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oneatlatime · 1 year

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Zuko Alone

I'm hoping for some Appa this episode. It's been too long since he's gotten any good sight gags.

Zuko is cosplaying Clint Eastwood. He's also back to being stupid pale this episode.

You know it's a good thing that Zuko's not in the Fire Nation anymore because he really would have sucked at being Fire Nation. Robbing pregnant women is probably kindergarden level stuff for them.

How is Zuko in such bad shape? Last time we saw him he had a cave full of spoils robbed from rich people. Did he not bother to pack at least some of that stuff? Actually, not thinking far enough ahead to pack would be pretty in character.

Oof that would rub me the wrong way. Not enough money for a meal, but sure, let's use totally edible eggs as ammo.

Where'd the egg go?

Who is the scarred up hat wearing vampire and what happened to the real Zuko? Imposter Zuko just elected to not be provoked into a fight. Real Zuko would already be setting things on fire.

Just a bunch of thugs. Yep. It's consistently awesome how many of the facets of war this show can cover.

Imposter Zuko and Song's horse bird just got kidnapped. Did not see that coming.

Zuko kind of has arm bandages like Sokka has this episode. Also love the character detail that the boy has scraped knees.

Is the kid's dad the same guy as the man at the store? Or maybe this is a one haircut town?

So the guy who was near to fainting off his horse bird this morning is now turning down freely offered food? Could Zuko please shelve his pride for five minutes? Kudos to the mom for accurately reading his distaste for charity and turning it into a request for aid though. Although covering for the boy's egg trick is worth at least a meal.

Tangent!

I don't get Zuko. How can he still have so much pride when he's wearing rags and starving himself to feed Song's horse bird? I'm quite shameless when it comes to accepting help and I've never, ever been able to understand the whole 'too proud to accept charity' mindset. I'm always up for some charity. I have enough manners to offer to do the dishes after, but if you're offering free food I'm eating it. And I've never been in a situation as desperate as Zuko's. So I don't get this.

ok tangent over.

Peak rich kid behaviour. I hope those nails aren't expensive otherwise Zuko doing work for food might end up with this family out of pocket.

Is the wood grain on this ladder an actual photograph of wood grain?

Zuko has more patience this episode than he had for all of season 1 combined. He's also never gone this long without yelling. Either proximity to young children activates Zuko's otherwise mostly slumbering decency, or to fit him into a Fistful of Dollars homage the writers had to make him out of character.

If I had been in this situation when I was a kid, if I had been a) this visibly bored, and b) this nosy around guests, I would have been given a hammer and a bag of nails in three seconds flat. Also, nice to see a Sokka face from Zuko.

I get that 'a man without a past' is a staple of the cowboy genre, but the boy's father bringing up the privacy of the past twice in like two minutes makes me think he's done stuff he doesn't want to talk about. Seems both the parents have read Zuko right though.

Finally! Some pretty! I have been suffering! This may be the first really good pretty all season!

Bad news for the Appa decor on my blog. He may have been supplanted in my affections.

Two things: first, Zuko is a carbon copy of his mom. Second, That is way too much forehead.

Having Zuko's mom introduce herself by talking about the lengths mothers will go to for their children is not giving me foreshadowing anxiety at all.

Azula's been a bitch since birth. Noted.

Sir, your eyebrows. Also, yeah, I wouldn't want to play with her either.

Yikes this is making my teeth itch and my skin crawl. Calling it now, she's rotten to the core.

Zuko and Azula's dad has some weak ass genes. BOTH of his children are carbon copies of their mom.

Also, I was not expecting Zuko's very stupid ponytail to be a pre-scar thing. It is much better with a full head of hair.

If I had spent my childhood hanging out with an untouchable princess who set things on my head on fire for fun whenever I involuntarily displayed emotion, I'd be gloomy and apathetic in self defense too.

Sokka in this episode in spirit, if not in person.

Seriously that's the same face three times over!

Um, no? If Iroh doesn't make it back from the front, doesn't his son become next in line to be Firelord?

Can you hear all the unspoken "father thinks that" and "father says that" in front of every one of Azula's opinions in this whole scene? I stand by my assertion that she's awful anyways, but she's also obviously drunk much too much of her dad's koolaid, if you know what I mean.

This kid is going to get into so much trouble one of these days. Provoking the soldiers, nagging the mysterious stranger with the mysterious past, and now taking his weapons? Kid's sweet but he really needs to learn when to stop pushing his luck.

Stabbing dead, dried wood sounds like a great way to utterly annihilate the edge on those. Hope Zuko packed a whetstone.

Where is this patience coming from? I don't understand and it's BUGGING me.

Hold on. Technical problems.

My very basic DVD player sometimes has difficulty with these disks. Whatever happened between the above two screenshots, I've missed it. So picking back up from the one on the right...

Either these soldiers are impressively cowardly (which, yeah) or Zuko's really been working on his death glare, because they've got him outnumbered and out-armoured and they still back off.

OH it's parallels! Zuko's cousin and the boy's older brother. Got it. Kind of a false parallel though. Grandson of the Firelord does not equal earth kingdom conscript.

Give the demonstrably impulsive and nosy child a knife. That'll work out just fine I'm sure. Pretty sad the kid glommed on to Zuko so quickly, but it's also yet another realistic representation of the consequences of war. This show's good.

*shudders* theatre kids.

She's tiny! Do you know how darkly humourous it is to watch a two foot tall baby spout her father's murderous nonsense? Once again, in this whole scene, not a word out of Azula's mouth is actually Azula's.

"What is wrong with that child?" Apart from budding homicidal and psychopathic tendencies? Her dad. Her dad is what's wrong with that child.

Their dad has no subtlety at all. And also no brain? You think a day after the firelord finds out one of his family died is the right time to very boorishly make a play for the crown with you daughter as a prop? Could you possibly come up with a better demonstration of why this guy shouldn't be in charge?

How did this asshole land such a nice wife?

Yep. Siding with the old firelord on this one.

Does flashback Zuko sleep in his day clothes? Because that's not ok.

I like that their mom sees straight through Azula's lying here. She knows her daughter.

In a move that should surprise no one, everything Zuko touches turns to shit, as usual.

It's the Mexico filter!

Absolute truth from Zuko in that monologue. He's got them pegged. Too bad it fell on deaf ears. It's Zuko's curse, that whenever he approaches being remotely reasonable, he happens to be surrounded by people who will react in such a way that Zuko learns to equate being reasonable with failure.

An earthbender. The bare feet should have clued me in.

Last season Zuko and Iroh laid waste to like ten of these guys. And Iroh didn't even have pants. So what gives? Is he that starved?

Ursa pulling a Mufasa.

Don't answer don't answer don't answer

And he does.

Zuko is so very good at completely misinterpreting the point.

So we can add thief to the list of things that make Azula awful. Also that delivery of "who's going to make me? Mom?" is chilling. Zuko's lost his only defender inside this atrocious family and she knows it, he knows it, hell the turtleducks probably know it.

His dying wish? You guys buying that?

Ozai. That's his name. I'd forgotten that.

So... something something dead firelord something something missing mom something something maybe Azula wasn't actually lying this time?

Final Thoughts

The title wasn't kidding. Let's rename the show 'Avatar: the Guy who's Really Bad at Capturing Him' while we're at it.

There is now no way whatsoever that Zuko is not going to be redeemed. No writing team would invest that much energy and a whole episode into a character we're not ultimately supposed to root for. So somehow he's going to end up joining the Gaang. Don't know how he'll pull that one off. He's done some pretty not great stuff. And it's not like the Gaang watched this episode and unlocked his tragic backstory.

Speaking of, what prompted these reflections? I could understand if Zuko started to contemplate his cousin and the events surrounding his loss in the war after he learned about the family's older brother, but he was having flashbacks before he even got to town. Usually when there are backstory bits, there's a good reason to show them at that time, like how the Storm prompts Aang to think about the last storm he was in, or seeing a boat from his father's fleet prompts Sokka to remember what his dad told him. So what caused Zuko's memories to give him situationally appropriate flashbacks?

Pretty funny that he found the Nice Earth Kingdom Family that Azula predicted for him. And they are really nice! Either Zuko is an open book or the parents' social intelligence is off the charts because they're giving him exactly what he needs to feel at ease after barely a single conversation.

Speaking of Azula, I'm not surprised to find that she's always had deeply awful tendencies, even as a child of (I'm guessing) less than ten. But it cannot be ignored that, from the moment her father took a liking to her (as a tool to boost his own greatness, if not as a person), she didn't stand a chance. You can tell by the number of times that the stuff coming out of her mouth is a thinly veiled repetition of her father's unfiltered opinions, that she's been spending lots of time listening to him, probably while he puts down her mom and brother and talks about how she's the special one. You know what I'm getting at. Azula never stood a chance once her father got involved, and her mom lost the ability to influence her once her father started giving Azula praise for objectively wrong behaviour. That being said, Azula is awful even when she doesn't need to be awful for her father's approval, like when she's with her friends, so it's not all her father's doing. She's not a good person but she also had plenty of help to become that.

I guess Zuko and his mom are Fire Nation anomalies? And maybe Iroh has become that since his son died and he lost the war?

How on earth did Zuko survive as long as he did in the palace without his mom to protect him? What a no-win situation to be in. The only person in a whole nation with empathy.

This episode does makes Season 1 Zuko make more sense. He's been larping his dad as a defense mechanism for surviving the Fire Nation/probably a very futile effort to earn his approval. Although Zuko doesn't seem to care much for his dad if the tone he takes with him by the turtleduck pond is any indication.

Being banished was the best thing that ever happened to Zuko. The more distance between him and his remaining non-uncle family, the better. Between prioritizing his crew over capturing the avatar in the Storm, releasing the Avatar in the Blue Spirit, and now defending a random earth kingdom child this episode, it's hilarious how much Zuko HASN'T learned the lesson that Ozai banished him for not knowing. Don't get me wrong; that's a good thing. This episode plainly shows that behaviour that pleases Ozai is behaviour that should be unlearned as quickly as possible.

Zuko completely missing the point of his mom's last instruction is delightfully on the nose. But it also makes sense, which I may talk more about later.

How did Zuko hold on to his temper (and his volume) for a whole episode?

How did a show named after the main character get away with an episode that doesn't feature him at all? As a concept, this is such a strange episode. The writers were like "how can we kick start the woobification of Zuko? I know! A Spaghetti Western!" and it worked. Who comes up with that?

I now want at least as much, if not more, of Sokka and Katara's childhood via flashbacks. And more Gyatso please. If they can devote a whole episode to the childhood of a guy who isn't even a team member yet, they can show me some Sokka childhood shenanigans as a palette cleanser.

I really don't know what conclusion to draw about this episode. The writers have given me a massive backstory/trauma dump and I'm honestly like:

#atla #avatar: the last airbender #avatar the last airbender #zuko alone #I really don't know what to make of this one

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grvstnaya-svka · 2 months

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Matilda (‘96) Headcannons

*picking up where the movie left off : Miss Honey becomes principal of Crunchem Hall, they’ve moved into Magnus Honey’s old house - Miss Honey’s childhood home. Matilda’s adoption is finalized.*

Matilda asks if she can change her last name. Miss Honey was the mother that she always wanted. And she never particularly enjoyed being a Wormwood anyway. She had no use for that name. From now on, she shall be called Matilda Honey.

Miss Honey & Matilda have adopted the black cat (the one that trunchbull kicked). His name is Charles. Yes, after Charles Dickens. He is happy and healthy. He gets a gentle pat and kiss on the head from Matilda whenever she leaves the house. And Miss Honey is his favorite cuddle partner.

Miss Honey and Matilda walk to and from school together everyday. It’s their favorite part of the day. They get to debrief each other and sometimes they play games. Hopscotch or sometimes even racing. And, of course, Miss Honey always enjoys Matilda’s fun facts.

Nightly chocolates after supper! Miss Honey tells Matilda they don’t have to, but Matilda insists. Miss Honey is ecstatic that Matilda wants to continue the tradition. Obviously, she always gives Matilda the bigger half.

Picnics and gardening! (Obviously.) Miss honey teaches Matilda to garden. They use the herbs and vegetables for tea and cooking, which they also enjoy together.

Breakfast and tea each morning before school. Usually pancakes, as miss honey quickly learns that it’s Matilda’s favorite. Sometimes Jen picks some blueberries and strawberries to go with it. Matilda loves it!

Hella play dates and sleepovers with her best friends, Lavender and Amanda! On nights that Matilda isn’t home, Jennifer curls up on the couch; a book in one hand, petting Charles with the other. His purring is the most soothing sound.

Lissy Doll and Matilda’s rag doll sit on the shelf, right next to each other. Overtime, they develop a system to let each other know where they’ll be using the dolls. But usually they sit next to each other. Sometimes when one of them is home, missing the other, they’ll grab the others’ respective doll, and hold them for comfort.

Matilda slowly starts calling Miss Honey ‘Mom/mum’ and Jennifer nearly tears up the first couple times it happens. Jennifer asks Matilda if she may call her ‘Tilly’ and Matilda says yes. She also begins to introduce her to people as her daughter. Her brilliant, most wonderful daughter.

Weekends are spent at the library. Mrs Phelps is always happy to see little Matilda. Then she sees Miss Honey, and says, “it’s been a long time, eh Miss Jennifer?” “Yes it has, Mrs. Phelps. It’s good to see you!”

Matilda crafts the most lovely, heartfelt Mother’s Day cards for Miss Honey every May. Jenny treasures them deeply. The first one was a surprise. She didn’t imagine Matilda would’ve actually seen her as her mom. A mother figure, sure. But she’d only just adopted the child.

In the same respect, while filing Matilda’s papers, she learns little Tilly’s birthday and organizes a surprise party for her. She invites all of Matilda’s friends from school, and some neighbors. (Even Mrs. Phelps sends in a card and a small book related gift.) Matilda finally gets a proper birthday! She gives Miss Honey the biggest hug when she arrives at the party and realizes what Jennifer’s put on for her. “Thank you! Nobody’s ever done this for me before. It’s wonderful! Thank you, thank you so much! I love it!”

Matilda’s drawings are proudly displayed up on the fridge. Her favorite is King Magnus & the Bumblebee. As well as the one of her and Matilda, or “Me & mum” as Matilda calls it.

Jennifer likes to give Matilda her old T-shirts. Matilda loves wearing them. They always smell so lovely. It’s like getting an endless hug from Miss Honey. It’s the best feeling in the whole world.

Matilda seldom uses her powers now. When she does, it’s usually to make Miss Honey smile.

Matilda does her schoolwork at the kitchen table while Jennifer does her own work across the table. They take tea breaks often.

Matilda visits Miss Honey in her new office between classes. She has a drawer full of all Matilda’s favorite snacks. Sometimes Lavender and Amanda come to visit too and are always greeted with a hug. “How are my girls doing today ?” She asks. The principal’s office is a happy place. And of course, Miss Honey always greets her students at the front doors each morning.

The first thing Miss Honey does the next day following the forceful impeachment of the Trunch, is bring Death to the Chokey! With the help from a handful of her colleagues and the maintenance man, the pipe is repaired and is as good as new, the rotten smell is gone, and they dispose of the rusty nail riddled door. They make repairs to the rest of the school as well. Miss honey brings all the color and joy that’s supposed to come with learning and Crunchem Hall becomes a proper children’s school.

Whenever she gets the chance, Miss Honey reminds Matilda how grateful she is to have a daughter who is so bright and kind and beautiful. Matilda makes sure Miss Honey knows how grateful she is to have such an amazing, kind, beautiful mother.

One time, when Matilda gets in trouble at school, Jennifer learns that she��d been trying to tell her teacher about a bully in her class. He was a new student and thought it’d be wise to pick on Bruce, Lavender and herself. Matilda had decided she’s had enough. When he goes to hit Lavender after she blocks him from grabbing her glasses, Matilda uses her powers on instinct - & the next thing anyone knows, he’s somehow punched himself in the face instead. But the teacher didn’t quite see what happened. Miss Honey later tells Matilda, “I know you were trying to do the right thing, sweetheart, but I can’t have you hurting your classmates with your powers. Promise you won’t do it again?” “Yes ma’am.”

One morning, while reading the newspaper, Matilda sees that Trunchbull had been found and arrested and charged with Murder of the first Degree, child abuse and endangerment, along with a few other serious offenses. She immediately runs to show Jennifer, who lets out a sigh of disbelief and then relief. Finally, justice for her father. And her students. She gives Matilda a massive hug.

Miss Jennifer Honey is awarded Best Principal, of one of the top schools in the state. And rightfully so.

Neither of them have been so happy and so proud. Never did Matilda think this was what it would feel like when Miss Honey told her things were going to be different. All was well and right. Everything was perfect. Matilda had never felt so loved in her life. Miss Honey hadn’t felt so loved in a very long time.

#matilda 1996 #miss honey #matilda wormwood #wlw #sapphic #cottage aesthetic #cottagecore sapphic #miss jennifer honey #embeth davidtz #mara wilson #danny devito #rhea perlman

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oldiesstationlover11607 · 3 days

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Hello friend it is I “katiekitty261” on a new account because I needed to fully immerse myself into this world lol.

May I request a Tyler x Reader where reader is best friends with Tyler and when he introduces them to Josh he gets jealous with how well they get along and realizes his feelings are deeper than just friendship 👀👀 fluffy confessions and MAYBE A KISS 🧎🏻‍♀️ okay bye thanku

Taco Bell Day - Tyler Joseph x Reader

Relationship: Tyler Joseph × Reader

Warnings: Super fluffy but a little jealousy

Word Count: 2114

A/N: HELLO sorry this took a while. Hopefully the length of it makes up for it. feel free to request another fic!!

One hour. That was what I promised Tyler. One hour at this stupid gig he was playing at. I’d heard him play so many times that I could mimic every movement and word of each performance like clockwork. But, friends show up when they’re needed and this was ‘apparently’ the first performance of the band with the new drummer. I hadn’t met him yet but Tyler had gushed about how much Josh reminded him of me and how I ‘had’ to meet him. Tyler’s car pulled up in my driveway, ready to pick me up to watch their soundcheck. Normally bands arrived at around 4pm to soundcheck before grabbing dinner and playing at 7pm–at least that was how Tyler managed to convince me to go down to the venue early. “Bye!” I shouted into the house before running down the driveway and into Tyler’s car. The radio was blasting some pop song which he turned down once I closed my door.

“Ready?” he had a cheesy grin plastered on his face, one of pure joy.

“What’s got you so excited?” I chuckled as we drove off.

“Uh, you’re about to meet Josh,” he spoke as if it was obvious. Most of what he talked about for the last two months was how amazing Josh was and how their vision was the same–to truly make a difference in people’s lives. Tyler was wearing one of the many button up shirts he’d bought in bulk over the summer and a pair of jeans. I didn’t think I’d ever seen him perform without his standard ‘uniform’.

“So, what’s the setlist look like for today?” I asked, pulling out my phone to text my mom back after she’d asked how late I was going to be out.

“Um, Migraine, Ode, Time to Say Goodbye, Forest, Slowtown, and Trees,” he said, reciting all of my favorite songs they’d released recently. “Your favorites, I know. I had to make it worth the trouble for you to show up,” he laughed, turning into the parking lot of the small venue the music scene had dubbed ‘The Pit’. The Pit was a small basement type venue on the far end of town surrounded by clubs and bars. I couldn’t help but smile as we pulled into the lot. Tyler always knew how to reel me in, even when I resisted. I glanced over at him, his grin still plastered on his face as if he was hiding some secret that I was about to uncover. We got out of the car, and Tyler led the way to the entrance. I could already hear the muffled sound of drums echoing from inside. As we stepped through the door, the musty smell of old wood and the distant hum of amplifiers filled the air. Tyler waved at a few familiar faces, guiding me toward the stage where Josh was finishing up with his kit.

“Yo, Josh!” Tyler called out, his voice booming in the otherwise quiet room. Josh looked up and smiled, walking over to greet us. As he got closer, I could see what Tyler had meant. Josh had this laid-back vibe, but there was an intensity in his eyes that reminded me a lot of Tyler—like they were two sides of the same coin. He had scruffy brown hair that needed to be brushed.

“You must be the famous best friend Tyler’s been talking about,” Josh said with a grin, wiping his hands on a rag before extending one to me. His handshake was firm, his grip warm, and there was something so comfortable about him right away.

“And you must be the drummer,” I teased. “Tyler talks about you non-stop, you know.”

Josh laughed, his eyes crinkling at the corners. “Oh, trust me, he’s said more than enough about you too. It’s nice to finally meet you.”

“More than enough?” I raised an eyebrow with a smirk. Josh laughed, placing a hand on his chest. His laugh was enough to bring a soft warmth to the room. He seemed cool. Josh seemed cool.

“I’ve heard the Taco Bell story.”

I let out a loud shriek, turning to Tyler and hitting his arm. “Tyler Joseph!” Tyler laughed maniacally, running around the room. The Taco Bell story detailed the infamous day that Tyler and I had decided to sneak up onto the roof of our local Taco Bell and throw water balloons at people at night–which wasn’t even the worst part. While attempting to tell Tyler that I liked him–which he still didn’t know–I fell off the roof and right into a bush in front of our school principal, earning both Tyler and I three months of detention. “I swear to god,” I pointed at him. Josh and I exchanged a few more words before Tyler pulled me aside to chat about the gig. But something had already shifted. Every time I glanced over, Josh caught my eye, and we’d exchange easy smiles. There was no denying how well we clicked, and Tyler noticed. As the evening went on, I could sense Tyler getting quieter. He wasn’t his usual excited self, and there were these fleeting moments where his smile didn’t quite reach his eyes. I brushed it off at first, thinking he was just focusing on the performance, but the way his gaze lingered on me and Josh—it felt different.

Finally, after the soundcheck, when we were alone for a minute, I nudged him. “You okay, Ty? You’ve been kinda quiet.”

He glanced at me, his expression unreadable. “Yeah… I just—” he hesitated, running a hand through his hair. “It’s nothing. I’m just glad you two get along so well.” There was something in his tone that made me pause, but before I could ask more, Josh came over, bouncing with excitement.

“Alright, who’s hungry? I know a killer taco place nearby.” I pulled a face at him, trying to contain my laughter. “I’m kidding, how about Subway?”

Tyler gave a half-hearted smile and nodded. “Sure..” But as we walked out of the venue, I couldn’t shake the feeling that something was off with him. The usual ease between us felt tense, like something unspoken was hanging in the air. And I couldn’t help but wonder if meeting Josh had stirred up more than Tyler was willing to admit.

As we made our way to the Subway, Josh and I fell into an easy rhythm of conversation. He had a contagious energy, talking about random things like the weirdest venues he’d played at, his obsession with aliens, and how he couldn’t go a day without iced coffee. I found myself laughing, genuinely enjoying the back-and-forth, but every so often I’d glance at Tyler, walking a step behind us, quiet and distant.

Something was definitely up.

When we reached the Subway, Tyler finally spoke up. “I’ll grab the food. You two grab a table.” He barely made eye contact as he slipped past us and went to the counter. I watched him go, feeling a pang of guilt twist in my chest.

Josh and I sat down in one of the corner booths, and for a moment, I tried to focus on our conversation again, but my mind kept wandering back to Tyler. The tension was impossible to ignore now.

“You okay?” Josh asked, his voice dropping slightly as he leaned in, noticing my distracted expression.

I forced a smile. “Yeah, I just… I think Tyler’s a little off tonight.”

Josh’s eyebrows furrowed as he glanced toward Tyler. “Yeah, he’s been kinda weird ever since the soundcheck.” He paused, his tone softening. “Do you think he’s okay?”

I shrugged, biting my lip. “I don’t know. It’s not like him to be this quiet.”

Tyler came back with our food, sliding into the booth across from us, his eyes flickering between me and Josh before settling on his sandwich. We ate in relative silence, the conversation less lively than before. I tried to make small talk, but it felt forced, and Josh must have picked up on it because he didn’t push.

By the time we finished eating, I couldn’t take it anymore. I needed to talk to Tyler—alone.

As we walked back to the car, I gently tugged on his sleeve, pulling him aside. “Hey, Ty… can we talk for a sec?”

He stopped, avoiding my gaze for a moment before finally nodding. Josh lingered by the door of the car, giving us some space but staying within earshot.

“What’s going on?” I asked, my voice quiet but firm. “You’ve been acting weird all night.”

Tyler let out a long breath, his eyes meeting mine, and for the first time tonight, I saw it—something deeper than just his usual moodiness. “It’s stupid,” he muttered.

“No, it’s not,” I insisted, stepping closer. “Just tell me.”

He hesitated again, his hands fidgeting at his sides. “I don’t know. It’s just… seeing you and Josh get along so well, it—” he paused, swallowing hard. “It made me realize something. Something I’ve been trying to ignore.”

My heart skipped a beat, and I suddenly felt like I was holding my breath. “What is it?”

Tyler looked away, then back at me, his eyes filled with an intensity I hadn’t seen before. “I think… I think I like you. More than just… as friends.” The words hung in the air between us, heavy and vulnerable. “I’ve liked you for a while,” he added quietly, his voice barely above a whisper. “But I didn’t want to mess things up, so I kept it to myself. And tonight, seeing you with Josh… I guess it just hit me that I can’t keep pretending I don’t feel this way.” I stood there, my mind racing, the world suddenly feeling too small and too loud all at once. Tyler liked me? Tyler—my best friend, the person I’d always trusted more than anyone else—had feelings for me? I couldn’t hide my smile. “What?” his brows furrowed.

“Remember Taco Bell day?” He paused at my words, nodding. “When I fell off the roof… I was trying to tell you I liked you and I guess I just gave up after that shitty attempt at telling you.” Tyler’s eyes widened, his brows knitting together in surprise.

“Wait, that’s what that was about?” he asked, a faint smile pulling at the corners of his mouth. “I thought you were just clumsy. You never said anything!”

I laughed softly, shaking my head. “I know, I panicked. I figured it wasn’t meant to be when you didn’t say anything back. So I just… let it go.”

He stared at me for a moment, processing everything, his expression softening as the realization sank in. “I can’t believe this,” he muttered, more to himself than to me. “All this time, we’ve both been too scared to say anything.”

I took a step closer, the space between us shrinking. “Guess we’re both idiots then, huh?”

Tyler let out a breathy laugh, his eyes locking onto mine with a tenderness that made my heart flutter. “Yeah, I guess we are.”

The tension that had been building all night melted away, replaced by something warmer, something more certain. Tyler’s hand reached out, gently brushing against mine, and I didn’t hesitate to take it. His touch was familiar, yet different, electric in a way that made me feel like we were on the edge of something new.

“So,” he began, his voice soft, almost tentative, “what happens now?”

I smiled up at him, feeling a rush of warmth spread through my chest. “Well,” I said, squeezing his hand, “maybe we stop pretending and see where this goes?”

Tyler’s gaze flickered between my eyes and my lips, his thumb tracing slow circles on the back of my hand. “Yeah,” he whispered, leaning in closer, “I’d like that.”

Before I knew it, his lips were on mine, soft and gentle, like he was testing the waters. It wasn’t rushed or desperate—it was sweet, like the two of us were finally catching up to what had been simmering beneath the surface for so long.

When we finally pulled away, Tyler rested his forehead against mine, his smile matching the one I couldn’t hide. “We should go check on Josh,” he said, his breath warm against my skin.

I laughed, my heart feeling lighter than it had in ages. “Right.”

From a few feet away, I could see Josh leaning against the car door, pretending to check his phone but very clearly giving us space. Tyler glanced over at him, then back at me with a soft chuckle. “We should probably tell him, huh?”

I nodded, squeezing his hand. “Yeah, but I think he’s already figured it out.”

REQUESTS OPEN

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kingdomhate · 10 months

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First Glance (Part Five)

Warnings: Alluding\Mentions of torture, one-timed cursing, death, intense sadness.

As Anakin speeds away, his eyes determined and at the same type confident, confident he will find his mother. No other thought in his mind, he maneuvers the speeder to make sure he can go in every direction of potential civilization.

The first three times, he was informed of nothing, but with his Jedi instincts and his overconfidence, Anakin was sure he would eventually find someone with sufficient information to find the Sandpeople. At sunset, Anakin got his wish, the hardwork and endless hours of asking and demanding answers, he finally got his questions answered.

Parking his speeder behind a couple of sand mounds, Anakin hopped out and perched himself on the highest mound he could find, looking at the unaware and oblivious people below him; working to keep the fire going and heading into their respective homes. Anakin swiftly skulked into the compact village, his hand on his lightsaber at his hip just for added measure, he looked into the modest-sized windows, checking a majority of them without getting caught, and without sight of his mother.

Until he reached the very last house; no different in appearance to the rest of the bundle, but nevertheless, lightened by the warm glow of the raging but slowly dying fire. Anakin's eyes darted around to check the scenery; empty. But he caught glimpse of someone, although the moved the slightest of inches, he saw them, and to his great surprise, it was his poor mother. Anakin ignited his lightsaber and used it to create a hole in the side of the house and step in.

Hurrying over, Anakin's hands went to check his mother for vital signs: her pulse was detectable, but faintly. Shmi, strapped to a board, wearing nothing but rags, bound and gagged, her fearful eyes swept to Anakin's, fear meeting anger, the two feelings colliding and creating fierce anger. Anakin's fingers worked at her gag, tossing it to the side as Shmi stared at him. When Anakin cut the ropes that bounded his mother to the wall. Shmi fell back, having no apparent balance or strength to fight the fatigue plaguing her mind, Anakin swiftly caught her, sinking to his knees with his mother cradled closely in his embrace.

From the ropes around her wrists and ankles for God knows how long, it resulted in horrible, bloody abrasions that rubbed deep into Shmi's skin. "Mom.." Anakin whispered, his voice cracking. Shmi's hand, weak and battered, caressed softly over Anakin's cheek, before cupping it. "Ani..." She whispered back, the voice Anakin once knew had grown hoarse and so deep into the depths of abuse that it sounded so unlike the warm, loving and tender voice of his mother.

"Mom, why.... why did they do this to you? Why?" Anakin felt the tears pricking in his eyes, but he did not resist, the sight of someone you know only ever loved, in your arms, withered thin and reduced to nothing, the sight makes you lose all sense of self and collapse into a mess of a person. "Ani, I-I....I...I.." Shmi's voice grew more and more faint, her hand still resting on her son's cheek, but her sense of strength wearing more and more frail and feeble. "I l-love you." She spoke as soft as the breeze of summer, her words stabbing through Anakin's heart like ice. He watched in remorse, pain and despair as the life in his mother's eyes faded, and along with that, her body went stiff.

Waiting for Anakin was normally so difficult, but this time, it seemed impossible. Your mind stormed with questions, your stomach burned with anticipation, but the feelings in you ached for the sight of him, to appease your eyes, but you had been waiting all night for him, after he left. Throughout the steadily decrease in temperature and the many warning of Cliegg's that there are predators out at night, scavenging for food, you remained seated on the sand. Some might say it was stubbornness and some might say it was a pathetic attempt to show how much you were remorseful for the argument the two of you shared which ultimately lead to his one-man departure.

However, time decelerated for you at the familiar and welcoming sight of Anakin's speeder, as you stand up and gaze at it, waiting and hoping to see Anakin hop out with his mother, you see Anakin step out, and then move to the passenger side and carry a motionless, wrapped in cloth body.

The look he gave you when he passed you and when Cliegg and Aika stepped outside, was one of pure guilt and anguish so deep, it made tears flood into your eyes. Anakin laid Shmi down, and went inside, grabbed a shovel, came back out and began digging. Cliegg's eyes were wide, but more than surprise or shock, it reflected a look of absolute crest-fallenness. You cautiously approach Anakin, but then stop yourself, as he had so quickly dug the grave and tenderly placed Shmi's body into the resting place, as a mother would carry a child to their crib.

As soon as he had covered the grave with sand, he took a moment to just stand there, to process the pain he felt and then he swept passed you, his eyes a noticeable hollow. "Anakin?" You breath out as you find him in his old bedroom, rebuilding a few random parts with intense but underlying blankness in his eyes. "She's gone." He croaked, the tone of his voice as soft as the wind but as raging as the sea. "She's gone and I couldn't do anything about it. I couldn't... get here sooner, and if I did? She would be here with me and I wouldn't have to feel like this. Feel so useless. Hollow, empty. It fucking hurts, Y\N." You strided over to him, wrapping your arms securely around his waist while leaning your head into his back. "I know, Anakin. I'm so sorry." He sniffles. "I should've been there! I should've.... I should've.." He broke down, sinking to his knees again with you behind him, you crawled to his face and pulled him into a firm, tight embrace.

The sounds of his loud sobs and wailing rung throughout the house, aiding Cliegg in his quiet remorse, but working against Aika's and your separate attempts at solicicing the two men. Anakin's arms stay motionless at his sides, but his he buries his head into your shoulder, muffling his desolate and dismal cries ever so slightly.

Tags:

@sweetcheesecakesblog

@haydenpookiebear

(Let me know if you'd like to be added\taken off of my taglist!)

Last Note: This is not the end of the series! I will be posting a comforting and loving part six soon!

#star wars #angst #anakin skywalker x reader #anakin skywalker #this was really sad #part five #first glance #series #hayden christensen #hope you enjoy #in a galaxy far far away #part six on monday #or friday!

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jellysmudge · 5 months

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Old drawing of my fnaf AU! This AU is a fanfic on AO3 that’s currently at around 78,000 words. It focuses mostly on interpersonal relationships, especially between these three, but also between Mike and Henry.

Michael: The Au focuses on Michael when he is 18 and living with Henry after his father surrendered custody after the Bite of ‘83. He was is foster care for 4 years prior to going to live with Henry after turning 18. He takes a job at the FNAF 2 location to find out more about the animatronics, and the otherworldly… pull he feels to be there. I decided pretty early on that I wanted his style to be kind of 1990s grunge, even though that style hasn’t risen onto the scene yet during the year the story begins (1987). Those nasty chuck tennis shoes he’s wearing probably went all through foster care with him. I also ended up softening how much he looks like William—most of the similarities would be in facial structure and expressions, and they share the same eyes, but their coloring is very different (I made Mike’s mom Latina in this).

Fritz: Fritz is his own character in this AU! During the beginning of the story, he works as a mechanic during the dayshift at Freddy’s (hence the grease rag. He also enjoys working on vehicles!). He develops fast friendships with both new employees (Michael and Jeremy), but has been noticing strange phenomenon around the restaurant for weeks. He also shares overlapping work hours with the daytime security guard, a man called “Dave”, who is starting to look oddly familiar…

Jeremy: Jeremy doesn’t believe in ghosts. He’s a highschool graduate from out of town, who came to the area for college, and took the night shift security position to get some money before term starts in the fall. He may be the most different from most other fanon depictions (other than Fritz, who rarely exists at all), as I started making this AU and long, long time ago, before the blueycapsules craze, and the jeremike rush that has followed ever since. He’s the most sporty of the three, which I tried to reflect in this choice of clothing. When he takes the job at Freddy’s, the abnormal animatronic behavior and overly-relaxed management staff set off alarm bells practically immediately—but something stops him from quitting, despite the physical danger. He isn’t sure if it’s begrudging worry for his new friends, or the weird pull he feels to the place, like something trying to speak.

If you’ve got time, please go read it! I put a lot of care into the story, and if you have questions, my asks are open :}

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manwrre · 11 months

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ever since i saw billy’s little montage where he was getting ready, i’ve been DREAMING of a modern!witchbilly having this extensive pre-date, grwm ritual. one that he learnt from his mom, of course, who was a devout wiccan.

i’m talking about a routine that takes freaking HOURS and every part of it is infused with a bit of love magic— something that makes him smell and look divine-levels of irresistible but only to the one. which makes things really confusing at first, when oddly enough, it seems to only work on steve ie. his best friend

also known as the guy that he’s been crushing on since he was a kid. since he was a teeny tiny tot and they went to the same pre-k. and he knows, okay? He Knows. spare him the trope conversation. heather doesn’t fail to remind him that he’s a cliche!

so when steve finally asks him out, it’s no surprise that billy just really goes in. i know for a fact, he’d have a spotify playlist named ‘for s’ or some bullshit and the whole time, it’s just songs that remind him of steve. sensual, slow beats beneath the voices of frank ocean or brent faiyaz, alina baraz and dvsn.

and like, the date would be at 6pm or something but billy would start washing his hair from noon so he gets his curls all perfectly coiled. he’d use his signature scent— this rich lavender that always has steve pressing his nose into his nape. and billy would massage deosil circles into his skull to create peace of mind and set clear intentions. he’d then rub widdershins into the same spots to dispel doubt.

his next step would involve having his favorite candles lit up in the bathroom and drawing himself a bath. he’d soak in a tub of water and milk, rose petals and honey; nectar of the gods. and he’d scrub his skin clean and soft with a gentle rag, having shaved the day before and use jojoba oil to moisturize once he’s done. he’ll even dab a bit of vanilla at his pulse points to maintain before he moves unto his usual skincare.

he’d wear his favorite red shirt to incite feelings of passion and desire (and because steve can barely take his eyes off his chest). he’d have three buttons all done up, slide three, silver rings unto his fingers and layer on his three favorite chains; the metal of them cold against his chest.

his mom had always told him that there was deep magic in makeup, too. she’d sit him down at her vanity and run her hand through his hair almost idly, while getting dolled up.

and she was right, of course. there was something primordial about painting one’s face and becoming another facet of yourself. and it was obvious that women had always been inherently magical beings; mothers, like little goddesses, in their own way. his mother, salome? the most golden of them all.

so he’d think of her as he applied mascara to his lashes and eyeliner to his waterline. he’d hear her laughter while he smudged a hint of red lipstick across his cheeks and lips. he’d even blow a kiss at his own reflection or wink, the very same way that she would and knows for a fact, that the magic has been set; imbued so deeply by a love that has won battles and brought men to their knees

a mother’s.

ALSO, it’s safe to say that the first time that steve witnesses the entire process of billy getting ready, he falls in love with him all over again.

#harringrove #billy hargrove #steve harrington #stranger things #billy stranger things #steve stranger things #billy hargrove x steve harrington #steve harrington x billy hargrove #boys in love #billy x steve #manwrre #witch billy #witchy harringrove #billy’s mom #billy hargrove blurb #steve harrington blurb #witches #halloween #spooky boys

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periprose · 1 year

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Florence - Chapter Two

Despite your attempts to keep a healthy amount of distance between you and Peter, you end up growing closer together (a bit fast for your own tastes) as you experience the joys of air travel. MJ seems to be having wedding troubles when you get there, so it's up to you and Peter to cheer her up.

Becoming friends again, mild flirting, banter, mutual pining, Peter not understanding his own feelings, air travel stuff, lots of going on about how beautiful Italy is

Masterlist | Previous Chapter | Next Chapter

You’re surprised how fast the month goes after that. It’s July 15th, and tomorrow, you’ll be on the flight to Italy.

You pack every Sunday- just putting away all your cute, summery clothes, your swimsuits, and other nice dresses that might be needed for special events. MJ is supposedly bringing a whole bunch of extra outfits for everyone, which was notably given to her from Dior’s fashion house.

The mental bill you’re calculating for the whole thing is getting really high.

Ever since Peter moved back into his house, you’ve been catching him doing silly things through his room window- brushing his teeth while dancing, waking up shirtless (you averted your eyes so quickly), and today playing with a tennis ball, accidentally throwing it through his open window and hitting your window with it, looking sheepish about it- but it started a conversation between the two of you.

Hey. Peter mouths, and then he waves at you.

You blink, and then wave back.

What’s up? He mouths, and you shrug.

You lift up a pile of clothing. Just packing.

Same. Peter holds up a ratty sweater- and your eyes widen with recognition.

You open up your room window, and Peter finally smiles, because he’s gotten you to talk to him.

“Is that-?” You point to it, and then start laughing. “Oh my god, I can’t believe you still have the Mathematics Club sweater!”

“I can’t believe you’re admitting you got rid of such a cherished memory. So casually, too, Howlett.” Peter sighs, as if he’s actually defeated by such an idea.

“Wait.” You hold up your finger, and Peter does wait as you rummage around in your room, until finally, you pick up a raggedy old cloth. You hold it up to him.

It is your ninth grade sweater- at least, it’s a piece of fabric with the same emblem- and it’s just clearly being used as a rag to clean things up.

Peter scoffs. “Jesus, Howlett. That thing looks rancid.”

“It’s for cleaning!” You’re indignant, but Peter is laughing at you, and you jokingly huff. “Okay, whatever. Pack a sweater that won’t fit you, I don’t care. I’m not wearing it.”

“Okay, mom.” Peter tosses it on his bed, and you feel such familiarity towards him suddenly. It’s hard not to smile- but you remind yourself that Peter just wants friendship, and he’s just trying to be on good terms with you.

You shake your head, letting your smile falter a little, and continue packing in mutual silence with Peter.

You wake up really late by accident. Like, 4 AM, and the red-eye flight (it’s a fast one that will get you there in 4 hours, courtesy of Harry) is at 5:30 AM, and you need at least two hours to go through all the bullshit at the airport before you can get to your gate.

Logan is snoring downstairs- he’s fallen asleep on the couch by accident. If your dad didn’t weigh like 300 pounds of pure muscle (you don’t know how a teacher could be so buff) you’d lift him up out of the living room.

But you decide to just get ready for the airport. You shower really fast- brush your teeth- and throw all the extra stuff like makeup, skincare, and perfume into your mini backpack, where your phone, passport, and wallet are already in. Airport clothes are a comfy pair of green Adidas running shorts, a loose gray muscle tee, sneakers, and your hair pulled back in a claw clip.

Logan is very slow as you try to push him out the door.

“Dad- C’mon- We’re gonna be late-!” You’re shoving against him, with your suitcase and bag and all of your might, and Logan is just so. Damn. Slow.

He grumbles, scratches his face, and then makes his way out the door, with one shitty duffel bag and a pair of sandals that you don’t think will last the walk to the car. Logan is never prepared for shit.

As you’re walking out, in the very dark early morning, Peter, May and Ben are all inside their car, and Logan suddenly groans.

“I forgot to fill up the tank yesterday.” He yawns, and you look at him with the most irritated, pissed off look you can muster.

Years of doing that still have no effect on Logan. He just rolls his eyes.

“Fuck off, Lettie. We’ll call a cab.” He says, but Ben, who’s at the wheel of the Parker car, immediately waves at you two.

“We’ve got room- if you don’t mind stuffing your bag in the back seat.” Ben points to Logan’s duffle bag, and he sighs and tells you that he’s still sitting in the front.

Leaving you to put your own suitcase into the trunk, and then awkwardly clamber into the back seat, where you’re wedged in between Peter and May.

May touches your arm with a fond warmth- and it immediately makes you feel guilty that you’ve pushed away this family. They never did anything to you, you were just being extraordinarily selfish.

Peter’s bare leg is touching yours, and you snicker at how prickly it is.

“What?”

“Your leg is so… hairy.” You joke, and Peter’s eyes narrow.

“It’s called being a man.” He leans back in his seat, and you try not to laugh at just how lanky and tall Peter looks sometimes. He’s wearing a t-shirt and gym shorts combo, which looks like his pajamas- it would not surprise you if it was.

“It’s 2023, Pete. Doesn’t hurt to be gender non-conforming now and then.” You retort.

“Let’s not pretend you care about woke-isms now, Howlett. You just want to be comfortable.” He responds without missing a beat. And if anything, he pushes his leg against yours a little harder.

You would be lying if you said you didn’t like it.

“What the hell are you guys going on about?” Logan mumbles in confusion, and you and Peter giggle. Logan rubs his eyes- and then decides to disguise his tired expression with sunglasses.

“Beats me.” Ben pulls out of the driveway, and begins the short drive to JFK International Airport. “You two better not bicker like children the whole time.”

Logan laughs at that, and you look down at your feet, thinking that you missed bickering with Peter.

Peter pulls out a phone- evidently his work phone- and May immediately tuts.

“It’s supposed to be a vacation, Peter. You deserve that, at least.” She reprimands him, and crosses her arms. Making you lean even closer to Peter. “No work. Lettie, tell him.”

You meet Peter’s glance- and he has an interesting look on his face. Like he’s daring you to talk to him for real, in a serious way where you care about what he’s doing.

“It’s not really my business, but…” You start, and you can see Peter’s eyes shift ever so slightly- he’s disappointed, you think. “I think you should let yourself have fun.”

“Okay, that’s fair. I’m putting it on silent.” He makes a big motion of pressing the do not disturb button, and then stuffs it into his backpack. “Hey, want a gummy bear?”

You’re taken aback. “Uh, no. It’s probably too early in the morning for that- plus I don’t want to think how long gummy bears have been in your bag for.”

“Your loss.” Peter tosses a handful in his mouth as you gag. “What, c’mon, Howlett. We all need a hearty breakfast to start the day-”

“I’m buying real breakfast at the airport.” You cross your arms, and Peter nods, chowing down on more gummy bears.

“I’m hungry.” He smiles at you, and his teeth are covered in gummy bits, congealed in a disgusting rainbow of colours that has you instantly cackling with laughter.

“Oh my god, dude. You’re gonna get so many cavities.” You’re literally trying not to laugh but Peter is really, really good at stupid faces, and he keeps sneering at you like a little pig, and you shake with laughter as he keeps nudging you.

You’re doing your best to be his buddy, and you feel like it doesn’t hurt as much as you thought it would. If anything, you actually… you like being his friend, even if you can’t have it all.

You have a small, sheepish smile on your face that you’re desperately trying to get rid of now. Peter side eyes you- and he’s content to see that he’s still got the ability to make you laugh uncontrollably.

The airport is incredibly busy for 4:20 AM.

Families are running- literally jogging with all their bags and new paraphernalia bought from the airport shops- towards their gates, TSA agents are being really touchy about everything today, and the line ups for everything are really, really long.

You don’t need to check in any suitcases, so you skip that. Your passports and tickets are checked by multiple different authoritative people.

It seems to happen in a bit of a rush. You’re pushed through security, and you grimace as they look through your suitcase- for some reason the TSA agent opens the zipper of the clear mesh bag holding all your underwear and lingerie- and he leers at you.

“Going on a special trip? Maybe some yachting?” He asks, grinning, and you know he’s insinuating that you’re one of those girls who “yacht”, as in, providing sexual favours to guests there as a hired hooker.

Your dad’s fist tightens, but you push him forward. “It’s fine, dad. We don’t really have time for this.”

“No, it’s not fine.” Peter speaks up, and he’s scratching the back of his hair, but you can tell Peter has that look on his face- he’s not gonna let this go. He’s a protective, justice-oriented guy, you know that.

“Peter, please… it’s the TSA. You don’t want to get in trouble with them.” You shake your head and peer up at him, and Peter can’t really say no when you’re pleading at him with those big, sad eyes.

The TSA agent doesn’t like that Peter said anything at all. “Sir, I’m gonna need to do a pat-down procedure on you.”

You turn, a level of shock and just awe at the audacity of this guy working it’s way onto your face. “Are you serious? Is it because he said something?”

The agent is silent for a moment. “...Not related.”

You don’t buy it, and you’re about to say something, but Peter squeezes your shoulder.

“Howlett, it’ll just take a second. Otherwise we’re going to hold up the line, and then we’ll be late for our flight. Right?” He whispers, and it’s very Peter to comfort you like this- but you can see in his eyes that by defending him, you did do the right thing, the very thing that he wanted you to from the beginning- that you care.

You do care, even if you tried to act like you didn’t.

“Okay. Just… stay safe.” You say, and you look back at Peter being ushered into the pat-down booth as you, Logan, Ben and May are allowed to pass through security.

You’re waiting in the check in line when Peter finally returns, grinning widely. He’s holding his cheek in a weird way- and you look up at him, looking inquisitive, but Peter sidesteps your almost-question instantly.

“I bought breakfast?” He holds up a bag, and reaches in to hand you a breakfast burrito. You’re too hungry to ask your question and eat at the same time, and Peter beams at you, May, Logan and Ben as you guys eat. Quickly, too, because you’ve only got ten more minutes to check in.

Checking into the flight goes a lot smoother. The check-in lady recognizes that you have first class seats, which are very coveted and basically label you as VIP members of the flight.

You cringe at the level of opulence that Harry seems to be paying for- Peter, too, gives you a look that just reads “yikes.”

It’s not very growing-up-in-the-poor-suburbs-of-Queens of you, but you’re not gonna say no now.

The airplane seats are large and spacious. You struggle to reach the luggage hold, and Peter wordlessly lifts up your suitcase, puts it in, and then his own, and shuts the hold with a clink. He gives you a funny look- like he’s about to raise his arms and say “no, really, it was my pleasure.”

And he does just that, to your mild surprise. He used to do that all the time when you were kids- if you got too cushy about Peter being your little servant, he would go overboard to make you give him some gratitude.

“Sorry. Thank you, Peter.” You say with as much sincerity as you can muster, because you’re just exhausted at this moment.

“No worries. I’m tired too.” Peter leans back in his seat, which has a metre gap of distance from you. There’s a large flat screen in front of his seat, which is really like a lounge chaise sofa, and a table that is ergonomically designed to also rest his arms on. Everything looks like a futuristic piece of art.

Peter suddenly scowls, and holds his cheek again.

“Hey… you never told me what happened to your face.” You lean forward on the arm rest of Peter’s chair, and gently pull his hand back.

Peter’s face is sheepish as you do. He refuses to meet your glance, even when you gasp.

“Peter! That’s a-” You touch the newly red, freshly bruised skin on his cheek, and he flinches. “A bruise-!”

He clamps his hand over your mouth. “Shut it, I don’t need Aunt May on my case about that.”

You gently pry his hand off of you. “But what happened?”

Peter’s eyes fall to the floor of the cabin.

“Don’t lie to me.” You immediately start, and he sighs with a well known just-my-Parker-luck air.

“Okay, listen. I wasn’t trying to be a hero, or anything like that…” He plays around with his knuckles. “The TSA dude didn’t exactly shut up when he got me into the booth.”

You’re silent, but you’re listening really, really hard, and Peter looks up just to make sure that you are listening. God, he missed the times when you looked at him so intently.

“Well, I don’t know if I should say what he-”

“Say it.” You give him your consent, because you need to know what got Peter so riled up that he would let himself get beat up.

“He… um…” Peter swallows, and he wonders if he should. Because you’re only now just starting to open up- he’s worried that he’ll say the wrong thing and push you aside, and he can’t have that again.

Peter continues anyways. “He made a shitty joke- just some offhand comment about how he could show you a better time than me, I guess?”

You feel your face turn hot at the implication.

“And… he just wouldn’t stop. I tried, you know, to just ignore it, to respect women and not give into the toxic masculinity bullshit. But that made him more… eager to get a response.” Peter stares at his hands, and he starts getting a bit of a grimace going on. “He started going on about how your body must look- I’m not gonna repeat that, sorry, even if you want me to, I think it’s too much- and I guess he kept saying it was a shame you were wasted on me.”

You hold Peter’s arm, and he looks back up at you.

“That’s when I couldn’t take it. I punched him.” He shrugs, and your eyes widen.

“Peter…”

“I don’t regret it, Howlett. He had it coming- it was so satisfying to watch.” Peter shakes his head. “I know, I know. That’s toxic. And he punched me back, see?”

“I thought you knew better than getting into fights.” You cross your arms. “Ah, well at least I can rest easy knowing it wasn’t about me.”

“Wasn’t about-” Peter gives you an incredulous glance. “Of course it was about you, moron.”

“Huh?” You look at him, eyebrows furrowed. “C’mon, Peter. You only punched him when he made you feel inadequate.”

“I don’t care about that.” Peter is impatient, but you’re just barely listening now. Already convinced of your own idea. “I care that he thought all of your value was summed up in whether or not he got a hard on. That you exist just to be the receiving object of some idiot’s orgasm.”

“Great visuals as usual, Peter.” You snicker, but he’s entirely serious. “Okay. I’m sorry… I know that you care.”

You ignore the hollow feeling in your chest as you say that. Maybe Peter was so disgusted, so thrown off by the very idea of you two together, like that, that he would defend your honour in the most purely, platonic way.

You know these thoughts aren’t rational. You’re just too cowardly to really talk to him about it.

Peter doesn’t even really know what threw him off like that, anyways. Of course he was going to defend you- you’re too special to him that he would let anyone talk about you like that. Even a potential boyfriend.

He shudders internally at that thought for some reason, and then can’t place why. Why beat someone up for you? Why feel threatened by a boyfriend?

He doesn’t love you… right?

Peter’s got a hell of a lot of questions swirling around in his brain now, and they’re not getting any clearer as you start backing away a little. There’s a couple of potential answers, sure, but he’s not going to get a genuine one unless he talks to you.

“I… um… I care about you too.” You say in the most monotone whisper, and Peter cannot tell if you mean that in any way at all, let alone platonically or romantically.

Damn it, he thinks. She’s pulling away again. Is this what happened last time? I was accidentally displaying too many feelings, and she didn’t know how to reject me?

Peter exhales. He thinks this should be a good thing. You’re at least talking to him- he’s going to be okay with that for now.

“Okay.” He blinks. “I hope I didn’t make you uncomfortable.”

“No…” You roll your eyes at your own antics. “Peter, I’m just an overthinking idiot sometimes.”

“I know.”

You hit his shoulder and he laughs.

“We’re good, right?” You ask, and Peter nods, as if he was insulted that you had to even ask the question. It seems a tad put on, but you take it.

“Aw… we can’t watch a movie together now.” He tuts, pointing at how individual and faraway your seats and personal screens are.

“Maybe that’s for the better.” You yawn, stretching and teetering on the arm rest that you’re sitting on. “We should get some sleep?”

Suddenly, a flight attendant walks past you in the aisle with the drink cart, which hits you just hard enough that you fall over the arm rest. You steady yourself, and your face brushes against Peter’s cheek.

He’s unnerved how close you are to him now. It doesn’t help that the relationship between the two of you that was assumed by the TSA agent was so… erotic in nature.

Peter’s head is swirling with ideas and thoughts that he’s not sure have any valid place in reality- he nearly bites his tongue when he’s possessed by some inane urge to kiss you. He looks down at his legs, and then back at you, feeling guilty when he just said he cares about you as a person. Maybe he sees it both ways? Maybe he likes you so much that it’s truly intertwined in that emotion that one might describe as love?

Peter’s eyes drift towards your own, and then back to your lips. You feel your face warm- and then your stomach flip flops, and you decide to put an end to it before it gets complicated.

“I’m- uh… I’m gonna just-” You get up and motion to your seat, and he nods, unable to talk about what just happened.

Peter only wakes you up close to when the flight is over. It’s only the two of you in this cabin, and it’s very dark, so you nearly punch him until you realize who it is.

“Jesus, Peter!” You draw your arm back, and he snickers. “What is it?”

“You fell asleep for most of the flight.”

“So you were watching me, creep?” You blink at him, only half joking.

Peter sighs, and leans forward on the balls of his feet.

“This coming from the girl who would stare at me through the window when I was waking up for elementary school every morning?” Peter raises his eyebrows, and you shake your head, laughing.

“That was perfectly innocent.” You snort. “I was just saying hello to my good friend. You.”

He notices that you sound more okay with being his friend again, and he’s glad. You wave at him, making a mockery of how you used to always say hi, and Peter grabs your hand.

He nudges- well, pushes- you to move over on your absolutely massive seat-bed, which was honestly too much space for just you, anyways. And he sits down next to you.

“So?” You try to ignore how Peter’s body is against your own.

“Here.” He hands you a aluminum foil container, that you’re kind of surprised you didn’t see him holding, and you take it. It’s quite heavy.

“You were knocked out cold for a bit, and the flight attendant really didn’t want to leave you hanging with airplane food.” Peter scratches his face. “I know, right? VIP privileges right there.”

“Yeah. There have been plenty of summers us poors have been forgotten back in the economy seats.” You sniff, and Peter laughs.

“So yeah. It’s just your food.” He nods, but you wonder why he’s sitting next to you, and tell him as much.

“Oh, right.” Peter pulls out his phone. “MJ kept texting me about something… just give me a moment…”

At the sound of her name, you feel your heart plummet rapidly.

You try to remind yourself- it’s been almost a decade, and you’re too old to be caring this much about that- plus these are some of your closest friends.

You resist the urge to push Peter away, and yet, you miss what he’s said entirely.

You’re seventeen years old again. You’re sitting outside at a park bench with your friends.

MJ is telling you about how excited she is to go to prom this year- and how she just must find the perfect dress in the most accurate blue-green shade that matches her eyes correctly.

You’re only half listening- you don’t really care all that much about prom. What’s more important is getting into university.

You have your heart set on NYU, and Peter, Empire State. MJ and Har, on the other hand, are leaping headfirst into their careers, MJ with modelling, and Harry taking over a management position at his dad’s company.

You’re not even really thinking about university right now, either. Peter is staring at MJ as she talks to you, her long red tresses of hair bundled into a messy bun, making the perfect halo of copper strands. She looks like a princess of some faraway medieval kingdom- she’s just missing a crown.

Your smile falters as you watch Peter blink, and turn red, unable to tear away his gaze at MJ as she giggles at his not-that-funny joke.

This is so stupid. You think, but your thoughts are barely coherent. I was never even an option for him. Why can’t I just be normal? Why do I have to get upset over every little thing? I just want him to look at me like that. He didn’t do anything wrong…

But you think to yourself that Peter did do something wrong. This whole time, you had started to grow affectionate when he would offer to hold your books, or walk home together from school, or study in the library for finals. He had become exceedingly good looking- no longer wearing his reading glasses, brushing his hair into more of a long, scruffy look, his scrawny teenage body slowly becoming more built into the body of a man- and you find that lately Peter’s brown eyes mean more to you than you used to think.

Perhaps your only mistake was assuming that anything he did was any different from your usual friendship.

The thought sobers you from your internal thrashing. Peter hasn’t really led you on at all, you’re just an idiot with too many feelings.

Peter says something about how MJ’s eyes are more blue than green, and she giggles and widens her eyes so he can take a good look at them and see just how wrong he is. As he leans closer, and closer, his eyes peering into her own as if he’s actually studying the colour and not looking for an excuse to just be near her, you feel sick.

Sick of being ugly, being the weird best friend, being totally boring and just not as cool as MJ. And sick of the unrequited nature of this fondness you feel for Peter- it’s not anyone’s fault, but you wish it just didn’t happen. It’s like an awful joke.

You’re back to the present. Peter has been shaking your shoulder.

“Huh?”

“MJ says she’s really sorry, but she needs to ask us to be at a rehearsal wedding and reception today.” Peter says, and he shows you his phone like it’s nothing. “Something about the Cathedral not being available any other time.”

Like you’re not a creep who wouldn’t immediately check how often he texts MJ.

You take a tiny inhale. Remember how old you are. Remember that Peter does care about you and what’s in the past is in the past. You read the Instagram messages like a normal person.

maryjanewatson: Hey peter!! Can you tell lettie that we’re having the wedding rehearsal today? Like 5 hours after you guys get out the airport

maryjanewatson: So sorry btw, i tried to rearrange it for tmr so u would at least have a day’s rest!! sadly it did not work out.

pbp: yeah that’s fine. Don’t worry about it, I’ll tell her. We’ll try to be awake :)

You blink. It’s just messages between friends, not even a hint of flirting between them, and then you wonder what the hell is wrong with you that you expected any different. MJ loves Harry- she would never look at another man the same way as she did him- and Peter, regardless of whatever his current feelings were, would always respect that.

“So that’s fine, right?” Peter comments, because you haven’t said anything in a bit and he wonders what you’re zoning out about.

“Yeah, she can’t help that. It’s fine.” You yawn a little. “I wonder what we’ll have to do.”

“Knowing Harry and MJ, it’s going to be a super coordinated affair, but I’m sure we’ll be fine.” Peter pauses. “At least, I’m sure you’ll be fine. I might trip when walking down the aisle.”

“And who’s arm am I holding?” You nudge him jokingly. “I’ll try to hold you up, Parker.”

Another IG message from MJ pops up before Peter can respond, and you read it before you instinctively tell yourself not to.

maryjanewatson: Oooo, so you guys are tired??? What on EARTH could u two have been doing to be so sleepy, I wonder? ( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°)

Peter groans, and you- to your credit- start laughing. Cackling, really.

MJ knows how to joke around, so it doesn’t sound nearly as bad in the way she puts it. But you wonder if she’s been teasing Peter a lot, and it makes you feel guilty, that your own silly former crush is making MJ feel the need to play matchmaker.

Peter is amused at your reaction, but he doesn’t know why you’re laughing so hard, and why he cares so much about the reason.

“She doesn’t-” Peter starts, but so do you.

“She doesn’t know what she’s talking about.” You nod, and Peter nods in solidarity.

You’re glad you can at least form a union on that.

Peter checks out his reflection in his phone screen. “Shit.”

“Huh?”

“This looks pretty bad.” He points to his face, and you see that the bruise still looks shiny and red. “Howlett, you’ve got makeup or something, right? Can’t imagine what Harry and MJ will do when this ruins their pictures.”

“I’m sure it will heal in a day or two.” You say drily, but you still pull out stuff out of your backpack. “Here’s a cream for burns- it’s not really meant for bruises, but it will help with the pain, if you’re feeling anything.”

Peter takes it, and slathers some on, instantly sighing as the cool sensation relieves the heat of the bruise.

“Oh, you just gotta-” You don’t know how to tell Peter that he needs to rub it in, so you do it for him, your fingers gently patting and rubbing the cream into his cheek.

Peter stares at you, and keeps staring even as you look away into your bag again. Your face is warm again, because you forgot just how close you are to him and MJ’s last message really doesn’t help your thoughts here.

But you also just feel a fondness for him, which is nice. It’s nice to be his friend, and take care of him like this- if Peter would let you, you’d do this for the rest of your life.

“Okay, I know this looks odd, but this will draw attention away from the redness.” You pull out a green colour corrector, and Peter nods.

“Colour theory. Nice.” He says drily as you dab little green spots with the doe foot applicator, and then rub his skin.

Peter’s eyes drift from your hand, to your face, to your eyes, and then to your mouth again, and you watch his jaw clench- he visibly swallows and lets you keep going.

You stop when the green has melted into his skin, making it look effortlessly clean and peachy like his natural skin tone, as if nothing had happened.

“Better?” You ask, and Peter looks at his reflection again.

“Better.” Peter says in a significantly more husky tone, and you try your best to ignore the shivers down your spine.

The airport in Florence is pretty ordinary. A modern building with not much appeal inside of it. You, Peter, Logan, May and Ben arrive there around 2 PM, thanks to the time zone difference. You head inside a cute mini bus after a quick chat with the security agents- Peter doesn’t have to punch this guy, as he’s perfectly polite- and it’s off to drive to where the Villa Cetinale will be waiting for you.

Your dad taps your shoulder, and you turn.

“Smile for the camera, kid?” Logan holds up his Canon camera, and you have to laugh at the fact that he takes photography so seriously. There’s a whole Italy album spanning years worth of funny, heartfelt moments.

You nod, and Peter flashes bunny ears behind you as you smile. The next picture is of you shoving him, and Peter laughing.

The wind coming through the shuttle window is relaxing. You find yourself feeling more relaxed, remembering that this is a vacation, and you are supposed to have fun.

“Darn. We didn’t get any Neapolitan pizza.” Peter says, and you tell him that you’re sure you can get some in Florence.

“Really, Howlett? I thought our years of Neapolitan pizza eating would teach you some well-deserved snobbery.”

“Is it going to be that different in Florence?” You raise an eyebrow at him.

Peter takes a dramatic pause. “...Yes. Don’t you know anything about the regional differences in food here?”

“I’m sorry, I forgot you were Italian. Apparently.”

As you banter, May and Ben smile to themselves. Thinking just how great it is that you two are finally in cahoots with each other again.

One hour later, an hour you’ve spent mostly napping, as it is, you arrive to the Villa Cetinale, which is in Siena. Despite MJ saying that it wouldn’t be like Florence, you’re uncultured enough that all of Italy feels the same. Peter wakes you up with a tender grasp on your shoulder, and Logan gives the two of you an inquisitive look- which makes Peter drop his hand immediately.

“Oh my god.” Those are your first words as you walk out of the bus, after you’ve thanked the driver that Harry has apparently paid to drop you right off at the Villa Cetinale.

The first thing you see is a gorgeous, lush garden, full of mossy bushes and trees that are snipped into geometric shapes, perfect square and triangles that you can walk through. There are large, marble sculptures covered in vines, and you assume they must be decades if not centuries old, just based on some of the weathering and rough textures.

There are massive flowerpots in between the bushes, containing either shrubbery or pretty, delicate yellow flowers. And at the centre of the land, is a beautiful square, boxy building, looking as large as a mansion, in an off white colour contrasted by green window shutters, somehow both cozy and luxurious in it’s scattered brick exterior. A four pillar opening to an inner loggia (an open patio of sorts) and swirling emblems give the impression of an art piece.

It’s stunning- it looks like a vacation home fit for a royal family.

It totally makes sense why Harry would rent this place for his wedding. Yes, it’s probably obscenely expensive, but you have to admit- it has that soft touch that MJ probably wanted, and it’s very pretty to look at.

The air quality is almost sinfully clean, and you feel a wide smile working it’s way onto your face. The sun is shining, the smell of the soil and path around you is familiar- and you turn to smile at Peter.

“I love Italy.” You beam, and he, for whatever reason, looks away for a moment- if Peter was honest, it’s because you were unexpectedly too cute and he could not handle it- but he turns back towards you and says that he agrees.

“I’m glad we’re back.” Peter comments as you motion for him to come along while you pull your suitcase, and walk down the gravel path towards the door.

It’s kind of a long walk, actually, which tells you how much land this place actually spans. You pass by other smaller buildings- they appear to be sheds, or perhaps homes for the servants of the villa, you can’t be sure- and as you walk, you turn just to take in your surroundings. There’s loads of forest spanning both the front and back of the villa.

When you reach the front gate of the villa, MJ pops out of the front door immediately, swinging through the patio chairs and tables between the pillars. She’s wearing a bright coral sundress that somehow does not clash with her red hair, and she’s also wearing big, white framed sunglasses, which make her look even more famous.

You think she and Harry will raise a great nepo baby someday, just based on the current vibes you’re getting. You wonder if you’ll be an adequate aunt.

“Lettie, Peter! Buongiorno!” She runs towards you guys, and hugs you both. MJ is a pretty firm hugger- you feel squeezed lovingly, and it’s as if she didn’t see you recently- and she pulls back with a gasp.

“We need to talk about your guys’ outfits. It’s too…” She trails off.

“Poor?” You try, and MJ laughs but shakes her head.

“Casual?” Peter attempts, and MJ sort of nods at that, giving him the point of her finger.

“Yes. Casual sounds about right. No worries, we’ve got tons of clothes for you guys to try on here.” MJ takes a moment to hug Logan, and then May and Ben, and then motions for you to follow her.

“MJ’s gonna make us over until we’ve become little signores and signoras she can be proud of.” Peter whispers as you enter through the pillars of the Villa, into a large foyer with sloping ceilings and elaborate tile work.

“I heard that.” MJ says, cheerfully so. “I don’t mind if you guys want to wear your own clothes- it was just a humble suggestion.”

“That’s coming from you. A total bridezilla?” You ask, only half-joking, and MJ… despite how happy MJ always seems to be, she seems to crack a little here, and then she snorts and laughs loudly.

“I needed that. Needed a laugh. I’m so glad you guys are here. I am so tired of playing up the role of future Mrs. Osborn.” She admits rather candidly, and Logan gets a wary look on his face.

“Don’t mean to intrude, but… isn’t that bad if you’re going to be that for the rest of your life?” He says with nearly no tact, and you gasp, affronted.

“Dad!” You scoff at him, while MJ’s smile trembles a little, as she flinches. “She didn’t mean it like that.”

“Yeah, I took it more like, it’s hard to be the lady-in-charge of the Villa and all the wedding planning and stuff, right, MJ?” Peter asks, and she nods a little too eagerly.

“Y-Yeah. Exactly.” MJ sighs, and then tells a servant standing nearby to take your suitcases to your rooms. “I’m sorry… just give me a moment.”

She walks through the main hall, and through the back door, probably into the vast garden of the back.

Peter winces. You glare at Logan.

“What, Lettie?” Logan crosses his arms, getting that grumpy I-know-better-than-you look. “People always need honesty, even if they don’t want to hear it.”

“Not if we don’t know the whole situation, Dad.” You roll your eyes, and Peter doesn’t want to comment on this, but he feels that you’re right. He’s just really bad at coming between you and Logan- he’s afraid of what Logan will say to him, and he really can’t risk losing the hard-earned friendship he’s spent literally decades cultivating with Logan.

Peter just hopes you won’t be annoyed that he’s not defending you in this moment.

“Do we want to go talk to her?” He asks gently, and you hear the usage of we, like a couple, and fail to respond for a moment.

“Let’s give her a minute and then go.”

Ben and May are the first to agree with you, kind of- they still have the older mentality of telling it like it is. Still, Ben thinks highly of MJ and Harry, and he tells you as much.

“I always thought those two were on the same page.” Ben tuts, flipping through one of the many books that the main hall offers for you to read. “It’s probably just pre-wedding jitters.”

“Lord knows we had them.” May giggles suddenly, and Ben chuckles at that. “I thought Ben was going to leave me when I started crying about the ring being a little too loose.”

“You just weren’t eating, May.” Ben reminds her. “You must’ve lost… like ten pounds or something like that, it’s no wonder the engagement ring was sliding off.”

The thought that MJ isn’t eating because of nerves, combined with that strict modelling regime needed to stay hot and skinny, strikes you suddenly, and you tug on Peter’s arm.

“We should go talk to her now.” You say, fear becoming apparent in your voice. You’re worried- Peter can see that clearly in your eyes- because you do remember how frazzled MJ seemed to be, just on the edges, throughout your bridesmaid dress appointment, and that lunch where she just picked at a salad… and how often she checked at her phone, with a disappointed glance, which she quickly covered over with a smile.

You feel like the worst friend. You hadn’t really noticed that MJ needed someone, and you need to be there for her now.

It’s easy to be distracted by all the pretty interior design of the villa, and even as you step through the backyard doors, into the outside, there are more beautiful marble statues, two twin staircases that lead to the second floor of the villa, and many more trees and bushes- you think you can see the famed lemon garden here- but you assert yourself to stay focused on MJ.

Peter walks quickly, not just to keep up with you, but because he’s worried, since you are. You have pretty good judgement of most emotional situations- in fact everyone usually comes to you for advice. So Peter knows your opinion is valuable, and he’s really hoping MJ is okay.

She’s sitting on a white garden chair, under an umbrella, in the shade. Her hair looks like a deep auburn- and it just makes her seem more sombre.

MJ’s drinking a lightly iced tea, and you can already guess there’s no sugar in there.

“Hey, Mary Jane…” You touch her shoulder, and she tries her best to smile at you.

“Lettie.” She sighs, a deep sigh embittered with pent up sadness, and you wonder why. “I’m sorry. I should’ve been nicer to you guys… what a horrible start to your vacation.”

“We don’t care about that.” You start, and Peter thinks about the use of we, too, but he quickly brushes that aside. “Just… are you okay to tell us what’s wrong?

“You don’t have to say anything if you don’t want to.” Peter says, and he sits down next to her, and you do, too.

MJ breathes in. Shuts her eyes. And then squeezes a wedge of lemon into her tea.

“It’s not a big deal, at all. It’s just me being silly, I swear.” She suddenly, violently squishes the lemon, and lemon pulp splatters onto the table.

You wince, and give Peter a look. He knows what you mean- things are not well.

“Who am I kidding?” MJ scoffs at herself, and her normally pristine complexion is harsh, red with stress. She’s becoming Tomato MJ. “The wedding planning is a lot, yeah. But even worse- someone went behind my back for next year’s New York Fashion Week, and now I might not be able to secure a designer to model for, and Harry isn’t responding to my texts, and I have no idea why because he’s usually always ready to talk to, and it feels like… it feels like… like I’m alone?”

Her voice breaks, and she bursts into tears.

“Oh, MJ…” You hug her, and she cries as she holds onto you, her eyelashes becoming wet with big, fat tears. Her head quickly finds that gap between your shoulder and neck- and it’s as if no time has passed, again, because you feel like that gap was made for this friendship. You remember all the times you’ve hugged her, and you hope you’re still providing the same comfort.

MJ sniffs, and Peter gently pats her back. He feels like you’ve got it covered- he gives you a thumbs up and you give him a sheepish smile.

“It’s just… I’m not mad at anyone, I just wonder why no one is talking to me.” She wipes a tear away as she lets you go, and you listen carefully. “Why no one seems to want to communicate. Like, fuck, how am I supposed to do the right thing if I don’t know what it is?”

MJ’s comment cuts deep, and you feel like you’ve been in that situation a lot. With Peter, you’re never sure where your standing is with him.

“Listen. I know it’s not the best advice, but you just gotta hang in there, okay?” You hold her hand, and MJ nods, wiping her face a little more vigorously. “It’s frustrating, but soon you’ll find out who did what and for what reason. No need to freak about all the unknowns right now, because they’re just unknowns.”

“Okay. That’s true.” MJ agrees, but she’s still got a hint of worry on her face, and Peter can see that.

“And me and Howlett will help with all the wedding stuff. Promise.” He swears, and MJ’s face brightens. “Maybe we can also help you with the New York Fashion Week thing? What exactly happened there?”

“Oh…” MJ plays with the hem of her dress. “Someone sent my usual designer at Dior an email… and they were already doing a huge favour by taking on someone like me, y’know? I’m not very well known in the model space yet. So the email was accusing me of using connections from Harry to be in the model industry… and as far as I know, Dior is looking into it seriously because they don’t take kindly to frauds using their model-in-training funds.”

“But that’s total bullshit!” You exclaim, and MJ and Peter both look towards you as you start talking. “You must have in your proof of records that Harry didn’t do anything like that for you, right? You started off pretty small, I remember, it was for a local show.”

“Howlett’s right.” Peter nods, affirmative. “We can both look into your history- if that’s okay, MJ- and prove to whoever did this that they’re wrong. And you won’t be booted.”

“I don’t know… it does seem kind of suspicious since I’m marrying him and all.” MJ says, but she immediately shakes herself out of it. “No, you guys are right. I worked hard.”

“You did.” You nod, and then MJ takes on a more suspicious, dark look.

“I think it was one of my friends.” She admits, and Peter looks to you, but you don’t know them either, so you give him an unfamiliar glance. “One of the models that will be here on Wednesday. Elektra, Wanda, Kitty, Bucky, or Nat. Nat and Kitty are already on Dior with me, so that leaves Bucky, Elektra, or Wanda. And I’m pretty sure they were on the shortlist to make it for New York Fashion Week.”

Peter grins. “This is easy. Right?”

It takes you a second but you clue in. “Oh my god, yeah. MJ, you wouldn’t happen to still have the email, right?”

“Of course I do.”

“We can trace back the IP address of the email ID that sent it.” Peter squeezes your hand from across the table, and it’s an action that doesn’t go unnoticed by MJ. “Howlett and I, we’re really good at coding and shit- we’re techie kids and all that, right- so it can’t take more than a day, I swear.”

“I believe you.” MJ smiles. “I’m just wondering when you got all sweet on Lettie, and suddenly decided to hold her hand.”

Peter lets go, kind of dramatically, but his hand twitches for a moment, grazing over your own palm before moving back.

“Can friends not hold hands?” You ask timidly, but MJ gives you such a suggestive look that you’re laughing.

“Okay. No more drama, you guys.” MJ laughs too, shakes her head, and stands up off her chair, into the sunlight. “We should have fun before the rehearsal today. What do you want to do?”

“Whaddya have in mind?” Peter throws right back at her, and she gets another mischievous look on her face.

It’s a very lovely bakery next to the corner store in a teeny village, just a , with loads of different kinds of gelato and ice creams and crepes and tiramisu and biscotti and panna cotta.

Of course MJ would consider this bad, considering that she’s not allowed to eat anything so unhealthy usually. But she’s excited, she’s saying that she deserves a bit of a break for the wedding. You wholeheartedly agree with her.

“But guys, I swear, you two need to let loose and party a little. I’m gonna make everyone drink and party like crazy this week- this is definitely not the extent of our festivities.” MJ chirps excitedly, and pays the cashier while telling him to keep the change.

You sit outside on the patio, looking at a cobblestone street full of Italians and tourists alike.l.

Peter takes a bite of his gelato. It’s a rich, smooth raspberry flavour, and you knew he was going to get it. It’s one of your usual Florentine traditions.

MJ got a new cheesecake tiramisu- apparently sacrilege to the Food Gods of Italy, as the cashier told her he got yelled at by a couple of Nonnas earlier- but she loves it, absolutely grins at the flavours melting on her tongue.

“Better than NYC cheesecake?” You ask, and she nods, taking another massive spoonful. You’re glad to see that MJ is eating, and she definitely seems less stressed.

“Who says tech kids don’t party?” Peter starts, and MJ laughs as he becomes a little offended. “No, really. We might work hard but we still like having fun. Right, Howlett?”

“Is this fun you speak of just between you two?” MJ asks teasingly, but Peter’s face turns red and she lets it go. “Really. This week shouldn’t just be blah blah wedding stuff. I want to make sure we’re all having fun and doing things we want to do.”

You take a bite of your own basil-mint gelato, in a very appealing light green colour. The flavour might not sound good, but it’s really like a refreshing, minty sorbet, not that savoury at all. Just herby.

“Can we choose what to do?” You ask, but MJ is just waving your question away.

“You don’t even have to ask. We’ll try to do anything you guys want.” MJ beams. “And don’t even worry about the other guests- there’s no strict itinerary in place other than our dinner parties, so they probably will want to do other things, and they definitely can.”

“Whoa, whoa, Howlett.” Peter suddenly holds up a finger. “You’ve just got some sprinkles on your face…”

Peter reaches out with a thumb and gently swipes the edge of your lip, and your cheek,and some sprinkles fall off towards the ground. Then, in the most disgustingly lascivious, possibly slutty, kind of perverted way that only Peter could do, he sucks on his thumb.

“Hm. Minty.” He grins, popping his thumb back out, and it takes all of your willpower not to retort back, because Peter has been like this for ages and you refuse to believe that it’s genuine flirting.

MJ looks between the two of you, having trouble believing that you’re both so oblivious.

When you just make it back to the Villa, there’s a lot of splashing, and some loud Italian electronic music playing in the front yard. MJ rolls her eyes, but she smiles. “That must be Harry.”

MJ waves him down, and Harry swims upward, glad to see a few familiar faces.

“Lettie, Peter, it’s me!” Harry pulls himself up off the ledge of the pool, and he looks just as rich-boy-tired-but-chic as you’ve always remembered. Those heavy eyebags have never gone away. He’s sopping wet as he hugs you guys, drenching you both in tons of water.

“Ugh- Har, are you serious-”

“Yeah, Harry!” Peter shoves him lightly. “We’re totally wet now.”

“Yeah, but you guys love it.” Harry snickers. “What the hell are you wearing, anyways? Where’s the Italian finery? Do I need to call a maid over to help-”

“Oh, god, don’t get started on that, please.” Peter pinches his brow, with a small smile because he knows his friend. “We’ll change now, okay?”

“In that case-” Harry shoves Peter, who falls and bumps into you, and you both fall into the pool, water immersing you quite quickly. The blue ceramic tiles of the pool fill your vision, and you kick upwards. You resurface, and pull your hair back, panting, and Peter is shaking his hair, trying to get it out of his face.

“You okay?” Peter asks immediately, and you have to fight down the thought that of course that would be the first thing Peter would say, and you nod.

“We just gotta get this clown back for that.” You lean forwards, and tug Harry’s ankle, which causes him to fall in with a splash, too.

“Now you guys are having fun, damn it.” Harry splutters when he resurfaces. “I missed you guys.”

It’s very touching, but now you have to actually go change and shower when you just wanted to rest a bit before the rehearsal, and that’s a tad bit annoying. Just like Harry usually is- but you can’t help but like him anyways.

Harry tries to hug MJ as you all walk towards the villa- and she rebukes him, holding her hands out and saying that her dress will be ruined if it gets wet. Harry instead places a sopping wet kiss on her forehead, and she groans loudly, but you know she likes it. It still makes you feel a little alone- being a third wheel.

Well, at least Peter is one, too.

What’s distracting you is how Peter’s shirt seems to cling to his waist when it’s wet, and you can’t help but stare, seeing taut stomach muscles through the damp parts of his shirt. You shake your head and wonder why everyone had to turn hot except for you.

When you step out of the shower, just in a white terrycloth towel, MJ is waiting at your bed, and you flinch for a moment.

“Jesus!” You start, and then see her smiling. “Next time just tell me you’re gonna be in here, or knock or something.”

“Will do.” MJ stares at her nails. “Have you decided what you’re going to wear to the rehearsal?”

“Not really.”

“It’s a informal-formal affair. I guess semi-formal.” MJ tells you, as you start getting ready for it. “I’ve picked out a few dresses you can wear.”

There’s a few dresses crowded around in the massive wardrobe when you look, but the first one that catches your eyes is a lovely deep yellow, with embroidered white flowers through our the ruched bustier and long skirt, and very teeny spaghetti straps. It matches your bedroom, strangely enough, since the walls are a nice pale yellow hue, and the canopy over your four-pillar bed is a pretty ivory shade.

When you’ve tried it on, MJ immediately starts clapping.

“Chill out, I’ve barely even tried it on properly!” You say sheepishly, fixing the skirt so it flows out better, and she giggles.

“It just looks beautiful on you.” She asserts, not a hint of irony or wit or any sort of sardonic tone in her voice, and you sigh, knowing that MJ doesn’t lie about fashion.

“Thanks.” You are still bad at taking compliments, and she knows, so she doesn’t take offense.

MJ wordlessly slides a very, very nice weighty gold bangle on your wrist, and before you can express that it’s too much, she gently tells you it’s a special gift for her maid of honour.

“Oh.” You grin. “I wonder if Peter gets anything similar?”

“Depends on if Harry actually tried.” MJ sniffs, somewhat jokingly.

After a bit of makeup (MJ tells you that in Italy you only need a sheer, glowy base like a bit of concealer or a skin tint, a lip and cheek tint, and maybe a little more eyeliner and mascara than usual since that’s what the style is here, and you’re wondering if you’ve been secretly Italian this whole time with this extremely natural, less-is-more look) and some small heels because you know you’ll never be able to rock the 6-inch heels that MJ does as a model, you’re now waiting downstairs.

MJ is wearing a corset sundress, with more elaborate ribbon straps tying the dress tightly across her waist, and the pattern reminds you of those blue-and-white china plates. She looks amazing, of course, and she’s donned a practice veil, apparently not the real thing.

MJ is explaining something about what you’re supposed to do as you walk in the church, but you’re not really listening, because Peter has just walked down the steps from his side of the Villa, towards the main hall. Where you and MJ are sitting on one of the couches.

He’s absentmindedly fixing his hair, not really paying attention to where he’s walking, and he just looks unfairly good. Like MJ-level modelesque, and you feel your breath catch in your throat for a moment. Peter’s wearing a basil green button up top, and casual khaki dress pants, and even though you always teased him for getting sunburned easily as you grew up together, somehow these colours are matching his complexion perfectly, making his skin have a golden hue that you swear you’ve never noticed before.

You bite your lip and look at the ground, unable to really look at him.

“Hey. Is the car here yet?” Peter asks, and you shake your head. MJ has a laugh deep in her throat, just threatening to come out.

You wish you weren’t so obvious.

“Anyways. Like I was trying to say, except Lettie really wasn’t listening.” MJ taps her acrylics against the little side table next to her, and Peter nods, listening.

He’s a little distracted, too- that shade of yellow somehow complements your complexion exactly, and something about you looks glowy and ethereal in a way that Peter doesn’t think you looked like back in NYC, but then he feels weirdly defensive and wants to think that you’ve always looked pretty, and then he internally fumes at the idea that he has always been attracted to you, and is only noticing now, apparently? That can’t be true, right? He’s not that dumb, right?

He decides he’s just going to blame something in Italy’s air.

The car honks outside, and you stand up, ready to go. Peter stands up a little too quickly too- and he bumps into you, and you fall a teeny bit forward, and Peter’s hand grasps around your wrist, steadying you.

“Thanks.” You smile up at him, and Peter feels a disgusting amount of affection.

The wedding rehearsal goes on pretty easily, if not for the fact that everyone seems to be distracted by how beautiful the Florence Cathedral is. You tell Peter as much, and he looks wistfully up to the tall domed ceiling, and down back at you, holding your gaze for a little too long, and agrees that it is beautiful.

You have no idea why every conversation with Peter seems to make you feel soft.

MJ’s mother, Madeline, and Harry’s mother, Emily, both walk down the aisle first, and they do so easily- you hadn’t seen them when you arrived, but it turns out they were out shopping all day, so here they are now. It is crazy how much Madeline you can see in MJ’s face. Harry, on the other hand, must take after his father.

Then it’s Harry’s father, Norman, the absolutely intimidating CEO who you really hope isn’t as terrifying as all your colleague buddies have said. Everyone’s who’s ever interviewed at Oscorp knows what they mean. He’s not here in Italy yet, obviously on important Oscorp business, so you breathe a teeny sigh of relief for that.

After that, it’s Harry, who walks down with a bit more of a strut than necessary… the priest side eyes him.

Then it’s time for the other bridesmaids and groomsmen. Gayle, MJ’s sister, isn’t here, and neither is Gwen, Betty, or the groomsmen- it seems that they’ll all be here Tuesday, with MJ’s model friends as well. You feel a bit bad for her, because so far it only seems like you and Peter’s families are the only extended people really cared to show up at this point, but that’s what happens with destination weddings sometimes. Not everyone can take time off, just like that.

Then it’s time for you and Peter to walk down the aisle. He raises his arm for you to hold onto, and walks at a pace that’s pretty slow, which is what MJ wanted so photographers could take good pictures of everyone. It’s kind of funny- you feel like a kid again, when you and Peter would have to pose at Logan’s insistence for pictures.

Even now, Logan is snapping pictures as he sits in a pew, and it feels like a long walk until you reach the front of the altar, where everyone else is.

Peter is warm, and he smells good- some kind of citrusy soap that makes you think of the lemon gardens in front of the Villa.

“Hey, Howlett.” Peter whispers from gritted teeth. “Nice bracelet. Did that cost half your paycheque, or what?”

“Uh, no. MJ got it for me.” You snort under your breath as you walk, and Peter nods with an approving look.

“I guess we’re matching. Harry did the same thing.” Peter tugs his sleeve slightly, and shows off his own gold chain bracelet. Whereas yours looks feminine and dainty, delicate in how it hangs on your wrist, Peter’s is significantly more masculine, with chain links and a more rugged detail running through them. Still, it does scream matching, and you have to think MJ and Harry did it on purpose.

You tell yourself it’s just a friendship thing. Or a maid of honour-best man thing.

Peter feels soft, reliable to hold onto- you don’t want to let go when you’ve reached the altar. But you do, because you have to go to the side where the bridesmaids are supposed to be standing.

As you make your standing there, Peter does a tiny little wave at you, and smiles, and you do, too.

You watch as MJ sashays down the aisle with her father- he’s been napping all day- but you wonder if the bride should be acting like a model, exactly? It’s not that she doesn’t look amazing, it’s just not very churchlike.

MJ stops herself halfway down, looking somewhat irritated at herself. “Wait- nope, I’m starting over. Sorry, daddy.”

She begins again, holding onto her father’s arm, and this time, it’s a slow walk that demonstrates what a shy, blushing bride MJ can be, and you know if she really wanted to, she could be an actress.

You catch Harry looking at her, with a wistful smile- but Peter looks rather fond of her too, and you can’t decide if it’s just friendship, or if he wishes she was his.

You wonder if anyone will ever look at you like that. Just as you look away, Peter shoots a glance at you, hoping that you notice.

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taralaurel · 1 year

Text

Thanks for the tags @bonheur-cafe, @lightningboltreader, & @carlos-in-glasses 💕

From a future chapter of Lost (And Found)

"Come on! This is New York. The city of love and romance and -"

"Pigeons and criminally high rent," Carlos rolls his eyes. "I think you're thinking of Paris."

Liza makes a noise in the back of her throat and grimaces.

"No, Paris is overrated. The food is just okay. The people are all quiet and rude and boring. And the Eiffel Tower is just a big hunk of metal surrounded by people selling tiny versions of it on keychains and snow globes off of tarps and blankets on the ground."

"I think you just described Times Square."

"All the good movie love stories are in New York," she continues, unbothered.

"Because they film them here," Carlos shrugs.

"Oh, come on, Love Scrooge," Liza scoffs. "The first time my mom saw my dad, she was 19. He was her waiter at some dive Italian restaurant. She says that they locked eyes, and swears that everything around her slowed down. Like the cliche. My dad was just turning a corner and it was only for a second, but they both remember it perfectly. What the other was wearing. The earring Mom was wearing. The ketchup stain on Dad's apron. Every detail. That night, they met up for a movie after his shift. Two days later, she was referring to him as her 'future husband'. It's called 'love at first sight' for a reason."

"That's really great for your parents, but I -"

"What was he wearing when you guys met?"

Carlos shakes his head.

"What?"

"When he came into the bar, what was he wearing? Exactly? I remember his face, because, duh. But nothing else."

Carlos opens his lips to retort but then TK walks through the doorway of the bar in the doorway of Carlos's mind and the image hits him hard enough to knock his mouth closed.

Carlos couldn't tell the color of TK's eyes from the distance, but they were still so bright against the dark. Brimming with hope and anxiety and a spark of something Carlos can't quantify.

He remembers the stretched, bit lip as TK scanned the bar. The way his tongue ran back and forth between his gently parted lips.

The clothes hadn't been Carlos' focus, not even close, but he can see them now. The too tight button up short sleeve shirt with these little white designs that are halfway between flowers and faces, mashing together in some modern art style. The sleeves are rolled and tucked ever so slightly, showing off soft skin and smooth muscles. The top two buttons are left undone, the collar hanging open loosely, but with purpose. A silver pendant sways against his chest, over some white undershirt. Dark jeans and shiny white sneakers with stripes that match the color of the shirt finish off the outfit.

Carlos blinks.

He could reason that he saw that outfit, and more, over the course of the rest of the night.

He can't do the same with the exact verse of the Radiohead song he can still hear that was playing. Or the smell of the spilled peach vodka. The feel of the alcohol and soda sticking to his fingers, the rag damp and dripping and tight in his grip.

No pressure tags, but you've probably all already posted: @mikibwrites, @cold-blooded-jelly-doughnut, @chaotictarlos, @sanjuwrites, @detective-giggles, @strandnreyes, @rmd-writes

#wip wednesday #wip #fanfiction #fanfic #tarlos #tarlos fanfiction #tarlos fanfic #911 lone star #911 ls #911 ls fanfic

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spahhzy · 2 years

Text

After~

After the war me and Jaune I spent a few months at this beautiful cabin that sat perfectly lakeside that he had purchased from this old war veteran.

The home and the land surrounding it was beautiful, and I had fallen deeper and more madly in love with him than I ever thought possible.

We laughed.

We cuddled.

We kissed.

We loved.

Time with him was always infinite.

The smell of eggs and bacon filled my nose one morning as I walked into the kitched and saw Jaune a white tank top smiling as he cooked breakfast before turning to me, and his smile grew even bigger.

I hugged him from behind just enjoying the feeling of warmth he gives to me. Content to just stand here and not move.

*knock knock knock*

A sighed into Jaune's back, who just said nothing as he continued making breakfast.

"I got it" I said to him as he just kept cooking.

I opened the door and was surprised to see my sister, dad and mom looking at me.

"Mom? Dad? Yang? What are you doing here?" I asked, not sure why they were here.

"You weren't answering your scroll..." Yang said, and I just chuckled.

"Yeah, the media really wanted to talk to me and Jaune, ya know the 'Hero's of Remnant', so I just disconnected my scroll is all," I said before my mom stepped forward.

"Ruby" her voice held a soft plea I raised an eyebrow at her.

"Ruby... you've been here by yourself for months... we think it's to stop," my dad said, and I just rolled my eyes. I get worried, but i'm not by myself!

"Dad I don't know what your talking about I've been here with..." I turned to face Jaune but the last word I wanted to say died in my throat as my heart bursted.

Jaune stood in the living room, I looked at the kitchen to where breakfast was being made only for nothing to be on the stove.

Jaune looked away from me and thats when I saw he was no longer dressed in a white tee, he was wearing his usual armor but it was destroyed, a horrifying hole in the center of his stomach there for the world to see and blood had stained his beautiful face.

Jaune looked back to me this time with tears in his eyes as the truth finally came back to me.

'There was a part of me that knew...from the moment I saw him at the end of the war leaning against a wall in Salem's fortress unresponsive to my calls or kisses that he was gone, but the truth hurt too much to accept.

His death would have been one wound too many that day, and I think I would have let go of this life.'

Mom and Yang hugged me as I struggled to keep my sobs at bay.

Wet hot heavy tears kept falling down my cheeks.

Jaune just looked at me and all he could do was mouth an 'I'm sorry' to me.

My father looked out at the empty living room and then looked back at me.

"He's here, isn't he?" I didn't say anything. I couldn't.

My dad stood in front of me he too was crying.

"Ruby... you have to let him go...he has to move on...it's just time, " my father continued, but I still said nothing. Looking at Jaune, I walked up to him and shakily reached out to stroke his cheek, desperately trying to feel that warmth once more, only for my hand to pass through his face.

I shut my eyes as my breathing went ragged as I turned away from him.

Suddenly, I felt a weight pressed onto me, and a comforting warmth surrounded my body.

It took all I had then and their not to break down.

I could feel him.

Even if just for a moment.

I tilted my head up, my tearful silver eyes meeting his weeping blue.

"I love you," I whispered to him, and he smiled through his tears.

"I love you too," and I was finally able to hear him say it one last time.

Soon, the warmth had faded away, and that safe feeling I had vanished as Jaune began to walk away towards the window.

He looked at me once more, no longer was he in that tattered armor, but was wearing the same outfit he did on our first date together.

He held on to the big, bright smile he always gave just for me. He nodded at me, and I nodded too before he walked through the window out into the open as the breeze from the wind carried gently through Jaune's hair.

Before finally vanishing in a flurry of golden rose petals.

#jaune arc #ruby rose #rwby lancaster #yang xiao long #tai yang xiao long #summer #odd thomas

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myfaveficrecs · 2 years

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Do I Know You? (1)

It came to my attention that people were unable to read this so when I tried looking back, the original post was deleted. I am just resposting it here for people to read.

There so much blood on his hands. He doesn’t think he’s ever seen so much blood at one time before. It seems as if that is all he can see when he looks down at himself. Dark crimson coats his hands, his arm hair is matted down with it. His shirt is saturated at the wrists and chest, sticking uncomfortably to his skin. There are even splotches on his good pair of pants, the ones he only wears on Sundays for church. It’s fresh but drying in some spots, the cracks in his knuckles feel tight and itchy. He can feel dry flecks peeling on his face and neck and hates to think what he looks like, refusing to check the looking glass above the fireplace.

His heart is beating erratically, and he can hear screaming, although it sounds like it is underwater. His own heartbeat whooshes louder in his ears than the sharp feminine screams that are getting farther and farther apart. He feels cold all the way to his bones despite the roaring fire he can see in the fireplace, the cast iron pot is starting to smell burnt but no one has made any mention to move it. The dark wood of the walls and floors don’t seem to hold any of their usual warmth, no laughter bouncing around like it was before...before all of this happened. His home doesn’t feel like his home right now. The remnants of breakfast are still scattered across the table, the water pitcher has been knocked over and there are several puddles on the floor, dripping from the cracks and the edge. There are drops of blood making trails, soaking into the wood. He knows it will never come out; a permanent reminder of this day will forever be in his home.

His mother, Penny Benjamin, and another woman are running from the bedroom to the front of the house in the two room cabin he built a year ago. They run past him, back and forth, as if he wasn’t there. Grabbing pails of water from the front porch and clean linens, disposing of the soiled rags. They’re scared, the terror in their eyes does nothing to ease his own. His mother comes running back with her arms full of bloody linens, her apron stained almost as pink as her dress.

“Mom! Make it stop! Please!” He cries, his tears leaving tracks in the sticky mess down his neck.

Carole looks at her baby with tears in her eyes, utter heartbreak written across her features. She drops to her knees in front of him for only a moment, her own bloody hands grabbing his face tightly, her forehead dropping to his. “I’m so sorry, Bradley.”

“No...NO! Help me, Mom! Fix it...please.” He whimpers, grabbing her arms tightly as she shakes her head, tears falling down her face. The scent of iron is so strong he dry heaves, his stomach retching violently against his will. He scrambles up from the floor as she does, trying to follow her but strong arms wrap around him from behind. He fights the hold, he desperately needs to be in that room, but he can’t break free.

“MOM!”

Bradley startles, sitting straight up in bed, his chest heaving and heart feeling like it is seconds away from making a new home outside of his chest. His body is covered in perspiration, the sheets tangled around him and damp to the touch. Holding his hands out in front of him there’s no blood and he breathes a sigh of relief. He feels like he is vibrating, his whole body shaking and his teeth chattering.

Looking around the room he sees the same four white walls he is used to, standard base housing. He is no longer in a cabin and his mother isn’t here, there are no screams, and the only smell he registers is his own, a shower much needed at this point. Taking several deep breaths to calm himself, he drags his hands down his face, wiping away a mix of sweat and tears. He is so tired; the nightmares have increased and they make no sense to him. They feel so real but how can they be? It’s not 1860. The cabin in the dream reminds him of the ones he saw on a field trip in high school back in Virginia – farm cabins people lived in during the civil war.

Shaking his head, he gets up quickly, the sun is starting to peak through the curtains and he has to be on the tarmac in an hour. No time for breakfast, not that he feels like he could stomach it after that. The memory of his nightmare brings the mixed scent of bacon and iron back into his nose and he has to pause and take a deep breath to rid himself of it. It feels so real.

“Yeah, definitely no breakfast today.” He whispers to himself, hopping in the shower to get ready for the day. The hot water and steam do nothing to rid his mind of the images. His mother’s face and her voice still so clear to him and he feels the ache in his chest again. The ache that comes whenever he thinks too long or too hard about her or his dad, the yearning he gets whenever he wishes for something more. He washes quickly, multitasking by brushing his teeth knowing he is short on time. He still looks like shit; this same nightmare has been tormenting him for weeks and he still does not know who is in the bedroom. He can never get to her, never see her or hear her aside from the occasional scream. Hopping out and getting his flight suit on is quick, 20 minutes left to get to work.

Getting in his Bronco, he quickly pulls out of the driveway and realizes half way down the road that he forgot his thermos on the kitchen counter. He doesn’t even have the heart to turn the radio on this morning. The nightmare on repeat in his head. Who was in the bedroom, why were they bleeding so much? He decides to quickly head to the coffee shop on base, knowing it won’t be too busy this early in the morning. Sending out a group text, he asks if any of the squadron want anything while he is on his way. Quick replies roll in, most requesting a plain cup of coffee and a muffin, a treat for after training. Running into the shop he places an order for 12 plain black coffees and a dozen assorted muffins, hoping the good karma will turn his day around. Turning around, he accidentally bumps into a woman. He throws his arms out to steady her and a thrum dives down his body, zinging from his heart to his belly.

“Thank you, that could have been a disaster.” She breathes, looking up and giving him the prettiest smile, he has ever had the pleasure of being on the receiving end of, holding her iced coffee out to the side. The second their eyes meet; Bradley’s mind shuts down and his heart kicked back up into overdrive.

You know that feeling you get, the one you can’t explain but you know without a shadow of a doubt you’ve experienced before? That feeling that both unnerves you and settles you at the same time. The instant connection, the spark, that triggers a memory you aren’t sure is real. He can’t explain it...this deja vu that has rendered him speechless.

He knows those eyes, every swirl and the odd color fleck that stands out; you know every fleck of gold and brown in his. You know those lips and you know how they feel pressed in the most dangerous of places and he knows you love to bite where his neck and shoulder meet. And judging by the look on your face, you feel it too.

“Do I know you?” he blurts out a little harsher than intended, immediately softening the pinch in his face when he sees how open you are, just studying him. You definitely see what you like, and he makes no complaints either.

“I know I shouldn’t.”

“Well, how about you give me -” He was cut off by Phoenix coming into the shop.

“Hey Rooster, need any help carrying this stuff in?”

“Uh Yeah, Nix this is...wait, I didn’t get your name?”

“Y/N, it was nice to meet you both.” You quickly take your coffee and walk out before you can make an even bigger fool out of yourself. The further you got from him, the sadder you felt which is stupid for someone you just met. You didn’t even know his name, just his call sign. Who gets attached over a spilled coffee and a call sign? Before you can finish berating yourself, you are being chased down by a rather large aviator.

“Hey, wait! I didn’t get your number?”

“Why do you want it? You looked like you had plenty of help back at the shop.”

“Nix is my best friend. I want your number because I want to continue this, I know we both feel...this isn’t a pick-up line, just tell me you feel it too.”

“I’ll tell you what, Rooster, I will write one number on each of your cups. It will be my phone number once you find the right combination. If it’s that important to you, or to fate, you’ll be able to contact me in no time.” You quickly go about your diabolical plan, using 10 cups to write 1 single number on each one.

“I hated Serendipity.” He groans

“Doesn’t bode well for you then, Chicken. Hopefully I’ll hear from you soon.”

Bradley watched her walk away, giving a shake of his head with a laugh. Phoenix walking up behind him laughing away.

“Do you know her?”

“I can’t explain it Nix, but yeah...I know her.” After a few moments of silence, “I’m gonna marry her.”

#repost #bradley bradsaw x reader #rooster x reader #rooster x y/n #series #tgm #topgun #do i know you?

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deada55 · 9 months

Text

When the River Meets the Sea - Chapter 9

crossposting: ao3

work summary: A nine-year old in Tomahawk, WI gets glaucoma surgery over Christmas break.

chapter summary: It's the morning before the surgery, with no time to mourn.

tws: substance use, eye injury, child maltreatment

It's a fun one, y'all!

In the early morning, his mother shook him awake by the shoulder, irritable and active from the migraine that woke her up every other hour in the night. The living room was still dark, but the light in her bedroom shot out of the open door and streaked the brown shag carpet. Pickles was still asleep on his side, with his feet brought as far up into the borrowed bathrobe as he could hold while asleep.

“Pickles, get up and get ready. You need to go brush your teeth, and your hair is a mess... Did you spend all night on the couch when you have a perfectly good bed upstairs?”

He pried his eyes open through her cajoling. When he sat up, the crick in his neck “popped” out, but the relief gave way to a lingering weakness. The pressure in his head rose. The knot of the robe’s belt dug into his hip through the night and left him sore. His puffy undereyes burned and his hair was deranged from tossing and turning. Entire sections tufted together like the fur of a dirty red cat.

“Mom, I’m really sorry, I wet the bed. I’m sorry.”

She stood with her head leaned back, perplexed. “And your next move was the couch? You know how to change bedsheets, Pickles. What if you’d done it again?”

Before she’d finished speaking, he shrugged and forced himself up to fold the towel he’d slept with. Letting go of the front of her pink housecoat, she snatched him up by the collar of the green robe and turned him square to her.

“I don’t care what happens to you today– I’m your mother and you’re going to respect me if it’s the last thing you ever do! Do you understand me?”

With his free arm crossed diagonally across his chest, he squeaked out,

“Okay, Mom-”

“Not ‘okay, Mahm’, answer me!” She bared her yellowing teeth. Her fingernails stapled the robe together at his collarbones, and her grip threatened to choke him if she would only twist her hand.

“I… Uh! Um…” His mouth was wide as a hole in a concrete wall as his frenzied hands fell over her wrist. His shins scraped the coffee table, but he couldn’t step backwards.

“Don’t be stupid, Pickles. Do you understand what I told you?” When all he could do was stutter, her temples burned with a tension that only rolling her eyes could relieve. “Go take a shower. You stink.”

The morning sky was dark, but they always woke up as a family. When Pickles went to the bathroom, she took the towel to the washing machine. She pulled Seth’s sheets (left from the day before) of the dryer and traipsed upstairs with a basket to wake him up. Calvert put coffee on and loaded the toaster. While he was discreetly leaning over the sink, trying to hold down the remainder of last night’s sour stomach and wake up, she came back downstairs with both boys’ wet sheets and loaded them in the washer wearing rubber gloves.

After he showered, Pickles hustled out of the bathroom in a fresh beige towel, knowing Seth would need the shower next. Seth, however, always put his clothes on first, then came down to wash up. He put the same clothes back on when he was done. It wasn’t a foolproof plan to keep himself from smelling like piss, but Pickles didn’t want to rub salt in any wounds. After all, it was his older brother, and he could save (bedwetting) face however he saw fit. A masterpiece of gauze pads, tape, and rolled bandages covered Seth’s left eye, but he picked it as he walked to take it off before he went to the shower.

Every time his father raised his eyes at the breakfast table, Pickles looked anywhere else. Without food or a jelly jar of juice to sip at, he was stuck bouncing his knees and rubbing the seams of his clothes with the ragged scabs on his fingertips. If Seth, damp from the shower with an ugly eggplant of an eye on full display, wasn’t bouncing his leg, too, the sound of the floorboards wiggling underneath the linoleum would have set Molly off. She sucked down her over-easy eggs with her fork so delicately aloft that any sudden breeze could have knocked them on their golden stomachs into her Jimmy Dean sausage links.

The percolator sputtered out the last of the coffee and Calvert cleared the slur out of his throat.

“Gonna fix Pickles a plate?”

The sight of food made Pickles’ empty stomach cramp, so he leaned over the round table to try and take the edge off, and maybe sneak a moment with his head down…

His mother sucked her teeth. “Pickles, elbows off the table. Sit up straight.”

He sat up as far as he could and swallowed hard to see if it would help. The back of his throat had dried out all the way raw.

“He can’t have anything. Surgeon’s orders.” She ruptured the thin membrane of her egg yolk, which she had eaten around until there was no white left to pick away.

“Did the surgeon tell you to pee the bed, too?” Seth crushed the few crunchy cornflakes he had into the side of the bowl (because the faster the whole thing turned to mush, the less he actually had to eat.)

“He did?” Calvert lifted his coffee mug and looked over at Molly while she mopped Wonderbread through the mess on her plate

“Seth, not at the table,” She didn’t tolerate “potty-talk” at the table, not even mentioning “bathroom” or “restroom.” If you needed to go, you excused yourself, and your plate would be scraped and washed before you could come back to it.

Calvert gestured towards Pickles with a tilt of his head, eyebrows lifted as he waited for Molly to respond. With a sigh and a shallow nod, Molly gave Calvert a flat-lipped smile. He sat back in his chair, finished his coffee, and slid Pickles the funnies before pouring himself another cup from the percolator.

When all were excused, Pickles lingered white-faced at the table, with his palms pressed plainly into the ironed crease of his slacks. Today, his hand-me-down pants were dark red, with a matching yellow shirt that either made him look pink or sick. His mother told him not to wear red, since his hair clashed. It worked well for Seth and his light-brown hair, but her thriftiness trumped her criticism and Pickles ended up with hand-me-downs anyway. Days like these, he had a habit of wearing his least favorite clothes, so he wouldn’t “ruin” a good outfit with a bad memory. It took him a year to wear green again after the garage burnt down.

From the empty table, his line of sight fell directly onto their wheat-printed General Electric toaster that had sat beside the kitchen sink from the moment he could see the countertop at all. Every morning, everyone got a slice of toast, burnt black on the corner if you got the piece from the rightmost slot. Was his piece of bread still in there? Was one put in there for him at all? Did the toaster work as well with a quarter of it empty? Did it work better? He wasn’t listening when the toast popped out, but did the toaster make a softer chime with fewer pieces?

Would he ever get to find out, or was today the last day? His last day? People died “under the knife” all the time, General Hospital said so. And if eyes were the windows of the soul, if his eye popped like a balloon under the force of a scalpel, would his spirit rupture, too?

He heard his father’s footsteps transition from the carpet to the linoleum, and jerked his body forward when he heard his father’s reflux gas over his shoulder.

Calvert swallowed some briny phlegm and rested his fingers on the back of Pickles’ chair instead of going in for a pat on the back.

“Uh, don’t sweat it too hard, kid. It’ll all be over before you know it. Just a couple days.” He dumped the last silty drops of coffee into the sink before cleaning the percolator, continuing to talk over his shoulder, burping quietly under his breath. “You won’t remember it next year. Your mother doesn’t remember being in the hospital with either of you-”

Calvert didn’t dare ask what Molly remembered from the months she spent in her bed after her hysterectomy. The modern convention of baby formula was a lifesaver, so that he and an endless parade of aunts and grandmothers could take care of the new baby while Molly slept with her eyes open. Seth learned to use the potty from Molly’s sister-in-law after spending six weeks at their house.

“... You’re gonna be fine, Pickles. Don’t work yourself up before surgery.” All Pickles could hear were the tiny, bubbly belches popping out of his father between every word. Urp! Urp! Urp!

About every other breath, his father made the sound, and the back of Pickles’ throat started to get tight and dyspepsic. His racing heart started to punch him in the ears, faster than the little burps, until he couldn’t hear the running water from the sink.

Calvert looked back when he heard Pickles shake his inhaler, blotchy red from his temples to his collarbones. He moved back from the table and put his hands on his knees like a runner that’d stopped short and given up.

“I said quit it! Damn it, Pickles, I told you–” he pulled a bottle of white rum out from under the kitchen sink and poured himself half a pint glass.

He left Pickles to take his breath back on his own. Pickles waited until his father had retreated back to the bedroom before he ran up the stairs through the constriction and almost fainted once he got to the top.

When her toilette was complete, Molly circled the house in freshly polished brown shoes. With only ten minutes left to spare before they had to leave, she was on a manhunt for Pickles. It was 6:30 A.M., which wouldn’t matter if only she’d remembered to make him put a bag together the night before. When she raced up the stairs to do it herself and find him later, she heard coughing.

“Pickles, what are you doing with your toys? Get your medicine together to show the surgeon!”

Pickles was kneeling in front of the broken pieces of all his action figures, with Sam’s raggedy head over his shoulder. When he heard her, he came up on his feet and put Sam in front of his chest, but when he tried to skirt past her into the upstairs hall with his friend, she took a step to the side and blocked the doorway.

“You’re not taking Sam to the hospital. They’ll burn him so you don’t bring him home covered with measles or some crap, and you’ll never get him back. Then you’ll have ruined all your toys. Don’t try it, mister, or you’ll be sorry. ”

The tears burned, too, but he refused to blink as he walked downstairs with his empty hands in his empty pockets.

With a small duffel bag of socks, medicine, and underwear, he stood at the door and put on his coat while Molly de-iced the windshield with a pitcher of hot tap water. As chilling as the thought of him was, he wished his father would come back out of bed. Would he still remember how frightening his father looked, or how ugly and dark Seth’s black eye had grown overnight? A fat red split cut the black and purple. Seth rubbed the other eye and yawned as he stepped into the foyer.

“Hey, Pickles. Pickles. Look, let me know if you see some lady giving birth or something in the hospital. Peter Klein says the videos they show in health class are really gross. So. I hope they cover your eyes or something. Ok?” Seth’s breath stank of fake flossing and whole milk ass, but Pickles didn’t have the strength in him to do anything but smirk and nod off to the right like a moviestar would.

“Tell uh, everyone at Granny’s that I said ‘Hi.’” Pickles didn’t want to seem rude to the family, did he? He thought Seth would roll his eyes, but all he did was blink. Even the swollen one blinked, and the exposed sliver of Seth’s iris disappeared.

“Pickles, they already know who you are. They’re not stupid.”

Pickles pressed his lips together and nodded. Seth furrowed his brow and opened his mouth, then he thought twice about what he’d said. “... Uh, yeah, I’ll tell ‘em. I’m keeping your presents if you die, ok?”

Molly came around the corner wearing her good coat and Seth walked away without another word.

#metalocalypse #metalocalypse fanfic #mtl fanfic #pickles the drummer #molly metalocalypse #seth metalocalypse #calvert metalocalypse #my writing

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countrymusiclover · 1 year

Text

108 - Like Father Like Daughters

Part 109

Gemini Runaway

@icefrye19 @secretdreamlandmentality

109 is the last chapter in this story ❤️

Bursting into my daughters bedroom the door’s almost broke off the hinges by how angry I was. “What the hell were you all thinking last night!”

“Mom, please don’t be mad but it was to get Elijah’s memory back. And to get our family back together like we are now.” Alina raised her voice at me getting up from the bed.

Missy and Hope remained sitting where they were at. But my youngest spoke up. We wanted our family back together, mom.”

“Girls urgh! Do you have any idea what putting that power back into yourselves could do? That it could kill you!” Covering my face with my hands I grumble loudly in annoyance.

Hope snapped back at me thinking that it would make this better. “We spared Henrik and Andrea.”

“Oh well then I should jump for joy.” I clapped my hands together with a sarcastic tone. “All because you spared your brother and cousin even though you forgot that this can kill you!”

Klaus vamped into the room aboto raise his voice until he saw something running down Hope’s arm. “When did this start happening?”

“Shortly after we took the power back, why?” She yanked her arm away.

Yet he grabbed her wrist holding it out for my viewing. “Oh we’re so screwed.” I cursed under my breath seeing the same black veins that I had dealt with years ago before we knew I was pregnant too

Rushing into the bathroom I threw my head down into the toilet for the fourth time today. Familiar hands pulled my hair away from my mouth hearing me lightly crying. “I’ve got ya, Rae. Let it all out…Shhh I’m here.”

“Ohh Nik. I’m so terrified right now.” Lifting my head up I wiped my mouth with a rag pressing my body against his chest still crying. “I feel like I’m dying….”

He put his thumb and index finger under my chin turning my head so I was forced to look into his blue eyes. “Listen to me, Raelyn Lane. You are not dying. Not while I am still alive and kicking.”

“But every time I do magic these….get worse!” Yanking up the sleeve of one of his Henry shirts I was wearing I bared my teeth. My hair was slightly in front of my eyes and my shirt was stained with my tears.

He slowly cups my face in his hands with his thumbs running over the fallen tears. His blue eyes focused on mine. “Rae, I promise you that nothing bad is going to happen to you. We will get through this. You’re not going to die on me.”

“I don’t wanna die, Nik. I don’t…wanna die!” Throwing my arms around his neck I buried my face into his shoulder. He tugged me to sit on his lap while he wrapped his arms around my waist. My fingers are gripping onto the fabric of his shirt.

Brushing my fingers over the lines on Hope’s arm I felt some tears falling down my face at remembering what that was like. Klaus and I both met the others' gaze before we whipped our heads around seeing Missy holding her head in agony. “Shut up, shut up, shut up! Incendia!” She throws her hands up towards the bed frame setting it on fire.

“Melissa! What the bloody hell was that for?” Klaus dropped Hope’s arm focused on his now heretic daughter.

She dropped her hands at her side, falling to sit on the floor. Alina moved around the bed frame lowering herself on her knees holding her shoulders. “Hey, everything is okay ... .dad ever since we took the power back..we keep hearing whispers in our ears and they don’t stop.”

“Is this the rest of our life? A rage that can only be quieted by violence?” Hope spat, turning her head back to me and Nik.

Reaching down I grasped his hand in mine looking up at my husband smirking wickedly. “Hope, if violence is what you need to feel better, then you have the perfect parents.” Klaus grinned the same expression back to our other two daughters.

It was a few hours before the five of us went downstairs since there was enough stuff in there we could break and not actually care about. Andrea and Henrik were out in the bayou with Hayley and Jacob. While Jackson was packing up some stuff to try and get Alina and him a cabin in the woods near the quarter. Looking from the balcony above I watched Alina throw her father down on the table with the flower pots. “Do it again. Harder this time.” He grunted slowly getting to his feet.

“Mom, do we need to do it this way? I don’t want to hurt you.” Missy asked, lifting her gaze up to me before I climbed up onto the railing before I jumped down on the ground perfectly fine.

Brushing hair out of my face I looked at my youngest. Even though she now had to drink blood to survive she had managed to keep the innocent side of her alive after she turned. “Honey, you’re dad and I are the strongest creatures in the world. Nothing you do can truly hurt us.”

“Motus!” She raised her hands where I got thrown against the family crest on the wall where I felt some bones break in my back.

I popped my back into place pushing hair out of my face looking at Klaus who threw his hands away from his sides trying to get Hope angry since she wasn’t using her full strength. “All of that pain, that simmering darkness. You need to purge it before it eats you alive.”

“Dad…” Hope held her head gripping her hair in her fingers.

Alina stared at me where I gave her a head nod and she launched me against the wall across the room. Holding my head I grunted seeing some stars in my eyes. “Woah I guess a werewtich’s strength is no joke.”

“Give me your anger, Hope!” Klaus screamed at her finally getting her to throw him. He landed right beside me against the wall.

Hope paced back and forth panicking to us. “It's not working.”

Klaus rested his head against mine where I put my hand on his knee trailing through breaths. “You're holding back.”

“You really think I want to feel this way? No matter how hard I try to get it out, I don't feel any better.” Hope whipped her head around raising her voice.

Missy came over to where we were standing. “We don’t want to hurt you.”

“You’re not the ones that caused our death and transformation…only that person will make us feel better.” Alina brushed her hair out of her face clutching her hands into fists at her side.

Hope nodded through tears. “You're not the one I want to hurt.”

Klaus raised his gaze up to our three daughters. “Give me a name.”

In a few short hours he came back and was dragging in Roman’s body through the main entrance and down into the basement chaining him up. He threw vervain on the boy so he was already weak. “Have you decided how you're going to kill him?” Roman attempted to break the chains but it didn’t work.

“They’re enchanted chains, Roman. Only a witch can remove them. You’re not going anywhere.” I explained to him standing beside my husband who just stared at him.

Hope mumbled hidden behind the corner. “Slowly.”

“Hope? Hope! Hey.” Roman called out to her.

Alina and Missy walked out into his view standing behind me and Klaus. “We want to do this alone….he doesn’t deserve a quick punishment. His mother didn’t give that to Missy.”

“What?” The young vampire boy muttered.

Hope questions finally step out into view. “This is supposed to help me feel better, right?”

Roman gulped. .”What's wrong with them?”

Klaus sat down in the vervain bucket where I crossed my arms over my chest. “She has an affliction, for which your pain is a momentary comfort.”

Roman asked. “My pain?”

Nik nods in agreement. “Mm-hmm.”

Alina snapped at him, flashing her hybrid eyes. “But I don't want an audience.”

“Girls.” Their father sent them a questionable look.

Missy added on looking at me softly. “If you want to help us, go….mom gets to stay.”

“Well, I was rather hoping to be part of the show.” Nik said with a dry tone leaning towards Roman and getting close to his face. “Well, consider starting small, then. Fingernails, or-or... perhaps the tongue. Build the suspense.”

Klaus nods at me before he leaves the room and Roman begins panicking. “Hey... hey, wait. You're not actually gonna leave me with them, are you? I know you won't believe this, but I've been trying to see you, okay?”

Hope stood across the room gripping the metal bars in her fingers. “You're right. I don't believe it.” She raised her hand sending pain through his body.

“I-I swear. My sister, she wanted me to leave the country, but I wouldn't go until I got to talk to you.” He dropped his head gasping for breath.

Hope scrambled into the corner. “Is this the kind of talk you had in mind?”

“Look, I-I know. Taking part in your aunt and uncle’s capture and tricking you, that was wrong and I know that.” Roman turned his head looking back at Hope who was standing behind him.

She raised her hand into a fist making Roman wince in agony. “And yet you did it anyway!”

“That’s only half of what we are angry about. Lihednat dolchitni!” Alina stomps forward grabbing Roman’s throat in her hand.

He struggled for air. “Alina ... .I'm sorry, okay.”

“That won’t fix it. There’s no apology in the world that will fix what your mother made me do to my little sister!” The werewitch growled, showing him her werewolf eyes before she did the spell that Kai taught me to make someone’s blood boil. “Phasmatos navaro pulsus sanguinox!”

Roman gasped sharply where he tried to break free from the chains but they only got tighter around his wrists. “Mrs. Mikaelson, I….I’m sorry….it’s just - urgh!”

“I don’t normally hurt people but you made me die…you….forced my sister to trigger her curse.” Missy raised her hand making him wince again and I could see his skin was bleeding.

Roman dropped his head struggling for breath while he began slowly healing from the wounds they had given him. “No, you... you have to understand. For years I've been told to fear you, every day, every night, stories of what your father did to mine, what you and your kind have done to us.”

Hope scolded him. “My kind?”

Alina stomped her foot on the ground where the flames in the room grew higher and then died down. “Do you not get that you have messed up my family. You made my mother go paranoid about her brother. You made me kill my twin sister while I was trying to stop your mother and yet you still think you’re innocent!”

“I…I never said I was innocent Alina. It’s just - ohhh!” Roman got cut off with Missy waving her hand and making pain shoot through his head and his nose was bleeding all the while I was just leaned up against the wall just silently watching my daughter’s. “No, no, no, I like you, Hope, okay? I like you, I really do. I just didn't know whether to listen to the voice in my head that said you were good or my mother's voice that said over and over y-you and your family…”

Hope moved around to stand in front of Roman with her standing in the middle of her two sisters. “My family's what?”

Roman gulped weakly. “Evil….And I wasn't strong enough to fight her. And I don't want you to forgive me. I just want you to know that I know what I did was wrong. Okay?”

My phone went off so I pulled it out of my pocket where I read a text message from Klaus that read 'How is everything going?' I texted him back saying that they were still in the process. Missy crossed her arms over her chest glaring at him. "Do you have anything else to say?"

"I…I can't fix what happened…and I really am sorry. I just wasn't strong enough to not listen to her." He gulped, gripping the chains weakly in his grip.

Hope nodded towards Alina who grabbed his chin in her grasp putting her other hand over his heart listening to it beating inside his chest very slowly which was a normal vampire's rate. "You have no idea what you took from me. You stole my innocence from me and I have to live with that for the rest of my life!"

Hope raised the dagger she had brought in up with her magic about to stab him in the heart but she dropped it kicking and screaming until she met my gaze crying. "Mom…I…I can't…kill him."

"Come on, girls. Let's find your dad." I ushered them out of the room leaving Roman chained there. The girls all sat down on the couch in the living room when Klaus came into the room seeing us there.

He slowly bent down on his knees tracing his thumb over meeting my gaze when he said his words. "All that power, still merciful. You clearly didn't get that from my side of the family.”

“This is only gonna get worse, isn't it?” I trailed off wrapping my arms around myself worried that we might not have another solution.

Klaus rose to his feet taking my hand in his and he tilted his head telling the girls to follow us. We ended up inside the church and I gasped recognizing the room from the vision Dahlia showed me years ago. There was an entire room of vampires and I saw that Greta Roman’s mom was here too. “There you go, girls. Just let it all out.” Hope, Alina and Missy intertwined hands turning away from us. Missy and Alina turned Hope’s hands red siphoning from her while I stood beside my husband. Together the three witches just gave it everything they had but what we didn’t know was that there was one human there and he wouldn’t make it.

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