#I know this theory is not quite right but I’m enjoying the puzzling!! thank you watcher team

[loveaintnobillygoat]

listen. is this professor absolutely a fraud and up to no good? obviously. but do I also love him? yes of course.

[the-scarlet-witch-22]

The Lark Ascending: A Chaconne Story (Agatha Harkness x Reader)

Summary: Five years after leaving your heart in New York to chase your dreams in Vienna, you're finally a rising star in the classical music world. After scoring your biggest gig yet- a soloist job for a summer concert series in LA- you discover that the past isn’t as distant as you’d thought.

Word Count: 5.7k

A/N: Hello friends, welcome to the Chaconne sequel, The Lark Ascending! This story is very near and dear to my heart and I’m so excited to be posting it. The inspiration for this fic is from one of my favorite pieces of the same name, The Lark Ascending. Thank you so much for reading, and I hope you enjoy it. Please feel free to let me know what you think!

Being a musician was all about sacrifice; you had to be willing to get to the top by any means necessary. You couldn’t just give it your all, it had to be more than that. But what happens when that wasn’t enough? What happens when you have it all just within reach, but no matter how hard you try you can’t quite get there? Those were the questions you had asked yourself when you first moved to Vienna. It seemed like no matter what you tried, how many hours you practiced, it wasn’t right. There was something missing. You did everything you should have, you moved to Vienna (although that wasn’t entirely your idea to begin with), you performed night after night with your blood, sweat, and tears, all while healing a broken heart.

It felt like you had all of the pieces to the puzzle in front of you, but they didn’t fit together. Or rather, you didn’t fit. There was something missing, and no amount of practicing could fix that. There was a small voice in the back of your mind whispering that there was a reason you didn’t make it into the Manhattan Symphony. Agatha would always say how much progress you were making, how much potential you had, that there was promise, but you wondered just how true that was; how much of it she really meant. You had been doing a lot of thinking on your relationship with Agatha lately.

The first few months after you moved to Vienna, you couldn’t even say her name without crying. There were reminders of her everywhere you turned. The coffee shop near your apartment, the rehearsal hall where you spent most of your time, every park you strolled through. You’d stumble upon small things, like a review for a new play, or interesting theories on post-modern music, and subconsciously want to share them with her. A beautiful sunny day, the flowers blooming in the ground, the wind whistling in the distance, the way the dew sparkled on the grass after a thunderstorm, everything was Agatha. You knew they called Vienna “The City of Dreams”, but you never anticipated all of your fantasies to revolve around the same woman. How were you supposed to get closure when she was thousands of miles away?

Your solace came, unsurprisingly, in the form of music. Vienna was the birthplace of some of classical music’s great forefathers, and there was inspiration all around you. Performing with Natasha and her chamber orchestra was like a breath of fresh air, and with every performance you slowly found yourself again. It wasn’t entirely true when they said time heals all wounds, because you weren’t sure you’d ever heal from the scar of leaving Agatha, but with every month that passed you found it hurt less and less. You often thought you would always love her, but this was for the best, you knew it was.

Eventually, it felt like everything was falling into place. Performing with a prestigious group that featured world renowned soloists like Wanda Maximoff meant you were able to make the right connections. You worked harder than you ever thought possible, and channeled your grief into your music to push you forward. It paid off in the end, and with Natasha and Wanda’s help you eventually entered a rising soloist contest.

Getting over your fears of inadequacy was another story. You knew that the one thing that was missing was your ability to believe that you were good enough; that you had always been good enough. No amount of practicing could convince you of that either, it had to come within yourself.

In the days leading up to the competition, you had a breakdown in front of Wanda that changed the way you saw yourself.

You set your violin down on the piano, ignoring Wanda’s concerned glance in your direction. “I think I need to drop out of this competition. I’m nowhere near ready.”

Wanda frowned, looking over the sheet music you had handed her earlier. “What are you talking about? You have everything memorized. You sound really good.”

“I don’t feel ready,” you argued, staring at the floor, trying to ignore the tightening of your chest at the thought of competing that weekend.

“No one ever feels ready for these sorts of things,” Wanda pointed out, and you knew she was trying to help, but you weren’t in the mood to hear it.

“I’ve never had the best luck with these sorts of things,” you reminded her. “I think I need to accept that this kind of dream isn’t feasible for me.”

“Why do you keep getting in your own way?” Wanda questioned, moving the sheet music to the side, her tone curious.

“I’m not getting in my own way,” you politely informed her. “I’m being realistic.”

“Nothing about this, about what we do is realistic,” Wanda corrected you, standing up from her seat. “I never thought I’d make it as a soloist, but I had to believe in myself enough to try. If you can’t even give yourself that, then you’re right; this isn’t feasible for you.”

Her words sat with you for a moment, and as you took it in, you felt the tightening in your chest begin to break until you could breathe again. She was right, you knew it deep down. As silly as it sounded, you had to give yourself a chance.

That ended up being the first competition you ever won, much to your surprise and Wanda’s delight.

Things began to look up after that. You slowly entered more competitions, and eventually you made enough of a name for yourself to begin soloing with various orchestras. It was nothing you could have ever imagined in your wildest dreams, but it was real. You did it. In spite of the heartache and pain, you did it all.

The past year proved to be your busiest yet. You had been booked solid with performances across the U.S. with a wide variety of orchestras, and your schedule wasn’t slowing down just yet. You would be spending your summer in Los Angeles, and you were still in disbelief.

If you had told yourself five years ago that you would be the featured artist in residence of the Los Angeles Symphony’s summer season, you would have thought it was a joke. Being the premiere performing symphony on the entire west coast, they had a stellar reputation and drew in huge crowds. Stephen Strange was a legendary conductor who you had always dreamed of getting to work with. It almost felt too good to be true.

You made it to the symphony center a little earlier than you planned, but with the unpredictability of LA traffic you didn’t want to risk being late. All that was on your agenda for the day was a meeting with the CFO of the board, Tony Stark, and a short rehearsal. But, you were hoping to get a quick peak of the concert hall while it was still empty. There weren't many people around this early in the day, but you had little trouble navigating yourself around until you found the backstage door.

The concert hall was pitch black, and you fumbled with the switches backstage before managing to flip on a single stage light. You wouldn’t need anything more than that, surely. Stepping on the stage you looked out at the vast concert hall, which seemed to hold hundreds of empty seats, and you pictured what it would be like to step out to thunderous applause. None of your previous experiences performing as a soloist had ever been for an audience of this size, and you silently came to the realization that the crowd at the Hollywood Bowl would be even larger. A familiar tingle of nerves coursed through your system as tiny thoughts of doubt twirled around your brain. Were you ready for this?

Absentmindedly tapping your fingers against the music stand at the podium, your eyes swept across the room. A quick glance at the schedule confirmed that no one from the orchestra would be here until later in the evening, so you’d have the place entirely to yourself. Taking a deep breath, you unpacked your violin and began to tune, taking note of how the sound bounced all around the walls, and gradually felt yourself relax. It was funny, you mused as you lowered your violin, how easy it was for you to discredit how much you had accomplished over the past few years. You weren’t just some conductor’s assistant anymore, you were a professional violinist, and a good one at that. It was unclear if your hesitation to accept your success came from the fear of being considered overly cocky, or if it derived from years of low self esteem and an inferiority complex.

Taking another long, calming breath, you swept those thoughts aside. Raising your violin, you rolled your shoulders back, turning so you were facing the front of the hall. It would be foolish to play the entire piece hours before rehearsal, as you would be wasting energy that you would desperately need. Performing was a lot like running a marathon, you couldn’t blow through everything you had in the first few miles and be left with nothing for the end. No, you needed to be intentional with every movement of your bow and shift of your fingers up and down the fingerboard.

The Lark Ascending was a majestic sixteen minute piece that was filled with swooping melodies as the violin sang higher and higher with every measure. Vaughan Williams was a composer during the late Romantic Era, crossing over into the Contemporary, and he had been inspired by a poem of the same name written by English author George Meredith. Vaughan Williams was able to create such stirring imagery with the notes on the page, that it was easy to get lost as you were playing and get transported to this dreamy, astral realm. Filled with a gorgeous blend of vivid colors and clouds, you felt like the lark Vaughan Williams was depicting, soaring through the clear skies.

The piece was filled with vulnerable cadences where you played without the orchestra’s accompaniment acting as a safety net in case you fell. You had to be completely sure of yourself, a hint of hesitation of your fingers or incomplete bow changes would ruin this picturesque painting. Rolling your bow to the frog, you internalized what you wanted your first note to sound like, settling on working on your opening phrase. Placing your fingers on the string, you closed your eyes and began. Your introduction was a stunning cadenza, with the tempo gradually increasing as you began your opening runs, your fingers gliding across the strings.

There was freedom with the tempo, allowing you to take your time and savor each note, your vibrato ringing through the hall. As you climbed higher and higher into the stratosphere it almost felt like you were the lark, ascending into the open air. Performing like this had unlocked a new sense of freedom you always yearned for; the countless hours of practicing turned into an almost effortless sight to any audience. It was as natural as breathing, and each exhale you took matched the strokes of your bow. Nearing the end of the phrase, you tried a new stylistic technique as you shifted your fingers gradually down the fingerboard, making note to try it again later at rehearsal.

As your bow stopped moving you made a few other mental notes of where you could add more vibrato, or improve your dynamics, when all of the lights in the hall turned on, snapping you out of your inner thoughts. The abrupt sound of loud clapping is what startled you the most, as you thought no one else would be using the stage until tonight. You turned around to find the stage door was still ajar, just as you left it, but you noticed a figure lingering in the shadows, and you nearly jumped at the sight. The building was secure enough that you weren’t going to be murdered, right?

“Can I help you?” You asked as politely as possible, setting your violin in its case.

“I have to say, dear, you certainly know how to leave a girl wanting more,” A familiar voice rang out, amusement clear from their tone as they stepped into the light. “You must have had an excellent teacher.”

Agatha Harkness leaned against the door frame, hands folded across her chest. Her dark hair was splayed against her shoulders in their usual messy curls, and you were surprised to find her in more casual attire consisting of a pair of black jeans and a lightweight button-up sheer white shirt. She arched an eyebrow at your shocked expression

You felt your heart stop as you stared into a familiar pair of blue eyes. “Agatha?”

Her lips twisted upwards, smirking, a familiar glint in her eyes. “Surprised to see me?”

Time stood still as you were frozen in place, millions of thoughts dancing around your brain. You were unsure if it had been five seconds or five hours, all you could do was try to remember to breathe. Agatha was here, but how was she here? Were you imagining it? It wouldn’t have been the first time, as you’d lost track of the number of appearances she had made in your dreams over the years. They were all of slightly different variations, but would all end in the same heartbreaking fashion of reconciling with the conductor and feeling a sense of happiness you’d long forgotten…until you inevitably woke up alone.

Blinking, you took a timid step towards her, your hands uncomfortably folding behind your back. “Agatha, what are you doing here?”

Ignoring your question, she walked over to your violin case, and, despite your protests, she picked up your violin, examining it. “I see someone got a new instrument.” Gently turning it, you watched her trace the scroll, her fingers dancing around the pegs. “A shame, really, I was quite fond of your old one. But this is nice too, I suppose. What is it? Italian? German?“

“Swiss, actually,” you lightly corrected her, holding out your hands, signaling for her to hand it over.

As she disregarded your wishes for a second time, you felt a familiar pang of annoyance at how stubborn she could be. Picking up your bow, she raised your violin, setting the bow on the string, before releasing and producing a G-major chord. As the chord echoed throughout the hall you relished in the sound. Agatha had rarely used your violin before. She had always insisted that her talents remained with conducting and the piano, but you recalled a few memories of convincing her to play a scale or two on your violin.

You were normally extremely protective over your instrument, often refusing to allow anyone else to even hold her. However, you recollected, it had never been like that with Agatha. There had been some deep, unspoken level of trust that you had never felt with anyone else.

“Impressive,” Agatha remarked, appearing to admire the sound quality, before finally handing it back to you. Her hands briefly brushed against yours as you wrapped your hands around the neck of your violin, and it was as if you had been zapped by lightning.

But as quickly as the sensation overcame you, it was gone. Agatha retracted her hands, deep blue eyes boring into yours with the same intensity she always seemed to carry.

Clearing your throat, you broke eye contact, feeling the weight of her gaze still on you. “You never answered my question. What are you doing here?”

The conductor released a thoughtful hum, as you watched her move towards the edge of the stage. “Now is that any way to greet the Los Angeles Symphony’s guest conductor, dear?”

Guest conductor? Your face scrunched up, surprise coloring your features. None of your recent internet searches of the conductor revealed she would be in Los Angeles for any upcoming performances. Now, you weren’t exactly stalking Agatha, that would be creepy. You just liked to occasionally see what she was up to. That was normal, right?

“Tony never mentioned a guest conductor when I spoke with him earlier,” you pointed out, leaving out your internal ramblings as you were sure Agatha would get far too much pleasure from hearing you had looked her up.

“Well, it appears that Stephen contracted a rather nasty stomach bug, and I just happened to be in the area.” Agatha explained, as if it was the most obvious answer in the world.

Now, you weren’t claiming to be an expert geographer, but something in your gut told you that she was lying. “So you just happened to be in California when you live on the East Coast?”

“Something like that,” Agatha tossed out, teasing you ever so slightly, and you scoffed.

She had always been elusive; that had been part of her charm. You never entirely knew what to expect when you were dealing with Agatha Harkness, and that used to excite you. She often reminded you of a raging hurricane, with her occasional fits of anger and passion all mingling together like the waves crashing against the shore. There had been a gentler side to her, of course, located in the eye of the storm. That had been the Agatha you were most familiar with, underneath all of the sarcastic quips and horrible temper was the woman you had once fallen in love with.

Nothing about her had ever been direct, which nearly drove you mad. But the subtlety of how she offered her affection more than made up for it. Nearly every night she insisted on driving you home, and you had quickly learned she detested the subway. She had been horrified when you had revealed you almost never cooked, so she made a point to teach you her favorite recipes (while only gently mocking your lack of skill in the kitchen in the process). It was clear she hadn’t been used to expressing her emotions, but then again you had never been an expert in that field either. Still, she loved you in her own way, and deep down a small part of you knew she loved you enough to let you go all those years ago.

But standing here now, you couldn’t help but wonder what she was really doing here. Did she know you were set to premiere with the orchestra? There was a fleeting thought where you dared to wonder if she came here for you, but you knew that was too foolish to even imagine. It had been so long without any word from her, why would she come to you now? You had performed with a few other orchestras in the States over the past year, and there had been a few brief moments where you hoped she would show, but she never did.

She was looking pleased, far too pleased for your liking. A rather dark thought crossed your mind, and you shot her an incredulous look. “Oh my god, did you do something to Stephen?”

Agatha let out a loud cackle, the sound sending a shiver down your spine. “I’m a conductor, dear, not a homicidal witch. What exactly do you think I could have done, beat him up with my baton?”

That painted a rather interesting image in your head, but you frowned at her, unamused. “You’re not going to tell me what you’re doing here, are you?”

“You always were a fast learner, darling,” Agatha quietly remarked as she took a step towards you, the once familiar pet name sounding foreign on her tongue. “I must say, I was surprised to learn you had selected Vaughan Williams.”

“Why?” You questioned, noting how she slowly inched her way closer to you.

“I suppose I assumed you’d pick something with more flare. Tchaikovsky perhaps, or Sibelius.”

Shrugging, you vaguely called to mind one of the first things Agatha had ever said to you. “I don’t know, I guess I always preferred something more subdued, you know?”

You watched her eyes sparkle with a mischievous glint, and it was clear she knew what you were doing. “Something more subdued, hm? Not a fan of the dramatics?”

“I think that’s much more your genre of choice than mine,” You retorted, feeling the air in the room begin to thin as she circled you like a shark.

Agatha stepped in even closer, and her fingers reached up, playing with the loose strands of hair that fell around your shoulders. You felt your body react to her touch, a sensation you’d long forgotten. “You cut your hair,” she murmured, so low you could barely hear her.

“You haven’t seen me in over five years,” you pointed out, feeling a wave of nerves hit you over having her so close. “I’m sure my hair’s changed a lot since then.”

“It looked longer in Chicago,” she mused, still twirling the strands around, and you were stunned. Chicago? Your most recent performance was with the Chicago Philharmonic last month, and that would mean that…was she there?

“How would you know that?” You pressed, and her fingers ceased their movements, as you searched her eyes for a glimpse into what she was implying.

You could feel millions of unanswered questions dancing between the two of you, the tension thick in the air. Agatha’s hands abruptly dropped your hair as if she had been burned, and you briefly yearned for her touch again.

“My assistant showed me a recording of the performance on their phone,” Agatha explained, folding her hands against her chest. “Your stage presence certainly has improved, but you were late coming out of your cadenza.”

Ignoring the slight dig, your brain honed in on what she said prior to that. Her assistant. You couldn’t help but ask yourself if she had kept the same assistant since you left. A brief, but intrusive, thought made you wonder if the dynamic between Agatha and this new assistant was similar to the one you once shared. Did she call them the same terms of endearments she had bestowed upon you? Did she introduce them to her favorite old movies that you used to beg her to turn on? Did she go out of her way to fluster them, as she once took pleasure in doing to you?

You weren’t sure why it bothered you so much. It wasn’t as if you were together anymore, Agatha was free to do what she liked and to see who she pleased. You had a few short-lived, meaningless flings while living abroad, so it would be hypocritical to judge her. But, there was a voice screaming deep inside you, questioning how special your time together truly was if she could have replaced you so easily?

“Right, your assistant.” You tried your best to keep the bitterness from seeping through, but could practically taste the venom in your mouth.

Agatha raised her eyebrows, but refrained from commenting on your change in tone. Instead, she turned to walk down the stairs of the stage, leading to the aisle. “I only heard the last few bars of your cadenza, and it isn’t terrible, but it could certainly be better. Now, I don’t have my score on me, but it sounds like you’re losing too much momentum as you come down the fingerboard.” She sat a few rows back from the stage, crossing her legs together. “Could you take it again from your last run, and try to make your decrescendo last longer? We want to elongate these phrases to draw the audience in.”

There had been a time when you would have done anything Agatha had asked of you without question. Your daily practice sessions with the conductor had been grueling at times, as she was incredibly nitpicky, and had an impeccably well-trained ear. Any missed entrance or a note that was even just a hair flat she would pick up on. You had worked with a lot of gifted musicians in the past, but none of them could dream of coming close to Agatha Harkness. She wasn’t just a conductor, she possessed the rare ability to take the notes off the page and transform them into these brilliant, colorful works of art.

You used to live for her praise, and would often go out of your way to receive it. It had been your worst fear to disappoint her somehow, even if it meant sacrificing your own dreams to please her. But things were different now, you weren’t her assistant anymore. The burning desire to gain her approval still lingered somewhere within you, but it wasn’t as strong anymore. You knew that you would be okay without it, as you had to learn to live without her.

Giving her a pointed look, you decided to test the waters. “You do realize you’re not my boss anymore, right? I don’t have to just do whatever you say.”

Agatha looked momentarily stunned, and you could practically watch the gears turning in her head. “If I recall correctly, you used to enjoy having me tell you what to do.”

Looking down, you forced yourself to not remember just how much you used to enjoy that. Clearing your throat, you thought of something to fire back with. “Well, they do say memory is the first thing to go.”

“Funny, dear.” Agatha deadpanned, but as you lifted your head you were able to see the corners of her lips were turned upwards. “But I’m not paying you to just stand there and look pretty.”

“You’re actually not paying me at all, the orchestra is.”

“Technicalities,” Agatha said dismissively, waving her hand to signal you to hurry up. “And as you just so kindly pointed out, I’m not getting any younger. Any day now.”

It was clear Agatha wasn’t going to let up, and you weren’t in the mood to keep arguing with her. Grabbing your violin, you gently rested it under your arm. “Should I start at my last entrance?”

Agatha had a thoughtful expression on her face, and you couldn’t help but focus on her fingers tapping out indecipherable rhythms on the top of the seats in front of her. “Hmmm, let’s take it from the top. Do you need your sheet music?”

Shaking your head, you raised your violin. Placing your bow on the string, you tried to rid yourself of the nerves you could feel start to overtake you. Your first few notes rang through the hall as you tried to perfectly time each shift of your fingers and vibrato. Everything had to be fluid; any jerky bow changes or careless finger placements would risk destroying the exquisite illusion you were painting. Some violinists would claim the most challenging pieces to perform were the ones with incredibly fast passages that were often impossible to master. Your brain had to be a few steps ahead of your nimble fingers so you could anticipate what the next notes would be, and one small slip up would send you tumbling down.

While you agreed that exuberant pieces were extremely difficult, you would argue that the hardest pieces to perform as a soloist were the more melodic ones. The pieces filled with stunning melodies, warmed up by gorgeous vibrato. They weren’t packed with thrilling runs up and down the fingerboard, instead they were notated with sweet, heartbreakingly beautiful lines that required you to pour your heart out. Yes, it was scary to have to nail a few hundred notes coming out one after another, but the hardest feat to master on the violin was the ability to play achingly slow, glorious passages. It was to fully captivate an audience with every elegant swish of your bow and dance of your fingers on the strings.

You were so swept up in the notes you had memorized in your brain, you barely heard the soft creaking of the stairs leading up to the stage. There was a particularly bare section halfway through your cadenza, where you were so high up the fingerboard that you needed to extend your elbow to allow your fingers to reach. It wasn’t good enough to merely play the right notes; you had to be confident your left hand was pressing down on the correct spot on the string, while your right hand held the bow but didn’t press too hard down. If you applied too much pressure when you released the bow, it would produce a screeching noise on the string.

Continuing on, you kept your fingers on your bow relaxed, but you could gradually feel your shoulders begin to tighten. This happened on occasions when you were feeling particularly nervous or antsy, and it was usually difficult for you to relax them. As you tried to refocus your breathing and attempt to get your body to calm down, you could feel a familiar presence lurking in the background. Even though you could not see her, you knew she was right behind you. You had found yourself in this exact scenario with the conductor too many times to count. She would always promise to stay in her seat while you were playing for her, but would almost always end up on the stage within mere moments.

As if she could sense you about to stop playing, you heard her voice ring out. “Don’t stop now, dear. I’m just observing something.”

You wanted to turn around and ask if she was observing your ass, but you knew she would merely retort with something to make you blush furiously in response. So you kept going, trying not to picture what she was doing.

As the line slowly started to take you down the fingerboard with every new phrase, you put all of your attention into your intonation. You could hear her take yet another small step towards you, to the point where she was nearly pressed up against you.

“You need to relax.” Agatha uttered, so close to whispering in your ear that you reflexively shivered. She put one hand on your shoulder, rubbing gentle circles. “Your posture is giving me horrible flashbacks.”

It was becoming increasingly difficult for you to remember the correct notes when she was closer to you than she had been in so long. Her other hand rested on your hip, the sensation almost causing you to drop your violin. It had been so long since you last felt her touch, and you could just barely hold onto the melody in your memory. A small voice in the back of your brain begged for more, but you ignored it.

“Relax.” Agatha repeated, her voice firmer this time, and you felt your body obey her command. Your shoulders finally went down to their correct position, but her hands stayed on you. “There we go, good girl.”

Your brain buzzed at her words, feeling your cheeks burn and you were thankful she couldn’t see the effect she still had on you. As you reached the end of the cadenza, you slowly lowered your instrument, trying your best not to fall over from the overwhelming feeling surrounding you. “So, what did you think?”

Using the hand situated on your hip, Agatha swiftly twisted you around to face her, moving the hand she had on your shoulder down to help secure your violin. You stumbled just ever so slightly, but she steadied you, her grip tightening on your waist.

“Easy there,” Agatha lightly teased, and you thought you saw her eyes hungrily rake up and down your body. “Have you always been this jumpy, or are you just excited to see me?”

There was so much you wanted to say, but there was a lump in your throat that grew bigger with every tug on your waist, drawing you impossibly closer to the woman your brain refused to let go of. She was infuriatingly high-handed, extremely egotistical, and was single-handedly the most stubborn individual you had ever encountered. She was obsessive, and aggressive, and had her eyes always been so blue?

“Agatha…” you managed to breathe out, desperately trying to clear your head and regain some sense of self control, but your brain felt slippery.

The combination of the heat from the bright stage lights and the intensely burning gaze from the conductor had you feeling more unsteady on your feet as the seconds slowly ticked by. You’d spent the past year performing in sold out concert halls, yet you were never more nervous than you currently felt being face to face with Agatha Harkness.

It was unclear how long you stood there, staring at each other. You knew Agatha well enough to know she had something to say, it was written all over her face. But she remained silent, one hand situated on your waist and the other gently holding your violin in place. There was something about the way she was looking at you, as if she thought she’d never see you again.

Just as she opened her mouth to say something, a loud buzzing noise began to ring through the hall. The moment was broken as she released you, sighing as she reached to her back pocket, revealing her cell phone.

Squinting at the screen, and you suddenly remembered the difficulty she had of reading off her phone without her glasses, she frowned. “I’m sorry, I have to take this. It’s my assistant.”

You took a step backwards, feeling burned. “Right. Your assistant. Best not keep them waiting.”

Agatha gave you a brief, perplexed glance before answering her phone. “What do you want now?” Loudly sighing, you watched as she closed her eyes, clearly vexed. “I already told you, for the millionth time, it’s the box in my study.” Pausing, as she listened to her assistant reply, she held up a finger to you, signaling for you to wait for her. “For the last time, no, nothing else. Just the box in my study, the singular box. Make sure Scratchy is ready to go as well.”

It appeared the assistant had more questions, as you watched Agatha pinch the bridge of her nose in agitation. “No, no, no, stop,” she then paused, and looked at you again. “I have to deal with this, I’ll see you at rehearsal.”

She stormed away without another word, squawking orders over the phone, and you were left in the aftershock of the earthquake that was Agatha Harkness.

Next Chapter

[misiwrites]

Mayblade Day 3

[previous: chapter 1 & 2]

CHAPTER 3 prompt: pets characters: hiromi, salima, kane, ayaka, kai (+ emily) pairings: i guess there's implied kane/salima and emily/kai

Hiromi gathered all her courage at the beginning of the lunch break. Before the inseparable red-and-blue pair had the chance to get up and leave, she took a deep breath and made her move, she scurried over to Salima’s desk with a pitter-patter pulse in her throat.

“Um, hi,” she started and raised a hand. “Sorry. Do you have a minute?”

Kane and Salima both turned to look at her, puzzled but friendly. Salima, brushing off her denim jacket, exuded her usual big-sisterly aura as she replied: “What is it?”

Hiromi hoped she wasn’t looking too weird, too nervous as she presented her question. She explained that her club was short of members and, only slightly stumbling and rambling in the process, asked if, perchance, Salima happened to be interested in joining. Then included Kane as a clumsy afterthought, realizing how rude it was to only ask the other – not that she’d ever heard of a guy interested in astrology, but maybe there were some out there? What did she know.

Kane turned to look at Salima, who in turn gave Hiromi an empathic head-tilt and an apologetic smile. “I’m sorry, but I’m already very busy with taking care of the council duties while attending the kendo club. It was kind of you to invite me, though. I can ask around if someone else would be interested.”

“Oh. That would be nice. Thanks.” Hiromi was at a momentary loss, she wondered how she’d forgotten that Salima – and Kane, too, of course – was in the kendo club on top of the student council, of course she wouldn’t have time for another club and such a pointless one too, how stupid of her to even ask.

And to her further horror, Salima then raised her voice at the person who’d just passed them on her way to the door: “What about her? Hey! Ayaka!”

The girl with red-brimmed glasses and short baby blue hair spun on her heels at the sound of her name, gave them a quizzical look, and was right by Salima and Kane’s desks the next moment.

“’Wassup?”

“Tachibana here is looking for new astrology club members,” Salima told her, and the fact that she called her by surname in such formal fashion only deepened Hiromi’s shame. “You have some interest in that kind of thing, don’t you?”

Ayaka directed her attention at Hiromi as if only just noticing her for the first time. Maybe she did. “You have a club for astrology?”

Hiromi nodded. “Well, it’s for other types of pseudoscience too – we just call it that for simplicity.” I call it that, she corrected in her mind; after all, she was now the sole member of the club.

“You do tarot and stuff?” asked Kane, to Hiromi’s surprise. He was wearing a smirk that she couldn’t quite read. He could have been making fun of her but didn’t appear hostile.

“Yeah, I do tarot readings sometimes,” she said meekly.

“Sounds cool. But I’m not sure if I have time for two clubs.” Ayaka slung the strap of her bag over her shoulder. “I’m in the engineering club, I’ve been working on a neat AI project lately. Feel free to come check it out sometime if you’re interested!”

Hiromi’s heart sank, again. She mumbled something about keeping it in mind while some eighty-five percent sure she would not go check the engineering club out. In theory, she did enjoy math, physics, and chemistry – she enjoyed most subjects, in fact, and was the top of the class in most – but the hands-on side of computers or tinkering with gadgets and such had never exactly been her thing.

“Don’t give up,” Salima said and gave her an encouraging pat on the shoulder, to Hiromi’s surprise. “If you’d like some help with ideas for promoting your club, feel free to come ask the student council for resources any time. Good luck!”

Then Salima and Kane sprang up and left the classroom together, leaving Hiromi to stare after them in silence with an undercurrent of confused gratitude for Salima’s kindness towards a near stranger like her.

And surprised further still she was when Ayaka leaned over to say, quietly: “They’re Sagittarius and Libra, all over each other.” With that, she too was gone.

In a week’s time, Hiromi had given up on the astrology club.

Turned out that everyone in Bey High was already preoccupied being established members of either some other clubs or one of the notorious gangs who went around terrorizing the rest. (She found the latter a questionable choice and odd at best; being the diligent and hardworking type, she rarely came across these school hoodlums in her everyday life.) Simply put, she was far too late with trying to lure in any members this late into the semester. So she gave up and accepted her inevitable solitude.

It was an ordinary Saturday, the sun up high and the air mellow, and she left the house to take the family dog out for the usual weekend midday walk. She’d had to recently alter her route due to roadworks that blocked one of the pedestrian streets in the neighborhood and, this time, decided to head to a park slightly further away than she usually bothered to walk. The weather was good and she wasn’t in any hurry anywhere.

There, while minding her own business, she suddenly saw someone she recognized in the distance. A boy from her school, tall, one year her senior. With a shiba inu following him on a leash, it was unmistakably Hiwatari Kai. Hiromi stopped in her tracks, let her own Pomeranian wander exploring the scents in their surroundings for a moment, and stared.

It was a strange sight, the notorious boss of the Shell Killers, the mob that Ayaka’s older brother was also part of, having a leisurely stroll with a cute dog in the public park. Usually dressed dramatically like a glam rock star from the seventies, now Kai wore a tacky sports top and shorts, the indigo triangles missing from his cheeks. And a cone of ice cream in his other hand. He not only looked deceptively normal but nothing like someone earning the title of the most popular bad boy of the school.

And then their eyes met. Hiromi had stood staring for too long; Kai caught her red-handed and stared back, listless.

Hiromi rushed her eyes away. She wondered if Kai recognized her back. Unlikely, as they’d never even talked to each other. In fact, most of what she knew about him had been second-hand information through Emily who was deep into all the school gossip. Emily found that stuff spicy – and she, like apparently every girl in their school, had a bit of a crush on Kai, or had at least had one at the beginning of the school year. “I mean, he’s just so cool, you know?”

After following the antics of her dog for a minute, Hiromi glanced up again and saw that Kai had moved a few meters to the left with the shiba that was now aggressively sniffing a lamppost. He wasn't looking her way anymore.

Was he cool? She couldn’t really tell. He didn’t look very cool to her. He looked like, well, just some guy. Sure his arms were nicely trained and all, but his pallid skin and the silvery grey dye in his hair made him look like either a ghost or a middle-aged tourist on the Spanish coast in mid-November. A sun-colored mango melon ice cream in hand.

Hiromi swallowed the urge to start giggling and carried on with her walk. I’ve got to tell Emily during the club tomorrow…

Alas, she then remembered that the club was no more.

[alsjeblieft-zeg]

247 of 2023

Animated character that was your gay awakening?

Lol none. I’m pretty sure my “gay awakening” was one certain Dutch rapper, not anything animated. I’ve never been interested in fictional characters.

Grilled cheese or PB&J?

There’s no such thing as PB&J in Europe. I’d go for croque-monsieur, it’s the proper way to make your American “grilled cheese”.

What show/YouTube video(s) do you put on in the background when you don’t have anything to watch but you want something on?

The Big Bang Theory. I’ve watched it many times before.

Your go-to bar order, if you drink?

I don’t drink anymore, but it used to be beer.

What’s your favorite pair of shoes that you own?

These black platform boots from Pull&Bear.

Top three cuisines?

Dutch, Polish, Italian.

What was your first word as a child (that wasn’t a variation of “Mom” or “Dad”)?

I don’t remember that.

What’s a job that you’ve had that people might be surprised to find out you’ve had?

Cleaning guy in the library XD but I was a student then.

Look up. What’s directly across from you?

The screen of my laptop XD Up there? Staircase.

Do you own any signed books/memorabilia in general?

One signed book, I think.

Preferred way to spend a rainy day?

I don’t care, I want to travel.

What do you get on your bagels? What WOULD you get if you had access to anything you wanted?

I don’t eat bagels.

Brunch or midnight snacks?

I don’t eat at night either.

Fruity or herbal teas?

No tea, thanks.

What’s that one TV show that you’re a little bit embarrassed to watch but you still like nonetheless?

Gossip Girl.

That book you were forced to read for class but actually ended up enjoying?

The Catcher in the Rye.

Do you match your socks?

Always. I don’t care what pattern they have as I like colourful socks, but they’re always matched.

Have you ever been horseback riding?

No, and I’m not interested.

What was your “phase” when you were younger? (i.e., Mythology Nerd, Horse Girl, Space Geek, etc)

Goth, apparently.

Have you ever been to jail?

No. Not even as a visitor.

What’s your opinion on Lazy Susan’s (the spinning tray in the middle of tables)?

What? I’ve never heard of something like that.

Puzzles?

I quite enjoy them.

You can only have one juice for the rest of your life, what is it?

Orange with no doubts. And with no pulp either.

What section do you immediately head for when you walk into a bookstore?

Office/planner supplies.

What’s one thing you’re trying to learn/relearn in your downtime right now?

French language lol.

Where could someone find you in a museum?

The Torture Museum in Bruges.

What’s that one outfit in your closet you never get the chance to wear but want to?

I wear everything I have.

Rainbows, stars, or sunset colored clouds?

Sunset coloured clouds.

How do you dress when you’re home alone?

If it’s warm, then I don’t even bother dressing.

Where do you sit in the living room (we all have a preferred spot, and you know it)?

On the right side of the couch.

Pick an old-school Disney Channel Original Movie

No thanks, boring.

Are you a “Quote that relates to the photos” caption-er, an “explanation of where I took the photos” caption-er, or a no caption kinda person when you post pictures online?

All three, plus unrelated comments.

Name a classic Vine

What? I read wine first.

What’s the freezer food that you stock up on when you go to the grocery store?

Frozen veggies.

How do you top your ice cream?

I don’t, I hate it.

Do you like Jello?

What is Jello even?

How are you at climbing trees?

Used to be great, now probably not anymore, with my hand.

[thefanficmonster]

Bouquet

Corpse Husband x Reader (Female)

Warnings: None

Genre: FLUFF, RPF (Real Person Fic)

Summary: Having come clean about being single for a very long time now and considering herself completely out of the dating scene, Y/N’s confession is taken and responded to with a ton of kindness, especially from a special someone...

Requested by Anon. Hi hun! Thank you so much for your lovely request, it was such a joy to write! I’m so sorry for the long wait you had to go through but the fic is finally here and I hope you enjoy reading it! Love, Vy ❤

I roll out of bed with little to no desire to start my day. We haven’t got a scheduled stream for today and the clouds glooming in the sky seem to be promising rain so really what do I have to get up for except that it’s a rule society installed?

Just kidding, I’m basically stalling and that’s all.

So what happened was the streamer gang and I were playing Among Us last night and our conversation during the pause between rounds somehow swerved into relationship territory. I stayed quiet the majority of if not all the time because I had no valid input to offer. 

If you know me you know I’m not one of the performers on the dating scene. I have never really confirmed it with my fans - well, until last night, that is - but I bet they have picked up on that fact considering I’ve been on YouTube for around a decade and have never had a partner. That being said, I’d have to also mention that I have in fact dated but someone but it was before my YouTube era started. Me choosing this career path, which back then was just a hobby, had nothing to do with the relationship ending but it still motivated me to not to actively look for a relationship while I’m still focused on my career. It’s too much work, too much stress and requires a lot of balance I most certainly either don’t have or I don’t have the energy to put in balancing my romantic and professional lives. Luckily, no one’s ever pressured me into finding a significant other, not yet at least, so no societal pressure for me!

But I gotta admit I felt real awkward admitting all this last night.

“Hey Y/N what do you think? You’ve been awfully quiet?“ Rae asks, causing me to jolt in my seat from where I’ve been reading my chat for the past five minutes, my mic muted.

I quickly unmute to reply, blushing ever so slightly, “Um, sorry I was reading my chat. What do I think about what?”

“The gesture of giving flowers to your significant other, is it romantic or a waste of money and plant murder?“ Rae explains, still managing to catch me off-guard with her question.

I ponder what my response should be for a little bit before deciding to level it to a neutral level where I almost sound indifferent, “It is in fact plant murder basically and artificial flowers would definitely be a better gift - plus they’ll last longer.”

“Mhmm yeah that’s true.“ Poki agrees with me, “But there’s still the question of whether it’s a romantic gesture or not. I personally don’t think it’s overrated or cheesy, I actually quite like it. What about you, Y/N?“

And now she’s got me in a real trap that I can’t wiggle out of without speaking my truth. I don’t know where this sudden anxiety around the subject came from but it now resides within me rent free and makes me feel self-conscious and embarrassed of the confession I’m inevitably make.

“Um, I wouldn’t know for certain, I’ve never received flowers myself...“ I say sheepishly, cringing at the sound of my own voice, “It’s not like I’ve dated plenty of people and the one guy I did date wasn’t really romantic or anything, I mean - we were teenagers, after all. But when I think about it in theory I think I’d like the gesture: it’s thoughtful, plus you get a temporary but beautiful piece of décor out of it.“

I’m gonna hope I didn’t sound too pitiful or desperate. Of course I’m not gonna check afterward on the stream cause I’d rather live in the illusion of having sounded humorous rather than be given the confirmation that I didn’t.

“Wait, wait, wait, did you date your last boyfriend like a decade ago?“ Corpse is now the one talking and that makes me feel even more anxious. This is not the impression one would want to give to their crush, is it? Oh well, no turning back now.

“Correct.“ I reply with a laugh that I hope didn’t sound as nervous as it was.

“And you’ve never, like in your whole life, received flowers from someone?“ He sounds astonished which sort of makes me want to shrink up in my shell like a turtle. Too bad I don’t have a shell though. I’m genuinely thinking of the option to rip the router out of the outlet right now to save me the troubles but I’m not that immature. I’m surprised I’m even reacting this way - this topic doesn’t usually bother me at all but now for some reason I’m red as a tomato and shrinking in my chair. 

I know what the obvious answer is but I’d rather die than admit to it.

“Yeah, yeah, I know it sounds bad but I really don’t care.“ I make an attempt at changing the subject, swerving it back to the main topic rather than my lack of a love life, “I do, in fact, find the gesture sweet - it adds vibrancy to the relationship just like the flowers would add vibrancy and color to the space they’re put in.“

“Oh my gosh, that’s such a cool analogy!“ Rae gushes, “You’re totally right, it might be an old trick, but it’s aged like fine wine.“

Phew, God bless you Rae.

“Exactly, exactly.“ Corpse agrees as well but I don’t think he’s fully heard what Rae said since he sounds to have fallen in deep thought.

At least I got away with it with only making a SLIGHT nervous wreck of myself.

Yikes, was that horrible, though I don’t people will remember it for long. Sure, my fans have sent me thousands of lovely messages and pictures of bouquets and will maybe continue sending them for another day or two - which I highly appreciate, don’t get me wrong. I’m severely touched by this gesture of theirs and it almost makes me glad I finally ‘came clean’ about my romance-less life - however, it’ll fade overtime. I mean, who the heck cares if I’m single or not?

As I pour the milk over my cheerios which I’ve been snacking on dry for the past half hour as I rifled through the many notifications clogging up my lock screen, I hear the doorbell ring. I’m understandably puzzled by this, seeing as how I never get visitors so that doorbell rings only when I’ve ordered something, be it takeout or a random item off Amazon. However, I can’t remember ordering anything, at least not anything that should be arriving at the moment or even anytime soon - that glow-in-the dark curtain isn’t supposed to arrive until next week.  I make my way to the door, unbothered by the fact I’m still in my pajamas, and take a look through the peephole.

It’s a delivery guy...and he happens to be holding a huge-ass bouquet.

“What the...“ I mutter to myself as I unlock and swing open the door in the blink of an eye, “Hi?“

“Hi there, are you Y/N L/N?“ The delivery guy, who I’ve seen many times before and who I’m on pretty friendly terms with, asks me jokingly, sending a wink my way.

“I sure am.“ I reply, my gaze fixated on the breathtaking flowers he’s holding, “But those can’t be for me, that’s for sure.“

He fishes looks at his clipboard one more time, nodding before he looks back at me, “I double and triple checked, Y/N, they’re for you. Here, have a look if you don’t believe me.” He turns the clipboard  for me to see and he is actually telling the truth. I mean, I doubt he’d have any reason to lie to me but mix-ups happen all the time.

“Um, ok thanks. Sorry for the halt, it’s just...I’d hate to be the recipient of the flowers meant for another girl.” I apologize as I take the bouquet for him, still in awe of the fact I’m the one it was made and meant for and sent to.

I say a quick ‘bye’ to the delivery guy before practically running inside to inspect this bouquet for a card from the sender. I have my guesses: it has to be someone who was present during the stream last night and someone who knows my address. Hopefully it’s someone from my friend group and not a fan who watched the stream and just happens to know my address. I’d still appreciate the gesture, but I’d also install security cameras if that was the case.

Something about the color scheme of the flowers - pink and black - gives me Rae vibes since she constantly teases me about my aesthetics contradicting each other. But then again, Poki does it too so it could be her as well....

Oh...OH GOD IT’S NEITHER OF THEM

                                                               ~ ~ ~

I’ve been sitting here, keeping myself a safe distance from my phone so I’m not the first one to send her a text. So I don’t ask if she got what I sent her. So I don’t ask what she thought of it, how the bouquet looks in her living room, how it smells, how it makes her feel. I have so many questions so that phone is best off at a major distance from me. I’m the one who’s better off with such a huge distance between me and the device, to be perfectly honest.

Was it a bad idea? Should I have slept on it - or just thought about it longer cause sleep and I don’t get along? Should I have at least waited a day or two? Should I-

My phone vibrates with a notification and I practically fly to it from across the room, grabbing it and unlocking it asap. My heart sinks and takes off like a rocket simultaneously when I see I’ve been tagged in Y/N’s Instagram story. I nervously tap the notification that sends me to the picture of the bouquet I sent her with some text written over it.

“Thank you, Romeo ;)“

Somehow that one sentence answers all those aforementioned questions.

Is this what people refer to as butterflies in one’s stomach? Cause it feels significantly more like a crush...oh wait.

@maat-the-prescriptive  @simonsbluee  @save-the-sky  @itsminniekat  @hacker-ghost  @bi-andready-tocry  @imtiredaffff  @jazzkaurtheglorious  @hereforbeebo  @fandomgirl17  @chrysanthykios  @maehemscorpyus  @loraleiix  @letsloveimagines  @annshit  @i-cant-choose-a-username-help  @enigmaticmaze  @divine-artemis  @waterlilypat  @idontknowwhatthisisfam  @evi-ka  @classyandfabulous00  @redperson58  @lilysdaydreams @solowheein  @mythicalamphitrite  @axen-gers  @luckygirl144  @nj01  @buddyemily   @the-albino-lioness  @stardream14  @gdhdkfnn  @nomadicgypsyy  @preciousskye  @fluffysuicideunicornsworld  @o-kaelin  @manacharlotte  @awkward-youtube-trash  @lolalee24  @bonky-beerns  @meme-lord-and-savior-sebastian  @strawbrinkofdeath  @teenloves  @tams0527  @browneyespinkhair  @starstruckllamapuppy  @daisychains012  @y0ulooked  @tinytacosuitcaseflap @supernatural-is-my-only-life  @jula-pauline  @melodykitty  @just-that-bi-girl  @crazybutconfidentaf  @lowellshade @alphakees  @bellero  @weallneednamjesus  @starryhanji  @boiled-onionrings  @husherstan  @fockingwhore  @melaningoddessthings  @prettypastelpetals  @haleypearce  @godwhyamiawkward  @y-napotat  @daisychainyoonmin  @little-miss-rebel3  @free-wheelin-bi-sexual  @redmoon261 @darkacademic2  @wiseflamingoqueen  @into-the-end  @namikhai-i  @nastiablr  @thelittleplantlover  @mirktuan  @dont-hyuck @jjk-bunny  @vintagegothlover  @easygoingtheatre  @itsrandombooklover  @miiaivi  @emmybaybee  @befourgolden  @jjk-is-my-shit  @eternalteaaars  @spacebadgerx  @princesslunalight  @acequinn14  @samm48  @misselsbells06 @simp-lykawa  @fo-love  @marishimomura-blog  @therealglenncoco  @cinnamonbun332  @killtherandomness  @sanshinexxxsan  @fee-btheweeb  @press-lay  @cathleenpotgieter16  @jazzydoesstuff  @moonlxghtbay  @forestrain2000  @hyunjinhugs  @blood-of-fandoms  @lovellylies  @ukiyolixx  @simpforhpcharacters  @chrisdylan17  @parkerjisung  @pedernille  @theodonyous  @wineandionysus  @malfoystilinskii05  @morbid-x  @coryisagee  @jessewa26  @scoobydooluver97 @mindintheskies365  @raeanneinwonderland  @indecisive-empanada  @gluttonypalace  @loriane2503  @btsiguess-kpop  @khaoticbunny  @lucidlycactus  @smiithys  @rottenroyalebooks  @kpopgirlbtssvt  @fangirl-tc27  @fr0z3n-1  @notmesimpingfortechno  @shotarosleftpinky  @kunoi-chan  @idk-whats-wrong-with-me  @yikeroonie  @goldenstarofthunderclan  @poetry-and-tea  @ama-do-writing-stuff  @wishbonewolf  @emeraldxhope  @t0xick1tty  @kusuinko  @speakyourselfloveyourself  @sophia902103  @lo-manburg  @classsykittykat  @dmgama  @depressedpuppythatneedscoffee  @btsiguess-kpop  @akaashi-baby  @gun-jong-simp  @geschichtenfee  @yerapotato-wp  @browneyedgirl365  @thysagclub  @sparklycloudnight  @helloatomicshadow  @queentorresstuff @vtte @val-gal  @lucy-bunny17  @aaliyahh0  @katluckybear  @boyleanti  @straybids  @franchesca-791  @cosmicstorm19  @averyisbackinthetrashcan  @aomi-nabi  @xlanawriter  @allensimpsforcorpse  @sunnyrae-cessh  @ladykxxx08  @meowiemari  @renupf  @booklover76

[oneoftheprettynerds]

Fixed: Dark!Steve x Reader (Mob AU)

Chapter 4 in the Lipstick and Crayons Series.

Chapter 3: Love So Soft

Main Masterlist

A/N: It’s shorter than my usual updates but I’m busy so sorry for the delay. My final exam dates have come and all I can do is pray right now lol. Please pray for me if you can, this sis is out here writing fanfics for yall instead of studying so, haha. ANyways, enjoy babies! Shit happens in this chapter.

Warning: Non-Con, Sickening Threats, Mob Themes, Violence, Death, Manipulation, a mild mental breakdown, Cheap Tricks.

Genres + Characters: Mob AU, Single Parents AU, Steve Rogers x Reader.

Summary: Steve can’t ever repay you for what you did. After meeting you, Steve believes his broken family is the missing piece in the puzzle of your own wrecked one. Indebting the crime lord to you has been the biggest mistake of your life, cause now you can’t get rid of him, no matter what. Loyalty and favours go a long way in the mob.

Word count: 5K

Chapter 4: Fixed

You didn’t sleep that night. Or the next few. Your hands shook every time you got a flashback and even though you were numb to emotions that entire day, tears threatened to spill whenever your mind took to you to that overpriced kitchen again.

Now that he had gone to a dangerous and unnerved assaulter from a Dad trying to take care of his daughter, your mind wouldn’t put anything past him. You knew that in the back of your mind that he was a mobster and your ‘friendship’ was alarming to say the least, but now there was no denying his resources and power and the very obvious threat to your life lingering in the air.

At least before you had the luxury to be oblivious and ignorant, not anymore though. Steve felt even more unhinged and liberal now, even messaging you daily, greeting texts that you obviously ignored. He knew you both were aware that you never handed him your number and he felt no need to hide his pursuit.

You read most of the messages, not bothering with a single reply though. You tried to block him but somehow your phone would still receive messages from his number, even though his contact would always peek back at you from the otherwise empty blacklist.

As if his torment wasn’t ample, another message thread from a different number would forward you alarming images, photos of Grace in her daycare, on a class trip to the park and even her playing in your backyard. You had no doubt that this was another game of his to show you his resources.

You skipped daycare for a few days, your mental health worse than it was after the carnival attack, because now you had a personal tormentor and you cursed yourself for falling into this mess. At times, you believed it wasn’t your fault really, you just helped a kid and this situation spiraled itself but what would pointing fingers now get you? The harsh truth was you were in a calamitous situation now and every step from now on had to be thought out.

So, you let Grace attend her daycare and acted if nothing was amiss or altered, after the few initial breakdown days of course, kept going to your job and earning the bread. You considered your options, you really wanted to go to the cops or a higher fair power but those were few these days, almost non existent in your city. You also vaguely recalled meeting three of the Captains of the PD at Sarah’s birthday, all smiley and doe eyed for Steve. You knew they wouldn’t help, fucking kiss-asses.

Maybe you would have to move somewhere else, perhaps to your hometown, at least till things cooled down or better yet were forgotten? But that trail was very predictable and you didn’t want your parents in this mess.  

You also came to know that Steve had inserted himself in the other spheres of your life. You were sure your location was always being sent to him, the knowledge a courtesy of the black car following you while you travelled to home at some late day’s end.

Aiden told you whereabouts were easy to track, when you inquired ambiguously. Another instance was when you went to the bank to deposit cash for your debit card, you came face to face with an enormous amount already there. Somehow, the limit on your credit card was also extended. How, you knew. The clerk told you about an email you must have gotten in regards to it, you dismissed that justification away and told them to not accept the cash. To sum the discussion, they weren’t helpful and had no policy against anonymous donors.

Aiden, your trusted coworker cum pal, sensed the shift in your aura and fidgety form very easily, pestering you with questions and you decided to turn to him, stressed and tired and ready to do something. His questioning eyebrows made you confess vaguely but you refused to tell him the extent of it. Just that his prediction came true and you needed help. Let’s just say, Aiden was a good man.

With time, Steve’s ‘affectionate’ messages became deranged, and you found it harder to act nonchalant in your daily life. You were thankful he didn’t come to visit you, possibly occupied with the rumored war between the mobs. You just prayed for a few more days of ignorance, just enough time to think and do something.

“What do you mean someone collected her?!” You had a hard time controlling your voice, you were about to burst, in tears or with anger, you didn’t know.

“The man was verified in the emergency contacts and we got a letter signed and approved by you to skip the day an hour into the first activity.”

“A man? Emergen-, wait no! What fucking approved letter?”

You had three emergency contacts, your mom in another state, Aiden, and one of the other kid’s mom you had grown close to. Aiden was with you at work all day, so did someone disguise themselves as him? And what was the deal with the letter signed by you? You surely didn’t remember writing and authorizing one.

The boy, Pietro, who had been the receptionist for as long as you could remember, shuffled through the chaotic piles of paper and presented a letter to you, and your blood froze as your eyes skimmed the font.

Your beautiful cursive stared right back at you and you knew that no one would ever be able to distinguish between this penmanship and the one in the pocketbook in your clutch. No one but you. Even though you knew you had not written it, the slightly different ‘f’ and ‘g’ told you everything.

Your signature at the bottom though, was done quite perfectly and that made you even more scared.

“I did-, I didn’t write this! What the-” Your widened eyes met Pietro’s from above the paper but all he offered you was a meek smile. Your hands shook with rage and for the first time in your life, you had the urge to slap someone really bad.

“Maybe your family had an emergency to take he-”

“No, you don’t get it!” You stopped yourself from getting frantic, willing yourself to take deep breaths and think rationally. Today of all days, things had to mess up.

He didn’t know you had no family in this city, that you had a mobster after you or the subtle threats that his hired spy sent to you.

Was going to the police an option? Aiden already told you that the cops were as good as Steve’s men. But this was about your missing kid! You’d never forgive yourself if something happened to her. And you were giving Steve way too much credit, what if he wasn’t behind this all? Come to think of it, what if the other number wasn’t his?

Relax yourself! Thinking of disturbing theories wouldn’t help anyone. You thought you should go to the cops, just in case. No mentioning of Steve, just a woman with a ‘missing child’ report.

‘Missing Child’ left an acrid taste behind and you were too close to a breakdown, but your whole journey of single-parenthood taught you to kick vulnerability aside, well most of the times.

You turned and were about to leave, but Pietro stopped you. “If you are going to the cops Ma’am, they require 8 hours of inactivity or disappearance time for kids under 5.”

Well look who just read your mind.

You huffed and kept the tears at bay, your mind thinking of what to do then? Grace was obviously taken-

“How could you let a toddler leave without informing the parents?” You knew your anger was channeling out at the wrong man but didn’t he all but hand Grace to the stranger?

You beat him answering and inquired, “What did the man look like? Do you have any footage? Anything?” The wrinkles in your forehead and stress creases on your face paired with the eyebags betrayed your age surely. You were sure you had aged more this week than an entire decade, juggling your normal life with the hovering threat.

“You shouldn’t be this worried Ma’am.”

The fucking audacity.

“Your daughter recognized him, she all but ran to him and this other little girl he came with. You should maybe ask your parent-friends around? A blonde family perhaps?”

As all the emotions drained from your face and terror took over, the young lad in front of you looked smug. You wondered as if you imagined the faintest of smirks on his face.

You crumpled the letter in your hands, seething with rage as you stepped in your car. Oh, you were mad, more wrathful than ever. You could take any hits on you, any threat but not on Grace, never on her.

You were stupid, you had already decided you wouldn’t put anything past him but unknowingly, you did put this past him. You thought this man had a shred of decency to not use your kid in this adult war, being a parent himself and all but what a surprise! You were wrong.

You drove to your home, your thoughts a mix of trepidation, anxiety and fury. You were scared of him and his reach and resources but if he put Grace in any type of danger; whether to teach you a lesson or use her as bait or both, there’d be consequences.

Lord knows you killed a man a month ago Grace was threatened.

You had one thing to do before contacting Steve about Grace but you never got to do it because unexpectedly the bastard was in your home. In your home.

The black sports car outside was a huge giveaway but your suspicions were confirmed when you opened the door with your house key. The banter and giggles from inside alarmed yet calmed you; the dread of confrontation and the assurance of Grace’s safety reigned your mind.

As the door opened painfully slow like a horror movie, the sight that met your eyes made you sick with a feeling of failure. It wasn’t gore or blood or grunge, it was Steve bouncing Grace in the air and catching her while Sarah twirled around in the living room.  

This man was craftier than you thought, every action of his was calculated, each a refined step. You had been so preoccupied to avoid direct encounters with him in your little family’s life that you didn’t think he had other ways. He was always looming around with Sarah and as Grace began to trust Sarah, she consequently began to trust her blonde guardian too.

As you slammed the door behind you, Steve’s eyes snapped to yours and his smirk made you want to punch him so hard. The smugness on his face while he let Grace down without breaking eye contact told you he had no regret, no remorse. In fact, he was loving every second of this cat and mouse chase between you two.

You were a millimeter close to losing your shit, the only check being the kids in the room. But you were mad and he was going to know it.

“What the hell, Steve? Messing with my kid?” You threw your clutch onto the couch, Steve haughty by the reception of his sent message but still holding back because of the kids. He called Wanda and you didn’t really notice where she came from but you did register Steve asking to take the girls to the park for a ‘private discussion’.

As Grace passed by you, you grabbed her arm lightly, making her look at you with doe eyes resembling yours. You gave her a smile trying to ease her, but you knew she was smart enough to sense the change in the atmosphere.

Apparently, the whining Sarah wasn’t.

You looked back to Steve, your hold still on Grace and continued with a frown and raised eyebrows, “She isn’t going anywhere, not out of my sight and obviously not with you or your goons.”

Wanda had the audacity to look offended and you scoffed at her, eyes staring Steve’s down.

“Honey, I don’t think the kids should hear what I think you have to say right now.” He said nodding to Wanda to take Grace.

“You must be deranged to think I trust Grace near anyone even remotely related to you! Take your people and get out.” You held your hand up to stop Wanda and pointed towards the door with the most menacing glare you could form.

Grace looked incomprehensibly between you two, concern and confusion on her face. That might have been the first time such a tone was used in your household. The grumbling Sarah was close to throwing a tantrum, irritated by the change in the playful air or the lack of attention to her, you didn’t know. She was hanging on Wanda’s forearm, her feet slipping on your printed rug. Wanda was trying to not look hurt still by your previous statement, distracting herself by the blonde kid and you were baffled by her obliviousness to all this.

Steve, the beefy blonde Lucifer, was furious and seething. His white knuckles and ticking jaw were the most obvious giveaways, the fingers just itching to beat the shit out of someone no doubt.

Was he imagining striking you into compliance into his weird playhouse game complex? You wouldn’t be surprised given the extent of his attempt to ‘win’ you over.

The ‘get out’ tone and blatant disrespect was a bruise to his ego for sure, and by you, a middle-class woman nonetheless was a worse injury. Steve was the deadly boss to armored men in the vicinity, the kids’ father figure, according to him, and Wanda’s stern yet kind employer.

People had been killed for less and there you were, standing in all your glory, being the only person alive to reject Steve Rogers and now, the only to raise your voice at him.

You almost scoffed at his impudence to look offended, what did he expect? For you to submit to him after the stunt he pulled? His reach was scary he proved today and that any future with him in your life in any way, was a fearsome possibility to entertain but you’d be damned if you went down without a fight.  

“You can’t make me leave; we both know. You don’t have the physical edge nor the mental one. I have no problem drawing out G-U-N-S in front of the kids or to throw the warnings around, although I would prefer not to.”

Your free hand itched to slap him, like how his did minutes ago. It wasn’t a mankind problem about men thinking they were entitled to everything; it was a Steve Rogers’s problem. Of course, with him consent didn’t matter. If he had a ‘housewife, kids and fences’ fixation, he’d make it come true.

“Do you even listen to what I say? Or your own words even? Please, go ahead! Traumatise my kid and also yours in your wooing process! Why are you so obsessed? Leave us alone, you freak! I just ignored few messages!” You had a hard time maintaining your cool, if there was any left. You were sure you were scaring Grace and no matter what happened next, you knew she was already traumatized by this entire ordeal already. You were so sorry, so, so, so sorry to your poor baby caught in this mess.

You knew, no, you hoped, he wouldn’t pull out the gun, his actions at the carnival a proof, you remembered how he hid his gun on finding Sarah. That threat was empty but the next one wasn’t, his words making you freeze in your spot.

“I think you keep on misunderstanding me, sweetheart. I don’t make empty promises,”

Posh word for threats.

“For starters, maybe I should pay my future in-laws a visit in their blue duplex. They might need help with the vast garden they have, it is the season for ‘violets’, isn’t it?”

As you froze with your parents being brought up, he also cooled, albeit differently, smirking once again gaining the upper hand, not that he lost it if you were being honest.

“Isn’t threatening my kid enough for you, Steve?” You hated how your loud voice almost broke, your anger slowly subsiding into helplessness and you hated that. You hated his guts, his entitlement, his claim; everything about him.

“You still don’t see it, do you? Our family of four is the most important thing to me right now and I’m not above doing anything to save it.”

“There is no family of four Steve! I keep explaining and you keep coming back to square one with all this bullshit!” The curse word did tick Steve off but he would correct that later, when bigger things weren’t at ploy.

“Your ignorance makes me a little mad sometimes sweetheart and that is why I have to do all I do. You haven’t realized we need each other yet, but I’m staying until you do and even after that, I promise. You know how much it pissed me off to see your tickets and the packed suitcases after I’ve been nothing but nice? I was so generous to spoil you with my riches but instead I find that in your finances.”

This fucker knew. Of course, he did!

You were wondering in the back of your head what had prompted this visit with so many threats and warnings and anguish. He was pissed even before you ‘acted out’, he tracked the tickets and the plan and that meant he even tracked-

“You have so much to learn, but luckily you interact with quite a few people. I am most tempted to start out with this Aiden guy, trying to be the hero and giving you all the ideas. Maybe I should visit him?” Steve wondered out loud, and you flinched at his suggestion, hating how you were trapped by this man.

You couldn’t live with yourself if anyone got hurt because of you, be it your parents or Aiden or any other possibility Steve would come up with. Of course, Grace was your peak priority but you doubted he would hurt her as he threatened to harm them.

“Steve, please.” The fire was almost out, your hands trembling, Grace worried and Steve smug.

“Let the kids go and I think we can come to a conclusion.”

“Steve this needs to stop.” You said, your breaths heavy and helplessness clawing away at you.

“I won’t repeat myself.” He voiced out with a threatening edge, gesturing to Grace and Wanda, clearly telling you to first get the kids out.

For a deranged fucktard, he sure cared about the kids a lot.

You loosened your hold on Grace, patting her arm softly and nudged her to Wanda. Wanda received her little hand and enticed the kids with the promise of ice-cream. Sarah clapped her hands and as the trio left, Grace did look over her shoulders at you in concern and for permission, majorly in concern though. You nodded and waved, a tear dropping as soon as the door clicked shut.

You were still staring at the door, not wanting to meet Steve’s stormy blue orbs when he began, “Today was a slip up that I won’t tolerate again. Neither the cursing nor the dramatics.”

We aren’t in a fucking play, what the fuck is he labelling as dramatics?

Your eyes slowly flickered to his, and you had a hard time not letting the tears escape except the one traitorous one earlier. The fatigue, the worry of Grace’s disappearance, the threats to your friends and family were all catching up to you. It took all in you to stay strong and not fall down right now.

“Steve this isn’t funny anymore. It’s sick and you know it! I just said no! Was that so inexcusable that you had to follow up with this? You have violated me for that, broken into my home and now kidnapped my daughter! At what extent will you stop?” You broke down finally, arms a flailing mess as fat tears rolled down. Nothing scared more than the helplessness this moment. He won and he knew it. The carnival incident was nothing in comparison to this. The only good thing you could hope in all this was a safe Grace but that too only if you complied, which seemed like what you would do now given your attempts at fighting back and scampering have failed laughably.

“Gosh, I forgot how theatrical women are. You are smart darling; you know what I want from day one, just a happy family. Nothing that horrendous has happened and especially not as badly as put it. I’m just looking out for you and me in the long run.” Steve slowly treaded towards you, his hand extended to pat your arm comfortingly but you involuntarily flinched at contact and stepped back. Steve clearly didn’t like that as he caught your arm in a bruising grip and jerked you towards him. Manhandling you as your wet hands rushed to ease his grip was not a tough task for Steve, a surprise to none.

“Stop trembling like I’ve actually done something to harm you!”

Steve clearly didn’t know how to comfort women and it showed.

You stopped with the cowering away, even though it disgusted you to be this much in close proximity with your assaulter. He clearly had anger issues and no clue how to solve them. You needed to steer the conversation right and get him out. You could see your hands visibly shake as you put them on his chest, just to create some distance and in a way of surrendering to not fight. The tears slowed but you don’t think they stopped; it was hard to tell with a million other things on your mind.

As your eyes made contact, Steve loosened his grip, clearly a bit satisfied by your submission, as he began counting to help you breathe. As much as you hated to admit, it helped you and you got a flashback to the time when you freaked out on him about Grace at that extravagant dinner date. That was a sweet gesture then, not so sweet now. Funny how drastically things change with time.

It wasn’t so much Steve’s help as it was your own mind telling you to be fucking smart about the whole ordeal right now.

“Good. Better. Now let’s talk. Why were you planning to run away? I’ve been busy and coming home to find out that wasn’t joyful, you know.” His smile suggested a better mood than before but his voice, his husky voice always had this daring edge that almost challenged you to defy him but at the same time warned you of unpleasant consequences if you did.

“Steve, I’m scared.” You spoke with utmost honesty. “The part of the world you associate yourself with scares me. You can’t blame me for not wanting that life for Grace, I mean you have a kid of your own. Wasn’t the carnival attack specifically on Sarah?”

The reasoning was right but you knew you triggered him the moment his smile evaporated. He either felt insulted as a parent or disrespected in his profession or probably both.

He was fighting his inner demons already and you pointing it out was a slap to his face, a hit he didn’t want to take.

“That was a slip up, I admit. Never again. I’m only human, okay?” He convinced himself and you, his grip tightening a bit again.

Oh no, not the right direction to take.

You reckoned he still had nightmares about it like you, he really did love Sarah a lot, all things aside.

“Besides, I am looking out for you! Out for you and Grace and Sarah. I remember my promise of never putting either of them in harm’s way ever again.”

You definitely didn’t trust his security or his people because what sort of a mobster let his daughter get targeted and possibly abducted? You definitely didn’t know the whole story or if it was just a bad day but he wasn’t a person that deserved some slack. Despite all this, you knew what all he held above you, above a common man. He might not be ‘Kingpin’ skilled but a threat to you nonetheless.

Before you could stop yourself, you blurted out, “Is that what you call following me around, huh?” which you immediately regretted.

“Trust the process, baby. Everything is just to protect you.”

Is that what he called stalking even Grace around and twistedly enough, sending you proof of that? The anonymous thread of photos was another nightmare of yours, thanks to him. The last being a candid photo inside Grace’s room, her sleeping in her bed this morning and that’s when you decided you needed to get out. Of course, that didn’t go as planned.

“How am I supposed to do that when you have cameras in my house?!” You scoffed and he reeled back at the accusation, having the nerve to look impressed at being uncovered and caught red-handed.

“Oh my fucking God, it was you! You sick pervert!” You jumped out of his grip, your eyes wide and horrified. “I wasn’t aware of what to make of it but of course, it was you! Who else would be sick enough to do that?” You let out a humorless chuckle. You always put things past him even when you keep telling yourself you shouldn’t. When will you ever learn huh?  

You were full on panicking yet again, this man was an assaulter, a stalker and a creep too. It would have made a good dark, psychological thriller for you to watch if you weren’t the protagonist about to suffer his obsession.

He reached out to steady you again, but you whipped and stumbled back, realizing too late that you elbowed Steve’s nose so bad that there was a crunch. That, right there, was the look a man real-fucking-furious on Steve’s face and now you could see the feared mobster, the man who was personally terrorizing you under the beautiful, Greek God façade.

Steve reacted so fast even with an injury that in a split second, your view of his face turned into a view of his crotch.

“You do realize that there are others ways for me to teach you obedience? I think it’s fucking time you show me your gratitude for my care and attention and apologize for your misconduct and unkind response.” Steve spoke with a hoarse voice, a voice running out of patience and just about done with defiance.

His hand fisted your hair, maintaining eye contact while he nodded between you and his crotch. You knew what he wanted, what he was expecting as ‘thanks’.

“Steve, please no, you don’t-”

His other hand grabbed your jaw, stopping you from speaking as he warned, “I think you have done just enough talking for today, so why don’t you put that tongue to a better use and show me how sorry you are. Better make it convincing because I’d hate to pay one of your friends a visit and then bitch about a nasty blowjob.” He smirked at the end of his monologue, eyes shining with triumph and amusement.

You wouldn’t let him harm anyone else, you couldn’t. You and your daughter were already knee-deep in a pit and at this point, it’d just be cruel to drag someone else in. With shaky hands opening his pants, you just hoped you could get Grace out before you eventually were buried in it.

“Now that’s a good girl. Submissive is a sexy look on you.” His hands patted your hair, playing with your tresses while yours pulled his pants and then briefs down.

His member jerked out, almost slapping you in the face as you recoiled at his insolence to get hard and erect at your torment. Your disdain must have shown which he took as admiration and derision to take his affluent cock in.

“No need to get shy, I have faith you’ll be able take it just as well in your pretty pussy as you will right now. Open up-”

“Steve, I beg you-”

Just as you had cut him off, he interrupted your pleading. Your gag reflex was probably the most efficient in the world but that turned this narcissist on. It had been years since you had done it, never with a man as beefy as Steve.

His taste was salty and if you had to put it into better words, it was the like overpriced sea salt flakes that you never bought. High and pricey and for the entitled.

Your hands clutched at his thighs as you blacked out multiple times; your jaw aching, uvula swaying and tears escaping. Him forcing himself on you brough a new sense of vulnerability as your body trembled. Steve relished like a sadist, practically rutting into you all by himself as you just sat there with your jaw unnaturally open.

His obscene moans and groans were crass and nauseating and you just prayed for this to be over soon and for no one to walk in on this, especially your kid.

It seemed like it would never end, your body dehydrating with all the spit it produced, the drool dribbling and landing just beside your knees on your printed rug. You would have to throw that out.

The tears stooped after some point, the sobbing an unnecessary action that just tired you out more on this eventful day. You moved your tongue around to prevent your teeth from scratching him when he shifted angles. If this was what he did on slightly mad, you didn’t want to find what he did for a more serious punishment.

Apparently, that action was something that turned him on even more, his breath hitching as neared closure. In broken whispers he demanded that again and you complied, wanting to get done with it.

He growled in the moment of his release and you tried to lean back but his grip didn’t relent. “Swallow.” His grainy, exasperated voice said out loud and you knew better than to defy.

He released you and you fell on to the rug, hip bruising by knocking into some furniture and tears coming back again after being hydrated by his seed. He packed himself, his smile smug and content as his expressions truly resembled ecstasy being personified.

“You be a good fiancée from now on and maybe you’ll have all your friends alive and present at our wedding. No cheeky business from now on, got it?” Steve hummed then and strutted out, not even bothering to listen to your reply.

As soon as the door slammed, your eyes closed and your demons danced again.

There was no right direction to take when you were stuck in a loop.  

[ptergwen]

web of lies

take a leap. if you start to fall, the net will appear to catch you.

photographer!peter x journalist!reader || masterlist

w/c: 7.1k

warnings: swearing, one drinking mention, descriptions of anxiety, and angst if ya squint

summary: peter can’t stop holding your hands, betty and ned are the modern day bonnie and clyde, ned is a terrible guy in the chair, the osborn’s are up to something, and mj hates you all

a/n: y’all i’m super excited about this series like i haven’t had an idea i’ve really loved in months? so it’s good to be back !!! there are tons of things i have planned and i can’t wait to share them with all of you hehe i really hope you enjoy part one <3 happy reading

to be honest, which is what you do best, you’ve had a thing for peter parker your whole time at the daily bugle. you actually almost told him once.

a couple months ago, peter walked you home on a night you worked overtime. he’d came in last minute to leave some pictures on your boss’s desk. no one else but you was there, hunched at your computer in the dim office lighting. peter was pleasantly surprised to see you, yet concerned for your well-being. you had to put your finishing touches on a story.

he didn’t feel comfortable letting you travel alone at that hour. so, he went with you when you were ready. his company was more than welcomed. you told peter about your article while you two sat on the subway. he’d listened intently, your head resting on his shoulder and his arm around you. he made sure you got to your apartment building alright as well.

“hey, peter?” you’d asked, halfway up the steps. he was waiting until you were inside and safe to leave. “hm? you good?” he’d smiled sort of expectantly. “yeah. i... i wanted to say...”

your words got caught in your throat when he gave you the softest puppy eyes you’ve ever seen. you couldn’t do it. for some reason, you were too scared to confess how you felt. “thanks again for walking me home,” you’d settled on. he’d seemed disappointed that was what you wanted to tell him. nevertheless, he said not to worry about it before taking off.

that one moment perfectly captures it all; how yours and peter’s narrative plays itself out.

—

“we’ve got an update on hydra v. the people!”

“those freaky giraffes escaped the zoo... again.”

“shoot one more spitball and it’ll be your last.”

“does anyone have an aspirin?”

welcome to the daily bugle, where the chaos never ends and the calm never starts. you’ll find new york’s finest writers, publishers, and creatives of all kind right here. that would include you. you’re one of the top journalists in the whole building, according to mr. norman osborn. he’s the brilliant and slightly insane man who runs this place.

although it’s rare for someone in your field, you were hired straight out of college. norman read a few pieces you’d written and loved them so much that he offered you a job. full time, full benefits, no questions asked. there was something special about the way you wove your words together. your writing had its own voice. a strong voice, one the paper was severely lacking.

you’ve been with the bugle for just over a year now. it’s not the quiet, nine to five gig you were initially expecting it to be. you’re each very unique individuals in your office, and there’s never a dull moment because of it. your coworkers can be found hosting debates on the riskiest topics or tackling each other for blueberry muffins, and that’s just a regular tuesday. the place is stranger than strange. but, it’s become home.

thanks to mr. osborn being so accommodating, you actually settled in rather quickly. another big help has been the friends you’ve made. your first was michelle jones, who prefers to be called mj. she’s a fellow journalist with a wickedly dark humor that trickles into her writing. if you had to describe her in one word, it would be blunt. mj is as real as it gets, and also eternally loyal. she keeps her circle small, so you’re honored you get to be in it.

mj sits right next to you, which means you’re always talking through your days. that’s due in part to the way your office is set up. there aren’t any cubicles, tables and swirly chairs taking up their space instead. norman heard it was more progressive, probably from his son harry.

harry is about your age, only a couple of years older. he hangs around quite a lot, but doesn’t do much with his time besides that. according to norman, he’s still seeking out his passion. he’s banking on him finding a suitable career at the bugle. he’d like to pass this all on to harry some day, hopefully sooner than later. either way, you don’t mind having harry here. he’s super funny and friendly with everyone.

there’s also ned leeds, who’s an editor and reviews most of your pieces. he’s sweeter than candy, even when he’s ripping your grammar to shreds. on the rare occasions you’re not discussing breaking news, you two talk about movies. ned is a film buff and gives you the best recommendations. you’re convinced he was a critic in his past life.

last but so from least is peter parker. he only works for the bugle part time, since he’s still in school. you both graduated from your respective colleges the same year. peter wants to get his masters degree, though. he’s a photographer who’s aspiring to be a cinematographer. him and ned have their passion for the industry in common, and that’s what makes them such great friends.

you learned this and more from the times you and peter have partnered up on stories. he’s one of your best friends not only at the bugle, but in your entire life. the many long nights you’ve spent collaborating have brought you close to each other. they consist of drinking and deep talks, along with some actual work. he takes the pictures, you do the writing. you’ve been told you make a lovely pair.

peter says it himself, too. you’d like to believe he means it as more than coworkers. he’s so caring, and smart, and pure, and peter. yeah, you like him an awful lot. you can hardly stand the feeling of it sometimes.

the fact that you you haven’t come clean already is ridiculous.

“goddamn. not again,” you mutter out. “em, you better come look at this. it’s bad.” mj wheels over to you in her chair with a puzzled look. her eyes follow yours, landing on your computer. “leeds just sent this? to everyone?” she questions, your reply a short hum. you’re both staring daggers at the email your screen displays.

ned is responsible for assigning each journalist their own topics to cover. he’s been lacking a bit recently, having you write up think pieces on fluffy things. in other words, stuff that no one cares about. he asked you to compare oat milk and almond milk just last week. you’d hoped this week would be better, but here you are.

“this is ass. who does he think we are, buzzfeed?” mj scoffs at her own words. the daily bugle prides itself on being a reliable news source, on paper and tv. you’re starting to stoop down to the low level of your competitors. “he assigned me some tiktok dance trend. i’m not writing a single word about that app.” she sets her elbows down on the table, head in her hands.

“aw, why not? grandma mj isn’t down with the kids?” you tease and click out of the upsetting email. “i don’t write for kids,” mj deadpans. she pushes her glasses up on her nose. “what’d you get?” “the evolution of memes,” you gloomily reply. you’re surprised norman has been approving these topics. then again, ned is the head editor. he can do whatever he wants regardless of approval.

mj glares over at the kitchen, where betty brant currently resides. she’s making two hot chocolates instead of her usual one. “i blame her,” mj mumbles to you. your eyebrows furrow. “dude, what? betty is an angel. she doesn’t even work in editing.” betty is the bugle’s highest rated anchorwoman. her and her news team are on people’s televisions every night.

“no, but she has been spending a generous amount of time with leeds,” mj grumbles. she’s admittedly very nosy. the upside is that she tells you any juicy office drama there is. “my theory is betty’s making him give us crap stories so she can report the good ones.” she glances over at you to see what you think. “no way. that can’t be allowed... or legal,” you laugh back.

as if on cue, ned appears next to betty in the kitchen. he takes the extra hot coco that’s piled high with whipped cream. betty tucks a sheet of paper into his suit pocket and kisses his cheek, then he’s gone. you can only gasp as you watch this unfold. what has she done to poor, clueless ned?

“not such an angel anymore, huh?” mj smirks in satisfaction. “suddenly, she has red horns and a pitchfork,” you bitterly agree with your tongue in your cheek. betty waves to you two on her way back to broadcasting. mj gives her a fake nice finger wave, you ignoring her. “we can’t sit back and let this happen, em. we have to do something,” you decide. “let’s tell norman.”

uninterested, mj takes off her glasses and starts to clean them. “like he’ll believe us. yeah, golden girl betty brant is sabotaging the writer’s room,” she rewords her previous statement to put its stupidity in perspective. you throw your hands up. “she is, though! we literally watched it happen!” mj puts her freshly wiped glasses back on and sighs.

“i doubt norman would care, y/n. every newspaper to ever exist is corrupt somehow.” your pessimistic old pal has a point. however, you’re not so willing to accept it. “why can’t we be the first one that isn’t?” you offer a small smile. mj snickers, wheeling back to her own computer. “those are words of the innocent.” she’s already tapping her fingers across the keyboard.

“i thought you weren’t doing the tiktok piece,” you say under your breath. you’re slightly pissed mj turned you down, since she’s the reason you know about betty’s meddling. “i’m not,” mj answers sharply. “i’m gonna email quentin and ask if we can change our topics. happy?” quentin beck is another editor in the building. he’s not bad, but he is intimidating. no one typically goes to him as their first option.

“i’m thrilled,” you confirm and grin at mj to emphasize it. “thanks for stepping up. you’re forgiven.” “i didn’t realize i had to be sorry,” mj notes, this time in a playful manor. she shakes her head as she begins writing. “you and your morals.”

what you value most in your career is honesty, under any circumstances. of course, the other daily bugle writers are the same. norman strictly prohibits clickbait and crazy headlines because that isn’t real news. you leave that to companies like buzzfeed. you’re honest in the sense that you say whatever has to be said, what everyone else is too afraid to. you’ll speak your truth no matter who tries to stop you.

it didn’t used to be that way. there’s some childhood trauma that remains deep in the back of your mind. you’ve left that behind you now, having over a decade to cope with it. hey, they say the past is in the past. what’s important is your takeaway, that you would never let yourself or anyone else be silenced from there on out. never again.

quentin ends up giving you the okay to write different stories. he lets you and mj choose choose your own because he’s got “better things to do” and you’re “big girls.” what a peach he is. mj goes with how capitalism is continuing to provoke global warming. she has something to say about every major world issue, and you admire the hell out of her for it.

you’re a bit stuck when it’s time to write your article. it’s terribly ironic because you pushed for this. you aren’t too worried, though. the city is crawling with material, so you’ll find what you’re looking for eventually. lucky for you, some much needed inspiration comes skipping out of the elevator.

“morning, peter,” you hear liz greet him at the front desk. she’s your floor’s receptionist. her wisdom and patience keep this place going. “hi, liz. how’s it going?” he asks. “things have been quiet... mostly. can i do anything for you?” liz peers up at him. peter sports a shy smile. “uh, yeah. mr. osborn wanted to see me?” “right. hang on.” she nods, dialing his office phone number.

it’s endearing how peter calls him mr. osborn, seeing as the rest of you go with norman. he’s probably the politest guy you’ve ever met.

grinning, liz puts down the phone. “you can go in whenever you’re ready. good luck!” peter laughs nervously and turns to leave. “thanks, you too.” his face falls when he realizes his mistake. “wait, i- i didn’t mean to say that. that was stupid. you’re not-“ “it’s fine, peter,” liz reassures him. his anxiety makes him trip over his words sometimes. that, and he’s a bit dorky in general. you find it rather adorable.

you also wonder what exactly he needs good luck for. he’s not even supposed to be working today, so your curiosity as to what’s going on has been piqued.

“um, i’m gonna go now. bye!” peter rushes off, his face tinted pink from the embarrassing encounter. you’re hoping he’ll stop and talk with you for a little while, but he heads straight to norman’s office. your whole body deflates at that. mj notices from her peripherals.

“what’s the matter? missing your hubby?” she coos, her words dripping in sarcasm. “no,” you lie. “i’m... i don’t know what to write about.” ok, there’s some truth. mj gives you a couple pats on the shoulder. “ask parker for help. you two work... well together. don’t you?” this must be the zillionth time you’ve heard that.

“we do,” you murmur and glance at norman’s closed door. peter is hidden behind it. “i just don’t wanna bug him. he has finals soon, and whatever norman is putting him up to. it’s my job, anyway.” mj pokes your arm. “those sound like excuses to me,” she concludes, still jabbing at you childishly. “you really just don’t wanna tell him you like-“

“can you keep it down?” you hiss, yanking your arm back. “he’s literally right over there.” peter stands up and shakes norman’s hand. you catch it through the blinds on his window. “y/n, you were drooling over his mere presence only minutes ago,” mj prefaces, a smile pulling at her lips. “you can handle three little words. i like you, that’s it. spit it out already.”

you’ll never admit this to mj, but she’s right. you lost your momentum after your first failed attempt to say the three little words. you’re still not sure what stopped you. you’d shared the details of that faithful night with her, and she’s been pushing you to try again since.

the door to norman’s office opens, and out walks peter. he’s beaming after their conversation, which seems like a good sign. harry passes peter on his way in to pay his dad a visit. he claps him on the shoulder, peter happily accepting before continuing his stride back into the main office. it takes a moment to register that he’s coming towards you.

you quickly set your focus back on your computer so he doesn’t think you’ve been watching him. even though, you definitely have.

“y/n!” peter calls your name. he’s on the opposite side of your table, in front of you. “peter!” you match his tone. “i was just dropping by. i thought i’d say hey while i’m here.” he’s still grinning. “what’re you doing?” he looks cute as ever in an oversized and cream colored sweater. his curls are slicked back with a tad too much product, cheeks rosy. you gaze up at him when he rests his arms on the table.

“pretending to be productive,” mj answers for you, pressing her lips together. peter cocks his head to the side. “pretending?” “ignore her. she’s being a shit stirrer today,” you explain. “like every other day,” he jokes, earning a laugh from you. mj just tuts and keeps writing. “talk about me like i’m not here,” she mumbles to herself, then gets back into her article.

“anyways, i thought you didn’t work today?” you ask to take the attention off yourself. also, because you’re curious. “oh! get this.” peter perks up even more, if that’s possible. he has energy like no other. “you know alex in broadcasting? betty’s camera guy?” “what about him?” you wonder. “he called in sick earlier this morning, with the flu or something.” he’s oddly excited to announce this. that prompts you to make a funny face.

biting back another smile, peter elaborates. “mr. osborn needed someone to fill in for him, so he picked me. i’ll be here all week.” it makes sense, since peter knows how to work a camera and does so wonderfully. you give him a celebratory push at his chest. “peter, that’s amazing! this is the perfect way to transition from pictures to film, right?” he’s nearing his finals at school, which consist of more movie-like projects. the news will be great practice.

then, he’s off to hollywood. you’ll put that out of your mind for now.

“exactly! i think it’ll be a good place to start. the pay isn’t bad either.” peter wiggles his eyebrows at you, you giggling once again. you do a lot of that when he’s around. that’s going to be more often now. “plus, i get to see you. everyone wins.” he squeezes your hand that was just on him. your heart begins to thump. “except alex,” you challenge, playing with his fingers. “but, for real. i’m happy you get to do this and that we’ll be spending more time together.”

“thanks, y/n/n. me too.” peter grins and leans over, taking a peek at your computer screen. there’s a blank word document on it. “you never told me what you’re up to,” he chuckles. “guess mj was right... nothing.” “i’m always right,” she chimes in from next to you. you look between the two of them with a scowl. “i haven’t found my story yet. i don’t know, this never happens.” peter nods as you share your dilemma. “no good ideas are coming to me,” you murmur.

“they will. you have a way of attracting things.” he licks his lower lip, your heart completely stopping this time. “well, i gotta go set up for rise and shine with betty brant.” he waves his hand like he’s presenting his words. that’s what betty calls her morning news segment. “be careful with her. she’s being really sketchy these days,” you warn peter, mj grunting in agreement.

confused, peter purses his lips. “really? ned says she’s a sweetheart. they’ve been going out for a while.” mj pops her head up and adjusts her glasses. “did ned also tell you she’s bribing him to give her all of our scoops?” she’s asking rhetorically because she already knows the answer. of course he didn’t. “it’s one thing to not like her. you’re just making things up now,” peter huffs.

mj kicks your foot under the table. “i told you no one would believe us. not even peter gullible parker.” “it’s benjamin,” he corrects her. “whatever,” she brushes it off, resuming her work.

peter does tend to be sort of naive, to only see the good in things when there’s plenty of bad. you’re the same in that way, unless you hang around mj for too long.

“is that true? betty’s stealing your stories?” peter turns to you and asks. you gesture to your screen. “i don’t have one, so you do the math.” he hums sympathetically. he’ll listen to you, never mj. “i’m sorry. thanks for telling me, y/n. i’ll watch out for her.” he bends his fingers to look like goggles, putting them around his eyes. you sigh lightheartedly.

“are you twenty two years old or twelve?” mj remarks, but not without a comeback from peter. “you’re, like, eighty five. worry about that.” they’ve had this type of banter for as long as you’ve known them. it’s equal parts amusing and exhausting. “don’t be late on your first day.” you snap peter out of it with a knowing smile. he returns it.

“i hope something crazy happens so you can write about it.” he’s walking backwards now, towards the elevator. “see you later, pete,” is all you say back, yet another laugh threatening to escape you. “see you. bye, michelle,” peter says just to bug her. “it’s mj,” she groans without looking up. he shrugs. “not so fun, is it?”

after peter is gone, you try to get back into work. or rather, you try to start your work. what he said about you having a way of attracting things keeps ringing in your head. was he flirting? no, he couldn’t have been. peter parker doesn’t flirt. words aren’t his strong suit, and you have countless memories that prove this to be true. earlier with liz, for example.

you’re probably reading way into this. peter was simply doing what any good friend would do and gave you advice.

it’s late in the afternoon when anything worth mentioning happens again. peter is still with betty, as far as you know. they’re probably preparing for the nighttime news now. all you’ve done since seeing him is nibble on snacks and bug mj, who’s almost done with her story despite your distractions. this is really bad, considering your deadline to submit is at the end of today.

you’ve never missed a deadline.

mj emails her work to quentin while you repeatedly bang your head on the table. she hits send before deciding to entertain you. “whatcha doing over there?” she cautiously prompts, powering off her computer. “trying to get an idea. i’m desperate, if you couldn’t tell.” your voice is muffled. “i could.” mj grabs your shoulders and pulls you back so you’re sitting up. you childishly pout.

“y/n, the only thing that’s gonna give you is brain damage,” mj says sternly, then softens her tone. “why don’t you ask for an extension? norman gives me them all the time.” whining, you slump down in your chair again. “yeah, but you’re you! we do things differently, have different expectations put on us.” she’s back to cold mj after you say that. “alright. at least i did something today besides pine over that little-“

mj’s insult for peter is interrupted by harry. “ladies, what’s shaking?” he comes up to you two with a the hint of smirk on his face. you manage a nod to acknowledge him. “oh, hey... harry,” mj unenthusiastically replies. she’s the one person who isn’t really a fan of him. “not much. y/n was just having a tantrum.” “she was not,” you dismiss her. “it’s work stuff. you know your dad.”

harry clicks his tongue in a teasing way. “yep, the grind never stops in this joint. boss man is...” he does the sign for cuckoo with his finger. you laugh a little at that. “in a good way,” you add on. mj only watches you two, blinking blankly. harry gives you a definitive pat on the back. “before i forget, he wants to see you.” that gets mj talking. “norman?” she questions. “your dad?” you choke out at the same time.

“who else? he said you two have to talk.” harry flashes you a weary smile. “have fun in there, old sport.” you’re too busy biting the skin off your bottom lip to respond. “mhm... she will,” mj speaks on your behalf. even she sounds worried. saluting you both, harry leaves to go pester your other colleagues. you’re completely and totally fucked.

“that’s it for me!” you grin sarcastically, freaked out by harry. “i’m fired, aren’t i? i’m definitely about to get fired, and it’s all because-“ “relax!” mj cuts off your rambling. she reaches down and grasps at your wrists. “get it together, y/l/n. you’re the best we have, okay? you aren’t going anywhere.” your grin becomes a frown. “then why does norman wanna talk to me? and, why don’t i have a story?”

mj always has the answers, but this time is the execption. she lets out a breath. “i don’t know. you’ll go find out and tell me what happens.” there’s no use protesting. you’re going to have to face whatever you’re about to at some point. “ok,” you give in, defeated. “i’ll be back soon, i hope.”

the walk to norman’s office feels like a walk of shame. mj can do nothing but sit back and observe it. if this ends the way you think it will, you’ll be collecting your things and won’t ever return. norman is a kind man, and he’s usually pretty understanding. he doesn’t mind the workplace shenanigans as long as you get your job done. unfortunately, you haven’t today.

you hear your boss’s booming voice when you approach his door. inhaling deep, you knock on it, and the room goes silent. “come in,” norman responds after a few seconds. mustering up a smile, you open the door to be met with your doom. “hi, am i interrupting something?” you check. “not at all! you’re just the person i wanted to see. sit, sit,” he beckons you over. he’s not using his angry voice, so maybe you’re in the clear. you enter the room as told.

you’re shocked to see a terrified peter is already in one of the chairs. he visibly relaxes a bit now that you’re here. what the hell is happening? whatever you were expecting, this was the last thing.

taking the armchair next to peter, you sit facing norman’s desk. you nudge his arm to get his attention. his big brown eyes lock with yours. “what’s going on?” you whisper. “no idea,” peter whispers back. the two of you turn to norman again when he claps his hands. he’s plopped down into his cushy leather seat.

“so,” he begins, gaze flicking from peter to you. “you kids know why you’re here?” “is it because i missed my deadline?” you blurt out. you’re once again a nervous wreck. peter doesn’t speak, just winces. “not that. although, i did hear from ned that you turned down his assignment.” norman flicks at a post-it on his desk. “i asked quentin for one instead. me and mj,” you explain, peter’s eyes going wide.

“you talked to quentin? that guy’s bad news,” he murmurs to you. “how so?” norman questions, since it’s his employee. “he- he, um,” peter clears his throat before answering, “he’s super critical, you know? hates all my pictures.” “i love your pictures,” you assure him, the corners of his lips turning up. “your style is so cool. yeah, though. quentin’s pretty bitter.”

considering this, norman drums his fingers on the desk. “i’ll look into that. but, that isn’t why you’re here. i’m letting you off the hook this time.” your whole demeanor changes and a huge weight lifts off of you. “really? you are?” “i have a scoop of my own that i want you to cover,” he continues, peter bumping your knee happily. a toothy grin takes over your face.

“since peter will be sticking around for a while, i want him to join you.” norman waits a beat in case you have any questions. it’s been a minute since you last worked together. peter laughs in disbelief. “you want me to take over for alex and do this?” norman nods proudly. “y/n will need the extra hands, if you have them.” “yes, sir. i do,” peter immediately confirms. “my last class is next thursday, so i have the time.”

“wait, so you’re almost done? that’s awesome!” you bump peter’s knee this time. “yup, all that’s left is finals... and studying.” he mindlessly takes your hand, lacing your fingers together. you’re enjoying his gentle touches. “thank you so much, norman. seriously, i appreciate this a lot,” you tell him and mean it. “hey, no problem,” he chuckles at your eagerness. you grip peter’s hand tighter.

“what’s the story?” “ah, yes. the most important part,” norman starts, peter sharing an excited look with you. “how familiar are you two with spider-man?” his excitement fades at the question posed. it’s unbeknownst to you, caught up in the moment. “uh, same as everyone else, i guess,” you casually reply. “how come?” “he’s your subject.” norman points at you both. “you’re gonna study him over these next few months.”

peter’s hand goes limp in yours, and he gulps hard, throat feeling dry. “you mean, like, an exposé?” “no, no. there will be no exposing,” norman clarifies. “i’m sure he wears the mask for a reason.” that settles peter only slightly. you’re not sure why he’s so tense all of a sudden. “what’s our aim here, then?” you steer the conversation.

“see what new york’s favorite hero gets up to every day, how his life is beyond the crime fighting,” norman further describes your task. peter exhales a shaky breath, shifting away from you in his seat. the golden sun hits his face and reveals a bead of sweat dripping down it. you stare at his figure in worry. “you okay, peter?” “fine. i’m just... hot,” he murmurs back. his sweater does look pretty heavy, so you concede.

getting back to norman’s story, you grimace at the idea. “do you really think people will want to read that? for lack of a better term, it sounds kind of...” you pause. “basic.” “i thought the same thing at first,” he surprisingly agrees with you. “harry pitched the idea to me this morning. you won’t believe it! the other night, he caught spider-man hanging outside his window.”

“harry... harry saw him?” peter squeaks out. he uses the wool material that feels like it’s swallowing him to dab at his forehead. “he stopped on his balcony. must have been pretty late, the kid’s a night owl,” norman says about his son. your face lights up as you listen to him. “he took some shots of spidey in action, when he swung off. i saw a few. they were pretty great.” he’s grinning at his son’s success.

“maybe he’ll get into photography with you, pete,” norman suggests. peter gives him a weak smile in return. “we’d be happy to have him.” he usually has a lot more to say about his career than that. his behavior is starting to genuinely concern you. “anyway,” norman gets back on topic, “it got me thinking. how much do we really know about this guy? we’re supposed to blindly put our trust in him?”

you’re beginning to see the appeal now. you’ve written your share of pieces on the avengers and their methods, tackling the same questions norman just asked you. spider-man shouldn’t be overlooked, especially when he operates so close to your home. this could be another revolutionary superhero story in the making. and, you get to bring peter along for the ride.

“you know what? this has a lot of potential,” you smile at norman, then peter. he has his phone in his lap, fingers flying across the screen. it must be something important. you’ll discuss with norman while he takes care of that. “we could make it a weekly thing, about spider-man’s adventures. find out what we can about the man behind the mask...” peter shoots up in his seat. “without taking it off,” you finish, putting his mind at ease.

“see, i knew you were gonna love it! it was a blessing in disguise, you missing that deadline.” norman bangs his fist on the table with a hearty laugh. “what do you say, peter? you still in?” peter slips his phone back in his pocket. his tongue pokes out to wet his lips. “oh, of course. i can’t wait to work with you, y/n/n,” he speaks in a monotone voice, adding on, “again.”

something is definitely bothering him, and it isn’t the weather.

“i gotta go. betty needs me upstairs, so,” peter moves to get up, his body stiff. you assume that’s who he was texting. “thank you again, mr. osborn.” he’s rushing out of the room just like that, until you call after him. “um, don’t you wanna set a time to meet up? so we can get started?” you reasonably ask. “i... i really gotta go. find me later,” peter tells you, giving you both a tight lipped smile and running off.

“the dynamic duo is back!” norman announces to you. you’re disappointed you can’t share that sentiment with peter.

he’s absolutely booking it down the stairs, not bothering to wait for the next elevator. this is bad. this is a nightmare.

peter went from having one of his best days in a while to the worst in not even a full round of work. today started off fine, and got better when norman promoted him. it got way better when you came along. he saw your smile that makes his insides tingle, heard your laugh that’s the prettiest sound to grace his ears, held your hand that he never wants let go.

things went a bit downhill after that. betty was pushy and yelled at him a lot, demanding he only film her good angles for the segment. you and mj weren’t wrong when you told him to be careful.

later on when he saw you again, everything was okay. he was physically shaking as brad told him mr. osborn requested to see him. brad is mr. osborn’s assistant. a try-hard for sure, but good at his job. why did mr. osborn call him in? did betty complain already?

they’d been sitting in mostly silence, save for small talk until you came knocking on the door. simply being next to you was enough to ground peter and his racing thoughts. it was enough, then it wasn’t.

the whole day had gone to shit after he found out you were going to be writing stories about his alter ego. not only that, but he was helping. during the pitch, he’d texted ned to meet him in the bathroom. he was really anxious and needed a friend who understood why.

ned accidentally found out peter is spider-man last year. it’s a long story that involves peter hiding from some bad guys in the building and ned shrieking so loud the lights flickered. they’re cool now that peter talked things through with him. his secret has been kept, from what he knows.

pushing open the men’s bathroom door, peter is a mixture of sweat and ragged breaths. he’s panting from his fast descent down the staircase. he takes in his disheveled appearance using one of the mirrors. his styled hair is now damp and undone, hands trembling and palms sweaty, chest heaving. here’s his daily reminder that anxiety is not cute. as if he didn’t know.

his stupid, gigantic freaking sweater is only making things worse. it’s suffocating him. no one else is in here, so peter pulls it over his head and tosses it to the ground. he’s got a t-shirt on underneath that happens to be black. what a convenient day for him to wear the hottest material there is.

peter splashes his face with some cold water next to try and cool himself down. that doesn’t do much for him. his face still feels like it’s on fire, but now it’s wet. he takes his hands through his mop of curls, backing away from the sink.

“fuck. fuck, fuck, fuck,” peter repeats to himself. he’s silent for a moment, then rage overcomes him. he kicks open a bathroom stall. “shit! i can’t do this. what am i supposed to-“

the door creeks open, so peter shuts up in case it isn’t ned. it thankfully is, and he wears a deep frown at the sight of his best friend. “dude, what happened? you look...” “terrible. i know,” peter finishes for him. he tugs at his locks in another attempt to tame them. ned approaches him carefully. “you’re not, like, dying... are you? because betty was telling me you have to-“ “of course you were with betty,” peter exhales in frustration. “no, ned. i’m not dying.”

in ned’s defense, the text he received was very alarming. all peter wrote was, ‘EMERGENCY. SOS.’

“i mean, yeah. it was my break.” ned sits on the ledge by the window, close to peter. “you do the same with y/n.” the mention of your name upsets peter all over again. he hides his face in his hands as ned watches. “if you’re not dying, then what’s the problem?” ned finally asks. “me and y/n...” peter removes his hands from his face, meeting ned’s worried eyes. “mr. osborn wants us to do a project together.”

“uh, peter? you’ve been saying how much you miss her forever, dude! you’re not excited?” ned snorts at him. he means well, but he has no clue what he’s talking about. “no. it’s supposed to be about spider-man,” peter answers angrily. this isn’t the support he was hoping for. realizing the severity of the situation, ned gets serious.

“oh... but, you’re still doing it?” he questions. “i didn’t have a choice,” peter scoffs out. “i can’t let either of them down.” “you’ll expose yourself!” ned escalates things further. “it’s not like that. we’re gonna follow spider-man around and post updates on him,” peter says, technically in the third person. he’s given an are you insane? look from ned.

“you are spider-man! and, no offense, but you’re not so good at hiding it,” ned refers to himself finding out. “how are you gonna be in two places at once?” damnit, peter hadn’t thought about that yet. he can’t be taking pictures of spider-man and swinging from building to building simultaneously. “i- i’ll figure it out,” peter stammers, unconvincingly.

ned looks him over in a disapproving way. “jeez. you’re really putting your life on the line for this girl-“ “woman,” peter interjects, not loving ned’s attitude towards you. “have some respect.” unfazed, ned gets up from the windowsill. “speaking of women, remember betty? you’re still on the clock,” he changes the subject. peter nearly forgot he has to go film her segment.

“i’ll head up to her now,” peter gives in. he scoops up his discarded sweater, not bothering to check his appearance again. ned follows behind him to the door. “we wrote her script together, you know,” he gladly informs peter, who already knows from you. “not really a flex,” peter mumbles his response. “peter, lighten up.” ned hits at his shoulder. the two of them exit the bathroom.

“you’ll figure this out later. i can always help.” he shoots him a sugary sweet smile. “thanks, ned. for talking with me and everything.” peter doesn’t smile back. they do a quick bro handshake, then they’re going their separate ways. “have a good show, dude!” ned yells back, to which he doesn’t get a response. peter doesn’t have it in him.

he allows himself to take the elevator back up to broadcasting. he’s so drained from the several anxiety attacks he endured. while peter waists for the elevator, he contemplates all the issues he’d better solve. it’s a relief to hear it ding because it brings him back to earth. that doesn’t last long because both you and betty are there when the door opens.

you’d each had the same idea, to find peter. unlike betty, your intentions were good. you asked liz if she saw peter leave. she told you he went downstairs, so you did also. betty was already in the elevator when it got to your stop. she was looking for him because, you guessed it, he had to record the news. the small space was filled with tension as you and betty occupied it.

“perfect. we’re going right back up,” betty beams, motioning for peter with her index finger. “hop in!” “coming,” peter does as told, going to stand between you and betty. she presses the button for your floor and theirs. the doors close. “pete?” you speak up, voice soft. “you kinda ran off earlier. i thought you were with betty.” “clearly, he wasn’t,” betty sneers.

you’re less concerned with her and more with peter. the sweater he looked so huggable in is now folded in his arms, his face splotchy and jaw clenched. he must have gotten triggered by something back in norman’s office.

“are you sure you’re okay? you... you can talk to me about it.” you take a step closer to peter, your doe eyes searching for his. he meets them with a tiny smile. at least, it’s real this time. “i’ll be fine, y/n/n. ‘s nice that you came to check on me, though.” “don’t mention it.” your arms loop around his neck and bring him into a hug. peter hugs you back by your middle, chin resting on your shoulder, breathing out in relief.

you keep your hands on his shoulders when you pull back. his stay on your sides, a lopsided grin now crossing his features. “spider-man...” you quirk an eyebrow. “how are you feeling about that?” “should be cool,” peter somehow maintains himself. “i’m mostly looking forward to doing it with you.”

listening in, betty joins the conversation. “what’s happening with spider-man? anything i should know?” her hand reaches into her bag and emerges with a notepad. does she ever think of her own content? “she’s nothing if not persistent,” you grumble to peter. chuckling, he pulls you into his chest. if he didn’t hold you back, you would’ve pounced on her.

“we’re gonna do a piece on him,” peter tells her. “you can’t copy or steal this one because it’s already been approved,” you contribute, smiling smugly as peter holds you tighter. betty is taken aback. “are you accusing me of stealing? who said i-“ “ned ratted on you... sorry,” peter says in a sing song voice. squealing, you jump away from him. “he did? we were right?”

“mj’s never wrong,” he reiterates. “mj knew about this? oh my god, i can’t believe her!” betty stomps her foot. “we got you on candid camera.” you make a clicking noise with your mouth. peter mimes taking a picture to back you up. “alright, alright. i won’t do it again,” betty mumbles, turning away from you two in annoyance.

“finally!” you hold up your hand for a high five, which peter gives you. “we really do make the best team,” he hums. your fingers intertwine with peter’s, and he lays his palm flat against yours. he prays extremely hard you don’t notice that it’s sweaty. you do, but you couldn’t care less.

“i was wondering when you’d wanna start our... research?” peter asks you, his lip between his teeth. “you were saying something earlier. maybe we could make a schedule.” “how elaborate of us that would be,” you tease. that earns a breathy laugh from peter. with a knowing smile, you put your free hand back on his shoulder.

“what are you doing tonight?”

-

peter parker taglist

@saturnpeter @tpwk-grande @itstaskeen @missyouhollnd @becicamina @dummiesshort @zspideyy @watchitimreadinghere @my-patronus-is-mabel-pines @dpaccione @karispotters11 @theofficialzivadavid @thehumanistsdiary @kelieah @aayaissaa @petersgroupie @annab-nana @tayyx @swtltlmrvlgrl @magicalxdaydream @haoluvver @kjune113 @captainamirica @marvel-dork98 @emmastarz @killingbxys @viriditie @misshale21 @veryholland @liliswifts @tommydarlings @rebelemilu @peterspideysense @cr-uelsummer @dreamy-clousds @quaksonhehe @quxxnxfhxll @blackbat2020 @babyblue19 @falconxbarnes @zachary-s @dirtytissuebox @dracoswhore007 @heavenlyholland @thsquad @etheralholland @dhtomholland @awh-lilies @tomshufflepuff @multifamdomfan12

-

if i forgot you please lmk!

[wlntrsldler]

I Want You To Love Me (James Potter x Reader)

PROMPT: hi, i finally did it. this is part two to tell me that you love me!

A/N: i do prefer the first part but i also enjoyed writing this. 

WARNINGS: angst?

WC: 3.7K+ (sorry again)

HP MASTERLIST

i’m doing a writing challenge! 

-

i want you to love me (j.p one shot)

“Y/N/N, let me in!”

You lifted your head from your pillow to speak into the distance separating your bed from your door, “Go away, Pads! I’m staying in.”

“You said that last weekend… and the weekend before that,” you heard Sirius groan from the hallway. He continued to bang against the wooden door, rattling the metal components of it, “We miss you, Y/N/N! Come out to Hogsmeade with us!”

“No, I want to stay in,” you yelled, falling back into the solace of your bed, “Sirius, please just go without me. I’m sure my less than happy attitude would kill the mood anyway.”

“I’d rather have the mood be killed than not have my friend with me.” 

You smiled a bit at his words. Sirius always did know how to cheer you up. A part of you wanted to give in and spend the day with your friends. You did miss them terribly, as you’ve done nothing short of avoiding them for the last month. You even went so far as to switching out of the classes that you had with them. You were surprised you got permission to do so, but you had to thank your long-standing and pleasant relationships with your professors for that. 

As you opened your mouth to agree to Sirius’ offer, you began to remember who else would be there— James. A month in isolation was not enough time to mend a broken heart. So you sunk back in your bed, pulling the covers up to cover your chest, and squeezed your eyes shut. 

You heard Sirius sigh, disappointingly, before his footsteps echoed down the corridors. You were relieved he gave up, at least for the day. You didn’t know if James had told them about that night, you didn’t really allow yourself to be in the same space as any of the Marauders for enough time to have a conversation beyond “hi’s” and “hello’s.” Sirius was tired of it, as was Peter and Remus, but Sirius took it personally. You two have built a good friendship over the years and he didn’t know what it was that caused you to pull away from them so rapidly and so out of the blue. 

He had a hunch. He figured it had something to do with James, as the boy flinched every time someone was to mention your name. Not to mention the way James had changed drastically, more subdued and mellowed out ever since the night of the party. He hasn’t chased after Lily since, and it puzzled a lot of people, Sirius especially. He had to hear about James’ incessant pining for years and all of a sudden, Lily seemed to cease to exist? Something wasn’t right. 

Sirius talked about it to Remus and Peter but the two boys were just as lost as he was. Nobody knew what happened that night between you and James. And although they all had their theories, most of them being absurd, James never talked about it to anyone, nor did you. So your friends were left in the dark, wondering and guessing what on earth transpired. 

It wasn't until an hour after Sirius’ supposed departure did you hear a knock on your door again. You groaned, not wanting to have this conversation twice in the same day. You sat up, “Go away, Sirius!”

Another knock. 

“Padfoot,” you warned, “Go away, please!”

He seemed to ignore your rebuttals, continuing to pound harshly on your door. You closed your eyes, pushing two pillows against both of your ears to try to drown out the noise, forgetting for a second that you were a witch with the knowledge of a simple spell to do the trick. When you realized that the pillows weren’t working, nor did he show any signs of stopping, you got up from your bed and marched angrily to your door. 

You swung it open, looking down at your feet. You huffed, “Sirius, I’m really not in the mood—” 

It wasn’t Sirius. 

James’ back was turned, evidence that he’d been pacing in front of your door after he heard your footsteps. When he heard the familiar creaking of your door opening, he turned around, an unexplainable look on his face. His eyes were brimmed red, like he’d been crying. His curls were tossed around, not neatly styled the way he always did them. James wore pajama pants and a fluffy sweater. It was unfair, really, how good he still looked even when he quite literally just rolled out of bed. 

The two of you didn’t talk, not one word. You just stared at each other, taking in each other’s presence. You became so aware of how you must’ve looked— pajama pants that went past the tip of your toes, a large hoodie that you were half-sure belonged to James once, and your hair in disarray from spending the entire day and afternoon in bed. Subconsciously, you hid behind your door, trying to hide yourself from the boy who watched your every move. 

The silence was deafening. It was awkward and uncomfortable. It was like neither of you knew each other anymore, like you didn’t spend years being friends or months being wrapped up in each other’s arms in the most vulnerable way. You stared at James Potter, not recognizing the man who stood in front of you. 

This man was unsure of himself, not carrying himself in the confident way that James usually does. His back was hunched over like he was trying to make himself as small as possible. He looked small. He had this guard up in front of him and a face that you couldn’t read. This was unusual for the both of you. You weren’t used to not knowing James. 

You forced yourself to be okay with that thought as you stared him down, knowing that you had no choice but to accept that you two will be strangers to each other one day. Soon, even. But truth be told, you didn’t like it. You didn’t like not knowing him. 

You gulped, starting to close the door, little by little, in hopes he wouldn’t notice. At first, he didn’t. He was too preoccupied staring at your figure, your face, your being, that he didn’t realize that the door was shutting. When James finally did, he stuck his foot in the crack, right before you could close it. He hissed at the pain, but kept his foot there, not daring to move. 

“I miss you,” he finally said, breathing out every word, “And I-I won’t lie to you, I don’t know if there’s a word for what I’m feeling. I’m not even sure I fully understand it.”

James pushed the door open, letting himself walk in despite your silent protests. You walked backwards, stopping right before the back of your knees hit your bedpost. He continued to talk, looking down at his feet, distraught, “All I know is now I can’t stop thinking about you and I can’t stop worrying about whether you’re alright or not. And I think I’m going crazy, Y/N/N.”

“James..”

“No, let me finish,” he shook his head, looking into your eyes. His eyes were clouded by tears making your breath get caught in your throat. He paced back and forth in your dormitory, “I haven’t slept in weeks because every time I close my eyes I just see you and I don’t know what it means! I’m so confused and I just— nothing makes sense anymore. I keep looking for you everywhere I go and I expect you to be there next to me and when you’re not, I just feel so empty.” 

You sat down on your bed, tears flowing down your cheeks. You twiddled with your thumbs in your lap, unable to look at James who stopped his pacing and stood in front of you. You didn’t say a word. You didn’t think you had any words to say.

After his rant, James looked at you. His heart ached as he watched you retreat to yourself, cowering after every word that he said. He ran to you, ignoring the warning signs that were flashing in his mind. “Y/N,” he whispered, crouching down to be eye level with you, “Please look at me.” 

You couldn’t do it. You gulped, biting your lip to stop the cries that wanted to escape. James wrapped his hands around yours, engulfing them in the familiar warmth you’ve missed in the time you were apart. He kneeled in front of you, his head hanging low. Neither of you said anything, the silence and the sounds of muffled cries bouncing off the walls of your dormitory. 

James began to shake softly, his chest rising up and down as his tears began to drop onto the floor. You watched the wood under your feet become pooled with his tears. He placed his forehead on your knees, his lips kissing the fabric of the pajamas you wore to cover your legs. 

“Y/N, I miss you. This month has been hell without you and the only thing that makes sense to me right now is that I need you in my life,” he sighed, lifting his head to place his chin on your lap, “I can’t imagine my life without you.”

“That’s not fair, James,” you sobbed, pushing him away. It took all your might not to scoop him up in your arms the minute you saw his hurt expression. You never once denied him, never once pushed him away, until now. You still couldn’t keep eye contact with him, his glossy eyes and trembling lips made you putty in his hands and for once, you wanted to put yourself first. You crossed your knees under your thighs, sitting uncomfortably on your bed, “It’s not fair that you just came in here and said all that.”

He sat in front of you, knees up to his chest. He respected your wishes and kept his distance, “Why?”

“Because I know what I’m feeling,” you stated, lips quivering. “I’m sure of what I feel and you can’t just come in here and say that you miss me without knowing what it is you feel! I don’t want to keep thinking that there’s something here when there’s not, James. It’s not fair to me.” 

“How am I supposed to figure out if there’s something here if I haven't seen you in a month, Y/N?” he replied, frustrated with the lack of communication between the two of you. “I haven’t seen you for weeks! You disappeared on me. I didn’t know what to think. The only thing I could think about was how I didn’t want you gone from my life. I tried, Y/N/N. I tried so hard to talk to you but you weren’t around anymore. I asked Minnie where you’ve been and she said it wasn’t any of my business—”

“Because it isn’t,” you interrupted. 

James rolled his eyes, ignoring your snarky comment, “The last time I saw you— if you even count that glance as seeing you— was when you helped bring Moony inside after the full moon. And the minute I tried to talk to you, you bolted! I felt like you didn’t want me around anymore and that killed me, Y/N/N.”

You felt a bit guilty, knowing that you did everything that he stated. You sniffled, finally getting the courage to look at him. James was staring at you intently, resting his cheek on his knee. His cheeks were squished, making him look so adorable with his red nose and messy curls. He pushed his glasses up the bridge of his nose, eyes widening in realization. 

“Merlin, you haven’t even been in the Great Hall for meals! How do you get away with that? Have you been eating?”

You couldn’t help but chuckle at his worried tone, not expecting that to come out of his lips. James always did have a motherly instinct when it came to you and the Marauders. He was shocked at the sound of your laughter, the worry in his eyes subsiding for a second. He missed that sound so much.

A lopsided smirk appeared on his lips. James looked at you, quirking his eyebrow. His tone changed as he spoke again, “Well?”

“Well what?” you asked, tilting your head to the side, dropping your smile. You remembered why you were in this conversation in the first place. 

“Have you?” he echoed, “Have you been eating?”

“I have.”

“Good, good,” he nodded. His voice never returned to his frustrated tone, as if that little moment between you two was enough to cure his broken soul. He awkwardly waddled closer to your bed, not bothering to get up as he inched to where you sat. James sent you a sad smile, “I missed you.” 

“James—”

“You know,” he interrupted, ignoring the way you wanted to roll your eyes at his antics, “The only times you’ve ever called me James was when I’ve pissed you off, or when I’ve done something, or when we’re talking about something serious. Which makes sense since we are talking about something serious right now—”

To push his buttons, you decided to do the same to him, “Does this lead to a point?”

“Yes, if you would let me talk,” James scoffed, a playful tone in his voice, “As I was saying, you only call me James when I do something... That night in the Common Room was the first time you called me James for not doing something. And Merlin’s beard, every night since then, I wished that I did.” 

You wore a puzzled look on your face, not understanding what he was saying, “What?”

“I wish I did something that night, Y/N/N,” he confessed, “I wish I didn’t leave you on your own. I wish I sat down and talked to you that night. I wish I kissed you when you asked me to. Something! I wish I did something instead of just walking away.” 

You stayed silent as you let yourself process his words. You didn’t want to feel the butterflies in your stomach, but when you realized that he regretted that night for the opposite reason that you did, you couldn’t help it. You regretted that night because you lost James. You lost the years of friendship and history that the both of you shared because of one too many shots. You swallowed your pride and asked him to kiss you so you could have something to remember him by, something to keep you connected with him, even if it was nothing more to him than a memory. 

He regretted that he walked away from you despite the growing ache in his chest. He shut out the rest of the Marauders, hoping that he’ll have enough courage to face what he was feeling for you, rather than hide away and cower behind his far-fetched fantasy with Lily. James regretted that night because he let you believe that you lost him when in reality, he was completely and wholly yours to take. 

“Y/N?” he whispered, focusing on nothing else but you, “Please, say something.”

“You can’t do that, Prongs,” you didn’t miss the way his eyes twinkled with glee when the nickname rolled off your tongue so effortlessly. You blushed, embarrassed, “Sorry, it’s a habit.”

“Never apologize for that,” he shook his head, testing the waters by sitting down on your bed beside you. You didn’t push him off, which he took as a good sign, “Never break that habit either. It comes naturally to you and that’s what I want between us, Y/N/N. We fit together so naturally.” 

You closed your eyes, letting out broken breaths. You clutched your chest, feeling yourself crumble to his feet. James couldn’t hold it in anymore. He wrapped his arms around your shivering figure, only holding you tighter when he felt you stiffen under his touch. He cooed into your hair, sweet nothings that didn’t make any sense, but it was enough. 

James kissed the top of your head, letting you beat your knuckles on his chest in frustration. He knew he deserved this. He deserved your anger and your rejection and your denial. He deserved to be left for dust, as he did to you. But for now, he had you in his arms, and he’d take that over anything else in the world. 

You cried into his chest, “You’ve hurt me so much, James Potter.” 

“I know.” 

“It hurt so much to watch you run after someone else while I was just standing there, waiting for you to see me.”

“I know.” 

“Do you know how many times I’ve thought about why I wasn’t good enough for you?” you croaked out, not having the energy to pull away from him. You stayed idle in his arms, except for the occasional wiping of the tears that stained your cheeks, “I know I’m not Lily but Godric, I thought I would be good enough for you.” 

“You are,” he replied, holding your face in his hands. James pulled you away, hoping that if you were to see the sincerity in his eyes, you’d see how much he meant it, “Y/N, you are too good for me. I’m the one that isn’t good enough for you. I’ve been such a fool.” 

“James,” you pushed him away, creating some distance between you. The few inches that separated the both of you might as well be oceans because James had never felt so far from you before. 

He reached out for you, a ghost of a touch caressing your hand before you pulled it away, “Please, stop pulling away from me. Y/N, I’m trying.” 

And he was. You could tell he was trying to figure out what it was he felt for you. He stared at you differently this time— not in the way a friend looked at a friend or the way he used to look at you with lust clouding his eyes. This time, this time was different. James stared at you in adoration, like if he were to be separated from you again, he would lose all his senses. His eyes yearned to look into yours, hoping that if he looked into the swirls of your eyes long enough, he’d be able to see the future he desperately craved with you. 

“I know you are,” you smiled, though it didn’t reach your eyes. You leaned over to trace patterns on the top of his hand. “And I appreciate that you’re trying to figure this out but James, like I said, I can’t be ten steps ahead of you. I can’t wait for you to figure out what you’re feeling for me while I watch myself fall deeper and deeper in love with you because I love you, James and I—”

James’ breath got caught in his throat. The minute those words left your lips, his other hand placed itself on top of yours. He squeezed it, “Say it again.” 

“What?”

“Say it again.” 

“Say what?” 

“Say that you love me again.” 

You shook your head, flustered that you confessed your unrequited love for him a second time. You tried to take your hand back but James held it in place, staring at the way your limbs seemed to melt together.

He spoke again after he realized you weren’t going to, “The night you told me you were in love with me, I felt something that scared me. At first I thought it was just shock and confusion, maybe, because I didn’t think you could ever fall in love with me. I stayed up trying to figure out what that feeling was in my chest because I couldn’t sleep, Y/N. There was this pressure in my chest that I’ve never felt before.” 

James locked his eyes with yours, “And when you said those words right now, I felt it again— that pressure, that something in my chest. Now, it makes sense. It all makes sense. You, your words, your love, is the only thing that makes me feel this way.” 

“What are you saying, James?”

“I’m in love with you, too,” he chuckled, breathily. His eyes pooled with his tears, the overwhelming feelings of realization too much for his emotions to handle, “I’ve been so blind all this time, trying to hide it behind an infatuation that could never and would never touch what we share— what we have.” 

“You can’t say things like that without meaning it. Just a few minutes ago you showed up saying that you didn’t know how you feel and suddenly because I said three little words, you have it all figured out?” 

“No,” he said, truthfully, “I don’t have it all figured out. I don’t know how I can make you trust me again. Or how I can show you how much I truly mean it when I say that I love you. Or how I can convince you that we can move past this. But those three little words helped me become more sure of myself than I ever have been this entire month and I would do anything for you to give me a chance to prove myself.” 

“I don’t want to get hurt,” you mumbled. 

His hopeful eyes wandered to yours, “I’d rather hurt myself a million times over than hurt you again.” 

Finally, after fighting thoughts, you gave in. You nodded, scooting closer to him. James let out a laugh, completely overjoyed that you found it in your heart to give him a chance. He wrapped his strong arms around you, pulling you down onto your messy bed with him. He held you so close to his chest, allowing you to listen to his heartbeat and the way his chest rumbled as he spoke to you.

“Thank you,” he murmured. James caressed the side of your face. He inched closer, darting his eyes to your lips. He swallowed back his fears, taking a leap of faith as he asked the question, “Can I kiss you?” 

You found yourself lost in his eyes, lost in his presence. You couldn’t take your eyes away from the boy in front of you, the boy you loved who you watched love another. The boy who was now in front of you, staring at you in the way that you always craved. It took you a minute to find the right words. When you eventually did, you nodded, hovering your lips over his, “As long as it’s not the last time.”

-

TAGS: @littlegasps @sleep-i-ness @belledawnidk @heloisedaphnebrightmore  @chudleycanons @emcchi 

[marshmallowprotection]

Saeran’s Diary

Spoilers for Saeran’s Diary. It’s within the Special Believer package. Not all of the pages are here. I’ve compiled the ones that looked the most note-worthy to talk about but I will summaries and talk about everything in this post. 

Okay, so Spoilers Ahead, read at your own caution. It’s Spoilers for Another Story, V Route, Ray Route, and the After Ending. 

Saeran introduces himself to the diary even though he has no idea how to use one of these. Saeyoung got it from the Cathedral. His brother tells him that if he can’t think of anything to write, he could draw instead. Saeran spends a lot of his time drawing out things on the pages just as much as he spends talking about this or that. His handwriting is rather clumsy and messy, much more so than what a child his age would have. 

However, he’s not in school and he’s roughly only been able to learn a few rudimentary things thanks to his brother. 

Saeyoung spends a lot of time at the cathedral. He’s been taking countless notes in his books. He’s literally been coping things to learn from the books that he can get his hands on. He’s got four of them, as far as Saeran knows. He has some of Saeyoung’s notes in his journal because he asked him what he was writing about all the time. He’s perplexed, saying that those coding notes look like they’re... 

Puzzles? 

He doesn’t know. 

Saeyoung takes him out for ice cream, and we can assume that’s when they made the promise on their ice cream to always be there for each other, knowing that there will be one day that they can escape together. You know, the one from Ray Route where we’re treated to their promise on twin-popsicles. It seems like Saeran is alone more and more often though. He’s spending so much time at the church.

There’s one day where he and Saeyoung are out that someone suspicious sees the two of them. Saeyoung gets them out of dodge, but it continues to haunt his mind for a while. He draws something really stark imagery. Then, Saeyoung is all of a sudden gone. He’s gone. Their mother demands that he find him but he cannot find him. He’s panicking. He thinks that maybe that man took his twin away and he may never come back. 

He’s so alone. 

He’s so scared. 

He’s begging for someone to come and get him. He’s still fairly young here and out of sorts, but his emotions are rapidly increasing the longer that he’s alone in that house. Until one day, something changes. 

V and Rika come to take him to the cathedral more and more often. He’s spending a good amount of his time there because the two of them managed to convince Mother Choi that it was a good idea. Saeran has no idea how they did it or why they did it. He just knows that this is the place that Saeyoung went to once and that maybe he’ll be able to find him there? Then he talks about how he may be able to find him. Twin’s intuition? 

That plays into the theme of the After Ending. How Saeran and Saeyoung can seemingly feel the other is alive, or that they’re okay. I think that’s kind of a really sweet thing to tie in like that. It’s like they’re connected when they’re not actually connected, and I don’t know if I’ll ever understand that connection since I’m not a twin but it stands out to me since Saeran is so hopeful for his brother again. 

He spends more time in the sun and it feels good. He wishes Saeyoung was here. It’d be nice if they could live somewhere nice like this... where he could see the sun all the time. V said to him that Saeyoung was okay, he had a strong feeling about it. Saeran doesn’t know how to feel about that. He thinks it’s okay but... he wishes that Saeyoung would find him first. He’s him and I’m him, that’s what he says. 

So, can’t they reach for one another...? 

Saeran starts to spend all his time going to classes and learning things at the cathedral. He’s learning how to focus on his work, how to bake, and how to get his head in the right place for things that he’s enjoy. Like, for example, he talks about how his plan for the future would be to have an ice cream store not far from his house as he stays with Saeyoung. He really writes down recipes and his trial and errors. It’s so cute. 

V gifts him a book about flowers and a good chunk of his diary is spent talking about them. He lists his favorites and some that stand out to him. There’s a photo that V took of him in the garden that you’ve likely seen before as he holds tightly to them with a smile. He talks about the life cycle of flowers as he tries to figure them out. He’s really thoughtful and spends an awful amount of time trying to learn how something so little makes something so big! 

I did not know that Rika and V had their own flowers. I’ve talked about these bookmarks before for Saeran and Saeyoung. 

Geranium can be a wish for good health, hope that you pray that the other person will someday feel better and find peace. It makes sense that that is for Saeran because he was a young and sickly child for such a very long time, and this was a gift that said, we pray for you and you will grow to be a bigger flower in due time. You will not wilt and you will grow until you blossom into something that is lovely. 

Rhododendron can be a sign of optimism, the hope that you have that the future ahead will be great. It makes sense that that was gifted to Saeyoung because he is the one that hinges on the hope that one day, he can save his brother and be sure that they are both free from their chains that have kept them down. This is a gift that says, never lose hope in yourself and those that you love when it feels like the end of coming. 

Narcissus means rebirth and renewal because it's one of the earliest bulbs to sprout. We all know the story. Unable to look away from the water, Narcissus grew tired, fell into the stream, and drowned. Rika’s suicide is implied to be her falling from the edge of a cliffside and falling into the water down below. It’s their way of symbolism her final rebirth into someone finally relishing in her cruelty and devil to it’s fullest form. 

Another popular story in mythology, Rhodanthe was someone so beautiful that people wouldn’t leave her alone. They were always at her heels and begging for her love. She turned them all down and grew so tired of them that she retreated and ran away to the Temple of Diana. Those suitors just wouldn’t quit, though, and because of that Diana decided to turn Rhodanthe in a rose and all of the suitors into the thorns of the flower. The implication here is that V and Rika are twisted together in a dangerous path, but it’s hard to tell who is the rose and who is the thorns here. Interesting. 

Here we go, huh? Rika gifts Saeran a book that she claims is the same one that his brother was reading. Saeran wants to be closer to him so he starts to learn and study what he can. He knows that he hid Saeyoung’s books for him so he has to get those from the house and he wants to use them to know more about who his brother is. It’s kind of hard, even Saeran claims that he’s struggling in all of this learning because it’s so much!

But, he says he can do it. 

He’ll do it for Saeyoung. 

We know why Rika is doing this, and we know where this is heading but I’m kind of like: I really don’t want to see how tortured my boy is about to be by this damn woman again. I continue onward to see how Saeran progressively learns as much as humanly possible as fast as he can. Okay, oh boy, he writes that he snuck out late at night to go to cathedral and nobody is usually there, but Rika was there tonight. 

He was perplexed by why she was looking at the wall of photos that contained each child that attended the church and did their studies there. He says that it felt wrong. He felt like he couldn’t speak. Something felt twisted and wrong in his chest but he stayed. He’s not even spending a lot of time with V and Rika at the cathedral up until this point. They just check on him now and again... until now, Rika seems to be more forward. 

She’s been giving him extra lessons and things to do. 

“It looked like she wanted to tell me something.” 

She didn’t though. 

Here’s one continuity error, though. Saeran knows that his mother passed away and she even had a funeral in this diary. He said that nobody came. Not their father, not their brother, nobody. There was nobody in the world to come for his mother’s passing but him and V and Rika. It’s just him and Saeyoung. His twin isn’t there but this is his only family. His only family. He missed his brother. He wishes he was there. 

He knows that his mother is dead but he doesn’t know how she died. I’m bit confused on that front. I’ll go and glance at his speech during the AE to know if it’s an error or not. Okay, so, they imply that Mother Choi never got a proper funeral. I think that means that you know, the one that Saeran held as a child wasn’t a real one by any meaning. It’s just a small ceremony. 

I almost want to say that the fucking trauma of Mint Eye destroyed more and more of his memory as a young child because it implies also in this diary that he does talk to some of the others at the cathedral sometimes, but not often. 

So, it could be an error, or it’s literally that the specific memory of that time at the cathedral isn’t accessible to him. It makes sense, though. Ray and Suit held a lot of their own memories and it feels like there’s other pieces that they’re missing in their lives. It still doesn’t take away from the fact that Saeran didn’t know how she died. Or that Rika burned the house down with V. 

Or that they both hid the fucking body. 

This is just the one thing of interest in the diary that doesn’t make sense unless I apply my theory that he cannot remember that incident. Either way, he makes a prayer to God about Saeyoung on the page after that. He says that he wants to be strong. He wants to be as strong as Saeyoung. Let him have that. 

Rika tricks him not long after this. “Come and meet me late at night. I want to give V a surprise.” He’s noticed that the two of them have been having a really difficult time lately, he thought they weren’t on good terms since they weren’t visiting together. This is literally after the trauma of the murder, self-defense or not, they had to remove a body and worse. 

That added to how bad their relationship already was. This was Rika’s turning point, after all. Saeran’s a child. He just thinks they’re going to make up and get better? He wants to help them because they helped him. 

But this is a trick. 

He spoke to Rika that briefly and then he went home. Someone grabbed him, and before he could fight, he was taken off the streets. It wasn’t Rika, but my money says that it was someone working for her to do the dirty work. He has no clue it’s Rika or anything for a while. He’s locked in a dark room. There’s not a lot in it but it seems like it was prepared for someone to stay in it. He’s scared, they leave him there. He banged on the door over and over, but nobody would listen to him. 

Days pass. 

He’s left with some notes about Mint Eye to read that make no sense to him but he’s trying to understand what they mean. How long is he going to be stuck in a room like this? Nothing makes sense! He gets fed every day, and he thinks that is okay. 

He’s trapped but he has food. It’s not so bad.. right? 

Nobody came to see him until the fourth day. He was taken away to what we can presume is the basement. He doesn’t know what’s happening here, but he just stares, slack-jawed at Rika in the basement as he lifts his head. 

She’s wearing a mask.

But, there’s no doubt. 

It’s Rika. 

He begged for answers but she would barely tell him what was happening in this place. She just says that V is a traitor and a liar to him. She said that he should call her his Savior. By the 11th day, they’re literally drugging through the food as time passes. He says that things don’t taste right but I know what that means as it’s the easiest way to poison someone over time.

I imagine that this is slowly happening as they’re starting to torture him with the elixir outright not long after this. 

He’s clearly confused and losing time the more that he tries to think because these are written on snippets as he’s trying to make sense of what’s going on around him. He’s hurting. He’s in pain. Nothing makes sense and he’s having a hard time dealing with being awake and eating these days. It just gets worse and worse as time passes for him. 

I don’t think I have to explain what this looks like: 

He’s literally terrified out of his fucking mind. He’s not able to focus and this is a point in the timeline where Ray takes control of the situation. Saeran cannot be awake anymore and Ray wakes up. This child has suffered enough already and Ray needs to be here to do this. His anger... his confusion. It’s played out in front of us as he loses himself and Ray takes control of everything that’s going on from now on. 

This is where the scraps end and Ray’s official diary begins. 

Yeah, this is actually a portion of the diary that I’ve seen before. It’s that proof that Rika is the one that dressed Ray. He would prefer to wear dark things but she says that he’s not good enough. He feels gloomy, he would have preferred something gloomy but Rika said no. Her reasoning is that he’s not strong and he needs to wear something vibrant to feel stronger. 

To feel more needed. 

He isn’t sure how to feel about that. He just says that Savior knows best and this is okay. I love his outfit but I know that’s uneasy about it. His gloves are rather tight on his hands so they can keep him from overextending his fingers and not get them to lock or have fractures from working so hard. He’s typing at a speed that not even I can manage so. 

He needs the support. 

No gloves slander about Ray, I know they’re half-gloves and bother some of you but it suits him. And, not to gush about Ray but there’s just so much Ray in this portion of the diary and you know I’m a massive Ray fan. Rika forces hm to do all of the security work. He spends like a week trying to make the system better but he’s hardly sleeping to do it. He’s the one that made the card system, as well, for both Rika and for others. 

He’s the one that grants access to anyone that is a believer. 

Certain people have certain powers. Rika can go anywhere, he can go to some places, and others... limited access. She “gifts” him the often of being able to help design the garden. He does pick a handful of flowers that he thinks are nice to decorate the garden and it’s the one thing that actually makes him feel good in comparison to security hell.

Though, we start to see him planning for the RFA Messenger as well. That’s not looking really good. Rika tells him what they’re going to be doing and that they have a grand plan that she needs him for. He’s so desperate for someone to see him and give him affection that he’s willing to fall to her feet and cry. He doesn’t know if he deserves this chance. He beats himself up over and over about it but takes it. 

He can’t say no to Rika. 

He’s literally crying because she told him that she wants him to do something for her. I’m not a vicious person but if given the chance, I would slap Rika one good time. I just need one time. I realize violence doesn’t solve anything, but I don’t know if I could hold myself back if I saw her treating him like this. 

It’s just not okay and I can’t stand it. No matter how you feel about Rika, when you read and see shit like this, you get angry at her for what she’s done to this child. Saeran was a child. 

He was a child who trusted her and V. 

Goddammit. 

He was a CHILD. 

He’s sleeping three hours. Max. That’s not okay. He’s chugging caffeine pills like they’re Tic-Tacs. Ray, honey, baby, darling, they’re not Tic-Tacs. That’s not okay at all. It’s actually blotted out. I don’t know what he’s eating. I don’t know how many he’s eating. I knew that he was popping like them candy to stay up and at his desk, but Jesus Christ, Ray. The space implies that it’s a high number, it could be double-digits. 

If it’s more than 15, I don’t know what I’m going to do. 

He’s not even eating right. Food that’s easy to eat. Okay, that’s why he eats chocolate most of the time. He’s eating snack foods when he’s eating and only using real food if he has time. [He never has time. It makes me want to cry as I read it because I wanted to grab him by the wrist and ask him to stay during the meals because I don’t really eat more than what a toddler eats due to my health and he could have the rest. He needs it.]

I love this guy, but I can see his suffering here. 

I don’t know if you’ve seen this but he ranks the RFA on a sliding scale of how tough they are to defeat and how easy they are to defeat. Seven and V have the strongest list. V is to be captured alive and that you have to be cautious so he doesn’t trick you.

Seven is “No need. Discard.”

I have to ask Ray what the hell a “honey trap” is though, as far as Zen goes in his explaination. Does that mean that Ray is saying “If there’s a pretty honey, he’ll fall to his knees?” RAY? 

RAY????? 

RAY??????????????

Jumin: Attack social status. Just take his fucking cat. 

Yoosung: Rika. Just use Rika information or threaten his family. 

Jaehee: Break C&R. If it or Jumin falls, she’s easy. Not sure. 

Oh, and there’s actually recipes in his portion of the diary as well. He has a lot of sweet things listed and God, he would get me. He literally makes notes about a tester in this. He has to jot down who would be a good idea and how he could ensure their happiness. He says that he’s not as good as the chef in Mint Eye but he wants to be good enough.

So, he actually tries to learn how to make things for us. He failed at making ice cream. He made some progress at brunch and he tried to make some cake but it wasn’t quite up to par yet. He notes his mistakes and says that he’ll keep trying to learn for the tester. So, that’s how he’s spending his six months. 

His final note in this journal is hopeful of the tester. He’s got everything as it needs to be but he needs his tester to come to him. He hopes they’re a good person but he doesn’t know how to interact with them. He wonders how he should start talking to them, anyway. How do you talk to people on the outside? He doesn’t know... maybe an introduction? 

Should he greet you? 

Should he try harder? 

He really fixates on how to say hi to you. 

He decides simple is good. 

“Hello! My name is Ray.” 

And if you turn the page, you’re smacked with that photo and my knees just went a little weak. Oh boy, honey, darling, I love you. I’m sorry that you’ve suffered so much but it’s okay. I’m here! We’ll get out of this place together soon. All and all, this was a solid read that gave me a lot more perspective on my boy. There’s still a bit of information in Rika’s Diary, to be honest. But this stood out more to me here. 

[sfb123]

Sapere Aude - Part 10

Book: The Royal Heir

Pairing: King Liam Rys x Queen Riley Brooks

All characters belong to Pixelberry.

Catch Up Here

Series Description: I developed a theory of what I think will happen in TRH Book 4, and I was encouraged by some very lovely people to turn my theory into a fic, so here it is. Basically, Riley is recruited to join the Via Imperii, this series will follow her as she joins them to try and bring them down from the inside, and all of the drama and bombshells she learns along the way. Sapere Aude is Latin for “dare to know” it seemed like an appropriate title.

Rating: PG-13 Adult language, allusions to smut (but nothing graphic), discussions of death, conspiracy, blackmail, and other adult themes.

Warning: The Royal Heir Book 3 Spoilers all over the place.

Disclaimer: I have no current affiliation with any other Via Imperii themed stories. Any claims that I have pre-read anything are false.

Word Count: 2,759

A/N: Sorry for the wait, I’m not going to keep broadcasting my self-loathing bullshit, but I’ve been having a hell of a time in my life. I’m working my way out of it thanks to a stellar support system (shout out @jessiembruno​​ and @txemrn​​ for being the Tumblr pieces to that puzzle). I’m also now up to 3 friends that are pregnant, which means I have 3 baby blankets to knit in the next 6 months, so that’s something that will be taking up a bit of my time. But I promise you more stories are coming, as well as some kind of ending to this story. I’ve hit the awkward place that I’ve feared since I started writing Sapere Aude; where I know where I want it to go, but I’m not quite sure how to get there. I’ll figure it out though, I promise, just bear with me.

As always, big ups to @twinkleallnight​​ for my awesome moodboard!

Tags: My tag list angels are all listed below. Let me know if you’d like to be added or removed.

It was the day of the Royal Council meeting, Liam and Drake were planning to take this opportunity to work with Olivia in outfitting Riley with a camera or recorder for her next interaction with the Via Imperii. Mara had informed her of an upcoming meeting, which she was going to use as her opportunity. 

Liam was trying to keep his focus on the task at hand, destroying this group, instead of all of the information he had learned about them, and what they had done to him. The thing that made that difficult was the constant reminder of his betrayal and loss, in the form of his brother, who was still charged with guarding Eleanor. He and Bastien had decided that it would be too much of a risk to reassign him, or remove him from the guard entirely. The timing would, no doubt, tip them off that Riley had said something, and he was not about to put that target on his wife’s back. He was hoping he would get used to being around Thomas, but a part of him knew he would not be fully at peace with the situation, at least not without being able to confront him.

He also knew that Olivia was going to need to be brought up to speed. This meant that he would need to go through everything all over again, and he was dreading it. As he stood in front of his mirror, adjusting his tie, he was planning out the best ways to have this conversation. A look of concern clearly etched in his face, Riley noticed it the second she stepped into the room. 

“Hey, you’ve been getting dressed for an awfully long time. Are you doing alright?” She walked up behind him, taking him out of his thoughts. She knew he wasn’t, but he needed to tell her that, the last thing he needed was to feel cornered into talking about things. 

He exhaled deeply before turning and wrapping his arms around Riley’s waist. “Yes, just going over the plan for today.”

“And figuring out how you’re going to get through reliving everything when you tell Olivia what’s going on?” She arched an eyebrow. 

“Am I ever going to be able to get anything past you?” He smiled, placing a hand on her cheek. 

“Nope, never. I can read you like a book, Your Majesty.” She tapped her index finger to his nose, taking a brief pause to enjoy the sound of the soft chuckle that escaped him. “Maybe I can help. Olivia and I are having lunch before the meeting, I can fill her in on everything, then you and Drake can just work with her on the techy stuff.”

“You don’t have to do that, Riley.”

“No, you’re right, I don’t have to, but it will help you, so I want to.”

Liam pressed a lingering kiss to her lips. “Thank you, love.”

A few hours later, Riley sat on the terrace waiting for Olivia to arrive. She had Bastien perform a full sweep of the area to ensure that their conversation remained between them. Part of her hoped it would be easier to explain everything this time. After all, she had already explained everything three times. Then she remembered the hardest part of this whole thing, it wasn’t telling people what was going on, it was seeing their reactions. She was, one by one, breaking the hearts of all of the people closest to her. While Olivia had already made peace with the shortcomings of her parents, she was about to learn the truth about what happened to her best friend’s mother. Not only was she with Liam when he lost her, seeing his heartbreak first hand, but Eleanor had taken Olivia in when she lost her parents, she took care of her as if she were her own mother. Better than her own mother, she showed Olivia love and kindness, things that her mother taught her to be weaknesses. 

As Olivia approached the table, Riley stood to greet her with a smile. Olivia was instantly suspicious. It had been a few weeks since the pair had seen each other, usually when that was the case, Riley would charge her and wrap her in a hug. An action that Olivia would begrudgingly reciprocate. 

“What’s wrong?” Olivia stood in front of her place at the table, crossing her arms over her chest. 

“Good to see you too, Liv. Why would you think something is wrong?”

Olivia rolled her eyes before continuing, “Because you’re standing there smiling like the queen. You didn’t run up to me greeting me with that annoying sing-song voice.”

“I’m smiling like the queen because I am the queen, and this is how I smile.” Riley feigned offense. “Maybe I’m just maturing as a person.”

“You sent me a video the other day of cats pushing things off of counters.”

“Oh yea, that was hilarious! Cats can be real je--” She stopped when Olivia arched her brow in a silent ‘I told you so’. “Alright fine, I have to fill you in on some things.”

Once they sat, Riley filled Olivia in on everything that had happened since the Harvest Ball. The recruitment, the meeting, and all of the information she had learned along the way. As difficult as it was, Olivia remained silent while Riley spoke. She wanted to make sure to get every piece of information that was being thrown at her. 

“So that’s why Liam scheduled a meeting with you when the council lets out. He and Drake are going to speak with you about cameras and recorders that I can sneak in with me to get some evidence.” There was a silence between the two while Olivia processed the information.

Olivia took a deep breath before speaking. “How is he handling all of this?”

“I mean, you know Liam. He’s keeping it inside and not really talking about it. And when he does, he’s blaming himself.” Riley shrugged. One of the things she loved about him was how much he cared about everyone else, but it was also one of his most frustrating traits. He was always too worried about those around him to properly take care of his needs, and would often blame himself for things he had no control over. 

“That sounds about right.” Olivia’s expression softened. “He took it so hard when his mother died. He was so broken.”

“And now, it’s like he’s losing her all over again, but so much worse, because he’s questioning everything about himself.” Riley could feel the emotion building up inside of her. 

Olivia smiled sadly as she reached across the table and placed her hand over Riley’s. “It will take time, he’ll get past it, and you’re going to be a big part of that.”

Riley nodded, taking a moment to compose herself. “So, you’ll help right?”

“You’ve been through a lot the last couple of days, so I’m going to let that ridiculous question slide.”

Riley sat a little lower in her seat and raised her glass to her lips before mumbling out a ‘thank you’. 

The pair finished their lunch, and made their way to the council meeting. Liam was waiting by the door, greeting the members as they entered. Riley approached first, placing a chaste kiss on his lips before taking her place next to him. As Olivia approached, an uncharacteristically sympathetic look spread across her face before she leaned in, kissing Liam on the cheek and bringing him into a brief hug. As they pulled away, they looked at each other and nodded, and Olivia continued into the room. 

Liam wrapped his arm around Riley’s waist and kissed her on the temple before returning his attention to the council members that were still arriving. Though it didn’t seem like much, Liam knew exactly what that greeting meant, and it was just what Liam needed from his childhood friend.  

As the members of the council cleared out of the room, Riley and Liam found a corner where they could have a moment to themselves. “That went well, they really seemed to like your new proposal.” Riley smiled, smoothing her hands over the lapels of Liam’s jacket.

“I’m very excited to move forward with it.” He brushed a loose hair out of her face, placing a kiss on the newly exposed spot on her forehead. “Will you be joining us for our meeting?”

“No, I’m going to pick up Eleanor and take her outside to play. You guys need some privacy. Just make sure that if it’s wearable, you pick something cute.” She reached up and kissed him on the nose. 

Liam gave an over exaggerated gasp, placing a hand over his chest. “Riley Rys, have you ever known me to give you something that wasn’t of the utmost caliber of cute?”

“Hmm let me think, cute outfits, cute jewelry, cute baby,” she pondered, placing her forefinger over her lip as she looked up at him and raised an eyebrow, “cute husband. Nope, you’re right, you’ve given me the cutest everything since day one.” 

He laughed and pulled her close, pressing his lips to hers. 

“Alright, break it up. You’re adults in charge of an entire country, you can’t keep being late for stuff because you were making out.” Drake interrupted the pair, who pulled away blushing slightly. 

“We’re the king and queen, we’re never late, everyone else is just early.” Riley teased before looking up at Liam. “We really should get going though.

Riley kissed Liam softly and gave Drake a hug before walking out of the room. Liam watched her exit before turning to his friend. “Let’s get Olivia and head upstairs.”

When they entered the Royal Quarters, Liam signaled for Olivia and Drake to sit on the couch before he took a seat on the chair adjacent to them. “Olivia, I appreciate your time this afternoon. I understand Riley filled you in on the situation.”

“She did. How are you doing?” She paused, looking over to Drake. “Both of you.” 

Drake knitted his brows in confusion. “Since when do you give a fuck about feelings...or me, for that matter?”

“Listen Drake, we’ve had our...differences over the years, but I know how it feels to be betrayed by your family. That isn’t something I would wish on even my worst enemy.” Olivia had a kindness in her voice that neither of the men expected. 

“Oh, well thanks. I’m alright. Liam really got hit with the brunt of it though.” Drake turned to the chair, he was also hoping to hear Liam’s answer. He hadn’t spoken much about everything since that initial meeting. 

Liam looked between his childhood friends, the two people in this world that knew him almost as well as Riley did, he knew that they wouldn’t let him get away with brushing the question off. He exhaled and wiped his hand over his face before responding. “It has been difficult, I have a lot that I still need to process. I cannot fully process everything without confronting Thomas, and possibly Eleanor. Which I clearly cannot do until this has been resolved. Riley would be exposed, I can’t put her in danger like that. My focus right now is making sure she is safe, and that we end this. That’s where you come in, Olivia.”

“Of course, talk to me about what kind of information you are looking to gather. We can go from there.”

They spent the next few hours talking about what kind of information they were hoping to collect, what Olivia had for equipment, and what she could get without causing suspicion from outside parties. They settled on an audio recorder embedded in a button that could be sewn into one of Riley’s existing blouses, along with a retractable pen that doubled as a camera, taking still shots every time the top was clicked. This would, not only, allow Riley to get the devices into the meeting, but it would enable Olivia to easily have everything delivered from Lythikos to the palace. 

As their meeting wrapped up, Riley and Eleanor walked through the door. As soon as Eleanor saw Olivia on the couch, she broke into a sprint. “Auntie!” 

Olivia raised her hand before Eleanor could make it all the way to the couch. “Eleanor, what did I teach you about running?”

She stopped dead in her tracks, pausing to remember. “Running is for the weak.”

Olivia nodded. “Very good, now approach like the princess you are, and greet your aunt properly.”

Eleanor carefully approached Olivia, stopping when she got directly in front of her. “Hello, Auntie Olivia.”

“That’s better.” Olivia reached out and pulled Eleanor into her lap, giving her a hug. 

Drake leaned in behind Olivia’s back and whispered in Eleanor’s ear, “You. Me. Maze tag. After Auntie Olivia leaves.” Eleanor covered her mouth and giggled. 

“I heard that Walker.” Olivia turned around, staring Drake down. “She is going to be the Queen of Cordonia one day, there are more important uses of her time.”

“She’s a kid, Liv, she needs to have fun.” 

“Alright, alright.” Riley stepped in and took Eleanor from Olivia’s arms. “Why don’t you two put a pin in this conversation. When you finally get over this fake hate that is so obviously love, you can fight over how to raise your children.” 

Drake and Olivia both snapped their heads toward Riley, who now had Liam standing beside her trying to stifle a laugh. 

“Yes Drake, then Riley and I won’t be the only ones running late for stuff because we were making out.” Liam exchanged a high five with his wife. 

Drake shook his head, “Gross. I’m leaving.”

“But Uncle Drake, you promised maze tag?” Eleanor looked up at him with sad eyes. 

“You’re right, I did. Let’s go kid.” He reached his arm out, taking Eleanor’s hand. “You won’t make fun of me like your mom and dad do, will you?”

“Never ever.”

“And that’s why you’re my favorite.” With that, they made their way out the door. 

Riley shared a brief laugh with Liam before they both turned their attention back to Olivia. They spoke for a while longer, Liam and Olivia filling Riley in on what they had come up with. Olivia was invited to stay for dinner, but she had to get back to Lythikos to prepare the recording equipment to be sent to the palace. Riley walked Olivia out while Liam remained on the couch. When she returned to the sitting area, she sat in Liam’s lap. 

“It sounds like we have a decent plan in place. I hope I can get some good information in this meeting.” Riley wrapped her arms around her husband’s neck and kissed him on the tip of his nose. 

Liam looked at her with a hint of sadness in his eyes as he brought one hand up to stroke her cheek. “Me too, I just wish we didn’t have to risk your safety to get it.”

“Hey, I’ll be ok, I promise.” She pressed a kiss to his lips. “We’ve got this.”

He nodded. As much as he wanted to believe her, he knew this battle was so much different than any they had fought before. They couldn’t trust anyone, and there was a possibility that they were being observed at any given time. He didn’t doubt Riley’s strength or tenacity for a second. But this time, there were so many questions and unknowns about their enemy, that he feared the worst.

Riley noticed Liam falling deeper and deeper into his thoughts, she knew she needed to do something to get him back to the present. She began playing with the hair at the base of his neck as she placed soft kisses along his jaw. “You know, I don’t have to start dinner for another hour...and Eleanor is outside with Drake...any thoughts on what we could do with this sudden time to ourselves?” She asked in between kisses.

The sadness in his eyes was quickly replaced with a look of desire. “Mmm...I do have a few things in mind.” His hands traveled the curves of her body as he methodically kissed down her neck.

“Care to tell me?”

“I’d rather show you.” Liam stood abruptly, lifting Riley with him and tossing her over his shoulder, slapping her on her behind. He delighted at the yelp that escaped her at the sudden contact. He quickly carried her to the bedroom, kicking the door shut behind him. 

Continue Reading

Permatag: @anjanettexcordonia​ @athena-penrose​ @chemist-ana​@choicesficwriterscreations​ @cordonia-gothqueen​ @cordoniaqueensworld @gabesmommie1130​ @gkittylove99​ @hopelessromanticmonie​ @iaminlovewithtrr​ @jessiembruno​ @kat-tia801​ @khoicesbyk​ @kingliam2019​ @lucy-268​ @marshmallowsaremyfavorite​ @mile9213​ @mom2000aggie​ @pixie88​ @queenrileyrose​ @secretaryunpaid​ @sweatyrysconnoisseur​ @theroyalheirshadowhunter​ @twinkleallnight​ @txemrn​

Sapere Aude: @burnsoslow​ @busywoman​ @ofpixelsandscribbles​

Liam x Riley: @jared2612​

[something-fanfiction-ie]

Tips and Tricks

Pairing: Spencer Reid x Reader

Warnings: Spencer scares you for a second. And your mom is disappointed.

A/N: I know I have so many things going at once but I couldn’t help myself with this! I’m sorry. Forgive me. Like, comment, reblog, send me asks and shit. I love you! Enjoy!

___

A true book enthusiast knows that the most beautiful smell in the world can be found in the middle of a book. Whether it’s old and it’s pages are yellowed with age, or its so new that the text wipes off onto your hands when you open the cover, the smell is like a drug that gets your engine running the way no actual drug ever could.

It’s that thought that makes your pull your car into the nearly deserted parking lot of the bookstore as the rain crashes around you. You’ve seen enough ID Channel to know that waiting for the storm to pass while parked on the side of the road is about as dangerous as walking into a serial killer club meeting with a sign around your neck that reads, ‘kill me, I look like every person who has ever wronged you in life.’

Pulling your bag up over your head, you dash inside as fast as you can. The bell rings through the empty store, the smell of books hitting your senses and putting you at ease.

Even with your bag over your head, your hair is drenched and your clothes stick to your body in the most uncomfortable way possible. The store is manned by one forlorn looking teenage girl with short black hair, you can hear the gum she’s smacking behind the desk from four feet away.

Classical music filters down from the speakers, nestling among the thousands of books that take up every available space in the room. While some books fill the floor to ceiling bookshelves, the rest have been stacked on the floor like a maze of knowledge. Some stacks go up so high that even if you stand on your toes and stretch your arm as high as you could, you would still be a good ten five-hundred paged books from the top.

Every turn into the book maze reveals another secret of the store, like the collection of vinyls tucked into a corner beneath a record player that is older than your grandmother. Down a narrow path of towering novels, is a small reading nook with two red armchairs that have seen their fair share of readers.

It feels like you’ve stumbled upon the house of an immortal book-lover, the rugs that stretch across the floor feeling just as ancient as the words around you. But it’s peaceful, relaxing. You find yourself humming along to Chopin’s Nocturnes, Op. 9: No. 2, the spines of books bumping under your finger. Unsure how the books are organized, or even if they are, you’ve decided to look at the book your finger is on once the song is over.

When the last notes fade into a brief quietness, you stop on a book written by a ‘David Rossi.’ You can’t help the breathy laugh that comes from your chest in surprise that the first book you look at is a true crime novel.

Ever since you were a little girl, stealing your mom’s police badge to play ‘cops and robbers,’ and sneaking into her office to read case files you weren’t supposed to, you’d been in love with the puzzle-solving of the investigative world. You’ve always had a mind for finding clues no one thought to look for, it was the only reason you didn’t get in trouble when you left sticky notes full of observations and theories in your mother’s case files.

It was this background that made everyone around you so sure you would become a detective just like your mom. It was this same background that surprised everyone when you became an author instead. To say your mother was disappointed was an understatement, she’d been the most shocked when you showed her a four hundred page manuscript instead of an application for the police academy.

“Who gets a master’s in criminology only to write books?!”

Even still, she was the dedication in every book you published. So far, that was two, you’d been in the midst of your third book for four months now. Something about the story didn’t feel right, and no matter how many times you rewrote every page, it still didn’t click together the way the first two books had.

You don’t let the thought bug you as you flip open the hardcover, the pages falling to the side as you read the synopsis printed to the inside flap. The ringing of the bell barely registers in your mind, falling somewhere behind the book in your hands, the sound of the rain beating at the roof, and Beethoven’s Sonata No. 8. After reading the first page, you decide to give the book a chance and you tuck it beneath your arm for safe keeping.

This time, you turn your eyes up to the tops of the shelves, scanning for something that might be interesting. Each binding tells a story of its own, with spines creased from frequent readings or smooth spines begging to be cracked open. There are titles in gold and black, silver and red, the backgrounds varying in more colors than the words.

By the time you’ve wandered back to the reading nook with armchairs strategically placed to face each other at a diagonal, Beethoven is coming to a close. The notes vibrate for just a moment, and you choose the book tucked into the end with a dark purple cover and gold lettering. You can’t quite see the title but something tells you that this is something you want to read, that this books is going to be a good one.

Call it a reader’s instinct.

It’s just that, there are no step ladders to get to the top shelf and you aren’t exactly tall enough to reach it. Climbing the shelf just sounds dangerous, and you aren’t too eager to die at the hands of hundreds of books and a large bookcase. You contemplate moving one of the armchairs to assist you, but ultimately decide against it when you imagine that teenage girl coming to the back with a disappointed look on her face at the sight of you.

Instead you stretch like your life depends on it, your toes cramping a little as you push up on them as high as you can go. The tips of your fingers bump the spine when you curve your hand around the lip of the shelf. The wood digs into your wrist but maybe if you keep pushing and pulling at what you can grab, it will wiggle itself free.

That’s your plan until a warm body unintentionally brushes against you, an arm longer than yours coming up beside you and taking the book from its place up high with ease. Falling back to your feet, you’re quick to turn around and come face to face with a man you’ve never met before.

His expression is kind and gentle, crinkling his eyes and dimpling his cheeks when he offers you a shy smile and the book he grabbed for you. He’s definitely in the department of tall, tilting his head down a little to meet your gaze with eyes that you can’t quite describe as brown but you can’t quite describe as hazel either. Everything about him makes your heart stutter in your chest, from the color and shape of his lips, to the sharp cut of his jawline.

He’s curls himself down a little, his empty hand palm up and open as if he is trying to seem less threatening. It’s such a stark contrast to most of the men you meet, who invade your personal space and eyeball your breasts like they’re human bra size detectors.

You don’t realize you’ve been staring until he clear his throat, a dusty pink color rising to his cheekbones as he shuffles nervously in his spot. Blinking away the cloud of initial shock from the angelic being before you, you grab the book and mumble a ‘thank you.’

“Are you a big fan of David Rossi?” He says, shoving his hands deep into the recesses of his pockets.

“Who?” Internally, your facepalm yourself at the absolute stupidity that must be radiating off of you in waves strong enough to affect the whole population of Virginia.

“You’re holding two of his books.” Sure enough, not only is the book tucked under your arm David Rossi, but so is the book in your hands. The laugh that sputters out of you is even more surprised than the first laugh, the sheer coincidence of grabbing two random books by the same author in this whole building pulling the laughter from the pits of your stomach.

His lips flicker into a confused smile. It makes him that much more adorable.

“I was choosing books my eyes or finger landed on when the song ended. I couldn’t really figure out how everything is arranged so I thought I’d let the music decide for me.” He looks around now, his male-lead, love-interest eyes flying across the room to confirm that there really was no form of originization, his brows furrowing in thought. His bottom lips is sucked between his teeth and the vividness of the lewd fantasies that come from the small action are enough to push you back a step.

Only, you’re already pretty close to the bookcase, and when you step back to get some distance your back bumps into the wood and his hand comes up to cradle the back of your head to keep it from hitting the corner. You’re not even sure how he knew to react so fast, those eyes coming back to meet yours.

“Careful there, your head almost hit the shelf behind you.” Putting just a little pressure on the back of your neck to guide you out of harms way, he doesn’t let go until his back is to the case and you’re standing in his old spot. The new smile he gives you is lopsided, causing your heart to trip over itself. What you wouldn’t give in that moment to capture that smile on camera or canvas, to hold onto it forever.

You don’t even know this man, what are you thinking?!

Pulling the books to your chest like a shield for your heart, which has digressed to the same emotional maturity you had as a thirteen year old girl when you were in love with every member of New Kids On the Block, you tighten your grip around the covers to the point that your knuckles turn white.

“I’m (Y/N).” Somehow his smile brightens even more.

“I’m Spencer.”

“Are you hiding from the rain too, Spencer?” Everything about you hates small talk, you always wanted to jump straight into the nitty gritty of getting to know someone. You wanted to know what made them tick, what made them who they were. But you were willing to do the normal thing and lure him into an actual conversation, if only to keep him talking.

“Actually, I came to this bookshop with a specific purpose.” Spencer schools his features, suddenly all business. The brown blazer with elbow patches and the lavender button up certainly help to make him appear serious. You still imagine reaching for the dark purple tie around his neck and pulling his lips to yours, the severity of his expression only adding to his sexiness.

“I work in the Behavioral Analysis Unit of the FBI, I came here because I’m in the middle of an investigation that led me here,” You blink in surprise, all kinds of questions popping into your mind. “You see, I got a tip that I may find it here. I wasn’t sure, but after some looking around it appears they were right.”

You open your mouth to ask him what he’s talking about, thinking of all the local cases you’ve heard about in the last week or so. Nothing that would involve the FBI comes to mind, especially not the BAU.

Between the end of his sentence and the opening of your mouth, Spencer has time to reach out to the side of your head, his fingers brushing against a few strands of hair.

“I only want to know two things; how you got ahold of my favorite pen, and why you thought you could get away with it?” Balanced in his thumb and index finger is a black pen, the writing tip pointed toward the ceiling. He holds it between you, a silly grin stretched across his face as you reach up to touch your ear.

Of course you’ve seen the old ‘coin behind the ear’ trick before, never with a pen but it’s the same concept. It’s just so funny and out-there that you cant help being a little amazed.

“Is this how you flirt with women, Agent?”

“Actually it’s Doctor. Doctor Reid,” he smugly goes about tucking the pen back into the breast pocket of his blazer, you can briefly recall it being there before he distracted you by switching places just seconds ago, “I do work with the BAU, that wasn’t a ruse. I have my credentials if you want me to prove it.”

He isn’t boastful, he’s just trying to distract you from the answer to your question. The answer was yes, this is how he flirts with women. It was the only way he knew how to flirt with women that worked, having stuck to the method since Atlanta, Georgia. You wouldn’t be the first woman who thought it was cute, you were the first woman to call him on it though.

“As long as you don’t try to arrest me for the kidnapping of your pen, I’ll be inclined to believe you without proof.” He chuckles, the first time you’ve heard it since the both of you started talking, and you didn’t realize he could get better. The sound warmed every part of you so much that you felt like you were glowing from inside.

“I knew you were framed. I’ve had my suspicions on the girl running the store.” You nod your head, trying to keep the smile from pulling on your lips as you tuck a piece of your still wet hair behind your ear.

“I knew something hinky was happening with her.”

“My best law enforcement advice is to always trust your gut when it comes to crime, ma’am.”

With the ice broken thanks to the magical Dr. Reid, the conversation flows naturally between you. You both gravitate toward each other like opposite ends of magnets, unaware how close you are to touching until you absentmindedly kick your foot out and hit the tip of his shoe with your own. In an attempt to keep yourself rooted, you sit in the armchairs.

Anyone, FBI profiler or not, would have been able to tell what was going on when they found you both leaned against the arms of your seats, heads together as Reid explained how the serious looking man in the back of your book is actually one of his team members. He names all of his team members, affectionately describing them to you as if they were characters in a new book you were reading.

Normally he would keep all of this information reserved, but something about you made him feel so at ease.

You too, reveal more information than you normally would to a stranger you’d just met. You tell him about your books and your mother, you tell him how you aren’t sure why your newest book isn’t working and ask his advice on it all. He takes each question into careful consideration before answering.

It isn’t until you’ve been there for two hours, talking about anything that you could think of, that Spencer’s phone starts to ring. It’s a case. You want to ask, the young girl from your childhood coming out at the mention of a case you could help on, but you don’t.

“I’m really sorry, (Y/N), but I have to go.” He fluidly rises from his seat, all at once the carefree air falls around him to reveal the intelligent, elegant, crime-fighting, doctor underneath the nerdy, magic-loving young man you’d spent the last couple of hours getting to know.

“I’ll walk you to the door.” You offer, hoping to figure out a way to cheekily ask for his number before you make it there. His answering smile is infectious, reaching out and tugging your own cheeks into a smile that hurts. The books hit the wood of the desk with a thunk, Spencer standing just beside you as the girl, her name tag reads ‘RAveN,’ rings up your purchase.

“Watch out for your pens.” Spencer teases, that boy-like amusement coming out. You’ve noticed that when he tries to make a joke, he looks so nervous that you won’t get it in the seconds immediately following it. It isn’t until you laugh or crack a smile that he visibly relaxes, glad to have someone that understands his humor.

Earlier, he’d told you the joke about the existentialists and the light bulb and had been absolutely elated when you doubled over in laughter. The joke wasn’t even that funny, but he’d been making you laugh for so long that your ribs had started to hurt.

“That’ll be $12.78.” You slide your card across the desk, pulling your eyes away from Reid longer than you wanted to. When you look back, there’s a look on his face that takes you a minute to recognize. It’s just on the tip of your tongue when the smack of pen and receipt paper hit the counter.

Quickly, you sign your name on the stores copy of your receipt. You flip your copy of the receipt to the back, using the pen to scribble out your phone number.

“Call me if you ever learn any new magic tricks you want to show off.” The bell dings when you lean back against the door, your books in a bag that dangle from your left hand while your right hand comes up in a wave.

Spencer still stands at the counter, the one in a hurry being the one who still isn’t out the door. The lopsided smile is back, that look crossing his face again as you let the after-storm sun shine on your face.

“Sir, can you take your longing elsewhere? I’d like to close early. I have a thing to get to.” He pats his hand on the countertop, ignoring the buzzing of texts coming through his phone as he makes his way to the car in a bit of a daze.

[novantinuum]

Fandom: Steven Universe

Rating: T

Words: 1.3K~

Summary: His family’s not present, the third time he runs away. They never see the creature he becomes.

Early corruption AU.

I’m back! Future updates are likely to be slower as I am starting a new job soon, but at very least I have now settled into my new home. I share some writer’s meta on the AO3 version.

If you read this and enjoy, I’d greatly appreciate your support through reblogs here, or kudos/comments on AO3 as well. Thank you! <3

____

“So, I’ve been doin’ a lot of thinking,” Amethyst begins one day, propping her chin against the raised lip of the lava pool as she lounges on the floor at the center of the temple’s burning room, which they’ve started to use as their meeting space again.

Pearl— standing beside one of the lower branches of crystal pipes— tiredly glances her direction, nodding for her to speak. Even Garnet’s head tilts in interest, which is quite an accomplishment given her recent uncharacteristic silence. She suspects that she’s been busying herself scouring through whole galaxies of possibilities, although she’s not sure what good that will do without any reasonable intel to guide that vision. It’s been well over a week and a half since Steven’s gone missing, and beyond the existence of what they suspect is a corrupted Gem and footprints leading towards the water, they have no further clues. No inklings as to where Steven might have disappeared to, no hits from Greg’s posters, not even any leading tips from Homeworld or any of the outlying Gem-inhabited planets. And as for this particular creature... they’ve only met a single eyewitness. A human, who briefly caught its silhouette against the backdrop of sunrise. Perhaps if it ran further inland it would’ve tripped one of their old corrupted Gem surveillance sensors, but they never placed any in the oceans. They barely have any means to survey the oceans.

“I’ve been talkin’ to all sorts of people the past few days, right?” Amethyst says, widely gesturing as she rolls onto her back. “All Steven’s friends. People in town who knew him pretty well. And pretty much everyone agrees that he was actin’ pretty weird these past few months. Sadie described him as overly-tense. I called up Lars on his ship, and he kept saying that he was genuinely worried about his mental health, or whatever. Greg told me the same thing. And Connie. And basically everyone else.”

Pearl rhythmically flexes her fingers in and out of a fist against her side, her features rapidly curling into a scowl. “And what does that have to do with his disappearance?”

“Uh, potentially everything?” she snips back, throwing her hands in the air above her. “Y’guys, you’ve been making so many assumptions, but we barely know anything! You can’t just blindly throw out the idea that the whole corrupted Gem thing and Steven are linked without at least considering it.”

She grimaces, not even bothering to filter out the full intensity of her bitterness in the audience of such a ridiculous, illogical notion. “Amethyst, we’ve talked about your little ‘theory’ already. And everyone agreed that it’s impossible.”

“And yet it’s true that Steven has defied the impossible before,” Garnet comments suddenly, adjusting her visor.

“Are you defending her?” Pearl gasps, turning towards her old friend with her mouth agape with shock.

She crosses her arms, evidently unbothered by the weight of her subtle betrayal as she lounges back against the entryway. “I’m not defending nor rejecting, merely acknowledging a possibility.”

“Yeah, see?” the younger Gem chimes right back in, quickly pushing herself to her feet to rise to her full height. (Which blessedly— if she’s aiming for intimidation— isn’t much.) “Garnet gets it! Steven’s different than us. Always has been. His powers just do what whatever the hell he’s feeling, right? He feels happy, he floats. He feels spooked, bam! Bubble. He feels like an old man, he literally turns into one. And recently, it seems like he’s been feeling pretty crappy, which probably wasn’t helped by us getting all up in his business after he crashed the van.”

She squints. “Is this going anywhere?”

“Yes,” Amethyst stresses, peering right up at her, her eyes flaring with an urgency and passion Pearl admittedly hasn’t seen her wielding in quite some time. “Because I also talked to Jasper the other day. And she gave me the last piece of the puzzle I needed.”

The quartz steps back to address them both, hands nervously fidgeting with the frayed stitching of her missing sibling’s wool jacket.

“I gotta admit, this isn’t easy news, but it has to be shared.” She inhales tightly, briefly closing her eyes as she does so. “I’m pretty sure the reason Steven had her in the bathroom is that he was trying to heal her with the diamond essences he keeps there. Because he shattered her, in a duel.”

Pearl freezes. The kinder reality she’s stubbornly nurtured within her mind ignites and burns to cinders in an instant, hard light thrumming through the thin circuitry of her extremities at such an unimaginable pace that her form barely manages to keep up with the strain. She nearly crumples to her knees upon the sheer anguish of the revelation, only narrowly catching her fall to remain upright. Across the room, Garnet appears to be on the brink of splitting apart. She... shards, her primary instinct screams for her to violently discard every last bitter tasting word Amethyst has spoken into the furthest recesses of her mind, to rot and decay there for the rest of this cursed eternity, and yet still her picture perfect memory chooses to taunt her with details of the recent past... with the hauntingly damning fact that— when she checked the bathroom after watching Steven warp away, the last moment any of them laid eyes on him— the bottles of diamond essence had indeed been sloppily spilled into the bathtub.

“Her words, mind you, not mine,” Amethyst continues, no amount of stabilizing calm in her tone able to mask the slight tremor under the surface. “You can ask her yourself, if you want.”

“No,” she whispers, hot tears budding in her eyes as she presses her hands to her mouth. “That’s not what happened, it can’t be...”

“So, returning to my theory, you have a kid who’s already feeling terrible, someone whose powers do whatever he’s feeling. A diamond. And then he makes the worst possible mistake: he shatters someone. Accident or not, it don’t matter. Because maybe then... he starts feeling like a monster. Becomes a monster.”

“No,” she shakes her head vehemently. “No, no. Corruption doesn’t work that way, you—“

“Like, think about it!” Amethyst interrupts, striding towards her again. “Really think about it! All we know for sure is—“

“Amethyst, you have to STOP, this—“

“—corruption was caused by the Diamonds, but besides tha—“

“—you have absolutely no idea what you’re talking abo—“

“—how it actually works is like a total mystery!”

“NO!” she explodes, plunging the room around her into a dreadful silence. “You weren’t there, but I WAS!!” The burdens of her personal history grow heavier still as she jabs a decisive finger square at the center of her chest, continuing her impassioned tirade with water trailing down her cheeks in thin rivulets all the while. “I watched as that horrid corrupting light slammed against the surface, nearly obliterating any living Gem in its path, I watched as my friends and allies lost all control over their forms and became a twisted shadow of their former selves, I watched all of that!! So you don’t get to tell me what I do or don’t know about corruption!”

Amethyst’s expression sobers considerably in the audience of her outrage. Pointedly, as if expecting rescue, she turns her gaze to Garnet, who has her arms hugged around her middle as if holding herself in one piece. Quite honestly, after the horrid news they’ve just become privy to, she probably is.

“We should move on to a new subject,” the fusion states frankly, once again avoiding any clear stance on the topic. “This is clearly making Pearl very upset.”

The quartz’s eyes alight in clear indignation. “Y’know what? Fine,” she spits, shoving her hands in her pockets and storming towards the doorway. “If both of you are gonna be that sensitive, I’ll take my ideas somewhere else. But just for the record?” she says, whirling back to face them mere inches before passing through the temple’s threshold. “The reason Steven keeps running away is staring back at us in the mirror. You just refuse to see it. And that’s not my problem.”

[melon-kiss]

This is just going to be a ramble about everything Sherlock. You’re most welcome to discuss or just ignore it. I needed the space to vent.

I watched Sherlock. Again. I think it’s beginning to become my annual tradition. And I have a crisis. Don’t get me wrong, I am always Sherlollian at heart. It’s just… I have doubts sometimes. And what triggered those doubts this time was the fact that Sherlock calls Molly “John”. Twice. And then Irene Adler. And then one post on Tumblr. And many, many more.

OK, these are just my random thoughts. Enjoy if you’re willing to read them.

 1. “John”. “Molly”.

We often mix up names of people we consider to have the same place in our lives. Which is good, right? Right. Only, in Sherlock’s case, we’d have lean into the theory that Sherlock does love John romantically and feels the same way about Molly. Or concede the fact that he loves them both platonically. Neither of these options is really satisfying, isn’t it? Well, that’s why I’m struggling… One could say he’s in denial of feelings for Molly and identifies them as friendship, as this is the strongest, purest relationship in his life, the only one he describes as emotional and the closest he’s ever had to love. Besides, Molly and John are similar in one way – they both share the same – medical – knowledge. Of course, Sherlock doesn’t realise her other qualities until The Reichenbach Fall when she says she can help him whenever he needs it. It’s not until she’s honest with him again and tells him, without a shred of grudge, that she knows she means nothing to him, that he realises he has at least two friends. He calls her “John” when his mind is busy with something else, so there’s no room for any purposeful confusion. The same thing happens in The Empty Hearse. What else can it mean if not friendship?

 2. Nothing Hits Like Irene

Irene Adler is created as the love interest for Sherlock. Is she, though? Well, we see Sherlock utterly confused upon their first meeting. We also see him flirting and creating an atmosphere of sexual tension for the first time. OK, he saves her but then she vanishes, he got over her, I thought. And all was fine until The Lying Detective came and Irene Adler sent a text to Sherlock, first in such a long time. John, of course, suggests that if Sherlock should be romantically involved with anyone, it should be her. And then it hit me.

Irene Adler is the symbol of chemistry in Sherlock’s life.

She’s a dominatrix. She’s all about sex, that’s obvious. At the critical point of The Scandal in Belgravia Sherlock says: I believe John Watson thinks love’s a mystery for me but the chemistry is incredibly simple and very distractive. Sherlock discovers that he, indeed, can have chemistry with people. He doesn’t mention love, he merely says sentiment, referring to the crush Irene Adler had on him. She is, indeed, a simple distraction – you can see it clearly in his memory palace when he yells at her to get away. But Molly… Molly stays. She leads him through the entire process of surviving a shot.

And then Irene Adler returns in The Lying Detective. John confesses to Sherlock about texting with a stranger met on the bus. And that he wanted more. Sherlock says everyone gets to be human sometimes. Even he can’t resist the urge of replying to Irene Adler sometimes. It was all about attraction again.

And that’s why she’s not considered a romantic relationship in his life. John rambles about love changing him, to be more specific, the love of his woman changing him. But he says Irene’s a dangerous criminal. How would that change Sherlock in any way?

In The Final Problem, upon deducing the coffin, John suggests Irene Adler but she’s not his first thought in general once they all hear that this is about someone who loves Sherlock. Sherlock’s response is very telling: Don’t be ridiculous. Look at the coffin. It seems like Sherlock pieces the puzzle at once – the coffin, plus the “name” on the lid – it couldn’t have been Irene Adler.

And that’s why Sherlock calls her The Woman. As a symbol of his sexuality. The Woman who’s woken up certain impulses in his life.

 3. Makeshift Gauge

Who is she?, Sherlock asks John in His Last Vow.

Based on what Mofftiss duo said about Molly, she was supposed to be featured in two episodes top. Yet, she stayed. The uncanonical character not only stayed but became fans’ favourite. I think she became a useful tool for Moffat and Gatiss. I think that not only she represents Sherlock heart (of which existence he has no idea at first) but later becomes our makeshift gauge. For what? For measuring Sherlock’s progress. See, it’s like when you live with someone, you don’t notice when they put on weight or grew a little but those who see less of them will notice all changes right away. So, when Sherlock runs around with John, we don’t notice the change in his behaviour at once (also because he’s always been nice to him, from the very beginning), we need to focus to see that. But Molly pops by once per episode and we see how Sherlock’s perception changes. In season one, he has good intentions, but they turn out bad. In season two, he’s more neutral but doesn’t restrain himself from rude comments. And Molly is being Molly – tells him he’s rude in her natural, soft way and he says sorry. For the first time. Without anyone making him do that. Almost the same happens in The Reichenbach Fall – but this time, Molly doesn’t let herself be fooled by Sherlock’s arrogance and just ignores it, going straight to the point. She says: “I’m here for you” and lowers his defences. In season three, he spends an entire day with her, smiles at her and is the sweetest, softest Sherlock we’ve ever seen. Moreover, when Lestrade asks him about her helping him solve cases, he says: [John] is not in the picture anymore, implying that she not necessarily had to be a temporary replacement. In season four, he says I love you to her.

What can we deduce about his heart?

 4. The Eurus Conundrum

We could write an entire book about Eurus and not even be able to grasp her spirit. I’m not going to do that right now.

I have issues with what happened in season four finale. I mean – Molly, of course. Mycroft says Eurus and Jim Moriarty met five years ago, so before Moriarty revealed himself to Sherlock. They both planned the entire game for Sherlock. Does that mean Sherlock never really won with him? Does that mean Moriarty let him use Molly to “win”? Since she was included in Eurus’ plan, we can safely assume Jim knew about Molly back then. At first, when I saw Moriarty saying We both know that’s not quite true [that you don’t have a heart] in many Sherlolly fanvids, I was like naaaaah. He didn’t see her as one of the important people in Sherlock’s life, it couldn’t have been a reference to their meeting. But now… how deeply back in time was Eurus’ plan allocated? Which events did she predict?

Or maybe I’m missing something? Any thoughts on this?

 5. Sherlock Evergreen

I once came across a post here, about how BBC Sherlock is literature, about sir Arthur Conan Doyle’s struggle with his own genius character. He was over with him, didn’t feel like writing any more of his stories so he killed him, but fans demanded more. He kept writing, although he hated it from the bottom of his heart. Season four, so often considered as the worst of all of them, is a way of saying that Sherlock character is, unfortunately, invincible. Immortal. He will live forever. We can’t kill him, no one can. Even his creator couldn’t have done it.

In season four, Sherlock goes back to the start. He is a clean slate again. He went through the entire process of change – became a good Sherlock, considerate of other people’s feelings and emotions, appreciative, supportive, loving, ready to mend what he broke. That interpretation, although very good, kind of killed my Sherlolly spirit. But I guess every interpretation like this would do it. If we stop treating characters like real human being, we’re left with what they really are – a construct, tools, puppets in the author’s hands.

Based on this, I think we’re safe to say there will never be a fifth season of BBC Sherlock (gosh, how I wish I was wrong!). Why? Because, despite what Moffat said in an interview once (after season three finale he said they’ve plotted out the entire fourth and fifth season – liar, liar, pants on fire!), season four had the perfect ending. As mentioned above, Sherlock became a good man and Mary Watson summed up what Sherlock is all about: two man, a genius junkie and a former soldier, who solve the weirdest, the toughest of cases together in flat on 221B Baker Street. Now, Sherlock is ready to be taken over by other artists who may find a new way to tell his story (though, I don’t think so) all over again.

And that’s a big, big shame… I think I speak for at least most of Sherlollians when I say we’d like to see Sherlock and Molly’s first encounter after the call. The finale really closed all the story arcs and subplots, except for this one. I mean, c’mon. You don’t have to be a Sherlollian to be annoyed by this – just remember that it was such a “biggie” that Moffat was asked about this in an interview. And this may be another reason as to why we won’t ever get a fifth season of Sherlock – because that would mean taking a side. And none of the creators will do it because Sherlock cannot be an open-and-shut case. It has to be like literature: big, open, twisted, unclear and full of room for interpretation. As long as there’s no certain explanation – yes, Sherlock loves Molly, no, Sherlock is gay – we create more and more content out of the need of closure. Thanks to the room for interpretation, the story lives. I mean, it’s been four years since The Final Problem airing and here I am, discussing BBC Sherlock still.

 Coming back to Sherlolly… don’t worry. Though I’m still not sure that we can harvest any hard evidence for Sherlock’s feelings for Molly (other than friendship and respect), I’m still a Sherlollian. There two new fics waiting for me to pull myself together and write them. I think it’s good to have doubts – it means my brain hasn’t rotten yet and I can still be critical, I’m able of having my own opinions.

 Thank you if you managed to read it all! I’d love to discuss if you have any conclusions. If not, that’s fine, too. I just needed it get it out of my system.

PS WHY DOES MY POSTS IN ENGLISH SOUND SO SOPHISTICATED IN MY HEAD BUT WHEN I PUT THEM IN WRITING, THEY’RE SO SHITTY?!

[radabadabing-bing]

Wager of Weights

So embarrassing story, I wrote the bulk of this in 2019 and apparently had it like, almost complete?? I don’t know why I didn’t finish it then, but I cleaned it up and got it all ready to go because, while perhaps not totally reflective of my current work, there’s no point in tossing it down the drain. I will also say it’s not totally what I usually write, and my first time writing a lot of the content present in it, so it may also not be the best? But I’m a harsh judge of my own work haha. To clarify, this was (and still is) a gift for @pangtasias-atelier all the way when they were still Kink of the Emblem. And really I have to give him a lot of thanks for helping me grow this blog in the first place, so thanks for that. If you are somehow following me but not him, do that because he makes some good stuff (and comms good stuff too). And if you’re reading this right now- You’re awesome dude, love your work, and I hope you enjoy it!

It was no secret that the Summoner played favorites, and those favorites were Grima and Tibarn. One or the other was usually found by his side, and at times even both. But the problem had laid in the fact that there were two favorites...and one summoner. Tibarn didn’t seem to mind too much about this. So, perhaps more accurately, the problem laid with Grima.

Grima was a controversial figure among the heroes themselves- something of the territory coming with being an ancient dragon with little to no regard for human life. The Summoner had pacified Grima into being passive-aggressive to most of the others...Though Tibarn usually faced the aggressive half. 

Grima had been feeling particularly vitriolic on this day. The Summoner had gone out on patrol without either him or Tibarn, leaving the two in awkward coexistence. “You know, if this vessel had the muscle your body had, I’m almost certain the summoner would enjoy my company much more. Enough to leave you behind.” “Really now?” As said, Tibarn didn’t mind the venomous words. He viewed the fell dragon as a bit of a blowhard, never really giving it too much thought. The guy thought he was on top of the world, and as a nigh impotent god he sort of was. 

“Almost certainly.” Grima retorted, unaware of what he was starting here.

“Hmm...Well, why not a competition?” A good challenge had presented itself to Tibarn, he wasn’t about to miss the chance. “Me and you- We work ourselves harder than ever. We both commit ourselves to getting stronger and stronger, and see if your little theory there holds up.” “Deal.” Not a moment of hesitation from Grima. “I’ll come out on top- just you watch.” The King of Phoenicis grinned at this. It would be an interesting challenge at the least.

Tibarn only needed to ramp up his standard workout. A little more weight. A little more time spent doing it. The rewards of this weren’t immediately noticeable, but as the days rolled on his pecs seemed to bulge ever slightly more, abs right along with them. His thighs and calves refined to a great extent, looking in shape enough to crack stone. Biceps nearly tearing apart his sleeves, Tibarn finding himself needing more bandage to cover his arm to his liking.

Even his silhouette- already intimidating from a good height and wingspan, seemed to grow ever further. A few inches on both his height and wings. His clothes constrained ever so slightly more to contain his greater apex form.

Grima had a more interesting growth period. The vessel he inhabited needed no sustenance as long as he controlled it, and similarly had a nigh boundless energy pool, meaning that it was simply what effort he was willing to put into the competition. To self improve took valuable time away from being at the Summoner’s side, but not doing it would give the hawk a free victory, and Grima hated that even more.

The growth he had was more dramatic than Tibarn’s, but ultimately he could only just catch up. Just a few inches under the laguz, just able to lift a bit less than what Tibarn could, and most frustratingly seeing that the Summoner hadn’t actually changed who they spent the most time with. Proving Grima’s theory wrong. This had frustrated the dragon to no end, how could he possibly be wrong?

But during a session, where he attempted to still catch up to Tibarn, it dawned on him. He didn’t necessarily need to beat the hawk king, no. It was futile at this point, not without submitting himself further to this...mortal regimen. No, all Grima needed to do was drag Tibarn behind! And drag him very, very far behind.

Tibarn already ate quite a bit, and having a rigorous training session now only seemed to increase his appetite. Which made it exceptionally easy to slip in a curse or two on some meat. But Grima wasn’t about to make it obvious. This would be a slow burn.

At first, Tibarn’s gains seemed to stagnate. Simply stopped growing. At a glance, someone would think that he had hit the apex. He just couldn’t improve anymore. Though once a slight layer of pudge formed near his waistline, it was clear he hadn’t only stopped his growths- he was degrading.

Each passing day, Tibarn seemed to be gaining more and more weight. Getting wider rather than taller, his clothes ill-fitting not because of burgeoning muscle, but fat. With the greater weight, his workouts had become too laborious to follow up on, which certainly didn’t help the sudden expansion. Soon constrained to the ground, too heavy to even be lifted by his wings the slightest bit.

All the while Grima watched with sadistic satisfaction. Tibarn’s body swelled by the day, the laguz undoubtedly having lost at this point. Grima’s vessel had grown significantly- past Tibarn’s form before he had laid the curse. His shirt hardly fit, more akin to a crop top, and the cloak that had once only been an inch or two from the ground was now hovering near a foot. If Grima’s simple status as the fell dragon hadn’t kept people away before, his pinnacle form sure had now. His mere presence exuded a terrifying aura, though this once again didn’t keep away the summoner.

By chance, Grima had encountered Tibarn one day. Whom was waddling now, something that Grima took some amusement in. “I...I don’t know what happened.” He admitted, a slight jiggle to his two chins. “It would appear I’ve surpassed you.” Grima said with a smug cadence. “And indeed, the Summoner spends more time at my side.”

“Right…” Tibarn wasn’t exactly sure how true that was, but he couldn’t argue that Grima had indeed beaten him at this point.

A few more moons, and the hawk could no longer be found waddling through the halls. Apparently he had grown too large to even move. Music to Grima’s ears.

Until he noticed something. The summoner had started to periodically disappear throughout the day- not off to battle clearly, not with the food he was carrying. With Grima’s interest piqued, he tailed the Summoner, managing to not be noticed even with his larger size. Not the first thing on his mind, as he was far more frustrated with the destination. Tibarn’s dwelling.

It was back to the drawing board for Grima once more. He simply did not understand. He had undermined Tibarn to immobility...Exceeded his body. What was he getting wrong? There was a piece of the puzzle missing...and it dawned on him once more.

The Summoner hadn’t gone out of his way to see Tibarn before the laguz had been grounded.

Grima had been trying too hard all along. And in doing this, had let Tibarn win the adoration of the Summoner, though it was still soon enough to steal this victory back. For every curse the dragon had laid, he always had a solution. 

Night had fallen, and Grima’s final plot was being enacted. With no pesky heroes to gawk at him or see where he was going at this hour, nor the summoner’s watchful eye, the path to where Tibarn’s massive form slept was simple to traverse.

Grima would admit, he never got a good look at the hawk king after that last brief conversation. So seeing Tibarn now was something of a shock. His body had overtaken the bed, though calling it a “bed” was a bit of an overstatement. More like mattresses to keep something between the floor and the laguz. It took Grima a moment to make out limbs and a head.

It would’ve been amusing, if it wasn’t so effective at getting the summoner’s attention. But that privilege would not be Tibarn’s for much longer. A glow to his eyes and hands, he began to cast the spell. The giant tanned mass seemed to rumble, beginning a transformation, or rather, a reversion. Though this didn’t rouse the still slumbering Tibarn. Meanwhile, Grima’s form began to change- his set of washboard muscles beginning to disappear, as a gut formed in its place.

With the counter curse successfully placed, Grima could leave the room satisfied. As the hawk shrunk like a deflating balloon, the dragon’s vessel did the opposite- body expanding every which way as he returned to his own chambers. Thighs now beginning to chafe, clothes straining to contain the stolen fat. Seams popping and tearing, a smug grin on his plump face.

In the morning, Tibarn awoke, like a weight was lifted off of him. Quite literally: He could move once more. And not just move at a waddle- His adonis form had been completely returned to him. How, Tibarn wasn’t sure. But his inner laguz instincts were happy about it, ready to return to the battlefield that very day.

Though one hero was not very ready to join Tibarn out in the battlefield, which was Grima. His body anchored firmly down within his dwelling, only able to make the slightest movements as he looked down upon the summoner. Just as immobile as Tibarn had been a few hours prior.

“Summoner, it’s quite terrible!” He said in a casual, almost mocking tone. “I simply woke up like this. I certainly can’t go out to fight in this state...or leave this chamber at all.”

That wasn’t Grima’s concern. Sure, he had certainly lost the wager he had made with Tibarn, but that was all worthless in retrospect. No, the look of awe on the Summoner’s face- That was all Grima needed to know he had won.

[pinnithin-writes]

newfound information

I have a running theory that Goemon Ishikawa is legally blind and decided to write something about it. This is some of the gayest and most pointless shit I’ve ever written. I hope you enjoy reading as much as I enjoyed writing it. 1778 words. 

“I’d like to know,” Goemon said, “what color your eyes are.”

Thick silence wrapped the room like a blanket. The scratching of Lupin’s pen on a notepad stilled. For a while, the only sound was the tic tic tic of the radiator.

“Which one of us?” Jigen asked. The leather of the couch creaked as he leaned further back in his slouch.

Today marked a full week they’d been crowded together in a drafty apartment in Zürich - the morning had passed with Jigen smoking and Lupin planning and Goemon untangling the knots within him. The coffee table had been shoved aside to make room for a cluttered spread of maps and books on the floor. The heist was days away, and Lupin was audibly puzzling out their approach as he cross-referenced the recon notes his partners had put together.

Goemon wasn’t facing either of them; he had his forehead pressed against the window, eyes unfocused. The street below their hideout was a brick red blur. I’ve never seen Switzerland before, he’d commented upon their arrival, and Lupin had chuckled at his joke.

“Both.”

“Oh,” Lupin answered brightly. “They’re brown. I thought you knew.”

He did, in fact, know they were brown. Lupin and Jigen had both mentioned their eye color to him before. There were a lot of things about his partners’ appearances Goemon had pieced together over the few years they’d been working together. 

It wasn't that he couldn’t see them at all. He just saw them at a distance that usually reduced them to a collection of colors and shapes. To Goemon, Lupin was a bell-tone laugh and a flash of bright red and a courteous hand on his elbow when he passed in the hall. Jigen was the smell of Marlboros and a longsuffering, gravelly sigh and the steady click of leather shoes on hardwood. They were whole, complete people to him already. 

But lately he’d been hungering for details he wasn’t sure he could have. Certain things that required a proximity Goemon rarely permitted. 

“What?” Jigen interjected suddenly. “They are not. They’re gray, right?”

A soft rustle as Lupin set his notepad aside. “Really, Jigen? How long have we known each other? You don’t know what color my eyes are?”

“They’re gray. I swear to god they’re gray.”

“It says ‘brown’ on my birth certificate!”

Goemon wordlessly listened to their argument as he turned away from the window. He leaned back on the sill in preoccupation, the cool glass chilling his neck. He should just ask. It beat staring at the street and dwelling on it for hours. 

He ran his thumb in distracted circles against Zantetsuken’s sheath. “Can I see them?”

“Lupin’s birth papers? I’m not sure they’re legitimate,” Jigen said, ducking quickly to avoid the pen Lupin chucked at him. It clattered harmlessly behind the couch. 

“No,” Goemon clarified sharply. “Your eyes.”

“Oh.”

A beat of silence passed, which Lupin broke first. “Well, sure you can,” he answered. “Then you can vouch for me.”

Goemon imagined he was shooting Jigen a barbed look as he said this. A stack of papers shifted as he unfolded his skinny legs and stood, and then Lupin was crossing the room toward him. Goemon felt his heart rate tick up - he hadn’t expected his odd request to be honored. Lupin’s visage grew clearer as he approached, until Goemon could easily clock his lopsided smile and tweaked eyebrows. 

Lupin tucked his hands in his pockets and leaned in close. “What do you think?” he asked. “Brown or gray?”

“Hold still.”

Narrowing his eyes, Goemon raised a hand to grasp the other man’s chin, tilting his face this way and that. The light from the window fell softly on his cheeks and the slope of his nose. Lupin blinked expectantly. He was close enough that Goemon could see his Adam's apple bob as he swallowed.

Gray was his first impression. Silver, really, like a pair of shiny round coins. Lupin’s gaze was restless, darting back and forth between Goemon’s own eyes as he allowed himself to be examined. His skin was startlingly soft.

“Hold still,” he ordered again, tugging Lupin closer.

This time, Lupin obeyed, fixating on a single point and staying there. His previously cheeky grin disappeared when his jaw went slack, and Goemon felt a tiny puff of air as Lupin exhaled. 

He could see now that his irises were also flecked with shades of brown, ringing his pupils in a lovely starburst. Goemon studied Lupin’s eyes a moment longer, taking note of how they settled from ink to fawn to ash from the center out, committing the image to memory.  He observed his facial structure - how it was soft and sharp all at once, unique and conspicuous. Lupin’s fondness for disguise made more sense to him now.

Goemon was sure the man could hear his pulse thudding in his neck at this point, so he finally released him. “Both,” he said conclusively. “Probably varies with the light.”

Lupin was slow to step away, cheeks rosy. “Oh,” he managed to say. “So… we were both right.”

“Indeed.”

Jigen was uncharacteristically quiet from where he watched on the couch. Goemon heard him tap ash idly from his cigarette before taking a contemplative drag. “Sounds like a cop out to me,” he murmured as an afterthought. 

Goemon slanted him a glance. “You could see for yourself,” he challenged, brows raised.

“I’ve seen ‘em already,” he grumbled. 

Lupin took another step back, melting out of focus to his usual blur of black and red, and folded his arms. “Jigen, dear, I believe it’s your turn.”

Jigen coughed. “Excuse me?”

“You're up next. Let the man see your eyes.”

Sensing his hesitance, Goemon’s mouth softened from its steady set line. “Only if you want-” 

“No,” Jigen was already interrupting him. “I’ll do it.”

The couch protested as he leaned to set his cigarette in the ashtray, elongating into a dark capital I when he stretched and stood. The approaching tap of his shoes was slow and familiar.

“No need to look so nervous,” Lupin teased, leaning impishly into Jigen’s personal space as he pulled to a stop.

Goemon prodded Lupin out of the way with the sheathed end of his sword, resting it against his sternum in a silent warning. Lupin retreated, smirking, while Jigen drew in an almost imperceptible breath and let it out slow. The same technique he used before pulling the trigger on an impossible shot. Goemon reached to remove his fedora with as much care as he could, pressing it delicately against his chest.

“Hold this, please.”

Jigen nodded. The tips of his fingers trembled where they touched the felt.

“His eyes are definitely gray,” Lupin commented, angling his chin at Jigen. “Oh my god, are you shaking?”

Goemon gave Lupin a pointed tap with Zantetsuken in lieu of reprimand. He fell silent.

Out of respect for his trepidation, Goemon was gentler with how he handled Jigen’s face, nudging his jaw one way and then the other with the backs of his knuckles. Stubble prickled his skin. He was struck by how sharp his cheekbones were at this distance; he had never really noticed their prominence before. He was certain they’d draw blood if he ran his thumb against them.

Jigen’s eyes were significantly darker than Lupin’s. Storm clouds gathered around his pupils, shades of slate and black bleeding into one another. Instead of meeting Goemon’s stare, he determinedly stuck his gaze at an indiscriminate point somewhere past his left ear. These were marksman’s eyes, sharp and steady and missing nothing. Shame he hid them under his hat all the time.

Goemon dropped his hand from Jigen’s face. “They are gray,” he agreed. 

The swiftness with which Jigen stepped back and replaced his headwear was possibly the fastest he’d ever seen him move. He cleared his throat, adjusting the hat’s brim. “Great. Glad we worked that out.”

Lupin jabbed him with an elbow. “Congrats on surviving the ordeal.”

Jigen grumbled something indistinct, tipping his chin and hiding his eyes further. 

Goemon kept his expression carefully neutral. Now that he possessed this newfound information, he wasn’t quite sure what to do with it. He had learned quite a bit more about the others than intended; not only about their appearance, but their mannerisms, as well. Their relationship with closeness. He didn’t know there was a way to turn off Lupin’s motor mouth. He didn’t know Jigen became so mystified when touched.

These were things he would file away for later, additional pieces for the frustrating jigsaw that was his feelings.

“Thank you,” he uttered finally.

“No problem,” Jigen responded at the same time Lupin said, “That’s what we’re here for.”

Goemon scoffed with disbelief. “Is it?”

Lupin paused and moved out of the way to allow Jigen passage. Goemon caught a whiff of smoke - he must’ve resumed his previous task of mangling the cigarette he’d been working on. Lupin leaned easily against the window beside Goemon, not as close as before but close enough he could tell the master thief was examining him. Embarrassment creeping into the back of his neck, Goemon lifted a prompting eyebrow in his direction.

“Sure it is,” Lupin went on. “I ask you two for weird favors all the time. It’s only fair.”

“Hm.” Goemon was skeptical.

“We’re a team,” he insisted. “It’s good for a team to know each other really well. Right?”

“...Right.”

“Useful for recognizing each other in disguise.”

Grateful for Lupin’s valiant effort to spare his dignity, Goemon allowed a small smile. “Sure.”

Lupin grinned back, tilting his head to the side until his temple touched the windowpane. “I’d never really looked at your eyes this close before, either,” he admitted, some of the bravado leaving his voice. “They’re really… intense. Super dark.”

“Pretty,” Jigen added around the cigarette in his mouth.

“Pretty,” Goemon echoed, caught off guard by the compliment.

“Pretty scary,” he clarified hastily, and Goemon couldn’t hold back a soft laugh.

Silence settled on the group, introspective rather than discomfited. Goemon’s heart rate was beginning to return to normal. The atmosphere in the room had shifted into something thick and unnameable, and he was definitely responsible for the change, but it didn’t feel bad. Just new. Unfamiliar. And while Goemon was out of his depth, it was reassuring  to know the others were just as bad at navigating this as he was.

“So,” Lupin clapped his hands together emphatically. “That was a nice break. Let’s get back to business, shall we?” He swept a gesture at the paper nightmare on the floor.

The team murmured their assent, but not much else was accomplished that day. 

[hopeshoodie]

Ok so I finally got caught up on CMM (anon, I have a lot going on right now, maybe don’t send me over ten asks with spoilers in them… I pinkie promise I’ll post once I read it) and thoughts-

Obviously the big one is Shannon and Hope. I would’ve paid all my gems to talk to either one of them, but I’m still a little salty that we did have to pay. For such a short scene, they recycled 30% of the dialogue towards the beginning and that was annoying. It would’ve been so easy to make them unique. Hope absolutely would have been insecure and said ‘did anyone ask about me’, but Shannon wouldn’t. Shannon doesn’t care, she could’ve said something like “lol does anyone even remember me?” or “it’s totally fine, sounds like it was an original islanders only party”. The reasons they gave for not being there were pretty good, and it makes me feel better than in-canon they weren’t un-invited. Hope’s part was much longer than Shannon’s but I liked Shannon’s more.

My big issue with the phone calls was that Hope’s call was just… flat. In the villa, Hope was smiling all the time, super expressive and warm, and her call just seemed really… flat. It lacked a warmth that being BFFs with her merits. And the conceit, that she’s at a stuffy wellness retreat trying to schmooze a client with her boss, would’ve been really ripe for her being expressive. Like “omg thank god a normal person, I’ve been doing nothing but smiling and agreeing all weekend”. I did like how she expressed insecurity and then corrected herself, it showed a lot of growth. I just wish there would’ve been more sincerity and personality.

I’m not mad about Chelsea and Rocco. I kinda don’t think they’ll last, because Rocco will eventually move on and Chelsea is desperately trying to cling to the experience of the villa through him. But I feel like it was effectively foreshadowed, and seems pretty in character for the both of them. It’s not the redemption arc I was hoping for Rocco though, I still hope Rocco sits down with Lottie or Priya and properly apologizes.

Chelsea’s password being BRA? Jesus christ, give it a rest, FB. She has more than one personality trait. The CMM writers really just latched onto 1-2 cute moments with each character in the main season and decided “this is all they think and talk about”. Same with Hope saying pacifically again and Priya’s gauche sunflower print.

The escape room bit was fun, but I wish the riddles hadn’t been multiple choice (instead the typing in thing and if you get it right Chelsea’s excited but otherwise has stock lines like ‘not quite… it’s a mirror!’). Also it would’ve been more fun if another character was trapped with MC, just to see them try to solve it. The humor in that section was good though, I especially liked the reaction to throwing the box at the wall.

LOVED the new outfits, they’re all super cute but like… Why did I spent 10 gems when literally no one’s going to acknowledge the costume change?? Like surely someone would be like “what… happened? Why did you change?” or even “you changed because you’re the murderer and were getting blood off your clothes!”. But nothing.

I’m not super invested in the mystery, and I don’t really mind that. The characters and their reminiscing is more important. But like… I don’t think the clues were handled very compellingly. The clues aren’t really tied to any one specific person, and they’re not insight into how the murders took place or what enabled the person to get away. It’s just… Here’s a note Chelsea gave you, here’s a thing that was at the scene. I’d like it more if it was things like ‘a bare footprint, a half drank wine glass, a cypher with a puzzle attached’. Something that you could be like ‘x character wouldn’t know how to do that, x character likes wine’ etc. 

Also I don’t love how it seems like the murderer changes based on your choices? Like if they’ve coded it so that everyone’s possibly the murderer and it’s just revealed based on player choice who it is that’s not… A mystery… Like I’d much prefer if only 1 person was the murderer, or there was a pre-set killer for each victim.

Lucas died in my game (I’m romancing Priya), and there was a chance to flirt with him before he died. I know other people had Lottie die if Gary was the LI, so who dies if Bobby is your LI? Can you romance Lottie and the other person?

My eggs are still all in the ‘Noah’s the murderer’ basket.

I really hate how explicit the switch between the mystery and socializing has been. Obviously that’s a facet of everyone playing characters, but like three times now there’s been “let’s get back to the mystery!” or “let’s stop the mystery to socialize” and it just feels clunky and breaks up the story. I’d prefer if all of the characters collectively disregarded the characters they’re playing, except when clearly delivering dialogue in reaction to things, so that there’s less “are you in character right now or are you you?”. I’d also change it so that everyone really casually talks about their theories and the mystery but for the most part isn’t super invested in it. That way the player can choose to be the only one who cares about the mystery and solving it, or we can do away with the back and forth about it. I don’t know, I’m just not a fan of how we keep interrupting GOOD scenes like MC/her LI bonding, reminiscing with people, or Chelsea announcing her relationship to be like ‘lol let’s talk about a mystery’.

I’m shipping Lucas and Priya more than MC and Priya because when romancing her, Priya really doesn’t have any personality outside of ‘interested in MC’, versus when she’s roleplaying with Lucas or around everyone else she’s back to being herself. It’s creating this weird dynamic where the writing makes it seem like Priya is /uncomfortable/ or not herself when romancing MC, to the point where I feel guilty?? Like she seemed more in-character and excited when talking about a guy who dumped her than she has been when kissing and doing the nasty with MC all night. Like honestly you could replace her with Rahim in all her romance scenes and it would be more in-character for Rahim.

Overall I’m... Enjoying it. Like I’m not stopping mid-episode to do something else like I was with S3. But tbh I think I enjoyed Boat Party more, and I’m really only thinking about specific scenes and headcanons after putting my phone down (as opposed to S2 and S1 which lived in my head rent free after playing an episode) 

Maybe part of that is I have a really poor working memory and prefer to binge consume media instead of playing it week by week, so I lose interest each week. Once it’s fully released I’ll have to play it in one go and let yall know if it’s actually bad or I’m just bad.