#that being said what a reminder of the strange ways my mother decided to be just truly fucking terrible

[theorderofthetriad]

i just read someone's very sweet story about them and their mom and it reminded me of some not-so-sweet experiences(bad, i mean bad) i had with my mom and so i scrolled past the post and didn't comment on it or reblog with a long diatribe about how terrible my mother was or anything.

it's literally that easy.

[deebris]

The Misteryous Visitor 4

Batfamily x batsis (platonic!)

Synopsis: Bruce finally confronts Damian, and hates how tonight's events seemed to turn out just to remind him what a terrible father he is. He felt like he didn't deserve you, and he wanted at all costs to avenge the injustice Talia committed with you two.

Warnings: Family discussion; maternal overprotection; Bruce has psychiatric problems and is mentally unstable, besides being very angry; mentions depression, post-traumatic stress and the like.

Word count: 3.7k

Note: I apologize for taking so long to post the fourth part. I was looking for inspiration to continue in other fandoms. Now I feel engaged again to continue posting

Part 1 - Part 2 - Part 3 - Part 4 - Part 5 - Part 6

"She is not a secret." Damian tried to sound firm, looking Bruce in the eyes to avoid suspicion. But no matter what he did or how long he tried to maintain the lie, his father had already decided what to think about this enigmatic and strange situation.

"Hmm..." He let out a disheartened murmur, and the boy never thought something like this would happen, but he frowned with worry as he saw Bruce pour another drink. It wasn't like his father to act this way.

When Damian first met him in person at ten years old, he could have sworn Bruce and Talia were somewhat enjoying themselves that day, even with the barbs hidden in some exchanged sentences. Or maybe he was mistaken; after all, it had been so long. Perhaps he had preserved a false memory.

"How much have you drunk?" The boy asked with a disdainful voice, trying to hide that he was truly concerned.

"Why have you never talked about her? She is your sister, Damian." Bruce ignored the question but in a kind of silent acknowledgment, he rested the glass on the side table, preventing himself from getting drunk.

"Why are you acting like this? As if it's a big deal." He made a face of confusion. "Why do you care so much about this? She isn't even your problem. I won't stay here being interrogated because of her." Damian got up, taking hurried steps to the front door. He was running away, and he knew it.

"Where are you going?" Bruce stood to follow him, finally showing some kind of emotion beyond stoicism since they had been alone in the room.

"I'm going to wait for my mother outside. And when she appears, I'll come back to fetch Y/n. Then you won't have to see her anymore, ever again." Damian said, and although Bruce didn't know if in the last part his son was referring to you or Talia, he didn't dare ask for the detail.

"Why didn't you ask any of us for help when you found out she was missing? If she is someone so close to you, you could have talked to us." Bruce was speaking in that strange way again, like when he found out Jason was the Red Hood. He was hurt, and as if a whistle had snapped in his mind, Damian understood that his father was like this because of him. It wasn't Talia or how she always ended up causing problems; it was him. "You hid from me that you were still talking to your mother."

"And did I need to inform you that I talk to my mother?" The boy tried to maintain a haughty tone, repressing the urge to shout so that Bruce wouldn't see his conflicting feelings.

The truth is that it hurt to lie like this. It hurt even more to lie to you. Damian didn't show or openly say what he felt; his mother once told him that was weakness, but honestly, now he was disgusted with himself.

"You didn't need to inform me, but you made an effort to hide it!" Bruce didn't shout. His voice was grave, authoritative, and deep down had a tone of betrayal that had twice the impact of a shout. He seemed to reflect on something, and patiently Damian awaited a lamentable outburst, but just as he himself would do, Bruce was avoiding becoming emotional.

"I don't understand why, but you came to live with me and seemed to exclude her from your life because of us. She is your sister and didn't even know I am your father! You sent letters, which I'm sure you hid not just from me but from her too. And she ended up here in the middle of the night like a fugitive. Will you tell me again that all this has no reason?"

"Even if there were a reason, it wouldn't be your business." The young man replied harshly, and once again: it was a lie. It was his business. Seeing Bruce's angry scowl turn into a defeated look made one of his fingers tremble. Realizing only after saying something that what he did was wrong made a panic arise in his chest.

Bruce sat back in the armchair, giving up on the discussion once and for all. He felt so stupid for thinking he was succeeding in freeing his son from the League of Assassins' clutches, that he was doing a good job showing him he didn't need the blind loyalty Talia taught him to have. He feared that Damian would succumb to a villain's life, exactly as Ra's al Ghul wanted Bruce to be: cruel and ruthless.

Talia stirred bad reactions in him, and his sense of justice hammered in his head. How could he simply hand you back into her hands after you came here tonight? That woman was a bad influence on anyone, and it didn't matter if you were her daughter; you were a child. And wasn't that what he did with all his children? Took them from the streets and bad parents?

He wanted to vomit at the idea of allowing you to continue being raised by someone like her, among those people, but if he couldn't even change Damian, what could he do for you? Bruce couldn't force you to stay, but at the same time, he grappled with the internal conflict of corroborating that one day you would become like they. He is Batman, his duty is to protect. He should protect you too.

Bruce rubbed his eyes, feeling an intense headache and he day was already dawning again"Your mother isn't coming, Damian." He asserted, noticing that a long time had passed since they started waiting, getting up to return to his own room.

"You said we had a lot to talk about." Suddenly, the boy felt the need to prolong the conversation, if this could even be considered a conversation. It was as if they would never speak again if he allowed his father to leave.

"We don't anymore." Was cold, and that made the boy swallow hard. Bruce knew he would regret being so harsh, but at that moment, he wasn't thinking straight. The rational part of his brain was being dominated by his impulsive side.

Bruce opened his bedroom door with unusual violence. Lately, these episodes of anger were frequent, perhaps due to interrupted sleep; this damned insomnia was worse than in the last months. Alfred had already suggested he see a psychiatrist, but Bruce was sure he would leave there with a worse diagnosis than expected, so he avoided it as much as possible.

The butler once dared to mention that he might have some type of post-traumatic stress, but Bruce was stubborn and that led to an argument. He was a controlled man, but that day he shouted. The reaction was not unexpected, considering the tension from the chaos Scarecrow was causing in the city at the time, but Alfred was observant and knew the problems went beyond that.

The death of his parents was a delicate subject, and combined with the pressure of being Batman, Alfred saw Bruce become more obsessive, anxious, and even depressed over the years. Fortunately, the emergence of Dick was a break in the sad loneliness for him. And then came Jason, Tim, Damian, and things improved for a while, but the relapses still existed.

Bruce sighed as he admired his bed, wishing he could sleep again, but knowing he wouldn't be able to without taking another dose of pills, which certainly wasn't an option. Then he noticed your coat there. The garment had been left in his room, carefully placed on the arm of the room's couch.

He walked over and picked up the coat, rubbing the soft fabric with melancholy and noting how well-kept the garment was. It would probably be a good idea to return it to you; Would also be an opportunity to check if you were well accommodated.

Cautiously, he walked to the guest wing. Bruce thought he would need to check the rooms one by one to discover where Alfred had placed you, but a beam of light leaking from one of the doors indicated which one. He hesitated to turn the knob; it felt too intrusive. So, he knocked: three soft taps on the wood. He waited a few seconds, but you didn't come to open it, and he gave in to the act of opening it himself.

In slow movements, he leaned to look inside the room, without entering yet and checking if everything was okay. He saw your figure well wrapped in the covers, eyes closed and breathing in a consistent rhythm. You were sleeping, and the light he saw was the bedside lamp.

He entered, doing everything to control his steps, going to a chair to place the coat there. He felt the need to be gentle with the garment for some reason, handling the coat with such care, as if holding you in his hands.

He was envious of how pleasant your sleep seemed, wishing he could sleep like that too. He thought of turning off the lamp, but regretted it when he saw that his act interrupted your sleep. As soon as everything went dark, he heard the rustle of the covers, signaling that you had woken up. You stayed still for a while, staring at the shadow in front of you, knowing someone was there but too embarrassed to ask who it was, until the light was turned back on and you saw Mr. Wayne.

"Sorry, I think I woke you," he said softly, genuinely feeling guilty. "I brought your coat. I left it to dry better; it's still a bit wet," he continued, gesturing towards the chair.

"Thank you, Mr. Wayne," you replied groggily due to the minutes you spent sleeping. Thinking he would leave, you clasped your hands as if praying and placed them under your cheek on the pillow. A common but funny position.

"Call me just Bruce," he sat on the edge of the bed, looking at your face. He had a question stuck in his throat and thought it would be a good idea to start a conversation. "Are you okay?"

"I am. Thank you for letting me sleep at your house." you answered serenely, and he nodded in agreement. "And you?" You asked back. Bruce blinked, surprised by your question, realizing that your eyes were shining. The truth is he couldn't say how he felt, so he said what anyone would say: 

"Yes, I'm okay," he said, more focused on your face, knowing you might be uncomfortable with that but wanting to see you better. 

“Can I ask you something?” He seemed anxious, and you waited expectantly in silence, which he took as a yes. “Why did your mother separate you two like that? Why didn’t she tell you anything?”

You stared at a random spot on the mattress, feeling a pang in your chest at the memory. “She did, in a way. Mom doesn’t like you very much, Mr. Wayne. I think that’s why,” you said, looking back at him, seeing him raise his eyebrows in amusement; you corrected yourself with a gasp: “Bruce.”

“Did she speak badly of me to you?” Bruce was curious like a silly child, even though a serious scowl was etched on his face.

“Not exactly about you. Mom and Grandpa hate Batman.” By this point, you had already figured it out. It wasn’t hard to connect the dots between your family and Robin with him after a few minutes of reflection. “It’s you, isn’t it?”

Bruce let out a dry laugh, caught off guard. “Yes, it’s me,” he confirmed, and you shifted to sit more upright on the bed, excited.

“Is it true that you killed the Joker?” Your question made Bruce’s scowl turn puzzled. So that was the kind of rumor circulating.

“No, I didn’t kill him. He just... disappeared one day,” the same day Bruce thought he had lost Jason, and although deep down he wanted very much to have done it, he didn’t find it appropriate to admit that to you.

“I’m confused,” your voice became more relaxed, he thought it was due to the casual tone the conversation was taking. “If Damian is Robin now, what happened to the other one? He didn’t die, did he?” You asked the last question in a whisper, fearing it was true.

Bruce laughed at this. He had never thought about how people assumed Robin was a single person all these years. “No, he’s fine. You’d be surprised if I told you five different people have been Robin.”

Your eyes widened, and suddenly you remembered a detail: “There was a girl, wasn’t there? I remember seeing some photos in an old newspaper.”

Bruce was perplexed at how much you seemed to know about him, but in a good way. “Yes, there was a girl. She’s Batgirl now,” when he said that, your smile widened even more. It seemed like you were a secret fan, he would say, since in your own words: "Talia hates him" and Bruce knows she would hardly allow you to have such admiration.

But your smile faded, and that worried him for a moment until you spoke: “I didn’t know that man was Hugo Strange,” you looked at him with regret. “If I had known, I would have caught him for you.”

“Would you?” He asked, doubting you really could.

“Well... I would have tried,” you defended yourself, shrugging your shoulders.

“Very brave. But it’s good you didn’t do anything,” he said playfully, stopping to think for a moment. “Y/n, what did he tell you?”

He saw you wrinkle your nose in a grimace before answering. “I thought we met by chance. I was walking and saw a man smoking a cigarette on a corner. I was going to walk past, but then he asked if I needed help.”

“Which corner?”

“I don’t know, but it wasn’t far from home. I was trying to figure out the street on a map I found in the municipal library’s phone book,” you sighed, frustrated at not being able to give the information. “I ignored him, but he followed me. I got scared and started running, but he said he was a cop, so I trusted him.”

“Did he have a police car nearby?”

“He said he was undercover. But I don’t know what that means; I thought it was the same as being off duty.”

“It could mean that too.” Bruce saw your guilty expression, your lip trembling and your hands nervous.

“You don’t need to feel bad for believing him,” his larger hand enveloped both of yours like they were nothing. Were warm, and it was comforting. “I know Damian said horrible things, but he speaks in the heat of the moment.”

“It was not in the heat of the moment... He never just speaks,” your voice dropped so low it was almost inaudible. Your eyes burned, but there were no tears. Crying for your brother would be the last thing you would do again. “What was in the box?”

“What box?” He was confused by your sudden change of subject.

“Didn’t Dick give it to you?” You asked, feeling his hand move away from yours and touch his left pocket. What Dick had given him was a card and not a box. Maybe he had taken what was inside. “I guess he forgot.”

“No. He didn’t forget,” he quickly responded, snapping out of a stupor. A curiosity grew in his chest, a need to know what was in that card.

Bruce fumbled in the pocket where the card still was and pulled it out. He quickly examined the paper, turning it over to check the back for anything. For a long time, his voice was muffled, and Bruce could only hear a buzzing in his ear. It was impossible for those words to have any real meaning. His breathing became loud and shaky, as if he were in the cold, and you were startled to see his eyes blinking frantically.

“Are you okay?” You moved to approach him, seeing moisture suddenly form on his forehead. It was cold sweat.

“How is this possible?” You heard him ask himself, bringing his fingertips to his eyes, rubbing them to make sure he was really seeing. That card had left him unsettled, you realized, and hesitantly, you tried to take it from his hands to remove it from him, but his grip tightened at the feel of your fingers, so tight that it completely crumpled the paper. “Sorry. It’s nothing,” he stammered, seeing that the abrupt movement had scared you.

He got up from the bed, completely oblivious to you or anything else now. He staggered before reaching the door, very disturbed and seeming out of it. Maybe it was you who did something wrong and didn’t realize it?

He didn’t seem fit to walk, so you quickly removed the covers from your legs and went to him, supporting and guiding him to the chair where he had left his coat. He was very heavy, but he was so disoriented that he went limp. He seemed so shaken that he didn’t protest and simply sat there. You stood in front of him for a few seconds, not knowing what else to do to help him.

“Shouldn’t I call someone?” You asked.

“Dick,” he mumbled without looking at you, and that worried. It seemed intentional, as if it was too difficult to face you.

“Where do I find him?”

He closed his eyes for a moment, thinking of something, but Damian’s voice on the other side of the door caught his attention:

“Y/n, open the door.” You stood still, recognizing your brother’s voice, until he continued: “Mom is here. She’s going to take you home,” he said as a warning, opening the door after a moment without even asking. “Come on. Why are you standing there like a statue?”

He was perplexed when you didn’t respond, and then he noticed his father sitting beside you in terror.

“Dad?” He approached, kneeling to assess the severity. He was having another episode. Lately, Bruce had only been getting worse every day and still refused to ask for help.

“What happened?” Your brother turned to you, but your face already showed that you had no idea.

Damian tried to place his hand on his shoulder, but Bruce pushed it away aggressively. Your father would never act like this just because of the argument they had before, much less give him a venomous look as he did now, but beneath it all, there was hurt. He had found out about you, somehow.

He should have felt bad about how the news seemed to have been revealed, but he was relieved not to have to lie anymore. At the same time, he regretted choosing to cater to his mother’s whims once again, deceiving his father this way. But the omission had grown so much over the years he spent in the mansion and, after so long, it didn’t matter when he told him, the damage was already done.

Bruce wasn’t in a perfect mental state. He wouldn’t react like this normally, and knowing that, the man felt pathetic in front of the two of you.

“He asked for Dick,” you said to Damian, giving him space to breathe by stepping back.

“Forget Dick,” Bruce replied firmly, surprising. In an instant, he had a fit, and as quickly as he entered this state, he left it. Now, he seemed furious. “Where is she?”

This was a ploy by Talia and Strange. They were planning this together to hit him, a way to weaken him. It could only be that. It was too much of a coincidence Strange had found you just that night; nothing made sense. When had he and Talia gotten involved again after that day that led to Damian? He couldn’t remember and wasn’t good at recalling such old things. Maybe that wasn't even true. It was as if there was a big blank page in his mind.

“Get out,” Talia’s silhouette appeared at the door where she was leaning. Like most times when referring to the children, her voice was imposing, leaving no room for contestation. “Both of you.”

“You were supposed to wait downstairs,” your brother tried to contradict her. Despite everything he did for your mother, unlike you, he was the only one who had the courage to face her.

Her frown deepened at Damian’s defiance, but her stern expression softened at your trembling voice: ‘Mom...’ She sighed and opened her arms to you, casting a challenging look at Bruce, who returned it with an even harsher one, as she wrapped your smaller body than hers in a tight hug.

She knelt to your level, her hands gently brushing your cheeks and hair, noting how frizzy and messy it was. ‘Look at you. Your hair is all disheveled.’ She ran a finger down to your lip, grimacing at the cut there.

‘I’m sorry.’ Although less anxious now that you knew she wasn’t angry, you still regretted disobeying her.

‘My sweet girl,’ she said in a soft, genuinely affectionate voice. She kissed your cheek, casting that same malicious glance at Bruce again, as if provoking him. He felt a wave of nausea seeing her use you as a pawn just to taunt him. ‘Let the adults talk,’ she ordered, standing up and regaining her authoritative tone.

‘I’m staying,’ Damian protested. Leaving his father alone with her in his vulnerable state was a mistake.

‘Go and stay with your sister, Damian,’ Bruce was as harsh as Talia, but unlike her, he was seething with anger.

The boy closed his eyes in frustration but gave in, knowing it was useless to argue. He glanced at you, who had already walked out of the room and into the hallway. Damian was about to follow, but his father’s voice stopped him again:

‘She’s not leaving the house, Damian,’ his firm tone carried the weight of undeniable authority, with bitterness seeping through. The coldness in his voice left no room for warmth; it was distant. Bruce had finally gotten the push he needed. The possibility of you being his daughter gave him a sense of entitlement, and it made Talia’s arrogant expression falter for a moment; she looked apprehensive. ‘Do you understand?’ It was a question directed at both his son and Talia.

‘Yes,’ the young man replied simply, avoiding eye contact with his mother as he left. Damian paused in front of the door before fully departing, and his mother slammed it shut in his face.

He resisted the urge to eavesdrop and turned to look for you in the hallway, but you had vanished.

‘I deserve this,’ he muttered impatiently. You were avoiding him, and Damian couldn’t help but feel irritated at how childish that was. But he was one of the villains here; he was the one who lied, insulted, and rejected you. Realizing this filled him with shame, and unlike the first time, he repeated the words, this time with a tone of regret: ‘Yes, I deserve this.’"

Tag list:

@lafrone @sylum @mileskisser @belowbreadcrumbs @riddle-me-im-sirius

@rafa-the-beautiful @shehrazadekey @fairuzwhat @bedeater @arianapjs

@idonthaveanameforthisacc @azulawayne @nciolisa @lovelywritersgarden

@spideybv28 @faimmm @formula-space @cherry-peach-flavored

@godknows-shetried @randomrosie01 @whatsupstark @paastaboi @m3ntally-unstable

@masterradd-28 @justanormalpersin @6000-fandoms @fennecspage

@homan-oid @fluffy-strawberries @animegirlfromvietnam @tamsyien @ari-sama21

@kataraluvr @boatempollstriper @lokisgoodboy @enjisthings @thereeallink

@lumalesa-kadichizho @fyodorssimp1 @shintax-error @lara20aral @sulatsadark

@notahappystan @nebuluma @thetiredtoad0-0 @tmt-alexis @anuttellaa

@strawberrymangoes @lorastone-000 @starryhiraeth @worldussysblog

@urminebutidontwantyou @herondale-lightworm @nyra-42 @ohnoivefallen

@an-introverted-nishinoyasimp @ellie-x0xo @blkmystery

[sweetsilver-if]

To Taste Sweet Silver

Play here [Updated 8/10/24]

Word count (w/code): 16.9k

[F.A.Q] [Spotify][Pinterest]

"The silver of the fruit tastes sweeter than the iron of the blood." There is a City in the center of the remaining world, said to house and protect the last gift from the Old Gods before they vanished. Your mother had told you stories of it as a child, before she died. No one is allowed to enter the City of Forgotten Silver without extensive documentation and proof they are worthy. Not everyone is allowed to grace divinity. There is no reason for you, a nobody, to be here but you've managed to worm your way in. You know the consequences if you get caught, and you know to keep your head down as often as you can. The risk to be here is great, for the City is desperate to protect what remains of the past. Everyone who has dared to take the Old God's last gift, a fruit with silver skin, has had their execution made a spectacle. For this fruit is the key to reviving the world to what it used to be. Or so it is believed. It's why those in power will do anything to protect it. You know this, but you have a plan to attempt its theft anyway. For without it, how else will you finally bring this world to its end?

To Taste Sweet Silver is an 18+ Gaslamp Fantasy IF about putting a crumbling world to rest.

✽ Play as a fully customizable MC: gender, sexuality, personality, skills, etc.

✽ Decide how you're going to survive in the City; will you fake an identity and do earnest work, rely on thievery, or freeload off anyone willing to take pity on you

✽ Master magic, hone your physical skills, or expand your worldly knowledge

✽ Discover why the Old Gods abandoned the world in the first place, and learn about the New Gods that have taken their place

✽ Decide your reasons for wanting to end the world. Will you really go through with it?

Caspian Sinclair

The City Mage [M]:

A man who's more important then he lets on. The only reason you know he's a Mage is because you sense it on him. Despite his kind but stoic nature, you hesitate to approach him because if he finds out who you are, he will kill you. If only he wasn't also the holder of key information you need. He never seems opposed to answering your questions or pointing you in the right direction, making him your main source of information about the City of Lost Silver. However, the badge he wears reminds you to still your tongue, and watch your questions.

Whisper

The Jester [NB]:

Xer part of a night show, the sort outlawed in the City due to being propaganda about the Old Gods' departure. When xer not part of the show, xe have a traveling food cart xe only run at night. Although it's best not to draw attention to yourself and get involved with someone like xem, you can't help but wonder what's hiding under the mask. Especially with xer strange charm, odd sense of humor, and ability to show up at the worst of times for you.

Vivienne Silver

The Empress [F/trans]:

The youngest Empress ever crowned, and only due to the tragic assassination of her family. She's an elusive figure, never seen in public, but worshiped all the same. The people whisper her suffering is the reason why the City has seen such prosper in recent years, mythologizing her as a martyr. As an outsider, you have no strong opinion of her, until strange circumstances bring you together. She's exhausted and weary and as willing to bite as she is to be gentle.

Mourning

The New God [M/F/NB]:

Your benefactor and the sole reason you managed to get into the City. They found you in the outskirts one day and handed you a pass, telling you they can help you get what you want. You haven't seen them since. They're elusive and strange, and while they claim they're a God, you're not sure they're something quite so holy.

CW: Gore, violence, torture, cannibalism, death, religious trauma, explicit sexual themes, mtc

Note: This is a side project and won't be updated frequently. My main project is Burning Academia!

[dragon-kazansky]

Bridgerton shade of blue

Benedict Bridgerton x Female Reader

Benedict bumps into you, quite literally, at a ball while trying to escape his mother's attempts to find him a partner. You decide to humour him with a dance, not realising just how entwined you would become with him. It seems the universe will find every excuse to push you and Benedict together, no matter how much you fight it.

{Masterlist}

{Previous Chapter} - {Next Chapter}

Season one

Chapter Ten - Duel at dawn

♡♡♡

Meanwhile, at the art studio, Benedict was still lingering around. Most of the artists had vacated the room by this point, but Benedict Bridgerton was still present.

"You have great potential." Henry said, coming up beside him.

"It's nothing," Benedict says sharply.

"Though, for such a staunch critic of others, you certainly lack a clear eye for your own work."

Benedict sighs. "It's the lines. Not what they're supposed to be."

"Take the compliment, Bridgerton. There is no expectation or judgement here. You left all of that back in Mayfair. You can feel free to be yourself here... if that's what you should like."

Benedict smiles.

"It's what works for me, at least. And I haven't been dissatisfied with my lines in... well, quite some time."

Benedict chuckles again. "Well, I've done worse, I suppose, really."

"Mm. Fair enough."

"I seem to have enjoyed myself too much this evening." Benedict looks around at the empty room. "I should be on my way."

"As you wish," Henry says nonchalantly. "But know you are welcome back any time for practice or even conversation."

They both chuckle.

♡♡♡

By the time Benedict gets home, Anthony and Daphne are talking very seriously in the hall. He stops and looks at his two siblings.

"What is it?"

Anthony marches over and grabs him by the arm. "You and I need to talk. Daphne, bed."

Anthony drags his brother to his study.

"I will need you to stand as my second," he says after explaining everything to Benedict.

"What if you get yourself killed?" Benedict asks. He wasn't exactly thrilled about what had apparently transpired, but even less so about the thought of losing his brother.

"Then the title and estates will pass to you," Anthony tells him.

Benedict didn't want that.

"And if you kill Hastings?"

"I shall have to leave the country, and you'll be head of the family in every way that matters."

Again, he didn't want that.

Chuckling I the hall draws their attention to the door.

You laugh with Colin as Violet hangs off the both of you. She's clearly been drinking a lot tonight. She can't even walk straight. You've never seen her so uncomposed before.

The door opens behind you, and Anthony and Benedict are standing there.

"You're clearly sover," Colin laughs with his mother.

"And I'm sober enough to know when you're being impertinent." She chuckles. "Good night, dear."

You giggle. Violet waves at you lazily, and you chuckle again at her inability to remain composed.

You turn to see the two brothers still standing there and nudge Colin. He looks at you and then at them. They wave him over.

"Good god. Did someone die?" Colin asks.

You look at Anthony, who glances at you, his sowlnt thank you for helping bring his mother home. Then your gaze shifts to Benedict, who looks at you with a strange expression. You wonder where he's been all evening.

Colin turns to you. "Get home safe, okay?"

You nod, knowing your maid was waiting outside. You watch him walk toward his brothers and then leave.

♡♡♡

You arrive early to the Bridgerton house the next morning. You had snuck out alone. You had hoped to be there early enough before Anthony left to duel the duke.

Unfortunately they had already left.

You had, however, arrived in time to see Daphne and Colin leaving. When Colin saw you he sighed.

"You cannot be serious."

"I am."

Daphne says your name as she looks at you. "You do not have to witness this."

"I want to. As your friend. I will not allow this stupid, and mind I remind you illegal, activity to take place."

Colin sighs and helps you up into his horse. "Hold on."

He spurs the horse on, leading Daphne to the agreed spot. You hold on tight to him as he rides.

All Daphne can think about is Simon.

"Anthont won't... kill him, right?" You ask, watching Daphne ride.

"No. Sound him, surely."

"Good..."

"Are you worried?" He asks.

"Yes. Are you not?"

Colin doesn't answer.

By the time you arrive within diat ne of seeing them, the two are already stood feet apart with their pistols aimed. It's Daphne who rides faster to get between them.

"Stop!"

Anthony fires his pistol as soon as she shouts, the horse his sister's on rears back and Daphne falls to the ground.

"Daphne!" Simon shouts.

"Sister!"

Both men run toward her.

Colin pulls his horse to a stop, and you both climb off, rushing to them. Benedict drops the pistol case and does the same. He doesn't have time to ask why you're here.

"Are you hurt? Tell me!" Simon demands.

"I am perfectly well, no thanks to you idiots," she says, standing up.

"What are you playing at?" Anthony asks.

"Says the man who just shot at me!"

"You just rode into the middle of a duel!"

"I require a moment with the duke," Daphne says softly.

Anthony tries to stop her, but she stops him in return. Benedict pulls Anthony back and says, "make it brief."

Daphne and Simon walk off to talk.

"What are you doing here?" Benedict asks once they're out of ear shot.

"I came to help stop this ridiculous display."

"You could have been hurt," he says.

"No one got hurt, luckily."

Benedict looks a little lost for words. You sigh and look at him and then at Anthony. The eldest looks at you and nods once, softly. His eyes then flick back over to his sister.

"We must resume before someone should find us," Anthony says to the pair.

Simon nods at him.

Daphne watches him walk and then says, "there will be no need to resume."

Everyone turns to look at her.

"The duke and I are to be married."

You look at her and then turn to the duke. You're not sure what they discussed. He stares at her.

The three brothers look between the duke and their sister.

Whatever they discussed, Daphne made up her mind.

When Simon does not speak against her statement, it becomes clear to everyone that the matter is settled.

Now you all just need to get home before someone sees you all.

♡♡♡

@callmemana - @lilscast - @imgondeletedis - @benedictbridgertonss - @clownsdiehard - @wxnterwidow333

@sillynilly27 - @autumn-slaves - @ben-has-arrived - @ajdelilah - @aadu2173

@booknerdlife - @tamlinrose - @sarahskywalker-amidala - @cheryyluv - @louschan - @lou-la-lou - @cultish-corner

@hopshusushi - @katherinejess - @nannabug - @afunkyfreshblog - @f0x33 - @dd122004dd

@jupitervenusearthmars - @orchiidflwer - @bespinnn - @captainlunaxmen - @winchestersimpalababy - @acupnoodle

@ms-fandomgirl - @fablesrose - @anyaisinyourcloset - @meowzerzstuff - @orchiidflwer - @bespinnn - @crazymar15

@cosmixstar - @bree3parchen -

[kawaiigentlemenpolice]

CUDDLES WITH ZORO...But

Contents:fluff,cute,warm,fuzzy feelings,Zoro x you,cuddles,comfort

Warning: this is a comfort writing but there's mention of scars, past trauma both Zoro and reader,reader past abuse from mother,description of reader trauma,viewers is advise

I'm no english native so sorry for some mistakes

Please reblog 🔁 and like❤️

P.S:first time writing for him so i hope it will turn out good ( ˶ˆᗜˆ˵ ) also the reader joined the crew after the time lapse

@muzansslxt @candy69gurl @kiwicopia @satorkive @ponderingmoonlight

It was a cold night in the Thousand Sunny, everyone was on board trying to keep themselves warm and comfortable. You were sitting outside on the deck, feeling the chill air touch your skin. A blanket wrapped around you in an attempt to keep you warm. Zoro, having taken notice of you sitting there by yourself, stepped outside and approached you. "What are you doing out here all alone" he asked, his voice low.

You looked up at him with a small shiver "I'm just…trying to get some fresh air." Zoro noticed your slight shivering and moved closer, he was standing right in front of you now, towering over your form. "You're freezing" he observed. He could see the steam coming from your breath.

Without saying anything, he sat down beside you, his body close to yours, sharing some of his heat. You felt yourself move closer to him, instinctively seeking more warmth. Zoro noticed, but didn't say anything. He lifted the edge of the blanket and wrapped it around both of you now.

The two of you sat silently, your bodies pressed together for warmth. You could feel his breath on your cheek as he inhaled deeply, and exhaled slowly. It was strangely comforting. You could even hear the soft sound of his heartbeat, a comforting rhythm in the otherwise silent night.

"i always forgot how you got this scar on your chest" you mumbled as you traced it

Zoro looked down at your hand as it traced the long scar that ran across his chest, a grimace momentarily flashed across his face before it disappeared into his usual stoic expression. He didn't say anything, just watched silently as your fingers traced the lines of the scar. "It's an old battle scar" he said finally, breaking the silence.

"i know that but how did you get it?" you asked curiosly

Zoro was quiet for a moment as if deciding whether to tell you or not. This was a piece of his past, a part of his story he didn't share often but something about the way you looked up at him made him speak. "It was during a battle, years ago" he began slowly, his face hardening at the memory.

"A powerful enemy, who I underestimated" he continued. There was a hint of annoyance in his voice, annoyance at himself for being so careless back then. "He managed to get the better of me, left me with this" he said, gesturing to the scar.

You nodded, understanding now why he seemed reluctant to talk about it. It was a reminder of a painful experience for him. You continued to trace the scar, your fingers moving gently across his skin, feeling the ridges and bumps of it.

Zoro watched you silently, his eyes never leaving your face as you touched his scar. He could see the curiosity in your eyes, mixed with something else…pity? He couldn't quite place it. He found himself enjoying the feel of your fingertips against his skin, even though he'd never admit it.

The two of you sat there in silence again, the only sound was the gentle hum of the Thousand Sunny and the soft breathing of Zoro. You could feel the heat radiating from his body, mixing with yours and the blanket, creating a cozy bubble around the two of you.

Eventually, you spoke again, breaking the silence. "Does it still hurt?" you asked, your fingers still tracing the scar. Zoro looked down at you, a small smirk appearing on his face. "No" he replied, his voice low and smooth. "It's just a scar now, a reminder."

"mine does sometimes" you mumbled "it's old too,from the past,it's just a burn scar but it covers all my back"

Zoro's eyes darkened at your words, his expression hardening again. He had never noticed the scar on your back before, but now that you mentioned it, he wanted to look at it, touch it. "Can I see it?" he asked, his voice was gruff yet gentle.

You hesitated for a moment, unsure if you wanted to show him. But something in his eyes, in his tone, made you feel like it was okay. Slowly, you peeled off your shirt, revealing your back to him. Zoro's breath hitched as he saw the scar. It was indeed large, covering almost half of your back, looking angry and painful.

He reached out a hand, gently running his fingers along the edge of it. You shivered at his touch, the feeling of his calloused fingers against your skin sending shivers down your spine. "It looks painful" he said, his voice barely above a whisper.

You nodded slightly "It was, at first. But now, it's just a reminder" you echoed his previous words. Zoro's fingers continued to trace the scar, his touch light yet firm. It was a strange feeling, having him so close, so intimate.

"How did it happen?" he asked after a while, his eyes not leaving the scar. He knew you didn't like talking about your past, but something about seeing the scar, feeling its roughness under his fingers made him want to know more.

You let out a small sigh, bracing yourself for the memories flooding back. "It was a long time ago. During a fight." You said simply. Zoro could tell there was more to the story, but he didn't press. He just continued to trace the scar, his fingers occasionally touching your skin directly now. "Must have been a tough battle to leave such a mark on you" he observed.

"yeah.." you mumbled thinking back about your abusive mother "it was…"

Zoro noticed the change in your voice, how it became strained and pained. He could sense there was something more to this scar than just a battle injury. "Can you tell me about it?" he asked, his voice low. You were hesitant, but something in his eyes made you feel safe, made you feel like you could trust him with this part of your past.

You took a deep breath, trying to keep your voice steady as you spoke. "It was…my mother." you said simply, your eyes looking down at the wooden panels of the deck. "She.. wasn't a good person. She was violent. She had her demons I guess."

Zoro's eyes darkened further, his grip on your shoulder tightening slightly. He could see the pain in your eyes as you spoke, and could feel the tension in your body. The thought of your mother abusing you like that was infuriating.

Warning description of trauma!!

"One day, she was in a particularly bad mood. I don't remember what I did to set her off, but she got angry. She was already holding a kettle in her hand, and…she just poured it on me." You could feel the heat of the water on your back again, even now as you told the story. It was a memory that was forever seared into your mind

Zoro's grip on your shoulder tightened slightly, silently encouraging you to continue. He was feeling a growing sense of anger towards your mother, but he kept it contained, focusing on listening to your story.

"I remember screaming, the pain was so intense. She must have gotten snapped out of her anger because she started freaking out, calling for help, trying to cool the burn. But it was too late, the damage was already done." Your voice was shaky now, the images of that day still vivid in your mind.

Zoro's eyes darkened as you spoke, anger and fury building up inside him. The thought of someone purposely causing harm to you, someone as kind and gentle as you, made him want to go find your mother and make her pay. But he held himself back, knowing that wouldn't help you now.

"From that day on, I couldn't stand the heat of hot water. Every time I saw a kettle, or someone was cooking with boiling water, I would panick." Your voice was quieter now, your body slightly trembled. It was as if you were transported back to that day, reliving the pain and the fear.

"that's why that time with Sanji i didn't helped him" you chuckled bitterly

Zoro's grip on your shoulder tightened slightly at your words, his mind going back to the time you didn't help Sanji. He remembered how stubborn you were, how reluctant to even go near the kitchen when the cook was boiling water. Now he understood the real reason behind it.

"That's why you don't like being around the kitchen" he said, a statement more than a question. He was starting to understand your behavior more now, the fear, the avoidance. But it only made him angrier at your mother, at the pain she had caused you.

"That's why you found me out here" you admitted "the crew was in the kitchen and i couldn't bear it"

Zoro's hand moved from your shoulder to your face, gently lifting your chin up so you were looking at him. His eye was intense, filled with a mixture of anger and concern. "You shouldn't have to deal with that alone" he said firmly. "You should've told me, or the others. We could've helped you."

You looked up at him, surprised by the intensity in his voice and the slight anger in his eye. "I didn't want to burden you guys with my problems" you mumbled. Zoro gritted his teeth, his grip on your chin tightening slightly. "You're not a burden" he said sternly. "We're crewmates, we look out for each other"

"But my problem is…different" you protested, your eyes averting from his intense gaze. Zoro's hand moved from your chin to your shoulder, squeezing it gently. "That doesn't matter" he said firmly. "We all have our demons, our pain. That's what makes us human. And as a crew, we deal with them together."

You looked up at him again, seeing the sincerity and determination in his expression. For a moment, you felt a flutter in your chest. This was…different than usual. Zoro was uncharacteristically caring, almost protective. He wasn't the one to comfort or console, yet here he was, doing exactly that.

Zoro could see the surprise in your eyes, the way your body tensed under his touch. He was aware of the effect he was having on you, but he couldn't help it. Seeing you in pain, hearing your story, it triggered something in him. A protective instinct, a need to comfort you.

He pulled you closer to him, wrapping his arm around your shoulder and pulling you into his chest. It was a tight, secure embrace, different from the casual brushes and touches you were used to. It made your heart flutter again, the sound of his heartbeat drumming in your ears.

You could feel the rise and fall of his chest as he breathed, the steady rhythm calming your racing heart. His arm around you was firm yet gentle, pulling you closer to him until you were huddled against him. The warmth of his body seeped into your own, chasing away the chill of the night air.

[missmonsters2]

🥶

WandaNat

Pairing: WandaNat x Fem!Reader

Warnings: awkward!reader. clint slander. WandaNat no mercy.

Note: i miss them

Masterlist || Library Blog || AO3

Count: 999 (🧍‍♀️)

Reminder there's no taglist but you can follow my library blog for notifications 💘

Please do not copy, repost, or translate my work anywhere else.

⊶⊷⊶⊷⊶⊷⋆⊶⊷⊶⊷⊶⊷

This was your worst nightmare—trapped between the bodies of two incredibly hot, kind, and funny women. 

And no, it wasn't in the sexy way—your brain refused to even let you go down that route. You'd implode at even the slightest thought of it. 

This was Clint's fault, you quietly seethed, plotting his gruesome murder that could later be turned into a true crime podcast. Laura will have to be a widowed single mother, and the children will have to grow up fatherless, but surely it was for the best. 

"Come down to visit us!" Clint said to you, your mind mimicking his voice unflatteringly. "It's been way too long since you guys came to stay with us."

It was a normal occurrence; you thought nothing of it. You, Wanda, and Natasha often went to stay with Clint and his family quarterly. Natasha visited more with her girlfriend, Wanda, and they invited you every time, but you settled that four times a year was enough. 

It was usually fun, and the time spent was enjoyable, so you really had thought nothing about it.

Until Clint decided he was actually the incarnate of the devil and condemned you for some undisclosed sin. 

"Oh, you three are cool sharing a room, right? The other spare bedroom is under renovation. I mean, one of you can take the couch but I highly don't recommend it with what the kids have spilled on it over the years."

No, it wasn't okay, you wanted to say at the time, but Wanda and Natasha nonchalantly waved Clint off and told him it was fine, and the conversation breezed on, never to be returned to again. 

Why would he invite all three of you if there wasn't enough space!? You tried to tell Wanda and Natasha that you could drive to the nearest hotel at night, but they looked at you strangely and asked if you hated them. It was jokingly, but you could hear a tinge of hurt in their voice, which silenced you from offering to leave again. 

But now you were suffering. 

The bed was way too small for three people but left enough room for just a couple of inches to keep you from coming into skin-to-skin contact with either redhead.

You stared at the ceiling, despite being unable to make out any details of the room in the darkness. 

Why the fuck were you in the middle?

You should've been on the edge. At least then, you could hang half your body off it to keep some distance. 

You started at the edge of the bed—make no mistake. But then Natasha came to your side and asked you to scootch over. You assumed she preferred sleeping on the right side, so you started to make your way down to the other side. But then, to your horror, Wanda climbed in from the other end, effectively trapping you in the middle. 

The words were caught in your throat as you tried to force them out and ask if you could have the edge, but Natasha and Wanda mumbled their goodnights before promptly falling asleep. 

This was unacceptable; you mentally cried. This was—weird. You know that Wanda and Natasha have been together for ages, and they probably didn't care, but it was strange to be in the middle of them like this. You're way too awkward for this. 

It brought up the unwanted feelings you've been trying to get rid of for months. 

The worst part was that it was winter, and this room was so fucking cold. Was Clint going through financial hardship? Why isn't there any heat in this room?

You wished him ill, you wished him ill, you wished bad things upon Clint Barton. 

You shifted, trying to pull the blanket up higher and shrink yourself to retain some of the heat. You turned on your side, facing Wanda's back, and frowned. You could practically feel the heat radiating off her and wanted to scoot away from her. But you couldn't. You'd scoot right into Natasha, who was also radiating heat as she faced your back.

At this moment, you hated them for being so unaware of their temptations. 

You swallowed. Moving a little closer to Wanda wouldn't be too bad, right? Just to steal a bit more of her warmth, so you could fall asleep and wake up early to get out of bed. 

You scooted a little closer, your nose just inches away from her back since there wasn't much wiggle room. Her heat emitted off her like a goddamn fireplace, and you sighed a little at the warmth on your nose and the parts of your cheeks. 

It was still pretty cold, and you shivered a little. 

Your movement seemed to wake Wanda as she lifted her head to look around at you. You looked like a deer caught in the headlights. Turning back, Wanda lay her head back down and shut her eyes with a yawn. 

You started to scoot back to where you were, but Wanda grabbed your wrist from under the blanket and pulled it over her waist as she shuffled back into you.

The warmth pressed against your front jolted you, and you were stiff, despite how good it felt. 

"любимая, she's cold," Wanda mumbled in the dark as she threaded her fingers through yours.

Wanda was clearly speaking to Natasha because the redhead behind you shifted and moved closer until she was pressed against your back snuggly. Her arms wrapped around your midsection as she tangled her legs through yours. 

You wanted to die. 

You wanted to kill Clint Barton and then run into oncoming traffic. 

"Um," you croaked. 

"Is this better?" Natasha mumbled sleepily, and she was so close you felt her lips move against your shoulder. 

No.

Yes.

No.

"Uh," you dragged out before finally deciding with an awkward stiff, "Yes."

It was warm—almost too warm now. You closed your eyes with a silent groan. 

You weren't getting any sleep tonight.

[useless-catalanfacts]

One thing that really shocked me when I visited Madrid is that some people seemed genuinely offended when I said I only spoke Catalan. I'm from Germany and my boyfriend is Catalan. As he has a very strong Catalan identity and is very much an activist for the language it made sense for me to learn Catalan instead of Spanish. I don't speak it very well yet, but enough to make casual conversation. Trying to have a conversation with an acquaintance when visiting Madrid, I threw in some of my basic Catalan when English didn't fully work (not to piss her off, because I had no idea it would, but simply to make myself understood as English was failing us and I figured the Catalan might be easier and closer and sometimes even the same words as Spanish). This led to a lot of questions from the friendgroup, but this one person seemed personally hurt that I had chosen to learn Catalan and NOT Spanish. She argued that all Catalans spoke Spanish anyway and that my mindset was childish and "excluding the rest of Spain just to make a point". I thought this was such a strange way to look at it. I know this person is not representative for all of Spain, but I thought it was really worrying that some people think like that. She seemed convinced that there was no purpose of learning Catalan beyond "making a silly, political point" as if there wasn't an entire culture and history that came with it. As if Catalans speaking Catalan were like... being difficult on purpose and not.. you know... practicing their f*cking culture and living their damn lives. Good thing I actually am childish, and spoke exclusively in Catalan to her for the rest of the evening.

That's exactly how many Spanish people see it, it's a shame but your story doesn't surprise me. When I was a teenager I went for a few days to do a thing with other teenagers in Madrid and they reacted in a mix of disgust and offence when they heard me speak to my parents in Catalan on the phone. And I've heard quite a lot of other people explain very similar situations. It also reminds me of a video I shared a while ago (post here) where Judit Mascó explains that when she's working in Madrid and she answers the phone to her mother or friends calling, her co-workers told her it bothers them that she speaks in Catalan to other people, when she's not even talking to them.

Many Spanish people just can't understand that Catalan people would like to continue speaking our language, period. They are so convinced that Spanish is superior, that they believe that for our own good we should want to abandon our language and assimilate to theirs, and if we don't, well, then the only possible reason is that we're doing it for the sole purpose of excluding them, as if they were the centre of our lives.

They can see how they use their own language (Spanish) for their family, friends and the rest of their lives, but they can't give us the same amount of humanity and respect to imagine that we can want to speak our own language for the same purposes as they want to speak theirs. No, according to them, we must do it for bad faith proposes.

And let me say: you are doing very well in learning Catalan for your boyfriend. If your boyfriend speaks Catalan, I assume it's most likely that his family and friends speak in Catalan too, it's normal that you'd want to learn the language they use. This will bring you closer to his heart, because you can understand the words with which he has grown up and that are around him, it strengthens your bond. And it gives you the opportunity to communicate with other people around him and participate in conversation. Why would you not want to learn the language? Why would you, instead, want to learn a different language, and does that Spanish person expect you police what your boyfriend and his family/friends speak so not to exclude you (when you would have been the one to decide not to integrate)? It's just such a self-centered way of thinking from them.

[evilbihan]

Bi-Han's and Kuai Liang's father was not a good father

And now it's no longer a theory. Now I have proof.

The last thing I expected to get out of this very strange invasions mode season was confirmation for a theory I've had ever since I first finished the story mode. Despite other characters in the game claiming that the father of the Lin Kuei brothers was an honorable man, something about that never sat right with me, given how cruel that man was in all the previous timelines and how vastly different Bi-Han views his father compared to his brothers, Liu Kang or Sindel.

I made this discovery on the mesa of Shang Tsung's laboratory.

At the very beginning of the mesa when you come in through the portal and head to the right (your character's right) towards the two crates that are next to each other, there's a node featuring a fight against Scorpion.

That node, loosely translated from my language, is called "Daddy's favorite".

It might seem like a small and meaningless detail and maybe I'm reading too much into it, but if the name of that node is anything to go by and if it's a reference to MK1's canon lore (which it has to be, otherwise I don't see why it would be there) this adds a whole new layer to the tragedy of the falling out between Bi-Han and Kuai Liang and Bi-Han's decision to let his father die.

Was he neglected? Despite being the oldest son and the grandmaster's heir, Kuai Liang was the favorite son. He was his father's pride and joy, not Bi-Han. That explains Bi-Han's bitterness and his resentment towards his father as well as his eagerness to earn the respect of others. Because his own father didn't give that to him.

Sub-Zero: I helped you, but I've earned no respect. General Shao: Because there's nothing lower than a traitor.

Johnny Cage: I thought I had daddy issues. But you? Sub-Zero: My family is none of your business.

Would a good father have a "favorite son"? Should a good father not love his sons equally, without picking favorites?

Another small but noteworthy detail is one of Bi-Han's invasions mode encounters being named "Joyless initiate" (again, loosely translated because my game is in my native language, not English). You have to wonder what kind of life Bi-Han lived for the game to refer to him that way and how much of that is owed to his father's strictness or lack of care towards him since he wasn't the favorite son. It certainly implies Bi-Han faced hardships that the main story never really talked about or even mentioned.

It might not seem like much, but I'm sure some thought was put into making these nodes and the references and hints exist for a reason.

I'm aware that a lot of people think the father of the Lin Kuei brothers was a good guy, but as a reminder, in the original timeline, Bi-Han's and Kuai Liang's father was ruthless enough to kidnap the brothers from their mother, potentially even killing her and their younger sister in the process, and turned them both into assassins for the Lin Kuei. Of course, the reboot is set in a new timeline, but as I said in my previous post, all characters are still essentialy the same. Some backstories and allignments have changed, but not the character's personalities and even in this new era, the old grandmaster is no saint.

I think it's messed up that his response to the Lin Kuei killing Smoke's entire family and turning him into an orphan was to take Tomáš in and turn him into a warrior for the very clan that murdered his family.

Sure, some might view it as a noble gesture that he took responsibility for the mistake he made and decided to give Tomáš a home after he was orphaned, but if that man cared at all about Smoke's wellbeing, he could have found a better solution for the situation. He could have told Liu Kang about what happened and asked him to let Tomáš stay at the Wu Shi academy instead of turning him into an asset for the clan that killed his mother and sister.

While that's only a side note, it proves that Bi-Han's and Kuai Liang's father had a twisted idea of what it means to be a good parent if he thought that taking in the son of a family his own warriors murdered was the "honorable" thing to do without sparing a second thought to what that was going to do to Smoke mentally.

Anyway, this subtle hint is one of the few good things to come out of this invasions mode season and I'm glad I found it.

[dick-helmet-magneto]

okay okay i did another one! charles/logan/erik

“Here, take this.”

“Oka- Wait! What am I supposed to do with a baby!?”

Erik wasn’t exactly pleased that he had to leave the mansion. It was strange that, after so long fighting it, the place had finally become home to the point that he wanted to stay. But he could stand a day or two away. He had to. 

After all, it wasn’t everyday one learned he had sired a child and the mother wanted nothing to do with her. A child that he had been informed about by an organization wanting to know if he would take the child or if the child would be placed in the system. 

Even if that meant leaving Charles alone with Wolverine, he would have to make that sacrifice. 

But he was back now, walking into the school with a little girl with green hair in his arms and a pastel pink backpack thrown over his shoulder. 

He located the metal chair with ease and, sure enough, the metal coated skeleton only a foot or so away in Charles’s personal living room upstairs. So that was where he was heading. 

They had set up a basic nursery across from their bedroom. It wasn’t fully furnished yet—with Erik gone the other two only had a couple of days to work—but a glance inside on his way, and Erik ensured there was a cot for her and a changing table along with a stack of diapers. It would have to do for now. 

Then he was going down the short hall to join the other two, a small smile on his face as he heard his daughter making little sounds, just staring to wake up from her nap. 

“There you are,” Charles said with a smile, his eyes landing on Erik and the baby immediately. “And that hair.” 

“Kids a mutant if I ever saw one,” Logan said, watching just as closely but not smiling. Erik wasn’t sure the man knew the meaning of the word. 

“No,” Erik replied, “I just stopped to dye her hair on the way here. Didn’t want any cops to recognize her.” 

“You say that, but I wouldn’t be surprised at all if you did something like that, Mags,” The man countered and Erik rolled his eyes, trying to not let his amusement show as he sat on the couch with the two of them. 

“It’s her natural color,” Erik said, just in case, “They said her mother took one look at her and refused her. Just because of her hair color.” He shifted the little girl in his arms so they could see her face. 

“What’s her name?” Charles asked, his hand going out, the back of one finger gently rubbing over her little cheek. 

“Lorna,” Erik said quietly, watching his partner interacting with their new child. “Lorna Dane Lehnsherr.” 

“She’s adorable,” He cooed as she yawned, “Isn’t she cute, Logan?” 

“Precious,” Logan said in a gruff voice that would lead one to believe he wasn’t being serious. Erik decided it was best not to ask, this wasn’t the time to be getting into a fight with his partner’s boyfriend. 

“And your’s too, darling. Stop being so difficult,” Charles reminded him with a telepathic nudge. 

“Just because we get along in bed at night doesn’t mean he’s my boyfriend,” Erik countered. 

“Oh, of course not, no,” Charles sounded nothing but patronizing but Erik decided to let it pass. 

Mostly because their daughters bottom lip trembled before she started crying and that distracted Erik. He started trying to juggle the backpack and Lorna before deciding there were better ways. 

“Here, take this,” He said, passing Lorna to his right, into Logan’s hands. 

The man accepted the baby with ease, though he was holding her in front of him, one hand under each of her arms, keeping her well away from him. “Oka- Wait! What am I supposed to do with a baby!?” 

“Well, not that,” Charles said, almost sounding offended as Erik scrambled through the diaper bag, “She’s not diseased, love.”

“She came out of the magnet, we don’t know what she has,” Logan countered as Charles tried to help him hold her like one was supposed to hold a baby. 

“Now that you’re holding her, she might have fleas,” Erik replied as he finally pulled out the bottle he had been looking for and set out to the small kitchen across the room to heat it. 

When he came back, the two were holding his daughter in a joint effort, both of their arms under her and Erik wondered if Charles didn’t trust Logan or if Logan didn’t trust himself. 

Either way, he sat down with a warmed bottle and held it out. Charles took the bottle, his hand moving slowly at first to make sure Logan had her, and then he brought the bottle to Lorna’s mouth, watching her latch on. 

For a while, the three of them just watched her drinking her milk happily. Then Logan glanced at Erik and back at the girl, “I have to say, Mags, you done good.” 

Erik smiled, leaning against the man just a little, his right arm pressed against Logan’s left as he watched the other two feed their daughter.

[batrogers]

The Chain Protects

Short fiction for @queering-the-chain, prompt Gay and transmale and Zelda.

Approx 800 words, rated G.

Also on AO3

IIII

Link had been home for three days, with no further sign of why the portal led them here, when finally it seemed his Zelda got fed up with being the Princess. Link was at a dinner with his companions, one blissfully free of Lana after she’d had some kind of altercation with Time neither of them would disclose, when he noticed the stranger looking down from the roof.

He had a pretty good guess who it was.

Link excused himself to Twilight and slipped away into the hallways. He knew the castle well; he lived here, after all, his home in the city never rebuilt after it burned. His mother and sister did live in the city now, but they’d gotten a small place – it was faster to build single-room housing, easier. Maybe in a few years there’d be more options, but for now...

Simpler for everyone if he stayed here. It helped with confidence, to have the Hero in sight after all, the same way people expected the Queen.

The roof wasn’t that hard to access; he knew the way out from this hallway, an open window and a few steps onto the tiles before he dropped to sit down at his boyfriend’s side.

Sheik looked over, mouth and nose covered by white cloth, and raised one blond eyebrow.

“Tired of the company?” he asked.

Link shrugged. “They’re not going to worry. About me or you.”

“I’ll return in a little while,” Sheik said, no joy in his eyes. “I just needed a minute.”

“I know.”

Hyrule – especially a broken and devastated Hyrule – needed its Queen, the daughter of Hylia. Not a son, and with no option to stand aside. Queen Zelda was no more free of expectation than the Hero, wielder of the Master Sword, no matter how long ago he’d returned the sword.

It wasn’t even that it was a secret; most of the castle knew who the strange Sheikah man was in the halls, but there was a kind of polite silence about the matter. There were worse habits in a royal, after all.

Worse habits, and, Link realized, nobody present really was likely to care. They’d already had a few surprises from the others. They could handle one more. Link touched Sheik’s hand gently and, when no protest was forthcoming, picked it up and kissed his boyfriend’s knuckles.

“Do you want to meet them again?” he asked. “I don’t think anyone will mind.”

Sheik hesitated, one hand going again to the cloth over his face. “They’ll wonder.”

“I don’t care.”

“You said you were in a relationship with me, before,” he retorted, but after a moment Sheik accepted his hand and stood. Rather than follow him back to the window, however, he jumped straight off the edge and adjusted the drape of the white scarf to look more formal over his tight clothes. Link dropped down next to him and protectively wrapped his arm around Sheik’s waist.

Among the benefits, that everyone knew, came the freedom: he could be affectionate in ways he desired but was never interested in with his Queen. They wandered back to the knot of people in the Chain, including – to little surprise – Wind poking around the alcohol on the table and trying to decide what he wanted. The boy looked up, guilty, and Link politely looked away.

“If you get a hangover, you’re on your own,” he said under his breath, and Wind made a rude sound back.

Legend immediately raised both eyebrows. “Who’s this?”

“My boyfriend,” Link said, fully expecting Legend at least was the last person to have any problem with him being gay. “Sheik.”

Time, not far away, glanced over and also raised both eyebrows. He looked Sheik over and Link could feel his boyfriend’s anxiety under one arm. He pulled him closer and Time simply smiled.

“You remind me of someone I knew,” Time said. “It’s good to meet the Captain’s lover finally.”

“It’s good to meet his companions,” Sheik replied, and the fear slowly began to ebb.

Link could see the others looking, some curiously and some with almost no interest at all. Twilight’s mouth had twitched towards a smile, and Link retorted by flipping the Rancher off, his hand low and almost – almost, but not quite – out of sight.

The Rancher switched to a wide grin. “Boyfriend, eh?”

“Fuck off,” Link said. “Do you want a drink, Sheik?” he asked.

“Please,” Sheik replied, and he turned and pulled down the mask just briefly – just long enough to press a kiss to his lips.

Link nearly forgot what he’d said he’d do. His head spun a little, surprised Sheik dared show affection like this in public... but in their group, he supposed, there was nothing to fear. No one would dare hurt them, not here.

Not with the Chain there to protect them.

[captainkirkk]

✩ WEEKLY FIC ROUND-UP ✩

All the fics I’ve read and really enjoyed in the past week-ish. Reminder: This list features any and all ratings and themes. Please look at tags and warnings on ao3 before reading.

DC

my dearly departed by redrobin1989

Kon heard the stories about how Tim had fallen apart after he died. He couldn’t imagine what Tim had gone through, what he’d been feeling. Even now, with the shoe now on the other foot, Conner doesn’t know how to cope. Especially when he needs to keep his boyfriend’s collapsing family together.

Exit Strategy by smilebackwards

Batman needs a Robin and Batman has a Robin. Tim is just extraneous now, vestigial. He’s a bandage over a healed wound. He doesn’t know what he’s hanging on to.

Or: Tim didn’t expect his exit strategy from the Batfamily to involve quite so much bonding time with Damian over Wayne Enterprises bureaucracy.

the capillaries in my eyes are bursting by Scarlet_Ribbons

Bruce grunts, standing up. “Jenkins said the same. What about what you weren’t told?”

And without dissembling, Jason says, “I think they fucked that kid up, B.”

[Jack and Janet die. As things get weirder and weirder, it feels like Tim might be at the center of the unfolding conspiracy.]

Stranger Things

and i know that you don’t, but if i ask you if you love me— by fakecharliebrown

Once, only a few weeks before his parents decide he’s too old to be tucked into bed at night, Steve grabs his mother by the wrist and asks, “Does Father love me?”

“Of course he does,” she says immediately, smoothing the blanket where it rests over his chest.

Steve blinks up at her. “Then how come he never says it?”

She purses her lips. “He shouldn’t have to, sweetheart. You should just know.”

(It isn’t until years down the line that Steve realizes she’d somehow turned that into being his fault.)

or; Steve Harrington through the years, on loving and being loved.

Percy Jackson

percy jackson and the scrutiny of his coworkers by pqrker

Jim turned back to the tank and looked at Marcie the seal, who was now staring at the spot his coworker had been standing just moments before with that same strange look of reverence in her eyes.

Percy Jackson truly was the oddest person Jim Elpool had ever worked with.

Or: 5 times percy's coworkers were confounded by his fish magic, plus 1 time they try to figure it out.

Star Wars

Bounty by smilebackwards

"You took a puck for Luke Skywalker?”

Din looks up at the tenseness in Cara’s voice.

“Yes?” The puck for Skywalker had been passed over by half a dozen hunters, surprising considering the price on his head, but Din had assumed that was because his last known location was Coruscant. The Core is a dangerous place to hunt bounties.

“If I didn’t consider you a friend,” Cara says, with a tone that sounds like she’s reconsidering it, “I’d shoot you where you stand for admitting that."

SVSSS

What Is Seen by CaveteDracones

....is not [always] the real truth.

Truth-compelling artifacts in the hands of an enemy to one side, SYSTEM-mandated silence on the other, and Shen Qingqiu caught between the two. Is it too late to go back to the Water Prison?

and judgment is just like a cup that we share by Kieron_ODuibhir

The blob finished rotating into place in a way that wasn’t quite compatible with geometry as Shen Qingqiu understood it, and cleared a throat it didn’t seem to have.

“Greetings,” it said, somehow clearly addressing him in particular more than the room as a whole despite its total lack of features other than blueness and translucency. “I’m here on behalf of the Hyper-Celestial Peace and Order Enforcement Bureau. Crime scene secure, proceeding to interviews. Beginning with Subject One: You are Shen Qingqiu, formerly Shen Yuan, also known as Peerless Cucumber?"

[sourcherryandsprinkles]

What if Xavier's father showed up to parents weekend? maybe he's not nice to his son and reader say something? Or vice versa

This has been in my wips for so long! I miss writing/reading about Xavier...

p.s. I didn't plan on making this 1.4k, but it happened

my taglists are here + you can send requests here at any time

—

Being the son of world-famous psychic Vincent Thorpe had its perks and many downs.

Getting a lot of toys to play with as a child and living in a big house sounded like a dream, but for the rest, there was nothing to envy. Since he could remember, Xavier always had high standards to reach. He was expected to have the greatest grades and to be on top of all of his classes, always be on his best behavior, speak nothing but highly of his father and mostly, not taint his father's reputation in any way shape or form.

Like any little kid, Xavier admired and looked up to his father. Being world-famous made him sound so cool to his young eyes. But that idolization changed with time. Xavier realized that nothing he does will ever be enough for him. His grades — although considered excellent — will never be good enough to his father’s eyes. He’ll always disappoint him.

As a parent, Vincent Thorpe wasn’t so cool. Xavier always had to fight to get his father's attention. Instead of congratulating him on a test he got an above average grade, Vincent would tell him to work harder next time. He never came to his school plays or other events — unless it gave him an occasion to brag about himself. He never sat down long enough to recognize the talent Xavier had for art or comforted him after his mother lost her battle to cancer at the hospital.

When his powers began to show, people expected Xavier to be as great as his father. Unfortunately, his psychic powers were not as impressive. All he could do was bring his art to life.

He also had occasional dreams that predict the future, but those were more on the scary side — nightmares.

Beneath the balustrade Xavier was standing by, the quad was filled with parents and families greeting and hugging their children. He remembered his first year at Nevermore. He had waited all day for his father to show up on Parents Weekend, convinced he would come visit him like the other parents only to end up crying in his bed because he was the only kid whose parents weren't present.

That day put a further strain to their relationship. The next year, Xavier didn't bother waiting for his father. Nor the year after.

‘’Not sure how much of this family togetherness I can take,’’ Xavier said when you joined him.

‘’Guessing your dad’s a no-show again this year?’’

He nodded, looking down at the crowd of parents with sadness. ‘’Yeah. He hasn’t show his face since I started here.’’

Parents Weekend was Xavier’s least favorite Nevermore event. It was just a painful reminder that his father didn't care enough about him to show up. The man preferred to be on tour and hear a crowd applaud him than spend a day with his only son. Xavier acted like it didn't bother him, but he was deeply hurt.

‘’Shouldn’t you be with your mom and brother?’’

You shook your head. ‘’My mom texted me last night saying she couldn’t make it, she caught a nasty cold and doesn’t want to spread her sickness. That means we can spend the day together.’’ You smiled and kissed him sweetly.

Xavier smiled a half smile against your lips.

‘’We can go into town if you want? Get coffee and—’’

‘’Xavier,’’ the gravelly voice of a man called behind you, rudely interrupting.

You looked over your shoulder, eyes falling on a tall man wearing a long coat cleared. He had a haughty posture and the same green eyes you loved to stare into.

Beside you, Xavier looked like he had seen a ghost — and he might as well have. After years of no-show, his father decided to show up.

‘’D-dad.’’ The young psychic quickly composed himself, straightening up and fixing his posture before his father could point it out.

The exchange was strange and cold. From your viewing point, it seemed uncomfortable.

You subtly rested a hand on the small of Xavier’s back, standing close so his father wouldn’t notice. A way of telling him ‘I’m here’. ‘’Welcome to Nevermore Academy, Mr. Thorpe,’’ you politely greeted, forcing a welcoming smile.

The man completely — and rudely — ignored you, which only added a point to the lengthy list of reasons why you hated Vincent Thorpe. He might be famous, but it didn’t give him the right to be rude to people.

‘’I didn't know you would be coming.’’ Xavier shifted, absentmindedly leaning into your touch.

‘’It was a last minute decision. I was on a flight back from Paris when my personal assistant forwarded me that Principal Weems had invited me to Nevermore's Parents Weekend. My tour is on break for a few days. Why not surprise my son and pay him a visit.’’

Xavier huffed a dry laugh. ‘’So you came here because you had nothing better to do? I’m just a way to fill empty spaces in your schedule?’’

Vincent stared down at his son, then corrected him. ‘’That’s not what I said.’’

‘’But it sounded like it,’’ you said, coming to Xavier’s defense. It wasn’t your place to speak up, but you knew Xavier wouldn’t stand up to his father. ‘’I understand that you are a career oriented person, Mr. Thorpe, but children shouldn’t fill empty spaces in a parent’s schedule. A good parent make space for them in their schedule, cares and listen to them instead of booking appointments with a therapist by fear a bad word under their name ends in the tabloids, calls to take news instead of having their assistant send an email and show up to their school events.’’

Words kept spilling out of your mouth, firing examples of Vincent’s shitty parenting. You could’ve kept going for longer, but some things were too personal to bring up where people could hear.

Like the reason Xavier started going on nightly runs. He didn’t start running out of pleasure; his father had forced him to lose weight because ‘having a fat son wouldn't be good for his image’. Or why he enrolled him at Nevermore Academy. It wasn’t just because it was a school for outcasts. The academy allowed him to focus on his career and touring the world. So instead of putting his career on hold and becoming the parent he knew that Xavier really needed him to be, he sent him to Nevermore instead.

In Vincent Thorpe’s mind, parenting was a chore. He had planned to leave all the parenting to his wife while he focused all his attention on his career, but life had other plans for her and took her away, leaving him with a son he didn’t care enough about to make room for in his professional life.

Before you, the tall man’s face twisted, immediately taking offense. ‘’How dare you speak to me with that tone. Do you know who you are speaking to, young lady?’’

It should have made you feel small, but you weren’t intimidated by him. To your eyes, he was just a man.

‘’I do, and I do not care. Being famous does not give you the right to treat your son like a forgotten toy on a shelf that you only spare a glance at and remembers exists every couple of months. Xavier should be your priority, but he’s not. All you see and care about is the tabloids and if a bad word about you or your name gets out, not if your son had a bad day or if he won his fencing duel.’’

Vincent drew his eyebrows, shifting his gaze to his son. ‘’Fencing? Xavier doesn’t do fencing.’’

‘’Yeah, I do,’’ Xavier replied. ‘’I told you in an email two years ago, but you probably had your assistant read it for you like you do with all of my emails.’’

‘’I don’t—’’

‘’Yes, you do!’’

A few heads in the quad had looked up at the loudness of Xavier's tone, catching their attention.

Mr. Thorpe's jaw tensed, shooting a quick look beneath the balcony. ‘’Xavier, please lower your voice,’’ he hissed, more worried about the possible gossip than Xavier’s anger toward him. ‘’Have you been seeing Dr. Kinbott? I thought she was helping you with your anger issues. Do you want me to call her?’’

How dared he talk about Xavier anger issues? He wouldn't have anger issues if he wasn't such a shit father. Couldn’t he see that it was him who put him into this state?

‘’I...I think it’s better if we just don’t do this family thing today,’’ Xavier decided, his voice much calmer. ‘’I can’t spend more time in your presence.’’

‘’But I came all the way here?’’

Xavier shrugged, giving him a tight lipped smile. ‘’I’m sure you’ll find people to kiss your feet and flatter your ego. I’m done.’' he said before walking away, leaving you and his father behind.

''Xavier!'' Vincent called after his son, but Xavier didn't look back.

—

Wednesday taglist: @sofiaadler @partyfly @hoodforcalum @thelilacmourning @ellessecretobsession @su-alteza-emia @achoo---uu @not-leaprvt @xaviersgf @peterparkerdilf @roadworkaheadisurehopeitdoes @dragon-chica @coldtacozinepanda @wrldofsage @eddiemunsonsluvrrr @capriaura @officialsaturn @babyfiva @maevaomizzolo @kelloggs-world @whosljt @ajpanda181 @belovedrey @emerycrt @elizabitchsshit @heaven-hiding @lilithlikestoread @est-liber @moonisu @dessxoxsworld @parker-nite @bellblake121890 @vesperazhier @kaldurahms-lover @beeebo234 @nephilimsss @mayuphoenix @sweetheartlizzie07 @watermelon-18 @snixx2088 @555stargirl555 @robinscardigan @chumchum19 @lilttblog @aphex2winn @heizenka @mystargirl-interlude @hwrtsiren @babygirljay20 @wildflowerlyss @strangersomeone @openfandoms @charlottelaffin @iheartmaddyperez @starless-starkov @ali-r3n  @poppet05  @ell0ra-br3kk3r

 @rhaenyraswife  @teaganthemorningstar  @aphex2winn @moompie  @ifevilwhyhot @oliviah-25 @spenglerslime @wetwilliam02 @yellowcupcakes @haileyismoo @theyslayallday @wrldofsage @manofworm @rhydianissuperior @supersanelyromantic @nicangel13 @toylewestinnyc @meme-queen-1999 @rottenstyx @mxxny-lupin @idli-dosa @silenzju @ar40s @sweeterheartxamerica @renaissancewhxre @jordierama @lilppsblog @harrystylesfp  @katsuki420 @ravenssh1t @izzy-laufeyson @iluvwomenblog @kenzi-woycehoski @arunaposeidondottie @liidiaaag  @lilaconner @katsukis1wife @momoewn  @amithesimpoffandoms @chaotic-fangirl-blog @hawkegfs  @lyxrix @mommyruuetrue  @acornacreacure @lucassinclairsgf @youdontneedtoknowthisinformation @aabananaa @starrrslove @marissapearle @sshesang @scarxvodka  @xoxo-zainab @illf4iry  @yourfavdummy @leoluvsur-pappy @kcskye123 @wenvierismycomfort @pedrosprincess @luvvtxinityy @targaryenmoony @icarly23 

All and more taglist: @spiokybirdstarfish @kenqki @liidiaaag @hawkegfs  @gillybear17  @areaderinlove @acornacreacure @black-rose-29 @fudge13 @cece05 @rosie-cameron @Caxddce @laylasbunbunny @gemofthenight @beautyb1ade  @hi-bored-as-fcuk-rn  @lovelyy-moonlight @mellabella101 @vxnity713  @marzipaanz

[dreamingkitsunewrites]

Letter to somebody I left behind,

It's been more than a year…a year since you entered my life…and now that I've ripped myself away from you I'm slowly coming back to my old self… 

But I remember the hailstorm and us talking under the shelter of a balcony, the smell of your smoke on my skin, the intricate patterns of your tattoos

 I still remember Escher, Goya and the starless sky, the way we both hoped the rain wouldn't ever end…

 I remember the late night calls, when you couldn't even breathe on the other side of the line,but we still talked about the ultimate essence of happiness and Geworfenheit;

I know everything about you and I wish I didn't let you so close to me: I was never there, but in my mind I held your inner child out of the wreckage of your household…I never met Jo, but I feel like I was there beside you when you tried to bring him around in that car…I wasn't there with you that night, but I took all of your pain on my shoulders…

 I still remember the fights, the way you used to yell at me I was nothing without you… just to text me to know if I came home safe when I turned my back to you…

 I remember Budapest, your sore knuckles when life became too much, the way you finally fell asleep to the tale of my routine…

Even if I don't want to, I will always know the words of the songs you wrote to me, and I will always keep the notes you wrote in the books we exchanged.

I've tried… God knows I've tried…I've tried loving you even when u shattered me to pieces…not once but twice. And still then, I loved you from afar, without anyone else noticing. 

Sacrificing myself and my dreams on a far away horizon, I decided not to leave. Not yet -I said to myself. People asked me why I decided not to leave all of a sudden…and I wanted to play it down, blaming my lack of bravery, while the only reason was you…

But all you wanted was keeping me close just to see me shatter again…just for you to put me together and tear me to pieces over and over again… 

I gave you my time, my thoughts, my energy, my prayers… every fiber of my being begged for your Salvation as I held my own breath at night.

Yet, the cruel game you played with me was not enough: you kept on damaging yourself on purpose just because you knew it was the simplest way to get under my skin, to make sure in the end I would come back to you begging for more. 

Until one day I found the bravery to let go.

I want to leave you behind but I won't ever let you go completely, because deep,down I know I failed… I'll always be reminded how I couldn't get you out of your misery… I couldn't win over the Demons in your mind… 

You told me I reminded you of your mother…and I want nothing more than being someone else…

Good luck on your next turn, I wish someone will finally be able to stitch what the others had ripped apart…

Sorry if I moved on,

           Yours, the one who got away.

What a strange thing life is... Barely nights ago I was writing this letter in my drafts after getting a 3am text by a person I never thought I would hear from again...I layed awake feeling miserable, not wanting to feel a thing... and yet, today I grab lunch with friends I haven't seen in a while and I fall for the idea of falling in love again... The news of young (maybe too young) wedding after an almost breakup, and a new start after grieving the one you loved hit me like a train...it all happened in matter if minutes... And then I understood: Love knows a lot of hiding places...but when the time is right it will always find its way back to you...and I'm willing to wait, no matter how much long it will take...

Needed to get this off my chest so bad...

[brighterdaysarebeforeus]

So…I swear I know where I’m headed…I’m just not sure how to get there…(>.<) hopefully you guys enjoy!!

@hobiesgender @hadesdaughter2002 @lirulua

(This is getting hella long, so…)

Masterlist

The speed with which Hobie moved was astounding. One second, Miles had been at his side, arm around him and half turned towards the Prowler as he entered. The next, Miles was behind Hobie fully, the older teen barring Miles from doing anything by slightly crouching down in front of him and throwing his arm out so Miles couldn’t push past him. His scent went from comforting to threatening, and Hobie was letting out a quiet growl that sent shivers down Miles’s spine; he’d never heard an omega make that kind of noise, ever, in his life.

Gwen was at Hobie’s side in the same second, Margo right next to her. Pavitr was on Hobie’s other side, and Miles could feel additional heat behind him, but didn’t turn to see who had joined them in the room. Little hands patted onto his hair, though, which gave him some sort of hint, he guessed.

Either way, he’d never felt so protected before in his life. He wasn’t quite sure what to do with all of this; before, he’d been required to sort of be able to hold his own, being an alpha and all, but having his own team…it actually felt sort of nice. Mostly because he was still so tired, so to hand off responsibility right now sounded great. He inched forward slightly, not enough to hinder Hobie’s movements, but enough to let him know that he was trusting the taller teen to protect him. Hobie’s arm drifted back a bit more, pressing against Miles’s shoulder fully now.

Prowler didn’t move much; his head twisted and tilted, as if counting the amount of people in the room and trying to gauge his chances of winning this encounter. He must have decided that he wasn’t going to come out on top in this fight, because there was a slight click and a small hiss, and then the Prowler was removing his mask to stare at them head on. Miles glanced at everyone out of the corner of his eyes, gauging their reactions; none of them moved or made a face, but the other Miles was looking them all over with a blank look.

“Oyé.” He said finally, tilting his head back. His gaze landed on Miles, finally, and a small smirk tilted his lips. Miles was entirely sure he’d never looked that menacing in his life. Maybe this Miles was supposed to be the alpha; he didn’t have the build for it, no, but he definitely had the aura. “You found friends. And here I was, hoping for a little more…one on one time.”

“Hey, mate,” Hobie said lowly, “back off.” The Prowler shifted his gaze to Hobie, lifting his eyebrow gracefully in a way that reminded Miles of his mother.

“Do you speak for him?” He asked, and Hobie tensed up even more. “Do any of you speak for him?”

“Whatever you have to say to him can be said to us.” Gwen said firmly, Pavitr chiming a loud agreement. Hobie still said nothing, but kept Miles covered from view as best he could. The Prowler seemed to look them all over again, taking in their similar workwear, and sighed heavily.

“Look, I just need — a favor, if you will.” He said bluntly. “From my clone over there.” None of the Spiders moved, Mayday even strangely silent from behind Miles, and the Prowler let out an irritated sigh from his nose.

“Maybe be a bit more specific,” Peter B said from behind Miles, “and we’ll talk about whether or not it’s a favor we can fulfill.” They stood in silence for a moment, the Prowler’s teeth grinding obviously for a moment as he mulled over his decision. “Tick, tock, kid, clock is ticking.”

“Don’t.” The Prowler growled through his clenched teeth, “call me ‘kid’.” There was a chill in the air now, tension racking up higher and higher as he stood alone in the center of the room, hands and jaw clenched, glaring darkly at Peter B.

“Got it.” Peter said weakly, “ix-nay on the kid talk.”

Something about his overall posture made him seem…smaller, somehow. Miles wasn’t quite sure what it was, yet; nevertheless, he found himself extremely interested in what his counterpart had to say, and stepped forward to stand next to Hobie instead of behind him. His chest pressed into Hobie’s arm fully, though he didn’t try to move it, and he met the other boy’s eyes head on.

“What’s your favor?”

[beep-beep-imma-sheep]

I decided to read Anne Frank's Diary... What an interesting experience considering Venezuela's current events.

—

Our lives were not without anxiety, since our relatives in Germany were suffering under Hitler's anti-Jewish laws. After the pogroms in 1938 my two uncles (my mother's brothers) fled Germany, finding safe refuge in North America. My elderly grandmother came to live with us. She was seventy-three years old at the time.

This anxiety feels similar to... Pretty much what anyone who fled their home country would feel.

After May 1940 the good times were few and far between:

28th of July, anyone?

first there was the war, then the capitulation and then the arrival of the Germans, which is when the trouble started for the Jews. Our freedom was severely restricted by a series of anti-Jewish decrees:

Out freedom was severely restricted... Yeah. That speaks for itself.

Jews were required to wear a yellow star; Jews were required to turn in their bicycles; Jews were forbidden to use street-cars; Jews were forbidden to ride in cars, even their own; Jews were required to do their shopping between 3 and 5 P.M.; Jews were required to frequent only Jewish-owned barbershops and beauty parlors; Jews were forbidden to be out on the streets between 8 P.M. and 6 A.M.;

This is not the same, of course, but this also reminds me of how, even if there's no official curfew, no one dares to go outside after certain hour. I remember one of these nights my aunt woke up around 2 am and saw the military through the window roaming around were I live, probably looking for someone to arrest.

Jews were forbidden to attend theaters, movies or any other forms of entertainment; Jews were forbidden to use swimming pools, tennis courts, hockey fields or any other athletic fields; Jews were forbidden to go rowing; Jews were forbidden to take part in any athletic activity in public; Jews were forbidden to sit in their gardens or those of their friends after 8 P.M.; Jews were forbidden to visit Christians in their homes; Jews were required to attend Jewish schools,etc.

... Well, we haven't reached that point. But no one SHOULD get to that point-.

You couldn't do this and you couldn't do that, but life went on.

That sounds very 🇻🇪 to me.

Jacque always said to me, "I don't dare do anything anymore, 'cause I'm afraid it's not allowed".

Again, that feeling looks... Very familiar.

It seems like years since Sunday morning. So much has happened it's as if the whole world had suddenly turned upside down.

🇻🇪28th of July🇻🇪

It's more like being on vacation in some strange pension. Kind of an odd way to look at life in hiding, but that's how things are.

Coping mechanisms be like.

Whatever we do, we're very afraid the neighbors might hear or see us.

GIRL, SAME. There's Chavistas in my neighborhood, I'm s c a r e d that they'd end up ratting us out on being from the opposition so the police can put us under arrest.

Though the people who work there are not on the premises after hours, any sound we make might travel through the walls.

I know that fear.

We've forbidden Margot to cough at night, even though she has a bad cold, and are giving her large doses of codeine.

...

Of course, we can't ever look out the window or go outside. And we have to be quiet so the people downstairs can't hear us. (...) Not being able to go outside upsets me more than I can say, and I'm terrified our hiding place will be discovered and that we'll be shot. That, of course, is a fairly dismal prospect.

From July 28th to August 1st I didn't even dare to look out the window. And the fear of being shot is something I carry with me since I was a kid.

And sometimes they talk about Moortje and I can't take that at all. Moortje is my weak spot. I miss her every minute of the day, and no one knows how often I think of her; whenever I do, my eyes fill with tears. Moortje is so sweet, and I love her so much that I keep dreaming she'll come back to us.

Unrelated to the topic, but back in the last days of May my dog passed away (yes, I had the worst pride month). I resonated with this scared 13 y/o girl who had to leave everything behind, even her beloved pet.

Yesterday I had a horrible fright. At eight o'clock the doorbell suddenly rang. All I could think of was that someone was coming to get us, you know who I mean. But I calmed down when everybody swore it must have been either pranksters or the mailman.

Sometimes I remember the fact that a guard could just... Break into my house and take me or someone I love away. And that's terrifying.

[piastrinorris]

busy streets and busy lives • ralph penbury x reader

A strange day at work gets even stranger when you meet a man who claims he's from 1926. With no certainty as to when he can get back, you decide to take him in until that time arrives.

masterlist | prev. | next

Tags: Timewasters (series), modern!au, slow burn, mutual pining, idiots in love™, fluff, some angst, swearing and mentions of adult themes throughout, eventual adult content, alcohol content, penbury is a fanon surname

Word count: 9.2k

A/N: Thanks for being patient! I know this one took longer than the other two, but yeah. Back pain is no joke, and also, as you can see, this became somewhat of a monolith lol. This whole fic is my most favourite thing to write. I hope you enjoy this chapter! <3

Also, apologies for the horrific photoshop job I did trying to recreate a certain social media layout, lol.

The first few weeks of living with Ralph are certainly… An experience. You’re able to teach him how to cook basic freezer meals, how to use a hob and the importance of never taking your attention away from food when you’re preparing it. He’s got his favourite TV shows, especially now that you’ve trusted him with access to your streaming services, too - though you did have to make him a separate profile on your account when your current obsession had been drowned out in your Continue Watching queue by Ralph watching half an hour of whatever was showing up first, giving up and moving onto the next thing. He’s got a rapport as “that eccentric young man who lives in flat 912”, who befriends all the local outdoor cats and bows to everyone he makes eye contact with. Plus, with all the extra attention Ralph gives them while you’re not there, your plants have been thriving more than ever.

Another morning of waking up on the sofa. You reach blindly for the pain relief and water bottle you now keep close to you and chug them down before peeling yourself away. At least today is a day off. Except it isn’t really, as you’re reminded when you hear the shower going. You’re still a full-time Ralph-sitter. You decide to treat the pair of you to a full breakfast, something that your new housemate had considered “grotesque” as “grease is not a food group”, but you’d acclimated him to it eventually. As long as you cut him some bread soldiers to dip into the yolks of his eggs. That’s his favourite part.

You scroll through Spotify on your phone to see what playlist you’ll ask your Echo to play for you. It recommends, based on your recent listening (by which it obviously means the battle your algorithm faces trying to find common ground between your music taste and Ralph’s), an electro-swing playlist. Excited, you ask Alexa to play the playlist as it’s titled, and start bouncing along to it as you get everything out to start cooking.

Ralph emerges, hair still wet, with a smile on his face. “Good morning!” You understand and appreciate his efforts to try and blend in a little more aesthetically, but arguably the worst thing your friends have convinced Ralph is that he looks better with a bit of facial hair. Which, of course, is true, but that’s what makes it so terrible for you. “What is this?!”

You shrug, “Dunno, it said electro-swing and I figured that sounds like the perfect mix of both of us. You like it?”

Ralph nods, “I mean, it’s certainly not the classics, but I could definitely get used to this!” He starts moving his feet in very deliberate ways, and you smirk at him.

“Did you ever learn how to swing dance, by any chance?”

“Guilty!” he lilts, rolling his eyes up. No matter how much he may try to look like a 21st century man, he’s still unmistakably Ralph. “Yes, Mother got Victoria and I enrolled in a school to get us out of the house. Father wanted me to join some new-fangled group, the Scouts?” You’d think you’d be used to all the culture shocks by now, but hearing that Ralph could have been one of the first ever Scouts still knocks the wind out of you a little. Ralph, completely unaware, continues rambling, “Yes, but it was all… Swimming and climbing and… Outdoor survival,” he shudders. “So, Mother sent me away with Victoria to her dance classes.”

“Were you any good? Or did you enjoy it, at least?” you ask.

Ralph smiles as his head bobs with excitement, “I was rather exemplary, yes! Ms Lillian often paired Victoria and I together, knowing we could practise at home as well, though when we got to a… Certain age, Victoria decided she would rather have other male partners.” You can tell from the sadness in Ralph’s tone what he’s about to say next. “And, well, she was on such good terms with the other girls in the group that… Well, none of them wanted to be paired with little brother Ralph, so the teacher was my partner. ‘Little brother’, I ask you, only by twelve minutes!” he starts to mutter under his breath.

An urge swells within you to find Homeless Pete, insist he find a way to fix that time machine up as soon as possible, and travel back to that time just to shove every one of those rich little brats. Instead, you focus that energy on comforting Ralph, reaching your arms around his shoulders in a quick hug. “I’m sorry, mate. Though, I don’t suppose you remember those moves you learned?”

His eyes light up. “I certainly do! Did you want to learn how to? The teacher did say I was quite the natural, I could teach you if you wanted!”

You grin, “I’d love nothing more.”

You spend the best part of an hour learning how to do things like the Charleston Step, the bow tie and the one that Ralph calls one turns, two turns, which you can tell is his favourite based on the smile he gets when it’s his turn to get twirled around.

Eventually, you heave with exhaustion. “Well, that’s worked up the old appetite, though I dunno how I’m gonna cook when I can barely feel my legs!”

Ralph giggles, “Oh, please, that was nothing! Ms Lillian would have you in tatters.” You give him a death stare and he stops laughing immediately. “Would you like me to get us something from the baker’s? I could get you some of those doughed nuts that you enjoy.”

“For the last time, Ralph, doughnuts don’t actually contain nuts and you can have some yourself, too!” you groan as you start replacing everything you’d taken out of the fridge.

Ralph tuts, shaking his head. “I have no interest in your nuts, thank you.” That’s one to send to Scott and Connor later, you think to yourself as you open up your phone and add to the note “Ralph Quotes”. “Perhaps the nice old lady who calls me chap will be there,” he muses with a small smile, “I like her.”

“Hop to it, then, old sport,” you say in a mock-posh voice, earning you a glare from Ralph, which only makes you laugh as you make your own way to the shower.

When you’re out and dressed for the day - in the clothes Ralph had worn on his first night with you, but only because they’re your go-to comfort clothes anyway and you don’t exactly plan on leaving the flat - you go through your usual routine of checking the news app for the headlines, and then the trending topics on Twitter, just to see if there’s anything your friends will be talking about. 

You giggle at the fact that the name Ralph is trending, screenshotting it to send to the group chat later. Out of curiosity as to which Ralph the internet is obsessing over today, you tap it and scroll through. It’s mostly people in fandoms, making threads called ‘[series] as ralph tweets’. The “ralph tweets” in question seem to be of someone tweeting as though they think Twitter works in the same way as Google.

Your stomach drops as you realise some of them look a little too familiar. Almost as though you know a Ralph who’d be this far out of touch with the modern world. Almost as though you could track the very conversations that would lead to some of these to that particular Ralph.

You click through to the profile @RalphOnTwitter and scroll all the way down to see exactly when he must have gotten an account:

You send a single message in the group chat: GROUP MEETING, MY FLAT, ASAP. ALL MUST ATTEND.

Your friends all arrive relatively quickly after that. You simply herd them all onto the sofa one by one until the last of them has arrived, but just as you’re about to lay into them, the man of the hour arrives, having fumbled with the lock for a good minute with his arms full of baked goods.

“Ah, good morning, all! It’s a good job you’re all here, it was that young woman serving today and she always gives me extra food even though I don’t ask for it or pay for it, I don’t know why -”

“It’s ‘cause she fancies you, mate,” Connor grins, causing Ralph’s ears to turn a vibrant shade of red.

“Can we please discuss Ralph’s love life another time?!” you interrupt. “I need to know which of you is responsible for giving him access to a Twitter account.”

You know Anna’s in the clear, you’d been helping her in the kitchen, but the other three look at each other shiftily. “Well, it was sort of all of us? We just thought it might be fun to teach him,” Grace explains. “It’s not often you meet someone who’s never heard of social media.”

You pinch the bridge of your nose, squeezing your eyes shut. “Ralph,” you call out, eyes still closed, “what do you do when you need to know the answer to something?”

“I do what you taught me when you first gave me my phone,” Ralph answers, perplexed. “I tap the very last square, I type in my question and I wait for an answer. A lot of them are just people being rude, but eventually someone will be helpful.”

“Sounds about right,” you groan, rubbing your face.

“Wait, you mean, you still do that even after we put - you didn’t think to just move one to the -” Scott’s eyes widen. “Oh, god.”

“Why would it move?!” Ralph asks, taking a bite out of his favourite pastry and chewing anxiously.

Anna starts giggling as she scrolls through his account, “Aww, but it’s so funny! And it’s not hurting anyone, what’s the damage in it?”

The fact he’s not supposed to be alive and yet he’s suddenly very much perceived, maybe? The fact he could accidentally tweet something that would give him away? The fact he could tweet something vastly inappropriate at any moment?

“Yeah, you could really capitalise on him while he’s here,” Connor smirks. “Get him on Instagram, too, get those brand deals coming.”

“Yeah! Ralph On Twitter’s face reveal, make it a whole thing,” Grace grins.

You sigh. “I dunno. It feels like a really bad idea.” You look at Ralph, who looks blankly back at you. “But… Maybe we could make something of you. As long as I’m your PR manager, obviously, and you don’t go talking directly to anyone.”

“I don’t think I know how,” Ralph shakes his head, “I thought it was the searching thing that you’d told me about.”

“Good. Never learn,” you point at him, “and give me your phone.” Your friends all cheer as they crowd around you, watching you download Instagram onto his phone, as well. You give him the handle @ralphoninsta “to keep the brand alive,” you explain as you set up his profile.

“Now we need a good first photo,” Scott holds his fingers and thumbs up in a rectangle shape to frame Ralph in his own field of vision. “Let’s get him into some good lighting.”

Sitting him in the best-lit corner of the flat, Scott insists on playing photographer, telling Ralph to sit and smile. However, Ralph does not seem to do well in front of the camera. He sits bolt upright, every part of him looking stiff and uncomfortable, and his smile isn’t right. It’s far too forced, it shows all his teeth and yet somehow the smile itself stretches beyond them. “Maybe we should take him out and about, get some candid shots of him,” Anna suggests.

You groan, having just started on your second doughnut. “Fine! I’ll leave the house today, but I won’t be pleased about it!” You shake your half-eaten breakfast at your friends, who laugh. “And you guys better come eat these, too, Ralph wasn’t kidding about these freebies.” You hold out another doughnut and wave it in Ralph’s direction, “Sure I can’t tempt you with one?”

He leaps onto his feet and backs away from you, “How many times must I ask you to keep your doughed nuts out of my face, please!” As expected, Scott and Connor crease up in laughter.

“You’ll love ‘em when you try ‘em, Ralphie,” you grin, taking another bite of your own, but Ralph isn’t as amused by it all.

Once you’re all adequately full, you begrudgingly throw on a hoodie and go out with everyone else, trying to find the right lighting, the right backdrop. Even with everything, Ralph just doesn’t seem to pose very well. His posture becomes so much more awkward and his facial expressions just aren’t… Ralph.

When he starts to express his apathy for the whole thing, you think of one more thing that might help. Standing him in front of a brick wall, you position Scott and set his phone camera to video, earning you an, “Ahh, good shout.”

Scott starts recording as Ralph stands in place, looking over at all of you. “So, what is it I’m supposed to do, now? Do I have to pose again? How?”

You shrug, “I dunno, just… Be Ralph. Stand however you want. Look however you want. Just, keep it moving around, yeah?”

He may still look a little awkward but you’re able to get him to do plenty, at least. Getting him comfortable is easy enough, you start getting him talking about his new favourite TV programmes and he very vaguely - and mostly not entirely correctly - describes the plots of them, with all the excited sincerity of a lifelong fan. Grace also asks him about his favourite local cats he’s befriended whenever he’s been out and about, which he lists happily and extensively. 

When Scott feels as though he’s got some good angles, he stops recording and you all crowd around him to review the footage together. While you all have different opinions on which angles are best, you can all agree on one thing - Ralph certainly photographs far, far better candidly. You all eventually settle on pausing and screenshotting at two specific moments, though Ralph is still perplexed. “But I’m not posed for either of those pictures, doesn’t that make them bad? I mean, I’m not even looking in that second one!” He points to a shot where he’s looking down, itching his jaw.

“No, trust me, it’s fine, they’re great,” you insist, maybe a little too quickly. Nobody seems to have noticed, though. Thankfully.

“And in this one, the sun is in my eyes! I’m all squinty!” He frowns, swiping to the previous shot.

“That’s called a smoulder, babes, everyone loves a smoulder.” You watch in amusement as Ralph’s ears turn pink at Grace’s words. No matter how many times you’ve told him that Grace calls everyone by that name, it still gets Ralph all nervous to be referred to by it himself. “You’re a natural, when you’re not actually trying.”

“Is that a good thing?” Ralph asks, his eyes darting around the group to gauge everyone’s reactions.

Anna nods, “It shows promise, right, Scott? Scott’s big into his photography shit, he’s got a proper camera and everything, don’t you?”

Scott nods. “If you ever wanted to try and get more comfortable with it, we could definitely shoot together sometime.”

Ralph shuffles over to you to whisper in your ear, “What do guns have to do with -”

You interrupt him to quietly explain, “You shoot photos on a camera.”

“Ah. Thank you.” Addressing Scott, he smiles and claps, bouncing on the balls of his feet, “If I am still around, I should rather enjoy that!”

“Fuck, I forgot we’ve only got you on borrowed time,” Anna complains, before gasping and clapping her hands, addressing you. “This is your weekend off, right?!” You nod, and she squeals, holding her face in her hands. “So, we have to show Ralph what a good night out is, right?!”

Excited reactions from the entire group, except one, obviously, but the others seem too keen on planning tonight now to respond to any of his reactions. “So, do we just take him out, or out-out?” Connor asks.

You look over at Ralph’s face, trying not to laugh too loudly at him looking as though he’s been asked to solve quantum equations in his head. “You trying to figure out the difference there, mate?” you ask, and he nods. “Right, so going out usually means just to the local pub, pretty casual attire, you say you’re only going for a couple of beers but then it’s approaching midnight, the poor sod behind the bar is calling last orders and you’re five deep, trying to gather everyone for the walk home where you drop them all off one by one. Going out-out is dressing up, it’s going into the city itself, it’s going to bars and nightclubs and getting super overpriced cocktails until it’s 3am and you’re sat outside a McDonald’s waiting for a taxi home with whichever stragglers you’ve managed to hold onto by the end of the night.”

“Dressing up, you say?!” Ralph lights up at the idea, but you put a hand on his arm.

“Not in the suit and tie way, I’m afraid.” You frown, “I don’t actually know if we’ve got any out-out clothes for you at home, you know. I haven’t had a chance to get you to any shops where you can try nice clothes on yourself.”

With a collective gasp, Grace and Anna each loop an arm around each of Ralph’s, with Scott joining in their chorus of, “Shopping trip?!”

You groan, “Can I at least go back and get changed if you’re gonna keep making me leave the house?”

“I mean, you don’t have to come with us, if you want a break,” Anna suggests. “You trust us with Ralph, right?”

“So what, just the four of you will be going, then?” Connor asks, to the others’ groans. “Oh, come off it, what use would I be?!”

“Connor,” Anna starts. “How often are we ever likely to ask you for your opinion as a straight man again? You need to come with, for your people.”

Connor sighs in resignation, though he can’t fight his own smile. “Alright, fine, but you lot are buying all the coffees I’m gonna need to get through this.”

You slip Ralph your bank card, mutter to him that the others will teach him how to use it, and salute the others as they all make their way to the high street before turning on your heel and heading back to the sanctuary of an empty flat.

Straight away, it feels too empty. Too quiet. Sure, you’ve trusted Ralph to just pop across the road and back, but you’ve got way more alone time now. You ask your Echo to play your favourite playlist as you make a start on the chores you normally can’t do with Ralph around.

Though you expect that to take up until they return, you’re done before the hour is up. You let out a long exhale, tutting through it as you look around your little living space and wonder what on earth to do with yourself. You start watching the next episode of the show you’d been watching, but even that didn’t feel right without the constant interjections, feeling as though you have to explain who characters are, what plots have already happened and why certain scenes are especially important.

You text the group chat a few times, but only Connor ever responds, and as is on brand for him, it’s always a sarcastic comment about how Ralph is obviously going to show up in the most garish outfits known to man. You take comfort in Connor being the one to make those jokes, at least, as if anyone else were to, you might be more inclined to worry that Ralph’s own tastes might just be a little too eclectic for the South London nightlife. At least Connor will be there to talk him down into dressing somewhat appropriately.

You also ask Scott to send you the photos for Ralph’s Instagram profile, telling him you’re happy to edit them to pass the time before eventually getting them onto Ralph’s phone to upload them. He sends you the screenshots, along with the video itself. One little watch, you tell yourself. Then to editing.

An indeterminable amount of time later, you’re replaying a part where you’re constantly correcting Ralph on the actual plot of Gilmore Girls versus what he seems to have retained that it’s about, where you’ve reached the point of uncontrollable laughter and he’s laughing at your laughter. His smile is so pure when he’s genuinely happy, and yet it’s so rare to see it that way. Even without his manufactured pose, when he’s smiling amongst you and your friends it still feels stilted. You often wonder whether he misses the familiarity of home, whether you’re doing a good enough job at helping Ralph to fit in. But seeing that look on his face, it fills you with an overwhelming sense of relief. It’s the first time you’ve been able to really notice him looking comfortable. You take a screenshot of that moment, but not necessarily to add to Ralph’s profile. Maybe this one stays as a memento of Ralph’s time here, just for you.

When you get the text in the group chat letting you know that a) they’re finished, and b) everyone’s getting ready at Grace’s since her housemates are all out for the evening, you hurriedly edit those two photos Scott sent, empty your wardrobe of all your “out-out” clothes into a duffel bag, throw in whatever toiletries and cosmetics you can find and make your way over there.

Scott, Anna and Ralph are nowhere to be found, at first, but Grace assures you that they’re simply helping him “look the part”. You’re more worried about checking in with Ralph, seeing if he’s overwhelmed at all, and most importantly, making sure he hasn’t blown his cover.

Grace is more than happy to help you pick out your outfit for the night, while Connor’s input remains a constant and totally helpful series of grunts without even looking up from his phone. Grace helps you get your face and hair ready, too, though not without scolding Connor for not participating either way, despite his constant rebuttals that he is taking care of “the most important thing”. You quickly shoot him a text thanking him for helping to take Ralph off your hands for an afternoon, and reassuring him you’ll buy him a drink to show your appreciation. The absolute wordsmith that he is, Connor sends a thumbs-up emoji in response.

There’s a ring at the doorbell, which even Grace is puzzled at. That fills you with a sense of concern, too - if Grace isn’t expecting someone at her door, who could it be? Connor seems pretty confident at going to open it, though, and you see why when he eventually shows up with the pizzas that he clearly ordered. “You didn’t have to be so cryptic about it!” You shake your head at him as you make sure everyone has drinks made up as well.

Scott’s head pokes out of a door to ask, “Everything okay? Who was at the door?” You and Connor both point to the food and Scott grins, “Ah, nice! Right on time! Okay, folks, are you ready to meet The New Ralph?”

The three of you clap and cheer as Scott and Anna make a big show of revealing Ralph, and thankfully you weren’t holding any of the glasses you were making drinks in, or you’d have surely dropped them. Wearing a dark fitted polo, very well-fitting jeans and some crisp new Adidas trainers, Ralph stands between your friends, looking around at the three of you. When he catches your eye, he only makes very fleeting eye contact before looking your own outfit up and down and then hastily looking back at the others. He rubs at the tops of his ears - you can’t quite see from this distance, but you wonder if he’s blushing, and whether he’s doing it over everyone’s reaction, or just yours.

You set everyone’s drinks up around the living room, deliberately seating you and Ralph together. “I wasn’t sure what kind of fancy-schmancy drinks you’re used to, and none of us exactly have champagne on tap, but I thought you might like a martini?” You say to him as he takes his seat on the sofa next to you.

Ralph’s eyes light up. “I do rather enjoy a martini!”

“That’s my guy!” Connor cheers from his corner, raising a slice of pizza in a toast of sorts. Ralph tentatively takes a slice and does the same, but you hurriedly follow it up by grabbing a plate and holding it beneath Ralph’s slice for him.

“Don’t want to ruin your nice outfit before you’ve even been seen out in it, do you?” You fuss, and Ralph nods, taking the plate from you and holding it directly under his chin as he eats, which makes you laugh. He could literally look like anyone in the world, but little mannerisms like that will always tell you that that’s your Ralph.

When he’s had enough to eat, you take the plate from him to take it out to the kitchen, though Grace is quick to whip it out of your hands, too. That’s when you notice the plate seems to have moved something underneath the collar of Ralph’s shirt. You move it aside slightly and, with all the might of keeping any kind of flustering behaviour at bay, you ask, “Is that a neck chain you’re wearing?” Is this what manifesting is?

“Yes! Do you like it?” Ralph scoops it out into view with his finger. “Just a plain one, but Anna said it really brought the whole outfit together, didn’t you?” He asks her excitedly, and she nods back.

“She’s got a good eye, that one,” you grin. “You look so good, Ralph.”

“As do you,” he mutters, gesturing quickly to your outfit. “I see what you mean about dressing to the nines, now. It’s nice to see this side of you, too. All of you, really,” he stammers, looking around.

“Right, last minute hair and make-up touches and then I want photos of all of us!” Grace announces.

Ralph’s face falls as he asks you quietly, “Would you like to teach me how to take them, since I’m not good at being in them?”

“Don’t be silly,” you nudge him. “We’ll get some good ones of you tonight, trust me. And if you wanna see a bad photo, wait until you see the atrocities this lot take by the end of the night.”

“Yeah, yeah, laugh it up. We’ll prepare a slideshow of your finest moments for him, shall we?” Scott retorts, to both yours and Ralph’s laughter.

“Maybe we should save that for a special occasion. A birthday, perhaps?” Ralph asks with amusement.

“Yes, Ralph!” Connor and Scott cheer in unison, both slapping his shoulders excitedly as you gasp in mock offence.

“The betrayal!” You can’t actually be mad at Ralph, though, not with how good he looks when he’s this happy. It’s even more captivating in person.

You shake your head as you go to make sure you’re all freshened up after your meal. You can’t keep thinking these things when you’re sober, or else who knows how that’ll manifest when you’re less so.

Your friends all love learning how to get Ralph distracted enough that he doesn’t even realise half the time that his photo is being taken. Scott, being the photography setup genius that he is, even gets his phone out, sets it on a timer, and manages to get Ralph laughing while looking at the camera, in the middle of the group, all while successfully running into the shot himself. Everyone’s in love with that photo, even Ralph, and when Scott sends it in the group chat, you promise him you’ll print one for the flat, and an extra one just for his room. 

“What about the other ones that everyone else took?” Ralph asks. “Could I get those ones on my phone, too?”

“I’ll do that tomorrow. Ooh, speaking of! Before we go! Gimme, gimme,” you make a grabby hand at Ralph, who eventually takes the hint that you want his phone as he hands it to you. You send over the two edited shots - and that’s all - and, on his phone, successfully upload them:

“No caption?” Anna asks, looking over your shoulder.

“Well, it’d look a bit dodge if he’s tweeting to ask his phone to stop changing his words for him, but then he’s a total whiz at Instagram, wouldn’t it?” You explain, to everyone’s agreement.

Finally, you’re all piled into an Uber and on your way to your favourite bar. It’s in the car, cramped between you and the door, that Ralph realises something in a panic. Frantically tapping your arm, he whispers, “Won’t they ask me to prove I’m of age to drink there?”

You shake your head. “Don’t sweat it. The staff know us like the backs of their hands, they’ll trust us that we’re not bringing in some teenager. Besides, you look far less baby-faced now,” you wrestle your arm out enough to ruffle the beard he’s starting to grow with your fingertips. “So we’ll be fine. Promise.”

Ralph, too, wrangles a hand out to hold his little finger towards you. “Promise?”

With a small laugh, you link your own with his. “Yes, but less of that around the people we have to convince that you’re not a kid, okay?” Ralph nods with a very serious expression, and you copy him before settling back into conversation with your friends.

It takes a few bats of the group’s eyelids and some convincing c’mon, mates but the bouncer soon lets Ralph in with you all, to which he enthusiastically thanks them over and over again. You hurriedly rush him in ahead of you before he arouses too much suspicion.

Connor makes a point of letting Ralph know where the toilets are, and Ralph immediately disappears off into that direction. You ask the boys if one of them should make sure he’s okay getting there, but everyone scolds you for fussing over him too much and moves you along with the rest of them to order everyone’s drinks. You want to hold onto Ralph’s for him but, as Scott reminds you, it’s safer for him to, so that you can look after your own. Just in case.

Soon enough, as with every night out, the group starts to scatter. Scott is happily chatting between Connor and a girl you don’t recognise, most likely playing wingman. You can spot Anna and Grace in amidst a small group of people whose heads are turned away from you. Still no sign of Ralph for a while. Ringing his phone does nothing, but the music is quite loud, he might not be able to hear. The bar is small enough, you tell yourself. He’ll find you eventually.

As you’re craning your head around the bar one more time, you don’t realise anyone is in your immediate vicinity until you almost trip over someone behind you. They catch you with a, “Whoa, easy there! How many have you had?!”

“Barely any, that’s the scary thing!” You laugh.

The man smiles at you. “Sounds like I ought to buy you one then, eh?”

You shrug, “Sure, what’s a free drink?” You gesture that you’ll walk up to the bar with him and order your drink. He tries to make small conversation, and you start to get into it a little, until he starts trying to flirt. He’s not exactly your type, anyway, and his total lack of game really doesn’t help matters. You try and get away with a simple thank you, a promise that you’ll find him later to buy him one back but you really must get back to your friends.

“Ah, what’s the rush? Surely it’s easier for them to come and find you if we stay here, right?” He asks. You look around desperately, trying with all your might to use some of that manifesting power you seemed to have earlier to will one of the boys back, both to rescue you and salvage Ralph.

~~~

Ralph was having quite the experience. Having heard the other boys talk of the bathroom, he assumed that was a prompt for everyone to go, but only once he could see the door to it did Ralph turn around and realise he was completely on his own. Suddenly, the atmosphere changes. What seemed dimly lit now appears almost pitch black. There are lights of all colours shining everywhere. Music that doesn’t quite sound like music thumps in the background. Twenty conversations happening around him turn into white noise, until someone approaches him. A total stranger. Two of them, actually.

 “Alright, mate? Do me a favour?” One asks, despite Ralph’s expression clearly being one that should let anyone know that he is in no position to be giving out any favours. They continue anyway, “Look, I have to draw something, and you have to guess what it is, okay?” Ralph, still bewildered, does not respond in the slightest, but before he knows it, the other person has turned around so that their back can be used as a surface. The original asker now splays a napkin of sorts against their friend’s back as they try and draw something.

Ralph tries his absolute hardest, but as no amount of squinting and focusing can help him, he tells them, “Oh bother, I’m terribly sorry, chaps, I’m honestly trying but I’m really coming up trumps, I do apologise.”

They give him looks of confusion and concern. “Are you on something?”

“Why does everybody assume that of me, just because I’m ever so slightly more well spoken than the average resident here?!” Ralph complains with a frown. “Can this not just be how I talk?”

“Oh my days, you’re a right laugh,” the other grins. “Here, come and do a shot with us, you have to!”

“I- Do I?” Ralph asks, and they nod. “Well, I really should get back to my friends -”

“Oh, c’mon, one shot and we’ll help you find them. Deal?” They ask.

“Well… Alright,” Ralph sighs in defeat. If he can’t find you, he can at least find a constant to anchor onto in the meantime.

“Oi, lads!” The two call out as they approach the table they’re leading Ralph to. “Time out on that game for a minute, we’re doing shots with this legend!” They both look at Ralph expectantly, waiting for him to introduce himself.

“Oh! Yes! Hello, everyone. My name is Ralph. Fabulous to meet you all,” he smiles as he looks around the table.

“Isn’t he sick?!” The artist of the pair grins at his friends.

“Quite the picture of health, actually,” Ralph retorts with a side glance.

“Oh, isn’t he a cutie,” a girl coos from the table. The other of the pair starts to clench his jaw.

“Oi, come off it,” another comforts from around the table. “Any bloke that uses the word fabulous isn’t exactly stealing your girlfriend, is he.”

Ralph’s not even sure how to answer to that, but he isn’t given much time to, either, before being whisked away to the bar with this new group. They hand him a tiny glass filled with clear liquid. Ralph wonders if a shot is perhaps some sort of palate cleanser, a mouthful of water between drinks.

The fiery sensation that travels down his throat as he drinks teaches him that it certainly is not. But once the unpleasantness clears, the strange comfort of alcohol starts to fill Ralph with warmth. It’s certainly happening a lot faster than he’s used to, but then these drinks are far stronger than Ralph’s usual tastes.

Briefly forgetting his own arrangement, he returns from the bar with his new acquaintances - and another martini in hand - and sits back at the table with them as they continue playing their game. It’s played on one of their phones. Someone taps through prompts and reads them aloud. Sometimes it’s challenging a player to do something themselves, sometimes it’s challenging them to approach a stranger, as they had done with Ralph. Sometimes it’s asking them completely arbitrary questions to vote upon amongst the group. They all certainly seem to be having a great time playing, anyway.

Once they declare a round over, they ask Ralph if he wants to join in the next one. “Oh, I’m rather… Old-fashioned, I don’t think I’d be a good fit for this, but I’m sure my friends would love it! Shall I go and find them?”

“More the merrier,” one shrugs.

Ralph excitedly jumps up and starts patrolling the bar to find a familiar face amongst the crowd. He’s yet to see any at all, until one makes his heart drop. He sees you, in the arms of another man. Ralph had really been priding himself on repressing his feelings around you. He wasn’t going to repeat what happened with Lauren. He wasn’t going to scare you off too soon. He was going to keep it to himself. He had tried so hard. And yet, this sight is truly unbearable.

Biting at his quivering lower lip, he storms back into the direction of the bathrooms and keeps going, shoving the first door he finds open as he tries not to cry.

His sorrow is quickly replaced with horror as he finds several women all standing in various places around the room. Some just standing and chatting, some calling to friends in the stalls, some checking themselves in the mirror. After the scene finally sets in for Ralph, he lets out an ultimately high-pitched shriek, swivels around and immediately starts scolding himself. “Oh, bother and blast! Please, forgive me, girls, oh, what an absolute cad I am, I’ve truly disgraced myself, just when it couldn’t get any worse!” His voice gets shakier with every word, and he flinches when a hand appears on his shoulder.

“Sorry!” One of the girls apologises hurriedly. “I just wanted to let you know it’s okay. Are you alright?”

“Please do not ask me if I have taken any sort of drug just because I am well-spoken!” Ralph half-cries, and the hand squeezes him comfortingly.

“We won’t, promise. Did you need a wee, or just a wind down?”

“I’m not sure, I just… Ran. I’m terribly sorry,” Ralph sighs.

“It’s fine,” the voice reassures. “Wanna turn around and talk to us? I promise, there’s no better therapy than a night in the girls’ loos. Right?” A chorus of agreement fills the room.

Ralph slowly turns around to see an awful lot of smiling faces. He sniffs harshly and nods, “Good evening.”

“Hi!” The one who had approached him smiles. “I’m Lauren!” 

Of all the names! “L-Lauren?” Ralph practically squeaks out as he feels himself start to well up, and her own face falls in some kind of realisation as she shakes her head. 

“Or Loz! Just call me Loz! All my friends do! Forget the other name entirely. Sound good?”

Ralph nods. “I’m Ralph. A pleasure to meet you, despite it being under my most horrific actions.”

The other girls introduce themselves, as well. “So, Ralph, this, uh… Girl With The Forbidden Name, is she why you’re all upset?”

“Is she?” One pipes up from the very back. “Because you point her out and I’ll sort her out, no holds barred.”

“See, this is what I tell you, you get like two vodka red bulls down you and you’re ready to throw hands at any inconvenience,” her friend groans next to her. Ralph very quickly taps the square with the bird on it and types a message out to ask the internet “why do people throw hands at each other”, quickly followed by “what sort of hands do people throw”. He decides he’ll check people’s answers later, so as not to appear rude.

“Look at him, though!” The more hot-headed one gestures to Ralph as he wipes away the tears that had been threatening to fall. “Look at those eyes! Like melted chocolate, they are. What kinda sadist would possibly make that happen?!”

“Oh, it’s nothing, it’s all futile,” Ralph shakes his head, but his new friend Loz points at him.

“Oi. Nothing’s futile here. This is a safe space. Let it out.”

Ralph starts to explain that he had fallen for a Lauren, dove in headfirst, had his heart broken and vowed not to let it happen again, but that seeing the housemate he cared so deeply for in the arms of another just brought all of that sadness back up again. The girls are all very sympathetic, and very good at knowing exactly what to say to make Ralph feel better. The rather boisterous one keeps trying to speak negatively of you, but Ralph won’t have any of that. You’re your own person, and it’s up to Ralph to get over his own feelings. The girls commend him on his emotional maturity. Apparently not a lot of men have that.

They ask if he wants to talk it through with you, but he shakes his head, telling them that he isn’t certain how long it is before he can go home again, and so he doesn’t want to commit to anything or risk either staying with you with such an emotionally charged elephant in the room at all times, or being turfed out indefinitely.

"That's quite the predicament you've got yourself in, Ralphie, babes," Loz hugs him arm, and he allows himself the comfort of leaning against her.

Suddenly, a stall door swings open violently, and a whole new girl appears, holding her phone up to her face. Before anyone else can ask if she's okay, she gasps loudly, "I bloody knew it!"

Everyone looks at her quizzically, including Ralph, and she continues. "Well, I thought, guy called Ralph who sounds really old-fashioned, I wonder if… And then some of the things he's said kind of sounded like those tweets, have any of you seen that Ralph On Twitter guy?"

A few more gasps of realisation dot about the room. Ralph's ears turn pink as he recognises the word Twitter from the conversation you’d had with the other four this morning. Loz frowns, "Are you sure it's -"

"Is this your insta?" She turns her phone around to show Ralph her screen. It says Instagram on the top, so Ralph takes out his phone and presses the square that also says that, showing it around to see if that's right. Excitedly, all the girls crowd around to make sure they get Ralph's handle right so they can follow him.

One girl - Ralph's already lost track of them, honestly - announces, "So what I'm hearing is, girls' room photoshoot with Ralph from Twitter?!"

Ralph laughs nervously, "Oh goodness, I'm flattered, but those are all taken candidly, would you believe! I am certainly no poser, I have been told this enough times today already."

"Bollocks to that!" The loud one shouts. "We'll teach you how, won't we, girls?"

Before Ralph knows it, he's squatting amongst all his new friends who are trying to teach him how to do the smoulder look he was doing in his photo on purpose when the main door opens to reveal you standing there, looking absolutely bewildered. "Oh my god, Ralph! You're okay! Thank fuck for that!"

As you frantically update the group chat that you’ve found Ralph safe and well, Loz reaches for his hand to squeeze it. The loud girl starts to tense up behind him but Loz waves her down from behind his back. “Yeah, he’s just been having some drunk girl therapy,” she explains calmly.

“God, I could do with some of that right now,” you groan. “Honestly, you trip and fall onto a guy one time and he thinks you’re soulmates, it’s horrendous!”

Ralph’s face lights up all of a sudden. “You’d… You’d fallen on him?” Concern falls back onto his expression. “Are you okay?”

“Oh, physically, I’m fine, but I don’t know how I’m going to mentally recover from listening to one man talk about himself so much,” you groan into your hands as you hold your face. “I forgot why I stopped dating in London.” You notice that one of the girls puts her arm down after having held her phone up at a particular angle. “Oh my god, wait, you guys were taking photos together?” A few of them nod. “Would you like me to take them for you? Rather than one of you trying to fit everyone in at arm’s length.”

“Oh my god, would you?” one of them sighs with relief.

You nod, gesturing to Ralph to hand you his phone again.

Maybe it’s the alcohol, maybe it’s the presence of so many other people in the photo with him, but Ralph blends in so much more naturally in the photos you take now, even when you suggest different poses and expressions. One of them - Ralph quickly introduces her as Loz, and no other name - asks around for phone numbers of the girls that, you assume, had all just met and bonded over whatever Ralph was in here for. You take over the role of adding everyone’s numbers into Ralph’s phone, and see that Loz adds him to a group chat that she names “Ralphie’s Angels”. You laugh at the name, and send all the photos you’ve taken into the group chat.

“Right, I can feel myself sobering up now, and we can’t have that,” one of them calls out, making the rest of you laugh. “Shall we all go and face the music?”

You pull a face, “Ugh, that means I have to go back and face… Him.”

“Nah, you stick with us, hun,” the one who seemed hostile with you at first suddenly seems to be fighting your corner now. “He even looks in your direction when I’m around, I’ll make him wish he didn’t.” You give her a comforted smile in response and the whole horde starts making its way out of the bathroom.

Your friends also catch up with you at the bar, grateful to see Ralph’s face again, too. Grace is hanging off some new guy’s arm, Anna is half-present in the whole conversation but also half-texting somebody, and Scott is catching up with Ralph. You spot that Connor isn’t talking to anyone and head over to him, “What are you drinking?” you ask loudly over all the music. “I still owe you, remember!”

Connor shakes his head, “Nah, don’t sweat it. Ralph’s a good’un, it was no bother.” Speak of the devil, Ralph excitedly hands you and Connor drinks that one of his new friends insists on buying for everyone, then grabs his own glass from Scott who’s followed him to clink against yours and Connor’s before hurriedly rejoining his group. You and your friends laugh in unison before Connor downs his martini, gives you a quick hug and heads home for the night. Grace and her new friend are the next to leave - you never did catch his name, and you’re not sure you’ll have a reason to remember it anyway.

You dismiss Anna and Scott, telling them that Ralph will probably be a while yet, and that they don’t have to wait up for him just because you do. At first they insist on staying with you, but eventually tiredness consumes them both and they bid you goodnight.

As though preying from afar - because that’s most likely what he was doing - your admirer from earlier appears as soon as your friends are out of the door. “Well, well, we meet again.”

Your eyes narrow as you groan out a breath. “Yeah, hi -”

“I can’t believe your friends would leave you alone like that,” he shakes his head.

“Oh, they haven’t, I’m still waiting on -” Your knight in 21st century armour, Ralph, walks over to the pair of you. “Ah, there he is! Are we going home now?”

“Would you like to?” Ralph asks, concern in his eyes, and you nod with fervour. “Then yes!”

The other man pulls a face. “Wait, sorry, you’re going home with - who the fuck is this?!” He gestures at Ralph, a nasty expression on his face.

Thankfully, Ralph’s cavalry come to your defence, led by none other than an incredibly loud, “Oi, dickhead! Who the fuck are you?! Fucking look at my friend like that again, see what happens, yeah?” Despite being perhaps half a foot shorter, Ralph’s most fiery friend easily squares up against him.

You tap her shoulder in thanks, take Ralph’s hand and guide him out of the bar. The cool air outside hits your face, but the alcohol in your system acts as a blanket around the rest of you. “You good?” You ask Ralph, and he nods. “Good. I’ll call for an Uber.”

Ralph frowns, “But aren’t those taxis, parked up over there?”

“Well remembered! Yeah, but a drunk girl once told me that those charge extra for all the time they’ve spent sitting there, and I’ve never felt bougie enough to spend the money to find out if it is true, so I like to play it safe.” You book an Uber that says it’s four minutes away and sit on the edge of the path. Ralph joins you. “Sorry we lost you, earlier, by the way. I did keep trying to look for you.”

“Pah! My own fault, really. I got all frazzled, you know,” Ralph’s eyes widen as he gestures wildly, making you laugh. “I still feel a tad so now!”

“It helps to kind of start resting your head for a bit. Here,” you pat your shoulder and Ralph takes the hint, tucking himself inwards to rest his head on your shoulder. Yours head falls onto his instinctively, and you set your phone to the front camera. You see Ralph’s small, contented smile, quickly plaster one of your own on and snap a photo.

Ralph then frowns, “Oh, no! I wasn’t prepared!”

“Exactly. Look,” you say fondly as you show him the photo. Both of you looking happy and comfortable, despite some bumps in the road. A perfectly normal first night out for Ralph.

“Can you put that one on my phone too, please?” he asks sleepily.

Reluctantly, you push his head away from you. “Yes, but c’mon, sleepyhead. We still have to get home.”

Ralph doesn’t make it the whole journey home, his head once again flopping against yours in the back seat of the taxi as he sleeps. You manage to prod him awake once you’re back outside your block of flats, though, and he trudges along behind you into the lift and along the hallway until you’re back in the safety of the flat again. “Gimme a minute to grab some PJs for the night, yeah?” 

“Of course. I think I should use the bathroom properly now,” he nods.

You pull a face, “Yeah, the fact you’ve gone the whole night without it is honestly impressive!” You hear Ralph chuckle under his breath as you go back into your room, blindly head to your pyjama drawer, take out the first top and bottoms that you can feel, regardless of whether or not they match, and head back into the front room, opting to duck beneath the kitchen counter to change.

Ralph re-emerges a few minutes later, his voice drawling wearily as he asks, “Would you like the bed for tonight? I can’t imagine the morning should be pleasant for either of us.”

You walk over to him and put your hand on his shoulder as you chuckle, “It’ll be fine. You probably need it more than I do, that was probably heavier than what you’re used to.”

“I had a shot tonight, you know,” Ralph tells you with intrigue.

Your eyebrows shoot up, “Oh, yeah? And how did that go for you?”

“Absolutely awful,” he replies simply, pulling a face of disgust, and you both laugh.

“Yeah, you’ll definitely need the bed, then,” you nod. “Did you have a good time, though?”

“Oh, most certainly!” he grins. “I’ve made so many new friends! And I really rather think I’ve made a good impression on your friends, as well.”

“You know they’re your friends too, right?” you ask, cocking your head. Ralph tries to wave you off, and you pull a face of disbelief. “Come off it, they love you! I bet you had a great time with them earlier, didn’t you?”

“Oh, yes, absolutely! Um, but… I did… Um… It wasn’t quite the same without your presence there,” he mumbles.

You frown, “Did you say anything about your past?”

“Oh, no, that never came up! Just… Oh, ignore me, I’m dreadfully tired,” Ralph rubs his face wearily.

“Yeah, you’ll be thanking me for the greasy-ass breakfast I’ll be making us in the morning, so get ready for that,” you grin at him before pulling him in for a goodnight hug. He may smell like a fragrance store with all the proximity he’s had to several perfumed people, but there’s still something comforting about being able to bury your face into his shoulder and taking a deep breath in. Ralph’s arms tighten around you as you do so, as he allows himself the luxury of squeezing his eyes shut and just enjoying the moment.

You eventually pull away with a yawn, “Alright, I think we’re both about to fall asleep standing up, so… Night, Ralph.”

“Y-yes. Of course. Goodnight. Pleasant dreams,” Ralph smiles awkwardly at you before walking quickly to the bedroom.

You set yourself up on the sofa and start looking through the day’s photos. Ralph’s little instagram photoshoot doesn’t feel like it was only this morning, and you can’t help but let yourself fall into the trap of looking at the photo of him laughing again. Shaking your head again, as though that’ll do anything at this point, you scroll through to the photo of all six of you in Grace’s house and set it as your lock screen. You keep scrolling through hurriedly to your other favourite photo of the night, and, while it may be a little delusional, you set the photo of the two of you at the end of the night as your home screen. You’re used to being into people who you can’t have, be it from their disinterest or other reasons, so what’s the harm in indulging yourself a little by imagining a world where the two of you could always be like that?

That’s what Ralph tells himself too as he stares at the photo on his own phone screen until the need for sleep finally takes over.

next chapter