#i can’t believe I assigned myself!! old man energy

[callisteios]

I made a uquiz assigning you kin with an epic Greek hero

[existentialterror]

Hiii I’m Normal about Dr. Iceberg (red flag, I know) but his name being Julian is complete fanon! Idk where it originally came from, but he’s never referred to as Julian Finn in any onsite tale. The only time he’s been named on the wiki, as far as I know, is when he is called Ellis Gill in a tale called “But We Do Not Talk About That”. While last updated in 2022, was originally written in 2015. Why that name never caught on, I don’t know, but I’m kind of glad. Despite Iceberg being a misogynistic piece of shit, I’m intrigued by the fact that so much is unknown about his character.

Giving him a name detracts from the horror of his story, someone who was once a person being filed down and reshaped to fit a role perfectly, only to snap under pressure and take his own life. And then, if you go with the Resurrection canon/the calm tale, he gets brought back as a cyborg (Cyberg?) that blatantly states it doesn’t have a name. He can’t escape the foundation, even in death.

I’ll cut myself off there— If I don’t, I’m liable to write an entire novel in your inbox.

Fun fish fact (since, if I remember correctly, that is the toll for sending an ask): Lampreys have been around for 400 million years, and haven’t evolved much during that time!

(I forgot about this for a while, sorry!) (In response to this exchange with @scp-l4-clef-alto-001.)

YOOOO Nice research! Today I learned. Thank you! I don't think I'd heard "Finn" before, but I believe you that it's out there. Also thank you for the fish facts. The fish facts are not necessary to send me an ask but are MUCH appreciated. The hagfish is the relative of the lamprey and is another old jawless fish. It has two powers: producing LOTS of mucus, and tying itself in knots, both overhand and underhand. I'm gonna have to read more about ciguatoxins. ❤️🐟

Hey, in exchange for the nice ask and the research, here's a snippet I wrote a long time ago about Sophia Light and your guy. (I like him too! I think he's really interesting.) It's set in the Resurrection canon but back in the past, not long after Dr. Light was recruited to the Foundation. (Might end up on the site eventually but I hate to promise. If nothing else, you know, have this.)

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

1997

Light shows up to her appointments on time. She’s trying out this business of being a person again, really giving it her all, and that’s one of the things she decides: she shows up on time. 

She’s at the entrance to Research five minutes before her assignment today. There are other two people there: a pretty woman with waves of black hair in business casual behind the receptionist deck, and a pretty man in a labcoat whose spiky hair is bleached at the tips. They’re flirting.

No, that’s not true. The man is flirting, voraciously, draped over the desk to get closer. The woman is listening, and looks bored, and tired. She catches Light’s eye, and rolls her eyes.

Light recognizes this situation from the before-world. She knows what to do. She squares her shoulders and walks right up to them. With the energy of a woman who realized yesterday that she has permanent institutional access to every academic journal ever, and has not regretted any sleep- or non-sleep-related decisions made since then, she says, “So do you know about sail jellyfish?”

She proceeds to tell the man about them, at length, for five straight minutes. The man is confused and unhappy but apparently transfixed. The woman restrains herself from laughing and drifts back to her computer screen.

“ - So that’s why the asymmetry is actually a fitness advantage,” she says, “So that they react differently to the same wind patterns and they won’t risk washing ashore. But because that’s basically random, the evolutionary pressure maintains a 50-50 balance.”

“Cool beans,” says the man, whose eyes have glazed over. “Hey, I gotta go, I’ve gotta meet up with someone - uh, Dr. Light, I think - ”

“I am Dr. Light,” Light says. 

The woman doesn’t bother muffling her guffaw. The man - Dr. Iceberg, presumably - looks uncomfortable and then flustered. Light mentally congratulates herself.

“You two are in the dissection room today, right?” the woman says, checking her computer. “Should be set up. Use the cart to move samples, do not lift large samples yourself, I do not care how strong you are, please and thank you. Decon’s ready, just go through the back. One at a time. Ice, you first.”

“Isn’t it set up for multiple people? There’s all the showers and everything - ”

The secretary shrugs. “New policy. Now get out of my sight, Ice.”

“Always good to see you, Break.” Iceberg shoots finger guns at her, as he heads to the decon room entrance.

“Drop dead,” Break calls after him.

They wait for the sounds of the door opening and closing. Break grins at Light. “Thanks for the spiel,” she says. “You got one of those locked and loaded all the time?”

“Usually you have to ask nicely first,” Light says, automatically, because affected confidence was sort of her go-to before, and it seems to be working for her so far. Then she remembers that the last thing this poor woman needs is someone else ambiguously hitting on her and feels bad. But Break just laughs.

“You know that guy?” Break asks.

“I’ve seen him around, I think? I’m - I’m bad with faces.”

“Yeah. Dr. Iceberg. He’s like that. Been a thorn in my fucking side for years. You know, the Foundation is usually pretty good about this kind of thing, in my experience. But Ice, he’s like, Gears’ special little boy, so he can get away with murder.”

Light is confused. “He’s Gears’ son?”

“No, god no - like, you know, he’s… he’s Gears’. …Doesn’t matter. I thought Ice got better for a while there, but it looks like he’s back on his bullshit.”

“Ugh,” Light agrees. 

The bulb over the decon chamber entrance turns green. Break tilts her head at it. “You’re doing, like, an autopsy, right?”

“A necropsy - uh, yeah.”

“Well, that’ll probably bring the mood down, you’ll be fine. He’s not the worst, honestly. But if you need, just say the word ‘Ice’ into the lab comms and I’ll fake an evac drill or something to get you out.”

“Thanks,” says Light. She tries to figure out how serious Break is. Break’s permanent wry plausibly-deniable customer service smile offers no hint.

Maybe Light’s overconfident. Maybe this whole business of being a person again has made her cocky. Perhaps she’s been away from a normal social fabric for so long that she’s lost sense of real implications and rules. But she finds she’s not too worried. “I think it’ll be fine,” she tells Break. “I have a lot more jellyfish facts.”

Break laughs, loudly. “Attagirl.” She waves Light into the decon chamber.

[educatedinyellow]

THREE FIC TAG GAME

Rules: Recommend us 3 of YOUR fics: 1 that is “most popular” and 2 that are “hidden gems!"

Thank you so much for thinking of me, @saki101!

Most Popular: My most popular fic is an old LJ-era story (though now on AO3), a joyful little fusion between BBC Sherlock and the Potterverse called The Almost Empty House. It had an odd bit of inspiration. At one point in one of Doyle’s Holmes stories, "The Engineer's Thumb," they are trying to locate a sinister house:

“Well, I have drawn my circle, and I only wish I knew at what point upon it the folk that we are in search of are to be found.”

“I think I could lay my finger on it,” said Holmes quietly.

“Really, now!” cried the inspector, “you have formed your opinion! Come, now, we shall see who agrees with you. I say it is south, for the country is more deserted there.”

“And I say east,” said my patient.

“I am for west,” remarked the plain-clothes man. “There are several quiet little villages up there.”

“And I am for north,” said I, “because there are no hills there, and our friend says that he did not notice the carriage go up any.”

“Come,” cried the inspector, laughing; “it’s a very pretty diversity of opinion. We have boxed the compass among us. Who do you give your casting vote to?”

“You are all wrong.”

“But we can’t all be.”

“Oh, yes, you can. This is my point.” He placed his finger in the centre of the circle. “This is where we shall find them.”

“But the twelve-mile drive?” gasped Hatherley.

“Six out and six back. Nothing simpler. You say yourself that the horse was fresh and glossy when you got in. How could it be that if it had gone twelve miles over heavy roads?"

That moment where Holmes looks beyond the four directions which the others have accepted as their only options and chooses somewhere unexpected to center himself seemed like the perfect hook for a Potterverse AU. In the Potter books, most children are boxed in by their assignment to one of four Houses, a label which is supposed to reveal something fundamental about their personalities and morals and which undoubtedly influences the way they’re treated and perceived by others. I thought it would be fun to write a story in which Sherlock rejects all four predetermined paths and is determined to live in his own House, undefined. An Irregular, you might say. He expects to be alone in this, but as ever, John Watson surprises him.

I'm glad it's my best-liked fic, because I'm genuinely fond of it myself. It's not one of my best structured stories; it has a thrown-together quality and a whirlwind of vignettes for an epilogue, but there's a whimsical humor and energy to it that still makes me laugh. And I used elements of the Potter universe (Boggarts, Patronus forms, the Room of Requirement) to hit character notes that I believed in. I'm particularly partial to Slytherin!Mycroft, I think he's complicated and he came out well.

Hidden Gem #1: The Talking Cure. This is a fic based on The Seven Per-Cent Solution, a Holmes pastiche by Nicholas Meyer that I’m sure most people haven’t read. But I summarize everything you need to know about his book in one paragraph of opening notes, and from there the fic stands on its own. It offers a version of Moriarty VERY different from the usual, and the long, volatile conversations between him and Watson were a pleasure to write. The second half of the story sees Watson travel to France to reunite with Holmes during the Hiatus, where the two of them are at last able to reach a better understanding of all that was left unspoken between them.

Hidden Gem #2: To Cast Light on Each. This is a fic focused on minor women of the ACD canon, Eugenia Ronder (“The Veiled Lodger”) and Elsie Cubitt (“The Dancing Men”), as they begin to find hope, understanding, and solace in one another. It’s intended to set the stage for a romance between them, but it’s still in its earliest stages here. It’s also about Holmes and Watson’s established relationship as they make the not altogether easy transition into retirement together.

I’d like to tag @viridiandecisions, @sanspatronymic, @sanguinarysanguinity, and @plaidadder, if you would like to play! And anyone else who would like to share your stories, please do!

[demonwield]

Resilience

     If there is anything Akame is truly known, and feared for, it is her RESILIENCE in combat. Not her Resolve, not the Murasame (though yes people are terrified of that  too), but how much PUNISHMENT she can take. 

     The life of the Elite Seven was not EASY: they were the TOP executioners for the Empire. If they were hired, that was jobs on  the equivalent of GENERAL status, as Akame herself was trained by Great General Budo himself in hand to hand. And from a young age, they are trained to WITHSTAND ALL FORMS OF COMBAT. Where does this start?

     Well the first thing they start off with: is poisoning the children. It’s not stated how STRONG the poison is, but it is stated that throughout the five year training, the Children are poisoned and drugged hundreds of times to the point they GAIN IMMUNITY to the chemicals in  their system. And  they are hit with it so many times, and every known poison to man. Akame was the weakest in this field, but she was able to take a DIRECT cut from a poison  tipped dagger, and fight through it like it was nothing. Especially when it was a PARALYZING poison. 

     Atop of this, they are VERY resistant to pain, as their training regiments are so brutal, and they only get WORSE the minute they show pain, or, fear. However the biggest part? Is the amount of damage Akame sustained during her time as a 13 year old girl. 

     In ZERO, we meet a man named Weneg. Weneg was a ruthless son of a bitch leader of a group called the Gravekeepers, and I’ve spoken of this fight in the past, but I am now going to fully go in depth on it. ONLY AKAME could kill Weneg. How?

     The man states that he is ‘Cursed’, but his curse is seen as more of a BLESSING to him, than not, as it brings him to being invulnerable. As long as you strike him, you damage yourself. As he killed Guy this way, because Guy didn’t believe him. Guy landed a deadly blow on him, and in doing so, killed himself in the process. This curse then also has the draw back of HE REGENERATES afterwards. 

     The reason Akame is the only one who can kill him, is the blade in her hand, her Shingu, a weaker Teigu, known as Kiriichimonji. A blade that if you are sliced by it? You will NEVER mend that wound, no matter what. Even if the blade is SHATTERED, you will never heal. Meaning, HE can’t regenerate! But there’s much more to it than that: we see she’s taking the same level of wounds he is, and she is SMART enough to only graze him, so she doesn’t kill herself in the process. 

          And she CARVES at him like this, multiple times.

               Here’s where we realize her true SKILL with a blade.

     To anyone who knows how to wield a blade in real life: you know that stopping a swing is VERY difficult. The momentum, the precision required, it’s rough. But Akame? This is natural. Like BREATHING, as when he charges her to make her cut him deeper? She full STOPS the blade, and then only GRAZES him even with him putting his own weight into it to make her cut deeper. A feat that is immeasurably  hard, especially when you were full swing already. 

     The fight carries on for a LONG time: Weneg himself states that by half w ay through it, all he could do was try to dodge, it taking FAR too much energy to even counter, and it’s hinted in a later chapter, Akame cut him over ONE HUNDRED TIMES. Now, imagine that: I have cut myself many a  time cooking, or doing stupid shit (anyone who knows me knows I am accident prone). But she had to survive a constant fight of CUTTING HERSELF OVER ONE HUNDRED TIMES repeatedly. She had to fight through the bleeding, fight through the agony, as each single slash of his, tore her flesh. 

     Her thighs, arms, face, neck, she was carved up so bad she had to be in a half-body cast for a month. 

               This is her most PAINFUL fight, and it really sets the grounds for her future conflicts.

     During an Assignment with Night Raid, years later, they face Esdeath for the first time, and this is the first REAL time they understand Esdeath’s power compared to Akame’s. And it’s like night and day. Akame is leagues weaker, and Esdeath is a warmongering BEAST compared to her. The fight extends, they kill their target, and Night Raid flees: but not before Akame has six ribs broken, her sternum fractured, severe internal bleeding and damage dealt, as well as her RIGHT ARM is shattered in four sections. 

          The end result? She is in recovery for roughly one to three MONTHS due to damage.

               And even this? Is nothing compared to their last fight. 

     Enter their last fight: Akame has gone through fight after fight, she is TEARING through Generals, and now the final Obstacle, General Esdeath, the Strongest Combatant, is in her sights once more. She’s HYPED UP on performance enhancement drugs, amplifying her speed ten fold, her strength, she can barely FEEL PAIN now. She is giving her all. . .and still, it’s NOT ENOUGH to match the fighting. 

     Clash after clash, Akame doesn’t land a SINGLE blow, but Esdeath minces her up, little by little, beating her mercilessly. Cuts, bruises, severe damage dealt to her body OVER and OVER again, and still, she fights.

     Clearly, HER LEFT ARM is barely usable, and she’s COVERED in her own blood, where she has not landed a single STRIKE on Esdeath yet. But still, she fights! She is in excruciating pain, but still she GRITS HER TEETH and spills her blood for any chance of a HIT to land. She’s seeing her movements, reading her, outplaying and fighting back. 

          And she is but a SINGLE GIRL against a MONSTER. 

               No more than 19.

     She is at her limit and THEN some, and even then, she STILL is pushing her all, until the final moment. Because THAT is how tough she is: she is not unbeatable. She has her limits, but she REFUSES to let them show in battle. Because the ENTIRE NATION’S HOPES are on her shoulders. 

          A million soldiers: to one General.

               And she doesn’t get to BREATHE and calm down. 

     She sprints around the battlefield, waiting for an opportunity. She lands a BLOW and it’s still not enough! Esdeath is much too smart: she amputates, and continues to fight. The poison not enough. 

     So we come to the  MOST PAINFUL thing she’s ever done: Activate Her Trump Card. 

     As I’ve stated before, the Curse is a constant agony like taking a KNIFE and carving the markings along her skin repeatedly. But there’s more to it than that: Teigu take an INSANE amount of energy to use. And throughout the fight, the effort she is putting into keeping that form going? Is causing her to bleed internally. Wave used two Teigu, and in doing so, his STOMACH was torn apart from within. To the point he has to get medical attention regularly to make sure he doesn’t die. 

          Akame didn’t have to this same effect, but she did have her body PRACTICALLY KILLING ITSELF from within: half way through the fight coughing up blood, and losing her strength little by little. (Esdeath freezing the air to below 0 surely didn’t help this.) 

     And STILL she fought. 

          And fought.

               AND FOUGHT. 

                    All of this? Should show how TERRIFYING she is as a foe.

     To conclude: it’s not her STRENGTH, or her SPEED you need to worry about. It’s definitely not even the MURASAME you need to worry about. No. Her greatest strength, and her MOST DEADLY ATTRIBUTE: is her RESOLVE to stay on her feet. If you do not KILL HER QUICK, you will NOT kill her at all.

[beannel]

the inbetween

I’ve never been one to like the concept of gender. Don’t get me wrong, I’m a cis-gendered woman and very comfortable in the gender I was assigned at birth. I even enjoy most of the things that have been stereotypically assigned to women: fashion, rom-coms, makeup, nail art, glitter, dolls, flowers, etc. It doesn’t necessarily come down to a discomfort with the old “barbies are for girls, Tonka trucks are for boys” way of thinking, but that’s close. I don’t like being put in a box. Inside me (and likely every person) exists the Feminine and the Masculine. And while I do have interests that have been traditionally more associated with men, like comics and video games, the aspect I struggle most with is the Internal Masculine. It’s not something that is easily put into words. I could say that I am both gentle and strong, passive and assertive, but I believe there is feminine strength and masculine gentleness. There is an inner masculinity that exists within me, and it feels trapped and impossible to express since I exist as a 4”7 curvy woman who enjoys glittery eyeshadow and acrylic nails. This Internal Masculine exists and constantly feels ignored and denied, as it’s not necessarily something that can be externally expressed, it just is and being who I am it is impossible to be perceived by the average bystander.

Sometimes I long for our outside shells to be eradicated, and for us all to exist as floating balls of energy. We could only perceive each other’s essence and love each other truly for who we are, all preconceived notions of gender, expression, class, race, physical appearance wiped away. This is really why I hate the concept of dating apps so much. I’m definitely not saying I’m above physical attraction. I have a type. But I’m less likely to care about someone’s gender than the kind of energy they give off. I’ve never “come out” as a member of the LGBTQ community because frankly, I’m not comfortable labeling myself. I feel like the moment I breathe out a word to describe who I’m attracted to, I’ll feel the metaphorical bars go up around me and I’ll be boxed in. Words all come with their own connotations and histories, and I prefer to just exist. As soon as you tell someone you are in a certain category, you can see the cogs begin to churn in their heads as they unconsciously assign an entire host of other accompanying descriptors to you. I hate having who I am be boxed into parameters. I have been attracted to people who lie along several different points in the gender, gender expression, and sexuality binaries. Why can’t that just make me a person who likes people? I’m attracted to confidence, bookishness, a strong sense of humor, to kindness. I like dark hair, glasses, and tattoos. The concept of gender and sexuality often colors how dating and relationships are navigated. The woman does this, the man does that, guys like this, girls like that, the “submissive” person acts this way, and the “dominant” person acts that way. I feel like when I engage with people, cis straight men, in particular, the way I am spoken to and approached is colored by all of these sociological expectations. If the woman is confident, dominant, and assertive, it’s fetishized. Oh, she’s a ballbuster, she’s a dominatrix. Why can’t a woman be both the protector and the protected? Why can’t a woman both give and take power and control without preconceived gender roles mucking it all up? Whether someone is dominant or submissive, the nurturer or the nurtured, who approaches the other first, in all these things gender is inevitably part of the equation.

Sometimes I feel so held back and limited by my physical form, and this is as a cis-gendered person. I can’t even imagine how difficult this must be for a transgendered person. How wonderful would it be to not be perceived at all? There are times when I feel like I exist in between. I feel not fully connected to the physical. I’ll sit in a cafe, staring out the window as I sip on a cappuccino, and I’ll start to imagine myself opaque. People around me carry on their conversations, and I become invisible like I’m merely a spirit, a floating ball of energy observing my surroundings unseen and detached. Sometimes I feel like I’m not really a part of the world like I don’t really exist. I’ve sat in front of the ocean and let my eyes sink into the depths of the water and felt my breath coincide with the waves and I think that the slightest gust of wind could scatter me like a dandelion, and I’ll just disappear. I’ll sink into this state of unbeing and feel a blanket of peace wrap around me. As I leave my physical body behind I leave behind all lingering hurts, anxieties, regrets, awkwardness, unfulfilled desires, and hopes. I care about nothing, nothing can hurt me, and the future doesn’t matter because I do not exist. Of course, inevitably I am pulled back when my phone dings or someone recognizes me and strikes up a friendly conversation. At first, being ripped from this nonexistence feels jarring and offensive, but once I make eye contact with someone and I share a smile, or a kind word, I’m anchored back into the physical, and it’s like my veins refill with blood and I’m warm and I’m flesh and I’m human and I didn’t realize how cold and lonely I was until I reconnected with myself and with the world that I am fortunately or unfortunately a part of. And even though I will continue to ebb and flow between the physical and the spiritual, the feminine and the masculine, connection and disconnection, I am a part of the world. I do exist alongside other people who also exist. And with that comes pain, loneliness, regret, fear, and the discomfort of being perceived and misunderstood, but with it also comes the possibility of connection, love, extending kindness and receiving it in return, of making the world a little better, of sometimes, on incredibly rare but wonderful instances, being seen as exactly who I am.

[awkward-gay-bro]

New Position

Officer James Hanson knew he had killed this interview. The skinny suit who had conducted it had been eying him up the whole time. Hanson couldn’t blame him of course, anyone would be lucky to get to look at his studly muscles, but the guy should have tried harder to hide it. They were police officers, after all. They were supposed to be men. That didn’t stop Hanson from flexing his arms across his strapping chest, whatever got him the position that was rightfully his. 

Hanson considered himself one of the most up and coming officers, and he knew he deserved to be in a position of real power. He was tired of just being another uni, he knew that he should be something better. And low and behold a scout for a swat division he’d never even heard of approached him. The man was almost as rippling with muscle as he was and had told him that his personality was exactly what they looked for in a special position within their elite team. Hanson wanted to know more, but the other man said that this was on a need to know basis, and that if he got the position they could go into more details.  

After signing and NDA and a contract that he could either turn around now, or he was signed on for the next five years, Hanson was sent a message of where to go for his special training. Hanson didn’t even read what he was signing, he was too excited. The little bit of information he had on this told him he’d even be getting his own office at the team’s secret headquarters. Hanson made his way to the address he’d been provided and couldn’t believe it. The skyscraper didn’t look anything like a precinct he’d seen before, and as he walked into the lobby he couldn’t help thinking he was in a movie. There was no one in the lobby, just a fancy fountain, artwork, topiaries, but nothing that would indicate this had to do with law enforcement. There was a singular elevator in the lobby, whose doors opened, and the suit who’d interviewed him walked out. 

“Hello Officer Hanson, follow me, and we will begin your processing,” the suit said. 

“Am I going to get to learn more about what we are doing here?” Hanson asked as he followed the other man into the elevator.

“We specialize in the things most people don’t even know exist. Crimes using technology most people would believe are simply science fiction fantasies,” the suit nonchalantly said as if he were talking about something as mundane about stamp collecting. “But we can talk about that later, first step is getting you down to the lab for transitioning.”

“Wait does that mean we have high tech weapons here? Like the guns in Men In Black?” Hanson said excitedly. He was ecstatic. He always knew that he was meant for something bigger than all those other schmucks from the academy. Finally, those thoughts were being confirmed.

As the elevator hit the floor labeled lab, the suit said, “That movie got more right than we expected, but you aren’t going to need to worry about that. This is Dr. Rosalind, she is our head geneticist. She will be taking care of you through the bulk of your transition to your new role.”

A beautiful woman, with flaming auburn hair walked out and extended her hand, “Hello, you must be Jamie. Let’s get you in my chair here, most of my subjects prefer to be out during the transition to avoid any pain, so I’m just going to do a small dose of anesthesia.”

“It’s James, and do I really need anesthesia just for you to do a physical? I can assure you, I’m in peak physical condition.” Hanson knew if this suit was the only kinda guy she’d been working with, he was definitely going to have a chance to get with this lady scientist. He was strapping and rugged, and guys like him always got the brainy hottie in the movies.  

“This is going to be a lot more than just a physical, James. But I have a packed schedule today so let’s get this started.” As she said this she pulled down a mask to his face, flipped a switch, and he was out. 

When Hanson woke back up, he was no longer in the lab. He was sitting in a dark bedroom that looked like something out of a brothel. There was no door to the room, just large deep red curtains. As he started to look around the massive room he saw that all of his belongings he’d set aside for relocation were there. If this was going to be his new room, he was definitely going to have to manly up the place. As he lifted one of the boxes he realized whatever the doctor had done really must have drained his energy, the box felt a lot heavier than it had when he packed it. Opening the box he pulled out his high school football jersey, his prized possession of the good old days. When he held it in front of himself, though, it fell down to his knees. It looked like it would be a dress on him. 

“What the hell? They stretched out my jersey?” Looking through the other boxes he found that this was the only article of clothing they’d actually brought over. He couldn’t find any of his clothes. From the corner of his eye he spotted a closet, and assumed they must have already set his clothing up there. But none of his normal clothes were there. It was all way too faggy clothes, mixed with random skimpy costumes, and it was all several sizes too small. The closest thing to being in any way something he would wear was a leather swat uniform. He stripped out of the hospital gown he was for some reason wearing, only now realizing someone had to have removed his clothes for him. Hoping it was the scientist lady and not the suit, he quickly pulled on the leather pants. He hadn’t noticed how smooth his body had become, his hard earned muscles faded, his body hair gone, even his tattoos he’d spent so much time and money on were completely absent. The leather pants went up shockingly easy considering how small and tight they looked, until he got up to his butt. “I knew these wouldn’t fit,” he thought to himself. One massive tug, and he finally got them above his butt, which then began jiggling from the movement. “What the hell?” He reached down and grabbed his butt. Gone was his perky tight rear end, replaced with massive globes he couldn’t even fit in his hands. He hadn’t yet come to terms with the fact his hands had grown smaller and daintier, but these massive cheeks would have been more than a handful even with his formerly rugged paws. 

He finished putting the costume on, buttoning a vest of his now lithe, smooth chest, when the suit walked in through the curtains. “Ah, Doctor Rosalind always does magnificent work. I forgot to introduce myself earlier, you can call me Cassidy. I see you found your new wardrobe?”

“What the hell did she do to my ass?” Hanson said as he turned to face his new coworker. When he finally saw him face to face he was horrified to see that he was now looking up at the man he’d once considered scrawny. He wasn’t just shorter than the other man, he was smaller. “How did you get so big?”

“I’m the exact same as I’ve always been, Jamie,” Cassidy chuckled. Looking up at him, Hanson hadn’t noticed before that he definitely had muscles. The dress shirt he was wearing was tight across his chest, and showed off the lean muscles of his frame. Hanson also noticed that his eyes were deep, and that his smile was as cute as any of his ex-girlfriends’. He immediately shook those thoughts out of his head. 

“How is this going to help me be a better cop? How am I gonna shut down someone with high tech weapons if I can’t even reach the top shelf?” Hanson yelled. 

“That’s not your job, Jamie. It’s mine,” Cassidy began to explain. “With our need for secrecy, our agents here are not able to leave and go back to their normal lives. And we aren’t able to start new lives with others. Our identities, like yours, have been erased from normal society. But we still have needs. That’s where a new program came in, a way for us to satisfy those needs, for friendship, for love, for lust. You were found by one of our recruiters with an ironic sense of humour, and you have gone through our rigorous treatment so that you can participate in that very program.”

“I’m supposed to be a cop! I’m supposed to be something great!” Hanson yelled. 

“And now you are. You have been perfected to my specifications. You are definitely something great,” Cassidy said as he walked closer. Leaning down to Hanson, he planted a kiss, gently holding the back off his head. Hanson fell into the kiss, his body betraying him. The simple touch of the other man’s lips sent butterflies to his stomach and blood to his groin. As Cassidy caressed his face with one hand, he reached down with the other and grabbed one of Hanson’s massive mounds firmly. Falling farther into the kiss, Hanson arched his back pushing his jiggling cheek deeper into Cassidy’s hand. 

Breaking from the kiss, Cassidy said, “You know, most of the agents here assign some new personalities to the partners. I liked how arrogant you were, I made sure they didn’t change a thing about that sexy brain of yours. Well, other than helping you appreciate mine as well.” Hanson should have been angry at what the other man had done, but all he could think of was how thoughtful it was that Cassidy made sure he would still be himself. Even if it was in a new package. “Now this will be your new office, it’s connected by these curtains to mine. We can go more into the rest of the facility, but what do you say we break in this bed?” With that Cassidy took his hand from Jamie’s head, and grabbed hold of his other cheek. Grabbing both cheeks firmly, he lifted the smaller man up, into his arms and began kissing him again. Jamie began grinding into the larger man as they kissed, his massive rear end twerking along in Cassidy’s hands. Jamie thought to himself that he’d have plenty of time to be angry later, right now he just wanted to show off that he was the best of the best no matter the position. And Cassidy had a lot of positions he wanted to try out. 

[cyhyr]

Summer of Whump Day 15: Sleep Deprived

Fandom: Naruto

Rating: G

Pairing: Hatake Kakashi & Umino Iruka; Umino Iruka & Uzumaki Naruto

WC: ~3320

Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply

Notes: AU backstory for the purposes of I Wanted To.

A/N: This is just. I don't even know guys. I started writing and then it got bigger and bigger and I couldn't stop. It's just. A Lot.

~

Kakashi has not been able to take care of his sensei’s child the way he should, the way the boy admittedly deserves; and yes, absolutely, he takes that fault personally but also doesn’t do anything about it because really… what can he provide for this child besides instability? He’s hardly in the village anymore, though Sandaime has hinted that, if Kakashi asked, he could be assigned missions closer to home. Instead, Kakashi does what he can without bothering Naruto or letting the boy realize that he even exists. He ensures the bills are paid up in six-month increments, and has the utility companies know to charge to his personal account anything he misses due to being out on mission. He provides non-perishable groceries, placed in the pantry late at night every month or so: oats, rice, dried or tinned meats, beans and legumes. He’ll bring a small selection of vegetables with him at the same time, (no more than three or four items, so they don’t rot before Naruto feels obligated to eat them) usually pilfered from Gai’s garden so he knows they’re not poisoned.

And whenever he’s in the village, he makes a stop at Naruto’s apartment at least once to check in on the wards wrapped into the walls and window frames.

This is how he learns about Umino Iruka and the interest he’s taken in the village jinchūriki.

~

The wards when he gets to Minato’s son’s apartment this time are different. Odd. Not… well, actually, they might be stronger; Kakashi glances at the walls with the sharingan and finds himself mildly impressed. Whoever placed these wards knew about the ones Kakashi put up, and modified their own to augment and strengthen Kakashi’s.

Kakashi says modified because he’s seen these styles of wards before, but never used like this. The key in the front door jingles a bit, like the person unlocking the door knows Kakashi’s in here and is giving him time to leave. Kakashi takes the out for what it is and slips out the window, closing it quietly behind him. He stays plastered against the wall beside the window for a moment, however, wanting to get a glimpse of who’s taking care of his sensei’s kid in Kakashi’s stead.

The door opens and Naruto—gods, how old is he, seven? Eight?—barrels by the figure in the doorway with a grin and shoots straight for the pantry.

“Naruto-kun, take your sandals off first. I mopped for you just earlier this week, I’m not doing it again so soon.”

One arm balancing a paper bag of fresh groceries, a leather school bag over the same shoulder; hitai-ate and vest both neat, but his sleeves and pants legs are scuffed; and his fingers carry the faint dusting of chalk that hours of holding ingrains and a quick wash won’t wipe away. A teacher.

“Iruka-sensei, I can mop later; I’m hungry now!”

“I won’t ask you twice.” The man—this Iruka-sensei—walks barefoot through the apartment and sets the grocery bag down on the kitchen table. Naruto hangs his head and goes back to the door, and once he’s out of the room, Iruka looks at the window Kakashi is peeking in, scowling initially. The scowl lessens when he sees the Konoha ANBU mask, and he nods, but makes a slight shoo gesture.

“What’re we making tonight, sensei?” Naruto bounds back into the room, barefoot as his sensei.

“I’m thinking of teaching you breakfast for dinner,” Iruka says. “Miso soup, tamagoyaki, steamed salmon; how’s that sound?”

“Sounds great!”

“And if we make enough, you’ll have enough for the morning, too,” Iruka ruffles Naruto’s hair. “Go grab out the rice and we’ll get started, okay?”

Kakashi leaves. Iruka-sensei seems to have only good intentions.

~

Iruka is a new teacher, one that (if the very quiet rumors are to be believed) didn’t initially want to be the jinchūriki’s homeroom teacher. Something changed his mind, clearly, and now he’s spending every moment outside of class with the kid.

Every. Moment.

Kakashi notices the third time he’s in the village after meeting Iruka—notices how tired the man seems. He follows the teacher from just before dawn when he wakes up and heads out to Naruto’s apartment and fixes him breakfast. Kakashi watches Iruka herd Naruto around the apartment, brushing teeth, getting changed, gods Naruto where’s your homework I told you to put it right back in your bag last night after I helped you with it. Then they’re out the door and one of them locks the deadbolt while the other activates the wards (Iruka always double-checks the wards if Naruto does them) and they walk to the Academy together.

Iruka spends the day in the Academy staunchly refusing to play favorites. If Kakashi didn’t know that the man had made Naruto eat breakfast while searching for a clean shirt for the child to wear, he’d swear Naruto was Iruka’s least favorite student—based solely on the amount of yelling.

But the two of them have lunch together, talk and hang out during recess unless Iruka shoos him away to play, and then they walk together to either Iruka’s or Naruto’s apartment after school. Sometimes they’ll go out for ramen, or to one of the training grounds to work on a technique they started in class which Naruto needs more time to fully grasp. Iruka is a patient teacher, especially one-on-one, and even though Minato-sensei’s son doesn’t perform well on the tests in school he learns the techniques after class and gains the appropriate muscle memory.

Which is admittedly much more important than the grades Naruto earns. Iruka won’t say as much, but it’s obvious that he agrees when his teaching style puts emphasis on practicals rather than paper tests. Kakashi approves.

After a day of minding twenty-five ankle-biters, an afternoon of extra training for the village jinchūriki, and an evening of making sure Naruto is fed and happy and his homework is completed to the best of his ability, Iruka then helps Naruto get ready for bed. Against the kid’s token protests, they’ll read a story together (Kakashi suspects Iruka does this because Naruto’s reading skills are lacking, but he could also very well just be doing it because he enjoys it—the man’s motives are enigma to him) and Iruka will tuck Naruto in. He stays at the apartment until he knows Naruto is asleep, tidying up here and there or even just leaning in the bedroom doorway watching the jinchūriki’s chest rise and fall.

Only when Naruto’s asleep will Iruka leave, activating the wards and locking up after himself.

It took only two times of Kakashi watching these kinds of days go by before he realized that Iruka knew he had been watched all day. As he passes the tree outside of Naruto’s building, the only one that reaches high enough to afford a glance into his apartment, Iruka looks right up into the limbs where Kakashi is crouched, waves, and continues back to his own home.

(He had been underestimating Umino Iruka’s awareness. He’s intrigued.)

(But anyway.)

Once he’s home, Iruka rushes through grading and lesson plans and adjustments. He makes lunch for himself and Naruto for tomorrow. Cleans, if he remembers; showers, if he has any energy left. Then, Umino-sensei crashes hard around one or two in the morning.

All to start over again at five-thirty the next morning.

It can’t be sustainable. Kakashi is morbidly interested in how long Iruka planned to keep up this kind of schedule.

~

It starts out with checking out during lunch. Kakashi is lounging in the trees on the Academy grounds, pretending to read but listening intently to Naruto ramble on about some new topping Ichiraku is introducing on Friday and please Iruka-sensei can we go? Then the soft click of dropped chopsticks against a bento box made Kakashi look down to the pair sitting at the base of his tree.

“Iruka-sensei? Are you—?”

“Oh, I’m. I’m alright.” Iruka laughs it off, fumbling for his chopsticks. “I was just thinking too hard there.”

“You shouldn’t do that!”

“Hu—?”

“You tell me not to think too hard all the time,” Naruto pouts. “That I’ll hurt myself.”

Iruka’s laugh crinkles his eyes and he tips his head back. “Gods, Naruto, I’m sorry—no, not—um. Listen, forget it, okay? Ramen, on Friday, right?”

“YES!”

And it was forgotten. Except, Iruka is unconsciously rubbing his fingers together beside his hip and Kakashi can see it. Something happened to force the drop—likely, he lost feeling in his hand briefly.

~

Kakashi’s out of the village as it gets worse, but he hears all about it from Shikaku and Inoichi when he gets back. They’re in the hallway outside the Hokage’s office, talking in low tones like they were discussing an attack on the village.

“What could cause such a serious mood shift?”

“Genjutsu; one of the other teachers sabotaging him; another student practicing poorly.”

“Iruka-sensei?” Kakashi asks.

Both men look at him as he approaches. He’s still in his ANBU armor, but the mask is in his locker. It’s an open secret he’s in ANBU; only his codename is high-clearance.

Shikaku nods. “Shikamaru’s complaining about the man’s temper being shorter than usual.”

“My Ino confirmed this behavior shift. We’re understandably worried, if someone if trying to use an Academy teacher to attack the kids—”

Kakashi shakes his head. “It’s not that.”

“And you would know?” Shikaku prompts.

“He’s taking care of Naruto,” Kakashi shrugs. “It’s probably catching up with him, finally.”

“What is?” Inoichi looks honestly confused.

Kakashi tilts his head and then realizes. “Ah. That’s right. You’re both married. You have a way to share the responsibilities.”

Sakumo hadn’t ever been irate with him, but Kakashi can remember him being tired. He lifts his hand and walks away. “I’ll see if I can’t have a talk with Iruka-sensei,” he says, as though he speaks with the man on a regular basis instead of just waving back from his shadowed space in the tree at night when Iruka leaves Naruto.

~

He doesn’t get a chance to talk to Iruka for weeks. When he gets back, it finally comes to a head.

Kakashi is perched outside Iruka’s apartment where he and Naruto are preparing their dinner. Naruto, still talking a mile a minute, hardly notices that Iruka is dazed at the counter, his hands going through the motions of peeling carrots and separating pieces of broccoli without being fully cognizant. He’s much paler than the last time Kakashi peeked in on them—all except for the bags under his eyes; those couldn’t get much darker if they were black.

He flinches forward as Iruka drifts to the side. Naruto catches his teacher before Kakashi can take a step, and the clang of a knife hitting the floor is more than a little startling. Together, they stick Iruka’s hand under running water from the tap, and then Naruto disappears further into the apartment and returns a few seconds later with a first aid kit.

“What was that about, Iruka-sensei?”

Iruka takes a bit to answer. “I haven’t been sleeping well,” he says. “I’m a bit tired, that’s all. Sorry.”

“You don’t need to apologize,” Naruto says. He finishes caring for his sensei and then says, “How about I go get some take-out, and then we can clean up and you can go to bed?”

Iruka smiles tiredly. “We can bring the take-out to your place, okay? I’ll clean up when I come back home.”

“But—”

“It’s okay, Naruto,” Iruka puts his unbandaged hand in Naruto’s hair. “I’d rather make sure you’re fed and well-rested for school tomorrow. That’s what's important.”

“You’re important, too, sensei,” Naruto says.

Kakashi can’t help but agree.

“Let’s go get some ramen, and we can argue about this later.”

Kakashi flashes away to Ichiraku to put in their order and pay. It’s the least he can do, right?

Later that night, Iruka leaves Naruto’s apartment and like always, lifts his head to wave up at Kakashi in the tree. Only, his eyes roll back with the movement of lifting his head and his knees collapse under him and Kakashi makes it just in time to keep the sensei’s head from hitting the ground. He catches Iruka with one hand under his back and the other cupped behind his head and eases him down against his raised knee.

As soon as Iruka is horizontal, his eyes flutter back open. “Oh, ANBU-san,” he mutters. He’s dazed and foggy, but tries to stand up on his own anyway.

“Sensei, are you well?” Kakashi asks, knowing the answer but needing Iruka to admit it.

Iruka waves him away. “I’m fine, I’m fine. Just a little tired.”

It’s more than that if you’re slipping into micro-sleep, Kakashi thinks, but lets the man stubbornly stand up. He’s still holding his hands out, ready to catch him again, when after five paces Iruka tips sideways and falls again. Kakashi keeps him upright this time, arms tight around his waist and back.

Iruka stays under for a few seconds this time, and when he wakes he leans more heavily into Kakashi’s armor and groans. “What’s happening?” he murmurs.

Normally, he would stay and look after Naruto all night, but this seems more important. “Umino-sensei, I’m going to see you to the hospital now,” he says.

“But… Naruto?”

Because of course Iruka figured out that Kakashi—his ANBU persona at least—stays close to Naruto at all times. “Together, our wards are top-notch, sensei,” Kakashi says. “He’ll be okay for a night.” He slips Iruka onto his back, pulling his arms over his shoulders. Iruka’s light breath huffs past his ear as he says, “Hold on.” Then, they’re gone.

~

Iruka wakes up much later, Naruto tipped against his hospital bed, snoring. He feels so much better after however many hours of sleep he’s gotten. He wonders briefly why he’s here, and where the ANBU that brought him here is. If Naruto is here, that ANBU is likely closeby. Iruka lets out a jaw-cracking yawn and settles back down on the pillow to sleep some more.

When he wakes up the second time, it’s because he has to pee so bad oh gods. It’s night time and Naruto is gone—Iruka tries not to feel disappointed. His legs shake under him when he tries to stand to get to the restroom; whatever’s wrong with him, it’s making him weak as a newborn but he will not embarrass himself by not making it to the toilet. He pushes chakra through his legs, and, finally, blissfully, makes it.

He gets a good look at himself in the mirror as he’s washing his hands. His eyes are puffy and red, but he has some color back in his skin. His hair could use a wash and some heavy conditioning—he hadn’t had time for that in awhile. All in all, it’s not bad; but he’s still wondering why he’s here.

Iruka leaves the restroom and is halfway across the room to his bed when his chakra flares unexpectedly. He stumbles, collapses, and feels his eyes blur and begin to roll back.

Before his head can hit the tile, he’s caught and cushioned by Naruto’s ANBU. The ANBU gently picks him up, one arm under his knees and the other around his back, and it’s like Iruka weighs nothing as the ANBU stands and carries him back to bed.

“Thank-you, ANBU-san,” Iruka says, flushed. “I promise I’m not usually so weak.”

The ANBU fusses with the blanket and covers Iruka back up. He (Iruka assumes they’re a he, the voice and height lead him to believe it but he’s been wrong before) seems frustrated, in the way that ANBU show frustration: by being busy, and then by being absolutely still. He’ll make sure the water pitcher is full, and then stand silently by the window for a few seconds. Pace the width of the room from window to door and back, and then stand at the end of the bed.

“What’s going on, ANBU-san? Is Naruto—?”

“Uzumaki-kun is safe, healthy, and well-cared for,” the ANBU says, cutting him off. “You are a godsend to this village, if only to care for the uncared for.”

Iruka glowers. “Someone had to do it. He’s seven years old and living alone and has lived alone his entire life. I couldn’t—”

“I’m aware,” the ANBU holds up a hand to stop his rant. “Believe me, if I could have done more, I would have. But an ANBU is no role model, especially not me. I’m glad he’s had you. That said.” The ANBU somehow matched Iruka’s glower through the mask; he was suddenly glad for all the time spent in Sandaime’s office around the ANBU that he can pick up on these micro-aggressions for what they are.

Iruka folds his arms and waits for the ANBU to continue.

After a heavy sigh, the ANBU says, “Sleep deprivation.”

“I—what?”

“What you’re here for. You’ve been running yourself into the ground, sensei. You slept for twenty-two hours, and you’re still not fully recovered. The medics say it could take up to a week of proper sleep for you to feel normal again.”

Iruka flushes and ducks his head. “I… But, that doesn’t…”

“How much sleep have you been getting? Three, Four hours a night? And then you’re exhausting yourself all day looking after pre-genin and then Naruto.” The ANBU folds his arms. “This isn’t sustainable.”

“I know that. I just.” Iruka groans. “I don’t have time for—” He scrubs both hands across his eyes. Now that he’s actually gotten some sleep he’s really tired. “No one else takes care of him, not the way he needs it; he’s just a kid! It bothers me enough that he lives by himself—”

“Your immune system was compromised when you arrived, sensei.” The ANBU snapped, quieting Iruka’s tirade. “Who’s going to take care of Naruto the way he deserves if you’re stuck on your back with a perfectly, normally treatable form of the flu? What will happen to him if you critically injure yourself due to a micro-sleep at an inopportune time and find yourself off-roster for weeks? What then, sensei?”

The silence is heavy. Iruka picks at a stray thread in the blanket on his lap.

“I don’t know,” he answers, his voice small. “I didn’t… I wasn’t thinking that far ahead, I guess.”

The ANBU nods. “At least you’re aware now.”

There’s a long, awkward pause as Iruka wonders what else there is to say.

“You have a spare room in your apartment, yes?” the ANBU breaks the silence.

Iruka nods, slowly, not sure where this is going.

“Maybe…” the ANBU continues slowly, “maybe changes in Naruto’s living arrangements can be made. If Naruto were living with you, could you agree to a better sleep schedule—one with which you can better take care of yourself and Naruto?”

Iruka could kiss this man.

“Yes! Yes, please, I’ll—yes! I’ll take him, even if it means I have to lose him as a student, I’d take him as a foster.”

The ANBU chuckles. “I’ll speak with the Hokage. If he says no, well… There’s nothing saying that Naruto himself can’t choose where he lives, is there?” Then his micro-aggression is back, leaning over the foot of the bed with his arms wide. “My only stipulation is that you take better care of yourself. A sick guardian can’t very well keep up with any child, let alone a jinchūriki.”

Iruka nods. “Deal.” He covers a yawn with his palm and asks, “Can this taking care of myself clause start now, with me asking you to leave so I can go back to sleep?”

“I’m not leaving,” the ANBU says, standing back up straight. “If you’re to be the guardian of our jinchūriki, you’ll need to get used to the ANBU guard, sensei. But please, get some sleep.” He chuckles lightly, “I think I’ve caught you enough in the last thirty-six hours, don’t you?”

[heliads]

A Matter of Metal

Based on this request: “an alternate version of magneto’s son and been in shield and been really close to hill and fury so sword has sent him to investigate the hex with the trio and he has the same powers of magneto and basically wants what agatha wants wanda powers and basically betrays sword/shield”

masterlist

Three people sit at a table. They are each dressed in shades of navy and black, guns obvious on hips and knives hidden on shins. The flickering glare of a fluorescent light casts shadows across the room. Despite all the resources of S.H.I.E.L.D., they’ve never bothered to get it fixed. The man, one black eye patch hidden in shadow, sits closer to the woman, whose dark hair is clinically pulled away from her face. They stare at a second man, one who returns their gaze without a shard of hesitation. Between the three of them, they know enough secrets about S.H.I.E.L.D. and the various governments to tear down the entire fabric of the world.

Instead, their focus is on a manila file folder, one that’s been slid across the table to the second man. He eyes it coolly. “You want me to investigate Wanda Maximoff?” Fury nods. “S.W.O.R.D. claims to have it under control. I’m not sure how much of that I believe.” Maria Hill gestures towards the folder. “You’ll be there as our eyes and ears. S.W.O.R.D. is willing to accept our help, but we’re fairly certain it’s only as a way to get us off of their back. You’ll have to be careful, Y/N, but we think you’ll be able to find out more than they’re letting on.”

Y/N raises an eyebrow. “At this rate, I’m not sure whether you’re sending me because you trust me or because you want to see what would happen if you sent another agent with abilities to tangle with Maximoff.” Fury chuckles at that. “Are you sure your powers don’t include mind reading? I can’t keep anything from you.” Y/N lets his stony facade break for a second as he laughs. “That’s why we’re such good friends.”

Hill smirks. “If you consider Fury a best friend forever, I’m getting worried about your mental state. You sure you’re up for this job?” Y/N grins. “I’m the only one you trust. If I wasn’t ready, you wouldn’t have asked me about it at all.” Fury nods. “You’re not just there to watch and wait, L/N, you’re there to act. If you feel the need to intervene, do so at will. We’ll defend you to S.W.O.R.D.”

The barest hint of curiosity flares across Y/N’s eyes. “You want me to go behind S.W.O.R.D.’s back?” Fury shrugs. “We want you to make the right decisions, even if they happen to be against S.W.O.R.D. direction. Use discretion, but do what you must.” Y/N nods, then begins to rise from his chair. “When do I leave?” Fury and Hill stand as well. “Whenever you’re willing. The first trucks leave in a couple of hours.”

Y/N turns to go, but a call from Fury makes him glance over at the man again. “And L/N? Take care. From what I’ve heard, things aren’t exactly smooth sailing over there.” A devil-sharp grin makes its way onto Y/N’s face. “Trust me, Fury. I can take care of myself.” Just as he says that, the room begins to shake. It’s not much, barely noticeable, but still there. Every metal thing in the room begins to contort for just a second, and then the moment passes and they smooth themselves back out again once Y/N disappears from the room.

Y/N heads quickly to his apartment. It’s not far from S.H.I.E.L.D. headquarters, carefully chosen for an easy escape if necessary. In this case, Y/N won’t be running away from anything. Instead, he’ll be running towards something, a risky shot that just might plunge him into a scenario far more dangerous than either Fury or Hill realizes. That’s why they’re sending Y/N, after all. No matter what, he always comes out on top, regardless of how deadly the situation ends up turning. In fact, the darker the scene, the better he works.

Y/N begins to fill a black case with a number of supplies. Clothing, weapons, you name it. Just as the case begins to fill, he pauses, and turns to a gunmetal gray box almost hidden in the back of the room. Y/N kneels before it almost reverently, and lifts the lid. Inside lies a helmet of dark metal, one that would be snug to the skull but extends down, cut away from the eyes like those of the Ancient Greeks. Y/N’s eyes close as he holds the helmet in his hands. It was not his, not at first. No, it belonged to his father. Erik Lehnsherr.

Erik had raised Y/N, both by his presence and his absence. They both shared the same ability to manipulate metal, to raze the earth if they wished. The only difference was that Erik was long gone, and Y/N was forced to stay here today. Y/N isn’t sure if Erik was dead or alive, or if that even mattered. Erik had vanished one night in a cloud of smoke, with the yells of men echoing over the pounding of heels on asphalt. He could be dead, or missing, or simply choosing never to return. In all honesty, it didn’t matter. Y/N remembers the key detail- the look of anguish on Erik’s face as he realized he was losing his family again, one final blow in a sea of countless injuries.

When Y/N leaves for the S.W.O.R.D. encampments, there is a metal helmet hidden in the black case on the seat beside him. He does not let it out of his sight for a second.

The truck is rocking back and forth, heavy tires digging deeply into muddy ruts as it travels along an only semi-paved road on the way to Westview, New Jersey. Y/N sits in the back with a couple of other new arrivals, but he does not speak to them. He rides with these nervously chattering brains and muscle only because he does not wish to stand out amongst the residents of the Westview encampment. Few people know the true importance of Agent Y/N L/N, and it’s best to keep his high level under wraps. This want for secrecy, however, is not enough to force him to converse with the others. Everyone has their limits, he supposes. This is his.

Y/N can sense the Westview encampment before he even looks out the tinted windows to see it. He can feel the boundary pressing in around him, the tendrils of magic practically reaching out to wrap around his brain. Y/N’s power is raw, has always called to others like it. Apparently his magnetism doesn’t just extend to metals. As the truck carries him closer to Wanda’s energy barrier, a pounding in his skull gets worse and worse, feeling like an anvil slamming against his temples.

Y/N does his best to hide any signs of weakness, but he must have a slight sheen of sweat glistening across his forehead or something, because S.W.O.R.D. Director Hayward raises an eyebrow when he greets Y/N outside of the truck. “You alright there, agent? What, you get sick on the way over?” Y/N isn’t in the mood for politicking. “You might consider questioning your driver instead. I think I’ve seen more technical skill in a fifteen year old with a learner’s permit.” As Y/N strides away, he sees a trio of friends exchange glances as they try to hold back laughter. He recognizes them in passing- Woo, Rambeau, Lewis, present in the S.H.I.E.L.D. databases thanks to their experience with Avenger-level threats.

Y/N arrives late in the afternoon, and sits in on a couple of debriefings before night falls over the encampment. S.W.O.R.D. isn’t exactly following through with the laissez-faire attitude they highlighted in their project write-up, but Y/N assumes that a few details were embellished to make sure Fury didn’t come after them. These details would include an accidental send-off of one Monica Rambeau into the so-called Hex, and a later disappearance of a S.W.O.R.D. spy at the hands of Wanda Maximoff when the man had been discovered creeping into Westview via the sewer system.

Clearly embarrassed to present these findings to an extension of S.H.I.E.L.D., Hayward had decided to wait on any further activity regarding Westview until the next day, or at least until things cooled down with Wanda herself and with the tensions already simmering between Director Hayward and the trio of Woo, Rambeau, and Lewis. Y/N waits until action on the encampment is beginning to settle down, when the dark cloak of night will hide his silhouette, and then slips out of his assigned bunk, heading towards the barrier to Westview.

If he thought the call to the magical energy was bad in the truck, it is a thousand times worse here. Yet the pure power of the boundary calls to Y/N even as it pushes him away. Y/N walks until he’s mere inches away from the shimmering scarlet surface. Around him, guards ignore his sudden appearance, their scopes and tech not picking up his figure. Y/N smiles to himself. It’s funny how easy it is to manipulate all that metal. Erik would have loved it.

Y/N turns his focus back to the barrier of Westview. He considers it for a moment, then pulls his father’s helmet from where it was hidden under his coat. He slips it on, and the pain dissipates to almost nothing. What remains instead is that same hunger, that same want for the power right before his eyes. Y/N reaches out a hand to touch the barrier, and his eyes widen for just a second as he makes contact. It is amazing how much is right there for the taking. Without another glance, Y/N steps through the barrier into Westview.

Agent Y/N L/N has been missing for only a couple of hours. Director Hayward issued a statement telling everyone at the encampment that L/N was out on a S.W.O.R.D.- authorized mission, that he will be back soon. Some people believe him, but more notice the crease of fury that has appeared on his brow, or the clench of his knuckles as he storms into the tech center where Darcy Lewis and Monica Rambeau currently watch the live feed of a drone,  one that has just been sent into Westview.

Hayward stomps up to the group, considers the monitor for a second, then nods to an awaiting technician. “Take the shot.” Monica, who had been speaking to Wanda through a microphone, freezes. “What?” Her panic is not enough to stop the missiles from clicking into position on the drone, or to have any impact on Wanda, whose eyes glow red as she shuts down all S.W.O.R.D. control of the drone. Monica’s live feed flickers into static.

Scarlet bands of energy wrap over the drone, and she turns away from it. Wanda does not notice the failsafe missiles still preparing to fire, or notice that anything is wrong at all until the launched missiles crumple in a tangle of wires and screeching metal. Wanda whirls around to see a man in a metal helmet standing across the street, his eyes fixed impassively on her. He releases his clenched fist, letting the buckling metal fall to the ground in tandem with his lowered arm. Wanda stares at him. “Who are you?” Y/N returns her gaze. “Someone who can help you get what you want.”

Scores of S.W.O.R.D. agents are clustering around the Westview barrier, watching as it flashes scarlet, rent apart as a woman steps through. She is dragging a broken drone, which she tosses at their feet. As she speaks, fear and apprehension begin to dawn on the faces of the gathered agents. Monica Rambeau steps forward and attempts to reason with Wanda. Director Hayward realizes that this negotiation tactic isn’t working and tries another option: outright threats.

Yet Wanda Maximoff does not seem concerned by the soldiers pointing guns at her, or at least not until Hayward snaps his fingers and a wave of fully automated weaponry focuses on her. “They’re not humans,” Hayward calls, “You can’t control their minds.” Then another voice echoes out from behind Wanda. “But I can.”

Y/N L/N, clad in his father’s metal helmet, steps through the barrier. He raises his arm, and all scraps of metal crash and crumple together, surrounding Hayward with piles of useless waste. Hayward stares. “Agent L/N? What are you doing?” Y/N laughs, the sound deep in his throat. “I’m making my choice.” Hayward seems taken aback by this betrayal. “What would Fury say?” Then, quieter, “What would your father say?”

An edge of stone hardens in Y/N’s eyes. “I wouldn’t know, because he is gone. Do you know what I remember from that night? I remember my father fighting to get back to me, but he was forced away because of your organizations and petty squabbles, all because you’re scared of people like us. People with powers. So, now that you mention it, I think he would be proud of me. I’m finally continuing what he always wanted.”

Hayward’s eyes narrow. “You would turn your back on S.H.I.E.L.D., on S.W.O.R.D., on everything, for what? A chance to use your powers whenever you wanted? You could do that here, you know.” Y/N appears disinterested. “Where you’ll hold it over me for the rest of my life? I’d rather not.” Hayward glares. “This is your final warning. We will be coming after you.” Y/N raises his arm again, and the gathered S.W.O.R.D. agents flinch away. “Actually, you won’t. I plan to make that very clear.”

Y/N’s eyes glint, and the entire encampment begins to shudder. Hayward turns to his officers as he realizes the unfortunate truth- everything here, the walls, the weapons, the tech, it’s all made of metal. A cold smile spreads onto Y/N’s face as he watches the encampment crash to the ground in a hail of sparks and ruined scrap, weeks worth of research gone in an instant. Y/N turns his back on S.W.O.R.D., holding out a hand to Wanda. “Ready to go back?” She nods, smiling, and accompanies him back inside the barrier.

Wanda is grateful for a new ally. It’s a shame, though, for if she were to see inside Y/N’s head she would see no desire to help her. Instead, what lurks underneath that helmet is an all-consuming want for vengeance, for power, for everything Wanda can give Y/N and even more that he can take from her. Even after just a couple of hours in Westview, Y/N realized that Wanda represents an untapped source of power, one that Y/N could call to himself as easily as drawing breath.

His lip curls when he thinks of Hayward’s last words to him. Mentioning Y/N’s father? That was a low blow. And besides, it didn’t even work. Y/N could laugh to think of how little Hayward knew of Erik Lehnsherr. Had Hayward known a fraction of Erik’s true goals, of all of his attempts to reinstate control to mutants and people with abilities, he would never have allowed Y/N onto his little base in the first place.

What would Erik think of Y/N’s decision? He’d be proud. As Y/N disappears into the shrouded city of Westview, feeling his own powers grow with every second that he spent around that beacon of energy known to the world as Wanda Maximoff, he sends out one last thought to his father. I’m doing what you would have wanted. I’m continuing the cause. S.H.I.E.L.D. had always held Y/N back, but he’s finally broken off all chains. It’s time to begin again. It’s time to create a new world, one where power is given to those deserving of it.

If Wanda Maximoff had any idea what would happen to her perfect little town, she would have run long ago.

wanda maximoff tag list: @mionemymind​ @xxxtwilightaxelxxx​    

[aperrywilliams]

Couvade  (Spencer Reid x Fem!BAU!Reader)

(Not my gif!)

Masterlist

———————

Pairing: Spencer Reid x Fem!BAU!Reader

Summary: The team having weeks full of work, traveling across the country. Tiredness is taking its toll on Reader and Spencer.

Word Count: 3747.

Warnings: References to headaches, stomachaches, and another “aches” as well. Couple discussions. Spencer losing his temper. Spencer and Reader clueless. But fluffy in the end.

A/N: Work has drained all my energy these last few weeks. Something from our favorite doctor to get me back.

——————–

In recent months the cases that were coming to the BAU were a true roller coaster in many ways: some simpler, others tremendously difficult and rough. Some local others far across the country.

With all this turmoil, there wasn't much time left for personal life. My advantage, if I had to compare myself to my colleagues, was that my boyfriend worked with me and at least we could see each other a few moments a day and spend some time together on the jet traveling from one place to another.

I think Spencer also saw it as an advantage, even though as the weeks went by following this same rhythm he was much more irritable and angry than usual. Not that Spencer is an irritable man by definition, quite the contrary, but the work’ stress was taking its toll on us and he was no exception.

One of the few mornings we were able to be quiet in the BAU offices, I approached his desk. It caught my attention that he had the palms of his hands covering his mouth.

“Spencer, ¿what’s wrong?”. Looking at him, I saw that he was paler than usual.

“Nothing , I'm fine. I just feel a little nauseous. Apparently the muffin for breakfast made my stomach funny”, he lamented.

“Baby , I'm sorry. I should have asked when it was made when I bought it,” I tried to apologize.

“It's not your fault. It may be that my stomach is more fussy than usual,” he said with a sigh. Sigh that was apparently interrupted by another nausea. In two seconds Spencer was on her feet running towards the bathroom.

Not that Spencer is a tremendously healthy person, but it was rare to see him sick, except for his headaches and his periods of insomnia, which we were both used to living with from time to time. But this was different. Spencer rarely caught a cold or had stomach problems, even given all the coffee and sugar she consumed daily.

In general, when men feel sick they are like children . And in Spencer Reid that was increased by three. Thus, throughout that day I was concerned with checking his condition, preparing herbal tea and doing everything possible to prevent him from drinking coffee. When we got to the apartment that we had shared for more than a year, I made sure to make soup for him and send him to bed early.

In the following days his stomach discomfort began to disappear. A relief, because my genius boyfriend was unbearable during all those days, so much that we argued about almost anything. I also felt irritable and overwhelmed by the amount of work we had, and besides having to take care of Spencer .

Another case, another trip. On the jet on the way to San Francisco, and after reviewing details of the case, I went to sit next to Spencer. I wanted to apologize for our last discussion that morning. When I got closer he was reading a book, but I knew he wasn't really reading since the pages weren't turning. I was sure he was attentive to how I approached his side.

“Spencer... baby...,” I said in the softest and most tender voice I could. I did not get an answer. “Spencer ... can you look at me please?”. The second call was less friendly. He raised his eyes to look at me.

“I'm looking at you (Y/N),” he replied with a bored expression that began to annoy me and even regret wanting to apologize.

“Thank you. Can you close your book too? I need to talk to you”. Not very enthusiastically he shut the book and put it to the side of the seat.

“Done. What do you want to talk about?”. Same look and same voice. I didn't want to be upset with him, but he was making it difficult for me. I took a deep breath and began to speak.

“I want to apologize for our discussion this morning. I know I said not very kind things to you. None of that was truth, you have to believe me. It's just that I also feel overwhelmed by everything and I understand that you are tired, but I am too and you know that I say things without thinking when I am like this…”. His gaze softened when he saw that I was genuine and tears even started to come out of me without my meaning to. He sighed and extended his arms for me to snuggle with him, which I did immediately burying my face into his chest.

“I must also apologize. I didn't react in the best way either. I yelled at you and that's not right. I also feel overwhelmed and tired, more than usual. Being sick last week didn't help me much either… ”. He hugged me tight so I felt his words were sincere.

“I'm sorry. I hope this job’s rhythm drops in the next few days, I don't want to live fighting with you”. I said giving him a soft kiss on his chin and drying my tears.

“I don’t want that either. In fact, I think we should take a few days off, just for us. At this point I am having a hard time separating work’s moments from our private’s moments,” he stated.

Spencer was right. What seemed to be positive also had its bad side: Which was the real boundary between the professional and the personal? We always tried our relationship wasn’t a problem for our job, but it was also important to do the reverse exercise: our job shouldn't be a problem for our relationship either.

All this time that we had been on this beat - more than 10 weeks and counting – we had no enough time to spend together like a real couple. The last time we had sex was before Spencer got sick and it was a quicky in my hotel room during a case in Denver. And before that, I don’t even remember well.

I hadn't felt very good either. Going from place to place around the country had me dizzy most of the time and with headaches for weeks. Of course, none of that managed to incapacitate me at work, so I didn’t take it seriously and didn’t tell anyone about it . I also had a few days with stomach pain and nausea, which I explained by the poor diet we were having between so much travel. After a few weeks I began to feel better from these discomforts, but irritability and tiredness continued.

I was still cuddling with Spencer when I felt him whine shifting for a more comfortable position into the seat.

“Spencer, what’s wrong?,” I asked lifting my head to look at him.

“Since yesterday I have a back pain that is killing me. (Y/N), I still have some years to go to turn 40 and I already feel like an old man!,” he complained.

“We haven't slept well either. Hotel beds are not the best. I have also had back pain some weeks ago. But I think I'm used to that and it doesn't hurt so much anymore.

“Why didn’t you tell me? I’m complaining about my pain and you too haven't felt well lately. I'm failing miserable as a boyfriend”. He gave me a kiss on the forehead, hugging me tight again.

“I didn't want to worry you with those things. I know how you get when something happens to me, surely you would have insisted on me taking a leave. And it's not a big deal. The worst is the tiredness and the bad mood, besides that I feel that my body weighs on me. I gained weight grossly. I look awful,” I said, pouting.

“Of course you’re not. You look beautiful. Tired… but beautiful”. He took my chin and gave me a soft kiss on my lips.

“You say it just to not make me feel bad,” I replied when we pulled away.

“(Y/N), I mean it. You know I like everything about you,” Spencer replied as he stroked my back and rested his chin on my head. How I missed those moments with Spencer, even though I wish they weren't on the jet on their way to a case.

The San Francisco case was terrible. We were in the fifth day and couldn't identify the unsub yet. We were sleeping very little and badly. We couldn't even agree between ourselves on the profile, which triggered a heated discussion with Spencer while we were in the meeting room we had been assigned to work. The worst thing was having this argument in front of the whole team.

“You are not seeing the obvious (Y/N), it’s impossible this can be done by a single person. There aren't any hints of that in the evidence”. Spencer spat as he pointed to the board with the notes and photos we had.

“Are you saying I don't know how to do my job? I am seeing the same evidence as you, but you are so obsessed with your theory that you are not able to think of other possibilities”, I replied back.

“Obsessed? Oh no, no. The only one obsessed with a theory here is you. You have not put any evidence of what you are saying!”

“Don’t say that. Look at this board! What do all these photos tell you? Why couldn't it be a single person with a psychotic break? Can't you see the pattern? I began to despair and inadvertently tears I couldn’t control began to fall. That upset Spencer even more.

“Your crying isn’t going to convince me of this stupid theory (Y/N)!,” he shot almost making my heart shatter. Watching the exchange grow increasingly rough, Prentiss finally intervened.

“Reid! Enough!,” she said seeing how I couldn't control my tears and my hands started to shake. At the wake-up call, Spencer fell silent and realized my state. I started to feel dizzy. He tried to grab my arm and I avoided him.

“Don’t touch me!,” I yelled at him, as I headed straight to leave the room, but the dizziness intensified and I fell to the floor losing consciousness.

***

I managed to grab (Y/N)'s head before it hit the floor. At that moment I realized that I had lost my temper and had pushed (Y/N) to the limit. JJ immediately came over to help me. We checked the pulse and checked for any injuries. Meanwhile, Rossi went in search of the paramedics.

I felt a lump in my throat. Suddenly the nausea returned. I couldn't help myself and ran to the bathroom. I was cursing myself for not being able to control myself. My girlfriend had passed out because of me and I couldn't even be with her because I felt sick again.

When I came out of the bathroom I was intercepted by Emily in the hallway. She told me that (Y/N) had regained consciousness but they would take her to the hospital for a check-up anyway. I just wanted to go with her.

“JJ went with her and the paramedics. I'll let you go with her, but first tell me what's going on between you both. You two have been between fights and reconciliations for weeks. Your mood is a roller coaster, we no longer know what happens to you. I understand that we are all tired of this rhythm, but in you guys it seems like something unbearable! Are you okay? Can you tell me Spencer…”. Emily was right. We had weeks between discussions and mutual apologies. Now, I couldn't find a mildly convincing reason for the situation.

“I honestly don't know. I don't know what happens to us. Until a few weeks ago everything was fine and now… I don't know. I can't control myself. There are days when I feel tired, jaded. Others where everything seems normal. I have felt sick more often. I can't even stand myself sometimes,” I said scratching my head.

“Whatever it’s, I think you need to talk. This kind of outburst can't happen again, Spencer. Now go with her”

“Are you sure?... what about the case?...” I asked.

“Unbelievably, your argument gave us a clue. Rossi, Luke, and Tara are analyzing it now. So don't worry about the case, go. Talk to (Y/N)”. I nodded and ran to the hospital.

***

When I regained consciousness I was still in the meeting room, JJ was holding my head and a paramedic was checking my vitals. I felt embarrassed. I wanted to get up but JJ wouldn't let me. She told me that they would take me to the hospital to check me up even though I had already regained consciousness. I just shrugged. I didn’t know why so much commotion, for me it was just fatigue and the anger of the moment. Anger that still ran through my body, because I didn't even want to ask where Spencer was.

At the hospital a nurse came to my room and asked JJ leave the room for a moment. Then she took blood samples from me, measured my blood pressure, among other things. When she was doing that she asked me what happened. The nurse asked me too about my health in the previous weeks and I told her about my back pain, bloating, headaches, nausea and dizziness. She just nodded and told me that we should wait for the tests to rule out things and conclude if it was only fatigue and stress that triggered my fainting. Then she left the room and JJ came in again.

“What did she tell you?,” JJ asked me.

“Nothing yet. She took samples and said we have to wait,” I replied shrugging.

“What do you think it is?”

“I don’t know. I guess it's stress. In the last two months we have not had a truce JJ, I don't know how you are still standing…,” I said with a sigh.

“Yeah, I know. We have had very intense weeks lately. But it looks like it hit you and Spencer a lot harder. Are you two okay?”. There was genuine concern in her voice, but honestly I didn't have an explanation beyond the obvious: stress.

“Yes , I guess. I mean, it's true that we've argued more often, but that doesn't change how I feel about Spencer. In the opposite. It's weird what I'm going to say, but I miss him. I mean, I miss our moments together without having to think about work or argue”. I hadn't realized that tears were already coming from my eyes. “Shit JJ, and now I'm crying and I don't know why… I should be mad! He yelled at me in front of everyone and called me stupid!”

“You need to talk about it, (Y/N). I'm sure he didn't mean it”

“He is an idiot, JJ. He is almost more insufferable than me…”. I crossed my arms over my chest frowning just thinking about what happened. And as if it were fate, at that precise moment Spencer Reid made his appearance in the hospital room.

***

I walked into the hospital room and saw (Y/N) on the bed with her arms crossed over her chest talking to JJ. They both looked at me standing in the doorway. I could see (Y/N)’s anger on her face. She had right, I wasn't going to blame her for that. I steeled myself and approached (Y/N). If I had to receive her anger, I was willing to accept it.

“How do you feel?,” I asked. I wanted to take her hand, but she quickly pushed it away.

“Fine”. She didn't even want to look at me. Her eyes fixed on her feet covered by the hospital bed’s sheets. At that moment JJ ​​got up from her chair heading to the door.

“I’ll be outside calling the team. I let you talk for a while”. On leaving JJ closed the door. (Y/N) still didn't look at me.

“(Y/N)… I’m so sorry. Baby, I'm really sorry. I lost control. I don’t know what happened to me. Nothing I said I meant it. (Y/N), you have to believe me, I don't want you to think I don't value your job. That’s not true, you are invaluable to the team. You are an excellent profiler…,” I was looking at her with pleading eyes.

“You yelled at me. You treated me lousy. I don't know what is wrong with you. If you're as overwhelmed as I am, that doesn't give you the right to do what you did either”. She looked up and I could see that she was hurt. That broke my heart.

“I know. I'm sorry. I don’t know what's happening to me these weeks. I would like to give you a better explanation, but I don't have one. I know it’s wrong and I promise I will do whatever it takes to make up to you. I love you, (Y/N). I can’t stand see you hurt because of me”. This time she reached for my hand and squeezed it hard.

“I should hate you Spencer Reid. But I can't…” (Y/N) said shaking her head and huffing. “I guess I must believe you this time. You are not forgiven yet, though,” she warned me. I kissed her hand nodding in agreement. At that moment the doctor entered the room, still checking a folder with many papers.

“Miss (Y/L/N), good afternoon, I’m Dr. Anna Ragger, how are you feeling?”

“Much better now, thank you doctor,” the doctor nodded looking at me. “He is Spencer Reid, my boyfriend,” (Y/N) hastened to explain.

“Ah. Nice to meet you. Well, I have the results from your blood tests.” I was standing next to (Y/N) without releasing her hand.

“Is there something I should be concerned about doctor?”, (Y/N) asked.

“It depends on what you consider to be a concern, but I would say no,” doctor replied with a shy smile on her face. I looked at (Y/N) who had the same confused face as me. Before the doctor could say anything else, I felt my stomach twist again. Dr. Ragger looked at me strangely.

“Is something wrong sir?,” she asked. When my nausea subsided, I was only able to speak.

“I'm fine. I've only been with some stomachaches for a few weeks…,” I mumbled.

“What else did you feel? Fatigue? Headaches? Body aches? Mood changes?,” Dr. Ragger asked. I looked at her in amazement. She had perfectly described my symptoms of the past weeks. (Y/N) was frowning trying to understand what was happening.

“Yeah… ehm… all of them. Well, we've had very difficult weeks at work,” I replied. The doctor tried to hide a smile.

“Have you heard of Couvade syndrome?,” I thought for a few seconds and yes, I knew what it was.

“Yeah. Couvade syndrome is something that happens to men when their partners are pregnant. It emulates the symptoms that women experience during the first trimester of pregnancy,” I explained. The doctor nodded, smiling. (Y/N) dropped her jaw. Dr. Ragger, seeing I had not thought enough about my own words, intervened again.

“That likely explains your symptoms...”

“You mean I have that syndrome? I don't think so, because for that to happen (Y/N) would have to be... oh!”. The realization hit me like a freight train. “Oh!”, I exclaimed and looked at (Y/N) and then turned my eyes again to the doctor. “(Y/N) is...?”

“That's right, Miss (Y/L/N) is pregnant. Congratulations!”.

“Oh my God, are you sure Dr. Ragger?,” (Y/N) asked almost jumping out of bed. I started to feel dizzy. Dr. Ragger noticed my reaction and helped me to sit in the chair where JJ was before leaving the room.

“Yes miss (Y/L/N), your symptoms are consistent with pregnancy, and the blood tests confirmed it. My guess is that you must be in your 10th week of pregnancy, which would explain why your boyfriend would be experiencing similar symptoms. It doesn't happen to all men, of course, but there is always a possibility,” she explained. A little less dizzy I got up from the chair and stand beside (Y/N) holding her hand, still paralyzed. She was astonished yet.

“Well. Now that we are clear about the reasons for your symptoms, you are ready to go home miss (Y/L/N). Talk to your obstetrician about the next steps. Congratulations again,” Dr. Ragger stated before leaving the room.

Once we stayed alone in the room, (Y/N) shook her head in disbelieve. Maybe my face still didn't reflect it, but inside I was burning with happiness. Admittedly, it wasn't something we would have planned, but I was ecstatic at the news. I noticed tears began to roll down (Y/N)'s cheeks. I panicked. Maybe she was not happy with the news.

“Baby, what is it?”

“Spencer... we hadn't planned this. We hadn't even talked about the possibility of having children. And now it's happening... I’m happy, but I don't know if you want this. I can't force you to be with me for that. If you're not comfortable with this, it’s okay, I'll understand... really,” (Y / N) began to cry. I took her cheeks with my hands.

“Hey, look at me. Everything is gonna be okay. We will be okay. I love you so much (Y/N), and that's reason enough for me wanting everything with you. I want to be with you, I want to have children with you. I want you to be my wife. I want to spend the rest of my life with you. You make me the happiest man in the world, and that is why it hurts when I see you suffer for something I did. Please forgive me for these days that I have put you through...,” I said kissing her forehead. I could feel her body relaxed at my words. She took a deep breath.

“Only if you're willing to forgive me for what I'm going to put you through in the next few months... and the rest of your life, Dr. Reid,” (Y/N) said now with a small smile on her face.

“Fair is fair. I'll face it happily,” I replied laughing. I was so pleased seeing the woman who made me so happy every day smiling again.

“I love you Spencer,” she said in a whisper into my lips before kissing me.

“I love you… both,” I replied when we parted. Both smiling and happy for what the future held for us.

——————–

[nanagoswife]

Please, Don't Go. - Chapter 12

DON'T READ FULL TAGS UNLESS YOU WANT POSSIBLE SPOILERS FOR THIS CHAPTER

Summary: We see reader and Obi-Wan after the duel with Maul, with a small twist. Then, reader and Obi-Wan go through the years until the days of the Clone Wars where a threat arises...

W/C: 5.2k

Warnings: implied intimacy, mature content, decapitation, implied cutting a being in half, death, descriptions of injury, Star Wars swears, explosions, mind manipulation

A/N: I just want to give a heads up, things get pretty dark. I actually had to slightly restrain myself slightly😅. I hope you enjoy?

- - -

The fall was far. The bottom couldn’t even be seen as he looked down. He only looked away when the Sith’s two halves were no longer in sight. Breathing heavily, he retracted the blade of his master’s lightsaber.

Without much more thought, he rushed to where Qui-Gon lay. The Jedi tried to say something but it came out as a small whimper. Surveying the wound, he determined that he would have enough time. So, Obi-Wan lifted his master and slung him across his shoulders.

Unlike getting in, he was far quicker with the red shield timing. It only stopped him once before he was able to rush to where he knew he could get help.

-

You were with Padmé, pacing in the hanger as you hoped it was where the Jedi would meet you. When you heard a pair of running steps join in, you stopped and looked to where you had seen the Jedi chase the Zabrak.

Fear struck you as you saw Obi-Wan carrying Qui-Gon on his shoulders. The look in his eyes was desperate and you immediately called for the medics who were on standby.

They must’ve been right outside because they were there almost immediately. When Obi-Wan met them, he placed his master on the floating gurney.

“You must hurry. He needs immediate treatment so that he’s still alive for Jedi Healers,” he said frantically to the lead medic. They nodded and carted the Jedi off with urgency. Padmé went with them so that it would ensure the quickest way to the best treatment.

Obi-Wan looked on with a worried but, at the same time, relieved expression.

Now alone, you placed a hand on Obi-Wan’s bicep. There was so much tension in his muscles that you thought they would strain if he didn’t relax.

“Are you alright?” You made sure to keep your tone soft. You didn’t know what happened and he could possibly also be hurt.

Finally, Obi-Wan looked at you and the tension from his body let up. His eyes softened and he nodded.

“A few bumps and bruises,” he said quietly as he moved to stand in front of you. Easily, he closed the distance and pulled you against him.

The fear that you didn’t realize you had dissipated as he held you. He was still here. He was alright.

“I love you, Obi,” you say. It was more a way to show how happy you were that he was here. That nothing terrible happened to him. You could only hope that Qui-Gon will be alright.

He exhaled and pressed a kiss to your forehead, “I love you too, Y/N.” He said it with as much meaning as you. And for a few more moments, the two of you held the other, relieved that you are both okay.

-

“I’m proud of you, Obi-Wan,” Qui-Gon said as the previous padawan bowed by the medical bed. His padawan braid was now resting in his master’s hand.

“Thank you, master.”

“And what is to happen with Anakin?” Qui-Gon looked at Obi-Wan with sincere curiosity.

“It took convincing, but I am to train the boy. They said you were too injured that it would delay his training too long,” Obi-Wan replied almost solemnly.

Qui-Gon felt slightly guilty for the young man. He wouldn’t be able to find himself as a Jedi before having to take in his own padawan. At the same time, he knew that his padawan would take it on with as much enthusiasm as he did with any other assignment. Plus, Qui-Gon would be there to help guide his old padawan.

He placed a hand on the young man’s shoulder, “Congratulations, Jedi Knight Obi-Wan Kenobi.”

-

“How is he?” you asked when Obi-Wan snuck in by your balcony. It was just close enough to the ground that he could jump up, with a little aid from the force.

Obi-Wan took quick steps to you until he slotted his lips with yours. “He’s doing well,” he said between kissing you. His hands were moving up and down your sides until one of his hands pulled you closer by the small of your back.

“Obi,” you said in a higher pitch as his lips trailed down to your neck. Then, he easily lifted you and you wrapped your legs around his waist. Sometimes you forgot how strong he was when his form was so well hidden beneath his robes.

You couldn’t help but give into it all. Every touch was electric as he slowly moved until your back met a wall. You let out a little gasp at the surprise contact, but you only melted more into him with this. There was something that only heightened your desire for him with this new experience.

“Obi,” you tried again. When he moved back to your neck and throat, you tried to suppress your pleasurable sounds as you said, “There’s something I need to tell you.”

“After,” is all he said, never pulling away from his attention on you.

“But-“ he cut you off by moving his lips back to yours. It was a silent way of telling you to shut up and just enjoy the moment. Despite your better judgement, you gave in.

-

Playfully, Obi-Wan layed on top of you, causing a giggle to come from you. He pretended to fall asleep and mocked snoring as he rested on you.

“You seem to be in a good mood,” you said as you started to trace circles on his back.

Humming in agreement, Obi-Wan moved so that he was instead propping himself on his elbow, looking down at you. You brushed a hand through his hair and no longer felt the braid or the small bunch of hair at the back of his head. All of it was smooth and there was something about it that you enjoyed just that small bit more.

“I was knighted,” he leaned down then kissed you. “Then, I found out Qui-Gon will make a full recovery,” he kissed you again. “Then, I came back to my beautiful girlfriend who I just enjoyed a very fun activity with,” he kissed you again. “And I think she still has something else to add on to my good day.”

Once again, he kissed you and you let out a groan as you felt a hand drifting over your body.

“Well, you’ll never know if you keep distracting me like this Obi.”

He flashed a cocky grin and pressed one more kiss to your lips before settling himself on his elbows, now giving you his full attention. His eyebrows were raised, imploring you to tell him whatever news you were trying to tell him before.

“I found out that I’m taking over as senator as soon as you and the Jedi Council decide it’s safe. Which means that we’ll both be on Coruscant.”

His cocky grin turned to one of true happiness.

“You can’t escape me now,” Obi-Wan teased before diving his lips back to yours. His desire began to build up again as he once again let his hands roam over the surface of your skin. It didn’t take long before his lips were trailing downward again.

You couldn’t help but always be surprised at how many times Obi-Wan could go in a night. If the two of you were allowed to be more open about it, you were almost sure it would be more. For now, you just enjoyed this moment and forgot about how you were forbidden lovers. The only thing you focused on was your lover who was slowly starting up something that you felt like you had just finished.

-

You and Obi-Wan had set a plan to how the two of you would see each other while he was training Anakin. Usually, there was always at least one night where Qui-Gon would take Anakin and do special meditative and living force connection lessons. It allowed for Obi-Wan to sneak into your apartment and spend the evening with you.

Even if you were busy and had more work to do, he patiently waited for you. That, or he would nag you until you at least came into the bed so that he could cuddle into you while you completed your duties.

“Want cuddles,” he’d say while kneeling beside you at your desk, pressing his forehead into your arm. The more you tried to say no, the more stubborn he got. It sometimes made you curious to see what new methods he would come up with to convince you.

So far, you were never disappointed. He would always hit a mark where, even if you were seeing how creative he could get, you could no longer be able to deny him.

Whenever he had to leave for a mission, the first thing he would do was come and tell you. If he couldn’t do it in person, then he’d send you a message. If he wasn’t there for that one night a week, he’d come see you multiple times.

Sometimes, he was sometimes in the senate. Usually, it was to teach Anakin about the government process of the galaxy. He would bring his padawan to see you so that he could get lessons from a politician that actually could be trusted, in Obi-Wan’s eyes.

Then, there were days where training Anakin would sometimes get to be too much. Obi-Wan would get Qui-Gon or another fellow Jedi to look after him while he said he needed time to meditate and clear his mind. In reality, he would come to you for your calming energy. By the time he left, it may as well have been like he had mediated.

This is what it was like for years. That is, until after Obi-Wan had come back from Geonosis. That day was the one time you weren’t there to join Padmé on whatever adventure she was on. It sounded like it was a good thing you hadn’t.

Anakin had lost an arm, Padmé had a ghastly gash across her back, and Obi-Wan had two lightsaber burns. One of which had caused him to limp until it fully healed.

After this, the Clone War had started. The one thing you, Padmé, and Bail Organa had fought so hard against happening. Another threat was that there were more Sith revealed. It was believed that Dooku was the master, and he had a new apprentice after Darth Maul was struck down by Obi-Wan. The new apprentice’s name, Darth Cosmar.

Obi-Wan had found this all out on Geonosis, but there was still another name that threw off the theory that the Jedi had. For now, until they found more evidence, their focus was on protecting the people of the Republic.

For Obi-Wan, his duty was to spend as much time with you before he was deployed. It was determined that he would be a Jedi general, leading the 212th Clone battalion. Appropriately, he named his ship The Negotiator. You had told him it was the only acceptable name for his flag ship.

So, Obi-Wan spent as much time as he could with you. Since Anakin was now knighted, he no longer had his padawan constantly needing his assistance.

This was everything that happened to get to the point you were now, staring into the eyes of the man you love in the dim morning light. You would’ve stayed in the moment, if it weren’t for the sudden nausea that hit you.

Quickly, you jumped up and ran to the refresher. You could hear Obi-Wan call your name worriedly as you ran to the room. You almost didn’t make it to the toilet before you vomited.

Obi-Wan came in not long after. He knelt beside you and rubbed your back as he made sure you were alright.

How could this be? You were feeling fine just before. Then, after looking back at it, your eyes went wide. No, this can’t be happening. It can’t because it could jeopardize everything. Specifically, it would put everything Obi-Wan has worked to achieve at risk.

“Y/N? What is it?” His tone was filled with concern as he continued to rub your back.

“I… I think,” you were struggling to tell him.

Would he be angry? No, he wouldn’t. Disappointed? Maybe. Either way, you were scared that this would be the reason he would leave you.

Finally, with a deep breath, you told him, “I think I’m pregnant, Obi.”

Looking up at him, you were expecting to see anything except what you did. He was smiling. Bigger than you had ever seen before. The confusion must’ve showed as he brought a hand to your cheek.

“Did you think I would be upset?”

Slowly, you nodded. He chuckled to himself.

“Now, why ever would I be upset? This is by far the happiest moment of my life,” he said before resting a hand on your stomach. He reached out through the force to see if he could feel it’s life force. And, sure enough, there it was.

When you saw the smile on his face, you couldn’t help but laugh in relief.

“Hello there, little one,” he said softly. He brought his eyes to meet yours. “This is the perfect moment.”

Once again, confusion settled over you. What else could there be?

Obi-Wan offered a hand to you, helping you to stand. He brought you back into the room and left you standing awkwardly in the middle of the room as he went into his brown cloak to retrieve something. He hid whatever it was behind his back.

“After a lot of thought, I decided to do this. I was originally planning to do this later, but now seems like the best time,” he said while stepping up in front of you.

There was something in his eyes that, for the first time in years, you couldn’t read.

“I love you so much. And I hope that something like being pregnant will never make you think that I’ll be upset. It was something that I never thought I would be able to bring you, but I wanted to. Now, we have a bright little one on their way,” he said, pressing a kiss to your forehead.

He continued, “Now, this only gives me even more of a reason to do this.” Bringing his hand in front of him, he kept his hand closed as he held it. “I want you to know that I have thought about this extensively. Also, with the war, it’s almost like the galaxy is telling me to do this before it’s too late.”

He opened up his hand and it revealed a beautiful blue crystal attached to a golden necklace. The gold wonderfully wrapped around the crystal to hold it. In a way, it reminded you of Obi-Wan’s eyes that were framed by his auburn hair.

“Will you make me the happiest man alive, and marry me?”

His question forced your eyes from the necklace to his eyes. There was nothing but sincerity in his eyes. Would he really risk his place in the Jedi Order just for you? You already know the answer.

A smile spread across your face, and you said quietly, “Yes.”

“Yes?”

“Yes,” you said with a happy laugh. Obi-Wan smiled as well before kissing you. He kissed you like it was the first time he ever did.

When you separated, he stepped behind you and put the necklace on you. You smiled as you looked down at the crystal.

“Where did you get this?”

“They found my lightsaber on Naboo,�� Obi-Wan said, pressing your back to his chest as he rested his head on your shoulder. “The hilt was practically destroyed, but my previous kyber crystal was intact. So, I used it for you. This way, I’ll always be close to your heart. No matter what.”

Reaching up, you placed a hand on his cheek.

“I wish I could’ve gotten you a ring, but I thought that this would not only be perfect, but also discreet.”

“I love it. I love you,” you say before turning in his arms. “Now, what do you say about crawling back into bed and being lazy for the rest of the day.”

He put a hand over one of yours that lay on his chest, “I would say that sounds like the most wonderful plan, my love.”

-

Darth Cosmar had been after Obi-Wan for months now. At some point, he found out how Obi-Wan had a connection with you. The Sith had figured it out one day when he came to attack you. Thankfully, Obi-Wan had been tasked with protecting you.

He had laughed when he saw the way your Jedi had protected you. The way you grappled to his arm didn’t help when it came to hiding it.

With this knowledge, the blonde haired Sith started to exploit this connection. He had been threatening you often, bringing extreme concern for your safety.

As he was the only Jedi not currently needed on the front lines, Obi-Wan was tasked with protecting you. There were many fear filled nights where you clung to him as you slept. Your growing belly was something that he noticed that he always had an arm over. It was like, even in sleep, he was protecting the baby. You would smile and say how protective he already was of their child.

Thankfully, no actual attempts have been made on your life recently. It didn’t stop Obi-Wan from accompanying you to every little thing that you went through.

You didn’t mind, but there were a few other senators who didn’t take too kindly to it. They thought that talking about the senate secrets in front of him would compromise the Republic. You constantly had to remind them that the Jedi already knew every senate secret there was to know. Also, if they wanted to compromise the senate, wouldn’t they have already done that?

Currently, he was accompanying you on a diplomatic mission to Alderaan. There was a matter that you had to discuss with senator Organa, but he wasn’t able to leave his home planet. It was a matter too important that, if it were intercepted, it would cause many issues not just for the senate, but for the whole war effort.

“Remind me why we have to go there and why he can’t come back for a couple days to Coruscant?” Obi-Wan was less than thrilled to leave the city planet. He wouldn’t let you hear anything else for the last few hours.

“Because,” you started, placing a hand on his knee as you sat in the transport, “His wife, Breha, is sick. He’s staying with her until she starts to recover.”

Even though you knew he was worried, you also knew that he really did understand. Darth Cosmar had just been causing so much noise that he was afraid that something would actually happen soon.

“Obi, don’t worry. It’ll be fine. We’re almost there.”

Almost if it were to prove your point, the pilot announced that you were almost there. Qui-Gon came out from the back room and you removed your hand from Obi-Wan’s knee.

“I don’t know. I have a bad feeling about this,” Obi-Wan said.

“If it’s bothering you this much, reach out,” Qui-Gon started, “look into the force, Obi-Wan. Maybe it will help you determine if your feeling is right.”

Obi-Wan nodded and closed his eyes, plunging him into a meditative state. He sensed everything around him. He stretched his focus to the rest of the ship where everything was normal. The last place he reached to was the cockpit.

That’s where an odd sensation flooded over him. As far as he was concerned, it was one of his clones that was supposed to be piloting the ship. At least, that’s what he had thought and guaranteed before leaving. Something about their signature seemed off. Almost like it wasn’t theirs…

His eyes snapped open just before the ship was sent in a sudden dive to Alderaan’s moon. Without hesitation, he used his body to shield yours as he wasn’t sure just how quickly they were going to make this unplanned landing.

To his relief, it wasn’t a crash, but a smooth landing.

“Are you alright,” Obi-Wan quickly said, placing a hand on your stomach to feel how the baby was doing.

Concern was plain in both his tone and his expression. You nodded and he helped you from your seat. Both him and Qui-Gon immediately took up protective positions around you when the pilot started to make their way into the room.

Obi-Wan sent his old master a message through the force, telling him what he sensed before all of this happened. Qui-Gon gave him a slight nod and turned his attention to whoever was wearing the clone armour.

“You are a difficult man to find,” the voice said, not directed at any of you. Instead, it was directed behind the three of you.

When you turned, you couldn’t believe your eyes. You never thought you would ever see him again. You thought he was dead.

“Kenth!” You couldn’t help but call out his name. It was almost strange to say his name again.

Meeting your gaze, he gave you a smirk and you could not help but think that he’s hardly changed. Well, except for the now almost all grey hair.

Turning back, the one dressed as a clone now had taken off the helmet. It revealed the blonde hair and sickly yellow eyes that were too painfully familiar.

“Cosmar,” Obi-Wan growled, hand hovering above his lightsaber.

“Oh, don’t soil yourself, Kenobi. I’m not here for you. Well, I wasn’t.” The dark snarl of the Sith never failed to send shivers down your spine. “This man has been throwing a wrench in every plan my master has tried to put forth. Now, I see he was going to once again.”

“Are you not tired of competing against Dooku?” Baize spat out. “I’m surprised you don’t just kill him and properly take your place as the Sith apprentice.”

Shock rippled through both you and the two Jedi. Dooku wasn’t the master? Then who was?

“I now believe, my good Captain, that you have officially crossed a line. You put these innocent, well, mostly innocent lives at risk,” he said while staring directly at you and Obi-Wan. Your Jedi only looked on with a hard expression and was ready to act at any second.

Obi-Wan caught a quick glance at Qui-Gon, and they both nodded together. “If you want her, it won’t happen.

Cosmar laughed. “You stupid Jedi. I don’t want her alive. I have wanted her dead for months.”

Obi-Wan seemed to return the scowl that this Sith wore. There was so much tension that it was becoming unbearable. In nearly an imperceptible move, Obi-Wan nudged you towards Baize. You could see the two Jedi were ready to spring into action, and so was Darth Cosmar.

Baize took your arm and pulled you close to him, ready to run out of the ship if needed.

“Let’s have some fun, shall we?” Before you could think about what the Sith was saying, he sprung towards the Jedi, who both met him with the same ferocity.

Kenth lightly tugged at your arm, “We need to go,” he whispered. Nodding, you let him lead you out of the ship with the sounds of lightsabers clashing behind you. This was the first time in a while that you were truly worried for Obi-Wan.

“I have a ship not far from here. For now we should stay nearby in case they need help,” he said once you were safely off of the ship. When the two Jedi and the Sith came out, though, it wasn’t long before you were fleeing to the ship.

-

This fight was lasting too long. It had moved outside of the ship long ago, but Obi-Wan could see that he previous master was getting tired far quicker than he was. This small moment allowed for Cosmar to push Obi-Wan away, forcing him a good few feet away.

It was too far, as he looked up and was revisited by a familiar memory. Cosmar bested Qui-Gon and drove his saber through the Jedi’s abdomen. Unlike Maul, he didn’t take it back out the same way, but instead drove it upwards, cutting all the way through to the shoulder.

Obi-Wan couldn’t help but yell in both horror and anger. Dark thoughts started to swirl in his mind, but he pushed them aside as he stood back up. He couldn’t turn to the dark with you still alive.

“Still think you can defeat me, Kenobi,” he said in a mocking tone. It only stirred the anger in him more as he watched the Sith smugly smile.

“Oh, that’s not a question,” he replied, calling Qui-Gon’s saber to his other hand. Igniting it, he was highlighted by the green and the blue in the dark of the moon’s night. The two sabers combined put a yellow tint in his eye, and Cosmar actually felt fear rise inside himself.

Before he knew it, Obi-Wan was attacking with a new speed and force. Still, it wasn’t enough to best him.

Once again, Obi-Wan was thrown off and the Jedi and the Sith circled the other.

Then, Darth Cosmar stopped, raising his eyes to the sky, “You’re too late. My plan has worked.”

Confused, Obi-Wan directed his attention to where the Sith was gazing. He saw a Republic ship. Reaching out, he could feel your energy in that direction. He couldn’t be entirely sure if you were on it, or still on the ground.

“Three, two,” Obi-Wan had barely enough time to react to Cosmar’s countdown before the ship burst into flames and exploded in the air. He felt a snap. A snap that he hadn’t felt in years. A snap that brought the painful wrench in his heart.

Obi-Wan collapsed to his knees as he felt it was nearly impossible to breathe. No. This can’t be happening. This can’t be true, but the snap. It couldn’t be faked. A break of a connection can’t be forced. The connection was gone. You and the baby were gone. The thoughts raced in his mind as the pain in his heart grew as the realisation hit him; as the now severed connection left him feeling hollow and empty. There was now a hole in Obi-Wan’s heart.

The thoughts rapidly shifted to a dark place. Pain, suffering, anger, revenge. It all filled his mind as he slowly rose back to his feet. Both lightsabers were still in his hands. Both of these lightsabers would do perfectly. He wanted this man dead. He wanted Cosmar dead. He killed the closest thing he had to a father. He killed his unborn child. He killed you.

As Obi-Wan turned, Darth Cosmar truly showed fear. What he saw that Obi-Wan didn’t, was that the Jedi’s eyes were no longer the cool blue. No, they were now a shining shade of cyber yellow. The former Jedi was breathing heavily and was seething.

Even though he knew that there was more fighting to come, Cosmar never thought he would experience the new power the former Jedi now had. He underestimated the man’s strength that had been dulled down by the teachings of the Jedi. Obi-Wan felt like the force was now electric around him. It gave him a new energy, a new power that he now used.

When he lunged at Cosmar, he relished in the fear that he saw in the Sith’s eyes. It was like he knew what was coming. After a few furious moments, Obi-Wan had brought the Sith apprentice to his knees, his sabers crossed at his neck.

“P-please I beg you!”

Obi-Wan didn’t listen and only scoffed at the attempt of pleading for mercy before he let both blades glide through the man’s neck. There were multiple thuds as he head rolled before his body collapsed. He called the now former Sith’s lightsaber to his hand and connected it to his belt.

He was relishing every feeling around him. The force buzzed almost in excitement as he took on the darkness. There was still doubt in his mind as he looked down at the two bodies before him. In a way, he could still feel the light trying to tug him back, and he couldn’t entirely shove it away. No, he hasn’t fully turned yet, but he was leaning towards it as he took on this new feeling of the force.

“I applaud you, my boy,” a chilling voice suddenly sounded behind him. Out of pure instinct, he ignited his sabers once again, not noticing that he had replaced Qui-Gon’s green for Cosmar’s red one.

Obi-Wan was ready to strike until the figure, with one movement, retracted both blades.

“There’s no need for that, my new apprentice,” he said as he stepped closer. “Join me and I can help you gain true revenge. The true enemy wasn’t Cosmar. The Separatists hired him to kill your fiancé and your unborn child.”

As the cloaked figure came closer, he stopped at the former Sith’s body and nudged it with his boot.

“How did you-”

“I know a great deal of things. Now, if you join me, you can get revenge. For your master, your lover, and your child.”

Obi-Wan couldn’t help but find himself agreeing. It was all he knew to do. He wanted revenge and he was willing to kill anyone that may have had the slightest connection to this all.

What Obi-Wan didn’t know was that you were watching from behind a ridge not too far from him. You had seen everything along with Kenth. You could even hear the exchange between the cloaked figure and Obi-Wan. Your heart broke as you watched his now yellow eyes take over the once beautiful blues.

Kenth had held you close, keeping you from running to him. “We can’t. He’s too far gone.”

“You don’t know that,” you said as you tried to escape his hold, tears in your eyes.

When the man you loved walked away with the one who was undoubtedly the Sith, your heart shattered. He said he wouldn’t turn because of you. He promised. Could he not feel you through the force anymore? Did the Sith cut off his connection to you?

That’s what it was. Obi-Wan had told you once that, in one of his nightmares, he felt a snap and his connection to you was broken when you had died in the dream. That had to be it. The Sith had to be keeping you from him.

As you looked on, you knew you couldn’t do anything. Baize was right, he was too far gone. Still, you couldn’t help but say, “Please, Obi. Please, don’t go.”

When you had said that, he turned around as if he heard it. Desperately, he looked around to see you, but he saw nothing. It only made the doubt in his head begin to raise. The promise was broken, but you were no longer here. He was going to go through with this. He was going to get revenge for everyone that had been killed by both Cosmar and the Separatists.

- - -

Don't worry. I'm crying too.

@stardancerluv @where-fantasy-meets-reality @jaydenwoo @madmax2003 @mackycat11 @generousrunawaydonut @imabeautifulbutterfly

[hopetofantasy]

Actress Nora Dari (wtFOCK): “I hope I don't go crazy. I wouldn't be surprised if that happens”

Two years ago she was allowed to bump into Matteo Simoni in ‘Patser’, now your fifteen-year-old knows her as Yasmina from ‘wtFOCK’ and she ended up in Cannes because of the new film by Bas Devos. Where it ends for Nora Dari remains to be seen, but you don't want to get in her way. “You’ve been looking so long for a Moroccan girl who wants to act and then you get me.”

“So I always try to be a bit low key...” She hesitates. "Eumh, do you know what 'low key' means?" "How much of antique do you think I am exactly?" “Gosh. You have a flip cover for your smartphone, I saw.” “Point for Dari. But what are you trying to be a bit low key...” “Huh? Sorry, I have no idea anymore. I was completely distracted by that pigeon over there.” It’s easy to forget - especially when she starts talking in her Genk dialect about her sky-high ambitions or her tough childhood in Winterslag - that Nora Dari is barely seventeen. After all, she’s already accumulated a nice record of achievements in two years. From the Belgian-Finnish crime series ‘Bullets’ (shown on Telenet) and a leading role in ‘wtFOCK’, the online series of SBS and Telenet, to her supporting role in ‘Ghost Tropic’, the most recent full-length movie by Bas Devos, who made the selection of Quinzaine des Réalisateurs in Cannes in May. The day after our conversation at an Antwerp terrace, she  leaves for London, for a fourth and final audition for a lead role in an international film project. “It looks good, but I can't tell you anything about it yet. That’s a tough assignment for me: my whole body really wants to scream. Seriously, I'm pretty much the Moroccan Tom Holland (Spider-Man, and the spoiler king of Marvel's Cinematic Universe). But I'll remain silent!”

How does a large, international production house ends up at your door? Nora Dari: “I started knocking on their door. I'm really not going to sit around and wait for someone to discover me miraculously, so if someone gives me a tip about an interesting movie, I'll go after it myself. I always want more and everything I set my mind to, seems to be working. An international series, ‘wtFOCK’, Cannes with my first film role and now this latest project is also within reach. Can you blame me for believing? In my head, I'm already in Hollywood. First become a Shooting Star at the Berlinale.” Just in between everything? Dari: “You can dream, right? Acknowledgement is not for me - I don't even know who decide such things - but rather, it’s a means to an end. If you end up in the same list of acting prodigies (those Shooting Stars) as Marwan Kenzari, Matteo Simoni and Matthias Schoenaerts, every director knows who you are.” You can also quietly build an acting career in Belgium. Or is that really not an option? Dari: “Why should I linger on a few square meters? My world was so small in Winterslag and now that it’s gradually getting bigger, I really don't know why I should stop at Flanders. Even if ambition is a very dirty word where I come from.”

How? Dari: “Winterslag is a neighborhood where many young people are going into the wrong direction. Big dreams are taboo, apparently. I was bullied, mainly because I wanted to start something with my life. Even if I said that I would one day want to go to New York, I would be laughed at: “Just sit down, Nora! Who do you think you are?”

Keep your head down, keep your nose clean and make sure that you can start working at the age of eighteen: something like that? Dari: *nods* “Graduating and going to work at the age of eighteen seems like quite an achievement in Winterslag. If you hadn't gotten into the wrong shit by then, you would’ve done well. At my school, we had two pupils without an immigration background and otherwise exclusively Turks, Moroccans and Italians from families who were really poor. Our parents worked very hard, you spend a lot of time on the street and bad things sometimes happened. *thinks* There’s a reason why I almost exclusively watch gangstershit movies. I come from a neighborhood where a lot of gangstershit happens. I’ve seen and experienced so many bad things, but at the same time Winterslag is such a big part of who I am and I get very angry when someone else talks about it like I do now. *small laugh* 

I’ll buy a house there one day. It’s still my home, all the beautiful things and all the rotten things in one pile. To be clear: I don't want to romanticize my childhood. Winterslag is hard, but nothing to be sad about. There are so many people who have gone through the same thing. Only, it sucks to be called a whore, because you want to do something that is apparently 'not normal'.”

It dawns on me why you once said that Algerian-Canadian Zaho's song Kif'n'dir summed you up quite nicely. Especially the text 'Je fais la morte pour ne pas mourir'. Dari: “That's what I've been doing for a long time. Keeping myself deathly still and don’t stand out too much. In the long run, you also start to believe what others are telling you, that acting is not for you.”

When did you finally stopping ‘being death’? Dari: “When I was fifteen, when I heard that Adil El Arbi and Bilall Fallah were looking for extras for ‘Patser’. That didn't mean much more than just bumping into Matteo Simoni, but I was sold immediately. In between shots, I approached Adil: “Mr. El Arbi, thank you for opening my eyes. From now on, I’ll go all out for this.” *laughs* We clicked and in the meantime we’ve become friends. I hope he thinks of me when they start recording ‘Patsers’, so that I can show how much I've grown in those two years.”

Not much later, through their casting agency Hakuna, you ended up as a suicide bomber in the Finnish-Belgian Crime series ‘Bullets’. What have I missed? How did you go from a sixteen-year-old extra to such an intense role in a few months? Dari: “I think - if I may say that - they were shocked after my casting. I’ve never thrown myself into a project as hard in my life. Whining. Shouting. Tantrums. All fucking emotions, one after the other. You’ve been looking so long for a Moroccan girl who wants to act and then you get me. *laughs* I've never loved anything as much as acting, so I’m giving everything during a casting. I know that I’m not the best and still have to learn, but I suspect my energy is making up for it. That, and I consider myself a very pleasant colleague. *laughs* I greet everyone in a Genk dialect, always walk around smiling and even bring cookies.

I've always had the feeling that I have to work harder than the rest, because people expect less of me. That's what my father taught my brothers and me. At the Liège boarding school where he studied, he was the only Moroccan in Latin studies: his classmates thought he was weird, because of his origins and the other Moroccans looked at him weirdly, because he aimed higher. "Ah, Mr. pope is back there." In the end it became so unbearable that he enrolled in the TSO (technical school), which was socially accepted.”

How does a 16-year-old feel like a suicide bomber? Dari: “They gave me a background, but I added a few things myself to make it easier. And music helps me really hard too: ‘Qui suis-je’ from Scylla on repeat and then a little method acting in that character. My mother was there on set and apparently got terrified. *laughs* I asked them not to accompany me anymore. When I see them, I come back to myself, while I try very hard to forget myself in front of the camera. I need to be able to get into a role on set. Although it remains very strange to hype yourself up for hours with the mantra 'I'm dying and I'm taking all these people with me'. Fortunately, I can also easily let go. I had to, I had exams the next day. *laughs* Suicide bomber by day, studying economy by night.”

In May you hopped around on the Croisette for the world premiere of ‘Ghost Tropic’. You play the daughter of Khadija, a woman who walks home through Brussels after falling asleep on the metro. Devos makes quiet, poetic arthouse films: it’s a huge leap from teenage series and thrillers. Dari: “It was an adjustment, yes. Before I played in ‘Bullets’, I had never even seen a Flemish film. Not a single one. Or wait: one at school. What was it called? I have to give a speech soon, with its protagonist.”

‘Daens’? With Jan Decleir? Dari: “That one! Everything I had already learned about acting was from Hollywood movies. That enlarged playing style also worked in ‘Bullets’, but when I tried that in ‘Ghost Tropic’, Bas blocked it very quickly. *laughs* "The less you do the better, Nora!" I thought about it all too hard. "Nora, just go." “Yes, but Bas, who am I? What have I been through up to this point?” I have a hard time playing without a backstory in my head.”

Did you learn something from Devos? Dari: “Bas and Maaike Neuville told me in Cannes that I shouldn’t forget to live. I was only busy with what should be my next big step, but I also have to learn to enjoy. Surrendering is nothing dirty, but if I put everything aside for this job, I’ll never be able to put content in my characters. Then they’ll give me a heavy role and I’ll get stuck.”

Sensible advice. Alarm bells already went off when I read in ‘Het Belang van Limburg’ that you certainly wanted to remain celibate until you were 27 and wouldn’t continue your studies, just focussing on your career. Dari: “In the end, I’ll study cross-media management and I’ve come back to that other one as well. *laughs* What?! I’m seventeen, I change my mind completely every month. When I am 40, I don't just want to have a nice IMDb profile to look back on.”

'9000 followers? That is more people than have seen my last film', Devos thought humbly in your Instagram Stories. Dari: “I hope ‘Ghost Tropic’ gets more visitors than I have followers, but I'm not going to bitch if only fifty people come to watch the film in the end. I just like to act and have hardly seen anything from ‘Bullets’ or ‘wtFOCK’ myself. When I'm not on set, I just feel bad. As if I'm not getting the most out of my life. 

At the very least, ‘Ghost Tropic’ gave me another experience and I was able to take my father with me, when we went to the Dominican Republic. My grandfather had passed away just before the shoot and we kind of processed that together there, while we were watching the sunrise at five in the morning. A very tender moment. Very cinematic, too. *thinks* I’m a very passionate person. Everything I experience is immediately very big. It’s all hard, good or bad. So hard that I can't always process all the feelings. *dryly* I hope I don't go crazy. I really wouldn't be surprised if that happens.”

You seem to be especially prone to obsessions. Whether it’s making music, painting or acting: if you decide to do something, everything has to make way for it. Dari: “When I got a keyboard, I was immediately very invested in my music. Making beats to accompany my slam poetry, tinkering at night, searching and keeping my parents awake until they went crazy. And then I suddenly got tired of it and started painting. Swimming. Dancing. I also played soccer for a while, mainly to get my dad's attention. During the 'consultation hour' around the tajine I could never have a chat with my brothers and father, because it was only about football and anime.”

Anime? Dari: “The men in my family are all next-level anime fans. They even speak Japanese to each other. *thinks* And I also plunged into my religion for a while, in between football and slam poetry.”

How? Dari: “When the community center closed its doors around the age of 13 and I saw a whole circle of friends go away in one go, I started clinging to something else. So, faith. At that time I also wore a hijab, because I was convinced that you could only be such a good Muslim. I was really pretty strict and took everything way too literally. Today I understand that you mainly have to look for your own interpretation.”

In the meantime, the average 15-year-old is also going through a storm for the second season of wtFOCK, which can be followed daily on Instagram and wtfock.be, good for about 400,000 visitors a week and more than 8 million watched - or at least started - episodes. Significantly more than the first season, although that also had good numbers. Especially for a series that was deliberately launched in silence. “You’re already bombarded with advertising on Instagram, subtle and less subtle,” says Dari, while she tries so intensely to make eye contact with a waiter that he almost bumps into a glass door. “I don't have any big theories about the future of television, but ‘wtFOCK’ really was a relief. It’s on the internet and you mainly do what you want with it. "Ah, I don't have to look?" That unforced approach works. The worst thing that could have happened to us, was that the press started writing about it en masse: it had to remain a bit mysterious and above all belong to the young people themselves. Normally we don't give interviews either: ‘wtFOCK’ is one big bubble that you shouldn't talk too much about.”

Without any illusions about the appeal of Knack Focus to fifteen-year-olds: is this conversation a good idea? Dari: “Sounds okay to me. I’m more now than just Yasmina? And I think fifteen-year-olds do know Knack.” 

For real? Dari: “That's the book we get in History as source material in class. *laughs* I think I'll stop giving interviews again after this. A little mystery can't hurt.”

SKAM, the Norwegian series of which ‘wtFOCK’ is a remake, became a hit in its own country. That’s not always the case with foreign remakes, except for the Flemish one. It continues to gain popularity. Do you have an explanation for that? Dari: “No idea why things were less successful in other countries, but ‘wtFOCK’ is so good because it is real. We don't disguise anything, don't pour Hollywood sauce on it and talk like I talk to my friends. Apparently, a lot of teachers also follow the series to get a better understanding of their students. Smart, because we tackle all issues a teenager has in a very realistic way.”

The makers of SKAM were prepared with a tour through its country and a survey of Norwegian teenagers. Their biggest conclusion was: no generation suffers as much from performance pressure and comparison anxiety as yours. Dari: “Social media. Instagram is a very beautiful, but at the same time very scary place. A lot of girls now ask me, for example, how they can also enter this profession. But if you ask them why, it turns out that there’s no passion, they just see it as a fast road to fame. Then join ‘Temptation Island’? They see  people like Millie Bobby Brown (from Stranger Things), who is barely fifteen and has a crazy career and they let themselves be hyped about it. I should actually say 'we'. I said it already: I ​​hope I don't go crazy.” *giggles hysterically* 

About 1200 teenagers showed up for the casting of wtFOCK, but the makers did not find their Yasmina there. Dari: *nods* “In the end they also had to call Adil, who gave me the tip.”

Why do you think that is? Dari: “I get angry when someone says they want more diversity, but can't find anyone. *throws arms up dramatically* "They aren't there!" They are there. In my neighborhood alone, so much talent is packed together. You may have to do your best to find them, because if you come from a neighborhood where ambition is laughed at, you’ll not find your way to a casting. Because the TV and film world seem so closed off from the outside - and it is. I also didn't know how to do that, I was just lucky that Adil, Nora Gharib and Ikram Aoulad wanted to help me. They helped me avoid a lot of rookie mistakes. And that I won't sign myself up for Temptation Island or something tomorrow.” *laughs*

Gharib also predicted that as a Moroccan woman she would have problems with ‘Patser’. From the moment you do not portray a classic religious Muslim woman, it seems to already lead to commentary. Dari: “I've had my part too. Women who send to me that I brought shame on the entire Moroccan community, for example, because Yasmina doesn't always wear her hijab. Usually these are women who’ve seen two minutes of the series and then get angry without seeing the context. *blows* You know, I don’t care. If my parents and I are okay with it, then no one has anything to say to me. Criticism slips away from me. It really takes more than an angry DM to get me off my path, I come from Winterslag breeding.”

*** Bas Devos, director ‘Ghost Tropic’:

“I had never seen Nora at work, but her audition video immediately made me curious. At the final casting, where she had to improvise a bit, it was already clear to me after a few minutes. She did a beautiful job. Nora is not trained as an actress, but I often work with a combination of non-professional and professional actors. That really doesn't matter to me. It's all about how naturally someone relates to the camera and how relaxed you are while being filmed. Then very beautiful things can happen. And I think she also liked not having to make her character bigger in an understated film like ‘Ghost Tropic’, as that’s sometimes the case for TV. To hear that you are still playing without doing anything. 

It's cool how she dares to go for something so outspokenly at such a young age, but I did point out to her that working alone isn’t the perfect solution. She’s very fond of that international career, but it is also easy to walk into a wall there. Seventeen-year-olds have to live, right? Well, she's sensible enough, I'm not worried. She'll eventually find the right balance. At the end of the shooting period, she said she hoped we could work together again. I told her that I hope she still likes it by then. *laughs*  Who knows which films will she be in then.”

[lyssismagical]

evermore

Just a Solid Vent Fic 

I wanna do 30 days of Taylor Swift-inspired fics (folklore and evermore) lmao but idk yet we’ll see lemme know tho 

 *

As a compromise for Tony not being able to pay Peter’s tuition to MIT thanks to his full ride, Tony bought an apartment right beside campus for Peter to live in, to ensure no awkward adventures trying to be Spider-Man with a roommate.

Peter’s still adamant about getting a job and paying for his food, phone bill, and any other things like clothing or entertainment.

And balancing classes, patrolling, and a job, isn’t easy, of course. But it’s always been better for him to work hard than to give himself time to think. It’s not like his mental health is on hold, but it’s easier to put it aside when he’s got so much to do all the time.

It doesn’t help that he’s also on the debate team thanks to MJ, and in the robotics club thanks to Ned.

When November rolls around and it brings the final projects, Peter pushes himself to the limit to keep up with everything.

He starts dropping his sleep to only a nap whenever he can squeeze it in, working all afternoon, classes all morning, and Spider-Man all night, and he starts making up excuses for anything that isn’t a number one priority.

He stops seeing his friends, stops calling May back, stops replying to Tony’s worried texts, stops helping out with his professors or the librarian or his classmates. He stops cleaning his apartment, letting dishes pile up on the counters and laundry go unwashed.

It’s bad, and he knows that, rationally and logically, he knows.

But that doesn’t stop him from doing it anyway.

Three weeks, he tells himself.

And he keeps pushing.

MJ shows up at his apartment out of the blue when he’s studying away, and he barely manages to clear the fog in his head to stumble for the door.

“I can’t talk right now,” he says before she can even say hello. “I’ve gotta study for my physics exam.”

“No, you’ve gotta chill the fuck out.”

He shakes his head, leaving the door open as he turns his back and heads into his kitchen for a quick snack so he can get back to his work. “No, I have to study.”

“Oh my god, you live in a garbage dump,” she says, eyes going wide as she takes in the state of his apartment. “When was the last time you washed a dish? Or, gross, your hair?”

He doesn’t bother responding, rolling his eyes and downing a protein bar. “Two weeks, now, and then I’m done for a month.”

“At this rate, I don’t know if you’ll make it through the next two weeks.”

Peter can’t help but roll his eyes again, part of him hating how much he’s lashing out despite wanting help, needing help, but unable to find the strength to stop it from happening as he brushes past her again.

“I know you’re stressed, I know you’re anxious about exams and papers and labs, but, seriously, Peter?” she says, following him to where he’s working in the living room, papers and binders and textbooks strewn across every surface. “You’re a genius, okay? You’ve been getting excellent grades all year. The only reason you might not do well on these projects is because you’re working yourself to death.”

He shakes his head, feeling very suddenly like he might cry. “It’s not that easy. Just… I don’t want to deal with this right now, okay?”

MJ doesn’t take that as a good answer, though, sitting beside him on the old couch. “I know you, okay? I know you better than most people do. I’ve seen you in some of the worst states you’ve been in. I know this. You can’t pretend that this is okay or normal or that this is you doing fine. I don’t believe it for a second.”

He opens his mouth to fight back, to argue, to try to convince her otherwise, or maybe just to kick her out. But he hesitates.

After the Snap’s reversal, she was the one who devoted all her time to taking care of him. He was such a mess of PTSD and depression and emptiness, but she was there. She kept the lights on for him, she brought him food and water, held him after nightmares, talked him down from panic attacks every other day. She was there, despite everything, she was always there.

Tony was too far and he never wanted to bother May, so he regularly would drop by her fire escape where she would patch him up after patrols, and occasionally, let him sleep next to her and make sure to get him to school on time.

She’s always been there.

She’s held him together, kept him sane, helped him through it all.

It wouldn’t be fair to get pissed.

“I’m sorry,” he mumbles, shoving a hand through his mess of greasy, tangled curls. “I’m such a mess, I’m so sorry. I don’t mean to be a bitch, but I just… I don’t know what I’m doing. I feel like I’m drowning.”

And she nods because she’s always understood, always known what he means. She puts her hand over his. “You deserve a nap. C’mon.”

He goes to shake his head, looking to where his lab is only half-done, he’s only a few chapters into the textbook to get prepared for his exam, rough notes scribbled out for a paper.

“No, c’mon. You’re taking a nice nap. You deserve it,” she repeats, tugging more insistently at his wrist.

But he shakes his head this time, pulling his hand away. “If I stop, I won’t be able to start again.”

“Peter-”

“I’m serious, if I take a nap or a break or take a second to breathe, I will crumble and I won’t be able to put myself back together in time for these due dates. I won’t get back up. I just-” He stops, taking a deep breath and rubbing at his wet eyes. “I need to keep pushing for the next two weeks and then I can fall apart.”

MJ shakes her head, fingers wrapping around his thin wrist. “That’s not healthy. And it certainly wouldn’t be right for me to let you do that.”

“I’ll fail my classes if I don’t do well on these assignments and exams. I need to keep going. I know it’s bad, but if I get into bed, I will fall into a slump and I won’t get anything done.”

Surprising both him and what seems like herself, she nods, holding onto him a little tighter like he’ll disappear before her very eyes. “Fine. But I’m going to stay here with you and make sure you don’t die over the next two weeks, alright? And you have to listen when I tell you to eat or watch stupid reality TV shows with me.”

He hums out an agreement, letting himself slump into her side, eyes focusing in on his mess of homework laid out before him.

“Come on. Step one, is getting you showered and in clean clothes because you smell like you spent the night in a dumpster.”

*

MJ does exactly as she promised she would. She calls it a ‘mental health sleepover’ and they set up camp in the living room.

She calls in sick for him at work for most of the week, telling them that he caught the flu and wouldn’t be back until after his exams, and even then, he’d already booked most of Winter Break off to go home to New York.

There wasn’t much she could do, in all honesty, it wasn’t like she could force him to sleep or take a break without a fight, but she could make him healthy meals and stop him from going out patrolling, which was enough to take a big load off his shoulders.

And she occasionally can convince him to watch those dumb reality TV shows, which occasionally makes him fall asleep on the couch for at least an hour or two.

It helps, of course, but it doesn’t solve any of the problems.

As soon as he’s finished exams, he’s going to drop, he’s going to fall, he’s going to drown, let the waves take him.

And nobody will be able to help him then.

“I booked your flight home,” MJ says over dinner and while he’s finishing up his lab report. “My flight’s a few hours after yours, so I’ll be with you until you board and then the Starks will pick you up.”

“Thanks. I really owe you one,” he says, only half-listening as he starts on his paper.

She grabs him by his shoulder and makes him turn to her laptop screen. “Say yes to the dress time. Your paper can wait a bit.”

“There’s only so much I can procrastinate,” he says but he’s already closing his laptop and tucking himself into her side, and shoulders finally relaxing.

She starts the episode, on a low volume, and presses a quick kiss to his temple.

By the time they’re onto the second episode, Peter’s slurring out his insults to the dresses some of the women pick, making fun of the different styles, and blinking getting longer and longer.

“That neckline?” Peter goes, giggling into MJ’s shoulder. “Especially with those shoes?”

“You’re a bitch.”

“I know, but seriously?” he laughs again, a little window into the person he once was. “I mean the first option wasn’t bad, but the choice of a grey dress in the first place…”

MJ’s voice goes all soft and gentle when she next speaks up, “Come on, go to sleep, you can afford to take a little break.”

And he nods sleepily against her shoulder, tucking himself just a little closer, making himself small against her side. It’s simple, for now.

*

As soon as he’s done his last exam, he can feel the adrenaline wearing off, disappearing from within him, all energy draining from his very veins.

He goes straight home afterwards, ignoring everybody who tries to stop him for a chat. And as soon as he makes it to his apartment, he goes straight to bed, tugging the sheets right over his head.

He shouldn’t do this, he knows. He should call MJ, ask that she drop everything for him again because he can feel himself slipping, but he won’t. He can’t. He doesn’t even know when the last time he saw his phone was, let alone have the effort to leave his blankets and try to find it. He doesn’t care. He doesn’t have it in him to care.

He feels empty and exhausted and strung out. Carved hollow. Putting everything he has into the past few months, he feels like he has nothing left to give.

There’s a knock on his front door, but he doesn’t move.

A few minutes later, his phone rings, somewhere in another part of the apartment. It rings again and again, a symphony for him to pass out to.

*

Time passes strangely when he’s this deep in a depressive episode. He doesn’t know how long he’s been huddled under his blankets, hiding from the world. It could’ve been anywhere between a couple hours and a few days, he doesn’t know.

His phone continues ringing, far away and echoing through his dreams, tears sliding down his cheeks at random intervals, hands trembling where they’re tucked under his chest.

He feels like he’s drifting away, collapsing into himself, fading away into nothingness.

He feels empty, hollow, gone.

He gave everything he had into school and work over the course of four months, and he has nothing left to give anymore. He’s nothing more than an empty well.

And he doesn’t know how he’s supposed to pull himself together, pack, get a flight home, and pretend to be one hundred percent for Morgan.

He’d rather just die here, in this cave he’s built, ghost-like and fading away already, than have to face another soul.

*

When he hears his front door unlocking, he knows he should be worried. Nobody has a spare copy of his key except for Ned, who already went home to New York a few weeks back.

He knows it should be at least a little concerning that somebody is breaking into his apartment, but he can’t find it in him to care. He doesn’t have the energy to move or hide or try to protect himself.

He just curls up a little tighter and hopes that this won’t be his last day.

“Peter?”

He lifts his head, just enough to see over his cave of his blankets.

And standing in his bedroom doorway is Tony.

“Hi,” he breathes, curling up a little tighter, knowing he’s safe.

Tony slips into his room and sits at the end of his bed, one hand on Peter’s ankle. “MJ called when you wouldn’t answer your phone or let her in. She knew something was up.”

“Sorry.”

“Don’t be sorry. I saw something like this coming after you finished your senior year and spent two weeks sick and depressed. I thought you’d be home in time before you started feeling so run down, but I guess I was wrong.”

Peter doesn’t know how he’s supposed to respond to that, so instead he lets his head fall into the pillows again.

“I’m not going to make you do anything yet, I think you could use a bit more time here. Though, Morgan thought two days sleeping was plenty, I think another one might do you well. But tomorrow, we’re going to get you fed and showered and your apartment clean, and then this weekend, we’ll get a flight home. Sound good?”

He nods, though he’s pretty sure he would agree to pretty much anything so long as the decisions are taken out of his hands.

“Come here,” Tony murmurs, sliding into the space beside Peter, arms open. Peter finally feels at home when he crawls into the awaiting hug. “MJ mentioned Say Yes to the Dress bingeing, you feel up for making fun of more dress choices?”

Peter laughs half-heartedly against Tony’s chest, tucking himself into him like a child would, and nods, breathing in the soothing scent of motor oil and expensive cologne.

He knows he’ll fall apart again, he knows that it’s not going to be a permanent solution, but the time being, he has Tony’s arms around him, a reality TV show quietly keeping them company, and the relief of having time to feel miserable before he has to pick himself up, it’s enough for now. It’ll be enough.

He’ll be okay with people like Tony and MJ at his side.

He’ll be okay.

Taglist: @littlemissagrafina  @fancyxparker  @romeoandjulietyouwish @c-artara @shadedrose01 @likeaphoenix13 @misskirkstark @you-get-killed-walk-it-off @kitkatwinchester  @emo-girl10 @justme--emily  @hold-our-destiny @imalivebecauseirondad @spiderman-peterman @dykeragee @maryserrao @heeeyitskay @parknerandirondad @lilacsandlilies4 @loveliestdisappointment @joyful-soul-collector @genderfluid-and-confuzled @fallenstar07 @gyurolls @sdottkrames {Let me know if you wanna be added or removed}

[alice-in-wonderart]

I have found your blog and I love it!! Good look with it! Can you do headcanons for pregnancy and post-delivery for the juniors? (I see you write about them, and I don't know which other characters you are comfortable to write for). Thnkx~

I write for right about all characters! The Nies, the Jiangs, the Wens, the Lans, even all of the Jins (except Jin Zixun he can go be mean somewhere else) + Yi City power characters are all characters I write for ✌️ (I may have missed a few names) That aside, thank you so much for reading my stuff! I'm glad you enjoy them ❤️❤️ Aside from having 0 time management skills, running such a blog is so much fun! Here is your request about the Juniors being...well- themselves.

Ouyang Zizhen

You're what now?

OYZZ.exe stopped working.

Then he realised three fundamental truths at the exact same time. (if u get the reference, bless ✌️ )

Once the realization of the situation hit, his eyes watered and a loud, yet emotional whail escaped his lips, before engulfing you in a big hug. He was going to be a dad! You two were going to have a baby. And then realization hit him again.

Shit. He was going to be a father. A father to a baby - his baby. That was a lot of responsibility he was about to take. A lot of work, a lot of sleepless nights, a lot of time and energy. Babies are hard.

And then realization hit him a third time. He was going to have an actual family with you. And you were the mother to his child. YOUR child. He almost couldn't believe it.

Cue OYZZ becoming 70 times more affectionate and careful. You want to go outside? By all means, but let your gentle lover accompany you. Just in case, y'know. You want something sweet? By all means, what kind of sweets does the queen desire? You need new clothes because of the baby bump? By all means, what kind of silk do you want? Colour? Pattern? Style? You want to sleep? 3, 5 or 50 pillows?

OYZZ is a walking panic bomb when it comes to your pregnancy. Conveniently, he also knows how to mostly hide said panic. But you being in pain, having morning sickness and and in general feeling off is not something he signed up for. So, he will dote over you as much as humanly possible.

But then judgement day arrived. And he was out of it. He somehow never considered the fact, that you were going to one day have to give birth to that baby.

You have never seen a more distressed looking man than OYZZ when he finally got the permission to see you. His eyes were puffy, his lips were quivering and he was so pale, he could easily pass for a corpse. It seemed as if he was the one giving birth, not you.

And he immediately dropped to his knees next to your bed, gently taking your hand in his. You were alive. You were alive and argueably healthy and that was what he needed to hear.

But then! In comes the medic, holding your child in pure white blankets, gently letting you take it. And the moment his eyes landed on that baby he knew, that his heart was stolen once more.

"Congratualtions! It's a girl."

Guess who is about to become "Daddy's little princess".

Jin Ling

"Hahahahahhahha. Funny. Oh wait, you're serious?!"

PaniK

What do you mean you're pregnant? When did that happen? When did you learn? How were you sure? Wait, you were how many months in?!

Give him time. It's not, that he isn't happy. He's just panicking like crazy. Of course, once the initial mental breakdown™️ wears off, he'd come up to you and give you the most emotional hug you've ever experienced. He'd hide his face in your hair, as he mumbled into you how incredibly grateful he actually is.

Now, as the Lanling Jin Sect's leader, of course it was expected of him to have an heir, so such news travelled quickly. Immediately this became the gossip of every household and ultimately led to you receiving a metric ton of gifts from all over the place. Jin Ling would also make sure you were living the most lavish, yet healthy lifestyle possible.

The truth is, he was utterly terrified. After all, he grew up without parents, lived only with his uncle and as a result was quite hot-tempered. More than anything, he wanted to be the best dad possible. He wanted his children to grow up in a loving family, with their parents next to them, with a mother to care for them and a father to teach them. And he was afraid whether he was capable of even being a good father. But of course, you knew he was going to be the best father in the world.

Now, speaking of hot-tempered, Jin Ling honestly would throw more hissy fits than you. In fact, he'd get more mood swings than you too. In fact, even when pregnant, you're the calm one. Because if you think he's snappy and over-protective of you usually, wait 'till you see him once he learns you're pregnant. Hoo boy.

He was at work, dealing with the pressures of leading a sect when one of Lanling's servants hurriedly burst into the room, giving him the news that made his tough guy act crumble in seconds - his wife was giving birth.

At the time, he was surrounded by now Sect Leader Lan Sizhui, (idk it's a hc), Nie Huaisang and of course - his uncle, who all ushered him to go see you. Thus, he stormed out, running towards the nursery like his life depended on it.

"What do you mean I can't enter yet, my WIFE is in there." You haven't seen scary until you've seen Jin Ling, amidst an utter mental breakdown, being held down by a few nurses, trying desperately to stop him from going in.

Once they DID let him in, he'd be by your side in 0.001 seconds, only to see you holding not one, but two babies.

"A-Ling, look. They're twins. Say hello to papa, little ones." For once, Jin Ling didn't mind the tears that began falling from his eyes, as he gently held one of his two sons in his embrace. Perhaps, being a father wouldn't be that bad after all. Not with you by his side.

Lan Jingyi

*dramatic gasp*

For once the loud, wild Jingyi was left speechless, unmoving, utterly starstruck by the news. He'd never admit it, but for a while he'd been dreaming of having a family with you. So, when you told him the news, his heart skipped a beat. His dream was coming true.

And then, with the biggest smile on his face, he'd lift you up, carrying you to your now shared room, stating how you shouldn't strain yourself and how he'd take care of everything you need.

"Er-gege, I'm only 3 months in, it's barely noticeable yet, I can take care of myself."

Denial.

Lan Jingyi will be there for you at the cost of right about everything, even if it meant breaking Lan's rules, much to yours and everybody's dismay. Macho man™️ will protect his darling flower. What he wasn't ready for was how complicated pregnancy actually is.

Whenever you're more moody, he'd be quick to anger as well, so small and pointless arguments wouldn't be uncommon. But for every little argument, there is also a sleepless night where he'd cuddle you, whenever your stomach would hurt, or you'd feel uncomfortable.

Now Lan Jingyi is a cool dad. He is a cool dad before he is officially a dad. Whenever you two are alone, lying in bed, he'd lean in to rest a hand on your stomach. And he'd always give a happy yelp whenever he felt his little one move. And gosh, how much he'd talk to the baby. He'd tell your stomach stories of his great adventures, he'd joke around and believe me, he's planned every family outing for next 10 years.

Absolutely everybody thought it was going to be a boy. Ouyang Zizhen and Jin Ling even bet on it, OYZZ being ABSOLUTELY sure it would be a boy.

Giving birth was a whole new adventure. He'd wake up much too early for his liking with you frantically shaking him awake.

"The baby is coming." "Who's coming?" "The baby." "THE BABY?!"

Cue, Lan Jingyi losing his damn mind. He'd be up and running in a blink of an eye, casually scaring the medics and waking up the entire Cloud Recess in his hurry. Don't run in Cloud Recess? He's not running. He's SPRINTING. Do not shout in Cloud Recess? He's not shouting, he's SCREECHING. Do not speak out of turn? FOR GOD'S SAKE MY BABY IS COMING. And he'd be like that the entire time, until he's allowed to see you. He'll write the rules a thousand times if he has to later. He won't, Lan aren't heartless.

Seeing his healthy little baby, he was right about ready to pass out. He almost didn't hear you joking how your little girl was a loud crier and was about to be just as wild as her dad.

" Wait. It's a girl? We have a little girl!" Cue Ouyang Zizhen screaming in misery, as Jin Ling victoriously smirks his way.

Lan Jingyi on the other hand couldn't have been happier.

Lan Sizhui

QWQ

"This is the best day of my life, I can't believe we're going to have our own family!"

With a bright smile, he'd pull you in for a sweet kiss, shaking with excitement. Honestly, he'd have the best reaction out of all the Juniors. He's a family guy, who gets to witness true love everyday around his fathers, so having a child of his own with you was one of his long-term goals. He was old enough and wise enough to be absolutely ready to embark on an adventure through fatherhood.

Lan Sizhui would be so loving and gentle with you. You'd have him wrapped around your finger, he'd respond to your every beg and call. He'd minimize any work-related travelling to make sure he could be as close to you as possible.

When he wasn't there, he'd assign his cultivation partner and trusty bestie Lan Jingyi to take care of you and look after you. Did you necessarily need it? No. But you understood his worry, so you let him be.

He'd be there for you when you were feeling down, through your mood swings, morning sickness. He never complained, never fought with you, never gave you anything short of his unconditional love.

In fact, he was so SO compassionate, that he'd get pregnancy cravings WITH you. Nothing like the two of you, sitting awake at 2 am, (uncommon for him) eating chocolate-covered cucumbers and apricots.

Similarly to Lan Jingyi, everybody were already 100% sure the two of you would have a little girl. With Sizhui's sweet soft-spoken behavior and big warm heart, having a little gentle flower to spoil rotten seemed like the obvious outcome.

Lan Sizhui, on the other hand, refused to give into all of those "what ifs". Only time could tell. Besides, he'd be just as happy and proud no matter what gender the baby would be.

With his careful planning and skillful avoidance of any travelling, thankfully he was there when the due date was up. On the outside, he remained as calm as physically possible, but oh, on the inside it was a storm. Few could see through his façade, but by the trembling of his fingers, discreet chewing on the inside of his lip and eyes darting all around him, his true feelings came to light.

And when he finally got to see you, you've never seen him more unlike himself. With a worried expression and hasty movements he'd make his way to you, trembling hand reaching out to cup your face. He'd leave a gentle kiss on your forehead, before turning to the newborn in your hands.

"Sizhui. Say hi to your son."

A single tear rolled down his face, carrying the weight of all of his love in it. One look at his child and his heart was pierced by a million arrows. At that very moment he vowed, that he'd protect this child with all he's got, teach him all he knows and love him with all of his heart.

Thank you for reading~

[maree-ff]

Interlude: Remission

CAMILA

Excited, joyful, in lust, anxious, nervous, and overwhelmed. These are all of the emotions I was hit with at three o’clock this morning when I woke up to begin my day. Today officially marks five weeks, seventy-two hours and sixteen minutes since I ruined our relationship. Today also marks the same amount of time that Jorden has completely flipped his switch. His behavior is nothing like Andre or I have ever dealt with. I know I’m to blame for calling off our engagement but it’s almost as if Jorden feels like I took his father away. That was never my intention by any means. I only wanted for Andre and I to take some time out to explore every crevice of our relationship. The energy in our union has been off and I want to know what the root of the issue is.

Papi’s been coming by everyday to bring the kids home from school. He’s even stayed to tuck them in, help me clean up from the aftermath of dinner and then he leaves. He’s been distant, rightfully so, but I miss him! I’ve been yearning for attention and I haven’t craved male companionship in ages! Tonight, I’m going to try and do things differently. I’ve been spying on him to get his schedule for today so I can scheme and coordinate in peace. Andre didn’t pick up the kids today because I asked for his mother to do it herself. The girls are helping me choose what to wear for my weekend away while their baby brother is napping.

Sliding my boots on I tiptoed around the mess I created, rushing to get their opinion. I spun around, danced a little, showing off another outfit I pieced together.

“Okay, nenas...what about this?” I’m frantic. I am supposed to be meeting Dre at a resort in Palm Springs. He has an assignment there for the weekend so I figured this is the perfect time for us to fix what’s broken.

“Shoes..perfect. Outfit..even better.” Zoe smiles assuringly.

Kenja tilted her head left and right before responding to my question. “Perfecto..”

“Perfecto? La verdad o es esa actitud que estoy escuchando?” I sassed her.

“Si..la verdad. Mom, mira la hora por favor.” She pointed out. Glancing at my watch I cursed under my breath, rushing to get out of here. I tossed what I need for the weekend in my bag, smothering my girls in affection. I looped my bag over my shoulder and quietly raced up the steps to check on my youngest baby.

Cautiously I entered his bedroom, blushing at the mere sight of him. “Mommy’s going to fix this nino. I promise. For you and tu hermanas.” Shuffling to his bed I pulled his blanket up over his stomach to keep him warm. “Mommy loves you baby. I’ll see you when I get back and I’ll make sure to kiss Papi for you, if he’ll let me.” I kissed his forehead and backed away before he had the chance to wake up.

I left his room, spoke to Divya briefly and headed straight for Palm Springs.

————  ———— 

Pushing the bottle further down into the ice bucket I turned around to check out the room. I managed to get an extra key to his hotel suite since he’s still out. I got a phone call from Meah saying that he should be arriving shortly.

“Mommy,” I exhaled. Clutching the Bible to my chest I looked out at the sun setting over the horizon. “Necesito su orientación.” My spirit feels alive again. I can feel her. “I need you to walk me through this. I ruined my relationship and I need to get it back. Please watch over me and don’t let me screw this up.” Marking my body in favor of the cross I set the Bible down and put some final touches on his room.

About fifteen minutes later I heard a key unlatch the lock to the room.

“Alright, look I’ll tell you what. Let me look over the proposal, run the account and find the bug.” The door shut and the automatic lock clicking made me jump out of my skin. These goddamn nerves! Quickly I downed one of the shots I poured, needing to calm myself before he saw me. I stood tall by the window, looking out at the montañas and hills. “No man, I will personally take care of the firewall and the hiccup in your account. Why don’t you sen-”

Our eyes met the second his speech paused. With the phone to his ear, he silently set his bag down, looking me up and down. “I will have my assistant contact you so you can get me that file personally. Once I get to the bottom of this I will call you..” he motioned to the glass signaling for me to pour him a drink.

I did as he asked, going ahead to fill two glasses.

“Of course. I’ll get back to you in a few days.” His phone touched the desk as did his jacket. “I’m surprised.” He simply stated.

Closing our distance I handed him the glass, holding my own with two hands. “I know.” I agreed. “Necesitamos hablar.” I sipped on my champagne, reading his energy from the body language he’s showing.

“About?” He too sipped from his glass, going to remove his tie.

“Let me..” I offered. I set my glass down to complete the task I offered to take off his hands. A mass of nothing but fears from my subconscious lodged my airways, making it difficult to look at him. “Habla sobre nosotros, nuestra familia y el futuro de nuestra relación.” The slow movement and slithering sound of his tie falling across his shoulder made my heart skip a beat.

“So let’s talk then. Where should we start? You breaking up our family or completely blind siding me at dinner that night?” I knew this surprise visit from me would be a battle but I wasn’t expecting fire this quickly.

I draped his tie over the back of the chair, not wanting the fabric to catch wrinkles. “Don’t do that. I don’t want to fight with you tonight. For you and for us but not with you.” I created space between us, giving him room to breathe again.

“Why not? There’s enough issues to go around that we can argue about right? Isn’t that what you were saying five weeks ago when you tore our family apart?” He’s agitating me and he knows it. He’s pressing my buttons on purpose but I sympathize with his anger and hurt.

“Everything. Papi, we can fix this. I want to fix this. I broke us apart and for good reason but I want to make it right. I never wanted to hurt you or our family.” The sun has vanished leaving the sky lit up in the most beautiful orange and yellow blend.

“Mm..that’s the memo I got and if I’m correct you did hurt me. You hurt our bond, our love and our kids.” He calmly explained his point, fully raising my nerves.

Snapping my head in his direction I warned him not to steer us down a path we may not recuperate from. He clapped back at me as if I’m not in this fight with him.

“Ay, basta ahora! No me hables así! I hurt myself too, okay? You’re not the only one who got hurt that night alright? Stop trying to make me feel like crap and help me fix the problem!” Waving my hand for him to cut the nonsense out, I paced the floor waiting for him to react.

“What problem, Camila? Tell me what are these problems you speak of? I never saw any facet of our relationship that was broken and needed to be fixed. Were you imagining things that aren't real? What is it?”

“Our chemistry must have been off, Dre. It didn’t feel like old times. Y me estás llaman loco? That’s not fair of you to say! I meant what I said and how I feel is valid. You cannot deny the way I feel! Those are my feelings and I am entitled to them!” I yelled.

He approached me silently, picking up the shot from the tray. He threw it back, poured another two rounds, encouraging me to take second. “Our chemistry? What about our chemistry? Break it down for me. We have all weekend right? That’s why your bag is partially unpacked and you got a second key to the room? Well let’s get to the bottom of this shall we?”

He doesn’t know this but that was my fifth shot since I checked in. The scent of his cologne sent my desire for lust, love, affection, attention, you name it..into overdrive. I rolled my eyes swiftly as he walked past me into the living room of the suite. I followed him thinking of how to recite my feelings.

“Well..I feel like you’re still holding back. You never opened up about what happened to you while you were away. You’ve changed, baby. I recognized the signs when you came home. I didn’t pester you about my concerns because I had enough to deal with already. But you have changed and I just want you to feel comfortable enough to be open with me about what you went through.” Removing my earrings I placed them on the coffee table. Andre was mute. He drew an invisible figure eight with the champagne flute in his hand. “Coming here was intentional my love but stressing you out wasn’t.” I reminded him. I inched over to the large windows, taking in the views with him.

Throwing back the remaining champagne, Andre set the glass down by his feet. “Yeah I changed. I’m ashamed of a lot of events that have taken place over the course of my life. You know that. Being away is at the very top of that list. You know that too. It’s not that I don’t want to talk to you. I don’t want to share at all with anyone but God himself. I can’t.” He disagreed.

Cupping the nape of his neck I fingered the smooth hair, getting excited. He hasn’t touched me in weeks and I’m still breastfeeding so my hormones are driving me batshit crazy. I have been forced to stick out this drought between us, calculating how long until I get him back. Allow me to be frank and say that I have ventured down the road of self pleasure but it takes too long. I’m capable of satisfying myself on a small scale but I need him for that soul snatching, big time release.

“I’m not shaming you, papi. I would never do that. Though I strongly urge you to reconsider. God is an excellent choice mi amor pero I-” his hand claimed my throat as he backed me into the glass. The liquor in my bloodstream and on his breath made me want more. “Por favor..” I am prepared to beg, plead or use any other extreme measures I have up my sleeve if this will bring us closer. I cupped his cheek, yet again finding our son in him. Their eyes hold a familiar sense of depth and comfort. “I want to fix this, really. Again I’m sorry love, you must believe me.”

The teaser of his increase in pressure to my neck turned me on. I’m sure that was his intention and I have no objections. He’s never harmed me which is good because I love when he uses force. A little pain feels ten times better when sex and intimacy are around the corner.

“I know.” He huffed. I’m already wet with anticipation. He only added fuel to my fire. He overpowered me, giving off anger and animosity. I’ll take what I can for the time being, wanting what I’ve been deprived of. I can’t decide if I want this first time back into our fold to go by quickly because I’m so hungry or if I want to take my time.

“I want both.” I thought aloud.

Andre ripped through my clothes without any regard for common sense to treat my belongings with respect. “Of?” He uttered quietly.

We disrobed one another not caring that anyone could possibly walk by the room. We’re completely exposed and normally I’d be willing to keep watch for bystanders but tonight I don’t care much. Let them have a show to enjoy.

Tossing the belt he had on somewhere off to the side I rid him of his trousers, dominating the scene. “I want this to last but I’m desperate after five weeks.” I whined. I did not allow him to choose what pace he would rather stick with. “Give me what I want. Answers and attention.” Moving in for the kill I felt the ground lighten up from underneath my feet. I wrapped my legs around his midsection and locked my ankles to keep myself steady. He stumbled still teasing the clasp of my bra.

My body was freed from the confines of my brassiere, leaving me open for the taking. Andre granted my wish. He fucked the soul out of me up against the glass but tenderly and lovingly. We traded off with the power of getting the beauty of both worlds. What feels like angry, make-up sex carried on out to the hot tub that’s acquainted with the room. I gasped for new air, gripping his hip and palming his lower back to force him into me.

I needed a resting place for my head so I sought out the rim of the tub. My brief moment of desiring to speak ceased to exist as he touched two of my favorite spots. My outcry made me tearful and oh so sad. Sex only places a bandaid over our issues but a lovely bandaid it is. We carried on in the hot water and later transported our affairs back inside the room.

The time has come for us to use our words again. Tying my robe closed I lifted my hair up and out. With a heavy heart I studied Andre from several feet away.

“When did you begin to feel the shift?” He asked me, barely looking over his shoulder.

Clearing my throat I swiped my glass from the desk, taking a sip. “Sometime after Jo’s fifth or so doctor appointment. I think..”

Dre’s insincere snicker ruffled my feathers. He took a long drag of the blunt he’s been working for half an hour. Putting it out he sucked in a fresh wave of oxygen only to take his time blowing it back out. “So Ali is the root of your issues with me?”

“Let’s be adults about this. You know damn well that’s not what I’m getting at nor is that what I’m saying. Maybe it was the stress of waiting for all of the test results to come back..” my sentence ran off as did my feet. I walked myself across the room to look out onto the night sky. Finishing off my champagne I built up the courage to explain a selfish mistake I made so long ago. “I still feel guilty for my comment. I didn’t mean it then and I didn’t mean it now. The waiting and re-testing was backing me into such a dark place that I traded in hope for fear. That is no excuse and I have to live with my idiocy at that moment for the rest of my life.” Turning on my heels I zeroed out the space between us. I placed my hands upon his shoulders, molding to his shape wanting to ease the tension in his upper body. “But you were there. You didn’t give up on our son even while I had doubts and bombarded you with my sadness over the matter.”

Inching closer I captured his lips, entangling us to each other for round three. Speaking about our kids brings me back to consciousness. All of the wild sex that we’ve had since Jorden was born has surprisingly not created another child. This troubling and confusing separation has not hindered an inkling of romance. All that’s different is the lack of title.

“We’re supposed..to be talking..” he hummed. I fondled my way into his lap, going head first.

“Not right now we aren’t.” I denied. I’m in the mindset for a specialty cocktail I can’t put a price on. My skin began to heat up from under the robe. It’s my throat, mouth and hands that are the hottest points of me currently. I used my hands, feverishly wanting to bring him all the way up so I could stop and get him angry. His fingers ran through my hair finding the right coordinates to hold my head still. His body shuddered underneath mine as I ramped up my speed so he can feel like he’s in control of the moment. He’s never been allowed to dominate my pace when I’m pleasing him. I was very transparent in the beginning stages of our romantic relationship about why he can’t force me down or hold me still. In exchange we have worked out an arrangement to where he feels like he’s in control but he’s really not.

The overflow of saliva and the tiny bubbles running down over my fingers and wrists turned up my pride. It’s also the sweet melodic manner in which my name and God’s fills the air. I always honor him with his few moments of fame in thinking that I can’t handle his measurements. There are times when I doubt myself. Like the generous man that Andre is, he never comes short with complimenting how charming my tongue is. The hyper speed of his shaft and juevos sliding in and out my mouth brought on the most beautiful feeling. My scalp is tingling from the massage he’s giving me while I’m finishing the one I’m offering him.

His call out to the heavens is making me greedy. I’ll admit to it and I want him to know. Halting, I knelt before him and pushed him down, ultimately mounting him. Our mouths reunited in sync, no exceeding dominance displayed. My back touched down against the plush comforter, he removed my robe, and I used my hands and feet to disrobe him of his pants.

“Cuidarme, yo soy tuyo.” I begged. Our bodies meshed together resembling a fly getting caught in a Venus fly trap. My internal organs accommodated his endowment warmly. I saw darkness as he set himself up with the right momentum. “Ay Dios!” I called on our Heavenly Father several times over in the most disrespectful way. Tightening the grip I have on him I forced eye contact needing to face him head on.

His affirmation of how I’m making him feel calmed my nerves. “Making love to you always feels a step above incredible..” he told me once again.

Blissfully grinning from ear to ear I matched his strides, watching him react just the way I wanted him to. “Mm,” I hummed. “..te sientes mucho mejor.” I moaned heavily. The darkness took over again, shutting down any verbal conversation for the rest of this fight to the top of the mountain.

————  ———— 

Staring at the moon aligned with the stairs I rolled my eyes listening to Andre ramble. He’s been on a hot streak for what seems to be pushing eternity. In reality only a few minutes have lapsed.

“Can you please sit down? Your pacing is unsettling.” I advised him.

“I can’t believe you would even stoop so low to bring Jorden into our problems. I know the testing was hard on you but you can’t place the blame of our downfall on him.”

“I never said Jo was the source of our problems! All I said was that the outcome and the process itself brought me down to a place I had never been before. I have no reason to blame our children for the reason our relationship was severed and I never will. You’re taking my words and running with them trying to make me look like a shit mother and I’m not. I always put our kids first. The reason we’re apart is because of tu y yo! There are no other parties to blame except for us so don’t ever drag anyone into our shit. We made this mess together so we are responsible for cleaning it up!” Standing up to walk around I meddled in my hair only wanting to reflect.

There’s the fight about Gerrard’s initial arrival. That was the first time that Andre accused me of being unfaithful. He hurt me down to the core. I was already battling how to deal with the slander brought to my name and in my place of work. The pain from Gerrard’s doing and the assumption was double what I was expecting.

Exhaling through my nose I picked up my hair, rubbing my scalp. “Dígame, was Gerrard’s first appearance something that stuck around for you? Did you think about that day anytime afterward?” I asked him.

“Sometimes, yeah.” He confessed.

“Why did you do it? I have never understood why you felt the need to question me after our history. I don’t think I’ll ever understand. I’ve never once accused you of anything even at my lowest point so I’m just trying to put the puzzle pieces together here.” As I met his eye I put in a strong effort not to look angry.

Andre’s shoulders fell as he ran his hands over his head. “I just got scared. I had a moment of weakness and took it out on you. I was sorry then for the way I behaved and I’m sorry now. I will forever be sorry.”

“I know. That’s number one. Numbers two, three and so on. Gerrard coming around the second time, the psychos you once called family, Chris… There’s so much heavy shit in your past and in ours as a unit that keeps me up some nights.” Letting my arms fall I crossed them over my chest.

“Are you a-”

Stopping him short I held up my hand swiftly. “I am not angry. I am not sad. I don’t know what I am.”

My shoulders gained weight. I dropped my head to one side feeling my muscles loosen up.

“I have a feeling that I-my mistakes are a part of our downfall. Amongst other things now that I’m diving deep into our past.” He says.

“Que otras cosas? Dígame por favor.”

He claims that all of what I mentioned are the strongest points that broke the very foundation we’ve built. I deny it all. There’s got to be something else that we are missing.

“I owe you my life babe and I know that you hate hearing about my suicide attempt but it’s relevant. That moment in my life will forever be pertinent to many conversations that we share. That memory, despite how painful it is to both of us, plays a key role in why I am the way that I am today. I still don’t see what you see but I do know that I don’t want to lose you.” He resumed the massage on my shoulders, making me feel warm again.

“A little to the right please.” I suggested. He followed orders eliminating all tension in my upper back. “Mira, I don’t take pleasure in giving you the ring back. Deep down I just didn’t feel right wearing such a statement with the way I was feeling. The way that I’m still feeling. I’m not sure how long it will take us to get back to our old ways but I don’t want to lose you either.” I faced him sliding my hands up his chest. “I did not come here to argue and go back and forth. I want to get to the root of the problem hoping that we can find some middle ground and work our way back to normal.” I used him as a place to lay my head.

“Agreed.” He solemnly voiced.

[actuallybarb]

The Aftermath ~ Part 8

Summary: y/n meets the 99th precinct in brooklyn and gets a ride to school with a cop, brad still tries to be friends with her even though she’s told him off multiple times, and pepper potts saves the day, as always

Pairing: peter parker x reader

Warnings: swearing, angst, fluff, trauma, more i’m forgetting

Word Count: 4450

A/N: truly, sorry not sorry. obviously you gotta keep reading tho, it all resolves in the end. 

                                                        //////////

The police were there in fifteen minutes. They had the apartment taped off after five, and two detectives from the ninety-ninth precinct were on the scene after ten. The detectives, Peralta and Diaz, let Dad and I grab a few things before the apartment was entirely given over to the investigation, but there wasn’t much else we could do.

“We’ll let you know as soon as we get the blood results back and if any new developments are made, but for now, just keep trying to find your mom.”

Detective Peralta was talking to me while Diaz took over talking to my dad - he was a little more distraught than I was. (I was 17 years old and had seen a lot of shit, call me heartless.) But something wasn’t sitting right with me about all of this. I looked at the detective with narrowed eyes. “Let’s do everyone a favor and not bullshit, okay? I just want an honest answer: do you think my mom is dead?”

He flinched a little bit and looked around the crime scene, but his eyes looked clear when he answered. “I’ve seen a lot of dead bodies, kid, and you get familiar with how much blood a body has. There’s too much to make me think there’s only one victim here, so we took multiple blood samples. I wouldn’t put the chance of your mom being alive high, but the amount of blood makes me think she might be.”

“Huh. That wasn’t what I was expecting you to answer.” I looked around the apartment though and could tell he was right. “Thanks.”

“If you need anything, give me a call, okay?” I took his card and nodded, then left with Dad again for the second time that day.

“Where are we going to stay?”

Dad scratched the scruff on his jaw and sighed. He looked exhausted, and it wasn’t even two. “I don’t know, sweetheart. I don’t know.” He opened the door to the stairwell (he always took the stairs, a real curse when we lived on the twenty-third floor) and let me lead the way down. “We could get a hotel. I can book it before I go to the hospital and drop you off.”

I slapped my feet on the stairs. As much as I scrubbed my hands in the bathroom, I still felt like there was blood under my fingernails. It still smelled like it, too. And the last thing I needed was to be by myself washing my hands until I got so tired I passed out. “I don’t want to be by myself in a hotel, Dad.” I slowed down, thinking about my options. “I could call Jess. I could stay the night with her then we could get a hotel tomorrow.”

“I don’t want to have to bother her...”

“I don’t want to be alone,” I whispered.

His eyes softened immediately and he needed no other persuasion. “Okay, Y/N. Let’s call her when we get to the lobby.”

“Okay.”

She picked up on the third ring. “Hey, Y/N.”

“Can I stay the night with you?”

“Is everything okay?”

“No. My dad’s going to the hospital tonight and—and—” I couldn’t breathe. Holy shit I couldn’t breathe. Who the hell would do something like this? Where the hell is Mom?

My phone was pulled out of my hand. “Breathe, Y/N. Deep breaths, that’s it.” He pressed the phone to his ear. “Jess? Yeah, it’s me. I can drop her off and we’ll talk then? It’s - it’s bad. Okay, see you soon.” He hung up and leaned down beside me. “You okay?” I nodded as convincingly as I could. “Okay.” He helped me off the ground and we walked slowly to the parking garage.

We eventually made it back into Queens and outside Jessica’s house. She and her husband, Brayden, were waiting for us on the porch.

I ran into her arms as soon as I got out of the car. “Hi.”

“Hi, Y/N. Let’s talk inside.”

I didn’t do much talking. Jess got me a mug of hot chocolate and a blanket and I stared into space while Dad relayed all of the happenings in the last few hours to them. But then he had to go to work, and even though I was with Jess and Brayden, I still felt alone. I guess I was more distraught than I thought.

“I’ll pick you up tomorrow and we’ll sort things out, okay? I love you.”

“I love you too.” He drove off, and I curled in on myself.

“Come on, let’s talk.” Jess lightly touched my arm and I followed her up to her room. She opened the french doors to the balcony and we both took a seat, but even the blanket I had wrapped around my shoulders couldn’t keep out my chill. “I’m not going to make you go to school tomorrow. But you should probably tell someone so you don’t get behind on work.”

I nodded numbly, then sent Peter a text.

I won’t be at school tomorrow, will you get my work?

Course. Everything okay?

Not enough energy. Thanks Pete

Any time Y/N

Jess nudged my foot with her own. “What’s going through your head?”

I put my chin on my curled up knees and sighed. “There was so much blood, Jess. The detective thinks there might be a chance she’s still alive, but it was everywhere. And I can’t help but think that this person is coming after me, because of everything. Venice, Prague, London, even helping Spider-Man clear his name. Maybe Mom was just in the way, so they got rid of her.”

“You can’t blame yourself for this, Y/N. It’s not your fault.”

“Doesn’t stop me from feeling guilty,” I mumbled.

The sun started to set and my stomach started to grumble; the only thing I had eaten all day were Sam’s pancakes. Delicious, but not a fix-all. Brayden made dinner - grilled chicken and mashed potatoes - and I got to sit beside their little girl, Hayley, who was getting the hang of small full sentences by now.

“I like you.”

“Well that’s good, considering we’ve been sitting next to each other for the last twenty minutes. I like you too, Hayley. I’m glad we get to be friends.” As much as I hated using a three-year-old as a coping mechanism, Hayley was an easy distraction. She didn’t have to worry about dead bodies and superpowers and the chemistry test on Tuesday.

Shit, the chemistry test. I was still missing some notes. And, as much as it surprised myself, I didn’t want to ask Peter for them. But I knew someone else in that class.

Eugene, will you send me the notes from Monday?

Finally realizing your sleeping endeavors were poorly timed?

Stop using big words and send me the notes

Why don’t you just ask Parker? Aren’t you two attached at the hip?

Believe it or not, Eugene, I’m actually trying to form some semblance of a friendship here, and you’re kind of ruining my plan (okay, I wasn’t trying to make a friendship, but it’s something Taylor’s griped about for months, so might as well try with someone who won’t get offended at my relentless roasting.)

The fact that your grammar is perfect even when you text is infuriating. Whatever, I’ll send them. And don’t think I’ve forgotten about the favor you owe me.

Of course not, Eugene. Thanks

I grabbed my backpack and started copying down the notes, but even though I was asleep for some of the class, I could tell Flash didn’t have all of the content. There was one other person I could text before Peter. But we weren’t necessarily speaking.

Hey can you send me the chem notes from Monday?

yeah sure. ready for the test on tuesday?

Hell no, why do you think I’m cramming now 😂

and then we have that english paper due on friday 🤢

If I fall over dead in the middle of the test on Tuesday do you think we’ll all get an A?

i’ll take one for the team if you don’t

Haha sounds good. Thanks MJ

no problem

Thank god MJ actually took good notes. Combined with her’s and Eugene’s, those pages of notes were better than any I had actually taken in class. Maybe I would actually do well on this test. But that was a cramming problem for tomorrow.

///////////

Hayley reminded me a lot of Morgan: too smart for her own good. Jess called in sick to work so the three of us stayed home and watched Disney movies, but Hayley was starting to guess the endings halfway through. I mean, they’re all pretty predictable, but she’s only three. She had just guessed the ending for Brave when my phone started ringing.

It was Peter.

“Hey, Peter.”

“Y/N what the hell is going on?”

My blood went cold. “What do you mean?”

“Don’t bullshit me, Y/N. I went by your apartment to drop off the notes I got for you and it was covered in police tape and blood. Wha- Is everything okay?”

I couldn’t get the words to come out of my mouth. I couldn’t say anything, let alone answer his question. So I just texted him my location.

“I’ll be there soon.” He didn’t wait for an answer, which was probably for the best.

He pulled up to the curb half an hour later. “May let me borrow her car.”

“I didn’t know you got your license.”

“Right before Europe, actually.”

“Oh.” I sat on the porch steps with plenty of room for Peter, and he just sat and looked at me. Waiting for me to start talking. “Thanks for getting my notes.”

“Yeah, no problem. There’s a review for the chem test in there, too, but it’s not an actual assignment.”

“Oh, okay.” I brought my knees up a step and wrapped my arms around them. We sat in silence for a while, but he came over for a reason, and if I was going to tell anyone about what happened, I’d want Peter to know. “We found it after we dropped you off at your apartment.”

“The blood?”

I nodded. “We opened up the door and there was blood everywhere, and my mom wasn’t home, which was weird, because she’s usually making something in the kitchen on Sunday afternoons. So we called the police, and they took some blood samples, and I stayed with Jess last night because my dad was on-call at the hospital and I- I didn’t want to be alone.”

“Have they called with any news?”

“Not yet. But hopefully they’ll get the blood samples back and know whose it is.”

Peter just sat in silence for a second. “Are you doing okay?”

I scoffed and rolled my eyes, trying to put a semblance of a smile on my face. “What do you think?”

The corner of his lip lifted up. “Yeah, I figured.” He wrapped an arm around my shoulders and let me lean against him. “When’s your dad supposed to get back?”

When was he supposed to get back? It was getting closer to five, and he was usually home around then. I checked my phone, but there were no new messages. “Hold on,” I told Peter, and I called Dad’s cell.

No answer.

I called the hospital. “Southwest Mercy Hospital, how can I help you?”

“Is Doctor Y/L/N in right now?”

“Might I ask who’s calling?”

“Y/N Y/L/N. His daughter.

“One moment please.” A few taps on the other end. “No, he’s not. He was actually supposed to come in last night, but he never showed up.”

“Can you call me back if he shows up?”

“Of course.”

I hung up.

Where the fuck is he?

Why didn’t he show up at work?

There was something warm in my hand, and it took me a second to recognize it as Peter’s own hand. “Hey,” he said softly, “it’s going to be okay.”

“My dad’s missing, Peter,” I wanted to shout, but it was barely a whisper. “My dad and my mom, in less than forty-eight hours. That can’t be a coincidence.”

“We should call the police. If they’re really connected, they’ll be the ones to figure out how.”

I nodded in agreement and pulled out Detective Peralta’s card. “This is Jake Peralta.”

“Detective Peralta? This is Y/N Y/L/N.”

“Wow, what timing, we were actually just about to call you. Is your dad with you by chance?”

“That’s actually what I wanted to talk to you about.” I squeezed Peter’s hand as tight as I could. “My dad is missing.”

“What? Are you sure?”

“He was supposed to work the night shift at the hospital last night and he never showed up. And he’s not answering his phone.”

Peralta was scribbling something down frantically. “Would you be able to come by the precinct, Y/N? We found something interesting in your apartment that you’ll want to see.”

“Okay.”

“Okay, we’ll see you soon.”

I hung up and pressed the palms of my hands over my eyes. “God, when did my life become a living nightmare?”

“Five years ago,” Peter said, “when everyone turned into dust.”

I can’t argue with that. I stood up, brushed off my jeans, and sighed. He stood up beside me, and, completely unprompted, I wrapped my arms around his shoulders and held on tight. “Thank you,” I mumbled into his neck.

His arms wrapped around my waist. “Call me when you hear something, okay?”

I pulled back and nodded, then kissed him on the cheek. (I was unbelievably upset and needy and decided I was not going to deny myself the simple wants of physical contact with Peter Parker. Sue me.) “I’ll see you tomorrow.” I ran back inside and had a quick conversation with Jess and Brayden (who somehow got into the house without me noticing, weird) and he handed her the keys to his car. We were on the road a minute later.

“It’s not necessarily linked with what happened to your mom, Y/N,” Jess tried to console me as we trudged through traffic to the 99th precinct in Brooklyn. “It could be completely unrelated.”

“That doesn’t mean it’s any less terrifying, Jess.”

“No, it doesn’t. But it could just be a coincidence.”

“I don’t believe in coincidences,” I said as we reached the parking garage. The man at the front desk told us which floor, and I was too anxious to wait for the elevator so I ran up the stairs. I waited for Jess before I walked in, but it hardly made a difference; I’m sure I still looked like a crazy person.

An extremely muscled man approached us first. “Can I help you?”

“I’m here for Detective Peralta,” I wheezed out, still catching my breath.

“He’s the second desk on the left.”

“Thank you.” Detective Peralta turned around and shook both of our hands. “What do you have on my mom?”

He brought over another chair for Jess and sat behind his desk. “If you don’t mind, I’d like to get the information for your dad first. Just so we can get an APB out for him as soon as possible.”

“Oh, sure.”

“Okay, when was the last time you saw him?”

“Last night, around 5? His night shift usually starts around 6.”

“And where was he?”

“He had dropped off Y/N at my house, we talked for about ten minutes, then he left for his shift.” Jess told him her address and where Dad worked while I looked around the precinct. Peralta’s desk had a picture with him and another detective and a little girl between them. Detective Diaz’s desk was across the little walkway, and there was a man at a secluded desk in his own office.

I kept looking around at the office until Jess put a hand on my arm. “Sorry, what?”

“We got the results from the blood samples. There were two different bloods in the apartment, like I thought, so I got forensics to use a UV light and some sort of magic I can’t explain to differentiate between the two. And this is what came up.” He slid over a picture and five words were shining against the mass amounts of blood.

I know who you are.

“Whose blood is it?”

He took the picture back. “Your mom’s. But those are the only traces of it we could find.”

“And the rest of it?”

“The DNA isn’t in our system. We contacted the FBI and CIA to see if anything comes up in their systems, but we haven’t gotten any results yet. Y/N.” He leaned forward, extremely serious. “Because of the message left behind and the fact that your dad is now missing, we want to relocate you to a safe house —“

“No.”

“I’m sorry?”

“I’m not hiding.”

“Y/N,” Jess started, but I cut her off.

“If they’re actually trying to scare me, I’m not going to let them go after anyone else I care about. Let them come for me.”

“Y/N, you could be in serious danger. We shouldn’t take this lightly.”

“I’m not. But this person already took my mom and my dad. They’re not getting anyone else.”

Peralta and Jess looked at each other, but Jess knew me better than most; she knew I wouldn’t budge on this. “Okay,” he conceded, “no safe house. But I’d like to have a detail on you, just in case, okay?” I nodded. That wasn’t the issue. Besides, if I wanted to go to a safe house, I’d just go upstate.

Detective Peralta walked us to the door of the precinct. “We’ll keep a look out for your dad’s car and let you know if it comes up. Officer Mason will be keeping an eye on your house tonight. Take care of yourself, Y/N.”

“Thanks.” It was closer to eight, and I still had that stupid chemistry test tomorrow, but all I wanted was to fall asleep and never wake up.

But that wasn’t how the world worked, and I was up until one studying. Jess handed me a to-go cup of coffee when I walked into the kitchen right before school, and I raised it to her before taking a sip. “See you later.”

“Have a good day.”

I walked down the steps and knocked on the window of the patrol car outside of the house. Officer Mason started and looked around, then rolled down the window. “What’s up?”

“Can you give me a ride to school?”

He looked at me like I was incredulous. He wasn’t wrong, but still. “That’s not really what I’m here to do, kid.”

“You’re here to keep an eye on me, right? So let’s go.” I pulled on the handle until he unlocked the car and let me in.

I got to school with five minutes to spare (shout out to Officer Mason for running that last red light). My Spanish book was so unused it collected dust on it, but I brushed it off quickly before I walked into class. I took my spot among the few in class and looked over Peter’s notes from the day before, just in case there was a pop quiz.

“Hey.”

Shit. Brad.

“What do you want?”

“You weren’t here yesterday, and you showed up today in a cop car. Everything good?”

I rolled my eyes and looked up at him. “Why the hell would you think I would tell you anything personal about my life ever?“

“I was just asking, Y/N, fuck.”

“I don’t like Brad either.” Peter sat beside me and gave me a small smile.

“I think most of that has to do with the fact that he tried to make a move on MJ.”

“And the fact that he took a picture of me in my underwear and was going to show it to everyone in Europe.”

“Everyone in Europe? That’s pretty big, Peter, you could’ve been famous.”

“For almost-nudes I didn’t even take,” he said with a smile. “What did the detective say?”

The bell rang and Peter flinched just slightly. “I’ll tell you after class.”

No pop quiz, and lunch was turkey and gravy. I was feeling slightly better, and I remembered almost everything I needed to study for the chem test. I was halfway through it, feeling good, when Principal Morita was at the door of the lab, asking for me. I looked up, and none other than Detective Peralta was standing beside him, giving me a look full of nothing but pity.

My heart dropped down to my stomach.

I looked over at Peter and his eyes were as wide as mine, his heart racing. But there was nothing he could do.

I left my test at my seat, grabbed my backpack, and met Mr. Morita and Peralta in the hallway. “What did you find?”

“We found your dad’s car, and I had forensics do the same test as the one in your apartment. This is what they found.”

I know what you did.

“I need you to come into the station, Y/N. We need to ask you a couple of questions.”

I looked between the two adults and could feel my heart rate rising. “I, uh — I didn’t finish my test.”

Mr. Morita spoke up. “I’ll talk to Mrs. Phelps and make sure you can finish it later in the week.”

“Okay.” I followed him to his squad car and sat in the back, making me feel like I had actually done something wrong.

Detective Diaz joined us in the interrogation room at the Nine-Nine, and I could feel two others behind the mirror. But none of them stopped me from being set on edge.

“Y/N, I hate for having to bring you out like this, but we need some answers. What is this second picture about?”

I shifted around in my seat. Where to even start? “I’m not going to talk with the people behind the mirror.”

Peralta sputtered. “What? There’s no one behind the —“ Diaz glared at him and he stopped. “We have them there as a precaution, Y/N, they’re detectives too.”

“Either they join us in here or they leave, but I’m not talking to someone without being able to see their faces.”

They looked at each other for a second before Peralta turned to the mirror and motioned for them to leave. I felt their footsteps retreat down the hall until I couldn’t feel them anymore, then I at least let my shoulders drop. Just a little bit.

“You guys remember Quentin Beck from the summer? The Mysterio guy who fought the Elementals?”

“Yeah, that dick that said Spider-Man murdered him?”

“Yeah, him. He kind of... hijacked our field trip.” I told them everything; well, almost everything. “Beck blackmailed me into helping him with his plan, so I, uh... I ended up hurting a lot of people. That’s probably what this person is talking about. It could be a family member, or one of Beck’s crewmen.”

“Why would one of the crew come after you, you’re just a kid.” Diaz hadn’t said much, but she was an observer, like me. I just wish I could shove away my emotions like her.

“I, uh, kind of got them all put in prison after they put up the video of Beck outing Peter Parker as Spider-Man.”

“Oh. Well that would do it.”

Peralta thought for a second then spoke up. “We’ll keep an eye on the families of the crew, see if anyone has a similar timeline to the disappearances. Until then,” he put his hand down on the table and looked me in the eye, “I have to insist that you stay in a safe house, Y/N. Staying anywhere else could put yourself and others in danger.”

Staying in a place by myself made me want to throw up. But I could see how selfish it was.

“One more night. One more night, and then I’ll go. And I want to stay at my own safe house.”

“You have a safe house?”

I shrugged. “I know a — a person.”

They glanced at each other again. “Okay, we’ll talk about it. But I want to talk to them. Today.”

“Fine.” I pulled out my phone and clicked on Pepper’s contact. She picked up on the first ring.

“Y/N. Is everything okay?”

I laughed lightly, even though nothing about this situation was funny. “Not even close. So much has happened in the last three days.” I pinched the bridge of my nose and sighed. “I, uh, need to come up to the compound tomorrow, but I need you to talk to these detectives.”

“You’re freaking me out, Y/N, what’s going on?”

“I’m going to put you on speaker.” I set the phone on the table. “I need to go to a safe house, and I figured the compound is the best place to go. But these detectives have some questions.”

“Okay.”

“Hello, ma’am, my name is Detective Jake Peralta, I’m here with my partner, Detective Rosa Diaz, and we’re concerned for Y/N’s safety. We’ve been trying to get her to go to a safe house provided by the Nine-Nine, but she says she’ll only go to her own safe house. Mostly we just need to verify that the location is legit and we need a squad car there at all times. Would you be able to come to the Ninety-Ninth Precinct in Brooklyn so we can talk in person?”

“Um, I’m not actually in New York right now, but I could be there by tomorrow. Could I come by in the morning?”

“That should be fine. Can we get a name?”

“Pepper Potts.”

They both balked. Their eyes got huge and they looked at me with disbelief. “Pepper Potts?”

“That’s right.”

“Okay, we look forward to meeting with you tomorrow.”

“Perfect. And, Y/N? You better call me back within the next hour about what is going on.”

“Yes ma’am.” She hung up and I tucked my phone back in my pocket. “Am I good to go?”

“You know Pepper Potts?”

“I told you, I cleared Spider-Man’s name. I have a lot of connections.” I stood up and opened the door, deciding for myself that the interrogation was over.

“You know Spider-Man?”

“Jake’s loved Spider-Man since the first video came out on YouTube,” Diaz said. “He won’t admit that he has a fan account, but I think he does.”

I laughed. “Yeah, I know Spider-Man.”

“Can you get me his autograph?”

I glanced at him. “Yeah, I guess.”

Officer Wade drove me back to Jess’s, and I happily left her at the curb.

I had an important phone call to make.

tags: @eridanuswave​ @vampirestrawberries​ @yougottalovefandoms​

[panharmonium]

(1/3) Heya! A while back you were discussing Morgana's character and Merlin's relationship with her WRT magic and mentioned "gaslighting." I know for myself when I refer to Merlin gaslighting her it's not in regards to him not outing himself, but that 1) Pre 2X03 he goes along with Gaius in pretending to not believe that her visions are true and giving her the sleeping draughts. And Post 2X03, after reassuring her that they're still friends, he just doesn't really talk to her again until 2X12.

Hi!  So, I will preface this by saying that I normally don't have a chance to respond to asks in this much depth, but luckily I had some free time over the past couple of days, and there's nothing I like better than writing incessantly about Merlin, so I took the liberty of doing a deep dive. :)

My impression (because these asks don't actually include a particular question for me to answer) is that I'm being asked to expand/defend my own analysis from my original post with regard to the above points.  And I'll be honest and say that I won't always do that for folks on demand, because I really am of the school of thought that I don't write meta to convince anybody of something or "prove" a point - I really am just talking to myself in my own room for fun, and it isn't important to me to make a case to anybody who would rather approach from a different angle.  Like - if we’re on different pages, it’s chill; I don’t feel a need to discuss it or like...change someone’s mind.  (In all seriousness, I really have just been writing these things for myself and a couple of friends.  Prior to three days ago, when some kind of a bizarre surge happened, I had no followers who were here specifically for Merlin.)

But there are definitely some things referenced in these messages that I do have strong opinions about (though as I always say, that doesn't mean anyone is obligated to agree with me!)  And since I have the free time and am actually interested in this topic, I figured I'd try to address these things one by one (though I can't promise to do so in order.)  

I'll put everything under a cut, because this did get quite long.

disclaimer: as always, whenever I write meta: these are just my own thoughts, and I don’t expect anyone to share them.  If we are on different pages, feel free to scroll past and keep having fun in whatever way is most enjoyable to you!

1) “after reassuring her that they're still friends, he just doesn't really talk to her again until 2X12″

So first, I have to pose a question.

Why does this say "[Merlin] just doesn't really talk to her again" after 2.03?

Specifically, that framing.  

Merlin doesn't talk to her again.  

Because what actually happens, from 2.03-2.10, in an objective, this-is-what-we-see-onscreen way, is this: Merlin defies Gaius and tells Morgana that he believes she has magic.  He sends her to the Druids so they can help her, tries to distract the attacking knights so she can escape from Camelot with the Druids permanently, and, when that fails, he makes sure to come to Morgana's room and tell her that he supports her and her secret is safe with him.  

Then, from 2.04 through 2.10, they don't have screen time together.

Not "Merlin just doesn't talk to her."  

They don't have screen time together.  You could say "Morgana just doesn't talk to him" and it would be just as true.

But somehow we immediately frame our discussion of this as Merlin not doing something.  And that is what I am pushing back against.  

Merlin takes massive risks to help Morgana in 2.03.  He makes it very clear that he is there for her and he will never tell her secret, and Morgana, for her part, is shown to be very appreciative of that.  It's clear that she trusts him and believes him.  They part on a very positive note, at the end of 2.03.

Why, then, do we automatically frame the objective, unattributable-to-any-one-character fact that they don't interact onscreen after that as being somehow a failing on Merlin's part?   Why do we frame the simple fact that "they have no scenes together" as something for which we can lay blame?  (On Merlin, of course.  Never on Morgana.)

It's not as if we see Morgana reaching out and failing to get a response.  From 2.04-2.10, there are zero scenes of Morgana trying to approach Merlin and being rebuffed.  There are no scenes of Morgana wishing for guidance and being turned away.  And, with the exception of the Witchfinder episode (where Merlin already does literally everything in his power to expose this dangerous man and protect Morgana from his machinations) Morgana is not, in fact, shown to be getting "more and more freaked out and isolated."  

I want to pause and address that, because I know we've all sort of...collectively decided to imagine that this is what happened (because as a fandom we've tried to just fill in with fanon what feels like a blank left by the writers), but onscreen, in terms of the source material: it is false to say that “in the background you kind of see Morgana get more and more freaked out and isolated as the season progresses.”  It just doesn’t happen.

With the exception of "The Witchfinder," Morgana is never shown to be having any inner conflicts about her magic, not until 2.11.  Episodes 4, 5, 6, 8, 9, 10 - absolutely nothing.  There is one scene in 2.08 where she mentions having trouble sleeping, but then that issue is immediately resolved for her when Morgause gives her the healing bracelet and cures her nightmares.  There are no scenes of Morgana worrying about her magic.  No scenes of her needing help.  No scenes referencing her position as a person who is struggling with being a secret magic-user.  No scenes referencing her magic at all, in fact.  She is not shown to be getting more and more freaked out and isolated; rather she appears to have integrated back into her old life, comfortable now in the knowledge of who and what she is.  It’s like what she told Merlin at the end of 2.03: "I know now who I really am.  And it isn't something to be scared of.  Maybe one day people will come to see magic as a force for good."

And we can of course debate whether that was really an appropriate writing decision, to have Morgana be fine, fine, fine, until suddenly we hit 2.11 and it's like, 'oh, suddenly not fine,' but we also can't evaluate or judge Merlin based on a fanon image of what we imagine was happening in Season 2.  We can only evaluate him based on what actually happens onscreen (whether we feel like it was well-written or not), and what actually happens onscreen is that minus her fear in The Witchfinder, which Merlin already takes decisive actions to address, Morgana is not shown to be distressed or isolated or conflicted until we hit 2.11.  

She appears, as far as Merlin and the audience can see, to be doing just fine.

I’ve got to be clear on this: "Merlin just doesn't really talk to her again" is a loaded sentence, when the phenomenon we're really trying to describe is  "Merlin and Morgana have no scenes together."  It inherently assigns responsibility, agency, and blame for any non-interaction to Merlin, when there is nothing in canon to support that framing.

If Morgana wants to talk to Merlin, she can come talk to him.  She knows Merlin is on her side.  She is shown to trust and appreciate Merlin without reservation at the end of 2.03.  And even if she had been shown to be spiraling into a bad place in 2.04-2.10 (which, as discussed above, is not the case) she could have come to Merlin at any time.  It is literally not Merlin's responsibility to pursue Morgana and press her to talk to him.  He has done his due diligence.  He makes sure she knows he is on her side, that he supports her, that he believes her, that he will never reveal her secret.  And she is shown to believe him when he says that.  If she needs him, she knows she can approach him.  And if she chooses not to do that - then that is on her.

This is a tough pill for even the in-universe characters to swallow, but Merlin is not responsible for the well-being of every single person in Camelot.  It is not his job to make sure that every single person in his orbit is 100% okay at all times.  It is not his job to read his friends' minds, or anticipate every single one of their needs, or to offer himself to them constantly, repeatedly, every time he has a spare moment, especially when they seem (like Morgana from 2.04 to 2.10) to be doing well.  Merlin has already been placed in a position where he is expected to devote almost all of his energy to serving someone else's interests.  When we expect him to also worry about and monitor and manage the health and happiness of all the other people around him, we are perpetuating the same damaging narrative for which we criticize characters like Kilgharrah, Gaius, etc - that everything is on Merlin, and if he can’t manage to juggle it all, then the negative consequences that ensue are his fault. 

A personal illustration of how this would play out in real life:

I live with my sister.  I am a pretty stoic person.  And when something is the matter, I sometimes don't tell her about it.  I just pretend like everything is fine.  I know beyond a shadow of a doubt that she would listen to me and support me if I ever came to her with a problem, but sometimes I don't do that.  And if that’s the choice I make, then that’s fine, but I have to take responsibility for it.  It's not okay for me to get angry and BLAME her for not helping me, when I never gave her any indication that I needed help in the first place.

So - flipping the narrative, what if we reframed the original statement to an equally loaded but equally accurate “post 2.03, Morgana just doesn't talk to Merlin.”  The two of them go through a harrowing experience together, where Merlin takes deadly risks to try to help Morgana escape Camelot and find her true self, where he offers his continuing support to her after it's over, and then she just never takes him up on that offer.  She retreats back into her comfortable position as Uther's noble ward, and stops associating with Arthur's lowly servant.  When Merlin helps save Gwen from the bandits in 2.04, Morgana never thanks him.  When Merlin is framed for theft by Catrina and hunted down, she doesn't stand up for him or try to help him.  When Gaius is arrested and tortured by the Witchfinder, she never stops by to see how Merlin is doing and check if he's okay.  When she's approached by a total stranger who wants her to steal a "weapon" for him, she doesn’t talk to Merlin at all, but rather agrees to steals the Crystal of Neahtid without ANY understanding of what it actually does or what Alvarr's plans are for it, leaving Merlin completely in the dark about why she's suddenly sneaking around acting so strange and suspicious.

Think back to Season One.  When Gwen is accused of sorcery and sentenced to death, Merlin confesses himself in order to save her.  Despite enjoying none of the protections Morgana has as Uther’s ward, Merlin still confesses himself in order to protect a friend.  But when Merlin is accused of sorcery in 2.07 (and when Gaius is then sentenced to be executed), Morgana does nothing comparable.  She just lets them take the fall.  Merlin allows himself (and Gaius) to be accused, even though he could easily have ratted Morgana out instead, and Morgana, despite knowing that Merlin is keeping silent to protect her at his own expense, never says a word to defend him, or approaches Merlin about it afterwards.  She sees Merlin dragged out of the Council Chambers screaming after Gaius is sentenced to death, but she says nothing.  She knows Gaius is going to be burnt at the stake, but she does nothing, not even making her usual appeal to Arthur.  

Does that mean we should assume that she was being negligent?  That she was abandoning Merlin when he needed her most?

For clarity - I'm not saying that the answer to that question is yes.  I’m saying that I’ve never seen anybody assign intention/bad faith to Morgana when it comes to her non-interaction with Merlin from 2.04 to 2.10 (even though that particular read is actually far more justified by the text).  There is no reason to assign intention to Merlin, either.

Ultimately, I just want us to be aware that saying “Merlin just doesn’t really talk to her again” inherently assigns agency and blame to an agentless fact.  Morgana and Merlin not being on screen together from 2.04 to 2.10 =/= "Merlin just doesn't really talk to her."  The phrase "Morgana just doesn't really talk to him" is an equally true statement, but one we don't hear nearly as often, because in the Merlin-verse, everything is Merlin's responsibility.  And therefore, when there’s a problem, everything is Merlin's fault.

2) “pre 2X03 he goes along with Gaius in pretending to not believe that her visions are true giving her the sleeping draughts”

Okay, this is just my own opinion, but - I personally think it is unreasonable for us to expect Merlin to correct every single bad choice that the people around him make, and it's unfair to transfer the blame for other people's choices onto his shoulders.

If Gaius is making bad choices prior to 2.03, then they are Gaius's bad choices.  Merlin, in 1.07, has just arrived in Camelot within the last couple of months.  Gaius has lived in Camelot all his life, and has been dealing with Morgana for two decades and Uther for longer than that.  Gaius is a trained physician.  He is in a position of authority over Merlin, and he has far more experience with the royal family than Merlin does, and when he tells Merlin that the safest thing for Morgana right now is to help her sleep through the night without having potentially-prophetic nightmares, of course Merlin listens to him. 

But five minutes into 2.03, immediately after Merlin learns that Morgana actually has magic (not just dream-visions, which this show states to be a separate gift) he is arguing with Gaius, saying that "you need to be honest with her."  At the fifteen minute mark, he is in Morgana's chambers telling her how to find the Druids.  

I cannot get on board with transferring blame that belongs to other people and dumping it all on Merlin's overburdened shoulders.  He directly defies Gaius's orders so that he can help Morgana, as soon as it becomes apparent how serious her situation is.  He leads Camelot's army on a chase through the woods in an attempt to help her run away, putting himself at extreme personal risk to do so.  How would he explain that, if he were caught?  If he were seen?

He does more to help her with her gift than anyone, and he puts himself at risk of discovery and execution to do it.  The standards to which we hold him, and the number of responsibilities we expect him to assume, and the ways we hold him accountable for choices that other people in positions of power have made, even when he ultimately corrects their mistakes - are impossibly unreasonable, and they certainly aren't the same standards we use to evaluate Morgana’s actions.

3) “while I don't think Merlin owed outing himself to anyone IMO was a really nasty undercurrent in the writing of ‘crazy/hysterical woman with her volatile lady feelings can't be trusted’ even after he's known her for like a year compared to Lancelot, Gilli, Daegel etc. being a-okay.”

Comparing Morgana to Lancelot, Gilli, and Daegal as a way of saying that Merlin underrates Morgana's trustworthiness in favor of theirs doesn't make sense.

Merlin doesn't choose to out himself to Lancelot at all.  It's an accident.  

Merlin doesn't choose to out himself to Daegal, either.  He's put in a situation where it's either "use magic" or "we both die."

Gilli has a little more wiggle room in terms of "was this an active decision on Merlin's part," but it's also not accurate to interpret this situation as arising out of Merlin's personal desires/level of trust in Gilli as a person.   Merlin reveals himself because he feels like it is the only way to get through to someone who is going to get themselves killed looking for revenge.  (And I've written previously about how I think Merlin's choices in this situation are in fact directly influenced by the decisions he didn't make with Morgana, and how making the opposite choice here in an attempt to "do the ‘right’ thing this time" doesn't actually change the ultimate outcome, but that's neither here nor there.)

None of these three instances are moments where Merlin looks at these characters and goes, “these people seem way more trustworthy than that crazy, volatile lady i know; i’m gonna reveal myself to them!"  He is forced into all of these situations, against his will, and is outed either by accident or necessity.

Additionally - the above is really the more important counterpoint, but I do think it's worth mentioning that Morgana, as far as the closeness of her relationship with Merlin goes, also can't be meaningfully compared with the other three characters on this list because her position as a noble places her in a totally different category altogether.

Merlin legitimately likes Morgana in the early seasons, and he's thrilled to be her friend.  But Merlin is also class-conscious - he has to be, given his position in society; and moreover he's spent the first twenty years of his life being best friends with a dude who is both hyperaware of and hypervocal about the inequalities of the current social system.  Merlin is ALWAYS aware that Morgana is on a different level than he is, and he is perfectly justified in being slightly more reticent around people who aren't cut from his own cloth, in the same way he is justified in being slightly more careful around Arthur, who also leverages his power and privilege whenever "equality" becomes inconvenient for him.

Take the comparison between Lancelot and Morgana, for example.  Merlin has known Lancelot for slightly less time than Morgana (Merlin meets Lancelot in 1.05), but he cleaves to Lancelot more quickly, and it is only natural that Merlin would do so.  Merlin is a peasant farmer.  He is literally as low on the social ladder as you can get without being one of the itinerant poor.  Morgana is, in essence, a princess, and Merlin isn't wrong for feeling more comfortable around Lancelot than he is around her, because Morgana, for all that she is generous-minded with the servants, is SO far above the level of people Merlin is used to associating with, and she has SO much more influence than he does - it's a power differential that can't be erased, no matter how friendly Morgana is with him.  And it’s a dynamic that isn't limited to Morgana, either - it exists between Merlin and Arthur, too.  

This is an element of the show that I don't necessarily see discussed often when it comes to Morgana and Merlin (and Gwen, for that matter), and most of the time it seems to be ignored in favor of like...“Morgana doesn't see class!  She's friends with Gwen and she's friends with Merlin!"  And I'm not disputing that she considers herself to be friends with them at first, but I also am not going to pretend that she doesn't then weaponize her class against them as soon as the situation changes.

In S3, she leverages her privileged position to threaten Merlin with execution if he tries to reveal her misdeeds, because she knows that no one will believe a servant even if he tells the truth ("Just think how Uther would react if he learnt that a serving boy had tried to poison his beloved ward").  She is horrified at her vision of Gwen taking the throne in 3.10, saying "How can that be?  She's a servant."  She mockingly calls Gwen "My lady" when capturing her in 5.06, and, when offering Gwen a drink of water, says, "Is it too good for you now that you're queen?"  She scathingly criticizes Helios’s capture of Merlin in 4.06, saying, "And you bring me how many men?  Or should I say how many servants?"  She tells Merlin, "You are Arthur's servant, nothing more" later in that same episode.  She dispenses with all semblances of equality with Gwen in late Season 2 whenever Gwen's in the way, instead snapping at her, ordering her around, and booting her out of the room.  And in "The Dark Tower," she drags Gwen behind her on a rope.

Morgana in the early seasons is committed to an "I'm not going to lord my social status over my lower-class friends!" attitude.  But that doesn't mean her social status doesn’t exist, or that the power differential has vanished.  And when the chips are down - when Morgana feels like she's getting less than she "deserves" but her former servants are getting more than they themselves do - she falls back on the power she has as a noble.  The ways in which Morgana interacts with Merlin and Gwen, after Morgana's falling out with Camelot, don't manifest as just "you betrayed me and we're not friends anymore," they express themselves in ways that specifically target Merlin and Gwen's "lowly" status, in comparison to Morgana's lofty one.

4) “I also hate the Merlin and Gaius talk in 2X12 where they more or less write her off as using her powers for eviiiiil when she hadn't consciously used her powers for ANYTHING yet.”

I suppose this could be subject to personal interpretation, but I’m pretty sure Gaius and Merlin think Morgana was consciously aware that she was the source of the magic.

They don't know that she wasn't consciously involved.  The audience doesn't even know that, frankly.  What Morgana is actually aware of is left undefined by the show.  (I personally always got the vibe that Morgana obviously knows it has something to do with the agreement she and Morgause made, but that she doesn't exactly understand the details of how it's working.)  But that's still never actually stated.

Merlin, (after Kilgharrah tells him the magic is coming from Morgana), assumes she is aware of what's happening.  And I personally think it’s impressive that even given this, he covers for her the entire episode.  At first he doesn't even suspect she has anything to do with it at all, not even after what she did in the previous ep - he makes up that story about Gaius having given her a potion to cover for her, assuming her magic is what's keeping her awake.  It's not until Kilgharrah tells him what's going on that he realizes the truth, and EVEN THEN, he continues to lie for her.  

If she was afraid - if she was in over her head - if she regretted her actions and wanted to change her mind - she could have confessed to Merlin and asked him for help.  Literally everyone in Camelot was incapacitated, and as far as Merlin knew, Morgana’s plan was to let them all die.  It's not that I'm happy about Merlin's choice to poison her, and neither is Merlin - but I'm also not comfortable blaming him to the exclusion of Morgana or critiquing him for feeling like Morgana did something bad.  She did do something bad!  She made her own choices.  Merlin didn't make them for her.  

Erasing Morgana’s responsibility erases her agency.  She makes decisions to get where she is in 2.12.  She makes an agreement to help Morgause without doing her research and without getting the details about what would actually happen to the people around her, just like she made an agreement to help Alvarr retrieve the Crystal of Neahtid without finding out what it actually was or how Alvarr planned to use it.  Merlin didn't make Morgana do any of those things.  

Re: the Merlin+Gaius talk in 2.12 - I personally don't read that conversation with Gaius as Merlin "writing [Morgana] off."  

Merlin doesn't think Morgana is irredeemably evil.  He apologizes to Morgana when she returns in 3.01.  Even when she displays shame and self-recrimination about her own actions, he doesn't say one word condemning her for anything she did in the last season.  All he feels is sympathy for her suffering.  He tells her, sincerely, "I am so sorry for everything you've been through."  He holds absolutely no grudge for what she did in 2.12.  None.  

And even when he finds out she's betraying them again - he first approaches her as a friend.  He begs her to stop.  He tells her, "It doesn't have to be like this.  We can find another way."  He answers "no" when she asks him if he believes she deserves to be executed for who she is.  Even as she's trying to kill them all.

And when she snaps, "Good!" in response to his statement that women and children are dying and the city will fall, he responds, "You don't mean that."  That is not the response of someone who's already written her off as evil.  He doesn't believe she wants all this violence.  He is trying to reach her.

She doesn't ever reach back.  And that is not Merlin's fault.

5) kilgharrah indiscriminately kills people

I don't think I can really address Kilgharrah in any meaningful way, because personally I don’t feel like dragons operate on or can be evaluated by human moral standards.  Other folks can take a different tack with this, obviously; there's no canon information one way or another.  That's just my own personal approach.

6) “[Kilgharrah] and Merlin are bros again by 3X02 but Morgause and Morgana and Kara killing knights and guards (who work for Uther/Arthur) are OMG murderers, have crossed a line, etc.”

Okay, look, let’s be honest here - this issue is a real philosophical question raised by the show, but Morgause and Morgana are not just killing knights and guards.  Morgana, with Morgause at her right hand, literally orders her crossbowmen to murder a bunch of civilians in the street, as if shooting fish in a barrel.  She tells her forces to “burn [the people’s] crops.”  She raids Ealdor, a poor peasant village that isn’t even within Camelot’s borders, at the end of Season 4, and at the beginning of Season 5, Morgana’s Saxon army is attacking innocent peasant villages in Annis’s kingdom and capturing the villagers to be taken as slave labor to Ismere.  Later in Season 5, Morgana kills other magic-users like Finna and Alator, who have been just as wronged by Arthur/Uther as she herself has been.

Kara - I've already written extensively about how she did nothing wrong and Arthur deserved to be deposed, so...same page there!

To wrap this up -

Nobody does everything right in this show.  Everybody screws up somewhere.  And the degree to which various people are both victims and villains is something we all have to decide for ourselves, and not all of our conclusions will be the same, which is perfectly fine.

But in the end, for me, the difference between Merlin and Morgana is that Merlin owns his choices.  He believes he is the one to blame for what happens not just to him, but to the people around him.  He literally says to Morgana, "I blame myself for what you've become."  And while I don't necessarily think that's even true, he certainly does.  Despite the fact that there are so many factors limiting him and forcing his hand and trapping him into certain courses of action, he never cites those factors as excuses, or seems to recognize their existence at all.  He takes responsibility for himself, regardless of any extenuating circumstances.  He looks back at his choices, and he feels remorse for some of them, and at the end of the day, when things go badly, he blames himself.  

But when things go badly for Morgana, she only ever blames others.  When something is wrong, it's because Merlin or Arthur or Gwen or whoever didn't help her (even though she never asked them for help in the first place.)  We never see her acknowledge a mistake or regret a decision, even though she obviously makes her fair share of bad ones.  She is never shown to be sorry for anything.  The closest we get to remorse is her interaction with Mordred in 5.09 ("I hope one day you find the love and compassion which used to fill your heart"), and that brief moment of inner conflict never goes anywhere (which is so unfortunate, as a writing decision, but again, in a piece like this, I can only evaluate what actually happened onscreen, not what I wish had happened).

So, all this being said, I personally am very careful about assigning more blame to Merlin than what he already assigns to himself - especially when he doesn't deserve it (for example, see Part 1 of this piece).  Merlin makes his share of mistakes, but we are generally much quicker to hold him accountable than we are Morgana, and we outline impossible expectations for him that we don't expect from any other character on this show.  We hold him to a different standard, one which is, frankly, pretty much in line with how he's treated in the canon: that everything is his responsibility, and when things don't work out, everything is his fault.  And I can’t get behind that mindset, because a) it isn’t fair to him, and b) I don’t think it holds up under scrutiny.