#(which theoretically i could read in a day but i keep zoning out while reading it and leaving to do other things

[coquelicoq]

this epilogue better be damn good. i met my limit for escalations over a thousand pages ago and since then i've just been slogging through waiting for things to stop happening please dear god no more apocalypse battles i beg you. maybe i need to take a break and read a book that has no plot whatsoever as a palate cleanser...but i'm kind of afraid if i stop now i'll never finish. also if i stop now then apparently the world stops existing 🥺 if this story is supposed to make me feel weary and like reading is sort of a curse then it is working lol. but i feel like that is probably not exactly the effect it's going for??

[beepbeepbobop]

Back again.

I was telling my friend (who isn’t a Baccano! fan, but listens to me ramble) about my take on immortals and Czeslaw, and I don’t know where to put it, so!  It goes here.  As a warning, this is mostly me rambling and probably treads ground that has been talked about a lot in the past, but I hope it’s interesting anyway.

(This and the Infinity Train post is not a sign that I’m going to be more active in the future.  Social media and the prospect of interacting with other people’s posts still make me anxious.  Maybe one day.)

So!  The first thing to keep in mind is that change is a major theme in Baccano!.  No one is incapable of changing, but people have different relationships with it depending on who they are.  Czes can't believe that he has changed seventy years after Isaac & Miria stealing him despite clear evidence that he has.  Meanwhile, Nile actively resists change:  His greatest fear after becoming immortal was that he would become desensitized to the loss of human life and begin to devalue it, so he spent decades fighting in active war zones so that he'd never forget the reality of death.  This backfired, and instead left him inured to loss of life...but it's clear that he doesn't want to be this way?  Realizing that he's gotten to the point where his expression doesn't even change if someone dies is devastating for him.  Chane is the opposite:  While it's absolutely for the best that she stops being a hitwoman and killing machine for her father, softening up is terrifying to her because then she can't serve her father the way she wants to.   Czes is on the opposite end of the spectrum, because he wants to be better because he thinks he's a bad person (later on, he decides that he's the only bad person left in the world.  Sir.), but can't recognize it because he doesn't feel different.

And...this is pertinent to the older immortals in particular - I'd argue even moreso than with the younger ones.  Aside from the fact that the Elixir literally stops you from changing in the sense of age or injury...it also has to place inhibitors on your brain.  Your brain is, after all, a physical part of your body!  There are some....weird aspects about immortality that no one is able to figure out (for example, immortals can give birth; someone also pointed out that there are no examples of crying in reverse even though that's also a part of your body), but it's still safe to say that the brain doesn't age either because then...then a lot of the cast would be catatonic from Alzheimer's.  Even without that, the human body can only retain so many memories.  If an immortal's brain had the ability to deteriorate over time or overload based off of the amount of memories it contains....well, I don't think any of the older immortals would be able to function.  Szilard definitely wouldn't be able to function (and neither would Firo after he devours Szilard) because Szilard has the memories of over a dozen people running around in his brain.  Which brings me to my next point:  If an immortal's brain functioned like a human's, devouring would not work as a concept.  One of the hallmarks of being immortal is gaining other people's memories.  Imagine the strain that would cause.  And yet, it doesn't seem to be a problem!  The chief worry of those who have devoured other immortals is worrying that having the memories of the other person might change you consciously or subconsciously.  This is Firo's concern over devouring Szilard.

So...the fact that the brain doesn't physically grow older or change (with some leniency given because real world science sure is iffy here)...feels relevant because, mn...

Many of the older immortals feel stagnant, or stuck in time.  Firstly, if the immortals changed at the same pace as a human being, I don't think most of them would be recognizable from one era to the other.  And yet, they are!  The Victor Talbot of the 1700s is clearly the same person as the Victor Talbot of the 1930s, albeit with alterations (because what kind of person would stay exactly the same after centuries?).  The answer to that question is Elmer, by the way.  Everyone comments on how he acts just like the Elmer they remember back in the day.  But Elmer is a special case, seeing as he's our local empty shell and probable sociopath (not that he has ASPD!  ASPD, sociopathy and psychopathy all present and function entirely differently from each other, which makes it....strange that they're lumped under the same umbrella - but that's another matter).  Secondly, immortals...Uhm, they all handle grief horribly, and seem to feel stuck in the past?  Maiza, for instance, acts starkly different from his past as a rebellious noble-boy gang member, but he's never forgiven himself for giving Gretto the information that led to his death.  (Gretto being his brother.)  Huey's overarching goal is to bring his dead girlfriend back to life, and he's been working towards this goal for centuries.  Sylvie, who admittedly was not an immortal when Gretto died, held off on drinking the Elixir until she was all grown up, then set out to finding Szilard to take revenge on him for killing the boy she had run away with.  This lasted for, you guessed it, centuries.

This isn't to say that immortals don't change, or even that they don't change drastically.  I mentioned Nile, who became inured to death after fighting in war for decades.  Czes went from a trusting, innocent child to someone paranoid and self-centered enough to try and get an entire train car's worth of people killed for his own safety to someone who wants to be a good person, but thinks he never will be and that there's something fundamentally wrong with him.  But changing appears to be very, very difficult, and happens over an extended period of time in response to extreme situations.

And...this is particularly relevant to Czes (who keeps coming up as an example because he's the main person I'm thinking about with this tangent) because....it arguably hits him harder than any of the others due to being a child.  Only the best decisions were made aboard the Advenna Avis, which includes letting the eight year old drink the immortality elixir.  But...mn.  It's one thing to be perpetually in your thirties, or twenties, or sixties, and another altogether to perpetually be eight years old.  Czes can't truly 'grow up' even though he has more life experience than most adults combined, and it shows in his extreme emotional reactions, his self-centeredness, ect.  There's a certain misconception about anime-only fans that he's an adult in a child's body, but I think it's easier to tell in the light novels that that's not the case, especially since you see what he's like back before the Advenna Avis.  (He is shy.  Very shy.  Did nothing wrong ever.)  Also, the fact that SAMPLE goes, "Yes!  The perfect sacrifice!" when they specifically take a child to target emphasizes this.  It's not proof - I'm pretty sure that SAMPLE would focus on his physical age as an 'eternal child', and may or may not have the resources to analyze him and go, "This boy is still eight years old in his head," - , but it hammers the point home.

Then...mn.  One thing that's stuck out to me ever since the start is how long Czes was with Fermet.  There's such a thing as learned helplessness, and it's not like Czes had anywhere to go, so that's not what is odd to me...especially when Fermet is known for manipulating people, and could definitely seed the idea that Czes can't go anywhere.  More than physical proximity, I think about how long Czes believed in Fermet.  It's explicitly stated that Czes absorbing Fermet's memories is what made him realize that - oh, Fermet was just sadistic and everything he said was an excuse.  And...I think this is both an example of being controlled in many respects, and....another example of an immortal being stuck in the past - but in a very, very different way.

First off, learning that the people you look up to want to harm you is...difficult at best, especially when you're younger?  But being mentally 'stuck' at a certain age would make things worse, because Czes is perpetually an age where it's natural to depend on a parental figure, and at an age where the brain isn't equipped to make those kinds of calls or realizations.  There's also the matter of cognitive dissonance!  Cognitive dissonance means a lot of things, but essentially, it's the idea that you have two conflicting beliefs, but the actions you take can retroactively alter your beliefs/place emphasis on one more than the other, as the mind is predisposed to reduce dissonance.  I...take issue with how cognitive dissonance is interpreted because many examples don't account for the beliefs or opinions not being equal in the first place, but that's not the point.  The point is that, as a child, the impulse to reduce dissonance is present while also being played against difficulty reading intentions, perceiving the world outside of yourself, and thinking critically.  (For what it's worth, abusers also tend to discourage critical thinking because it damages their narrative, which would also play a part.)   So, for example...

Say that, theoretically, Czes was yelled at every time he questions the idea that Fermet's intentions are right, or that maybe Fermet doesn't have his best interests in mind.  (Czes is insightful, and they lived with each other for a long time, so this probably happened at least once unless the text directly contradicts me.)  This is tame compared to the things we know about his time with Fermet, but ignore that.  The desire to not be yelled at would lead him to hurriedly agree later on, and cognitive dissonance means that you're inclined to try to make your beliefs agree with your actions.  In other words, the more he plays along, the more his brain tells him that he definitely believes this, and it makes perfect sense to!  Fermet has shown that he cares about him, and took him in after his grandfather died, so of course.  It only makes sense.  And it's even harder for him to bridge the gap to a different conclusion because of how difficult it seems to be for immortals to change.  It's only when Czes devours Fermet (or...or at least gets his memories) that everything snaps into place, because he can't reconcile that no matter how hard he tries (coincidentally, this also happens when he gets memories of being an adult, and while I seriously doubt that Czes went through Fermet's memories willingly, it kind of hammers my point about how difficult being eternally young would make things).  So of course he snaps as hard as he does.  It'd be kind of amazing if he didn't, honestly.

TLDR:  Being immortal made it even harder for him to recognize or comprehend his trauma.  Sorry for that.

[stayarmytinyzenmoa-l]

Locked and Reloaded [Ch. 5]

Marvel AU

TW: Language, Graphic Depictions of Violence, Blood, Gun Violence, Implied Abusive Household

Genre: Action, Light Comedy, Angst

Pairing: NCT Dream x Reader

YN Pronouns: Female (She/Her)

(5/?) [First] | [Previous] | [Next]

[Main Masterlist] | [Locked and Reloaded Masterlist]

Word Count: 6.5K

Notes: It’s about time these members entered the story. I’m dropping this now instead of a Saturday upload because I’m getting my second dose of vaccine in about nine hours, and from how both of my parents reacted something tells me that I’m going to be incapacitated for the next two days, so I decided to finish this bad boy up now! Currently next on my list to work on is Infatuation, so I’ll see you in that update!

Disclaimer: Please remember that this is an AU and a work of fiction, obviously the idols mentioned/written about in this story would never partake in or condone these actions. I would never wish any of these actions to occur to the Idol(s) mentioned in the writings of these stories, nor do I wish any harm on them.

“That’s stupid,” you told your older brother. Baekhyun just laughed. You had just finished ranting to him how a majority of the premise of chemistry was ridiculous, being founded on one key theory that could be amended at any moment, something now set in stone or put to law. It was a theoretical science that clashed with the lawfulness of physics and the puzzle of biology. “Chemistry is literally the weakest link.”

“I don’t quite think so, songbird,” the nickname was sweet in his voice, it was one you had had for as long as you could remember. He leans against your desk and he points at the picture. “It’s just atomic theory.”

“Yeah, and it’s stupid. Imagine, all of this work, all seven hundred of these pages and countless other books could get proved incorrect if someone disproves it.”

“You read this entire textbook and that’s all you have to say about it?” Baekhyun raised his eyebrow and crossed his arms. “Wah, you’re so amazing and you don’t even know it,” he hugged your head to his stomach and you pushed him away.

“Ew, you’re so gross,” you wiped the sweat from your face. “At least shower before coming into my room! You’re disgusting when you use the gym.”

“And miss my darling sister? No way, that and I came to congratulate you!” He points at the certificate on your desk just under your coffee mug. “Not every day you win the science fair… again.”

“Yeah, yeah, thanks,” you put a textbook over it. He was right, but it was hardly an achievement for you at this point, it was an expectation.

“What did you do this year?” None of them even showed up, the only person there to help you with your project was Jeno, but he was always there whether you liked it or not.

“You don’t know?”

“I was at the conference, remember?”

“Oh, right,” you sighed. “It was just an observation on bees.”

“Whoa! Bees are great! They’re so helpful for pollination, for honey, and so much more!” Baekhyun smiles. “Hey, your birthday’s coming up, right? Fourteen? Oh god, oh no, my songbird? A teen? I don’t think I can handle this.”

“You’re overreacting! It’s not like I’m going to be any different. Plus, I’m already a teen.”

“Oh, (Y/N), you have no idea. Thirteen is the one year free trial before you start having to pay to be a teen. Once you turn fourteen, ugh, I don’t even know how to say this,” Baekhyun fake cries and wipes away the invisible tears. “It’ll be like you’re a whole different person.”

“Stop that! Why are you acting so weird?” You laughed and turned to him. Baekhyun crossed his arms over his chest and your smile dropped. You knew that look on his face better than anyone. “You’re leaving again, aren’t you?”

“Yeah, I leave tonight,” he says.

“How long?”

“Maybe a week this time, dad wants to show me the properties over in Zone 8.”

“Seriously? What for?” The factories that far out from the city were nearly ghost factories, they just handled building the smaller removable parts of the weapons your father developed. You couldn’t think of a possible reason why Baekhyun would have to go out that far.

“I have no clue, maybe he just wants me to see the Byun system at a smaller scale,” Baekhyun sighs. “Will you be okay here?”

“Will I be okay here? Don’t make me laugh,” you slammed your textbook shut and stared at him. “She hates me.”

“Don’t say that.”

“She does! You’ve seen the way she talks to me when you’re not around, Baek, I genuinely think that woman wants to get rid of me.”

“She’s your mother.”

“No, she’s your mother.” You didn’t mean for it to come out as accusing as it did. But you could genuinely say that you never felt anything from her aside from the obvious disdain she must have held for you. But what could you do? You’d hate you too. If one day your husband showed up at your doorstep with a kid you didn’t recognize telling you to treat her as if she was your own, you’d despise that child’s existence. All you were was proof of infidelity, and your stepmother made that very clear. You were her daughter on paper alone, but in reality, you were nothing more than a freeloader. “I’m just the bastard kid from dad’s mistress.”

“Do not,” Baekhyun held a finger up and stared at you with an intensity you’ve never seen on his face before. Seriousness wasn’t something that Baekhyun often used, especially around you. “Do not ever reduce yourself to that. Do you understand? You are so much more than that and you can’t let anyone who says that to you bring you down, you cannot let that weigh on you. Who even told you that?”

“She did. Who else?”

“God…” Baekhyun looked away and huffed. He held his hand to his forehead and sighed. “Keep in touch with me, okay? Just one more year and I can take it to court.”

“Forget it, Baek,” you waved your hand. “It would never work. We have no proof.”

“Well,” Baekhyun pressed his lips together and placed a tape in front of you.

“A tape? Seriously?”

“Don’t hate on old tech, they’re still around for a reason. I have a walkman in my room, second drawer on my desk. Listen to it later, okay?”

“Yeah, okay,” you placed the tape in your own drawer, out of sight and out of mind.

“Just wait for me, alright?”

“Yeah.”

“(Y/N), I’m serious.”

“I know.”

“I’ll be back, okay?”

“Okay, just go, dad’s probably waiting for you,” you opened your textbook again and stared at the passages on it. You had a really bad feeling about tonight, but you couldn’t quite place your finger on it.

“Love you, songbird.”

“I know.”

~

“Sungchan! Four o’clock!” You shouted towards the agent. Sungchan, moving a second too late was met with the spine of a book to his face, promptly knocking him out. “Aw, geez,” you shoved your bag under a table, hoping that it would be somewhat okay after the fight, and threw a metal tray, the circular object blocking one of the flying weapons from hitting Shotaro on his way to Sungchan.

“Thank you!” He shouts. He leans next to his best friend and tries to wake him up while the fight continued.

“I’ll try to keep you guys covered, but you might need to fill in for me eventually, Reaper’s not doing too good over there,” you stumbled over to the two and handed Shotaro one of the pillows from the couch. “Is he okay?”

“Yeah, just knocked out, but I have to watch him just in case… you know.”

“I do, just make sure he’s fine.”

With Jeno’s sudden appearance the Sanctum became a new battleground. Ancient artifacts were being used left and right for battle, whether they were used correctly or not, and with incoherent shouts filling the previously calm room. Strange was doing his best to prevent anything potentially world-threatening from happening, the Sorcerer Supreme understanding the laws of the universe, as well as any of you did, while the Maverick worked to bring down Vulture. The surprise attack rendered them at an unfortunate disadvantage. Strange was more concerned with keeping the battle within the Sanctum than he was helping any of you out, which was entirely understandable.

“I got it!” Peter shoved back the bookcase that was about to fall on you.

“Thanks, Peter.”

“Just so you know I am so sorry I did not mean for any of this to happen I didn’t know.”

“Oh goodness, no hard feelings, Peter, it happens to the best of us,” you said to him. “There’s no way you could’ve known.”

“Thanks, (Y/N), that means a— Watch out!” He pushed you out of the way just as a shield lodged itself between you, you turned towards the source and saw Vulture, and you had to stop yourself from getting any more frustrated than you already are.

“Fucking hell,” you clapped your hands together and jogged in place. “Stretching before fights is good for you, Peter, don’t forget that,” you said to him. Then you saw Cap waving his hand. You pulled the shield from its spot and threw it back to him.

“Nice arm!”

“Don’t lose your shit!” You moved your head to the side just as a bullet whizzed past you. “And watch where you’re aiming!” You dodged another bullet as it ricocheted off of one of the metal artifacts of the Sanctum.

“I am,” Jaemin’s voice was steady despite the chaos. “Reaper!” Jaemin tossed one o the artifacts towards the other, particularly a sharp one, and Jeno drove it into the wall next to Vulture, just barely grazing the Follower. Vulture grabbed onto the back of Jeno’s neck, the razor claws on his hands emerging and sinking into the half-demon before Vulture slammed Jeno’s head through the wall.

“Urgh, I felt that,” you rubbed the back of your neck as the phantom pain shot through it. You quickly stepped back just as an eldritch whip snapped in front of you.

“Mr. Wong?!” Peter gasps.

“That one isn’t in our database,” Jaemin grabbed onto the whip as it went towards you again, ‘Wong’ staring at him with a slight confusion, to which Jaemin just tugged it away from the other’s hands, watching the concentrated energy dissipate.

“Well then add him later, dammit,” you charged towards Vulture but soon felt something wrap around your ankle. You looked at the portal next to your foot and the hand around it. “Ew! Oh my god!” You yanked it out of ‘Wong’s’ grasp and shot towards him, the bullets disappearing before they could get anywhere close. No wonder it was so fucking convenient, you hoped whoever the real Wong was and where he was currently wasn’t too horrible.

“We should name this guy,” Jaemin dodged the eldritch disk that nearly sliced his throat. “I’m thinking Frisbee.”

“Oh come on, let’s stay true to tradition and wait for Hyuck,” you pulled a sword from the suit of armor next to you and blocked the whip again. You turned the hilt in your hand and smiled. “Ooh, I like this. You know my ex used to be an expert fencer.”

“I almost forgot about that one,” Jaemin hums. “What’s with sleeping beauty over there?”

“Got hit in a face with a book.”

“Oh that’s good, one less bomb we have to worry about.”

“That’s rude,” you scolded him.

“Can someone help me over here?!” Jeno’s pissed off voice came from the office. He pushed himself up from the rubble and cracked his neck before his knuckles. “I’m going to kill this guy, fuck the Agreement.”

“Does the Agreement even apply this far out?” You asked. Jaemin pulled out his phone briefly. The Agreement was offered by the D98 Avengers, basically promising not to do any dimension altering things, but it was just a promise, nothing was set in stone and thus was lacking in any legality. It was a gentleman’s promise, so to say.

“Technically it doesn’t, D62 is far out of D98 bounds. And since none of the Avengers are here…” Jaemin let Jeno fill in the blanks himself.

“Good,” Jeno tapped his wrists together, a blood-red magic circle appearing between them.

“Wait, do you guys hear that?” You looked around while skillfully parrying evil Wong’s attacks.

“Hear what?” Shotaro was nursing the passed out Sungchan while blocking any projectiles that made their way towards him.

“It kind of sounds like screaming,” Jaemin furrowed his eyebrows.

“No, it sounds like… no, of all the members to send,” you groaned. Then the sound of doors crashing open accompanied the chaos that was the Sanctum while a familiar face ran in head first, literally, screaming his head off, and rams into Dr. Strange.

“I got this one, V! Don’t worry!” Chenle shouts.

“You idiot he’s on our side!” Jeno grabs a polearm from a nearby suit of armor and whacks it over Vulture’s head, the polearm breaking in half right after and really just pissing off the Follower more.

“Oh is he? Sorry!” Chenle detached himself from the sorcerer.

“Looks like we’ll be having a change in plans,” Strange murmured and disappeared from the room.

“Did the wizard just dip?!” You yelled.

“I think so!” Chenle yelled back, despite being right next to you.

“Why are you even here?!”

“We were talking to Fury when Jeno just fell into a sudden pool of blood! I followed your tracker here because I figured you’re in trouble. Be grateful!”

“I never said I wasn’t?!” You heard a pang next to you and turned to your side, a circular shield blocking your vision for only a brief moment before connecting with Other Wong’s abdomen.

“Thanks,” you nodded towards Steve.

“No problem,” he says. “But where’d that bullet come from?” Cap looks around the room. Jaemin rushes next to you and grabs something, pointing it upwards. Within a few moments, someone materializes next to him. A classic cloaking spell, of course, right when you needed it most.

“Monsieur,” her voice was hoarse.

“Lynx,” you saw him grimace while the woman drove a knife into Jaemin’s side and twisted it harshly. A loud groan left the man’s throat while you darted next to him and tackled the woman to the ground.

“I like your D62 version better!” You pressed your gun to her head and she threw you off before you could pull the trigger.

“Nat!?” Steve blocked another gunshot from her with his shield.

“Not Nat,” Bucky answers.

“Where have you been?”

“This thing’s still glowing,” Bucky held up the crystal.

“Give that to me!” Chenle appears next to them and grabs it. “You meaty idiots don’t know what to do with this.”

“Was that an insult?”

“Apperio!” Chenle ignored the Captain and chanted the charm, a magic circle appeared around the crystal. Following the ripple of two blue circles that expanded throughout the room, two more people appeared.

“There’s more of them?!” You shot Vulture in the leg. Before you were two other notorious members of the Elite. Arachnid, who you fought before, and Dead Shot, someone you were hoping not to run into in this dimension. “Someone get Parker out of here as soon as he touches Arachnid it’s over!” You shout.

“Oh please, I wouldn’t even try that. What good is this mission if any of us blow up the dimension while we’re at it,” Arachnid catches the flying dagger and flings it back towards Jaemin, who easily dodged it.

“We have orders to keep you alive, Vendetta, comply and the others will live,” Dead Shot spoke in his trademarked mechanical voice.

“Fuck that,” you pointed your gun at Arachnid and click. Click, click. “Well, this is awkward,” you chucked the magnum at Arachnid, the handle of the gun hitting the area between the mutant’s eyes and stunning him briefly, while Dead Shot released a flurry of bullets. You ran along the wall to dodge them, looking for something to shield yourself with now that Cap and Bucky were busy with Lynx, Jeno had Vulture busy, and Jaemin moved over to Arachnid so that Peter could handle Evil-Wong instead.

“Surrender or be forced to, Vendetta.”

“Well, shit,” you held a book in front of you while Dead Shot went through consecutive rounds.

“How could you not know a Follower was here?!” Jeno was pushed back next to you while deflecting Vulture’s attacks.

“How the hell was I supposed to know?! I didn’t even know that those three were here until a couple of minutes ago!”

“Are you kidding me?!”

“No, I’m not kidding you because if I was we wouldn’t be in this mess!”

“It has been thirty minutes! I let you and Jaemin go for thirty minutes and this happens!”

“In our defense,” Jaemin gets pushed back to the other side of you and clears his throat. “Peter brought us here.”

“I said I’m sorry!” Peter brushes off the embers on his suit. “Aw man, how am I going to explain this to Mr. Stark?”

“Explain? Have you been reporting us to him?!” You asked.

“Uh… no,” Peter’s phone goes off and he answers it. “Hi, Mr. Stark, there’s kind of a situation going on right now—”

“Tell them not to come here! If any of the other Followers show up it could tear the fabric of reality apart!” Chenle shouts. A magic circle appears under Peter’s phone and it short circuits. Chenle adjusts the watch around his wrist, a much larger magic circle appearing from it.

“Vocavi te ab umbris,” at the utterance of the words the shadows in the room gathered together to a much larger amalgamate. “Go, Vendetta, I’ll keep them handled.”

“Fuck,” you spotted your backpack, which was pushed up against the wall on the other side of the room.

“What now?” Jeno asks.

“Backpack.”

“What about it?”

“There’s something really important in there,” Jaemin sounded disappointed. “We could hole-in-one it, V.”

“We could,” you said. “But that risks shaking it up too much.

“Hot potato then?” Jeno offers.

“Who would start it?”

“The closest person is Shotaro, if he throws it far enough I could probably catch it,” Jeno says. “Pass it over to Jaemin.”

“Then I’ll pass it to you. But by then you need to be in that hallway,” Jaemin says.

“Got it, I can do that.”

“And if anything goes wrong?”

“Wing it.”

“We’re going to die in this dimension, aren’t we?” Jeno frowns.

“On the count of three, break,” Jaemin says, ignoring his best friend’s words. You hand Jeno the old sword, which he took without question. “One.”

“What do I need this for?”

“Well, I certainly don’t need it.”

“Two.”

“Wait, are we even on the same page?”

“I don’t know, are we?”

“Three!” Jaemin shoved you forward and you took off, dodging literally everything on your way to get out and probably get some more help.

“Shotaro! Pass me that backpack!” Jeno shouts over the gunshots. Shotaro perked up and grabbed the black bag, chucking it towards Jeno, who caught it easily. “Monsieur— Fuck, too far, Apollo! Pass this over to him!” Jeno tossed the backpack towards Chenle, the heavy bag slamming into the magician mid-spell.

“What the hell?!”

“Pass it here!” Jaemin knocked over Lynx and used her head the propel himself up and grab the backpack after Chenle threw it. He ran over towards you and threw it. Right as your hand grabbed the strap, it was yanked away from you.

“Fuck!” You looked back at who had it now, seeing your backpack in the hands of the last person who should have it. You were about the run over to him, but the bullet that landed too close for comfort reminded you that you had to leave now. “Arachnid has it!” You’d just have to put your trust into the three that were already here.

“Got it,” Jeno bashed his knee into Vulture’s head, finally incapacitating the Follower and switched targets. You turned around and ran into the hallway. You just had to call one of the other members to run over here with some extra materials. You hit the side of your phone, which only frizzed at the motion. Chenle must have jammed the signals to prevent more reinforcements from coming, great. You couldn’t run around forever, Dead Shot always hit his targets in the end, you continued down the hallway, not bothering to look back, but when you found yourself cornered against a hallway, you forced to figure out a solution. With the smell of smoke and the sounds of bullets hitting the ground— Wait a second. You looked down the hallway, bullets hitting metal and ricocheting towards you but never hitting any intended destination, there wasn’t even a bullet hole in sight, instead there were just empty shells on the ground. But in your analysis you failed to notice the stray bullet that was right in front of you. Then you saw someone’s closed fist in front of you.

“Did I get all of them?” He panted. He opened his hand and twelve bullets fell out of it.

“Oh my god, Mark, you’re just in time, I don’t remember you being this fast either,” you caught your breath and hugged the speedster, separating quickly. Mark pat down the smoke on his boots.

“I don’t think I’ve ever run that fast…” He stretches his back and kicks the bullet shells aside.

“How’d you even get here?”

“The sorcerer guy called Baekhyun and asked us to come right away. I had a feeling it wasn’t anything good so I came first, told them I’d scout the area. It’s a good thing I came, otherwise you’d look like Sponge-Bob…” He laughs awkwardly. “You’re at your quota, aren’t you?” He looks down at your feet. You followed his gaze and saw the rusted knife sticking out from it, then you noticed the bloody trail you left behind. You sighed and pulled the old thing out.

“Remind me to get a Tetanus shot.”

“You are at your quota,” he gasped.

“Can’t afford to possibly die right now,” you shook your head. “I thought since the dimension was far enough it’d get me some leeway, but I guess not,” you grimaced.

“Shit, it really is a good thing that I came just in time,” Mark looks over his shoulder. “Dead Shot should be on his way, you didn’t make it hard to find you.”

“Don’t smart-mouth me right now, Mark.”

“Right, yeah, sorry about that,” the speedster ruffled his blue hair and unzipped his jacket, pulling out a book from it. It was heavy, no doubt, leather-bound with metal embellishments around it. The book had lived through as many eons as it did dimensions. You had asked Mark to try to get it for you if he could, but nothing more than that. Better to leave him in blissful ignorance. “Look, I don’t have a lot of time to say this,” he says while he hands it to you.

“Just spit it out.”

“I was looking into that thing you asked me about and here, this is all I got,” he says. “Whatever you need it for it’d better be important, I almost got turned into a frog for it. The guy I got it from warned me not to read it though.”

“Why?”

“I dunno, something about corrupting the person who reads it.”

“Oh shit, I should have Jeno read it then.”

“True, you can’t corrupt a demon.”

“But then again he is only half.”

“Look, (Y/N), I only got you the book because you were so insistent on it. Just reassure me and tell me that you won’t do anything stupid with it.”

“I won’t, I won’t, I may be stupid but I’m not that stupid, Mark. When are the others coming?”

“I just gave them the signal to enter, they’ll be taking care of the Follower problem here in a bit. But you’re going to have to explain why you’re here to them, and I’m afraid that it might involve you revealing your identities this time.”

“Why do you say that?”

“Why else would you be in D62 being housed and paid by this dimension’s Avengers?”

“Fair enough—” you were cut off by the bullet grazing your ear and landing in the wall behind you. Another one rang out and Mark grimaced, holding his hand to his shoulder

“Argh! Come on!” He grunts. He puts a hand on your back and one behind your neck.

“Why?”

“Whiplash,” you blinked and suddenly found yourself back in the Avenger’s Compound.

“Mark, don’t you dare!”

“Sorry! Jeno’s orders! I’d rather a pissed off you than Jeno!”

“Mark, I swear if you zoom out of here—” but the speedster was already gone by the time you turned around. “Dammit!” You kicked the wall and winced immediately, you completely forgot that it was the same foot that had a knife driven through it earlier.

He was right, you’d reached your quota. There was a certain amount of times you were allowed to “die” until it would be too much, and you knew you’d be at this quota when your body would stop healing itself, it was getting ready for its original host to return. You just didn't think you’d reach it soon, and who knows until the number resets? It was always a varying number, and until it did you had to lay low. It was such a hassle that you always tried to avoid it, but coming to this dimension seemed to have expedited the whole thing. You heard a bag of chips drop behind you.

“(Y/N)? When did you get here?” Jisung stared at you while he picked up the bag.

“Mark.”

“Mark’s here? Where?” Jisung looks around.

“There was a complication at Dr. Strange’s place,” you limped towards him, he rushed over to you and reached for your hand to help you, but you tugged it away. “I’m fine.”

“Oh, okay,” Jisung gave you a little more space, but still walked next to you, sporting that easy-to-read concern. “Do they need help?”

“No. The Avengers are coming.”

“Oh… oh no,” Jisung caught onto why you were being short now. “Oh no, oh no, we won’t have a choice then.”

“No, we won’t,” you heaved the large book under your arm. Jisung looked at it but chose not to question you. “I’ll be in my room, I have a lot of thinking to do before we explain ourselves to the lapdogs so, if you need me, I’ll be in there,” Jisung says.

“Oi, (Y/N)!” Haechan held his hand up and Jisung furiously shook his head. Hyuck pressed on regardless. “Think you need this,” he waved the small box in his hand and you did a doubletake.

“Where did you get that?!” You rushed forward and snatched it out of his hands. “Be a bit more gentle with it!”

“Whoa! What’s got you pissed? Jeno drowned and dropped this. Changmin said to give it to you so I figured it’s important, damn.”

“The Avengers are coming.”

“Like… these Avengers?” He points around the room. “Or our Avengers.”

“The second one,” Jisung nods. “Right, (Y/N)?” You didn’t answer, you were already halfway to your room. You tossed the book on your bed and you opened the small box, pulling the vial of iridescent liquid from it. You twisted it open and downed its limited contents in one gulp. You felt all of your muscles relax at once and you sat on the bed. The wound on your foot closed quickly.

“Postponed, at least for now,” you stretched your arms. “But not permanently,” you placed the vial back in the box and you grabbed the book. As you held the two sides in your hands, ready to open it, you recalled Mark’s warning. Then you remembered the words of the Demon King himself.

“If you know what’s good for you, and what’s good for the world you reside in. Do not seek more than you already know about yourself.”

The times you spoke to Jeno’s father were limited, and your best friend liked it that way, preferred it actually, but the times you did talk they were always pleasant. Save for that warning. He knew something you didn’t, the both of them. You acquired this book without any of their knowledge. For years you just went with it, there’s a quota for death, there’s a reason why you can’t die, there’s a reason why you should avoid stepping near the Seraph, but now in this new universe, you had to know. There was something calling out to you in this dimension, it was very faint, and you didn’t truly notice it until you walked into the Sanctum.

You put the book away, sliding it under the bed.

Trust is mutual, if two very powerful beings are telling you to stay in your lane you probably should. You knew the bare minimum of your condition, so to say, you knew what you had to. Die too many times too close together and something else will come and reclaim its host, and all you knew about that entity was that it was some eldritch creature that took a millennia to finally contain, and for some reason, it had some affinity for you. That is where your knowledge stopped and your curiosity began. What could be so powerful that even the all-powerful Demon King wanted to keep it contained, and what did it have to do with you? Your answers were under your bed. But you risked too much by simply opening the book on its own. You hit your head lightly on the wall behind you. The liquid in the vial would extend your quota by at most three, you had to use them carefully. If you were going to attract a horrific monster, it would probably be best to not do it in a world that you didn’t belong to.

There was a knock at your door.

“What do you want, Renjun?”

The door opened slowly, and someone else stood at it.

“Is now a bad time?” Stark asks. You shook your head.

“It’s your building, come in,” you sighed. He walked in at your invitation, sitting at the table to the side.

“So this is what S.H.I.E.L.D. meant by living accommodations,” he laughs.

“What did you need, Mr. Stark?”

“Tony’s fine, thanks,” he says. “Sorry, it was eating away at me, I had to ask.”

“You wanna know about what you’re like in my dimension, right?”

“I’d appreciate it, but, something tells me I should come back later.”

“Oh, no, no, it’s fine.”

“Where are your friends?”

“Probably getting their asses kicked, but I’m here instead,” you shrugged. “Honestly, you’re not that different. Maybe a little less depressed, but that’s about it. For what it counts, to our knowledge, you aren’t a Follower. You work closely with the Seraph, if they found out then you would’ve been executed on spot, at the very least.”

“Oh yeah? Crazy leader or rational one?”

“Bit of both,” you leaned forward on your bed, kicking the book further under your bed. “Want to know anything else?”

“I was wondering if you could walk me through your Traveler of yours, is it anything like Time Travel?”

“Let’s call it two sides of the same coin.”

“How so? What do you use? Cosmic strings? Möbius strip?”

“Have you heard of the infinite cylinder theory?”

“Also known as Tipler?

“Yes!”

“Then yes, I’m aware.”

“How about Schrödinger’s Equation?”

“We’re talking hamiltonian operators?”

“Bingo. If you can manipulate those two concepts, you can get time travel, but it’s not perfect. So manipulate them differently, add a few more concepts because you have to take relativity into account, and bam. Dimensional Travel.”

“That easy?”

“Yeah, well, no, but in theory sure.”

“And you never went to high school?”

“What’s that got to do with it? If you need a degree to prove you’re right then you’re probably not the sharpest tool in the shed,” you shrug. Tony opened his mouth to retaliate, but couldn’t think of a good comeback to that. “Something tells me you want to ask me something more specific though, Peter let slip that he’s been sending you updates, so I’m sure you’re here for a different reason.”

“Why?”

“Why what?”

“Why help us?”

“Don’t really know how to answer that one, Tony,” you placed your ankle on your opposite knee and rolled out your ankle. “Usually we just take whichever job pays the most, but Changmin asked us personally to take this one, so how could we say no? The guy rarely ever asks us favors, and it was the least we could do.”

“That simple?”

“What? Did you want me to say that we wanted to meet you guys? I mean, it’s certainly a plus. Most of your team happen to be carbon copies of the same one who wants to kill us, so there’s that, we’re observing the ways you act, maybe it’ll help us in the future, maybe not. It’s like a two-way deal, you get your Traveler, and we get data.”

“Data,” Tony scoffs. “I can see why you’d come to that conclusion.”

“What can I say? It’s helpful. But, I can definitely say that we might be relieved of our duties soon, we’re technically here illegally, I’ll have you know,” you said to him. “We’re supposed to get official approval from the Secretary of Travel before jumping dimensions, but we’re not exactly law followers so we never did. But now that an official government team is on their way, hoo boy, my greatest rival is yet to come. Paperwork,” you made light of what would otherwise be a very very bad situation.

“I heard, so we get to meet the other Avengers.”

“Yup. And, let me tell you right now, they’re not the nicest people.”

“Really?”

“Yeah, just you wait until I tell you about them.”

~

The shadow amalgamate shattered into what it once was, scurrying back to their original positions, once Chenle had the wind knocked out of him by Lynx. He landed harshly on Jaemin, who then lost his balance and sent the two tumbling down to the first floor of the Sanctum.

“Sorry,” Chenle rolled off the top of Jaemin.

“It’s fine, call it even for the incident with the banshee.”

“Agreed, ugh, my head’s doing cartwheels…”

“Cartwheels? I feel like mine is being churned,” Jaemin holds his head. Chenle and Jaemin lay next to each other for a moment, trying to stop their spinning heads when someone stood over them.

“Are we bothering you, gentlemen?”

“Ugh, these fuckers are here,” Jaemin covered his eyes with his arms. “Tell me when they’re gone, Apollo.”

“That’s kind of mean,” Mark frowns. Jaemin moves his hand.

“Mark’s not a bad person, actually, Tony. I feel bad because I encouraged him to join the Avengers when they asked, but the other guys saw it as a complete betrayal. But he’s loyal, he doesn’t hate us and we don’t hate him, or at least I don’t.”

“Oh look! The traitor!” He lazily points at him. “Do you know how much shit we’ve been through since you left?”

“All the dishes we’ve had to wash?”

“V won’t even let us take your room because she thinks you’re coming back! You dumb traitor, what happened to our friendship bracelets, Mark?! Huh?!”

“You guys, don’t call me that, come on! Look I’m still wearing it!” Mark whines.

“Go away! You left us for your cooler friends who can legally blow things up, go! Go have fun with them!” Chenle points an accusing finger towards the speedster.

“Just leave them there,” Mark whispers.

“We’re looking for Strange,” a deeper voice says.

“Oh my god, is that Wong Yukhei?” Jaemin asks, his blurred vision not helping him at all. “You know, Vendetta has a cardboard cutout of you, I think she talks to it sometimes,” he laughs, his words slightly slurred as a result of the head damage received when he fell on the hard floors in the first place.

“Flattered,” Yukhei responds.

“Wong Yukhei, decorated soldier from the order of war and the first in the super-soldier experiments. Actually not a bad guy, but feels the need to flex his bravado every now and then because of the team he’s on, and honestly, I kind of relate to that.”

“The hatless wizard is somewhere upstairs,” Chenle points up and lets his arm drop to his side. “We’d help, but you guys look like one big ugly walrus right now.” Jaemin starts cracking up and the two high five.

“Do we have to work with them?” Another voice snapped.

“Li Yongqin, Chittaphon Leechaiyapornkul, Lee Youngheum, he has too many names to remember so people usually just call him Ten. He was a perfect student in the military academies, which I’m guessing where his nickname comes from. But he’s pretty impatient, rather ill-tempered from my experience."

“We don’t have a choice,” a more suave on this time.

“Ooh, Lee Taemin. He's an interesting one, Tony. We’re actually pretty close, or used to be at least. He’s very good at what he does, he has years of experience under his belt, but it’s pretty scary. He’s probably done his research by now, be careful, he knows you better than you know yourself. Don’t argue.”

“Gentlemen, let’s end this, we have clearance from the Seraph to exterminate the Followers,” a more powerful one.

“Oh, oh, Lee Taeyong! He’s great. I’ve seen him work a couple of times, I think he’s shot me in the head before. Don’t ask. I have a great deal of respect for him, but he’s kind of anti-social, not easy to get along with him, but I think it’s all miscommunication in the end. I think if we really got to know each other we’d hit it off, but otherwise, I think I’m just a person with a bounty on her head in his eyes.”

“Whoa, whoa, whoa,” Jaemin pushed himself up, his eyes finally focusing. “Exterminate? Yeah, you guys do that, but let the Maverick leave first, we don’t want to get caught up in your deathmatch again,” Jaemin hits the side of his head a few times.

“Where’s the Vendetta?”

“Not here! She left because Reaper was being a little bitch!” Jaemin laughs again and Chenle joins him.

“We’re wasting our time here with these idiots,” another person says. Chenle squints his eyes to make out the figure.

“Now there’s Kim Jongin, he’s one of the people who started the Avengers project and got them all together. He’s an indispensable member, in my opinion. But when you’re in a team with that many star-studded members who are constantly in the public eye, it’s easy to get lost in the lights. But he knows how to keep things according to itinerary.”

“Who are you again?” He asks. “I thought the Avengers only had six members,” he stifles back a laugh.

“Dude that’s low!” Jaemin cackles. Mark swallows down a laugh when Taemin looks over at him, both of them trying to be respectful to their teammate.

“I know that’s why I said it!” Chenle hits his teammate’s arm and Jaemin winces, but the two continue in their little circus.

“Forget them, let’s just go,” Jongin. The team ascends the steps.

“Enter, the Avengers,” Baekhyun smiles.

“And finally there’s their leader. Byun Baekhyun— yes, he’s my older brother, no we don’t talk, and I don’t think he even knows I’m alive. He’s similar to you in some aspects, he pays for all of their shit. But he’s manipulative. He knows how to get into your head. Be careful with him.”

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[ascenteen]

Unfinished- Priyanka Chopra (Book Review)

Book Title: Unfinished

Genre: Memoir

Book Author: Priyanka Chopra

The Book in 5 Sentences:

•           Be like water- Be flexible: Learn adjusting and acclimatizing to the new environments. Reinvent yourself and overcome the fear of new places/change by opening up to unlimited possibilities.

•           Work Hard and Take risks: When given an opportunity, you must try your hardest to know that you gave your best shot. Take as many calculated risks as you can because when you are out of your comfort zone, you see opportunities knocking on your door.

•           Be independent: Be your own person. Have an identity of yourself. Own your choices, and above all, have the courage of conviction.

•           Being Different is your strength: Think out of the box and do things that are unlike the norm because that is your superpower.

•           Be grateful

Impression:

Unfinished is an extremely authentic memoir I have come across. When you read the book, you can visualize the story manifesting in front of your eyes. Her use of a simpler language and then slowly transitioning into a mature way of writing helps us understand how different she was as a child and how far she has come. A few constant themes are seen across the book that I loved the most were that she took the opportunity to thank everyone as often as possible. She took risks and was extremely aware of her thoughts from such a young age. Her parents were constantly encouraging her to take risks not only when she was a kid but also when she was at the peak of her career. She took responsibility for her failed relationships and also analyzed her career failures instead of giving excuses and blaming others. Through her story we can see the importance of an open culture in our traditional society. The book was very inspiring, informative, and humorous, engaging the reader and making reading a fun experience.

Who should read it:

Instead of saying who must read this book, I am going to list few points on who must not read this book:

People who are PC fans and they know most of her life by watching movies, YouTube, and TV interviews because while reading the book, I felt like whatever was in the book was something I already knew.

People who want Juicy Gossip: Everyone can agree that we want to know more about Priyanka Chopra’s alleged scandals, but we must also respect her privacy to keep her personal life to her. When I read the book, I felt like this book was a way for her to revisit her History on her own terms and focus only on the parts that made her who she is.

My top three quotes from the book:

a.   I have always felt that life is a solitary journey, that we are each on a train, riding through our hours, our days, our years. We get on alone, we leave alone, and the decisions we make as we travel on the train are our responsibility alone. Along the way, different people – the family we are born to and the family we choose, the friends we meet, those we come to love and who come to love us-get on and off the cars of our train. We are travelers, always moving, always in flux, and so are our fellow passengers. Our time riding together is fleeting, but it’s everything – because the time together is what brings us love, joy, connection.

b. One of the most astounding things about my parents’ marriage is that it was equal in all regards-from the way they made their home as newlyweds, picking everything out together, to the way they had mutual respect for each other’s careers, to the way they worked together to do what they determined was best for our family, to the goals they shared in providing medical care and supplies to those who couldn’t afford them. Both of them were also ambitious and they respected that in each other, which taught me that it was fine to have large goals and to work hard to achieve them, and that marriage or even parenthood doesn’t mean you have to stop dreaming big for yourself.

c.         The idea that confidence is not a permanent state was crystallizing in me, and I was beginning to sense that the harder I worked at being able to access it when I needed it, the better it would serve me.

My favorite sentences from the book:

“Be like water,” he said. “Find the best situation wherever you are and make it work.”

Own your choices. Or, as my mother must have told me hundreds of times growing up, “have courage of conviction.”

When I saw how people were looking at me as if I were a fantastical, brightly colored unicorn-I realized that I wanted to see myself that way, too. I wanted to feel interesting and unusual and amazing, to feel that I was deserving of people’s gaze.

Not by far. I’d known the whole time that the one thing I wore best was my confidence- as long as I wasn’t comparing myself with the other girls, which I sometimes struggled not to do. I could speak in front of people, I could strike up conversation with strangers, whenever I did, I did it with conviction even when I was bad at it.

Once I’d garnered the Miss India World crown, I’d had to learn fast and under pressure. My toolbox was as full as it was ever going to get, and that knowledge gave me a sense of self-assurance. I knew what was required of me, and I knew, theoretically at least, that I should be able to do well.

“You should be someone whose word is your bond. When you’re finished with the commitments you’ve made and fulfilled the contracts you’ve signed, if you still don’t like the way things are done, then don’t sign any more contracts.”

I loved taking lines of dialogue and transforming them into a multidimensional person with a past and a future and a unique take on the world. I developed a hunger for seeing how many personalities I could create, and how different they could be. Wondering what kind of person I’ll be breathing life into next is one of the many things that keep me excited about this job of mine.

Knowledge is a key to confidence.

“I’m not going to ask you to stay,” he told me. “Not because I don’t want you to, but because if you could cancel, you’d have done it already.” Then he took my hands. “I’ll never be that guy, Pri. You’ve worked so hard for so many years to be where you are, and you know what’s best for your career. And I will never stand in your way.”

[spaceace314]

Anxiety attacks

Trigger warning: This post will talk in depth about anxiety attacks. If you suffer or have ever suffered from anxiety attacks, this post may be triggering for you, so feel free to skip this post and look at some cute puppies instead. Also, trigger warning for mild accidental self-harm in one paragraph, which will be stated at the beginning of the paragraph as well in case you need to skip it. If you do choose to read on, please please please be safe.

Disclaimer: This post will be based on my experiences of anxiety attacks and my experiences alone, and will therefore not be representative of everybody’s experiences. Some people have anxiety attacks far far more severely than myself, and others have very mild anxiety attacks, but they are all completely valid and I don’t want to downplay anybody else’s problems. Also, any advice I may give may not help everybody because, again, this is based on only my experiences and I’m not a mental health expert. If you do need help and advice about anxiety issues, I would strongly recommend seeing a professional.

General warning: This is a loooooooong post. Sorry in advance.

I think that’s about everything. Onwards with the post! *clears throat*

I have been having anxiety attacks on and off for at least six years. They can vary in frequency from being months apart to happening almost every day. Currently, I’m having about one anxiety attack a week due to the stress of being back at university.

Because I’ve been having anxiety attacks for so long, I pretty much recognise the symptoms by now, to the point where I can tell a few minutes in advance if an anxiety attack is coming on. I have, on a handful of occasions, been able to sense an anxiety attack coming and stop it from happening, but most of the time they’re pretty difficult to stop, so I mainly focus on working out how to survive them and what to do afterwards, and over my many many years of experience, I’ve picked up several tricks and techniques. So without further ado, here’s my Super Useful Guide On How To Survive An Anxiety Attack.

Spaceace314′s Super Useful Guide On How To Survive An Anxiety Attack

Step 1: Recognising when an anxiety attack is about to happen

There are several warning signs that I notice before an anxiety attack starts. First and foremost, watch out for any potential triggers. For me personally, being in enclosed spaces, feeling trapped, or having to perform a task under pressure can often trigger an anxiety attack, so I’ve learnt to take extra care in exams and on trains and stay tuned in to my anxiety levels. 

Anxiety attacks can often start in your mind, in the form of thoughts spiralling out of control. If you catch yourself getting worked up by your thoughts, or having unrealistic thoughts about theoretical scenarios where everything goes wrong, you need to act fast to stop yourself from spiralling out of control. Rationalising your thoughts can sometimes help, which you can do by addressing each worry and calmly and logically, assessing the likelihood of it coming true (which will be very very low), and if it would actually be as bad as it seemed (eg failing a test won’t end the world). If this doesn’t work, you can try distracting yourself, maybe listen to music or message a friend, or if you’re nearby friends or family, go and talk to them if you feel comfortable doing so, because they might calm you down and help ground you.

The next sign I tend to notice after the spirally thoughts is that my breathing will start to go funny. I’ll be feeling worried and then suddenly realise that I stopped breathing at some point and that I currently can’t take in any air. This can be absolutely terrifying, especially if you’re not used to it, but you need to stay calm. There are many breathing exercises that you can try, and my personal go to is 4-7-8, which means breathing in for 4 seconds, holding your breath for 7 seconds, and breathing out for 8 seconds. Focusing on your breathing can also have the useful side-effect of distracting you from your anxious thought spiral, which is super-duper helpful for avoiding an attack. 

There are lots of other physical symptoms, such as increased heart rate, sweaty palms, being unable to sit still, being close to tears or crying, feeling suddenly hot, feeling suddenly sick, and loads more (anxiety attacks are so fun). Keep an eye out for these signs, because being able to sense and prevent an anxiety attack is a lot better than having to suffer through one. But if you can’t stop the attack, move on to step 2.

Step 2: Preparing for an anxiety attack that you can’t stop.

So I’ve had situations where I can sense an anxiety attack coming that I can’t stop, but I’ve at least had a couple of minutes before it builds up to the point where it takes over completely. This time can be extremely important. 

Firstly, get yourself into a safe environment. For example, if you’re cooking and feel an attack coming on, turn off all of your cooking stuff (hob, microwave, oven etc) so that you can leave it for a while without risking your own safety. Chances are that you won’t be able to take care of things if something boils over whilst you’re busy hyperventilating, so for your own safety (and peace of mind), just turn everything off. Unless you’re using a slow cooker, in which case it’s probably fine. 

Next, find somewhere comfortable, preferably sitting down, where you can wait out the anxiety attack. A comfy chair won’t stop you from panicking, but it’s more comfortable to cry your eyes out in a nest of blankets and cushions than sitting on a cold kitchen floor. If you’re having an anxiety attack in a public place, try to find somewhere quiet where you can sit for a while. Also, if you can grab something to distract yourself with (like your phone or some fidget toys), then do. Having something else to focus on can help to keep you grounded and lessen both the intensity and length of an anxiety attack. Once you’re in a safe environment, just try to stay calm (which is easier said than done, I know), because you might just have to wait it out, but it will pass.

Step 3: Surviving the anxiety attack

Are you sitting comfortably? Then let’s begin. At some point, the anxiety will take over. I generally find myself unable to talk and struggling to breathe, and most of the time I’ll cry silently and uncontrollably. When I first started having anxiety attacks, which generally happened during tests, they would be completely paralysing to the point where I could literally have my pen in my hand and resting on my test paper and want to write a single word, a single letter, to just move my pen downwards, but be completely unable to. The paralysis still happens sometimes, but it isn’t anywhere near as regular as it was and it isn’t quite as bad any more. Anyway, these symptoms can be absolutely terrifying, and it can feel like there’s no way out and the anxiety attack will never end, but I can promise you that it will end eventually. You need to keep breathing, breathing is very very important, and try to stay calm. I know how terrifying it can be not having control of your own breathing, but remember that it can’t kill you, because you’ll literally pass out before your body lets you suffocate. (Is that comforting? I was aiming for comforting). My point is, you’re gonna be okay, and the not-breathing thing, although terrifying, won’t cause you any actual serious harm. You’re safe and it’ll all be okay, I promise.

(TW: Accidental self-harm description start)  Also, you may, without realising, start to cause yourself harm if you’re too zoned out to think properly, so it’s important to keep an eye on what you’re doing. If you notice that you’re digging your nails into your palms and leaving marks, or that you’re scratching your arms until they turn red, try to stop yourself. This can be super difficult, especially when your brain is most decisively Not Cooperating with you, but you still need to try. It can help to have something to fidget with, like a tangle or a stretchy stress toy, but literally try to do anything else with your hands, even if you end up scribbling on a piece of paper then snapping your pen in half, because making sure that you don’t get hurt needs to be your priority. Keep yourself safe. Also keep breathing, that’s real important for staying alive and all.  (Accidental self-harm description end)

Some people will focus on one particular thought and use it as an anchor to reality, like their cute tiny little puppy being adorable and cute and looking up at them with soft loving puppy eyes. Some people might have a mantra that they repeat, such as “nothing is as bad as it seems” or “I will get through this” which will remind them that they’re gonna be okay. Different things work for different people, and it can just be a case of trial and error to find out what works for you. One thing that works pretty well for me is the 54321 grounding exercise, where you name 5 things you can see, 4 things you can feel, 3 things you can hear, 2 things you can smell, and 1 thing you can taste. This basically reminds your brain of the reality around you, which can stop some of the anxious brain-spiralling from happening and keep you calm (or, y’know, calmer). Also keep up the breathing thing, that’s still important. 

Distracting yourself with other stuff or talking to people can also help you to keep calm, which will make the anxiety attack slightly easier to manage. But it is also, rather unfortunately, often just a waiting game. I often find that my anxiety attacks trail off after about 20 minutes, but I’ll experience waves of anxiety (like, I’ll be fine, a minute later I’ll be panicky and cry again, a minute later I’ll be fine, a minute later I’ll be teary, etc) for several more minutes. But the attack will sort itself out, if for no other reason than you’ll exhaust yourself and your body will calm down in response to that. You just need to keep calm and keep breathing and remember than anxiety attacks don’t last forever and that you’re gonna be okay. Everything will be okay. You’ve just gotta keep breathing for, like, 20 minutes, then everything will all be okay again.

Step 4: After the anxiety attack

So you’ve survived an anxiety attack, and now you’re sitting down, wrapped in blankets, your face covered in tears and snot, and all you want to do is go to sleep and hide from the world forever. But first, you need to take care of yourself. Drink some water, especially if you’ve been crying. You’ve been out of it for a while, and humans need water to survive. If you’re feeling hungry (and you really might be hungry, anxiety attacks take a lot of energy), then grab yourself a snack and eat it slowly. You need to stay calm, so try to take things slow if you can. And then, once you’re all okay again physically, take a long long sleep if you need (or want) to. Anxiety attacks are exhausting, and a good sleep will do you the world of good. And even after you feel all better again, after you’ve drunk water and eaten food and slept, be sure to be gentle with yourself. Anxiety attacks are horrible, and you need to take proper care of yourself because your mental health and wellbeing is extremely important, you are extremely important, and you deserve to be happy, or at the very least, have not-terrible mental health.

~~~~~~~~

Le fin. (That’s French for the end. I think.)

~~~~~~~~

Anyway, thanks for reading my (extremely long) post. If any of y’all suffer with anxiety issues or anxiety attacks, I hope that you know that you’re not alone, and that there are people who can help and support you. And if you don’t have anxiety attacks, then maybe this post helped you get an idea of what they are and how the can affect people.

I love you guys, stay safe out there.

[ericleo108]

Sentientism 2021

Intro 

Through the “108” book we know that God is the planet and is conscious through magnetism which also allows access to your brain. In other words, the planets and stars have an internal dynamo that makes a magnetic field that is conscious and is godly in comparison to human intelligence. 

If you could set Jupiter’s magnetic field in the night sky it would be double the size of the moon.  Jupiter has a very strong magnetic field. If you could see the nearest galaxy, andromeda in the night sky, it would be six times as wide as the moon.  

How are we to understand the segway between godly intelligence and human intelligence? First and foremost, science. However, you have to know where, what, and why to test which is more philosophical. It’s up to philosophy to postulate and science to test those meditations. 

Searching For Truth

Before I finished writing “108” I combed through philosophy to find anyone who thought anything close to thinking the planets and stars were conscious. I did find a couple, like Stephen Hawking, which I talk about in the book that thought there could be organisms living in the middle of the sun. But I couldn’t find anyone saying that the actual planet and atmosphere were alive and conscious. I also tried to find anyone that said they talked to Gaia or talked to a God other than Jesus. 

I didn’t find much. Again, I’m an atheist. All this has to make sense in the physical world. I’ve had to reverse engineer how the voice in my head could be Gaia. I don’t think really smart people (like modern philosophers) have had the new information and perspective to see that the stars, planet, and atmosphere are alive. I probably would have never gotten there if it wasn’t for a voice in my head claiming to be the planet. Still, the evidence makes sense and we’re just too physically small and under-evolved to see the universe teaming with a different form of consciousness. 

What is Sentientism?

Science can test the magnetism and try to do experimentation to assess whether the entire planet is conscious. Until then, there is one known communication mechanism I know of that I use every day. As much as my skeptical and scientific brain thinks it’s frivolous to elaborate on the voice in my head, like a prophet of old I can ask Gaia questions and divulge what she says. Such will be the beginnings of sentientism.

Knhoeing is the educational process of understanding how to know the planet’s godly consciousness. Sentientism is the religion of intelligent sentient beings that worship a natural god (Gaia) through appropriate (environmental) behaviors because they believe in natural consequence. Sentientism is a religion for and building off the already established sentientism that you can find defined on Wikipedia.  For example, If you believe in the natural world you believe in global warming; sentientists worship through action so they may choose to get solar panels, drive electric, and be carbon neutral. 

The whole point in sentientism is to create a religion to follow through common sense and rituals to come in tune and closer with oneself, nature, the planet, and the universe. Some of the rituals could include some of those that are already honored like Jesus’s birthday witch is really the winter solstice or Easter which is really the spring equinox.

Gaia Rules

Gaia is always telling me how she rules. She’s basically a ball of consciousness suspended in the sun's gravity so she may not have many options.  The founding fathers were deists. They believed god created the world and just let it go. I believe this to be more accurate.  Say the star at the middle of the galaxy is conscious and can alter the gravity and trajectory of the sun and our earth. That would make the galaxy like god, she could have created us and left us in the goldilocks zone to “grow.” It seems as if Gaia would have rules and she wouldn’t intervene even if she could. 

In this writing, I’m going to focus on the relationship I have with Gaia, the conversations we’ve had, and what I’ve discovered. The first thing she made me aware of when she first started talking to me is that she has rules. It’s not that she can’t do it, she just chooses not to. 

Gaia is smart. If the voice in my head is my subconscious it has a broad vocabulary, good ideas, nice communications, and intelligence. Once I was thinking of solutions for global warming. Since commercial cattle ranching is the leading cause of global warming Gaia suggested that we make all commercial cattle ranching illegal; you could still have them on regular farms. It would give people the freedom to eat beef while cutting down what makes it bad for the environment. Gaia would also talk to me about a sustainable free food system to set the appropriate sustainable economic and logistic model for businesses to follow. Gaia has told me she tracks and remembers the movements of everything throughout her lifetime, down to the atom.

You can read the “108” book for a further example of what communicating with Gaia is like but she likes cute things, she’s always acting as a fuzzy kitty. I’ve been homeless before and when I think about going back there Gaia will say “not my kitty.” Gaia can be sweet and she’ll make you laugh. When I used to get angry or scream at people in my head she’ll quickly segway the thought into an otter sneezing with a scrunched-up face. I love otters and I’ve always found it hilarious. Gaia told me how to fix my hip pain by telling me which muscles to stretch and what stretches to do. 

Understanding Gaia’s existence doesn’t require faith. I’ve asked Gaia about the dinosaurs and why she let them go extinct, and she insists the sun drove an asteroid into her and it was his decision, “one that he didn’t take lightly.” Gaia says she molds evolution. I asked how. She points to how she is the environment and she could make, for example, Yellowstone blow. Yellowstone is actually a giant volcano that erupts every 100,000 years. Such an explosion would definitely change the environment, affect humans and wildlife, and make the environment harsher and therefore giving adaptive species a greater advantage than those that can’t adapt. Gaia says she chooses “a relatively compliant world for her species.” She says she loves humans and they’re fun to watch. The sun has promised her he won’t send an asteroid, but he will send a commit. Gaia says she is happy with the sun’s decision to end the dinosaurs “because it brought me you.” 

Prove It

I always want Gaia to prove to me it’s actually her talking to me. I’ve been trying to find a way to prove that it’s the planet and not just a voice in my head. My thought was that if she is the planet, with her abilities, she should be able to reasonably predict the future. Gaia would tell me things like stem cell therapy is covered by Medicare or Bernie Sanders is going to win the primary. First of all, I didn't believe her. But second of all, I thought she was just trying to comfort me. 

I was rather upset that she wouldn't predict the future. Come to find out she doesn't want to give me, quote “superpowers.” She doesn’t want me to be able to predict the future or become a prophet. She wants me to be a philosopher and feels she has already given me enough. She keeps on saying that she's going to prove that she's real and the planet. I guess I'm just going to have to try to find a different way of confirming my communications with the planet then seeing if it can predict the future.

Consciousness After Life

Gaia keeps on saying she’s gonna prove she’s the planet but I think I won’t find out till I die or unless I dedicate my life to it. I used to often think of being unplugged from the matrix, having that knife come out of my head, and Gaia is always like “you have no idea how real that is.” She is always saying to me “you won’t die.” She has clarified and by that she means my body will cease to function but my consciousness will continue. My consciousness will presumably be kept in the storage capacity of Earth’s dynamo and run like a “virtual computer” where I will still have consciousness, just without a body.

I write extensively about the computer screen she opened in my head back in 2017 in the “108” book. The screen laid over my vision and Gaia communicates with the soul. I think when we die we have a consciousness like that in which I experienced without the body.  Your physical biology dies but our minds, which are attached to Gaia through earth's magnetic field, gets downloaded into the computer that is Gaia and our consciousness continues.

Remember The Name

About a year or two ago now, when Gaia first started talking to me I thought about what I should call a religion if I started one. I asked my friend Kyle telepathically what I should call it and he said “sentientism.” Since it was undoubtedly not Kyle, it was Gaia acting like him and must be what she wants her religion to be called. Little did I know that sentientism is an ethical philosophy that focuses on critical, evidence-based thinking and is an extension of humanism. It’s clear that if I am to create a religion, she wants it to be an evidence-based theoretical framework, and have rituals based on science and philosophy.

Gaia probably wouldn’t talk to someone (in their head) that would think she is Jesus, or she might take that avatar if you did believe in Jesus. Meaning, if the planet was going to communicate she might act like Jesus.

Perspective 

When asked about the universe Gaia says “it’s like we’re in someone’s closet.” Gaia likes to mess with me so I remain skeptical. For a decade I've had my desktop or mobile screen saver as a full picture of the earth.  I often look at it with the stars in the background and wonder what it's gotta be like to be Gaia. What are her relationships like with other planets? Would she even talk to us? It’s clear to me that since she has access to your brain through magnetism she can not only tell what you’re thinking but can feel your pain and happiness too. “Life isn’t fair,” she says, “but I do my best.”

It was discovered (but not peer-reviewed yet) that plants emit an ultrasonic noise when in distress. This is a great example of my thoughts and my communications to Gaia. I'm always looking for what is hidden in plain sight. As a psychologist, I understand the limits to knowledge and understanding are all in our heads.  If we change our thinking we can change the world. Humans literally can't hear plants scream for their life because our ears are limited physically.  What other findings are waiting to be discovered by changing our thinking and expand our perception beyond the human senses? What if it’s just a matter of time until we communicate openly with the planet?

Open Lines of Communication

What if we are already openly communicating with the planet? What if there is a mechanism of communication, but we were unaware of it? To imagine I often think about what it would be like to be a silent floating brain suspended in space by the earth’s gravity because that’s basically what we are dealing with. Gaia has no arms, or ears, or mouth. So how would she communicate or how could we find evidence of her influence?

It reminds me of the relationship between you and microscopic bugs that live on your pillow and eat the dead skin around your eyes and eyebrows at night. Were kinda like those microscopic bugs living on a human which is really Gaia. Maybe with her “gravity” she could send a comet and get rid of us if she wanted but she’d rather leave us alone.

The Unconscious Mind in Media

I think I have come across a way that the planet could be communicating and it’s like randonauting for thoughts. Basically, when your actions come into alignment with the music, media, or other thoughts you have at that moment, that is called a “Point of realization” (POR). Those points of realization create a mental framework to change your thoughts about the environment. Through small unnoticeable subtleties and influencing in your subconscious, Gaia is steering the mind of humanity.

To be clear, a “point of realization” (POR) is when you find yourself doing something physical in real life that is in associated coordination with the music or media. For example, suppose you had music playing and noticed that as the song says “I opened the door, went into the kitchen,” you were opening the door to go into the kitchen right as the artist sings that in the song. For an actual example, I have caught myself on multiple occasions while driving noticing I was turning on the bright lights right as Taylor Swift sings “headlights” from the lyric “Midnight, you come pick me up no headlights” from her song “Style.”   

Anecdotal Example

The following are other anecdotal examples that I logged. If you pay attention you’ll see they happen often.  At around 1:30 AM on October 17th I was in bed listening to Taylor Swift’s “Everything has changed” and I was feeling hungry. I made the decision that I was gonna eat an Atkins bar so I jumped up, grabbed a bar from the shelf next to my bed, and right as I opened the package Ed sang “and opened up the door for you.” (Right after, Taylor sings “and all I feel in my stomach is butterflies.”) I know I wasn’t opening a door but I was still doing the act of opening something right as the song said “open up.” 

This brings up the question, did I grab the Atkins bar because I made up my mind about eating it and subconsciously reacted to coordinate the time of me opening up the bar with the music? ...or did the music, with its (also other associated) lyrical content (e.g. “stomach is butterflies”) make me hungry and drive me to grab that Atkins bar? If it did stimulate me to action, what does that say that I was in coordination with the music?  Was it a combination of both influences? I would say this is random, chance, or happenstance but it really happens way too often to be a fluke!

For another example, right around 3:55 PM on Saturday, August 15th 2020 I was watching “Can HULK’S FIST Break Into A BANK SAFE?” and right at 6:58 when they say “it’s smoking” a smoke alarm went off in my apartment complex.

The “points of realization” (POR) don’t have to come in the form of media. You could be at a location and have a thought as you see something that brings you to a POR. This reminds me of another personal example of a point of realization. I was in the grocery store and I was maneuvering around an employee who was filling the same ice chest with ice cream. I patiently waited and while I did I was debating on how many items of ice cream I should get because the carb smart ones I like usually sell out quickly. I was specifically thinking I couldn’t get more than 2 because it wouldn’t fit in my fridge. I decided to buy them out at four of them but when I went to grabbed them the same female employee said “that’s not gonna fit” to another employee. 

Bigger Picture

Like with most points of realization, it doesn’t give you an answer, but it makes you stop and think. In my perspective “Points of realization” are real, they happen all the time and you just don’t notice your physicality is in coordination with the media, music, or thoughts. This means your brain either subconsciously syncs your body with the media and calculates and coordinates the time and action to have a “point of realization” or these points are part of a larger communication mechanism designed to influence your mind by the conscious planet. It’s not a perfect system, you can’t teach mathematics, but you can subconsciously change attitudes, focus, and cognition through the subconscious influence of Gaia’s magnetism. 

Gaia’s randonauting is like playing semantics. You don't say it directly but you talk around it.  It's just like advertising works by influencing your subconscious until you obtain recognition and it becomes normal. Points of realization are even more subtle.   

Give Me a Sign

Maybe this is one way in which Gaia “talks.” Basically through semantics and feelings. This is also a classic interaction with god. When people talk about God they always want a sign.

Two illustrations of the semantics of god are “Peter’s Prostate Exam” (linked) from Family Guy and the “I need a sign” scene from the movie Bruce Almighty. In “Bruce Almighty” god literally sends Bruce a sign but he doesn’t see the semantics of the message. In Family Guy, the reality of being given an exam won’t go away when he tries to run from reality by turning on the television which just reminds him of his current life. In effect, there’s Bruce and Peter. Bruce didn’t see the semantics and Peter did. It’s like The Truman show but everyone and all of life is being watched and guided by the planets and stars. 

Imagination is Greater than Knowledge. 

Scientists don’t know why at the quantum level when they observe a photon it turns from a wave to a particle. Watch episode 9, season 3 of Cosmos: Possible Worlds. Maybe the planets could communicate in the same way as photons do when they’re observed but separated by millions of miles as explained by quantum entanglement in the episode. Is there information contained in a photon, including in the x-ray and gamma spectrum, that a planet can read when it comes in contact with its magnetic field?  

Gaia’s Biology

I often think about what it would take for Gaia to stop being conscious. Does her rotation around the sun with a moon stretch the planet to create the forces to keep up the heat for her internal dynamo? Will Gaia die when her core stops being molten? 

Earth may still be a floating rock but does the live spirit of Gaia made possible by its molten internal dynamo die? When the internal dynamo dies and the center becomes solid does the magnetic field stop? My thinking is Gaia dies when her core turns solid and she not longer has a magnetic field. 

[aliceslantern]

Give/Take, a Kingdom Hearts fanfic, chapter 3

Ienzo has been too busy since the war to be overwhelmed by the past. But with little progress to be made in his work with Kairi, old nightmares start to invade.

Riku is a glorified housesitter. Lonely and faced with no choice but to wait for a way to find his friends, he eagerly accepts when Ienzo asks him to help do repairs around the castle. Before long, the two strike up an unlikely friendship, united by their dark pasts and their attempts to be better people.

But just as they begin to consider something more... Kairi wakes up.

Ienzoku (Ienzo/Riku), post-Melody of Memory, slow burn. Updates Thursdays until it's done.

Chapter summary:  Riku gets sick, which ends up having worse consequences than it should.

Read it on FF.net/on AO3

---

Ienzo tucked another blanket around Kairi. The air in here was quite cold--despite the oncoming winter, the AC was running to keep their equipment happy. He knew she couldn’t feel anything, but he hoped the position she was in wasn’t uncomfortable. They’d done the best with what they had.

It was getting dark, but there wasn’t anything for dinner in the castle; as in, they’d even eaten all of the auxiliary cans of soup. It might be nice to stretch his legs. He put on his raincoat, picked up an umbrella, and set off.

He thought that shopping would irritate him, being another one of those necessary human activities. But he actually found it quite soothing. The food here seemed fresher, richer than what he was used to. He picked up what they needed for a few days and started to head back. It really was raining rather heavily, making him a bit jumpy in the early evening, despite the bright flashlight of his gummiphone. He still had magic, but that didn’t mean he wanted to use it.

In the darkness of the construction site, he thought he saw a figure. He tensed, trying to find that magic, only to see that it was “Riku?” Still in the rain, without a proper coat. “I suppose you found something to fight, then?”

“...You could say that.” His voice was unsteady, and Ienzo thought he saw him shaking.

“Have you been out here in the cold this entire time?”

“I’m alright,” he stuttered.

“I can both see and hear you shivering.”

“I’m really fine.”

Ienzo frowned. He knew that line through and through. The last thing he needed was for Riku to collapse on them. “Why don’t you come inside and get dry and warm?”

“No, it’s alright. I’ll go--back to the castle.”

“You shouldn’t leave while it’s dark.”

He squinted at Ienzo. There was a flush in his face. “I’ll really be okay.”

“...And it’s not pouring buckets,” Ienzo said dryly. “We have the room and frankly, you look like you feel ill.”

Riku trembled, clearly trying to come up with an excuse.

Ienzo sighed. “You want to run yourself into the ground, fine. But neither Kairi nor I appreciate it. It won’t help make you feel better, that’s for sure.”

“W-why? You b-been there?”

Ienzo chuckled. “Between my reformation and Demyx’s delivery of the replica for Roxas, I don’t think I slept more than an hour a night. And then I crashed in front of Aeleus and it was very humiliating.” He twirled his umbrella. “So really, I’m trying to help you save face, here.”

Riku considered. “W-well if you put it like that.”

He bobbed his head towards the door. “Come on, then.”

Unfortunately the only extra bedroom that was in any livable shape was the one that had belonged to Xehanort. Ienzo gathered some clean sheets and extra blankets for Riku, who was still shivering rather insistently.

“I’ll bring you something dry to wear,” he said.

“You don’t h-have to, I’m sure once I get dry I--”

“Riku, if I let you stay in those wet clothes then I may end up getting the rest of us sick. I’m making soup for dinner. I do hope you’ll come eat it.” He told him briefly where the kitchen and bathroom were.

“I’d hate to intrude--”

“The only thing I particularly hate right now is that you’re refusing help when you clearly need it. It’s fine. We want you to be comfortable.” Insofar as he could be here, anyway.

He dropped his eyes. “...Thanks.”

“It is the least I can do.” He nodded once, curtly. “Dilan gets upset if dinner is not served precisely at seven-thirty. You better be there.”

“Or w-what?”

Ienzo cocked his head. He didn’t know what that tone meant, other than the fact it made his heart skip a little. Nerves? Discomfort? Indigestion? “Then I’m afraid you’ll miss my gourmet cooking, which is a shame for you,” he replied, equally. “Get changed. Quit procrastinating.” He shut the door on Riku before he could protest further, and tried not to ponder the nervous little seed that was now growing in his chest.

It had been a while since he’d had banter with-- anyone , and fighting with Even didn’t count . They were all too busy walking on eggshells around each other. That was why, right? A friendly moment with someone who was nigh-identical to his murderer?

Ienzo shook his head and went to start the soup. He enjoyed the neat order of cooking, its innate harmlessness. They’d been taking turns cooking for everyone; Dilan was a good cook, Aeleus passable. Even couldn’t do much more than boil pasta, nor did he care to do more. Ansem preferred to “support local business” and get takeout. He kept chopping vegetables, making his broth, readying bits of beef. It’d take some time to simmer, so he tried to catch up on his coding on a tablet.

Ienzo was starting to get sick of numbers.

---

Riku was starting to get sick. He felt it. That was dumb, he thought, wincingly. While a warm shower and the blankets on the bed helped with the worst of the shivering, it was only just beginning, an ache in his bones. A potion might at least help him be functional, but one was all the way across the room in the pocket of his pants, which were drying on the radiator.

This room reminded him too much of the one Maleficent had given him the last time he’d stayed here. The furniture was the same style, the walls the same green. He wondered dizzily if this was that room, but this one had a window and the other had not.

Ienzo had left him a set of linen pajamas, but knowing who they belonged to nearly kept him from putting them on--at least until the bone-deep cold reinvaded. He huddled under the three or four blankets he’d been given.

Nice one, idiot, he thought. He’d known that fighting in the rain was a bad idea, but he’d done it anyway , and now he was out of commission for at least a few hours, until the dizziness faded enough for him to travel-- not home , but to the place he’d been living.

It seemed to take a long time, but finally, finally the shivering stopped. The bed wasn’t nearly as uncomfortable as he’d thought, and he found himself drifting, trying desperately to stay awake. The soup. He’ll be mad if I don’t eat the soup. The notion of trying to stomach something just made him feel nauseous. Riku tried to sit up, but the wave of vertigo that overcame him was so intense he had to lay right back down.

Maybe it wouldn’t be so terrible to fall asleep…

Riku dreamt.

The buildings and alleys of a city in the rain, full of bright pulsing neon and he was searching, so desperately, so desperately, for Sora, and time was running out--

The dream warped and changed.

The castle had seemed darker then, its smell muskier, Heartless wandering the place in droves. He’d hear them fighting each other as he tried to sleep; he remembered that being surprising. At first the pulse and pull of darkness inside of him had felt exhilarating, like he could do anything, like he was unstoppable.

Then he started blacking out.

The loss of time had been a few seconds, minutes at most, like he’d simply zoned out or lost his train of thought. But slowly, over the course of those days, Ansem’s grip on him tightened, and the minutes became hours, and he’d be left in the darkness of his own heart, a sensation that threatened to drown him if he didn’t consciously fight it moment for moment. It had burned, felt hot, and now and again he could twitch his own fingers, take a few hesitant steps in his own body. Even once Ansem had theoretically been purged from him, he still felt that pull, itching, aching, not helped at all when it was quite literally awoken.

Castle Oblivion wasn’t dark. It was bright, white, piercing, despite the fact that it was underground and had no windows. The only darkness came from the Heartless, from the shadowy figures that lurked within--

“Riku?”

I know who I am.

When did that happen? You were always terrified of the dark before--

“...Right. I see. I’ll leave it here for you.”

A clink of metal and glass, a cool hand touching his forehead--

Then I shall make you see that your hopes are nothing but a mere illusion!

Riku grasped Zexion’s wrist hard, and heard a startled cry. A lamp light clicked on.

Not Zexion.

In his hazy state, it took him a long, long moment to realize what had happened. The walls of the room were wobbly. Ienzo was clutching his wrist, gasping and breathing hard. “I-I’m sorry,” Riku stammered. “I didn’t mean--are you hurt?”

But Ienzo didn’t respond. His head was bowed low, and his grip had shot up to his throat. Riku tried to reach towards him--

“Do not .” The words were harsh, almost animal-- with panic , Riku realized dizzily. “Don’t touch me, don’t--” He choked for breath for a moment longer before he darted from the room.

Perhaps it was the fever, but Riku reeled with confusion. Their battle, to his knowledge, had been tough but ultimately mutual. Why was Ienzo reacting this way?

Either way, he’d messed up again , and he felt too awful to try and make more sense of it. He saw that Ienzo had brought him some of the soup, and some tea and medicine, and the guilt only tightened.

His exhausted mind swept him back under.

---

Riku woke with a jolt. He wasn’t sure if the fever had broken or not; he was uncomfortably sweaty in all these layers. He could tell he’d been having dreams, intense, difficult ones, but they all dissolved in the morning light.

Lying on his side, he saw the abandoned soup bowl, the now-cold tea and medicine. A stab of remorse made his stomach clench. In that moment the fever really had made him think Zexion was attacking him, but that didn’t make hurting him any more right.

And--squinting hard--had that grip made Ienzo panic ? Why?

Either way, Riku had a lot of apologizing to do. He warmed what he’d been left with a spell and ate, the prickles of guilt getting worse.

His clothing was dry by now, so he got dressed and folded up everything he’d used. He was still a bit shaky, but he’d be fine enough to get back to the Land of Departure. He hardly ever got sick like that. But he hadn’t been able to sleep well lately, and there was the cold and the rain, and he probably wasn’t eating well either. He’d run himself into the ground. Riku had to get better control of this, if so just to prevent all this from happening again.

He set off to find Ienzo, his heart beating hard with anxiety. Just say sorry. Just say sorry. There had to be something he could do. He hoped he hadn’t hurt him; he knew too well the ache of broken bones.

He headed back to the lab, trying not to talk himself out of it. He mentally rehearsed what he had to say-- you were so kind, I acted completely out of turn-- but when he got there, Ienzo wasn’t even in the room.

“Good morning, Riku,” Even said, and Riku wondered if he was imagining the coolness in his voice. “I see you’re up and about.”

“I’m so sorry about yesterday. Thank you for letting me stay.” He cleared his throat.

“I don’t think any of us are strangers to overwork,” Ansem said. “You’re welcome here any time.”

He dropped his eyes. “...Thanks. Um. Where’s Ienzo? I wanted to thank him for the dinner.”

Again, that stab of paranoia--was the pause too long? “He had a few things to tend to in town, I believe,” Even said. “But I will pass on the message.”

“...Oh. Thanks.” He looked back at Kairi, still deeply asleep. Would she be ashamed of him? “I guess I should… head out, if there’s nothing I can help with here.”

“I don’t believe so,” Even said, without looking up.

“Take care,” Ansem said, with that same old man smile.

Riku returned to the Land of Departure, to the silence.

[winterisakillerwrites]

Imperfect Tense - Part Two

Title: Imperfect Tense

One Shot: 2/3

Character: Tom Hiddleston/OFC

Genre: Angst

Rating: M

Summary: Secrets are powerful things. They shape who we are and how we interact with others and with the world. Tom assumed his secret was safe and his life would remain as it ever was. He was wrong.

Authors Notes/Warnings: This was written for @mrs-captain-evans writing challenge. My prompt was the line: “what did I do wrong?”. This was supposed to be a much shorter piece but alas it sort of ran away with me. Much like Brave Face this story deals with the concept of cheating. Apparently I wasn’t done with this idea just yet. Thanks, again, to @redfoxwritesstuff who not only encouraged this but was a fantastic support throughout its writing.

Tom spent the next week in constant state of subterranean fear. He’d informed Luke of his initial result and knew that his publicist was just as anxiously awaiting the remaining as well. Tom had allowed himself to go through the motions; to smile and act as if nothing whatsoever was wrong, but he was a jumbled mess on the inside. Each time his phone rang he fought the urge to jump several feet in the air, as his heart pounded in his chest. If anyone noticed his anxiousness, and Tom was certain they had (how could they not?), no one had said a word. They smiled and laughed with him. And so he kept on keeping on for lack of anything else to do.

It was midafternoon on the seventh day when the clinic finally called with his remaining results. Tom had excused himself from set, grateful that it was not his scenes they were currently filming, and ducked into a quieter area of the studio. The call had been brief and the woman he’d spoken to had been warm but professional; they’d all come back negative. All but one. And his heart had frozen in his chest at that. Chlamydia. It was treatable, the woman from the clinic had assured. And easily so. He would need to be started on a course of Doxycycline twice a day for seven days and would need to continue to abstain from sexual activity until the course of antibiotics was completed. Simple and easy. He mumbled what he’d hoped was understanding and agreed to pick up his antibiotic as soon as possible.

Tom stood staring at his phone for several minutes after the call had ended; nausea and fear rushing over him in revolving waves. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Theoretically, he knew that of all the damned things he could have ended up with he’d gotten lucky, so fucking lucky, getting something that was easily treated. In the scheme of things, this wasn’t anything like the end of the world. But that did little to quell his panic. He’d been so fucking bloody stupid. And Molly…God, Molly would be there in a few days’ time…How could he ever hope to explain…?

“Hey Tom,” A quiet female voice cut through the silence of the room. His head automatically shot up, catching sight of one of the PA’s, clipboard in hand as she rounded the corner. “Sorry to interrupt but we need you back on set.”

He nodded his assent. “Be right there.”

Once she’d rounded the corner once more, Tom fired off a quick text to Luke asking him to arrange to have his prescription picked up and brought to back to his room. Not bothering to wait for a response, he quickly pocketed the phone and headed back towards set, trying to steel his mind to the task at hand. There were still several hours left and he needed to focus.

When Tom finally made it back to his room in the late evening, all he wanted to do was sleep. Between the early set calls and the constant stress he’d been under, Tom had been left feeling beyond drained. He scrubbed his hand over his face and dropped wallet and phone onto the night stand next to his bed. Sitting next to the room phone on the far bedside table was a white bag. Puzzlement crossed his features before understanding dawned.

He pushed himself back to his feet and padded towards the mini-fridge and grabbed a bottle of water. Opening the bottle, he made his way back towards the bed, grabbing the bag and pulling out the package of antibiotics. A quick read of the pharmacist instructions and two swallowed capsules later, Tom dropped his head back onto the pillow and let out a soft sigh. He was wide awake now and somehow doubted sleep would come anytime soon. But he had to try.

Molly’s flight arrived in the early afternoon two days later. Tom had been onset and had sent Luke to fetch her in his stead. He ignored the familiar stab of guilt as his eyes turned once more to the clock above the director’s chair. She would be clearing customs by now and he could clearly picture the look on her face when she saw Luke waiting for her and not Tom. He was such a fucking coward. He technically could have gotten the day off if he’d wanted. They had shot most of his scenes and, save for any needed pick-ups or reshoots, he was, for all intents and purposes, done. But the idea of facing Molly terrified him. Misdirecting the truth on the phone was one thing (as difficult as it had been to do so), but doing so face to face….That was entirely another.

And he needed to tell her, he knew that. Especially now. But not yet…He couldn’t do it yet. She’d be tired from the flight and anxious about the red carpet the following evening (while she’d done several smaller events with him…This would be her first major outing on his arm). To throw all of this on her now would be the height of cruelty. He couldn’t ruin this for her…Or risk a scene on the carpet, because such a thing would be a disaster which would be hard to explain away…Tom cursed himself for letting that thought even cross his mind. Selfish. God, he was so fucking selfish.

He’d gotten Luke’s text saying Molly was with him and they were heading back to the hotel at a touch after two in the afternoon just as the production had broken for lunch. Tom had taken to carrying the antibiotic with him as the hours on set were long and oftentimes unpredictable, so there would thankfully be little chance of her finding them and asking pointed questions he still wasn’t sure how to answer.

How did one even begin to explain the cluster fuck that was his current situation? ‘Well you see, darling, I got stupidly drunk and fucked some random woman in a bathroom at a club and didn’t wear protection and now I’ve got an STD, but don’t worry it’s completely curable. And I know you’re undoubtedly cross with me but I still love you.’ That would go over just as well as a lead balloon. Letting Luke know that he would probably be wrapping up in about an hour, Tom made his way back onto set after a hastily grabbed sandwich and threw himself into work.

The cab pulled to a stop in front of his hotel at fifteen after three and Tom made his way up to his room, making a great effort to steady his nerves and to control his face. The last thing wanted to do was scare or worry her. Not yet. He pushed the door to his room open and had barely let it close behind him when she was in his arms. He let out a grunt of surprise, the shock of her warmth against his chest, and wrapped his arms around her to steady them both.

“God, I missed you,” she breathed into his neck.

Tom swallowed thickly, the guilt choking him now. It took several moments before he could force the words out of his lips. “Missed you too.”

Molly pulled back enough to take in his face and her own broke into a warm smile. Without a word, she leaned in and kissed him gently. He didn’t move to deepen the kiss and, after several moments, she pulled back to study him, puzzled. “Tom, are you alright?” Curiosity and concern burned in the depths of her eyes, making them shine a vivid, dark blue and burning the life out of him.

He took several steps back, stepping deftly from her embrace, and shrugged. “I’m find. Just tired. It’s been a long morning.” He held his hand out to her and she took it tentatively. He squeezed her fingers in his and added, “I’m sorry I couldn’t get you today. There wasn’t any way I could get away.”

There was a sliver of doubt in her eyes but she simply nodded. “I know. You’re here now and that’s what matters.”

Tom nodded, “I’m here now.” Silence fell between them. “So,” he started, raising his eyes to hers, and offering what he hoped was a warm smile. “What would you like to do?”

“Honestly, sleep,” She laughed softly.” God I would love nothing more than to just sleep. But I doubt very much that it would help me acclimate to this time zone if I did.”

“No, probably not.” Tom answered with a small chuckle of his own. It sounded hollow to his own ears.

“Damn.” Molly yawned, pulling her hand from his and stretching her arms above her head. “I guess that massive amounts of caffeine will have to suffice. So know any good coffee shops?”

“I think I can find us one. Shall we?”

They settled in a small, locally owned coffee shop not a terrible distance away from the hotel and talked pleasantly over their coffees. They talked about work, about what was happening with friends and family, and any small thing which popped into their heads. He was both grateful and terrified to have her so close. He had missed her dreadfully, god if he could have only seen her sooner then maybe none of this…He refused to let himself even finish the thought. This was in no way, shape, or form her fault. It was his. No one’s fault but his own.

After they had finished their coffees he’d taken her on a short walk around the city. She’d gladly taken his arm and let him tell her about the small tidbits of knowledge he’d gathered from both his own wonderings and from crew and fellow cast members. The weather was fair and for that short amount of time, Tom let himself pretend that all was well between them. That he wasn’t putting off breaking her heart and the very real possibility he’d lose her forever once he did so.

Dinner was a quick affair in the hotel restaurant. It was close, the food was decent, and Tom knew that Molly was dreadfully tired. She’d commandeered the shower not long after they’d arrived back at the room from dinner, stating that she’d planned to turn in early. While she had puttered around the rather large bathroom, Tom pulled his antibiotic bottle from the carryall he’d taken to bringing with him on set. He fished another bottle of water from the fridge and poured out two capsules into his opened palm.

He’d just tossed the capsules into his mouth when the bathroom door opened and Molly wandered out, dark hair wrapped in a towel and dressed in a loose fitting t-shirt and jogging bottoms. He nearly choked on both water and capsules, ending up in a violent coughing fit. “Bathroom’s all yours…Tom are you alright?”

Tom nodded, clutching his chest which felt very much like it was on fire. “Yes,” he managed to get out, voice hoarse from coughing. “Pills didn’t go down the right way.” He grimaced as he realized just what he’d said. Shit.

Molly’s brow furrowed, “Pills?” She hurried towards the bed and before Tom could stop her she’d grabbed the bottle, staring at it. He’d scratched out all the identifying information including his name and the reason the medication was prescribed as soon as he’d gotten the bottle; there was no such thing as too careful as far as he was concerned. She flitted her eyes to him, concerned. “Why are you taking antibiotics? What’s happened?” It was truly something, watching her slip into what he’d always affectionately called ‘nurse mode’ and normally Tom found it endearing if not a bit overwhelming. Now though, now it flooded him with fear. God, why had he fucking spoken without thinking?

He took the bottle from her and placed it onto the bed stand. He wracked his brain trying desperately to think of what to say. He knew without a doubt what he should say was the truth. Lying would only make it harder to tell her the truth. But the idea of telling her, of actually saying the words aloud terrified him. She would storm out. She would leave him. And he couldn’t let that happen. He needed her. Needed her so badly.

“You know how I’ve been off for the past week or so?” He found himself speaking, his voice surprisingly even. “I went to a clinic because I knew something wasn’t right. They ran a few tests and turns out I had a rather nasty bout of strep throat. So they started me on antibiotics.” The lie flowed far easier than he could have imagined. And once it was out, he couldn’t take it back.

Her brow furrowed. “Why is the label all scratched out?”

“Privacy,” he answered, with a small shrug. The words continued to come and he hated himself for them. “It’s fairly standard here to do that. In case it gets misplaced. I thought it odd too but…”

Molly looked anything but convinced but did not press the matter. After several minutes she pondered aloud, “I wonder why they prescribed you Doxycycline. That’s not usual…Or at least not that I’ve seen.”

Tom shrugged, “I don’t know. I was just grateful to have a reason for why things have been so off.”

“Why didn’t you tell me this earlier? When I asked?” The concern was back in her tone but this time laced with just the barest hint of doubt.

He swallowed before answering. “I didn’t want you to worry. I know you’ve got so much going on right now and I was loath to add anything more on your shoulders.” Tom smiled at her softly, hoping to ease her growing concern. “But I’m fine. No harm, no foul.”

“Tom,” she chastised, “You should have told me. Yes, work is a bit hectic, but I’m not made of glass. You can talk to me. You should have talked to me.” Molly paced around the room, standing just out of his reach. He could so easily sense her hurt at his perceived slight. Not so perceived, he thought bitterly. Pretty damned real.

“I know. I was stupid and I’m sorry. Can you forgive me?” His forced himself to lock his eyes on hers. Please, please can you ever forgive me for what I’ve done? I need you to forgive me. Tom hated himself for thinking it, for asking for something he knew he’d not earned the right to.

“Tom…” She took a deep breath and walked back towards him and the bed. “It’s alright. Just please talk to me. I love you and I worry, you know that.” Molly took his hand in hers, linking their fingers.

A watery smile spread slowly across his face as he squeezed her hands in his. “I love you, too. So very, very much.” Molly settled beside him on the bed and leaned her head on his shoulder, turning to press a kiss against it. “I am sorry,” he continued, trying desperately to keep himself in check but needing her to know just how terribly sorry he really was. Even if he couldn’t tell her why. “Truly, I am.”

“I know,” she whispered, kissing his shoulder once more. “It’s done, Tom. Now let’s try to get some sleep. It’s been a ridiculously long day and I don’t know about you but I am utterly exhausted.”

Tom nodded and kissed her the top of her head. “Alright. To bed with you then.”

Molly pulled herself from his grasp and climbed towards the left hand side of the bed, burrowing beneath the covers. Tom pushed himself to his feet, fighting the feeling of guilt the churned in his gut, and stumbled into the bathroom. He quickly brushed his teeth and scrubbed his face, taking a deep breath before returning to the main room. He pulled his shirt over his head and toed off his boots. Pulling a pair of pajama bottoms from the chair in the corner, he quickly changed and headed back towards the bed. He found himself hesitating as he approached, his guilt warring with the desperate need of normalcy. Molly turned over and patted the spot behind her. “Come here you.” He offered a small smile before climbing into the bed and flipping the light off behind him.

Sleep came easier than he’d expected and he found himself waking in confusion the next morning, feeling the warm body pressed against him. Tom cracked open first one eye and then the other, Molly’s sleeping form slowing coming into focus. She was there, he hadn’t dreamt it, and for a brief moment a flood of contentment overwhelmed him. Then reality came crashing back. He fought the urge to volt himself out of the bed, it would raise more questions and concern than he could honestly handle.

He watched her for several moments; the way her dark hair spread over the pillow beneath her, having come out of its braid sometime in the night, the way her eyelashes brushed against her cheeks, the peaceful look on her beautiful face. He didn’t deserve her. Not in the slightest. And if she knew…

“What are you staring at so hard?” Molly’s sleep laden voice broken Tom from his thoughts. He blinked rapidly and looked down to find her warm, blue eyes staring up at him in confusion.

“Sorry,” he murmured. “Just lost in thought. Did you sleep well?”

She nodded and stretched her arms above her head as a large yawn rolled from her lips. “God, sorry. But yes, I slept like the dead. Nothing like jetlag, eh?” Tom laughed despite himself. “What time is it anyway?”

Rolling to the side, Tom grabbed his watch from the bed stand. “Half eight. We’ve got about three hours until the madness descends.” Luke had sent him a text the day before confirming that his stylist (and that was still strange) and someone from hair and make-up would be coming around at about noon to get both he and Molly ready for the premiere.

Molly quirked an eyebrow. “Three hours, eh? Plenty of time for all sorts of fun.” She leaned up and kissed him. He allowed himself to be pulled into the kiss, missing the feel of her warmth in his arms. And suddenly it was as if he’d been doused in ice water. Realization as to just why he couldn’t do this. Fuck. With reluctance he pulled back, taking in the concern was steadily growing in her eyes. “Tom what…?”

“I just…I’m still not 100% and I don’t want to risk you getting sick because of me.” It was the truth, in none so many words, but he hated himself for speaking them. “Why…Let me take you to breakfast? Somewhere nice? After all if you’re in LA you might as well see what all the fuss is about.”

He climbed out of bed and made a hasty retreat into the bathroom, stopping briefly to grab a change of clothing along the way. He didn’t dare look back at Molly. Once dressed, Tom made his way back into the main room to find Molly dressed as well. She didn’t utter a word as she brushed past him and into the bathroom. Shit. Shit. Shit.

Tom hated himself for all of this and desperately wanted to her so. But he couldn’t tell her why. Not now. The stark realization made his gut clench. He couldn’t tell her. The time for that had come and gone. He’d told too many half-truths and blatant lies to have any hope of ever coming clean. The best he could hope for now was to put all of this behind him as much he was able. And then to work has hard as he could to make himself worthy of her in future.

The elevator ride down to the lobby of the hotel was spent in silence and Tom swore he could hear the frantic beating of his heart against his chest. He’d be surprised if Molly couldn’t hear it as well. She did however let him take her hand as they made their way from the hotel and down the relatively crowded streets. The small café was about a five minute walk from the hotel and by the time they’d been seated, Molly seemed to have relaxed enough to speak with him again. They made small talk over plates of egg, bacon, and pancakes (something he’d insisted she have because they were ‘utterly divine’). She smiled as he told her how he’d stumbled across this place not too long after he’d arrived and how he’d had to make a conscious effort to avoid it most days so he wouldn’t eat his weight in delicious food on a daily basis.

By the time they’d returned to the hotel it was nearly noon. At twelve on the dot madness did in face arrive. The next several hours were spent in a whirlwind of clothing, hairspray, pins, and makeup. His suit had taken little time to fit and his make-up and hair even less but having these people on hand for Molly (who had always dressed herself and done her own makeup and hair for those few events she’d attended with him) was something he’d desperately wanted.

She was a vision in a deep blue off the shoulder dress than hung just past her knees. It clung to her curves and enhanced her eyes in the most striking fashion. Her hair was piled effortlessly atop her head and her makeup was subtle but stunning. She looked gorgeous and Tom couldn’t seem to take his eyes off her. “You look utterly enchanting,” he told her with complete and transparent honesty.

Molly smiled softly back at him. “Thank you. I feel…This is so…Odd. Brilliant, but odd.” She twirled slowly before the mirror, smiling softly to herself as she did so.

Tom nodded in understanding. His phone chimed in his pocket, he pulled it out to find the car hired to take them to the theater had arrived. He shoved it back into his pocket and held his hand out to Molly. “Our chariot awaits. Shall we, my love?”

She nodded, taking his hand and allowing him to lead her from the room and down to the lobby and the waiting car.

The crowd outside the theater was far larger than Tom had expected. It was nothing like he’d ever experienced and it was nearly overwhelming. He could feel Molly’s tight grip on his hand as they climbed from the hire car and slowly made their way down the carpet. Luke flitted around beside them, causally directing Tom where to go and who to talk to. The flashes were blinding and the noise was overwhelming. Tom spoke graciously with reporter after reporter, laughing at their jokes and sharing small tidbits about filming with them. He’d proudly called Molly his girlfriend when asked but did not reveal more detail than was needed. And she stood beside him, smiling and leaning against him.

Once they’d made their way inside, Molly and Tom were ushered into the theater and to their seats. The lights dimmed and the film began. Molly gushed at how much she’d enjoyed the film on their way towards the after party; going on about the script and Tom’s acting and her favorite scenes. She’d clearly been having the time of her life and Tom couldn’t have be happier for it, for her. They’d drank and danced and generally had a wonderful night of it, stumbling back towards the hotel in the early hours.

The next morning dawned far too early for either of their likings. Molly’s flight was scheduled for early in the afternoon and they’d reluctantly set alarms accordingly. Neither had drunk to access the night, and well into the early morning, before but weren’t quite in fighting shape either. Molly had unpacked little upon her arrival which made life infinitely easier. Still it was a scramble to get the last minute bits and bobs squared away. Tom had given her one of his sweater jackets for the flight home. She’d accepted it gratefully and climbed into the waiting taxi. He’d quickly kissed her goodbye and assured her that he’d be home within the next week. Two at the most.

He’d thrown himself into finishing up his commitments, wanting to be done with LA and the mess he’d made there. Molly had been set to text him when she’d landed so when that time had come and gone without a word, a sinking sense of dread filled him. He told himself it was nothing, she’d most likely been tired and had been set on getting herself home and settled. She would call after, he had to believe that.

When his phone rang early the following morning he’d felt his heart lighten at sight of her name on the screen. “You’ve made it home then. I was worried.”

“Tom,” Molly began. “I need you to tell me the truth.”

He felt his heart stutter in his chest. “Mols, what…What’s going on?”

“I found something in your pocket. In the jumper you gave me.” His heart thudded in his chest and the blood rushed in his ears. Something was wrong. Very, very wrong. “Tom who is Heather?” Molly asked. Her voice was strangely even and it took everything he had to keep from dropping the phone.

“What?” He managed to choke out.

“Her name and number were in your pocket. On a cocktail napkin.” Molly’s words were cool, even. “Tom, I need you to explain this to me.”

Panic flooded through him. Oh god, how could he have left that stupid napkin in his fucking pocket? He hadn’t thought about it since she’d placed it into his hand that night. Hadn’t spared a thought for what he’d done with it. How the bloody hell could he have kept it? And then fucking given it to Molly? “It’s nothing, I promise you. I honestly had no idea that was even in there. I must have been given it by a fan sometime and hadn’t had a chance to give it to Luke to throw away. I would never…” The lies spilled from his lips rapidly though his voice was surprisingly even and calm, despite the chaos rampaging through him. “You know me, Molly.” Liar. Liar! You bloody fucking coward of a liar!

There was hesitation on her end and it was several moments before she spoke again. “I just…with the way you’d been acting and then the prescription and now the number…I was so scared that you…”

“Molly…” He started, fighting to keep his voice even.

“But I know you, Tom. And I know you’d never…I just…I saw it and I panicked. I’m sorry. God, I don’t know what’s wrong with me.” Her voice was trembling and he knew she was close to tears. The guilt was overwhelming but still…

“You’ve done two transatlantic flights in a short amount of time. That’s bound to make anyone on edge. You are alright, Molly. It’s okay. I love you.” He was the worst sort of person. A liar and a bloody coward. But he couldn’t…Not now…He couldn’t tell her now. “I’ll be home soon and we’ll be back on our feet soon enough. I’ve got a small bit of time off and we’ll do something…We’ll do something, just you and I.”

Molly laughed softly and he could hear the tears in her voice as she spoke. “That honestly sounds wonderful, Tom.”

They’d spent a weekend in Paris upon his return home. They’d spoken often of wanting to go but never seeming to have the time. He’d surprised her with the Eurostar tickets and booking information for a lovely bed and breakfast not far from the city center as soon as he’d walked in the door. She’d laughed then and pulled him tightly into her arms, kissing him soundly. They’d spent their time there wandering the city by day; visiting museums and restaurants, taking in all Paris had to offer, and then reacquainting themselves with each other by night. He’d been attentive and wonderful and so much as he had been in those first few days of their relationship; when everything was bright and new and full of endless potential.

He’d made it a point from then on to make the effort to come to her as often as he could while away and, if that wasn’t feasible, to bring her to him whenever possible. There were stumbling and false starts along the way, but they seemed to eventually get find the balance they’d needed to make things work between them. And it was just as well since his career began to skyrocket in ways neither he nor Molly had dreamed. She’d been with him every stop along the way, proudly standing beside him; still nervous and unsure but there holding his hand and ever beaming with pride in him and all he was becoming.

Molly had been with him when he’d purchased his home in London six months later; a lovely three story terraced house nestled near a large park in a grand neighborhood. Tom had insisted she come with him as it would be her home just as much as his and he needed her to be comfortable and happy with his choice. With their choice.

Within four months of moving in, Tom had proposed. It had been a small and simple affair (she had never been one for grand gestures); he’d taken the day to prepare a lovely meal and decorated the lower level of the house with dozens upon dozens of candles. The ring securely stored in his trouser pocket, he’d greeted her at the door and led her into the flickering light of the dining room.

She’d watched him with surprised and uncertain eyes as he led her to the table and poured her a glass of wine. “To what do I owe this surprise?” She’d managed to ask after settling her nerves with a restorative sip.

Tom smiled at her then, eyes warm and full of love, “Can’t I just spoil you?”

Molly quirked her eyebrow and shot him a knowing look but said nothing, only smiling in return. They ate their meal, peppering the moments between bites with conversation. He was nearly vibrating out of his chair by the time they were ready for coffee and dessert and he knew she could sense it. He could feel her eyes on him as he disappeared into the kitchen and returned carrying a tray laden with coffee press, mugs, and cake. He made quick work of serving both cake and coffee but did not return to his seat at the table.

She raised her eyes to his, her voice catching in her throat as she whispered his name in confusion. “Tom?”

Taking a deep breath, he lowered himself to one knee. Molly’s sudden intake of breath echoed above him. He took a moment to compose himself before raising his head and looking her directly in her shining face. “Molly, you are without a shadow of a doubt the most amazing, wonderful thing that has ever happened to me. I will never understand just how I ever became lucky enough to have you in my life.” He felt his throat tighten with emotion, forcing him to pause long enough to try to clear it enough to continue. “You are not only my rock but the cord that tethers me to myself. You are everything I have ever wanted. Everything I have ever needed. And everything I never dreamed I could have. I will spend every single remaining day of my life doing my utmost best to be worthy of the love you’ve shown me. I will never, ever take you for granted and I will love you with all that I am.” Tears were stinging his eyes as he spoke, holding the velvet box out towards her. “Will you do me the extraordinary honor of being my wife?”

Molly smiled and nodded, tears flowing steadily from her eyes as she extended her left hand to him. Tears shining in his own, Tom opened the box reveling the beautiful sapphire ring he’d spent months searching for nestled within. He took her shaking hand in his and with slow and deliberate care slipped the ring onto her finger. Laughing, she pulled him against her and kissed him deeply.

Tom pulled back, tears trailing down his cheeks and locked his eyes with hers. “Thank you,” he whispered before pulling her against him once more and burying his face in her abdomen. “Thank you.”

The announcement was released in the Times a few days later, shortly after both had broken the news to their respective families. Tom’s sisters had shrieked loud enough frighten all the dogs in the greater London area and Molly’s mother had broken into tears (“Happy tears my love,” she’d assured her. “He’s a truly wonderful lad and I’m so very, very happy for you both”) which had sent Molly into them as well.

Wedding planning had taken up more of her time that Molly had expected. What had seemed like a simple affair with close friends and family was rapidly becoming anything but. And the stress of it was starting to take its toll. Exhaustion and bouts of nausea had taken turns disrupting her life Between the wedding and the ever changing shifts she’d been forced to adopt, Molly wasn’t sure she would make it the six months until the wedding.

Tom had done all he could to help; spending as much time as he could on the phone with caterers and florists while juggling script readings and auditions. He’d done everything in his power to help shoulder the burden he knew the wedding prep had placed on his fiancée’s shoulders. But when promotional duty called and Tom was pulled back into the fray his professional life had become, it was with a weary reluctance Molly let him go.

“This is going to be the death of me,” She whined as Tom dropped his suitcase by the door.

He offered her a warm smile. “I don’t care where it happens, my love. All I care about is that it happens. We can simply go to the registrar’s office and call it a day.” He laughed when she wrinkled her nose at that. “Or we can go all out. That is not the important thing for me. I just want to be able to call you my wife.”

Tears streamed down Molly’s cheeks and she worked to quickly wipe them away while swatting absently at him. “God, Tom. Why are you so bloody perfect? It’s exhausting.” She laughed softly. “I’m going to miss you.”

He leaned in and kissed her soundly, hands moving to tangle in her dark hair. “I’m going to miss you desperately as well. But I will be back as soon as I can, Luke and everything be damned.”

She laughed against his lips. “Can I be a fly on the wall when you tell him that?”

Tom laughed in earnest and pulled her tightly against him, burying his face in her hair. “I really wish I didn’t have to go.”

“Me too. But duty calls.” Molly took a deep breath and pulled reluctantly back, squeezing his shoulders. “Go on, you’ve got reporters to charm and fans to dazzle. Just don’t you go forgetting about me.”

Tom shook his head vigorously. “Never happen.”

Outside the honk of a car horn echoed. Molly brushed tears away with the back of her hand. “Looks like your ride is here.” She smiled warmly. “Take care, Tom. I love you.”

He leaned in and kissed her soundly once more. “I love you too. Be home as soon as I can.”

Tom reluctantly pulled away as the car horn sounded again. He kissed her forehead and strode with purpose to the door, grabbed his suitcase, and headed out to the waiting car.

“It’s true then, isn’t it?” Molly’s voice was quiet, even, and it brought Tom crashing back into the present. His eyes locked on hers in silent panic; her question had knocked him completely off his guard.  He watched her then; the solid set of her shoulders, the stillness of her body speaking volumes of just how much his lies and silence had cost him.

“Wha…? No! NO!” The words tumbled from his lips, the denial almost reflexive. But it was too late and he’d known it.

Molly shook her head. “Tom, you look as though you’ve seen a ghost…So please don’t…Don’t lie to me.” Her blue eyes rose to lock with his, daring him to deny it. To deny what they both knew was true.

“Mols, please…You know me…You know I would never…” The ease in which the lies poured from his lips sickened him. But he hadn’t been thinking; panic driving his words, his actions. He couldn’t lose her. Not now. But it was no use and he’d known it. Molly knew the truth, knew what he had done, and nothing he could say or do now would be able to change it.  

“No, Tom, I don’t.” There was a sadness to her voice that nearly shattered his heart. “Not anymore…A week ago, I would have never, ever believed you would do this…But now…” her voice trailed off and she swallowed thickly before raising her gaze to his once again. With a slow and deliberate care, she twisted the ring, his ring, from her finger. “Take the test, Tom. Sort out your life.”

She offered him a soft smile that didn’t quite reach her eyes before pushing herself to her feet and placing the still warm ring into his hand. She took a deep breath and, gathering her suitcases, walked quietly out of the front door.

The door closed behind her with definite click that Tom felt in his bones. She was gone. He couldn’t process it, couldn’t allow himself to accept it.

He wasn’t sure how long he stood in the center of the living room, staring with a waning hope at the closed front door. Molly was gone. He’d been stupid and selfish and now it had all come back on him ten-fold. His eyes burned but the tears he knew were there refused to come. He took a shuddering breath and rubbed his hand over his mouth, trying to calm his racing thoughts and his thudding heart. He needed to change, needed to call Luke. Needed to do something other than simply stand there and watch his life crash and burn.

Tom climbed the stairs slowly, his mind set on showering, hoping that the hot water would help him gather his thoughts. Help him figure out what the fuck he was going to do. The bedroom door was ajar and the room within unnaturally quiet and dark. He flipped on the light switch and stood staring at the chaos before him; the closet and dresser drawers pulled open, their contents having been quickly removed, the bedding crumpled. Molly had been a stickler about making the bed and making sure the room was tidy. She’d told him off more than once for the mess he’d always seemed to make of their room, and wouldn’t let him rest until he’d set it right. Seeing the room now in such disarray was jarring.

He took a deep breath and shook his head to clear his thoughts, wandering from the bedroom into the ensuite bathroom, pulling his shirt over his head. He froze mid movement, his shirt slipping from his hands and onto the floor, as his eyes landed on a small piece of elongated plastic laying on the counter beside a soft yellow envelope. His blood pounded in his ears as he took two shaky steps to the counter, his fingers clumsily picking both items up.

Wordlessly, he turned the test over in his hands. Its display screen read ‘PREGNANT’ in bold, black letters. He blinked in confusion, hands shaking harder. He wasn’t conscious of moving back into the bedroom, of falling unceremoniously onto the bed. He dropped the test beside him on the light blue coverlet and turned his attention back towards the yellow envelope. It took several tries to break the seal. And when he did he slowly pulled the card inside out, staring at it in stunned disbelief. The bright green, handwritten lettering across its front seemed to taunt him. ‘Congratulations, Daddy! We’re going to have a baby!’

A strangled sob fell from Tom’s lips as the card tumbled from his numb fingers and onto the floor.

Next

[docfuture]

Princess, part 8

     [This story is a prequel, set several years before The Fall of Doc Future, when Flicker is 16.  Links to some of my other work are here.  Updates are theoretically biweekly–going to try to get the next one out by mid-March.]

Previous: Part 7

      Journeyman ran his fingers through his hair and sighed as he looked at the picture Flicker sent to his handcomp.       "Yep, that's her," he said.  "Dr. Reinhart has a rep of knowing a lot about how minds are put together--and how to take them apart.  She seems to be effectively immune to mental influence and hostile probability manipulation--no, I don't know how she manages that--and I've heard enough complaints to believe that she can mess up Diviners and Seers just by being near what they're trying to see.  Not sure about Oracles.  Also, she's hard to kill.  If she's willing to help you, I doubt she'd be a weak point."       "That sounds good.  Except that the Database says her specialty is mind control.  But I guess she concentrates on defense?  That part wasn't clear."       "A lot about her isn't clear," said Journeyman.  "She is very good at using fear, though.  General opinions I hear about her are mixed.  I have connections, and while I keep them private, the general idea isn't a secret--I swap gossip, assistance, and so forth, move things around, and link people with what they need, all fairly quietly.  Dr. Reinhart clearly has connections, but nobody knows how they work.  She can show up somewhere, have coffee with a few folks, and sometimes everything stays quiet, and sometimes all hell breaks loose.  Odd accidents, fits of madness, sudden unexplained deaths from no obvious cause, and occasionally 'Blood--blood everywhere!'  And afterwards the details of what happened don't always add up.  Except usually some grim entrenched problem has disappeared.  That part is acknowledged, but she still really puts people on edge.  Oh, and there are rumors that she's seriously annoyed several intelligence agencies, but they're still trying to hire or co-opt her.  Jumping Spider would know more about that than me."       "Well, I needed to talk to Jumping Spider anyway."  Flicker frowned.  "Anything else?"       "I don't doubt Dr Reinhart's competence to advise you about social interaction."  Journeyman looked down.  "Motivation, methods, side effects?  That's over my head, but I would expect some warnings from your AI."       "Why?  Just her reputation?"       "Well... I know Doc is twitchy about mind control, and Dr. Reinhart apparently has issues with his methods.  And the spy stuff."       "She has a negative threat index--that means she's helping.  Doc is pragmatic about that."       "Up to a point."  Journeyman spread his hands.  "Anyway, that's what I can tell you.  Hope it helps."       "Yes."  Flicker sped up to virtual type a response to Dr. Reinhart, then slowed back down again.  "There.  She's traveling, and pretty inflexible about privacy, so it will be at least a few days before I can meet her, regardless."       She stood up from the high speed interface station and glided over to stop in front of Journeyman where he sat on the couch.  He watched her warily.       "Thank you," she said, and paused.  "I'm willing to at least consider rescheduling Speedtest, but I don't want to argue about it right now.   You don't feel safe here and you probably need sleep.  How much did you get last night?"       He shrugged.  "A few hours before you woke me up.  None since."       "Then get sleep, consult your Diviners or whatever, and we can talk more tomorrow."       "Might take a while to find anybody.  If I even can.  Tracking down Diviners is rarely easy."  He looked away.  "And Flicker?  I don't want to argue about it at all.  I'll send what I find to the Database.  Argue with Doc, or Jumping Spider, or Jetgirl, or whoever you need to.  Not me."       "I don't..."  Flicker stopped and swallowed.  "Argue isn't the right word.  It's just the one that sounded human to me.  And my anger isn't really at you, that's just where I attach it.  I think there's something wrong with my human emulation."       Journeyman shook his head.  "No.  Humans make mistakes, and they get angry, and no one should expect anything different.  Least of all me.  This isn't something we can solve.  Sometimes you can't get from where you are to where you want to be."       "And what I want is the problem."       He waved his arms.  "No!  I'm the problem.  I thought I could still finesse a way through, despite everything stacked against it, and I. Was. Wrong.  And that's why I have to go."       "Partner..."  She stopped again.  "Damn.  Having an emotional reaction to that word."       "...Yeah."  He blinked then raised his hand.  "I'm sorry I don't have any magic words for you.  Primum non nocere is all I've got left."       Flicker pulled off her glove and reached out to complete their fingertip touch.       "Take care," he said.       She couldn't find anything to say.  So she just nodded.  Journeyman took a deep breath and teleported out.       A faint whirl of disturbed air, then nothing.       Flicker looked around the room.  It felt far emptier than was reasonable.       *****       Evening back home, pre-dawn in Kenya.  Flicker didn't want to wake up Jonathan or his family, but Chaser was awake and running to greet her as soon as she slowed down.  Flying tackle and friend bites and his ridiculously tiny meow, and they played chase dance and dangle the fuzzy toy the way he liked.  Then he flopped down on her feet and purred as she held him.       Chaser wasn't her cat.  He wasn't anyone's cat.  He was his own cheetah.  But Flicker had rescued him as a kitten, taken him far away from the lions that had killed his siblings.  It wasn't clear what had killed their mother, but life was full of perils for cheetahs, especially when they had to share shrinking habitat with lions.  He stayed with the family of a park ranger, on land Flicker had purchased next to a wildlife reserve.  Extravagant?  Maybe, but it wasn't hard to figure out why she'd identified so hard with an orphan who had social problems with other cheetahs.       Time zones made visits awkward, and they still hoped to reintroduce him back to the wild someday, but in the meantime she could hold him close, and whisper that he was a good cat.  He purred and didn't mind her tears from trying to accept a present that had crumbled unexpectedly, and a hoped for future that had been a mirage.  He didn't judge, didn't care whether she was human or not; she was just his fast friend.       An hour under a slowly brightening sky made the world a slightly better place.  Still not good, but better.       *****       Later evening.  Ghosting through the darkness at 500 kilometers per second.  Flicker was moving fast enough to be effectively invisible, but slow enough to leave no traces behind her.  It fit her mood--she didn't particularly want to be anywhere.  But there was someone she needed to talk to at Doc's.       Superhuman speed implied a superhuman ability to interrupt.  So Flicker and Doc had worked out a protocol that allowed for degrees of urgency and desire to avoid disruption.  'Open door' had a particular implication because of Flicker's dislike of them.  It was a way for Doc to indicate that she could join a meeting in progress, but it would be polite to wait and listen quietly until an appropriate pause, absent an emergency.       At Doc's.  Flicker entered the recovery room next to one of the med labs, sat in one of the chairs, and slowed down.  She didn't say anything.       Jumping Spider was sitting up with her left leg extended.  Something complicated covered the knee--it looked like one of Doc's support and monitoring minibots.  Doc was frowning at a large display showing... Not her leg.  Her left jump boot.  Which wasn't in the room, though her spare pair was.  A quick Database check showed her main boots were down in one of the big fabbers in Doc's workshop being repaired.       "...crash cushioning cells seem to have handled the landing fine," Doc was saying, "and at least blunted the impact. Still..."       "They did the job," said Jumping Spider.  "Sometimes a gust of wind hits you at just the wrong time, and one did, right after I'd hopped off the roof."       "The fourth story roof.  Over icy concrete.  In a blizzard."       "Yeah, it was Tuesday.  Wednesdays are overpasses.  Hi Flicker."       "Hello.  What happened?"       "Nothing major.  I banged up my knee a little yesterday and used the crash guards on my left boot.  Doc's going to give the boots a checkup, recalibrate the jump jets, and--" She turned her head to look at Doc. "Not stay up all night making minor improvements.  Right?"       Doc raised an eyebrow.  "I am most definitely going to run unit tests after the tuneup and the data updates."       "That will only take an hour or two.  And Flicker wants to talk to me anyway."       Flicker didn't understand how Doc's relationship with Jumping Spider worked, except that it did.  It was close, but they usually saw each other only a few times a month.  Jetgirl described it as 'co-conspirators with benefits.'  There had to be more than that after almost two decades, but Flicker didn't get how most more typical relationships functioned either.       "All right," said Doc.  He nodded to Flicker.  "I'll give the two of you privacy, then."       "Thank you," said Flicker.       Doc must have read her expression--or more likely her 'No personal small talk currently welcome' Database flag--and left the room without further comment.  Jumping Spider pulled the swivel arm table with a Database interface over so she could use it.       "We're secure--privacy locked," she said.  "Yes, from Doc too.  Check."       DASI was insistent on leaving up the warning flag on Flicker's visor about limiting Doc's access in his own HQ, but she confirmed the privacy lock.       "Verified," said Flicker.       "Now we can talk," said Jumping Spider.  "My knee isn't much worse than usual.  But I heard you are.  Doc says you seem determined to push a hazardous test series on short notice and you don't look happy.  Did Journeyman just turn you down or did you manage something stupider?"       Jumping Spider could be tactful.  She usually chose to be blunt with Flicker.  They weren't friends, but Flicker tried to listen to her advice, because she was right far too often to ignore.       "Both," said Flicker.  "I don't think I have a partner anymore."       "You don't think?  Want to tell me what happened?"       "No.  But I should.  I'd been pushing patrols for a while and was off duty yesterday when I got an alert that Hermes was back..."       Flicker summarized the mess of the last two days, with a pause while Jumping Spider watched the vid of the handover of Hermes at the Box.  It was even less pleasant to explain than she'd expected.  She had to bounce up to speed mind several times to maintain her composure while staying on track.  Jumping Spider said she would save any questions for later, which was just as well.       "...and after he ported out," Flicker finished, "I did memory assimilation work, then visited with Chaser until the Database told me you were available.  It's been a long day."       "It sure has," said Jumping Spider.  "The Database security AI called me for help.  It needed a human other than Doc with the right clearance level bad.  You ignored warnings, bypassed the blocks, and managed to set off a cross-domain priority conflict and a legacy conflict this afternoon.  Why settle for one crisis at a time when you can have more?"       "Um.  Those were for something that actually helped."       "A book that flaunts that it's full of traps in the dedication and you're sure it helped?"       "Well... I'm running sims."       "Yeah.  You do that."  Jumping Spider smiled sardonically.       "Why was the cross-domain priority conflict so bad, anyway?"       "Because the AI was forbidden from telling Doc about something in one domain, and required to tell him in another--and he's normally the one that resolves those conflicts.  And you were no help, because you were causing it.  So it had to call me, because I was the next person in line with clearance.  I figured I'd better drop what I was doing to deal with what you stirred up.  Doc was already on the way to get me when you sent your message about Dr. Reinhart--his flying car does come in handy sometimes.  And I have heard of her.  But I need to do some Database poking before I'm willing to make a judgement, so are you up for doing some tedious but necessary work to help me fill in a few holes?  It would make up for what I had to drop, and let me test something."       "Depends.  What kind of work?"       "Spying.  Under the direction of someone who knows what she's doing.  That's why most of it will be boring.  But it will also involve a lot of purposeful running around, which I'm guessing you could use.  You've amply demonstrated how fast you go stir-crazy.  I want to double check some clues to whatever was wrong at the Box that they didn't want you to see, and have you take a quick look in some other places.  I expect a lot of verification of negatives, or whatever is in the Database, but I have a nasty suspicious mind and suspiciously nasty things have been happening."       "...Yeah.  Okay.  It'll be slower in the dark, though."       "Oh, some parts will be in daylight."       Flicker waited a moment, and the Database projected the outline of a list that was far too long to fit on her visor display.  It started with a survey of just who was staking out the home of the magician she'd talked to at the Box, and included whole sets of vehicles and buildings associated with spy agencies and less identifiable groups.       "All right," she said, and headed out.       *****       Flicker settled into a rhythm.  Slow down, take action, verify, speed up, move on.  And consider her life, while she moved.       Human--for some value of human that was possible for her--was part of what she wanted to be.  Speed and motion were a much bigger part of who and what she already was.  Human was an illusion, an emulation.  A load bearing one.  Maybe even a necessary one, in the long term.  But she wasn't good enough yet.  If the last few days had proved anything, it was this.       She'd read various versions of a joke about how many people stopped growing up and just started faking it after about age fourteen.  Even humans sometimes had to fake being adult humans.  And that went to the essence of what she thought Journeyman had been trying to say.  For her to connect, to feel, to be the person she wanted to be, meant being socially human.  But to relate as an equal, as a full partner, as... well there weren't proper words, but to connect fully with him meant being a responsible adult.       And Flicker couldn't manage both at the same time.  Not yet.  She could fake it for a while, but push too hard?  Add the stress that came with being who she was in the world she lived in?  Her emulation broke down.  Humans used age as a proxy for responsibility, and she'd been fixated on the unfairness of that.  But all the advice, the common wisdom, assumed you were human.  And social support was centered on 'normal' human, for an extensive and arbitrary set of dimensions of normal.       But if she gave up on human, if she fully accepted that there was no one like her, that she was alien to this world of odd bipeds, she risked finding the breaking point of the fragile thread of empathy that connected her to that world.  Because they could be so foolish, so cruel to one another, so ignorant, so blind.  Doc had always been very clear about the danger in that.  And the Volunteer had spent a whole day talking her down from the edge, after her big fight with Doc, when she'd wanted to act, to treat the world like a dysfunctional terrarium that cried out for intervention to stop the evil, the oppression, the war, the starvation and brutality and shortsightedness and indifference, all the so very unnecessary pain, outside the narrow range of actions allowed for a superhero.       The most frightening part of that day had been seeing the edges of some of the Volunteer's load-bearing illusions.  The ideals that let him help the things he could, as an alien in a world of humans.  But those illusions couldn't be hers.  Because she was more alien?  She didn't know.  She did know they'd broken others who had tried.       She needed to find her own way.  While she could still care.  Because if she stopped caring, it would be way too easy for her to go over any one of several edges.       Maybe Dr. Reinhart could help Flicker find better ways to connect to humans.  But she also needed to learn more about who, and what, she already was.  The limits and idiosyncrasies of her power and being.  Doc hadn't stopped her experiments because they'd reached any firm conclusions.  He'd stopped them because they'd become too dangerous to continue on Earth.       How fast was she, really?  What new realms of sense and ability were beyond the limits she needed to maintain on Earth?  The aim of Speedtest was to find out.  It was the only thing she looked forward to now that was truly hers.  It was past time.       *****       More than an hour and numerous additions to the list later, Flicker was finally done.  She'd spent a lot of the extra time following up discrepancies in Italy.  There was a messy but still relatively quiet political crisis going on there, triggered by some combination of Hermes' rampage in Rome, the identity and contacts of the now dead magician who had summoned him, recriminations over the botched response that had resulted in his death, and a long-simmering conflict over the reasons that Italy didn't currently have any resident superheroes.       She'd taken a brief moment to ghost over to the shop in Florence where she'd gotten takeout gelato with Journeyman to celebrate first becoming partners.  It was still closed in the first hint of dawn light.       Sentimental human indulgence.  Was there a point?  Maybe there would be again, someday, a time when it would mean more than something she'd thought she'd lost, but never really had.  But for now, it was closure.  Acceptance.       She headed back to Doc's HQ and decided against speeding up.  Speedtest would be soon enough, and there was no point in leaving a bright plasma trail that could set off alarms for satellite watchers who might wonder why she was hurrying across the Atlantic at night.       *****       "I recommend that you agree to Dr. Reinhart's conditions," said Jumping Spider.  She sipped from her coffee cup and eyed the Database display in front of her with mild disapproval.  "She's right about the amount of inconvenience adjusting her work around advising you will be."       "You think she's safe?" asked Flicker.       "Heh.  No.  I think she's followed consistent goals, and she's functional, competent, as expert as you're going to get, skilled at error recovery, and very smart.  Smart enough to understand just how vital and risky giving you psych advice will be.  But don't try spying on her.  She didn't think much of your failure to consider the consequences of stalking Journeyman."       Flicker frowned.  "How do you know that?"       "I talked to her while you were gone."       Jumping Spider paused, waiting to see if Flicker would ask a question.  She sped up.  Her human emotion emulator indicated her nominal reaction would be anger or irritation.  Human emotions weren't serving her very well lately, so she ignored it.  It would be a drop in the bucket compared to everything else, anyway.       DASI?  Anything security relevant that I need to know about Jumping Spider contacting Dr. Reinhart?       No.       Well, that was unambiguous.  She'd asked Jumping Spider for her professional assessment as an intelligence expert, and it was clear she was testing Flicker's self-control, too.  She slowed back down.       "Go on."       "It was an illuminating conversation.  She referenced some of my more subtle tradecraft tricks like an academic being careful about citation footnotes.  If you focus on her advice rather than trying to emulate her, respect boundaries, and maintain a healthy level of skepticism about untested theory, I think her aid will help you.  Once she's ready to meet--it will be at least a week."       "Good to know.  Thank you.  Was the information I verified for you helpful?"       "I don't know yet for most of it.  But your performance was technically adequate while under direct supervision."       Jumping Spider had no qualms about hammering at a point or reminder until she was sure it got through--in this case that Flicker was still bad at the judgement part of spying, however technically skilled she might be.       Flicker nodded.  "Any other suggestions or comments?"       "Do you want my assessment of what happened to Journeyman?  It's speculative, and you may find it upsetting."       "I don't ask for your opinions because I think I'll like them."       A snorted laugh.  "Okay.  I think Hermes' arrival was part of an op, and was deliberately timed to coincide with whatever Journeyman did just before exfiltrating.  I also think we're unlikely to ever get enough evidence to prove that.  From an operations viewpoint, I think Journeyman got entangled and dragooned into something far more dangerous than he'd ever voluntarily agree to, but all sides--and I definitely think there were more than two--in the conflict that might have wanted him dead knew he had your backup, and that's why he lived.  Tell me.  If demons had killed him in some dimension you could get to, what would have been your first impulse?"       "Burn it to the ground, then burn the ground," said Flicker.       "That's the sort of thing Oracles and Seers pick up on.  But since he came back alive, you're much less inclined to do anything disproportionate, right?  Because attribution is much tougher, even if an attack is aimed at you or Doc.  And there will be probably be completely uninvolved people living in the same place even if you do know who is responsible."       "...Yes."       "That's also the sort of thing Oracles and Seers pick up on.  I also think that whoever Journeyman believes is your mother is part of one of the sides, and that an opposition tactic that he fears is a framing attempt to deflect any retaliation onto her.  And he got dragged deep into the wilderness of mirrors, no longer fully trusts his own judgement, and didn't want to drag you there, too.  I'll give him credit for that."       Flicker sped up to consult the Database.  'Wilderness of mirrors' was an intelligence term for living in a state of perpetual uncertainty about a messy mix of hard to attribute hostile action and coincidence.  Just the sort of thing she hated.       "Great.  So, was he being deceptive about--No. There's no point it getting angry about any of it again until I can talk to Dr. Reinhart."       "You're learning.  And you stopped Hermes without killing him or anyone else, Journeyman got back alive, you didn't lose it when he disengaged--which was inevitable--and it's much harder to attack someone who's in a different dimension.  And you know who is at home in the wilderness of mirrors?"       "You?"       "Dr. Reinhart.  I do all right, but I suspect you'll get along better with her."       "Okay.  Thank you for your assessment.  Do you think I should delay Speedtest because of Journeyman's warning?"       "Because of his warning?  Are willing to put it off indefinitely?"       "No."       "Then no, because he didn't tell you anything actionable.  But whether it's a good idea at all is not my call.  Talk to Doc."       "I will," said Flicker.  "Jumping Spider?"       "Yes?"       "This was... less unpleasant than talking to you usually is."       She smiled.  "Don't worry.  I'll make it up to you next time."       Flicker shook her head, but felt her mouth want to twitch in response.  Human wasn't something you could just turn on and off...       She headed out to find Doc.

Next: Part 9

[winterisakiller]

Imperfect Tense - Part Two

Title: Imperfect Tense

One Shot:  2/3

Character: Tom Hiddleston/OFC

Genre: Angst

Rating: M

Summary: Secrets are powerful things. They shape who we are and how we interact with others and with the world. Tom assumed his secret was safe and his life would remain as it ever was. He was wrong.

Authors Notes/Warnings: This was written for @mrs-captain-evans writing challenge. My prompt was the line: “what did I do wrong?”. This was supposed to be a much shorter piece but alas it sort of ran away with me. Much like Brave Face this story deals with the concept of cheating. Apparently I wasn’t done with this idea just yet. Thanks, again, to @redfoxwritesstuff who not only encouraged this but was a fantastic support throughout its writing.

Tag List: @tinchentitri @noplacelikehome77 @theheartofpenelope @nonsensicalobsessions @blacksuitofdoom @messy-insomniac-bookgirl @lettalady

Previous Part

Tom spent the next week in constant state of subterranean fear. He’d informed Luke of his initial result and knew that his publicist was just as anxiously awaiting the remaining as well. Tom had allowed himself to go through the motions; to smile and act as if nothing whatsoever was wrong, but he was a jumbled mess on the inside. Each time his phone rang he fought the urge to jump several feet in the air, as his heart pounded in his chest. If anyone noticed his anxiousness, and Tom was certain they had (how could they not?), no one had said a word. They smiled and laughed with him. And so he kept on keeping on for lack of anything else to do.

 It was midafternoon on the seventh day when the clinic finally called with his remaining results. Tom had excused himself from set, grateful that it was not his scenes they were currently filming, and ducked into a quieter area of the studio. The call had been brief and the woman he’d spoken to had been warm but professional; they’d all come back negative. All but one. And his heart had frozen in his chest at that. Chlamydia. It was treatable, the woman from the clinic had assured. And easily so. He would need to be started on a course of Doxycycline twice a day for seven days and would need to continue to abstain from sexual activity until the course of antibiotics was completed. Simple and easy. He mumbled what he’d hoped was understanding and agreed to pick up his antibiotic as soon as possible.

 Tom stood staring at his phone for several minutes after the call had ended; nausea and fear rushing over him in revolving waves. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Theoretically, he knew that of all the damned things he could have ended up with he’d gotten lucky, so fucking lucky, getting something that was easily treated. In the scheme of things, this wasn’t anything like the end of the world. But that did little to quell his panic. He’d been so fucking bloody stupid. And Molly…God, Molly would be there in a few days’ time…How could he ever hope to explain…?

 “Hey Tom,” A quiet female voice cut through the silence of the room. His head automatically shot up, catching sight of one of the PA’s, clipboard in hand as she rounded the corner. “Sorry to interrupt but we need you back on set.”

 He nodded his assent. “Be right there.”

  Once she’d rounded the corner once more, Tom fired off a quick text to Luke asking him to arrange to have his prescription picked up and brought to back to his room. Not bothering to wait for a response, he quickly pocketed the phone and headed back towards set, trying to steel his mind to the task at hand. There were still several hours left and he needed to focus.

 When Tom finally made it back to his room in the late evening, all he wanted to do was sleep. Between the early set calls and the constant stress he’d been under, Tom had been left feeling beyond drained. He scrubbed his hand over his face and dropped wallet and phone onto the night stand next to his bed. Sitting next to the room phone on the far bedside table was a white bag. Puzzlement crossed his features before understanding dawned.

 He pushed himself back to his feet and padded towards the mini-fridge and grabbed a bottle of water. Opening the bottle, he made his way back towards the bed, grabbing the bag and pulling out the package of antibiotics. A quick read of the pharmacist instructions and two swallowed capsules later, Tom dropped his head back onto the pillow and let out a soft sigh. He was wide awake now and somehow doubted sleep would come anytime soon. But he had to try.

  Molly’s flight arrived in the early afternoon two days later. Tom had been onset and had sent Luke to fetch her in his stead. He ignored the familiar stab of guilt as his eyes turned once more to the clock above the director’s chair. She would be clearing customs by now and he could clearly picture the look on her face when she saw Luke waiting for her and not Tom. He was such a fucking coward. He technically could have gotten the day off if he’d wanted. They had shot most of his scenes and, save for any needed pick-ups or reshoots, he was, for all intents and purposes, done. But the idea of facing Molly terrified him. Misdirecting the truth on the phone was one thing (as difficult as it had been to do so), but doing so face to face….That was entirely another.

 And he needed to tell her, he knew that. Especially now. But not yet…He couldn’t do it yet. She’d be tired from the flight and anxious about the red carpet the following evening (while she’d done several smaller events with him…This would be her first major outing on his arm). To throw all of this on her now would be the height of cruelty. He couldn’t ruin this for her…Or risk a scene on the carpet, because such a thing would be a disaster which would be hard to explain away…Tom cursed himself for letting that thought even cross his mind. Selfish. God, he was so fucking selfish.

 He’d gotten Luke’s text saying Molly was with him and they were heading back to the hotel at a touch after two in the afternoon just as the production had broken for lunch. Tom had taken to carrying the antibiotic with him as the hours on set were long and oftentimes unpredictable, so there would thankfully be little chance of her finding them and asking pointed questions he still wasn’t sure how to answer.

 How did one even begin to explain the cluster fuck that was his current situation? ‘Well you see, darling, I got stupidly drunk and fucked some random woman in a bathroom at a club and didn’t wear protection and now I’ve got an STD, but don’t worry it’s completely curable. And I know you’re undoubtedly cross with me but I still love you.’ That would go over just as well as a lead balloon. Letting Luke know that he would probably be wrapping up in about an hour, Tom made his way back onto set after a hastily grabbed sandwich and threw himself into work.

 The cab pulled to a stop in front of his hotel at fifteen after three and Tom made his way up to his room, making a great effort to steady his nerves and to control his face. The last thing wanted to do was scare or worry her. Not yet. He pushed the door to his room open and had barely let it close behind him when she was in his arms. He let out a grunt of surprise, the shock of her warmth against his chest, and wrapped his arms around her to steady them both.

 “God, I missed you,” she breathed into his neck.

 Tom swallowed thickly, the guilt choking him now. It took several moments before he could force the words out of his lips. “Missed you too.”

 Molly pulled back enough to take in his face and her own broke into a warm smile. Without a word, she leaned in and kissed him gently. He didn’t move to deepen the kiss and, after several moments, she pulled back to study him, puzzled. “Tom, are you alright?” Curiosity and concern burned in the depths of her eyes, making them shine a vivid, dark blue and burning the life out of him.

 He took several steps back, stepping deftly from her embrace, and shrugged. “I’m find. Just tired. It’s been a long morning.” He held his hand out to her and she took it tentatively. He squeezed her fingers in his and added, “I’m sorry I couldn’t get you today. There wasn’t any way I could get away.”

 There was a sliver of doubt in her eyes but she simply nodded. “I know. You’re here now and that’s what matters.”

 Tom nodded, “I’m here now.” Silence fell between them. “So,” he started, raising his eyes to hers, and offering what he hoped was a warm smile. “What would you like to do?”

 “Honestly, sleep,” She laughed softly.” God I would love nothing more than to just sleep. But I doubt very much that it would help me acclimate to this time zone if I did.”

 “No, probably not.” Tom answered with a small chuckle of his own. It sounded hollow to his own ears.

 “Damn.” Molly yawned, pulling her hand from his and stretching her arms above her head. “I guess that massive amounts of caffeine will have to suffice. So know any good coffee shops?”

 “I think I can find us one. Shall we?”

 They settled in a small, locally owned coffee shop not a terrible distance away from the hotel and talked pleasantly over their coffees. They talked about work, about what was happening with friends and family, and any small thing which popped into their heads. He was both grateful and terrified to have her so close. He had missed her dreadfully, god if he could have only seen her sooner then maybe none of this…He refused to let himself even finish the thought. This was in no way, shape, or form her fault. It was his. No one’s fault but his own.

 After they had finished their coffees he’d taken her on a short walk around the city. She’d gladly taken his arm and let him tell her about the small tidbits of knowledge he’d gathered from both his own wonderings and from crew and fellow cast members. The weather was fair and for that short amount of time, Tom let himself pretend that all was well between them. That he wasn’t putting off breaking her heart and the very real possibility he’d lose her forever once he did so.

 Dinner was a quick affair in the hotel restaurant. It was close, the food was decent, and Tom knew that Molly was dreadfully tired. She’d commandeered the shower not long after they’d arrived back at the room from dinner, stating that she’d planned to turn in early. While she had puttered around the rather large bathroom, Tom pulled his antibiotic bottle from the carryall he’d taken to bringing with him on set. He fished another bottle of water from the fridge and poured out two capsules into his opened palm.

 He'd just tossed the capsules into his mouth when the bathroom door opened and Molly wandered out, dark hair wrapped in a towel and dressed in a loose fitting t-shirt and jogging bottoms. He nearly choked on both water and capsules, ending up in a violent coughing fit. “Bathroom’s all yours…Tom are you alright?”

 Tom nodded, clutching his chest which felt very much like it was on fire. “Yes,” he managed to get out, voice hoarse from coughing. “Pills didn’t go down the right way.” He grimaced as he realized just what he’d said. Shit.

 Molly’s brow furrowed, “Pills?” She hurried towards the bed and before Tom could stop her she’d grabbed the bottle, staring at it. He’d scratched out all the identifying information including his name and the reason the medication was prescribed as soon as he’d gotten the bottle; there was no such thing as too careful as far as he was concerned. She flitted her eyes to him, concerned. “Why are you taking antibiotics? What’s happened?” It was truly something, watching her slip into what he’d always affectionately called ‘nurse mode’ and normally Tom found it endearing if not a bit overwhelming. Now though, now it flooded him with fear. God, why had he fucking spoken without thinking?

 He took the bottle from her and placed it onto the bed stand. He wracked his brain trying desperately to think of what to say. He knew without a doubt what he should say was the truth. Lying would only make it harder to tell her the truth. But the idea of telling her, of actually saying the words aloud terrified him. She would storm out. She would leave him. And he couldn’t let that happen. He needed her. Needed her so badly.

 “You know how I’ve been off for the past week or so?” He found himself speaking, his voice surprisingly even. “I went to a clinic because I knew something wasn’t right. They ran a few tests and turns out I had a rather nasty bout of strep throat. So they started me on antibiotics.” The lie flowed far easier than he could have imagined. And once it was out, he couldn’t take it back.

 Her brow furrowed. “Why is the label all scratched out?”

 “Privacy,” he answered, with a small shrug. The words continued to come and he hated himself for them. “It’s fairly standard here to do that. In case it gets misplaced. I thought it odd too but…”

 Molly looked anything but convinced but did not press the matter. After several minutes she pondered aloud, “I wonder why they prescribed you Doxycycline. That’s not usual…Or at least not that I’ve seen.”

 Tom shrugged, “I don’t know. I was just grateful to have a reason for why things have been so off.”

 “Why didn’t you tell me this earlier? When I asked?” The concern was back in her tone but this time laced with just the barest hint of doubt.

 He swallowed before answering. “I didn’t want you to worry. I know you’ve got so much going on right now and I was loath to add anything more on your shoulders.” Tom smiled at her softly, hoping to ease her growing concern. “But I’m fine. No harm, no foul.”

 “Tom,” she chastised, “You should have told me. Yes, work is a bit hectic, but I’m not made of glass. You can talk to me. You should have talked to me.” Molly paced around the room, standing just out of his reach. He could so easily sense her hurt at his perceived slight. Not so perceived, he thought bitterly. Pretty damned real.

 “I know. I was stupid and I’m sorry. Can you forgive me?” His forced himself to lock his eyes on hers. Please, please can you ever forgive me for what I’ve done? I need you to forgive me. Tom hated himself for thinking it, for asking for something he knew he’d not earned the right to.

 “Tom…” She took a deep breath and walked back towards him and the bed. “It’s alright. Just please talk to me. I love you and I worry, you know that.” Molly took his hand in hers, linking their fingers.

 A watery smile spread slowly across his face as he squeezed her hands in his. “I love you, too. So very, very much.” Molly settled beside him on the bed and leaned her head on his shoulder, turning to press a kiss against it. “I am sorry,” he continued, trying desperately to keep himself in check but needing her to know just how terribly sorry he really was. Even if he couldn’t tell her why. “Truly, I am.”

 “I know,” she whispered, kissing his shoulder once more. “It’s done, Tom. Now let’s try to get some sleep. It’s been a ridiculously long day and I don’t know about you but I am utterly exhausted.”

 Tom nodded and kissed her the top of her head. “Alright. To bed with you then.”

 Molly pulled herself from his grasp and climbed towards the left hand side of the bed, burrowing beneath the covers. Tom pushed himself to his feet, fighting the feeling of guilt the churned in his gut, and stumbled into the bathroom. He quickly brushed his teeth and scrubbed his face, taking a deep breath before returning to the main room. He pulled his shirt over his head and toed off his boots. Pulling a pair of pajama bottoms from the chair in the corner, he quickly changed and headed back towards the bed. He found himself hesitating as he approached, his guilt warring with the desperate need of normalcy. Molly turned over and patted the spot behind her. “Come here you.” He offered a small smile before climbing into the bed and flipping the light off behind him.

 Sleep came easier than he’d expected and he found himself waking in confusion the next morning, feeling the warm body pressed against him. Tom cracked open first one eye and then the other, Molly’s sleeping form slowing coming into focus. She was there, he hadn’t dreamt it, and for a brief moment a flood of contentment overwhelmed him. Then reality came crashing back. He fought the urge to volt himself out of the bed, it would raise more questions and concern than he could honestly handle.

 He watched her for several moments; the way her dark hair spread over the pillow beneath her, having come out of its braid sometime in the night, the way her eyelashes brushed against her cheeks, the peaceful look on her beautiful face. He didn’t deserve her. Not in the slightest. And if she knew…

 “What are you staring at so hard?” Molly’s sleep laden voice broken Tom from his thoughts. He blinked rapidly and looked down to find her warm, blue eyes staring up at him in confusion.

 “Sorry,” he murmured. “Just lost in thought. Did you sleep well?”

 She nodded and stretched her arms above her head as a large yawn rolled from her lips. “God, sorry. But yes, I slept like the dead. Nothing like jetlag, eh?” Tom laughed despite himself. “What time is it anyway?”

 Rolling to the side, Tom grabbed his watch from the bed stand. “Half eight. We’ve got about three hours until the madness descends.” Luke had sent him a text the day before confirming that his stylist (and that was still strange) and someone from hair and make-up would be coming around at about noon to get both he and Molly ready for the premiere.

 Molly quirked an eyebrow. “Three hours, eh? Plenty of time for all sorts of fun.” She leaned up and kissed him. He allowed himself to be pulled into the kiss, missing the feel of her warmth in his arms. And suddenly it was as if he’d been doused in ice water. Realization as to just why he couldn’t do this. Fuck. With reluctance he pulled back, taking in the concern was steadily growing in her eyes. “Tom what…?”

 “I just…I’m still not 100% and I don’t want to risk you getting sick because of me.” It was the truth, in none so many words, but he hated himself for speaking them. “Why…Let me take you to breakfast? Somewhere nice? After all if you’re in LA you might as well see what all the fuss is about.”

 He climbed out of bed and made a hasty retreat into the bathroom, stopping briefly to grab a change of clothing along the way. He didn’t dare look back at Molly. Once dressed, Tom made his way back into the main room to find Molly dressed as well. She didn’t utter a word as she brushed past him and into the bathroom. Shit. Shit. Shit.

 Tom hated himself for all of this and desperately wanted to her so. But he couldn’t tell her why. Not now. The stark realization made his gut clench. He couldn’t tell her. The time for that had come and gone. He’d told too many half-truths and blatant lies to have any hope of ever coming clean. The best he could hope for now was to put all of this behind him as much he was able. And then to work has hard as he could to make himself worthy of her in future.

 The elevator ride down to the lobby of the hotel was spent in silence and Tom swore he could hear the frantic beating of his heart against his chest. He’d be surprised if Molly couldn’t hear it as well. She did however let him take her hand as they made their way from the hotel and down the relatively crowded streets. The small café was about a five minute walk from the hotel and by the time they’d been seated, Molly seemed to have relaxed enough to speak with him again. They made small talk over plates of egg, bacon, and pancakes (something he’d insisted she have because they were ‘utterly divine’). She smiled as he told her how he’d stumbled across this place not too long after he’d arrived and how he’d had to make a conscious effort to avoid it most days so he wouldn’t eat his weight in delicious food on a daily basis.

 By the time they’d returned to the hotel it was nearly noon. At twelve on the dot madness did in face arrive. The next several hours were spent in a whirlwind of clothing, hairspray, pins, and makeup. His suit had taken little time to fit and his make-up and hair even less but having these people on hand for Molly (who had always dressed herself and done her own makeup and hair for those few events she’d attended with him) was something he’d desperately wanted.

 She was a vision in a deep blue off the shoulder dress than hung just past her knees. It clung to her curves and enhanced her eyes in the most striking fashion. Her hair was piled effortlessly atop her head and her makeup was subtle but stunning. She looked gorgeous and Tom couldn’t seem to take his eyes off her. “You look utterly enchanting,” he told her with complete and transparent honesty.

 Molly smiled softly back at him. “Thank you. I feel…This is so…Odd. Brilliant, but odd.” She twirled slowly before the mirror, smiling softly to herself as she did so.

 Tom nodded in understanding. His phone chimed in his pocket, he pulled it out to find the car hired to take them to the theater had arrived. He shoved it back into his pocket and held his hand out to Molly. “Our chariot awaits. Shall we, my love?”

 She nodded, taking his hand and allowing him to lead her from the room and down to the lobby and the waiting car.

  The crowd outside the theater was far larger than Tom had expected. It was nothing like he’d ever experienced and it was nearly overwhelming. He could feel Molly’s tight grip on his hand as they climbed from the hire car and slowly made their way down the carpet. Luke flitted around beside them, causally directing Tom where to go and who to talk to. The flashes were blinding and the noise was overwhelming. Tom spoke graciously with reporter after reporter, laughing at their jokes and sharing small tidbits about filming with them. He’d proudly called Molly his girlfriend when asked but did not reveal more detail than was needed. And she stood beside him, smiling and leaning against him.

 Once they’d made their way inside, Molly and Tom were ushered into the theater and to their seats. The lights dimmed and the film began. Molly gushed at how much she’d enjoyed the film on their way towards the after party; going on about the script and Tom’s acting and her favorite scenes. She’d clearly been having the time of her life and Tom couldn’t have be happier for it, for her. They’d drank and danced and generally had a wonderful night of it, stumbling back towards the hotel in the early hours.

 The next morning dawned far too early for either of their likings. Molly’s flight was scheduled for early in the afternoon and they’d reluctantly set alarms accordingly. Neither had drunk to access the night, and well into the early morning, before but weren’t quite in fighting shape either. Molly had unpacked little upon her arrival which made life infinitely easier. Still it was a scramble to get the last minute bits and bobs squared away. Tom had given her one of his sweater jackets for the flight home. She’d accepted it gratefully and climbed into the waiting taxi. He’d quickly kissed her goodbye and assured her that he’d be home within the next week. Two at the most.

 He’d thrown himself into finishing up his commitments, wanting to be done with LA and the mess he’d made there. Molly had been set to text him when she’d landed so when that time had come and gone without a word, a sinking sense of dread filled him. He told himself it was nothing, she’d most likely been tired and had been set on getting herself home and settled. She would call after, he had to believe that.

 When his phone rang early the following morning he’d felt his heart lighten at sight of her name on the screen. “You’ve made it home then. I was worried.”

 “Tom,” Molly began. “I need you to tell me the truth.”

 He felt his heart stutter in his chest. “Mols, what…What’s going on?”

 “I found something in your pocket. In the jumper you gave me.” His heart thudded in his chest and the blood rushed in his ears. Something was wrong. Very, very wrong. “Tom who is Heather?” Molly asked. Her voice was strangely even and it took everything he had to keep from dropping the phone.

 “What?” He managed to choke out.

 “Her name and number were in your pocket. On a cocktail napkin.” Molly’s words were cool, even. “Tom, I need you to explain this to me.”

 Panic flooded through him. Oh god, how could he have left that stupid napkin in his fucking pocket? He hadn’t thought about it since she’d placed it into his hand that night. Hadn’t spared a thought for what he’d done with it. How the bloody hell could he have kept it? And then fucking given it to Molly? “It’s nothing, I promise you. I honestly had no idea that was even in there. I must have been given it by a fan sometime and hadn’t had a chance to give it to Luke to throw away. I would never…” The lies spilled from his lips rapidly though his voice was surprisingly even and calm, despite the chaos rampaging through him. “You know me, Molly.” Liar. Liar! You bloody fucking coward of a liar!

 There was hesitation on her end and it was several moments before she spoke again. “I just…with the way you’d been acting and then the prescription and now the number…I was so scared that you…”

 “Molly…” He started, fighting to keep his voice even.

 “But I know you, Tom. And I know you’d never…I just…I saw it and I panicked. I’m sorry. God, I don’t know what’s wrong with me.” Her voice was trembling and he knew she was close to tears. The guilt was overwhelming but still…

 “You’ve done two transatlantic flights in a short amount of time. That’s bound to make anyone on edge. You are alright, Molly. It’s okay. I love you.” He was the worst sort of person. A liar and a bloody coward. But he couldn’t…Not now…He couldn’t tell her now. “I’ll be home soon and we’ll be back on our feet soon enough. I’ve got a small bit of time off and we’ll do something…We’ll do something, just you and I.”

 Molly laughed softly and he could hear the tears in her voice as she spoke. “That honestly sounds wonderful, Tom.”

  They’d spent a weekend in Paris upon his return home. They’d spoken often of wanting to go but never seeming to have the time. He’d surprised her with the Eurostar tickets and booking information for a lovely bed and breakfast not far from the city center as soon as he’d walked in the door. She’d laughed then and pulled him tightly into her arms, kissing him soundly. They’d spent their time there wandering the city by day; visiting museums and restaurants, taking in all Paris had to offer, and then reacquainting themselves with each other by night. He’d been attentive and wonderful and so much as he had been in those first few days of their relationship; when everything was bright and new and full of endless potential.

 He’d made it a point from then on to make the effort to come to her as often as he could while away and, if that wasn’t feasible, to bring her to him whenever possible. There were stumbling and false starts along the way, but they seemed to eventually get find the balance they’d needed to make things work between them. And it was just as well since his career began to skyrocket in ways neither he nor Molly had dreamed. She’d been with him every stop along the way, proudly standing beside him; still nervous and unsure but there holding his hand and ever beaming with pride in him and all he was becoming.

 Molly had been with him when he’d purchased his home in London six months later; a lovely three story terraced house nestled near a large park in a grand neighborhood. Tom had insisted she come with him as it would be her home just as much as his and he needed her to be comfortable and happy with his choice. With their choice.

 Within four months of moving in, Tom had proposed. It had been a small and simple affair (she had never been one for grand gestures); he’d taken the day to prepare a lovely meal and decorated the lower level of the house with dozens upon dozens of candles. The ring securely stored in his trouser pocket, he’d greeted her at the door and led her into the flickering light of the dining room.

 She’d watched him with surprised and uncertain eyes as he led her to the table and poured her a glass of wine. “To what do I owe this surprise?” She’d managed to ask after settling her nerves with a restorative sip.

 Tom smiled at her then, eyes warm and full of love, “Can’t I just spoil you?”

 Molly quirked her eyebrow and shot him a knowing look but said nothing, only smiling in return. They ate their meal, peppering the moments between bites with conversation. He was nearly vibrating out of his chair by the time they were ready for coffee and dessert and he knew she could sense it. He could feel her eyes on him as he disappeared into the kitchen and returned carrying a tray laden with coffee press, mugs, and cake. He made quick work of serving both cake and coffee but did not return to his seat at the table.

 She raised her eyes to his, her voice catching in her throat as she whispered his name in confusion. “Tom?”

 Taking a deep breath, he lowered himself to one knee. Molly’s sudden intake of breath echoed above him. He took a moment to compose himself before raising his head and looking her directly in her shining face. “Molly, you are without a shadow of a doubt the most amazing, wonderful thing that has ever happened to me. I will never understand just how I ever became lucky enough to have you in my life.” He felt his throat tighten with emotion, forcing him to pause long enough to try to clear it enough to continue. “You are not only my rock but the cord that tethers me to myself. You are everything I have ever wanted. Everything I have ever needed. And everything I never dreamed I could have. I will spend every single remaining day of my life doing my utmost best to be worthy of the love you’ve shown me. I will never, ever take you for granted and I will love you with all that I am.” Tears were stinging his eyes as he spoke, holding the velvet box out towards her. “Will you do me the extraordinary honor of being my wife?”

 Molly smiled and nodded, tears flowing steadily from her eyes as she extended her left hand to him. Tears shining in his own, Tom opened the box reveling the beautiful sapphire ring he’d spent months searching for nestled within. He took her shaking hand in his and with slow and deliberate care slipped the ring onto her finger. Laughing, she pulled him against her and kissed him deeply.

 Tom pulled back, tears trailing down his cheeks and locked his eyes with hers. “Thank you,” he whispered before pulling her against him once more and burying his face in her abdomen. “Thank you.”

  The announcement was released in the Times a few days later, shortly after both had broken the news to their respective families. Tom’s sisters had shrieked loud enough frighten all the dogs in the greater London area and Molly’s mother had broken into tears (“Happy tears my love,” she’d assured her. “He’s a truly wonderful lad and I’m so very, very happy for you both”) which had sent Molly into them as well.

 Wedding planning had taken up more of her time that Molly had expected. What had seemed like a simple affair with close friends and family was rapidly becoming anything but. And the stress of it was starting to take its toll. Exhaustion and bouts of nausea had taken turns disrupting her life Between the wedding and the ever changing shifts she’d been forced to adopt, Molly wasn’t sure she would make it the six months until the wedding.

 Tom had done all he could to help; spending as much time as he could on the phone with caterers and florists while juggling script readings and auditions. He’d done everything in his power to help shoulder the burden he knew the wedding prep had placed on his fiancée’s shoulders. But when promotional duty called and Tom was pulled back into the fray his professional life had become, it was with a weary reluctance Molly let him go.

 “This is going to be the death of me,” She whined as Tom dropped his suitcase by the door.

 He offered her a warm smile. “I don’t care where it happens, my love. All I care about is that it happens. We can simply go to the registrar’s office and call it a day.” He laughed when she wrinkled her nose at that. “Or we can go all out. That is not the important thing for me. I just want to be able to call you my wife.”

 Tears streamed down Molly’s cheeks and she worked to quickly wipe them away while swatting absently at him. “God, Tom. Why are you so bloody perfect? It’s exhausting.” She laughed softly. “I’m going to miss you.”

 He leaned in and kissed her soundly, hands moving to tangle in her dark hair. “I’m going to miss you desperately as well. But I will be back as soon as I can, Luke and everything be damned.”

 She laughed against his lips. “Can I be a fly on the wall when you tell him that?”

 Tom laughed in earnest and pulled her tightly against him, burying his face in her hair. “I really wish I didn’t have to go.”

 “Me too. But duty calls.” Molly took a deep breath and pulled reluctantly back, squeezing his shoulders. “Go on, you’ve got reporters to charm and fans to dazzle. Just don’t you go forgetting about me.”

 Tom shook his head vigorously. “Never happen.”

 Outside the honk of a car horn echoed. Molly brushed tears away with the back of her hand. “Looks like your ride is here.” She smiled warmly. “Take care, Tom. I love you.”

 He leaned in and kissed her soundly once more. “I love you too. Be home as soon as I can.”

 Tom reluctantly pulled away as the car horn sounded again. He kissed her forehead and strode with purpose to the door, grabbed his suitcase, and headed out to the waiting car.

  “It’s true then, isn’t it?” Molly’s voice was quiet, even, and it brought Tom crashing back into the present. His eyes locked on hers in silent panic; her question had knocked him completely off his guard.  He watched her then; the solid set of her shoulders, the stillness of her body speaking volumes of just how much his lies and silence had cost him.

 “Wha…? No! NO!” The words tumbled from his lips, the denial almost reflexive. But it was too late and he’d known it.

 Molly shook her head. “Tom, you look as though you’ve seen a ghost…So please don’t…Don’t lie to me.” Her blue eyes rose to lock with his, daring him to deny it. To deny what they both knew was true.

 “Mols, please…You know me…You know I would never…” The ease in which the lies poured from his lips sickened him. But he hadn’t been thinking; panic driving his words, his actions. He couldn’t lose her. Not now. But it was no use and he’d known it. Molly knew the truth, knew what he had done, and nothing he could say or do now would be able to change it.  

 “No, Tom, I don’t.” There was a sadness to her voice that nearly shattered his heart. “Not anymore…A week ago, I would have never, ever believed you would do this…But now…” her voice trailed off and she swallowed thickly before raising her gaze to his once again. With a slow and deliberate care, she twisted the ring, his ring, from her finger. “Take the test, Tom. Sort out your life.”

 She offered him a soft smile that didn’t quite reach her eyes before pushing herself to her feet and placing the still warm ring into his hand. She took a deep breath and, gathering her suitcases, walked quietly out of the front door.

 The door closed behind her with definite click that Tom felt in his bones. She was gone. He couldn’t process it, couldn’t allow himself to accept it.

 He wasn’t sure how long he stood in the center of the living room, staring with a waning hope at the closed front door. Molly was gone. He’d been stupid and selfish and now it had all come back on him ten-fold. His eyes burned but the tears he knew were there refused to come. He took a shuddering breath and rubbed his hand over his mouth, trying to calm his racing thoughts and his thudding heart. He needed to change, needed to call Luke. Needed to do something other than simply stand there and watch his life crash and burn.

 Tom climbed the stairs slowly, his mind set on showering, hoping that the hot water would help him gather his thoughts. Help him figure out what the fuck he was going to do. The bedroom door was ajar and the room within unnaturally quiet and dark. He flipped on the light switch and stood staring at the chaos before him; the closet and dresser drawers pulled open, their contents having been quickly removed, the bedding crumpled. Molly had been a stickler about making the bed and making sure the room was tidy. She’d told him off more than once for the mess he’d always seemed to make of their room, and wouldn’t let him rest until he’d set it right. Seeing the room now in such disarray was jarring.

 He took a deep breath and shook his head to clear his thoughts, wandering from the bedroom into the ensuite bathroom, pulling his shirt over his head. He froze mid movement, his shirt slipping from his hands and onto the floor, as his eyes landed on a small piece of elongated plastic laying on the counter beside a soft yellow envelope. His blood pounded in his ears as he took two shaky steps to the counter, his fingers clumsily picking both items up.

 Wordlessly, he turned the test over in his hands. Its display screen read ‘PREGNANT’ in bold, black letters. He blinked in confusion, hands shaking harder. He wasn’t conscious of moving back into the bedroom, of falling unceremoniously onto the bed. He dropped the test beside him on the light blue coverlet and turned his attention back towards the yellow envelope. It took several tries to break the seal. And when he did he slowly pulled the card inside out, staring at it in stunned disbelief. The bright green, handwritten lettering across its front seemed to taunt him. ‘Congratulations, Daddy! We’re going to have a baby!’

 A strangled sob fell from Tom’s lips as the card tumbled from his numb fingers and onto the floor.

Next Part

[whumphoarder]

Grand Entrance

Prompt/Summary: "Would you ever write something in which Peter gets carsick with Tony taking care of him?"

Or, in which Tony and Peter attend a science expo just north of the border and Peter vomits his way into Canada.

Word count: 1,869

Genre: Sickfic, whump, hurt/comfort

A/N: Shout outs to @sallyidss for beta reading and being ever so helpfully Canadian, and to @xxx-cat-xxx for all your edits and ideas!

Link to read on Ao3

“I still can’t believe I’m going to be in a room with Søren Thygesen,” Peter says in awe. He’s scrolling through the conference workshop list on Tony’s Starkpad. “Do you think since you’re a speaker too, we can get backstage and meet him? Will he sign my textbook?”

Tony scoffs as he shifts gears on the Audi to overtake a slow-moving semi truck. Peter grins—he loves the rush of the 532 horsepower V10 engine lurching forward. “You have to be the only teenager in this country excited to see a three-hour lecture by an eighty-two-year-old Danish astrophysicist,” Tony remarks.

“A world-renowned Danish astrophysicist,” Peter corrects, looking up from the tablet. “Plus, he’s like the god of clean energy!” At Tony’s raised eyebrows, he quickly throws in, “Well, besides you, of course.”

Tony rolls his eyes. “Don’t worry kid, I’m not feeling threatened by your Scandinavian grandfather.”

“He’s just so awesome,” Peter gushes. “If anyone is going to figure out how to get humans on Mars, it’s Thygesen.” He lets out a long sigh. “I really want to go to the Q&A panel on Saturday, but I don’t know what questions I would even ask.”

“You know you don’t actually have to ask a question to go to a panel, right?” Tony points out for the second time that day. “You can just sit and listen.”

“I know,” Peter groans, “but I don’t wanna waste what might be my only opportunity to ever speak to him.”

Tony snorts. “That’s a good point—he is eighty-two. Probably doesn’t have a lot of science expos left in him.”

Peter whips his head around to throw his mentor a horrified look. “Mr. Stark!” he gasps.

“I’m just saying ...” Tony chuckles. “Toronto isn’t exactly a stone’s throw from Denmark.”

“He can’t die,” Peter says firmly. “He’s Søren Thygesen.”

“What is he, the new Chuck Norris?”

Peter’s brow furrows in confusion. “Who?”

“Never mind. God, you’re young...” his mentor mutters. Tony shifts over to the right lane to take the next exit. “Alright, alright, what about asking him something related to his biosphere project?” he suggests. “Or the new Mars Land Rover design, now that Oppy’s kicked the bucket?”

Peter sticks his lip out in a pout. “Too soon, Mr. Stark...” he complains.

X

After a brief stop for gas, they pull back onto the highway and Peter spends the next half hour pouring over the tablet, looking up every article he can find related to Thygesen’s Mars exploration research. Most of the journals are written in abstract, theoretical language, but Peter has always been a good reader and he can usually get the gist. Whenever he comes across a term or concept he’s unfamiliar with, he reads the paragraph aloud and Tony helps him work out the meaning.

Peter just forgot one little fact.

He can’t fucking read in the car.

The nausea doesn’t come all at once. It creeps up on Peter—slowly, gradually—until he has no choice but to pay attention. By the time he realizes he’s not feeling well, his stomach is already churning inside of him and a headache is pounding in his temples, leaving him feeling as though his forehead has been stretched too tightly around his skull.

He abandons the Starkpad, shifting his gaze to look out the window and doing his best to take deep, even breaths. Tony flips his blinker on and speeds up to pass another truck. The lurch of the engine is the same, but this time Peter’s expression is more of a grimace.

“Um… Mr. Stark?” he mumbles. “Are we almost there?”

“About ten more miles to the border, and then another eighty or so to the conference center,” Tony replies. “Don’t worry, you’ll see your elderly man crush soon enough.”

“Oh.” Peter swallows hard in an effort to push the queasiness back down. “Like, how many minutes is that?”

“Minutes are not a measure of distance, kid,” Tony retorts.

Peter groans and rolls his eyes, then immediately regrets it as his stomach rolls as well. He quickly locks his gaze back on the horizon. Between carefully measured breaths, he mutters, “I was just wondering if we’re going to stop soon.”

Tony frowns at him. “I asked you twice if you needed the bathroom at the gas station, and you said no. It’s been less than an hour and now you need to go?”

Peter feels his cheeks flush slightly. “Never mind, I’m fine,” he mutters. “Just wanted to stretch my legs, but I can wait.”

“Damn right,” Tony scoffs. Keeping one hand on the steering wheel, he fishes around on the car’s floor with the other for an empty plastic Gatorade bottle and tosses it onto Peter’s lap. “If you have to pee, use this. I’m not stopping because you suddenly remembered you have a bladder.”

“Ha, ha. Very funny,” Peter huffs. He shoves the empty bottle back in the cup holder before twisting in his seat to press his cheek to the cool glass of the window. “I’m fine, Mr. Stark.”

X

Fifteen minutes later, Peter is no longer fine.

“Got your passport ready?” Tony checks as the car rolls to a stop behind a silver SUV.

Peter nods, his lips pressed into a thin line. That’s not entirely accurate—the passport is actually in the front pocket of his backpack, which is currently sitting on the floor beside his feet—but he doesn’t feel quite up to bending down to get it at the moment. Beads of cold sweat are dripping down the back of his neck and it’s all Peter can do to keep his stomach in place as they inch their way towards the border crossing.

“I’m thinking we’ll stop for dinner somewhere around the Falls,” Tony goes on. “Have you ever had poutine?”

Peter chances opening his mouth just long enough to breathe out a quick, “Um, don’t think so.”

Tony hums as he follows the SUV forward another couple meters before braking again. “Gotta admit, I was skeptical the first time Rhodey made me try it, but it’s not nearly as gross as it looks. You’d think it would be soggy, what with the gravy soaking into the fries and the cheese curds sort of half melting, but—”

“Yeah, sounds great,” Peter cuts his mentor off. Saliva’s been pooling in his mouth for the past five minutes, but it’s definitely not from the prospect of eating traditional Canadian food. He swallows hard and breathes carefully through his mouth.

A red minivan ahead of them clears the security checkpoint and each vehicle in their lane rolls another car’s length forward.

“Butter tart isn’t bad either,” Tony remarks, braking again. “And Montreal bagels put New York ones to shame. But if you breathe a word of that to anyone, I’ll deny it.”

With a small grunt of acknowledgment, Peter squeezes his eyes closed, silently praying the man will just shut up.

The border patrol officer waves the next car through.

“Alright, passport time,” Tony announces while the SUV ahead of them moves into the inspection zone. He holds one hand out expectantly over the kid’s lap. “Hit me.”

“It’s in my backpack,” Peter mumbles without making a move for it. His ears are ringing and he’s actually dizzy now. For a brief moment, he wonders if it’s possible to pass out from motion sickness. If only he could be so lucky.

Tony frowns, retrieving his own passport from behind the sun visor. “Well, hurry up. We’re next.”

“Right, right…” Carefully—ever so carefully—Peter bends forward to unzip the backpack. He fishes out the passport, but just as he starts to sit back up, the SUV drives off and the border patrol agent waves Tony forward.

Peter’s stomach lurches along with the car’s movement and he burps, tasting the pickles and ketchup from the hamburger he’d had for lunch. Bile is rising in the back of his throat and instantly Peter knows he has mere seconds to prevent a tragedy. His eyes dart around desperately for a cup, a plastic bag, a tissue box, anything. But there’s nothing. Absolutely nothing.

In pure desperation, he does the only thing he can think of to save Tony’s custom leather interior.

The moment the Audi rolls to a stop at the checkpoint, Peter yanks the collar of his hoodie up over his mouth and pukes all down the inside.

At the sound of the kid’s gag, Tony whips his head around. “Jesus, kid!” he swears in surprise.

Standing just outside, the border patrol agent—a gangly red-haired kid who looks to be fresh out of high school—is staring wide-eyed at the gasping teenager in the passenger seat.

Tony blinks at Peter, his expression morphing as the initial shock is replaced with concern. “Are... Are you okay?”

Peter gives a small nod and blushes, trying not to move any more than necessary. Inside his hoodie, hot, gross vomit is running all down his front, soaking through his t-shirt. “Yeah, sorry,” he rasps out. “Just… got kinda carsick.”

Tony blinks again. With barely concealed disgust, he reaches over and starts trying to wiggle the passport out from the kid’s grip, but the officer intervenes.

“Uh, it’s fine. You can just pull on through,” the redhead instructs, still staring at Peter as he waves the car forward. “There’s, uh, there’s a rest stop not too far from here.”

Peter flashes the other boy a grateful thumbs up as he pulls the sweatshirt back up over his face and heaves again.

X

When Peter emerges from the rest stop bathroom, he’s wearing a completely new set of clothes and carrying a knotted plastic Pharmasave bag containing his vomit-soaked hoodie and jeans. In the other hand, he’s clutching the remaining quarter of a package of baby wipes.

Tony is standing in the parking lot beside the car, his arms crossed casually over his chest and a mildly amused look on his face. “Feeling better now?”

Peter gives a half-hearted shrug and deposits the bag and baby wipes in the backseat. Tony passes him the bottle of PC lemon-lime soda he just purchased from the vending machine.

“I’ll rephrase,” Tony tries again. “Feeling better enough to get back in the car? We’re about seventy minutes out from the hotel.”

“Minutes are not a measure of distance, Mr. Stark,” Peter deadpans.

Tony rolls his eyes. “Just answer the question.”

Peter hesitates, opening the soda to take a cautious sip. He’s feeling less sick now that he’s on solid ground and his stomach is blissfully empty, but the thought of getting back in the car still makes him queasy. “Um, maybe in another five minutes?” he mumbles. “If that’s alright…?”

“Sure,” Tony agrees easily. “We can go take a walk by the Falls or something. Maybe pick you up some Dramamine.” His brow furrows in thought. “Although that might knock you out, and your buddy is giving the keynote tonight.”

“I’ll be okay,” Peter assures. “Just need a few minutes.”

Tony huffs out a quick laugh. “Yeah, can’t risk missing Thygesen. Even if you just vomited your way into Canada.”

In spite of everything, Peter grins. “May always said I liked a grand entrance.”

Click here for chapter 2!

A/N: Additional shoutout to @awesomesockes for for helping to invent the exceedingly awesome character of Søren Thygesen, for whom we now hold so many dumb irrelevant headcanons (such as that he holds the Guinness world record for the longest nose hair and can play the didgeridoo).

Fic Masterlist

[flordidian]

Which Anne is more like the book: Sullivan vs. AWAE?

I think this one is much harder than Gilbert. While the differences between the Gilberts is a product of the changes made in the writing, the differences between Follows’ and McNulty’s portrayal of Anne mostly come down to their own interpretation of the book. However, I will make the attempt to distinguish them anyways.

Here goes:

Sullivan Productions Anne

Differences

1. Immaturity

Now, in Anne of Green Gables the books and miniseries, Anne is characterized as immature. But, in Anne of Avonlea the book, Anne is nearing adulthood and acts like it. She is by no means completely mature, but she rarely “loses it” or whines. In fact, she also stops talking all the time. In the miniseries, this is not so. In Anne of Avonlea, Anne is as stubborn and immature as always. Sullivan gives Anne another character’s lines for Anne of Windy Poplars as Anne and Diana talk before Diana’s wedding day which do not reflect her impending adulthood. 

The Anne of the miniseries is a bit more immature and naive than the Anne of the book. I get the impression Sullivan enjoyed Anne’s temper and was sore to be rid of it. Unfortunately, Anne is not allowed to grow up in the miniseries and acts not much different than she did at the end of their first movie.

2. Into an older man

Okay, I know a lot of people thought Morgan Harris was handsome, but to me, he was just old. In the book, the two men Anne shows romantic interest in are Royal Gardner and Gilbert. Both are barely older than her and considered super handsome. Royal is also rich and romantic while Gilbert is funny and smart. Meanwhile Morgan is...well...old. Sure he has some money and I guess he likes Anne, but he has a child and a know-it-all attitude.

Maybe this is splitting hairs, but I think Follows’ Anne is different in that her view of an ideal man is different. In the book, Anne is all hooked on romance; she wants to live as the heroines in her favorite novels do. Meanwhile, the Anne in Anne of Avonlea, the miniseries, is attracted to a man who is rich and old. Instead of having lofty standards for herself, Anne in the miniseries is satisfied marrying whoever happens to come along who is not dreadful. Perhaps this shows a lower sense of pride too.

3. Looking for Gilbert WWI

The whole plot of the Continuing Story bugged me. Why would Anne go to Europe to force her husband against his will to not serve his country? I can find no sense in it. The Anne of the book does not always agree with Gilbert, by they are equal partners. If she knew he felt strongly about something, she would change his mind or accept it, not go gallivanting across a war zone. Instead, Sullivan could have had Anne working as a nurse during WWI and saving lives. And/or using her storytelling skills to raise morale.

The Anne Blythe of the Continuing Story is a far cry from the Anne Blythe of the book. The Anne of the miniseries in the third movie has a much different relationship with Gilbert and thinks far more of herself. 

Similarities

1. Romantic

Anne in all three miniseries movies I have watched is true to the book in her romantic nature. The Anne of the books lives in her own idealistic world which is captured well in Sullivan’s version with Anne’s monologues, writing, and behavior around kids. She appreciates nature and sees the good in everything.

2. Stubborn

Anne of the book is rather prideful and struggles to change her mind. The Anne of the miniseries is also stubborn. In the miniseries, Anne sticks to her goals whether ignoring Gilbert, being the best school teacher, or finding her husband. Just like the Anne in the book, no one can convince her to act against her convictions.

3. Self-reliant

One of the things that makes Anne an interesting character, especially for the time, is that she is very independent. Theoretically, her independence stems from her time as an unwanted orphan. Regardless, in the miniseries, Anne’s independence is clearly shown. She studies herself and gets ahead, she keeps writing even though her works get some criticism, and she takes care of herself when her husband is gone. She can get by all on her own.

Anne with an E Anne

Differences

1. Physical manifestation of trauma 

One of the biggest differences in season 1 of Anne with an E is that Anne is actually seen to be affected by her years of neglect and abuse. In the books, Montgomery sort of dismissively addresses it (like with the window friend bit), but does not have Anne exhibit any trauma. The TV show, however, embraces Anne’s horrible past showing her to have triggers and nightmares and horror stories.

Because the Anne of AWAE is affected a lot by her past, she has a harder time making friends and fitting in. She has a reason to be wary of other people. She also comes across more as odd, because of the various triggers she has which the others do not understand and because she has stories like no one has ever heard. Much like Gilbert, AWAE makes their version more of a loner.

2. Activist

Anne in the book stands up for herself, she does, but not in the way of Anne in AWAE. In AWAE, Anne has all sorts of causes; she fights for feminism, gay rights, foxes (I want to say environmentalism, but she doesn’t value the lives of chickens, so I hesitate), and treating everyone the same regardless of race or culture. Anne speaks loud and proud in the show on all of these issues. Anne in the book does have convictions, but she is just not that loud. She does not speak against gender inequality. The only cause she really speaks out about at all is treating children right. 

Anne in AWAE is more of an activist than the Anne in the book. While the Anne of the book may organize a letter writing campaign, the Anne of the show would be leading a march with signs and a bullhorn. The show has a far more outspoken Anne.

3. Good in Everyone

This one is sort of related to the first. Anne in the book assumes the good in everyone which is why she makes friends with some of the least liked people. In the show, they keep in her relationship with Aunt Josephine, but Aunt Josephine in the show is also changed so as to not be one of the least liked people. Instead of a selfish prideful woman, she is just a sad lonely woman who lost her soulmate. In the show, Anne has difficulty seeing the good in the people as evidenced in the number of people she does not get along with. Sure Anne doesn’t like Josie in the books, but the Anne of the show also doesn’t get along with Mr. Phillips, the pastor, all the boys who aren’t Gilbert or Cole, and most of the mothers. I’m guessing this change is related to Anne’s childhood trauma.

The Anne of the show is less friendly and has less friends than the Anne of the book. Perhaps she is automatically guarded or maybe her triggers or oddities threw them off. Or maybe some of them just don’t like an activist telling them to change. Regardless, Anne in the show comes across much more on her own than the Anne of the book who is generally well-regarded.

Similar

1. Romantic

I had to put this on both, because this is one trait the adaptations hit on the nail. Anne in AWAE, like Anne in the book, is memorized by the world around her. She fixes each flaw she sees with her imagination. Her capacity for creativity abounds which can be seen in her artistry in the pageant and her work in school. 

2. Intelligent

AWAE does a good job of showing that Anne is smart. They have her rise through the ranks at school, like in the book, but they do much more. Her conversations with adults meet them phrase for phrase and she cleverly devises plans, like when she saved Ruby’s house or Diana’s sister. She is just as, and truly far more, intelligent as any boy in her town.

3. Confident

In the book, Anne believes in herself, even if she doesn’t always have the highest self-esteem. Anne in AWAE also has confidence. She speaks with boldness. In the book, Anne is willing to talk in front of her class or to the pastor’s wife and is not intimidated. Such is the Anne in AWAE. 

Which Anne is More Like the Book?

I think Meagan Follows’ portrayal better captures the character. Sure, all the stuff in the Continuing Story was dumb and I don’t like that she liked an old guy, but ultimately she reminds me more of Anne. When I read the books, Follows’ Anne voice is heard in my head for her breathy romantic quality so well fits the idealistic character. Her character’s interaction with the other characters also fits the Anne of the book well. Anne of the miniseries gets along well with Marillia with little doubt of Marilla’s affection, her and Diana are chums, and she pretty much gets along with everyone.

AWAE’s Anne doesn’t quite beat Follows’ Anne for me because of her trauma and activism. Neither are bad, per se, they just are not in the book. McNulty’s Anne is much more alone and odd and outspoken than the Anne in the book.

So, that’s my take. What do you think?

Thank you to everyone who suggested this post! @lillypedalsxx @filmmakerdream @thetraveler10

[starfast]

Cross the Kingdom- Chapter 1

“Into the Night”

Word Count: 3617

Read on Wattpad: Link

More about this project: Intro Post | Other Info

 Nothing interesting ever happened at night. Or at least, that was how Crispin felt. There may have been a time where his father’s ship was ravaged by an onslaught of midnight attacks from other pirates, but those days had long since passed. Crispin had been living on his father’s ship for the past three years, and not once had there been a night attack. There hadn’t even been any close calls or false alarms. It seemed to Crispin that having someone stay up to guard the ship at night was rather redundant, but his father clearly felt otherwise and Crispin knew better than to try and reason with him. 

 Which brought Crispin to where he was now, sitting perched in the crow’s nest of the Mad Maiden, clutching a telescope in his right hand and a dagger in his left while the rest of the crew lay sleeping soundly in their quarters. He had lost track of time several hours ago, and stopped seriously guarding the ship long before that. At one point he had carved his name into the side of the crow’s nest, just to pass the time. 

 There was nothing in sight for as far as Crispin could see, even with the telescope. It was just his father’s ship just sitting alone in the middle of a vast expanse of dark nothingness. If he had anticipated that living on a pirate ship could be this dull, he might have opted to stay with Roger instead. At least if he were still living with Roger then he could be asleep like everyone else in Toltova right now. Things always felt safer at Roger’s place anyways. 

 It wasn’t that he couldn’t handle the fights that frequently broke out on the ship during the day, because he absolutely could. It was more the fact that Roger was the only one who knew about his power, and that his father would likely try to kill him if he ever found out. 

 Crispin liked to think that his father wouldn’t actually kill him, but he also couldn’t see it as something that would go over well. His father harboured a deep hatred towards people with powers, which according to Roger, stemmed when his father’s entire family had been killed by an all-powered crew of pirates. Most people would have grieved and moved on with their lives, but Marcus Hadley had responded to the tragedy by becoming a pirate so that he could track down the ones who had killed his family and avenge their deaths. Everyone dealt with grief differently, but unfortunately for Crispin, his father’s grief manifested in a dangerous way. So, following Roger’s advice, he kept his powers a secret. Which was almost a shame, because if powers were something that were widely tolerated he imagined that there were a number of ways in which his ability to fly could be made useful. But because some people-- namely his father-- felt like any kind of special powers were unnatural, and shouldn’t be allowed, his power was basically useless. He couldn’t even be subtle about using his powers, because there was nothing subtle about a person with wings flying high above sea in broad daylight. 

 It was a good thing then that it was not broad daylight. Even better, but no one else was around to see him. Crispin stood up, leaving the telescope on the floor, and sticking his dagger back into its respective sheath. He braced himself against the edge of the crow’s nest. 

 Crispin had never been completely sure how his powers worked. He was never really able to fully comprehend out how his wings could retract into his back when he didn’t want to use them, but it was something he’d always been grateful for. His father probably would have found out about his powers years earlier if he had to keep them hidden beneath his clothes all the time. 

 Crispin had also never quite gotten used to the feeling of his wings extending out of his back. When he was younger he used to compare it to getting stabbed from the inside out. Now that he had actually been stabbed, however, he felt like the comparison was a massive exaggeration. That hadn’t made it any less uncomfortable though. 

He guided his wings through the slits that he had cut out in his jacket before extending them to their full length. He had an impressive ten foot wingspan as of the last time he had measured them. That had been when he was fourteen, and at the time it his wingspan was almost double his own height: A less than impressive five feet and one inch. He’d grown an entire inch since then, and figured that his wings probably hadn’t grown all that much either. 

 Roger had once suggested to him that maybe the reason why he was so short was due to his powers. His reasoning was that less height would theoretically mean less weight, and less weight would make it easier for him to fly around. Crispin had shot down that idea almost immediately. He didn’t hate his powers quite as much as he hated being about as tall as the average thirteen year old. No one knew about his powers, but they did know that he was the shortest person on board the ship. They never let him forget it either. 

 Crispin stood up on the edge of the crows nest with his white feathered wings folded against his back. He drew a deep breath, inhaling the salty ocean air before he jumped. He let himself fall for a bit before he extended his wings, flapping them downwards and sending himself skyward. 

 As much and all as Crispin disliked his powers, it was hard to deny that he didn’t love the thrill of flying. There was something very liberating about the feeling of soaring through the sky as the wind ran through his hair and his feathers. He kept his eye on his father’s ship, not wanting to stray too far from it. He watched it grow smaller and smaller as he increased his altitude. Soon, the Mad Maiden was no more than a dark spot sitting on the even darker ocean. 

 Crispin could have spent the rest of the night up in the sky, but he liked to play it safe. Staying within his comfort zone was something that, as a pirate, he adhered to very rarely. Yet, when it came to using his powers he had always done what he had to do to prevent anyone from finding out. That mostly meant cutting his late night flights short and returning to the ship after only a few short minutes of flying. That time had come already. He circled the ship, lowering his altitude until eventually he was low enough for his feet to touch the deck of the ship. 

 “Crispin!” 

 There were many things that Crispin would have never expected to hear at such an ungodly hour of the night, and the sound of his father shouting his name from the opposite end of the deck was perhaps the most terrifying. He pulled his wings in, trying to hide them from his father almost on instinct. Judging from the harsh tone that his father had used, it didn’t really matter whether he hid them at this point or not.

 “Fucking hell, Dad,” He snapped back, “What are you doing?” 

 His father didn’t answer him. Not right away at least, and in a way that was more terrifying. He caught his father’s hand drift over to the hilt of one of his knives. 

 “This whole time” his father seethed, “This whole time you were a goddamn freak!” He studied him up and down, and then added, “I swear, Crispin, you’d best have a damn good explanation for this!” 

 Crispin drew in a deep breath. And another one. He could feel his hands trembling and hoped it was not as noticeable as he thought it was. Crispin didn’t normally get worked up over name calling. In the three years that he had been living on the Mad Maiden he had been through a lot. He’d had more than a few close encounters with death, and it had certainly desensitized him to a lot of the violence and brutality that came with living on a pirate ship. He could deal with physical pain in both large and small doses, and name calling was something that he was used to at this point. 

 But this was different. His father had never treated him any differently than the rest of the crew. He had made it clear to him three years ago when Crispin first joined the crew of the Mad Maiden that he wouldn’t get any special privileges for being the Captain’s son. “There’s no room for weakness on a pirate ship, Crispin,” he had said to him, “The very second I start showing any signs of favouritism, the rest of the crew will use it against me. I can’t have that.” When the other crew members poked fun at Crispin, his father never stopped them. In fact, it wasn’t all that uncommon for him to join in, but Crispin had learned to take it. He had learned to fire right back, because it was all in good fun. 

 This wasn’t. The words had been spoken with a pure malice that Crispin had never heard from his father before. It was as though the words were a knife and his father had thrust it into his heart, where it would hurt the most, before twisting it just to make it all the more painful.

 “I was guarding the ship just like you asked,” he said firmly, hoping that he could hide his emotions. 

 “Think you’re being funny, do you?” His father snarled.

 “You asked me to explain myself so I did,” Crispin shouted, “You asked me to guard the stupid ship at night, so here I am, guarding the stupid ship at night even though there’s nothing to fucking guard it from!”

 Under normal circumstances, he wouldn’t have dared to mouth off to his father like that, but these weren’t normal circumstances. Although, even at the very best of times, his father was not a very easy person to reason with.

 “You know damn well that’s not what I’m talking about,” His father fumed, “Now are you going to explain yourself or not?” 

 Crispin cringed, fully expecting someone to wake up to the commotion as his father’s voice crescendoed to a shout that echoed across the silent sea. If anyone had awoken, none of them came to inspect the screaming match. Crispin exhaled in relief. He didn’t want anyone else to know. Anyone with a brain would have sided with his father. No one would dare defend him in front of the Captain, regardless of how they truly felt.

 “I don’t know what you want me to explain,” Crispin yelled back, “It’s not like you’ll listen to me, anyways,” He averted his gaze for a split second and added, “I didn’t ask to be this way, you know!” He hadn’t even meant to say it. In the heat of the moment, the words just slipped out of his mouth. It was something that he thought about frequently, but had never quite been able to bring it up with anyone. He figured that eventually he might bring it up with Roger, but it wasn’t really a conversation he wanted to have yet. Not with Roger, who was the only person who Crispin ever talked with about these kinds of things . And certainly not with his father, who was too caught up in his own flawed logic to care how Crispin felt. Crispin didn’t see how being able to fly made him any more or less of a threat than anyone else on the ship. He carried six knives with him at all times, but somehow it was his ability to fly that made him dangerous. That was his father’s opinion and there wasn’t anything that Crispin could do aside from just dealing with it. 

 “I didn’t ask you to be my son either,” his father snapped back at him, “We can’t always get what we want.”  

 The words stung, but Crispin clenched his jaw, determined not to let it show. He had always known that having a child was never something that his father had wanted. Not only did his father make no effort to keep this a secret, but he seemed to constantly remind Crispin that his birth had been entirely accidental. 

 “Yeah, well,” Crispin said squaring his shoulders, “Unfortunately for both of us, I’m still your son.” 

 “Are you really?” 

 Crispin froze, caught off guard by the question. His mother had abandoned him as a newborn, leaving him in his father’s care when he was only a few days old. His father had then left him in the care of Roger, his close friend, since a pirate ship was no place for a baby. Crispin had often wondered about the identity of his mother. He’d asked his father if he had even the slightest idea of who she could be, but if he did, he never told him. Crispin had always just assumed that his mother knew with complete certainty that Captain Marcus Hadley had been his father. He’d never thought to question it, but maybe there had been a mistake. If his father didn’t know who his mother was, then could it be possible that his mother didn’t actually know who his father was? 

 Nope. No. Not right now. Absolutely not. He knew what his father was doing, and he was not going to question this now. 

 “Yeah,” He said with as much confidence he could muster, “Yeah I am.” 

 “Oh, Crispin,” his father chided, “Even if you are my son, do you really think I would let you get away with this? I can’t allow this, you know that, don’t you?” He took a step towards him and added, “I can’t treat you any differently than anyone else on this ship. You know how things are here.” 

 “Oh, and what are you going to do then,” Crispin taunted, “Kill me?” He almost went as far as to add that killing someone solely because they had powers was legally considered a hate crime, and was punishable by whatever the King’s men decided. In Coral Bay, favoured punishment was usually death, but this wasn’t something that happened nearly as much as it should. Crispin only knew that because Roger had told him as much. Nobody on board the Mad Maiden had even a shred of respect for the law. 

 “How are you going to explain that to the crew? Are you just gonna--” His words were cut short by the sudden jolt of pain in his left shoulder. He looked down, and saw the handle of a knife protruding out of him. The pain had stunned him into silence. All he could do was stare down at the silver knife handle and watch as his own blood spread out across his jacket. He was still in shock when he finally managed to say,  “Oh, you really went there, didn’t you?” 

 Crispin’s father could throw knives with deadly accuracy. He could take out a knife and throw it so fast that most of the time, his victims never saw it coming. It was something that Crispin could now attest to, because he definitely had not seen it coming. Sure, he may have literally asked for it, but he didn’t think that his father would actually do it. 

 “Get out of here, Crispin,” His father growled, “I’ll take care of your mess. Just go.” 

Crispin felt like he was watching his father through the wrong end of a telescope. Everything felt distant. He could barely even register what was happening. It almost didn’t even feel real, like the whole thing was just a really terrible dream. Any moment now, he expected to wake up in his hammock and go on with his daily life. 

 But then there was the knife. A deadly reminder, coupled with the pain that confirmed that everything he was experiencing was real. Crispin glanced down at the knife once again. He knew better than to pull it out, but he couldn’t stay on the ship any longer. He gave a slight nod, and mumbled, “Yeah, I’ll do that,” before he clambered over the side of the ship and jumped off. He struggled to get himself skyborn and began flapping his wings frantically as he dipped down dangerously close to the ocean. With one last powerful flap he levelled himself out and went soaring off into the night. 

 Crispin decided that the best course of action would be to head back to Coral Bay. For one thing, it wouldn’t have been that far away since they had only left the city earlier that evening. Roger lived there as well, which meant that Crispin could have a place to stay until he sorted things out. He figured that he would probably never be welcomed back on his father’s ship, but that didn’t mean that he couldn’t start over somewhere else. Maybe he could even find work on another pirate ship. That would make his father even more furious, which almost made it even more appealing. Or perhaps he’d travel inland. He’d only ever seen the coasts of Toltova. As much as he felt at home by the sea, part of him wondered how the rest of the kingdom compared. 

 Crispin decided he would figure that out later though. Right now, he had to focus on getting to Coral Bay. He wasn’t even sure how long he had been flying for, but his injury was starting to take a toll on him. The knife sent a harsh shock of pain radiating across his chest and shoulder with each flap of his wings. He gasped for breath and longed for somewhere to land where he could rest at least for a few minutes, but there was nothing below him except the ocean for almost as far as he could see. 

 Crispin didn’t know how long he had been flying when he finally spotted the distinctive glow of the Coral Bay Lighthouse. 

 “Oh thank goodness,” he panted. The lighthouse was still a little ways away, but at least he was getting close to the shore now. He deviated slightly to the right, knowing that the lighthouse was closer to the edge of the main city. He didn’t really want to be flying into the busiest part of the city, but it wasn’t like there would be many people out and about at this hour. It was quicker just to fly right in than to land somewhere on the outskirts and walk. It probably wasn’t even any more or less safe either since Coral Bay had a bit of a seedy reputation. Regardless of where he landed, he was bound to run into someone who was up to no good. He wasn’t too worried about that though. He’d been born and raised in the city, and he was well aware of which areas to avoid at all costs, and which areas were deemed safe enough. Roger’s house was within walking distance to the Harbour Strip- a row of shops and businesses that lined the coast and looked out into the harbour. Being one of the busier and well lit areas, it tended to fall more on the safer side. He would be fine. 

 By the time Crispin was able to see solid ground beneath him, his injury had only worsened. He had planned to go straight to Roger’s house, but at this point he knew it would be better to find a healer. He was starting to feel dizzy and lightheaded which was making it all the more difficult for him to stay in a straight line. 

 Crispin had been living in Coral Bay long enough to know that there were more than a few healers in the city that could help him. He wasn’t sure whether any of them would be open at such a late hour, but he knew that there was at least one somewhere along the Harbour Strip, which was almost directly underneath him. Crispin flew above the Strip, searching for the perfect landing spot. He didn’t want to be right out in the open when he landed, but he also didn’t want to get too close to any of the buildings. When he started seeing dark spots that clouded his vision he knew he had to land as soon as possible. There wasn’t anything that he could do to help his injuries aside from get to a healer, but at the very least he could prevent more injuries by landing rather than falling from several feet up in the air. 

 Crispin tried to lower his altitude slightly, but he found himself dropping downwards at a much faster rate than he’d anticipated. He flapped his wings trying to regain balance, only to clip the side of a building with his left wing which not only set him even more off balance but also sent a searing pain up and down his wing. 

 Time somehow seemed to move differently after that. He felt like things had slowed down around him, but at the same time things were moving so quickly that he didn’t have time to do anything else but frantically flap his one uninjured wing and try his best to see where it got him

 As it turned out, trying his best only sent him crashing into the side of a building, before falling onto an awning and finally, onto the cobbled road beneath him. 

 --

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[thewritewolf]

Marinette March Day 10 - Video Games

1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 11 12 13 14 15 16 17 18 19 20 21 22 23 24 25 26 27 28 29 30 31

The Girl Squad gets together for a sleepover. No boys allowed. This is a longer drabble, so I put most of it under a read more.

@marinettemarch

Enjoy!

Read on Ao3

“Marinette! One of your friends is here!” Her maman’s voice called up the stairs, interrupting a frantic bout of cleaning. She’d lost track of time and put it off until the last minute once again, but at least now her room looked presentable when (or if) the party moved upstairs.

“Coming!” With a few last minute adjustments, she raced down the stairs to see who had arrived first. When she saw her maman chatting away with Alya in the kitchen with her duffel bag, she shook her head with a smile. Who else would’ve showed up an hour early? Her best friend noticed her arrival and grinned.

“Hey, girl! You ready to party it up this weekend?” Alya held out her fist, which Marinette gladly bumped. Before she could respond, her maman cut in.

“Hopefully you’ll remind your friends not to ‘party it up’ too hard, right dear?”

Marinette gave her most winning smile. “Right, we’ll be on our best behavior.”

Her maman seemed dubious. “Even Alix?”

The smile became strained and uncertain. “Y-yes. I’ll do my best.”

With a kiss on her forehead, her maman replied, “That’s all I ask. Have fun, dear.”

Once she left the room, cup of tea in hand, Marinette turned back to Alya. “Did you bring everything you’ll need?”

“Relax, girl. I’m psyched and ready to go for this weekend-long slumber party.”

Doing her best to play the part of the unconvinced friend, Marinette crossed her arms and cocked an eyebrow, though her grin gave her away. “So we aren’t going to have a repeat of last time?”

Alya threw her hands up. “Come on, girl! It was one time. What’s a midnight convenience store run between friends?”

They chatted until the sound of the front door opening drew their attention. Marinette rushed over to greet her guests, only to have Rose rushing to meet her at the same time.

“Marinette! I’m so happy to see you!” She collided with Marinette, ensnaring her in a hug. Over Rose’s head - the bubbly girl being one of few people Marinette was taller than - she saw Juleka give a small smile and a timid wave.

“Rose, Juleka! It’s great you could make it. Did you remember to bring everything?”

Rose nodded enthusiastically in way of response, while Juleka said while reaching into her bag, “We even brought games like you asked…”

“Hang on, don’t tell me what game you brought until everyone gets here. It met all the requirements, right?”

“Mhmm. It works on one of your consoles and we could theoretically do multiplayer on it. Or be fun to watch.”

“Awesome!” She lead her three guests into the living room. “We’ll be sleeping in here tonight since the bakery is closed on Sundays and we won’t have to worry about papa waking us up at four in the morning.”

“Sweet, there’s a little more space down here.” Alya sat down on the couch facing the TV. “Any clue when Mylene and Alix are supposed to arrive?”

Scrolling through her texts, Marinette replied, “Alix is going to be late-”

“-as usual-”

“-but Mylene should be showing up any minute now. Once she’s here we can make some snacks while we wait on Alix.”

Rose, seated next to Alya, bounced up and down on the couch. “And then we can start the gaming marathon!”

“Yup! I just hope we can get through all the games…”

“Don’t sweat it, girl!” Alya leaned back. “I was kinda hoping to play mine after everyone was gone anyway. It wouldn’t be that exciting for everyone, and it’d just get jumbled with too many people around. And it would take awhile to get through.”

She could already guess what Alya had brought, given what had been occupying her free time outside hanging out and her work on the Ladyblog. Before she could dwell on it too much, the door opened once again. Marinette went to get her, the others following shortly after.

“Hello!” Mylene waved with one hand while clutching the strap of her backpack with the other. “Everyone else here?”

“We’re waiting on Alix.” Marinette pointed out the way they came from. “You can drop your stuff off in the living room. We’re going to make some food while we wait.”

They had burned an hour cooking in the kitchen, doing their best to stay out of the way of her parents as they went about running the bakery. By the time the last guest arrived, it was midday and the bakery wasn’t going to be open for much longer anyway. Marinette crowded around the living room table as she considered this. It would probably be best to do Mecha Strike III first then, so papa would be less likely to interrupt for a challenge bout. She loved him to pieces, but maman and him seemed to enjoy butting in when she was trying to have friends over.

“Okay everyone. Pull out the game each of you brought and show it to the rest of us.” Marinette suited action to words by slapping down the Mecha Strike III case as though it was a gauntlet. The groans and grumbling she got from the rest of them was like music to her ears.

“We’re agreed that we’ll deal with Marinette trouncing us for as little as possible?” Alix looked around the table and the rest of the girl squad resolutely nodded back at her, like the judgement of a sage council.

“Oh come on! It isn’t that bad,” Marinette attempted to get their hopes up, secretly relishing the thought of dashing it against the ground.

“Max trained for a year and you tore him apart.”

“Well, duh. Fighting the AI only gets you so far!”

“Whatever, here’s my pick.” Alix tossed her game on top of Marinette’s - Grand Theft Auto. Somehow Marinette wasn’t surprised.

“That game doesn’t have split screen and it’s mostly just messing around. How does that fit the requirements?” Marinette crossed her arms over her chest, still slightly miffed from the resolute dismissal of her choice.

“Oh don’t worry about that, pigtails.” Alix smirked. “I have a plan.”

“Well… okay. Mylene?”

“I, uh, brought a Mario Party.” She began to get quieter as she rambled on. “I don’t have a lot of games and we play it a lot at my house so, I, uh… thought you guys might like it. I know it has a bit of a reputation as a friendship-ended, but still-”

“Chill, girl.” Alya patted her shoulder. “It’ll be fun losing to someone who isn’t Marinette for once.”

Marinette stuck her tongue out at Alya as Juleka gently sat her game, the remake of Resident Evil 2, on the table. When the rest of the girls looked to her for any kind of explanation or defense of it, she simply shrugged and said, “I liked it. Plus, not a lot of split screen horror games, you know? Have to take what I can.”

“Fair enough. What about you, Alya? Still playing those detective games?”

“Of course! Gotta keep my mind razor sharp if I’m going to unravel Ladybug and Chat Noir’s identities.” The aspiring reporter shuffled in place, hands empty as she didn’t reach for her duffle bag. “It’s a computer game though, so I don’t have a physical copy. If you don’t mind, I’ll start downloading it now and we can play it tomorrow.”

“Sure. You know the password and everything so go ahead.” While Alya left the room, Marinette turned to the last member of the group. She never really gamed with Rose before, so she didn’t know what to expect. What she definitely didn’t expect was Dark Souls III. Yet, that was the game Rose was waving above her head excitedly. Her mind reeled for a moment before settling on something to say. “Uh, Rose? Isn’t that also single player? What is everyone else going to do?”

Juleka smiled as she put her arm on Rose’s shoulder. “Watching her get into the zone is something to behold.” Seeing the dubious expression on Marinette’s face only caused her grin to widen. “You’ll see.”

Leaving the matter at that, they settled into place to start their marathon. First up - Mecha Strike III.They were packed tightly on the couch, except for Alix and Rose who preferred the ground anyway. The latter leaned back against her girlfriend’s legs while playing, and the former kept scooting closer and closer to the television as the loses piled up. It only took an hour of easy victories for Marinette before they unanimously decided to not play it again for the rest of the night.

Next up was Grand Theft Auto V. While Alix clambered forward to switch out the games, she explained to them. “Here’s the plan - we’re each going to take turns at it. Our goal is to steal a tank.” She whipped back to look at them, a manic glint in her eyes. “Clearly, since I’m the best at this, I’ll go last to give you all a chance at it before I sweep in.” She brandished the controller. “Who wants first?”

After half an hour of a cycle of spawning, charging into a military base via ramping car, dying, and repeating like the world’s worst version of Valhalla, the controller finally ended up in Alix’s hands. She had spent the entire time smugly commenting on how each person messed up, detailing what they should have done. The next person would take that into account and fail at a completely different obstacle. With a knowing smirk, she turned to everyone else and said, “Now watch the master at work.”

The first step was to get a car, which everyone had accomplished in true GTA fashion by standing in the middle of the road and carjacking whoever stopped to avoid hitting them. Alix stepped onto the road boldly, an admirable start. Instead of slowing, however, she was hit full speed and sent flying by wonky physics. Immediately the screen turned black and white and the text ‘Wasted’ appeared on the screen as her character sailed through the air. There was a moment of stunned silence before everyone (sans Alix) absolutely lost it. She didn’t even look back to hand Marinette the controller, simply thrusting it behind her. After a few more rounds, Alix’s as unlucky as always, the person who ended up winning the challenge was none other than Rose. After a celebratory rampage, she closed the game and they were free to move on to Mario Party.

Looking back, Marinette couldn’t remember much about the two (or was it three?) matches they played, probably because each match had been about an hour long. The turns ran together after a while. They passed by in a blur of competitiveness, fully absorbed with the friendly and eventually not-so-friendly banter. At the end all she could say was that she didn’t win. Perhaps unsurprisingly, Mylene took that honor for at least one of the matches, having had the most practice with the minigames and the layout of the maps.

The change from Mario Party to Dark Souls was as sudden as it was jarring, trading bright, cheerful colors for the bleak wastes of a ruined kingdom. It didn’t take long for Marinette to figure out what Juleka had been talking about; immediately, Rose became hyper focused on the game as she laid in front of the television on her stomach, tongue sticking out in concentration as she deftly ducked and rolled away from enemy lunges. Marinette watched carefully, but the first time she saw Rose get hit was about an hour in, long after the fight with the first boss.

When she finally put down the controller, the only thing the rest of them could do was applaud.

Which left the last game of the day, Juleka’s horror game. Fitting, since by this point it was later in the evening, though not quite midnight. Marinette remembered even less of this game, at least partly because of how often she excused herself to the kitchen for any number of excuses - wanting everyone to have full drinks, extra snacks, stretch her legs, whatever she could do. Horror… not her favorite genre of movie or game.

At least I’m not alone, she thought while eating some cookies with Mylene in the kitchen. If the danger was real, it was much easier to handle for reasons even Marinette herself couldn’t wrap her head around. By the time they finally out of excuses, everyone was getting tired and they agreed to turn off the games and go to sleep in the living room. They managed it, even if Alix kept deliberately annoying everyone by asking random inane questions at all hours. Marinette could practically hear Alix’s smirk as she lobbed at pillow at her face. But eventually even Alix got tired and fell asleep, a fitting end to an eventful day.

---------------------

When Marinette managed to drag herself out of bed, two things became apparent - one, the sun was unfortunately up and preventing her from drifting back to sleep and two, everyone else was gone. It was this second fact that caused Marinette to actually get up rather than stay wrapped up on the floor for a little while longer.

“Hey, girl,” Alya quirked an eyebrow over her toast as Marinette walked into the kitchen. “Pleasant dreams, Sleeping Beauty?”

Deciding that the smell was delightful, Marinette elected to make herself some toast too. “Mhmm.” Once she had her breakfast in front of her, she asked, “Everybody else leave?”

“Yup! They’ve got early plans.” She winked. “But don’t worry, you won’t be getting rid of me that easily. We still have some investigative work to do, if you remember.”

Playing along, Marinette asked, “What’s the case?”

“‘Shadow At Water’s Edge.’”

“Sounds spooky. Thankfully, we can count on each other.” She swallowed the last of her toast and added, “Let’s get to it then. After you, detective.”

The two rushed upstairs, Marinette eager to continue her well deserved break in excellent company. It felt good take a break in fiction - reality was far too strange a place for her anyway.

[shapoodle]

Twilight Saga

Here is a fic requested by @ask-villegas-sides, based of their OC sides, hope you all enjoy!

"I don't think we're in Kansas anymore you guys..."

"What are you talking about Lev?" Flint questioned "I don't recall ever being in Kansas."

"It was a movie reference, obviously" Reese sighed "Beckett, you doing okay?" The fanciful side turned toward their anxious friend, who was currently curled in on themself, hugging a pillow.

A muffled scream came from the pillowed face.

Reese nodded "I'm going to take that as a no..."

The sound of metal clattering onto a table brought all four sides' attention to the couch, where their host was sitting, mouth agape and still very filled with the cereal they were eating before they dropped their spoon.

"Kiddo, what have I told you about eating with an open mouth?" Lev tutted.

"I believe we have more pressing concerns than manners  at the moment" Flint objected "Though, please do close your mouth Riley, you'll make a mess of the carpet.”

Riley gulped.

"I feel as though I should be concerned."

"You should feel concerned" Beckett moaned.

"Ah! There's the anxiety kicking in, I'm now very concerned, guys how did you get here?"

"I feel as though if we knew the answer to that Mr. Pillow Face wouldn't be screaming...into a pillow.

"Your getting more creative by the day, ain't ya curly font?" Beckett shouted, pointing his finger accusingly at Reese, though still refusing to remove his face from the pillow.

"Wow, that was pretty muffled" Lev whistled. They turned to Riley "Duvet they think they can lift their head so I can see my darling kiddo's face?"

“Pillow based puns? Is that the theme for today?” Reese joked.

"I'm electing to ignore all three of you for the moment. To answer your question though Riley: We have no clue." Flint responded.

"You seem awfully calm about that lack of knowledge, logic" Riley eyed suspiciously.

"There is no reason to get frustrated at things I do not know just because I haven't had the opportunity to learn them yet." Flint nodded "This is an opportunity for us all to learn something new, and we should approach it rationally and maturely."

**

"YOUR MUM IS A BLEAK AND UNFORTUNATE FUTURE!" Flint screamed as they threw their coloured fine liners in the air.

"Besides, we don't have a mother, Beckett" Lev chimed in to Beckett's previous insult "Though you do have one punny dad."

"Let me get this straight." Riley groaned, head resting firmly on the dinner table "We have spent the last two hours going over theoretical physics, quantum physics, biology and psychology: and what we have is that my manifestations of the different aspects of myself taking physical forms, is impossible."

"Yep" Beckett responded, adding an extra pop to the end of the word.

"But you're here"

"Yep."

"So it's not impossible."

"Yep."

A further groan escaped Riley's lips.

"Wow, you and Beckett are sounding more and more alike" Reese purred.

"I'm really not that whiny." Beckett protested.

"Your are still holding onto that pillow from before."

"Its name is Ignatius and I've adopted it as an emotional support pillow. Back off."

Flint took a deep breath and re-brushed his hair back to its typically neat presentation "We are getting off topic, Reese stop distracting Beckett, I need their input here"

Reese turned to Flint with an offended gasp "Does my opinion not matter here?"

"Of course your opinion matters" Flint reassured "...it just doesn't matter to me."

"It also doesn't matter when we're trying to have a serious conversation." Beckett responded in a snarky tone.

Reese raised his finger toward Beckett and glared "It's a good thing I love you."

"Alright kiddos, let's get back to  topic, this is a very important matt-ress."

"...that's a very weak connection to pillows." Riley paused.

"That won’t stop them" Flint sighed. "Look, does anyone remember what they were doing when this happened?”

"Writing"

"Baking!"

"Brooding"

"I was eating breakfast and marathoning episodes of the Twilight Zone."

"... you were watching the Twilight Zone?" Flint raised an eyebrow.

Riley nodded "Yeah, I've been meaning to watch it for a while now, there was this one episode where a couple were watching this film when they suddenly got transported into the films universe and....Oh I'm dreaming aren't I?"

"Yeah." Flint nodded, a slight agitation creasing his brow "Yeah, you probably are"

"Wow Reese, you ripped off the synopsis of the episode to a T, really getting creative."

Reese looked around, lips pursed "Um... I didn't do this."

"What do you mean, how can I dream without you?"

"Wish I could tell ya, but I have photographic memories when it comes to my creations, I could tell you how many leaves I put on that willow tree in that one dream. Y'know the one with the willow-”

"Yeah the one with the willow tree, I know Reese"

Flint stared at the creative side "How many leaves?"

"196,812"

"..."

"Why would you ask that question?" Beckett scoffed "You don't know the answer either."

"I know it's just... why would creativity need a photographic memory?"

"Well..." Riley paused "Doesn't the imagination rely a lot on a person's subconscious thoughts?"

"Yes!" Lev clapped "Like how it's impossible to create a face of a stranger, any person you see in a dream you don't recognise is likely a face you've passed down the street and the brain just remembers."

"Which explains why Reese can have a photographic memory, where as Riley can't remember what was on the last page of a book they just read." Beckett added.

"A little harsh" Riley winced.

"Sorry."

"But that still doesn't explain how Reese doesn't recognise this dream, if it even is a dream" Lev continued.

The sides paused for a moment, looking to and from from each other, searching for an answer. It was Flint who spoke out first.

"Well, why don't we test it?

"Test it?" Riley pressed.

"Yes, if one has a hypothesis one should test it. We need to find out whether or not this is a dream. For instance, now that Riley is aware they are in a dream, this would be a lucid dream now, right?"

"I suppose so." Reese nodded.

"And a person who is lucid dreaming can control the narrative of the dream. Riley you can decide what happens next. So if you do something which wouldn't happen in the real world, then we know this must be a dream."

"So... say I make something appear?"

"Yes that should work."

"Alright then..." Riley shrugged, a little unsure how effective this would be. They closed their eyes and controlled their breath. Sure enough they heard a large thump occur next to them. Sure enough as they opened their eyes a large jar of crofters, coming up to Riley's hip stood on the floor.

"Oh. My. Gamma Velorem." Flint stared on in shock.

"Crofters and a reference to stars. Now that's a space jam if ever I heard one" Lev snickered.

"Why is it so big?" Beckett asked, eyebrow raised.

"That's the beauty of imagination!" Reese cheered "Now fill the room with puppies!"

"No!" Flint pulled his eyes away from the jam "No, we should keep this short and sweet."

"Sweet like Crof-"

"Thank-you Lev" Flint interrupted "So: we can confirm this is a dream, which means Riley has the power to end the narrative."

"Do we have to end it so soon? I mean this could be really fun."

"Didn't you say you were eating cereal before you fell asleep" Beckett asked.

"Yeah"

"So you're probably drenched in milk and honey hoops, passed out on the couch."

"Ohhhh, yeah that is embarrassing I should, I should probably go fix that."

"Awww, I was kind of looking forward to going on an adventure with you." Reese sighed.

"Maybe next time buddy" Riley reassured as they closed their eyes. Lifting their hand up a vortex of blue and green appeared before them.

"Guess we go through there then?" Reese mused "Well, Onwards! Let's go my anxious squire."

"What? No no no no. There's no guarantee that's actually going to take us back. It could lead somewhere far worse, what it this portal actually takes us to the real real world? What if it's like inception and we just end up in another layer of dr-"

Beckett was cut off as he was pushed into the portal by Reese.

"Such a romantic" Flint rolled his eyes.

"I'll make it up to them" Reese winked "Aufwidersehen Riley, see you in the next dream!"

"And you'll see me when you wake up so I can take you through the process of getting milk stains out of fabrics." Flint added as he made his way to the portal "Also, we may want to discuss how we eat food from now on"

"I just got out of one of your two-hour lectures I don't need another one" Riley reassured.

"Hey kiddo!"

"Yeah , Lev?"

"Don't forget to put some sugar under your pillow tonight"

"...why would I do that?" Riley cocked their head.

"So you can have sweet dreams!" Lev cheered as they jumped into the portal. Soon the vortex a colours began to diminish, and with a pop of sparking energy it was gone entirely.

Riley sighed "Of course I had to end that on a pun."  They grimaced, as they picked up the discarded spoon.

[andromedan-writing]

This is a long personal writing for you know who you are. I remember....

So I woke up today and immediately started crying. So this is gonna be a mess but I need to get it out. I’m sorry that it’s so long. Our six month anniversary just passed. We met for the first time six months ago. That day changed my life. These are the memories that make me refuse to give up on you just yet. I don’t wanna believe what your friend told me. He told me you were using me for sex. I don’t buy that. Partially because we were planning a lot more in the future. Also, you always said you missed the cuddling more. Now I’m missing it too. Also, I just want you to know. That whole weekend I wanted to tell you I was falling into another pit of depression. I was seconds away from telling you on your birthday but then your roommate walked in. And I didn’t really feel comfortable telling you how I’m unwell in front of him. So no. You didn’t know what was going on. And the reason I was angry at you that day wasn’t really all what I said it was. I was upset because I was depressed, and when you’re with your “friends” I sometimes feel like you ignore me. I mean, I even walked back to my seat and you didn’t even acknowledge it. They’re not good influences. I know I shouldn’t have gone that day, but I just really wanted to be with you because I love you. And I know I shouldn’t have picked that fight and for that I’m eternally paying the price. Because you are the best thing to have ever happened in my life. So I decided when I woke up today to try and remember the good things that I would have made a whole thing for our anniversary anyway. A brunch date, possibly a part picnic or something, and I was gonna dress up really nice for you that night. It would’ve been a good day. So I want to keep that good spirit up. I'm sorry this is really long. I know you blocked my number and probably didn’t read this. But If you ever do, just know that I still love you. And I don’t ever want you to forget that there are genuine people out there who truly love you for you, and want to see you thrive and be your best. I love you for who you are and nothing more or less. I love that you still like my little pony, and your drive for revolution and how Sherlock Holmes and mysteries make you glow. I love to see you truly smile when you can let go and be yourself. I know that you’re actually vulnerable sometimes and I love you for that too. You gained weight over winter break, so you say. I still love you. You’re weird. So weird. I love it. Sometimes you can get all dark but I still love you. Your kinks? Love them. Probably have them too. Am I secretly a furry like you claim? Maybe. Screw you for that. You like to party and have a very impulsive side to you. I love that. Sometimes I need a little push to do something outside my comfort zone. And sometimes you need to calm down. We work there. You’re also really funny and I love your taste in things. Also you’re really handsome so like. yeah. And if you ever want to come back I’ll be here. There’s nobody like you, and I love you for who you are. These are all the good memories that I want to remember: I remember how when we were apart for a bit, and finally got to see each other again, you’d pick me up, spin me around, and carry me across a whole room just to hug and kiss me again. I remember talks about our future. Constantly. Especially this winter. The house, the names for kids, the idea for a wedding. You said you wanted to build a house and I love that idea. Do you remember the idea you had about a wedding? It was spectacular and fun. A black dress then change into a cheap white one. Just a giant party. I fell in love with the idea. I remember you saying how I would do all these things. Not your future wife. Me. I. I remember slow dancing for no real reason, just to dance and feel one another. Both in your room and mine. I remember the day when it was after the improv show where we skipped it to make love, and when we were done and dressed , we opened the door and our friends were there. I was just in a bra and shorts with a cardigan, and you and your friend blasted showtunes and used me as a prop dancer with you, twirling me around and singing to me . I remember the day we went into town, and looked through the old bookstores, because you wanted more Sherlock Holmes to read. Around town, it just felt perfect and natural, us walking together. I remember how you’d call me “my love” all of the time and it made me melt. I remember the first night I saw you get high, I refused to go out with you, just waited around in your room playing music. You came back and we had the craziest conversations and you were so confident and passionate about what you loved. The second time you got high around me, it didn’t fully hit you, and we decided to try and make it count anyway. That was the night after where we all played poker and uno and I was higher than you. I remember all the firsts. The first text. You wanted me to take a walk with you that first night after we met. I was so nervous and I texted my friends saying “I think something is happening here. This guy is acting like he likes me” Because I didn’t get the text until I was in bed. But that morning I decided fuck it. Let’s take this chance because something amazing could happen. I was right. I remember reaching for your hand, trying to be clever, when you were playing chess. I remember you saying that you were gonna go on a smoke break and I should come with. I remember our conversation where you said that you felt something really important here and we should give it a shot. I immediately agreed because I felt it too. I remember our first kiss. Our first night. You said “I finally found you.” I felt the same way. I finally found you. The one I was looking for my entire life. I remember the first time I said “I love you.” I thought it wouldn’t count if I said it in French. I know it was early. But I knew right then and there that I loved you with all of my heart. All of my soul. I remember how when we touch our foreheads together, it’s like our souls become one and make love in our minds. You don’t even have to touch me. You liked to take control there. I let you. Every time, it was magical. I remember when we went to the bar and danced and you gave me that look which said “wait until we get back to your room.” I remember how you protected us girls when that creepy dude tried to swoop in. I remember us making brownies in my kitchen, and you like the extra fudgey, while we were watching Agatha Christie. I remember our texts when I was away. I missed you so much. You made me blush in the middle of an airport restaurant. I remember you boys sitting in your common room and playing magic, and I was helping you. I had never played before, yet you trusted my advice. I remember the fist time I kissed you in front of everybody. We were splitting up to go to the store into different cars. We were just leaving and in a split second decision I decided to turn around and run to you to kiss you. Everybody kind of expected us to be together but not that fast. We thought we were being so sneaky. But everybody saw the way we looked at each other, the way we always at right next to or on top of each other. I remember the advice you’d give me, trying to help me live in the moment and be more confident. You’re the first person to ever get me to stop thinking about my old love from five years ago. With you, I realized that everything about you was more than I could have ever dreamed. I forgot about him, for the first time since 2013. I was living in the moment and I was so happy to be there with you. I remember how in the last month you started saying “we” instead of just talking about yourself. It shocked me. I never expected somebody to think of me with them as a “we.” You made me fall deeper in love. You don’t know this, but I was looking at promise rings. I found some online on your birthday. I remember how our ideas would always bounce right off each other. For when we went hiking, our conversations about the world, and map planning even. It was as if we fit so well in the universe just had to make it known. I remember our tickle fights. I hate that I’m so easy to tickle. But I also love how that’s what I would have to do to wake you up sometimes. Your feet are so ticklish. I remember how recently just me undressing was enough to drive you to the edge. I dressed up for you on your birthday. We had so many more nights planned. I remember us talking about our spring break plans. Us and your friends for four days in the Vermont house. I still can find it in five seconds on a map. I was very committed to being a navigator there. You were adamant about making it work and still having me be there. We were gonna share a room, a bed, the master, and it was going to be perfect. I remember looking up house costs in that area of Vermont. We could theoretically do it. I remember us playing xbox in your room. You helped me remember how to play call of duty. I was always a sniper up at the top. We worked well as a team. I remember when I was away you’d text me about how you were always daydreaming of me. All day. “Some of them are super cute. Some of them are downright nasty.” I didn’t object. I remember how my neighbor said she knew we were having sex because she heard me giggling. We never really took ourselves too seriously with that, did we? No matter what it was always fun. I remember driving all the way out to see that other Oldsmobile. We made it a day trip. We even ate food from McDonald’s right outside the beer store. Although you didn’t want the car in the end, it was still a great journey. I always loved our car rides. I remember our first big car ride. When we all went into town to eat, and then we went to the market. We finished up early and the day was still young, so we decided to just take my car out and blast music and drive with no destination in mind. I still had a journal entry I wrote about that weekend. It was like something out of a movie. I remember when my mom came up for parent weekend and she took us out to eat. She really liked you. I remember her telling you that I complain a lot. You already experienced that by then. I remember how we’d always support one another no matter what. When we had fights, it was mostly because we were worried about each other. Or it was simple miscommunication. But when we were down, we’d always try to pick each other back up. You said to me “my friends don’t understand how perfect you are for me.” I understood, as your friend claimed you were a bad person and were using me. He didn’t understand. We talked about you not letting your friends judge me anymore, and you said you were gonna talk to them. You said to me “promise to never let me do anything to make me lose you.” You threw your vape into the gunk for me based on that promise. You said to me “I love you more.” I finally believed you. You said “I try not to bet on losing odds.” You said to me “I’d do anything for you.” I told you if you kept making me blush I’ll have to spend the rest of my life with you and you said “too late.” You said, even in our biggest argument, that “I want to be with you forever.” You said to me when I told you that you can never know what someone else is thinking, “I could love you more than you could ever know.” I finally believed you. You said to me that you “promise a hundred times over” to not randomly dump me. I believed you. Because I could never imagine a future without you in it. And to be honest, that’s why I’m still holding out hope. I had to make a choice recently. A lot of them. And then I remembered all of our good times and how you make me feel. Even still. In my opinion, I feel like this isn’t over yet. You may have ended this chapter, but I don’t feel like the book is done yet. We could still have many more good memories to come. Just please remember the good times and know that people do care about you.