#ironically it's the same shitty feeling of not wanting to be a burden that's behind most of it

[guarshroom]

Y'all ever just be an inch from having a complete mental breakdown at work?

[danielxricciardo]

Can you do one with Max, with 46 and 55 from angst list?

Summary: You are suffering from depression and Max tries to be by your side

Warnings: angst, swearing, mentions of suicide, depression

Word count: 3.6k+

46. “I’ll leave, and the world will move on. I just wish I could see it. See how much better everything is when I’m gone.”

55. “You’re good at finding things. Find me a reason to stay.”

Depression feels like a lot of things.

It feels like sadness, which is what everyone will tell you. It's a pretty common thread.

"I'm worthless."

"Everyone thinks I'm a horrible burden."

So on and so forth.

Everyone in the world is happy but you, and in the end, you are a worthless piece of shit that doesn't belong in this otherwise glorious and happy place. The sun is shining, the birds are chirping, and you are lying there on your bed in the same unlaundered pair of pajamas, wondering why you are even allowed to keep living any longer. Some meteor strikes or lightning bolts should be reserved for people like you because you are taking up space and oxygen and food and other resources that real, happy, productive people need.

It feels like emptiness. You have all these possibilities and none of them seem interesting. You could do some art, or play some music, but that just doesn't feel right. There's no joy in it. You could have sex with your significant other, but you can't muster up the desire. You could play video games, or read a book. But what's the point? There's no real benefit to all of it but passing the time. You could get up and make lunch. But no, you're not that hungry, and if you close your eyes, time will pass a little faster. You can lie there. That works. It doesn't require active effort to do something fruitless. Everything is as empty and fruitless as lying and staring out your window at the clouds and the shifting shadows of tree branches, and so why do anything else?

It feels like fatigue. Standing up out of your bed requires the same amount of bodily effort as climbing several flights of stairs. Managing to get dressed and walk outside is like running a race. Heaven helps you if you try to go to the store or a friend's house -- that may as well be on the other side of the continent. Every step is heavy. Every muscle motion requires ten times the work it used to. Exercise becomes difficult, and control over your body expires quickly. You become clumsier, so heavy lifting is right out. You daze out randomly, daydreaming, even dozing, so biking or running is hard. You feel most at home when you are entirely relaxed, so you lie down...and don't get up again until something like your bladder compels you.

It feels like a loss of control. You have no idea why your brain and body are doing this. You don't want to feel sad. Nobody wants to feel shitty and tired and empty all the time. People will look at you and say, "It's like you don't want to get better." Those people are idiots. You truly, deeply, from the bottom of your soul, have no idea why this has happened or what to do. It's not logical. It makes no sense. You woke up like this, or it crept in overtime or something like that. It's like a fog, a force of nature that sweeps in, occludes everything, and there's not one thing you can do about it from where you stand. Trying feels like taking a paper fan outside and trying to blow away the morning mist. Someone has tied puppet strings to your brain and is playing this hideous dance with it, and you don't have the scissors to cut them away. The dance doesn't make sense; it's arbitrary and rhythmless. If you had any sort of reasoning behind it, you could take control. But you don't.

It feels like desperation. You can't find a way out. You lie there at night, keening into your pillow like a wounded animal, making all sorts of noises that no human being should be able to make. You claw and scratch at the sheets, or at yourself, as the pain wrings itself out through bodily expression. The tears won't stop. You don't know why. All you know is that it hurts, it really and truly hurts, and you think if it goes on any longer, you're going to die. Right there. Bleed out on the floor. So you grab up your phone, and you call someone at 4 AM, and you beg them to please just make it stop. You bury yourself in books and movies because at least then you can imagine something else than yourself. You read nonstop. You have to have your fix. It's like an addiction, no, more like a life support machine. Otherworlds, fantasies of happiness, and real experiences that aren't your horrible existence become the iron lung keeping air flowing in and out. You are alive because you can stop thinking for a while. Your friends come over to comfort you. Their stories keep you sane and well, like dialysis for all the toxins in you. Your mind has failed at being independent, and now it relies on a thousand little machines to keep itself running. You rely on one machine until another comes to save you. You read books until your friends come by. You stretch out your time with friends until you have to bury yourself in a movie again just to keep the thought of real-life away.

It feels like untamed anger. Your friends can't keep this up forever. You fall further and further, and you eventually start dropping commitments. You have become That Person, the flake that everyone knows will back out. People start getting annoyed at you, annoyed at how they have to spend so much time just keeping you afloat, annoyed at how often you're causing them trouble by constantly disappearing and backing out of appointments, and so on. Your workplace gets annoyed at your lack of productivity. And then you can't take it anymore, and you want to scream at them, grab them by the throat and shake them because IT'S NOT YOUR FAULT! You start having twisted fantasies, the ones where you walk up to that person who keeps telling you he can't do this anymore, you're just too unreliable, putting a gun to your head and pulling the trigger. Just to make him know, for once, that FUCK HIM, your problems are REAL, DAMMIT, REAL, and he better FUCKING RESPECT that. And when you're gone, he'll fall to his knees and cry, and he'll say, he wishes he had understood, that he didn't mean to be so unkind, and the scar on his heart from his own failure will remain fresh and knotted for eternity. And then you shake yourself out of the daydream, and you wonder why you have turned into such a horrible person, someone who even considers ending their own life just to spite another human being. Then it creeps back in, the knowledge that the world is getting fed up with you...and the cycle begins again. You start thriving off these daydreams, because at the very least if you can't be happy, you can throw caution to the wind and get the petty, oddly satisfying revenge buried under all those layers of morality that are becoming worn and flaking away. It's just a fantasy, right? And it helps pass the time...

It feels like forever. You have forgotten what it's like to truly be joyful. You can imagine it, but it's not really you in those thoughts. This is who you are. This is your life. This is you.

It feels like you have only one thing truly under your power: your existence. You cannot choose what life throws at you. Your brain and body have betrayed you. Your friends have worn away, and you've fled from your job and any commitments you have.

It feels empowering. You can jump whenever you want.

But he accepted you the way you are. He never reproached you for negatively influencing his mentality or life, even though you knew he felt it too. He always listened to you, he was with you even at 2 in the morning when you were crying on the bathroom floor with your knees to your chest, and you knew it wasn't right. It wasn't right for him to go through, basically, what you were going through. But no matter how much you told him you could do it without his help, Max was coming back more insistently than ever.

He came up with the idea to start therapy. "You have to find out why you feel this way. Go at least once, see how it is, if you don't like it or feel that it doesn't help you, you will give up, okay?" That was a year and a half ago.

The psychologist gave you a diagnosis from the first session: Major Depressive Disorder. Sure you knew what the three words meant, but you didn't know what it meant to have a label on your condition.

"A major depressive disorder is characterized by one or more of these depressive episodes. the diagnosis of major depressive disorder requires depressed mood or anhedonia which is the loss of interest in pleasure and five or more signs or symptoms for the SIGECAPS mnemonic for a 2-week period. (SIGECAPS) Sleep Disturbance, loss of Interest, feeling Guilty, feeling fatigued and low in Energy, having decreased Concentration, decreased or increased Appetite and been agitated and slow and having Suicidal ideation."

It sounds incredible to you. Suicidal thoughts? Not everyone has a thought, somewhere, behind their mind 'What if I disappeared?'

You were prescribed Prozac and Zoloft and it helped. You weren't always sad anymore, you could go to the races with Max and support him as a normal girlfriend does. You apologized to my friends who tried to help me and whose lives you made impossible and you managed to get back to work, from home anyway. Sure, you still had moments when you felt like you weren't 100% yourself but not like before. You did therapy twice a week and the psychologist was happy with your evolution.

But being the stupid ass that you are, you stopped taking the medication. You took the last pill on Friday. Because you were fine. You felt ok, everyone around you told you you were better, you were doing amazing, so you were cured, right? Or so you thought. Saturday was normal. Sunday was not. Your mood and energy were very low. You woke up at like 2 in the afternoon. That is not unusual for you. You’re used to it. You were sad. You were exhausted. You knew that feeling like this was “no excuse” so you tried to force yourself to do it anyway. Typical of your life. You feel like you had already taken so much off work because of the triple-header, you were for three weeks attached to the hips with Max.

The only thing you thought of was dying. And that terrified you. And Max senses something was wrong. But he didn't want to tell something and ending up being wrong and you being upset by his misinterpretation. But, yes, he sensed that you were becoming your old self.

"Hey, babe," he snapped you out of your daydreaming. A tragic one, where you were finally at peace and Max was crying for you. You were on the verge of crying yourself at the mere image of Max in your head. But you pushed it far from your mind, somewhere in a dark corner for you to find it at an appropriate time to fantasize about your dying. "How about we go to a picnic? It's sunny outside."

Yes, the wheater was amazing. It was finally summer and you could go outside and spend some time with Max. But your brain literally is tricking you into thinking you don't deserve to enjoy the sunny day. Why? You don't have an answer.

"I'm not really in the mood, Max. Sorry."

You are not in the mood. That was his affirmation. You are not ok.

"You feeling good?"

"Yeah. Just tired I guess."

"But you just woke up."

You shrugged. He was right. You just woke up, so why do you feel like you were carrying a ton of bricks on your shoulders? You couldn't walk. You almost felt like 18 months ago. And that is when it hit you. And Max, at the same time.

"Still taking your meds, I hope."

Silence. Your mind was like overcrowded and you couldn’t take it anymore. You grabbed your head and pulled your hair because you wanted it to stop. You were thinking that you didn’t know what to think. You didn’t know how to think. You didn’t know how you felt. You were like anxious-depressed-angry-miserable-irritable all in one. Your head was spinning with thoughts. Thoughts were talking over thoughts. So fast that you couldn’t even make out one complete sentence. It was just too much for you to handle. You just wanted someone to kill you.

Max came to you and he hugged you so hard you thought he could crush your bones right there and then. You calmed down eventually. But now you were embarrassed. Because Max saw you, again, at your lowest. Because you promised you'll get better, and for a while, you were better, but now you are fucked and back into square one. All those money on therapy and your pills, for what? For you to stop taking them because you thought you were feeling better? Well, you definitely were not ok, nor you'll be. So, yeah, being fucked sounded good.

Max brought you the medicine and a glass of water. Taking the pills again? For what? The pills only fuel the feeling that everything is fine and that you are a normal person. Nothing was good and you were not a normal person.

But you took the pills. And you looked Max in the eyes and you wanted to die. He seemed crushed. He was sad, devastated, maybe angry but definitely disappointed. In you. Because maybe you don't realize this, but while you were doing good, he was doing great. He knew you could be on your own so he stopped worrying that much, and that could also be seen in his driving. He was winning more races, he was at his best and now he was at his lowest. Because you were at your lowest; co-dependency and shit.

"I'm sorry, baby. I thought I was doing well enough to stop taking the meds," you say in a broken voice but the tears are yet to appear. He stroked your hair and kissed you on your forehead.

"You should have told me. You don't have to go thru this alone. I am here."

"Yeah, you are here. But you don't have to be!" you snapped. Irritability, one thing your depression came with. "I am just a burden for you. And no, this does not come from the fact I stopped taking my pills. You took care of me like I was a child, and, fuck it, you don't deserve this."

"Stop talking like this, alright? If I would suffer from depression you would have done the same thing. You would have taken care of me. Or am I wrong?"

"You are not wrong. To be honest, I don't think I would be here if it wasn't for you, but I don't want you to be. It's obvious that I would never get better. This is me. I am fucked in the head, half wishing I was dead and I am just bringing you down."

"Don't tell me this is a fucking break up, Y/N." he narrows his brows and looks at your features to make sure you were being serious.

“I’ll leave, and the world will move on. I just wish I could see it. See how much better everything is when I’m gone.”

"What the fuck are you talking about? Is this a break-up or a suicidal vocal note?"

You broke down. Crying can be cathartic and healthy, but if it goes on too long it can lock your body in a feeling of despair. Even if your mind works through the problem that caused the crying, because your body is still feeling the physical effects it will cause your mind to revert to the negative state. It's not sadness. It's dread and paralysis. You had a certain feeling of emptiness and purposelessness.

“You’re good at finding things. Find me a reason to stay,” you say between sobs.

"You want me to find you a reason to stay alive or to stay in this relationship? To be frank, I can name a thousand reasons, but it all depends on you."

Max hugs you from behind and you lay your head on his chest, listening to his heartbeat that was stronger than ever. You allowed yourself to inhale Max's scent, a soothing scent you could get drunk on.

"I want to believe you love me. I mean, I love you and I consider you the love of my life, you know? We are so young and I know it doesn't feel like it, but I promise you, I'm gonna marry you someday, even if right now you don't think you're gonna make it till tomorrow. So, yeah, this is reason number one," he said and pressed a kiss to your cheek. "This is not the worst you have been through in life. Remember where you were 18 months ago; you had no idea what was wrong with you. Now you know and you know you can be better. I know you get sick of those pills, but maybe, in the future, you won't need them. Isn't that exciting? This was reason number two," he said and pressed another kiss to your cheek. He was going to do that every time he would give you a reason. "Have you been to all the beautiful places around the world? Sure, you came to a few Grand Prix, but you never saw Great Ocean Road in Australia, you know Daniel promised he would take us there someday. You never saw Pamukkale in Turkey or Japan in Cherry Blossom season or the Blue Lagoon in Iceland. There are many places you need to visit, baby. So, yeah, this was reason number three. I don't know if you want me to continue but I can give you one more reason. Reason number four. Do it for you, baby. You deserve to live and be happy. I know you can be happy and I promise you I will do my best to help you. You just have to take it one step at a time. You just have to let me in. Let me help you, baby."

You turn around, facing him now. You loved him, with all of your heart. You love him for who he is. You love him because he literally came into your life as your lifeline. You love him because he helped you crawl up the deep bottomless abyss of depression. You love him because he had the patience and the audacity to bear with your depression, anxiety, and panic attacks, your phobias, your mood swings, your temperamental and short-tempered nature, your overthinking, your being overprotectiveness, and possessiveness. You love him because never once he thought of giving up on you in your hard times. You love him because he stands by you like a rock of unwavering support and he’s someone you can fall back on. You love him because he listens to you talking non-stop about your past, your pains, your fears, and your losses without complaining even once. You love him because he rediscovered you and helped you find yourself again when you were lost in darkness. You love him because he filled you with confidence and hope and strength and belief and determination. You love him because he believes you are the best when you set your mind on something and no one can stop you from achieving your goals. You love him because he is protective, caring, understanding, loving, and easy to be with while never being too suffocating or taking up your space. You love him because sooner or later he does everything you ask of him and does with his whole attention. You love him because whatever endeavor he engages in, he likes to give his 100% and hates doing half-hearted things. You love him because he can decode the nuances in your voice and judge your mood just perfectly. You love him because he read you like an open book and he can hear your silence. You love him because he never doubts your loyalty, your intentions, your hard work, and your million issues. You love him because no matter how busy he might get he never forgets that you are waiting for his message or his call. You love him because he keeps you in his priorities. You love him because he gave you a passion you never knew you had. You love him because he very strongly believes that you deserve the best of everything. You love him because he is empathic, kind, magnanimous, thoughtful, and down to Earth. You love him because he has eyes for no one but you. You love him because he wants to see you healthy, wealthy, prosperous, famous and he wants you to hold back at nothing, for no one, he wants you to be a Go-Getter. And most importantly you love him because no one ever loved you like he did.

"I will let you in," you say and you kiss him hard. "I'm sorry for the scene I caused."

"Don't be. It happens."

[bumbleklee]

prompt 9: “i can’t believe i'm tied up to you of all people” (diluc x gn reader)

masterlist | 1k prompt masterlist | discord server

★ diluc rewrite after i deleted it and then wrote a very shitty version in ten minutes out of anger lol. this still isn’t the best but it’s much better imo (also trying out a new format lol)

“Humor me, Y/N,” Diluc’s voice broke through the silence of wherever you two were, “Why must you always drag me into these situations?”

You laughed nervously, refusing to give him a proper answer. In all honesty, you didn’t know. You had invited Diluc out for a picnic that day and insisted you finish the date with a hike over the mountains so you could watch the sunset from afar. Except one wrong step revealed a hidden Fatui hideout below and since neither of you had your visions or weapons, you were an easy capture. Which led you to now - tied up back to back with makeshift blindfolds covering your sight.

“This is your fault,” He continued. You could hear the bite from his tone and you didn’t blame him. If only you had insisted on staying on your nice picnic blanket, neither of you would be in this situation. But admitting to that would be too much of an ego-defleat for you.

“Maybe if you hadn’t stepped on their trapdoor,” You countered. This was also true - it was Diluc who triggered the Fatui’s attentiveness to you.

“You’re kidding, right?”

“I bet they would have let me go if the uncrowned King of Mondstadt wasn’t with me,” You scowled. At this point, you just wanted to feel better about yourself and try to alleviate some of the burden. You jerked your shoulders, earning a displeased grunt from Diluc. “Can’t you just figure out how to get us untied?”

Realizing that the rope pulled and prodded based on who moved, Diluc jerked his shoulders similarly to you except much harder. You cried out and the only reason Diluc didn’t feel any remorse was because he knew you weren’t actually injured. “I can’t believe I’m tied up with you of all people,” He mumbled. His own frustrations were getting the better of him and despite you being his lover, he was pissed.

“Oh, shut up!” You countered, leaning forward to cause the rope to tighten around Diluc’s chest this time. For a while, the two of you squirmed and jerked around, creating rugburn and shortness of breath. Eventually, you both stopped. “We’re still stuck.”

“No, really?”

There was another moment of silence and steadiness until Diluc sighed. He just wanted to get out of this predicament and get you back to safety. Having an idea, Diluc threw his head back onto your shoulder and you jumped.

“What are you doing?” You panicked, your face growing warm. Under his blindfold Diluc rolled his eyes. He pushed his head back as far as he could and used his teeth to nip at the edge of the blindfold. Finally, he got hold of it and tugged it down.

Light illuminated your sight and you were able to look around the room you were in. To say it was empty would be an understatement. There was absolutely nothing in the carved-out area except pieces of fallen rock and, well, you and Diluc. There wasn’t even a doorway, only some thick vines hanging down from the hole you were pulled into.

“Diluc?”

“What now?”

“I don’t think anyone is coming back.”

You hear Diluc grown once again and then sigh. He needs to find a way to get you both untied. Realizing that Diluc is still blindfolded, you repeat the same actions he did to you. Feeling bad about your argument before, you press a weirdly-angled kiss to his cheek as well.

With both you able to see how you were tied up now, Diluc knows exactly what to do. You sit completely still as Diluc’s fingers tangled in the knots of the rope beneath your back. You have to crane your neck to see and you don’t completely understand what he’s doing but within ten minutes, the ropes feel light and loose.

“Alright, now yank your arms apart,” Diluc instructs you. Immediately, you do as he says and almost like magic, the ropes come undone and your body is free to stand up and stretch. Diluc does the same and you both stare at each other for a moment. You open your mouth to apologize finally but Diluc stops you with a hand on top of your head. He sighs deeply and steps closer to you, pressing a gentle kiss to the top of your head next to his hand. “Let’s get out of here, alright?”

He leads the way up the vines, making sure you’re right behind him. When your head pokes up above the surface, ironically, the stars are high in the sky.

“Thanks,” You say finally. The quietness of the walk back to Mondstadt was making your stomach queasy, “For saving us and all that.”

A strong arm comes to wrap around your shoulders, “It’s my job, isn’t it?” There’s a hint of a smile on the edge of his lips.

You look down, “I know you said you couldn’t believe you got tied up with me but...I’m glad I was tied up to you.”

Diluc’s hand squeezes your shoulder and pulls you even closer into his side, “Me too.”

[redphlox]

The Todorokis and the Takamis

Hello hello hello! Okay, so the fan translated chapter of BNHA 299 came out and I’m drowning in a downpour of feelings and parallels. So, below this cut, I’ll discuss parallels between Shouto and Hawks, Hawks and Endeavor, the Todoroki siblings and Keigo, and Rei and Tomie. I’ll also comment on the realistic depiction of domestic abuse survivors and dysfunctional family dynamics within the manga. Thanks in advance for reading!

The only hero Shouto probably had been exposed to as a child because he was isolated was his own dad, who abused his family. Shouto didn't want to be a hero because, as he had experienced personally, heroes were bad people who hurt their loved ones. The fire quirk he inherited from his father was something that hurt others. He had no other frame of reference for the fire quirk; his mother, who was kind and loving, had an ice quirk, Natsuo and Fuyumi had an ice quirk, and Touya (if Shouto even has memories of this) was being hurt by his own fire quirk. No wonder five year old Shouto was fearful of his left side and the thought of becoming a hero.

But that changed when Rei introduced him to All Might via a television recording she showed him in secret. Shouto learned that his father wasn’t representative of all heroes. Not all heroes hurt their families, and this meant Shouto’s fire quirk was his to use for good. He realized his dad was, ironically, a bad hero, and that it was okay to want to be a hero because Shouto would be a good one. Even if Shouto forgot this lesson in the years after Rei was hospitalized, the memory was there and rekindled during the sports festival. Shouto truly does believe in heroes because he’s seen proof of it in All Might, who indirectly saved Shouto and his belief in heroes just by being himself on that television show. Shouto also believes in heroes because he believes in himself - he’s a kind person, and he wants to be a kind hero. That’s why he chose his hero name to be his given name: Shouto.

Hawks, like Shouto, was also isolated from the world. He didn't have any interaction with or exposure to heroes except for on television. His father was physically and mentally abusive, and his mother emotionally distant as a result of domestic abuse. When Endeavor, a hero Hawks had a plushie of because his mom had given it to him in secret, indirectly saved him from an abusive household by arresting his father, Hawks started believing in heroes. They were real, and he was proof people could be saved because he hadn’t even been asking for help and Endeavor did it anyway. The plushie his mom had gotten him to play with as a substitute for not being able to go outside, the one Hawks held onto for comfort when he felt sad and alone, came “alive” and saved him. 

But Hawks was still in a bad situation because his mother's mental health wasn't in the best state after years of enduring domestic abuse. Hawks’ mother Tomie learned to view Hawks as the chain between herself and the Thief Takami. She might have been stuck in a "stay together for the kid" situation, coupled with financial instability and, on Takami's part, a begrudging sense of social responsibility to help raise the kid he fathered. Tomie learned to associate Takami’s feathers with pain, and because Hawks has feathers like his father and the fruit doesn’t fall far from the tree, she says, “you’re his son, aren’t you?” 

But Hawks soon finds good in the world and good in himself when he saves people during that accident. By saving others, he has saved himself without even intending to. The commission essentially takes him away from his mother who, because to her mental instability due to years of abuse, couldn’t raise him or nurture him. After abandoning his name, Hawks held on to Endeavor as a source of inspiration. Hawks had an idol he could look up to and be like as he trained at the commission. Endeavor was an example of how to stay strong and never lose hope. After all, everyone knew it would be pointless to try and surpass All Might but Endeavor kept trying anyway, despite the impossibilities. Young Hawks admired that because he was stuck in a similar situation - he never even dared to hope his life would get better until Endeavor arrested Takami the Thief. So to this day, Hawks idolizes Endeavor the hero.

Hawks, as an outsider to the Todoroki family, doesn’t know what they have endured. He hasn’t been around Shouto much, but from what he has seen, he thinks Shouto admires Endeavor the hero the same way Hawks does. It’s not an incorrect statement, because Shouto does recognize that Endeavor the hero is great, but it’s not a correct statement either. Shouto has the ability to separate Endeavor from Enji. Shouto wants to see what Enji the father has the potential to become now that Enji wants to atone, and even that seems to be for his sister’s sake, for her dream of having a family. Even Endeavor thought the same thing until Shouto makes it clear he’s not forgiven.

But Hawks doesn’t know this. Hawks probably assumes that because Shouto accepted interning with Endeavor and looked at Endeavor in awe that Shouto’s relationship with Endeavor must be on the mend. That maybe the abuse is behind them and the family is healthier. Hawks himself would never reach out to his own father or be near him, so why would Shouto? The only logical explanation and evidence Hawks has is that maybe Endeavor was forgiven and completely different now. Hawks, like Dabi, has no way to know that Shouto is holding his father accountable for abusing Rei and used to burn with self-destructive hatred inside. Hawks has no way of knowing Natsuo’s turmoil or that Fuyumi shares the same feelings as Natsuo, that Endeavor has a long way to go earn a place in his children’s lives - if they even let him.

Hawks is clinging onto his faith in heroes because he still believes in himself, in Endeavor, and in heroes. He’s like Shouto and believes in heroes and Endeavor despite Endeavor’s actions as a father. Shouto knows Endeavor is a skilled hero, but also accepts that people have different roles and may be shitty at one and great at another. Shouto knows Endeavor’s ambition and dedication to a title for his work drove him to hurt his family. Shouto knows Endeavor did this because Endeavor’s entire identity is his hero work - it’s almost expected that he put his ambitions before his family. Endeavor is just now, after 20 years, realizing he has another identity and role he failed to accept: Enji the father and husband. Now that he’s reached his career goals and realized the view at the top wasn’t as great or fulfilling as he imagined, he’s trying to figure out what Enji the father can do for his family.  

Just like Endeavor, Hawks’ whole identity is his hero persona, and if that hero doesn’t exist anymore, then Hawks would be lost. He’d have nothing. His whole life’s meaning - saving people - would be gone, and he has no connections to any roles (son, friend, citizen) because he’s severed ties with his parents and isn’t close to anyone. He can’t go back to being Keigo because it was too painful and hopeless being Keigo. Even if the commission is turning his back on him, he’ll still be the hero Hawks, this time on his own terms. Now that he’s free of their control, he wants to help the Endeavor he always looked up to as a sign of loyalty to him and possibly a vague way of returning the favor for indirectly rescuing Keigo all those years ago.

Rei and Tomie

Both mothers reacted similarly to their domestic abuse. Both mothers learned to associate their children with their abuser based on physical inherited traits. The Todoroki siblings each have a trait of their father’s (Touya has his eye color, Fuyumi has her red in her hair, Natsuo has his thick and tall stature, Shouto’s entire left side) and Hawks inherited feathers from his father. This fear serves as a small scaled representation of the societal stigma faced by those who possess lesser favorable quirks. These mothers learned their partner’s quirks were only used to hurt them or cause damage, and society has learned that certain quirks like Toga’s blood-sucking are inherently bad and are an indicator of morality. 

Like IRL domestic abuse victims, both mothers felt hopeless and powerless in their situation. Tomie asked her partner to fix the television without investigating what was wrong with it herself first. Tomie couldn’t care for herself or her son after Takami had been arrested - she’d been told what to do for so long and relied on Takami to provide (probably because he was paranoid and possibly wouldn’t let her interact with others out of fear she’d report him to the police) that she had trouble adjusting to any other kind of lifestyle. Making decisions was a skill she hadn’t used in years. Tomie, now homeless, compared Hawks to their abuser and expected him to provide by committing crimes too, which visibly hurt her son’s feelings. Some people who experience abuse subconsciously rely on their children to step up into a sort of caretaker/parent role. This is called parentification, and it just...sort of happens. This is why it makes sense Hawks’ identity revolves around being useful and wanting to help others. He had learned from a young age that if he wasn’t helping people, he had no value.

This isn’t to cast blame or judge Tomie, but to bring awareness to a boundary issue and inadvertent role reversal some victims and their families deal with as a result of abusive households. To parallel Tomie wanting Hawks to provide for the family, Endeavor also passively let Fuyumi to step up and fill the role of her missing parents. She carried a lot of the family emotional burdens after Rei was hospitalized, takes care of the family home, visits and cares for her mother at the hospital, and looks out for her younger brothers wellbeing in every sense of the word. Fuyumi is the unifying, optimistic link between Endeavor and his family. Even Endeavor recognizes Fuyumi’s parentification, though he doesn’t call it by its name.  

Rei expressed her hopelessness when she spoke with her mother on the phone about not being able to raise her children anymore, but couldn’t come up with a solution. She couldn’t raise her children anymore - and that was it. She didn’t ask her mother for help or come up with any ideas because she felt powerless. And again, this isn’t to demonize or blame Rei, but to point out that her reaction is reflective of the challenges some abuse victims face. Some people don’t know how to get out of an abusive relationship for various complicated, valid, and life-threatening reasons, no matter what logic outsiders apply to the situation. Some mothers feel trapped, like Rei and Tomie.

Both Rei and Tomie hurt their children, either emotionally or physically. In the light novels, Natsuo reveals that Rei was emotionally distant after Shouto was born, probably out of concern for Endeavor’s likely unhealthy enthusiasm to train Shouto. She was probably protective of Shouto, and inadvertently made Natsuo feel abandoned by focusing on her youngest. Like Keigo, Natsuo felt alone despite his mother being nearby physically. And also like Keigo, Natsuo eventually realized that the situation was complicated and his parents made mistakes and had issues that didn’t reflect their feelings toward him. Natsuo realizes his mother loved him still. He realizes Shouto didn’t have it better than he did because he had his mother’s attention, and Keigo realizes that even with his father gone, his mother isn’t “fixed.” Keigo recognizes that his parents had deep flaws and the Todoroki siblings recognize their parents’ too. Rei didn’t mean to hurt Shouto maliciously; Endeavor is to blame for their mother’s mental state. 

It’s implied that Tomie has an alcohol problem from the bottles laying around the unkempt Takami home. She uses alcohol to remove herself from reality, to put distance between herself, those she perceives are hurting her, and to hide. Running away doesn’t necessarily mean that she doesn’t care about her son - emotions and people are complex and not always black and white - but that she doesn’t have the mental and emotional capacity to nurture him. She’s distancing herself from her feelings (probably fear, hopelessness, dread) and with that she’s also distancing from her son. This might have been going on for a while because Keigo doesn’t even consider going to his mother for comfort. He goes to his inanimate Endeavor plushie instead. 

It’s also important to note that Keigo realizes that his parents’ relationship is devoid of love, and he probably thinks this is the reaso why he doesn’t receive any love from them. He wasn’t born from a loving relationship. The chapter implies he just...happened because Takami was hiding out with Tomie. Now Tomie doesn’t have an identity or will outside of hiding Takami and helping him, and Takami resents Keigo for tethering him to a person he thinks is useless and is holding him back.

In their own way, both mothers tried to console their child and ease the pain caused by their fathers. Rei did this by listening to Shouto, showing him that good heroes do exist, and reassuring him that he’s not his father. She was a loving mother, as noted by young Natsuo’s jealousy toward Shouto for “taking up” his mother’s attention. Her children are eager and willing to have a relationship with her. Tomie showed love for her son by buying that discounted Endeavor plushie in an effort to make up for the fact that Takami wouldn’t let him play outside. It’s important to note that while their family’s life was seemingly sustained by the fruit of Takami’s crimes, Tomie used what limited money the family had to pay for the toy, meaning that she wanted to ease some of her son’s pain and give him a source of strength. This was all she could manage considering the state of mind she was in. While it wasn’t big, she did the best she could, and apparently it left an impact because Hawks remembers the moment clearly.

The difference between these women and their families, which also mirrors real life, is that some work toward rebuilding their relationships and some don’t. The Todoroki’s support each other, and the Takamis are distant from each other. This isn’t to judge or blame or say one way is wrong and another is right, but to explore how this decision has and will influence Hawks and the Torodokis. 

Rei has made progress in her recovery and will likely be discharged soon, if she hasn’t already been. The family continues to identify and work through issues both as a unit and individually. Shouto realizes that it’s okay to use his left side, Natsuo is holding space for his unresolved grief and calling out Endeavor, and Fuyumi is hoping to finally have a family. Together, they’ve found healing from the trauma they suffererd together. Touya being alive only adds to this family’s ability to finally be happy and whole, though the journey may be difficult and painful.

Meanwhile, the Takami’s didn’t unite to heal together. Hawks’ father went to jail, Tomie and Keigo never saw him again and don’t want to, and Tomie accepted the commission’s offer to take care of her financially if she gave up Keigo. Keigo himself became Hawks, who suspected it was his mother who leaked his background to Dabi and wasn’t surprised to find out that he was right. He’s not visibly upset about his mother leaving either, which could either be him being emotionally numb or a sign his relationship with his mother never improved. It seems like he’s holding on to the scrap of love she did give him, as seen by his flashback to her holding his hand and remembering her words to “be strong like this guy.” But now she’s gone, and like he said, his shackles are gone.

So, what does this mean? Is Hawks wrong to still believe in Endeavor? Was Tomie wrong for revealing Hawks to Dabi and then leaving without notifying Hawks first? Given these character’s complex traumas, it’s hard to say without blaming someone for how they react to their trauma. It’s hard to apply logic to thinking and feelings that have been shaped by trauma. It’s uncomfortable to sit and see people make decisions that hurt others. Sometimes there is no right and wrong, sometimes there is wrong right and right wrong, and we have to sit and watch things play out, watch people react to the world through a trauma lens. 

Sometimes there’s no answer at all. I think that’s what adds a tragic touch to Hawks, to the Todorokis, to the League - they’re all reacting to their trauma in different ways, some in socially acceptable ways (Natsuo, Shouto) and some not (Dabi), and there’s no clear cut answer without passing judgment or telling someone how to react to their trauma. How does someone rewire their brain’s neuropathways from the ones formed by trauma to healthier ones, especially without professional help or even self-awareness.

It’s hard to watch all these characters suffer, especially when it hits so close to home for some of us. Let’s see what the next chapters bring! We’re not seeing the big picture just yet, and there is always time for epiphanies, breakthroughs, and change of hearts and minds.

[imsofthelp]

Katsuki Bakugou x reader

Category: angst, fluff

Warnings: cursing

A.N This was originally supposed to be done much sooner, but i'm just lazy like that, so here u go. Huge thanks to @velvet-kissesss for editing this so fast!! 🥰🥰

*~~~~*~~~~~~*~~~~~*~~~~~*

You tried to look away from the mirror, from your reflection that reminded you of everything that was going to happen just a moment later.

You focused on the wallpaper - blue hues were painted into the shape of waves that looked as if they crashed here, forever trapped in one moment. You couldn't help but feel the same, trapped in a moment that you couldn't escape.

You took in the view of the creaky old floor with an expensive yet tattered pattern of golden flowers. Your eyes drank in the view of small rays of sunshine that seem to bounce from one place to another.

As much as you wanted to avoid it, your body seemed to betray you as you turned to fully face your reflection. You looked flawless. Although it was a true irony as it was the most miserable day of your life. A most miserable day yet, probably.

The strapless white dress was made from the softest of materials, it reached the floor and resembled dove wings while hugging your figure perfectly. A corset was adjusted to make your waist look impossibly thin but it only made your burning lungs even harder to fill with air.

Lifting your head up, you put two fingers on your tear ducts to try contain tears from spilling and ruining your too flawlessly done makeup.

You didn't want this. Any of this. You didn't ask to be born with a powerful quirk. You didn't ask to marry a man with quirk that was deemed 'compactable' with yours to make perfect, hero worthy babies when combined.

All you ever wanted was to finish U.A with the best grades and then become a hero. To save people, to help those in trouble and to always be an inspiration for heroes yet to be.

You blinked. Then blinked a few more times. Sorrow clouded your mind, making you relive your happiest memories on replay again and again, as if your mind wanted to torment you - to put 'that's what you're losing' right in your fucking face.

You reminisced about your first meeting with a certain blonde-haired boy. You recalled your first date, looked back on the first kiss and awkward first sex. Your searches for an affordable apartment for starting heroes like you two and your late night talks. Everything. Everything was bright and clear in your mind.

You hated them. You hated them for forcing you into this. You were powerful, hell, they wouldn't of been able to make you comply. That's what you thought at first but... when they threatened to hurt Katsuki, everything was done.

All the stubborness, all the mean things you had to say and an offer to shove that proposal up his ass was erased as if it never even crossed your mind.

You could marry a man you didn't love. You could learn to live with the constant dolor of letting go your dreams and your career that had just started. You were fine with leaving your old life behind as long as... as long as he was safe. You loved him so much it hurt sometimes. You loved him so much that you could give up everything for him.

It didn't matter. Not anymore at least. You couldn't change your mind right now. Not when there were only five minutes left until the ceremony started. Five minutes until you stepped out there all dolled up with a fake smile as his companion, waving and smiling to all these people that thought you truly loved the man you were marrying.

Your dress was like dove wings... Ironic how doves are meant to be free, free to go wherever they want. Yet here you were about to be trapped by a fancy ring on your finger and your own words 'I do'.

You counted the minutes. Your heart thumping harder with every tick of the clock, almost as if it was threatening to burst through your ribcage.

When there were only two minutes left and you were struggling to calm yourself, you heard a silent knock on the door.

At first, you thought the knock came from the front door of the room. It could’ve been someone already inviting you to go, but no. It was at the emergency escape door.

You couldn’t even get to the door, almost tripping on your shitty fancy dress on the way when the door burst open and hit the wall.

There he was as real as in your memories - blond hair messy refusing to stay in any other style, his signature skull shirt and black sweats on, stance intimidating, his whole body tense and ruby red eyes radiating nothing else but pure fury. Bakugou fucking Katsuki.

Seeing him made you question your eye sight or even more, sanity.

"Katsuki-" you managed to blurt out, feeling light-headed.

"We're leaving, get out of the stupid dress." he commanded, not explaining anything further, just tossing you a pair of sweats and a hoodie. Your sweats and hoodie.

"What-? Katsu, we can't just do that, I-"

He snickered, looking at the clock then looking back at you.

"You think I'm just going to let you give your life to some shitty extra with a powerful quirk, just because he and your parents want to?" he asked, arms that were in his pockets beginning to shake, his muscular arms tensed. "Over my dead fucking body, and I'm really hard to kill, princess." he managed to make something similar to a smile. "Now hurry, we don't want to cause a scene." With every word of his, you were more and more stunned.

"But... but they're going to hurt you if I don't do this! I would kill myself if anything happened to you because of me!" you said, clenching your clothes to your chest as you tried to keep your tears at bay.

"Deku will become the number 1 hero before they hurt me, babe."

You wanted to believe him. Oh god how you wanted to believe him.

Damn, what made you think he could be defeated at the first place? Who made you so sure that you could just give your life to someone you hated? Not for who they were, but for simply taking the right to make your own decision away from you.

Katsuki's look was quite unreadable. A mix of anger, re-assurance and confidence.

He raised his much bigger hand, taking your own into his to brush your hand lovingly with his thumb.

At that moment, you got all the confidence you wanted. He was your future. He was the one you loved the most and Bakugou was the one that made you braver. The one who made you say,

"Fuck it... Let's go."

His eyes lit up, a cocky smile finding its way to his face as if he knew that this would be your final choice from the start.

You turned, asking him to unzip the shitty, fancy dress but the feeling of his hand on your back almost made you break into sweat. This was wrong.

This was dangerous. You stripped out of the dress, the smooth, expensive material falling to the ground as if was a useless piece of fabric made for cleaning the floor. It felt satisfying as if you had nothing to worry about anymore. As if it was the only burden that kept you from running away from your own wedding.

You sighed, your mind running so wildly in your head almost making it hurt. You knew that this was gonna end up badly but here you were, letting him untie the ribbons of the corset and finally being able to take full breaths while watching him throw it to the other side of the small dressing room.

"These fucking assholes really just made you wear that fucking shit? It looks like it could crush your fucking ribs." he commented, frowning.

Your heart fluttered in your chest, a slight sigh of relief escaping your lips knowing that the corset didn’t make you any more attractive to Bakugou.

You slipped on your sweats before Bakugou made you turn to him, looking you up and down, making your face flush red since you were standing just in your sweats and lacy white bra.

"So you put this fancy shit bra on just for that asshole?" he asked, hues of hurt and jealousy painting his voice a different color than what you were used to. “Were you planning to have sex with him?” he asked, tone as casual as if he was asking what was for dinner tonight. Still, the way his teeth were subtlety clenched made what he was feeling clear.

"Ah, I-"

Warm arms circled around your body, pulling you close against his heaving chest as you could feel the slight tremble of his embrace but didn’t say anything about it, not wanting to make him feel worse than he already felt.

You closed your eyes, wanting to stay like that. Not bothering about the time.

Katsuki littered your jawline with unusually soft kisses, tracing shapes onto the small of your back in calming motions.

His lips trailed down your neck, soft and loving pecks turned into a passion that would definitely leave a mark. You tilted your head back, giving Katsuki better access as you softly caress his hair, tugging it caused him to groan.

When he was so close you could smell the lingering smell of caramel filling all your senses, making him feel so real.

Your breaths were sharp and short and suddenly he bit down, making you gasp but he swallowed all your protests by putting his lips on yours with teeth softly biting your bottom lip, demanding entrance.

You immediately parted your lips, letting his tongue explore your mouth to fill it with the lingering taste of sweet rum he must’ve drank earlier, making your head dizzy.

His hands explored your waist, one going up to caress your clothed breast.

You buried your fingers deeper in his surprisingly soft hair, tugging it, making the kiss even deeper as your tongues were fighting for dominance. Neither of the two wanted to give each other the satisfaction of winning.

The need to breathe was pushed to the back of your mind, afraid that if you let go, everything you had at this moment will shatter. A lingering feeling of irrational fear made you afraid to open your eyes.

Finally, you two parted with string of saliva that connected your lips still it broke. You could almost hear him murmur a quiet ‘i love you’ in his usual gruff voice.

The dream you so desperately held on, the one that felt so real it made your heart throb, was broken by a loud ‘you may now kiss the bride’ from the priest. You could only catch the heartbroken gaze and bittersweet smile of Katsuki as you were kissed by a man you hated and the crowd broke into cheers.

You had the first dance, thanked all the people for congratulating you and cut the cake as you tried to look at your new husband as lovingly as possible. It was partly because of the look you had to keep up, but partly because you thought that if you imagined hard enough, you could almost pretend it was your Katsuki.

Soon you got tired of all the people and told your husband that you needed to get some fresh air.

It was already dark as you closed the door to the hall where the ceremony was held, escaping from everyone with only quieted down music that was the wouldn’t let you forget you about what was still happening inside.

The fact that there were no people out here made you feel lonely as you crept through the garden that was buried in the silent tones of some shitty pop song.

In distance you saw the small light of a lighter flicker and then the most handsome face, recognizable to the point it hurt, lit by a light of a cigarette.

With a few short strides you reached Bakugou. His expression was unreadable, top of his top unbuttoned and tie already untied.

“I thought you wouldn’t come.” you finally said, breaking the unbearable silence that lingered between you.

Katsuki let a line of smoke leave his mouth, looking you straight in the eyes,

“Yeah, I was surprised myself.”

Your gaze was turned downwards, almost in shame. You couldn’t look back into his ruby red eyes without a scorching red pain burning through every nerve of your body.

You didn’t say anything as you wrapped your hands around him, feeling him stiffen in your embrace. It almost made you jump back, your thoughts racing. Maybe he didn’t want to hug you. Maybe he didn’t want to even see you. Maybe-

That’s when he wrapped his arms around you in a protective manner, the smell of caramel with a hint of cigarette smoke taking you away. The feeling made yourself tear up.

Bakugou took a step back as soon as he felt your tears wet his shirt. You quickly tried to wipe every trace of them away, but he took the cigarette out of his mouth, stomping the butt and softly wiping your tears away with his thumb, his expression softening.

“Hey, hey, you okay?” his voice was so unusually soft it made you tear up all over again. You couldn’t answer his question. You were afraid that as soon as you spoke he would disappear all over again.

He softly took your face into his hands, his thumbs stroking the tear stained skin carefully.

“Y/N, please answer me.”

“Before he kissed me... before he kissed me I imagined you... we were kissing and you- you were so real and then-” you managed to whimper out before sobs rocked your whole body. Bakugou took you into his embrace, his arms wrapping around your body, one stroking the small of your back comfortingly. “You dissappeared. You said you’d run away with me and then- then you disappeared.”

Katsuki littered your skin with small kisses, making you wonder if the experience was real this time. It couldn’t be fake this time too, right? Everything felt far too real now, you could even hear the rhythmic sound of his heart thumping as he held you close.

“I’m real and I’m not going anywhere.” he assured, kissing the tip of your icy cold nose as you wrapped your trembling hands around his neck. “You said we wanted to run away in the dream you had, right?”

You managed to nod with the hot breaths of your lover tickling the skin of your neck.

“Well what if I told you that we can make that come true?”

[mallowstep]

(Reedwhisker anon)

The Erin's don't say and Reedwhisker is made an apprentice around the same time Ashfur and Ferncloud were, thereabouts I'd expect. (Both Brindleface and Mistyfoot were pregnant at the same time. I think Brindle's litter is a moon or 2 older though. Idk.) But he has been through ALOT. When I realized Mistyfoot didn't mention her kits in Canon I assumed those whose bones were mixed in with Bonehill, but then I noticed Reedwhisker in TNP and investigated him, found out he was Reedpaw, Misty's kit, and had the same thoughts you did. Mistyfoot, who wouldn't stop training Featherpaw even though she, too, was starved? Mistyfoot who watched her brother die but kept on going for Stormpaw and Featherpaw? Like...forget her own son in Canon? Like she would have told Grey and Fire to take Feather and Storm and she'd have gone back for her son. Her only surviving kit. She made him her fucking deputy, a mother's love is literally the MOST painful life a leader receives. In Misty AU, there is no Choice. It sucks, it's fucking painful, but Featherpaw is dying and they need to get out. But I can also see Reedpaw being the one of the few cats desensitized to EVERYTHING when Tigerstar loses all his nine lives? Man, I can even see him say "Oh...so this has happened now too. Can anything else get more fucked up?" Especially in Leopard AU. He's. Well in that one, he's seen and heard some shit. Now a leader's had all nine lives ripped from them with one blow and all clans have three days to get the fuck out or else? And Shadowclan just...flees back to their territory after trashing Riverclan's, their leader and medicine cat aren't talking (not that he can blame Leopardstar, he hates Mudfur too, by now.) He doesn't have a mentor anymore. (Not that Blackfoot really was one.) And he still hasn't seen his mother, or Feather, or Storm. But yay, his dad can actually treat him like he's his son again? So...that's something, I guess. Misty AU, after the Bloodclan battle, finding out his mom's pregnant with that monster's kits, like Twanypaw wasn't enough of a reminder. Tbh, I think he'd honestly have some beef with Twany. "You willingly gave up your mom, who loves you, and your brother, who also loves you and joined a fucking monster? Are you for real right now?" (In either AU, this warrior WOULD definitely have interrupted the Gathering once Blackstar announced Twanypelt's kits names. "You're letting her settle an innocent with that name, giving THAT Monster a fucking Legacy, and burdening her son with THE SAME SHIT SHE LEFT THUNDERCLAN FOR SHADOWCLAN FOR? ARE YOU FOR FUCKING REAL? BECAUSE THERE NEEDS TO BE A GOOD TIGER-WHATEVER THE FUCK? SHE'S A FUCKING SHITTY QUEEN, AND YOU'RE A SHITTY LEADER, BLACKSTAR.") Just...Reedpaw telling Stone or Misty everything he saw and heard that night Feathervand her escaped, Leopardstar's first death, how she struggled against Tigerstar and "he just held her head in the river and looked at her like she was a kit he was chastising." He shakes as he says this, choking on the last words, and Mudfur has to bring him poppy seeds to help him sleep that night. He gives me feels. In Canon he survives Tigerclan, Bloodclan, the destruction of the forest, the journey to the lake, the Great Battle, and now this whole no Starclan thing. If there was ever someone who needed therapy it's him...and I can't really see Reedwhisker being the type to think Misty didn't love him. He knows he was relatively safe compared to Feather and Storm, and...tbh I think he'd tell Misty she made the right choice. And I think that would probably break Mistyfoot's heart more in all three AUs then anything else. Feather's, too. (She's too kind, I swear.)

/nm but for the future if y'all don't mind trying to include some paragraph breaks for your local adhder that would be Appreciated. ik on the old ask box it's not possible but. if you're using the new one i really struggle with text walls. (it's ironic bc i tend to write them but.)

okay. gonna do sentence my sentence thing.

The Erin's don't say and Reedwhisker is made an apprentice around the same time Ashfur and Ferncloud were, thereabouts I'd expect.

(Both Brindleface and Mistyfoot were pregnant at the same time. I think Brindle's litter is a moon or 2 older though. Idk.)

But he has been through ALOT.

When I realized Mistyfoot didn't mention her kits in Canon I assumed those whose bones were mixed in with Bonehill, but then I noticed Reedwhisker in TNP and investigated him, found out he was Reedpaw, Misty's kit, and had the same thoughts you did.

Mistyfoot, who wouldn't stop training Featherpaw even though she, too, was starved?

Mistyfoot who watched her brother die but kept on going for Stormpaw and Featherpaw?

Like...forget her own son in Canon?

Like she would have told Grey and Fire to take Feather and Storm and she'd have gone back for her son. Her only surviving kit.

She made him her fucking deputy, a mother's love is literally the MOST painful life a leader receives.

In Misty AU, there is no Choice. It sucks, it's fucking painful, but Featherpaw is dying and they need to get out.

But I can also see Reedpaw being the one of the few cats desensitized to EVERYTHING when Tigerstar loses all his nine lives?

Man, I can even see him say "Oh...so this has happened now too. Can anything else get more fucked up?"

Especially in Leopard AU.

He's.

Well in that one, he's seen and heard some shit.

Now a leader's had all nine lives ripped from them with one blow and all clans have three days to get the fuck out or else?

And Shadowclan just...flees back to their territory after trashing Riverclan's, their leader and medicine cat aren't talking (not that he can blame Leopardstar, he hates Mudfur too, by now.)

He doesn't have a mentor anymore.

(Not that Blackfoot really was one.)

And he still hasn't seen his mother, or Feather, or Storm.

But yay, his dad can actually treat him like he's his son again?

So...that's something, I guess.

Misty AU, after the Bloodclan battle, finding out his mom's pregnant with that monster's kits, like Twanypaw wasn't enough of a reminder.

Tbh, I think he'd honestly have some beef with Twany.

"You willingly gave up your mom, who loves you, and your brother, who also loves you and joined a fucking monster? Are you for real right now?"

(In either AU, this warrior WOULD definitely have interrupted the Gathering once Blackstar announced Twanypelt's kits names.

"You're letting her settle an innocent with that name, giving THAT Monster a fucking Legacy, and burdening her son with THE SAME SHIT SHE LEFT THUNDERCLAN FOR SHADOWCLAN FOR? ARE YOU FOR FUCKING REAL?

BECAUSE THERE NEEDS TO BE A GOOD TIGER-WHATEVER THE FUCK?

SHE'S A FUCKING SHITTY QUEEN, AND YOU'RE A SHITTY LEADER, BLACKSTAR.")

Just...Reedpaw telling Stone or Misty everything he saw and heard that night Feathervand her escaped, Leopardstar's first death, how she struggled against Tigerstar and "he just held her head in the river and looked at her like she was a kit he was chastising."

He shakes as he says this, choking on the last words, and Mudfur has to bring him poppy seeds to help him sleep that night. He gives me feels.

In Canon he survives Tigerclan, Bloodclan, the destruction of the forest, the journey to the lake, the Great Battle, and now this whole no Starclan thing.

If there was ever someone who needed therapy it's him...and I can't really see Reedwhisker being the type to think Misty didn't love him.

He knows he was relatively safe compared to Feather and Storm, and...tbh I think he'd tell Misty she made the right choice.

And I think that would probably break Mistyfoot's heart more in all three AUs then anything else.

Feather's, too. (She's too kind, I swear.)

okay cool let's start at the top. i love u anon just want u to know. everything u send me about this makes me feel so many things. my beloved. <3

re reedwhisker's age: unless/until i get a confirmation that he was apprenticed, etc., on page, or an erin statement about it, i'm maintaining my position. he doesn't show up in asir which you would 100% expect him to, and asir was published june 2020, which means reedwhisker as mistystar's surviving kit was known, which means that i really don't think he was born yet. like i really, really, really think that someone mistakenly went, "well, mistyfoot had a litter in tpb, so reedwhisker was a part of that litter," and we've all just been operating under that assumption.

(open to changing that opinion on evidence. i just need a source -- an erin statement, author chat, blogclan, a book, w/e, just something that will confirm when reedwhisker was actually born.)

because like -- ferncloud is nearly a year older than the bramble, storm, primrose, etc., so i don't know. there's no good timeline. reedwhisker appears as a fully grown warrior in twilight. so. heck if i know.

like there's no way mistyfoot would leave him behind? there's no way he wouldn't want to reunite with stormfur and feathertail and his mom? like he would be in asir, right? i'm not crazy? of all cats?

scream.

but moving on from my open anger re. the reedpaw problem;

i mean -- to be clear, mistyfoot and featherpaw are in riverclan from the beginning of tigerclan to the end in the misty au. no escapes are made. so even if reedpaw was alive, they're there. unlike the other aus, the misty au is Defined by yours truly because i'm actually writing it. so none of that angst, just the -- pain of watching the fall.

hnng.

and yeah he's just. so done and over everything.

and oh my god like -- he thinks he's Very alone in the leopard au. because he doesn't -- oh my god. and when they show up in riverclan again it's great but also -- he's been alone witnessing all of this Shit holy god i swear.

mistyfoot is...not Really visibly pregnant until after tigerclan, and he wouldn't be close enough to smell it, so yeah -- he'd still be surprised. or maybe. not surprised so much as. argh. you know like. he doesn't want to face it.

i like the idea of him having this very complex but entirely one-sided relationship to tawny. like, they went through some pretty similar stuff, but she chose it, and embraced it, and that's. you know. and she doesn't really think of him because she doesn't Know that like. mistyfoot is his mom.

and yes more people calling out tawnypelt's terrible naming decisions. i mean i love the angst it gives me for writing purposes and tigerheart is my favourite husband in warriors (he's so in love with his wife i love him for that), but yeah. what.

and oh my god like -- he would be the one to explain things. because -- i mean because he's scared and alone and is the only one who saw this and hasn't been able to say anything and he finally sees his family and Safe and. they're all watching him like "oh shit how the fuck did it get worse after we left" and oh-

all of these cats need therapy.

[ID: text that reads "5. Hawkwing and Frecklewish invent therapy." /end ID]

(a chapter title from "Heathertail's School for Attractive, Murderous She-Cats")

and yes. yes yes he would. i bet mistyfoot would apologize and he would be like -

no, why are you apologizing? i was safe, you weren't

and he wasn't really safe but seeing him just -- seeing how he just has this. i dunno how to say it. but when mistyfoot sees him and how's he's just had to grapple with this and oh.

she would be so upset.

<3

[alleiradayne]

Submitted for the approval of the Midnight Society, I call this story…

THE MIDNIGHT RIDE

Long is our list of ghost stories laid to rest. But when the dark rider returns thirty years after his exorcism at the hands of the Winchesters, Sam, Dean, and I are faced with the possibility that we’ve been wrong about one thing.

Some urban legends never die.

Part III - Unsolved Mysteries

Summary: Sam, Dean, and the reader head to the Old Dutch Cemetery. Warnings/Tags: General elements of horror and fear, graveyards, coffins, sorta-not-really-death... Characters/Pairings: First Person Female!Reader/Sam Winchester, Dean Winchester Word Count: 5,385

The Impala jostled over the transition from street to gravel path as Dean turned for the graveyard. Tall, stout trees lined the trail to the Old Dutch Church, their long sinuous branches reaching out as though to grasp and pull unwary travelers into the shadowy depths of the surrounding forest. A chill ran down my spine as the car lumbered on, descending into the darkness, and a foolish sense of fear filled my stomach with dread. I had vanquished many vengeful spirits with Sam and Dean. The last decade of our lives had been nothing but. And yet, something about the case had me on edge.

Around a shallow bend in the path, the church materialized from the darkness atop a hill as the Impala’s headlights flashed across it. Dark windows and a distinct lack of exterior lighting shrouded the building in impenetrable black despite our approach. The car climbed the steep hill, and as it crest the top, I saw a thick stone wall and a tall iron gate in the distance.

“At least we’re alone,” Sam mentioned as he followed the church.

“Good,” Dean started, then squinted through the windshield as we neared the gate. “Is it open?”

“I’m guessing the graveyard isn’t maintained if the church is abandoned,” Sam stated.

As he pulled up to the gate, Dean put the car in park and climbed out. Sam and I followed, and between the three of us, we managed to pull the gate apart wide enough for the Impala to pass. Dean returned to the car and, as he pulled into the graveyard, that chill, loitering beneath my skin, clawed deep into my bones. The Impala entered the great yawning maw and slid into the belly of the beast.

When I remained still too long, Sam ushered me along with a reassuring hand at my shoulder. His wide stare betrayed his crooked smile, and that creeping dread seeped into the very marrow of my existence.

“This feels too easy.” I had intended to speak with more conviction, but my voice faltered.

“Don’t jinx it,” Sam retorted.

“I’m not trying to,” I said as I rubbed an ache in my left arm. Drawn to the darkness, I scanned the graveyard from edge to edge. “I’m… something feels off. Like we’re forgetting something.”

He turned to me then, and the warmth of his large hand enveloped my shoulder. An odd sense of calm replaced my looming anxiety. And his voice assuaged my worst concerns. “Whatever happens, we’ll get through it together. I’m here, Dean’s here. You know what you’re doing, too. I believe in us.”

And I believed him. I didn’t just know it to be true, but felt it, like that deep ache in my bones. But the case, the urban legend. It all had me on edge. Despite my oscillating emotions, I smiled a wry smile and looked up to him. A slanted ray of silvery moonlight illuminated his own crooked smile, and the last of my concerns receded to the edges of my mind. “Thanks, Sam. You’re really good at that.”

He turned for the car as Dean stopped up the path. “At what?”

I followed with a skipped step and said, “Making a lady feel special.”

His subtle smile turned into a devious smirk I’d not seen on him in age. “Good. You are,” he said. A hitch in his breath hesitated his next statement, but then he turned to me once more and said, “I’ve been meaning to tell you this for a while, but I’ve been feeling pretty shitty myself since Chuck.”

Dean remained in the car, illuminated by the glow of his cell phone. Safe, for the moment at least, I figured it couldn’t hurt to hear Sam out. “What’s on your mind?”

“Dean and I care a lot for you,” he stated as he closed the space between us. He scoffed before he said, "But I… Dammit, we weren’t supposed to be in fucking graveyard when I finally told you… and especially not on a case. I’ve wanted to say this for months, but we haven’t taken a break, and I never get five minutes with you alone—”

“Sam.”

His teeth clicked shut at my interruption. A thick swallow bobbed his throat before he said, “I’m sorry. I’m nervous.”

“I can tell,” I replied with a short laugh. “But I get it. I am, too. I’ve… felt the same way for a while.”

Despite the darkness, his entire face brightened at that. “Really? Like… how long?”

I turned for the Impala and said over my shoulder, “Longer than I care to admit.”

He trotted to catch up to me at the trunk. When he opened his mouth to speak again, the driver’s door opened, and Dean’s boots crunched on the gravel. Before he squandered the moment, Sam slipped his hand to the small of my back and whispered in my ear, “We’ll talk more later?”

I sucked a breath through my nose as I bit my bottom lip but managed a quick nod as Sam straightened. There is a reason I don’t play poker; Dean spotted the obvious a mile away, his approach slowing and his glare narrowing on me, then on Sam, who had busied himself on his phone.

“What’s going on?” he grumbled as he unlocked the trunk.

Sam hardly looked up. “Hm? Nothing, just waiting for you. C’mon, let’s go,” he said as he grabbed a shovel and flashlight, then strode away for a set of plots.

Dean’s glare fell to me then, as though he measured me under a microscope, and I shifted on my feet. “Y/N…”

“What?!” I squeaked, then cleared my throat. “What?”

“Don’t ‘what’ me,” he declared as he rummaged through the trunk. “You look… do you need to take a leak or something?”

The surge of sensations from Sam’s attention passed, and I stilled. “No, I’m fine. Just… graveyards, right? This whole case has me kinda freaked.”

Look, I’m not dumb, and I know Dean isn’t either. But thankfully, he let my half-truth slide and grabbed a shovel. “You know the drill. This’ll be quick once we dig it up.”

I took the shovel from him, then the flashlight. “Got it. I’ll start helping Sam look for this needle in a haystack unmarked grave.”

“Good idea,” he replied. “I’ll catch up in a minute. Need to grab a few more things here. Go on ahead.”

With my shovel shouldered, I turned and hesitated. Headstones sprawled to the opposite tree line three hundred yards away, and between them rolled a thick mist. Cloud cover rolled in almost as if it were on a schedule. Darkness masked the moon and plunged the graveyard in a night so deep, and my flashlight flickered like a tiny shivering candle flame.

One foot in front of the other. That was all I needed to do. Just walk. Read headstones. Find the unmarked grave. Not that hard. Lost count of the graves I've dug up over the last decade. Like I mentioned earlier, Sam and Dean changed my life—for the better—the day we met. Digging up graves happened to be a part of the gig.

As I traipsed through the graveyard, headstones passed beneath my flashlight, materializing out of the dark mist. The light lingered long enough for me to see any sort of epitaph, then moved on, the stone vanishing into the fog once more. My mind wandered as that monotonous repetition seeped into my muscles, weary and aching. Hypnotized by the swinging flashlight—left, right, left, right—the graveyard faded away, the headstones ceased to exist, and I wandered aimlessly.

"Over here!"

Sam's booming baritone echoed through the darkness, a bodiless voice carried on a bone-chilling gust of wind. Another shiver coursed along my spine, and my flashlight quivered in my white-knuckled grip. Strange trees and unfamiliar headstones surrounded me, appearing and vanishing in the thick mist that languidly coiled through the graveyard. Sam's voice breached the silence again, emanating from everywhere and nowhere at once.

Each echoing thump of my heart beat faster than the previous. Each breath filled less and less of my lungs, shallow and thin. And each thought muddied the waters further as I waded through the muck until not a single coherent idea remained. Silence settled in, stilled the graveyard's night sounds, and death's icy breath lashed out at me.

Long seconds stretched so thin, one tick of my watch marked an entire lifetime. As my heart raced, its sharp staccato strikes drowned out the world. A moment, one terrifyingly calm instance of hyperawareness passed before I realized that thumping no longer beat in my head but from through the ground and into my chest. Horse hooves raced in the distance, and with each expeditious plot, they neared.

Pressure. A shift in the air behind me snapped my instincts into action. I wheeled about and brought the shovel to bear only to find more of the thick graveyard mist ambling between headstones and trees. Sam's voice echoed again. And again. And again. I tried to call back, but no sound escaped my throat, dry as the desert in a drought. Though desperate to move, my feet refused. Rooted in that hallowed ground, I firmly remained where I stood, my head spinning.

That was until I heard the most terrifying sound in recent memory.

The blood-curdling bray of a horse screeched through the night air, so shrill and ethereal. Impossibly sustained, the cry lingered an eternity. That haunting melody accompanied the thundering hooves’ rhythm, both building in a wild crescendo until out of the mist burst the stuff of nightmares.

Black as pitch, a horse bearing a headless rider barreled through the graveyard straight for me. Fire fanned from the steed’s wide eyes, and smoke blacker than his coat roiled from his nose. Bones and ligaments jutted through his muscles, and his jet black hide scored with whip lashes, runnels of blood, and burns beneath crimson and iron tack.

And yet, the horse paled in comparison to its burden. Astride the cursed beast sat a giant of a man clad in green armor so dark, it was nearly black. He wielded a fiery whip that cracked like thunder with a flick of his wrist, and in the other hand, he manifested a flaming cannonball. He hefted it high over his head—the empty void where his head should have been—and aimed.

Never in my life had I run so fast. Like lightning, I leaped through the graveyard, racing for whatever outlet I could find. Reaching tree branches snagged my coat, my jeans, and one sliced a gash across my cheek. Pain and fear fueled my survival, and the last ounce of hope I had desperately clung to echoed once more, so much closer.

“Y/N?!”

Sam’s shout distracted me a second too long; the fiery cannonball singed my hair as it hurtled past my head and destroyed a headstone. Graveyard turf caught my toe as I threw my arms up to shield myself from flying stone, and I crashed to the dirt face first. Blood poured from my nose and soaked my shirt as I scrambled to my feet. Whitehot pain rolled in waves across my face, and tears blurred my vision as I searched for my thrown flashlight and shovel. Thundering hooves closed on me, drawing closer and closer until my hand seized the metal grip of my shovel. I torqued my entire body and swung the bladed end with all my might.

The rider’s whip coiled high above his shoulders, then unfurled with a wicked snap of his arm. Inch by inch, the flaming bones rolled to me until time raced to catch up. The last foot disappeared in a single heartbeat. An earth-shattering crack of thunder rattled in my teeth as the bone whip wrapped around the steel shaft of my shovel. He snapped it from my hands with little effort and freed his whip, then raised it again for another strike.

Despite the fact that I knew I had no chance of escaping, I ran. Thunder rolled once more as the whip descended upon me. Sudden clarity steadied my heart as death’s icy chill breathed down my back once more. Final heartbeats counted down my last seconds as the whip’s scorching grasp coiled about my neck. Where time had once moved too fast, it slowed again, creeping until it stopped.

The world faded away to nothing. No sound, no light. No racing hooves or hearts. No shrill horse’s cry. No fire and no ice. No pain. Suspended in a nothingness sea, I drifted aimlessly. Lost. Even time’s relevance ceased to exist. The threads of my consciousness unraveled as though tugged by anxious fingers. Soon, I knew that I, too, would unweave until I remained nothing but a mere memory in other's minds.

Then a cry pierced the silence, muted, as though it belonged to someone else’s. Desperate, I focused every conscious sensation that yet belonged to me on that singular sound, a siren’s salvation, and clung to it. The voice thinned and focused, sharpened as though I dialed in on the perfect frequency until it burst through the emptiness and rendered me senseless.

And then I fell. Hundreds of thousands of feet, I descended, plummeting faster and faster as the shout continued to grow. Another voice joined, bellowing my name as I sank. The onslaught of vertigo ravaged every fiber of my pitiable existence as I tumbled through space and time until my mind and body reunited. Reality returned in a blossoming of flashlights, two men shouting in shock, and a freshly dug grave into which I dropped the final five feet. I screamed as I crashed onto the exposed coffin, then collapsed in a heap.

My first gasping breath dragged in dirt and grave rot, and I choked. Before I could string a coherent thought together, two sets of hands grasped me by the arms and hauled me from the grave. They set me on my feet, but I collapsed to the ground, sprawling on my back and stared up at a clear, cloudless night sky.

A cascade of brilliant stars dotted the emptiness, teaming with ancient light. Cool, clean air filled my lungs for the first pure breath I’d taken in a century. Clarity followed, and my first thought echoed between my ears like a struck church bell.

Did I just cheat death?

“Y/N?”

Sam’s strength slipped beneath my shoulders and legs as he hauled me into his lap. His face, knotted and twisted with worry, flooded my vision. “Y/N, are you okay?”

Inventory. No sliced cheek. No burnt hair, no broken nose. Most importantly, no burned lashes on my neck. I started a few thoughts before I settled on, “I think I’m fine.”

He seated me on the ground once more and sat beside me. Dean knelt as well and placed a stable hand on my shoulder. “What happened? One second, I was right behind you, and then the next, you were gone.”

The chilling scream of an undead horse echoed in the furthest recesses of my mind. “I saw it. The…” I stuttered as I motioned to my head. “He had a whip of bone engulfed in flames and a fiery cannonball.” I paused, seized by the memory of such fear. “He... he ran me down—”

“That’s it, I’m putting an end to this shit right now,” Dean interjected as he hopped into the grave.

Sam and I leaned over the edge as Dean pried open the old pinewood box. Wood splintered and popped as he made short work of the rotted enclosure. But then the top snapped free and fell aside to reveal nothing and everything all at once.

Ash and black scorch marks marred the entire interior of the coffin. “What the fuck?” Dean spat. He sifted through the ashes, flinging them about, searching. “No, this can’t be right, there has to be something—”

“Dad did it.” Dean and I both turned to Sam. “Thirty years ago, he had the same idea we did: roast the bones, send the spirit on.”

Dean turned back to the box and stared. A long minute passed as thumped his crowbar on his thigh, the gears in his head churning so hard, I swore I heard them. Then he replaced the cover and crawled from the grave with Sam’s help. He dusted off his jeans but remained silent as he paced, deep in thought.

I grasped Sam’s hand and hauled myself up to stand beside him. His warmth enveloped me as I curled into him, and he held me close. With a reassuring squeeze, he asked, “Are you sure you’re alright?”

“I will be,” I sighed. “I think I…”

The thought trailed off as Dean began shoveling dirt back into the grave. “Son of a bitch ghost,” he spat with a violent stab of the shovel. “Fucking piece of shit curse.” Another stab. “Stupid fairy jerk.” Another stab. “Lame ass urban legends!”

“Dean!” Sam insisted, “what the hell are you doing?”

“What does it look like I’m doing?!” Dean barked. “We gotta get out of here and figure out what to do next before this circus freak shows up again.”

Sam sighed as he smoothed his hand across my shoulders and said, “You can head back to the car, I’ll help—”

“No!” I declared, far louder than I had intended. “Sorry, no. I’ll…” I spotted my shovel and flashlight lying not three feet away from me. Unwilling to question how either object had returned with me, I hefted both. “I’ll help. I need something to do.”

Concern clouded Sam’s visage, but he shrugged and made room for me to dig. As I started in, fresh memories flooded my mind’s eye, and I did my best to relive the moments as clearly—and objectively—as possible. Undead horse. Crimson tack. Headless rider. Fiery whip and cannonball. Green armor that could easily be mistaken for black.

“He was wearing green armor,” I stated.

Dean froze at that. “Green? Like the Gawain legend?”

“I assume so,” I replied as I continued shoveling. “I think we’re still on the right track. It’s an amalgamation of urban legends. The Hessian, the dulachan. Gawain. A fae-cursed german soldier that fought against the colonies during the American revolution. Not sure how the English legend plays into it though.”

“Maybe it doesn’t,” Sam said with a grunt. “Maybe being decapitated by an enemy soldier during a war is close enough to match the English urban legend.”

“Could be why he only comes back once a year,” I agreed.

Dean shook his head. “Let’s just get this grave filled and figure it out back at the motel.”

With a sense of finality on the topic, we continued to shovel. As I worked, I couldn’t help but lose myself in thought to the point where I hardly recalled shoveling. A filled grave stood before me less than half an hour later. Wordlessly, we gathered up our things, then turned our backs on the grave and started for the car.

No more than fifty yards from the unmarked headstone, Sam stopped first, frozen solid. I lurched to an awkward halt beside him, my hand held fast in his. I looked up to him and asked, “What’s… Sam?”

He stared straight ahead at the car, then looked at me. “Didn’t you hear that?”

“No,” I said as I turned to the Impala, then back to him. “What are you talking about?”

“C’mon, Sam, let’s—”

I heard it then; the relentless cry of a terrifying horse careened through the still graveyard. Dean had heard it too, his thought suspended, unfinished. The echoing bray of the horse faded as a fresh thundering of hooves clamored in the distance.

“Get to the car!”

My shout startled Sam and Dean into motion. The first hundred yards passed, but beating hooves pounded in from all sides. Another terrifying whinny screeched through the night, and in the last hundred yards to the car, my nightmare returned in full force.

The undead horse and its rider materialized from the mist and leaped the car’s trunk, heading straight for us. I screamed and skidded to a halt, then twisted to run back into the graveyard. Sam and Dean followed, catching my shorter gait in a few sprinting strides. With one final look over my shoulder, I spotted the headless rider gaining on us and shouted.

“We can’t outrun him!”

Ahead, Dean pointed at a wide paved path on the far side of the graveyard. “Follow that road! I’ve got an idea!”

“INTO THE WOODS?!” I screeched.

“Trust me!” he shouted back as we reached the road and turned towards the treeline.

I trusted Dean with my life. But he had not seen what I had. Just as the thought crossed my mind, an iron ball of fire lobbed past Dean’s head and landed in the asphalt, spraying dirt and rock. Dean leaped the divot and checked back over his shoulder. “Seriously, who throws fucking cannonballs at people?!”

Without a second to retort, we rounded a sharp curve in the path that twisted around a copse separated from the forest. On the other side sat a fork in the path, our only options left or right. At the last possible second, Dean darted right, and we followed. The road narrowed considerably, too small for a car to pass. Asphalt transitioned to dirt, and thick forest trees encroached. No light from the moon or stars penetrated the dense canopy above.

I checked behind me to see the rider and his nightmare steed gaining ground, no more than fifty yards away. “Dean, what are we doing?!”

He searched the trees, the path as his head whipped about, but I knew he saw nothing but the same desperate hope of salvation I sought. Thundering hooves counted down the final moments of our lives, one gallop after the next. Though I had seen dire situations hunting beside Sam, Dean, and Castiel over the years, none compared to the complete despair I felt in that moment, running ragged through the woods from the Headless fucking Horseman.

An urban legend was about to kill us. A friggin' fairytale told to scare kids. 

Dean skidded to a halt so suddenly, Sam and I blasted twenty yards past him. I spun about gracelessly and gripped Sam’s arm for leverage. Behind us, Dean stood in a pool of opulent moonlight illuminating the dirt path through a clearing in the forest canopy. Beyond the lighted path, the rider and his horse closed the distance so fast, Dean risked losing his chance to escape.

"Dean, what are you doing?! Run!" Sam bellowed as he started for him.

"Sam, no! Stop!" I pleaded as I ran to catch him, but his legs proved too long and too fast for my own.

Despite his speed, I knew he'd never make it. An unseen force hindered him, as though the hands of the dead emerged from the ground and snatched at his ankles. He reached for Dean, his entire body straining and stretched to its fullest. The horse’s hooves pounded the dirt only a few yards away, but Dean stood fast, head held high and feet planted. And there in the darkness, I understood.

Dean knew something I did not. Something worth its weight in gold. Literally.

Heavy coins landed in the dirt as he backed into the shadows and flung his arm in a wide arc. Like so many shards of broken glass, they scattered. Each tumbled and turned end over end, glinting and glittering as they flipped and rolled to settle in the dirt.

With Dean's final cast of the dice, time stood still. He distilled everything that transpired that night in that singular moment. I watched helplessly as Dean stood defiant in the shadows, and Sam failed to reach him. The horse leaped the final feat as the rider raised his whip, coiling high over his shoulders. Hooves breached the moonlight as the rider brought down his arm in eternal judgment, the flaming lash his gavel. Horse and whip bore down on Dean, crossing the golden coins’ threshold and thoroughly bathed in brilliant moonlight. My last hope of salvation incinerated, and in that final second, I screamed.

But that second never came. In a single, raging beat of my heart, time, and reality reunited, and I hardly believed my eyes. Smoke and cinders smoldered at the horse's hooves, engulfing him and the rider to headless shoulders as though fire had caught dry tinder. The nightmare steed cried out its ethereal scream. The rider raised both hands, whip, and a new projectile brandished high until consumed by the squall. And then a turbulent gust scattered the ashes as though they had never existed.

My scream faded as it echoed through the woods. Sam whipped about, terrified eyes searching for me in the darkness. Found, he raced to me, and I grasped onto his arms. One massive hand cupped my cheek as he looked me in the eye, searched for any sign of injury, and begged for reassurance. I dove into his embrace then, unwilling to stand alone any longer. All my anger and fear drained in the safety of his arms as though it ran through a sieve.

A soft clinking of metal drew my attention past Sam, and I saw Dean gathering up the golden coins at his feet. He returned them to his pocket, then headed for us, dusting his hands on his thighs along the way. When he reached us, his typical smile spread across his lips, and he spoke.

"That's one way to waste a ghost."

"Is it…" I asked, hope clouding my better judgment.

"It'll buy us some time," Sam said with a reassuring squeeze of my shoulder. "We need to get back to the motel and figure out what's next."

Dean started back for the car first. "You know, I'm starting to wonder if it's a tul—"

"It's not a tulpa, Dean," Sam spat as he followed, urging me along beside him. "Seriously, we've only ever seen one of those things."

Dean shook his head and laughed sardonically. "It's got all the signs. A big ol' mess of urban legends and myths. An entire country that believes in it. And real power. I mean, did you see that thing, it damn near ran me down." When neither of us responded, he turned over his shoulder and his ridiculous grin faded. "What?"

"You could have died," I stated.

Of course, he shrugged. "But I didn't," he said as he pointed to his pocket. "Back up plan."

"Speaking of which," Sam said before I could give Dean a piece of my mind. "Where'd you get that idea?"

As we neared the fork, Dean jabbed his thumb over his shoulder at me. "That website. I looked up a little on each legend and found the dulachan is sort of banished for a hot minute if a gold coin is tossed in its path. So I figured, why not try twenty gold coins?"

"Try?" I repeated.

At the fork, he stopped and turned to face us. "I had a hunch."

A hunch. I knew what that meant. He had no clue. One or twenty, Dean had not the faintest notion if a gold coin would stop the spirit. No additional research. No supporting theories. Nothing. Just a fucking hunch and the confidence of a man with a death wish.

I opened my mouth, intent on giving Dean the tongue-lashing of his life. My hands shook as I parted from Sam, trembled as one coiled into a furiously extended index finger, and the other balled into a tight fist. Unbridled heat twisted in the pit of my stomach, contorted my face, and rattled in my throat as I began to speak.

But cold dread drowned my rage, and my words succumbed to that torrential fear. A ghastly pale man astride an equally pale horse rounded the sharp corner past the fork, less than twenty yards behind Dean. No clop of hooves announced his approach, no horse’s chuff, no clatter of tack. Silent as the dead, he followed the path and stopped only a stride short behind Dean. 

I gawked openly, as did Sam, and when neither of us spoke, Dean glanced over his shoulder only to startle and shout as he leaped to my side. “Christ, man, don’t sneak up on a guy like that!”

The pale rider’s gaze lazily drifted down and stared each one of us in the eye. Otherworldly, he appeared as though he had been ripped from his timeline and placed in ours. A three-point hat covered his long hair tied back with a thin leather strap, and a once-fine wool coat covered his linen shirt and felted vest. Thin gloves sheathed his hands, holding the reins. Heavy wool pants draped loosely down the thigh to gather at the knee where thick stockings tucked in beneath. Wide-buckled shoes with short heels completed the ensemble.

A gray layer of ash covered the rider, his clothes, his tack, and his horse, most terrifying of all.

“Good evening, my lords, my lady. Would any of you know the way to the schoolhouse? I seem to have gotten lost again…”

I glanced at Sam, who shook his head, then Dean. He cleared his throat and said, “We’re not from around here.”

“Pity,” the rider said. A twitch of the reins shifted his horse down the path to his right. “It’s always this fork that gives me trouble. Mayhaps the right will prove correct this time.” With a gentle prod of his heels, the horse obeyed and began walking once more. “A good evening to you all.” He tipped his hat as he passed, then turned ahead for the trail.

The sudden need to confirm my suspicions gripped me like a vice. Talk about a wild hair.

“Wait!” I squirmed from Sam and Dean’s arms and followed the rider. “Who are you?”

The horse turned broadside as the rider’s glassy stare fell upon me once more. Though I knew the answer before he spoke, my fingers and toes burned with anticipation.

“I’m the new teacher. Ichabod Crane.”

He turned back to the path with a final touch to his hat, and his horse started ahead once more. The dark depths of the forest swallowed him whole, vanishing as though a figment of my imagination.

Wordlessly, I returned to Sam and Dean, who also said nothing. A stunned silence followed us the remainder of the walk back to the car. Without anything to pack up—I made a mental note to recover our shovels and flashlights, lest they be found later—Dean slid in behind the wheel and started her up. I slipped into the backseat, beyond exhausted and unsurprised to find Sam there as well. Unintrusive, his fingers slipped between mine, and I clung to him, an anchor in a sea of madness.

Dean grasped the steering wheel, white knuckles twisting over the leather and a thousand-mile stare gazing through the windshield. When Sam tapped him on the shoulder, he shook his head as if to clear his thoughts, then wrenched the shifter into drive.

Through the gate and past the church, we returned to the main road. Small town Sleepy Hollow passed us by as though we drifted through another world. Halloween decorations no longer appeared quaint or impressive; grisly murals and disturbing effigies hooked into fresh memories, and I looked to Sam for solace. For comfort. For grounding.

And it worked. Kaleidoscope colors diffused the dull gray world around me. Only Sam and the distant, soothing rumble of the Impala remained. Though fear roiled in the pit of my stomach, a renewed sense of hope tempered that heat. Special. I’d meant it in jest earlier. Sam didn’t make me feel special. He helped me feel. In a world where I blocked out so much, he managed to give me something worth feeling again.

Just like that, the Impala undulated up and over the driveway as Dean turned into the parking lot of the motel. In his spot before our door, he snapped the shifter into park and slumped back in his seat. A long moment of silence stretched between us all until he sighed.

“Son of a bitch.”

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THE MIDNIGHT RIDE MASTER LIST

ALLEIRADAYNE’S SPN MASTER LIST

[cienie-isengardu]

K, O, P?

Thank you for the lovely ask, it was fun to write! :D

K - What character has your favorite development arc/the best development arc?

Hard to pick the one character, even more since the best of character development I love so much are not tied to one arc but happens through the whole story. But since I’m on OP kick lately, Roronoa Zoro gets all the honor. 

I love how at first he promised to follow Luffy as long as the rubber-man didn't get in the way of his goal (and threatened him with death otherwise) but took his commitment very seriously from day one. And somehow through the relatively short journey, Zoro literally threw away his ambitions, pride, life, everything for Luffy’s sake. And not only for Luffy, but for the crew as a whole, because  Roronoa is always ready to stay behind, to be left behind, to protect nakama at all cost. And the best part of this development is that, Zoro’s priorities changed from carrying the burden of promise and shared ambition with a dead friend being the best to giving everything to Luffy, while it does not change what Zoro is at the core. It doesn’t make him a better man in the sense of an improved attitude or outlook on life. Hell, I would say it makes him more workaholic with the need to get stronger, pushing himself harder than before once he gets to know the wider world better, but Zoro is ruthless and rude as he was. He is born killer and monster in human form that don’t give a fuck about the world, politics, what society thinks while his own moral sense does not budge at all. He was and is willing to kill, he enjoys fighting and drinking, has this ambitious as hell goal of being the best. The development does not change who Zoro is, but what matters to him the most and this growing loyalty and trust can be seen through the whole story and I don’t know what would need to happen for such dedication falter even for a bit.

And like I said, this is not something that happened in one arc, but was happening through the whole story, from earlier little occasional clashes with Luffy to being of one mind with his captain while always ready to carry the burden when Luffy can’t do it, ready to stay behind and protect nakama. What makes the final of Thriller Bark one of the coolest pledge of loyalty but not the best development arc itself, really, because Zoro’s character develops in that direction from day one and the decision made in Thriller Bark is just a result of all the previous adventures.

O - Choose a song at random. Which ship or character does it remind you of?

I’m going to cheat with that and instead of a random song, I will give you two I have on loop already for several days: Broken Crown and I gave you all by Mumford & Sons, because both suit Donquixote Brothers so well and could tell the same events from two different perspectives. In advance sorry for ranting but these two songs kill me emotionally so much, I must talk in length about them!

Broken Crown is all about Rosi rejecting the “crown” given to him by brother (“I'll never be your chosen one”) and yet… still caring and sadly, knowing it too well he wouldn’t pull the trigger (“but oh my heart, was flawed I knew my weakness. So hold my hand consign me not to darkness“) and the final lines, gosh:

So crawl on my belly 'til the sun goes down

I'll never wear your broken crown 

I took the road and I fucked it all away 

Now in this twilight, how dare you speak of grace 

So crawl on my belly 'til the sun goes down 

I'll never wear your broken crown 

I can take the road and I can fuck it all away 

But in this twilight, our choices seal our fate

And then, I gave you all is just so Doffy about Rosinante, it hurts. Seriously. Like, I really believe he never meant to hurt his brother (and maybe never understood he did), and the whole last lines are just so on spot:

But I gave you all 

But you rip it from my hands 

And you swear it's all gone 

And you rip out all I have

Just to say that you've won 

Well now you've won

It’s just so, so about Rosi stealing Law and Opi Opi no Mi even though Doffy already “gave [him] all” what he could. And the most ironic thing? When people usually think about their last meeting, we remember that Doffy killed his younger brother, but in fact, Rosi DID WIN in the long run. He cured Law and saved him from Doffy, he stole Opi Opi no Mi and took away from brother a chance for immortality, even if just for a while. Which is like three main victories in one strike and he did sort of say it to Doffy’s face (“[Law] is already free!!”). 

Just… so many feelings from two songs that fit well two brothers so different from each other. And the regrets and hate, and lack of understanding and spite. Seriously, it makes me think about their last meeting so much :(

P - Invent a random AU for any fandom (we always need more ideas).

I have three major growing ideas, but since I’m in a good mood, I will share the happiest AU in which Donquixote Rosinante never played the role of spy and confronted Doflamingo in the open sea as a Marine Officer. 

Or more like: Doffy found out his bro is alive but part of Marine, so of course he couldn’t leave him in peace and like the maniac he is, chased after Rosinante across all the sea to recruit him into the Family - to no avail. So Doffy’s main reason to become Shichibukai was just so he could jump on Rosi’s warship and annoy the fuck of him, like an older brother should. And Rosi can’t kick him overboat, since as a Warlord Doflamingo is untouchable by Marines. Or at least in theory, because Rosi serves under Garp’s command*, and the old Vice-Admiral does not mind to punch some sense into Doffy (and Rosi) with fist of love, cause no punk like Doffy will tell Monkey D. Garp  what he should or shouldn’t do on his own ship and if bros are lucky, Tsuru may save them from this madman… or not). Despite that causing ruckus between sailors is much better than boredom, and Doffy seeks out his younger brother under all excuses and more often than not, visits just to rant about all annoying people and bitching on Kaido or Sengoku or Nobles or really, everything and maybe for a drink or two and napping between one and another business meeting, because there is no better nap than under Rosi’s silencing powers. It is worth, no matter that more often than not Garp is kicking his ass, even when in fact he acts as a good boy should. And maybe, just maybe Doffy is so bored with all his underground business going well that he is actually doing “government dog” work of hunting down random pirates. Or more likely, slaughtering every asshole who dare insult his clumsy brother.

Because no matter what, Rosi is his baby bro and he belongs to Doffy even if the dumbass stubbornly refuses to join the Family. Which is fine, one day Doflamingo will find a way to change his brother's mind and until that day comes, he will mess with Marines as much as he can. Which is all fair, because Rosi too does mess with Doffy’s underground business whenever he has a chance and the klutz set on fire accidentally himself AND so many Doffy’s stuff one may wonder if he really is that clumsy or does he do that on purpose. Trebol thinks the latter, cause somehow Rosi always drops things on him by stumbling or spilt hot tea in his face. Doffy finds that amusing as hell, even more when his little bro uses his devil fruit powers to mute half of the Family just to piss them off. At least, as long as Rosi remembers to unmute them before leaving (sometimes the lil shit does not unmute them on purpose and Doffy is forced to chase him around the sea to undo the damage. Younger brothers can be a really pain in the ass).

So Doffy & Rosi kinda have this I-hate-you-but-I-love-you-dumbass relationship over the years until Law comes into picture and of course, Law stab the younger Donquixote and of course, Rosinante kidnap the kid to find a cure and maybe, just maybe, kidnap his brother along the way, and drag Law and Doffy on forced family vacation that involves burning a few dozens of hospitals, a lot screaming at each other and some terapeutic honest talks that no one really wants but everyone needs. Law gets the Ope Ope Mi, Doffy and Rosi kinda explain to each other all the traumatic shit from childhood and made sort of peace.

So, in the end, Doffy does not take over Dressrosa but is still doing his shady business and just being himself, just with better mental stability (cause Rosi keeps muting Trebol and all his shitty talk about what king can or cannot do on every occasion). Rosi has a brother that is not complete monster but not the good man either, but he isn’t ordered to kill him or lie to, and even though they are on opposite side, Rosinante can always call Doffy on den den mushi and shout at him for hours for all the stupid shit he pulled without any regrets or fear (and sometimes, Doffy does listen). Law is saved but still decides to sail and causing havoc as pirate captain while both Donquixote brothers are doting on him and of course, allying himself with Monkey D. Luffy, while the poor Sengoku just gets constant migraine for dealing with all the nonsense of Monkey D. and Donquixote family drama (but secretly feeling relieved that his son is finally doing fine). Garp on other hand, find it hilarious as hell. The World Government does not find it hilarious at all.

 *Sengoku doesn’t like putting his precious Rosinante under Garp’s command because the Hero of Marines of course drags the poor kid into all possible troubles and chaos, but since Rosi is brother of Doflamingo and Doffy is hated by Nobles, Garp is the best protector for younger Donquixote. He will punch everyone who would dare to hurt the kid of his closest friend, including World Nobles and their armies. The side effect is that Rosi is looking after Ace and Luffy, once they set sails, because they are uncle Garp’s grandkids and he will happily save Ace’s ass before Blackbeard get his hand on him and be even kind enough to give the kid a choice: either he comes back to Whitebeard or Rosi takes him straight to grandpa Garp and so Ace ends safe under pop’s watchful eyes once and for good.

Here, a happy Donquixote Bros AU. You’re welcome!

ask meme

[havenesa-sera-fina]

Hidden Marks [4: Promises and Regrets]

Summary: Wrapping his own arms around her shoulders, Namjoon pulled her in, resting his head on the crown of her head, his heart beating steadily, which Sera heard and smiled to herself. Even with his odd lengthy limbs, they fit together perfectly, "Sera, I'm falling in love with you, that I want to convince you not to go, but I trust you. I just want you to be happy, to never cry over us again. I can't promise you that if you choose to stay with us, everything will be rainbows and sunshine, but I promise you that we won't give up on you, on this relationship. We're not perfect like everyone thinks we are, we're not the perfect bunch of soulmates, we have problems as a group and individuals, secrets that we all keep, burdens that we try to carry on our own. Though we all have each other, to fall back on when things get brought, and that includes you now. We're soulmates, so if anything happens, don't be scared to tell us.

(Poly BTS/OT7 x Reader/OC)

College Au / Soulmate Au

Disclaimer: Bts isn't my or any real life people (obviously.) Any other characters are my though. This is my story so do not republish this anywhere or I will report.

There maybe some triggers, but I will address them within the chapters.

Sources: Wattpad

Word count: 2199

I didn't leave my room.

Well, that was a lie.

I would leave whenever I knew Kimie had left for classes for the day. Occasionally she would knock on my door, to tell me there was food to eat. Kimie always made sure to tell me whenever she was going to leave and would text me when she was gonna come back. Maybe she was just trying to give me room to breathe, and I was grateful for it.

It continued like that till next Monday, luckily my doctor emailed my school about why I was missing school for a week. I also managed to finish any online assignments that my teachers posted.

I didn't want to get too far behind.

Reluctantly I woke up early this morning and began my usual morning routine to get ready for school. I was more cautious though, to make fewer sounds as I didn't want to wake up Kimie.

When I walk through the campus, I kept my head low, but I didn't even know why. I expected to feel anxious and scared to jump into Lilia or any of her boyfriends, but I felt nothing. Ever since I said those words to Jungkook, I felt hopelessly empty.

Maybe it was because I wasn't taking my medication, and with that, I made a mental note to call my doctor later. Earlier when I walked out to the living room, I didn't see any of my pills on the ground, which Kimie most likely cleaned up. Now that did cause me to feel something, guilt.

"You're finally up and walking darling!" I heard a familiar and comforting voice behind me, as I stopped walking and turned around. Baekhyun with his dazzling smile and warm eyes stared back at me.

Not with pity, sadness or with cautious eyes, but his usual self.

I was grateful to him.

When he reached me, he engulfed me in a hug without another word, and just held me there. In his arms, it always felt safe and reassuring, but it didn't ever fill that empty feeling. However, with nearly a week of isolation from people, I really just needed to be held.

So instead of pulling away, I buried my face into his chest, as I wrapped my own arms around him. In return, he tightened his grip, resting his chin on my head, as he murmured a simple, "I'm here, you're not alone Sera."

Those words caused a faucet within me to turn, as the tears came slowly at first, but within a few moments, I was sobbing in his arms, "Everything hurts Baekhyun," I knew people were staring, but I didn't care, "I wish we can just go back to high school, so I don't have to feel all this pain."

"We can't ever go back...but know, that I'm always here. You can share your pain with me, you don't have to bare it alone.

"It hurts whenever I see them together, it hurt so fucking badly."

There was a wisp of a lie, as the pain was numb, both emotionally and physically. I just couldn't figure out which was worse, the numbness or the pain.

*****

Snorting, I wanted to fling my sandwich at Baekhyun as he showered me with senseless and the weirdest praises. His attempts to make me feel better.

We were currently seated at a café off-campus, but nearby enough where we just walked there. I ended up skipping class, with Baekhyun convincing me, as he showed me that he already picked up the notes I've missed and the paper assignments he had. Guess he was planning to take me out whenever I decide to leave the comforts of my room.

"Remember they are just Walmart and you are target!" He all but yelled at me, garnering a few looks from nearby customers. Some with annoyance and others with amusement, "They're just samples and you're a full-course meal!"

That one I nearly choked on the coffee I was drinking, and burst out laughing, "What the hell Hyunnie."

A wide smile spread across his face, "Honestly, they're missing out if you asked me," he then shoved a huge piece of his pancake in his mouth.

Rolling my eyes, I leaned back into my chair and crossed my arms over my chest, "We still up to go to the fair?"

"Hell yeah! Let's go this Saturday and just go crazy, forget everything, scream our lungs out, walk till our legs give out, stuff our stomachs till we give birth to a food baby and get wasted!"

Much to the contradictory belief that Baekhyun was as innocent can be with his appearance, he was quite a party animal when he wanted to be. Even throughout our high school years, we went to multiple parties, from the simple ones to the ones that cops would bust down. Of course, he never let his partying ways affect him academically, as he was a dazzling student, but whenever he needed to let off some steam, you'd find him at some frats house party. Occasionally he'd drag me along with him, and it wasn't the partying that was worth memorizing, but it was the drunken talks and confessions that were worth remembering if I could remember them at least.

We were so preoccupied, that we didn't notice three figures walk into the café and take a seat to the table next to us.

Once I drank all my coffee, I ended up ordering another as I still felt tired and miserable. Though it was lessened with Baekhyun.

Running a hand down my face, I sighed slightly in frustration, "How the hell am I going to apologize to Lilia? I practically yelled at her boyfriend and been a shitty friend.

Baekhyun scoffed at that, "why do you need to apologize?" His voice sounded slightly harsh, but I knew it wasn't directed towards me, "You were already having a shit couple of days and the moment you decide to go home, she blows upon your face? To top it all off, she crossed a boundary when she tried revealing your marks."

That part I couldn't easily forgive and forget.

Lilia, Kimie and Baekhyun knew about how I felt about my marks. How I didn't feel at all comfortable about showing it to anyone. Also, the topic of soulmates and how I never liked talking about it. It was ironic, when I was younger I never shut up about it.

Yet Lilia had completely disregard and pushed every boundary there was, and yet, I still felt guilty, "she was just worried about me."

"We all were and you don't see Kimie trying to force you to do something you didn't want to do."

We paused momentarily when the waiter came back with our coffees, before Baekhyun continued on with his little speech, "I get you feel like you owe her and that you made a promise, but you need to start thinking about yourself. About your health and happiness darling. What happened years ago wasn't your fault, and no one should hold it over your head. Sure your brother wanted Lilia to be happy and loved, but I'm sure as hell he wants the very same for you."

"Maybe I'm being selfish, but I wish I never took that gap year," I mumbled, shoulders sinking as I could only stare at my coffee. I had now lost my appetite for any sweets, "Things could have been so different."

"It's not selfish!" He spoke a little too loudly, causing some people to now hush him a little, but he paid no mind, "You could still change things, still be with your soulmates. The only one holding yourself back is yourself."

"How can I possibly ruin Lilia's happiness now?"

"She would understand, and if she doesn't, then she never really was your friend in the first place."

Even with Baekhyun's words, it didn't stop the guilt eating away at me, for everything.

Lilia was just worried about me, that was the reason why she blew up on me. Even I could admit that I hardly tell her much of anything and that I did become distant. Because no matter what, they were always with her, and it was just so damn painful to be around her, with them being so loving and caring towards her. It was selfish, but I can't help but feel bitter whenever I see them together.

"Hey," a voice cut beside us, and I flinched at the harshness because I knew who it was from.

Turning to look, Yoongi, Taehyung, and Hoseok we're sitting beside us, with their own coffee and food. All three hard an unreadable expression, except Yoongi, who seemed to have a pissed off one. His glare was directed towards me and it caused me to shift uncomfortably in my chair.

"We'd appreciate if you wouldn't talk about our girlfriend behind her back," Yoongi bit out, obvious anger seeping out of him.

However, instead of feeling my mark flare up in pain, there was this numbing feeling that overcame me. I only stared blankly at him, not really knowing what to say. Any other time my heart would skip a beat, but I don't even know if it's still beating right now.

Then I remembered last night, that I indirectly rejected them.

"And I'd appreciate if she doesn't force someone to reveal their soul marks," Baekhyun hissed out, with just enough venom as he matched Yoongi's glare.

I moved my eyes away from the three boys and back at Baekhyun, who looked ready to jump at Yoongi. Sighing, I kicked him gently underneath the table to catch his attention, "Let's go, I can miss my chem class but not my bio class."

"Why the hell do we have to leave?" He hissed out.

Rolling my eyes, I stood up and gathered my stuff, "Because I'm tired Hyunnie, so let's just go. Okay?"

He didn't reply for a second, but then he stood up, and glared angrily at the three boys, "You better keep your girlfriend in check, because next time she tries to force Sera into doing something she doesn't want to do, we're going to have problems."

"Baekhyun!" I gasped at his little threat.

I knew Baekhyun was never fond of Lilia, but she was still my friend and even I don't appreciate his threat towards her. The three boys didn't also.

"What! She has seven guys protecting her, you need someone to be on your side!"

I only rolled my eyes, before dragging him out the Cafe.

The three boys watched them leave, as Taehyung ran his hands through his hair, a sigh of frustration gaining the attention of his other soulmates. He felt so many emotions, that he couldn't pinpoint an exact one, "Why the hell does she hate us so much? She cursed at Kookie for god's sake."

Ever since last week when Jungkook brought a sobbing Lilia back to their apartment, Taehyung had felt such a numb feeling. Something felt off, and even the sight of his crying girlfriend couldn't make him break out of it. When Jungkook then told them what had transpired, he was filled with so much rage, but not towards Sera but at Lilia, for trying to force someone to reveal their soulmate mark. So when she looked at him expectantly, as if waiting for him to comfort her, it only filled him with annoyance that he just went in his room and ignored her.

Soul marks were something so intimate and private, and people should be allowed to hide it if they wanted to. To have someone try to force a person to reveal it, it just wasn't something right.

Jimin has attempted to ask why he was being cold towards Lilia but in all honesty, he didn't know.

Taehyung was never like this, always being the first to comfort Lilia whenever she was upset, make her feel loved and safe. However, something about this situation just felt off, and he ended up telling Jimin to drop it and to leave him alone. To which he did, but without stating that Lilia was upset at him.

"Why do you care if she likes us or not?" Hoseok asks curiously, bringing up his hand to comfortingly rubbing the silver-haired boy's neck.

Instantly the touch of his soulmate soothes him, and he leaned into Hoseok's touch, "It's just that..." he whined slightly, trying to find the right words to express how he felt, "Since last week I've felt off and I don't know why. I don't like the fact that Sera doesn't like us for no reason."

He ended up burying his head into Hoseok's shoulder, just trying to relish in his warmth and presence. Usually just cuddling to anyone of his soulmate would comfort him, but this time it didn't and it left an empty feeling in his heart.

Taehyung missed the worried looks that Hoseok and Yoongi shared with one another.

The one feeling that was clear, was the anger he felt when he saw Baekhyun's hand on Sera's lower back, to guide her out of the café.

Never before did he feel like attacking another person.

[captainchrisfics]

Gaps Between Us

About: Chris Evans and a first person pov narrator have an age gap, sparking a controversy in the public eye, some tension among the MCU cast, and quite a bit of trouble in paradise. Thankfully, RDJ is always there to save the day.

Word Count: 3, 418

Requested By: Anonymous

A/N: Please feel free to submit reqs! My inbox ran dry and I’m always up for some inspiration :)

“Evans, quit hogging the bread!” Jeremy Renner called from the other end of the table. It was quite a stretch to accommodate so many people, almost the MCU’s entire cast was present. Nobody could turn down a dinner invitation from Robert Downey Jr. including Chris and I. We sat together, close to the rest of the original Avengers, even though I was a newer addition to the franchise. Being included at a table of thirty or so of the biggest names in my field was immensely inspiring, the kind of awe-struck moment that made me feel like I was a part of something so much bigger than myself. Robert’s after filming dinners were often like that. 

Chris laughed as he picked up a roll, chucking it to his friend like a football. “If you hit the chandelier, I would’ve hit you harder,” RDJ chastised, shooting my boyfriend a playful side eye. Chris laughed harder as he waved a dismissive hand at Downey, insisting he didn’t need diamonds hanging from his temporary home’s ceiling anyway.

He slung an arm around my shoulders, stretching his fingers to grasp the side of my chair. “You aren’t gonna defend my honor, babe?” Chris asked me with faux disappointment and a cocked eyebrow. 

I rolled my eyes and reached for my glass, taking a slow sip before responding, “No, you deserved that one.” I didn’t take my eyes off Chris as his face contorted with an incredulous expression and I reached behind his back to high-five RDJ whose hand was already waiting for mine. 

“Wise move,” Robert quipped. Chris shook his head before returning to his plate, letting the Iron Man actor win this fight. “I learn from the best,” I countered, shooting RDJ a wink from across Chris’s lap. Over the course of this last film, the older actor and I had developed one of the closest relationships I’d ever had with a co-worker, second maybe only to my boyfriend. RDJ managed to take me under his wing and somehow I’d found a way to keep tagging along. We understood each other in a unique way, almost like we operated on the same wavelength, which was invaluable around someone as charismatic and unpredictable as Chris Evans, as much as I love him.

“You’re gonna regret that later,” Chris promised under his breath, a gruff tone only I heard. I kicked him under the table, insisting that it was all in good fun. “So,” Brie Larson said as she joined the group, dropped her plate from the make-shift buffet on the table next to mine and pulled out the chair beside me. “I’m sorry to talk shop, but I’ve got to tell you, I loved your work during the funeral scene today,” she professed, squeezing my hand with sincerity. Scarlett, who sat opposite of me, nodded in agreement as she added between bites, “Not to date myself, but I don’t think there’s a lot of actors your age who could pull off subtle, intense emotion like that.” 

I blushed, staring down at my plate to avoid all of the eyes I felt on me. “Oh, thank you... I appreciate that, but I  was just doing my job,” I shrugged. I was the youngest at the table by far, which could definitely be intimidating at times. Knowing my colleagues turned friends respected me and what I did just as much as I admired their work meant more than I could properly thank them for. “You all set a standard I only hope to match,” I added, squeezing Brie’s hand back.

“No, no, don’t bullshit these hacks,” Robert interjected. “I mean, sure, she was convincingly grieving my loss of life. But I expected more from the rest of you. Where were the theatrics? The professions of love now lost? The waterworks?” He shot pointed looks around the table at everyone who was present for Tony Stark’s funeral. Everyone laughed as Gwenyth Paltrow raised her hands in defense as she jokingly protested, “I had a little girl to be strong for.” “Really though, you did so great today,” Chris brought the conversation back to me as he paused devouring his meal to place a kiss on my temple. Down the table, someone groaned in objection to the PDA, which sent a heavy stone to the pit of my stomach. I felt Chris grow tense as well, always more self-conscious of our relationship than I was.

Our age difference made everything that much more difficult. It gave the media access to more insults to throw in their click-bait titles, contributed to the intense scrutiny the public eye had to offer in our line of work, and was always in the back of our minds. Not because we felt like there was anything wrong with it, but because other people did. If you asked any gossip site reader, Chris was in the midst of a mid-life crisis and I was a gold digger looking to capitalize on his vulnerability. Never mind that we were both perfectly of-age adults or that the same people used to praise our friendship all over the internet before they found out it was a little bit more.

“Relax Mackie,” Sebastian Stan teased from that end of the group, around where the groan came from. Seb had a teasing tone, shoving our friend’s shoulder jovially. Especially with them being some of the closest people to Chris on set, I’d gotten to know Anthony and Seb pretty well. Enough to know that they were only kidding, but that they sometimes didn’t know when to stop. I knew Chris inside and out though so when his ears perked up and his head followed the noise, previously furrowed brow raising as if to dare them to continue, I could tell you there would be trouble. “Her age isn’t on the clock anyway. That’s the thing, right?” Stan teased.

Chris smiled wryly with downcast eyes, watching as he spun his glass. Mackie laughed harder, the force of which threw him back in his chair as he prodded Sebastian’s chest in praise. “Just barely,” he shot back between breaths. The two chuckled one last time before the joke died down and they joined the rest of the cast in other topics of conversation. Chris didn’t seem to realize though, with the way he sat so tensely still like he’d draw more negative attention if he moved a single muscle.

I didn’t know the kind of pressure a few years could add until it burdened my chest every time a reporter brought it up on the red carpet, tugged down my soaring heart whenever we held hands in public and I caught people staring, weighed heavy on my mind when I noticed Chris grow as uncomfortable as he was now. All because of a little peck and a murmur that probably lost its original meaning among the translation of our anxieties.

Around us, the conversation amongst the original Avengers shifted to what everyone’s next projects would be now that Endgame’s filming was coming to a close. Chris, usually the most boisterous of the bunch, sat quietly as he shoved broccoli about his plate. His arm that had been wrapped around me sagged back to his side. His leg bounced rapidly like a revving engine, ready to run. I reached to squeeze his hand as a sign of comfort, that I was here and happy to be, knowing that the thought his nerves spiraling rapidly out of control in his head was never a good thing. As soon as my fingers brushed his, Chris pulled away so harshly he shot up from his seat, jostling the table unintentionally and grabbing everyone’s attention.

“I’m uh…” he scratched the back of his neck, skittish eyes bouncing between everyone staring at him. “Gonna go grab a beer. Anyone want anything?” Chris recovered, smooth enough not to raise suspicion if you weren’t within range of the anxious energy radiating from him. Soon, he stepped away from the table with everyone’s requests and escaped to the kitchen, leaving an empty chair in his wake. My eyes dropped to meet Robert’s across the space Chris had been occupying, just as wide with worry as I imagined mine were with eyebrows nearly through the roof. 

“I’ll make sure Chris doesn’t fuck up that tall order,” RDJ said with an effortless nonchalance I envied, clasping his hands together as he stood. He turned to me with peaked eyebrows as he added, “Why don’t you join us, kid? Takes a few actors to screw in a lightbulb.” I accepted Robert’s outstretched hand and trailed behind him, following Chris’s footsteps until we found him bent over the kitchen island, fingers gripping the quartz so hard his knuckles were white. “Why does it have to be such a big fucking deal, huh?” he spit cynically. Chris’s face scrunched up with furrowed brows and a tight lip as his eyes, firey with misplaced rage, burned holes through Downey. “Seriously, please enlighten me. Why does everyone else who isn’t a part of this relationship give such a massive shit about it?” His voice stayed quiet as to not raise the others’ suspicion, but by the strained veins in his neck and steely look in his eye held his anger instead. 

“In and out, buddy,” Robert said as he clasped a hand on Chris’s shoulder. “You know those bozos didn’t mean anything by it.” Chris snapped that it wasn’t about that, that this was much bigger than them, and I knew he was right. “That’s the problem,” he growled. “Nobody means anything by it, they’re just trying to get clicks on their articles or attention on Twitter or laughs at our expense without stopping to think the kind of shitty strain it puts us through.” Chris slammed the beer he’d grabbed on the countertop hard enough that, if it’d been opened, it would’ve created another mess for us to clean up. He was turning red and I could almost hear the tea kettle coming to a boil in his stomach, the steam ready to burst from his ears. I don’t think I’d ever seen Chris so mad.

I stayed glued to the entryway, holding my own hand behind my back as I rolled from my heels to my toes. I watched Chris nervously, not exactly sure what to do or how to help. Really I was the cause of the problem. How could I possibly offer a solution? And then, as much as I hated myself for even thinking it, the only way to fix this occurred to me. 

“We could split up, you know,” I proposed so quietly I hoped that between Chris’s angry ragged breath and Robert’s attempts at rationalizing with him they wouldn’t hear me. But they did. Their eyes snapped to me as Chris’s face fell, his eyebrows furrowed and his mouth hung open, all softened by sadness. RDJ threw up his hands, shooting me a look with wide eyes and tight lips as if to say he already had enough to deal with sans me joining Chris on the ledge he was trying to talk him down from.

“Don’t say stupid things like that,” Chris scolded with a shake of his head. His shoulders sagged from their previous position taught with anger as he slipped into a state of confused heartache. He could deny it all he wanted to, but that was the only way I saw out.

“Well, I certainly don’t want to but...” I bit my lip, searching for the courage to continue with Chris giving me pleading puppy dog eyes worse than Dodger’s. “But this is just too much. All of it, all of the articles and speculation and hurtful things being thrown our way because of our relationship, it’s overwhelming.” Even when he was puffed up with rage before, I felt smaller now. Measly compared to the giant bumbling toward me as he shoved past Downey, wrapping huge arms around me like a shield, though I wasn’t sure who he was trying to protect at this point. 

“You’ve got enough on your mind with your career, any relationship is a lot. Let alone one with our age gap. I know how much you hate the things people say. I just... I think we need to quit while we’re ahead and end on good terms before you start hating me, too. And if it’s what’ll make you happy then-” I spoke into his chest though I was sure he could hear me loud and clear, words suddenly snowballing out of me, gaining strength as the momentum grew with every tumbling syllable. I had to spit them out before I couldn’t. Before I changed my mind and picked what was selfish instead of best for Chris’s sake. And then he cut me off.

“Darling, I told you to stop talking nonsense. You make me happier than anything,” Chris was quiet with calm now, his angry energy redirected to dragging me back to earth when I felt so far away from him. “I could never ever even imagine a world where I felt anything less than love for you,” he paused to press a long kiss onto the top of my head before speaking again. “Let alone because of some stupid rumors and the opinions of people who don’t matter to me a fraction as much as you do.”

I melted into Chris, relishing in the way he radiated the excitement of an entire football stadium just when their home team scored the winning touchdown. How he smelled of deodorant I didn’t think anyone else wore and the liberating, fresh air of the mountains when you’re the only one there and something I still couldn’t identify anywhere else that wasn’t in his embrace. It was just Chris. And the way his beard scratched my skin as he nuzzled into the crook of my neck, the fact that I didn’t mind was so uniquely Chris as well. In fact, I’d miss it. He pressed gentle kisses into my collarbone as he rested his forehead on my shoulder, little wishes that I’d take back what I’d said. I was ready to push him away and tell him that this had to be it when it occurred to me just how much I’d miss him, but I couldn’t keep putting Chris through all of this stress just for me.

“I mean it,” I asserted though it was half-hearted, tears buried finally rising to the surface. I knew I had an ocean of them waiting inside of me, tossing and turning with my tumultuous emotions, but I had to stop the tide from rising. At least until Chris wasn’t around anymore. “We need to break-“

“No,” Robert finally cut in, dropping a gentle hand on one of each of our shoulders. “No, you don’t. Don’t say the b-word,” he repeated like he was trying to ease us out of a trance. Pity laced the soft circles he rubbed our backs. I turned to look at him, keeping an ear to Chris’s chest to prolong the comfort I found in the steady thump of his heartbeat. “The second you allow the public eye’s gaze to start changing your relationship is the second you lose yourself to this job. I can’t stand by and allow you two to lose each other too,” Downey continued, though his soft eyes stayed on me. 

Then he turned to Chris with a harder look of determination, really trying to drive his point home. “Anyone who knows you at all, Evans, knows that you’ve been looking for something like this for a long time.” I felt Chris’s grip tighten around my waist, not nearly ready to let me go any time soon. I knew Robert was right. Even though I hadn’t known Chris for all that long, we got along better than I did with anyone else before. It was like we’d known each other forever even when it’d only been a few weeks and I figured, with Chris’s age and his eagerness to settle down, he’d been waiting even longer than that. “Don’t let it slip away because of other people’s opinions.” Chris nodded against my shoulder, still holding me close as if I’d run off, which I guess I tried to. “If you can’t follow your heart and tell anyone else who has something to say about it to fuck right off thank you very much, then I don’t know who could,” Robert finished with a confident smile. I thought it was funny, like he was trying to make it rub off on my boyfriend. 

Chris nodded, hesitantly at first and then faster with more assuredness as what his friend said sunk in. “Now, get it together and realize that you’ve got a solid foundation with each other. I’ll be damned if you let it crumble over Mackie and Sebastian being dumbasses.”  Robert smirked at us, his usual sly spark returning to his eye. “Start thinking with these a little more,” he paused to poke Chris’s chest just above his heart. “And using these a little less,” Robert said as he tapped my temple. 

Chris stretched an arm around Downey, pulling both of us right to his side. “Thanks,” he breathed out, almost like a sigh of relief. “Don’t know what we’d do without you,” I told Robert, patting his shoulder with gratitude. “Yeah, yeah,” he brushed us off, pulling away from Chris’s embrace as well. “Tell me how much you love me later.” He took a few steps toward the fridge and started pulling out cans of almost everything under the sun, somehow miraculously remembering what everyone ordered when Chris wasn’t even paying attention despite being the one who asked. “We better get all these drinks out there before there’s a riot,” he said, grabbing as many as he could and sliding the rest to Chris and I. “Or worse,” Robert paused dramatically, shoving the fridge closed with his hip. “More jokes.” With that, he turned and left Chris and I standing alone in the kitchen. 

Chris rolled his eyes as he turned to me, reaching for my hand. He played with my fingers for a second, watching our hands as they pressed against each other one digit at a time, before locking them together. “You know I love you a whole lot more than how mad I am at everyone else,” he said with more sincerity than I thought he could muster. It seemed to be all the honesty the world had to offer. I grinned a smile that stretched so far it made my cheeks hurt even more than the blush burned as I nodded and said with just as much integrity, “And I love you even more than that.”

Chris reached to wipe the remainder of my tears with his thumb as he shook his head and drew in a tight breath, feigning contention. “I don’t know about that. It’s like, so much for someone who was about to end things a minute ago,” he joked. Chris gathered so many drinks in his arms there weren’t any left for me to carry. 

I stretched to flick his ear anyway, all but stomping my foot in protest. “I love you a hell of a lot, Evans. So much I was about to end things for your own good,” I argued with a pointed look even though it was pointless. He already knew my heart hadn’t been in it, the problem was that I’d been listening to my head just like Downey said.

He jostled the cans so they all sat in one arm before slipping his free hand into the back pocket of my jeans. “Let’s go show the world just how much then,” Chris laughed as he bent down to press a kiss into my temple, happy to still be by each other’s sides as we joined the rest of the Marvel cast.

Tags: @patzammit , @thegetawaywriter , @coffeebooksandfandom , @captainsteveevans , @intrepidandabitcrazy , @super100012

[ericsonclan]

A Lack of Celebration

Summary: Brody decides to visit her family and share the news of her marriage.

Word Count: 2251

Read on AO3:

Brody felt her stomach twist and turn with the waves as Ol’ Kickass moved closer and closer to the docks. Her left hand shook while she held onto the silver wedding ring that dangled on the chain around her neck.The auburn pirate began to fidget with it as she tried to calm herself down. Her nerves were all over the place and her breathing wasn’t doing much better. It seemed like it would never end until she dealt with this reunion.

Over five years had passed since she left her hometown and now she was back. Hoping to reconnect with her family even for a moment and share her happiness in the path she had followed in her life with the Ericson Pirates. Sophie had decided to give her chance at happiness with her blood family a chance; that choice had played a bigger effect on Brody’s heart than the auburn had suspected. Maybe if she went there and showed her mom how happy she was then it would strengthen their bond.

“Hey. You doing okay?” Mitch asked as he made his way to stand beside her. His brow furrowed as he looked at her.

“Y-Yeah. I’m just a bit nervous.” Her voice shook as she tried to smile. “I haven’t seen my mom in a long time and now that we’re married...” She took a deep breath. “I wanna tell her in person. With my father out of town this is my best chance.”

Mitch nodded before taking her hand. His fingers gently wrapped around hers as he rubbed his thumb against the top of her hand to help soothe her nerves. “It’s going to be okay.” His voice was calm and comforting. “We’ve been through way tougher shit than this on the seven seas and we got through that. I’m sure your mom will be happy to see you again.”

Brody smiled warmly over at her love, giving his hand a quick squeeze as they watched the ship pull into port. The two quickly helped the others get the ship docked and after a few quick goodbyes they were off and heading out into town. The crew wished them good luck as they left, shouting encouraging words and advice until the couple was out of sight.

They slowly made their way through the town. Brody’s anxiety steadily grew as they drew closer to her old home, reaching a peak when she spotted her childhood home. It was a small brownstone house. A simple lawn covered the area around the house with a wrought iron fence in front. Leaves and vines that held small buds of purple flowers curled around the fence.

“You ready?” Mitch looked over at his wife with the gentlest smile. His eyes were concerned yet strong, determined that this would go well.

Brody took a shaky breath and gave a short smile to him before nodding. Her hand gave a quick rap against the door.

“Yes. Who is it?” A familiar voice called out.

“It’s Brody.”

The door quickly flung open revealing a middle-aged redheaded woman. She ran forward, wrapping Brody into a hug as she let out a sigh of relief. “Oh, you’re back!” She pulled away and studied Brody’s face, her hand ever so gently placed on her daughter’s face as she took in the face she hadn’t seen in years. “Come on in!”

She walked inside, guiding the two to a quaint room with a few places to sit. Books and different knicknacks covered the shelves and table. She motioned for them to sit down before getting some tea ready. Brody looked around the room. Nothing had changed these last few years - everything seemed the same. Except for the pile of letters she presumed were her own that she had sent home over the years.

It was such a staggering pile of letters. Brody felt her heart warm at the sight knowing that her mother had kept every single one she’d sent. As they drew nearer, she noticed that the paper of the letters was worn down and crinkled with dried splotches of ink. It was clear her mother had read and reread her letters.

“It’s been so long.” Her mother’s voice called from the kitchen.

“Yeah. It has been. Sorry about that. I was in the area so I’d thought I’d visit.” Brody’s voice tightened with nerves. She wasn’t sure how this conversation would go.

“Oh. You’re only here to visit?” Her mother’s voice was layered with disappointment. It was obvious that she had wanted this to be more than a quick visit.

Brody's heart rate quickened as she glanced around the room. Her blue eyes landed on a desk where she noticed a scroll with the warden’s seal laid beside it. It was a sight that she had seen many times in the past, a scroll that seemed to almost hold her future, laid out by her father and sealed with the symbol as his title as warden, the title she’d always been told she would one day take. It was a future she had dreaded and grown sick over.

The sound of the tray settling against the table drew her attention back to her mother who sat across the couch on a small armchair. Her green eyes stared at the two pirates in silence, holding a plethora of emotions that all fought for dominance in her gaze. “So… Who is he?” Her mother's eyes studied Mitch while she poured the tea. Her tone made it obvious that she was wary of him.

“Well.” Brody gently grabbed Mitch’s hand, intertwining it with hers. “He’s actually the reason I came back. I had to tell you in person.” She looked at Mitch with a loving smile. Her eyes made his heart melt as he looked deeply into them. “This is Mitch, my husband.”

The tea pot slammed down as her mother’s eyes shot up towards her. Brody looked at her mother’s shocked expression then down at the table. A thin hairline crack could be seen running across the frame of the teapot.

Her mother’s eyes fell upon the chain around Brody’s neck that displayed the silver ring. A thin frown pulled on her lips before it disappeared behind a friendly expression. “Your husband? He seems…” Her mother’s eyes darted slightly back and forth, her face scrunched as she tried to find something positive to say. “Nice.” Her voice sounded pleasant but her gaze said otherwise. “So,” She slid the teacup across the table to Brody, “Does that mean you two are settling down?” Her voice sounded hopeful. “Live here or in a town nearby?”

“N-No. We’re umm… going to continue life at sea. The group we run with has grown to be like a family to us and we enjoy traveling on the seven seas.”

“As pirates.” Her mother’s voice sounded sad and filled with judgement as she focused on pouring the next cup of tea. Sliding it across to Mitch, she looked up. “I thought after five years you would grow out of that phase, come back to your senses and live a normal life. A life like the one your father and I worked tirelessly to set in place.”

Brody’s eyes widened with shock before she looked away, her face downcast. “I hated my life here. Father wanted me to live a life he had planned out, not caring whether it was what I wanted.” Her gaze shifted upwards. “My anxiety overwhelmed me. It felt like I couldn’t breathe, that I was trapped with no escape as all eyes focused on me. Neither of you seemed to care though. All you wanted was for me to have the life that was set before me. But it wasn’t the one I wanted - so I decided to live my life.” Her hand tightened around Mitch’s who continued to rub circles into it. “I’m happy with the Ericson Pirates. When I’m with them, I don’t feel the burden of expectation, the weight of performing perfectly only to be judged by those around me. I’ve found acceptance and I found love. I thought you’d be happy for me.”

“Happy that you married a pirate?” Her mother’s voice swirled with disapproval. “Happy that you became the very thing your father fights to eradicate?” Her glare caused Brody’s stomach to turn as she felt tears prick her eyes. “I don’t know what you’re thinking, Brody. It's time you grew out of this phase and came home.”

“Now hold on a minute-” Mitch snapped, pausing when he felt Brody place her hand on his arm.

Brody suddenly stood up. “I just came to tell you about my marriage and share my happiness, but it's clear you don’t care.” Tears misted her vision as she rose up from her spot. “I should go.”

“Brody! Wait!” Her mother shot up from her spot, spilling her tea in the process.

“I’ll be sure to send you more letters.” With that Brody left, storming outside and making it out the door before bursting into tears. Mitch was right behind her, holding her arm comfortingly. Brody looked up at her husband as she wiped away tears. “I’m sorry, Mitch. I knew it wasn’t going to be easy, but...” she took a shaky breath.

“Hey. It’s okay.” Mitch put a hand on her shoulder, gently rubbing it. “Sorry that it went so shitty.”

“No, it’s…” Brody paused, frustration and sadness twisting in her stomach. “I just want her to like you. I wanted her to see that I’ve made a life for myself that I’m proud of.”

Mitch gave a sympathetic smile and was about to speak reassuring words when a familiar voice caused the couple to freeze.

“No! No! No! That’s unacceptable!” the warden huffed as he walked; two guards followed him on either side. Brody felt nauseous as her heart dropped to the pit of her stomach. Her father wasn’t supposed to be in town.

“Come on, let’s get the fuck out of-” Mitch was cut off when the warden let out a loud gasp.

“Wardy!” His eyes widened in recognition before pointing towards them.

“Oh fuck.” Mitch whispered before grabbing her hand. “We need to leave.” Brody quickly followed his lead as they weaved through the alleyways towards the ship.

Brody’s father's voice rang out behind them as they ran. “Don’t just stand there! Bring my daughter back and get me those pirates!”

Brody’s throat felt dry as they drew closer to the ship, her legs burning.

“Louis! Get the ship ready - we gotta fucking leave!” Mitch yelled as he placed his arms round his wife’s hips and helped Brody onto the ship.

Louis’ face fell in panic before he turned to the rest of the crew. “Get ready to set sail!”

The crew quickly went to work. Violet swung down and helped Clementine and Ruby pull up the anchor while Omar and Aasim worked with the youngest pirates to prepare the rest of the ship to be in tiptop shape for sailing.

“Haul ass! Haul ass! Haul ass!” Louis yelled, cupping his hands around his mouth before joining in to help his crew get ready to leave. The ship drifted off as the warden stood on the docks, his guards barely missing tumbling over the ledge of the wooden dock.

“Wardy! Come back here!” His eyes suddenly widened when he looked at Mitch. “You’re the scum from the cell!” he spat with loathing. “You hooligan, get your grimy hands off my daughter!”

Brody felt her anger bubble over. A deep frown overtook her lips as she stared at her father. She wouldn’t be able to change his mind; her parents would never truly approve of her life. Each step of the way she had tried and each time they had fallen short. She was tired of it. The auburn pirate wanted a way to get back at her father.

“Hey, Father! Look at this!” Brody grabbed Mitch’s shirt, pulling him in for a kiss.

Her father yelled in disapproval as his face grew red with anger, but there was nothing he could do to stop her. Ol’ Kickass was already pulling out of the port.

Brody gave a cocky smile as she watched her father’s reaction. It soon disappeared though once the ship was far enough away for him to fade out of sight. The realization of what she had just done hit her and her face grew bright red. “I can’t believe I did that!”

“Holy shit! Mitch mumbled, a goofy smile on his face. “That was so fucking hot.”

Brody looked over at her husband with a playful smile as she nudged his shoulder. Mitch laughed and wrapped his arms around her waist.

“You really are one of a kind, Brodes.” His teasing smile turned to one of pure adoration as he lifted up a hand and brushed back her hair. “You’re stuck with me till the end. Come hell or highwater, whatever shit life throws at us, we’ll get through it. As long as we’re together we're invincible!”

“Yeah, together,” Brody leaned into her husband’s touch as she placed her hand on top of his. The two stared deeply into each other’s eyes before they were pulled away by the sound of their crew. All of them had gathered around,  talking over each other and asking to hear how the day had gone. Mitch and Brody shared one more glance before they began to share details of the less than ideal but certainly memorable reunion.

[tri-point-bruiser]

It had been a fairly long day at the shelter, and all Alice wanted to do when she got home was shower, eat, and sleep, hopefully in that order but she was willing to be flexible. Dogs were great, but after a while the drool was a little much. Toweling her hair as she checked on the dinner she had in the oven, she was startled by the knock at her door, not having been expecting company tonight (or really ever, honestly). She blinked as she opened up. “Raph?” she asked quietly. “What’s going on?”

Tags: Blood, gore, murder, human trafficking, heart wrenching angst.

Raphael did not even realize where he was until he had pulled his hand away from what he was now recognizing as a familiar door. In his dazed state, he had somehow found his way to Alice. Standing on her porch, not even knowing how he got there. The last thing that was a clear memory involved him on the other side of town. Yet here he was and the door was already opening before he could turn around to leave. 

Words caught in his throat as Alice spoke. His eyes were bright and shiny from tears not yet shed, though his mask had wet patched from those that had fallen before he got here. He couldn’t even speak, he just looked somewhere between helpless and devastated. The moisture from tears wasn’t the only noticeable thing. Splatters of red dotted his arms and chest, the tinge of iron in the air left it unmistakable as to what the crimson on him was. 

Blood. Raphael was standing on her porch, out in the open, on the verge of tears, and there was blood on him.

Alice was tugging him inside without a second thought as she looked up and down the street to see if anyone had noticed the giant turtle standing on her porch. “What were you thinking? Someone could have seen you!” She hissed as she closed and locked the door behind him. 

Following that action with a short sprint around the place to close all the curtains, though she paused when he had not so much as moved from the spot where she had left him. He didn’t even seem to be completely aware of where he was. Approaching slowly Alice reached out. “Raph? Raphael? Are you ok?”

Raph stood there for several moments, not even noticing when her hand finally touched his arm. “I.. I couldn’t…” His voice broke a bit, sounding harsh and raw as if he had been screaming. 

Gently Alice slid her hand into his and tugged, trying to see if he would follow her further into her house. She knew that if he did not want to move that she did not have the strength to move him, however he went with her without complaint. It was slow going getting him from the entrance to her couch as she didn’t want him to trip and she was worried about startling him out of his semi-catatonic state. 

They had been friends long enough that Alice thought she had seen every side Raphael had. Clearly she was wrong. Despite past situations, even fights that got emotional, she had never seen anything like this, well, she had never seen anything like this where Raph was concerned. As much as he showed emotion, she realized now that the emotions he had shown in the past were limited.  It had never seemed strange at all until now, but there were entire ranges of emotion that she had never seen him express. 

Raph sat on her couch, staring seemingly at nothing as he swallowed quickly but still did not speak. His hands clenched into fists as he took a sharp shuddering breath, his jaw clenched tight as he fought back the tears that wanted to fall. He could feel the pressure in his chest, the heat in his face. His head was pounding as his mind rewound and replayed his evening. Now that he was safe, or some place his subconscious was registering as safe he could actually think again, remember what had happened. 

“How could anyone do that?” He asked in a harsh whisper as his voice cracked under the strain of speaking again. 

Finally the tears began to fall again, slowly at first as his breath hitched and his mind replayed the horrors of the evening. Images flashing through his mind, bright splatters of red, the sounds of screams filling his ears, and the laughter. The laughter was the hardest part. 

“They just… they just killed them… all of them….” He still wasn’t completely there, completely in the moment with Alice. Mind racing as the images burned themselves into his brain, leaving scars that would never fade. 

“Who? Raph you have to tell me what is going on. It doesn’t make sense. Who killed them, who was killed?” Alice knew these were dangerous questions to ask, she honestly wasn’t sure she wanted the answer. Scratch that, she was absolutely sure she didn’t want him to answer that, but what kind of friend would she be otherwise? “Please, I just want to help.”

Finally Raphael turned to her and his eyes snapped into focus. He was seeing her, actually really seeing her, but the words struggled to form. He swallowed, his jaw clenching, tensing and relaxing as he chewed over what needed to be said. Now he was torn, he had come to Alice for help, but could he really burden her with the horrors he had experienced. Could he burn those images into her mind and scar her along with himself. What kind of friend was he if he was willing to do that?

“I… ya don’t deserve the nightmares that’ll come if I answer.” Raph whispered looking a bit defeated and more than a little haunted. 

“I would be a shitty friend if I refused to help Raph, I can handle it, I promise.” Alice carefully stroked his arm, not wanting to set him off in any way.

“I would be a shitty friend fer takin ya up on it.” He tried humor but the tears in his eyes could not be ignored.

“Tell me.”

His shoulder shook with tension as he fought with himself. One part of him wanted to protect her from this, the rest of him needed to get it out, needed to release it from inside of him. It was becoming physically painful to hold it all back and he finally gave in. 

“I was on patrol, like usual, nothin outta the ordinary. Honestly it was a slow night and I was gonna head back ta my place when… I just got a feelin. Somethin wasn’t right. I headed over to the warehouse that caught my attention. Dunno what did it, but somethin just pulled me toward it. I did what I always do, stealthed my way inside and looked around fer trouble. I honestly just expected some gang bangers ta be robbin the place or somethin.” Raphael shook his head and pressed his hands to his eyes as he fought to stay calm. 

“I’d give anything fer that to be what i found but it wasn’t. It was this big weird make shift cage fulla women and kids n I just. I knew somethin was wrong. I stayed in the shadows until I realized it was an auction, they were just sellin people. I shoulda called fer backup, I should done anythin else. But I just lost it.” Sucking in a breath Raphael turned away from Alice.

“When I landed the men scattered, like the fuckin cockroaches they are. I was too worked up, I couldn’t think straight, I didn’t know who ta go after first. I shoulda hit the thugs, but I wanted those monsters ta pay, all of em. If I’d known, I.. I woulda done it different.” His voice broke as the tears fell faster.  “They just slaughtered them.. All of em in the cage.. I can still hear the screams.” He choked slightly. “I can still hear those thugs laughin. They did it out of fuckin spite.” He was shaking with barely contained rage. “Everythin went dark for a while, when I could breathe again, see again, there was nothin left of em. I ripped them apart, there was blood, gore, bone, everywhere… just… fuckin everywhere..”

Raphael slid off the couch landing hard on his knees and began sob uncontrollably. His whole body lurched forward as he choked on his own tears. Unable to get a breath in as he broke. He didn’t even notice when Alice was next to him, holding him, crying against him. Her tears trailing down his arms as he lost complete control of his emotions. He screamed, an inhuman sound as he fell apart in her arms. 

Clinging to her for support Raphael was dangerously close to crushing Alice as he sobbed into her, rocking slowly as if trying to comfort himself but unable to calm down in the slightest. Despite being able to hold his breath longer than a human, Raph was becoming lightheaded from the lack of oxygen. It was the only thing that managed to take the edge off and calm him down enough to loosen his grip a bit so as  not to crush Alice. 

He still held her, as tight as he dared as he cried into her. Letting out his grief in a torrent of helpless tears. The rage was still there, but it was dwarfed by the feelings of failure and helplessness that overwhelmed him. He would never be the same, this night was etched across his soul for eternity. 

Raphael didn’t know who was the bigger monster, the men that did this, or himself who could neither stop it from happening and then tore them apart like a beast. He had never even removed his sai from his belt, he had simply ripped them to pieces with his bare hands. It wasn’t enough to quell the rage inside of him, nothing would ever be enough. 

The darkness began to come back, the edges of his vision going dark as he slumped forward onto the floor. Slowly his breathing began to even out as Alice knelt next to her friend, shaking, face wet with tears. Alice had never expected anyone as strong as him to break, and yet, she had witnessed something she would never be able to forget.

[artificialqueens]

colour me blue, chapter two (branjie) - holtzmanns

(read on ao3) | (tumblr: plastiquetiaras) | word count: 7947

AN: Thank you so much for the wonderful feedback on the first chapter! This one’s going to be a short story, only one more chapter after this. Hope you enjoy. Writ remains the best ever for betaing and encouraging me throughout writing this, and this story would absolutely not exist without them <3

“-She’d taken off her nasal prongs, the reduction in oxygen saturation could have been fatal-”

“-transferring without a two person assist, especially as a falls risk is extremely dangerous, not to mention that she’d refused any orientation or training with the wheelchair beforehand-”

“-honestly Vanessa, you put not only your life on the line, but you scared the entire team, we were this close to calling a code yellow and starting a manhunt across the entire hospital-”

“-Mija, your father didn’t leave us just so you could act so irresponsible-”

Vanessa wants to scream, drown out all the voices that are threatening to overtake her brain and never let her think straight again.

“Fuck.”

She lets it drop under her breath, barely hearing the words being said around her that are blurring into a grey cloud above her head.  The ones from her healthcare team and her mom as they try to lecture her about things that they just don’t fucking get.

They don’t know what it’s like to be trapped in a bed, too weak to move and be a part of things and actually live for once. They’re all able to leave the hospital behind, head home once they’re done their shifts or visits and compartmentalize, because they’re not tied to the building. They don’t understand the feeling of being so dependent on others, so out of control about their own lives.

They don’t get it.

Vanessa her hands into fists as Nina starts fretting about ‘potential complications with the medications because of the lack of oxygen support’ and the pain radiating in her palms from her nails digging into her skin is grounding, somehow. Reminding her that she’s still here, she’s alive. Even though she’s stuck in an ‘emergency family meeting’ that’s been called for her, as if she’s a criminal or something.

As if not complying to hospital recommendations exactly how they want her to makes her deviant.

She doesn’t want to be here anymore. What’s the point, if she’s not going to be here much longer, if she’s not going to move up the waitlist for a new heart, if she’s going to keel over like her dad before she ever gets one? If she has to spend the entirety of her existence following the directions of others who’ll never understand what everything is like?

“I’m leaving. I’m out.”

The table goes comically silent once the words leave her lips, as everyone turns towards her with wide eyes.

Nina speaks first. “Vanessa, what do you-”

“I’m going. I don’t wanna be in the hospital anymore, I don’t care.” She doesn’t need to stay here to stay alive. She can do it on her own, she can leave.

“Don’t be stupid.” Her mom snaps in her direction, and it makes Vanessa bristle, because she’s not being stupid, she’s not. She’s just fucking tired.

“Why can’t y’all see it? There’s no point, I ain’t getting better anytime soon.” The words make her swallow hard because of their finality, the weight of their meaning and how true they feel.

Vanessa’s not getting better.

Her mom’s looking at her like she wants to argue and Nina’s eyes are full of sympathy and Vanessa’s never hated it more.

Vanessa continues because no one at the table says anything, none of the nurses or doctors because really, what are they going to tell her? That she’s getting better?

Even Vanessa’s more realistic than that.

“I’m stuck here and can’t leave my bed and can’t even do anything I wanna, while everyone else is getting better and leaving all around me. Why do I gotta spend my end in a hospital bed?” Vanessa can’t stop her voice from breaking at the end and it makes her mad, the way she has to wipe tears that are beginning to form.

“You’re not at your end, Vanessa. I understand how it can feel like that, how things haven’t been improving. But that doesn’t mean that they won’t in the future. We still have more things we can try-”

“They ain’t going to work. We know that. Nothing does. Unless y’all got a spare heart to give me but we know that ain’t possible.” She lets out a bitter laugh.

There’s a finality of sorts, when one accepts their own mortality. Realizing that they’re not going to be around forever, that their time is limited.

Vanessa’s heart already feels like it’s taking some of its last beats.

She’s not sure how she can tell. Maybe it’s the way that it lays so heavy in her chest, a sign that it was never, ever meant to work. A sign that she was never meant to be here for a long time in the first place.

Vanessa’s calm. It doesn’t make her want to cry, or scream about how unfair it is. It’s a bittersweet acceptance that lets her relax, stop fighting for once in her life.

Though Nina doesn’t let her have it for long.

“Maybe we should hold off a couple more days, see what else we can do. Then we can have another meeting, talk through some other options if you don’t want to stay here.” Nina reaches out, grabbing her hand, and Vanessa can feel her resolve crumbling because the woman is too convincing for her own good. “Is a few days okay, Vanessa? Just a few.”

Nina’s looking at her with big googly eyes and her mother’s looking at her with a death glare, and the rest of the healthcare team looks like they really want to have their lunch. But it’s nice to be in control of the cards for once, be the one who gets to make a decision rather than having one made for her.

A sense of control that she never gets.

“Fine. A couple of days, but that’s it.”

She doesn’t want to give more of herself to the hospital if she doesn’t have to.

Brooke is biting at her lip when Vanessa is finally, finally wheeled back into her room. Vanessa tries not to look at Brooke as the nurses help her back into her bed, tries to ignore the burning that she feels from her worried gaze.

Brooke, for her part, waits until the nurses have shut the door behind them, shifting in her bed to face her properly. Vanessa wants to close her eyes, brace herself against the questions that she knows are coming.

“You’re really sick.”

“And?” Vanessa runs a hand through her hair, trying to ignore the way her fingers catch on her nasal prongs.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” It’s not accusatory, per se, but Vanessa can hear the desperation, the hurt in Brooke’s voice, over the fact that she didn’t know.

“Does it matter?”

Vanessa so, so badly, wants it not to matter. Wants it all to go away, wants to be someone who heals. Who isn’t bound to the hospital with an iron chain around her ankle.

But she’s going to be orbiting it for the rest of her damn life.

Vanessa feels helpless, stuck. Physically, she is. She can’t leave for anywhere on her own, doesn’t have the strength to. So, what does it matter? What does it matter that she didn’t tell Brooke?

Just because she has to be resigned to her life doesn’t mean that others have to, as well.

��Yes, it does!” Brooke’s voice breaks and Vanessa finally looks over, stops fiddling with the thin sheets that drape over her form, and Brooke’s expression is a mixture of anger and pain both. “You’re doing things that are risky and could hurt you and-”

“Didn’t see you complaining when we went down to the cafeteria.” Vanessa crosses her arms, grumbles because it isn’t fair, Brooke isn’t being fair, not when she’s the one person who’s supposed to be on her side.

“Because I didn’t know that you were so sick that you practically need a new heart. That’s not a normal level of heart problems, that’s being-at-death’s-doorstep level of heart problems and you don’t even seem to care.” Brooke’s looking at her with that face that she gets from most people in her life, one full of sadness and anger and pity and Vanessa hates it.

“What clued you in? The extra oxygen? Me not being able to use a walker anymore?” Vanessa lets out a bitter laugh as she says it, shaking her head. “Being basically bedridden?”

“You could have told me.” The words are quiet, from Brooke’s lips. Vanessa looks over and she’s looking down at her own sheets and she sounds so defeated and the twisting in Vanessa’s chest is not entirely coincidental.

“And have you look at me with that same face you’re making right now? I see the pity there. I see it from everyone.” Vanessa crosses her arms. “I hate it. I don’t need your pity.”

She really doesn’t. Others giving her sympathetic looks that amount to ‘sorry that you’re dying’ feel pathetic. Useless.

“I’m not-” Brooke lets out a frustrated sigh and Vanessa can see the way her brow furrows before she continues. “I’m not pitying you, don’t you get it? I’ve been on this side, I get what it’s like to be almost at death’s door.”

“You don’t. You don’t get it.” Vanessa wipes at the stray tear along her lashes with more force than she needs to. “It’s not the same.”

“Like hell it isn’t.” Brooke’s mad, and Vanessa can’t help the way her own voice rises in response, ready to argue.

“You ain’t been stuck with that shitty appendix your whole life, worrying about it all crashing down eventually. This was just a freak thing that happened to you. And look at you.” Vanessa gestures to Brooke, at the way she’s able to sit up without any help. “You’re getting stronger, you’re gonna leave soon. So no, it’s not the same.”

“So then why shoulder that burden by yourself? Why pretend like not much is wrong when it clearly is?” Brooke’s pleading, her eyes wide and no matter how much Vanessa doesn’t want it, she can already feel the way her resolve is beginning to crumble, the way it seems to do with Brooke.

“Because everyone leaves!” The words are out before Vanessa can stop them and no, no, no, she wasn’t supposed to say them but now she can’t take them back, no matter how quickly she claps a hand over her mouth.

But it’s true. Everyone leaves for good at some point, never to come back. Her mom and the rest of her family. Her friends. Her coworkers. Leaving Vanessa alone with the four blank walls and endless beeping machines for company.

Because everyone else is busy living their own lives, right?

Vanessa shouldn’t be the one to keep them from doing so.

Brooke’s going to leave. Vanessa knows that now, knew it a couple days back, too. They’d been discussing a discharge date for Brooke during morning rounds since her surgery had been successful, and she’s on the path towards healing. She’ll be just fine real soon.

And it’s fine, it really is. Brooke is going to leave, go back to her shitty apartment in the city and her two cats that are also her phone background. She’s going to go back to her position in the corps and back to ballet, back to pushing her heart harder and harder as she dances, in a way that Vanessa will never be able to do with hers.

There’s no reason for Brooke to stay, no matter how desperately Vanessa wants there to be.

Vanessa’s not selfish. She’s not an anchor that’s going to pull Brooke down with her, keeping her from going after her dreams and living her own life. Because Brooke deserves better than that.

Despite the fact that Brooke seems to disagree, by the disbelief lining her furrowed brow and parted lips.

“I’m not.”

“You shouldn’t feel obligated-”

“How can you say that?” Brooke’s looking at her with wide eyes as she fists her hands in her sheets, and Vanessa can feel every beat of her own heart, every gasp from her lungs. “After all of this?”

“After what?” Vanessa can feel a lump in her throat and she’s not going to cry, she’s not, she doesn’t need it right now, not in front of Brooke. “Being stuck with me ‘cause we’re hospital roommates? You telling me that nothing’s gonna change after you’re discharged? When you can go back to your life and I’m still here, the way I’m always gonna be here? You telling me that?”

Brooke’s going to go back to her life. Vanessa’s going to be left behind. It’s not Brooke’s fault, not Vanessa’s either.

But it’s happened with everyone. It’ll happen with Brooke, too.

“I-”

“You’re gonna get to go back, Brooke. I won’t.” The finality of the words don’t make Vanessa wince, don’t make her upset. Because the words are simply the truth.

“But I’m not.” Brooke’s jaw is set, even though her hands are shaking and Vanessa wants to reach out and grab them, hold her steady, despite the fact that she’s being stupid.

“What do you mean, you’re not?”

“Ness, you’re-” Brooke’s jerky, halting, not looking as her as she pauses, not as if she’s trying to figure out what to say, but rather as if she’s trying to get the words to leave her mouth. “It doesn’t matter if I’m getting discharged. I’m not-”

Brooke cuts herself off, drawing in a breath and Vanessa can see the pleading behind her eyes, but it doesn’t make sense. So she pushes her more.

“You’re not what?”

“I’m not leaving you, okay? Even once I’m discharged I’m gonna be in that chair beside your bed, I’m gonna be here on evenings and weekends ‘cause I’m not leaving you.” Brooke’s so convinced of what she’s saying that she’s leaning over in her bed, scooting closer towards Vanessa, an earnest expression on her face.

Except that the words aren’t placating; instead, they make Vanessa want to shut her eyes tight, real tight. There’s a part in her heart that so very desperately wants them to be real. For what Brooke is saying to actually happen.

Except Vanessa knows that it won’t. They’re empty words now, words that Brooke will forget once she’s back at home and is dancing again and not even thinking twice about her hospital stay after she’s all healed. When Vanessa will only be a blink in her memory of the entire ordeal.

So the words instead feel like thorns, sharp and stinging along Vanessa’s chest and prickling without drawing blood, ones that taunt and tease her. She wants to pull them out, throw them far  away from her where they can’t hurt her heart more than they already have.

Vanessa, until recently, has kept her heart safe. She’s been okay with people leaving, expects it. But now? Brooke dangling a promise of her not leaving, one which she won’t want to even keep later?

It makes Vanessa mad.

“Don’t promise shit you can’t keep.” The words drop from Vanessa’s lips like poison, letting her keep Brooke at arms length, like she should be.

Brooke narrows her eyes. “You think I won’t?”

“I know you won’t.”

It’s a lie, because she doesn’t, because what if Brooke stays, what if she comes back to visit?

But Vanessa isn’t willing to take the risk of hoping and hoping and wishing and then being disappointed. Her heart is faulty enough.

“You don’t know shit.” Brooke crosses her arms and it isn’t fair, the way she looks hurt, it’s not. Because what does Brooke have to be hurt over?

“What don’t I know?” Vanessa knows plenty. She knows that nothing is forever, not even roommates that make her forget, sometimes, how much her chest feels like it’s caving in on itself, how much her body feels like it’s on its last legs. She knows that everyone has more important things to do than sit at a sick girl’s bedside, including Brooke.

“That I actually care about you, despite the fact that you seem to think I don’t.”

“I never said that-”

“You really think I’m gonna just leave?” Brooke’s voice is small, and Vanessa hates how much it’s affecting her. How much she doesn’t want Brooke to leave and never come back, either. But she knows what’s going to happen in the end.

“Everyone does.”

It’s true. And there’s nothing Vanessa can do about it.

“I’m not everyone.” Brooke’s looking at her with such an intensity that Vanessa wants to believe the words. Have them be true, have a chance where Brooke and her get to stay this close.

She wants it so bad.

But Brooke’s right. Brooke isn’t everyone. Brooke is…sunlight in their dreary hospital room, her smile enough to pull Vanessa out of her thoughts every time. Brooke is the way she gasps during their Great British Bake Off marathons, so caught up in the competition that she lets out little cheers every time her favourite contestant does well. Brooke is the content expression on her face whenever she shows Vanessa pictures of her cats, tells her stories about the funny things they love to do.

Brooke’s different from any other roommate she’s had, and Vanessa’s scared of how much she’s begun to matter to her. She’s taken more of Vanessa’s heart, her stupid malfunctioning heart, more than she wants to admit.

“You’re right. You ain’t everyone.” The admission is freeing, in a way. Brooke’s light and drive and the way she melts over certain things make her so special, so quintessentially Brooke. Someone who doesn’t deserve to be hung up over a person like Vanessa, someone who’s expiry date is a lot earlier than everyone else her age.

Brooke deserves better.

“And you aren’t, either, Ness.” Vanessa can see the affection in Brooke’s eyes, and half of her loves it, craves it. Wants Brooke to snuggle in closer to her, bridge that gap between them. But the other half of Vanessa knows how dangerous it can be to care for someone whose very existence isn’t guaranteed.

Vanessa remembers the way her mother became a shell of a person after her father’s death. The way she’d kept his favourite flannel around her shoulders, kept the photo album from happier years in her lap and held onto it like it was a lifeline. Like it would bring him back, while letting everything else around her fall to pieces, into dust.

Maybe it’s better if she and Brooke don’t become closer. In case, just in case things go south, and she leaves Brooke by herself to deal with the aftermath.

Vanessa doesn’t want Brooke to suffer too.

“B, I’m-” Part of Vanessa is trying to hold her back, stop from continuing, because she likes Brooke, dang it, and has someone in her life that thinks that she matters, and why is she going to try and ruin it?

But the other half of her knows it’ll be better for Brooke, in the long run.

“I’m really sick.”

Brooke doesn’t even flinch. “No shit. Pretty sure the entire ward heard the yelling in your emergency family meeting.”

Vanessa lets out a huff, because Brooke’s not actually getting it. “No, like really sick. Waiting for my own damn mortality to punch me in the face-type sick.”

“So?” Brooke raises an eyebrow, as if it’s a challenge.

“You don’t - you don’t wanna see that. Trust me. It’s downhill from here, it ain’t gonna be pretty. It’s gonna be me and a bunch of tubes against the world. It’s gonna be shitty.”

The reality of it is starting to set in more and more for Vanessa with each laboured breath she takes, every phantom pain that tugs along her body. She really is shutting down.

Brooke shoots her a look. “If this is some half assed attempt to push me away, it’s not working.”

Vanessa huffs, ignoring the way she’s beginning to feel a little lightheaded, a little tired from so much talking. “I ain’t joking. I ain’t gonna be like this all the time. It’s gonna keep getting worse and you shouldn’t have to watch-”

“You think me magically leaving you right now is somehow going to make that easier? For me or you?” Brooke sits up in her bed, her voice raising a little along with the disbelief written along her face, the furrow of her brow. “You think trying to cut me out is going to solve anything?”

Vanessa scowls. “It’s not like that.” It’s not. Brooke’s missing the point, that if they stay close she’s going to suffer, that she’s just going to make it worse for herself in the long run.

“Like hell it isn’t. You’re trying to protect me from something that may not even happen. And even if it does, you think I’d even want to stay away in the first place? That I wouldn’t want to be beside you the entire time?” Brooke says the words like they’re obvious, as if there isn’t anything she’d rather do. Which makes it just a little bit harder for Vanessa to try and drive her point home.

“You have your own life, B. A normal life. It ain’t this.” Vanessa points to the monitors behind her, wincing as she does because when did lifting her arm up slightly cause so much pain?

“My life is dancing for most of the day and stumbling home to a wet basement apartment with only my cats for company. It’s always just been pushing myself in ballet at the expense of everything else, letting it all go because ballet is supposedly worth it.” Brooke looks at Vanessa with those eyes that she can never tell if they’re grey or blue and Vanessa sees a mountain of unspoken words behind them. “But then I met you, and the appendix issues and near-sepsis and other infections my body was going through stopped mattering, none of the pain or extra surgeries mattered anymore.”

Brooke takes a deep breath before continuing, fiddling with her hands. “Because I’ve never laughed as much as when we’re joking around, never had as much fun as when we watch things together. Never told anyone as much about myself, let anyone else in like I’ve let you.”

Vanessa remembers back to one night a few weeks ago, when the two of them had stayed up until the early hours of the morning, whispering to each other so as not to disturb the nurses. Talking about their pasts, their futures. Where they wanted to go, what they wanted to do if they ever had the chance. Brooke had listened to Vanessa attentively when she brought up the idea of connecting with her dad’s side of the family again. Convinced her that it wasn’t a stupid idea, that she should do it.

Brooke’s already entrenched herself in Vanessa’s life through the way their memories and thoughts have become ensnared like vines, making it impossible for them to let go of each other.

But the longer Brooke spends close to Vanessa, the more it’s going to hurt her.

“I’m not here forever, B. The laughing and jokes and TV shows and late night talks are gonna be temporary. One day it’s all gonna end, and you’re gonna be left with nothing. I don’t want you to get blindsided by it.” Vanessa rubs at her temples, tries to will away the headache blooming behind her skull that’s making her feel a little dizzier than usual.

“I want the good days, sure. But the bad days, too. Someone to be there - don’t tell me you don’t need it, ‘cause I don’t care - when things feel low. When the rounds don’t sound promising. When a certain medication isn’t working anymore. For all of it.” Brooke reaches out a hand across the bed, close enough for Vanessa to reach. Vanessa has to grab the bed railing with her other hand to keep herself steady as she reaches for Brooke’s, tries not to give into the spots darkening on the sides of her vision.

Brooke squeezes her fingers and the pressure pulls her back down, keeps her head from exploding just yet. Vanessa takes a deep breath, in through her nose, out of her mouth. She’s not sure why it’s worse all of a sudden, why Brooke’s voice sounds a little warped. But she keeps listening.

Even though something is wrong. Very, very wrong.

“You don’t have to protect me from you. That’s not your job-”

“Brooke.” Vanessa pulls a gasp in, tries to fill up her lungs because they feel empty, too empty, like she has no oxygen left in her body.

The monitors above her are speeding up but the beeping is far away, like it’s in a different room, and so is Brooke’s voice (‘Ness? Ness!’), especially when she yells out for a nurse with a voice so hysterical that Vanessa wants to reach out and comfort her. Not that she can, by the way her lungs are clawing for air, the way her chest is burning up from her shoulder to her heart, the way her arms are tingling like they’re on fire. She’s warm, too warm, her forehead becoming damp with sweat because she can feel her heart pushing itself, on its last legs, trying to keep her going, but-

Oh, god.

Vanessa’s staved it off for thirteen years, kept her shitty heart pumping for thirteen whole years, but it hasn’t been enough, not nearly enough. Because she’s twenty-six in a hospital bed and so close, so close to a new heart that she won’t have the chance to receive, not anymore.

She’d been so close. Fuck.

Staying awake and hanging on is too hard, too much of a task to try and push her body to do, even with doctors and nurses pressing down with hard compressions on her chest while yelling about calling a code blue. And so Vanessa lets thoughts of Brooke’s hair and the way she so desperately wants to run her hands through it take her over until there’s-

Nothing at all.

The first time Vanessa had been put under was when she was six and had her tonsils taken out. She’d forgotten most of it aside from the aftermath of ice cream and endless reruns of The Magic School Bus, the show just a little much for her addled brain to follow. She’d gone back to school a few days later with no problems at all, the haze of anaesthesia from the surgery remembered the same way as her nightly dreams - just a little bit out there, a little bit nonsensical. Nothing that had stuck in her brain for too long.

As she got older, anaesthesia simply became a part of her life. Necessary for the surgeries as doctor after doctor tried to find solutions to keep her alive, none of which lasted, her heart falling back into disarray each time. She’d gotten used to it - being in and out of it after a procedure, waiting for her brain to become less and less foggy with time until everything went back to normal.

Back then, it was never unending.

Vanessa sees Brooke’s face a lot. Brooke dancing, despite the fact that she’s never seen it in person, only on Brooke’s phone screen. Brooke as a dancer in the corps, Brooke performing as a prima ballerina and spinning round and round and round, dancing in a way Vanessa can only dream of. Her final bow is graceful, a demure smile on her face as she waves to the crowd.

Vanessa wonders what it would be like, being the one to bring Brooke a bouquet of flowers at the end of a show.

She sees her dad, too, but the memories are fleeting, blurry. Little snapshots, like the time they went to the carnival along with her mom and he rode all of the rickety rides with her. The way her dad would take her to get ice cream after church on Sundays, and they’d sit outside the shop and eat on the bench while people watching. How her dad would always lift her up, sit her on his shoulders whenever she was a little too sleepy, a little too tired to walk anymore.

She sees glimpses of his funeral too, the way the priest had pronounced his last name (their last name) wrong.

Though the pictures fade as quickly as they come, the pain not sticking around long enough to have a chance to burn her soul.

Vanessa sees images from now, too. Or at least, what could be now. Beeping noises that never quite fade, ones boring into her skull that she wishes she could turn off. Hushed conversations, doctors and nurses talking about LVADs and the transplant list, but she can’t get her brain to focus, to tune in for long enough to know if it’s even real, or just another dream.  

She hears Brooke’s soft voice whispering to her (which surely, surely must be a dream), a light squeeze on her hand as Brooke tells her about the woman in the room across from them, about how her nurse is going on a date tonight, about how the neuro resident has a crush on the unit clerk. About how much Vanessa needs to be okay, needs to get better, because Brooke-

Vanessa never hears the end of her sentence, because Brooke always cuts herself off when she gets to that part.

There are times when Vanessa starts feeling every little pain in her body, when everything becomes real and tangible and she’s suddenly aware of the wires along her arms, the tube down her throat that’s taken over her breathing, and it’s too much, too much to handle when she tries to move and nurses begin to yell about pain meds and-

It never lasts for long, though, her mind wiping itself clean of the here and now and going back to broadcasting pictures of Brooke and the way she smiles.

Vanessa’s too small right now, in Brooke’s eyes.

The tube down her airway that’s keeping her alive looks like it’s taking up her entire face, while the IV lines in her arms are too big, too invasive. Like all the wires around her are going to drown her, kill her instead.

Brooke would be convinced that they are, were it not for the monitors behind Vanessa’s bed, the ones displaying her vital signs and signalling that she’s still very much alive.

Somehow.

Brooke wants to close her eyes, forget that all of this is happening and somehow just go back to their shared hospital room, before she’d been discharged and before Vanessa had collapsed with wide eyes and gasping breaths. When everything had been a little bit more normal.

Normal for them, at least.

But when Brooke closes her eyes now, all she can see is the way that the nurse had been pushing down hard on Vanessa’s chest, doing compressions that looked like they were crushing rather than reviving her. All she can hear is the flatline of the monitors, the rush of footsteps of the code blue team to their room. The way they’d intubated Vanessa right then and there. The way Brooke had been frozen in place, gripping her sheets so tightly that she’d nearly ripped them.

The way the bed beside her had been so empty without Vanessa after she’d been whisked away, the room a little bit too quiet.

The way Brooke hadn’t even known if Vanessa would still be alive.

The limbo was the worst. Vanessa had been in surgery, after the team had intubated and stabilized her and Brooke had been left in their room all alone, signs of Vanessa still lingering everywhere. The stack of romance novels on Vanessa’s bedside table, the ones Brooke had teased her for. The makeup beside them, all MAC because ‘imma take that employee discount, thank you very much’.

Being discharged had almost felt like a sense of relief, for Brooke. Being able to leave their room behind, one filled with laughter and affection for the girl who shared it with her, but also filled with fear. With the look on Vanessa’s face before she’d collapsed, the wide eyes and slightly parted lips that showed that she’d known what had happened.

The inevitable had finally arrived.

But it’s been three days, and she’s still here, Vanessa’s still here. Vanessa’s still alive. The hospital bracelet around Brooke’s wrist is gone, denoting that she’s healthy enough to survive on her own after the warpath her appendix had carved, but she’s still here. She’s not going to leave, not now.

She’d heard Dr. West talking about the transplant list, about how Vanessa’s urgent status has moved her up. How there’s a chance she can get a heart, how she won’t have to rely on an LVAD like she is right now.

Brooke so desperately wants it to be true.

“I miss you.” Brooke’s not sure where the words come from, why she whispers them as if Vanessa can hear them. Maybe she can, Brooke doesn’t know. But all Brooke knows is that she needs Vanessa back, because her own heart feels like it’s collapsing in on itself.

Part of her hates Vanessa. For keeping just how bad things are from her. For pretending that everything is fine and dandy while inching closer and closer to death’s door.

Vanessa had said that Brooke would leave, that she didn’t care enough. That Brooke should leave because she deserved better than seeing Vanessa deteriorate and it still makes her so mad, that Vanessa had thought that it would be the better option. That Vanessa had wanted to do it alone.

That Vanessa had thought Brooke would be able to leave her behind.

But Brooke can’t. She fucking can’t. She’s only known Vanessa for a couple of months, but it feels like it’s been so much longer, when she looks back at it. All the days and nights they’d spent together talking about everything and nothing had made Brooke fall hard, as much as she doesn’t want to admit it now.  

A couple months that had felt like a lifetime in their hospital beds.

She imagines what it would be like if they’d met somewhere outside, maybe at MAC. Brooke goes in there often to buy her favourite brow pencil and transition eyeshadow that she uses on stage, because the drugstore brands simply don’t cut it for those two items. She pictures going in, seeing Vanessa and her smile that never fails to light up a room.

God, she’d probably be head over heels for her right then and there.

Brooke pictures flirting with Vanessa over the makeup counter, asking her opinion on which shades look best on her. She can almost see how animated Vanessa’s face would be, talking about her favourite products in the store the way her face always had been when they’d had these conversations in their hospital beds.

Getting to know Vanessa outside of the hospital, away from the tubes and wires that reflected the breakdown of her heart. A scenario where they’d have endless time to get closer and closer because there wouldn’t be any time limits, not really. None holding them back.

To be fair, Brooke hadn’t known that their time right now would be so limited, either. That Vanessa would be intubated, on life support, with everyone else hoping and praying that the wires keeping her alive are working.

Brooke needs Vanessa back. She hasn’t even told Vanessa how much she cares about her, how important she’s become to her life and how is she going to keep going if Vanessa doesn’t pull through?

Brooke stares down at Vanessa’s sleeping form, her chest rising and falling methodically to the rhythm of the machine that’s filling up her lungs with oxygen. Vanessa’s closed eyes make Brooke realize that there’s a chance she may never see her eye roll again, or the way she sticks up one finger when she wants to interrupt her. Or that she may have to watch TV shows without Vanessa’s insane commentary.

Brooke buries the thoughts as far down as possible, because there can’t be a reality where she loses Vanessa. It can’t happen.

Somehow, Brooke’s heart has completely fallen for another person. One whose own heart could be the cause of her end at the ripe old age of twenty-six.

The way that life plays out its cards can be cruel. Leaving people like Vanessa with a short stick, a life too short that’s marred with uncertainty and a fight to stay alive.

The calmness in Vanessa’s face right now, as she’s out and sedated, makes Brooke realize just how weary Vanessa had become the last couple weeks. The way that the lines in her face had become more pronounced, the circles darker under her eyes, the undertones sallower in her skin.

Vanessa had done such a good job of keeping it inside, of pretending everything was okay. Of playing things up with Brooke, acting like everything was fine and that she was fine despite the shortness of her breath and the way her hands would shake as she’d try to sit herself up.

Vanessa had been fighting so, so hard. Brooke feels a pang in her chest, a guilt, that she hadn’t realized the extent of it herself.

Sure, there’s not much Brooke would have been able to do, having no medical knowledge. But she could have listened to her vent. Held her hand. Distracted her.

It’s eating at her, now. Should she have done more? Known that she should have done more?

She hopes Vanessa will understand when she wakes up.

If she wakes up.

There’s times when the pictures that float by in Vanessa’s mind become clearer than others. More realistic, almost tangible. Like when Vanessa sees Brooke sitting beside her, and can almost feel the way Brooke’s running her fingers through her hair. She wants to lean into the imagined touch, but doesn’t want it to disappear back into her subconscious.

Brooke’s whispering to her to wake up, baby and telling her about how she hasn’t been intubated for days, how she doesn’t even need extra oxygen anymore, because her new heart’s working and it’s working well. How Vanessa’s finally, finally, healing.

It’s a nice dream. Vanessa can see the way Brooke’s worry lines are beginning to relax, her shoulders a little less tense. The way her eyes are full of happiness - weariness still, yes, and a little bit of trepidation - but also full of relief.

She’s glad this dream Brooke is happy, the way Brooke should always be.

Dream Brooke lets out a little sniffle and it makes Vanessa want to frown, because she doesn’t want her to be upset, but then Brooke is pressing a kiss to her forehead before calling out for her nurse. A nurse who shines a light into her eyes, asks her questions like what day it is and where she is and Vanessa wants to answer, she does, but she’s never had such realistic dreams before.

“Thank god, thank god, thank god.” Brooke is squeezing her hand and Vanessa can nearly feel it, while hearing the shakiness in her voice. “Fuck.”

Vanessa opens her mouth and her voice is all but gone, barely above a whisper, but she needs to know for sure. “Dream?”

Brooke lets out a little noise in between a laugh and sob, squeezes her hand tighter, tight enough that it’s tangible, something Vanessa can feel. “Not a dream.”

Huh.

There’s a prick on Vanessa’s arm, making her wince as her nurse takes her blood. The ever present beep of the monitors is still there behind her, the bustle in the hallway outside too, but things are different.

Vanessa looks at Brooke, really looks. She’s tired and worn, in a sweater and jeans and it’s the first time Vanessa’s seen her in something other than the ever present hospital gowns. She’s folded in on herself on top of her chair, legs crossed as she leans forward and she lets out a little laugh when Vanessa flips over her wrist, looks for the telltale hospital bracelet.

“They let me out a week and a half ago. I’m not leaving, though.” Brooke lifts an eyebrow, almost as a challenge, and the words sink on top of Vanessa’s heart and warm it from the inside out, making it glow.

Brooke’s still here.

“A week and a half? How long have I been-”

Vanessa pauses, because she’s not sure if she wants to know just yet. But it’s long enough for her voice to be gone, long enough for Brooke to have been discharged.

Yet still be here.

So Vanessa changes directions, saves the tougher questions for later. “Your ass ain’t sore from that chair yet?”

Brooke snorts. “It is, but not as much as your mom’s. She’s been complaining about how uncomfortable the chairs are for days.”

Vanessa’s breath hitches in her throat, because Brooke’s just said-

“My mom?”

Her mom’s here? But-

Brooke points at a sleeping figure in the corner of the room, one whom Vanessa had completely missed earlier because Brooke is in front of her but her eyes aren’t lying to her, because it’s her mom.

“She’s been here since before your surgery. Surgeries. Signed the consent forms as the substitute decision maker and all that. She hasn’t left, either.” Brooke’s voice is soft.

Vanessa can feel a lump building in her throat, a mixture of relief and questions (Why now? Why not before? Will you go again?) that she’s not sure her mom will even answer.

Questions that Vanessa’s not even sure she wants the answer to, just yet.

“Consent forms for what?” Vanessa has to hold back a laugh at Brooke’s incredulous expression. “Bitch, I’ve been outta commission, how am I supposed to know?”

“You got a heart.”

The words hit Vanessa’s chest one after the other, nearly knocking her down four times over because it’s hard to distinguish between dreams and reality anymore, but Brooke’s squeezing her hand and pressing a kiss to her forehead and she so, so badly wants it to be real.

“You better not be playing.” Brooke better not be, because if Vanessa’s gotten a new heart that means she’s somehow gotten off the waiting list and she’s gone and survived and she’s going to have another chance at everything.

“What, did you think those sutures along your sternum are just for fun?” Brooke’s tone is light, teasing, but Vanessa can see the way her eyes shine, the way they’re holding back a flood of emotions. “You really did.”

“But-how?” It makes no sense, because Vanessa wasn’t very high up, she’s supposed to still have to wait months to years for a heart-

“Turns out going into heart failure and having an LVAD wire rockets you up the list.” The laugh Brooke lets out is one of disbelief. “They kept you alive in the ICU until they got you one.”

“Jesus.” Vanessa’s brain isn’t wrapping itself around the concept just yet, despite the dressings on her chest and the IVs in her arms, because after waiting so long, it doesn’t feel like it’s real. Vanessa had previously thought she’d be more alert for the process, at least. “If I knew before that having a code blue was all it took to get a brand spanking new heart-”

“Don’t you even joke about that.” Brooke swats at her arm. “I never want to think about that code again.”

Brooke’s voice is light but Vanessa can see the way her eyes cast downwards, how her hands shake slightly. The little breath she lets out.

Shit, Vanessa knows that going through it on her end was terrible, but watching someone else? It’s almost worse, seeing the way Brooke’s trying to hard to keep it together, to keep her from noticing.

“God, I thought I’d really lost you.” Brooke sniffles and Vanessa wants to reach out, wipe the stray tear on her cheek but Brooke’s too damn tall even when she’s sitting.

“I’m still here. Ain’t going anywhere just yet.” Vanessa doesn’t know if the words are true, or how much to believe them. But she wants them to be true. “Still got episodes of 90 Day Fiance to catch up on with you.”

“The most important reason, huh?” Brooke lets out a giggle as she brings a hand up to brush her cheek, and even her crying face is still damn adorable. Vanessa’s impressed.

“Nah, the most important reason is you.”

Vanessa’s always been one of those people who falls too hard, too fast. Falling for a girl on the same subway car or for a cashier at the grocery store. Falling for the occasional pretty nurse that smiles at her more than the rest of them do.

But Brooke’s different. Vanessa’s not even sure if she’d call it love, not really. Not yet. But Brooke had given her a reason to hold on, push on the last few weeks, then had taken over her subconscious while she’d been out. Brooke’s full of possibilities and a beacon of hope for a future, one that Vanessa hopes they can at least partly experience together.

Brooke’s seen her at her worst. She’s seen what Vanessa’s been through and stuck around despite it. Vanessa herself isn’t an expert on women (she’d leave that title to her MAC coworker, A’keria), but she can tell when she’s found someone special.

And Brooke, sweet perfect Brooke, who hides so much softness in her heart that only comes out when she trusts someone enough, is exactly that.

And Brooke’s still here. Which means she hadn’t listened to Vanessa when Vanessa had told her to leave, to save herself from pain that she didn’t need. But she’s stayed. She’s been here at Vanessa’s bedside for the entire time, it seems, from the way she’s folded up in the chair like she knows it so well, the way her jacket is in a corner of the room, a pile of her books on Vanessa’s bedside table.

Brooke hasn’t had to, but she’s stayed. And Vanessa’s beginning to realize that maybe, there’s no way that Brooke could have brought herself to leave.

Vanessa traces her thumb in circles in Brooke’s palm, looks down at the patterns she’s drawing. “I dreamt about you.”

“Really?”

“Yeah.” Vanessa thinks back to the Brooke in her subconscious, dancing around and still sitting at her bedside and whispering soft things while being the most beautiful sight Vanessa’s ever seen. And remaining so now, too. “Dancing around like the Sugar Plum Fairy you are.”

Brooke snorts, but the adoration in her eyes shines through, makes Vanessa feel like she’s floating, like maybe, maybe, there’s more for them. A future. “There’s so much I gotta teach you about ballet.”

“I ain’t going on my tippy toes, though. That’s your job.”

“Noted.” Brooke’s smile is soft, but Vanessa’s ready to let it power her for days. “Though you’d be a good dancer.”

“You say that as if I can keep my ass sitting up for more than half an hour at a time.” Vanessa tries to picture herself back on her feet, dancing and running around, and the thought feels far away, from a distant life.

“Soon, you’ll be able to.” Brooke’s smile is soft and Vanessa can’t help but grin back, because all the hope and the possibilities that are laid out in front of her, in front of them, are right within her grasp.

“Yeah. Soon.”

[amarauder]

the burdens of reality - sodapop curtis x reader

PAIRING; Sodapop Curtis x Reader

DATE; May 23rd, 2019

WORD COUNT; 4831

WARNING; angst, lots of triggers, mentions of anxiety attacks, heartbreak, death, lack of self-confidence-but this is only in the first part. Also, bad words.

A/N; You know those Authors Notes that talk about how this is a horrible one shot and they apologize but then you read it and you're like 'what the hell were they talking about earlier? i'd kill to write this good?' I'm sure you've all stumbled upon at least one of them-even if you don't know it. I hate to break it to you though, this is not one of them. This One Shot is actually shitty, like laughable shitty. I originally actually had a plot for this one shot but i don't even know what the hell happened. Also, Sodapop's personality is so screwed up and nothing like him.

I would rewrite it but if I look at this damned thing one more time I might punch myself. So, I hope you don't judge my writing on this one one shot because i promise i am usually better at this and i want you to actually enjoy reading my works.

TRAILER; in which the love of a boy's life returns to their hometown.

-

College was always busy, the corridors always bustling with students either rushing to get to class or dip before the bell rang. The occasional teacher would sometimes be thrown into the mix, the most commonly seen teacher was Professor Hatwell.  He was Y/N's Psychology Professor as well as advisor. By far, the man was Y/N's favorite professor there, he always seemed to know what to say or what to do whenever she would talk to him about whatever was stressing her out.

Most people thought it was weird to have such a close connection with a teacher, but Y/N didn't worry about it too much. It wasn't like they were the ones discussing different topics with the Professor.

However, the one thing Y/N didn't like about Hatwell was his tardiness. The man never seemed to be on time ever. He didn't seem to care much about how late he was either. But it drove Y/N crazy sometimes, crazy enough that she had ranted about it to her friends.

"I don't understand why you are having a cow about it, Y/N. I would kill for my other professors to be late every class. Majority of mine get there an hour early! Who has time for that?" Tammy said as they rounded the corner. The girl had always been lazy in her academics, but she was usually understanding about most topics Y/N would bring up to complain about. She didn't understand why Tammy would always clam up or shut the conversation down whenever she brought up her Psychology's teacher's name.

"I'm not having a cow about it! I'm just annoyed! I had to wait an entire half hour outside his office yesterday!"

"What were you doing there?"

"I needed to talk to him."

"About what?"

"Why are you being so nosy?"

The girl sighed before stopping in her steps so abruptly Y/N would have kept walking if she hadn't been apprehensive about her next sentence. Tammy quickly looked over both of her shoulders before pulling Y/N closer to the stone walls of the building, "Look," she said, looking at Y/N so seriously it almost worried her, "You know I'm not one to listen to gossip-"

She already knew where this was going, Y/N wasn't deaf either, she heard the whispers about her relationship with the professor, "Tammy-"

"No, you need to listen. I'm not one to listen or give a shit about what anyone says but rumors can get deadly. Take it from me, my reputation was ruined by some insecure prick who got rejected one too many times. But this, this could end up a lot worse than some snotty comments and snide. Professor Hatwell could lose his job and you could get expelled. So, tell me honestly, are you screwing him?"

"Tammy, come on."

"Answer me."

"No, I would never. I just like to make good relationships with my teachers."

"I know," Tammy sighed and looked guilty for a second, "But we aren't in Kindergarten anymore, we can't go around hugging and hanging out with our teachers like we used too. It raises suspicion." Y/N looked away from Tammy for a while, letting all of the new information sink in. It was hard to hear that Tammy didn't trust her, she was her best friend afterall. But, the more rational side of Y/N, also knew it was just because she was concerned for her well-being. "I just... Be careful, okay? I don't know what I'd do if you left me in this hell hole."

Y/N cracked a smile at her friend's antics, before rolling her eyes, "You're paying a lot of money for this hell hole."

"I know. that's why it's called school, not jail."

Snorting at her last comment, Y/N pushed away from the wall and continued onto her way to class. They both had Psychology together, one of the only classes they shared. Thanks to Y/N's whining and begging Tammy to take a class that didn't have anything to do with Politics.

"You know, I think when I become President of the United States, the first thing I'll do is eliminate schools."

"Is this all part of your plan to take over the world?" Y/N asked as they walked through the door. The whole time after the talk, she had grown nervous. She couldn't pinpoint why exactly, but she had a feeling that Tammy really put things in perspective for her. If people's gossiping out of hand, she could get sent home and Y/N never wanted to go back to Tusla ever again.

She needed to nip this in the bud as soon as possible.

She needed a boyfriend.

"Hey," Tammy whispered bringing Y/N back to the present, "Look at the front."

Following her friend's orders, she looked down to see a collection of Professors conversing with each other, with Hatwell in the middle. "I can't believe he's early. Something must have gone very wrong."

She started to get even more worried. She wasn't worried about Tammy's last comment or the coversation they had earlier, or the reasoning behind Hatwell's earliness. What she was worried about was the fact that they kept looking back at her, repeatedly. Almost like they were discussing about her.

-

The first thing Y/N noticed was the buzzing of the air conditioning. Her face felt white hot even though she knew she must be as pale as a ghost. She was shaking like a leaf, judging by her facial expression, she knew exactly what Tammy was going to say next

"They were talking about you."

The noise got louder. Her ears picked up some voices that didn't belong to Tammy's.

"Actually, they were discussing more about your brother than you."

The buzzing got louder, along with the voices. She could hear them clearly now, along with a faint screaming coming from a young girl.

"They want to send you home."

Y/N felt dizzy, so dizzy that she had to grip her arms on her chair to keep the world from spinning.

"They said that there had been an accident."

There was an iron taste in her mouth, and from the stinging pain coming from her bottom lip, she realized that she had bit some of the skin off.

"A bomb went off where your brother was stationed at. He had gotten out alright, thanks to a friend who saved him. But he had passed away later on at the hospital."

The buzzing was unbearable now, along with the shouting voices. The screaming had deafened slightly, but that was only because the voices seemed to have over-powered it. She wondered who it was coming from, they certainly didn't have anything to scream about-not like Y/N did. Her mouth was dry and her tongue felt like sandpaper, a stark contrast to her bleeding lip.

"They are having a funeral service next weekend, but your Mother wants you back early. Golly, Y/N, I'm so sorry. "

The world suddenly came back into focus, like strobe lights  blinking brightly, blinding her momentarily. The buzzing and the voices diminished within seconds. Her dizziness went along with it. But the pain from her lips and dryness of her mouth didn't. They seemed to never go away-not after what happened in Tulsa all those years ago.

Although, the screaming had gotten worse, she had to cover her ears in an attempt to save her hearing. But that didn't help at all, she had a feeling that even the earplugs her Mother used to wear to block out her Father's snores.

She realized soon later, who had been screaming. It had been herself.

-

Liveliness was a curious thing. It seemed to have developed a habit of disappearing when she most desired it, but reappearing when Y/N didn't notice it.

It was funny how she seemed to only treasure things once they were gone.

Her room looked the exact same when she had left. Her pictures hadn't moved, dust had even collected onto them. There was the same red thread on the comforter that only got bigger and bigger every time she picked at it. Her robe still hung at the hook on her wall, along with her slippers sitting next to the bed.

The only difference was the feel of her room, it wasn't the same as it felt previously. The room had lost the homey feeling and instead had been replaced by an eerily stillness.

She sighed and sat up in her bed, she had arrived late last night. It had been a hard night, the second she walked into the house she was reminded of why she had left. Her Mother was sitting on the counter, a glass of whiskey in her hand, as she cried her eyes out. Her Father stood next to her staring into space, he had a tick in his jaw that hadn't been there the last time she saw him.

That day she left for college was also the day they had taken Gary away for war.

Blinking her thoughts away, she looked down at the thread in her hands and played with it some more. She tried to ignore the way her hands were shaking so much that she couldn't even tie a knot, but after a few tries she let out a sound that was in between a whimper and a sigh of annoyance. She dropped the string and instead gripped and pulled on her hair as she tried to get her emotions in check.

She took in the shakiest breath she had ever taken before taking her hands out of her hand and instead put them into fists and pressed them against her closed eyes. Her lip trembled as she felt the aching in her heart return, worse than ever. The following day after finding out the news, she had been in denial. It was hard not to expect for things to not be the same as they always were when she got home.

She could still see her brother wrapping her inside a warm hug the moment she walked through the door. She had been just a child then, the ripe age of sixteen. She would expect a small scolding from him before asking how Sodapop was. Then, he would make them both hot chocolate or lemonade if it was a warm night and they would talk until there was nothing left to say.

He had been her very best friend and she missed him more than ever. A gasp escaped her lips as she tried to catch her breath after trying to hold in sobs, "It's okay, it's okay, it's okay," she whispered to herself in a hoarse voice, "You're okay, you're okay, you're okay. Don't cry, don't cry, don't cry."

The words had become a mantra over time, she used to whisper them to Sodapop when he would come over in tears and gasping for air. She had realized pretty quickly that her best friend suffered from anxiety attacks and it broke her heart, more so than when they had broken apart.

"Y/N!" She heard her Mother call from down the hall, "Breakfast is ready, darling!"

She nodded her head, before clearing her throat and yelling back once she realized that she couldn't see her nod. She took in a deep breath and stretched, she needed to ignore her thoughts and if getting herself distracted required rollerskating around town while juggling three balls then so be it.

Thoughts were deathly in times like this.

Hopping off her bed, she put her robe over her nightdress and started to take out her curlers. Once they were all out, she took a quick look in the mirror to run her fingers through the tight curls to turn them into soft waves.

She walked down the hall, sprinting past her brother's old room. She was thankful that her Mother had shut the door. Just as she finished bounding down the stairs with one foot-it had become a tradition of her brother's to do that on his first night back from College. Now that he was gone, she took the liberty to do it for him-the doorbell rang.

"I'll get it!" Y/N hollered. She swung open the door wondering who on Earth would be at her house this early in the morning.

There, standing in the doorway, was the last person she wanted and expected to see. Sodapop leaned against the wall of the doorway, swinging her Father's keys in one finger. He hadn't seen her yet, and Y/N took that time to school her features into a normal expression.

His face was ashen as he stared at her, the look in his eyes almost made her whimper. His lips were parted slightly and she heard him take in a sharp intake of breath. His eyes took in her appearance greedily, she took the time to do the same. She hadn't realized how much she had missed him.

Though, when he looked up and she saw his facial expression, she almost wished she had kept her own. Maybe then he wouldn't be looking at her like she was dog shit, though she was dog shit. After what she had done to him, the girl had sometimes believed she was dog shit.

He cleared his throat and looked away. She must have been staring. Blushing and copying his actions, she waited for him to speak up, "Umm, I need to speak to Mr. L/N."

Y/N scoffed, her mind was screaming at her to bring out of the stubborn part of her and demand to know why he was talking to her this way, but her heart, her poor, poor heart. It hadn't been made for this kind of pain all in one day. It just wanted to either run from the pain or ease it. She didn't want to know what it had in mind to help ease the pain.

"Sure, I'll go grab him." Y/N turned around quickly and took in a deep breath, she needed to calm herself down. She could already feel the tears starting to gather, the aching and throbbing of her heart was starting to get unbearable, "You can come in, the drawing room is open. You still remember where it is?"

She saw Soda nod out of the corner of her eye. Quickly walking into the kitchen and slamming the door behind her, she took in a deep breath while sliding down it.

She didn't know how long she had sat there for, but by the time her sobs had finally condensed into sniffles she saw her Father walk into the room. She opened her mouth to tell him to go address Soda in the other room, but she missed her chance when she saw the devil himself walk in the room.

"Are you alright, darling?" her Father asked, then turned to Sodapop who was staring at her with such a such an obvious confusion, she almost wished he could try to hide it. "She took her brother's death pretty hard. They used to be best friends you know."

"He is," she whispered to him, "He still is my best friend. He will always be my best friend." Her Father walked right past her, not even bothering to discuss the words she had finally relieved to the world. Sodapop, ever the gentleman, had instead offered a hand to help her get up. Her eyes furrowed as she stared at the hand, wondering what was the catch behind his change of attitude. Her limp hand took his own as she lifted her up. She quickly brushed her tears away and muttered a weak thanks, she almost wanted to kick herself for thinking about Sodapop's supposed 'double sided actions', the man had always been too kind for his own good.

"Now, Mr.Curtis, would you like a beer or a" her Father hesitated for a second and Y/N almost blurted out the well known joke, "it seems like we only have beer or water."

"A water is fine, sir. Thank you."

"Daddy," Y/N called and tightened her robe around herself. "Theresa has already made breakfast and Mother is expecting me, may i excuse myself?"

"Yes, yes, just a moment." He said and handed Sodapop a water before side-hugging the man, "I would like you to meet Sodapop Curtis. He was the hero who saved Gary."

Y/N wanted to laugh and cry at the same time. Of course it had to be him. He couldn't have let anyone else save her brother. Golly, she even would have preferred one of the men her Mother tried to set her up with. Smiling polietly at her Father she said, "We went to school together, Daddy. It's nice to see you again, Mr.Curtis. How do you do?"

Placing her hands behind her back, she dug her nails into the palm of her hand. It was the only thing keeping her grounded. "Good, thank you for asking. Nice weather we are having aren't we?"

Staring at him silently, she narrowed her eyes before looking away. When they had been good friends, she remembered running into Soda plenty at the Gas Station and dealing with rude girls. But one thing that had always stood out to her was him mentioning how he had developed a habit of asking people about the weather when he hated them.

Ignoring the sickening feeling in her stomach, she gave him a small smile that she was sure looked more like a grimace and left the room.

The voices wouldn't leave her head even after she had left the room. She felt like a mindless robot, she hadn't realized she had entered the dining room until she felt an arm snake around her waist. Looking down, she was surprised to see Timothy grinning up at her. She gave him the smallest smile, feeling only her cheeks rise she forced herself to bring the corners of her lips up. Her Mother's stare dug into her side profile but she didn't care much. Her mind was occupied with other worries than her Mother's desperate attempt to get her married as early as possible and stop the independence she was learning-thanks to college.

"What do you think you are wearing?" She heard her Mother's voice, but it sounded distant as if she was listening to a record but she was in a separate room. It wasn't until she felt a tug on her nightdress did she look to her Mother, "Why don't you go make yourself decent?"

Pursing her lips, she left the room with quick but short steps. She was exhausted, leaning on her last bit of ferocity to keep her going. Feeling trapped was never fun, especially with her least favorite people on Earth keeping her inside the cage they called a home.

"Y/N!" She turned around to see Sodapop walking towards her.

Scoffing quietly and wiping her disgusted expression from her face she turned towards him, "If you're here to lecture me, I don't want to hear it."

"I just wanted to say that I hope you know I didn't save him because of you, I saved him because he was a good man."

"Thanks for that, Curtis. Everything is so much clearer now."

He made a face at her comment, one that she knew only meant he wasn't finished yet. "Listen, Soda, I will be forever thankful you saved my brother. But why tell me that?" Pausing for a second she waited to hear any words from him. But when none came, she continued, "It's just, it sounds like you're trying to convince yourself more than me."

"The whole world doesn't revolve around you."

"I'm not stupid. I'm just wondering why you are acting so defensive."

A flash of hurt washed through his features and Y/N wished she could take that comment back. They both knew he had every right to act however he wanted and deserved no harsh words from her. If anything, she was jealous of his self control. If she had been in his position, she would have refused contact with him, no matter the consequences. But Soda had never been like her, something she admired about him greatly.

"I'm just wondering why you are acting like nothing happened. Why you are acting like you never cheated on me? Are you really that ashamed by your actions?"

She choose not to answer and instead put her attention into the man poking his head out the front door, "Hey, Pepsi Cola! We gotta hit the gravel before-Oh. Well, nevermind the devil has already arrived."

"Nice to see you again too, Steve." She said before turning back to the man beside her. She wasn't in the mood to receive any crap Steve would give her. "I just thought you would be a little more understanding after you received my letter. But no matter, I don't blame you for behaving this way. Lord knows how I would act." Watching the boys stare at her blankly, she choose to make her leave. It was already too awkward inside her home, she didn't need them to make it worse. "Well, goodbye boys. I hope you have a good life."

"Wait! Y/N!"

"Yes?"

"What letter?" Sodapop asked, his hand reached out to touch her own before retracting after realizing what he had been doing.

She stared at him for a few seconds as if wondering his sanity. She knew she sent the letter out to him, she had taken plenty of time drafting out the letter an planning how she could mail it out without her parents witnessing it. Except she hadn't been successful, she knew her Mother had seen her. But Y/N had thought that her Mother hadn't even known she was near the mailbox. The woman had been driving into the driveway right when the envelope slid through the slit.

But what if she had saw?

What if she knew and somehow got the letter before he could receive it?

"Oh my god," she whispered to herself, feeling dizzier and dizzier as her thoughts raced through her head. She reached out for a chair to sit in but missed and instead fell into someone's arms instead. Her Father stood above her, holding her armpits with disdain.

"I will be right back," he said directing it to Soda and Steve, "Take care of her until I come back."

They nodded and gently set her down in a chair a few feet away form where her Father had been holding her. Steve had been a little more rough, but she had expected that. "Y/N," she looked to Sodapop, "What letter?"

"If you didn't recieve it, you never will read it. I'm sorry."

"Yes, he will." She looked over his shoulder to see her Father walking towards them and holding a yellow box.

Her breath hitched as nerves shot through her. She found herself wildly shaking her head, "Father, no. Please, no. If you have any respect for me, any at all, please, please return the box to it's rightful place."

He handed it to Soda without a word or a glance her way. She felt dizzy and overwhelmed and so so out of control. Y/N wondered why now, of all times she had finally lost it. She could name more memories she had of watching her life be ruined in front of her eyes, thanks to her parents but she had kept her mouth shut.

Sodapop hesitated before opening it, looking at her pleading and begging form. She had begun to walk towards him with tears streaming down her face before she stopped herself. He had already opened the box and knew it was no use to snatch it out of his hands now.

She walked towards him and peeked over his shoulder with her hands wrapped around her waist as silent sobs escaped her lips.

The first thing she saw was a picture of her and Sodapop dancing together. It had been taken by Steve, Sodapop had grabbed her in the middle of the DX and started to dance with her. Customers had been in the store, walking around and shopping but he didn't care and had instead twired her around the store.

She remembered writing a poem on the back of the picture, and reached out to grab it. She flipped the picture around and saw that it was still there.

There's a boy with sun-soaked eyes and the smell of gasoline around his collar. his laugh shakes you like running barefoot through a pine forest. you trade kisses for dreams before you realize it. he fades, like the dreams of yesterday and you realize you were recklessly in.

sunshine looks good on him, golden sun and bronze freckles, arrogant but strangely alive, like half healed scars, reminders of the stars that you love so much.

a broken mess of human bones and you feel home, you feel safe because you know that feeling all too well. he speaks to you in poetry, all soul aching until you curl up into your bed and shut the world out, ignore his calls.

a red-stained mouth that tastes of cherries and wine, shocked gasps from frozen fingertips on your warm skin, he's dangerous and his smile is razor-sharp, peaked white teeth glimmering in the mid-summer sun.

"Why didn't you tell me?" She turned to Sodapop who had tears streaming down his face, he had always been one to show his emotions. Something she both loved and hated, hated only because she had developed a habit of crying whenever he did.

She took her lower lip between her teeth and fought her tears, she couldn't cry again. Not now, she hadn't even realized she had stopped crying. Taking in a deep breath she remembered all that she had written in the letter. She had written about how she loved him with all her heart and how much it hurt her to hurt him this way. About how she didn't have a choice. They were evil, her parents were evil. They were either going to send her off with some boy or push it back and let her go off to college and follow her dreams-as long as she made her non existent love that she held for Timothy look real. She told how that she thought it would be less painful for him, but she was selfish and had to tell him the truth. She couldn't bare the thought of him looking at her the way he looked at her now but she also needed the freedom.

She didn't have a choice, she never got a choice.

"I did, I tried. But, I never get to make a decision in this house and-"

"It doesn't matter," he whispered, she hadn't realized how close he was until now. His eyes gazed at her the way they used too and suddenly she was on cloud nine again. Far, far away from everyone else, just him and her in their own little bubble and she loved it.

His reciprocated love had been the one thing she had been thankful during the time she had it.

"Yes, it does." she whispered back, she didn't know why they were whispering. But she didn't really care either, reality was fake. It all was fake, except for him.

-

A/N; I hate the ending, I hate the start, I hate everything about this one shot. But I am just so done with this stupid thing. Ugh, hopefully the next one will be better. I am sorry about this. It was supposed to be better and I was supposed to write an aftermath part. Maybe I will later, but not today.

[sciencelings-writes]

Endgame Fix-it Prompt

@iron-man-bingo

For once in his life, Tony didn’t want to die. He had spent so much time wishing that he could just stop existing until he found something to live for. After the first snap and seeing the kid he thought of like his own disappear in his arms, all he wanted to do was follow him in the same billion pieces. But he didn’t. He stayed on the barren planet far from his home. Even before that, there were dozens of times he wanted to give up but at the last second, the universe threw in something for him to live for into his life. 

He had just gotten everyone back. He could introduce Peter to Morgan and Harley, He could finally retire with his family. He could go home. But that wasn’t going to happen. The battle wasn’t over. In fact, they were losing. Until Tony got a hold of the infinity stones. He had the chance to save them all but he had to confront the certainty of the sacrifice.  

If Tony used the stones, there was no going back. But if Thanos got the stones back, the entire universe would be destroyed. Tony knew what he was going to do and he took a selfish moment to think about them. To think about his beautiful, wonderful wife, his best friends, his kids… and he realized that he would do anything to stay with them. He couldn’t leave them. Not just for his own sake, but for the people that loved him. 

He had spent so long trying not to let anyone get near him that it was only then, when he was about to die, that he realized who he would leave behind. If he died, Pepper would have to raise Morgan alone, Morgan would grow up without her father, Peter would’ve lost his third father figure and judging by how close he was to the scene, the second father figure who would die in front of his eyes, Rhodey and Happy would probably feel pretty bad, no matter how much Tony wished they shouldn’t. 

For some reason, he didn’t want to die. But he still needed to end it. Someone did, and it was too late to make another plan, one that would keep him alive. It was too late. All he could do was take the shot and hope that there was a chance that he could survive. For his family if not for the simple reason that he finally had hope. He had finally gotten his family whole again and he so desperately wanted to experience everything with them, he wanted to see Peter graduate and buy way too many gifts for Christmas and feel like a buttery mess after movie nights. He wanted to help Morgan with her homework and teach Harley how to fly a suit. He just wanted to live. 

So while he had the most powerful reality warping tool within his grasp, he didn’t just use them to completely decimate Thanos and his army, he added a little selfish request. He wanted to survive. He didn’t care how painful it would be, how horrible his quality of life would be, he just needed to stay. He needed to stay with them. 

He looked straight into the purple assholes eyes, with extreme power coursing through him, and he snapped. After that was a painful blur, and then darkness. His last thought was the dim hope that this wasn’t the end and the blurry sight of his wife and her muffled voice. 

“You can rest now.” 

No, he doesn’t think he will.

____________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________

Tony died. But not for long. Only for a moment. A long moment. Long enough to be pronounced dead at the hospital. Long enough for everyone to think he was dead. Pepper was crying over his body when he took his first breath.

He expected the pain, but this was kind of annoying. His right side felt like it was submerged in lava and his arm was completely gone. But pain was nothing new. He wrapped his remaining arm around his wife and swore that he wasn’t a zombie. She still had her cool-toned iron suit on, mildly damaged from battle. His side, neck, and part of his face were heavily bandaged. He had technically felt worse in his life but this was pretty shitty. 

Tony unapologetically took several long moments just being held by his wife, trying not to think of the world around them. Just thanking every single god from every single religion he could think of that he was still alive. That he didn’t have to leave his family yet. 

“Oh my god… Tony… Do you want me to bring everyone in? We all thought you were dead, Peter was.. Jesus poor kid…” Pepper stumbled over her words like she did only when shit was really fucked up. 

“Some… only your favorites… I can’t… It’s a little fucked up but… I kind of want to stay dead. I’ve been in the public eye since Howard revealed that mom was pregnant. I just… I think I’m done…” His voice was weak and only came out in a soft grumbling whisper. 

“I think we can work that out…” Pepper said gently as she pressed a kiss to his forehead. “I am going to let the spider-kid in though. You know, if it wasn’t for him, we wouldn’t have gotten you here to check if you weren’t dead. Your heart had stopped and the arc reactor shut off. Everyone thought you were gone but he convinced us to patch you up and wait. He said he knew what death felt like and that you were still there. I’m glad that we held on to that speck of hope.” Her voice wavered a bit. Looking at Tony like he was a ghost and that she still wasn’t sure that he was there. 

“Yeah… I want to see him. I really want to see the kid.” He said weakly. 

“I’ll get him then. Are you sure you want to… ‘Stay dead’?” She used her fingers for air quotes. 

“Yeah. I think… I think I’m done. Maybe the Avengers will stop bothering me if they think I’m six feet under.” He gave her a little smile. The only person that would be able to figure it out was dead too. None of the other Avengers were very bright. Except for Bruce, but he also tended to mind his own business. 

Pepper left the room after glancing at him again and was only gone for a moment. Tony took a few steady breaths and closed his eyes for a second. It turned out dying was exhausting. His eyes snapped open when he heard a timid familiar voice. 

“Mr. Stark?” 

“Hey, Kiddo. You glad to be back in the land of the living?” 

“I-I could ask you the same thing…” Peter’s eyes were red around the edges like he had been crying tears made of acid. He looked like he really wanted to see if Tony was really there and alive but didn’t want to hurt him. The look was pretty specific but Peter was usually pretty easy to read. 

“Come on.” Tony opened his remaining arm, offering a hug. It looked kind of odd with only one arm but it was still pretty obvious the intentions. 

“You’re hurt, I don’t want to-” 

“Kid I literally don’t give a shit.” This seemed to be all the permission Peter needed to practically launch himself over to Tony’s side and wrap him in an obviously much-needed hug. Tony’s heart clenched when he heard Peter’s muffled sob into his shoulder. Tony automatically combed his fingers through his kid's hair and he assumed that helping raise Morgan made his affectionate actions more natural. He blamed that when he kissed Peter’s forehead like he would his own biological kid. Thankfully if Peter didn’t feel weird about it, he didn’t say anything. 

In fact, they didn’t say anything for a while. Tony just held onto his kid with his one weak arm with Peter curled up around him on the hospital bed looking unbelievably small for someone who could throw a bus. After a minute of listening to steady breathing and comfortable silence, Tony realized that Peter had fallen asleep. 

For some strange reason, this caused Tony’s old scarred heart to swell in pure admiration for the kid. Getting the kid back had been one of the most wonderful surreal moments in his life. At first, he didn’t believe it. He had spent so much time feeling guilty and mourning that getting him back felt too good to be true. He could only hug the kid close and fondly listen to all his rambling. Now, they were both alive and Tony was overwhelmingly relieved. 

He didn’t care that he lost an arm, people like Bucky and Nebula had missing arms and he could figure out a cool prosthetic pretty easily. He didn’t care about the pain. He was alive to raise his daughter and to just… live. All he wanted to do was live. Live without the burden of knowing the next world ending event was on the horizon.  Without being the only hero to prepare for it. But now, there were plenty of heroes, a few of which he even trusted to take his place. 

They didn’t need him anymore. He had done enough. This didn’t make him feel sad, it made him feel relief. He was done. He had always strived to be done. That’s why he fought, to be done. To go home. To be with his family. But for so long he had always been pulled back in. This had been the last time. He was done. No more. Over. He could rest. Thankfully for him, his rest wasn’t death and it didn’t have to be. It seemed like stories of heroes who couldn’t stop being heroes always ended up dying and that was the only way they could rest. But not him. He was all for breaking stereotypes. 

His train of thought paused when the door squeaked open a few inches. He smiled when he caught sight of his best friends. Happy and Rhodey snuck in, after noticing Peter fast asleep in Tony’s arm. They both looked relieved to see him and Tony swore that he saw tears in his oldest friends eyes. 

“If you ever do that kind of shit again I’m gonna-” Happy whisper threatened, as not to wake the baby. 

“I know… I won’t. I’m… I’m done.” Tony promised

“Like Done done?” Rhodey raised a suspicious eyebrow.

“My beautiful, perfect, intelligent wife is making sure that I’ll be legally dead. So yeah. I’m done.” Rhodey and Happy shared a look. 

“Are you sure? I didn’t think we could take the hero out of you…” Rhodey confirmed. 

“I’m done. I mean I don’t think I can completely stop, but I can do what I did with this kid. I can help the baby superheroes. I even have an idea of who can replace me as Iron Man…” 

“What are we gonna do about the funeral?” 

“I’ve got an idea... But that’s for later. I’m happy that you’re both here.” He smiled a little. 

“I think we’re both pretty glad that you’re not dead too.” Happy shrugged. 

“Yeah, I can see that…” 

____________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________

Tony’s funeral might’ve been a small private affair but he could’ve never expected to be mourned as much as he was. It almost made him feel bad that it wasn’t real. There was a gigantic statue of Iron Man in New York where the old Avengers compound used to be, along with a well-funded museum of heroes dedicated to the ones lost. Including Nat and the Vision. Tony had never been there but Peter told him about it. He took pictures of everything Iron Man related and texted him a picture of his own gravestone. That was kind of weird but he ended up making a joke about it, so now they joke about leaving flowers on his tombstone and his ghost haunting the kid. 

Morgan, Pepper, Happy, and Rhodey had to do quite a lot of acting at the private funeral to keep up the story that Tony was dead. But Peter didn’t have to act too much. He knew what it felt like to go to a father figures funeral. Even though he knew Tony was alive and even had an earpiece connected to him directly, it was still kind of jarring to pretend that he was dead. 

Once he had to get away from all the people and hid in the bathroom for a while with Tony asking through the earpiece if he was okay. Peter would reply that it was just weirdly familiar and he didn’t like talking about him in the past tense. He also didn’t like being around people who believed it. He desperately wanted to tell someone, but it wasn’t his place and he managed to keep his mouth closed. Even when the shreky Bruce Banner looked really sad, Peter managed not to spill. It was kind of hard. 

Morgan was surprisingly good at keeping her mouth shut. She was a drama queen just like her father. She was mostly confused at the situation and thankfully was not aware of the concept of death so she just whined about wearing a boring dress and getting hungry for cheeseburgers. 

A bunch of people that ‘were’ close to him talked about him a little, Peter was informed that if they had enough time, they would let him say a few words and evidently, there was plenty of time. So Peter was a little nervous, it wasn’t like he was talking about his dad figure to a bunch of super-people… So, Peter was a lot nervous but he ultimately decided to do this because he had things he wanted to say to Tony that he was too cowardly to say in front of him. 

So he stood up from his place at the head picnic table and looked at the darkly dressed superheroes all around him. He took a shaking breath and decided to introduce himself. 

“Hi, uh, I’m Peter Parker. Spider-Man, but don’t go blabbing about that, some of us want to keep that kind of thing a secret.” There was a small ripple of polite laughter. “Tony is… Tony was like a father to me. When no one believed in me, he did. When I was alone, I had him. When my aunt found out about my secret vigilantism, he confronted her and managed to not get slapped.” He looked at May who had a sad look on her face but still smiled a little. She still wasn’t in the light about the reality with Tony but Peter was sure that he would tell her eventually. 

“Tony was my hero before he surprised me at my apartment. He was the type of hero I wanted to be before I got powers. He didn’t need super strength or a magic hammer to be a superhero. He didn’t need a gamma radiation accident or years of training as a Russian spy. He didn’t need an infinity stone or magic or vibranium. He was a hero because of his brain. He was a hero because he made himself one. He was a hero because he was doing anything he could to fix his mistakes and the mistakes of the people around him. He was a hero because while I was a nerdy middle schooler, with nothing but my above average brain, he was someone I could see myself in.”

“He became a hero when he was broke and kidnapped with a battery in his chest. When his brain was the only thing he had left, he rose from the ashes and became Iron Man. He made me realize that no matter how broken I was and was going to end up being, I am not worthless or unfixable. Tony Stark still saved the world while the world never believed he could.” 

“There are a lot of heroes out there,” Peter looked around the dozens of superheroes around him and smiled, “but no one like Tony Stark. No one can ever be like Tony Stark.” 

‘Aw, Spider-kid, you’re making me tear up…’ Tony’s voice echoed quietly through the earpiece. 

“I don’t think I’ll ever be used to him being gone, sometimes I can still hear his voice…” Peter smiled a little, hoping that it came across as reminiscent instead of knowing. 

‘No you can’t’ 

“Anyway, sorry I ended up rambling didn’t I… I just want to finish with the fact that I think Tony was my hero. Not Iron Man. He will always be my hero.” 

____________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________

The Stark household was like a domestic heaven. Both Peter and Tony had never expected to have a family again, yet here they were, at the dinner table with a handful of other people laughing along to a joke one of them had made. 

Peter had been living there while May figured out the apartment situation as she had been dusted too and their apartment had someone else living there. But it was fine, apparently Tony had prepared a room for him, filled with Star Wars themed things and even a poster for a few Star Wars movies that he had missed while he was all dusty. 

Living there had been kind of weird for Peter but he welcomed it. He wasn’t used to being around a little kid but being around Morgan was a lot of fun. Apparently, Tony had told her all about him and insisted that he was her brother and Peter didn’t have the heart to tell her that wasn’t the case. Even if he did have the heart to, he wouldn’t. He always got a little smile on his face when Morgan said ‘Petey’ instead of ‘Peter’ because she couldn’t quite pronounce her ‘r’s very well yet. 

Harley was a different sort of weird but just as welcome. He was more extroverted and confident than Peter was but just as nerdy. Half of their conversations were about the logistics of sci-fi weapons and the other half were about dumb things like the memes Peter had missed. It struck an easy balance and Peter didn’t think he could become friends with someone so fast. Peter could ramble almost incoherently at the speed of light and Harley could still follow along. Peter was pretty happy to have more than one friend now. 

So, sitting at the dinner table, with a bunch of people Peter could imagine thinking about as a family, was a little bit overwhelming. He had always kind of envied people with siblings, parents and all that, with no offense to the aunt and uncle that raised him, he loved them more than he could say, but he knew from a pretty young age that his family was a little odd. It was even worse after his uncle was killed but now, he had more family than he had ever thought he’d ever have.

“You zoning out fart-face?” Harley’s voice broke Peter’s focus of staring at nothing. 

“I guess you were that boring asshole,” Peter said with no maliciousness in his voice. 

“Language! What will the good captain think!” 

“Carol wouldn’t care…”

“No, she’s the great captain, I mean Steve.” 

“Oh! I don’t care.” 

“Don’t swear in front of my kid though.” Tony interrupted before taking an unsteady bite of a cheeseburger with his nondominant hand as his dominant arm had yet to be replaced with a prosthetic. He was still working on living without his most useful limb. Usually, Pepper had to help him with simple tasks but lately, DUM-E had been happy finally being useful. He was almost competent.  

“Fine dad…” Peter rolled his eyes over dramatically. 

“Am I hearing sass from you, Spider-boy?” 

“Come on, Harley sasses you all the time!” 

“I’m not saying that it’s bad, I just never expect it to come from you…” 

“I guess when I died, the last bits of hero worship died too…” 

“Please don’t talk about dying… I’m not in the mood. It’s cheeseburger time.” 

Dinner continued like that, with casual conversation and Tony complaining about having to take breaks from eating because his body was still too annoyingly weak to do such hard tasks as chewing and holding something in his hand for several seconds. May was planning on coming down to the cabin in a couple of hours after her shift at the snaps rehabilitation center, Happy would fly her over and they were bringing back some things from the storage facility that Tony had put all the Parkers things into. 

Even though everything hurt and he could barely move, Tony was very happy to be alive. He loved being with his family and was already planning on making a joke about trading his right arm for them. Which was much truer than they knew. It had only taken several decades of absolute torture, but Tony was finally happy to be alive. 

____________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________

It had been a few months since the big battle, since the final snap, since Tony lost his arm. By now they had made mark one or the Iron Arm, it wasn’t too bulky and moved when Tony wanted it too but he was still getting used to it. 

Thanks to the jolly green giant, Tony knew that today was the day that the stones were being returned. It took a little while for the time machine to be rebuilt and made smaller, and more Pym particle to be made but the time had come and everything was ready. He was taking a stroll near his little pond and without his usual paranoia, didn’t notice someone behind him until they spoke up. 

“Tony?” Tony turned around without urgency to see who had caught him not being dead. He was actually kind of surprised to see who it was. 

“Hey Cap. You’re looking… a little more elderly than I last saw you…” Tony raised his graying eyebrow at the wrinkly version of his teammate. 

“You’re alive?” 

“Apparently, I knew none of you would leave me alone if I told you before.” 

“Well, I am pretty glad about that. I have about a half hour until my younger self takes the most powerful weapons in the universe back. Would you like to sit with me?” 

“I don’t have much else to do. Being dead gives me way too much free time…” Tony sat on the bench facing the pond and Steve sat down next to him. Tony noticed the strangely shaped circular bag at Steve’s side and realized what it was for pretty quick. Not many things were that size that Mr. Rogers would bring back from his timeline. “So, Barnes or Wilson. Who’s gonna be the next Cap?”

“I’ve been thinking about it for a while,” Steve chuckled, “Bucky… he deserves a break. Sam is more than worthy to inherit the shield. Captain America was always more than a World War two science experiment.”

“So, is he going to be the eagle now? Uncle Sam?” Tony joked. 

“Americas Angel? Well, I’m not quite sure. He might even decide to keep being Captain America. Just younger and fewer steroids.” 

“You know, It’s kind of weird getting old. Passing the superhero mantle. I didn’t know if I could ever leave it behind.” 

“And what changed your mind?” 

“The kid. Spider-Man. There are so many heroes out there now, I remember being the only one. But now, there are plenty to go around. But the kid? I wouldn’t trust anyone with my legacy more. I mean sure, there are a few other choices that I would totally support being the next Iron Man, but Pete’s already in the game. He followed in my footsteps the moment he used being a superhero to cope with world-shattering trauma.” 

“That is very you isn’t it. I think the world is going to be in good hands.” 

“Probably better hands than before.” There was a moment of silence. “You don’t seem too surprised to see me alive…” 

“You forget that I know you, Tony, if you were to retire, you’d have no choice but to be as dramatic as possible and faking your death while saving the universe is pretty damn dramatic.” 

“Faking my death was a little last minute… I didn’t mean to be that dramatic.” 

“It’s just part of you.”

“I don’t know whether that was offensive or not…” 

“It wasn’t meant to be. You’re a showman. Life is much more fun with you around.” 

“I’m flattered but you must remember that I am married and not in my prune phase yet.” Steve laughed weakly. 

“Not in every timeline…” 

“What the fuck is that supposed to mean-” 

“Maybe I’ll tell you later, you should probably get going, they’re starting to set up the device.” 

“I’ll set up an extra plate for dinner tonight, don’t skip out on me.” Tony stood up and took a moment to stretch. 

“I don’t plan on it. I had to wait several decades for people to start putting spices in food and I started to regret going back.” 

“Maybe I’ll boil some potatoes for your old man tastebuds,” Tony smirked as he walked away.

“Tony I swear to god-” 

“See you then Grandpa.” 

“I’ll look forward to it.” Steve smiled as he looked out into the shimmering water. Maybe it was cheap to call Tony dramatic when he traveled through his original timeline to give his friend a large sheet of metal. Well, if he had to learn something from the smartest avenger…

[violetsystems]

#personal

The biggest edition to my footwear collection is still the cat sleeping at my feet as I type this.  She doesn’t use the other litter box at all which is understandable.  That’s my default these days.  Whether things are understandable or not.  Or maybe whether I really deeply care or not.  I was riding the train home during rush hour yesterday and somebody was playing trap out of a chik-fil-a backpack.  I was done with everything at that point I just muttered “Fuck Chik-Fil-A” loud enough to hear.  It didn’t help the dude’s backpack was in my face.  His friend picked up on it and understandably I got off the train at the next stop.  There’s been a lot of people following me around these days and making me feel unsafe.  Unfortunately nobody will listen to me about it so I just end up understanding the situation.  My understanding lately has been to keep myself safe by walking away from everything.  Like somebody assaulting me and my mom on her birthday wasn’t enough evidence that I’m being targeted.  That’s crazy talk to people out here.  Are you sure you aren’t just imagining things?  I ended up taking the Ashland bus home again which ironically is a far rougher neighborhood.  I honestly don’t think anybody with a Chik-Fil-A bag is going to understand the finer nuances of why I’m offended.  I honestly don’t want to have a conversation with that type of person.  I don’t have time to be the steward and sheppard of the lost flock everywhere I go.  And yet people have these societal expectations of me that never seem to deliver.  They walk all over me without my consent and I just have to nod.   I have existed within this hidden framework of rules for years bumping up against the fence over and over again.  No matter what I do somebody seems to jump in and assume control over what I’m trying to do with my life.  Like I never asked.  Literally nobody gives me a chance to speak other than on Tumblr on the weekends.  I’ve described the kinds of behavior I’ve been subjected to for years.  For years people told other people behind my back that I was crazy, antisocial and worse.  But they never understood until recently that I actually had a very dangerous point.  This is traditional gaslighting and in America I think it’s the norm.  I was reading how the American economy is literally financed by debt fueled by overconsumption whereas in China it’s fueled by debt driven investment.  I have as many bills to pay as the next person.  I spend a little time every day to manage a spreadsheet like a journal in regards to how much money I spend.  I’ve done this for years by myself just like I’ve worked out my feelings in real time on the internet.  There’s no shortage of people trying to get you to spend more money.  It seems that people only value you in America based on how much money you are able to spend.  I bought a pair of Gore-Tex converse for seventy dollars.  They’re literally the illest shoe in context of people’s understanding of how I wear clothes.  I don’t sit here and spend hours talking about the clothes I wear.  Nobody cares.  I’ve been invisible for years or worse.  I’ve been a wink or an inside joke that people abuse to sell their products, images, and manifestos.  When I make a valid point it is met with laughter behind my back and mined for intel and dirt in secret.  Laughter and comedy in America is rooted is some deprecating humor.  It makes sense when you tie this into bullying.  People want you to feel bad about yourself for a lot of reasons.  It’s mostly an act of devaluing your self esteem.  That you aren’t enough.  So you’ll spend more or try harder for people who wouldn’t do the same for you.  It’s a pyramid scheme staring you in the face on a dollar bill.  And then there’s the things that money can’t buy.  That some people care about and other people just overlook time and time again.  Self respect at the end of the day or the beginning of a new one is hard to come by.  It’s understandable why I keep to myself in that respect.

I can’t change how shitty I’ve been treated.  I live with years of it.  I thought it might get better clearing it up in a journal.  Writing about how I feel about this or that is about as close to a vibe check as any.  And still people try to play these games with me in real life.  The games prove nothing.  It’s just an excuse to pit people against each other and tear down power.  Like you are cordially invited to the wood chipper or meat grinder.  Your opinion matters.  Except when it doesn’t.  After all these years feeling lost and alone is still my problem.  I recently have come to embrace this.  Who wouldn’t want to get lost and alone with me?  There’s people I don’t want to be lost or alone with.  Because I’ve been there facing myself in the mirror.  We can talk for hours about all the good we are doing and there’s no record of any work or activity to show for it.  When I was on Facebook I used to relentlessly post my miles I tracked in my running app.  They’d go ignored for years.  I’d check into the gym and it would echo in the digital staleness of the platform.  Really nobody cared or understood what these things meant to me.  The minute I would share something that inspired me I would be talked over or the conversation would shift to another person.  I just basically defaulted to thinking nobody cared about me.  I didn’t want to burden the world with how that made me feel.  But I wrote about it here week after week.  And I never lied when I sat down to sketch it out.  It’s just that nobody really understood how bad everything had gotten for me.  I have lived a literal fucking nightmare for the last two or three years.  Ironically I quit drinking around the same time.  That part was me understanding I wasn’t doing anything positive for myself with that habit.  People asked in a hushed whisper online if I “got help.”  I just fucking quit.  Like I quit huge portions of my life that were complete bullshit.  I’m constantly reminded how I don’t fit into those parts of my life when they return to haunt me.  Ignore my pain for years and then suddenly show up again to try the same old socialite bullshit.  We’re all in this together.  Except when people alienated me for years.  This isn’t something new or shocking for me.  I understand other people are coming to the very same realization.  People in America use the English language like a bulldozer.  They talk emphatically with a concerned tone about how much they care.  They never give you a chance to question why.  They’re always doing the questioning.  They always have the right answers tied to the right texts that nobody has ever really heard of.  I get these emails about how my name was mentioned in this or that academic paper.  I have to pay a fee to sign in to find out which.  So literally I have to pay a fee to figure out who is plagiarizing and conceptualizing my life.  Just like I bought all this street wear gear to be noticed and just ended up victimized and shunned.  There’s a wall out there for sure you can’t pass.  It’s a fence that has no logic other than rich people who don’t think you’ve paid enough to be human.  And these are numbers that don’t really work well with a nonprofit salary.  And yet I still do what I can with it and hold my ground.  Because this shitty behavior is not sustainable.  And the real vibe check is that I am done with everything and beyond anger and frustration.  Sadly I’m the one with the answers to my problems.  And the only answer I’ve found is staying away from the disrespect.  That and saying what I feel whenever I feet like it.  Because nobody cares anyway.  They’ll applaud how brave I am then figure out a new way to poke me with a stick.

I’ve always thought the best I could be was being a good person.  I’ve made a lot of sacrifices nobody understood to be that person.  People distrusted me for years.  I only recently began to realize that this was not my fault.  I can’t possibly do anything else in my life to get people to trust me.  People have dug down so far deep into my life it is insulting.  If you bring it up to anyone the first thing they’ll do is doubt you.  Typical stage one gaslighting.  “How can you be sure?” in a concerned tone is really just “Why are you rocking the boat?” in America.  I can be sure enough that most people out here don’t value the sacrifices I’ve made.  They can’t fathom them because they don’t pay attention.  They say they know me behind my back.  How that one time they saw me out of context.  People for the record haven’t hung out with me for months if not years.  I used to play magic down the street and then people got cocky.  Now I play Hearthstone online and developers still get cocky but it’s far different.  There’s an actual community there with complex thoughts on everything.  Some of them I agree with.  Other things like Hong Kong I feel are none of my fucking business at this point.  I don’t think anybody cares about the nuances of how unhappy I am with politics these days.  I keep out of discussions now because they go nowhere.  Americans want you to say things out loud so they can put you on record.  Somewhere they can either use your opinion to sell a product or a service.  Maybe even a patriotic ideology.  I write enough reviews on Amazon to know the functionality of that.  Somebody asked the other day if an acrylic paint I reviewed could be used on silk fans.  I answered the question as non-biased and informative as I could for a white guy and moved on.  For a person who drinks as much coffee as I am nobody understands that I have a subscription.  I spent seventy dollars a month for a month’s supply of single origin coffee.  Meanwhile people at work are always trying to sell me on something else.  How my coffee habits are meaningless unless I spend money into this or that pool.  How Blizzard is evil and doesn’t deserve my support.  How I need to convince people my view on Hong Kong is correct when they’ve never even been there.  There’s times when my opinion is valued and I share it.  And then there’s times when people don’t listen to a word I say.  They have absolutely no understanding of why I live and breathe let alone choose to support.  They show no care.  They simply target, bully and neutralize.  If they fail they deal with the awkwardness of their assault by pretending I don’t exist.  That’s the real wall.  How you will never be good enough in some people’s eyes.  Because you might just realize your value and leave all together.  Take your money, your care, and your attention elsewhere.  Maybe even to another country where the debt is driven by investment instead of hyper conspicuous consumption.  Really after all these years of suffering in America I feel like I have no value to this country.  I’ve been raked under the coals so much and scrutinized for no reason.  If people really were watching and paying attention they’d know how much hurt I’ve been through.  I’ve stayed accountable for my actions so I could live in a space where I could love myself.  Which makes it highly understandable why I keep to myself and stay out of the public eye these days.  It is not safe for me and has not been for a very long time.  You can only be brave for so long until somebody finds a way to make you a martyr.  In that respect I’ve carried enough crosses to know you’ll never cross that line with me.  Especially if you eat at Chik-Fil-A in 2019.  Eat a real fucking chicken sandwich you dumb fuck.  <3 Tim