#I don't know what to even say about this chapter

[murdockcastleslut]

meddle about

an outerbanks band au! | a jj maybank and rafe cameron smau

synopsis: after competing and winning the battle of the bands, the sirens were offered a record deal, launching them into stardom. when they are about to go on their first world tour, the band is faced with the decision of who they will open for them. they choose the swell, their runner-up in the battle of bands two years prior. with a rocky past with some members of the swell, y/n, the leader singer of the sirens, must tread carefully not cause anymore problems during this choatic tour.

intros | prologue | part one

tw: mentions of depression, anxiety, adhd, addiction, child abuse (emotionally and mentally), alcohol, weed, cocaine, homophobia, and sex.

word count: 2.1k

author's note: finals week kicked my ass but we slay and i put out a new chapter of something finally

thursday, august 15th, 2024

You took one last puff from your cigarette before throwing it down to the ground and smothering it with your sneaker. You let out a loud sigh before grabbing the handle of the door and walking back into the first stop of The Lie to Girls Tour. 

As you walk in you notice how the venue has come to life with roadies sending everything up for later that night. You start walking towards your dressing room when someone calls out your name. 

You turn my head and see Ward Cameron making a B-line for me. You roll my eyes and stop in front of him. 

“What do you want, Ward?” You ask the manager of The Swell and Sarah’s father. 

He gives you a sneer and folds his arms to assert dominance over you. 

“Where is Sarah?” He asks with a stern look on his face. 

I let out a chuckle. 

“I don’t know where she is, Ward, but I can be damn sure she doesn’t wanna talk to you.” You say before walking away from the older man. 

You walk towards your dressing room and look around yourself diligently hoping you don’t see him. You make it to your dressing room and open the door to see Sarah getting her hair done by the band’s hair stylist, Aubree, and Cleo getting her make-up done by the band’s make-up artist, Kimora. You walk in, letting the door close behind you, and go straight for the couch that Kie is sitting on and lay your head on her lap.

“Your dad’s a dick, Sarah,” I say with my eyes closed enjoying the atmosphere of the room. Kite lets out a muted snort. 

“I know he is, but what did he do now?” She asks, twisting to look behind her at you on the couch. 

“Nothin, just asked where you were. But I guess he didn’t even bother to look because anyone else could have told him that you were here.” 

“Did you tell him where I was ?”

“Fuck no, that would mean I would have to spend five minutes walking with him here. I would rather spend the night in whatever torture chamber Satan's got prepared for that man.” 

The whole room laughs but you. You weren’t joking, you were serious. 

“How’d you even bump into him girlie?” Cleo asks? 

“Went for a smoke out on the side.” You reply nonchalantly. 

Everyone in the room this time groans. 

“I don’t like this judgment I’m getting from everyone. I hardly smoke cigs anymore! We are Texas and I’m not tryna get arrested before we have even gotten on stage.” I defend. 

“I guess that’s acceptable,” Kie says, tapping your nose. 

You scrunch your face at her. 

“So how are you girls feeling? The first night of your basically sold-out tour.” Aubree asks as she finishes the final curls on Sarah’s hair. 

“So excited, man. I have a good feeling about tonight.” Cleo smiles. 

“Oh my god, knock on wood right now, Cleo! You’re gonna jinx us!” You exclaim sitting up from Kie’s lap. 

“I don't think it’s…”

“I swear to god, you better knock.” 

Cleo doesn’t say anything but rolls her eyes and knocks on the ledge of the vanity in front of her. 

Kie looks at you and sighs. 

“Babe I mean this in the nicest way possible, did you take your meds today?” She questions. 

“Yes, I did.” You roll your eyes at her question. 

“So excited and nervous.” Aubree takes it away. 

“She’s just nervous about interacting with JJ.” Sarah spills.

“What the fuck! No, I am not! I could care less what the dipshit thinks.” You refute. 

Just as you finish, the band stylist, Jess, walks into the dressing room holding everyone’s outfit. 

“So you didn’t text me saying you literally have to look sexier than sexy this whole tour to show JJ he’s an idiot.” Jess chimes in.

You let out a loud groan. 

“Damn it, Jess. You just fucked my whole I don’t care vibe.” You whine. 

Everyone lets out a chuckle at your reaction. 

“Well, I’ll have you know that the outfit I picked up is killer.” Jess smiles. 

“Lemme see!” You sit up excited like a child at Christmas. 

She puts all the outfits on the rack and pulls out yours. 

Everyone in the room, oohs and ahhs. 

“Oh Jess, you are a magic baby!” You laugh. 

She smiles and shakes her head and walks over to you to give you the hanger. 

“Get changed, I wanna see how it looks on you.” She demands. 

“Yes, ma’am.” You smile and get up off the couch. You go behind the divider and get undressed and put on the outfit that she had chosen for you. 

You get changed into a faux leather corset and a black faux leather skirt. 

When you step out from behind the divider, everyone in the room whoops and whistles. 

“Get in my chair now,” Aubree exclaims. “I have the best idea.” 

You giggle and nod excited to see what she had in store for your hair. As Aubree works on your hair, Kimora starts on your make-up. 

The room is filled with laughter, music, and singing. Aubree is done with your hair pulled into a slick back 90’s spiky bun when there’s a knock on the door. She gives your hair one more spritz of hairspray before going to grab the door. 

When she opens the door, the once loud and obvious room is now dead silent. JJ Maybank is standing in front of the door. 

He looks around uneasily and then looks at you. He is in awe of the way you look. 

“Is there a reason you’re here?” Aubree sneers at him in an unkind tone. 

“Uh-uh i-uh..” He keeps staring at you. 

“Yo pervert, either say something or get out.” Kimora scolds him.

“Yeah- uh sorry,” he keeps his eyes on you. “Ward sent me to get you, says Minerva is looking for you.”

You scrunch your eyebrows in confusion. What the fuck? You think to yourself. 

“Anything else?” Kimora questions, their tone suggesting he’d leave. 

“He said I had to walk you there…” He hesitates. 

“She’ll be out in a minute.” She says before shutting the door in his face.

You turn to the other girls with your eyes widened in confusion. They all shrug at you not knowing what is going on. You look at Sarah and mouth Your dad’s a dick. She sighs heavily and nods. 

You look around the floor and put on your Doc Martens. 

“Fucking bastard.” You mumble to yourself about Ward before opening the door. 

You look at JJ with a sneer and wait for him to lead you to Minnie. 

“So uh- I’m…” He stutters out and you cut him off with a glare. 

The rest of the way to Minnie was silent. He did not try to utter another word to you. 

When you find her, she is surrounded by roadies asking her questions about the final touches on the venue. 

When she sees you and JJ together she gives you a strained smile. She knows that this is not a situation you want to be in. 

“Thank you, Jackson. You can leave us.” She says coldly and wraps her arm around your shoulder. You giggle when she calls him his legal name and wrap your arm around her waist. 

“You look like a good kid, everyone did you up real pretty.” She smiles down at you. 

“They did, this team might be my favorite.” You smile up at her. 

“Good, good…” She says as the two of you walk. “I gotta ask you a favor and I know you don’t wanna do it but Ward Cameron is up my ass and if I know if we make a fuss, which I want to, things will get leaked to the press and none of you kids need that right now.” 

“What do you need, Minnie?” You furrow your brow. 

“I need you, specifically, to sing a song with one of the members of The Swell. Ward wants it to be JJ for publicity to say there is no bad blood between the two of you, but he can kiss my ass. That is up to you to forgive him and only you, hun.” 

“Jesus Min, this man is gonna be a pain in our asses all tour isn’t he?”

Minnie nods and that is all you need to know that it is going to be a long tour. 

“Alright, I’ll do it. And I’m choosing the song.” You say. 

“Sounds good to me. Break a leg, you’re gonna kill out there.” She offers a kind smile before reaching five steps away from you and she is surrounded by people who need to ask her questions. 

You turn around and go back towards the dressing rooms. You look around looking for the name you need. You go up to the door and knock. 

The door opens and you have a smirk up at him. 

“How would you like to piss off your dad tonight.” You ask. 

He doesn’t respond with words but instead, a sly smirk spreads across his face and he opens the door wider so that you can step inside. 

—

The crowd was electric tonight. Even though most of The Swell’s songs were unknown to the crowd, they enjoyed it very much and it definitely helped that all the members were attractive. 

You stand backstage getting mixed up as you watch from the sidelines. As the last song comes to an end JJ goes up to the middle mic. 

“How’d y’all like that one?” He asks the crowd. They cheer and scream to show their enthusiasm. 

“Good, good,” He chuckles into the mic. “Now I’m gonna hand this over to Rafe.” 

Rafe is up from his drum set and someone is already taking his place. He runs up and daps up JJ before taking his place in front of the mic. 

“Now, if you’re a fan of The Swell, you’ll know I don’t sing up in the front often but I wanted to treat y’all for the first show. And as for something extra special, I have a guest. But your hands together for Y/N L/N of The Sirens, everybody!” He exclaims. 

The crowd goes while as your name is said and you step out on the stage. You give the band members a wave except JJ and head on over to Rafe. 

“Hey, everyone, are these guys treating you well?” You ask into the mic. The crowd cheers in response. You smile seeing everyone enjoying themselves. 

“I'm glad, so I have a question,” You look at the crowd. “Do y’all know Perfect by One Direction?” 

The crowd erupts in total chaos. 

“Seems like they know it, pretty girl.” Rafe flirts. You give him a smirk and move in closer. 

“Seems like it, so y’all are gonna sing along with us?” The crowd erupts once again in cheers. “Alright let’s do it.” You smile at the crowd. 

The music starts playing and you sway your body to the music coming from your ears. Rafe brings the mic to his lips and winks at you before he sings. 

“I might never be your knight in shining' armor, I might never be the home you take home to Mother,” He sings to the audience. “And I might never be the one who brings you flowers,” He turns to you while pointing at himself and sings “I can be the one, be the one tonight.” 

The crowd screams loving the chemistry the two of you are displaying 

“ When I first saw you from across the room I could tell that you were curious,” You sing, looking up at him and checking him out. 

“Oh, yeah,” The whole band harmonizes with you. 

“Boy, I hope you’re sure what you’re looking for ‘cause I’m not good at making promises” You riff. 

You and the whole band sing the chorus. But as you sing your eyes are locked on Rafe and his eyes are locked with yours. 

When everyone gets to the line, “If you like to do the things we shouldn’t do,” you and Rafe are close. He has one hand on the mic and the other on your waist. You have two arms around his shoulders sharing the mic he was sharing. His gaze is locked with yours not daring to look away. 

For the rest of the song the two of you are never less than a foot apart and when you are close one of you is touching the other. It was like you were the only people on stage even though you were performing in front of thousands.

Although you never looked away from the audience or Rafe, the one thing you could feel was JJ’s burning jealous gaze on your back. 

after the concert...

taglist: @ivysprophecy @kimoralov3 @arkofblake @eddsthemunson @zyafics @papercranesandinkstains @jjslaybank @isnt-itstrange @ayy1234567 @upsidedownjill @mads-writes-vibes @shincidios @hittmeandtellmeyouremine @mattslutiolo @xoxo-ada @mariamsdison6-blog @eternallovers65 @smootbrainchicken @starsval @writer-who-rarely-writes @whorelaud @ame1le @me-ig1 @marleymarleymarleymarley @cassiewritessalot @everinlove @robinsgrl

[potatoplace]

I Don't Feel Alive

The Afterthought: Chapter 4 | series masterlist

ACOTAR x Archeron!Reader

part 3 | part 5 | ACOTAR x reader masterlist

Story Summary: Starfall means dress shopping, and dress shopping means spending time with Nesta and Elain... the celebration is its own set of challenges that you struggle with.

Warnings: Body shaming, toxic family, slight disordered eating, suicidal ideation, self-deprecating thoughts (let me know if I missed anything)

Words: ~9.2k

Author's Note: it's heeeere I didn't get quite as far into the story as I wanted, but this was a good cut off point too. I really hope you guys like this one! I don't think I made it quite angsty enough, but there's still some. Plus a lil fluff to start. Enjoy! p.s. let me know who you think Y/N will end up with! Or anything else you have to say 🫶

18+ only pls

🤍🤍❣️🤍🤍

Your dreams were soft and fuzzy, filled with hazy scenes of you laying in bed and cuddling with your sisters, just like you had every night so long ago.

Waking felt similar, your body cocooned by soft blankets and warm arms, your own wrapped around someone's torso. You took a deep breath before opening your eyes, blinking them a few times to adjust to the sunlight filtering in through the curtains.

Mor's face was laying on the pillow in front of you, still relaxed with sleep. She looked even prettier like this, without stress and her busy schedule hanging over her.

You slowly unwrapped your arms from around her, taking care to not wake her. She deserved the extra sleep, with how much time she was going to be spending in the Hewn City through the end of the year.

You rolled onto your back, Mor's arms tightening around you as you did. It felt nice, being held again. In the past two years, you had forgotten how lovely it was to wake up feeling safe, snuggled up with your sisters.

The sound of Mor's soft, even breaths nearly lulled you asleep, before your eyes flew open.

Shoot! You had forgotten Nuala and Cerridwen's Solstice presents...

Mor's arms were gently pried from your body, which was harder to do than you had anticipated, but you managed without waking her.

You pulled on a dressing gown and quietly grabbed the two bags containing their presents. Your bedroom door snicked shut behind you, and you padded down the hallway, down the stairs, and to their bedroom. One knock had the door swinging open, this time greeted by Cerridwen.

"Y/N? Did you need something?" The wraith asked, her eyes widening slightly when she saw the presents in your hand. "Oh, you didn't have to do that, Y/N," she said, letting you into their room.

"But I wanted to, both of you have been so wonderful to me. And I already got them for you, so you have to open them," you insisted, placing each bag in their new owner's hands.

Nuala shook her head but opened her present anyways, a wide smile overtaking her face. "This is wonderful Y/N! Oh and you even got me metal threads, how did you know?!" The wraith embraced you tightly in her arms.

"And you remembered me complaining about my needles, oh mother, Y/N, you are the most thoughtful person!" Cerrdiwen exclaimed, stealing you from her sister's arms. "You will be the first person I make something for," she said after she loosened her hold on you.

"You don't need to do that..."

Cerridwen looked at you sharply. "Yes I do, and I will. Would you prefer a hat or scarf first? Oh, I'll just make you both," she finished, not giving you time to answer.

"Thank you in advance, I suppose," you said, blush dusting your cheeks. "I'm glad both of you liked your gifts."

"Of course we do! You pay so much attention to what you buy for people, it's so sweet," Nuala said kindly.

A heavier blush rose to your cheeks at their sweet words. "I just like to make people happy. Speaking of which, I should get back to Mor-"

"Back to me? But I'm right here!" Mor said brightly from behind you, causing you to jump in shock. "Sorry, Y/N, did I scare you?" Mor's arms wrapped around you from behind. "You left me, so I came down to find you. Want to do breakfast before everyone returns?"

You nodded in agreement, but turned your eyes to the twins. "Do you want to join us?"

"I'd love to," Nuala said, and Cerridwen nodded her head before replying the same.

"Girls' breakfast! Let's go!" Mor exclaimed, pulling you out of the twins' room, down the hall, and into the kitchen.

The twins trailed behind at a less excited pace, and met the two of you in the kitchen as Mor was pulling food out of the cold box. Bacon, sausages, eggs, broccoli, and cheese were taken out, and the four of you began making breakfast- most likely too much food for the four of you, but Mor insisted that once Cassian had returned he would eat any food that was left over.

You provided the tea, rushing upstairs to pick out an orange and ginger tea.

Breakfast with the three of them was lovely, only kind words and soft smiles being exchanged between you. It was much more peaceful than most of the meals you had taken at the dining table, and for that you were grateful.

Your sisters, their mates, and Azriel returned while the four of you were still gathered round the table, talking over the last of the second pot of tea you'd made.

"Good morning, ladies," Rhys said as he slipped into one of the chairs, pulling a glowing Feyre into his lap a moment later. "Did you have a good breakfast?"

You nodded in response, but it was Mor who spoke. "Yes, in a team effort we made far too much food. What about you lot?"

"It was good, but there wasn't enough," Cassian complained as he sat down, plucking a piece of bacon off of a plate. You smiled at his antics, you'd always found it funny how the male never seemed to be truly full.

"There's never enough for you, Cass," Nesta said as she took the seat next to him- directly across from you- and glared hard enough at you that the small smile on your face fell off in an instant.

"That's true, even though he devoured all of the sweets you gave him, Y/N, he was asking for more the moment they were gone," Lucien laughed as he did the same as Rhys, pulling Elain into his lap in the chair next to yours.

Fear clutched at your heart, though you knew it shouldn't. But the thought of Cassian enjoying the sweets you had made so much that he asked for more... You were scared of how Nesta might retaliate this time.

You tried to keep your breathing even as the conversation passed from one ear to the other, no words registering as they spoke.

"Y/N?" Feyre's soft voice broke through, pulling you out of your worried heart and back into the moment. "You're still up to go dress shopping with us tomorrow, right?"

Your eyes flicked up to her, then to her mate behind her who had a stern look on his face. You forced your eyes back to her slightly worried ones, focusing on the gentle blue that you'd known your whole life. "Uhm... Yes, I am," you managed to respond once you had played the question over in your head.

"Good! We were all thinking that noon would be a fine time to leave, that way the three of us can sleep in a bit after the revel tonight. Does that sound good to you?"

You could feel Nesta's burning gaze and Elain's judgemental eyes on you, stoking the fire of your fear.

"That sounds fine to me, Feyre," you replied, fingers working nervously over the painted irises on your teacup, focusing on the tiny ridges that the paint had created, your gaze now trained on them.

Better than seeing the hatred in Nesta's eyes.

"Perfect! Now that that's settled, I think we should all get to perfecting the revel for tonight," Feyre said, causing movement from all around the table.

Except you.

You sat, staring at your teacup until everyone was gone, disappeared off to their rooms or offices, or wherever they needed to be.

That left you to clear the plates, quickly washing the dishes and leaving them to dry in the rack. Your teapot was dried by hand, and filled with tea leaves and hot water once more. Thankfully you were able to retreat to your room without question, letting you escape back into your fantasy world you had created in your mind. Away from Nesta and Elain's combined ire, combined disdain for your very existence.

The lovely jasmine tea Azriel had gifted you helped you forget where you were, nearly convincing yourself you were back in the human lands, sipping tea in the living room with your father as you watched snow fall and bury that tiny little shack, falling asleep to the thought of it in your arm chair.

🤍🤍💔🤍🤍

The next morning, you forced yourself from the arm chair, stretching out your neck as you did.

Somehow, it was less comfortable than sleeping in the bathtub.

Your soreness abated as you slid into steaming water, bubbling with rose scented soap- something that you were absolutely delighted by, loving that no matter what, your body was completely covered by bubbles. You hardly caught sight of your skin at all, though you knew with the day's plans, you would be forced to confront how your body had changed.

You could feel it, every now and then. The way your bones protruded just a bit more than they had a month ago. How your joints got sore from sitting or laying faster than before. How pale you had become compared to this time last year, when you had a slight glow to your skin.

This year, you were pasty. As though you had been locked away from the sun the entire time.

A sigh left your lips as you finished your skincare, the one act of kindness to yourself that you always made time for.

Your body didn't matter. It's not as though you would find someone in Prythian. After all, fae and humans shouldn't mix...

Feyre had said something similar to you, so long ago about your past crush on Cassian.

Thankfully in that time, only one person had caught your eye... And you were certain that Irina would never stoop so low as to date you of all people.

Another long breath, lungs deflating.

No, you were here to be alone. Mor and Feyre had begun trying to engage with you, for that you were grateful. They were keeping you from losing all hope once more, and it was all you could do to keep that flame alive.

Especially knowing that your own issues with your body would be added to by whatever Nesta and Elain deigned to say to you. Feyre may have told them to behave, but that wouldn't stop them from throwing barbs at you, thinly veiled by concern or 'opinion.'

Your cycle had finished the night before, leaving you tired but free of its scent, which you were overly thankful for. Mor's present was very nice, but you did not want to try the underwear out while dress shopping with your sisters.

You forced yourself to get dressed and headed out of your room, noting the time on the clock in the hallway. Half past eleven.

That should be enough time for a pot of tea, maybe taken in the kitchen? Or should you retreat to your room...?

You turned around and headed back to your room for a packet of tea leaves, this one a plain green tea. After grabbing it, you made your way downstairs, ears listening for any sign of life.

Perhaps they were all asleep still, exhausted from the revel the night before.

The kitchen was empty when you entered it, and you quickly set to making your tea. A few minutes later you were sat at the island in the kitchen, a cushioned stool beneath you. The tea was lovely and calming, it's clean, slightly sea scented aroma perfect for clearing your head.

That was until Nesta and Elain sauntered in, already talking about what dress styles and colors they were hoping to find today. Their conversation didn't stop once as they walked straight past you and into the living room, the only evidence of them noticing you was the feeling of their eyes on your back.

Suddenly, your heart wasn't so calm.

Feyre walked in a minute later, rushing over to you once she saw you seated at the island. "How are you?"

"I'm... I'm okay. How are you, Fey? How's the baby?"

"Oh I'm just fine, baby was being a little fussy earlier but they're all settled now. Are you ready to leave?"

You finished the rest of your tea in a few quick gulps, enjoying the feeling of warmth it brought, and stood from your stool. "I just need to wash this, and then I'm ready," you said, already making your way to the kitchen sink. That was done in a flash, and soon Feyre was ushering the three of you out the door, Nesta and Elain immediately locking arms and taking the lead. You and Feyre trailed after them, your own arms locked together after Feyre forced her elbow around yours, smiling at you when you looked at her.

All too soon, you arrived at the dress store in the middle of the Palace of Thread and Jewels, greeted by the owner, Tarin.

"Ah, the High Lady and her sisters! This is a lucky day for me, that's for sure," Tarin exclaimed as she approached Feyre, clasping their hands together. "What can I help the four of you with?"

"We're looking for dresses for Starfall, I know we're cutting it a bit close-"

"Oh, nonsense! For the High Lady, even the day of Starfall is not too close. Please, look around and pick out what interests you, we can have them altered if need be," Tarin said, waving her arms at the racks upon racks of dresses filling the shop. "I can also have them made up in different colors, and with any variations of fabrics you may like. Any way I can please you, my dears, and I am happy to do it."

Nesta and Elain set into the sea of fabric together, keeping close to each other as they picked through the racks. You stayed near Feyre, feeling wildly out of your depth.

Shopping for Solstice was one thing, it was shopping for those you cared for. But this...

This was shopping for yourself, and you struggled more with that. Buying the hairpin that you currently had twisted in your hair was a rare action, and one of the first non-practical purchase you had made for yourself since coming to Velaris.

"How about this one?" Feyre asked you, drawing you from your thoughts as she waved a dark purple dress in front of you, it's long sleeves waving as she did so.

"It's pretty," you said absentmindedly, staring at the way the fabric shimmered in the light.

"Do you want to try it on?"

Your eyes snapped up to Feyre's. "Me?"

Feyre laughed softly. "Yes, you. The cut is similar to dresses you've worn before, and you like purple, right?"

You looked back down at the dress, taking in the modest bodice and neckline, and the long length of the dress. "I like the design, but I think I'd prefer a lighter color, Fey," you said politely, but grabbed the dress anyway. "I'll try it on, though."

"That sounds fine, we could always get it made in a lilac color if you'd like," Feyre suggested, her hands already moving over more dresses. "You can go put that at the dressing rooms, then come back and look for more, okay?"

You nodded and did as she suggested, returning to her side and half-heartedly looking over the dresses hung in front of you.

Many of them were far too revealing for your comfort, with low necklines and slits up the thigh. You did find a few you thought Feyre may like, gowns that reminded you of the shimmering night sky, and showed them to her when you happened across them.

"Oh, I love this one," Feyre gushed when she saw one you had handed her, this one a dark blue silk with a smattering of silver stars embroidered across the chest and stomach, with a sweetheart neckline. The length of the dress would like reach her mid thigh, and hang just slightly on the tiny bump that was forming on Feyre's stomach. "What do you think?" She asked, holding the dress up to her body. "High Lady of Night enough?"

Even held against her body, the dress looked perfect for her. "Definitely. You should try it on, Fey," you suggested.

"Hmm... I think I will, Y/N. Are you ready to try yours on? I think we've both got a decent number," Feyre said, slowly walking with you to the back of the shop, where the dressing rooms were located.

"I am, I think," you replied, though you were unsure of being anywhere within a ten foot radius of Nesta. Especially if she couldn't find a dress she liked...

Thankfully at the moment, Nesta and Elain were both in their own dressing rooms, trying on whichever ones they had picked out.

You and Feyre entered your own curtained room, the dresses that you had picked out hung on the hooks inside.

A quiet sigh, and you set to undressing yourself. There was no mirror in here, likely to force people out to get recommendations from their friends. The purple dress that Feyre had found was the first you tried on, the soft fabric flowing down your body like water.

It clung too much.

That was your first impression of the dress, even with the modest neckline and hem length. The soft fabric seemed to be molded to your body, and even a cursory feel of your hands over your hips had you wishing you had rejected Feyre's offer to go shopping. You did not want to hear what Nesta would say about the slight show of your bones in the dress.

"Y/N, are you almost done? We're waiting for you," Feyre said softly from the other side of the curtain, and you forced yourself out of the dressing room. "Oh, you look lovely! I think the color looks nice on you," Feyre said kindly, even as her eyes lingered over the sharp edges of your shoulders, the noticeable bump of your hip bones.

"Do you eat?" Nesta asked sharply from across the room, her nose wrinkled as she took you in. "You look like you're still living in poverty, Y/N."

Blood rushed to your cheeks at her words. They were true, though. "I eat. I've just been..." you paused, trying to find a word that wouldn't irritate your sister. "Stressed."

Nesta scoffed, but shut her mouth at a stern look from Feyre.

"The color is nice, Y/N," Elain said weakly. You forced a smile in her direction.

"Thank you, Elain. Your dress is lovely, green is a wonderful color on you," you said, taking in the flowing layers of fabric that made up the skirt of the dress, all in varying shades of dark green.

"Thank you," Elain replied, but moved her gaze to Nesta. "Nes, your dress is gorgeous. I think you should stick with that one, no need to look for others. You look perfect," Elain said excitedly, so different from her reaction to you.

You tried not to let it sting, turning instead to Feyre. She was clad in a floor length dress in black, tiny diamonds sewn on in patterns that you thought were constellations. There was a slit up to her mid thigh on both sides, allowing her to move freely. "This one is beautiful Fey, you look stunning!"

"You think? I still want to try on that last one you picked out, but I really like this one," Feyre said. "Oh, and I may have put an extra dress in your dressing room, please just try it on, I think you'll really like it. It's the pink one on the left hand side. Just, try it," Feyre begged you softly before returning to her dressing room, Nesta and Elain already back in their own.

Your mouth set into a line, you entered the curtained room again. As she said, there was a glittering pink gown hung on the left hand side when you walked in. Your mouth fell into a frown at the neckline.

Entirely too scandalous for you.

But still, you forced yourself to shed the purple dress and shimmy into the pink one as Feyre had asked. The long, flowing sleeves were off the shoulder, connected to the bodice by a small amount of fabric. The neckline of the dress was far lower than you were normally comfortable with, showing more cleavage than you ever had. The dress was loose fitting past your chest, the flowing skirts moving beautifully as you examined them. The pale rose pink of the fabric was one of your favorites, and didn't wash out your complexion. A difficult task, with how pale you are at the moment.

You walked out of the dressing room and stood in front of the mirror, assessing the dress. Your shoulders were far too bony, but even so... You felt beautiful in the dress, like a princess. The skirts reached your feet, billowing out around you. The neckline was lower than you wanted... But it looked lovely, and really, wearing one low-necked dress in your lifetime would be fine. A turn in the mirror showed you your prominent scapulae, half hidden by the fabric of the dress. That could be fixed by styling your hair in large ringlets, enough to cover most of your back. But the gown... The gown was lovely.

"Oh, I knew you would look perfect in that one!" Feyre cheered when she exited her dressing room in the dress you had picked for her. "You look amazing! Please tell me this is the one you want?" Feyre asked, standing by you as both of you stared in the mirror.

"You don't think it's too...?" You gestured to the neckline. "Revealing?"

Feyre shook her head. "No, mother no. I've worn much worse, you have nothing to worry about. It's just a little bit different than usual, is all. And it's perfect on you."

You tried to believe Feyre, and you did like the dress...

But then Nesta walked out. Her eyes narrowed and nose wrinkled as she gave you a once over, obviously displeased with how you looked.

She was so good at that. Tearing you apart with just one look.

"Your shoulders stick out," Nesta remarked as she took her place in front of the mirror, looking herself over. Her dress was made of shiny silver fabric, a corset in the same fabric serving as the bodice with thick straps wrapping over the tops of her shoulders.

You ignored her comment as best you could. "You look amazing in that dress, Nesta. The corset fits you perfectly."

A cold look over her shoulders, followed by a clipped, "Thank you."

Elain came out of her dressing room last, this time clad in a cream colored dress, looking every bit like the bride she was always destined to be.

"Oh, Elain! You look wonderful!" You said brightly as you took a step toward her, stopping when her gaze hit you- cold as ice. "This one looks very nice on you, but the last one looked amazing too," you said, more nervous now.

"Thanks," she answered coolly, setting her eyes on Feyre. "Feyre, that dress is stunning on you, and very fitting for Starfall."

You nodded in agreement, the dress was perfect for her. And just like you thought, it just barely highlighted the tiny baby bump Feyre had. The sight of it made you smile.

You were overjoyed that your sister had found a loving partner in Rhys, and was looking forward to motherhood.

"Thank you, 'Lain, I really like that it shows my bump just a bit, I think Rhys and I are ready to let our court know that we're expecting at Starfall," Feyre said excitedly, a hand stroking her belly.

"That's amazing, Feyre," Nesta said softly, sounding the kindest she had since they had been taken by Hybern.

"You'll be the talk of Starfall," Elain said, holding Feyre's hands in her own. "I'm so excited for you and Rhys!"

"I don't want to make the biggest deal out of it, after all, it's still early, but... Rhys is so excited about finally being a father, I had to talk him down from telling the Hewn City residents about it last night," Feyre sighed. "I am glad that I'm going to have all of my sisters with me, supporting me along the way, though. Thank you all for coming shopping today," Feyre said tearily.

"Of course, Feyre," you said, taking her in your arms. "We're always going to be by your side."

Elain's arms followed next, barely touching you but clutching Feyre close. "Yeah, Fey, we'll always be with you. Right, Nes?"

"Of course. I will always be here for you, Feyre," Nesta said, and reluctantly wrapped her arms around Feyre and Elain, one hand just barely touching you.

When you all pulled away, Feyre was crying softly, tears streaming down her face. You grabbed tissues from a nearby table, dabbing away the tracks of starlight on her face. "It's okay, Feyre. We're all here."

"I-I know," Feyre sniffled. "I just... I love you all so much. I can't imagine life without any of you." She let you wipe her eyes, dabbing away the last of her tears after she collected herself. "Now, let's try on the rest of the dresses, we shouldn't waste too much of Miss Tarin's time."

The four of you continued to try on dresses, with much of the same behavior. You attempted to compliment your sisters, only to be met with cold responses. If they did talk to you, it was to point out how the dress didn't suit you.

You still chose the pink dress that Feyre had chosen for you, Feyre choosing the blue one that you had picked for her. Nesta picked the silver gown. Elain had taken the longest to decide, eventually choosing the green dress she had tried on first.

Feyre had argued over the payment with Tarin, demanding that she pay full price for the rushed orders, eventually winning the argument. Nesta and Elain had left by that point, taking off to some vague location that contained books.

That left you and Feyre, walking slowly across the bridge that would lead you to the Rainbow. She wanted to look at paints, and maybe get something special for the canvases that you had gotten her.

And that's how you found yourself entering Irina's shop once more, your heartbeat kicking up when you realized it. Feyre led you to the wall of paint, her fingers hovering over the tubes as she searched for the colors she wanted.

Soft footsteps approached from the back of the shop, and you were met with Irina, her face just as beautiful as you remembered, her smile just as warm.

You could have sworn your heart skipped a beat.

"Ah, Feyre and Y/N, it's lovely to see both of you," Irina's smooth voice said. "You came in just in time, I was about to close up early."

"Lucky us!" Feyre said, eyes still glued to the paint tubes. "Any special occasion?" She asked Irina teasingly as she pulled a few out of the selection.

"Oh, hush you," Irina scolded, swatting Feyre gently on the arm. "You know that I have a date with Rivin tonight."

*Oh.

Your heart sank.

"Well, I wanted to make sure the plans were still on! You know I was rooting for the two of you to get together," Feyre said. You grabbed the paint tubes she had picked up from her, pushing her slender hand away when she attempted to take them back. Your fingers rolled over the cap, giving you a sensation to focus on besides your crushed... crush. "The way the two of you danced around each other since I first met you was adorable- I'm so glad you're going out now!"

"Well, I'll only be able to go out with her if you choose what you want soon, or she'll think I stood her up!" Irina laughed, her skin shifting colors under the light.

"Oh, fine, fine," Feyre said, pulling out three more tubes of paint, all shimmering metallic shades. You followed her as she followed Irina to the back counter, placing the tubes on it. Soon enough, the paints were rung up and bagged, and clutched tightly in your arms. "Thank you, Irina. I hope your date goes well."

"Oh, I do as well!" Irina said as she walked the two of you out of the store, locking the door behind her. "I hope the two of you have a lovely rest of your day as well."

"You as well, Irina," you said quietly, nodding your head to her before she turned to leave. She flashed you a dazzling smile, her eyes a bright pink today.

So pretty.

"I'll see the two of you around!" She yelled, waving goodbye over her shoulder.

You and Feyre began the walk home, arms linked together one more, your other balancing the bag of paint.

"How do you know Irina?" Feyre asked once you were crossing the Sidra, taking careful penguin steps so neither of you would fall on the slippery bricks.

Color rushed to your cheeks, though they were already pink from the cold. "Oh, I went into her shop to get one of your birthday presents. The canvases and all," you explained.

"Ahh, that makes sense. She's nice, and she has a great selection!" Feyre said excitedly as the two of you passed through the door of the River House. "I cannot wait to start the first three panels! I'm not quite through my third month yet, but I know some of what I want to do for it."

"I'm glad you like it Fey! I can't wait to see what you make for each one." You kicked off your boots after unlacing them, and let Feyre pull your jacket off your arms, you doing the same for her after. "I think I'm going to head up to my room," you said quietly after you hung up your coats and put your boots on the rack.

"Oh, alright. I... I hope you didn't feel too uncomfortable while shopping," Feyre said. You knew what she meant: with Nesta and Elain.

"I was... fine," you lied half-heartedly.

Feyre stared at you, and you would have thought she was reading your mind, but you didn't feel anything similar. "If you say so. You know you can talk to me, right?" You nodded. "Okay... Well, I'll let you get to your room. Did you want me to start water for tea? I was going to make a cup for myself anyway," Feyre offered, a soft smile on her face.

You nodded again. "That would be nice, thank you, Fey."

Feyre's smile broadened. "I'll see you in the kitchen, sissy."

You went to your room to grab another packet of tea from the sampler Azriel had gotten you- so far, you were a fan of every blend he had chosen. You were hoping today's choice of a rose petal tea would be just as lovely.

The trip back to the kitchen was quick, with no sign of your other two sisters. Good. You weren't in the mood to see their sneering faces again so soon.

Tea was made quickly, thanks to Feyre boiling water for you. You gave her a hug before returning upstairs, tray balanced in your arms.

Just before you opened your door, the door to Rhys's study swung open, Azriel emerging from it.

*Oh!

He came down the hallway, and once he was near the stairs you finally got your brain to move past your anxiety of starting a conversation.

"Hi, Azriel, would you uhm... Would you wait here for just a moment?" You asked. "I have that Solstice present I got for you."

"Alright," Azriel replied quietly, moving closer to your doorway. You went inside quickly, fishing the already wrapped box out from under your bed, and a moment later you were back in front of him, offering the gift to him.

"Open it," you said, pushing the box into his hands.

Soon enough, the dagger was in his hands, his fingers running over the inlaid crescent moon made of sapphires, then over the blade itself. "This is wonderful, Y/N, thank you," Azriel said, sincerity in his tone. "I happen to have gotten a gift for you as well." A moment later, shadows materialized, depositing a festive, glittery evergreen tree colored bag in his hand.

"Oh, Azriel, you didn't have to-"

"Open it," Azriel said simply, transferring the handles over to your hand in a quick movement.

You narrowed your eyes playfully at him, but opened the bag. Inside was a beautiful, hooded cloak that would reach at least your mid back, made of a soft, white yarn. Beneath it was a matching scarf, little tassels on the ends, and a pair of mittens. They even had a small button on the top, allowing for the and of the mitten to be lifted and become a sleeveless glove if needed.

"Its made of rabbit fur," Azriel said quietly as you ran your fingers over the fabric. You looked up at with him with wide eyes. "Oh- they just brush or shave the rabbits, don't worry, no fluffy creatures were killed in the making of your gift," Azriel reassured you.

You let out a breath of relief. "Good. Good. It's a beautiful present, Azriel, thank you. Could I- could I give you a hug?" You asked nervously, regretting the question the moment you asked it. "I mean, you don't have to-"

"That would be fine." You blinked up at him. That would be- You allowed yourself to wrap your arms around him, noticing how stiff he was for the first few seconds before relaxing, his own arms coming up around you.

He smelled nice. Like cedar wood and... And night? Whatever it was, it was nice. Calming.

You both retracted your arms at the same time, pulling apart. A soft smile at him and one last thank you, and then you were in your room once more.

You were happy that he liked your present, but the slight wash of warmth it had given you was quickly chased away by the rest of your day.

Nesta and Elain... You were sure that they would never look at you like a sister again.

And Irina... It was such a silly crush that you had, based almost entirely on how pretty she was. You had been taken with her instantly, yes, breath catching in your throat. But that... That meant nothing.

Especially with you still being... Human. Frail. Less than a century from dying.

No fae, no matter how they looked, would ever take you as their wife, that you were sure of. You only had a couple of decades left of looking youthful, and perhaps only a few more past that before illness would inevitably take you.

A heavy sigh left your lips as you sat at your desk, a cup of tea poured out in the next moment.

At least tea could never not choose you...

🤍🤍❣️🤍🤍

The next week and a half passed dreadfully slowly, spent mostly in the solitude of your room.

Feyre came by when she could make time, the two of you sharing a pot of tea and the occasional snacks that she would bring.

Mor was stuck in the Hewn City, all the way until the morning of Starfall, when she would have a slight reprieve. She had already promised to come and spend the morning with you to get ready and catch up.

But until then, or until Feyre could make time... You stuck to your room.

Apparently your giving a joint present to Nesta and Cassian, and Elain and Lucien cause some extra anger in the two of them towards you. Nesta's glare had seemed extra fiery, and Elain had appeared perched on Lucien's lap more often than not when you did happen to wander into the living room.

You tried not to let it get to you, you did... But between the extra tension at home and the sadness in your heart from your silly little crush... It was weighing you down.

The days ticked past, counting down to an event that you weren't particularly excited for...

The morning of Starfall arrived, bringing with it the bright ball of energy that was Mor.

"Y/N!" Mor shouted, startling you awake. "Wake up! Wake up wake up! I'm here, I'm here. Please. Wake up. I've missed you!"

"Oh my gods, Mor, I'm awake," you groaned, rubbing your hands over your eyes. "Do you know a gentle way to wake people up?" You asked as you sat up, pushing your hair away from your face.

"Mm, not really. But, my way is super effective," Mor said cheekily, grinning when you stood up in the tub to glare at her with no fire in your eyes. "Come over here, sweets," she demanded, patting the bed next to her. You went over to her, collapsing onto the bed next to her, and swatted at her with a pillow in revenge for her waking you so abruptly. "So, how have the past two weeks been for you?"

"Oh... You know... Boring..." You said quietly. "How's it been for you? Is everyone behaving?"

Mor narrowed her eyes at you for a brief moment, before accepting your change of subject. "Oh, most everyone has been fine... I've been trying very hard to change the city's voting system plus helping plan their Starfall event, so my hands have been full every waking moment. And Keir has been an absolute pain..." Mor sighed. "He doesn't like that he's losing most of his control by the city moving to a full population vote rather than just the nobles, but it's going to happen whether he likes it or not. But for me, that just means him being more of an ass."

"I'm sorry Mor. I wish that someone else was able to help you..."

"Feyre offered, but, well, with her being pregnant that's not the best idea. And I'm sure Amren would enjoy going solely to terrify the citizens, but that's not exactly... What we're aiming for. And I can do it, and I will, I just wish my stupid father wasn't a factor." Mor sighed dramatically and flopped back on your bed, arms flung out to the sides.

One smacked into your thigh and you laughed, pushing it off of you and back over to Mor's side. "I know something that will cheer you up," you offered.

"Oh?" Mor asked, peeking over at you. "And what would that be?"

"Doing our skincare!" You answered brightly, using the same tactic that she always did with you.

"Oh, I should have guessed!" Mor giggled. "That sounds like a wonderful idea, sweets. Let's get to it!"

"Wait- let me take a quick bath first, and then I'll be all ready for it."

Mor nodded. "That sounds fine, I'll go make some tea and grab some breakfast for us."

The morning moved quickly from there- too quickly, in your opinion, your alone time with Mor slipping away so fast. After you had bathed, the two of you did your skincare, doing an extra mask and moisturizer to give yourselves an extra glow.

Into the second pot of tea Mor started doing your makeup once she had seen your dress. She spent nearly an hour on you alone, taking her time to perfect your eyeshadow and lipstick, getting just the right about of blush coloring your cheeks. You felt beautiful, seeing yourself like that in the mirror.

Mor's own makeup didn't take near as long, but she was even more beautiful than usual, with the extra time she had put in.

The two of you spent a bit more time together before she had to leave and return to the Hewn City for a bit longer, to make sure their celebration started smoothly.

"I'll see you at the House of Wind later, yes?" Mor asked before she left your room, a stern eye on you.

You sighed. "Yes, Mor, I will see you at the House of Wind. I *won't skip out on the celebration, I promise."

Mor nodded in approval. "Good. I'll see you in a few hours, Y/N."

She breezed out of your room, leaving you alone once again.

You sighed, and sat down on your bed. Then collapsed back onto it.

Just a few more hours, and your anxious anticipation could subside.

Starfall would be fine this year. You will stay away from Nesta, Elain, and their mates, and instead stick around Feyre, Mor, and possibly Azriel, if he didn't seem too annoyed by your presence.

🤍🤍💔🤍🤍

Four hours later, you were dressed and ready to leave for the House of Wind. Your hair was half pinned up by the hairpin you had bought yourself, half left down in loose curls that conveniently covered most of the bones in your back.

There was little you could do to cover your shoulders, what with the style of the dress, but you felt pretty nonetheless. The gown had been taken in slightly, just enough to fit more snugly and leave you feeling more comfortable with such an exposed neckline, more secure. And the way the skirts flowed around your feet made you feel more graceful than you were.

Overall, you felt decent about yourself tonight. Your hair had cooperated, not making you late for the start of the event by taking too long to style. And the makeup that Mor had done was perfect, just enough to enhance your natural features.

You had even opted for heels tonight, little sparkly silver boots that Feyre had gotten for you, in case you wanted something more than flats to wear.

When you finally left your room, you made your way downstairs where Feyre, Rhys, and Azriel were waiting in the entryway, seemingly for you.

"Oh, Y/N, you look beautiful!" Feyre exclaimed when she caught sight of you, rushing over to pull you into her arms. "I just love this dress on you!"

"Yes, both of you look lovely, but Feyre...?" Rhys started.

"Oh, shoot! We need to get going, Y/N, but Azriel will take you up to the House when you're ready!" Feyre said brightly, leaving the house a moment later and letting her mate take her in his arms, shooting of into the sky together.

Your heart dropped. Flying? You had only flown a few times, usually to get to the House of Wind as you would be tonight. It still terrified you as badly as it did on the first time, leaving you shaking every time.

"Are you ready to leave?" Azriel asked, pulling you from your thoughts. You nodded, and followed him outside, even as you felt like your heart was in your throat at the prospect of flying.

He gently pulled you into his arms, one hooked beneath your knees and the other supporting your back. Your arms instinctively flew around his neck, ready to hold on for dear life.

Not that you didn't trust Azriel to keep you alive, just... You weren't made for flying, you don't think.

The push off from the ground had you closing your eyes, squeezing them shut tight. You could feel your heart racing, trying to leave your chest as you were overtaken by fear.

"You look beautiful tonight," Azriel said, his deep voice in your ear causing your eyes to snap open.

"You don't have to lie..."

Azriel let out a soft breath. "I'm not lying, you look beautiful tonight. Pink is your color, I believe," He said, his voice right in your ear again. Color rushed to your cheeks at his compliment, and you smiled- small, but there.

A moment later, he had landed solidly on the ground, carefully placing you on your feet.

You'd nearly forgotten you had been flying.

Soon after distancing yourself from him, Rhys rushed over to pull him away for some reason or another. Which left you standing alone in the House of Wind, for the first time since Bounty Day.

Anxiety grew in your gut again, making you feel queasy.

Especially when you saw the feast, laid out over that same massive dining table.

You turned away from the banquet, navigating instead to Feyre's side. Already she was surrounded by a few citizens, but you were able to make your way in for a hug from your sister. Soon though, more far crowded in, and following the arrival of Rhys you broke away from your sister, no longer feeling welcome next to them.

You wandered off, searching for Mor in the ever growing sea of people, with no luck yet.

Azriel, the other person you knew that could be safe to talk to, was occupied talking to a very pretty redhead, and also next to Nesta and Cassian.

Definitely a no.

After a while, you filled a small plate with food, picking at the smoked meats, cheeses, and some pieces of fruit until you couldn't stand it anymore, taking the plate back into the kitchens.

Back here, it was quieter. A few stragglers were wandering in and out between the balconies nearby, but you paid them no mind as you got a glass of cool water from the sink.

You let yourself take a few deep breaths to calm yourself, to bring yourself out of your anxiety. It helped, but not much.

It was enough to allow you to wander back out into the party, passing more than enough males who eyed you up and down, leaving you nervous. You were almost tempted to grab a glass of wine, but you knew all that was provided was faerie wine, something that you never wanted to try after hearing some of Feyre's tales involving it.

You knew this dress was a mistake. A beautiful one, yes, but it left you feel exposed unlike every before.

Every few minutes, you circled back to where Feyre was, seeing if there was an opportunity for you to ask her to take you back to the River House, or have someone take you back. But every time you passed, there was somehow more people crowded around Feyre and her mate.

Mor was nowhere to be seen two hours into the party, leaving you adrift in the sea of fae that had overtaken the House of Wind. You were overwhelmed and feeling so alone, the noise of the party drowning out any coherent thoughts you could have.

Just make it to the Starfall, and you can go.

That's what you told yourself for an hour as you continued your slow circles of the main rooms, attempting to find Mor or see if Feyre was available. No luck for you, though.

Cheers erupted as the first streaks of glowing green overtook the sky, giving you your cue to leave.

You didn't care that it was cold and snowy out, you just needed away from the noise, the lights, the everything that always surrounded you.

The stairs were hell in your heeled boots, but you dealt with them, forcing yourself to go one step at a time. By some miracle, you didn't fall, merely ending the massive flight of stairs by sitting down at the bottom to catch your breath.

Tears had begun falling down your cheeks at some point, driven by the cold and how lonely you feel, how forgotten you felt yet again.

You finally pushed yourself off of the cold stone, the bottom of your dress now wet with snow.

The forest would give you the peace you wanted, though you wouldn't venture near as far as you had last time. No, tonight you just wanted a bit of peace, a bit of time with only natural light shining upon you, even if it was enhanced by the cosmic phenomenon going on above you.

Your feet carried you to the edge of Velaris, the forest in your sights. A sigh of relief left you as you saw the trees, so reminiscent of the ones you had grown up near.

And then you crashed into a wall.

"What the-?" You rubbed at your nose, attempting to soothe the pain of crashing into- whatever you had crashed into. You held your hands out, shocked to find that they rested perfectly on an invisible force in front of you. Nothing that you tried let your hands pass that point, and a kick at the area led to the same results- a foot that you knew would hurt badly in the morning.

You couldn't *believe it.

They had locked. You. In. They had taken any amount of freedom you could have, no matter how fleeting it would inevitably be.

Ice cold rage and swells of disappointment left you a sobbing mess as you stumbled away from the wall of your cage, following the Sidra with no true destination in mind.

You would not be going back to that house. You couldn't. Not when- when... Not when Feyre had okayed you being locked inside of the city like nothing more than a pet, like you weren't a person with feelings and needs and desires.

You were sick of being alone, sick of feeling alone even in a sea of people. You had no one who was just yours. And that would never change in Velaris, would never change unless you were around humans once more.

"Y/N!" A warm voice said, drawing your eyes from the snow covered ground to the person it came from. "How did the recipe I gave you turn out? Good?" Sevenda asked, her smile turning to a frown when she saw your tear covered, blotchy face. "Is everything okay, dear?"

Another sob left your lips, despite your attempts to quiet it. "I- I- No," you managed to get out.

"Oh, come in here for a minute, Y/N, you're freezing!" Sevenda said, pulling you into the back of her restaurant. She pushed a cup of tea in front of you, which you gladly accepted, your fingers warming instantly from the mug. "Did you want to talk about it?" She asked after a couple of minutes.

You shook your head, but sighed and answered anyways. "I just... I don't belong in that house, I don't belong in Velaris... I can't... I can't keep pretending like I do, acting like I'm happy to be there... I need..." You sighed again. "I need out of there." And then an idea struck you. "I- I know this would be a lot to ask, and that you likely don't need help from a human but... Do you happen to need help here? I could do anything you need, I just..." You trailed off.

"You need out?" Sevenda asked, sympathy on her face and in her voice. "Well, I did lose one of my prep cooks to the Continent recently, he went to study new styles of cooking. If you are serious about this, I will have you show up at nine tomorrow morning. Okay, dear?"

You nodded your head vigorously. "I would be so grateful, Sevenda, truly, thank you so much." You let the older fae pull you into her arms, the gentle hug enough to stop your tears for the moment.

"Are you going to be alright, dear?" She asked once she pulled away, looking you in the eyes. You nodded your head, not trusting your voice at the moment. "Okay. Let me get you a cup of tea to go, and you should go straight home, hmm?"

You let her do just that, accepting the hot jasmine tea in a lidded cup that she made you promise to bring back in the morning. After saying goodbye, you set off in the opposite direction of the River House.

No matter how cold you were, you didn't feel like going back there yet.

Some time later, you found yourself on a cliffside, overlooking the bay of Velaris. Your tea was long gone by now, any warmth it had given you gone with it.

The rocks down below looked so inviting, as though they would welcome you in an instant. You let out a long, heavy breaths, tears beginning to flow again.

You wish you had the strength to jump.

Instead, you sat on the edge of the cliff, booted feet dangling over the side. The snow underneath you was frigid, leaving you colder than before. But still, you sat and watched the waves, and listened to the crash on the rocks below.

"Y/N?" A deep voice asked from behind you, but you paid it no mind. Maybe they would leave you alone. "Y/N?" The voice asked again. After another length of silence from you, the person took another approach, and sat next to you instead, their own long legs dangling over the edge. A warmth behind you, and less wind hitting you after the male readjusted. "Do you want to talk about it?"

You still didn't answer.

Instead, you were surprised by gentle hands winding a scarf around your neck in two loops, then a cloak being fastened over your head and buttoned in the front, and finally a pair of mittens slid over your hand.

Azriel didn't make you talk, didn't make you do anything. He simply let you take the time you needed to recover, to stop your tears.

A while later, the waves started to lull you to sleep, your head tilting to the side until Azriel pulled it to his arm, letting you rest against him. Your eyes fluttered shut, your cheek soaking in the warmth of him, even through the hood of your cloak.

It was only when you nearly pitched forward off the cliff that Azriel insisted on taking you back to the River House, or at least to a café where you could warm up.

"I suppose..." your voice cracked. "That going back to the River House would be... fine... for now," you whispered, glad that he didn't force you to speak any more. A moment later and you were pulled through shadows, similarly to how Nuala and Cerridwen travelled but... different in a way. Almost warmer, you would say.

The two of you appeared in front of your bedroom door, the warm air shocking your skin and making you feel clammy.

"I'll have my shadows bring you a pot of tea, feel free to take a bath or change so you can warm up, Y/N. I hope you have a better night that it has been so far," Azriel said quietly before turning to leave.

"Thank you, Azriel," you croaked just before he turned to go down the stairs. He gave you a small smile and nodded before continuing on his way.

You entered your bedroom, tears falling almost instantly once you were alone again. You forced yourself to strip, hanging up the pink gown to dry and setting your sparkly boots near the door. The bath felt soothing, at least, warming you to the core by the time you got out.

And there, awaiting you on your desk, was a fresh pot of the lavender and chamomile tea that you preferred for sleep.

A few extra tears fell at that small act of kindness, and you helped yourself to a still steaming cup of it, settling into the armchair that you had perpetually pulled near your window, a throw blanket across your body.

Sleep claimed you before you had even finished your second cup of tea.

🤍🤍💔🤍🤍

General Taglist: @lilah-asteria @daughterofthemoons-stuff @meritxellao

Series Taglist: @darkbloodsly @angelbunny222 @uniquedreamsblog @romantasyreader28 @that-one-bibliophole @idkmyoldonewasembarassing @deathtopistachios @saltedcoffeescotch @sleepylunarwolf @babypeapoddd @kingshitonly @bravo-delta-eccho @bluebries81 @liahaslosthermind @deepestmentalitypersona @historygeekqueen @hermajestysworld @marina468 @esposamultifandom @astrokitty18 @larissa01-blog2 @acourtofbatboydreams @angel-graces-world-of-chaos @thelov3lybookworm @weekendlusting @dxjaaaa @thejediprincess56 @casiiopea2 @butterfix

[his-madness-keeps-him-sane]

I honestly think that the inability to understand the most basic ideas of ASOIAF characters comes from bad faith criticism, especially if they think that "long winter" is not a central plot point of the story.

Whatever about worldbuilding, I don't care about the freaking bees of Westeros (and the problem is again that Martin has a stick up his ass and should act more like Tolkien and embrace more the poetry and less the pedantry).

I understand and enjoy criticism (1- I think he deserves it, 2- I like to interact with different opinions of things I read/watch/whatever) but saying "winter is unimportant" explains why so many understand the books as a misanthrope story.

Because you have Jaime's journey after "being evil" or Sansa learning the game of thrones to survive while knowing that she doesn't want to become a Cersei.

There's a lot of dark and cruelty but the central conclusion is always the same: be clever!

That's where the TV show failed, in the book consequences matter!

Ned is not dead because he was "good", Ned is dead because he was DUMB!

Nobody said "oh but why did he have to die?" because we know why!

Every single death happens because someone didn't know how to play the game.

That's why Daenerys is doomed to become a fascist (the tv show was BAD but the general idea of Dany turning "bad" is there in the books too).

That's why I will always defend Sansa (arguably the biggest victim of fan's misogyny).

The characters, good or bad, are (usually) incredibly well written, with (usually) a lot of nuance.

From the anti chosen one/Prince Charming of Dany/Jon to the child soldier metaphors of Arya there's really a lot of though and care behind them all. And that's why the books have become impossible to finish. Too many complex pieces to play with.

Martin has A LOT to criticize and I wish he stopped with the bullshit (and the obsession with rape, and the racism, and the...) but I can't understand how someone can read those books and think "this author thinks humans are awful".

Everyone hates Cersei and then Martin goes "Take this, a Cersei POV chapter" and... Fuck.

Yes, she's bad. But suddenly she is a person, not a fairy tale evil queen. She has ambition, she's scared, she's a mother, she's a woman in a sexist world full of violence against women... And we learn all those fears and dreams directly from her, from the "evil queen".

One of the little things that the TV show did well was Joffrey's death.

I remember people being... Uncomfortable. Because while enjoying the death of a monster they realized "wow... He's just a 16 year old boy... Dying in his mother's arms..."

And that, and not "historical accuracy" or whatever Martin claims, is the true golden heart of ASOIAF.

That the world is awful and make us awful

And that it doesn't have to be like that.

That's why the winter IS central.

Because a looming doom should be enough to make them realize how dumb the whole "game of thrones" is (like, you know...the real world and climate change??? The pandemic and the totally insufficient collaboration between countries???) and yet they keep fighting for an ugly chair that kills you if you sit on it too hard because it's made out of the swords of a colonialist war.

IT'S NOT SUBTLE

For all its faults, what ASOIAF is saying (or should be if Martin stopped with the bullshit) is that the world is awful, but you don't have to, and that it's never too late to change.

That you can be good but you have to be CLEVER.

That the kids are the future and can be the change.

That the Starks were always right and the winter is coming.

And that the lone wolf dies but the pack survives.

And I don't think he's ever gonna finish the books, but I don't think it's a coincidence that the last book is called "A promise of Spring".

Say what you want about Martin and his stupidity and empty pride.

But ASOIAF, even if failing a lot in achieving it, is ultimately about hope.

Hope in spite of horror.

Btw, a disclaimer: I'm not even a fan anymore!

I haven't even read the last published book!

But to be a hater you have to admit the good parts too!

Listen to Orson Welles, the OG hater!

Jeez!

Disclaimer x2: I refuse to acknowledge any grammar or orthographic mistake, I can't read anymore 😌

Someone over on Discord asked, "I'm morbidly curious: How BAD is A Song of Ice and Fire in terms of the authenticity George claims it to be?"

My reply was straightforward:

The long and the short of it is that ASOIAF is basically a vehicle for GRRM to present both his rape fetish and his Hobbesian view on human nature and has less historical accuracy than Frozen or most other Disney movies.

That's actually a good way to think of it, now that I've said it--he's Family Unfriendly, they're Family Friendly, but both have the same relationship with History: just Pure Aesthetic with no consideration for how the worldbuilding would work.

[cressidagrey]

The moment I could see it - Part 4

Pairing: Max Verstappen x Ariel Cane (Original Character)

Summary: 5 Times that Gianpiero Lambiase thinks that Ariel Cane and Max Verstappen are weirdly similar…and 1 time he is just happy that the two of them are no longer pining after each other. 

Warnings: 

GP's POV, mention of cancer, mention of parent's death

Author Notes: I am back to my old tricks...which means I write from the most random of POV's just because. (I once wrote a chapter from a dog's POV so like, GP doesn't even really count.

Quite frankly… GP had expected fireworks. 

He had expected Max and Ariel to have explosive disagreements. He had expected her to give up 6 months in. He had expected them to clash at every turn. A battle of wills.

What he hadn't expected however...was the fact that the two of them needed less than 2 months to be completely and utterly besotted with each other.

Or Best Friends as they had titled themselves.

They got along creepily well. They didn't have disagreements. Or if they had, then they didn’t have them anywhere GP or any other staff member was privy too. 

Max and Ariel had an almost...terrifying dynamic. It was like they were on the same wave length, like they thought the same things at exactly the same time.

And the way Max would look at her sometimes...

It was like he was mesmerized.

But more than that...Max also actually... listened to her. 

She could say something to him and he would actually stop and think about it. She had a way to say things to him that made the cogs in his brain spin and Max actually reconsidered. It was almost unbelievable.

Max Verstappen: renowned wild child, and international racing car river… Was hanging on the words of a young, attractive girl. Not only hanging on her words, but taking them into account and adjusting his behavior according to them.

GP sometimes wished he could bottle some of that when Max was being unreasonable to him. 

But it seemed to be something that was just…utterly Ariel. 

Ariel who turned the mighty Dutch Lion off the race track into a domesticated kitten that looked at her adoringly and who GP had found more than once in his driver’s room napping with his head in her lap, while Ariel drew her fingernails over his scalp and answered her emails one-handed. 

Max clearly wasn’t the only one who was besotted. 

That was the part that was most concerning to GP. The fact that Ariel seemed to be just as head over heels for Max as Max was for her.

It was a mind-boggling turn of events. Gianpiero still had a bit of trouble wrapping his head around it, and it had been almost one and a half years since these two started working together.

It was crazy. It was insane. It almost felt surreal.

But there was no denying it. Max Verstappen was actually paying attention to Ariel's opinions and advice.

GP still couldn't decide if he was impressed, confused, scared or all of the above.

The rest of the team spent much of the 2020 season not worried about a global pandemic but wondering when the two of them would figure things out. GP had to admit, he and the other members of the team had more pressing things to worry about than the relationship between Max and Ariel. Between dealing with the restrictions and disruptions caused by the global pandemic, as well as Max Verstappen's actual races, there was plenty to worry about.

However, the ongoing...whatever was going on between the two of them was a frequent topic of conversation.

"Do you think they're dating?" one of the mechanics would ask.

"Nah, they're just friends," another one would reply.

"No way, there's something going on there," yet another person would chime in.

The constant chatter and speculation about Max and Ariel's relationship went on for months.

"I bet they're dating in secret," one of the engineers would say.

"Not a chance, they're just friends," a press officer would counter.

"I don't know, they seem pretty cozy together," a member of the marketing team would chime in.

It was like a never-ending game of “guess the relationship status”.

And then... Silverstone 2021 happened.

Gianpiero still winced when he thought about that day. 

It was one of the most intense and stressful races of the season. The mood around the Red Bull team was tense as the race unfolded. Everyone was on edge as they watched Max battle it out with Lewis. And then Max and Lewis Hamilton had come into contact. 

GP watched as the two cars came together at Copse corner, a sickening feeling of dread settling in the pit of his stomach.

The Mercedes was fine. The Red Bull careened into the wall.

GP would never forget those moments after the crash. The seconds that ticked by as they waited for confirmation that Max was alive and conscious. The silence, as everyone in the team held their breath, waiting for news.

He didn’t know how Ariel had reacted to it. He ha been so focused on the radio an the life stream to the accient sight, that Ariel hadn’t been on his mind. 

He did later hear that Ariel had been waiting in the medical tent by the time Max had been brought in there… that she had been in the hospital with him, when they had scanned his brain and sent him back to the hotel with a concussion and bruises but thankfully, gloriously alive…

The next morning he showed up at Max’s hotel room with definitely nutritionist unapproved cinnamon rolls and coffe, because the guy had nearly died, so the least he deserved was a sugar rush. 

Ariel was the one who answered the door.

There, standing in the doorway to Max's hotel room, was Ariel. She wore a simple t-shirt and a pair of sweatpants, and her hair was tousled, indicating that she had just woken up.

GP blinked, momentarily taken aback by her presence. "Ariel," he said, his voice carefully neutral. "Is...Max still asleep?" 

He was also quite sure that she was wearing Max‘s shirt because it was too big for her, hanging loosely off her slender frame.

“I would be, but somebody insisted on waking me every hour,” came the grumbling voice of Max from inside the room. 

GP quirked an eyebrow at Ariel, who just rolled her eyes. He couldn't help but notice the look of fondness on Ariel's face even as she rolled her eyes in response.

“Good Morning, GP, I hope you slept well,” she greeted him drily, opening the door for him to enter the room. 

“And just for the record, it was Doctor’s orders because of his concussion,” Ariel explained. 

It made sense, but still...GP couldn’t help but find it slightly amusing that Ariel was the one who was apparently tasked with waking Max up every half-hour.

Max sat on the bed, still looking a bit groggy. He gave GP a sleepy nod in greeting, while Ariel closed the door behind him. 

GP couldn’t help but notice the domesticity of the scene. The two of them just woken up, in Max’s hotel room, and Ariel...wearing Max’s shirt. He returned Max's sleepy nod and turned his gaze towards Ariel, who leaned against the closed door with a fond yet slightly weary expression.

As he observed the domestic scene in front of him, GP couldn’t help but notice how...natural and effortless they seemed together. Max, still weary and in his pajamas, and Ariel, wearing his shirt, standing by his side.

"How are you feeling?" GP inquired, addressing Max. His eyes flicked between the two young people in front of him, trying to gauge the situation.

Max shrugged, running a hand through his messy hair. "Like Lewis Hamilton shunted me into a wall," he replied his voice quiet.

GP gave a sympathetic wince at that. "That bad, huh?"

Max nodded, a grim expression on his face. "Yeah, that bad," he said gruffly. "My head feels like it's been used as a boxing bag, and my back is killing me."

GP grimaced again. "Well, that's to be expected. You took a pretty hard hit."

He paused, studying Max's face for a moment before adding, "I know the doctors said you'll be okay, but you scared us all there for a bit."

Max grunted in acknowledgment, "Yeah, I guess I did." He looked a bit sheepish for a moment before returning his gaze to GP. "Sorry for worrying everyone," he muttered, but there was a hint of humor in his eyes, like he was secretly pleased with the attention.

Gianpiero gave a dry chuckle. "No need to apologize. You didn't plan on getting shunted into a wall, after all."

He glanced around the room, taking in the mess of clothes, blankets, and various medical supplies scattered around the bed.

"Looks like you have a good nurse keeping you company, though," he noted, shooting a look at Ariel.

She was still standing by the door, her head propped up against it lazily, watching the two men with a small, fond smile.

Max's mouth curled into a smirk. "The best nurse there is," he said with a shrug. “Even when she has a horrible bedside manner,” Max added drily. 

"Yeah, and you told me to fuck off," Ariel shot back.

A smirk tugged at the corner of GP’s mouth as he watched the exchange between the two.

Max reached out and patted the bed beside him, signaling for Ariel to sit down. She pushed off the door and padded over, sitting down beside Max and letting him wrap an arm around her.

GP found himself raising an eyebrow at the sight, taking notice of how comfortable and natural the gesture seemed to be for these two.

GP couldn’t deny it; the sight of Max’s arm wrapped around her like it was the most natural thing in the world, didn’t surprise him as much as it should’ve. There was something about their dynamic that was strangely magnetic…and a little disconcerting.

Max grumbled a bit, but there was no heat in his voice. "You deserved it," he muttered. "Who the fuck wakes someone up every hour after a concussion?"

Ariel rolled her eyes, a hint of amused irritation in her tone. "Someone who doesn't want your brain to leak out your ears," she shot back. "And I don't have a horrible bedside manner, you're just a pain in the ass when you're concussed."

Max huffed in mock affront, feigning offense. "I'll have you know, I'm a model patient when I'm concussed," he said, a hint of amusement in his voice. GP let out a snort, silently disagreeing with Max's statement.

"Yeah, right," Ariel said, her tone dripping with sarcasm. "Because a model patient throws a pillow at the person trying to wake them up every hour."

Max shrugged, looking entirely unapologetic. "You shouldn't have said I was being cranky," he said with a sly grin.

Ariel rolled her eyes again, a hint of fond irritation in her expression. "I was only being honest," she said dryly. "You were being grumpy and moody and impossible to deal with."

Max feigned offense once more. "Grumpy and moody?" he repeated, sounding offended. "I wasn't being grumpy and moody! I was just...in pain. And tired."

Ariel shot him a disbelieving glance. "That's just a nice way of saying grumpy and moody," she pointed out. Gianpiero quietly chuckled, finding their banter quite entertaining.

Max pouted, his lower lip sticking out in a pouty expression that would have look silly on most people. On him, it looked...well, adorable. "I was being justifiably grumpy," he protested, and yet there was a hint of a smile playing at the corners of his mouth.

Quite frankly, GP had expected Max to be...well, furious about the crash. About the fact that he had had pole position and would have probably stoo on the podium if not actually won....

GP would’ve been furious if he were in Max’s shoes...but Max wasn’t angry. He seemed more resigned than anything, and strangely...comfortable. GP had to wonder if it was because of Ariel’s presence by his side.

There was something about Max when he was around her, like a transformation from his usual hotheaded, fiery self, to a calmer, gentler version of himself

"You seem surprisingly calm for someone who was on track to win the race before you were shunted off the track," GP noted, fixing Max with a curious glance. "I thought you would be angrier," he said carefully.

GP studied Max curiously, noting the slight wince of pain on his face as he shifted on the bed. Max's response was a nonchalant shrug, coupled with a grimace. "Oh, I am angry," he replied gruffly, a hint of annoyance in his voice. "But somebody really smart has to me, that being pissed off won't change anything. It's not going to un-crash the car or heal my head."

GP couldn’t help but let out a dry chuckle at that. Max’s grumbling response combined with the way he looked so disgruntled and resigned was rather amusing. "Somebody really smart, huh?" he repeated, looking pointedly at Ariel.

Max’s mouth curled into a half-smile, and he shot a sideways glance at Ariel. "Yeah, somebody really smart," he said with a hint of emphasis. Gianpiero noticed the way Max looked at her, a mixture of affection and something else in his eyes.

"And she also reminded me that nothing would hurt Mercedes more than to lose the championship," Max continued. “Looking back won’t help me win either.” 

GP’s eyebrows rose. "So...you're going to win the championship out of spite?" GP inquired, half-joking.

Max shrugged, a wicked grin on his lips. "Why not?" he said, his voice almost nonchalant. "If it'll really piss Mercedes off, I'm all for it. Plus, I get a championship. Win-win situation, right?"

"Powered by spite and Red Bull," Ariel said with some amusement.

Gianpiero chuckled at that, watching as Max nodded in agreement. "Nothing like a little spite and Red Bull to fuel a championship win," he agreed with a grin.

[cjlouwho]

Twelve Christmases

*no special chapter tags*

read below or on ao3

Day 9: 2020

When Tommy walked into his house he immediately knew something was wrong.

Mostly due to the large quantity of boxes near the front door. Last time he checked, he wasn't moving.

He dropped his duffel and continued into the living room, where the sound of Africa by Toto echoed through the house.

“Whatcha doing, Joe?” Tommy asked, causing the man closing up a box on the floor to jump.

He stared at Tommy, wide eyed. “Alexa, turn off!” The music shut off quickly, leaving the two of them in uncomfortable silence. “I- I didn't think you'd be home for another hour.”

“It was weirdly quiet today so they let me leave a little early.” Tommy crossed his arms over his chest. “What are you doing, Joe?”

“Tommy, I... It's not you, okay, it's-”

Tommy snorted, shaking his head. “You were, what, gonna leave without even telling me? Have me come home to an empty house and you're just gone?”

Joe sighed, stepping closer to Tommy. As he did, Tommy took a step back. “Tommy, it's- we rushed into this. We both know that. It was fun, for a while, but it's... I don't know, it's not the same.”

“I didn't even know anything was wrong, Joey!” Tommy exclaimed. He reached out and flipped the top of an open box. “You weren't gonna at least try to explain yourself first?”

“I really didn't expect you to be surprised!” Joe replied, his voice rising now as well. “We barely see each other, Tommy! We both have weird schedules, rarely eat a meal together, and half the time I wake up you're asleep in the guest bedroom!”

“Because I don't want to wake you when I get home late! I was trying to let you sleep.”

“I'd rather sleep with my partner!”

Joe breathed in slowly, then held his hands up in surrender. “Tommy, I- you only asked me to move in because of covid-”

“No, I asked you to move in because I wanted to be with you and I was pretty sure you felt the same way.”

“I do, Tommy.”

Tommy scoffed, turning away and heading for the kitchen. Joe followed behind him.

“Hey, I do- did feel the same! But we'd only known each other for a few months, Tommy, and then covid happened and I agreed to move in because I wanted to get to see you but I didn't think it through. We didn't think it all through!”

Tommy opened the fridge, reaching in for a beer. He popped the lid and took a sip, then set it on the counter. He stayed quiet, staring down at the glass bottle.

“Aren't you gonna say anything?” Joe asked.

Tommy shrugged. “Not really sure what you want me to say, Joe, you didn't even want me to know you were leaving.”

Joe brought a hand to the back of his neck, trying to massage away the tension. “Listen, I- I want you to be happy, Tommy. I do care about you and I lo- I like you, but this has not been a relationship for a while. I was lying in bed the other night, alone, and I realized I don't know anything about you. You don't talk about your family, I've never met a single one of your friends or co-workers, I don't know anything about how you grew up or what you did before you became a firefighter.”

“I told you, I was a-”

“I know,” Joe interrupted. “A pilot in the army. That's all I ever got.” Joe moved around the counter to get closer to Tommy. Hesitantly, he reached out and put his hand over Tommy's forearm. “Tommy, you are a wonderful person,” his grip tightened when Tommy rolled his eyes and went to walk away. “No, I'm serious. You're a good listener, you're attentive, thoughtful, funny, and a bitch in the best way, but it's not. It's not what I need. And when you let yourself think about it, I'm not what you need either.”

With his free hand, Tommy fidgeted with his beer bottle. “Great day to choose to move out,” he grumbled.

“You don't even celebrate Christmas, Tommy,” Joe replied, his voice staying calm but firm. “Honestly didn't think you'd care about what particular day it was.”

Joe wasn't totally wrong, Tommy did make his hatred of Christmas well known. But what he didn't know was Tommy asked if he could leave a little early. He planned on making them a nice dinner, just like the one his mom used to make. He wanted to try and have a good Christmas for the first time in a long time. He'd even bought Joe a gift. Tucked into his pocket were reservations to a cabin in northern California. He planned on flying them there himself. They'd be going for Valentine's.

Tommy felt hot, and overwhelmed, and like the house was too small and too big all at once. His eyes were starting to get a little blurry and he desperately needed to get out of there.

“I'm gonna go for a walk,” he said, clearing his throat. He freed himself from Joe's grasp and wiped at his eyes, hurrying toward the door with his head down. “I'll be a couple hours, probably. I'll, um, I'll see ya, Joey.”

He managed to get out and shut the door behind him, part of him hoping that Joe would follow. Chase after him. Yell for him to come back, for them to talk, to fight, to figure this out.

But he didn't.

And Tommy walked.

He walked and walked and walked until the sun had set and all the streetlights came on.

Then he went back to a quiet house. A spare key on the kitchen counter as his only reminder that, for eight months, he wasn't here alone.

[whateversawesome]

Spy x Family Ch. 108: Fear

Don't get me wrong, that panel with Twilight remembering his friends was beautiful. I think he feels nostalgic for that connection with other people. However, I think what really caught my attention in this chapter was Melinda.

Come on, look at this:

Look at this face of terror. And she was just remembering her husband's eyes!

A long time ago, when we just met Melinda, I wrote this theory about her being afraid of her husband. Today, it was finally confirmed.

I feel so sad for her. Melinda has probably been carrying this alone for a long time. I doubt she's shared her fears with any friends or family members because, who would believe the illustrious political leader could be an abusive man? This is especially true if there's no actual physical violence in the relationship. However, like I said before, violence is more than that.

Something tells me that the violence in their relationship is mostly psychological. Donovan Desmond uses his authority to tell Melinda what to do, to create fear, to keep her away from their children.

Melinda appears as such a composed woman who has her life together in front of others, and only someone as emotionally perceptive and caring as Yor would notice something is wrong. There's a shame component in abusive relationships: "How did this happen to me? I used to be so strong and brave," combined with disbelief: "Am I overreacting? Is he really that bad? Why am I afraid of him if he hasn't really done anything to me?"

Hopefully, in time, Melinda will realize that fear is not only her responsibility; even if her husband wasn't physically abusive, his behavior caused her fear.

Without a doubt is a complicated issue, which brings me to something that will probably complicate things even more:

Yup, Twilight.

I'll admit that this is the first time that I felt very uncomfortable with what Twilight is about to do, but that's exactly the point. Good fiction/literature is suppose to move something within us, even if at times, it makes us feel uncomfortable.

You probably imagine why: Melinda is a person in dire need of therapy. She deserves (and needs!) a true professional and instead, she getting someone who is only trying to gather information.

HOWEVER...

Time and again, Twilight has shown that despite his line of work, he'll always try to do the right thing and the least amount of harm. So, I'm hoping he will apply that in this specific situation. My guess is that it will start as a way to get information (his classic "for the mission") but then, as Melinda opens up, he will actually give her good advice and hopefully empower her, as a real therapist would do!

Something else to keep in mind is that Melinda story of domestic violence could trigger Twilight himself in some way, given his own family history. We will have to wait to see how that goes.

Bonus

A final note on Melinda's beliefs in occultism: it makes sense.

I won't comment too much on the specific meaning of the cards because my knowledge is limited and I'm skeptical about that. But I will say that it makes sense that someone with so much fear and uncertainty in her life would believe in something that would bring her reassurance that everything will be okay or try to know the future in order to protect herself. (I really want to give Melinda a hug.)

On the other hand, you know who doesn't believe in that?:

Yup, our dear Becky, who is one of the most authentic character in sxf, who is protected and loved by her parents and Martha. That makes sense too.

[northern-passage]

I really don't get how Lea could ever think they and the Hunter were a team, when apparently they knew about the collar thing while the hunter didn't even know??? They are the literal embodiment of the Hunter's alienation and dehumanization. Will Lea (and the narrative) ever acknowledge how fucking despicable the order actually is??? They're a bunch of child abusers who prey on poor families and practice human trafficking. On that note I actually deeply despise the Hunter's mentor. That fight scene with him forcing us to stand up again and again? I don't care that the same was done to him and he did it to make the Hunter stronger or whatever. That was the same logic my grandmother had when she hit my mother, and she would have done the same to us if my mother hadn't cut ties with her and broke the cycle of generational violence. I'm sorry. I probably shouldn't play this game right now as it very clearly trigger some things within me that I should address elsewhere than in your ask box, but I guess I needed to express how helpless the Hunter made me feel. Especially with Lea. My character (and myself I guess) couldn't sit down and have a normal conversation with them given how blind they were to the Hunter's situation, and that was even before I understood what the collar thing truly meant after replaying the demo and reading the last snippet you published. Lea comes from a powerful family with ties everywhere, they are literally called our 'handler', and they know what the ladder does to someone (both short term and long term, mentally and physically)... And they truly think them and the Hunter are the same??? Equals??? The only explanation I can find is that they grew up their entire life within the order and never knew anything else, and so this is a case of great ignorance and deep denial. They need a good wake up call and a lot of character development, but when I see Noel's reaction and Lea's behavior during their rival route, I'm kinda worried.

well... i mean most of what you've mentioned here is The Point. Lea is a hypocrite, and the hunter can argue with them and refuse their partnership because of it. Jorah is an asshole and treated the hunter poorly at times, to the point that him and Rodrick argued about it frequently, and is why Rodrick attempts to intervene when they spar. the Order does cause harm and coerces people into their ranks, usually children or those that are more vulnerable and lack other options; and this is always true no matter how the hunter tries to justify it and convince themselves otherwise. all of the people and institutions in this game are complex, none of them are righteous, and they exist as they do because i have something i want to say-- all of these are choices i've intentionally made when writing this story.

and we're only on chapter 1 right now (and even before the rerelease, only on chapter 2), all of the characters need character development, none of their arcs have even started yet.

this story is supposed to make you Feel, big feelings and little feelings, my goal is for people to connect with the characters or at the very least just empathize with them and have a desire to see their stories through. i'm not out to trigger people but this game is intended to be a dark fantasy that explores heavier topics. i'm always open to discussing my thoughts behind certain characters/narrative choices and i will always welcome suggestions if you feel i need to add something to the content warning list, but i really don't like asks like this, and i'm not really sure how to respond as a stranger on the internet. you can either trust me and my intent as the author, or maybe it would be better to not continue with the story if that's what is best and safest for you. only you can know and make that choice, not me.

[wannabespacesmuggler]

D.D. | Shane's Girl [9]

Part Nine | Masterlist | Buy me a coffee | Check out the playlist

Summary: Daryl Dixon knows he shouldn’t be thinking about you when he’s alone at night in his tent. Hell, he shouldn’t even be looking at you throughout the day. You’re not his. You’re Shane’s girl. But Daryl doesn’t like the way Shane treats you. And he certainly doesn’t like how you’re forced to play ‘loving girlfriend’ to a man with eyes for another woman at the camp.

Pairing: Daryl Dixon x female!Reader

Warnings: Shane Walsh is the worst, angst, realizations, reunions and resurrections, chapter follows "Tell it to the Frogs" but dialogue and events are paraphrased.

Word Count: 1.8K

Author’s Note: I am officially laid off for the winter. I make no promises, but I really want to write more often during my layoff. I'm really happy with this chapter (even though it might feel like a dagger to the heart), but things are really ramping up. Also don't worry, Daryl will reappear in the next one. Now that we've gotten to the show starting, this fic will follow the plot of TWD, but events and dialogue will be paraphrased so as not to simply rewrite episode scripts — hope you guys understand. Let me know what you guys think! Your support and excitement for this fic mean the world to me. Additionally, if I don't post beforehand, happy holidays and merry Christmas (to those that celebrate).

You watch as the sun begins to set from your spot on top of Dale’s RV — mesmerized as the clear blue sky slowly shifts into an array of golden hues. The sight almost makes you forget how much the world has changed — how much everything seems to have changed.  You sigh as you realize how envious you are of your past self. Just a few weeks ago, you were complaining about your boss to Lori, grabbing coffee in between shifts with Shane, and helping Rick with his latest home improvement project. Life was simple and stable. You had a lovely home, a decent job, and a loving boyfriend. Now, well, you’re lucky if there’s enough food at the campfire at the end of the day to feed the entire group.

You tear your eyes away from the sunset and look down at the book in your lap. The very book you attempted to busy yourself with this morning before Shane’s interruption. You haven’t gotten much further, finding yourself distracted by Daryl’s crumpled note that you’ve begun using as a bookmark. You can imagine him scoffing beside you as you reread the simple, messily written words. His brow furrowed in confusion as he tries to decipher what’s troubling you — and he’d read you like a book. You’ll never admit it, but you’ve yearned for his silent, stable presence more than usual today after your conversation with Shane this morning.

The sound of someone climbing the ladder and approaching from behind you pulls you from your thoughts. Your hand instinctively grabs the shotgun beside you as you turn your head toward the sound. Your mind starts anticipating the worst, but you loosen your grip as your eyes meet Dale’s. Dale raises his hands in front of him as he approaches; the gesture is playful, but his features are laced with concern. 

“I come in peace.”

You snort at his words before removing your hand from the shotgun entirely. 

“Sorry, Dale. I was just a thousand miles away.”

Dale hums in response as he takes a seat beside you. The two of you sit in comfortable silence while watching the sunset. You don’t mind Dale’s company. Despite his dislike for Shane Walsh, he’s never treated you differently despite your connection to the deputy. You’ve always appreciated that he sees you as you, not just Shane’s girlfriend — if you can even call yourself that anymore. 

“You’ve been up here for a while.”

“Got nothing else to do, I suppose.”

You shrug nonchalantly before glancing over at Dale. His eyes are still focused on the sunset, but you can tell he’s thinking over his next words. You appreciate how intentional he is with what he says. It reminds you of Daryl in a way. Your hands find their way to the crumpled note again — moving on their own accord.

“I’m just surprised to see you here — thought you’d be in Atlanta. I mean, Glenn wouldn’t shut up about you asking him to show you the ropes when it comes to scavenging.”

A frustrated sigh escapes your lips as you close the book in your lap and toss it to the side. Your eyes do a quick sweep of the camp, ensuring that Shane is not within earshot. 

“Shane decided it was best that I stayed here and helped Lori and Carol with chores.”

Dale lets out a dry laugh at your admission. 

“I didn’t know you needed his permission.”

You meet Dale’s expectant gaze and try to formulate a response, but his sarcastic tone has you floundering. Because as much as you want to assert that you don’t need anyone’s permission, you’ve also become somewhat of a prisoner in your own relationship. You shouldn’t need Shane’s permission to do anything — he certainly doesn’t need yours. And yet, here you are, a shell of your former fiercely independent self. Your shoulders slump at the realization, and your eyes drop to your hands, which are desperately gripping your only lifeline. 

In an act of comfort, Dale moves to cover your hands with his, and you involuntarily flinch away from his touch. Guilt washes over you as Dale pulls his hand away. Logically, you know that Dale would never try to hurt you, but your conversation with Shane this morning has you on edge. You look up at Dale and meet his sympathetic gaze. 

“Dale, I…”

Before you can explain yourself, you’re cut off by a blaring car alarm. Without a second thought, your hands find the shotgun at your side and aim toward the direction the sound is coming from. The once-sleepy camp quickly awakens at the first sign of trouble. You hear countless voices yelling, but one cuts through them all: Shane Walsh.

“Dale, what do you see up there?”

Dale looks to you as you peer into the scope. You can hear the car alarm clear as day, but you’ve yet to see any sign of life through the scope. You shake your head at the older man, keeping your eyes locked on the dirt trail leading up to the camp.

“Talk to me, Dale!”

“We can’t tell yet.”

“What the hell do you mean you can’t tell yet? Just look in the fucking scope, it’s not that hard.”

That sets you off. You don’t know if it’s the edge in Shane’s voice or the condescending tone in which he speaks, but something inside of you snaps at the words.

“I know how to look through a fucking scope, Shane!”

You can hear a low growl rumble through Shane’s chest at your retort, but you keep your gaze steady. You tune out the ensuing chaos: Shane insisting you hand the shotgun over to Dale, Jim attempting to defuse the situation, and Amy incessantly asking if it’s her sister. Dale offers you gentle words of affirmation as you take deep breaths — attempting to steady yourself. And then you see it: a bright red Dodge Challenger with none other than Glenn Rhee at the wheel. You finally pull away from the scope and hand the shotgun over to Dale, who looks at you in astonishment.

“It’s just Glenn.”

Dale takes the shotgun and peers through the scope. He searches for a moment before speaking.

“Well, I’ll be.”

And then the two of you erupt into a fit of laughter — after all, this whole situation is nothing but absurd. Dale pulls himself together just long enough to alert the group of your findings. There’s a collective sigh of relief, and everyone seems to relax until Glenn peels into camp. Glenn climbs out of the sports car and smiles brightly up at you.

“You like it?”

Another laugh escapes your lips as Glenn points at the blaring vehicle beside him. You nod at his words before responding. 

“Love it. You rob a bank along the way?”

Dale interrupts the conversation.

“Can you turn it off, son?”

Glenn’s brow furrows at his question, glancing between the car and the two of you.

“I don’t know.”

Quickly, Shane steps in and starts yelling at Glenn to pop the hood. You and Dale decide to finally descend from the top of the RV and join the rest of the group. When you enter the chaos, the car alarm is finally off, and several other vehicles begin pulling into camp. You smile as you watch reunions unfold before your eyes. Amy pulls her sister into a tight hug before she even has a chance to exit the vehicle fully. Morales’ children race to see who can get to him faster. Dale claps Glenn on the back as the young man excitedly shows off the vehicle they managed to jumpstart.

Deciding to give them all some privacy, you turn to walk back to your tent. Your smile quickly fades as you spot Carl’s saddened expression. His misty eyes scan the crowd, looking for someone who will never return. Your heart breaks as you watch Lori kneel beside him and pull the small boy into a comforting hug. Still, Carl’s gaze doesn’t falter. You lower your head as tears well up in your eyes. You understand.

Shane had told you about what happened at the hospital the first night at camp. You remember sitting beside him in your small tent, your heart breaking as you watch one of the strongest men you’ve ever met crumple due to the loss of his best friend. Setting aside the grief sitting heavy inside of your chest, you spent that whole night comforting Shane until he finally fell asleep. It was only then that you buried silent sobs into your pillow and prayed for the impossible — for your found family to be whole again. 

It isn’t until Morales speaks to the group that you finally look up. Your brow furrows as he explains that a new guy helped them out of the city, so they decided to bring him back with them. It’s been a long time since anyone new joined the quarry camp — Daryl and Merle were technically the newest members, but you’ve all been together for weeks now.

“Hey, helicopter boy! Come say hello.”

Shane plants his hands on his hips looking toward the SUV expectantly as Morales explains that he’s also a police officer. Finally, you see the new guy, and you can’t believe your eyes. Standing before you is Rick Grimes dressed in his signature sheriff’s uniform and cowboy hat. Rick’s eyes meet Shane’s first, and the two stand in silent astonishment until they hear Carl’s small voice.

“Dad?”

Rick’s eyes well up as he finally spots his boy at the back of the crowd.

“Oh, my God.”

Rick hesitates for a second, almost as if he can’t believe this isn’t real. But Carl sprints toward him, with Lori close behind. Tears stream down your face as Carl crashes into his father’s embrace. You look beside you, expecting to see Shane, but you meet Dale’s reassuring eyes instead. Your brow furrows in confusion, and you take a moment to find Shane in the commotion. Surely, he’s as choked up as you — hell, his best friend just came back from the dead. 

But when you spot him leaning against the red sports car at the back of the crowd, watching his best friend tearfully reunite with his wife and son, he looks less like a man who just got his brother back and more like someone who just lost everything. 

You want to be elated at the scene unraveling before. After all, you’ve been dreaming of this moment every night since the world fell apart. But something feels wrong as you watch as Shane lock eyes with Lori over Rick’s shoulder. Lori looks at him apologetically, and Shane’s expression shifts into a mix of anger and disappointment. Confusion washes over your features as you watch the exchange until…

Oh. Oh.

Suddenly, everything makes sense. Every time you couldn’t find Shane in camp only for him to miraculously appear with Lori hours later. Every time you attempted to spend time with him only to be dismissed for something more important. Every time you waited up for him to return to your shared tent, only to fall asleep in a cold, empty cot. 

Taglist: 

Suddenly, everything makes sense — and you feel nothing but a stark hollowness settle into your bones. Because although your found family may be whole again, you’ve never felt more alone.

@minervadashwood

@hotgirlsshareaccounts

@dreamtofus

@youcantstandit

@ajlovesdilfs

@prettywhenibleed

@luvsvnlqt-things

@strnqer

@marina-isabella

@lissanovak

@elissanatok

@luv-4-aria

@moejoeflow-blog

@ceoofdisappointment

@jewellthebooknerd

@callsignwidow

@genderless-ghosty-boi

@all-will-be-well-love

@tabzthemightyyyy

@mychemicalimagines

@nosebleeds-247

@catradora333

@punicorn999

@tybsbnbn

@i-wear-wet-socks313

@sunny92sworld

@echothy

@ta3baee

@rottngzombi

@rhey-007

@azanoni

@ritosparty

@vaniniweenie

@nameless-ken

@ibuch7

@theunfortunateshadow

@j0joworld

@marauder-exe-old

@hello-emma

@ziziriaa-blog

@livingdeadblondequeen

@krissophia

@mischiefnevermanaged89-blog

@kellie-ana-blog

@my-name-is-heartache

@the-valars-sapphire

[man-i-love-fanfiction]

To Share the Space with Simple Living Things - Hozier x Fem!Florist!Reader

Chapter Three: Chrysanthemums - Joy

Summary: You and Andrew meet outside of your workplace for the first time for a completely platonic coffee on him.

Word count: 2385

Author's note: i am so sorry that this took so long 😭 last week of school combined with finals combined with life i guess hindered me from writing. but i'm back on track!!! hopefully you all enjoy and if i don't update again soon happy holidays <3

tag list: @celery-grace @gayandfairycore @deathmybride @harry-bowie-mercury @hodgepodge-musings @blue-eyed-bug @secretttytttttttttt @dinner-n-dxatribes @padfootblackswh0r3 (if you want to be added just let me know!)

fic below the cut <3

This is not a date.

That was your affirmation all of Friday morning, repeating it to yourself.

You muttered it under your breath as you fixed your hair. It was mumbled as you laid out your outfit, specifically chosen to be fashionable but casual: your favorite sweater and a nice pair of jeans. You whispered it before spraying your perfume, a scent you had to dig through your closet for five minutes to find. Ironically, the scent was nothing close to floral. You said it to each of your houseplants as you watered them. They remained unconvinced.

Slipped on your shoes. Locked up your flat. Walked down the stairs. You repeated your mantra every time, because maybe if you said it enough times, it would become true.

By the time you made it to your car, you had said it so many times it felt like breathing. Your hands gripped the wheel. You locked eyes with your reflection in the rearview mirror and whispered your phrase of the morning one more time for good luck.

This. Is. Not. A. Date.

Stepping down on the gas pedal, you began to drive.

On the drive there, you prepared yourself for all possible scenarios. This kind of thinking came naturally — it always did, especially in situations like these. You ran through what your reaction would be if he showed up, what it would be if he didn't. What you would do if he had an insanely complex coffee order, or if he ordered a drink with six shots of espresso. What if he tried to order for you, or if he made some backhanded comment about another woman at the cafe? You doubted he would do any of these things, but you believed it's better to be safe than sorry. This thinking only paused when you parked in front the coffee shop and caught a glimpse of Andrew waiting inside. All of your previous repetition and fretting had made you ten minutes late, a fact you weren't fond of and hoped Andrew wouldn't chastise you for.

The moment you stepped into the coffee shop, all of your previous affirmations were thrown out the window. It wasn't a date. But after seeing Andrew you wished that it was.

It wasn't any particular factor. It wasn't the black denim jacket he was wearing, or the way he'd tied half his hair up, leaving the other half down. It wasn't even the smile on his face, reserved like he wasn't sure how to react properly when he saw you. It was a combination of everything; his presence alone was enough to make you flustered. So flustered that you were very close to forgetting to say anything when you walked up to him. Thankfully, at the last moment, you actually spoke.

“Hey! Hope I didn't keep you waiting too long,” you greeted him with a small smile.

“Oh, no. I just got here, too. You're alright.”

You walked inside together, and you looked around at your new surroundings. It was a small business, quaint and cozy, with framed photos of artworks by local artists; it was exactly what you would imagine a coffee shop that Andrew picked to be.

Because all of your overthinking (or what you preferred to call planning) on the way there, you ordered your coffee with ease. Andrew recited his order, a black americano, a surprise to you. You watched as he paid and gave his name for the order, the barista already recognizing him. He turned his head towards you and offered an explanation:“I’m a regular. I always come here whenever I need a pick-me-up.”

“I’ll have to come here more often, then,” you replied.

You found a small table in the corner and sat down to claim it for the both of you while Andrew stood by the counter, waiting for your coffee. What a gentleman.

You had yet to notice any flaws in him, only making your self-imposed rule of this not being romantic harder to follow. There had to be something about him that was off. There was no way he was so caring and endearing and funny all at the same time; he had to have an imperfection eventually. You didn't find it in the few minutes you watched him stand around, occasionally fiddling with his hands or putting them in his pockets. Your efforts grew even more futile as he walked over with the coffees in hand, setting them down on the table.

He shedded his jacket and carefully placed it on the back of the chair before sitting down in the chair opposite you. This simple action caused the fact that you barely knew Andrew to pop up in your head. Despite how connected to him you felt already, you had only met him twice before. On both occasions he wore long sleeves, so seeing him without a jacket for the first time gave you a much appreciated surprise.

His right arm had an entire sleeve of tattoos.

He had turned his arm into a mural for myths and legends. A portrait of a falling Icarus, wings disintegrating beneath a red sun. A tortured Atlas carrying the weight of the world on his back. Dante and Virgil arm in arm wandering through a circle of hell. Writing in script filled the empty space, seemingly verses from poems. It was all centered around two words placed across his bicep: Noli Timere. You’d be lying if you said it didn't make you even more attracted to him than you already were.

You could've spent hours just looking, analyzing every line of ink. It felt as though you did, though it's much more likely it was only for a few seconds. You were brought back to Earth by the sound of his voice.

“It's rude to stare, y’know?”

There was no real annoyance in his voice, but it caused you to attention like you had been caught. An explanation mumbled its way out of your mouth.

“I’m so sorry, I just- I like your arm. Tattoos. Your arm tattoos. They're…”

Beautiful? Enticing? Very attractive?

“…cool.”

You took a sip of your coffee, finding it the perfect time to cover up your embarrassment, as well as the flushed face that came along with it. Luckily, Andrew didn't notice (or if he did, he didn't mind) and continued the conversation, accepting your compliment with a crooked smile.

“Thanks. I try to put a lot of thought into them, give them some meaning, so they're all based on these stories that are important to me.���

“Makes sense. I’d hate to get a tattoo just to regret it a few years later. Even worse, a few months later.”

“Too many of my clients have had that exact issue. Come in a year after and ask for a coverup. Makes me question my work sometimes.”

“Clients?” You asked with a tilt of your head.

“Oh, right. I never mentioned it.” He paused to take a drink from his cup before continuing. “I’m a tattoo artist. The parlor I work at’s only a few blocks away from your shop, believe it or not.”

“Wow. Small world, I suppose. Maybe I could stop by someday and say hi.”

The boldness of your statement didn't fully process in your brain, and you quickly backtracked.

“If you’d be okay with that, of course.”

“Yes. Absolutely. You can come by whenever I don't have a client.”

“Call me over if anyone gets a tattoo of a flower and I’ll be there to explain everything it means. There is always the very dangerous possibility of someone getting a flower that means jealousy or a rejection.”

He didn’t reply, just flashed a smile, and the silence between you seemed… awkward. Combined with the way he was fidgeting with his hands, it almost made you think he was nervous.

“I’m actually thinking about buying a bouquet to put on the front desk,” he admitted.

“Really?”

“Yeah. A lot of people, they get nervous before their appointment, whether it's their first tattoo or their tenth. Having flowers right when you walk in might ease some of the tension.”

“That's a great idea. I know I’m biased, but flowers do tend to brighten my day."

“Do you have any ideas?”

You bit at your bottom lip as you thought, finally speaking again once you racked your brain for what could work.

“Chrysanthemums are a favorite with customers. Those mean joy and optimism. I could start with those and build from there.”

“Sounds perfect.”

“That's all I’ve got right now, but I’ll see what else I can come up with later. After coffee, I’m much more… insightful.”

As if to prove your point, you took another sip of your coffee, a longer one that left only a quarter of the cup left.

“So… this is official? You're placing an order?”

He nodded.

“If that's how this works, then yes. I’d like to place an order of one chrysanthemum bouquet for the purpose of making my customers happy. Please,” he replied genuinely.

“Your order will be marked down as soon as I get to the shop.”

“Feel free to take your time, by the way. I don't mean to pressure you. It's not like I have a deadline, and I know you probably have a million other things you have to do.”

You considered reaching for him, your fingertips flexing in his direction, but you restrained yourself, choosing words instead.

“You're not pressuring me at all. You made your order. Now you're asking me to do my job. My job that I love, by the way. If anything, I’m thrilled that you're so interested.”

The real question is whether you're more interested in my job or me.

You weren't bold enough to say what you were thinking, but you never had been. You had gotten so used to biting your tongue it was a miracle it was still in your mouth. You spoke again, but selected a much safer option of what to say.

“It's gonna take a few days since there's some orders before yours, but I have your number on file so I’ll call you when I finish it up.”

“I’ll be there. With my wallet, this time around.”

You thought about your proposition before realizing there would be a much more effective, though maybe you just wanted to visit Andrew’s job for a change.

“I mean, you said your place is only a few minutes away, right? I could always deliver it. Gives me an opportunity to get some fresh air during my day. Besides, you're probably much busier than I am, so it might be harder to find the time. Meanwhile, I can deliver it as soon as it's done, and everything works out.”

“You don't have to do that.”

“I know. I want to, though.”

He sighed and shook his head, a reaction you originally feared was out of annoyance, but you felt a small amount of relief when you noticed the smile that accompanied it.

“You need to stop doing nice things for me. Otherwise I’ll go bankrupt from buying you so much coffee to compensate.”

“I also accept gratitude payment in compliments, thank-you-cards, and checks.”

“What about credit cards?”

“Ooo, sorry. Compliments, thank-you-cards, and checks are your options.”

He chuckled, a deeper and richer laugh than before.

“Fine. You want a compliment? You're incredibly kind for doing all of this for me, and I sincerely appreciate it. Thank you.”

Another sip from your cup to hide the flush of your cheeks, though no amount of caffeine could calm the butterflies in your stomach.

“That covers your gratitude payment for now. I still need real money, of course,” you muttered. “And you're not getting your way out of it this time.”

“I would never. You can't pull the same con on the same person twice.”

“Oh, so it was a con? Did those flowers even go to your mother?”

“Nope. Underground flower smuggling ring.”

“Ah, I should've guessed. Tell your flower-loving crime boss that I’m thankful for all that you've done for me, but I unfortunately need to get going, because it's 9:30 and the shop opens at 10.”

Andrew complied. You two wrapped it up, and he put his jacket back on, covering up his tattoos much to your dismay. Your coffee cup, now empty, was discarded by the door.

“Thank you so much. For the coffee, for the company. Everything. Especially for the coffee, though, considering you barely even drank yours,” you commented, pointing at the half-full cup still in his hand.

“You’re welcome. And trust me, I was going to drink it, but I found myself much more engrossed in the conversation.”

Andrew grabbed the door and held it open for you, and you walked past him and thanked him. Both of you stood on the sidewalk in front of the coffee shop, unsure of how (or if you even wanted) to say goodbye.

“This is where we must part ways,” he said with a sigh.

“You say that like we're never going to see each other again.”

“A lot can happen in a few days, Y/N. You have no idea what the universe has up her sleeve.”

“Do you have some kind of knowledge about an apocalypse that I don't? Because when it comes to that kind of stuff, sharing is caring.”

“Just… prepping for the future, I suppose. If there is no apocalypse, I’ll see you when my bouquet’s finished.”

“I’ll see you then. Goodbye.”

“Goodbye.”

You walked to your car, only a few footsteps away, the smile slowly fading from your face as he walked in the opposite direction. You sneaked a glance over your shoulder at him before opening the car door.

Sitting down in the driver's seat, you took a deep breath to bring yourself back to reality. Your mantra had been proven right: that was not a date. It just felt like one. A very successful one at that. He was a gentleman, listened to what you had to say, gave you a compliment, and you even set up an incentive to meet again. This not-a-date went better than most of your actual dates, and it was with a guy who, to your knowledge, had no romantic interest in you.

You were totally and utterly screwed.

[buckets-and-trees]

Red, White & True: Kansas City - Interview Broadcast Day [9/12]

Characters/Pairings: Steve Rogers x curvy Millennial Female!Reader Word Count: 7.6k Summary: The campaign rolls through Kansas City to make a pitstop to watch with the rest of the country as your interview with Oprah airs on Sunday night primetime television.

Content/Warnings: marriage of political convenience, slow burn

Notes: This takes place in a post-Endgame scenario where Steve stays and generally most of TFATWS happened. And in case you missed it, this is who I mentioned in a post that I cast to play the role of Jake, our fearless campaign manager.

Previous Chapter | Series ↠ Main Masterlist | Aspen's Ask Box | Field Guide to the Forest

The savory aroma of slow-cooked meat and smoky spices envelops you as you step out of the campaign SUV and onto the sun-baked sidewalk in front of Arthur Bryant's Barbeque. The iconic Kansas City establishment stands before you, its red brick facade and neon sign a beacon for barbecue lovers from across the nation.

Steve emerges from the vehicle behind you, his eyes lighting up at the sight of the restaurant. "I've been looking forward to this all day," he admits, a boyish grin spreading across his face.

You can't help but smile back, feeling a flutter of excitement in your own stomach. You’re beginning to believe butterflies will never stop hitting you when he smiles at you like that.

After days of campaign events and press conferences, this small detour feels like a breath of fresh air. There will still be conversations, meeting strangers, taking questions, hearing from the people, and press capturing everything second of it, but part of these kinds of stops at least feel slightly more organic. You feel like the conversations, at least, are more real, and you get to know people for who they really are in the places they actually go on a regular kind of day. The fact that it involves world-famous barbecue is just a bonus.

It’s also one of the rare days you both get to be dressed down and casual. Steve even wears a dark blue baseball cap to help lower his profile of being recognized even more.

As you approach the entrance, you and Steve reach for each others hands, fingers locking, natural as anything now.

The moment you step inside Arthur Bryant's, you're hit with a wave of nostalgia. The no-frills interior, with its simple tables and chairs, feels like stepping back in time. The walls are adorned with photos of famous patrons and news clippings, a testament to the restaurant's rich history.

A tall, broad-shouldered man with a warm smile approaches. "Captain Rogers, Mrs. Rogers, welcome to Arthur Bryant's," he says, extending his hand. "I'm Jerry, the manager. We're honored to have you here."

Steve shakes Jerry's hand firmly. "The honor is ours, Jerry. We've heard amazing things about your barbecue."

"Well, we hope to live up to the hype," Jerry chuckles. "Why don't I give you a quick tour before we get you set?"

As Jerry leads you through the restaurant, pointing out photos of past presidents and celebrities who have dined there, you can feel the eyes of other patrons on you. There are whispers and a few excited waves, but for the most part, people seem content to let you enjoy your visit.

Jerry brings you to the counter where the magic happens. The smell of smoked meat is even stronger here, making your mouth water and your stomach growl audibly. Steve glances at you with an amused smile.

"Now, what can I get for you folks?" Jerry asks.

Steve's eyes light up as he scans the menu board. "I think I'll have the burnt ends sandwich and some fries," he says.

“And you, Mrs. Rogers?”

“I want a brisket sandwich,” you reply.

“Only the half?” Jerry asks.

“With sides of the cheesy corn, baked beans, onion rings, and cole slaw,” you add.

“Atta girl!” the man grins. “This one knows how to order!” he calls out to the others around. “She’s got my vote!”

You laugh at Jerry's enthusiasm, feeling a warmth spread through you at the easy camaraderie. Steve grins and shakes his head. "I think I've been outdone," he says good-naturedly.

Jerry chuckles as he starts preparing your order. "Well, Captain, maybe I’ll swing my vote to you by the time we hit November. Now, what can I get you to drink?"

"Sweet tea for me," you say.

"Make that two," Steve adds with a smile.

As Jerry busies himself with your order, you and Steve take a moment to look around the restaurant. The dinner crowd is starting to filter in, and you can see a mix of curiosity and excitement on the faces of those who recognize you.

A young woman approaches hesitantly, her phone clutched in her hand. "Excuse me," she says, her voice slightly trembling. "I'm sorry to bother you, but would it be okay if I took a picture with you both?"

Steve responds with a warm smile. "Of course, we'd be happy to."

The young woman's face lights up. "Thank you so much! I'm Emily, by the way.” She hands her phone to a nearby friend.

You and Steve position yourselves on either side of Emily, smiling warmly as her friend snaps a few photos. As Emily checks the pictures, her excitement is palpable.

"Thank you again," she says, her eyes shining. "I've been following your campaign. It's really inspiring to see people I feel like I relate to running instead of just old white men."

“Well, technically Steve’s a very old white man,” you tease.

Steve gives you a mock glare, and Emily laughs.

“No, I guess what I mean is people who seem like people and not just politicians,” she clarifies. “I felt like that about Charlie Young before, too, and so I’m glad he’s your running mate.”

Steve's expression softens. "That means a lot, Emily. What issues are most important to you in your day to day life?"

Emily takes a deep breath, considering her answer. "I'm about to age out of my parents' insurance, and I'm worried about how I'll afford coverage on my own."

You nod sympathetically. "We'd love to hear more about your perspective if you’re willing to share."

Emily glances at her friend, who nods encouragingly. "Well," she begins, "I'm 25 and I work as a teacher's assistant. The pay isn't great, and the school district doesn't offer health insurance for part-time employees. I've been looking into private plans, but they're so expensive. I have a pre-existing condition, and I'm worried about how I'll manage my healthcare costs once I'm off my parents' plan."

Steve listens intently, his brow furrowed in concern. "We believe that access to quality, affordable healthcare is a right, not a privilege. No one should have to choose between their health and their financial stability."

You nod in agreement. "We've been hearing similar stories across the country. It's clear that our current healthcare system isn't working for many Americans, especially young people just starting their careers."

Emily smiles gratefully. "I’m not asking for hand outs - I’m working, but it needs to not feel like it’s impossible to afford to live.”

Steve nods, his expression serious. "Absolutely, Emily. You shouldn't have to struggle to afford basic necessities like healthcare while working hard and contributing to society. I want us to implement solutions that work for all Americans, not just those at the top. I think we start by simplifying the process and expand subsidies under the Affordable Care Act to make coverage more affordable for young adults and low-income workers, but next steps will involve looking to other countries who have better healthcare systems and adopting what we see is working. Detractors say that some of those other systems don’t work for everyone or they’re not perfect, but what we’ve got here isn’t much to write home about as it stands."

"And it's voices like yours that help shape our policies and remind us why this work is so important," you add.

Emily beams, clearly touched by your words. "Thank you for listening. It means a lot when I know it must be so busy for you both. Isn’t your Oprah interview airing tonight?” she asks.

“Yes, we’re just here to grab a bite and to pick up some food to take back to the campaign staff while we watch later.”

“Well, thanks again, and good luck tonight,” she says.

As Emily rejoins her friend, Jerry calls out that your order is ready. You and Steve thank him as he hands over your loaded trays.

"Enjoy your meal, folks," Jerry says with a wink. “We’ll work with your guys to load up your catering to-go boxes, y’all just enjoy.”

You and Steve thank him and then scan the bustling restaurant, looking for an open table. The dinner rush is in full swing, and most tables are already occupied. Your eyes land on a table in the corner where four men, all appearing to be in their seventies, are engaged in animated conversation over their half-eaten meals.

Steve catches your eye and nods towards the table. You both make your way over, trays in hand.

"Excuse me, gentlemen," Steve says, his voice warm and friendly. "Would you mind if we joined you? Seems like all the other tables are taken."

The men look up, their eyes widening in recognition. There's a moment of stunned silence before one of them, a man with salt-and-pepper hair and kind eyes, breaks into a wide grin.

"Well, I'll be damned," he says, his voice tinged with a hint of a Southern drawl. "Sure we’ve got a space for Captain America and his peach of a wife!”

As you and Steve take your seats at the table, you can feel the energy shift. The men are clearly excited, but there's also a hint of nervousness in the air.

"I'm Bill," says the man with the Southern drawl, extending his hand to Steve. "These are my buddies Tom, Frank, and Joe. We've been coming here every Sunday for the past 20 years."

Steve shakes each of their hands in turn, his smile warm and genuine. "It's a pleasure to meet you all. I'm Steve, and this is my wife," he says, introducing you by name.

You smile and greet each of the men, feeling a sense of ease settle over the table.

"So, what brings you folks to our neck of the woods?" Frank asks, leaning forward with interest. His weathered hands cradle a half-empty glass of iced tea.

"We're just looking for the best barbecue in the country," you explain, unwrapping your brisket sandwich.

The four men all laugh heartily, and you grin before you take your first bite. Your eyes widen in appreciation. “Oh, wow. This is incredible.” The meat is tender and flavorful, practically melting in your mouth.

"Best in Kansas City," Tom nods proudly. "Been coming here since I was knee-high to a grasshopper."

As you enjoy your brisket sandwich, Steve takes a bite of his burnt ends, his eyes closing it seems to fully savor that first mouthful. "This really is something special," he agrees, reaching for a napkin.

"You've got to try this," he says, holding his sandwich across to you. You smile and lean forward for a bite, letting him feed you, hoping that not all eyes are on you.

“Mmm, that’s good, too,” you hum. “But if you offered so you could try a bite of mine in return, you’re going to be sorely disappointed.”

This garners another round of laughter from the men along with some hoots and some ribbing, and Steve just smirks and shakes his head at you.

“I’ll share my sides, though,” you say with a teasing smile, pushing your tray closer to the middle.

Joe, who's been quietly observing until now, clears his throat. "If you don't mind me asking, Captain, what made you decide to run for office? I mean, you've already done so much for this country."

Steve sets down his sandwich, his expression thoughtful. "Well, Joe, I've always believed in serving my country, in whatever way I can. After everything that's happened in recent years, I felt like I could do more good by working within the system, trying to bring people together and address the issues that matter most to everyday Americans."

Bill nods, a wistful look in his eyes. "It's refreshing to hear, I'll tell you that. Feels like politicians these days are more concerned with having an office than serving the people and a lot of us old-timers are worried about the direction the country's headed."

Steve’s brow furrows. "I understand those concerns," he says thoughtfully. "The world is changing rapidly, and it can be unsettling. But I believe in the resilience and spirit of the American people. We've faced challenges before, and we've always come through stronger."

Bill nods slowly, a pensive look on his face. "That's true enough - and when you say it, we can believe it because we know you’ve got old experience in those bones, too. But it feels different now, doesn't it? Like we're more divided than ever."

Steve nods solemnly, wiping his hands on a napkin. "You're right, Bill. The divisions in our country are deep, and they're not going to be healed overnight. But I believe we have more in common than what separates us. We've been crisscrossing the country, meeting people and hearing their stories. We all want safe communities, good jobs, affordable healthcare, and a bright future for our children and grandchildren."

Frank leans forward, his eyes narrowing slightly. "That's all well and good, Captain, but how do you plan to actually bring people together? Seems like every politician says that, but nothing ever changes. It feels like people aren't even speaking the same language anymore when it comes to politics."

You take a sip of your sweet tea, watching Steve carefully as he considers his response. You can see the determination in his eyes.

Steve leans back in his chair, his eyes scanning the faces of the men around the table. The warm glow of the restaurant's lighting casts a soft hue on their weathered features, each line and wrinkle telling a story of years lived and experiences gained.

"You're right, Frank. It does feel like we're not speaking the same language anymore. But that's exactly why I'm running as an independent candidate," Steve begins, his voice calm but filled with conviction. "I'm not beholden to either the Democratic or Republican party. This isn't just about wearing a different color tie or having a different letter next to my name on the ballot. It's about fundamentally changing from a battle for political power between red and blue to calling for consensus to see action that matters to the three hundred and thirty-four million people who live in our country."

He pauses, reaching for his sweet tea. "I believe we need to start by listening to each other again," Steve continues, his eyes meeting each of the men's gazes in turn. "Really listening, not just waiting for our turn to speak. That's why we're here, sitting with you gentlemen, sharing a meal. It's why we make these stops at local businesses and community centers across the country."

You nod in agreement, swallowing a bite of your brisket sandwich before adding, "We've found that when you sit down with people, break bread together, and have real conversations, you often discover that we're not as different as the headlines make us out to be."

Tom, speaks up. "That's all well and good, but how does that translate to actual policy? How do you bridge the gap when it comes to the big issues?"

Steve leans forward, his elbows on the table. "It starts by voting for policies, not parties. When we focus on specific issues rather than partisan loyalties, we often find more common ground than we expect. For example, take healthcare. Most Americans, regardless of political affiliation, agree that healthcare costs are too high and that something needs to be done. The disagreement is usually about how to solve the problem, not whether it exists."

He pauses to take another bite of his sandwich, chewing thoughtfully before continuing. "We just spoke with a young woman over there named Emily who's worried about affording health insurance. That's not a red or blue issue - that's an American issue."

Joe nods slowly. "I can relate to that. My grandson's in the same boat."

"Exactly," Steve continues. "So instead of getting bogged down in partisan debates, we need to look at what's actually working. What can we learn from other countries? What innovative solutions are individual states implementing? We need to be willing to try new approaches and admit when something isn't working."

Frank leans back in his chair, a thoughtful expression on his face. "That sounds good in theory, Captain, but how do you get Congress to go along with that? They seem pretty set in their ways."

Steve nods, acknowledging the challenge. "You're right, Frank. Changing the culture in Washington won't be easy. But I believe the American people are ready for a different approach. If we can build a broad coalition of voters who demand bipartisan solutions, we can put pressure on Congress to work together."

"And," you add, setting down your fork, "Steve isn't just talking about compromise for the sake of compromise. It's about finding common ground and building on it. For example, both parties agree that we need to improve our infrastructure. So let's start there and create jobs while we're at it."

Bill nods slowly, a glimmer of hope in his eyes. "I like the sound of that.”

The conversation eases from there to the two of you learning more about the four men and the lives they’ve led in Kansas while you eat. Once you’re finished - Steve having cleared both your trays when you’d had your fill of the collection - you take a picture with these men as well, and with Jerry and some of the staff by the counter before you leave.

When you and Steve step out of Arthur Bryant's, the warm evening air envelops you. The sun is setting, casting a golden glow over the city streets. You can still taste the smoky flavor of the barbecue, and your stomach feels pleasantly full.

A small crowd has gathered, word having spread of your presence at the iconic barbecue joint. There's a mix of excitement and curiosity in their faces as they call out greetings and words of encouragement.

Steve pauses to shake a few hands and exchange brief words with some of the gathered people. You follow suit, touched by the warmth and genuine interest of the Kansas City residents.

"Thank you for coming to our city," an older woman says, her eyes shining. "It means a lot that you're taking the time to visit places like this."

"We're honored to be here," you reply sincerely. "Thank you for your hospitality."

As you walk towards the waiting SUV, the ever-present security detail for your public outings moves seamlessly around you, a constant reminder of the enormity of what you’ve gotten yourself into.

Steve opens the door for you. Just before you step in, you turn back to wave at the small crowd, and Steve waves at them, as well.

Inside the SUV with the door closed, the calm quiet is nice. Steve's hand finds yours again, and he gives it a gentle squeeze. "That was something, wasn’t it," he says, a contented smile on his face.

You nod in agreement. "The food was incredible, but the conversations... that's what makes these stops so special."

"It really is," Steve replies, his voice thoughtful. "Every time we do something like this, I'm reminded of why we're doing all of it. It's about the Emilys and the Bills and the Jerrys."

As the SUV pulls away from Arthur Bryant's, you both settle into a comfortable silence, processing the events of the evening. Steve's thumb traces gentle circles on the back of your hand, a now-familiar gesture that never fails to sooth you and make you feel more connected to him. "You know," he says softly, "I was thinking about what Bill said. About how things feel different now, more divided."

You turn to face him, seeing the thoughtful expression on his face. "What are you thinking?"

Steve's brow furrows slightly. "I've seen this country go through a lot of changes, faced a lot of challenges. But there's always been this... resilience, this underlying unity that pulled us through. I wonder sometimes if we've lost sight of that."

You squeeze his hand reassuringly. "I don't think we've lost it completely. It's still there, just buried under a lot of noise and frustration and fear. What we saw tonight - people coming together, sharing a meal, having real conversations - that's the spirit of America that's always been there."

Steve nods, a small smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. "You're right. And that’s the job now - uncover that spirit again, remind people of what we can accomplish when we work together."

You shift back to get more comfortable in your seat again, but keep holding hands as you look out the window.

"Are you nervous about the Oprah interview airing tonight?" you ask, breaking the quiet.

Steve chuckles softly. "A little," he admits. "It's one thing to have these intimate conversations with people like we just did, but knowing millions will be watching..." He trails off, shaking his head slightly. “And the revelation about our marriage…”

You give his hand a reassuring squeeze. "You were amazing during the interview. Honest, authentic, just like you always are. People will respond to that."

He turns to you, his blue eyes filled with warmth. "We were amazing together," he corrects gently. "You went with me when I climbed out on that limb of truth.”

“I was feeling the need to set the record straight, too,” you reassure him. “It felt like you were reading my mind.”

He lets out a breath that apparently he was holding. “I couldn't imagine doing any of this without you now."

You feel a flutter in your chest at his words. Even after all this time, he still has that effect on you. "Well, good thing you don't have to," you reply with a soft smile.

As the SUV winds its way through the Kansas City streets, you both fall into a comfortable silence, watching the city lights flicker to life as evening overtakes the afternoon.

The weight of the campaign, the responsibility you've taken on, settles over you like a familiar blanket. There’s the mantle of potential presidential job ahead, but then there’s things like the motorcade. To come on this very small outing to get food, there were three SUVs - the one the two of you are riding in, one ahead, and one behind - and eight Secret Security men and women, plus two campaign staffers who had come to make sure things went smoothly in and out, pick up the food, and pay for everything, and Steve is only a candidate.

If he becomes president, it will only grow - more security, bigger motorcade, four years of responsibilities and obligations and opportunities and being scheduled every waking hour of the day.

As you contemplate the enormity of it all, Steve's voice pulls you from your thoughts.

"Penny for your thoughts?" he asks softly, his thumb still tracing gentle circles on your hand.

You turn to him with a small smile. "Just thinking about how much our lives have changed. And how much more they would change if we win."

Steve nods, understanding in his eyes. "Sometimes I still can't believe we're here, doing this."

"Do you ever regret it?" you ask, your voice barely above a whisper. "Deciding to run?"

Steve is quiet for a moment, his gaze thoughtful. "No," he says finally, his voice firm. "It's not easy, and there are days when I feel the weight of it more than others. But then I think about the people we meet all day, every day.”

“Your big heart is a sucker for people,” you tease him good-naturedly. “If only you were more surly and selfish.”

Steve chuckles at your teasing, his eyes crinkling at the corners. "You're right, I am a sucker for people. But you're no better, Mrs. Rogers."

As you continue to banter, the SUV turns onto a tree-lined street in a quiet suburban neighborhood. The sun has fully set now, and the warm glow of streetlights illuminates rows of well-maintained houses. Each home seems to tell its own story - some with Halloween decorations already adorning their porches, others with children's bicycles left haphazardly on front lawns.

The SUV slows to a stop in front of a charming two-story house with pale yellow siding and white trim. A wrap-around porch extends across the front, complete with a porch swing gently swaying in the evening breeze. The lawn is neatly manicured, with vibrant flower beds lining the walkway.

"Home sweet home, at least for tonight," Steve says with a smile as he opens the car door. “Tell me you’re just as eager as I am to meet Jake’s family.”

“I’ve been dying of curiosity ever since we found out!” You step out of the car, walking quickly up the front sidewalk.

No one knew Jake’s sister lived in Kansas with her husband and four kids until Elsa brought up whether the team should watch the interview together at the hotel or in groups in a few of the suites when Jake said that wouldn’t be necessary - that his baby sister had insisted she wanted to host the full traveling staff in her home for it.

As you approach the front door, it swings open before you can knock. A petite woman with Jake's same dark brown eyes and infectious smile emerges, her face beaming with excitement.

"Welcome! I'm Kathy, Jake's sister," she says, extending her hand. "It's such an honor to have you both here."

Steve shakes her hand warmly. "The honor is ours, Kathy. We can’t thank you for opening your home to us."

You follow suit, greeting Kathy with a smile. "It's wonderful to finally meet you."

Kathy ushers you inside, where the aroma of freshly baked cookies mingles with the scent of coffee, and the rest of your team begins to file in behind you. The living room is cozy and inviting, with overstuffed couches and chairs arranged to face a large flat-screen TV. Campaign staff members are already scattered around the room, chatting animatedly and nibbling on chips and cookies.

The house is alive with domestic energy, a stark contrast to the usual hotel suites and conference rooms you've grown accustomed to. Children's laughter echoes from somewhere upstairs, and you can hear the distant chatter of voices coming from what you assume is the kitchen.

Kathy's husband, a tall man with kind eyes and salt-and-pepper hair, emerges from the dining room. "I'm Tom," he introduces himself, shaking your hands. "We've set up a spot in the dining room for the barbecue spread.”

“Sorry for descending on you with all this chaos, Tom,” Steve apologizes.

“Oh, please, we’ve got four kids from four to sixteen, this is hardly new for us. Bring this kind of feast and you’re welcome any night of the week,” he insists.

Steve heads through to the dining room with Tom, but you make your way to the kitchen instead. Your eyes land on Bucky who’s in close conversation with campaign spokesperson Lisa and one of the new speechwriters.

They look up when they notice you.

“Where’s Sophia?” you ask. You don’t need her in this moment, but you’re so used to her finding you whenever you arrive at a new location if she isn’t already with you that it’s strange you haven’t seen her yet.

With a mischievous twinkle in his eye, Bucky informs you, “She’s out on the back porch with Sam.”

You raise an eyebrow in surprise and ask, “Alone?”

Bucky just smiles slyly and confirms your suspicions - he's trying to play matchmaker. You had wondered if you were only being hopeful at seeing signs of a potential spark between them, and now you’re glad it wasn’t only you seeing things happening there.

“Hang on,” Lisa slams her water bottle down on the counter. “Sam and Sophia?”

Bucky nods, “Mhmm.”

“No! Not yet!” she blusters. “We’re still three weeks out from election day! This is your first campaign, Barnes, so believe me when I tell you we need to avoid as many campaign crushes coming together as we can for at least another week - two if we can manage it - if we want to keep this operation running like a well-oiled machine! We want people pining as long as we can, not working through the awkward is this crush lasting after the campaign phase in the final days.” And with that, Lisa’s already rushing out of the kitchen, no doubt on her way to need something from one of them.

You shake your head, amused by Lisa’s reaction. As much as you understand her perspective from a campaign management standpoint, you can't help but feel a twinge of sympathy for Sam and Sophia. After all, you know exactly how difficult it is to navigate feelings in the midst of such an intense, all-consuming experience.

But you wonder how Lisa’s timeline translates to you and Steve because this isn’t a campaign crush? You’re married to the someone you’re building a relationship with on the campaign trail.

Because you have developed strong, deep feelings for Steve. You know they’re real. You know he has feelings for you. You’ve said things to each other indicating you both know this isn’t only a marriage to have a President and potential First Lady campaigning for the White House any more. But what are the next steps, and is there a too soon to take them on the campaign trail? The past week has been wonderful, spending time so effortlessly together as you can, routinely sitting right next to each other without question, holding hands, Steve’s arms often around your shoulders. There hadn’t been more kissing like your night alone in Brooklyn, but there had been more chaste kisses exchanged, and easily.

In a matter of hours things would fundamentally shift given what the rest of the world was going to learn about your marriage from the interview, so it would probably be smart to maintain whatever you were now and ride out whatever the fallout might end up being, and not add any more complexity to the situation.

“She’s right,” the other woman in the room says, bringing your attention back to the moment with Bucky and the speechwriter. “I’ve seen so many campaign crushes peak too soon, and it’s painful to watch,” she laughs - but do you detect it’s a little nervously?

Jake enters the kitchen with a broad smile.

"You made it here!" he exclaims. "I see you've met the family. What do you think of my little sister's humble abode, Mrs. Rogers?"

You return his smile warmly. "It's lovely so far. Your sister and her husband really are so great to host all of us."

Jake chuckles. "Yeah, Kathy's always been like that. Heart of gold. You should see her at Thanksgiving - she insists on inviting every stray and lonely soul in the neighborhood."

You arch an eyebrow. “Jake, I have this suspicion there’s a big softie under your campaign manager persona to rival your sister.”

“Sure, of course,” he admits, “but people can’t know I have a marshmallow heart up front. When the staff are afraid and want to impress me, they set the bar high and only keep climbing from there.” He points at the Bucky and the speechwriter, “I will deny it if you spread that nasty rumor.”

You all laugh.

“Will you two make the rounds?” Jake looks at Bucky and the speechwriter. “Let people know dinner’s up and that I need to talk to everyone about five minutes before the interview starts to air? Living room.”

Jake's request sends the other two off, leaving you alone with him in the kitchen. He turns to you with a more serious expression.

"How are you holding up?" he asks, his voice lowered. "Big night."

You take a deep breath, considering your answer. "I'm okay. A little nervous, I guess. It's one thing to do the interview, but now that it’s done but finally going to be out there for better or worse..."

Jake nods understandingly. "It's natural to feel that way. But I want you to know, you and Steve both knocked it out of the park. The footage I've seen is powerful stuff."

You feel a flutter of anticipation in your stomach. "Thanks, Jake. That means a lot."

"And I do mean it," he continues, leaning against the counter. "You know I don’t get paid to bullshit anyone. The honesty, the vulnerability... it's exactly what people need to see right now.”

You smile gratefully at Jake's reassurance. "I just hope the public sees it that way."

Jake nods confidently. "They will. Look, I've been in this game a long time, and I've rarely seen candidates connect with people the way you and Steve do. This interview is just going to reinforce that."

As you're about to respond, Steve enters the kitchen, a plate of barbecue in hand. "There you are," he says, smiling warmly at you. "I was wondering where you'd gotten off to."

Jake straightens up, clapping Steve on the shoulder. "Just giving your wife a little pep talk before the big show," he says with a wink. "I'll leave you two alone for a bit. Don't forget, living room in about fifteen minutes."

As Jake exits, Steve moves closer to you, setting his plate down on the counter. You grin, familiar now with how much food the super soldier can pack away.

"You okay?" Steve asks softly, his blue eyes searching your face.

You nod, grin softening to a smaller smile. "Jake says we’ll be fine, but I can’t help a few nerves still."

Steve reaches out, gently taking your hand in his. "We're in this together. Whatever happens, we face it as a team."

His touch and words calm you, as they always do now. You squeeze his hand back. "You're right."

Steve smiles, then glances at his plate of barbecue. "Want to help me out with some of this?"

You laugh, eyeing the heaping plate. "No way. I’m saving the small bit of room I’ve got for one of Kathy’s cookies."

The two of you chat with campaign staffers as they filter in and out of the kitchen and Tom and Kathy - who comes through with a plate of her cookies - until it’s time to congregate in the living room.

Once everyone is packed in on all the furniture, extra chairs that have been brought in, and even some pillows and cushions on spots of the floor, its crowded but cozy, and it seems like it would be wrong to have any of the team in the other room for a night like this.

Jake stands in front of the tv - which is already on but muted until the interview goes live - and clears his throat. The room falls silent, all eyes turning to him. The excitement in the air is palpable, a mix of nervous energy and anticipation.

"Alright, team," Jake begins, his voice carrying across the crowded living room. "Before we dive into the interview, I've got some news to share." He pauses, building the suspense, a hint of a smile playing at the corners of his mouth.

"I just got off the phone with our polling team," he continues, his eyes scanning the room. "We have official data as of an hour ago, and I've got to say, the numbers are looking good. Really good."

A murmur of excitement ripples through the group. You feel Steve's hand tighten around yours, his body tensing slightly beside you.

Jake holds up his hands, calling for quiet. "Now, I don't want anyone getting ahead of themselves, but..." he pauses again before his face breaks into a wide smile. "Our latest poll shows that Steve has gained four points in the last week alone. This puts the Rogers-Young ticket just three points behind our closest competitor."

The room erupts in cheers and applause. You see Sam clap Bucky on the back, both men grinning ear to ear. Campaign staffers high-five each other, their faces beaming with excitement. You feel a surge of elation course through you, and you turn to Steve, who's wearing an expression of disbelief and joy.

“However,” Jake cuts into the celebrations, “no one can coast, especially after tonight. In tonight’s interview, Captain and Mrs. Rogers shared some information about their relationship that is going to dramatically shift public perception of their marriage. There are about a dozen people who already know, and I’m going to tell you now so that you have the next twenty minutes or so to wrap your head around how you’re own reaction.”

The nervous excitement in the room turned to trepidation within less than a second.

Jake continues, “There’s superstitions - or expectations - that there’s always some type of news that will break weeks or days before an election that has a significant impact on the narrative of the campaigns for public perception and tip the scales for who wins - it’s called the October Surprise. This might be it.”

You hold your breath and Steve holds tightly to your hand.

“Some of you have idly asked questions or made comments about the Rogers’ quick engagement and marriage and accepted the statement that they realized if they were going to get married, they needed to do it before the filing deadline to officially get Steve on the ballot. Others have noticed and wondered why we always book them separate rooms. I said the directive to our advance coordinator came from me, that it simplified things if one of them had an earlier departure time than the other.

“The truth is,” Jake explains, “that I said Captain Rogers needed a wife if we were going to have any chance of winning with him running as a third-party candidate without a prior political career. Theirs was a politically arranged marriage, and they met the day of their wedding.”

There are gasps and murmurs immediately around the room.

“I know you will have questions. Elsa is giving the same news to our team back at campaign HQ in DC,” Jake says. “I’d like everyone to watch the interview before you ask any questions or make any statements or decisions. If you’re in this room, I’m betting you’re giving your blood, sweat, and tears for more than the semantics around their marriage, and I think what you’ll learn from their conversation with Oprah will answer most of your questions. Deal?”

There’s still some tension in the air, but the consensus is there.

“Then, here we go,” Jake says. “Remember, as with everything else on this campaign, only Lisa makes statements on behalf of the campaign, and that includes texts from your family and friends who want an inside scoop from you tonight while they watch with the rest of America.”

The television is taken off mute, and within moments, the program begins.

Watching the interview is an out of body experience. You remember every moment, reliving it as it plays out on screen. The ninety minutes seem to stretch on forever, and yet when it’s all over and done, it feels like it can’t have been more than five minutes.

Everyone says it went well. You think it went well. Steve feels like it went well. The team has a few questions - mostly for Jake about strategy and messaging moving forward. Steve says he’s more than willing to answer questions, but Mike - one of the policy advisors - seems to speak for everyone when he says, "I think we're good, Cap. We all probably need some time to fully process this, but the interview spoke for itself. You two were honest and open. I'm still 100% behind this campaign and what you stand for.”

There are nods and murmurs of agreement from the rest of the team. The tension that had filled the room earlier has dissipated, replaced by a renewed sense of purpose and determination.

Jake claps his hands together. "Alright, team. Let's all get some rest and we'll regroup in the morning. Elsa and Peter have already been working on strategy ahead of tonight, and they and Lisa will already be working tonight and with the first wave of morning shows bright and early. Dump questions and thoughts into the Slack workspace to your directors as needed or straight to me. We’ll meet in the morning discuss our next phase and handling the positive and negative reactions we expect moving forward."

As the group begins to disperse, you and Steve make your way to Kathy and Tom to thank them for their hospitality.

"It was our pleasure," Kathy says warmly, pulling you both into a hug. "We're honored to have been a part of this night."

Tom nods in agreement. "You're welcome back anytime you’re in Kansas. And for what it's worth, I think you two make a great team, arranged marriage or not."

You feel a warmth spread through you at his words. "Thank you, Tom. That means a lot."

Behind them, there’s a smaller TV on behind them, muted, but showing pundits already discussing the interview.

Jake approaches. "The SUV is ready when you are," he says. "I've arranged for you to have a later start tomorrow morning. I figure you both could use some extra rest after tonight."

Steve nods gratefully. "Thanks, Jake. We appreciate it."

Sam, Bucky, and Sophia are all with you and Steve on the ride back to the hotel.

There are six or eight of your team who arrived ahead of you, and you cross paths with them on the way to the hotel bar. They invite the five of you to join them, when you meet Steve’s eyes, you can see he’s feeling as drained you, and so the two of you encourage everyone else to go and make your excuses to go upstairs.

In the elevator, Steve drapes an arm around your shoulders and pulls you to his side. You melt into him, wrapping both arms around his strong chest, and inhale his scent - smiling at the tinge of barbecue smoke that mingled in and still lingers from earlier in the day.

As the elevator rises, you feel the tension of the evening finish melting away. The warmth of Steve's body against yours is comforting, and you allow yourself to fully relax into his embrace.

"What a night," Steve murmurs, his voice rumbling in his chest.

You nod against him. "I still can't believe we actually did it. Told the whole world."

He presses a kiss to your forehead.

The elevator dings as it reaches your floor. Steve keeps his arm around you as you walk down the hallway to your rooms. When you reach your door, you both pause, and he moves away from you just enough to clearly look at you.

"How are you feeling?" he asks, his blue eyes searching your face.

You take a moment to consider the question. "Relieved, I think. And a little scared. But mostly... hopeful?"

Steve nods, a soft smile playing on his lips. "I feel the same way. The weight has been lifted, but now we're stepping into uncharted territory."

You lean against the door frame, looking up at him. "No more hiding, no more pretending. It's all out there now."

"For better or worse," Steve agrees, his eyes never leaving yours.

Steve's hand comes up to cup your cheek, his thumb gently stroking your skin. You move to close the gap between you, cup your hand around his neck, and press your lips to his. There’s heat in the kiss, but it’s soft, warm, promising.

The kiss deepens as Steve's arms wrap around your waist, pulling you closer. You sink into his embrace, fingers threading through his hair, falling further into the kiss.

When you finally part, you're both a little breathless. Steve rests his forehead against yours, a soft smile on his lips. "I've been wanting to do that all day," he murmurs.

You can't help but smile back. "Me too."

For a moment, you both just stand there, savoring the closeness. Then reality creeps back in - you're still in the hallway of a hotel, with your security details positioned nearby, trying to be as discreet as they can in a long hallway which translates to almost zero discreetness.

Steve seems to realize this too. He straightens up, though he keeps one arm around your waist. "We should both get some sleep," he says, a hint of reluctance in his voice.

You nod, but don't release your hold on him. "Probably," you agree.

For another moment, neither of you moves, but then you hear the elevator ding again at the end of the hallway and break apart as it opens, a few staffers stepping out.

As the staffers approach, you and Steve exchange a look that speaks volumes. The moment has passed, but the lingering warmth remains.

You exchange a few words and offer polite nods as they pass by. Once they're out of earshot, you turn back to Steve with a small, almost shy smile.

"Goodnight, Steve," you say softly, reaching for your room key.

He catches your hand gently before you can insert the key, bringing it to his lips for a soft kiss. "Goodnight," he murmurs against your skin.

With one last lingering look, Steve reluctantly lets go of your hand and steps back. You slip into your room, closing the door behind you with a soft click. Leaning against it, you take a deep breath, your heart still racing from the kiss and the intensity of Steve's gaze.

You move through your nightly routine on autopilot, your mind still buzzing. As you climb into bed, you can't help but wonder what tomorrow will bring. The world knows the truth now, and there's no telling how they'll react.

But as you drift off to sleep, it was such a good day that you find yourself feeling more excited than anxious.

Twelve hours later, you would not believe how wrong you were.

next part: coming 12/27

I gave you a little calm before the storm.

Plus some seeds of Sam & Sophia! 🥰

↠ Main Masterlist | Aspen's Ask Box | Field Guide to the Forest

I do not do tag lists, but FOLLOW @buckets-and-stories and TURN ON NOTIFICATIONS to be updated any time I publish a new work!

[hiwelcometothemonstersancturary]

Since the new trailer for Poppy Playtime just dropped, I figured I'd do my own mini analysis of it! Let's do it:

SPOILERS UNDER THE CUT <3

I think TV guy is Dr. Harley Sawyer. We know from the ARG + some other stuff I don't remember from the top of my head that Sawyer was "out of commission", and poor baby Yarnaby was CRUSHED by it. Well! It wouldn't be weird if the Unethical Experiment Factory did an Unethical Experiment and used SAWYER for it as a punishment for an accident he caused.

The voice from TV guy + what he was saying + the flashing lines of text from the trailer + the trailer's title ("The Doctor") just add more confirmation. His behavior, initial confusion at becoming an experiment and later realization of what he can do seems to be in line for Sawyer, esp if we consider how almost cartoonishly evil he is in the ARG. Of course this rejected cartoon villain would say "the minds of men are easy to break" with THAT line delivery (btw. Props to the VA? Like? The line deliveries are SO pleasant to listen to, I fucking love a good evil-ish monologue).

Now. I believe Yarnaby will be loyal to Sawyer/TV Guy, and he was the one who attacked Kissy at the end of Chapter 3, following Sawyer's orders. This could explain why Poppy believed Catnap was the last obstacle to get to the Prototype: She was right, in a way. He was the last obstacle against the PROTOTYPE, but not the last obstacle the place had for them. She wasn't expecting was that Sawyer, someone the Prototype hates, would interfere with her plans.

If Poppy knows Sawyer was even an experiment to begin with or not, we don't know, but my current theory was that she had absolutely zero ideas about it. Poppy seems to like her plans, and she wouldn't risk Kissy's safety if she knew there was someone else to watch out for.

I believe Sawyer will try to either use Angel/the player for his own plans, or try to attack them as some sort of petty revenge. After all, Angel is an ex-worker, and TV guy seems to be really, REALLY mad at PlayCo ("What is this? / Wrong. This is wrong / You... / Backstabbing traitors!")

My theory is that Dr. Sawyer became TV guy as a punishment, and he may or may not be the one pretending to be Ollie. If it's not him, then it's the Prototype, and the Prototype COULD maybe help us/Poppy on getting rid of him? I'm not sure about Ollie at the moment. Poppy had no idea about him, and the guy is either going to use Angel, or hunt them for sport.

Thanks for reading this! See y'all soon <3

[artist-issues]

So if you believe every biblical word is 100% the word of your god, not to be questioned, only obeyed, regardless of how far humanity develops, how do you manage Ephesians 6:5-9?

Should human trafficking victims simply obey their captors “with a sincere heart” given that they are “servants of Christ” and the Bible urges bond servants to be “faithful and obedient?”

Hell, it promises obedient slaves will be rewarded in Heaven.

To anyone reading, seriously, check the whole verse, the context doesn’t make it better.

If your argument is that all in the Bible is above question, how do you account for that?

Nobody said "not to he questioned, only to he obeyed"—if what you MEAN by "not to be questioned," is "not to be carefully examined in order to get it right." The Bible straight-up says to carefully examine God's words. So don't be disingenuous.

Every Biblical word is 100% the Word of God, yeah. Ephesians 6:1-9 says:

"Children, obey your parents in the Lord, for this is right. Honor your father and mother (which is the first commandment with a promise), so that it may be well with you, and that you may live long in the land. Fathers, do not provoke your children to anger, but bring them up in the discipline and instruction of the Lord. Slaves, be obedient to those who are your masters according to the flesh, with fear and trembling, in the integrity of your heart, as to Christ; not by way of eyeservice, as men-pleasers, but as slaves of Christ, doing the will of God from the heart, serving with good will as to the Lord, and not to men, knowing that whatever good thing each one does, this he will receive back from the Lord, whether slave or free. And masters, do the same things to them, giving up threatening, knowing that both their Master and yours is in heaven, and there is no partiality with Him."

The chapter is talking about Christian-human relationships with other humans. Starts with the most basic human institution—family. Moves on to slaves and masters. Slaves, indentured servants, bond slaves, were all common in the time of the Bible being written. It was not cultural taboo to have people living with and working for you, or even being bought and sold by you—what the Bible is saying here is actually very counter-cultural. Because it means you have to keep treating them as equal humans, not objects or beasts of burden you can beat or mistreat however you want. Which is a low bar in our minds, but was an incredibly high bar back then. It's called "interpretation." You can't just take words written in a specific context and time period, for a specific intent, with a thousands-of-years-older vocabulary and culture, and go "oh, well in my time period and my language that word means this." It's about as dumb as saying the Wizard of Oz is about queer sex purely because of how many times the word "queer" is printed in the book.

Human trafficking victims are not the kind of "slaves" this verse is talking about, and I bet you know it.

In fact, there is too much anti-human-trafficking philosophy in the Bible for even the most ardent atheist to try the same little "discredit the Bible" smear tactic you're trying right now. Anyone who knows anything about history (beyond a mere 185 years ago, that is) and can see concepts beyond the far-West-ideology of "slavery bad" can have a more intelligent discussion than this.

I'm tired of the same old tripe.

Don't you see that God is using the same term, "slaves" to refer to Christians, HIS people, who are also called His "sheep, children, beloved, inheritors, heirs?" In this same verse? So then when the God who invented humanity uses the word "slave" can't you infer that maybe He doesn't mean it with the same baby-level-100 1/2-year-old connotations that you do? If He's using it to refer to the very same people He loves, protects, sacrificed His life for, and goes to unimaginable lengths to bless--then do you really think this verse is talking about people who are categorically worth being treated as less than human?

That doesn't make sense. You can see that it doesn't make sense.

Bottom line: if God said slavery was morally acceptable, guess what? It would be morally acceptable. He invented reality, your brain, and morality. But He didn't say that, so grow up and be serious. Instead, what He said was listed above: no matter your circumstances, be it as a child, father, slave, or master, remember and conduct yourself as if you're all slaves of God, and you're living to please Him, not each other or yourselves.

God condemns "man-stealing" in Exodus 21:16. Deuteronomy 22 condemns rape. The same God wrote 100% of the Bible through several different authors across centuries by the inspiration of the very words with His Spirit. No, this passage of Ephesians does not tell sexually trafficked victims to obey their kidnappers and rapists. And you know it. Got anything else?

[shiro-s2e2-erukinzu]

Anime only watchers and people who aren't caught up with the Manga, BEWARE... Cuz I'm about to discuss Spy X Family Mission 108... You have been warned...! 👌

[SPOILERS AHEAD FROM THIS POINT ON]

WE ARE SO BACK!!! 🗣 And this chapter was... SO DAMN GOOD! 👏😆

What an awesome early Christmas present!! 💗🤗💗 Now let's get back into the swing of things, shall we...? 😉

To start off, we pick up right where we left off with Mission 107... With Yor and Anya finding out that Melinda is a fortune teller at the sheep festival!! 😲 (Also, @yumeka-sxf shared the Japanese version of the first page of this chapter the other day with other Spy X Family Jump Festa news!! 😁)

Melinda then tells Yor to not tell anyone about her being into the occult...!! She even mentions how she believes in many things, including telepathy to Anya's surprise (though, I believe there might be a reason why Melinda is into the occult, perhaps she knows more than she's letting on? 🤔)

After Yor tells Melinda that she admires that she can do what she loves and Melinda happily thinks that Yor is into the occult too, Anya then asks Melinda to read her fortune:

I was like, "Oh gosh, what's gonna happen...? What is Melinda gonna see...?!" 😵 So as I waited with baited breath to see Melinda in action, she lays out her tarot cards to read Anya's fortune and...:

SHE'S HORRIBLE AT IT!!! 🤭

I mean, this could be all an act... 🤔 But for right now, I'm gonna believe that she really isn't that good at fortune telling, mainly because I think it's funny and cute...!! 😄

After reading that the grim reaper is behind Anya (A.K.A. Yor 👏😂) and saying that Anya will NEVER get another Stella Star, Melinda asks Anya if she likes Damian... Anya of course says NO because he bullies her, but Melinda appreciates that she is still trying to be friends with Damian...!! 😊 Soon Melinda starts to think about how she wasn't there for Damian during the Desmond "family" dinner back in Mission 106 and thinks that she needs to go and face Damian, then...:

HOLY SHIT, DONOVAN JUMP SCARE!!! 😱

Ever since she introduced herself as Melinda Desmond way back in Mission 65, I didn't know how to feel about this woman, I just could not figure her out... But thanks all to of these recent developments in the last few chapters that she's been in, I think that I can safely say that Melinda needs to take Damian (and Demetrius, if he isn't too far gone) AND GET THE FUCK AWAY FROM DONOVAN!! 😫 I don't know what's up with that man, but if he can make his supposed "wife" THIS SCARED OF HIM, then he definitely NEEDS TO BE STOPPED!! 👏👏👏

Moving on, Anya hears all of Melinda's conflicting thoughts, which makes Anya wonder something...:

It always warms my heart whenever Anya shows her concern and compassion for others...! 💗 Though currently for Melinda, she could not answer Anya's question and decided to leave as soon as possible... 😔 But before she goes, Yor stops Melinda to tell her something...

We then cut back the others as Anya and Yor make their return to the group...!! Becky asks how it went, and...:

GODDAMNIT BECKY, YOU ARE JUST SOOO DELUSIONAL GIRL!! 🤣

Besides Becky thinking that her fortune teller is a hack (this girl, I swear 😌) and reacting to Anya's grim reaper fortune (with Yor being adorable about it 💗), she asks Anya about her love fortune and Anya lies and tells Becky that the fortune teller told her to get invited to his house, which makes Damian to start yelling...!! 👌😌

After Anya convinces Twilight to stay longer (because he was gonna go look for Melinda, though he doesn't know that she already left), they all stay until it becomes dark before everyone decides to leave the festival. Yor thanks the Eden kids for being friends with Anya, while Damian scoffs at seeing Anya holding her mother's hand, which causes Anya to say this to him:

Which makes Damian flustered and then Yor chimes in reaffirming Anya's statement, causing Damian to run off...!! 🤭

After that, Jeeves and the other butlers say their goodbyes and even offer to get drinks again with Twilight sometime...!! 😊 But as they left, it reminded Twilight of something that broke my heart... 🥲

ENDO!!! 😭 WHY DO YOU ALWAYS DO THIS STUFF TO ME!!! 💔

This was literally bringing me to TEARS!! 😫 THEY REMINDED HIM OF HIS FRIENDS, I CAN'T-- 😭😭😭

Ahem...! Sorry about that... 😢 Anyway, after *sniff* that, Twilight asks if Anya enjoyed the festival, she of course did enjoy her time there and the Forgers headed home...!! 💗

After that, we see Twilight at his psychiatrist job and he has a new patient...:

IT'S FREAKING MELINDA!! 😵

Turns out the thing that Yor told Melinda was to go see Loid because he's a doctor (she also mentions that he does "concussive therapy" to his patients👏🤣), and now Loid can (hopefully) get some info from Melinda! 😲

And that was the end of chapter, and boy did I miss this...!! 😁 Not only was this chapter fantastic on SO MANY LEVELS, but it's also great to talk about a new chapter again!! 😊 This honestly the best early Christmas gift that I could ask for...!! 💗🤗💗

I am so glad that Endo is doing a lot better and I hope that he takes it easy going forward because even though I love this series with all my heart, I'd rather have Endo get as much rest and take as many breaks as he needs then to have this man die on the job just for our entertainment. Endo is a human being like every last single one of us fans, so it's always very sad to me when I see people care more about fictional characters and their worlds over the real people that make 'em...!! 😤 More people should know better, but they don't and that just sucks so much man... 😮‍💨

Anyway, sorry about my little tangent there... This chapter was a wonderful chapter for the series to return with and as always, I can't wait for the next one!! 😊 So until the next Mission; take care, be safe out there and be kind to one another...!! Also...

MERRY CHRISTMAS AND HAPPY HOLIDAYS Y'ALL...!! SEE YA!! 👋😄

[cressidagrey]

The moment I could see it - Part 3

Pairing: Max Verstappen x Ariel Cane (Original Character)

Summary: 5 Times that Gianpiero Lambiase thinks that Ariel Cane and Max Verstappen are weirdly similar…and 1 time he is just happy that the two of them are no longer pining after each other. 

Warnings: 

GP's POV, mention of cancer, mention of parent's death

Author Notes: I am back to my old tricks...which means I write from the most random of POV's just because. (I once wrote a chapter from a dog's POV so like, GP doesn't even really count.

It was actually quite stupid, GP reflected drily, that in 4 years of knowing both Ariel Cane and Max Verstappen...he had never even thought that one day they would be in the same room at the same time.

Even after Ariel had gotten a job in Red Bull's PR department straight out of uni.

It was just...two very different parts of his life. Colliding. Right in front of him.

And it was pure coincidence in a way...namely a meeting where they wanted an opinion from the Social Media Team...and suddenly, there was Ariel Cane walking into the room, with a smile on her face.

And there was Max Verstappen. Staring at her. Completely stunned. 

GP found himself silently hoping that Max wouldn't start drooling or do something equally embarrassing.

GP couldn't suppress a silent laugh as he witnessed Max's reaction to Ariel's entrance. Max looked positively gobsmacked as he gaped at her. He couldn’t help but watch the whole thing with a lot of amusement as Max stared at Ariel utterly stunned. 

Max, who GP had seen progress from a reckless speed demon to a more mature driver, but now was completely frozen, staring at Ariel as if he had never seen a girl before.

GP wasn't the only one who was amused by his reaction. Granted, Ariel was a very pretty girl, but the way Max was staring made it seem like she was the most gorgeous creature he had ever laid eyes on.

He couldn't help but find the whole situation entertaining. Max was usually so confident and laid-back, but now he looked completely out of his depth. 

Meanwhile, Ariel was completely unaware of the effect she was having on him. She was simply smiling warmly at the meeting attendees, not realizing that Max was staring at her like a love sick puppy.

Gianpiero exchanged a glance with a couple of his colleagues, who were also trying to hide their amusement. Clearly, they found the whole situation just as amusing as he did. It was rare for Max to be rendered dumbfounded like this. 

The meeting continued, with Ariel providing some insights for the Social Media Team. However, it was clear that Max struggled to concentrate on anything but her. He shot furtive glances in her direction, trying to be subtle but failing miserably. Luckily for Max, the meeting came to an end not long after, and everyone began to leave the room. GP watched as Max lingered behind, seeming like he wanted to say something to Ariel.

GP stepped in, noticing how Max was still staring at Ariel with a dreamy expression. He couldn't help but rib the young man a bit.

"Don't even think about it, Verstappen," he said dryly, amused by the situation.

Max looked at him, caught in the act of openly ogling Ariel, and his cheeks colored a bright red. 

"I wasn't..." he protested weakly before trailing off. The denial sounded rather half-hearted. 

GP just raised an eyebrow, silently saying 'yeah, sure you weren't.' He knew Max well enough to be able to tell when he was interested in someone, and right now, his interest was painfully evident.

"Actually I was thinking about offering her a job," Max blurted out.

GP could just stare at him.  He definitely hadn't expected Max to say that.

"A job?" he repeated, a hint of disbelief in his voice. "What kind of job are you planning to offer her?"

He watched as Max shifted awkwardly, clearly having blurted out the words without fully thinking it through."Well, I fired Sadie...so I need a new personal assistant."

GP’s eyebrows rose even further as Max explained the situation. He couldn't help but be taken aback by his impulsivity.

"You fired Sadie and now you want to hire Ariel as your new personal assistant? Just like that?" he questioned incredulously.

"She's good at her job!" Max defended himself. "Better that...literally all the rest of the PR team I need to deal with on a daily basis."

GP had to acknowledge that Max had a point. The PR team could be...eccenctric, to say the least. And it was true that Ariel was good at her job.

"Alright, I'll give you that," he admitted. "Ariel is talented. But if you think that she is simply going to do what you tell her to do…you are wrong. She’ll eat you alive,” he said with some amusement. “Her brother is our Head of electrical engineering. Have you met him yet? Tall, Red head? Only manages to come to work with the same pair of shoes on both feet around 80% of time and is  well known for working 48 hour stretches?”

"If they can't get him to stop, they call his little sister...and you don't want to be on her bad side when that happens." 

Max shifted uncomfortably, clearly realising the implications of what Gianpiero was saying. Ariel Cane was not someone to be trifled with. 

GP took a moment to reflect on the situation. Max, with his habit of getting into trouble, wanted to hire a young woman who was known for her no-bullshit, no-nonsense attitude...

Yeah, this was shaping up to be a disaster in the making. And GP was going to have a front row seat

But he couldn't help feeling a slight sense of schadenfreude. Sitting back and watching this unfold was going to be entertaining, in a chaotic and amusing kind of way. 

He didn't actually think, Max was going to go through with it.

Until Ariel showed up in his office days later.

"Tell me about Max Verstappen," she said calmly as she sat down in front of his desk. "What kind of boss is he?"

His eyebrows rose. 

"Well, he's not exactly my boss..." GP began. "But Max is a good kid. He's a raer, through and through. A bit impulsive and a bit...reckless, but he's a good guy...mostly."

He paused for a moment, considering how to describe Max as a boss.

"As a boss, he's...demanding," he continued. "He has high expectations and he expects you to give 110% at all times. But he's also fair and if you do your job, he'll be the first to give you credit for it."

"You aren't actually thinking about taking his offer, are you?" he asked her bluntly, unable to keep his surprise out of his voice.

Max was the unpredictable one. Ariel…Ariel wasn’t. Ariel always did what was expected of her. 

He didn't want to discourage her if she was serious about the position, but he also had some strong opinions about the potential working relationship between her and Max.

"Max is...a handful," GP warned her. "He can be demanding, impulsive, and more than a bit reckless. As his personal assistant, you'd have to put up with a lot of things most people wouldn't even think of. Are you sure you want to get yourself into that kind of situation?"

Ariel cocked her head to the side. "I like a challenge," she said drily.

GP couldn't help but let out a low snort. That answer both reassured him as well as concerned him.

He had known that Ariel would see this as a challenge, and he had no doubt she was more than capable of handling Max and his…behavior. 

"You like a challenge, huh?" he repeated, a hint of amusement in his voice. "Well, Max Verstappen sure as hell will be your biggest challenge yet. The hours will be long, the stress will be high, and you'll have to deal with a hell of a lot of Max's...antics."

He paused for a moment, giving her a hard look. He wanted to make sure she knew exactly what she was getting into with this job.

"You're more than capable of handling Max, I have no doubt. But be prepared for the ride of your life if you take on this job. Max is a handful, and I have no doubt he'll push your buttons. He'll probably drive you insane,” he warned her. “Do you think you can handle that?”

GP watched her closely, studying her expression for any hint of uncertainty or doubt. He was a good judge of character and could usually tell if someone was putting on a brave face. But if he was being honest, he couldn't detect any hint of hesitation on Ariel’s face.

Max could be a force of nature, more than most people could handle.

"Just keep in mind," he added, allowing himself a small smile. "Max is a race car driver. He's used to living his life at lightning speed. You'll need to keep up if you want to keep him on track."

There was a small smile blooming on Ariel's face.

"Oh, I expect nothing less," she said simply.

[cjlouwho]

Twelve Christmases

Chapter tags: Michael returns, implied homophobia

read below or on ao3

Day 8: 2017

Tommy hadn't stepped foot in his hometown in fifteen years.

And when he did return home, he hadn't planned on saying much.

He planned on sitting back and watching his father be a disaster with his new family.

A stepmother of eight years that he'd never met.

A stepsister and two stepbrothers he couldn't tell you the names of.

Step nieces and nephews and cousins. Tons of people for his dad to embarrass himself in front of on Christmas day.

What he didn't expect was for them to all be so damn happy.

His stepmom, Tina, laughing and giggling with Michael by her side.

His step siblings giving him a hug.

The kids all running to him, calling him grandpa.

Not a bottle of beer in sight.

It filled Tommy with a rage he hadn't felt in years.

And it caused him to blurt out the one thing he'd only just been able to admit to himself a few months earlier.

“I'm gay.”

The room fell silent, everyone gathered at the table for Christmas dinner. All eyes were on Tommy as he stared down his dad as though he were daring him to react.

The seconds ticking by felt like hours.

“Hm,” Michael finally breathed out. He picked his fork up, motioning around the table. “Come on now, let's eat, food's gettin' cold.”

The silence faded away with the sounds of utensils clanging on dishes, and whispered conversations picking up between guests.

Tommy continued to watch his dad, who was smiling over at Tina as they spoke to one another.

“Hey, congrats,” one of Tommy's stepbrothers (Sam, he thinks), leaned over and said to him.

“Are you congratulating me for being gay?” Tommy deadpanned.

“No, just for like, coming out or whatever. I know- or, well, I've heard- that it's like, ya know, tough and stuff.”

Tommy had to fight back every retort that was popping into his brain. “Yeah,” he agreed. “It's real tough and stuff.”

Then Sam (or is it Jim? Henry? Steve?) reached out and patted his shoulder. “Proud of you, Bro.”

Tommy wished his eyes were laser beams that he could use to shoot directly at the hand Sam-Jim-Henry-Steve touched him with.

Instead, he plastered on a smile. “Thanks.”

*****

They didn't get another chance to speak until everyone else had left. Tina went to get a shower and Tommy found himself in the living room with his dad.

“So?” he started, not bothering to sit. “What have you been holding in?”

Michael, who had been focused on the TV, muted it before turning to look over at Tommy. “What the hell were you thinking?”

“There it is.”

“You don't come around for fifteen damn years and when you finally do, you act like an ass all day long. We sit down for a nice dinner and you say something like that?” he shook his head. “I don't even know what to think of you.”

“I wasn't acting like an ass all day,” Tommy defended. “I've been so unbelievably confused by whatever game you've been playing! Who the hell even are you?”

“I don't know what you're talking about.”

“I have never, not once, seen you sober on Christmas. Hell, I never really saw you on Christmas at all. When I did, it was a nightmare! You certainly weren't picking me up and spinning me around like you did those kids today. It's all some weird ass show you're putting on.”

“Hey!” Michael stood, standing face to face with his son. “It is not a show. I love that woman and all the people that come with her!”

“So that's what this is? You just never loved mom? Or me?”

“Your mom was weak, Tommy! She didn't know what I needed.”

“No, that was the problem!” Tommy yelled, poking at Michael's chest, “She was only ever here for what you needed!”

Michael smacked Tommy's hand away. “We're not talking about this right now. We're gonna talk about that- that lie you told at dinner just to try and upset me.”

Tommy stood up straight, his heart pounding. “It's not a lie. I'm gay.”

“No, you're not.”

“I think I'd know a little better than you.”

“I will not...” Michael's voice trailed off as he breathed heavily through his nose. Tommy was pretty sure fire would be coming out if that were possible.

“What?” Tommy taunted. “You will not what?”

“I want you out of my house,” Michael said, teeth gritted together. “I don't need you around my family.”

Tommy huffed out a laugh. “Around your family? What am I then, Dad?”

“An embarrassment!” Michael screamed, no hesitation.

Tommy pursed his lips, nodding. “Now that's the dad I know,” he said, his voice wavering slightly. “I'll get my stuff, leave tonight.”

As he left the living room and headed down the hall, he stopped when he saw Tina standing in the doorway of the main bedroom. It was just like his mom used to do all those years ago.

“Tommy,” she said, her voice quiet, sad. “You don't have to go tonight. You can stay.”

Tommy shook his head. “No, I'm not gonna stay. Thank you though.”

He continued toward his childhood bedroom to grab his things. He'd never really unpacked anyway.

“I didn't know,” she said, stopping him again. He turned back to her. “I've never heard him like that before.”

He smiled at her sadly. “It's okay,” he assured her. “I have.”

[elizaditton]

Too Small To Be Afraid (Chapter 20)

Cover / Master Post / Previous Chapter / Next Chapter (Coming Soon!)

- - - - -

I snatch my bookbag as I hurry out of my bedroom and down the hall. If I want to avoid having this conversation, I've got to make my rush look convincing!

"Hey, sweetheart," Dad says when he sees me enter the living room. "What's the big hurry? You've got plenty of time before school starts!"

"Y-yeah, I know," I say, trying the handle to the front door of our apartment. It's locked. "I just wanted to get there early to catch up some more with Brittney."

Dad chuckles. "Well, if you leave this early, you're still going to be waiting for the school to open when you get there!"

"Not a problem! I'm fine with that," I say as I turn the lock on the door and open it.

"Kaylin, come now. It's far too early to be leaving for school. You haven't even had— Aah!" he flinches when two golden brown slices of bread arise from the toaster with a sudden pop.

I can't help but smile. Dad's generally pretty fearless, often to the point of being reckless. Seeing him get scared by some toast is so out of character that I can't help but laugh.

Dad clears his throat and pushes up his glasses. "As I was saying before I was so rudely interrupted," he says, eyeing the toast, "you haven't even had any breakfast. Come on, I'll make you some toast."

I look between Dad and the door. If I stay, he's sure to want to pick up where we left off last night. Talking about school is the last thing I want to do! Yet the more I stand here, the more the emptiness in my gut begs me to eat something. Heaving a sigh, I set down my bookbag and close the door.

"So," Dad begins in a tone that can only begin to hint at all the questions he must have for me. "How are you feeling about school?"

"It's... okay," I say as I sit myself down at the kitchen table, trying to bury any complex feelings I have about the whole 'being completely blindsided by your own dad and sent to a school full of the very people you live in fear of' thing.

"Just okay?" he asks, looking back at me as he butters the toast. "You seemed pretty eager to head out the door just a second ago."

"Yeah, well... it's complicated." I say, turning my eyes to the table. "There's things I like, and... things I don't."

Dad hums in response, smothering an already buttery slice of toast with what looks to be enough raspberry jam for two separate slices. "Well, what sorts of things do you like about school?"

I move my jaw from side to side, growing more frustrated the harder I try to think of something about Pacific that I actually like that won't result in Dad bombarding me with more and more questions. I like talking with Brittney, and in spite of my fear I actually somewhat like being Derrick's deskmate— although I'd rather not be surrounded by other pertheans at school. Whenever a perthean student speaks up or even coughs in class, it sends shivers down my spine! And I really like being friends with Derrick, but I can't help but wish he was human. If he were human, I wouldn't be so terrified of him. I hate that I'm still scared of him, because I really do value the friendship we've been developing over the past few weeks.

"How about your friends?" Dad asks, setting a plate of toast in front of me. "Didn't you say you'd been hanging out with your deskmate?"

A knot forms in my core. This is exactly what I wanted to avoid.

"Y-yeah," I say, hoping he'll drop the topic if I respond.

Dad pulls up a chair across from me. "Why don't you tell me about your deskmate? Darren, right?"

"D-Derrick," I correct him.

"Right. Why don't you tell me about him? What's he like?" Dad asks, propping his head onto his hands like a teenage girl at a slumber party waiting to hear the latest gossip.

I try to keep a straight face, but a chuckle escapes me. Dad never ceases to surprise me!

"U-um, well, he's... nice," I start. "We both like Aven Gem games like Flower Town, and we both have FlexPads."

Dad nods, encouraging me to continue.

"He likes to study languages, and he's really good at Koronian," I say. "I think he wants to teach English in North Eris one day."

"That's nice. He sounds like a good kid," Dad says. "So what do the two of you usually do together?"

My heart sinks, and blood drains from my face. How am I supposed to answer that? Should I tell him Derrick is helping me with my fear? No, that'll be a huge win for him for sure!

I don't know why, but when I think about Dad hearing positive things about my experience at Pacific, I can't help but imagine him giving himself a huge pat on the back. I can't let him win this one, not when he lied to me about the move and completely blindsided me by enrolling me in this school. Even if I got lucky with Derrick, sending me to Pacific was still a terrible idea, and I'm not about to let Dad take the credit for what Derrick and I have been accomplishing.

"Well, we've studied together. We also just... um... talk," I say.

"Hm. And what sorts of things do you talk about?" Dad asks.

"Uh... j-just about anything! School, video games, movies..."

"And does he know about your fear?"

Why is he cornering me like this? Why is he so desperate to pry into this area of my life?

"Does it matter?" I retort, turning my attention to the toast in front of me and taking a bite. There's too much jam, but it tastes good mixed with the butter, so I don't mind.

Dad leans back in his chair. "Whether or not you tell him about your fear is up to you, but I think it would benefit the two of you to be on the same page."

I remain silent, taking another bite of toast.

"Do you plan on telling him?" Dad asks.

My insides twist as I look down, searching for the right thing to say. I come up empty.

Dad leans forward. "Does he already know?"

"Dad, I... I don't want to talk about this anymore." I manage, setting down my toast and clenching my jaw. Why is he doing this?

Dad sighs. "I get it, I do. Being at this school isn't easy for you. But I want you to know that you can talk to me about it, okay?"

"But you don't get it, Dad!" I hiss, standing up and planting my hands on the table. "You've never had a fear like mine! That's why you thought you could just send me to a school like Pacific and make me get over it!"

"That's not true," Dad says, crossing his arms.

"You want a quick fix for something that's plagued me all my life, but I can't get over my fear if I'm drowning in it," I utter, my voice cracking. "If you really cared, you'd leave me alone instead of throwing me to the wolves!"

Eyes glazing over, I turn and march toward the front door, leaving Dad behind at the kitchen table.

"Kaylin," Dad says, his tone growing more serious. "I don't want a quick fix for you or to throw you to the wolves. It's because I care about you that I want you to grow!"

"Forcing me to be around pertheans isn't going to undo what I saw!" I yell, slamming the door behind me as I exit the apartment.

My vision blurs as I head down the hall, and I blink away the tears that try to form. Dad's ignorance about my fear drives me up the wall! He knows what I saw and what I had to go through because of it, and he still thinks I can just get over it like an old habit!

The elevator door opens when I press the call button, and I sigh as I step inside. What am I going to do?

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

I let out a yawn as I wander down Seren Avenue, my eyelids still drooping from a lack of sleep. Why did I have to get up so early?

I gaze at the skylights above me, hoping the undercity's artificial lighting will be enough to help keep me awake. The screens display flowering trees reaching up towards a cloudy sky. Back in Maedri, the skylights displayed cherry blossoms during the springtime. Although the trees on these skylights do have some flowers, they're mostly filled with green leaves that pale in comparison to the beautiful shades of pink I'm used to seeing at the start of each year. I miss those old skylights. I miss Maedri.

I amble through the undercity, eyes fixed on the nature scene above. That's when something bumps into me from behind.

"Ah—! I'm sorry!" the boy behind me utters. His black hair and wide green eyes are all too familiar, and I immediately recognize the green blazer he's wearing as being from Pacific.

"Oh," he says, his eyes suddenly narrowing as his voice deepens. "It's just you."

"Y-yeah. Sam, right?" I ask.

He nods.

"This is the second time you've bumped into me. Don't you usually wear glasses?" I ask. "You'd be able to see where you're going with them on."

Sam's face reddens as he turns his gaze to the floor. "I... I look cooler without them."

"You should at least wear contacts so you can—" I start, only to be cut off by Sam weaving around me and running off. "Hey!"

I run after him, and am nearly out of breath by the time I catch up with him.

"Can I help you?" he asks flatly.

"Can I ask you something?"

He sighs, not even stopping or turning to face me. "I guess."

"Why are you always speeding off? Did I do something wrong?" I ask.

"That's two questions," he states, annoyed.

"Sorry."

"Look," he says, finally turning his head back to address me. "I'm not great with people, okay? I prefer to be alone."

"Is that why you're at Pacific?" I ask, my curiosity growing.

"Yes. I mean, no. I mean—" he stumbles over his words before letting out another sigh. "I have my own reasons for going."

I suppose Pacific looks good on university applications, being a private school and all.

"Is that why you're at Pacific?" he turns the question back to me.

"I-I... well, sort of. My dad made me go."

"Ugh. My parents made me go, too."

"I thought you had your own reasons for going," I say, raising an eyebrow.

"I—! I do! It's just... since we moved here from Erimathea, they wanted to make sure I was... adjusting."

"Adjusting?" I ask.

"You know, to the whole... different sizes thing," he states.

"I guess it's sort of the same for me," I say. "I've lived most of my life in the undercity, so I've never really been around pertheans. It's... a difficult adjustment."

"It can be hard," Sam says, focusing on the path ahead of us. "And on top of that, I can't really talk to anyone about it without looking like I have something against pertheans."

"Tell me about it," I huff. "And the weirdest part is that other humans get so defensive when you tell them you're afraid of pertheans. They act like we're making us all look bad or something."

Sam stops dead in his tracks, nearly causing me to bump into him. "What did you just say?" he asks, turning around slowly.

Wait, what did I just say?! Did I let myself carelessly spill my biggest secret to some near stranger?!

"Uh—! I—!" I stutter, backing up from the boy in front of me.

"Did you just say you have—"

"I have to go!" I blurt out before darting around Sam and continuing toward the school.

"Wait!"

Something in me gives in, and I come to a slow stop a few yards in front of Sam. What am I doing? He's just going to tell me off!

A moment of silence passes us by. It dares me to turn around and face the boy behind me, but I can't.

"I... I thought I was the only one," he finally says.

I spin around. "W-what?" I ask, confusion setting in as I ponder what he could possibly mean. "The only one who...?"

"The only one who had... a fear," he finishes.

My eyes widen, and I take a few steps toward Sam. "You mean... you have a fear, too?"

He sighs, looking off to the side before returning his gaze to me. "Didn't I just say that?"

"I've never met anyone else with a fear of pertheans," I whisper as questions begin to flood my mind.

"Neither have I," he says, shifting in place.

"Have you ever told anyone?" I ask.

Sam cranes his neck back and stares at the skylights. "My parents know... and that only resulted in some pretty useless therapy."

"Useless, huh?" I say as we continue our walk.

"Yeah, all they really tell you in therapy is to expose yourself to your fears and hope things improve."

"I guess I had the same experience. My dad always says things will improve with exposure and time. I think he stole that line from my old therapist. I was too young to remember most of what she taught me," I say, rubbing one arm.

"So you struggled as a kid?"

"Yeah... when they started mixing humans and pertheans back in stage two, I would often have panic attacks at school," I cringe as my mind fills with unwanted memories. "The others would call me 'Kaylin Flinch,' or 'Flinching Finch.'"

"Kids can be brutal," Sam sighs.

"Yeah. If you don't mind me asking, how long have you had a fear?"

Sam narrows his eyes. "Since around the time I moved here, right before stage four. I tried a few different schools to see if exposure could help. Some were mixed, some were not. But no amount of exposure ever really helped."

I shift my gaze to the floor. What if Dad is wrong? Not that I want him to have something he can gloat about, but what if exposure and time aren't the keys to getting over my fear of pertheans? What if all the time I'm spending with Derrick after school isn't going to help me after all?

Sam stops, so I stop too. I look up, and above us is the sign for Pacific, dimly lit and weathered as usual. It's odd how something can decay like that when it's underground, completely unexposed to the elements of the surface world.

I look at Sam, and immediately, something feels off. The softness in his eyes has all but disappeared, and his posture is oddly stiff. I can't quite explain it, but there seems to be some kind of odd, dark energy emanating from him. I take a step back.

"Sam?" I try.

He opens the door to the school's lobby. "I have to go," he mumbles.

"So soon? We can at least walk out to the pick-up balcony together—"

"No," he interrupts, clutching the strap of his bookbag. "I-I'll... I'll see you later."

With that, he scurries off across the room and up a creepy old stairwell. Those stairs lead to the school's human hallways just like the elevators do, but I've never seen anyone take them. I sigh and enter an opening elevator with some other students. Will I ever understand this guy?

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

Taking a deep breath, I close my locker and adjust the strap of my bookbag. I haven't seen Sam since he managed to scurry off again, and something tells me I'm not going to for a while, no matter how curious I am about what's going on in his head. I thought it'd be nice to have a friend who understands what having a fear is like, but I don't imagine this guy really wants anything to do with me.

The balcony is crowded as usual, and I'm surprised when I see Derrick standing beside it. Usually, I have to search for a while to pick him out of the perthean crowd. Kevin is standing beside him with Brittney on his shoulder. A smile spreads across my face, and I hurry over to the group.

"It's good that you came back in spite of all that," Kevin says to Derrick.

"I'll still never forgive that jerk for what he did to you, though!" Brittney huffs.

I stop. What are they talking about? My heart races as I look around me for some place to hide. I decide to hide at the end of the balcony, where there's a perthean-sized plant of some kind, with long green leaves that are tall enough to keep me hidden. I just hope nobody peers around the plant and sees me!

"I'm sure he didn't withdraw just to hurt me," Derrick whispers. "It was complicated."

Wait, is he talking about his previous deskmate? The one he said had moved away?

"Well, whatever the reason, he had no right to just abandon you," Brittney says. "You two were the talk of the school for weeks after you both left!"

Derrick shuffles. "I know, but—"

"And now that you're back, people are starting to wonder if something's going to happen to Kaylin," Brittney says.

People are talking about Derrick and I? Whatever for?! What could possibly happen to me that would cause me to withdraw?

What did Derrick do to his old deskmate?!

Before I have much of a chance to think, something pulls me up into the air by the back of my blazer! My gut twists and churns, and what little breakfast I managed to get down threatens to reappear. The room spins as I kick and scream, hoping to get away from whoever snatched me up without so much as a warning.

I gaze beside me and realize my mistake when I see that Derrick, Brittney, and Kevin are all looking in my direction with wide eyes, just like everyone else in the room.

"Cherryn! Calm down! It's just me!" bellows a deep feminine voice above me as I'm placed onto a warm, leathery surface. "Look, I'm sorry I freaked you out! I won't do it again!"

My heart pounds a thousand times a minute as I look up into a pair of soft brown eyes. They widen when they meet my gaze.

"O-oh my gosh...! You're not Cherryn! I'm so sorry!" the girl apologizes as the hand beneath me begins to shake.

"Kaylin!" calls a familiar voice.

I turn around, arms glued to my trembling frame, and breathe a sigh of relief to see my deskmate approaching.

Wait, Derrick?! What if he realizes I was eavesdropping? Won't he be mad at me?

I quake like a leaf in a windstorm as I'm transferred from one pair of cupped hands to another, the muffled voices overhead conversing as I continue to worry about so many things at once. What's going to happen to me? Can I really trust Derrick?

"Hey," Derrick whispers, bringing the cupped hands I'm in closer to his face. "Are you alright?"

I stare into his eyes with uncertainty. I was starting to feel so sure around Derrick, but now? What am I supposed to think?

"I-I..." I start, reaching up to my face as warm tears begin to fall. "I don't know."

Derrick's brows turn upward, and his eyes soften. "Don't worry. You will be," he says, gently stroking my shoulder with his thumb. "Come on, let's go to class."