#meanwhile all ive done is cry. maybe a part of me just likes feeling like this i DONT KNOW

[chemicalbrew]

achievement get (for the billionth time): take one look at an assignment and get severely overwhelmed AND discouraged for the rest of the day and do nothing

[ascarimo]

Can you possibly write something spicy with Lando?? Like after his podium maybe.

Hey Anon ❤️ as my requests are currently closed I’ll just post something that I’ve written on my wattpad recently!

A/N: this one shot was requested on Wattpad and is published in my book One Shots IV on my account @ curvaparabolica

WARNINGS: nsfw (unprotected sex)

38. "Ride me baby"

40. "I want you to tell me how good it feels"

After a couple hours of streaming, Lando finally managed to say goodbye and log out of Twitch. He was tired actually and he leaned back in his chair while his computer was updating before it would shut off. Lando looked over at the door as he heard it opening and he stood up to place his headphones on his desk. "Hi," you chirped, standing in the door way in one of his oversized McLaren sweaters, your hair up in a bun. "Hey," Lando replied with a chuckle. "Are you done?" you asked and he nodded, stretching his arms above his head and your eyes briefly glided to the hem of his shirt that rode upwards and exposed a part of his tummy. "Finally though, I was getting tired," Lando yawned next and you smiled at him. You looked at the way the purple, orange, yellow-ish light of his logo lit him up. There were no other lights on in the room and you loved the coloured LEDs on the wall.

"What are you doing here, baby?" Lando asked, looking down at you when you moved further into the room and pushed the door closed behind you. "Enjoying the lights," you simply replied, making his heart beat a little faster. You had called it 'mood lighting' before and you had teased him about, however he couldn't deny that he hadn't thought about getting it on here in his streaming room. No computers, camera's or microphones on of course. "Is your computer shut off?" you asked subtly, folding your hands behind your back while tilting your head as you looked back up at him. "Mhm," Lando hummed, sitting down in his chair again. "Did you have something in mind?" he continues and you slowly nod. You approach him meanwhile and his hands slip onto your thighs under the sweater you were wearing, pulling you into his lap. Lando felt the goosebumps rising on his skin when your hands cupped his cheeks.

Your fingertips traced his cheekbones, admiring the way the toned lights fell onto his skin and gave his feature that slight erotic hint that caused the arousal to rush through your veins. His hands wandered from the back of your thighs over your bum, his palms squeezing the cheeks and pulling you closer towards his crotch. Your back arched lightly when his fingertips traced up your spine, a breath hitching in his throat when noticing the band of your bra was missing on your back, automatically causing him to harden underneath you. One of his hands moves to the side of your face and he pulls you down for a kiss. The connection of your lips spread the warmth through your body. All he wants is your lips on his, your body close, the purpose of the kiss blooming in his chest and the pit of his stomach. Your hips slowly start to roll down on him, his tongue gliding across your lower lip before deepening the kiss.

Your fingers slipped into his curls, tugging on the roots of his strands and it made him elicit a low moan against your mouth. Lando sat up a little more, the kiss became firmer as his hands curled around your waist, pressing against your lower back to keep you close. His lips feel warm and swollen when you part, but only to lean forward and let your lips skim down his broad neck, the perfect canvas to leave your marks on. Remembering he was going to Italy at the end of the week, you sighed softly against his skin, grazing your teeth over his pulse, but leaving behind the love bite you wanted to decorate his neck with. Lando tugged on the sweater on your body, wanting it off. You sat back to fulfill his plead, dragging the soft material over your head and leaving it to fall onto the floor. His eyes had darkened already, his touch soothing when his hands wandered up your blistering hot skin.

"Take it off," you hummed, pulling on the collar of his shirt and it made him chuckle lowly. Lando reached back for his shirt, tugging it over his head in a swift move only boys could. You ran your hands over his muscled arms, making him sigh softly as he enjoyed your touch. Lando looked up at you, bathing in the neon lights on his wall. A smile curled his lips when you flinched slightly as his fingertips tickled your sides, but only to touch your curves and play with the hard pearls of your breasts. You let out a soft moan, a shiver running up your spine when Lando leaned forward to kiss your collarbones, down to the swell of your cleavage. His calloused fingertips on your nipples feel incredibly, sweet sparkles tingling between your legs. Your hands reached for his face again, kissing him once more while his touch continued to drive you into a frenzy. Lando sneaks one of his hands between your thighs, making you gasp when squeezing the flesh, cupping your clothed heat teasingly.

You're distracted by the kiss, his taste of which you can't get enough while Lando pushes your thong aside, two of his digits running through your folds and gathering your slick. You tremble slightly when he brushed them over your swollen clit, your arms curling around his neck. He repeated the action a couple times, but as he noticed that you were soaking, he didn't leave you waiting any longer. Lando's head nuzzled into your neck, his lips pressing against your skin while his fingers opened you up, pushing past your entrance and curling upwards before withdrawin slightly, then doing it again. He loved the way your hips were still grinding a little, but now on his fingers. Lando looked up at you, watching your blissed out expressions while your face was glowing with the sheen layer of sweat and the lights in the room. "You look so hot right now, love," Lando muttered, his teeth finding your shoulder, leaving a gentle mark while you squirmed on top of him.

Lando felt your walls getting slicker with each thrust of his fingers, pulling the moans from your throat. His thumb pressed against your clit, stimulating the nub of nerve endings by drawing endless patterns on it. You whimpered in dismay when he withdrew his fingers from you, looking eagerly how he licked his fingers clean next. Your hand wandered down his abdomen, sneaking into his sweats and passing the waistband of his boxers. Your mouth nearly wattered at the feeling of the veiny skin of his cock, wrapping your palm around his girth while pushing his sweats and his underwear out of the way. Lando's abdomen clenched when you started stroking him, making his hand reach for your face to pull your head down. His lips brushed over yours and you gazed into his hooded eyes. "Ride me, baby," his voice was low, hoarse and you clenched around thin air at solely the thought.

You lifted your hips a little higher, impatience burning through your body by now. You craved the full feeling of him, lustful for his tight grip on your waist and the grunts he'd let out. Lando gnawed his teeth into his lower lip when you start to lower yourself on him. You're hot and your walls construct around him, making you impossibly tight, the feeling of you around him simply divine. The stretch of your walls feels heavenly and you sigh when he's fully sheathed inside of you. His fingers curl around your waist, his fingertips digging into your skin in hope that you'd start moving soon. You lift your hips again, long strokes up and a slow descent, Lando could feel his stomach clenching in excitement. You swivel your hips to your heart's content, sweet whimpers leaving your mouth as you took the time to pleasure yourself on his cock. "I want you to tell me how good it feels," Lando gritted lowly, a moan received in response.

Your head rolls back while his hands hold your waist a little tighter, the roll of your hips causing the crown of his cock to be perfectly angled against your g-spot. "So fucking good," you breathed. Lando felt the warmth building up in his lower abdomen, the coil tightening and about to snap. Your walls were so warm and tight around him and you looked so gorgeous on top of him like that. "F-fuck," he cursed, starting to guide you faster onto his cock, his thumb brushing over your clit causing you to see stars. You hold onto his arms for leverage, your nails digging into his biceps. The sweet, familiar shimmers of your orgasm start to sparkle in the pit of your stomach and your walls clench around him tightly. Lando curses more under his breath, his eyes fixated on the place where your bodies connect over and over again. Your moans become louder, the pitch of your angelic sounds a little higher.

He looks up at you when a cry of his name leaves your lips, your body convulsing on top of him and you tremble into your orgasm that makes you feel fuzzy through your whole body. Lando pushed deeply inside of you before spilling against your inner walls, the feeling prolonging your orgasm while his head nuzzles into your neck. Lando catches his breath and then left soft kisses on your skin. "You were right," he suddenly speaks up, causing your brows to lace together when you lift his face, tracing his jaw with your thumb. "About the lights. They're definitely mood lights," he said and it makes you giggle. "You look so beautiful, you're glowing," Lando continues. "I'm sweating, you mean," you chuckled, but he shakes his head. You winced a little as you tried to get off the chair and he understood that you were sore, which made him lift you up to take you to the bathroom, where you could get cleaned up.

Lando gathered the spilled clothes meanwhile, carrying them while he had the door handle in his hand, reaching for the lightswitch with a grin on his face.

[whats-rambled-rambled]

Smoke & Mirrors - part 2

Neil x Reader

Chapter 2: What kind of man

(see chapter 1)

summary: the matchmaking trio changes their strategy, and you end up on a sparring mat with Neil

warnings: language and other explicit things, 18+ and I MEAN IT

author’s note:  ...you know what? I don’t want to take any responsibility for where this chapter ended up going. Those characters have mind of their own and at this point I can just write it down and try not to die on the way. (I know it’s far from what we’ve discussed A, but it’s best I could do with what these two had given me, promise to do better next time)

The song for this chapter is Florence + The Machine - “What kind of man”  (changed from “Undisclosed desires”, don’t ask me, I don’t know either)

Anyway, enjoy and let me know what you think, please?

___

“...and you really think this is a good idea?” 

“It sure beats yours,” said Ives and took a sip from his cup.

TP huffed and smacked his arm. “Hey, I thought it was our idea!”

“What matters is,” - Wheeler chimed in, fighting a losing battle to hide the annoyance in her voice - “it was a terrible one, and we have to do better if you want them to not get each other killed on the field.”

Ives pondered for a while. When he looked at Wheeler, his eyes were full of concern. “Honestly? This sounds like a recipe for someone getting hurt.”

She kept forgetting how protective he could be over his friend. Although this time, she thought, the one at risk was definitely Neil. 

Wheeler smiled reassuringly. “Trust me, it’s gonna work.”

_________________

There was a certain peace in the emptiness of the HQ’s shooting range in the early morning. It always helped you clear your head - there was no place for emotions while you were holding a gun. And you always knew when to come there to be alone. 

At least up until today.

Just as you finished your routine and grabbed your bag, the door opened and you were greeted by the smirk from under the messy blonde mane. 

Bloody perfect.

A week had passed since the bar encounter, seven long days filled with Neil’s tiresome presence during your work time. If it wasn’t a merged mission of your squads, there were training sessions. The shooting range was your last place free from the walking reminder of your recent failure. 

Not anymore, apparently. 

“Going out already? Too bad, I was hoping to get some tips from you.”

“Aim and pull the trigger. Repeat. It’s really that simple,” you said, shrugging.

The blue eyes narrowed behind yellow-tinted lenses of the safety glasses as Neil sent a forced smile your way. “Never would have guessed,” he deadpanned.

You passed by him, not willing to allow him to get under your skin. But then, just as you were about to exit the room, you stopped and cursed internally at yourself. Closing the door and turning around, you placed your bag quietly on the ground and leaned back against the wall. With your arms crossed, you watched Neil as he prepared his pistol and started the practice. 

You studied his posture, the way he held the gun in his gloved hands, trying to find any weak points in his technical side. There wasn’t too much to improve, his problem with shooting during the missions must have been elsewhere. You briefly glanced over the rolled sleeves of his navy blue shirt and the way his jaw tightened when he checked the target to grade his accuracy. 

“Look at that, you actually can hit a target,” you said and the corner of your lips twitched. “An easy one and not quite lethally but still, I’d call that a progress.”

Neil scoffed and glared at you over the shoulder. “I thought you were done for today.”

The subtle hints of frustration rang in his voice, catching you by surprise. You didn’t know why, but all of the sudden, the satisfaction you felt had a bitter aftertaste. 

You eyed him carefully before speaking again, this time easing up on the mocking tone. Just a bit. “Maybe you just need to train in a more stressful environment.”

A sardonic smile tainted Neil’s lips as he focused on the target again. 

“Keep talking then.”

You snorted, shaking your head as you left the shooting range. 

Fucking hell, he was just infuriating.

_________________

You stared at the bulletin board in disbelief. The new training lineup added one-on-one sparring sessions, and your name was all the way at the bottom of the list, which only meant more late evenings at the headquarters. And as for the choice of your sparring partner-...

With the corner of your eye, you spotted a familiar figure, trying to sneak by you unnoticed. You turned around quickly. “Ives, why do you guys hate me so much?”

He sighed slowly and patted you on the arm. “It’s nothing personal,” he said, his voice almost sincere. But you knew better, and after the crap they’d pulled on you last time, you had every right to be suspicious. 

“You could have picked anyone else for him,” you complained, quite desperate to try anything to avoid spending more time with that blonde pain in the ass.

“I didn’t pick shit,” Ives scoffed. “Besides, it’s just the combat practice, the usual training rotation stays the same.”

“And it’s a coincidence-”

“It’s not,” TP’s voice rang from behind you. “It’s the result of your recent evaluation.”

You stifled a curse. 

_________________

Neil’s brows furrowed in fake concern while he looked you up and down as you kicked off your shoes and stepped on the mat. The fact that you accidentally matched your black tank top and shorts to his black t-shirt and sweatpants didn’t get lost on him.

“What’s with the frown, sweetheart?” he teased. “I thought you might enjoy it, I saw the way you look at me.”

You smacked your lips as you began to stretch your arms and sneered, “Good, so you know how much I want to punch your stupid face.”

Neil kept his features casual, but the taunting sparks in his eyes were saying plenty. 

“I can’t wait to see you try.”

You started circling each other slowly. After seeing him in combat, you knew that you were in his domain. You tapped into all your bottled anger to cover the lack of confidence you suddenly felt in his calm presence. 

“Ground rules?” you asked, putting your guard up.

Neil’s shoulders raised in a slight shrug as he mirrored your pose nonchalantly. 

“Just show me what you got.”

And that’s what you did. 

You always considered your close combat skills adequate. Good enough to let you get out of most of the situations you’d found yourselves into during missions. But after yet another blocked hit, you weren’t so sure about that anymore. 

Meanwhile, Neil was clearly having fun watching you struggle to break through his defense. “You don’t like hand-to-hand combat,” he rather stated the fact than asked as he dodged under swing aimed for his head and lunged forward, tapping your right side to mark the exposed area. 

“If you’re that close, it means I’ve failed to shoot you,” huffing in frustration, you spun around and kicked, missing him just barely. Neil didn’t give you too much time to regain your balance, making you jump out of the way of his flying knee. He flitted around you and grabbed your wrist, twisting it quickly and pressing it to your back, quickly adding your other one there before you could do anything about it. 

“You never let anyone near you, huh?”

A cold shiver ran down your spine as you tried to wriggle your way out. Neil was definitely too close for comfort, both literally and figuratively. “You’re not my therapist, blondie,” you uttered through gritted teeth, taking a sudden step back right into his arms, a change of direction finally allowing you to escape his grasp.

“Thank god, because I feel sorry for them already,” Neil laughed dryly. His eyes narrowed as he watched your mouth open in disbelief at his remark and a shit-eating grin crept on his face. 

You don’t know what pissed you off more - the fact that he was bent on driving you mad, or the sudden realization that the fucker was clearly holding back. It didn’t matter that you were struggling enough with the moderate effort from his side; to you, it was an insult worse than the comment. 

You brushed a sweaty strand of hair from your forehead. “Aren’t you tired?” you snarled, shifting your balance back and forth. The question was vague enough, but from the way his expression changed, you knew he got the hint. The predatory flare in his eyes made the heart race in your chest. 

Neil sprung at you, faking a misstep on the way to throw you off balance. Your senses sharpened enough to predict his next move and you were there to deflect a lightning-quick hit to your abdomen. You returned with a strike at his side but to no luck. Neil ducked under your elbow and closed in on you, giving himself enough momentum to knock you down and pin you to the mat.

The self-satisfied stare just a few inches from your face was making the blood boil in your veins. Cursing internally at both his reach and flexibility, you squirmed under Neil and that only made him press his forearm to your chest even harder, a roguish smile tainting his lips. “See, there’s one thing you need to learn. You need to work smarter, not harder.”

An outraged cry built in your throat as you clenched your hands on his arms, trying to gain any leverage in your position. You glared into the blue eyes, the nauseating hate burning in every cell of your body.

Neil raised an eyebrow and grinned. “Oh no, did I hit a nerve?”

You let out a frustrated groan. Of course, that son of a bitch hit a fucking bullseye. And to make matters worse - he had a point, too. 

Neil spotted a change in your expression a second too late. You swiftly moved your hands and sneaked them under his t-shirt, sliding them up his stomach. His eyes widened as he gasped, reducing the pressure on your chest. That gave you enough room to maneuver, rolling him off you and pinning him with his wrists above his head. 

With your faces again just inches away from each other, both of you panted heavily; a part of you enjoyed Neil’s amused gaze, his mouth slightly open as he tried to level his breath. And then - 

“Good girl. Just like that.”

...fuck.

You didn’t know what exactly made your brain short-circuit. Was it the hoarse voice combined with the praise? The way the blue eyes suddenly got darker? Or both together?

And you didn’t even know how you found yourself underneath Neil again, flipped on your stomach, your hands behind your back. With one cheek pressed against the cold mat, you shivered at the sudden warmth of his uneven breath on your neck. 

A throaty chuckle made your heart skip a bit. “Two can play the game, darling,” he purred as his lips brushed against your ear. 

Your mind went blank again. 

Somehow, you made your way back to the shared locker room.

You leaned your back against the wall, crossing your arms. The tension between the two of you was almost volatile, elevating your heartbeat with every second passed and every step Neil made your way. 

“You’re insufferable.”

You grinned slyly as your eyes flared up. 

“The feeling is mutual, blondie.”

The way his gaze got even darker made your breath hitch. The burning sensation inside of you was something more than hatred now, not caring if you were ready to admit it or not.

He smacked his tongue, a vicious smile dangled in the corner of his lips. 

“You really should stop calling me that.”

The hidden threat in his tone made your mouth dry. You raised a brow and held your breath. 

“Or?”

He closed in on you and grabbed your chin harshly.

“Or I’ll make you.” 

You flashed your teeth and taunted him again. 

“Can’t wait to see you try.”

Neil hummed and moved a pad of his thumb against your lips, making you gasp breathlessly and lose all the resolve you had left. A dry chuckle in response to your expression was enough to haze your mind. You tilted your head as Neil leaned in, drawing his attention just where you wanted him. It took all your willpower not to sigh when he sucked at the skin just below your ear and your fingers raked through blonde hair, pulling Neil even closer. 

His hands roamed your body hungrily while his mouth moved down your neck. When you felt his fingers going up your thigh, you tugged at his t-shirt, and as they moved even higher, your hips bucked involuntarily, so eager to feel him where you needed him the most.

A sharp chuckle against your collarbone as he palmed over the almost completely soaked-through fabric of your shorts sent a bolt of pleasure through your every nerve. You could feel your core pulsing even harder as his long fingers rubbed you just right.

Your hand flew back up and yanked at his hair, making him look at you just before you trailed his jawline with your mouth. Neil groaned and a laugh rattled in your chest. 

You reached for his waistband, but he was faster. Next thing you knew, your shorts and panties were gone and Neil lifted you and pinned you to the wall. You wrapped your legs around his waist as he slid his arm around your lower back. You nearly cried out when he thrust into you mercilessly; instead, you dug your nails into his back and sank your teeth in your bottom lip. As Neil picked up the pace, you clung to him for dear life. The heat radiating from his body carried the musky smell mixed with the almost fade-out scent of his cologne, the combination so intoxicating it made you lightheaded. You felt yourself tighten around him as he ground into you relentlessly, and pathetic whine escaped your mouth. Hearing that, Neil slowed down, almost stopping and you groaned in frustration when you realized what he was doing. 

“I hate you,” you uttered through gritted teeth, panting heavily, rolling your hips, longing for the friction that son of a bitch was purposely denying you.

Neil pulled back enough so you could see the roguish sparks in his eyes accompanied by a mischievous grin. 

“Don’t be so dramatic,” he teased, his voice low and raspy.

You huffed, outraged by the audacity and he laughed, burying his face in the crook of your neck as he picked up where he’d left off. The fire he’d just fueled blazed in your veins, your heart raced in your chest and you felt yourself climbing the peak again. Wrapping your arms around him and pulling yourself closer, you frantically gasped for air and squeezed your eyes shut as you came undone with a loud moan, the pleasure hitting every fiber of your body in violent shockwaves. That was enough to send Neil over the edge, a deep groan escaping his mouth as he came into you, tightening his grasp on you almost painfully. 

At that moment, you were nothing but a trembling mess in his arms. Coming down, you pressed your forehead to his, enjoying the way your breaths intertwined. 

When both of you regained your senses, you pushed him away and picked up your clothes. As you were both decent enough, you glared at Neil.

“This changes nothing,” you said. 

The self-satisfied look in his eyes made you realize your mistake. 

No nickname. 

You cursed internally, but it was already too late. He’d had it his way, in the end. 

Neil’s lips curled in a half-smile.

“How tragic.”

(next chapter ->)

[pseudophan]

catch me crying at hannibal season 2 finale. everythings suddenly made clear and its so fuckin heartbreaking

ok hannibal 2x13 spoilers here so if you’re one of the people currently watching and dont wanna be spoiled don’t click the read more cause i HAVE to rant about that goddamn fucking episode

first of all. hannibal smelling freddie on will and realising he’s been manipulating him this whole time is genuinely the most upsetting shit ive ever seen in my life. he really truly believed will was gonna run away with him, to quote mads he was “blinded by love” and his face when all of that falls apart is so. he barely reacts and yet he conveys SO much. and i HAAATEEEE ITTTT. and then will calling hannibal to warn him, deciding last minute that he can’t set him up but its too late and hannibal is so hurt and of course he’s not just gonna leave without being a dramatic bitch about it and then the fight scene with him and jack is obviously SO fucking good but then... jesus fucking christ. listen. listen. when i say That Scene in mizumono is my favourite scene of anything ever i mean it wholeheartedly, yet its also the worst thing ive ever seen in my entire life. ok so im assuming if you’re reading this you’ve either seen the show or you don’t care about spoilers so im just gonna put the video here so people can watch it and and relive the pain

THIS SHIT.....IS SO....... i sincerely do not know who i feel the most sorry for. ok well sorry for is obviously abigail cause its hard to pity those other two fucks but hell if i dont feel bad as fuck for them both.

their entire relationship is based on a mutual fascination by and understanding of each other. it starts out with hannibal immediately being intrigued by will because to him will graham is essentially the greatest christmas present in the world. the psychiatrist part of him sees the way his mind works and naturally wants to study it further, meanwhile the Dark And Twisted Cycle Path side of him sees...well the same thing really but with an added element of hm. this man’s entire Deal is empathising with serial killers and holy shit wait im one of those oh this is gonna be so fun. oh wait he....he truly understands these killers....haha would he be able to- lol no he wont be able to understand me surely- and then at the end of the first episode he sees will emptying his gun into garrett jacob hobbs and he sees the look on his face and oh there’s so much potential. and naturally he starts being a real dick about it all and completely betrays will’s trust in every way imaginable and will is so so hurt by it and so naturally by the time he betrays hannibal part of you as the viewer is like well yeah, obviously, of course that’s what he’s doing. fair is fair. but then at the same time...

and will has those same doubts, and he’s realising that for all the hurt hannibal has caused him he’s also helped will understand himself a whole lot better, and while he doesn’t have the complete lack of conscience hannibal does he’s not exactly adversed to killing either, if it’s the right person. and maybe... maybe running away with hannibal wouldn’t be so bad... yeah maybe he should just- but then he remembers abigail. and he can’t get over that just yet. i truly believe if hannibal hadn’t “killed” abigail will would have given in sooner. but even then, he ends up warning hannibal that he’s given him up and that the fbi are coming and he goes to his house and oh my god there’s abigail. and im just imagining... the range of emotions he felt... when he saw her.... betrayal and hurt again sure because hannibal lied to him once more, but also holy fuck there goes most of his apprehension for running away with him and oh my god what has he done. and then he turns to see hannibal and THEEE HURRRRTTTTT IN HIS FACEEE. 

and then he stabs him and off he goes on his fucking speech and i think part of why it’s so effective is that up until then we only ever see slight glimpses of genuine emotion of any sort from hannibal and all of a sudden we get everything all at once and god it’s so much. for the first time in his life someone had the ability and want to truly understand him, something he’d long since given up on if he ever as much as tried (same goes for will, though he doesn’t have the added bonus of an extremely illegal hobby) and even more than that there is someone HE is that interested in? literally the only other person hannibal has genuinely loved up until that point was his sister and even then he was so young and suddenly here’s this guy who ticks just all the right boxes and for a second, just for a second, hannibal allowed himself to be seen and to believe he may have found genuine connection. and he had, technically, it just happened to be more brief than he would like

also hey, here to make it so much fucking worse: mads mikkelsen!

hey fuck you dude! what the fuck 😃

also this that tumblr user linpatootie wrote in their recap of the 2015 red dragon con

the idea of hannibal feeling Extra Betrayed because he realised will didn't even realise he loved him makes me want to FUCKING DIE

ok i gotta stop this none of this made any points forget i said anything i hate hannibal

[random-mha-thoughts]

No Idea (Bakugou x Reader)

Pairing: Bakugou x Reader

Anon asked:  "yooo sketch was so cute and he was so in character! if you're taking requests could you write a fic where basically all of 1a is at the dorms besides the reader who's patrolling and she gets attacked by dabi and has to fight him off alone meanwhile 1a and dadzawa watch from the dorms via news channel? bonus points for a water quirk reader! you can match the reader up with either deku or bakugou!"

Genre: Action, angst/comfort

Word count: 2,005

Tags:  @yuki-osaki​ @liviitehe​ @iamsoftsodonttoucheume-blog​ 

a/n: Basically this entire ask is describing just a portion of what I’m preparing for my multi-chapter Todoroki fic that I’ve already teased about for my 500 followers special, you can call it maybe an alternate pathway, or a separate continuity that helps to characterize my OC.  And I guess this one is well-timed because I just hit 1K yesterday?? I don’t know how it happened either tbh There will be a special event and a separate mushy post to come, but thank you all so so so much from the bottom of my heart.

This ended up longer than I expected, but that’s okay because I haven’t posted in a few days and I had time today to bang it out in one sitting.  I know this request came from a fluff like Sketch, so I hope you also like angst because that’s my specialty ;) (not to mention I was waiting for someone to request something angsty because I’ve had that photo saved and ready to use it for the LONGEST time).  Thank you for requesting it anon!

"Kinda sucks being out on patrol on the weekend," I sigh to myself, biting into my taiyaki.  "But it isn't all bad I guess."

Mirko had called me out to do a quick patrol this weekend.  This part of the city has been pretty quiet lately, and I don't mind showing my face.  A few passerby's wave at me and I respond in kind.  I like this part of the job, being the hero that everyone knows, respects, and trusts to protect them.  It gives me more drive to save them in time of crises.

"Blue!" a middle school girl walks by and waves.

"Hi, Mina," I smile and wave back.  "Going home from cram school?"

"Yup!" she flashes me a toothy grin.  "Dad's making dinner tonight for once!  It's Mom's birthday!"

"That's wonderful," my smile softens.  "Wish her happy birthday for me, okay?  And get home quick before she worries!"

"I will!" the girl runs off down the sidewalk, waving behind her.

So cute, I think, watching her small figure weave through the crowd of people.  I swallow the last bite of my fish treat and continue on my patrol.  Thankfully, it's another laid back day: I direct a few lost pedestrians to their destinations, make small talk with more familiar faces, help a few elderly carry groceries to their houses, and the like.  I'm content with the mundane flow of a lazy Sunday afternoon.

While talking to a grocery store employee, a sudden explosion in the alley across the street breaks routine.

"Everyone get inside the nearest building or run as far as you can!" I scream out instructions to the citizens nearest to me as I keep an eye on the alley for the next explosion and help anyone within reach to look for cover.  That explosion wasn't normal, I know those blue flames like the back of my hand.

Looks like my Sunday stroll is over.  I dial on my phone as I thread through the frightened crowd toward the alley.  "Mirko san, I might need backup.  There's a very high possibility that the League is involved here, but I'll confirm-"

Right when I'm within a few yards of the alley's opening, another bright blue light flashes, triggering the surrounding crowd to scream and run away faster.  I assist a few others, waiting for the smoke to clear.  A silhouette appears amidst the dark fog, and I know exactly who it is.

"I'm confirming, it's-"

Before I can finish, the shadow stretches out its hand towards me and blasts flames straight at me.  Immediately, I put up a water shield in front of me, then start building it wider so the people near and behind me can get away without damage.  I already know what happens when something - or someone - touches those dangerous blue flames.

"It's-It's Dabi of the League," I force myself to say, the name burning as it rolls off my tongue.  "He appears to be alone."

"Roger.  Try to apprehend him by yourself before I get there!  I'll hurry over as soon as possible!" my mentor responds and cuts the call.

I make sure everyone within the immediate area is evacuated from the streets, scanning every inch wildly for stragglers.  Heat increases around the me suddenly, and darting my head back around shows the fire eating through my water defense without faltering.  Before it completely penetrates my defense, I jump over to the side behind a car, right before a giant hole is ripped in my shield.

I catch my breath calling the water back towards me into my water nodes and compartments in my hero suit.

"Looks like you've improved a lot since the last time I saw you, (Y/n) (L/n)."

His menacing yet familiar voice as he drags out my full name sends shivers up my spine.  Damn it, of all the villains, I had to face him!

"Aw, don't be shy now, I know you're happy to see me too."  His voice moves towards my left.  "We don't even get to see each other anymore."

"I'd prefer it that way," I snap, readying myself for another inevitable attack.

"You better give me a good fight, little one."

His voice-!

At the last second before hearing the crash, I jump out from in front of my cover, the intense heat from the blue flames just millimeters from burning my fingertips.  Dabi had jumped onto the top of the car, his voice being evenly split in both of ears signalling that he had moved from my left to right behind me in the nick of time or else I'd be ashes.

I finally got a good look at his face.  The stitches and staples etched into his face down to his chest and arms are all-too-familiar, along with his raven black hair and turquoise eyes.

"Reminiscing?" his head tilts, gravely voice taunting.  "I don't think you have time to do that."

I sprint off and around for more cover as he throws more fire pillars from his hands, trying to find a fire hydrant of water fountain to give me more material to work with.  Otherwise, I'm only limited to manipulating what's in the air and the stores in my costume.  To my dismay, there's nothing around.

All I have to do is slowly manipulate the water particles around him and condense them over his hands to stop his quirk temporarily.  That's the plan in my head that I'm going for.  But he's way ahead of me, predicting all my moves and constantly jumping to move away from where I've gathered the water particles and forcing me to start over, leaving me to dodge him and put some distance between us.

"I already know all your plans, you can't defeat me that easily by yourself," Dabi mocks me.

I'm at the end of my rope.  It's difficult to keep running and there just isn't enough water in the air to work for a fast attack.  I dodge another one of his attacks and wrack my brain to think of a different strategy.  My mind can only come up with one all or nothing plan, but if it doesn't work, I'll be done for quickly.

It's a risk I have to take.  I slowly start collecting as much water as I can into my suit and immediately around me.  Knock him out as quickly as possible, face him head on.  I take a deep breath.  My body shakes from exhaustion, anticipation, and fear.  I'll have to use my body's own water storage to help me, making this plan dangerous.

Right when Dabi's about to burn me at my new hiding spot I jump out and summon all the water I've stored to mobilize.  Drown him!  A sphere of water forms just around his head.  In his moment of shocked hesitation before he strikes, I force the water to go down his airway to suffocate him.  He catches wind of exactly what I'm doing somehow, raising his hands to send another blast at me.  I summon another set of water from my costume stores to surround his hands to keep the explosion tamed.  Come on, fall unconscious already!

But it's curtains for me.  He's summoning a larger blast to his hands, neutralizing my watery protection around them and I don't have enough stored up to replenish it.  Desperately, I start using up the water inside my body.  Damn it hurry up!  I can't-!

I feel myself reach my limit just as he completely disintegrates my water seal with an explosion, sending me flying backwards down the street until I roll to a stop.  I'm exhausted, I can feel my blood pressure and heart rate dropping, and I'm too weak to try anything else.

Through my dizzied vision, Dabi staggers towards me, coughing and sputtering.  "Damn kid, you really almost had me."

It didn't work, I'm a failure.  I don't have the energy to say anything back.

"Get your hands off her!" a female voice resounds, and stomps reverberate through the ground.

"That's my cue."  I crack open an eye to see him smirk down at me before using his quirk to lift himself off the ground.  "Until we meet again, (Y/n) (L/n)."  He rocket away without a hitch.

Damn it...

After waking up in the emergency ward attached to an IV for my severe dehydration, Mirko tells me Dabi got away and she rushed me right over to the hospital to treat me since I was unconscious.  They won't let me leave until I've replenished all my stores and my urine's clear.

"Also, your teacher's coming to get you," my mentor adds.

Aizawa is going to kill me.

"OI!  WHICH ROOM IS IT?!"

Oh for fuck's sake, I know who else is gonna kill me.

Bakugou stomps in, his head trying to be held back by Aizawa's capture weapon to no avail.

"YOU DUMBASS-!" my boyfriend starts off before the scarf comes over his mouth to muffle his screams.

"This is a hospital, control yourself," Aizawa grits at him deathly and walks next to my hospital bed.  "I guess you did the best you could, but I won't praise you for almost getting yourself killed.  It was a good strategy, it would've worked if you had backup."  He pats my head before smirking.  "Bakugou was about to cry when you collapsed."

"SENSEI!"

"I'll leave you two alone to talk."

Him and Mirko step outside the room, leaving my high-strung boyfriend to rush me.  "Do you have any idea how fucking worried I was, you dumbass?!  You almost got yourself kill, look where you ended up...!"

I drown out his screaming, noticing how bloodshot his crimson eyes are from crying.  He was so worried about me.  I reach my hand up weakly and touch his cheek, cutting his reprimanding screams off short suddenly.  If I had the tears to cry, I would.  Instead, I offer him a tired, melancholy stare of affection.  "I'm sorry," I manage out.  "I know I said I wouldn't use up my own body's water, but I didn't want to die, Katsuki."

The aggression melts away from him face and his hand reaches up to hold mine.  "I guess it was instinctive," he admits, closing his eyes and I feel him start to tremble.  "Why would you face a villain like that alone?"

"I called for backup-"

"You should've stalled for as long as you could!" he sobs out, gripping my hand tighter.

My own body starts to well up, feeling the tickle in my eyes but no tears can escape.  "I tried," is my soft reply.  "I'm sorry."

Bakugou envelopes my body in his, trembling warmth blanketing me with his high emotions.  "What would I have done without you?  When I saw you get hit by that explosion, I almost lost it.  Did you think about how I would feel if you pulled something like that and didn't survive it?"

I feebly return his embrace, tangling my fingers in his puffy hair to comfort the sobs wracking his body.  "I'm here, Katsuki.  I could have been in a worse condition, but I'm still here now."

His trembling and cries slow down to a calming end, and he remains wrapping me with his affection.  "You did well, except the almost dying thing, I guess.  I'm proud of you for holding your own as long as you did against a villain like him."

"Wow, a compliment?  You must have really been shaken up," I poke fun at him to lighten the mood.

"I can be nice..." he mumbles into my neck.  "You better drink a whole ton of water so we can go back together.  Everyone else is worried about you too."

My mind wanders back to Dabi.  I'll have to face him again eventually, and he knows what I'll try to do in the future.  I'll need to be ready.  But until then, I have a hotheaded Pomeranian boyfriend to comfort me from my past and build towards my - hopefully, our - future.

~

Sequel

[morizoras-cave]

Manners (Request)

Sherlock x gn!child!reader, John x gn!child!reader

Genre: fluff

Request Description: Thank you for saying you’ll write for Sherlock, I appreciate it :) Could you do one where all the peeps are round for dinner (Sherly, Mycroft, Greg, John ect) and John invites his cousin round (like age 9) and she’s just like REALLY polite and even when Sherlock says something really mean from one of his deductions she just brush’s it off and forgives him for it and even Mycroft likes her (PURELY PLATONIC PEOPLE) and she asks to see the brains in the fringe and Sherlock is ECSTATIC

Warnings: none really

(A/N): the only warning here is really that i dont remember the sherlock characters THAT well. and ive totally forgotten who sherly is, so this fic must live without her hahaha

“Fuck,” John mumbled, looking at you at the entrance to 221B Baker Street. He had to take care of you today, and while he usually loved taking care of you, his niece, today was not the day he had expected. 

You were the most delightful and polite girl, your mannerisms just made everyone around you smile. But John did not want you to meet the careless, brutally honest, and genius Sherlock. But today, the one damned day where he had to take care of you, there was a dinner with Sherlock, Greg, Molly, Mrs. Hudson, and Mycroft (the latter had with pleasure paid for it all).

“Language,” you said, giving him a warning glare. The action was enough to make him smile. His heart melted.

“Let’s go inside then,” he said reluctantly, deciding that there was nothing he could do about it. 

You entered the home, eyes glittering as you saw all the weird and unconventional items stacked on the shelves and furniture. You held your admiration, and politely brushed your shoes off on the mat, before taking them off. You then placed them in order, even taking the time to lightly push the others’ strewn-about shoes in a straight line.

John watched you with a smile. He had no idea how his aunt had produced such a person as you, but he was thankful for it. 

From the kitchen loud clattering and sizzling sounds came. Sherlock popped his head out, gaze first on John, then lowering to you. John took a deep breath, knowing he had to introduce you now. 

“This is Y/n. They’ve just turned-”

“9 years old..” Sherlock mumbled, looking a you with narrowed eyes. John sighed. You gave the sociopath a toothless smile.

“I’m sorry, sir, but I’m actually 9 and a half,” you walked up with him and then reached your tiny hand up for him to shake it. Sherlock looked at you, and you had no idea what he was thinking, but you hoped it was about shaking your hand. 

“Lower your hand, Y/n,” Sherlock said and disappeared behind the doorway to the kitchen. You lowered your hand slowly. John was already regretting bringing you over. “A nine year old’s hands? That’s an enormous number of bacteria I could gladly live without.”

“Nine and a half year old!” you called after him, but remained positive. It was his decision to not shake your hand, and it was your duty to respect that. 

You stepped further into the living room - or what was normally the living room, now just a room stuffed with a dining table that was too big for it. 

“I told you all we should’ve done this at a restaurant. Or my house. Or anywhere else, really,” Mycroft, you guessed, said from his place at the table. He had a very cat-like voice, you thought.

“Yes, well, now we’re here,” Mrs. Hudson (whom you’d met several times before, and who was always delighted to give you homemade cookies) argued. Just as she finished, you made your way up on your chair, greeting the guests with a smile. 

Currently seated was you, Mycroft, Mrs. Hudson, Greg (the police officer John had told you about), and John who was settling down beside you. Sherlock and Molly were in the kitchen, and by the sound of it, they were making soup. 

“Aw, who’s this?” Greg asked, pointing at you. 

“Y/n. Y/n Watson reporting for duty!” you said proudly. The people around the table aww’ed. 

“They’re a charmer, huh?” Mycroft commented. John nodded at this.

“Soup’s coming in! Soup’s coming in!” Molly warned, carrying a rather heavy looking pot into the living room, holding it with some cloth. She placed it down with a ‘plunk’, and then sighed in relief. “Gosh, I thought I was gonna drop it all.” 

“You were statistically very likely to drop it, you’re very lucky,” Sherlock said as he entered, sitting down on his chair at the end of the table. Molly flushed and sat down as well. 

“Dig in!” she said and everyone did, hoisting some of the boiling-hot pea soup into their bowls. You made sure to compliment Molly on the soup, to which she smiled with a smile that mostly said wait-why-is-there-a-nine-year-old-here.

You kept a proper conversation with everyone at all times, making sure to bring in the quieter ones. Meanwhile, John was staring at you in adoration because you were simply overbearingly cute, but also because in his head it was very unlikely that you came from the same gene pool, yet here you were.

“She’s quite polite, this one. Children these days usually have no discipline, no manners,” Mycroft said at one point, and from what you had gathered throughout the evening, that was the closest thing to a compliment you would get from him. 

“Thank you, Mr. Holmes, but I think that kids my age can be very polite. Maybe you just don’t know the right kids!” you said, sipping your soup. Mycroft smiled and shook his head. Sherlock, who was sitting at the end of the table, soup untouched, seemed unamused. 

“Kids are dumb. Nine year olds are dumb. Gosh, people are dumb too, and you kids are just dumber versions of already dumb people,” he said finally.

Everyone at the table turned their heads towards you, wondering if you would snap and start yelling or crying. Instead, you snickered, putting your spoon down. 

“That’s a very bold statement, Mr. Holmes,” was all you said, and although you wanted to say more, you couldn’t stop snickering. Sherlock watched you, and you saw his face change. You couldn’t quite tell what it meant, but he didn’t retort. 

Slowly, people fell back into conversation, and so did you. The dinner was very pleasant, and you were happy to see that you had made a good impression. 

“So, Sherlock, you started cooking soup these days?” Greg pointed with his spoon to the pot, now only a quarter or so full. The noise of his spoon against the metal let out a hollow ‘clunk’. 

“No, no, I was in there supervising. Making sure Ms. Molly didn’t mess with my refrigerated brain.” 

At this, you gasped. 

“You have a brain?” you asked breathlessly, mouth wide open, and your hands on your cheeks in shock. Sherlock’s eyebrows furrowed.

“Yes, I do.”

“Can I see the brain, Mr. Holmes? Please, can I see your refrigerated brain, pretty please?” you begged, curiosity and adventurousness getting the better of you. 

John opened his mouth to protest, but Sherlock came first, with a small smile, that he didn’t seem aware was on his face: “Yes, of course!”

You tried to control yourself and not run into the kitchen, but your excitement was still very visceral. You were bouncing about, unable to stand still, and doing a little victory dance every once in a while. 

Sherlock opened the refrigerator theatrically, the light turning on and shining on you, as your eyes landed on the human brain. 

“Wooooooooow,” you squealed, “that’s so cool- I mean, that’s very impressive..” you could hardly contain your excitement, but Sherlock couldn’t either. No one was every excited about his brain (the one in the fridge, of course, the other was often a topic of interest). 

Sherlock then proceeded to give a full anatomical tour of the brain, taking it out and showing it to you up close, letting you hold it, and telling you all the facts. Meanwhile, John was having a mental breakdown, trying not to look. He knew very well that he would get in trouble with his aunt for this. 

“This is the frontal lobe. If you damage it, you become like me,” Sherlock said morbidly, showing the front part of the pink nerve. 

“That doesn’t sound all too bad, Mr. Holmes. You seem pretty cool,” you said passively, still fully entranced by the brain. Sherlock, however, took full note of this, eyes snapping to you immediately. He smiled. 

“Alright, I think it’s about time me and Y/n head home!” John said when he’d finally had enough. You were too polite to protest, so you just quite literally bowed to everyone and then left with John. 

When John came home later that night, after dropping you off back at his aunt’s place, Sherlock was still awake, brain in hand. 

“Uh, doesn’t that go back in the fridge?” John asked. 

“In a moment,” Sherlock responded. Then, “Why don’t they come over more? The kid.”

John looked at him in confusion. “Y/n? Why would I bring them over more?” 

Sherlock sighed, turning his attention from the brain. “I feel like I could give them good anatomical knowledge. Perhaps, teach them a bit about science and such.” 

There was a moment of silence and then John scoffed. 

“You really just want me to bring Y/n over, because they think you’re cool?” 

“That’s not at all what I said, John!” Sherlock protested, moving to put the brain back in the freezer. John sauntered off into his bedroom. 

“Whatever!” he said, and then the conversation was over.

But then, slowly, he started bringing you over more, each time letting Sherlock and you have your own weird conversations on life, people, biology and everything else. You become very rich in knowledge of science and anatomy, and in return Sherlock’s ego went through the roof. 

It was a fair trade, you decided, and you loved every moment of it. 

___________________________

Tag List:

@hera-the-writer @marvel-madness @40srogcrs @whatthefuckimbisexual @snarky–starky @garbage-potato @lozzypoz321 @rororo06 @shady80smusicsingercolor @ireadfanficforfun​ @deephideoutmilkshake​ @rae-is-typing​ @sophs-library​ @herecomesthewriterwitch​ @alicedanganh​ 

[musings-from-mars]

Fic challenge for you: frok the horror prompt list, Ive found 3 prompts I want you to put into a fic: “You’re the worst mistake I’ve ever made!”“Things will be better this way.”“… Where did all of these scars come from?”

I want to see how you handle it with RGR

May’s admission rocked Weiss to her core. Of all the things she had expected to hear from her, that she was seeing someone else, that she was only dating her as an in to get company secrets, this was why May was so distant lately?

Mantle? Seriously?

To make matters worse, this all came up the morning after they had spent the night together, for the first time in weeks. Weiss had been hoping that spending this time together might quell these worries. Maybe she was just paranoid? But no, when she caught May getting dressed, seemingly with no intention to say goodbye before leaving, Weiss had had enough.

Especially when she got a closer look at May’s back and chest as she changed from her night shirt to her winter gear. “Where did all of those scars come from?”

“Fighting Grimm in Mantle,” was May’s terse answer.

“Is that...is that where you keep going?” Weiss asked. “To Mantle? Why Mantle?”

“Because the people there need help,” May said like it was obvious.

“Doesn’t Mantle have good enough defenses to keep the Grimm out?” Weiss asked, sitting up on the edge of the bed. “Why are you down there when you could be here where it’s safe?”

“Exactly that,” May snapped, slipping her boots on. “It’s safe here, but it isn’t down there, and I’m done just standing by while people suffer for the crime of being born on the ground instead of in the sky.”

Weiss’ jaw hung open, and she hopped to her feet. “You’re not making any sense.”

“To you? Yeah, probably not.”

Weiss gasped. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“It means I’m tired of being complacent, no no, liable for all of those people suffering. My family and yours keep all of Mantle in economic squalor while we get to live in cushy mansions with more rooms than there are thieves in Mistral.” She tired her boots, yanking on the laces with angered force.

“And what, you’re throwing away your life for people you don’t even know?” Weiss asked, her heart racing with mounting anger. “What about your family? What about me?”

“What about my family?” May asked. “The same family who tried so hard to mold me into the perfect heir while ignoring me the rest of the time? The same family who called me weak for having the heart to cry over dozens of people dying in our mines?” May stood to her feet, crossing her arms. “If you think I owe them anything...”

“You’re right, you don’t owe them anything. But what about me?” Weiss asked. “How do you think I feel when you go days without seeing me? Or even so much as messaging me?”

“Because I knew the truth would hurt you,” May said, then sighed. “And I knew it would hurt me, too.”

“What?” Weiss shook her head.

“Trust me, it’s better this way,” May told her, then turned to the door.

“Don’t you dare leave this room!” Weiss yelled, following her. “How in the hell have I hurt you? All I’ve done is sat here doing nothing—”

“Exactly!” May said, turning suddenly to face her again. “You’ve done nothing! Meanwhile, I bet you haven’t even heard about the SDC shop robbery at 59th and Merit? Or the Fire Dust explosion at one of the distribution centers?”

Weiss hesitated. “I’m...I’m not usually made aware of incidents like those.”

“Five people died.” May deadpanned. “Five of your company employees in those incidents. And you didn’t even know about it.” She shook her head.

“I...” Weiss gritted her teeth. “Wait, you’re changing the subject. What does this have to do with us?”

“It has to do with you, Weiss! You could do something!” May said. “But you don’t do anything.”

“I can’t do anything.”

“Yes you can,” May told her, then outstretched her hand. “Come with me to Mantle. Put all of that Huntress training to use and help the people.”

Weiss stared at May’s hand, aghast. She slapped it away. “You think I’d want to go with you and get involved with the very thing that’s pulling you away from me?” She stomped her foot. “I hate you!”

May took a step back, shocked. Her eyes watered for a moment, but she simply shook her head, looking away. “Yeah, that was the part of the truth I was afraid of,” she murmured lowly.

“What?” Weiss asked, already regretting her words. “Wait—”

“You’re the worst mistake I’ve ever made,” May muttered with all the tact and reserve of a disciplined heir. “Goodbye, Weiss.”

If it hadn’t been for the lump that formed in her throat, Weiss would have called after her, but all she could do was sheepishly reach her hand toward May as she walked away, opened the door, and shut it quietly behind her.

[iamtheempress]

Cold Blooded

A Dragon Ball Horror Fic {Part 10}

☆☆☆

 Carlie had soon returned to her bedroom and locked it tight. She pulled her cell phone from her purse and tried to call Bulma.

“PLease.. Please answer…” brrrrrr brrrrrr “Please im fucking begging you please… Please Bulma you always answer me….” Bulmas voice pipes up loud and clear and she almost sighs.. Until she finds out its her voicemail.. Fuck…

‘Vegeta..’

She thinks, starting to text Vegeta. She knew that the time chamber works differently inside then out and minutes are ground down to basically days.. It couldnt hurt to try. Her messages always reached him perfectly, Time Chamber or other regions of space for some reason…

“Babe. I need you to come home right now.”

“Im freaking out and i think you were right” 

“Somethings really fucked up with Frieza”

“Well...What else was new.”

“He like. Grabbed me with his tail and told me that hes going to protect me.”

“He knew about what happened the other day.”

“Everything!”

“He started telling me that id be better in his hands and i feel like i need to burn my fucking skin off”

“I know its different in the time chamber but please please come and help me…”

“Babe. I know your getting these there all going through…”

“Please. Vegeta. Get Goku to instant transmission to me or something!” 

Message not sent.

She felt a sense of absolute loneliness. 

A sinking feeling in her stomach Like shes on deathrow, minutes away from lethal injection. 

SHe felt an overwhelming urge to throw herself from the window of capsule corp. Only to escape. She knew something was wrong. She should have listened to Vegeta from the get go, the second she met Frieza amicably. “Im so stupid.. Stupid stupid stupid!” She smacked herself repeatedly in the forehead. “Im sorry Vegeta… Im so..-”

She was cut off by the tell tale sign of the power being shut down. The loud hum of the power turning off. Entrenching her in darkness.

 All of Capsule Corps lights and window shutters closed slowly. Sealing her away behind Glass and thick metal. No escape. No sense of safety. Alone. But not entirely.

Carlie got up and cracked open the door to her bedroom.  Peering down the hallway vacant and void of life. Only the sound of her panicked heart pounding in her ears. She made haste to the hallway to reach her lab. Theres an emergency exit there. Behind the INcinerator. She can make it. 

Her thoughts are halted. A bright red light blinks in the vacant corridor, followed by his voice over the intercoms. Like some cruel and ever present god.

“Oh my dear sweet beautiful Carlie… such a kind and gentle soul... a genius like you is once in a life time and id love to make you mine... You wouldnt happen to be running from me are you?” Her eyes snapped to a camera in that hallway aimed at her. A succulent look of dread dripping from her wide doe eyes. “you cannot run from me you little vixen.. you will be mine one way or another.." she sprinted down the hall eyes glimmering with tears. His malicious laughter playing over the intercoms. Loudly.

Just not even several minutes ago she thought of that laughter as charming. Maybe friendly. Now its nothing but sinister and cold.

She swears shes being followed. Frieza follows behind her slowly, the pads of her feet frantically hitting the floor.

 "Caaaarlie.. come now.. your only making this much more harder on yourself.. give in and come with me.. youll enjoy being an empress.. youll also enjoy seeing this your simian mate being crushed by my hand, ill make it quick to not sully those beautiful eyes." He muses as he held his hands firm behind his back, sauntering to the frightened woman. "I also do think youll like this form ive taken.."

She turned her head back while pulling the sliding door open with all her strength to see Frieza approaching her in a slow pace. Step. By step. By step. She realized his form was different he was bulkier and a different color by the light of the red flashing alert lights.. its almost a copperish sheen.. his eyes are more pronounced and staring her down.. she can see his bright red pupils from down the fucking hall and it was just as terrifying as his smile.. his sick, twisted smile.

"Running wont get you anywhere.. you will not be abused so horribly by my hand, you will live in the lap of luxury as my pet. My bride. My empress. Empress of the Universe sounds like it would fit you perfectly… What has your ape given you? Bruises.. broken bones. Heartache.. pain. Saiyans only bring pain and care only to fight someone stronger then themselves, Carlie, i should know... I have put an end to not only the doctor who defiled you but several others in your name.."

He froze in the hallway, eyes unblinking. Alpha predator in the wake of the most decadent prey he set his eyes upon. "Your vegeta cannot save you from me.. you will be MINE OHOHOHOHOOO!!!" He threw his head back cackling loudly, loud enough to where it burned into her eardrums and petrified her to her core.

She slammed the hatch behind her and pressed a button to seal the outside world out. Fuck. She needs to get out. Now.

She quickly rushed down the stairs and into the lab only to hear the hatch creak open as the gilded monster pried it open from its locked state.

Mangling metal loudly. 

She needs to think FAST to get anything done. To hopefully keep the emperor at bay. She pulls out her phone and sends Vegeta 2 more texts.

“Please….”

“Vegeta. Babe im so fucking scared….” 

Message sent.

Tears dripped on her phones screen and all the messages sent at once. Its only a matter of time.

Carlie doesnt have much of that left to spare.

Meanwhile in the Time Chamber~

5 months is the equivalent to what Vegeta and Goku have endured. The first bunch of messages Carlie sent were about 2 monthd before hand. He hadnt known. He never checked. He didnt think anything of it. 

Vegeta exits the shower room, fully dressed again and in base form. He was pried from his thoughts when he hears a ping.

Then another.

"Tsk.." he huffs.. 'Must be Carlie' though it is a day in the outside world. Vegeta had gone months without her. He hated how much he missed her. The comfort of mundane everyday conversations. 

He grabbed his phone.

Turned it on, and went ghost white. A cry for help.  

"KAKAROT." He shouted, leaving the room to run straight into Goku. 

"Vegeta?? Whats the problem??" "No time to ask get me to Carlie NOW" He demands grabbing Gokus shoulder, Gokus hand goes to his forehead and….

"KAKAROT now is not the time to joke around get me to-" Gokus face was blanched.

"I cant get a pulse of energy off her…"

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@dragonblobz @lilfriezatyrant @gallickingun @kamehamethot @gonuclear @memevember @msgreenverse @lizardhipsdontlie @thotful-writing @supremeleadershitlord 

[xxx-cat-xxx]

What We Lose in the Fire We Gain in the Flood

Summary: The universe is saved, Thanos is defeated, the Vanished are returned, and Tony has survived (though with severe radiation burns and one less arm). Everything should be good now - except that it isn’t.

While Tony embarks on a painful and frustrating recovery, he wrestles with the fear that he’s no longer capable of caring for his family. Meanwhile, Peter tries to find his place in a world that just doesn’t feel like his own anymore.

Words: 13.5k

Tags: Irondad, Spiderson, Ironfam, Angst with a Happy Ending, Fix-it (but it takes a while to get there), Emotional and Physical Whump, very faint mention of death ideation, Injuries, Vomiting, Everyone needs a Hug

A/N: For @aderymoonlight. Thank you for the prompt and for waiting half a year until it was finally ready. A million thanks to @whumphoarder for being the world’s best beta reader (seriously, I don’t know how I would have done this without you). Additional thanks to @sallyidss, @twentyghosts, and @newnewyorker93 for helping me with the tricky details. You are amazing!

Link to read on AO3

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Like the flame of a candle caught in the wind, the arc reactor in Tony’s chest flickers, resists, and then eventually dies down. And so does something within Peter. 

“Stay back!” Dr. Strange shouts. He draws a sparkling circle into the dusty air, encompassing Tony and Pepper before making them disappear right in front of Peter’s eyes.

And suddenly, Peter feels a wave of exhaustion crash over him. The world shimmers before him like it’s about to dissolve. He sinks to his knees, drawing in laboured breaths. It’s simply too much. Within one day, he went from a school bus, to another planet’s moon, to the battlefield where the fate of the world is being decided, and he feels as if some parts of him are still scattered throughout the universe. 

Peter thinks he might throw up (or possibly faint), and he figures that he should probably alert someone to that, but the only person he actually knows around here is Mr. Stark, who might be dead, and oh god- 

“Spider-Man?” It’s Colonel Rhodes, to whom Peter has spoken maybe twice in his life. But the man looks at him as if he’s known Peter for years, as if he’s relieved to see him alive, and as if he still isn’t sure whether Peter is actually back or just a dream. “Are you injured?”

“I don’t- I don’t know,” Peter stutters, and he honestly doesn’t. He tries to get to his feet, but the world starts to spin around him in a nauseating way, so he sinks back down onto his knees. He can taste bile at the back of his throat and instinctively presses a fist to his mouth.  

“Okay.” Rhodey gives him a quick once-over, apparently not liking what he sees. “Stay put. Now where’s that goddamn magician -”

Then Rhodey is gone and maybe a minute, or a year, or a century later, the world explodes into golden sparkles and Peter has the unnerving feeling of being crumbled up into small pieces and sucked through the hose of a vacuum cleaner before being spat out again. He lands on a very clean linoleum tiled floor, his stomach in his throat. 

He starts gagging for good then, and someone is shoving a kidney-shaped pink basin into his hands. Hospital, his brain registers while he heaves up the breakfast he ate years ago mixed with dust from another planet’s moon, all the while his heart pounding with worry for his mentor. He clings to the basin with all he has because something in him is still convinced that he might dissolve again at any moment. 

“Take it easy, kid.” Someone is patting him on the back, and all Peter can do is nod before he is throwing up again. “Be right back,” the someone says, but then nobody comes back for a long time. There’s all hell broken loose around Peter, doctors and nurses running hectically to and fro, wheeling patients around. He knows that he should probably help - he’s Spider-Man after all - but he isn’t sure whether he can stand up just now. 

It seems like years that he sits there, faintly wondering whether everyone has maybe just forgotten about him. He stops throwing up at some point, but still feels dizzy and his bones seem weirdly light, as if he might float away if he isn’t careful. 

Then, finally, there’s a voice he knows. “Kid? Kid, is that you?”

“Happy?” Peter glances up and there he is, older and heavier and with a child in his arms.

“Kid? Peter? Oh god.” He sets down the girl and then encases Peter in his arms, tightly, the second completely unexpected hug today. “It worked. Oh my god, it worked. Where’s Tony?” 

“I don’t know,” Peter croaks, and then, out of all the questions in his mind, he picks the most recent one. “Is that your kid?” 

“What? No, no. That’s Morgan. She’s all Tony’s.” The girl has started to cry, tugging at Happy’s coat with one hand while hiding from Peter behind the man’s knees. “Okay, let me get her to Pepper and you into a bed - you look about ready to pass out.”

Ten minutes later, Peter is lying in a hospital bed, his suit pulled down to his chest to reveal dozens of bruises, an IV in the crook of his elbow and a blood pressure cuff wrapped around his bicep, and all he can think is Mr. Stark has a daughter?

After a while, Happy comes back and shoves a phone into his hands. May is on the other side, breathing heavily. “Oh god, Peter, oh my god,” she chokes out. Peter tries to reply, but suddenly everything comes crashing over him and he’s sobbing, heaving, hyperventilating, until someone empties a syringe into his IV port that knocks him out. 

May is there when he wakes up. The sedative is dissolving quicker in his body than it would in a non-enhanced human, but it’s making him drowsy and slow and his limbs so heavy that it feels impossible to even move. 

“Hey darling,” May whispers, blinking tears away. May doesn’t cry very often, so this must be bad, he thinks woozily.

“I’m okay,” Peter slurs, despite having no idea whether that’s even true. And then, although sleep is pulling him under again, he simply has to ask, “Were you… here?” Because he has to know if she had to spend another five years in grief - has to know just how broken she is. 

“No, honey, I was gone. Reappeared in our living room in the middle of someone else’s family dinner, just to see that they finally painted the walls.”

“Okay,” he breathes, and then, his eyelids already closing, he murmurs, “How’s Mr. Stark?”

“He’ll live,” May says. She adds something else, but he’s gone already.

*

When Peter wakes up the next time, May asks him whether he’s okay with her joining the understaffed nurses in treating all the wounded. Besides those hurt during the battle, many were injured while Returning, snapped back to life in the middle of road crossings or deposited into thin air where there used to be five-storey buildings. May’s a doer - she hates to sit idle when she could help - so Peter agrees immediately. 

He’s got a bunch of broken ribs, a concussion, and a number of deep cuts, all of which are already starting to heal, but they let him stay the rest of the night because it’s not like he has anywhere else to go. The hospital is overcrowded, so they have to move him and that’s how Peter ends up in a bed next to Tony’s. There’s a thin curtain separating the patients from each other, but it isn’t pulled completely closed, so Peter is able to catch a glimpse of his mentor. 

Tony is hooked up to so many tubes and wires that he looks like a Cyborg. Despite knowing that these are the very machines that keep him alive, Peter suddenly has the irrational desire to tear them all off and free him, as if that would make him healthy again. 

He doesn’t, of course. Instead, Peter drifts a little, unable to really go back to sleep, and that’s how he witnesses Tony waking up for the first horrible time, before they put him in a coma for days. His mentor takes one painful, wheezing breath, and the only part of his face that isn’t covered by bandages shows raw panic. He makes a choking noise, gasping for air, and then cries out in a way that sounds barely human anymore. 

He might be dying, Peter thinks. What if he dies here and now and I can’t do anything to stop it? But then a doctor bursts into the room and minutes later Tony is out again. 

That’s the first time that Peter wonders how much it cost to bring him back.

*

Five days later, when Peter is long out of the hospital and the world is slowly starting to shift back into a state that once used to be called ‘normal’, when Tony finally stirs and his eyelids flutter open, Bruce expects a joke. A punchline. Triumph. A retroactive kick to Thanos’ ass.

But instead, Tony whispers, brokenly, “Please tell me it’s over.”

And then, to Bruce’s horror, he starts to cry.

*

The Parkers’ old apartment was rented out to new tenants during the five years they were gone. May takes one look at the family staying there, too many people for the three tiny rooms, and decides that she doesn’t have the heart to enforce her right of return. 

Instead, they now temporarily stay in an awfully luxurious home that Happy arranged for them through Pepper. Peter knows he should be grateful for not ending up homeless, but he’d have almost preferred to live in one of the shelters where the rest of the Returned are staying, just to make him feel a little less out of place. 

Everything is still settling - the bureaucracy’s gone crazy, and school won’t start for another month at least, which will likely result in severely shortened summer holidays - but May is already back to work. The hospitals are still overfilled and every person with medical knowledge is needed. Thus, Peter spends his time catching up with Ned and MJ and trying hard not to think too much about what happened. 

A few days after Tony has woken up, Happy texts Peter to let him know that he can visit. 

Happy picks him up with an electric car that opens with a fingerprint sensor - despite half of the world’s engineers being dusted, technology seems to have advanced quite a bit. He’s as grumpy as ever, but somehow in a softer way that makes it clear to Peter he doesn’t really mean it. He glances at Peter every few seconds through the rearview mirror as if he still can’t believe that the kid is back. Peter can’t blame him. He himself has a hard time digesting what all has happened, and more than once he’s woken up bathed in sweat from a nightmare of Titan. 

There are drawing books and a plush toy in the backseat of the car and Happy doesn’t say anything when Peter eats a chocolate muffin and the crumbs fall down onto the leather upholstery. It’s nice somehow, but also weird. Just another detail that makes Peter realise what all he’s missed. Happy is ‘Uncle Happy’ now.

Peter’s stomach is curling anxiously when they pull up to the hospital. He wants to see Tony, but something about the memory of him wheezing in the hospital bed is gnawing at him. He wonders how much Tony has changed in the five years that passed. He wonders what he’s going to say to him.

In the end, it turns out that his nervousness was in vain. Tony is fast asleep when he arrives at the hospital, knocked out cold by the combined force of painkillers and the effort of having been awake the whole morning. He doesn't flinch when Morgan scrambles over him in the hospital bed with her stuffed animals. The girl doesn't seem to be phased anymore by the tubes and wires sticking out of her dad, but Peter is careful not to touch anything, afraid that a single wrong move might worsen Tony's condition.

Tony looks a bit better than he did the day of the battle, but not much. His right arm is gone - nothing left there to be salvaged, they say. His face is still mostly covered in bandages that run down to his shoulder, but Peter can see that his right eye is continuously leaking tears from below a burnt eyelid.

“We'll let him know that you came by. He'll be glad,” Pepper promises, and Peter nods and thanks her but secretly he isn't so sure that Tony would be glad about being seen in this state by anyone. On the other hand, that was the Tony of five years ago, and the more Peter observes everyone around him, the more he realises that he knows practically nothing about this new Tony.

He asks Happy to drop him off at Ned’s and they spend the evening getting up-to-date on the state of the world’s computer games. For a few hours, he almost manages to pretend that everything is normal.

*

Recovery isn’t a straight road. 

Ten days after the battle, just when Tony is able to stay awake for more than a few hours at a time and the doctors are starting to reduce the meds that keep him high and loopy and generally incoherent, Tony’s stump arm gets infected. 

Pepper first notices the chills that run through him while he weakly plays with Morgan in the hospital bed. By evening, he is throwing up what little lunch they managed to make him eat and the next day his temperature is up to 103 degrees. The meds do nothing to keep away the fever dreams. Pepper finds herself at her husband’s bedside once again, squeezing his one remaining hand while he moans and shivers his way through the nightmares and pain. 

He has a seizure the night after that when his temperature hits 104. Then Tony’s heart gives out and for a few terrible hours Pepper is afraid that after all he’s gone through, this is how they’re going to lose him. She has Morgan in her lap on the waiting room bench outside while the medics are shocking the life back into him, not sure whether her child is holding onto her or the other way around.

*

Tony wakes up with a gasp. His memory is a blur of pain and surreal, screwed images of a world in which everyone he loves is dead. But that can’t be true because just next to him, his wife and daughter are sitting, very much alive, looking at him with obvious relief on their faces. 

“What appn’?” he croaks, trying to reach for Pepper with an arm that isn’t there. 

“Drama queen,” Pepper whispers, and he notices she’s crying. “I almost thought we were gonna lose you.”

“What, because I took a bath in gamma radiation?” he replies with a smirk. The words get stuck somewhere in the middle, but she understands anyway, smiling through the tears on her face.

Tony, it turns out, is stubborn as a mule. After they resuscitated him, the antibiotics finally showed some effect in fighting the infection. His fever breaks two days later. 

It’s the only time Pepper has cried since they left the battlefield. Rhodey talks the doctors into putting a second bed in the room and takes Morgan out to the playground for some distraction. Pepper makes it to the bed before collapsing, then sleeps for 14 hours straight. Tony, still feverish and weak, joins her for most of the time, but watches her whenever he wakes, wondering how he ever deserved someone like that. 

He remembers the battle with a mixture of horror, awe, and disbelief. They did it. They won, just like the kid said. Everyone is alive, has come back to life, except for Natasha, who definitely deserved better. But Tony knows that everyone in his team would have thought it worth to trade their own life for so many others’, the assassin included.

It should all be good, then.

But it isn’t. It won’t be for a long, long time.

*

“Tony, it’s okay, you’re okay, hey, just wake up -”

“Oh god,” he jerks awake with the leftovers of a scream on his lips, taking huge, desperate gulps in an attempt to suck in air. It was real - so fucking real.

“Breathe with me.” Bruce’s voice is impossibly calm and reassuring. Tony would call him out on not being that kind of doctor if only he could spare the breath to do so. His chest is hurting so much that he’s almost sure he’s dying for real this time. “In and out. Come on, Tony. Look at me.” 

Tony tries, tries so hard, and after a few minutes he’s gotten himself enough under control that the pain in his chest subsides and the air actually reaches his lungs. But with the oxygen comes the realisation, crystal-clear. It’s not over. It will never be over. Even after his death and defeat, after being killed not once, but twice, Thanos still has a firm grip on Tony’s mind. The disappointment hits so hard that it drives tears to his eyes. 

“It’s okay,” Bruce says. “You’re okay now. We’re all fine.”

“It’s not okay,” Tony croaks, defeated. “It’s not fair. It’s over, we won, this isn’t supposed to happen anymore -” 

Bruce gives him a sad smile. “PTSD doesn’t end when the threat goes away, Tony. That’s why it’s called post-traumatic.”

“I know,” Tony replies impatiently, remembering New York clearly enough, how he never really left space even after coming back to earth. “I just thought that now - now that we’ve brought them back - that it would make a difference.” 

But that’s it, the ultimate proof that it’s not Thanos who is responsible for how screwed up Tony’s mind is, but Tony himself. Defeating Thanos was not a magical solution to all of Tony’s problems the same way that Thanos’ plan was not a solution to any of the universe’s problems. 

He almost wants to cry. “Will this ever get better?” he asks, voice impossibly small. 

Bruce gives him a sad look. “I’d like to say that it will, but I don’t want to lie. You know, my father died almost thirty years ago, and there are still nights when I wake up and feel like he’s leaning over me, about to hit me with a belt.” 

Tony bites his lip upon that admission, feeling ashamed and angry all the same. Bruce is somehow dealing with his trauma - hell, everybody is. He shouldn’t be having so much trouble pulling himself together. 

“Don’t think that.”

“What?” Tony asks.

“I can see it on your face. Stop thinking that you’re being silly. You’re not. I know how much it screws with your mind.” Bruce’s voice is warm as he continues. His huge finger lightly brushes Tony’s hand. “We’re all here for you, you know that, right? And once you’ve recovered a bit more, maybe you could give therapy a chance.”

“Yeah,” Tony says, his voice lacking conviction. “Thanks, big guy.” 

He doesn’t want to go back to sleep, but the meds he is on don’t really leave him any choice. He sinks back onto the pillows. Minutes later, he is falling through a hole in the sky. Thanos is exactly where he left him.

*

When he was younger, Peter used to own a game in which he had to tilt a small wooden maze back and forth until the tiny metal balls contained in it rolled into the right divots. It’s a little how the world feels to him now. People are trying to find their place, struggling to fit in, but there are just too many metal balls and not even close to enough divots for everyone. 

Peter’s lucky. With May, Ned, and MJ all having been snapped, nobody close to him has moved on without him. This is what he tries to tell himself whenever he doesn’t recognise a reference to a movie, or when he realises that his juniors are suddenly a whole head taller than him, or when he mourns the loss of all his personal possessions. Ned is much worse off. Only half his family got snapped, and his mom moved on - and in - with a new boyfriend in the meantime. After Ned and his father Returned, his parents have been fighting without break until Ned temporarily moved to stay with one of his uncles. MJ categorically doesn’t talk about her family, but May’s heard rumours that MJ’s older brother left during the five years and still hasn’t been found. 

Peter’s lucky. That’s what he tells himself when he gasps awake from nightmares of Titan, of Tony’s deathly pale face in a heap of rubble, when he has to dig his nails into the back of his hands so hard that they draw blood just to convince himself that they won’t dissolve in front of his eyes. 

Instead of crime fighting, he goes out scouting. One night, he climbs a garbage heap near their former apartment and finally finds the old suitcase that holds Ben’s few remaining personal items. He cries a bit then, because it’s the middle of the night with no one to see the tears on his cheeks, and it’s all just a little too much. 

May doesn’t ask where he found the suitcase when he hands it to her during breakfast the next morning. She just brushes a finger over the dark rings under his eyes and hugs him tightly before making him the first cup of coffee he’s ever tasted. 

*

Tony’s spent a lot of time in his life ‘recovering’ from something or another. There was the heart surgery he underwent after getting his arc reactor removed, the terrifying weeks in the cave with Yinsen where painkillers were a rarity, blurry periods of rehab in his twenties that he can’t really remember, and the time after Siberia with a cracked sternum that he doesn’t want to. He’s used to dealing with a body that’s held together mostly by morphine and willpower. 

So when the doctors tell him that it will take a long time until he will be able to walk again, that blood pressure regulation will likely be an issue for the rest of his life, that the nervous system on his right side is fried, that he is lucky he didn’t lose more than an arm (and technically an ear, since he is almost deaf now on his right side), Tony doesn’t break. No legs for a while then. One ear, one arm. It’s not ideal, but he can work with that. 

Tony spends the next week with Pepper and Morgan, eagerly awaiting the day he will be allowed to go home. He is usually exhausted enough by lunch that he has to sleep for a few hours, which annoys him almost more than anything else. The fever keeps coming back in the evenings, but he ignores it the best he can and dials up the morphine enough to be able to think through the pain without getting drowsy. He bullies Rhodey into smuggling a tablet into his hospital room and clumsily starts to draw up schematics for a prosthetic arm with his left hand during the nights when he is alone. 

The kid visits one day. He looks tired and sort of nervous, but he is still absolutely alive (which Tony knew, of course, but there are only so many times you can see someone die in a nightmare before you start having doubts), so alive that Tony feels himself tearing up a little. 

Peter stops dead in his tracks when he enters the room, his eyes widening at the sight of Tony’s burnt and scarred face. The stump arm is only covered with a light bandage now and Tony’s sunken eyes and hollow cheeks betray the days spent in a feverish haze. Pepper said that the kid visited before, so he must have known what was coming, but Tony guesses that it’s still kind of a shock to realise the permanent nature of all the damage. He himself still avoids mirrors as much as possible.

Sensing that the situation has every potential to slip into the worst levels of awkward, Tony ploughs ahead. “Guess that’s it for the Playboy cover shoots then,” he jokes lightly.

For a moment, the kid looks baffled. Then the corners of his mouth lift and curl into a smile. “I think they would make an exception for the superhero of the year.” He steps fully into the room and carefully settles on the chair next to Tony’s bed before blurting out, “Mr. Stark, I’m so glad you’re not dead!”

*

Half an hour later, the two have pulled up the schematics for the prosthetic arm and Tony is explaining all the special features to the kid. Tony’s head is aching and the phantom pain is bad today - he knows he was due for more painkillers a while ago. But this is fun, this is what he’s been missing for five goddamn years, and for a moment, it feels like nothing has changed at all. 

The kid looks exhausted and Tony makes a mental note to check in with May as soon as he’s more able to make sure that there’s no lasting damage from their involuntary trip to space.

“You’re adding a soldering iron to your own prosthesis?” Peter asks, flabbergasted. 

Tony smirks. “Come on, you can’t tell me it’s not cool.”

“It is, but then add some more real-world practical things as well. Like a can opener.” 

Tony sputters. “Next Pepper will ask me to integrate a spice grinder for her cooking. And Morgan will want storage space for Alpaca food.”

“You have an alpaca?” Peter’s face screws up and Tony can practically see how he is trying to fit this new information into the mental image he has of his mentor. 

“It’s all the kid. Morgan has a very soft spot for animals. Even spiders.” He winks. “But she’s also into race cars and explosives, so don’t worry, I’m pretty sure she’s actually related to me.”

Peter chuckles and Tony is overwhelmed by the urge to take Peter to the lakehouse to meet Gerald and his daughter just as soon as he’s allowed to go home. 

“Fireworks,” Peter says eventually. “You should add fireworks to the arm.” 

Tony opens his mouth to protest, then closes it again and slowly makes a note on the sketch for the prototype, the letters a bit awkward from writing with his left hand.

“Speaking of special features, I’m gonna make you a suit with the newest tech and then you can go patrolling again,” Tony promises. “I know you can’t wait to get back to your secret identity. Just hold on a few more days before going out, okay?”

“Sure, of course,” Peter says with a nod, visibly happy that Tony has brought up the topic.  

Then the nurse comes in and coaxes Tony into taking his meds and drinking water, for which he has to sit up completely. It leaves him dizzy and a bit out of breath. He leans his head back against the headboard and holds onto the sheets with his hand, counting down from ten. When the black fades away, Peter is looking at him with a faraway and slightly sentimental expression on his face.

“Mr. Stark?” 

“Make it Tony, will you?” Tony says. “I think we’re past the formalities now.”

Peter swallows. “Okay,” he says. “Okay, Tony. I just...thank you for bringing me back. For saving us all.”

Tony waves his hand dismissively. “Eh, a few more times saving the world and I’ll get a free frozen yogurt.”

*

Happy comes to pick up the kid and drop a package off for Tony, who passes out as soon as they leave. When he wakes up in the late evening, the nurse informs him that Pepper and Morgan visited for a while but didn’t want to wake him up. 

After choking down a tasteless dinner (he really needs to make a hefty donation to the hospital so that they can upgrade the cafeteria) Tony shifts gingerly to the side of the bed and bends down to pick up the cardboard box from where Happy set it. It contains the two pieces of the first prototype for the arm he’s designed over the past week. 

It looks almost like a real arm, but he couldn’t resist adding some red and gold around the wrist and on the fingertips. The robotic prosthesis is based on musculoskeletal modelling, is neuro-adaptive, and, of course, powered by a tiny blue arc reactor set into the palm. Tony positions the upper part between his thighs, then takes the lower in his hand and sets out to connect the two pieces and -

It doesn’t fit. He tries again, thinking it was just his shakiness or a stubborn hinge somewhere, but no, it simply doesn’t fit. Upon closer inspection, the lower piece is about three millimeters wider than the upper one. It’s a small error, but enough to make it impossible to connect the pieces into a functioning prosthesis.

“FRIDAY,” Tony asks, trying to drone out the growing panic and the sound of his heart beating loud and fast in his ears. “There must have been an issue with the printer.”

“No, sir,'' the AI replies from the speakers of his phone on the bedside table. “It was printed exactly according to the specifications you entered.”

“Who made those measurements?” Tony asks, his breath quickening. He knows the answer. Of course he knows the answer. 

“You did, boss.”

And that’s when Tony breaks.

Of course, the past week he’s been in pain and on drugs and not exactly clear in his head, but he’s worked in much worse states before. High on cocaine and perpetually drunk throughout most of his thirties. In Afghanistan, with a car battery keeping his stuttering heart alive. God, he invented a new element while literally dying. He is Tony Fucking Stark. He doesn’t make mistakes. 

Except this time, he did.

*

The doctors say it will most likely not get worse, but they’re not sure whether it will ever get better. Tony’s brain, his essence, is most likely forever going to be damaged. 

He is still cleverer than the majority of the human population, so nobody seems to think much of it. Tony, on the other hand, can’t help but feel like his world has been shaken to its core. Physical impairment is bearable; he has worked with that before. But if he can’t trust his own mind, he’s useless. Worse, he’s a liability.

He nods politely at the doctor whose last sentences are already being swallowed by the rushing in his ears. Then there’s only silence and the long, deep breaths he takes to fight the tightness in his chest. 

“We’re gonna figure this out, Tony.” Pepper’s hand comes down on his shoulder. She looks at him as if she’s expecting a panic attack, and the funny thing is, he’s expecting one as well. But that’s the thing about anxiety; it’s anything but predictable. It rarely strikes when you expect it to. 

Tony swallows. He doesn’t trust his voice, so he just grabs her hand with his remaining one and squeezes tightly. He once tricked his own heart into functioning again, but this time, it’s the very source of his intelligence that’s bailing on him. He doesn’t admit it to Pepper, but the truth is, he has no idea how to figure this one out. 

*

They let him go a few days later. 

“Daddy is crying,” Morgan points out in a stage whisper when Pepper pulls into the garage at the lake house. 

“I’m not,” Tony corrects from where he is sitting next to her in the backseat. “My eye is a bit broken, just like when the tap was leaking in the kitchen, remember?” But his voice is suspiciously hoarse and through the rearview mirror Pepper can see him blinking rapidly. She can’t blame him - she’s feeling pretty sappy herself at bringing him home. For a while, neither of them were sure he’d ever see the lakehouse again. 

The short walk to the front door and into the living room is tedious. Tony is operating a crutch with his left arm, his stump shoulder supported by Pepper while Morgan is impatiently running ahead of them. By the time they settle down onto the living room couch, all colour has drained from Tony’s face. He is panting and sweating and generally looking about ready to keel over. 

“Let’s go and feed Gerald!” Morgan begs, climbing up onto her father’s lap and pulling at the chords of his sweater. “And then I’ll show you the tree house I built with Uncle Rhodey while you were at the hospital, and then we eat dinner, and then you have to read ‘If you give a mouse a cookie’ to me.”

“Sounds good, Morguna,” Tony replies in a slightly choked voice. He pulls her close to his chest and rests his chin lightly on her head, closing his eyes with a tired exhale. “Let me rest my legs for a bit, and then I’ll see what we can do, okay?”

And Pepper can see it, can spot on every inch of his face the frustration over how his body and his mind are betraying him battling with the gratitude for what he still has left. She can see his love for their daughter seeping from every pore of his body, but it is overshadowed by a fear that’s been in him for as long as she’s known him - a deep-sitting worry that he’s not good enough for any of the good things life gives to him. 

All she wants is to find a way to make him understand that he deserves every scrap of happiness they can find together. She’s told him, in the early morning hours when nightmares would bar both of them from sleep and they were too tired to keep up their usual snark and banter. But sometimes words are not enough to make someone believe they deserve better. 

She settles for bending over the two of them and pressing a long kiss to the top of each of their heads. Then she straightens up, puts on a smile and asks, “So, since it’s a special day, who’s up for cheeseburgers?”

*

It doesn’t really get easier. Something inside Tony seemed to have expected that things would miraculously improve once he was home, but of course they don’t. He’s still in a wheelchair most of the time. The physical therapist makes him stand up for longer and longer every day, which hurts like a bitch and regularly sends his blood pressure down to his ankles. Tony gets to see the living room from the perspective of the carpet more often than he ever wanted to. 

He sleeps a lot. Maybe it’s his age that makes this recovery more difficult than all the previous ones, or the fact that the gauntlet has deep-fried his brain circuitry, but he can’t stay awake for more than half a day. Tony, who has been dealing with insomnia for as long as he can remember, thought he knew how it felt to be tired. But this is a different kind of tiredness, one that seems to stem from an exhausted brain, not body. He hates all the lost hours, hates the fog in his mind when he stays up too long, hates the nightmares that sometimes morph into anxiety attacks. Though it is arguably more bearable now that he wakes up to Morgan next to him playing with her Lego sets rather than a beeping heart monitor and a sterile hospital room.

Tony doesn’t give up on tinkering immediately. He tries to work on his arm again soon after he returns, but this time he can’t remember the exact modifications he'd planned for the dimensions. He hasn’t written them down anywhere and starting again from scratch seems like accepting defeat. So he boxes the arm back up and moves on to Peter’s suit. 

He’s 3D-printed a new suit and is halfway through updating the safety systems when he notices the smell of smoke the same moment that FRIDAY starts sounding alarms. By the time the garage sprinklers have extinguished the flames, half of the suit’s fabric is black and charred, the central chest piece melted into the work table. It turns out that Tony configured the charger wrong, putting 2200 instead of 220 volts into it. The wires connecting it to the plug overheated and ignited the fabric.  

Tony knows what he should do. He knows that he should replace the wires, correct the charge load, finish the update, and print another model. 

But this time, he can’t. It was one failure too many. This time, Tony doesn’t start over. Instead, he keeps staring at the remains of the suit until the spider emblem seems to have burnt itself into his retinas, feeling dumb and useless and old.

*

Peter got his mentor back, except that he didn’t.

Not today, kid. 

He stares at the phone angrily, wondering why he’d ever expected anything else. It’s been the same reply in different variations all week, and he can’t pretend not to be bothered by it anymore. He knows that Tony is still recovering, but he’d said a few days before Peter’s new suit would be ready, and that had been two weeks ago. Many things might have changed in the five preceding years, but Peter can’t believe for the life of him that any version of Tony Stark would be able to resist the challenge of improving his tech.

Enough is enough, Peter decides as he pulls his very first suit out of the cardboard box that contains the few things he’s salvaged from the garbage dump. The empty days are starting to wear him down, and New York is going haywire with crime. With its population suddenly doubled, people are seeking out the houses where they used to live, fighting over homes, life partners, adoption papers, and much more. Peter knows he shouldn’t go out against Tony’s wishes, but then again, the Tony he used to know wouldn’t make him wait for weeks without a suit while sending him nondescript text messages that explain exactly nothing. 

Peter needs an aim, and New York needs her Spider-Man. 

He puts on the costume and looks at himself in the mirror. The old suit is a bit too short at the ankles and wrists, but it will serve its main purpose of concealing his identity. The one he was wearing during the battle got so damaged that it was practically useless even before they cut it off him at the hospital. And anyway, he wouldn’t want Tony to be alerted of his whereabouts.

Peter climbs out of the window and takes a moment to enjoy the wind on his face before swinging to the top of the opposite building. “Let’s go, Karen,” he declares, and then tries to ignore the ache of disappointment in his chest when he remembers why there is no reply. 

*

It was one of the better days, up until the point when Tony decided to run a bath for Morgan. 

Pepper is away for an SI event and Happy was looking after Morgan while Tony’s PT trainer tortured him during the afternoon. Afterwards, they settled in front of the TV, Tony swearing that he was fine and Happy could go home already, only to wake up two hours later to Happy stretched out on the sofa, glancing at him with a knowing smile while getting his fingernails painted green by Morgan.

His driver-turned-bodyguard-turned-forehead-of-security-turned babysitter left after dinner, and Tony practiced walking up and down the stairs for a while with Morgan cheering him on. It was almost like their evenings before, almost, if not for the nagging feeling in the back of Tony’s head that he’d be incapable of protecting her in case something happened. 

“I want the blue bubbles,” Morgan decides when he helps her settle into the bathtub. “And the subarins.” 

“Submarines,” Tony corrects with a smile. He pours the blue bath foam into the water and brings her the box with all her bath toys. 

“Did you take Gerald inside his house?” she asks with a serious frown between her brows. 

One evening the previous week, Tony forgot to take their alpaca back into the stable, cuing it to disturb their breakfast by shoving its face through the porch door in the morning and trying to eat Morgan’s cereal. Nothing bad came out of it, but it seems to have left a dent in his kid’s brain because she’s been asking Tony about it every night since then. 

“Let’s see. Did I bring Gerald inside, FRIDAY?” Tony addresses the wall. 

“Yes, boss,” FRIDAY replies. “However, the porch door is still open.”

“I’ll go and close it,” he says to Morgan. He playfully splashes a bit of water onto her face before pushing himself up with a groan, his back and legs making him very aware of the exercise he did today. His blood pressure isn’t really cooperating with the change in elevation and he has to brace himself against the wall inconspicuously to wait out the headrush before he can continue. 

Tony slowly makes it down the stairs, relieved when he finds the wheelchair where he left it downstairs. He rolls out onto the porch. The sun has just set on the lake, and there is something peaceful about the scene. The first stars are appearing, but not enough yet that he has to look away and find something to hold onto so as not to lose his grip on reality. 

Or that’s what Tony thinks. But when he blinks, the sky is suddenly pitch black and he is covered in goosebumps. Tony pinches himself and then glances at his stump arm to make sure this isn’t a flashback. 

“Shit,” he curses, rolling back into the house. “FRIDAY, how long was I out there?” 

“One hour and thirteen minutes, boss.” She seems to hesitate for a moment before adding, “Your vital signs did not indicate any stress, so I did not alert you.”

Tony curses again. He ditches the wheelchair and takes the stairs as fast as he can, black spots dancing in his field of vision. He almost staggers into the wall before shoving his shoulder into the bathroom door and- 

“Look, Daddy, my fingers are all wrinkly now!” 

Morgan is sitting in the now lukewarm water, surrounded by toys, presenting her hands to Tony with bright excitement on her face. He stops, his heartbeat thudding in his ears and sweat running down his temples, then slowly lets himself sink to the floor. 

“Daddy?” Morgan prompts, realising that something is off. “My fingers will be alright, won’t they?” 

Tony swallows hard. “Yeah, kiddo,” he replies tonelessly and forces a smile onto his face. “Your fingers will be just fine. Come on, let’s wash your hair and get you dried off.”

Tony manages to keep it together until he has settled Morgan in bed. He reads her her favourite book, his voice and arm shaking only the slightest bit. Morgan stares at him suspiciously, so he flicks her nose and tickles her until she is gasping for breath. He kisses her goodnight, closes the door, supports himself down the stairs to the master bedroom, and only then does he break. 

Tony hasn’t had a panic attack this bad since just after he came back from Titan, but the helpless feeling he has now is much the same as then. At that time, he was unable to save the universe, had let Peter die in his arms; now he’s letting down his family, unable to protect those he cares about. Or, even worse, he’s actively putting them in danger by zoning out for an hour.

It’s been years since Tony has thrown up from panicking. He tries to keep it down, but then the nausea gets so overwhelming that he has to scramble for the trash can near the door and heave and retch until all that comes up is burning stomach acid. 

Pepper finds him like this twenty minutes later - panting and shaking, still clutching the trash can to his chest. “Tony!” she yelps, then catches herself and lowers her voice. “What’s going on?”

He swallows heavily, searching for words. “I-I forgot Morgan in the bathroom. She, it must have been an hour, and I, I just- I can’t-”

“Shh, calm down. She’s okay, Tony, we’re all okay.” Pepper crouches down next to him and lets her hand rest on his. “Breathe with me, alright?”

He gulps down bile and air and tries to concentrate on sucking in oxygen. It takes a long time until his heart slows down a little. Pepper gently takes the bin away and then settles next to him, wraps an arm around his shoulders, and pulls him close. Tony feels himself go limp. He lets his head fall back against her collarbones, his body heavy with exhaustion and failure.

“Tell me what you’re thinking, huh?” she asks after a while, handing him a tissue that he tries to take with his right arm before remembering he can’t. 

“I’m nothing without my brain,” he replies, choked. “My brain, my mind - that’s who I am.”

“No, that’s not true. Who you are is this.” Pepper taps on the scar tissue on his chest, then lets her hand rest there, warm and reassuring. “And this is all that counts. I know it, and so does Morgan.”

And Tony would love to believe her, but he can't any more than he can use his right arm.

*

Peter is tired and school hasn’t even started yet.

He’s tired from not being able to sleep, from waking up to the ever-same nightmares in the early morning hours. Tired from having the same conversations over and over again, Oh, you got snapped? What about your aunt? Did you get your apartment back? Tell me, where did this bruise come from? He’s even tired of Ned’s and MJ’s subtle concerned looks and May’s not-so-subtle suggestions that he let his secret identity rest for a bit. He’s tired from looking at his phone and wondering whether there’s ever going to be an answer to the texts he keeps sending.

He’s not tired of Spider-Manning, but the crime rates are skyrocketing. Often times, nightly patrols stretch well into the next morning, and despite feeling like he is finally able to do something useful, it starts to wear him out after a while, making him reckless and more prone to mistakes than usual. 

A week after he resumes patrolling, a robber breaks his finger and he spends the night shuffling back and forth between the freezer and his bed, replacing the ice again and again. A woman who Returned to find her husband living with a new wife wreaks havoc at their house and hits Peter with a baseball bat when he tries to stop her, giving him a concussion that forces him to bunk over at Ned’s for May not to realise. She does anyway, and lectures him about being more careful while dosing out painkillers into his palm the morning after. Another night, May has to stitch up a slash wound he got from a man trying to blackmail an employee of the insurance company not to revoke his life insurance money. 

Then, after a more peaceful patrol when he is already on his way home, Peter finds an elderly woman with dementia trying to enter her old apartment in which a new couple is living now. The woman introduces herself as Mrs. Jackson and offers Peter jellybeans from an ancient-looking package in her handbag, which he politely declines. Peter manages to talk to the two men before they call the police, then tracks down the woman’s daughter and drops the lady off at her new address. He declines the money the daughter tries to give him, but accepts the chocolate bar, munching on it as he one-handedly swings his way back home. The sun is just setting and he watches it go down from one of his favourite viewpoint on top of the Daily Bugle building.

“That was a good day,” he says to himself. Still looking towards the river, he shoots a web over his shoulder to the building he knows is on the other side of the street and lets himself fall backward. 

The problem is, Mrs. Jackson is not the only one who sometimes forgets that the city is not what it used to be five years ago. The building on the other side of the street has been demolished. Peter’s web sticks to nothing. He realises this a split second too late. Frantically, he shoots another web into thin air in an attempt to save himself, but it’s fruitless. 

While falling, Peter thinks that the integrated parachute in the Iron Spider suit would be really useful just about right now, and that’s when his body crashes into a streetlight. Pain flares up in his stomach. It feels as if he’s being ripped apart from the inside, and that’s the last thing he knows.

*

The first time he wakes up, everything is blurry and moving in slow-motion. May is there, holding his hand, and he is in much less pain than he remembered. Peter blinks a bit and tries to feel for the boundaries of his body, but he seems to have become one with the hospital bed. He closes his eyes again. 

The second time, he’s much more lucid. A worried-looking Happy is sitting at his bedside and explains in a forcibly slow voice that May has “finally” gone to sleep and Tony is on his way to the private hospital they took him to. Peter nods, which seems to set in motion a chain reaction in his body, because ten seconds later he is retching bile into a basin Happy hastily shoved under his chin. 

They had to remove his spleen, Peter learns later, when his stomach has calmed down a little and he is sipping Sprite through a straw. From what he can gather, he wasn’t in any mortal danger, but that is mostly due to the fact that his spider powers took the brunt of it. 

The cup grows heavy in his hand while the nurse is explaining this, and then Happy takes it from his fingers with an unusually kind gesture, briefly brushing his hand through Peter’s curls before he nudges Peter’s head onto the pillow. “Get some more rest,” he says, and Peter obliges, woozy and relieved that Happy isn’t angry. 

Tony, as it turns out, is. 

Peter wakes up when he hears the tap, tap of the crutch on the tiles. He is thrown back to the walking cane of his fifth grade math teacher until he hears Tony’s voice ask someone “Is he awake?”. Then his mentor opens the door to the hospital room.

Tony looks better than the last time, but somehow simultaneously worse. His burn injuries are healed - the scars still stand out, though slightly less angrily than Peter remembers. But he’s lost weight, the circles under his eyes are larger than ever, and his usually meticulously shaven beard has become an unkempt mixture of grey and black. All in all, he has the air of someone who isn’t taking care of himself.

“You look kind of bad,” Peter starts, and maybe this isn’t exactly a polite thing to say, but his brain is still a bit messy and a part of him is simply pissed at his mentor.

“You are one to talk, boy-without-a-spleen,” Tony rebutts, the sarcasm sharp, his usual playfulness lacking completely. “So that’s what I get for snapping your ass back and asking you not to play superhero for a while.”

Peter stays silent now and bites his lip. They’ve been here before and there is really nothing new to say about it. He isn’t even scared now - just weary. He feels centuries older than that time he stood at the edge of the city and Tony took his suit away. 

“So we’re doing the not-talking thing now?” Tony asks, almost casually. He sits down heavily on the chair that Happy left abandoned, and it doesn’t escape Peter’s notice that a sheen of sweat has already formed on his forehead from the strain it seems to have taken him to come here. “Because, trust me, I’ve got four decades more experience playing that game than you.”

“That’s not it,” Peter protests. “It’s not like I want to go against you, but what was I supposed to do? Sit at home while all this crime is going on in my city and do nothing about it?” He takes a breath, his cheeks burning from anger and embarrassment. “Nobody even hurt me, okay? This just happened because I messed up.”

“Is that supposed to reassure me?” Tony demands. “Because it’s literally doing the exact opposite. Fuck, kid - do you realise that this is exactly why I asked you not to go out? You need to get used to the city again, get settled in your new life. I asked you to wait. I wanted to keep you safe -”

“But I don’t want to be safe!” Peter interrupts, exasperated. “Nobody needs a safe Spider-Man! If you’d wanted that, you’d never have taken me to Germany!” 

That’s a low blow - Peter can see it. Tony’s tired eyes widen a bit and he takes a deep breath before continuing in a forcibly calm voice, “I was there in Germany with you. I knew what we were dealing with. I was looking after you, something you don’t seem to be capable of doing on your own.” 

“I get hurt sometimes, so what?” Peter asks bitterly. “All the Avengers do. You did - you nearly died. So why is it a problem if it’s me? If you think I’m not good enough at what I’m doing, just say it. Because I don’t know what you even see in me.”

Tony sighs and runs his hand through his thinning hair. “What I see is potential, kid,” he says, softer than before. “So much potential. But you would need someone to steer you in the right direction, to make sure you don’t die before you make it through college. And that someone can't be me.” 

“Because you have your family, I get it.” Peter tries not to sound too bitter, not to let the nagging, ugly feeling of jealousy take over. 

“No, Peter - no that's not -” Tony cuts himself off, pinching the bridge of his nose in frustration. “Damnit, kid!” he snaps. “Why do you have to make this so hard?”

There's tears burning in Peters eyes because it's not him who's making it hard, it's his life that won't ever give him a damn thing for free, ever let him keep something beautiful.

“Kid. Look at me,” Tony urges him. “I care about you, a lot, okay? I can't watch you get hurt, not after…” Tony trails off, swallows, looks away. “I realise that I can’t keep you away from patrolling. It was dumb of me to even try, and I won’t do it again. But I can’t  - I won’t be involved in this anymore.”

It’s like someone has punched Peter in the gut. He would have been fine with Tony banning him from patrolling or talking May into giving him house arrest. He expected that, almost. That would have easily been worth the crimes he prevented over the last week. But this - this hurts somewhere else, somewhere deeper than his pride and his childish desire to be taken seriously. 

Everything he thought was there between Tony and him seems to have dissolved to dust on Titan.

Tony takes out his sunglasses and puts them on, not bothered by the fact that it’s still before sunrise. “You know that bird guy you webbed to the floor during our little tussle in Germany? Calls himself Falcon. I’m not a fan, but I think it might be good for you to meet up with him sometime, practice superheroing. He’s got…” Tony takes a deep breath, his voice shaking a little now. He suddenly looks so, so old. “He’s got Cap’s shield now, I’ve heard. I’ll ask Happy to send him your number.” 

He doesn’t want me. I’m a burden. 

Any reply burning in Peter’s throat is gone. When he looks up, he thinks he glimpses tears in Tony's good eye, behind the dark glasses. 

Peter’s own eyes are stinging. He swallows. “Okay, Mr. Stark,” he says tonelessly. 

His legs feel numb when he pushes himself up. There’s a heavy feeling of nausea in his stomach that has nothing to do with his injury. “I’ll go and take a shower,” he adds without looking up at the older man.

“Will you be okay on your own?” Tony asks.

Peter doesn’t even know whether this is about the shower or something bigger. He tries not to care too much. “Yeah. It’s fine.” 

He doesn’t look back before shutting the door. 

*

“It’s fine,” Peter told Tony.

But it isn’t. Nothing is fine. 

Peter gets out of the hospital the next day, and that same evening, he’s back on the streets. Happy sends him Falcon’s number, and apparently, even sent Falcon Peter’s because he receives a constant thread of texts asking for a meeting. Peter ignores them; the last thing he needs is another person promising to look after him only to quit halfway through. Or, maybe, he thinks when he barely escapes a mugger’s bullet the weekend following, maybe that’s not entirely true. But he doesn’t want one anymore. Spider-Man can just as well work alone. 

Happy keeps calling him, but Peter doesn’t answer his calls either. Thinking of Happy makes him think of toys in the backseat and a small girl with Tony’s eyes, and he doesn’t want to remember that because then jealousy boils up, hot and sour in his stomach. He feels infinitely stupid for ever thinking that there could be more between Tony and him than their superhero relationship, for thinking that he was anything more to Tony than Spider-Man. 

“I see potential,” he keeps hearing when he tosses and turns at night in his bed, and yeah, that’s all he ever was to Tony, apparently. 

School starts again and they finally move into their own apartment, almost an hour away from their old one. And maybe, just maybe, Peter should have been more careful in a neighbourhood he doesn’t know yet. Maybe he should have read the news and followed his suspects for a while before starting to fight. But every time he webs up a criminal, every time he hears a thank you from someone he saved, it feels like he’s proving Tony wrong. 

So Peter keeps doing it, studying by day, fighting crime in the evenings, and sometimes he is so exhausted that he actually manages to sleep through the rest of the night without any dreams. He’s tired, and he’s reckless, and he’s doing the exact opposite of what Tony has asked him to. But that’s just one more reason not to pick up Happy’s calls. 

*

Tony doesn’t hear Rhodey approaching from the right with his bad ear, so by the time he realises that his friend has found him, it’s already too late to escape. 

Rhodey cuts straight to the point. “When Pep told me she couldn’t find you, I thought you’d have escaped to the workshop or be out flying around with the suit. But this worries me almost more.” 

Tony looks up from the box he’s been bent over at an awkward angle from the side of his wheelchair, packing screwdrivers and bolts. It’s a wheelchair day, of course, as were all the days in the past week. And the one before that, as Pepper kindly pointed out this morning. 

“Why?” Tony retorts. “Didn’t you all tell me it was a good choice to retire?”

“Retire from being Iron Man, yeah. But Tony Stark not tinkering? What the fuck is going on?”

“Nothing left to tinker with,” he says simply. “And I’ve got more time for Morgan this way.”

“Tony, I’m not buying it,” Rhodey says with a huff. “Just because you got some memory problems? I mean, there’s gotta be an easy way around that. You can programme FRIDAY to remind you of everything important, you can- ”

“I know,” Tony cuts him off. He’s done that, of course - first thing after the bathing incident. He doesn’t leave the house anymore without an earpiece connected to FRIDAY’s server, and has programmed her to alert him of the tiniest things he might forget. But it doesn’t help. He can’t explain the feeling of inadequacy, of constant fear that he’s missed something important, something vital, something that is going to put everyone he loves in danger. He can’t trust his brain, and thus, he can’t trust himself with anything he’ll build.

“What about your arm?” Rhodey asks. “I thought you were making a prosthesis.”

“Not a big loss,” Tony says with a shrug. “One is more than enough for cooking and reading bedtime stories.”

“And the spider kid’s suit?” 

Tony stiffens and sticks his chin out slightly. “What about it?”

“I’m not dumb, Tony. The reason we pulled off the whole time heist in the first place was because the only way you could get over your survivor’s guilt was to either bring the kid back or die trying.”

“It worked, didn’t it?” Tony scowls.

“Yeah, and now?” Rhodey demands. “You’re just gonna let him get killed by a random thug on the street because he doesn’t have a proper suit?”

“It’s not -” Tony breaks off, inhaling sharply. “I’ve got him monitored, okay? And he’s supposed to get in touch with Cap’s feathery friend. I just - I can’t do this mentoring thing - not anymore. It’s just not feasible.”

“And why would that be? Wouldn’t it be better if you were looking after him as best you can instead of completely shutting yourself off? Wouldn’t it be better if-”

Tony cuts him off, “Maybe it would have been better if I’d just died during the snap.”

There’s a sudden silence. Rhodey’s eyes keep holding Tony’s steadily while he slowly shakes his head, but Tony can see the sadness contained in them. He already regrets that he said it out loud, his stupid mouth running ahead of him and spilling out what nobody was supposed to ever hear, but it’s too late now, always too late. 

“Nobody wants that, Tony. And I don’t think you do either.” Rhodey swallows, then goes on in a softer tone. “You think you’re useless like this, but you’re not. Not to anyone. You’re way too absorbed in mourning what you lost to understand what all we gained.”

“I am seeing what I gained,” Tony insists, sounding almost desperate in his own ears. “I’ve got my family. This is what counts, not the tech I build. I am okay, Rhodes - stop giving me that kicked puppy look. I am fine.”

“Yeah,” Rhodey snorts, turning around to leave. “Convince yourself of that first.”

*

The warehouse is huge, filled with alien tech that definitely shouldn’t be being loaded into a stolen Joey’s Pizza van. There’s only two of them moving the product, and that should have probably made Peter think a bit more before jumping down from the ceiling with a “Boo!” and webbing the two men’s hands to the pillars. The tech they’re stealing is emitting a constant low-pitched hum and that’s messing with Peter’s senses, which probably should have been yet another reason to wait before he engaged. 

But it’s been four nights and 20 hours of sleep in total, and the paparazzi published a picture of Morgan Stark’s first day of school today, showing a worn-out looking Tony with sunglasses waving to her out of the open car window. The headline read “Shocking Revelation: Iron Man Too Weak to Walk His Daughter to the Classroom Door?!” 

Flash showed Peter the magazine with a raised eyebrow, casually commenting, “Guess that’s it for your Stark internship, huh?” Peter flipped him off, but the rest of the day he just felt empty.

“Resistance is futile!” Peter shouts at the criminals while webbing their feet to the pillars for good measure. Then he fumbles for his phone in the suit pocket in order to call the police, and that’s when his whole body explodes into pain. It feels as if every single one of his cells is individually being hit with a baseball bat. His knees give out under him, and while falling, he can see the sardonic smile of a woman with a taser stepping out of the shadows. 

“I’ve never liked spiders,” she announces. Then Peter’s head hits the floor with a thud and he blacks out gratefully. 

*

“Boss.” 

“Boss.”

“Boss.”

“What?” Tony jerks awake at his work desk, his heart hammering up into his throat. “What - What did I miss, Fri? What did I do?”

“You did nothing wrong, boss. But I thought you might want to be informed that Peter Parker hasn’t returned from his nightly patrol. He is four hours past his usual curfew.”

“The kid? What? Where is he?” 

“I cannot say this for sure, but security footage saw him entering a warehouse in Brooklyn at 9pm. A Joey’s Pizza van left from there an hour later, which has now reached the following location.” She displays a map with a highlighted area in the upstate region. “This warehouse is not an official Joey’s Pizza property.”

“No shit, Sherlock,” Tony mutters. “Are there any security cameras inside the building?”

“Negative, boss. However, I can locate Mr. Parker’s smartphone in a two-mile radius of the warehouse. It makes sense to assume that he is being held inside.”

“Is he injured?” 

“I can’t tell from the data I have. It seems that Mr. Parker is not currently using any of the suits you made for him.”

Of course he isn’t. Tony feels a surge of self-hatred rising in his chest, together with the all-too-familiar guilt. He should have known Peter wouldn’t play it safe. He should have checked on him much earlier. There’s a whole laundry list of shoulds and woulds for him to deal with later, but right now, he doesn’t have time for that. He needs to get Peter out of there. 

“FRIDAY, inform Rhodey. Get him there ASAP.”

“Doing so as we speak, sir. However, Colonel Rhodes is currently in New Jersey and will take approximately 40 minutes to reach the location.”

“Shit,” Tony mutters. “What about Falcon?” 

“Mr. Wilson is on a visit to Wakanda.”

Tony curses under his breath. He scours the map again, then racks his brain for anyone else he might call. But, honestly, who is he kidding? The decision has already been made. 

“Boss-” FRIDAY begins when he pushes himself out of the wheelchair and reaches for his crutch, breathing through the headrush that comes with standing up too quickly. 

“Save it, FRI. I need a suit.”

The AI directs him to the cabinet where he stores his nano housing units. The Mark 85 would have been a better choice, but he hasn’t even tried locating it since coming home after the battle. For all he knows, its pieces are still lying somewhere on the field of rubble that used to be the Avengers Compound. 

The armour envelopes him with a feeling that is both familiar and strange, like coming back to a childhood home. It also hurts. The suit is doing most of the work for him, but the sheer strain of being upright without a crutch is a lot, and the extra weight on his legs and back is enough to have him panting by the time he staggers to the garage exit.

“Fuck,” he breathes when his vision clouds up from the effort. “This is not working.”

“Sir, Colonel Rhodes is already on his way. I advise you to wait -”

“Stop it.” Tony takes a deep breath to drown out the rising panic. “FRIDAY, is there any morphine around?” 

“That is not a wise idea, boss.”

“Come on, we’re running out of time!” 

The AI silently lights up a path through the cardboard boxes littering the ground to a medicine cabinet on the other end of the garage. Tony finds the morphine and injects himself with a dose as high as he dares without his mind getting fuzzy. He needs to think clearly now. 

The relief is instantaneous. The pain is still there, but it’s muted enough that he can walk out of the house and take off relatively steadily.

*

It takes Tony less than ten minutes to reach the old warehouse. By the time he touches down, he is severely lightheaded, but the adrenaline and morphine are holding him together just enough that he doesn’t fall over. He makes a quick detour to the back of the building and then blasts himself through the front door (“Here’s my plan: attack”) because time is a sensitive factor, and frankly, he doesn’t have any better ideas. 

He takes the first guy out before the man even has time to react. The second one jumps behind the van that is parked in the middle of the large hall and starts to shoot at Tony with something that is emitting blue energy sparks and is definitely not legal. Tony takes cover behind a pillar (while definitely not leaning against it) and breathes for a moment, surveilling the scene. 

Peter is being held in the back of the warehouse. They put him in a cage - a fucking cage with enhanced security that Tony constructed years ago when they were fighting alien wolves in Central Park, and this fact alone makes his insides burn with rage. The kid is apparently unconscious, chained to the bars with handcuffs way above his head, which appear to be the only thing currently holding him upright. There’s blood on his face that seems to stem from a wound on his head where he must have been beaten, but it’s dried. FRIDAY informs him that the kid is breathing, thank god. 

The guy with the electric gun is situated between Tony and the kid, so he’s gotta deal with him first. “FRIDAY, I want a big boom in twenty seconds,” he instructs. 

“Timer set, boss,” the AI replies into his good ear. 

Tony steps out from his shelter into plain view, ignoring the exhaustion weighing him down. He fires a series of blasts that tear through the walls of the van, causing the vehicle to skid towards the right side of the building. He can hear a curse and then the sound of hasty footsteps as the man runs towards the backdoor, trying not to be crushed by the vehicle, and that’s exactly where Tony wants him to be. 

“Hey, asshole!” he shouts. “Come out of your rabbit hole and show your face!”

The man cocks his electric gun. “Iron Man, what a surprise. The papers say you’ve retired? Shouldn’t you -”

Tony never gets to know what it is he should be doing, because that’s when the bomb he planted outside the back door blows up with a satisfactory boom. The man is blown off his feet just as he shoots a blast of light blue energy at Tony, flying a dozen feet through the air. Tony doesn’t hear the thud when he hits the ground because he’s too busy getting out of the line of fire. He almost succeeds, but it’s not enough. The blast catches him at the side, sending him stumbling blindly back into the pillar. 

“Mr. Stark! Mr. Stark, please! Can you hear me? Tony!”

Tony isn’t sure at first whether he is actually hearing the kid’s voice or it’s just a memory conjured by his hazy mind. His good ear is ringing, the other one gone completely deaf. There are sparks of white dancing in his field of vision and the suit is pretty much the only thing holding him upright now. He turns slowly, staggering on the spot, and yes, the kid is awake, thank god, though he is barely holding himself upright. 

Through the haze, Tony can see that Peter is signalling something to him, frantically nodding his head at something behind Tony. “What?” Tony shouts, his own voice sounding weirdly far away. 

“-one more,” he can make out, and then it clicks. Tony raises his gun-arm and spins around, just as the woman crashes into him full force. The impact is more than enough to make him lose his balance completely. He hears shots while they tumble to the ground, feels something hit his helmet, his vision blacking out completely. He fires blindly, repeatedly sending out electroshocks until the body on top of him goes limb. 

Then Tony breathes, in, out, pain coursing through his body like acid, his head throbbing as if it’s being hit with a hammer. He can’t really feel his right leg, but the pain in the rest of his body is more than making up for it. It’s not as bad as the snap - nothing ever was as bad as the snap, that was a million on a scale of one to ten - but it’s enough to let him know that any movement in the coming few minutes will most likely result in him passing out. 

So Tony listens to his own breaths until he is sure he’ll stay awake. Then he turns, slowly, and rolls over onto his side until the woman’s body slides off him. He opens his eyes. His HUD is obscured with blood, so he opens that as well and finally gets to look at the kid.

Peter is crying, the tears that are running from his eyes slowly mixing with the blood on his cheeks. The moment his gaze meets Tony’s, relief blooms on his face. “You’re alive,” he breathes. 

“Yeah,” Tony croaks. He isn’t sure whether his voice is loud enough to travel to the kid, so he says it again, convincing himself. “Yeah, I’m alive. And so are you, kid.”

“Can you -” Peter takes a hitching breath, almost a sob, “Can you get me out, please?” His hands wriggle in the handcuffs. It must be painful, because his expression turns into a grimace and he stops again.

“Yeah,” Tony reassures, then adds, “Just hold on. You’re fine, kid, you’re okay,” because Peter has started to cry again and looks seconds away from a breakdown now. 

Tony pushes himself up on his arm. He gets one leg under him, then the next, and kneels there on the floor in his own blood. That’s as far as he gets before his strength leaves him and he slumps back, barely managing to stabilise himself. The world spins around him as if he’s on a fucking merry-go-around, the dizziness so overwhelming that he’s afraid he might throw up. Peter calls his name, and Tony tries again to get up - tries, and tries, and tries - but there’s a rushing in his ears that makes it clear this is a battle he isn’t going to win. 

“Sir? Tony, please?” Peter sounds panicked.

And that’s what it comes down to. Tony, on his knees, mere metres away from the kid who is calling out for him, yet unable to reach him. He just isn’t strong enough. And this is it, this is the hard and cold reality, the true reason why he kept away from Peter for so long. Because when it truly counts, he is bound to fail him. 

“I, I can’t get up.” Tony’s voice breaks when he finally admits it out loud, “I can’t, kid. I’m sorry.” It feels like he is saying so much more than that, and he wants to tell him, wants to explain how fucking much it hurts to fail him, once all across the universe and now again, and it seems like he can feel the dust coating his fingers once more. “I’m sorry,” he repeats, his cheeks feeling damp. “I am so, so sorry, Peter.”

“It’s - it’s okay,” Peter mumbles through sobs, but Tony knows it is not. 

And this is how Rhodey finds them when he storms into the warehouse fifteen minutes later. Tony must have closed his eyes at some point in time, because it takes him a bit to react when his friend shakes his shoulder. 

“Tony, thank god,” Rhodey says when Tony blinks up at him, the look on his face somewhere between relief and anger. “Why the fuck didn’t you wait for me?” 

“You know why,” is all Tony says. “How’s the kid-” 

“Oh god, Mr. Stark, Tony, are you alright?” Peter is walking towards him with an emergency blanket draped around his shoulders. He’s sort of unsteady on his feet and fresh tears are springing from his eyes when he kneels down next to Tony. “You, you sort of faded out, and I was so scared and I couldn’t get out of that cage and then I was thinking of the battlefield again, and -”

“Shh, it’s okay.” Tony didn’t think he’d have the strength to move and get out of the armour, but the sobbing kid in front of him gives him new energy. “FRIDAY, open up,” he murmurs. The nanobots retract and form a shield behind his back. Tony is grateful because he isn’t sure whether he’d be able to sit upright under his own power. 

“Come ’ere, kid,” he says softly. Peter gives him a doubtful look, so Tony opens his arm and pulls him towards him. The kid leans his head against Tony’s chest, crying harder now, tears soaking Tony’s shirt.

“You’re okay,” Tony murmurs, just like he would when Morgan would come to him in the middle of the night, scared of monsters. “You’re okay, kid.”

“I f’cked up,” Peter sniffles. “I, I should have listened to you, I’m sorry- ”

“No,” Tony says firmly. “No kid, you didn’t. I fucked up. I fucked this up epically.”

“You saved the whole universe,” Peter protests through his sniffling. “You brought me back from the dead! And then you retired, but you still came here and saved me when I needed you.”

“But I couldn’t save you all the way,” Tony says quietly. He takes a deep breath, feeling his heart beat hard and fast in his chest. Time to be honest.

“Listen, kid. The snap messed up my brain.” He holds up a hand when Peter starts to protest. “No, I mean, quite literally. It doesn’t work as well as before. I...I forget things. I make mistakes - silly mistakes, dangerous mistakes. I didn’t...I didn’t think I could take care of you anymore. And tonight proved me right. But it wasn’t your fault, and I should have made that clear to you. I’m sorry, Peter, I should have told you.”

It feels weird to admit it to the boy what he hasn’t really been able to even acknowledge himself. Saying it out loud gives it an air of finality. 

This should be the end, then. Giving up comes almost as a relief. 

But then Peter gazes up at him with a look as if Tony had just said something incredibly stupid. “But I don’t want anyone else,” the kid sniffs. “I only want you as my mentor. I don’t care if your brain works or not. You just saved me, you came all the way here, and you - just, please, don’t go away again, okay?”

And sometimes the universe has weird ways of letting you heal. Sometimes it takes months of falling before you hit the ground, hard. And sometimes you need to feel the impact, really feel it, before you can start to pick yourself up again. 

Tony looks at the kid in his arms, and he makes a decision.

“Okay,” he whispers. He pulls Peter closer and holds him through the weakness and the pain that encompass them both. “I promise.”

*

“Again! Do it again!” Morgan giggles.

Peter looks over at Tony, who raises his arm high into the air and gives him a nod, then Peter taps the instructions into the Starkpad. There’s a quiet pop sound from the bionic arm and a moment later sparkling fireworks erupt from it into the night sky, the red and gold reflecting magnificently on the surface of the lake. Morgan cheers and claps, and Peter feels a smile spread over his face. 

“Again! Again!” the little girl demands, jumping up and down impatiently.

“Enough for today. Daddy’s tired, Morgan,” Pepper says firmly.

“But-” 

Pepper gives her a stern look. “Why don’t we go inside and ask Uncle Happy to read you a story?”

“Okayyyyy,” Morgan pouts.

Peter turns his head towards his mentor. Tony does look exhausted and kind of in pain - Peter knows that the prosthesis hurts him whenever he wears it for too long - but there’s a warm shine to his working eye that Peter hasn’t seen before. He looks… at peace, in a way. 

They make to follow Pepper and Morgan back to the house, Tony a little unsteady on his feet. “You okay?” Peter asks quietly so as not to alert Morgan, offering an arm to his mentor.

“Yeah,” Tony reassures, but then, after a moment of hesitation, he takes the arm and leans a bit of weight onto it. “What about you, kid?”

And Peter has to think for a bit, wondering about where his life could have gone and what it has actually turned out to be. He thinks of the battle and the nightmares and the hours in the cage and of Tony on his knees, unable to reach him. 

Then he watches the last sparkles sink into the lake, followed by a loud “ohhhhh” from Morgan, and turns back to his mentor.

“Yeah,” he replies firmly, “Yeah, I’m okay.”

__________

All my fics

Taglist: @toomuchtoread33  @yepokokfine

@badthingshappenbingo - This is my prompt fill for the square “Cry into Chest”.

[lemonietrinket]

wip game!!

Rules~ post the names of all the files in your wip folder, regardless of how non-descriptive or ridiculous. then people can send asks with the title that most intrigues/interests them and you’ll post a little snippet of it or tell them something about it

tagged by: @magicalara tysm!! 

ive never done an activity like this before so im real excited sksk pls dont let me flop

despite my radio silence i have been working on stuff i swear, its just been slow progress in a very staggered way. its literally past midnight as i write this for me, i suddenly got the energy to do this after a depressive spiral, so if that doesnt some me up, idk what will skjhdjfgll

ive been trying to spread out my wips a little bit more group-wise, bc i always write for nct, which seems unfair since ive been a stay and a myday for a hell of a lot longer. meanwhile, im considering refurbishing too in some way, making my masterlist look a little prettier or just revamping my appearance. idk. i made a lot of these bios and images like.. a while ago.. and the content im interested in writing is... a little different. i mostly write drabbles that are just fluffy and simple. which is totally fine, theyre cute and ill probably keep writing stuff like that, bc its quicker and so makes me feel more accomplished. but im a fantasy writer to the core, and ive been writing fantasy mixed with sci-fi and thriller/mystery for years now. theres always the issue of my shite attention span, yes. bUt, maybe if i work my way up, i can have some of those pretty chapter-stories that you see on here you know, the ones that make people cry?? idk tho... maybe its above what i can manage rn. if i get more friends and settle emotionally god can you even imagine that i might be able to manage it. so someday?

until then, here are my wips. some of which i will... work on... at some point, the others, i am currently actively working on!

᠃ ⚘᠂ ⚘ ˚ ⚘ ᠂ ⚘ ᠃

here comes the sun [wip title] ~~~ dowoon x reader

writing therapy ~~~ johnny x reader + potential others

summertime is for us ~~~ felix x reader (posting soon!)

sleeping together with 127 

the code; part 2 ~~~ doyoung x barista!reader

treasure; prologue ~~~ ateez &/x reader

we’re not calling him chucky ~~~ changkyun x reader

king & lionheart; part two ~~~ king!jungwoo x royalknight!reader

saudade ~~~ dowoon x oc/reader

sehnsucht ~~~ ? x reader

buttercup ~~~ lucas &/x reader

smitten ~~~ mingi x reader

᠃ ⚘᠂ ⚘ ˚ ⚘ ᠂ ⚘ ᠃

christ when i write them like this it feels like nothing sksks

i tag: anyone who wants to do this :))

[katehuntington]

Title: Ride With Me (part one) Fandom: Supernatural AU Main characters series: Reader, Dean Winchester, Bobby Singer, Ellen Singer-Harvelle, Jo Singer (Harvelle), Benny Lafitte, Ash Miles, Garth Fitzgerald IV, Castiel Novek, and many more. Timeline: 2008 Pairing: Dean x Reader (eventually)  Word count: ±4350 words Summary series: Y/N is a talented horse rider who is on her way to become a professional. In order to convince her father that she deserves the loan needed to start her own farm, she goes to Arizona for six months, to intern at a ranch owned by Bobby and Ellen Singer. Her future is set out, but then she meets a handsome horseman, who goes by the name of Dean Winchester. A heartwarming series about a cowboy who falls for the girl, letting go of the past and the importance of family.  Summary part one: Y/N arrives at the airport, but getting to her new internship is easier said than done, when no one shows to pick her up. Meanwhile, at the ranch, Dean learns that his uncle Bobby hired a new intern and assigned her to the head wrangler, and he’s not sure how he feels about that. Warnings series: NSFW, 18+ only! Fluff, angst, eventually smut. Swearing, smoking, alcohol intoxication, alcohol abuse. Mutual pining, heartbreak. Crying, nightmares, childhood trauma. Description of animal abuse, domestic violence, mentions of addiction. Financial problems, stress, mental breakdown. Description of blood and injury, hospital scenes, character death, grief. Music: ‘Along The Way’ - Sunday Kids (check out ‘Kate Huntington’s Ride With Me playlist’ on Spotify!) Author’s note: Thank you @kittenofdoomage, @coffee-obsessed-writer and @girl-with-a-fandom-fettish for helping me take this story to a higher level. 

Ride With Me Masterlist

     “This is just great…”

     After a long, turbulent flight next to a rather large and sweaty nervous flyer - who had way too much garlic for lunch, by the way - Y/N thought she was done. But now that she’s waiting outside Phoenix Sky Harbor International Airport with no one in sight to pick her up, it seems that the universe isn’t going to stop toying with her just yet.

     To top it off, the weather decided to throw a curveball as well. What happened to the lovely sun rays and dry heat from the brochure? Right now it’s so humid that the fabric of her clothing clings to her skin as if it’s trying to hold on for dear life, and to make matters worse, rain begins to fall from the clouded sky. Right; monsoon season. Oh, well. At least the entrance of the arrival hall offers the traveler some shelter.

     With a sigh she sits down on her oversized suitcase, scanning her surroundings for a driver. She should have picked up something to eat in the arrival hall; she could eat a horse, as a figure of speech that is. Obviously, Y/N would never eat a horse, since she loves them more than anything. They are the reason why she touched down in Phoenix in the first place.      From the age of four, she’s been riding the majestic animals. Being on the back of a horse is one of the first memories she can recall, now that she thinks of it. When she was a little girl and was asked what she wanted to be when she grew up, the answer was always the same: she wanted to be a professional rider with her own ranch. 

     That’s the dream. No, that’s the goal.

     Despite her unconditional love for these noble creatures and an overload of motivation to execute this plan, her parents encouraged their daughter to go to college. She even got her master's degree, but truth be told, all she ever wants to do is ride. So when she graduated a few weeks ago, Y/N thought that was exactly what she was going to do from that point on. Her father wasn’t impressed with her business plan, though, and decided that he was only going to lend her the money to start up her own company if she would complete half a year of ranch work. ‘No quitting, no complaints’, is what he said.

     Clearly, he’s underestimating her, because how hard could ranch life possibly be? Sure, in the past she spent most of her time riding and not so much mucking out stables. After all, employees at the boarding facility did that for the clients. But she had insight, management skills, and other great characteristics that will help run a business. What are six months of hard labor going to contribute, besides a good waistline?

     Although she believes her father’s plan is completely unnecessary, she is going with it. Those twenty-six weeks will pass by in the blink of an eye. It’s gonna be a walk in the park. Smooth sailing, right? Except for the fact that she’s already stranded, alone, and with no clue where to go. Hopefully, the rocky flight to the desert wasn’t an omen for what is yet to come. 

    After fifteen minutes of waiting, she takes out her phone again. For a second her thumb lingers on the speed dial that would put a call through to her father, but then she looks up the number of the ranch owner in her email and calls him instead. Running back to Mom and Dad is not going to deliver the message of an independent woman who is ready for the big world. Looks like she will have to dig herself out of this mess. Arizona might not have been her Dad’s best idea, but she’s here now. Pride forbids her to give him, or all the others who are skeptical, the satisfaction of being right. 

     “Bobby, are ya gonna pick up the damn phone or what?”

     Dean sets his bottle down on the bar next to the buzzing phone. He glances at the screen, unable to identify the number, and looks up again, searching the saloon for his uncle. At the long table in the center of the lounge, the man in his mid-sixties is enjoying a game of cards and a glass of whiskey, accompanied by a few members of the crew. Bobby hasn’t heard Dean, too busy laughing over the dirty joke Ash just told. Right when his nephew is about to call out his name again, the phone on the wooden counter stops ringing. Oh well, if it’s important they will call again, right?      Even though he feels drained from last days' events, he will not let anything take away this carefree feeling. Together with Jo, Benny and a couple of regular guests, they moved the young cattle from the summer pasture up in the Superstition Mountains back to the ranch. It took two days to locate the herd, but eventually, they found them at Weaver’s Needle.      After hours spent in the saddle and camping out for several nights, they all needed a shower, a good meal and a cold beer. Bringing the cattle in is one of the highlights of the season and worth a celebration. It didn't take long before wranglers, workers and tourists gathered in the saloon to celebrate. The place hasn’t been this crowded in years and smile appears on Dean’s face as he takes it all in. An upbeat country song - that he recognizes as ‘Along The Way’ by the Sunday Kids - fills the air together with growling laughter and cigarette smoke. Cheers rise when the beer bottles are heaved into the air, overruling the sound of billiard balls colliding on the pool table. 

     He lets a sigh slip from his lips when he glances aside at Ellen, who just brought back a full tray of empty glasses. As she sets the load down on the counter to give her arms a rest, his aunt smiles, witnessing Dean’s pleased expression.

     “Enjoying yourself, sweetheart?” she asks.      Dean nods, circling the bar to grab two new bottles of Corona from the cooler. “It’s a good night.”      Ellen grants her eyes another look at her saloon as she takes the beer that is handed over; she can only agree. “It sure is.”

     They toast to that and take a swig, but before Dean can swallow his drink, the phone on the counter starts ringing again. He guesses it apparently is important and calls out Bobby’s name, a little louder this time.

     “I’m in the middle of a poker game, son,” he replies, not looking up from his cards.      “Your phone’s been buzzing like crazy,” Dean notifies as he approaches the old man, noticing the pair of queens in his hand.      “Is it ringing, really? How come I can’t hear the damn thing?”      Ellen scoffs from behind the counter. “Maybe because you need to start using your God-forsaken hearing aids.”      “Woman, my ears work just fine,” he returns, continuing to mutter much softer to prevent his wife from hearing him. “I can hear you jappin’, can’t I?”

     Dean - who did pick up on his words - smirks in amusement and checks on his aunt if she really didn’t hear her husband, but when she looks from one to the other confused, he wisely keeps his mouth shut. Meanwhile, Bobby grumpily turns his cards upside down on the table surface and takes the phone. The ranch owner adjusts his worn baseball cap a little as he looks down at the screen, puzzled, obviously not sure how to work the piece of modern technology.      “How the hell do I pick up?” he wonders out loud.      “You swipe it, Dad.”

     Jo walks over, interrupting her game of pool momentarily, and leans over her father’s shoulder, still holding her cue stick. With a simple movement, she lets her finger slide across the touchscreen. Somewhat clumsily, Bobby presses the phone against his ear, letting out a hesitant ‘hello?’ as if he’s not completely sure if the little magic trick actually worked.

     “You really had to give him your old iPhone, huh?” Dean sniggers when Jo walks past him, back to the pool table to finish the game.      “Anything’s better than that old Nokia,” his cousin returns, throwing him a look as she whips her blonde hair over her shoulder. “That thing was prehistoric.”

   Dean grins at the remark and observes the game that is in motion on the green quarried slate. Jo is acing it, it’s her turn to shoot the eight-ball in already, while her opponent still has several balls on the play field. The petite blonde positions herself behind the black number eight, throwing a seducing glance at the slick-looking young man on the other side of the table. With a flirtatious sparkle in her eyes, she allows her low-cut tank top to show a little more cleavage as she bends over. It doesn’t go unnoticed with the men in her company, but unlike the guest that she’s reeling in, Dean has the urge to cover up his little cousin. It’s not just a game of pool that these youngsters are going to be playing tonight.

     “Sure you want to aim it like that?” Dean asks, amusedly waiting for her to pick up on the double meaning.      A deadly glare comes his way and his smirk reaches even wider. Not granting him another second of her time, Jo focuses on the final ball again and pockets it, winning the game. Victoriously, she holds up her hand in front of tonight’s loser, who reluctantly hands her a twenty-dollar bill. A chuckle escapes Dean’s throat and he takes another swig of the sparkling yellow brew called Corona. As he lowers the bottle, the cowboy’s attention shifts to his uncle, who is still on the phone.

     “- I’m very sorry, It’s been really hectic today with the cattle comin’ in and it slipped my mind completely.”      The apologetic tone in Bobby’s voice piques Dean’s interest. Jo joins him, leaning against the table while resting her elbows on the rails.      “Any idea what that’s about?” Dean wonders, but she shakes her head.      “- that’s no problem. I’ll send someone to pick you up right away.”

     After having made that promise, Bobby eyes his employees, then his wife and daughter, hoping that someone is sober enough to keep his obligation. It triggers Dean to check with his friend, Benny. The brawny wrangler answers the unspoken question by shaking his head, however; he’s not volunteering, and neither is Garth. The skinny stable boy now turns to Ash, catching the ranch hand peeking into Bobby’s cards while his boss is occupied, and he elbows him. Shrugging his shoulders the guy who is rocking a mullet lets out an innocent ‘what?’ under his breath. It’s obvious, though, that Ash is in no shape to drive, since he already drank half a crate of his favorite Pabst Blue Ribbon beer. It’s heading towards eleven PM and after an exhausting couple of days, no one is thrilled to drive out to Phoenix. Not to mention that the amount of liquor they’ve consumed might actually jeopardize getting the person Bobby is talking to from A to B.

     “Balls!” the boss curses after he hangs up.      “Forgot somethin’?” Ellen assumes from what she picked up, as she continues to polish a glass behind the bar.      “Yeah, that new intern from Maine,” he mutters as he gets up.      Ellen’s jaw drops, staring at her husband in shock. “You didn’t! That poor gal is at the airport right now?”      “Landed forty-five minutes ago,” Bobby admits, embarrassed.

     “Whoa, wait! New intern?” Dean’s eyes slide from Bobby to Ellen and back, unable to follow.      “Did I forget to mention that? She’ll be under your supervision,” Bobby breaks to him.      “What? I wasn’t even notified?!” he exclaims, his voice pitching a little higher than he anticipated.      “Oh, don’t be such a drama queen,” Jo scoffs, placing her hand on her hip as she looks at him sideways. “Like you would mind a chick working under you.”

     Stunned by her bold comment, Dean cocks his head back as he stares at her wide-eyed; she’s got some nerve! He is about to counter when Jo’s mother already intervenes.      “Joanna Beth!” she warns.      “Oh, come on. It’s the truth, ain’t it?” her daughter mumbles, stubborn as ever.      Ellen doesn’t answer. Instead, her attention shifts to the man who is moving towards the double doors. “And where do you think you’re going?”      Bobby turns around, a confused furrow on his forehead. “Well, to pick up the gal, of course,” he returns, stating the obvious.      “Like hell you are! You had three glasses of whiskey, Robert Singer. You ain’t getting behind the wheel and that’s that,” Ellen decides with her shoulders back, arms crossed and eyes stern.

     Annoyed, but smart enough not to fight the strong-minded woman he married thirty years ago, he addresses Dean with a hopeful look.      “Don’t look at me, this is my fourth beer,” he returns, holding his hand up innocently.      “Same here, boss,” Benny copies, his southern accent thick on his voice.

      “I’ll go.” Jo straightens her back and takes her cowboy hat from the corner of the pool table.      “You sure, honey?” her mother checks with her.      “I had one drink, Mom. You’re not gonna find a more sober person on the ranch at this hour,” she claims bored. “Keys?”      That last demand was meant for Dean.      “Keys to what?” he questions, furrowing his brow.      An eye roll, a sigh. Jo’s typical routine when she’s done with her cousin. “Your car, asshat.”      “What’s wrong with yours?”      “I have a flat. Now, are you gonna hand me the keys, or what?” she says smartly.

    Jo holds up her hand and with a reluctant grunt, Dean tosses the keys of his precious ‘67 Chevrolet El Camino pickup. Skillfully she catches it, beams at him in triumph, and makes her way to the double doors.      “If I find a scratch on her, I’ll make you regret it!” he shouts, loud enough for her to hear.      “I’d like to see you try!” she scoffs.

     A few moments later, the V8 big block under the hood of his beloved car starts up. Jo doesn’t even bother to warm up his baby before she races down the dirt road towards the big city down in the valley, skitting gravel from under the tires. Dean cringes when he hears her take off; someone’s gonna pay for that.

      He will deal with her when she gets back. Until that time Dean settles down at the long table, watching the poker game. Obviously, Ash folds the moment Bobby raises the stakes, leaving the ranch owner with fewer chips than he hoped to win.      “Can I talk to you for a second?” Dean requests before Garth starts dealing the cards.

     Bobby looks at his nephew from under his cap, observing him for a moment. He knows that kid. He spent a few years of his childhood on the ranch and the young man has been working here since the age of fourteen. The boy is like a son to him, so no wonder he can read Dean like a book. Something is bothering the wrangler, and so he gets off his chair and moves away from the crowded table. Shadowed by the cowboy, Bobby heads towards the corner of the bar, seeking a little privacy. They sit down on the bar stools, facing Ellen on the other side of the counter. Her husband doesn’t bother asking her to pour him a drink, because she is on it before he barely has the chance to settle in his seat.

     “Here you go, boys.” She puts down the filled whiskey tumblers on the varnished wood.      Dean thanks her and takes the glass in his hand, clanking it into Bobby’s, who mutters ‘cheers’ as he does so. After watching Ellen enter the kitchen, the older man shifts his gaze to the man accompanying him.      “What’s on your mind, son?” he asks.

     Dean adjusts himself a little, preparing for the upcoming conversation. He doesn’t like to question his uncle, who also happens to be his boss. This is the part where it gets tricky to keep work and family separated. He has to speak up, though, because lately, he has the oppressive feeling that Bobby might not trust him entirely when it regards the management of the ranch. Obviously, the owner calls the shots, but he used to involve Dean whenever decisions needed to be made. It’s bothering him and he needs to get it off his chest.      “Why didn’t you tell me you hired an intern?” he wonders.

     Bobby grunts softly, averting his eyes to his drink as he circles the tumbler  on its edge. He knew this talk was coming and instantly regrets keeping Dean in the dark about recent developments. His nephew is an exceptional horseman, loyal to his family, a trustworthy worker. A little relentless when it comes to risks and danger, and yes, an impulsive womanizer, but there’s one thing he isn’t and that’s stupid. He’s Bobby’s right hand for a reason, he should have known he would pick up on something.

     “Because I knew you wouldn’t approve,” he admits, taking a sip.      Dean scoffs at that. “If you knew I wouldn’t be okay with it, why did you hire her?”      “Because she’s free help, Dean.”      “Is she any good? Did you look into her?” His head wrangler eyes him, trying to make out how thorough he has been in his research.      It doesn’t take long before his uncle’s guilty expression gives it away.     “You didn’t even interview her, did ya? You just said ‘yes’? Look, I know things have been a little difficult since Gabriel left, but we’re managing fine now,” he assures him. “Educating a wannabe cowgirl is actually gonna cost me valuable time and there’s a lot of shit that needs sortin’. We have to bring in the two-year-old stallions, the calves need branding, the young stock has to be moved to the winter pastures--”      Bobby interrupts Dean’s ramble by holding up his hand to shush him, intervening the moment he has an opening. “You don’t have to worry about the young stock, I’m selling it.”      Stunned, Dean stares at him. And when was Bobby planning to tell him this?      “Why the hell would you do that?” he questions, unpleasantly surprised.        Before his boss can answer, Dean can make an estimated guess already. The concerned look in Bobby’s eyes when they meet his green ones confirms it; money is tight, very tight. The crisis has laid the ranch in a thick suffocating smog of debt and so far it doesn’t look like the air is going to clear anytime soon. Hay prices are sky high while their stock sells for half the price they used to go for. It has been hard to keep their heads above water, but so far they’ve been able to ride out the economic recession, so Dean thought. But now that Bobby’s telling him that the one-year-old cattle has to go, it dawns on him how serious the situation is. 

      His jaw clenches as he observes the ice in his glass for a moment, pondering in silence. And just like that, the careless happiness he was experiencing a moment ago, is gone.      “You wanna sell all of them? Or just the steers?” he checks.      “All of them,” Bobby sighs, downing his drink.       “How you wanna handle that next year? Buy in again? It’s gonna cost you a lot,” Dean responds, trying to think of another way.      “Right now, all we need to worry about is surviving this year, son.” Bobby pauses, now comes the bit that he wanted to avoid. Drastic measures are necessary for the survival of their home. Maybe the term ‘sacrifice’ is a better way to describe what he’s about to announce. “That’s why I need you to let one of the wranglers go.”      Shocked, Dean stares at the man in his company. Not looking him in the eye, Bobby forks his fingers together, resting his elbows on the counter.      “You want me to fire one of my men?” Dean recaps in disbelief. “No, let me correct that, you want me to fire one of my friends?”      “What you do with your colleagues in your spare time should not influence a layoff,” the ranch owner counters.      But his nephew disagrees strongly. “That’s bullshit and you know it. These guys are practically family, Bobby.”      “You think I don’t know that, boy? I ain’t happy about it either, damn it! You think I’m proud of having to send one of those guys home?”

     He nods at the workers, who are laughing loudly as Ash folds his tattooed arms around the mountain of chips that are stacked on the table, reeling in the win. Neither he, Benny, or Garth have a clue what is hanging over their heads, but it’s probably better that way. Only now does the head wrangler understand why Bobby didn’t tell him before. The poor man simply didn’t want to burden him.

     “I have to. For the future of this place, Dean. And I wish I didn’t have to ask you to do this, but you know your crew best. You know who’s most needed and who we can miss,” Bobby explains with empathy.      Dean wants to fight this, he wants to object and argue in every way possible. Who he can miss? He can’t miss any of his men. Shit, after they let Gabe go, they were barely able to round up the daily routine before dinner. But he knows how this works and he knows Bobby would do anything to make sure that the boys can keep their jobs. There is no right or wrong answer here, every option behind any door is a bad one. There’s nothing the boss can do about it and Dean understands that.      “I know. I’ll handle it. Just give me a couple of days and I’ll let you know,” he assures, patting his uncle on the shoulder.    Bobby nods, but is unable to break a smile. He’s carrying a heavy weight on his shoulders, go figure when you have to play God like that. It’s exactly the reason why Dean took on the task to fire one of the workers, hoping that it would relieve his surrogate father a bit.

     “I need another drink,” Bobby mutters, reaching for the Jack Daniels behind the counter.      Dean checks on his uncle from the corner of his eye, but then puts his glass down next to his. “You and me both. That intern better be good. Do you know anything about her?”      “I know she’s a reining rider, pretty damn talented too. Not much experience in ranch work, though,” the ranch owner tells him.       “Blonde? Brunette? Cute?” Dean smirks as he fishes for more information, but Bobby doesn’t reply with a straight answer.      “Oh, hell no. Not under my roof,” his father figure decides, having seen this play out numerous times already. “She’s staying for six months so tie a knot in it and keep it in your pants for once.”

     “If she sticks around that long.” The young man scoffs, triggering Bobby to glare at him. “What? We had plenty who went home crying within a week. This work ain’t for everyone.”      “I know you’re not happy with the situation, but do me a favor and just give her a chance, will ya?” Bobby pressures. “She seemed like a go-getter. She might surprise you.”      “Maybe. We’ll see,” Dean downs his glass and slides off his stool.

     Bobby watches his nephew walk away from him. It takes only a second before the charismatic cowboy put on his poker face, just in time, because Garth signals him to come over. So he does, but his next step shows a hint of hesitation. He turns on the heels of his boots, the thumb of his left hand casually hooked behind his belt buckle.      “What’s her name?” Dean asks, narrowing his eyes a little.      Bobby huffs and casts his gaze at him. “Her name is Y/N,” he states. “Y/N L/N.”

     Dean raises his brow, nodding satisfied. Y/N. Sounds good, has a nice ring to it. Curious he imagines what kind of person would fit a name like that and as a perky smile starts to form on his lips, he joins the guys.

     Bobby can spot the up-to-no-good sparkle in his nephew’s green eyes and he can’t help but smile into his refilled glass of Jack. He can point a parenting finger at Dean all he wants, but if this intern is his type, he’s going to charm her right into his bed like he has done with so many women already. Oh, well. We’ve all been young, he thinks to himself. Dean being a wrangler only stacks up the number of girls dwelling at the pretty boy’s feet and he never failed to take full advantage of that. Who can blame him, really? He hasn’t committed to anyone yet, why not make the best of it? It has cost the ranch owner some money, though, since a client or two never returned after getting their hearts broken. The boy better listen this time.

     For a moment he takes in what’s playing before his eyes. His wife having a good conversation with a group of guests, the crew gathered around the long table where Ash just revealed a full house, causing the men to go out of their minds. It’s a nice moment that will make a great memory. Bobby can only hope that those moments keep coming, because no matter how precious, no man can live on memories alone.

Thank you for reading. I appreciate every single one of you, but if you do want to give me some extra love, you are free to like or reblog my work, shoot me a message or buy me coffee (Link to Kofi in bio at the top of the page).

Read part two here

[galadrieljones]

The Lily Farm - Chapter 46

AO3 | Masterpost

Pairing: Arthur x Mary Beth

Rating: M (Mature) - sexual content, violence, and adult themes

Summary: After Sean’s death, Mary Beth asks Arthur to take her on a hunting trip, somewhere far away. What takes place at first is a simple love story: full of trials and journeys that they must endure together, as a team. But over time, things complicate. The gang is in trouble, and as Arthur and Mary Beth aim to set out on their own one day, they must find a way to help those they love while eventually, finding escape. Their ultimate goal is to go north with the Marstons, to find the bucolic stretches of Wisconsin where, rumor has it, there are lily farms. Will they make it? How will they survive when all hope seems lost? This is their story.

Chapter 46: The Widow of Willard’s Rest, Pt. 1

***BEGINNING OF PART IV: AMERICAN PASTORAL***

Most days at Deer Cottage, Arthur would wake up early. He would go outside to chop firewood, and then he’d kindle the fire and drink coffee and smoke cigarettes outside. Most mornings, he would fish, but as the days were getting colder and shorter, sometimes he would just set up a trap line on the Kamassa to leave out all day instead, and then hike back up the ridge to the wooded hinterlands and hunt whitetail. He always rode home with enough to cook, smoke, and cure. He would then come back down to the river, empty out the fish trap and with any luck find a sturgeon or a largemouth bass. His new filly Leah, who he named for another character that he remembered from the Old Testament, which he had learned to read from many years before, was a fast girl and even in her temperament. She did not always take well to strange animals, and she had a wary look in her eye upon most passers-through. But she was wise to predators and upon Arthur’s constant and gentle reassurance, mostly a brave and kind girl.

Mary Beth seemed to need a lot of sleep, meanwhile. But she would stay up late knitting sweaters for everybody she knew, as winter was coming now, and she was anxious, and she needed something to keep her hands busy. Most days she did not wake up until Arthur was already busy with his routine, elsewhere, having left her a note or sometimes a little drawing with a pot of coffee on the stove. She wanted to be useful. She was used to having chores, hence the sweaters, and they were scarce on laundry so she made sure to keep things clean. She tidied the cottage in its every corner. There wasn’t much for berries this time of year, but Arthur had found an apple tree and with the dwindling autumn crop, she would bake. She read everything she could find, over and over again, and she wrote prose here and there, but her mind was occupied with a lot of worry and restlessness those days. The baby, the gang. Arthur would take her out shooting, and this seemed to help. He taught her to use every kind of gun. She tended the horses in the barn, which Arthur had built with help from Hamish over a period of one week. It was ramshackle business, but it would do.

Arthur and Mary Beth had been lying low in Roanoke Ridge now for three months. Together they rode into Annesburg at the end of every week, on Sunday, to check the post for word from Dutch, and to buy supplies and the newspaper. Annesburg was a mining community, and its little camps of gutter homes all lined up in a row made Mary Beth sad. As a boomtown, however, Arthur had said it reminded him of Virginia City, Nevada, a place to which he had traveled many years before right after he’d been more or less adopted by Dutch and Hosea. “They took me there,” he told her one Sunday, as they rode into town, down from the hills, “and we set up shop for many weeks. I pulled my weight in the gang at the blackjack tables for a long time, and I knew how to wrangle, and looking back, weren’t nobody better at keeping his head down than me.” He then sighed and grew stoic with concern. “Virginia City is where Susan taught me a thing or two about dancing,” he said, too, chewing on a reed or a piece of bark, smoking a cigarette, wearing an old cowboy hat given to him as a gift from Hamish. He was trying to make her feel better. The gunsmith in Annesburg was chatty and liked their company, too, so they would often make conversation with him. He thought they were implants from the western plains, looking to start a new life, and they supposed it was not altogether untrue.

There was still no word from Dutch. But the papers were quiet, which was a good sign. There had been a story on the “riverboat massacre” some weeks back—that’s what they’d called it down at the St. Denis Times—but no civilians had been killed, and authorities did not seem to know who or what had caused the blow-up. It had been reported that Angelo Bronte, foreign national and local philanthropist, had gone missing for a time, but he was back now, and safe, having claimed to be on vacation up the river, and though this was suspicious, there was not much to make of the feeling. Meanwhile the Mayor was in trouble with the state government for something or other. It looked like he might even get ousted from office. But Arthur did not keep up with politics. He didn’t care what happened to Lemieux nor Bronte, for he and Mary Beth were long gone, and they were never going back to Lemoyne.

There had been one letter in all those months—from Ranger Call. He kept coy and symbolic in his language, but in the letter, he hinted at a complicating factor involving John and the federal penitentiary. This worried them both gravely. Apparently, there was a hold-up on moving the gang to a more permanent relocation, and they’d had to take temporary shelter in Lakay until the problem was solved. But this had been weeks before. The letter also said they were going west, maybe. Or continuing north. That was what Dutch had claimed, but there was uncertainty.

Some members of the gang had gone, claimed Woodrow. Namely, Micah. The asshole feller with the handlebar mustache, he wrote. He went by the wayside when the Man attenuated their plans to rob a city bank. Some wonder if he is even still alive, as a couple days before his disappearance, he had gotten in a tussle with Mr. Matthews, who threatened his life. He said there would be more news when the gang found camp once more. Do not come to Lakay, Mr. Morgan, said the letter. For the Man has sent scouts high and low, from the Grizzlies East to the Big Valley. There will be salvation soon. In the meantime, Mr. Matthews thinks it would be safest, per Mrs. Morgan’s condition, and for how recognizable you have become down here in Lemoyne, for the two of you to remain where you are. The letter also contained information about the Wintersons. They are okay, it said. They are in Chicago and will return in a matter of months. This was a relief. Of course, they tried not to fret too much over John, as all they could do from here was, ironically enough, have faith that it was under control, counting on both Dutch and Hosea as so often they had done in the past.

In the end, there was very little else that Arthur and Mary Beth could do now but survive, not until they got word on where to go next. Hamish had traveled up to visit them on a few occasions. He was doing okay, and he and Arthur would hunt big game during the day and then at twilight they would all go fishing. Other than the constant worrying over John and the rest of the gang, and the occasional fears for the coming winter, and the baby, the way they were living up there in the Roanoke Valley, it wasn’t so bad. There was so much solitude, privacy, time to just be together. It was a privilege they had not been able to entertain in a very long time. Sometimes at night, Mary Beth would cook up a fine dinner, and they would play music on the gramophone, dance as they had that first night they had admitted their love to one another so long ago. Of course they laughed while they did it. It was silly, and they were rare to approach these sorts of sentimental affairs without sarcasm those days. But that was the point. Arthur would fashion a flower from behind her ear, little magic tricks that he had picked from Josiah, and they would talk and play cards and sip whiskey tea. Arthur had a way of letting it all roll right off of him, like raindrops on a tin roof, and that reassured Mary Beth and got her to focus on the day-to-day. She knew how he held the big picture in his mind like a story, navigating the plot, keeping calm. He had not always been so calm, he thought. This was such a positive development for him that had taken some time, and a lot of work. She was starting to show a little bit now, under her dress. They both saw it. Whenever he himself wanted soothing, he would place his head in her lap in the evenings while they listened to music and looked at the fire. She would tell him stories she made up out of the ether. Stories about escaped princesses with swords and poison arrows, and the country knights who loved and defended them. In Mary Beth’s stories, the knights needed protection, too. They were not immortal, or demigods. Just men, she would say. Arthur liked her stories very much.

One day, when the weather was nice, Arthur and Mary Beth rode north up the river with a mind to do some fishing near Brandywine Drop. They kept riding as the sun was warming their backs from its place in the sky, and it felt good. There had been snow already up in these hills, but it was melting off the trees that day and muddy, and Arthur shot a cougar from a distance with his rifle and then together they observed a moose nosing its way through the pines. They decided to camp after clearing the area for Murfree Brood. There were none about that day. Before the sun went down that day, they were just riding up the river, looking for a place to camp when they came upon a woman up the hillside, under a ridge, crying. When they found her, she was sitting on her knees in front of a wooden cross stuck in the dirt, a grave. She was not dressed warm enough for the weather, and she was very dirty. She had dark hair falling apart all around her face in pieces. Both Arthur and Mary Beth were concerned. They approached on horseback. When she saw them, she staggered to her feet and looked terrified. She clutched herself. Arthur stayed back, but Mary Beth got off her horse. She went toward the woman carefully, with her hands in front of her. She said, “It’s okay. We ain’t gonna hurt you.”

The woman looked around, like she was hopeless. She seemed to trust Mary Beth, as most did. “Who are you?” she said.

“I’m Mary Beth, and this is my husband Arthur," she said. "We’ve been living in a cottage just down the river. We’ve been there a few months. How long have you been up here?”

The woman looked back to Arthur, who removed his hat in chivalry. He still did not dismount his horse. He knew what he must have looked like out here to a woman all on her own. He didn’t want to scare her.

“Um,” said the woman, as if gathering her faculties. “We came here—a month ago? Maybe more. I don’t know.”

“Who’s we, ma’am?” said Arthur. “If you don’t mind my asking.”

“My husband and me,” she said. She seemed to brace herself, then looked back at the cross, the grave. She was crying, a little. “We came out here from back east, Philadelphia.”

Mary Beth got a little closer. She stood beside the woman. “What happened?”

The woman dried her eyes on her sleeve. She shook her head in a combination of sadness and shock. “A bear,” she said, staring at the grave. “It was horrifying. He survived, but only a couple of days."

“Oh my,” said Mary Beth, in near on disbelief. She placed her hand on the woman’s shoulder to comfort her. The woman did not protest.

“I buried him, maybe a week ago," she said.

Mary Beth glanced back to Arthur, who shook his head in sadness. This was worse than it seemed, they both thought together, and they were needed. He got off his horse and came over. When he did, the woman looked up at him. She was very small, smaller than Mary Beth even. But Arthur had a way of softening his demeanor when he wanted to. He took a deep breath. “We are very sorry for your loss, ma’am,” he said.

“Thank you.” She seemed confused, like she was getting lost in his eyes, or like somehow she had forgotten where she was.

“Is there a town, or a train station that we can take you to?" he said. "You shouldn’t be out here alone. I know you’re—I know you’re grieving, but it really ain’t safe.”

“What?” she said. She snapped out of it then, almost immediately. “No. No, I can’t leave.”

“All do respect, ma’am, but why not?”

"Because it was our dream.”

“Your dream?”

“Yes,” said the woman, almost defiant. “We came out here from the city in search of a different life. Something true. Something real. I hate to say that we found it, in the worst possible way, but we did. And I can’t leave now. I can’t leave him behind.” She looked back to the grave. She closed her eyes. "For you." She said his name then, which was Cal.

Mary Beth, still with her hand on the woman’s shoulder, was looking at Arthur like she didn’t quite know how to proceed. They couldn’t leave the woman alone up here. It was feral country, and winter was coming. Surely, she would die. Arthur shrugged. Mary Beth did, too.

“What’s your name?” she said, to the woman.

“Charlotte,” said the woman. “Charlotte Balfour.”

“Well, Charlotte,” said Mary Beth. “Maybe we can help you then, get back on your feet.”

Charlotte looked at them like they were crazy. “Help me?”

“Yeah,” said Mary Beth. “Me and Arthur—well, Arthur especially—we been living on the range a long time, and like I said, we’re so nearby.”

“You’ll starve out here,” said Arthur, watching the woman, closely. “That is, if something else don't get to you first. Bear, mountain lions, or worse. You know how to hunt?”

Charlotte laughed to herself then. It was a strange sound amidst all the sadness. “No,” she said. “Of course not. And of course, I’m nearly out of food.”

Arthur smiled at this. “Well, we’ll teach you.”

“You’ll teach me?”

“Of course,” said Arthur. “Mary Beth here, even she knows how to use a rifle.”

“Ain’t nothing to it,” said Mary Beth.

Charlotte watched them, like she didn't fully understand, but she was listening. Somewhere far away, there was a loon going off, ringing in the twilight. The air was getting colder as the sun was going down past the ridge line. “Okay,” she said, with hesitance.

“Good,” said Arthur, almost soft now. He was half-groomed that day. He’d let Mary Beth cut his hair, had trimmed down his beard. It was probably a good thing. When you could see his eyes, his whole face, he had a kind and a sturdy look that most people trusted. He really was a warm man. “You got a rifle?” he went on. “If not, that’s okay. We got guns.”

“I do,” she said. “I have a couple.”

“Where’s your house?”

“Up the ridge,” she said. “Come, I’ll show you.”

They followed her up a long path to a small homestead painted green. There was a barn and a chicken coup. The coup was bustling, but it looked to Mary Beth that the eggs had not been harvested in a while. “You got eggs here,” she said. “Do you mind if I bring some in for you?”

“Oh,” said Charlotte, like she had not noticed. She was so thin. It looked like she probably had not eaten or slept proper since her husband, maybe not since Philadelphia. “Of course not. Thank you.”

“Any time.”

Mary Beth gathered a dozen or so into her skirt. When she came over, Charlotte seemed to notice then that she might have been pregnant, but she didn’t say anything. They stood on the porch. Arthur was quiet and calm, chewing on a toothpick.

Before she let them in the house, Charlotte stopped with her hand on the door handle. She looked inquisitive and she said, “What—or, who exactly are you?” She seemed embarrassed by the question, like she’d meant to say something more formal. “I just mean—why have you come to the Roanoke Valley? What is it that you do here?”

Mary Beth smiled.

“We’ve had all manner of jobs,” said Arthur. “We been on the road for some time now, and the road gets weary. Like you, we’re looking for a new life.”

This seemed to reassure Charlotte. She smiled down at her muddy but elegant boots. “Oh," she said. "Well, I should say, you look like farmers, or ranchers, maybe? Salt of the earth, if you will.”

“You ain’t wrong,” said Arthur. But he said not more. They went inside then, where Charlotte showed them around her modest home. There was lovely wallpaper and heavy oak furniture. Charlotte was digging around in a big leather trunk by the window, and Arthur and Mary Beth were waiting patiently, but by the time she finally found the rifles and the bullets, it was getting dark, and too cold to go back outside.

“Oh, good heavens,” she said, looking out the window, then at her watch. “I’m so sorry.”

“It’s okay,” said Arthur.

“Would you stay the night?” she asked them, like she was desperate. She’d been picking at the skin around her fingernails, Mary Beth had noticed. She was so nervous, and worried, and scared and sad and alone. Mary Beth had not met another woman like her since they'd picked up Sadie up near Colter. “I have an extra bedroom," Charlotte went on, "with a bed big enough for the two of you. I just—now that you’ve come, I—”

“Sure,” said Mary Beth. She went to the kitchen table to sort the eggs into a basket, and Arthur was just sort of wandering around with his shotgun still slung over his shoulder. There were some pictures hanging on the wall of Charlotte and the man who must have been her husband, pictures which he was looking at. “We’ll stay. Right, baby?”

“Huh?” said Arthur, only half-listening as he looked at the pictures.

“I said, we’ll stay. We can go out and have a fresh start in the morning. Right?"

He surfaced then, looked at her, easy-going. “Sure,” he said. “Why not?”

Charlotte was relieved.

She showed them to their room. It was simple but beautiful with a high, brass bed and a white comforter stuffed with down feathers. There was not much for food that night, so Arthur stoked the hearth and went back out in the dark to hunt some rabbit, alone, while Mary Beth fried a couple of eggs and made her famous whiskey tea. Charlotte ate the eggs hungrily, though Mary Beth could still sense her trying to be demure about it. They sat on the small sofa together, sipping the tea then, looking at the fire. Mary Beth felt warm and comfortable and though she felt bad for Charlotte, and she could not herself imagine losing her husband and still finding a way to survive, she tried not to pity her, for she, too, had once been a woman all alone in the wild, and after all, she was glad to have a job now, something to do, somebody to help. For a while there, it seemed she and Arthur were always the ones who needed saving.

“Your husband,” said Charlotte after a little while. She was distant, sobered. “He seems very…sturdy, and wise. And you do, too. Do the two of you always know exactly what to do?”

The question was earnest. Mary Beth found it amusing. “Of course not,” she said. “We have found ourselves in our fair share of trouble over the years. But when it comes to surviving in the wild, it's true that we’ve got skills.”

“How long have you been married?” said Charlotte. The fire crackled. The room was warm.

“Not too long,” said Mary Beth. “Maybe four or five months? I am losing track of the weeks now. But we have known each other for a lot longer than that.”

“How did you meet?” said Charlotte.

Mary Beth took a long drink of her tea. She looked at Charlotte and could tell that she was just desperately lonely, that she needed preoccupation and companionship. Mary Beth didn’t want to lie to her. “We met in Kansas City,” she said, shoving the hair out of her face. Her curls were messy from the day. “I was only nineteen, living completely on my own. I was an orphan, and I didn’t have nothing to my name. I was in trouble back then, and alone. Like you. But I met Arthur and his…well, his family, I guess. They took me in.”

Charlotte was listening, rapt. She seemed surprised, maybe, that it was so bad. Like she did not know what to say. It seemed her instinct then to back off. She didn’t ask for anymore details, but she did not close herself off emotionally. She just had a certain polish about her, a certain sheen, even despite her current predicament. For this, and coupled with everything else from the wallpaper to the fine quality of her leather boots, Mary Beth could tell she came from money. “You're so brave," said Charlotte, shaking her head. "It's terrible you had to go through all of that."

"I am no worse for the wear," said Mary Beth. "I found Arthur from it. But thank you."

"My husband and I had all the safety in the world,” she said then, shaking her head like it was just so stupid, so small and silly in comparison. “And still, it wasn’t enough. What a pair of fools.” She closed her eyes. A little tear plopped out. “This was his dream, to escape our lives," she said. "Our lives of privilege, of predictability. And I followed him.”

“I understand that,” said Mary Beth.

“How is it that you’re not afraid?” she said then, opening her wide, pale eyes. “Living…on the range, as you said earlier. All alone? Everything you’ve been through. It sounds so hard, and terrifying. I’ve never known hardship before—before all this. I am a stupid woman, and I am starting to wonder now if I should have been smarter. Maybe I should have been more argumentative, said no. Maybe we never should have come here.” She looked away, at the hardwood floors, which looked new.

“Well, I do get afraid,” said Mary Beth, sincerely. She placed her hand on Charlotte’s hand where they sat in front of the fire. “I get afraid all the damn time."

"You do?"

"Yes. Mostly of losing Arthur," said Mary Beth, "as I have lost so much before him, and I know what that’s like. Losing. As I said, I understand. But listen, Charlotte. It don’t matter where you come from, or who you are. There’s always something better out there, waiting. That's what I'm learning. There’s always something to escape from, and there’s always somewhere better you’re trying to be. You should try not to regret what you did. You don’t know what might’ve happened if you’d stayed in the city. Life is so fragile, I think, and you got to do what you want. It’s easy to worry too much. We gotta...keep perspective. For as long as we can. That's what I'm doing right now. I'm keeping perspective. Arthur helps me with that. There's a lot going on in my life, that's scary, but you know, you don't really find the meaning in life on your own. It finds you. Like with me and Arthur. We was friends for…years, before love found us. Life can be real bad, I reckon, but you never know what’s gonna happen that’s good. Right? So you just gotta keep living, and that’s it, right?” She sat back and placed her hand on her little tummy, as if to reassure herself with the same words she was using to try and reassure Charlotte. "You just gotta try." She sipped her tea and smiled in such a way so that she would seem strong, and like she knew what she was talking about. It was true, she herself was struggling with such similar predicaments, but her husband was alive, and in that, she was the sturdier woman on the sofa that day, by far, so she acted like it.

Charlotte, meanwhile, was staring at Mary Beth, and then looking down into her tea and then back at the fire. They heard Arthur’s heavy boots then, out on the porch. They both glanced toward the sound with immense relief. Charlotte then suddenly looked back to Mary Beth, brightening up a little. She was not okay, but Mary Beth had hit on something it seemed—she was reassured. “Thank you,” she said. “So much. I hate to be a burden to strangers. But you are good people.”

Mary Beth waved her off as the atmosphere between them changed and grown more comfortable. “Don’t worry about it,” she said. “And I hope we won’t stay strangers for long.”

Charlotte smiled. “Me, too.”

Arthur came in the door then. He took off his hat and shook the cold off. He had two rabbits, skinned and cleaned and tied together, laying over his shoulder. “Lord in heaven, it’s cold out there,” he said. He looked at them fondly then, huddled on the sofa, blowing into his hands. “But you two ladies look nice and cozy.”

“Is those rabbits ready to cook?” said Mary Beth.

“Yes, ma’am.”

“Thank you,” said Charlotte. She rose from the sofa. Went to him and took the rabbits off his hands. “Thank you, so much, Arthur.”

“Don’t mention it,” he said. He rubbed his hands together and looked at Mary Beth. “You got anymore of that tea, my lady?”

“Yes, sir,” said Mary Beth. She got up to pour him some. He took off his jacket and went to warm himself by the fire, and when she handed him the mug, he thanked her and kissed her on the head. Then he came and sat at the kitchen table. Mary Beth helped Charlotte to prepare a stew and they all three of them chatted for a while. Charlotte had some carrots, cabbage, and salt in her pantry, which they chopped up and used generously. As they were sitting down for dinner a little while later, they looked out the window. It was starting to snow.

“Sweet Christmas,” said Mary Beth. “Is that snow?”

“I guess we’re in it,” said Arthur, amused. He seemed so relaxed there, so deeply in his element. He tucked one of Charlotte’s fine cloth napkins into his collar. “Winter is upon us."

“I guess so,” said Charlotte, like she was unsure. They ate their stew.

As they did, the wind howled through the chimney, filling the room with its strange reminder of all the uncertainty beyond, all of which seemed so inconsequential while they were safe and sound there inside those walls. So much had started, finished, been found, and lost. And yet, there was still so much to do, it seemed, to weather the storm.

[uno-reverse-fic]

Part 2 Chapter 3

You didn't wake up the next morning, in fact you never went to sleep. You tossed and turned all night lying wide awake in bed. When daylight finally poked it's way through the curtains, you turned over to check the clock. It was sill quite early, but Iida would probably be up by now so at least you'd have someone to talk to. You trudged downstairs and into the common area to find Iida, Yaoyorozu, Hagakure, and Shoji all up bright and early, despite the weekend.

"Ah Surō your awake! I'd expect nothing less from someone like you!" Iida praised, clearly not noticing that the bags under your eyes had grown darker throughout the night, almost as if they wanted to keep some of that inky black for themselves. Yaoyorozu on the other hand noticed your sluggish movements, and lack of sleep right away.

"Oh dear, did you sleep ok last night?" She voiced her concerns, and you didn't have the energy, or the heart, to be sarcastic, so you gave her a light shake of your head.

"I'll go make you some tea then! Maybe it'll help wake you up a bit!" She clasped her hands together and hurried off towards the kitchen with an energetic bounce in her step.

A few minutes later she came back, balancing a tray between her hands, with a few cups of tea and sugar. As the five of you conversed a few more of your classmates made their way to the common area. By late morning that same pair of crimson eyes was watching you from the shadows. You didn't pay any mind to it, in fact you hadn't even noticed Bakugo's watchful gaze. It was Sunday, so you'd have to go back to school tomorrow, that was something you were not looking forward too. Once again the day flew past and before you knew it, the afternoon had already come along.

"Hey Surō!" You heard Kirshima call from behind you, and you turned your head to face him.

"I was wondering if you wanted to go grab something to eat with Mina, Sero, Kaminari and myself?" He asked, you nodded weakly, still exhausted from the lack of sleep.

"Gimme a few minutes." You told him as you turned around to head back to your room.

"Phone? Check. Wallet? Check. Crocs? Check. Unhealthy amount of exhaustion? Check." You thought to yourself. Grabbing a bag for your phone and wallet, you headed back downstairs to join your friends.

If it hadn't been for Kirishima's positively infectious energy, you would've passed out on the sidewalk. You decided to get caffeinated tea with your meal, just to wake you up more, you really were struggling. While the five of you waited to place your orders, a conversation brewed. It started out quite normal, at least normal for a bunch of teenage dumbasses, but the topic soon diverged to you. You quickly dodged any questions they threw your way, but it was no use, they had set you up and cornered you.

"What's Bakugo's room look like!?" Mina whined,

"I mean as far as I could tell it was pretty average. I didn't get a good look, I was two inches tall for God's sake." You answered, but before you could catch your breath, Kaminari threw another question your way,

"What's it like being so short?!"

"BRO! DON'T BE RUDE!" Kirshima scolded, elbowing the Pikachu in the side.

"Whaaaaat? I wanna know!" He argued.

"Yea but you don't have to be so rude about it—"

"It sucks." You said firmly, cutting off whatever Kirshima was going to say next. You finally let your walls down, opening up to your friends about the past week. Only to rant though,

"I HATE it. I don't care how much someone pays me, I will never go through that again. That was 100 percent the worst week of my entire goddam life. I HATE being two inches tall, I HATE not having any say in what I want, I HATE people freaking kidnapping me, and most of all, I HATE that stupid asshole of a blonde. He is such a DICK I have never in all my life met someone who can get on my nerves more than that stupid asshole." You were gripping your glass of water so hard, you swear you heard a crack. Your friends stared at you in utter disbelief, in an instant you had gone from chill and tired, to angry and feral, and back again. The pure, raw, unbridled loathing in your voice had stunned the four of them at how fast it appeared.

"Wow you really do hate him don't you?" Mina said.

"OF COURSE I HATE HIM, HE PRACTICALLY STARVED ME TO DEATH! NOT TO MENTION HE WAS AN UTTER ASSHOLE TO ME THE ENTIRE TIME!" You screamed. Mina scooted a few inches away from you, and it did not go unnoticed, because you immediately calmed down again.

"Sorry, I really just HATE him ya know?" You sad to her, gritting your teeth at the mention of Bakugo.

"We understand, he is a bit of a jerk." Sero said, his arm draping nonchalantly over your shoulders. You gave him a small glare that said "A bit?!" but it quickly dropped back into the monotone expression you were wearing earlier. You sighed, giving up the rant for the time being, and as if on cue, the waitress walked over to take your orders. The rest of lunch went by with no more questions about your week, for fear of another outburst. You were too tired, and too occupied with your meal, to celebrate. The five of you walked back to the dorms together, conversing on the way there.

"I love the food there and all, but nothing can beat Lunch Rush's food. Ive seen the taste of heaven, and I cant go back." Sero commented.

"I'm in the same boat dude, I think we all are." Kaminari added. Mina stepped up next, hoping for a slight change of subject,

"Yea food is great and all, but I was wondering. Surō don't you usually eat a lot more at that place? You looked like you were holding back, whats up with that?" You gripped the plastic-coated styrofoam of your to-go box, and gave Mina a death glare,

"If you were listening earlier, then you would know that I was practically starved to death over the past week, you hollow skulled idiot." Mina went wide-eyed, clearly not expecting your insult or sarcastic tone.

"Well geez, you don't have to be so rude, I was just wondering." She said, avoiding eye contact with you. On the other side of you Kaminari nudged Sero, and leaned in the make a joke that definitely caught your ear,

"I think someone's attitude is rubbing off on Surō," he said.

"Do you have a death wish Pikachu?" You growled.

"Nononono! I'm sorry! I didn't mean it!" He screamed as you chased him down the sidewalk, tackling him the second he slowed down. You pinned him to the ground, and raised your fist in the air, ready to nail him in the face. You felt a pair of hands grab your wrist, and another pair wrapped around your other arm. You whipped around to see Kirishima and Mina prying you off Kaminari. You quickly stood up and ripped your arms away from them to regain your composure. Another death glare was shot in Kaminari's direction, and the five of you agreed not to say anything else on the matter. The rest of the walk back was silent.

You immediately went to your room to gather a few things, before heading to the bathroom to shower. You turned the water to a scalding hot temperature, hoping the steam it created would help clear your mind of unwanted thoughts. The attempt was entirely in vain however, once you stepped out of the girls bathroom you saw the one person that you'd been avoiding. Pale, blonde hair hung in his crimson eyes, which were locked onto you. For once you were the one giving the death glare, you immediately turned and walked the other way, without even so much as a nod in his direction. Storming off to your room, steam almost threatened to pour out of your ears. Meanwhile, Bakugo stared at you as you walked off, confusion littering his face.

"What's her deal?" He asked Kirshima.

"I dunno dude, but she hates your guts now so I'd stay away from her if I were you." He responded. Kaminari butted in next, a fake pouty expression was plastered to his face,

"She blew up in our faces when we mentioned it, she even attacked me!"

"Oh get over it." Mina said, smacking Kaminari playfully on the head.

"That doesn't really make sense. Just yesterday she was trying to pet my hair." Bakugo said, his confusion deepening.

"That was before you got back here right? Maybe she blames you for... ya know... her injuries?" Kirshima suggested. Bakugo's face went from confused to crest fallen, to his normal passive aggressive expression in a matter of seconds.

"She hates me because of what I did. Doesn't she." He thought, turning around and walking away. He he didn't want to cry, but the more he thought about it, the faster the tears welled up in his eyes. His walk turned into a sprint as he ran up to his dorm room. He shut and locked the door behind him, sliding down against it to the floor. The one person he could stand, the one person he trusted, the one person he'd opened up to. The one person he'd loved, he had pushed away. He' hurt you, he'd taken advantage of you, and you hated him for it. Tears streamed down his face,

"I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I'm sorry..."

"I DIDN'T WANT TO HURT HER!" He screamed. He ran a hand through his hair, and leaned his head back against the door.

"It— its all my fault." He took a deep breath. No thoughts ran through his head, no tears flowed down his cheeks. It was silent. All except for the faint sound of voices down in the common area. Something felt off, and the more he thought about what it was, the more it dawned on him. The problem wasn't the slightest hint of voices, rather the absence of yours. He missed you telling him everything would be ok. He missed the feeling of your tiny body in his hands. He missed the way you laughed. He missed your stubbornness. He missed you. Now he would never have the chance to just talk to you, because he'd pushed you away. Just like he had done all his life.

You on the other hand were blissful, at least when Bakugo wasn't on your mind. You were so happy to be back, and you couldn't wait for the routine of normal life to start back up again. You ate dinner—still holding off on eating too much—without a single thought of Bakugo, probably because he wasn't there. You didn't see him the rest of the night, but as far as you were concerned, he deserved to wallow in his own dread. When you finally headed up to bed, the tiredness started kicking in, and you thought you might be able to sleep tonight. You were wrong, oh you were so wrong. Once again you laid wide awake in bed all night. But this time there was no tossing or turning, and especially no longing for something else. Your insomnia was entirely from your own stupid decision of drinking caffeinated tea before bed.

Your lack of sleep dragged into the next day, and you were perfectly fine with that, until you realized you had to go to school. You got up early to go grab breakfast, and of course thats when the caffeine started to wear off. You ran into Iida on your way down, who was equally shocked at your exhausted appearance and your timely manner.

"Good morni—"

"Don't talk to me until I have caffeine running through my veins." You cut him off, not wanting to engage in conversation before your morning coffee. You grabbed yourself a bowl, some cereal and milk, before pouring the cereal first because you aren't a psychopath. You sipped your coffee and ate breakfast, as you did this Iida decided to come sit next to you for a bit of early morning conversation. You gladly conversed with him, more awake, now that you had some coffee.

After a pleasantly normal conversation with the class president, you headed upstairs to finish getting ready for school. You buttoned up your shirt and slid your blazer, skirt, and socks on. You gathered up the books scattered across your room and shoved them into your backpack. Slipping on your shoes, and adjusting your tie, you turned around to check the time on your alarm clock. You had about half and hour before school officially stared, so you figured you could just chill out in the common area. However your assumptions were wrong, because as soon as you turned the corner your eyes locked onto Bakugo's slumped figure on the couch. Immediately your good mood was ruined. You tried your best to appear calm as you walked towards the other side of the room, your muscles tense with rage. You didn't notice the way he glanced at you as you strode past him.

You had started to calm down by the time you reached the classroom, only for the fire of animosity to be lit once again when Bakugo walked past you. Thankfully your friends were there to help calm your nerves once again with their usual banter. Suddenly the door slid open, and Aizawa walked through, his yellow sleeping bag was tucked under his arm,

"Alright class listen up because I'm only gonna say this once," He said, and immediately everyone turned their heads in attentiveness.

"I'm more tired than usual because I didn't get much sleep last night. You all have a free for the next few hours, use your time wisely. Wake me up at lunch." He unzipped his sleeping bag and climbed in, falling unconscious in a matter of seconds. The classroom burst into noise. A few students gathered at the back of the room to study and finish any homework they forgot about. However most of your classmates were talking and showing each other memes. Of course you joined in with the majority of your friends and engaged in conversation.

The morning blew past, without a single second of productivity used. Soon the lunch bell rang and Iida went to wake up your teacher. The hall was filled with other students making their way to the cafeteria. You joined in the crowd, thankful that you could get around by yourself again. The food was just as delicious as it always was, and it had satisfied your hunger perfectly. Kirshima's voice rang next to you, causing you to glance up from your food and remember you weren't alone.

"So I was wondering if you guys would like to go out this Saturday. Maybe go to the mall, or see a movie," He asked.

"The mall sounds good to me!" Mina replied.

"Yea, I don't think there are any movies out that looked too interesting." Sero said, and Kaminari nodded in agreement.

"That sounds fun, maybe we can get a few more people to come and have a class-wide day out," You suggested.

"Oh yea that's perfect!" Kaminari exclaimed.

"Alrighty its settled then, I can text the group chat," Mina said, whipping out her phone, which was decked in pink accessories and keychains. You felt your own phone vibrate in your pocket, signifying that the group chat received the message. A few more vibrations came afterwards, probably from people responding to Mina's text. You didn't point them out, instead continued eating and talking.

You were excused from the afternoon training, via Recovery Girl's request. Throughout the afternoon you caught up on homework that you had missed while your were... absent. After what felt like forever, the rest of your classmates poured into the room, exhausted from training. A few minutes later the bell rang and all 21 of you made your way back to the dorms. The rest of the day flew by quickly, filled with the normal afternoon shenanigans.

For the third time this week you trekked to the bathroom for a shower, soon after, heading up to your room to sleep. This time you did fall asleep, but it was light, and you kept waking up at the smallest noises. Just as the day before you woke up exhausted. The day went by slowly, the normal, boring routine finally falling into place. But although the day was slow, by the time you fell asleep I felt like it had blurred past. Another restless night followed the previous, and once again you woke up, drained of all energy. The week was already half over, and you assumed the second half would go smoothly and quickly, just like it used to. How wrong you were. Wednesday was going to be long, you could tell just by the way your movements seemed to slow down when you walked downstairs. The majority of the day went by smoothly and just as slowly as you expected, and for the most part smoothly. At least until you got back to the dorms after school.

Kirshima dragged you to his dorm room, expressing something about a movie night with the rest of your friends.

"Movie night? It's the middle of the week dude." You said.

"Yea I know, but you looked like you needed some cheering up, and Kaminari wanted to watch Shrek." He answered.

"Now that's a reason I can get behind!" You exclaimed.

"They'll be here in a minute I just texted them," You settled down in a beanbag chair over by his TV, trying your best not to recall the last time you'd been in his room. Kirishima began backing towards the door slowly, and you didn't notice until it was too late.

"NOW!" He yelled, before yanking the door open and slamming it behind him, leaving you confused for the next moment. A noise came from the closet, and it opened, your head snapped towards it, eyes wide with fear. Your expression quickly changed to one of betrayal, as Bakugo stepped out of Kirshima's messy closet.

"BACK OF BITCH!" You screamed at him, running to the door to open it, only to find that it was locked. Sero had taped it shut from the outside and you heard a few other voices, presumably the rest of your friends.

"KIRISHIMA EIJIROU, OPEN THIS DOOR RIGHT NOW!" You yelled, Bakugo stood behind you, a bored expression on his face.

"I'm afraid I can't do that. You two have to make up before I let you out." He said, and you sighed knowing full-well that, when it came to his friends, his patients had no limits. You turned to Bakugo and growled,

"What do you want."

"I want to apologize. I was a complete asshole to you last week, and I'm..." He paused, trying to find the willpower to let his pride sink so he can mend something that had been shattered.

"I'm sorry." You stared at him, a blank expression plastered on your face.

"I hear your apology. However, I still hate you, and because of what you did," you gestured to the bruises littering your arms and legs,

"I can't forgive you."

"But, I helped you, I fed you, I looked after your helpless ass! I—"

"You also THREW ME INTO THE HALLWAY, AND LEFT ME TO DIE! AND YOU FED ME? MORE LIKE STARVED ME HALF TO DEATH!" He gritted his teeth, trying hard not to lash out at you. He'd caused you enough pain already, he drew in a deep breath before continuing,

"I know, and I will make it up to you somehow, I'm—" you cut him off again,

"Why the hell do you care about what I think?! As far as I know you don't give a damn about anyone else!"

"I— I can't answer that. I'm not sure why exactly, but—" he cut himself off and sighed. He knew exactly why he cared what you thought, he was in love, though he'd never admit it,

"I just want you to stop pretending to hate me. We both know it's fake, and I just want you to stop."

"LIKE HELL THIS IS FAKE! DO YOU SEE WHAT YOU DID TO ME?! I CAN'T EVEN WALK DOWN THE HALLWAY WITHOUT GETTING WEIRD LOOKS!" You screamed, anger boiling inside your veins,

"I THOUGHT YOU DIDN'T CARE ABOUT ME?! WELL GUESS WHAT, I DON'T CARE IF YOU DO! IN FACT, I DON'T CARE WHAT HAPPENS TO YOU! I DON'T CARE IF YOU DIE!" You threw his own words agains him, and it took every ounce of focus to not let himself overflow with anger, and heartache.

"Kirshima... open the door." He said through shaky breaths. You didn't notice, you didn't really care either.

"Are you sure bro?" He responded.

"Open. The. Door." He growled. You heard the sound of tape being peeled off the door frame, before the redhead opened the door and looked in cautiously. You shoved him out of the way and stormed off to your room, but not before giving them all a death glare and the middle finger.

You took a shower to try and blow off some steam, but it didn't quite work. You found yourself completely frustrated for the rest of the week, but you weren't completely mad at your friends. They only did it to help Bakugo apologize to you, even though the attempt was entirely in vain. You were exhausted by the time Friday came to a close, and with the week finally over you could look forward to the trip to the mall tomorrow. You closed your eyes and finally got a good night's rest for the first time in what felt like forever.

MASTERLIST

[drunk-on-writing]

i. it will feel as though the world has ended and that is partially because it has at least a part of it has; the part that felt like the whole it will feel as though the world went up in flames while all you could do was watch it end (i know you tried but there’s nothing you could’ve done to save it) and how can anyone expect you to recover so quickly when you’re still reeling in the aftershocks of the destruction?

ii. it will feel as though the world has ended and finally the age old adage about the world ending in fire or ice will finally make sense  because a sense of numbness will engulf you from head to toe you’ll think you’ve been frozen meanwhile every text that goes unanswered and every phone call that gets ignored will burn like a flame to your skin  the pain so intense that you’ll be surprised to find there are no scars left behind an invisible pain only to be described as heartbreak 

iii. it will feel as though the world has ended and you’ll wish it had you’ll wish that the sun had imploded or the seas flooded every inch of land you’ll wish for a rain that never ends until we all drown you’ll wish for zombies or an alien invasion you’ll wish for something, anything, to make sense because this doesn’t this -- being the ache you constantly feel this -- being the tears you cannot stop crying this -- being the numbness that seeps into your bones  this -- being the desperation and needing someone who doesn’t need you this -- being still loving someone who doesn’t love you anymore because how can you just turn off those feelings?  how can someone just wake up one day and decide that they don’t love someone anymore?  it doesn’t make sense, but otherworldly destruction does and maybe if the world is in shambles the same way you feel you are, then people might just stop telling you to get over it

iv. it will feel as though the world has ended and you won’t know if you’ll be able to survive it you’ve never had to go through something like this before; you thought you knew what it was like you’ve heard the songs, you’ve read the poetry, you’ve seen the tweets and tumblr posts about it you thought you knew what it was like until you actually experienced and it and holy shit, does it suck and in the moment, you won’t think you’l be able to survive  but you will trust me, you will time will go on and you will take it one day at a time and one day, you’ll wake up and realize that it doesn’t hurt as badly as it did the day before, that you don’t miss them as much as you did before  you’ll won’t realize the healing has started happening, but it’ll happen  you will live through this travesty  and live to see another  and it may be just as painful as the first one but at least this time you’ll be able to remind yourself that you survived the end of the world once before, you can do it again

v. it will feel as though the world has ended and that is partially because it has at least a part of it has; the part that felt like the whole but it hasn't not completely, anyway there is still a part that has managed to stay intact despite this explosion of your universe  and that’s the part you need to focus on; not the loss, but what remains

a note to myself after my first breakup (cc, 2019)

[itsjustashipperlife]

ENDGAME THOUGHTS

So here it is. The longest post I’ll ever write, so bear with me. (I’m not kidding, this is HUGE).

I watched Endgame at 7 pm yesterday… Came back home at 11. And I posted that I would try to sleep and make this post today. You know how many hours I slept? Four. And I finally fell asleep at 3.30 am.

I will try to say all my thoughts on this post, so if I miss something, I’m sorry. (Note: although I like more characters, the IronFam, pepperony, irondad… Will be the main concerns here, so anti Tonys, get the fuck out)

SPOILERS AHEAD

I will try to say things that I liked first, then the ones that I didn’t like, and then we’ll get to the OG6 ends, okay? Okay.

THINGS I LIKED:

The whole movie has that atmosphere that this was it. The Endgame. And it really makes you anxious for the characters. 

Clint’s first scene with his family is heartbreaking

Tony being so soft (a dad) with Nebula was fucking everything

Although it was expected,  Carol rescuing Tony and Nebula was great. (I guess it’s because the message for Pepper was received… because then why was she waiting there?)

Tony saying “I lost the kid” killed me, and then he finally calms down when Pepper hugs him

Tony’s kiss on Pepper’s cheek

Tony cutting out Steve’s bullshit had me going “Yeah, honey! That’s it”

Seriously, he looks (and feels) like shit. And he gets the strength to get up, rip off his IV, and call him out before his body can’t stand anymore

What’s left of the team trying to fix it all, going to Thanos without second thoughts and killing him once and for all (okay, maybe not “forever”, but you know… Thor finally went for the head)

That “5 years later” gasp, seeing how the world is “moving on” after the decimation

Everyone’s fucking done, and tired, and hopeless (e.g. Nat, Steve, Rocket and Nebula, Rhodey, Clint…)

Nat’s break down, trying to stay positive about Clint, and about everything (also, Rhodey helping her, looking for Clint… Because in this blog, we love and respect Colonel James ‘Rhodey’ Rhodes)

Scott getting back from the quantum realm after (for him) 5 hours, to finally reunite with his now grown up daughter

Tony “moving on” (kinda). He has the life he said he wanted since AoU, with Pepper as his wife and his daughter, and living on a beautiful farm, away from everyone

Tony being the BEST DAD the MCU will ever see (no hate on Clint or Scott tho, it’s just my opinion). He loves her so much, and she loves her daddy too (3000

Morgan with the Rescue helmet

Tony kissing it

He carrying her inside to have dinner

The team getting to his house for help, cause he’s the only one that can do it

That shot of Tony pouring drinks for everyone in which we see his wedding band (because, of course, and like RDJ, Tony is that kind of man)

He being selfish about trying what Scott said. He has every right to be. Although Peter’s not there, he has Morgan. And he wants to be there for her. He’s allowing himself to be selfish for the first time in 15 years (being 2023 in the MCU right now… I think… technically…)

But… he’s Tony Stark. The selfless man the world will ever know. He can fix it, and he will

Nat, Scott and Steve talking with Bruce… or Hulk… or Proffesor Hulk (let’s call him Bruce)

Tony being domestic: doing the dishes, tucking his daughter in, the “I love you 3000″, and him being so cute with Morgan like… “whoa, honey, that’s a lot… that’s more than ‘tons’"

Him resolving the problems of the “time-travels” in a couple of hours… I stan one man… Also, Morgan seeing her daddy work and getting ice-cream before going to sleep. Again, the best dad

Once again, Tony being domestic talking with Pep (aka his wife, aka the love of his life, aka the mother of his daughter, aka his goddess, boss and queen), asking her what should he do, and Pepper, like always, being his voice of reason

Scott and Bruce trying to work with the quantum realm 

Tony driving to the compound like the badass he is (also, while being a badass, still being a dad and putting toys and a teddy bear out the way of Cap’s shield)

Bruce and Rocket looking for Thor, the appereance of Valkyrie, Korg and Miek, and Thor playing Fortnite. (I found all of Thor’s scenes very funny, but at the same time I didn’t feel like it was okay to laugh about it. He’s clearly depressed during the whole film, and every character-like every person- deal with depression and ways to cope in different ways… so I don’t think that laughing at Fat Thor was nearly okay)

Clint being a badass

His scene with Nat, holding hands

Rhodey with the best fucking idea of the movie (go back in time to baby Thanos, and… you know the rest). Again, I love this man

Bruce freaking out about it. And explaining the way the MOVIE works

Clint being succesful on the first try

The WHOLE scenes of the “domestic” team, getting up ideas of how they’re going to recollect the stones (Loved every single one of them, and I would gladly watch a film that was all about Nat, Tony and Bruce lying on a table and talking)

Jane Foster making a come-back (kinda)… Also, Thor is me when I’m doing a presentation 

Rocket calling Scott “puppy”

The team prepared. The whole “you know your teams, you know your missions” speech

The “unseen” parts of Avengers 1, after they got Loki

Scott giving 2012-Tony a heart attack and 2012-Thor helping with Mjolnir. All while actual-Tony gets the tesseract (for a while)

All of Rocket-Thor scenes in Asgard

Rhodey and Nebula laughing at Quill

2012-Cap vs actual-Cap (+America’s Ass), and the elevator scene

The ancient one and Bruce conversation

The whole thing with past and present Nebula

Stan Lee’s cameo

Tony and Steve going to 1970. Tony (aka Howard Potts… I died when his wife’s name is the first one that comes to his mind) talking to Howard Stark, having a dad to dad conversation, and Edwin Jarvis cameo. Meanwhile, Steve seeing Peggy.

Nat sacrifice for Clint. Clint crying afterwards…

The team decided to not let her sacrifice be in vain (+Bruce’s reaction)

Bruce undoing the snap

Past-Gamora helping actual-Nebula (+killing old-Nebula)

Thor, Steve and Tony fight with Thanos (while the rest of the team is trying to get the gauntlet)… (+THAT scene of Steve and Mjolnir)

THAT FUCKING SCENE WHERE ALL OF THE FALLEN AVENGERS COME BACK (+RESCUE!!) AND STEVE FINALLY SAYS “AVENGERS ASSEMBLE”

SERIOUSLY, THAT WHOLE SCENE

Rescue and Iron Man fighting back to back like the power couple they are

Rescue-Mom giving Spiderman and the gauntlet a ride

Tony and Peter reunion *sobbing* (+Groot and Rocket, +Hope and Scott, +Quill and Gamora)

THAT SCENE WITH ALL THE WOMEN FIGHTING TOGETHER (Pepper being the badass she fucking is!!)… The only woman I missed was Nat… *sobbing again*

TONY’S “I AM IRON MAN” 

PEPPER’S “ITS OKAY… YOU CAN REST NOW”

PETER SOBBING. PEPPER SOBBING. RHODEY HOLDING PETER

PETER GOING BACK TO NED AND MAY

THE VIDEO. “I LOVE YOU 3000″

THE FUNERAL WITH ALL THE TEAM (+HARLEY)

RHODEY AND HAPPY COMFORTING EACH OTHER BEHIND MORGAN AND PEP

“PROOF THAT TONY STARK HAS A HEART”

UNCLE HAPPY AND THE FUCKING CHEESEBURGUERS

Thor going with the Guardians (+Quill looking for Gamora)

Clint with his fam

Scott with his fam

Steve giving the shield to Sam

(this is kinda)-> Steve going to Peggy

In conclusion: MY HEART IS FUCKING BROKEN FOR THIS MOVIE, but nontheless I “loved” it

Okay… so now that we are done… Let’s talk about what I didn’t like:

I needed more Pepper/Tony moments, and more Pepper “mommy” moments

Uncle Happy was great… BUT WHAT ABOUT UNCLE RHODEY!

Steve, get out of the fucking way! Tony doesn’t need you now (at the begining of the movie). He needs Pepper, and Rhodey, and food, water and sleep 

Rhodey not getting a hug with Tony at the begining of the movie

Not May/Tony conflict/crying over their ‘son’

I don’t know if I like Howard’s and Tony’s talk… I do like it, but idk. I guess that in the movies he wasn’t physically abusing to him… But at least he gets to talk with his dad and he realizes he’s a very good dad with Morgan (aka, his “little girl” *sobs*)

TONY DESERVES BETTER. THE WHOLE IRONFAM DESERVES BETTER. MORGAN, PEPPER, RHODEY, HAPPY, PETER… MY GOSH, EVEN THE BOTS AND FRIDAY (I can’t talk about him in past tense, I’m sorry. I’m just in denial)

THAT FUCKING CHEESEBURGUER LINE (I swear, I will never get over that fucking line)

Steve getting to live his “endgame” with Peggy, leaving everyone behind (aka Bucky and Sam, but mostly Bucky) and being FUCKING SELFISH (in my eyes… and for what I’ve read, in a lot of actual Cap’s fans too)

How come that “the man who lays in the wire” is the one that leaves, and “the man who would cut the wire” is the one that fucking LAYS ON IT (again)

Alright. Now I’m going to talk about the OG6 ends. Although I have leave my points of view up… But I still want to talk about it more thoroughly:

Clint: Finally, Clint got his protagonism in the team. He’s going to do “whatever it takes” (and he means WHATEVER) to bring his family back. I liked his end, there’s nothing more to discuss about it.

Bruce: Yeah, Bruce finally got the best of both worlds, the mind and the strength… But what’s he going to do now?

Thor: Thor’s end was okay (IMO)… He doesn’t have the strength to be the king anymore… But Valkyrie does. And he has great chemistry with the Guardians, so I didn’t mind him going with them.

Nat: Nat’s ending was great. Let me explain. I didnt like that she died. But I felt it very on character… She has no family, her family are the avengers. And she wants to bring them back. Clint is like her brother (I’m a little into Clintasha tbh, but I accept that they give them that brother/sister relationship long ago. It proofs that not all the male/female friendships have to end in a romantic relationship), and she did anything she could to undo the snap during 5 fucking years.

Steve: Hated it (him). Yeah, you “loved” Peggy… Whatever. (The Russos trying to put Steggy as the Royal ship when everyone KNOWS that that title belongs, AND WILL ALWAYS BELONG, to Pepper and Tony). He’s just looking at the past, he has never moved on, and he never will. He let Tony gave up his family (at the age of 53… god, he had a lot to live for) and then he left Bucky behind (and the whole Hydra mess too), when he always was so nuisance about him all these years…

Tony: Hate/Love it. I love it because it’s the way of fully close the circle of this whole journey, and he’s the SAVIOR of the fucking MCU, now and always. Haters can shut their mouths now after what he did…

I hate it because… He’s my baby. He finally had the life he craved for all these years. Married to Pep, with his baby girl; trophy husband, doting father… and now he’s… gone. He’ll never see Morgan grow up (her first day at college, her first bf/gf, her graduation, her wedding, his grand-kids… any of it), he’ll never see Peter go to college either. Pepper will see all of that alone (not completely, because Happy and Rhodey will always be there, but someone will be always missing). Morgan won’t ever doubt that her daddy loves her, but still he won’t be there to kiss her goodnight, nor to tell her shitty bed time stories. (God, I’m crying again… and I really want to say I am joking, but I’m not).

Tony fucking DESERVED BETTER. 

The whole IRONFAM DESERVED BETTER.

Rhodey hold his head and pet his hair, with tears in his eyes that he refuses to let out. Peter calling him Tony for the first time ever… “We won” 

Also, Pepper is the STRONGEST WOMAN IN THE MCU. No one will EVER change my mind. She went into battlefield to help her husband, to protect their kid, and she hates violence. She fought beside him, helped defeat Thanos… And, when Tony (her Tony) was dying… She kneeled next to him, to reassure him that they would be okay, that he “can rest now”. And she didn’t break until he was gone. So the last thing he would see was her being the calm, competent person he knows she is. SHE FUCKING WAITS TILL HE’S GONE. SHE HOLDS HER TEARS AND HER SOBS SO HE WOULD FEEL OKAY. SO THAT HE COULD REST. And then, when the light of his arc reactor is out, and his hand is no longer in hers, she let it all out. She kissed his cheek one last time and sobs with her face buried in his neck… And I can’t deal with it.

Tony’s last message… “I love you 3000″ is another heartbreak. And the “Proof that Tony Stark has a heart” is the best… But the fucking cheeseburguers… If I weren’t sobbing and trembling during all that, the cheeseburguer was the charm that made me explode. It was over. It was really over. And that line made it true.

And the point is… I can’t read fanfics now. Nor see fanarts, fanvids, edits, you name it. Hell, I don’t think I’ll be able to watch any movie with Tony in it with the same eyes anymore… Any of the Iron Man movies, Homecoming, Civil War… It’s just too much. I won’t be able to watch Iron Man 1 again the same as I did before… with the cheeseburguer, and Pepper tears because she “hates job hunting”, Yinsen and his question about family, or the first time Tony flies out of his garage, with that huge, happy smile on his face.

Every time that I see 3000, I get fucking sad. And I was crying when I got home yesterday. When I calmed down a bit, I entered Instagram and Robert posted that photo of him and Jimmy Rich “holding” the A of Avengers and the tag #iloveyou #3000 and I fucking cried again… Fuck, I’ve been crying while writing all of this post.

I’m not even able to read some fluff fanfic from a couple of years ago… Pre-Infiniry war era to cheer me up. It just makes me sadden.

And… I think that’s it… I hope someone will read aaaaall my rant, but I can’t sum anything up.

.

TONY STARK, I LOVE YOU 3000 (ALWAYS WILL) 

[letstalksymphogear]

Symphogear, EP. 6

Last Time on Grand Theft Auto:

Tsubasa recovers from the world’s gayest coma as Hibiki trains her mind while putting aside such silly concepts as “the love of my life” and “literally being with my girlfriend.” After cooling Miku’s paranoia with her brand new washboard abs, Genjuro prepares the team for a pizza run across the city to deliver a dangerously hot pizza pie named Durandal. Chaos emerges as the delivery is intercepted by a rival pizza gang, lead by the nefarious Gremlin known as Yukine Chris. But, before the pizza could be claimed, dedicated pizza deliverywoman Hibiki not only steals it back, but eats it, harnessing the power of the pizza and unleashing cheesy pasta based chaos around the location.

Ryoko is so into it that she taps into her superpowers and protects Hibiki after she passes out. The delivery is considered a failure, and no tip is given.

And so, the journey continues...

Meanwhile, in this weird, tricked out mansion...

Chris meditates on some water metaphors of her own.

“that pacman colored freak took only touching it to activate a cheap ass french sword that gave her weird demon powers and its taken me YEARS to use this dumb stripper outfit and the funny cane that goes with it, what the FUCK man, what even is my life”

“maybe... maybe honeybaked hams ARE that powerful...”

“NO! turkey is the superior meat! it’s healthier, lower in fat, and way more tasty! fuck you! i’ll get my goddamned revenge!”

Chris begins musing about Fine’s motivations to capture Hibiki; during these, we’re treated to some brief image flashbacks of Chris’s life.

Suddenly, those jokes about food are a lot less funny.

It doesn’t take a genius to put two and two together as to why this young woman is helping a strange nudist dominatrix spread alien terror across the city of mumblednoises, Japan. She doesn’t really have many an option on the table. It’s either help the weird kinkster with her plans, or die.

Despite everything, she has a high opinion of Fine, for the same reasons someone might have a high opinion of a television show if it were the only show they were ever exposed to. She is deeply afraid of being alone again, because she has lived through such misery that the very thought of existing out in the cold again terrifies the shit out of her.

The Sun rises casually amidst Chris’s thoughts.

“ah shit. it just hit me. i literally have spent the entire night standing here instead of actually going the fuck to sleep. goddamnit.”

On such a devious metaphorical twist, Fine stands behind her as the Sun rises.

“yeah, jokes on you. i couldnt sleep for shit either. turns out, all nude, no blankets? in japan? real bad idea.”

“thats why i decided to GO GOTH, babey! whattaya think? do i give those witchy vibes, huh? real ‘black magic woman’ santana hours? feeling cute, gonna head out with the girls and summon satan in the woods kinda aesthetic looking shit? come on, be real with me. does this not look baller?”

“you look like morticia decided to go to the grocery store to buy some wonder bread, but other than that, its a step up from your usual pussy out attitude, so sure”

“you know i decided to get some brain cells on loan from Brain Cells R Us, and ive been thinking this solomon cane stuff is solomon lame. i dont need this dumb oversized harry potter cosplay prop to get shit done. also, murder is... sorta bad? im still trying to get the brain cell stuff down.”

“i can punch just as good as goody two shoes if not better.”

“lol go do it then champ, im gonna go cut down a forest of trees now”

And so, they both just kinda... stand there.

“QUACK, NEXT SCENE, QUACK”

Meanwhile, Tsubasa is rapidly trying to rehabilitate herself from her wounds like walking like a madman, her IV drip presumably filled with Taco Bell brand Doritos Locos Tacos super spicy nacho cheese. Taco Bell: Live Mas.

“im gonna clear every fucking taco bell in your goddamned memory, kanade”

“think outside the bun! wait, what? that was a taco bell slogan? ah fuck it, im dead. what nerd’s gonna try and correct me?”

“i would, kanade. i am that nerd.”

Tsubasa is hell bent to try and understand Kanade’s simple philosophy of helping others selflessly. Unfortunately, when Kanade died, she took all the brain cells between them in the process, so coming to this epiphany is a work in progress.

“listen its a fucking miracle you are 1. alive and 2. able to have your blood run on the garbage melted plastic taco bell tries to dupe people into believing is cheese so why dont you just lie down and think of better franchises to eat from”

“no! you dont understand! taco bell is a franchise of the PEOPLE! their meals are cheap and filling and- and the chicken quesadillas are of good quality for their price! i promised kanade- my vow to the death. taco bell... ergh... now and forever... i-”

“wait. my gay senses are tingling.”

It’s Hibiki, probably running track with Miku.

“oh yeah... her... i should probably apologize to her. about trying to kill her. and then letting her almost be kidnapped. and just giving her a general hard time about something that wasn’t explained to her in the slightest for months. she’s a good bean.”

Tsubasa proceeds to never canonically apologize to Hibiki throughout the entirety of all 4 seasons of Symphogear.

Look at em run. See, it’s a metaphor, because they haven’t communicated yet and they’re running from their problems! But they’re running towards Tsubasa, who is part of the representative problem these two share! Clearly literary genius.

It’s like someone went halfway into writing an NTR plotline and went “maybe this isn’t a good idea to market our songs on.”

Hibiki is still thinking about her Hellshake Yano moment with Durandal. Mainly how she nearly killed someone with it. Hibiki is very starkly in the “killing is bad, and wrong” camp of morality, a trait currently unique to her that she’ll wind up teaching literally everyone else she meets one way or another.

Some could argue the L stands for Lydian, and they’re wrong. It stands for Lesbian.

“that was one hell of a run, hibiki! im pooped! why dont we go to the locker room and call it a day, have a nice shower and just get some dinn-”

“this is the last straw.

i clean your plates. i cook your food. we eat, shit, shower, and sleep in the same FUCKING area, and this is how you repay me? huh? you think being your wife is easy shit, hibiki? half the damn time you’re running off like clark kent having food poisoning and the other half ive gotta babysit you, the emotional equivalent of a preteen clown, to make sure your life doesn’t self destruct harder than Atlantis sinking into the ocean. im done! i am DONE. im reopening my tinder, im slamming my ass BACK into okcupid, and im gonna date some CUTE ACADEMY GIRLS that treat me BETTER than this ABSOLUTE BETRAYAL OF HEART AND IM NOT CRYING I SWEAR ITS JUST THE SWEAT IN MY EYES AND HIBIKI HOW COULD YOU-”

“oh yeah, sure! hey, lemme just do a few more laps, ive just been feeling judgmental about myself and my figure, you know? gotta push myself further...”

“o-oh yeah, sure. no worries, ill wait for you. love you too, hibiki...”

The girls bathe together, as good friends typically do.

“hey you ever notice the showers here have like, weird psuedo-luxurious minipools to bathe in? like, how rich is this school?”

“whoever made this place is either rich or a pervert. or both, probably!”

Miku remarks that Hibiki has changed since she’s entered Lydian, in a manner most unheterosexual.

“oh FUCK you really DO have washboard abs now! ohhh my god.”

“damn, those abs were heavenly. let’s get pancakes later.”

I won’t screenshot it but something to note is that they actually wear each other’s corresponding underwear colors (or even, if you want to examine more closely, each other’s underwear). Here’s an equivalent scene to give you the mental image.

This is the face of someone who knows what they want and already have it. Such is the power of Kohinata Miku.

Meanwhile, Genjuro comes back from the funeral of the guy the Americans filled violently and with impunity.

“yo that all black look looks baller. i should borrow that look... id look pretty gothy in it.”

“ryoko i sympathize with your sharp, fashionista eye but this was for a funeral, i was paying my respects to the dead. thats the usual dress code.”

“didnt know they updated that. i remember back in my day, we just went in white garments and chanted in latin!”

“shit was fire. literally. lots of funeral pyres.”

“lmao ryoko buddy your larping sessions arent actual history”

“hey dont shit on larping around me. i used to be a professional larper while i was majoring in acting. helped really sell my career when i had to pretend to slay the Dark Lord Jyarloen atop the mountain of skulls in Hargobor after my family was killed by the Dark Army. asshole.”

“haha yeah, larping, thats cool yeah, i do that

i...

i larp.”

“oh yeah? you wanna join my larping session sometime then? we’re gonna do an ancient babylon plot thats inspired by some anime, itll be fun”

“.....................................im super into realism.”

“i know im dressed for a funeral but id like to not part ways with my dignity yet. besides, we’ve got serious shit to talk about. basically, we’re on the verge of getting shitcanned.”

As it turns out, the death of this politician removed the last obstacle of opposition to maintain the 2nd Division, as the average criticism against the 2nd Division is “why are we funding this mystery division when we don’t know what they do”. Of course, the sensible idea for an organization that defeats the Noise is to declassify it, given people of different jobs and positions have physically seen the Symphogear in action, but you know. “Oh no, the other governments will come after us” stick gets shaken.

“im in a union. i know my rights. you’re not taking my acting job here away from me.”

“im not going back to be a preschool teacher. its been ten year. the bites on my ankles still havent healed...”

“yeah man, shit sucks ass. i cant fund my adoption habits if im fired.”

Look at these cinematic parallels. Symphogear truly is a franchise made by someone living in 3030.

“worst part is the new minister is super into america. he’s a... westaboo.”

“a westaboo?”

“westaboo?”

“did he just unironically say westaboo”

“he said westaboo. oh my god. this is the hell timeline.”

“i mean people kept calling me that for worshipping all these fighting flicks so i guess it fit? i dont see the problem here”

Meanwhile, in Lydian Academy...

“so it hit me, right? we’re ALL girls. and we ALL sing. now, humor me a moment. what if... what if we’ve all been recruited to potentially be superheroes... through our singing? like, there’s no coincidence that all this shit happens around us, right? and a famous singer LIVES here? i saw the black cars outside! weird shit is happening here- im not even gonna eat the all you can eat bar anymore!”

“kathy there is literally no such thing as superheroes who sing. this place is more likely to be a organ harvesting op than whatever madness you’re saying”

“what? you need me, a singing superhero, to go stop a problem happening underneath the school, a location meant to recruit young women into potentially becoming fellow crime fighting singers?”

“yeah im too busy poppin’ caps in asses so go kick ass in my place”

“sure!”

“.....................................who ya talkin to, hibiki?”

“the boss! gotta go do a thing again...”

“hibiki, i dont like the fact that capitalism is tearing us apart.”

“you’ve gotta join me in the revolution, hibiki. you. me. luxury automated gay space communism. aint it the dream? share my vision, hibiki. its glorious.”

“n... no...? no gay space communism today? well, what about tomorrow? or the next day? or... maybe the next day? baby steps, you say? but, direction action, hibiki! we’ve gotta strike now!”

“it’s okay hibiki. when i take over the world and destroy all first world government leaders, and unite the globe in my encompassing reign and love... ill make sure to spare you, and be my bride to be.”

“thanks miku. im just not ready yet for the globe to burn in an unending ball of fire as the continents fuse into a new utopia composed of our combined wills. also, ive really gotta go, its genuinely an emergency.”

“for the cause!”

“yes hibiki... for the cause...”

Admittedly, you can see the stages of grief Miku goes through when she sees Hibiki say she can’t join her for pancakes. It’s sad. This side story sucks.

Meanwhile, as it turns out, the problem Hibiki needed to resolve was checking on Tsubasa to see if she hadn’t dissolved into Taco Bell brand hot n’ spicy Tabasco sauce.

“god, cant believe taco bell was closed. now i gotta deliver these lame ass flowers”

“cant wait to get threatened again. wonder what she’ll say. ‘hibiki, i should have killed you when i had the chance.’ or ‘you’re so goddamned weak. i could break your spine with my fingernail’, or some other stuff about metaphors. oh, my stops here”

“HEY BITCH WHATS GOOD-”

“HOLY SHIT”

“you are already”

“dead.”