#okay the anxiety is kind of the movies fault not out of any choices of its own and

[bravevolunteer]

the audacity of the movie to release when i am both starting finals very soon and have been. weirdly anxious about my shit

[knickynoo]

Do you have any thoughts on Marty and his self esteem issues? In most of the trilogy, I feel like Marty ranges from experience a lot of insecurity at best, to like a considerable amount of self loathing at worst, (like pls Marty, Doc getting struck by lighting was not your fault? You’re not Thor?) . And there’s the whole chicken thing, so I was curious if you had any thoughts on where it stems from, how it’s affected him etc etc? Okay lmao that’s it, have a great day !!

Hello! Do I have thoughts?? Yes. I do.

So, one of the things I like so much about Marty as a character is that...he's kind of an enigma of sorts? Like. Here's this kid who skateboards, rocks that denim jacket and the cool sunglasses, plays guitar, has a pretty girlfriend, etc. You take all of that, and it should reflect a really confident, popular person. I mean, with all the stereotypical "cool guy" attributes considered, Marty should have Ferris Bueller-level confidence and charm. He should be strutting around, smooth-talking everyone, laughing in the face of danger, and possessing unshakeable self-esteem. But he does/has none of those things because, as we all know, Marty is A Mess (affectionate). And yeah, a lot of it seems to stem from self-esteem issues, which we do see sprinkled throughout the trilogy. Where's it all coming from? Well, a lot of places, most likely...

• FAMILY: Probably the biggest factor. Though I'm sure George and Lorraine were sincerely in love for a while at the beginning of their relationship/marriage, I think it's fair to assume that any real spark between them had pretty much fizzled out by the time Marty came along or when he was a young kid. Take a loveless relationship between a meek, subservient man and a woman who drinks away her feelings, factor in a 17-year-old boy who's probably never had any real semblance of parental stability in his house, and it's highly likely that kid is going to have some issues. It's really difficult to believe in yourself & feel secure when the norm is having parents who are wrapped up in their own worlds/rarely interact with each other, seeing your father get emotionally (& physically!) pushed around by his supervisor, and watching your mom cling to alcohol and sink into depression.

• Plus, there are the separate relationships George and Lorraine have with Marty. Granted, we don't see much of it, but what we see at dinner is probably a good example of a typical interaction. George is quick to steer Marty away from any situation where he may face rejection or hardship. And yeah, he may think he's protecting his son, but this strategy is actually pretty harmful. I can imagine that any time Marty is feeling nervous or let down, and goes to his father seeking encouragement, he's only left with the impression that it's better not to take any risks at all because he might fail anyway. Instead of being built up, any potential self-worth is being chipped away at by George.

And as far as Lorraine is concerned, I get the impression that she's (more often than not) critical and judgemental of Marty. She's not shy about airing her strong dislike for Jennifer, during which Marty stays completely silent and unresponsive. Perhaps Marty's general default around his mom is silence, due to him having learned a long while back that he's better off keeping his mouth shut. I can see Lorraine lecturing Marty often, picking apart every little flaw she may see in him (friends, grades, attitude, etc.), especially when she's had too many drinks and especially when you consider that Marty is probably her most "difficult" child. Sad as it may sound, I can't picture Marty walking away from very many interactions with his mother feeling good about himself.

• GENERAL ANXIETY/NEURODIVERGENCY: Marty is an easily flustered, anxious guy. And whether that stems from his home environment or genetics (I mean, look at George), I don't know. But he definitely seems to be a sort of nervous, hesitant kid, particularly in the first movie. I also, like most of the fandom, headcanon Marty as having ADHD. And like...if that's the case for him, it certainly isn't helping at all with the self-esteem stuff. He's written off as a slacker at school, told he'll never amount to anything, and probably struggles a lot to keep up in his classes and survive in an environment that almost definitely doesn't offer any form of support or accommodations. That would be a big blow to his self-worth as well.

People with ADHD also tend to be very critical of themselves, worry about what others think of them, and have a hard time with rejection. Hence, the one rejection at the audition followed by, I'm just a big, stupid failure and I'll never ever be good enough. My world is crumbling, I should just give up everything forever =(((

(What do you mean those weren't his exact words??)

• BONUS: Marty might also face a decent amount of social isolation/teasing due to his friendship with Doc, which would take a toll on confidence too. Also, I just...don't think that Marty has many friends??

When you take all the above factors, Marty's self-esteem issues make a lot of sense and, if not for Doc, would probably run a lot deeper than what we see in the trilogy. ALSO!

• Marty blaming himself for Doc getting hit by lightning in the DeLorean: I've seen a few people comment on this and how they think it's ridiculous that Marty felt guilty but...it's always made a lot of sense to me, actually. No, Marty didn't cause the lightning, but he did set off the chain of events that led to Doc being there at that moment. If he'd had the inner strength/self-control to walk away from Biff outside of the dance, he could have just joined Doc on the roof with the almanac and they'd have been on their merry way. And even if Biff had continued to challenge him, or even followed him, Marty likely could have created a diversion or gotten an adult at the dance to help and still made it up to the roof before the worst of the storm hit. But because he couldn't stand being called a chicken, he ended up taking a door to the face, had the book stolen back, and had to go on that little side adventure to retrieve it, which led to Doc needing to save him. So yeah, I'm actually team Marty on this one. His choice did lead to Doc being catapulted into the Old West, lol. I'd have been consumed with guilt too.

• The Chicken Thing: I'm not going to go into too much detail (HA!) because this is already ridiculously long, but I will say that I don't go by the more popular headcanon that says Marty's sudden inability to handle being challenged is due to the updated timeline taking effect and "altering" him. Essentially, that Marty growing up with a confident, successful father made him have higher expectations put on him, and so he was always striving to prove he could live up to them.

I actually don't think any ripples from the new timeline catch up to Marty yet during the course of the trilogy. (I tend to headcanon that as happening gradually in the coming weeks and months after he gets home). Instead, I think that Marty's inclination towards becoming feral at the words "chicken", "yellow", etc. is because of his life in his original timeline. Growing up with a jellyfish for a father, it makes sense that Marty would want to distance himself as much as possible from being associated with weakness. He'd want to prove himself that much more because everyone around him would probably think he's just like his cowardly old man.

And though I know it's not really possible (because they weren't planning on a 2nd or 3rd movie), I think a case can be made that there's a glimpse of the "chicken thing" in the first movie, in the scene of Marty and Lorraine in the car at the dance. I mean, he gets all upset and tells her not to drink, but then she calls him a square, uses the classic peer-pressure tactic of, everyone's doing it, and he caves instantly and takes a swig. Could be because he doesn't want to be thought of as a square, or could be because he's desperate to calm his nerves a bit. Either way, Marty doesn't seem to fare too well when challenged or put under pressure, so I lump this scene in as a "chicken" moment.

I...need to stop. I set out to write a quick response to this. Like, a paragraph or two. But this question activated Hyperfocus Mode, and I blinked and now it's 2 hours after I started and I have AN ESSAY.

Thanks for the ask! *goes to lie down*

[twoidiotwriters1]

Just one chance (Diego Hargreeves x Fem! Reader)

A/N: I'm really excited because a lot of people liked Diego's previous one-shot so ... here's another one. it has nothing to do with the other, I hope you like it, thank you soooo much for reading. <3 - Val

And btw, Thank you very much for the 300 followers, REQUESTS ARE OPEN ONCE AGAIN !!   Check the post we made for the celebration.

Words: 3,035

Diego walks through the corridors of the house. He sighs, taking courage, and knocks on the door. When it opens, his sister Vanya is at the other side.

“Hey, Diego,” She says with a smile.

"I need your help, it’s urgent," He answers nervously. She frowns and lets him walk into her room.

"What's up?" Diego sits on the bed and plays with his hands. "I've never seen you so nervous…”

"Nervous? Me? Please,” He scoffs.

"What? You’re in trouble?" Vanya stands in front of him and crosses her arms.

"Something like that," he finally says.

Vanya knows what her brother does at night. Using his skill with knives and the arduous training everyone had in their childhood, Diego takes it upon himself to aid helpless people.

"Do you need me to call the police?"

"No, not that kind of problem,” he says wiping his hands on his pants.

“Okay, I don't mean to sound rude, but you're not giving useful information. So maybe you better ask someone else for help?”

"No!" Vanya startles, pulling away a bit. "Shit, I'm sorry– I didn't want to scare you, just that- uh, I-" He growls. “You're the only one who can help me, Vanya.”

The relationship she has with her brothers is somewhat complicated. With Diego, she’s sure that she’s not Diego's first choice when he needs help, so this is confusing.

"What's going on?" She sits next to him on the bed.

"I'm not good at these things,” He answers through gritted teeth. "But I’m desperate, this’ll be my last try,” Vanya raises her eyebrows. “I have problems with... girls?"

Both of them are silent for a few seconds.

"Since when? How come only I can help you?"

"Oh come on, you're the only one with a stable relationship!”

She can't help a little smile.

"Sissy is not my girlfriend.”

"But you haven't ruined it yet, you're the one that has lasted the longest out of all.”

Maybe that's true.

"And Allison? She’s still with Raymond.”

Diego makes a face and scratches the back of his neck.

"She wouldn't help me for this.”

“Why?" Vanya now understands the big problem. “Oh… Are you sure you want to try?"

"You already regret wanting to help me?"

“No, it's just that- well… are we talking about Y/N? Allison's best friend?” She asks.

They met Y/N when they were twelve years old and since then she and Allison have been inseparable, actually, they all like her and over time she’s gained the trust of the Hargreeves.

"But doesn't she hate you?"

Diego nods, feeling hopeless. It’s true that for his last -perhaps only- opportunity, he needs Vanya's help and her attitude is not helping at all, or at least that’s what he thinks.

Vanya grins and Diego looks at her in disbelief.

"I'm not laughing at you, idiot,” She smiles. "I thought you’d already given up with her.”

"I guess I can still attempt something, but this is my last try,” He says.

From the moment Diego saw Y/N, he thought she was the most beautiful girl he’d ever seen in his life, but every time he tried to talk to her the girl would walk away or try to avoid him, so the only solution a 12-year-old could think of was to tease her; from pulling her hair, making fun, throwing knives at her -without hurting her- and as they grew older insults were added. In a way, Diego's plan worked, Y/N noticed him more, but it was only to yell at him. All this caused Diego's feelings for her to grow faster. He explained it to Vanya and she laughed again.

“So, all those bruises, yelling and insults were because you like her?” She says.

"Hey, I was just a kid!” He defends. "Now's different and I really want to do things right."

His sister is surprised, this is not a game, Diego’s asking her for help to conquer a girl and Vanya thinks it can work.

"I just want to add, I always believed you’d be a good couple.”

Diego's eyes light up.

“You'll help me?"

“That's right, brother. But you have to follow my lead…”

"I promise. Thank you, Sis! " he hugs Vanya very tightly making her squeal.

Later the doorbell rings, Allison's voice sounds soon after.

"Oh, that's right,” says Vanya with a smile, looking at her brother. “Y/N'll have dinner with us.”

Diego's breath hitches and his muscles tense.

"Oh.”

"First lesson, Diego."

***

After a few hours, they are whispering in the main hall, Diego’s about to panic as Vanya tries to reassure him.

"What am I supposed to do?"

"First, breathe,” she says. “It’s only dinner, relax. You can start with compliments, maybe of what she’s wearing, things like that.”

"Ok, ok, I can do that,” answers Diego.

“Well, let's go.”

Vanya takes his hand and they both enter the dining room, the other members are already waiting. Luther is the first, and on his left side are Allison, Y/N and then Ben, opposite to Luther is Klaus, then Five. Vanya tells Diego to sit across from Y/N and she sits at the end of the table.

Diego feels his legs shaking when he sees the girl for whom he’s trying his best not to scream. She’s laughing at something Allison said, the boy can't help but smile when he sees her happy. He sits down and waits patiently for dinner.

For a few minutes he only allows himself to admire her without saying anything, everything that Vanya said to him disappeared and he can't help but think how great it’d be the reason why she laughs, to take her hand under the table, whisper in her ear and kiss her cheek…

But his fantasies are interrupted by Vanya, who clears her throat to get their attention. While Luther helps his mother serve food, the others talk different things.

"It's good to see you again, Y/N,” says Vanya looking at the girl and she smiles at her.

“Same here, Vanya. How’s Sissy?"

"She’s fine, actually, we've thought about going to see a movie, any recommendations?"

Vanya could remember that Allison's best friend wanted to see a movie, and she had no one to go see it with, because none of her friends liked it, but she knew a certain man that would be willing to go without problems. The girl's eyes lit up, but then she grimaced.

"Oh yeah, they released a good one, but I'm not sure you’ll like it.”

"Are you still crying about it?" Says Five entering the conversation. Y/N looks at him offended.

"Shut up, I thought you’d be my salvation, but I only suffered from your betrayal!”

"That rhymed!" Klaus claps and Five rolls his eyes.

“None of your siblings want to go, but if you do, can I go with you? I don't mind being third wheeling…”

That's Diego's chance, but he doesn't say anything, so Vanya lightly kicks his leg.

"I could go with you!”

Everyone at the table looks at him in surprise and Vanya just wants to hit him again. Apparently yelling wasn’t part of Diego's plan. Y/N raises both eyebrows and huffs.

“Yes, right. I don't want you to be throwing popcorn at me during the whole movie, Diego. And surely you’d be talking all the time,” She rolls her eyes and Diego lowers his head. He knows the reason why she thinks that. It wouldn't be the first time that a movie went wrong because of their arguments.

Ben could notice how uncomfortable his brother is, so he decides to change the subject and now everyone forgets what happened. Vanya leans over to talk to Diego.

"What the hell was that?"

"I don't know, your help was useless!”

“You have to slow down, Diego. Baby steps, come on, give her a compliment!”

"Yes, okay,” He says nodding and they both turn to her.

Diego takes the time to think through his next move. Everyone has finished eating. When Diego leaves the dishes in the kitchen, he returns to the table and sees Y/N alone, perhaps waiting for her friend, so he approaches a little and notices her outfit.

He clears his throat to get her attention and smiles, hiding all the anxiety he feels.

"Hey, that blouse suits you very well, it matches your eyes,” While Diego expects a positive response, he receives the opposite.

"If that's your way to check out my breasts, let me tell you it's a pathetic attempt.”

Diego straightens up.

"No, no, no, no, n-o is not what I- uh, I didn't mean to," He stutters and behind him comes a laugh.

"My pathetic brother,” says Allison reaching her friend's side. Y/N huffs and they both leave the house.

Diego is startled when he feels a hand on his shoulder.

"Ok, that went wrong,” says Vanya. "Maybe you can offer to take her home?" She tries.

 “She'll probably think I'm going to kidnap her," he says with a grimace.

***

The next day Diego and Vanya talk for hours about all the possibilities in which his comments can go. After last night, Diego can't take any risks.

"Hey, it's not my fault that your favorite hobby was teasing her."

"I know! I know I was an idiot, but I didn't think this was going to happen,” He says.

"Now we can only hope for a miracle."

Diego complains again and hides his face with a pillow.

"Vanya, have you seen my skirt?" Klaus says entering the room. "Trouble in paradise, Dieguito?"

Diego restrains himself from throwing a knife at his brother.

"No, Klaus, I haven't seen it, are you going out?"

"Oui, mademoiselle. Y/N and Allison invited me to a party- Oh! There it is…”

Klaus grabs the skirt from the floor and leaves the room and as soon as the door closes, Diego sits on the bed and takes off his pillow. Both siblings share a hopeful look.

***

“Now, tell me how the hell am I going to be able to talk to her if she's with an idiot,” says Diego speaking louder so that Vanya could hear him above the music.

"As soon as she’s alone, you must go at it,” she answers.

These days have been stressful for the boy, he cannot believe his bad luck and he’s not used to this. Normally he has no problems with girls, he’s dated and even had a serious relationship with Patch, why is it so difficult with Y/N?

Hours pass and it comes to the moment when Diego is left alone on the balcony of the host's house, cursing every happy couple that passes by, and snorting every time he sees Klaus with a different drink. But everything changes when he hears a voice complaining near the balcony.

The boy walks away from the railing and toward the doors, only to find Y/N yelling at the boy she was with earlier. Diego doesn’t know what is happening, but he can get an idea of ​​how it will end, especially when he sees that the boy takes Y/N by the neck and forces her to kiss him. Anger runs through the boy's body and he's about to go and hit the jerk, but halfway he stops totally shocked.

Y/N steps away from the idiot and punches him hard on his nose, causing him to fall to the ground and scream covering his face with his hand. Everyone around him reaches out to help and see what happens. The girl takes advantage of the opportunity, runs out of the scene, straight to the balcony passing Diego without noticing him.

The boy follows her, he can see that she’s holding her wrist and complaining, so he runs around the house and gets a bag with ice as if they were chasing him, he returns just as fast.

“Hey,” He catches her attention and she looks up with teary eyes.

"Diego, please, not now," She says in a tired voice.

"I brought you ice, for your hand,” He says quickly.

She looks at him and nods raising her injured hand. Diego gently takes it and puts the ice on it. He tries to ignore the chill that runs through his body at feeling her soft hand.

"Does it hurt too much?" he asks trying to distract her.

"I've never hit someone before," She says with a grimace. Diego smiles sideways, he can't help but be proud.

"Maybe I could teach you one day, I'm an expert in punching and receiving every day…” He says without much thought and she laughs slightly.

"I've only seen you fight with your brothers, but something tells me that you are not lying," She adds with amusement.

"It was a great blow, surely he deserved it.”

"Some people don't know what ‘No’ means" She sighs.

"I think it’s clear to him now.”

"I didn't know you liked parties," She replies, looking at him.

"Today I had a good reason to like them,” He shrugs.

"A girl?" When he nods she laughs again. "I think it's the longest conversation we've had without insulting each other…”

Diego laughs too.

"In my defense, I've tried to have a civil conversation with you for a couple of days, but you weren't helping much,” She frowns.

"I know you well, Diego. You always try to make fun of me.”

His smile disappears.

“I don't want to do it anymore, Y/N,” His serious face confuses her.

"What are you talking about?"

Before Diego could answer, Allison reaches his side and checks on her friend, pushing her brother away. Y/N assures her that she's fine, mentioning Diego's help, but Allison doesn't care.

"I'm glad but– uh, we have a problem.”

"I'm not in the mood to have another one,” complains the girl.

“Ray’s car just broke and we have to go with some friend of his, I have to take Klaus before we lose him and Vanya and Sissy left already, so... there's no place for you,” says Allison with a grimace, “Sorry.”

Y/N complains taking the ice from Diego's hands.

"Are you serious?"

"I'm sorry, really, Ray said that he offered his place for you, but you know he lives far away…”

Y/N doesn't live very far, but she can't go alone in the dark and Diego knows that.

“I'll take you home,” He offers.

“Diego…” starts Allison, but he cuts her off.

“It's not a game, I promise. Come on, I can't let her walk alone, I can watch over her,” He puffs out his chest.

"Okay, but if something else happens, I won't hesitate in saying the magic words to you, brother,” threatens Allison. The boy stirs uncomfortably knowing very well what the magic words are.

Both friends say goodbye and Allison returns to the party. It doesn't take long for her, her boyfriend, and brother to leave.

"Do you want to go?" Diego asks shyly and she nods.

***

The two of them walk slowly towards Y/N's house in a slightly awkward silence. She keeps holding her wrist.

"What did you mean before?" she asks suddenly.

"What?"

"When we were on the balcony, you said you didn't want to make fun of me anymore.”

Diego fortunately remembers Vanya's advices: ‘Don't be too hasty’, ‘Tell her how you feel when you get the chance’, ‘Don't scare her’, ‘Be honest’, ‘No, you can't just kiss her and then run away’.

He shakes his head and keeps walking.

“Sorry for being an idiot all these years. You may not believe me, but I want to try to fix things with you.”

"How?"

"Good question,” He replies with a grimace. “I don't know, these days I've tried to be nice to you, but you think I'm still playing– I don't blame you!” He raises his hands. “You have many reasons, but– I just want to say that…” He sighs. “I don't want to continue with that.”

She frowns in confusion, but also wants to know more.

"Why do you suddenly want to do it?"

"It's not something spontaneous, I- uh…” He fidgets. "Since I've known you, I wanted to be your friend and I thought you were beautiful and all,” He says with honesty. "But you always did your best to ignore me, so I did all those things to get your attention.”

Confession takes weight off his shoulders. Y/N stays silent, thinking about Diego's words. Without realizing it, they both arrive at her house. The girl steps forward a bit, but Diego takes her free hand and draws her.

"Listen, I know it's a lot to think about and you might not believe me, but I really want to be with you."

She knows that he’s not lying, Diego had never dared to talk to her like that, but there’s still something that prevents her from trusting him.

"What are you really asking me, Diego?"

He thinks about it and smiles sideways.

“I’m asking for an opportunity. Just one, you won't regret it.”

Y/N laughs at his confident demeanor, then he gets a little closer, looks directly into her eyes and puts a lock behind her ear with gentl e fingers.

"When we were kids,” She says, taking a step back. "I used to walk away from you because I thought you were cute, I liked you, but when you wanted to talk… I’d get nervous and run away,” She admits. "Then you started teasing me so I thought you hated me and eventually I gave up,” She shrugs.

Diego can't believe what he's hearing and feels stupider. He could’ve had the girl of his dreams much sooner if only things weren't wrong. They’re both silent, she waits for an answer but Diego continues to panic. Finally she sighs again.

"One chance, Hargreeves.” She points out and Diego's eyes lit up.

"Only one,” He says avoiding the urge to jump for joy. She shakes her head, but smiling sweetly.

Y/N goes up the stairs of her house and before opening the door she turns back to find Diego doing a very strange dance. As soon as he notices her look, he stops and smiles innocently.

"Good night, angel," He says, smirking.

"Good night, Diego.”

Would you like a second part?

[missskzbiased]

I Hate That I’m Afraid to Love You (3)

Genre: Romance, Friendship, Angst, Hurt /Confort , Suggestive, Fluff College Au, Enemies to Friends to Lovers Au, REALLY Slow burn, Love Square (?)

Pairing: Hyunjin X Fem!Reader  X Han X OC

WC: ~ 5,0K

[Previous] [Chap] [Next]

Masterlist

Warnings (general*): Language, Mentions of (Physical abuse, Death/ Loss of Loved One, Child Abandonment/Neglect, Divorce, Toxic Parents, Cancer, Mental disorder, Anxiety Attack)

Notes: I hope you guys like it. Chapter 2’s tags didn’t work TT.TT so I hope this time the tags works… *Sigh* Anyway! This and the next 2 chapters will have more of an angsty feeling to them. If you guys feel that I should put a warning or something like this, please let me know! [Although I think I listed everything on the general warnings]

I’m opened to any feedback! It’s my first fic like this so I know I have a lot to learn yet. Any tips or suggestions are welcomed!

REMINDER: I’m neither a psychologist nor a psychology student.

The next chapters will have some things related to psychology BUT IT’S ALL FROM MY MIND. Please don’t consider it as something a therapist would say.

Also, don’t consider it as a good way to handle any mental illness.

Just as a note, the MC will realize she needs therapy at some point [~chap10], so I’m not trying to show friendship, love or whatever as the solution to mental illness [Though those kind of things can help you out, consider doing therapy if it’s possible]  

Updates: I’ll update it once a week [Tuesdays] because I still have to write the chapters to come and review the ones I already wrote

                                                       ////

    If you knew all it took to get Hyunjin’s head out of his ass was confront him, you would have done it way too sooner.

   You knew you got on his nerve when he came into the classroom without sparing you a glance, his usual mocking self nowhere to be seen. He walked straight ahead to his seat, gliding, his chin slightly upraised as if he felt like a royal member himself, lips quirked up in a carefree way that you knew he was feigning. You shouldn’t feel too good about it, but you felt it anyway.

   Paris noticed something was wrong, her eyes following him amazed, noticing he didn’t try to flirt or tease you at all.

   “Is it just me or he just ignored you?” She asked surprised, her eyes glued to him even when he was already settled on his seat “He didn’t even look here!” Her eyes shot at you, mischievous “What did you do?” she grinned devilishly.

   “Nothing” You shrugged, struggling to keep your smirk off of your face.

    You always said you didn’t really hate Hyunjin and you meant it, but it didn’t mean you were anywhere near to be fond of him in any way. You knew you were being petty and childish, but you couldn’t help it. You weren’t obliged to put up with his guts! He had this infuriating aura around him like he was some kind of god, and it just upsets you to the point you wanted to punch him sometimes. He did nothing wrong, but that was exactly the issue! You hated these kinda movies that pictured the male lead as a perfect little thing that could do all he wanted because he was just amazing... People like this didn’t exist.

   Except that he almost fit that image.

   Now, you weren’t saying he was perfect! He was way too far from that if your opinion had any importance at all. The thing is that he is rich. Okay... But being rich is enough to make you hostile towards someone? Well, it is when this someone doesn’t put a damn effort into anything and you have to work your ass off to get the same results as him. So maybe you were envious? Yeah, maybe. Whatever. You felt wronged when you knew you had to be all work and no play while he could play whenever he wants because he was blessed with a good family.

   It was infuriating.

   Of course, you would be able to get good scores at everything without putting any effort into it if you were tutored back in high school like he was... Of course, you would be able to look charismatic and sassy if you had the time to sleep after your work, instead of studying your ass off so you could keep up your grades and your scholarship... Of course, you would be able to have fun and be relaxed, hence being able to absorb all the information your professors spat out if you didn’t have to live up to everyone’s expectations! And, of course, you would be able to have a good relationship with the university if you were a hell out of a rich girl that could give your damn money to the university and get on everyone’s good side.  

   So maybe it wasn’t Hyunjin’s fault to be able to do things you couldn’t do even if you worked your fingers to the bone... But he and his shitty personality didn’t help his case at all. Maybe if he was a kind guy or something like this, but he was an asshole! He knew how you hated all those things about him, and he would still rub it to your face. He got off on the fact you were miserable compared to him! Every time he could bring up how he was better than you in every aspect (which he wasn’t, really!), he would. Every time he could show you how the professors got on his side just because, he would. Every time he could do something that made you pissed off, he would.

   So maybe it wasn’t Hyunjin’s fault he had everything you worked for.

   But his good for nothing personality was solely his fault.

   And you would hold on it for your dear life.

   “Y/N, could you refresh my memory? What was your feeling’s choice?” Your professor, Mr.Lee, asked in a quiet tone before scratching his white beard, his eyes focused on yours, analyzing your every move. It was kind of invasive every time he looked at you as if he could see your soul, and you wondered if someday you would be like him.

   “It was Hate, sir” You answered firmly, your eyes sharp as a knife when you returned his gaze.

    “Would you care to enlighten us about your choice? Is it too personal?” He asked in a kind tone, letting it be your call. You didn’t understand why he was beating around the bush like this, but you shrugged it off.

    “As I said last week, sir, I think hate can move people to do dreadful things without thinking about the consequences… I believe nothing can beat hate. Not time. Not love” You looked in Paris’ way with an apologetic smile “I guess I made my point clear enough last time” You added, a tight smile on your lips.

   “Yes. Yes, You did… I remember a lot of raising hands to agree with your plea” He acknowledged, his eyes darting to Hyunjin this time “And you, Hyunjin? I believe your answer was also quite defended last Friday” He encouraged. Hyunjin looked back at him, still averting his eyes from you at all costs.

   Your smirk made its way to your lips as you felt superiority’s sweet taste.

   “Yes, it was, sir” He agreed. Even though he didn’t feel like talking to you and seemed… Tense, his voice still hung that endearing power he had, getting everyone’s attention as he opened his mouth to repeat what he said before “Fear is clearly stronger than Hate as it can paralyze people, make them give up on everything… If hate makes you do things you regret, fear also makes you regret things you can’t do” He seemed off as he spoke it, his eyes too focused, his jaw clenched slightly… His arguments got better too, maybe he thought about it since Friday?

   Probably not.                                                                                                                                                                    

   “And I believe no one could agree with Paris, since the classes ended in the best part of our discussion! Paris had a good argument, though, and I happened to hear from Hyunjin himself, that it beat his own” He sang, Paris chirped excitedly, making you chuckle “If any of you were too hungry and lost to remember, she said Love was the strongest feeling because it could beat any other… You could beat fear and hate with it, you could do something out of love or sacrifice yourself by not doing something in the name of love…” His voice hung there, purposely pulling an imaginary string, getting everyone attention as he looked around, the cliffhanger being too hard to ignore.

     “So who was right?” You heard someone asks from the back, your eyes glued to your professor’s smirk as you waited, your breathing withhold on your chest, hoping you could be the one to be right, or at least Paris…

   “No one and every one of them” He announced, proudly. It was needless to say all the holding breaths came out as disappointed sighs, an unknown winner standing for the title you would never get “This exercise isn’t about who is right or wrong… There is no such thing as the most powerful feeling! Every single feeling has a full meaning for that one person that holds it” You rolled your eyes, thinking about how Mr.Lee could be such a good professor and such a bad one. He was bullshitting all of you, and to speak of which—

   “That’s bullshit!” A girl uttered in the front row “Are you saying a patient in love is the same as a patient who wants to kill themselves?! Someone who hates themselves so much they want to be dead… You can’t say it’s not as powerful as some lovesick bast—I mean, person” Okay, so maybe that girl had some hate issues? You saw his eyes lit up as if he was expecting a tantrum.

   “You can’t see a patient who hates himself and say he’s more important than that one fearing something to the point he can’t even get away from his own house… Nor say the one who’s healing themselves with love ─ this being self-love or someone else’s love ─ isn’t as important as your other patient… Every single human being is a full universe, and a good professional has to be able to see it clearly! The most important feeling to you may not be the most important feeling to this patient, you have to think ahead of yourself” He smiled at the end of his speech, clearly proud of the marveled looks on your face.

   You thought it was kinda cute how he stood there giving these same classes probably for… twenty? Thirty years? And still got so excited to see how all of you would react. You let a smile flicker over your face, and you felt Paris beam at your side ─probably relating it with music in her head─ but Hyunjin wasn’t so impressed, raising his hand promptly, getting a nod from Mr.Lee who was giving him the word.

   “What did you make us suggest them for? If the whole point was to make us understand every feeling matters, I can’t understand why we lost one day debating it” You turned your head from Hyunjin to Mr.Lee, expecting what kind of answer he would give.

   He grinned again, glad things were going on his way.

   “That’s a great question” He agreed “The thing is, my fellow students, you guys tend to state the most important feeling to you… I think it should be no surprise that you are all adults struggling with things along your way, and by this simple debate, I can tell you, Mr.Hyunjin, struggle with a great fear of something… I can tell Ms.Paris healed herself with great love… If you want me to be more specific, I do remember her statement about love being protective, and her examples were about a mother protecting her child and a soldier… Would I be wrong if I guess your mom’s love moved her to do great things to protect you from something really dangerous, Ms.Paris? Perhaps something as violent as a war?” Holy shit! You felt as you were on a ‘Now You See Me’ movie, all hidden things getting a spotlight right in front of you.

    “No, sir! You would be totally right!” She agreed blissfully, getting a humming from him.

    “I thought so too” He joked, laughing to himself “Do you have any more questions, Mr.Hyunjin?” His voice held this knowing tone when you just knew you have nailed it.

   You felt the urge to clap, excited at all this.

   Then you felt the urge to hide.

   You struggled with hate, and now it was unfolded there for anyone who wanted to see it.

   You couldn’t focus on your classes anymore, your mind wandering around some stuff you didn’t really want to remember right now, your childhood unfolding there like a really long movie that you didn’t want to watch at all. Paris seemed to notice your absentminded self, her hand resting on top of yours, reassuringly squeezing your own before you smiled weakly at her, the soft contact dragging you out of your thoughts.

   “I’m fine” You guaranteed, receiving a nod as a response.

    Her hand never left yours though.

    There are times, such as this, your mind just gets numb.

    It’s almost like a TV snowing, the soft noise sounding like numbness at the back of your mind, nothing really getting there, even though your eyes were opened and looking straight ahead, you didn’t take in any images. You weren’t quite sure what was on your mind when the loud alarm sounded through your brain, getting you startled, your eyes snapping back to whatever was happening in front of you: A sea of students wiping their stuff into their bags and scattering around. You looked around, confused when you finally noticed the class had ended.

   How long were you thinking? Were you even thinking? What was Mr.Lee saying?

   You sighed heavily, looking at the blank pages on your notebook, and you could almost feel like he stared back at you, disappointed. Paris rested her hand on your shoulder, burying your head with a worried look that made you say the first thing coming across your head “Classes ended already”, Oh, well… That was a poor statement… You got a sympathetically look as an answer, “Han must be almost here, we should get ready” You added, a more useful wording this time, getting your stuff and standing up, your hand finally away from hers.

    She got up as well, letting you go just like this. You couldn’t be more grateful for her understanding right now. You merged into the crowd getting out of the class, taking short steps and stretching your neck, trying to get air and have a vision around, searching for Han in the hallways. As soon as you got out, you felt a hand grab your wrist, pulling you to the sides, colliding with a warm chest that made you frown annoyed, glaring at the boy who turned out to be Han himself.

   “Are you blind?” He laughed, ruffling your hair, getting a chuckle from Paris.

   “No, you’re just too small” You mocked, his whining making you and Paris laugh. The three of you made your way through the crowded hallways, heading to the dining hall, ready to eat whatever was being served there. You looked around the Quad, expecting to see Chan there waiting for Hyunjin and wave at him, since you knew they both use to have lunch together on Tuesdays.

   What you didn’t expect was to catch a glance at an odd woman, her flashy fashion getting your attention immediately and making you feel dizzy.

   You would bet you were pale as a ghost.

   “Hey, are you okay?” You heard Han ask, glancing over the area you were staring “You seem kinda… Off” He stated worried, getting Paris attention as well, making her stop her blabbering about today’s class and look at you concerned.

   “I’m just hungry” You uttered, looking at them with a tight smile “Let’s go quickly before I pass out” You said hurriedly, pulling them by their wrists, eager to get out of there.

   They let you hurry them, exchanging a look before shrugging it off.

                                                          ////

   You felt your heart slamming on your chest, your lungs seeming too small to handle your need for air. Although you weren’t running for real, your steps were quick and wide, your head swivels as you tried to find Chan on campus, your legs burning as you walked fast and your neck hurting to move around searching for him. You felt a hand on your shoulder, grabbing it with much more strength than needed, and you shut your eyes closed, defeat washing over you.

   “Holy shit, where were you?!” Chan’s voice sounded alarmed and your disappointment switched to relief.

   “Oh, thank god!” You chirped, turning around and hugging him out of reflex “Where were you?! Did you see her?” You asked worried, his face giving all the answers you needed “Is it bad?” Your voice sounded weak even to your ears, thin and trembling.

   Fragile.

   “It’s… Well, it’s not good” He mused, averting his eyes “It could be worst I guess… She wants to talk to you” He explained, his hand squeezing your shoulder “I told her I would ask you to meet her at the yard… It was the least crowded place I could think of… ” He sighed, looking tired; he must have been worried, running around like this just to find you “Where the hell is your phone? Why can’t you pick up my call, woman” He complained, trying to light up the mood, but you couldn’t find his teasing amusing right now.

   “I forgot it at the dorm… I will pick it up later, before work” You answered, kinda absent-minded, your mind wandering around a hundred thoughts at the same time, your breathing starting to falter. You felt his arms wrapping you up, embracing you tightly and soothing something on your ear as he stroke your hair gently, his sudden touch getting your attention back to him “Thank you” You muttered against his chest, clearing your throat before pushing him away gently “Lord, stop being cheesy” You joked, making him scoff in disbelief.

   “I run around this damn place because you can’t take your phone with you like a grown-up ass and you call me cheesy?” He snorted, feigning to be hurt as his hand rose to his chest “I even ditched Hyunjin for you…” He added, swiping imaginary tears as he looked at you.

   “Hyunjin was with you?” You asked exhausted “Great… Did she say anything in front of him?” He was quick to shake his head, denying, and you let a relieved sigh “Well, that’s good then”

   “I asked him to wait where we were, guided your mom, and came for you… I don’t think he connected the dots yet, although he will ask about it for sure” He explained briefly and you nodded in response “I think you should go talk to her before she comes back” He reasoned, and you nodded in agreement, squeezing his shoulder in silent gratefulness before smiling gently at him, getting a small smile back.

    If you had one thing in this world you could always count on it would be Chan.

    You picked up your pace, trying to reach the yard as fast as possible, using all your strength to gather your thoughts together; worry washing over you as you got closer to your destination. You couldn’t be distracted; you had to keep calm, to be understanding, to be focused. As soon as your eyes landed on her, you felt your heart pang. She was beautiful, of course, her blond dyed hair suited her well, and her sunglasses matched well her style, the flowery dress giving a girly and young vibe to her.

    How long had it been since you saw her like this?

    She seemed to notice you, taking her glasses off and flashing you a bright smile, getting up from the bench she was sitting on, and coming to meet you halfway. You looked around, checking for people you knew, before sighing in relief as you made sure the yard was indeed pretty vacant, just like Chan predicted, and opened your arms so she could hug you like she made mention to do.

   “Long time no see!” She chirped, hugging you tightly, and you seized the moment for a bit, her warm embrace making you smile homesickly “You never come back home! We miss you” There was it. You nodded, not really agreeing with her, and broke away from her, a tight smile adorning your lips.

   “Yeah… We just have a lot to do here” You lied “How is it back home? Why are you here?” You asked genuinely curious. She shrugged, grabbing your wrist and guiding you to the bench she was sitting before, sitting down and patting it so you would do the same.

   “I think I will get back with your father” She beamed “He’s in love with me! I wanted you to be the first one to know” You closed your eyes, sighing before you opened them again, looking straight into hers. She looked exactly as you remembered in your childhood… Delusional.

   “Mom, he doesn’t love you…” You said cautiously, searching for any signs of rage on her face, but all you got for an answer was a scoff “He abandoned you, mom… He’s back now, but he doesn’t love you… Please, don’t make a big deal out of it” You pleaded, but now her disgust was plastered all around her face.

   “You were always like this… You never loved him!” She uttered, her voice rising just for a bit, but it made your heart race anyway, afraid she could get out of control “That was exactly why he left us!” She added, her rage made you shrink your shoulders, your eyes unconsciously scanning around to see if anyone was looking, shame imbuing every part of your body.

    “I wasn’t the reason he left” You muttered, her gasp getting your attention again, her eyes accusing you silently.

    “Are you saying I was the reason he left us?” She asked, hatred dripping from her words.

     Yes.

     “No, of course not!” You rushed to say, your lie tasting bitter on your throat, the dry gulp inevitable “We’re not to blame… It was his own fault” You reassured her, your hand making its way to her shoulder before she swapped it away, huffing.

    “You’re unbelievable” She snickered “He came back for me, he has been with me for three years! You can’t understand how much he loves me! How much we belong together!” Her voice was loud now, and you were sure anyone who happened to go through the yard would be watching you “He loved you, Y/N… He even had your photo! Did you know that? He had that tiny photo of you… He never stopped loving you, and you can’t be grateful for what you have!” You bit your lower lip, trying to stay calm, to be the responsible one.

   Again.

   “Are you taking your meds?” You asked tired, your back curved as if you had aged fifty years in this few minutes of talk “Is he giving you your meds?” You asked again, looking in her eyes. She looked at you like you were a bug annoying her, her brows frown as she leaned closer to your face.

   “I don’t need the pills” She spat angrily, her eyes shooting yours “I can take care of myself! Look at me, I’m here, ain’t I? I came here by myself! I don’t need to be enclosed! I’m okay!” She got up from the bench, yelling at you. Finally, some people seemed to notice the commotion, and you could only avert your eyes…

  You could handle it, you always did it.

 “I can take care of myself just like I took care of you!”

   No, you couldn’t.

  “I took care of you” You uttered, your eyes burying in hers “Do you know who didn’t take care of you?! Who didn’t take care of me?!” You yelled back, angry “Him! He didn’t take care of you! He didn’t love you! He doesn’t love you now!” You got up from the bench as well, gesticulating widely as shame and anger mixed up on your guts, the solid presence of eyes fixed on you in the back of your head, fueling it.

   Way to go, Y/N! Just what she needed right now!

   You felt the sting on your cheek before you could process what happened.

   “You don’t even see him at home, you know nothing” She spat, her hand still raised in the air, no signs of regret in her eyes. You felt the tears prickling, your hand trailing to your face slowly before caressing the hot skin, the pain in your chest deeper than what you felt on your face. You didn’t dare to look around, to check people’s reaction, so you just stood there, looking her in the eyes as your vision blurred.

   “Oh my god” You heard a male voice, startled.

   You could recognize it even if you didn’t hear it for three whole years, even if before that you haven’t heard it for a whole ten years of your life… You could recognize it anywhere because it was his voice, the voice who answered you when you first learned to say daddy, the voice that soothed you before sleep, the voice who supported your mother through her depression, the voice that yelled at her when she was being a maniac, the voice that vanished from your life… That voice belonged to the one who had only one task… And failed it.

   “Honey!” Your mother beamed; his eyes landed on her confused before turning to you. He was accompanied by a man in uniform, a Hospital logo on his chest that you promptly recognized as Chan’s family business, he walked over to your mother, guiding her away gently.

   Of course, it was Chan, even when your father showed up to do something useful, it wasn’t his initiative.

   “You suck” You said as you got closer to him, rage bubbling inside you “You just needed to take care of her… Can you do at least one thing right? Can you take care of anyone at all?” You asked exhausted, stopping right in front of him, your eyes held a disappointment that made him shrink.

   “I’m giving it to her… I don’t know what is happening” He defended himself, making you scoff.

   “Did you look under her tongue? Are you sure she’s taking it? Maybe, if you were there you would have known that she may hide the pills and sometimes refuses to take them…” You laughed humorlessly “It’s funny because I learned it at… ten years? And you don’t seem to learn anything at your forties or whatever!” You snorted, pissed off and bitter,”I should know something was wrong though… Her messages were different…“ You mused, drowning in your guilty.

   “I tried to reach for you, but you didn’t pick up…I was hoping she would get better” He admitted and you could only roll your eyes, looking away before averting them back to him in a cold-steel glare.

   “Yeah, because it’s my fault you can’t handle something that I handled just fine as a kid” You spat, disbelief in your eyes “I can see how invested you are in this” You gestured between yourselves, scoffing as he averted his eyes ashamed. You prepared to make your way to your room but as soon as you got past him, he turned around, calling you.

   “I missed you” He muttered, making you spin on your heels.

   “I bet you did” You smiled bitterly “You’re a professional at missing things… You missed a lot of them all this time, didn’t you? I bet you missed me so much! You missed my birthdays a lot!” You laughed bitterly, clasping your hands together and tilting your head “You missed my graduation… You missed all the therapy mom had to take because of you! You even missed the only thing you had to do to try to redeem yourself!” You scoffed, shaking your head in contempt “You missed a lot of things, dad… You’re twelve years too late to miss me now, though” You sighed, turning away from him and walking straight ahead to your dorm.

    As you walked through the yard, heading to the dorms, you could only feel all of your emotions boiling up, tightening your chest, blocking your throat, and turning into tears before you shot your head up, a failed attempt to stop the tears falling down your face as you walked. People didn’t seem to mind your crying though, as you should have expected, since college students were fated to cry about their terms, essays, and all of the troubles college brought to their lives. You could only feel relief as you lowered your head and quickened your pace, people ignoring you.

    As soon as you opened your door, slamming it open in your stupor, you regretted your crying, and your poor choice of place to go, watching as Han and Paris widened their eyes at you, startled by your state. You closed the door behind you, closing your eyes and clearing your throat, your hands hurriedly wiping your tears away before you turned around to look at them with a clearly fake smile that you knew that looked more like a grimace.

   “Sorry for interrupting” You said, voice almost steady “I… Will be in my room” You added, fast walking.

   “I think you should go…” You heard Paris telling him “Y/N, come here, let’s talk” She pleaded. You heard both of them getting up from the couch. You locked your door right after you got to your room and sat on the floor, head burying in your knees as you hugged them. You heard a door opening, probably Han going away, and as soon Paris knocked on your door you started to cry again.

   “I saw them again… She came to talk to me” You blurted, trying to say something coherent but failing it “She said he loves her… She said it’s my fault they got away from each other… She slapped me…” You sobbed now and then, and even though you tried to explain the situation you Knew Paris must feel lost there, not knowing what to say “He said he missed me… I fought with him again, Paris… I’m just like him! I will abandon everyone around me…” You cried hard this time, trying to recompose yourself miserably, grabbing your ears and swinging back and forth, trying to calm down.

  As you hushed yourself, you missed the door closing with a loud bang.

[jamie-leah]

War of Wolves (14)

Season 1

Episode 14 - Behind Enemy Lines 

Bucky x Reader

Summary: You have been on the streets for the past two years, ever since your accident that left you with the ability to tell if someone is lying. You work as an informant for the white wolf and his mob but you had never met him…until you overhear a phone call that leads you to saving his life. Now he wants you to work for him. Its an offer you couldn’t refuse…right?

Word Count: 1805

Warnings: Swearing, aggression, violence 

A/N: Another part for you, feeling rough going into the holiday season so this is for anyone not feeling quite like themselves. I hope you do soon. I also welcome nagging for the next parts because I will forget. Enjoy Lovelies. 

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Steve and Peggy come home a few hours later, just as the movie you and Bucky were watching was over. You can hear them giggling about something and you look at Bucky with a smile. 

They walk into the living room, Peggy rubbing her stomach and Steve’s arm around her waist. You give them a bright smile, “did you guys have fun?”. 

Peggy nods, “yes, thank you so much for offering to babysit while we went on a date”. 

You wave her off, “it’s no problem, the kids were great. Just let us know when you want to do it again”. You all say your farewells as you and Bucky leave and get into the car. 

On the drive back you play with Bucky’s fingers as you say, “can I go shopping tomorrow? In the city?”. 

Bucky looks over at you before looking back at the road, “of course Doll, you don’t have to ask me for permission, just tell me you’re going so I know where you are and safe”. 

You nod, “I know. Its just, I don’t know how to get there because I can’t-well I don’t want to drive”. 

Bucky is lost in thought before asking, “you wanna go tomorrow?”, you nod as he carries on, “okay, I’ll sort something out for you baby-doll”. He smiles at you and you kiss his hand in thanks.

You wake up the next day to another note on the pillow next to you: Morning Doll, come to the office when you’re awake and ready to go shopping. I love you, B. 

You smile at the last words as butterflies flutter in your stomach and chest. You get dressed and skip down the stairs and make your way to his office. 

You don’t knock as you walk in to see Sam and Steve at the desk with Bucky and another man you can’t see who it is from behind. 

They stop talking as you get closer and the guy turns around. It takes you a minute but when you realise who it is you smile and hug him. You pull back to him giving you a smile too, “Ray! I can’t believe its you!”. 

Ray used to be your handler when you were a homeless informant. You both got on quite well and you wondered now and then if you would ever see him again. He chuckles, “hi Y/N”. 

You look at Bucky and then back at Ray, “what are you doing here?”. 

Bucky answers for Ray, “I thought that he could drive you into the city and keep an eye on you for me, since I have to stay here and sort out this problem”. 

You smile at him and then at Ray, “thank you Ray. Is it okay if you bring the car around and I’ll join you in a sec?”. 

He nods and heads out of the office. You turn to Bucky, “thank you”. You lean over the desk and give him a kiss. 

He smiles which turns into a smirk as you say, “can I have some money for shopping?”. 

He reaches a hand inside his suit jacket and pulls out a card holding it out for you. You just stare at it for a while before he waves it, “its yours. Keep it, there’s plenty of money in there”. 

You take it slowly, “do I even want to know how much is in there?”. 

He laughs, “just don’t go buying a mansion and I think you’ll be fine”. 

You kiss him again and whisper, “I love you”. 

You see a blush creep into his cheeks slightly as he fights a smile. Before you pull away completely he whispers, “I love you too”.

You catch up with Ray on the drive to the city which distracts you from the anxiety of being in the car. It goes by quickly and before you know it Ray is parking up and you’re getting out of the car. 

You both grab some food first after the long drive and catch up further and then Ray follows you as you pick which shops to go in. You were shopping in the men’s section of a shop which prompted Ray’s next question, “so, you and Bucky huh?”. 

You smile at him, “trust me, I did not plan on it happening”. 

You were searching for his size on the rack for a red Henley shirt when Ray says, “I think you guys suit each other”. 

You laugh, “yeah, a homeless girl and a mob boss”. 

He goes serious for a second, “he was homeless too at some point in his life”. 

You look over to Ray surprised, “I didn’t know that”. 

Ray nods like he understands why he wouldn’t tell you, “he doesn’t like talking about it. I only know because some of the boys who worked under the old boss knew about it and told me”. 

You think about it for a while as you pick up a range of Henley shirts and jeans for him. It does make sense that he makes use of homeless informants. He would know how useful they were for spying and you understand why he didn’t tell you, since you weren’t thrilled telling people you were homeless either.

You and Ray talk as you pick up a few more things. You go into a kid shop thinking about Sarah and Joseph as you ask Ray, “are you married Ray?”. 

He chuckles, “no, I’m not. I have a girlfriend though…we haven’t told anyone yet, but we found out last week that she’s pregnant”. 

You look at him with shock and happiness, “oh wow! Congratulations Ray! That’s wonderful. Well, if you see anything here you want to get-“. 

He waves you off, “oh no, I couldn’t”. 

You shake your head, “honestly Ray, its nothing. If you see something, tell me and I’m getting it”. He gives you a grateful smile as you look at new born clothes with him. 

You were laughing with him about what one t-shirt said until shadows fall across the two of you. You glance behind you and stiffen. It was Isaac Williams being trailed by two rather big looking guys. 

He smiles at you, not even acknowledging Ray, “expecting, are you?”. 

You put the baby shirt back, “no”. 

He keeps his creepy smile, “then why were you looking at baby clothes?”. 

“It’s not really any of your business”, you keep your words clipped. You’re finding it harder to be civil with him after finding out what he did to those men. 

You can feel Ray get slightly closer to you as Isaac loses the fake kindness in his smile, “that was rude Y/N. I was only asking you a question”. 

You narrow your eyes at him, “and what exactly are you doing here?”. 

“I had business to attend to”, he keeps it vague on purpose. 

You don’t let up, “in a kid store?”. 

He chuckles, “elsewhere. But I saw you coming in and couldn’t help myself”. 

You grab Ray’s arm and look at Isaac, “well, as fun as this was, we need to get going”. 

Isaac slides smoothly, blocking your escape, “I would like to invite you to carry on this conversation back at one of my estates”. 

Alarm bells start ringing loudly in your head and you have to fight the urge to reach for your phone and speed dial Bucky, “like I said, me and my friend have somewhere else to be”. 

Isaac laughs, “oh silly me, its my fault. I guess invitation implies that I’m giving you a choice”. 

Your heart races as you stare at him. You feel Ray move and so do Isaac’s guys. They reach behind them like they’re about to pull a weapon, so Ray stops. 

Isaac tuts, “now now, let’s not make this difficult. I just want to get to know you better Y/N, without Bucky around”. 

Anger spikes in you, “well I don’t want to get to know you better. So, I’ll pass”. 

You stare at each other for a few minutes and you barely register the flick of his fingers before one of his guys punches Ray in the face. Ray ends up on the floor from the surprise attack as the same guy kicks him. 

You start to go to Ray when Isaac yanks you back. Another kick lands into Ray and you look around the shop to find it pretty much empty and no one looking. You can’t risk calling for help and others getting hurt.

You turn to him, venom in your eyes, “stop it. Leave Ray and I’ll come with you”. When he lets you go, his guy backs away from Ray. You go over to Ray and check him over. You see he’s bleeding from his lip as he coughs from the kicks. 

He whispers, “don’t go with him for me”. 

You take a tissue out of your pocket and dab at his lip, “its fine Ray, we don’t really have many other choices, do we? Just ring Bucky and tell him it was Isaac Williams”. 

That’s all you get to say to each other as Isaac clears his throat, “let’s go before we make a scene. Nice meeting you Ray”. 

You lay a hand on Ray’s shoulder before getting up and walking with Isaac out the store. You’re silent when you get into the car. Isaac gets in the back with you. 

It wasn’t long into the ride when Isaac turns to you, “give me your phone”. 

You don’t even look at him when you ask, “why?”. 

He sighs, “because I’ve told you to”. 

You laugh before saying, “what’s the point in giving you my phone when you and I both know that Ray is calling Bucky right now”. 

You hear annoyance seeping into his voice, “yes, I’m well aware of that. I just don’t want you getting any ideas of recording our conversations or letting Bucky listen to it”. 

You feel your stomach knot as you carry on defying him. You know you should just do what he asks, but you’re stubborn and it makes you even more sick complying with him. So, you stare straight ahead and ignore him. 

His hand whips out and grabs your arm hard. You feel his fingers dig in as you turn to look at him. His expression is dark as he yanks on your arm pulling your body closer in the car. His voice is low when he speaks again, “give me your phone”. 

You give him a disgusted look as you use your other hand to reach in your pocket and pull out your phone. He snatches it off you and pushes you away from him, “see? That wasn’t so hard was it?”. 

You just scoot into the corner of the car and look out the window, fighting the urge to be sick.

WoW Taglist: @a-really-bi-girl @crazyblonde124 @summerwelsh @scuzmunkie @loving-life-my-way @Pequenaguaxinim @paranoid-borderline-insane @lilsonbucky @somanyfandomsblog @broco8 @inquisitor-selvala @mad-red @k-n-e @rinkashirikitateku @duhh-danielly @boundtomyfate @kalesrebellion @booktease21 @whatinthyworld @flyingbabyunicornnamedangel @asapkyndall @yaszx @amoredashley @aveatquevale @putinovertime @melimelbean @voltage-my2dlove @lokilokilokilokilokiloki

[karimjohnson]

Lights Up: I’m Not Ever Going Back (Part 1)

Merry Christmas everyone! I have been so busy here lately. The holidays are always a busy time of the year. I love my family and I wanted to spend some quality time with them. I took a trip to see my friend of 17 years and we haven’t seen each other in person for 6 years. Then my parents had their birthdays. I had to work on top of all of that and work has been super busy. And now it’s Christmas?! Time has been flying and I apologize so much for slowly updating and writing. But lucky for you guys, I have two parts for you! I’m excited to post some more! Thank you for being patient and reading. My inbox is always open for suggestions! I love you guys and I hope you like it! Much love- K

Masterlist

Summary: While on vacation with Harry and his bandmates; there is a huge storm that causes a power outage. You hate storms because you get really bad anxiety. Harry finds you hiding in your room. He tells you that you can stay in his room with him. 

Pairing: Harry x Reader

Rated: PG (Fluff)

Part 2

________________________________________

I was currently on vacation with some of my closest friends. Harry had invited me on a trip with his bandmates to the Caribbean Island for some inspiration for his new album coming up. We were all in this big house with the beach close by. There was a pool and patio out back where they did most of their writing during the early mornings and in the afternoon. I had gone to town a few times to just look around and see the culture. We all had gone to the beach a few times because they didn’t want me to feel left out in anything. I honestly didn’t feel left out at all.

I have heard a little bit of the songs that they had been working on and it all sounded amazing. I just like to be surprised with Harry’s music, hence the reason why I just mind my business while they work. I was currently in the living room watching TV, just trying to relax while everyone was outside working. Out of nowhere, I hear a loud crack of thunder strike and see a huge light flash outside. I jumped looking towards the back glass sliding door to see everyone rushing inside. “What’s going on,” I asked while picking myself up off the couch and rushing over to Mitch and Harry. “There’s a huge storm starting,” Harry said looking down at me. I looked around the group to peek outside.

Sure enough, it was dark and gray outside. The clouds twisted in the sky as it started pouring down rain. I absolutely hated storms. I could never sleep when the thunder boomed. It always made me jump. The lightening was always so blinding and would light up the whole room. I sighed and looked back to Harry, “I’m sorry that the rain cut into your work.” He shrugged as they all sat there instruments down in the kitchen. “It’s okay, we could always work inside. We were about to take a break anyway for some snacks. Do you want to join,” he asked with a sweet dimpled smile. I smiled back to him and nodded, “Sure, I could use a snack.” He chuckled and turned into the big white kitchen.

Everyone got their choice of snacks and sat down talking in their own conversations. I was eating some fruit that Harry and I cut up. I listened to everyone talking trying to drown out the storm that was coming down heavy outside. “Well, should we get back to work,” Ny asked looking to everyone. “Yeah, Y/N did you want to listen,” Harry asking turning to me. I blushed and bit my bottom lip. “I rather be surprised H. You know that. I need a shower anyway. You all go ahead and take over the living room,” I smiled to him and started cleaning up my mess. They all cleaned up after themselves as I headed for the stairs.

I hated declining the offers to listen to the magic they were working so hard on. But this storm was not slowing down anytime soon, and I was getting anxious. There was something about storms that just get my anxiety boiling over. I was not going to make it through a song with all the thunder causing me to jump. I walked into my room I was staying in and got everything ready for a relaxing bath. I started the water and added some bubbles. This will work, right? I started undressing and added a new face mask I brought with me. I had my hair pulled up and my face mask on. I climbed into the warm bath and leaned back closing my eyes.

Everything seemed to be calm for once since the storm started. I could hear some guitars and harmonies coming from downstairs. I smiled to myself and just felt the peace settle in. After a little while, I decided to get out and throw on my pajamas. Plus, I needed to wash my face off. I wrapped the towel around me and walked to the sink. I took a washcloth and ran some water over it. I started washing off the mask. Once that was done, I decided to brush my teeth. As I leaned down to spit, the lights went out. I looked up and around the bathroom. Oh god, please tell me this is a joke. I walked over to the light switch and started flipping it. Nothing. Complete darkness.

I started to slightly freak out to myself. I hate the dark and I hate storms. I cannot stress that enough. I started getting dressed in the dark and walked to my bed trying not to fall. I grabbed my phone off the nightstand and climbed underneath the covers. I pulled them over my head as my phone vibrated. It was a text from Harry. ‘Power is out. Not sure when it will be back on yet. Are you okay? -H.’ I sighed and closed my eyes as thunder cracked outside my window. I jumped feeling my heart rate go up. I was not getting any kind of sleep tonight. I sighed and made myself as comfortable as I could. I gently closed my eyes wishing for sleep to take over my anxious mind. Another rumble of thunder filled my empty room and lighting struck, igniting my whole room in a blinding white light.

My breathing started to pick up and I tried my best to control it. I rolled onto my back inhaling a deep breath trying to relax my body. I started to hear a few voices out in the hallway. I guess everyone is trying to find a light source for their music session. Then a small knock filled my now quiet room. I didn’t move right away because I thought I just imagined it. I heard the door creak open and I slowly pulled the blankets down from my head. I looked over into the dark room towards the door to see Harry’s silhouette posted against the doorframe. “Y/N, you okay? I forget how much you hate storms,” his raspy voice filled my ears, and I could feel myself starting to blush from embarrassment. “It’s not your fault. Honestly, I forget about it too,” I whispered as I played with the comforter on my bed.

“Are you going to be able to sleep tonight,” Harry asked as he shuffled towards the bed. I looked up at him and felt my face just fall flat. “Probably not,” I answered him and looked towards the window. The wind had picked up outside causing the tree branches to clash against my window. I cringed at the noise and tried to ignore it as best as I can. I could see Harry watching my expressions to decide on his next move. “Well, we all cleaned up the living room. We decided to call it night on the songwriting,” he sighed as he took a seat on my bed. I looked at him with a small smile. “Were you able to shower and relax some,” Harry asked nodding towards the bathroom. “Yeah, I felt somewhat relaxed. The power decided to shut off as I was brushing my teeth. So, I just got dressed and curled into bed,” I pouted slightly and shrugged up to him.

He chuckled and I could see him playing with his rings. “Well, do you want someone to stay up with,” Harry asked looking to me with dimpled smile. I rolled my eyes and laughed a little. “You don’t have to stay up with H. I appreciate it but you need your sleep,” I say nudging him with my foot a little. “So? I can still have a crazy sleep schedule if I choose to. We can go in my room if you want,” he said playfully nudging me back. “I could help distract you from the storm in some way,” he spoke up and I raised a brow at him. After a few more minutes, Harry finally persuaded me to go to his room with him.

We walked to his room and I walked to his bed. Harry had walked into his bathroom and started doing his nightly routine. I laid back on his bed and looked up to the ceiling. I could still hear the loud storm roaring outside the house. I sighed and sat up looking into the bathroom door. Harry was brushing his teeth indicating that he was about to come back out to the bedroom. I leaned back and just played with his comforter. I felt the bed sink down and I looked up to see a pair of green eyes watching me carefully. “You okay, love,” he asked tilting his head a bit. “Yeah, I was just waiting on you to come back out here. What are we going to do with no power,” I asked and bit down on my bottom lip. We weren’t able to turn on a movie or anything. “Well, we could talk until we fall asleep,” he shrugged as I looked up at him. There was something about the way the moonlight hit his face in the darkness. I slowly felt myself falling into some kind of trance watching him.

“I guess we could,” I whispered looking down at my hands. I felt him move around the bed and I looked to him. He was laying down with his arms open for me. I smiled and blushed at his actions. Harry and I have been close friends for a while. It’s not like it was weird to cuddle with your best friend or anything. Everyone does it, right? I crawled up and wrapped my right arm around his toned tattooed covered torso. I tucked my left arm into his side as I placed my head down on his chest. I took in his scent and my mouth began to water. I could feel his breathing. He seemed slightly nervous but mainly happy. His heart was beating a little faster against his chest than normal. I looked up to him as I started to play with his shirt.

“So, are you having a good time here? I know it kind of sucks when we all come together to write. I was worried about bringing you out here because I don’t want you to feel left out,” Harry spoke to me softly. I could feel his fingers twirl my hair around and tickle my scalp. I smiled to myself and thought about how our week has been going. “I don’t feel left out at all. I just like to be surprised to hear your new stuff the day you release it. I think we all have had fun here. You guys have been so great to me. You made sure to do stuff with me before you all have your music sessions at night. I really am having a great and relaxing time here H,” I whispered looking up to meet his gaze. He was watching me with a big grin on his face.

“What,” I asked looking at him as I started to worry that I said something wrong. “Nothing,” he chuckled and poked my cheek. “Harry, seriously what is it,” I asked sitting up to balance myself to look at him better. “It’s not bad,” he smiled tucking a piece of my hair behind my ear. “You are just cute,” he winked at me and I felt warmth running to the apples of my cheeks at his compliment. “Harry don’t be so lame,” I scoffed and hit him playfully with a pillow. He started laughing and grabbed his self a pillow. We both moved to sit on our knees while we got more into our pillow fight. Our breathless laughs filled the room. I kept going even though I was losing my breath the harder I went.

    A roaring clash of thunder and lighting struck, my body tensed up and I immediately curled up into a ball squeezing the pillow in my embrace. I shut my eyes tightly trying to make the moment pass. I could feel Harry hovering over my small frame. He wrapped one arm around my waist to pull me closer to him. His other hand gently caressing my cheek. “Shh, it’s okay Y/N,” he whispered to me while running the pad of his thumb along my cheek. I took a deep breath and nuzzled myself into his touch. His presence was helping my nerves feel at ease. “You can open your eyes love, it’s just me,” he spoke softly to me. I slowly let my eyes flutter open and I was met with those green ivy eyes. I let out my breath and sighed as the relief finally hit me.

Harry smiled down at me causing me to smile back up at him. “Feel better,” he asked softly. I couldn’t help but get chills as his breath ran across my face. “A little bit yes,” I nod and realize that he has me semi-pinned to the bed. Harry is beautiful. He wasn’t making me uncomfortable at all. I had just never been this close to him. Sure, anyone who meets Harry is head over heels for him. He was everything. And to think, me crushing on my best friend, how cliché. I took in all his features as the moonlight caught them in all the right ways. I could see Harry watching the expressions and gears turning in my head. He inched his face a tab bit closer to mine. Our lips brushed against each other causing me to gasp at the feeling.

[dezemberzwolf]

I keep thinking about this bit from a certain masterpost and it's:

“Salieri was in stature small rather than large, neither fat nor lean, of a brunette complexion, lively eyes, black hair, temperament choleric, quick tempered.” –Ignaz Franz von Mosel

Because I kinda wanna hear your thoughts about it, specifically the 'temperament choleric' and 'quick tempered' bits and how it can somehow influence FGO Salieri's Man in Grey part in some way

okay first i digress: i am not sure how i feel about the title of the masterpost, considering as a historian i am noooooot the biggest fan of trying to post-mortem diagnose people (especially because a lot of the stuff they submit as ‘im diagnosing this guy as autistic’ is like buddy, i have 90% of those traits. its why i find salieri hilariously relatable. im not autistic, im adhd, can we as like people on the internet and not historians stop trying to slap modern labels on non-modern people. i dont even like people putting specific lgbt labels on historical figures who were known to be non-cishet but without a self-chosen id) but it is otherwise interesting little tidbits :)

anyways, that particular pet peeve of mine aside:

nyahahaha i unironically love irl salieri being a crotchety bastard it makes him so delightful i want to hang out with him so bad. i think he would fit in at family card night.

i do know that a lot of both mozart and salieri in fgo were based heavily on the amadeus movie, and a few little tidbits from l’opera rock (thanks pfalz for confirming you watched that one) so i think these parts would be involved in fgo both as historical and as much as they’re involved in other takes on salieri. fgo salieri is an amalgam, intentionally, so there’s that.

the physical part of that description does also make me think of the living salieri design pfalz did, which i very much love:

lively eyes :) [me crying about how cute this salieri is]

aaaaanyways with regard to the volatile emotive state and being quick to anger, that much is pretty obvious. salieri in fgo is a perfectionist who is very quick to fly into irritation, sticking himself in endless positive feedback loops of emotion he has a hard time getting out of unless someone forces him to snap back. in lb1 he goes from manic to “oh god my music sucks and im worthless” in the span of two seconds, his ability to snap into ‘ill kill mozart’ grey man mode is split-second in oniland, and in passionlip’s interlude it’s implied that while teaching her to play piano he either got so mad he transformed or that she simply saw him as monstrous. (the last one there is kind of not entirely his fault, considering lip’s passive skill forces people to get violent with her even if they wouldn’t normally, but it does definitely imply a temper.)

grey man destabilizes his emotions heavily, and a lot of these flickers and rapid back-and-forths are in direct response to being under stress. when he’s not stressed he’s pretty even - unfortunately, he’s usually stressed. very minor things set him off, but on the other hand, a lot of what he’s worried about is his and others’ safety. salieri thinks himself directly dangerous, which could potentially be due to his knowledge of himself as volatile. i think it’s more due to his knowledge of himself as ‘a thing that brings death’ and not wanting to get anyone else caught up in his fire.

avengers as a class are extremely emotion-based. you cannot become an avenger without wanting revenge, and that in itself is a choice that is always made out of anger. avengers are driven by their emotion and their wants more than any other class, the want to destroy or to protect or to find something that is theirs. they are a class of stubborn, stubborn anger.

either way! uhm, in conclusion, since this was very stream of consciusness analysis: i do think that the implied volatility of those temperaments in irl salieri are present in fgo salieri, fgo salieri is more very deeply affected by his own depression and anxiety, he is very clearly mentally unwell and that causes him to have easily triggered episodes of anxiety or mania-depression swings rather than anger

it’s also a personal headcanon of mine that whatever salieri does feel, he does not feel it in a minor sense or on the middle end of the spectrum. he is either at a 0 or a 10 on a scale, there’s no range. when he’s upset, he’s upset. check his valentines scene, he goes from ‘casual and generally amiable’ to ‘absolutely freaking the fuck out’ in like, a sentence. quick tempered for every temperament, pinging between emotions in a way that actively exhausts him because it’s just hard to feel so much all the time.

[tisthepoetl]

There are many stressors in a modern day lifestyle.

Usually these include the looming threat of death, the monotony of working for currency that stopped being useful years ago and deer.

There are so, so many stressed people. Made worse by the apocalypse that didn’t happen, the riots that most definitely happened, and the negotiations that have been “in progress” for the last few years.

The amount of rapid budget changes are stressing out some people. The amount of rapid cultural exchange is stressing people out. If you work in any field, any field at all, you are likely to be stressed as all hell.

Eventually, they have to pick someone on the ship to be shown as an expert negotiator. No one is prepared for this. Most of them are middle men, most of them don’t have a clue what they’re supposed to be doing, and all of them are panicking.

So they drew straws. The most important decision of all time is made by dumb luck, and honestly that’s a pretty good metaphor for everything happening right now.

Name someone on their haphazard crew and they will have a conflict of interest. Name one member and they will be grossly under qualified.

America has four ambassadors out of the eight chosen. Not because they’re the most presentable, or the most qualified, or the best possible choice, but because they overpaid for a privilege nobody wanted.

If all of this goes to hell they're getting the blame. And if they get the blame the only plan is to point at whoever was voluntold to be leader and pray for leniency.

Every part of this is a desperate attempt to stall before the actual powers back home have found a way to bullshit having any actual control of things.

It shows.

It really, really shows.

So, who was the unlucky scapegoat for the possible downfall of all of humanity?

If you guessed Samantha who wasn’t supposed to even be on this ship, you would be correct!!

Seriously, she was the back up for someone who was almost conceivably qualified. Sort of, if you squinted and ignored the fact they were only there via nepotism, only to be pulled out once everyone realized they were sacrificial lambs.

And then the replacement was also saved from this bullshit via bribery and blackmail and probably some other third sketchy thing she doesn’t know about.

So, here she is, Samantha who had planned on changing her name before realizing she wasn’t getting out of this. Samantha, the replacement for the replacement who was chosen by a lottery held only for the illusion of equal opportunity.

There are literally billions and billions of people whose lives will be affected by whatever she ends up doing. Countless children, parents, lovers and friends and siblings. All of whom would either die or live by whatever ends up happening.

Luckily, she has one coping mechanism which never fails: Repression!!

So she thinks about literally anything else. Thinks about her favorite song as the ship nears the giant towering shape of the Galactic Senate’s meeting place. Thinks about fluffy dogs as she is led by the hand through walls and portraits and treasures with descriptions she can’t read because there are no translators yet.

Thinks about her mother, thinks about her sibling, thinks about the fact everyone could literally die and it would be her fault, and wow she’s already here.

The meeting place has a mouthful name that she could only pronounce if she managed to dislocate her jaw, grow a new set of teeth, and get a proboscis. Everyone calls it the Meeting Place, because again, there are no working translators, they all have to rely on vague equivalents.

The Meeting Place is a moon sized ship, so incomprehensibly large that any species will be able to fit. It has a dock, and a large empty room with nothing in it except for alien leaders who could slaughter them all at a whim.

There are no chairs. The temperature is set to “Mildly unpleasant but liveable.” Unity and democracy means that everyone is equally uncomfortable, because this exact temperature is workable for most species.

Samantha feels a chill down her spine, both from the cold and the fact that so many of them are glaring at her. She is in the center, her crew is placed too far away to help her, and their borrowed ship is miles away from where they are now.

She prays to the gods she doesn’t believe in and hopes she can stall well enough for the clusterfuck back home to get their shit together.

“H…” she starts eloquently. She tries to refind where the rest of humanity’s first impression was stationed, but her view is blocked by the hundreds of giant aliens. “He..llo?” she finishes.

There’s a click, and she flinches back because what if that’s a weapon. A small cube clatters to the ground in front of her, before popping up and showing a hologram.

She would be visibly impressed, in awe, if it weren’t for the fact she’s half sure these diplomats could take any reaction as an insult.

She wouldn’t be able to explain herself either, it’s too early for any sort of translator to have been made, it’s too early for anything about human body language to be common knowledge.

The crowd surrounding her rustles, fins are raised and noises are made and colors are changed. It means something, probably, but she can’t tell what.

The hologram cube makes a loud, ear splitting sound, like a mix between a flatlining heart in a movie and a fire alarm going off. It snaps her out of her spiraling.

There are two large lines pointing at a screen that is pulsing with the most neon red she’s ever had the unfortunate luck of seeing. She stares at it, and realizes it’s a quiz.

Well, more like a shitty rushed powerpoint. Like something you would make in under an hour for the fun of it.

It says, “What Human Want [Ask],” and she has the sneaking suspicion that whoever made this wasn’t trying very hard. Underneath are barely recognizable butcherings of numbers, listing answers from one to three.

“1. Want hurt. Want no us. Lone want.”

“1nd. Want love. Want share. Want us help.”

“1rd. Want no meet us. Want late meet. Want lone.”

All of it is….confusing to say the least. At this point she doesn’t even know if this is a joke or not.

Then again this wasn’t supposed to be her job, she doesn’t understand them either, and maybe they were genuinely trying here. But then again there are so many of them, they probably have enough resources to make at least a dozen Earths and this meeting took multiple years to take place.

The red that flashed before flashes again, than flashes a disturbingly real fingerprint on top of the answers.

She presses the second one, and wills herself to not regret it immediately. Love, sharing, help, all of that sounds good.

Except what if the help is from humanity? What if their definition of help, share, love is killing everyone ever living and she just doomed it all?? What if it means—

“[Greeting] [Greeting Happy] [Greeting Love] [Greeting Happy Angry Bored] [Greeting (Deragotory)]” a voice drones through a translation of the crowd. Samantha wonders when this will be over, and if she’s going to die of anxiety before that happens.

“[Greeting Small Childish] [Greeting Sad Fear] [Greeting (Endeared)] [Greeting Pain Hurt] [Greeting Love Fear Pain]” it doesn’t stop, running through every risen scale and moving limb to translate some vague approximation.

The aliens have translators. The translators are awful. This is taking so much time, which is good for the mission of stalling and bad for Samantha’s sanity.

“[Species Name (Derogatory)] [Mother (Derogatory)] [Criminal (Deragot—]“ the whole crowd is making noise, some like barks and some like tweets and some like a monster out of hell.

And all of them seem to be arguing? Or insulting each other? Either way it continues on for a long stretch of time with nothing but noisy aliens and a robotic voice reciting nonsense that always ends in “(Derogatory.)”

“[Wrong: Too long.] [Wrong: Too fast.] [Wrong: No word Human.]” The sounds are longer, most of the crowd making them rising and puffing out to be bigger. “[Plea Slow.] [No Word for Our Word.] [New Local Child Pet Ally speak.] [No word for Our Word.]”

Samantha realizes once again, that she should’ve left when she had the chance. And never entered that stupid lottery.

“[I hate every single one of you.] [Stop! The Ally-New-Child-Local may hear.] [You are all stupid [Species Name]]” the noises transition into understandable sentences. “[The small Diplomat-Traveler will be confused. Stop.] [They are doing fine. They will not understand our words.] [When is that useless translator going to update, Myy-Rrr-Pl?]”

Humanity as a whole can only take so much. One human as a whole can only take so much. She is halfway to a mental breakdown, fully confused and honestly she just wants to go home. This is the kind of wonder she would love if she didn’t have to personally deal with the consequences.

So she goes the way of most unqualified, underpaid workers, and gives up. She isn’t going to scream or sabotage anything, but her ability to feel was already warring with the tempting concept of not giving a fuck.

She speaks, for the second time. “I can hear you. And I don’t much appreciate being called a child.”

“[.....]” the crowd is finally silent. She basks in the peace.

“[I told you to stop confusing the Ambassador.] [Shut up Myy-Rrr-Pl. You didn’t even get these made right, we had to make a presentation, that’s how awful you and your tech were.] [It's working now, okay?]” The peace was lovely while it lasted.

“Humanity wants, uh, to not be dead,” she says. “And to not be enslaved either. Or like used as food.”

“[Can you understand it?] [Of course I can, I’m the one who learned the language.] [You barely learned it. You put half that presentation into a free-use translator.]” they keep talking, keep barking, chirping, hissing over her. “[This is a disaster.] [It’s not that bad. My presentation went over well enough.] [Myy-Rrr-Pl shut your beak about that [intercourse (derogatory)] thing.]”

“CAN YOU BE QUIET FOR ONE SECOND??” Samantha shouts above the arguing ambassadors. There is only so much she can tolerate, the noise alone is irritating but the senseless, contextless bickering is unbearable

“This is ridiculous,” she continues. “I don’t even know what’s going on, none of you dropped us an explanation. Why can I suddenly understand you? Who the hell is Meer-er-pull? And what the fuck is going on?”

There is no more translation, and nothing to translate into constant robotic rambling. There is no peace in the silence, just an underlying tension as every alien in the room turns to stare her in the eyes.

She wonders if she’s fucked up, if she’s doomed literally all of humanity because she couldn’t tolerate it all and lashed out. There’s an apology on the tip of her tongue, but she can’t manage to push it out through the indignation and fear.

No one breaks the silence. None of them speak. Samantha’s momentary confidence wavers and she considers making a run for it before realizing there are more of those giant aliens stationed at every exit.

“[....Aumko, I think we may have [intercourse (deragotory)] this beyond fixing.] [Feces (Derogatory) Feces (Derogatory) Feces (Derogatory)—]” Luckily, it doesn’t sound like she’s going to be executed for this. Unluckily, the aliens are just as unprepared as they were, and it wasn’t going to get any less confusing, was it?

“[I told you [Anatomical Feature (Exapserated)] that we should’ve started with a smaller group of diplomats. Instead of a “proper” meeting with everyone involved, we should’ve picked one from each of the 3 species, then gone from there. That would’ve been—]”

“I’m not getting any less confused here!!” Samantha cuts off the alien. “I’m not getting any younger either, I’m sick of your childish bickering, get over it and give me an explanation. Please, for the love of god.”

There’s a moment of pause as the translator spits out a bunch of meaningful white noise. It takes a couple moments before one of the birds speaks up.

“[We should cancel this until another time,] the bird chirps. Which isn’t satisfying, which isn’t an explanation, but hey it does technically fulfill the mission of stalling. And honestly she’s taking any win she can get from this. “[We’ll meet up with one of their diplomats, in a less noisy location. They’ll meet with one ambassador from each of our species.]

“[That doesn’t make sense though!!] [How will we even choose?] [A smaller meeting would be a sign of disrespect, we must show that we don’t view the New-Ally as lesser.]” the noise starts up again immediately.

“[SHUT UP!!]” roars one of the giant bears in a show of irritation that she can relate to on a spiritual level. “[Myy-Rrr-Pl will serve as the [Error: No suitable translation]’s ambassador. I’ll be the second ambassador. The third will be Kss’ta.]

There are ruffled feathers, low growls, no outward arguments but no agreements either.

“[I will quite literally fight anyone who decides to waste my time any further.] the bear is...puffing up? The mane of fur around its neck is puffed up like the pelt of an angry cat. “[Myy-Rrr-Pl is the only one who can even half speak the language, and who has the most context. Even if her presentation was awful.]”

“[I’m going to be there personally to ensure this doesn’t happen a second time. And Kss’Ta is the only one of you [Species Name] [Intercourse (Derogatory)] who doesn’t argue around in circles.”

The crowd is unhappier than ever. The bear speaking sounds done with it all. Samantha is too exhausted to give a shit at this point, and just decides to be glad it’s finally over, for now.

“[Is everyone here agreed with me?”] it flares about the room, ears pinned flat to its head and mane big enough to engulf the whole of its neck. All of the crowd flinches back, no one argues too vehemently, though complaints are muttered.

The bear turns to Samantha. “[You have my apologies for my own behavior, and the behavior of these [Species Name (Derogatory)]. We’ll escort your ship back to your station.]”

Relief hits her in a mix of “it’s finally over,” and “thank fuck no one died.”

Everyone leaves, with the mission sort of accomplished, with the peace talk sort of working, and a compromise no one is happy with. Except for Samantha.

But then she learns she’s the ambassador for humanity again, and a piece of her dies at the revelation.

Humanity’s welcome to the galaxy was chaotic, idiotic, ill prepared, and an overall clusterfuck of literally galactic proportions.

At least no one died.

[alixanonymous]

Why I Ship MariBat & Why I Don’t Think It Makes Me A Bad Person (An Almost  Essay)

I want to start this post with a disclaimer: I do not speak on behalf of all MariBat fans and am in no way trying to. I just feel like as someone who is a part of the Miraculous fandom as a whole, I sometimes feel like I have to justify why I like MariBat. All I’m trying to do here to explain my personal reasons for liking it and not in any way hate on anyone who doesn’t.

1. How I Got Into The Fandom & Why I Stayed

I can’t really tell you the exact place it started. I think I was just looking through MLB fanfiction on AO3 and Tumblr and slowly started noticing Damian Wayne popping up more and more. I actually had to Google who he was and that’s when I found out that apparently there were a lot more Robins than Dick Grayson. MariBat fanfiction actually made me fall in love with Batman and maybe the DCU as a whole. I recently binged the entire New-52 animated movies to learn about Damian Wayne and trust me as soon as comic books stores reopen, I’ll be there. I just found I was really fascinated by the BatFam and really liked the possibilities that stemmed from having them interact with Marinette. From a Miraculous standpoint, the scope of MLB’s story is still pretty small and at this point still pretty much limited to just the city of Paris even if season three expanded it a bit. So having DC x MLB crossovers adds in this really cool aspect of other superheroes and widens the possibilities. 

2. Why Salt Doesn’t Bother Me 

Oh, boy am I hesitant to go there but I can’t ignore the biggest complaint I see against MariBat shippers. So again, not here to speak on behalf of all salt-lovers, but here’s why I like to read salt or why I don’t get personally offended by people who write salt. As someone who deals with anxiety, I find myself using salt as an outlet sometimes. I see salt kind of like an exaggerated portrayal of things that people like me find to be frustrating. So let me give a specific example. When Alya doesn’t believe Marinette’s claims about Lila lying, as someone who struggled with similar situations between friends, I found reading stories where Lila’s bullying of Marinette was blatantly obvious and seeing how her classmates react to it to be a form of relief since the show has yet to resolve the tension in the class and have Marinette be believed. Do I actually think her classmates are as bad as some stories portray them? No! However, the differences are so apparent that I have no trouble setting apart canon-behavior and how the author writes the character. FanFiction is FanFiction. Any character can be turned into a monster and any monster can be written in a better light in FanFiction. People do it all the time. My love for the source material doesn’t change because I read salt, okay? It’s just a matter of knowing what’s canon and what’s fanfiction;.

3. Adrien In The MariBat Fandom

If there’s one argument I can’t really fault the anti-MariBat people for having, it’s this one. Sexual assault and harassment are serious topics and I can in no way fault people for being upset when they feel it’s being portrayed in the wrong manner. I guess I just want to reiterate my previous points that just because a character is portrayed a certain way in a fanfic doesn’t mean that character is also like that in canon and salt often deals with exaggerated (I don’t know if that’s the right word for it) or amplified behavior. I don’t think Cat Noir’s flirting in canon is actually harrassment and any stories I’ve read that portray him in that light have all illustrated the problem being more serious that, such as him not stopping when Ladybug says no (which she doesn’t in canon) or him pushing for dates after being repeatedly refused. Just because that’s a version of Adrien in a fanfic doesn’t mean the readers see canon Adrien to be like that. Personally, I love Adrien. I ship Adrienette as well. I can just separate the different ways he’s portrayed in stories. [Gotham City is a dark place and the BatFam, especially Damian has a dark backstory so there has to be some OOC writing to meld that with the bright, happy place of MLB’s Paris. For example, some stories do this by describing the mental strain the people of Paris might have to deal with in order to avoid being akumatized which I also find to be an interesting concept in MLB fanfiction.] Lastly, I would just like to point out that not every MariBat fanfic makes him out to be evil. There are just as many that show Adrien being a supportive friend. Again, it comes down to how the writer portrays him and whether you read that story is up to you. 

~ My Point Or The Bottom Line ~

What you ship or don’t ship is your choice and doesn’t have any bearing on if you’re a “true fan”. Again, if you don’t like MariBat, that’s okay! I just hope you can say the same to the people who do! MariBat has made my life a lot bearable these last few months and I love interacting with the other people with me in this fandom. I also love Adrienette (actually Lukanette too and MariGami and a lot more) and the Miraculous fandom as a whole and I really don’t want my love of MariBat to isolate me. I see myself becoming more and more invested in the Batman fandom too so I don’t want to have to always defend my personal ships when everybody has the right to like what they like. Okay? I’m all for friendly discussions but I don’t want to be shamed for what I like. No matter what you ship (As long as it’s legal), you are welcome on my blog and to be my friend! Thank you to anyone who read any of this essay! Man, this is long!

[nerdzzone]

Light After Dark: Chapter One

Summary: Brooke Harris was trying her best to be grateful. As the world tackled the COVID-19 pandemic, she was healthy and safe and so was the rest of her family, but her dreams had very quickly been crushed by the economic fallout. Trapped on the quaint island of Jersey with nothing, but free time to wallow in her mistakes, Brooke’s mental health was taking a hit, but when she collides with a handsome stranger she starts to realize that the future might not be so bleak and there might still be a light at the end of the tunnel.

Pairing: Henry Cavill x OFC

______________

April. 12. 2020

Stress.

Everyone was feeling it these days. Pandemics will do that to people. Especially when the world that everyone knew and loved had crumbled into an entirely different, almost unrecognizable version of itself.

Restaurants were closed. All stores that were deemed non-essential were shuttered. The streets were empty.

It was an odd kind of bittersweet. It was heartbreaking to see all the bustling cities turn into ghost towns, but it was good because it meant that people were listening. People were caring about their vulnerable friends and neighbours, their elderly grandparents, the health care workers who fought tirelessly to save those who needed their help. 

It was a necessary evil, but nevertheless it was odd to see and the uncertainty of how the future would unfold was anxiety inducing.

At first, I wanted as much news as possible. Staying informed of everything happening in every affected country gave me some comfort. It was as if it somehow gave me more control, but I quickly realized that wasn't the case. It gave me no clearer indication of how or when things would end or when some kind of normality would return. It left me overwhelmed and drowning in hypothetical worse case scenarios when really the truth was that no one had any idea. Even the experts couldn't say what would happen next. It was all just guess work and while some of it was educated, most of the articles were not and it was turning me into a nervous wreck.

So I decided to disconnect. I decided to trust that I would be informed when the number of cases dropped and the lockdown was lifted and trust that the process would not be sped up by me consuming as many statistics and projections as I could find.

Turning off was hard though. I wasn't one of the lucky few who could simply do their job from home, I had nothing to fill my days. I had also chosen to isolate with my parents in the lovely house they'd bought a few years earlier on the beautiful island of Jersey. In some ways this was a lucky choice as the risk was far lower than in London where I was living, but it was quaint and the lack of hustle and bustle made me feel even more restless.

Which was how I found myself out exploring the trails. 

My mother had kicked me out of the house when she caught me doing one of my niece’s art projects for her out of boredom. My niece hadn't wanted to do it anyway, so I didn't see the harm, but my mother had reminded me that she was seven and didn't get to just opt out of schoolwork if she wasn't in the mood. She then cited some article she'd found about how the government were still encouraging people who were feeling cooped up to go outside to exercise once a day and tossed me my shoes and bag before pushing me to the door.

I'd wandered sulkily at first, frustrated that at thirty I was in a situation that had my mother tossing me outside the way she did when we were kids and our endless energy was getting on her nerves. But I soon realized she was right. It was a beautiful island and I should appreciate the opportunity to explore it. So I found a map, picked a destination and then hiked for almost an hour until I'd reached the viewing point I was looking for.

I had to admit it was a beautiful view as I looked out over the ocean, sitting on the little bench I'd found, but the peace it brought was short-lived. I started wondering if I really should have sat down at all considering I had no idea who had been there before me. My legs were tired so I had figured it was worth the risk as long as I didn't touch anything, but was it really?

Sighing into the mask that covered my face, it struck me again how strange the world currently was. Two months ago, I wouldn't have thought twice about sitting on a public bench or worried what would happen if another group joined me in the little clearing I'd found, but now every stranger was a potential threat.

I quickly grew frustrated with my negative thoughts. The walk was supposed to get me out of my head and I was annoyed that I couldn't shake it, couldn't think of anything else except the stupid pandemic for even just a few minutes. The mask on my face suddenly felt suffocating and I just wanted to get home so I could rip it off.

Rising from the bench, I checked the time on my phone before tossing it back into my bag with a sigh and heading off down the trails. I was in a world of my own as I walked. Day dreams about how things would be now if none of this had ever happened filled my head and then, when the inescapable reality broke through my thoughts, I pondered what kind of new cocktail I could try when I got home to ease the pang of loss that seemed to constantly fill my stomach.

I was in the midst of drooling over a prosecco and elder flower concoction that I'd recently read a recipe for when suddenly it felt like I was hit by a truck.

I landed on the ground, flat on my back, fighting to breathe as the wind was knocked right out of me. My chest was tight and my vision was blurry as I felt a familiar panic rising in my chest. Did I bring my inhaler? Where was my bag? What had even happened?

As the thoughts raced through my mind, I could vaguely hear the sound of someone next to me.

"Are you alright?" They asked, their tone conveying a similar panic to the one I was feeling. "Shit, I'm so sorry. Are you okay? Can you hear me?"

I nodded as the spasm in my chest subsided, but my weak lungs seemed to struggle to recover from the shock. I coughed into my mask as I forced myself to sit up, looking frantically for my bag and spotted it a few feet off to the side. My breath was coming out in short wheezes as I struggled to move closer to it, but the man was much faster. He thrust it into my arms, watching me like a worried puppy as I quickly dug through it.

Relief flooded through me as my hand wrapped around my inhaler and I quickly pulled down my mask as I pressed it against my lips. It took a few moments, but I felt myself calm down as the tightness began to subside and my body relaxed. It wasn't until I'd taken a few deep breaths that the man spoke again.

"Are you alright?" He repeated, clearly realizing I was in a much better position to actually give a response. "I'm so sorry."

I nodded as I finally took a good look at who I was talking to and suddenly felt like I couldn't breathe again for an entirely different reason. He had a baseball hat pulled low on his head, probably in an attempt to hide his identity, but it didn't work as I realized I was face to face with Superman himself, Henry Cavill.

"Y-yeah, I'm, uh, I'm fine, thanks," I sputtered out. "What happened?"

Henry rubbed the back of his neck sheepishly as he squatted next to where I was sitting on the dusty trail.

"I was running and I crashed into you," He admitted. "I wasn't paying attention and didn't see you around the corner."

"Oh," I nodded, still trying to come to terms with the situation. "I wasn't paying attention either to be fair. It's not your fault."

He pulled a face that made it clear that he didn't necessarily agree with that statement, but he didn't argue.

"Are you really alright?" He asked again, guilt written all over his face. "You fell really hard and then you weren't breathing. I thought I'd killed you."

I snorted a laugh, quickly covering my face as it turned into a cough.

"I'm okay," I insisted, my voice raspy. "And for the record I don't have that stupid virus either. I have asthma. I think I got winded when I fell and it triggered an attack."

"Shit," Henry rubbed his face nervously. "So I almost did kill you."

"Nah," I smiled, appreciating how genuinely bad he felt about the situation. "You can't be blamed for my broken lungs."

He chuckled and flashed me a smile before standing and holding out a hand for me. I took it happily, but once he'd pulled me to my feet another issue became apparent. As soon as I put weight on my left foot, I crumbled into Henry's arms, gasping in pain.

"Whoa, I got you," He soothed as he caught me. "What hurts?"

"My ankle," I groaned, shifting all my weight to my right foot and off of him.

Henry's brow furrowed in thought before his eyes widened like a little light bulb had gone off in his brain.

"There's a park nearby," He informed me. "Can I take you there and look it?"

I raised an eyebrow as I hopped slightly to keep my balance.

"I don't remember the Superman movie where Clark Kent went to medical school."

There was a brief flash of surprise on his face when he realized I knew who he was, but it disappeared almost instantly as he chuckled and shot me a smirk.

"I can't say that he did," He confirmed. "But as someone who had to stay in pretty decent shape for that role, I'm more familiar than I care to admit with sports injuries."

"I don't think being bowled over by a man with muscles bigger than my head counts as a sport," I matched his smirk. "But I would appreciate your opinion if you don't mind looking at it. It hurts quite badly and I'm clueless with this stuff."

"Of course," Henry nodded. "Ready?"

Before I could even answer, Henry had one arm tucked under the back of my knees and was holding me bridal style in his arms. I gasped quietly at suddenly being lifted off the ground, but my surprise quickly turned into awe at the ease with which he had picked me up and how he was now walking quickly down the trail as if I weighed nothing at all. It had been far too long since I'd been in a position this intimate with a man and my mouth suddenly felt dry as his biceps flexed under my back and I couldn't help, but imagine what they would look like if we were in other intimate positions.

Stopping those thoughts as fast as they appeared, I pulled my mask up to hide my reddening cheeks.

"We are definitely not six feet apart..."

My mumbled words were muffled even more by the mask covering my mouth, but the shake of Henry's shoulders as he chuckled and the wink that he shot me made it obvious that he'd heard me loud and clear.

****

"Alright, well, it's pretty swollen, but I don't think it's broken," Henry informed me as he sat on the bench of the picnic table he'd placed me on. He'd spent a few minutes wiggling my foot around, watching my response before announcing his opinion. "I think it's probably just twisted or sprained."

"There goes my dancing career." I sighed dramatically in an attempt to make it clear I was joking, but the slight drop of Henry's jaw and the guilt that riddled his face meant I'd missed the mark. "Kidding! I'm kidding. My lack of coordination killed that dream when I was a child. I'm a baker. Or rather, I was a baker."

Henry quirked an eyebrow at my change of phrasing.

"Decided on a career change?"

I looked down, wishing I hadn't brought it up in the first place. I was starting to accept the way things were, but it wasn't something I was eager to discuss just yet.

"I didn't get a chance to decide really," I started to explain, my voice suddenly coming out much meeker than it had before. "The pandemic kinda made the choice for me."

"Oh," Henry frowned. "Well, it can't go on forever. I'm sure they'll start letting places reopen by the summer."

"Not my place," I smiled half-heartedly in an attempt to hide some of the self-pity I was wallowing in. "I put all my eggs in one basket...A basket which the pandemic then threw off a cliff."

Henry chuckled at my explanation, but there was sympathy on his face.

"Is there no chance you could pick up where you left off?"

I sighed, but shook my head.

"I opened my own bakery in January," I admitted. "I barely had it up and running when the pandemic hit and with my asthma, I'm pretty vulnerable so I closed up shop as soon as things started heading south. I sunk all my savings into it though so I don't have enough to keep it a float. I was past the point of no return after only a few weeks of being shut."

Henry was quiet for a moment and I felt a wave of embarrassment wash over me as I realized that I'd massively overshared my problems with a stranger who was simply trying to make polite conversation. I opened my mouth to spout out some apologies when Henry cut me off.

"I'm very sorry to hear that."

His eyes met mine as he spoke and even though it was a simple sentence, it put me at ease. His eyes were warm and comforting and it was clear there was sincerity to his words. Not wanting to burden him too much though, I simply shrugged.

"It could be worse," I pointed out. "I'm healthy, my family are all healthy. People have lost a lot more to this virus than I have."

"Just because people have lost more, it doesn't make you loss insignificant."

I had heard his words before and I appreciated the sentiment, but it still felt hard to grieve for a lost business when an incomprehensible number of people were grieving for lost loved ones. 

"You sound like my therapist," I teased, feeling a strange warmth in my stomach when a smile slid onto his face. He really was very handsome. It was no wonder why women and men all around the world would kill to get this close to him. "Anyway, I should probably call my dad and see if he can pick me up. I don't think I'll be able to walk home."

Henry nodded and passed me my bag from where it was placed on the ground. He waited patiently as I made the call, arranging for my dad to meet me on the road I could see running past the park just up a small hill. Once it was all set up, I turned back to Henry.

"Thanks so much for all your help," I smiled. "I think I'll be okay for now though, you don't need to waste any more of your day."

"It's not a waste," Henry argued. "Besides, I still maintain this whole mess was my fault so it's the least I can do to help you up that hill when your dad arrives."

"You really don't need to," I insisted. "I can hop or crawl or something."

A laugh slipped from Henry's mouth as he shook his head.

"As entertaining as I'm sure that would be to watch, it wouldn't be very decent of me to let you struggle like that," He held firm, clearly not one to back down easily. "How about as a trade off for my assistance, you can give me your number?"

I snorted a laugh as I looked at him in disbelief.

"You want my number? Is that a joke?"

"No!" He grinned from ear to ear as he fished his phone out of the pocket of his shorts. "It's the least you can do after I gave you my expert medical advice."

"Wow, Mr. Cavill. Very smooth," I smiled, my cheeks heating up as I rattled off my number. He entered it in carefully before looking up at me again.

"Now, I just need a name to go with it."

"Oh! How rude of me." My blushed deepened when I realized I hadn't even introduced myself. "I'm Brooke."

"Brooke," Henry repeated as he typed it into his phone. "It's nice to meet you, Brooke."

"You too," I agreed before deciding it was time to to turn the attention back to him. "So, what brings international superstar, Henry Cavil, to the little island of Jersey?"

"It's my home," He informed me, a fond smile on his face. "I grew up here so when production got shut down due to the pandemic, I decided to come here to isolate with my family."

"What an amazing place to grow up," I said, my words dripping with envy. "You must have had the run of the island!"

"We did," Henry nodded with a chuckle. "I have four brothers so my mother always knew we'd keep each other safe and let us do what we pleased for the most part."

"Four brothers?" My jaw dropped slightly at the thought. "I have one sister and that was more than enough siblings for me."

"It was a lot," Henry agreed. "But it was nice. I love having a big family and we all went to boarding school so there wasn't five of us in the house together all the time."

"That makes it easier," I nodded. "Are you close?"

"Absolutely! I'm closest with my younger brother because we're only two years apart, but we're all quite good friends. We try to get everyone together at least once a year if our schedules permit it."

He grinned as he spoke and it was clear that he loved his family very much. I couldn't help, but return his smile.

"That's really nice."

"Are you close with your sister?"

"I am," I nodded. "It's part of the reason I'm here, I guess. My parents moved here a few years back and she decided to bring my niece here to isolate so they could help look after her. My brother-in-law is a paramedic so he knew things were getting bad long before the lockdown started and he felt it would be safer for her not to be in the house with him in case he gets exposed. My sister is working from home though so home-schooling Molly by herself while trying to do her own work would be tough. Since Jersey is obviously safer for me too with my asthma, I decided to tag along when they came over from London way back at the beginning of March so I can help my sister with Molly too."

I felt like I was rambling and oversharing again, but Henry's eyes were on me the entire time and he never once seemed disinterested. It was refreshing to meet someone who was actually interested in having a proper conversation.

"That sounds like a very sensible choice," He nodded when I was finished my explanation. "It must be hard for your niece to be separated from her dad so I'm sure she appreciates having you around. A couple of my brothers are in the military and I know when they've been deployed, the kids really struggle."

"She's doing better than I expected, but there's days when we can tell she's having a hard time," I admitted. "Are you just isolating with your parents?"

"No, no, we're doing a similar thing to you," Henry smiled. "One of my brothers was over visiting at the beginning of March during a school break so when there was talk of schools closing, they decided to just stay over here. So it's my parents and I, plus my brother, his wife and their three kids. Oh, and my big fluffy dog."

My whole face lit up at the mention of a dog before I could even control myself.

"You have a dog?!" I practically squealed, making Henry's shoulder shake as he chuckled. "Do you have pictures?"

"Of course!"

Henry picked up his phone from where he'd placed it on the table and quickly opened his camera roll. From where I was sitting, perched on the table above him, I could see dozens of pictures pop up on the screen, most of them of a big fluffy, black and white dog. He scrolled for a moment before tapping on one and turning the phone towards me.

"Awwwe," I cooed, looking at the big goofy grin on the dog's face. "What's his name?"

"Kal."

I stared at him for a moment, confusion written all over my face.

"You named your dog Cow?"

Henry tossed his head back laughing, shaking it slowly.

"No, not cow! Kal!" He emphasized the 'L' as he clarified. "As in Kal-El."

"Ooh, I get it," I giggled, realizing my mistake. "Wow, you're a nerd."

"I am," Henry chuckled, not fazed by my jab. "If you think naming my dog after Superman is bad, wait until you hear how I've been spending all this free time."

I wrinkled my nose in mock disgust.

"Let me guess...some video game like...World of Warcraft?"

Laughter once again erupted from Henry, making me laugh at the sight.

"No, surprisingly not," He shook his head. "Even though I did almost miss the call for Superman because I actually was playing World of Warcraft..."

"Oh my god, really?" I raised an eyebrow, finding it hard to believe someone who looked like him was into something that many people consider so uncool. He nodded in confirmation before I got us back the point. "I need to hear that story too, but what have you been doing with your free time then if not gaming? Lifting cars to keep those muscles in perfect condition?"

Now it was Henry's turn to raise an eyebrow.

"Cars?" He questioned, but I simply shrugged in response. "No, not that. Well, I mean, I do spend a good portion of my day keeping fit, hence this fateful run, but what I was referring to is this..."

Henry flipped to a picture on his phone and showed me. I wasn't entirely sure what I was looking at so I took a guess.

"Painting figurines?"

"Pretty much," He nodded. "It's all tied in to gaming. They have a whole world and lore created about it."

I giggled and shook my head in mock disbelief.

"If only your fan-girls could see you now..."

"Oh, they love it," He smirked. "I posted the picture on my Instagram and apparently they find my nerdy side rather endearing."

"They're just blinded by your handsome face," I teased. "And your gentlemanly manners."

"Most likely," Henry agreed with a grin that filled me a warmth. "Speaking of, I think your dad has arrived."

I looked over my shoulder towards the road and spotted a man waving his arms.

"Yep," I nodded, shifting over to the edge of the picnic table. "Now, how are we going to do this? Can I hold your-"

Before I could finish my sentence, Henry had his arm tucked under my knees and lifted me up bridal style once again.

"Show off," I teased, reaching back to grab my bag from the table just before Henry started the walk up the hill. "I think you're just trying to impress me with your strength."

Henry glanced down at me with a smirk on his face.

"Is it working?"

It was, but I shook my head.

"No, not at all," I lied. "If the tables were turned, I could carry you just as easily."

I was jostled slightly as Henry laughed at that bold statement.

"You're much stronger than you look then," He informed me as we got to the top. “Hold on to me now."

I listened to his instruction, keeping one arm draped around his shoulders as he lowered me to the ground, letting me lean my weight on him and off my left foot.

"Henry, what a pleasant surprise!" My dad greeted us, making me raise an eyebrow in suspicion of his rather familiar greeting of my new friend. "What are you doing here?"

"Unfortunately, I'm to blame for your daughter's injuries, Mr. Harris," Henry explained looking rather sheepish once again. "We collided on the path."

"It wasn't his fault," I insisted. "Neither of us were paying attention and he was kind enough to check me out after."

My dad glanced between the two of us, curiosity written all over his face.

"Check you out?"

My cheeks heated up as I realized how he'd chosen to interpret those words and I rolled my eyes.

"Check my ankle out," I clarified. "He says it's probably just sprained, but I can't put much weight on it."

"Well thank goodness Dr. Cavill was here to assist you," My dad teased, his smirk making me suddenly very aware that Henry still had his arm around my waist. "Your mother is worried sick though so we should probably get you home."

I nodded and hobbled towards the car with Henry's support. Once I was settled safely in my seat, I looked up at him.

"Thanks, Henry," I smiled. "I really appreciate your help."

"Anytime," He nodded. "Let me know when your ankle feels better, yeah?"

"Of course."

Before I could say anything else, my dad leaned over from the driver's seat.

"Can we drop you anywhere, Henry?"

"Oh, no, that's okay, thanks," Henry waved him off. "I should probably finish my run."

"Is that the safest plan?" I questioned, a smirk on my face. "Maybe you should get yourself a bell first so you don't mow down any more unsuspecting women..."

Henry fought back a smile as he feigned indignation.

"You never told me that your daughter was a comedian, Mr. Harris." He said to my dad as I giggled away at my own joke. 

"Yes, well, we try not to encourage her too much," My dad rolled his eyes. "Don't need her getting too big headed now, do we?"

I protested his comment as Henry laughed before we said a quick goodbye and he jogged off down the hill.

We drove in silence for a few moments before my dad looked over at me.

"Are you okay?"

"Yeah, I think so," I assured him. "I fell pretty hard and obviously banged up my ankle, but it's definitely not broken so it'll heal."

"I'm glad to hear that," He nodded. Another silence settled between us before he spoke again. "Your mom's worried about you. She said you seemed down this morning and that you’re getting antsy."

I looked down at my hands, not wanting to delve into this conversation.

"Everyone's getting antsy," I shrugged, deciding I needed to quickly change the subject. "Anyway, why didn't you tell me that you knew Henry Cavill?"

"I don't really know him, but his parents live just down the street from us so I've met him once or twice," He explained. "I didn't know you were such a fan."

"Well, I'm not really," I admitted. "I'm not not a fan, but I don't know much of his work. He is rather...You know, he's got a nice..."

I trailed off realizing who I was talking to, but my dad simply smirked.

"A nice face?" He suggested. "Nice abs? Nice arms? Which I'm sure you got a great feel of since you definitely weren't six feet apart, young lady."

My cheeks were red as I swatted his arm.

"I know we weren't," I muttered, feeling like a teenager who'd just been caught sneaking out with a boy. "But I was injured and I couldn't walk."

"Well, I hope you're good at hopping because I won't be able to carry you into the house like that with my old back," He informed me. "I'm no Superman."

I rolled my eyes and mumbled a quick 'shut up' as I looked out the window, but there was a smile on my face that I couldn't shake and for the first time since this whole pandemic fiasco began, I felt a little flicker of hope.

[synecdochereads]

Six of Crows – review

Someone said, “heist movie but it’s a fantasy setting,” and I’ve been on the lookout for this book ever since. I finally found it in the clearance section of Half Price Books, and then—couldn’t read it. I got through the first chapter, I started the second, I put it down, and I didn’t pick it up again. Not sure why, but frankly this has less to do with the book than with me. I’ve been erratic about reading for, oh, years now – either I can’t focus for more than a few pages at a time, or I spend every waking moment with my nose in the book. There’s no middle ground. There’s no telling which way the cards will fall.

All of this to say, it’s not the book’s fault that it took me so long. But then the show came out, I watched it gleefully with my mom, and somehow having seen the characters onscreen made it easier to slip into their heads on the page. Two days later, I’ve inhaled the entire book as fast as I could get away with, and I’m in love.

This isn’t a regular book review – I’m terrible at ranking things, and the five-star system gives me anxiety. It’s mostly just some Thoughts™ neatly sorted for clarity, and hopefully reading over them will help you decide if you should pick this book up and fall in love with it like I did.

Mind the cut!

Characters

I am in love with them.

It probably helps that I’ve been looking forward to this book for ages, I’ve seen lots of gifsets and the occasional meta post, and of course I did watch three out of six crows swan about being fantastic for an entire season of a show that’s not even about them. But it’s not just that. There are a lot of technical literary ways you can analyze characters – arcs, themes, etc – but quite apart from all of that there’s just…are they compelling? They don’t have to be, for a book to be good, but it sure does help. And these six characters are so compelling.

(Also really likeable, which is even less necessary for a good story but which I do personally value. And I like these kids, I really do. Even Kaz “I commit atrocities without shame or remorse” Brekker. Wouldn’t want to meet him in a dark alley, or even a well-lit avenue! But I care about him and want him to succeed.)

It’s hard to devote equal time to six character arcs while also running a fantasy heist. Bardugo doesn’t try, but even the crows who get less screen time have complexity and depth. They’re all well fleshed-out, with full and distinct personalities and all that – on a technical level, these are really well-crafted characters. Top notch. Plus everyone struggles with different traumas and goals, and handles them in different ways, which gives us wonderfully varied arcs as they each move toward a deeper understanding of themselves, for better or for worse.

It also gives us really varied dynamics – some of them hate each other, some of them love each other, some manage to do both at once, some are just along for the ride. It’s as they pull at each other’s ragged edges that the story forms, in their different desperate needs and in what they can and cannot be for each other.

The show smoothed over a lot of the sharp edges and grey morality, most notably in Kaz. Kaz Brekker is a bad person. He does bad things for selfish reasons. His arc isn’t Learning To Be Good, it’s an ongoing question of whether he might, for the sake of the first person he has (quite accidentally) let himself love, consider maybe perhaps being slightly less of an amoral monster. I’ve seen this book described as “fantasy Leverage episode” but it’s really more Ocean’s Eleven, if Danny Ocean was a vicious bastard and everyone was seventeen.

And that’s great. I love that so much! Especially because the other crows run the gamut from shining idealism to casual self-interest (with a fun detour into “shining idealism but the ideal is violent bigotry”), so we really do get a morally complex story, without any easy black-and-white answers. One of the most kind-hearted people in the whole story has committed multiple murders and dreams of becoming a pirate. Kaz Brekker may do bad things for selfish reasons, but a lot of those selfish reasons boil down to “survive.” It’s complicated! It’s compelling!

Plot

It’s a fantasy heist, what more do you need?

Plots and counter-plots, double-crosses and last-minute improvisations. Magic, though it’s used as just another tool, as impressive and as prosaic as the gunslinger’s pistols. Dramatic climbs, elaborate disguises, cunning grifts, and some good old-fashioned sleight-of-hand. Six wildly competent teenagers, one impossible job, and four million fantasy dollars waiting for them if they can pull it off.

Well, okay, that’s just half of the story – maybe two thirds. The rest is flashbacks, showing us how these characters met and how they came to be the people they are; and stolen moments in between the action beats, where we see how they’re changing each other. It’s woven in really deftly. Our knowledge of the characters expands in time with the forward momentum of the plot, so that both parts of the story – the sorrows of the past and the edge-of-your-seat excitement of the present – get their hooks in you in tandem.

Worldbuilding

There are two settings in this book: Ketterdam, where we begin, and the Ice Court, where the bulk of the action takes place. The wider world outside these two cities is sketched in, alluded to in offhand comments and minor details of backstory. In theory, reading the Grisha trilogy would fill in those sketches, but I suspect it doesn’t matter. This is a heist story, after all: one entrance, one exit, and all the traps laid firmly between the two.

You know that thing authors do sometimes where they use the aesthetic of a real time and place, in the names and the architecture and so on, as a sort of worldbuilding shorthand? I’m a big fan of that. Ketterdam is clearly based on post-medieval Holland, perhaps in the late 17th century or so – a city of canals and commerce, with a ruling merchant class and a thriving criminal underworld, and a stock exchange at the heart of the wealthier district. The similarities feel like they’re just skin-deep – I don’t know that much about post-medieval Holland, but I’m pretty sure Bardugo has her own plans for the political situation in the wider world, which I assume is relevant in the Grisha trilogy. Here it’s not, and we have just enough detail to get a quick feel for the city, with extra importance granted to the politics of the various criminal gangs Kaz needs to worry about.

If I’m honest, I would have enjoyed a bit more detail in the worldbuilding. Ketterdam is vibrant and crowded, but it feels shallow; the only information we get is what relates directly to the characters’ actions. We’re told that it’s a big and complex city, but I don’t really have any idea what goes on there beyond, vaguely, “trade, gambling, and tourism.” But that’s probably just me. I’m unreasonably invested in worldbuilding. And anyway, we do get everything we need to understand the actual story.

The same is true in the Ice Court, the frozen capital of the Fjerdans. It’s a beautiful place, white and gleaming, and the parts that we see are incredibly vivid. We get scant glimpses of history and religion, the faintest suggestion of politics, and exactly enough of the city layout to understand the heist. We do, however, get a much deeper understanding of Fjerdan culture than we did of Ketterdam’s, because one of the crows defines himself utterly by the Fjerdan worldview, and his arc is largely about the difficulty of losing his place in that world and not knowing if or how he can ever get it back.

So yeah, we really do get everything we need to appreciate the story and the characters. I would have liked more, because I like worldbuilding, but what we do get is varied and satisfying.

Themes

I can’t really go in depth here without spoilers, so this’ll be a pretty vague section. I haven’t gone full lit-major on this book and I don’t especially plan to, but at a glance, the central theme is the tension between, in short, love and vengeance.

In long, several of the crows have the choice to embrace love as a force for healing and joy, or instead hold onto the (often violent) goals that have driven and defined them for so long. If they embrace love, it’ll mean letting go of the driving purpose that has kept them alive, and risking their whole identity (and possibly their lives) on a new purpose. It’s scary! It might ruin them! And it’s really not as easy as “love conquers all.”

(Big advantage of an ensemble cast: you can explore the same theme in different ways, with different outcomes, without having to settle for a single “answer” to the question posed by the theme. I really love it when that happens, honestly.)

It’s also not just romantic love! I mean it mostly is, but one of the crows has an arc that’s really about self-love, about learning to trust and prioritize not just your survival, but your happiness, your goals, and your ideals. About putting yourself first, not in a selfish way, but in a healthy, loving way. It’s really lovely, and although it has no bearing on the plot (it’s an internal moment of revelation), it’s one of my favorite things about the whole story.

[onceuponastory]

Coming Back Home Chapter Four: Open Heart (Nick x Y/N)

“Now you're sitting there so broken-hearted Face buried in a screen, watching other people's dreams But just remember all the fires you started Cuz when you love again, I know you'll turn it up to 10” - open heart: adrian chalifour 

Plot: Six years ago, Y/N left her hometown and all its bad memories behind, and never looked back. But now, she’s come back to be the maid of honour in her sister’s wedding. Returning ‘home’ means she has to confront her past, the last thing she wants to do. When she meets the handsome best man Nick, she feels more comfortable…until her sister asks her to show Nick around town…a town that Y/N fell out of love with a long time ago.

Can Y/N fall back in love with the town she left behind, and maybe find love of her own along the way? (based on prompt by @orphicodysseywrites​)

Tag List: @shinydixon​, @baker151910​ and @thesundrop​. Let me know if you want to be added!

Warnings: Some mentions of anxiety, abandonment and death

Note: I originally wanted this chapter to just be a filler before the next few chapters get more exciting with maybe some drama, but then this ended up being about 3k words. So...enjoy!

Read the other parts / Read this story on Wattpad!

Disclaimer: I do NOT own Nick or his character! I just used Nick bc he’s the only character of Dacre’s that fits this prompt. Aside from Nick being in this, this fic has NOTHING to do with The Broken Hearts Gallery. But you should all go see the movie if you can, because it’s adorable!

That Night

“Goodnight Y/N.” Katie smiles, giving me another hug. “Love you.” 

“Love you too.” I smile. She leaves the room, and I let out the shaky breath I was holding. Even though Katie said she had forgiven me, I knew I had messed up. Nick would never want to speak to me again, and part of me still didn’t believe Katie had forgiven me. I mean, she had to, she’s my sister, and I’m the maid of honour....but what if she actually wanted me to leave? What if she never wanted to speak to me again after this? What if Nick felt the same? I wouldn’t blame him, after the way I spoke to him earlier today. Katie said he was worried about me, but when she brought me back, he was nowhere to be seen. My eyes sting again. I like Nick...a lot, and I want him to know I didn’t mean to unleash on him like I did. And I want to talk to him about it and clear it up...But I can’t, because if I did, there was a possibility that my anxieties would come true, and that I’d be abandoned and alone again, just like when my Dad left us. Maybe he was right. Maybe nobody wanted me. It wasn’t Katie’s fault, she was only a child when my Dad abandoned us. She just got stuck with me. It must’ve been something I did that caused this. It’s always my fault. Shivering, I climb into my bed. My bed is cold, causing me to shiver even more. 

Feeling even more alone, I silently cry myself to sleep.

A Few Days Later - Nine Days Until the Wedding

Walking out of my bedroom, I look up to see Nick leaving his room. I gasp slightly. “Uh...Hi Y/N.” He gives me a smile. 

“Hey.” I reply, giving a small wave. Things still felt awkward between us both, and we hadn’t really had the chance to talk to each other properly after my little....outburst. It wasn’t like we were avoiding each other...even if I was. I still wanted to make things right, but I was still unwilling to confront what would happen if Nick never wanted to see me again. And besides, we just didn’t have the time to speak to each other for more than a few minutes, because we were so busy with our separate maid of honour and best man duties. It also didn’t help that Katie was slowly becoming a bridezilla. I didn’t blame her, because the wedding was fast approaching. She just wanted everything to be okay, especially after what I did...but god, if I had to have one more talk about the correct way to position the centrepieces by millimetre, I would lose my mind. But, I wanted Katie to know that I’d stand by her and help her, regardless of the circumstances. Partly because that was my literally my job as the maid of honour, but also because I’m still terrified she’d stop talking to me after the wedding.

“Can I talk to you? I-” Nick begins, before he is cut off by: 

“For FUCK’S SAKE!” Katie yells from downstairs. See what I mean? Nick and I quickly head downstairs to see what was wrong.

“Um...sis? Are you okay?” I ask, seeing her pacing across the kitchen and biting the skin around her thumbnail. She snaps her head over to me. Anger is written across her face. 

“No Y/N. No, I am not okay. That was the person handling the napkins. They’ve just called to cancel. It’s almost a WEEK before my wedding, and we’re gonna have no fucking napkins! I mean, what are we supposed to give our guests? They can’t eat our meals without napkins! And how the hell are we going to get another vendor in time?! Stupid fucking vendors.” She hisses and almost launches her phone across the room, but I quickly take her hands in mine before she can.

“Hey, hey, hey. It’s alright.” I soothe her, running my fingers over her knuckles. “We’ll get it sorted.”

“And it’s not that big a deal in the long run.” Nick tells her. The two of us look back over at him. With my eyes wide, I quickly shake my head, warning him not to poke the bear even further. “I mean-”

“Yes, Nick. I know what you meant. I’m sorry that you don’t understand how important these kinds of things are to the smooth running of a wedding. That’s so.......man of you.” Katie rolls her eyes.

“Nick’s just trying to calm you down...right, Nick?” I ask, giving him a look. Nick nods, looking slightly confused. “Tell you what.” I offer. “How about I go to the store and see if I can pick up some napkins? It’ll give you some time to cool off?” I suggest. Katie’s head snaps back to me. 

“Did you just suggest buying our napkins from TARGET?!” She exclaims angrily, squeezing my hands tightly. I have to stop myself from letting out a yelp of pain. “Everyone’s going to notice! We’ll...be a laughing stock!” 

“Katie, I really don’t think anyone’s going to notice, and besides...you don’t really have a choice. Now...can you let go of my hands? Please?” I say slowly, trying not to incur her wrath even more.

“Y/N’s just trying to help, right?” Nick says, coming to stand closer to me. “I’ll even go with her to make sure she picks the best ones.” Katie is silent for a few moments and she also lessens her grip on my hands. I quickly shoot Nick a grateful look.

“....You’re right.” She nods. “I knew I could trust you, Nick. And besides. It’s a perfect bonding opportunity for you two.” She turns away. My stomach twists. Bringing Nick means he’s going to bring up what happened between us, and my worst fears might be proven right. Katie takes out a piece of fabric from her bag and shoves it at me. “This is the colour of the bridesmaid dresses. I expect you to remember this colour Y/N, given that you helped me pick them out. The napkins must match this colour.” She insists. “But be quick. I need you two back here soon. I’m going upstairs, and if any more vendors cause trouble, I’m going to stab them with a fucking fork.” She threatens, walking out of the room. 

“Jesus Christ, her grip is like a fucking vice.” I hiss when I’m sure Katie is out of earshot, holding my hands.

“Does she need us back to help her with more wedding stuff or to stop her stabbing the vendors? I’m not sure which it is.” Nick jokes, making me laugh. Maybe things were better between us both about what happened a few days ago. 

“Well, guess we better go before we have to find out.” I sigh, picking up the car keys. Nick follows me outside to the car, and we both get in. 

“Oh, by the way, can we...uh, talk later on?” He asks. My heart sinks. And there it is.

~~~

“How am I supposed to know what colour matches our dresses?!” I exclaim, grabbing a pile of napkins and holding them against the fabric Katie gave me. “Nick.” I sigh. “Which napkin colour best matches this?” I ask, thrusting about five similarly coloured napkins at him. Nick looks startled, and honestly, I don’t blame him. 

“I guess....this one?” He points at one. 

“That’ll do. Thanks.” I toss all of the similarly coloured napkins into the cart. “Well, that’s us. Anything you and the groomsmen need whilst we’re here?” I ask. Nick shakes his head.

“Nope, we’re all good.” Dammit. I was hoping he’d say they still needed to buy everything, so we could postpone our talk. Nick and I pay for the napkins and head out towards the car. “So...” Nick begins, getting in next to me and buckling his seatbelt. I look over at him, bracing myself for what I know is coming next. “Are you hungry? Cause I’m starving, how about we grab some lunch? I think there’s a McDonald’s back there.” He asks quickly. Before I can even reply, or ask him about the talk he wanted us to have, he holds out his wallet. “I’ll pay!”

“Um....” I begin, frowning slightly. “Sure? But if Katie gets mad at us for being late back, I’ll blame you.” Nick agrees, and I drive out of the parking lot. As Nick points me in the direction of McDonald’s, only one thought is in my mind. “Is he avoiding this talk too?”

~~~

“So.” Nick begins, pausing only to take a bite of his burger. Freddie Mercury’s vocals play faintly in the background from the car radio. “I think Queen is infinitely better than The Beatles.” He states.

“Nick, you don’t have to worry about offending me or anything. I absolutely agree. To be honest, I think most people would agree too.” I grin. “Want a french fry?” I offer, holding out my container. He shakes his head. “Good. Was hoping you’d say no.” I tell him, munching on my remaining fries. Nick laughs. “Oh! By the way, Nick....” I begin, licking ketchup off of my fingers. “Thanks for coming to help me with this...and for dealing with our family drama. I promise Katie’s not usually this bad. Wedding nerves must be getting the best of her.” Nick chuckles.

“It’s alright. I don’t mind, honestly. I know part of my best man job is to make sure everything runs smoothly...but I really enjoy spending time with you.” He smiles. Butterflies start fluttering around in my stomach. He...actually likes spending time with me? Maybe I was wrong. Perhaps I haven’t ruined everything.

“You-You do?” I stammer. “Even after what happened?” Nick’s face falls slightly, and the butterflies in my stomach turn into lead, dropping further into the pit of my stomach. Here it comes. 

“Yeah...we were supposed to talk about it, right?” I nod. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to be-”

“I’m sorry, I didn’t want to-” Nick and I speak at the same time. The two of us laugh. “You first.” 

“Well.” I take a breath. “I’m sorry for being rude that day and kind of...unleashing my built-up familial issues onto you without warning. I was acting weird, and you had every right to ask me if you were the reason. I was really horrible to you, and kind of embarrassing, so I totally understand if you hate me and never want to speak to me again. Just tell me, it’s okay. I mean, to be honest, I’d-”

“No.” Nick says, cutting me off. I look at him, confused. Does he...does he want to stop talking to me? I was right, I- “No.” He repeats, as if reading my thoughts. “You’re wrong. I was a dick, and you had every right to call me out on it.” 

“No, you weren’t, I was-” Nick raises a finger, which shushes me. “Sorry.” I mumble.

“Anyway. I was out of line with what I said. I overreacted because I thought you didn’t like me, and so I took my worries out on you. I had no idea you were struggling so much with being back here, and with showing me around, especially after you and Katie’s past...which I also knew nothing about. I’m so sorry if I made those feelings worse. And you don’t have to worry about me not wanting to hang out with you anymore, I told you that I love it.” He leans in closer, staring at me intently. “If you feel upset by anything I do, please don’t be afraid to talk to me, alright?” He asks. I nod. Well, that...went differently than expected. “Can I ask you something, though? That night, when you found me in the kitchen at like 2am, and you fell asleep on the table...did you have a nightmare that night? Is that why you were up so late?” Part of me wants to lie to him, tell him that I just heard a bump in the night and that nothing was wrong...but no. Nick’s been so lovely to me and dealt with all my issues, so he deserves the truth.

“Yes. I did. To be honest, Nick, I’ve had a nightmare every night since I’ve been back here. But it’s nothing new. They’ve been a normal part of my life for a good ten years now, and I don’t see them letting up any time soon. It’s...okay.” I shrug. “I used to see a therapist back in New York, and she told me nightmares are a normal response to what happened to us. Turns out having your Mom die and your Dad abandoning you because he doesn’t love you anymore in the space of a few weeks causes a lot of trauma. Who knew!” I joke. Nick frowns. “Sorry...” I wince. “I like making jokes about it sometimes. It helps me heal in a way.”

“No, I didn’t mean you.” He replies. “Listen. If you have another nightmare and get upset, or need someone to calm you down, just come across the hall and speak to me, okay?”

“Nick, I can’t do that, you-”

“It’s fine. Honestly, I want to make sure you know that you’ll always have someone there for you whilst you’re here. I want to be that person.” I try to say something in response to that, but my mind goes blank. Outside of my family and therapist, nobody was that nice to me...so willing to deal with me and my issues. I lean forward and hug Nick. 

“Thank you.” I whisper, tears filling my eyes. “It means a lot.” Quickly, I pull away from him. “S-Sorry, I don’t know if you’re okay with hugs, or...” I stammer, completely avoiding how we almost kissed a few days ago.

“No...It’s okay.” He says, his voice breathless and husky. It sends shivers up my spine. Nick keeps staring at me, his blue eyes intently focused on me. It’s like it was a few days ago...when we almost kissed. It feels different, though, in some way. It feels...right. Like how this was meant to be. Before I could even do anything, however, my phone rings. Katie’s name flashes on the screen. Typical. Interrupted by my sister again. Guess some things never change. Leaning back into my seat, I answer the call, shooting Nick an apologetic look. “Heyyyy sis....Yes I know, we’ve been gone a while. Sorry, we got napkins then some lunch. Yes, yes, I know you need us back. Still, we got hungry, and-” I hold the phone away from my ear as Katie launches into a tirade about how important it is for us to be on time to help her and Adam with things. 

“Tell her it was my idea.” Nick whispers, shooting me a thumbs up.

“It was Nick’s idea...yes, I’ll tell him. Okay, see you soon. Love you too. Bye.” I hang up. “She told you if that was your idea, then you’re the one dealing with the kids at the wedding.”

~~~

The Next Day

“No, Caroline...it’s not a country estate, there’s not big grounds or anything. It’s just a hotel in the centre of town...Yes, it’s charming. No, there’s no damp, I promise.” I roll my eyes. Caroline was Adam’s older sister, and she was the closest thing to a Karen I have ever seen in my life. She liked everything to be just so, which is fine. Still, with the number of waitresses she had berated and probably caused long term scarring to probably bordering on the hundreds, she was definitely a Karen in my books. Nick walks into the room as I’m on the phone. “Look, I just called to double-check that you’re going to be here on time for the bachelorette party this Friday.” I sigh. “No, I don’t know if they have that bottle of champagne here...The local store is quite limited in its selection, yes. I will check. Maybe bring a bottle just in case....Okay. See you Friday.” Hanging up, I roll my eyes and check her name off on the list. 

“Do you know you bite your tongue when you focus? It’s quite cute.” Nick asks, placing a mug of tea beside me.

“Is there alcohol in this?” I ask. Nick frowns for a second, then realisation dawns on his face. “Was that Caroline on the phone?” I nod. “Oh.”

“God, she’s insufferable. I don’t even know why Katie has her in the bridal party.” I groan, taking a sip of my tea. “I guess since she’s going to be her sister-in-law, she feels like she has to, but fuck me, if I have to hear about this particular bottle of champagne from France in the 1700s one more time, I will lose my mind.” 

“Yeah I’ve met her too, I know exactly what you mean.” Nick responds. “With me, it was talking about how she has to have the most perfect thoroughbred horses for her dearest children Timothy and Petunia to have riding lessons on.” Nick puts on a ridiculous posh accent as he speaks, making us both laugh.

“Oh? Pay my servers a tip so they could actually....live? Oh darling, I absolutely couldn’t! How on earth will I pay for all my darling Timothy’s piano lessons?!” I copy his posh accent, and Nick laughs even more. “God, we’re terrible.” I say through my laughter. “Better not say that during our speeches.” 

“Are you joking about my children and I? Let me talk to your manager immediately. I will sue you into next year!” Nick orders, putting on his posh accent again. I start laughing. “Oh, you’re laughing now? How rude.” He teases, making me laugh even harder.

"God, Nick, you’re going to be the death of me, or my sides, at some point.” I giggle, trying to catch my breath. 

“Anyway, no, we’re not terrible. Caroline is.” Nick corrects me. “Sooo, whatcha up to?”

“Just phoning the bachelorettes to see if they’re still okay for Friday’s party.”

“Oh, we’re all sorted for that on our side. Cannot wait.” Nick grins. 

“Oh, we’re sorted for that on our side. All of us are well put together, and have no issues like bitchy bridesmaids on the bachelor side.” I jokingly mock him. Nick fakes being offended. "Since you guys are sorted on your side, you can sit here while I finish up if you want. I just have these girls left...aaaand my phone’s about to die. Give me five, I’ll go grab my charger.” I tell him, quickly heading upstairs. When I reach the top, Katie is standing there. “Oh! Sorry, didn’t realise you were there. Did you...did you hear us making fun of your new sister in law? I’m sorry, we-” She holds up her hand to stop me.

“Yes, I heard. But don’t worry, it’s fine. You guys are right, she’s a bitch.” She giggles, causing me to laugh too. I walk past her to get my charger, but she stops me. “Actually...what I wanted to say was that I heard you and Nick laughing...and it made me smile.” I frown. “Well, for as long as I can remember, you were always really sad as a kid, and a teen....and an adult.”

“Wow, thanks sis.” 

“As I was saying, given what happened to us both, that’s understandable. But god Y/N, hearing you and Nick laughing...that’s the happiest I’ve ever heard you sound. And the hardest I’ve heard you laugh...in a long time. I know you guys just met a week or so ago, but he really seems to bring out the best in you.” I’m speechless again for a while, and all I can reply with is:

“I guess you’re right.”

“That’s why I’m expecting a credit for introducing you both when it’s your turn to get married.” She winks. I gasp, and quickly shush her.

“Shh! He might hear you! And we’re not getting married!” Katie sighs.

“Look Y/N, I don’t mean to push you, it’s just... after what happened with our Dad, and then Nana dying, I thought we’d never be happy again, but then I met Adam, and he supports and uplifts me everyday. I’m finally happy.” I smile softly.

“I know Katie, and-”

“No, no. Listen, please.” I stop talking, and she continues. “I remember that feeling of happiness, and what it looks like...and god Y/N, I see it whenever Nick looks at you, or when you talk about each other. Your faces just light up. I know it’s not my place to force you to be with him, but just...just keep it in mind okay?” I nod.

“Thanks sis.” I pull her into a tight hug. As I watch her disappear into her and Adam’s bedroom, her words play in my mind. Realising Nick is still waiting for me, I quickly grab my charger and go back downstairs.

“Hey.” Nick looks up as I sit back beside him. “Everything alright?” 

“He really seems to bring out the best in you.” Echoes in my head. Maybe Katie was right. Everytime I was with Nick, I felt...good. Maybe it was because he did make me happy. I smile.

“Yeah Nick, everything’s great.”

[latestageyouth]

a quiet, not quite a morning

lmao look at me trying to write fluff, which I absolutely can’t do. this is a continuation of this .This can be read as (touchy) platonic or romantic but I think of it as romantic...

okay, dark side Virgil au go!

Pairings: anxceitmus

Word count: 1,080

Warnings: unsympathetic!Patton, unsympathetic!Roman, unsympathetic!Logan, sympathetic!Deceit, sympathetic!Remus, swearing

Summary: A quiet afternoon gets interrupted because the Light sides are meanies >:(

It has been exactly five weeks and three days since Virgil left the "Light" sides, and things were getting better. Virgil didn't have night terrors anymore, he didn't have an anxiety attack in two weeks, he made progress.

It was morning, well, more like noon, but that didn't matter. It always rained outside, in the Darkscape. To be honest, Virgil kind of liked it, at least there wasn't the constant heavy silence when no one was talking. The radio was on, playing a song that Virgil didn't know the name of. He guessed it was one of those lofi ones. He liked those songs better than the constant loud Disney playing on repeat. Much better.

"Well, well, well, look who's up."

Virgil glanced around the kitchen and spotted Dee leaning against the wall. The smiled softly and handed the tired side his coffee, "Here, you need it more than me."

Dee looked at the coffee and then back at Virgil, "Judging by the eye bags under your eyes, I don't guess so."

"Ha, ha, very funny," Virgil poured himself another cup. He leaned against the counter and looked at Dee, "Where's Remus?"

"Awake in his bed."

Virgil nodded, sipping on his coffee.

"How come you are the last one awake?" Dee asked.

The anxious side shrugged, "Couldn't sleep, I guess. And before you say anything, I didn't wanna bother you with my nonexistent sleep habits...again."

"Yes, because you are totally bothering us. We hate it when you ask us for help and told you a million times that when you can't sleep or aren't feeling well to stay in your room and don't tell us about it," Dee did not look impressed as he sipped on his coffee. He walked closer to Virgil, putting his head onto his shoulder, "We don't care about you at all and want you to be miserable."

Virgil brought an arm around Dee and placed in on his back, "I know, I know, just...old habits die hard. I am sorry."

"You should be sorry, it's all your fault."

"Again, old habits die hard, but hey, at least I didn't have a night terror again, that's progress."

Dee didn't respond, he just looked at Virgil, tired eyes scanning all over his face. He leaned in, placing a kiss on Virgil's cheek.

"Ew, disgusting."

The pair turned around to see Remus, dressed in nothing but boxers, standing in the doorway.

Virgil rolled his eyes, "You're the one to talk."

Remus didn't say anything, instead opening the fridge and crouching to look inside.

Dee raised an eyebrow, "Seriously? You just woke up and you aren't going for the food?"

"If it makes you feel any better I forgot dinner yesterday."

"Why yes, that makes me feel a thousand times better. One sleeps, the other eats. Do I not have the only brain cell in here?" Dee put his now empty mug into the sink and went to sit at the table.

"By the way," Virgil said, "Do you know what day it is?"

Dee squinted his eyes for a second, "Uhhh, Tuesday, why?"

"The others and Thomas are filming today, so don't be surprised if I just randomly sink out," Virgil sipped his coffee once more before placing it into the sink, watching as Remu poured himself some cereal with water and scrunched up his nose, "How can you eat that?"

Remus smiled at him and shrugged his shoulders, "What can I say, I am what the gods fear," he took a spoonful of the cereal water and ate it. Both Dee and Virgil physically cringed, to which Remus replied, "Cowards."

And so, the three dark sides gathered around the television, not even paying attention to what was playing on it. Virgil was on his phone, scrolling through his Tumblr feed, while Dee verbally judged Remus for his food choices. It was in the afternoon that Dee and Remus decided to get dresses, both heading to their separate rooms, leaving Virgil alone in the living room. After a while of mindless scrolling, he started feeling....tingly. His mouth tasted like iron. His feet and fingers were itching. No, not now. Not here. Not today. Virgil put his phone aside and turned his head to look at where the bedrooms were located, "Hey, hey guys, It- it's-"

Before Virgil could finish the sentence he had appeared in Thomas' living room. He shut his eyes for a second, not being used to such light, "Ugh, what do you want?"

Logan was the one who spoke first, "Virgil has been feeling rather unmotivated today, and we suspect it is your doing."

"Yeah," Virgil finally opened his eyes, "Sorry to break it to you, but I got up like, eight minutes ago and have been feeling pretty chill, so I don't think I am the problem here. Isn't Princey all about motivation and stuff?"

Roman scoffed and crossed his arms, "Why yes, blame it all on me. That's just like you, not taking responsibility for anything."

Virgil pulled his hood up, "Oh, Princey, you're so easily offended, but as I said, I am less anxious than I normally am, so I am not the problem here."

"For once..." mumbled Logan.

"Kiddo, I know you like dark and angsty things, but maybe try not to bring the atmosphere down so much?" Patton asked with a plastic smile on his face.

Virgil rolled his eyes and sighed, "I told you not to call me that. Also, since I am not the problem here, I am gonna go, break a leg trying to figure this out by yourselves," he slowly sank back out.

"Don't come back!" Roman shouted.

"Wouldn't dream of it, Princey..."

When he did sink back into the Darkscape, Remus and Deceit were already laying on the couch. Virgil went to lay across the couple's legs, "Ugh, just how annoying can they be? 'Thomas is feeling bad so Anxiety must be doing this!' Fucking god, I really hate them sometimes."

"Sometimes?" sniffed Remus.

Virgil chuckled, "All the time."

"Now that sounds more like it, stormcloud!"

Virgil glanced at the tv, "What are we watching?"

"The black cauldron," replied Dee.

Virgil furrowed his eyebrows, "Huh, never saw that. I mean, I wanted to, but Roman never let us watch it on movie nights, apparently, it's "too dark for a Disney movie'"

Remus smiled, "What's wrong with a little darkness? If anything it is the best Disney movie of all the time."

Virgil smiled back, "Agreed."

[mor-beck-more-problems]

Ode to Love and Time Lost || Morgan & Deirdre

TIMING: Monday, September 7

LOCATION: Morgan and Deirdre’s home

PARTIES: @deathduty & @mor-beck-more-problems

SUMMARY: Morgan comes home to her Deirdre.

CONTAINS: Discussions of fairy-rings, softness

At one o’clock, the furniture was finally re-arranged out of its makeshift fairy ring. At two, Deirdre started painting over the crude mushroom graffiti. At three, she gave up and dissolved back into nervously pacing around the house. She dug out the crumbled paper she started at twelve from her pocket, scanning the list of things she needed to do and wanted to say. By then, the ends were folded and the ink smudged from her anxious fiddling. At four, she picked out one of her nicer dresses and fixed her hair--as if it might help. At half past four, she moved back downstairs and resumed her marching around. Her mind fiddled with the right words; should she light candles? Should she have told Morgan that her mind finally cracked through, and the hold of mushrooms was gone? She fished out her phone and scrolled through her texts with Morgan, mostly mushroom emojis and poor pictures of her face---she grimaced at the notable lack of communication between them. Just the day before she came home wrong, there sat a long message about her thoughts on doors, and how she didn’t understand why humans bothered to make some ‘push’ and others ‘pull’ and yes she did walk into a door, which is why she was mad about it. At the bottom of their text chain, sat their latest exchange: a rather simple message of ‘what do you want to do tonight?’. To which Deirdre’s anxiety wrought grip caused her phone to slip out of her fingers, consequently texting back an ominous message of ‘I’m brick sauce’. Which was, unfortunately, the exact kind of nonsensical message she’d been sending for the past week. She sighed and stuffed her phone away, waiting for the telltale beep of Morgan’s car lock. It came at five.

Deirdre jumped, snapping her list out and trying to find the mismash of words she wrote down as a greeting to Morgan. A slew of apologies and thank yous and so many ways to say ‘I love you’ that she shrunk her handwriting to fit them all, and now she couldn’t read anything. Was it, ‘hello’ first or ‘I’m sorry’? Did she plan on a hug or a kiss or did she give Morgan space and wait? She squinted at the wrinkled paper. The front door creaked open. Her eyes flicked up to her girlfriend and her mind silenced. There was the woman she loved, radiant in all her very tired glory. There were wrinkles Deirdre wanted to soothe away, a smile she wanted to work back into her face. She loved her enough to know there would never be an adequate way to express apologies or gratitude or affection. Nothing to communicate everything she felt. She loved her with every sense, every strand and piece of herself. And they’d spent so much time apart, so much time just barely reaching each other. It might have been two weeks and some change, but for all Deirdre was concerned, it was a lifetime. Any moment without Morgan always was. Flooded with relief, she ran to her, pulling her close and tight and breathing in the honeyed coconut of her shampoo. Her list fluttered, forgotten, to the floor. “I missed you and I’m sorry and I love you and---fates, I missed you.”

Morgan couldn’t say how she understood that everything was different. There was the furniture, righted and rearranged, the half-painted walls, the smell of cleaning fluids, strong enough even for her, but Morgan didn’t look at any of those. She saw Deirdre, polished and bright in one of her favorite dresses. No dirt smudges, no mascara face paint. She was nervous, and Mushroom Deirdre was never nervous like this: holding her worry close to her chest, stoic and fragile all at once. Morgan froze in the doorway looking at her. She had thought a lot about what it might look like when Deirdre came back, if they would wake up together, if she would come through the door one evening just as Morgan had wanted her to two weeks ago, if she--

Before Morgan could stitch together another thought, Deirdre was on her, lifting her onto her toes, holding her with a ferocity Morgan hadn’t felt since she’d disappeared. No words sprang immediately to Morgan’s mind in response to her words. She was just...here? Loving her? It didn’t match with any of Morgan’s fantasies. There was always some barrier she had to pay to get through, an apology, a gift, an explanation, something before everything was allowed to be okay again. Morgan wondered faintly if she had fallen asleep at her desk by another bout of magic nonsense. Stuff like this happened in the movies all the time. At last, she managed to stutter out her name, “...Deirdre? You’re...not mad?” Her hand settled tentatively on her shoulders, waiting for the moment when they would slip away into nothing, or where Mushroom Deirdre would re-emerge, shouting ‘taxes!’ or ‘Morgshroom!’ Morgan waited, but the only thing that greeted her was the slow pulse of her banshee’s body breathing against her own and the press of her hands, heedless in its care, just for her. “You’re here? And you’re really...it’s okay? After everything I did?”

There was always a thick incredulity that bubbled inside Deirdre every time Morgan seemed to apologize. Two solutions stood out to her; that she couldn’t see Morgan’s wrongs because she loved her, or that Morgan was exacerbating her fears. The conclusion she came to was always somewhere in the middle. She loved Morgan, and naturally she’d always be willing to work through any situation with her---as a team, and with all the force of someone who cared for her deeply. And Morgan, likewise, also loved her, and would worry about whether her actions were as good as they could be. Deirdre relaxed then, logic finding her mind easily. She knew what to do and what to say, how to love Morgan and how to learn to love her better, just as easily as she breathed. “Oh?” She pulled back, offering Morgan a view of a quirked brow and a smirk. Her voice hitched naturally, the way it always did when she was amused with herself. “You mean the chicken nuggets you lovingly cut into mushroom shapes? Oh, yes, very mad. Absolutely furious that you’re such a great girlfriend.” Deirdre laughed easily, leaning down to press a firm kiss to her girlfriend’s cheek. She lingered there, pressing another to her jaw. “You’re not mad at me? For not being---for...you know…” She gulped, twisting her arms around Morgan in a tighter hold. “I’m sorry. About the mushrooms. I’m not...I’m not as strong as I think I am, I suppose. I’m sorry you had to deal with that and...thank you. For everything. I’m not mad at you, there’s nothing to be mad at you about.”

Morgan’s eyes spilled over at the sound of Deirdre���s (her Deirdre’s) amusement. Her face crumpled, and it was only the exhaustion of the last two weeks crashing down on her that kept her from hiding it in her hands. She understood that Deirdre didn’t mind, or had decided to forgive her already, but it did nothing for the frustration, the moments misunderstood, the screaming, the food left uneaten, the arms left empty. “I...wasn’t better for you. I know you’re being…” She gestured vaguely at Deirdre, who made herself so soft for Morgan, and looked at her with so much gentleness, you would’ve thought she’d never done anything wrong in her life. “...And I tried. I know the first night was bad, it was really bad but I tried, and I tried to listen to you, but maybe I listened to the wrong parts, and I didn’t...I did want to talk to you, and I didn’t stop loving you just because...I know I was awful and I missed you, I tried not to, but I missed you, but I didn’t stop loving you because of it.” She paused, coughing up sobs and trembling in Deirdre’s grasp. “I know some of it was bad. If you could just...tell me what I shouldn’t do anymore, for next time, or if I did anything right, because it was never that...I didn’t love you. Please…” She looked up at her, mystified and relieved and ready for all of this to become real. “I know what happened to you wasn’t your fault, Deirdre. And I know you tried for me. She...you...the other you...you told me. But I am sorry, Deirdre, for not being able to...be there for you, or to make it good.”

“Hey,” Deirdre cooed, dripping into a gentleness she offered solely to Morgan. Guilt fluttered in her chest, brushing against her ribs and falling into her stomach. These were eyes she hadn’t looked into, lips she couldn’t kiss, and a body she didn’t hold---for so long she was gone, and an inexcusable distance she created sat in Morgan’s mind. “You weren’t awful. You did---you don’t have to humor me when I’m like that; or care, even. It’s not---” Deirdre frowned, she didn’t know how to breach the topic of the mushrooms. For so long, they were her only way of connecting to other fae. More than that, they were as woven into their culture as wings or chaos. But they took her away from Morgan, and Deirdre couldn’t find it in her to care about anything else. The woman that might have found offense to anything Morgan had done or was saying, was gone. “Let’s sit somewhere more comfortable, yeah?” She tried her best to maneuver them into the great room and on to one of the couches, not daring to pull their bodies any more apart than she had to---not again, not while she had the choice. “Don’t be sorry, my love. Please, don’t be. You did nothing wrong.” But Morgan wanted to talk about the mushrooms, and how to handle them better, and as much as Deirdre wished she could offer an answer, her chest tightened at the idea of discussing it. The guilt inside of her coiled and burned, repelling the topic. It was her own fault, the weakness of her character to be so susceptible to their call. She’d never been good with avoiding death, and for all she knew about intentional and self-inflicted pain, the mushrooms were just another force she couldn’t deny. “There’s so much I need to make up to you,” she started, “I--how was your day? Your week? How are you? I haven’t---It’s been so long since the last time I asked and I want to know. And I---” She groaned, twisting her body closer. “Fuck, Morgan, I--It’s--” She could remember some stranger going through her life; bits and pieces of a woman who said all the wrong things, and committed crimes no one would hold her accountable for--no one but Deirdre, who remembered her with anger. “I missed you.” Deirdre croaked, “I missed you so much.”

Morgan whimpered at Deirdre’s gentleness, trying to swallow down the rest of her sobs. Part of her longed to skip to the part where they were in bed and happy and the spaces where they touched didn’t ache any more from all the distance Mushroom Deirdre had put between them, but there was so much pent up in her from the last two weeks. As much as she had failed at hiding or rationalizing her sadness from Mushroom Deirdre, there were a dozen more hurts and confusions she’d managed to tuck aside in favor of trying to be rational, or kind, or whatever bright idea she’d been trying out at the time. She sagged against her, face buried in her chest as she sniveled quietly. “But I do want to be good to you. I want you to be happy and okay and safe. I know she’s the only you I have when this happens, and I didn’t stop caring, I just missed you, my you. And I’m...” She nodded at Deirdre’s suggestion they go sit, sagging against her body. “Okay,” she whispered.

She pressed as close to her as she could without clinging to her outright, and crawled into her lap when they settled in. Mushroom Deirdre didn’t like to be touched too much, and staying still made her bored. But from the way her Deirdre held her, Morgan could feel how much she wanted them to stay like this. Her head came down to settle in the crook of Deirdre’s neck, searching for her old spot. The more she let herself believe that this was alright, the more she wanted to cry. It reminded her of coming up from out of the pool, when she’d stayed under for so long that her lungs burned and her eyes burned and turned spotty. Her small, live body exploded with sensation as she broke the surface. Now it was all the sharp edged missing she’d carried through the two weeks in all its clumsy, terrible shapes. She was safe, the surface was broken, and everything left alive in her could breathe. “I’m not mad,” she whispered, voice cracking. “You tried for me. I know you did. I um...I’ve got a good feeling about the students this semester. And there was a fire at the funeral home, some officer died saving people, and Blanche got hurt, but she’s fine now, and I went to Bea Vural’s birthday party. You would’ve really liked it, I got all dressed up and everything, and there was a wall of champagne, and gambling tables, and everyone made fun of Kaden and told the surprise stripper that he was one too, and I think Remmy might be working things out with their girl. But mostly I just...I just really missed you too. I felt like...I could almost see you sometimes. Like you were just behind a window or something, but it just made me miss you more.” She reached a shy hand up to her jaw, thumbing the curve of her earnest smile. “I was right here, you know? I was just waiting for you right here. I um…” She winced, laughing with embarrassment as she lifted her head to look at her love again. “I even tried writing to you. Both of you. I don’t think your letter is anything interesting, just what I’ve already said. I’m not even sure where I hid it, for when you came back to me. But—” she sniffled, wiping her eyes. “You can tell me what I should do next time? Or we can decide together, if that’s what you want. All I wanted besides having you back was to know what you would want me to do in all this.”

Deirdre couldn't explain how happy she was to be hearing Morgan speak of her day. Or to be able to feel her again; Deirdre curled her fingers in her hair and rolled the fabric of her clothing under her hand until she settled back into a tight grip around her. There she felt the weight of her, and pulled her closer and closer until she couldn't anymore. These were sensations she missed. She could remember a woman who held Morgan as they slept—she seemed to remember their nights the best—but she didn't hold her tight enough. If she offered any statement of affection before she slept, it was a nearly embarrassed 'I love you'. And they never took up any of their usual activities before bed; no conversation, no episode of Grey's Anatomy, no book. She took in what Morgan was saying, mentally lapping up each drop of information as her mind had been starved of it. Later, she'd ask more about these students and what she planned for the semester. She'd ask about the fire, and after Blanche, and if she had fun at the party. For now, she laughed with relief, "I do like making fun of Kaden." But then she frowned. "You could...see me? That—Morgan, I don't think—she, as much as she is me, will just say or do whatever she can to get you to trust her, and go into a ring." Some moments she felt like her fog broke enough to peek through, but at least half of that had to be wishful thinking. All she could remember with a vividness was a strange, knotting anxiety that Morgan didn't like her. "You should be mad at me. You have every right to."

Deirdre smiled softly, turning her head to look at Morgan. "You didn't have to...stay here, I mean. I know it—I know you don't like it, I know you didn't enjoy it. If you needed some time away I'd—" Her voice cracked, and she left the sentence alone. Her eyes drifted to their backyard, dotted with holes. "I remember the letter. I think I buried it, I remember dirt and digging but...I don't know where I put it." She frowned, but turned her attention back to her girlfriend—which naturally prompted a grin. "I'd like to read it anyway, if you remember where you put it. I, um, actually wrote you something too, while you were at work. Well, it's more like a list—of things I wanted to say. So I guess both of us just have a lot we want to say. But I'm here now." She lifted her hand, thumbing over the bones of Morgan's face. "Whatever you wanted to say, you can say it to me now. Whatever you wanted to talk about, we could—" She tensed again, the topic of the mushrooms permeating the air. "You...do whatever you have to? My love, you really don't have to be here while…" she grimaced. "We were talking about some kind of a codeword before—" she groaned. "I—we should come up with one."

“...Oh.” Morgan said quietly. Was that a relief or not? The hardest thing had been feeling as though by hurting Mushroom Deirdre, she was hurting the one she loved. If Deirdre wanted them to remain separate, didn’t that make it easier? But Morgan felt only shame at the thought of abandoning her. And then there had been the strange moments, those passing touches of connection. “She didn’t really try to get me to go with her. I mean, it was all she wanted, and I felt like I had to keep paying for that, for not giving her myself like that, by watching her talk to her mushroom husband online and tell everyone she was newly married while I had to explain to all our friends that it wasn’t to me. But she didn’t try that hard to make me go. On that first bad night we danced, and she said, it’s just a week. Wait for me. And I could’ve sworn it was…” Her Deirdre. Her love, straining against all else to comfort her. But maybe it was all too conveniently romantic. Maybe she never would be able to understand Mushroom Deirdre. “But I get it,” she added quickly. “If I was just seeing you because that’s what I wanted to...I get it. But I don’t feel good about abandoning you, ever. I want to at least try to make things work when you become...her.”

At the mention of her letter, Morgan reached behind them for one of the Jane Austen books Mushroom Deirdre had deemed too boring and flipped the pages until she found it tucked between the chapters. “We could always show them at the same time,” she said, giving Deirdre a tearful smile. But Deirdre was still tense about something, and whether she was struck more with shame or guilt, Morgan couldn’t guess. She firmed up her place against her body and pressed a string of shy kisses to her cheek. “I don’t get where I have the right to be mad, or why talking about what happened like this bothers you so much,” she murmured. “If you could tell me—? I miss you telling me things. I’m not going anywhere, whatever it is. I just got you back, you know? Talk to me, my love. I’ve missed you talking…”

"She—I...said that?" Deirdre blinked, trying to drum up her memories but her mind didn't seem to think it was important. She had dozens of images of dancing naked, laughing at humans and trying to kill Otto...but nothing of these gentle moments with Morgan. "I just don't know if I trust her—me—it. I've hurt so many people like that...and the thought of hurting you—" Made her sick. She resisted the way her body recoiled at the idea, how her heart pounded with fear. "Whatever she is, whoever, I don't think what she wants matters enough for you to care about it." Bitterness claimed Deirdre's words. For all the hatred Morgan must have held towards the mushrooms, Deirdre settled that blame on to herself. There was a part of her that she couldn't control, and for a banshee, control meant everything. "You don't need to," she sighed. "I'd understand if it was too much for you. And it's...not exactly me. It is...but it also really isn't." Deirdre frowned at her clumsy explanation, knowing there really was no better way to try and say it. "She probably won't even care, if you left." Except Deirdre knew by the tightness in her own chest, the panic she awoke to around the idea that Morgan didn't love her, that what she was saying wasn't true. But she didn't care. That woman could suffer, she deserved to—if she treated Morgan poorly, it was apt.

"I'll—fates, I promise I won't call it a marriage when I bring someone into a fairy ring with me." Deirdre grimaced, imagining Morgan's pain and then remembering who caused it. Her eyes drifted to her list, left by the door where she dropped it. She wasn't about to get up, wrench them apart, and fetch it. "Mhm, later, maybe. I'll grab it on the way to bed, read it to you there. Or somehow communicate to Moira to go pick it up for me." Deirdre hummed against Morgan's slew of gentle kisses, leaning into them. The tension in her body rolled away. "It was my fault," she began. "I can remember just before I stepped in and if I just fought it longer or harder...or, fates, not even agreed to accompany Jared in the first place. If I was stronger, better and what Kaden said, that—" She closed her eyes. The idea that she must not have cared enough about Morgan circled in her head; that she didn't love her enough to stay away. It was true, wasn't it? She was weak in some way, she always was. Deirdre opened her eyes and exhaled. If she did something wrong, then people would be mad. That was the way love worked, as she was taught it. If she was weak, then she would be justly punished. And if not, then the punishing had to come from herself. "You can be mad at me instead of her, or the mushrooms. It's my fault. And whatever actions she takes, those are mine too."

“I don’t know if I trust her either,” Morgan said sadly. It was how she had managed to be so awful that first night in the first place. She didn’t see the woman as Deirdre at all, just the emblem of what had taken her away. Of course she’d hated her on sight. Of course it has been exhausting to find any common ground with her, with that wound festering in the background. Discovering that there was anything in common between the two women had only made it more difficult to be upset. Morgan has no interest in laying blame where Deirdre had no full control over her faculties and all of her best attributes had been erased by mushrooms. “And, you’re right that-- the moments where she was almost like you didn’t fix or change anything. I still couldn’t make things work. But she would care. She came home to me by choice and she stayed away from the rings when they were wearing off because I wanted her to. And I hate the mushrooms for what they do to you, for hurting you, for taking you from me, and I put some of that on her because I can’t go up to the mushrooms and yell at them, or break them, apparently, without committing fae sacrilege--but I don’t want to be cruel to you or her. Sometimes she’s capable of being sorry. Not like you are, but to an extent. I don’t want to be someone that’s cruel to any part of you. And I tried really hard not to be, and I appreciate that neither of you necessarily expect me to be any better to her but… I love you always, Deirdre. Maybe if it’s worse next time I’ll check into a hotel, but I don’t want giving up or running away to be our default. It was just...hard. Being so worried something happened to you when you signed off on me, and so ready to give you something good, and having...that instead. It caught me off guard in a really bad way.” It was even worse the second time around, when Mushroom Deirdre had done it on purpose. Morgan pressed another kiss to Deirdre’s shoulder and shifted to wind her arms around her back so she was fastened tight as can be. Mushroom Deirdre didn’t know how to hold her right, or if she remembered, she forgot in five minutes. But her Deirdre’s touch abided by her love; if Morgan grew tired, she could let go and still find herself as supported as ever. The relief brought a fresh single tear to the corner of her eye and eased the desperation out of her grip.

“Thank you, for promising that,” Morgan said.”We can wait to read our letters, yeah. But I’m not mad at you. She told me you cried, and you said you didn’t want to. Maybe it was a mistake to be around a baby fae, but I don’t know how the mushrooms mess with your mind. Maybe you could tell me something like ‘mushrooms bad’, or, ‘I’m slipping’, so I can try to find you in time, or know that it might not be you that comes home to me. Maybe if I don’t have to be surprised, it’ll be better.” She let out a long breath, then laughed at herself for deciding she needed one in the first place. “I don’t know what Kaden said to you, but I don’t want to spend another minute not being with you, Deirdre. Maybe she’s your evil twin or your mushroom twin, but she’s not you, and I’m not going to punish you for what she did again. Please don’t ask me to.” Another kiss, light as butterfly with the tenderness of her forgiveness. “Lydia said something about there being a way to make her go away. She said she would tell you, if you were to ask freely. If that’s something you want.”

Concentration furrowed Deirdre's face, she nodded slowly as Morgan spoke. "I just...don't think I could forgive myself if she did something—if I did something. Even just her...treating you the only way she's capable of makes me feel...terrible. It wasn't right. When I remember it now, it doesn't feel right. I don't like that." She sighed against Morgan, trying to bring them closer, despite them being as close as they could possibly be. She settled for tightening her hold. She wanted the place where this conversation was over and the mushrooms had never infiltrated her mind—the good place that they knew. It was her mind's torturous game to remind her that their pain was her fault. Deirdre shivered. "I'd be cruel to her, if I could," she admitted quietly. "And I wouldn't call it 'giving up', not if you're just doing what you have to. I promise I'm okay with the idea." Her stomach lurched at the sentiment. She grimaced; okay with the concept, horridly anxious at the thought of being parted from Morgan by design. "Well, it doesn't please me. I remember—I know the best parts of my day are being home with you. They were even then. But if it was something you needed to do, I'd understand. Maybe not then, but after, surely. Don't think of it as giving up, you're not. You don't need to try to accommodate her, she's not your concern." Deirdre remembered the chicken nuggets, Morgan's pleas and her attempts at bonding with the woman, each made her shoulders heavy with remorse. That woman might have been her, but Deirdre hated each part—her joy, her inhibitions, how much she didn't seem to care what she did. A year ago, she wouldn't have minded the creature, but now it threatened what she built, the person she was trying to become. "What would you like instead?" Deirdre asked finally, allowing her anger and fear to move aside in place for her boundless care for Morgan. "Do you...want to come up with a plan?"

Deirdre stayed silent for a moment then, collecting her thoughts. Morgan's love nearly seemed unconditional, something given rather than earned through pain wrought trials. She kissed her with gentleness, even though she couldn't feel it for herself. She tried for her, she was kind to her. Like a stiff box suddenly weathered by rain, Deirdre sagged. "You know how you get around dead bodies? It's like that. I always thought they spoke to me. I spent years indulging them, many fae do. It was...all I had, for a while. I don't know how to turn them away. I've tried, and I never get it right. I can barely stop myself from finding dead bodies, I can't begin to control myself around the rings. But you're not fae. We can't enjoy them together and I...want you more. I want us more." She sighed, turning her head to nip and kiss at Morgan's neck, mumbling into her skin. "I can work with admonishing mushrooms as a code. And I'll talk to Lydia." And maybe she'd just ask her mother what she was supposed to do, whenever that trip to Ireland came around. "I love you," she pressed another kiss where she spoke and then shifted back. Slowly, she worked her hands up to cup Morgan's face, leaning in until their foreheads touched. "I love you." And then she kissed her—urgent and eager. The third confession of love spilled through her.

“Maybe you would be cruel to her, maybe she deserves some comeuppance, but I don’t know if I can make any version of you hurt on purpose.” Morgan admitted. “But regardless, why don’t you leave her to me. Just signal when you think you even might be slipping and when she comes back, I’ll try for us next time, all of us. Something different. There’s a lot she doesn’t understand, but that doesn’t mean I can’t work with her, necessarily. And if she does anything that hurts too much, I’ll step away until you can come back to me. How about that? Sound fair enough?” She kissed her way up to Deirdre’s ear and then her temple and hair. “We can talk more about her later, okay? I don’t want us to have anymore doubts about where we’ll be after the next bout of this...hopefully a long way from now. A few weeks, at least.”

Morgan grimaced against Deirdre’s hair as she compared the compulsion to her hunger for death. In the early days it had been automatic, her whole self had snuffed itself out in a breath, and when she was half satisfied, it felt like death was covering her insides. It made her almost warm again with how right it felt. The craving galled her, inconvenient, even painful when she carried so much shame for it. She’d had to tell herself it wasn’t as important as it felt. She had to resist, convince herself that she was taking control of her life, not denying some gory truth. Did Deirdre have to do the same?

“I’m so sorry, my love,” she whispered, pressing another tender kiss to her neck. “You’re not weak, though, okay? If it’s anything like what I go through, you’re not weak at all. You’re amazingly strong for holding out as long as you have. Maybe with some more practice, it won’t be so hard. Maybe it’s just more work. We don’t know yet…” She moaned softly at Deirdre’s kisses and whispered back, “I want us too. So much, my love. It feels like so long since I’ve had you. Maybe getting used to these seasonal breaks is going to take work too. Talking to Lydia sounds good. She’ll listen to you…” Morgan’s voice trailed off as she began to occupy herself with kneading Deirdre’s neck and shoulders, one of the many affectionate gestures Mushroom Deirdre had denied her. Deirdre must have showered after coming back, it looked smoother, softer than usual, and if she pressed her face in and breathed deep, she could catch the ghost smell of cherry trees. Morgan moved her hands around to play with the hair at the nape of her neck, tugging, just a little, to feel the fine strands. And then Morgan was looking at her love, her face perfectly cradled in Deirdre’s hands with the kind of affection she’d craved so desperately over the past two weeks. “We’re gonna okay, Deirdre,” she said, falling into her kiss. “I love you too, I love you too, I love you, I love you—”

It was a point of pride to squeeze the words in one last time before surrendering herself to more kisses. Her hands dug hungrily into Deirdre’s skin and she sucked on her lip as if it were the sweetest nourishment. There must have been dozens of kisses she’d kept to herself over the past week. Pleading kisses, possessive kisses, comfort kisses, kisses of awe and affection and longing for their life to fit right again, for the threads that bound them together to snap snugly into place again. It hadn’t felt right to give them to the Mushroom Deirdre, but they burst out of Morgan now as she wriggled her legs to straddle her girlfriend and gathered her as dearly into her arms as she could. “Does this mean you're not really bored with me?” She gasped, her lips rubbing against her skin. “You’re mine again? I can have you, and you’re mine?” She nipped at her as hard as she dared, which was hardly at all. “Can I see your letter on the way to bed? Is that too greedy of me? And are you really okay?”

Could it be that easy? Deirdre searched Morgan’s eyes for the answer, where she found love, she turned to the rest of her; to her fingers, twitching with a lie; or her body, eager to move away. She found her hands pressed steady against her, and her body just the same. Still. Forgiving. “Will you be okay with that?” She asked softly, stewing in her concern. “It sounds...too fair.” She watched and waited for the glass to shatter. Ten seconds, she counted them out in her head. If nothing changed in Morgan by then, she’d believe it. One. Two. Three. “More than a few weeks, if I can help it…” Four. Five. Six. Seven. “I--yes. We can talk about this later. We should. I’m okay with that. I want you to be safe too.” Eight. Nine. Ten. Deirdre broke into a small smile, surrendering herself to dissolve under Morgan’s words and touches. Ten seconds, and she hadn’t turned to run. She believed it.

“If I am defined by my control--if I am held to its standards--then, unequivocally, I am weak. And perhaps it is an aspect I’ve deliberately neglected because I didn’t care. But I care now, and I’m weak.” Deirdre explained absently; finding--as she always did--that her thoughts found safely in tumbling out to Morgan. That she often liked for them to, wanting for ways to share herself. That she often never planned for them to. Yet, she hoped the conversation would wither away. She was stubborn in her beliefs, and this wasn’t something she could learn to trust in ten seconds. And she’d much rather be kissing Morgan anyway, taking handfuls of her as she tried to fill herself with the sensation of her--to wash away the time they spent parted, to speak again of her boundless love. She learned a new language of affection this way; of ‘I love you’ spoken as a quivering breath when her lungs burned for air. Of ‘I want you’ spelt in clawing fingers trailing across her body. For every hour they spent in strange, distant mushroom-limbo, she’d replace them with two better. Where Morgan often feared force, Deirdre was eager to demonstrate to her girlfriend that she could take more by way of her own practiced pressure. Hungrily she offered her love, yearning to speak to Morgan as they always had---through touch or words or both. They’d figure it out, they always did. “Never; I’d never be bored with you. And always; I’m yours always.” She drew her girlfriend in, lifting her in her arms as she stood up from the couch. “Not greedy.” She rasped into another kiss. “But it is a little on-the-floor.” And the distaste in parting them was exactly why Deirdre insisted on carrying Morgan around often enough, despite how clumsy it could be. But it didn’t matter, she’d pick the wrinkled list up with her foot if she had to. “Bed, then?” She asked. “I can read you what I wrote.” She kissed her again, rolling her lip between her teeth as she parted. “I’m okay and you can have me; I’m yours.”

“There’s no such thing as too fair,” Morgan said. “And you are not defined by your control, or any one thing about you, Deirdre. Hard as that may seem to believe--” she added with a rueful smile. Deirdre had come so far, shed so many of the defenses she carried and there were even moments when the contentment and pleasure that warmed her cheeks seemed to settle inwards and Morgan could imagine that she was beginning to like herself, or at least the tender, thawing pieces of herself that she gave to her. But thirty-two years was a long time to walk the world believing your worth was only that of some object, a tool that could be thrown away or broken if it failed to do its job.

Morgan could sense something tight and anxious in her girlfriend, something coiled, or rushing, perhaps. It thrummed just beneath her skin, harmonizing with their need to rebuild their familiarity with one another’s bodies. Morgan could feel herself rushing too; the whole time Deirdre had been gone, she had ached for a treadmill to speed her to this moment. Not just Deirdre’s return but the after, when her dread of ‘what next’ would splatter away, when the hands that held her would stay, when her mind could rest in the present, knowing how safe she was. She whined, begging at Deirdre, tumbling into their mounting rhythm. Harder, it’s been so long, I missed you for so long, please, I’m yours, please, be with me. Her heart still felt picked raw, and its angst studded her relief with shudders and stray tears. “I don’t care where it is,” she said about the letter. “I want to know what it says, and to hear you read it, I want to know everything you’re thinking right now, or what you wanted to say while I was at work, and I can’t believe the mushrooms gave you back when I was at work! That’s just an extra kind of unfair, making me miss more time with the real you? Dip me and I’ll pick it up. Or work on your squats while you balance me. Or, I mean, I guess it’s semi reasonable to just put me down and pick up the letter with your hands and we can walk to bed like regular adults. We can try to skip to the normal part of back to normal, but I’m just so--” Her words faded into a smile. She brushed back Deirdre’s hair, caressing her face as she did. ���Stars, I can tell it’s you just by looking. My sad, wonderful, beautiful banshee. My fae love. I don’t know how to say just how good it is to see you.” She strained her arm down towards the couch and pinched up her own letter with her fingertips and brought it up for Deirdre to have later. All had been said, more or less, and the worry in some of her words was so pitiful now from the other side of the crisis. But Morgan wanted Deirdre to have it, and the half she’d written to her mushroom shadow, if it could ever be dug out of the garden. Morgan wanted no secrets or blockades, however small or fragile.

"There is sometimes." Deirdre chuckled to herself, running her fingers through Morgan's hair. "The way you're good to me. It feels 'too fair'—too good." She dropped her hand away, contemplating if she should explain to Morgan that it wasn't exactly a bad thing, not at all, just something she didn't know how to make even. Equivalent exchange, as Morgan might have called it once. But she knew that her girlfriend understood the point, she knew because it was a sentiment Morgan expressed before. "I wish I could give you everything," Deirdre confessed quietly, surrendering to a woeful smile. "Most of the time I don't think I give you enough. I want the world for you, a better world than this one. I love you, I wish I knew how to say more than that too." Were she a better woman, maybe she could have taken their pain and turned it to gold by touch, by magic. Alchemize good the ways Morgan might have, the ways she couldn't now. Do for her what she had done in turn, do for her what she deserved. Deirdre ached for it. But she wasn't a better woman, just one in love.

All she could do now was use the press of her hands to make their absence a memory. Kiss to say she never wanted to know a world where they couldn't. To love loudly, freely, open and honest and as if there never was a time she didn't. And all of this, done as if it were her first taste of sweetness; touch in worship, kiss like awe, love in wonder. Love in temporal anomaly; love cognizant of the past, love as if there was nothing but the present, love with the promise of future. Like that, her devotion spilled into a dialogue with Morgan, ever shifting for the better. Wordlessly, breathlessly, she supplicated; how can I be better, how can I love you more, what do you need and how can I give it. As a vassal to fate, her body often felt hollow. As one to love, she had never felt more whole.

She made sure Morgan's letter stayed tucked securely between them. "I don't think there is a normal, and if it means letting you go, I'm not interested in it," Deirdre laughed, moving towards their stairs and ultimately, her letter. "You don't need to say it—I might have an idea; if it's anything like how good it is to see you. I'm sorry I left at all. I'm sorry you even know what it's like not to see me, my love." There was a lot she needed to apologize for. A lot more she needed to thank Morgan for. So much that had to be said, and words that would forever remain inadequate. "I'll dip you, and we can go to our bed and—you know, I love that. I love that it's our bed. Have you ever thought about that? I think about it all the time. When I see the door or the stairs—it's ours." And though unrelated to the topic at hand, she beamed in speech. "I like when things are ours." Deirdre dipped Morgan down quickly, as if her monologue was more of a distraction than an impulsive observation. (It wasn't; she always had a habit of spilling out her heart when it flooded, not that she wouldn't accept the unintended result of a surprise). She grinned, pressing her lips roughly to the parts of Morgan that their new position gave privilege for her to. "It's the wrinkled one that looks like a collaborative effort between a band of illiterate rockstars." She explained between pecks. "Not that there's a lot of wrinkled things on the floor."

“But you do give me—” Morgan’s voice croaked as the assurance sprang out of her. “You, this you, you never make me feel wanting or empty or limited. You’re the reason I ever believed that I could have anything beautiful to keep just by being the way I was. You’re the reason I have us or even some of my friends now, still. And you hold me, or you let me hold you, and I don’t feel pathetic or needy or sad. You hold me and it’s like I’ve doubled in size, like I have another superpower, or like we’ve slipped off this world, and the one that’s ours is real. Our shore, and everything I don’t have words for is water coming to keep us cool, and we don’t belong to anything but each other.” She hiccuped then, and buried her face in Deirdre’s neck, shuddering and laughing at once. “I know that’s a weird thing to say when I can’t stop crying, but that’s just because you weren’t here. It’s not our place when you hold me if you’re not you.”

A quiet string of sobs bubbled out of her, but Morgan pressed into all of Deirdre’s touches as she might have on their brightest day. She melted at her silent questions, puddling with relief and reassurance. Love me here, her hands replied, squeezing her recklessly. Wipe my tears with your lips for a year and a day, hold me until we both start to ache, touch me where I’m coldest, take me apart where I feel tightest. Kiss me like my existence depends on it. Cover me like another skin. Love me the best you ever have, love me, “...love me…” the words slipped free in a breathless whisper, simple and useless for all it explained, though no less earnest in its plea.

Morgan thought her eyes had settled as they neared the stairs. She was so cocooned in affection, the edges were starting to fall away from the ache in her heart. But Deirdre’s tender honesty cut through the numbness building around her wounds. It had been awful, seeing the face that loved her pulled freakshow dummy style into expressions that disliked her, grew bored, agitated, vengeful, forgetful. She had collapsed in bed not knowing how she was going to persist in that first night,  and then somehow she did the same thing all over again for nearly two weeks, almost right up to the bitter end. And at Deirdre’s understanding, her apology which had not even been requested, Morgan’s eyes welled again, submitting to having her pain exposed. If there were no secrets in the strange consumptiveness of their affection, there could be no less in their sensitivities, their anguish, their frustration. “Do you hurt?” She whispered. “In the place you go away to when she comes, does she make you hurt...?”

She found the letter on the ground and picked it up, slipping it down the front of her own dress to keep safe. “I do think of the things that are ours, as a matter of fact. I’m pretty proud of myself, including that chair, and all our kitchen stuff, and our furniture, and yes, even especially our bed. And for the record, I don’t care about being normal either. Right now all I care about is being with you. It was so much longer this time, so many days you weren’t here to look at me like...” The words to encapsulate world-breaking affection on Deirdre’s face failed to materialize for her. “Like you do. Even when I’m not doing anything at all, just being somewhere next to you.” When they reached their bedroom, a little messy from depressive neglect and mushroom horticulture of the mind, Morgan greeted the sheets only too readily. “You really will read it to me this time, won’t you?” She asked. “So I can hear your voice when you’re happy with me again?”

“I could give you more,” Deirdre whispered, aching to make it true. But holding Morgan up in her arms didn’t allow for the singing her hands wanted to do, for the expression her lips demanded. The bed, she knew then, was clearly a sacred place. The church she could offer her prayer in, but not so much in the air, in their great room. (Not that it was impossible, or even something they hadn’t done before, or even something that wasn’t wholly tempting---with great restraint, she persevered onwards). “I want to give you more.” Everything. And quickly, she discovered again how poorly even her affection made trying to explain her love. As much as her body cried its devotion--I love you, I’ll make it okay, give me your pain and I’ll replace it with love, where do you want me, where do you need me--she could only give so much like that. “I do, I do,” she replied, spilling into a fervor to get them moving. More, more; she wanted to give more. Not enough, not enough.

“Hurt?” Deirdre blinked, having been focused on moving up the stairs while kissing away Morgan’s growing stream of tears. All she could taste was salt and fire. “Not in the moment. But after? Immeasurably.” She didn’t explain, soon their bedroom came into focus and their bodies against the plush mattress that they knew. She drew Morgan in close, relieved to be able to touch more of her now, kiss more, love more. She took Morgan’s half-letter and placed it gingerly aside. “Like I love you, you mean?” Deirdre smiled, “it’s hard not to look at you like that. Did she not---” Deirdre swallowed thickly. More reasons to be angry at herself, it seemed. She couldn’t imagine looking at Morgan with anything less--her radiant love; her light, the sun, the stars and everything in between. “I’ll read it if you bear with me,” she laughed, pressing a quick kiss to Morgan. “I’ll do anything you ask.”

She picked the letter from Morgan’s dress, slowly unraveling it to reveal her messy writing. All of her prior letters were done with a neat and practiced script--she never showed Morgan her countless drafts, and even this, she never intended to share. But like a flower bloomed for the sun, so did Deirdre’s desire to unveil herself for Morgan. Honesty always. Truth for as much as she could say it. She wanted Morgan to know her just as much as she wanted to know Morgan. Somewhere among the scribbles of her ink on that page was a simple explanation to the fact: I want you to know me. I have to tell you everything that I’ve done and know I can still be loved. I give my crimes a mouth; rotted teeth that will surely fall out one day. And when I babble like a baby about it, will you finally forgive me for the pain that my life demands? Will you still be here? I’m sorry for so much. If you still love me, thank you. If you don’t, thank you. But she didn’t start there. Deirdre pointed to the beginning of her list, where her words were still commands she made for herself rather than a spilling of thoughts. The first point was simple enough: tell Morgan you’re sorry. She drew her finger to the second point: thank her. And then to the words sprawled in the left margin; a list of all the wrong she could remember. “I’m sorry for the crown. For being such a pain. For not knowing how to speak to you, for not being able to sit with you, for signing off, for letting you be alone.” Her finger moved to the right margin; a list of all the good Morgan did that she could remember. “Thank you for the food, for staying, for doing your best, for doing what you could, for waiting for me, for keeping people safe--for keeping yourself safe.” She pointed to the third item on her list, the biggest words on the paper with grand curves and thick lines: tell Morgan that you love her. But not like that: better. The best you can. The rest of the letter dissolved from there.

Deirdre explained it.

“I love you, Morgan. I love you madly, inexpressibly. I don’t like the world where I can’t see you around me. I think of you always. I think of you in the running tap, where the water’s blues almost match yours. Where I can remember shared showers and baths, where I can imagine that same water over your skin. I see you in the garden, by the flowers where you sit sometimes. In the white petals of the daisies by the pool; fair as skin, marked by their yellow sun. I think there’s a sun in your center sometimes, that you might be part-star--bright and brilliant. I think you might like to know that a flower is sprouting, that a bird chirps and somewhere someone is laughing. When the house is silent, I can fill it with your voice, with the music you like and the sounds of you failing to scold Moira. I know how the grass moves between your toes, I know how the wind catches your hair. I don’t like the world where I don’t remember that. I don’t like not seeing you. I always think about how the orange on our counter might fit in your hands. What you’d say about the neighbour’s new dog. If you think about the weird creak that comes from the attic like I do, if we’ve talked about that before. If we could talk about it again, if you wouldn’t mind me wanting to hear you speak again and again and always. If you’d let me listen. If you know how much I adore the sound of your voice, if I can tell you again and again and always.” The lines scribbled around called to her: how do you express devotion to something you love this much? Do you know? Will you tell me? And I didn’t know people like you could exist. And do you know what you sound like when you laugh? If you did, you might fall in love with yourself too. Bits and pieces of thoughts she didn’t have enough space on the page to explain. Somewhere, between those lines, she cursed that too. “I missed you. I want you. I love you.”

Deirdre shifted, rolling on top of Morgan to press their bodies better together---closer together; anything. “I love you,” she repeated, and she repeated it again as she leaned down to kiss Morgan’s cheek, jaw, neck, clavicle, shoulders---anywhere that she neglected, which was everywhere. “It hurts because I am parted from you. I hate it because I am. I love you like decay, like rain or a current or a running tap. I like the world better when we’re in it together, I like myself better when I’m with you. I am yours, and there’s nothing I’d rather be. I love you. I love you. I love you. I love you always.”

Morgan would’ve flushed to hear Deirdre’s clarifying question, like I love you, you mean, if she could. She didn’t want to put too fine a point on how differently Mushroom Deirdre had behaved or how profound her Deirdre’s everyday affection seemed in contrast. And yet Mushroom Deirdre’s apathy hurt in ways Morgan hadn’t braced herself for, in ways that stung to recognize, that made her want to hide. “Sometimes she would,” Morgan confessed in a small voice, reaching up to stroke her Deirdre’s adoring face, like she could coax it into staying like that. “A good amount of time, even. Mostly at night. There was one time we stayed up reading, and she fell asleep on me like that, and she let me hold her like that until morning and I could pretend she was you. But sometimes she just…gets bored really easy sometimes, I guess. And I did a lot of things she didn’t like, so she was unhappy a lot of the time, especially in the second week…” Morgan shrugged, her eyes drifting briefly away, taking in the waves of her hair, the tightness of her plum dress, the patterns of her many freckles, anything that made her spirit lift and stay with the feeling of being reunited instead of sitting in all the hurt that had built up. Instead of getting used to Mushroom Deirdre’s small rejections, they built up, cutting deeper into her resolve each time. “It’s fine,” she said, smiling feebly. “You’re here with me now, and you like me better. And I like you better too.”

Morgan adjusted her position, searching for the right level of comfort between the pillows and Deirdre’s grasp. “It’s not much to bear with. I’d listen to you talk about anything.” Snuggling close, she looked at Deirdre’s chicken scrawl and listened to her explain. As she did, affection spread through her as honey into tea, coating the moment with softness and flavoring her feelings with dizzying richness. It flooded her through and through, knocking down what pitiful walls she’d put up around her heart and freeing the tenderness she’d squirreled away for just this moment. There were so many touches she had longed to give but held back out of self-preservation, so many moments when she shied away from her usual openness, maybe even with good reason. The last night that woman had spent in the house they had barely touched or spoken at all. But they spilled free in absent, tender touches now: a tug on the zipper on Deirdre’s dress, a stroke along the curve of hips, a lazy back and forth along the side of her breasts. When the letter was finished, Morgan welcomed Deirdre advancing on top of her, the pressure of her legs tangled in her own, the faint smell of her breath. Morgan’s hands gathered up her hair and slipped beneath her dress to feel what she could of her body.

“Don’t hurt anymore,” she whispered, sucking Deirdre’s lip between kisses. “It’s the craziest thing, but no one’s ever loved me even half as well as you. You know that? You love me most, and you love me best, and I can’t believe I get to know you at all some days, much less be loved by you. I’d give so much to know all your strange little thoughts every day, because I don’t think twice about the oranges except that I miss eating them, especially the little clementines, but I think about whether or not you’re bored at work, and the news alerts on my phone and how our friends are doing and if you’re happy or sad or anxious and how you look in the morning when you wake up, and how you have at least ten different smiles, and I have my own theories about the noise in the attic and I wish I could see what you and the cats get up to when I’m not home, and… I just… I don’t want you to hurt. I don’t want either of us to. I love you even when I miss you, even when you’re not here and you’re someone else and everything is awful, I love you. And I’m not so good with the metaphors off the top of my head, I can’t say anything to make our world more real, but I love you even when you’re not you. It's only been six months, but I’d stitch loving you into the universe, so it’d be as much of a fact as the constellations or the structure of the atom. And I want you here and I want you with me and I want us to be together so badly. We’ve never been apart this long before and I want you so badly, Deirdre, but I’d love you the same even if you didn’t. I love you in your pain, and in your mistakes, and in anything, everything else. So long as you are even a little bit you, Deirdre, I will love you. I already do.” Morgan kissed her, ravenous and needy, pulling on her as if she could drag them both through the mattress and the floors below, and into the earth. She pulled Deirdre against her body as if their touch could summon their world fresh, supplanting all the cruelty and strain and distress. She parted from her lips and stretched out beneath her, arms above her head, shivering with the hope that she didn’t have to cling tight to Deirdre in order to try and keep her anymore. “Stay with me?” She asked, half plea, half proposition.

Deirdre had learned quite quickly that to say she loved Morgan was a severe understatement—but unlike most things she failed to say, guilt only hung around those words for a second, quickly claimed by the very love she lacked adequacy in proclaiming. It was true her love for Morgan seemed to go beyond itself, beyond what her mind could grasp. It was true she loved her like a thousand metaphors of the natural world, and a thousand more about magic and the divine. It was true that no matter how many different ways she said it, it would never be right—she loved her more than words, better than language. But she held no shame in trying and none in failing. Dramatic as it was, she’d say for as long as it was it was true, and for as long as Morgan wanted to hear it. It was far worse a crime to be silent in her love, than to fumble with the words. And it was the worst of crime to have been gone, leaving in place a woman that didn’t love as she should. So bad, that Deirdre struggled to grasp the horror of her. Was there some strange version that would ever tire of Morgan? That ever got bored? Or unhappy? Deirdre grimaced, she could remember some of her actions, but none of her feelings. “I can't imagine not loving you, not caring about you. Or even getting bored.” Which was strange, because by any merit, sitting in one place for an extended amount of time was sure to be inherently boring and yet, it never was with Morgan. Her face fell, and her posture with it. She kissed the edge of Morgan’s weak smile and willed it strong. “I like you the best.”

It was that profound desire for peace and strength for Morgan that she pressed her forehead to hers, trying to send across her thoughts of love and affection. She knew it didn’t quite work like that, but she always moved her body like it did, or like she desperately wanted it to. She fell into her kiss with just as much need and want, filled with as much hunger that grew heady around her. “I love you,” she mumbled between them, summoning the last of her self-control to not cry at Morgan’s words. Her smile pulled lopsided, a breathy laugh spilling between her lips. “What was that about being bad at metaphors, Ms. I’d-stitch-loving-you-into-the-universe?” And then Morgan asked a question she didn’t have to. The answer was always ‘yes’ or ‘as long as you want’ or ‘there’s no place else I’d want to be’ or ‘I always am’. It was as simple to Deirdre as waking up, or falling asleep. “Always,” she commanded in tone, and reached for Morgan’s wrist, wrapping her hand around it. But she had two weeks of not knowing; of the answer being unpredictable, at the whim of a woman she didn’t know. Deirdre would make up for that. It started first with a kiss and then another, then remembering that tearing through articles of clothing was a habit that often left Morgan without the skirts and sweaters she was fond of—and that Deirdre had said, months ago, she’d exercise more patience (her own clothes were never to be subject to so much care, naturally). “Now,” she grinned, exercising what she imagined was incredible patience, “let me love you.”

But where words were often understatements, her actions existed somewhere closer to pulling her love from her body and translating it. With reverence, she could will a better world—she’d call it magic if only it didn’t sound so clichéd. But for the rest of the day, across the night and into tomorrow, magic was the only thing to call it. Love just happened to be the name it had chosen.

[lyssismagical]

happiness can be found even in the darkest of times

Febuwhump Day 13 & 14 – Unfortunate & Broken Heart

Read on AO3

For once, the day didn’t seem to hold any heaviness to it. The sky was bright, the cake made to immaculate perfection, the card and present nervously left in the center of the table.

“Happy Becoming a Stark Day, kid,” Tony says, uncertainty obvious in the way he holds himself, shoulders tense and eyes wary.

Three years ago, Peter would’ve hid away in his room at the reminder, scolding himself for calling it his room. He would’ve tucked himself under his blankets, locked the door, and cried, begging May and Ben to come back.

Two years ago, Peter would’ve shrugged Tony off. He would’ve rolled his eyes, refused to have any of the cake, and ignored the gift. He would’ve shouldered his backpack and stalked to school, not even accepting Happy’s offer for a ride.

Even last year, Peter would’ve squared his jaw, maybe attempted a half-smile in consideration. He wouldn’t have eaten the cake, would’ve maybe peeked at the gift when he thought Tony wasn’t looking, but would’ve ignored the idea of the day that stood before him.

But today’s different. Three years is a long time to heal.

So, instead, he offers Tony a smile, maybe a little weary and down, but a smile nonetheless, and he sits at the table across from his guardian.

“Hey, bud,” Tony murmurs, even quieter than before, but his shoulders have relaxed. “I know I’m not supposed to let you have cake for breakfast, but I figured we could go out tonight, if you want.”

Peter pauses, and even quieter than Tony, even smaller, he says, “Could we maybe just have a movie night? Just us here? If not, that’s okay, I don’t mind going out, but I just- I-”

But Tony’s face is so gentle, eyes shining. “Yeah, buddy, of course. We can watch that show you never shut up about.”

Tentatively, Peter steels himself to extend the olive branch he’d been holding close to his chest for far too long. “Do you think, maybe, we could try to make meatloaf? It was- It was the only thing May could cook and I found her recipe when I was going through her things.”

And Tony’s eyes light up with pride, smiling softly. “Course we can, buddy.”

“Can I?” Peter asks, reaching for the present. Anxiety still thrums in his veins and the remnants of grief still curl from his toes up to the pit of his stomach, and guilt still lingers in the back of his mind. But he wants to try.

Tony pushes the present and card across to Peter, still smiling so carefully like he’s scared any wrong move on his part will set Peter backwards on his course to happiness.

The card is simple, a few kind words scrawled in Tony’s messy handwriting about how much Peter means to him.

The gift makes tears spring to Peter’s eyes. A gold chain with a locket on the end of it. When he opens it, it’s the picture of Peter, Ben, and May on the beach when they went on one of their Spontaneous Sunday Stunts. They drove out to Coney Island that Sunday, not long before Everything Happened.

Peter quickly slips the gold chain around his neck, unable to tear his eyes away from the picture of Ben and May smiling at the camera, arms wrapped around Peter.

He stands suddenly, chair kicking out behind him before he can stop it, but Tony beats him to talking, voice low and apologetic.

“I’m sorry, I know it’s soon and it’s not my place, I just saw the picture when I was going through some of the stuff, and I figured-”

“Thank you,” Peter murmurs, swallowing thickly. Tears catch on his cheeks and his hands are shaking where they clutch the golden pendant, but he needed this. It’s been three years.

Peter moves around the table and allows himself to hug Tony, a few years ago, he would’ve never allowed himself to, he would’ve told himself it was betraying May and Ben to be accepting Tony’s comforts.

“Yeah, course, kiddo,” Tony says, pressing the quickest kiss to Peter’s temple.

He clears his throat, offering a proud smile. “Finish up your piece of cake and then I’ve gotta get you to school.”

Peter lets himself laugh, a small fraction of the person he once was, before everything happened, but it’s enough for now at least.

Three years ago, Peter watched Ben die in the grim alleyway (bloody hands, pained wheezes, the murmured With Great Power Comes Great Responsibility, the guilt and the grief, watching May fall to her knees when the police officers dragged Peter, shocked and blood-caked hands, into the house with The News) and there was nothing he could do to stop it from happening. And then, as though the universe wasn’t done ruining his life, when Peter went to see May the next morning, she was gone too.

Broken Heart Syndrome, the doctors told him. A rare occurrence, but somehow Parker Luck had struck again.

And suddenly, within the course of twenty-four hours, Peter was alone. Absolutely, irreversibly, indescribably alone.

Running away from the CPS wasn’t as hard as he thought, running from grief was harder than he’d thought.

He spent his days swinging through the streets of Queens as Spider-Man, he’d take naps on rooftops, hoping nobody would catch him.

Until, of course, Iron Man showed up one day and took him back to the tower, offering up one of his hundreds of guest bedrooms.

It wasn’t like Peter couldn’t accept it, he didn’t have much of a choice unless he wanted to sleep in his stupid Spider-Man onesie on various rooftops for the rest of his life, running from CPS.

And three years later, somehow, Tony’s still here. He hasn’t given up on Peter yet, he hasn’t died like Peter thinks he might if he starts to think of Tony as a real parental figure.

But Peter’s been letting his guard down. He’s been accepting the homework help, he’s been letting Tony take him out to restaurants and for ice cream, Tony’s been coming to his Academic Decathlon competitions, they have movie nights at least once a week.

Peter’s let himself get close to Tony in a way he promised he wouldn’t because he knows that whenever he gets close to somebody, they die. It’s happened four times already, and he swore he wouldn’t let it happen to Tony.

But he lets his guard down, and the bad things happen like he knew they would.

* Ned’s rambling about his new girlfriend, hands moving wildly with his emotions. Something about how he thinks she may have cheated on him already because of some snapchats MJ swears she saw during Academic Decathlon the other day.

It’s obviously important to Ned, and normally Peter would care a lot about it, but something seems off. Wrong. His spidey-sense is ringing in the back of his head.

And then they leave the school, Ned rolling his eyes dramatically as he gets to the part of his story where he’s planning on asking Betty about it, and Happy’s the one waiting for him not Tony.

Normally, Peter wouldn’t have been worried. Happy picks him up all the time.

But it’s their third anniversary of being a family and Tony said he’d pick Peter up from school so they could grab some ice cream, maybe some fast food, hang out for a bit.

He wouldn’t just miss it.

“Happy?” Peter calls out, wincing when Ned abruptly stops talking. “Sorry, man. I’ll call you later and you can tell me everything about what happens tonight.”

Ned’s shoulders don’t slump in the way Peter thought they would, there’s no disappointment or anger or any ill feelings in his eyes. He just grins and claps Peter on the shoulder.

“No worries. I gotta get going anyways. Guess we’ll cross our fingers that Betty has a reasonable explanation for those snaps,” Ned says. “Bye!”

Peter murmurs a half-hearted goodbye with a distracted smile, before turning on Happy, trying his best to push down the worry and disappointment.

“Hey, kid,” Happy says. His sunglasses slip down a little to reveal red-rimmed eyes, making Peter flinch.

“What’s going on? What happened?”

Happy sighs, opening the door for Peter to get in but the teenager doesn’t move. “Listen, kid, it’d be easier to explain when we get back home-”

“Is he okay?” Peter demands, tears already threatening to spill. Of course this happened. Of course something bad had to happen on the three years since Peter became a Stark. It was bound to happen one day, Parker Luck always ready to attack when Peter least expects it.

“He had a heart attack, Pete,” Happy says, voice soft and careful. “It happens sometimes, ever since Afghanistan his heart’s been weak.”

Peter’s knees buckle and Happy barely manages to catch him, gently maneuvering Peter into the car.

“He’s okay,” Happy reassures, easily blocking the car from the view of the prying teenagers passing. “He’s going to be just fine. He’s going to spend a couple days, maybe a week, in Medical, and then he’ll be fine.”

Peter lets out a broken sob, tears spilling over the edges. His shaking hands comes up to cover his face, hunching over himself in passenger seat.

“Pete, kiddo, he’s going to be okay, I promise,” Happy soothes, hands rubbing at Peter’s shoulders.

“I’m sorry,” Peter cries, tugging loosely at his curls. “It’s my fault. If I had- If I had just-”

Happy’s shaking his head, hands tightening on Peter’s shoulders. “Not your fault, kid. Tony’s heart been weak for over a decade now. It just happens sometimes. There was nothing you could’ve done to prevent this.”

But if Peter had followed his gut and stayed away from Tony, away from the Starks, maybe they would’ve been okay. Peter, he’s infectious. The Parker Luck attacks anyone close to him.

That’s why Mary and Richard were dead. That’s why Ben and May died. That’s why Tony’s now in the hospital.

Because of Peter.

“C’mon, kiddo, let’s get you home.”

Happy doesn’t say much more as his hands disappear from Peter’s shoulder and he gets into the driver’s seat, starting back towards the tower. He murmurs a few more quiet reassurances, before he gives up and lets Peter curl up and cry. All he does is reach out a hand is pat Peter’s shoulder gently every once in a while.

Peter just cries and wishes the bullet had taken him instead of Ben that night over three years ago. Things would’ve been different.

*

Ned calls him when they get back to the tower and Peter answers it without really thinking, sinking down onto the couch as Happy disappears down to medical without him.

“I walked Betty home from school,” Ned starts without waiting for Peter to say anything. It’s not like he knows anything’s wrong, he doesn’t know Peter’s life is crumbling before his very eyes. “And I confronted her about the whole ordeal.”

Peter hums, worried if he tried to speak, his voice would crack and give it all away.

“Betty admitted she was planning on going to Brad’s this weekend,” Ned exclaims. “MJ was right, she was going to cheat on me. Can you believe it? I ended it right then and there, told her if she liked Brad so much, she should be with him and not me.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah… I know I was the one to break up with her, but man, does it ever hurt? I think my heart is broken, dude. Like can you believe it? Brad, of all people?”

Ned continues rambling about his relationship problems, but Peter stops listening, mind looping the same phrase. Heart is broken.

Broken heart.

Ned and Betty were together for like three weeks, maybe. Ben and May were married for ten years, happy and in love, and prepared to spend the rest of their lives together.

Ned’s relationship problems may feel like the end of the world to him, but it isn’t a broken heart.

“I gotta go, Ned, sorry, man,” Peter blurts, cutting Ned off again. “I, uh, Tony’s, he, fuck, Ned, Tony had a heart attack and I-”

“Shit, Peter, I had no idea, I- I’m so sorry. If there’s anything I can, just let me know, yeah? I- I don’t know what to say. I’m just-”

Peter shakes his head, willing the tears not to fall. “It’s cool. I’ll call you back later. I gotta go bye.”

He hangs up, gives himself exactly two minutes to panic, to absolutely fall apart at the seams like he remembers doing when he walked into May’s room the day after Ben died and found her already long gone. He gave himself two minutes to panic before he called the police, packed up his things, changed into his Spider-Man suit, and swung into Queens.

This time, Peter doesn’t run away, he doesn’t try to hide. He pulls himself together as much as he can, and steels himself to go down to Medical.

* When Peter’s parents died, Ben and May would take turns reading Peter to sleep out of the Harry Potter Series, a collector’s edition Mary bought just a few weeks before the fateful plane ride.

She had left them with Peter at May and Ben’s before they’d left, saying it would be good entertainment while they were away.

Turns out, they’d be one of the only things Peter could keep that belonged to them.

The Harry Potter books were tucked away in the back of his closet not long later, when looking at them was enough to bring back waves and waves of grief.

After Ben and May died, Tony found them when taking everything from the apartment to the tower.

Peter was practically catatonic, refusing to leave his bed or eat the food Tony brought. And his new guardian did the only thing he knew how to do.

He read the Harry Potter books out loud, night after night after night until they’d made it to the part where Sirius died, and Peter had jerked out of bed and taken the book from Tony’s hands, drawing it to his chest as he cried.

It’s not like he didn’t know it would happen, he’d read the books six or seven times each, but hearing Tony’s rough voice depict Harry’s closest parental figure’s death so soon after Ben and May…

Now, years later, Peter tugs the box of books out from his closet where he’d hidden them a while back.

He takes them down to medical where Tony is, needles and IV’s and machinery surrounding him. His heart monitor is steadier than Peter thought it would be, but it doesn’t do much to quell his anxiety.

The spine crackles when he props open the first book of the series, tucking the rest of the box under his chair and he starts reading.

“Mr. and Mrs. Dursley of number four, Privet Drive, were proud to say that they were perfectly normal, thank you very much…”

* Pepper came down every once in a while, trying to convince Peter up from Tony’s bedside. She brought a few snacks, but when they went uneaten, she settled for bringing a few bottles of ice water when Peter’s voice became rough and cracking through the overuse.

Happy was in and out for the first night but he didn’t bother as much after that. They both knew Tony would be back on his feet in no time, there was no reason to cry at his bedside when he’d be just fine.

Bruce and Helen showed up occasionally, they tried to speak to him, tried to take the books from him, tried to get him to rest or eat or drink some water at the very least, but he never complied and used his sticky fingers and strength to his advantage.

The two constants, though, was the steady beeping of the heart monitor and Peter’s voice, reading and reading and reading.

After two nights of Tony resting, which apparently was perfectly normal according to Helen and Bruce, Peter’s voice finally cracked, tears overcoming him as he tries to continue to force himself through the blurring words of the page.

“‘There's nothing you can do, Harry... nothing... He's gone.’ ” Peter chokes out, voice trembling and hands shaking.

A sob escapes his throat and he can’t get his voice to keep going, book falling into his lap. Even three years later, he can’t make it through Sirius’s death. He can’t do it.

He tucks his knees up to his chest, hunching in on himself in the uncomfortable plastic chair at Tony’s bedside, tears refusing to cease, pouring down his cheeks like waterfalls. Sobs wrack his chest, shoulders shuddering, book clutched to his chest.

He cries and he cries and he cries.

And then,

“Pete?”

He turns quickly, nearly falling from his chair in his haste to see if the voice was real and not a figment of his imagination.

But it’s real. Tony’s eyes are finally open, boring into him with an intense worry and concern, hands already reaching for him, seeking to comfort the crying teenager.

Peter flinches, shying away from the outstretched hands. The book slips from his grasp and hits the floor with a thud, and he scrambles to grab it, hands trembling violently.

“Kiddo, hey, it’s okay, we’re okay,” Tony’s reassuring, voice rough from disuse, but so soft and caring it makes Peter want to fall into his arms and let him will the horrors of the world away.

But he can’t. He can’t pretend it’s okay.

“I’m sorry. I- I’m sorry,” he cries, knees buckling. He doesn’t have Happy to catch him this time, instead hitting the floor with a whine and hunching in on himself on the floor as he gasps for breath.

“Hey, hey, hey, kiddo, we’re okay. It’s alright. I know it’s scary, but it’s okay. I’m just fine, alright? But I can’t help you if you don’t let me.”

His eyes slide over the books, in particular the book that Peter’s pulled into his lap again, and his expression softens.

“Buddy, you know we skip over that book, don’t you?” Tony murmurs. He carelessly tugs off the circles on his chest, monitoring his heart rate, and the IV out of his hand, swinging his legs over the edge of the bed.

“No, no- You shouldn’t-” Peter tries to say, but then Tony’s kneeling on the tiled floor beside him and pulling him into a tight hug, effectively cutting off his protests.

Tony’s voice is soft and warm as they rock gently on the floor, reassuring him that everything alright.

And it works in a way that Tony’s perfected over the past three years of learning how to soothe Peter through guilt and grief and panic.

“You wanna tell me what’s up, bud? You wanna talk to me?”

Peter pulls away from Tony’s arms, knowing he must look like a wreck with tousled greasy curls and red-rimmed puffy eyes and a trembling mouth.

“I kill everyone I get close to,” Peter says, face crumpling. “Everyone I get close to dies, Tony, and I- I can’t lose you too. I can’t do it again, I can’t. My Parker Luck, it- it- Please, I- I have to leave, you have to send me away or else- or else-”

But Tony isn’t angry like Peter thought he would be. His voice stays in the same soft tone he’s adopted. “It’s not your fault, buddy. I know you think it is, I know it’s been tough for you, but it isn’t because of you. My heart’s been weak since Afghanistan, kid, long before you.”

“But- But Ben, and May, they- If I had just-”

“Kiddo, baby, you weren’t the one to pull the trigger. You weren’t the one to crash your parents’ plane. You weren’t the one to give me a heart attack. This isn’t on you, bambi. Bad things happen to good people.”

“But-”

Tony shakes his head, pulling Peter more firmly against his chest. “No buts. None of it was your fault no matter how much that little voice in your head is saying it is. It wasn’t your fault, I promise.”

Peter gives up fighting, he sinks into the hug, hiding his face away in Tony’s shirt, shaking hands curling into the hem of his shirt.

“I can’t lose you,” he says. “I can’t do it again, Tony, I can’t.”

“And I’ll try my hardest to make sure you won’t have to, okay? But you know I can’t promise you something like that.”

“I know, I just… I just can’t do it again. I can’t lose a fifth parent, Tony. I can’t do it. I don’t think- I don’t think I could do it.”

Tony curls tighter around Peter. “You won’t, baby. I’ve got you. It’s going to be okay.”

“Tony?” He curls one of his hands around the pendant that hangs around his neck, the one Tony got him.

“Yeah, kiddo?”

“I love you.”

“I love you too, buddy. Now what do you say, we hop back into bed and we can pick up where you left off, yeah?”

Peter looks over to where the fifth book lies harmlessly on the floor. “Can we skip to the end?”

Tony offers a smile, picking up the fifth and the sixth with a little huff of laughter. “Yeah, kid. Of course.”

They shift up onto the bed, Peter refusing to let go of Tony’s shirt, and Tony opens to the end of book five, clearing his throat.

It’s not perfect. Nothing will ever be perfect for Peter. But it’s enough. It’s good.

“‘Instead he smiled, raised a hand in farewell, turned around, and led the way out of the station toward the sunlit street, with Uncle Vernon, Aunt Petunia, and Dudley hurrying along in his wake.’ ”

[babywarg]

Drpepperony Prompt: Pepper gets sick/injured and Tony calls the hospital demanding they send their absolute best doctor. Leaves Pepper to answer to phone and walks back in on the most handsome man ever taking care of Pepper.

hello! took quite a few liberties with your prompt here (again 😅), but i still hope you like it 💖

set shortly after Iron Man 2 and before the first Avengers movie.

[10/03/2019: NOT ACCEPTING NEW PROMPTS AT THE MOMENT. Thank you for understanding 💕]

***

One day without Ms. Potts was manageable. Barely.

Two days was hell.

Three days got Tony inquiring after the state of her health.

When he learned she was in the hospital recovering from extreme fatigue, he dropped everything to race over to said hospital.

His first impulse was to use the Iron Man suit. It would have taken him there faster.

But it was a hospital. She (as well as everyone else there) would not have appreciated the loud and flashy disruption. Therefore, a car would do.

Extreme fatigue.

She had only said she was under the weather. He was imagining she was sitting at home, bundled up in blankets or in a fluffy robe, sniffling cutely while nursing a mug of hot cocoa she’d made for herself.

At worst, it would be the flu. She would still call. Assure him and all other stakeholders that way that everything was going to be fine.

But it had been fatigue, not the flu. She had collapsed as she was walking to her parked car three days ago, on her way to work. Other tenants of her apartment building found her and rushed her to Metro General.

The hospital Tony was rushing to get to.

He hadn’t thought about bringing her anything. That was why the balloon he’d bought at the hospital lobby, when Shit I’d forgotten to bring her something finally crossed his mind, said “It’s a boy!” instead of “Get well soon!” (he was in a hurry and had grabbed the wrong balloon).

He hadn’t even thought about calling ahead. Which would have been a wise idea.

It would’ve spared him the shock of finding her smiling and laughing with a cute, young, blue-eyed doctor as she lay in her hospital bed, hooked up to an IV.

Tony didn’t know what he had been prepared to find. Ms. Potts still unconscious, maybe? Emaciated, barely able to move, like a damsel in distress?

But she looked fine. Just a little pale and weak, perhaps, but stunning as ever. Certainly strong enough to flash her billion dollar smile at a total stranger.

And the doctor she was with…looked fine.

“Don’t worry, sir, she’d asked for the best doctor in the hospital,” the nurse rushed to tell his anxious ass at reception, but he didn’t stay to hear the rest of it.

So this was the best doctor in the hospital.

“Tony!” she greeted breathlessly. “What are you doing here?”

She looked genuinely surprised to see him. The doctor standing by her bed, however, seemed unimpressed.

“I, uh,” he began. Man, that doctor had pretty eyes. “Heard you were sick? Thought you may appreciate seeing a familiar face.”

All things considered, she really did look glad to see Tony. Which was a relief.

“Of course,” she said softly. “Thank you. And I’m sorry you had to come all this way. I didn’t want to trouble you.” She glanced over at the doctor. “I was going straight to the office to take care of everything after getting discharged tomorrow.”

“Hold on, Ms. Potts,” the young doctor sternly interrupted, in a deep baritone that flowed over to Tony like melted butter. “First of all, I haven’t signed off on that yet. We still have a couple more tests to run and I may decide to keep you here another night.”

“That’s why I got the best doctor in the house,” Ms. Potts argued, in a lightly flirtatious tone that did not escape Tony. “I have no choice but to get better fast, and I will.”

“Second,” - completely ignoring said flirtatious tone - “you’re heading back to work as soon as you get out of here? You’ve got to be kidding.”

“That’s right, Ms. Potts, you’ve got to be kidding,” Tony immediately echoed. “You’re going to stay and rest for as long as you need to.”

He stepped forward to hand the “It’s a boy!” balloon over to his former executive secretary. Who seemed amused and discreetly weirded out at the gift.

“Really,” Ms. Potts muttered, one corner of her lip raised. “I seem to recall you are no longer the boss of me.”

Tony made a playful warning gesture with one hand. “I made you CEO. I can take that back, you know.”

She smiled. Gosh, how he loved when he could make her smile. He was going to have to tell her that someday.

“I’m sorry, you are - ?”

This was from Doctor Hottie at her bedside. The question made Tony pause. Or maybe it was the way the doctor’s eyes seemed to look right into his soul.

“I’m her - ” What? Significant other? Ex-boss? Biggest headache? “ - friend.”

Ms. Potts’ eyebrows rose upon hearing that…though she didn’t overtly dispute it.

“Right,” the doctor answered, incredulous - apparently every bit as perceptive as he looked. “I’m Doctor Stephen Strange, Ms. Potts’ attending physician. I was in the middle of discussing Ms. Potts’ test results with her. This is normally information reserved for the family and the patient herself, so I’ll continue if Ms. Potts allows me - otherwise I’ll come back later. I do have other patients to see.”

Uh, wow. Self-important, much?

“Okay, Doc uh…” Tony fumbled for the name. “…Strange, is it? Can I talk to you outside for a bit?”

Strange looked over at Ms. Potts. Ms. Potts nodded, giving him permission.

He stepped out of the room with Tony without further argument.

Tony wasted no time in introducing himself properly - Tony Stark, president of Stark Industries, yadda yadda - and asking Dr. Strange what the deal was. And Strange was no-nonsense about it, which Tony appreciated.

Ms. Potts had not been sleeping. She’d been neglecting drinking fluids and eating healthily. She had been going to the gym, but without proper rest and nutrition, she had just been pushing her body past its limits. Her stress and anxiety levels were through the roof. And all of it had been going on for months.

Tony’s quick-working brain translated it as this:

Ms. Potts getting sick was his fault, for forcing her into a promotion.

They’d known each other for a while now. He should have known that the perfectionist in her might push her to be harder on herself than she actually needed to be.

Lots of company heads barely did any work. But Ms. Potts was always a hands-on manager. She would never be that kind of CEO.

“She needs rest,” Dr. Strange emphasized. “Bed rest. At least a week of it. Two would be ideal.”

“Two weeks,” Tony thoughtfully repeated. “There’s…no way to speed that up, is there?”

An eyebrow shot up. “Eager to get her back to the grind, are you?”

“No.” Asshole. “I just know her well enough to know that there’s no way in hell she’ll take to two weeks of staying indoors. Stark Industries is her baby. If she’s not with her baby, she won’t be able to rest anyway.”

To Tony’s surprise, a note of compassion entered the doctor’s voice.

“I’m not recommending so much downtime on a whim. The fact of the matter is, Ms. Potts’ body badly needs to remember how to relax. When was the last time she went on vacation?”

Tony tried to think back. And came up blank.

“I…huh,” he remarked. “I don’t think she’s ever taken a vacation since she started working at SI.”

“You say you’re her friend,” the doctor said. “The best thing you could do for her as a friend is to convince her to listen to her doctor. And try to ease her burden.”

Tony thought for a second.

“I do have a place upstate,” he mused aloud. “A lakeside log cabin…nice little place, perfect for an extended vacation. She ought to be able to relax there.”

“Sounds like a plan,” Strange agreed.

“It’s about a two-hour drive from here. How much to book you for regular home visits?”

The question seemed to take the good doctor aback.

“I’m a resident, Mr. Stark. I don’t do home visits.” He sounded genuinely offended, and just a tad amused. “And you can’t ‘book’ me, I’m not a taxi.”

“Wrong choice of words.” Tony threw his hands up in apology. “I’m just saying…she seems to like you. And I want her to get the best medical care while she’s recovering. Money’s no object.”

The doctor looked Tony up and down. Man, how could he look so handsome while being so annoying?

“In that case,” Dr. Strange responded, smirking, “we may be able to arrange something. Call my assistant.”

This seemed to conclude their conversation. Without so much as a by-your-leave, the annoyingly hot young doctor left to resume his rounds.

Tony let him go; his mind was already buzzing with plans to accommodate Ms. Potts in his lakeside cabin for two weeks. He had better make sure he was with her for those two weeks, just to make sure she really was resting, you know, and not on her phone stressing out and trying to run things by remote control.

And he had better be around for when Doctor Sexy came to visit.

You know.

Just to be safe.