#((also if anyone has any ideas to run past me concerning La

[stillness-in-green]

Why Deku's ultimatum to Overhaul is bad and he should feel bad

This is a bit outside my normal character wheelhouse, but I really need to get a rant about it off my chest, so here goes:

The Deku and Overhaul scene in Chapter 316 is terrible. It is fucking terrible.

I took a whirl around Overhaul's tag up through when the leaks first started dropping, but didn't immediately see anyone talking about why it's so fucking terrible, only concerns about letting Overhaul see Eri (understandable, but baseless, I think), some empathy towards Overhaul's current state (totally warranted!), some snark about Deku being So Done with Overhaul (haha because who cares about Deku's stated goal of trying to understand villains, right?), and, worst of all, some cooing about how Deku was being so compassionate and noble by offering Overhaul that olive branch.

Deku was not being compassionate and noble there. Deku was being arrogant, small-minded, and so shockingly cruel that it leaves me speechless that anyone could think his stunted and hard-hearted "offer" reflects well on him.

Deku's entire motivation in this arc has been wrestling with the realization that he might have been able to avoid some of the desperate battles of his past if he'd understood more about the villains he fought. He thought of three very specific people--Stain, Muscular, and Overhaul--as he reflected, "Maybe it wouldn't have had to go that way if I'd understood them better." He then thought of Gentle Criminal and La Brava, people who he’d come to some understanding of, who he’d been able to soften the conclusion of his battle with by going along with Gentle's fiction downplaying what had happened between them. The whole line of thought was intended to contextualize his newfound desire to save Shigaraki.

It soon became apparent that Stain, Muscular and Overhaul were, in fact, encounters that he would be revisiting, as a chance to see how he'd grown since he faced them, and as a dry-run on reaching out to villains that would give him a chance to practice ways he might reach out to Shigaraki when the time comes.

Well, based on his performance so far, the idea that Deku might be able to reach Shigaraki is laughable.

Firstly, his tentative questions to Muscular were ill-timed, all wrong for the middle of a battle. Muscular laughed him off, and I don’t think there’s any version of that scenario in which he would have done otherwise. Muscular was a huge threat, gleefully violent, disinterested in conversation about his history. Obviously, right in the middle of a fight was no kind of time to try to figure out what made the man tick! But Deku didn’t get the luxury of choosing the circumstances of that encounter, so yes, that battle probably was unavoidable, certainly if Deku wanted to stop him from doing further damage. But the idea that because Deku couldn't reach him right then and there, it's impossible for Deku--or, indeed, for anyone--to reach him at all is fallacious. Not every person has to be able to like or understand every other person. If Deku couldn't reach Muscular, so what? That doesn't mean it's impossible that someone might. And that means an obligation to treat Muscular like a human being, to afford him human rights, to not stop trying to find a way to rehabilitate him, even as you safeguard other people against him.

Deku's battle with Muscular being unavoidable was not some great triumph, for all that the narrative used it as an opportunity to let him show off how far he’d come in mastering One For All. In the way that matters, the way that Deku himself is currently trying to better, he hasn't advanced at all. Imasuji Goto represented his first test in the lead-up to saving Shigaraki, and Deku failed it.

His next trial was Overhaul.* Here, again, was someone who Deku was explicitly trying to understand. So what was the one thing that was most key to understanding Overhaul's current motivation? What was the one thing that Overhaul was ranting about out loud, incessantly? And what did Deku conspicuously fail to ask about? Overhaul's relationship with Pops.

This was so easy. So obvious. And Deku didn’t even try. All he could think about in the moment he was faced with that broken man was the little girl that man hurt--all thoughts of trying to understand where the man himself was coming from went right out the window, flown away in an instant. Instead of asking about why Overhaul feels the way he does, he demanded that Overhaul feel the way Deku wanted. He was essentially holding the only person Overhaul cared about hostage for the remorse he wanted Overhaul to feel.

I'm not going to try to armchair diagnose Overhaul with mental conditions. I don't have the educational background, and I'm positive Horikoshi doesn't. But it seems pretty clear that asking Overhaul to feel guilt about Eri was asking for something that he might not be capable of feeling, at least not without years of therapy that he was plainly not getting in Tartarus. And if Overhaul is not capable of feeling that guilt, then what does denying Overhaul his meeting actually solve? Who does it help? It doesn’t help Eri. Doesn’t help the old man. It certainly doesn’t help Overhaul himself. The only person who gets any satisfaction out of demanding remorse from Overhaul is Deku. And even Deku didn’t look like he found it very satisfying!

Another failure. A meaninglessly cruel, petty failure. A failure that served only to hurt a man who was already a live wire of agony, to sentence an old man to a coma he might never wake from without Overhaul's expertise, and to deprive Eri of the only actual family she had left.

And look, Pops might very well not be the ideal guardian for Eri, and I'm not saying he should get to "keep" her just because of the blood connection, but it's not like he cheerfully handed her over to Overhaul and walked out the door! He turned to Overhaul because he trusted Overhaul, because he wanted someone to help Eri and thought that maybe Overhaul could. And when Overhaul's thoughts about Eri took a very dark turn, Pops first denied his request about using her to further his research and then, when Overhaul kept pushing it, chose Eri over the kid he personally took in from the streets by telling Overhaul that he needed to leave the Shie Hassaikai if he couldn't muster any more respect for human life than that.

But, you know, Eri is so cute with Aizawa and stuff. And Pops was a criminal. Probably. Maybe? I mean, he was yakuza, anyway, so he obviously must have been a criminal even if the police never actually arrested him. Apparently, this means it's okay to just leave him in a coma forever! Even though Overhaul absolutely has enough medical expertise that letting him talk to a neurologist about what he did to Pops might enable them to figure out how to wake Pops up even without Overhaul being able to use his quirk to undo the damage. Hell, Overhaul is also the person alive who has the best handle on how Eri's quirk works. He might even know what her accumulation condition is. Maybe a better thing to ransom his access to Pops with would be Overhaul telling Aizawa everything he knows about Eri's quirk so Aizawa can use the knowledge to help her get a better handle on it.

But no. Obviously undoing some small part of the concrete harm Overhaul did was less important than how Deku felt about that harm.

And there's more! Oh, is there ever. I called Deku arrogant before; let me circle back to that.

Deku said that if Chisaki would feel the way Deku wanted him to feel, then Deku would uphold the promise to let Overhaul see Pops. But where in hell did Deku get off making that claim? Deku is a student. He's not a pro. He has no authority, medical, legal, carceral or otherwise. He has no say in where Overhaul goes or who he's allowed to see.

What the fuck? What the actual fuck? What kind of strings did Deku think he could pull that he could just casually make that claim without so much as going into a huddle with Hawks and Endeavor about it first? How inflated has this kid's sense of importance gotten that he made Overhaul that promise without even stopping to think about whether it was something he was in any position to ensure? It was such a bullshit ultimatum, not only because of how needlessly obstructive it was, but because it was so formless.

"If only you would feel a wish to apologize to Eri…" Okay, so what if Overhaul goes back to prison and, three days later, calls out to say, "Okay, I thought about it and I really feel like I want to apologize, now can I see Pops already?" Who gets to make that judgment call? Deku? Is he going to drop his faux-vigilante act and come visit Overhaul in prison just so he can squint at the man really hard to see if he's lying? Is Deku going to delegate the call to someone else? All Might? Hawks? A prison warden? A psychologist? Who? Who gets to be the one to say, "Okay, I think his remorse is genuine."

Then, once that call has been made, how many people have to arrange for Overhaul to be escorted out of prison and to whatever hospital Pops is in? Will Deku get to oversee that visit? Does he think he can overturn a warden declaring, "The scum doesn't deserve a visit, and the old man probably doesn't either," or a doctor protesting, "I'm not letting that man anywhere near my patient!"

The hell of it is, I think Deku could do all of that. He's got a close personal connection to All Might, who was basically a demi-god to this society for decades; he has the ear of the current top three heroes. Everyone is apparently convinced that the power to save this society rests solely in Deku's hands; I'm sure he could ask for anything he wanted. But the fact that that is the case suggests that this society is not even slightly turning away from its dependence on heroes dictating its morality. A hero having the sole right to dictate, out of hand, based on his personal feelings, the fate of people designated "villains" while the rest of society turns away is exactly what Shigaraki is angry about.

The only thing worse than Deku perpetuating the worst problems of hero society in an arc that's supposed to be about him finding a better way is that he didn’t even stop to think about it. It never even occurred to him that that was what he was doing. He thought that what he was asking of Chisaki was just and fair, and thus, he didn’t need to ask for any second opinions or permissions; he didn’t need to think about what would actually be feasible, about what was best for the people involved. He'd made his judgment call about a villain, and that's all there was to it. The villain could fall in line or--nothing. There isn't actually another choice. Hero's way or nothing

I hate it. I hate it. I don't care about whether Overhaul "deserves" to suffer; heroes making the cold decision that they will make him suffer is antithetical to everything a carceral system intended to rehabilitate prisoners stands for. And yes, Japan does at least claim on paper that the goal of incarceration in state hands is rehabilitation.

Restorative justice is superior to retributive justice. It's better for society and it's better for individuals. It is kinder, it is more compassionate. Retributive justice poisons people. It perpetuates suffering for no reason but moral grandstanding. Individuals are allowed to forgive or not forgive anyone they want, but a society should conduct itself with an eye to the long-term welfare of all of its people. That means that even the worst kinds of criminals still have human rights. It means not inflicting pain that serves no purpose.

I've gotten off-track here. Yes, I think that if Overhaul could feel regret about Eri, that would obviously be a positive development for his character. It'd hurt like hell, but it would be a hurt that indicated he was becoming a better person, a person who wanted to do more good, less ill, with his life and efforts. But you can't mandate that someone become a better person. No ultimatum handed down from on high is going to change Overhaul's heart. Telling someone, "I'll help you, but only if you only feel the way I want you to feel. Otherwise, you can just stay there and suffer," is not reaching out to help people who are suffering in the dark, which is, again, what Deku claimed he wanted to do, what he begged for Nagant's help in doing, the way he insisted to the vestiges that OFA should be used.

Deku writing people off because they don't conform to his expectations, because they can't be "good" the way he wants them to be, nor even "bad" in ways he can understand, is him failing to live up to his own expressed ideals. "I wish you'd feel bad about hurting people," wasn't enough to reach Muscular or Overhaul, and it damn well shouldn't be enough to reach Shigaraki.

Cruelty does not beget kindness. You cannot treat people with only callousness and severity, then condemn them for not taking the opportunity to grow. You have to give them opportunities to better themselves. For Overhaul, giving him an opportunity would be letting him help the man he wronged and then moving forward from there. Telling him to feel regret about Eri or else? That's doing nothing but sweeping his pain back under the rug.

---

*I have more or less exhausted my outrage over Lady Nagant in chats with friends, so I'll spare the rant on how disjointed, contradictory and ludicrous her turn was; the gist is "very, on all counts."

---

P.S. Anyone who says that Overhaul "has nothing left to live for" is being a level of ableist that defies description. Prosthetics exist. Assistive devices exist. Speech-to-text software exists. Overhaul is intelligent, driven and highly educated. Even if he never got prosthetics at all, there would still be things he could contribute to the world if he were motivated to do so. The better thing to do, though, would be to get the man some damn prosthetics, hook him up with the neurologist consulting on Pops' case, and let the two of them get on with the matter of waking up the old man.

P.P.S. Overhaul spent six months in solitary confinement. The United Nations considers solitary confinement exceeding 15 days to be a form of torture. Solitary confinement creates severe mental health issues and exacerbates existing ones. It frequently leads to a deadening of empathy, something Overhaul has in little enough amounts as it is. It is absurd to ask a man who's just come out of these conditions to "feel sorry for what you did to Eri," especially if you're planning to turn around and send him right back to solitary. Tartarus is inhuman, and the only reason more of the escapees aren't total wrecks like Overhaul is because Horikoshi clearly didn't bother to do the reading on the wide array of problems that those characters should be experiencing physically, mentally and socially.

[lumothespadesman]

Reborn

Chapter 2

First off: thank yall sm for the attention on the first one??? Holy shit??? I never really post my content to the public because of past experiences but I got very inspired to make a part 2 jegjrjfjrg

I was planning on writing the Quackity bit too but it got so long that I have to write it into a 3rd chapter maybe if this gets liked too

Nevertheless, enjoy :]

-------------------------------------------------------

"Soo... how much time until we get there?"

The two guys stopped at Fundys house quickly so the fox can rearrange his things a bit. He also gave Charlie some basic tools and weapons incase they run into any trouble on the way to Las Nevadas. Not that he was complaining though, he appreciated the generousity of his new friend, despite starting off in a confusing way.

Fundy sighed in frustration at the question. "I told you, Its not that far away! You've been asking this for the third time now." He exclaimed. Its true, the God has been getting a bit impatient along the way. But only because he felt oddly,,, tired of walking. Its almost as if his strength was weakened here, and he had no idea why.

"I cant help it! Im just... very curious to see what this so-called 'Las Nevadas' looks like!" Charlie threw his arms up in defense. "Well, you can stop now, cause were here." To this, something caught his eye. He looked up to see a giant building made out of cobblestone and whatnot.

Squinting his eyes, he asked. "Thats Las Nevadas? that is it?" His tone had utter disappointment in it, but Fundy grabbed the arm he used to shield himself from the sunlight and made him turn away from the cobblestone building. "What?! No, see that sign? that is Las Nevadas."

To his surprise, there was a giant decorated sign, having the areas name on it. "Oh!" Charlie dumbfoundedly said. "But then whats this building here?" He briefly turned back to the former construction. "Oh, that. Um. Ignore that. Lets keep on going." The fox waved with his hand dismissively before moving on. The latter man didnt feel like asking more questions, so he silently followed.

The forest changed into a desert biome a wave of hot temperature already washing over the two. Charlie wasnt concerned with that though. "Woah! The sign is even bigger up close!" He excitedly said, stopping for a bit to admire it. "Holy shit, even the buildings are bigger up close!" It didnt take him a second to notice the towering buildings either.

Fundy watched the man look around with a neutral expression. This was Slime alright, but.... surely he would remember Quackity? And who were the two other guys he apparently knew? He didnt know anyone with elf ears especially.

Well, only time will tell....

"Where are we meeting that quackster guy again?" Finally out of his awe, Charlie turned back to the fox, snapping him out of his daze. "Oh- hes probably still up in that building." He quickly pointes up at the highest skyscraper in the city. The latter mans jaw dropped. "Seriously?! Thats very high!" He exclaimed in shock.

"Yeah, he hasnt left since you...." Fundy trailed off, looking back at him. "...nevermind. lets keep going." He muttered, hurrying onwards to the skyscraper. Charlie stared at him, narrowing his eyes. Since he what? Disappeared? What happened to him?

"See, we can go to the top with the water elevator." Fundy put his hand through the water that was flowing upwards. "You... remember how to use this, right?" He looked back at Charlie with a concerned look

The latter put a finger on his chin. He always used flying to get up to Molympus, and that resided even higher than this buildings top area! "...yes." He replied, clearly lying. It cant be that hard, can it?

The fox was gonna call out his obvious lie of an answer, but he decided to let it slide. "Alright. Dont blame me for the dizziness!" And the moment he stepped into the water, he flew up. Charlie widened his eyes, watching his friends shape disappear up through the water. He gulped. "Ooookay! Here I come!" Not bothering to hesitate, the God crashed into the water and began flying up.

Not even a minute passed, and he was already at the top. He stepped out a bit wobbily, opening his eyes to see a neat and modern area covered in white concrete. After regaining his balance, he saw that Fundy was there waiting for him. "Okay, this is the part where you have to be uh... quiet." The fox muttered, approaching him. "Quackity hasnt been himself lately and,, I need to talk to him face-to-face first before bringing you. Yknow, just to see if hes willing to welcome anyone right now." He quietly explained.

Charlie nodded at every sentence. "Okay, good. Go out to the balcony, and I'll come get you if hes open to talk to." Fundy finished, slowly nudging the latter towards the balcony.

The man went onward, finding himself out in the sun again. He heard the foxes footsteps fade away already. ".....why the fuck is he treating me like a child?" He casually asked himself a few moments of silence later. Is it because he had no memory of... any of this? Was he supposed to remember something after beating the game?

His head ended up turning back at the room, his eyes setting on a table. He adjusted his glasses, as the pot of flower there looked oddly familiar to a specific one.

.....

Charlie widened his eyes.

~~~~~~~

It was raining. The three were huddled together under the wooden roof as the rain got heavier around them. Grizzly asked them to come here cause he had something.

"I know things are looking pretty bad, and our situation doesnt look great, but..." Grizzly softly said, pulling out two poppies from his inventory as he finished his sentence.

"I brought you a poppy," he gave one to Charlie. "And... and you a poppy." He gave the other one to Condi.

"Thanks." Charlie snorted, clutching the flower in his cold hands. "Now whenever you go outside and you see death coming towards you at a high speed, then you can look down at that flower and think of me!" Grizzly proudly said, giving a few seconds of silence. "... and I'll already be dead." He said. The three burst out laughing, Charlie later offering Schlatt a poppy too.

...he ended up getting bad luck. And it all went downhill from there.

~~~~~~~

Charlie didnt realize it, but his hands started sweating while thinking back to that time. Everything was so... lighthearted back then. And it all led up to Grizzlys demise. They couldnt bring him back.

He didnt snap out of it until Fundy started shaking him by the shoulder. "Dude!" The fox exclaimed. "You've been staring into nothingness while I was gone?"

The God took a few seconds to answer the question, holding his head. "Shit, uh.... yeah? Im good now!" He nodded rapidly. Fundy let out a sigh. "Okay, great! We can go talk to Quackity now. Hes in the library... as I deducted." He muttered the last part, turning around to go back to the library, supposedly wanting Charlie to follow him.

But the man wanted something first.

"Fundy, am I allowed to take that poppy from the pot over there?" He pointed his finger to the table he looked at before dazing off. The fox looked at where he pointed at before looking at him with narrowed eyes. "Why? What do you need that for?"

This, Charlie didnt know how to answer. "Um... to have,, something in my inventory I guess?" He stammered, trying to make up a coherent excuse. Thankfully, the latter just shrugged. "I dont know man, you can take it. It'll get replaced eventually."

Charlie smiled, skipping over to the pot and taking the poppy out. The last time he held this flower was when they were mourning Grizzly, but his hands were warm this time...

he will reunite with his friends, hes sure of it.

[suneatersupportsquad]

red handed; colby brock

request:  im not sure if you do requests or even any imagines for colby brock anymore but i was wondering if you cold make a exception, so basically the plot is that the reader met colby through kat and since then they hit it off, now their in a secretive relationship the only person who knows is kat but she only knows the reader has a crush on colby. one day everyones hanging out in the same room room and colby is sexting the reader, sams curious to whos hes texting and they find out their dating.

dedication: @whydontweanons​

genre: fluff, subtle smut?

pairing: colby brock x gn!reader

characters: colby brock, sam golbach, katrina stuart, corey scherer, jake webber, kevin langue, brennen taylor, devyn lundy, tara yummy

word count: 1.8k

warnings: alcohol, what would probably be underage drinking, NSFW (barely), sexting (duh), mentions of COVID-19, quarantine

a/n: of course i’ll still write for sam and colby!! it’s just that, since i’m not as active of a follower of them as i used to be, my goal is to write for fandoms that i’m more invested in at the moment. but, honestly, i don’t think i could ever really stop writing for them. i love those boys so much. also this plot made me laugh so hard when i saw it in the best way possible. getting this request honestly made my day, so thank you for that!! anyways, i’m a little rusty, but here we go.

important links: masterlist

find more fics at my new blog @trapboysbunny

You and Colby had known each other for a long time - pretty much since he’d moved to LA with Sam - and you had been involved romantically just as long. You had met him and Sam through Kat on a boring Saturday night when all their friends flaked on coming to a little kickback they were hosting. Trying to be a good friend and cheer the boys up, Katrina had invited you to hopefully kickstart some emotional momentum. Your eyes met Colby’s for the first time and you clicked. Something in your gut had told you that the two of you would end up being close, and it was right. You had hit it off immediately, not taking very long to start laughing at one another’s corny jokes and telling stories over Smirnoff Ice while some random late night show played in the background. From that night on, it was history.

Since then, you two had been practically attached at the hip. If you weren’t sitting on the same room or facetiming, you were definitely texting one another. It became a running joke in your friend group that you two had evolved into a pair of siamese twins, or that being without you gave Colby separation anxiety. The two of you found it even more amusing when you actually began dating, not long after that fateful first night. It amazed the both of you that you were able to hide your relationship so well. No one had a clue. The two of you laughed about it quite often, actually, over late night phone calls and tipsy afternoons spent only with each other. No one knew, and nobody needed to know.

Colby, due to the internet and his fanbase being the way it is, preferred to keep his personal (and especially romantic) relationships more on the private side. His intent wasn’t necessarily to hide his feelings and relationship with you from his friends, but that particular topic of conversation never really came up in your friend group. Everyone had just kind of figured that everyone single would simply date someone when they were ready and tell everybody about it when they felt the time was appropriate. It wasn’t that Colby didn’t want to tell them, he just didn’t see the point in going out of his way to tell all of his friends hey after God knows how long I finally have a partner. He just didn’t want to make a big deal out of your relationship. Knowing his friends, they would definitely make it into some type of big thing, not to mention that Jake would dub the occasion as “cause for celebration” (which was really just an excuse to drink more). So Colby preferred to keep things on the quieter side for you two; neither of you wanted to make your relationship into an object for speculation.

Kat was the only person out of all of your friends to have any knowledge of your feelings for Colby. And thank God for her; if you didn’t have her to gush about Colby to, you probably would have either exploded or died. Or both. And she was there for every single second of it. She loved hearing about your movie nights, your urban exploring adventures, the sweet yet mundane things he would do to make you happy, literally anything. She ate that shit up like a man starved, and you did the same for her and Sam (regardless of the fact that their relationship was public already). You hadn’t told her explicitly about the nature of your relationship with Colby, really just gushed about your ever-growing love for the boy. Unbeknownst to you, she firmly believed that you only had feelings for Colby, clueless to the fact that the two of you had actually been dating for quite a while now. With her “go get ‘em, tiger” comments, along with similar remarks, you assumed that she had some sort of idea about your relationship with Cole, hence why you had never explicitly told her about your secret boyfriend. Kat, being the good friend that she was, never spilled your “secret” feelings to anyone else. Not even her boyfriend.

Eventually, quarantine started up amidst the international COVID-19 pandemic and you had begun practically living with the trap boys. A day without you in the house was enough to prompt concern for the boys, minus Colby who always knew the real reason why you weren’t coming over. This soon became the new normal, you taking a “day off” every few weeks to get tested just in case. At this point, it was almost comical that no one had figured out you two were dating yet.

One particular weekend afternoon, everyone in your friend group was hanging out at the house. You and Colby were sitting on opposite sides of the room, you next to Kat and Colby seated beside Sam. It was particularly warm today seeing as this Saturday landed smack in the middle of the infamous August heat wave, so you had thrown on a tank top and some shorts, nothing to flashy. Colby had dressed similarly, wearing only a muscle tee and a pair of trunks.

You were sat beside Kat, the both of you trying to listen to the story Devyn was telling. No matter how hard you tried, you couldn’t ignore the way your boyfriend was staring at you from across the room. You looked away from Dev for just a second to shoot him a glare when you realize exactly why he’s looking at you. The speed at which the blood rushes to your face is dizzying, and you drop your head to stare at your lap. Motherfucker- You sigh as you pull your phone out of your pocket. “Quit it with the blowjob eyes asshole,” you type before pressing the blue send button.

You feel his gaze break as his phone vibrates. Trying to ignore him, you refuse to meet his gaze again, putting all of your effort into focusing on Devyn’s story. Seconds later your phone vibrates in your pocket. “I have no idea what you’re talking about,” the screen reads, and you shake your head.

“Uh huh sure ok.” You pressed send again.

Another few seconds passed and your phone vibrated again. “That shirt looks really good on you.” 

You blushed as you read the message, flustered by the comment. Brows knitting together in confusion, you looked up to find him staring back at you with a dopey grin. You hunched over your phone and sent a message back. “You really think so?”

“Yeah, of course,” Colby replied, a gray typing bubble sitting under the message. “But you know how it would look cuter?”

You cocked your head to the side and typed out your response. “How?”

“On my bedroom floor.” You almost snorted at that, clamping a hand over your mouth to prevent any noise from escaping. Typical. Thankfully no one had been paying enough attention to you to notice that you were distracted.

Colby, on the other hand, wasn’t so lucky. “Give me this, dude,” Sam said, snatching the phone out of Colby’s hand and effectively bringing the conversation on their side of the room to a halt. “You haven’t been listening for like the past 20 minutes, dude. Now let’s see what’s got you so distracted.”

“You don’t need to look at that, Sam, it’s not that important-” The tall brunette sounded slightly panicky as he reached and grappled with Sam for his phone. Sam played around for a little bit before finally reading the screen, eyes widening in amusement.

Upon finishing his reading, Sam lowered the phone and Colby relaxed, already knowing that he was caught. “So who’s ‘angelcakes,’ huh Colbert?” Sam prodded teasingly.

Colby blushed ever so slightly, rubbing the back of his neck. “They’re just a friend-”

“Which friend, huh?” Sam continued his teasing, growing louder and louder with every response until all eyes were on the two boys.

Colby shrugged, trying to be nonchalant but looking more stressed than ever in actuality. “Just a friend.”

“What do you say we call this friend, huh boys?” Sam suggested.

Kevin nodded, agreeing. “I think we definitely should.” Brennen also nodded when Sam looked to him for approval, essentially finalizing the decision.

“Okay then, let’s do this thing!” Sam yelled, earning cheers from all the other curious folks in the room. The blonde boy pressed call and Colby simply held his face in his hands.

You jumped when your phone rang, honestly having forgotten that oh shit, I’m angelcakes. Everyone turned to look at you curiously, Colby even peeking through his fingers. You didn’t even pick up the device, already knowing whose name would be lighting up the screen. “You gonna pick that up or something?” Corey asked awkwardly.

You shook your head, leaving your phone face down in its spot beside your thigh. “No, it’s probably not important anyways.”

A beat of heavy silence passed before Tara spoke. “Gee, they sure aren’t giving up. Maybe you should answer it.”

“Nah, I’m sure it’s just-”

“Yeah, you should answer the phone, Y/N,” Jake agreed, the pieces seeming to click in his head.

You sighed, burning bright red to the tips of your ears. “Okay okay, fine.” You stood and clicked the answer button. “Hello?”

And there it was, your voice echoing from Colby’s phone. The room erupted in cheers of disbelief, the boys pouncing on Colby and the girls slapping you in playful excitement. “I knew there was something going on between you two!! There’s no way there couldn’t have been -- I can’t believe you didn’t tell me!” Kat squealed, smushing you in a hug.

The rest of the girls echoed the sentiment, a chorus of ‘same’s and ‘I can’t believe you’s. It took a while for everyone to calm down but, once everyone settled, you and Cole managed to get some alone time. The two of you escaped out back, the less than mediocre breeze cooling the sweat that slicked your skin. You held each other, almost as though you were about to start slow dancing. “Damn, caught red handed, huh?”

You laughed breathily, leaning your forehead against his shoulder. “It was only a matter of time, ya know?”

“I know,” he agreed, cheek pressing against your hair. “I’m glad we don’t have to be weird around them anymore.”

“Me too,” you hummed.

Colby pulled away a little bit, just enough for him to look you in the eyes, your arms still around his neck. “Hey.”

You giggled, confused. “Hey.”

“I love you.”

You smiled your confirmation, eyes twinkling under the cheap backyard lights. “I love you.”

.x

[yannowhatigiveup]

My One And Only - Chapter 12

Previous | Next

We’re finally onto the long chapters! Yay! We’re also catching up to where I currently am spin the story so frequent updates will be a thing of the past, sorry. Oh and before you read this chapter I gotta say something,

|| TW: This chapter does cover some topics that may be sensitive to some viewers. Viewer discretion is advised ||

Rose was probably the one who gave Lila Marinette’s phone number since Lila asked sOo NicELy and Rose was too kind. So kind that she’s oblivious to the fact her kindness is hurting others.

•~•

Marinette then looked for something to put in her hair. She decided to put her hair into a ponytail tied with a long, dark red, silk ribbon. She finished her outfit and she realised she had plenty of time left before school started. Marinette noticed a notification for a message, rolling her eyes as she saw who it was from, Lila. Marinette took a deep breath before going to read it. 'It can't be that bad, right?'

Wrong.

————————————————————

Lie-la: I said that I would take everything from you and i am a woman of my word but...I'm kinda bored. This is taking far too long. You should go kill yourself, it's not like anyone would care anyway. Go to the top of News tower and jump, no one will care. I surely won't. You don't deserve happiness. Just cross to the other side. Jump. No one will care. No one ever did. They're all fake, I'm just doing a favour for you. Jump. Kill yourself. No one loves you, no one cares. Jump, jump and fall to your miserable death. On News tower at 6:30, jump. You'll be able to get a good view of the world before you die. Not like I care. Jump. Kill yourself. You're a burden, everyone hates you. Just jump, die. Bleed, bleed out and die. Jump. Die. Kill yourself. Don't forget to leave a note. HAH! Who am I kidding? No one will read it anyway. Just kill yourself already.

Marinette only needed to read it once. She had a blank expression on her face, she wasn't going to give in to emotion, even though she wanted to. Tikki, noticing the change in emotion, flew over to Marinette. She caught a glimpse of her owner's screen before gasping and going to hug her.

"Thanks, I really needed that Tikki" Marinette sniffed before gathering herself. "Come on, I don't wanna be late!" She exclaimed, plastering a smile on her face. Tikki was unsure but went in Marinette's bag anyway. Marinette ran down the stairs, grabbing a croissant and said bye to her parents. She then sprinted to school, ignoring all the 'hello's on the way to the locker room. Alya, realised this and easily became suspicious.

"Hey Girl!" She said as Marinette approached. "You feeling good?"

"Yeah, I'm fine"

Alya and Nino looked at each other, confused, then Alya looked to Chloe who only shrugged her shoulders. Obviously there was something wrong. Then Alya got an idea. She pulled her phone out and texted the only person she knew Marinette would open up to. Damian.

Me: Hey can you check on Mari today?

Damian-boi: Why? Is something wrong?

Me: I think so but she isn't opening up

Damian-boi: I'll invite her over

Then, when Alya was putting her phone away, she saw Mari look at her phone and smile. 'He'll find out what's wrong'. Nino and Chloe also noticed that Marinette had smiled for the first time that day, she only had a blank expression, tired even.

"Did you send her a message or?" Chloe asked confused.

Alya shook her head. "I didn't but I'm sure Mari now has something to look forward to later"

Chloe looked at Nino, wanting answers. He shrugged his shoulders. Either way, they were glad that their friend had a burst of happiness. But she deserved so much more.

~~~

Damian was sitting on a seat by one of his hotel room's window, reading a book from the bookshelf provided. Though, it was merely a distraction. He sighed while putting the book down, he wanted to ask Marinette on a date he just couldn't figure out how. 'Why is this so difficult?' Then a message popped up on his phone.

Césaire: Hey can you check up on Mari today?

'Is Angel ok?'

Me: Why? Is there something wrong?

Césaire: I think so but she isn't opening up

'I'll talk to her later'

Me: I'll invite her over

He sent a message to Marinette then he put his phone down, to say he was slightly concerned would be an understatement. True he had only known Marinette for a few days, but he was willing to do anything to make sure she was happy and safe. Damian knew Marinette would do the same. He wanted to come up with a plan to make her happy. And that's what he did. But he did look up the Parisian heroes first, eying Ladybug closely. 'She looks very similar to Angel, wait a damn minute...'

~~~

The bell went and Marinette headed towards Miss Bustier's classroom with Alya, Chloe and Nino not far behind. Since Marinette was quite far ahead of them, Lila managed to sneak a comment in without Marinette's friends hearing.

"I spoke the truth earlier, you are better off dead" Lie-la sneered.

Marinette flinched slightly, Lila saw this and was convinced the Marinette had heard her. She put a clueless and innocent expression on her face but on the inside, she felt victorious. Marinette on the other hand, felt horrible and absolutely gutted on the inside but had a blank expression on her face. She wanted to break down and cry right there, but she couldn't. If she would, Hawkmoth would akumatize her and there would be no stopping the villain she would become. As she thought down, she remembered that she would be going to Damian's later which was something to look forward too.

Alya had noticed that Marinette seemed even more down than when she first came in school. "Girl, you ok?"

Marinette shot as sad smile at Alya. "Just Lila being Lila" Mari muttered to her best friend. Alya had a mix of sadness and anger towards that liar, she obviously said something to make her best friends sad. Alya still had time before Miss Bustier arrived so she shuffled to get up, only to sit back down again after Marinette had shook her head. "It's nothing serious, I don't want more backlash"

Alya sighed. "Fine but after school I will confront her". Marinette knew there was no way to get convince her best friend otherwise. 'I just have to last till the end of the day' Marinette thought to herself.

Her thought was easier said than done, Lila had managed to say some hurtful comments every time Marinette was in view without any of her friends noticing. The school day went slower than a garden snail, much to the bluenette's dismay. She wanted to get out of there, away from Lila and just break down. Lila had never managed to get this far into her skin, she swore she could feel the words stabbing her heart. It hurt. Just as the school bell went, indicating that school was over, Marinette got up and tired to leave the classroom as fast as possible. She was so close to the school doors, she thought she would be able to leave without seeing Lila. That thought was interrupted by something cold, incredibly cold, running down her back.

"Oh my god I'm so sorry Marinette!" The liar apologized though, Marinette knew that Lila had done this on purpose. 'It's 4°C, why else would she have an ice cold drink?'

"Lila what the hell!" Alya shouted gaining many, including Lila's, attention.

"I-I didn't m-mean I-it" she stammered, crocodile tears forming in her eyes.

"Alya stop shouting at Lila! It was an accident!" Rose's stern voice echoed.

Marinette ignored the conversation, or argument, that followed. She was ice cold and needed to change. Right now, the only place she wanted to be at was Damian's. She reached her parents bakery, ran up the stairs and grabbed anything that had long sleeves. She wore a rosewood over sized, turtleneck jumper with over the knee boots. By now she was warmer but not as warm as she needed to be, though she really didn't care. Lila knows where the bakery is so Marinette didn't feel safe at that moment. The bluenette then rushed downstairs, her parents weren't around 'Probably packing for their flight tonight'. Her sprinting had slowed to a casual walk as she approached the hotel doors, her face blank and expressionless. Marinette got in the lift, pressed a button and got out when she reached his floor. She stopped in front of his hotel door and took a deep breath before knocking.

~~~

Damian closed his laptop. He had done some research on the Parisian superheroes, Ladybug specifically. He made a mental note about how similar both Angel and Ladybug were before he heard a knock at the door. 'Angel probably'. He went over and opened the door to see a frail looking Marinette, she never looked like that. That made Damian suspicious and worried. "Come in Habibti" He gestured for her to sit on the settee in his room and instead of replying, she gave him a sad smile and walked in. 'Whoever hurt her, be prepared to face my wrath'. As she sat on the couch, Damian locked the door and sat next to her. He noticed how she was avoiding eye contact so he placed his hand under her cheek, turning her head to face himself so she couldn't break eye contact. A pink blush lightly dusted her cheeks. "Angel" he began. "I am no good with emotions, I'm sure you know that by now. But that does not mean I can't tell when you're hurting. Please, tell me what is wrong"

The worried tone in his voice and the true concern in his eyes made the walls in her mind crumble. She began to speak up in a shaky voice. "W-well...today Lila kept saying things and this morning she..." her voice trailed off as she reached for her phone, opening the conversation which had that message and handed it to Damian. The hand used to reach for the phone was the hand that was cupping Marinette's cheek, she inwardly frowned but she watched as Damian read the message.

Damian face was neutral when Marinette first gave him her phone but it quickly changed. She watched as his face went from expressionless to visible anger, though, it looked like he was holding back from revealing anymore emotion. So she looked at his eyes, the eyes were the key to every soul and in his eyes she saw his true emotions. He was absolutely livid. His eyes were pools of rage. "I'll skin that fucking harlot alive" Damian snarled.

He widened his eyes in realisation to what he said and gently put the phone on the coffee table. He turned to Marinette and opened his arms for her. She needed much more than a hug in Damian's opinion, but in Marinette's, Damian was all she needed. She jumped into his arms straight away, burying her face in his chest while letting her tears flow. Seeing her so miserable made his heart break. One of his hands rubbed circles on her back while the other stroked through her hair, he also murmured comforting words into her ear. He'd deal with Rossi another time, right now he needed to focus on Marinette but he'd be damned he'd let Lila get away with hurting her.

Soon, the bluenette's tears turned into quiet, steady breathing. Marinette felt a lot better now, each comforting word from Damian had erased the meaning of each snarky comment from Lila. Anything and everything Lila had sad meant nothing to Marinette anymore, being in Damian's arms was the only thing that mattered.

"Thank you" she whispered, her face still buried in his chest.

"I'd do it again in a heartbeat, Habibti" Marinette hid her blush. Damian hummed to himself, as if he were thinking if something.

"What is it?" She asked, pulling away from the hug.

"Why don't you and I go for a walk? Just the two of us" The bluenette didn't hesitate.

"I'd like that"

~~~

The walk was like a breath of fresh air. Damian took her to a nearby cafe to get some hot cocoa for takeaway and they strolled the streets of Paris. Their saunter lead them passed the Louvre, passed the Seine and ended on the Eiffel Tower, on the highest floor a civilian could go. The two looked over Paris, leaning forward on the banister, the sun setting beautifully. Damian looked at Marinette, she was still staring at the city's silhouette in awe. Without thinking, Damian's hand reached for the ribbon in Marinette's hair, tugging at it slightly to let her hair down. The bluenette squeaked in surprise, the red ribbon once in hair hair was now wrapped around Damian's finger.

Damian didn't think that Marinette could get even more beautiful than she already is but he stood corrected while watching Marinette's hair flow beautifully in the wind. Not only that but the way the sunset's light landed on her, how it reflected in her eyes, made her so bewitching, so captivating. 'God...you can't turn back now Wayne' He collected every piece of confidence he had in him and spoke up. "Angel, can I ask you a question?"

"Well you just did, didn't you?" She giggled as he playfully rolled his eyes at her. "Sure what do you want to ask?" Marinette looked at him, her bluebell eyes seeming more spellbinding then he had ever seen them. He couldn't trust his voice, he would only mess up. He stared at her intensely, his right hand moved to hold her cheek. She didn't pull away, she leaned into his touch while blushing ever so slightly.

'May I kiss you?'

Marinette's eyes widened in surprise, her blush now being much more visible. She looked as if she had heard the question pass through his lips though he hadn't said anything at all. It's almost as if they communicated, telepathically. Marinette nodded, answering the unasked question. Damian slowly pulled her face closer to his, they both closed their eyes as Damian pressed his lips against Marinette's. They were just as soft as he suspected. The bluenette wrapped her arms around Damian's neck, the one on her face was now in her hair and the other was wrapped around Marinette's waist, pulling her closer to his body. The kiss wasn't passionate. It was soft, tranquil and tender. And Marinette liked it. She liked him. No, scratch that. She loved him. And he loved her back.

The two only pulled away when their need for oxygen became greater than the desire for each other. When they did they make eye contact, their eyes both reflected each other's feelings. Love. Marinette stepped closer and snuggled her face into Damian's muscular chest, like how she did earlier but this one felt much more heartfelt, filled with more affection. She hummed, closing her eyes with her arms still wrapped around his neck while his were wrapped around her waist.

"So I guess this is where I ask you on a second date or-" he paused hoping that Marinette would choose the option he was about to give her. "I ask to court you"

She giggled. "I wasn't aware that this is a date but I'm not complaining". She then looked up at his face and smiled. "And I would be much more than happy to court you"

He smiled back. 'Damn her smile is contagious' "So do I have the privilege of being your boyfriend now?" Damian smirked at her.

"Well If that's the case, then I have the honor of being your girlfriend" she hummed.

Hearing that made him feel guilty. He hadn't told her his last name, and she respected that. "Damian Wayne" he mumbled.

She looked slightly confused and tilted her head.

"I don't want to keep secrets from you so I am telling you now" he breathed in. "My name is Damian Wayne. I apologize, I should've told you sooner I-"

Her eyes widened in surprise and understanding. "No need to apologize I understand"

"So this doesn't change anything between us?"

She giggled while she put her head back on his chest. "Why would it?"

Damian let out a sigh of relief. He would've leaned in to kiss her again if he didn't notice an object heading straight for her at incredible speed. His left hand went out to grab it, which he did with ease. Marinette pulled away from the hug to see what Damian had caught. It looked like something from an akumatized villain. He sighed. "I guess it would be best to get out of the villain's way"

She looked at the object in his hand, then back at him. Without thinking, she blurted out "Remember would you said about secrets?"

"What about it?"

She stepped back and muttered a few words then there was a blinding red light, he had to close his eyes for a second. When he opened them, he was face to face with the spotted hero herself. The hair once flowing in the air was now back in the pigtails the hero is seen with all the time. 'Angel is Ladybug, I was right' Though he did have his suspicions, it still surprised him nonetheless. She smiled at him.

"Y-"

She cut him off with a chaste kiss on the lips which lasted longer than she anticipated, though she had to go on her tip toes which Damian found amusing. She also managed to take the object out of his hand. "I promise to explain everything later. I'll meet you back at the hotel when I'm finished, alright?"

"God, you really are an Angel". The blush on her face was very noticeable. She smiled at him before using her yo-yo to bring her to the akumatized victim. He watched as her silhouette jumped from rooftop to rooftop. Once she was out of sight, Damian looked back at the sunset. He chuckled to himself. "I guess when you bumped into me the other day, you gave me some of your Lady Luck".

———

Taglist: @little-bluestar, @miracleofadisaster, @frieddonutsweets, @jjmjjktth, @genderfluidmoma, @starlit-dreaming, @icerosecrystal, @lolieg, @kashlyn, @mochegato, @eggadoodle, @walkingthroughonautopilot

[son-fuori-di-me]

"I had no idea I could change someone's life."

One Shot. Word Count | Around 3300. Description | <French female pov> you're visiting Rome for the first time, and you casually meet Damiano David the day before the Circo Massimo concert. The conversation takes a unexpected path.

Content | Real talk. No romantic development. * Expect French idioms and italian approximations from automatic translators

---

"Bordel, c'est immense !" ("Holy cow, that's big !") I said, looking at the Circo Massimo.

It was my first time in Rome. Knowing Italy a bit, I expected a hell lot of sun, a delicious bunch of ice cream for each meal, and tons of pretty things to snap with my phone. Well, that was the plan for my first two days there. Cause Saturday would be a very different day. Saturday would be Måneskin day.

I've been waiting for so long to do this trip. And what a blast it has been for now. Took only a bag, my external battery, some makeup and my favourite clothes to finally discover this astonishing city. This was my first solo trip. I've always travelled with my family or my ex, but never on my own. For once, I could decide what I wanted to see, what I wanted to eat, when to take a break. And as there are plenty of things to see in Rome, i wanted to enjoy every second of my trip. I could focus my last day there solely to the Måneskin concert happening that Saturday night. But as I didn't want to leave anything to chance, I decided to precisely organize my last day, so I could visit a bit more - a get a last fantastic meal before the concert.

I got myself a gold pit ticket. I guessed that would mean I had a special queue. So on Friday night, as I was back from a late tour in town, I decided to watch more closely the Circo, to check for the entrances, and see how I could sharpen my organization and schedule for the next day.

"J'espère que je vais pas avoir à poireauter toute la journée, avec la chaleur qu'il va faire." ("I hope won't have to hang around here all day tomorrow, the weather's gonna be hot as hell")

It was almost 10 pm. I was getting closer to the Circo, trying to read the boards, but all was written in italian and didn't seem to concern the concert. And a year fangirling over Måneskin clearly wasn't enough to become fluent. I saw no sign mentioning "gold pit". So I decided I would ask around, with Google translate ready in my phone in case I couldn't find anyone speaking English.

I saw a guy sit on a bench, smoking. He was dressed in an ugly dark sweater, with the hood over a cap. He was either a drug dealer or a hobbo. My instinct as a girl living in Paris got the uphand and I decided to ignore the guy and try to find a woman instead, or maybe a group of locals, to get me the information I wanted. Unfortunately, after a good 20 minutes walking around and asking people, no one could tell me how to make sure I find the right queue for the concert. I was about to give up and head back to my airbnb and I saw a silhouette still sitting on a bench, near the Circo. It was the same guy from earlier. "Bon, je tente, s'il est trop chelou, je me barre." ("Well, might as well take the risk, if he's too much a weirdo, I clear off quickly.")

"Scusi, do you speak English ?" i said, getting closer to the guy, but still from a good distance in case it turned wrong.

"Pretty good. You need something ?" He was searching something in his pockets and reached his pack of cigarettes. His voice was deep, but gentle. He did look funny but didn't sound dangerous - i still didn't get too close as I hate the smell of smoke.

"Do you know well il Circo Massimo ? I'm going to a concert here tomorrow and I want to make sure I find the right queue, but they haven't installed any sign yet". I asked, showing the structure of the stage behind me.

"Cute accent, where are you from ?" he answered, completely ignoring my question.

"Well, I'm French. So, do you know il Circo ?" I preferred to quickly repeat my question to let him know I wasn't interested in whatever he was trying to.

"Ah, Bonjour ! I speak a little French !" He said, now reaching for his lighter.

"Yeeaaaah cool, but how about the Circo ? I'd like to be here early enough, but I don't know wh-" I froze as he lighted up his cigarette. It was brief, but with the spark, I saw his face for a second.

"Hm ? You don't know what ?" He asked, with a smirky voice.

"Mais naaaan ?" ("Dont tell me -") I let out that typical French astonished sound without thinking. "You gotta be kidding me !"

He laughed as I was getting a little closer, staring at him. With one hand, he was putting his lighter back in his pocket, with the other, he lifted a bit his cap. It was him. It was Damiano.

I felt my spine shiver with that uncomfortable sensation of being around someone famous. As a journalist, I had my lot of interviews, so I knew there's no point in changing behavior around such people. But I still was flabbergasted to see him.

"Sorry, I didn't recognize you. Well, gotta say you're not dressed in your best outfit !" I chose the strategy of sass, to hide how impressed I actually was.

"That's my favourite sweater you're seeing me in, and I'm smoking hot in it" He said with a smirk, getting into the sassy game.

"Time off before the big day ?" I asked, completely forgotting about my initial request and switching to my interview mindset when I'm super focused about the conversation. "Shouldn't you be having a great night of sleep, to recharge your batteries ?"

"I don't feel like going to bed" He said, having no idea how the conversation would soon turn. Fortunately for him, I wasn't working in the music media industry. "That's quite a stage we're gonna play on."

I didn't know why he was talking to me about all of this. I didn't dare to ask him either. I just enjoyed the moment.

"Well, the Eurovision song contest was bigger, wasn't it ?"

"Hm, don't tell me about it, I still don't know how I managed that."

He suddenly had a strange tone in his voice. It didn't sound like the radiant and confident Damiano you see on Instagram stories or on TV interviews. I remembered where I heard him like that. In the 2019 documentary "This is Måneskin", the making of Il Ballo Della Vita album, in the sequence he's arguing with Vic on a train, as he tells her how anxious he can be get sometimes.

"Well, you did, didn't you ?" I put on a more serious voice. "And you had a ton more of pressure, representing your whole country ? So how a concert here in your home town could be worst than performing in front of all of Europe - not to say the whole world ?"

He was still smoking, listening in silence.

"Or maybe it isn't about how big the performance is but about performing in itself ? Why are you performing ? Why are you putting on a show ? All those fancy clothes and that makeup, who is it for ? For people to love you ? Or for you to love yourself ?"

Mais qu'est-ce que je branle ? Il va se barrer dans deux secondes, là c'est sûr (What the fuck am I doing ? He's leaving any second now.) I got a bit too excited about being able to share a few words with him. What's gotten onto me ? Well, let's go then.

"What is it you're running after ? Or running from maybe ? Some complex to compensate ? With all that smudge and confidence, that wouldn't surprise me."

He sat back on the bench. As he inhaled a deep breath of smoke, I saw a smile on his face. But I also saw his hand holding the cigarette shaking.

"Are you a psychiatrist or something ?" He simply said, as if he was trying to keep his voice as steady as possible.

I hesitated to tell him the truth. I was sure he would walk away the second he would know my actual job. Et puis merde, autant tout dire. (Well, fuck, might as well be honest.)

"Nope, I'm a journalist." I admited, as he looked right back at me with a surprised look. "Pretty much the same. We get appoitments with random people, listen to their life, observe their body language, and tell them our whole opinion about all of it, which might very well shape how they perceive themselves from now on."

"Only difference is that you don't have to keep anything secret. Right the contrary."

There. This was it. He was gonna leave now, for sure.

"Before you go, did I hit any truth ? Don't worry, I'm not in the music media industry, I won't write anything from our conversation." I hoped this information would save me a few more seconds with him.

He didn't answer right away. He didn't leave either. He kept looking at me, still smoking his second cigarette in a row now.

"Whatever it is you write about, I guess you must be good at it" he finally replied. "Cause you did score a few points."

Another short silence broke. As a fan, I was obsessed with his music, lyrics, and attitude. But catching a glimpse of what lied behind the glamour definitly caught my interest. I wanted to know more.

"Why are you here ?" I slightly deepened my voice, getting back to my interview tone, and kept on going with this as if that was usual business for me. "It's half past 10. You play on Rome's largest stage tomorrow. You surely better should be in bed, or be about to, before the big day."

In that moment, I had the upper-hand in the conversation. He was sat on the bench, I was on my feet in front of him, and therefore above him. Not the best approach to get someone's trust for an interview, but with a personnality like Damiano's, you gotta put your own show.

"I actually don't sleep much before big events like these" He finally answered, accepting his condition as an interviewee. "I don't sleep much at all."

"You're tend to insomnia ?"

"Not really, I just got used to 4-5 hours of sleep, that's it."

"Even during tours ? Cause this all sold-out European tour for Teatro d'Ira must have been exhausting".

"You have no idea, bellezza."

"So tell me." From there, I decided to change my strategy and sat on the ground, still in front of him, but giving him the upper-hand, to put on a more trustful atmosphere. "How are you doing ? And I don't mean, like casual 'yay, fine', I mean : how are you doing ?"

I still have no idea of my tactical move of giving him more space to express himself worked, or if he understood right away where I was leading him, but in the end, he still didn't seem bothered by this conversation we were having. In fact, it looked like he was enjoying it.

"I'm... content, I'd say." He paused, and I didn't interrupt him with another question this time. "I know I'm going through the life I wanted. The music, the tours, the praise. It's all I could have ever asked for."

D'accord, très bien, mais ? (Okey, very good, but ?) I stayed silent, but I couldn't help anticipating what he was saying.

"But surprisingly, sometimes it's still... unfulfilling. Like I can never be satisfied".

Repressing some Hamilton's lyrics from my mind, I innocently pretend I didn't fully understand what he meant - another journalistic technique, to get someone to repeat themselves with other words in order to get them deeper into their reflexion.

"What do you mean, "never be satisfied" ? You're on top of Spotify chart list, your albums are now platinum successes, you're winning awards. How is this not satisfying ?"

"It's just... What are all those things for ? Money ? Fame ? Yeah, I like those but..."

"Typical Capricorn" I muttered, to slide in the conversation that I actually knew pretty well my subject - my subject being him. He chuckled.

"Damn really ? Let me guess ? Aries ?"

"Pisces+Taurus, actually. So what, you don't like being famous ?" Getting back quickly into more questions - another technique to keep control over the rhythm of an interview.

"It's not that I dislike it. It's just... not always as fun as I thought it would be."

"What part of the job ? The writing and composing ?"

"No, that's the best part." He reached for a third cigarette. It was almost 11 pm now. "Vic, Thomas and Ethan. Måneskin. They're the best thing that ever happened to me".

"Then what, you feel like a fraud ?"

"Hell, no ! I'm exactly where I should be." He claimed, with a light pride tone.

"So, if you're proud of what you create, and if you love the people you create that with, then what is the matter ? If life is about getting the Bare Necessities, it seems like you got it all." Hitting with a universal - and musical - reference. Shoud do the trick.

"Hahaha ! Lo stretto indispensabile, si ! But life isn't that easy." He said laughing, as I felt he started to let go of the tension. "In real life, you get judged all the time, and people try to dismantle you, and spread rumors."

"I didn't think you'd be one to listen to people's comments about you".

"I'm not. I stopped giving credits to those. But it's still here, you know ?"

"From what I see, you're keeping it real, with lots of wisdom. I can't quite grasp what seem to bother you."

He paused, looking at his feet for a few seconds.

"I'm afraid it won't last." He finally confessed. "I'm afraid it all ends as quickly as it all started. I'm afraid people get bored. I'm afraid I become a caricature of myself. I'm afraid I can't write new songs. I'm afraid to be a shooting star, you see ? Very bright, but gone in a flash."

"Like, to be an Icare ? Or may I say "Ykaaar" like on your Instagram ?"

He chuckled again.

"Huh, I'm that obvious ?"

"Yeah, even a bit over-the-top, if I may dare say so."

"Well, I've always related so much with this mythological figure. I mean what's wrong with aiming for the Sun ?" He said, pointing a hand to the dark sky above us. From his attitude, I could tell he was way more relaxed than in the beginning. He even took his cap and hood off, so I could now see his face more clearly. His eyes were glittering. "Burning your wings... What's that morale supposed to teach us ? Be modest ? Be moderate ? Che noia !" (How boring !)

"Well don't be !" I felt almost like scolding him. "There's nothing wrong with seeking big dreams. As there's nothing wrong with this feeling of being outrun by your life. Savour the moment. Every second of it. It's because you can't know how long it may last that it tastes so good, so thrilling ! And you actually already are ten steps ahead ! Writing songs like ´Torna a casa' or ´Coraline' at, what, 19-20 years old ? You're the real deal, dude. And even if later on, you get blank page anxiety or write just good-enough songs, it's okey. You got plenty of time to make mistakes. Take the leap of faith. Failing and being a failure aren't the same. You learn, you grow from it. It's okey to doubt yourself, but please, don't ever doubt all the love and support you get."

I paused, hoping I didn't do too far and missed my point. But in a way, I could also feel I got it right. He was looking at the Circo, his eyes even more sparkling than before.

"I..." He got up, standing on the bench, looking as tall as a statue from my perspective. He came down and took a few steps. I got on my feet, starting to feel concerned about what I just said.

"I didn't know I needed to hear that." He finally confided. "I always wanna reach perfection. I'm aware I can be authoritative, sometimes even harsh, on the band. I can't accept to be a failure. But love and support, that, I can't get enough of."

I didn't respond. There was nothing to add. This instant felt like an hour. The wind was slightly blowing through the length of the Circo in front of us. His hair reflected the gentle light of the moon, only showing her first quarter. He broke the tranquility of the moment, turning and taking a few steps in my direction.

"Grazie mille" he said, his arms opened, calling for a hug.

"But, you're very welcome" I said approaching him, softly putting my arms on his back as he put his over my shoulders. The second before his face disappeared from my vision, i noticed a tear on his cheek.

"You've completed reset my mind. I feel like I can start all over again. I was anguished, trapped by my anxiety. But it's all gone now. You've changed me. Thank you, thank you so much" He affirmed full of hope, his voice shivering.

"Wow, well. I had no idea I could change someone's life." I answered, trying to hide how moved I myself was from the conversation.

------

It was almost midnight now. We kept talking for a while, comparing life in Rome and Paris, exchanging what was our best concert experiences. But he still needed to get back home to rest before the concert, and I didn't want to arrive too late at my airbnb - even if I could have spent the whole night talking with him. Yet, to enjoy our last few minutes together, he offered to walk me back to where I was staying. It was just a 15 minutes walk, along the Tevere river bank.

"So tell me." he asked with a smirk. "How does the Bare Necessities go in French ?" He started to muffle the melody.

"Oh no, you don't expect me to actually sing it ?"

"Hehe, you got me into a therapy session, so I can get a little song from you, no ?"

"Damn, you. This is blackmail !" But drunk on the moment, I took a deep breath.

"Il en faut peeeeeeu pour être heureux, ("Look for the baaaaare necessities,") vraiment très peu pour être heureux, ("the simple bare necessities") il faut se satisfaire du nécessaire !" ("Forget about your worries and your strife")"

I started dancing along, if I had to be ridiculous, might as well utterly be. But he actually followed my lead, clicking his fingers.

"In fondo, baaaasta il minimo, ("I mean the baaaaare necessities") sapessi quanto è facile ("Old Mother Nature's recipes") Trovar quel po' che occorre per campar ! ("That brings the bare necessities of life !")

We kept on singing Disney songs for a few minutes as we walked at a slow pace - I was shocked he never saw Tarzan and immediately made him promise to watch it as i told him Phil Collins recorded all the songs in five languages, including Italian. When we finally reached my destination, we exchanged a last timid hug as farewell.

"Well, I'll see you on stage tomorrow." I told him as I crossed the street.

"And I'll look for you in the crowd !" He shouted with the brightest smile on his perfect face.

** the end **

[mysterytickingegos]

At Least We Have Us

Pairing(s): Darkiplier x Platonic!reader

Genre: Angsty with a fluffy end.

Word Count: 1,771

Summary: Strange things happened to those who didn’t leave that dreadful manor in time, and you were one of those people. Becoming something not quite human took some time to get used to, but at least you weren’t alone.

Anonymous Request: Platonic Dark with a soft Y/N that's basically very motherly of him despite being much younger? She cares a lot about him and looks up to him. Maybe she's his assistant and also experienced the events of WKM and Dark basically adopted her after that? Post-WKM please! I need Dark being a wise and over protective big brother rn Thank youuuu

Authors Note: I loved working on this one! It was a fun concept, thank you so much for the request!

Want to read more?

[Image Description: A gif of Mark from a vlog video giving a thumbs up to the camera, it has been edited to be gray with Darkipliers afterimages and colors, red and blue.]

Dark...That was such a strange name to call him, at first.

Damien had been a family friend. He was your neighbor, and your best friend’s uncle. When you were a teenager he was a respected member of the local government, a man who hid away in a study and worked far too hard. Eventually with enough pushing from Ophelia, he was your boss, having given you an internship in city hall that Elli really didn’t want. You considered him a friend. Maybe not a close friend, but he was someone you trusted and respected and he would say the same about you.

You jogged up the stairs to the office, dodging past people while muttering quick apologies to anyone who had something to say about it. When you got there, you heard the laughter of your friend through the door and cracked it open. Ophelia was desperately trying to catch her breath between giggles, of course because Damien was telling another story about your completely sophisticated soon-to-be DA. He was surprisingly relaxed, leaning back on his desk and talking with his hands quite a bit.

“But of course, that doesn’t stop them, they run down the street- Oh, Y/n please come in. You’ll want to hear this.” He gestured to the empty chair beside Elli, but when you didn’t move from the doorway, both their faces fell. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing’s wrong,” You tilted your head at them, not realizing how you looked, pale and out of breath. “Damien, they’re done counting. You won.”

He was in shock for a few moments, only standing up a bit straighter as he processed your words. “I won? I’m...?”

“You’re going to be the Mayor.” Ophelia finished for him, just before all three of you started laughing and cheering and jumping around.

In many conversations there were moments where you would catch a glimpse of the person you used to know, and in the beginning you would get a heavy heart. You weren’t ready to let him go, to accept that he was somebody else now. Perhaps that’s because it would mean accepting you were somebody else, too.

None of the guests from that damned party left the manor the same.

You heard it so clearly, a stranger’s voice coaxing you up the stairs, quietly whispering your name over and over as you slipped away from the rowdy party. You were practically hypnotized, not thinking about who it could possibly be or their intentions as they lead you to a room that sent chills down your spine the moment you opened the door. It was a room filled with trinkets of the occult, books with terrifying symbols, and scribbles of a mad man on papers scattered all over.

“You’re not supposed to be in here.” You heard a growl from a new voice, just behind you. The person shoved you inside the room and slammed the door as you hit the ground. “In fact, I could’ve sworn this was going to be hidden from all of you.”

You stood up as quickly as you could, turning to see the host of the party scowling at you. “I wasn’t...I was just looking for Elli.” You said quickly, brushing off your clothes.

“The same Elli that told you she was going to lay down for the night a couple of hours ago?” He stepped closer, slowly, ominously.

You thought back to that conversation, spoken quietly, just the two of you on the staircase while everyone else was still playing poker. “How could you even know about that?”

Mark grinned at you, sinister and cold. He gestured around the room, to the books and trinkets. “Things aren’t as they seem here, Y/n. Ever since Celine...left me here, the things in this house had opened my mind to things I never could’ve imagined.” A short laugh bubbled out of him. “I can do anything.”

“You’ve gone mad.” You whispered, backing away. You’d heard bits and pieces of the Iplier drama from Damien, having vented his concerns to you over cups of coffee during work since the day you got your invitations. But you knew now that he had no idea.

“Perhaps they were trying to do the same for you, but I’ve come too far for some kid to screw it all up now.” He turned on his feet and left the room, shutting the door behind him. You rushed over to it, trying to twist the knob before he got a chance to lock it. But it was far too late. You banged on the door and screamed for help until your voice went hoarse, but the room had in fact been hidden away. You were surrounded by taunting spirits in a room that nobody existed, for what felt like weeks. You could feel them gnawing away at bits and pieces of you after that, an itchy feeling under your heart, changing you. Truly, time had been warped, and only one day had passed before you were found by someone who was now immune to the houses secrets and cloaks. And he didn’t say anything, but clearly something had happened to you too.

Funny thing about living forever? (Or at least as long as you have,) It’s not that great, in fact it’s actually very lonely. The world changes around you, and you don’t change that much at all. You often have to leave, not wanting the attention of being the same age after living or working somewhere for 20 or 30 years. Or you get too attached to somebody and you know you will lose them, now or later.

But you weren’t alone. Despite his anger towards Mark, how badly he wanted revenge, Dark kept very close to you. Especially after he learned what happened to his niece, he was going to keep you safe above all else. Mark learned that the hard way when he tried to silence you too, only to find an empty house and a rather cheeky note.

“Catch me if you can.”

Another funny thing, you didn’t even know the power that you had when you first wrote that. As far as you knew you were a normal girl waiting out the storm. But eventually waiting got pretty tiresome.

“How could you be so foolish?” Dark called after you as you both stormed back into the house.

“Oh come on, it wasn’t that big a deal.” You huffed, tossing your jacket away.

His image faltered and glitched at what you said. “Not a big deal? You have the gift of longevity, you are NOT impervious to bullets!”

You flopped down into the armchair, crossing your arms. “We don’t know that yet.”

“You sprained your ankle tripping on air last month, I think it’s safe to say.” For a moment you could’ve sworn he smiled. If it wasn’t at your expense, you might’ve been happy. “You wonder why I hover,”

“Someone had to step in and do something.”

“Why did it have to be you?!”

“Because!” You twisted around in the chair to face him, fighting back tears. “I’m bored! I’m sick of living like a hermit! I’m tired of these stupid towns in the middle of nowhere and never having any friends...it’s been almost a century Dark, I don’t know how much longer I can do this.”

He pierced his lips, having to look away from you before he got emotional himself. “So this is your plan? Play hero until you run out of luck?”

“Or we can stop hiding. We can try and live our lives, instead of just surviving. I mean, what's the point if we’re completely miserable?”

“And what about him?”

“To hell with Mark, what about you?” Your voice was softer now. “I can work, and shop and be neighborly. But you...you’ve been stuck in the shadows, holding onto your hate all this time. Maybe you don’t believe it after everything that’s happened, but you deserve better.”

He sighed, running a hand through his hair. “What then? Where do you want to go?”

“How about we go home?”

‘Home’ was California, LA specifically. Sure, you could’ve gone back to your hometown but you were both part of a rather famous local mystery and you agreed it was for the best to stay away.

The sun had set a little bit ago and the streets were only illuminated by signs and street lights, that was the only way he’d agree to go out into the city with you, in the dark. Fair enough, he didn’t want to attract attention to himself. Luckily, you’d made some good friends in the last few months, friends like Mike.

“Ah, bonjour!” Mike greeted cheerfully as you and Dark approached the window, before ducking into his shop to get you both a bowl of ice cream. “I was wondering if you were going to show up.”

You nudged Dark over to one of the tables and leaned in the window. “I didn’t mean for it to take so long, thanks for keeping the shop open late for us.”

“Don’t mention it. I actually have a cousin with really bad anxiety, so I get it.” He passed you two bowls with a smile.

Dark squinted at you when you came back to the table. ‘Anxiety?”

“Yeah?”

“I don’t have anxiety.”

“You’re right, I should’ve told him the truth. You and your sister possessed your best friend in the 1920′s to escape a place called the upside down, but sometimes you drag bits and pieces of it into the real world and that would probably scare the locals in broad daylight.” You didn’t miss a beat in your little rant, scooping some ice cream into your mouth as soon as you were done.

He chuckled and shook his head at you. “I’m supposed to be the one lecturing you on being subtle.”

“Hey, I’m the one who’s been covering for us the past 91 years. It’s your turn to follow my lead.” You said matter-of-factly, pointing your spoon at him, before you dove back into your bowl. You missed the ‘fair-enough’ nod he gave you and the pride written all over his face, another glimpse of someone you used to know. “You know, maybe you should bring you-know-who here someday.”

His eyes went wide and he shook your words off just a little too quickly. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“So you don’t have a thing for his new friend that you’re watching out for?”

“Stop it. Stop it right now.”

“Fine,” You put your hands up in mock surrender, “But you know I’m right.”

[thr-333]

Mismatch- Part 9

Bio Dad Bruce Wayne Month 2020

“yeah sure thing pal”- my friend when I asked for something to put here

First< Previous > Next

-----

“Ok, we’ll be arriving at the museum soon,” Marinette tells Marion, who is focusing on his phone.

“Great, by the way how do you feel about a meet and greet before the concert?” Marion confirms the dates with their manager for said meet and greet.

“Hm, It’ll be tough to fit it in, maybe in our free week?” Marion nods knowing it was already set up in their free week, “I don't know Ri,”

“It’ll be fun,” Because a large event in Gotham is always fun and goes off without a hitch, “Besides it’d be kind of rude to do meet and greets in every other city we’re visiting but Gotham,”

“Yeah, you’re right,” Marinette smiles, looking out the window of the bus, “Oh no Kate's going to kill us for deciding last minute,”

“Don’t worry she already agreed,” Marion ignores her confusion, “It’s a week from now, so it’ll be in our free week,”

“What! You already set it up and didn’t ask me!” Marinette raises the volume of their whispered conversation.

“I did you agreed,” Marion reminds her, "Remember we were in the airport, you were staring at Adrien, and I asked quietly,"

“... and you don't see anything wrong with that?" Marinette deadpans, "Or even considered that maybe I couldn't hear you or wasn't listening.

“Huh, didn't consider that,” Marion looks away with a smile not needing to see Marinette's glare

“You are unbelievable,” She lectures raising her volume, "You know I'm not coherent when he's around!"

“When who’s around?” Adrien pops up behind them from his seat next to Nino.

“No one!” Marinette yells, drawing all eyes on the bus towards her blushing.

“Marinette you please keep your voice down, it's aggravating my tinnitus,” Lila says as sweetly as poison.

Marinette rolls her eyes and they both ignore Rose and Sabrina fussing over her.

“Alright class,” Madame Bustier addresses them after they exit the bus, “You’re parents are all quite concerned over yesterday's events, so we all must stick together today, this isn’t like Akuma attacks where you’re expected to go home, I have to know where you are,”

A chorus of ‘yes Madame Bustier’ is heard as they follow their teacher into the museum. They meet their tour guide for the day falling into a similar pattern of Lila’s posse talking throughout the tour. This tour guide seems to be more accustomed to school kids ignoring him, although he does seem pleased that the twins keep asking questions. The class had been given time to look around the Atlantean exhibit. The twins deciding to look over a mural that seemed to depict a past miraculous holder.

“Hey,” They both turn towards a young man with his phone up like he was recording, “You’re the Wayne twins right?”

“Excuse me?” Marion exchanges glances with Marinette, equally confused.

“Bruce Wayne's new kids right?” The guy pushes, taking a step forward.

“We have no idea what you’re talking about,” Marinette tries to explain, taking a step back.

“Alright I get it, want to keep it on the down low, don’t worry I won’t tell anyone,” He assures, Marion looks doubtfully at his phone he makes no effort to put away.

“You’re recording,” Marion states the obvious, which seems to irritate him.

“No I’m not, just tell me!” He demands, Marinette pushes Marion back slightly to try and get away.

“We don’t know what you’re talking about and you’re being very rude,” Marinette scolds, as the camera is pushed nearer her face.

“Why won’t you just admit it!”

“They owe you no explanation,” Kagami appears, grabbing the man's arm and forcefully pointing the camera away from the twins.

“And you don’t have permission to film or take pictures of them,” Chloe plucks the phone out of the startled man's grasp.

“I just-”

“You just nothing- now shoo,” Chloe chucks his phone onto a nearby bench, presumably with the footage deleted, and guides the twins to an empty hallway, “What was that about?”

“No idea, he approached us out of nowhere,” Marion tells the two seething girls.

“He was calling us the Wayne twins,” Marinette supplies more helpfully, “We should probably call Aunt Selina, she might know something,”

She usually did. Kagami and Chloe nod leaving them to the call, but Marion spots them waiting just outside the hallway.

“Hello?” Their Aunt says through speaker phone.

“Hey, Auntie something weird just happened,” Marion can think of no better way to describe it.

“What happened, you weren't attacked again were you?” Her tone is joking but with a hint of doubt, knowing that it was absolutely a possibility with them.

“No this guy came up to us filming, asking if we were the 'Wayne twins'?” Marinette sums up, wording it far more politely than the actual interaction.

“Wayne twins? Just a minute” She hangs up with a beep, leaving them in the empty hallway.

“... So that exhibit huh?” Marion tries to fill the silence, “You think we should investigate it?”

“I wonder if the Atlantean's part of out order of guardians or if they have their own,” Marinette keeps her voice hushed, she opens up her purse slightly "Do you know Tikki?"

“I’m not sure, we Kwami’s were rarely aware of the whereabouts of Kwamis from different miracle boxes," Tikki tells them from the purse.

“Maybe a branch off the order, I mean the miraculous can be powered up to go underwater so working together wouldn’t have been improbable,” Marinette theorises.

“Then any miraculous they held would have likely been in circulation when the temple was destroyed,” Kaalki adds.

"If thats the case then the order probably can't locate them," Marion frowns, glancing at Marinette's backpack that held their miracle box.

"And those that hold them might not know what they are," Marinette adds, after all Alix's family had passed a miraculous down for generations.

“We could-”

“We’re not going to Atlantis,” Marinette cuts Marion off.

“But-”

“No,”

“I thought it was cats that were meant to be scared of water,” He pouts, getting ignored by Marinette.

“To be fair the last time I was in Atlantis things didn’t go so well,” Plagg says, "Plus it was above ground,"

"Then I'll take Kaalki,"

"We aren't going to Atlantis," Marinette scolds, as the phone starts ringing.

“Here's the thing,” Aunt Selina says as soon as she's put on speaker phone, “Apparently some people took pictures of you the past few days with the Wayne family and figured you must be Waynes too,”

“That's ridiculous!” Marion has apparently been spending too much time with Chloe.

“.... yeah people come up with some crazy theories,” Selina sounds strained, “Look don’t worry about a thing, just enjoy your trip we’ll handle everything,”

“Ok,” They both agree hesitantly.

“Alright call me if you have any other problems, anything at all,” They agree, saying goodbye before the call is disconnected.

“Just a heads up, the whole class saw what happened,” Chloe warns them as soon as they reenter the exhibit, “We looked up the whole ‘Wayne twins’ thing-”

“A ridiculous rumour,” Kagami has apparently also been spending too much time around Chloe.

“Long story short, Lie-la’s trying to convince the whole class you two made it up for attention,” Chloe finishes glaring over at the group gathered around Lila. Minus Max and Alix the latter of which looking at the mural the twins had been earlier.

“And succeeding,” Adrien adds pityingly, as some of their classmates glare at the twins.

“By the way,” Chloe elbows Marion playfully, “You didn’t tell me you were child billionaires,”

“Of course we didn’t,” Marion grins slyly back at her, “Wouldn’t want to make you jealous of our diamond toilet, we know how insecure you get with only a gold toilet,”

“Honestly Chloe, how do you get by?” Marinette sighs over dramatically.

“Does this officially make us the rich kid club?” Adrien chimes in, as they walk out of sight of the rest of the class.

“I suppose it does,” Kagami agrees, with her usual stoic tone, but clearly in on the joke.

“We would make a great reality tv show,” Chloe declares.

“Well we have enough money to buy a camera crew apparently,”

“I like your thinking Dupain-Cheng,” Chloe teases, getting a mock curtsy in response.

They continue with the tour doing quite well at ignoring the slides from Lila against them. That doesn't mean they aren’t glad to go back to the Hotel away from her.

“I think we should just order room service,” Marinette cuts through the arguing.

“It’ll probably be safer,” Kagami hands the menu to Nino, who had been trying to convince them to get pizza.

“How unglamorous,” Chloe sneers, like she had with every other option presented, especially Nino's pizza. He had made it his personal mission to get Chloe to eat pizza. Marion was all for it, but not tonight they had to meet up with Batman later.

“We can paint our nails,” Kagami offers, tired of them arguing for the past half hour.

“Yeah if I still had my nail polish,” Chloe pouts.

“I brought some,” Kagami says, much to the other girls surprise.

“I have some back in my room,” Marion adds.

“And I have face masks!” Chloe exclaims running to her room to get them.

“I’ll invite Max and Markov,” Marion offers shooting them a text, “I’ll tell them to pick it up,”

“They don’t have a key,” Adrien leans over Nino’s shoulder to read the menu.

“Max built a sentient robot when we were, like 13, do you really think he needs a key?” Marion finishes typing, getting an instant confirmation.

“Touche,”

“Why don’t you shout us billionaires?” Chloe picks through her food. Sitting at the table with Kagami, both refusing to balance dinner on their knees.

“What? I thought we were the rich kids club, can’t you pay for your own meals?” Marion cringes at the feeling of chewing while wearing a face mask.

“Atlas the rest of us are lowly millionaires,” Chloe slumps back dramatically, fork in hand.

“I’m not a million are or billionaire,” Nino sounds annoyed but it's probably more at his painted nails that Marinette promised they would remove later.

“Neither but I plan to be,” Max had managed to avoid his nails getting painted, but got a face mask to match Markov.

“Oh-ho confident words from the nerd, alright you get early admission, Nino you have to leave,” Marion teases, pointing Nino towards the door.

“What?! I’ll be making millions with my music in no time,” Nino crosses his arms, startling a second later at the nail polish now smeared on his shirt.

“Yeah right,” Chloe scoffs, watching as Marinette fumbles to remove the stain before it sets. Adrien trying, and failing, to help with his still wet nails.

“Thanks, Anyway dudes it was probably a bad idea to spread that rumour on purpose,” Nino says with genuine concern, after Marinette had gotten the stain out.

“What? Nino we didn’t do it on purpose,” Marinette cleans up the tissues and nail polish remover that had ended up ruining her own nails.

“I know,” Nino has a look that screams he definitely didn’t know, “but you probably could have been more careful instead of parading around,”

“We didn’t know we had to be careful,” Marion starts collecting everyone's empty plates.

“Is this what Lila’s been telling you?” Kagami demands, standing to help Marion who immediately sits her back down. Kagami has many skills, house work is not one of them.

“Calm down dude, she just doesn't know the whole story,” Nino picks his plate back up, being the only one still eating,“She’d probably ask but you dudes aren't exactly close,”

“Lila shouldn’t be talking about them behind their backs at all,” Chloe criticises, coming to sit down on the couch now.

“She isn’t-”

“She is,” Chloe challenges Nino, helped by a death glare.

"..."

“... Anyway Nino, do you have any dates planned with Alya while we’re here,” Adrien breaks the silence, not at all searching for ideas on where to take Marinette.

[moosoobi]

Confessions

In the night: Chapter 2

T.Jeff- Hamilton: the musical 

Y/N can’t hold all her secrets. She’s tired of hiding. The people deserve the truth. Here’s her confession: the one she should’ve told us long ago

I started to write this chapter the day after I finished chapter 1, yet before the first chapter was even published (time management queen). As I’m typing this message, I’m currently distracting myself from finals LMAO. Anyway, I wanted to finish this chapter as soon as possible to give some explanation of the events in the previous chapter, so I hope I do exactly that. I’m still manifesting that I articulate through this story smoothly, please give me feedback <3 

MC (aka Y/N’s) POV 

Modern au 

Word Count: 5.4k

A few unrealistic realities, but I’m working with what I got

This chapter will most likely answer many questions about chapter 1 

THIS CHAPTER OCCURS AT THE SAME TIME AS CHAPTER 1! all events in this chapter line up with the events of chapter 1

Disclaimers: 

TW: violence, abuse, mentions of blood, themes of injury, itty bitty angst?

photo not mine <3

If you have any questions/concerns about this story, DONT BE SHY TO ASK ME! This is my first time writing a whole series, so I apologize if the plot gets confusing. 

-Now Playing: Broken Clocks by SZA-

Where to start… 

My attention was taken from Professor Washington’s lecture the moment I felt a pair of eyes attempting to pierce a hole in the back of my head. As I look back, I realize that it’s no one other than Thomas Jefferson, the spoiled francophile, or so people like the whisper, but gossip’s not my thing.

Upon being called out by Professor Washington, I couldn’t hold in my giggle as Thomas’s head ducks down in embarrassment. I suppose he sure knows how to lighten the demeanor in the lecture hall; It was a nice excuse to take my eyes off of Washington’s low-quality power-point presentation, but I appreciate that the man is trying. 

This class feels like it’ll last forever, and I contemplate if I could just perish in my seat at this very instant, yet Thomas’s presence seems to make it worthwhile. I don’t know him that much, or maybe at all for that matter, but since he’s been seen with a Schuyler, the locals around here can’t seem to keep their mouths shut about him. 

From what I’ve heard, he’s another silver-spoon raised boy representing Virginia up here in New York. A few scholarships here and there, as well as a trip to France for a semester. I don’t see what all the fuss is about; He seems like a pretty cool person, probably has an exciting life, and isn’t throwing away his shot. It’s odd, even with parents to piggyback off of, Thomas is very similar to a certain orphan I know. 

“Class is dismissed” Is all I heard from Professor Washington’s mouth before that obnoxious but relieving bell sounds off. 

Desperate to get out of this class, I hurry to put my stationery items into my burgundy-magenta backpack. You’d think after those turbulent years of high school that college would motivate me for fancier bags, but I can’t say no to my favorite color. It’s simple, won’t bring attention to my presence, unlike every other decision I’ve made in my life. 

After I finally finished packing up, I can’t wait to take a breath of the fresh, polluted air of New York City. I quickly spotted my roommate's car within the crowd of vehicles next to the sidewalk. He’s on time, as always, to pick me up from class, and I’m grateful that he sacrifices his time for me, but it’s not like he had a choice. I toss my bag into the trunk, surely crinkling a few important papers. Upon reaching the door of his expensive car, my roommate greets me with joy to see me. 

“How was class, Cherie?” 

Lafayette, my roommate, shoots a smile at me, his white teeth are almost blinding, but he always says I’m exaggerating. 

“Boring as always, but I’m still here, sadly” I say as I hop into the front seat of Lafayette’s car. He pouts in my direction 

“Ahh, c’mon, don’t be like that.” Once he acknowledges the buckling of my seatbelt, he begins to power up the car. “C’est la vie, Y/N” I roll my eyes, my hatred for him grows just a little more every time he says that. 

“Can we get McDonald’s?” I attempt to change the subject, earning a small chuckle from him. He prepares to drive off “You know I can't say no to you and your American junk food” 

And so we begin to drive off  

Lafayette and I indeed have a bit of history together. After I got mistakenly involved with Alexander and his clique, Lafayette was the next best (or worse) person to walk into my life. He’s sweet, charming, probably all the things Americans are not; the gentleman hails from France. Yet he’s so much more than that. 

Ever since I caught his eye at that obnoxious high school party, he and I hit the ground running. Disclosing the events which took place in his-

our bedroom won’t solve the problem, but the stubble on his jaw and the way he holds the steering wheel with one hand nearing my thigh reminds me of the unresolved sexual tension between the both of us. 

I’ve only been living in his apartment for a few months, an idea he proposed when I mentioned my dreadful rent. A nice view, nice coffee maker, and nice bedsheets were more than enough to convince me, but I know there’s more to that “nice” list that I shouldn’t disclose. 

Though I know his intentions were good, I’m sure he invited me into his abode to protect me from Alex. 

Since I began to band with Alex and his gang, Alexander’s been strict about getting me home on time. It wasn’t only because I was a helpless high school student, but also to prevent me from ratting him and his group out to the authorities. 

Upon joining Alex's posse, a strict curfew has been placed on me, only to ensure I stay safe at night, or perhaps to make sure I don’t betray them. 

Moving in with Lafayette made following this time limitation easier for me, especially since he volunteers to drive me home or takes a stand for me. If the unfortunate event of my arrival past my ‘bedtime’ timer occurs, Alexander ensures I pay the price.

Speaking of arrivals, Lafayette passes me a box of hot, salty fries and a smile spreads across my face. His eyes visibly soften as my entire demeanor changes.  

“Have I ever told you that you’re the best person ever?” I spilled my thoughts while stuffing my mouth with fries. He lightly chuckles, watching me. 

“Maybe a couple of times..” He prepares to drive off again “...too many times, actually.” he shot a wink at me. 

Blood didn’t have any time to rush to my cheeks before I could slap the side of his shoulder, causing him to whine in discomfort. I sigh before returning my focus to the steaming fries in front of me. The tension grows, and so does the silence between us. Eager to break the tension, I propose an idea. 

“Let’s go home?” we turn to each other at the same time 

“Oui.” 

---

I enter Professor Washington’s lecture hall and my attention is driven to the two curly-headed Virginians. I watch in secondhand embarrassment as Thomas Jefferson and his friend playfully argue in front of the entire class, seemingly a heated debate of the greatness of Mac and Cheese. One argues on behalf of the gooey pasta, while the other simultaneously retorts with a mix of “you’re so stupid” and “God help me”. 

Feeling a rush of confidence and suaveness, my brain urges my body to intervene in their conversation. Maybe it was to make new friends, or perhaps to stop the class from staring at their dumb dispute, but I swiftly walk over to them. The next few words to come out of my mouth fell into place oh-so-perfectly. 

“Hey, can I sit here?” 

Upon sitting in between the two Virginians, they introduce themselves. The calmer, self-collected man among the two introduced himself as James Madison, while the bolder, upbeat man introduced himself as no other than Thomas Jefferson. Both of them seemed happy that I interrupted and decided to reach out to them, maybe one was a tad more excited than the other. 

And ever since then, Professor Washington can’t seem to split up our trio. From childish jokes and a few inappropriate inferences, Thomas and James make great company. The idiotic smile that spreads across Thomas’s face whenever he’s capable of making James and I break our silence during class would become more annoying than Lafayette saying “C’est la vie” whenever I make a poor life decision. 

Nevertheless, Thomas and James dangerously remind me of Alexander and his goons. The abundant amount of self-praise and cocky remarks said by both Thomas and Alexander is almost astronomical. In the case of Thomas and Alexander’s meeting, I’m sure they’d be the best of friends. But likewise, I could also envision the two attempting to tear each other's heads off, the chaotic clashing of two powerful minds. 

They always know what to say and when to say it. I’ve never met anyone as clever as Thomas and James, and they’re even worse when they’re together.  

“‘ ‘s Adams here today? Washington told me to turn in my papers t’ him.” Thomas whispers as he eases into his chair, Washington’s booming voice seems to become background noise to us 

“Is he ever?” I reply, attempting not to giggle at my own response “I haven’t seen him since Washington initially introduced him to the class.” 

“Maybe he’s jus’ sick or somethin’. Kinda reminds me of you, James'' His head of curls turns to stare down James, in which James replies by rolling his eyes 

“He can stay home, he does the same amount of work there anyways.” James cleverly retorted. 

And that seemed to be our last straw before bursting out in laughter. Thomas’s body flung forward as he laughed his head off, James ducking his head to hide his glee behind his laptop, and I quickly slap a hand over my mouth to prevent anyone around us from drawing suspicion. But apparently, Washington wasn’t having our disguises. 

“Can the three of you even tell me what I just said?” Washington turns around from the board to scan the crowd, his eagle eyes find us quickly 

The silence was all we could emit, and soon enough, He turned back to his lesson. I sigh with relief; the last thing I need is to get kicked out of a class I don’t even pay for. 

…

...

“Washington sure got a shiny ass head. D’you think he uses shampoo and conditioner?” Whispered Thomas as he leans over to me 

And just like that,  we’re faced with the same struggle all over again.

—-

Lafayette adjusted the hot pan, erupting a few sizzles. The wall clock ticked, the hour arm froze pointing to the “11” written in roman numerals. Lafayette and I decided to agree on a home-cooked meal, and although it’s too late for an average dinner, yet too early to be defined as a midnight snack, I’m sure Lafayette’s cooking will satisfy me for the night. 

“Y/NN, would you prefer salt on your omelet? Or did you decide to be healthy tonight?” He said holding a salt shaker in the air to steal my focus from the swirling red liquid in my glass. 

My head lifts to meet his eyes. I tilt my head, the wine causing me to ponder for a little longer than I should’ve. He continues to stare at me, holding in a laugh, before I force myself to nod. 

“Yeah.. a little won’t hurt” I hear him chuckle at my drunken dialect, but I know the French man isn’t about to lecture me about English “Your wish is my command.” 

I watch as he conducts the kitchen perfectly. He knows where everything is, exactly what to add into the sizzling pan, maybe even the exact second to take the meal off the flame. 

“I thought you weren’t a fan of monarchy?” the sarcasm was evident in my tone “but I appreciate the submission” I shot him a playful wink, to which he responds with a pompous smirk

A few sips of wine later, I recognize notification that has been staring back at me for hours. 

1 Message from Thomas

A text from Thomas? And I’m barely seeing this now? I silently scold myself for giving into the wine before opening the message.

“Thomas: Hey this is Thomas from class, wanna come study with us at the library sometime?”

My eyes become glued to my phone. It was certainly necessary for me to reread Thomas’s text, I was unsure if the alcohol was beginning to make me see odd things, but I assured myself I was correct.

I could feel the blush spread across my face. Maybe it’s just the wine taking control, or maybe it’s the butterflies in my stomach forming every time I reread his message. A harmless invite, perhaps evoked from Thomas due to James stroking his ego, but I know James’ wouldn’t promote such a bold, straight-forward message. Though Thomas is known for his meticulous confidence and certainty, a message this simple could be notably deceiving. 

But a little socializing won’t damage my self-respect. “Be bold, Y/N” is what I used to tell myself at the beginning of the semester, and what do I have to lose? I begin to type my reply.

“Y/N: yeah I’m down :) just send a time and place and I’ll be on my way”

Sent.

 My introspection was soon interrupted by the screeching plate being slid in my direction by Lafayette, the steam circulating the meal 

“Y/N, Mangeons.” My head comes up from my phone, my eyes meet his eyes momentarily. 

“Thanks, Laf.” I reply before taking a fork from him and digging into the steaming meal ahead of me. Lafayette’s cooking never disappoints. Ever. 

My body couldn’t help but pick up my phone every few minutes to respond to Thomas’s messages, Though they were just the details of the hangout-offer he previously proposed, I felt enclosed in my little bubble while texting him. Those few moments of interaction with him somehow made my day better. I’m sure even Lafayette could see my radiating energy, but I’m not sure how he took it.

We’re technically not a couple; a few hookups and moving in together don't make us an official couple, right? 

“Merci, Laffy.” I watched as he visibly cringed at my poor attempt at french. “Let’s just stick to our mother tongues, angel.” He retorted. I laughed it off, yet inside his reply left a scratch on my pride. 

--- 

Another class of absolute foolery and childish inferences, and I can’t help but laugh as Thomas, James, and I exit the lecture hall. The New-York cold hits us harshly, but being about a month into this semester, students already know what to expect. 

It was indeed embarrassing, running to Lafayette’s car to remind him of your library study session. 

“Alright, I’ll pick you up before your curfew, okay?” He asked with one hand on the wheel. His faux-leather jacket contorting around his toned arms made it difficult not to remember the moments they shared around midnight. The imagery of their candle-lit room appearing in her head as he sat at the wheel stopped her from replying for a moment. 

“Y-Yeah sounds great. You’re the best, you know that?” She thanked him for sacrificing his time to make sure she arrives home on time. 

“You remind me all the time.” He sneaks in a small wink between his sentences “I’ll see you tonight, Cherie” 

Y/N smiled before turning around to prance over to her friends. Y/N heard the faint sounds of Lafayette driving off, sighing in relief

After briefly explaining my situation to the boys, we quickly head over to the library. 

A woman in a coral-pink blazer and pants set is waiting impatiently at a table she rented out just for us. “What in the world took you guys so long?” She pressured for an answer 

“C’mon Angie, that wasn’t even ten minutes.” Thomas rolled his eyes before removing his backpack and opening a chair for Y/N. Real smooth, Thomas, I can’t lie. He looked over to me, seeing stars in my eyes as I realize I’m standing next to the oldest Schuyler.

 “You’re-” She interrupted me with a smile, sticking out her hand to shake mine

“Angelica Schuyler. And you?” I swear her name sounds familiar. I’m sure I’ve heard it around but I just can't place it. I do see her on my social media feed from time to time, and I must admit, she looks even more heavenly in person. 

“Y/N L/N.” My hand meets hers in a firm handshake. 

“Nice to meet you.” 

—-

At first, I thought nothing of it. 

Though Lafayette’s text at 7:30 (on the dot) did push me out of my zone, I did appreciate his promise to me. 

Thomas on the other hand seemed disturbed by my sudden leave, but it’s not like he’d understand. Alexander would literally kill me if I were home late.

But Thomas and I would continue to hang out. His evening texts would slowly become a weekly routine. Whether it was a scary movie or an ice cream date for just the two of us, he always found a way to spend time with me. 

“Don’t tell me that mint chocolate chip is actually your favorite flavor, darlin’.” He adjusted his position on the park bench and raised an eyebrow, his gaze focused on the green ice cream atop my ice cream cone “You might make me regret takin’ you out tonight” he chuckled and I couldn’t help but smile 

“You know you love me” I jokingly retorted, scooping part of my ice cream with my tongue, and relaxing against the bench.

It’s very rare to get to relax like this. Not only am I a fully-fledged college student, but also one of Alexander’s goons. The weekends are merely just ‘weekdays: the sequel’, but add forbidden literature and alcohol to that equation.

I look back up to Thomas, seeing his disgusted face. “Wait.. are you actually against mint chocolate chip ice cream?” I cocked an eyebrow towards him

He shrugged before chuckling “I recall telling you of my unfortunate arguments while visiting England..” 

“..so what does mint chocolate chip ice cream have to do with your political upheavals in a foreign country?” 

He smirked in an ‘all knowing’ manner. “Well, Darlin, if you did your research—“

“—You’ve got to be kidding me—“I start to wonder why I even asked 

“—you’d learn that the monstrosity in your ice cream cone, mint chocolate chip, originated in England.” He completed his statement with triumph “Ever since my disagreements in England, I swore to despise such a concoction until the day I die.” 

I looked at him like he was crazy. “I can’t believe you did your research on English creations. You’re so dramatic sometimes” I respond 

“Hey, I wouldn’t be a Jefferson if I wasn’t.” He stared back to his cone, the mesmerizing ice cream almost reflecting himself back at him. 

We shared silence for a moment. Words were unnecessary when we were together. 

“I suppose..” Jefferson started “...I might be able to tolerate mint chocolate chip ice cream, but only for you, though.” He turned towards my direction 

My eyes soon met his. “Well, I’m honored to be your exemption, Jefferson.” I smile with triumph, recognizing my effect on him. 

He swiftly takes my hand, his skin feels burning compared to mine. Our eyes remain connected as he dips his head down to kiss the back of my hand. I attempt to hide the fact that my heart stopped beating for a moment, but the breath hitching in my throat wouldn’t help me at all. 

“Let’s drop the formalities, Darlin, you can call me Thomas now.” My hand remained between his. I try my best to keep my hand still, wanting to marinate in this moment forever. 

A new feeling courses through my body. Something unfamiliar. Perhaps it’s the charm of a Southern Gentleman. Maybe the feeling of being treated right for the first time, something I’ve never experienced from anyone.

What have I ever done to deserve this chivalrous kindness? 

‘What a gentleman’ I repeat to myself in my mind. What makes him so different from the others? 

From a simple kiss, I suddenly crave more.

More than the unresolved sexual tension between Lafayette and I. 

More than I was ever granted the opportunity to. 

Maybe ‘more’ is what I deserve. 

My mind bleeds with the thought of Lafayette, but Thomas seems like he has so much more to offer. What if I do deserve to be happy? I may not have earned it, but who gets to declare my right to happiness? I was once happy with Lafayette, but the times have changed

He’s just not him. He’s just not Thomas.

---

But no matter how much I enjoyed spending time with Jefferson himself, I was always the first one to leave. I had to. 

I remember the way his smile would fall at the sound of Lafayette’s car horn. 

The way his jaw tenses whenever my phone vibrates across the table 

Whenever Lafayette came to pick me up, I also can’t help but feel a part of my soul crack within me. 

“I’ll see you this weekend?” He kisses the back of my hand once more in an attempt to savor this moment, continuing to maintain eye contact.

“I’ll try, Thomas. Not sure if I’m busy.” I sigh with fatigue. “But I’ll let you know.” 

“Alright. Get home safe, darlin’” I hear him stand from the park bench as I wander to Lafayette’s car, his eyes following my figure. 

I hop into Lafayette’s car before taking one last glance in Thomas’s direction, watching as his figure begins to walk in the opposite direction that our car was heading. 

“Ahh, Y/N. Don’t tell me you’re cheating on me” his sarcastic tone wouldn’t pierce deep enough. 

I speak without thinking. “I do recall you claiming that you and I were never a couple, remember Laf?” My change in demeanor was certain to shut him up. And he did. 

He’s just not him. He’s just not Thomas. 

I remained turned away from Lafayette as we drove through the city. The memories built between Lafayette and I constantly falls like a house of cards, but I prefer to avoid the subject.

Lafayette felt otherwise, yet respected my choice. 

He was the first to speak.

“Alexander needs me for a transport this weekend.” He stated, “I’m not sure when I’ll get back, so it’s very important that you get back from whatever plans you have before your curfew.” He takes a glance over to me and briefly meets my eyes 

“Don’t test the waters, Y/N.”

Ah yes, the monthly literature transportation of Alexander’s gang. 

The Notorious Sons of Liberty. 

A popular group roaming the streets of New York. But instead ironically of selling drugs or performing homicide, they produce and sell illegal, banned literature and disperse them to the highest bidders. 

How else do you think I pay for college? 

Although gang violence isn’t really their thing, that doesn’t mean they’re not in possession of such weaponry and devices. I’ve never seen anyone take literature as seriously as they do.

They’re also known for their bold publicity stunts, which are indeed fun to watch from a nearby coffee shop. Watching Alexander, Lafayette, and some other friends, John and Herc, run from the authorities on a Sunday afternoon, accidentally laughing at the sight of John tripping over his own feet, Lafayette mouthing ‘help us out’ in my direction. Very entertaining. 

On the contrary, their security on me has become tighter and tighter. I know they worry for the gang’s reputation over my safety, but it feels nice to imagine having a battalion of book-worm gang members watching over you. 

“I know, I know. You guys can stop treating me like a kid” I attempt to contain a giggle to portray my seriousness. 

He takes a glance at me before returning his attention to the road. “You cannot say that until you have another way home other than me.” He sighed rather loudly 

“Be careful, or I might do just that, Lafayette.” 

---

I sipped on wine and ate cheese at Thomas’s place without a care in the world on a Saturday night. Of course, I had to accept Thomas’s offer, I never knew how to say no to him. 

Jefferson has sure been taking his sweet time to put a title on us. Now, I’m no philosopher when it comes to dating, but Ice cream at the park, fancy dinners, and wine and cheese sure sound romantic. 

My night was going well. All until the 7:30 alarm on my phone rang, and before I knew it, everything began to go downhill

[events of chapter 1]

And next thing I knew, the cold New York air slapped my face, following the harsh slam of the apartment door. 

As my adrenaline began to settle down, panic rushed through my body. 

Fuck. At this rate, I won’t be home until after my curfew. Although my immediate instinct was to sprint my way home, those thoughts were quickly followed by the idea of passing out within five minutes. My apartment isn’t too far, but being fueled by wine and cheese doesn’t sound like the best idea. 

“Don’t test the waters, Y/N” echoed throughout my head. 

I begin to walk down the street before whipping out my phone to contact an Uber. 

The small talk produced between my driver and I worked a bit to calm myself down, but that would all change the moment I walked through my apartment door. 

Once I turn back around from locking the door, I’m met with exactly what I didn’t want to see at this very moment. 

Lafayette stood staring at me, his lips pursed with anxiousness, recognizing my significantly late arrival. 

Hercules, another good friend I’ve met through the sons of liberty, stood beside Lafayette. His mouth hung open in shock as he also recognized my mistake. 

John, the group’s smallest yet mightiest, leaned against the wall, perhaps planning my fate right in front of me 

And none other than Alexander Hamilton himself, sipping scotch on my couch, similarly to how I was not too long ago at Thomas’s place. The glare on his face quickly reminded me that I was in big trouble. 

“Y/N, I thought I told you—“ Lafayette began but was quickly interrupted 

“You’re late.” He swirled his drink before standing up. The clock ticked, and the hour hand notably passed the 8:30 symbol. I was not getting out of this one. 

Although I feared for the following moments, I attempted to contain my emotions within myself. I kept my straight face for the time being. I could feel everyone’s eyes on me. 

“I’m well aware.” That came out of my mouth  a little too harsh for my liking 

“May I remind you that being out past your curfew could severely damage our image.” 

I saw John look over to Alex from the corner of my eye. The air became thinner if that were even possible, and I refused to meet his eyes.

“And I do recall reminding you of your consequences.” He walked towards me and I felt my heart froze. “Having you out so late could raise some suspicions among our competitors, L/N.” 

I couldn’t find the right words and resort to nodding instead 

“I always fucking told you—“ he harshly slammed his drink onto the table beside him “—not to test the waters—” 

“—I-I know—“

“So why the fuck are you stumbling in here past your curfew?”

 At this very moment, I wondered if I had pulled the last straw. 

I couldn’t speak. God forbid I spat out the wrong words. Contained within my thoughts, I didn’t acknowledge Alexander closing the distance between us. 

“Ow!--” I watched as Alex shoved me to the wall, the moment playing in slow motion in my head. 

Lafayette’s throat grew dry “Hey, Alex, Calm dow-” 

He was interrupted by the sound of Alexander harshly slapping me across the face. My hands quickly went to soothe what felt like fire burning my cheek. 

“We do so much for you, Y/N.” Alex growled 

The sharp pain in my side grew, almost echoing throughout my body. I could feel my body giving up on itself. I mean, this wouldn’t be the first time Alex has acted like this. 

Occasionally, Alex would stop by Lafayette and I’s apartment just to ensure I was home before my curfew, and he wasn’t the most forgiving. 

--He owns an apartment key and has every single one of his gang member’s location tracked on his phone. Sometimes I wondered what was so special about us to have to keep all of us in check 24/7--

One time Hercules and I went shopping a little too late after sunset, part of me felt like a reckless teenager, probably because I was. I still remember Alexander’s face when I entered my own apartment, he looks identical every time. 

In an attempt to shelter me, my body curled into itself against the wall. I shrunk to the floor, feeling his shadow intensely stand above me. 

“Arghh!—“ the sound spilled out of me when I felt Alexander’s shin connect with my rib cage. 

My lungs felt punctured under the pressure.

My arms felt like they could give out any second.

Part of me had wished I’d stay at Thomas’s place tonight, even if it meant telling him the truth. 

What a predicament I’ve gotten myself into. 

I looked up, wondering if my torment was over until I was met with a —Crack— Alexander’s knee encountered my face. 

It was only a moment before I could hear the shuffling of the others’ shoes. I prayed they were coming to help me out.

Alexander lifted his glass of alcohol, previously forgotten, and hauled it towards me

Crash! 

The piercing shards of glass combining with the stinging alcohol were the last thing I needed on a Saturday night. I didn’t notice the tears falling from my eyes until now, and the way my heart felt like it was just on a rollercoaster. 

I kept my head low, watching blood drip down my face and onto the floor below me. And apparently, I wasn’t the only one to notice. 

“Alex! What the fuck?!” I heard Laurens yell

“Are you trying to kill her?!?” I recognized Lafayette’s scream

Before Alex was able to make another blow, Lauren and Lafayette were quick to hold him back, attempting to calm him down. 

Hercules swiftly knelt beside me, the guilt was obvious in his gaze. I hated the pity in each of their glances towards me. He attempted to wipe away the blood from my forehead with a paper towel. 

Alexander fought back against the two, trying his best to prove his point. There’s the Hamilton we all know, unwilling to stand down no matter the cost.

Hercules turned back to me, his words were ready to leave his mouth from the moment we reconnected eyes. 

“Y/N..” He pulled me up and shoved me out of my apartment door. “..Run.” I almost stumbled into a nearby pole, but I began running, if running in my condition was possible, back to Thomas’s place. 

—-

[events of chapter 1]

The next thing I knew, I woke up in Thomas’s bed beside him. I took a moment to soak in the feeling of his satin sheets. Part of me can’t recall the events before I passed out in front of Thomas’s apartment, or maybe my mind refuses to remember them. 

The sun hasn’t risen yet. 

I turn to my side and reach for my phone, wincing from the pressure applied to my rib cage. 

The bright light of my phone hitting my eyes felt like I was transported to another dimension. 

54 notifications: 

12 calls from Lafayette 🥐

24 texts from Lafayette 🥐

1 text from Alexander 💡

3 calls from Mariah 💋

14 texts from Mariah 💋

“oh fuck..” I sigh, wondering how things will play out. 

Out of curiosity, I open the message from Alexander. Perhaps it’s an apology? Maybe a reminder? 

Alexander 💡: I know where you are, Y/N. Don’t drag your friend into this. Because I can.

Where I am? I ask myself

My heart dropped, remembering that Alexander tracks my location 24/7. He knows where I am at this very second. 

By escaping to Thomas’s apartment, I’ve just dragged him into this mess I’ve made. If my worlds collide, it would all be because I ran to this exact apartment. 

Panic once again rushed through my body. 

I need to get out of here. I need to leave. 

I slip out from under the sheets and grab my belongings. Unprepared for what’s to come, I steal one of Thomas’s jackets from his cluttered desk chair. I’ll give it back eventually, I thought to myself. 

After I put on my shoes I take one last glance toward Thomas. 

He seems so peaceful when he’s asleep, tangled in his blanket, not to mention his name-brand Mac and cheese pajama pants. 

I’m sorry if I drag you into this, Thomas, you just wouldn’t understand.

Taglist <3: @kenmacrumbs @strayblades  @laic2299 @ohsoverykeri

[victorluvsalice]

Merry Christmas WeirdKev/SlyCooper&CarlosFox!

@slycooperandcarlosfox As per your brief, here is some Alice -- feeling particularly complainy about LaCroix and the Camarilla tonight -- picking up a certain newcomer to LA! And being quite surprised when she turns out to not fit the stereotypes Alice was expecting. . .

---

“Well – I suppose I should be grateful this one isn’t explicitly an attempt to kill me.”

Alice paced up and down the train platform, scowling. “Though that also makes it all the more baffling to figure out why LaCroix sent me here,” she continued, since she had nothing better to do and no one around to hear her except her Wonderland hangers-on. “Perhaps he just needed me out of the way for a night? Wanted to be sure I wouldn’t interrupt him in the middle of his other schemes?”

“It is a puzzle,” Cheshire agreed, loping along beside her. “But purrhaps you should spend less energy on pushing these blocks around. You have other tasks more meriting your concern.”

“I know, I know. It’s just. . .” Alice stopped, running her fingers through her hair. “Honestly, I think I hate these kinds of jobs more than, for example, being tasked to drag that sarcophagus out of the museum.”

“Why? The sarcophagus wasn’t there to drag, and the museum didn’t end up on fire,” Hatter pointed out. “Easy night, all things considered.”

“All right, fair enough, but – at least that mission felt important? This is more like his demands that I ruin that poor restaurant owner – busywork! Him lording over me the fact that he’s a Prince, he spared me when he could have easily had me killed–”

“Sparking off a war with the Anarchs he was unlikely to win,” Cheshire reminded her.

“All right, yes, but he still could have done it! And that’s not even getting into the whole ‘oh, I have Dominate, so you literally have to do what I say’ business.” She raked both hands over her scalp, scowling. “He sees me either as a problem he needs to get rid of or a tool to be used. A means to an end – preferably my own. And he’s so condescending about it! It gets right under my skin!” She resumed her pacing, stomping across the boards. “All I want to do is find a way to exist in this world without getting under anyone’s feet. If he’d just let me be on my way, I’d leave! Pack up with Victor and just – head out! I’m not going Anarch, not after Damsel and Skelter and Abrams! I don’t care about any of this stupid politicking! But because having me around is a wound to his precious pride–”

“Save that thought, Alice,” Cheshire interrupted, darting in front of her feet. “Your package has been delivered.”

Right on cue, the late train pulled up, dislodging passengers in a steady flow of people. Alice straightened. Right. . .okay, pink suit, pale blond hair – ah, that’s probably her there. She squinted, narrowing in on her target. Looks rich too, all manicured and tailored. . .which makes sense if she’s another Ventrue. Ugh, another pain in the ass for me to –

“Hello!”

Alice couldn’t help starting as the woman suddenly hailed her with a smile. “You’re the one sent to meet me, right?” she continued, lugging her suitcase over to her. “Alice Liddell?”

“Yes, that’s me,” Alice said, putting on a professional voice. No sense in being rude and stirring up the hornet’s nest during first impressions. There would be plenty of time for that later. “Meaning you must be Miss Phillianne Tropy.”

“That would be me,” the woman confirmed, looking – surprisingly genuine in her cheer. Huh. “LaCroix called ahead and said you woulds be my escort into the city.”

“Yes, though I’m afraid we’re going to have to go by cab,” Alice told her, leading the way past the people and into the parking lot. “I didn’t get a chance to secure my own transportation before – all of this.”

“Ah, I see – well, I don’t mind,” Miss Tropy said, still smiling as if the idea of sitting on dirty cab seats really didn’t bother her in the slightest. “I don’t like making too much of a fuss when I go places anyway.” Her mouth puckered as her gaze became a bit more serious. “You seem a bit grouchy – I’m not pulling you away from something, am I?

Just a rare night where I could spent some time with Victor and not have it feel rushed. “Not really,” Alice lied smoothly. “Your arrival has caught me in between – projects, let’s say.”

Miss Tropy gave her a searching look. “Hmmm. Well, let me make sure you’re properly compensated for your time, at least,” she said, withdrawing her wallet from her pocket. “You did come all the way out here.”

A tip? Really? Okay – won’t say no to that. “I just do what I’m told,” she said, with a small, somewhat forced smile.

“Yes, and if I know LaCroix, you don’t get a lot of thanks for it.” Miss Tropy pressed a few bills into her hand. “Here.”

“Thank–”

The words died on Alice’s lip as she suddenly registered what exactly she’d been handed. Instead of singles, fives, tens, or even twenties, Miss Tropy had dropped ten hundreds into her palm without breaking a sweat. “Um – I think you may have–” she started, trying to hand the money back.

Miss Tropy held up a hand. “No mistake. I’m rich enough to afford that – and a lot more besides.” She descended the steps, to where a familiar cab waited in a nearby spot. “And you need it more than I do, I’m sure.” She grinned and opened the back door, gesturing for Alice to get inside. “So – ready for the trip back into L.A. proper? I’d love to get to know you better.”

Alice looked from her, to the pile of bills in her hand. Then, slowly, she closed her fingers over them and put them in her pocket. “Yes – same here,” she said softly. A Ventrue – who reminds me of Victor. Hmmm. Maybe my luck’s starting to turn.

[bloodfromthethorn]

PTSD

Los Angeles doesn't get a lot of storms, but when it does, the Phoenix team takes notice.

Part four of the July of Whump 2021 prompt challenge.

Also on AO3. 

..

The whole team was exhausted when they filed into the War Room for debrief. Eight long days of running around Indonesia chasing a covert terrorist cell was not exactly an activity conducive to getting a good night’s rest, and all of them showed it. Of all of them, Jack was probably managing the best, his years on the job getting him comfortably into the habit of grabbing catnaps in moments of quiet, but even he was on the verge of crashing hard. Boze looked like he’d already given up the ghost and had embraced sleepwalking.

Matty eyed them all with a sort of quiet concern she very rarely let them actually see.

“I know you’re tired,” she started carefully, “So let’s keep this short. Do you have any injuries to report?”

There was a general negative hum.

“Anything outside of what I caught on comms that I need to know about?”

Again, a quiet murmur of no.

“Do any of you have any questions or concerns you wish to raise about this mission?”

This time Jack’s hum was a little more non-committal; he had every intention of bitching about the state of their non-existent intel in his report, but that could wait until he’d been unconscious for a solid 20 hours. Getting into it now would only get messy and besides, he’d bitched about it plenty on comms too.

Matty nodded sharply when none of them spoke up. No doubt she’d caught their mild discontentment, but she was smart enough to realise now was not the time to fight that particular battle. Instead, she offered them a rare smile. “I think that’s all we need to cover right now. You’ve all got the rest of the week off – go home and get some rest.”

There was an audible sigh of relief as they turned as one to leave. Of course, that had to be the moment when Matty called after them.

“Oh, Jack, one more thing.”

He barely resisted letting out an audible groan as he swayed back on his heels, glancing over his shoulder. Ahead of him, the team also paused, interested despite their fatigue in whatever else Matty had to say.

“Weather reports indicate there’s a storm front coming in,” she said, apology and concern in her face if not her voice. She was watching Jack closely as she delivered the news. “Should reach the city in a few hours and last at least the night.”

At that, Jack really couldn’t help but groan. His head swivelled to meet Mac’s gaze, who was staring back at him with a resigned sort of distress colouring his face. Of all the possible times for LA to get a rare summer storm, it had to be right when the pair of them were already on their last legs. Of course.

“Copy that,” he said instead of screaming his frustration to the world, because despite what Matty said he did actually know the meaning of professionalism, thank you very much. “My house or yours, hoss?”

Mac considered it, looking tired and wan in the fluorescent lights. He might be the toughest person Jack knew, but right then he didn’t look like he could survive another sleepless night. “That waffle place near me does delivery until 2am now,” he mused after a moment’s thought.

Jack shot him a grin he didn’t really feel. “Sold.”

“But Boze-” Mac started, twisting to look at where the other two members of their team were still lingering in the doorway.

Riley neatly cut him off before he could finish voicing his concerns. “Boze will be perfectly fine spending the night at my place,” she said, casting a quick glance at the man in question to make sure he was fine with the arrangement. “You guys do what you need to do. Have fun with your waffles.”

“Yeah, man,” Bozer chipped in, “I’m all good. Don’t worry about me. Just try to get some rest if you can.” Riley tugged on his arm to get the pair of them moving, but he still twisted round to call over his shoulder, “And save me some waffles!”

With that they were gone, leaving Jack smiling fondly after them and Mac looking like his overworked brain was still trying to catch up with the conversation he’d just had. God, he was about thirty hours past exhausted and Jack could hardly stand knowing it would be some time yet before he could get some proper sleep in him.

“C’mon hoss,” he said softly, nudging at Mac’s elbow to grab his attention. “Let’s get you home. If we hurry, we might get a quick snooze in before the storm gets here.”

..

Mac did actually manage to catch a brief nap during the car ride home but he woke with a jolt when the engine shut off, much to Jack’s chagrin. Mac had never quite managed to pull off Jack’s habit of falling asleep at the drop of a hat, and it really cost him on long missions. His Overwatch had made it something of a personal mission to get Mac to sleep whenever he feasibly could.

“Anything left in the fridge is probably out of date,” Mac mused as they shambled into the house. His neighbours had learned to put up with a lot in his time living there, so two barely-conscious grown men would hardly even raise an eyebrow, thankfully. “Pizza?”

Jack considered for longer than he reasonably needed to before shaking his head. “Nah, not tonight. Is that Thai place down on the corner still open?”

“Chai Yo? Yes, but it’s closed on Thursdays.”

“Is it Thursday?”

There was a long beat of silence before Mac muttered quietly to himself and tugged out his phone to check. Jack eyed in enviously, his own having taking a swim in the Banda Sea after Mac repurposed it for some kind of SOS beacon. “Yes, it is. Apparently it’s also July? I thought we were still in June.”

Jack offered him a full body shrug, then dropped heavily onto the sofa. “Can’t be expected to keep track when Matty has us crossing timezones every other day.”

“Yeah. Well, Chai Yo’s closed. There’s that other Thai place, on Harris Avenue.”

Jack wrinkled his nose. “No, thanks. That place was awful.”

Not inclined to disagree, Mac tried to convince his brain to stop being mush and actually come up with a decent idea for dinner. “That diner on Northridge does deliveries now too I think,” he said at length. “I could go for a greasy burger.”

His partner mulled that over, then nodded slowly. “Yeah, that sounds good. You wanna call it in?”

Mac’s phone was already in his hand and he really didn’t have the energy to listen to more of Jack’s good-natured griping about losing yet another mobile to one of his builds, so he waved him off and retreated to the kitchen to place the order. That done and with more food on the way than two very athletic adults could conceivably eat, Mac stumbled back into the living room and collapsed face down on the sofa beside Jack’s inelegant sprawl.

“It just had to be tonight, huh,” he muttered petulantly into the pillow, thinking of a hundred previous stormy nights spent huddled up beside Jack on that very sofa.

The first few times it happened, Mac had assumed Jack was just humouring him. Someone as well trained and experienced as his Overwatch surely had no trouble fighting past the instinctive panic that gripped Mac whenever thunder boomed loud enough to shake the windows or lightning flashes lit up his entire house. It was merely another facet of Jack’s kindness that he was willing to spend the night with Mac to help chase away his demons when his brain was filled with nightmares about failed defusals and gunfire.

Then there’d been that flight back from Panama, when their jet had unexpectedly run into a thunderstorm while Jack was peacefully napping on one of the reclining chairs. At the first crack of thunder, he’d been on his feet, skin ashen and with one hand batting helplessly at his thigh for the gun that wasn’t there. It had taken Mac a solid ten minutes to calm him down enough to return to his seat, fighting his own flashbacks the whole way, and even then Jack’s entire body remained rigid for the rest of the flight.

Mac didn’t think he was simply humouring him after that.

Now, after years of dealing with it – and no small number of conversations with the Phoenix’s resident therapist – the pair of them had developed a system of diversions to keep them level-headed through the worst of LA’s inclement weather. The rest of the team was happy to help out, and all of them kept an eye on weather reports when the humidity started getting high. All of them had at one point or another seen Mac and Jack’s reactions to sudden loud noises or bright flashes and they wanted to do everything they could to spare them from it.

Mostly though, it boiled down to nothing more than being together while they – quite literally – weathered the storm. It was much easier to pull Jack from the brink of a nightmare about failing to save Mac when Mac himself was the one doing it, and vice versa. Besides, as much as Bozer and Riley had learned a lot since joining the Phoenix, neither of them knew the hell of the Sandbox and Mac and Jack were happy to keep them in the dark. There were some horrors that just weren’t meant to be spoken of.

“I’ve told you before man, you’re unlucky,” Jack replied, an uncoordinated arm reaching out to pat Mac consolingly on the shoulder. “Got no sense of luck at all.”

“I’m pretty sure the natural weather system of Southern California is beyond the reach of my personal control.”

“If anyone could though, man, it’d be you.”

Mac considered that. “Uh, thanks?”

There was peaceable silence for several long minutes and Mac listened as Jack’s breathing deepened and slowed. He always marvelled at how quickly Jack was able to get to sleep, envious of the apparent ease with which he did it. Mac had struggled with insomnia even before life as a soldier filled his head with more nightmares than anyone should have to deal with and these days he was lucky to get to sleep inside of an hour when he actually made it to his own bed. Of course, when they came home from a mission like the one they’d just had, all bets were off.

He rolled himself over so he wasn’t smothering himself in the cushion and pulled out his phone. The delivery app informed him that their food would be arriving in about ten minutes, so he slowly heaved himself back onto his feet and bustled around the kitchen warming plates and snagging some beers. Long since familiar with the general background noise of Mac’s house, Jack slept right on through.

When Mac’s phone pinged to tell him that their food would be arriving any minute, he crossed back over to his partner and laid a gentle hand on his shoulder. The man came awake instantly, blinking twice as he registered the familiar surroundings before relaxing back into the comforting softness of the cushions.

“Food’s almost here,” Mac offered in explanation, though it was proved moot three seconds later when the doorbell chimed.

They ate their dinner close beside each other on the sofa with the TV playing reruns of an old action show from the 80s Jack insisted was a classic but that Mac was barely able to follow through a combination of poor writing, truly objectionable acting choices, and visibly cheap sets. As the night started to draw in, they both kept half an eye on the black rainclouds drifting down off the hills; by the time they polished off the last of the fries, the first few droplets had started splattering against the windows.

The rain steadily built as the pair of them made their way onto films instead, kicking off with Lethal Weapon because Mac had vetoed Jack’s first four suggestions and felt too guilty to do it again. The first few times they’d done this, Boze had questioned their choice of action films when they were so busy trying not to think about all the things such movies entailed. They’d tried to explain themselves, unsuccessfully. In truth, there was no real way of understanding that fake, predictable violence helped to drown out real-life trauma unless you’d experienced it first-hand. Watching Mel Gibson body check some random actor somehow made it easier for Mac’s brain to process that time he’d been tackled clean off a rooftop by the one insurgent Jack hadn’t seen coming, and so on.

It was strange and imperfect, but they found it worked for them. Provided, of course, that they only watched films they already knew by heart, where gunfights and explosions couldn’t creep up on them.

They didn’t even make it until the end of act one before the first rolls of thunder washed over them. Mac shuffled ever so slightly in his seat, only stilling when Jack’s shoulder brushed against his and stayed there.

They stayed like that over the next hour or so as the rain steadily grew in intensity until it started to sound like machine gun fire against the roof tiles, and the thunder grew into a roaring, snarling beast in the air around them. Jack flinched sharply at the first flicker of lightning, and only seemed to breathe again when his fingers strayed to the pulse point on Mac’s wrist. Mac busied himself with the breathing exercises the therapist had taught him, and traded the occasional text with Charlie when the Day of a Thousand IEDs rattled around his skull. On the other side of the country and several hours ahead, Charlie must have been messaging back from his bed, but he dutifully responded all the same – Mac had done it for him too in the past.

“I ever tell you about that time in Sardinia?” Jack asked just as the film was coming to a close. It was clear that the movie alone wasn’t enough to combat their combined exhaustion and PTSD, which left them trading tales instead.

“I didn’t even know you’d been to Sardinia. What on Earth could the CIA have possibly wanted there?”

Jack settled himself back into the sofa, preparing himself for what was evidently going to be a long and involved story. “Well, as for what they wanted, there was a minor off-shoot of the Mafia making a base there. Something about ferrying money into France or something-” He waved a hand, “I don’t remember the details of it. Not important and probably classified.”

“We have the same security clearance Jack.”

“Keep telling yourself that.”

“We do. I’ve checked your file. I know.”

Jack pulled on an expression of great offense, touching his free hand to his chest like a swooning damsel. “You’ve been looking at my file? Buy me dinner first.”

“I literally just did.”

“Hmm. Yeah, okay. I guess that makes up for it. But no more snooping in my file! There’s private stuff in there.”

“That time you chased a gun-wielding madman down while entirely naked isn’t exactly private when you write it on an official mission report for the US government,” Mac muttered to himself.

Jack pulled a face at him. “Okay, smartass, you want to hear the story or not?”

He snickered, but waved an obliging hand. “I really do. Please continue.”

The story was predictably embellished, complete with wild hand gestures and a horrendous Italian accent thrown into the mix, but it was precisely what Mac needed to keep his concentration in the here and now. The telling of it seemed to help Jack too – his thoughts couldn’t stray to darker places when he was focused on bright Mediterranean sunshine and a mission that had gone so far belly-up it had wrapped right around into utterly absurd.

They managed to get as far as the part where Jack had to flee his hotel room wearing clothes stolen from the man he thought he’d been trying to rescue before a particularly sharp clap of thunder sent Mac’s face utterly white. His eyes slammed closed and his fists clenched so tight Jack could see where his nails were cutting into the meat of his palms.

Jack’s hands were on him in a moment, one wrapping carefully around his wrist to monitor the jackrabbiting of his heart while the other cupped his jaw, a thumb running soothingly over the stubbly skin.

“It’s okay, you’re okay,” he murmured consolingly, keeping his voice quiet to act as an anchor for pulling Mac back to the present. “You’re at home, in LA, I’m here, Charlie’s fine, everyone’s okay. There’s no danger. You’re safe, Mac. You’re safe.”

“Not-” Mac tried, strangled, “Not me.”

“Ah, kiddo,” Jack breathed, feeling his own heart clench. “Everyone’s okay, I promise. I’m right here. You want me to get Boze and Ri on the phone? Hear their voices?”

Mac shook his head sharply, one hand darting up to curl into the fabric of Jack’s t-shirt like a lifeline. Watery blue eyes opened to latch onto his own.

“There you are,” Jack murmured, trying to keep his expression calm and open. “Stick with me man.”

“Are you- You’re okay?” Mac’s voice was very small. The hand fisted on Jack’s shirt was white with the force of his grip.

“Yeah, Mac. I’m completely fine. Not a scratch on me, see? I’m right here and we’re both safe. At your house, remember?”

He nodded slowly, his heartbeat finally starting to slow down and his breathing settling back into a steady rhythm. Jack released his grip on his chin, letting him look around and reorientate himself, but kept his other hand fixed on his arm. Touch was always the quickest way to settle a panicking Mac, provided Jack was the one doing it. Jack’s hands meant safety, meant protection, and they were the best anchor Mac had to reality when he was lost in a flashback.

“’m okay,” Mac mumbled after a long moment of strained silence, recapturing Jack’s gaze with his own. “I’m back.”

Jack eyed him with poorly disguised scepticism, but he didn’t comment on the reddened eyes or the still laboured breathing. Outside, the storm continued to rumble on like an unwelcome guest.

“It was Paktia again,” Mac said very quietly when Jack didn’t pick up his story. “The apartment building.”

“Aw, hoss. We both got out of there without a scratch. No boom.”

“I know that but… It was so close Jack. If I’d been just a second slower-”

“Ay now, none of that. You stop that right this instant, you hear me? You weren’t a second too slow and even if you had been, it wouldn’t have been on you. We only walked away from that because you were exactly who you needed to be in that moment, right? You did everything you possibly could have done and it paid off, and even if it hadn’t that still would have been true. Don’t kill yourself now over what-ifs, Mac. No one wins that game.”

They’d had the same conversation a hundred times and would no doubt be having it again later that night. Mac had said much the same thing to Jack two weeks ago when he’d come up out of a nightmare swinging. Like everything else they’d done that evening, it was a ritual born of long-held burdens and too many nights haunted by ghosts.

“Yeah,” Mac replied at length, finally releasing his grip on Jack’s shirt and slumping back into the cushions. “Yeah, you’re right.”

“I’m always right.”

“That is highly debatable.”

Jack smiled at Mac’s return to something more like living and silently congratulated himself for helping it happen. His own anxiety had been through the roof since the rain started, but focusing on helping Mac helped to keep his own demons at bay: he didn’t have time to worry about his past horrors when his partner was right there in front of him, needing his support.

“Well, if that’s true, I guess you don’t want any waffles, huh? I was thinking of ordering some myself…”

Mac’s grin was shaky, but it was there all the same. “Ass,” he said fondly, already reaching for his phone. “You can do the ordering this time though.”

Jack snagged the phone and had a quick look through the menu before placing the call. Mac sat quietly beside him all through, his eyes staring blankly out the window as his fingers came to rest against Jack’s pulse. It was a habit he’d picked up from his Overwatch, and he realised very quickly that it was incredibly reassuring to feel the steady thrum and know it meant his partner was safe and healthy and here.

When he was done, Jack dropped the mobile off on the coffee table and returned his attention to their previous conversation. “Now, Sardinia. Where was I?”

Mac huffed out a near-silent laugh and finally relinquished his hold on Jack’s wrist. He busied his fingers with the label of his beer bottle instead, but it was more a force of habit than an anxiety response – baby steps, and all that. “I seem to remember something about you being half-clothed while hanging out of a third story window?”

“Ah, yes!” Jack announced happily, slipping back into his showman persona to chase away the shadows lingering in the corners of the room. “Now, you’ll never guess what happened next.”

“You fell out of a third story window while half-clothed?”

Jack shot him a dry look. “You’ve absolutely no flair for the dramatic Angus.”

He snorted, swaying to the side to bump their shoulders together. “Nah. That’s what I’ve got you for.”

“Damn straight, and don’t you forget it.”

“I wouldn’t dare.”

[kkintle]

The Sea, The Sea by Iris Murdoch ; Quotes

One of the secrets of a happy life is continuous small treats, and if some of these can me inexpensive and quickly procured so much the better.

There will be time and motive enough to prose on about my life when I shall have generated as it were a sufficient cloud of reflection. I am still almost shy of my emotions, shy of the terrible strength of certain memories.

I always felt that we were in the same boat, adventuring along together (…) We enjoyed and craved for each other’s company. What a test that is: more than devotion, admiration, passion. If you long and long for someone’s company you love them.

Is it true however? Well, it is not totally misleading, but it is far too short and ‘smart’. How can one describe real people?

Did I face it well? I think I did. Forgiveness and money were so ready as soon as I knew that she was doomed. That sounds cynical. I always loved her; and we were rewarded. At the very end we were both perfect. Poor Clement. That is a dreadful land, old age. I shall soon be entering it myself.

The image of Hartley changed in my mind from fiery pain to sadness, but never became blank. And in a way, I did keep searching for her, only it was a different and quite involuntary kind of search, a sort of dream-search.

Oh Hartley, Hartley, how timeless, how absolute love is. My love for you is unaware that I am old and you perhaps are dead.

‘I could have told you that country is the least peaceful and private place to live. The most peaceful and secluded place in the world is a flat in Kensington.’

I confess that I went to Peregrine not only for a drinking bout and a chat with and cold friend, but for male company, sheer complicit male company: the complicity of males which is like, indeed is, a kind of complicity in crime, in chauvinism, in getting away with things, in just gluttonously enjoying the present even if hell is all around.

‘We are such inward creatures, that inwardness is the most amazing thing about us, even more amazing than our reason. But we cannot just walk into the cavern and look around. Most of what we think we know are pseudo-knowledge. We are all such shocking poseurs, so good at inflating the importance of what we think we value. (…) People lie so, even we old men do. Though in aa way, if there is art enough it doesn’t matter, since there is another kind of truth in the art’.

‘And if there is art enough a lie can enlighten us as well as the truth. What is the truth anyway, that truth? As we know ourselves we are fake objects, fakes, bundles of illusions. Can you determine exactly what you felt or thought or did? We have to pretend in law courts that such things can be done, but that is just a matter of convenience. Well, well, it doesn’t signify. (…)’

‘(…) Do you know what marriage is like? You say she’s unhappy, most people are. A long marriage is very unifying, even if it’s not ideal, and those old structures must be respected. You may not think much of her husband, but he may suit her, however impressed she is by meeting you again. Has she said she wants to be rescued?

How very convenient these cliché phrases are, how soothing to the pained mind, and how misleading, how concealing.

It is an interesting fact about jealousy (…) that although it is in so many respects a totally irrational as well as totally irresistible emotion, it does show a certain limited reasonableness where temporal priority is concerned.

I love her, I thought, just as if I have been married to her all those years and have seen her gradually grow old and lose her beauty.

You’ve lived in a hedonistic dream all your life, and you’ve got away with behaving like a cad because you always picked on women who could look after themselves. And my God you told us the score, you never committed yourself, you never said you loved us even when you did! A cold fish with clear hands! But it was just luck really if the girls survived.

She summoned up my whole being, and I wanted to hold her and to overwhelm her an to lie with her forever, jusqu’a la fin du monde, and yes, to amaze her humility with the forces of my love, but also to be humble myself and to let her, in the end, console me and give me back my own best self.

After looking at the bright candles I could at first see nothing, and it struck me in an odd way that while I was talking to Hartley I had forgotten about the sea, forgotten it was there and now felt confounded and at a loss to find myself half blind among those terrible rocks.

The formation of my love for Clement, had been one of the main tasks and achievements of my life: that love which so often almost failed but never quite failed.

Being in love, that’s another slavery, stupid when you come to think of it, mad really. You make another person into God. That can’t be right (…) Real love, is free and sane. (…) Real love is like in a marriage when the glamour is gone. (…) Love. God, how often we uttered that word in the theatre and how little we even thought about it.

‘Yes, it’s strange, but in a way I do know you, and there isn’t anyone else who’s near me like that. I support it’s just because we were young, and later you cant know people, or I couldn’t.’

‘It’s happened fast because it’s right, it’s easy because it’s right.’

‘I wish I was dead, I think I’m going to die soon, I feel it. Sometimes I felt I would die by wishing it when I went to sleep but I always woke up again and found I was still there. Every morning finding I’m still me, that’s hell.’ ‘Well, get out of hell then! The gate’s open and I’m holding it!’ ‘I cant. I’m hell, myself.’

‘You just want someone to remember things with.’

It ceased at last, as everything dreadful has to cease, even if it ceases only by death. My presence, my cries, had no effect on her, I doubt if, in a sense, she knew I was there, although also, in a sense, the performance was for me, its violence directed at me.

I remembered, as I now did whenever I awoke, with a pang of anguish and love and fear, that Hartley was in the house.

(…) and although, with her disordered grey hair she looked old and mad, she seemed in that arrested moment like a queen.

‘And you are using this thing from the far past as a guide to important and irrevocable moves which you propose to make in the future. You are making a dangerous induction, and induction is shaky at the best of times, consider Russell’s chicken –‘ ‘Russell’s chicken?’ ‘The farmer’s wife comes out every day and feeds the chicken, but one day she comes out and wrings its neck.’

‘Not to worry. Sic biscuits disintegrat.’ ‘What?’ ‘That’s the way the cookie crumbles.’

We did not dare to say much to each other. By now I wanted the whole thing to be over. I could scarcely endure the idea that she might even now say ‘I don’t think I want to go after all.’; and the impulse to cry out ‘Stop!’ was a pain which I urgently wanted to be without. Perhaps she felt much the same.

James said, ‘I hope you don’t feel that I’ve influenced you in any way against your better judgement?’ ‘No.’ I was not going to argue that point. Of course he had influenced me. But what was my judgement, let alone better judgement?

‘Time can divorce us from the reality of people, it can separate us from people and turn them into ghosts. Or rather it is us who turn them into ghosts or demons. Some kinds of fruitless preoccupations with the past can create such simulacra, and they exercise power, like those heroes at Troy fighting for a phantom Helen.’

‘I’m not calling her a ghost. She is real, as human creatures are, but what reality she has is elsewhere. She does not coincide with your dream figure. You were not able to transform her. You must admit you tried and failed.’

‘(…) It is a mental charade, a necessary one perhaps, it has its own necessity, but not like what you think. Of course you can’t get over it at once. But in a few weeks or a few months you’ll have run through it all, looked at it all again and felt it all again and got rid of it. It’s not an eternal thing, nothing human is eternal. For us, eternity is an illusion. It’s like in a fairy tale. When the clock strikes twelve it will all crumble to pieces and vanish. And you’ll find you are free of her, free of her forever and you can let the poor ghost go. What will remain will be ordinary obligations and ordinary interests. And you’ll feel relief, you’ll feel free. At present, you’re just obsessed, hynotised.’

‘(…) When you’ve known someone from childhood, when you can’t remember when they weren’t there, that’s not an illusion. She’s woven into me. Don’t you understand how one can be so absolutely connected with somebody like that?’

‘(…) I gave her the meaning of my life long ago, I gave it to her and she still has it. Even if she doesn’t know she has it, she has it.’

‘Just like even if she’s ugly she’s beautiful and even if she doesn’t love you she loves you – ‘ ‘But she does –‘ ‘Charles, either this is very fine, very noble, or else you’re mad.’

‘(…) You mustn’t interfere in other people’s lives, especially married people. That’s in a way why marriage is so awful, I can’t think how anyone dares to do it. You’ve got to leave them alone. They’ve got their own way of hating each other and hurting each other, they enjoy it.’

‘”For in that sleep of death what dreams may come.”(…)’

Some kinds of obsession, of which being in love is one, paralyses the ordinary free-wheeling of the mind, its natural open interested curious mode of being, which is sometimes persuasively defined as rationality. I was sane enough to know that I was in a state of total obsession and that I could onlythink, over and over again, certain agonising thoughts, could only run continually along the same rat-paths of fantasy and intent. But I was not sane enough to interrupt this mechanical movement or even to desire to do so.

‘(…) And perhaps I was pleased to see you. We sometimes like to see people whom we hate and despise so that we can stir them up to further demonstrations of how odious they are.’

‘Jealousy is born with love, but does not always die with love.’

‘(…) Ordinary mediocre people think that if they confess one tenth of the truth they’re in the clear. You’ve made all your words into lies, you’ve devalued your speech and – in a moment you’ve spoiled the past – and there’s nothing to rely on any more.’

There were a few clouds, big lazy chryselephantine clouds that loafed around over the water exuding light. I gazed at them and wondered at myself for being too obsessed to be able to admire the marvels that surrounded me. But knowing how blind I was did not make me see.

(…) people can be light sources, without ever knowing, for years in the lives of others, while their own lives take different and hidden courses. Equally, one can be, and I recalled Peregrine’s words, a monster, a cancer, in the mind of someone whom one has half forgotten or even never met.

As James said, ‘If even a dog’s tooth is truly worshipped it glows with light.’

‘Can you hear the sea?’

‘I think you’re nearly through out of it. You’ve built a cage of needs and installed here in an empty space in the middle. The strong feelings are all around her – vanity, jealousy, revenge, your love for your youth – they aren’t focused on her, they don’t touch her. She seems to be their prisoner, but really you don’t harm her at all. You are using her image, a doll, a simulacrum, it’s an exorcism. Soon you will start seeing her as a wicked enchantress. Then you will have nothing to do except forgive here and that will be within your capacity.’

‘The sea is clean. The mountains are high. I think I am becoming drunk.’ ‘The sea is not all that clean,’ said James. ‘Did you know that dolphins sometimes commit suicide by leaping onto the land because they are so tormented by parasites?’ ‘I wish you hadn’t told me that. Dolphins are such good beasts. So even they have their attendant demons.’

‘What after all is superstition?’ said James, pouring some more wine into both glasses. ‘What is religion? Where does the one end and the other begin? How could one answer that question about Christianity?’

‘(…) But this power is dreadful stuff. Our lusts and attachments compose our god. And when one attachment is cast off another arrived by way of consolation. We never give up pleasure absolutely, we only barter it for another.’ (…)

What was my role in this play? I felt myself being relaxed and smiling like a man in a dream who cannot remember his lines but knows he can manage impromptu.

If there’s any fruitless mental torment which is greater than that of jealousy it is perhaps remorse. Even the pains of loss may be less searching; and often of course these agonies combine, as now they did for me. I say remorse not repentance. I doubt if I have ever experienced repentance in a pure form; perhaps it does not exist in a pure form. Remorse contains guilt, but helpless hopeless guilt which knows of no cure for the painful bite.

However life, unlike art, has an irritating way of bumping and limping on, undoing conversions, casting doubt on solutions, and generally illustrating the impossibility of living happily or virtuously even after (…)

Time, like the sea, unties all knots. Judgements on people are never final, they emerge from summing up which at once suggest the need of a reconsideration. Human arrangements are nothing but loose ends and hazy reckoning, whatever art may otherwise pretend in order to console us.

But am I so exceptional? We must live by the light of our self-satisfaction, through that secret vital busy inwardness which is even more remarkable than our reason. Thus we must live unless we are saints, and are there any? There are spiritual beings, perhaps James was one, but there are no saints.

There may be no saints, but there is at least one proof that the light of self-satisfaction can illuminate the whole world.

Of course this chattering diary is a façade, the literary equivalent of the everyday smiling face which hides the inward savages of jealousy, remorse, fear and the consciousness of irretrievable moral failure. Yet such pretences are not only consolations but may even be productive of a little ersatz courage.

That time of attentive mourning for her death was quite unlike the black blank horror of the thing itself. We had mourned together, trying to soothe each other’s pain. But that shared pain was so much less than the torment of her vanishing, the terrible lived time of her eternal absence. How different each death is, and yet it leads us into the self-same country, that country which we inhabit so rarely, where we see that worthlessness of what we have long pursued and will so soon return to pursuing.

There were no trains going where she was.

I cannot now remember the exact sequence of events in those prehistoric years. That we cannot remember such things, that our memory, which is ourself, is tiny, limited and fallible, is also one of the important things about us, like our inwardness and our reason. Indeed it is the very essence of both.

The only fault which I can at all measure is my own.

Anything can be tarnished by association, and if you have enough associations you can blacken the world. (…) In hell or in purgatory there would be no need of other or more elaborate tortures.

My love for you is quiet at last. I don’t want it to become a roaring furnace. If I could have suffered more I would have suffered more. Receive us now as if we were your children. Tenderness and absolute trust and communication and truth matter more and more as one grows older. Somehow let us not waste love, it is rare. Can we not love each other at last in freedom, without awful possessiveness and violence and fear? Love matters, not ‘in love’. Let there be no more partings now. Let there be peace between us now forever, we are no longer young. Love me, Charles, love me enough.

I suppose that is right, though there is a kind of impiety involved in letting any of James’s stuff go away. Do I then suppose he is likely to come back at any moment?

It is strange to think that when I went to the sea I imagined that I was giving up the world. But one surrenders power in one form, and grasps it in another.

[jamestaylorswift]

My giant goes with me wherever I go: a study of the geographic metanarrative of folklore

This topic has been rattling around in my brain ever since I first heard folklore and I think it’s endlessly fascinating. Cue this lengthy but (hopefully) intriguing piece.

I’m afraid the title may not be an accurate reflection of this essay’s content, so here’s a preview of talking points: geography, existence, metanarrative, making sense of the theme of death, the “peace”/“hoax”/“the lakes” trio, history/philosophy, and exactly one paragraph of rep/Lover analysis (as a treat).

I make the standard disclaimer that analysis is by definition subjective. Additionally, many thanks and credit to anyone else who has written analysis of folklore. I am sure my opinions have been influenced by yours, even subconsciously.

Questions, comments, and suggestions are always welcome, and thank you for taking the time to read :)

——

“Traveling is a fool’s paradise. We owe to our first journeys the discovery that place is nothing. At home I dream that at Naples, at Rome, I can be intoxicated with beauty and lose my sadness. I pack my trunk, embrace my friends, embark on the sea, and at last wake up in Naples, and there beside me in the stern Fact, the sad self, unrelenting, identical, that I fled from. I seek the Vatican, and the palaces. I affect to be intoxicated with sights and suggestions, but I am not intoxicated. My giant goes with me wherever I go.”

Ralph Waldo Emerson

——

If Taylor Swift’s music is anything, it is highly geographic. Taylor has been a country, pop, and now alternative artist, yet a storyteller through and through—one with a special knack for developing the aesthetic of songs and even entire records through location. The people and places she writes about seem to mutually breathe life into each other.

It is plausible that Taylor, as a young storyteller, developed this talent by using places as veritable muses just like she did anything else. Furthermore, her confessional storytelling became much more geographic as she shifted to pop because of factors including (though certainly not limited to) purchasing real estate, traveling more, writing in a genre that canonically centers coastal cities, and dating individuals with their own established homes. The geographic motif in her work is so identifiable that all of the corresponding details are—for better or worse—commensurate to autobiography.

However, folklore is not autobiographical in the way that most understand her other albums to be. The relationship between people and places in folklore is likewise much less symbiotic.

The first two songs on the record illustrate this. We are at bare minimum forced to associate the characters of Betty and James with New York: the lyrics about the High Line imply a fraction of their relationship took place in this city. Even so, this does not imply Betty or James ever permanently resided in New York, or that Betty is in New York at the moment she is narrating the story of “cardigan.” Taylor places far more emphasis on James and the nostalgia of youth, with “I knew you” repeated as a hook, to develop the emotional tone of the song. Rhode Island also comes to life in “the last great american dynasty” because of Rebekah Harkness’ larger-than-life character. But Taylor, following Rebekah’s antagonism, states multiple times throughout the song that the person should be divorced from the place. folklore locations are never so revered that they gain the vibrancy of literal human life. Taylor refrains from saying a person is a place in the same way that she has said that she is New York or her lover is the West Village.

For an album undeniably with the most concrete references to location, it is highly irregular—even confusing, given that personification is such a powerful storytelling device—that Taylor does not equate location with personal ethos.

Regurgitating the truism that geography equals autobiography proves quite limiting for interpreting Taylor’s work. How, then, should geography influence our understanding of folklore?

I submit that the stories in folklore are not ‘about’ places but ‘of’ places which are not real. Taylor’s autobiographical fiction makes the settings of the songs similarly fictionalized, metaphorical, and otherwise symbolic of something much more than geography. It is this phenomenon which emotionally and philosophically distinguishes folklore from the rest of her oeuvre.

——

As a consequence of Taylor’s unusual treatment of location, real places in folklore become signposts for cultural-geographic abstractions. Reality is simply a set of worldbuilding training wheels.

Prominent geographic features define places, which define settings. The world of folklore is built from what I’ve dubbed as four archetypal settings: the Coastal Town, the Suburb, the City, and the Outside World.

Each has a couple defining geographic features:

Coastal Town: water, cliffs/a lookout

Suburb: homes, town

City: public areas, social/nightlife/entertainment venues

The Outside World serves as the logical complement of the other three settings.

Understanding that real location in folklore is neither interchangeable nor synonymous with setting is crucial. Rhode Island is like the Coastal Town, but the two settings are not one and the same. The Suburb is an idyllic mid-America setting like Nashville, St. Louis, or Pennsylvania; it is all of those places and none of them at the same time. The City may be New York City, but it is certainly not New York City in the way that Taylor has ever sung about New York City before. The Outside World is just away.

Put simply, folklore is antithetical to Taylor’s previous geographic doctrine. While we are not precluded from, for instance, imagining the City as New York City, we also cannot and should not be pigeonholed into doing so.

Note:

This album purports to embody the stereotypically American folkloric tradition. “Outside” means “anywhere that isn’t America” because the imagery and associations of the first three cultural-geographic settings indeed are very distinctly American.

While Nashville and St. Louis are relatively big cities, they are still orders of magnitude smaller than New York and LA, the urban centers that Taylor normally regards as big cities. In context of this essay, the former locations are Suburban.

In this essay, the purpose of the term ‘of’ is simply to replace the more strict term ‘about.’ ‘Of’ denotes significant emotion tied to a place, usually because of significant time spent there either in the past or present (tense matters). Not all songs are ‘of’ places—it may be ambiguous where action takes place—and some songs can be ‘of’ multiple places due to location changing throughout the story. (This does not automatically mean that songs with more than one location are ‘of’ two places. A passing mention of St. Louis does not qualify “the last great american dynasty” as ‘of’ the Suburb, for example.)

Each of the four archetypal settings must instead be understood as an amalgam of the aesthetics of every real location it could be. Setting then exists in conversation with metaphor because we have a shared understanding of what constitutes a generic Suburb, City, or Coastal Town.

Finally, by transitivity, the settings’ metaphorical significance entirely hinges upon the geographic features’ metaphorical significance. This is what Taylor authors.

The next part of the essay is concerned with deciphering geography in folklore per these guiding questions: how is an archetypal feature used as a metaphor? By proxy, what does that say about the setting defined by it? What theme, if any, unites the settings?

The Coastal Town: Water and Cliffs

The Coastal Town is defined by elemental features.

The first (brief) mentions of water occur on the first two tracks:

Roarin’ twenties, tossing pennies in the pool

Leavin’ like a father, running like water

“the last great american dynasty” introduces the setting to which the pool (water) feature belongs, our Rhode Island-like Coastal Town. It also incorporates a larger water feature, the ocean, and suggests the existence of a lookout or cliffs:

Rebekah gave up on the Rhode Island set forever

Flew in all her Bitch Pack friends from the city

Filled the pool with champagne and swam with the big names

//

They say she was seen on occasion

Pacing the rocks, staring out at the midnight sea

“seven” and “peace” also have brief mentions of water; however, note that these songs remain situated as ‘of’ the Suburb. (More on this later.)

I hit my peak at seven

Feet in the swing over the creek

I was too scared to jump in

But I’m a fire and I'll keep your brittle heart warm

If your cascade, ocean wave blues come

“my tears ricochet” and “mad woman” with their nautical references pertain to the water metaphor:

I didn’t have it in myself to go with grace

And so the battleships will sink beneath the waves

Now I breathe flames each time I talk

My cannons all firin’ at your yacht

“epiphany” also counts, though with the understanding of “beaches” as Guadalcanal this song is ‘of’ the Outside World:

Crawling up the beaches now

“Sir, I think he’s bleeding out”

“this is me trying” and “hoax” reiterate the cliff/lookout geography:

Pulled the car off the road to the lookout

Could’ve followed my fears all the way down

Stood on the cliffside screaming, “Give me a reason”

Finally, “the lakes” features both water and cliffs:

Take me to the lakes, where all the poets went to die

//

Those Windermere peaks look like a perfect place to cry

//

While I bathe in cliffside pools

With my calamitous love and insurmountable grief

In folklore, water dovetails with permanent loss.

“epiphany” is the most egregious example. Crawling up the beaches of a war zone proves fatal. “the lakes” describes grieving in water, perhaps for the loss of one’s life because there exist cliffs from which to jump. “this is me trying” and “hoax” mirror that idea. On the other hand, in “peace,” death does not seem to have any connection to falling from a height.

Loss can also mean loss of sanity, such as with the eccentric character of Rebekah Harkness or Taylor as a “mad woman” firing cannons at (presumably) Scooter Braun’s yacht.

Subtler are the losses alluded to in “my tears ricochet” and “seven,” of identity or image and childhood audacity, respectively. And in the opening tracks water is at its most benign, aligned with loss of a relationship that has run its course in one’s young adulthood.

The most fascinating aspect of water in folklore is that it is an aberration from water as the symbol for life/birth/renewal, derived from maternity and the womb. folklore water taketh away, not giveth.

As of now, the greater significance of the Coastal Town—the meaning to which this contradiction alludes—remains to be seen.

The City: Nightlife, Entertainment, and Public Areas

Preeminent in Taylor’s pop work is the City; New York City, Los Angeles, and London are the locations most frequently extolled as Swiftian meccas. This archetypal setting is given a more understated role in folklore.

“cardigan,” ‘of’ the City, illustrates this setting using public environments and nightlife:

Vintage tee, brand new phone

High heels on cobblestones

//

But I knew you

Dancin’ in your Levi’s

Drunk under a streetlight

//

I knew you

Your heartbeat on the High Line

Once in twenty lifetimes

//

To kiss in cars and downtown bars

Was all we needed

“mirrorball” paints the clearest picture of the City’s nightlife/social venues by sheer quantity of lyrics:

I’m a mirrorball

I’ll show you every version of yourself tonight

I’ll get you out on the floor

Shimmering beautiful

//

You are not like the regulars

The masquerade revelers

Drunk as they watch my shattered edges glisten

//

And they called off the circus, burned the disco down

“invisible string” briefly mentions a bar:

A string that pulled me

Out of all the wrong arms, right into that dive bar

In addition, “this is me trying” implies that the speaker may currently be at a bar, making the song partially ‘of’ the City:

They told me all of my cages were mental

So I got wasted like all my potential

//

I was so ahead of the curve, the curve became a sphere

Fell behind all my classmates and I ended up here

Pouring out my heart to a stranger

But I didn’t pour the whiskey

It goes almost without saying that the City at large is alcohol-soaked. Indeed, alcohol will help us understand this location.

Each of the aforementioned songs has a distinct narrator, like Betty in the case of “cardigan” or Taylor herself, at the very least in the case of “mirrorball” or at most all songs besides “cardigan.” And because the narrative character is so strong, I posit that the meaning of this geography is tied to what alcohol reveals about the speakers of the songs themselves.

“invisible string” and “mirrorball” are alike in the fact that the stories extend well beyond or even completely after nightlife. Meeting in a dive bar in “invisible string” is just the catalyst for a relationship that feels fated. Taylor, in her “mirrorball” musing, expresses concern about how she is perceived by someone close to her. Does existing after the fact (of public perception, at an entertainment venue) constitute an authentic existence? Alcohol, apparently a necessary part of City life, predates events which later haunt the speakers. Emotional torment is then what prompts the speakers to recount their stories.

On the other hand, alcohol directly reveals the emotional states of the speakers in “cardigan” and “this is me trying.” “cardigan” is Betty’s sepia-toned memory of her time with James, in which James’ careless, youthful spirit (“dancin’ in your Levi’s, drunk under a streetlight” and “heartbeat on the High Line”) inspires sadness and nostalgia for their ultimately temporary relationship (“once in twenty lifetimes”). “this is me trying” is tinged with the speaker’s bitterness; hopelessness and regret lead them to the bar and the destructive practice of drinking just to be numb.

These observations suggest that the City is also a site of grief or loss, though not for the same reason that the Coastal Town is. Whereas the Coastal Town is associated with a permanent ending such as death, the City reveals an ending that is more transitional and wistful, tantamount to a coming of age. There is a clear ‘before’ and ‘after’ to loss related to the City: life, though changed, goes on.

The Suburb: Homes and Towns

Noteworthy though the City and Coastal Town may be, the former in particular concerning the pop mythology of Taylor Swift, it is the Suburb which Taylor most frequently references in folklore and establishes as the geographical heart of the album.

The Suburb is defined by a home and town. A “home” encompasses entrances (front/side doors), back and front yards (gardens/lawns/trees/weeds/creeks), and interiors (rooms/halls/closets). The “town” is pretty self-explanatory, with a store, mall, movie theater, school, and yogurt shop.

Observe that the folklore Suburb is the aesthetic equivalent of the “small town” that provided the debut and Fearless albums’ milieu and inspired the country mythology of Taylor Swift. While Taylor primarily wrote about home and school on those albums (because, well, that was closer to her experience as a teenager), the “small town” and the folklore Suburb are functionally the same with regard to pace, quality, and monotonicity of life. Exhibit A: driving around and lingering on front doorsteps are the main attractions for young adults. (From my personal experience growing up in a Suburb, this is completely accurate. And yes, the only other attractions are the mall and the movie theater.)

The Suburb becomes a conduit for conflict.

Conflict that Taylor explores in this setting, including inner turmoil, dissension between characters, and friction between oneself and external (societal) expectations, naturally can be distinguished by distance [1] between the two forces in conflict. As an example, ‘person vs. self’ implies no distance between the sides because they are both oneself. ‘Person vs. society’ is conflict in which the sides are the farthest they could conceivably be from each other. Conflict with greater distance between the sides is usually harder to resolve. One must move bigger mountains, so to speak, to fix these problems.

The folklore Suburb is additionally constructed upon the notion of privacy or seclusion. We can imagine a gradient [2] of privacy illustrated by Suburban geography: the town is a less intimate setting than the outside of the home, which is less intimate than the inside of the home.

I combine these two ideas in the following claim: the Suburb relates distance between two forces in conflict inversely on the geographical privacy gradient. Put simply, the more intimate or ‘internal’ the setting, the farther the two sides in conflict are from each other.

(I offer this claim in the hopes that it will clarify the nebulous meaning of the Suburb in the next section.)

Salient references to the Suburban town can be divided into one of two categories:

Allowing oneself to hope

Allowing oneself to recall

“august” clearly belongs in the first category. Hope is central to August’s character and how she approaches her relationship with James:

Wanting was enough

For me, it was enough

To live for the hope of it all

Canceled plans just in case you’d call

And say, “Meet me behind the mall”

If we interpret the bus as a school bus then “the 1” also belongs in this first town category:

I thought I saw you at the bus stop, I didn’t though

//

I hit the ground running each night

I hit the Sunday matinee

“invisible string” indicates that the yogurt shop is equally innocent as Centennial Park. The store represents the hope of Taylor’s soul mate, parallel to her hope:

Green was the color of the grass

Where I used to read at Centennial Park

I used to think I would meet somebody there

Teal was the color of your shirt

When you were sixteen at the yogurt shop

You used to work at to make a little money

“cardigan” and “this is me trying” alternatively highlight the persistence of memory, with a relationship leaving an “indelible mark” on the narrators. These songs belong in the second category:

I knew I’d curse you for the longest time

Chasin’ shadows in the grocery line

You’re a flashback in a film reel on the one screen in my town

James’ recollection qualifies “betty” for the second category as well. This song shows that emotional weight falls behind the act of remembering:

Betty, I won’t make assumptions

About why you switched your homeroom, but

I think it’s ‘cause of me

Betty, one time I was riding on my skateboard

When I passed your house

It’s like I couldn’t breathe

//

Betty, I know where it all went wrong

Your favorite song was playing

From the far side of the gym

I was nowhere to be found

I hate the crowds, you know that

Plus, I saw you dance with him

The surprising common denominator of these two categories is that conflict is purely internal in public spaces. Regardless of whether the speakers feel positively or negatively (i.e. per category number), their feelings are entirely a product of their own decisions, such as revisiting a memory or avoiding confrontation. This gives credence to the theory that the Suburb inversely relates conflict distance with privacy.

On the other extreme, the home is a site of conflict larger than oneself, and often more conflict in general. Conflict which occurs in the most private setting, inside the house, is conflict where the two sides are most distanced from each other. Conflict near the house, though not strictly inside, is closer, interpersonal.

“my tears ricochet” is just an ‘indoors’ song. The opening line depicts a private, funeral-like atmosphere:

We gather here, we line up, weepin’ in a sunlit room

There are multiple interpretations of this song floating around. The two prevailing ones are about the death of Taylor Swift the persona and the sale of her masters. In either interpretation, society and culture are the foundation for the implied conflict. First, the caricature of Taylor Swift exists as a reflection of pop culture; second, the sale of global superstar Taylor Swift’s masters is a dispute of such magnitude that it is not simply an interpersonal squabble.

For the alternative interpretation that “my tears ricochet” is about a dissolved relationship, “and when you can’t sleep at night // you hear my stolen lullabies” implicates Taylor Swift’s public catalogue (and thus Taylor Swift the persona) as the entity haunting someone else, as opposed to Taylor Swift the former member of the relationship.

“mad woman” is just an ‘outdoors’ song because of the line about the neighbor’s lawn:

What do you sing on your drive home?

Do you see my face in the neighbor’s lawn?

Does she smile?

Or does she mouth, “Fuck you forever”

It’s clear Taylor has a lot of vitriol for Scooter Braun. Though it’s probably a bit of both at the end of the day, I am comfortable calling their feud more of the ‘person vs. person’ variety than the ‘person vs. society’ variety.

Consequently, the privacy gradient claim holds for both songs.

“illicit affairs” is one of two songs with a very clear ‘transformation’ of geography:

What started in beautiful rooms

Ends with meetings in parking lots

In context, this represents the devolution of the relationship. External conflict, the illegitimacy of the relationship, defined the affair when it was in “beautiful rooms.” Relocating to the parking lot (i.e. now referencing the Suburban town) coincides with discord turning inward. Any external shame or scorn for both lovers as a consequence of the affair is replaced by the end of the song with anger the lovers feel towards each other and, more importantly, themselves.

“seven” is the best example of how many types of conflict are present in and around the home:

I hit my peak at seven

Feet in the swing over the creek

I was too scared to jump in

//

And I’ve been meaning to tell you

I think your house is haunted

Your dad is always mad and that must be why

And I think you should come live with me

And we can be pirates

Then you won’t have to cry

Or hide in the closet

//

Please picture me in the weeds

Before I learned civility

I used to scream ferociously

Any time I wanted

The first few lines exemplify ‘person vs. self’ conflict, a fear of heights. The third segment introduces a ‘person vs. society’ dilemma, shrinking pains as a result of socialization into gender norms. (I am assuming that the child is a girl.) The second verse indicates strife between a child and a father. It leaves room for three interpretations:

The conflict is interpersonal, so the father’s anger is wholly or partially directed at the child because the father is an angry person

The conflict is sociological, so the father’s anger is a whole or partial consequence of the gendered roles which the father and child perform

Both

Is curious that we need not regard sadness and the closet in “seven” as mutually inclusive. The narrator says the child’s options are crying (logical) or hiding in the closet. Both the father’s temper and the closet are facts of the child’s life, either innocuous or traumatic or somewhere in between.

But we might—and perhaps should—go further and argue that conflict in “seven” is necessarily sociological, and specifically about being civilized to perform heterosexual femininity. For, taken to its logical extreme, if only gender identity and not sexual identity incites anger, then men must be socialized to become abusive to women, who must be socialized to become submissive to that abuse. Screaming “ferociously” at any time would also denote freedom to be oneself despite men, not freedom to be oneself for one’s own gratification. Yet the child surely enjoys the second freedom at the beginning of the song. While the patriarchy is indeed an oppressive societal force, the interpretation of the social conflict in “seven” as only gendered yields contradiction. This interpretation is much more tenuous than acknowledging that the closet is, in fact, The Closet.

(Mere mention of a closet, the universal symbol for hiding one’s sexuality, immediately justifies a queer interpretation of “seven” notwithstanding other sociological and/or semantic technicalities. A sizable chunk of Taylor’s extensive discography also lends itself to queer interpretation by extension of connection with this song—for instance, by a shared theme of socialization as a primary evil. To me it seems silly at best and homophobic at worst to eschew the reading of “seven” presented here.)

It is undeniable that “seven” represents many types of conflict and places them inversely on the privacy gradient. The father embodies societal conflict larger than the young child and introduces that conflict inside the house. The child faces internal conflict (i.e. a fear of heights) and no conflict at all (i.e. freedom to act fearlessly) outside.

Reconciling “august,” “exile,” and “betty” with the privacy gradient actually requires a queer interpretation of the songs. To avoid the complete logical fallacy of a circular proof, I reiterate that the privacy gradient is simply a means of illustrating how the Suburb functions as an archetypal location. Queer interpretation is a sufficient but not necessary condition for an interesting argument about Suburban spatial symbolism. Reaching a slightly weaker conclusion about the Suburb without the privacy gradient would not impact the conclusions about the other three archetypal locations. Finally, queer (sub)text is a noteworthy topic on its own.

“betty” situates the front porch as the venue where Betty must make a decision about her relationship with James:

But if I just showed up at your party

Would you have me? Would you want me?

Would you tell me to go fuck myself

Or lead me to the garden?

In the garden, would you trust me

If I told you it was just a summer thing?

//

Yeah, I showed up at your party

Will you have me? Will you love me?

Will you kiss me on the porch

In front of all your stupid friends?

If you kiss me, will it be just like I dreamed it?

Will it patch your broken wings?

Influencing Betty’s decision is her relationship with her “stupid” (read: homophobic) friends who don’t accept James (and/or the idea of James/Betty as a pair), her own internalized homophobia, and the trepidation with which she may regard James after the August escapade. The conflict at the front door is external/societal, interpersonal, and internal.

The garden differs from the front door as an area where James and Betty can privately discuss the August escapade. By moving to the garden, the supposed root of their conflict shifts from the oppressive force of homophobia to James’ behavior regarding the love triangle (“would you trust me if I told you it was just a summer thing?”). Much like in “illicit affairs,” motion along the privacy gradient underscores that micro-geography is inversely related to conflict distance.

Next, the implied settings of “august” are a bedroom and a private outdoor location such as a backyard:

Salt air, and the rust on your door

I never needed anything more

Whispers of "Are you sure?”

“Never have I ever before”

//

Your back beneath the sun

Wishin’ I could write my name on it

Will you call when you’re back at school?

I remember thinkin’ I had you

The backyard holds a mixture of ‘person vs. self’ and ‘person vs. person’ conflict. August’s doubts about James manifest as personal insecurities. However, James, by avoiding commitment, is equally responsible for planting that seed of doubt.

The song’s opening scene depicts a young adult losing their virginity. The bedroom can thus be conceptualized as a site of societal conflict because the queer love story expands this location to the geographical manifestation of escapism and denial. James runs off with August as a means to ignore externalized homophobia from a relationship with Betty, who has homophobic friends. Yet they eventually ditch August for Betty, either because of intense feelings for Betty or internalized homophobia—the relationship with August was too perfect, too easy.

“betty” and “august” are consistent with the gradient theory provided we interpret the love triangle narrative as queer. Identity engenders conflict in these songs. The characters then confront the conflict vis-à-vis location. ‘Indoors’ becomes the arena for confronting issues farther from the self, namely concerning homophobia. ‘Outdoors’ scopes cause and therefore possible resolution to individuals’ choices.

Last but not least, consider “exile,” the song with strange staging:

And it took you five whole minutes

To pack us up and leave me with it

Holdin’ all this love out here in the hall

//

You were my crown, now I’m in exile, seein’ you out

I think I’ve seen this film before

So I’m leaving out the side door

“I’m in exile, seein’ you out” and “I’m leaving out the side door” contradict each other. The speaker, “I,” seeing their lover out means that the speaker remains inside the house while their lover leaves. But the “I” also leaves through the side door. Does the speaker follow their lover out? If so, then whose house are they leaving? It is most likely a shared residence. They plan on coming back.

Taylor said in an interview [3] that the verses, sung by different people, represent the perspectives of the two lovers. The “me” in the first segment is the “you” in the second. So our “I” is left in the hall too. Both individuals  in the relationship are implied to leave and stay at different times.

An explanation for this inconsistency lies in the distinction between doors. A front door in folklore is symbolic of trust, that which makes or breaks a relationship (see: Betty’s front door and the door in “hoax”). It also forces sociological conflict to be resolved at the interpersonal level, lest serious problems hang out in the open. Fixing the world at large is usually impossible, and so front doors only create more issues. (The mountains, as they say, are too big to move.) The main entrance is thus a site for volatility and high stakes.

“exile” suggests that a shared side door is for persistent, dull, aching pain. This door symbolizes shame which is inherent to a relationship. It forces the partners to come and go quietly, to hide the existence of their love. Inferred from a queer reading of “exile” is that it is homophobia that erases the relationship. Conflict with society as evinced in individuals is once again consistent with the staging at the home.

Note that few (though multiple) explanations could resolve the paradox between intense shame in a relationship and the setting of a permanent shared home. Racism, for example, may be a reason individuals hide the existence of a loving relationship. Nevertheless, the overall effect of Taylor’s writing is that it is believable autobiography. It is unlikely that she’s speaking about racism here, least of all because there are two other male characters in the song. So a slightly more uncouth name for “exile” would be “the last great american mutual bearding anthem.”

To summarize, the Suburb is an archetypal setting constructed upon the notion of privacy. Taylor makes the folklore Suburb the primary home (no pun intended) of conflict of all kinds. Through an intimate, inverse relationship between drama and constitutive geography, Taylor argues that unrest and incongruity are central to what the Suburb represents.

The Outside World

The final archetypal setting is the complement to the first three—a physical and symbolic alternative.

The Guadalcanal beaches in “epiphany” (which are also alluded to in “peace”) contrast the homeland in “exile” through a metaphor about war. The Lake District in England is opposite America, the setting of most of folklore. The Moon, Saturn, and India are far away from Pennsylvania, the setting of “seven.” India quantifies the lengths to which the speaker of the song would go to protect the child character, while astronomy abstracts the magnitude of the speaker’s love.

This archetypal setting is symbolic of disengagement and breaking free from limitations. Moving to India in “seven” is how the speaker and child could escape problems at the child’s home. Analogizing war with the pandemic in “epiphany” removes geographical and chronological constraints from trauma.

The Lake District is where Taylor, a poet, goes to die. The line “I don’t belong and, my beloved, neither do you” could also suggest that this location is where Taylor and her muse break free from being outcasts (i.e. they find belonging). Regardless, the Lake District is where she disengages from the ultimate limitation of life itself.

——

How is an archetypal feature used as a metaphor? By proxy, what does that say about the setting defined by said feature?

Analysis of each archetypal feature yielded the following:

The Coastal Town is representative of permanent loss/endings

The City is representative of transitional loss/endings

The Suburb is the site of character-defining conflict

The Outside World is freedom from the constraints of the other settings

What theme unites these settings?

Though the majority of songs in folklore are anachronistic, the album has a temporal spirit. Geography seems to humanize and animate folklore: the meanings of the settings mirror the stages of life.

(The theoretical foundation for this claim is a topology of being; that the nature of being [4] is an event of place.)

The City, characterized by transition, is the coming-of-age and the Coastal Town, characterized by permanent endings, is death.

The Outside World, an alternative to life itself, is hence a rebirth. (After all, Romantic poets experienced a spiritual and occupational rebirth upon retiring to the Lakes to die. We remember them by their retreat.)

Outwardly, the Suburb is ambiguous. It could be representative of adolescence or adulthood—before or after the City. Analysis shows that this setting is nothing if not complex. Adult Taylor writes about the Suburb as someone whose opinion of this setting has unquestionably soured since adolescence. Yet she also approaches the Suburb with the singular goal of creating nuance, specifically by exposing unrest and incongruity which the setting usually obfuscates. This setting, ironically one that is (culturally) ruled by haughty adolescents, is where she explores the myriad subtleties and uncertainties coloring adulthood. The Suburb thus cannot be for adolescence because James is 17 and doesn’t know anything. Taylor intentionally situates the Suburb between the City and Coastal Town as the geographic stand-in for a complicated adulthood.

Despite genre shifts, Taylor has always excelled at establishing a clear setting for her songs. She is arguably even required to establish setting more clearly for folkloric storytelling than for her brand of confessional pop. If we can’t fully distinguish between reality and fiction, we must be able to supplement our understanding of a story with strong characterization, which is ultimately a byproduct of setting. Geography is a prima facie necessity for creating folklore.

This further suggests that the ‘life story’ told through geography is the thing closest to a metanarrative of folklore.

I use this term to refer to an album’s overarching narrative structure which Taylor creates (maybe subconsciously) in service of artistic self-expression. Interrogating ‘metanarrative’ should not be confused with the protean, impossible, and distracting task of deciphering Taylor Swift’s life. True metanarrative is always worth exploring. Also, though some conclusions about metanarrative may seem more plausible than others, at the end of the day all relevant arguments are untenable. Only Taylor knows exactly which metanarrative(s) her albums follow, if any. It is simply worth appreciating that folklore allows an interesting discussion about metanarrative in the first place; that it is both possible to find patterns sewn into the fabric of the work and to resonate with that which one believes those patterns illustrate. I digress.

folklore is highly geographic but orthogonal to all of our geographic expectations of mood or tone. Through metaphor, Taylor upends our assumptions about the archetypal settings.

The Outside World is usually a setting which represents a brief and peaceful respite for travelers. Here, it is the setting for complete and permanent disengagement. Hiding and running away was a panacea in reputation/Lover, but in folklore, finding peace in running and hiding becomes impossible.

The City is usually regarded as a modern Fountain of Youth and, in Taylor’s work, a home. However, the folklore City’s shelter is temporary and its energy brittle, like the relationship between the characters that inhabit it. The City has lost its glow.

One would expect the Coastal Town to be peaceful and serene given its small size and proximity to water. Taylor makes it the primary site of death, insanity, permanent loss. The place where one cannot go with grace is hardly peaceful.

The Suburb is not the romanticized-by-necessity dead end that it is in a Bildungsroman like Fearless. Rather, it is the site of great conflict as a consequence of individual identity. The American suburb is monolithic by design; Taylor points the finger of blame back at this design for erasing hurt and trauma. By writing against the gradient of privacy, she obviates all simplicity and serenity for which this location is known. Bedrooms no longer illustrate the dancing-in-pjs-before-school and floodplain-of-tears binary. Front porches become more sinister than the place to meet a future partner and rock a baby. Characters’ choices—often between two undesirable options in situations complicated by misalignment of the self and the world at large—become their biggest mistakes. It is with near masochistic fascination that Taylor dissects how the picturesque Suburban façade disguises misery.

If we have come to expect anything from Taylor, it is that she will make lustrous even the most mundane feelings and places. (And she is very good at her job.) folklore is a departure from this practice. She replaces erstwhile veneration of geography itself with nostalgia, bitterness, sadness, or disdain for any given setting. folklore is orthogonal to our primary expectation of Taylor Swift.

Yet another fascinating aspect of folklore is the air of death. It’s understandable. Taylor has ‘killed’ relationships, her own image, and surely parts of her inner self an unknowable number of times. Others have tarnished her reputation, stolen her songs, and deserted her in personal and professional life. She perishes frequently, both by her own hand and by the hands of others. The losses compound.

I’ve lost track of the number of posts I’ve seen saying that folklore is Taylor mourning friendships, love, a past self, youth…x, y, z. It has literally never been easier to project onto a Taylor Swift album, folks! At the same time, it is very difficult to to pinpoint what, exactly, Taylor is mourning. To me, listing things is a far too limited understanding of folklore. The lists simply do not do the album justice.

Death’s omnipresence has intrigued many, and I assert for good geographic reason. Reinforcing the album’s macabre undertone is nonlinear spatial symbolism: each setting bares a grief-soaked stage of a single life. From the City to the Suburb, Coastal Town, and Outside World, we perceive one’s sadness and depression, anger and helplessness, frustration and scorn, and acceptance, respectively. folklore holds a raw, primal grief at its core.

The geographic metanarrative justifies Taylor’s unabridged grieving process as that over the death of her own Romanticism. For the album’s torment is not as simple as in aging or metamorphosis of identity, not as glorified or irreverent as in a typical Swiftian murder-suicide, not as overt as in a loss with something or someone to blame. folklore is Taylor’s reckoning with what can only be described as artistic mortality.

——

To summarize up until this point: geography in folklore is not literal but metaphorical. The artistic treatment of folklore settings evinces a ‘geographic metanarrative,’ a close connection between settings and the stages of a life spent grieving. I propose that this life tracks Taylor’s relationship to her Romanticism. folklore follows the stages of Taylor’s artistic grief, so we will see that the conclusion of the album brings the death of Taylor’s Romanticism.

It is important to distinguish between the death of Romanticism in general and the death of Taylor’s Romanticism. folklore presents an argument for the latter.

A central conceit of Romanticism is its philosophy of style:

The most characteristic romantic commitment is to the idea that the character of art and beauty and of our engagement with them should shape all aspects of human life.…if the romantic ideal is to materialize, aesthetics should permeate and shape human life. [5]

Romanticism is realized through imagination:

The imagination was elevated to a position as the supreme faculty of the mind.…The Romantics tended to define and to present the imagination as our ultimate “shaping” or creative power, the approximate human equivalent of the creative powers of nature or even deity. It is dynamic, an active, rather than passive power, with many functions. Imagination is the primary faculty for creating all art. On a broader scale, it is also the faculty that helps humans to constitute reality…we not only perceive the world around us, but also in part create it. Uniting both reason and feeling…imagination is extolled as the ultimate synthesizing faculty, enabling humans to reconcile differences and opposites in the world of appearance. [6]

Imagination then engenders an artist-hero lifestyle [7]. This is similar—if not identical—to what we perceive of Taylor Swift’s life:

By locating the ultimate source of poetry in the individual artist, the tradition, stretching back to the ancients, of valuing art primarily for its ability to imitate human life (that is, for its mimetic qualities) was reversed. In Romantic theory, art was valuable not so much as a mirror of the external world, but as a source of illumination of the world within.…The “poetic speaker” became less a persona and more the direct person of the poet.…The interior journey and the development of the self recurred everywhere as subject material for the Romantic artist. The artist-as-hero is a specifically Romantic type.

Taylor’s Romanticism is thus her imagination deified as her artist-hero.

Moreover, the discrepancy between perceptions of grief in folklore is a consequence of the death of her Romanticism.

We (i.e. outsiders) naturally perceive the death of the Romantic as the death of Romantic aesthetics. Hence the lists upon lists of things that Taylor mourns instead of celebrates.

Taylor seems to grieve her Romantic artist-hero. Imaginative capacity predicates an artist-hero self-image, so conversely the death of the Romantic strips imagination of its power. The projected “fantasy, history, and memory” [8] of folklore indeed unnerves rather than comforts. The best example of this is from a corollary of the geographic metanarrative. Grief traces geography which traces life, and life leaks from densely populated areas to sparsely populated areas (it begins in the City and ends in the Outside World). Metaphorical setting, a product of imagination, aids the Romantic’s unbecoming. So, imagination is not a “synthesizing faculty” for reconciling difference; it is instead a faculty that divides.

Discriminating between the death of Romanticism in general and the death of Taylor’s Romanticism contextualizes folklore’s highly individualized grief. It is hard to argue that Taylor Swift will ever be unimaginative. But if we assume that she subscribes to a Romantic philosophy, then it follows that confronting the limits of the imagination is, to her, akin to a reckoning with mortality, a limit of the self.

——

folklore follows the stages of Taylor’s artistic grief. The album ends with Taylor accepting of the death of her Romanticism and being reborn into a new life. The final trio of songs, set ‘of’ the Suburb, Coastal Town, and Outside World in turn, frame the album’s solitary denouement.

In truth, “peace” is hardly grounded in Suburban geography. The nuance in it certainly makes it a thematic contemporary of other songs belonging to the Suburb, however. And consider: the events of “peace” are after the coming-of-age, the City; defining geographic features of the Coastal Town and Outside World are referenced in the future tense; an interior wall, the closest thing to Suburban home geography, is referenced in the present tense:

Our coming-of-age has come and gone

//

But I’m a fire and I’ll keep your brittle heart warm

If your cascade ocean wave blues come

//

You paint dreamscapes on the wall

//

And you know that I’d swing with you for the fences

Sit with you in the trenches

Per tense and the geographic metanarrative, “peace” is Suburban and is the first story of this trio. “hoax” and “the lakes” trivially follow (in that order) by their own geography.

The trio is clearly a story about Taylor and her muse. Understanding perspective in these songs will help us reconcile the lovers’ story and the geographic metanarrative.

We must compare lines in “peace” and “hoax” to determine who is speaking in those songs and when. Oft-repeated imagery makes it challenging to find a distinguishing detail local only to the trio. I draw attention to the affectionate nickname “darling”:

And it’s just around the corner, darlin’

'Cause it lives in me

Darling, this was just as hard

As when they pulled me apart

These two mentions are the only such ones in folklore. Whoever sings the first verse of “peace” must sing the bridge of “hoax” too.

“hoax” adds that the chorus singer’s melancholy is because of their faithless lover:

Don't want no other shade of blue but you

No other sadness in the world would do

Augmenting Lover is an undercurrent of sadness to which Taylor alludes with the color blue. By a basic understanding of that album, Taylor sings the “hoax” chorus.

The fire and color metaphors in tandem make the “hoax” verse(s) and bridge from the perspective of the lover who is burned and dimmed by the energy of their partner, the “peace” chorus singer:

I am ash from your fire

//

But what you did was just as dark

But I’m a fire and I’ll keep your brittle heart warm

Finally, a motif of an unraveling aligns the “hoax” verse(s) and bridge singer:

You knew it still hurts underneath my scars

From when they pulled me apart

//

My kingdom come undone

The “hoax” verse(s), chorus, and bridge are all sung by the same person.

In sum: Taylor sings the first verse of “peace” and her lover sings the chorus of “peace.” (See this post for more on “peace.”) Taylor alone sings “hoax.” “the lakes” is undoubtedly from Taylor’s perspective too.

Now let’s examine “peace” more closely:

Our coming-of-age has come and gone

Suddenly this summer, it’s clear

I never had the courage of my convictions

As long as danger is near

And it’s just around the corner, darlin’

‘Cause it lives in me

No, I could never give you peace

But I’m a fire and I'll keep your brittle heart warm

If your cascade, ocean wave blues come

All these people think love’s for show

But I would die for you in secret

The devil’s in the details, but you got a friend in me

Would it be enough if I could never give you peace?

Taylor’s lover has the temerity to die for her in secret. We can infer from the first verse that Taylor’s coming-of-age brings not the courage her lover possesses but clarity about an unsustainable habit. She realizes that she cherishes youthful fantasies of life (such as “this summer,” à la “august”) for mettle. This apparently knocks her out of her reverie.

The recognition that being an artist-hero hurts her muse frames the death of Taylor’s Romanticism. It is impossible for Taylor to both manage an unpleasant reality and construct a more peaceful one using her Romantic imagination. The rift between her true lived experience (“interior journey”) and the experience of her art (“development of the self”) is what fuels alienation from Romance. The artist is unstitched from the hero.

“hoax” continues along this line of reasoning. In this song, she admits that she has been hurt by herself:

My twisted knife

My sleepless night

My winless fight

This has frozen my ground

As well as by her lover:

My best laid plan

Your sleight of hand

My barren land

I am ash from your fire

And by others:

You knew it still hurts underneath my scars

From when they pulled me apart

The bridge marks is the turning point where she lets go of of her youth and adulthood, both of which are tied to her Romanticism through geography:

You know I left a part of me back in New York

You knew the hero died so what’s the movie for?

You knew it still hurts underneath my scars

From when they pulled me apart

You knew the password so I let you in the door

You knew you won so what’s the point of keeping score?

You knew it still hurts underneath my scars

From when they pulled me apart

Of utmost importance is the very first line. The muse to whom Taylor addresses “hoax” is said to have been present at Taylor’s side through all of her struggles (“you knew”). The first line reveals that the lover did not know that Taylor left a part of herself back in New York (“you know [now]”). Taylor is only sharing her newfound realization as she stands on the precipice of the Coastal Town.

Nearly imperceptible though this syntactic difference is, it is an unmistakable reprise of the effect of the verses and chorus of “cardigan.” (Coincidentally, references to New York connect the songs.) “Knew” and “know” in both songs underscore a difference between what a character remembers (or had previously experienced) and what they understand in the current moment (or have just come to realize). Betty realizes at the very moment that she narrates “cardigan” that it was a mistake to excuse James’ behavior as total ignorance and youthful selfishness. Taylor realizes in “hoax” that she can no longer cling to youth, the romanticization of her youth, or romanticization of the romanticization of her youth. The youth in her is gone forever because she is no longer attached to the City. The adult in her has also matured for she is past the Suburb as well. The Coastal Town thus very appropriately stages the death of her Romantic.

Anyone who listens to Taylor’s music has been trained to connect geography to the vitality of Romantic artist-hero Taylor. In short, aestheticized geography renders Taylor’s Romantic autobiography. By letting go of the parts of her connected to geography, Taylor abandons the Romantic aesthetics both she and listeners associate with location. Divorcing from aesthetics also pre-empts romanticization of location in the future. The bridge of “hoax” is thus most easily summarized as the moment when any fondness for and predisposition towards Romance crumbles completely.

Lastly, we must pay special attention to micro-geography in the “hoax” chorus. We recall from “the last great american dynasty” and “this is me trying” the insanity that consumes the characters who contemplate the cliffs. The Coastal Town is not a beautiful place to die; one is graceless when moribund:

They say she was seen on occasion

Pacing the rocks, staring out at the midnight sea

I’ve been having a hard time adjusting

//

Pulled the car off the road to the lookout

Could’ve followed my fears all the way down

From “peace” we know that Taylor’s lover is willing to die for her, in particular if Taylor’s sadness becomes too great (i.e. if she goes to the sea).

But I’m a fire and I'll keep your brittle heart warm

If your cascade, ocean wave blues come

All these people think love’s for show

But I would die for you in secret

The “hoax” chorus is when Taylor’s sadness balloons. Taylor the Romantic is ready to die:

Stood on the cliffside screaming, "Give me a reason"

Your faithless love’s the only hoax I believe in

Don't want no other shade of blue but you

No other sadness in the world would do

Remember Rebekah, pacing the rocks, staring out at the midnight sea. Taylor is in this same position, on the cliffs, facing the water. Why is she screaming? Taylor is yelling down at her lover, who has already died (in secret, of course) and is in the water below waiting to catch her. (“I’m always waiting for you to be waiting below,” anyone?) Taylor’s singular faith is in her lover, and Taylor wants them to promise to catch her when she falls. In the end, though, the inherent danger nullifies what the lover could do to convince Taylor that the two would reunite safely below.

Taylor examines the water and realizes that her lover’s hue is combined with the blue of the sea. The sea cannot promise to catch her. Already mentally reeling, the admixture of sadnesses—in the setting which represents the culmination of life—makes Taylor recalcitrant. The Coastal Town has too much metaphorical baggage. It is not the place Taylor leaps from the cliffs. The first line of the “hoax” chorus uses “stood,” which implies that Taylor is reflecting on this dilemma after the fact.

The outro reinforces that the Coastal Town is where Taylor the Romantic comes to term with death but does not actually die:

My only one

My kingdom come undone

My broken drum

You have beaten my heart

Don’t want no other shade of blue but you

No other sadness in the world would do

Romantic imagination cannot protect Taylor from all the hurt she has suffered in reality. A calm settles over her as the chords modulate to the relative major key. She reflects on her journey: “my only one” corresponds to the first verse which introduces her solemn situation; “my kingdom come undone” ties to the self-inflicted hurt that froze her ground; “my broken drum // you have beaten my heart” supplements the second verse about suffering from her lover’s duplicity. The last lines are again her rationale for not jumping from the rocks. Finally, after the album-long grieving period, Taylor the Romantic has made peace with her inevitable death.

Romanticism is Taylor’s giant which goes with her wherever she goes. Running, hiding, traveling, and uprooting are indeed the fool’s paradise in her previous albums. Impermanence of setting—roaming the world for self-culture, amusement, intoxication of beauty, and loss of sadness [9]—engenders an impermanence of self, which fuels the instinct to cling tightly to what does remain constant. Naturally, then, Romanticism is Taylor’s only enduring companion. It becomes the lens through which she understands the world, yet the rose-colored one which by virtue inspires problems on top of problems. Forevermore does her Romantic inspire a cycle of catharsis that plays out in real life. Thy beautiful kingdom come, then tragically come undone.

Taylor chooses to go to the Lakes to escape from the constraints of this cycle:

Take me to the Lakes where all the poets went to die

I don’t belong and, my beloved, neither do you

Those Windermere peaks look like a perfect place to cry

I’m setting off, but not without my muse

Of the death story in the “peace”/“hoax”/“the lakes” trio, it is impossible to ignore the mutualism of Taylor and her muse. Neither of them belong of this life—and ‘of’ American geography—anymore. Taylor’s last wish is to go to the Outside World and jump (“[set] off”) from the Windermere peaks with her muse, who is ever willing to both lead Taylor to the dark and follow her into it.

Taylor bids a final goodbye—appropriately, in the tongue of Romance—to the philosophy which has anchored her all this time:

I want auroras and sad prose

I want to watch wisteria grow right over my bare feet

'Cause I haven’t moved in years

And I want you right here

Romanticism, her art and life in tandem, brought Taylor what she values: union with her muse in the privacy of nature and her imagination. The final ode holds respect.

Finally, her death. The journey of grief concludes with Taylor both accepting death and, fascinatingly, being reborn into a new life:

A red rose grew up out of ice frozen ground

With no one around to tweet it

While I bathe in cliffside pools

With my calamitous love and insurmountable grief

In keeping with metaphorical geography, old life dwindling in water is exactly concurrent with new life flourishing on land.

Observe that the rebirth concerns ice frozen ground, an element of “hoax,” which is set in the Coastal Town. The rebirth must happen back in America even though the death happens at the Lakes.

Despite the imagery, this is not a Romantic rebirth. Begetting a new life is the juxtaposition of two things Taylor once romanticized toward opposite extremes—a red rose for beauty and an ice frozen ground for tragedy—with her simple refusal that either be distorted as externalities of her experience.

This final stanza is wide open for interpretation with regards to the story of the two lovers. It allows a priori all permutations of Taylor and/or her muse experiencing rebirth as the red rose and/or the frozen ground:

Taylor and her lover experience a rebirth together

Taylor is the red rose and her lover is the ice frozen ground

Taylor is the ice frozen ground and her lover is the red rose

Taylor and her lover are indivisible: they are both the rose and the frozen ground

Taylor alone experiences a rebirth

Taylor is the rose

Taylor is the ice frozen ground

Taylor is the rose + ice frozen ground

The lover alone experiences a rebirth

The lover is the rose

The lover is the ice frozen ground

The lover is the rose + frozen ground

(2) and (3) make death at the end of “the lakes” purely sacrificial. This is inconsistent with the disproportionate emphasis placed on the lovers’ mutualism. I am thus inclined to dismiss (2) and (3) as consequences of combinatorics.

There are also two interpretations of the final lines of the bridge:

Taylor the Romantic is the implied ‘I’ overcome with grief; her muse is her calamitous love with whom she bathes

Taylor the Romantic possesses both calamitous love and insurmountable grief; her lover, as per usual, dies with her in secret

It is unclear which is the truth. Still, (1) is relatively straightforward: there are two entities said to bathe in the Lakes and two entities said to be involved in reincarnation.

There need not be ‘parity’ between old life and new (reincarnated) life with respect to the lovers’ relationship status. If Taylor’s muse dies, does her relationship dissolve? Or must her muse, who dies at Taylor’s side, be reborn at her side too? If Taylor declares her devotion to her lover before her death, does that ensure that they are together in perpetuity? Or is that sentiment purely a relic of her past life, in which case her love disappears anew? Perhaps the invisible string tying the lovers together bonds them in eternal life. Perhaps the string snaps. Which is the blessing and which is the curse?

Whatever you make of ‘parity’ in reincarnation, it is important to remember that Taylor insists the relationship between her and her muse is at least a spiritual or divine one—if not also a worldly one—for it exists in conjunction with her own metaphysic.

How does reincarnation betray Romanticism?

A. Taylor is the red rose and the lover is the ice frozen ground.

Taylor as the rose does not trivially align with a bygone Romanticism, for the rose epitomizes Romance. Key, therefore, is the line about tweeting. Taylor abhors the practice of cataloguing and oversharing in service of knowing something completely—effectively ‘modern’ Romanticism.

Digital overexposure is an occupational hazard [10], but Taylor refuses to let ‘modern’ Romanticism to become invasive this time around. New life shall not be defiled by social media. It shall remain pure by individual will. Though Taylor’s rebirth into a new life happens on land in America, that it does not become a hyperbole of local Twitter is the proverbial nail in the coffin of Romanticism, distortion in service of aesthetic.

Rose imagery also draws a direct parallel to “The Lucky One,” Taylor’s self-proclaimed meditation [11] on her worst fears of stardom. The “Rose Garden” in this song contextualizes the “lucky” one’s disappearance from the spotlight:

It was a few years later

I showed up here

And they still tell the legend of how you disappeared

How you took the money and your dignity, and got the hell out

They say you bought a bunch of land somewhere

Chose the Rose Garden over Madison Square

And it took some time, but I understand it now

Emphasis on individual choice in the aforementioned star’s return to normalcy bears a striking resemblance to the individualistic philosophy of “the lakes,” as exemplified by Taylor and her muse choosing to jump from the Windermere peaks and Taylor keeping her rose off social media. Mention of a “legend” that describes disappearance and simultaneous return elsewhere is another connection to the “the lakes.”

Taylor as the rose could alternatively represent a chromatic devolution of true love (“I once believed love was burnin’ red // but it’s golden”). That is, becoming a rose suggests she may have changed her mind back to believing that love is burning red. This more generally represents returning to the beginning of a journey that began in the Red era. Perhaps Taylor sees Red as the beginning of her calamitous Romanticism. She realizes by folklore the fears which she surveyed in “The Lucky One,” so choosing a new life presents an opportunity to protect post-Speak Now Taylor from self-inflicted wounds which fester and prove fatal to her Romantic. (In essence…time travel.)

Taylor’s lover, ice frozen ground, is reborn frigid not blazing, the opposite of their raging fire. Taming the lover’s wild essence renders it impossible for them to be a Romantic muse in a new life. If the two lovers do indeed share an eternal love, then death reveals a conscious choice not to glorify it.

Additionally, Taylor’s artist-hero imagination has no power in her new life. Taylor and her lover have effectively switched spots. All we previously knew of the lover’s secrets and secret death was from what Taylor wrote, so Taylor (for lack of a better phrase) concealed her lover. The lover, ice frozen ground, is now the one concealing Taylor, the rose. As a smothering but not razing force, Taylor’s lover thus is reincarnated into the role of a public protector. Reincarnation reveals that the death of Romanticism is abetted through the death of secrecy, which always allows distortion of truth.

Another possibility: the secrecy surrounding the lover is that they were the ice frozen ground. If Taylor confirms that the lover was something ‘tragic’ before, then after the death of Romanticism they counterintuitively may become beautiful. Or, the lover continues to be tragic, and paramount again is Taylor’s choice not to sensationalize her muse.

B. Taylor is the ice frozen ground and the lover is the red rose.

Many of the themes above apply to this interpretation too.

Taylor reborn as ice frozen ground does not change her essence from “hoax.” By not ‘shaking off’ a sadness with her rebirth, she subverts the usual expectation—a product of the many years devoted to fixing any and all criticism [12]—of artist-hero Taylor Swift.

The lover reborn as the red rose means their being surfaces where they once were hidden and/or that they are not the golden love they had been in reputation, Lover, and “invisible string.” New life brings the bright, burning “red” emotions. Either what was once very bad is now very good and vice versa, or these emotions are simply not very anything because Taylor doesn’t want to sensationalize them as a pastiche of Red. If Taylor’s love is eternal, then she will be more subdued when sharing it; if it is not eternal, then she will simply move on.

This interpretation implies that Taylor’s Rose Garden is eternal love without the necessity of elevating her partner to Romantic muse status. No one being around to tweet the rose bursting through the ice means that Taylor alone gets to appreciate her lover for their pure essence before modern society does—lest the lover be perceived at all.

C. Taylor and her lover are indivisible: they are both the rose and the frozen ground

Taylor’s “twisted knife”/“sleepless night”/“winless fight” froze her ground but her lover’s “sleight of hand” made the land barren, unable to sustain life. The two lovers are emotionally at odds, but Romanticism acts as the “synthesizing faculty” which unites them in their old life.

The metaphor of the rose and frozen ground does not work without each part. It is possible that the lovers remain equally united in their new life; the lovers’ spiritual connection yields unity after reincarnation. Abiogenesis is therefore the phenomenon which betrays Romanticism. The lovers exist alongside each other naturally, not because they are opposites which Romanticism has forced together.

This is probably the most lighthearted interpretation of the last stanza in “the lakes.” Extreme hardship helps the lovers grow, and they remain intertwined through eternity.

——

The geographic elegy of folklore is that for Taylor’s giant, her Romantic, something both treasured and despised right until its end. (How appropriately meta.)

This raises the question: what replaces it?

Nothing.

folklore can—and perhaps should—be understood as a Transcendental work rather than a Romantic one. From this angle, Romanticism is that which prevented Taylor from connecting with something deeper within herself, something more eternal.

“Transcendental” does not mean “transcendent” or beyond human experience altogether, but something through which experience is made possible. [13]

Transcendentalism and Romanticism were two literary and philosophical movements that occurred during roughly the same time period [14].  Romanticism dominated England, Germany, and France in the late 18th and early 19th centuries slightly before Transcendentalism swept through America in the mid-1800s.

The two movements heavily influenced [15] each other. Transcendentalists and Romantics shared an appreciation for nature, doubt of (Calvinist) religious dogma, and an ambivalence or dislike of society and its institutions as corrupting forces. We see Taylor align herself with these ideas by the end of the album. “the lakes” holds a reverence of the natural world, disregard of predestination, and contempt for Twitter.

But Transcendentalism sharply diverged from Romanticism along the axis of faith. Transcendentalism thrived as a religious movement that emphasized individualism as a means for self-growth and, in particular, achieving a personal, highly spiritualized [16] understanding of God:

For many of the transcendentalists the term “transcendentalism” represented nothing so technical as an inquiry into the presuppositions of human experience, but a new confidence in and appreciation of the mind’s powers, and a modern, non-doctrinal spirituality. The transcendentalist, Emerson states, believes in miracles, conceived as “the perpetual openness of the human mind to new influx of light and power…”

Romantics, for instance, viewed nature as a source of imagination, inspiration, and enlightenment, whereas Transcendentalists saw nature as a vessel for exploring spirituality. Transcendentalists believed in an innate goodness of people for possession of a divine inner light [17]. Occupied with the perverse and disparate, Romantics believed people were capable both of great good and terrible evil.

It’s tempting to scope Taylor’s shift from Romanticism to Transcendentalism to this album alone. It’s true that folklore is filled with individualism, a hallmark of Transcendentalist philosophy. However, I argue that spirituality reveals a journey towards Transcendentalism that began well before folklore.

Consider the evolution of faith from reputation to Lover. Taylor places more emphasis on personal spirituality as she becomes increasingly disillusioned with organized religion/religious dogma. In “Don’t Blame Me,” Taylor defies religious convictions in favor of chasing the high of her forbidden love. Then her quiet and private life with her lover in “Cornelia Street” advances whatever traditional religious beliefs she possessed towards a self-defined spirituality (“sacred new beginnings that became my religion”). Individual spiritual enlightenment and religious conviction become mutually exclusive by the end of Lover, for the lovers would still worship their love even if it is a “false god.”

The final scene proves most important for establishing the album’s philosophy. In the end of “the lakes.” Taylor chooses death and is reincarnated into new life, kept pure also by individual will. (It should be noted that Transcendentalism was heavily influenced [18] by Indian religions, of which reincarnation is a central tenet.) Choosing reincarnation—to the extent that one even can—reflects a greater understanding of oneself. Choice, the ultimate power granted in the self, engenders spirituality. It is the means by which one follows a divine, guiding spark (i.e. “inner light”) in search of connection with others and the natural world. The album’s ending marries individualism with spirituality, which makes Taylor a true champion of Transcendentalism.

——

Transcendentalism is considered one of the most dominant American intellectual movements. Exploring the significance of Transcendentalist Taylor Swift is a rather unimaginative end to this essay. If we try hard enough, we will always be able to connect its philosophy to any art that exists in conversation with American culture.

Perhaps a more gripping conclusion comes from the assertion that philosophy doesn’t matter…

…at least, not in the way this essay regards philosophy as the ultimate Point.

So identifiable is the geographic motif in Taylor’s work that it is nearly impossible to ignore. This is especially true for folklore, an album that would literally not be folkloric if not for the blending of reality and fiction, real location and setting elevated as metaphor. So moving, moreover, is the grief at folklore’s core that it is natural to wonder what else it could represent. Hence, this essay’s charade of poking around both to see if they convey a deeper meaning.

A strong philosophical foundation establishes the ethos of art, that with which we resonate. However, we will never know to what philosophy Taylor subscribes. The interaction between her beliefs, creative spirit, and innate sense of self will always be a mystery. Any and all conclusions about the philosophical foundations of her art thus (1) are highly subjective and (2) reveal more about the ones making them than about Taylor herself.

Ironically, it is paramount to appreciate Taylor’s (Romantic) style above all else. The ways she uses basic building blocks of literature—theme, imagery, mood, setting, to name a few—piques curiosity. After all, without those building blocks, one would not be able to cultivate (should they so desire) an interest in the metaphorical, philosophical, or otherwise profound.

——

Disclaimer: this essay references (explicitly and implicitly, by way of citing expanded theoretical work) the ideas of Emerson and Heidegger, two preeminent thinkers whose ideas have had especially deep and lasting impacts on society. They are also two individuals noted to have had poor and even abhorrent political/personal views. I do not condone their views by referencing any ideas connected to these individuals (done mostly in service of rigor). I furthermore leave the task of generating nuance to those who dedicate their lives to critical examination of these individuals’ personal philosophies and the impact of their work on society.

[jojoreadwhat]

there’s nowhere that I wouldn't go. // h.s. x fem!reader • fluff

- hello lovies, long time no see. well i’m back with some things in the works. this is just a kickstarter and a introduction of what my work will look like from now. i hope you enjoy! -

y/n and harry get into a spat and sometimes space isnt the answer.

this is just full of angst and lots of fluff.

words;? semi-proofread sry. also shitty ending and it’s been a while so I’m rusty. I apologize in advance.

i listened to this

+

harry has been somewhat of an unofficial ambassador for the brand and was invited to a party supporting gucci and their new line launching this fall. giving you both access to material first hand, and you the honor of being his plus one, publicly debuting after two years together. dressed in the pieces sent with the invitation from head to toe. you had arrived fashionably late to the gathering, hand in hand on the gold carpet leading to the entrance of the beautifully architectural place the event was being held in. the interior of the place timeless and oozing in elegance. low lit from the gold sconces along the cream colored walls. white table cloths and golden runners, covering the round tables, topped with elaborate centerpieces filled with gardenias.

it all felt like a dream. indulging in the atmosphere to dress up to the nine’s, sipping on fancy drinks and dancing to the italian music echoing through the gallery. with the hundreds of people circling around harry and you both as swayed closely. feeling out of place and belonging all at once, harry noticed this often throughout the event. he could see the stars in your eyes as well as the restlessness about to descend. he made you feel like you were on top the world. his sweet reassuring gestures. soft hands firm across your silk covered back, securing you. harry’s rosy plump lips grazing your ear, muttering sweet nothings in his thick rasp voice and tickling your cheeks pink. reminding you that you were meant to be here with him.

until she interrupted.

you weren’t bothered at first, you were fully aware before tonight had arrived that she would be here. that she could possibly be a nuisance and want harry’s attention. and there wasn’t animosity towards her from you because without her and her letting go of harry, you wouldnt be here as his girlfriend.

that all changed after the night went on. you were exiting the ladies room when she was all over harry. she had pulled away when you came back to the picture but it didn’t stop there. when she brought up unnecessary past between him and her. being all touchy feeling and giving you a devious smirk as she went on. it didn’t help that she looked stunning, her golden blonde hair dancing along her glowing ivory skin and her jumpsuit accentuated all the right places. looking more suited as harry’s date and making your confidence tonight, deflat. at the same time you couldn’t blame her for being herself. you couldn’t blame her for wanting to weave her way back into Harry, even with you standing next to him. but the knot forming in your stomach at him not doing too much to defuse the interaction didn’t go unnoticed.

now bursting through the front door of Harry and yours shared LA apartment. irritated and ready to pop. you looked to any room to go to as long as you weren’t in the proximity of your boyfriend who you left in the driveway. you had just endured twenty minutes of arguing on the drive back from the party. your face felt hot to touch and you swore anyone could see steam leaving your ears.

you trotted up the stairs, your heels in hand, as you climb up to your bedroom. still internally fuming and spaced out in your own thoughts, you didn’t realize how close harry was behind. not hearing the door once it closed, instead his leather clad feet hitting the hardwood of the hallway to the room you were in. getting louder as they approached before halting.

“love, please.” he spoke first, he wasn’t expecting the night to end like this. the complete opposite to be exact. not standing in the doorway with caution as he watched not help you detangle yourself from tonight’s attire.

you were delicately loosening the straps of your dress to fall down your arms, trying to be purposeful with it while wanting to rip it off in anger.

“no.” simply stating, not making any contact as you held the now strapless dress to your bra less chest as you scrimmage through your tee shirt for a shirt harry’s to sleep in. “your actions spoke for themselves.” finishing then as you let the dress fall to the floor, rolling your shirt on to drop at the top your thighs. not giving harry an ounce to the imagination of what could’ve happened tonight.

Harry sighed, exasperatedly. catching from the corner of your eye him running his ring-covered fingers through his thick dark curls. pushing off the door frame before finally stepping into your shared bedroom. “I know and they were not truthful.”

“Ha, okay. Sure they weren’t.” you scolded, standing at your tall dresser as you took off your jewelry. shaking your head.

Harry was loosening up his bowtie, creeping closer to you before you turned to him. silently telling to stay put. “I mean it, I know that I didn’t act appropriately.” He owned, “But I didn’t know what to do! I didn’t know she was going to try all of that.”

you huffed loudly, your hand flattening to the top the dresser before you could move and work on the next earring. “oh c,mon Har! you warned me about her antics and now you didn’t know what she was going to do?” You reminded. Harry’s head fell in defeat before he snapped back up to you. “I know what I said! But I didn’t know she was going to be that bold.”

you looked at him dead, “do you know who you are?” realizing that you were unintentionally quoting him again. you watched his adam’s apple bob in his throat as he swallowed, noticing what you said too. “are you trying to make this a laughing matter now?” He questioned, “you were about to rip my head off minutes ago.”

“i’m not, please scratch that because that wasn’t my intent.” you explained, watching the corner of his mouth shift upward. he knew you like the back of his hand, he knew that this would lead to making up sooner or later, he knew you were upset and still trying to keep yourself together and also have your moment and express yourself. he loved you for it, you hated it cause you were trying to be serious. but you made him a better man, he needed you more than you may have felt tonight. he knew what happened at the gathering was wrong, he could’ve done more to stop it all. it’s the reason for this recalculation of tonight’s events.

you pinched the bridge of your nose, trying to regain your thoughts before you looked at him again. his green orbs still staring at you, waiting for what to leave your pretty lips next. “in all of this, you may not have known what to do to stop her. but you knew what you were doing when your grip left my body and your attention went to her.” you spoke, then. “just like you had warned me about and I wasn’t prepared that you would actually give it to her.”

harry didn’t say anything after that. trying to piece together the words that everything she was feeling wasn’t wrong, he hurt her, unintentionally. it was the further thing from his mind in the moment that everything was happening. it was more vigilance because he knew what his ex was about. but never in the slightest was it to crawl back to her. Not when his everything was standing in front of him, doubting herself and her stance in his life.

“it wasn’t supposed to be perceived like that, please let–” You shook your head causing Harry to stop speaking midstream. “I don’t want to keep talking about it. I just want to sleep.” She said then. “we’ll talk more about it in the morning.” Moving to her side of the bed to start removing the throw pillows. Harry sighed heavily, shuffling his feet to his side, grabbing his pillow. “I’ll be in the guest room.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

2am had come around rather slow and you still wide awake. tossing and turning in your california king. trying to get comfortable as you wrapped the sage duvet closer to yourself. seeking to drift off at any minute now. but despite your eyes feeling heavy, your mind was racing.

this was the last thing you wanted. the only time harry and you ever slept apart was when he was away, entertaining the world. you wanted to stand your ground, but as you laid there able to rethink everything. harry wasn’t the bad guy here. he did a lot more than you thought.

he came home with you. he paused the idea of a good night out, to make sure that you knew were his main focus of the night. of his life. not the party, not the friends or old lovers. you.

you didn’t see that in the moment, everything was overwhelming. your thoughts were taking over and making the little things seem like the problem. when the biggest action was he followed you out that door, went through what felt like a lifetime drive home of fighting, proving that the situation between him and her was the last thing he was concerned about. because what mattered more was you.

rubbing your face in your hands, you stared back up at the ceiling, annoyed with yourself. this became bigger than it needed to be. and you were feeling it hard when you looked over at the spot empty next to you.

you threw the duvet off yourself, turning and sitting up off the side of the bed. your bare feet hitting the chilled wood before making a beeline to the bedroom door. you tip toed down the hall until you came to the third door on your right. taking a breath, you went to raise your hand and knock lightly on the guest room door when it opened before you could hit the white wood with your little knuckles. and a shirtless harry stood before you.

from what you could see from what little light the window gave near by. he was having the same problem as you, his green eyes slightly reddened from the mixture of sleep deprivation and rubbing them. surprised even by seeing you standing there. his dark brown curls, tossled in all directions upon his head.

“are you alright, love?” he asked as if everything was okay. putting you before him. it made your heart swell and hurt at the same time.

you nodded, “yeah, just can’t sleep.” you said, he huffed lightly, his hand reaching behind to scratch his head. “me neither. it’s a bit cold in here.” he replied, then. knowing the exact underline of what he meant.

looking down at your pink painted toes. before meeting his eyes again. feeling your eyes become glassy. “look, I’m sorry.” you began. harry shook his head, immediately pulling you to him. your arms wrapped around his toned torso swiftly. your face colliding to his chest, smelling his signature cinnamon and vanilla scent. what smelt like home to you. “no, love, I’m sorry. for everything.” you pulled away slightly, still wrapped up in him and meeting his green eyes. you were not going to allow him to take the blame.

“Har, no. you didn’t have to come back home with me but you did. you didn’t have to deal with me on the way home, but you did. you–“

harry raised two fingers to your lips. stopping your ramble mid-stream. his fingers than moved to caress your jaw, keeping your eyes locked on his. “please stop, y/n.” he muttered soft, raspy and covered in sleep. “it’s okay. really.”

you raised at your brow at him. “but why?” you asked, why was he just taking it? you wondered. harry just smiled, his hand now enveloping your face, thumb running over your soft cheek. “because I love you, more than you know and I made you feel like I didn’t.” you went to protest again, but he stopped you once more.

“I dont want to hear anymore about tonight. there’s a perfectly, cozy bed in our room. waiting for me and the love of my life. and the past two hours have been awful without you next to me.”

the smile harry put on you, spread across your lips before you could stop it. you wrapped an arm around Harry’s neck. bringing his lips to yours in a sweet kiss, pulling away shortly after. “I love you too.” you said, then.

“let’s not waste another minute, let’s get some sleep.” not saying another word, tangling harry’s long, ring covered fingers in yours. before heading down the hall, to your bedroom, to where you both belonged together and for always.

[falcor-thee-luck-dragon]

What a Time to be Alive- Diego Hargreeves x reader Season I

Chapter 10- The White Violin Part 2

Summary: After a less then stellar time at the bowling alley, you and the Hargreeves must find a way to stop Vanya during her concert tonight, doing whatever it takes.

Masterlist - where all the other chapters are⚔️

Warning: Reader gets stabby again, enjoy

Tagged: @sambucky8 @white-wolf-buckaroo @2cuteforyourlies @la-vie-en-amour1 @fandomoverlord221 @thatfandombitcch @alonewolfsblog @starrrybarnes @winterboobear11

Maneuvering your way out of the ball gutter area, you stumble a bit while getting out, a steady pair of hands catching your waist before you can face plant into the concrete. “Y/N, you cant keep falling for me in front of my family, it’s getting embarrassing.” Quips Diego breathlessly, lifting you up to face him, “Hilarious.” You deadpan, pulling away and readjusting your blood spotted jacket. His face shifts to that of a concerned boyfriend in an instant, “You were shot...look...a bloody hole in your thigh.” He says pointing towards the damage, you feel the fabric of your black jeans. The small hole is indeed wet with your blood, you let out a snort, you never even felt it. “Huh..the bullet must have went straight through. Didn’t even know.” You whisper, shaking your head, how you managed to completely ignore the shot, still surprises you, but now is not the time to think about it.

“Shit! We gotta go!” You tell Diego as you start jogging down the hallway towards the exit. He follows close behind, as more bullets rickashay off the cement walls in the background.

——

It’s a short sprint to the Icarus Theater but fortunately the five of you make it. No personnel is waiting outside to take your tickets and the doors happen to be unlocked. Guess they weren’t expecting highly trained childhood superheroes to come barging into a theater to stop their sister from causing the apocalypse. It could have happened to anyone really.

You race up the marble staircase, the other Hargreeves rushing up behind you. The beautiful sounds of an orchestra are floating on the air and into your ears, you’d be thoroughly enjoying it, if not for the dire situation. Suddenly Allison puts a hand on Luther’s large chest, stopping him with what she just wrote down on her notepad. You halt in your tracks, Diego sidestepping you so he won’t crash into your back as he turns around as well. I need to go alone. Is what Allison wrote, Luther’s blinks in confusion, “Wha...Allison, I can’t let you do that, all right? She’s beyond reasoning.” He argues firmly, she stares at him defiantly.

“You hear the music? It’s started.” States Diego, implying everyone needs to hurry up and take action now. You can’t help yourself and snort, “Yeah...we got ears.” You whisper sarcastically, he just rolls his eyes at you while holding in a smile, probably not the best time to be a smart-ass but stressful situations and use of sarcasm is how you cope.

“Do you honestly think she’s gonna listen? After everything that’s happened?” Continues Luther, trying to reason with a pleading Allison who just wants to save Vanya from herself.

“We don’t have time for this.” Says Klaus nervously, Luther finally caves and off Allison goes, racing towards the doors to the concert. The four of you watch her bound up the carpeted steps, “You’re using her as a distraction, aren’t you?” Says Diego to Luther, already onto his plan.

“Our best chance to incapacitate Vanya.” Luther replies glancing at Diego. You cross your arms, “Maybe if we leave her alone she won’t do anything and after the concert we can sort this shit out. I highly doubt Vanya’s in the mood to see any one of us right now....Especially you, she hates you the most” You explain to them, Luther furrows his brow at you. “Thanks. But we can’t risk Vanya accidentally doing anything dangerous.” He tells you, you turn to him. “Now you sound like Reginald, great.” Luther gives you an offended look, before deciding otherwise in arguing further with you. He makes for the stairs, as Klaus follows behind, Diego nudging you to follow them. “So, what’s the plan?” Wonders Klaus, as Luther stops on the steps to answer him. “Uh, you wait out front.” He tells Klaus, as you and Diego walk through the open doorway, you don’t care enough to stick around and listen.

You follow Diego through hallways and finally you make it backstage, Luther appearing on the opposite side of you two from across the stage. “I’m just throwing leaves in the wind here, but how is this an honestly good plan?” You whisper yell at Diego, he stops to look at you, who’s to his left. Your face is glowing in the red stage lights, making you look like an alluring creature from another world, and for a second he’s lost in your beauty. You’ve unintentionally stunned him in the most inconvenient of places, his heart pounds with adrenaline. “Uh...um...it’s all we got.” He fumbles on his words, not truly sure what to say that would convince you. He already knows you’re not gun ho for this plan anyways, but what other options do you all have. Desperate times call for desperate measures. Or stupid measures thought up by a guy who’s half-monkey, never moved out of the Academy, and lived on the moon for four fucking years.

“God, she sounds amazing.” You mutter to no one in particular as you start to listen to Vanya’s solo, a second later Diego goes racing across the stage exactly when Luther does. “Wait! Diego, stop!” You yell at deaf ears, he’s already throwing himself at Vanya. She snaps around and whips a slash of white energy at him and Luther. Launching them into the screaming crowd, you make a break for it as the other instrumentalists stand up from their seating. She turns around once again to project another powerful wave of force into the orchestra, silently demanding them to sit. You’re unfortunately pushed roughly off stage, harshly tumbling into the theater chairs, you smack into a metal chair, falling to the floor with the wind knocked out of you. People rush past your injured body unaware to your gasping for breath, to concerned with getting the hell away from the weird glowing eyed lady on stage. You don’t blame them, none of them were clearly prepared for how their night just ended.

You stand up, hearing the shouts of Diego and Luther, as they attempt to direct traffic as orderly as possible. Within thirty more seconds the place is completely vacant, you dart for behind some chairs near where Diego and Luther are hiding. “She’s stronger than expected.” Breathes Diego, surprised from Vanya’s impressive display of power. “Yeah.” Agrees Luther, suddenly getting smacked in the face with Allison’s notepad. She throws him an agitated pout, you’re to her right, in the next row over. Shaking your head disapprovingly at him in a half-joking and half-serious way. “Yeah. We’re fine thanks for asking.” He jabs back before continuing, focusing on Allison, “Look, I almost lost you once, all right. I wasn’t about to lose you again.” He tells her earnestly. 

“Wow that’s real fucking adorable...but now we’re in a load of shit thanks to you two dunderheads.” You snap at him, annoyed with how rapidly the nights events are terribly going. Luther gives you a defeated look as Diego speaks up, “Well, so much for the element of surprise. What else you got?” He asks Luther, Allison starts to quickly make a gesture of her playing a ghost violin.

“No shit Allison. Tell us something we don’t already know.” Diego grumbles sarcastically, you roll your eyes at him. “She’s referring to the violin dipshit, we need to take it from her.” You sass back, the rest of them glancing over the seats to watch Vanya play. You catch the sound of boots quietly making contact with the red carpeting of the theater. Then a moment later, gunfire blasts through the area, screaming into your eardrums. “Fucking hell.” You mutter through clenched teeth as you hold your hands to your ears, ducking lower to the floor.

“What the hell happened to Klaus? He’s supposed to be lookout!” Shouts Diego from the floor. “Yeah are you surprised.” Answers Luther, who’s attempting to sink to the ground as low as he possibly can. When you look up again you watch as a sudden bright flash of blue appears from out of nowhere, less then a nanosecond later arrives Five.

“What’s with all the lollygagging?” He wonders while walking down the wide isle, completely oblivious to the masked murderers. “Five get down!” Roars Luther as bullets rain down next to Five. He lets out a surprised gasp as he quickly ducks in between the smaller isles. “Five...wha...I thought you bailed on us?” Questions Luther.

“I had an errand to run.” He vaguely explains, looking around wide eyed at the current carnage, “This is not good.”

“You know these guys?” Inquires Diego, assuming this mess has something to do with Five and the wack shit he gets himself into, not to mention the rest of you.

“Yeah, I do.” He simply says.

“And?”

“Well...we’re screwed.” Five announces worriedly, while looking back up the isle at the approaching assassins. He then turns his head to find you who’s watching the masked gunmen slowly walking your way. “Y/N! If you could manage to get one of their guns...then maybe we’d have a chance.” Yells Five as Diego throws some of his knives directly into the chests of more Commission assassins.

“Great idea! Cause I would love to get shot through my fucking scull!” You scream back, sarcasm dripping through every word. You’re fast, but unfortunately there are a grand multitude of guys with automatic rifles who could give two shits if you die or not. You’d make it to your guy, but you’d also be dead before you could do anything destructive, and getting shot is not a very pleasant feeling by any means. But before Five has time to reply with his own ounce of sarcasm, Klaus comes bursting through the theater doors yelling about seeing Cha-Cha and that she’s apparently coming to kill us. Or something along those lines, it’s becoming increasingly more difficult to hear as your ears are ringing with all this noise.

Scrunching up your eyes, you shake your head and cover your sensitive ears in a desperate attempt to collect your bearings once again. When you open your eyes ready to suck it up and take one for the team, you look over with wide eyes to the sight of ghost Ben, who’s releasing the tentacle monster from within himself and presently strangling and smashing the fuck out of the masked gunmen. You share a shocked glance with Diego, the both of you completely astounded as to how the hell Klaus is able to do whatever it is he’s currently doing.

Your nose catches the scent of something you’ve been hunting for the past week, head snapping to the stage, you scowl at the blooded assassin before you. Who’s giving you an equally nasty look that’s practically inviting you to take the bait. Without another thought, you stand up, racing down the wide isle to meet your foe. Ignoring the mumbled yells of Diego and the others, you’re solely focused on ending Cha-Cha once and for all. It takes you less then three seconds to reach her, before slamming her harshly into the cement wall at the back of the stage. She falls to the floor with a grunt, as you slowly walk over to her, eyeing up your prey like a she-wolf to an injured doe. She scrambles to pick herself up, jumping to her feet in an instant, fists clenched and ready to fight.

“You’re good at what you do, I’ll give you that.” You tell her casually, unawares to the fiery glow subconsciously emitting from your irises. She lets out a ragged cough, her eyebrows furrowing in confusion at your eyes color change.

“Yeah well, you’ll have your time to see how great I am at it, and then when I’m done with you, I’ll pay your boyfriend a little visit.” She snaps at you, her voice dripping with malice. You only chuckle at her sad attempt at holding any ground in the conversation.

“If I didn’t want you to suffer you’d be dead already...I’m not feeling particularly gracious this evening.” Your voice is calm and collected as you tilt your head to her, fully enjoying the growing fear emitting from her injured body, although she hides it well. “You’re already half dead. But I’ll oblige and see if you really do know how to kill someone who can’t be killed.” She bitterly sneers at you while you smirk at her, silently egging her on to do something. Your hopes answered as she lunges for you, it’s an easy dodge to the right, as you smash your fist into her left rib cage. She lets out a rasped breath at the sudden impact.

Cha-Cha turns around to let more fists fly violently in your direction, you bring your forearms up to block a hit to your left then your right, then your face and then to your vulnerable chest. You can tell she’s giving everything, as you’re just toying with her. Your fight turns into that of a dance, the both of you throwing jabs at each other as you waltz around the backstage of the Icarus Theater. Her foot cracks you in the side of your knee, sending a white hot pain throughout your body, as you drop to the floor from the sudden jolting impact. She then laughs while taking this golden opportunity to kick you savagely in the stomach. Your vision goes spotty as she beats into you, until you look up to find Diego, watching the two of you from the stage. That’s all the motivation you need, before reaching out your hand to promptly halt anymore of Cha-Cha’s violent advances.

You pull her down, letting go as you stand up to face her once again, a single red trickle of blood painting down the corner of your mouth. When she stands up to launch herself at you, you swing your leg up, effectively smashing her across the head. She stumbles to the floor, dazed at your quick attack. Your steps are fast, as your fists are on her once again, laying into her with all your pent up emotions, finally gushing out in an array of violent brutality. She’s underneath you, desperately holding her arms up to help cover her already bruised face.

You’re screaming with rage and anguish for your fallen friend Patch and everyone else who’s ever needlessly died at the hands of Cha-Cha. Your fists are raw and covered in blood as you rip open her jacket sleeves with each new hit, making way into her bloody arms and face. You don’t notice the tears streaming down your face, when a hand suddenly touches your shoulder. Your head whipping to the side, staring daggers at whoever dare stop you. It’s Diego, he looks at you with sad eyes, staring deep into your glowing orbs of hellfire. He shakes his head while giving you a pleading look, beckoning you to stop your vicious tirade on Cha-Cha and to follow him. You look back down at her through your bleary eyes, blood and purpled flesh adorning her miserable features as she slowly lets in and out shallowed breaths from her pathetic spot on the floor.

You raise yourself off of her, standing defiantly above her like a tired warrior after a long battle. She opens one eye to look pitifully up at your blood spotted face. You step to the side to then glare down at her, your burning eyes meeting her wretched grimace.

“Get up.”

The corners of her lips curl into a wicked grin, as she lets out a strained wheeze, her last attempt at a comprehensible laugh. To your great astonishment, Cha-Cha begins to begrudgingly peel her bloodied body off of the cement floor. Bringing herself onto her knees then to her feet, she’s breathing heavily and swaying slightly, dizzy from the ferocious beating you just gave her. She spits out a wad of blood as her good eye glances over to Diego, who hasn’t moved a muscle, praying that he’ll make you follow him and leave her in peace. You look from Diego then back to Cha-Cha, your face a mask of stone.

“Patch wouldn’t want me to kill you...you know. She’d tell me something wise and how we can be good, even when we are full of hate and rage towards the ones who’ve wronged us.” More tears fall from your conflicted face, running down to your chin as hot and angry little droplets, “I liked her...she was nice and smart, believed in people and was good at her job.....she was my friend...Eudora didn’t deserve a bullet through her chest, but you killed her anyways. Just like all the others.” Cha-Cha opens up her arms, giving you a defeated shrug, she has nothing else to say to you. You give her a weary nod, as Diego comes up to your side, touching your arm in an attempt at leading you away.

“I wish I could be like her...but I’m not.” You whisper truthfully, pulling out a spare dagger from Diego’s leather knife vest, only to plunge it directly into Cha-Cha’s windpipe. Her eyes shoot open at the sudden impact, her hands reaching up to try and pull you away. But your arm’s to quick, you pull the silver blade out of her neck as blood spurts from the opened wound. She tries desperately to cover the damage, but her attempts are wasted as she falls to her knees in despair. You watch her stare on wide eyed at your unflinching form, while she abruptly falls to the cold ground. Bleeding out before your very eyes, your emotions are all over the place and you feel like you’re about to cry or scream or both everything building up and up and up. Diego turns your shoulder to face him, “Y/N we gotta go save the world. Babe are you with me?” He tells you quietly, looking deeply into your tearfully glowing eyes. You part your lips, about to say something but nothing comes out but a heavy stressed huff of air. You’re not entirely sure if you’re about to lose it or not, you’re angry over Patch’s death, you just killed Cha-Cha, and the apocalypse is supposed to happen very soon. Wiping out your whole world, the Hargreeves, and Diego. The one person you can trust with your life, and the one person you’ve loved since you were a teenager. Honestly the only person you’ve ever truly loved.

“I’m with you. Ride or die remember.” You reply, wiping the wetness from your face and giving him back his knife. He gives you a lopsided smile, taking your shaking hand and swiftly leading you to the others.

——

“Oh, welcome back. Where were you two?” Questions Luther, the rest of the Hargreeves closely positioned around him, all of them watching as you and Diego walk closer into the group circle.

“Murder.” You answer bluntly. He makes a confused facial expression and nods, not sure what that was implying but then again with you, he doesn’t really wanna know.

“So how do you wanna end this thing?” Shouts Diego over the roaring sounds of white energy and Vanya’s violin playing.

“We surround her. All right? We come at her from all angles.” Instructs Luther as the rest of you lean in to hear better.

“So it’s a suicide mission.” Whispers Klaus sadly.

“Yeah, but one of us could get through. It’s the only chance we’ve got.” States Five setting up the actual plan, well at least the best one the group could come up with. Either way, things aren’t looking good whatsoever and you’re not 100% certain if you’ll actually survive.

“Are we all in?” Says Luther while glancing around the six of you. All of you nod as he continues to lead, pointing to Diego first, “Stage left.” Then to himself, “Stage right.”

“Allison?”

Diego turns around to race up the isle as Luther focuses his attention on the rest of you, “You guys take the front.” With everything to lose you leave Luther and Allison as you run through the smaller isles next to Klaus and Five, your heartbeat pounding with adrenaline and fear. While Klaus takes the left corner of the chairs and Five takes the right. You jump over a couple rows to bring your way to the front of the theater. Vanya plays on, oblivious to everything that’s going on around her, blissfully unaware in her moment of music and light. It hurts your sensitive ears and the pure light radiating from Vanya is no help either to your hyper-aware senses. You hear the yell or battle-cry of Luther instructing everyone to charge.

You don’t think twice as you jump to your feet, launching yourself over the edge of the stage and bracing yourself for impact when you take out Vanya. Everything happens so fast, a second later you feel like you’re being blinded as the floor and your boots appear to not be making contact anymore. Unless you were just teleported to a zero gravity room, things aren’t adding up. When you squint open your eyes once again, you’re surprised to find yourself and everyone else suspended in midair by Vanya’s energy tentacles. You’re placed in the center with the Hargreeves boys to your left and right. Their faces seem to contort into a pained expression as you notice how Vanya’s sucking their life force from each of you. But due to your rapid healing abilities it’s not affecting you as terribly, it feels like the wind is constantly being knocked out of you and it’s getting harder to breath by the second. Without warning you hear a piercing blast scream through the air, whatever it was, stopping Vanya from hurting you anymore.

The moment of peace short lived as you’re dropped to the thinly carpeted floor. You jolt to your feet once again as everyone races onto the stage to make sure Vanya and Allison are okay.

“Is she alive?” Rushes Luther worriedly as Allison holds an unconscious Vanya in her arms, the rest of you looking on in deep concern while Allison answers with a quick nod much to everyone’s relief. That and the normal rhythmic thumping of her heartbeat a solid indicator of her aliveness, not that they would be able to hear it though.

“We did it. We saved the world.” Smiles Luther with a relieved sigh, the others doing the same. Your stomach twists with the horrid sounds of something breaking from far away. You can’t place where it’s coming from until you turn your head to look up through the glass-less open theater dome. Your eyes widen at the bewildering sight of scattered pieces of the Moon racing towards earth. You slowly rise to your feet, Klaus catching your odd change in behavior, he turns to stand as well. His eyebrows raising in surprise, “Um. Guys? You see that big Moon rock coming towards us?” Asks Klaus, just making sure everyone’s on the same page.

“That’s not good.” States Luther matter-of-factly.

“So this is it, huh. So much for...saving the world.” Sighs Klaus sadly as he looks down at his dog-tags with longing and fond memories. Everyone is standing by now, except for Vanya and Allison who are still seated on the stage floor.

“If only Sir Reginald could see us right now, huh? The Umbrella Academy. A total failure.” Mutters Diego with a defeated tinge to his voice, you look over at him and then back at the destroyed Moon.

“I guess now I can finally see what it’s really like on the other side.” Diego turns his head to look at you, reaching his hand out for you to take, you interlock your fingers together as you smile at him sadly, “I hope it’s nice.”

“At least we’re together at the end. As a family.” Adds Luther, gaining the attention of Five.

“This doesn’t have to be the end.”

The four of you turn around to face him with equally confused faces, all of you doubtful in whatever Five’s about to tell you. “What? What are you saying, Five?”

“I think I have a way outta here. But you gotta trust me in this.” He pleads as Diego, Klaus, and Luther shake their heads and practically shrug him off, all of them extremely skeptical. “Well, then, we might as well accept our fate, because in less then a minute, we’re gonna be vaporized.”

“What do ya got Five. Cause if I’m being honest I don’t really have dying by flaming Moon chunks on my bucket list.” He looks at you with a new found determination and slight relief that someone is willing to listen. “We use my ability to time travel. But this time, I’ll take you all with me.”

“You can do that?” Wonders Diego.

“I don’t know. I’ve never tried it before.”

“What’s the worst that can happen?”

“You’re lookin’ at it. A 58-year-old man inside a child’s body, so there’s that.” Scoffs Five, still annoyed with how things turned out for him.

“Oh, what the hell? I’m in. You in Y/N?” Asks Diego while giving your hand a light squeeze.

“Let’s do this.”

“Yeah whatever. I’m in.” Adds Klaus.

“Me too. Allison?” Says Luther while looking down at Allison for an answer, she shakes her head in agreeance, it appears everyone’s on the same page, even Ben.

“Okay great. Luther, grab Vanya.” Instructs Five as the seven of you gather into a circle.

“Wait, should we be taking her? I mean, if she’s the cause of the apocalypse. Isn’t that like taking a bomb with us?”

“The apocalypse will always happen, and Vanya will always be the cause, unless we take her with us and fix her.” Explains Five to an unsure Luther, the rest of you nod in understanding.

“No man left behind. Now Five get us the fuck outta here.” You quickly add, as everyone joins together to hold hands while Five begins using his powers. Suddenly a bright blue light starts to appear right above everyone’s heads, indicating the opening of Five’s time portal. Diego squeezes your hand again, you returning the favor while giving him a hopeful smile.

“Ah.” Yells Five, working through the pain and exhaustion of bringing seven people into another decade or wherever you’re about to go. You can feel the tingling of electricity buzzing throughout the air as blue and white waves of energy begin surging all around you.

“Hold on! It’s gonna get messy!” He shouts over the loud wooshing sounds created by his time-traveling abilities, your own ears suffering along with it.

 You take one last glance at Diego before your vision is taken over by the incredibly blinding lights of the blue portal. You can’t hear anyone anymore and your whole body feels like it’s in a zero gravity room, you feel for Diego or Klaus’ hand but to your panic you can’t feel them anymore. A second later the portal opens up, giving you a good view of a nearby trash can and solid concrete down below you as you’re spit out of the sky in rapid succession. You suddenly can’t see the blue energy of the portal anymore or feel the electricity around you as you free-fall straight into some discarded trash.

[whatareyousearchingfordean]

Happiness Begins

Part 24

Chapter Summary: Jared sets his plan into motion. Elsewhere, the reader works on coming to terms with her struggles over these past few months. 

Word Count: 2.6K+

Warnings: Language, discussion of mental health struggles, 

Author’s Note: Only one more part after this!!! AH! I am tremendously blessed and constantly surprised by all the love and support I have received for this crazy little series. I couldn’t have done it without y’all, so enjoy the fruits of your labor. xo Alex

Catch up with the series masterlist and find more works by yours truly over at Alexandra’s Library! 

The sun was malicious as it beat down on the small Austin country club. It was normally packed on beautiful Sundays and this one was no different. Jensen was cruising down a hill in his golf cart, one of his old high school buddies riding shotgun as they played a full eighteen. It felt nice to get out and do something again for a change. It had been so long since he had any free time, seeing as he was between projects right now, and he wanted to soak up all of it before the next one came along. 

He slowed the cart down as they reached their hole, putting it in park on the flat grassland. He hopped out of the cart and searched his bag for a putter. 

“I don’t understand how you keep beating me. I’ve been practicing for months.” His buddy laughed, Jensen joining in along with him. He opened his mouth to comment, only for another voice to pipe up first.  

“Yeah, he always was the one to beat.” Jensen tensed as he recognised the familiar voice coming up to him and his friend. Jared was alone as he approached the men, but he was smiling brightly. Confusion was evident on Jensen’s face as he tried to determine what was happening. 

“Hey, Jared, good to see you again bud.” Jensen’s friend held out his hand for Jared to shake. 

“Likewise.” He nodded before turning his attention back to Jensen. “It’s good to see you too, man.” Jared pulled Jensen in for a hug, stunning his fellow actor before he returned the sentiment. 

“Can I talk to you?” Jared pointed his thumb behind him, indicating to Jensen that he wanted to talk in private. 

“Uh, sure.” Jensen was hesitant. He wasn’t sure what Jared was playing at yet. Especially considering the last time they talked outside of work, they were in a screaming match. But he followed him a little way away from the cart nonetheless. 

“What’s up?” 

“I figured you’d be here today.” Jared started.

“So are you following me?” 

Jared laughed. “No, no nothing like that.” 

“Then what is it?”

“It’s... well it’s about Y/n.” Jared ran a hand through his hair, pushing the long locks out of his face. He had a smile on his face, but Jensen could read the pain that hid behind it. 

“Jared…”

“No, just listen. I want you to know, I’m sorry. I fucked up, okay? I was selfish and stupid and I should have seen it sooner. I guess I couldn’t believe that you weren’t just using her to pass the time because it was easy.” Jared admitted. “And I hate myself for ever thinking that. I know you better than that. I think it was just my protective older brother coming out. You know she hasn’t had the best track record with guys, and I just couldn’t see past that for some reason.” Jared sighed. “You two, well, you guys are actually pretty perfect for each other, no matter how weird I may feel about that. And I’ll be honest, I do still feel weird. But I’m working on it.”

Jensen sighed, rubbing his hand across the full beard that adorned his face. “That’s great Jared, really I’m glad, but I think it’s a little late.” 

“Why do you say that?” 

“Y/n doesn’t want anything to do with me. I hurt her. I took back every promise I made to her. I don’t deserve her forgiveness anyway.” Jensen didn’t go into specifics, Jared would get the picture with what little he had offered. 

“Yeah, she is hurting. She’s hurting something fierce. I’ve honestly never seen her this way and it scares me. I overheard her tell Gen she is thinking of selling her business and moving to New York. Got some big offer from a huge beauty conglomerate. Didn’t even feel like she could tell me about it either.” Jared explained. Jensen’s head snapped up, his brows coming together on his forehead. 

“No, Y/n would never do that.” 

“That’s what I thought too. But she’s been offered some huge deal to sell her shares and be a VP for this new company. And she is seriously thinking of accepting it.” Jensen adjusted the ball cap on top of his head. 

“Why would she do that?” Jensen’s words came out in a sigh.

“Do you really have to ask that question?” Jared put a hand on his hip when Jensen scoffed at him. 

“Come on, you can’t put that on me.”

“I’m not blaming you, I swear. Y/n is hurting though, and I don’t think that anyone else will be able to talk her out of it.” Jared said honestly. 

“So that’s why you’re really here, to beg me to convince your sister to not run away because of me.” Jensen rolled his tongue behind his teeth, biting back the urge to yell. That would never get him anywhere. 

“I meant what I said. I am sorry. But I also know that she won’t listen to me. She may however, listen to you.” Jared jumped to the defensive the second the angry words left Jensen’s mouth. “Look, I’m not saying you two should pick up things where you left them, not that I would care either way, but she loves you in a way that I have never seen before, and that has to count for something.” 

“It did, at one point. Now, I’m not so sure.” Jared frowned at his friend. In one way, he did need his help, but at the same time he understood his hesitancy. They didn’t have the greatest history where his sister was concerned. 

“Just let me get you two in the same room. Then we can let it happen naturally. What do you say?” What could Jensen say to that. As much as he was hesitant about tricking her into something, he didn’t want her to go. Danneel’s words had been haunting him since he had returned from LA. Jensen had been on the fence about whether he should take her advice and go after the woman he loved, and if he let her run off to New York, he may never get his chance. Y/n deserved to have all the facts before she made such a huge decision. She needed to know that he wouldn’t let her go without a fight. 

“Ok, Jare.”

****

Gen’s words were still ringing in her head as she carried her tired body up the stairs to her apartment. Having babysat the three littlest Padalecki’s for the night, she was more exhausted than she had been in a while. She had forgotten how wild they could get sometimes, and she just had to be the fun aunt and cave when they begged for cookies. Three kids hopped up on sugar was, in hindsight, a bad idea. 

In the end, she was thankful for her time with family. Being able to spend real time with them had what Gen said to her affecting her more than she thought it would. She had all but made up her mind about going to New York, but the more she thought about it, the more the idea actually scared her. It was a big step to take, and she still had at least one more person to talk to before she called Mr. Baltussen back. 

The next morning, when she rolled out of bed, the sun was already high in the sky. She had slept far past her normal time, but for the first time in a while, she felt rested. Maybe it had to do with her plans for today. Or maybe she had truly needed to exhaust her body in order to get a truly restful sleep. Either way, she saw it as a bright sign. It was her reason to keep moving forward. 

Seeing as she slept in a little later than normal, she had to make quick work of showering and getting dressed before her appointment. Y/n plucked her favorite pair of converse from the stand near her front door and plopped down on her couch to put them on. As her weight settled in the middle of the couch she felt something bump her hip. She turned, her brow scrunched together on her forehead to find her laptop falling into her hip.  

“Seriously,” she huffed to herself. After all the time she spent looking yesterday, it had been on her couch all along. She could have sworn she checked the cushions, but apparently not as well as she thought. Y/n picked up the device and set it on the coffee table so she would be sure of where it was later, before bouncing out the door. 

Nothing had changed about the small office she once again found herself in. The walls were still the same soft shade of green she used love some time ago. They still held the same paintings and the plants that had once threatened to overtake the room were still alive and strong. Even the couch that she had hated sitting at was still full of accent pillows that tossed a splash of color into the otherwise neutral room. 

Y/n took a deep breath, allowing the essentials oils diffused into the space to ground her. It was like she had never left, and there was nothing she was more thankful for at this moment. When Gen had said she should talk to someone, she didn’t know Y/n had already scheduled this appointment. She had fallen so far from being a reasonably functioning human being. Just seeing Jensen and Danneel together and admitting out loud she wanted to sell her business, had sent her into a tailspin. Y/n had reached her breaking point, and she wasn’t hesitant to admit that she needed help. 

“Please, take a seat.” Dr. Hawkins stood up from her place behind her desk as Y/n entered, picking up her notepad and taking a seat in the armchair across from the couch. Y/n complied to her request, making herself comfortable on the soft furniture. 

“It’s been a while since we talked last. Where do you want to start?” Y/n bit her lip as she contemplated her choices. It truly had been a long time since she had been to see her therapist, and with everything that had happened in her life, she could build her way up or just jump right into things. “How about we start with work?” Dr. Hawkins suggested after a moment of silence. 

“Work is hectic. Things are really hitting off, not to mention I just spent the last few months juggling my business and working on set with my brother.” Y/n fidgeted in her seat, a movement that did not go unnoticed by Dr. Hawkins. 

“Yeah, and how did that go?” 

“Not at all how I expected.” Y/n was gnawing on her lip again. She wasn’t sure why she was hesitant to talk. After all, that was the whole reason she was here in the first place. Hell, she might as well just jump right into it. Y/n took a deep breath. “Long story short, I slept with Jared’s best friend slash co-star slash guy he considered his brother. All behind his back, for months.” 

“And why do you think you did that?” Y/n scoffed. She should have seen that question coming, she just expected more of a reaction. 

“Because I’m an idiot. Because the guy made me feel safe, and beautiful, and loved. I think I was lonely after clashing with my mother at Christmas about my dating life and also being stood up. He fed me every line I wanted to hear and for some reason I believed him.” 

“What makes you think he was lying to you?” 

“He told me he was all in. That he loved me and wanted to be with just me. He said it wasn’t just about the sex. But then Jared found out and things got bad. Jared punched him and wouldn’t talk to either of us. For weeks.” Tears were brimming in her eyes. Recounting everything was harder than she thought it was going to be. Admitting it out loud to another person broke her out of whatever bubble she had put herself into. It all sounded so ridiculous coming out of her mouth. “When things got tough he just bailed.”

“What exactly did he say to you?” Dr. Hawkins pushed.

“He said that we ‘all needed a break’.” Y/n made air quotes with her fingers. “His reasoning was that he wanted to give me my brother back and he knew I could live without without Jared.” 

“Was he wrong?” 

“You know me. Family is everything to me. He just failed to see that I can’t live without him either.” It was hard for her to admit that out loud. After all, she had promised herself that a man would not define her life. Yet here she was, a broken shell of a woman because Jensen left her. It was a constant battle inside her head, a seesaw bouncing back and forth against her skull. Most days it was just exhausting. 

“To me, it sounds like he didn’t lie to you. He may not have gone about things exactly like you wanted, but that doesn’t mean that he was ever insincere with you.” 

“What about me seeing him with his ex fiance all over the media? He told me he was over her, but they are out in L.A. together having dinner.” 

Dr. Hawkin’s lips curled up in a small smile. “Are they still friends?” 

“Not that I know of. I mean, she was at his birthday party a few months ago.” 

“So what is to say it wasn’t just two friends getting together? Who says it had to be romantic? Was there any indication they were intimate?” Oh, she was good. Y/n scrunched her nose up, shaking her head. Of course her broken heart had soaked up what the media had fed her to fuel its own story on things. 

“You know, I understand now when people call therapists ‘common sense filters’.” Dr. Hawkins chuckled along with the messed up woman across from her. 

“So, let’s say that he truly did love you. Perhaps his leaving hurt him just as much as it hurt you. Maybe he needed a friend to talk to? Isn’t that why you are here, to talk to somebody?” 

“Yeah.”

“And did you patch things up with your brother?”

“We are working through things.” 

“It sounds to me that he made the right choice.” 

Y/n bit back the tears. “And me and him? Where does that leave us?”

“Do you forgive him?” Y/n nodded. Of course she forgave him. She would be lying if she said she didn’t. Somewhere deep down, even as pathetic as it sounds, she forgave him the minute her and Jared started talking again. “Then as cliché as it sounds, if it is meant to be, you’ll find your way back to each other.” 

“You’re right, that does sound cliché.” Both women laughed, the moment lifting from Y/n’s shoulders. 

“You know, it is okay to mourn your loss. Because that’s what this was. It was a loss, Y/n. All that matters is that you don’t let that grief run your life. And that’s something I tell all my mourning patients. You are a strong and smart woman. I know you’ll get through this.” Dr. Hawkins pushed away her notepad, her full attention on Y/n. 

“Yeah, I see that now.” Y/n smiled, allowing more of the weight on her shoulders to dissipate. Right now, she was kicking herself for not coming back sooner. But that’s what happens, life gets in the way sometimes. What matters now is that she found her way back. Her way back to Austin, to her family. And she would find her way back to happiness, even if it isn’t in the way she expects. More than that, she would find peace.

Part 25 (Final)

Forevers: @spn-impala​​ @22sarah08​​ @turtlepad​​ @callmekda​​ @chaldei​​ @hobby27​​ @cowboysnwinchesters​​ @tranquility-or-chaos​​ @pikabootoyouchu​​ @dawnie1988​​ @grease222​​ @awesome-badass-cafeteria-sauce​​ @polina-93​​ @clarinette07​​ @moonlight-babeh​​ @suckerforfanfic​​ @witandnargles​​ @sleepylunarwolf​ @stiles-stilinski-24-dylan​ @geeksareunique​ @akshi8278​ @superfanficnatural​ @malfoysqueen14​ @deanwanddamons​ @waywardbeanie​ @emoryhemsworth​

Et Cetera: @jbbarnesgirl​ @hillface89​ @arses21434​ @thevelvetseries​ @sslater34​ @mrsirishboru​ @smoothdogsgirl​ @spnfamily-j2​ @encounterthepast​ @facadeformyrealblog  @supernatural-bellawinchester​ @screechingartisancashbailiff​​ @rebeccathefangirl​ @squirrelnotsam​ @heartinmyhead1​ @1d-killed-me​ @samsgirl93​ @deans-baby-momma​ @deanmonandnegansbitch​ @woodworthti666​ @supraveng​ @onethirstyunicorn​ @heartsaved​ @know2grow​ @littlewhiterose​ @surprisinglysarah​ @stoneyggirl​ @carryon-doctor-lock​ @thebookisbtr​ @youaremyfiveever​ @kalesrebellion​ @lilulo-12​ @winchester-fantasies​ @vicmc624​ @supernatural3002​ @winchester-writes​ @maralisa124​ @therollingstoners​ @parinarain​ @kaz11283​ @charmed-asylum​ 

[houseof-harry]

What Happens in Jersey Pt. 2 | G.D.

A/N - hey guys!!!! Here’s part 2 of What Happens in Jersey! Let me know what you think, I’m always looking for feedback. Read the first part here

Word Count - 5.6K

Warnings - talk of abortion

Summary - Now you’re pregnant with Grayson Dolan’s baby and you have no idea what to do.

***

Recap:

“Your pregnancy test came back positive.”

Suddenly you felt nauseous again, but not like all the previous mornings.  How could you be pregnant?  He pulled out, you’re on birth control.  And that’s when you remember.  You didn’t take it a for a couple days after New Year’s Eve because you had run out of your current pack and your next pack was at school.  You hadn’t noticed your missed period because your birth control had made it almost non-existent to start.

The doctor continues to speak but you only hear the blood rushing through your ears as pure panic sets in.  You don’t even have Grayson’s number.  He’s a fucking LA YouTuber, he wasn’t even on the same coast as you.  You weren’t even friends.

As soon as you get out of the doctor, you call Jessie.

“Hey Y/N, what’s up?”

You’re blinking back the tears as you walk to your car.  “I need to tell you something.”

***

You’re full on sobbing by the time you actually reach your car, opening the door and getting in.

“Y/N, you’re scaring me, what’s going on? What do you have to tell me?” You can hear Jessie practically screaming through the phone, but it sounds like gibberish.  Maybe you should have waited until you calmed down to call anyone.

“I – I – I’m –“ you can’t seem to get enough air in your lungs to say what the doctor had just told you.

“Hey, Y/N, listen to me.  Breathe.” He exaggerates his slow breathing so that you can hear it through the phone.  You do your best to match your inhale to his, and exhale with him too. He always knew what you needed in order to calm down.

Eventually you are able to actually breathe a bit without sobbing and shaking.  “Do you wanna tell me what’s up?”  You can hear the concern in his voice.

“I just went to the doctor,” you rush out, scared to actually say what’s going on.  Once you say it out loud to him it becomes real.

“Why? Are you good? Is this about your stomach?” You can hear movement from his side of the call. You can only assume he’s getting ready to come meet you wherever you are.  This is all super out of character for you. Yes, you’ve had anxiety and even panic attacks, but nothing so bad you couldn’t speak or manage to calm yourself down. The fact that you called him unable to even speak probably made him scared enough to not be able to sit still.

“I’m, uh, I don’t even know how to say it,” you shake your head.  He was gonna be so disappointed in you.

After your night with Grayson, something had shifted slightly with you and Jessie.  It almost seemed like he wanted to protect you from Grayson.  He wasn’t a huge fan of the fact that you had slept together. It felt like you both just kind of put it to the back of your minds and moved past it when you had gotten back to school. However, that would be impossible to do now. Grayson is the only person you’ve slept with the past six months.

“Hey, you can tell me anything, you know that.” His voice softens significantly. He’s trying to make you comfortable, something he always tended to do. IF you think about it, this is the first time you’ve been scared to tell him something.

“I’m pregnant,” you cover your mouth as soon as you say it as if it will take it all back.  Your eyes squeeze shut, waiting for a response.

Silence.

After about a minute, you hear him take a deep breath. “Jess?”

“Yeah, yeah I’m here.”

You wait for another few minutes as he continues to process what you just told him.

“Can I come to yours?” You ask.  You don’t want to go home right now. Being in your apartment would mean being with the girls and they will be able to tell instantly that something is wrong.  Jessie is the only one who needs to know right now.

“Uh, yeah.” He sounds hushed and distracted.

“Okay, be there in ten.” You hang up and buckle your seatbelt.

The drive to Jessie’s feels like two minutes, not ten.  Your mind is going a mile a minute, trying to go over everything the doctor told you so that you’d be able to tell Jessie more once you got there.

You’re six weeks pregnant.  You’re sure it’s Grayson’s.  You have to set up an appointment with your doctor at home next month when you’re on spring break. You have to stop taking your birth control and start taking prenatal vitamins.  You should also probably start eating more vegetables or something. Because you’re fucking pregnant. Oh god.

You park in a visitor spot at Jessie’s apartment complex.  You text him that you’re there and walk up to his door.

When he opens it, he has a bit of crazy eyes going on.  You can’t tell if he’s scared, mad, excited, or anything. Maybe that’s how you look too.

You open your mouth to say something, but the tears come rolling down again. He reaches out and pulls you into a tight hug, closing the door in the process.  You wrap your arms around his middle and shove your face right into his chest.  You start to sob again and he rubs your back to try and soothe you.

“I’m sorry,” you say. You don’t even know why. It feels like you need to apologize to someone, though.  Maybe yourself.

“Hey, woah. No apologizing. Everything will be okay, we can figure it all out. What did the doctor say?” He puts a hand on your cheek to lift your face from his chest. You’re grateful he seems a bit more responsive now than he was on the phone. He looks you in the eye while he rubs his thumb over the redness on your face due to your crying.

“I’m six weeks. She gave me a bunch of papers and stuff about what I should be doing and all of my options.”

“What options?” He had to have known what you meant, but he wanted to be sure.

“If I don’t want to keep it,” you look away when you say it.  You felt some guilt even saying the words out loud, even though there’s nothing wrong with that. It was hard to think rationally right now, though.

Jessie nods and rubs his hands up and down your arms. “Is that what you want?” He asks.  He seems to be walking on egg shells, just as unsure as you are.

You shrug. “I mean we graduate a little over three months. I wouldn’t be able to start a job until after I had the baby, and getting hired as a new mom fresh out of college with no experience would be next to impossible. How am I supposed to take care of a child when I won’t even have a place to call my own and a job to feed us?” You word vomit, your hand resting on your stomach. It was obvious to Jessie that those were excuses for yourself, not for him.

He sighs. “Y/N, people will help you if you want this for yourself. Who’s the dad?” He bites his lip.

You roll your eyes at him. “Come on Jess, you know its Grayson.”

He sighs and nods. He grabs your arm lightly and guides you to sit on his couch.

“What?” His lack of a response plants a seed of anxiety you hadn’t even thought of before.  How will Grayson react. Does Jessie know something you don’t?

“Nothing. What do you wanna do right now? Movie? Shop for anything you need? Let me see what the doctor gave you,” he reaches for the papers and you hand them over.  You sit there quietly, arms crossed, lost in your thoughts.  Would Grayson want you get rid of it? Or would he just not be involved? It wouldn’t surprise you, him and his brother have been so successful since they moved to LA.  Jessie would tell you about how when they left they went all alone so young, but they managed to not only survive but thrive. All this baby would do is throw a wrench in that plan.

“What if I just don’t tell him?” You wonder aloud, almost more to yourself.

“What?” Jessie looks up from the papers, confusion all over his face again.

“I don’t know. His life would probably be easier if I just don’t tell him. Then he won’t feel the pressure.” You nod along as you like the sound of it more and more.

“Y/N,” he rubs his hand over his mouth, clearly thinking hard about what to say next. “You can’t do that. It’s his responsibility as much as it is yours. You shouldn’t go through any of this alone.”

“I’m not! I have you, and I won’t be able to hide it from any of the girls for more than a few weeks, and I’ll tell my parents and my aunt.” You list off, trying to convince him of your plan. Or more yourself, if you’re being honest.

“It’s his baby, too. If he finds out after the fact no matter what you do, that would be so much worse.” Jessie almost seems reluctant to defend him, but that’s how you know he’s right.

“Well, I don’t even have any way to contact him. Maybe I should wait a bit, make sure it’s real or something.” You refuse to look at him, knowing how ridiculous you sound. He laughs a bit.

“Pretty sure the doctor’s note makes it real. We can call him together if you want,” he offers. Suddenly, you’re breathing fast again.

“Right now?” You squeak out.

“I mean what better time than the present, right? You’re only getting more pregnant the longer you wait.” He raises his brow at you.

“Oh god I’m getting more pregnant every day!” You lean forward, elbows on your knees while your hands cover your face. “Can I wait until the weekend?” You mumble, only peaking one eye open to look at him.

He smiles softly at you. “Yeah. Whatever you’re comfortable with.” He puts the papers on the table and pulls you into his side. He rubs your arm as you get comfortable next to him, wrapping an arm around his stomach.

“Thank you. Let’s watch a movie now.”

***

The weekend comes much quicker than you wanted it to. You spent Friday night in with the girls, convincing them that you were just still sick but still wanted to hang out with them and have a bit of fun. They all got wine drunk and you watched Jersey Shore, because trash TV is only better when you’re three glasses in. Or I guess, they all were. You were one glass of cranberry juice in, without your usual vodka.

“You’re sure you don’t even want a glass?” Your roommate, Payton asks you while holding the wine bottle out to you.

“Nah, it’ll just upset my stomach more,” you shake your head, grabbing your water bottle. It wasn’t even a lie, you bet.

You meet the rest of them in the living room and settle in for your night. It felt good to be normal knowing that things were about to change soon.

A couple hours of Pauly and Vinnie and you’re ready to go to bed. You had managed to escape your friends’ questions about your sickness and lack of drinking for the whole night. Or so you thought.

As you’re getting into your pajamas, there’s a knock on your door.

“Yeah?” You call, just as you’re pulling your shirt over your head. Payton walks in.

“Are you good, Y/N?” She sits on your bed, watching you as go through the rest of your bed time routine.

“Yeah. Why?” You’re putting toner on in the mirror, so you can’t look at her directly.

“You just seemed off tonight. And you’ve been sick for a while. Have you considered going to the doctor?” She asks.

“Uh, yeah. I think I’ll go this week,” you lie, regretting it instantly. Now she’s going to ask how it went and you’re going to have to lie again. Payton was usually good at reading you and you weren’t sure how long you’d be able to keep it up.

“Okay, just wanted to make sure. I’ll come with if you want, I know how you feel about needles.” She gets up and smiles.

You look at her and smile back. “Thanks.”

She leaves and you get into bed. The only thing worrying you more than keeping this from Payton was telling Grayson tomorrow. And the fact you were pregnant in the first place.

***

You wake up to your phone ringing. You answer without checking to even see who it is.

“Hello?” You answer groggily.

“Hey, I’m here.” You hear Jessie’s raspy voice. It’s clear he just woke up, too.

The plan was to call Grayson and then hopefully be able to go to breakfast after to lift your spirits. That is, if you don’t puke.

“Oh, okay.” You sit up, rubbing your eyes.

“Dude, it’s 11:30, we were supposed to be doing this a half hour ago,” he laughs. “I could get used to not being the latest one to everything.”

“Hey, I’ve been sleeping more because I’m sick and pregnant. You’re just late.” You chuckle.

“Just come get me, I’m at your door.” You can hear the smile in his voice as he hangs up. You rub your eyes and go to the door, opening it for him. “Did you literally just get out of bed?” He looks at your pajamas.

“Shut up. We have some emotional preparation to do.” You let him in and shut the door behind him. You both walk back to your room and he jumps on your bed.

“Where are the ladies.” He wiggles his eyebrows jokingly as you begin to get ready.

“They’re at a pregame, they decided to darty because they didn’t go out last night. No one to eavesdrop, if that was your concern.” You’re deciding how much makeup to wear. What is the appropriate look for telling a guy they got you pregnant?

“I didn’t think they’d eavesdrop, I just didn’t want anyone to know if you didn’t feel comfortable with it.” He watches your ceiling fan turn. You can tell he’s not really present.

“What should I say?” You ask as you finish up your makeup. You decided a more natural look would do. If anyone has something to say about it instead of focusing on the pregnancy, that sounds more like a them problem.

“’Hey, remember that one time we hooked up? Well I’m pregnant and it’s definitely yours. Surprise!’” He jokes, sitting up. You role your eyes.

“I’m scared I’m gonna see him and just freeze.” You stand and pick out a t-shirt and leggings. “I’m gonna change. Text him to make sure he’s up.” You say as you leave.

When you come back from the bathroom, he’s got his phone propped up on your pillow so that you could both be in view.

“He’s waiting for me to call.” Jessie turns to you, smiling.

“Cool, call him.” You say as you throw your pajamas in the hamper, climbing on the bed next to him and fixing your hair a bit.

As the ringing continues, your anxiety worsens. Before you can get too into your thoughts, Grayson’s smiling face is on the phone.

“Hey Jess! Y/N? What’s up guys?” He sounds so cheery for it being almost 9 am where he is.

“Hey Gray. We’re, uh, just hanging out. You know, typical stuff. What’s up with you? Are you with Ethan?” You sit there quietly, biting your li, letting them lead the conversation.

“Nah, he’s still asleep. I just finished my breakfast.” He shows his empty plate, also showing his shirtless chest off. You can feel your cheeks flushing and you try not to think about it. Or, more specifically, the last time you saw his naked chest.

“Good stuff,” Jessie nods, not really sure what else to say. He looks at you while Grayson brings the phone back to his face. He’s also waiting for someone else to say something.

“So,” you shuffle uncomfortably next to Jessie, not really sure how to start.

“You didn’t just miss my cute face?” Grayson laughs, making you smile a bit. When he doesn’t get the reaction he expects, he realizes this is serious. “Is this about our agreement?”

Your eyes widen. He thinks you gave him an STD. “Oh my god, no its-“ you catch yourself about to say worse, but you don’t know if you mean that. “I’m still clean.” You nod.

Jessie looks between the both of you confused, shaking his head a bit before he looks at you again.

“What’s up then?” He also has his gaze on you, reminding you of how intense it can feel.

“I went to my doctor because I’ve been sick all week,” you begin. This feels ten times worse than telling Jessie. Grayson is nodding along, looking confused.

“I’m pregnant.” The phrase hangs in the air all over again and it doesn’t feel good. You and Jessie are both looking at him for his reaction, and he seems quite calm.

“Whose is it?” He asks. A laugh bubbles up from your chest before you can hold it back. Before you know it, Jessie is laughing, too.

“Yours, dumbass,” Jessie laughs out, shaking his head. That’s when you see the panic in his features. You start to freak out too, feeling like you’ve ruined his life. And his brother’s.

“I’m sorry.” You say, rubbing your hands up and down your legs to try and calm yourself down.

“Hey, don’t apologize. I didn’t have a condom either.” He breathes out, almost like he’s choking.  “You’re sure it’s mine?”

Your cheeks turn red as you nod. “There’s, uh, there’s been no one else.” He coughs, covering his mouth and what seems to be a bit of a smile before he gets serious again.

“What did the doctor say?” He looks at you guys again, and it looks like he might cry. It tears your heart up. “Are you guys healthy and stuff?”

You nod. “Yeah. I’m six weeks along. Well, I guess almost seven. She, uh, she told me about all of my options.”

“What options?” Oh my god, no wonder him and Jessie are friends. You look at your wall, not wanting to look at his face while talking about this.

“Options for if I want to end it. Or, I guess us. If we want to end it.” It felt weird to talk about you and Grayson as a collective group making decisions together. You still barely know the kid.

“Jess, can we talk alone?” He asks. Jessie nods, getting up and rubbing your shoulder before he goes to your living room.

“How do you feel? About these options, I mean.” He sounds almost resistant to say it.

“I don’t know, I didn’t really want to think about it until I spoke to you. Didn’t want to get stuck on one decision just for us to decide something else.” You mumble, you voice sounding weak and quiet.

“Y/N, look at me.” He waits for your eyes to meet his before he continues. “It is your body, you get to make any decision you feel is best for you. I would never try and change your mind or make you do something you don’t want to.” He pauses, waiting for a response from you.

You nod, debating what you should say next.

“Do you want me to get an abortion?” You ask. His immediate reaction is for his eyes to widen. He didn’t expect you to be so blunt, but you thought it would be better to just say it instead of dancing around it like you had done all week with Jessie.

He rubs his face, opening his mouth a couple of times but not actually saying anything. You nod, taking that as his response.

“It’s just two pills because I’m only six weeks along.” You tell him.

“Woah – Y/N – no.  That wasn’t me saying I want you to do that. I just didn’t want to scare you. I’ve always felt like I’ve been put on this Earth to be a dad. I don’t want you to make any decisions based off my wants, though. If we did keep this baby, I would support you the whole pregnancy and we would raise a baby together.” Your eyes glaze over the more he speaks. You’re continuing to stare at him wordlessly and he gives you a concerned look. “Y/N?”

You shake your head. “I just wasn’t expecting you to say that,” you shrug, whipping under your eyes to catch any tears that had started to fall.

“Hey hey hey, don’t cry. It’s going to be okay,” he brings the phone closer to his face as if that will bring you closer. You shake your head again.

“How is it going to be okay? I graduate in May. What do I tell the places I apply for jobs? ‘Oh hey, by the way, I’m going to be needing maternity leave in a couple months.’ Grayson, I’m already going into a male dominated field, it’s going to be so hard to find a job but I can’t have a baby without a job and I don’t have a house but you also can’t have a baby without a place to live and I-“ a sob cuts your rambling off as you cover your mouth. You look back at the phone and see the pain in his eyes as he watches you break down. “I’m just scared and I don’t know what to do. I’ve been so independent my whole life, but I just don’t know what to do. And now I’m crying on the phone with a stranger-“

“Hey woah, okay. Y/N, breathe.” You sniffle and try to calm your breathing down. “First, I’m not a stranger, I’m your baby daddy,” he chuckles. You smile a bit at that, which makes Grayson actually able to take in a breath. “Second, if you weren’t terrified, that would be way more concerning. The only reason I’m not panicking either is because I genuinely think I’m in shock.” He shakes his head, rubbing a hand over his face. “What do you want to do?” He asks, only after your breathing has regulated a bit.

“I don’t know Gray, I already told you that.” You sigh, bringing your knees to your chest and wrapping your arms around them.

“Come on, that’s not true. What’s your gut tell you?”

You bite your lip as tears slowly start to pour out of your eyes. “I wanna keep it,” you mumble, barely even audible. Your eyes widen. You didn’t even expect yourself to say that.

“What was that?” Grayson asks.

“I want to keep the baby,” you say, lifting your head from your knees, a bit more confident this time. “Nothing good in my life has come easy, it’s no shocker this isn’t any different.” This makes him smile a bit.

“Me either. Conventional isn’t really my style.” This makes you giggle as you nod in agreement. “So…” he bites his lip as your eyes meet. You raise your eyebrow. “Are we having a baby?” He asks.

“I- “ you shake your head, looking at the wall, another tear falling down your cheek. “I’m scared to say it.”

“Why?”

“Because every rational part of my being knows that logistically this is not what I should be doing, but the rest of me knows I’m going to. I can’t not, you know?” You turn to look at him. He can see the pure fear in your eyes and he just wants to be there and hug you.

“Yeah. Wanna say it together on the count of three?” He chuckles. You start laughing and shake your head.

“That’s stupid, we don’t have to do that,” you look back at him and he’s already smiling at you.

“Yes, we do. It’ll make it easier. It can be the first thing we do together.” You instantly feel your heart warm and the tears are suddenly falling again. “Hey, don’t cry again. What, doing things with me makes you that upset?” His tone is light, you can tell he’s just trying to make you smile.

You shake your head. “No, that’s not the problem. What you said was just really cute,” you giggle as your cheeks go a bit red once you realized what you said.

“So you’re down?” You nod. “1,2,3-“

“We’re having a baby,” you whisper, like it’s some big secret.  Well, it is.

Meanwhile, Grayson screamed it, instantly making you crack up. You grab the phone, hoping it will make you feel somewhat closer to him.

However, your moment of happiness disappears as the anxieties crawl right back into your brain.

“Grayson,” you get his attention. He looks at you and immediately can see your off again.

“Hey, what’s going on?” His eyebrows furrow.

“How the fuck are we gonna pull this off? You literally live on the other side of the country. How am I going to pay for all this?” Your free hand covers your face because he’s seen you cry for literally half an hour at this point.

“Don’t worry about that. We will figure it all out. I’ll figure it out. Your job is to be happy and healthy,” he shakes his head at you, concern written all over his face.

“Oh, so you’re a sugar daddy? Yeah, alright. I don’t take handouts.” You had been raised to be an independent person. Your dad didn’t come from much and worked hard to be where he is now. He had always told you to make your own ends meet, because you could never rely on anyone else.

“It’s not a handout when it’s for my kid and their mom.”

“Why are you so nice?” You groan, making him laugh.

“I’ve never had a complaint about it before,” he shines his pretty smile at you, making your lips turn up too.

“I just don’t get how you’re so down. We’re young. And we don’t even know each other,” you bite your lip.

“Yet. But we’ll talk every day and go through all of this together. We’ll definitely be well acquainted at the end of that,” he chuckles, “and, I’ve always said I was meant to be a young dad. If this is how it’s meant to be, then this is how I’ll do it. We’ll do it. That’s how we’ll do it.” He winks at you.

“It’s the size of a blueberry, you know. I googled it,” you smile at him. He immediately covers his eyes with his hand, his smile growing bigger. His hand slowly slides down his face.

“A blueberry. A fucking blueberry. We have a blueberry,” he shakes his head. “Y/N, I will do anything you and our blueberry need, okay? When’s your next appointment?”

“Over spring break with my doctor back home.”

“Text me the dates, I’ll be there,” he pauses. “Where do you live?” He bites his lip to try to hold back his laugh. It hits you both that you don’t really know each other at all. At least he’s able to find the humor in it, it makes you feel better. Otherwise you probably would have freaked out more.

“New York.  Well, that’s where I grew up. My parents moved down south when my brother graduated high school, so I kinda live with my friends and family all over. My doctor is about 45 minutes from there so I’ll probably spend my spring break with my best friend from home.” He nods along to your explanation.

“How far is that from Jersey?” He asks as he stands, walking into another room.

“Like an hour from Jessie’s.” He sits down at a desk and starts typing when he nods again. All of a sudden you see his door open and you hear another voice.

“Gray?” Ethan calls. “Who’re you on the phone with?” He asks. Grayson turns to him, stuttering over words that won’t come out. Ethan leans in to see you. “Y/N? Hey.” You smile at him.

“Hey Ethan.” If he couldn’t tell your cheeks had dried tears all over them, he could tell you’d been crying by your voice. He looks back to Grayson and then at you again.

“Well. I’ll be heading out now,” he waves awkwardly. He gives Grayson a questioning look before leaving the room. Grayson turns back to look at you with a sympathetic smile on his face.

“Sorry about that,” he giggles while shaking his head.

“It’s okay.  I’ll be seeing a lot more of him anyways.”

“Am I allowed to tell him?” You bite your lip, thinking about what the doctor said.

“I mean technically we’re not supposed to tell people until the first trimester is over, but I already told Jessie and I am definitely going to have to tell my best friend when I go home. Tell the people who you’d want to support you if something goes wrong, I guess,” you watch him as you speak. He nods.

“Can I say something without sounding like a douche?”

“Seeing as you said it like that, you’re definitely going to sound like a douche but say it anyways,” you laugh and so does he.

“Can we try to, like, keep this off the internet for as long as possible?” You raise your brow at him.

“Oh, me and blueberry are gonna hurt your image?” You smirk, just trying to push his buttons.

“No, more like I’m worried the fans will try to hurt you and blueberry. That’s why Ethan and I try to keep our relationships out of it anyway. I wanna go through this with the people who are most important to us so that we can make it as normal as possible before we introduce you and blueberry to the internet.” Hearing him call the baby blueberry makes you tear up once again, and hearing him want to protect the both of you made you feel warm inside. Suddenly you were missing a person you barely even knew.

“Oh my god, sweet girl, I gotta stop making you cry,” he laughs. If you weren’t already blushing, you definitely were now. “I promise I’m not trying to.”

“I know,” you wipe your eyes. “And yes. We can pull a Kylie Jenner. Except it will be a lot easier because you’re not the one who will look like they taped a bowling ball to their stomach.” This makes him laugh harder.

“You’re right.” He calms down a bit.

You hear your door open and you turn around to see Jessie walking in timidly.

“Is everything okay?” He asks gently, like he was scared of the answer.

You smile softly at him. “Yeah, we’re okay.” He comes and sits on the bed with you again, looking at Grayson.

“You good too?”

“Yeah man,” he shrugs. “You know how long I’ve been waiting for a dad.” Jessie looks at the both of you, shocked.

“You’re keeping it?” He looks down at your stomach.

“Yeah,” you look down too, putting your hand back on your stomach.

“No shit. Alright. You’re having a baby. Damn,” he laughs.

“It’s a size of a blueberry, you know,” Grayson pipes up, watching the two of you interact. You both look back at the phone.

“This is so fucking crazy,” Jessie exclaims, shaking his head.

“Make sure she takes care of herself, Jess.” Grayson’s face seems a bit somber watching the both of you together.

“Oh my god no. Absolutely not. I am still a functioning human being. Me and blueberry will be just fine. I eat my fruits and veggies, I’m gonna get prenatal vitamins, the whole nine. I absolutely do not need two men trying to care of me while I go through something they’ll never understand,” you cross your arms.

Grayson looks a bit taken aback, but Jessie just smiles at you.

“There she is. As long as she’s got that fire in her, she’s doing well, Gray,” Jessie tells him, looking at him on the screen.

“Good. Ethan keeps texting that we have to start filming. Y/N, text me if you need anything, okay?” It feels like he’s looking directly into your soul sometimes.

“Yeah, of course,” you nod.

He smiles and waves at the both of you before hanging up. You look over at Jessie.

“You’re having a fucking baby. You are having Grayson Dolan’s fucking baby. Jesus Christ,” he laughs while covering his face, laying down on your bed. You lay next to him.

“Yeah. Are him and Ethan, like, really successful? I knew they were doing well for themselves, but he literally told me he would ‘take care of everything.’ That takes some dough,” you turn your head to look at him.

Jessie looks to be contemplating what to say next. “Have you looked them up before?” He turns to you and you shake your head no. “I’d recommend not doing that, then. He can definitely figure out everything you’ll need, though. Just don’t want you to get caught up in that part of him without getting to know him first.” You take a big breath in, not really sure what to think of that answer. “Don’t freak yourself out, though. He’s a good guy,” Jessie sighs. You rub your hands over your stomach, getting lost in your thoughts. That’s when you remember something very important that you don’t know about Grayson.

“What’s his number?”

“Grayson’s?” Jessie laughs out.

“No, my other baby daddy,” you joke.

“I’ll give it to you and then we’ll head to breakfast?” You sit up and nod.

“Thank god that’s over. Things can only get better from here, right?”

***

Part 3 is up!!!!