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ghoststyles · 3 months

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Missed Connections

Harry X YN WC: 6K

No smut in this one. Didn't feel right! Hopefully you like this as much as I do :)

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New York City, 1998

This dive bar is abysmal.

Your Coach shoulder bag is sticking to the bar top while a ZZ Top-esque biker gang member chain smokes in the corner, blowing the smoke straight into your face, as One Headlight by the Wallflowers plays at a volume far too loud for your liking.

The bartender places a poorly laminated menu, riddled with ring stains from the thousands of beers and simple cocktails poured over them. You’d be shocked if the vinyl seats don’t carry some sort of venereal disease, making you pull your jean skirt down, minimizing the direct contact with your skin.

It’s a Thursday, your long days in the office, and the start of your best friend, Marcie’s, bachelorette party weekend. When did bachelorette parties turn into a weekend affair, anyway?

You suppose it’s because you’re the only single girl in the group; the only one to actually leave your suburban, central New Jersey upbringing to attend college and build a career in New York City.

This is how you found yourself hosting 4 girls in your 550 square foot apartment for 3 days. Chickie’s the one with the fabulous life in Manhattan, why don’t we visit her! And who are you to say no? If it weren’t for her sister, you’d be Marcie’s Maid of Honor, so an unmitigated amount of guilt fell on your shoulders as the long distance bridesmaid.

“Smile, Chickie, you look miserable. That’s not gonna get you a boyfriend any time soon,” Jenny teases you as she sits on the stool between you and the biker, her nose crinkling as she smells the vapor of the Marlboro reds.

Jenny is the powerhouse of the group; the loud mouthed, opinionated friend who takes pleasure in picking on the other girls. You never pay her any mind. You thought for sure she’d eventually phase out after high school, but here she is nagging you, as usual. Even worse, she used your childhood nickname.

“I’m good, Jen. It’s not looking like my husband is going to walk through the door, anyway,” you laugh exasperatedly, looking around at the empty bar room illuminated by red lights and tons of novelty beer branded mirrors. The biker man leans back on his stool, furrowing his brows at you.

Jen laughs, lighting up her own cigarette and taking a long inhale. “You know, Andrew and I can set you up with any of his colleagues. Most of them are divorced once or twice, but, still good looking.”

Your lips purse out in preparation of a smart comeback, but your eyes divert to the door, where a group of late twenty and thirty something men walk through the door, taking seats at the corner of the bar. They huddle around one another, blocking your view of their faces.

By this point, your girlfriends have changed the music and begin to dance on the tiny checkerboard dance floor, garnering the looks of everyone in the crowded space. Marcie is sloshing her drink around, the miniature veil in her hair slipping down as she moves.

The biker man, your only ally for the evening, is now on a stool by the dartboard, dozing off as he nurses his umpteenth Budweiser. The bartender has refilled your gin & tonic a few times already, to which you place a few bills in his jar to your left.

Marcie and Grace are now twirling around to You’re Still the One by Shania Twain, narrowly bumping into the group of men who walked in earlier. Marcie’s veil is barely grappling onto the top of her head, sending the two into a laughing fit.

You smile gently, still feeling the wave of exhaustion from your day in the office. In your own little bubble, your pocket of peace is disturbed when the stool next to you scrapes across the cement floors, sending an unstoppable shiver up your spine.

“I’ll have a Budweiser, and whatever she’s having,” the new character quietly says to the bartender. Your head whips around to the gentle, but domineering tone, to find he’s not even looking at you. He fishes a twenty dollar bill from his wallet, sliding it in the direction of the barman. His brown, curly hair is unkempt, slightly hanging in his eyes as he looks down at you.

“Thanks, but I can take care of it myself,” you brush him off, immediately turned off by the lack of eye contact.

“You’re the only one in here matching my energy tonight,” he chuckles, before turning his head to the biker in the corner. “Well, except for that guy.”

“I’m sure he’d love a drink,” you smirk, thumb picking at the laminated drink menu in front of you.

The stranger takes a swig of his beer, before placing it gently on the coaster. He finally turns to look at you, and you have to stop yourself from gawking. His striking eyes and perfectly chiseled jaw is the first thing to stand out. Looking down, his sleeves are rolled up to reveal a few sparse tattoos around his wrist and forearm.

“You’re the most miserable bridesmaid, and I’m the most miserable Best Man.”

You scoff, taking a sip of your cocktail before meeting his eyes over the rim of your glass. You place the cup down, jiggling the ice with it.

“Bold of you to make any assumptions about me. I’m just here minding my own business.”

He purses his lips, now fully turning to face you on the stool next to him. “I’ve been here 30 minutes. You’ve only given blank stares to everyone in here, and exchanged glances with the motorcycle guy over there in whatever morse code you two have developed.”

About ready to hop off the stool and storm out, you’re intrigued at the next sentence out of his mouth.

“I’m serious. We might as well get through this night together," he leans on the bar top, fist now supporting his chin. "How about we play 20 questions while your girls take shots and my boys stand there awkwardly watching.”

You scoff indignantly, unbelieving whether or not this twenty-something (thirty something?) man really wants to play 20 questions in the middle of a dive bar on the Upper West Side of Manhattan. Laughing to yourself, you turn to face him.

“I’ll go first. Break the ice a little,” he licks his lips, placing his bottle down on the disintegrating coaster on the worn bar top. “Most traumatic childhood memory?”

As the question pours out of his mouth, you take a sip of your watery G&T, eyes bulging at the blatant bold question.

“That—That, is what you start with? What about the name of my first pet? Name of my elementary school?”

“Who am I, your bank?”

A smile finally— finally, makes its way to your lips. The tattooed stranger you met 35 minutes ago doesn’t seem so scary anymore.

From the dance floor, Marcie shoots you a knowing smile before pursing her lips and gyrating, taunting you, since you’re the notoriously modest friend.

You roll your eyes before meeting his — Blue? Green? You can’t really tell in the dim lighting. The Rolling Rocks neon sign is casting a hue over the left side of his face, a smile makes its way onto his face while he awaits your answer.

“My mom left me at a Walmart and didn’t realize for about thirty minutes. I stood with the old man who greets everyone at the door until she came back. Then he bought me a bouncy ball out of the machine in the vestibule so I’d stop hyperventilating.”

He sucks his lip in, clearly trying to stifle a laugh. Hesitating, he speaks again. Reaching for your hands folded neatly in your lap, he places his grotesquely large ones over them, staring into your eyes earnestly.

“I’m so sorry that happened to you,” his voice dripping with sarcasm and mirth.

Balling up your fists, you shake his hands off of yours. “You asked! I was only 7. It took me months to go back to Walmart, let alone look that poor 75-year old greeter in the eye.”

He chuckles, taking another swig of his beer. “Okay, next question—” he starts, before you interrupt.

“Wait, I don’t get to ask a question?”

He hums, pretending to ponder it.

“Mmmm, nope. I got some good ones,” he replies, gently tapping his temple with his middle finger. He sighs, taking another drink of his beer.

“Is the hokey pokey really what it’s all about?” He slightly tilts his head in your direction, shrugging.

You don’t know if you want to laugh or cry. What higher power above sent this creature over to talk to you? Your lip juts out into a pout as your eye contact cuts over to your safe haven — biker man. He seems to have more to worry about, like not falling asleep in the bar.

Recognizing the shock that washes over your face, the man recoups, “Shit, I know — I know, that was so bad.”

It’s the gin. The giggles pour out of you, sending a sharp pain to your stomach. You grab his bicep so you don’t fall off the stool, squeezing the solid muscle there. He snorts, tilting his head back. Your kitten heels scrape the metal bar at the foot of the counter, barely giving you anything to grip on to.

“I’m gonna pee my pants,” tears are fully flowing from your eyes at this point. “I can’t, I can’t.”

The man cackles, placing a hand on your lower back. Now, your group of girls gravitate to your corner of the bar, bumping into one another and spilling their cosmos. His boys have now gained their liquid courage to morph the two groups together. You’re the only single one, but you won’t ruin anyone’s fun.

“And I don’t wanna miss a thing! Even when I dream of you…” Marcie belts out Aerosmith into her pretend microphone. “The sweetest dream will never do, cause I miss you, babe, and I don’t wanna miss a thing!”

In that moment, Christina strides over to the two of you with her disposable camera, ushering you to get in frame with him. He smiles down at you — how tall is this guy? Even sitting down he has at least a foot on you. You smile gently, leaning into him as the disposable’s flash goes off.

“So cute!”

You break the tension by latching onto his built body. He’s standing now, making sure not to block you from view of your friends. With just a few minutes from midnight, you finally feel loose and that you could actually have a good time with this guy. His hand hasn’t left your lower back, so he presses you into him before staring down at you.

“Chickie! Come to the bathroom with me,” Grace slurs, grabbing your hand. “It’s upstairs and I don’t think my legs will carry me.”

You inhale through your nose, trying to find a moment of patience for your friend and her unpleasant interruption to the moment you’re sharing with this stranger. You glance up at him, unsure if you should go. The comfort his large frame is intoxicating on its own.

“It’s okay, Chickie. I’ll be here,” he gently touches your lower back.

You nod, smiling up at him gently, allowing Grace to pull you toward the small staircase leading to the bathrooms. The walls of the corridor are riddled with graffiti, old dollar bills and questionable amounts of gum.

Grace pulls you past and inconspicuous second bar (what kind of dive bar has a second floor? Who do they think they are, Le Cirque?) and through the crowd to the bathroom.

The alcohol never feels like it hits until you come face to face with yourself in the dingy bathroom mirror. Despite your long history with drinking, (hellloooo football games in 10th grade drinking Burnett’s from the bottle) every heavy drinking night feels like the first time. You wait for Grace to finish up before hovering yourself over the toilet, unwilling to touch skin to porcelain.

You both wash up, taking a moment to sniff each other’s pits, fluff each other’s hair and dab a damp paper towel on the backs of your necks to cool you off.

The burst of hot air upon opening the bathroom door is enough to knock you out, but, nevertheless, the two of you persist through the throng of bodies that appeared out of nowhere. You’re the blind leading the blind at this point, but you drag Grace’s half-limp body to the top of the steps, peering out over the crowd in hopes of spotting your guy.

You trudge down the stairs, the pounding of the wood reverberating straight to your brain, heartbeat picking up when you don’t spot him towering over the group anymore. You situate Grace on a stool next to biker man, silently nodding at him to watch over your friend before finding Jen, Christina and Marcie.

“Jen, where did that group of guys go?” You tried to keep cool, not wanting to fall victim to her taunting, even if she’s inebriated.

“Mmmm, who? OH! The bachelor party. They left.”

Your heart drops, cursing yourself for letting your guard down. Of course it was only a love connection on your end. As a last ditch effort, you look over the crowd, only to find biker man exiting the bar into the night.

“O-oh, um, did the — did the taller guy say anything before they went?”

“No, the groom was pretty fucked up. They basically carried him out. Sorry, Chickie.”

Marcie suddenly bursts between the two of them, placing her arms around their shoulders.

“I’m ready for some McDonald’s!”

Why the fuck are you at the internet cafe?

It’s 1:30 PM on a Wednesday, and your boss thinks you’re on a lunch break. After being talked off the ledge by your girlfriends while flipping through the Sunday Times after draining a bottle of cabernet, you decided to take matters into your own hands.

Your mystery man from the bar hasn’t left your mind all week. Replaying the initial interaction — a bit cold, on both of your parts. But, the way he so easily opened you up and turned your night around kept you hooked.

In a city of 7 million, the odds of finding him again were slim to none, so you assessed your options:

Going back to Mick’s.

Recruiting biker man to scour the city with you Ghostbusters style. He gave you his business card for exactly that purpose.

Or writing a missed connections ad on Craigslist.

So, here you are, sat between a high schooler instant messaging on AOL and an old man using Ask Jeeves to diagnose a very personal medical issue. Taking a deep breath, you start the ad.

Every stroke of the keyboard was painful. This is so insanely out of your comfort zone, but the longing in your chest is too strong to ignore. The ad is the perfect mixture of nondescript and casual, but gives enough context that even if he were as dense as his friend group, he’d know it was him.

Pressing post, you immediately exit the window, paying your $0.75 for internet time and a print out and fly out the door, a bell jingling in the path of your haste. You shove the ad in in the book in your purse and stomp down the street. The old man makes eye contact with you through the window, snarling a bit at your startling movement. It makes you want to yell at him through the window to go see a fucking doctor!

The heels you have on were not made for walking; exactly the opposite of what that insufferable Carrie Bradshaw promotes on that new show. It’ll be off the air soon enough. Reluctantly, you call a cab and head back to the office in hopes of taking your mind off the possibilities — a happy ending, or heartbreak.

The nervous tapping of your foot echos across the marble floor of Effie’s Café. Arriving 20 minutes early, you rotated back and forth between the wicker chairs at this clearly 4 person table. Should you face the door? He’ll see you in the daylight and make a run for it. How about your back to the door? No, he could actually be a murderer and attack you from behind. From the side? No, these are standing jeans only.

Sigh. You decide to push your anxieties aside and order a glass of white wine, sitting with your back to the door to play up the mystery a bit more. One glass turns into two, and now you’re slightly sloshed for a Thursday at lunch time, hoping and praying you unlock the sweet, cool-girl personality you left him a taste of.

The café starts to pick up for the lunch rush, so you don’t immediately recognize the familiar deep voice of someone is trying to get your attention from behind you.

“Ladybug, is that you?”

Ladybug?

Slowly shifting your head to look over your right shoulder, your heart flutters at the tattooed forearm attached to the hand gripping the back of your chair. Only this time, the arm is attached to a tall, clean-shaven, blonde man.

You look up, making contact with his blue eyes. Now you’re certain that mystery man had green eyes. The man in front of you smiles down at you as he pulls his chair out to sit. It’s like he’s not even recognizing everything wrong about this situation.

He’s the wrong guy. You’re the wrong girl. Ladybug is the wrong nickname.

“Um, hi. I’m no—

“It’s nice to meet you, officially. I’m Garrett,” he extends his hand to shake yours. You stare at it, dumbfounded and scheming your next move.

“I think there may be a misunderstanding. I was trying to contact someone —.”

“No misunderstanding. You sounded like a sweet girl in the ad. I’m just lucky my impression matches you physically. You’re stunning”

No. Nope. Absolutely not. It’s not an honest mistake. He didn’t happen to speak to a girl in a dive bar with a silly nickname and tell stupid jokes just to get them to smile. This is the epitome of all of the warnings your parents gave you on computer safety. Sucking in a sharp breath, you locate the nearest exit, and look around in the most subtle way possible to flag down an employee.

“So, tell me about yourself. What do you do for work?”

“I think I need to leave, this was a mistake —.”

“Mm, I don’t think so,” Garrett fakes interest in your unsettled body language. “You asked for this.”

You finally spot your server, grabbing crumpled bills from your purse to give to her on your way out. Garrett grabs your wrist firmly, preventing you from reaching your wallet. “I’d like to get to know you. We just got here.”

Panic. A feeling you’ve felt everyday since you could remember. Whether it’s being forgotten at a superstore, or sending an incorrect document, destroying the contract for your largest client, panic claws its way out of your central nervous system at any opportunity.

You look down at your shaking hands, trying to conjure up a plan. Do you run? Scream? Throw your wine at him as a distraction? This man, while he hasn’t intimidated you physically, he’s loud and clear with his intentions.

“Hi! Welcome to Effie’s. I’m Alannah. Can I start you off with any drinks?”

Garrett smiles up at the young girl sweetly, opening his mouth to speak. You decide to play it cool for another few minutes to minimize the risk of retaliation.

“I’ll have an iced coffee — black. and the lady will have a green tea with lemon.”

You scowl, as if you’re more concerned about what he ordered for you than the fact that you feel threatened by his presence all together. Luckily, you still had your glass of wine from when you thought you would find mystery man.

“Great, I’ll be right back. Let me know if you have any questions about the menu,” Alannah smiles at both of you before spinning on her heel, ponytail flinging over her shoulder.

Your jaw is tight, unwilling to make eye contact with your dining partner. Your heartbeat has steadies out tremendously as more people filter into the café. Remaining casual, you begin to unroll the silverware placed neatly on the teal plate. You place the napkin on your lap, lining up the two forks and knife on the table.

Garrett has been talking this entire time, unbeknownst to you as you gather the courage to carry out your plan. You smile tightly, nodding to give some semblance that everything this okay. Glancing at your fork, you lock your eyes on his left hand sitting limply on the table, moving every so often as he drones on.

You send him one last sickeningly sweet smile before grabbing the fork nonchalantly. Twisting it around in your fingers, you inhale deeply and swiftly sink the salad fork into the flesh of his hand and shoot out of your chair, purse in hand. The chair scoots across the floor and ultimately tumbles to the side of you bringing on some stares from other diners. Alannah screams, dropping the drinks and covering her mouth, staring at the fork sticking out of his forehand. Adrenaline pumping through your blood stream, you waste no time taking your platform sandals off and making a run for it. Disgusting New York City streets be damned.

Garrett is red in the face, gritting his teeth as he screams after you, a death grip on his now injured hand. Diners and workers of the café gather around him, giving you an extra few seconds to escape.

Flying down 96th street, you expertly weave through the Upper West Side lunch crowd, feeling every wad of gum and broken beer bottle under your feet. Eventually, as your adrenaline-induced track meet is quickly dying out, so you stop on the corner between the flower shop and laundromat.

The street looks familiar. The bodega with the yellow awning illuminated by the red ‘Bar’ sign to its right. The sounds of the city are drowned out by your heavy breathing, but you’re certain your heart stops beating for a moment.

Mick’s Bar.

Look at it this way — a full circle moment. You can wash away the utter shit show of a day and raise one last glass to close the chapter of pining over the mystery man. Somber mood and slightly sweating, you bow your head and head down the clump of 3 steps to the street-level establishment.

The smell of stale beer and popcorn infiltrate your senses, sending you straight back to that night. Retracing your steps to the end stool, you sigh, pulling it toward you with your still bare feet. You’ll find a way to soak them in acid later.

The same bartender acknowledges you, most likely not even remembering your previous interactions. You're glad he doesn’t think you’re some pathetic woman trying to chase after a man. You are, but he doesn’t need to know that.

The barman places a coaster in front of you, silently waiting for your order.

“Gin and tonic, please. A double. With lime.”

He nods, ducking down to tend to his well, filling up a pint glass with ice and heavy-pouring the gin. You sigh again, gently grabbing the back of your neck and rubbing the muscle, willing away the inevitable tension headache coming later.

There aren’t many people in here; Just a few couriers and other non-office workers. You’re slightly envious of them being able to spend their days outside of a beige and cold office building. Quiet chatter amongst them stops when the bell chimes above the door.

Like straight out of a movie, Biker man stumbles through the door, his leather vest swiping the handle of the door. The bartender snickers and shakes his head as he pushes your drink towards you, indicating he wants your credit card. You nod, handing over your MasterCard, expecting no other interactions in return.

He looks at Biker man. Then you. Then back to Biker man, nodding his head knowingly. You’re not sure what this means, but you're trying to erase the last 2 hours from your memory.

Biker man’s thick, heavy boots thunder across the wood plank floors, sending the rickety stools into a rattling chorus of squeaks. He coughs up what sounds like a lung and waits for his beer, not even acknowledging the bartender. He’s now a stool over from you, staring at the screen portraying some sort of horse race.

Taking one long gulp of your drink, you turn to face him, the liquid courage hitting you immediately.

“Sir? Hi, I’m so sorry to interrupt. I’m not sure if you remember me—” you trail off when he doesn’t even face you, his salt and pepper beard making it hard to read his face.

Waving slightly, you confirm you’re in fact talking to him, so now his bloodshot eyes make contact with yours over the frame of his sunglasses.

“I, um, I was here with a few of my girlfriends, um, the other night. A-and I met a man—”

“Tall fella? Came in with a group of guys and they drug one out of here like a corpse?”

“Yes! Yes, oh my goodness, I can’t believe you remember.”

“My bar sweetie, I need to remember who comes in.”

“You’re Mick?” you choke out in disbelief. You want to laugh, because the imaginary life you made up for biker man did not live up to reality.

For your whole life, you tended to grasp onto little moments with strangers that others wouldn’t think twice about.

You still remember the Walmart greeter that waited with you until your mom came back to get you. You remember your sixth grade bus driver who pulled you aside to give you a pep talk when the older girls picked on you. You remember the woman next to you on a plane who held your hand during turbulence. You grow attached, dreaming up scenarios that are probably so far from the truth. It's harmless fun for you.

It’s why you’re clinging onto your mystery man. There are alarm bells going off in your brain you've never felt before, refusing to let it be a fleeting moment.

“I’ve owned this place for 35 years. Seen everything you can imagine happen here. Celebrations of life, death, marriage. Lots of heartbreak.”

You’re not sure if you’re too tipsy, but his words make you want to cry. What is he trying to say?

“Teddy, two rounds here, please,” Mick signals the barman who promptly whips up four… lemon drop shots? Biker man — Mick— didn’t strike you as the type to take shots like a sorority girl.

He shrugs, pushing two shots over to you. You clink your tiny shot glasses together, tossing your head back and licking the sugar on the rim.

Both of you push your glasses toward Teddy and reach for the second, as the bell jingles above the door. With the bar being street level, the sun reflects off the cars outside, slightly blinding you as someone walks in, footsteps thumping.

You and Mick continue on, throwing back your next shot. You wince, this one slightly more lemony than the previous. Mick exhales loudly, shaking his head.

“Careful, Chickie. It’s too early to be having this much fun.”

You freeze, unwilling to believe this is happening. It has to be an alcohol induced hallucination.

“Uhm, ah, hi,” you stutter, looking between the three men staring at you. You feel like you’re on an episode of Maury.

“Sweetheart, he’s been in here every day at the same time to ask Teddy if you’ve stopped in to try and find him, too. The shots were just to ease your anxiety since I knew he’d be in on his lunch hour.”

Due to a short circuit in your brain, you can’t decide who you’re more mad at — Mick, or Teddy. They could’ve told you mystery man has been searching for you, too.

The mystery man blushes, sticking his hands in the pockets of his pleated khakis, staring down at his worn Dockers loafers. His striped rugby shirt reminds you of Steve from Blue’s Clues, but you're willing to over look that.

“We’ll leave you to it,” Teddy smiles gently, ushering Mick to the office.

The man sits on the stool previously occupied by Mick, and as he sits, he uses his ankle to pull your stool closer to him.

“I’m Harry. Nice to officially meet you,” he smiles, making two dimples you didn’t previously notice appear.

“Chick—Y/N. I’m Y/N,” you giddily grab his massive hand, shaking it gently.

He sighs, taking a swig of his Budweiser, “So, let’s get this out in the open. How pathetic am I for coming back here every day for a week straight to ask about you?”

Cackling softly, you shake your head, ducking down to retrieve your bag from the hook under the bar. You pull out your copy of A Beautiful Mind, pulling the slip of paper out from the slightly worn pages.

“Not as pathetic as this,” You hand it to him, waiting for him to open it. “You ever read the Missed Connections ads on Craigslist?”

Harry smiles, reading the ad. He’s glad you remember the small details of that night like he does. He’s not making it up in his head.

“I don’t have a computer. But, they usually print these in the Times on Sundays. I would’ve seen it, but about a week late,” he giggles, his green eyes meeting yours when he looks up.

“Well, I’m glad this nightmare has a happy ending. I went to the café, and a random man showed up pretending he was you! I ran out of there so fast. I’m scared to think about what would’ve happened if I stayed.”

Harry grabs your lower back, the light touch comforting you as you recount the horrors.

“Chickie, I’m so sorry that happened. The internet is scary. I’m honestly terrified of what it’ll be like in 30 years.”

“And to make it worse, he called me Ladybug. Ladybug! I’m clearly a Chickie,” you giggle. “I’ve been dying to hear another one of your terrible jokes.”

Instead of opening his mouth, he leans in to place a chaste kiss on your dried lips.

The alcohol is hitting you much harder than it should be, so you kiss back, forgetting about the entire audience in the bar. You can’t even begin to care that you’ll be two hours late returning to work, drunk as a skunk.

You’ll blame it on fate.

~ New York City, 2000

“I wish I could travel back in time to prevent us from signing a lease on a 5th floor walk-up,” you sigh, plopping down with your boyfriend on the red bean bag he got from Sears. He’s out of breath, having just carried up 3 boxes while you followed behind him clutching lamps, hangers and basically anything you could get your small hands on.

Harry kisses your slightly sweaty hair, petting any of the strays out of your eyes.

“You’ll have a really toned butt by Christmas. Not a bad investment on my end,” Harry laughs as he dodges your sharp elbow digging into his side.

“I can’t even fathom getting groceries and making dinner. Okay if we order in?”

“You don’t want to meet our new bodega guy?”

“He’ll see me at my worst soon enough. Let’s leave him wondering a little longer. I do love a bacon, egg and cheese on a bagel when I’m hungover,” you giggle, inhaling Harry’s natural scent. If you weren’t so exhausted, you’d hop into bed (your bare mattress on the floor of your 800 square foot apartment) right now.

“Sure, baby. We can order in,” he pats your thigh, signaling you to let him stand up. He stretches, examining the room.

His heart swells at the perfect mix of the two of of you in your first apartment together. Your excessive shoe collection. His beloved Gibson guitar that he serenaded you with your favorite song on one of your early dates. He sang Lady by the Styx, not realizing you meant Lady by the Commodores. But, you didn’t have the heart to tell him until your first anniversary.

Now you’re here, two years later and stronger than ever. He spots a film strip hanging on the fridge from Marcie’s wedding. You hogged the booth for well over 15 minutes, kissing, touching, exploring.

You begged for a plus one at the last second, forcing her to tell her uncle he can’t bring a date. Neither of you feel bad. Next to that film strip is the photo Christina took of the two of you the night you met, held up by a Mick's Bar magnet. She didn't get the film developed until weeks after the bachelorette.

The photo would've helped your search efforts!

The empty walls are begging to be filled with canvases, knick knacks and music posters. You learned Harry works at a music recording studio as a fill-in guitarist and a part-time artist. His art style itches something in your brain you can’t describe — falling in love with every piece he comes home with.

The boxes will consume you for a few weeks, but he’s excited to be taking this next step with you.

Harry tosses the Sunday Times at you, “Why don’t you read me the missed connections from this week while I put some stuff away. You did a lot to organize the closet this morning, so I don’t want you to move for the rest of the night.”

Harry putters with the dishes, praying they’re clean enough to go in the cupboard. He's haphazardly putting things away, trying to calm his nerves.

“Ooh, yes. I missed last week,” you flip to the section, adjusting the paper in your hands so you can see better. Clearing your throat, you read aloud.

“I was reading a book on the Q train, you were the cute woman sitting next to whom I assume was your mom, but you get kept sending glances my way when she wasn’t looking. I get it, no matter what your age, it’s weird to flirt with your mom next to you. I got off at Atlantic and you shot me a smile. Dunno why I’m even posting here lol almost zero chance of you seeing this. Oh well, gotta try at least.”

Harry smiles, glancing at you as you peruse the page. He can’t pretend to be busy for much longer. You giggle before starting the next one.

“Did you lose an entire ham? It's a bone-in ham, not sure it's obvious from the photo. It's been eaten on some parts, but there's definitely some serious meat left on it. Looks like it was pretty tasty in its day.”

He laughs, his leg anxiously bouncing against the lower cabinet. He leans on the counter for support, gently swiping over his sweat pant pocket. Closing his eyes, he waits.

Scanning the page, you gasp.

You drop the paper in your lap, watching your boyfriend leave your tiny kitchen with the black and white checker floor tile to kneel in front of you on your ratty bean bag chair. Your hands cover your mouth as some tears threaten to spill over your eyes. It’s like everything is in slow motion.

Harry’s tearing up, too, as he pulls a velvet box from his pocket, opening it slowly to reveal an emerald cut diamond ring on a simple gold band. Elegant and timeless, like you.

He swallows thickly, finding the courage to speak.

“I could’ve gone on and on in the ad, but I figured I’d save it for now,” he laughs nervously. You still have your hands in front of your face, scared to move them in case this is a dream.

“Since the night we met, I knew we were meant for each other. I haven’t had many moments in life where I’ve made the right decision, but I can say with my whole heart that I love you and want you to be my wife.”

You sob slightly, still donning a wide grin. You let him finish.

“I would’ve married you the day we found each other again at Mick’s. But, I didn’t want to scare you,” he laughs again, a small tear escaping.

“Chickie, will you marry me?”

“Oh, Harry,” you blubber, jumping to your knees to wrap your arms around his neck. “Of course! Yes, yes, please.”

Pushing him to the ground, you lay across him, peppering kisses on his face and neck.

When you’ve both calmed down, you’re laying in between his legs, leaned back against the bean bag, basking in the moment. You haven’t even called any friends or family, yet. There’s an uncorked bottle of wine on the floor that you’ve been taking swigs of, absolutely over the moon and tipsy.

"Why did you let me read the one about a ham before asking me the most important question of your life?"

He kisses you to shut you up. You sigh contently, thinking about your future.

After some silence, Harry quietly asks, “Do you think we can force Mick to become an ordained minister?”

You cackle, turning your head to look back at him.

“That was the first thing that came to my mind.”

________________

EEEEEE! I HOPE YOU LIKED IT :))))))) IT WAS SO FUN TO WRITE ABOUT OLD REFERENCES EVEN THO I WAS A BB DURING THAT TIME

Pls let me know what you think <3

ALSO BIKER MAN IS THE REAL MVP I WAS SO HYPE TO KEEP REFERENCING HIM LOL

#harry #harry styles #harry edward styles #harry styles blurb #harry styles imagine #harry styles fan #harry styles fanfiction #harry styles x you #harry styles x reader #harry styles concept #harry styles one shot #imagine #concept #harry styles writing #harry styles oneshot #dom!harry #fluff

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waywardxrhea · 1 month

Text

deserving - Matt Murdock

pairing: Matt Murdock x fem!Reader

In your distraction after a rough day you end up the victim of a band of muggers.

word count: ~1.5k

content: angst, mugging, anxiety, panic attack, language, canon typical violence, fluff.

dividers by: @firefly-graphics (i seriously only ever use the graphics from this account and I am so grateful for them! <3)

As you walked back to your apartment complex in the near darkness of Hell’s Kitchen, your mind was anywhere else than where it should have been. Where it should have been as you carried a mid-sized box in your arms which caused you to leave your purse freely dangling at your side was on your surroundings. Hell’s Kitchen, even with Daredevil running around at night, was still dangerous, and not everyone knew to fear the Devil who lurked in the shadows.

You came to regret your stupid choices of not putting your purse on top of your personal effects in the box and to make this trip in the near darkness when all of a sudden there was an arm pulling you into a chokehold from behind. The man’s gruff voice began demanding your purse and anything of value you held in the box while another man knocked the box from your arms before beginning to yank on the strap of your purse. Rather than using any form of self defense you knew though, you just froze in place as you began to get less and less oxygen to your brain as your attacker choked you out while his buddies ransacked the box that had crashed to the ground.

“She doesn’t have shit in here!” one of the men groaned in dismay. You heard the sound of glass breaking as he added, “Stupid picture of her and her boyfriend, a plant, a couple of calendars!”

“Oh you just got fired didn’t you, doll?” the one choking you sneered in your ear as he added just a bit more pressure while he laughed.

“Ooh this is promising, she’s got a laptop charger! Look for the computer!” said a different voice from near the box.

Suddenly though, air finally flooded your lungs and you dropped to your knees as your attacker was pulled away from you. You couldn’t even process what was happening around you as panic began to overtake your body. As your breathing became erratic and your heart pounded in your ears, you curled into yourself, pulling your knees to your chest and tucking your head in to make yourself as small as possible. A sense of doom creeped up your spine and into your brain as thought after brutal thought reminded you of every single terrible thing you had ever done or said or thought. Everything was free game to the monster running rampant through your memory banks, and he gladly reminded you of how badly you messed up. All the time. It seemed to be your defining characteristic. Nothing you ever did seemed to-

“Shh, shh, sweetheart I’m right here,” came a gravelly voice close to your ear as you were suddenly aware of a presence right beside you. The figure pulled you in close to his chest as he whispered, “I’ve got you. They’re gone.”

Your breathing came in sharp between short sentences as you gasped out, “I’m sorry! I’m sorry I didn’t see them coming! I wasn’t paying attention! I’m sorry! I can’t do anything right! I’m sorry…”

“Shh, sweetheart, you don’t have anything to apologize for. You didn’t do anything wrong,” said the voice.

Tentatively, you pulled your face out from its place in your folded up legs and looked around, noticing your ransacked box, your purse lying beside it, your intact laptop, the leaves of your spider plant, and the broken framed picture of you and Matt at Foggy and Marci’s wedding. Bringing your senses closer to your body you felt the cold ground beneath you, the sharp poke of some rocks in your bottom, comforting arms wrapped around you, and beside you the strange armor that Matt wore at night when he went out to fight crime in the streets of the Kitchen. You heard the distant sound of cars driving, Matt’s voice returning back to normal from the Devil’s, and his steady heartbeat as you pulled yourself closer into his embrace. You smelled sharp metallic blood in the air, but Matt’s cologne from his day in court overtook the smell as you burrowed into his embrace. Finally, you tasted the salt of your tears in your mouth and you finally felt like you could breathe normally as you came down from your panic attack in Matt’s arms.

“There you are,” Matt whispered before kissing the top of your head. “There’s my sweet girl. You did great coming back from that.” You didn’t deserve his sweet words or his encouragement, but you were too weak to argue. How pathetic… Where was your ability to hold your tongue earlier? “Let’s get you home,” he said after a few more moments, getting up and locating all of your things to get packed into your box before helping you back onto shaky legs.

Matt got you back into your shared apartment and went about the formality of leaving the complex, only to come back through his usual route via the roof access mere minutes later. When he got back, you feigned being fine and encouraged him to get out of his suit as you busied yourself with making the both of you hot chocolate. After he was out of his suit and had quickly wiped the sweat away from his body, Matt was behind you again, wrapping you in his arms and holding you close. This show of tenderness only broke you down once more and your tears began to fall again no matter how much you willed them to stop.

“I’m right here, sweetheart, let it out,” Matt told you, turning you around to face him so he could hold your head close to his chest. “Whenever you’re ready we can talk about it,” he assured you as he slowly guided the both of you toward the bedroom so he could hold you more easily. The gesture only broke you more and you fought a battle in your head between wanting to push him away because you didn’t deserve him and pulling him closer because you knew Matt was the only thing holding your broken pieces together. Eventually the latter won out and you clung to him with everything your weak body had as you continued to cry into his chest.

After a few minutes you managed to regain a semblance of your voice and you choked out, “I’m sorry…”

“For what, sweetheart?” Matt asked, the tenor of his voice and the rumble of his chest beneath you managing to calm you down just that much more. In response, you began to feel some of the tension in your muscles release.

“I messed up… Big time…” you whispered, your voice breaking again as you remembered what happened at work that day. “I was having a rough morning. Got in late. Spilled my coffee. Didn’t get to eat breakfast. So when I was called to my boss’s office I snapped at him and he…he fired me on the spot. Cited insubordination. Told me to collect my things after business hours. I’m so, so sorry Matt…”

You could feel Matt’s muscles tense and could practically sense the Devil beginning to itch to be let out onto someone for hurting you. But then the tension eased as he kissed the top of your head before he said, “He’s an asshole who didn’t truly know who he had working for him. I’ll help you find somewhere else to work, one that doesn’t have sleazebags just wanting to line their pockets in charge.”

“You…you aren’t mad?” you asked timidly, your eyebrows furrowing together in confusion.

“Why would I be mad?”

“B-because I lost my job… One income is hard to live on in this city, and the firm’s been taking on more pro bono work lately, and-”

“Sweetheart, I’m not mad. I promise,” Matt reassured you. “I hated that you had to work for that company and I’m actually happy that you’re out now. They didn’t deserve your hard work and dedication. You’ll find somewhere that will. Somewhere that understands that people have bad days and they don’t deserve to be fired over it. Somewhere that cares about you and what you have to say.”

“So like you in business form,” you said, a ghost of a smile making its way onto your lips.

“Like me in business form,” Matt confirmed with a quiet chuckle.

You were quiet for a moment before telling him, “Thank you for saving me out there by the way… I… The day got to me and I just froze. I’m-”

Before you could get the rest of your next apology out, Matt was tilting your chin up and placing a gentle kiss on your lips. When he pulled away and rested his forehead on yours, he told you, “I would go to the ends of the earth to protect you. No matter how bad of a day you’re having. I will always be here for you.”

“I love you,” you whispered.

“I love you too,” he told you fondly which made tears start welling up in your eyes once more, but this time they were tears of happiness. How you ever got lucky enough to have Matt in your life was a mystery you would never figure out, but in moments like these you were truly grateful for his kindness and the safety he provided you - not only as Daredevil, but as the man in your arms cuddling you until your mind came back to the reality that everything would be okay eventually and that you were deserving of him and the kindness he gave you.

a/n: so this was inspired by a dream i had a few months ago wherein i too was having a panic attack and our sweet Matty came to my rescue combined with having an absolutely terrible mental health evening last night (whoops). whatever the circumstances i am just grateful to have the ability to express myself via my writing and i hope others can find some solace in my writing!

xo, brooke <3

general taglist: @reidmarieprentiss

#matt murdock #matt murdock x reader #matt murdock x you #matt murdock angst #daredevil x reader #daredevil

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thisbelongsto-nohbodys · 1 year

Text

This one has been in the works for a while. Back then I was deciding on if the Trio are able to go back to Amphibia, at first I thought they didn't (and it's why they named their kids after their frog friends and family) but the funny asks and jokes from y'all and the ending of Marcy's Journal sealed it and so they can go back. It was just a matter of figuring out how it happens. What we have here is just the beginnings of building a bridge. It'll still be a while before the Trio are able to set foot on Amphibia again tho'. Originally the ending was just the mail frog (the one from the S3 ep "Sprivy") was supposed to find the letter capsule and walk off but I figured a montage would be a more satisfying end. The reason that Yulivia isn't there however is because I have an idea for a comic where Marcy reunites with her newt moms face to face and so Olivia thinking that Sprig and Polly are playing a cruel prank of giving them a fake letter from Marcy to give her false hope that she'll see her human daughter again made her not go with (plus being a mom of 3, she's already busy).

Timeline wise, this takes place 1 day after the end of the series as stated by Marcy's Journal

#amphibia #anne boonchuy #sasha waybright #marcy wu #mr x amphibia #terri amphibia #sprig plantar #polly plantar #my art #ink #sketch #maddie flour #hop pop plantar #captain grime #lady olivia #general yunan #microangelo #comic

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romanarose · 1 year

Text

Come to Bed, Love

Steven Grant x writer!reader x Marc Spector x Jake Lockley

Masterlist Join my taglis

Summary: Steven gets tired of waiting for his fanfiction writer girlfriend to come to bed.

Warnings: none! so fluffy

A/N: Self indulgent bullshit

Italics is Marc

Bold is Steven

Red is Jake

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

Steven stirred at the scoot of your chair in the next room. He had always been a light sleeper.

What time was it? Steven glanced over to the clock and his eyebrows shot up.

Christ, 3 am?

What's going on, Steven? Marc was suddenly awake and alert, and Steven could feel Jake cofronting too.

It's 3 am and she hasn't come to bed yet.

You went to bed without her?

Not intentionally! I laid down and she said she'd be to bed in a moment and I just fell asleep.

Well go get her, Steven.

He was already on his way, opening the bedroom door to find you typing away on your laptop, curled away on the couch with your favorite throw blanket strung across your lap.

"Darling? What are you still doing up?" He asked, softly appraoching you.

When you looked up, the crappy light of the tableside lamp illuminating harshly off you. He still thought you were beautiful, of course, simply tired.

"Can't." You mumble. "I promised a new chapter weeks ago."

"I think your readers can wait one more day. Come to bed, love."

You pout up at him. "Noooooo! I gotta get this out!"

Steven sat beside you.

Steven, don't sit with her, drag her to bed!

"Which series are you working on? The Last of us or The Star Wars one."

"The Last of Us."

Marc took over fronting. He was not as indulgent as Steven, not when it came to you. You needed rest. You deserved it.

Hey!

Careful not to shut it on your fingers, Marc closed the lap top.

"Steven!" You turn to him, only to realize it was the other love of your life. "Marc! Marc I need to work on this I've been putting it off forever!"

He moved the laptop away from you. "And you can work on it tomorrow, I promise."

"But-"

"Baby." Marc gave you a pointed look. "I know you are a fantastic writer, but at 3 AM and exhausted, you are not putting in your best effort. I think your fans will-"

"They aren't my fans Marcy Marc, they are my readers."

"I think your fans will appreciate you getting some rest and coming back with a fresh eye."

Marc was logical, and looking into his beautiful, pleeding eyes, your were about to give in.

Steven was sweet, Marc was practical, but Jake was impatient.. "That's it." Jake stood up, taking you with him.

"JAKEY!" Squeeling, you cling to your lover as he began to carry to your bedroom.

"Te vienes a la cama, te quste o no."

You can't help but giggle as you are tossed on the bed, Jake pulling the blanket over you. "Fine, but I'm finishing up tomorrow."

"You can do whatever you want tomorrow, just shut the fuck up and go to sleep, mi vida." Jake pulled you in close, cuddling up with you. His arms were wrapped tight around you. You weren't going anywhere.

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

Thank you all! I love you all v much!

Please consider reblogging, it's the only way to spread works! Likes are nice, but don't spread it arond the way it might via tik tok or insta

Good night, and all you fanfic writers better get some good rest!

@fandxmslxt69 @my-secret-shame-but-fanfiction @whatthefishh @k-ra @eyelessfaces @steven-grants-world @campingwiththecharmings @ahookedheroespureheart @littlenosoul @runa-falls @missdictatorme @ivystoryweaver

#steven grant #steven grant x reader #steven grant x you #steven grant fluff #fluff #marc spector #marc spector x reader #marc spector x you #marc spector fluff #jake lockley #jake lockley x reader #jake lockely x you #jake lockly fluff #soft jake lockly #moon knight #moon knight x reader #moon knight fanfiction #steven grant fanfiction #moon knight fluff

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quickstappen · 3 months

Text

track 006: secrets spilling (you can't stop them)

A/N: two parts less than two months apart?? what is happening here? well, now that exams are over i've got way too much time on my hands, enjoy this one (there might be some mistakes here, don't give them much thought please)

masterlist | previous next

liked by lewishamilton, sebastianvettel and others

marcilazzaro1 life is good 💚 didn't know how much i longed for peace before i experienced it for the first time in a long while :)

see all comments...

shithappens you don't understand how precious this is to me 😭

sebastianvettel I told you I'll change your mind about gardening 💚

↳ quickstappen i'm sorry- sebastian what do you mean

↳ redmilton ariana, what are you doing here??

alexandrasaintmleux The views are incredible, can't wait to see it in person! 😍

↳ marcilazzaro1 trust me, it's so worth it

lance_stroll did he make you plant the greens too?

↳ marcilazzaro1 he did... it wasn't so bad

↳ lewishamilton Liar, liar 🙄 you literally texted me that you loved it

↳ sebastianvettel You loved it?

↳ marcilazzaro1 it was a lot more fun than i thought 💚

gorgeous_aa23 sebastian stand up man 💀

nyoomf1 so she's definitely in Switzerland 👀

screwderriaf1 it's so weird not seeing her in the garage 🥺

↳ pierrespookie it's amazing 😍 don't have to look at the bitch during race weekends

↳ madi_races girl,, get the fuck out 💀

darth_nando is anyone else lowkey shipping her with seb now? 💀

sarah_scott we need a girls night asap

↳ clairobernie_x i second that

↳ marcilazzaro1 get over here then

albonohypetrain where is she staying in Switzerland?? she bought a house?

↳ blondecedes i may be wrong but it looks like she's staying with Seb??

↳ albonohypetrain oh my god 🥹

brunolazzaro_03 is that coffe?? 🤨

↳ marcilazzaro1 it's black tea, chill

↳ lewibear hmm 🤔

maxverstappen1 who's gonna be on babysitting duty now that you're gone?

↳ marcilazzaro1 P is welcome to visit at any given time, she's always gonna be my favourite 😉

marci's messages:

lewis' messages:

marci's messages:

liked by charles_leclerc, lance_stroll and others

sarah_scott only good vibes at the sleepover (of course the only certified baker had to win the cupcake competition)

tagged: marcilazzaro1, clairobernie_x, location: Switzerland

see all comments...

liza_mercf1 i hope you had fun! when's the new episode coming?

↳ sarah_scott don't worry, the new podcast episode is going live at 5pm this friday as always 🩷 this week with Callum Ilott

nyoomf1 oooh she's visiting Marci in Switzerland!!

redleclerc i love that they're still friends with Claire 🥹

lance_stroll with the amount of bags you had one would think you were leaving for at least a month, not 3 days

↳ sarah_scott i took a lot of housewarming gifts

↳ lance_stroll sure

↳ strollingaway 🤨 what's this then

brunolazzaro_03 did you vandalise the kitchen?

↳ clairobernie_x who do you take us for? of course we did

lewibear okay, now it's getting suspicious 🤨 no body shot again?

ilpredestinatox this looks so fun,, i also want a sleepover with this guys

albonohypetrain i can't wait for the next episode, those are the highlights of my week, seriously

clairobernie_x not my fault I'm just naturally talented in the kitchen babes 🩷

charles_leclerc ....a sleepover? 👀

↳ sarah_scott you have something to say Charles?

↳ charles_leclerc yeah, why wasn't I invited?

↳ sarah_scott we were gossiping about you, hard to do when you're there 😉

↳ charles_leclerc right, that's valid

↳ screwderriaf1 girl 💀

gorgeous_aa23 soo... they're all in Switzerland right now

madi_races we need more content with this three, this is everything

marcilazzaro1 see if I invite you ever again, the kitchen was a nightmare to clean 🙄

↳ clairobernie_x you looooovee us 🩷

marci's messages:

madi's radio: hello, another one is here, a little text message heavy, I'll try to post most frequently really, also,,, does anyone speak croatian? it's one of the languages I'm studying and i could use the practice to be honest

click here to be added to the carved my name taglist!

taglist: @sunny44 @rockyhayzkid @biancathecool @unluckyyoshi @woozarts @janeholt3 @celestialend @formulaal @d3kstar @yoremins @rd1410-blog @mess-is-my-aesthetic @callsignwidow @blaaahblubb @evans-dejong @lwstuff @emilyval1 @r0seandth0rns @fletchingarcher @blaaahblubb @notyaslol @dear-fifi @zimm04 @thewritingofspencerrose @elliegrey2803 @anthonykatebridgerton @firetruckstuckley @casperlikej @anephemeralwoe @vroomvroommuppett @taytaylala12 @kuskumu @clemswrld @bella-1 @leclercdream @evie-119 @tallrock35 @dannyleclerc @charkachow @flusteredmoonn @beslerek @fandomchaosposts @pied-pipper (xxx - couldn't tag you)

DISCLAIMER: i do not know anything about this people, this is not real life, this is just something for fun, i do not know anythings about their life or personalities!

#f1 #ferrari #red bull f1 #f1 smau #for fun #alpine f1 #f1 instagram au #pierre gasly smau #formula 1 #sebastian vettel smau #madi's library

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evilspiritweek · 3 months

Text

Super quick online activity tier list.

Notes:

Treating "Facebook" as weird catch all. Like- technically you have social media, but it's kinda sort of just there

Some of these characters wouldn't have access to the internet (Plop Plop, Sorcerer, etc.) but if we gave them the internet as a treat, I imagine this is how they would react.

more thoughts underneath

Heidi: Appeals to the masses, so while I thought she wouldn't be super into the going ons of the internet, she's so obsessed with it I think she'd find herself going into rabbit holes. Definitley would have a drama channel on youtube, but any drama there is for chronically online people; if she brought it up IRL, I think ppl would see something wrong with her <3

Theresa: I think all of Der Monster Klub is chronically online to some degree, Theresa's no exception. At the same time, she'd be good at hiding it, mainly because then she'd have people from her school finding out about her tumblr.

Julian: is in the same area, although, I think he would also be surfing tumblr in public.

Levandar: Terminally online, but that's because he more so ego searches and sees what his fans are posting. In turn, he's probably not only seen the deprave stuff his fans would post about himself, but also the other fandoms their in.

Stevens: I think would just be a shitposter. Don't really have a specific niche in mind for him because I think he could go into really any sector of the internet and

Sorcerer: does not have internet access, but I can see the potential, you know? Would send anon hate like it's a living, because when you're trapped under a high school for hundreds of years it probably is. Unrealistic, but I think he would get into weird niche tik tok drama just for the fun of it.

Daves: like,, a normal amount, but that's because he doesn't really interact much? Outside of the Der Monster Klub, I imagine he would just lurk. That being said, he is definitely privy to the weirdest internet rabbit holes

Ignoring how busy he is with being a ninja, Randy would probs be online a regular amount. Definitely posts random youtube videos, but he's like,, trying to be youtuber so uploads are sporadic. Also, this boy does touch grass. He seems to want to be active in the social life of high school and that means hanging out in person rather than blogging on tumblr lol

Howard: Same level as Randy, but I can also see this guy trying his hand at streaming. Sporadically does it with no set schedule and it's only ever Randy and a few other people in chat, but like. It's fun. they're teenagers.

Bash: Normal amount? I don't think I have a lot to say on him, really. posts like,, pictures of all the stuff he owns to flex, but that's what any rich teenager would do. Would say something dumb online, but it never really blows out of proportion.

Brent: I think he'd really only post his work. Would occasionally vent too. Blew up at some random person who left a hate comment, making it his sworn duty of the day to make them just as miserable.

Debbie: I think she's not super social and really would keep up with her friends and like, the school accounts. That being said, I can see her running the social media for the news club too, that's where her passion lies afterall. Thinks about making a news/commentary youtube channel, but just doesn't have the time

Marci: I was initially going to put her down as a Facebook mom, and while she does have one, I also see her almost being like one of those Instagram influencer moms too. She does have the status already, so I think it would just come naturally to her. Thankfully, because she's already rich, she wouldn't try shilling you an MLM. Def follows her son on social media, but doesn't comment because Bash said it's embarrassing.

Flute Girl: Tumblr user, but not in trenches, you know? Runs several aesthetic blogs for each of her interests, but actually is sane enough to just block and move on. Could also see her writing fanfic, but most of it doesn't get posted because she might be a bit self conscious

P: I think bros neat design wise, so while I don't have many thoughts on him, I wanted to include him lol

Plop Plop: if this guy had social media, I think he'd be into the DIY stuff, for some reason? Never really posting his own tutorials, but always there to comment and help others out on forums

Rachel: Normal amount. Pinterest board game goes CRAZY. One of those cute aesthetic tumblrs, but genuinely a nice person. Avoids drama at all costs

Doug: Get the vibe his parents would restrict internet access. That being said, could also see him on Reddit, so..?

McFist: I don't think he would use social but instead pay someone to post McFist posts both for himself and his businesses. Does not understand it and is a very busy man.

Slimovitz: Just has a Facebook. Reposts minion memes and cat photos. He used to post about his car, but then a student found it and turned it into a meme showing the before and after of it's destruction one day. He put a ban on phones for a bit. They never found the culprit.

Bucky: Also probably had restricted internet for a while. Interested in getting a social media, but they say he has to be above 16. I imagine he'd actually want to post band videos, though, so that'd be nice

Jacques: He does have parkour videos, but I don't think he actually likes talking online. Touches grass.

Sorceress: I think she'd be on social media like any "teen" would, but I don't think she'd get it. Posts selfies, but also doesn't really post them enough

Viceroy: I just imagine this guy goes on engineering or science related forums and solves problems, but he'd like,, also be the dude that would message the answer directly to the initial poster so when you find the forum 10 years later for your very specific problem, the answer isn't there. Could also be on tumblr to and while he says he's above it, would start shit online (or at the very least keep tabs on it to watch from afar).

Juggo: I can't see him on social media, but like,, frequent poster in clown related forums and accounts? Would answer weird clown trivia questions and is a respectable member in the historical clown community.

McAffee: Business has a Facebook that hasn't been updated for several years because he keeps forgetting about it. Also would occasionally post on youtube, but I feel he really shines nestled deep within the comments of a random youtube video he got mad at. The comment was about how the Star Wars prequels suck and by the 100th comment, it's moved onto furry discourse.

Morgan: I think she lurks more than anything. Her account has nothing and if you ever see her, it's one of the other members of dancing fish posting and her showing up in the video (I also think I just make Morgan more mysterious than she actually is lol)

Ranginald Bagel: Goofy guy with next to no internet access. If he did, he would sadly

S. Ward Smith: I can't even see this man on any like specfic welding forums online.

Finja: I think even if we gave him internet access, he'd actively avoid it. He's got other shit to do. Doesn't understand the youth's slanguage. Like that one post where that person shows Fortnite to an Ancient Roman that I can't find for the life of me, someone PLEASE GIVE IT TO ME BEGGING

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amberlynnmurdock · 1 year

Text

Blind Faith (Ch. 12)

Chapter Twelve: Losing Faith

Pairing: Matt Murdock x Reader

Summary: Matt and you go to the bar dinner, where you meet one of Matt's old colleagues.

A/N: I'M BACK WITH AN UPDATE! I'm sorry it took long! I had my birthday and then things got really busy! I'm excited for this chapter because we finally introduce the villain of the story...ahh, it only gets crazier from here. Thank you all who've read and stuck with this story, I'm really loving writing it <3

Tags: @starry-night-20 @sumsytee @queerqueenlynn @mattmurdocksstarlight @marvelcinematiquniverse @hailey-murdock (please let me know if you want to be tagged/if I missed you!)

Ao3 Link

gif is from https://emziess.tumblr.com/

Nelson & Murdock

With Karen away and Foggy at a wedding with Marci, it was only you and Matt this Friday—the Friday of the bar dinner, which Matt was taking you as his plus one.

All day, the two of you seemed to be strangely avoiding the topic. You’d drop off files at Matt’s desk and quietly walk away. He’d open his mouth to say something and then tell you never mind. Matt decided to skip lunch and get a head start on work for Monday, while you stepped out to grab a sandwich. It wasn’t awkward at the office—just more tense than usual. You weren’t even sure how you’d be getting there tonight—if Matt was picking you up with a driver or you were getting a taxi by yourself.

It was nearly two in the afternoon, and neither of you had brought it up yet. Even though it was tonight!

You sat at your desk with a pencil in hand and a brief in front of you. You mindlessly drew scribbles in the margins, thinking of all of this, when suddenly Matt came out of his office. His tie swayed gently in front of him as he reached out to feel for the doorway. His eyes were hidden behind his dark red glasses. When he stopped to talk to you, you smiled at him.

“Hey,” you said.

“Hey,” Matt replied. “I was uh, thinking—about tonight.”

“Oh yeah, me too,” you replied perhaps a little too quickly.

Matt gave an uncomfortable smile and scratched the back of his neck. “I was just on the phone with Foggy—he said it was alright if I got a driver for us on the firm card. Takes us there and back. That is if you don’t already have plans of getting there.”

“No, I don’t have plans,” you answered. “I figure it makes the most sense if we go together, right?”

“Right,” Matt affirmed. “Well then, I’ll call the company now. Maybe be ready by six? It’s pretty slow today, without Karen and Foggy. I was thinking we could close early so we can get ready.”

You perked at the mention of the office closing early. “That works for me. Sure, I’ll be ready by six.”

“Great, I’ll order the car then,” Matt was about to turn away, but you stopped him short.

“Don’t you need my address?”

Matt laughed uncomfortably, “Oh right, yes. What is it?”

“West 45th and 11th,” you told him. Matt nodded in response and went back to his office. After he made the call, Matt said you could go home to get ready.

“Do you need me to do anything before I go?” You asked Matt once more before heading out. He sat at his desk, laptop open and Orbit reader on. Matt shook his head.

“Just get home safely, that’s all. I’ll be at your apartment at six with the driver,” Matt smiled. You smiled, knocked on the wall of his office as a goodbye, and left for home.

You were thankful Matt let you go home early, because boy, did it take you a long time to get ready. You already had your dress laid out, but it was the decision of hairstyle and makeup that took you the longest.

After a long while of scrolling Pinterest for hair ideas and makeup looks, you finally decided that simplicity was best. You’d blow out your hair and curl the ends for an effortlessly natural look. For makeup, you decided on a very, very soft glam.

Never mind your hair and makeup—it was your dress that was the star of the show. When you picked it off the rack, you thought nothing of it. You loved its dark red color and leg slit, square neckline, and thin straps. But it wasn’t until you tried it on, with your hair and makeup done, that you really thought you made the right decision in choosing it.

The dress fit you flawlessly—it hugged every curve of your body, and it cascaded beautifully at your waist with the slit teasing a glimpse of your skin. You twisted from side to side to see it from each angle. And despite feeling beautiful in this dress, despite having an opportunity to meet other lawyers in the city, you couldn’t help but wonder what your savior would’ve thought if he saw you in this dress.

Immediately scrapping the thought away, you checked the time. It was a half hour to six—Matt would be here soon.

⠋⠁⠊⠞⠓

Your friends were getting ready for their own night out in the city and they wouldn’t let you leave until you took one tequila shot with them. Hannah was the one who suckered you into doing it—she said you needed to loosen up before schmoozing with the big shots. You took one small shot of tequila, enough to calm your nerves for the evening.

Then, your phone vibrated in your purse. Matt Murdock.

“Hello?” You shushed your friends as they began to laugh.

“I’m here with the driver,” Matt said on the line, “are you ready?”

“As I’ll ever be,” you slipped on your black heels and waved goodbye to your friends. “I’ll be right out.”

After you entered the elevator, you glanced at yourself in the dainty mirror. You normally felt a rush in your chest when you went out with your friends, but this time, the rush was different. You weren’t going out with your friends, so you were absent of that familiar feeling. It was a rush that reminded you of the times you’d meet your savior on your roof. A feeling you’ve missed over the past few weeks. No time for thinking of that.

When you stepped out of the lobby, you were surprised to see Matt through the doors of your apartment building, standing in a tuxedo against the door of the car. He had his cane in his hands in front of him, and his head was tilted down toward the pavement. When he heard you open the door of the building and the bell chimed, he looked up behind his dark red glasses and stood up more straight. Matt smiled, and you weren’t going to lie—he looked quite handsome in his tuxedo, so much that his smile could’ve made you melt right there.

“Thanks for getting me,” you said, breaking a small silence. “You look really nice, Matt.”

Matt seemed taken aback by your compliment. He stammered with his thank you and smiled again.

“Thank you,” he finally said. “Let me get the door for you.” He turned around and opened the car door, letting you inside. You walked carefully in your heels—it’s been a while since you’ve worn them—and you almost slipped on a pebble, had Matt not quickly grabbed your waist and steadied you. His hands felt warm and strong through the thin fabric of your dress. You gasped as you grabbed onto his arm to pull yourself together.

“Sorry,” you breathed.

“It’s okay,” Matt said softly. “I’ve got you.”

You stepped into the large black car and settled in the seat. You smiled at the driver who smiled at you in return through the rearview window.

“Well, don’t you look awfully pretty,” the older man said. Matt climbed into the car on the opposite side and smiled. “Doesn’t she look—“ and when the driver remembered Matt’s disability, he shut his mouth. Matt chuckled in response and told him it was okay.

“I’m sure he’s right,” Matt said after some time and you were on your way to the dinner.

“Hm?” You hummed in response, caught off guard.

“That you look pretty,” Matt explained, cane folded and resting in his lap. He fiddled with the strap at the top. “I’m sure you look very pretty.”

Your heart grew in your chest at this, the sweetness of Matt’s words and tenderness in his voice, almost shy. You smiled to yourself.

“Oh, it’s okay,” you argued gently. You didn’t want him to feel compelled to compliment you—you weren’t fishing for compliments. “You don’t—you don’t have to—“

“I mean it,” Matt interrupted you. “I—well, what kind of dress are you wearing? What color is it? I can… paint a picture in my mind.”

You paused for a moment, letting his words sink in. It probably meant a lot to him, to describe little things like this. And he seemed genuinely interested. Who were you to refuse?

“Well, my dress is long. It has a slit on one side. It has a square neckline with thin straps. It’s a dark red color. Almost maroon. I love this color,” you said the last part aloud, not meaning to.

“I’m sure the color looks beautiful on you,” Matt said.

“Thank you,” you blushed. “I love it.” You started to wonder… and you remember Matt mentioning an accident in the past, but had he always been blind? And as if he read your mind, Matt spoke up again.

“I haven’t always been blind,” he spoke quietly. “It was an accident from when I was a kid. So, I know maroon. If you’re wondering.”

“I was,” you said honestly. He hummed in response.

After a few more lights and a couple more blocks, the driver finally pulled up to the venue of the bar dinner. You looked at the stunning building in amazement behind the tinted windows of the car.

“Are we here?” Matt asked.

You nodded your head. “I believe so.”

⠋⠁⠊⠞⠓

The Bar Dinner

Walking up the steps to the venue was half the battle. It was like nearly every attorney and law firm in New York City was at this event—crowds of people lined the steps, people coming in and out to have a smoke on the terrace or meet colleagues. You and Matt finally managed to make it past security and joined more guests inside.

You were hit with an immediate mix of colognes and perfumes—men dressed in fancy suits and women dressed in extravagant gowns. You were relieved to see their gowns—you were afraid your dress was too much—but clearly, it wasn’t enough. These people all seemed to know each other, whether they were colleagues from law school or opposing counsels—it seemed they left their differences in the courtroom. It was apparent that you stood out like a sore thumb, being one of the youngest people at the event. Many of them were older folks or Matt’s age.

You quickly scanned the crowd and found no one as young as you—fresh out of college and only studying to get into law school. You felt your heart rate pick up and suddenly felt very self-conscious. You felt Matt’s hand touch your elbow for guidance.

“Should we get a drink?”

“Yes,” you said, almost too quickly. There was an opening at the bar, and you guided yourself and Matt to it. All the bartenders wore the same thing: white button-downs and black vests. Men had their hair slicked back and women had their hair in a bun.

You approached the bar and ordered yourself an espresso martini, while Matt opted for Macallan 18, neat. It was apparent both of you were ditching your normal orders from Josie’s, and for good reason: neither of you would be spending a dime tonight.

Matt leaned on his elbow at the bar and faced you.

“So,” he said, “What do you think so far?”

“I think I feel really out of place,” you confessed. “There are so many people here and they all look so…”

“Pretentious?”

“That sounds about right,” you giggled. “Yeah.”

The bartender placed your drinks at the bar, and Matt reached into his back pocket to leave a tip. Suddenly, you both heard someone call Matt’s name.

“Mr. Murdock,” a light, feminine voice called. From behind you came a tall woman, older, with a pixie cut and black hair. She wore a simple yet elegant black dress that had an open back, as opposed to the full coverage it gave up to her collarbone. To pair, she wore oval gold earrings and gold bracelets to match. “What a pleasure,” she said. She placed a soft hand on Matt’s shoulder and squeezed a bit before returning it to her side.

“Geri Hogarth,” Matt instantly recognized her voice with a smile. Your eyes widened at the name of Hogarth and you nervously sipped your martini.

“How’s Franklin?” She asked Matt as she sipped her own drink. You were curious what a prestige attorney chose as a beverage—it actually didn’t look like alcohol at all. Maybe a Diet Coke?

“Foggy’s doin’ well. I think he’s happier being back in the streets,” Matt chuckled.

“He was so good for us, but I know that’s where he belongs. With you,” Geri added with a warm smile. She spoke so eloquently like she took her time to speak every syllable of a word. And when her dark brown eyes fell on you, you found yourself standing a bit taller, with your shoulders back. “I’m sorry, I don’t think we’ve met.” She stated.

“This is __,” Matt introduced you to Geri. “Our new legal assistant.”

“Ah,” Geri smiled at you and held out her delicate, freshly manicured hand. “It’s a pleasure. You’re in good hands at Nelson & Murdock, __.”

“Oh, I know it,” you agreed, beaming at her. “I really love it. I’ve learned so much from Matt, Foggy and Karen.”

“And are you thinking of law school?”

“I’m studying for the LSAT now,” you told Geri proudly. She held your gaze so carefully—you couldn’t break the eye contact.

She laughed and looked at Matt. “I sure don’t miss studying for that test.”

“I agree,” Matt smiled. “But __ is very smart. She’ll do better than us. She’s really impressed us all.”

“Really,” Geri raised her eyebrows, interested. “Well, Ms. __, if you ever choose to leave Nelson & Murdock and you’re interested in something different, let me know.” Geri reached into her small silver purse and pulled out a business card for you. You took it gratefully and immediately tucked it into your own bag.

“Stealing my legal assistant, are you?” Matt joked. “She’s ours.”

The way Matt said this made your heart skip in your chest. You played it off cooly and laughed. You smiled at Geri.

“Wow, definitely. Thank you, Ms. Hogarth,” you said amazed.

“Call me Geri,” she said. “It was lovely to meet you. I’m sure I will see you around.” With one last squeeze of Matt’s arm, Geri went off into the crowd. You looked at Matt in disbelief.

“I can’t believe I just met Geri freakin’ Hogarth!” You said excitedly. Matt chuckled and took a sip of his Macallan.

“She’s a great woman, great attorney,” Matt nodded. “It’s nice having a connection like that. All thanks to Foggy, though. Before we started our firm again, he was there for a while.”

“I had no idea,” you shook your head, “and she calls him Franklin?”

“That’s his real name,” Matt smiled. “We know him as Foggy, of course.”

“Listen, Matt—I’m not leaving yet, but rest assured I’m keeping Geri’s card for the future.”

“By all means,” Matt raised his hands in surrender, “but don’t leave us yet. We need you.”

“Oh, please.”

“It’s true,” Matt nodded.

“Well, you guys came at the right time in my life, too.”

Matt finished the rest of his drink. With his senses, he picked up that you were almost done with your martini. He gestured in your direction.

“Another espresso martini?”

“Please,” you said softly.

Matt ordered another round of drinks for you both and cheered with you.

“Do you want to schmooze with more pretentious lawyers of Manhattan?” Matt asked.

“I thought you’d never ask.”

⠋⠁⠊⠞⠓

Schmoozing was so easy—comical, but easy. Many, if not all, of the groups of men you and Matt decided to join, were drunk and on their fifth or sixth drink of night. And the dinner was only an hour in. Matt put his grievances with you in a box in his mind and tucked it far away to be able to enjoy this charade with you. He laughed behind his whiskey glass as you gassed up the drunken men who bragged about their mediocre wins in court. These men just loved to talk, and you loved to pretend you loved to listen.

Matt listened carefully to your heart beat—it was beating faster than normal, probably because of the loud setting and alcohol, but from the way you spoke with airiness in your tone, and your laugh, he knew you were happy right now. Happy to be at this event. Perhaps even happy with him.

You seemed to notice Matt listening carefully. He stood with his hand on his cane, the other holding his nearly empty third glass of Macallan. You boldly strutted over to him and grabbed Matt by his forearm, leading him away from the group of men without saying goodbye.

“What’s wrong?” Was Matt’s first question to ask on instinct. You were pulling him away, and he was too focused on you to pick up on if anything was going wrong.

“Nothing,” you giggled softly. “I just got bored. Let’s bother the next group.”

Matt laughed and nodded, finishing the last of his Macallan. You finished your martini as well.

“Actually, before then, let me get us some drinks,” you suggested, feeling the alcohol swish in your system. “I’ll be right back. Stay here.”

When you took the glass from Matt’s hands, your fingertips brushed against him, and an undeniable feeling of connection spread across both your palms. He wanted to ignore it, but he couldn’t, your touch was so distinguishable. It reminded him of how depraved of it he was.

“Okay,” Matt said, a serious demeanor falling over his entire body. For a moment, he was reminded of all he put you through. He was reminded of that dreadful night on your rooftop when he yelled at you, all because you wanted to know the truth. And here you were, with no idea that it was him. What would you even say?

It didn’t matter. You were on your way to the bar, pushing past people and politely smiling your way through. It was no doubt so many of the people would love you. You were charming, one of the younger attendees of the crowd, and so ambitious. Matt waited patiently and listened to your heartbeat so he knew you arrived at the bar safely, even if it was only a few feet away. He closed his eyes behind his dark red glasses and listened as you ordered both your drinks.

Even from here, he could smell your perfume. It was new, he noticed. With notes of pomegranate, musk, and magnolia. It was enticing. It stirred something in Matt, something he had to seriously stop thinking about immediately.

And then suddenly, like a dark stormy cloud quickly rolling over fields, a stronger scent of cologne overtook your scent from Matt’s senses. It was a disgustingly overwhelming cologne with notes of amber, woody, and lavender. Nauseating. Overbearing. It completely covered your scent from his senses. And when he heard that oh-so-familiar pompous voice over the crowd, speaking to you, Matt froze in place.

Oh, no.

“What is a beautiful young lady like you doing at an event with a bunch of old head lawyers?” The pompous, masculine voice said. Matt hadn’t heard that annoying voice in years, not since he and Foggy left their job at Landman & Zack. God, Matt couldn’t stand his presence, his obnoxious attitude, and his greed. He was Matt’s age, son of a partner, son of thee Zack, an ungrateful, conniving person. It was Zachary Zack. Yes, that really was his name.

“A beautiful young lady like me is trying to order drinks,” Matt heard you say in return. He wanted to smile at your quickness but he couldn’t. He stood in place, listening from afar.

“I see you’ve got two drinks there,” Zach said. “Are you here…alone?”

“If you read the invitation carefully, it said two representatives from each law firm were invited. So no, I’m not alone.”

“I don’t assume you date your boss, do you?” Zach joked. Matt’s grip on his cane was so tight, he was sure he broke open his cuts again.

“No,” you answered curtly. “I don’t assume you date coworkers, do you?”

Zach let out a laugh, placed a hand on his chest. You took a good look at the young lawyer and raised a suspicious eyebrow. He had tan skin—he seemed like the type to spend summers in the Hamptons—and sandy blonde hair. He was wearing a three-piece suit and a giant gold watch on his left wrist. You hated that you found him attractive.

“Smart girl,” he smiled a bright white, dazzling smile. “Thank God you’re not a coworker.”

And to Matt’s dismay—no, his fear—you smiled in return. He didn’t have to see it to know you were smiling, he knew it by the way your heart picked up and you let out a laugh through your nose. It was telling, it was happening, and there was nothing he could do about it. Unless…

Matt started to make his way to the bar, tapping his cane in front of him, ignoring the shoulders he pushed through and elbows he dodged. When he finally reached where you stood, he could sense every muscle in Zach’s body tightened as he too recognized Matt Murdock after all these years.

“Murdock,” Zach announced like he was a game show host, “never thought I’d see you at one of these fancy events. Never seemed your style!” It was a poor attempt at friendly conversation, and Matt knew his true intentions. Still, Matt smiled in return and held out his hand.

“Is that—Zachary Zack?” Matt pretended to guess, to be shocked he was running into a former colleague. And of course, it worked.

“Sure is, buddy,” Zach said through gritted teeth. He shook Matt’s hand and gave it an aggressive squeeze. Matt pulled his hand back and gripped his cane.

“__,” Matt said your name, “This is Zachary Zack. From—“

“Landman & Zack. Come on buddy, I can introduce myself—wait, Murdock is your boss?” Zach said in disbelief. You smiled, amused at this interaction.

“Yeah, he is,” you said. “How do you guys know each other?”

“We uh, used to work together at Landman & Zack,” Matt explained. Zach nodded and caught your eyes—his eyes were so blue. He seemed goofy, in a strange way. You couldn’t tell if he was a douchebag or just a really loud man. Regardless, his energy did something to you—intrigued you.

“Until Murdock and his buddy—what, Foggy?—decided to start from the ground up and build their own firm. Gotta say it was pretty respectable to leave a big firm like that. To take a risk,” Zach seemed to calm his demeanor when Matt came over, something Matt picked up on immediately. He was trying to impress upon you. Matt didn’t like that. And his fake compliment was really him saying he and Foggy were idiots for deciding to start their own firm, but the joke is on him.

“Oh, you know, we learned a lot from you guys. What to do and what not to do,” Matt mustered a smile.

“Hmm. So, your name is __?” Zach returned his attention to you. You grabbed Matt’s hand and gave him his glass of Macallan.

“It is,” you said, meeting his eyes. “Nice to meet you, Zach.”

“Tell me, are you in law school? Studying?”

“I just graduated with my pre-law degree from New York University.”

“Impressive,” Zach smiled. You liked this calmer demeanor from him, it was more friendly and seemed genuine. “Are you thinking of law school?”

“Of course,” you nodded. “I’m studying for the LSAT now.”

“Ah, the LSAT,” Zach said wistfully. Matt clenched his jaw. “I remember those days. Hey, if you ever need help with it, I know some people on the Board who write the questions. I’d love to have you come to the office one day and I can show you some tips. I, uh, kind of scored a 173 on the test.”

Matt rolled his eyes behind his dark red glasses. I scored a 175.

“Really?” Your interest was piqued, by not only his offer of help but also an invitation to another big law firm in the city. “I’d love that.”

“Here’s my card,” Zach reached into his pocket and handed you his business card. It was thicker than Geri’s and had silver font. “Actually,” he interrupted and pulled out a pen, “here’s my personal number.”

You raised an eyebrow and squinted your eyes. Zach raised his arms in defense, “I just want to help. Seriously.”

“Alright, Mr. Zack. Thank you,” you smiled. Zach smiled in return. “It was lovely meeting you, Ms. __. I hope you do call me.” His attention fell on Matt again, and his expression turned hard.

“Well, it was nice seein’ you Matt—you’re not offended when I say that, right? Ha, just kidding buddy,” Zach playfully punched Matt’s shoulder, but Matt stood as still as a statue. He conjured a smile as best he could and loosened his grip on his cane once he knew Zach was far enough away.

Matt exhaled a breath he didn’t know he was holding. You flipped Zach’s card in your fingers and read, and re-read his name. He was a partner at Landman & Zack. And he invited you to reach out to him.

⠋⠁⠊⠞⠓

In the car ride home, Matt was awfully quiet. Maybe the alcohol had finally settled in him, maybe he was tired. You kept fiddling with Zach’s card in your hand, reading his numbers written out just for you. You looked over at Matt whose gaze was out the window.

“Did you have fun?” You asked him softly, feeling the liquor settle in you.

“Yeah,” Matt said—he pressed his lips together in an attempt to smile. You couldn’t help but shake the feeling that something was wrong.

“Did you?” He asked after a bit.

“I did,” you looked at Zach’s card in your fingers. Your savior came to mind out of nowhere. His smile under his black mask, his voice low in your ear, his fingers caressing your body…most of all, his words that promised so much, his words that gave you so much faith. The more you looked at Zach’s name, the less faith you had in your love for your savior. It was like watching a home you used to live in slowly fade into the distance. You couldn’t help but keep watching as it got smaller and smaller until it was completely out of your sight.

It was time to move on.

#matt murdock x reader #matt murdock x you #matt murdock #daredevil #charlie cox #the defenders #daredevil born again #karen page #foggy nelson #blind faith #marvel #matt murdock fanfic #matt murdock fic #charlie cox x reader

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mammameesh · 9 months

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12 days of fandom

Merry Christmas (Eve) my friends! I've been very busy, but I still wanted to participate so enjoy my 12 days of Christmas all at once!

In No Particular order:

Noble Beloved by AWorldOfDreams @a-noble-dragon

from the author : Schitt's Creek has a secret. And it's a rather large one. David's not at all pleased that this secret involves him, becoming a Dragon Liaison Officer. Because Dragons don't exist... right?

Marcy's Girls by Turkey_Virgin @tyfinn

from the author: Marcy is left alone with Alexis and Stevie after David has to pick Patrick up from a vendor run. Alexis and Stevie both turn to Marcy for relationship advice, and Marcy finds herself to be a substitute mother to the girls.

Marcy's Innocent Questions by Characterassassination @characterassassination-at-9am

from the author:

A series of chapters wherein Marcy Brewer, mom extraordinaire, is a little naïve about Patrick and David's relationship, and maybe gay relationships in general? "Queer things" in general? Not sure where this one's going to go, but I love Marcy and I love embarrassing her and Patrick a just a touch....so we'll see. I just thought it'd be a fun idea to explore.

Apricity by Demora00 @demora00

from the author: “‘ – advised by the Council that in a bid for reconciliation, any members who cannot prove significant and meaningful attachments in North America within 60 days are to return to their originating nation.’"

Conversion (Part One) by Obsessedwithdavrick @obsessedwithdavrick

from the author:

Patrick Brewer had grown up within the confines of the Catholic church.

He was baptised in the nave of the St Celeste church, received his first holy communion in tandem with his cousins and attended the small primary school adjacent to it until he was old enough for high school. He then joined his cousins and the other children of the town, travelling thirty minutes by bus to Ingleside to attend the Catholic high school, where the cohorts were split by gender.

When he wins a coveted Baseball Scholarship to play and study at the University of Toronto, he is matched with an enigmatic roommate, David Rose. David upends Patrick's life (in the best possible way) and takes him on a journey of self-discovery he hadn't realised he desperately needed.

Everything's Too Cold... But You're So Hot by ApothecaRose @apothecarose

from the author:

When David's ex, Sebastien Raine, unexpectedly shows up in Schitt's Creek, David enlists the help of a stranger on the street to pretend to be his boyfriend in an attempt to get rid of Sebastien.

102 Words by RamonaFlow @ramonaflow

from the author: This is a collection of 102 ficlets consisting of 102 words each using this prompt list

[Art] Painted Pride by lizzie_bennetdarcy @lizzie-bennetdarcy

from the author:

David and Patrick paint themselves for Pride

dinner by flowertrigger @flowertrigger

from the author:

Patrick’s parted lips are as shiny as the glazed ham Marcy pulled from the oven twenty minutes ago and looking just as delicious.

10.

Won’t Love Anyone Else Like I Love You by LikeItsAllInfinite @like-its-all-infinite

from the author:

David Rose is about to turn eighteen and his whole world is going to change when he swaps bodies with his soulmate. Patrick is here to help, but what will David do when he wakes up and Patrick isn't his soulmate? And how will he tell his soulmate he can only ever love Patrick?

11.

Hydrate. Caffeinate. Medicate. Repeat. by coffee_and_glitter @fictasticvoyage

from the author:

Patrick starts meditation to help with his mental health. He and David try a 30 day challenge to focus on their mental well-being, sometimes individually, sometimes together.

12.

It's Photoshop. by jesuisici33 9-1-1: Lone Star (TV 2020) @jesuisici33

from the author:

TK meets a friend who also likes bearded dragons. And Carlos' secret comes out.

#12 days of fandom #all at once #mostly schitts creek

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marxistmanicpixiedreamgrrrl · 5 months

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Taboo & the Power of the Mind

As I've been taking or started the processes of taking real, direct action, it's become much more clear to me how much of our world exists mostly in what we've been taught, as social constructs, some reified enough that they become something you don't even question any more, accepted as fact. Material conditions aside, which are prerequisites for all things in life, many options available to you are ones you write off initially as being unfeasible, unacceptable or, according to some, illegal. These, all, to differing degrees are social constructions which you can deconstruct. & once you do, a world of untapped potential opens up!

To take a simple example, there are those who rescue goods rejected by whatever corporation or service distributes them, out-of-date food & the like. They realise that the expiry date written on any product's packaging itself is also a social construct, one not to be taken at face value given those who put it on there. Yes, bacteria & mould are real dangers, but those don't care for the date on the packaging, they'd be there 10 minutes before it went overdate if they'd be there when it does. The expiry date, ultimately, is just a suggestion as to when it stops being in service of the profit motive to sell product. This is but one of the manifestations of what deconstructing what you've been taught can take.

The same goes, though in a different way, for legality. It's a human construct that only takes shape when observed by one who deems it illegal, like the police or a particularly rule-following citizen. As such it really is as young children say: It's not illegal if you don't get caught. My overarching point is, so long as you don't have self-imposed unreasonable standards & are willing to disregard what a normative society has taught you, you can make a much bigger tangible difference than you may realise. Not to sound too bootstraps-ey, again, if your material conditions, whatever form they may take, don't permit you, that's 100% valid, but if life permits you, you kind of just have to get out there & do it!

#Marcie's Thought of the Day <3 #leftist #socialism #anarchism #praxis

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zelenxa · 8 days

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Storytelling Secrets

Hah, I hadn’t realized this was a pass-it-on type of thing until I was looking back at @townsenddecades’s posts. Considering I’m still sorta finishing up the next few UDC posts, take this as a treat!

1. Originally, I had a story in mind for Marci and Gloria to come together to solve their differences and stuff, but I had procrastinated for far too long, and, well, it never happened. Along with that, it’s also why it’s taken so long for Dayana to marry — I just got absorbed in the Kensington’s day-to-day life and neglected my side households. Dayana’s plot line was supposed to start in 1302, where she was initially supposed to be sixteen at the time until I pushed it back.

2. I’ve been keeping news on the royal family pretty vague (cough, King ‘Edworth’ and Queen ‘Isabel’) so as not to lock myself into replicating the actual shenanigans happening during the 1310s. Nonetheless, things are happening behind the scenes that I just don’t feel fit the story right now. By the 1320s, however, the family will definitely be mentioned in detail - just by very morbid news. As of right now, though? The Crown Prince has just married a noblewoman, and his parents are multiplying children like crazy given I haven’t applied any birth rolls to them.

3. Speaking of the royal family, my thought process for Kurtis’ latest knight tournament was that it was brought together in celebration of Queen Isabel’s 16th birthday. Luckily, I had thought far enough to not write that down, because the in-game royal family really doesn’t have a damn thing to do with Isabella or Edward the II.

4. Kerstan Lassiter never existed. When I first started UDC, I had very surface-level teachings of the medieval times, so I wasn’t really following the most realistic situations for my sims. This is the main reason why I have little to no pictures outside of big events. 1) I had never expected to start blogging so I barely screenshots. 2) A lot of development for the side households never happened in-game and was only recently written down for a more coherent story. Trying to justify little things unthought of back then has been pretty fun, though! I literally rethought the (Gen 0) Lottway’s entire backstory just to justify Kurtis’ existence as a knight.

5. Though Lord Kerstan doesn’t exist, his son does. I don’t think it was well explained in my 1310 Kensington post, but after his death, Samir Lassiter - in his early 20s - takes his father’s place. Like the royal family, he won’t have a role to play until after the Great Famine, when he decides to show his face a lot more often. Spoilers, he’s very much an asshole.

6. I don’t know if I’ll ever mention this in Lottway posts but, funnily enough, there was a period of time when Kurtis and Casandra would visit the Kensingtons constantly by themselves. Anytime Casandra visited at the same time as Kurtis? Kurtis decided to leave. It’s actually why I’ve interpreted their relationship as a downward spiral. To make matters worse for the Lottways, per the RPO mod, Kurtis initially never wanted kids, and therefore, Brynn was born as an unwanted child. Yet, one day, after updating the mod, everyone’s thoughts on children refreshed which left Kurtis’ opinion on having kids neutral, AKA leaving Brynn as literally the only child he did not want.

Anyway, this was fun! I can’t wait to talk about the 1320s/1330s. I’m passing this on to @abigailsultimatedecadesblog (I don’t know how but I hadn’t fully realized you had a udc blog?!?) and @soffiisims (welcome back again!).

#morbid's ultimate decades challenge #sims 4 medieval #udc details #also alexandre’s name was originally estevan #but that sounded way 2 similar to esteban so I changed it #sims historical #sims 4 decades challenge #ultimate decades challenge #ts4 simblr #scheduled

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sisterspooky1013 · 11 months

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Gaslight, Chapter 13/48

Rated X | Read it here on AO3

He knocks again, then stands back to wait. What the hell are they doing in there? he wonders, shifting the six pack of beer he brought to the other arm. Poker night is every Thursday—it’s not like they aren’t expecting him.

The night is cool and crisp, the clear indigo sky speckled with pinpricks of starlight. Trillions of miles traveled across the universe over thousands of years, just to be overpowered by skyscrapers and streetlights and the haze of the industrial revolution. He tips his face up and locates the Big Dipper, the North Star, Cassiopeia. It makes him at once feel insignificant—a speck on a rock in a pile in a quarry—and extraordinary. How many events throughout the history of time had to happen in precisely the way they did in order to bring him to this moment? It feels like destiny, which is both a comfort and a burden.

Finally, the door pops open and he’s greeted by a tall blond man with thick glasses.

“The party has arrived!” the man says jovially, standing aside to allow him entry. “Jeff’s here!” he hollers, and voices of the other two call out greetings from a nearby room.

“I’ve been standing out there for ten minutes,” Jeff chides gently. “I thought you’d kicked me out of the coven.”

They enter a small dining room with a circular table surrounded by four chairs, two of them occupied.

“We were out back smoking a cigar,” the blond man explains as he takes his seat. “Cuban, the real deal.”

“And you didn’t wait for me?” Jeff asks, exaggerating his level of offense as he sits in the remaining chair.

“Come on, man, we know Diana would have your balls if she smelled cigar smoke on you,” one of the other men says. He’s older than the other two, with wiry salt and pepper hair.

“You’re not wrong,” Jeff agrees, cracking open a bottle of beer. “Let’s get this show on the road; who’s dealing?”

The third man, mahogany-skinned and handsome, shuffles the cards artfully, making a show of bridges and cascades as he smirks to himself.

“Mike thinks he’s hot shit with his little card tricks,” the blond man says bitingly. “Just deal the things already, Mike. Jeff has a curfew.”

“Fuck off, Simon,” Mike shoots back. “I’m perfecting my craft.”

“Women are attracted to money, not junior high magic tricks,” Simon says, nudging the third man with his elbow.

“I like magic tricks,” the third man comments self-consciously, and the other three laugh.

“Somehow that doesn’t surprise me,” Mike says, shaking his head. “You always gotta be the weird one, don’t you, Frank?”

“Yeah, well, you won’t be laughing when I clean house,” Frank grumbles, and Mike finally deals out the deck.

Frank does, in fact, clean house. They don’t play with real money, just chips, but that doesn’t hamper each man’s desire to win, nor his disappointment when Frank scoops up the lion’s share of the pile and begins stacking them enthusiastically.

Simon checks his watch, then sighs and runs his hand through his hair. “I gotta head out in a half hour or so,” he says. “Marcy didn’t want me to stay too late.”

“Well, I guess Jeff isn’t the only one with a curfew,” Mike teases, and Simon shakes his head with a smile.

“It’s not that, it’s just hard for her to get up with the baby at night right now, so I’ve been taking all that on.”

“Is she okay?” Jeff asks, his mind immediately going to the kinds of things that can cost you a sister.

“Yeah, she’s fine, just tired. She’s, uh—she’s pregnant again, actually,” Simon offers, and all the eyebrows at the table shoot up to their hairlines.

“No shit,” Frank says carefully. “Is that good news or bad news?”

“Surprising news,” Simon says. “But ultimately good. We didn’t really plan to have two this close together, but I guess fate had other ideas.”

“Congratulations,” Jeff offers, extending his hand. “That’s great.”

“Can’t say I miss those days,” Frank remarks, still stacking his chips. “Up at 3:00 am trying to get a baby back to sleep when you have to be up for work at 6:00? No thank you. I’m glad mine are all grown.”

“Thanks, Frank, that’s really kind of you to say,” Simon says, rolling his eyes.

“I always miss my kids when they’re at Jenny’s,” Mike says sadly. “Being a dad is the best thing I’ve ever done.”

“Hey now, I love my kids,” Frank defends. “I’m just saying, waking up in the middle of the night fucking sucks.”

Jeff watches the exchange, unable to take part. He can relate to overbearing spouses and the perils of the working world, but he has nothing to offer on the subject of fatherhood.

“I actually need to head out too,” he says as he stands and retrieves what remains of his beer. “Wouldn’t want anything unfortunate to happen to my balls.”

“Send our best to the warden,” Frank quips, earning him a warning look.

He leaves them, a peel of laughter fading as he pulls the door closed behind himself and makes his way to his car.

It does bother him a little, the way they talk about Diana. At the same time, what they say about her isn’t untrue. She is a little bit controlling, but not without due cause. He’s made mistakes in the past, ones he can never fully set right, and ones that justify Diana’s desire to know where he is and with whom. He promised her that he would do whatever it takes to make it up to her, and that has included checking in regularly and being home by midnight. Of course, his friends don’t know that, because he’s never told them. He’s too ashamed. So he accepts their cheap shots at his wife, and then drives home to her so he can prove again and again that she is the only one he wants to come home to.

He slinks into the house quietly, shushing Frenchie’s barks as he enters through the laundry room. He walks towards the back of the house to let her outside, and is startled by Diana’s voice as he passes through the kitchen.

“You’re late.”

He jumps a little, bringing his hand to his chest as he pulls the sliding glass door open and Frenchie slips out.

“Jesus, you scared me,” he admits, though that was fairly obvious by his reaction.

Diana is perched at the kitchen island wearing a silk nightgown, a glass of water on the counter before her. He looks at the time on the microwave display and then back to her pinched expression.

“By four minutes, Diana,” he defends, indignant.

She pulls in a deep breath, straightening her posture.

“Where were you?” she asks.

“At Frank’s, for poker night. Same as every Thursday. There was an accident on the turnpike,” he tells her, and his gut twists at the disbelieving look on her face. He steps closer, laying his hand over the top of hers on the countertop. “Diana—”

She pulls her hand out from under his and stands, walking to the sliding glass door to let Frenchie back in.

“I believe you, Jeff. But call next time, okay?” she says tersely, and he nods.

He lies awake in bed, and by Diana’s breathing, he can tell she is awake too. He feels guilty, but also angry that he feels guilty when he didn’t do anything wrong. He knows that he deserves this, knows he’s lying in a bed of his own making, but he still hates knowing that it will never go away. Six years later and she’s still watching him like a hawk. He thought it would get better over time, but it hasn’t.

And then there’s Simon and his new baby. He was surprised by the pang of jealousy that lit up in his chest upon hearing the news, a sensation he’s never experienced before. He’s always considered he and Diana to be childfree by choice, but looking back, he doesn’t really recall weighing in on that decision. Diana never wanted to be a mother, and he wanted to be with Diana, and so it was simply part of the deal. Now, at nearly 39 years old, he suddenly wonders if being a father would suit him.

“Did you always know that you didn’t want children?” he asks out loud, and Diana’s breathing pauses briefly.

“Where did that come from?” she questions.

“Marcy is pregnant again, and I was just thinking—”

A blustering sigh.

“Jeff, are we really going to do this right now?” she asks, annoyed.

“Do what?” he counters, equally irritated by her dismissiveness.

Diana rolls to her side to face him, propping her head up on a fist.

“Can you really see yourself giving up poker night, and sleeping in, and playing basketball on the weekend?” she asks, her tone shifting to something lighter.

“I mean…I don’t think I’d have to give up all those things. Not forever, anyway,” he says.

“Imagine walking into the office to find your rare book collection in tatters on the floor, covered in drool,” she teases, and he smiles.

“That would be less than ideal,” he agrees.

“Imagine having to stay quiet when we make love,” she continues, sliding her hand across his belly.

“I’m not even sure that’s possible,” he says, now grinning.

She hitches her leg up over his hip, straddling him, then peels the straps of her nightgown off her shoulders, revealing her breasts.

“These are, and always will be, exclusively for you,” she says in a syrupy voice, then leans forward and brushes her lips over his. “Help me fall asleep, Jeff,” she whispers.

Her nightgown finds its way to the floor, as do his boxers. She sits astride him, grinding with her eyes locked on his. She’s possessive, maybe a little desperate, though he’s not sure why.

“That’s it,” she encourages him, her hands planted on his chest. Her eyes slide closed, her mouth falling open. “Yes, Fox,” she murmurs.

When she collapses against his chest he rubs wide circles over her back, and his mind instantly returns to its wandering state.

“What did you say about a fox?” he asks, and she stiffens.

“What?” she asks breathlessly, her face tucked against his neck.

“You said something about a fox, during—”

“I’m relatively certain I said ‘fuck.’ Sorry to offend your delicate senses,” she says somewhat defensively, rolling off of him.

He turns toward her, laying a reassuring hand on her bare hip.

“I’m not offended, Diana, I was just wondering—”

“Goodnight, Jeff. I have work in the morning, I need to get to sleep, if you don’t mind,” she says in a clipped tone.

“Okay,” he acquiesces. “Goodnight.”

He waits for her to turn her face towards his so he can kiss her goodnight, but she keeps her back to him. He presses his lips to the curve of her shoulder, lingering there as a confusing mix of emotions swirl around in his chest.

The life he has. The life he sometimes thinks he might want. The discrepancy between the two. He wonders why now, all of a sudden, he’s peeking over the fence at possibly greener grasses. Why the life he’s been content with for years suddenly doesn’t feel like enough.

The rush of the waves fills his ears, calming him. A gull calls out, its shriek carried away on the wind as his toes sink into the sun-warm sand. He spies a child further down the shore, a boy with dirty blond hair building something with a shovel and a bucket. There is a feeling of recognition, a sense of knowing, though he cannot recall the child’s name, nor their relationship to one another.

A strong wave pushes up beyond the waterline, sweeping across the child’s half-finished project and washing it into an indecipherable mound. The child’s shoulders slump, defeated, so he approaches and calls out to him.

“Oh, hey, buddy. That’s okay, you can build it again.”

He kneels down beside the boy and touches the child’s cheek, brushing an errant grain of sand from his downy skin. There’s something in the child’s eyes, something familiar that makes him feel a swell of affection and protectiveness.

“Just start again,” he tells the child, reassuringly.

He jolts awake, his heart racing. Frenchie stands from her bed on the floor, alerted by his sudden movement, and watches him for an indication of what’s next.

“It’s okay, Frenchie,” he murmurs, rubbing his hands over his face.

The night is still in full swing, only inky darkness peeking in around the blinds. He looks over at Diana’s sleeping form, her back still turned to him and her breathing even. It feels like only minutes have passed since he fell asleep.

Wired from adrenaline, he stares at the ceiling and waits for the potential of sleep to return to him. His dream has mostly faded, and he grasps at snippets. The beach, he remembers the beach.

Just start again.

Tagging @today-in-fic

#the x files #x files fanfic #txf #dana scully #fox mulder #xf fanfic #x files #the x-files

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rechicken-and-waffles · 3 months

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You know what time it is! Chaotix Member Tangle headcanons PT 4. Warning: There's a lot of angst

-In an alternate version of the Metal Virus arc, Tangle encounters Charmy slowly being infected, Charmy was scared and constantly begged his sister to help him. Tangle, being obviously horrified, told Charmy to not say anything else anymore and let her deal with it. However, the Metal Virus started to infect her, the most horrific part, it began to fuse body with Charmy's. After they we're infected, they were grotesquely fused together, like Amalgamate from Undertale level of grotesque

-While Tangle and Espio were doing a training session, Espio was noticeably more down and a lot more monotone that day. Tangle and Espio had a talk and Espio confessed that despite his cool demeanor and hardworking nature, he secretly suffered from major depression. Espio's depression was greatly more frequent after the Metal Virus arc, I'm which he had voices in his head to end it and violent thoughts towards himself and his family. Tangle, obviously heartbroken by this, hugged her big bro and became his personal therapist from that day forward.

-Tangle and Charmy's favorite show to watch together is Amphibia, mainly pointing out how their dynamic is similar to that of Anne and Sprig, they would also tease Vector by calling him Hop Pop. They also both had a 1 hour cry session after watching True Colors and The Season 3 finale. Tangle's favorite is Marcy and Charmy's favorite is Ivy, they both despised Sasha at first, but grew to like her during Season 3

-Charmy doesn't like Lanolin mainly because of the way she treats Tangle and the other's. Whenever he visits Restoration HQ, he always sticks his tounge out at her and whenever she tries to talk to Tangle or anyone else, he immediately leaves and would sometimes drag Tangle away. Tangle would notice this and said that it's sometimes her own fault because she sometimes wouldn't take things seriously, but Charmy obviously dismissed her and tells Tangle that Lanolin is the way she is is because she never does things to fix herself and always pour more work onto herself.

-Charmy may be attached to Tangle, but he surprisingly isn't that clingy, whenever she needs to go on a mission alone, Charmy would accept and tell her to do her best to come back home in one piece.

Yayyy more of these!!!

-I would have never thought about an amalgamation between zombots, and omg that would be terrifying to see. Imagine if Espio got to see them like that... more trauma for him 😭

-Ngl, I too headcanon that Espio has some sort of depression and became worse after MV, so I am glad I am not the only one who thought this. AND YES TANGLE BEST THERAPIST

-Omg Charmy and Tangle have amazing taste it seems (Amphibia is my favorite animated show lol). And yeah, I too cried with True Colors and The Hardest Thing so I get them dfghgfds

-I love this one. Lanolin and Charmy may be some of my favorite characters but yeah they would not like each other. Charmy would think she's too bossy and Lanolin would think he's annoying and why is a 6 year-old part of a detective agency dfghjkjhgf (This reminds me I have a whole idea of throwing Lanolin into the Chaotix for a day and see what happens, but that's a story for another day)

-Charmy may not be(e) that clingy, but I feel there would be days where he sits in front of the door waiting for Tangle to arrive XD

#rechi answers #chaotix member tangle

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thisbelongsto-nohbodys · 9 months

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[Anne wakes up and noticing she’s alone the door opens to Sasha and Marcy carrying things]

Sasharcy: Happy Birthday Anne!!

Anne: Aww, you two <3

[Sasha puts a food tray with breakfast and a small vase of yellow tulips while Marcy puts several presents next to her on the bed]

Anne: Oh wow, you didn’t have to do this.

Sasha: Of course we did.

Marcy: We want to show you how much we love you. We’ve the whole day planned.

Anne: That’s awesome, I love both of you. These flowers look beautiful but I thought the florists were sold out this time of year.

Sasha: We know a guy.

Anne: Who?

Marcy: Chuck.

Anne:……………

Sasha: He grows tulips.

Anne: Oh, that Chuck.

#amphibia #sashannarcy #anne Boonchuy #sasha waybright #Marcy Wu #I did so much research on tulips just for a joke about Chuck who grows tulips

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moronic-validity · 11 months

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The Wish

Once again, only 18+ bc the rest of the series is!

As always, a huge thank you to my beta readers/editors @stickyarbiterwombat and @yaoibrainworms!!!! I literally couldn't do this without y'all <3

This fic is actually the first in the DWU series! Hope you enjoy!!!!!

Simon drummed his fingers anxiously on the bar. He asked Finn to meet him there to discuss something, a major life change, for lack of better words.

“Hey Simon, what’s up?” Finn’s voice shook the older man from his thoughts.

He jumped.

“Oh, hey Finn, I didn’t even hear you come in,” Simon turned to face the boy, no man. It had been a lifetime ago that Finn was a boy.

“Yeah, I’ve been working on sneaking, I think I’m getting pretty good at it!” He punctuated the thought with a booming laugh.

Simon smiled to himself.

“So, what’s on your mind, you seemed pretty nervous on the phone,” Finn sat down next to him and put a hand on his shoulder.

“Well, I’m looking at moving,” Simon started, trying to find a way to explain what was going on in his head, “but I don’t think I’d be able to see you again.”

Finn laughed again.

“Good on you! I know you haven’t felt at home in the human city for a long time,” he congratulated before continuing, “But I don’t think there’s a place in Ooo you could move to where I wouldn’t be able to visit you!”

“Finn, I won’t be in Ooo anymore.”

The younger man raised an eyebrow, trying to figure out where he could be going that wasn’t in Ooo.

“You know I can find a way to Mars, right?”

“Finn, you know there’s an entire multiverse, with all these different possibilities…” he began to trail off, looking to Finn’s face for a reaction of any kind, “Well, I found one that I really felt at home in.”

“I’m guessing Betty is there?” Finn nodded sagely.

“No, there’s no Betty.”

“Then why are you leaving?”

Simon cleared his throat, attempting to find a way to explain what all happened on his adventures with Fionna and Cake.

“I met someone, he and I have so much but also nothing in common and..and..and,” he found himself almost growing frantic, repeating his words, “I need to go back for him and make things right.”

Finn rested a hand on Simon’s shoulder.

“You know, sometimes I remember my wife and kids and think I should try to go and check on them, but I think I actually died in that world, so I probably shouldn’t go back.”

Simon stared at him.

“Your what?”

“Oh yeah, I fell into a pillow world, met wonderful girl and settled down.”

“When was this?”

“Oh, I was probably thirteen or so, spent a whole afternoon there!” Finn smiled fondly, remembering the days of his youth.

They sat like that for a minute, both simultaneously completely understanding the other and not understanding at all.

“Have you talked to Marceline about any of this?” Finn said, finally breaking the comfortable silence between them.

“I don’t know if I can, I’ve already abandoned her before…” Simon’s chest hurt every time he thought about telling her.

“I think you’d regret not talking to her.” Finn’s voice was careful, not worried of overstepping, but not wanting to push any buttons.

Simon pressed his hands to his temples and dragged them down his face before bringing them back up and rubbing his eyes.

He didn’t think much as he pulled out his phone and clicked her contact.

She answered on the first ring.

“Hey Simon!” She answered cheerfully.

Simon’s voice caught in his throat and he looked over to Finn, who gave him a thumbs up.

“Hey Marcy, what’re you up to?”

“Oh, nothing much, Peebs just went home so I’m chillin.” Marceline sounded bored, not disinterested, just bored.

“Marceline…” Simon started, unsure of what to say.

Marcy sat up straight. He rarely used her full name.

“Simon, is everything okay?”

“Um..yeah. Everything is okay…” he trailed off again, “I really need to talk to you about something. Something important.”

She worried now.

“Marcy, I’m leaving. Forever, I think.”

Simon didn’t have time to continue his thoughts before Marceline stormed into the bar.

“What do you mean forever?!” She yelled into the phone and his face.

The feedback from his phone made him cringe. He hung up the phone and looked at the girl he took care of for so long.

“Hi Marcy!” Finn waved, happy to see his longtime friend.

Marceline turned to him and nodded before turning her attention back to Simon.

“Simon, what do you mean forever; I just got you back and now you’re leaving again?” She had to hold herself back from shoving him out of frustration.

“It’s really complicated,” he started again.

“Then uncomplicate it!” She raised her voice.

“Well, I met someone. In a distant land. He…died. And I need to leave and make things right and I can’t do that if I’m here.”

Simon’s words hung in the air. Finn and Marceline shared a look before turning their attention back to him.

“Simon…” Finn spoke first, “why are you going backif he’s dead?”

Simon put his head in his hands.

“Listen, if what I’m going to do doesn’t work, I’ll be back here before you guys even realize I’m gone.”

“But if it does…” Marceline started.

“I won’t ever be back,” Simon confirmed.

She was conflicted. She didn’t want to lose the man who had been her father but she also understood wanting to fix things. She wanted to tell him to not go, to not leave her again; but she knew if he stayed, he’d wind up regretting it.

“You should do it.” She said firmly, before hugging Simon, “But you better call me from wherever you’re going.”

“Are you sure?”

Marceline sniffled and let out a small laugh.

“No, but I don’t want you to spend your life wondering what could have happened,” another sniffle, “so don’t ask me if I’m sure again, I’ll change my mind.”

Simon stood and hugged her back, squeezing her tight. Finn let them have their moment before embracing both of them.

“I’m going to miss this,” Simon mumbled, his voice muffled from the hug.

“We’re going to miss you too old man,” Marceline was crying now, they all were.

Simon left the bar and walked home alone, taking his time. He tried to enjoy what would hopefully be his last walk through the city.

His plan was simple enough.

He was just going to get Prismo’s attention and then make a wish.

Once home, he found getting Prismo’s attention much harder than he had anticipated. He didn’t have the time to find the enchiridion or get the jewel from every princess’s crown. He tried all types of chants, he tried writing notes addressed to the being. Nothing seemed to work.

He looked to his clock and saw that he had been working at this for hours.

Simon threw his arms up in frustration and began kicking his wall, screaming the whole time.

“Prismo!” He yelled, “I know you can hear me, now help me!” he began cussing until it fell into indecipherable rambling.

Prismo finally beamed him into the time room.

“Simon, my main man, what is up?” He sounded almost groggy.

He spun around to face the being on the wall.

“I know damn well you weren’t sleeping, why weren’t you answering me?” Simon pointed aggressively, glaring at Prismo.

“I was busy watching Fionna’s world, she’s doing some really cool stuff. Wanna see?” Prismo began to change the channel back to the other version of Ooo.

Simon began to protest, before turning around to see Fionna in her apartment, watching Cheers.

“Prismo, how long has she been doing this?”

“The last seven hours. Incredible, right?”

They watched for a minute before Simon turned back around.

“Prismo, I need to make a wish.”

Prismo muted the screen.

“You know I can’t bring Betty back, we’ve talked about this.” He had told Simon that countless times, but it never got easier.

“I know, there are limits to your powers,” Simon waved him off, “but are you able to bring people back that didn’t turn into Gods of chaos?”

Prismo thought about it for a moment.

“I mean, yeah, I guess I could, but you’d have to be mega specific dude,”

“How specific?” The gears in Simon’s head were turning.

“Like uber mega specific.” Prismo gestured with each word, making sure he got the point across.

Simon sat down next to Prismo, his back against the wall. He pulled a piece of paper out of his jacket and a pencil from behind his ear.

He began writing.

He knew he knew he wanted to bring the Winter King back, that was the easy part; but he also wanted Princess Bubblegum, or the Candy Queen in that world, to be okay, to keep her sanity. He wanted to make sure the other Simon had no memory of dying and coming back, that he’d only remember the curse of madness brought with the crown was broken, not the powers.

He kept writing furiously as Prismo sat and watched.

“So…” Prismo said, drawing out the word, “You almost done there?”

“Not yet.”

“Well, do you mind if I turn Fionna and Cake back on?”

“Yes I mind, I’m trying to focus.” Simon huffed.

“You’ve been writing for like 15 minutes dude, I think you’ve got it by now” Prismo rolled his eyes and sighed, bored out of his infinite mind.

Simon put his pencil down and looked at the Wishmaster.

“I didn’t think I had a time limit.”

“I mean, you don’t…but you’re acting like I’m like a genie or something.” Prismo was borderline offended, even though he knew he had the ability to give people the worst version of their wish imaginable.

Simon turned his attention back to the paper, trying to figure out if he had missed anything.

“I’m actually ready..I think” He couldn’t help but feel nervous that he had missed something.

“Hell yeah dude, hit me!” Prismo cheered.

“Okay,” Simon took a breath, staring at his paper, “I wish for the Winter King to be brought back to life, as he was,” he paused again.

“Can do!” Prismo said with a grin.

“But I want the curse of madness that comes with the crown to still be gone so that Princess Bubblegum can stay in her true form. And I don’t want either of them to remember the king dying, I only want for them to remember the curse being broken by Fionna’s kiss or touch or whatever.” Simon was speaking quickly, saying it all in one breath.

Prismo thought about it then nodded.

“Yeah, I can do that too.”

“And I want to be taken to their world.”

Prismo stared at Simon.

“Simon, my guy, are you sure about that?” Prismo rubbed his chin, “If I send you there, you can’t ever go back to your Ooo. Like…Ever.”

Simon nodded a single time.

“I’ve thought about it, talked to Finn and Marcy, and they gave me their blessing.” His voice was soft, knowing what he’d be giving up if he left, with no guarantee of what he was leaving them for.

“Well, then I can’t stop you. Good luck with everything!” Prismo snapped and Simon was beamed away.

Prismo sat there in the silence for a moment, thankful he had sent Scarab to go clean the pickle room.

He turned back to the screen to see Fionna was still watching Cheers.

“She really doesn’t do much, huh?” He mused to himself.

Prismo looked at the remote and changed the channel.

“I think this is going to be my new favorite show.”

#teddy talks #theo's thoughts #simon x winter king #the winter king #winter king x simon #winterking #winterkov #simon petrikov #simoncest #simonpetrikov #dwu

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