#who's never done that in his life. not because he's purposely being thoughtless but bc he was never the one to have to plan

[extra-somethin-somethin]

hey so do you think wtv keiko had to deal with growing up with yusuke could be considered a type of parentification

[in-tua-deep]

I would like to see Hargreaves family time please :3

HMMMM have a bonding scene ;3c

it is unedited though bc i never got around to it lmao

...

The thing they don’t tell you about recovering after escaping from terrible experiences, is that there are some things that you miss about them. You can be glad that you escaped while still mourning what you left behind, even if as far as you are concerned there shouldn’t be anything to mourn in the first place.

Five hated the apocalypse with something heavy and terrible that settled deep in his gut and that tended to be vomited out at the most inopportune times. Or perhaps it wasn’t hate at all, but fear that he experienced. Not that he would ever admit it, mind you.

But there were just some things that just - well. Five had spent over forty years in the apocalypse, sifting through rubble and ruin and scratching out equations on walls that were too broken to offer even the memory of the comfort and safety they’d once upheld. He’d spent forty years clinging to life by his fingernails and re-reading a book that was the only thing he had of his siblings outside of the grave sites he refused to visit,

He didn’t want to go back there. His entire life’s work was getting out of that hellscape and making it so that it never existed in the first place. Five hated and feared the apocalypse, but oh there were some days that he missed it with such a terrible fierceness it rather took his breath away.

He missed it on the days when nothing seemed to go right, when every word that came out of his mouth was wrong. When people looked at him with tightness around their eyes and pinched lips, and his siblings looked at him with pity in their eyes. Poor little Number Five, who couldn’t even accomplish the simplest of social interactions without inevitably fucking it up. Poor little Number Five, who forgot that people weren’t supposed to write on walls or hoard food in their rooms or freak out when someone burned food in a kitchen. 

Adapting to a normal life was a challenge that Five hadn’t ever thought about - because what about his life had ever been normal? He was a child soldier, and then an apocalypse survivor, and then a temporal assassin and then - he wasn’t quite certain what he was now. Was he a child, or an adult? What was he supposed to do with himself now?

He missed that sense of purpose in the apocalypse. He missed Dolores. His one companion for so many years. He’d actually known her for longer than he’d known his own family, and wasn’t that an odd thought?

He missed the spot he’d holed up in before an earthquake had ruined it almost ten years before the Commission had found him. It wasn’t much, but he’d found a handful of records that had miraculously survived and an old record player that had even more miraculously done so. 

He’d admitted to Dolores that he didn’t really know how to dance, not beyond the general flailing and swaying his siblings had used to drag him into when Luther played something from his budding collection.

(Five hadn’t had the heart to go rooting through the remains of the Umbrella Academy for things that could be salvaged, but he wondered about it often. He wondered if he’d find a whole entire collection of records, of if Luther would have lost interest and gotten rid of them all. He wondered if Allison still read through all the trashy magazines she could get her hands on as an adult, if she still tried to balance books on her head and walk regally through the house just because she’d read it once in a princess book or if she’d grown out of that. 

He was back now, and perfectly capable of asking, but he didn’t. He looked at his siblings and saw strangers and missed his childhood even with the shadow of Reginald looming over them all. He loved his siblings as they were now, but oh he ached with the knowledge that the siblings he had known, the ones he had tried so hard to get back to, were lost to time. As good as dead. But then again, perhaps so was he.

He wasn’t the child who left on that fateful November day. He would never be him again.)

He missed Dolores teaching him to dance under the pale moon. Or well, not perhaps dancing so much as gently swaying together with his arms around her, cheek pressed against hers, as he closed his eyes and pretended for a moment that he hadn’t met her in the apocalypse at all. That they’d just bumped into one another in the street and gone on dates where he made her laugh and where he stressed about what to wear - a million inconsequential moments that meant nothing and everything at the same time. He’d wished they’d had a life together instead of the slow drawn out death that was the only thing that existed in the apocalypse.

And perhaps, there were other things he didn’t know he would miss until they were already gone and out of reach. Things he didn’t even think about, until he looked up at night and wondered where all the stars had gone.

It was a silly thing to get upset over, to go tearing through the house like a man possessed to figure out what had happened to the stars.

(Or perhaps it wasn’t so silly after all - the almost-apocalypse he had witnessed destroyed the moon. Was it such a reach to wonder about the stars, as well?)

Light pollution was the simple answer. It wasn’t that the stars were no longer there, just that they were drowned out. Only a few pinpricks bright enough to shine through and be picked up by the human eye. There had been no human lights in the apocalypse, with no one to turn them on or off except one lonely man who had a flashlight with scavenged batteries. Not nearly enough to make any difference.

The stars had been so beautiful. On the clear crisp nights, he’d lay next to Dolores on the ground staring up at the brilliant specks of light and tried his darnest to remember the constellations that once upon a time Luther had enthusiastically outlined for his unattentive brother at the height of his space phase.

(“When we get back,” He’d whispered to Dolores ever so softly, in the way he whispered every wish that only seemed appropriate to utter out loud under the night sky, “I’m going to get Luther to tell me them again, and I’ll actually listen this time. I won’t tell him to shut up, or that stars aren’t important. I’ll listen.”

He’d never been very good at listening, even as a child. But outside of a seven day deadline - the apocalypse had taught him patience. It was something the Commission found to be a boon as well - there was nothing more deadly than a very patient predator on the hunt, after all.)

Klaus had told him that the apocalypse was an addiction, and Five had done his best to quit cold turkey. 

He’d returned Dolores to her store, mourning what could never be between them. In darker moments, he wondered if she would have ever actually chosen him - in that imaginary world where they met on a crowded street by happenstance. They’d been forced together at the end of the world, and even though he loved her he wondered about things like choice and happiness and shared trauma. Them breaking up was the right thing to do, he knew that, he just hadn’t realized quite how much it would hurt.

So it shouldn’t come as a surprise that Five sought comfort where he could. That he stole a record from Luther’s collection (it had gotten bigger, a passion pursued into adulthood which was one question answered) that he must have played dozens of times on that record player in their little sanctuary at the end of the world. That he slept on the floor instead of the bed that was far too soft in so many ways.

That he crept up to the roof and lay on his back and stared at the stars that were visible, remembering a sky filled with diamonds and a cool hand in his own and whispered hopes and dreams and secrets from one terribly lonely boy to the uncaring infinity of the cosmos.

And maybe it shouldn’t come as a surprise that it wasn’t long until he was discovered up there, gazing at the sky with such careful mourning carved across his face.

(He hated and feared the apocalypse, but he mourned it as well. It had raised him, in the harsh and terrible way that was all the apocalypse knew how to do. He’d been raised by Reginald Hargreeves and forged in bruises and thoughtless brutality, and then delivered into the arms of something else that didn’t care for him either. 

He grew into a boy with careless cruelty and harsh criticisms and a love for his siblings that burned hotter and longer than any fire the apocalypse could produce. He grew into a man, or perhaps just something man-shaped, in starvation and desperation and terrible all-consuming loneliness.

Reginald had been fond of telling them, “You will learn through suffering.” It was something trotted out whenever the children were forced to skip meals or run up and down stairs until their insides twisted and they retched on the floor barely held up by burning thighs and weak knees. It was being tossed behind locked doors until they promised their unrelenting obedience to a man who had done nothing to deserve it.

If suffering was a teacher, then surely Five was one of the wisest people alive.)

“What are you doing up here?” Luther asks, too loud in the stillness of the night. Five doesn’t begrudge him it though, it wasn’t every day one was confronted by their teenage shaped brother laying listlessly on the roof at hours when everybody should be tucked away in bed.

“What are you doing up here?” Five parrots back, melancholy mood sharpening the edge of his words into something more pointed than he perhaps meant them to be.

Luther shuffles, looking awkward in his own skin as he so often does. It’s enough to make Five soften, just ever so slightly. After all, Luther isn’t exactly the only member of the house who feels alien in their own body. 

Perhaps it’s cruel to take comfort in his brother’s discomfort. But perhaps Five is cruel. It isn’t the worst thing he’s been called in his life.

(No one speaks about the dinner where Five and Diego had been sniping at one another and pushing each other’s buttons where Diego had brought up Five abandoning the family. That had been his exact word - abandoning. Five had frozen and Diego had pressed on, snarling about Five not getting an opinion about Reginald because he’d ditched so early and left the rest of them to Dad’s tender mercies. He’d said far more, but the rest of that dinner was a blur of sound and colors for Five.

Diego had apologized over the incident and then proceeded to not look Five in the eye for the next week. The whole family were so good at picking at one another’s weak spots and hitting them hard and fast. It was practically second nature. They knew which points to leave alone when it came down to it for each other, but not for Five. Not yet.

They didn’t know him anymore. It was a work in progress navigating their respective minefields of trauma in the meantime.)

“I asked you first.” Luther says, childish statement bringing Five out of his own thoughts. At the end of the day, they are brothers.

And perhaps it is that brotherly spirit that prompts Five’s lips to quirk as he offers the equally childish response of: “I asked you second.”

Luther scowls, but he’s fully aware of exactly how stubborn Five could be. That’s Five, built out of spite and pettiness, who never knew how to just lay down and give up. But if he’d been any less himself, they would never be there that night on the roof irritating one another. The thought fills Five up with something that could almost be called fondness.

Luther crosses his arms, and looks away. “I like looking at the stars.” He admits haltingly, and it makes Five sit up from where he was still sprawled on the ground. “I just - on the moon - I don’t know. It’s stupid.”

“It’s not stupid.” Five cuts in with a fierceness that surprises them both. Five doesn’t look at Luther, just the sky. “There’s not as many stars, here. Not that you can see. It’s supposed to look different, but what’s left is still comforting because the sky is a constant. Because the stars don’t really change, even when the rest of the world does.”

“Yeah.” Luther sounds surprised at Five’s insight. There’s a moment of hesitation before Luther is gently lowering himself down to sit on the roof a few feet away from where Five is. When Five dares to sneak a glance, Luther’s eyes are trained on the sky with an almost wistful look on his face.

“I know I’m not supposed to miss it,” Luther begins, and the thought sounds so much like what Five was just pondering that he can’t help but startle. Thankfully, Luther doesn’t see. “But - it was always my dream, you know? To go up there, into space. I know it was just a rejection now, that Dad didn’t want me around so he wouldn’t have to face his failure.” Luther’s face twisted as he spat out the last word. He’d taken it hard, learning that he was just as insignificant in the grand scheme of their father’s plans as the rest of them.

“But.” Luther continues, his face smoothing out, “It was still four years of my life. I had a routine. It was lonely, but god Five. The weightless feeling? The stars? The sunrises? There’s nothing quite like it.”

There’s a silence between them for a moment that Five decides to break. Because he’s trying, he really is.

“Sometimes,” Five says, so softly that Luther actually shifts closer to hear him, “Sometimes the apocalypse was beautiful. A decade or so in, when the plants just tentatively started realizing it was safe to grow again, and the weeds came back first. Just spots of green and bright yellow dotted through the cracks and crevices.”

(Five had spent many springs of his life wandering through the rubble, leaning down to pick dandelions to admire before he ate them. Even when he was terribly hungry, he’d never eaten all of them - always leaving some to mature and bring more the next year. Picking them up and blowing softly and remembering the first time he’d seen one - on a mission where Ben had quietly and excitedly informed them that they had to blow on it and make a wish. That he’d read about it in a book.

Five had made the same wish for forty some years. He wasn’t sure what he’d wish for now, now that it had come true.)

“And when the skies were clear, at night - the stars were beautiful.” Five admitted, Luther made a sound but Five ignored it to carry on because if he didn’t speak his mind now he might never. “There were so many Lu, way more than we ever saw out our bedroom windows. And on nights where the moon was just a sliver, there were even more. We’d lay out there for hours.”

Luther coughs. Five looks over and isn’t quite sure why there’s a guilty look on his brother’s face. “’We’ would uh, be you and uh, Dolores, right?” 

Ah, that would explain it. Luther always got that look when Five brought up Dolores, no doubt thinking about when he’d held her out of a window as leverage to prevent Five from killing someone. Luther hadn’t known then, Five thinks, about exactly how much Dolores meant to him. He’d known she was important, but hadn’t known why. He hadn’t asked.

There’s nothing Five can do but nod though, in response to the question. “Yeah. She likes the stars, she’s always loved things that glitter.” It was why she loved sequins so much, and Five was secure enough to admit that he liked them as well. 

There’s an awkward silence between them now, one that Five can’t help but try and break. “I tried to remember the constellations.” He blurts out, grasping at the connection the two of them had shared before it slips between his fingers and results in them quietly going to their rooms and forgetting this conversation ever happened.

He can’t look at Luther, not as he admits this. So he doesn’t, he turns his gaze upwards to the pinpricks of light. “Do you remember, when we were eight and Mom gave you that book of constellations? And you wouldn’t shut up about it for like, a whole month? You kept waking all of us up and dragging us to the roof and you said we had to listen to you because you were Number One?”

Luther surprises Five just a little by laughing, “Yeah! Yeah I do remember that. Diego threatened to throw me off the roof if I ever woke him up in the middle of the night again after the fourth time and I’m pretty sure Klaus learned morse code to complain about me to Ben.”

Five grins, “Nah, don’t flatter yourself. He learned morse code with Ben to gossip at dinner. Your little nighttime shows were just something else he could yell about in front of Dad without anyone the wiser.”

“Of course he did.” Luther just sounds exasperated at their most colorful sibling’s antics, which is a big improvement on how he would have felt about it when they were actually eight. “To be honest, I didn’t think any of you actually listened to what I was saying at the time. I’m surprised you remembered.”

Five shuffles, not exactly wanting to admit he doesn’t remember most of the content but not quite willing to lie to his brother either. “I only remembered bits and pieces. Some names, other shapes. Those three stars that make up that one dude’s belt or something.”

“You didn’t just find some astronomy book?” Luther asks, looking puzzled. He doesn’t look offended at least, that Five didn’t pay that much attention during those lectures so many years ago. To be fair, he’s had plenty of time to come to terms with the idea.

“It felt disloyal.” Five admits after a heartbeat, only half grudgingly. He isn’t exactly the king of heart to hearts, but there is something about Luther that seems to encourage them in him. Even during the stress of the days preceding the apocalypse weighing on him, it had been Luther who Five had told about finding their bodies and who Five had told not to waste his life.

Maybe it was the certain level of kinship between them, both of them trapped in bodies that they did not choose and did not want. Both of them left alone for years on end, having to relearn how to interact with the general populace. Luther was loyal where Five was rebellious, but they had enough common ground between them to be significant.

“Disloyal?” Luther’s tone isn’t quite questionioning, just offering a way for Five to continue his thought where he’d trailed off. 

Five’s stomach squirms at the blatant emotion, but it would have to try a lot harder than that to stop him after he’d gotten used to the hollow aching pain of starvation. “I didn’t want to learn the constellations from a book.” He says, and it’s easier to admit to hopes and wishes in the dark with the stars above him. It’s familiar. It’s not Dolores next to him, but Luther isn’t half bad company when he’s by himself. “I wanted to learn them from you, except you weren’t around to ask anymore.”

Now that he’s out of that hellscape, he can half admit to himself that not allowing himself to pick up an astronomy book might have been him giving himself even more incentive to go back and fix things. Not that he needed it but - half of it might have also been a sort of punishment for abandoning his family to whatever fate left them buried in rubble and dead at the end of the world as well. Never let it be said that any of Five’s coping mechanisms were actually healthy.

There’s a silence where Luther mulls that over, before he opens his mouth with a soft expression, “I’m around now.”

It’s an offer and a question rolled into one. It’s not Luther immediately launching into a lecture assuming that’s what Five wants or needs at the moment, it’s him asking, which is an improvement all in itself. If Five was too raw tonight, he would accept that without a question and they could look at the sky in silence together until the dawn came.

The ball is in Five’s court.

“What - what’s the name of the dude with the belt?” Five asks, hesitant and careful and feeling as brittle as the porcelain vases that Reginald decorated the halls with.

Luther’s answering smile is bright and tender enough to hurt.

“His name’s Orion...” Luther explains, and Five closes his eyes and lets Luther’s voice wash over him. When he opens them, it seems like the stars twinkle just a tiny bit brighter than before.

Or that might just be his imagination.

[cherryyharryy]

i have an idea for a request (it’s totally ok if you don’t want to do it) like an angst-> fluff where one of harry’s songs accidentally gets leaked bc of y/n like she has something on a flash drive and the song is on another and they get mixed up and obviously he’s really mad at y/n and they have a fight he’s super snappy with her but something happens to her like she gets into a really big accidental or something and he forgives her bc he cares about her more tha the leaked song

WC: 2.7k

***

Damage control wasn’t even an option. 

Y/n sat there, staring at Harry’s laptop, numb to everything except the blaring desire to go back in time just two minutes. Two minutes is all she would need to undo possibly the biggest screwup of her life.

And the worst part is that this mistake ultimately doesn’t affect her. At least not in comparison to how it will affect Harry. And his band. And his team. Basically everyone involved with his career. 

Her mind is equally begging for her to shut down and come up with a plan—an excuse—something, Is there anyway this wasn’t my fault?  

She checks the time, her heart sinking to her stomach when she realizes Harry and his team will be back any minute. Any minute and she’s done for.

They’ve only been together for five months, officially. She’s still new to most everyone. She’s that girl Harry’s dating.

“I told you he played in that movie.” Jeff’s voice echoes outside the studio. Y/n closes the laptop and prays for strength. 

“I have him confused with someone else.” Harry bustles through the door, a small crowd of people filing in behind him, back to the spots they left an hour ago. “Hey darling,” he greets, “finish your paper?”

Y/n’s frozen, morbidly wishing he had found out about his song leaking on his own so she wouldn’t have to tell him. “Uh, almost.”

He kisses the top of her head and hands her a cup of frozen yogurt. “Your favorite.” 

“Thanks.” She sets it on the table she’s sat at while Harry pulls up a chair beside her. “Aren’t you guys still working?”

He waves in the direction of his band, “Mitch’s gotta fix his guitar.” He snickers, and slides his laptop out from under y/n’s hands. “Had a bit of an accident in the car.” 

Y/n’s head tingles with what must be nerve damage, her place in this world, her place in this room, decreasing in value as Harry opens his computer.

“It’s gonna melt.” He nods to her yogurt.

“I’m not hungry.”

He furrows his brow. “You alright?”

“Mhm.” She looks around the room, everyone busy getting back to work, light chatter passing among them. “Uh, actually, I uh, I have to tell you something.” Y/n tries to swallow the lump in her throat with no luck.

“Okay…” He shuts the laptop and gives her his full attention.

“Okay, um—”

“What the fuck!?” The room freezes as everyone turns toward Jeff. “Harry someone’s got a hold of your song!” 

Harry scrambles to his manager, complete shock on his face as they both stare down at Jeff’s phone. “Fuck.” They start to play a video, the sound of a girl screaming, with Harry’s unconsented voice playing in the background, fills the room. “How the hell did this happen?” He’s gritting through his teeth, neck red, veins bulging in his hands as he rips the phone out of Jeff’s hand. “HOW? Someone answer me!”

Y/N considers keeping quiet. Playing innocent. What good will it do to confess anyway? It’s not like it’ll undo what she’s done.

Sarah chimes in from across the room, “It looks like it happened half an hour ago. That’s when this video I’m looking at was posted.”

Y/n’s staring down at her lap, holding her head up with her fingers pressed into her temples when Harry slings himself back into the chair next to her.

“All that work, all that fucking work,” he nearly growls, “for some cunt to spread my unfinished song around for a buck.”

Y/n peers up to the room, a completely different picture compared to five minutes ago. Now there’s talk of lawyers and pressing charges while everyone shuffles around. Jeff slams the door as he steps out with his phone to his ear, and y/n knows she can’t claim denial, it’ll only make things worse.

“Uh, Harry?”

“What is it?” He doesn’t look at her, eyes glaring at his phone while another video plays of a group of people reacting to his song. “Glad they fucking like it.”

“Harry?”

“What, y/n?”

She shrinks under his gaze, mouth dry as she forces her confession out. “I uh, this is all my fault.”

“What are you talking about?”

“I’m so, so sorry. And I’ll do anything—I know I can’t fix it—but...”

Harry’s tongue presses against the inside of his cheek, his eyes narrowing in on her as a morbid silence forms a little bubble around them. “Go on,” he whispers with grit, “finish what you were gonna say.”

She stutters, desperately trying to figure him out. “I’m just sorry. It was an accident.”

“An accident? How did you even manage to do this?”

“I—”

“Do you have any idea what this accident means, y/n?”

She reluctantly shakes her head no.

“How the fuck did you do this?”

“I—I don’t know...I was taking a break from my paper, and, I don’t know Harry.” She’s in tears now, warm and salty as they spill down her cheeks. Her mouth wobbles around another apology, but no sounds make it out.

“Fix it.”

“What?”

He stands up, yanking his laptop off the table, pausing to glare at her one last time. “I said, to fix it.” With that he storms across the room, slinging the door open just as Jeff reenters.

“Harry, your attorney—”

“Forget it.” He turns around and points his phone towards y/n silently sobbing in the corner. “She’s gonna handle it.” He takes one step out into the hall and stops, spinning on his heels to face the studio. “Don’t speak to me until you do.”

Mitch’s guitar that was fixed and propped against the wall, crashes to the floor when Harry slams the door. 

Chatter passes around the room one more time, only now everyone seems to be in agreeance—that girl never should have been allowed in the studio, and maybe, Harry should break up with her.

***

Early morning rain fell outside Harry’s apartment. It was still dark, street lamps burning through the fog in the city below. His home fills with coffee as he pours his fifth cup; the prior four never offering more than a few sips before he had abandoned them somewhere, the counter, mantle, bookshelf, because he can’t talk without his hands.

Y/n sits on his couch. It’s velvet and pink and too big for one person. She hated it the first time he invited her over. If he breaks up with her, she’s going to tell him how ugly it is.

“I don’t know what you expect me to do.” She’s exhausted. She hadn’t hesitated to drive over when he finally responded to one of her hundreds of texts in the week since the mishap. But now she regrets it. They’ve been going in circles with the same argument for the past four hours. She’s convinced he invited her over just to be mean. She sighs, rubbing her temples. “I said I was sorry. You know that I’m sorry. And you know that I never, ever in a million years, would have done something like this on purpose.”

“I’m allowed to be angry with you. I have every right to be.”

“Do you, though?” She straightens up on his ugly couch and looks at him leaning against the doorframe that leads into the kitchen. “Aren’t you a little tired of hating me? God Harry, everyone else in the whole world has moved on except you.”

“It’s not everyone else’s song, is it? It’s not everyone else’s months and months of hard work. It’s not everyone else’s unfinished art? Nobody else is having to deal with a girlfriend that is so careless, so thoughtless, that she actually managed to leak my song!”

“Stop raising your voice at me!”

“You had no business snooping around my computer anyway! I told you you could work on your fucking paper, not to go prying around my personal shit!”

“You know what,” she scoffs, shooting up off the couch, “this argument is so pointless. You didn’t want me here so we could talk. You just wanted to torture me because you’re mad that people don’t love your stupid song.”

“What the fuck did you say?”

She brushes his shoulder as she passes by him, and a drip of his coffee spills onto his hand. He curses, and follows her into the kitchen where he lays his final cup down on the island.

“You’re being a baby because people aren’t fawning over you like they usually do.” She shrugs and slings her bag over her shoulder. “It’s not your best song, Harry.”

The veins in his neck strain against his flaming skin. His cheeks are sucked in, and if he bites down on the skin any harder he’ll puncture his face. “Get the fuck out.”

“I was already leaving, dumb ass.” She strides by him once more, practically feeling the heat steaming off his body. When she gets to the front door, she pauses with her hand on the knob. “Your couch is hideous, by the way. Just because you’re rich doesn’t mean you have to buy shitty looking stuff.”

When she slams the door behind her, the apartment shakes, and cold coffee spills from each cup.

***

It’s nearing five a.m. when y/n backs out of the complex. Her wipers race across the windshield, but do nothing against the downpour wreaking havoc in the city. She does her best to stay on what she assumes is her side of the road, swerving to the right each time headlights blind her.

“Shit.” Nothing is open, and she can’t even see where it would be safe to pull over to let the rain pass. But her home isn’t that far, and traffic isn’t too bad. 

She comes to a stop at a red light, only to realize she missed a left turn she should’ve made a minute ago. “Damn it. Fucking hell.”

As soon as the light turns green, she spins the wheel to make a U-turn, and if it hadn’t been for the rain, and her own clouded mind, and Harry’s voice echoing in her ears, she might have seen the truck who didn’t even try to avoid her.

***

It’s the headache from hell that wakes her up. And it’s the sterile smell of hospital that jogs her memory. And it’s a nurse not much older than y/n that says something about you’re lucky to be alive. 

She’s poked and prodded and asked a thousand questions before her IV is adjusted and a pill to ease one of the many pains scratching her body is handed to her in a small plastic cup. A police officer repeats half of this process, and somewhere in the mess of her reality, she learns that the other driver was sending a text to his wife when he plowed into her car. He’s at home and she’s here. Lucky to be alive.

She made calls to her mom and friends, and even managed to type out a decent email to her professors for her upcoming absence in class.

When she automatically pulled up Harry’s name on her phone, the last text he sent, the one inviting her over so he could make her more miserable than she already was, sat there in all its taunting glory.

What is she even supposed to say? Hey, I know you hate my existence right now, but I’m lying here in a hospital bed with bandages wrapped around my head. It’d be cool if you stopped by.

It’s not long before the sun pops up and reminds y/n of just how early it is. The clouds part, and it’s like it had never even rained, like it had never even been dark for hours, and if she closes her eyes, y/n can pretend that the past week hadn’t even happened.

***

 “How are you feeling today?” The nurse checks y/n’s IV, humming after her question.

“Just sore. Ready to get out of here.”

“We’ve started the paperwork, so shouldn’t be too long. Who’s coming to get you?”

Y/n blinks, feeling stupid she hadn’t thought this far ahead. She doesn’t even have a car anymore. The nurse looks over the computer monitor, waiting for a response.

“Uh, my friend.”

“Awesome. Dr. Kirby has to come check on you one last time before you leave. I’ll go see if he can stop by now, if you want to let your friend know.”

As soon as the nurse is out the door, y/n scrambles to turn her phone back on, and once it is, her lock screen is filled with missed calls and unanswered texts.

She’ll respond later; gives her something to do in the car to occupy her in front of Harry. 

She can’t call him. Harry’s not a monster, although the past week doesn’t exactly prove her case, but she knows he wouldn’t refuse to come get her. If anything, he’ll be annoyed she didn’t tell him about the accident sooner. But she’s too emotional to deal with hearing his voice.

She types out a text recounting her last 24 hours, along with the name of the hospital. He immediately reads it, and a moment later he’s trying to call.

To: Harry

I’m too tired to talk rn

She lies. And it works.

From: Harry

I’ll be there as fast as i can

***

“Baby?”

Y/n cracks her eyes open, irritated she never quite fell asleep. Confused as to why Harry’s calling her baby. Angry that she cares. And the next words out of his mouth are ones she’d been predicting.

“Why didn’t you call me? I would’ve dropped everything. You’ve been here all alone, shit. Are you okay? What hurts?”

He’s hovering over her, fidgeting, unsure if he can touch her.

“I’m fine now. Just sore. And tired.”

“Fuck I can’t believe this, I—”

“The doctor already said I can go. I’m not allowed to walk out on my own, so, you need to let the nurse know you’re here. She’ll take me down in a wheelchair.”

“Baby I’m so sorry-”

“No, Harry. You would still be busy hating my guts right now—”

“Hate you? I don’t hate you?”

“Well you did a great job this week making me feel otherwise.”

Harry sighs, gripping the bed frame and dropping his chin to his chest. When he looks back up he has tears brimming his eyes. “I’m sorry,” his voice cracks. “I know I’ve been an ass this week. I—you were right. I took out my anger from no one lovin’ the song on you.”

“Well it’s not no one. A lot of people did. And it’s unfinished anyway. You wouldn’t enjoy a meal if it was only cooked halfway.”

He nods, but y/n knows he’s only accepting her words because of the situation.

“You mean so much more to me than a leaked song. I’m sorry I treated you like shit. And that I—I made you think I hated you. You have every right to hate me.”

“You annoy the hell out of me, but I don’t hate you.”

His lips twitch, but a few tears slide down his cheeks. “I’m sorry.”

“I know.” She takes his hand off the rail and smoothes her thumb across his knuckles. “You can make it up to me by getting me out of here.”

“I can do that.” He kisses the top of her head and hits the remote to call for the nurse.

“You can really kiss me, y’know. I’m not gonna break.”

He’s hesitant, but slowly lowers his head to press his lips to hers. He’s timid, and his lips are still damp from tears, but it’s more relieving than either of them would ever admit.

The nurse ends their moment when she pops in the room, pushing a wheelchair in front of her. “Hi, you must be y/n’s friend.”

“Friend?” He peers down at y/n, suggestion lacing the word. “Care to explain?”

“Not really, I’m so tired.”

“Mhm.” He clicks his tongue, supporting her arm as she swings her legs off the bed. Once she’s standing and steady, he tucks her hair behind her ear and bends down so his mouth can graze her lobe. “Since we’re just friends, I guess you’ll have to sleep on my ugly couch.”

[misterbitches]

i feel like i’m watching two different shows and that is not a good thing.

there’s a world where consequences and real life exists converging with fake life when any of these illicit relationships make any sense at all beyond “men kissing” that isn’t really my point. the whole dynamic between muren and licheng is leaning towards making their own sort of like....idk romance girl idk what im saying. li cheng in the place being like “we can just be ourselves” and the way they interact and exist and HAVE SEX being their like...business not even that just like....u dont have to worry about what everyone else wants out of you in your rship in that way it’s just you two and you’re no one else. 

but then on the flipside is like the absurdity of conforming all these stupid patriarchal stereotypes and power imbalances that rest on these patriarchal ideas (the way they talked about what happened btwn yong jie and xing si) and like atp i know what to expect these people arent anarchists im not getting a complete story but outside of the sociopolitical shit it’s just simple fucking STORYTELLING. 

first of all i realized they fuck up the frame rate at certain points (on purpose like eslowing it down etc but i am p sure these are not in-camera effects) and it’s distracting, then some of the lighting, but WHATEVER. the acting is passable and the main couple is really engaging. flawed but engaging.

this just tells me they had two stories to tell and had no way to make it converge properly. like, muren and licheng can’t exist pretending this rship is okay and we’ve seen them talk about it. frankly i wouldn’t let yong jie around me ever and i would never forgive him not only as a best friend let’s say all of that was acceptable. but you punch me when you first meet me after stalking us because you’re upset? give me a fucking break. i can’t. this wouldn’t happen in real life unless the dudes are the worst fucking friends ever and total idiots. but they AREN’T. when licheng goes home after seeing xingsi he’s like “HOW CAN HE BE SO THOUGHTLESS”

like what realm are we living in. they don’t choose they’re like HERE THIS HAPPENS THEN THIS THEN THIS THEN THIS don’t ask us to be concise or even think about it. the two stories are just jarring especially because of how fucking isolated this abysmal character is. you can’t integrate him into a friend group or even normal society because it would   be ridiculous. 

this isn’t just fantasy or escapism, which btw still has to be done well, it’s just like. stupidity lmao. this b plot just really fucks with the flow and i particularly hate how xing si moves back home; not the circumstances surrounding that. but like being in the same space in your house when things are confusing, when your parents acknowledge they messed up because they did, and having that idiot be there. now it’s like his two best friends, another really major and compelling part of the flimsy story, are sort of removed from this life. which whatever you know it just sucks

i can’t tell how i feel about the show over all. the really intrusive air of a character who simply does not need to exist and deserve to breathe air. along with the trite story of workplace problems (i honestly hate this trope because it’s not only lazy but it’s cringe-y oh my god but we can handle that bc main couple is very cute and that’s great.) 

however! still how useless a lot of this show is simply superfluous because of this lazily pulled together story  and just empty space the absolutely best part is  is mureng (wow im a genius i did a portmanteau but it was a mistake lmao) and they MIGHT be my fav couple out of htis fucking HELLSCAPE that is this confusing show i will talk about the good stuff in another post. 

[rose-of-gabriel]

i wrote a fic about the Mandalorian taking care of you while you menstruate bc i can

that’s where we’re at rn

You have a personal bone to pick with whatever laser-brain designed the human female. Let’s make it continuously bleed for a quarter of every month, and since that isn’t enough of a pain, let’s add actual pain on top of that. Genius.

You bite your lip and try to focus on successfully landing the Razor Crest. Mando’s cashing in on three separate bounties, which should give you enough credits to take it easy for a while. Well, as easy as the Mandalorian can take it. You suspect his pace was even more ruthless before he found the kid, but fatherhood has forced him to relent, just a little.

You really don’t mind his lifestyle. Anything is better than that mind-numbing mechanics job back on Nevarro, though the stabbing pain in your gut makes you miss the old shack you called home.  No one around to judge you for collapsing in on yourself and praying for death.

That’s how Mando finds you: in the pilot’s chair, folded in half with your head on your knees. You don’t bother to look up as you grumble, “Ready to go?”

He doesn’t respond right away, probably deciding whether or not he should be concerned. You realize that this is the first time he’s seen you like this. Your implant makes it so you only bleed every three months, and you’ve been traveling together for almost four. The part of you that is harboring a completely futile crush on the Mandalorian wants to melt into the floor. The rest of you can’t be bothered to care, knowing that if it doesn’t concern his kid, his work, or his creed, he doesn’t care, anyway.

When he still doesn’t answer, you slowly lift you head to meet his metal gaze. You try to offer a smile, but the lights of the cockpit make your head pulse and it turns into a grimace.

The baritone of his voice reveals nothing when he asks, “You okay?”

No, you want to growl between your teeth. You don’t, because if there’s one person in the universe you know you shouldn’t complain to, it’s the Mandalorian.

“Yeah, I’m fine.” You close your eyes and take a purposeful breath through your nose. “Are there any heat packs left in the medkit?”

“No. I think we used them up when the kid had that cold.”

Kriffing aces.

“Okay, I’ll add it to the list.” You sag deeper into the chair. “We shouldn’t go so long between supply trips, next time.”

“No one was stopping you when we were on Malthor.” He says with a hint of mockery.

You wave a dismissive hand. “That was all merchants and you know I can’t haggle for shit.”

He blows out a breath, the closest thing you get to making him laugh. It’s a small victory that nearly makes you forget the demon attacking your uterus.

You haul yourself out of the pilot’s seat and the protests from you body must be so loud even the Mandalorian can hear, because he takes a step forward and insists, “What’s wrong?”

You start to say it’s nothing when he takes yet another step, getting closer than you’ve ever dared to. Gods, you hope he doesn’t notice the way your breath catches.

“I’ve spent my whole life watching people.” He says in a tone you’ve never heard before, equal parts menacing and tender. It makes your gut twist in a completely different way. Then he adds dryly, “And you’ve got about as much subtlety as a rancor.”

You deflate.

“Yeah, yeah, piss off.” You mutter under your breath. Then in a huff, you admit, “It’s menstrual pain. You happy? Nothing I haven’t dealt with before so let’s go.”

You’re through the hatch faster than you need to be, the awkwardness burning under your skin. You busy yourself with the kid’s cradle, making sure he’s secure despite there being nothing to actually secure him with. The child tilts his little head at you like he can sense your embarrassment.

“Hey, Bug.” You whisper conspiratorially, “Don’t look at me like that.”

He lets out a string of nonsense that sounds a lot like you’re the one acting weird, although you may just be projecting. Mando drops down from the cockpit and you suddenly remember you need to check every single pocket of your day pack, just to make sure everything is where you left it.

“Is it bad?”

The question surprises you, and you’re not really sure why. It’s not because he cares. You know there’s a heart underneath all that beskar. It’s something in his voice, a gentleness that isn’t like the kind he uses with the kid.

After a moment, your neurons decide to fire again and you manage to say, “No. I mean, mine are pretty heavy, and the pain is sometimes a lot, and the migraines really suck but oh my gods, I can’t believe I am talking to you about this.” Or that you just said that part out loud.

You spin on your heel, all attempts at subtly flying out the window as you activate the kid’s pram. “Ready to go, Bug?” You squeak, cheeks burning.

You reach for the control panel to lower the ramp when Mando takes your hand and pulls you around to face him. You can’t think of anything other than kriffkriffkriffkriffkriff, heart hammering against your ribs so hard he must be able to see it.

There’s a torturous moment of silence before he says, “You stay here with the kid. I’ll go to town and get what we need.”

That brings your panic to a screeching halt. “But… you have to turn in the quarries.”

“I’ll collect the credits then head to the shopping district.”

All your nerves start to dissipate in the wake of a very familiar spite. “Mando, I’m not a liability. I don’t need to stay behind.”

A nagging voice reminds you that there’s no way to sound tough when talking to the kriffing Mandalorian, but something shifts. There’s the slightest dip of his helmet that makes you think you’ve surprised him, that he’s looking at you through new eyes.

“I know you can handle yourself.” He says carefully, like he’s worried about getting this wrong. “This isn’t an emergency, though. Just… just let me go. Try to feel… better.”

There’s something in his voice that helps you know it isn’t a judgement, that he’s not offering because he thinks you’re some stupid flower that needs protected. He’s just a friend who sees your pain and wants to help, in whatever small way he can.

You do smile, this time, though quickly squash it in favor of a very serious-business-face. “Okay, fine. Let me help you unload the quarries, at least.”

Once that’s done, you sit on the loading ramp with Bug and watch the Mandalorian leave for as long as you can before the pulsing behind your eyes becomes too much. Leaving the ramp lowered, you shut the bay doors and find your data pad, searching for a kid-friendly holo that Bug will like. He’s going through a phase where anything to do with water excites him. You lay out your bedroll and set the kid up with a Mon Cala cartoon, his ears perking up in approval.

After he’s situated, you skulk off to the fresher. Luckily, you have a decent stash, so you don’t have to ask the Mando-fucking-lorian to buy you menstrual products. The Crest’s medkit is pretty sparse, though, and most of what you do have is either for field injuries or baby stuff. You toss back some child’s pain killers and go to curl up with the kid, keeping your eyes shut tight against the barrage of colorful animations.

By the time Mando comes back, you’re both only half awake. Without a word, he scoops the child from your arms and settles him in the bassinet that Kuiil made. You don’t try to move, just listen as the Mandalorian flits about the ship and puts away supplies. After a while, he returns, sitting with his back against the wall, facing you.

“How’d it go?” you mumble, peeling your eyes open to see that he’s removed his armor and sits in just his helmet and base layers. You want to appreciate the form-fitting clothes, but everything hurts too much.

“Sit up for a second.” He tells you, and that’s when you notice the huge shopping bag beside him. He coaxes you up, then fishes into the bag. “Here.” He says, handing you a heat pack.

“Oh, bless you.” You nearly weep, cracking it in half to activate the heated gel. You press the pad against your stomach and immediately sag with relief.

“Take these.” The Mandalorian says, producing two white pills and a thermos. “They’ll help with the pain, and your headache.”

“Oh…” you bring the thermos to your nose and realize it’s some kind of tea. “Thank you.”

You revel in the hot compress and tea, totally satiated, but the Mandalorian goes on. “I picked these up, too.” You actually gasp when he pulls out a box of golden tuiles. “I thought they might be…”

“My favorite.” You all-but shriek, setting your tea aside and making the same grabby hands you’ve seen the kid do a hundred times. You stare at the pack of cookies as if they’re precious treasure. “How the hell did you know?”

Even the voice modulator can’t hide his amusement. “A few weeks ago, when we were in that market place on Naboo? A woman was selling them and you got this feral look in your eye.”

“Yeah, that’s because these are the best thing ever.” You insist, tearing the box open. The sweet scent is like a drug, and without thinking, you reach in and hand him a cookie. “You have to try one.”

Equally thoughtless, Mando takes it, and before the obvious can come crashing down, you spin around and shove a cookie into your mouth, burying your head between your knees. You try to focus on the taste of the cookie and not the fact you just stupidly offered the Mandalorian food when you know full-well that he can’t eat in front of you. Nothing to do now but just bear down and wait out the awkwardness.

Your ears are practically ringing as the seconds tick by, bracing for the humiliation as he reminds you about one of his culture’s most obvious rules. You wait, but instead of a discontented sigh, you hear a crunch, chewing, and then, “Okay, yeah. I see your point.”

Your brain short circuits at the sound of his unmodulated voice, but there’s no time to savor it. He’s already getting up and heading toward the cockpit, speaking to you from behind a wall of static. “I’m going to set course for Arvala.”

You lift your head, too tired to process what just happened or what it means, if it means anything. “Hey, Mando.” He stops but doesn’t turn around. You smile anyway, because this definitely meant something. “Thank you, for all this. It’s… thank you.”

He turns his head just slightly and gives you a nod before disappearing into the cockpit. You take another swig of tea before curling up on your bedroll. Physically, you’re a disaster, but even that can’t keep the smile off your face.

[dreamersscape]

The Raven Cycle: A Liveblog (Part 4)

(Let’s just pretend the gap since my last installment was a much shorter and more reasonable period of time than it has actually been, shall we? I tried to make up for it with the length of this edition. Suuuuuper long post under the cut.)

Me, reading TDT’s opening quotations: Okay, yes, good. Taking things out of your dreams into the waking world. Got it.

Me, reading the last quote: ‘I loathe people who keep dogs. They are cowards who haven’t got the guts to bite people themselves.’?

YOU UNDERSTAND NOTHING OF MY PEOPLE, AUSTIN STRINDBERG. GET THEE HENCE.

‘He always returned with gifts, treasure, and unimaginable amounts of money, but to Ronan, the most wondrous thing was Niall himself. Every parting felt like it would be the last, and so every return was like a miracle.’ RONANNNNNNN. (Is it weird that it feels like Ronan is supposed to be my favorite bc he seems closest to my type and goodness knows I can relate to the grieving-a-father feels, but that’s not really the case so far? I love him dearly, but it feels like I should love him more. Weird? Not weird? I dunno.)

*carefully takes notes about the alleged details of Ronan’s birth because I know now every minor detail is actually Very Important*

‘Theoretically, Blue Sargent was probably going to kill one of these boys.’ Oh, good, it’s only a theoretical death. Glad we got that sorted out. Guess I can stop worrying about it now, right? :P

'Adam’s hand glided over her bare elbow. The touch was a whisper in a language she didn’t speak very well.’ I really like this line! Also, somewhat sadly, relateable.

'It had five tiny white buttons: four arranged in a cross shape, and one off by itself. To Blue, that fifth button was like Adam. Still working toward the same purpose as the other four. But no longer quite as close as the others.’ Oh, so we’re going to make my heart hurt over Adam Parrish in the first ten pages of the book. Fine.

'In that moment, Blue was a little in love with all of them. Their magic. Their quest. Their awfulness and strangeness. Her raven boys.’ Aw, those lines sound familiar. ;) And we’re all right there with ya, Blue.

'The dorms were emptier than they would’ve been during school term, but they were not empty.’ Whoops unrelated-to-TRC-but-nevertheless-on-brand feels ahoy.

So it’s been long enough since I read TRB that I can’t recall if I had any particular feelings about Declan then, but definitely feeling pretty sympathetic towards him now, what with his father’s seeming dismissive attitude toward him and the assault from this Gray Man. Also, have I read the word Greywaren before? Not sure.

Oh. So Ronan is the Greywaren, then. Guess that answers that.

’Mom is nothing without him’? Woooow, Declan. Wow. A bit less sympathy, now. (Maybe there’s something about their mother I don’t know yet, but still…)

’Creature was a good word for him, Ronan thought.’ Oof. He’s gonna make me eat my words, isn’t he? I already said I love you dearly, Ronan!

And now he’s gonna divert himself from his unpleasant thoughts with an external distraction. Oh good. That doesn’t mirror any of my other favorite characters at all.

'Back then, it had surprised Ronan; he hadn’t realized yet that Gansey could persuade even the sun to pause and give him the time.’ [drags a hand slowly down my face] Don’t do this to me, Maggie. Haven’t you already put me through enough with Adam and Gansey?

'His thoughtless expression was one of wonder or of pain; with Gansey they were so often the same thing.’ Well that–that’s a sentence.

’“Ronan, there’s no reason for that,” Gansey said sternly, as if Ronan had hurled a toy on the floor.’ Gonna start listing all the mom-friend!Gansey moments, 'cause I gotta.

'He laughed enough that Chainsaw abandoned her paper shredding to verify he wasn’t dying.’ This is cute, other than the implication that Ronan genuinely laughing is a all-too-rare occurrence.

’“So what you’re saying is you can’t explain it.” “I did explain it.” “No, you used nouns and verbs together in a pleasing but illogical format.”’ Hee!

I half expect tired-of-potential-and-only-being-useful-needing-something-more!Blue to break out singing ’I want much more than this provincial life/I want adventure in the great wide somewhere/I want it more than I can tell’ and I don’t say that at all in a disparaging way, that’s just what it made me think of. It’s a very understandable desire on Blue’s part.

’“Jane!” Gansey said joyfully.’ I will never tire of this. :)

'When she returned, she leaned on the table beside Adam, who touched her wrist. She didn’t know what to do in response. Touch it back? The moment had passed. She resented her body for not giving her the correct answer.’ So! Freaking! Relateable!

'Kavinsky headed directly to the large table in the back, and the postures of the other boys all changed drastically….Gansey stood, leaning against the table, and there was something threatening rather than respectful about it.’ I live a protective!Gansey appreciation life.

The Gray Man is quite a character.

Ummmm so chapter eight just hurt my soul a whole lot? Here’s a list of the culprits:

'He’d spent just two hours at the easiest of the jobs — Boyd’s Body & Paint, LLC, replacing brake pads and changing oil and finding what was making that squeaking noise there, no, there — and now, even though he was off, he was ruined for anything else. Sticky and sore and, above all else, tired, always tired.’

'The only rub was, Blue was another troubling thing. She was like Gansey in that she wanted him to explain himself. What do you want, Adam? What do you need, Adam? Want and need were words that got eaten smaller and smaller: freedom, autonomy, a perennial bank balance, a stainless-steel condo in a dustless city, a silky black car, to make out with Blue, eight hours of sleep, a cell phone, a bed, to kiss Blue just once, a blister-less heel, bacon for breakfast, to hold Blue’s hand, one hour of sleep, toilet paper, deodorant, a soda, a minute to close his eyes. What do you want, Adam? To feel awake when my eyes are open.’ (This hurt less than the 'to go home, to go home, to go home’ passage, but ONLY JUST.)

'He’d already seen the ignored, unopened envelope emblazoned with Aglionby Academy’s raven crest. For two days he’d been stepping over it, as if it might disappear if he failed to acknowledge it.’ (Ah, hello avoidant coping skills, my old friend.)

’[Adam] ached inside.’/'He still ached.’/'his spine aching, shoulders aching, soul aching’

'They stared at each other, both hurt.’/'He tried not to let it sound like he was still hurt, but he was, and it did.’/'She tried not to let it sound like she was hurt, but she was, and it did.’

’What do you want, Adam? He didn’t even know.’ (T.T)

'His wide eyes and gaunt face peered back at him, troubled but not unusual.’

I’m so done, he thought. No more. Please, I can’t take any more.’ (SAME.)

'The difference in tuition between this year’s and next was twenty-four hundred dollars. That number again. It couldn’t be a coincidence.’ (SERIOUSLY THOUGH, I CAN’T TAKE ANYMORE GANSEY/ADAM TENSION/CONFLICT/FIGHTING. WHEN DO WE GET TO THE GETTING BETTER PART?)

'They couldn’t hurt Gansey. Nothing could hurt him; people who said money couldn’t buy everything hadn’t seen anyone as rich as the Aglionby boys. They were untouchable, immune to life’s troubles. Only death couldn’t be swiped away by a credit card.’ (Oh Adam honey, you don’t even knooooow. :()

Adam! Some people show and feel love through acts of service! It’s not an inherently bad thing! Concern and the desire to help are not the same thing as pity!

Also, Blue’s “Then don’t be pitiful!” response was kinda strange, even for an impulsively perturbed remark? Just felt weird.

'She was looking at the box that served as his nightstand. Somehow it had moved several feet away from the bed. The side was badly dented, its former contents scattered violently across the floor. Only now did he remember the act of kicking the box, but not the decision to kick it.’ (Crap.)

'He calmed enough to remember that if he waited long enough, carefully analyzing how it felt, the emotion would lose its inertia. It was the same as physical pain. The more he tried to mentally decide what made pain hurt, the less his brain seemed able to remember the pain at all.’

'He’d never escape, not really. Too much monster blood in him. He’d left the den, but his breeding betrayed him. And he knew why he was pitiful. It wasn’t because he had to pay for his school or because he had to work for a living. It was because he was trying to be something he could never be. The sham was pitiful.’

'Some nights he lured himself to sleep by imagining how he would word the favor for Glendower. He needed to get the words exactly right. Now he rolled phrases around his mouth, desperately reaching for one that would comfort him. Ordinarily, words would tumble and lull through his mind, but this time, all he could think was Fix me.’ (On a related note, I’m dead.)

'He had a strange, disconcerting feeling that he couldn’t trust his senses. Like he was tasting an image or smelling a feeling or touching a sound. It was the same as just a few minutes before, the idea that he’d glimpsed a slightly wrong reflection of himself. Adam’s previous worries vanished, replaced with a more immediate concern for this ragged body he was carting around in. He’d been hit so many times. He’d already lost his hearing in his left ear. Maybe something else had been destroyed on one of those tense, wretched nights.’ (*Spontaneously revives to continue worrying myself to death over Adam Parrish* WHY CAN’T I TAKE CARE OF HIM?)

'Ronan, Noah, and Gansey were at the Dollar City in Henrietta, loitering. Theoretically, they were there for batteries. Practically, they were there because both Blue and Adam had work, Ronan’s shapeless anger always got worse at night, and Dollar City was one of the few stores in Henrietta that allowed pets.’ These stupid codependent teens.

“Hello? Oh, hey,” Gansey said to the phone, touching a notebook with a handgun printed on the cover. The oh, hey was accompanied by a definite change in the timbre of his voice. That meant it was Adam’ [tries to feel the joy I deserve at this past my intense anxiety about the probable clashing over the tuition thing]

'Ronan rested his forehead on the topmost shelf. The metal edge snarled against his skull, but he didn’t move. At night, the longing for home was ceaseless and omniscient, an airborne contaminant. He saw it in Dollar City’s cheap oven mitts — that was his mother at dinnertime. He heard it in the slam of the cash register drawer — that was his father coming home at midnight. He smelled it in the sudden whiff of air freshener — that was the family trips to New York. Home was so close at night. He could be there in twenty minutes. He wanted to smash everything off these shelves.’ He and Adam both want to go hoooome and I wish I could provide that for them and turns out I am actually Gansey.

'“Glitter,” whispered Noah reverentially, giving it a shake.’ Truly Noah is their light in the darkness. I LOVE HIM SO MUCHHHH.

'Farther down the aisle, Gansey suggested to the phone, “You could come stay at Monmouth. For the night.”’ Like I said. Also, I really, really wish I could hear both sides of this phone conversation.

'Sometimes Ronan thought Adam was so used to the right way being painful that he doubted any path that didn’t come with agony.’ I mean, fair. And heartbreaking.

'Gansey’s back was turned to them. “Look, I don’t know what you’re talking about. Ramirez? I didn’t talk to anyone at the church. Yes, twenty-four hundred dollars. I know that part. I —”’ Oh no. It’s happening.

'But one of the marvelous things about being Ronan Lynch was that no one ever expected him to do anything nice for anyone.’ I would hug you Ronan, except there is now more Adam 'n’ Gansey friction and I’m really bad at handling it!

'Abruptly, Ronan’s entire body went cold. Not a little chilly, but utterly cold. The sort of cold that dries the mouth and slows the blood. His toes went numb, and then his fingers….Then Noah reappeared in a violent sputter, like the power crackling back on. His fingers clutched Ronan’s arm. Cold seeped from the point of contact as Noah dragged heat to become visible.’ Oh, so Noah can do that with Ronan too? Because of his greywaren-ness?

'“I lost …” Noah struggled for words. “There wasn’t air. It went away. The — the line!” “The ley line?” Gansey asked. Noah nodded once, a sloppy thing that was sort of a shrug at the same time. “There was nothing … left for me.”’ Not allowed. Just saying.

'He didn’t say, Or maybe something terrible happened to Adam that day he sacrificed himself in Cabeswater. Maybe he’s messed up all of Henrietta by waking up the ley line. Because they couldn’t talk about that. Just like they couldn’t talk about Adam stealing the Camaro that night. Or about him basically doing everything Gansey had asked him not to. If Adam was stupid about his pride, Gansey was stupid about Adam.’ Yes, we know. :)

'From Ronan’s room, he heard Noah’s laugh. He and Ronan were throwing various objects from the second-story window to the parking lot below. There was a terrific crash.’ Having witnessed my younger brother doing basically the same thing once, I can vouch for the authenticity of this teenage-boy activity.

'Once, he had dreamt that he found Glendower. It wasn’t the actual finding, but the day after. He wouldn’t forget the sensation of the dream. It hadn’t been joy, but instead, the absence of pain. He couldn’t forget that lightness. The freedom.’ Yeah, don’t we all dream about the absence of pain. *buries face in hands* OH GANSEY BOY.

’“Do you want me to talk to her?” This was something he definitely, 100 percent felt certain in his guts that he had no interest in doing. “I’m really bad at talking, Gansey,” Adam said earnestly. “And you’re really good at it. Maybe — maybe if it just comes up natural?” Gansey’s shoulders collapsed; his breath fogged the glass and vanished. “Of course.” “Thanks.” Adam paused. “I just want something to be simple.” So do I, Adam. So do I.’ This right here? This A Whoooole Lot. Is there anything you wouldn’t do for Adam if he asked, Gansey?

'Noah slouched in. In a wounded tone, he said, “He threw me out the window!” Ronan’s voice sang out from behind his closed door: “You’re already dead!”’ OH. MY. GOODNESS.

’"You should come over.” “Not tonight,” replied Adam. I’m losing him, Gansey thought. I’m losing him to Cabeswater. He had thought that by staying away from the forest, he’d keep the old Adam — put off the consequences of whatever had happened that night when everything started to go awry. But maybe it just didn’t matter. Cabeswater would take him regardless.’ I dream of the absence of pain!!!

'His skin shivered and crawled, and he realized it was crawling with hornets, the ones that had killed Gansey all those years ago. There weren’t many this time, only a few hundred. Sometimes he dreamt cars full of them, houses full of them, worlds full of them. Sometimes these hornets killed Ronan, too, in his dreams.’ Oh, Ronan.

’Arbores loqui latine. The trees speak Latin. “You’ve done this before,” she said. Time was a circle, a rut, a worn tape Ronan never tired of playing.’ Huh. Has Ronan been dreaming of Cabeswater for years and years?

'Curled on the mattress, [Adam] covered his face with his summer-hot arm. Sometimes, if he blocked his mouth and nose, just this side of suffocation, sleep would overthrow him.’ THAT DOESN’T SOUND HEALTHY, MY BOY. :(

'He was awake enough to think of the invitation from Gansey. There might be an internship in there. Adam knew it was a favor. Did that make it wrong? He’d said no for so long that he didn’t know when to say yes….He hated the careful way Gansey had asked him about it. Tiptoeing, just like Adam had learned to tiptoe around his father. He needed a reset button. Just push the reset button on Adam Parrish and start him again.’ I am sad. (But maaaaybe he’s starting to reconsider the idea that he can never accept hep of any kind?)

'After he had exhausted this line of thought, Ronan gave in to the brief privilege of hating himself, as he always did in church. There was something satisfying about acknowledging this hatred, something relieving about this little present he allowed himself each Sunday.’ Oh, Ronan.

'“Hey, pal,” Matthew whispered. He was the only person who could get away with calling Ronan pal.’ Awww. :)

'Matthew Lynch was a bear of a boy, square and solid and earnest. His head was covered with soft, golden curls completely unlike any of his other family members. And in his case, the perfect Lynch teeth were framed by an easy, dimpled smile. He had two brands of smile: the one that was preceded by a shy dip of his chin, a dimple, and then BAM, smile. And the one that teased for a moment before BAM, an infectious laugh. Females of all ages called him adorable. Males of all ages called him buddy. Matthew failed at many more things than either of his older brothers, but unlike Declan or Ronan, he always tried his hardest.’ Whoops, I’m attached.

'Ronan had dreamt one thousand nightmares about something happening to him.’ *rubs heart*

'A lady reached over the top of Noah to pat Matthew’s head fondly before continuing down the aisle. She didn’t seem to care that he was fifteen, which was all right, because he didn’t, either. Both Ronan and Declan observed this interaction with the pleased expressions of parents watching their prodigy at work.’ Once again: Awww. :)

'Blue very much liked having the boys over to her house. Their presence at the house was agreeable for several different reasons….And the third reason was that it suggested permanence. Blue had acquaintances at school, people she liked. But they weren’t forever. While she was friendly with a lot of them, there was no one that she wanted to commit to for a lifetime. And she knew this was her fault. She’d never been any good at having casual friends. For Blue, there was family — which had never been about blood relation at 300 Fox Way — and then there was everyone else. When the boys came to her house, they stopped being everyone else.’ THEY’RE FAMILY NOW. <3

'Crossly, Blue realized that Gansey had now called her Jane so often that it felt strange to hear him say her real name.’ Embrace it, Blue. Embraaace it. :D

'He hid the insatiable wanting well, but now that she’d seen it once, she couldn’t stop seeing it. But he wouldn’t be able to explain it to Maura. And he would never really have to explain it to Blue. It was his something more.’ Awww. :)

(Sorry this liveblog is devolving mostly into either EVERYTHING IS TERRIBLE or But this is cute! and if that is starting to become boring…)

’"What did they die of?” “Mom always said ‘meddling.’ Gansey completely forgot they were being secretive and let out a tremendous laugh. It was a powerful thing, that laugh. He only did it once, but his eyes remained shaped like it. Something inside her did a complicated tug. Oh no! she thought. But then she calmed herself. Richard C. Gansey III has a nice mouth. Now I know he has nice eyes when he laughs, too. This still isn’t love. She also thought: Adam. Remember Adam.’ 1.) I hope this line of rationalization works out for you, Blue. ;) 2.) I am still feeling torn, though. Blue and Adam are cute together. 3.) I’d be okay with a Blue-Gansey-Adam OT3 though.

'Maura frowned. In a low voice, she said, “I think I need to have a conversation with that boy.” “Someone does,” Calla replied, heading up the stairs. Each stair groaned a protest for which she punished the next with a stomp. “Not me. I’ve outgrown train wrecks.” Blue, alarmed, said, “Is he a train wreck?”| Her mother clucked her tongue. “Calla likes drama. Train wreck! When a train takes a long time to go off the tracks, I don’t like to call it a wreck. I like to call it a derailment.”  From upstairs, Blue heard Calla’s delighted cackle. “I hate both of you,” Blue said as her mother laughed and galloped up the stairs to join Calla. “You’re supposed to use your powers for good, you know!” After a moment, Adam said to her, without lifting his eyes, “I could hear y’all, you know.” Blue hoped fervently that he was only talking about Maura and Calla and not about her kitchen conversation with Gansey. “Do you think you’re a train wreck?” “That would mean I was on the tracks to start with,” he replied.’ I would just like to say that I am miffed by this passage on Adam’s behalf. Thank you.

The chapter where Mr. Gray comes to 300 Fox Way was… interesting.

'Gansey, a furious sun, glowed from the other side of the universe, his gravitational pull too distant to affect Adam.’ WHY WOULD YOU DO THIS TO ME MAGGIE I CAN NEVER RECOVER.

So yeah, I just read the part where Adam is thinking back to how he and Gansey became friends and I think my heart just burst from emotional overload.

'Sometimes Adam wondered what would’ve happened if he hadn’t stopped that day. What would be happening to him right now?’ Sometimes, Allan wondered what would’ve happened if Robin hadn’t stepped out of the trees that day. What would be happening to him right now? SORRY, I HAVE A PROBLEM.

Also, it only just occurred to me that Allan and Adam are A-names and Robin and Richard (even if that’s not what Gansey goes by) are R-names. This makes me so unreasonably happy!

'Gansey was giddy now that they’d decided to go back to Cabeswater. He hated nothing more than standing still. He ordered Ronan to put on some terrible music — Ronan was always too happy to oblige in this department — and then he abused the Camaro at every stoplight on the way out of town. “Put your back into it!” Gansey shouted breathlessly. He was talking to himself, of course, or to the gearbox. “Don’t let it smell fear on you!” Blue wailed each time the engine revved up, but not unhappily. Noah played the drums on the back of Ronan’s headrest. Adam, for his part, was not wild, but he did his best not to appear unwild, so as not to ruin it for the others.’ REEELATABLLLLE!!!

'Adam felt like he was watching it all from outside. He felt like he was about to catch another image, like a flick of the tarot cards he’d looked at earlier. Was that someone standing by the side of the road? I can’t trust my eyes.’ Leave him aloooone. :(

'Gansey leaned back, head thrown to the side, drunken and silly with happiness. “I love this car,” he said, loud to be heard over the engine. “I should buy four more of them. I’ll just open the door of one to fall into the other. One can be a living room, one can be my kitchen, I’ll sleep in one …” “And the fourth? Butler’s pantry?” Blue shouted. “Don’t be so selfish. Guest room.”’ He’s adorable.

Huh. Cabeswater’s gone!

'Adam felt that the Pig’s status perfectly encapsulated how he felt. It was not really dead, just broken. He was held inside the question of what it meant for him if Cabeswater was gone. Why can’t things just be simple?’  While this is a legitimate concern, Adam, to be fair, just a few moments ago you were worrying about was going to happen when you returned to Cabeswater for the first time after your sacrifice. Poor guy’s anxious over everything. :/

'Ronan leapt out of the car and slammed the door. The thing about Ronan Lynch, Adam had discovered, was that he wouldn’t — or couldn’t — express himself with words. So every emotion had to be spelled out in some other way. A fist, a fire, a bottle. Now Cabeswater was missing and the Pig was hobbled, and he needed to go have a silent shouting fit with his body. In the back window, Adam saw Ronan pick up a rock from the side of the road and hurl it into the creeper.  “Well, that’s helpful,” Blue said tersely.’ 1.) [Fond but exasperated] Oh Ronan. 2.) I appreciate your reaction, Blue. You’re not wrong.

'“I’m calling Declan,” Gansey said. “And telling him to bring a battery.” Ronan told Gansey what he thought of this plan, very precisely, with a lot of compound words that even Adam hadn’t heard before. Gansey nodded, but he also dialed Declan’s number. Afterward, he turned to Ronan, who leaned his cheek hard enough against the top of the window to make a dent in his skin.’ Please stop dealing with difficult emotions/situations by causing yourself pain, Ronan, honey.

'Gansey rounded on Adam, clutching his own headrest and looking behind him. “Why is it gone?”’ Why is my mental picture of this so endearing?

'Declan’s Volvo glided up, as quiet as the Pig was loud. Ronan said, “Move up, move up” to Blue until she scooted the passenger seat far enough for him to clamber behind it into the backseat. He hurriedly sprawled back in the seat, throwing one jean-covered leg over the top of Adam’s and laying his head in a posture of thoughtless abandon. By the time Declan arrived at the driver’s side window, Ronan looked as if he had been asleep for days.’ Oh, Ronan. What am I going to do with you?

'And as he sat there, observing the set of Declan’s shoulders and the way his eyes looked, he realized something startling. Declan was afraid. Probably it wasn’t apparent to Gansey, who was fairly oblivious, nor to Blue, who didn’t know what Declan looked like ordinarily. And Ronan’s feelings about his older brother were like blood in the water; he wouldn’t be able to see through the bilious clouds. But to Adam, who’d spent a fair amount of his life afraid — not only afraid, but trying to hide it — it was obvious.’ [Gansey voice] I am right to have Allan feels here and I will not be made to feel bad about it! (Also, in blast-from-the-past news, I’m really close to finally done with putting my anxiety-and-Allan thoughts into words and I’m excited for that.)

I love when Noah senses one of the other boys is in distress and goes to them and does his ghostly best to comfort or assist them. <3

'He thought about the day he’d been stung to death by hornets and lived anyway. Gansey ran over the memory until he no longer felt the thrill of hearing Glendower’s name whispered in his ear, and then instead gave himself over to feeling sorry for himself, that he should have so many friends and yet feel so very alone. He felt it fell to him to comfort them, but never the other way around. As it should be, he thought, abruptly angry with himself. You’ve had it the easiest. What good is all your privilege, you soft, spoiled thing, if you can’t stand on your own legs? ’ OH HONEY :( (But Noah does try!)

'“It’s not just the blood,” Ronan said. His chest moved up and down with his breath. “Something else got out, too.”’ Uh-oh.

Phew. They dispatched the nightmare creature while remaining mostly unscathed. Although they needn’t go around asking each other, "Are you murdered?” with the reply, “I think so.” anymore, please.

'“There was another one,” he said. “It got away.”’ Well, that’s not good!

'“It’s for the distasteful thing,” Gansey said. He plucked at the T-shirt with deprecating fingers. “I’m rather slovenly at the moment, I know.”’ [Fond, amused sputtering]

Oh, they’re going to the Barns!

'Gansey, a bit of the gallows in his voice, advised, “Poke its eye.”’ [Confused, taken-aback sputtering]

'“It feels the same as when you guys lived here,” Gansey said finally. “It seems like it should be different.” “Did you come here a lot?” Blue asked.  He exchanged a glance with Ronan. “Often enough.” He didn’t say what Ronan was thinking, which was that Gansey was far more of a brother to Ronan than Declan had ever been.’ Brothers <3<3<3

'Ronan loved it so much. He nearly couldn’t bear it. He wanted to destroy something.’ That’s…one reaction to profound love. (Yes, I know. Profound love for something that’s been stripped away from you.)

'“Ronan Lynch,” he said. It was the voice Ronan couldn’t not listen to. It was sure in every way that Ronan was not. “Stop this right now. Go see your mother. And then we’re leaving.”’ More Mom-Friend!Gansey.

'Ronan walked directly up to her, close enough to see that she had not changed a bit since the last time he had seen her, months and months ago. Though his breath moved the fine hairs around her temples, she didn’t react to her son’s presence. Her chest rose and fell. Her eyes stayed closed. Non mortem, somni fratrem. Not death, but his brother, sleep. Blue whispered, “Just like the other animals.”  The truth — he’d known it all along, really, if he thought about it — burrowed into him. Blue was right. His home was populated by things and creatures from Niall Lynch’s dreams, and his mother was just another one of them.’ Huh.

'My soul’s in enough peril as it is.” At this, Gansey’s face turned to a genuine frown and he looked as if he was about to say something. Then he just shook his head a little….“She didn’t try to see the future. It’s not something she became; it’s something she is. I could just as easily say that you’re evil because you can take things from your dreams!” Ronan said, “Yeah, you could.” Gansey’s frown deepened. Again he opened his mouth and closed it.’ Same, Gansey. Same.

'Ronan looked at him. That look, Blue thought. Ronan Lynch would do anything for Gansey. I probably would, too, she thought.’ If only he knew it. *rubs heart*

'Blue and Gansey exchanged a look. Blue’s look said, I’m so, so sorry. Gansey’s said, Am I the pretty one?’ Bless his cotton socks.

'Ronan thought of what Declan had said all those months before: Mom is nothing without Dad. He’d been right.’ Okay, but does Declan know about this stuff and how it works?

'Ronan interrupted the silence. “Cabeswater. Cabeswater is a dream.” Calla stopped rotating. “You don’t have to tell me I’m right,” Ronan said. He thought of all the times he had dreamt of Cabeswater’s old trees; how familiar it had felt to walk there; how the trees had known his name. He was tangled in their roots, somehow, and they, in his veins. “If Mom is in Cabeswater, she’ll wake up.” Calla stared at him. Silence was never a wrong answer.’ Okay then.

'But those words of Declan’s needled Ronan: She’s nothing without Dad. It was like he knew. Ronan wanted badly to know how much Declan knew, but it wasn’t like he could ask him.’ No, that would be too easy.

'“Says you and Dad were both dreamers,” Matthew said, “and you’re going to make us lose everything.” Ronan sat very still. He was so still so quickly that Chainsaw froze as well, her head tilted toward the youngest Lynch brother, purloined tuna sandwich forgotten. Declan knew about their father. Declan knew about their mother. Declan knew about him.’ Curious. Very curious.

The Gray Man is going to Monmouth Manufacturing!

'He had spent forty-eight hours more or less awake and restless and then, on the third day, he had bought a side-scan sonar device, two window airconditioners, a leather sofa, and a pool table. “Now do you feel better?” Adam had asked drily. Gansey had replied, “I have no idea what you’re talking about.” “Hey, man,” Ronan said, “I like the pool table.” The entire situation made Blue apoplectic.’ Tag yourself; I’m Adam with a dash of Ronan. Pool tables are cool.

’"You are still wearing those incredibly stupid boat shoes, and of all the things that you have bought, you still haven’t replaced them!” Gansey, bewildered, observed his feet. The movement of his toes was barely visible through the tops of his Top-Siders. Really, in light of recent events, these shoes were the only things that were right in the world. “I like these shoes.”’ Update: he’s still adorable.

’[Gansey] exchanged a glance with Adam, because it had to be done’ 1) What does this mean? 2) I love them SO MUCH!

'In some parallel universe, there was a Gansey who could tell Blue that he found the ten inches of her bare calves far more tantalizing than the thirteen cubic feet of bare skin Orla sported. But in this universe, that was Adam’s job. } He was in a terrible mood.’ Oooooh. 👀

'So these were the people Greenmantle had warned him about. Fellow seekers of the Greywaren, whatever it might be.’ Curious and curiouser.

'Blue cheerfully spit a mouthful of brown water on his boat shoes. It pooled in the canvas over his toes. “Good God,” he said. “Now they’re really boat shoes,” she replied.’ Blue’s crusade continues.

'He knew what it was. He just didn’t know why it was. He said, “Well, that’s a wheel off the Camaro.” And it was. It looked identical to the wheels currently residing on the Pig — except this wheel was clearly several hundred years old. The discolored surface was pocked and lumpy. With all of the deterioration, the elegantly symmetrical wheel didn’t appear that out of place beside the shield boss. If you overlooked the tattered Chevrolet logo in the middle. “Do you remember losing one a little while ago?” Ronan asked. “Like, five hundred years or so?”’ Aggressively the Most Curious.

'Blue held his gaze, unflinching. Crisp, she replied, “None at all.” And it was a lie. It should not have been, but it was, and Gansey, who prized honesty above nearly every other thing, knew it when he heard it. Blue Sargent cared whether or not he was interested in Orla. She cared a lot. As she whirled toward the truck with a dismissive shake of her head, he felt a dirty sort of thrill.’ Oh, you kids.

'“Hey, Noah.” He was too busy being ghostly to attend to her, however. Currently, he was engaged in one of his creepiest activities: reenacting his own death. He glanced around the tiny yard as if appraising the forest glen containing only himself and his friend Barrington Whelk. Then he let out a terrible, mangled cry as he was struck from behind by an invisible skateboard. He made no sound when he was hit again, but his body jerked convincingly. Blue tried not to look as he bucked a few more times before falling to the ground. His head jerked; his legs bicycled. Blue took a deep, uneven breath. Though she had seen him do it four or five times now, it was always unsettling. Eleven minutes. That was how long the entire homicidal portrait lasted: one boy’s life destroyed in less time than it took to cook a hamburger. The last six minutes, the ones that took place after Noah had first fallen but before he actually died, were excruciating. Blue considered herself a fairly steadfast, sensible girl, but no matter how many times she heard his torn-up breath seizing in his throat, she felt a little teary. Between the twisted roots of the front yard, Noah’s body jerked and stilled, finally dead. Again.’ I feel w o u n d e d.

'They wandered to the door like that, a pretzel of dead boy and not-psychic girl.’ Don’t even look at me!

'Gleefully, Noah said, “There’s a pool table now! I’m the worst at pool ever! It’s wonderful.”’ THIS SWEET CHILD IS GIVING ME EMOTIONAL WHIPLASH.

'Gansey, pacing next to his ruined miniature Henrietta, set his eyes on Ronan. There was something intense and heedless in them. There were many versions of Gansey, but this one had been rare since the introduction of Adam’s taming presence. It was also Ronan’s favorite. It was the opposite of Gansey’s most public face, which was pure control enclosed in a paper-thin wrapper of academia. But this version of Gansey was Gansey the boy. This was the Gansey who bought the Camaro, the Gansey who asked Ronan to teach him to fight, the Gansey who contained every wild spark so that it wouldn’t show up in other versions. Was it the shield beneath the lake that had unleashed it? Orla’s orange bikini? The bashed-up remains of his rebuilt Henrietta and the fake IDs they’d returned to? Ronan didn’t really care. All that mattered was that something had struck the match, and Gansey was burning.’ #JusticeforMiniatureHenrietta

'“Don’t say anything stupid to him,” he told Gansey.’ Did I read that right? Did Ronan really just advise Gansey to be careful?

'The Gray Man recalled the buzz of his phone and patted his pockets. His phone was missing, however. Maura Sargent had stolen it while they were making out. In its place was the ten of swords: the Gray Man slain on the ground and Maura the sword driven through his heart.’ Interesting. Sorry that always seems to be my reaction to the Gray Man, but there it is.