#A GREAT WALL OF TEXT WITHOUT A TON OF TRAUMA???

[chasing-bandages]

Chase wakes up to gentle rain showering his hands and hair.

Compared to the pounding storm he was subjected to earlier, it's quite the welcome change. He sits up groggily, reaching up to rub his eyes. His hands hit a familiar solid material, though.... as soon as he realizes what it is, he groans loudly.

Stupid fucking mask again, goddammit.... he thinks bitterly, the rainshower seeping through the mask's eye holes. It's not too much of an inconvenience, other than once again being quite a hassle to wash his face or eat again. But he was starting to enjoy the feeling of wind on his cheeks again.

Whatever, he thinks, enjoying the gentle rain. Chase looks around, seeing the dark cloud of rain, wind, and lightning in the distance. That must be where he died.... he, Dusk, Lennie, Steph, and Camila.

He wonders where they all spawned before remembering Dusk isn't from this world... she's probably not around anymore. Chase looks down bitterly, hugging his knees to his chest.

He's starting to really hate being alone like this.

That's something he never thought he'd think.... he likes being with his brothers or girlfriend, but aside from them, Chase prefers solitude and no one around.

None of them are here with him, though, and probably never will be. Chase is completely and utterly alone, with no hope of ever escaping or seeing any of his loved ones again.

Chase finds himself thinking of the others. He wouldn't ever admit to trusting any of them, but their company definitely makes him feel a little less alone. They're all just trying to survive, after all, just like him.

..... survive.....

Survival. Life. Death.

His mind drifts to Camila. To what she told him. It's faint and foggy in his memory from the alcohol, but the fragments loop in his mind.

He's still baffled by the logistics of it, how one's conscience actually gets inside the computer and how they stay alive even though they're dead in the real world.... but eventually, he pushes it aside. He's not smart enough to try and figure it out.

Chase still wonders what it feels like, though, to be Camila. He has so many questions, and also a rather unfortunate amount of sympathy for her situation.... how did she die? How old was she? What about her family?

Chase groans and stands up. He really, really, reallyreallyreallyreally hates her and hates that he's feeling any sympathy for her. She's a prick, a bitch, an asshole, a pain in the ass who's probably only keeping him alive as someone to bully. She's horrible, she's annoying, she's cruel, she's selfish, she's......

..... human. She's still human, and she's the only one who could even understand my situation.

Chase looks down at the wet, sandy ground, fingers picking at themselves. If it was anyone other than the bitch who betrayed him when he first arrived, maybe he'd be more willing to open up. But her? Why's it gotta be her of all people?

He walks in the direction of the storm, silently scolding himself each step of the way. Why the fuck am I doing this? I could just wait for a train. I could just lie down by the tracks and wait for the train to pass by. I could stay out in the rain, in the SAFE rain.

..... I'm such a fucking idiot for this. She better thank me for this.

The rain and wind grow more intense as Chase travels deeper into the storm. The mask definitely helps to keep the water out of his eyes, although it still all pools into the bottom of his mask, and he has to dump it out of his eyes quite often. And without the hangover, he's better able to keep his balance and avoid any flying debris.

All of a sudden, he trips and falls, almost slamming his head into a tree trunk. The vague shape he sees glancing back both chills his blood and eases his mind.

His own headless corpse.

Chase stands and steps over the body, noting that his head is completely out of view, wherever it is. But this is almost exactly what he was hoping to find. Now, if only he could find....

There she is.

Chase approaches Camila's corpse, dodging a few flying branches. He takes a few seconds to observe the damage.... parts of her face and body look bashed in and cut, but judging by the deep gash over her throat, the rest of it must be post-death damage.

Her body isn't what he wants though.

Chase grabs her shoulder, smiling as his hand wraps around the bag strap. He quickly pulls the bag off of Camila's body, probably dislocating her arms in the process but not caring as he slings it over his shoulder and books it back in the direction he came. It's definitely a heavy bag, about half his size, but he pushes through and uses the wind to his advantage.

Eventually, the rain starts to ease, and he can see more than a few feet in front of him. Chase's sprint slows to a walk until he's far enough that there's nothing other than the gentle drizzle that woke him up in the first place. He sits down on a flat rock, legs and back aching from the weight he carried. But he's safe now, and he has exactly what he was looking for.

"Alright.... what's in here...." Chase mumbles, opening up one of the compartments. There's all the butcher equipment and cutlery, even a spare cleaver. Chase's eye gleams at the sight of so many sharp weapons. He grabs a small paring knife and stuffs it in his hoodie pocket before searching the rest of the bag.

It's all typical cooking supplies and various foods, including chunks of meat from that rabbit man. Chase wonders how preservation works in the digital world as he seals it all up and continues to marvel at the utensils, dishes, and seasonings she has. He's watched his brothers cook in the kitchen a few times, but a couple of things look quite foreign to him. He doesn't think he ever could learn to cook with most of this.

Eventually, he also finds a large canteen and weighs it in his hands.

Empty... he thinks, hopping up and walking into the rain once again. Chase unscrews the cap and holds it up, waiting as the water fills the canteen. It doesn't take long, and after the container's full, he turns around and gets back to the rest of the equipment. Other than a few rags being soaked, everything seems undamaged.

Chase lays back on the rock, kicking his feet a little and humming. The storm continues to move on, away from him and passing over the town. Hours past, to which Chase spends nibbling on carrots and trying to dry his clothes off.

The more he thinks about it, the less the thought of Camila pisses him off. Her methods for killing people and tricking others into eating them is fucked up, but it's not like she can do much else. He's seen first hand that she can't exactly help herself, and a vegetarian diet wouldn't really be the best for a cannibalistic vampire. She's trying to survive.

And she's never getting out of this place either, no matter what. That's the most disturbing fact of her situation, and Chase has so many questions. How does aging work? What if the system shuts down? Can someone die of old age? Are they, in the grand scheme of things, immortal?

He bites his tongue, looking down at the ground. The way she treats him is..... familiar. She's a bitch who toys with him and doesn't care if he's a bitch back, she matches his energy but treats him like a kid.

.... she treats me like my brothers.

A familiar clunking sound jostles Chase out of his thoughts, prompting him to stand up. In the distance, he sees a train with a yellow mark chug along, heading straight towards him and the storm. Time to go.

He groans and lays face down, cringing at the realization. That's something he DEFINITELY doesn't want to accept because she's not them. She never will be them. No one will ever be them. No one will replace his family, and he'll be damned if anything makes him feel better about it.

He puts the bag on and rushes to the side of the tracks, internally cursing himself for not adjusting the straps first. Whatever, it doesn't matter. The train's getting closer.... and closer.... and closer.....

Chase leaps forward through the open doors.

And not a moment too soon, either. Just as he regains his balance, the train chugs straight into the storm. Rain, wind, and debris smatter through the open doors, immediately drenching Chase's clothes again.

He grumbles with a yawn, dragging the bag over behind several crates that block out the majority of the rain. He's far too exhausted for this, and eventually just lays down while hugging Camila's bag. For being full of cooking supplies, it's shockingly comfortable to hug.

Chase yawns again, shivering from the water soaking through his clothes. At least the rain crashing against the windows is soothing, a familiar sound that slowly lulls him to sleep. He squeezes the bag just a little, thinking one final thing before fully drifting off.

Guess I'm trying to find Camila instead of avoid her now.

[novantinuum]

Fandom: Steven Universe

Rating: Teen Audiences

Words: 2.2K~

Summary: A series of shorts detailing what might’ve happened in the moments after I Am My Monster, told from six different points of view.

Greg apparently had a LOT on his mind, because this was supposed to be short and instead it’s over 2000 words, ahah. Final chapter!

If you read this and enjoy, I’d greatly appreciate your support through reblogs here, or kudos/comments on AO3. Thank you! <3

Chapter warning: Allusions to past non-canon character suicide.

____

Chapter 6: Greg

Hours pass.

Bismuth makes quick and quiet work of replacing the cracked slider door in Steven’s room while he sleeps, and secures a thick tarp over the open front of the house to keep the coastal breeze somewhat at bay until she can finish her repairs to the windows and siding. She warns that might take a day or two. Garnet, meanwhile, busies herself the rest of the afternoon and evening fielding all of the Diamonds’ frazzled calls, and reassuring them of the boy’s current stability. Pooling their knowledge, Dr. Maheswaran and Peridot make sure to confirm that. Beyond some minor scarring, neither his organic or Gem half seems to exhibit any serious physical health conditions in consequence of what happened today, news which works to ever so slightly lift the air of the household. With no other concrete tasks to complete, Pearl, Amethyst, Lapis, Connie, and Greg all rotate between sweeping debris off the floor, wandering the beach to mentally recuperate, and dutifully sitting at Steven’s side as he rests. It may not sound like a lot, but alas the level of emotional labor demanded by such a situation is immense.

All in all, the sun’s long since dipped below the horizon by the time Greg finally collapses onto the mattress laid out in the back of his van, craving if but a moment of privacy and respite from all the chaos. It’s been... an insufferably long day, to put it lightly. Busy. Tons of cleaning, and intercepting nosy neighbors, and bedside monitoring...

He offered to take the first night shift watching Steven a few minutes ago, but Pearl must’ve noticed the dark circles creeping ever wider under his eyes, because she proceeded to gently overturn his offer and remind him of humanity’s daily sleep requirement. And she’s right, of course. He can’t stay up as long as he used to in his twenties anymore. Plus, he probably deserves some time to himself after everything that’s transpired. There’s plenty of Gems left in the house who can keep watch, after all. Steven will be fine for a few hours. Surely nothing else can happen when he’s asleep, right?

 Right??

Exhaustedly slumping against the side wall, Greg offers a glassy, vacant stare at the contacts list of his phone, roughly wiping the damp from his cheeks with his other hand as his thumb hovers over one of the numbers. Does he dare drag someone else into this whole situation? Surely the kinder solution would be to refrain from widening the circle any more, from letting anyone else learn about today’s harrowing events. And yet if he fails to find a proper outlet for the raw emotions all of this has violently hauled to the surface, he fears he just may suffer a mental break himself, repressed memories bursting like a vicious flood through the dam he desperately tried to seal them behind all those years back. Much of this is just... far too familiar.

His phone slips right through his trembling hands as the cruel reality of what he witnessed today finally begins to carve its indelible presence in his mind. A strained sob leaking from between his tightly pursed lips, he buries his head between his knees, clutching at the worn bottom hem of his jean shorts like an infant to a parent’s finger. Small. Vulnerable.

Helpless.

His son... oh stars, his only son, he—

He can’t talk about any of this to the Gems; they wouldn’t wholly grasp the uniquely human nature of his concerns. And he doesn’t feel comfortable discussing these matters with Dr. Maheswaran, especially not after the stern words she dealt to him back at the hospital. He’s burdened her enough already, by this point. No, there’s only one fellow human he feels close enough with to engage in this sort of conversation.

Taking a deep, cleansing breath, he reaches for the phone he dropped on the mattress. Turns it on. Nervously clamps down on his bottom lip as he selects his cousin’s contact and dials.

The passing heartbeats slamming against his ribs are almost nauseating in their needy clamor as he waits, his calloused fingers tapping against the thick rubber of his phone case. Andy’s never been a particularly tech savvy guy, so honestly, it’s well within reason he might not even carry his phone on his person to answer. And that’d be fine, really. In fact, he might even prefer it, since he’s still not confident he’s emotionally prepared to discuss any of this at this precise moment, anyways. But just as he’s beginning to undergo mental preparations for what on Earth he might leave as a voicemail message, his older family member finally picks up.

“Greg?” Andy’s gravelly voice rings through, sounding somewhat tinny through their connection. “Hey, it’s been a while, hasn’t it? How’s the ol’ Universe family unit doin’?”

“Not great, honestly,” he narrowly manages in response, his throat constricting tight. “That’s kinda why I’m calling, if you have the time to listen?”

“Heh. I’m a drifter, you know I ain’t got no schedule. Carry on.”

“Well... geeze, how do I put this. There was, uh... a bit of an incident today. With Steven.”

“An incident?” his cousin questions, marked worry immediately painting his tone. “The kid okay??”

He falls silent for a few seconds upon this question, threading his hyperactive digits through the split ends in his hair on automatic, a stress-induced habit. “Unclear,” he says, a slight quiver making itself intimately known in his words. “I mean, physically, at the moment, yes, but—“

He cuts off once more. It suddenly occurs to him that little of today’s events would make sense to Andy without providing the appropriate context. Or, at least, what little context he’s capable of giving as a father. It’s still terrifying to admit the truth to himself— that he doesn’t possess the full story. That he hasn’t been paying close enough attention. That, in many ways, he willfully blinded himself to all the troubling events transpiring around his son throughout the years, foolishly believing that if he didn’t involve himself... that if he simply stayed out of the Gems’ hair... everything would go to plan, and Steven would finally receive the training he needed. He didn’t expect things would grow so complicated.

He didn’t expect that his teenage son would have to march into battle carrying nothing but his wits and a shield time and time again.

With a weary sigh and a quick apology, to which Andy brushes off, Greg begins to weave a verbal picture of everything that’s transpired across the last few days. First, the hospital call. Rushing home from tour, only to find his son giant and flushed pink, literally filling an entire room with the sheer volume of his trauma. The shattered x-ray in his chart, hinting towards hidden hurts that— before all this— even Steven seemingly hadn’t processed or quantified. Then, the road trip. The unwanted reminders of his childhood. That blasted CD. His expression sobers as he describes the fateful argument they had on the road home, one which lead to his son accidentally breaking the steering wheel and flipping the van. Next... his disappearance. No texts for four whole days, which is so unlike him. He was worried sick. And the next time he saw him, he was eight feet tall, glowing, and painfully manic in behavior, with each new sentence spilling from his mouth revealing an even more heartbreaking picture of the sort of poor mental state he’d spiraled into. It was nothing short of a father’s worst nightmare, propelled into horrifying, vivid reality.

Nothing in this corner of the galaxy could’ve prepared him for the primal surge of terror and anguish he was engulfed within when that nightmare distorted and transformed even further.  

His only son... colossal and coated in thick scales and spines, sclera black as night... roughly clawing at this unfamiliar form, smashing his skull against the cliffside, roaring with an inner pain so primal that the sound now haunts the depths of his very soul—

“I- you remember what happened with cousin Jo, back when we were young?” Greg says softly once he’s caught Andy up with the details of situation, his voice frail and unsteady, the tone of a man helplessly marooned amidst his anxieties. “Before she was sent to that mental rehab place? Well, I’m... with the addition of Gem magic, it almost felt like that. I mean, h-he’s fine for now, we have him resting, but... but I’m just so scared he won’t come out of this, like her, a-a-and that one day he’ll—“

A mewling sob bubbles up in his throat, swiftly severing that train of thought. N-no. No, he refuses to even utter that horrible idea out loud! After all, a world without Steven in it isn’t worth envisioning.

Andy’s eventual response— albeit tinged with a justified shade of awkwardness, given the emotionally charged nature of this conversation— is filled with genuine compassion, and for that he’s dearly thankful.

“Aw, hell... Greg, I’m- I’m so sorry. I, uh- I could fly over, if any of ya’ need me? For emotional support, or whatever?”

Upon this kind offer, he inhales deep to steady his breath, and wipes away dewy beads of moisture from the corner of his eyes, desperately hoping that he can mitigate the pitiful wavering of his voice over the phone. He’s gotta fight to reliably keep some form of composure in front of other people, damnit. His kid can’t have his dad breaking down around him too, of course.

“No, you’ve got places to be,” he replies evenly, pressing his thumb and pointer against one of his aching temples. “I couldn’t ask you to do that.”

“You ain’t asking,” he retorts, the eye-roll evident in his tone. “I’m offering. Listen- family takes care of family, y’hear? And I’m only about a day’s flight away, anyways. It’s really the least I could do.”

He sighs. Absentmindedly tugs at a thick strand of his hair. Offers a long, contemplative stare at the rickety age-worn handle affixed to the inside of the van’s back doors. Truth be told— ignoring his deep-seated guilt at dragging Andy into all this to begin with— he’d love having another family member around to embrace, especially a human one who can more deeply understand the crux of his anxieties about this delicate situation. But in the end, he shouldn’t be prioritizing his own feelings and comfort. He’s not the one in crisis, his son is.

Desperately hoping he’s making the right choice, Greg flexes his fingers, and acquiesces to the offer, on one condition: only if Steven consents to having visitors, once he’s awake.

Andy hums in approval. “Understood. Don’t wanna overload the poor guy with any surprise visits, or whatever.”

“Yeah. The last thing I want to do is push him too hard, too fast.”

He pauses, braving waves of parental grief to spend a moment to reflect on Steven’s emotional progression over the past few months... a stray negative comment here, an unusually forlorn mannerism there... All of them events that, in isolation, wouldn’t point to anything more than your standard ‘teenage angst,’ but when observed in strong, unceasing patterns, begin to reveal deeply harrowing truths about the state of an individual’s self-image. How did he never notice? Why wasn’t he there to catch him in his fall?

“I think he hates himself,” he says quietly, his voice hitching up at the end. “He didn’t say so directly, but- but I can sense it. And I don’t know how to help him, I-I... I don’t know if I can.”

“Nonsense,” his cousin scoffs, “‘course ya’ know what to do! What does any good father worth their salt give their sons?”

Unable to evade the momentary temptation of feeling miserable and sorry for himself, he slumps back against the wall, giving a weak shrug that his current audience would never see.

“I dunno, maybe a stable, safe childhood? Not growing up poor as dirt in a van?”

“No, you numbskull,�� Andy immediately cuts back, “you love on ‘em and support ‘em just as much as you always have! Y’ show him that you’re always gonna be there for him, and that he can trust you with anything.”

“But I haven’t always been there for him,” he exclaims petulantly. “That’s the whole problem! That’s one of the reasons he ended up like this.”

“Greg,” he says, his voice softer this time. “Listen to me, ain’t nobody perfect, okay? We’ve all made our mistakes with people. Me? More than most. But what we can’t do is let those mistakes cloud what’s happening right now. Y’know, that’s one of the hard lessons I’ve had to learn over the past two years, that you can’t always make things about you. Because right now, it’s about him. He’s dealin’ with some hard feelings, and he needs all of our help. So, let’s help him. Together. We’ll start with one foot in front of us, and we can take it from there. All right?”

Closing his weary, exhausted eyes and pressing his thumb firm against his still-aching temple, Greg Universe gives a long sigh and finally concedes to the reality that— just as he’s not solely responsible for the decline of his son’s mental state— no man should be an island when it comes to the task of supporting one’s journey towards recovery. As with everything, the extended Universe family unit will face the future together, hand-in-hand. Step-by-step.

“Yeah,” he breathes. “Yeah, I think that’s do-able.”

[pandoraborn]

Cruelty of the Beast - Part 15

( previous. )

-----

Characters: c!Puffy, c!Quackity, c!Tubbo Word count: 2069 words Content: major character death (referring to Tommy’s prison death), grief, memorials, manhandling, quackity talks sense into tubbo, talk of war, impending doom, dragons, war is coming

-----

Nothing can ever go right in this place. Tubbo has never felt more angry or isolated in his life, with no one close he can fall back on. It had always either been him and Tommy, or him and Ranboo. Ranboo had already made it clear that he was sticking with Dream, but had left Tommy’s situation vague.

Tubbo is tired of arguing with everyone over it. He’s tired of everyone telling him to move on from Tommy, and it shows in the way he keeps his back pressed against the wall, with a crying Michael clinging to his leg. It shows in the way Tubbo is glaring furiously at Puffy with tears forming in his eyes. He’s seconds away from grabbing a weapon and lashing out at her.

“I can’t watch you do this to yourself anymore!” She cries out. “It’s killing all of us, you need to open  your eyes, please!”

“I don’t know when all of you decided to give up on Tommy, but I sure as hell am not.” Tubbo’s voice is flat as he tightens his grip on Michael. Having to explain to the toddler that his papa isn’t ever coming home was bad enough, Tubbo doesn’t want to have to explain about Uncle Tommy, either. “What’s happened to you, Puffy? You swore you’d protect him. You swore you’d never give up on him. So now that he got into one fight with Quackity, suddenly he needs to be treated like some war criminal? Remember what happened last time we isolated him?”

“Tubbo, I know. I really don’t think this is a misunderstanding this time.”

“It’s always a misunderstanding!” Tubbo snarls. His lip curls back as his hands tremble. “Everything everyone feels about Tommy is one giant misunderstanding! No one ever actually pays attention to him! You think I’m going to turn my back on him? I’ve already done that, I’m not doing it again.”

“Tubbo, he threatened Quackity,” Puffy tries to reason. “He plainly said he wasn’t coming home. We have to assume he’s working with Dream and Wilbur.”

“I’m calling bullshit,” Tubbo snaps. “Tommy hates both of them. He also hates Technoblade. Quackity up and disappeared for months without telling any of us what he was up to. His lands words were even ‘don’t trust anyone’. Why would I trust him?”

“Because he was there, Tubbo. He spoke to Tommy, to Ranboo, to Techno...we have to trust him on this.”  Puffy pulls back to text someone on her communicator. Without thinking, Tubbo snatches it from her hands and tosses it hard against the opposite wall. The noise has Michael crying even more louder.

“Tubbo!”

“I’m not falling for this bullshit,” Tubbo snarls. “I’ll break it again if you dare insinuate Tommy went and allied himself with the people who hurt him the most. We’re his friends. It’s up to us to save him and bring him back.” Crouching down, Tubbo wraps his arms around his son, holding him tightly. Michael whimpers.

“Papa,” Michael whines. “Where’s Papa?”

“It’s okay,” Tubbo whispers. “Daddy’s got you. You’re safe with me.” A pointed glare is aimed in Puffy’s direction. “Puffy was just leaving.”

“No,” she responds. “You need someone, I’m not leaving you alone to deal with this anymore. We have to face the truth.”

“There is no truth,” he mutters. Tubbo at least stands up, gently pulling away from Michael .”I need to put my son to bed, and you need to leave. I don’t want  you here anymore.”

There’s no sound from her as she picks up the communicator. It’s not completely broken, but the screen is cracked and hard to read right now. Puffy tries to brush away some of the dust.

“Tubbo, I really want to help you.”

“Unless your help is trying to find and bring my best friend back home, I don’t want it.” They stare each other down. Tubbo doesn’t hear his door opening and closing. He doesn’t hear the footsteps until a hand snatches him by his shirt and slams him roughly against the wall.

Tubbo winces, stifling back a yelp of pain as he stares into Quackity’s eyes. “Tubbo, I’m going to tell it to you straight. The Tommy we knew died in that prison. As far as we’re concerned, Tommy is dead. You need to open your eyes, Tubbo, and come to terms with the fact that we’re all you have left. Your best friend? Your husband? They’re gone, and they’re not coming back.”

“No.”

“Puffy, take the runt upstairs,” Quackity instructs. “Tubbo and I are going for a walk.” Quackity doesn’t wait for her to respond as he drags Tubbo outside. “I want to show you something,” he continues.

Tubbo struggles to keep up, forcing his feet to keep moving. Quackity had become far stronger in his bizarre absences, and admittedly, Tubbo is scared of him. He doesn’t dare try to pull away though, rather letting Quackity drag him around.

They continue moving until they’re at the memorial Tubbo had built. Tubbo doesn’t want to be here, he wants to go back home. This place brings back awful memories that he’d tried so hard to suppress, and it’s like Quackity is forcing Tubbo to relive all the trauma and agony that had brought them to this point.

“Read the sign, Tubbo.”

He tries to turn his head away. “No, I can’t.” It’s not a stretch, his eyes are already blurring. “Please let me go.”

The older man shoves him forward hard enough that he almost trips and face-plants into the sign. “Read it, Tubbo!”

With shaky breath, Tubbo blinks in an attempt to clear his vision long enough to focus on the sign. “In..in the memory of T-Tommy...” Everything is threatening to spill over. Gripping the edges the stone the sign’s placed on, Tubbo tries to still his trembling body. It’s not working. It’s also not stopping the flood of memories that come back.

From Tommy being exiled.

Dream manipulating Tubbo.

Dream humiliating Tubbo in front of everyone.

Tubbo giving up and accepting defeat...

Losing Tommy to death.

“He...he was take-taken from us too soon.” Tubbo’s breath is barely a wheeze as he finishes. This is just as embarrassing as being told  he sucked in front of the entire server. Back then, he hadn’t cried. This time, he’s barely holding himself together.

“Why did you build this?” Quackity asks.

“Because he was dead...he was killed in the prison.”

Quackity lets down, sitting down on the bench. He does pull Tubbo down with him. “I’ve been poking around Tubbo. I found this, and I found other memorials for Tommy. Statues, that Puffy, Eret and other people built. He was great to all of us.”

“So why...” Tubbo pauses to swipe his sleeve across his face. “Why doesn’t anyone care enough anymore to save him? He’s...”

“He was my best friend too, at one point.” Quackity’s voice is more gentle. “There was a time I’d have done anything for him. But the Tommy I encountered just now isn’t the Tommy I knew. He wasn’t anyone’s Tommy. He was mean and harsh, and he knew exactly what he was doing and who he was siding with.”

“I don’t understand.” It’s as if all the anger had evaporated. Tubbo hates Quackity’s approach, he hates the manhandling, but even Tubbo has to admit it’s more effective than Puffy’s mothering approach. It doesn’t mean he understands anything. He probably never will.

“Tommy died, Tubbo. He died in the prison, and he came back at Dream’s hand. We have to assume that Dream fucked with him somehow in a way we can’t fix, because otherwise we’re all going to be asking the same questions forever, and I don’t want to spend the rest of my life asking why.”

“But...it’s Tommy. We can’t just...”

“Tommy’s dead, Tubbo. You didn’t spent time making this entire memorial for him only for it to be thrown back in your face. Puffy didn’t build a statue of him only for him to threaten me. None of us mourned his death, only for him to pick Dream. He’s dead, and gone, and we have to assume that the new Tommy is some imposter.”

For the first time since the prison break, Tubbo feels his heart breaking. He’d been living in denial for so long, always holding out hope that one of his two soul mates would come rushing back to him. Even after meeting with Ranboo, Tubbo had held some tiny sliver of hope that Ranboo would’ve changed his mind and come running back.

But deep down inside, Tubbo had always known. He’d always known that there was no going back, that the prison break had just been the beginning of the end.

Leaning against Quackity, Tubbo swallows back a sob. He’s not going to cry now, that’s better saved for when he’s alone with only Michael to hear him. Right now, he needs to be the tactician. At least Quackity’s pulling him in for a hug.

“I’m sorry, Tubbo,” Quackity whispers. “You still have us. The entire SMP is always on your side, you know this.”

“We need a plan.”

“I talked to Sam already,” Quackity says. Sitting up straight, Tubbo clears his throat, trying to compose himself. “Sam’s already making weapons, and he’s already spread the word to others. Eret’s making preparations to protect the kingdom.”

“I need to fortify Snowchester.” Tubbo clears his throat again before standing up. Priority one is getting away from this stupid memorial. The thought of burning it to the ground crosses his mind. “I can’t let anything happen to Michael.”

“So, talk to people. You have allies, Tubbo. You have Puffy, Sam, me, probably Jack. Eret, and so many others who are willing to pick up a weapon and fight.”

“I have an armory.” Tubbo’s eyes glisten.

“What are you talking about?”

“I have all of Dream’s stuff. His armor, some weapons, and even some potions. God apples.”

Quackity stares at him for a moment.

“I even have nukes,” Tubbo finishes in a whisper.

“They have tons of explosions,” Quackity says slowly. “But I don’t think even they can fight back if we use a nuke.”

Tubbo wags a finger, narrowing his eyes. “No, this is going to be on my terms. I’m not launching one at people we still care about. Just because they’ve decided to start some civil war doesn’t mean we’re just going to kill them. I want care and precision with this.” He turns to walk back toward Snowchester. “I have to think about my son first and foremost.”

“Okay, wait,” Quackity says. “How many people know you have nukes? I can tell-”

“Not many,” admits Tubbo. “Jack knows. T...oh, shit.” Tubbo’s eyes open wide as he stops in place. No, freezes completely. “No, no no no, shit!”

“Tubbo, what’s wrong?” Quackity, alarmed, grabs at Tubbo’s arm and shakes him. “Talk to me! What’s wrong?”

“Tommy and Ranboo,” Tubbo whispers. “They both know.”

There’s a long pause before the realization catches up to the older man. “Tubbo! You realize they could come here a...” he trails off.

In the distance, the prison alarms sound. They had since been rewired to alert Sam of intruders into the SMP, programming them to announce the arrival of hostile enemies. The alarms sounding now doesn’t mean anything good for the SMP or any of the aligning territories.

Quackity slowly turns back to Tubbo, gripping him tighter. With a whine, Tubbo yanks back, turning to march back toward Snowchester again.

Following close behind, Quackity glances in the direction of the prison. His blood is freezing in his veins at the thought of what’s to come.

“Tubbo, there’s no time for care and precision anymore. We have no time to prepare for anything.”

“I know,” Tubbo murmurs. “Quackity, Ranboo insinuated something to me that I didn’t understand til now.”

“What?”

“They have a dragon.”

“How..” Quackity swallows. “How the fuck do you know that from whatever vague words he said to you? You can’t possibly piece-” he’s cut off when Tubbo points. It’s dark as shit and hard to make out anything in the night sky, but Quackity follows his finger toward the prison.

In the distance, barely outlined, is the shape of something that’s only growing bigger. Big enough that Quackity can now hear the roar.

“Tubbo?” He hums as he reaches into his pack for his sword. “Get the nukes.”

[tony-is-my-daddy]

Dream a little dream of me pt2

The weather was bad, it was getting a bit cold at the middle of October now, but Peter and his little students were outside on the playground. He was pushing one of the youngest little boys in the swing who couldn't do it by himself yet, while watching over the rest of the children around him so no one would get hurt. Of course, you wouldn't think a class of fifteen kids was a lot to look after, but honestly, even looking after one was a challenge for some people.

It was nice, though, the kids were slowly starting to go home with their parents, even the little boy who he was swinging, and after a while, it was just him and Morgan. It was strange, Morgan was usually one of the first kids to be taken home.

"Hey princess. Who's coming for you today," he asked as he sat down next to the little girl who sat on a bench, swinging her legs that couldn't reach the ground.

"Eric..."

Peter frowned. "Who's Eric?"

"My new dad. I don't wike him too much."

Oh. "Your mommy has a new boyfriend?"

"Yes he's gunna be my new dad."

"Well, when did you meet him?"

"Last week..."

"That's a very little tiny short time," Peter said, his thumb and index finger almost touching as he showed how small he meant to the girl. "Why don't you wait until you get to know him better? Maybe you will like him."

"But I wanted you to be my new dad..."

His heart skipped a beat at that. "Now now, Morgan, daddy told you not to talk about this, right?"

"Right... sorry."

"It's okay, bub. Just be nice to Eric, okay? You can't be sure what he's like if you don't know him yet."

"Otay."

Just then, someone walked through the gate, a tall, broad man with black hair and brown eyes. He smiled when he spotted Morgan on the bench.

"Hi Morgan! I'm so sorry for being late, it won't happen again, I promise," he said as he walked over to her and Peter. "Hi um I'm sorry, this won't be a regular occasion, traffic was just a nightmare," he explained to Peter this time. "Eric."

"Peter. It's okay, I gladly spend my whole day with this little angel, ain't that right, Morgan?" The little girl giggled as Peter pinched her cheek. "Alright, now go home with Eric, bub."

"Goodbye, Mr. Parker," she said as she jumped off the bench.

"Bye bye Morgan!"

Morgan and Eric walked out and got in a car, leaving Peter alone on the school grounds. He sighed as he looked around, the playground that was a few minutes ago full of screaming children now so lifeless. It was scary and he didn't like being there without the kids, so he went back to his classroom where he collected all of his belongings. He checked his phone before leaving and saw a message from Tony.

Tony: Ready for tonight?

Peter: Not yet, just got out of work

Tony: You're still beautiful

Peter: Don't make me blush

Tony: ;)

It was Friday again, almost a week after their first date, and now they were going on a second. Peter was so excited about having their second date now, since he very much enjoyed their first one. It all still seemed so surreal, him dating Tony Stark, texting him every single day and seeing him occasionally when he came to get Morgan. He loved it, of course, but he wouldn't be surprised if this all were just some kind of fever dream or a bad joke. Though be prayed for it not to be.

When he got home, he laid down for a while, opening up his chat with Tony again as he put something on for background noise on the TV.

Peter: What should I wear?

Tony: ?

Peter: This is a fancy place

Tony: Not that fancy

Peter: Fancier than what a kindergarten teacher is used to

Peter: So what should I wear?

Tony: I'll be wearing a suit and tie, if that helps

Peter: Then we should match

Tony: You're adorable

Peter: I know :)

Tony: Literally everything you wear will look amazing on you because EVERYTHING LOOKS FUCKING AMAZING WHEN YOU WEAR IT

Peter: You say that because you haven't seen me in my lazy sunday attire yet XD

Tony: What does that look like?

Peter: A shirt that's 3 sizes big on me and sweatpants

Peter: And ugly glasses

Tony: I wear ugly glasses too

Tony: But that's even worse since I wear them because I'm old as fuck

Peter: You're only 10 years older than me

Tony: I'd like to point out that you have daddy issues but then that would seem like I'm not glad that you do so I'll just keep quiet

Peter: Shut up and get dressed XD

Tony: Alright, see you in a bit ;)

God, he loved their banter.

During the past week, they really spoke every single day, for the first two days Tony texted him first, and then Peter got brave enough to text first as well. They got to know each other more, they told each other about their traumas and families - Peter about that one aunt that he still had and loved, and Tony about his dad and mom, then his closest friends who he counted as family. Peter now also knew that Tony loved old school rock, cheeseburgers and liked to work on old cars in his free time, that he went to MIT and graduated early with perfect grades. Tony knew about how much Peter loved to cook and that he loved pets, especially cats, and he was really into the 50's and 60's songs, that he was a nerd back in school and he was part of the decathlon team.

So basically, now they knew a shit ton of things about each other, even just after a week. It was crazy, they wouldn't stop talking to each other, it was like they were fifteen years old in love again.

As Peter's mind was wandering back to Tony and to how amazing of a person he was, he slowly began to get ready for their date. He chose one of his two suits (wow, what a great job) and a baby blue tie that looked good with the light grey. He got dressed, gelled his hair back, and he was ready to go. Thankfully, not long after that Tony texted, saying he's just leaving his place. Peter waited until the doorbell rung again and this time, he let Tony in. There was nothing wrong in letting the man look around, right?

"Hey Tones," Peter greeted when he opened his door for the man. "Come on in, I just have to put on my jacket and my shoes and we can go."

Tony walked in and looked around the small kitchen and dining space. He peeked through the archway to the living room as well, then hummed. "Living cozy up here, I see."

"Very," Peter chuckled. "That's what the landlord said when I was looking around the place as well, I assume because the best was to describe a small ass apartment is ‘cozy’." Tony laughed at that.

"Well it might be small but it's very homey. I like it a lot." The older man leaned over to look at the succulents that stood in a perfect line on his windowsill. "I like the plants."

"Oh there's a lot of them in here, most of them I keep in the living room. Wanna check them out?"

"Yeah sure-" he looked at his watch, "oh wow, maybe not now. We're gonna be late for our reservation."

"Oh sorry, yes, let's go," he said as he pulled up the zipper on his jacket.

They went to a modern place which looked super expensive, but Tony assured him that ut wasn't actually. They sat down at a nice little table for two, a romantic candle lit between the two of them at the center of it. Everything looked so nice and Peter was so excited. They ordered their dinner and began eating as soon as the waiter brought it to them. They were both very hungry already.

"How do you like it," Tony asked.

"Oh it's absolutely amazing. How's yours?"

"Good. I think my mamma made it better, though."

Peter's eyes widened. "Your... mamma?"

"Yeah, my mother used to cook a lot of italian dishes that she learned from my grandmother. She always said that italian food was the best kind of food in the world."

"Wow, I didn't know that."

Tony smirked. "You also didn't know I was half italian."

"No way!"

"Yep."

When they got back from the date to Peter's place, it was already quite late, yet it seemed too early to let the man leave just yet. Peter desperately looked around his house to find something, anything, that could make the older man want to stay for a bit more.

"Hey, I have some leftover wine. It's not Chardonnay or anything like that, but... if you wanna stay for a while and drink some then I think... I wouldn't be very opposed to that."

Tony smirked. "Well how can I say no when you're asking so nicely?"

They took of their jackets, shoes and blazers and Peter grabbed two glasses and the bottle on their way to the living room. They sat down on the couch and started drinking. Tony was looking around the place, the stairs behind Peter's desk catching his eyes and he finally looked up to see a loft bedroom.

"You actually sleep up there?"

Peter laughed. "Yeah, I do."

"There's no walls, aren't you scared of falling off?"

"There's fencing up there, Tones. See, all around the flooring."

"And where's your bed?"

"Oh I don't have a bed. I have a mattress on the floor."

"What the fuck?!"

"Yeah, I mean, it didn't seem like a good idea to have that old hardwood flooring hold up not just my weight but also a bed's weight. So I thought a mattress would be enough. It's actually quite nice up there, I have lots of plants."

"Yeah, and if you come home drunk you might break a leg on your way to your... mattress."

"That's why I mever drink until I get drunk."

They discussed Peter's living situations for some time, and when they finally stopped talking for a minute or two, Tony looked at his watch.

"It's late, isn's it," Peter asked.

"Almost midnight."

"I'm sorry, I didn't mean to keep you here for so long."

"No, it's fine. I didn't really... wanna leave anyway."

Peter smiled, looking away from the older man's eyes shyly. "You know, if it's already so late... and you had a lot of wine now, maybe... it wouldn't be a great idea to drive home."

"Peter Parker, are you asking me to sleep over?"

He glanced up at the older man through his thick lashes. "Would that be okay?"

Tony put the glass half full of wine down on the coffe table and leaned in to capture Peter's lips in a soft kiss. "It would be more than okay," he breathed when they pulled away. Peter grinned from ear to ear and he pulled Tony back in for another kiss by his tie, this one deeper, more passionate than the one before. They ended up making out for about ten minutes on the couch, Peter's arms around Tony's neck and his legs in Tony's lap, the man's arms wrapped around his body and hands stroking his back. It was perfect. Sexy. Until Peter forgot that he still had a glass of wine in his hand and spilled it all over the back of Tony's shirt.

Tony, of course, forgave him, but it definitely killed the vibes. Tony's dress shirt ended up soaking in the sink while the two of them fell asleep, cuddling on Peter's mattress.

After that great second date, Peter invited Tony over on Tuesday the next week to bake a pumpkin pie together. Yes, it was a lame idea for a third date but it was his turn to finally ask Tony out, and he didn't really want to go anywhere, he just wanted to stay in his apartment, bake a pie and maybe cuddle with Tony under a blanket afterwards. Let a man dream!

Tony didn't seem to have any problems with the idea and on Tuesday, after both of their shift was over, he went over to Peter's.

"Hey! So great to see you again," Peter greeted him with a kiss.

"You saw me yesterday night when we FaceTimed," Tony said.

"Yeah, but that was on FaceTime, it's not the same. Come on, get undressed and we can get to it. I hope you're ready for cutting it open because I can't do that."

"Are you serious," Tony chuckled.

"Don't laugh at me! Just help."

No, Peter was obviously not serious. Cutting a pumpkin open was difficult, but he could've done it if he wanted to. But then he wouldn't have seen Tony roll up his sleeves and his biceps flex as he cut the pumpkin open, which would've been a shame. God, the man was so damn hot...

They cut the pumpkin and cooked it for a while for the filling while they made the pie crust together. It was such a great thing to do together, Peter enjoyed it, to be honest, more than he enjoyed their other dates. He loved cooking and spending time with Tony, mixing the two together only made things that much better.

"It says lightly floured hands, Tony," Peter yelled. "You don't have to take a handful of flour!"

"Oh I know what the recipe says, this isn't for the dough. I just thought maybe I could return that you ruined my favorite shirt last weekend." He wiggled his eyebrows while not taking his eyes off Peter.

"Nooo, no no no no, I said I was sorry!" But it was too late. His date threw the handful of flour at him, covering his shirt (he wasn't wearing an apron because he only had one and gave it to Tony, God damn it!) and even a little bit of his neck and chin.

"Yeah, that's what you get," Tony laughed wholeheartedly, his entire body shaking with his genuine laughter. It was adorable, honestly, and if Peter wasn't covered in flour, he would've smiled at how sweet Tony's laughter was.

"You're a meanie! That wine thing was an accident but this wasn't," he said like he meant it, but honestly, he was enjoying it a bit as well.

"Oh, I'm sorry my dear." The older man cupped his face with his floury hands and kissed him. Peter completely forgot about what happened for a minute, but then Tony's hand slipped into his hair, ruffling it so that the flour got everywhere.

They pulled away from the kiss, Tony grinning widely while Peter tried to mask his own smile and look angry. "White looks so good on you, baby."

"Oh yeah? Let's see it on you!" Peter reached into the flour bowl as well and the next thing Tony saw was him blowing the little white particles at him, he had just

enough time to close his eyes before they hit his face. "Aww, so amazing," the younger man laughed, rubbing the flour into his date's beard.

"You're so immature."

"You started this!"

While they fought over who was more childish, constantly throwing more and more flour at each other until there was barely any more left, they almost overcooked the pumpkin and they made no progress with the crust. Tony also told Peter that he was a terrible cook, which started out another playfight between them until they were wrestling on the dirty kitchen tiles, laughing and screaming as they fought for dominance. The older man ended up on top of Peter, straddling his hips while holding one of his wrists in each hand to stop him from fighting. Their laughter soon died off and Tony leaned down to kiss Peter, the kiss tasted like flour, but it didn't matter.

"I forget why I came here now," Tony joked.

"I wanted to bake a nice pie with my boyfriend, but nooo, you just had to ruin it," Peter said, laughing through the sentence and he wouldn't have noticed what he said if it wasn't for the smile on Tony's face changing into pure shock. "Oh my God, I'm so sorry. I- that was so wrong, I know we've only had two dates so far and we never even talked about where this whole thing was going. I'm sorry for being so forward, I wasn't thinking."

"You really think about me like that?" Tony's head tilted to the side slightly, like an adorable curious puppy's. And Peter would've commented on that if it wasn't for how nervous he felt at that moment. He swallowed thickly, his mouth suddenly very dry.

"Well..."

"Because, you know, I've never... felt this way with anyone before." Tony finally let go of his wrists and scooted off his hips to sit on the tile, now Peter sitting up as well to face him.

"Me neither..."

"It's so weird, I mean, we really haven't spent much time together but this whole thing feels so... natural."

"It does, doesn't it?" He felt so relieved. He wasn't the only one feeling that way! "I mean, talking to you is just so easy and I really like it. You make me happy."

"You make me feel like I'm twenty-something again," Tony joked and Peter smiled slightly, pushing at the man's shoulder. "No, seriously now, you make me feel young, happy, whole. I have never ever felt that before with anyone, and you... like, this is literally our third date and look at us!"

Peter laughed out loud now. "Where are we going with all this, Tones?"

"I think... I think it's a bold move, but how about we just become official?"

"You mean like actual boyfriends?"

"Yeah! I mean, what could go wrong? We both want this and we seem to perfectly match!"

"It's kinda early though, aren't you scared?"

"Hella fucking scared. It's like bungee jumping off a cliff. But everyone who's been bungee jumping and didn't die say it was an amazing experience."

"And what if we die?"

"Then... we'll know not to bungee jump again."

Peter chuckled. "So... boyfriends?"

"Boyfriends." He crawled into Tony's lap and kissed him again, this time it lasted longer. Their first kiss as an actual couple, and it happened nowhere else, but on Peter's dirty kitchen tiles while they were both covered in flour and who knows what else. And the pie was long forgotten.

Tony invited Peter over to his house as well. He said he'd seen Peter's multiple times while Peter had never seen his. So Tony drove him over to the Stark Tower and they went all the way up to the penthouse at the top of the huge building. On their way, they ran into Pepper as well, who greeted Peter with a big smile and told him that Tony had said a lot about him already. Peter was happy and Tony was blushing, but no one saw that (Peter did see it).

When they got up to the penthouse, Peter's jaw dropped to the floor. The living room itself was bigger than Peter's whole apartment and probably just the furniture costed more than his rent.

"Wow, this place was probably a chick magnet," he noted as he walked through the living room.

"It was but it doesn't work anymore. Now I just use it to amaze beautiful doe-eyed teachers with it."

"Well, it fucking works. This place looks great, Tony!"

"I'm glad you like it." His boyfriend stepped up behind him, wrapping his arms around his middle. "You know, it's definitely bigger than your... cozy apartment. And it has a bed. A king sized one, actually, that can fit the two of us perfectly."

"What are you saying, babe?"

The older man started peppering kisses on Peter's shoulder and up his neck, making him shiver. "Well, you could spend some more time here, you know. It has a nice working area, a big kitchen where you can cook whatever you want, and I have Netfix, Hulu and Disney+. It's a real dream, you know."

"Tony, babe, this is very nice of you but what if Morgan will get confused? I mean, she already wants me to be her dad-"

The kisses stopped. "She does?"

Peter mentally smacked his own head. "Uh... she might've been saying things to me about that ever since you first asked me out."

"Wow. She never told me about that. I mean, she asked about how you were when I told her I met you again, but nothing about... that."

Peter turned around in Tony's arm to face the slightly taller man. "On the first day Eric came to pick her up, she was all gloomy because she said she wanted me to be her new dad. And she once gave me a drawing where he drew Pepper, herself and you and me."

"Well, maybe that's a sign then?"

He frowned. "What kind of sign would that be?"

"If Morgan likes you then we really were meant to be. If everything's going so smoothly then maybe the universe is trying to tell us that we belong together."

Peter smiled, leaning his head against Tony's chest. "I want this all, Tony. I really do. But I'm so scared something will go wrong," he whispered.

Tony pushed his chin up with his fingers to make Peter look into his beautiful dark brown eyes. "Let's not worry about the future just yet. Let yourself fall, baby, I'm here to catch you, okay?" Peter nodded, and Tony pulled him into a sweet, loving kiss.

The kiss turned into making out, and then soon enough, hands were roaming bodies and their kisses grew more and more hungry. Tony pulled Peter upstairs into the master bedroom where they settled on the king sized bed, clothes flying off and touches becoming bolder, until they were completely naked.

And they made love. It was amazing, better than any sex they've had before, it was sweet, sensual, passionate, loving, and their bodies fit together so perfectly. After reaching their climax together, they laid in each other's embrace for a while, breathing heavy as they recovered from such an amazing orgasm. And those three little words were so close to slipping from Peter's mouth, but he wasn't gonna say it. Not just yet. But someday.

Someday...

[echo-bleu]

straight through the smoke (2)

Summary: After Magnus breaks up with Alec and chooses to align with the Seelie Queen, pulling the Downworld Cabinet with him, Alec is arrested by the Clave for high treason. Will Magnus find out in time to save him from a death sentence?

Chapter 1

On AO3

Alec waits.

The cell is lit with violent neon tubes that hurt his eyes every time he opens them. The bench he’s sitting cross-legged on is hard, and he can’t find a comfortable position with his hands locked in front of him in heavy, runed cuffs. Guards from Idris – not Alec’s own people – watch his every move through the large, glass wall, and he wants to squirm under their gazes.

It’s all made to be as uncomfortable as possible. Alec knows that. He was thirteen when they last renovated the underground levels and his mother and Hodge came up with the glass cells, instead of the prison-like cells they had before.

And now he’s locked inside his own Institute’s cell, awaiting trial for crimes he didn’t commit.

By his estimate, it’s been about four hours. The Clave guards took his watch on top of his stele, so he has no way to tell the time except for his internal clock. He’s been turning things in his head over and over, trying to find a way out of this.

Magnus choosing to ally with the Seelie Queen hurt more than it should have – Alec feels like he should have expected it. Magnus is doing what is right for his people, and Alec’s own feelings about it don’t matter. Working with the Shadowhunters, being with Alec, has only brought him and his loved ones pain and heartbreak, and Alec lying to him about the Soul Sword was just the last straw. Alec can’t forget the pain in Magnus’ eyes after he tied him up in Valentine’s body, in this very cell. His grief when he opened up about losing Ragnor, his oldest friend, because of Shadowhunter involvement. Every hurt, every trauma of the past few months, all because of his relationship with Alec. His anger is justified, and however much it hurt when he gave Alec the cold shoulder this morning, Alec understands.

The Clave’s arrival in force, two hours later – and less than a minute before Alec got a text from Luke that wards were going up around the city – was unexpected. The Inquisitor’s presence told Alec immediately that it was bad news, but getting handcuffed and read his rights in the middle of the ops center, in front of dozens of his own people, isn’t how Alec expected his day would go.

High treason. That’s what they’re calling it, the heinous crime of loving a warlock. They’ll wrap it up in a convincing package, but that’s what it boils down to. Alec has become a monster in the eyes of the Clave because he dared to fall in love with a Downworlder, and to want Downworlders to be treated as equals to the Nephilim.

They’ve resisted his advances from the start, the very idea of a Downworld Cabinet, but Alec never expected it to go this far. Especially in the middle of the Valentine debacle. If this gets back to Magnus’ ears – and if Alec is deruned or executed, it will, there is no doubt about it – what will he do?

If the word gets out before his sentencing, will Magnus come for Alec? Is Alec worth it in his eyes, worth risking his people?

Alec already knows the answer to that. Magnus made it clear, the other day, and again this morning. He’s not worth it.

Besides, the Clave’s numbers are too great. Here in the Institute, there is no way out. If Magnus tries to free him, he’ll get arrested and executed too, if he’s not killed in battle first. Or he’ll start a war that neither side can afford.

And if he doesn’t come…

As selfish and horrible as it is, Alec doesn’t think he can handle knowing that Magnus knew, that he could have come, and chose not to. No, it’s better if Magnus remains ignorant and safe in his loft, or in the Seelie Realm, or wherever he is now, taking care of his people. Alec can only hope that he’ll escape the Clave’s wrath.

He looks up when the elevator opens and reveals two Shadowhunters he doesn’t know, framing Jens, his second-in-command. Or his former second-in-command now, Alec supposes. Jens takes out his stele to open the door of the cell on the side, then steps back to let the other two through. Alec meets his eyes as they roughly manhandle him into standing up and check his cuffs. Jens bows his head apologetically, clasping his hands behind his back – I didn’t find any way around this. I’m sorry.

Alec nods back. It’s okay. Just do as they ask. “Will you at least tell me where you’re taking me?” he asks as the men lead him out of the cell.

“Your trial is starting, Lightwood,” one of them answers.

“Shouldn’t there be an investigation first?”

The man shrugs, unconcerned. “The Inquisitor says she has a fool-proof case against you. You’ve had it coming for a while, Lightwood. You’re done.”

Alec swallows. This is going too fast, none of it makes sense. Why do this now, when the search for Valentine should be taking all of their resources?

He’s led to the ceremony room, where Max received his first rune just a few months ago. A sweep of the room tells him that the Inquisitor recalled nearly every single Shadowhunter to the Institute. They’re standing in close ranks, whispering amongst themselves. Alec forces himself to hold his head up high as he’s led to the platform at the front of the room, even as he feels the stares burning into his back.

Imogen Herondale sits in a straight-backed armchair facing the audience, with two Clave officials on each side. Alec doesn’t know any of them. His guards lead him to a simple wooden chair to the side, beside which Alec awkwardly stands, his hands still cuffed in front of him, the two Shadowhunters staying one step behind him.

Jace, Izzy and Clary are standing at attention in the first rank. Well, Jace and Izzy are, because Clary still hasn’t perfected her posture. Alec makes a note to talk to her about it, before he remembers that there’s little point to it.

His parabatai bound pulses gently with worryfearcomfort, even though Jace’s face is blank. Izzy meets Alec’s eyes and conveys all her sorrow and her dread, as Jens comes to stand beside her. She leans in to whisper in his ear. Alec shakes his head at them, trying to tell them not to try anything. If he can’t protect himself, then he at least needs to keep them safe.

The rest of his family isn’t there. His parents have gone back to Idris as soon as Max was transferred to the Alicante hospital, and they probably don’t even know that anything is going on. Even if they did, the warlocks’ wards over the city would prevent them from coming.

Alec refocuses on the “court”. It’s a sham of a trial, nothing like the real ones in Alicante that he’s been to – and yet he knows that this is all perfectly legal. They do it to Downworlders all the time, after all. An assembly of as few as two people, as long as it includes the Inquisitor or a member of the Council, can decide the fate of anyone if evidence of wrongdoing is presented to them.

Imogen stands up, and the whole room falls silent. “As the wards currently around New York do not allow us to transfer prisoners to await trial, I have convened this martial court in order to judge Alexander Gideon Lightwood, who stands accused of high treason.”

She goes on naming her court, while Alec’s guards make him sit down. He doesn’t resist and answers the factual questions he’s asked for the record – full name, date of birth, position – without protesting. If he has any chance at arguing his way out of this, it won’t be by disrupting the process.

But Imogen’s face is set and determined, and Alec knows that arguing won’t lead him anywhere. There’s some whispers in the room when she simply skips the step where she should have asked him if he wished to name someone to defend him.

The realization descends onto him like a ton of bricks. He’s kept it at bay so far, the knowledge present but distant, somehow, dissociated from his emotions, but now it suddenly hits him. There’s nothing to be done, no avenue to find, no escape. He’s going to be convicted. Even if by some magic – no, he can’t think of Magnus right now – he were to escape, he would live the rest of his life as a fugitive, hiding from the Clave. His job, gone. Everything he’s achieved in the last few years, evaporated. His family and his friends will become pariahs, and his Downworlder allies will be shunned or worse, hunted.

And Alec will be executed.

Alec blinks, almost stunned, and then blinks again when he sees Magnus right behind Imogen’s chair. Magnus smiles at him faintly, almost like an apparition, but he seems solid and not a figment of Alec’s imagination. He points a finger toward Alec, and a swirl of blue magic runs to connect with Alec’s chest. No one in the room seems to notice.

Alexander, Alec suddenly hears in his head, over the noise of Imogen, still speaking. Magnus hasn’t moved his lips, but it’s indubitably his voice.

Magnus, Alec thinks as loudly as he can. What are you doing?

Don’t worry, no one else can see me, Magnus answers. Clary came to get me.

Magnus is really there. Alec feels a strange mix of relief and dread, the tension almost bursting out of his body. He wants to apologize, to thank him, to tell him he loves him, to—

You shouldn’t have come, Alec projects. Now they’re going to get you too.

I’ll be fine, Magnus says firmly, still only in Alec’s head. They don’t know I’m here. You’re the one we need to worry about.

Has Valentine been found yet? Alec asks. He hasn’t had any news in hours, and Valentine knows that the Mortal Mirror is Lake Lyn. If he reaches his goal, this trial won’t matter anymore – the Downworld will be gone. They’ll have other things to think about than convicting a single Shadowhunter.

And if Magnus is not in the Seelie Realm when it happens, then Alec won’t care much what happens to him, anyway.

But Magnus doesn’t have time to answer before Imogen stands up and starts reading from a file. “Alexander Gideon Lightwood, you have been accused of the following charges,” she starts, her voice carrying through the room. Alec shivers despite himself.

“On January 30th, you sought services from a warlock named Iris Rouse, who has since been convicted of kidnapping mundanes and forcing them to carry warlock pregnancies. When you arrested her several weeks later, after she attacked Shadowhunters in Magnus Bane’s house, you failed to report your purpose in going to her in the first place, and failed to signal the warlock children you found in her house to your superiors. One of them was later found working for Valentine Morgenstern and she killed thirteen Shadowhunters in this Institute.”

Alec widens his eyes and looks at Magnus wildly. Is the Clave looking to go after Madzie? Magnus makes a reassuring gesture, she’s safe, but frowns at Imogen in anger.

“On March 6th, you failed to prevent Valentine Morgenstern and his followers from entering this Institute and killing a total of forty-two Shadowhunters and seventy-one Downworlders, while you and Victor Aldertree, who has since received sanction for mishandling resources, were mysteriously spared,” she continues. Alec swallows, the pronouncement hitting the nest of guilt inside him he’s never been able to shed. Aldertree may have been the Head at the time, but it’s Alec’s Institute, and he couldn’t protect it.

“On March 10th, you had Magnus Bane summon a Greater Demon, who then allowed Valentine Morgenstern to escape custody with a body-swap spell. You failed to report this fact to the Clave until several days later.”

Alec closes his eyes, unable to even look at Magnus. There is some glee in Imogen’s voice when she sees him bow his head, and he digs his cuffed fists into his lap to keep himself calm.

“On June 19th, you refused to carry out orders from the Clave to protect the New York Downworlders from a serial killer with the help of GPS chips. Only days later, as soon as you were named Head of the Institute, you started a group you called the “Downworld Cabinet”, clearly showing your allegiance to the Downworld. You also failed to report that a werewolf intruder tried to enter Valentine Morgenstern’s cell, even as he was in your custody.”

And that’s the real crime they’re accusing him of, isn’t it? Trying to treat Downworlders as his equals, to involve them in his decision-making? Alec opens his eyes again and stares defiantly back at Imogen. This isn’t something he will be shamed for.

“On June 25th,” Imogen continues, “you were in charge of transferring the prisoner Valentine Morgenstern to the Guard in Alicante, and you used the services of warlock Magnus Bane to do so. The prisoner never arrived in Alicante. On June 28th, it was revealed that you allowed Jonathan Morgenstern to work in your Institute under a false identity for several months, while he kept Shadowhunter Sebastian Verlac prisoner and attempted to murder Max Lightwood. You claimed that you had no knowledge of his identity.”

Alec gapes at the implication that he might have let his little brother get hurt on purpose. He hears Izzy make a noise, and whispers flood the room. His own guilt notwithstanding – and he feels plenty for not recognizing Sebastian as an imposter – the way Imogen formulated it is designed to humiliate him, but it riles him up instead. How dare she imply that he would let people die on purpose, let alone his own family?

Magnus looks equally incensed, but Alec can’t focus on his, the edges of his vision blackening from the pure tension of his body. Someone went to the trouble to make a lengthy case against him, including things that couldn’t have just been found in his reports. This is bigger than he thought, and Imogen hasn’t even gotten to the crime he was actually arrested for.

“Finally, on July 25th, the members of your so-called Downworld Cabinet, including the warlock you have declared as your partner in the last close-and-continuing form you filed, made public their decision to stop following Clave order and, instead, and I quote, ‘take matters into their own hands’. They announced their intention to hunt and kill Valentine Morgenstern themselves, without waiting for the proper justice system. They raised wards around New York that have been confirmed to instantly kill any Shadowhunter attempting to breach them. You did not oppose them, nor attempt to arrest them.”

There. A shudder goes through the room, almost imperceptible. Alec resists the urge to look at the audience, at his Shadowhunters, and see what they think about this trial. They are trained not to show emotions.

His own emotions are almost detached now, like he’s feeling them through layers of clothes. He still feels Magnus’ light presence in his mind, shaking in anger, and the pulse of his parabatai bond, downright furious, but he can’t bring himself to feel the same.

Whether the charges against him are just or not will not matter to the Clave, not when they are really an excuse.

“That is honestly so many violations of the Law that I fail to even discern a pattern,” Imogen pursues her lips. “It almost appears as if you are working for the warlock one day, and for your own advancement the next day. Those violations come on top of numerous failures to maintain discipline in your Institute while you were Acting Head, for which you received internal sanctions.” Alec winces as he feels the question in both Magnus’ mind and Jace’s bond. Neither of them know how many times Alec covering for his siblings’ disregard for the rules or Downworlders’ mistakes resulted in pay docks and extra patrols.

“What is evident,” Imogen keeps going without interruption, “is that you are not doing your duty and working to uphold the law of the Accords. In fact, you have frequently violated it without thought of the consequences. And by allying yourself with rogue Downworlders, you have committed a crime against the Clave of the highest gravity.” She pauses. “The wards raised over the city by the warlocks have killed two Shadowhunters. They still currently hold all of us hostage away from our homeland. This is an act of terrorism.”

Magnus gasps, as Alec fights not to react at all. Imogen’s use of that word, borrowed from the mundanes to name one of the worst possible crimes, is the equivalent of declaring war on all the warlocks – or it would be, if any of them were officially present.

“You will be tried as a member of a terrorism group as well as as a rogue Shadowhunter,” Imogen pronounces. Alec swallows.

Magnus looks stricken, his face open in horror.

Has Valentine been found? Alec repeats in his head – he needs to know.

Magnus blinks at him and shakes his head, eyes wide. They’ve called off the search for Valentine and Jonathan.

Alec struggles to keep a neutral expression. This is bad. This is beyond bad. Why would the Clave do that, unless they’ve somehow allied with Valentine?

Imogen Herondale isn’t working with Valentine. Alec is certain of that. Valentine killed her son and daughter-in-law, and stole Jace away from her, and even when their ideals align, she’d rather kill herself than ally with him. Which means that her orders are coming from above.

But there’s only one body above the Inquisitor, and the Council hasn’t had time to gather to make decisions. Imogen’s orders have to have come directly from the Consul himself.

Is it possible that Consul Dieudonné himself is working with Valentine?

Is he still in New York? Alec asks silently.

Magnus doesn’t answer for a moment. No, he finally says, sounding defeated. He got past our wards. He made a deal with the Seelie Queen. Luke just found out.

Fuck. Alec almost swears out loud, but he reigns himself in just in time. The lake. He’s on his way to Idris. He’s going to raise the Angel.

Won’t the Shadowhunters in Alicante stop him from entering? Magnus asks.

If I’m right about this, there will be no one to stop him, Alec answers. Malachi Dieudonné is part of the Circle.

And this changes everything.

Magnus seems at a loss for words. Alec refocuses on Imogen, just as she looks up at him. Her eyes bore into him, hard and accusing. She opens her mouth.

“For the crime of high treason, Shadowhunter, how do you plead?”

Alec takes a breath and stands up.

He could draw it out, make them build an actual case, defend himself. It’s a losing battle, but he’d at least have a little more time to figure out a solution, a way to escape this.

But if he does, while all the eyes are turned here on the New York Institute, Valentine will reach Lake Lyn unimpeded and raise the Angel. Wipe out the Downworld.

It isn’t a prospect that Alec can live with.

I’m sorry, Magnus, Alec projects. He lifts his head and looks Imogen in the eye, his gaze calm and strong. “I plead guilty,” he says.

The assembly of Shadowhunters is well-trained to reign over their emotions, but even then, there are a few gasps. Alec spots his siblings, Isabelle with a hand over her mouth, Jace pleading at him with his eyes. Clary looks like she’s itching to move. Jens, Alec’s second-in-command, remains expressionless, but his fists tighten. Young Kara Svec, who Alec has taken under his wing the past few months, looks up at him with wide eyes full of tears.

Magnus lets out a wordless cry of anguish in his head. Alec doesn’t think that he’s meant to hear it, but it tears him apart all the same. I have to, he thinks. You need to stop Valentine. I’m already out of the race, but you can still get to him. Take Jace and Clary with you.

“Alec Lightwood,” Imogen announces. She doesn’t look gleeful, or even content. Just another soldier doing their job. “You are hereby sentenced to death by immolation. You will be taken back to your cell until your execution. It will take place tomorrow at 08:00 in the Institute’s main courtyard.”

Even if he expected it, it still feels like a punch in the gut. Alec fights to stay perfectly still, his head held high, but he doesn’t make eye contact with anyone. He can’t take their reactions.

The betrayal churns deeply in his gut. He’s always expected to die young, in battle, but not...not like this. Hung out to dry by his own people, after dedicating his life to this Institute, executed for a treason he didn’t commit…

He’s not afraid of death, but he’s not ready to die, either.

I’m not abandoning you, Alexander, are Magnus’ last words before he disappears again.

[transephiroth]

an important post: abuse from friends, friend abuse. please read and reblog.

TW: abuse ment, bpd ment, ed ment, suicide ment, ptsd, trauma, death ment. gaslighting ment.

i don’t know what exactly what has compelled me to make this post at nearly 1:00 am on a school night just like every other, but i think the importance of advocacy of preventing, spotting, and stopping abusive friendships is to talk about them with the same respect as any other form of abuse.

i’ll give you a small overview of my personal experience with abusive friendships: when i was 16, my father committed suicide. i was not aware he was my biological father at they time and actually found out he was not my half brother, but my biological father. my father, who’s name i will not mention. i won’t even use fake names they’re hard to keep track of. i found out my mother, an abusive drug addict, slept with her husband, my apparent grandfather’s, adult son from a previous marriage consensually. one way or another, my father was forbidden to be involved in my life, and my grandfather raised me as his own. (in case you’re going to ask about inc*st, my father and mother have no relation, she is not his mother.)

the shock of learning this and grieving his death from the few negative interactions he and his mental health had on my family when i was a baby, was intense. i had no friends at school and felt incredibly lost and vulnerable. when i was in this place i met my best friend. we bonded over a shared hatred of my ex boyfriend, who was an abuser, who was dating her ex best friend.

this should have been a red flag, but i ignored it.

i took the first friend i could find after my ex took away all my friends in an effort to isolate me after my assault. this was probably the worst part of my life, and one of my first real suicide attempts was only days before my father died. the first friend i found, the first soul i recognized i clung to.

when me and my friend, who we will call P, were inseparable. but there was a very clear and distinct difference between us. P was a star in the band at school, she had great grades, tons of friends and was quite conventionally attractive. she was involved in a lot of extracurriculars and overall had a very nice demeanor.

this should have been a red flag. as harsh as it might sound, idealizing anyone is unhealthy. if someone appears to you as perfect, it’s not paranoid of you to wonder if it’s hiding something. it’s hard to tell when someone is being genuine, especially for myself with autism. nice words and a smile can pretty much fool anyone.

i, on the other hand of P, dropped out of band and just about every other activity after my assault, and was in and out of intense therapy and psych visits throughout all of high school. i never could go a school year without a visit. to this day i have gone a whole year however :)

I was an autistic shut in who quite honestly, cried a lot, smelled bad, was clearly poor, spoke funny and came to school drunk. we were not the same.

i don’t want to go over every painstaking detail, so i’ll try to summarize as best i can the first two years of our three year relationship.

P was diagnosed with BPD about a month into our friendship. she told me i was her FP/favorite person, and showed me videos to learn about BPD. i remember watching hours and hours of information about BPD to accommodate her the best i could. what i didn’t realize however, was that she was lying. she didn’t have BPD, or at least couldn’t be diagnosed because we were 16.

red flag. i knew this was a lie because i had been in therapy for years. it took me a long time to peace it together but i accepted it and beget told her, until this moment, that i knew.

i fucking knew.

months of friendship included constant easy to see through lies, fabrications, pathological rants, and pretty much changing her “back story” every day. it was draining not to mention it, but the few times i did, she got physical. i have scars on my right forearm from her nails, which were long and broke skin. she would tell me she would pay me back for things and never show. she would make fun of things i told her in secret to our friends, my trauma. my dad.

“dark humor”

over time, she convinced me to drop every single friend i had except for her. she had gotten me literally completely vulnerable and isolated.

when covid hit, my mom, of course, kicked me out. i moved in with P and her family. my time there over quarantine was very monotonous, but i’ll never forget that for basically 8-9 months, she never let me out of her sight. i felt like i had to just do whatever she wanted because her mother let me live there for free.

p knew i wanted to move away from my mother and the chaos of my home life for years.

right before quarantine, P got her first boyfriend. she had never had a boyfriend and had been to scared to get one. i was really happy for her, i encouraged her to ask him out while she was at a weekend school event.

P then began to manipulate not only me, but him. to this day i don’t know what’s become of either of them, but i really couldn’t care less anymore. when trauma heals, you get a sense of apathy.

P would frequently belittle me, mock me, kick, trip and slap me, force me to pay for things for her and her boyfriend on the spot, and steal from my purse.

eventually living with p, third wheeling with her less than charming boyfriend, who i honestly just didn’t mind. we weren’t friends, but i was respectful to him and treated him the same way i would treat a friend from school or something.

p has a family i won’t bring up because it involves minors, but her mother has a psychotic disorder and refuses to be medicated, so the house is full of ripped door hinges, holes in walls, smashed items and more. it’s really unsafe there, and during my time there i found i really began to internalize as a person. i developed an eating disorder and my ptsd and autism felt much more out of control.

i had been diagnosed with autism for nearly two years at that point, and living in that household made me realize just how damaging meltdown after meltdown without anyone understanding can damage your psyche long term.

i wanted to leave. i had saved my money from my jobs and got an apartment. p insisted on coming, saying she didn’t want to live with her mom anymore. i didn’t want her to come, but i agreed. she got a co-sign. i knew it was a bad idea because i heard what they said about best friends living together. i just can’t believe it really happened.

we talked about growing old together, raising our kids together. i was going to name my first daughter after her. we were going to be neighbors. her husband and my wife would be best friends just like us, but that’s not what happened.

we lived together from August 2020-November 2020

to give a quick summary of the inevitable end of this relationship, P and I had two kittens together. i asked her if she could put them away for inspection so they didn’t run out the door while i drove our third roommate, a whole other mountain of a story, to work.

she didn’t do it, instead slacked off to go to her boyfriends house. so i came back and had to put the cats away at record speed and our other roommate was late to work.

even if this was somewhat small, it was the breaking point for me. i grabbed my phone and texted her, DEMANDING she explain why she couldn’t do this one thing for me. i have never been that angry in my life. we had a phone call where i just lost it and unleashed all my anger and all my hurt about everything she had done. i was sobbing and barely making sense but i couldn’t just keep letting my life carry on this way.

i wish i remembered how the phone call ended, but all i remember was telling her “if the cats run and we can’t find them, then we are done being roommates.”

the next morning i woke up and she had blocked me on everything. i drove to the apartment and saw that overnight, according to block times at like, 3am, she had taken all our shared furniture, all my birthday gifts from not two weeks prior, all the gifts i bought her, most of my clothes, one of the apartment keys, my high school diploma, the paperwork for the cats, and not just our two shared kittens, but my third roommates cat as well.

cue search party with my partner and his friends and my other roommate for P and the cats. i found her at her house with her mom and boyfriend. i walked out and she was on the phone with my grandfather, telling him i was threatening suicide. i ask her where the cats are, she says they are at a friends house.

if we flashback in the story, we literally only had each other, so i knew it was a lie.

i managed to argue through to negotiate at least my other roommates cat, but only after P’s mom blocked us in the driveway and called the police saying we threatened her daughter

(reminder people in this group were black and asian ☺️ so she just calls the cops fall 2020)

luckily the cops saw the proof she blocked me so i couldn’t have threatened her, and let us leave.

that’s the end of the friendship. i could bore anyone who has read this far further by explaining the nightmare realm that is the legal troubles with the apartment, but the internet doesn’t need to know everything does it?

as the winter has gone on i’ve had months to basically remake myself as a person. i had to firstly face the damage P had done.

but before i get into that, anyone who is still reading first, ily, but also, if you’ve had ANY relationship that sounds similar to this, THAT IS ABUSE.

Plain and simple. It is abusive. Physically, emotionally, mentally, verbally. nobody deserves that. not P. not you. not me.

friendships can be all someone has. not everyone is born into good families with loving siblings and great parents and tons of cousins who live .3 milliseconds away. families are divided. families, like mine, are divorced. families are broken and families sometimes aren’t even families. humans need relationships, and an idealistic person who we think maybe could save us and fix the world, won’t.

you can be taken advantage of by the person you trust the most just as easily as a stranger.

it’s not wrong to face the abuse they put you through, know it was wrong, and feel valid that it is was wrong.

what i went through with P was horrible. the detachment of my only friend hurt. but i bounced back. i’m still undoing some of the damage, but i have great friends and a wonderful partner. i have two rescue cats who mean the world to me.

life gets better after abuse, but the bad days and the pain aren’t invalid because of this. i have trauma from what P put me through. abandonment like that is traumatic. but it’s not the end. feel what you need to feel to feel better.

if anyone read this far and wants to vent their own experiences, or share more advice on preventing these relationships feel free. it’s almost 1:30 now, i should go to bed.

it feels good to get that off my chest.

[bewareofchris]

Public Relations 23/??

R atm | Alec Hardy/Dr. Bill Masters | Broadchurch, Masters of Sex | Strong language, eventual sexual situations

“The fact that Alec Hardy was not currently, had not ever, and did not want to date the American sex research did not seem very important at all to the town of Broadchurch.  They did what they had always done with a little bit of juicy gossip: they made a spectacle of it.”

<< prev | Part 1 | AO3 Link

A man had decide what he was willing to give up.  Bill hadn’t decided and that must have been why he lost everything.  All those decisions: whether to commit to Virginia fully or stay with his wife?  Whether to love his children or tolerate their existence?  Whether to atone for his past misdeeds or pretend they never happened.  He’d wavered in and out of intentions for so long that everyone he thought would wait indefinitely had decided for themselves how they wanted to be treated.

Bill was left with the thing he’d spent his life pursuing.  His study.  His most precious lover.  The thing that he had thought would bring him happiness.  And he had it still, after he’d lost all the other things he’d never tried to keep.  

Bill wasn’t happy.

Bill was laying on his couch, with a crust of chip crumbs pressed into his cheek, watching nonsense procedurals.  He hadn’t moved since the last time he’d used a bathroom.  And excluding trips to the toilet and kitchen for fresh supplies of snacks, he hadn’t moved at all.

(Not since a skinny man with no bearing on his life, said he didn’t care who Bill slept with.)

He told himself (at first) that he was taking some time for himself.  He’d convinced his brain that his body needed the rest.  When the excuse stretched thing, he laid in a slump and he thought about what he planned to do next.  

All his daydreams were fantastic plots to leave this place he was in and never come back to it.  He imagined plane rides like escape plans.  He could go anywhere in the world.  Libby didn’t want his money but Bill had tons of it.  He was swimming in wealth.  He never had to work a day in his life again.

All that frantic energy he’d wasted on the study had amounted to nothing but this moment.  Discoveries had been made.  Babies had been conceived and delivered.  Women had covered his office in thank you letters and baby pictures and Christmas cards.  He had a scrapbook of newspaper clippings.  He had a certain reputation of infamy.

And he had a crumb-covered couch, and unwashed smell, and a swell of self-pity.

He had a phone with no new messages.  He had a flagging sense of arrogance about how he shouldn’t have to be the one to send the next text.  But a week later and Alec hadn’t so much as sent a hello through.

Bill had thought a lot about possibilities and plane rides.  He’d thought about the merit of throwing himself into anything at all that took him away from where he was right now.  And he thought of how disheveled and out of order his life would be if he didn’t stop and pick it up.

Between one predictable conclusion and the start of another repetitious episode, Bill picked up his phone to say:

How’s the case?

And he thought, if you squinted at the words hard enough you could certainly mistake them for: I miss you.

--If he could have managed it, Hardy would have been pissed.  All his best effort toward anger left him too exhausted to do anything but sit quietly in place and stew.  He just marinated in his anger, letting it simmer under his skin until it followed him into his dreams and out again.

“Well you’re in a mood,” Miller said right at the start.  She was pushing Fred up the path to his front door, looking haggard enough herself to not want to deal with him.  She stopped when she said it, and looked back over her shoulder. “Alright,” she said, “let’s go. Get your coat, we’re going to get something to eat.  Don’t say anything.  I don’t want to hear it.  I’m hungry, and you’re grouchy and we won’t get anything done.”

They found themselves smashed into a little booth in a corner of a nice enough restaurant.  Fred was tucked between his Mom and the wall, boxed in and unable to cause trouble. He had a selection of toys that he didn’t seem to be interested in playing with.  

Miller was staring at the menu with a frown pinched between her eyebrows.  She was managing what Hardy could only hope for. Her anger and discontent was as thick as a cloud around her.  Even Fred was looking across the table at Hardy like he was expecting to be rescued from his upset mother. If the kid had been old enough to understand, Hardy might have told him that there was just nothing that could be done.  Moms were people, and people got upset sometimes.  

“So,” Hardy said.  (He didn’t used to be this awkward.  He didn’t used to talk like he’d never used words before in his life.)  “Has, uh, Tom come back?”

“I don’t want to talk about it.”

Hardy stared at the menu laying on the table in front of him.  He considered his heart-healthy options, and found that none of them appealed to him so he settled on the top option.  When he was done (a busy five seconds later), he cleared his throat.

Miller glared at him over the top of the menu.

“How’s the--uh, the job?” Hardy asked.

“Aren’t you chatty today?”  Miller dropped her menu down on the table so it was laying half-over his.  She sighed like a great balloon of overheated air deflating. And then she said, “can’t we talk about anything else?  Not work, and not murder, and not Tom.  Can’t we talk about--what’s happening with you?”

Nothing was happening with Hardy.  He’d been ignoring Bill Masters for a week.  Although one could not count it as ignoring when he had not been sent any messages that required a response.  He was being ignored in equal measure to the effort he was putting in ignoring.  Hardy shrugged his shoulders.

That might even have been the end of it, but Miller looked like she was disappointed.  Hardy was enough of a disappointment to himself without spreading it around. Miller’s disappointment looked like defeat and why wouldn’t it?  Here he was, tucking away his secret ongoing involvement with Bill while Miller was trying to figure out how she planned on living her life.  She was holding it together after a trauma that ripped her family to pieces. She was coping with loss, and grief, and guilt.  

“I,” Hardy found himself saying without any notion of how he intended to proceed.  “I’m waiting for a text.”

“A text?” (Miller was unimpressed.)

“Yes.  A text from Bill?”

“A text from Bill?  Why are you still texting Bill?  Bill does not deserve to be texted.”

“Miller--”

“Any man that can just pack up and leave, knowing what we know about your health.  That’s not a man that you need in your life. And an American? A sex researcher? What have you got in common with him anyway?  It can’t be a lot. What do you even talk about? Oh hello, Bill, seen any interesting…” The humor didn’t fail her but the presence of other families and her own son made her clear her throat rather than continue.  She lifted her glass of water to take a sip. “A text from Bill,” she muttered to herself.

Hardy frowned at her.

“Don’t make that face at me.  I’ve got more experience with men than you do.  If I decide to start texting some other woman that leaves me on death’s door--”

“For Christ’s sake, I’m not on--”

“Then you can sit here and tell me all the same things.  Not on death’s door? You collapsed!”

“Lower your voice,” Hardy hissed at her.  He straightened up in his seat as if fixing the slouch his body preferred would make his health anymore respectable than it was. 

The conversation was interrupted by a very friendly waitress that didn’t seem interested at all in their personal drama.  She made promises of quick delivery on the food and took their menus with her when she left. The quiet she left behind was as brief as a single breath.

“You’re waiting on a text,” Miller prompted.

“I’m not going to tell you about it if you’re going to be judgemental.”

Miller’s expression promised him that regardless of whether or not he explained himself, judgements had already been passed and they were not favorable.  It felt good to have someone on his side.  He was vindicated by Miller’s disapproval of Bill.  Even as misplaced and misinformed as it was, there was a definite, relaxing camaraderie in disliking the same person at the same time.  She managed to even out her expression into something approaching neutral as she said, “I’m sorry. I’ll try.”

(No, she wouldn’t.)

“Bill with his ex-wife and--”

“Why are you waiting on a text?” Miller all but shouted at him.  Her hand slapped the table top in outrage and poor Fred, who had been idly pushing a toy around the table top, jumped.  His little face went lax in shock and his lip trembled. Miller comforted him, but she was hissing, “have some respect for yourself, Hardy.  Slept with his ex-wife.  I bet he did. Accidentally, I assume.  It’s always an accident with men like that.  What happened?”

At some point, Hardy did need to tell Miller that he had never been dating Bill.  He wasn’t dating the man now. He was just hinging a series of silly fantasies on the man.  And it wasn’t fair to hinge his fictional happiness on the man but emotions were never fair.

“He went to talk to her about their children.  It’s complicated. They only separated a few months ago.”

“A few months ago, and he’s already decided that he could move on?  Must not have been much of a marriage.”  

Hardy hadn’t meant to smile, but a certain level of meanness felt good.  He cleared his throat at the tail end of his little grin and said, “that’s enough, Miller.  I told him I didn’t care who he slept with and he hasn’t answered. I don’t know, maybe it’s the end.”

Miller was going to explode, sitting there, biting her lips.  She was putting so much effort into listening to him.  She wasn’t shouting at him about how it was already over, that it shouldn’t have ever begun.  But she was thinking it in very loud thoughts, projecting them across the table.  “That’s a bad thing?” she managed to squeeze through her clenched jaw.

“We’re just friends,” sounded very nearly like a lie.  It didn’t feel like the truth that Hardy wanted it to be.  

“Well, he’ll text you.  If he doesn’t, he’s not a good friend.  Not the sort of friend that would make a long drive to see you on her days off.  Not the sort to make sure you get a decent amount of food once in a while. Not the sort that’s going to help you solve a case that’s ruined your reputation.  A friend like that, well, you’d think maybe you might put a little bit more effort into sending a few more texts in her direction. But if it’s Bill that makes you happy…”

“Are we friends that text?” Hardy asked.

Miller just stared at him as if he were stupid.  But when she spoke, the words were low and uncertain.  “We could be.”

Life had been hell to her.  It had driven her out of her home.  It had robbed her of precious friends.  It had left her alone, and hurting, and hurtful.  

“We should be,” Hardy agreed.  

@it-is-ineffable, @marvelmisha, @e3105eb, @may-darling, @bigleosis, @stardust-andwine, @echelongaga, @imnotokaywiththerunning, @heirofsarcasm 

[imyourliquor-youremypoison]

Big Spook (Peter Parker x Reader - Part 3)

Synopsis: Aged Up!Peter thinks he’s done well with leading a double life. He’s studying what he likes, he has his own place, he’s dating the girl he loves… but that doesn’t mean life is easy all the time. Even superheroes have bad days - and sometimes worse days.

Tags: Aged Up!Character, College AU, Established relationship, Whump, Angst. Does not take FFH into account. SPOILER FREE.

Word count: 2.6k

Part 2 <<< >>> Part 4

MASTERLIST

When (Y/N) woke up – she couldn't remember when or how on earth she managed to fall asleep in this situation – she was lying on a couch in what she could only assume to be the Avengers' compound, a blanket draped over her, the blinds hiding the sun. It was about ten in the morning, and she quickly rubbed the sleep away from her eyes and threw the blanket away.

She had never even dreamed of stepping into this place, let alone spend the night. But she didn't have time to gush over being in the Stark Tower, because she knew Peter was somewhere on a lower floor, half dead.

“F.R.I.D.A.Y,” (Y/N) called, hoping she worked the same as E.D.I.T.H and thanking heaven that Peter was a huge nerd who had gushed over his glasses for ages when she asked him about them.

“Miss (Y/N),” the A.I. Greeted her, waiting for her to speak.

“I need to see Peter,” she said, a stone dropping to the bottom of her stomach as she said his name. Let him be alive, let him be alive.

“Right this way, Miss.”

The panels of a seemingly normal looking wall moved to reveal an elevator and dinged when the doors opened. She stepped in and the doors closed on their own, F.R.I.D.A.Y taking care of letting her off on the right floor.

She ran out as soon as the doors opened again, and she recognized the white walls of the medical wing. Thanks to muscle memory only, (Y/N) found her way back to the surgery room Peter had been brought in, but the sign next to the door said it was currently empty.

Going back, the looked at the sign on every door, trying to find someone, anyone, who could point her in the right direction.

“(Y/N),” an all too familiar voice called her name, cutting short to her increasing panic. When she turned around, she saw a puffy-eyed May Parker standing by a door down the corridor. “He's here.”

She jogged over to her and the two women crashed into each other for a tight hug. (Y/N) heard May cry softly, but she found she could no longer shed a tear. She had cried so much yesterday, and the shock of it all finally hit her, numbing her to everything around her. She needed to see Peter.

“He'll be okay, he'll be fine,” May whispered against her head, placing a kiss on top of it. (Y/N) knew she said it for herself, she tried to speak it into existence.

“Happy called you?” (Y/N) croaked out, clearing her throat.

“As soon as you passed out,” she said with a nod, gently stroking her hair. May always showed her maternal love, and (Y/N) often wondered why she had never had kids of her own. “We're waiting for Dr Cho to tell us what's going on.”

When (Y/N) looked over May's shoulder, she saw Happy standing beside a bed, where she knew Peter laid, though she could only see the shape of his legs under the white sheets. May quickly filled her in on what she missed and told her he came out of surgery around six this morning. Dr Cho went to sleep, having earned her rest and left Peter in the capable hands of the nurses.

The three of them waited inside Peter's room, silently watching his chest rise and fall and finding comfort in that, and that alone. Because they didn't know anything else. Most of Peter's body was hidden under the sheets, but what little they could see was not reassuring at all. Half his face was bandaged up, because of the head wound (Y/N) had nearly lost her mind over, and he had obviously gotten several stitches for other open wounds on his upper body. That was without mentioning the purple bruises littering his arms, or the split lip, the small gash on his left eyebrow, or the swollen black eye.

There was a growing emptiness in the pit of (Y/N)'s stomach, and she was afraid it would consume her like a black hole. May squeezed her hand when Dr Cho entered, holding a pad in her hand with a few papers on it, startling (Y/N) out of her daydream.

“Let me put your worries to rest,” the doctor started, walking around the bed and taking a small flashlight out of her pocket to inspect Peter's eyes. “The surgery went well, I was able to stop the bleeding and stitch him up without causing any brain damage, and his vitals are good.”

Happy stood beside May now, and (Y/N) drank in Dr Cho's every word.

“That said, he sustained a great number of superficial wounds all over his body, and it will take time to heal, superpowers or not. It's difficult to assess the full extent of the damage his head wound has done since he hasn't woken up. This is the bad news: Peter has fallen into a coma.”

Her face became serious, and she stopped her examination of Peter to look each of them in the eye, meeting their distressed gazes with a neutral face.

“A coma?” May croaked out. (Y/N) could tell by the sound of her voice that she was close to crying again, while she did not even feel the usual tingle behind her eyes.

“Yes. It's the body's natural response to the physical trauma,” she explained. “As long as he doesn't wake up, I cannot do anything else. I have treated every other wound. He’s lost of lot of blood,” Dr Cho said and paused, then looked at (Y/N). “We don’t know how long he stayed on your bathroom floor before you found him, but he was in severe condition when you brought him in, and his head wound must have sent him in shock.”

“How much blood?” (Y/N) squeaked out, feeling her throat tighten to the point of discomfort. It was her fault. If she hadn't fallen asleep...

“Enough,” was the only answer she got out of Dr Cho. “I’ve transfused him blood, so he should regain some colors very soon. He does also appear to have several shattered ribs and a broken cheekbone too, but there’s no internal damage, which is good.”

The list of bruised, cut, shattered and broken body parts Peter had made (Y/N) want to vomit all over again, and she hadn't even eaten or drunk anything in over sixteen hours.

“What can we do now?” Happy asked the doctor just as she was about to leave.

She stopped in her tracks and showed them the shadow of a smile – a sad one.

“It's out of ours hands now. Peter will wake up when he's ready.”

*

(Y/N)'s finger tailed along Peter's arm, following the veins running from his wrist to his elbow, lost in her contemplation. It felt like she hadn't moved in forever. She vaguely remembered Ned and Betty coming by to see Peter, but they didn't stay for most than a day – she thinks – because Peter wasn't technically family and they couldn't leave work on ground that a friend was in a coma.

God knew how long coma could last, no one could get off work for this long. (Y/N) saw them off – she thinks – and it was only her and May again. Happy came and went again, checking in whenever he had a chance, and making sure the psycho who had put Peter in this bed would get what he deserved.

(Y/N) didn't care. (Y/N) didn't care about anything. She barely found enough strength to look away from Peter, let alone care about other things. Sometimes she went to the bathroom attached to this room, and that was it.

May had to bring her food or she would forget to eat altogether. It had been days now, but (Y/N) couldn't tell how many because she hadn't moved, she hadn't slept properly, she hadn't watched the news since the first day.

She had been sitting still on a wooden chair next to Peter's bed, eyes fixated on the TV screen hanging on the wall across from the bed. She had clutched Peter's hand in hers, like she had been doing for the last few hours – she wasn't even sure she could move it anymore – while listening to the news.

They had gotten him. The criminal Peter had been chasing for days and days, they got him. The police found him tied to a lamp post, covered in blood that wasn't his, and knocked unconscious on the same night Peter came back half dead. (Y/N) had smiled when she heard the anchorwoman say that he had been arrested, she had turned towards Peter to celebrate the news, but reality had hit her like a ton of bricks.

Peter wouldn't be celebrating his latest arrest any time soon.

Feeling ill again, (Y/N) had turned off the TV and unplugged it, for good measure, and since then, the hours spent in Peter's room had been silent for all of them. May didn't sleep here but she came in the morning and left late at night. She brought yarn with her and knitted, or a book to read, or pictures to look at. She had tried to show (Y/N) the album she brought on the fourth day, but (Y/N) merely stared blankly at the pages, as if she couldn't see the pictures at all.

May hadn't tried to gain (Y/N)'s attention anymore after that, she merely made sure she was fed and got some sleep. She slipped a sleeping pill in (Y/N)'s coffee on the fifth day because the girl looked a fright! She hadn't had any shut eye in days and her eyes were dry and red because she stared at Peter all day long, wordlessly urging him to wake up. He needed to wake up.

On the seventh day, May saw a change in (Y/N)'s behavior. It was as though she received an electric shock – or perhaps the lack of food and sleep was getting to her finally. She stood up, and took her phone, and she spent the day answering all the worried text messages she and Peter had received since he came here, she also called their faculty and internship supervisors to keep them updated.

“Yes, yes I know,” she said in her phone, her back turned to May.

Her voice sounded fake, it was a customer service voice, May noted, eyes darting from her knit-work to the young woman's back. She knew (Y/N) was on the brick of insanity, she was driving herself mad with worry and her health suffered from it too. She bore dark circles under her eyes and her cheeks were hollow.

“I'm sorry about that, I know I should have called but I barely leave the hospital room,” she sighed in the phone, clearly arguing with her supervisor about her prolonged absence from work. “I'll come back as soon as I can, and I will catch up on my work. No, I-”

May waited, curious to see what she was going to say to this person who so clearly had no idea what (Y/N) currently endured.

“Well I'm sorry if it's an inconvienience to you, but like I said, I will not be able to come back to work as long as my fiancé hasn't recovered from his accident. What's so hard to understand? Would you go to work if your wife's life was in danger?!” (Y/N) shouted in the phone, holding it away from her ear and simply yelling the words to the screen. “Have a good day!” she snapped before ending the call.

May's eye slit up and she stood up, leaving aside her knit-work.

“Honey, don't let it get to you,” she went and took (Y/N) into her open arms, rubbing her back when the young woman buried her head in the crook of her neck. “Everything will work out, you'll see. Peter wouldn't want us to lose hope so soon. We have to believe he will wake up.”

“I know, I know this,” (Y/N) hiccuped. “But it's so hard. I don't know how much longer I can do this- I- I feel like I'm holding my breath, and I just- I can't breathe, May. I can't- I can't breathe.”

(Y/N) was slowly crumpling down, her breathing becoming uneven and sharp. May recognized a panic attack when she saw one and held (Y/N) in her arms, lulling her gently and whispered reassuring words into her ears while she gave in to the daunting sadness crushing her heart. A dam broke inside her, and the tears began to flow again, and she cried and cried and hiccuped against May's flowery blouse, wishing her own mother was here with her.

“Shh”, May said in her ear. “It will be fine. I know my Peter, and I know he won't abandon you, he'll fight to come back to you,” she told her in a soothing voice before pulling away.

(Y/N) had calmed down a little, only silent tears ran down her cheeks but she had regained her breath and her body had stopped shaking. May tucked a strand of her hair behind her ear.

“You need to go home, honey,” May told her, meeting stubborn refusal. “You haven't had a full night's sleep in a week now, you'll end up in a the hospital if you don't take care of yourself.”

The rational part of her brain knew that, but how could she leave Peter? How could she leave her boyfriend alone in this sterile place, between these lifeless white walls while she was in their home?

“Oh, please don't cry anymore.” May pulled her in again and wrapped her arms around her. “He'd hate for you to torture yourself like this. You know it's not your fault. The one responsible has been arrested and will answer for his crimes.”

“It is. It is my fault. I should have stayed awake, then I would have been there when he needed me. Instead I let him bleed out on the floor, like a- like a-” a hiccup again, and she burst into tears once more.

“No, no, you can't think like that. You just fell asleep, it happens! No one could have predicted what happened that night. Peter leads a dangerous life, and you have nothing to do with this.”

There was no point in arguing. (Y/N) knew she was at least partly responsible for Peter's current state. If she had woken up a little sooner, maybe...

“Please, just go home. Have a bath, go to sleep, eat a real meal,” May urged her. “If anything new happens, I'll call you right away, I promise you. But in the meantime, do not come again until you've had at least ten hours of sleep. You need to rest.” She tucked another wayward strand of hair behind (Y/N)'s ear, who, like an obedient little robot, nodded.

She took her jacket that she's threw on over her sweats the day Happy brought them here, and was about to leave when May spoke up once more.

“Oh, and honey!” she called her. (Y/N) turned around and saw her smile. “I'm so happy for you two. Peter finally proposed, huh? I know he was waiting for the right time to ask you, I'm glad you said yes.”

Swallowing thickly, (Y/N) tried to reciprocated the smile, but quickly turned around to leave, before May could see the horror on her face.

.

.

.

.

A/N: This is by far the angstiest piece I’ve ever written. *Pokes my readers with a stick* y’all still alive? How ya holding up? Hang in there

TAGLIST: @palindrome-teddy @complete-trash-101 @keeperofhopesanddreams @i-love-whumperflies @golden-guide @marauderette130

Comment if you wanna be tagged in part 4 :)

REBLOG TO SAVE A WRITER

[tenpin-boleyn]

I procrastinated and this mess happened

It’s horrificly bad but it’s inspired by this doodle I did when I was, you guessed it, procrastinating :))

So enjoy this pile of Millie’s cat sick :)

“I’m glad I found Chocolate Milk now because if I found it before I wouldn’t be able to drink it.” Anne stated, her face the perfect picture of nonchalance. “Why? Are you lactose intolerant?” You replied back, blissfully unaware of the past Anne hid. “I was beheaded? Duh” she laughed.

You had known Anne for over a year now, but not once has she mentioned being beheaded in a past life. You had seen Anne in Six obviously but you’d just assumed that was a character she had taken on. Like that time you played the Virgin Mary at age 4, probably not the best decision eh Mrs Keeping but there we go.

Anne suddenly looked as white as a ghost. She had forgotten that you didn’t know. For what it was worth Anne was a great actor. Onstage she was competition to a gremlin, but to a select few she was Anne. Just Anne. Anne with no tragic backstory. Just a girl who liked milkshakes. “I’m so sorry Anne. I didn’t know” you said lovingly, placing a hand onto Anne’s. It was a small gesture but it made you feel better that you could bring a bit of colour back to her rosy cheeks again. “Shall we go to yours? I want to show you something that will open your eyes forever.” Anne nodded to this, happy that you hadn’t dragged out the topic anymore.

You had hoped Anne wouldn’t already know what you were about to show her. It might be common knowledge to most but she had a tickling feeling that Anne wasn’t part of that percentage. You took her hand and ran down the street, passing the Queens house, which made Anne raise an eyebrow. Jane liked everyone home by 9, and it was already half 7, so she couldn’t go on a wild adventure to oxford on a random bus. “Look Y/N-“

“Tah dah.” You stopped and raised your hands at the sign above you.

“Tesco? You brought me to Tesco?”

You smiled at the green minx, “ah my child this isn’t any normal trip to Tesco. This is a life changing trip”

You managed to pry Anne away from the chocolate bars- you had a feeling that the sugar from the milkshakes was already getting to her head- and led her down the dairy isle. While Anne was distracted with a carton of purple milk you grabbed the carton you were searching for. “What do you think goes into purple milk? Cow blood mixed with a taste of WKD? ANNE MILLICENT BOLEYN DONT YOU DARE THINK ABOUT TOUCHING MY ALCOHOL CABINET. Well now I don’t have to” She laughed.

“Anne what I have in my hands will change your entire life.”

You presented her with a carton of chocolate milk and you smiled to yourself as you watched her eyes widen and start to twinkle.

“You. Can. Buy. Chocolate. Milk?”

When you finally went back to the Queens place, you couldn’t help but worry. You had literally bought Tesco out of Chocolate milk. You knew Jane was a strict mum so perhaps introducing Anne, loud, insane Anne, to a new sugary invention wasn’t the best idea. Especially when you are carrying 27 cartons. 26, Anne just drank one. “Shall we take these up to my room?” Anne was obviously thinking about not having to share, rather than what Jane would think. “You do realise you need to keep milk in the fridge right?”

“But I thought- cause its chocolate-“

She looked downtrodden. “Do you want to sleep round? It’s getting late anyway and I just changed my sheets after months so it’s not a biohazard anymore!” You giggled to yourself, Anne truly was special. “I’d love to. Will the others mind?”

“No they love you!” And with that Anne unlocked the door.

“I’m telling you they’re dating!”

“No, id have read about it by now.”

“Huh?”

“Am I the only one who reads her dia- hello. Welcome to the very normal and casual conversation we are definitely having.” Cleves exclaimed from where she was sat, having realised that both girls were standing in the hallway.

“I’ve missed you guys! How have you been?”

“Great, I’ve finished my book on why men are absolutely pointless and serve no use on this planet!”

“And I made cookies for the first time! Who would have known that chocolate cookies aren’t just overcooked cookies?”

Anna noticed the bags we were carrying. “Do you two care to explain why we now own a farms worth of chocolate milk?”

“To cure my lacking toes intolerance”

“To help feed children in Africa!”

You both panicked. Anne, because she didn’t want to share, and you, because you didn’t want to get Anne into trouble for spending an absurd amount on flavoured milk. “Put them Into the garage fridge before Jane sees them! Lord knows what she’ll do with 40 cartons of confiscated milk.”

You glanced at Anne and giggled, you had noticed that her eyes were just a bit more bluer today, a trait you learnt meant that she was happy, and a darker blue meant she was going through a rough patch. “Before Jane sees what?” A blonde figure asked.

Before either of you could panic out another excuse, Cleves piped up again. “ I was just asking the girls to take my deliveries upstairs into my fridge” Anne winked at you both “because my back hurts awfully”

Jane smiled sympathetically at Cleves, unaware of the truth she was hiding. “Alright hurry up you two, and it’s lovely to see you Y/N!”

“You too Mrs Seymour!”

“Call me Jane.” You smiled. Although you called her Jane to Anne, it was only because that’s what Anne used, Jane had never formally told you to call her Jane, so you didn’t think it was proper. It felt nice to know that someone liked you, even a tiny bit.

“I’m telling you it’s not going to fit.” You declared as Anne tried to stuff 25 cartons of milk into the tiny mini fridge Anna had in her room. Yes Anne had drank another carton and was nearly bouncing off the walls. To your surprise 23 of the cartons fit inside of the fridge. “Looks like we’ll have to drink these then” Anne smiled mischievously.

The pair of you had been sat in Anne’s bed for about half an hour, just enjoying each other’s company whilst sipping the chocolate milk when you couldn’t stop yourself. “Why didn’t you tell me you got beheaded?” You had to admit, Anne’s slip up earlier stung. Didn’t she trust you with that information? But she trusted a room full of strangers?

Anne couldn’t look you in the eye, she was quite engaged by the edible glitter she had poured into her milk. You didn’t think she heard you so you started to ask her again.

“Why didn-“

“I’m sorry. I’m really fucking sorry. It’s just, I’m so happy when I’m around you, and I don’t want to waste a second of it talking about my last life- it was hell, yes, but I’m over it. I’d rather talk about scrunchies than kerplunkies” and with that she motioned a quick beheading with her fingers and tongue.

To be fair, you hadn’t expected that reply. You hadn’t expected a decent reply end of. You’d put it down to the fact that Anne was coming down from a 22 hour long sugar rush and was too tired to think about what she was saying. “I- I’m sorry I wasn’t there for you. I’m sorry that you feel that you need to keep things from me just to have a good time. I mean we could do 95% fun and 5% family trauma because god knows I’ve got tons. But I like hanging out with you to Boleyn.”

Neither of you knew what to say next. Not much had been said but it was enough to build a bridge that wasn’t previously there. Out of nowhere Anne gets a text from Kitty. It contained an emoji and a word. Typical kitty. “💋 her”

Anne was shocked, 1. Where was Katherine and how did she spot the silence and sexual tension, and 2. How the fuck did she know that she was gay. Sure the queens were open and accepting of being gay, but it wasn’t something that Anne spoke about. But despite all of the racing questions, Anne plucked up the balls she stole from Henry and leant in and cupped Y/N’s face. You were shocked at this movement. How did a discussion about beheadings lead to this? But you weren’t complaining. You had realised you loved Anne the day she fell off of her bike. She had never rode a bike before so you had been teaching her, at first she seemed promising, but she fell over and scraped her knee, causing a war amount of blood to pour. To your amazement, she started crying and asking for Millie. You panicked, who was Millie?? You thought it could be a pet name for one of the queens but you couldn’t be sure which. So you ran inside to fetch Kitty. “Who’s Millie??”

Without even speaking Kat ran upstairs and returned holding a ragged old dog teddy. Just the thought of Anne being so vulnerable, clutching the years old toy made your heart wrench- more than when your favourite TV show got cancelled and definitely more than when Ben and Jerry’s decided to stop selling Cookie Dough at the cinema.

You leant in to annes hands, and placed your lips upon hers in a frenzy of sparks and fireworks. You had dreamt of this moment, but you could never have imagined it would come true. Just the thought made you smile, making Anne laugh whilst kissing you. You suddenly pull away, realising that you hadn’t been honestly with Anne either. “ I was murdered. By my father.”

“Where the actual fuck did that come from”

From outside the door the pair heard giggles and a muffled shout of “language Anne!”

Of course the other queens would be spying on the pair of you. You weren’t blind,or deaf. You’d heard the comments kitty and Cleves make when they think you can’t hear, and you’ve seen the silent arguments between kitty and Jane.

It did feel nice to have people who cared. Even if they were looking out for Anne. They felt like family. It felt like home.

“ANNE MILLICENT BOLEYN I SWEAR TO GOD IF YOU TOUCH MY BIBLE EVER AGAIN-“ Catherine of Aragon burst into the room, past the other queens listening intently outside the door and you suddenly realised that you were still locked in an embrace with Anne. You quickly pulled away before whispering

“That impression was spot on.”

[deeeelightfuldee]

surveyss 015.

WHO ... was the last person you saw face to face? gram

... was the last person you texted or messaged online? Ummm, Harrison? We were talking about health.

... was the last person who asked you for a favour? Kile asked me to respond to him. I came so close to doing it, but we are almost at a week without talking.

... was the last person you lent something to? Uhhh, probably my sister.

... was the last person who told you a secret/confided in you? Em

... is the tallest person you know? Nick. I think hes 6′5?

... the shortest person you know? Goodness... I don’t know.

... your oldest (in years) friend? My mom?

... is the oldest (in length of time) friend? Alix. Since i was 5.

... is your youngest friend? I’m the youngest of my group... so ...

... is your newest friend? Probably my school friends

... is your closest relative? my sister? nephews? niece?

... was your favourite teacher? Mom looool. Or in college I really liked Dr. T

... was your least favourite teacher? ugh. shelly?

... did you spend the most time with when growing up? scott

... knows you the best? kile

... always beats you in games or sports? probably nathan lol

... who is the most creative of the people you know? Thats a great question. maybe my sister.

... is the funniest person you know? EM. definitely a goofball.

... is the most organised that you know? Em. 

... that you know has travelled the most? Nathan travels a lot, roger has gone to so many countries.

... has always been there for you? Hmm. 

... has given you the most personal gift? Mike

... has an annoying laugh? Marcia

... never forgets a birthday? sawyer

...,do you have the most in common with? I really don’t know. I don’t share a ton of the same interests with anyone.

...is the sportiest person you know? devin?

...was your last missed call? I think my sister

...did you last open your door for? mom

... has your heart? sigh. I don’t think it’s wanted right now.

... has your respect? people who are honest 

...do you share a special song with? i got my first kiss to the song “my best friend” by tim mcgraw

...do you miss right now? kile andrew. I miss who i thought he was. I miss talking to him all hours of the day. He felt like an extension of myself... almost like we shared this secret life where we could just .. exist together. without him, I just feel like I lost part of myself.

...last made you angry? the hose.

...did you last buy a gift for? I got my mom and my brother and kile something on my vaca.

...did you celebrate your last birthday with? So kile spoiled me like crazy. I spent the day with mom and then at night, em, nathan, devin, and I got tanked lol.

...have you gone to a concert with? sister, janelle, uhhhh nicole

...can make you laugh? It is easy to make me laugh

...has taught you how to do something? Uhhhhhh, thats a very good question. Probably kile teaching me how to do a stats problem? 

...has lost something of yours? Uhh, not sure.

...has broke your heart? kile

...has stood you up? I haven’t been stood up

WHAT Is your favourite colour? blue

Can you do that most your friends can’t? memorize really well, deny bread, sign, talk neuro

Is your birthday? next weekend

Colour eyes do you have? blue with navy and gray

Form of transport do you take to work/school? typically the car.

Music do you like to listen to in the car? Oh goodness anything that I put on spotify

Languages can you speak? english. some spanish and some asl but not fluently

Was the last thing you drank? diet coke

Was the last thing you ate? trail mix

Time did you wake up this morning? I wake up all hours lately and just stare out my window or at the ceiling. Eventually I just give up and get up for good. I think today was like 5am

Colour are your bedroom walls? They’re kind of a mauve-y brown-y purple

Drink do you usually order when eating out? sometimes, not always.

Food can you cook well? I’m a great baker but I don’t cook all that often. Or rather I should say I am insecure about my cooking.

Animals have you had for a pet? Oh goodness. Dogs, cats, bunnies, chickens, turtles, pigs, horses, birds, parrots, fish, flying squirrels, lizards, ...

Are your initials? dls

Kind of activities do you like to do on the weekends? I like to play games, go on drives, see the world, see friends, window shop, idk

Movie do you know line by line? father of the bride, finding nemo, sleepless in seattle, youve got mail, something borrowed, how to lose a guy in ten days, made of honor, while you were sleeping

Band(s) have you seen in concert? I don’t remember all of them. relient k was one.

Do you buy/get to treat yourself? food or clothes lol.

Colours your phone cover? right now it’s like a teal color. 

Part of the world would you love to visit? switzerland. europe. 

Question do you dislike being asked? when are you going to be married.

Subject were you good at in school? science

Careers do your parents have? mom is a manager of a store and I’m not entirely sure of what dad does. I think he owns a company.

Brand of clothing do you buy most often? probably ON

Chocolate bar is your favourite? right now, probably uhmmm 

TV show have you watched every series of? tbh I couldn’t tell you

Radio station do you listen to the most? 99.5, 98.3, 103.5, 96.3, 

Podcasts are you subscribed to? I’m not the biggest fan of podcasts

Is your favourite dessert? anything mega rich

Can’t you do that most around you seem to? roller blade, skateboard, ice skate

Are 5 qualities you value in a friend? honesty, loyalty, kindness, consideration, humor

Are 5 qualities you value in a partner? honesty, loyalty, kindness, slow-tempered, loving

Size pizza do you usually order? goodness I havent had pizza in so long.

Cuisine do you like to order or cook? I suppose right now mexican

Colour(s) dominate your wardrobe? Black. I want to wear more colors I think I refrain because of drawing attention to my figure.

Toothpaste brand do you use? I think right now it’s crest!

Sounds can you hear right now? one of the most dear movies to me.. Serendipity. I think about this movie all the time in my current situation. Maybe.

Is the weather like today? Steamy. But I have been very comfortable in the AC tbh

Are your plans for tomorrow? I’m going to sleep in. Relax. Spend the day reading in the pool, trying to not think about my situation. 

WHERE Do you keep your phone when not using it? I used to always keep it on me, but now I’m trying to get used to leaving it in the other room or just leaving it at home so I stop obsessing.

Were you born? Palos.

Do you go to unwind? On a drive

Is your best friend right now? I’m not sure where Kile is anymore. Emily is likely asleep. Nathan’s probably out lol

Can you go nearby to have a good time? Tbh, I can be alone and have a great time.

Is the nearest restaurant? like 3-4 blocks away.

Is the nearest beach? There is lake michigan, indiana dunes, or lakes. depends what you fancy.

Did you meet your closest friend? kile and I met on CM. em and I met thru Alix. 

Did you go for your last vacation? Pigeon Forge, TN.

Is the nearest mall or superstore? mall would be orland. Superstore would probably be like a walmart or a target. 

Did you last get an injury? I screwed up my foot somehow so I’m trying to nurse that.

Is the most extravagant place you’ve stayed at? Hmm, probably when my sister would travel and we would stay in these exotic hotels.

Do most the local kids play? If you mean kids like 21 ish, there are some great local bars on Oak Park Ave

Have you been with your family? I mean, I’m going to need more detail in the question

Did you spend Christmas last year? home. Then the boys called for us to come over and see their new toys lol

Did your parents grow up? they grew up in roseland which is now a chicago ghetto lol

Did you buy the shoes you’re wearing? barefoot at the moment.

Would you like to go right now if you could? if I can be totally transparent, I would give anything to go sit on a park bench next to kile. 

Do you miss the most from your childhood? The innocent beliefs. the lack of trauma. 

Is the best restaurant you know? I donno, I’m fairly easy-going about restaurants.

Will you never go again as it was so bad? lol this local burrito joint

WHEN ...was your last vacation? two weeks ago. 

...did you graduate? this may. I really thought it would have been more exciting, but it was such a tragic time. 

...did you have your first kiss? on my 16th birthday

...did you learn how to swim? young. like 5-6? 

...did you have your first relationship? uhhhh 19.

...do you feel the most at peace? on a drive.

...do you usually fall asleep? I have no idea. I’m all over the place these days.

...do you usually wake up? thats a wide range of times.

...did you last watch a movie? i’ve been watching movies in bed all day. 

...did you last go to a party? yesterday

...did you last cry? today

...did you laugh really hard? I laughed yesterday. 

...did you buy something pricey last? my vacation I suppose. I really need to get new gym shoes because it has been a few years but man they are pricey.

...did you have an argument last? I haven’t argued this past week. I don’t know if I’m just worn down or if I have lost the fight in me? I’m not entirely sure.

...did you last have a sick day? donno really.

...did you last recieve a hug? I got about 400 hugs from the kids yesterday lol

...when is your best friend’s birthday? aug 16. april 20. march 13.

...did you learn how to drive? I refused to drive as long as possible. mom tricked me into drivers ed when I was about 18.

...did you last receive a surprise? umm.. I really don’t know.

HOW Many pets do you have? Two.

Many houses have you lived in? one

Often do you shower? once per day usually.

Well can you cook? I am mediocre at the moment.

Many close friends do you have? just gets smaller and smaller.

Many Brothers or sisters do you have? one sister two brothers

Often do you go swimming? I WISH all the time. tomorrow will be my first time in a long time. it’s hardly swimming cus its a small pool, but still.

Many times have you texted today? I’ve hardly touched messaging apps. I’m really behind on my correspondence. 

Do you like your toast (colour, topping)? I used to love it toasted with light butter and then pb

Do you like your tea and/or coffee? no coffee. I’m not huge on tea.

Do you like to celebrate your birthdays? typically the way I spent it last year. this year was supposed to be with Kile. For some reason I just glanced at the calendar and it had our weekend trip for march all highlighted. 

Are you feeling today? I’m ok. I mean, I’m not but it’s closer to being OK.

Serious are you about your career goals? I’m passionate about it.

Many rooms are in your house? 11 I suppose.

Many bedrooms in your house? 4.

Did you do in your school exams? I excelled at them. 

Close do you live to your parents? very close to mom. thousands of miles from dad.

Close do you live to your siblings? My brother is around the block. another brother is maybe 30 mins away. my sister is thousands of miles.

Sensitive to criticism are you? pretty sensitive. its a fault.

Motivated to make changes are you? quite motivated.

Creative are you (1-10): 5

Hard working are you (1-10): 11.

Sporty are you (1-10): 1

Musical are you (1-10): 0

Do you prefer your eggs? uhh, moms scrambled, over easy, or sunny side up.

Often do you go out to eat? like once a month.

Would your best friend describe you? I don’t really know. probably studious, the caregiver, patient

Can someone cheer you up if you’re sad? if they know me well enough. 

Often do you meet up with your friends? like 2-3x a month

Important is religion to you? faith is important.

Old were you when you first stayed overnight from home? like 5

Old were you when you got your first pet? I was an infant

Tech savvy are you? decent. not great but decent.

Do you show you appreciate those you care for? I learn what matters to them and I support their dreams obsessively. I research things that matter, I ask questions, I write cards, buy gifts, and just tell them.

Often do you cut your hair? I need to cut it. asap.

Often do you paint your nails? I’ve stopped painting my hands since graduation. I just .. i cant.

Many countries have you visited? 1

Boyfriends/girlfriends have you had? haha

WHY  ... did you choose your username? because it’s one I use

... did you take this survey? it seemed to have some decent questions. I’m trying to work through stuff regarding kile right now, so it had some opportunities. right now I’m wondering if he still reads these. It doesn’t tell me if someone does, only if they like or comment on it. what does it matter, I don’t know. my mind just swirls.

... did you choose the career you did? I had a professor who showed me a video during a neuro class on aphasia and it was a CLICK moment.

...did you last leave the house? running errands for the party

...did you last give up on something? I am in the process. I don’t want to. my whole body aches and screams not to let go, but my brain is recognizing it is time.

...did you search the last thing you searched? i was converting celsius to fahrenheit 

...would you give up on someone completely? I think sometimes I have this mindset that I can help. I can support. I can enhance your situation. I want to help you grow. I want to be there for it all. I think the reality is I am learning that not everyone wants that. I don’t know that i’m helping as much as I hope, and it destroys me to think I was maybe making his life worse. 

IF You could live in any country which would you choose? switzerland

You could choose any animal as a pet which one? cat or dog

You could be famous for something what would you like? I don’t know that I would want to be.

You are sad, how do you combat it? Right now it is sitting with the feelings of loss. I’m trying not to just blow over it or pretend it isn’t real, but to just let it suck as bad as it sucks. I don’t know. I don’t have any magic way of moving through the sadness.

You can drive when did you learn? when I was 18

You could have any job what would it be? I would want to be somewhere with little human interaction tbh.

You could go anywhere for a vacation where would you go? europe. 

You could eat anything right now what would it be? nothing. loss of appetite.

You wrote a book what genre/topic would it be? maybe a book of poetry. or a biography.

You had a theme song what would it be? that would take me a while to come up with.

You could meet any band/singer in person which one? harry connick jr.

You could act in any movie which would it be? I’m not sure I would

You get married what venue would you like? i think I would want to elope 

If you have kids do you have names picked out? I have names I like on a list.

Could describe your dream home what would it be like? farm. land. big ole porch with comfy furniture. lots of trees. a dreamy bedroom. i really want a window seat. You could go back in time what would you change? for the longest time I wished I could have gone to see John immediately. However, had I done that I would have left here and moved there and I wouldnt have the life I do now. So I guess maybe i dont really know.

Could use 3 words to describe your childhood which ones? the memories without my dad were extremely pleasant. My mom tried her best.

Could get the answer to any question which question would you choose? right now I’d want to know why Kile kept things from me. Like how do you wake up everyday OK with knowing I’m unaware. I wanna know what the plan was.. was he planning to meet me and just secretly break up with her? was he ever planning to move to me? Why did he never fight for me? how was I so easy to let go of? why wouldn’t he just break off what he was was “breaking off” to keep me? what was the alternative? keep us both?? why couldn’t he see how he was hurting me? why didn’t it matter? how does he just let go of me so simply and not c ---- but honestly I’ll never get those answers. I would probably be better off asking will i have my own family one day

You could have an endless supply of something what would it be? Money, because of course.

CAN ... you ride a bike? yes

... you ski? i want to learn

... you bake a cake? oh yes.

... you sing well? mediocre

... you do your own taxes? badly

... you remain calm in a crisis? extremely calm.

... you do first aid? like... bandaid level yes.

... remember your best friend’s family members’ names? almost entirely.

... you fire a gun? yes

... your parents drive? Yes

...your best friend dance well? probably not.

...you make people laugh easily? mom, yes lol

...stand up for yourself? if i get pushed enough, yes.

...you do a martial art? Nope

WOULD You like to learn a new language? absolutely.

Save the life of a stray animal? Absolutely.

Know what to do if there was a hurricane? sure, but it would be very very very very unlikely for me to need to utilize that sort of skill set considering I live in the middle of a loooooooot of land. Not coastal at all.

Try a new cuisine? yes

Risk your life for anyone? Yes.

You like to get back in touch with someone? oh boy. how i wish.

You drive in the middle of the night to get a stuck friend? Ina heartbeat.

You Know how to perform CPR? I mean.. vaguely.

You likely win in a game of chess? I promise you no.

You stop talking for a day for $100? happily.

[rmjagonshi]

Whole Again -Chapter 10

Whole Again on AO3

For a thirteen-year-old girl from Piedmont California, Mabel Pines thought herself fairly resourceful. She could bring cheer to even the most black-hearted individuals, befriend almost anyone. Even in the worst situations, she could pull out the positives and look on the bright side. And even if there were no real positives, she would try to find a solution where everyone else had slopped looking.

That was what she was doing now. Trying to find a solution to something that was completely hopeless. She refused to be without hope that there was something else happening. Because Mable did think that something else was happening; there had to be some other explanation to Stan’s behavior. Even if her Grunkle was possessed, they had saved Stan from Bill before, they could do it again! She just needed to think. She just needed time to do research.

Dipper had chosen to take Grunkle Ford’s lead; he had gone to the library and had found as much on demonic possession and exorcisms as possible. The books and printouts and documentaries were stacked on his bed and spread out on the floor; is computer was open and was playing a scene from a horror movie: The Daemon Removal Squad. It was corny. Mabel was trying a different approach.

She and Dipper had gone over all the information they had and had categorized it from most concerning to least concerning; a color gradient from purple to brown (her favorite and least favorite colors respectively). Grunkle Ford was at first worried that Stan was acting kinda strange. But Grunkle Stan was always kinda strange; he called himself ‘Mr. Mystery’ after all.  

Stan had shown that he could read Gaelic (and the twins knew he could speak Spanish), he was adapting to technology at a much faster rate than even Grunkle Ford, and he knew about chemistry. The biggest questions Mabel had were answering the mysterious treats and blue fire handshake. Those were gonna be hard.  

So, the question now was, were these things evidence enough that Stan wasn’t himself? Dipper said that Grunkle Ford was first thinking about trauma. Maybe that was it. Maybe Stan was having some sort of phycological break and he thought he was Bill after having Bill in his mind, and then having it erased and then put back together. Mabel’s head hurt just thinking about it.

Stan knew about chemistry, so that meant he likely knew about chemical reactions and cool chemical tricks that like the ones their teacher had shown them. Mabel had seen something on YouTube about a guy that could use some kind of chemical to light his hand on fire and the flames were blue. Maybe he was just playing a really mean joke on Ford. Maybe he was really sick and they needed to get him to a therapist.

These were all things that were much more likely than a dream daemon coming back from being erased. That was as close to dead as she thinks Bill could be.

Ford had told Dipper that a package of toffee peanuts and jellybeans appeared as if by magic. But Mabel was good at finding things that were hard to get. Her hidden stash of Smile Dip attested to that ability. She had gone back to the Dusk-2-Dawn and had a wonderful conversation with the ghost couple there. They had let her take as much Smile Dip as she wanted. It was her guilty pleasure; anything she saw in Smile Dip Land was way less scary than what she had experienced in Gravity Falls last summer.

She tracked down the producer of toffee peanuts and contacted them. It helped that she had no fear of talking on the phone; her brother always had to triple check that he had the right number and then read from a script. They were an American based company, but their offshore branches had different production lines than what was in America. So, while toffee peanuts were discontinued in America because they weren’t popular (and really who would like them but her Grunkle Stan), they were still available in Denmark where they were really popular. A quick search told her that Iceland and Denmark were close trade partners and it was likely that Stan could have picked up a bag somewhere.

So, it wasn’t at the bakery he said it was. Maybe Stan forgot where he found them and he didn’t think it was a big deal. They jellybeans were also explained away as Stan hiding them and surprising Ford the next morning. It was all so silly really; her boys were just jumping to conclusions. Nope, no supernatural things going on here. Everything could be explained away. But, to be on the safe side, she should probably help Dipper read up on exorcisms.

Most of the books and articles were religious texts and talked about using holy water and crosses. Mabel didn’t think that crosses were going to do anything against Bill. The idea of holy water was still up for debate, though; she wasn’t entirely convinced it wouldn’t just burn her Grunkle Stan, possessed or not. Their family was a mix between Jewish and modern Cristian, but aside from the memories that Dipper had told her about, she didn’t think that Stan was religious in any way.

There was also a lot of notes suggesting telling the person how much their family loved them would help drive out the daemon. They could do that! They all loved Grunkle Stan! And he had gone so long without being told someone loved him, it would do him good. Maybe that was how Bill had taken over Stan; Grunkle Ford wasn’t telling his brother how much he loved him. Next time they got to talk to him, she was going to give her Grunkle Ford a piece of her mind. They had spent so much time apart; they needed to tell each other how much they loved each other! Just thinking about being separated from Dipper for thirty days (let alone thirty years) made her want to rush over and hug her brother.

For now, she would settle for just sitting on the floor by his bed and resting her head against his leg. She felt him absently reach down and run his fingers through her hair. It always helped her calm down when they were younger. Just like she used to draw pictures with her fingers (and sometimes markers) on Dipper’s back and tell him stories when he was sick or couldn’t sleep. Dipper would never, ever admit it, but he used to like it when she did his make-up; something about liking the way the make-up brushed felt on his face. They hadn’t done that in a while. She thought that they were getting to old for stuff like that, but maybe this was the perfect time to try again. They both were having a rough time acclimating back to normal life.

There was no weirdness at home. No gnomes, no magic, no weird flowers that made you all dizzy, no ghosts, no dinosaurs…just nothing. It was all so…normal. So normal it was boring. She never thought she would want to be surrounded by crazy weirdness and magical creatures. Heck, before this past summer, she didn’t even watch Ghost Harassers with Dipper; now she eagerly sat with him and even asked questions.

Dipper was also suffering from weirdness withdrawal. His new journal to record all the weird things in Piedmont was empty. The first few pages were filled with introductions, and lists of things he wanted to see and was packed full of notes from Grunkle Ford’s journals, but no entries of Dipper’s own. Her new scrapbook sat neglected too. She had taken tons of pictures the first few weeks back and during their first week of school, but then she just…didn’t want to anymore. It was like she didn’t have the energy or the interest like she used to. She still liked to draw, her wall was covered with drawings, but they were all of the same things; her friends, Grenda and Candy, Wendy and Soos, Waddles, the Mystery Shack and her Grunkles.

Stan and Ford had sent them a postcard from Rhode Island before they set sail. It was a picture of them standing proudly on their new boat, The Stan O’War II. All her drawings after that had been of them on the ship, fighting sea monsters and hugging penguins. Soos had sent her a letter with some of his “Stan-fiction” and they had started writing back and forth about what her Grunkles were up to. She didn’t know how she was going to tell Soos that his dad might be in trouble. Because Stan was Soos’s dad; it didn’t matter if they weren’t related, family was family.

It didn’t take long for Mabel to get bored of reading about all the dramatic passages she was supposed to say when exorcising a daemon, and she had no idea where they were gonna get a bucket of salt blessed by the Pope from. Instead, she focused on finishing the little trench coat she had knitted for the owl plush she made to look like Grunkle Ford. It was a project she had started not too long after she got back home. She had picked out the stuffed animals that reminded her the most of her friends and family and had gotten to work.

She had picked out a frilled lizard for Grenda (complete with knitted pink shirt and bow), a mouse for Candy (with a perfect little green stripped dress), Soos was a gopher (she had added a plastic fish bowl over the green hat after reading Grunkle Ford’s notes on Soos) and Wendy was a fox (she had made a replica of Dipper’s old pine tree had out of felt).

She had been working on Grunkle Stan and Grunkle Ford, (a silver fox and grey owl respectively) and hadn’t finished Grunkle Ford’s trench coat yet. She had made their glasses out of pipe cleaners and that plastic film that came from those envelopes with bills and other grown-up mail. Stan’s fez had been made out of felt covered cardboard and yarn, but as Dipper pointed out, it should be on Soos’s head now. The fishbowl had been replaced and instead she knitted a red beanie for Stan. She considered sewing Ford and Stan’s hands (er, paw and wing) together, but she suspected that Dipper was sneaking owl Ford back to his bed at night. She wasn’t the only one missing her family.

She felt the hand running through her hair stop as Dipper checked his phone again. They hadn’t heard from their Great Uncle Ford in a while. Dipper had sent multiple texts and had tried calling twice. She knew that he shouldn’t worry. Ford was probably getting sleep, or they were going through a bad patch. Maybe. She really hoped they were ok. Dipper’s phone sat like a holy relic on the nightstand.

After twelve hours with no word, they were starting to get worried. At seventeen hours, neither one could eat more than a few bites of dinner without feeling sick. By twenty-two hours, they were pouring over books and references and old notes of Dipper’s on Grunkle Ford’s journals just to distract themselves.

By the time their parents had come to tell them to go to bed, Mabel had stress knitted a scarf that would have been able to tie Grunkle Stan and Grunkle Ford together from head to toe. She also had a stash of Mabel juice in a resealable water bottle hidden under her bed. She wasn’t planning on sleeping and miss any contact from Ford. The fact that Dipper had also snuck in a bottle told her all she needed to know; they were in this for the long haul. They were both way too anxious to sleep now.  

What didn’t help was their mom coming in and asking them if she could ask them a serious question.

“I guess, what’s wrong?” Dipper was always the one to get to the point and ask the right questions.

“Are we in trouble?” She, on the other hand, had a habit of guessing at the problem and jumping to solutions first.

“No, no, of course not. Dad and I were just worried about you. You’ve been acting…well, a little strange since coming home. And for the past day I haven’t been able to get two words out of either of you.” Diane sat on the end of Mabel’s bed, gesturing for Dipper to come join them. He did, but chose to stand rather than find a spot amongst Mabel’s pile of stuffed animal friends and family.

Diane sighed. Mabel could tell this was hard for their mom. They wanted to tell her and dad both what had happened to them, but would their parents even believe them? Heck, she wouldn’t have believed it if she hadn’t lived it; it sounded like a best-selling teen novel. Mable sat her finished Grunkle Ford owl in her lap, fully intending on soaking up the hugs she could from it before Dipper stole it for the night.  

Their mom looked disquieted. Like she didn’t actually want the answer to the question that she wanted to ask. Diane steeled herself, taking a steadying breath before the question came in stutters from her lips. “Did…oh God,…did your Grunkle Stan ever…ask you to do something you didn’t want to do?” Diane was shaking and wouldn’t look her children in the eyes.  

Mabel shared a confused look with her brother. Neither one could make out what their mom had really meant. This was really weird. Their mom never acted like this. And why was she asking about Stan? Did she know? Had she figured out what was wrong? But her question didn’t make any sense. Had Stan asked them to do something they didn’t want to? Well, yeah, but why was that bad? They asked Dipper and Mabel to do things like chores and homework all the time; how was Stan different? She reached for her Stan plush and frowned at it. Dipper answered for them; scratching at his arm and looking concerned.

“Well, I mean, sure. We helped in the gift shop, and did chores and stuff. And Stan made us go fishing, which actually was kind of fun, but nothing, abnormal. Not any different from what we do here. Why?” Dipper looked skeptical. Good, he had picked up on the hidden meaning behind mom’s question too. Mable looked from her brother back to her mom, mouth pulled into a quizzical frown.

“You’re sure? Because even if he told you not to tell anyone, you know you can tell us.” She looked pointedly at Mabel who had not yet responded. “You won’t get in trouble. I just want to know if he…if…” She couldn’t finish.

Diane was white. She looked so scared. Mabel didn’t understand what her mom was worried about or what she was trying to get at, but if her parents were this scared, well. It was time. Even if their parents didn’t believe them, it was time to tell them what happened in Gravity Falls.

She looked to Dipper and silently asked for confirmation. He nodded, turning to gather what notes he had. She set her plushies aside and leaned over to the side table and pulled out her scrapbook; the one she had lovingly encased in glitter glue and fabric to keep protected.  

“Mom?” Mabel said, clutching the wrapped scrapbook to her chest.

“We have something to tell you. Something that you probably won’t believe, but we need you to try.” Dipper finished the statement for her, pulling out his own journal and all the remaining notes he had from the past summer.

“Grunkle Stan and Grunkle Ford are not what they seem.”

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

Diane Pines thought herself a very caring and knowledgeable mother. She liked to think that she knew what her children were thinking or feeling. She knew they were worried about something, but no matter how many times or how indirectly she asked, neither of her twins would divulge any information. She couldn’t even sneak a peek at her son’s phone; both twins had been carrying it around in shifts and neither one would let it leave their person.

Nothing seemed to get through. She had a feeling that it might relate to the happenings over the summer. She, nor her husband, Daniel, were stupid. The children had come back from Gravity Falls very different then when they left. At first, with the nightmares, she had thought they had been neglected or abused, but they insisted that Stanley (and later Stanford) had been the best of caretakers. They had refused to talk about their nightmares.

Some eavesdropping let her know that her children didn’t think that their parents would believe them. Mason had insisted that she and Dan were too hardheaded about the paranormal, while Mabel had decided that she didn’t want to worry them if they did choose to believe the crazy adventures the twins had gotten up to over the summer. The fact that her children had decided their parents would dismiss their concerns or that the summer’s events would worry them, made her even more afraid.  

It hurt that her children didn’t feel they could come to her with their problems. But, they were thirteen and had spent their first summer away from home. They were growing up, and they were learning how to deal with their own problems. But she couldn’t shake the feeling that there was something sinister going on. It didn’t help that she was embittered towards Stanley (nee Stanford) after the truth had come out.

“Oh sure, lie about your identity for thirty years while you take over your brother’s name and house while you track down said missing brother! While we’re at it, let’s fake your death and then distance yourself from the family until your father dies and your nephew contacts you out of guilt!” Her husband had patiently listed to her rant and rave in the kitchen the night the twins came home. They had told her a fairly condensed story about how Stanford had gone missing thirty years ago and Stanley had kept his brother’s house by turning it into a tourist trap and spent those thirty years trying to find his brother. That Stanford had magically come home unexpectedly one day after government agents had gotten involved.

She was very angry with Stanley. And she had no idea what to think of the real Stanford; though since he had been missing for THIRTY YEARS, and NO ONE was willing to say where he had been, well, both twins were on her ‘shit list’.

Her children loved them, though. So as angry as she and her husband were, they didn’t let it show. For their kids, they would try to forgive. It didn’t hurt that Dan was very excited to meet the intellectual prodigy that was Stanford Filbrick Pines. Upon discovering that the con man and tourist attraction purveyor was not the person who had written “Accounting for Physical and Chemical Irregularities Occurring in Objects affected by Differing Conditions of Spacetime” and the actual author was far more ‘nerdy’, he was elated and eager to have them over for the holidays. Unfortunately (though fortunately for her) the twins had gone exploring the Arctic Sea at the end of the summer and would not be back on this side of the country for at least eight months (or so they had planned). A Spring visit would also allow her time to properly clean her house and prepare the guest room. It had become her office space of late; she worked as an appraiser for a realtor agency and needed a space to work from home.  

It also gave her time to get over any residual anger. Some days it seemed so easy to forgive, when her children were smiling and laughing about their summer antics and reminiscing about all the fun they had. Some nights it was hard, damn near impossible, to forgive when her children woke up screaming and clinging to one another for comfort. Neither one ever willing to tell their parents what was wrong.

It terrified her to think what might have happened that her own children wouldn’t talk about it. Dan had guiltily mention the family secret, and now both of them feared that their children had been witness (or, God forbid, participants) in…that. She didn’t want to think poorly of her husband’s family, but it was well known that they didn’t talk about Stanford and Stanley in polite company…or any company.  

Diane had first met the man when the twins were born. He had rushed down from Oregon upon Sherman’s call. In less than seven hours (she suspected he had neglected road traffic laws) he was in the waiting room with her husband and Sherman. They had joked about the last time Stanley (then Stanford) had seen his nephew, was when he had been an infant being babysat by Gina and Filbrick. The night that his brother (he) had been kicked out. Stanley had taken a somber look until the nurse had told them that Diane had gone into labor. Only Dan was allowed in the delivery room, Stan and Sherman remained outside looking through the window.

After the twins had been born, cleaned, and passed around to everyone (Stan had stolen them from Sherman and had both parents laughing), they had allowed her to walk down to the cafeteria and get food. Her father-in-law had gone with her, the other men too busy cooing over the infants to bother.  

She had asked about Stan, about why he was so distant from the rest of the family. Sherman had told her than his younger siblings were close. Unusually close. Apparently, there had been some…suspicions, that they were far closer than is right for siblings. He had gotten uncomfortable when she asked how and wouldn’t explain further. All he said was it wasn’t something the family talked about. The only reason he knew, was because Gina had needed to ask someone and Filbrick would have…well he would have handled it poorly.

Marianne (her mother-in-law) had just gotten off a long shift in the geriatrics ward and had come down to see the new additions to the family. It gave her enough time to ask her husband about Stanley (then Stanford). He told her that his dad never talked about it, and grandma refused to look at him when he asked. He could never get anything out of his dad. She had an opportunity to go straight to the source when the twins were 11 and Filbrick suffered a sudden heart attack.

After Filbrick had passed and Gina was preparing to move in with Sherman and Marianne. The eldest son couldn’t find it in himself to put his mother in an assisted living home. They had all flown out to New Jersey that summer to help her pack and sell the house. Diane had gone to Gina for conformation about what happened to cause Stanley and Stanford to be such a taboo subject. It took time, but in her vulnerable state, Gina was willing to divulge a nearly forty-year secret.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

Gina and Filbrick had gone out to dinner to celebrate their anniversary and had left the twins behind. They were eighteen; she could trust them for a few hours to have some time alone with her husband. Sherman was living on his own by then and was going steady with Marianne. Everything had been going…well, generally speaking. Stanford was on his way to graduating in the top of his class that year and Stanley…well Stanley had been pulling his grades up steadily. They wouldn’t get him into any college, but he would graduate and could get a job in town.

Although, Filbrick had his own thoughts about that. He was determined to teach Stanley how to be a man and provide for himself. She never understood why he was so hard on Stanley and not Stanford; they were both her special little boys and she loved them equally. She had always tried to be fair, but Filbrick had homed in on Stanley and had not yet let up. Boxing lessons, refusing to get him new glasses when he had gotten into a fight that had broken his, insisting that he not cry because it wasn’t manly, telling him to take his wounds like a man when he lost a particularly bad boxing match, telling him he punched like a girl, criticizing him for wearing a pink suit to prom…it just never stopped. Stanford never got the same treatment and she never knew why.

They had gotten into a tiff in the car, her and Filbrick, about what Stanley was going to do after graduation. Filbrick had off-handedly considered finding him his own place, or at the very least making Stanley pay rent. No mention was made about Stanford or any expectations about what Stanford should do. She had had enough. She was out of the car and marching up the stairs to the main house in a flurry of anger as soon as the car was in park. She as so done with Filbrick’s unfair treatment of the twins. Sherman was the golden child, the first born; it was like Stanford and Stanley were unwanted extras. Sherman and the twins were only five years part for goodness sake! Gina was just mounting the top of the stairs when she saw…it.

Her sons, her twin boys…      

They had been curled up with each other watching a romantic drama on TV. Not entirely unusual for the boys; they were damn near joined at the hip, partners in crime. Nope, cuddling was not unusual for the Pines Twins, at least, far out of Filbrick’s sight anyway. The delicate kiss shared between them was, however, very unusual. The kiss is what stopped Gina in her tracks; balanced at the top of the stairs.

Gina’s mind stalled, turned off. She didn’t understand what she was seeing, her mind couldn’t comprehend the sight in front of her. Her sons’ eyes filled with fear. They hadn’t moved. The boys had been so frightened and shocked by their mother’s sudden arrival that they hadn’t even made an effort to separate themselves. Stanley’s hand resting on Stanford’s cheek, other hand braced against the back of the sofa. Stanford himself had buried his hands into Stanley’s hair and shirt collar. She suspected that this was not the first time this had happened. The thought made her ashamedly queasy.    

Gina had been so relieved that Filbrick had stopped to take care of something in the shop. She feared what would have happened if he had seen them. She took a deep breath and closed her eyes, listening for the door downstairs. “Your father is coming. This”, she gestured at them, “will. not. happen. again.” Her words were punctuated with barely leashed emotion. The twins had scrambled away from one another; Stanford scooping up a physics book and Stanley rapidly changing the channel to a boxing match. They were just sliding into place and Gina finishing hanging her coat when Filbrick entered.

He had nodded in greeting to both boys, who greeted him quickly and politely in response. Filbrick entered the kitchen, apartment eerily quiet with the only sound coming from the television announcer. Both twins refused to look in her direction; Stanford burying his face in his textbook and Stanley’s eyes glued to the screen. What was she going to do? What was she going to say? What do you say when you catch your children, your twin boys, kissing each other?    

Filbrick grabbed a beer from the fridge and headed back down to the shop to repair some appliance he had gotten in that afternoon, pausing to kiss her cheek and remind the kids to clean up after the match was over. Popcorn bowls, sodas, toffee peanuts and jellybeans littered the coffee table. When the door to the shop was firmly closed, Gina paced a finger to her lips and pointed to the twins’ room. They obeyed, sparing less than a moment to look at one another. She followed them, closing the bedroom door softly. She steeled herself a moment, pushing down her emotions and calming her racing mind, before addressing the one problem she never thought she’d face.

They refused to look at her. The bunkbed they had as children was still pushed up against the right wall; they had refused to separate the beds as they got older. Stanley sat on the bottom bunk, Stanford stood beside the desk. “Look at me.” The harshness of her voice startled her. She needed to not be anger. She honestly didn’t know why she was angry. She didn’t know why she insisted they look at her. It was just going to be harder. Stanford complied, hesitantly, and eyes noticeably watery. Stanley couldn’t; his head was bent low, fists griping the bedsheets and shoulders hunched. It would do.

“I don’t know how long this had been going on” Stanford opened his mouth to respond, but she held her hand up to stop him, “and I don’t care. It cannot happen again. Do you understand me? Never again. What if it was your father, huh?” Both boys flinched at the mention of Filbrick Pines. They were both so scared of their father, and she could understand why. The man was hard edged and had very specific and uncompromising view of the world and his family’s place in it. If the family stepped out of line, they would know. Stanford nor Stanley fit the mold Filbrick tried to shove them in.

Gina was a little more understanding, but this…this was going to be hard. There was no good way to handle this. It was wrong. It shouldn’t be happening. Thank God, they were both men; she didn’t want to think about the potential problems if either Stanley of Stanford had been female. She felt a small lump of disgust well up in the pit of her stomach. She didn’t understand, she couldn’t understand. However, she would not let her feelings inject themselves into this; she loved her sons, it didn’t matter what they did. But this needed to stop.    

“Look,” she knelt down to Stanley’s side; his closed eyes barely holding back tears, “I won’t deny that this will take some time for me to come to terms with. But if you are…of that persuasion, if you both are,” She paused to look at Stanford, his eyes hidden behind the glare of his glasses, “I won’t love you any less. Do you understand me? I still love you.” Stanley looked up at her then. Tears pooling at the corners of his eyes. Stanford had taken a step towards them; he looked dazed, as if her statement was unexpected. She wouldn’t lie to them and tell them everything would be ok, they deserved the truth. But she would not stop loving them. It would just take time, a long time, for her to be ok with this. She continued.

“But please, please, no more of this. Not…” she paused, trying to find the right words. “Not with each other.” It was so strange how the thought of either of her boys kissing another man didn’t bring up the same feelings of revulsion as before. She knew they were close. She knew they didn’t have other friends. She had heard about what happened at prom (she spent four hours trying to get the punch out of their suits). She knew how hard it was for them to make friends, let alone girlfriends (or she guessed, boyfriends). She should have seen this coming. She should have seen how close they were and intervened. That was why Filbrick had been so hard on Stanley. It had to be. He knew something, suspected something. Oh, God. If he ever found out…if he ever knew what they had done. Gina felt a spike of fear race down her spine.  

“And don’t ever let your father know. Dear God, don’t ever let him find out.” She took a moment to collect herself and stand up. She gathered Stanley up in a bone crushing hug, squeezing him a moment before lifting one arm to allow Stanford to join them. He kissed both of their heads in turn. “I don’t care if you’re…if you like men. I still love you. But please be careful. The world is not a nice place to people who are different. You both should know that by now.” She felt Stanford’s hand grip tighter into the fabric of her dress. Yes, the whole family knew what being different was like. But they were Pines, they wouldn’t let that stop them. She wanted her children to be happy. She would do anything to ensure that they were happy and healthy. Her next words were barely a whisper, mumbled into Stanley’s hair line.  

“My advice, wait until you are on your own before…being open. I don’t know how your father will react, but if you’re on your own, there’s nothing he can do.” She held them tighter. She wouldn’t let go of them no matter what. She’d promised herself, even if she had to visit them in prison, she would hold onto them. She pretended not to notice Stanford’s fingers shyly tracing down Stanley’s arm. They were comforting each other. That was it. Why did it feel like she was trying to convince herself?    

She let them go after giving them both another squeeze. She started towards the door, pausing a moment to look back at her sons. She pretended to not see them discreetly reach out for one another and clasp hands. “We never spoke of this. This never happened.” They both nodded. She left, closing the door behind her.

In the coming weeks, Gina pretended not to notice the telltale signs of teen hormones; mussed hair, bruised lips, furtive eyes. She didn’t know what to do about any of this. Despite her warnings, she suspected they hadn’t stopped. Had continued to explore things with one another. She was relieved that the thought didn’t make her feel sick anymore. Now she was just scared for them. She tried to tell herself they had just been experimenting with a trusted person. That they would grow out of it in time, it was just hormones. But it all got lost in the wake of the science fair.  

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

Tearfully, Gina confessed that she and Filbrick were the reasons why Stanley (then Stanford) was so alienated from his family. It had come out at after they heard about Stanley’s death. She had let slip what had occurred that night. Filbrick had been livid and had forbidden anyone from going to the funeral. She had tried to call up to the house in Oregon, but only got an answering machine. She left a tearful explanation of why they didn’t go, her love and her forgiveness, asking for forgiveness in return. Stan had died in a car accident not too far from Gravity Falls after all. He had probably been trying to see Stanford. Trying to make up.

Diane had sat and comforted Gina for a while after her tale. She told Dan a very brief recap of the story. They agreed to never mention it to the kids, nor ever speak openly about it. It was something the Pines family was deeply ashamed of. And it had happened so long ago, she didn’t want it to color her children’s perspective of their family.

As soon as the kids had gotten home and the wonderous tale of lost brothers and hidden identities had been told, Dan had called his father and Grandmother up and informed them of the news. From what she heard from Dan, who heard from Sherman, who had overheard half a conversation between the twins and Gina, the news had not been received well.  

“Thirty years, Stanford! Where the hell were you?! Did you get kidnapped, just up and leave with no explanation?! And you Stanley, I know you’re listening, you ought to be ashamed of yourself. Taking over your brother’s name, making us think you were dead! Do you know how much pain you put me through?!”

It would be almost funny if it wasn’t so heartbreaking. Apparently, they had promised to come visit as soon as the next summer rolled around. Gina was not a woman to be trifled with; she had survived a marriage with Filbrick Pines after all, she was as tough as they came.

It was all wonderful and good…until her children had woken up screaming less than a week home, and refused to talk about what had happened. They were at their wits end when Dan brought up the ‘incident’. She had hesitantly called Gina the next day, telling her about the children and inquiring about Stan’s ‘persuasions’. She didn’t want to accuse, but these were her children. She would do anything, come hell or high water, to keep them safe.  

As much as the older members of the family had reassured her and Dan that nothing had happened to the kids. That neither Stanley nor Stanford would ever even consider laying a hand on the kids that way, Diane couldn’t get the thought out of her head. Her children would not be waking up screaming most nights if something horrible hadn’t happened.  

So, she had made up her mind. She would ask them flat out. Or, she would try. They were children; would they even understand what had happened to them? She wondered when she had started thinking of it as what rather than if. She had almost convinced herself that Stanley Pines was a dangerous man, a disgusting piece of wasted space when she finally confronted her children. The answer she got was very far removed from what she expected.  

“Mom?” He beautiful, sweet and innocent daughter looked at her with eyes that suddenly looked much older and wiser than they should. Mabel held out the wrapped scrap book that contained memories from the past summer.  

“We have something to tell you. Something that you probably won’t believe, but we need you to try.” Her darling son held the same hardness in his eyes, like he’d been to war and survived its atrocities.

“Grunkle Stan and Grunkle Ford are not what they seem.”  

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Chapter 1

[my-emotional-self]

Let Me Protect You Chapter 9/?

Pairings: Chris Evans x OFC Emilia

Word Count: 1,304

Warnings: Swearing, self-loathing

Rating: PG-13

Summary: After Emilia’s fiancé cheats on her, she moves to California to live with her brother Eric, who just so happens to be good friends with Chris Evans.  Follow Emilia and her roller coaster life through heartbreak, love, and emotional trauma. Will Emilia choose to let Chris into her heart, or will she remain broken and alone forever?

A/N: This is the calm before the storm you guys.  Chapter 10 and Chapter 11 are going to be pure angst. I am going to make you guys FEEL!!!! Enjoy lovelies!!

 Things were going great for you, for once in your life.  While being around Chris made you vulnerable (you just still couldn’t understand how your walls came down when he was around), your emotions and feelings didn’t feel as heightened.  At least not the sadness, anger, grief, or embarrassment which you felt on a regular basis.  No, the feelings and emotions you were now feeling were those of happiness, joy, and peace.  

It was amazing to feel this way, but at the same time, you didn’t know if it would last.  Maybe the second you and Chris get really comfortable around each other, the negative emotions would start to make an appearance. You really hoped they wouldn’t though. That was how you lost a lot of friends; they couldn’t keep up with your ever changing moods.

It had been a week since Eric left, and so far so good.  You saw Chris almost on a daily basis.  He would either come over to your house, and you would watch movies and chat for hours on end.  The conversation flowing easily as if you two had known each other for years.  

The flirting between the two of you was still going strong too.  That man knew how to make your heart skip a beat or two.  He also knew what to say to make you blush like a little girl.  The small touching gestures he always gave you made your knees go weak.  The way he placed his hand on the small of your back, resting his hand over your knee while watching a movie; it made you flustered in such a good way.  

You felt like you were maybe ready to talk to him about taking the next step.  Sure, it’s been a week, but you wanted to listen to your heart on this one.  You wanted someone to protect you, to cherish you.  You haven’t felt that way in so forever; you longed to feel that way.  

When you weren’t with Chris, you were always thinking about him.  It seemed as if you were a school girl, falling for your crush.  But this felt so much more than that.  This was starting to feel more right, and less wrong.

Chris had an interview and photoshoot tomorrow, so you planned on driving around parts of LA to try and get more acquainted with the city.

Deciding you had a rather big eventful day ahead of you tomorrow (mainly getting lost and trying to find your way back home) you started getting ready for bed.  

Heading into your bathroom, you turn your shower on and let it get to the right temperature before you stripped your clothes and stepped in.  You stood there, letting the water cascade down your body, feeling completely relaxed.  

Grabbing your shower wash, you happen to notice the scabs on your left wrist have almost all fallen off. You felt proud of yourself for going a week without cutting.  It doesn’t seem like much, but a week can be a mile-stone for you.  

Once you’re all squeaky clean, you dry off with your towel and throw your fuzzy robe around you. Nestled within the confines of your fuzzy robe, you let out a sigh of content.

Making your way to your bedroom, you turn on the television for some background noise, and drift into a peaceful sleep.

The near constant chirping of birds wakes you early the next morning.  Looking at the clock you see it’s 9 in the morning.  Groaning, you roll your face back into the pillow and yell “NO!  It’s too early!!”  

You’re a night owl, staying up until well 3 in the morning on most days.  Grumbling, you almost half-fall, half-stumble out of bed and relieve yourself of your morning duties in the bathroom.  

As you reach for your phone, you notice you have a few missed texts.  You open up Eric’s text and instantly laugh seeing the picture he sent you.  Eric was taking a selfie of him fake crying with Frank giving off a devilish grin in the background.  

Eric: Emilia!! Save me from Frank!!! He’s being a slave driver.

Deciding to respond, you hit reply.

Emilia: Sorry bro, you took that job, I’m staying out of it. But say hi to Frank for me J

The next text few texts were from Chris.

Chris: Good morning sleepyhead!  I’m off to my photo shoot and interview but you’re probably still sleeping. Slacker ;)

He also sent you a selfie. It was a picture of him in his car, sunglasses down towards the end of his nose so you can see his eyes and hair all disheveled as if he just woke up.  He captioned it with “how do I look?”  You looked at the time when he sent the photo and the bed head makes sense. It was from 6:15am.

You wander to your living room and plop down on the couch and decide to go through your social media. While you’re scrolling through Twitter, you see a news article about Chris.  Not thinking anything of it, you open the story to read it and are horrified by what you see.  

Minka and Chris, sitting in his car, both smiling; the headline reading “Are Chris and Minka Back On? It Sure Looks That Way!” You looked at the date of the story, and sure enough, it was posted an hour ago.  Sure, the logical thing would be that the story is false; the picture is from when they dated many years ago.  But you knew different.  Not only was he wearing the same shirt from the picture he sent you this morning, he was wearing one of your bracelets he took from you a couple days ago.

He had questioned why you wore so many bracelets around your wrists.  Not wanting to give anything as to why you did; you took off one of yours and handed it to him.  “Here”, you said, “now I have one less for you to complain about.”  It was a simple black jelly bracelet; the kind that was all the rage in the early 2000’s.  You had a ton of them saved up because of your secret; you didn’t actually think he would constantly wear it, but he did.  

Looking back over the photo of Chris and Minka, your heart started racing.  How could you be SO stupid?!?!  How could you ever think for one second that someone like Chris Evans was truly genuine with wanting a relationship with you?  You were an idiot and you knew it.  You knew you should have tried harder to hold your walls up around him; to not trust him so easily.  It always backfired and this is another way of proving that.  Nobody wanted someone who was broken; who was depressed and sad; nobody wanted you.

Your eyes stung with the tears pooling around your irises.  Clenching your eyes tight, they spilt over.  It was getting harder to breathe with each breath you took.  Your heart was clenching tight, the lump in your throat making it difficult to swallow.  

Why did these things always have to happen to you?  You tried so hard to make people happy; so why were you getting shit on all the time? You were a good person, at least to other people.  You were only bad to yourself.  Is that why this was all happening to you?  Because you were a bad person to yourself?

You don’t know how long you sat there, zoned out in your own world.  Looking down at your phone, you notice the blue light blinking, indicating you have either a missed call or text.

Unlocking your phone, your hands tremble once you see who texted you.

Charlie: I miss you Emilia, please come home.  I’m begging you.  Let’s talk this over. Please.

Tag List: @evansfanficweekly @ssweet-empowerment @always-an-evans-addict @patzammit @tacohead13 @iamwarrenspeace

[the-traumaa]

I’m gonna complain here because I can’t express things in any other form except telling strangers

I’ll delete this later but I would rather broadcast to the world than hurt myself so have my life story:

Tw: self harm, drug use, dissociation, possible mental illness, alcohol, nicotine, abusive father, overdoses, suicidal thoughts, cocsa

Alright so I’ve really gone through it the past 4 months.

I developed a pill problem, broke up with my gf a week before prom because I realized I didn’t actually like her and I didn’t want to put her through my drug and mental health issues, had a depressive episode. Overdosed and had a seizure the day after prom and had to intricately lie to my mom who barely believes me. Fell when I overdosed and bashed my head on cement, got really bad whiplash and started the shift in my friend group which caused 50% of us to stop being friends. Blamed myself for everyone, felt like I shouldn’t be alive, felt suicidal and numb, apologizes for being alive, for almost dying, for scaring the people there. I reminded myself of my father who’s a heroin addict. He gave me a good amount of trauma from constant overdosing snd being high and emotionally abusive, I convinced myself I traumatized the people who witnessed it happen and was crying every few minutes. Couldn’t do anything without crying. Cut myself a ton. Felt really worthless and undeserving.

Never dealt with any of this, everyone just kinda forgot about it. Made a slightly new friend group, talked about it once or twice. Old friend who was horrible to me for years say I have no morals or life goals after I stopped talking to her. Just trying to live. Friend who gave me the pills told me I didn’t actually overdose and I was overreacting. While I was texting everyone convinced I was dying, she told me “get up and play uno with everyone!” All my friends are playing blame game and fighting and I just want to feel like I deserve to live. That never really went away.

Now I have cocsa trauma, drug addict father trauma, poverty trauma, and almost dying trauma. Fun, great.

Every time friends hang out without me because I’m working I genuinely convince myself they despise me and would rather do anything else than see me. Pick a suicide date, write suicide notes. Tuck them away for a later date. Smoke a lot of weed. Drink a lot of alcohol. Start smoking cigarettes with a friend. Steal your moms cigarettes. Start smoking alone because feeling sick is all you deserve. Smoke a cigarette just to go to sleep.

Develop a habit of viewing the world in a dreamy state. Logic brain knows this is real life but anxious brain thinks I’m in a dream or I’m watching a movie and no one can see me. Sit there, disssociate, panic. Convinced I’m dying and no one can see it. Fleeting thought that I schizophrenic and my mom paid everyone in my life to go with my delusions. Believe it. Fleeting thought that this is The Truman Show and everyone is pretending to love and care about me. Believe it.

Be so constantly tired that I fall asleep sitting up. Barely get through a six hour work day. Cry in front of the Boss. Cry in front of co workers. Tell your co workers about your overdose. Spend all your money the second you get it because you don’t see a future for yourself.

Realize that if you stay alive the rest of your life is going to be trying to break the cycle of poverty and you’ll have to work your ass off just to breathe. Cry in the car in front of your mom who calls you lazy. Felt numb for an entire week and decided to stop talking to friends because they matter too much and it hurts when they aren’t with you every second of every day. Understand that’s not possible but be overwhelmingly upset anyway. Accidentally express it with anger.

Work at a theatre camp. The kids put on a show every Friday. Invite friends because you’re proud of kids. Friend talks about how much they want to go and then ditch on Friday. Act understanding. Have an episode every time they ditch. They ditch four weeks in a row. There’s only six weeks of camp. Mom ditches.

Be a half hour late for work because your mother (who has started dating and leaves you alone every night to go sleep with her boyfriend) let your heroin addicted emotionally manipulative physically abusive homeless father sleep on your brothers bedroom floor and he overdosed even though the rule was no drugs in the apartment. Wake up to police and EMT’s in the House. Haven’t seen him since. That was five weeks ago. Blame yourself for his homelessness even though he spent all your families money on drugs and made you all homeless twice prior. He refuses to stop doing drugs and tells Social Services “I’ll see my kids when they’re 18.” Feel the pit in your stomach. Hear your mother talk shit with your aunt, who is your fathers drug dealer. Don’t understand how people can do that to their own family. Chold protective Services opens our case again. This is upwards of the 8th time.

Have your brother tell you that your Father hasn’t done anything to you because “he never hit you” Invalidate your own emotional abuse. Remember that he threw ty into a wall and would hold you down and scream an inch away from your face. Remover when he was high and tried to pee on your bed. Remember. Remember. Remember. Decide it’s best not to bring that up to a 12 year old. Go in your room and cry.

So, that’s who runs this account. Props to you in you read it. I’m struggling :/

[assbuttyourlife]

When We Were Young - Chapter Ten

Pairing : Misha/OFC

Warnings : Language, Fire, trauma, PTSD, family members’ death (including child), therapy, flashbacks (not in every chapter), injuries, cheating. Long fic. Angst, fluff, Smut.

Words : 6033

Summary : After her grandmother’s funeral, Lily must return to the place she lived in when she was young and has to confront the ghosts of her past. She will run into an old friend that she thought was lost forever.

WWWY Masterlist

AO3 link

CHAPTER 10 – JIB 4

When Lily arrived at the Hilton in Rome, she had no idea where to go to find Misha, no idea what to expect, and she was surrounded by fans talking and laughing, sometimes wearing weird clothes. They were walking around like they knew exactly where to go, but she was completely lost. She was here only for a few minutes and she already felt like a fish out of the water. This is when she started to regret this already.

Someone at the front desk gave her a badge saying she was expected, but they didn’t say much more, so she decided to text Misha.

L: I'm here. Where are u?

Her phone buzzed just a few seconds later.

M: Doing photo ops. It'll be over soon. I'll meet you in the green room. 6th floor, Claudio room, last one on the left.

The green room… Okay… it almost felt like she was about to go up on stage for a concert.

She went to the room he indicated and of course, there were huge and very intimidating men keeping the door.

Thankfully, when she stepped in front of them and said her name showing her badge, they let her pass immediately as Misha had arranged everything. When she opened the door, she was welcomed by Vicki who was here with Maison in her arms, and West who ran into her arms to hug her.

“Hey angel face!” She crouched down to kiss him on the top of his head before standing up to give his mother a quick hug.

Vicki introduced her to the people present in the room. She met Richard, Brock, and Sebastian who was more than happy to meet her, knowing she had lived in France for twelve years. She also learned that Jared had to fly back home because his wife's sister had a car accident. She was a little disappointed to not meet him as Misha talked about him a lot, but she hoped everything would be okay with his sister in law.

Misha appeared a few minutes later, looking exhausted.

“Heyyy! I see you met some of my cast mates already. Were they nice with you?”

He hugged her, but was soon interrupted by West who wanted to be in his dad's arms.

“Yes, they were. I and Sebastian have a few things in common actually.” She winked at the French man.

“Umm, not so much.” Misha joked. “So, I have to go crash a panel right now, and you should come with me so I can introduce you to Jensen right after.”

“Uh... okay.”

Who was Jensen already?

She didn't ask, feeling a little ashamed to know so little about the show. Misha took her with him and they walked down towards the panel's room. It felt kinda weird, because a few people were sticking with them, telling Misha where to go and what he would have to do next, the huge (and very intimidating!) bodyguard was following them everywhere, not to mention the screams of girls resonating in the halls every time Misha appeared in a corner.

At that moment, she thought it would be so damn great to go back in time and tell the young self-loathing Misha that girls would scream for him every time he'd appear or move a finger… he wouldn’t even believe it. Actually, she wasn’t even sure he was realizing it now.

When Misha was ready to crash the Jensen and Ty panel, he told Lily to wait backstage, it wouldn't be long. She complied and observed him climbing on stage to... improvise a puppet show with his costars in a weird Russian accent??

Okay... why not, don’t question it Lily, he knows what he’s doing, hopefully.

She looked at the muscular man that she knew wasn't Jensen and though she found him quite attractive, she had absolutely no idea who he was either.

Misha got off stage with Jensen, and they all went to another empty room for a break until they needed to start their autograph session. She finally was introduced to Jensen, who turned out to apparently be a very nice guy who couldn't stop teasing Misha. Honestly, she had the feeling every actor on Supernatural were teasing experts. Was it good or bad, she didn’t know yet, it was too soon to tell.

“You know he can't talk about your family without crying like a baby on stage?” Jensen asked playfully.

Lily had to laugh at that, remembering the video Katie showed her a few days before.

“I don't know why he talks about my family on stage in the first place. People don’t care.”

Misha sipped on his water, amused to see them getting along well.

“They do. Can you two not talk about me like I'm not right next to you in the same room? It came up once and I was a bit emotional, big deal!”

They laughed and chatted a little more until it was time for the two men to go back to business. Lily took that opportunity to go with Vicki, Danneel and the kids to visit Rome. She was actually getting along pretty good with Misha’s wife. She thought she was an amazing woman full of surprises. She could appear shy and a little weird with people she didn't know well, but she turned out to be a good friend for Lily all day long and she really appreciated it.

Jensen and Misha joined them for lunch and they all went to a fancy Italian restaurant, a little closer to the convention center. Misha joked about being able to pay for restaurant now, but after the video she saw the other day, Lily knew it wasn't just a joke. He probably was too shy to admit it in front of his friends, but she suspected he really meant it and was proud of it, like he could finally repay her and take his revenge on the hard life he had when he was younger.

They went back to the Hilton for the rest of the convention, and it was time for Misha's solo panel, which Lily was very curious to see. He told her he had already one yesterday, one today, another tomorrow, and one with Jensen just before the closing ceremony. What could he possibly have to say to people for three days in a row?

She was leaning on the wall in the right corner of the room, between the tech guys and the line of fans waiting to ask their questions, when Misha came up on stage. It was so damn strange to hear all those people screaming and cheering for him like he was a superstar. Well duh... he actually was a kind of superstar, but it was still an alien concept in her head because that's not what he was to her at all.

He started by opening a huge present box, finding two light sabers inside, and the people cheered once more. He then spent several minutes answering all kinds of questions, mostly about the show, and of course Lily didn't understand half of what they were talking about, but she was very impressed to see Misha on stage. She thought he'd changed a lot, he had never been the shy type of person, but he sure has never been confident enough to be at ease on a stage answering tons of questions. But here he was, as self-assured as he could be, making people laugh, making them happy...

After twenty minutes of answering questions, he probably started to be bored because he asked a fan to challenge him on a light saber fight. She happily accepted, came up on stage and they started fighting, but soon stopped after he threw a “I got your boob” to her, and he eventually answered her questions seriously... until another girl asked to fight again. And boy did they fight... on the Star Wars theme! Lily couldn't stop laughing; it was so obvious he never learned how to do that properly! After he told the girl he got both of her boobs, she left the stage and Misha was out of breath.

The panel ended a few minutes later after more questions about his character, Misha left the room saying goodbye to his fans, and that closed her fist day at a Supernatural convention.

Of course that was not the end of the day; the whole team went to go eat pizza in the center of Rome. Lily met the few people she hadn't during the day, such as Ty, Rob, Jason or Steve... And she had to admit they were all really nice people, Misha was right, everyone was very kind to her. They were all amazed and very curious to learn about her and Misha's reunion after so many years. After all, that's not something that happens every day. They also joked about the fact that being back from the dead is usually the kind of thing that happens on Supernatural, but of course Misha told everyone she hadn't watched a single episode yet and they booed at her so loud that she wanted to disappear from the surface of the earth when everyone turned around in the restaurant. She promised she would eventually catch up with the show despite the fact that it was just impossible for her to watch eight freaking seasons of a show that she would probably freak out about. She had never liked horror movies, she was a total wimp about that, so Ty volunteered to hold her hand if she needed to. She had to admit that perspective was appealing... Once they had eaten, Sebastian wanted to go dance, which of course made Lily super excited. Vicki had to go back to the hotel with the kids who were exhausted but Misha was up for it so they all headed to a nightclub, still in the old city. Jensen, Richard and Ty were here too. They sat at a table while Richard and Misha went to order drinks, so Sebastian took that opportunity to get to know Lily a little more. "So on a scale of 1 to 'I need a baguette right now or I'll stab someone', how much do you miss France?" he asked playfully. Lily laughed, she could tell he was happy to talk about his country as he missed it probably a lot.

"Actually, not so much. I was in Nice yesterday to visit some friends." "Oh great! I do miss it... But then when I'm in France I miss America. I'm a complicated guy." She laughed again and took a sip of the drink Misha just brought her. "Oh jeez, what it this? It's strong!" "It's called 'Angelo Azzuro'. I liked the name." He winked at her and she snorted. "Of course you did." Jensen sat in the booth facing Lily, an amused expression on his face.

“Any weird and embarrassing childhood stories you can tell us so we can pick on Misha for the rest of his life?”

Lily turned to look at Misha. Of course a lot happened, but she couldn’t think of something specific at that moment, especially after drinking such a strong cocktail.

“I don’t know… The Angelo Azzuro is kinda making my brain feel like jelly right now so I can’t think that far back.”

Misha smiled and put his drink on the table.

“I can! I know a story… I’m not sure it’s appropriate though.”

“Oh come on!” Jensen grunted. “No fans here, it’s just us, spit it out.”

He glanced at Lily, silently asking her permission, but she had no idea what he had in mind so she just shrugged.

“I’m actually remembering the day I sneaked into your school and we ended up in the girl's bathroom-”

“Nope! Nope... shut up!” Her eyes widened and she slammed her hand on his mouth, muffling the sound of his giggles.

Naturally, it picked everyone’s curiosity.

“That sounds interesting. You wouldn’t want to disappoint us, would you?” Richard insisted.

Misha’s eyes sparkled with mischief when he thought about a way of making her move her hand from his mouth. He stuck out his tongue and licked her palm, which immediately made her jump on her seat.

“Eww! You’re gross!!”

He laughed under the look of his clueless friends.

“It’s actually a funny story, they should know.”

“Yeah, funny for you maybe! You always were the one ending up without any trouble because your mom was super cool with pretty much everything!”

He giggled even more, knowing she was absolutely right.

“I won't give too many details. Promised.”

Jensen rolled his eyes, losing patience.

“Come on, you said too much already, now we’re dying to know and we won’t let you go until it’s out.”

Lily sat back on her chair and crossed her arms in defeat. She sighed and closed her eyes, bracing herself.

“Alright, so we’d been dating for what… a year maybe, and-“

“Wow, wow, wow…” Jensen interrupted loudly. “You never said you two were dating, you said she was your old friend!”

He indeed never mentioned it to any of them, but he had nothing to hide after all. Not to them at least.

“Well duh… I was a weird and lonely fourteen guy who was living with a hot girl that cared for me, what do you think happened, smartass?”

Jensen tilted his head, looking at the ceiling.

“Ehh, fair enough. Go on.”

“Okay, so after a year, as a fifteen year-old boy full of hormones ready to explode, missing his girlfriend that didn't go to the same school, I decided to go sneak into her school, and we ended up in the girl's bathroom doing some...”

Please be wise and subtle...please, please...

“... physical exercise.”

Lily burst out laughing and hid her face in her hands, which of course, made Misha giggle once again, and everybody joined him. She then took one more sip of her cocktail.

“Was that subtle enough?”

“Yeah, yeah, just finish the damn story so I can leave and hide forever.”

“So... Darius helped me sneaking in, but being the giant dick that he still is today, he decided to have a little fun with this, knowing exactly what I had planned. He called Lily's principal, who was an old woman, to tell her what was happening in the bathroom...”

Sebastian couldn’t hold his laugh. “What a smart move!”

“I know, right? The principal, of course, took two supervisors with her, discreetly came to the bathroom to check, and heard us, but had the decency to not interrupt. What a thoughtful woman! When we came out of the bathroom stall, we were both welcomed by the woman and her two gorillas, their arms crossed and a very displeased look on their faces. Naturally, we ended up in her office and the first thing she did was to call Lily's mother, who was a very good mother BUT a very religious person who had no idea I was screwing her daughter...”

Everyone laughed heartedly, and despite the fact that the music was loud and Lily was still hiding her face behind her hands, everybody heard her desperate and embarrassed whine.

Misha tried to hold his laugh, but when she turned to look at him with her shameful eyes, blushing furiously and shaking her head, she looked so much like she did that day that he lost it and giggled hysterically.

“I was lucky to be expelled only for two weeks thanks to my family's history in the town, but I had to listen to my mom giving me the talk the whole damn evening! I had to stay locked in my room for a whole month, and was only allowed out of it to go to school or church! And you know what's not fair? When I asked my mom if she yelled at Misha, she said his mom would teach him his lesson, but she didn't know Misha's mom was so damn cool that she didn't even care he was expelled from school! Darius of course was super proud of himself, so I was the only one who got in trouble for this and felt miserable!”

Misha tried to talk between his giggles; he was breathless and had tears in his eyes.

“And your mom didn't even notice I was still sneaking into your room every night!”

Lily finally cracked too, joining everyone.

“Was it at least worth the trouble?” Sebastian asked her boldly.

“If you say no in front of them I will never talk to you again” Misha joked.

Lily scoffed and shook her head.

“I think you had enough details. But… yeah, I guess it was.”

Misha’s smile couldn’t be wider. “The principal didn’t interrupt for a reason! She heard you-”

“Alright, alright, that’s enough.” Lily raised her hand and finished her drink.

When she heard one of her favorite song, she took the opportunity to change the subject, plus she couldn't resist anymore, she just wanted to dance.

She leaned next to Misha's ear. "So tell me, after so long, have you finally learned how to sway those hips of yours?" He raised an eyebrow, a little surprised by her question. The Italian cocktail obviously made its effect on her.

"How about we find out now?” He stood up and offered his hand to her. She obliged and they walked to the dance floor. Lily looked at him dancing, very amused, unable to hold her laugh anymore. "Okay... So no is the answer to my previous question, I guess."

They always had enjoyed dancing together like dorks, but damn did he look like he had a stick up his ass when he did! "I'm afraid you'll have to teach me again." "Don't pretend I ever could teach you how to dance. Nobody can!"

They both cracked, but they didn't stop dancing. Misha was observing her carefully... She always had such a grace in her when she was dancing, whatever the music was. That's probably why she was such a talented musician; there was something between her and the music that he probably would never understand.

They were soon interrupted by Ty who tapped on Misha's shoulder. "May I borrow the miss, Mr. Collins?" "Sure... If you can keep it up." Out of breath, Misha was actually happy to go back to just chill and drink with his mates at the table after such an exhausting day. After a few minutes of talking about the weirdest photo ops they had today, Misha realized Lily was gone for a while and scanned the dance floor. She was still dancing facing Ty, his hands were both on her hips and they were laughing heartedly. And just like that, Misha suddenly couldn't concentrate on his conversation anymore. He mentally slapped himself and tried to focus on what Jensen was babbling, but he sneaked at them one more time and saw them very close... too close to each other, their bodies swaying together in rhythm with the music, and he realized he didn't like that at all, and he also hated himself for having such a stupid reaction. He stood up without a word, leaving his friends wondering what was going on, and walked towards Lily who was still obviously having a lot of fun. He grabbed her upper arm gently which made her turn around to face him and separate from Ty.

“We should go, it's late and we have to get up super early tomorrow. You coming?”

“Oh come oooon, Misha! It's been a while since I had so much fun! You go ahead if you want, I'll drive back with Ty, don't worry.”

Great... How was he supposed to object without appearing like an old jerk now? He really didn't want her to stay with Ty, who was divorced, free, and impudently flirting with her.

“Lily, you're gonna be a mess tomorrow and you'll have one hell of a hangover. You'll thank me, believe me.”

He pulled on her arm just a little, but she didn't move.

“You're the one who brought me the 'Angelo Azzuro' and now you're telling me to go to sleep? No way, Misha. I'm staying. You wanted me to come to have fun and that's exactly what I'm doing. But you can go if you're tired, it's fine, really.”

She gave him a quick peck on the cheek and turned back to face Ty who was obviously not willing to leave either.

Congratulations Misha, You're officially an idiot.

He didn't want to leave her like that, in a foreign country, on her own... or to leave her with Ty... drunk and happy and too friendly, but he had no other option left. He didn't even know for sure why he was reacting that way. He still cared for her deeply and telling all those stories about his childhood today probably contributed to accentuate this feeling of… protectiveness?

When he went back to their table, Jensen had already left with Richard. Sebastian was just waiting for him to do the same, so they did, leaving Lily and Ty behind them, still dancing like horny drunk teenagers.

...

Misha had trouble finding sleep that night, and at 5.30am, when Vicki kicked him out of the bed because she couldn't bear him rolling over every damn minute, he changed and got out for a jog, hoping it would clear his mind.

He ran in the park near their hotel for almost an hour, and when he got back he thought he could bring coffee to Lily... and see if she was in her room... alone.

So much for clearing my mind...

Again, he mentally cursed himself for his dumb and childish reaction, but he couldn't help it. He bought two coffees and some croissants and went up for her room.

When he arrived in front of her door, it opened before he could even knock and he came face to face with Ty, still wearing his clothes from the day before, who quickly greeted him and ran to go back to his hotel.

Lily smiled and told him to come in, glad he brought her coffee.

Misha felt a wave of something he couldn't describe growing inside of him. It was not a pleasant sensation and of course, he had to be condescending when he opened his mouth to talk...

“That was fast...”

Lily sat on her bed with her coffee but looked confused. She had no idea what he was talking about.

“What was fast?” She frowned.

“Well… do you really have to ask?”

Was he seriously implying what she thought he was?

“Why are you speaking to me with your daddy voice as you do with West when he does something very bad?”

That sobered him a little, but still he couldn't help the biting tone in his voice, despite his effort to not sound too harsh. He felt so stupid and immature, but he just couldn’t help it, he almost felt… betrayed.

“Why are you answering my question by another question?”

“You just did too... We can do this all morning, or you can just tell me what the hell is wrong with you right now and stop acting like an asshole.”

That weird wave grew higher in Misha's chest. Did she have to be so bitchy? Her sarcastic voice and harsh words made him feel very annoyed, and unfortunately, he spoke before thinking...

“Right, because acting like a slut with my coworker is so much better. I see you've learned a lot from your previous boyfriend...”

She froze, her half empty cup of coffee hanging in front of her open mouth. She couldn't believe he really said that to her. She must've misunderstood... Misha couldn’t do that. He couldn’t be so mean.

“What did you just say?”

He was already regretting it. Truth was she hurt his feelings. He didn’t want to admit it though, so he just wanted her to feel the same, and regarding to the pained look in her eyes, it worked. He couldn’t believe he did that… hurting her on purpose for such a lame reason. It was so not him that it scared him, and he tried to apologize.

“I… I didn’t m-“

“Leave.” She spat it in a calm but angry voice, a murderous look in her eyes, freezing Misha on his spot. After all she told him about Peter, she just couldn't believe how mean he was right now.

When he didn't move, she pushed him a little and almost screamed.

“Get the fuck out!”

Misha had the time to see her eyes turn from angry to teary, but he turned around and left the room without a word, feeling miserable and shameful. What could he do anyway? She was pissed at him, and she was right to be. He actually was pissed at himself too.

When he was gone, Lily threw her thankfully empty cup of coffee on the door and broke down crying on the floor of her hotel room, leaning against her bed.

She cried for a few minutes, wondering what the hell just happened. Misha was obviously mad at her because she didn't leave with him and preferred staying with Ty, but why? It didn't make sense at all! And why did he have to be so cruel?

Suddenly she heard a weak knock on her door and Misha's trembling voice.

“Lily... open the door, please... I'm sorry. Can we talk?”

She didn't move. If he thought she would open that door he was dreaming! She hated his stupid face and his stupid voice more than anything right now.

He gently knocked again.

“Get back to your family and your fans, Misha. I have nothing to say to you.”

“Come on. I won't leave anyway. Vicki's gonna kick my ass for being an ass with you and I won't be able to show up at the convention feeling that miserable. If I have to spend the rest of the weekend here I will, but you'll have to explain that to the people waiting for me.”

She sighed... He better have a fucking good explanation.

She wiped her face quickly and opened the door, revealing a very shamefaced Misha.

“You have two minutes before I slam you out again.” Her voice was shaky. Was it from anger or sadness, he didn't know, but he knew for sure it was because of him. He walked in and sat on her bed, sighing and hiding his face in his hands.

“I don't know what happened, Lily... I lost it when I saw Ty getting out of your room. I had no right to tell you those things and I honestly didn't mean them. I know you don't owe me any explanation, and you can do whatever you want with who you want, but the sad truth is I imagined you and Ty together and I was just...”

He didn’t finish his sentence, mostly because he didn’t even know what he felt at that moment.

Lily sighed and sat next to him, gently pulling his hands away from his face so he would look at her. She wanted to be strong and firm when asking her next question, but his face showed such a hurt expression and his eyes were red and shiny with tears, that she had a flashback and saw herself two decades ago,  trying to comfort the young Misha after he had hard times, which happened quite frequently at the time. It almost broke her heart, so her question came out as a whisper, the lump in her throat being too heavy.

“What do you think happened exactly?”

He frowned. “Well… He just got out of your room. No need to be a genius to know what happened.”

Oh Misha...

She exhaled, understanding a little better what caused his stupid reaction.

“He walks out of my room and this is what you assume? Who do you think I am?”

Misha sank into her green eyes and started to really think about what happened, and if he didn’t feel stupid before, he certainly did now. She was right… He only saw Ty getting out of her room but he actually didn’t know for sure what happened that night.

“I… He… he still had the same clothes so I just…”

“I did not spend the night with Ty, Misha… We left the club soon after you did. He gave me his jacket because I got cold but his phone was still in it so I called his hotel and he came here this morning to take it back before the convention starts.”

Just when he thought he couldn't feel any worse, she proved he was a complete idiot once again.

“I... I'm so sorry. I just... You know I would never say that to you and mean it, right? You know me.”

She thought about that a moment and her voice twitched.

“Do I?”

He looked at her frowning.

“Of course you do. I'm still me.”

“Yeah… Just like I’m still me and you’re supposed to know I would never sleep with someone I’ve just met…”

Misha looked down at his feet. Did she have to remind him he acted like a jerk?

“I do know that but… God I don’t know what happened. I’m so sorry, Lily.”

“It’s fine. You've changed. We both have, that's life. I observed you yesterday, talking to those people on stage and I didn't recognize the person I saw.”

“That's because that person on stage is not truly me. Ask any actor, every single one of us: we all act eighty percent of the time we're on stage, and you know what happens when I don't act? Well... exactly what happened when I talked about your grandfather: I lose it and I tear up. And that is me.”

She turned on the bed, facing him.

“Why did you react like a giant ass?”

“I don't really know... I felt a wave of anger when I imagined... you with someone else. I had no right to feel like that in the first place. I don't know what happened to me. I was surprised to feel that way after so long. It was just stupid.”

“I get it... It happened to me too, when you told me you were married. For a brief second I felt a little sting in my chest. It was gone soon after but still, I felt it.”

He smiled and took one of her hands in his, sighed and looked into her shiny eyes.

“You know what I just realized? We never had closure. At least I never had closure. When you... When I thought you died I searched for you, I only found a grave with no names, and it wasn’t enough for me to move on. We never broke up, we were just torn apart by a cruel and unfair fate when we were still deeply in love so... I've never said to myself I had to stop... loving you. You were just gone, but that didn't stop me from loving you and craving you. And then I met Vicki and we dated and we married and we had kids and it felt good and it still feels perfect... but still, all that time I've never refrained myself from loving you, because I've never needed to, and it just backfired on me a few minutes ago.”

Oh God... What was she supposed to say after that?

“Do you still… need closure?”

He tilted his head and frowned, surprised by her question.

“Why do you ask? You wanna break up with me now?”

“Well if I have to...”

He considered it for a few seconds, still observing her closely, and a tiny smile appeared on his face. He suddenly wanted to test a theory, hoping it wouldn't backfire on him one more time.

“Okay... go ahead.”

He crossed his arms and waited patiently, leaning on the bed board.

Was he serious? She needed to break up with him after a lifetime being apart?

“Well, fine... Misha...” she started, and then coughed. She was still looking into his eyes... Did she really have to do that looking into his piercing blue eyes? That was kinda cruel.

“I...” She cleared her throat again. “We need to...”

Oh my God Lily just say it, don't be a wimp!

She needed to tell him it was over. And it really was, he was married to another woman, he had kids... So yeah... She needed to say she wanted to end this. It was supposed to end a long time ago. It was all true and reasonable. It was the right thing to do.

And yet... She couldn't find the nerves to say it out loud facing him.

“Okay, you took me by surprise, I will do it but I need to... be prepared.”

His smile widened. He was right... He knew she couldn't do that.

“Right. You know, I would understand if you don't want it.” His voice was kinky now, he clearly wanted to tease her, and yet she couldn't help babbling.

“What? No! I mean yes! It needs to be done. We need closure. You're right... You're absolutely right. I mean you need closure. I don't.”

“You sure? Because I can break up with you right now if you need me to.”

“I don't. Remember when you said 'I'm married, her name is Vicki, we have two kids?' Well... that was my closure.”

“Right... and it stung a little. Your words.” He smirked.

“Yep... just like it did for you a few minutes ago when you called me a slut. That's because it stung a little. Except I handled it much better than you did!”

Oh snap!

He looked down, ashamed of himself.

“I'm sorry. Told you I didn't mean it. But yes... It did hurt like a bitch to see you with someone else. That was more than a little sting for me, and I'm not ashamed to admit it.”

She looked at his hands and saw his wedding ring.

“You know... If it can make you feel a bit better... I wasn’t exactly a big fan of your married status either when you told me... And I kinda hated to admit you have an amazing wife. It would’ve been great if she’d been a real bitch that I could hate.” She made a face and rolled her eyes, which made Misha laugh.

“Says the one who doesn't need closure! You know what we should actually do? We should go back to Northfield together, and finally turn that page together. Just us. No wife, no kids. Then it will be over. That will be the end of our past relationship and the beginning of a new one.”

That wasn't a bad idea after all...

“Okay. Deal. We'll do that.” She smiled and nodded.

“Can I have a hug? Am I forgiven?”

She laughed softly and leaned forward to hug him, resting her chin on his shoulder.

“You're forgiven. But if it happens again, I'll kick your ass.”

He turned his head and placed a soft kiss on the side of her forehead.

“I'll try to remember that.”

“Alright, let's move, I'm sure you're late already.”

She let go of him, he stood up and walked to the door to leave.

“Probably... but they're used to it.” He winked and stepped out of the room.

He closed the door behind him. Lily was still sitting on her bed. She sighed heavily and went in the bathroom to get ready for the last day of the convention.

[pr-pr]

Long suicidal rant.

Clickbait? Yes, unapologetically so. Just for that fractional chance that someone would give a damn even though this post is super useless and shitty and pointless, like me.  

.

.

So I remember high school very differently from one of my best friends. He said something I thought I’d never hear, that I was always happy. I guess I was happy around him. He was and is a happy person—the most stable person I know, in fact. We just talked a lot, and we got to talk about a lot of things and still do. Still, I remember high school so differently. We hung out during break times when I’d fawn over a crush, chat, or just chill. Or sometimes we’d cut classes together and just chat. Or go for a jog and end up just eating ice cream.

I remembered high school differently. I remember coming home from senior prom and hysterically crying myself to sleep because I’d failed to make one romantic connection the whole four years and it made me feel ugly and unloveable to the bone. Prom simply wasn’t special for people like me—ones who didn’t star in the romcom, random background extras, a snippet in the burn book. I remember going home and hating school so much I felt suicidal every night. I remember writing a short story about killing myself with shrimps and ascorbic acid—I was a nerdy kid. I remember diagnosing myself bipolar because of the experience. I remember being bullied and just sticking to my diaries. I remember failing at math no matter how hard I tried. I remember begging my parents to put me into a different school.

Of course, I also remember finding ways to cut classes so I can paint and debate the whole day—two of my favorite things to do. I also remember the great times with friends and hiding behind a pillar just so we don’t go through another boring class. I remember the laughs, the platters of instant noodles, the spots I’d linger at to see my crush. I remember it all.

I think of high school and I feel so many things colliding, so many colors bursting. All my memories are like so. And my friends tend to remember them differently. I was this, I was that. I was bubbly, I was friendly—but inside I was battling with social anxiety. They don’t know about how many hours I battled in the morning just to get up, just NOT to give up entirely. There were days I hated my friends because I just didn’t want to wake up and meet them—I just wanted to die instead.

I forget that people don’t actually hear my thoughts out loud. If they did, they’d be so turned off. I’m just such a party pooper inside. I’m always scared, always just wanting to fucking die. It began when I was four—that feeling that everything would be better off with my disappearance. My inability to carry on a suicide plan, really, up to this day, I consider a weakness, a form of indecisiveness, lackluster ambivalence.

I’ve had many dreams, of which dying has been the only consistent one. This doesn’t mean that people see me as emo, gothic or always wearing black. Far from it. I dress in rainbows. My favorite color has always been yellow. Specifically egg yolk yellow, Mercedes de Brazo yellow or that yellow dress I had as a child with the corset back I stopped wearing once it freaked out my mom because I had sleep walked in it.

No, I’m actually quite the party with the people I trust. I get it going. Ask around, you’ll see. It’s called hypomania after all. Still, it all crashes. It always does in a ball of flames and I get lonely again. I feel like a fucking freak again.

And I’m sooooo tired. I’m so tired of all this cycling. People don’t actually see me at my worst. Only my mom and sister do. They don’t see me when I just can’t fucking move. They don’t see me when I have panic attacks. They don’t see me when I descend and break down. They don’t see me starving for days. They don’t see me crying uncontrollably. They don’t see me curl up in a ball. They don’t see me shaking and twitching in a corner. They don’t see me when I bang my head on the wall or start hitting myself. They don’t see me when it hurts and I feel my brain is on fire. They don’t see me when I’m all alone and everyone is asleep and I’m still typing all this shit out trying to make sense of something, trying to find a reason to stay alive.

It’s so fucking hard. Sorry for the French. Sorry ma. Sorry God. Sorry! But life feels like torture right now. I’m just so tired and everything is forcing me to move like I’ve caught my foot on a roller coaster.

Life can be good. Of course. Life can be so fucking good. Especially when I’m in love. But life right now is hell for me. I’m doing stuff I love, sure, but fucking shit! Motherfucking  goats on a ladder, monkey fucking balls, jizz dripping dick, shit show. I’m fucking lonely as fuck. I feel like I’m on an island away from civilization. If I want to be cute about it, I feel like I’m stuck in a tower with fucking guard dragons named Penniless and Insanity.

Life feels like hell for me. I’m fucking burning and I just won’t die. Sure, hell is much worse, but fucking shit, you haven’t been in my head. God! Why? I just feel so fucking frustrated. Is there no way out?

I’m writing my shit, right? Just fucking finish this shit so I can pass it to Palanca which I won’t win anyway. I’m not getting my hopes up. But I want to finish it for the sake of finishing it. I know it’s not much. It’s just about time and unrequited love after all. There’s tons of other stuff like it. Still, STILL. I just want the satisfaction of finishing something. Having some sort of closure. BUT IT JUST WON’T END. I have the middle and end, but there’s that chunk, that problem solving part that just won’t come. You know why? Because I’m trying to write the solution to a problem I currently have no answer to. I’m asking questions I don’t know the answer to. It’s high school all over again, reading the same math problem over and over again and still having no fucking clue, that i wind up fucking crying. 

How do I cope with rejection? How do I become a better me? How do I be independent? Can i just insert “to be continued” in the middle of a screenplay?

Maybe my shrink knows the answer. I haven’t seen her in a while. Honestly, because I can’t fucking afford her like I can’t fucking afford meeting people right now even with isolation fucking driving me fucking mad.

Questions to ask my shrink:

What am I supposed to do when I’m suicidal?

Some people think I’m always happy, should I correct them?

How to not be a party pooper when telling people I’m fucking crazy?

 I think I might have over skinned my lips. Fucking burns. 

This feels just so dumb. Writing this shit down. No one’s ever going to read it. No one’s ever going to understand me. All my life has been about trying to make people understand just so I can feel a little fucking less lonely. Nothing’s changed. People don’t know me. I’m either sunshine or a storm cloud.

Sometimes I wish I could chop off my legs so people could see why I can’t run, walk or just stand. Like yeah. At least now they can see. It’s not like I want a pity party. I don’t. But I want to be understood. I want someone who gets it.

I wish I could treat this. I wish meds will make this go away. But it’ll just manage it. And when I get rid of the deepest blues, I get rid of the brightest yellows and I’ll just have nothing to live for anyway. How the fuck do I live?

I constantly feel fucking worthless and useless. I know it’s the disorder, but it’s not like I can get rid of the disorder. It might as well be an organ on its own really.

I just want to die so badly. I’ve just just had enough. My head’s hurt for what, how many decades now? It just burns and aches and vibrates and spreads throughout my body and nobody understands. I don’t want to feel this way. I don’t want to be scared.

The paranoia doesn’t help. Yeah, you can say it’s kept me alive, the whole panoptical life caused by years of trauma of mom reading my diaries, notes, letters, and text messages. Fucking motherfucking shit. It’s kept me alive in a way. I don’t do drugs, sex and very seldom drabble in legal potent substances. I very seldom lie. I can’t even leave the house without telling my mom. I’m “good” because I just live in constant fear of myself. I feel like everything is a gateway for worse things. I can’t let go. I can’t breathe. I wish I could just be.

I wish I could just breathe. I wish the pain would stop. I wish someone would get it. I wish I was worth it. I wish people believed in me. I wish he never had to leave me. I wish he loved me back. I wish my dad wasn’t an asshole. I wish my dad just loved my family. I wish my mom was ok. I wish I wasn’t so traumatized. I wish I could travel. I wish, I wish, I wish. We can’t have everything we want now.

Look, I have a lot. I got a great education. I got good grades even. I got an okay face. Mom says I’m too pretty, but she’s my mom, of course she’d say that. My mom also says my ass is wide but not big—which is bad because I don’t do enough exercise.

Fuck.

I have a lot to be grateful about. I can write—though no one fucking reads me. I can paint—there’s a giant blank canvass upstairs but no fucking paint (for weeks I SOUGHT). I can cook—as much as the next internet aficionado with taste buds. I can…

I can die.

The thought soothes me. Comforts me. I’ve told my doctor many times before but drowned it out with jokes and I’m okays. She counter checks with my mom who still wishes that all this was controllable, was just imagined. Can’t blame her. I, too, wish this was just a nightmare I could wake up from.

Pinch. No! Haha!

It’s reality. I’m suicidal and I don’t know what I can do about it. It’s not like I’m actively trying. I’m just always considering how much better it would be on the other side. I keep thinking about overdosing on chocolate or eating too much fatty stuff that liver cirrhosis occurs. I keep thinking of finishing something great, an obra maestra, then just jumping off a building or some shit. Anything really. I don’t know.

Sometimes, it scares me, up close. Like that heart attack scare, I thought I wanted to live. But wanting to live is such a fleeting thing. What is more constant, what nags at my brain everyday is what if, what if!!! WHAT IF THIS ALL JUST ENDS.

Maybe this is just a call for attention. But I’m sort of tired of the attention too. I’m so tired of telling people how miserable I am and them filing it in a folder under my name. “Jasper, sap.” “Jasper, toxic.” I’m tired of wearing people thin. If I die, it’ll be like pulling off a band aid, really. Quick. Not like this. A long torturous whine. My existence is like the nails on the chalkboard.

I scratched the blackboard once or twice and it caught my crush’s attention. I kinda enjoyed it. Few times I existed in his orbit, even if it was in the world’s most annoying form. Gold.

This is why my humor is dark. It’s the only way I fucking survive. Laughing at myself. At the in-credulousness of it all. Of existing in spite. Of living through pain for nothing. Ha! Pathetic! To detach myself from myself, so I can look from above and laugh at me as I trip on my own fucking feet—my reason for living.

I’m hilarious. How I blunder through life. How I almost got suspended once because some girls gossiped about my armpit hair. How I fell in love with a man who felt absolutely nothing for me. You know why I fell for him? Because I’d never felt so loved before. Ha! Amazing. Just hilarious.

I don’t want your pity. I don’t even want you to fucking worry. I’m not going to kill myself. I don’t need you to tell me that I don’t seem crazy. Telling me that makes me feel like I just imagined my whole diagnosis you know, and that my brand of fucked up is way beyond medical science. I just want to be underfuckingstood.

Is that so hard?

I didn’t know that a movie about aliens was going to be the movie of my life. I’ve never felt so understood until the movie Arrival, it’s hilarious. I feel like I’m just talking alien and the only solution to my problem is to write a book in the future about it. Fucking shit. I experience life, also, I realized like an alien. Always experiencing everything in the context of the future and past. Everything to me is in medias res. I don’t understand linearity. That’s why I’m always lost. Left and right is a circle to me. Everything is so fucking nonlinear my brain is constantly overwhelmed. Am I happy? Am I sad? I don’t know. Hence my trademark HUHUHAHA/HAHAHUHU. Sort of sounds like a monkey.

WHINE WHINE WHINE

Who the fuck will ever read this shit.  NO fucking one.

My whole life I dedicated to be understood--my whole college thesis all about it. In the words of Ursula: Pathetic.

I remember in fourth grade was it? Yeah, probably. I used abstract art to tell my dad that I knew his deepest darkest secret and he was the asshole of my life. Of course he didn’t get it. I abstracted it for a reason.

Life is like a knot. I don’t know where it ends or begins—all I see is that it’s a tangle I can’t solve.

I’m so fucking needy.

I know the answer isn’t love. Pop culture would tell you it is. It’s not. But what if medication doesn’t help? HOPELESS FuCKiNG SHIT.

One day, I ask the wind, the farts I make when everyone is asleep, will I grow thin? Will I just snap? Will I just finally have enough? Will the guilt of leaving my family behind finally be secondary to my suffering?

Someone has it worse—they say. I just don’t like that saying. Like fuck that shit. FUCK THAT SHIT. Someone always has it worse, doesn’t cancel out the fucking chronic pain of my life. Now I have to feel guilty for feeling bad on top of feeling guilty for being alive? FUCK THAT SHIT.

I can’t sleep. It’s been 5 fucking pages. It’s 3 am.

I used to arrive with sappy you can do its. I don’t think I will this time.

Cheers to one day dying. Cheers to death that comes to all. Cheers to death the great equalizer. Cheers to death, my brain’s last hope for a silencer.

[cris-en-alicante]

FIXED SKY SITUATION

Text by Helen Marten

The presentation of best self is like carrying around multiple vessels of delicious liquid, dragging them up a hill and then sloshing the whole lot down your front with primal abandon: a comic opera of desperation. This is not public eminence but rather a crude dismantling of the facade called YOU. Looking at skin is like an allegory of reading. Washing it like turning the page. Public YOU and Private YOU: one or the other is always prefiguring its own irrelevance and both are bound by the radiating expressions of the face or the hands. Admitting ownership of a brain, like the growing of a population, is to perch on something solid and substantial for more than a second.

The signature or act of naming oneself is tied to a similar linguistic subjectivity. Even the initials of one’s name wilt or bend on demand, as if racing along towards a newly melodic sense of being, a name breathed in italics like a synthetically chemical personhood dashing towards a black hole. The question might be how to start afresh. How to fluff up the soapsuds, peek out from the shower curtain and move on to another personality.

At that speed, something is always going to happen. You can follow it to the point of treachery.

Lines of writing connect to lines of universal matter: things move from a literal A to a literal B and en route, there is myth, misfortune, horror and luck. Intense molecular lives are positioned like photographs where we look at the remnants in high definition and say: how could this have happened. Socks, bedrolls, drainage – the whole micropolitics of a simple conversation is made part of the flow. Great aggregates of lives and people are difficult to smash into well-composed segments.

What might be done to sabotage terrestrial laws is to look at everything from above. The unique relationships between the bookkeeper, the butcher, the sailor, the walker, the dreamer, the fool are all lines joined at altitude. YOU, THEM, US: Is a misshapen figure with bumpy contours even a person at all? The great unconscious mass of a people is all at once fragile and awful and wondrous. Because remember: what is a body but a great barrel of protein rolled from one hoppy stink to another. Sludge is a stand in for bodies unwanted. It is run off, drainage, coagulation. Water unites and breaks us. Bodies recourse to their fluids, their water, their liquid in the abyss. Or back to their minerals, their calcium and phosphorus, shaking sugar into the hairs on ones arms just to notice the pores. A river too can be scorched dry. Or a kettle boiled so harshly it scales to lime on the spot. There are hundreds of millions of tons of salt in our Oceans. This is chemical fidelity, our mutual water fidelity.

We are hosted on this planet, we forget, but the house is the geometrical instrument which gives abstract things place for purpose. It holds sequences that connect with one another following specific coordinates. The house has its own peculiar cellular chemistry. Its code and its territory. The house has its organs, its sagging walls and ailing roofs. Even its decay is a type of architecture. An exploded-view-diagram maps the chaos and lends organisation to the direction that feet might take, the angle at which a tired bottom might perch to take in the view.

The Eames’ picnic taught us the speed of perspective interchange, how quickly that single second down on the earth feeling the personal resistance of a grass stem bent out of place can be replaced with the impossible cosmic vastness of the solar system. Assemblages are operations, notes heard and answered elsewhere in a new season. These powers of infinite reflex and remove remind that you cannot return from a clean break from reality, but you can claw your way back from the debris to find love or self in the dust.

Imagine a materially more abject version of that picnic: hats that cripple the necks of the heads who wear them; beer pumped through a duck who champions the ruffled spaces of patchwork and strange secretion; candles with their very own paradox of wax and food that resists itself, referencing number rather than nutrition. The air too is a fixed sky situation, watched eagerly by farmers or nomads who invent a new agriculture for their weird decelerations. All of us want to be held, but contingently, the way trauma across the globe makes it difficult to see all marks without assigning them each value. Maybe muscles solidify in fury or desperation. And in this way, the harder you try to describe the people and the chemistry of their peripheral space, the easier it is to picture animals.