#I mean I wouldn't properly see it the first seven

[toomuchracket]

family dinner (sweetheart!george x reader fluff)

part of promptober75 2024!! a cute little fic set just after you and george have reunited, with cameos from everyone's favourite flatmates. enjoy <3

“more wine?”

“please,” you smile at your friend - as politely as you can through a mouthful of bread, that is - as she tops up your glass. “this chicken is really nice, by the way. the whole evening is, actually - thanks for letting me intrude on it, guys.”

matty scoffs. “you're not intruding, mate. we missed you! why wouldn't we wanna spend time with you? right, darlin?”

he nudges his girlfriend, who nods enthusiastically. “of course. i’m so glad you agreed to eat with us tonight,” she nudges matty in return, grinning, and you watch, also grinning, as he kisses her nose. “i've missed flatmate friday dinners. they're so special to me.”

“i did quite like when it was just the two of us, though,” matty caresses her face; a beat later, he sits bolt upright and looks at you, panic-stricken, and you have to bite the inside of your cheek to keep from laughing at the familiarity of the expression. “i didn't mean it like that, by the way, i just meant that-”

“you liked pretending that you were having date night before you were actually together?” you nod sympathetically as matty goes scarlet. “oh, you've not changed a bit, matty, you lovelorn little sap.”

he hides his face in his hands, voice muffled. “shut up.”

“no, keep going,” his girlfriend laughs, wrapping her arms around him and pressing a kiss to his head. “i like hearing about how much you fancied me before you finally cracked and admitted it. after, y'know, seven fucking years, baby.”

“oh, babe, it was serious,” you dramatically take a sip of your wine, gazing off into the distance as you recount one of your many memories of matty being hopelessly in love with her, while the boy in question groans. “the time he broke into george's at half six in the morning and quite literally wriggled between us in bed so he could analyse the ten-minute phone call you'd had the night before is a personal favourite of mine.”

your friend throws her head back, cackling, while matty sits up just to scowl at you. “i didn't break in - i used the spare key.”

his girlfriend snorts. “but you did wriggle between them? in bed?”

“well, yeah.”

“cockblocked us and all,” you pipe up.

“you were literally fully clothed and dead asleep. both of you.”

“george was fully clothed?” your friend's brow furrows. “was he ill?”

“dunno. i didn't talk to him, really, in that instance,” matty nods at you. “she was the only one who knew everything about how i felt. even when she moved away.”

“really?”

you nod. “really. so, y'know, getting to see the two of you together like this… it's really special,” you take another drink of wine, sighing contentedly. “i love love.”

matty laughs, reaching across to squeeze your hand. “how's your love life going, by the way? any developments to share?”

you sigh, taking a long drink of wine as you ponder your response; you could be honest, and say really bloody good. george and i are back together. but no - better to discuss that with him first. “it's… promising, i think. that guy i've been seeing, well, he and i are exclusive, now.”

“oh, amazing!” your friend claps excitedly. “i want to meet him. oh!” her face lights up, and it becomes glaringly obvious both why matty fell in love with her and just how much you missed her when you were away. “he should come to friday dinner next week. or the week after. just so he can meet us properly, you know?”

matty laughs. “alright, emily gilmore.”

“fuck off, matthew,” she rolls her eyes while you and matty giggle, smiling at you once the glee subsides. “seriously, though, you should bring him. we don't bite.”

her boyfriend raises a brow. “the marks on my collarbone would like a word.”

“matthew, for fuck's sake,” she shakes her head, as you do your best not to spit out your wine laughing. “sorry, babe. promise i'll have him housebroken soon, and you can invite your man over.”

“oh, he won't mind,” because he's known matty longer than either of us have. “i'll text him now and ask, yeah?”

“please do.”

you nod, sliding your phone out of your pocket and tapping onto your text thread with george. you've been formally invited for dinner at the flat next friday btw. well, the mysterious person i've just gone exclusive with has lol

he replies almost instantly, cry-laughing emojis preceding have i to dress up?

you: suit. tie is optional xxx

george: oh you'd love that wouldn't you, i remember you after prom 😈

fr tho have i to dress up

you: nah

you DO have to be on time tho. 6pm on the dot

george: sweet

can i stay over lol

you: if you're good x

george: what you talking about i'm always good for you

but yeah i'll be there

phone me later?

you: defo. ly <3

george: ly2 <3

you giggle as you lay your phone down; matty notices, and smirks. “good news?”

“he'll be here at 6 next week,” you can't help smiling when they cheer, but you shush them so you can keep talking. “and you both better be nice to him. like, normal-nice.”

your friend nods. “of course.”

“s'not you i'm worried about, babe,” you turn to her boyfriend, looking him dead in the eye. “please, matty, don't be fucking weird next week. i don't wanna fuck this up,” you catch yourself before again slips out. “i really like this one.”

“all the more reason to ask him what his intentions are with you, then,” matty shrugs - his face softens when he sees your fraught expression, and he reaches across to hold your hand again. “i am joking, by the way, darling. i'll be nice. you know i just want you to be happy, yeah? we both do.”

“yeah, i know,” you squeeze his hand. “i hope next week goes well.”

“it will. here, let me get you more wine.”

the rest of the meal passes without further mention of next week, save your friend asking what sort of food your new partner likes. given that she and matty are too busy gazing lovingly at each other to think logically, neither of them seem to realise you're rhyming off george's favourites and least favourites in your reply, which is common knowledge to everyone who's ever spent five minutes trying to decide on a takeaway to order from with him; in fact, you think you've managed to completely dispel any connections between the upcoming dinner and george at all, until you're settled in your room an hour and a half later and your tv watching is interrupted by a knock at the door.

at your word, your friend inches round the doorframe, ring binder in hand. “hey. d'you have a minute?”

“course,” you mute the tv, pulling yourself out of your blanket tangle. “what's up?”

she sighs, waving the folder. “work stuff. how good's your latin?”

“shite. you used to help me, remember?”

“fuck, you're right,” she laughs, dragging her free hand down her face. “work's melting my head, honestly.”

you pat the space on the bed beside you. “can take your mind off of it by watching this with me, if you like.”

she steps further into the room, brow furrowing. “what even are you… oh my god,” the folder thwacks against the mattress, forgotten as she clambers onto the bed beside you and sighs at the screen; the déja vu of the moment is so strong you have to blink a few times to remember what year you're actually in. “i haven't watched the o.c. in so long.”

“really? you were obsessed.”

“shut up, you were worse than i was,” she lightly smacks you on the shoulder, then rests her head on it. you don't have to look at her to know that she's smiling when she next speaks. “reckon we used to drive the boys mental with this, you know.”

“we did. george actually banned me from saying the words ‘seth cohen’ at one point.”

“fuck off,” she giggles, the sound fading into a hum. “i think matty preferred him in gilmore girls, to be honest.”

you roll your eyes. “of course he fucking did. being in a band and making a girlfriend out of a friend because of it? that was, like, his biggest dream,” your voice softens, and you nudge her. “he's loved you a really fucking long time, you know.”

“yeah. me too, you know, with him.”

the confirmation makes your heart glow - still, you can't resist poking fun. “and yet you told me fuck all.”

“i was worried you'd tell george! and he'd tell matty! and… well, we might've ended up like this a lot sooner, actually,” she huffs out a laugh, while you giggle at the way her defensiveness faded to acceptance in the span of about a second. suddenly, though, she turns to look at you properly, face serious. “speaking of him, by the way - does he actually know you're seeing someone?”

you chew the inside of your cheek as you deliberate on the best answer, teeth finding the scar tissue left over from the wire of the braces you had at thirteen as they've always done since then; the irony of returning to an imprint from your teenage years in this moment isn't lost on you. with as casual a shrug as you can muster, you reply. “i've brought it up to him.”

“how'd he take it?”

this one is easier to answer. “well, you know george, he keeps things close to his chest. but,” you shuffle position slightly, a means of distracting your friend from the grin you know you're doing a dreadful job of biting back. “he seemed happy. for me, you know,” you tag that on as an afterthought. and, because you can't resist - “he told me he's seeing someone, too, actually. early days, i think.”

“oh,” she's taken aback, it’s clear, but she recovers quickly and gives you a small smile. “well, that's good.”

you raise a brow. you know her better than this. “but…”

she sighs. “but… alright, just hear me out, yeah? promise?”

“promise.”

“good,” she exhales, playing with her necklace the way she's always done when she's nervous. “you know i love you, and i am so glad you're back - we all are, we missed you so much - and i'm also really glad you're happy, and that you're seeing someone. it's just that, well,” she grimaces. “i'm worried about george.”

oh, bless her. “you are?”

“yeah. just, y'know, what with you back and dating and,” she cuts herself off, shaking her head. “you weren't the only friend i lost after you moved away, babe. not being with you… it fucked george up, really fucked him up. and of course i know it must've done the same to you, but…” she smiles sadly. “i didn't have to see that with you, but i did with him, and i truly, truly can't go through it again. basically,” she takes your hands in hers. “i want you to see this guy, and have fun, but to keep george in mind, yeah?”

a genuine smile finds its way onto your face. “i will, babe.”

“good. thank you,” her relief is palpable, even stronger in the way she squeezes your hand. “and i really am excited for next week, you know, dinner.”

“yeah, it'll be good.”

you're mentally repeating that to yourself with somewhat less optimism when friday night actually rolls around, though. matty's been on a mission to take the piss out of you the whole day, accompanying his frequent mentions of the dinner with a shit-eating grin and bursting into dramatic renditions of love is in the air at regular intervals, despite both you and his girlfriend yelling at him to “shut the fuck up, matthew”, and you're forced to retreat into your room just to escape him. of course, that means you're extra pernickety about your hair and outfit and makeup to the point of overdoing it, and it gets to a point where you have to sit on your hands until they go numb to stop yourself applying any more mascara.

at quarter to six, and after several texts from george telling you he's on his way and responding to your selfies with “beautiful”, you take a deep breath and shuffle out of your room towards the kitchen and your friends. matty smiles at you as you enter, which elicits a suspicious glare from you and a laugh from your friend. “relax, he's done taking the piss out of you,” she slides a glass of wine to you; you take a long, eager drink. “or at least he is if he actually wants to have sex any time in the next three weeks.”

matty rolls his eyes. “still think you're bluffing, baby, there's no way you can go without me that long.”

you grimace, and she smiles coolly at her boyfriend. “wanna risk it and find out?”

his cheeks go scarlet, voice going small. “no.”

“s'what i thought,” she ruffles his hair, turning to you and beaming. “you look hot, babe. really hot.”

“oh, thanks,” you tug awkwardly at the hem of your dress. “i hope he likes it.”

matty smiles, genuinely. “he will, darling.”

you smile, just as your phone buzzes - looking down, you see it's george, with an i'm outside. and really fucking nervous lol. buzz me up pls. “well, we're about to find out.”

“he's here?” matty bolts out of the room without waiting for a reply, and you hear the quick ring of the external door and the click-buzz of him responding. his girlfriend sighs, holding her arm out to you; wordlessly, you loop yours through it, and the two of you follow matty to the front door, a strange cocktail of excitement and apprehension mixing itself in the pit of your stomach.

and then the door goes. and then matty opens it. and then you see george, standing as bashfully as his height allows, and all the fear in your body dissipates completely.

you stay silent, biting back a grin. your friend sucks in an almost-inaudible shocked gasp, arm tensing in your own. matty's the one to greet his best friend, bewilderment tinting his otherwise cheerful voice. “oh, hi g. what are you doing here? just round to hang out?”

george grins. “sort of. i got a text last week inviting me over,” he nods at you. “it was 6 you said to be here for, yeah, angel?”

“on the dot. perfect timing, babe,” you wander down the hall towards him, tugging your seemingly-frozen-in-shock friend past her equally-shocked boyfriend, leaning up to kiss your own boyfriend's cheek. “bit disappointed you didn't wear a suit like i suggested, though. but you still look fit.”

“and you look beautiful,” he kisses your head, before turning to your friends with a smirk. “you guys look a bit weird, though. you alright?”

the two of them stare blankly at your smirking faces, matty's jaw dropping more and more as realisation presumably sinks in; it's his other half who speaks first, though, dropping your arm so she can slowly point between you and george. “this… is this… real?”

“you mean is george the person you're meeting as my date tonight? the person i just went exclusive with?” you smile so widely your cheeks ache, snuggling into him and practically fizzing with glee when his arm wraps around your waist. “who the fuck else would it be, really?”

a beat passes, then all hell breaks loose - matty actually bursts into tears, and his girlfriend slaps you on the arm. “you! you dickhead!”

“ow!” you rub your stinging arm. “what the fuck was that for?”

“for not fucking telling me!” she hits you again, softer this time, before tugging you and george into a hug, soundtracked by matty sniffling in the corner. “you fucking idiots. i love you,” she releases you both, tears filling her own eyes, and then pulls you into another hug, just the two of you. “m'sorry for hitting you, babe.”

“and for being a hypocrite?”

she laughs, watery. “that too,” keeping an arm around you, she wraps the other around her boyfriend. “why the tears, my darling?”

he sniffles, wiping his tears and looking between you and george; a weak gesture follows, as if emotion has completely overwhelmed him. “just… they're back.”

“and so are your nightmares?” george quips, resting his head atop yours.

matty shakes his head frantically, tears threatening to flood over his lashes again. “no, george, of course not. s'just,” he sniffles again, reaching for george's shoulder so the four of you are in a strange sort-of huddle. it's not unpleasant, though, far from it. “we all wanted this for ages, you know? the two of us together, the two of you together… and now it's real. and i'm just so happy.”

he collapses into sobs again, falling forward dramatically; given the geography of the huddle, it's up to you to catch him, so you hug him gently and pat him on the back. “you really are a sap, matty,” you huff out a laugh, half-formed because of the lump in your throat. “but we love you for it. and you're right, y'know - we really have all wanted this for a while,” you let go of your friend, steadying him before turning and wrapping your arms around george. “i love you. i'm so glad you agreed to come over.”

“you know i'd do anything for you,” he presses his lips to yours, and you melt; you're vaguely aware of your friends cheering in the background, but aside from that everything is just george, george, george. “i love you,” he pulls back. “and i love you two as well. slightly less than i do her, but…”

matty scoffs. “traitor. but whatever,” he sighs, face lifting into a smile as he turns towards the kitchen. “follow me, lovebirds. we've got some catching up to do.”

you wince. “please don't call it that.”

“what? why?”

“because that's what george and i have been calling our hookup sessions since i got back, that's why.”

your boyfriend and friend both giggle, while matty turns to look at you in affront. “wait a fucking minute. every time you went out and said you were catching up with people, you were just going to shag him?”

george smirks. “too fucking right she was.”

“christ alive,” matty shakes his head. “there had better be none of that tonight, you hear me? i'm not wearing earplugs to bed just to avoid listening to you guys fuck. heard enough of that in my life, thanks,” he reaches into the fridge for the champagne you stashed there earlier; when he returns, his face is bright in the way you've come to recognise as his i've got an idea that i think is great but is actually fucking awful mode. “actually…”

his girlfriend groans, the expression on her other half's face familiar to her too. “don't, matty.”

“no, let him talk,” george is perched on a stool at the breakfast bar, his best friend's face not a deterrent for him. the fucking pair of them, honestly. “tell us, mate.”

“well, how about a bet?” matty's eyes are locked onto george's; dread begins to build in your stomach out of sheer habit. “person who gets their girl off most times tonight gets free weed from the other. for a month.”

it's not the worst idea he's had, by any means - honestly, you'll take as many orgasms from george as you can get - but it still warrants a facepalm from both you and your friend. you sigh. “i don't think…”

“and how would we know the other isn't lying about the number?” george is incredibly still, hyper-focused; quite sexy, if you're being honest. “you thought about that?”

matty nods. “the girls write it on a bit of paper each and sign it, without conferring, and then we swap them and reveal.”

“for fuck's sake,” his girlfriend nudges him. “matty, don't be fucking stupid, there's no way…”

george just smirks, cutting her off. “alright, then. game on.”

[httpswritings]

The Great War — Katie McCabe x Reader

Additional info: Story inspired Taylor Swift’s The Great War. I’m in my Katie era, but I’m also planning on writing about other players, especially Alexia, which I have like four ideas to write about. We’ll see. I also have a draft of Ruesha x Katie inspired in Moth to a flame by The Weeknd, but I’m doubting about posting it or not. Maybe in the future I’ll write a Caitlin x Katie fic, but I don't have a clear vision of them yet to properly write about them.

Warnings: Mentions of anxiety, throwing up and therapy, sensitive topics overall, avoid reading if you find them triggering. Angsty Katie.

Word count: 1691

Right after Katie ended her relationship with Caitlin Foord, she met Y/N. After some time, they got into a relationship together. They enjoyed every single second of the magical connection they seemed to have. With the passing of time, Katie became more and more anxious about her relationship with Y/N. She doubted she could be what Y/N deserved, even though her girlfriend took her time every day to remind Katie that she's never been as happy in a relationship as she was with her.

«My knuckles were bruised like violets

Sucker punching walls, cursed you as I sleep-talked»

Two heartbreaks in such a little time, with both her Ireland National Team's member Ruesha and girlfriend of seven years, and her Arsenal's teammate Caitlin Foord, who was her girlfriend during half a year, made the Irishwoman insecure about her ability to love, to trust, to have a happy fairytale ending. Katie knew these thoughts would damage her relationship with Y/N, but she couldn't help but to spend most of her day tracking every single detail that built her relationship to the obsessive point where she felt absolutely sick of herself.

«Spineless in my tomb of silence

Tore your banners down, took the battle underground»

When she reached her limit, she told Y/N about what was going on. Y/N responded well and helped Katie, and it started well. Really well. But after some time, Katie fell back into a cycle of doubt and anxiety, and those sensations kept growing when she noticed any change in Y/N's mood, as she took it too personally. This made her re-experience in her mind those moments of stress while she was with Ruesha or Caitlin.

«And maybe it was ego swinging

Maybe it was her

Flashes of the battle come back to me in a blur»

Y/N tried to understand her, she tried and tried but eventually, she reached her limit.

“I want to help you. I really do. But I can't continue like this. I'm not Ruesha, nor I am Caitlin. I am aware that being in a new relationship it's difficult for you, so maybe we should take things a bit slower. I don't mean to take a break, but maybe I should go back to my flat. We will move on slower than we did before, but I do think it's the only way to work it out.”

«All that bloodshed, crimson clover

Sweet dream was over»

“Yeah, maybe you're right´”, that was Katie's only response. Y/N limited herself to sigh. That night, Katie slept alone in her bed. Her body reacting to the cold sheets and crying herself to sleep.

«My hand was the one you reached for

All throughout the Great War»

Sweet morning messages from Y/N, “Good morning, baby. Do good at training today! Love you ;)”

Surprise visits from Y/N, lovely gifts, usually handmade ones, brought Katie to tears as she felt endlessly loved.

«Always remember

Tears on the letter

I vowed not to cry anymore

If we survived the Great War»

Katie prayed for things to get back as they were during the first months of the relationship. The feeling of her not being a good girlfriend to Y/N haunted her even in her sleep.

«You drew up some good faith treaties

I drew curtains closed, drank my poison all alone»

Y/N suggested going to a therapist together, but Katie was unsure about that. She thought that if she couldn't quite open to her girlfriend about her feelings and thoughts, she wouldn't be able to talk about what was bothering her to a therapist. Such a huge contrast between the two parts of the relationship that drew them even more apart.

«You said I have to trust more freely

But diesel is desire, you were playing with fire

And maybe it's the past that's talkin'

Screamin' from the crypt

Tellin' me to punish you for things you never did

So I justified it»

“No, I'm sorry, but I'm not doing this. I feel uncomfortable talking to a stranger about our issues.”

“I know, baby, I was just suggesting it. Let me explain you why. We are aware of having some problems in our relationship, but we don't really know how to get through it. We've tried and things keep getting worse. Maybe talking to someone who's out of our relationship can make this whole situation clearer for the both of us.”

«All that bloodshed, crimson clover

The bombs were close and

My hand was the one you reached for

All throughout the Great War

Always remember

The burning embers

I vowed not to fight anymore

If we survived the Great War»

Katie took some weeks to meditate Y/N´s idea. She was terrified of being judged by the therapist they would talk to. Even more scared of Y/N realizing she didn't do any good to her. Eventually, she agreed.

“Maybe she's right. People attend therapy sessions. It's normal, Katie. It's normal”, she said to herself.

«It turned into something bigger

Somewhere in the haze, got a sense I'd been betrayed»

Katie was not new to getting help from a therapist. She was very open about her mental health in different areas of her life, whether that included football or not. The first time she attended a therapy session was when she was a teenager. It went well, so did the first sessions with Anna, Katie's and Y/N´s psychologist.

Making progress is not a linear process, and making mistakes is a part of the success. Mistakes are a victory in themselves, it means that you're still trying. One day, Katie had an individual session with Anna. Anna felt it was Katie's time to open about her two past relationships; a young adult romance that lasted for more than half a decade and a short but intense romance of one year after a breakup.

It was a slow conversation filled with many pauses from Katie.

“Are you gonna tell Y/N what I'm telling you?”

“No, Katie. This stays between me and you”, said Anna.

As Katie told her her experiences in love, she broke down.

The wall she had built, in order to avoid being hurt and judged, collapsed in that therapy room.

“Don't be afraid to cry. You have nothing to prove to me nor to Y/N. This is about you and your healing process. Y/N will help you and accompany you, but it's crucial for you to work on yourself, especially being a public figure.”

«Your finger on my hair pin triggers»

As Katie arrived home, she unlocked her phone and asked Y/N to come over.

“I've asked Anna, and she told me it was a good initiative and a great way of gaining some independence in our relationship, leaving her out of it for a while. Don't feel obliged to!”

“I am exhausted, baby. Work was something else today, and I’m a little bit irritated because of it, lol. Maybe another time? Love you.”

As Katie was about to spiral, she remembered Anna's advice. She breathed deeply. Y/N was setting her boundaries. She trusted Katie enough to tell her the truth and not to make any excuses. She felt tired from work. Y/N is not mad at her. She didn't do anything wrong. Everything’s okay.

«Soldier down on that icy ground

Looked up at me with honor and truth

Broken and blue, so I called off the troops»

The next day Katie woke up to a text from Y/N.

“Good morning, princess. I had a great sleep, what about you? How did you sleep? I’m up to seeing you today if you feel like it. Love you.”

Still slightly asleep, she smiled.

“I can't wait to see you today, beautiful girl. I had a good sleep, too. Good to have the bed all to myself ;))”

She frowned after sending the text with that joke at the end.

“Breath, Katie, let these useless thoughts pass. Both you and Y/N feel comfortable teasing each other”, said Katie to herself.

“Ha, ha, really funny. We both know you missed having me snoring next to you.”

“How do you know?!?!”

«That was the night I nearly lost you

I really thought I lost you»

As Katie was preparing herself to go out with Y/N to have lunch, she remembered the night where Y/N left her house.

She doesn't freak out to the thought of it, but instead she does an exercise of introspection. She sees herself in her mind, almost throwing up, completely emotionally depending on her girlfriend while pushing her away and bottling up her feelings.

«We can plant a memory garden

Say a solemn prayer, place a poppy in my hair

There's no morning glory, it was war, it wasn't fair

And we will never go back

To that bloodshed, crimson clover

The worst was over»

Now she looks at herself in the mirror. She sees herself, Katie, as the woman who knows that she's loved, and she's deserving of being it. The woman who respects her girlfriend’s boundaries and doesn't freak out at the tiniest change that she perceives. The woman who's going to take her girlfriend out to have a good time having lunch, not worrying about anything but what order she's going to have.

«My hand was the one you reached for

All throughout the Great War

Always remember

We're burned for better

I vowed I would always be yours

'Cause we survived the Great War

I would always be yours

'Cause we survived the Great War

I vowed I would always be yours»

As they arrived home back from the restaurant, Y/N walked towards Katie.

“I’m so proud of you, baby. You did this. You are doing it every day. I’m so excited to see where our relationship leads us to.”

As Katie sobbed, she softly laughed, “It’s nice to cry sometimes. God, I feel so relieved. I’m so proud of myself, too, of us! Thank you for being there for me, Y/N, thank you. I can't wait to spend the rest of my life as your girlfriend.”

“Even when you'll wake up to my snoring?”

“Especially when I'll wake up to your snoring.”

[honeygrahambitch]

Will and Hannibal were welcomed into the headmaster's office. A short bland and almost bald man with glasses that made him look like a mole was sitting at a desk. His hands were clasped and he tried to look very important and serious.

He greeted them with a nod.

"It would have been better if both of Lizzie's parents were here. I will politely ask the one of you who is not her legal gardian or parent to leave." He said after looking at Will and Hannibal from head to toes.

Will sighed. It was not the first time in their life when that was happening.

"We are Lizzie's parents."

He rolled his eyes.

Hannibal forced a smile to mask his annoyance. He was sure the reason they had been called there was a total waste of time.

"Oh, ah...I see. This explains everything. Take a seat then." The mole replied unsatisfied with the situation. "You probably know why you are here."

"We don't. Your secretary called one hour ago and only told us to rush to school. She wouldn't even say if Lizzie was alright."

"Oh, I wouldn't worry about her. She is."

If she hadn't been, Hannibal would have turned every member of the school stuff into a different type of appetizer.

"We had an incident. She stabbed a colleague's hand with a pencil."

Both Will and Hannibal looked as if they were still waiting to hear the incident.

"They are kids." Will said.

"No, no, not a colleague of hers. She stabbed a colleague of mine." The headmaster explained.

Only then did Will and Hannibal's expressions lit up. Not with anger or shock. But with pride.

"We are assuming she was not unprovoked. You should call her here, she should assist to this conversation." Hannibal said. He wanted his child to have a chance to speak for herself.

"I... wouldn't do that. The teacher screamed, the janitor rushed into the classroom, tried to take her away from the teacher...and she bit the janitor."

"The janitor put his hands on our daughter? To "take her away"? Why would he touch her?" Will asked leaning forward, a vein on his temple almost popping up.

"She wouldn't let go of the pencil, it was an emergency. And up until you arrived, she bit three other members of our staff. This behavior is unacceptable."

Hannibal got up from his seat. "I would like to see my child now, I can imagine in what state she is if no adults in this institution could handle her properly."

"We-"

"She is seven." Will raised his voice over the headmaster's. "Once again, what did the teacher do to her?"

"Well...she might have suggested... that... you see... You have to understand, this teacher is old school, she has her own values, she didn't mean to insult anyone."

"Are you done stuttering?" Will asked as he got up from his seat and walked next to Hannibal.

"The kids were talking about their families and the teacher might have insinuated that you... Are going to hell...cause...you know." The mole explained awkwardly and fearful.

"I don't." Will said. "I might raise hell here though." He threatened, making the smaller man hoping for his chair to absorb him.

"And why exactly did you feel the need to call us all the way here? Because you wanted to apologize in person?" Hannibal asked, his tone dominating and demanding at the same time.

The headmaster felt like the gazes of the two man might slowly burn him like acid.

"I... actually...yes. Absolutely. We apologize for this incident which was absolutely unethical and unacceptable on our side"

He sounded like a mouse who was squeaking, cornered by two cats.

Will nodded. "Where is Lizzie?"

"Second door to the right."

"He will make a good Thanksgiving turkey." Hannibal whispered to Will as they left the room, their hands brushing against each other.

[luveline]

could you write something with kisses before dinner where avery feels like she’s not your your steve’s favourite and she gets upset?

for you my love! dad!steve x pregnant!mom!you. 3.7k

Steve gives Bethie's hand a tug. "Come on, this way." 

Bethie follows without complaint, her rain boots smacking the sidewalk with each step. Steve keeps checking to make sure the umbrella's covering her, though there's little need for his worrying when she's wearing her rain mac, a scarf, and a super thick sweater under her coat.  

It's a very short walk to the door for Avery's classroom. She and the other first graders get called out one by one from a huge door that exits a cubby room. Steve stands where he always does, out of the way from most but close enough that Avery doesn't have to look far. 

Steve hadn't always wanted kids. When he was sixteen, he thought that having children might be the worst thing in the world, not because he'd ever been around any kids that weren't worth loving, but because they acted like a sort of glue, sticking you to another person. But he got older, and he realised he wanted to be stuck, and then he realised there isn't any glue to children, they can't serve as an adhesive that binds you to someone. You either love your partner or you don't (of course, it's a little more complicated than that) and children are usually separate. 

Steve met you. He loved you more than he ever loved another person. And then you had Avery, and Bethie, and Dove, and he somehow loved you more for it. It's immeasurable. 

Steve loves you, and he loves his kids most of all. You wouldn't be offended, you feel the same —kids are a different kind of love. 

It's why being out in the rain doesn't matter. Bethie's hand is warm where he covers it in his, and when she gives a little shiver he crouches down to rub her shoulders, knowing it doesn't help but wishing it did.

He's so excited to see Avery he can't describe it right, and it doesn't make any sense because he saw her seven hours ago at drop off when she kissed him goodbye and ran away to go play races with her friends. Since then, he's taken Bethie to her doctor’s check up, chased Dove around the house for a bath, put on a load of washing, made dinner preparations, done the dishes, all while acting as a willing serf for a moderately pregnant you on bed rest after a bout of high blood pressure. All of those anxieties and chores and exhaustions —he wouldn't have it any other way— and still he's geared up to see his oldest. 

Avery usually runs out of the door like she's on springs, but today she's only walking. Steve groans as he stands up properly, beckoning for Avery to come and stand under the umbrella as he calls, "Hey, Avey-bear, where's your water bottle?" 

She only has her lunch box. 

"I think it's lost forever," she says, looking up at him with wide eyes. 

He can't hug her with his hands full, but he gives her the best 'dad loves you' look that he can muster, his most adoring smile. "You think so? Don't worry, we'll fix it."

"It's not broken," she says. 

"I just mean that we'll find it or I'll buy you another one." Avery holds her hand up. "Take your sisters, baby.”

"I wanna be under the umbrella," she whines. 

Steve doesn't blame her. The rain is coming down heavier by the minute, and she doesn't have a nice sweater on like Beth. The weather wasn't as unpleasant this morning. 

"You can hold it if you don't stab me in the eye," he says. 

"Yes! Please please please," she says, accepting the umbrella he passes with a charmingly pleased smile. 

They walk through the playground, the winding path to the parking lot and between cars. Steve picks Bethie up and carries her from the parking lot onward, worried she'll pull away. Avery tells him about her day without prompting, the umbrella jabbing him in the hips and stomach occasionally. 

"We're making cards tomorrow for them, do you think the old people like cards?" she asks as they approach the car. 

"I think they'll love your card."

Steve unlocks the doors and pulls Avery's open first. He takes the umbrella from her and she climbs into her car seat with a load of thunking and huffing. Steve didn't think it through, there's the umbrella to shake dry, car seat straps to click, and his arms are still full of Beth, who's been her usual quiet self the entire time. 

"You okay, Beth?" he asks her. 

"I'm cold," she murmurs. 

Steve can't have that. He pushes the umbrella into the footwell by Avery's feet and water flecks the poor girl's jeans, but at least he has a hand free to click together her car seat strap. She lifts her head for a kiss and he doesn't recognise it until the door's shutting between them. 

He winces and rushes to Bethie's side. "Sorry, babe," he says when he opens the door, putting Beth in her seat with ease. Avery pouts at him. "I'll give you a kiss when we get home, I'm sorry, my head's not screwed on tight enough right now. I'm just rushing to get back to mom." 

Avery blows hair out of her face, annoyed. 

The drive home is nice and slow. Steve's cargo is too important to rush and risk hydroplaning. Bethie's asleep by the time they get home as he hoped she would be, and Avery is itching for the bathroom. He lets her out first and she sprints away before he can get a kiss. 

Steve scoops Bethie up and whacks his head on the car roof. He does it every single time he tries to get her out, and he stands there with the rain pounding his back, sucking air in through his teeth. "Sugar," he whispers.

He pulls Bethie securely to his chest, locks the car and climbs the short step into the house, head pounding. He's unsurprised and horrified to see you up in the kitchen making Avery a cup of juice, Dove propped on your baby bump like a perfectly sized seat. 

"Not okay," he says, hands covering Bethie's ears as he closes the front door behind him. "Go sit down now. I'm not kidding. Right now." 

"Steve–" 

"Y/N," he says, real annoyance in his voice. He doesn't like bossing you around, doesn't like being a jerk, but you can't mess with bed rest, not so far along. It's not even the baby he's thinking about, it's you. "Go lay down, please." 

You smile guiltily. "I'm feeling better." 

Avery looks like she's the one who's had the telling off when you leave. She sips from her juice cup and won't meet his eyes, her sleeves dark with water. She has a bad habit of not rolling them up when she washes her hands, and Steve always sighs when he sees it. 

Your home is oddly shaped. When you first walk in, you can see up the stairs to the right, and you can see straight down the hall to the kitchen, and you can also see into the living room to the left. The living room leads into the kitchen, too, which means there's double the baby gates. 

Steve puts Bethie down on the big bean bag by the windows and finds you laying down on the L-shaped couch, Dove content where she sits by your hip. Your hands play with the thin blonde wisps of hair at her neck. The longer it grows the darker it becomes. 

"Sorry for worrying you," you say, not looking at him. "I really do feel better." 

"I'm glad you do, but you know it's not one of those things that works on feelings," Steve says. He rubs his forehead, and then he drops his hand against his thigh in defeat. "Sorry for being snappy. You freaked me out." 

"I have to get up sometimes. To pee and stuff," you say. "Will you get Ave her juice? She wants Mapap." 

"What? For what?" he asks. 

Dove turns in her seat to look at Steve like she's surprised he's here. Then, in a startling turn of events, she babbles happily. "Daddy," she says, holding up her hands. "Home." 

"I'm home," he agrees sweetly. 

"Daddy," she says again. 

Dove loves Steve, but she's always had a preference for her mom. When you're working, Dove is more than happy to spend her days in Steve's arms, in his lap, some days she's stuck to him like a leech, but you walk through the door and she's immediately team Mom. It makes sense, she must miss you while you're away. For the first time in a while, Dove's had to miss Steve instead. 

He picks her up with a huge beaming smile and kisses her cheek, still chubby with baby fat. "You're happy to see me?" he asks against her skin. 

"I think she has a tummy ache." 

"Dove?" Steve asks, folding a curl behind Dove's ear. 

"Avery." You grimace. "Are you sure I can't stand up? I feel fine." 

"Don't get up." Steve gives Dove another kiss and says to her, "I love you, I'll be right back. Please still love me." 

Dove curls into your chest when Steve puts her down in a way that says she certainly won't still love him when he returns, but she enjoyed the hug. 

Steve almost trips in the doorway to the kitchen over a teddy bear. Avery eyes him reproachfully, her glass of juice a quarter filled. 

"Mommy says you have a tummy ache. Let's get you some medicine, yeah?" Steve asks.

"It's okay." 

"It stopped hurting?" 

"No," Avery says, frowning. She looks to be on the sudden verge of tears as kids tend to be.

Steve attempts to rescue her. "Okay, baby. Come here," he says, holding out his arms. Avery puts her glass on the counter and walks into his arms, a sad sound squeezed from her as he carries her to the kitchen table. He sits her on a table mat, ducking to be the same height as her eyes, his hands finding a gentle home on her small shoulders. "What's the situation, honey? What kind of pain is it?" 

"It feels weird," she says quietly. 

"Throw up weird?" he asks, the most important port of call. 

"No."

"You sure?" he asks.

Avery shakes her head. Steve doesn't think she'll throw up, but she looks so unhappy that he frowns at her, rubbing the nape of her neck. "What's the pain feel like?"

"Just hurts."

"Okay. I'll get you some Mapap, honey. What would make you feel better? A cuddle?" He leans forward to whisper, "Are you feeling gassy? Maybe you need a burp." 

"No, dad," she says. She must be feeling awful, she doesn't laugh. Burps are always funny.

Steve grabs the Mapap from the fringe and tips it onto a spoon. "Here," he murmurs, passing her the last of her juice so she's ready to chase the odd taste of her medicine away. 

Avery hesitates to open her mouth. 

She has the same eyes as Steve, and right now they're filled with a look hasn't seen in his own for years. He's not sure what to make of it. She doesn't look sick, she looks sad, really sad, driving Steve to a new kind of panic. 

"I'll take some with you," he says. 

"Really?" she asks. 

It's kids Mapap —he could drink the bottle and still have a backache afterward. "Yeah, really really. You want me to go first or second?" 

She deliberates. "First." 

Steve lifts the spoon of medicine to his nose. He knows he should pretend it's delicious, no big deal, but he sniffs it suspiciously, touching the tip of his tongue to it and wincing dramatically at the taste. 

"I get a hug after this, right?" he asks. 

Avery laughs. "Yeah, dad." 

He raises his brows, as if to say, Well, in that case, and takes the medicine. It's a fake strawberry flavour and disgusting but he pretends it's only sort of bad. 

Avery offers him her cup of juice as soon as he takes the spoon out. She's lovely. 

Steve makes another cup of juice and another spoon of medicine. Avery takes it without any hesitation, going as far as to say, "It's not that bad." 

Steve's thankful for the reprieve. He really hadn't been liking the way Avery looked like she was feeling. He scoops her up as though she weighs nothing (she grows like a bamboo shoot every summer, but Steve is strong) and carries her to the living room, where you're half asleep now and Dove's definitely not, her short fingers petting your neck. 

"She's sleeping," Dove tells Steve factually as he sits. 

Avery leans against Steve's chest. 

"I'm not sleeping," you mumble, "just my Dove is being so nice to me." 

"Well, not to make anyone jealous or anything, but Avery promised me a prime time kiss. Like, a huge one." 

"No I didn't," Avery says, confused.

"Yes you did, don't be a meanie. I meant to give you one in the car, 'member?" 

"Oh," Avery says, "right." 

Steve gets his kisses and a great big cuddle, hugging his eldest baby as close as he can. The TV plays one of Dove's favourite movies and you fall asleep, snoring and drooling at once, dribbling from the corner of your mouth. It seeps into the cushion you've underneath you. Dove laughs and points it out to Steve and Avery. Avery's a sweetheart, so she wipes your drool away and pushes a fingertip into your lips until you close your mouth. 

Dove climbs off of you and wanders over to Bethie. "Leave her alone, Dove," Steve warns. 

Dove gives him a, Who, me? look and climbs onto the bean bag, to Steve's annoyance. Luckily, Dove's feeling nice, and she doesn't wake her sister. She lays down beside her and loosely holds her hand, and after half an hour, everyone's asleep besides Steve and Avery. 

He can't help looking at you constantly, worried you're gonna get sick and he won't notice. He's worrying the same thing about Ave.

He's too obvious. 

"Is mom okay?" Avery asks. 

"Mom's okay. Are you worrying?" he asks. 

"You're worrying," Avery says. 

"I know mom's gonna be okay, I can promise you she's fine," he says. "But it's like you. You're not feeling very well and it makes me worry, but I know you'll be okay." 

Avery doesn't say anything, rubbing her nose against his collar. 

"Do you believe me?" he asks. 

"About what?"

"About everything, I guess." 

"Yeah," she says. Steve gives her shoulder a little pat.

"Okay, good. Mom is fine, and baby's fine, and we'll all be okay as long as she rests up. And your tummy stops hurting, duh." 

Avery isn't cheered up by his doting, sweet tones. She stays flat as a pancake on his chest and doesn't move an inch for a while. Steve waits. He knows Avery like the back of his hand. She has something she wants to say, or tell him, or ask. 

"Dad?" she whispers. 

"Yeah?" 

"Is it okay to be nobody's favourite?" 

"What?" 

Avery hides her face. 

Steve encourages her back out again, gently carding through her hair. "What do you mean?" he asks.

Her bottom lip trembles. "Dove is mommy's favourite, and your favourite is Beth, so who's favourite am I?" she asks. 

"You're my favourite," he says on automatic.

"But you can only have one," she says, glaring at him. 

"That's not how this works, you're my girls. You're my daughters. You're all my favourites." 

"You love Bethie most." 

Steve wants to say, Of course I don't, how could you think that? He wants to say, Avery, don't be silly. He wants to say, That's not true, because it genuinely isn't.

"I'm so sorry," he says instead. 

Avery sniffs. "Why?" 

"Ave, I'm so sorry. That's not what you're supposed to think, I– honey, why do you think I love Bethie most?" he asks. "It's not true, I adore your sister, but I love you the same. I love you so much it made my heart actually get bigger," Steve says, rushing to explain it, wanting there to be no doubt. "When you were born, it was the best day of my life. The best day of my life." 

"You and Beth are always snuggling," Avery says. Steve has to strain to hear her.

"Your sister loves hugs, and I love giving them to her," he agrees. "Do you wish we hugged more often?" 

She nods. He nods back. 

"Then we will. I promise." 

"I want to be your favourite," she says. 

"Avery," he sighs. "You are. It's hard to explain it, but I love you and Bethie and Dove and even the baby all the same." 

Avery starts crying. Steve had known it was going to happen, and it still feels like a whack to the chest, flat-palmed. 

"Is this why your tummy hurts?" he asks quietly. 

"I want to be your favourite," she says again, cheeks shining with tears. "I want to be mom's favourite, it's not fair."

"You're my favourite singer," he says. 

Avery frowns.

"You're my favourite singer. You're my favourite at putting her socks on. You're my favourite pancake maker, my favourite–" 

"It's not the same," Avery says.

Steve takes her hands in his. "Yes it is! You're my favourite girl just like your sisters, but if that's not good enough, you're my favourite at so much other stuff, Ave. You have my favourite smile, and do my favourite dances. I'm really sorry you think you're no one's favourite," he says, aching. "I promise you, me and your mom love you so much it's weird." 

"You promise?" she checks. 

"I promise. Cross my heart." 

Avery sniffles. Steve wipes her warm cheeks with the side of his hand, tucking her hair behind her ears. She's his mirror. If there's one thing Steve wanted, it was that she would never feel how he felt growing up. 

"I can make it up to you, sweetheart, you tell me what it is that makes you upset and I can fix it. Will you tell me, please?" 

Avery tells him in little fits and starts. It's nothing done maliciously, ever, but he can heartbreakingly see why Avery might have stacked all of these things together and started wondering what's wrong. Bethie gets super tired in the early evenings, and when she's tired she clings, hoarding Steve's affection for herself; Dove's young enough to be a handful, hoarding yours. There's the missed kiss in the car after school, and a hug that didn't include her at breakfast. A few days ago, you said to Dove, "Mom needs a kiss from her favourite girl." You had no idea Avery was awake, and you didn't mean it with even a drop of cruelty, but it doesn't matter. Avery took it to heart, and she's been upsetting herself with it ever since. 

"Do you want to talk to mom?" he asks her, stroking her cheek with his knuckle. 

"I don't know…" 

"I can talk to her for you, if you want to. Or we can talk to her together. She'll be really sorry, honey, I promise. You know mommy doesn't have a mean bone in her body." 

You wake up not too long after that, dragging yourself into a sluggish sleeping position, hand on your bump. "Woah, she's kicking me." 

You look up to them with a huge smile, evidently excited to show them, hand already in the hem of your shirt and pulling up, but you notice their matching frowns and say, "What's wrong?" 

Steve explains. Avery looks at your bump rather than your face as he does, barely reacting to his hand stroking her hair back. 

"Oh," you say, pouting gently, eyebrows pinching together, "Avery, I didn't mean it like that. I didn't mean she's my only favourite, that's not–" You hold your hand out for her. "Sorry, baby. I've really upset you, haven't I?"

Avery squeezes her eyes closed and nods. 

"I bet that was really sad, thinking you weren't our favourite girl," you murmur, voice imbued with apology, sympathy, and an overflowing measure of love. 

"It's okay," Avery says.

"It wasn't just your fault," Steve says to you. "It was me too." 

"Can I come and lie on you?" Avery asks.

Your eyes light with relief. "Yes, yeah. Don't kick my tummy, okay?" You pull Avery onto your front. She's cautious not to dig a knee into your bump but otherwise collapses boneless into your arms. 

Parents make literally hundreds and thousands of mistakes just like kids do. Steve knows he hadn't meant to hurt Avery, but he did, and he feels overwhelmingly depressed about it. Being a dad is the only thing he's ever been good at. This is his biggest screw up to date.

You have your eyes closed, your face against Avery's pressing a soft kiss to her cheek. Blindly, you squeeze Steve's arm.

"I love you so much, Avery," you say. "Thanks for telling us how you're feeling. You're always brave."

"I'm not," Avery says. All the love and affection is finally getting to her. She sounds bashfully pleased rather than sad now, hugging your neck extra tight. 

"You are!" You pull Steve toward you. "Dad knows. Isn't she just the best in the world?" 

Steve covers her back with his arm. The youngest both snore unawares on the big bean bag, the TV flickering with the static at the end of the movie. He should've started dinner an hour ago, but he doesn't feel hungry.

"You're the nicest, strongest, kindest girl I've ever met," Steve says. He's laying it on thick, and every word is true. 

"What about me?" you joke. 

"You're fine."

"Dad!" Avery laughs, turning her head to smile at him reproachfully. "You can't say that, tell the truth!" 

"You're joint first best," he corrects. He covers his mouth with his hand, whispering to Avery, "But you're the very very best, Ave." 

Her eyes go soft, straight lashes kissing in the outer corners as she smiles. "Thanks, dad."

[literaila]

this is alarming 

tasm!peter x fem!reader 

summary: you consider yourself a generally unlucky person, but when you meet peter parker it becomes even more apparent that the universe hates you. 

warnings: mean peter, mean reader, coworkers, angst (?), working, jameson

a/n: this is part one because i wrote 10k and decided that tumblr wasn’t going to put up with me any more. next part will be out later tonight, or tomorrow. 

*

you always set seven alarms in the morning. 

it's often that your alarm clock falls behind the nightstand, often that you shut it off without a moments notice--eyes closed, dreaming dreams you can never remember. it's often that you don't hear anything at all. 

only the sound of a groan escaping your mouth when you pick up your phone and see that you're two hours late for work. 

the first alarm is to be snoozed; almost an hour and a half before you need to wake up. 

the second alarm is for the dreams to muffle, to hear the sound but pretend that it's only a figment of your imagination. 

the third is for stirring. 

the fourth is to open your eyes and feel some haze snap them immediately shut. if you can't open your eyes, why should you even bother to wake up? 

the fifth is for shivering into the covers. your temperature hasn't regulated, and if your bed wasn't so welcoming, you probably wouldn't still be in it. 

it's usually by then that you've pushed the alarm clock off of your nightstand, and that it rests under the bed, collecting dust. 

you've tried moving it to the other side of the room, but even seven alarms weren't enough to get you up. 

so there it remains, ready to be picked up whenever you are graced with the opportunity to really notice it. 

the sixth alarm is to think. wonder to yourself what you're supposed to be doing right now, if you need to shower, smell your own sweat from restless sleeping, and consider the possibility of never waking up at all. 

you usually get caught in these thoughts, and your eyes still don't want to open. 

the seventh alarm is the one you get up to if you're lucky. it's the one that pushes you out of the bed, onto the floor and laughs when it sees the bruises you have from falling. 

and it doesn't really matter when you wake up, or when you get to work. 

there's a bitter taste in your mouth, and it's not just morning breath. 

*

it usually rains on the days you walk to work, and conveniently you've never really learned how to open an umbrella properly--proven by the stack of broken ones you keep hidden somewhere in a closet--so there's no hiding from the drizzle of the sky. 

sometimes you wonder if the earth is mad at you. if whatever deity controls all of this thinks that you're making a mistake. 

a mistake every time you wake up in the morning, and suddenly feel the courage to move your limbs. 

it doesn't matter though. you have an extra pair of clothes in the ridiculously large bag you always carry around. 

there might be a first aid kit in there, a water bottle, a lighter, and many other things that you only realize you need when you don't have them. 

your relationship with this bag is the longest one you've ever had. and it's beginning to fray at the edges, not unnoticed by you. 

still, as soon as you get to work--only fifteen minutes late--you hide in one of the bathroom stalls, cursing when you accidentally drop your clean clothes onto the floor. 

you try not to think about bacteria, or who's walked in this bathroom before you. 

and if you weren't already late--and if you cared a little bit more--you might try and deal with your hair, but today, you settle for dripping it out over the sink and ignoring the woman who walks by behind you, giving you a look you can't miss in the mirror. 

you ignore all of it, at this point. 

*

when you got this job as an editor at the bugle--known for crazy conspiracy theories and adamant headlines, or pictures of spider-man--there was only one desk available. 

it's hidden in a little alcove of the space. a corner you have just to yourself--and it would be nice, you're sure, if there was any actual lighting or an outlet that worked anywhere within the eight-foot vicinity. and also if the ceiling would quit leaking almost right above your desk. 

you didn't complain when betty showed you it on your first day. you figured that after ten job interviews and six very strange first days, you didn't have any room left to complain. and you wouldn't be surprised if this only lasted three days. 

but it was supposed to be safer than stocking shelves at target--which, coincidentally, had no more shelves--or passing out flyers for local offices in the middle of the street. or even working at annie's flowers where everything was supposed to be beautiful and nurturing, but you were pretty sure you still needed stitches from all the thorn pricks you'd endured.

this was an office job. this was reading and writing and hoping to avoid the available eyes of everyone else--or a helicopter crash into the side of the building. 

what could go wrong, you'd thought, smiling at betty and thanking her for showing you around. 

and then you grabbed the nearest file on the desk, stained with something that looked like tears. you never said a word about your desk or the discomforting smell that came from the exposed pipes on the wall. 

you'd managed to last seven months at bugle, so far. seven months of laughing at grammatical errors and wincing at headlines with puns that even you couldn't have come up with. 

you fixed things and stayed out of everyone's way. 

and then you went home, running to avoid the rain, or trying to catch the subway before it left. 

you sat on the couch and watched the news, eating a sandwich or whatever you could find in the fridge that hadnt already rotted. 

you hadn't put the pictures up, and you didn't think you were going to. even though you'd been living in this apartment for more than a year, and it had been three since any of that mattered. 

you were lucky to have this life, you reminded yourself. and you sat at your tiny desk, reading about fates that were far worse than yours. 

*

there were at least twenty pairs of eyes on you when you opened the door. the hinges squeaked as you closed it, and you almost squeaked when you realized that everyone else--everyone--was already in there. 

all sitting down, all giving you confused looks. 

and you swore that the email about this mandatory "morale" meeting--an excuse for jameson to talk about failures for the month--said eight-thirty. 

you were absolutely sure of it. 

but as you lean against the wall because there aren't any chairs left, after whispering a soft apology, it was clear that you were very wrong. 

or maybe you'd been sent a typo that no one else received. or they forgot to put you on the forward list again, and there was no way for you to know that the time had changed to eight. 

or maybe you just couldn't read. 

it didn't matter, because after about fifteen seconds, the lecture resumed and the eyes left your sullen and guilty face. 

you couldn't listen to anything else you were supposed to be paying attention to for the next thirty minutes. 

your feet ached, and your head hurt, and every two minutes your stomach grumbled. and then you were thinking about breakfast. you were thinking about quitting this job so you didn't have to see any of these people ever again. 

and whatever jameson was ranting about, it probably didn't apply to you. 

still, it got worse when you began to doze off--who knew drywall could be so comfortable--only to wake up to people passing you, pushing you with glares in their eyes. 

"hey, cathy," you nodded, giving her a reckless smile and waving. you’d never shared a proper conversation with the older woman. you definitely did not hear her scoff as she walked by. 

and as soon as the crowd of your coworkers had cleared the room, you were sighing, hand to your head, and then promptly tripping over a leg of a chair someone didn't push in. 

a hand wrapped around your shoulder, awkward and warm, as someone pulled you toward them, keeping you from falling. 

"are you sick?" a rough, low voice whispered, not quite in your ear but not quite far enough away for you to feel comfortable. 

with the grace of a drunk elephant, you attempted to stand on your own two feet, trying to find your balance without flailing your arms. 

"what?" you croak out, trying to laugh this furious heat off of you. 

"you came in late, and now you're falling over. also, you feel a little warm." 

"i thought the meeting started at eight-thirty, and there was a chair," you say to this man, pushing the damn chair back in. "plus--" and then you look up. 

peter parker, with his signature furrowed brows and lip bite, stands there, looking at you. 

well, that explains the heat.

"oh, um--" you scratch at the back of your neck, going for a pleasant smile. "hey, peter. thanks for... not letting me split my head open." 

"do you want me to call you a cab?"

"why?" 

"you don't have a car right?" peter says, eyes clearly saying are you serious?

"i-- no?" 

"you probably shouldn't walk home then. you're already having trouble standing.” 

you blink. "i'm really not sick," you tell him, trying to sound stern or serious or anything but flustered. "it was an accident." 

he holds intense eye contact with you, barely blinking. "you sure?" 

you nod. it doesn't feel necessary to tell him that this happens a lot. 

"okay. well, jameson wanted me to talk to you about the jenson project. which he wants us to do together." 

"oh. how come?" 

"apparently 'partner work' is a strong selling point. i'd just send you some pictures to fit into an article. you'd have to--" he purses his lips. 

"mess with them?" you ask, trying to be helpful. 

"sure. jameson said he wants it to be nice and shiny for next weeks release. i thought maybe we could work on adding the pictures together, just so i know if i need to change anything." 

"like photoshop?" 

peter nods. "or if there's anything you have questions about. i was there taking the photos so i got a lot of the interview too."

"yeah, okay. i'm just working on a couple of footnotes for this week right now, so i'm not sure when i can--" 

"how's thursday?" 

you try not to flinch at his tone. certain but soft. his eyes, you think, might be the most terrifying thing you've ever seen up close. 

clearly, peter is not very interested in any of this. or maybe he's a strict rule follower and is holding a grudge against your lack of punctuality. 

"thursday works," you tell him, dropping your somewhat regular smile. 

"great. we can work at your desk or mine, it doesn't matter to me. or we can go get coffee to escape the office for a couple hours. just let me know."

and then he's walking away, pushing in a chair as he goes with a look back to you, and you've barely even comprehended what he just said. 

or the fact that he didn't let you answer him. 

"okay," you say, in a whisper, but you're just talking to the wall. 

last to come, you think, and last to leave. 

*

here's the thing about peter parker. he's not known for being the friendliest of coworkers. 

he's pleasant enough, gets all his work done, doesn't snap at people when they make mistakes and doesn't finish the coffee in the breakroom without brewing another pot. 

and since you've been there, you've learned--mostly from eavesdropping--that he's been working here for three years. that he's taken lead photographer out of many qualified candidate's hands and only responded with a smirk. that he's supposed to be a genius, comes into work with bruised knuckles sometimes--which your coworkers gossip endlessly about--and jameson is either constantly praising the man, or degrading him.

he doesn't go to office parties, he doesn't respond to emails. peter practices something you like to call "every man for himself." 

and he doesn't ever smile. 

trust that you should know. because, you'll admit, when you first got there, it was hard not to notice peter. 

first of all, he's very tall, strong, and kind of brooding. he takes up fifty percent of the office space alone. 

but he's also insanely attractive. blessed with thick hair and glorious eyebrows and cheekbones that put knives to shame. his eyes are soft and his lips are plump and he is a certified asshole. 

or at least something like it, everyone knows. including you. 

but for at least the first two weeks you couldn't avoid staring at his pursed lips or snorts when someone said something particularly obnoxious--usually jameson--or the way he tapped his wrist incessantly, like he was counting down time. 

peter parker makes for a very suitable work distraction. 

but as soon as you talked to him for the first time, you realized that he was a pretty, intelligent man.

you'd stumbled into the breakroom and dropped whatever semblance of a lunch you were going to pretend to eat that day, and peter was sitting at one of the tables watching. 

he didn't have anything to eat, just a cup of coffee and a bitter look on his face. 

you'd smiled sheepishly, picking up your now tarnished food, and swallowing. "i wasn't that hungry anyway," you'd said aloud, mostly because you weren't thinking clearly at the time. 

peter didn't say anything back, not acknowledging the sarcasm or your lost lunch, he just stared. 

and then you held a hand out to him. "hi, i don't think i've introduced myself. i'm y/n, a new editor." 

peter blinked, looking at your hand, then back to your face. "peter," he said, giving you a small wave. 

and then he turned his attention back to the mug in front of him, leaving your hand in the air, radiating embarrassment. 

you cleared your throat and left the room, deciding to get more work done instead of worrying about it. 

you'd sort of assumed--recklessly--that he would be charming. that he might smile at you, welcome you to the team, tell you that if you needed anything he was there. maybe it was his face, you'd thought. soft and knowing. 

but peter wasn't there for anything but the money, and gradually, he became just another grim coworker, watching the clock until five every day. 

and that was probably good for you anyway, because as angry or numb as peter already was, you didn't want to inflict anything bad on him, as you might've if he'd just smiled at you. 

and if you overheard the clique of middle age ladies talking about him during lunch, you didn't say anything. didn't smile or laugh, or try to pretend like you weren't listening. 

you kept your conversations with him short and tried to stay out of his way. 

but apparently, he was going to get in yours. 

*

you really don't even notice him when he walks up to your desk. 

it's not your fault that you didn't get much sleep last night, being that your neighbors--right next to your bedroom--were fighting all night long. slamming doors and throwing things that shattered when they hit the floor. 

and then they'd start screaming again. 

you'd attempted to drown them out, only just barely dozing off when some other loud noise would wake you right back up. 

you'd considered putting your headphones in and playing white noise, but with your luck, that would last all night into the next day, and your seven alarms would be pointless. 

so you laid there, trying not to eavesdrop on the fight they were having, or think about your own voice yelling, screaming, and then going completely silent. 

and now, you were nursing a cup of coffee, blinking at the computer screen like it was a puzzle. 

and peter had come up to your desk--made the effort to venture almost across the office to your little cave--and you didn't see him there.

you didn't see anything until he cleared his throat, tapping his foot against the floor like an angry mother, and you finally looked up. 

looked up to threatening eyes and a frown. 

and peter parker, because of course he was there, at this very moment. 

"hi, peter. what-- what's up?" 

he blinks at you. you blink back, though significantly slower. 

in the past two days, you had avoided any and all eye contact with him and accidentally forgot to look at the email he had sent you with some files attached. you also conveniently learned that jameson was disappointed with his last set of pictures, and that was probably why he'd forced the two of you to work together. 

it didn't really matter. 

"it's thursday," peter answers, dryly, after several moments of uncomfortable silence. 

you look away, searching for any other person that could talk to him instead of you. "was that a question?" 

"we have a date," he says, a bit harsher. 

you couldn’t avoid leaning back at his voice, nor noticing the wince that fell upon his face as soon as he said it. 

"er," peter clears his throat. "we're supposed to work on the jenson article today. are--do you have amnesia?" 

"huh?" 

"or some other medical condition," peter continues, "that would cause you to forget about the one article you have to edit this week?" 

briefly, you want to ask how he knew that it was your only article, and why he was allowed to judge your work ethic when his was "consume coffee like blood and scare away any person who tries to speak." 

you try not to laugh at the idea of vampire peter. 

instead, you mumble "just a severe mental deficiency," under your breath and pinch the skin of your thigh, just to wake you up some more. 

"what?" peter says, still frowning at you.

you sigh. "look, peter, i'm sorry. i haven't even looked at the article yet, or any of your pictures. i've been busy. but if you just want me to finish it myself i can--" 

peter holds a hand up, telling you to stop without asking nicely. 

you almost scowl at the very idea of it. 

"no," he says, like it physically pained him to do so. "i need this--jameson wanted us to work through it together. as an actual collaboration." 

you're very grateful that he's explaining this to you. 

"i'm not going to tell him," you say, voice rough.

"you can read it and figure out where you want the pictures and the description for them while i edit some of them. i was rushing when i did it last week." 

"um... okay. are you sure?" 

"we can't work here," peter responds, instead of answering the question. "there's barely enough room for just you." 

"...yeah." 

"my desk is a mess," peter says, more to himself. "we can go to the coffee shop a block away." 

you squint at him. "are you sure? 'cause we could always go to the starbucks on fifteenth, or we could just skip it and head to tipsy's." 

you're just briefly aware that your sarcasm is not coming across well, and that you probably shouldn't have said that, nonetheless to peter parker, who already hates you enough. 

to be fair, he hasn't asked you about any of these decisions.

"i'm going to go get my bag," peter grinds out. "i'll meet you by the elevator." 

*

the only thing keeping you sane while you sit across from peter is the latte that you've been chugging for the past three minutes. 

as soon as you got there, peter had ordered some tea that you didn't know the name of, picking the table for the both of you, and before you could even sit down he was frowning at his computer. 

he hasn't bothered to say anything to you, so you don't bother to say anything to him. 

still, you look up every couple of minutes, wondering what he could possibly be so worried about. 

luckily--ha--this article is reasonably proofread. you only have to fix a couple of jumbled sentences and reread a couple of paragraphs because you can't really focus.

it's about half an hour after you've both been working that you get tired of it. 

collaborating with peter by staring at your computer and hoping that the pleasantries, or nice relationship you've been craving for the past six months will manifest itself into existence. 

he's right there, you think to yourself, and he's an ass sometimes but so are you. 

and it's not like you get the opportunity to talk to a lot of people at work. 

you clear your throat. "the pictures are good," you tell him as if this is new information. 

you've known about peter's affiliation with photography since your second day. 

the man just grumbles out a thanks, not even bothering to look up and acknowledge you. 

you have a tight smile on your face. "are you still editing them, or can i start asking you where you think they should go?" 

"you finished already?" 

there's some emotion in his voice that you don't recognize, but there is still the obvious disdain that you're becoming very comfortable with. 

"i'm a fast reader," you tell him. "was that a no?" 

peter finally looks up, face blank. "i'll send you the updated ones. do you want me to add them in where i think they'd work, or just tell you where to do it?" 

you'd really like to never have to have a one-on-one conversation with him again, but that doesn't really seem like an option right now. 

"how about i put them in and you blink twice if you think it's stupid." 

peter does not crack a smile. he doesn't even blink. 

you try to hide another sigh. "go ahead and put them in." 

and so you wait five minutes for the internet to catch up to him and silently curse jameson for subjecting you to this. 

your latte is almost gone. 

"okay, you can go through it," peter tells you eventually, returning to something else on his computer. 

you scroll through it, beginning to write descriptions for each of the photos--which really are beautiful. and bright, almost too good for the bugle. 

but you're a bit bored, and a bit delirious. 

"can i ask you something?" 

peter looks up at you, classic furrowed brows, and then back to his computer, grunting. 

you're assuming that it means yes, but if he's not going to use his words like a big boy, then he'll have to deal with the consequences himself. 

"how do you get the pictures of spider-man?" 

"with my camera." 

you can't tell if he's kidding or not.

"no, i mean, how do you get such good quality? he's always moving around, and quickly, so i'd assume it would be pretty difficult..." 

he frowns. "it's just some angles and flash," peter answers. "honestly, it's less complicated than you think. they're not all good, i go back and edit them." 

"yeah, but still." 

peter shrugs, and looks down again. 

"have you ever actually spoken to him?" you continue, still sizing pictures, still writing descriptions. 

but you'll be damned if peter sits there in silence for another minute. 

he sighs. "yeah, couple times." 

"really?" 

peter nods. 

"is he nice?" 

peter frowns. "'is he nice?'" 

"yeah. i mean, i've heard lots of stories and read the articles--obviously--but i've never met him. is he... a good guy?" 

"he keeps people from dying on the daily, and you're asking if he's got a good moral compass?" 

you almost scowl, looking up to find brown eyes studying you. and then you shake your head. "i just find it hard to believe, i guess. i can't imagine--" you pause, shrugging. look away from peter's intimidating eyes. 

"you can't imagine what?" 

"just... doing that every day and being okay. i mean, he sees people get hurt all of the time, and he's supposed to be okay with that? that's a lot of mental energy. what if he's helping someone that he knows? or what if he can't help? not to mention the physical aspect..." 

peter closes his computer, taking a breath. "are you good with the photos?" he asks. 

"what?" 

"i need to get back to the office and talk to jameson about some stuff. do you need anything else from me?" 

peter is stiff and scowling. you shouldn't be surprised, but he also just shut down the first actual conversation you've ever had with him. 

"oh, no. no, i'm okay. thanks." 

"okay. i'll see you later." 

peter packs up his stuff, and doesn't bother to look back at you while he walks out the door. you're not sure what you did this time--besides just generally existing--but you groan, hands rubbing at your eyes. 

you're too tired for this. you're too exhausted to be talking to peter parker, who doesn't talk to anyone. 

you sigh and look back to the article. 

and then you spill what's left of your coffee, watching as it drips to the floor. 

*

you're trying not to move. 

even breathing, you think, is moving. so you hold your breath for as long as you can bare it, counting by tens, thinking about all the reasons you shouldn't need air. 

but eventually, your body gasps for you. 

your body moves because it can't think the same as you can, it can't hold that same guilt. 

you know that if you don't move--not even a millimeter--nothing bad can happen. the dominos won't fall if there's nobody to push them over. 

you're laying in bed completely still. 

you're thinking about all of the mistakes you made, all of the unfortunate things you've caused to happen, and it causes enough fear to turn you to stone. 

you'd be a statue. you know if you could choose that, you would.

what do you want to be when you grow up? 

clay. 

you'd choose being cemented in concrete than ever having to look your own luck in the eyes again. 

you count by tens until you fall asleep. 

and you dream of things that have already happened. 

*

when you show up to work on monday, soaking wet, there's already a cup of coffee on your desk. 

you try and think back to friday--which was lifetimes ago, really--and remember if you left it there. but you stayed in the office on friday, contemplating putting in your two weeks or throwing your computer across the room. you didn't go out for coffee. 

and when you pick up this disposable cup to smell it, you can feel the steam on your face. 

it's warm. 

you look around the room, searching for someone who might've left this on your desk--even though you're literally hidden from every common eye--but can't find anyone who looks particularly tired this morning. 

and there are only four people in the office as of now. 

so you wait ten minutes, and then fifteen, ready for someone to come up to your desk at any moment and accuse you of stealing their coffee. 

this would not be a surprising occurrence. 

but even after twenty minutes, no one does. 

you're back in your corner, alone, as per usual. 

and when you realize that the coffee is going to go cold--claimed or not--you decide to take a sip. 

and for the first time in a while, you've started the day off alright. 

*

on tuesday, jameson calls you and peter into his office. 

and, out of nothing less than familiarity, you're ready to be yelled at. you've prepared a list of snarky remarks to keep you from crying. 

and you're completely, one hundred percent ready to ignore peter. 

if he doesn't like working with you, fine. that's up to him--even though you definitely did a good job with his pictures. and if he doesn't even like you, fine. 

you can deal with that. 

what you can't deal with, of course, is standing a foot away from him in this office, feeling towered over by both of these men, who are much bigger than you. 

but you keep eye contact with jameson anyway. what else can go wrong? 

"i heard we were having some issues with the article last week," the boss starts, his voice typically unserious. 

you furrow your brows and try not to look at peter. 

he tattled on you? 

"yes," you say, instead of admitting defeat. "i was behind on editing the article, so it took a little longer than expected. but i emailed you the finished copy on thursday night." 

you don't mention that it was exactly one in the morning, and you'd been having twenty-minute naps since you got home. 

or that peter had completely unnerved you. 

"parker?" 

peter sighs, shrugging. "it gave me more time to go over the pictures. we got it in." 

at that, jameson smiles. 

you wonder if he finds peter's grumpiness as amusing as you do. or if he's just enjoying the two of you struggle to completely ignore the other. 

"good. well, seeing as it worked out--and it's some of the best work i've seen from both of you--i'd like to make it a regular arrangement." 

finally, you glance over at peter, noticing his jaw clench. 

you're not sure if it's at jameson's suggestion or his praise. 

"it's a brilliant idea, having the photographer and editor working together. parker, you've got some fine pictures, but you're no writer. and obviously, she is." 

you don't tell him that you feel anything but. 

jameson chuckles, holding his hands up in defense. "i know, i know, it's more work for both of you. and more interaction. but it's only one article a week. everything else will remain the same." 

"for how long?" peter asks, for the both of you. 

"until one of you quits, i guess. or dies." 

it's at this point that you see that there are no other options. no choices for you to consider. if peter wants to quit, he certainly can. he could get a job anywhere he wanted, any newspaper. 

but you've struggled to keep this job. you've struggled to be anywhere for more than a month. 

and despite how much you might dread the place, it's also an escape from everything else. 

so you can't leave. and you have no current plans to die. 

"alright, you can both go. shut the door on the way out. and one of you ask betty to get me a cup of coffee." 

you follow peter out, looking at the muscles in his back tense. 

and when you shut the door, he turns toward you. 

he looks even angrier, even worse than he had last week. he's not even trying to remain professional. 

"thursday?" he asks, but you know it's not a question. 

"fine." 

you go back to your desk, watching the ceiling leak onto your computer. 

*

peter decides to go back to the coffee shop. 

he orders the same tea, sits at the same table. 

and he doesn't say a thing to you. he didn't even blink when you went to his desk at nine, gesturing towards the elevator. 

but honestly, that's fine. you don't have anything to say to him either. 

except to ask what made him hate the world so much. but you don't think he'd appreciate that. 

eventually, you swallow. "so, you can put the pictures where you'd like, and then i'll write the descriptions. it'll be faster that way, and you've got a good eye." 

peter nods but he doesn't answer. 

"is there anything i need to know? anything important you want to add?" 

"about the pictures?" peter confirms, waiting for your acknowledgment. "no. about social courtesy? definitely." 

the last part is said completely under his breath, but you catch it anyway. 

catch it like a rope you're hanging onto, hoping that it doesn't slip from your fingers. 

"what?" you say, looking right at him. your hands are off of your computer. your hands might be around his throat in a couple of seconds. 

peter furrows his brows. "what?" he repeats as if he doesn't know what he's said. 

"what's your problem?"  

"my problem?" 

"yeah, with everyone. but especially me. peter, you don't have to like me, but i'd appreciate it if you could at least try and be professional. or talk to me about the work that we need to do." 

"i don't have a problem--" 

"save it. i'm sorry that jameson is making us work together, but unless you kill me, there's nothing i can do about it." 

peter sighs, running a hand through his hair. "well there's something you can do about the way you get everything done," he says, quick and sharp. 

"excuse me?" 

"is it physically impossible for you to sit still? or show up on time, or do the work that you need to do? if i have a problem with you, it's that you're not doing anything to help me, and i don't need you." 

"that's not what jameson thinks." 

the words slip from your mouth, but honestly, peter deserves the wind knocked out of his chest, just like he did to you. 

if karma is a thing, it's coming through.

it's just your luck that you'd get partnered with the one person that couldn't hate working any more. 

"jameson doesn't even read the articles," peter scoffs, "he just sits in his office and smokes cigars and bosses everyone around--" 

"then why does he want me to write your descriptions? you can't do it yourself?" 

"maybe he pities you." 

peter's eyes are sharp. his words are perfect. 

"why would he pity me?" you ask him, "because i'm an editor?" 

"because there's not a single person in the office that likes you. because disaster is attracted to you. because you can't follow directions to save your life, and you clearly have some issue with speaking up for yourself. he's probably pairing us together in some last-ditch effort to save you." 

save you. 

you take a breath in, tell your lungs that there's no air that they need. 

there's no reason to be breathing, if you think about it. 

and when you look at your hands, they're shaking. and you can't keep your eyes in one place. and you're ready to run out of there, to anywhere where peter can't follow. 

you can't admit to yourself that he's right. you can't sit still, and you can't be there for much longer. 

"you think you're better?" you ask him. "everyone in the office is scared of you. you don't have friends or anyone that likes you either." 

peter shakes his head. "i chose that." 

there's an implication there that you can't think about. there's something about his calm demeanor. 

you can almost see the ghost of a smile on his face, just like everyone had said. 

you don't have a choice about most things. but you know when to quit. 

"peter, you can talk to jameson. you can quit, or do all of it yourself. if you want to just send me the pictures and have me edit all of it, that's fine." you stand up, shoving your computer in your bag, and trying to keep your hands steady as you pick up your latte. "but if you can't treat me like a person, or a coworker," you tell him, "then i'll talk to jameson myself.”

and then, without waiting for a response, you walk out the door. 

you try not to let it hit you on the way out. 

*

peter avoids you the next day. 

or maybe you're avoiding him. 

luckily, he's gone most of the time, taking pictures and sulking in corners where you don't have to watch. 

jameson hasn't said anything about the article you submitted, and you're trying to assume that it's a good thing. 

but honestly, none of it feels good anymore. 

you know that you shouldn't let someone like peter parker get under your skin, but he has some iron grip on your brain. some cave built in your head, echoing the things he said to you yesterday. 

nobody likes you. 

disaster is attracted to you. 

it's in your nature to prove him wrong, somehow. to start gossiping with the other ladies in the office, maybe even ask one of the men out on the date--though none of them are as tall, or as pretty as peter parker, so it probably wouldn't matter to him anyway. 

you think about talking to jameson, tell him that you and peter can't work together, or that peter is an asshole, or that you would like a raise. 

you think about blackmailing peter, but you have nothing on him. (besides his obvious attitude problem). 

you want to do anything to prove to yourself that what he said isn't true. 

people can like you, and you can like yourself. 

but you know, that even if peter is just an asshole, bitter, and lots of other things you don't care to think about, he's also right. 

at least about one thing. 

disaster is attracted to you. and to the people you care about.

cared. 

you wish you could tell peter that all of those things he thinks about you aren't by choice. that you don't want to live in your cave of a desk, and you don't want to show up late to anything, or trip on chairs, or walk in the rain. 

but he'd probably just laugh. 

and anyway, he isn't there on friday. so you can't tell him any of it. 

*

on monday, it only takes two alarms to wake you up. 

and typically, you'd be proud of that. grateful for it. 

but it's cold outside, and you have to go to work. 

you'd rather be sleeping. 

rather be laying in bed than thinking about peter, or anyone else pitying you. rather do anything than think about peter and still recognize that he's smart and talented and better than you. 

so you leave your alarm clock under the bed. 

what are sick days for, if not days like this? 

*

on tuesday, you get to work early. it's not by choice, but you were running in the rain. 

you were trying to beat everyone there so that you might not have to speak to a single person all day. 

that would be nice. 

but someone is already there when you walk through the elevator doors, jacket still dripping. 

and that someone doesn't even look up, or bother to wonder where the water is coming from. 

of course, peter beat you there. 

you've never loved your desk, but it's a welcome refuge now, despite how bad it smells. you can't see him, and he can't see you. 

and you can take your jacket off over there. 

but when you sit down, there's something on your desk that you don't recognize. 

a blue hairbrush, and a candy bar next to it, wrapper somewhat wrinkled. 

on tuesday, you decide that you're officially going crazy. 

*

you try to avoid wednesday as a whole. thinking of it more as another object in your way, and something that can be ignored until it's over. 

and it works, for the most part. you eat lunch at your desk, bring coffee from home, and sneak handfuls of chocolate whenever you feel like it. 

you go through a thousand articles and decide that all of your coworkers are illiterate. 

which you don't really mean, but prefer to think anyway. 

it's about an hour before you can get home that you see the notification show up in your mail. 

a new message, most likely some coupon for h&m. 

but you see peter's name at the top, and a file attached to it. you stare at it for at least a minute. 

it could be a hate note, a notification about submitting an hr claim, a picture of a house burning with a description of "this will be you." or even a list of people that peter hates, with your name in bold. 

there are a thousand possibilities, and you don't care about a single one. 

but when you click on the link, you just open a pdf with new pictures, labeled with the title of the article for the week. 

and you're not sure what any of that is supposed to mean. 

*

on thursday, peter is at your desk again. 

in fact, he's at your desk before you are. and when you see the back of his head peering over your pens and pencils, and files that you haven't wanted to put away, your breath stops. 

he might be there to murder you. 

still, you continue to walk forward, tennis shoes squeaking, and pray that you don't accidentally trip before he's even noticed you're there. if peter is going to kill you, you might as well accept your fate. 

and then you step past him, frowning. "peter?" 

"oh, hey," he says, softly, standing up. his hands are awkwardly clasped in front of him. "you're early." 

"what're you doing here?" 

"at work?" 

"at my desk." 

peter bites the inside of his cheek. he gestures to the ceiling. "it's leaking," is all he says. 

"yeah. it rained last night. why are you here?" 

"did you tell jameson about it?" 

you don't know how to feel anything but shocked. is he waiting for the perfect moment? does he want you to get comfortable just so he can ruin it? 

"i--no, it's fine. i don't..." you shake your head, setting your bed down. "did you need something, peter?" 

he clears his throat, nodding. "are we going to work on the article today?" 

you might be gawking at him. 

"what?" 

"i just--there are some details i want to add, if you don't mind, and i think--" he stops, taking a deep breath in. "you're better at it than me, so i'd like your advice." 

there is only one thought running through your head as you stare at him. 

when did peter parker get a nicer, shyer twin? 

"what?" you say again, just because you don't know how to answer any other way. 

in fact, some part of you thinks that this might be fake. peter parker would kill you, and then you would hallucinate a different version of him that's actually talking to you. 

no trick the world might be playing on you is more surprising than the smile peter is trying to put on his face, stiff and wrong. 

he blows out a breath. "i'm sorry about last week. i shouldn't--i didn't, well. i shouldn't have snapped at you. or said any of those things. and you were right about me being unprofessional and mean, and just--" peter shakes his head. 

and then he meets your eyes. "i'm really sorry. i'd like to continue working with you, because jameson is right, and... but i understand if you don't want to. if you don't feel comfortable. i can talk to jameson, so you don't have to, or--" 

"peter?" 

he stops talking, nodding. "yeah?" 

"am i hallucinating?" 

you must be. you must be dying or something. you can't believe that you didn't notice until now, that you didn't pay attention to any of the signs, or worried over something stupid like what you should be eating for breakfast when-- 

but peter parker laughs. 

it's small and almost inaudible, but he's laughing. 

and it's not that laugh that first drew you to him all those months ago, that judgemental snort or the laughing-at-you-not-with-you chuckle you'd thought was adorable. 

this is a genuine laugh. 

you blink, because this is just another sign that you're dead. 

peter sighs. "no, i mean all of it. i'm... just sorry." 

"you are?" 

he nods, and he's still looking at you. 

"um, okay," you say, nodding your head. "yeah, we can--we'll go get coffee. but there's, um, i just have some stuff i need to finish from yesterday, so--" 

"how's nine?" peter asks, softly. 

and this time, it almost isn't an interruption. it's more of a saving grace. 

"yes, sure. nine." 

"okay," peter gives you that same fake smile, and then he turns around, leaving the cave and going back to his desk. 

you can't decide if this is a good or bad thing.

*

"you didn't have to do that," you're saying to peter as the two of you walk to the only empty table in the shop. 

conviently it's much smaller than your usual table. 

"i owe you," is all peter says. 

"not coffee." 

"it's six dollars." 

you're having a hard time deciphering his face. and his attitude. 

you're wondering if this more pleasant, sweet version of peter is going to last long. 

you're wondering how far you can push him. 

"i don't want to be indebted to you. it sets a bad precedent."

peter sighs, and he's shaking his head, and possibly rolling his eyes, but he says: "fine. next time we come you can pay." 

you're satisfied with this, at least for now, so you take a sip of your latte and open your computer. 

"which descriptions do you want to add?" you ask peter, "i already looked through all the pictures." 

"just the ones of the church, and the bank." 

"you want to add descriptions to the burned-down buildings?" 

peter doesn't seem to recognize the sarcasm, because all he does is wince and nod. 

you're frowning at his face, but you agree, letting him handle your computer so that you don't have to wait for it to update. 

peter takes a couple of minutes, writing details that you'd have no idea about, scowling all the while. 

"when'd you take these pictures?" you ask him, in the middle of it. 

"saturday before last." 

"you work on the weekends?" you raise an eyebrow at him, but he's not looking. 

"i carry my camera around. sometimes jameson asks for pictures that i can't get six days after." 

he pushes your computer back to you, nodding. immediately you start reading what he's written, trying very hard not to laugh at some of the word choices. 

most readers aren't going to respond to an acrid smell. 

but you don't tell peter this, you just change it, adding and deleting words where you see fit. 

"did you work at another journal before this?" peter asks, after a couple of minutes of silence. 

you look up at him and realize that he might've been staring at you the whole time, and you'd have no idea. he might be texting someone about how horrible you are. 

"no." 

"you started writing when you got the job?" 

"mm-hmm," you continue typing, trying to avoid peter's eyes. 

"how'd you get so good at it, then?" 

"oh, well. it's just editing, you know, not that complicated," you repeat his words back to him but feel uncomfortable at his praise, even if it is a lie, but especially if it's true. 

"you're writing all of these descriptions. jameson says i make them too complicated, or unreachable for readers." 

"jameson says that to betty when she puts cream in his coffee." 

peter almost chuckles. "that's true." 

there's a moment when you aren't sure what to say. if this is friendship, or peter pretending to be kind just so that you won't tell jameson. just so you'll keep helping him. 

but he doesn't need you. 

"well, you're a brilliant photographer, so you don't have a lot to make up for." 

"tell jameson that." 

and that third week, everything goes smoothly.

*

after the fourth week, you and peter don't need to plan when you're going to work together. four days of the week you are completely independent, editing articles and spinning around in your chair, and listening to jameson yell at people from across the room. 

but on thursdays, you and peter are partners. 

it's a regular meeting now, so you show up at the elevator at eight-fifteen and peter is already waiting there. and then you walk to the coffee shop, making small talk that isn't completely uncomfortable. 

peter asks you about your plans for the weekend--though you doubt that he actually listens to the answer. and you ask him about working at the bugle for three years, about wanting to quit every day. 

it's only when you mention something of the sort that you can get peter to smile, even a little. 

but today, as soon as you sit down, sipping on your coffee and moving hair out of your face, peter is frowning. 

but it's not his typical resting frown. 

"what did you do?" he asks, staring at your forehead. 

"hmm?" 

"to your head. what happened?" 

you touch the edge of your head, feeling the cut run up your skin, and sign. "oh. that. i fell." 

peter is blinking at you like you've removed your head from your body. 

you move your hair back, feeling self-conscious. 

"what'd you fall on? a knife?" 

it's almost a joke but peter's face is concerned, his eyes are running over yours. so you're not sure that it counts. 

"i bumped my head on the corner of a table." 

"and got a five-inch cut?"  

you roll your eyes, realizing that neither of you has taken out your computers, or actually sat down properly. "by 'bumped' i meant tripped and fell into the table and woke up a couple minutes later feeling a bit dizzy." 

peter's frown deepens. "do you have a concussion?" 

you raise a brow. "no?" 

he tilts his head, pursing his lips at you like you're a reckless child. "you didn't go to the doctor?" 

"i washed my face and put some glue on the cut." 

"it probably needs stitches." 

you just shrug. 

"does your head still hurt?" peter asks you. "are you having a hard time focusing? did you feel nauseous when you woke up?" 

you blink, laughing just a little bit, mostly because you're confused. "whoa, dr. parker, i'm fine. it happens. i'm clumsy." 

"you're reckless, you mean." 

"says the man who wears converse and a t-shirt when it rains." 

at that, peter has nothing left to say. 

*

it's maybe three weeks later that the two of you have moved on. 

way, way on. 

bypassing the small talk stage, you now make fun of peter for being knowledgable about every single thing--to avoid showing him how impressed you are--and he teases you about your abnormaly large bag, all the while trying to give you life advice, telling you that he has more experience than you do. 

he's about a year older. 

and it's comfortable now. peter doesn't joke much, but when he does, you react with nothing short of a cackle. and you've finally chided a real smile out of him, even if it's just a twitch of his lip or a wrinkle of his nose. 

peter doesn't complain about your tardiness or the strange way you like to get your work done, and you don't complain about his sour attitudes, and glares. 

well, not much, at least. 

and you're not friends--you don't think you can say that, if only because it terrifies you--but that's okay. you don't think either of you needs that, some label on a relationship that could fluctuate into something else at any minute. 

but peter is there, and you don't feel like every move you make is a mistake anymore. 

when jameson calls the two of you into his office to praise you about an article that did well or ridicule the two of you for slacking on an article that no one cares about--even though he chose the topic--well. you smile at peter, and he smiles at you. 

and if you laugh, he laughs. 

still, you notice some layer of bitterness behind peter's eyes. like he knows that he's not supposed to be here, not supposed to be laughing or smiling or working with someone that he doesn't need. 

you can see it, hear it in the way he talks sometimes. 

so you tread lightly, not talking much on those days, and only offering him suggestions that he can't turn down. 

he never snaps at you, and you don't think he's going to. 

but there's still a bit of hesitation. 

and on this particular wednesday, you're crossing out some section of an article, sighing into the paper, and trying not to listen to the creaks of your chair, when peter walks up to your desk. 

in his eyes is something curious, something you don't see very often. 

"hello, peter. is there something i can do for you?" you exaggerate the words, sort of like a warning. 

"just stopping by. wanted to make sure that our fresh meat isn't being worked too hard." 

you frown. "i've worked here almost a year." 

peter tilts his head, shaking it. his eyes display some fake show of shame. "ah. to be so naive." 

and then, without giving you another glance, he steals a pen from your desk and walks away. 

you don't know if you're supposed to call out to him. 

*

"what is that, peter?" 

he looks up from his phone, still chewing. "what?" he asks, through a mouthful of food. 

"that's your lunch?" 

"wanna bite?" he offers the protein bar to you. 

"you're surviving on that?" 

peter rolls his eyes, looking away from you. "i have a big breakfast." 

something about the way he says it makes you feel like he's lying, or hiding something, but if peter wants to lie about his eating habits--you had a bagel with butter on it this morning--who are you to judge? 

it's comforting to be sitting here, in this lonely breakroom, next to an actual person. 

it's also a bit strange because peter had said one word to you in this very room, the day you'd met. 

"do you also eat wheat and very occasionally half an egg?" 

peter bites his lip. "how do you half an egg?" 

"c'mon, you can have some of my lunch." 

you pull out a bag of chips, a sandwich, and some assortment of fruit that had been sitting in the fridge for far too long. 

peter furrows his brows. "what is that?" 

"this is a lunch, peter. say it with me. lunch." 

"i think your sandwich is rotting." 

you snort. "i don't want to hear any criticism from you, mr. ant, when you're literally eating eight grams of protein and four chocolate chips." 

"there's at least seven," he argues, and frowns. "ant?" 

"cause of your appetite." 

and then, peter almost smiles. 

*

and there's a part of you that feels the guilt seep into your skin with every breath, every almost laugh you get out of peter. 

there's that voice in your head, laughing at your stupidity, wanting to whisper threats in your ear. 

when you're home alone, you can't ignore it. 

you can't feel anything. 

you worry that sometimes, seven alarms won't be enough to wake you up. not from this foolish dream of having a friend, or just someone to talk to. 

you'll never stop being reckless, that voice says. 

you'll never stop hurting people. 

you know that you need to let peter go, right now, before you get used to his laughter and a smile with teeth. before he wonders where you've gone on days that you miss work, and can call you when he's bored. 

the last time this happened, the last time you let this happen-- 

every night you promise yourself that tomorrow. tomorrow you'll start distancing yourself. 

you'll be too busy for peter. too busy for anyone else. 

you've kept this job for longer than any other one, and you don't want to lose the familiarity. you don't want to have to leave. 

you'll be a ghost, starting tomorrow. 

*

"what do you mean?" peter says, arms crossed, glaring at you from the other side of the table. 

you're typing as you say "what do you mean what do i mean?" 

the two of you have eliminated peter's computer completely. you type descriptions, and he places them where he wants, making sure not to mess up the rest of the article. and then you read what you've written to him, and try to ignore his snide comments. 

it's a well-thought-out routine. 

thursdays might be your favorite day of the week. 

"you don't cook?" peter asks, sounding dubious. "not even pasta? or a pre-cooked meal in the oven?" 

"i save those for special occasions." 

"you just eat things you find at the store?" 

"i'm a big fan of those pre-made salads, and cans of fruit." 

peter sighs, leaning his head into his hands. 

"what?" you say, "the lack of protein bars in my diet is upsetting you?" 

"you don't cook?" peter repeats. "at all?" 

"no, peter. now will you help me--" 

"why not?" he interrupts, closing the computer. 

you sigh at him and he sighs back. 

you think that his foot might be kicking yours under the table. 

"i'm kind of a hazard in the kitchen. i don't feel like making a hospital visit every time im craving some mac and cheese." 

"you can't be that bad." 

you laugh and roll up your sleeve, showing peter the side of your arm. "see that scar? it's from when i tried to make thanksgiving dinner and burned myself trying to put something in the oven." 

peter frowns, running the tip of his finger over it while you laugh. 

you roll your sleeve back down, looking at his far too concerned eyes. "last time i tried to use a knife i almost lost the tip of my pinky." 

peter waves a hand. "that happens to everyone." 

"and i was also wearing a cutting glove." 

he closes his mouth. stares at you very intently. 

"peter, can we get back to actually finishing this article before jameson fires us both? and by fire, i mean literally burning us both alive." 

peter is still staring, apparently thinking very hard. "i'm going to cook for you," he states, shrugging finally. 

"what do you mean?" 

"my aunt taught me enough to feed you for one night." 

"peter, i meant, why would you do that?" 

"because apparently you only eat boxed food--" 

"--there's cans too--" 

"and you're already crazy. you need some actual dinner. a meal." 

"peter, you always criticize me for eating so much at lunch when you're munching on your apple or whatever--" 

"yeah, because i didn't realize that those bagged foods were the only sustenance you were getting." 

you laugh at him. "i think that's a little dramatic." 

"i don't. are you free tomorrow night?" 

something inside you screams no, violently and furious. it tells you to get up right now and leave. tells you that you shouldn't even be here, that they should. 

but the other part of you is laughing. 

"peter, i'm not letting you cook for me." 

"you think i'm a bad cook?" he challenges, just barely smiling. 

"i think you're insane." 

he mock laughs, and then holds his hand out. "give me your phone." 

"why?" 

"just do it." 

and you do, only because peter's eyes are right on yours and he's not going to let you look away. 

he takes your phone and types something in, smiling a little while he does so. and then he hands it back to you. 

"type your address in." 

"peter, i'm serious. you're not coming to my apartment to cook for me. i eat." 

"so am i," peter responds, "put it in." 

you raise a brow, refusing to lose this battle. in all honestly, you're not sure who's going to break first, because peter hates eye contact, but you hate his eyes. 

"do you want me to just ask jameson for the address listed on your file?" 

and there's something about the way he says it that makes you giggle, finally looking away. you shake your head, a bit annoyed that he's gotten this far. 

but you type your address and send it to him anyway. 

and there's only a small piece of you that regrets it. 

*

there's a knock on your door while you're pacing around. 

it's seven o'clock, and you've only had the last two hours to think about how to get out of this. you've contemplated playing sick, pretending not to be home, telling peter that there was an emergency, accidentally forgetting about this whole in the first place. 

and the only real answer you've come to is that you can't answer the door. 

work is one thing, you think, but as soon as someone is allowed to invade other areas of your life, you've got no choice. 

you need to keep peter away, and you need to start doing it tonight. 

but he's knocking at your door, and there's something about him standing there that makes you feel restless. 

insane. 

and you're not even thinking as you walk through the hallway, swearing to yourself that you're only going to make sure that it's really him. 

you're not thinking when you bump into the side table by the door, and knock over a vase that you could've sworn you moved weeks ago. a vase you shouldn't even own. 

"shit!" you're saying, as you try to catch it. 

it shatters against the floor, covering the entire walkway, and effectively trapping you from moving forward. 

maybe it's fate. 

maybe this is just another warning not to answer that door. 

but then a muffled voice says "y/n? you alright?" 

and you rap your hand against your head, feeling so stupid and unlucky. still, you call back to peter. "i'm okay. just broke a vase. let me clean this up really quick and i'll--" 

peter is frowning when he opens the door. 

and you are frowning when you realize that you left it unlocked for the last two hours. 

"don't move," peter says, quickly. "you're not wearing any shoes." 

"it's fine, peter, i'll be careful." 

"where's your broom?" he asks, meeting your eyes.

it's only then that you realize he's wearing a sweatshirt and jeans. he's standing in front of you in completely normal clothes and carrying a bag of groceries. 

"no, you're my guest and i'm not letting you pick up my mess." 

"where is it?" he repeats, softer now. 

and you want to walk over the shards just to prove a point to him--whether it's that you're fine, or that you can handle a little pain--but peter is looking at you and walking inside, trying to kick away the shards closest to your feet. 

you sigh. "there's a closet just around the corner." 

peter gives you a small smile, hand grazing over your shoulder, and then he goes to get it, unconcerned about the cracking underneath his feet. 

when he comes back and begins to sweep it up, he's almost laughing. "were you running to the door?" 

"i think i lack control over all of my limbs. i might be a robot." 

peter scoffs. "you wouldn't get hurt all of the time if you were a robot." 

"i'm realistic."

 "you're human and ridiculously uncoordinated." 

you frown at him, and peter smiles at you. he brushes the broom over your bare feet, laughing when you squirm away. and then he clears a path so you can walk forward without cutting yourself. 

"thanks," you say to him, watching shamefully as he continues to clean. "sorry, i don't mean to make you my butler." 

"i'm already cooking for you, might as well clean." 

and then peter lets you lead him inside, asking where he can dump all of the glass, and moving the grocery bag he put by the closet onto the counter. 

after a moment, he looks around, his eyes scanning the walls and the floors. 

he licks his bottom lip. "it's... nice." 

you look at him, pouting. "you don't think i'm a good interior designer?" 

"it's just a lot more empty than i thought. i figured you'd have art and sculptures, and... more." 

you don't tell him that you'd love to, that you'd love to fill this apartment with things close to your heart. you don't tell him that if anything gets that close, it's sure to be broken. 

but you smile anyway. "sorry to disappoint you, mr. parker." 

"it's just unexpected. show me where i can get a pan." 

you show him where all the necessities are, scoffing at some of the ingredients he has in the bag, and listening to him explain that it isn't his recipe, but that you still aren't allowed to criticize. 

you just nod errantly, sitting on a bar stool so you can watch him. 

and peter makes it look like a little dance, finding the things he needs in seconds, handing multiple things at once, and catching anything before it falls. 

you sigh, and peter looks over to you, questioning. "i think you stole all of the coordination i was supposed to have." 

and then peter laughs--with teeth and everything--and turns back around. "i don't think it matters much." 

and you're about to argue with him, when some timer he set beeps. 

"almost there," he says, "do you want to get some plates and forks so i can just move it onto there?" 

you nod even though he can't see it, and walk around the counter to move past him. 

but peter has ridiculously long legs, and without even noticing, you're stumbling into one of them and almost falling into peter's back. just as always though, he's quick to turn around and keep you from hitting your head on anything, including his bones. 

peter sighs and you look at him, sheepishly smiling. 

"see what i mean?" he says and then helps you stand back up. 

even when he lets go you can feel the imprint of his hands around your biceps, the taste of his laughter in the air. 

peter is in your apartment, laughing and cooking for you, taking care of you, and doing it all with a smile. 

and, god, you don't think you'll ever be able to wake up from this. 

*

part two. 

my masterlist here.

tags:@moonlarking-blog @v1ci0us @preciousbabypeter @alexxavicry @directioner5life @inthegetawaycarwithtaylah @localrockstargf  @thestudiouswanderer @take-my-hand-time-boy @thoughtsofagodlovingsunflower @nyomjoon  @moo-b1tch​ @raindropstearsandtea @rqmanoff​ @hollandweather​ @wetcoldnoodle @urlocalavenderhazestan​ @valvlry​ @imthatcoolmom​ @spideysimpossiblegirl​    invisibletrolleyson-jeremy  @sharkswaters  

[cait-with-luv]

Little Leopard [6]

"If it weren't for seven men that fateful night you wouldn't be here now. They showed you good people did exist. That life can be great, that you can be loved and cared for. These seven men were the men you loved and cherished. These men were your mates. Your safety blanket. And to them. You were their Little Leopard."

Header Credit: Me

Pairing: OT7 X Hybrid!Reader

Genre: Hybrid! AU, Strangers to Lovers! AU, Rich!BTS, Fluff, Angst, eventual smut, Polyamorous!BTS

Warnings: Angst, discussions of weight, discussions of eating disorders, dissociation, mentions of past mental abuse, mentions of past physical abuse, mentions of sexual abuse, discussions of trauma, anxiety, depression, explicit language, self-doubt, fear of rejection

Word Count: 3.5K

A/N: I'm sorry if this is so scruffy I tried my best since I've just got back to full health so the next update will be better! ITALICS MEANS IT'S A FLASHBACK!

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The boys felt lost. It was like they were taking one step forward and one step back with you ever since your hospital appointment a few weeks ago. You had gone back to barely speaking. Only nodding and shaking your head. Murmuring your words. Barely coming out of your room. They were worried. Guilty. Guilty because they felt like they had pushed you too far. You were healing after so much trauma, pain and they reopened those healing wounds. They desperately wanted to help you. Get you back on track to recovery and finding happiness but they didn’t know how. They didn’t know where to start.

However this wasn’t the case. You had not shut yourself out because of the appointment. Because you were suffering from reliving trauma. No, it was because of them. You were not mad at them. You were not disappointed in them. You were purely nervous. Nervous because everytime you looked at them your heart raced. Everytime you tried to talk your words got caught in your throat. THEY made you nervous. Butterflies in your stomach. And it all started because of your realization. They were your mates. They were fated to you. They found you that night because they were meant to. 

It terrified you. You had never felt this ever. It was all so new to you. This feeling of adoration, euphoria, love. It was all so overwhelming and terrifying that you didn’t know how to comprehend it. You weren’t ready to accept that you had mates. You were so desperately trying to shut it out but it was proving to be difficult when your leopard is pawing at you consistently to nest with them again, scent them. Mate them. Sheer pain crawling in your body when they come home smelling like another Hybrid. You couldn’t accept it because you were terrified to be rejected. You weren’t good enough for them, not perfect enough. You came with too much baggage. The humiliation you’d feel if they rejected you. The gut-wrenching pain you’d feel. You couldn’t take anymore pain. 

You knew you couldn’t shut yourself away forever. That you had to conjure up the courage to talk to them, be around them but it was difficult when your every instinct is to nurture them, claim them. 

Your deep thoughts are cut off from a knock on the your bedroom door, you mumble a ‘come in’ and a hesitant Taehyung peers in and pouts seeing you curled up in a nest you had recently built for yourself, the only thing providing you comfort right now but seeing Taehyung makes you ball your fists up to fight the urge to pull him into it. You couldn’t indulge anymore, because now you crave it all the time since the first time you nested with him and Jungkook.

“Hey, Pretty girl, Seokjinnie has made some lunch, want to come eat with us? You didn’t have any breakfast.” He says softly, frowning as you shake your head and snuggle more into your nest.

“I-I’m not hungry. Maybe later?” You mutter quietly, avoiding eye contact. You could see the concern in his face but you just had no appetite, you couldn’t stomach anything right now.

“But Y/N, you haven’t eaten properly in a while…” He trails off, hoping that you’d cave and finally eat but you were stubborn. You couldn’t and wouldn’t. You didn’t have the energy to face them.

“I’m just not hungry right now Taehyungie. I’ll eat later. I promise.” You reassure, before closing your eyes and pretending to go to sleep. You couldn’t look at him otherwise you’d cave.

“Okay, one of us will check on you in a bit, please try to eat later. Please talk to us, we’re here for you.” Taehyung sighs before leaving and making his way downstairs, watching the six hopeful boys' faces fall when they see no sign of you.

“Nothing?” Jungkook pouts as Taehyung shakes his head. They just wanted to see you healing again, smiling and interacting with them. 

“Nothing. She won’t eat. She said she’s not hungry again, she wouldn’t look at me. What do we do?” Taehyung whines in frustration, sitting down next to Jimin who gives him a small smile.

“I’m getting worried, she’s starving herself, we can’t let her continue like this. She’s going to get sick, we need to do something, we can’t keep walking on eggshells around her, it’s not going to achieve anything.” Jimin huffs and shakes his head. They needed to make better efforts, because right now, he felt like they were all doing the bare minimum.

“We can’t force her to eat, we can’t force her to do anything. We’d just be doing what all the others were doing but we need to sit her down, remind her that she’s not alone, that she doesn’t need to bottle it all up.” Namjoon advises, they all hum in agreement except for Jungkook. He shakes his head, gaining their attention.

“I don’t think it’s the hospital appointment that’s doing this to her. I think…I think it’s the fact we’re her mates. I think she knows but is scared. Have you guys not noticed how anxious and nervous she gets around us recently? How much more she’s nesting and scenting blankets?” He begins, looking around watching as they all come to a realization.

“That does make sense but how do you know she knows?” Seokjin replies with a frown.

“Well…”

—

“Is she oka-Oh shit.”

Hoseok stares in shock at the sight in front of him. Two of his boyfriends, nesting with you, your small figure, snuggled up between them, the peaceful look of sleep and safety on your face. He knew what this meant. He was familiar with what nesting meant to a hybrid, having been told by his colleagues with mates. Things had just got more complicated.

“Shh don’t wake her. She’s dissociated, she’s distraught, we know what this means, we made the nest for her to help but she invited us in. We couldn’t say no.” Jungkook whispers, looking down to make sure you hadn’t been disturbed. In all honesty, he wasn’t opposed to being your mate. One of seven mates.

“We need to talk. Now.” Hoseok says quietly, shuffling in his spot. Everything was coming together now. Why they felt so much care for you. The need to protect you and spoil you. They all had assumed it was because of your circumstances but how wrong they were.

They may be human but they felt it too. The pull towards you. The attraction. 

“Tae, you go, I’ll stay with her, don’t wanna leave her by herself in case she wakes up.” Jungkook sighs, stroking your hair, a small smile falling onto his lips as you subconsciously lean into his touch, a loud rumble of a happy purr leaving your mouth.

Taehyung hesitates before nodding and placing a chaste kiss to your temple and then a quick peck to Jungkook’s head before carefully leaving the nest, his chest filled with anxiety and guilt from doing so.

“Mate…n-no…back…” You whimper in your sleep, anxiously moving about, already feeling Taehyung’s disappearance, your fists clenching Jungkook’s shirt tighter and tighter, fearful to lose him too.

“Shh, it’s okay, I’m here, I’ve got you…your mate is right here, Baby.” He comforts, keeping you tight in his hold, nosing at the crown of your head to relax you. He wouldn’t want anyone else to be a mate too. He will make sure to be the perfect one for you and he knew the others would too. You were the missing piece they were missing. You fit in just like a jigsaw piece.

“We’re her mates.” Taehyung blurts out suddenly once they had all sat down, their eyes widening in shock. Out of all the things they thought they were going to be told, this wasn’t at all what they were expecting.

“W-What? How do you know?” Jimin breathes out in surprise, his heart racing from nerves.

“She nested with me and Kookie. She’s still nesting with him now, she scented him too. She looked pretty upset too when she realized we all weren’t there. She wanted us all in the nest.” Taehyung explained, running a hand through his hair.

“Come to think of it, she looked like she was going to tear Dr. Yoon’s head off when she hugged us. It probably didn’t help that she's a lion hybrid too but it makes sense. It’s kinda like a territorial thing.” Yoongi murmurs leaning back into the couch, arms crossed as he thought deeply.

“Well what do we do? We can’t pretend that we don’t know about it. It’ll just be makingher suffer. I don’t know about you guys but I care a lot about her. I really do think I’d be lost without her.” Hoseok says confidently, the boys humming in acknowledgement.

“She does feel like what we’ve been missing this whole time and I know there’s plenty of room for her in this relationship.” Seokjin agrees with Hoseok a smile toying at his lips, he could picture all the loving memories you could create. Waking up together with them in the mornings, dates, cooking together, intimate moments, all the laughs, smiles, compliments. He wanted that with you. They all did. You were the missing brick in the home they had built. The cement that held it together. They just hadn’t realized it until now.

“I don’t think we should tell her we know…she’ll come to us when she’s ready to tell us no matter how painstakingly slow it may be we got to be patient. We don’t want to scare her off. Let her initiate it. Let her be in control of this. She’s never gotten that choice so we have to give that to her. Maybe little courting gifts here and there for her, not to hint that we know but hint to her that we care for her and if she wants to want to build a relationship with her.” Namjoon says with authority in his voice. He didn’t want to screw up any chance they had with you. It wasn’t like how they started dating. You’re a hybrid and courting is a big thing for mates. They couldn’t rush this. It had to be at a steady pace, it had to be perfect.

“But what if she doesn’t come to us about it Joonie? She’s never had this much control in her life, she won’t know how to do this. I don’t want to control her at all but what if we just give her a nudge into the right direction?” Jimin whines. He knew Namjoon was right but his patience was the worst out of them all, he knew he’d get too antsy.

“We may have to but right now we wait and see baby. Only time will tell.”

—

It had gone past midnight when you left your room, unfortunately your anxiety riddled mind had kept you awake, the thoughts of losing the boys, not being good enough for them plagued you. But also your fears of going back to your previous owner. Having to endure the mental and physical abuse day in and day out. The pure torment. You couldn’t go back to it. Especially not after seeing what life truly can be like. You just couldn’t do it.

You had to speak to them, go back to your healing, you couldn’t lose them, push them away. 

You hesitantly tip-toe towards a room. Jungkook’s room. Despite being in a seven person relationship, sometimes they liked to have their own space or take turns sharing the master bedroom bed.

You stand in front of his room, contemplating whether or not if you should knock. You didn’t want to disturb him, you were about to turn around and go back to your room but if it was Jungkook had a 6th sense and knew you were there, his door suddenly opening, a yawning Jungkook stood there, a look of surprise when he realized it was you at the door not one of the boys like he thought it to have been.

“Y/N? Hey, Sweet girl, are you okay? Is something the matter?”He asks softly, almost cooing at your sweater paws and doe eyes staring at him nervously. You shuffle in your spot, toying with your hands as you murmur shyly,

“I-I can’t sleep…didn’t know what to do. D-Did I disturb you? I-I’m sorry I’ll go.”

Jungkook quickly shakes his head and holds his hand out for you to take, he didn’t want to startle you and grab your hand, he reminds himself of what Namjoon had said. ‘Let her be in control’.

You slowly place your hand in his and you almost purr from glee from the feeling, you hadn’t touched them or let them touch you since you nested with them.

“You have nothing to be sorry for baby, do you wanna come in? Maybe trying sleeping in here so you aren’t by yourself? I can sleep on the floor if that will make you more comfortable?” He asks, slowly guiding you into his room, his breath hitching as you whisper,

“A-Actually…c-could you nest with me instead? I-I think that’ll help…”

He could have screamed with joy at your proposition. You were starting to take initiation, no matter how small it may be, it was a start and it excited him. 

“Of course, do you need anything to build your nest? Help yourself to whatever you want baby.” He smiles standing aside to let you do what you needed to do. And so you began, grabbing any item that smelt of the boys, shirts, blankets, hoodies, you grabbed them all and carefully built your nest. You wanted it to be perfected, it needed to be. The urge inside you wanting to impress your mate but you had no idea that no matter what you did, Jungkook would always be impressed.

“In.” Was all you said once you had finished, patting the place beside you in the middle of the nest. A teasing smile appears on Jungkook’s face, playfully crossing his arms and pretending to think.

“In? You want me to get in? I don’t know…” He teases making you huff and pout at him, glaring.

“Kookie…” You whine in frustration making him laugh and shaking his head. You were just to cute to not tease.

“Okay, okay, I’m coming in now.” He coos, and carefully lays in your nest, allowing you to move him to where you wanted, a content smile on his face as you curl up into the side of him,  purring and chuffing. You really were just a cat.

“Thank you Jungkook, for this…for all of you putting up with me.” You say quietly, closing your eyes in attempt to try and fall asleep. But it still felt like something was missing, like you need something more to fall asleep.

“We’re putting up with nothing Little one, we’re here because we want to be, because care for you and want to help you in anyway we can alright?” He yawns, playing with your hair and pouting noticing your fidgeting.

“Still can’t get comfortable to sleep Sweet girl? Is something playing on your mind?” He asks softly, tilting his head as you nod and sit up to look at him.

“Feels like something is missing…” You practically cry out.

Jungkook thinks before a thought pops into his head, sitting up with you and hesitantly asking,

“Do you reckon it’s the rest of the boys that’s missing baby? Is that what it is?” 

You nod slowly as you realize that yes, it was what was missing, what you needed. You need all seven of them in your nest, all your mates but it felt too selfish to do. You had already disturbed Jungkook, you couldn’t wake the rest.

“B-But I don’t wanna wake them. That’d be unfair.” You pout before going to lay back down.

“It’s okay, don’t worry we’ll find another way to help make you sleep…why don’t we read? We’ll go sit downstairs and I’ll start teaching you, how does that sound?” He proposes and a smile appears on your face as you nod. You liked the sound of that.

—

Namjoon sighs as he sits down on the couch, the house is filled with silence as everyone sleeps, the only sound is the clock ticking away. It was late. Just past one in the morning and Namjoon couldn't sleep. Tossing and turning all night, his stress taking a toll on him. 

Whilst Hoseok was embarking on his investigation of your abusers, Namjoon had started his own. He was determined to find who this inside person was, doing the cover-up on your documentation and who knows how many more Hybrids and was proving to be challenging. So far he couldn't find a single thing. Not a single speck of dirt on any of his employees, he was close to hitting a dead end but he refused to give up, hoping that eventually, he'll find something. 

Anything, even if it was the tiniest bit of evidence. He couldn't let these Hybrids down. He couldn't let you down. He prided himself in protecting and providing for Hybrids in need and built his whole career on it. His whole business. But right now he felt like he was failing. He was angry, ashamed, and guilty that he allowed someone so dirty to work for him, allowed them to slip through the security checks he so thoroughly does but clearly not thorough enough. 

Namjoon stares at the blank screen of the television, his head quickly turning as he hears a creak of the floor boards before relaxing when he sees the two pairs of doe eyes he's grown to adore so much staring back at his exhausted figure. 

"Baby. Princess. What are you two doing up?" He asks quietly, tilting his head as he sees an alphabetical book tight in your grasp, his heart skipping a beat at the pouts on both of your faces. He swore your pout could challenge his youngest boyfriends. 

"We could ask you the same Joonie. Little one here, couldn't sleep so she decided to nest with me in hopes it'd help but it didn't so we were going to sit down here so I could teach her how to read." Jungkook explains giving Namjoon a concerned smile. 

"I couldn't sleep either Princess, it's okay it happens to us all sometimes. Come here, why don't both of us teach you hm?" Namjoon says tiredly, letting out a yawn and stretching. 

"B-But you're tired. I don't want to be a burden to you. Y-You've been working a lot Namjoonie." You whisper shyly, shuffling in your place. Out of all the boys, Namjoon intimidated you the most. You weren't scared of him. You could never be with how caring he is but he just screamed alpha of the house to you with how much authority he held.

Namjoon all but smiles softly at you, shaking his head as he pats the spot on the couch beside him, inviting you both to join him as he says reassuringly, 

"Nonsense. You could never be a burden Babygirl, now let's read this book shall we?"

You nod and both you and Jungkook sit down, you sandwiched in between them both as Namjoon takes the book and opens it, beginning to teach you each letter, even going as far as getting a notebook out so you could even practice writing.

“Is everything making sense so far Princess? Tell us if you need to go over something again okay?” Namjoon asks after a little while, smiling when he looks over to you when he gets no reply and finds that you had finally fallen asleep, pen almost slipping of your hand.

“She’s so cute.” Jungkook chuckles, taking the pen out of your hand and looking over to Namjoon as he bookmarks the book and closes it.

“She is. How come she couldn’t sleep?” Namjoon asks leaning back into the couch and carefully laying your head down on his lap as Jungkook places your feet on his. 

“I think she’s starting to accept or come to terms that we’re her mates, she couldn’t sleep because all of us weren’t in the nest, she was so frustrated but she didn’t want to wake any of you up.” Jungkook smiles, rubbing up and down your calf. Namjoon chuckles and looks down at you, adoringly before he gets an idea.

“I have an idea, Jungkook wake the boys up, try and make a nest and a nest big enough for us all in the master bedroom, we’re going to do what she wanted, have us all in a nest, I think it’ll be a nice surprise for her in the morning when she wakes up.” 

And so Jungkook did. He woke each of them up, explaining to them what was happening, bright smiles on all their faces as they worked together to build the nest, hearts fluttering as Namjoon carries you into the room and places you in the middle of them all, love filling the room as you all filled the nest, snuggled up together, content smiles on your faces as you all slept. Even Namjoon managed to fall asleep at last. Peaceful and happy. 

Unaware of what was coming.

PERMANENT TAGLIST

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SERIES TAGLIST (CLOSED)

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[capricornlevi]

(wc 759)

"you're gonna make me look good?"

jean's question is delivered with that annoying crooked smile, his jersey hugging tight across his chest as he stands with his hands clasped behind his back. he arches an eyebrow expectantly as you fiddle with the camera, trying to fix the settings that seem to have adjusted themselves without your knowledge.

as captain of the soccer team, he's the last player whose picture you need to capture for the college yearbook, and also as the captain, he brings with him an exceptionally smug but annoyingly charming aura that threatens to penetrate your stony resolve.

no, you force yourself to keep a straight face, it's bad enough that you got roped into this gig for free as a favour to your professor, you don't need to start stretching out these interactions any longer.

at that, you set the camera back on the tripod and lean closer, making sure the framing is right.

"okay, smile?" you say, halfway between an instruction and a question.

"i am smiling," he retorts instantly.

"smile ... i don't know, properly."

he winces with mock offence, screwing up whatever hope you had of getting the picture in one shot and finishing up for the day.

"properly?" he queries incredulously.

you sigh, closing your eyes so you don't roll them.

"professionally, then. formally. whatever what you want to do it."

"not open to me doing a silly one?"

"i'll give you one guess on that."

in the viewfinder you see jean's face twist back into that now-familiar smile, eyes crinkling at the corners, the light brown of his hair contrasting again the royal blue of the drape behind him.

(the hall of the gym isn't the best place to set up an impromptu photo studio, but you found an old team flag bundled up in a supply cupboard that made for a decent background)

"okay, okay, i'll be professional. showing my leadership qualities, and so on."

"great," you say flatly, focusing the camera.

"really demonstrating my abilities to represent the school."

"sounds good."

"recording this moment for future generations to come, a piece of living history--"

"do you ever stop talking?"

your interruption was intended to throw him off his tangent, hopefully to buy enough time for you to actually get the picture, but all it does is make him throw his head back with a laugh.

"i can if you want me to."

"if you wouldn't mind," you mumble, feeling a slight pang of guilt at how hard you came in when he's clearly just trying to lighten the mood.

still, you've been here since seven this morning -- soccer practice is early early, you've discovered -- and all you want in the world is to make your way home to collapse back into bed.

"ok, i'll shut up for a minute. if you can answer something for me first."

you take a steadying breath, temper starting to simmer. "what is it?"

"can you actually tell me if i look good?"

against all odds, he shocks you out of your sullen silence.

you pull away from focusing at the camera display to stare wordlessly at jean, the seriousness of the question still pinging around in your head.

he's flirting, obviously, but the question was delivered with sincerity.

"meaning?" you ask. no harm in clarifying, plus you're not entirely sure if he's looking for an ego boost or just asking whether his jersey is too wrinkled or his hair out of place.

"do i look good?"

you swallow thickly, avoiding the temptation to give him a once over. "you look fine."

"fine won't make the history books," he objects; again, with a hint of earnestness that you could find amusing in another setting.

"whatever. you look good, then."

"hair okay?"

"it's a mullet, so --"

he clutches his chest as if wounded, fully grinning now. "no cheap shots at the mullet while I'm in such a vulnerable position, im begging you."

again, your curiosity forces you to engage.

"vulnerable how?"

still smiling, eyes fixed on you, he answers.

"well, talking to a pretty girl, for one thing. secondly, pretty sure she's sworn off soccer players for good after this morning, so ... uphill battle, and all that. plus ive had a crush on her since she was selected as photographer for the championship final last year, so even more's at stake, y'know."

you pause. no words leave you, nothing even resembling a response. you're sure your mouth has actually dropped open.

brow arched again, jean tilts his head forward expectantly.

"aren't you gonna take the picture?"

[oneknightstand-if]

FAQ

(That I just made up because there's no time for questions yet)

600,000+ words for the first chapter?!?

(Damn, Tumblr insists on blowing up even small gifs into full size, huh)

I know, I know... that's not going to be sustainable unless we're aiming for the first 6 million word release in history. I'll be streamlining things more from this point onwards.

Is this a standalone or the first book of a series?

It's a series. The first book One Knight Stand will keep going until we finally complete that Lesser Circle of Seven (or die trying) but the apocalypse won't be over yet.

What is with all these wikipedia links in the game?

So I was going to have tooltips that popped up and explained things such as 'greaves' and whatnot like Twine games do… but oops, Choicescript doesn't have that capability. The closest I could do is include a link to a website that explained it.

I decided that wikipedia had the best chance of still being available years from now and have handy explanations to most things I was referencing (so I wouldn't have to chase after broken links when sites go down forevermore).

And then I just started running amok and linking to anything that the player might not know offhand. If you already understand the reference or have no further interest in it, please feel free to just ignore them.

How can I see the code for the game?

You can view the game code on my site the same way you do on Dashingdon just add /scenes to the end of the URL.

The sound effects aren't working in the game?

Are you playing on iOS (iPhone etc) or macOS? If not, please report this as a bug. Otherwise, if you're playing on an Apple platform unfortunately there's a known bug with OGG sound files not working (even though they're supposedly supported by all browsers by now).

Unfortunately, despite an extensions search, I haven't found a solution for this.

If by the time One Knight Stand is completed, Apple still isn't properly supporting OGG, then I might have to convert all the hundreds of sound files over to MP3 for the iOS version of the game. ( ⚆﹏⚆ ) The conversion will double the size of the sound files however and with hundreds of sound files that's definitely less than optimal there.

Do I need to know anything about King Arthur, Camelot, or random arthurian lore to play this game?

No, you don't need to know anything about it.

You can spend the whole game going "Who is Arthur? What's a Camels-a-lot? What am I even doing here?" as a legit strategy. (You can even play that way if you actually do know stuff about arthuriana.)

If you choose to be an in-game lore expert, it just means your MC is as likely to give an explanation as one of the other characters. However, anything important that the player needs to know will come up in the game itself.

You can also ask the other characters for info dumps on Camelot... and boy, will some of them give you (completely skippable) lore dumps all right.

Hey, this stuff that Merlin's saying about Camelot doesn't jive with what I know!

Maybe that's the difference between what canonically happened in One Knight Stand's backstory. Or maybe Merlin is just gaslighting you.

What's going on with Merlin's pronouns?

If Merlin's pronouns don't fit with the gender that you've chosen for them within the MC's speech or internal narrative, then that's a coding error (please report it).

If another character (say a little girl who's convinced that Merlin is Elsa) is using different pronouns for Merlin than what's expected, then that's simply how that other character is currently perceiving Merlin.

But what pronouns does Merlin prefer?

Merlin doesn't care what human pronouns you use for them. Out-of-universe I'll be using they/them for simplicity's sake (same reason I'll be using 'incubus' instead of typing incubus/succubus the entire time).

What's up with all of Merlin's kaomoji in their text messages and e-mails?

They're a fifth-century mage who's been sealed away for 1500 years... they're *trying*.

 m(✿￣ｰ￣)m plz understand

Why are there so many Merlin questions in this FAQ?

I don't know, it just ended up that way. Probably because they show up in Chapter 1 and have a rather... complex... situation that needs warnings attached to it.

(✿≖ᴗ≖ )ゞ "Naturally, I'm simply the most intriguing member of this party."

Are all RO's available to all MC's?

Your MC won't be blocked from a romance due to gender or sexuality. At most you'll get a passing mention if you're not the gender that the RO usually dates.

There are certain *other* mitigating factors, however... for example not all RO's are going to be kosher with the Serial Killer MC (especially if said MC won't knock off with all the killings).

Also there is one modern day RO that is incompatible with a certain Camelot MC background.

Is there a lock-in point for romances?

No, there will be several points where you can initiate and break-off relationships with the various RO's (and know that the RO's can take take those on and off-ramps just the same as the MC).

You can also romance another character after breaking up with your current RO... but that's going to get tougher and tougher the more you do that.

Can we start a romance in Book 1?

Romances will proceed at a different pace depending on who your MC is romancing (and also on your MC themselves). For example Adrian will be friendzoning you through most of Book 1 for... reasons. Meanwhile, potential sex scene with Merlin in Chapter 3 if you're feeling particularly horny.

Do I need to romance someone to take part in their personal subplot?

No, you just need to be "close" to someone, either platonically, romantically, or otherwise to take part in their subplot. You'll also need to actually be physically present (which will not always be possible for everyone at the same time).

Is there any poly?

In the series, yes, but not in the first book One Knight Stand, as forming the triad will require developing a certain level of trust and loyalty between all three members. And right now everyone is too busy side-eying each other in suspicion at this point.

Thus, since the poly options won't appear until Book 2, saying who is involved would be a *spoiler* since it indicates who'll actually still be available for romance later in the series.

In general, there are three triads that will be available... one is male/male/MC, one is female/female/MC, and one is male/female/MC. Note that there is some overlap in the characters potentially involved in various triads since only a couple of the ROs are interested in this sort of thing.

What about options for flings and friends with benefits--

*points to Merlin*

So... Merlin the incubus as an RO. Can they be romanced monogamously? Can they be romanced asexually?

You can indeed romance Merlin and have them be emotionally monogamous to you as the partner they will always return to while everyone else is a (literal) snack.

But they can't be physically monogamous with the MC. They need to eat and being Merlin's sole food source would literally kill the MC in two weeks or less.

In fact, romanced Merlin is even more likely to seek out other food sources just to make certain that the MC is safe with them and that they won't get too hungry and accidentally eat your soul.

Merlin's nature as an incubus means their sexuality is highly integral to them, and while they will reflect back what their partner wants/needs from them, they are not naturally romantic. Basically if you're not having sex with them, then a high affinity MC is defaulting back to platonic friends.

These are things that are definitely going to be brought up in-game if you try to initiate a long-term romance with Merlin.

Will any other RO have problems with an asexual romance?

Nope, sex can be entirely avoided with all the other RO's, just choose the snuggle options instead of the sex options.

How explicit are we talking here regarding sex scenes?

You'll have the choice between fade to black and something rather more explicit but not full-blown porn. If anything rated higher than that gets included as a DLC option (not part of the base game) will depend upon how much (if any) interest there is in that sort of thing.

Can I romance the saboteur?

You can certainly *think* you are! (Note: This is not recommended for your MC's longevity)

Can I romance the 404 Error?

You can certainly *try*. (You actually have a better chance here than with the actual saboteur.)

Can I romance the dude in the elevator, that random paramedic, or some stranger walking down the street?

( ⓪ ᴗ ⓪ )

So there's only one traitor, right?

There may actually potentially be more than one depending on the MC's actions. But there's always that one particular saboteur present despite whatever else the MC may do.

Will the gender of my past Camelot reincarnation be the same as the one I've chosen in game?

No, there's no connection between your MC's current and past gender (or really their current and past *anything* since they're basically an entirely different person now).

There are four different backgrounds available for the Camelot reincarnation, 2 male and 2 female, so if you end up with a past incarnation you don't like at the end of the game, you can replay for one more suitable to your tastes.

How is the MC's past Camelot Incarnation determined?

Mostly through your choices during the Camelot flashback sequences. Mostly.

Who are the potential past incarnations of the MC?

That's for you to find out! (No really, this is one of the major subplots of the game).

What is with all these grayed-out options?

Options will be grayed out if they conflict with a previous choice the player made if you haven't fulfilled the prerequisites for unlocking them.

An example would be the "I'm lying about my amnesia" option not being selectable if you didn't chose to have amnesia in the first place. (The exception right now is the fencing & book club choices... I just haven't written those routes yet).

If nearly *all* the options have been grayed out, then usually that's triggered by your fear or vice kicking in or because your MC is literally possessed (Congratulations!). You may want to work on that.

I'm here for the story and not for the trauma… what background choices are least likely to spectacularly blow up in my face later?

In that case, I'd suggest the Lab Technician job, the Imposter secret, Abandoned or Abused as your childhood, Lust as your vice if you're not planning to pursue a long-term relationship with a RO (Sloth if you are), either Heights, Snakes, Spiders, or Closed Spaces as your phobia, avoiding Luck as your talent & avoiding the Internet as your addiction, and finally having Adrian as your close friend.

Not saying that you can't make other choices during the game that'll set you on the path to Hard Mode, but these background choices have the mildest potential repercussions.

I want the full spectacular clusterf*ck experience here! What background should I choose?

The Wrath (Vice), Accident (Childhood), and Serial Killer (Secret) combo is always f̴u̸n̷. The "Lying about my amnesia" secret is also it's own brand of mindtrip as well.

Also, some other options include starting off as a Security Guard as your career, with Fear Itself as your phobia (blood or death are also 'good' options), Luck as your talent, the Internet as your addiction, and of course Adrian as your stalker because obviously we don't need any good relationships to fall back on when playing Among Us.

What is going on with the "lying about your amnesia" option?

What indeed.

If you don't like meta fourth wall breaks or otherwise heavily self insert, you might not want to choose that as your secret.

My MC's skin is pretty dark, is that demonic-bruise thing actually going to be seeable?

Since the bruise being perceivable is an important plot point, then no matter how dark your MC's skin is, that bruise is darker still even if has to become the abiding abyss of a black hole to do so. (I even described it as a black hole in some routes to cover my posterior.)

My MC is intrigued by this agenda of demonic conquest & people-eating and would like to subscribe to their newsletter. Can I join the other side?

Well... there's certainly some Dead Ends where you can do that!

Screw all these people and this forced quest! My MC wants to leave the group and this plot behind.

You can certainly do that. You'll die (since your MC is currently on the top of several different 'Kill on sight' lists), but you can do it.

At some point the MC will be strong enough that they can split from the group and frolic off into their own nonstandard ending adventures in the apocalyptic world while everyone else deals with the whole apocalypse plot thing. But you're nowhere near that point yet.

So the MC can die prematurely here, huh.

Yep, this game is horror-adjacent and you're being given a hundred save slots for a reason. I'll be inputting checkpoints as well once we come to that part. Hopefully Choice of Games will start allowing normal save points in the near future.

Also, please note that all the Dead Ends include clues towards the truth of what's going on here that may otherwise not be knowable, so they're not complete wastes of time. Also, they all give Achievements.

What is a Cloudcuckoolander etc?

Please see this post for all your cloudcuckoolander needs.

What is going on with the Changeling MC?

Please see this post for all your changeling needs.

OMG, what the hell is this monstrosity that is Merlin's Guide to Arthurian Lore?

We're playing Among Us/Werewolf/Mafia/etc here. You aren't getting any word-of-god lore directly from me. That'd be too easy.

All info about the One Knight Stand world will be filtered through the natural biases (and lies) of the characters involved in the game. Hence, Merlin's Guide to Arthurian Lore.

Feel free to read or ignore, as you like. (Also feel free to text Merlin back and tell them exactly what you think of that doorstop.)

So Why 'Among Us' in the description?

Obviously, it can't be officially marketed like that, but I thought that would be the most popularly recognized description for this type of situation.

I also considered using the OG Mafia or Werewolf instead, but I thought that might've confused people into thinking that there are actual gangsters and werewolves present in the game.

About those werewolves...

No comment.

Are there any guides available?

Here's a link to various guides & info posts available on the Choice of Games thread.

Escaping the Monster Under the Bed

Getting Excalibur Shards

Gaining/Avoiding Corruption

Gaining/Avoiding Fear

Gaining/Losing Purity

Gaining Magic Points | Ver. 2

Gaining Charisma Points

Mini Guide to Gaining Will Points

Full Guide to Gaining Will Points

Gaining Cloudcuckoolander Points

Potential Past Incarnations

Saving & Getting Pippa Killed | Version 2

Saving Zain

Potential Camelot Incarnations

Camelot Family Trees

Quick Guide to Sparring with Lancelot

Percy Soulmate at First Sight Guide

My save slots keep getting stuck in the Status Menu! (or any of the submenus associated with it such as Messages/Inventory/etc)

Unfortunately, that's a common problem with Dashingdon games or any games that use the smPlugin.js save system (like One Knight Stand). You can't save the game directly after checking the stats menu (or any of the submenus associated with the stats menu such as Messages, Inventory, menu). If you do, that save will be permanently stuck in the stats menu for good.

So you either have to...

Save the game before checking the stats menu

After checking the stats menu move the game forward by at least one screen before saving. That means picking an option, hitting the 'Next' button or whatever is currently available in that particular game.

I keep getting an error in the game.

Before reporting any errors, please clear your browser's cache (just the cache, not the cookies, localStorage, or any other browser data) and refresh the page.

Then, if you're loading an old save slot, check the Status Menu to make certain that your stats haven't been reset back to default (which can be caused by the data in the save slot corruption). If the Status Menu variables have reset back to their original values, you'll have to load another Save or restart from the beginning of the game).

If you're still getting an error message after trying these steps, please feel free to send in a bug report.

When will the Book Club Route be done?

When it's done. There's no set date at this point and considering the time investment (3-4 months for 150,000-175,000 words) and how burnt out I currently am with Chapter 1, it won't be anytime soon.

I will also no longer be responding to any update requests regarding the book club.

What the hell is going on with Gawain in Merlin's Guide to Arthurian Lore?

So, while I was plotting out One Knight Stand and deciding which version of Arthurian lore would be taken as the "truth" of the OKS world, I looked at Gawain and his five million wives and lovers (because if you were going to create a female OC back then, high probability she's shacking up with Gawain) and then I decided, yes, I'm going to make all of them canon.

The yandere. The other yandere. The one who dosed him with aphrodisiacs. That one who died of heartbreak because he couldn't figure out how to get back to her castle. The cursed baba yaga.

Merlin's cursed ex-lover. [insert Merlin screeching in the background about not having done any such thing] The fairy daughter of Morgana... and that other fairy... and this fairy too.

All of them.

Good luck, Gawain.

[madame-fear]

Lucerys wedding night with a Stark!reader

ok so i assumed this imagine was for smut content, right? hope you enjoy this anon, and if anyone wants me to make a complete proper one shot about it just tell meee. also i'm new at writing (not-so-explicit) smut so please be patient with me!

From the moment you met at the betrothal dinner your Houses had organised, both of you already took a deep liking for each other at the very first sight — making you get used to each other's presence rather quickly, and fall in love easily.

On your official wedding ceremony, as expected, it was a lovely, and rather memorable night, especially because you were already deeply head over heels for Luke and the best part of it was when you had to kiss for the very first time. But, what had been much better than what you expected, was the following hours after your wedding, when you both went to your shared chambers already as Lord Husband and Lady Wife, being two young passional lovebirds. 👀

There, once you made sure the door was properly locked, you allowed to express all the shyly contained love you had for each other in a rather... wild way. He would softly — yet firmly — push you to sit on the edge of the bed, and would right there encapture your lips in a fervidly loving kiss as he cups your cheeks and places himself between your legs, and you immediatly giving into the feeling.

The continous kissing would go on as your back hits the bed and he positions himself on top of you, and you'd get a bit... touchy with him. As in, both your hands would travel all around each other's body; caressing your arms, back, cupping your cheeks, holding your waist, etc. Until your hands decide to begin leisurely — yet a bit desperately — unbuttoning his clothing and him unlacing your dress as you both kiss. But of course, Lucerys wouldn't fully unlace your dress without shyly asking for your permission at first.

As Lucerys stood on top of you, continuing to kiss you in a lovingly passionate way, his hands went to delicately unlace your dress from your back. But, pulling away from your lips in a bit of a shy manner, he stopped his movements as he stared into your eyes. “(y/n),” luke began, with a soft, shy voice tone. “M-May I have the permission, of unlacing your dress?” he inquired, stuttering briefly. Having already unbuttoned half of his clothing, you scoffed playfully. “Seven Hells, Luke, I have nearly undressed you without asking your permission. Just unlace the dress already! You have my full permission.” you began, as you pulled him into a deep kiss again.

Your sudden confidence would make Luke feel a bit more secure about himself, though he still feels slightly shy at the idea of having intimacy with you.

He would unlace and take your dress off rather quickly, tossing it aside as he leaves you only in your silky underdress because... he's still a bit too shy to fully undress you, so he'll leave you with some clothing on.

Of course, being the sweet boy he is, he would start things very, very slowly. His lips would descend from your lips, to your jaw, your chin, and finally, your neck. Noticing you have a several soft spots on your neck, he would decide to take the best of care in that zone by kissing it, and occasionally nibbling on it in a teasing manner. While he does that, his hand would leisurely travel all across your body, until it finally arrives to your wet underwear.

Silly boy would ask you so, so many times whether you're comfortable or not, and if he can continue with whatever thing he's doing or not — but that just means he's a soft, shy gentleman that wants you to truly have a pleasing first intimate time. So, before he slides his fingers under your underwear, he would ask for approval to continue, and the answer is most obviously: absolutely yes.

Having the security that he can proceed, his fingers would gently and teasingly rub on your wet core to see your reaction. Your breath hitched, and you were clearly enjoying such actions so far, so he would continue by slipping his fingers inside your already dripping core, and teasingly moving them from the inside. It's a strange feeling for both of you, but one you don't mind in feeling more often.

While Lucerys does that, he would give you so many kisses on your neck's most sensitive spots as you moan for his name. His breath would be hot and a bit accelerated, and you would constantly feel it against your skin while he kisses you and he whispers how much he already deeply adores, and loves you. Honestly, he can't help but feel a bit overwhelmed with pride as he noticed how you squirm under his fingering, and call for his name.

Before you can fully discharge your release on his fingers, he'd rapidly — and painfully, for you — pull away his fingers from your inside, leaving you a bit surprised at his actions. But of course, he won't allow you to cum without him having fully satisfied you... and himself. He's got more for you, and before you can whine about him having left you unfinished, he would just continue to place desperate wet kisses on your lips as he begins to take off his underwear and properly position himself right in between your legs.

As he keeps kissing you a bit too passionately and positions himself with his underwear... *cough cough* already off, his hands would firmly yet softly take hold of your hips, while your legs just trap his waist rather tightly, and pull him closer to you. Being already entrapped in each other's little mist of fiery love, he'd just take his wild chance, and would slid his hardened self inside your wet-dripping genitalia. For both of you, it's strangely new: you feel like you're about to get your guts rearranged, and for him, you feel too tight, and warm around his size.

Though, he wouldn't do it in a harsh, nor rough way — he would do it very slowly and gently as to allow you to get used to the feeling, especially because Lucerys knew that women took a bit more of time to adjust to the moment, and he could notice you briefly flinched with pain and dig your nails deep in his skin. There, our sweet boy will literally bomb you with questions such as: are you okay? do you want me to stop? does it hurt? are you comfortable continuing with this? etc

He would just stay very slightly inside of you while he showers you with tons of kissing and praising, until you allow him to continue pounding profoundly into you once the pain fully washes away, and you begin to feel pleasure from it. Even if at one point you are just fogged by pure satisfaction and pleasure — and... kind of ask him to go faster/rougher — his movements with you will always be delicate, and soft. Expect him to be an absolute moaner, even if he badly tries to contain his moaning and groaning merely out of shyness; but the satisfaction he gets from it just overwhelms his generally timid nature to hide his moans.

Luke will absolutely adore to hear your breathless moans, and groans, especially when you call out loudly for his name at some moments. Both your arms would be wrapped around him, and one of your hands would have your fingers fully interwined into his messy — now slightly sweaty — hair. And obviously, he won't stop kissing you absolutely everywhere: your cheeks, your lips — in a sloppy way though —, your jaw, your neck... everywhere.

Though his movements against your inside will be as delicate as he can, he will eventually go a bit faster as the moment goes by, because he can't get enough of the inner heat, and overwhelmingly erotic feelings you provoke him. Especially, noticing how shaky your entire body is; your legs in particular tremble too much from pleasure.

Once you both begin to feel an uncomfortable knot forming on your insides, he will be more attentive and careful, because from what he has been taught so far, he knew that meant you were about to release each other's comings. So obviously he will be more attentive and careful right there, as to not discharge his seed inside of you since both of you are still a bit young to be parents.

When you finally feel an intense heat that resembles that of dragonfire taking over your chest, and you scream each other's name in a rather loud way, he'd hastily slid his member out of your insides, and would just... accidentally come all over on your stomach, as your own cum drips leisurely from your core, staining the bedsheets below you. Being both very exhausted from all the motion, you'd place each other's sweaty forehead against one another, as you inhale and exhale in a rapid manner, trying to catch your breath.

Being a shy little soft bean he is, his cheeks would be tinted in an intense crimson colour as his mind replays the moment he just had with you. And also, his entire face would be fully reddened with embarrassment at seeing that he accidentally made a mess on your skin, and the bedsheets. Expect him to fill your face once again with tons of timid kisses, and go hear him apologise a ton for having made a mess, though there isn't anything to really apologise for.

Our gentle boy will hurry to reach for a towel, and would help you clean yourself. Meanwhile, he would ask you if you liked it, if you felt comfortable with him, if he was too rough, etc. Lucerys is a bit insecure about himself, but you quickly soothe him by cupping his cheeks, and kissing his lips all over while you tell him that he was perfectly delicate, and that you enjoyed the moment more than you imagined you would. His cheeks? Even more red 📈 and let's not forget the goofy shy grin at feeling the amount of love you give him.

Afterwards, he will just cover both of your bodies in the warm bedsheets, and would press you tightly against his body. Luke is like a little soft babyboy around you, especially after having such intimate moment together, so expect him to be a bit clingy and whisper sweet nothings to you as you fall asleep together.

Basically, when it comes to having these moments with him (especially this one, because it was your first time and your wedding night), he will be a tremendously soft, and sweet babe that will always make sure your needs are properly met, but also that you feel comfortable and he doesn't accidentally hurt you. He just wants to make you feel properly loved by him, and have a thrilling time with you. <3

♡ taglist : ♡

@jjamieberry @anemicroyalcore @countsmoon @tickle-euphoria @beeebo234 @manuholland6 @capellaadara @kyuupidwrites @tchatso @dopepersonacloudllama @phantasyy @tasty-nutella @mstxdes @valeriecash

[gingermintpepper]

On that trojan war au thing you're writing. 1. What are the tags for it, cause I'm super interested! And would love to read what you have so far! 2. "And Odysseus is a much grimmer darker man due to his home being one of the places that were first swallowed up by Erebus" - I wanna know more about this. Please tell me more.

Oh , wow, I'm so flattered! I'm very happy it sounds appealing to you <33 This work is a huge passion project of mine so I'm always glad to talk more and more about it, especially since there are many aspects occurring in the background (such as the alternate fates of the main players of the Trojan Conflict) which I cannot properly cover or even explain within the events of the novel itself.

That said: 1) If you mean tags as in ao3 - unfortunately, this work isn't on ao3 my friend :( As I said above, these are elements and concepts in the greek mythology based-fantasy novel I'm currently writing (the concept of which I outlined here in the introductory post of my novel concept!) As for wanting to read whatever writing I currently have available: I currently have three fics available on ao3 that are written in my Pursuing Daybreak verse!

The Prince and Princess series deal with a young Apollo and Artemis and the many consequences they face after Apollo has slain Python. The two works uploaded right now are Exeunt Phoebus Apollo which covers the murder trial of Python and Manent Apanchomene Artemis which covers the intense feelings of helplessness and alienation Artemis experiences after Apollo returns from his banishment and is completely changed. Both of these have themes of family, grief and relationship exploration at their heart.

The third bit of writing I have up is quite outdated but does cover the immediate aftermath of Hyacinthus' death. It's called A Petal Falleth and features Apollo making one of those Big Silly Decisions that have completely unintended but extremely important consequences: namely, instead of the larkspurs being made of Hyacinthus' spilt blood, Apollo anchors the boy's soul to the flowers so Thanatos wouldn't take him. Like the Dawn is also set in this world but because it is nsfw in nature, I wouldn't recommend it as easily as the other three bits of writing. If you don't mind the whole naked men thing though, I'd definitely suggest reading Like the Dawn for a better idea of what my current writing is like (along with eventually getting to see characters like Hector, Andromache and Cassandra/Helenus) Like the Dawn's themes are also different to the other three works with it focusing more on the power dynamics of a god/mortal relationship, exploring masculinity and masculine sexuality and self discovery.

The running theme here, of course, is that all of these bits of writing are centered on Apollo/Artemis or Hyacinth because my novel itself is centered around them. There are, of course, other important characters and figures like Eros, Psyche, Penthesilea and Iaso (one of Asclepius' daughters) but while there is the definite presence of characters from the Trojan War they most certainly aren't at the center of the novel (and the ones that are aren't the Greeks but rather the Trojans i.e Hector, Alexander, Andromache, Cassandra, Helenus, Aeneas, so on and so forth.)

2) The basis of the apocalypse in my work is cosmological! Due to Apollo's err-- untimely departure, there's no longer anyone maintaining the axis of the heavens or the navel of the earth. Because of this, Erebus - whose darkness is usually kept firmly in the spaces between the realms - begins to spill out into both the heavens and the earth. The beasts of Erebus (referring primarily to the Seven Curses - Old Age, Misery, Deceit, Violence etc etc) consume, torment and destroy whatever is inside of Erebus' darkness and Ithaca, as one of the islands on the far edge of the world, was one of the very first places that were devoured in this manner. Odysseus was visiting the Argives at the time for a festival and had left the pregnant Penelope at home since he didn't want her to suffer through the voyage in discomfort. He only finds out about the destruction of Ithaca after it had already been consumed when Athena personally interrupts a feast to warn both him and Diomedes. Needless to say, Odysseus, like everyone else, assumes that everyone on Ithaca has died and thusly is a very, very different man in terms of humour and comport. A part of him still stubbornly clings to the belief that Penelope managed to escape - that she was smart and resourceful enough to see the end approaching and do her best to escape - but that doesn't stop him from being dour for the majority of the time. Diomedes does his best to keep his spirits up in the meantime. Without him around, Odysseus is something of a black hole when it comes to the oppressiveness of his discontent though he does manage to lighten up when in the company of Helen, Clytemnestra and even Menelaus on occasion.

[fromtenthousandfeet]

https://www.tumblr.com/fromtenthousandfeet/762649366059204608/httpsxcom97901suestatus1837382052729311473?source=share

Yes seven and golden were definitely successful. The music that was chosen all have easy hooks and JK's by no means a bad performer. Also JK was extremely popular prior to his solo songs. And anon isn't wrong per se - I'd say JK is definitely the most known member of BTS right now. He should be shouldn't he? Comparing his activities to the only other two members who could've possibly competed - Jimin and Tae had a pretty limited rollout. They didn't go on extended radio legs in the west or otherwise, didn't perform at any big locations like times square or gcf or iheart, didn't have huge collabs with huge western artists, didn't get the Hybe / sb marketing team hounding every music critic, radio host or netting awards for them (imo VMAs are usually negotiated, I've said this before JK entered the picture so i wont be changing my opinion just because he won one - they wouldn't give it to some unknown but the fan voting is a formality). What I question is if goldens only purpose was to be successful for its own sake.

How well did JK really do? With Jimin we can see that his newer songs from muse did better than his older ones from face. Even though sgmb wasn't as popular with his fanbase or in English, it still did better than smf pt 2 and who obviously performed much better than like crazy. Jimin's success with face translated into more fans, more organized fbs and hence a better performance with muse even though he's enlisted and couldn't properly promote his album. I won't consider nlg a worthy comparison since it's just a fansong but let's compare SNTY to 3d or seven. That's fair enough right? JK only had a few weeks to promote it before he enlisted but I would still say better than being totally radio silent like Jimin for muse. Anyhow SNTY's success was very JK from BTS-esque coded. As in without all the marketing and hype, that songs success is what I would've initially expected from JK in the first place from chapter two before the insanity of seven. It did very well of course. But how is it that we went through such a huge hype cycle of the biggest global popstar who sang seven to rival western artists and BTS themselves, all that marketing and activities and then end up right back to the same situation with his music performance that he would've achieved with his popularity post-hiatus anyway. If Jimin is dependent on his fans for his chart performance then SNTY shows that JK is still dependent on armys but how are they both now in the same situation when one has industry plant level money behind him? (industry plant is just a factual moniker for me not an insult for example I love industry plants Olivia Rodrigo and Sabrina Carpenter). But where are all his new fans that he gained from seven and 3d?

If I invested so much money at JK only for his performance at the charts to revert back to the same level as it was before I did that, then I'd be questioning a lot. Of course scooter and his buddies probably still made a sick amount of money from seven and golden but as Hybe trying to make a new BTS, I'd be annoyed that my marketing budget for JK would have to stay huge to get the returns I want. He's no BTS - invest minimal budget and get huge returns. JK might still get the golden treatment once he's back - sunk cost theory is a thing after all. And while JK didn't quite become the next Justin Bieber like he was supposed to, he's still more successful than 95% of Hybe's other projects. Anyway I doubt people who aren't as deep into this as us can even tell his popularity isn't at the level it's supposed to be at. They'll just say JK is the most successful member from BTS because like you said marketing works. However JK in chapter two has shown me that unless he makes a serious breakthrough with his next projects - his merits as a solo artist are still inextricably tied into his groups fanbase. Which is fine since Armys are still huge and maybe that will be enough even though I feel he failed to net enough dedicated fans with his solo music. But I do wonder about the sustainability of this arrangement when the group returns or if the group decides to go on a more permanent hiatus. Will armys all convert to jjks? I guess we shall see.

Also sidenote I know Tae's music has never done as well as Jimin's and his popularity is more superficial than Jimin's but I still think he's more popular than the other members by far and he could've potentially gotten to Jimins level if he'd done a better debut solo album. Just clarifying since I bunched Tae and Jimin together here even though it's not 2022 anymore and Jimin has strided past Tae as a solo artist. Also they may have definitely not opted into whatever deal JK had - I doubt they were offered one but it's possible it was their choice too. I don't want to strip them of their agency. Tae and Jimin have seemed more wary of Hybe than JK I think

Thanks for sharing. Lots of good info here.

[mentallyshattered]

This is part 24 of the "What if Yuu didn't want to go back?" Series!

(I, the author of this work, do not consent to this work being crossposted/translated without my knowledge or used to train an AI, ever.)

Masterlist

We're late. Shit. Only by seven minutes, but there's a lot of gossip in the Backstage Room during seven minutes. Damn!

Luckily, we still have plenty of time for our skincare routines. Grim gets brushed a little faster than usual, but we're good. "Breakfast can be eaten on the way to class," I mutter to myself as I speedwalk down the hall.

"Y'ain't gawt classes t'day! Jeez, yeh jus'a lil' too awn edge 'bout yeh grades, ain't'cha? Cawlm yerself, 's awll awrigh'," says Epel, voice drawling along as it does to add a w into some words that wouldn't normally contain them this far north. I laugh along with him. We were really in such a hurry, and for what? Club doesn't start for a long while today.

In walks Korrak. Mandible is on his shoulder, as usual, and they look... as fatigued as always. Do they know? I can't tell. Maybe their evident exhaustion is from normal causes, whatever those are.

Well, I'm not going to risk it. Those two have never looked fully rested as long as I've known them, and using my signature spell last night showed me that's not a recent development. Even on the day of the entrance ceremony, they looked like there had been about two hours of deep, undisturbed, uninterrupted sleep between the two of them.

...Actually, they look way better now than they did then. I suppose Rook and Vil's care has really had an impact. Good. They deserve it.

Is the same true for me? Did I look like some kind of abomination when I walked in this world for the first time? Thinking back to day one, absolutely. Grim and I actually got taken into the Backstage Room first, and our housewarden spent over an hour and a half on detangling my hair alone- after he spent another thirty minutes on cutting it without breaking the scissors. Maybe I overestimated the difference between me and the boy with the dark blue opossum.

Ok, definitely. I definitely overestimated the difference between Korrak and I. Then again, we're from entirely different worlds, so is that a crime? I hope not.

Oh, well. Korrak isn't looking at me or Grim like anything's different, so we're probably fine. Probably. There's definitely an ethics factor, but I'm choosing to ignore that. For now.

Speaking of problems I'm aware of but choosing to pretend I'm not because the stress of that issue is pressing and I never learned to properly cope with anxiety in any way but ignoring it until I can't and it breaks me, I've heard of a spring and winter break when students go home. What do I do then?

Perhaps my impending doom shows on my face, but It doesn't matter if so because nobody appears to have noticed, and I don't see Rook. That doesn't mean he doesn't see me, though. Good ol' Rook.

He'll find me later. There's a good chance Grim and I will be taken to Vil's room to discuss that, and perhaps my signature spell. I need to get better at using that. There, that's something to do today.

I don't know when I sat down, nor do I know when Korrak and Epel started talking about combat, but it's oddly comforting to hear someone talking about fighting whilst drawing many of their 'a's into 'aw's. All becomes awl, on becomes awn, and so forth.

Did I have these moments before? Of peace, of contentment, of calm? Of simply sitting on a couch and listening to friends speak of violence in familiar voices and tones? No, I didn't, not even that last part. It's nice to know things can improve with as little as... well, not little. Still, it's nice to know things can improve.

I need to start with learning how to trigger Memory Lane. I think it was accidental last night, but I can't recall enough about before to even guess how I set it off then. Perhaps I have to be asleep? Does Grim has to be asleep? How close do I have to be to the person whose memories I'd like to rummage through, physically? Does physical space even matter? How well do I have to know them? Do I have to know them? Can I swap between targets without leaving the spell's area, or do I have to cast it twice for that to happen? Where does my physical body go? Can I take other people there?

I'm getting ahead of myself. First things first: how to start using Memory Lane. No, wait, first is breakfast. I'm almost done with that, so I'll head into the woods to train. I'll probably have to register that with Vil and maybe the headmage, but that can wait. I'd like to learn more about this spell before I tell.

"You look like you've got a plan," murrs Grim. "What're we doing today?"

"We're figuring out that spell," I maow back. Grim grins, sharp little teeth slightly dirty with minuscule chunks of salmon and toast.

"Y'all ain't all that subtle when yer up ter somethin'," teases Epel with a roll of his eyes before he gets up to stretch. "Best I git goin'," he starts again, smirking. "Cain't masta spelldrive without practice, after awll."

With that, Epel is gone, and Mandible turns to chitter at Korrak about something- I don't know what; I don't speak opossum- who then nods, scarfs down the rest of his food, and makes a break for it. He is stopped by Rook, who probably wasn't there a moment ago if my eyes are telling the truth.

"No running in the lounge," he chides gently. "Now, then, follow me!" I assume that has to do with club activities and think nothing of it. We ought to be going, too- daylight only lasts so long.

The forest is quite pretty again, leaves crunching beneath my feet as I step through the rug of orange, red, yellow, and brown that only parts for trees, their roots, and large rocks. The air here is crisp and fresh, good for clearing your head. I'll probably need that to pull this off, but I'm not sure. Can't hurt, at least.

I inhale, holding the air in my lungs and picturing... someone. The breath escapes me. Who should I go for? Myself, perhaps? Grim? Korrak again? Myself, I'll try myself first. Worth a shot, at the very least.

I try again, holding my breath in my lungs with an image of me, as reflected in the Backstage Room's wall-length mirror. My eyes close. My breath exits me in a quiet whisper: "Memory Lane."

I open my eyes to a Grim-grey path beneath my feet and a slightly blueish sky. Not blue-grey, but blue-brown, like the sky was shifting from a brunette brown to an overhead midnight expanse and I walked in on it midway through. The "stars" are small, black dots and streaks that have scattered themselves across the expanse, more numerous than in Korrak's and somewhat grouped into rows that make me think of a river spreading itself over the landscape it cuts through, as if I walked in on them, too.

The trees are willows, not the weeping kind- at least, not until I look close enough to see their branches are held up by vines with stems that match the path and leaves that match the flames in Grim's ears. The trees themselves are the dark, colorless color of my familiar's trident tail, and their leaves vary in color like confetti- some are the signature Pomefiore purple, some are the same blue as the leaves on the vines, some are a different shade of violet I've seen in Vil's eyes, and some are the green of ferns, moss, and Rook's irises. These willows do weep, but the vines prevent that. Interesting.

I wonder what that says about me.

In front of the comforted willows are more memory screens, though mine appear less like floating screens and more like... what's the word? Like those big, fancy graves with something built from smooth marble atop them, honoring the dead by creating something beautiful in their name. Crypt? No, those are underground. Tomb? Maybe.

Mausoleum, that's it. Though, notably, only the memory portal things a little ways away have them- these are nestled in the willows themselves, once low-hanging branches held away from the screen by the vines and slightly obscuring my view of the past anyway. The farther and further I look, the more little white roofs I see.

"Funny," starts Grim, "I don't remember all this. I mean, the sky's bluer than before, the leaves on the trees are more colors, and the fancy buildings are new, too." He dips his head down, eyes facing the ground near my feet. "Then again, it's been years, and my memory isn't all that great. I don't remember my family, just being cold, that striped ribbon, this place, and you." He curls into himself, soft stomach hidden from my sight, and I cannot help but forget for a mere moment that I am holding a catlike unknown as opposed to a newborn human in my arms. The thought soon evaporates like a drop of water on the surface of the sun, though my familiar's pose remains fetal.

"That's okay, Grim," I reassure, hugging him closer to my chest. "We have each other." I do not tell him the whispers of my childhood are blurry and mysterious like fog over the sea. I do not tell him he is all I clearly recall. I do not tell him I've forgotten the face of my reflection so much I thought I was face blind until I realized I only knew what I looked like when I saw myself. He does not need to know.

Nobody does. Not Mandible, not Korrak, not Epel or Rook or Vil or anyone but me. Those teachers are irrelevant now; this new world has new rules that they can't teach me. Those kids were never my friends; they just let me sit with them and tried to talk to me. Those parents aren't my parents anymore; I have new ones.

Methinks I need a distraction. My remedy is to walk a few meters to the nearest one, adjusting Grim in my arms as I do so, and touching the shiny white with my newly free hand. My familiar uncurls and turns his head to watch my fingertips glide accross the pristine, exact surface. Not one bump, dent, or crack.

The memory itself is of searching the woods for a stick to turn into a toy for Grim- it's clear and crisp despite the fact that I haven't touched it and don't intend to. Behind me, the next memory is of learning I had magic. It's just as vivid as the one before it.

Further down the path, though, memory mausoleums are fewer and farther between. It's nowhere near as packed along the sides as Korrak's- a testament to my poor memory, I suppose- or, perhaps it testifies for his being above average. Maybe even both.

I guess that's just my life- forgotten until recently.

Actually, if I look, there are a few. These ones are blurry, concerningly so, and some part of me says they need to be wiped down like soapy windows in a car wash, as though that would somehow improve the quality.

The farther back I go into the faded scraps of my own forgotten past, the fewer and farther between the memories get, and the ones we do find are notably worse than the last, though not by much. It adds up, though. After a while, they look less like life viewed through a dirty lens and more like splotches of color that were filmed through fog.

Then, I see it. This marblelike structure is huge; I'd have to stand on my own shoulders to see the top. What event could this possibly be?

I look. It's crisp like the most recent ones, with clear differences between even a grey, trident-tailed cat and an asphalt road.

Oh.

Oh.

It's... Grim's death.

...

Yeah, that... that lines up. When did I get on the ground? Oh, I've fallen. Grim is- alive. He's alive, and I'm not losing him. Not again.

It'd be comforting if I could tell myself that wasn't real, but it is. That happened, and it won't again. Not on my watch. I won't let it, no matter what.

"H-hey," starts my frantic familiar. "Yuu... um, look! Over there! I think there might be something under the trees! Let's go and look, okay?"

That's right. That's right. More to see. More to remember. Farther and further back into my faded past.

I stand and look. He's right; the branches are unusually thick here. And, right at the bottom, a rectangle cuts off, like a memory has been hidden by the trees and was revealed by the vines pulling them up.

Gently, slowly, I brush some branches aside. Harshly, suddenly, I am standing in a very nostalgic yard.

Grass. Clover. A mossy wooden fence that my startled mind remembers was willowwood, once upon a time. Grim was right. This is a memory. Speaking of Grim, there he is. In my arms. My eight-year-old, grey-clad arms. I recognize that hoodie- the grey of Grim's fur. It was my favorite as a kid.

Another child is walking down the sidewalk. Small me sees him- blond hair, forgotten eyes- and does not call. He sees small me right back, through the many large holes in the picket fence, and then he stops, his feet in dark cyan shoes I don't remember the style of. His mouth opens.

"Hey! Yuu!" I freeze. It feels almost as though he's calling out to me- not small me, but current me. That shouldn't be possible, and then small me shouts back.

"What?" My old, echoing voice calls back. The boy- Christopher- smiles like he's just been given a pack of gummy bears.

That's right. Christopher. His name was Christopher, and his favorite food was gummy bears. He sat with me at lunch.

"Are you gonna come over to my house this weekend?"

Small me lights up. "Sure!"

"Okay," Christopher shouts back, "see you tomorrow!"

"Bye!" Small me turns back to Grim. I get a good look at him then, and he is visibly younger than the Grim of today. His trident tail, like the rest of him, is smaller, and the blue flames in his ears look more like embers than they do fire, as though they once roared and have been slowly softened by the neverending sands of time.

"Mreew," sqeals the exited bundle of fur.

Small me giggles, ecstatic and still learning cat. When did I master that language?

The door on the house behind me opens, faded paint flaking off in thin shards of what was once green. Young me turns to the obnoxious squeaking, and thoughts drop into my mind like rain into a bucket: That door was greener. Why is it so white now?

The paintless parts of the door are pale brown.

The memory cuts to the following day. Christopher's mother is cutting my hair, and, from where today's me is standing, it oddly resembles Vil doing the same. She's fussing over how it should t be this matted, and how this isn't healthy, and how she's going to call CPS. I can't even remember what that stands for. Did I ever know?

More thoughts flow through me: Their door is so quiet; mine is so loud. Their house is warm like the park is in summer. What color is this? It's like the walls of the doctor's office. Or snow.

I smile to myself. My elementary school was decently fancy when I was a kid, even though Night Raven has since blown it out of the water. Many of the kids who attended came from rich families, and my friends were no exception.

The memory ends, and I'm standing on the road again. It feels like something was cut out, like there was more to it that was lost to time. I guess I'll never know again. Thinking about that makes me feel a little faint.

We should head back. I can't tell the time right now, but we do have club.

I think I can just...

"Memory Lane."

There. Isn't that neat? With just the faintest of whispers and a little bit of magic, we're back in the woods- and my phone is buzzing in my pocket with messages. Specifically, texts from Ortho.

12:02

[This groupchat was created]

[Groupchat renamed to "Board Games Club]

8:34

(666-89-02740) Hi!

This is Ortho Shroud of Ignihyde

You are Yuu of Pomefiore, right?

And Azul Ashengrotto of Octanville

8:35

(534-82-42001) Yes, this is Azul.

Why are you texting us?

The lounge is opening.

(666-89-02740) Board Games club has been canceled for today

Idia is sick

And the club room hasn't been cleaned yet

Neither have the games

8:36

(534-82-42001) Okay, I'll be at the lounge if you need me.

(666-89-02740) Okay!

Yuu, respond when you see this

The first thing I do before I respond is add Ortho and Azul to my contacts. I don't know how Ortho got my number, but it probably has to do with the whole "Ignihyde is the tech dorm" thing. The second thing I do is look at the time, and the third is sigh with relief. We'd be late if it weren't for club being canceled.

10:07

(Yuu & Grim) We have seen this!

(Blue Candle) Got it

Thank you!

I smile. It feels like I'm connecting with this new world a little bit more at a time, and the thought is enough to distract from the still-drying tears on my cheeks. Grim is purring again, probably unintentionally.

And that connection with my old one is gone. Was it ever even there? My life was nothing special, except for Grim. I should know- interesting things stick in my mind. I lost a lot of then after the whole car-and-cat thing, but I remember some of Shakespeare's plays. They were interesting.

I only remember one of them, though- what was it called? The Ides Of March, I think that's it. All I really recall is the name and that some guy got stabbed.

I remember that play better than I remember my biological parents, and I barely remember the play. Did I even live with them? Did I ever know them? Maybe I was raised by a straight couple. Or a lesbian. Or two lesbians.

No matter. Right now, my "parents" are a pair of theater kids, and I'm happy with that. I like them. Vil personally dematted my hair when I first arrived.

...Hold on. I was raised by parents, not aunts or uncles or anything, I know that much. And I know they were alive and in the house. And I know parents are supposed to care for their children.

So, why was my hair a rat's nest when I first came to Night Raven? Why did Vil have to spend so long fixing it? Why am I hyperventilating?!

I hold my breath and pray to whatever will listen to please let me faint. That's what I always did back then... okay, maybe that just means this is a bad thing to do.

Maybe my poor memory is one of the ways I cope. I'll never know with what. That's the point, after all.

My phone breifly vibrates with another message, this one directly from Ortho to me with nobody else involved.

10:46

(Blue Candle) Hey

I can't find anything on you except school-related stuff

Like

Anything

(Yuu & Grim) Why were you looking for that?

(Blue Candle) The nurse asked me if I could find your medical history and stuff

You know

For safety reasons

Seems reasonable. Although, wouldn't it make more sense to contact Vil first? And then Rook? Or the headmage, even? Maybe Ortho knows her personally or something. Maybe she wanted to contact Idia, but he sent his brother in his place. Yeah, that makes sense.

10:47

(Yuu & Grim) Yeah idk lol

Good luck

(Blue Candle) ???

That does not help

(Yuu & Grim) 🤷

(Blue Candle) 😐

😑

😐

I don't send anything new, still processing my delight over the discovery of this world's emojis. By the time I look back, Ortho has sent another text

10:48

(Blue Candle) Meet me in the nurse's office soon so I can get your blood type and stuff

(Yuu & Grim) Ok!

"C'mon, Yuu! Let's go, I'm bored," meows Grim. I smile and nod. I can process this later, anyway.

@cenatour

[hezuart]

Small question, if it was answered before then I must have missed it: What inspired giving RNK any powers? Not that it's a bad thing, especially not in the channel change story (which is great, btw! If there's more to come then I'll be excited to read it!) but I personally always liked how normal, so to speak, he was in comparison to the rest of the cast so far. So like, don't take this as critisism, more like, wondering what the thought process was? I'm trying to word what I mean right, sorry if it just comes off as if I'm repeating myself.

Glad you asked! So I explain his powers and a little bit of why I chose them in the description here and here.

I totally get where you are coming from, so here is where my thought process lies: (color coding my paragraphs to sort them by topic)

Absolutely no one in Little Nightmares is normal. The story seems like it's a supernatural post-apocalyptic meta-commentary on corruption that comes with adulthood. Nearly every highlighted character in this series has some sort of deformity or power. The Janitor has long stretchable arms. The Butler from the mobile game has telekinesis. The Doctor, despite his size and weight, can crawl along the ceiling like a bug(wall sticker?) and has successfully reanimated the dead. The Lady is a soul sucker. The Teacher has a neck that can extend indefinitely. The Granny can breathe underwater. The city folk have some kind of screaming power that can kill Mono or render him unconscious.

There are a few exceptions, like the Hunter and the Twin Chefs, but we don't see enough of them to truly determine whether they're completely powerless or not.

It's hinted that the deformities are caused by the tower. Whether or not powers come from that as well, or if people are simply born with them in this world is entirely up for debate. The Pretender was the first confirmation that some children are merely born with these powers and are unable to control them, whereas Six is portrayed as someone who gained powers from an adult later on, whereas Mono might be somewhere in between. The fact that porcelain fake children are running around like they are alive is also a highly questionable supernatural occurrence.

Most of the children we encounter are "normal" at first. But we have seen very few kids in this series before their untimely early deaths to figure out if they had powers. But most of our main characters that typically survive have major influence in the story on top of having great supernatural powers. That's one reason I gave RK the fandom's "Seven" name and powers. Because he is a main focus, no longer on death row.

In this post, I describe Seven's many connections to water before his death, and why, if he had canon powers, these would work best. Seven having powers isn't something common in the fandom. I wanted to contribute to that.

The main bigger reason, however, is that giving Seven powers balances his friendship with Mono. I didn't show it in my comic properly at all, but at the very least, you can tell Seven is nervous whenever Mono uses his powers. Seven witnesses him create a shockwave scream at the fearsome Lady. He witnesses Mono travel through television. He sees him open a metal can without touching it. I'd imagine some other things happened offscreen that Seven picked up on. Regardless, he was aware of Mono's powers. He didn't know exactly how powerful, but he had a feeling. Seven felt... weak? In comparison. He felt vulnerable. He still wouldn't give up on trying to help, nor was he willing to give up his trust in a friend who saved his life, but it still made him very uneasy and unequal. Mono is oblivious to this.

Seven gaining powers, powers that Mono can't wield, is important to their friendship and their dynamic in the future. Mono's powers are frightening and intense, but can only be used on land, otherwise, he'll short-circuit and burn his hands with water. Mono controls the land, while Seven controls the sea. There are many dangers in the water that surrounds them, so even though they escaped to this "Island" they're still, in many ways, trapped. For Seven to gain control over the sea, means they are also finally, truly free. (Well... not completely, just yet, but still more free than they were before.)

I wanted them to feel like they were on top of the world, that they could do anything. That no one could stop them. A calm before the storm. A win before sadness.

I will be doing one final edition of my comic, but I'm stuck on it at the moment because it involves the time loop. (Which is really difficult to solve) I plan to take this comic in a controversial direction of a popular, highly debated, and unconfirmed theory. There's a possibility people may be unsatisfied and confused with this ending, and I worry about that. I want to make it in a way that would feel like a good send-off to this AU. I don't know if I will succeed or not, but I'd like to try. I'm used to Little Nightmares typically ending badly. In a way, for the threequel finale, that will still ring true, but also may be a good ending. But I want it to be more significant and I just haven't figured it out yet. It may be a long while before I can even start drawing it.

[blackhakumen]

Mini Fanfic #1203: Secret's Discovered (Persona 5)

12:34 p.m. at Shiyuba's Sacred Cemetery........

Sae: (Sighs While Standing In Front Both of her Parents' Gravestones Right Next to Makoto) Life continues to be a challenge for us since the day you two were gone. There's never been a day where we haven't wish for either one of you to be here right now,

Makoto: But as we stavd here now, alive and breathing, we continue to strive to greater heights and improve not just in our relationship as sisters, but in ourselves as well. We wish you both were here to see us grow first hand...... and I don't think words can properly describe how much Sis and I miss you these days.

Sae: But until the days both of us see you again in the afterlife, all we asl that you continue rest easy and continue having faith in us. We'll do just fine in this insanity called planet earth.

Makoto: (Bows to her Parent's Resting Place Along with Sae) Thank you for listening to our ramblings as per usual, mom and dad....and we love you so very much.

Few Minutes Later at the Cheesecake Factory Café....

'Door Bell Ring'

Sae: (Side on One Side of Her and Makoto's Table) So how are you feeling today, little sister?

Makoto: (Lets Out a Sigh of Relief While Stting on the Opposite Side of her and Sae's Table) Pretty good. In fact, I don't feel as emotional as I thought I would be this time around. Lucky me.

Sae: Really. (Slowly Raises an Eyebrow) Are you sure that ALL you've been feeling lately?~

Makoto: I...... (Raises an Eyebrow in Confusion) think so? Why?

Sae: Well, for starters, you took your sweet time coming out of your bedroom before we left the apartment earlier today. Approximately one minute and forty-seven seconds long to be exact.

Makoto: (Scoffs While Rolling her Eyes a Bit) Honestly, sis, that doesn't sound that long to me. And excuse me for wanting to make sure I got everything before we leave.

Sae: Prehaps. I would be inclined to believe you if it WEREN'T for a clear fact that you had your hand on your chest when you stepped out as if your heart was beating. A mixture between sigh of relief and feeling of love, desire and affection you for a certain "Ren-Ren". Almost like you have something to hide this entire time, am I wrong?~

Makoto: (Gives Sae a Deadpinned Look on her Face).....You really have a way of catching me red-handed, do you, sis?

Sae: (Forms a Proudly, Yet Cocky Smirk on her Face) I wouldn't be your lovable big sister and one of the best Prosecutors in all of Shiyuba if I didn't~ (Winks at Makoto) Now, explain yourself, young lady!

Makoto: (Now or never, Makoto....) (Takes a Deep Breath Before Speaking) Okay. So....(Claps her Hands Together With a Bit of an Awkward Like Smile on her Face) Marriage! A nice....lovely, romantic dream most people would want to experience someday in the near future, am I right?

Sae: For most I su- Wait.....(Eyes Widened Let's Out a Light Gasps at the Realization) Makoto Niijima! Did Ren propose to you at one point!?

Makoto: (Quickly Shakes Both if her Hands in Defense) Nononono! He didn't propose! It's...(Nervously Rubs her Arms Softly While Looking Away) A-Actually the other way around......

Sae: Other way around? Y-You don't mean......

Makoto: (Simply Nodded) Yeah. I'm planning to propose to Ren someday. Possibly later on this year-

'GAAAAAAASPS'

The Niijima Sisters quickly turns their heads to the source of the sudden, loud gasping noise, Futuba Sakura sitting next to their table along with Sojiro, both are equally surprised by what they just heard.

Makoto: Futuba? Sojiro-san?

Sae: (Raises an Eyebrow in a Bit of Confusion) What are you two doing here?

Futuba: (Eyes abd Mouth Remain Widened, Shaking Like a Leaf)

Sojiro: Oh. Uhhh....(Clears his Throat Before Giving the Newspaper He Was Reading a Single Shake, Putting on an Awkward Smile of his Own) Hello there, girls! (Let's Out a Single Chuckle) D-Don't mind us. Just....spending some quality time together......talking.....eating cheesecake.

Sae: (Looks Down at The Slice of Cake Sojiro Order) You're eating a chocolate cake.

Sojiro: It's coffee cake actually. You should give it a try next time you come here. It's pretty good-

Futuba: (Points at Makoto) YOU'RE TO PROPOSE AND MARRY REN-REN!?

Makoto: Yeah....(Simply Nodded With More Confidence This Time Around) Yes, I am. Not now obviously. But like I said before, I planned on doing so in the near future. (Starts Blushing a Bit) Assuming I have enough courage to do so by then......

Sojiro: (Gives Makoto a Warm, Reassuring Smile) Take all the time you need to build it up. You-

Futuba: (Pumps her Fists Up in the Air) WOOOOOOOOO!~ (Gives Makoto a More Brighter, Reassuring Smile on her Face) You go, girl!~ Marry that handsome dork of yours!~

Sojiro: (Puts on a More Deadpinned Look Before Sighing) Yeah. (Points at his Coffee Daughter) What she said. Minus the yelling.

Futuba: (Smiles Sheepishly While Letting Out an Awkward Giggle) Eheh....Sorry about that, Sojiro....

Sae: (Still at a Loss of Words From What is Happening Right Now) Makoto-

Makoto: (Sighs as She Turns Her Attention Back to Her Big Sister) I know, I know, it's a big, important life decision I made for myself and I know it takes a lot more work, communication, maturity, trust, and understanding to evolve your relationship into the marriage scene-

Sae: Makoto.

Makoto: (Starts Getting Determined and Heated Up) But I promise you with every bit of fiber in my heart and inner soul that Ren and I are up for the challenge. We have been through so much together, even before we started dating. A challenge road for sure, but there wasn't anything that we COULDN'T conquer together!

Sae: Makotooo.

Makoto: And I refuse to sit here and let anyone, anything, or my nerves get in the way of me doing this let alone give a single flying damn what ANYONE-

Sae: Makoto! (Quickly But Gently Grab Hold to Makoto's Hand) Calm yourself now. The last thing I want for you to end up getting a migraine like your big sis.

Makoto: (Starts Taking a Deep Breath to Help Calm Herself Down) Right.....Forgive me. This has been going on in my mind for months now.....

Sae: I can tell. (Gently Squeezes her Baby Sister's Hand) You're really dead set on doing this, aren't you?

Makoto: Sae, I have never more serious and committed than I already am now. Ren means the entire world to me. I wouldn't be where I'm at or even WHO I am right now if it weren't for all the love, care, and compassion he constantly gives me. It may be naive of me to wanting to do this, but I don't care. I love that reckless sweetheart and I wanna be with him until death do us part! I'm sorry it took me so to tell you this.

Sae: Don't be. I can tell how all of this has been earing you alive, you deserve all the time you get. (Gives Makoto a Reassuring Smile on her Face) I'm just happy I'm the one first people you reveal this to, despite the circumstances.

Makoto: (Turns Away While Rubbing The Back of her Head Again) Yeah, about that.......

Sae: ('Sigh') Oh my God. What is it?

Makoto: There's two people who knew about this before you guys. Shiho-san, whom helped me picked out the wedding rings to begin with while I helped her do the same in return.

Sojiro: Wait. (Eyes Begins to Widened Again) So Shiho's planning on proposing to Ann in the near future too?

Futuba: (Eyes Starts Sparkling in Pure Excitement) Oh this day keeps getting better and better AH-

Sojiro: (Quickly Covers Futuba's Mouth) Don't.

Sae: Congratulations will be in order for thise two for sure. Now who's the second person.

Makoto: (Takes a Deep Breath Once More Before Revealing the Answer) ........Momma Peach.

Sae: (Couldn't Believe What She Just Heard) I'm sorry- The Princess of the Mushroom Kingdom knew about this before I did? Seriously!?

Makoto: I had to! (Starts Pouting a Bit) I was so on edge thinking about the whole thing on the night we came back from the Mementos for the first time in years. So I told her everything. On a brighter note, she did say that she's more than willing to do all the wedding planning and put it all together once it's all said and done, so neither of us would have to.

Sae: ('Sighs in Relief') Thank Palutena for that.....

Makoto: But yeah. Other than them, you're the only ones that know about this. (Bows her Head Down) Which I am desperately asking you not to say ANYTHING about this to Ren-Ren until then! (Turns to Futuba Along with the Others)

Futuba: (Noticing Three Sets of Eyes on Her) Hey, why you guys looking at me? I can keep a secret!

Sojiro: ('Sigh') I sure hope so......

Makoto: Pleeeease, Futuba! Do your very best not to mention anything wedding related to him!

Futuba: (Sighs While Rolling her Eyes) Okay, okay, my lips will be super sealed! At least have more faith in me than that......Big Sis!~ (Winks at Her Soon to be Sister in Law)

Makoto: (Giggles Softly) I will~ Thank you. (Turns Back to Sae) And Sis.

Sae: Hm?

Makoto: (Gently Squeezes Sae's Hands) Would you please make me the happiest woman in the world and be our Maid of Honor? I can't think of anyone else more worthy of this title than you.

Sae: (Stares at Makoto For a Brief Second Before Her Heart Begins to Melt in Genuine Happiness) Yes. ('Sniff') It would be my honor.....

Makoto: (Notices the Tears Fall Down om Sae's Face) Oh no! Sis, are you crying?

Sae: (Scoffs Before Quickly Turning Away) N-No! That's ridiculous! I'm a highly respected Prosecutor in All of Shiyuba, Makoto, I don't cry that easily. ('Sniff') Especially when my one and only baby sister is growing up too fast in adulthood. ('Sniff') Making me proud to be her big sister everyday and whatnot. ('Sniff') That's DEFINITELY not what I'm doing!~

Makoto: Aww~ Come here~ (Gets Up From her Seat and Hugs the Crying Sae) It's okay. There's no shame in releasing these sappy feelings. You're still amazing my eyes.

Sae: ('Sniff') Thank you....,('Sniff') Just don't tell Tae about it, okay?

Makoto: (Giggles Softly) I won't say a word. I love you~

Sae: (Hugs Makoto Bsck While Crying Louder) I LOVE YOU TOOOOO!~

Sojiro: (Watches an Emotional Sisterly Bond in Front of Him With a Soft Smile on his Face) A real shame I left my phone at the café. Thus is sweet.

'Ahem'

Sojiro turns to see his coffee daught giving him a cocky, mischievous smirk on her Face.

Futuba: Hate to interrupt you watching this sweet moment between two sisters here, but- (Pulls her Hand Out) I believe there's something you *owe* me right now~

Sojiro: ('Sigh') Right. (Pulls Out Fifty Bucks From His Pants Pocket and Hand it Over to Futuba) I knew I should never agree to place my bet on that boy.

Futuba: (Smiles Brightly and Innocently) Pleasure doing business with you, my dear Coffee Dad~ I love you!~

Sojiro: (Rolls his Eyes) Uh-huh. Don't push it, young lady.

@princekirijo

@bestpony666

@albion-93

@ma-lemons

@decibelcoatl

[princeescaluswords]

I know you're not the biggest Derek fan but I just rewatched some of his scenes with Scott and I got cracked up by how consistently he campaigns for the title of President Of The Scott McCall Fan Club.

He brings this energy every time he mentions Scott to somebody:

Really weird that people think he'd *ever* badmouth him to prop up characters he canonically doesn't give a single thought to.

First, I know you sent this as a three part message, but I found things to talk about in each one, so I'm going to answer them separately!

Second, I may not be the biggest Derek Hale Fan in the world, but I am a fan. I love a well-crafted redemption arc, and Derek's story is one of the better ones I've seen. In fact, I wanted more of it. But, for me, the key to a good redemption arc is that it is an arc. For Derek to grow and change and become a better person and for it to have meaning, he had to start out in a state that, frankly, wasn't. That's why I insist in my analyses that Derek was an antagonist in Season 1 and an outright villain in Season 2.

I do have seven pages of posts on Tumblr marked anti derek hale. I wish I wouldn't have to label them that, because I do not hate Canon Derek Hale. I simply recognize that he did terrible things, and that while they were understandable within context, that doesn't make them not terrible. Yet, his manipulative treatment of the teenagers of Beacon Hills, his embrace of lethal violence as his primary strategy, and his trauma-induced selfishness all served to fulfill his role as a foil to the heroic protagonist, Scott McCall, and fans shouldn't shy away from discussing this, but I have learned that Tumblr etiquette, when it is followed, demands that negative evaluations of a character's behavior be tagged properly so people can avoid it.

I wish some of the fans who hate Scott McCall would remember that, but I digress.

But I do recognize the weirdness you are describing. To me, Derek's admiration for Scott McCall is a natural evolution. He starts out in Season 1 trying to sell Scott on the realities of his life as a werewolf (even as Derek is using him): Scott's fate is to become like him. "So you and me, Scott - We're brothers now." Derek wants a new family, one that won't be destroyed, but through tragedy, pain, and violence he learns that you can't create one using brute force -- by coercively reshaping others into versions of himself. He sees that when Scott forms his pack, his family, Scott does it by accepting his friends as they are. Scott accepts Stiles with his sarcasm and insecurity. Scott accepts Allison, with her family and all that demands. Scott doesn't want Isaac to get hurt, remembers Kira's name, and tells Liam that he's not a monster. And Scott accepts Derek, even after Derek manipulated him, beat him, sold him out to Peter, and tried to kill innocents. So by the end of Season 6, Derek has instead sold himself the idea that his goal is to become like Scott. "You came back for Beacon Hills? No. Came back for you."

And that is what parts of the fandom can't stand. With all the tragedies Derek undergoes (manipulation by Peter which causes Paige's death, manipulation by Kate which causes his family's death, manipulation by Peter again which causes Laura's death, his execution of Peter, the disasters of his attempt at a pack), they want Derek to be redeemed without the necessity for change. In other words, Derek deserves nice things, not because he earned them, but as some sort of cosmic balancing for what he has suffered (and, frankly, his identity as an attractive white man and a 'bad boy').

But this misguided empathy runs counter to the themes of the show. Scott's the heroic protagonist not because he suffers more than anyone else (and he absolutely does suffer a lot, a fact that fandom uselessly tries to deny) but because he doesn't let that suffering, that injustice, determine who he is or who he cares about. This is what makes him a True Alpha, because he could have let Peter or Derek or Gerard or Deucalion determine his nature. He could have rejected Derek and Stiles and Liam and Theo and Malia and Jackson after they attacked and hurt him. He could have wallowed in the pain caused by his mother's rejection, or his father's absence, or Allison's death, or "Some of us are human!" He could have placed his own safety and well being first, and hid or ran from Kira or the Dead Pool or the Doctors or the Beast or Monroe. But he didn't. And that's what Derek saw, and that's what Derek learned.

Instead of acknowledging that learning, those choices, and that growth, certain parts of the fandom decide that what Derek should have done is resented Scott for not allowing Derek's pain to control Scott's life. They decide that Derek thinks Scott is stupid for not thinking of the world in terms of "us vs. them." They decide that Derek's repeated submission to the tragedies of his own life couldn't possibly have made him weak -- after all, he's rich, good-looking, white, and werewolf "nobility" -- and instead of what happened to him being the consequences of his own choices, he was bedeviled by the metaphysical forces known as 'the writers.' Oh, and Evil Tree Wizard Deaton and his Moron Tyrant Protege, Scott McCall.

Yeah. It's very weird.

[ask-nyc-boroughs]

The Beginning of the End

The beginning of the French & Indian War (North American Theatre of the Seven Years' War) ft Rich/Virginia, Jonah/West Virginia, & Charles/New France (c. @gardenkeeper)

In my lore, Alfred was by no means the favored colony, and Arthur, while he sort of cared for his colonies in a way, he was just too busy to properly keep track of them (hence the salutary neglect). Alfred is a staunch New Englander, and quite frankly it makes sense. New England always had more of a bone to pick with the British Empire than the tidewater south ever did...so this brings me to Rich/Virginia...

I like to think of Rich as the favorite of Arthur's British colonies given that Rich is more influenced by this southern English gentry culture that I see Arthur being influenced by too. Alfred is more eastern English in nature.

Rich has this typical southern gentleman attitude. Takes life too easily, quite the flirt, and quite charming, but he can be quite entitled especially given the fact he's basically the favorite out of the 13 and Alfred. ANYWAYS, what's happening in this picture?:

For context, neither Alfred, or his states' "first war" was the American Revolution-- quite frankly I dislike this hc because it ignores wars with Indigenous nations, and also ignores some of the reasoning behind isolationism. Also it sometimes come off as if you do not view Indigenous nations as sovereign and separate entities of the settler-colonial project.

Essentially these colonies were getting dragged into European fights albeit it in the North American theatre ex: Queen Anne's War/War of Spanish Succession. Some were getting tired of being in these fights because they were not reaping the benefits aka gaining more land....this led to Rich thinking he could get away with anything. Right? Arthur wouldn't care much if Rich, and his half-brother Jonah, roughed up some French colony asshole, Charles and just took his land because after all, they all hate the French anyways. Or so that's what Rich thought....he would come to find out he overstepped with Arthur because he essentially forced Arthur's hand into the Seven Years' War by getting Arthur further embroiled into another conflict with Francis.

This would lead Arthur to become more harsh with his colonies (ex trying to enforce one english national culture rather than let them proliferate with different english + some other cultural backgrounds) and would lead him to more closely govern.