up like him.

So yes. Dick Grayson was a cheerful guy, who always had a good joke and on whom you could count on to turn your frown upside down in tough moments.

But on some topics ? In certain situations ? Oh the man could loose it very fast ! Like with you, when you refused to “stay safe”. When his fear of something happening to you turned into pure anger and he was unable to control himself.

But of course, you guess rare would be the people to actually witness such outbursts, right ? You had to be pretty darn close to him, to see it. To truly understand him.

It’s true that, much like his father figure, his beloved mentor, the Batman himself, Dick often hid behind a mask when in public. Even with with friends. Because it was easier to play a part, sometimes, than to show his true nature and his true self.

It was self-preservation really. Dick Grayson had suffered enough in his life, that of course he would build up some walls around him and protect his heart. He often pushed people away, like that. At school, he used to be a “loner” because it was easier to not make friends, stay alone and not get hurt when he’d ultimately lose them...Again, just like the man he came to call “dad”.

Very few people actually managed to break his shell.

So rare were the people to see this darker side of him. To see him throw tantrums or get irrationally mad over things that shouldn’t matter so much.

But still, sometimes, you were wondering how the hell some people never even suspected that he could get like that.

Like Superman for example, the guy knew him since he was a child, and yet always seemed very shocked whenever Dick acted out, saying stupid things like : “Jason/Damian, get out of Dick’s body !” and such.

Which by the way, annoyed Dick even more.

He hated whenever someone implied that only his two younger brothers had anger issues in the family. Because they ALL had anger issues. Hell, he saw Tim truly mad a few times, and it was absolutely terrifying.

But both Jason and Damian were loud and needed so much attention...Of course they’d gain this reputation of being “the angry Robin”, while really, this title should have fell on Dick Grayson.

After all, he was the only one who decided to leave Bruce mainly because of his anger. Well, Jason “left” too but it wasn’t quite the same was it ? He was suppose to be dead, but got resurrected and then decided not to come back home right away, as he was angry towards his father.

Jason’s infamous anger towards his dad is what got him the “angry Robin” nickname, but he had every rights to be angry. And except for the feud he had with his father, and the shock his death and revival had on him, making him more violent than before...Jason was actually a pretty chill dude.

He had a lot of confidence issues, so no insult ever phased him much as nothing could be worst of what he thought of himself. And in recent years, he even tamed down his killing spree and anger and...Well it was actually rare to see Jason Todd genuinely angry.

He would bicker away with his father and brothers, but it seemed like recently, he had come back to how he used to be : it was very difficult to truly annoy him. To rile him up. To make him angry.

Because the only thing that ever truly angered Jason Todd, was the fact that Bruce didn’t kill the Joker...And he had been able to move past that. Nowadays, to get a reaction out of him if you tried to annoy him, would be quite impossible.

But Dick ? Oh if you knew what triggered him, you could send him in such fury ! He destroyed his room more than once, in his teen years, out of frustration.

When something unjust happened, mainly. Like him getting scolded by Bruce while he was sure he didn’t deserve it, or things like that.

Talking about Bruce...Did no one ever wonder why Dick, in his late teen years, decided to leave his home ? Did no one ever wonder why he dropped the “Robin” mantel to take on the “Nightwing” one ? (Important Author’s note : there’s different origin stories, of course. “Comic books” ya know, things always change. The original reason why Dick left was that he got shot in the shoulder by the fucking Joker (always him) and Bruce was like “you should quit being Robin”, and Dick got angry and was like : “Hell no dude” and left to join the Titans, becoming later on “Nightwing”...this is a extremely SUMMARIZED version of the original story but, basically that. While I’m using the “Batman : The Animated series” version + what kind of became canon later on, where Dick left because he didn’t agree with Bruce’s methods (again, summarized). I’m using this Nightwing “origin story” mainly because 1. I like it better, 2. it fits better with the story I’m writing right now and 3. It gives Bruce and Dick a nice “growing up and learning” arc, ok, we can carry on with the story now. But a big thing to remember is that in almost every single origin stories, what prompted Dick to become Nightwing was the fact that he was angry. Just thought this was an “important” note...or maybe it wasn’t and I’m just once again blabbering about comics).

Did they think Bruce was just letting his son grow up on his own for a bit, and become his own person and all ? Control freak Batman ? Letting go of his precious son on purpose ? Right. Fat chance.

No. No the truth was something else.

And to you, who was one of the person who knew Dick the best, it definitely made sense.

************

Your boyfriend grew up alongside Bruce. Alongside Batman.

People often forgot how young Bruce was, when he took Dick as his ward. How inexperienced at being a father figure he was, and how lost he still was over so many things. At the time, they were both learning.

When Bruce took him as his ward, he had not been Batman for very long, and he still saw his crusade as a war. Not figuratively. Bruce saw himself as a soldier. At this point, the Bat outfit was just a gimmick to catch his enemies off-guard and give them something to recognize. And to fear.

Enemies.

Bruce saw criminals as enemy combatants. That's exactly how he treated them, except that he avoided killing as much as possible.

Dick was never really on board with the anger and the darkness. He was trying to help people who needed it.

Bruce was trying to hurt those who deserved it. It was a way to escape his pain, and in the beginning, he definitely enjoyed giving them pain. His own pain, at the time, was still festering inside him, and the only way he knew how to cope was to hurt those he deemed guilty.

While both Bruce and Dick fought the same fight, that difference in approach became too much to tolerate on a regular basis. And as Dick grew up and began to think for himself more and more, things broke.

It is noteworthy to also mention that Bruce was accustomed to acting alone, with no one questioning his actions or his motives. But as Dick got older, he started to question everything. Loudly.

And he was right.

For Bruce, it was too much at the time. He always hated being wrong, so when he was faced with the truth by his own son...It was too much.

Wether Robin quit or was “fired” is still unclear (author’s note : read that as in “it HIGHLY varies depending on who writes the story so I’d rather not take a side as I like both explanation and the fact it has an “obscure area”), the basic facts remain : Bruce delivered an ultimatum. Dick could fall in line or get out.

Dick chose to get out.

There was a lot of anger on both sides.

And it ended with Dick going away for a while. Which was a good thing at the time. For both of them. He came back later knowing what he wanted, with a new name and a new costume, and ready to face Bruce and this time, stay until he changes his mind.

Only a big fight wasn’t necessary. When Dick came back, Bruce had already realized on his own, as he was left alone once more, that he had lost his way.

He decided the “no kill rule” for sure at that time. And instead of punishing Gotham, he started to protect it. This was made obvious by how he taught the “Robin job” to Jason, Tim or Damian.

And this was all because Dick Grayson got mad at him.

Eventually, they mended pieces together and Dick calmed down, after a long time being angry at his mentor (though always respecting and loving him). It’s Jason’s death, and how devastating it was for Bruce that brought Dick back. It’s that confirmation, when Bruce didn’t kill his son’s murderer, and how much it hit him hard that finally calmed Dick’s anger and made him come back home...

And this anger ? The reason why he was angry ? It’s a main source of why still nowadays Dick Grayson gets angry.

He has always cared too much. Now he’d say “you can’t ever care too much”, but in his case, you really can. Because sometimes, he feels so much, he loves so strongly, that he doesn’t think straight.

And damn can he hold a grudge !

Now, in this particular case, Dick’s anger was justified. And it changed a lot of things in the Bat’s life, for the better. But it isn’t because that one time Dick got super angry for a reason (and dragged his anger for years, by the way...you always thought that it was a little too extra, the way he was mad for so long, though you understood...but just that in itself should make people see that Dick had a darker side ?), that he never got angry for the most ridiculous things !

************

There was two kind of angers, with Dick. The first one, was the reason he got mad at Bruce. The fact that he cared too much. An easy example :

You met Dick in a peculiar situation.

Well, maybe it wasn’t so peculiar for a city like Gotham.

It happened a normal morning, as you were on your way to school. You were late because you had to get your little brother to primary school first, as your parents were already at work since the sun came up…Nothing unusual really, you were used to have much more responsibilities than a young 13 years old should have. It never really bothered you though, as you knew no other ways.

You were running through the streets, hoping to make it in time and…Yeah, you never made it to school that day.

As you were only a few blocks away from it, you found yourself in the middle of total mayhem. You have no idea what really happened, but you remember little bits of it.

You and a few other civilians getting stuck in between Batman, Robin, and a bunch of villains. You barely remember Batman and Robin able to put everyone on the side safely, but you not paying attention, worried about being late, and walking right towards the commotion.

Then you only remember flashes of things.

You almost getting chomped on by Killer Croc, and holding your arms up reflexively and then all of a sudden you were down on your ass, Killer Croc was passed out in the street, and everyone was staring at you.

Next thing you know Batman grabs you by the arm delicately, gets you back up on your feet and tells you « follow me, and cover your face » and so…you did exactly that.

What else was there to do ? He was the goddamn Batman, of course you were gonna listen !! You climbed in the Batmobile, floating in a weird dazed, not sure if this was real life or a wacky dream.

The windows were blacked out, and you couldn’t see a thing, but after a short drive, the back door opened again on Batman and Robin, and you were in...the Batcave ?

Everything was so crazy. Everything was going so fast. That day was still a blur, and forever will be. Which was kind of sad, considering it was the day you met the love of your life.

Dick was very reassuring, and smiled a lot. It’s all you could really remember of him that day.

Of course you knew him only as “Robin” at the time. You had no idea who they really were, and Bruce didn’t trust you enough yet to tell you.

But he still brought you back to the Batcave, which was a big deal. According to Dick, you were the first person outside of him, Batman and Al...Penny1 (whoever that was) to come down there. Of course, you had absolutely no idea where it was exactly, but it was still pretty cool.

That first day, Bruce didn’t brusque you or anything. He just made sure you were alright, and when he saw you didn’t remember everything, send you back on your way...

You discovered later, when the shock of what happened finally wore down, why Bruce brought you back there. As the Batman himself, and his trusted Robin (who was smiling a lot) came back for you to bring you again to the Batcave.

And that’s when your world was turned upside down, as Bruce revealed to you that you were...a meta-human.

A few quick research on you (you gave your real name to Batman when he asked, not able to think straight), and Bruce discovered that your father adopted you. Your mom was your biological mom, but...WHAT ?!

You didn’t even know your dad wasn’t really your dad. That your mom had you prior to meeting him. Well, you were barely one year old when they got together, and he became the only father you ever knew. But this was quite a shock !

You remember Dick scolding Bruce for telling you the news so abruptly...But Bruce had his reasons. Because out there ? In the streets ? Faced with Killer Croc ? You did something, and it was impressive.

You “repulsed” him with lightnings ! But when Bruce asked you further questions, it was clear that this was the first time it ever happened ! You were so lost, and so shocked...Thanks to Dick bringing back Bruce to the “real world” and telling him that you were just a kid, things got easier.

Bruce apologized, and said he would do further researches to know who your real father was. Only if you wanted to. But hey, you had just basically fried Killer Croc (he owed it only to his thick crocodile skin to not have burned alive really) and this new power was scary, so yes, you definitely wanted to know who your dad was !

Over the next few weeks, you came back often to the Batcave, after school. To train. To try and learn your power. At first, nothing would happen.

Bruce quickly understood that your powers needed to be triggered to work, and threw a harsh assault on you ! It got you knocked on your ass, but also made some sparks ! Quite literally !

But this little event ? It’s what made you discover the first kind of anger Dick Grayson could feel.

The one that happens because he cares too much. The one that happens because he couldn’t bare to let anyone get hurt.

In a matter of seconds Dick was between you and Bruce and yelling at his mentor. See, when he got hurt during training, it was alright. Because he knew what he got himself into, and he wanted to get better. But seeing you, a new friend, getting hurt like that ? It drove him nuts (years later, when Bruce got a little too rough with Jason, Tim or Damian, Dick would enter this same kind of anger, and yell at his mentor for his harsh ways, getting angry because he dared to hurt his little brothers).

You didn’t even have time to get back on your feet and say you were fine, as your lightning protected you, that Dick was already yelling at Bruce to be more careful and blahblahblah !

He went from 0 to 100 so fast ! And evidently, Bruce was already used to it because he stayed calm and endured the scolding, the way Dick grew angrier by the second until he became unable to find words anymore and just groaned and threw things around.

It was...Kind of scary. And very shocking. Up until now, Dick was that guy who smiled a lot, said stupid jokes and was in HUGE contrasts with his mentor. Night and day really. But there, as you witnessed him get utterly angry ?

You understood that there was much more to Dick Grayson than the eyes met.

And along the years, you realized that you were definitely right.

From that day and on, you and him grew closer and closer, up until you fell in love. It was just natural, you got each others the most. You were the only one to see him for who he really was, and vice versa. And sure sometimes it was...”electric” between you two, as you fought and such, but nonetheless your love was pure and intense. And unbreakable.

You grew next to him, and Bruce. You discovered that you were the Northern God Thor’s daughter and...Oh. But that was another story. For another day. Right now, as Artemis and Wally seemed shocked that you revealed that Dick gets angry quite regularly, your thoughts went back to what triggered him and turned him into a jerk sometimes.

************

This first kind of anger actually happened rather often. And the main trigger of it would be a friend of his being hurt, while he’s in charge of things...

Dick, because he was Bruce’s first ward, first student, and was raised quite strictly (a bit too strictly at times, Bruce realized later), was often thrown in the “leader” seat.

But he hated it.

He always hated being the one people followed. He much preferred being a “side-kick” if he was perfectly honest. Someone who was there to support the one with responsibilities, to have their back, to make sure things run smoothly...he hated being the one in charge. Which is why nowadays, except if forced to, he was always the one to “follow orders”, the one that listened to Tim (mainly), and oh man he really didn’t want to take the Batman mantel. Too many responsibilities ! He always thought it would fit Jason, Tim and Damian better (plus they actually WANTED to become Batman, while Dick...but maybe that’s the reason why Dick would actually be the best Batman ?).

Whenever he found himself in the leader’s seat, there was a clear shift in Dick’s personality. A shift that yet nobody ever noticed...Except for you (that’s why you guys fell so hard for each others, you were always reading each others’ perfectly).

If he was there to help out, he would be the one to release some pressure by cracking jokes, making everyone feel better by acting as if he doesn’t take anything seriously...but if he was the leader ? He was serious, disciplinarian, and focused.

It hasn’t always been like that, he told you.

He used to be cheerful in the leader role too...but every time someone got badly hurt. Because nobody takes a guy who jokes that often seriously, and sometimes it lead to disaster.

So now, if the life of everyone was weighting on his shoulders, he wouldn’t be “cheerful”. Then again, no one ever really noticed that shift because it was “normal” for them for him to be more serious, but when you knew Dick, the entire reasoning behind this was heartbreaking, really.

Dick got incredibly angry, when he failed as a leader. When he couldn’t keep up.

He punched more than one hole in Wayne Manor’s walls. He trained way too hard out of frustration often. Angry at himself, at his failures.

Once again, this anger came from caring “too much”. From wanting to help, and save everyone, even if realistically, it isn’t possible.

It came from his “positive side”, a bit naive.

And those outburst of anger when something bad happened, when a plan failed or anything of the like ? They were shockingly violent. He would destroy things, and scream at anyone who’d try to comfort him, not able to think straight (Bruce discovered that the best thing to do was to wait for him to calm down, before taking his mind off of it all by some more “fun” training...Like playing basketball, for example).

Once again, running his mouth faster than his brain worked. Not realizing he could be a total jerk. And being totally imprisoned within his own anger.

Bruce and you came to know how to deal with him when he was like that. And to be honest, he mainly got like that only around you and Bruce anyway, as he often just went away to release his anger, knowing how he could get.

Which is why people didn’t know how angry he could get. But oh man when one of this “fit” started, it was difficult to defuse. And sometimes, you didn’t even want to defuse it, because man could he be such a jerk ! He could say such hurtful things too, deflecting his own failures on others...He would always apologize of course, and with age he got better, but he could really be harsh, when stuck in this kind of anger.

He just cared so much, he couldn’t accept failures ! Or not being able to help or something of the like !

Which is what happened today, when he got angry at you for wanting to come on the mission. Fear for your life. Fear that something would happen to you. Which turned into anger when he realized you weren’t going to listen to him and come, and that he was powerless to keep you safe.

Feeling powerless, would usually do the trick. Make him vent, and let out his frustration. When he first arrived at Wayne Manor, little 8 years old him often got angry at Bruce because of this.

Because he felt he couldn’t save his parents, and he was mad that someone like Bruce, who could have, didn’t do anything ! Of course he knew this wasn’t quite what happened...but still, he would get angry and throw tantrums, destroying everything in his room, and yelling at Bruce that he hated him.

Bruce let him. Because he knew the pain he was going through, and because he knew he needed someone to blame. As he grew up, Dick calmed down about this, but would still get incredibly angry when he felt powerless.

Or when something unjust would happen, as stated before...

All of that, was the first type of his anger.

The one you understood, and was more forgiving of.

The one that people caught glimpse of sometimes, on the battlefield and whatnot, but never took as “Dick Grayson often gets angry and isn’t always that happy-go-lucky guy we think he is”.

That first type of anger, wasn’t quite irrational. It could get a bit ridiculous, because Dick had no limits in his anger, and would enter huge rage...But it was born from something you could understand.

Feeling powerless. Seeing people he loves get hurt. Not being able to protect them. Failing. Being frustrated by injustices. Wanting to protect.

************

Now the second type of anger he would go through though ? That was the one that actually drove you crazy at times. The one that made you want to slap him and that made you incredible petty in return.

The problem with Dick Grayson was that no matter what he says, he is a pretty cocky person. A lot like Bruce really. Pretentious at times, sure of himself.

And of course he has big moments of doubts, but he also knows his worth. He knows he’s good. He knows he’s smart. He knows he’s not just a regular guy. So when someone hurts his pride ? He can get a bit...moody.

He’s a terribly sore looser. He will often say “pff, it’s just a game !” if he loses at something, while actually fuming inside. And if you tease him about it a bit ? Oh he’ll be vexed and refuse to speak to whoever annoyed him for a while.

He could get incredibly petty, pedantic, annoying, during those little fits of anger. In fact, tne thing you always hated about Dick, was how much he could hold the grudge too, during those moments.

Oh god it was unsufurable ! During arguments, usually if he was loosing, he’d get events back out that happened YEARS PRIOR and throw them back in your face out of anger.

Like : “oh remember that time you accidentally zapped me with your lightnings and my entire leg was burned ?”, which would get you angry because he was trying to guilt-trip you, and then you’d get petty and a bit mean in return and...It was very childish.

And it was a side very few people ever saw, because it only happened with people he truly loved and utterly trusted. With people who actually knew how to hit his pride.

His friends at the Young Justice hit the nails on the head a few times, but he didn’t get as angry with them as he would get back home, mainly because there was always someone to defuse things (namely : a certain Kaldur who was the team’s mediator really).

But when faced with you, his siblings or Bruce ? You guys sometimes were annoyed by his little fit of anger, by how easily he would get offended/vexed by certain things, and would tease him on purpose, just to rile him up.

Now he wouldn’t get as mad as when he’s in his “first kind” of anger...but he would get so moody and bitchy !

Goodbye happy-go-lucky Dick Grayson, hello edgy-emo-complains-too-much Dick Grayson ! “You guys never listen to me” and other “sweet” things would be said a lot.

He would refuse to play a game again, he would go pout in a corner, he would get very passive-agressive...Oh Bruce remembers the time Dick got mad at him for saying he should work more as he got a bad grade on one of his maths test, and Dick proceeded to leave post-it notes all around the house about how he couldn’t study more because he had to “save this person that night”, or “help Alfred clean the kitchen” etc etc...very petty.

His second kind of anger slowly died down, as he grew up. It rarely happened nowadays, and when it did, it was usually because one of his sibling (*cough* mainly Jason *cough*) annoyed him on purpose.

When you met him, you two were about 13/14 years old, and he would often get vexed like that. But as he grew older, he realized how ridiculous it could be, and evolved. Or rather, he hid his frustration better (but everyone knew that whenever he lost at a game, he would get angry inside haha).

There was less things to say about this second kind of anger, but you were pretty sure it would be the one that would shock your friends the most. Because everyone always assumed he could take any jokes (wrong), and didn’t take anything very seriously (double wrong).

So seeing him get all worked up over someone insulting him, or someone being better than him at something and boasting about it, etc etc etc...it would surely be a huge surprise.

This side of him is what initially attracted you to him though. The realization that he wasn’t perfect. Because for real, if he was funny and witty, handsome and always knew what to say ? That wouldn’t be fair. Too perfect.

So the fact that he would get frustrated over the smallest things like that, it reassured you. Plus it could actually be super endearing to see him get flustered and puff his cheek in anger !

Oh you still remember when Jason said (knowing exactly what his brother’s reaction would be) that the Harry Potter movies were better than the books...Dick went on a rant that lasted hours about how wrong this was !

It was cute. Dick certainly never lacked...passion (in every area).

Yes. This second kind of anger would probably shock people the most, and though it was annoying, it was also something that only you and his very close friends and family members were privy of, which made it incredibly precious.

************

The way he got angry at you today, was a mix of both his angers. It started with the first type, as he was afraid for you and such, but ended with the second kind as he realized you were pushing his buttons on purpose, as you increasingly grew frustrated with him.

Which meant he never quite reached the full level of the first type, and didn’t destroy anything (thanks god, your friends were already shocked enough that he yelled, so imagine him going on a rampage in Mount Justice !). But still ended up with him getting too angry, and you too.

And now, as usual after one of his fit, he felt like a total jerk. Like an idiot too. He knew you were strong, that you were ready, and that he shouldn’t have acted as if you were useless (you hated that, pet peeve of yours).

He knew he should’ve shown support, instead of yelling. But this gut wrenching fear he felt at the mere thought of loosing you...it drove him over the edge once more. He was now mad at not being able to control himself.

And as he got the plane down at the mission’s area, he felt like utter shit...

Once again though, you knew him better than anyone else, and as your teammates left the plane, you stayed behind, knowing he wanted to talk to you.

“I’m...I’m sorry. I can be such a jerk sometimes.”

He says, bashful and ashamed. And he doesn’t have to say anything else, to say why he’s sorry...You understand. You smile at him, and it makes him melt. You take his hand, give it a squeeze, and say :

“I’m sorry too. I can be a petty bitch sometimes...”

He gives you a gentle peck on your lips, you smile at each other and everything is forgotten. The anger flies away, as nothing but love fills your hearts. Love and adoration. And knowing the fact that you and Dick ? It’s the real deal. And if he got that angry at you, it’s actually just because he cares so much about you.

The crisis is averted.

To be honest, you fight from times to times (like every healthy couple really), but it never last for very long. And sure he can hold the grudge sometimes, but it only happens when he’s angry.

It never last long, and he always comes around (even if sometimes it can take him a while, like when he left Bruce to go off with the Titans...Then again, this was a big issues, so his anger was proportional to it really).

This all thing of him being cheerful and happy all the time, making jokes and being witty...It’s a true thing. A good 70% of his personality is that.

But the 30% that remains ? It’s his “darker side”, as Cassandra would call it (she spend WAY TOO MUCH times watching the Star Wars movie, according to Bruce).

The way he can get irrationally angry, and so fast. Going from 0 to a 100 in a second.

The way he can turn into a total jerk, and say things that are truly hurtful.

The way he’s borderline arrogant, and doesn’t like to be wrong.

To put it simply, the way Dick Grayson is, and always will be “The Angry Robin”.

__________________________________________________

Well I hope you liked it and that it wasn’t disappointing.I hope I was able to...somehow capture Dickiebird’s “darker” side and all...it’s very difficult, that guy is actually super complicated and...yeah I wasn’t sure how to quite tackle this all thing. I tried. As usual feedbacks = very VERY welcomed, but more importantly in this new “Tumblr Era” : REBLOGS became vital. People don’t reblog the stuffs they like anymore and it’s slowly what kills this site. So if you enjoyed this story, reblogging it and sharing it is one of the best way to show your appreciation :). Like, for real, it’s important. Thanks very much in advance ^^ !

PS : Just in case you’re thinking “but you never reblog other people’s stuffs”, I have a sideblog with over 2000 followers where I just reblog everything I love, from fanfictions to the worst of shitposts haha. So I do reblog too, just not on my main that I keep fanfic and fanfic related things only.

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thewhumperinwhite · 4 years

Text

Teaser: The Café, At The End Of The World

I didn’t intend to end this on a cliffhanger, but it was getting very long. Stay tuned for Action later today.

TW for: domestic abuse, slight/referenced/brief homophobia, lightly implied transphobia, vomiting, gore.

It’s a quarter past midnight, and Sol has not had a cigarette break in four hours, and he hates everyone in the Bayview Cafe right now. It’s called the fucking Bayview, what the fuck are people doing here when it’s too dark to see the View of the Bay?

He’s down to two occupied tables, a total of three people standing between him and the ability to go home and add tonight’s tips to his top surgery fund. Two are new, at a corner table where Proux must’ve seated them while Sol was in the kitchen—thirty minutes before closing, the bastard—and the third is an old man in a moldy green overcoat, who has asked Sol for “more time” three times now, so Sol is fairly confident he’s looking for a dry seat to wait out the rain coming down in buckets outside, not overpriced small-plate bullshit.

Well, Proux is busy with Shawn in the kitchen, who came in smelling like weed (again) and is arguing with surprising eloquence that he should be allowed to smell like whatever he wants if he doesn’t interact with customers; so Sol is deciding to give the old man a few more minutes of warmth and dryness anyway when he hears a sudden dramatic shattering sound and turns to see a full glass of water tumble off the newly occupied corner table and explode onto the floor.

He stomps over toward the broken glass, and he’s almost grateful for the excuse until the patron seated with his back to him turns at the sound of his approach and fixes him with a stare so cold Sol freezes to the spot for a second. The patron already facing Sol’s direction smiles, maybe apologetically, but his older companion’s glare is so hostile that Sol almost can’t see anything else.

Sol feels a drop of cold sweat make a run down his spine. His binder’s on, and he’s been reliably passing for months, but old habit fills his brain with danger signals immediately. He makes himself keep walking, telling himself some rich old person doesn’t need an excuse to hate anyone who witnessed such visible clumsiness.

The other person— the one who isn’t glaring, is already halfway out of his seat by the time Sol gets to the table, reaching for the broken glass with his bare, rich fingers, and Sol knocks his hand out of the way none-too-gently before he can cut himself and get Sol fired. The guy backs off immediately, easing awkwardly back into his chair.

“Sorry about this,” the faceless non-glarer says in a soft voice. The Glaring Man noticeably says nothing; Sol keeps his eyes on the glass so he doesn’t cut his own fingers, either. “Just an accident,” he goes on, as if Sol would have assumed it was anything else.

“No problem at all,” Sol says automatically, and then, when he stands, he makes eye contact with the non-glarer, and feels his face heat up immediately. The second person at the table is a young man, no older than Sol is himself, twenty-one or twenty-two, and he’s very, very handsome. He’s frowning at Sol with big sky-blue eyes, looking embarrassed. Sol looks away from him immediately, momentarily forgetting that his other option is the older man’s zero-degree stare. He can see immediately that they’re related, probably father and son; the old man’s eyes are the same light blue, though they’re still squinted in haughty resentment. Sol clears his throat, irrationally terrified that his voice will squeak, which it hasn’t done in months. “Another— uh— water for you, sir?” he says huskily. The man nods curtly, and Sol scurries away, relieved.

He’s about to flee back to the safety of the kitchen, but actually, he’s holding a grade-A excuse to make his conversation with the old man as short as possible, so he stops there on the way, shards of broken glass cradled in his apron.

Sol isn’t sure how the man can see him coming, buried so deep in his hood, but he curls up tighter in his filthy coat, so he must.

“Sir,” Sol says, keeping his voice gruff, “this isn’t a park bench. If you’re not gonna order anything, I’m gonna have to ask you to leave.”

After a long, awkward pause, a voice like dead leaves chasing each other in circles wafts up from under the old man’s hood. Sol, leaning in to catch the words, is hit by a wave of the old man’s smell— much different than the normal unwashed-body smell he expects— and jerks back up straight.

“...just some coffee, then, boy,” the old man wheezes, and pulls himself in tighter like he’s trying to disappear.

The cheapest coffee on their menu is eight dollars, which is more than Sol would have had to spare when he was in a position to be loitering in cafes to be out of the rain. It’s kind of more than he can spare at the moment, if this guy runs out on him. “We don’t serve plain coffee here, sir,” he says, guilt making his voice harsher than he means it to be. “You’ll have to order something specific.”

The man cringes again, drawing in on himself like he wants to disappear. Then a single damp hand slides out of his coat sleeve and deposits a twenty dollar bill on the table.

“Cream and sugar,” he says in that same wispy voice, and Sol stares at him, then shrugs. He could tell the man five places he could sleep tonight for that much— or buy himself a decent coat, for that matter— but it’s none of his business what some stranger does with his money.

“Be right back with that, sir,” he says instead, and tramps off to dispose of this glass responsibly and pour the old man an overpriced coffee.

Entirely by accident, Sol catches the tail end of Glaring Man’s growl on his way back out to deliver the water and stutters to a stop, not sure whether it’s safe to interrupt or not.

“—like such a goddamn child,” he’s saying, his voice fast and sharp and utterly poisonous, “we would not be having this conversation, boy.” In defense of Sol’s eavesdropping, he was actually starting to raise his voice a little by the end there.

His son is more careful about keeping his voice low, and thus harder for Sol to accidentally listen to. In response to whatever the young man says, Glaring Man curls his lip and leans forward, and hisses, “I will consider your feelings when you give me feelings worth considering,” and Sol feels his own face twitch a bit in response.

“I have your water here, sir,” he says loudly, causing both patrons to look at him, and he quails a bit under the intensity old man’s renewed glare, and might actually drop the glass he’s holding if the young man didn’t suddenly swipe it from Sol’s relaxing fingers and knock back a huge sip, setting it down loudly on the table.

“Thank you,” the young man says in a very warm voice, and then he drops Sol an unmistakably lewd wink.

Sol stares at the young man with his mouth open, which means he sees every movement involved in the full-force backhanded slap his father gives him.

The young man stumbles half-way out of his seat with the force of the blow. Sol takes an involuntary step back, barely avoiding the spray as the water he’s just brought launches into the air and spills down the side of the white table-cloth. The Glaring Man gets jerkily to his feet.

“I will see you again when you’re done being a fucking embarrassment,” he says, not looking at his son, and then he shrugs into his expensive-looking coat, gives Sol one last glare, and leaves the cafe.

Catahn stares at the door for a few seconds after it has slammed shut. When he turns back, the young man hasn’t moved from the position the slap pushed him into, halfway out of his chair, one hand tight on the edge of the table, head bowed.

Sol has no idea what to do. He takes a hesitant step closer. “Uh— you— you okay?”

The young man doesn’t answer. After a second Sol realizes with a spike of panic that his shoulders are shaking, and he’s reaching up a narrow hand to cover his face under the curtain of chin-length blond hair that’s fallen in front of his eyes. Sol is about to turn tail and run because no thank you, he’s dealt with way too much bullshit tonight to add emotions to the list, when the boy leans over the table, clutching his stomach, and Sol realizes he is laughing.

“Uh,” Sol says, only barely less alarmed.

“I’m sorry,” the blond wheezes, wiping at his long-lashed eyes. “Sorry, I’m sorry, you must think I’m— damn.” Laughing even harder, the boy shakes his head and rights the water glass his father knocked over when he slapped him. “You must think I’m out of my mind,” he finishes, struggling to get ahold of himself.

Sol one hundred percent does. “Uh— I mean, ‘course not, I— um— “

“I’m sorry,” the blond says, looking up at Sol, a little more composed but still grinning, and Sol freezes up again. His eyes are incredibly blue, and they’re still lit up with laughter. His cheek is turning red where his father’s knuckles bit into it, and now that Sol’s getting a good look at him, he sees there’s more than that— a thin scar through his left eyebrow, and a new break in his nose that looks like it’s almost finished healing, just a slight crook in the bridge and very faint dark circles under his bright eyes. “I hope I didn’t make you uncomfortable,” the blond boy says, shaking his head, still pinning Sol with his bright, laughter-filled, slightly-bewildered gaze. “I’m not really sure why I did that.”

Sol is determined not to say “uh” again. “Neither am I,” he says instead, and winces at hearing his own tone, which is openly hostile. “Whatever.” That’s worse, actually. Sol wants to hide his face, flexes his hand against the mug of coffee he is somehow still holding instead. “Look, do you— want anything? More water, or. Like. Whatever?” He has to stop himself from making a face at how fucking stupid he sounds.

The boy doesn’t laugh at him; at least not with his mouth. His eyes do get suspiciously sparkly again, though. “Coffee, maybe,” he says, resting his chin on his hand and looking directly at Sol and nothing else. For a blond he has surprisingly thick, dark eyelashes, and he’s still smiling, his blue eyes crinkling slightly. Then he winces as though just remembering something unpleasant. “No, wait, I take that back. My meal ticket just left.” He gestures vaguely toward the door, and raises his other hand to his cheek without seeming to realize he’s doing it. The redness is already darkening; it’s going to bruise. “I guess I should get out of your hair, huh? I’m sorry.”

It’s at least the fourth time he’s said he’s sorry. And while Sol isn’t gonna pretend he has any idea what’s going on here, not really, it does seem a lot like this kid’s dad slapped him hard enough to bruise for winking at another guy. Which is none of his business, he tells himself furiously, at the same time as he slams the coffee he’s still holding down on the table.

The blond blinks down at it, then up at Sol, blinking his long brown lashes. “I’m— sorry, I can’t afford— “

“It’s on the fucking house,” Sol snarls, and turns away to pour another free coffee, because he couldn’t reasonably pay for some rich kid’s americano and then kick some homeless guy out in the rain, which means he was gonna pay fucking sixteen dollars for the priviledge of being a gullible gay dumbass.

The first coffee splattered halfway up the sleeve of his uniform shirt, and Proux yells at him the second he enters the kitchen until he puts his horrible scratchy wool blazer on to cover the stain.

The old man is still sitting in front of the window, buried deep in his big moldy coat. Sol runs a hand through his hair— it’s been a fucking long night.

“Sorry about the wait,” he says to the old man when he sets the coffee down in front of him, and then he sighs and adds, “Keep your money, this one’s on me.”

The old man doesn’t move.

“Uh— sir?” Sol says, and then the old man leans over the coffee cup and vomits a mouthful of blood half into the cup and half across the table.

The smell of decay his Sol in the face and he stumbles back half a step. “J— Jesus Christ!”

The old man lurches suddenly toward Sol and almost topples right out of his chair, his breath coming in one long ragged wheeze, and Sol reaches forward instinctively so he doesn’t fall.

The old man puts his hands flat on the table. Sol realizes that he’s shaking. “I’m alright,” the old man says in a small, unsteady voice. “I’m alright. There’s nothing wrong with me. There’s nothing wrong with me.”

Sol almost can’t hear over the alarm bells ringing in his head. He loosens his grip on the old man’s shoulder. “Uh— yeah,” he says, trying to make his voice soothing. “I’m sure you’re fine. Listen, I’m gonna just go get my boss real fast and I’m sure he’ll— “

When he starts to back away, the old man’s hand shoots out and tightens around Sol’s bicep tightly enough that Sol lets out a sound not far from a squeak. The smell coming off the old man’s hand almost makes Sol gag, and he can see it leaving some kind of slime on the thick wool of his sleeve.

Slowly, like his head is only delicately attached to his shoulders and might fall off if moved too suddenly, the old man turns his head to look up at Sol for the first time, and at the sight of his face all the air rushes out of Sol’s lungs. He can’t move a muscle.

“Please,” the old man says, and blood sprays from his lips as he speaks and splatters onto Sol’s shirt. “Please. You’ve got to help me.”

#the café at the end of the world #whump #original whump #domestic abuse whump #backhand slap #zombie apocalypse whump

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sternentinte · 5 years

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Emogust 2019 - 15.08.|Twisted Fairy Tale

Aoko doesn’t know what she thought was the worst that could happen if she stepped away from the party for a minute. Maybe that Sonoko would come yell at her for not being in the room constantly, thus neglecting her own advice by leaving Ran and Kazuha alone at the ‘Fight-like-a-girl’ martial arts night they were holding.

Aoko, seeing as she has no skills in that field whatsoever (somehow she doubted her questionable talents at swinging around a mob counted as skills), volunteered to go to the women’s mental health charity gala on her own instead—it is a topic they have discussed openly before and as Sonoko likes to say, they should be consistent in their image.

But Aoko still isn’t quite comfortable with the glamour of those events, the heels are too high, the champagne is too ancient and expensive, and the salmon paninis are too tiny. There is nothing wrong with stepping out for a moment to escape the inescapable small talk. Especially if they are in this kind of location.

The gala is on top of one of those super-fancy towers that give an incredible view of the city. Earlier, everyone was up here on the platform, viewing the fireworks, but it’s abandoned now, and Aoko can breathe in the moonlight and bathe in the cool evening air as much as she wants. It’s a little bit cold, especially in the kind of dress she’s wearing, but Aoko doesn’t mind. She just stands there for a moment and lets the night sink in. Somehow the view is even nicer than it was earlier.

She leans onto the railing, relieving some of the pressure on her toes. Those heels really are killing me, Aoko thinks, You would think I’d be fine with it by now, it’s not like I never get to practice.

But regardless, she isn’t, and even though she definitely she shouldn’t, Aoko slips her feet out of them, for just a moment. It feels like heaven and she sighs in relief. She looks down her body, her formal blue dress clashing with the red laser dot on her chest-

Aoko’s thoughts come to a shrieking halt and it takes her a second to realise what is happening. A second too long. The floor beneath her opens up and she falls, there is a noise behind where she was just standing, an impact.

A bullet?, Aoko thinks, her mind still slightly detached from what is actually happening to her and, Wait a moment, where even did she land?

There are hands wrapping around her in the speed of light and suddenly she’s not wearing her dress anymore, but a black hoodie and jeans that are slightly too big.

“You should be more careful on a heist night, Nakamori-chan.”, something, no someone, whispers in her ear and only now Aoko realises that she’s being carried, bridal style, and she looks back.

The white suit, the hat, the monocle, so close in front of her. Aoko almost screams.

“Quiet, Nakamori-chan, you wouldn’t want us to be caught together after all.”, a different voice says, teasing, but Aoko knows it is coming from the same mouth. She is intimately acquainted with her father’s rants about KID’s voice mimicking abilities, after all.

“Let me go!”, she demands, but she whispers as well, instinctively following his command.

“I’m afraid that would be terribly irresponsible of me.”

Aoko almost laughs. “Since when are you worried about being responsible?”

“Since someone almost shot you in my place.”, he answers, no joke in his voice and the blood in Aoko’s veins freezes.

“The red dot- the sound- so it was a bullet…”

“I always knew you were a smart woman”, he says and puts her down abruptly.

Aoko just gets the chance to orientate herself before she is shoved against him again, a rope tying them together at the waist.

They are right in front of the second elevator, but it is out of service. Aoko remembers seeing the sign when she first arrived.

KID ignores it and pulls apart the doors instead. Then, before Aoko can even say anything, he jumps into the dark shaft like he has lost his mind. Then on the other hand, Aoko isn’t sure if he was ever quite sane.

“Whaaaahhh!”

Aoko’s scream is deafened by his hand on her mouth. For a moment, they just dangle around, then he removes his hand again.

“Sshhh. They can’t know where we are.”

“Who?”, Aoko asks, “the police?”

She is honestly still confused that KID is here at all. She had heard rumours that he had sent a notice, but since her father wasn’t there, she had thought they really were just rumours.

“No.”, KID says, “the police aren’t here today.”, but he doesn’t offer a proper explanation.

Instead he starts swinging them around, and just when Aoko thinks she’s going to die hitting the walls of an elevator shaft, his hands come up on either of her sides and he catches footing on what seems to be a ladder.

A cut and they are from their rope.

“Let’s go.”, he says and Aoko doesn’t really have another chance but too climb with him.

He stops, just as suddenly as he put her down in front of the elevator, and after a few fast motions with his hand, there is a tile missing from the wall. The evening air is blowing back at them, just as it did only a few moments ago when Aoko was taking of her shoes.

KID climbs out of the opening. There is a small platform, if it even deserves to be called that. It’s a tiny piece of steel, just enough to stand on, probably for construction work. And hidden above it, the hang glider. It’s obvious from here, but as they seem to be right under the curve in the tower that marks the restaurant, it must be invisible from the outside.

“Are you coming?”, KID asks, tensely, probably more human than Aoko ever imagined him to be. “Sadly, we don’t have time to appreciate the view.”

Aoko stares at him. There is no way she could fit on the tiny ledge as well. “How-?”, she asks, not bothering to finish her sentence. The incredulity in her voice should be enough. She isn’t even sure what she means, everything that just happened, or what is still to come.

He lifts his arms as if to catch her again. “Don’t you trust me, Nakamori-chan?”, he sings.

“I absolutely don’t.”, Aoko says, truthfully. But she’s also not exactly rich in options, so she does exactly what he expects her to—climb out of the hole in the tower’s façade and into his arms.

As soon as she settles there, the world turns around again. It takes Aoko a second to realise that she is, in fact, flying.

Something rushes through her and at first, she struggles to identify the emotion.

“It’s incredible, isn’t it?”, KID says next to her ear.

“Yes!”, she breathes. She doesn’t have it in her to lie. That’s what she’s feeling—pure joy.

“Just like a fairy tale.”

Aoko furrows her brows. “What do you mean?” It certainly feels magical, but fairy tales are quite a specific connotation.

“Well, you lose your shoes and I sweep you off your feet. Isn’t that how it works?”

Aoko laughs, despite herself. “I don’t think that’s quite how it works.”

“You’re right.”, he says, quietly and seriously again, “I think we lost them, but we need to be careful.”

Aoko still isn’t quite sure what he means, but the pieces are starting to come together.

“The police would never shoot at you, you’re not typically a big danger to anyone”, she mumbles.

“Indeed.”

He doesn’t say anything else and Aoko’s joy turns into cold fear again. The implications of that…

Before she can think through it properly their position changes again. We’re landing, Aoko realises, then she sees were they actually are.

A second later, they are standing on the balcony of Aoko’s bedroom. More accurately, KID is standing on Aoko’s balcony, while Aoko is still being held by him. There is something about his touch that feels deeply comfortable, familiar even, like something she’s been craving… Aoko shuts down the line of thought.

“Someone is threatening you.”, she states, focusing on the other revelation she just had.

“You are, of course, correct.”, he says, more softly than the situation requires and it does something to Aoko’s brain and guts, something she really should get under control.

“That needs to be reported.”, Aoko says, because it does, but as she says them, she knows the words don’t make any sense.

“I’m a thief, Nakamori-chan.”, he says, as if to remind her, “the police isn’t there to keep me safe.”

“The police is there to keep everyone safe.”, Aoko argues, but her mind is swirling.

“Even criminals?”, KID asks, still so close to her ear, so close to her mouth.

“Of course.”, Aoko whispers and he is even closer and then, without a break or hesitation, they are kissing.

His lips feels soft underneath hers and she can feel the beat of his heart heavy in his chest and his hands are in her hair and his smell is in his ears, and, stupidly and irrationally, Aoko thinks of Kaito and suddenly it is him that’s holding her, kissing her, wanting her.

They break apart and he sets her down, finally, but Aoko’s legs feel like jelly, so she leans against him, using him for support.

Aoko needs a few breaths to get back to reality. This is KID, not Kaito, even though there is something about the thief that feels like Kaito, so much, which doesn’t even make any sense, because Aoko wouldn’t know that. She hasn’t ever kissed Kaito, after all, no matter how much she wants to.

“I didn’t think”, KID says quietly, and Aoko can hear something in his voice as if the kiss has rattled him the same way as it has her, “you would extend that right of protection to someone you hate so much.”

Aoko’s voice catches for a moment.

“I don’t hate you.”, she says finally, because she doesn’t, not anymore. The days she was campaigning her disapproval at any heist she could attend are long over—she isn’t even sure when exactly she stopped. It must have been in her last year of high school, a bit after they formed the band. It started with not having the time, then being too tired, until she honestly didn’t care that much anymore.

“Oh?” His fingers are weaving through her hair. “I had a different impression by all the posters you used to put up.”

“I thought that if it weren’t for you, my father would be home more and I would be less alone.”, Aoko explains and surprises herself with her honesty.

“I see. Isn’t that true?” He tilts his head to one side, his voice inscrutable and distant, as if he isn’t talking about anything that concerns himself.

Aoko sighs softly. “Maybe, but looking back, it was even worse at times you disappeared. I think my father is a little lost if he doesn’t have you to catch.”

It is a bit of a sad truth of her life, but there isn’t really anything she can do about that. And neither can KID. Not that that means she likes him by any means, but she also doesn’t despise him like she used to.

He hums and the tone does something to Aoko.

Before she can stop herself, she pulls him down and kisses him again and he kisses her back, happily, hungrily, as if she has some unknown miracle to offer. Aoko leans further into him. Kaito, Kaito, Kaito, her mind cries and Aoko can’t push the image away. Really, she doesn’t want to.

Why are you kissing me, Nakamori-chan?”, he whispers when they pull apart for a second.

“Just to pretend”, she says, “just to pretend.”

And he doesn’t argue.

------

@mintchocolateleaves, @sup-poki

#DCMKEmogust2019 #girl band au #kaiao #dcmk #aoko nakamori #kaitou kid #kaito kuroba #so that's how it started #I hope it makes sense #still catching up #I hope people enjoy this

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canonicallyanxious · 5 years

Text

everything works out so good 2.0

Druck | David/Matteo | 1.5k words

Or: David and Matteo go grocery shopping.

Hey remember my Lorde series? In the process of editing it up for AO3 I decided to completely rewrite my fic for White Teeth Teens for no good reason! Seriously this looks nothing like the original lol but if you want to read the first version of it [spoiler: it involves a cat; unfortunately the following fic does not] you can check it out here.

This fic is also posted on AO3!

It was Matteo’s idea to go to the store today, actually. David thinks he would have been perfectly content to stay on their couch if no one had said anything, bare legs tangled together as Matteo played some game on his computer and David sketched in his notebook. He probably would have been happy to stay there for a very long time.

But Matteo was the one who nudged his elbow with his toe, and he was the one who said, “Do you want to go to the store with me?”

And David was the one who said yes, because in the end he’s happiest to be where Matteo is. And that’s the truth.

So here they are in the store, about half an hour before it’s supposed to close. There’s a few people scattered throughout the store, browsing the produce or shuffling through the check-out line or loitering at the deli. If David were here by himself he knows he’d find the emptiness of the place disconcerting, feel it like a persistent itch beneath his skin. Feel self-conscious, probably, irrationally – as if fewer people around to see him means their judgments matter all the more. He hates feeling that way. Feeling so exposed for no good reason.

But he’s not here by himself. Matteo is with him, pushing the cart through the cereal aisle with impressive enthusiasm, head turning this way and that way, hands occasionally reaching out to shove boxes off the shelf straight into the cart. And David doesn’t think about anyone else in the store as he watches Matteo. Right now there’s only one person’s opinion he cares about, and that person is currently piling half the store into their cart without a single fuck to give about anything.

“You didn’t make a list, did you?” David says, tapping the toe of Matteo’s shoe lightly with his own.

Matteo knocks a box of oatmeal into the cart with the palm of his hand. “I’m following my heart. Don’t need a list for that.”

David peers at the contents of the cart. “Your heart said we needed eight different kinds of pasta?”

“Absolutely,” Matteo answers without missing a beat. “We have to be prepared for every pasta-related emergency possible.”

“Mm.” David reaches out to brush Matteo’s hair out of his eyes. He still gets that quiet thrill in the pit of his stomach whenever he touches Matteo, at the thought that he can just do that now, and he’s allowed to because Matteo will let him. Honestly, it’s probably never going to go away. “Your heart sounds very sensible.”

He starts to let his arm fall, but before it drops down to his side Matteo reaches up to grab his hand. He turns his face and brushes his mouth against the inside of David’s wrist, soft as anything.

“Not as sensible as yours,” Matteo murmurs against David’s skin.

God. And Matteo can touch him, too. So easily, as if he barely has to think about it. And David would let him. He’d let him every single time.

He’s not over the quiet thrill of that, either.

“What about you, anyway?” Matteo says as he drops David’s hand.

David raises his eyebrows. “What about me?”

“You haven’t put anything in the cart,” Matteo says.

“You seem to have it pretty under control,” David says, gesturing at the towering stack of pre-made sandwiches heaped in the corner of their cart.

Matteo shrugs. “We can put some of it back. If it’s too much, I mean.”

It’s not too much. Not with Matteo. Never with him.

“Life’s too short not to get the things you want,” David says.

The corner of Matteo’s mouth quirks upward. “You think so?”

“Yeah,” David says. “I mean, the planet is probably going to die in the next fifty years, anyway, so might as well enjoy all this cereal while we can, right?”

Matteo nods slowly. “Uh huh.”

“Eating whatever we want is our fuck you to capitalism and corporate greed,” David says. “Obviously.”

Matteo tilts his face down, smiling at his shoes. David kind of loves that look on him. He kind of loves it a lot.

“That’s how it works, huh?” Matteo says to the floor.

“That’s exactly how it works,” David replies with a decisive nod. “And I’m the expert.”

Matteo huffs out a quiet laugh. He glances up at David, smile still lingering at the corners of his eyes.

“You too, you know,” he says.

David blinks. “What?”

Matteo reaches for David’s hand, a casual and unthinking gesture. When their fingers tangle together it just feels right. As natural a thing to do as breathing.

“Life’s too short not to get the things you want, too,” Matteo says.

David tightens his grip around Matteo’s hand. “You think so?”

“Yeah,” Matteo says plainly, with the same kind of tone of voice he’d use to say that the sky is blue, or that water is wet. “So what do you want?”

Usually when Matteo asks David a question, he likes to think about it. A lot of the time he already has an answer to it because it’s a question he’s already thought about. Maybe someone asked him in the past – maybe he asked himself. He’s the kind of person who is pretty much always asking himself questions.

This one, though. He tries to think of his answer, tries to remember it, and he comes up with nothing – his brain as blank as an empty page. It occurs to him, in this moment, that perhaps this is a question he’s never truly asked himself before. Or perhaps it’s just a question he’s never thought about. Perhaps it’s a question he’s never let himself think about.

It’s a strange feeling he gets whenever he stumbles on something he hadn’t thought of before. But around Matteo, it isn’t anything new.

“I don’t know,” David says.

Matteo nods, like that was an answer he was expecting.

“Okay,” he says. “So let’s keep looking until you know.”

David has to smile, at that. “The store closes in twenty minutes.”

Matteo bursts into a grin. “Guess we gotta go fast then, huh?”

And with that he turns around, grabs hold of the cart, and promptly begins to sprint down the aisle.

“Hey!” David shouts as he breaks into a run after him. Somehow he doesn’t care that he might attract unwanted attention, that everyone in this store might be looking at them after that outburst. Following Matteo is what he wants to do right now, and he figures that’s as good a place to start as any.

And so they run through the store, not stopping, never stopping. And Matteo keeps looking back and catching David’s eye, wild laughter spilling uncontrollably out of his mouth. And David laughs, too. He just laughs and laughs.

At last they come to a stop, mostly because they have to. Their chests are heaving, and there’s a dull ache blooming between David’s ribs, spreading slowly through his whole chest. Matteo leans his arms on the handle of the cart and lets his head drop down, his breath coming out fast and hard. David looks up at him, and then he sees what’s on the shelf behind him. And his eyes widen. This is it, something inside him thinks. He doesn’t have to keep looking anymore. Out of the corner of his eye he can see Matteo turning his head, too.

“Did you find it?” Matteo asks, still a little breathless.

“It’s not food,” David hears himself say. “It’s not something we need.”

“So?” Matteo snorts. “Do we need five bags of Doritos?”

“No,” David says.

“And are you going to make me put them back?”

“No.”

“So?” Matteo says again.

When he puts it like that, it almost makes sense.

David lets himself walk up to the shelf. One step at a time. He swallows.

“Yeah,” he says. “Okay.”

He cups the potted plant sitting on the shelf between both his palms, and brings it closer to his chest. It’s a succulent, one of the ones that kind of looks like a flower, with leaves that are short and squat and kind of pink at the edges. It’s beautiful. He runs a finger along the rim of the pot, and brings his mouth close to it.

“I’m gonna take good care of you,” he whispers to it.

Another time, another place, he’d probably feel enormously silly doing something like this. But he is here, and it is right now, and this is what he wants to do.

And that’s the truth.

He turns around. Matteo is looking at him. There’s this softness at the edge of his mouth that almost hurts to look at. He steps up to David, and brings his hands up so that they cover his.

His touch is so warm. Almost as warm as the look in his eyes.

“I know you will,” he says.

His words are warm, too.

#druck #davenzi #datteo #sarah does writing #but i live in a hologram with you #yes i'm a parody of myself what else is new

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